I'm publishing Chapter 5 on the heels of Chapter 4! Don't get too used to this, though - Chapter 6 won't be up until past the new year... Hope everyone has a great holiday season!

Chapter Five: After or Away From Something

That is to say, nature's laws are causal; they reveal themselves by comparison and difference, and they operate at every multivariate space/time point.

- Edward Tufte

It's morning and she opens the door to find me, waiting. Everything about her stills. Her mouth makes an "o". I know how I must appear. The words I say are for now, but they're for the past as well. "I'm sorry, I should have called in advance."

She shakes her head, still wordless. It takes her a moment and then she gestures me in. Her space is all soothing tones - muted greens and yellows for the walls, a couch which looks comfortable enough to sleep on and magazines laid out in a haphazard fashion on the coffee table. Directly across from where I'm standing is another room, with its door ajar to reveal an inner sanctum. I peer inside and see a desk, some chairs, a chaise lounge. "You've done it, haven't you? I knew you would." In truth, I've known for awhile. I've been one of her anonymous, generous benefactors.

"Arthur-chan", she finally manages out. She takes two steps and places a hand on my shoulder. "Can it be?"

I nod and cover her hand with my own. I know she's looking for the same chaos in my eyes as I'm doing with hers. "Hitomi-chan. How are you?"

She breaks into a smile, and hastily brushes at the corners of her eyes. "I'm... I'm doing well. Very well, actually." Our hands drop away from contact. "I never thought I would see you again... I didn't know if that was the best or worst thing that could have happened."

I know what she means. There's a common belief that shipwrecked survivors would band together for strength, perhaps piece their half-lives into something resembling a whole; but for Hitomi and I, this has not been the case. We found each other not long after I arrived rather unceremoniously in Okinawa, the furthest point away from everything that reminded me of home and the origin of some intriguing rumors. She was a split log brimming full of anger and resentment, while I was completely obsessed with finding obscured truth. We were a handful, to say the least. Had it not been for the wide-reaching influence of my parents' wealth and connections, I imagine I would still be locked away in a southeast Asian prison. It wasn't incarceration which rehabilitated me, though. It was an intense desire to not have to depend on my family anymore.

Looking at the woman standing before me, I say, "It's clear to me."

She gives me a tour of her office. Like me, she stopped trying to run herself into the ground; instead, she chose to find a purpose in her life. She went back to school, learned the necessary tools, and began to practice and implement what she had studied. Unlike me, she focused her energy outward. "I receive more referrals than I can handle now. I choose to work with people with the most severe traumas, or, who are the most neglected. Sometimes the two go hand in hand. I don't think I ever imagined I would be helping others learn to live with the experiences we went through. And that it would be so healing for me." She runs a hand over the file cabinets and tucks a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. "Enough about me. What have you been doing? I have wondered where you might end up. I'm not surprised that you seem to be in comfortable circumstances." The last time she saw me I wore tattered jeans that hadn't been washed in weeks.

"After Okinawa, I lived in Tokyo for awhile; then, when I had saved up enough money, I moved to England for college. Now, I work mostly amongst the corporate world, on a consulting basis."

She tilts her head before shaking it lightly. "You always liked to keep your secrets." She studies me and straightens her posture. "You're still running, aren't you?"

I raise a shoulder, let it drop. "I'm not sure whether it's after or away from something anymore."

"You know this can't be healthy."

That makes one corner of my mouth curl. "And yet, here I stand, still alive." The expression on her face is unmistakable; I continue before she has a chance to voice it aloud. "I need your help, Hitomi-chan."

This surprises her; it's in the way her hand flies up to her chest, the involuntary small step back. "My help?"

"You've no doubt read about collective cognizant dreaming."

Her brow wrinkles. "Yes, some psychologists believe that actualizing such a radical theory may be beneficial to people in many capacities. Why do you ask?"

"What do theorists say about applying it towards your area of expertise?"

"In the case of trauma victims, it may help them to confront their fears without any real repercussions. But it's purely conceptual at the moment, and least of all, a very controversial hypothesis." I look at her. She looks at me. Then she really starts to back away. "No."

