Cynthia awoke near two o’clock in the morning, got dressed, grabbed her coat, boots, gloves, hat and purse and walked out to her car. Walking out of the lobby she stepped cautiously into two and half feet of snow and sank. Plodding her way towards her car she wrapped her scarf even tighter as she uncharacteristically said a prayer for her safe arrival. Sr. Mary was depending on her and she wouldn’t let her down.

By four that morning the snow plows had come out of their hives, buzzing busily down the main highways ands streets making her passageway a little easier. At five o’clock she pulled up to the commons, a winter crushed park with vigilant Christmas lights filigreed throughout the trees, and began driving the belt around the park. It was slow going despite the fact that the road had been plowed earlier because of the icy conditions. Despite that, she passed a fair number of cars at each turn, waiting for the traffic lights on each corner to change. It was unendurable. When would Prof. Taslim show up with Sr. Mary and make the exchange? Cynthia wondered. He might not have woken up as early as she, but from what she understood of their conversation he had been napping with Sr. Mary in the back of his car in a garage not far from his home when he entered her dream.

The thought of her sister tied up and under that maniac’s control made her burn with rage. Sr. Mary may be outmatched by Manu but Cynthia understood Manu now. He had unwittingly given her the key to his undoing. And then she also had the Verve. In time, she would be able to use it, she was convinced not only in her dreams but in real life as well. Manu might take advantage of her now, Cynthia bit her lip at the thought, but he would never take her fully - for that, it was true, he needed her consent. She’d keep a part of herself always just out of reach -enough of a temptation to cause Manu to value her alive more than dead. She had played this game before with Eric, allowing him the privilege of controlling her mind as well as her body. She had learned what a man like that wanted and how to play the game. Now she would play it to Sr. Mary’s advantage. If all else failed, she knew now that Ed loved her and hoped he would step in for her as he had before, cleansing her of Manu’s presence if she requested it. The fact that he might consider it her karma was a gamble she was willing to make.

She circled the commons again keeping a watch out for a man huddled with a woman, undoubtedly concealing a weapon of some sort. There were few pedestrians at this time of day as the shops weren’t open until later. As she passed the middle of the block near the entrance to the subway "T" station she saw a man coming down the sidewalk facing her but across the street. The beard and spectacles were enough to confirm her expectations. Prof. Taslim had arrived with Sr. Mary.

Cynthia pulled the car to the side of the road, illegally parking her car and leaving the keys in the ignition with the engine running as she got out to wave the Professor over. Sr. Mary had a blanket wrapped around her as she struggled trying to pull away from the professor at every turn, but he dragged her along anyway. Seeing Cynthia wave, the professor hurried his charge to go towards the crosswalk that would allow them to cross safely. Sr. Mary had also seen Cynthia and now she understood what was happening.

"No! No!!!!" Sr. Mary began to yell putting up a bigger fight. "Cynthia get out of this dream! He’s lying... It’s all a dream. He just wants to possess your soul!"

The words echoed faintly across the wide intersection but Prof. Taslim refused to take notice. There were few people here to hear her screaming anyway.

"It’s all right!" Cynthia cupped her hands and yelled back. "We’re not dreaming, this is for real. Just do as he says for now."

"NO!!" Sr. Mary yanked her arm slicing a gash of red against her forearm as she finally got loose and rushed across the street.

"Stop!" Cynthia yelled pointing holding herself from charging into the street herself. "The car!"

A car had come down the street unawares of the scene taking place in front of it. The inexperienced driver slammed on the brakes trying to avoid the person running into the street. The tires slid forcing the backend of the car to tailspin in the ice, knocking into Sr. Mary full force and pinning her against the nearby lamp post.

"Bridget!" Cynthia yelled as she crossed over to where her sister now lay crumpled in a bloody heap. Prof. Taslim heard the sound of a nearby cruiser rushing slowly towards the accident. Dropping the blanket and the knife, Prof. Taslim crossed the street swiftly towards Cynthia’s still running car. He got in and left his prize for another day. Cynthia stooped over Sr. Mary hoping she would make it. Sr. Mary’s eyelids began to droop as death approached her.

"It’s a dream," Sr. Mary murmured to Cynthia in explanation. "It’s all an illusion anyway."

