Justin Lo
Chapter 1. Lies.
Up until that day, my life had been overwhelmingly average. Things would sometimes work out in my favor; sometimes they’d let me down. I’d estimate that it was about a fifty-fifty split, right down the middle, as if I had a magic 8-ball for a guardian angel. As it stood, life wasn’t so bad.
On
this particular day, the weather was rather mild, and I found myself outside in
the breeze beside the steel fence that bordered my high school’s baseball
field. I’m not quite sure what I was
doing – I had probably missed the school bus home or something and was now
loitering around campus, waiting for the public bus to pick me up. In any event, I was staring blankly out into
the athletic fields when I was suddenly struck by an odd feeling. One could say it was like a sudden gust of
wind, but I felt it inside of me – the same way you feel hunger or
love.
When
this so-called wind hit, I shivered because my mind alit with the disturbing
image of my boyfriend of three months making out with a brunette beside an oak
tree. It seemed random enough, yet I
could not take my mind off that vivid, mostly still image (the people in it
were motionless, but the leaves on the tree rustled with the breeze). I felt my breathing grow more erratic, my
heartbeat race – the usual symptoms of jealousy and anger. As my mind focused on just that one singular
image, I realized that I recognized that oak – it was standing just behind the
main building complex at this school.
Convinced that I had simply gone mad, and hoping to throw out any
inkling of doubt, I ran up the grassy hill, crossed through the school
building, and arrived, panting, on the far side.
There
was the oak tree, stoic and neutral as always – enviably so, I must say, given
how worked up I was at the time. I
breathed a sigh of relief, noting that the oak tree looked quite lonely at the
moment. Satisfied, I walked back
towards the glass doors to retrace my steps to the bus stop. Just as I placed my hand on the metal
handles, though, I heard voices, and I froze in my tracks, sealing my lips and
turning only my head.
There,
approaching the tree, was my boyfriend with the brunette in tow. A part of me screamed, telling me to interrupt
the scene in a desperate attempt to defy whatever entity had instilled that
disturbing image within me. And yet,
with a sinister smile, I stood there, watching them, soaking in every moment of
their pleasure to feed my hatred. I
watched their lips dance around and then plunge forth, slobbering profusely as
if they were rabid. When it was over, I
approached them with feigned innocence.
“Hey,
Jeremy!” I called, running forward.
“Ah-oh!”
he cried, quickly letting go of the girl and smiling at me cheesily, his teeth
gleaming like fool’s gold. “Ah … eh …
ummm …,” he stammered.
“Hey,
have I met you before?” I asked the girl, extending my hand.
“Um,
I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m
Valerie, and you are?”
“Oh! I’m Jeremy’s girlfriend!” I said excitedly,
watching a wave of fear course over her as she cringed. Her hand was literally shaking as she
returned my gesture.
“Um,
my pleasure,” she replied. “But you
won’t be Jeremy’s girlfriend for long!”
“Huh,
what did you just say?” I asked, shocked that she’d have the gall to say
something like that outright.
“I
said ‘my pleasure,’” Valerie confirmed, a genuinely puzzled look on her
face. “I swear I didn’t say anything
else out loud! Or did I?” she asked …
without moving her mouth.
“A-are
you a ventriloquist or something?!” I shouted.
This wasn’t a game anymore … or if it were, the tables had certainly
turned.
“Becky,
what’s going on?” asked Jeremy.
“Valerie really didn’t say anything.
She said ‘um’ beforehand, but that’s it!”
“Shh,
shh!” I hissed.
“My
God, that girl is nuts. No wonder
Jeremy needed a break from her,” said Valerie.
I
stared at her, wide-eyed.
“What?!”
“I
didn’t even say anything … girl, chill for a moment, okay? I can try to help you but not if you’re going
hysterical like this,” Valerie stated.
I
nodded.
“Why
should I help you, though? You’re the
one I need to get rid of!” spat Valerie spitefully.
I
squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears.
“Ignore it, ignore it,” I said to myself. “None of this is real; you’re imagining it all, it’s just in your
head!”
I
felt Jeremy’s warm touch as I stood there, crouched over in utter confusion.
“You
bitch, taking him away from me like that!
I bet you’re a sucky-ass kisser, too, wasting him on your sorry self! Say, Becky, just take a deep breath,
okay? I’ll go get you a cup of cold
water,” said Valerie, her oxymoronic sentences falling on confused ears.
“No,
wait,” I said, opening my eyes. “I’m
fine. I … just need to sort some things
out.”
“Oh
God, does she know about that? How much
did she see?!”
The
three of us sat down at a picnic table.
I breathed audibly, pulling down my jacket sleeves.
“Listen,
guys …,” I began.
“Arrgh,
what does she know? What does she
know?”
“Jeremy, stop worrying,
okay? Whatever you did with Valerie is
the least of my worries right now,” I said, rolling my eyes. There was no way I’d be able to explain
anything with him mumbling like that.
“What?!”
Ignore
it, ignore it, I told myself. “Valerie,
please tell me what the first thing Jeremy said to you today was. I need to check something, that’s all.”
“
‘Valerie, do you really love me?’ Why
is it any business of yours what he said to me?!”
I
started to snicker, trying to stifle my laugh but failing miserably.
“
‘Valerie, do you really love me?!’ Oh
my God, you guys are a riot!” I cried.
“Holy. Fuck.
How the hell …,” cried Jeremy and Valerie, nearly in unison.
The
next thing I knew, I was crying, tears splattering all over the table.
“Go. Make love in the same bed I did for all I
care. Just leave me alone,” I
said. “And don’t say anything because I
apparently can hear all your fucking thoughts now, you liars. Everything that comes out of your mouth is a
lie!” The last statement was clearly
aimed at my once-boyfriend.
“I’m
not lying … just because I don’t say everything I think doesn’t mean I’m
lying!” retorted Jeremy. “A lie is only
if you don’t mean what you say.”