I pursue her, hands steadying her at the shoulders. She's still denying as I say over her mumblings, "What if I told you it was more than possible? That it opened up a reality to which you'll never have access to, no matter how frequently you meet with your patients, no matter how much they reveal to you in those sessions? Imagine the results you could yield, the people you can help."

The lines on her forehead grow darker. "This is what you have been dealing in since you started working?"

She's not the same anymore. That's ok, even if it depresses me a little. "This is what I have been dealing in since I woke up in the hospital and couldn't remember the three days prior."

"What do you mean?"

It doesn't matter that we haven't seen each other in years, that in that amount of time, we've become two different people, polar even. She was the only person I trusted, the only person I could depend upon, the only person who understood. It's based on this that I tell her about dream sharing and breaking into people's mind to steal their ideas. How it started as a wild pursuit, a way to a means but somehow ended up evolving as a way to escape, a way to deflect.

"Do you trust me still?" It's the question that's been hanging between us since the moment she opened that door and found me outside of it. She doesn't even have to respond verbally. "Then let me show you what I mean." I pull the silver suitcase from where it's propped against the wall in the hallway.

She watches it, warily. But like everyone, there's more than a little curiosity too. "Is it... safe?"

"Yes." I gently move her to the chaise lounge and hand her the needle and tubing that I've already assembled.

"Arthur-chan, I want to help you, I really do, but I don't know how."

"It's simple, you won't even need to go into dream when I ask you to do what I need you to do. But first, I need you to understand and the best way to do that is to let you experience basic dream sharing. Lie down."

She doesn't want to say yes so readily, I can tell. Some first timers are like that. "I'm supposed to meet my husband in an hour... I don't want to be late."

I press the needle into her wrist, she jumps at the slight sting. Then I do the same for myself. "We've all the time in the world then." Our eyes lock as I depress the button and the somnacin is released into our bloodstreams.

She turns white. "Arthur, are you sure-"

I find her at the cotton candy stall, pulling a pink swatch of the stuff away from the paper spool in her hand. A group of children run, excited, around and between us to the slow-revolving ferris wheel that serves as a backdrop. She watches them go, turns her body to follow them. She spots me and I walk over. "Where are we?"

"The World's Fair." We are standing on a crest; the lights coming from the temporary encampment sprawl before us. "See that building over there? That's supposed to hold the largest collection of gemstones and jewels from around the world. Over there? Just on the outskirts? Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show."

She starts to walk in the direction of the bright lights I've pointed out to her, but she stops. "Is this a dream?"

I nod. "Yes. My mind takes fragments of what I know about the Chicago's World Fair and reassembles it into what you see here. The subconscious populates it with the people, the things that make you believe that it's real."

She looks around. "Whose subconscious is making this happen?"

"Mostly mine. We're in my dream and you're the guest." We have ended up in front of a house of mirrors. "Let's go in."

The noise outside disappears upon entry, as does the warmth and light. The interior is just a long, wide hallway full of mirrors, twisted into various shapes and lengths. She's expecting distorted images of ourselves, and lets out a gasp when instead she sees a small child, looking back at us rather calmly. Her hand reaches out, touches the reflective surface; watches in fascination as he flattens a palm against the exact same spot on the other side. She pulls back and checks behind the mirror. "There's nobody there", she says.

The boy gives me a look; I am infinitely more patient as I explain to Hitomi, "The rules of reality don't apply here. Don't expect anything reasonable to happen; in fact, that's most likely when nothing will make any sense."

"What's the purpose behind showing me a younger version of yourself?"

I shrug. "I don't know. You'll have to ask my subconscious."

She kneels down until she is at eye level with my projection. "What are you trying to tell us?"

But he doesn't answer. And after a few minutes, he walks away from our view. Hitomi gets to her feet, and brushes the dirt from her knees. "Is that normal?"

