by Sarah Noffke
I do feel better, partly because of Jung and also because of George. Critical thinkers put me at ease.
Time passes with only the sound of George’s gentle breathing. Silence with George is usually comforting with a cathartic quality. Finally he says, “I’m not sleeping, if you still want to talk.”
I coerce a piece of hair from my ponytail and twirl it around my finger. “Can you feel the emotions I have for Chase, right now?”
George removes his forearm from across his eyes. “Yes.”
“Do you still sense them as not real, as imposter emotions?”
A sour remorse briefly blankets his face. “No, they’re becoming more real. You’re asking because you can’t feel the difference anymore, between your love for him and real love.” It’s not a question and his definitive tone empties me of hope. “He appears to have perfected the modifier. I’m sorry, Roya,” George adds.
“I am too,” I say with a melodramatic groan. “In my brain I don’t want to feel this way...but I’m becoming possessed by something so strong I can’t battle it.”
“Don’t worry, Aiden is going to fix your bracelet and then this will all go away.”
“And until then?”
He peeks one eye open, closing it with a half-smile before he says anything. “Until then, you can lean on me.”
“Thanks, George,” I say, bending over, kissing his forehead. “Now you get some rest, you look awfully tired.”
He tries to get up, but I tug his arm back to the bed. “Stay,” I say, a question in my voice.
“Here?”
“Yes, here. How am I supposed to lean on you if you’re not present,” I say.
“What about you? Are you going to sleep?”
“No, I’m not sleep material, and dream travel is out of the question right now, until my protective charm is updated.” I pick back up my iPad. “Thanks for everything, George.”
“Thank you,” he says with a smile, then within three breaths he’s asleep.
Jung’s words, again a steady streaming of comfort-producing philosophy, lull me further into an introspective state. With George sleeping peacefully beside me and Jung’s verses trailing across my vision, I feel for a moment that in all this mess there’s a delicate balance I need to achieve. George once spoke to me about synchronization. The idea strangely hones my eyes on a particular sentence, one that makes me gulp. Knocks on my chest.
“Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.”
Something I suspected from the beginning solidifies until I know it so completely to be a truth that I would stake my life on it. Jung’s words are a clue and they’ve unearthed the confidence I need to believe. The secret Trey is keeping can be revealed. I don’t need to ask Chase. I don’t need to threaten Trey anymore. All I need to do to discover the truth is to go within.
Chapter Twelve
Our fingers interlock, and the rest of our bodies don’t touch for almost an hour. I don’t sleep, just watch George, quiet and still as he slumbers. The door slides back suddenly, causing me to spring upright. Cautiously, I lean until I catch Joseph’s stern face stride around the corner, a white paper container in his hands.
“Way to knock, Joseph!” I snap in disbelief.
“Figured it was a waste of time,” he says, tossing the container at me, then eyes George with a contemptuous look. My outburst roused him, and he’s stretching into a sitting position. “What’s wrong with your bed, Anders? Is your room flooded or something? Heard this place was prone to nasty leaks.”
“Shut up,” I say, tossing the container on the bedside table. “George is here because I invited him in. The same can’t be said for you.”
Guiltless, Joseph shrugs. “Just wondering why a boy is sleeping in your bed. If Pops finds out…well, I won’t tell him. He’s already had a big day in regards to you.”
“I better give you two some space to talk,” George says, rubbing his eyes as he stands. His shirt is twisted around his torso and I just catch a glimpse of what lies beneath before he tugs it down with a graceful smile.
“Thanks for everything, George. Get some more rest. I’ll see you later,” I say, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.
He affirms with a wave.
The clock says it’s after lunch, and although I haven’t eaten, I’m not the least bit hungry. Still I open the container of food Joseph brought.
“Chicken?!” I yell, shoving the container away like it’s a box of eyeballs. “Are you insane?”
“Well, Stark, I thought now that you’ve been bitten by the vampire you were into meat.” He chuckles, too amused for his own good.
“Very funny.”
“Had to make sure you were still the same person after last night. Thought you might be a possessed demon freak by now,” he says, plopping down on my bed and almost causing the grotesque salad to spill on my bed covers.
I thrust the container at him. “I’ve been embedded. Would you give me a freaking break?!” I say, my face suddenly hot. “You think I like what happened last night?! I thought you were supposed to help me in situations like this, not make them worse!”
“That’s what I was trying to do,” he says, tossing the container on the table. “I was trying to get you the help you won’t ask for. That’s why I went to Trey. He’s contacted you, right?”
I turn and face Joseph directly. Pinning both my hands on the bed, I stare into his eyes—murder written on my face. His left eye twitches, but he doesn’t budge while I stare him down. “Oh yeah, he contacted me all right. We had a little meeting around four this morning. Your father asked me to explain in detail what happened between Chase and me…in front of Ren and Aiden. Thanks for the help, Joseph. Next time leave me the hell alone.”
Joseph’s eyes go wide. Color drains from his face. “Stark, I am so sorry,” Joseph says, covering his face with his hands. “Our father is thicker than you, apparently. What an idiotic thing to make someone do.”
