Dante wanted to run. Wanted to scream. Wanted to kick and punch and bite his way to freedom and make a break for it. Maybe he could make it down to the other end of this hallway and find a way out. But if this Judy was anything like the other one, it would be no use. She would pop him on the bum, and he’d go limp like a vegetable. Besides, this was just a dream, (though the frequency that he had to remind himself made that statement feel less and less true), he’d wake up soon enough.
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