Some Faraway Place

by Lauren Shippen

  “He was freaked. He said he didn’t want to talk there but we exchanged numbers and I—well, I’m getting coffee with him tomorrow,” I said. Not technically a lie, even if it made it sound like Damien and I were meeting for the first time. It’s not that I think Dr. Bright is untrustworthy, but I’m still figuring out Damien for myself. I don’t need her hovering over this whole thing in the way Aaron is.

  “Are you sure you should be meeting with this person?” she asked, confirming my fears.

  “Yeah, it’ll be fine,” I said and she nodded, like she was considering her next words carefully. I jumped in before she could ask more questions about Damien.

  “You never saw anything suspicious there?” I pressed. “At the AM?”

  “I can’t talk about my time there—it’s all completely confidential. But you’ve had a good experience. The most important thing is to find physicians that you trust. As long as you feel you’re making progress, that’s what matters.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Well, anyway, I’ll see this guy tomorrow and see what he says. I definitely don’t want to go to an organization that’s doing something unethical. Plus, it’s nice to make new Atypical friends.”

  “That’s very true. It’s important to have a community of people you feel you can be yourself with.”

  “Maybe if he needs more help, I could introduce you guys?” It might be a hard sell to Damien, but she’s right, a community of support is something I think both of us want. “It seemed like the AM … wasn’t really helping him.”

  “My door is always open.”

  JANUARY 24TH, 2017

  For the first time in a long time, real life has become slightly more interesting than the dreamworld.

  I’ve been spending more time at Emily’s dorm, not even napping, but playing board games and making out and watching Marvel movies so that I can fully appreciate her fic. And it’s been wonderful, I feel so at peace with her, so at home, but it’s still an escape. It’s its own kind of dreamdiving. Emily still doesn’t know about my ability, about Atypicals at all, about my dad, so I’m never really … me with her. Not in the way I can be with Damien.

  We’ve gotten coffee every day since our first meet-up and Aaron got SO weird about it so quickly, wanting to come along and meet Damien himself, in a super annoying and uncharacteristic big brother play, so I’ve been going straight from Emily’s to coffee in the hopes that Aaron will just STOP asking about it. But I’m worried that he’s going to read things in my thoughts because, as I said, things with Damien have been even more fascinating than what the dreamworld can conjure up.

  And today was very, very interesting.

  Damien and I were sitting on what has become our bench, in a nearly empty and freezing cold park, sipping coffee and talking about his ability. He was explaining how it worked to me—how it wasn’t mind control at all, but that his wants were so strong that they would go into other people, make them want the same thing. I know that my dreamdiving has its downsides but the way Damien talked about his power made my issues pale in comparison.

  “So I never really know what anyone wants,” he said sadly. “Or if anyone actually cares about me for me.”

  “Sheesh, that’s so rough.” I winced.

  “Yeah…” He nodded. “It’s just—people have always assumed I’m a bad person because I influence people, but it’s not my fault, you know? I can’t control what my ability does.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said. “And it’s like people with good control just forget what it’s like to not have control. My brother used to read our minds without asking all the time and now he gets annoyed when I go into his dreams. It’s totally unfair.”

  “Exactly,” he agreed. “And just because we have abilities that affect other people’s minds, doesn’t mean that we’re worse than other Atypicals with more straightforward abilities. I had this friend once—Blaze—he was a pyrokinetic, and his power was totally out of control, he was constantly burning stuff, but the rest of our friends just felt bad for him, because he couldn’t control it.”

  “Well, it sounds like it wasn’t his fault,” I pointed out.

  “That’s exactly my point,” he said. “It’s not my fault either.”

  Something in the back of my brain itched at that. I understood what Damien was saying, that just because we have powers that can embarrass people or invade privacy, we’re unfairly maligned. But I also don’t know that we can say it’s not our fault. It’s not our fault that we have the powers we do, but the way we use them is up to us. I think.

