Sr. Mary Louise looked around her. She was in St. Peter’s Cathedral in Rome. She had gone there as part of a pilgrimage to see the Holy Father with several other nuns. It was the high point of her sabbatical and she had been blessed to be allowed the expenses of the trip. The church was open but only a handful of tourists were seen. Very few of the faithful were in attendance as mass was not going to be held for several hours. Sr. Mary began to pray the rosary, one of her favorite meditations. Her nimble hands fingered the beads in her habit as she began the Hail Mary.

Deep into her meditation she opened her eyes, briefly, stunned to see a beautiful silver lady, her dark hair entwined with pink roses surrounded by a distinctive golden halo. Her whole body was bathed in a lavender light. The woman’s outstretched arms spread out in a gesture of blessing, and welcome, and Sr. Mary realized the Holy Mother (the Virgin Mary) was there to give her a special sign for her devotions. No one else within the cathedral seemed to notice this heavenly apparition, except Sr. Mary.

"What do you want of me, Holy Mother?" Sr. Mary queried her image in the humblest fashion.

"Wake up, my child," the Blessed Virgin directed Sr. Mary, "you must climb the tower and find the seventh level."

Stunned at this directive, Sr. Mary looked helplessly around her; the pews were melting as the candles were growing bigger. The scenery in the dream shook slightly as Sr. Mary realized that, indeed, she was dreaming. The vision of the Virgin Mary was gone, and the roof of the cathedral had opened up to let her see the night sky; it was brilliant with stars. If this was a dream, Sr. Mary reasoned, then she could fly. Willing her body to soar into the heavens, she felt the exhilaration of the wind passing by her cheeks as she streaked like a comet through the night sky. Controlling her dreams was easy, Sr. Mary realized, all one needed was enough will power to manipulate one’s environment. If there was anything Sr. Mary had, it was will power. She would do what the Virgin Mary had asked her: she would climb the tower. It was easy, all she had to do was think of the second level. Come to think of it, she argued with herself, all she had to do was think of the seventh level. She landed on a pad of green in a grassy knoll and thought hard about what the seventh level might be like. After a long pause, she knew it was futile; her dream hadn’t changed one bit. Maybe seven was to hard, she reasoned. She thought of level two. Nothing happened. Her thoughts went back to the earlier dream. There had been a Christ-like figure telling a group of people about the "Tower of Dreams." It was slowly coming back to her. As she sat on that grassy knoll a warm summer breeze went past her. She felt like a teenager, young and full of heart--she could do anything in this dream! She could reach out for that love she’d never found in another human being. She could find her "perfect man" just by thinking of him. Before her conscience could stop her mind from wandering, an image of a genteel man with sparkling verdigris eyes appeared before her.

"Well, Bridget, " Ed Bishop said to the youthful image of Sr. Mary, "I don’t suppose I have to guess as to why you’ve called me here, do I?"

The smirk and amusement in Ed’s eyes caused Sr. Mary’s cheeks to color. The man was infuriating even if he was a dream man. The implication was clear that he expected her to want something of a sexual nature from him. His insinuation brought back a host of dream memories to Sr. Mary who tried to block them from her subconscious--lurid dreams of make-believe flesh, mixing wildly in passionate embraces. Sr. Mary couldn’t stop the images from invading her mind. Well, that was over, she thought, she knew better now. It didn’t matter that this was a dream, a sin was still a sin. So, Ed could just put the Cheshire grin away and get down to business, Sr. Mary decided.

"No, you don’t," Sr. Mary conceded graciously, "just tell me how to get to the seventh level and I’ll be on my way."

"Ho! Ho!" Ed laughed that raucous laughter that even now in the ethereal realm of dreams managed to echo melodically. "Cheating are we? There’s always one in each group!"

"Just a minute, Bishop," Sr. Mary’s anger began to fan itself into existence, "I’m not a cheater or a tramp, no matter what you think! You’ve tricked me into this dream, and now I have to find a way out! If you won’t tell me then-- just go away! I’m not going to be playing any of your silly ‘love’ games anymore, so just wipe that grin off your face!"

