Ed had peeked in just in time to watch Sr. Mary, Cynthia and Yassov begin their aimless trek. He’d given Sr. Mary enough of a hint already, he didn’t dare interfere in the challenge more in case Ara or Mishra were around. In a way, he’d wished his guides had never told him about Cynthia. It was going to be the most frustrating seven nights of his life as he sat edgy on the edge of the dream wanting to break all the rules for Cynthia’s sake. But, she had to do it on her own. That was the first and greatest rule. A hint here, a kibitz there, that was what his role as a teacher would allow. Unless his guides directed him otherwise. And, oh, how he wished they would tell him otherwise.

To take his mind off Cynthia, he turned his attention to the other Seekers in the group. Now Cameron, there was an odd one. He had tested out as not identifying himself with his own gender. In other words, he seemed to have the duality of his sexuality well in hand. His animus and anima where dancing a waltz of perfection. He had also tested out as the most nonjudgemental of the group. A natural at succeeding in a game where preconceptions were lethal. As he thought of Cameron, Ed’s essence sped through and watched the favorite of the race progressing through the Tower.

Cameron finished planting the new species he’d created ‘Specie Camerian’ rightly named after himself, of course. The fire-engine red Iris falls flapped happily in the breeze like a flag of honor in Cameron’s new botanical gardens of his imagination. "Life is grand," Cameron thought as he looked lovingly upon his collection of never before seen specimens. It wasn’t just the rouge of the Iris’ that singled this garden as something "out of this world" but the cerulean roses at the far end of the garden were also unique. "How impossibly lovely those blue roses are," Cameron mentioned to himself understanding that it had taken centuries of hybridization to come up with this perfect blue rose. But his crowning achievement had been the red and white Irises. No one on earth had matched the blood red hues with a white lip that he had managed to obtain through careful selection and propagation. How he had managed to be this lucky to possess numerous one-of-a-kinds of his own creation he wasn’t sure. A nibble of doubt dropped into his consciousness which soon burgeoned into the realization that it had to be a dream. There was no such thing as a candy-cane Iris and only in his dreams could he imagine such loveliness.

As this thought crept into his mind he looked around at brilliance of the garden. It was as if all aspects of good garden design were in harmony. Color was profuse but balanced. Height was staggered with the tallest plants to the back giving the garden the illusion of yawning itself into the heavens. The cinnamon scent of the lavender hedges wafted enticingly around his nose; even scent had not been missed. And the structure of the "bones," the main structural anchors of the garden, were perfectly situated down to the miniature evergreens he spotted in a rocky ledge in the far corner of the garden. But, for a one-of-a-kind garden they seemed oddly out of place. Cameron thought he had seen them before somewhere. And then the image of the fountain garden came back to him as a dream memory. "The Tower of Dreams, " he thought as he mused over the lingering image of the fountain garden, "I should be trying to get through the first level." He remembered he had seven days in which to do it or he’d be trapped. He looked around at his ethereal creations and muttered sarcastically to himself. "Oh my, that would be horrible now wouldn’t it? I wouldn’t want to be 'trapped' here forever; enjoying the garden never having to worry about pests, disease or natural disasters! Not to mention the drudgery of irrigation." It was the perfect situation for Cameron for he had never felt a great need for female companionship and food was of equally dwindling interest. Cameron lived for creation; for nature; for the beauty of the essence of living. "This is heaven," he thought warmly, "I can wait a few days before starting the journey through the Tower." He reasoned to himself thinking that he could always make up the time by jumping several levels at one time. How he’d do that, wasn’t important. What was important was figuring out how he had molded his thoughts into forms that looked, smelled and felt like the real thing.

"The Tower of Dreams!" Cameron's mocking baritone voice resounded through his garden. He whirled around giddy with the knowledge that he could create whatever he wanted by merely desiring it. "Do not let your guard down for an instant!"

Cameron's laughter echoed through the dream garden he had created as he continued. "You're too funny, Ed!" Cameron summed up the joke as he stood doubled over holding his sides from the release of gaiety that had overtaken him. He paused, catching his breath as he took in the friendly arbovitarae in front of him. It had been sculpted into the shape of a large duck. Cameron looked about himself mischievously but before he could make sure it would be a private joke, the thought slipped from his mind impressing Ed's face behind the duck's bill. Gasping delightedly he reeled again in mirth. "I thought you might be a quack!" Cameron laughed hysterically, "Tell me more about the 'dangers' in the Tower. You really had me going there!"

