“They looked so sad,” Jeanne sobbed. “And we knew why.”
“Our grandpa was sick,” Gene said. “They came to tell us that he was dying.”
Death, Phillip thought, haunts them even in their dreams. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not that,” Jeanne said. “Just then, Sammy came by.”
“Oh, no, he didn’t,” Phillip said. “What did he do?”
“He laughed at our parents,” Gene hissed, “and said his dad knew about it all along.”
“That sounds like Sammy,” Phillip said. The boy, one of the few named actors in the nightly dramatics, had antagonized them since the first time they had the dream. “What happened then?”
“We woke up,” Jeanne sighed. “Phillip, it was awful. Our parents… the first time we saw them…”
“And stupid Sammy has to ruin it,” Gene growled. “I really hate him. One of these days, I’m gonna let him have it.”
“Are not,” Jeanne said. “‘Sides, there’s nothing we can do.”
“You’ve been practicing the spell Katherine gave you, right?” Phillip asked. Katherine’s ‘spell’ was simply instructions to aid lucid dreaming. “Did that help?”
“It never works for this kind of dream,” Gene said. “Jeanne’s right, there’s nothing we can do. All we can ever do is watch.”
“But you have some control,” Phillip said. “You saw the red team coming for the base, and you moved it.”
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