Do you know something?

I�ve just been scared witless.

I�m writing in the middle of the night now as well, instead of the morning, hence the lack of grumbles about morning sub-zero temperatures. I just woke up from an awful nightmare. It was weird� it was like a story was being played out in my head, like a video or something. I could watch, but not interact with the dream.

As it was, I saw Chester in the dream � he was the dream. His bleached blonde hair, his lip piercing, and his glasses, which he rarely wears. And some things in that dream were not happy things.

I�ll not go into too much detail, but here�s the gist of things. I saw two different forms of Chester in the dream.

The first Chester was only young, a very frightened, na�ve little boy. His dark hair � for it was not bleached blonde back then, it seems � falling softly around his face, giving him an unearthly aura. This Chester suffered badly. The dream skipped the unnecessary parts, but I saw enough. I saw Chester, being pinned down whilst his clothes were roughly torn from his body. I saw Chester cowering and crying in fear and pain. And I saw something I wish I had not. I had watched Chester as he was sexually abused.

I had cried out and lunged at his attacker, but of course had been unable to touch it (I refuse to give it a gender, so it the person shall remain). It was very strange though, because as I stood nearby the naked, bruised and sobbing Chester, I whispered soft comforting words to him, and it was as though he could hear me, he looked up, directly at me. I took that Chester into my arms and hugged him, wanting to take away all the hurt, all the pain, all the torture he had been subjected to. I was dimly aware that Chester was the only thing in this world I could interact with � all else I merely passed through or could not hear me.

The second Chester was older, but still in his teenage years. And I�m not giving details on this. All I�ll say is I watched as Chester took drugs. Cocaine, if I remember rightly. And this Chester spoke to me. He confessed to me that yes, it was cocaine, yes; he knew he shouldn�t be taking it, but no, he couldn�t stop. He was addicted.

And then he said something which struck me as odd, in the dream scenario, even as he morphed into the Chester I knew so well. He said:

�So, Mike, now you know what happened to me, and why I don�t speak.�

It was at that instant I woke up in a sweaty heap, the sheets tangled around my body. And so I had to write down what I saw in the dream. I have a strange feeling someone�s watching me. I look over to the side of my bunk, and nearly have a heart attack. In the dark, something is looking at me from over the edge of my bunk.

My first instinct was to scream, but the creature darted forward and slapped a hand over my mouth, so it came out more as a strangled squeak. At that moment, I smelled the familiar scent and realised just who the creature was. He released me and sat on the end of my bunk, opposite me, whilst I tried to get my breath back.

�Jesus, Chester, don�t do that!� I chided him in a harsh whisper, trying not to wake the others up. I could only just see him in the darkness of the room. He was looking rather sheepish, and my heart went out to him. �Ah, forget it. No harm done.�

My heart begged to differ as it pounded in my chest.

Chester inched forward, and then tucked his arms around me. In my head, I heard a soft voice asking me something.

�Did the dream help?�

I looked at Chester as I hugged him close, more for my own comfort than his. Was that him? The voice matched the one from my dream. Had Chester spoken? Then I realised the voice was in my mind. I looked at Chester, drawing back this time. Chester nodded.

�Yes Mike, it�s me. Did it help?� his voice asked again, inside my mind.

I didn�t respond for a long moment. Then I replied.

�Yes. But it didn�t half frighten me.�

�I�m sorry.�

I lay back down and closed my eyes. �I�ll be fine.�

I was aware that Chester hadn�t budged off my bunk. In fact, he had moved closer to my body. I wondered what he was doing before I felt his disentangle the sheets from my still sweat-soaked skin and rearrange them over me again. I breathed a soft sigh of appreciation. I felt Chester�s hot breath on my neck.

Annoyed, I rolled onto my back and eyeballed him, giving his a passable death glare. He seemed unfazed.

�Can I help you?� I hissed softly. Chester just lay down next to me, on top of the covers. I didn�t get it. But it seemed Chester wanted to stay with me tonight. Shrugging, I rolled back onto my side. �You can get under the covers if you want.�

I felt a cold breeze run over my back as Chester lifted the covers, but that was quickly replaced with the heat from Chester�s body as he snuggled closer to me, tucking the sheets around us to keep the cold out. I gave a brief thought to what the other guys would say in the morning, but that fled as drowsiness swept over me.

Like I said before, I don�t understand Chester. And I doubt I ever will.

I was being daft. I had been thinking of Chester when I had fallen asleep, it was only understandable that I dreamt about him.

But why was Chester awake when I jolted from the dream back to consciousness? I didn�t know.

The others were waking up now, so the stick was about to be hurled. I didn�t care. I yawned softly and Chester stirred. Had I woken him? No, he was waking of his own accord.

�Morning Chester,� I said softly. He opened one eye and peeked at me in a manner that seemed comical at the time. I wanted to laugh but I didn�t. Chester opened his other eyes and slowly pushed himself upright. I released him from my embrace and followed suit.

�What�s that about, man?� Brad�s voice asked.