  I didn’t say any of that though, because I was distracted by Damien telling me more about his friend Blaze. And guess what? Blaze had ALSO been kidnapped, ten years ago, but by a totally different group, one Damien doesn’t even know the name of. And all the experimenting they did on him made his pyrokinesis go totally wild.

  “And I would bet my last dollar that the AM has seen stuff like that before,” he explained. “And they’d be idiots not to be coming up with a solution for it. I mean, the destruction that someone could cause, not to mention, it’s hard to keep Atypicals a secret if there are a bunch that are out of control. So, my theory is that the immunity drug could be tweaked to make an Atypical immune to their own ability. Basically like a suppressant.”

  “But they kind of already have that, don’t they?” I said. “I mean, they gave me these powerful sleeping pills that basically knocked me out so completely, I couldn’t dreamdive. And we both were put in rooms meant to dampen our abilities.”

  “Yeah, not like I needed it,” he muttered bitterly.

  “So why wouldn’t they be able to do something like that for your friend?” I asked.

  “I mean, the fact that last I heard he was in an AM facility in California, still spontaneously combusting every five minutes, would suggest that they have not come up with a solution,” he said dryly. “I think each ability is, you know, its own beautiful snowflake.” He rolled his eyes. “And maybe they haven’t figured out what to do for kinetics. Pyrokinetics, telekinetics…”

  “Right…” I mumbled. Damien gave me a meaningful look, like he was waiting for me to speak. When I didn’t, he sighed heavily and continued.

  “I’m just saying that the AM is a totally corrupt organization and they might actually have all the pieces to put together a solution for your dad and they haven’t because—”

  “Because they’re a totally corrupt organization?” I echoed skeptically.

  “Look, Rose, I know you’ve had a good experience—” he started, leaning toward me.

  “No, I get it,” I said. “And I actually … I actually might have an idea.”

  “Oh really?” He looked impressed and I preened a little.

  “Just give me a few days,” I said cryptically. “I need to talk to someone first.”

  “Ooh, the intrigue,” he said flatly.

  “You’re not the only one who gets to be all mysterious,” I quipped and he laughed, the sound harsh and croaky as always. I smiled into my coffee cup, feeling like every laugh I got out of him was a little victory. Like the person I am, unfiltered, is funny and interesting.

  “Do you miss it?” I asked suddenly.

  “Miss what?”

  “Your ability,” I said. “I know I talk about maybe someday taking sleeping pills all the time so that I don’t dreamdive anymore, but I think … I think I would be crushed if it was just taken away from me.”

  “Yeah,” he said softly. He grimaced, squinting into the winter sun, as I sat patiently, waiting to see if he would say more.

  “It’s like a part of me is missing,” he said. “Like everything is just a little … duller. A little blurrier.”

  “Everything back in black-and-white,” I murmured.

  “Hm?”

  “I sometimes feel like I’m Dorothy and the dreamworld is Oz,” I explained. “Technicolor and magical and surprising. If I didn’t have the dreamworld, everything would be black-and-white forever.”

&n
bsp; “Dorothy, huh?” he said, sizing me up, one eyebrow rising.

  I shrugged.

  “Guess that makes me the Tin Man,” he muttered, looking back out over the park. I thought about asking what he meant—if that meant he thinks he needs a heart, why he thinks that when he was so quick to care about me, about my dad, enough to try to help us—but I knew him well enough to read his body language. He didn’t want to talk about whatever was going through his head.

  “Okay, so, tell me more about all these Atypical friends you had,” I asked, changing the subject.

  And he did. He told me about living in LA with a bunch of Atypicals when he was my age, getting into trouble and having the time of his life. We laughed as he told me about the time they almost burned down a bar and I could picture the open road so perfectly as Damien described the road trips they would take. It was so refreshing to talk to someone who didn’t follow the traditional path—who didn’t go to college or have a regular job or a perfect family to live up to.

