I remembered the look on his face, utter horror. He had reached into my bag of seeds and tossed out a handful to feed the doves, gathered in droves in enjoyment of the sprinkled treats. Sometimes, I liked to stop at the park on my way home from school to feed them. Their funny little crowns bobbed up and down like bobble-heads. While I fed them, he circled around, and eventually gathered the courage to ask me if he could join in. He looked kind enough. A bit of white tuft behind his ears stuck out like rabbit ears and a great red sweater--like what Santa would wear--squeezed his belly. A fat but giddy grin stretched cheek to cheek when I encouraged him to join me. I hardly felt jolly myself, given the hell I just went through at school; he looked too much like my dad for me to ignore him.
The AAD ignited so suddenly that I couldn't even register what happened. It was like falling under anesthesia, one second you're there, chatting up the dentist or surgeon or whoever pulled the short straw, and the next you're awake, except you went through the procedure and now you're talking to your mom, alone. The room was cold and the heartbeat monitored drowned out her words so that you could barely hear them. But unlike normal, I didn't wake up. I just kept dreaming.
I was a ghost. My mind was not my own anymore. Instead, I was trapped in the dark, with no understanding of what transpired except for a lingering sensation that I survived something dangerous. Something else clawed at me too. A violent longing to go home.
I've never had dreams as vivid as these. In here, I felt like I could do anything. I could be back in the park, walking along the pond, watching the mid-afternoon sun sparkle in the refracting pool. In my dream, I muddled about in Mrs. Fleming's Social Studies class, looking over my shoulder for Veronica. She wasn't there. I was relieved to not have to worry about her ruining my day. But I would see Isabel, and she'd wave back to me in that way she always did, hand stretched toward the ceiling, swinging recklessly like a maniac, and wearing a big ol' smile that reminded me of a rubberhose cartoon. I smiled and waved back; my glasses shook at the edge of my nose like two glass plates just waiting to fall and shatter. My curls shook with me. I waved as hard as I could, as long as I could, because I didn't know what would happen next; whether I would wake up from this dream or drift into another one. Regardless of what would happen next, I didn't want to wake up quite yet.
The dream folded into itself; it mutated, twisted into another, and another, until a tye-die inkling mess of memories spilled out onto the floor. Next thing I knew, I was in the hospital looking down at my unconscious self. An out of body experience like that would set anyone on edge. I screamed and the air quivered. But the panic left as quickly as it came. Scarily so. As if something, or someone, shifted my thoughts, offering me artificial comfort like a medication.
The man in the suit sauntered in with that serpentine grin and a pep to his step that anyone who had a pension for rebellion would recognize at a glance: stuck-up, predatory authority. I was not one of those people. Straight-laced, booksmart, running to catch class with an over-sized backpack; I was the gifted child. Teacher's pet was my middle name. But even though I valued my responsibility, my diligence, my willingness to stick to the rules, I knew something was up. His voice crawled and dipped, like a snake oil salesman. When I looked at him, I didn't see an adult I could rely on. Nothing like that old man from the park or Mrs. Fleming from Social Studies. No, he was a problem. He was the devil.
"Dharia, I think we've spoken before. I'm glad to see you again so soon. Though, I wish we could've reunited on better terms."
"Have we?" I asked, backing up. "I don't remember." The little bit of warmth I could muster seemed to flee as he entered the room.
He strode up beside the cot, looking down at me sleeping, at the doppelganger. My chest rose up and down with slow, deliberate breathing. After examining my condition he said to me without raising his eyes, "So terrible, what happened. You had no way of reacting to it, of changing the course of the outcome. The discharge killed him so suddenly, so cruelly. My, you must still be in shock."
"I'm…" I looked down at my feet. "I'm fine." My voice trembled. I became aware of just how much I was sweating, even in the cold.
"Look at you," he said. "Poor thing."
I drew in a deep breath and straightened up. My fingers found their way to the bridge of my glasses and corrected them, though it took all I could to not rattle the things. I stiffened, suddenly hyper-aware of where I stood in the room.
"I--I'm fine. And I asked you a question, sir."
"You did, didn't you?" He chuckled.
"If you could please… I'm quite confused, and I'm scared. That's… me."
"It is. So, what's there to be confused about?"
"I was just in the park. Now, I'm here, but also there," I said, gesturing toward the sleeping double. "Staring at me. What's going on here? Surely, there's an explanation. Are you angry? If we've met before, I'm sorry I don't remember you. Please help me remember, and please answer my questions."
My chest tightened. Something was terribly wrong. He smiled, but it was nothing like the old man's or Isabel's. It made me feel small, insignificant. I was just another bird waiting for the seeds.
