James in the Real World

by Owen Todhunter

  I still have my body. I know because my hands won’t stop shaking. I hear the sound of silent music. I know it well. It plays whenever Show Me is around. The notes dance around my head like a black bird in the breeze. I breathe, and let the soothing sound wash over me. Somehow her song is quieter than usual, like a set of headphones on a train. I put my hand to the glass and it freezes over instantly. The rain turns to sleet. The sleet quickly becomes dirty, grey snow. Without a single footstep, it is trampled and tarnished. The once pure white mixes with the ashes of a ruined city. It’s the soundtrack to a world of destruction. A world without hope. A fragile looking hand reaches up to mine. Her mournful face rises with it. We struggle to maintain our icy embrace.

  I should be happy. She has finally returned. Her music scratches and warps until it finally stops. All that remains are my thoughts telling me that all of this is wrong. Her delicate fingers glide across the glass. She desperately reaches out for me. She usually glows when she sees me. Not this time. The fire inside her is extinguished. She looks defeated. She is completely alone. She is me. Hers is the face of helplessness. In all my life, I’ve never felt so guilty, nor powerless to help someone. I don’t know how, but this is all my fault. This is the aftermath of evil. I’ve done nothing to stop it. She used to be so strong. She always found a way. I stopped believing in her. Now she is dying. She tries to say something to me, like she always does. Only this time she is screaming it mercilessly. Her face turns blue, but the glass door is too thick. I can’t hear a thing. Over and over she screams, but it’s the same thing. Show me, show me, show me! She gets tired, so she resorts to signing. She points to the keyhole in the door. She motions with her hand, as though she is turning it.

  “The key?” I decipher. She nods frantically. She mouths something else. I’m doing my best to decipher it. The first word starts with an M, the second word a N. That’s all I can figure out. I shrug. She repeats. It doesn’t help. It looks like she’s is mouthing the word money. Is that what she’s saying? The key is money? I start unfolding invisible bills from my hand. She shakes her head, before trying again. She turns the invisible key. I nod along and repeat, “the key is…” she points to herself. Then she motions as though she is writing or drawing something on a sheet of paper. Money? Your money? Drawing? Monet? Monet! Monet was an artist! She is painting a picture! Is her name Monet? I give her a thumbs up in excitement. It’s as though she’s screamed the words directly into my brain. She doesn’t have time to confirm or deny.

  Something spooks her in the distance. A great surge of energy rattles the glass door. A set of wolf-like beasts appear on the horizon. The scene beyond grows darker. Rolling sets of lightning flood the sky. The beasts howl and she hurriedly turns toward them. She’s terrified. If I could I’d punch through the glass. I’d keep her safe from harm. She doesn’t deserve to be this scared. She puts her hand to the glass and a little warmth seeps through. I’ve never felt so close and far away at once. So lovely. So sad. A tear escapes her right eye. Her left remains hidden. Her hair is soaked from the driving rain, and drapes despairingly over her face. An ugly blanket for the stars. Only her ruby lips are visible now. She mouths three more words. And then she runs away. And then I wake up.

  CHAPTER 5: Hump Day

  There’s no better way to get over hump day than a solid session of therapy. I’m a revolving door. Friendly introductions. Gut-spilling confessions. False epiphanies. Re-renewed prescriptions. Thanks a bunch doc. Same time next week? At this point I’m not sure if I trust reality any more than my dreams. I can’t tell the difference. But as I sit in Dr Shaw’s immeasurably comfortable chair I feel powerless, therefore real. Is this the comedown? Or is this the trip? I don’t know what that dream was about last night. I don’t even know if it was a dream. I don’t want to tell her about it. I don’t want to tell anyone about it. I’d rather just forget. But maybe I should tell her. Is it safe to tell her? She’ll think I’m crazy. Can she commit me? Does she already think I’m crazy? None of this makes any sense. I’m confused.

  “How are you feeling today James?”

