Chapter Eighteen
The clock approached the hour of ten that evening. Tracy had lain in her new bed for roughly forty minutes now with the lights dimmed, and on her forehead, were four electrodes which were connected to a machine to her left side.
There wasn’t anything but a plant in the corner next to the door, a bed, the machine, and a large mirror in the room.
The mirror, as Tracy had guessed, was a two-way mirror with Bolan lurking from behind. “How long will it take before we can get a picture?” Bolan asked a technician sitting in a chair, studying a monitor.
“Well, it’ll be roughly seven minutes or more before she falls asleep. About thirty to sixty more before she hits REM. So, you’re looking at about an hour – maybe two,” explained the young technician.
“At that time rate, this had better work. Your job is on the line here.” Bolan said and the technician looked up at him.
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“Believe me, it’ll work. I’ve tested it on a couple of college students. You wouldn’t believe the shit they dream about – almost makes you want to jack off,” and he was cut off as the door opened.
They turned and looked at the older doctor with gray, balding hair.
“Well, if it isn’t my dear good friend, Doctor Whitaker. What brings you all the way down from the top floor?” Bolan announced, shocked at the arrival of a superior.
Whitaker sighed as he closed the door. “Please, don’t try to kiss my ass – I just ate dinner. I don’t need indigestion,” he said and the technician smiled – holding back the laughter.
Whitaker took a deep breath and then exhaled. “Now, we’re going to try and see what Tracy is dreaming? Like watching a movie that she’s actually dreaming up in her mind, right?” he inquired.
“Yeah. It’s still in the experimental stages, though,” the technician said as they all looked through the glass and watched Tracy.
They noticed her eyes moving in that all-too-familiar left-to-right pattern.
“She’s entered REM,” announced the technician.