"Ara, Mishra!" Cameron called out to the ethers pretending he saw someone in front of him. Moments later an image of Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum popped up in front of him. A hint of gusto slipped out of Cameron in small hiccups as he said, "I thought so. Anyone can make up any old person here. It was a good show though. He could have had me believing the ferns were my best friend."

Delighted with his discoveries and confident in the security of his dreams, Cameron began to wonder what he should do with his newfound abilities. His thumb and forefinger pressed into his pursed lips as he tried to contain the joviality that had seized him earlier. He liked Ed, he decided. He remembered other dreams in which Ed and himself and played a variety of games, each one trying to better the other. Even though Ed was the far better player, Cameron enjoyed a good game and especially ones as arbitrary and ruleless as the ones he played with Ed. "The man sure can play a good joke," Cameron chuckled at his own duplicity and admired Ed even more than before. But fun was fun and now he had time to spend alone as most of his dreams had been. What should he do? And then he had an idea. He would be the first person to create a four-seasons garden that didn’t have to wait for the seasons to come into their full glory. Cameron would create a miniature environment for each: a snow, summer, spring and fall garden in pie shaped wedges in a circle of a brook that ran endlessly round and round. "It'll be miraculous," he took in his breath softly at the thought of it.

What seemed like hours later, Cameron stepped back to admire his masterpiece. It was glorious! The snow fell gently in mounds along the winter pie-shaped quarter of the circular four seasons garden. The winter blanketed all the miniature red vases of dead rose hips and jeweled them with glistening droplets of ice. The spring garden fluffed about in the soft pastels of fresh tulips,crocuses and snowdrops. The autumn and summer gardens set diagonally against each other raged with brilliant colors and lushness of forms, the plumes of the tall southern grasses providing a foil for the bursting buds of gladiolus and irises. But something was lacking even in this artful arrangement. "A gazing globe," Cameron thought, "that’s what it needs for the center focal point." With the enthusiasm of an artist at his canvas, he imagined the perfect gazing globe: an intricately swirled sterling silver pole rising in the center of his creation with the most delicate mirrored orb at the end. The globe floated eerily there elevated only by the four delicate silver scrolls that held it aloft for optimum viewing.

"Ah!" Cameron exclaimed. "It’s perfect!" And with that thought he edged closer to the globe staring at the reflections within that mirrored his garden. The orb seemed almost as if it had been created from a huge droplet of mercury, liquid and moving in its nature but confined by some force into a spherical arrangement. Cameron became enchanted with the images of the reflections of leaves and flowers that slid past him as the orb moved slowly, swaying as if it was striving to capture all aspects of the garden in a single wink. Cameron reached out his hand to steady the orb as it began to increase this spinning sensation in speed and felt his hand slide warmly through the metal surface. As his hand disappeared into the globe, survival instincts took hold and he quickly pulled his hand out. He was concentrating so hard on his hand he did not notice the orb fluctuate and expanding outward. It swelled in various spots until, just as Cameron looked up to see what had caught his eye, a metallic hand slipped out of the orb, grabbing Cameron’s wrist and pulling him directly into the gazing globe.

Cameron’s essence slipped through the mirror like water rushing through a rocky gullet worn smooth by time. He popped out almost instantly and he noticed his body at first had no form. This startled him into quickly creating one. His eyes tried to focus wildly as his mind tried to understand the event that had just taken place. His four seasons garden was no longer visible and instead he found himself encircled by five beautiful females of various sizes and proportions that would please any man.

"Welcome to the second level," the brilliant arm of the cherubic angel that had pulled him through dropped to the woman’s side. "You must choose now."

Cameron looked at the women uncomprehendingly, "The second level?! You've got to be kidding!" Then he heard the question echoing in his brain. They couldn’t possibly mean one of them. "I’m sorry?" Cameron asked in deference to her question.

"Choose!" The woman, a platinum blonde with a full bust, commanded. "I am Ligeia. Taste of my pleasures and you will never want another meal again."

Cameron felt his face flush as he began to understand her meaning. He stood very still unable to make a move towards her. It had to be a joke, he decided. A meal, had she said? Cameron thought. He tried to force the image in front of him into a bleeting pig with an apple stuck in its mouth. But Ligeia's image held fast no matter how hard he concentrated. Awaiting a reaction that never came, Ligeia surrendered her chance and took a step back.

"I am Parthenope," the second woman, an olive-skinned green eyed Mediterranean beauty stepped forward to introduce herself. "The scent of my perfume drives all men wild with passion."