“Then
where do you draw the line? Can you
think ‘I hate her,’ and say ‘I love you’ to her without it being a lie? Can you believe both things at once?” I
asked between sobs.
“Yes,”
he said firmly.
“Then
it’s over between you and me,” I said.
It was easier to say things with that rough and tough sort of voice
instead of acknowledging the weight of the situation. I didn’t want to think about everything that I had devoted to
him, wasted on him, given to him, my virginity among those precious things that
I knew I could never take back. Part
of me wished that I had never seen
anything, that I had remained down there at the bus stop. But there was no going back now, and there
was no talking me out of my stubborn, irrational position. “I’m sure that’s what you wanted, anyway, to
end this to be with that slut.”
“Yeah,
it was. No! It’s really not what I wanted.”
“Convince
yourself of whatever you want to believe,” I said apathetically, wiping my
tears with my cold nylon sleeve. The
poorly stitched seam rubbed forcefully against my cheekbone. I stood up and left.
“Should
I follow her? Maybe I shouldn’t … I
can’t lose Valerie, too. But I wonder
what Valerie thinks of me now?”
“Was
everything you said a lie?” I whispered to myself.
“Did
you just say something?”
“No,
nothing,” I said. Maybe we all lie all
the time, I thought. Had I been too
harsh on him? At least he picked
someone who seemed rather hot, and, all thoughts barred, acted like a
rather nice girl ….
Chapter 2. Invitations.
At
home, I rushed through the front door without saying anything to my mom. I just flew down the hallway, ran into my
room, and slammed the door savagely.
Still crying, I threw myself onto my bed, not caring that my blankets
were being soiled by my dirty clothes.
‘Damn
it, am I really this weak?’ I asked myself, wrapping my arms around myself as
if to reclaim my body and soul. ‘And
what’s happening to me, anyway?’
I
stood up and looked at myself in the wardrobe mirror, slapping my cheeks a few
times to try to awaken from whatever nightmare had overtaken me. But despite the surreal silence and the
neverending tears, I could not awaken, and instead, I just collapsed onto the
ground.
After thirty minutes, I managed to calm myself down and turn on the lights, trying to sort things out. Premonitions were one thing; reading minds was completely another … or was it? I realized that my education in such areas was rather scarce – limited to perhaps a few popular movies and TV shows.
‘Meh!’
I thought to myself, ‘Of course I’m not well-versed in this mumbo-jumbo! It isn’t real. Only those freaky sci-fi club members talk
about these things as if it were their reality. And we all know that they live in their own little world ….’
I
sighed, picking up half of a leftover chocolate bar to munch on. ‘I guess I oughtta start on my homework
….’ I reached down to open my backpack,
only to realize that it was absent from my room. Frantically, I looked around, spinning my head like a lighthouse
out of control, but it was hopeless: I suddenly saw an image in my mind of the
backpack sitting there all alone beside the picnic table and realized that I
had left it there when I rushed home.
It was an ordinary memory to have, save for the fact that the lighting
was completely off – there was only the dim glower of a sodium street light,
not the afternoon setting sun that was present while I was at the picnic
table. This had to be how the backpack
looked right now!
I
left my room, sliding on my jacket and socks.
“Mom,
I need to go back to school to get my backpack. Can I borrow your car?”
“Why
did you leave it there?” she asked, as expected. If she weren’t Asian, I would have suspected a possible lineage
from the judges in the Spanish Inquisition.
“Because
I did!” I replied. “It’s not like I did
it on purpose.”
“You
shouldn’t be so forgetful. I’m not sure
you should be going to school this late by yourself. You’re a girl ….”
‘And
so are you!’ I wanted to retort. I
hated it when my mom treated me like some five-year-old naively playing with
flowers or something.
“I
need to do my homework and study. There’s
an exam coming up!” The last statement
was a bit of a stretch, but I hoped that she’d buy it.
“Okay,
okay, but be back before dinner.”
“Yeah,
I gotcha,” I said.
The
drive to school was uneventful; there were several cars driving the opposite
way, but my side of the road was emptier and probably was more populated by
squirrels than vehicles. I pulled into
the teacher parking lot and hopped out, circling around the building to
retrieve my backpack. Idly, I wondered
just how dangerous this place could be at night.
The
backpack was just where I expected it to be, and I noticed that one of those
two-headed aluminum-pole streetlights was indeed positioned a little ways off
from the picnic table. Somehow, though,
this relieved me rather than disturbing me.
I suppose that the first time, you think it’s just a silly coincidence;
the second time, you get freaked out by the coincidence; but the third time’s
the charm, and you start planning on opening a tarot card shop or
something. Perhaps there were others in
the same position as me? Surely, they’d
pretend to be normal, but they’d just be there at the right place at the right
time. ‘Like my mom, every time she
wants to bust me!’ I quipped to myself with a small internal laugh. ‘Nah, she hasn’t caught enough things to
qualify ….’
I
started my stroll back to the parking lot when I thought I heard something
behind me. Instinctively, I turned
around and looked around, but no one was there. Shrugging, I continued walking, listening more alertly. This time around, I determined that the
sound wasn’t that of any human, but rather of some sort of stone object
rolling. I stopped still, listening,
raising my hands into a defensive stance in case something were to suddenly fly
out at me. But instead, there was just
a bit more rolling, and I saw the curious offender rolling by and stopping
beside the toe of my right sneaker.
It
was just a small stone sphere with a few engravings. Cautiously, I picked it up, still scanning the scene for any
people. ‘Now’s your chance to run!’ I
shouted to myself, fleeing the scene and shutting off any thoughts.
By
the time I regained control of myself, I was on the road with the backpack and
stone sphere in the passenger’s seat.
Like an addict, I kept checking the rear-view mirrors, but indeed there
was nothing to be suspicious about. I
slipped the stone into my backpack before reentering the house, arriving just
in time for dinner.