“He seemed to think it was some strategy session or something,” I explain.
“That’s a real jerk move,” Joseph exclaims when I tell him that Trey refuses to reveal why Chase is after me. “I thought he said the Institute was forever in your debt. I say you cash in on that now, and make him pay interest.”
“I threatened to go and ask Chase directly.” I laugh morbidly.
“Stark!” Joseph reprimands.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to do it. I’ve got a better idea now,” I say, purposely being elusive.
“Well, can I help?” Joseph asks, leaning forward.
“Nope, I think I’m at my limit with your help.”
“Well, since you already hate me, there’s no harm in saying that watchin’ you make out with Ted Bundy was just ’bout the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” Joseph says with a shiver.
“Well, I hope it makes you feel exponentially uncomfortable to know that I was minutes away from wearing way less clothing.”
“Your hopes have been achieved.”
“How would you like to be forced to love a crazy person? To not control how you act around them?” I say, a new bitterness in my voice.
“I’m sorry. I was making this about me…as I’m prone to. But this is almost too much for you to have to handle,” he says, softening.
“It’s about time someone wonders how I’m dealing with this all.”
“No one worries about your emotional well-being as much as they should, but that’s your own fault.” I stare at Joseph, waiting for him to continue. “You’re just too tough. It changes people’s expectations. They treat you differently and that’s probably how it should be anyway.”
“Whatever,” I say.
“So, news reporting?” Joseph changes the subject. “You wanna go and take some money outta Pop’s Institutional pockets?”
I smile at his casual tone. He can switch gears faster than anyone I know. Although I seriously want t
o punch him for going to Trey, I still find him the easiest person to forgive. Who else could revive my archenemies and still have my unwavering trust but Joseph? Hating him would be like hating myself.
Before I have a chance to answer someone knocks. I angle my head at the door, giving Joseph a look.
“I’ll get it,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. A minute later he deposits a note in my hand. I look at it blankly, certain that whatever is inside I don’t want to read.
“All right, Stark, let’s see it. Can’t be all that bad,” Joseph commiserates.
“Your scale and mine of what’s bad are drastically different,” I say, unfolding the note. Trey’s handwriting is flowery. More so than most men’s.
Dear Roya,
I’m sorry I disappoint you so often. I know you must feel deserted by me. You have every right to be angry at my choices. It took me too long to tell you this: sending you and Joseph away tore my soul in two. I’m not good at showing it, but I do care about you two. All of this is to protect you both. Please don’t be foolish. Please don’t seek out Chase. He wants to use you as a weapon against the Institute.
Sincerely,
Trey
“Weapon?” Joseph says, reading over my shoulder. “How?”
I fold up the message, feeling strangely sentimental, and shrug. “It doesn’t make much sense, but welcome to the world of the Lucidites. Nothing makes sense in this place.”
“What do you think he means by that whole soul bit?” Joseph asks, watching his feet as he kicks them back and forth over the side of the bed.
“Hard to tell,” I say. “The thing about Trey is that he has the capacity to care, but he also has an agenda.”
“I guess I should reserve judgment,” Joseph says after a moment of deliberation.
“That’s mature of you.”
♦
A half an hour later another note comes. Another meeting request. I love Patrick, but he’s only brought bad news all day. Maybe the guy should take the rest of the month off.
Ren’s office is surprisingly well lit compared to what I envisioned. In my imagination he worked in a dungeon, tortured enemies pinned to the walls in rusty chains, an interrogation light swinging in the corner, every now and then illuminating teeth and bits of hair sprayed out on the dirt floor.
I am surprised when I walk into a tidy office with multiple floor lamps. A large British flag ripples across the entire back wall. A row of shelves, full of jacket-worn books, flanks the side wall. There’s no blood or pliers or anything else that can link Ren to the torture of innocent people. My eyes continue to search.
Ren spins around in his swivel chair and faces me with a keen grin. “Well, thank you for gracing me with your presence. I expected that you wouldn’t be here until after all the Pokémon cartoons were over. Pull up a chair, won’t you, luv.” He motions to a folding chair lying against the wall.
“Wow,” I say, unfolding the cold metal chair. “Looks like you went all out.”
“Can’t have guests getting too comfortable. Then they’d want to stay and that would just about kill me,” he says.
“Would it? Well, I’ve got nowhere to be any time soon, so let’s put that to the test.”
He raises an eyebrow, looking almost entertained by my quip. “Oh, clever girl, you wouldn’t be so quick to make jokes if you knew why you were here.”
“I’m one hundred percent certain it has absolutely everything to do with making my life hell, so without further ado, please get on with it.”
“You’re taking all the fun out of this,” he says, crossing his arms and feigning disappointment. “Can’t you grimace a bit? Be a tad more repulsed by me? That would make this move along a little better.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing and I’m certain I’ll vomit.”
“That would be lovely,” Ren says with a toothy grin. Maybe it’s the lighting in his office, but for the first time I notice gray hair flecking between strands of red. “We’re here so I can help you combat your horny attraction to Chase. Specifically, I’ve been cursed with the opportunity to teach you about dream invasion. Oh, woe is me. Good thing I have such a sunny disposition.”