Cynthia picked up Sr. Mary’s wrist searching for a pulse. Then Sr. Mary let out a sigh as her spirit left her body. Cynthia gave up the search for life. Her sister was dead.

"You’re right, Bridget," Cynthia cried as tears started to fall. "But why can’t we have pleasanter dreams?"

Ed woke up later than usual. His guides had worked hard all night trying to repair the damage done by last night’s encounter. He groaned as he felt the vestiges of the charred areas left on his skin. He tried to get up and fell back to the bed in pain. Gritting his teeth, he blocked out the pain as best as he could as he gingerly took the covers off and inspected his body. The whole left side had a series of second degree burns grilled on it, some of it healing already as scabs formed over the baby new skin underneath.

"Looks like pan-fried trout for breakfast today, Ara" Ed quipped.

Ara’s form solidified before him radiating a warmth of heavenly light. Mishra’s more masculine presence followed soon afterwards.

"Help me over to the bathroom, will you?" Ed asked his guides.

A cushion of billowing energy lifted him from the bed and moved him into the adjoining bathroom setting him gently on his feet. Ed leaned into the mirror hoping it wouldn’t look as bad as it felt. He was wrong. It looked worse. Pussed up blisters and scabs had homesteaded on his left profile for what look like a good long time. Blood trickled down the blisters that had broken as he slept. Half of him resembled a Cajun blackened fish while the rest of him remained more humanly oriented. Sighing, Ed picked up the nearest towel, soaked it in warm water and soap and began the painful task of cleaning himself up. Then the phone rang.

"Aaaargh! I don’t think I can make it to the phone," Ed admitted. "Could you please bring it over here, Mishra?"

The phone floated as close to the bathroom as the long cord would take it. Ed closed the gap, clenching his teeth as he answered the phone, "Hello?"

"It’s me, Cynthia." Cynthia replied.

"Oh."

A long pause followed as he waited for the reason of her call.

"I need a ride..." Cynthia began.

"Don’t think I can help you," Ed cut her off short. "What’s wrong with your own car?"

"Prof. Taslim took it. The police haven’t found him, yet." Cynthia answered breaking down sobbing. "Sr. Mary’s dead, Ed! He as good as killed her himself!"

Hearing her crying made Ed regret his hasty refusal. Years of practice in giving of himself took over and he shouldered the added burden easily. It didn’t really matter that she might be leading him into another trap. He understood the value of keeping an open heart. It wasn’t just his duty but his right as a healer. He reached inside himself and found that piece of him that reflected God’s love and brought it out towards the light and shone it towards Cynthia. She would receive his healing touch and his forgiveness as he was destined to do. And in a way, he decided, he should thank her for the opportunity of completing his karma and perfecting his love so magnificently.

"I’ll come and get you," Ed said. "Just don’t expect any Prince Charming after last night."

"You are a prince, Ed."

"No, I mean, I’ve taken on a whole new look," Ed tried to prepare her.

"What?"

"I’m burnt, but not too badly."

"Burnt?! Oh, God! It’s all my fault." Cynthia wailed over the phone "Everything’s my fault."

"It’s karma, Cynthia. I deserved it. I don’t blame you and neither should you. I’ll be down in about an hour."

"Probably longer. The storm crew has just finished clearing out the streets but they’re still icy. Be careful."

Having taken down where to meet Cynthia, Ed hung up. Ara and Mishra interfered only enough to help Ed gain the strength he needed to get dressed and go down to his car.

"The cold will help his burns feel better," Mishra tried to look at the positive side as Ed left to get Cynthia.

Cynthia hung her coat up in her apartment as she motioned Ed to give her his coat, hat and scarf which he had kept tightly wound about his face so that only a little of the scarring could be seen. He delicately unwound the scarf as he tried to prepare her for the sight.

"It’s ugly," Ed admitted his voice muffled through the wool.

Cynthia reached over and helped him with the scarf stopping abruptly as it fell to the side revealing the grotesque disfiguration.

"I’ll never forgive Manu for what he did to you and Sr. Mary!" Cynthia cried unable to keep her eyes level with his. She sank to her knees the scarf still in her hands as she buried her face in shame at her guilt.