Ed’s smile lessened politely, but the humor still showed in his eyes. Sr. Mary was really quite demanding, controlling, and insistent, he decided. "Calm down, Sr. Mary Louise," Ed emphasized the religious title, "I’m not here to try to seduce you. You called me here, and I’ve obliged for sentimental reasons. I can leave you here to figure this one out yourself. And believe me, I’m tempted--since I don’t like you dressing me in this priest’s cassock!" Ed Bishop threw up his hands in the air to look at the flowing sleeves of the ceremonial priest’s robe. Sr. Mary had really outdone herself in her attempt to purify him into her belief system, he thought as he took the time to undo her thoughtform with his own image of a pair of jeans and a minty green sweater.

Sr. Mary smiled pleasantly, "It really made you look quite innocent, you know."

Ed snorted his distaste at her choice of vestments. "Back to the real issues, " Ed returned to the topic, "I’m not going to tell you how to get to the seventh level. For one, you’re not ready. For two, you have to find it yourself. Just because I allow you to pull me into a dream doesn’t mean I have to tell you what you want to know. Try not to be so controlling next time!" With that final word Ed’s image disintegrated into a million particles of light which shot itself straight out of Sr. Mary’s dream.

"Humph!" Sr. Mary’s hands dug into her hips at the stubbornness of the man. She’d find her way to the seventh level just to show Ed she could do it. She wasn’t controlling, manipulative or a cheater, she asserted to herself. She began walking down the small mound towards the village she saw in the distance, thinking about her exit choices. Why couldn’t she leave just like Ed had left? Where had he gone? She didn’t think she could master that disintegration trick, but she could certainly try to fly through the edges of her dream. Squaring that thought firmly in her mind, she mustered the will to fly. With sheer force of mind, she pushed her dream body into the air and flew straight into the heavens, her speed accelerating until she was beyond seeing the village below. Higher and higher she went, faster and faster she flew, until even her dream body vanished, swept away by the turbulence that swept by her. In that instant, she landed in the second level still not understanding where she was, or how she had gotten there. She tried to get her bearings in a world that flooded her consciousness with sensations. There was music coming from an unidentified source, a hauntingly beautiful song that filled her mind to the brimming. It expanded and burst through the seams of her mind as she tried to activate her sight to see where she was. She felt the warmth of her body as if she were immersed in the Gulf stream on a 100 degree plus day. The fragrance of roses and lavender was unmistakable as it wafted through every pore in her body. She tried to see through the rainbow-hued lights that shone on her squarely. As she concentrated to adjust to the high sensory levels, she heard a different noise colliding with the heavenly melody. It was Cynthia’s voice and it was crying for help.

Cynthia had literally propelled herself through the archway, and had not felt anything. It had been like stepping through an open doorway. If it hadn’t been for the milky feeling of being fully conscious in a dream, she would not have thought twice about it. However, as things stood, the unfamiliarity of the experience had filled her with apprehension. What would she find on the other side? She had been somewhat intimidated by the speech Ed Bishop had given, warning them of the dangers. She had only mustered the courage to take the needed steps by reminding herself that Bridget might need her help. Cynthia had decided that at least she had some common sense about these vague spiritual matters, unlike Bridget. Thus, Cynthia had been close on the heels of Jasmine Song almost jumping through the gateway to the Tower of Dreams at the same time as Jasmine. Somehow, even a stranger was better than being alone in unknown territory. Sure enough--the proximity of their entrance had placed them right next to each other on the first level to the Tower of Dreams.

Jasmine looked at the village in front of them. The quaint wooden houses, which stood lined up neatly in a row on either side, delineated the main road where people milled about their daily chores. Women, in black dresses and white shawls, walked two to a pair along the road headed towards the larger building in the center of the village, which was the official meeting place for church. The men, dressed in buckled shoes and pointed hats, were also making their way towards the larger house. Jasmine took a look at the unfashionable state of affairs, and decided she had definitely been pushed into another lucid dream, except this time she had a companion. Looking at Cynthia, she wondered how she was ever going to be able to tell if she was real or not. Jasmine thought she had seen her in the earlier dream garden (where Ed Bishop had handed out the challenge of the Tower of Dreams), but she had been there only a few moments before she had taken the plunge into the first level. Even if she had been in the previous dream, Jasmine wondered, how wasn she to know anything was real about any of the dreams?

