It's almost seven, an hour past the arranged time, and I haven't left Dante's apartment yet. 

I've been debating all day whether or not to tell them about Damien's messages and how, like the idiot I am, I agreed to meet him again.

At seven-fifteen, time makes the decision for me, and I head for the door.

"Alex? Are you going out?" Dante calls. They're sitting in front of a massive canvas, on which is the beginnings of a new painting. I recognize my own form, reclining on a block of marble, draped in black silk. There's something funereal about the image, and I glance away.

"Yeah," I say. "I--I'm not sure when I'll be back."

They turn and regard me keenly. "Do you have a job?" they ask, one perfect brow raised.

"I do. It's...It's across town."

Dante holds my gaze a beat. When I don't say more, they nod once. "Good luck, then. Be safe."

I start to leave, but stop with my hand on the doorknob. 

"Dante--thank you. Thanks for letting me stay here. Thanks for...caring."

They set down their brush and stand. I wait while they cross the floor.

Dante lifts my chin with two fingers, forcing me to meet their eyes. I know that their power is exponentially greater than mine. If they wanted, they could charm me, make me tell them anything.

I know they won't.

"Alex, little bird, you are always welcome here. Don't ever think you have to run away on my account. Whether it's in a few hours, tomorrow, or in three months--you come back whenever you need to, you hear me?"

My breath catches, and they wrap me in a hug.

I cling to them for a moment before letting go.

"Thank you," I say again.

Dante smiles. "I should thank you, beautiful bird. You are my favorite muse, after all."

I laugh at that, and then I force myself to leave before I change my mind.

~xxx~

At the corner of Damien's apartment building, I hesitate.

I don't want to do this. I don't. The thought of experiencing a dream like that again makes me nauseous.

And yet if that's what he goes through every night... How can I not at least try to help?

Swallowing my nerves, I step around the corner.

He's waiting, taking away my last chance to turn chicken and run.

He looks worse than he did a week ago. Then, he looked like he belonged on the cover of Forbes; now he looks like he'd fit in better with the hobos down by the docks.

His hair is lank and unwashed, dark shadows circle his eyes, and his skin has the gross, colorless look of cold oatmeal.

He brightens when he sees me coming towards him, like a starving dog at the promise of food.

"Alex. I was afraid you wouldn't come."

"Mr. Knight." I keep my voice cool.

He grimaces. His suit looks like it needs to be pressed. "Here," he pulls out a thick wad of hundreds and waves it towards me with a shaking hand. "What we agreed. $25,000. It's all there, I promise."

Christ.

"Uh, let's go inside, Mr. Knight. Damien. I only take money for services rendered."

I grab his arm and steer him towards the door.

"Of course." He regains some of his composure, takes a deep breath and combs his fingers through his hair.

We don't speak again until we've reached his apartment.

He goes to the sofa and sits heavily. I waver near the elevator, still thinking I might be able to back out of this and bolt.

Instead I take a deep breath and join him on the couch.

"The dreams are worse?" I ask.

Damien starts to nod, then shakes his head. "Not really worse, but longer, and harder to wake up from. And I've started..." he hesitates. "I guess I've started remembering more when I'm awake. I don't recall having the dreams, but suddenly they'll come back to me. It's like a hell I can't escape." 

Yeah, that's probably the point, I think.

I sigh. "Alright, let's get this over with." I pull out my box of Valerian root pills, but he declines.

"I won't need that this time. I haven't slept in three days."

"Three days?" I repeat. That's a long time to go without sleep.

"You don't understand how bad they are...these dreams."

I decide to risk some truth. Maybe his reaction will tell me something. "Actually, I do," I say. "Do you know what a dream-eater is?"

He shakes his head.

"Well, you're looking at one. I'm a dream-eater. I sort of...absorb...people's bad dreams into myself. When I do that, I experience the dream. So I do know how bad yours are. That's why I didn't want to do this again."