Touching her shoulders gently he helped her to the sofa where Ed also gratefully sank back on its support. They sat there together in shock unable to say or do anything for a while.

"I want you to forgive Manu and Prof. Taslim," Ed commented finally. "You mustn’t seek revenge on them for my sake."

"Ok, not for your sake. For Sr. Mary’s then."

"Is that what Sr. Mary would want you to do?" Ed asked gently.

"I won’t forgive him. He took away my sister." Cynthia replied. "What about his karma? Don’t I get an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth?"

"You didn’t own your sister," Ed sighed. "What happened between them is part of their karma not yours - unless you choose to seek revenge. Is that what you were doing there with them? Trying to get revenge?"

Cynthia didn’t answer.

"Do you need to make arrangements for Sr. Mary?" Ed asked breaking the silence again.

"The Maryknoll sisters will take care of all that," Cynthia replied.

"Good." Another long pause. "You need to think about yourself right now."

"I can’t think. All I can do is hate. I hate him."

"Today’s Saturday," Ed reminded her.

"I know - Sunday is the last day to reach the seventh level. Who cares?"

"I care. " Ed reached over and hugged her. "The tower is dangerous as it is. Please, don’t add hate to your burden."

"Take me out then. You can do it." Cynthia turned to Ed.

"I can no longer be your guide," Ed admitted. "Prof. Taslim may have already escaped the Tower. I have to try and stop him from manipulating this reality."

"He hasn’t. He told me he wanted to get to the seventh level."

"Then I have to try and heal as best as I can before I face him on the seventh level. You are guideless, I’m afraid."

"No." Cynthia acknowledged. "I have the sage of Sheba, a part of me I’ve remembered. That will guide me."

"Oh?"

"I dreamt it after you left. And... I thought I brought something back - a flower. Is that possible, Ed? Can I bring something back from my dreams into physical reality?"

"Anything’s possible," Ed answered her carefully. "I brought back these didn’t I?" He gestured to the burn marks imprinted on his face.

"But is that what the seventh level is all about? Anything you want or desire fulfilled by wishing it so?"

"There are some desires that can’t be materialized through wishes. You have to earn them." Ed said mysteriously.

Cynthia knew Ed would not reveal anything about the Tower unless she discovered it herself.

"Will it heal, Ed? Will you be, be... scarred?" Cynthia forced herself to look at his disfigurement.

"Pretty funny if it didn’t, huh? A healer who couldn’t heal himself. Boy, patients would just flock to me," Ed tried to make a joke.

Cynthia didn’t press him further. They spent a while in silence each with their own thoughts. Cynthia just wanted the warmth of his presence that continued to flow out of him in generous doses as they had spoken. Something deep within her remembered what it was like to be the giver instead of the receiver as she felt the wafting breeze rise within her and comfort Ed in return.

"You’re learning, " Ed brightened as he felt the gush of healing warmth spread over him.

She smiled at him pleased at his appreciation of her new found talent.

"Stay with me tonight?" She asked.

"Just to sleep, perchance to dream," Ed quoted tiredly. And although it was two o’clock in the afternoon they both fell asleep on the couch called to the dream by forces greater than their own.

Cynthia awoke to a nightmare of hatred and tears. Blackness surrounded her as she shuffled searching for a light. She didn’t know where she was but she was beginning to think she was dreaming. Finally she approached a child, relieved to see another soul within the vast darkness that surrounded her. Feeling pity for the small child who was just as disconsolate as she felt, she reached down to try to help her.

"What’s wrong, honey?" She tried to get the child’s attention but it was as if the little girl couldn’t sense her.

The little girl continued to amble through the darkness crying to herself as she too searched for something familiar in the darkness.

A pang of fear crept through Cynthia as she realized the horror of this condition. Wherever she was, it was an existence of hopelessness and cold. She wouldn’t be able to help anyone and no one would be able to help her. She was lost, like all of the other wandering confused souls.

"Sr. Mary?" Cynthia called in the dark knowing she wouldn’t be heard. "Sr. Mary!"

As she continued her aimless trek through the darkness she came finally came upon her sister.

"It’s another dream," Sr. Mary commented to no one in particular. "But where has that madman gone to?"

"Sr. Mary!" Cynthia ran towards her. "I thought you died."