  Her thumb clicks the pen. Once. Twice. Three times. The clock on the wall ticks by. She balls her fist and fake coughs into it. What is that? Nervous habit, I guess. How am I feeling? The same question. Always.

  “Fine, thanks.”

  The pen stops clicking.

  “What did we say about one-word answers James?”

  “That was two words. You can count, right?”

  “Well it doesn’t sound like you’re fine at all. You seem upset. Did something happen?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “James, you can talk to me. Is it anything to do with Dale?”

  “No, it’s nothing. Honestly.”

  “James, I am here for you. I am here to listen to whatever you want to say. But I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me. Whatever you say is completely confidential. Not even your father will find out.”

  “I know. It’s got nothing to do with that. You don’t need to worry. Honestly, I’m fine.”

  “Well tell me about your dreams. Have they gotten better or worse?”

  “Worse. Way worse.”

  “How so?”

  “Show Me. She’s in trouble. I think she might be dying. Everything is ruined. I messed up. I stopped believing in her and now everything is wrecked.”

  “James, you seem to be missing the point. You need to start believing in yourself, not her. I can sense a great deal of guilt comes over you whenever you talk about this girl. You need to let that go. You may see it as a bad thing now. Believe me, it will pass. You’re only feeling guilty because you’re starting to let go of Show Me. You might be pushing her away, but in the process, you are allowing yourself to deal with your issues.”

  “But I don’t feel any better. I feel worse.”

  “It’s only temporary James. We need to get started now. Did you bring your envelope?”

  I pull it from my bag. She inspects the still intact seal and flashes a broad smile.

  “Well, you passed the first test! Now, did you read chapter 1 and 2?”

  “No, I didn’t have time, sorry.”

  I don’t know why I lied. But if I do what she tells me to, she wins, I lose. I admit to being an emotional retard who needs self-help books to function on a daily basis. The funny thing is, the more Dr Shaw thinks I open up, the more I shut down. I give her just enough to satisfy her curiosity. She genuinely thinks she’s breaking new ground each session. I can’t fault her optimism. But we don’t seem to actually talk things over. She speaks, and from time to time I listen. Though with every pointless word, the reasons for the things I do sink further and further into me. She speaks again.

  “That’s okay. I’m glad at least that you didn’t open up the envelope. We are going to try something different today”

  “Um, okay.”

  “I’m going to attempt to hypnotise you.”

  I didn’t see this one coming.

  “Dr Shaw, I don’t think…”

  “It’s perfectly safe. We need to delve a little deeper today James. I realise that is scary but I need to better understand these visions. Together we can confront them. I do need your permission to record anything that happens in our sessions, so is it okay if I turn on the tape recorder now?”

  “I guess.”

  “Alright. I want you to lie down on the couch. I am going to count backwards from ten and when I get to zero you will be asleep. I want you to relax your muscles and let your mind wander freely. Once you are asleep I will be right there with you. You can communicate with me the whole time and tell me what you see. You can also wake up at any time. It will get uncomfortable but I need you to stay under until I get the information that we need. Then we can wake up together. Are you ready James?”

  “I guess so.”

  She begins counting. I can feel my muscles start to spasm. Before she reaches six, I’m out. I can’t see Dr Shaw but I can hear her. Her words line a
path through the void. This is the space I traverse between awake and asleep. It’s like the scaffolding holding together the two separate realms. It is neutral ground, bearing no indication of whether the dream will be good or bad. It’s this uncertainty that scares me the most. It only lasts a few moments, but it’s completely still. There are no sounds at all. I hope and pray for Show Me’s face but it’s taking longer than usual. Maybe Dr Shaw’s presence is affecting things. As she reaches zero something finally appears.

  “Are you there now, James? What are you seeing?”

  “I see a door.”

  “Good. What sort of door?”

  “A glass door.”

  “What else?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What about her? Is she there with you?”

  “No, something’s wrong. I can’t see her. It’s all dark.”