“Get
the rice, Becky,” ordered my dad.
I carelessly
laid down my backpack, producing a rather obvious bang that startled my mother.
“What
was that?” she asked.
“Just
my books,” I lied.
“Don’t
treat your books so roughly,” she chastised.
“Yes,
Mom,” I replied, scooping out the rice into bowls.
“You
always say ‘Yes, Mom,’ but you never listen!” she grumbled.
“Yes,
I do!”
Dinner
was boring as ever, and I simply retired to my room wordlessly afterwards,
lugging up my backpack. ‘I wonder what
this stone is all about … is it cursed or something?’ I wondered to
myself. But trying to apply a bit of
self-discipline, I left the stone alone and started on my homework. Strangely enough, the dread I had for the
stone managed to keep me concentrated, albeit mindlessly, on my assignments,
and I finished them all at a quarter past ten.
Slowly,
I reached into my backpack all the way to the bottom and drew out the stone,
noticing for the first time just how smooth its texture was; it was very nearly
slippery, and I had to grasp it tightly in order to prevent it from sliding
away like a glass marble. The surface
shone in the light, and when I set it down on my desk, bordered by a few small
boxes and cases to prevent it from rolling, I saw that it had a few fine engravings
in it.
In
the center was a large, round eyeball with a circle for an iris and a chipped
out hemisphere for a pupil. Although it
could easily have been creepy, instead I felt comforted by its petrified gaze,
as if it were watching over me like an angel and not like Big Brother. I almost wished to place the stone on
display on one of my shelves, although that might attract unwanted attention.
Below the Polyphemian eye
was the following inscription: “The Society of Perceivers and Guardians of the
Truth.” I was amused to see that the
name was so long that the engraver seemed squeeze the letters on the right to
preserve a semblance of centered lettering.
Of course, even if it had been done completely professionally, I still
wouldn’t be able to take such a pretentious and verbose title seriously.
I checked over the globe,
looking for any more inscriptions, but there weren’t any. Sighing, I set the ball down and started
surfing the web, checking through my usual techie forums. In a particular forum thread, I saw a
curious link for a Flash minigame.
Deciding that it’d be a good way to wind down for the evening, I clicked
the link and saw that it was none other than a graphically-intensive version of
“Memory.”
When I was younger, my mom
would frequently challenge me to play with her, but it always left me so
frustrated and confused because I could never win, even when she gave me
hints. It was just one of those things
I couldn’t do. With resolution, I
decided to beat this game once and for all, to set that demon of my childhood
behind me.
With another click of the
mouse, the computer dealt the cards.
Face up. ‘What’s going on?’ I
asked myself, but in keeping with my three’s-the-charm belief, I refused to be
flustered and instead worked through the game normally, earning a cel-shaded
golden trophy for my reward.
I closed my browser window
and looked back over at the stone ball.
“Society of Truth, eh?” I
said to myself, thinking about the game of Memory. “Now let’s just suppose that the cards were in fact not
dealt face-up. That means that I can
see through them, right?”
“Rebecca, did you say
something to me?” asked my mother from the hallway.
“Oh no, I’m just talking to
myself,” I said.
“Are you done with your
homework?” she asked.
“Yeah, I finished.”
“Okay, go to bed soon. You have to wake up early tomorrow to say
bye to your Dad before he goes on his trip.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. Returning to the stone sphere, I glared at
its immobile form. There had to
be something else to it! Someone had
gone through the trouble of stalking me and then rolling it at my feet. Wetting my lips slightly in psychological
preparation, I lifted up the stone again, this time trying to glimpse past it
the same way that I saw through the cards.
After a minute of absolute
monotony (and arms growing rather sore), I was ready to resign myself to
bed. But the stone, at that moment,
began to crumble on the surface, the grains of rock and mica turning into a
dusty cloud that swept up from the stone in a mild whirlwind that soon
enveloped my room in a strange hazy fog.
I could hear the glistening of the small crystalline pieces colliding
with each other and the whistle of a weak wind that abruptly stopped.
Now, in concentric rings
around the sphere, tiny words had appeared.
Quickly throwing on my reading glasses, I eagerly soaked in the hidden
message.
“Welcome, my dearest, to
reality. No doubt, you have awakened by
now and seen below the tip of the
iceberg that we call the Truth. Do not
feel alarmed or lonely; there are others of us all around. You are not a freak, nor a maniac. You are merely enlightened, like Ralph Waldo
Emerson’s legendary Transparent Eyeball.
“We cordially invite you to
attend the next meeting of the Society of Perceivers and Guardians of the
Truth, known as the ‘Transeyes’ for short, to learn more about what you are
seeing, imagining, and hearing. You
will be notified of when and where this meeting will take place via this
stone. Until then, feel free to explore
your newfound abilities.
“P.S. You may experience a renewed excitement from
looking at celebrity posters.”
When I finished reading, the
dust fell out of the air and resurfaced the sphere anew. I gently rolled it beneath my bed and looked
up at my wall. My posters of handsome
actors and rock stars were hanging there as usual. And then their clothes faded from view.
‘Maybe this isn’t so bad
after all,’ I mused as a devious smile crept onto my face.
Chapter 3. Entering the Chrysalis.
The landscape is simple, barren. All around, terra cotta and beige peaks block out the horizon like petals about a lotus flower. I take a few tentative steps in this alien environment, small bundles of clay shattering beneath my sandals.
A sudden tremor in the ground sends me flat onto the ground, my fingers gripping the coarse sand whose grits become entrapped beneath my fingernails. The grating feeling is unpleasant, as is the taste of sand on my tongue, so I push off my palms and reorient myself, brushing off as much dust as I can from my chalk-white gown.
The towering columns of stone have shifted and continue to move; nothing is constant except the piece of Earth I am stepping upon and the cloudless blue sky. I continue to walk, flipping my head from left to right as if watching a ping-pong game, with that level of uncertainty, not knowing if I were truly following to ball or merely an illusion of it within my mind. Nor could any of it ever be resolved, for patterns would develop, lapse briefly, then break altogether.
