“What happened to him?”
“Soon after I took him to the station, the Interpreter showed up. She told me that Benja has been under her care. And she needed to take him back for more treatments. You may pick him up there.”
Promise me you won’t let them take my dreams, Benja’s voice comes to her. She quickens her pace. She hopes she is not too late.
She knows what the Interpreter said is a lie. There is no way Benja has been in her care. He would never go voluntarily into the place he abhors. He was enamored of his dreams. So much so that he wanted her to have them too.
She arrives in front of the Interpreter Center, gulping in air, trying to catch her breath. Even though she is dripping sweat, she feels cold.
The voice of an AI speaks, “Please identify yourself and the reason you are here.”
“My—my name is Aris. I’m here to see—see my friend, Benja.”
The wide door opens, and the white interior of the center greets her. In the middle of the vast room is a woman with pale skin and blond hair. Apollina. Her face is as expressionless as the wall behind her. She fits the description Thane gave Aris months ago, except back then she took it with humor. In real life, Apollina’s unsympathetic face sends chills up Aris’s spine. The woman doesn’t look like a droid, but there’s no warmth in her.
“I’m Aris, Benja’s emergency contact. I need to see my friend.”
“I’m Apollina. I’m the Interpreter. He’s in treatment right now. It’s almost finished. You just have to wait.” Her tone is dispassionate.
Aris feels like collapsing onto the floor.
Too late.
“Please, may I see him?” Aris asks, tempering her voice and holding her composure as best she can.
Apollina assesses Aris with her eyes, then nods. She leads her down a long corridor with curved white walls. Rows of doors line up like soldiers on both sides. There is no signage on them to denote their purposes.
The Interpreter opens a door. The room is dark. But there is light coming from a large window connecting it to another room. Through it Aris sees Benja lying still on a sleek white bed. Floating above him is a shiny copper apparatus the shape of a large cloud. It looks like something out of the Victorian era and takes up the space of the entire ceiling.
Hanging down from it like sheets of rain are numerous tubes of various colors. The tubes come together on a helmet connected to Benja’s head. Aris lifts her eyes to the copper cloud above him.
On it are images that shift and change like weather. Aris sees the face of the man in the white hat looking down. There is a pond with pink water lilies. A close-up of rough wood planks on a dock. A fish jumps up, sending a splash of water into the air. The man in the white hat mouths the words “I love you.”
The truth hits Aris with the force and strength of a speeding train. The copper helmet projects dreams . . . memories. Benja was right.
The strongest memories survived Tabula Rasa. His words echo in her ears. They live inside dreams.
Apollina pushes a button, and the images disappear to be replaced with another image of the man in the white hat. Aris’s heart drops to her stomach.
“What are you doing to him?” Aris asks, her voice quivering. She knows but needs to hear it.
“I’m using the Dreamcatcher to search, find, and destroy the harmful dreams. The ones with the victim he terrorized. They make Benja think he and the victim had a past.” The Interpreter scoffs. “A ridiculous thought. No memories survive Tabula Rasa.”
Aris feels ill. Images of Benja’s past are being systematically erased in front of her eyes. It is as if she is watching her friend in open-heart surgery. Pieces of him are being cut out.
“You erased his dreams.”
Apollina looks at Aris with a blank face. “That’s what we do.”
“But he didn’t want that,” Aris says. “I wasn’t aware that Benja had been receiving treatments from you.”
Not in a million years.
“Not all of our patients tell their friends. Some are embarrassed by it,” she says.
Aris feels tears threatening to drop. She leaves the room. She cannot bear to see her friend being robbed of his essence. Apollina follows behind her.
“Come with me,” the Interpreter says.
She takes her to a room overlooking the park.
“Sit. Please.” Apollina points to a white chair with a curved back.
Aris lowers herself onto it. Opposite her is a wall of seamless glass overlooking the green expanse of the park. It makes the room appear a part of nature. But instead of the peace it was designed to conjure, Aris feels trapped inside it. She knows the true purpose of this place. It exists to murder dreams.
From her seat, she can see the top of the giant trees that dwell in the forest at the bottom of the hill. It was only a few months ago she walked under its green umbrella with Benja. If only she could go back to that moment, before the blue crane and the madness, and hug him.
“Benja’s dreams were what caused him to act out in ways that threaten others. He’ll be better after this. It’s for his own and the greater good,” Apollina says.
The Interpreter continues, “Since you’re here, I’ll send him home with you. He will be incoherent for a few hours. He can follow simple instructions—sit, walk, lie down, and such. But more than that, and you will exhaust him.”
Aris looks away from Apollina to hide her disgust and shifts her gaze back to the park.
“He needs to sleep as soon as he gets back. You need to give him this to drink before he sleeps.”
Apollina puts a vial of clear liquid on the table in front of her and continues to rattle instructions.
“He won’t remember anything. When he wakes up, he may feel like he overindulged in alcohol. You are under strict instruction to not tell him about his experience at the Interpreter Center. The mind can only handle so much. You would only confuse him, and that may cause damage to his psyche.”