Sr. Mary didn’t see Cynthia whose hands swept throughout the ghostly figure of Sr. Mary as she tried to embrace her. However, she stopped her monologue for a second as she peered in Cynthia’s direction intently as if hearing something.

"I died?" Sr. Mary asked the wind that had howled Cynthia’s words at her. "Of course, I’m still alive. Stuck in this tower, but still alive. It was all an illusion. Just like this."

Dismissing the odd notions of the wind, Sr. Mary continued to walk through the darkness her rosary beads coming out her habit as she began a Hail Mary.

Cynthia watched her depart as she realized her impotence. It was a valley of hopelessness. Or maybe it was the valley of the shadow of death that she was in, like the Bible mentioned. It was too late to become religious now, Cynthia chided herself. She wasn’t in a dream. The dream had vanished. So now she had to be on another level. Wherever she was, all Cynthia could think was how badly she wanted Prof. Taslim to suffer as her sister was now suffering, confused and alone. As she felt the hate well up within her, her glow started to fade and melt into the shadows making her wonder how much power a vast ocean of darkness might have. It was a seductive thought which she let linger in her mind as she drifted aimlessly on the tar waters in her dream.

Ed, Ara and Mishra took their positions at the doorway to the Tower, two sentinel griffins and a decrepit old man. Unlike the rest of the levels, the last level reflected the name of the game very aptly. A white quartz stone tower rose stubbornly like a weed planted in a bed of billowing candytuft. The first circular tower rose 20 feet into the air to be topped by a slightly smaller tower in a telescoping fashion resembling a seven tiered wedding cake. At the very top a lighthouse tower crowned the edifice. Its presence, though unlit, seemed an idiosyncrasy in such a sunny environment. At the front, a set of veined marble stairs led to a large opening arch with an inscription carved around the circumference. It read: "The First Level - Keep Your Eyes Open."

Jasmine appeared within the arch, her own guides to her side. She took note of where she was and at Ed’s blackened condition.

"It’s not Sunday yet, right? I don’t hear the bells..." Jasmine asked peering above her towards the brass bell dangling on the right side of the arch. There were two such bells on every level, one to the left and one to the right of the opening arches at each level. Twelve bells were spread throughout the first six levels with none on the final lighthouse level.

"We need your help," Ed shook his head in the negative. "Manu’s on his way here. He’ll probably show up tonight. I need to save my strength. Can you keep a watch out and call me into the seventh level if he shows up?"

"He did that to you?!!! Has he’s gotten that powerful?"

"Don’t try to fight him, " Ed warned. "I’m just asking you to keep a watch out and signal me if he does show up."

"Can’t the guides stop him?" Jasmine didn’t like the turn of events.

"It’s karma," Ed explained.

"Ugh." Jasmine stood for a moment debating his request. "OK, just until tomorrow. Then you take over."

"Thanks. I have to anyway. Tomorrow's Sunday."

With his warning siren in place, Ed drifted off into a dreamless sleep while Ara and Mishra worked feverishly sewing his astral essence back together, light strand by light strand, pulling out the dark threads that had wanted to suffocate the light in darkness.

Several hours later Cynthia awoke with a start as she managed to push herself finally out of the dream. Ed was jostled awake as Cynthia gasped for air. It had been frightening to live in the darkness. It had lied to her about the sweetness of its oblivion. It had been powerful all right, powerful enough to make her forget herself and her desire to live. But, just as the darkness had seeped into her heart she began to feel the effects on her physical body as her survival instincts took hold. She had fought with a will to live so strong the darkness couldn’t overtake her. She had loosened its hold long enough to wake up in her physical container but unable to move. She was paralyzed. She felt herself suffocating again and the fear swept over her in tidal waves of sticky tar. She wanted to scream but she couldn’t voice her terror. Then something had let loose and she had jolted awake.

Ed took one look at her and sighed.

"I warned you to let go of the hate. The fourth level is miserable for those people without love."

"How do you know where I was?" She snapped back.

"You’re still a part of me, even without the link."

"I suppose now you’ll say I deserved it."