Cynthia, meanwhile, was staring at the crowd of people that was beginning to form. The Salem villagers had seen them appear within their area magically, as if by demon powers.

"Witches, witches," the words floated nastily in the air as the assembled group convened on them. A look of fear and loathing gleamed in the eyes that peered at them accusingly from beneath their hats. "We must rid ourselves of the witches!" A man at the front of the church building shrilled a command to the villagers, holding his Bible firmly in his left hand high above his head, while his right hand pointed accusingly in Jasmine and Cynthia’s direction.

"Run!" Jasmine’s finer instincts took hold before Cynthia could make sense of the situation. Dragging Cynthia with her, they both turned to flee in panic at the sudden change of events; but the men had hurled themselves upon them, tackling them into captivity and dragging them towards the outer edges of the village.

"Help! Help!" Cynthia yelled in alarm as she felt her body being picked up, and forcibly carried towards some fearful destination, all thoughts of the dream- like quality of her environment had faded. Her subconscious was in full force, telling her that she was in real danger here. Whatever happened to her, she figured, she would feel the pain and agony, and possibly even suffer death.

Jasmine’s mind was racing trying to find a means of escape. She couldn’t fathom how she could have possibly lost her way. No dream was supposed to be like this. Yes, she had had nightmares as a child, but she had learned to control her dreams; very few were so outrageously dangerous as this. Was she going to be forced out of the Tower of Dreams before she had even started her journey? The thought sickened her; she was too good for that. She could still find her way, but she just wasn’t sure why the dream was so persistent.

"Jasmine, where are they taking us?" Cynthia gasped in fear, her eyes bulging as she struggled against her captors. "Are they going to kill us?"

Jasmine’s head snapped violently in Cynthia’s direction finally understanding the stubbornness of the dream. "You! You’ve done this! I’m not lost--you are! Wake up, you! Whatever your name is--WAKE UP!"

Cynthia shrank back, visibly shaken by this personal attack. She had no where to turn and no friend to empathize with her. The pilgrims pushed each of them to the ground and began to pile the round white stones on them. The leaden weight of each stone bruised the delicate area in which it landed on Cynthia’s body.

"Stop! What are you doing!" Cynthia shrieked in terror. She’d heard of this practice of testing a witch by piling stones on top of them until their bodies were crushed by the weight. It was said a true Christian survived the test, but a witch would invariably die crushed to a pulp by the weighty stones.

"Stop screaming, calm yourself!" Jasmine tried to get Cynthia’s attention. She concentrated on making each stone feel as light as a feather, but Cynthia’s subconscious will was strong and fighting hard to maintain the illusion of danger. Jasmine had never been in a dream where she wasn’t the one controlling the environment. She tried hard to stay the wisps of panic that were trying to seep into her mind. "It’s not real. It’s not real." Jasmine repeated to herself trying to overcome her own fear as well as Cynthia’s. "Listen, you--you’re dreaming! Wake up! For God’s sake, WAKE UP!" Jasmine’s mind gave way to the torrent of fear that had been pummeling its way into her mind. However, Cynthia knew it was real. She could feel the heaviness of each stone as it landed upon her body with a dull thud, and the sickening pressure of its presence against her body. Soon she would not be able to breath, her chest unable to expand and draw in the precious air that sustained her.

Her cries of terror had echoed throughout the Tower of Dreams; attracting not only Sr. Mary’s attention, but another Seeker’s as well.

"Religious persecution!" An olive-skinned man appeared in front of the pyramid of stones the pilgrims were building. He screamed violently as images of the Holocaust came back to him. The flames of the German furnaces licked against his body as his thoughts took form in that direction. "How dare you persecute us for our beliefs!"

The pilgrims swayed back, halted momentarily by the sudden appearance of a higher form of demon being lapped by tongues of fire.