�Brad,� I replied, �Don�t ask.�

�I already did,� he said, a wolfish grin on his face. I shook my head, laughing lightly.

�No answer will you get, so ask Chester and not Mike,� I said. Speaking in the third person drives me crazy, but it was worth it to irk Brad so. I carefully climbed down and went to take the cover off the mirror.

In a split second Chester was beside me, slapping my hand away from the fabric, giving me a dirty look. I stepped backwards, holding my hands up in an attempt to pacify him.

�Hey, take it easy. If you don�t want me to uncover it, that�s fine.� My hand stung. Chester�s statement softened, and he took my hand, the one he had just struck, examining it. The skin was reddening slightly from the blow, but was otherwise unharmed. Chester ran one hand over mine, then released it. The soft touch of Chester�s skin had soothed the stinging sensation momentarily.

I had a vague feeling that Chester and me were going to become good friends.

Not a lot happened after the morning wake-up session, well, nothing of worth. Brad was sitting in the doorway (the door was open) and I was watching the other laze about, with nothing better to do. Chester was tracing shapes on his sheets with his fingers � he�s back on his own bunk now, and I�m on the floor next to it, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He stops and his gaze catches mine. I look away quickly just as Brad jumps up.

�Psych alert!� he hisses as the door bangs shut. This means a psychiatrist is on the way to pester us. I stood up and hid my stuff. I�ll write later.

Sorry about earlier but if the psychiatrist had seen the notes about my dream something drastic might have happened. I don�t want anyone to know about that dream, and Chester seems to feel the same way. I haven�t heard his voice in my head again since last night, but his actions speak louder than words can. Oh, and for once the psychiatrist didn�t pressurise us. In fact, he gave us a deck of cards to play with. We still have them, and that�s what�s keeping Joe, Rob, Brad and Phoenix amused. Me, I�m just watching, and I presume Chester is too, or sleeping. No, wait, I can hear his sheets move. He�s awake.

His head appears over the side of my bunk a minute later, his eyes wide with curiosity. He wants to know what I�m doing. So, I beckon to him to climb up here and once he does, hand him this notebook.

He reads each page swiftly, and then hands the notebook back to me. His eyes seem to pose a million questions, none of which I can pick out and answer. I hear Joe�s voice saying �Blackjack,� but it doesn�t really register. All I can seem to focus on are Chester�s deep, haunted eyes. God, I sound like a character from a sappy romance novel. Oh no, I really am losing it!

Chester breaks the gaze, and looks down at his hands. I say nothing, and neither does he. We sit together on my bunk and watch the blackjack game going on nearby, neither of us particularly desiring to take part.

Chester writing here. Mike�s shaken up. He�s too scared to write. He dreamed of me again, I know he has. He also awoke in the middle of the night again, sweat-soaked like last night. But this time I wasn�t awake to greet his need for comfort. I was semi-conscious myself, and what awoke me was Mike�s scream.

As soon as I heard the cry I was wide awake, and I saw what had made Mike scream. The cover had fallen from the mirror, and the mirror itself� it wasn�t a reflective surface any more. It didn�t show a mocking duplicate of the room. Instead, it showed a horrific scene. It was our room, true, but it was so different, it looked like something right out of a gory horror movie. The image in the mirror was entirely red, blood red, although the amount and shade differed in places on the image. At some points it seemed like the blood was fresh, at others that it had dried and gone a dark brownish colour. I panicked myself, but reacted with a cool, collected attitude that surprises me even now.

I jumped from my bed and grabbed the cloth that once covered the mirror � even in the dark I could see its inky outline on the floor � and quickly concealed the mirror with it. Then I clawed my way onto Mike�s bunk. I missed three of the four rungs on the ladder leading up to his bunk � I just leapt onto the top one and then onto the bunk next to him.

Mike himself was sobbing in a mixture of fear and hysteria. The others were awake now, but I had hidden the mirror too quickly, so they did not see what it was that had terrified Mike so much. I pulled Mike down onto my bunk and held him close to me, trying to comfort and reassure him in some way. Mike just slumped against my shoulder, still sobbing. A large patch of wetness soon formed on my shoulder but that was unimportant. A wet shoulder is nothing compared to the well-being of a friend.

And I do consider Mike as my friend. My only friend.

The others are asking questions, but Mike�s too hysterical to answer and I cannot. Yet they know better than to summon the nurses. I have heard stories of one girl in here whose room mate summoned the nurses when she had had a panic attack much like the one Mike was having. According to Brad and Mike both, the girl was never seen again. None of us dared to risk that happening to Mike.

Mike�s settled down a little now, but he�s still afraid, and won�t speak. He rocks back and forth on my bunk. I daren�t let him out of my sight, so I gently coax him to lie down and wrap him in my sheets. I slide under them with him, and hold his body against mine. Almost immediately he settles down, and within a few short minutes he is asleep once again. I am not far of joining him, so I�ll finish up here. I think Mike will probably write again tomorrow morning. He should have calmed down sufficiently by then.

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