Ahead, in the sand, I see a bulge, an oval embossing. Hoping to investigate it before it vanishes like any other structure around me, I make a quick dive, groping ferally with my fingers and arms. The solid form beneath the soil slides with cold rigidity into my palms and I rip it out of its slumber.
In my hands I hold a copper-framed mirror; the metal is already half-oxidized but not fully green enough to have the grace of the Statue of Liberty. Instead, it just looks abandoned, some of the glass cracked and almost the entire surface hopelessly scratched up. I can hardly see any reflection in it.
Isn’t it sad?
I hold it, clasp it, press it against my chest. I close my eyes briefly as a gust of sand shuttles my way; when I open my eyes again and move my fingers again, I realize that the mirror is absent. In the sand behind me, I see a new bulge. Puzzled, I kneel down, my knees touching down on the ground as the wind lifts my gown away from the sand. With my hands, I pull out the mirror anew, but this time, it is completely renewed and rejuvenated.
In the reincarnated mirror, I see myself in piercing clarity. But it isn’t myself. It is a beautiful girl with an indescribable mystique; she is taller and more slender, with more piercing, narrow eyes and lips that look almost poisonous in their dark sensuality. Who is she? Will I be born again?
Chapter 4. Schoolday Rumble
I
awoke with a rather crappy migraine.
“Guh,
I dun feel like goin’ to school,” I grumbled to myself as I tossed onto my
other side, pulling my fluffy green blanket over my eyes to block out the
relentless sunlight.
Deet
deet deet deet deet deet.
The
abusive alarm clock was all the way on the other side of the room – this was a
crisis.
“Shuuut
uuup,” I moaned. I picked up the
nearest stuffed animal and took aim. It
would have to land just right to shut off the switch. Unfortunately, I was aiming without opening my eyes, and the
resulting crash and bang confirmed that I had only succeeded in knocking the
alarm clock behind the shelf.
Deet
deet deet deet deet deet.
Stumbling, I made my way
towards the sound, stepping on something sharp.
“Yeow!”
I yelped, hopping around in a circle, landing on a stray piece of paper and
slipping gracelessly. By reflex, I sent
down an arm to strike the ground and break my fall, but even that plan was
thwarted as it landed on the stone ball, throwing me into a crumpled heap atop
my laundry basket.
“Rebecca,
where are you?” called my mother.
“Mmrff!”
“Hurry
up or you’ll be late for school!”
“Mmrff,
mmrff.” Some article of clothing had
found its way into my mouth, I realized.
I
stood up to see my mom there in the doorway, a puzzled look on her face. With a deft swipe, I removed the bra from my
mouth and hid it behind my back, pretending that nothing had happened.
“Rebecca,
why was there a bra in your mouth?”
“What
bra?” I asked. I had read somewhere
that that was the best way to deny the existence of an offensive object.
“The
one behind your back.”
But
I was a step ahead of her already. The
bra was now behind the bed! In all my
clever wit, I had thrown it away when she was not paying attention. I displayed my empty hands with confidence.
“Rebecca,
change and go. Stupid daughter.”
‘She
definitely said that out loud!’ I said to myself after following the lips
carefully.
I
changed and hopped down the hallway to eat breakfast. While chewing on some toast, I tried to convince myself that
somehow, nothing would change at school, that Jeremy and Valerie would suddenly
vanish from existence, that my powers would be latent during the bright hours
of day. I even considered leaving the
stone at home in hopes of missing the so-called meeting and thus completely
avoiding my participation in any strange voodoo.
But
in the end, I couldn’t help but stuff the stone in along with the rest of my
books. I slung my backpack over my
shoulder and shouted good-bye at the doorway, per routine, and boarded the
schoolbus, turning on the music from my MP3 player as loud as I could. God knows what sorts of thoughts would be
bouncing around on the schoolbus to bother me.
My
first few classes passed by without a hitch, but come Fourth Period, a new
trouble arose – I had AP Physics with Jeremy, and I sat right behind him. The class rushed in as usual, with one
minute to spare before the tardy bell, and we all took our seats. Jeremy turned around, ready to say
something, but I unleashed my Glare from Hell on him, and he obediently swept
his gaze back to the front of the room.
‘Oh
shit, she’s mad,’ he thought.
“Psst,
Lan-Lan, what’s up with him an’ you?” asked Persephone from my right.
“I’ll
tell you later,” I whispered back as roll call began.
Scant
minutes later, she reiterated her question.
“Lan-Lan,
I wanna know!”
“Ms.
Pantazopoulos, please don’t talk while I’m teaching,” said Mr. Emerson. While the class snickered for the hundredth
time at ‘Seph’s last name, I wondered idly if, by some freak chance of
heritage, he knew about the Transeyes.
But there were probably a million people named Emerson in this country.
“Ask
him yourself, ‘Seph,” I grumbled in response.
‘Seph
scowled at me, thinking, “Geez, she’s meaner than the rest of the class when
they laugh at my name that sounds like ‘pants.’”
I
scowled, pulling out a sheet of paper on which I drew two stick figures with
their heads forming a Venn diagram. I
labeled it accordingly, then drew in myself sadistically throwing a knife into
the male figure. Blood spurts were
compliments of my newly acquired red gel pen.
“Get
it?” I asked.
Persephone
nodded, her curly brown hair bobbing up and down innocently, and she was silent
for the rest of the period. It wasn’t
until lunch that she re-acknowledged my existence, grabbing my wrist forcefully
and dragging me outside onto the grassy hill, where she tripped up and sent
both of us hurtling onto the ground with a thud. She quickly helped me upright with finicky, half-executed
gestures, as if she were picking off crumbs from a hot stove.