An alarm sounds. It reminds Aris of the noise an oven makes once it’s done cooking.
“He is ready,” Apollina says and gets up. “You may wait here; I will return with him.”
After the Interpreter leaves, Aris slumps into the chair. Tears pour down her face. All her fears have come true. Benja. The Interpreter Center erased his dreams.
What will happen to him now?
Her eyes catch a flash of brown under Apollina’s desk. Its familiarity pulls her like a magnet. She walks to the Interpreter’s side of the table. Without hesitance, she lowers herself to the floor and crawls under the desk and reaches for the leather briefcase.
In it she finds an exhaustive list of people, meticulously filed. Their names. Their faces. Their addresses. She sees an image of the angry man—the one she witnessed being led away by the police months ago—staring back at her. His name is Bodie.
Are these the Dreamers?
She flips through the papers with quicker speed. She finds one with Benja’s name on it. Her breath catches in her throat. She pulls it out and glances through. Her heart stops when she sees the name of the author of the report. Betrayal punches her stomach, making her eyes blur with fury. Thane.
Footsteps echo outside. She pushes the leather briefcase back to its spot under the Interpreter’s desk and runs to her seat. Once there, she remembers the paper in her hand. She folds it as small as she can and shoves it inside her jacket pocket.
The door opens. Apollina walks in. Following behind her is Benja. Aris wants to weep at what she sees. Her normally exuberant friend looks . . . hollow. Like a man whose mind is wandering alone in the desert.
“Benja?” Her voice quavers.
“Benja, this is your friend, Aris. She’s here to pick you up,” says Apollina in a slow, deliberate way.
He looks at her. His eyes are unfocused. “Hi, Aris.”
; “Does he”—she swallows down a sob—“Does he not remember me?”
“He’s a bit groggy right now. He’ll be fine after resting. Remember what I said.”
Aris nods. She forces out a smile. “Hey, Benja. We’re going to go to my house, okay? I’ll take care of you until you feel better.”
“Thank you. My head really hurts,” he says.
Tears threaten to fall, but Aris pushes them deep inside like a secret.
Aris sighs when Benja is finally on her bed. The Interpreter sent them back on their drone so she did not have to brave the subway with a half-conscious man. As Apollina had instructed, she used short and precise words. Please sit. Please lie down. Please drink this. Benja followed them all.
She looks at her sleeping friend and wonders what he dreams about now. Without the past haunting him, will he be a different Benja? She recalls their first conversation. She told him she believes a person stays who they are throughout all cycles. He did not agree. She hopes for his sake that she is right.
She closes the door to her room. The couch will be her bed. She cannot bear to sleep next to him. Not tonight.
“Lucy, reach Thane,” she says. It’s Saturday so he should be at home.
Thane’s image appears in the middle of her living room.
“Ask me why I just came back from the Interpreter Center,” she says. Her voice sounds cold and distant, as if belonging to a stranger.
Thane looks away. She knows he understands her meaning. She is glad he’s not trying to deny her accusation. That would further lower her opinion of him.
Anger rises in her like bubbles in a lava pool.
“The report you wrote on Benja painted him as if he were mentally ill. You said he had lost touch with reality and needed medical attention.”
Thane looks at her, his eyes wide. “How do you know about that?”
“You said you believe his dreams drove him to live in an alternate reality and that this delusion will drive him to harm others,” she says.
“He was a danger to others and himself. I did believe medical attention would help him,” Thane says.
“Is that what you tell yourself so you feel less like a monster and more like a hero?”
“Is that what you think? Whatever I do is for the good of our society. It’s this belief that allows me to do this. Not whether you or anyone else sees me as a hero or a monster.”
“I confided in you as a friend. I trusted you!”
“I have to protect our way of life.”
“You lied about your involvement with the Interpreter Center!”
Thane flinches.
“I should have never trusted you. Had I known you were an informant for the Interpreter Center . . .”
“You forget Benja is not an innocent in this. He had a prior record from breaking and entering not that long ago. And he just went back to terrorize the same couple because of what, his dreams? Is your love for him blinding you to his faults?” Thane says, his voice trembling with emotion. “It could have been worse. The Dreamcatcher only erases his dreams. They could have put him away for the rest of this cycle.”
Aris thinks about Benja being locked up somewhere far away. Fear replaces anger.
Thane’s voice becomes gentler. “Aris. I care about you. Believe me, I’d rather you see me as something much more than a friend. But I won’t stop doing the right thing. I can’t. Benja was dangerous. It couldn’t continue. This is for the greater good. It’s for his own good. You’ll see.”
Her rage returns. She looks at him as if she does not know him. “A friend is not what I even see you as at this point. I’ll never trust you again. Consider this my resignation.”
She ends the reach and collapses on the couch. She is exhausted from the top of her scalp to her toenails.
Why did she tell him about Benja? Thane would not have known had she not said anything. Benja entrusted her to save his dreams, and she failed. She feels nauseated. She trusted the wrong person, and so did he.