Cameron stared at her wide-eyed as he smelled the subtle aroma of jasmine slowly wafting through his nostrils. If they were not real, they most definitely were sensual, Cameron decided. He tried not to inhale too deeply feeling it not only go through his nose but through every crevice of his body. And as Parthenope had said, it was an exciting experience which made him struggle to remain in control. After a moment, Parthenope’s coy smile dropped in disappointment that a confused Cameron had not made any visible signs of taking her up on her offer. She stepped back as the next woman took her place.

"I am Leukosia, " the musical chimes of the black-haired beauty’s voice rang in the air. "My song has enchanted the minds of men the world over who only desire to be in my presence to hear my sweet song." With this statement a haunting song of passion unwinding began to take hold of Cameron’s mind filtering all other thoughts out. His being rose and ebbed with every note of her voice as he found himself slowly taking a step towards her. She opened her arms in anticipation of his warm embrace when in the next instance he thought he’d forgotten something. And then he remembered. They had told him he was on the second level! Maybe Ed hadn't lied after all. If so it was a world of adventure and hidden resources few had explored. His joy at the possibility of an undiscovered world obliterated any desire he had towards Leukosia. She was just one of the many ‘new’ creations he would find in this world, he was sure of it.

Leukosia took a step back as the fourth woman ventured forward.

"I am Vibella, " the fourth woman, a tall Nubian whose skin echoed many hidden hues as her black pupilless eyes drifted over him. "Behold! I am all that you desire!" As the words left her pursed full lips, Cameron saw her form change as the colors in her skin waved in an array of rainbows as her form settled on his cherished mother. Looking down at her hands, Vibella was startled to see such aged hands. "You are indeed worthy," Vibella mused, "for I have been the sweethearts and lovers of many and yet none chose their mother as the love of their lives. Yours is a pure love. I am conquered." With a respectful bow of her head she turned aside as the fifth and final woman took her place.

"I am Psyche, " a perfectly proportioned brunette emanated the heat of desire in Cameron’s direction. Her blue eyes smoldered in his soul searching out the least hint of sexual expression within him. Cameron felt her heat close to him as he tried to remain calm. It wafted over him in waves of delight and sensual pleasure. He felt like a blade of grass fighting against the storm to stand upright. He reached for Psyche grabbing her hand as she laughed excitedly. Red waves of color enveloped the two as he reached for her bodice eagerly awaiting what he would find there. Her hand clasped his as she encouraged his every action. The four woman smiled delightedly as they clapped their hands and awaited their turn. Capitulation to one meant all would have their turn, they knew. And if they had their way, Cameron would not escape their sweetness for a very long time. As the last string was untied in Psyche’s bodice and her pink apple breasts appeared before him taut with excitement and delight he reached down to take hold of one when for an instant he saw himself. Not as himself but as the person above himself looking at himself. For a moment he found himself in two places at once as the actor playing his part in the orgy about to take place and as the silent observer who watched all without judgment, a sexless entity of aged wisdom. And it was this leap to his higher self that saved his soul.

Stepping back from Psyche he respectfully covered her from his view. "You are all charming," Cameron admitted to the sirens, "but a bit too serious for me. Looking down on myself, the whole thing is quite funny don't you think? What am I a stud?" Cameron laughed again.

The sirens looked at each other bewildered at his reaction. Seeing their dismay, Cameron reigned in the next quip that wanted to escape him. "Look, if I need female companionship from now on I know I can reach it within myself. If I can be in two places at once and dream up gardens and ghosts, what's so mystifying about being able to tune into my feminine side? I feel complete as I am.

As for yourselves, you don’t need me to fulfill yourselves. Taste can be satiated with hunger. Perfume can be overcome with stench. What song can stand in the face of crying? Images of our desire should be truly things we love. And finally, Psyche," Cameron took her chin in his hand as he gazed in her eyes, "discipline and self-control are your opposite. All things are equal and balanced. And who am I to say that one experience is worse than another? Sexuality is the meeting of two extremes to bring a balance. If I have achieved balance than all extremes loose their allure. Once balanced one seeks more. Now that I see what dreams and life is about, I think I choose my freedom from all the desires of the body."

Ligeia clasped her hands together in reverence. "You may pass to the third level, Cameron, your heart has found its way again. You have chosen well."

The women vanished leaving Cameron stupefied as he realized he had gone through three levels in one night! As This is the best game Ed had ever invented, Cameron gloated. It was one he was going to succeed at easily. But where was Ed? Cameron wondered. His absence was disturbing in that most games took two or more people to play. As the thought crossed his mind, the scenery lightened as Cameron realized he would soon awaken in his bed.