His dark brows draw together, and he regards me with curiosity. "Are you like a shaman or something?" he asks.

"No, I'm not a shaman... I'm a demon."

He laughs. When I don't, the laugh becomes a scoff. "What, like in The Exorcist?"

I roll my eyes. "No. Not like The Exorcist. No demon in their right mind acts like that. I'm a... a kind of incubus, a nightmare demon."

"Uh-huh. Can you show me a demon trick?" He seems amused, the corner of his thin mouth raised in a smile that edges on a sneer.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Light something on fire. Levitate things. Teleport. Shape-shift."

"No, I can't do any of that stuff. I just...eat dreams."

He seems to find that funny for some reason, but then he slumps, and his smile fades. "I don't care what you are, as long as you help me."

In the bedroom, he undresses as he did the first time and crawls under the sheets. I lie on the coverlet, arms at my sides.

He reaches for my hand before I ask, and I close my eyes.

~xxx~

This dream is different. This time I'm not the one on the stone table, being cut up. This time I'm hanging from my wrists, forced to watch while someone else is torn apart.

Someone I care about very much.

It seems to go on forever, and I can't close my eyes, or look away, or block out the screams, half of which are mine.

I beg them to stop, to let me take the place of the person on the table, but they don't. They keep going until that person is utterly destroyed, and I know that there is nothing left of them to bring back.

I want to follow them into that oblivion. But first, I want to destroy the one who did this. My hatred is almost as strong as my grief, and both are tearing me apart in ways that no knife ever could.

The figure standing over the bloody table looks at me and laughs. "Your turn," he says.

~xxx~

Like last time, I wake up soaked in sweat, shaking, and sobbing so hard I can't catch my breath.

Unlike last time, Damien wakes up too. He looks well-rested and refreshed, and a little bit of the hatred I felt in the dream bleeds through and gets directed at him.

He looks shocked at the sight of me and sits up. "Alex? Are you okay?" He's still holding my hand, and I yank it away from his grasp.

Suddenly all I want is to get out of there and never see him again.

I get up, take an unsteady step towards the door, and fall.

"Whoa!" He's up and around the bed, helping me back to my feet. My muscles must've seized up during the dream, and now it feels like I really did run a marathon.

"Get off me," I say, pushing him away, but I almost fall again and he catches me.

"Alex--stop fighting me. I'm trying to help." He lets me go when he sees I've got my balance and steps back.

"You look awful," he says. "Why don't you take a shower. I've got some spare clothes that should fit you."

I don't want to. I just want to leave. But I honestly don't know how far I can get like this. I nod and stumble into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

The hot water feels good, and after fifteen minutes I'm feeling a little more like myself. I have a terrible headache from the crying and from clenching my jaw, and my muscles still feel a little weak, but at least the raw pain has faded to a memory.

Wrapped in a towel, I peek into the bedroom. Damien's not there, but a pair of loose sweats and a shirt are waiting for me on a chair. I pull them on and go out into the main apartment.

Damien is sitting on the couch, looking at something on his laptop.

He glances up when I enter, and something shadowy flickers over his eyes.

The stack of bills is sitting on the table in front of him. I go over and pick it up. The clock tells me we were asleep for four hours this time, so I count out $2,000. The rest I leave.

"Thanks for the clothes," I say. "I'll return them soon."

"Wait," he says, standing. "It's past midnight. Why don't you stay here? My dreams won't bother you if I'm not asleep, right?"

"They won't, but I can't stay." I head towards the elevator.

He follows a few paces behind.

"Will you help me again?" he asks.

"I don't know. I'll have to think about it."

I push the button and wait. Impatiently, I push it again.

Nothing happens.

"Alex..."

I turn slowly, feeling suddenly cold.

"Where's the elevator?" I ask. "Why isn't it coming?"

The light catches on the planes of his angular face, giving him a severe aspect, and his eyes are almost black.

"I'm sorry," he says. "But I can't let you leave."