"It’s the devil!" A woman screamed, and all panic broke loose as the villagers scattered frantically back to their own homes. At that point Sr. Mary appeared next to Cynthia and began lifting the stones from her body. Cynthia looked up relieved to be saved. Seeing Sr. Mary, her memories of the conscious life flooded back to her. Cynthia realized that her mind had tricked her and that she had to be in a dream. The last time she had seen Sr. Mary it was to ask her about Ed Bishop, and she had fully expected to see him on the first level to the Tower of Dreams. With the realization, Jasmine was able to control the thoughtforms created by the fear in Cynthia’s mind. The stones fell away from her, turned into a downy fluff of feathers that wafted softly to the ground. However, Jasmine’s anger still remained at the close call. She had almost been forced to admit defeat even before the game had gotten underway.

"You idiot!" Jasmine blurted at Cynthia as she dusted the feathers off her red velvet dress. "You stupid...girl!" She sputtered venemously at Cynthia.

"Wait a minute," Sr. Mary rushed to defend Cynthia, "it’s not her fault; it’s one of the tests. You just both happened to land in a bad area of the first level."

"This isn’t part of the first level," Jasmine denied, "all my senses are telling me this is a fabrication of that ‘stupid girl’s’ mind!" She pointed her jeweled fingers accusingly towards Cynthia. "What were you thinking of when we walked through the doorway?"

Cynthia began to sputter her innocence, but then she remembered, she had been thinking about vague spiritual tests. Along with the trepidation she had felt at jumping into an unknown world, she had brought her fears through the doorway, her mind latching on to a historical, old "spiritual test" of the New England area in which she lived. The Salem witch trials had not been too farfetched a leap in imagination from there. "She’s right, Sr. Mary," Cynthia said embarrassed and humbled, "I was thinking about spiritual tests before I came through."

"Yes! Yes!" Jasmine’s tone indicated she knew she’d been right all along. "That alone wouldn’t have hurt us except that your fear kept me from freeing us from your dream."

"Who are you?! How do you know that? " Sr. Mary turned to Jasmine incredulous that a woman of such ordinary demeanor would have knowledge far beyond her own.

"Nobody--a housewife," Jasmine smiled mysteriously, "but I know what I know from experience." Her eyes began to sparkle mischievously once again now that the danger had passed. "Just remember this--all of you: Whatever you think in dreams can become quite real. These thought-up illusions are actually 'thoughtforms' and if we allow them to control us, instead of us controlling them, they can be dangerous. Watch your thoughts in the dream world!"

"Thoughtforms. Very interesting," the meditteranean man the women had ignored as a dream fragment walked up to them.

"Don’t talk to him, Cynthia warned them, "he’ll just pull you out of lucidity."

"Don’t be silly," Jasmine sneered at Cynthia, "he’s a Seeker, same as us. He was there in the garden, don’t you remember?"

Cynthia and Sr. Mary looked at each other. He did look strangely familiar.

"Yassov’s my name," Yassov introduced himself. "Sorry, about the fire, I guess I unwittingly created ‘thoughtforms’ when I remembered the Holocaust."

The mention of the abomination caused an uncomfortable silence among them.

"Hey," Yassov brightened, deftly changing the subject, "do you believe I could think up a beautiful woman and she would appear right before my eyes?"

In response to his joke, Jasmine laughed as her image twisted and turned, convoluting itself into a series of sensuous hills and curves that would have made the most stoic hermit blush. Her hair had brightened to a platinum shade as her skin had darkened to a golden honey tan. "Do you like them blonde, sir?" Jasmine said coquettishly through a newly created set of plush, red lips.

"Oh... yes," Yassov’s eyes brightened at the sudden apparition; but before he could say anything more, the plump figure of Jasmine Song reappeared in the same spot.

"Just watch your thoughts," Jasmine warned, "they can help or hurt you. I’ll be seeing you all. From now on, I’m on my own. Can’t afford another mishap like the one that just happened. Good luck!" With her final parting word, Jasmine flew from out of their midst, her form disappearing into the heavens.

After a moment Cynthia looked at Sr. Mary and Yassov throwing her hands up in the air in a futile manner. "So? Where do we go from here?" She asked in exasperation.

"To the second level, I suppose, " Sr. Mary said, musing on Jasmine’s departure and wondering if where she had been previously was the second level. "I just wish there were street signs to tell you where you were. I don’t suppose, when we get there, we’ll even know for sure."