The ramshackle cottage appears as if it is collapsing from within. Walls and pillars stand crooked like drunks. Holes in the roof leak rain and snow. Floorboards creak with every step. The tiny house is barely standing, yet Metis feels safe here. On a day like today, he is grateful for the security it offers.
“They used the Dreamcatcher on Benja,” he says. Guilt weighs heavy in the pit of his stomach.
The Crone’s face twists in anger.
“That makes two,” she says. “They’re after Dreamers.”
“It’s my fault,” he whispers.
How could he be so stupid? He knew about Benja and the possible threat he posed to the group. Metis had let him stay longer than he should because of his connection to Aris. If anything were to happen to the rest of the Dreamers, what would he do? It would be on him.
“You’re blaming yourself,” the Crone says. “You shouldn’t.”
“Why not? I’m the guardian of Absinthe. I recruited the Dreamers. I’m supposed to be their protector. And now two people’s dreams have been wiped.”
Metis cannot bring himself to tell the Crone about the Absinthe he gave Benja to trade for Aris’s memories. He is too ashamed. He hopes it did not fall into the hands of the Interpreter Center.
The Crone was right to make him choose between the past and the present. Straddling both has brought nothing but pain and danger. He was selfish for having done it so long.
“I’m sorry I let you down,” he says. “If it’s of any consolation, you won’t have me as the Sandman for much longer.”
“Metis . . .” the Crone says in a gentle voice. “You forget that it was you who found me. I only hold the memory of how to make Absinthe, but it was your hands that made it. Your effort is what built the group. You have devoted most of this cycle to the cause. You’ve protected Absinthe and the Dreamers. I could not have asked for a more devoted Sandman.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t be the Sandman anymore.” He had chosen Aris. Even if he cannot be with her.
The Crone glides to him and places her wispy hand on his shoulder.
“Never regret making a choice. It’s a right you must defend and uphold.”
She touches the side of his face. “How is she?”
“I don’t know. Devastated probably.”
He has not seen her out of her apartment since he learned about Benja. She is in seclusion, grieving, just as he would be if someone he loved had their dreams ripped away. He wants to hold her hand and comfort her.
“I should check on her,” Metis says.
“If she’s with Benja, then she’s being watched. Be careful.”
“Do you think he will be okay eventually?”
“We can only hope. Like I said before, there’s a side effect to Dreamcatcher, but it does not affect everyone,” the Crone says.
Metis hopes Benja will simply go back to his old life, like Bodie. To a life with no Absinthe and no memories of past cycles. A life with only the present—like one Metis will have. Except in Benja’s, there is Aris.
Chapter Fifteen
Aris stares at the entrance, waiting. The end of the year fast approaches. She should be excited by the idea of the fresh start Tabula Rasa will bring, yet she can’t shake the feeling of impending doom.
The restaurant is just as it was on her first date with Benja three months ago. Crisp linens. Dimmed lighting. Couples sit holding hands. Except now, excitement has been replaced by apprehension. Her hands play with a corner of the tablecloth. Her legs jiggle under the table. She feels like a ball of restlessness is about to burst out of her chest. Guilt. It torments her like a bad dream.
She has not been able to bring herself to talk to Benja about the Interpreter Center. Although she does not trust Apollina, Aris feels she should heed her caution about causing damage to Benja’s psyche by reminding him about his Drea
mcatcher experience. He has not mentioned it. Perhaps he does not even remember it.
Aris takes a big gulp of wine. The warmth travels down her throat and fills the hollow space in her stomach. She feels tattered, as if she has been physically dragged through the streets of Callisto. There is no peace for her, neither while awake nor asleep. The recurring dream has increased even more in its intensity. Last night she woke up drenched in sweat.
Her tongue unconsciously flicks to her lips. The taste of salt lingers. She can almost feel the warm hand on her skin, molding it like clay. The hair on her arms stands up. She shakes the memory off.
Benja comes to sit next to her, startling her.
“I didn’t see you come in,” she says.
She pushes a glass of wine in front of him. “I ordered us a bottle.”
He picks up his glass and drains it. Pale purple haunts the skin under his eyes. Stubble shadows the terrain of his face. His wavy hair looks like a bird has nested in it.
“You’re a little worse for wear,” she says.
“Am I?” he asks. “I haven’t looked in the mirror.”
“Are you okay?”
He wipes his face.
“Yeah. I’ve just been writing through the night,” he says.
Good. Back to being productive again.
The restlessness inside her subsides.
“But it’s shit. It’s all shit,” he says. He pours another glass and drinks it.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” she says.
“It doesn’t even make sense anymore. Sometimes I just stare at the blank page and—nothing.”
“Writer’s block is not uncommon.”
Her legs shake again. She holds them down with her hands, trying to still them.
“Not for me. Before, the story came easily as if I were just retelling it. But now . . . I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Benja says.
Aris drains her glass and refills it. There is nothing she can say or do that will help. But she must say something.
She sucks in a deep breath. “Just start over.”
He scoffs. “Start over. Just like that?”
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