Chapter Thirteen: Awake

I had my mission. I knew what I had to do: bring the writer to the Wall.

There was only one problem: I had no idea where the "Wall" was. And my dream did nothing to illuminate it. In the morning, in the cold light of day, I realized that I had no idea where to go next.

Then the writer awoke. "Where am I?" he asked. I told him. "I'm not dead." It wasn't a question, so I didn't answer. "Who are you?"

"My name is Norman," I said.

"Norman," he said and rubbed his eyes. "I remember you. Conspiracy nut. Targeted by the Ivory Woman."

"Yes," I said. I didn't know what else to say, so I asked, "What were you writing in your notebook?"

"Ideas," he said. "I've been able to keep them off my back by writing stories, but lately...there's been too many. Too many ideas, too many stories in my head. I can't get them all down. I've become...overloaded with ideas. I started one and then skip to another. Too many stories trying to get out." He rubbed his temples and then seemed to realize he was doing it, so stopped. "I need food. You hungry?"

"Yes," I said. I had not eaten much in the past week.

"Let's go get breakfast," he said. "You don't happen to have any money, do you? Nah, I didn't think so."

As he got up and stepped to the door, he said, "I'll just write us some money. It'll be just like the real thing."

He stumbled into the bathroom then and slammed the door.