“Lan-Lan,
are you okay? Do you need me to spit in
his lunch or something for you?” she asked sincerely, her cute wide eyes
staring at me with simplicity of emotion.
“No,
no,” I said with a smile. “We’re
Juniors now. Listen, ‘Seph, your voice
is kinda always loud. Sorta.”
“No
shit, Lan-Lan. Either that or all my
teachers have like … bat hearing. Ooh,
do ya think they’re vampys?!”
“You
are the spazziest girl on Earth,” I said, pulling out my sandwich and taking a
gratuitous bite. “Rrnywrrs,” I began
before gulping down the hunk of tastiness, “I think I can help you out, but you
have to keep this a secret.”
‘Seph
started to giggle. “Lan-Lan, you’re
better off entrusting a secret to a talking parrot than to me. ‘Polly want a cracker! I like gay porn!’” she screeched gleefully.
“
‘Seph, take me seriously for once.”
“Aw,
can’tcha take a joke? My mouth may be
as wide as the Pacific Ocean, but I’m not gonna backstab my friends,” she
said. Persephone was an odd person who
on the surface always seemed to be gossiping, yet when you thought back to what
she had actually said, she never blabbered at the expense of anyone she knew
personally. It was more like she had
this capability, this certain charisma to ride the wave of girl-talk without
having to do so much as tilt her head and laugh with her curls bouncing
everywhere.
So
I hugged her and whispered in her ear, “You don’t have to say anything to me
out loud in class anymore if you don’t want anyone else to hear. But I’ll still be able to answer you.”
“Woah,
you can read lips now?”
“Nope,”
I said with a cocky grin.
“Um,
you want me to pass notes to you?”
“Er,
no.”
“Hmm!”
she said, not showing any impatience at all.
I feared that this guessing game could go on forever. “Oh, I know! You can read my mind now!”
I
gaped at her in shock.
“Not
it?” she said with an adorable pout.
“No,
that’s it, but how on Earth …,” I trailed off.
She
smiled toothily, declaring, “I read in some book in the library that people
could do that.”
“What
kinds of books have you been reading ….”
“Oh, this one was really hard to find. It was actually slipped behind one of the cases, so I only found it because I had to help them rearrange some shelves in the library.”
“Since when did you work at the library?”
“Since this summer! I didn’t tell you …?”
I shook my head.
“Oh, okay. Well, now you know.”
‘Do you see that guy over
there, ten o’clock? Sizzling hot!’ she
thought.
I turned my head to the left and was startled by the sudden influx of finely made male. How could I have not noticed him before?
“Wow, Lan-Lan, single for one day and you’re already drooling over the rest of the guys? Tsk tsk!” she said mockingly, letting her hair tickle my cheek. ‘I dare you to hit on him.’
“No, I’m not going to, no, no,” I said. “He’s not even my type, anyway.”
‘So what? I can give you cues like this. And you can read his mind, too, and say exactly what he wants to hear.’
“Oh, quit it. Not everyone is just looking for someone who’s hot on the outside. And besides, I’m rather plain-looking myself.”
“Don’t say that! It’s not hard to look pretty, really! Look, I’ll take you to the mall this weekend okay okay?” she said out loud. ‘It’ll take your mind off that cheating son of a bitch anyway, Lannie.’
“You think of me as ‘Lannie’ in your head?!” I asked.
“Oops,” she replied, covering her mouth.
“Oh well, whatever. How did you come up with a name like Lan-Lan anyway?”
“I dunno, it just slipped out one day, I think.”
“It’s not how Chinese people form nicknames, you know?”
“Really?”
“Well, you double one of the first names or add ‘Xiao’ or ‘A’ or whatever.”
“Yah, but I can’t pronounce your Chinese name,” she argued.
“Yeah, Yeah,” I said. “Whatever.”
“You should at least buy a new top. I know just the shirt that would look really pretty on you!”
I groaned. “You’re still on that? Give it a rest. Why are you taking this telepathic thing so easily, anyway?”
“I
dunno. I guess I’ve always been into
mythology even though my parents are strictly Orthodox. My parents brought a lot of our smaller
statuettes and busts over here when we moved from Kallithea, and when we were
unpacking, well, that was the first time I actually held them and all. And after I started reading that book – you
should read it, too – I started realizing that people could easily mistake
psychics for prophets, messengers, or even gods.”
“What
is this book called, anyway?”
“Ha,
actually I dunno. It doesn’t have
anything on its cover.”
“That’s
a little suspicious, isn’t it?” I said.
‘Come
see for yourself. I’ll be working the
shift from four til eight tonight, if you wanna meet me. It’s not in any of the card catalogs and I
hid it away, so only I can let you in on it.
But this has got to be a secret, too,’ she thought with colorful
intonation. I realized that she was a
very honest person, reflecting every detail of her thoughts into her style of
speech. With disgust, I realized that I
hardly ever did the same.
Persephone
looked away at the sky as if not expecting a response. For just a moment, in her flowing, loose
cotton top and skirt, with their gold hems and rippling folds, she looked like
a Hellenic goddess, but only for a moment.
Her face was far more modern and plebeian, cute but not refined; her
movements were unplanned and boyish.
“I
guess I can probably get out of the house at five or something. ‘ this the public library downtown?”
“Yup!”
she said with a wide smile. The lunch
bell rang. “Crap, English class. It’s my second language, you know. They should cut me more slack.”
“It’s
my second language as well, and you don’t see me complaining about it,” I said.
“It
so isn’t! Knowing how to say ‘hungry
want eat pee’ in a language before learning English doesn’t count.”
“Just
go!” I said, kicking her rear end lightly.
“Don’t
get my skirt dirty!” she cried.
“Like
sitting on dirt keeps it clean,” I said, patting myself off as she started down
the hill.
“Five
o’clock, don’t forget!” she said without turning around, although I could tell
that she was smiling.
“No
no!” I protested. “Five fifteen. I said I could get out by five, not
get there by five.”