Ed didn’t reply. Instead he stood up and headed into the kitchen to fix dinner. As his feet landed on the floor, he felt his former springiness rebound within him. Ara and Mishra had done a lot in the little time allotted. His hand came up absentmindedly towards his cheek. There were more scabs now and less open wounds. He probably looked a mess, he thought, so he decided against checking in the mirror.

"I saw Sr. Mary," Cynthia said as she watched Ed move into the kitchen.

He stopped and sat back down.

"Did she see you?"

"No," Cynthia said thoughtfully. "She was very confused and kept insisting she wasn’t dead."

"Hmmm... Not a good sign," Ed commented as he got up again to look through the cabinets. "She might be earthbound."

"Earthbound?"

Finding the peanut butter and jelly, he started searching for a loaf of bread. "Yep," Ed continued absentmindedly, "she could be wandering the spirit realms in the lower astral planes unawares that she is dead. She has too many ties to this planet to be able to release it."

"What?" Cynthia stared at Ed as he calmly spread the peanut butter out with a knife. "Are you saying she’s not in heaven?"

"No, " the knife came down as Ed realized the seriousness of the subject, "I’m saying it’s possible she’s trapped in the lower astral realms."

"A ghost?"

"Possibly a ghost."

"Is there any way to be sure where she is right now? Can you get in touch with her?" Cynthia eyed Ed with an accustomed suspicion that hew was, as always, hiding something.

"Me? In my condition? I can’t." Ed reasoned with Cynthia. "If I take off trying to find Sr. Mary Manu will get away."

"What about me?"

"You, young lady, have only tonight and tomorrow night to make it through the tower. And from what I can tell you’ll end up drowning in the Sea of Shadows before you ever learn to swim. Hardly, the lifesaver Sr. Mary needs right now, don’t you think?"

Cynthia sat back down on the couch, folded her arms and grimly admitted defeat: "I hate you Ed Bishop."

"Now if you could only hate your enemies the way you "hate" me," Ed laughed as he took a bite out of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich he had just finished making.

"My enemy is not my teacher," Cynthia retorted.

"Are you sure?" Ed asked his mouth full.

Cynthia ignored the bait.

"I’ll tell you one thing - going through three more levels in two nights is impossible. And if I do manage to make it to the seventh level, I still have to find the exit. Not to mention that I’ll be flying like crazy never knowing when the dream is going to fade away into nothingness. I’ll be like Sr. Mary - trapped in the tower not knowing that Sunday is over and that I just never woke up."

"Oh, no! You’ll know when Sunday is over. Don’t worry about that. If you’re in the seventh level searching you’ll know when the clock has struck midnight."

"There’s a clock?"

"Bell towers."

"Oh. What if I’m not on the seventh level?"

"You’ll hear it throughout the entire tower of dreams. Don’t worry you can’t miss the signal."

"Great."

Ed came over and put the other sandwich on the coffee table in front of her. "I’m going to bed."

"Now?" Cynthia asked.

"I have work to do on the seventh level."

"Why don’t you just search Manu out before he reaches the seventh level?"

"For what?"

"To kill him, of course!" Cynthia shot back angrily.

"I told you before you can’t kill a spirit."

"Yes, I could kill Prof. Taslim’s body but Manu would still be headed towards the seventh level. Would you rather he try to take possession by force? Then we wouldn’t know who our enemy was."

"He can’t. He said he needed my consent."

"And you’ve never been tricked into agreeing to do something you shouldn’t?"

"I see your point."

"Good. I suggest you make it an early night too."

"I don’t want to go to sleep to dream about suffocating in sticky tar."

"Then I suggest you learn how to love your enemies."

"Never."

"Why? Do you think you’re any better than they?"

"Of course!"

"Go back to the third level then, Cynthia. You need to spend more time reviewing your past lives."

"Maybe I will," Cynthia didn’t like her teacher’s reprimand. "Or maybe I’ll just skip the fourth level all together. You said we could skip if we wanted to."

"You’ll end up on whatever level you’re ready for. If you refuse to face the challenge now, however, you will have to before Sunday is over. I said you might skip around levels but that ALL levels had to be completed before you could win the prize, didn’t I?"

"What’s going to be the prize, Ed? My life? I had that when I started. Look at what’s happened. Sr. Mary’s dead. Prof. Taslim is possessed. You’re burnt. Only Jasmine has completed the tower so far that I know. It seems to me I chose poorly when I decided to take on the challenge of the Tower of Dreams."

