The grey-haired man he’d met once in the cafeteria back in the Wellness Dream Clinic was there. He had an old cello in his hands. “Seth Roberts?” “Yeah. Who are you?” “I’m your doctor, and in a way you’re my doctor.” Seth immediately knew that both statements were true and untrue. It confused him. WJ saw the confusion track across the boy’s face. Good, he thought. He smiled. “Your treatments are going very well.” “Are they?” “Yes, I’m very pleased.” Seth knew this was a truth—but wondered exactly what truth. “Where am I?” “We’re in Southern California, by the ocean.” Seth nodded. “Did you figure that out?” “Yeah.” “How?” Seth ignored the question and asked one of his own. “I’m not here to be treated for my cancer, am I?” WJ didn’t say anything. “I’m not being treated for anything, am I? This is all some kind of bad joke.” “No it’s not, of that I’m sure.” Seth looked at the grey-haired man. The man wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t telling the truth either.
