"Are you comfortable, Mr. Fallow?" asked the sleep technician.

 

Bob Fallow squirmed in a single bed within a small room filled with machinery prominently labeled Island Palms Sleep Center. "Not really," he grumbled. "With all these wires and electrodes, I doubt I'll be able to get any sleep at all."

 

The technician smiled and reassured the patient, saying, "The pills you took earlier will take care of that." He checked the electrodes one last time and said, "Good night, Mr. Fallow," then turned off the light and left the treatment room.

 

As he entered the observation center, Dr. Margaret Lyster, the lead researcher for the project, was already there, watching through a one-way glass wall as Mr. Fallow continued to wriggle. "Is he ready?" she asked.

 

"Yes, ma'am," replied the technician.

 

"And what about Ms. Farely?" The Doctor turned to look through the opposite wall where another one-way window viewed a separate treatment room.

 

The technician followed her gaze and said, "It looks like she is already dozing off. We should be able to start the experiment in another few minutes."

 

"I have a good feeling about this one," she said, mostly to herself. "We have two perfect subjects this time. Both are extreme introverts. Both are living alone and experiencing sleep deprivation due to social anxieties and loneliness. It's going to be an interesting night for all of us."

 

* * *

 

Bob heard his own footsteps clanking against the treads of a broken escalator. He found himself in a shopping mall and it felt like he had been there many times in the past. This time, however, there was no one else in the mall. The overhead lights glared and elevator music played through invisible speakers. He walked past a Books-a-Million and saw hundreds of books on the shelves. But there were no shoppers in the store, or anywhere else in the mall, at least as far as he could see in the cavernous space.

 

As he continued to amble down the long, empty mall, past an Old Navy clothing store and a Spencer's novelty shop, Bob began to feel a foreboding. This place, these storefronts, were at once so familiar and yet, somehow, out of place. A small part of his brain recognized the experience for what it was, another liminal nightmare like the ones that had disturbed his sleep for many months now.

 

Just then, Bob heard a noise in front of him. Startled, he took a step backward and listened. When he didn't hear another sound, he called out, "Hello!?"

 

There was no response, only the echo of his own voice. But when he squinted he saw something strange outside an Orange Julius shop in the distance. It frightened him immensely, so of course, the backward logic of nightmares compelled him to go investigate.

 

As he approached the beverage shop, Bob saw a woman sitting alone at one of the tables. She said nothing but looked up at him with a sad, calm expression. They quietly stared at each other for a minute, trying to figure out what was happening.

 

Finally, Bob said, "I know you."

 

"No you don't," she replied.

 

"I do. I've known you for… a long time. Forever, maybe."

 

"You think you know me, but you don't. It's the way things work here."

 

Confused, Bob said, "It's me, Bob Fallow, remember? I know we've met before. I just can't remember your name."

 

"It's Mary," said the woman. "Mary Farely."

 

Bob stifled a laugh. "That's funny," he said.

 

"Yeah, my parents were jokesters. I've been repeating that punch line my whole life."

 

Bob sat in a chair at the table with Mary and asked the obvious question: "Are you real?"

 

"Yes. I think so."

 

"But you're here, in my dream. Doesn't that mean I've made you up?"

 

"If you invented a lonely, miserable widow with a drinking problem to be your nightmare companion, you are one sick puppy," she said.

 

"Well, yes," he replied. "I am."

 

Mary smiled for the first time and said, "Besides, how do we know you're not a figment of my twisted psyche? This is my nightmare too."

 

"Hmm," Bob said. "I guess it doesn't matter. One mind or two, we're both figments, right?"

 

"Yep," Mary agreed, looking a lot less sad now that there was someone else to talk to.

 

"And besides, we have all this," Bob waved his arm expansively toward the deserted mall. "All the books we might want to read, VHS tapes to watch, an unlimited wardrobe - we can even make an orange-flavored smoothie if we want to!"

 

Mary looked up and took it all in as he spoke. She even giggled a little and said, "You know, it's not so bad here, is it? Something is soothing and familiar about the place. Nostalgic. And there aren't any people to try to get along with. Just you, my fellow figment, Mr. Fallow."

 

Both of them laughed and Bob added, "We might as well enjoy it while we can. No dream lasts forever."

 

They locked eyes for a moment and Mary said, "That's true, I guess." She reached across the table to cover his hand in hers and continued, "Unless we want it to."

 

* * *

 

When the machines in both patient rooms began to flash and beep at the same moment, Dr. Lyster ran into Bob's room while the technician attended to Mary.

 

"What the hell happened?!" Dr. Lyster asked.

 

She pushed an adrenaline needle into Bob's neck, but the machines continued to sound their alarms and the monitor showed only a flat line.

 

"Damnit!" cried Dr. Lyster. "They were supposed to find comfort with each other in their shared nightmares and wake rested and happy. That's what all my research predicted. What could have gone wrong?"

 

In death, the patients' faces no longer showed the terrified scowls they normally wore during previous sleep sessions. Instead, they were relaxed and content, and the corners of both their mouths turned up slightly.