Poet Anderson ...Of Nightmares by Tom DeLonge

pocket and plucked out the business card to study it.
    â€œDoctor Moss,” he read aloud. Jonas felt his eyes growing heavy as sleep rushed up on him. “I hope you can help us.” Jonas set the card next to his pillow before curling up on his side to face it. “I hope you can help Alan.”
    This time, when Jonas fell asleep, he was too tired to tell himself to search for Alan, a routine he’d gone through every night since the accident. That was how he and Alan would set up for lucid dreaming, focusing on a single thought or place to make it come true. But his bones ached and his mind drifted, and next thing he knew, Poet was sitting on a subway car.
    â€œAnd there he is,” Sketch said, hanging onto the pole as Gunner smiled from behind his shoulder. Around them the subway car swayed. “Poet, my man,” Sketch continued. “You have missed the best night. Gunner swears he saw a city last time, back when that old dude kidnapped you.”
    Poet pursed his lips, slowly recalling his last dream. “He didn’t kidnap me,” he said before he knew if it were true. “He…” The image of a monster flashed through Poet’s head, and he spun quickly to check over the car. It was mostly empty except for a couple toward the back and a man sitting alone, mumbling to himself as he watched them, his eyes wide and curious. After a moment, the man turned to look out the window, smiling.
    Although the creature—the Night Terror—wasn’t here, Poet felt its presence, could still hear the sound of its claws digging into the metal. “The guy was a Dream Walker,” Poet told his friends. “He saved me. And he wasn’t old.”
    â€œWhatever,” Sketch said, swinging himself into the seat and knocking his shoulder into Poet’s. “All I know is one second you were behind us, and the next…well, I sure as shit wasn’t here.” Gunner laughed, and Sketch gave Poet a pointed look to remind him that Gunner didn’t know he was dreaming. “Anyway,” Sketch said. “Tonight we showed up and got on a different train.”
    He motioned around, and Poet realized he was right. The quote that Alan had once spray-painted on the wall was gone.
    â€œAnd then Gunner asked that couple over there,” Sketch continued, “where we were heading.”
    â€œThey were making out,” Gunner interrupted. “It was getting pretty serious, so I thought I should ask before I had to shield my eyes.”
    â€œAnyway,” Sketch said loudly to let him know he was still talking. “Gunner asked them where the train was going and they said, ‘the city.’ Well as you can imagine, Gunner nearly pissed himself.”
    Poet turned back to Gunner. “There is a city,” Poet said. “I saw it last time.”
    Sketch’s mouth fell open, but Gunner just smiled broadly and shook his head. “I knew it,” he said. “Fuck you guys. I totally knew it.”
    â€œSo what’s the plan?” Sketch asked, sitting back against the chair and resting one of his unlaced sneakers on the pole. “Follow the lovers around until we find it? Because I’ve never seen—”
    Lights danced cross Sketch’s cheeks, golds and reds against his skin. His eyes widened, reflecting the shimmer, and both Poet and Gunner turned toward the window across the train. The subway car continued to race forward and they were surrounded by the glowing lights of the city.

Chapter Seven
    G unner was spinning around as they walked the city streets, looking up at the tall buildings and tricked-out cars zooming past a hundred feet in the sky. Poet couldn’t blame him for being distracted. It was completely overwhelming in scale—unreal in a science fiction sort of way. Horns from low-hovering cars blared, and people on the sidewalks shouted at each other, boisterous and loud.
    Poet noticed that some of the people