Thank you again to all those who read and leave reviews, your support is much appreciated. This conversation is a bit... different, and I really hope it makes sense. This conversation is actually the one that gave me the idea for this story, I just never felt it was 100% right until now. Happy reading =)

"A dream is a microscope through which we look at the hidden occurrences in our soul." – Erich Fromm

Somehow, the months have seemed to drag on and yet fly by at the same time. It's strange for her to be living like this, assuming an identity not quite her own, and yet feels like it fits to her very core. She's been undercover before, and it shows. The ease with which lies roll off her tongue, and displays of fabricated love and passion convince her targets are evidence of this. At least, they used to be. But despite her past experience, nothing has prepared her for this.

The feelings have become real. The lies have become truths. The passion in her eyes is not entirely fabricated. It's not just an act anymore. The divide between them has disappeared.

And this is unsettling to her. Very unsettling.

She sits on the beach of the property she calls "home", staring out over the water with absent eyes. Her arms surround her folded legs, and her feet are buried in the cool sand. Her fingers bear the evidence of her growing stress. She mutters words unheard by anyone; there is no one to hear them – they've gone for the weekend. She seizes her opportunity to be lost in her thoughts without consequence.

To most people, her current actions would seem to betray a fractured psyche and clouded mind, and this is not entirely untrue. There is a saying that goes something along the lines of: "Talking to yourself isn't grounds for a categorization of crazy; it's when you start answering yourself that people start getting concerned." Seems in some way appropriate.

"I'm in deep, aren't I?" she says with a sigh, to no one in particular.

"You could say that."

My response seems to startle her a bit, but her gaze remains fixed on the horizon, as if steeling herself against my words.

"It's no use pretending you didn't hear me," I tell her. "I'm very much here; you may as well accept it."

Minutes pass before she speaks again, "Tsia was right, I was crazy to take this on."

"Someone had to."

"What, and it had to be me?" she spits back bitterly, finally acknowledging my presence. "There are literally dozens of other agents Clyde could have recruited."

"You made that choice."

"No, I didn't. Clyde did."

"Sure," I say with an even tone of voice. It infuriates her.

"He did!"

"Okay," I respond again, my tone still neutral.

"I swear to you, it was his decision. I'm just a pawn in his chess game. I don't get a choice in the moves I make. My life is not my own."

Her words, inasmuch as they are directed at me, are to convince herself, I think. My silence unnerves her, she feels the need to make me understand and believe her, and so she repeats the quasi-mantra.

"I'm only here because he made that choice for me."

"You know that's not true, Emily," I finally call her bluff.

She huffs in frustration, and glares with a look that could well kill someone.

"The longer you take to accept that, the more painful this will be," I warn her.

"What are you, my resident conscience?"

I chuckle, "Far from it."

"Well then, who or what are you?"

"I think you're well aware of who I am."

"If I was, I wouldn't have asked," she snaps.

"Well, you didn't ask nicely, so I think I'll just let you come to that realization on your own."

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

Her body continues humming with anger and frustration, and her eyes are ablaze with a fury. She stays like this for a few minutes before her expression finally softens. Her eyes now portray a thoughtful reflection. The sun has nearly made its way below the horizon, and she shivers as shadows cover her, and a cool breeze envelopes her. She pulls her sweater tighter around herself and hugs her legs closer to her body.

I can see very clearly the moment she connects the dots and realizes who I am.

"You're her, aren't you?"

"Yes," I reply plainly.

"Oh god, I've gone crazy, haven't I?" she says as she scrunches her eyes closed in disbelief.

"I wouldn't say so, but you're certainly a better judge than I am."

Her eyes open quickly at my response. "I'm talking to someone who doesn't exist," she says, as if to make sure that it's really the case.

"Who says I don't exist?"

"I do."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not really here. You're not a real person."

Her words are not directed at me, but at herself, I think. She is trying, perhaps in vain, to convince herself. Several more minutes pass, and I'm content to let her continue to reflect and ponder.

She breaks the silence in a small, almost helpless voice, "You're me, aren't you?"

I don't respond, and my silence encourages her.

"Or maybe I'm you."

"Maybe."

"Which one is it?"

"What do you think?"

She takes a moment to consider my question.

"We switched, didn't we?"

"That's one way of explaining it," I say slowly.

"I'm the compartmentalized identity now?"

"I suppose you could put it like that."

She takes a moment to let that realization wash over her. I can see her mind's wheels spinning frantically, assessing the consequences of this change in balance.

"I really need to get out, don't I?"

"That's a decision for you to make, not me."

"But you're rather involved with the process, wouldn't you say?"

"It's still your decision, not mine."

"Yeah, I suppose it would be," she muses to herself. "I think I've gotten enough to put him away and get out of here for good. I can get them out before anyone even knows he exists. They'll never know. He'll be safe, away from him."

Her words are strengthening her and weakening me. The balance is shifting. She's regaining the upper hand, and I'm slipping back into merely a role to play.

"This is a dream, right? You're just a manifestation of my anxieties and worries?"

"Does it make anything we've talked about any less important if that's all I am?"

"Not really, no."

"Then what does it matter?"

"I guess it doesn't."

As always, if you have the time, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

As an aside, I have quite a few conversations I'm excited to post in the near future! :)