Dream invasion. It’s how the Lucidites originally contacted me. It’s how Aiden informed me he was still alive while being held captive in the Grotte. And, it’s how Chase regularly enters my dreams, forcing himself onto me.
“Do you know how lucky you are to have private lessons with me?” Ren says, breaking into my reverie.
“This is luck?” I say without emotion. “Remind me to throw away my rabbit’s foot.”
“Dream invasion,” Ren begins, ignoring me, “can be avoided but only if you control every aspect of your sleeping dreams by limiting what can be introduced. It’s actually quite a fun way to dream. A caveat is that your subconscious still can introduce things into the dream that aren’t limited. So don’t be surprised if you’re eating a scone that turns into a squirrel and then the Queen of England sits down and tells you that you just ate her pet. You can control the location, the details, and pretty much everything else. But there will be surprises. If you’re doing your job, as I’ll teach how to do, then Chase will be forbidden from entering. He won’t know you’re dreaming or even that it’s a possibility that he could visit. He’ll simply be banned without evidence as to why.”
“Trey told you to teach this to me, didn’t he? What if I decide I don’t want to stop Chase? What if I decide that I want Chase to visit my dreams so I can ask him why he wants me in the first place?”
“Well, you can do whatever you like. Certainly you do that already, don’t you?” He sneers. “Thing is, Chase is about as likely to tell you why he’s after you as I am to indulge you on that fact. We both have simply nothing to gain by revealing this information. So go ahead, allow him into your dreams. You’ve got nothing to lose…well, except your virginity or whatever other innocence you’re pretending to have at this point in your adolescence.”
“Fine, tell me what I need to know to keep creeps out of my dreams,” I say, slouching down in the chair.
For over an hour Ren divulges every last thing he thinks will help me guard my dreams against invasions. I don’t take notes and pretend I’m barely listening, but still I absorb every word he says.
Finally, he leans back in his chair, eyeing his gold ring like it’s a new piece of jewelry. “You know, Trey isn’t the monster you want him to be.”
“Coming from you that means nothing.”
“Oh, I get it, you like to pretend my opinion is worthless.”
“In regards to my personal life, it is,” I say. “You love to give me your unsolicited opinion. But I think we’re close enough that I can tell you I don’t give a damn what you think.”
He smirks. “You know, that was quite the performance you gave this morning in Room 222. Think you might have even ruffled some feathers, if it makes you feel better.”
“Glad you enjoyed my raw, unfiltered emotions.”
“You got a recorder?”
“A what?” I ask.
“A voice recorder.”
“No, why?”
“Too bad, you could record what I’m about to say next. It’s the only direct compliment you may ever hear from me.”
“Well, I’ve got a memory like an elephant, so fire away.”
“You’re just like your father.”
“Is that my compliment?”
“Indeed it is,” he says, propping his red leather shoes up on his desk.
“As I said before, keep your opinions to yourself. You obviously have a skewed sense of judgment.”
“You’re a real heartbreaker, aren’t you? Why don’t you use that to tear Chase’s heart out?”
I lean forward, daring to put my face inches from Ren’s. “I have every intention of doing just that.”
He doesn’t budge, but does allow a pleased grin to unfurl. “Good girl. I knew my efforts wouldn’t be completely wasted on you. Now get out of here
before your presence zaps me of the will to live.”
Chapter Thirteen
I awake from dreams unspoiled by lunatic murderers. The high degree of lucid dreaming it takes to stop dream invasion leaves me in a state of euphoria. Then I remember who I have a meeting with first thing this morning, and all bliss turns into a storm-tossed sea of bad emotions.
If my education at the Institute has taught me anything, it’s that people can act in a host of different manners which are all contrary to their sincere states. Pretense is an integral part of the fabric which holds these stainless steel walls together. I’ve hated it from the beginning. Hated the lies and secrets and all the acts. But right now I’m going to immerse myself in this culture of pretenders. I’m going to forget that I’m a person with real emotions. I’m going to pretend there isn’t a long list of feelings I want to express. For one hour I’m going to be someone else.
“I’m here,” I announce from the entrance. “As requested.”
Aiden’s back is to me. He moves his chin slightly, his peripheral vision capturing my presence. “Come in,” he nods, voice clipped.
Shoulders back, chest high I stride until I’m on the other side of the table where he’s working. He’s stacking binders and moving them to the bottom shelf. I drum my fingers on the table top casually as if I’m waiting in line at the post office.
“Is this a good time?” I say. Drum drum drum. “I can come back.” Drum drum drum.
Finally he flicks his eyes up, not to me, but to my wrist. “Give me your bracelet,” he says not in his usual tone, or even the one he uses when in Head Scientist mode. This is a new one. He’s mad. So mad he won’t look at me.
I pause, study him. “Do you have a patch? One that will block Chase?”
He bristles at the mention of his name. His nostrils flare. “No, I just need to take some diagnostics,” he says, extending his hand. “Bracelet. I need it.”
“Does no one in this place use manners?”