  I genuinely don’t know what Aaron is so worried about. For once, I have a friend who, yeah, might not be my age or have similar life experiences, but who gets me. What could be bad about that?

  community/TheUnusuals post by n/thatsahumanperson

  The family drama never seems to end and I’m posting again here today to ask you all, especially the mind readers among us, for advice.

  So that Unusual that my sister got coffee with has turned into an actual friend of hers, which would be fine, except he’s ten years older than her and seems, like, really obsessed with all things Unusual and with That Place. My sister is spending a lot of time hanging out with him and talking about all this stuff, apparently, and when I say a lot, I mean a lot. She’s known the guy for two weeks and after their first coffee, she was going on about all this stuff to do with That Place and seemed kind of … manic? Things have calmed down in the past week or so but now it just feels like she’s avoiding me because she doesn’t want to talk about it again because I didn’t react exactly as she wanted the first time. Then again, she could just be avoiding me because that’s what she does now.

  Before any of you jump to conclusions or have a chance to ask: I’m not worried about anything romantic between this guy and my sister. She’s gay and very open about it, so that’s not a concern. But to that point … if it’s not some creep preying on her, then what is he doing? I don’t know, I kind of want to tag along on her next hang with him and read his mind. But am I just being a crazy, overprotective brother?

  chuckxavier

  You know my feelings on using information from people’s thoughts to manipulate or control them, but if you’re genuinely concerned about your sister’s safety, you should definitely step in. What’s the point of having these abilities if we can’t at least use them to protect the ones we love?

  onmyown

  For once, I completely agree with Chuck. Do whatever you need to do to protect your sister. Trust your gut.

  theneonthorn

  how do you know this guy is bad news if you’ve never met him?

  thatsahumanperson

  I mean, that’s sort of the point—I think I should meet him and listen in, find out what he’s really about.

  theneonthorn

  I’m just saying, give the guy the benefit of the doubt. everyone deserves a first chance.

  JANUARY 31ST, 2017

  “Promise me you won’t get weird about this, but I want to try something.”

  Those were the words that Damien greeted me with when I sat down on our bench this morning.

  “Hello to you too,” I said, smiling into my coffee cup. I breathed in the smell of the grounds, that sharp, warm scent snapping me awake. Being around Damien was like that. He didn’t pull punches in conversation—he was direct and unapologetic, in the way that I am in dreams; in the way I want to be in real life.

  “I want to dreamdive with you.”

  “What?” I nearly choked on my coffee.

  “I know you’ve already been in my dreams, but I don’t remember,” he said pragmatically, like this wasn’t the weirdest conversation I’d ever had.

  “I…” I searched for anything to say. “Even if you fall asleep knowing I’m going dreamdiving, that doesn’t mean you’ll remember. I don’t think it works like that.”

  “Have you tried?” he asked, eyes wide.

  “Um, yeah,” I said, laughing awkwardly, “that’s kind of the whole point of going to the AM. All the doctors I dreamdived into didn’t remember anything about it on the other side.”

  “Oh.” Damien settled back against the bench, looking disappointed. If possible, the bags under his eyes looked worse every single day—it felt like soon his entire face would be one weary bruise.

  “Damien, what’s—” I started, “I mean, why … why do you want to do this?”

  He gave a big sigh, his chest puffing out against his ratty hoodie, and I couldn’t help the tiny smile that crept onto my face. He is SO dramatic.

  “You can change dreams, right?” he said.

  “Yeah…”

  He nodded, jaw clenching, refusing to make eye contact with me. When he didn’t say anything in response, I assumed he wanted me to keep going.

  “I mean, it’s not as simple as just going in there and waving my magic wand,” I said, “but yeah, I can change things. It’s … awesome.”

  I couldn’t help the grin that broke out and was surprised to see Damien’s expression mirror mine. His smile was … odd. All teeth, his lips tight, like he was imitating what he was seeing on my face, not actually smiling.

  “It sounds awesome,” he said, and I blushed at his approval. “And I want to see it in action.”