"At last - the beginning of wisdom."

Cynthia picked up the small pillow on the couch and threw it at Ed’s head as he left to go into the bedroom. Alone, she ate her sandwich, drank a glass of milk and thought. What had happened to the rest of the seekers, she wondered. There had been fun loving Yassov and the more serious Cameron. Where were they now? Shrugging, she accepted her fate knowing she couldn’t change it any more than theirs. She put the dishes away and followed Ed in to sleep for the night.

By the time Cynthia got pulled into Yassov’s and Cameron’s game of "war", they were debating what to fight about and what side they should be on.

"OK, OK," Yassov spoke first,"Look’s like Zeke’s not coming back so I guess one of us will have to be the bad guy."

"I don’t want to be the bad guy," Cameron shrank back from the role.

"Well, it can’t be me," Yassov argued. "I want to fight the bad guy."

"Why does there have to be a bad guy?" Cynthia walked into the conversation as she walked out of the Akashic library to take a break.

"There’s always a bad guy!" Cameron exclaimed. "How are we going to take sides without a bad guy?"
"Why do you have to take sides?"

Cameron and Yassov looked at her in dismay.

"She doesn’t want to play," Yassov informed Cameron. "Either that or she’s too stupid to get it."

"Yes, she’s not much fun," Cameron admitted.

"What do you mean I’m not much fun? I am so!" Cynthia tried to defend herself.

"Prove it then."

"OK, I"ll be the "bad" guy," Cynthia capitulated to the greater force of mind and in that instant got pulled into the fifth level. She forgot her desire to learn more about the part of herself that was the sage. For that matter she forgot she only had two days to make it out of the Tower.

"Hitler was a good example of a ‘bad’ guy," Yassov continued to mold the shared experience.

A sharply cropped mustache appeared on Cynthia’s face as she felt the constricting embrace of a German official’s clothing surrounding her.

"Hey!" She objected. "I’m no Hitler. I don’t hate Jews."

"Just pretend," Yassov ordered her. "You must hate somebody. Just think they’re Jewish."

The stretching point of doubt that had surfaced on the reality bubble’s skin smoothed itself out as Cynthia began to see the possibilities. She could hate anyone as long as she thought she was really hating Prof. Taslim. This would be easy and she would be playing a role that was acceptable to Cameron and Yassov. They would like her for it. She smiled and nodded her head in assent.

"I’ll be a part of the underground movement." Yassov decided.

"What about me?" Cameron asked excitedly. "What do I get to play?"

"You’re the victim, of course."

"Yuck! I don’t want to be the victim!!"

"Someone has to be the victim and you said you didn’t want to be the bad guy. You could be a resistance fighter like me but then who would we be saving?"

"Nah, I don’t think I want to be part of the resistance." Cameron waffled.

Irritated and realizing he wasn’t going to change Cameron’s mind, Yassov laid it out the way it was going to be. "OK, I tell you what. This tree here," Yassov motioned to the large oak behind them, "will be the victim. You can be whatever you want as long as you are still part of the game."

No one noticed that the large tree began to shrink, it’s branches entwining upon each other until only two remained. At that point, the light brown branches darkened slightly and softened into two arms. The trunk separated itself at the base into two feet and a head appeared at the top winding its leaves into its skull until the glossy leaves blackened into a black curly hair, complete with side locks, and a set of brooding eyes.

Cynthia took one look at the tree and hated it.

"You have to wear this," she walked over to it and handed it the star of David marked on a yellow sleeve band.

The victim obediently put it on.

"I don’t like that," Yassov said angered at the intended humiliation.

"If he doesn’t wear it, I can shoot him for it." Cynthia said. "If you help him, I can shoot you for it -- and your family. Does anyone disagree?"

Yassov stormed off to his village and his new family reliving the indignities of the holocaust. The Akashic library had vanished. In its place, Poland had arisen. It was here, that Cameron found himself trapped, neither Jew nor German.

"What do I do?" Cameron thought as he wandered back to the same village with Yassov, unaware he had deliberately put himself in the situation.