He gestured for me to sit nearby. Hesitantly, I took a seat on a stool next to the bed and waited for the strange man to explain. He told me he was watching over me, the real me, in the real world, as I remained in here. Helpless little Dharia. I was a hair's length away from screaming at the top of my lungs to try and call a nurse or doctor. Maybe I was crazy for not going through with it. I stared down at her face… my face, and my uncertainty washed away. Proof of his absurd explanation stared at me from beneath closed eyelids only a mere few inches from my arm. I looked so peaceful. It was hard to believe how odd of a dream she was dormant within.
When I drew back my focus to the stranger, I immediately got the sense that he was analyzing me, waiting to see what I'll do. I wanted to sock him, but discipline prevented me from acting out of hand. This was a test of some sort. He wanted to see how I'd react to the reveal. Whether I'd call out his bluff, scoff at the thought, ridicule his silliness, spew rancor, or, most likely his intended expectation, panic at the sight of my untethered consciousness. I won't do him the courtesy of reacting how he'd assume I would. I breathed deeply in and out, controlling my breath as I would in any situation, regardless of the challenges I faced. Though, whether that did any real good in a place as unreal as this appeared to be, I could only guess. But my breathing steeled, and so too did my mind. I spoke plainly, without self doubt or fear. I spoke as would a child when confronted with a question that threatened to upheave all understanding they had of the world. "When will I wake up?"
Paradigm. Why did he call himself that? When I asked him, he said I would not remember it when I woke up anyway, so it was pointless to give me his real name, though what good would a cryptic alias be as the alternative? These questions rolled around in my head while I wandered the hospital corridor, looking for the boy. I was so close last time to squashing him. I remembered how I felt when I had thrown him across the room for the first time. It was nothing like practicing with the beds or chairs. It was so much easier than using the paintings around the building as target practice. I looked down at my hands and remembered the power I felt. Then I thought about Veronica, and how she would react if I tried that with her…What am I even thinking? What's gotten over me?
I shook my head, hoping to cast off the thought. I've never known myself to think like that. Of course I hated her, who doesn't? She was mean to everyone in class, not just me. I could think of a number of people she was even worse to. I shouldn't feel so vindictive. It wasn't rational.
I reached out my hand to feel the hospital wall. It was smooth to the touch. A cold shiver ran up my arm. It was too smooth, like how I'd imagine the wall to feel instead of how it really should feel.
This place was getting to me. If I stayed any longer, I think I might go crazy. Paradigm said that I'd be able to leave if I could conquer my fear of the past. Whatever that meant. He said that if I could face reality, that this was a dream, then I'd be able to break out.
Why did that mean that I needed to kill him?
"He does not exist. You've imagined him, twisted your memories around to create this fake strawman of a person to direct your insecurities on." His words came to mind. They still didn't make sense to her. But when he said them, she felt so driven. So determined to leave, that she sort of just got swept up in the emotions of it. It didn't make sense, but so did throwing around objects with her mind.
"He does not exist," I said aloud. "Does that mean Paradigm exists? What makes me think that one is more real than the other?" Could I trust him? No. That's certain. But something about him moved me, willed me forward on my mission, obediently. Have I always been so obedient?
Crackle.
I stopped in my tracks and listened. Static. Down the hall. Monty was back in the dream.
I swiveled around to walk towards the lobby. As I launched forward, my pace picked up, but I didn't run. It was almost like the dream picked up on my immediacy and stretched reality to account for it. It was as fluid and seamless as breathing. After walking around the corridors for god knows how long, I was suddenly back in the lobby, facing the elusive boy I've been sicced on like a bloodhound.
What would Isabel think if she knew what I dreamed about? I couldn't imagine trying to explain something so bizarre and downright disturbing to her.
And then we started to talk. As I reached into the dream, feeling the immense power that it offered me, I was confronted with the thought that I had been right about Paradigm. He was keeping the truth from me, pushing my feelings in a direction I did not mesh with.
He stepped out from the dark and told me to let him go. But I remembered how certain he had been, how demanding he had sounded. "He does not exist." And suddenly now that wasn't the case? Then I felt it, it was like fingers reaching into my mind. My vision darkened, but I found solid footing and stood my ground. Get out of my head, I pushed. I would not let him touch my thoughts or emotions any longer.
It was like a weight lifted off my shoulder. The chains I assumed I'd thrown on myself seemed to slip from my hands, now far too large to cling to my wrists. I stepped in front of Monty and reached back out into the dream. My dream. And I summoned that power again. A little black box revealed itself in my hand, as if it had always been there.
"Dharia," The Paradigm said, forcing a textbook's worth of emotions into the command. "Give. Me. It."
"No." I pushed back. I would not be a prisoner in my own dreams. I smiled at the look of disbelief on his face.
I said, "Monty. I know we kind of got off on the wrong foot. I'm sorry for not listening before." I could not see him from where I stood, but I could feel his displeasure. I turned around to risk a glance at him. He stared straight ahead, past me. A haunting look crossed his face, like he was looking at a ghost. I followed his eyes back.
The lobby was so quiet that I could hear a pin drop.