“Who says anything about not touching?”
She grabs his hands from her shoulders and wraps them around her waist.
“You don’t mind me touching you?”
She shakes her head. “I like it.”
“You only mind that we’re married?”
She shrugs. “It’s just that I don’t have a memory of it, so it’s like someone claiming I’ve dyed my hair purple and I don’t remember liking the color, let alone having it on my head.”
“So, marriage is like a bad hair decision,” he says.
“I don’t know how to better explain.”
He becomes so quiet she feels uneasy.
“How does Absinthe work?” she asks, feeling the need to keep the conversation going.
“I don’t really know the science of it. Maybe it serves as a bridge to parts of the brain locked by Tabula Rasa. Maybe it rebuilds the neuroconnections severed by it. What it does is . . . pure magic. I saw our past lives. Experienced it. The scent. The feel. Somehow it solidifies memories as dreams. It’s hard to explain.”
“Do you remember everything?”
“No, not everything. Only the strongest memories survived—the ones associated with deep emotions. That’s why most Dreamers remember our old lovers, and not, say, where we lived or worked.”
Aris thinks of her dream on the beach.
“How did I dream the past if I didn’t take Absinthe?” she asks.
“You’ve always had that dream—your memory—locked up inside you. Our dreams are the gate to the past. Absinthe widens that gate. But it won’t work without the dreams.”
“So, if your dreams are wiped . . .”
“Absinthe wouldn’t work,” he says.
Aris feels sadness descending on her. Its thick coating envelops her like candle wax.
“Benja told me about dreams and Absinthe, but I didn’t believe him,” she says.
“Some things are too difficult to believe. They’re best experienced.”
“What if there’s a way to make other people see what you see in your dreams?”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you ever seen Dreamcatcher? The machine the Interpreter Center uses to erase dreams?”
“No, I only know what it does. They used it on Bodie. Then Benja.”
Aris remembers the name Bodie. She had come across it while going through the reports in Professor Jacob’s briefcase. The name was associated with the angry man Officer Scylla arrested near the Natural History Museum.
“Bodie was another Dreamer?” she asks. Aris wonders if everyone on that report is a Dreamer. She does not remember seeing Metis on it.
“Yes, he was erased about five months ago,” Metis says.
“What happened to him after?” she asks.
“He moved back to Elara.”
“So, he’s still . . .”
“Yeah, he’s alive as far as I know.”
“Can we talk to him?”
“What are you thinking?”
“The Interpreter Center stole Benja’s dreams and lied to the police. I’m afraid they may have done the same thing to Bodie. Benja didn’t even remember being treated, so I couldn’t do anything about it. But maybe I can help Bodie.”
“How?”
“I have this machine that looks just like the helmet on the Dreamcatcher. Maybe it was a prototype. I think it can look at dreams. I tested it on myself, but I was awake. I was hoping to use it on Benja. He told me he didn’t dream anymore—but maybe there were still some left in there the Interpreter didn’t get. I wanted to give his dreams back to him, but I was too late.”
She feels Metis’s grip.
“How did you get it?”
“The storage room at the Natural History Museum.”
“Does the Interpreter Center know you have it?”
“Of course not!”
“Aris, this isn’t good.”
“Nothing is good in this situation. My friend killed himself because his dreams were taken from him. What the Interpreter did was wrong.”
She stands up. Her skin feels the pricking of the chill in the air.
“Let’s go.”
Thane cannot believe his eyes. Aris is the last person he thought he would see coming out of the Victorian house. Metis is next to her, their hands clasped together.
Thane has been following Metis since he saw him leaving Benja’s apartment. When he found him on the walkway of Aris’s apartment, he decided to continue pursuing him. Once he knew where Metis lived, his name and identity easily followed.
The pianist is a mysterious man. He spends a lot of time inside Carnegie Hall. But he also goes to many places. A busy man. This is the first time Thane has seen him with another person.
Why Aris? he wonders. Does she know Metis watched her like a stalker?
As usual, Thane will leave Aris off his report to the Interpreter Center. They do not need to know about her. She’s already connected to Benja. That is more than enough to make Thane uneasy. Apollina is ruthless. Who knows what she would do to Aris.
He follows them.
Aris looks up as they stroll through the park. It is nice to have a hand holding hers, guiding her so she does not have to worry about tripping and falling while not looking forward.
The trees are bare. The deep-brown trunks and branches stand like skeletons. Their anemic state makes her miss autumn.
The wind blows. She shrinks into the warmth of her jacket and ponders the kind of life she is heading toward. Just half a year ago she lived with a detachment that made her feel safe and secure in her place. Life then was but one finite period of digestible time. There were only two states of existence—cycle and recycle. Reason and logic drove her actions. Her view of the world was less complicated and more certain. She was transcending, shedding her human weakness for attachment.
Then she met Benja and found herself sliding down a rabbit hole so deep she did not know where she would end up. But she landed and found Metis next to her. The world is different now—she is different now. She’s not sure if she could ever go back to being the old Aris.
“Do you regret remembering?” he asks as they pass a pond with edges crusted over in ice.
“Why would you ask that?”
“I get the feeling you’re unsure, like Alice standing in
