“But they might not be affected.”
Metis feels sympathy for the young woman. She is hopeful. He wishes to spare her the pain that has been gnawing at him since he began to remember. That must be how the Crone had felt about him.
“Imagine a stranger coming to you and insisting you are someone else, trying to make you feel something you’re not feeling,” he says. “What would you think? Would you be afraid? Threatened, maybe? Surely you would think the person is insane.”
She does not reply.
“You have the benefit of believing in the past—that some of it exists somewhere in your mind, waiting to be unleashed. Not everyone does or wants to remember. You cannot force the past on someone who doesn’t want it,” he says.
Despair clutches his insides.
Aris does not want it.
He clears his throat and continues, “That’s just on a personal level. Remember, there are others here who have the same right to dream as you do. What will happen to their rights if you’re reported to the police?”
“I’ll never tell anyone anything,” Seraphina says.
Metis believes her. But that is not the point.
“Rules are there to protect not just you, but everyone. Breaking them means you will no longer be a part of us. Do you understand?”
She nods.
“Now go home and sleep. Prepare yourself for the dreams to come,” he says.
The bell rings. Aris opens the door. Benja stands before her, leaning against the jamb. His face glows from exhilaration.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Yes. No. I mean—” He sighs. “I know it’s late, but I don’t know who else to go to. You’re the first person I’ve felt a connection with this cycle.”
He looks at her with serious eyes. “When you don’t have a catalog of people in your life, the few you meet become important to you.”
She rolls her eyes and stands aside to let him through. “Come in. You didn’t have to say all that. I would have let you in anyway.”
He chuckles and enters. He kisses her cheek as he always does and walks into her bedroom. She hesitates before following. She hopes he is not looking for anything more than the intimacy of her friendship.
Benja settles on her bed. Aris sits down and leans on a pillow against the headboard. He moves his head to her lap. She feels like both his therapist and the couch.
Aris studies his face. A touch of pink is in his cheeks. His eyes glitter like a boy who has just taken his first elevator ride.
“What happened?” she asks.
“I finally did it!”
“Did what?”
“I deciphered the message on the crane. They were meeting in the small library on Spring and Flora. I found the Dreamers. I went to their gathering,” he says in one breath.
“When?”
“Today. Yesterday. I have no idea. I kind of lost track of time. I’ve just been wandering the city. I haven’t slept.”
The desperation in his voice reminds her of the angry blond man arrested by the police. The thought makes her afraid for Benja. She wants to talk sense into him, to warn him of possible danger, but his exhausted face changes her mind. She decides to be supportive.
“How was the meeting?” she asks.
“It was incredible. Transformative. I met the Crone and the Sandman,” he says, “The Sandman wears a mask, like those Balinese ones. You know, the ones with protruding eyes and fangs. Animal mane for hair?”
Who are these people? “That’s strange.”
Benja shrugs. “No stranger than this life.”
“So you don’t know who he really is?” she asks.
“How is that relevant?” He looks at her as if she had asked whether he likes ketchup.
“Okay, so what’s special about this Sandman guy?” she asks.
“He leads the ceremony of Absinthe,” Benja says.
She laughs. The name has a tinge of the pagan rituals of yore. “Did they chant?”
Benja purses his lips. “Maybe I came to the wrong place.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so cynical. Tell me more about the Sandman.”
“He can make your dreams more vivid, unlocking your memories.”
“Really? How?”
“There’s a special drink he gave me. He calls it Absinthe,” he says.
“Wait. You drank something a stranger gave you?” She straightens, stirring Benja off her lap. Her resolve to be supportive disappears. She draws the line at him being stupid.
He sits up and looks at her. His face has the guilty expression of someone who knows he did something foolish.
“Yeah. But you know. I—I don’t know. I haven’t slept. I really need to, but I’ve been afraid.”
Of a hallucinogen that could turn your mind to mush? Whatever for?
She leans back on her headboard in resignation, and Benja resumes his position.
“What if it has a bad side effect or something?” he asks.
“Well, you should have thought of that before you drank it. What if it causes irreparable damage to your brain?”
Benja rubs his cheek on her lap. “You don’t need to scare me any more than I already am.”
Exhaustion paints shadows on his face. There is an unfocused look in his eyes, as if he were trying but losing the fight to hold on to the present. He seems younger. Terrified. Aris wonders how old he is. He has probably gone through fewer cycles than she thinks. Perhaps she should not begrudge him moments of weakness now and then.
“What do you want to see in your dream?” she asks in a gentler tone.
He looks at the ceiling and sighs.
“A man. Always the same man. I don’t see his face. But I must love him,” he says.
Of all the times they spoke of his obsession with the Dreamers, he has never told her his dream. She feels slighted. Is she not trustworthy enough? Then she remembers that she has never told him about her dream.
She asks, “How do you know you’re not wasting your time chasing a ghost?”
He takes her palm in his hand and traces the lines on it with a finger. His hands