Ed Bishop nodded approvingly. Ara and Mishra had been right, of course. Cameron would fly to the top of the Tower way ahead of schedule at this rate. But what of the others? Especially the one recalcitrant of the lot, Prof. Taslim. Ed seriously suspected his guides had made a mistake in the professor’s case. How could one hope to succeed in a spiritual test when the man obstinately refused to believe in any other dimensional reality than his own? A dream was a flitting aberration of the mind to Prof. Taslim, not to be taken seriously. His one strength lay in his ability to visualize and comprehend the hidden concepts of the universe. He was a visionary in his own way, able to image and puzzle out the most abstract puzzle. If he could only be convinced that this test was not a gnat flying too close to his spectacles, Ed sighed. Ed, Ara and Mishra had agreed this would take some drastic measures, but Ed wasn’t sure even that was enough. Reluctantly, Ed looked into Prof. Taslim’s dream to see if the Prof. would find the key within himself to spur him towards greater understanding of his own spirituality.

Prof. Taslim was sitting in a library pouring over some books when he realized he could read perfectly and yet his spectacles were lying on the table unable to clear his vision from that position. "I’m dreaming, again." Prof. Taslim said noticing the incongruity of his perfect vision unaided by lenses. Looking around at the immense library he marveled at the perfectly detailed rooms with card catalogues, computers, reference materials even down to the artwork and heavily padded carpeting. It was all an exact duplicate of the University library. Prof. Taslim still found it disconcerting that he could actually realize he was dreaming. All his years of scientific training pointed to physical realities not worlds of make-believe like dreams. "Maybe I’m going mad?" Prof. Taslim questioned himself. He discarded that notion quite quickly understanding that despite the majority of the scientific community being unable to deal with non-physical realities, physics on the other hand was always discovering things either too small, too large, invisible or unordinary that defied present conventions. That did not make these phenomena "incorrect," it merely made them unexplainable for the moment. Who would have thought that quarks or black holes existed? But there existence had eventually been proved through mathematical and physics experimentation. So here he found himself, asleep (he was sure of that), and yet aware of his body in an environment that had to have been a figment of his own imagination. And yet, the table was hard and solid under the palms of his hands and he could hear the whirring of the air conditioning in the building as it tried to keep the patrons and equipment cool. He would have to accept that this dream, despite popular convention, was a reality of its own existing under its own defined set of universal rules and principle as yet undiscovered. With the acceptance of the possibility of his dream state being real, a host of prior dream memories flooded into his subconscious. And then he remembered: he didn’t have time to dawdle in the library; he had to find the seventh level. But he didn’t know where to start. "Luckily for me, I’m in a library," Prof. Taslim thought to himself realizing maybe a little research was in order. Specifically, research on the "Tower of Dreams" and what the way was to the seventh level.

Getting up from his chair, he walked over to the computer to find the terminal disappointingly blank. None of the computers seemed to be hooked up. He walked to the card catalogue and found them mysteriously empty. Irritated that a library, even a dream library, would be so ill-equipped he marched himself over the reference librarian and began to complain about the present state of affairs at this no-name library.

The wizened face of an elderly matron peered up at him from behind wisps of gray hair. Her lips were pursed in barely hidden amusement as her dark eyes danced merrily over his face.

"...I know funding is low," Prof. Taslim continued, "but how am I, or anyone for that matter, going to find anything they want in this library if none of the catalogues are in working order?!"

"Well," the woman continued at leisure in a heavy Southern drawl, "just ‘cause you can find the library doesn’t mean you can interpret what’s in it. That’s what we’re here for. Do you need assistance?"

Briefly taken aback by the logic of the argument, Prof. Taslim tried to retain some of his professionalism. "Err, ah, I mean, well - yes!"

"I suppose I can help you since I’m free at the moment, " the librarian smiled at Prof. Taslim in a friendly fashion as she stood up from behind the reference desk, "but you really should think about bringing your own guides with you next time."

"My own guides?" Prof. Taslim thought. The professor didn’t know what she meant. Brushing aside her observation, he continued to ask about the levels in the "Tower of Dreams."

"Ooooh! I thought so," the aged woman nodded her head up and down to herself, "you’re here by accident. OK, I suppose it doesn’t matter. You really should be congratulated for making it to the third level without even trying!"

"I’m on the third level?" Prof. Taslim looked around himself trying to distinguish the signs which indicated the difference in levels. "How can you tell?"

