“Are you okay?” Benjamin asked.

Honestly, I felt gross.  I wore no blood, but I may as well have.  I was most disgusted that I had touched Dave intimately.  The memory of his response sent a chill down my spine.  “I don't know.  I feel dirty.” I answered before my thoughts could go on, “Did you see it all?”

“That's understandable.  I saw it all.” he responded, “Would you like a bath?”

I felt both embarrassed and horrified.  He had seen it all.  I didn't know how to answer.

“I know that you're not physically dirty, but sometimes a bath can help when you feel mentally disgusted,” he encouraged.

“I think that I do,” I agreed, actually relieved by the idea.  Is that him messing with me, or do I actually feel relieved?

He smiled, “I assure you, Jess, I am not messing with you.  I sent for Michael.  He will be here shortly.”

I felt my face heat up in embarrassment.  He was still reading me.

“I will stop reading you now,” he said, and I felt a light snap in my head.

“Why don't you go ahead?” He held his hand out to help me out of bed, “I’m going to talk to Michael, then he will be in shortly.”

I accepted his help and got out of bed, ready to have some alone time with my thoughts.  I grabbed my robe and hurried into the bathroom.

I started the water and got undressed.  Did I really want to go to Dave’s room, or did Benjamin lead me there?  Is he able to manipulate dreams?  How much of that was really me?

I got in the tub, wet my hair, and went about washing it.  Benjamin may have manipulated my dream, but it was evident that I wanted to castrate Dave.  That was all me.  I was smiling as I raised that knife to strike.  I felt only what I could describe as elation.  I shivered.  I was revolted.  I wasn't sure if the revulsion was more because I had touched him, or more because of what I was going to do.  I started scrubbing my hands.  What I should've done first.

Oh no!  I had washed my hair with those hands.  I would just have to do it again.  I rinsed the soap off and put shampoo in my hand again.

“Jess, what are you doing?” Michael asked softly.  I hadn't even heard him come into the bathroom.

“Washing my hair,” I answered.

“But, you already washed your hair,” he said hesitantly.  He was sitting on the floor next to the bathtub.

“Not good enough,” I said, scrubbing my scalp.  I rinsed, then put the conditioner in again.

“We need to talk about what happened,” he said cautiously.

“What about it?” I asked, reaching for the bar of soap.  He grabbed it before I could get it.

“You're clean enough, Jess,” he said.

“No.  I touched him, and it was gross,” I told him.

“It was just a dream,” he said.

“I still feel disgusting,” I admitted, “why do I feel so gross?”

“Probably because it felt so real, but I assure you that it wasn't,” he answered.

“But what if it had been?  What if I actually do that?” I asked.  I was terrified of sleepwalking again.

“It won't happen,” he answered with finality.

He seemed so sure.  I stopped and looked at him.  “How can you be so sure?  Are you going to handcuff me to the bed again?” I asked, through gritted teeth.

“Because I have ordered Dave's execution,” he answered matter-of-factly.  As if ordering someone’s death was an everyday occurrence.  My mouth had dropped open, and I was unable to close it.  I was stunned.  Such disregard for human life.  Who are these people?  Are they even people?

“Exec-c-cution,” I finally stuttered out.  I hadn't stuttered since I was ten.

His eyes narrowed at me, “Well I can’t very well let you do it.  You're liable to cut your fingers off.  Benjamin stopped the dream because he thought that that would be too traumatic.”

What?  I thought that Benjamin stopped it because what I was doing was even too horrific for him.  I was too shocked to speak.  If I remembered correctly, I would've been more than happy to lose my fingers.  Dave probably wouldn't have felt the same about losing his body part.  Then what?  Would I have just stood and watched him bleed out from the gaping hole in his crotch?

I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.  I swallowed the large lump in my throat.  “When?” I asked.

“He is set to be beheaded later this evening,” he answered, “perhaps seeing his execution will cure your sleepwalking issues.”

What!  Beheading!  My sleepwalking issues had suddenly become infinitesimal.

“I can't go,” I whispered desperately, “I can't watch that.”

His eyes narrowed again, “You can, and you will.”  Is that some sort of command?  I couldn't possibly watch someone’s head get chopped off.  What is this, the Dark Ages?  We use lethal injection now.  For murderers!
“I can't,” I repeated, in unchartered territory.  I hadn't outright defied him so far.

His eyes flashed orange, then red.  Did his eyes just change color?  “I’ll just leave you to get out,” he said, voice reeking of disappointment.  He stood and then walked out.  I jumped when the door slammed closed on his way out.

I was left astonished, not knowing what just happened.  Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me.  Maybe the tricks didn't just happen in my dreams, but they were now also bleeding into the real world.  “Real-world,” I chuckled to myself.  That's a joke.  What about this world is real?  I was pretty sure that I would eventually wake up after my dreams had sufficiently tortured me and go back to my regular boring life, wheelchair and all.

Then my chuckle turned into a laugh.  Then I couldn't stop laughing.  Do people laugh uncontrollably in their dreams?  I’m sure some do.  I do, because I’m a certifiable loon.  I went on laughing, for I don't know how long, not even caring who heard.  He's probably got a room full of people out there waiting.  I laughed harder.