Cynthia had forgotten it was just a role. She hated the tree because she had taken her hate and found it easily transferable to anyone. Why not a tree? And for that matter, why not Cameron and Yassov? They weren’t being nice to her anyway. The next day she made orders to have all the Jewish males of fighting age taken from the village and killed. She wasn’t going to allow them to rebel now that she was in charge.

The first wave of killing culled most of the Jewish males. Only a few who had been working in their fields when the soldiers came escaped. Yassov had watched the atrocity and felt his own hatred welling up along with a sense of impotency. To help them would be to condemn others, people he loved. He would have done it for himself but he knew he had a family that depended on him. Cameron also watched from his window, happy he wasn’t Jewish, but oddly disturbed by what was going on. But it was war time, and in war time strange things happened. He decided he shouldn’t get involved. After all, he didn’t know for sure where they were being taken. He didn’t know if they were being killed. It didn’t seem like he could do anything about it. He decided to wait to see what else happened.

Suddenly others began to die. Mostly Jewish men with grieving widows at their casket’s sides as the village interred them in the local cemetery. A village that rarely experienced death was now having a weekly funeral. Sometimes whole families would experience calamities. It was an epidemic of a form of plague, some thought. But Yassov knew better. He was preparing for his own funeral very shortly in which he would fake his own death and thus protect his family and join the now growing resistance movement. Cynthia would never know who her enemy was.

It would have worked had Manu not felt Cynthia’s familiar vibrations throbbing through his dreams. He felt a lust for her soul that had been almost his. Now that it was coupled with an intense hate, he licked at the ether like a panting dog. He thought she would have made a splendid companion for him and had regretted the unfortunate turn of events. But, there was still hope if he could persuade her to join him in a dream just as he had Prof. Taslim.

This time he would use more sophisticated means of control. He had been to uncouth with his power, Manu had learned. He had tried to control through force of will, expounding the truth and expecting compliance. He had to be subtler, he decided. There were many forms of control and possession was too difficult a prospect to consider as tool over the masses. It required the consent of a victim who knew his true objectives. It also required a habitation of the body. No, Manu shook his head in understanding, it was far better to deceive his victims into doing what he wanted of their own choosing, until they found themselves agreeing with Manu at every turn. At that point, it would be too late to extricate themselves from Manu's mind control which would firmly clamp itself over any doubts they might have. It would be as if he possessed them, but in fact, they had enslaved themselves.

His awareness of her psychic link blackening with him excited him past the reverie of the sixth level where he had come to review his future. The third eye Jasmine had gifted Prof. Taslim with was not only useful for illusions, he had found out, but it made its home on the sixth level where one could sense the possibilities of time like the ripples in a pond where a stone had been thrown in. The problem was the ripples here were multi-dimensional and when he started from the point where he entered the Tower to when he left, he didn’t know if it was a real possibility or just a shadow of a possibility that might have occurred had he done something differently in the past. Trying to predict the future seemed rather involved even when one could see the causes and effects in front of them. Manu had finally realized it was because of the one variable in time that caused the future to change or to cast different shadows: it was the stone. The stone had to be thrown in the right place in the pond to get the ripples one wanted. And Manu knew the stone was his own free will and the actions that resulted from it thereof.

It was one thing to see all the myriad of possibilities of future times but that was only feasible because all past, present and future times were interconnected. Here on the sixth level one had a panoramic view of time. The only thing one didn’t have was the knowledge to pinpoint an effect and go back to the root cause and change it. One would have to step out of time to do that because the cause may have already taken place before you came to see your future. It was an exercise in frustration. So Manu took his best guess and saw Cynthia there within it. He would drop in on her on his way towards the seventh level, he decided. If he managed to take her, he would have a willing victim in case he needed a decoy. By then, he would have already had the pleasure of dominating her.

It was this thinking that led him to the small detour on the fifth level where Cynthia, Cameron and Yassov were involved in their macabre game. He found Cynthia floating in the reality bubble created by all three of them. She was pouring over maps analyzing her strategy to take over France. The room was decorated with banners of swastikas which Prof. Taslim recognized. He watched her as she muttered to herself about the estimated casualties on both sides. They were just numbers to her by now. They were trees that needed to be uprooted so she could build her city. She had lost her feel for their humanity.