A moment later a bright yellow "Yield" sign appeared next to Sr. Mary. She scowled at it menacingly.

"Well, I for one want to go exploring!" Yassov’s face broke out in a wide grin of childish delight at being alive in a wondrous world of infinite possibilities. "You heard Jasmine: our thoughts can create anything we want for us here. I, for one, want to start with something small, like a non-fattening jelly donut!

Sr. Mary and Cynthia watched, Yassov devouring the delicacy, with a hint of annoyance. The man would just finish one enticing dish when another would appear to take its place.

"I don’t like this game anymore," Cynthia began to whine. "I wasn’t interested in this ‘spiritual test’--this Tower thingamajig--I merely got pulled into it by mistake. I can see why you’d be interested in being here, Sr. Mary, and Jasmine fits right in. Even this fellow here, " Cynthia pointed in Yassov’s direction who was studiously dipping his finger into a chocolate pudding, "must have his reasons. I don’t care about becoming a ‘Seeker of Truth,’ and I have no desire or ambition to be immortal. It strikes me that one life is enough for anyone. What good is having all the powers of fantasy at your disposal if all they are going to create are ‘real-life’ nightmares?"

Sr. Mary glanced at Cynthia in disbelief, unable to contain her chagrin at Cynthia’s attitude she said quite condescendingly, "You know, you have a point: You’ve never taken any interest in spiritual matters. I don’t know why you were chosen to have this opportunity--living with your boyfriend and all. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that you don’t aspire to better yourself or to become immortal in Christ. Why don’t you just go home?"

Shocked by this blatant display of sibling rivalry, Cynthia felt rage welling up inside her. "What right do you have to tell me I’m not worthy of something you are? If you’re so high and mighty spiritual, tell me why you can’t remember anything when you wake up? I asked you if you’d dreamed of Ed Bishop and you lied to me. At least, I am objective enough to analyze even those ‘unknowable’ spiritual matters."

At Ed’s name, Sr. Mary blanched significantly. It was true, she remembered now, she never admitted that Mr. Bishop was anything other than an acquaintance when she was awake. There was the obvious reason of her flirtation with the man, even if it had been in her dreams only. "Just go home if you don’t want to be here," Sr. Mary pushed all of Cynthia’s arguments aside. "He said you could go home even if you got trapped."

"Sure, sure," Cynthia said angrily, "but he never said how. What am I supposed to do, click my heels and say ‘I want to go home, Toto’?"

At this instant revelation, Sr. Mary began to understand the gravity of the situation. If they couldn’t wish themselves home, and they couldn’t make it to the seventh level by the end of the seventh night, they’d be trapped in this world and they still weren’t even out of the first level!

"Oh, my," Sr. Mary caught her breath in near panic, "you have to go home. Cynthia you have to go home! You don’t want to be here, anyway. Please, try to wish yourself home. We have to make certain we can leave if we need to, and we have to know how."

The sense of urgency helped Cynthia to readjust her anger and somewhat grudgingly try her sister’s request. After murmuring about stupid dreams and religious mumbo-jumbo she made the effort to wake herself up. "I’m waking up, now!" She thought, letting a few moments pass before she opened her eyes to find Sr. Mary and Yassov watching her expectantly.

A look of doubt crossed Sr. Mary’s face as she said, "Try again."

Closing her eyes once again, Cynthia tried envisioning her bed and her body within the sheets, imagining the night noises of the house as the wind whipped through the trees. Cynthia opened her eyes and shrugged her shoulders sheepishly in defeat. She was trapped until the dream ended, or they figured out a different way to get out.

"Hmmm..." Sr. Mary contemplated their options, "I suggest we try to find our way by reaching the seventh level while we try to think of other ways out. Does anyone know how much time we have left in this dream? Ed did say we would be linked for seven nights, but not exactly how long each dream would last."

"Why don’t you ask him when you wake up?" Cynthia began to dig at her sister’s blind spot.

"Actually, I just saw him. He told me I’d called him--whatever that means."

"You saw him and you didn’t ask how to get out of here?"
"Of course, I did! Well, actually," Sr. Mary admitted her conceit, "I asked him to tell me how to get to the seventh level."

