“I don’t know,” said the other wearily. “You see, I never dreamed more than one day at a stretch before. But tonight it’s been going on and on. It’s gone way past the time when I ought to have woken up. But I don’t seem to be able to wake up. I’ve tried... My God, suppose I don’t wake up! Suppose I never can wake up? Suppose I never can get back, and I have to go on and on with this, being Big Bill Holbrook—”
“You could take a trip to Glendale,” Simon suggested gravely, “and try waking Faulks up.”
Holbrook-Faulks stared at him with oddly unfocused eyes.
“I can’t,” he said huskily. “I thought of that — once. But I couldn’t make myself do it. I... I’m scared... of what I might find... Suppose—”
He broke off, his pupils dilated with the formless horror of a glimpse of something that no mind could conceive.
Simon roused him again, gently: “So you took the jewel—”
Holbrook snapped out of his reverie.
“Yeah, and I lammed out for this cabin. Dawn was supposed to meet me here. But I guess I can’t control all these characters. Say,” he asked suddenly, “who do you suppose I am? Faulks or Holbrook?”
“I suggest you ask your mother, old boy.”
“This ain’t funny. I mean, who do you really suppose I am? Andy Faulks is asleep and dreaming me but I’ve got all his memories, so am I a projection of Andy or am I me and him both? None of these other characters have any more memories than they need.”