Then again, isn’t dreaming about killing me a nightmare? She’s not waking up from that.
Then I recall another thing Dr. Cipactli mentioned. He said his drug shows people a nightmare related to what last happened to them in the waking world—a car accident in Mom’s case. He said that would be a nightmare strong enough to wake someone up.
Yeah, that’s it. A nightmare based on a memory might well do the trick. The only thing about it is that I feel bad subjecting Mom to such a painful dream.
You may want to go back, I tell Pom.
He stays on my shoulder. I take a deep breath and remind myself that what I’m about to do is for Mom’s own good. Thus determined, I wait for her to finish killing the baby version of me, and then I highjack the next nightmare by pitting her against the grown me in our apartment.
It works. The dream already feels like a memory—with her looking sadly at that version of me with her pretty brown eyes.
In a tired voice, Mom says, “Not this again.”
“Your symptoms are worsening,” my doppelgänger says. “I heard you screaming at night.”
Her face turns ashen. “Did you walk into my bedroom?”
The other me glares at her. “No. More importantly, I didn’t break my promise. I didn’t invade your precious dreams.”
She exhales in relief. “I just had a nightmare, that’s all.”
“About what?” The other me crosses her arms in front of her chest.
“Can’t remember,” she says dismissively. “Can we talk about something else now?”
“Was it something to do with my father?” Both of us watch her reaction.
Just like on the day this really happened, an emotion flashes in Mom’s eyes, but again so fleetingly that I can’t be sure I really saw it, let alone figure out what it was.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t remember him,” she says. “Nor is it a topic I like to talk about.”
“Right. If you don’t remember, how do you know you don’t want to talk about it?”
She shrugs.
“Fine,” the other me says. “Fine. You haven’t been eating much, either. And haven’t left the house in forever. In fact, this is the first time this week I’ve seen you in real life.” She pointedly looks at the last-generation VR goggles on the end table.
Mom’s jaw juts out. “Maybe it’s because no one pesters me in VR. I’m the parent, you’re the child, remember?”
“Look, Mom. I see your symptoms all the time. If you would just let me into—”
“No!” She beelines for the door, throwing over her shoulder, “Don’t suggest that ever again.”
“If your symptoms keep worsening, I might not have a choice,” the other me yells at her back. “If your life’s on the line, I’ll break my stupid oath!”
It’s painful to see how she freezes and turns to look at that version of me, her expression so full of betrayal I regret those words yet again.
She’s been making me swear not to dreamwalk in her for as long as I can remember, yet I’m breaking that promise as we speak.
“You wouldn’t,” Mom says hollowly, backing up toward the front door. “Please say you wouldn’t.”
“Fine, but you have to see someone,” the other me says. “A conventional shrink, perhaps? Maybe make a friend and talk to them? Or—”
“You don’t understand!” Her voice rises. “I’ve tried everything.”
“Not everything.” There’s a determined expression on the face of the other me that I don’t recall making, but I must have—this is still a memory.
With a growl, Mom turns on her heel and storms out, slamming the door behind her.
I pay closer attention now, since I’ve only guessed at what happened after that fight.
Mom sprints for the elevator. Getting inside, she closes her eyes and leans against the wall, muttering under her breath, “She’s going to do it. She’s finally going to dreamwalk in me.”
Puck. I’ve never heard her talk to herself like this. Our fight had impacted her even more than I thought.
The elevator stops, and she opens her eyes. “I can’t let it happen,” she whispers. “I won’t.” The determined expression on her face mirrors the one I saw on myself a few seconds ago.
What does she mean by that?
As I watch, Mom runs out of the building and heads straight for the highway.
No. She couldn’t have meant—
But she did.
When the first self-driving car swerves in time to avoid her, Mom throws herself under the next one, then another, over and over, until she finally creates a situation where a car can’t dodge her without killing other people.
As the car slams into her body, throwing her in the air, for a millisecond, Mom’s face looks triumphant.
Then she crashes onto the pavement in a broken heap.
Chapter Eighteen
I snap out of the trance and numbly look around the hospital room, the sound of the beeping machines mixing with the cacophony in my mind.