All of a sudden the woman’s finger went up to her mouth beckoning him to be silent. "Shhh...." she instructed him, "can you hear which book it is that’s calling you?"

"A book is calling me?" Prof. Taslim’s tightly wrapped temperament was beginning to unwind. "This is silly! Books don’t make noises. I can’t believe it! This is just some bizarre dream that makes no sense and here I am wondering how to make it through another absurdity called the 'Tower of Dreams.' It’s probably all a fabrication of my mind!"

"Be quiet, now, young man." The librarian refused to hear his objections. "If you want to search for knowledge there is no better place than the Akashic Library. The problem is you don’t have your guides and I don’t know you well enough to pinpoint what book would best suit your needs at this time. AND - you got here accidentally, so I must assume the books you need are calling you and not the other way around. So you have to tell me, do you feel especially drawn to any one area of the library more than another?"

"I’m not going to play this..." Prof. Taslim’s last words never left his mouth because before he could issue them he stopped to figure out what he felt pulling at him like a magnet to an iron filing. The irresistible urge to follow the unseen force was overwhelming and he soon turned right around and headed down the booklined hallway and into the back end of the library where his hand passed over the book that had called him.

The wise librarian watched him amble away. "So, it’s the 'Self Discovery' section for him, hmmm, how appropriate." She chuckled because of course it was appropriate. None of the patrons in this library ever opened a book that wasn’t appropriate to their needs at that point in time. But, self-discovery could be dangerous without proper guidance. He really should have brought his guides, she thought to herself. Well, she shrugged, nothing ever happened that wasn’t meant to happen, that she knew. So whatever Prof. Taslim would discover would be "appropriate" regardless of the consequences.

Prof. Taslim’s neatly manicured hands opened the leather bound book that had his name written on the binding. His pulse began to race as he felt himself getting closer to the answers. Looking into the first page, he was startled to see a reflection of himself as if the page was a laminated sheet of metal reflecting back accurately his visage. As he turned to the second page he saw himself again, but somewhat different, his beard was gone and he seemed younger. Then on the corner of the page he saw what looked like a portrait of a person reflected in a mirror that reflected another portrait in a mirror that was also different and so on. His mind spun as he looked back through each image recognizing them as himself but with different personalities at different times in different places. His dream eyes were very adept at seeing all the aspects reflected in this miniature ‘table of contents’ on the corner of each page. And his dream mind was capable of understanding his association with each image as having been an actual part of himself at one time or another. But his heart could not accept the book and many of the lives that passed before his eyes as his own. He searched in vain for some ‘proof’ that what his dream senses told him was true had in actuality been real and in physical form in the ‘real’ world. And as he searched through each personality, he found himself drawn into the image of a prisoner’s haggard features as he stared desolately into Prof. Taslim’s eyes. Taslim identified with this man’s inability to acknowledge the existence of a soul and yet he shuddered at the prospect of death, a death that was eminently to be dealt to him at the hand’s of an executioner. As his spirit vibrated in sympathy with the prisoner’s, Prof. Taslim could not stop his descent into the image. He opened his eyes to find himself captive in Paris during the terror awaiting his trial having been condemned as an enemy of the Revolution.

"Of what am I accused?" Prof. Taslim heard his tongue speak the Parisian French fluently having never spoken it before. His mind assimilated the language’s meaning without his understanding of the process.

"You have not priced your goods in accordance with the Committee for Public Safety’s standards, Monsieur Justin." His accuser in black dealt the charge out confidently.

"I am a revolutionary, same as you Citizen, from where has this charge arisen?" Prof. Taslim heard himself respond.

"The commoners have betrayed you for your disdain for the rights of man, Citizen. Behold, your own business partner comes forth to testify against you!"

Prof. Taslim looked down the hall of spectators come to see his sentencing. A brawny man with the stylish powdered wigs of the era stepped forward his hands tightly grasping the shirt folds in front of his neat black jacket.

"It’s true!" He exclaimed gleefully, anticipating the time when the whole business venture would be his alone to profit from. "He has consistently priced his goods above government prices exploiting the Citizens for his own profit!"

"What is this?" Prof. Taslim’s twentieth century persona broke through the bourgeois mentality for a moment. "I have no partner, nor business for that matter!"

Peals of laughter rippled through the large office room being used for the trial at the stupidity of his statements.

"You shall not circumvent justice by proclaiming yourself a madman, Sir." The prosecutor silenced the assembly with a wave of his hands. "You deserve the same fate as the nobles who have gouged France to their own advantage until the Revolution set things right. What do you plead?"