  “That’s okay James. Take a deep breath. Try and calm yourself. Take your time to absorb everything around you. Are your eyes open still?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now I want you to cover your eyes for a few moments. Take a few deep breaths. Then look again.”

  “Alright, they are covered.”

  “Good. Now breathe James.”

  I inhale and exhale several times.

  “Very good James. Now look through the door again.”

  I shake my head with child-like petulance and refuse to remove my hands. All I can hear is the sound of scratching against glass.

  “I’m scared to look.”

  “James, you don’t need to be afraid. I am right here with you. Look through the glass door.”

  “I can’t. If they see me again, they’ll hurt me.”

  “Just relax James. There’s nothing there. It’s just you and I.”

  “You’re wrong. I can hear them.”

  “Look through the glass!” Dr Shaw’s voice grows stronger. The lights in her office begin to dip and glow again. She sounds worried for a moment, but continues. The scratching on the glass grows louder.

  “Nothing is going to hurt you James! Now look!”

  Finally, I obey her command. The Faces are there, only a few at first. They glare at me with blind terror, itching to escape their glass cage. Dozens more appear as they notice me. Their movement sends tiny ripples along the door frame. Their black nails reach for the door handle.

  “I can see them. They are trying to get in. I need to go now.”

  “Not yet James. They can’t get to you. You are safe. I am going to do something now and I want you to tell me what happens.”

  “Please, just let me wake up! I want to wake up!”

  “I’m opening up the envelope.”

  I can feel the void slipping completely into the dream realm. The monsters are baying for blood. They know I’m within their reach. If I don’t wake up soon I’ll be completely in the dream. At complete mercy of the monsters. Her voice is starting to fade. She needs to hurry. I have no idea what I drew on the paper. But Dr Shaw has surprise in her voice.

  “It’s a word. It says Shavoni. James, what is Shavoni?”

  “I don’t know. Just hurry up, they’re going to get through.”

  “What is Shavoni!” This time it’s a demand, not a question.

  “I don’t know! I don’t fucking know!”

  Then I realise something. You idiot James. It’s her name. It’s not Monet. It’s not Show Me. Her name is Shavoni. I feel my eyes flutter. They begin their clockwork roll.

  “Her name is the key. Her name is they key!” I repeat this over and over. The slippery slope back to consciousness begins.

  “What do you mean? Her name is the key to what?”

  Only a few seconds longer.

  “Shavoni! Shavoni!”

  I scream her name over and over. The monsters begin to liquefy and seep through the glass. Their stale warmth infects the void. The glass begins to crack. A blood curdling scream lunges for me. It is pure evil and it has no human form. All The Faces have amassed themselves into a ball of violent energy. For once I don’t run away. This is my new-found bravery. I reach out and tightly close my fists around it. I scratch and tear at anything I can. I battle away, but the light begins to fade. I can barely hear Dr Shaw now. The dream is dying. The Faces retreat behind the glass. Two hand claps and it’s over.

  I wake up on the floor to find the room is eerily quiet. The only sound is the ringing in my ears. Dr Shaw sits glued to her seat. I rub my eyes and pull myself onto the couch. I can’t see anything just yet, but I do hear her fumble for the voice recorder. She clears her throat, worry escaping her insides. She looks completely stunned. I’ve explained this scenario a dozen times during our sessions but she still seems shocked. Guess it’s another thing bearing witness. She can barely manage a whimper.

  “James, are you alright.”

  I almost laugh at her question.

  “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just a dream like you said.”

  She retreats a little further into her chair. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s shaking like a leaf. She looks completely unsure of what she’ll say next. She decides on nothing. Instead, she points a trembling finger towards my lap. There sits a pile of matted hair I have plucked from my dream. Slowly, it burns up. The ashes lift off and begin to drift toward the window, leaving the room in a strange golden glow. Dr Shaw watches, her eyes comically widened through her designer lenses. The black cloud vanishes with the wind.

