Closing the door was a psychological suggestion to himself; locking it afterward reinforced that suggestion.
This was a dream, or rather, this exchange and construction of "mental consciousness" used a "dream" as its medium. The worst thing to do was follow a "new scene" in bewilderment, stepping straight into someone else's rhythm and overlooking your own autonomy.
Immediately afterward,
Kallen turned and returned to the bedroom,
where he saw himself lying fast asleep on the bed.
Kallen inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. This meant he now stood on equal footing with that "old man." The other party had requested a "chat," and he had chosen to refuse.
The sleeping version of himself lying in the bedroom was no longer a suggestion but an explicit statement: he had autonomy over this "dream."
Kallen closed his eyes.
When he opened them again,
Kallen sat straight up in bed.
A faint light shone outside the window. It was morning.
Puer woke with a start and rubbed her eyes with her paws as she said,
"Kallen, you're awake."
In the dog bed, the Golden Retriever also climbed to his feet, spread his legs, and began to stretch.
Kallen got out of bed and left the bedroom. Looking at the Study's tightly closed door, he saw that the key originally left in the handle's keyhole had fallen to the floor.
He bent down, picked up the key, inserted it, and opened the Study door. Inside, everything was quiet and clean.
Kallen walked over to the desk and found a book lying on it.
He picked it up and looked at the cover. Its title was "Only Light Can Illuminate Your Past."
The author's name was blank;
Kallen remembered coming across this book while looking through the Study's shelves, but he had chosen to skip