CHAPTER 11
Max

He caught a glimpse of her a couple feet ahead. Her chocolate-colored hair was billowing behind her as she ran, her laughter echoing off the walls.

"Wait!" he yelled after her, but her response was even more laughter as she disappeared around a corner.

The walls were moving, like waves, and it was making him dizzy. The floor beneath his feet was moving, making him stumble. But he needed to get to her. He turned the corner and she was gone. "Hello?" If he only knew her name.

"Hello," a smiling voice said behind him. Turning around, the evasive brunette was standing not five feet away.

"Who are you?" he asked breathlessly, rooted in place, afraid that she would disappear if he moved.

She angled her head inquisitively, "Have you forgotten me?"

"You're the girl, aren't you? You're the girl from the accident."

She smiled. "Have you forgotten me?"

He shook his head. "No. I haven't. What's your name?"

"You know my name," she replied.

"No," he breathed. "No, I don't."

"You whisper my name," she continued.

Aislin.

Max turned around at the name whispered across the hallways. When he looked back, the girl was not alone. The blonde girl was standing only a few feet away from the brunette.

"He's mine," the blonde whispered darkly.

They were usually not in his dream together, had never co-existed in the same space. Now he could see why. The blonde had turned ugly as she had seen the brunette.

"No," the brunette objected softly, peacefully. "He never was."

Max felt like a parrot, repeating himself in a very uncreative manner, but addressing the blonde this time he asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm your wife," she replied with a hard face.

He frowned. "I'm not married."

"You were," the blonde answered. "Until death do us part."

A shimmer next to the blonde pulled his attention back to the brunette and he watched her start to fade. "No," he pleaded. "No, don't go."

"It's just me and you now," the blonde smiled and someone was rustling him.

He came to, a stranger leaning over him. "Mister? Are you okay?"

Self-consciously, Max abruptly straightened up in the plastic chair. He was on the subway and he had fallen asleep. The commuters around him was looking at him strangely and he became worried that he might have been talking in his sleep.

"I'm fine, just a dream," Max answered the worried passenger and after a final odd look, he left Max alone.

Max was a novelty for approximately ten more seconds before the curious commuters had returned their attention to their iPads, their phones, their newspapers.

"I'm fine," Max mumbled to himself, rubbing his forehead.

Aislin.

Isabel

"You look tired." Her statement was met with a non-committed wordless shrug. "Are you sleeping okay?"

"My dreams are back."

Isabel was not surprised to hear it. "I know. Maria told me."

Her brother scratched his eyebrow, his eyes closed as he slumped on her couch. "I got a name."

"Of the girl? Which one?"

"I think… I think it was the name of the brunette. Aislin."

"Has the blonde girl returned? Maria said you were mostly dreaming of the brunette."

"What hasn't Maria told you?" There was a faint trace of humor in his voice, but Isabel was worried. She used to joke about his dreams, calling them teenage sex fantasies, but Max was starting to look sick. She wondered if he was eating right; the clothes seemed to hang off him like the clothes on a scarecrow. The circles under his eyes were as deep as wells and he looked depressed. As if the world was weighing down on his shoulders.

"She's just worried about you, Max. We all are."

Max rubbed his hand down his face. "I'm fine."

"And when you're not dreaming, are you sleeping then?"

"Kinda."

"What about Maria's theory? That you might have a connection with that girl you saved? That she's calling for you or something."

"I think she might be right," he sighed. "Which scares the living daylights out of me."

Isabel sank down on the TV-table, facing Max, and placed a hand on his knee. "Max, listen to me. Maybe you should see a therapist."

Max opened his eyes and looked at her incredulously. "What?"

"I don't mean that you'll go there and tell everything, just so that you can talk to someone. The therapist won't know all the backstory, but maybe he can help you sort out what your dreams mean. And maybe.. maybe he can prescribe you something. To help you sleep."

"Don't be ridiculous," Max said, annoyed, and stood up. "I can figure this out."

Isabel followed his restless pacing with concerned eyes. "You're not alone in this, Max. You don't have to do everything on your own. You know that we'll help you. But maybe you need some professional help too. Maybe this is beyond our capabilities."

"Then what?" Max asked, a hint of anger in his usually calm voice. "What if I do start on medication and I'm too knocked out for her to contact me? What if it ends the visions, our opportunity to find more things out?"

"Maybe that's for the best!" Isabel cried, getting to her feet in frustration. "This might kill you! Look at you! Are you even eating?"

"Of course I'm eating," Max replied tensely.

"I can't watch my brother waste away because of some answers," Isabel said, tears breaking her voice. "I can't lose you, I can't."

Max could hear her loneliness, the little abandoned girl she was deep inside, but he couldn't focus on her right now. His head was hurting. He leaned against the wall, his forehead hitting the white plaster, and felt the anger seep out of his tired body. "What if she needs my help?"

Isabel's desperation cooled at his words. Her brother's concern for a stranger was admirable, but it was so typical of him. To help others at the risk of his own life. He had done it before; risking his secret and his quiet existence by healing Maria. "Max, what if she's not real? Would you let yourself go insane chasing someone that's not real?"

"She's real," Max mumbled against the wall.

"But what if she isn't?" Isabel persisted.

Max didn't answer. He had obviously made up his mind. This girl was important enough to him to risk his well-being, his relationship with the real people around him.

"Will you stay here tonight?" Isabel whispered.

He started to shake his head in negative, but Isabel pressed on, "For me? I don't want to be alone."

Her brother usually couldn't resist being there for her, but he had a big aversion to letting her baby him.

She watched him slump in resignation. "Of course. Sure."

"Thanks," she whispered. "And tomorrow, will you come with me to the office party?"

He groaned softly and she couldn't help but laugh quietly.

"I'm not really a social butterfly, Iz," Max said, telling her the obvious.

"You promised. Do you remember promising to go?"

"You were blackmailing me," Max mumbled, pushing off the wall and heading back to the couch.

Isabel wouldn't deny that. "Maybe I was." But she was positive that she needed to get Max to the party. He needed to meet some real girls. And maybe Elizabeth Parker was just what he needed.

Maybe Isabel would have reasoned differently if she had seen the drawing Maria had made, which was neatly folded up in the back pocket of Max's jeans. The drawing of Max's mystery brunette, which bore an uncanny resemblance to that very same Elizabeth Parker.