Limping back to the estate, it didn’t even occur to Beck how he appeared until he crossed the threshold of the foyer. His groundskeeper Maude was pruning the field of flowers she had set up in the entryway, who upon turning to him gasped in shock.

“Good heavens, Mr. Barclay!” She stared at the bullet wound seeping into the leg of Beck’s pants. “Let me ring a doctor to come see to you.”

He held up a hand. “No, I have it covered. My personal physician is on his way as we speak,” he lied, weariness heavy in his voice.

Maude continued to regard him with concern, but Beck could tell when skepticism creeped into her expression. “Dare I ask what happened?”

“Well –” In his muddled state, Beck struggled to remember what story he’d been feeding her. “One of my patients had a violent episode after a particularly troubling dream.”

She looked hardly convinced, but didn’t question him on it further.

“Due to the incident I’ll be gone on holiday to recover. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” he said.

“Very well. The manor will be in pristine condition upon your return.” Maude went back to tending the flowers.

Beck shuffled as quickly as he could manage up the stairs and down the hall towards his suite. He had to get out of this infernal plane. When he reached his room and the doppelganger resting on his bed, Beck barely gave Patch time to drop from his back before he flopped down and emerged back into the world above.

As he came to, he immediately noticed how his clothes clung to him. He was drenched in a cold sweat that made him shiver when he pulled the covers back. Immediately he got up and went over to the small chair where Patch sat. Relief washed over him when he saw the bear was in its inert state. When Beck saw the various holes that peppered the doll, his relief gave way to concern. It seemed that the damage Patch sustained had carried over to this world, somehow.

He felt his leg. His own injury was gone, something that he hadn’t noticed in his scramble over to Patch. The fact that didn’t carry over from the Reverie softened the blow of what happened ever so slightly, but it did raise the question of why Patch retained their wounds. Perhaps it was because a velour’s nature was more connected to the Reverie and —

No, he wanted to put any thoughts of that place out of his head. Grabbing Patch he scuttled back to the bed and sat against the headframe, holding the doll close. The sun slowly emerged outside. As time slipped by, Beck tracked the rays as they traveled across the walls.

Eventually a knock came to the door, which he didn’t answer.

“Beckham, breakfast will be cleared if you do not get up this minute!” Nora’s muffled voice came from the hallway.

When no response came from his lips he heard mumbled cursing as the door swung open. The housekeeper's head appeared around the corner. Her scowl quickly vanished when she saw the state that Beck was in.

“Are you well, or do you need medicine?”

He shook his head. “No, I just need some time.”

Nora gave him one last stare before retreating wordlessly from the room. Beck sat on the bed and watched the sunlight continue to travel across the room. It almost seemed like the hours were slipping past him too quickly. He gripped the doll tighter.

“Patch?” He whispered.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The velour continued to be dormant, watching him with vacant beads for eyes. No, this was still real.

After more time passed Nora appeared again, causing him to jump.

“If you need to talk through something — well, at the very least you should talk to Rowan, if it's related to the Reverie,” she said.

Beck gave a non-committal tilt of his head but remained quiet. The housekeeper disappeared once more, and the light from outside started to grow more orange. As it started to dim he continued to check on Patch, who was still nothing more than a doll despite Beck’s growing fatigue. When night was beginning to settle through the window, he heard a crowd of people approach.

They entered through the small entrance one by one. At the front was his uncle, followed by Nora and Amelia. His uncle stopped at the foot of the bed.

“What happened?” He asked.

Beck still didn't want to talk, but looking into his uncle's eyes, he had the impression that wasn't going to be an option. He wore a lazy grin as though it were a casual interaction, but his eyes were deep and emotionless.

“I encountered some people who attacked me,” he said quietly.

His uncle gestured to Patch’s battered form. “I figured. Now, if you will give the velour to Nora, she can have it fixed up.”

Beck didn't let go of the doll. He could feel his fingers starting to tremble. “Uncle, I — I was shot!”

His uncle didn't so much as blink. “That is unfortunate, but running into anyone in the Reverie is a rare occurrence, and you're back safe and sound due to Patch's protection, no worse for wear.” The corners of his smile turned up more, as though that would be comforting. “If it will make you feel safer, we can train you on firearms so you have that extra —”

“A gun?!” Beck could barely contain a nervous laugh. “A man was in the throes of death, yet unable to die! If I had known the Reverie was capable of such horrors, I would never have entered!”

“Yet you have, and there is no turning back now.”

“On the contrary, uncle. I have made up my mind, and I will be chartering a ship back home. I need to get away from this madness.”

Amelia shot a look to his uncle, but said nothing. Nora was looking at him with what almost looked like pity.

“Beckham, that would be ill-advised,” she said.

“As you said yourself, since the Reverie cannot be left behind, this estate is the safest place you can be,” his uncle said. “We have all of the wards and professionals one can have to ensure your protection.”

“I'll just leave with Patch, then!” Beck spat. “They're the only one who has actually looked out for me in my time here!”

Rowan looked at him sharply. “The velours are property of the estate, none will be going with you back to England.”

He stared at his uncle in disbelief. Several words tried to form on his lips, but none accurately represented the cascade of emotions he felt. First shock at his uncle's callousness, then betrayal, then fury. From his uncle's perspective he imagined his face must have been like a film that silently bared his feelings.

“Beckham, I know this hardly seems fair, but this is for your benefit. What if the same fate that had befallen this man in the Reverie happened to you? How would we even know that you needed rescue?”

A silence stretched between them until he could bear it no more. “If I am staying here, then I just won't dream,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “I recall Nora mentioning that she had a serum that induced a dreamless sleep.”

For the first time his uncle hesitated. “I would normally allow such a request, but these aren't normal circumstances. Your travels inside the Reverie are compulsory, we will not be providing Nora’s serum to you.”

“So, what? You’re just my jailers now as you watch me suffer for your own sick pleasure?” Beck sputtered.

“I'm not a sadist; I have been instructed to run your time here with us this way,” his uncle explained.

“By who?”

“Your father.”

Any vitriolic response he had died. A numbness began to take his limbs, and a bitter resignation filled his body. He felt Patch slide through his fingers as his uncle retrieved the bear and passed it off to Nora.

“I believe it would be best if Fielding accompanies you on your next journey,” his uncle said delicately. “He’s dealt with similar binds to what you've been in, and I believe his presence will put you more at ease.” He put on what he thought was a reassuring smile, before leaving the room.

Nora followed shortly after, looking over Patch and frowning at all of the holes. “You should get some dinner, we don't want you to starve,” she said over her shoulder.

Amelia went last. She looked at him and parted her lips as though to say something, before she thought better of it and left Beck to himself.