"It’ll be difficult," she finally admitted to herself as she sat down to swipe the beads of perspiration from her brow. She looked up to see Prof. Taslim smiling at her. "Guards! Guards! There’s an intruder in my chambers!"

The warning had slipped out of her lips before Prof. Taslim had a chance to object. He merely flitted out of her reality and waited it out. When he came back the guards were gone and Cynthia stood staring at spot where she had seen him before.

"Don’t you recognize your own Fuhrer?" Prof. Taslim’s illusion was impeccable. It made the mustache on Cynthia’s face slip a little as she took a double take.

"I’m the Fuhrer here," Cynthia tried to take command of the situation.

"No, you are my secretary of war. Why haven’t you exercised the Final Solution like I asked you?"

Put on the defensive, Cynthia’s mind tried to answer the questions being thrown at her.

"I have taken control of the surrounding villages," she exclaimed. "I’m in charge here. It's not my fault some escaped faking their own funerals. It was a clever ruse."

"You’ve let the resistance take place under your very nose! You don’t make a very good Hitler, do you?"

Something in the question made Cynthia think. Hadn’t she had the same doubts herself at one point? Cynthia remembered how she had been hoodwinked with the funerals. Already too many men had disappeared undoubtedly plotting her overthrow.

"It’s really not your fault," Manu continued a master of manipulation, "you were just following orders. Orders I gave you."

"Yes." Cynthia was relieved to let her burden of authority go.

"I’ll take responsibility from now on," Manu continued. "As long as you swear your allegiance to me. Besides, everyone knows there are no women in my inner circle, other than my mistress."

"Oh, I hadn’t thought of that," Cynthia began to realize now that she definitely shouldn’t have been sporting a mustache. And what was she doing trying to organize a military assault? The thought was ludicrous.

"What are you doing in my chambers?" Manu asked testing the waters.

"I must be your mistress," Cynthia replied happy to take on a better role.

"Hmmm...." Manu wondered how far she would let him take control. "Do you love me?"

"I must if I’m your mistress," Cynthia reasoned it out.

"Do you hate Jews?"

"I must if I’m your mistress," she continued.

"Hate them for me," Manu said through Hitler’s thoughtform. "Hate the ones who deceived you."

"Cameron and Yassov. They’ve lied to me too," Cynthia felt the anger welling up inside her.

"Oh, are they on this level too? Where are they?"

"Cameron is still in the village. Yassov’s funeral was faked last week. A spy came to tell me this morning."

"What gall! I can’t believe he is flouting my authority this way!" Manu said. "You should hate him because he doesn’t think like we do."

"I hate him with all my heart." Cynthia said spitting the words out in anger at being duped.

"Good, good..." Manu felt the link between himself and Cynthia throbbing with the dark emotion. It felt good. He drank it up, a source of power leaching from Cynthia and energizing him. Her mind was weakening and his was strengthening. He was almost in full control now. When he had his army ready he would launch the assault on the Tower of Dreams. "How I wish I had more time," Hitler’s hand came up to Cynthia’s breasts. "I’m sure you can be very pleasing, right?"

Cynthia leaned into her Fuhrer’s groin and pressed her mouth on his without question. "Please let me try," she gasped fumbling at his belt.

"Not now," Manu pushed her away delighted she had given herself so freely to him. "You have to prove your loyalty right now. Will you do anything for me?"

"Sexually, I guess so."

"I don’t just want your body, I want your mind. You do trust me don’t you?"

"Uh, you know trust is difficult for me," Cynthia tried to retain some independence.

"I must have your complete trust," Manu demanded.

"I’ll do as you say."

"Let me into your heart," Manu’s velvet voice caressed her essence hungrily. "Let me go beyond your body."

"Please don’t ask me for that, love!"

"Think about it? We make such a marvelous team, Cynthia. I have only your best interest at heart, you know," Manu let the matter drop. "Let us go and find Cameron and Yassov. It’s enough you obey me for now."

"Thank you." Cynthia sighed in relief and confusion.

Irritated Manu wished he could hurry to the time when he didn’t have to convince Cynthia of anything. He didn’t like her independence. It made for a poor slave and he was just getting the hang of his telepathic mind control.

CHAPTER 16