“Psh,
what’s the difference,” ‘Seph said.
“I’ll probably be working circulation, but I can get Jon to cover for me
for a bit.”
I
stared after her as she disappeared into the twin glass doors, looking down at
my watch.
Chapter 5. Reading Up.
I
climbed onto the bus, giving my backpack a determined heave. I took the first free booth I could find,
near the back of the bus, and some senior guy sat down next to me a few seconds
later.
‘Phooie,
I was hoping to have this space all to myself today,’ I complained to myself.
“Hi,”
he said plainly.
“Yo,”
I replied, pulling out a book to read.
On
the way back, however, a particularly abrupt turn on the part of the bus driver
sent all of us passengers flying to the right of the bus. Normally, I would not have cared about the
accidental contact between my neighbor and me.
But then the thoughts began to rush in again.
“Oh
man, I can feel her hips and legs pressed against me,” the boy thought
frantically. I could practically hear
the blood pumping quickly through his body.
“Ugh! So soft but supple; if
only she would slip down those sexy jeans and then I would touch her and ohhhh
urg, I should move aside I should move aside!”
He
tried to scoot over, but it barely alleviated the squeeze, and his fantasies
only grew more vivid as our contact dwindled to the faintest brush.
‘No,
I shouldn’t think these things, I shouldn’t think these things. Oh no, what if she sees it?’
I
saw “it” alright, and I freaked out, jumping over him at the next stop and
bounding out the door without thinking about just how far I was from home. I was sweating and beet red when I stopped
to take a breather beside a few birch trees.
‘Calm
down, Rebecca!’ I thought to myself.
‘It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.
But it’s a complete stranger!
That’s different! He wasn’t
thinking about love, he was thinking about rape! But did he actually do anything? Could he have stopped those thoughts? He never acted on them ….’
My
head was spinning with conflicting thoughts.
‘Dammit,
I should have listened to my MP3 player again,’ I thought angrily. Nevertheless, that solution would have been
a complete cop-out. The thoughts would
have still been there. Would my
ignorance of them make the situation any better?
I
didn’t want to think; I wanted to block everything out and sweep through the
rest of life as a fly would, racing here and there, so focused on the beating
of the wings to care about anything else.
So, like that fly, I took off running, ignoring the weight of my
backpack and just following the road, away from home, away from any people who
would know me, who would think about me, who would violate me.
It
wasn’t long before I arrived downtown, which was probably only one and a half
miles from school. I barely felt
exhausted, thanks to my strict jogging schedule, but I still slowed down to
prevent myself from drawing unwanted attention. And frankly, any attention would be unwanted attention. I wanted to vanish from the world – watch
everyone else with piercing gaze but glide right past them, like a single
thread of silk dangling before them, around them, trapping them unbeknownst,
but never visible, never brought to trial, never the object of their desire.
Walking
through downtown was relaxing and surreal.
The autumn sun had already begun to enwrap the taller steeples and the
wind was starting to pick up, perhaps in preparation for a storm. I felt so disconnected from the world, only
because there were so many people around me.
I could hear no thoughts at all, only because too many people were
thinking at once.
As
if proceeding down a cathedral’s corridor, I walked down the sidewalk, passing
shops and trees arranged like mahogany pews and peeks of sunlight that seemed
to stream through stained-glass windows.
At the end of my walk, I found myself at the library, an hour too
early. Quietly, I stepped through the
doors and ventured inside.
‘Lan-Lan,
is that you?!’ I heard crisply through the otherwise silent foyer, yet there
was no echo, so I knew it was never said out loud.
I
nodded aimlessly, trying to find where ‘Seph was standing at the moment.
‘Over
here, to your right. I’m not at the
desk yet because I just got here, too.’
I
looked over to a few carts of books and saw her standing, her somewhat petite
frame obscured by the tall mounds of books.
‘You’re here really early, you know.’
I
nodded again.
‘Okay,
wait five minutes and I’ll show you back there. I need to organize these books really quick.’
I
walked over to a spotted armchair sofa and sat down, savoring the form-fitting
cushions. There was not a single
blemish on the chair’s form save for a small rip on the left armrest, but even
that was mostly concealed by an intricate lace shawl that was draped over the
antique piece of furniture.
I
picked up the first book I could find on the black adjacent end table. It was an old, dilapidated copy of The
New Yorker. I stared at its
colorful cover and noted that it was the April 1974 issue []. Before I could begin scanning the contents,
though, I saw Persephone out of the top of my eyes, leaning over me
eagerly. She had not changed her
clothes, yet the sepia-tone shadows in the building made her appear as if she
were in some old-fashioned photograph.
‘Let’s
go! Isn’t this fun, communicating this
way? It’s like being soulmates!’
I
glared at her, trying to convey that it was considerably less fun being the one
who had to play the mime.
‘Hey,
you never know. Maybe I’ll become
telepathic one day.’
“Yeah,
maybe,” I whispered.
‘Anyway,
it’s behind this shelf. Keep a watch
out for anyone coming by, will ya? I
don’t want to cause a commotion or anything.’
I
nodded yet again, sitting down on a stout metal stool that sank half an inch
under my weight. I nearly created a
commotion of my own, though, when I saw Persephone awkwardly hinged over the
bookshelf, her arm flailing about, trying to grasp the book. Her now-airborne feet kicked about,
threatening to knock books off the opposite shelf at any moment.
“Need
a boost?” I asked.
‘No! No!’ she replied.
She
used one hand to tug her body infinitesimally farther over the old
black-painted shelf. All of a sudden, she
sprung back, off-balance, and landed in my outstretched arms, clutching an old
volume to her bosom.
‘Here,’
she thought, handing me the book.
“Thanks,”
I said, smiling when I saw all the dust that had accumulated on her shirt. I extended my arm to brush some of it off,
but she preempted me conscientiously.