"INNOCENT! I tell you Citizen, I am a loyal Revolutionary. I have been a member of the Jacobin Club in Paris. I have supported Robespierre and even know some of you on the Committee for Public Safety. This man is obviously lying!"

"Should we make exceptions for you, Citizen, because you have hidden yourself well in our folds until now? Your accuser has also been a member of the Jacobin Club and in fact has not only supported Robespierre but is in fact related to him. His credibility weighs more than yours as a friend of the revolution."

Monsieur Justin’s persona realized the setup. He’d been framed to begin with. He’d been led to believe the man in front of him was an honest merchant looking to get into a profitable business venture by several members of the Jacobin Club. Now it was only too clear they had intended to wrest his wealth from him at the soonest opportune moment.

"Do you have anything more to say before we pass sentence?" The prosecutor argued, a hint of a smile twisting itself menacingly along his lips.

Prof. Taslim’s head sank slowly to his chin.

"Then it is the judgment of this court that you shall remain in custody until two days time when you will be escorted to the guillotine and executed for the glory of the revolution."

The terror and despair of the moment caused Prof. Taslim’s twentieth century persona to reel and he felt his consciousness slip soundly into the 1790’s merchant’s mind entrapped by fear. "This is no dream," Prof. Taslim thought. "This is really happening! I can feel the arms of my captors around me and the pavement underneath. There is a stench in the air that is hard to quantify and I feel the dampness of the sweat in my clothes. No doubt the guillotine will feel just as real. Somehow I must get back to where I came from." But as the thought leapt through Prof. Taslim’s mind, Monsieur Justin asked mentally in confusion, "Where I came from? I am going mad!" And Prof. Taslim for a moment didn’t remember where he had come from. It had been cleaner he remembered and the language seemed strange but even this was fading from Prof. Taslim’s mind as Monsieur Justin’s psyche tried to internalize Prof. Taslim’s consciousness. And then he remembered, he’d been in the Tower of Dreams on the third level when this had all started. "That must be it!" Prof. Taslim told himself and Monsieur Justin. "This is one of the perils of the Tower of Dreams! I have to find a way out. I can’t be trapped here for more than seven days."

"Seven days?" Monsieur Justin answered morosely. "In two days time, mon ami, you will be just as dead as I."

The thoughts chilled both men to the bone as they were thrown into the holding cell in the city’s prison.

Prof. Taslim sat up in his bed sharply. The dream had been too real. He could still feel the fear of death penetrating his soul. He got up and stumbled into his bathroom. As he began the morning routine of brushing his teeth and trimming his beard, he thought about the third level. He didn’t think it unusual for an intellectual Atlas like himself to jump so many levels in one night. Prof. Taslim was a child prodigy who had excelled in the science arena obtaining his undergraduate degree at CalTech before his 18th birthday. He had gone on to major in the physics of astronomical bodies and had eventually earned a doctorate at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology where he now taught.

He polished his wire rimmed glasses to spotless perfection as he went back to his bedroom to the clothing neatly laid out on a chair next to his bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed contemplating the night’s dream. It was really quite absurd, he thought, that his dreams should have any continuity. If this continued he would soon feel the blade of the guillotine coming down on his neck. The thought made Prof. Taslim rub the nape of his neck as if confirming his head was still attached. If he had somehow fallen in one of the traps that the Ed Bishop of his dreams referred to, then he had cause to be concerned. An eternity within a nightmare was not a thought he relished. His own personal hell, it would be. But then that was absurd as well, he thought. The soul didn’t exist and these dreams were nothing more then mental fabrications, he reasserted to himself. As he continued to put on the starched white shirt fresh from the cleaners he buttoned every button deliberately and thoughtfully. But, here was the crux of his problem, he decided. If the soul didn’t exist then he had no cause to be worried about death. And yet every ounce of his being was fighting the change of events in his dream. And if the soul did exist, he should still have no fear of his death because it meant he really didn’t die. So where was the fear emanating from if it was not from his belief system? He put his pants on and tied the knot into his tie. He picked up the jacket hung on the chairs back to put it on. Fear was fear, he decided. Maybe it was just irrational. At any rate, he thought, he needn’t worry about it because the odds of returning to the same dream three nights in a row were astronomical. With that comforting thought and the last sips of his coffee he went out to his Toyota Cressida to make the commute to MIT where he was due for his Tuesday, mid-afternoon lecture.

CHAPTER 5