“Who gave it to you?” he whispers.
“I’m guessing a fan. A handsome fellow. Very tall. He was waiting outside in the morning. Looked like he hadn’t slept. He must really like you.”
Metis reaches for the bird with quivering hand. He tries to steady it. He has never been on the receiving end of this.
Benja.
But why? And how? And what message does it carry?
Aris listens to the messages from Metis with a heavy heart. There is no denying the physical attraction she feels toward him. Her body reacts to his—a little too much for her comfort, in fact. It’s as if she has no control over it.
The kiss was unexpected. The feeling it stirred inside her was even more startling. It rolled over her like a tidal wave, making her feel as if she was drowning. Yet it somehow felt familiar.
It was the heat. The warmth of him was like a place she had visited. The feel of his lips . . . Even with space and time between them, the memory of that kiss still makes her hands tremble.
But there is no point. It’s mid-December. There are only a few months left before Tabula Rasa. Forming a bond with someone she will soon say goodbye to is ridiculous. Look at the mess she already got herself into with Benja, and she has only known him for a couple of months longer. There are some people in life you develop strong feelings for in an instinctual, irrational way. She is afraid Metis is one of those for her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers and erases his voice from her databank.
Chapter Thirteen
Benja is a tough man to follow. The man is erratic. One moment he would walk aimlessly, pausing here and there to look up at a tree or passing clouds. The next he would dart into a coffee shop or a bar.
What are you doing? Metis wonders.
The moon is a sliver against the dark indigo sky. It is so cold he can see puffs of vapor coming out with each exhale. Metis turns up the heat inside his jacket and hugs it tight. He finds a spot on a bench across the street from the coffee shop Benja went into. Here, he would wait.
Argus was right. By the look of Benja, it’s apparent he has not slept in days. His face is haggard. His hair is unkempt. His clothes are crumpled as if he has been living in them for longer than he should. He looks the way Metis feels inside. Wretched and throbbing with longing. He wants his lover.
Metis understands. He knows what it feels like to be singular in one’s desire. Seeing Benja in this state is like looking at his own past and future at the same time. Is he really that different from Benja? He stalks his old lover, follows her to where she lives, and leaves her desperate messages. He is a bottle of wine away from breaking into her house and sleeping on her bed naked.
He shakes off his empathy. It would only complicate matters. He thinks of the paper crane in his pocket. In it is an address. For whatever reason, Benja wants to speak to the Sandman in private, outside the confines of the meeting. But how does Benja know that he is the Sandman? And if he knows, who else does?
The last time Metis saw him was after the last meeting. He was vibrating with nervous energy. They usually are after taking Absinthe.
“Uh, Sandman? Do I call you Sandman?”
Metis said nothing.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you. How does one get their lover to remember them?” Benja asked.
If only he knew, Metis thought.
“The past and the present cannot coexist. That’s the rule.”
“But what’s the point? I mean, no offense, but if you can remember and the other person can’t, isn’t it torture?” Benja said.
“Look around. Do you see a happy face here?” Metis’s voice was terse. “The purpose for all of us being here is to remember. That’s all. To remember our past and remind ourselves how it feels to love and be loved.”
“But wouldn’t you want to make that into reality?”
More than anything, Metis thought.
Instead, he said, “Let me be clear. The moment you try to force someone into remembering, you risk exposing us. Not to discount the moral aspect of it. Everyone has the right to author their own life.”
Benja scoffed. “You sound like the Planner’s propaganda.”
Metis stiffened. “Just because Tabula Rasa took our past from us doesn’t mean we can thrust our vision of the future on another. We’d be no different than the system we’re trying to resist.”
“But you have this powerful gift in your hands. What if we can make our world into the one where we don’t have to compromise? We could have everything.” Benja’s eyes danced with fervor.
What Benja had said sounded so simple and enticing. What is the harm in making this world a place where both peace and the past can coexist? In that world, he would have Aris. Or would he? Metis shakes his head. It is a dangerous path to venture. It would expose Absinthe.
The powerful dream agent must be protected. It’s the only tool they have against Tabula Rasa. It was made for those who want to remember, for those who believe dreams are the window to the past. It is a direct assault on the Planner’s ideology. There are people seeking to destroy it, the Crone has warned.
He wishes he had thrown Benja out of the group that day, before his recent trouble with the law could have threatened their anonymity. There are many who might suffer from his recklessness. Metis cannot have another situation like he did with Bodie.
When Bodie got arrested, the Interpreter Center erased his dreams. He had since moved back to Elara. There was nothing left for him in Callisto. With no dreams, no memories, no past, Absinthe would have no effect on him.
Metis begins to get restless. His fingertips and face