Yassov’s laughter broke them out of their argument. "Of course! Anything’s possible, so why do we have to go from one to seven? Why not fly straight to the top?!"

Sr. Mary didn’t know whether Yassov was serious or making fun of her for being so pretentious.

"Well, I don’t have any ideas on what to do, so we might as well start walking." Sr. Mary ignored Yassov’s comments. Yassov finished licking the whip cream off his fingers while Cynthia turned around to go.

"Wait," Yassov said, "if walking through an archway brought us in, shouldn’t we be able to get out the same way?"

The idea was brilliant in its simplicity and the two women turned back around to face Yassov.

"You’re good at creating things out of thin air," Cynthia pointed out. "Why don’t you do it?"

"I’ll think it up but I’m not walking through it," Yassov said.

"Why not?" Cynthia asked.

"I want what Ed promised--freedom from the physical," Yassov explained. "I’m sick of being addicted to food, drink, sex, fun--you name it. If I could quit, I would. Only here, in my dreams, can I indulge in my cravings without paying the physical penalties like obesity and liver damage. It’s an addict’s dream."

"What about you?" Cynthia said to Sr. Mary. "Are you coming with me?"

"You wouldn’t understand," Sr. Mary sighed. "I can’t go with you. This is a chance for me to acheive spiritual perfection; to become one in Christ. I won’t give up my chance to commune with the saints."

"Okay," Cynthia motioned for Yassov to go-ahead, "whatever. I’m outta here. I don’t like controlling situations and if you ask me, you two need to wisen up."

The archway appeared in front of Cynthia. It’s glassy surface was reminiscent of the pond in Ed’s fountain garden. Cynthia put her hand up to the steely surface, testing it; her hand slapped against the coolness of its ice.

"You did something wrong," Cynthia pointed to the keyhole that had not been on the original archway, "this one’s locked."

Yassov’s brow furrowed as he concentrated harder: "Pick a key, any key..."

Cynthia picked a club-shaped key from mid-air and tried to open the archway. As Cynthia pressed against the frozen surface, the whole door gave way like an ordinary wooden door--a door of long ago--jolting her with an unpleasant memory from her past and into her old boyfriend’s apartment.

She stood in the front hallway with her grocery bag placed on the ground as she began to unwind her scarf and coat. The men in the living room laughed boisterously, unaware anyone had come in, and their laughter caught Cynthia’s attention. She smiled good-naturedly as she realized Eric, her boyfriend, had a few of his friends over.

"No shit!" Cynthia heard one beer-gulped expression as the rest laughed.

"Oh yeah! She does my laundry, cleans my apartment, gives me money and to top it off lets me screw her any way I want!"

Cynthia’s hand became paralyzed on the closet door,as she listened to Eric detail their relationship, for the enjoyment of his companions.

"How’d you manage that?" Came the astounded reply.

"Just showed her who’s in charge, that’s all," Eric said, "and if she doesn’t do as I say - I just slap some sense into her head."

Shame spread infuriatingly over Cynthia as she realized Eric’s duplicity. He had claimed he hadn’t wanted to strike her, but here he was boasting to his friends about the control he had exerted over her. Tears of humiliation struck the last note of naïveté out of her so that she was hardly surprised when Eric replied to the marriage question posted by his friends.

"Marriage? Are you kidding?!" Eric groaned at the prospects, "I thought you guys might like to have a go at the little tart. One at a time, of course. I’ll prove to you she’ll do anything I tell her to." Eric’s laughter could be heard booming over the other men as Cynthia realized she was being set up for mass consumption. The nausea gathered in her mouth like a bulbous, poisoned apple, and, Cynthia realized, she had chomped down on that drugged apple like Snow White wishing so hard that she had failed to see the reality of the situation. She left the groceries on the floor, and ran out of the door.

"What happened?" Sr. Mary asked anxiously as Cynthia returned, tears streaming down her face.

It took only a few moments for Cynthia to analyze what had happened: "More thoughtforms," she said as she gulped her shame away.

Sr. Mary hugged her apologetically and sighed: "Dead end. Time to start walking." Sr. Mary naturally took the lead as they walked away from the area, aimlessly going forward, unsure as to what they would find or who they would encounter.