With a sense of shock, he saw the figures there. Totally motionless, jutting from a massive block of
stone that must have weighed fifty tons, he mistook them at first for carefully carved, life-size
sculptures.
He heard his own voice rise and fall, a new tone in it now, as if he were praying. His hand moved the
flaming torch in slow, spiraling circles. Its guttering light fell on the figures, and Peter felt his stomach
churn as he realized what they were.
The Justice League of America.
He'd seen their pictures in a dozen newspapers, watched footage of their exploits on the television
news. They were even present the day the pyramid was uncovered by the dam burst.
Superman was unmistakeable in his blue costume and red cape. The dark-haired female with the tiara,
a red star emblazoned in its center, was Wonder Woman. The black-and-green symbol identified
Green Lantern. Peter had never seen the Hash before—any photograph of the Scarlet Speedster
tended to show only a red blur—but deduced it was him from the golden lightning streak that crossed
his chest.
Four of the mightiest heroes in the world . . . and Peter Glaston held them captive!
No, not me, Peter corrected himself. Whoever has invaded my mind and stolen my body. Why did I
think it was me?
Somehow, the heroes' bodies had been imprisoned in the living rock, as if the stone had grown
organically around them, the way that, over years, a tree will grow to envelop a nail hammered into
its trunk. Their hands were free but, here and there where they touched the rock, they too seemed to be
absorbed.
Only their heads and upper torsos were showing; the rest of them was buried in the solid granite.
Their eyes were closed, and Peter would have thought them dead had it not been for the tiny fluttering
movements of their eyelids.
Like they're in REM sleep, he thought. Rapid eye movement was one of the physical manifestations of
the dreaming mind. But what does this all mean?