‘You
still have your backpack,’ Persephone noted.
‘You didn’t go home?’
“Well,”
I began, but I never finished my sentence.
‘I
guess we can talk about it during my break.
I have to go work now before they wonder why I’m MIA, okay?’
“Yeah,”
I said, leaving her side and proceeding to the small, circular second floor to
begin reading. I settled down beside a
rose-themed pewter lamp, opening the book to its first page. The paper was a tad ragged and the text was
hand-penned in ink, but the words still stood out in legible relief.
I
frowned, realizing that the text had been written by an outsider, someone who
could only speculate and not understand.
Nevertheless, the oft-redundant and sensational text confirmed the
existence of a certain society of persons with unnatural brainpower, seemingly
able to read minds, communicate with one another without words, and forecast
events in the new future. The text differed
only slightly from any other fantasy or comic book description of such
characters, and I feel that it was merely the fact that the author seemed so
serious and bewildered at the same time that stirred me in this way.
Already
an hour passed before I next looked at my watch – time always seemed to fly
while I was reading. But it was not
time spent in vain; I had already finished all but the last chapter. “Parting Words,” the chapter header read. I sighed, nearly putting the book down. And yet something told me to read on. It could have been mere compulsion, habit –
from years of studying. Or maybe it was
another premonition, albeit a vague one.
No
matter, I read on:
“I
have observed these psychics in question for nearly ten years now; surely they
have already caught on to me; yet, for some reason, they have left me
alone. I do not know if they have
simply remained ignorant of the existence of this volume, or perhaps they know
if it and do not deem it a hazard to their secrecy. If it is indeed the latter, then this last chapter must be
written in secret, far away, and so I have removed myself from any place that
may be inhabited by their kind in order to write down these last facts.
“I
must beg your pardon in titling this chapter in such a misleading way. These are, in function, parting words, for
they are the last of this book, and perhaps the last that I will write, as I am
reaching such an age as to care little for writing any longer. But they are, in terms of sheer weight, the
majority of this book.
“What
I am about to propose is a hypothesis – not being psychic myself, I cannot
provide any more substance than that – a hypothesis as to how such powers may
be consistent with our knowledge and common sense. I believe that the psychics can see, and possibly even ‘feel’ to
a degree, something, or someone, that no one else can see or feel. Through this intimate contact arises their
ability. I have chosen not to name this
entity, nor speculate any further than that.
I am sorry if I have disappointed you, but perhaps some scholar at some
later date should finish this book rightfully, and to him I leave the following
pages.”
And
true to his word, the author left the next ten sheets of paper blank. I read the last paragraph over and over,
trying to see deeper than the cautious, imprecise sentences that formed the
text. For a moment, I felt that I was
descending into another world, but I couldn’t quite open my eyes.
Then
a bright blue flash seared through my mind, cutting off any other
thoughts. It was a pure, unrestrained
blue, unlike any other blue I had ever seen in my life. It had no trace of sadness or serenity, nor
childhood bliss or the ocean’s expanse.
It was simply the raw hue.
No
one else in the library seemed fazed at all, and my stone was gray as ever
within my bookbag. I pulled it out,
looking at it from every angle, but it betrayed nothing. Before I had to chance to slip it back into
the bag, I heard Persephone think, ‘What on Earth is that there?’
Frantically,
I stuffed it back into my bag, but to no avail.
‘Lan-Lan,
you’re not going to get away with something that obvious.’
“U-umm,”
I stammered. “I-it’s a stone? A round stone?”
She
took the liberty of snatching the stone out of my bag. ‘No, it’s definitely a square hunk of
plastic.’
“R-really??”
‘Yup,
definitely,’ she thought, turning it round and round.
“Hey,
stop diverting my attention! Give it
back to me right now.”
‘Not
til you tell me what it is, Lan-Lan!’
“It’s
a messager. That only I can read.”
‘Oh?’
I
grabbed the stone back out of her hands and began to turn it slowly
counterclockwise. “Here, let’s see …
‘Today, we will have a conference about reading the minds of animals. Please be present at ten P.M.’”
“Wow!”
she exclaimed out loud.
“
‘P.S. Persephone Pantazopoulos is a nosy
weeeeeeasel.’”
‘You
little …!’ she cried internally, giving me a shove so that I fell backwards
into the chair.
“Just
returning the favor,” I replied smugly after removing my buttocks from the
uncomfortable position of being wedged between the cushion and the back
support.
‘What
does it really say?’
“Actually,
nothing at all. It hasn’t done anything
since last night,” I said, suddenly realizing that I had blurted out too much.
‘Last
night?’
“No,
nothing,” I said. I looked at the
sphere again, but this time, it started to feel strangely warm, and then a
faint blue glow surrounded it. Text
inscribed itself quickly across its surface, “18h EST, Richards Hall, Seat
Q16.” The ‘16’ suddenly vanished and
was replaced by a ’15.’
I
looked up at ‘Seph, who was watching the sphere intently as well.
‘It
turned kinda blue for awhile, didn’t it?’
“Y-yeah,”
I said.
‘That’s
it?’ she asked, seemingly unaware of what I thought was rather large
writing. It had been clear and neat,
but now that I thought of it, it was certainly hand-written, given the
imperfect replications of certain repeated letters, such as the two adjacent
l’s in ‘Hall.’
“No,
it says I have to go somewhere in thirty minutes,” I said quickly, packing my
stuff away and handing the book back to ‘Seph.
“Thanks for showing this to me.
Bye.”
‘Oh,
no prob. But …,’ she started. I was already halfway down the stairs, but I
halted and strained my neck to look back to see why she had stopped. ‘Just, stay safe. I don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, and I’m not going
to pry anymore. But you have to promise
me you won’t be out wandering in the streets late at night with other weirdos.’
“Weirdos?!”
I remarked resentfully.
‘Just
promise! And keep your cell phone
charged. And maybe a hand pistol in
your purse?’