"Nothing in the dream world is normal." She follows me further into the recesses. At the next mirror we stop in front of, a small white cat is what greets us, tail curling sideways. "We don't have any more insight in how the mind works than mainstream scientists do. But what has been gathered is that everyone's subconscious is completely unique - while some are highly receptive to dream hackers, most are hostile - very hostile. Still others react by throwing up defenses - making its subconscious completely impregnable." I point at the cat. It looks up at me with mutinous black eyes. "Such as transforming into a form that you believe is incapable of communicating with you. Quite the stubborn being, isn't it?"

"Dreamers can't communicate directly with their own subconscious?"

"Not in my case, no." I know some people have recreated long sequences of memories in their dreams, but it's rare for me. I have never been able to get more than these fleeting glimpses. "Believe me, I - oh."

Hitomi turns to look at the image on the next mirror. "Is this Paige?"

She's wearing the same outfit I last saw her in, her hair unbound, a dark waterfall of shiny waves. For some reason, she's got a pencil in her hand. I think about the beach, the sound of her voice, the lightness of her laughter. Right now she's looking at me with a bemused twinkle in her eyes. She raises an eyebrow at Hitomi. Well, this is new. "No."

Before Hitomi can ask me to elaborate, I nudge her down to another reflection. This one I've seen before. This one I expect, but every time, I hope, I hope, that maybe I'll see something else, something more. I look awful - I never get over that. Hitomi doesn't have to ask when or what this represents. She's woken up in a hospital bed before, bruised, battered, confused. I shake my head; my reflection projection echoes the movement. "I keep looking at this person and I don't know who he is. I don't know how he ends up in this situation and why he alludes me. I should know, I should be able to tell." As the words come out from me, he shadows me, his lips moving in perfect sync.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?"

I wish I could explain to her, but when she's looking at me like that, I start to wonder if I am completely off my rocker. It hasn't been a question I haven't asked myself before. Is it so easy to let something go? Maybe I just haven't tried hard enough - and I have had brief bursts in my lifetime since the accident where I have tried to do what my mother has suggested, what Hitomi is suggesting now, what others have suggested - to move on, to let go. I only end up with a stronger conviction that knowing the unknown is the key.

What surprises us both is that my reflection answers for me. "You act as if we have a choice in the matter, Hitomi-chan. There's a line that gets drawn on the floor and there's no turning back when you cross it. You know that - your life becomes broken into parts - before and after." He swivels his head towards me. "The line becomes you, and you are never more than a few steps away from it, judging the distance between. Everything good or bad that happens is filtered through that same terrible, wonderful line. Isn't that right, Arthur?"

My heart is pounding. I watch him lift his hand up to tap the spot on his own chest. "What happened to your hand, Arthur?", I ask in a careless tone.

His brows draw together. "They tell me there was an accident." He looks to his left and right. "Where's Paige?"

He's slipping away from me. "Since you seem to understand me so well, tell me. Show me the line." He doesn't answer; instead, he reaches over to the morphine drip and presses the button several times. "Where's the line, Arthur? Arthur." The glass fractures, radiating outwards from my fist. He doesn't move except for the fluttering of his eyelids. I hit the mirror again and this time, it shatters.

"Arthur, your hands." I've forgotten Hitomi is still there.

I wave a bloodied hand, ignoring the sting. "It's not real." I move away, my head angled down at the floor; the first thing I notice are his shoes. Brown leather shoes, scuffed and cracked. Slacks made from synthetic fiber. The badge clipped ontp his belt, the slight tuft of stomach hanging over it. My hand clenches; it makes the blood clotting agents which staunches the bleeding break free and droplets run over my knuckles, falls to the floor. The damn detective. My lips peel back and I hear a snarl come from my own throat. He stands, most of his weight on one foot, opposing hand in the pocket of his pants. Despite the pain and the glass shards still entrenched in my flesh, I make contact for a third time against the hard surface.

"Arthur!"

A million sneering faces shine back at me. I turn away. "It's just part of the dream. Come on. Time to go."

When we come to, the first thing she does is check my hands. "I can't believe that just happened." She sits back on her heels and runs a hand through her hair.

"Will you help me, Hitomi-chan? You understand why, don't you?"

She's quiet at first, head bowed. Then she looks up and says, "What do you have in mind?"