  CHAPTER 6: Infinite Potential, Infinite Power

  Dr Shaw prescribed some mild sedatives after our last session. I’ve been more fidgety than usual and my chest is cramping up. I was due for an appointment yesterday but her secretary said she was sick. She hasn’t answered any of my emails. I have no idea what her problem is. How can she just keep ignoring me? There can be no doubt in her mind now that I am telling the truth about my dreams. I felt the creature’s breath. I ripped its hair out. Dr Shaw was there. She saw it. You can’t just gloss over that, right? Or is my craziness just rubbing off on others? I take another pill on my way to class. Best to make sure I’m levelled out before I step foot in public. I open my backpack and it resembles a mobile drug store. Next class is another bout of Ethics. I stare at the fuzzy words on the Power Point slideshow as a cocktail of chemicals swims liberally through my bloodstream. Sadly, all my vices are legal. If I’d dropped some acid, I could actually make some sense of this.

  The sound of distant chatter wakes me from my daydream. I somehow missed the entire class. I’m still upright so I mustn’t have blacked out. I walk into the sunlight of the quad and the fresh air brings some clarity. I look around and slowly regain my bearings. Next class. What was it again? Introduction to Philosophy. Ah yes. Another crucial building block of freshman success. By senior year, I’ll be taking Masters in Existentialism or something spectacular of the sort. It all looks good on paper. Except to those who matter. In reality, it’s a bunch of magically spun bullshit any half-witted employer sees through. Who hires someone based on their philosophical stance? Maybe Professor Johnson can make sense of what I saw yesterday. Professor Johnson, quite an appropriate name. I’ve only attended four of his lectures but he sure seems like a dick. He is a smart dick. I’ll give him that. That’s probably the true source of my disdain. The fact that I’ll never be as smart or opinionated as he. From the second he opened his mouth I could tell he was supremely intelligent. It’s a pompous, self-righteous kind of intelligence, but intelligence nonetheless. I pride myself on discerning smart people from dumb people. That’s another strength of mine. Note to self: add that to the checklist after class.

  Dr Shaw’s book says that a large part of intelligence, both emotional and intellectual, concerns one’s patience. Patience is a state of endurance under difficult or trying conditions. That’s from chapter 10. Professor Dick, I mean Johnson, never seems to be in a hurry. It’s funny, because he read a quote last week which was also from the book.

  “Patience is needed with everyone, but first of all with ours
elves.”

  It was written by St. Francis de Sales. I don’t know who he was, but he must’ve been patient. I mean he’s a saint, and you only get to be a saint once you’re dead. Even Mother Teresa, the nicest lady in the history of the world, only got her just desserts once she bit the dust. Being a saint must take a shitload of patience.

  I highly doubt that Professor Dick will be a saint when he’s dead. Maybe he’ll be knighted. He could be Sir Dick, or maybe even King of the Johnsons. He sure is patient though. He takes forever to set up, forever to speak, and grants every stupid question with a dignified response. Believe me, there are lots of stupid questions in Philosophy. I’d call all my classmates idiots, but at least they speak up. I’m the greatest fool of all, lost and confused in silence. The blonde girl in front of me turns around. She delivers a glare so piercing it could cut through ice.

  “Do you mind?”

  I look down at my foot. It involuntarily taps against the frame, causing her entire chair to vibrate. I tense up and my face turns red. Her friends left and right seem equally unamused. I can’t quite string together an apology so I just make a weird gasping sound. She rolls her eyes and turns back around. Fucking bitch! These pills are making my thoughts more dishevelled than usual. I’ve just sat down and I’ve already embarrassed myself. All I want to do is run away from this inane, and now rather awkward class. If only my god damn feet would hurry up and start cooperating. No patience, you see. I failed that assessment at the end of chapter 10. Guess I rushed the answers. It doesn’t really matter that I’ve not been paying attention. I forgot to bring my notebook again. I’ve been forgetting a lot of things lately, everything but that last session. I’ve literally been avoiding shadows in the halls, and sleeping with the light on. Funnily enough, the dreams have stopped. Maybe the pills are doing their job.