  “But if you don’t remember, then what’s the point?” I asked, my voice cracking unexpectedly on the thought. Damien, more perceptive than my doctors sometimes, noticed.

  “What’s going through your head, Dorothy?”

  The nickname and the intense amount of focus he was giving me just made me blush harder.

  “Just…” I sighed. “I realized that maybe that’s what I’m doing with my dad.”

  It was easier to admit than I would have thought. Sitting on a cold park bench, talking to this odd, sharp-edged man who didn’t seem to mind all that much that I’d dived into his head already, was asking me to do it again, and having him call me nicknames and look at me like he cared, felt like new, uncharted territory in a freeing way. Like I’d accessed some place between the real world and the dreamworld. It made it easier to be honest.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Avoiding him because I’m worried he’s not going to remember the time we spend together,” I said quietly. “Like … what’s the point if he’s going to forget? If he’s going to fade away.”

  “The point is now,” he said, like it was obvious. Maybe it is to everyone else. “The point is for you guys to have those moments together, in the present.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded like I understood.

  “You’ll remember, Rose,” he said, and something in his voice made me turn to look at him. He had an intense look in his eyes—something like fear—as he talked. “Even if they forget, you’ll remember.”

  “They…?”

  “Never mind,” he muttered. “Point is, you should be spending time with your dad. If I had had parents who loved me the way yours clearly love you—”

  He stopped himself, clamping his mouth tight like he was physically trying to keep the words from coming out.

  “Is there something you want me to see in your dreams?” I asked abruptly, trying to put the pieces together.

  “What?” Damien’s eyebrows scrunched. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “If it doesn’t matter if you remember, but it does that I do…”

  “Oh,” he said, catching up, “no, no—I just meant with your dad. I don’t want to show you anything, it’s not…” He sighed again. “Iwantyoutochangesomething.”

  He said it all like tha
t—in a rush, one big exhale. Like he was embarrassed. I think I even noticed some color on his cheeks, which, wow, I really did NOT think Damien could blush.

  “What?”

  He sighed again, shuffling on the bench like he couldn’t get comfortable.

  “I want you to change something,” he repeated, slower this time. “In my dream.”

  “Okay…” I said, still trying to figure out where this was going.

  “I keep having this … this nightmare.” He was steadfastly staring into the middle distance, his arms crossed over his chest like a plate of armor. “Ever since I left the AM, every single night and it’s…”

  At least I had an explanation for why he looked more and more worn every day.

  “You want me to change it,” I finished for him.

  “Do you think you could do that?” His shoulders relaxed like even the possibility of it was a huge relief.

  “I mean … I think so? But…”

  “What?” He turned to me, slinging his arm over the back of the bench and leaning in.

  “I don’t know if it would change forever,” I told him. “I don’t know if what I do in the dreamworld … sticks.”

  “Do you want to find out?”

  01-31-2017, morningwaffles, text post

  Someone please hop in my in-box and tell me that my girlfriend hanging out with people other than me is actually completely normal, even if she didn’t have many (or really, any) friends up until a few weeks ago and that her having a new friend she won’t tell me much about is good actually! and she’s definitely not cheating on me.

  Because, like, I haven’t talked to her outside of a few texts in three days and she was away for the first few weeks of this year and then was over all the time and extremely doting and wonderful and now I see her, like, once a week and I’m not saying that I’m panicking, but I’m panicking.

  FEBRUARY 1ST, 2017

  Damien’s head is an absolute mess.

  I know I should have told him I needed time to think about it, talked to Aaron or Dr. Bright or anyone about going inside the head of someone I’d known for two weeks, going over to his apartment, by myself, and immediately falling asleep, but if I’m totally honest, I jumped at the chance to dive into someone’s head with their explicit permission. To use my ability to help someone, show myself—show everyone—that it wasn’t just a compulsion I couldn’t stop, but a powerful tool. The only reason I didn’t dreamdive the moment he asked yesterday is, well, two people passed out on a park bench might draw some attention and Damien seemed reluctant to invite me back to his place.