Then my laughing began to subside, and I was just exhausted.  I breathed for a few minutes, then decided that it was time to get out of the cooling water.  I got out and began toweling off.  It was time to face the music.

I just wasn't going to go.  What was he going to do?  Was he going to drag me screaming?  If he was really adamant about it, he would have to.  Then I would just close my eyes.  He couldn't make me watch, could he?

I shook the thought off and put the robe on.  Surely, he would see how much it upsets me and backpedal.  I hadn't seen him be unreasonable so far.  In fact, he had proven to be very reasonable.  I brushed my hair and put it up in a wet bun, then padded over to the bathroom door.  I put my hand on the doorknob and paused to listen.  I didn't hear any talking or any noise at all.  Did he leave?

I took a deep breath, let it out, and opened the door.  He sat alone in the armchair that Benjamin had occupied earlier, with his back to me.  He didn't turn to face me, just said, “Jessica, get dressed, then we need to talk.”  I didn't respond.  I just went straight into the closet.

I shut the door and went to my dresser.  A feeling of unease gripped me.  My hands shook as I pulled my underwear drawer out.  He used my full name, which he almost never does.  I quickly put my bra and panties on, then pulled out a pair of blue jeans and a pink t-shirt from the closet.  I put them on, then shaking harder, I pulled a pair of socks out of the dresser.  I considered sitting on the floor and putting on my socks and tennis shoes.  Am I that much of a coward?  Yes, I am.

I started to sit down on the floor, and then I heard, “Jessica, come.”  I froze.  I was trembling all over now.  Why?  Why was I like this?  How did this happen?  I went from comforting him to fearing him within just a few hours.  Is this fear, though?  Mostly, it's an overwhelming sense of dread.

I picked up my socks and shoes from where I had just dropped them and slowly opened the closet door.  He hadn't moved from his perch facing the wall.

“Come sit, Jess,” he used the shortened form of my name again, putting me a little at ease.  I slowly walked to the sofa and sat down facing him.  I just sat there, looking down at my shoes, not sure what to do.  “Would you like to put your shoes on?  Go ahead,” he said, with a softer tone.  I hesitated, then put my socks and shoes on.  Then I just sat and stared down at my hands.

“Jess, I know you don't…..” he started.

“Please don't make me!” I blurted out, “I don't know if I could bear to watch another killing.”

“Please let me explain.  I really need you to see this through from my position,” he requested.

I was silent for a moment, then, “Okay.  Explain.”

“I normally wouldn't ask you to do this, but the other victims,” he started.

“Other victims?  What other victims?” I interrupted.  Who is he talking about?

“Jess, we are overflowing with people who want to go home but can't,” he said, “I am going to have to move us to larger accommodations. There are so many.  Cameron has women sleeping on the floor.  Benjamin will probably have to take some on.  I will probably have to!”  He was clearly upset and getting more upset the more he spoke, “I may have to turn some of the existing members just to support what has been done.”

“Oh,” I said, “I knew that Dave recruited people for Devlin….”

“This is far beyond what he did for Devlin,” Michael continued, “he was keeping women in cages in a storage facility on the grounds.  I doubt that Devlin even knew, much less approved of it.”

“What?” I asked, getting angry, “In cages?”

“Jess, he even brought in a child.  I have no idea what to do with her.  This is no place for a child.  I know for a fact that Devlin wouldn't have condoned that,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“A child!” I was starting to agree with the beheading.  “Why would he bring in a child?” I asked, “What purpose would that serve?”

“I don't know.  All I keep hearing is that he was obsessed with fathering a child,” he said, “I know that he assaulted the women.  I don't know if he assaulted her.”

I was horrified.  “He may have tried to get her pregnant?” I asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

“We don't know.  She won't let any of us near her, much less speak to us.  Not even Benjamin,” he answered.
“Did he succeed in getting anyone pregnant?” I asked.

“That's what I don't understand.  Dave is infertile,” he said, “That is a trade-off for joining.  He lost that ability.”  I wondered if I would become infertile.  “He must've been trying to prove us wrong.”

“I want to go,” I whispered.

He breathed a sigh, “Thank you, Jess.  The women don't trust us men.  It is my hope that your being there will improve relations.”

“I want to see the little girl later.  I’ll need a doll,” I said.

“That would be great!” he seemed so relieved.  I wish I was relieved.  Instead, I felt sick with uneasiness. “Benjamin had suggested that you try.  She may talk to you,” he went on.

“Does she talk to the other women?” I asked.

“We don't know.  They won't tell us,” he answered.

“Okay.  Maybe they'll talk to me,” I said, suddenly feeling a wave of fatigue.  I put my hand to my head.

“Jess, are you okay?” he asked, concern in his tone.

“I don't know.   I’m just suddenly very tired,” I whispered.

He got up and came to me.  “I’ll help you to the bed,” he helped me up and put his arm around me.  He helped me to the bed, and I laid down.  He took my shoes off and climbed in next to me.

“You just rest for a little while.  I’ll have them bring us lunch to our room,” he said.  He called it our room.  A dynamic had changed, but I was too tired to explore it further.

“Okay,” I mumbled, “what's wrong with me?”  Another wave of fatigue hit me, and I suddenly couldn't keep my eyes open.  I fell asleep.