“Ixnay
on the pistol, ‘Seph. Maybe a throwing
knife or something. I’m particularly
skilled at darts, you know.”
Persephone
smiled sincerely, waving goodbye to me before turning around to reshelve some
books.
Chapter 6 – Introductions
and Handshakes in Seat Q15.
I
was already out on the sidewalk before I realized I had no clue where Richards
Hall actually was located. But there
had to be some kind of instinct within me, right? Something that would lead to
me to place without ever having been there before?
I
started walking without thinking, hoping that it would somehow land me at
Richards Hall. But after realizing that
I had just walked in a full circle around a couple of blocks, I stopped heaved
a sigh of defeat.
“Are
you looking for some place?” an elderly passerby asked, probably noticing the
way I was looking left and right like a lost tourist.
“Yeah,
Richards Hall,” I said.
“Ah,
I see. That would be in the
Planetarium, Miss.”
“Oh,
I never noticed it before,” I admitted.
“That’s
because it’s in the basement,” he said with a sagacious, if not mystical,
smile.
“Thank
you, Sir,” I said, walking towards the Planetarium, which was only a couple of
traffic lights down from where I stood.
That man had certainly been odd – a little too comfortable and
convenient for me – but he was well on his merry way, far from me, so it was of
little consequence.
I
arrived at the Planetarium at quarter til six, opening the front door. There were a few people inside, including a box
office operator and a few people perusing the items in the glass pane-enclosed
gift shop. I slipped down the first
stairwell I could see, which slowly degraded in quality as I approached the
bottom, until finally it was covered in chipping white paint, the wooden planks
creaking eerily as I stepped on them.
For a moment, I wanted to retreat, but I saw a silhouette of a figure at
the top of the stairs coming after me, and I realized that I had no choice but
to continue if I wished to avoid confrontation. The brightness of the lights streaming into the top of the
stairwell prevented me from seeing who it was, and I couldn’t event tell
whether it was a man or a woman from the blurriness of the outline.
I
started running down the steps, tripping up on the last two and landing harshly
on the side of my foot at the bottom, twisting my ankle awkwardly but not to
the point where I couldn’t walk. ‘Damn
it, I have to keep my cool,’ I thought to myself, taking deep breaths. The basement hallway was ill-lit by a couple
of flickering fluorescent rods; water and heating pipes ran along the
ceiling. At the end of the hallway, on
the left, was a door marked ‘Richard Hall’ in wooden cutout letters painting in
faded regal burgundy. The ‘s’ had
presumably fallen off at some point, and all that was left was a stained
outline of the letter in the wooden backing of the sign.
Again,
I hesitated, but again, I sensed the presence of my pursuant, the footsteps
echoing through the narrow corridor. I
pulled open the door to reveal an old but rather decently sized auditorium …
that was completely empty. I swallowed
nervously, walking down the aisle, cringing as I heard each step I took
resonate through the room. The aisle
was easy enough to see due to a large chandelier dangling down awkwardly in the
center of the room, a little too close to the ground and with half its three or
four dozen bulbs burnt out. Afraid that
my mind would wander and go crazy, I focused instead only on the small gold
plates that indicated the row letter.
At Q, I made a quarter turn and started down the row.
Q20
… Q19 … Q18. The suspense was
unbearable, so I cheated and looked ahead, spotting a strange knob on the
ground three seats away. I knelt down
when I reached the knob, first trying to pull it directly out, which failed to
do anything, and then moving it horizontally.
The knob spun around in a clockwise circle and I heard a latch
unlock. With ease, I pulled on the
handle, revealing a hatch in the ground.
The
ground looked rather close, so I simply hopped down, ignoring the ladder on the
side of the wall. The cover restored
itself above me, giving a startling slam.
When I turned around, I saw a glorious chamber like none other I had
ever seen before. It felt acultural,
even inhuman. There was simply a
complete ring of chairs around a vast space that contained vertical lampposts
of varying heights, emitting strange neon colors that almost clashed. About half of the chairs were occupied by
people who looked rather disinterested or even completely asleep.
It
was quiet, even more silent than Richards Hall proper, if that were
possible. I immediately realized that I
could not hear a single thought. ‘Is
this the place? I hope I look alright …
my panties aren’t showing or anything, are they?’
I
heard the hatch open behind me, and the figure descended. I held my breath, then realized that it was
only a young man about my age, with very dark skin and contrasting brightly
colored clothes.
Suddenly,
laughter filled the room, and the people stood up in unison. One man in particular, with extensive
stubble and narrow, shifty eyes, approached me and the other newcomer.
“Please
pardon our laughter. We merely found
your thoughts to be cute, and it’s been awhile since a person has stepped in
here without masking his or her thoughts, so we had forgotten the way thoughts
echo in this room. I welcome you two to
our humble meetingplace.
“I
will make introductions soon, but first let me explain. What you are seeing is not reality, per se,
but rather the product of rather ingenious technology that allows us to meet in
person without moving across the country, which would be rather inconvenient.
“Instead,
you are actually in a small region into which we are projecting a strong stream
of information, like wireless internet.
Your physical bodies are in fact sitting in Richards Hall at this very
moment, but do not worry; no one will disturb you there, and if there is an
emergency, we will end the meeting immediately and allow you to attend to your
needs. Just think of this as a …
collective dream.”
The
man smiled, putting one hand on each of our shoulders, proving his immense
armspan that seemed so unreal.
“Now,
come to the center and I shall introduce you to the group.”
The
two of us walked cautiously to the center of the room.
“My
name is Monitor Jenkins, and I am the newest volunteer mentor among the
Transeyes. I have been vested with the
responsibility of answering all of your questions regarding the Society and
your newfound abilities. Without further
ado, fellow Transeyes, I introduce to you Rebecca Lan and Akinade Kiarostani,
both from just outside Bellevue, Washington.”
The
audience clapped enthusiastically.