We Don't Dream

By Maximillian Matthews

At first, the only thing weird about Zoe Kattan's life was the fact that he was a boy with a girl's name. That, and his powers that allowed him to walk into other's dreams. The only people he can share this with are his 'mother' he's never met, three dead people stuck between lives, and a ghost without a face, whose motives he can't discern. When Zoe's best friend Tabby goes missing, he's thrown headfirst into waters he doesn't have a hope of navigating- finding his best friend, uncovering secret pasts, running from a mysterious stalker, and discovering the possible existence of a hidden organisation, bent on capturing him for their own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maximillian Matthews
• Release date: Jul 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005244996

Book preview

320

We Don’t Dream

Maximillian Matthews

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018 Maximillian Matthews

Other Books by Maximillian Matthews

Love You to Death

A Boy Named Zoe:

We Don’t Dream

Of Their Dreams

Dreamless Sleep

prologue

late winter, year ten

The moment when you die feels just like waking up. That knowledge is going to haunt me for however many years I have left.

I arrive in my body with a jolt. My bones feel brittle and broken, like the corpse beside me. Sounds of a child’s lovely voice ring in the dead air, and when I close my eyes I can see the way things should’ve gone. I see moving boxes, a shared bedroom at university, a golden retriever dog, going out for gelato after dinner at the docks; watching birds together, hearing stories I never got to hear and finding a place in the waking world that felt like home.

Who it is keeps changing. One second, it’s my old best friend. She’s all grown up and she still cares for me after all these years, older and stronger now than I’d ever gotten to see her. It’s my mother, finally in person, bright as the sun upon my skin. She’s holding me tight like she promised she would and never once letting me feel this lonely again. It’s the girl I thought I loved, glowing under the moon and kissing me as soft as her lips promised to be. She’s gazing at me like she loves me, for real now, and nothing like the way she looks at me these days. It’s my only true friend, the only person still there for me, reaching out his hand and telling me we can do it together. but I know, I know he’ll hate me the moment he finds out what I truly am.

I’m a coward and a fool. I’m lost in the woods, laying in the dirt next to nothing but bones. I followed, on a whim, my own selfish ways, and here I find myself exactly where I belong.

I was given a gift. I had, in my hands, a deck of cards with which to play a game most human beings will never be aware of, good and evil, luck and love, life and death. I couldn’t help but cheat the game. I looked at heaven straight on and walked backwards into hell. Here I am, lying in an early grave. I deserved to be buried here, I know that now. It should’ve been me.

Were I not the wretched creature I am, I would be here. Nobody would’ve had to die. I watch the world around me shatter slowly, shattering because of me. It’s gone far beyond a missing persons case, I’ve blown this thing wide open now. I should never have tried to follow this. I should never have asked questions, I should never have meddled in anyone’s lives. I should’ve never looked into anyone’s minds or tried to change them. A single raindrop falls from above; I shiver and try not to cry.

I want to throw my cards down on the table and storm out. I want to fold, I want to give up. I have but one wish.

I call out her name and she comes, a light breeze running over me like water. She sits in the edge of my vision; far too pale, a bottomless pit where her face should be, misshapen fingers held together by bandages, and a black heart falling from an open cavity in her chest. I start to cry when I see her. I must, at the very least, do the right thing now, turn things around. My voice comes out raspy, broken, empty.

Call it off, I beg, tears flowing over my cheekbones and falling to the cursed ground of this grave. I need to change what I asked you to do.

You held your end of the bargain. She is just like death. Of course she knew what would be here. She knows everything. I’ll hold mine.

No, I whimper, lost and cold and dying. Don’t, please, I know now how wrong I was. Please.

She cranes her neck and it cracks, a sound that echoes from tree to tree for miles and miles. This forest is utterly silent. Then what? she asks, watching me with pity where I lay on the forest floor. Bugs are crawling over my legs, my hands, through my hair, and I let them; it feels like I am dead, and I prefer it that way. One life has already been sacrificed for me.

I will not allow another. You have to save her, I say, confident even as I choke on grief. Bring her back. I love her. I say it like it makes a difference.

I can’t. The ghostly voice holds an emotion I have never heard from her before- genuine, honest sadness. I’m almost angry, almost ready to pick up the cards again; or skip them altogether, and fight whatever created this messed up universe and let us all suffer in it. I won’t let her die.

Well, you fucking will. The strength in my voice surprises her, pulled from the very earth beneath me. I won’t let the patterns repeat this time. I have the power to change history. Like hell I’ll let anyone die. If you don’t, I’ll go to hell and personally drag her home.

chapter one

late summer, year seven

Let’s play superheroes, Tabby abruptly breaks the silence, flinging the crusts of her sandwich across the yellowing grass and rising to her feet. Emboldened by a growth in height over the summer, she looks down at the three of us with expectation. She knows we struggle to deny her anything. It’s been a long time since we played pretend, and I can already see the worry in Chris’ eyes that we’re too old for this. It’s a day like any other in the waking world, blazing heat across our shoulders as we sit together in the yard. Unlike primary school, we’re not the big fish in the pond anymore, and it’s somewhat unsettling, the near-adults surrounding us. At least, it is to me; Tabby remains unbothered. Pretty Lady’s told me before that I could use confidence like hers.

Jade immediately shakes her head, before faltering and looking to me and Chris for backup. She lowers her eyes when she finds nothing, and shrugs. Aren’t we a little old? I’m thirteen now.

You turned thirteen, like, last week, Jade, Tabby snaps, tender at the reminder she’s the youngest. You don’t have to play, but the boys will. She turns to me before Chris. Right, Zoe?

Zoe’s an odd name for a boy, I know. It’s always been a teasing point, right alongside my terrible grasp of socializing. Weird’s a word I get more than any other. Tabby was the first person at this school to take interest in being my friend. That’s one of many reasons it’s hard to stand up to her, when I even want to.

I look at Jade, hiding under her pigtails, and Chris, indifferent. I should take the reins, read the room and tell her no, but fighting with Tabby is more trouble than it’s worth. I shrug my shoulders.

I’ll play, I tell her, stretching my arms out and standing with a groan of effort. I wanna be the one with psychic powers.

Tabby smiles with recognition- I’m predictable, it seems. We used to play this game all the time in primary school, back when nobody was around to judge us for our immaturity. I never faltered in my choice. Of course. Chris? Come on, she presses him, insistent in her ways and never backing down. She’s been the same since year three, same face, same voice, same personality.

Chris shrugs. I’ll have super strength? I don’t know. He picks blades of grass from the ground and tears them between his fingers, throwing the remains beside him. I don’t care.

Super strength it is. I’m gonna have the power to mess with time, Tabby announces, before turning to Jade and furrowing her brow. Pick a power, Jade.

Jade picks her battles. She never battles. Fine. I’m Wonder Woman.

Wonder Woman’s not a power, Tabby pouts, but a look from Chris tells her not to push her luck. Chris is by far the most rational of us, and if he doesn’t think something is a good idea it’s unlikely Tabby will push it much. She’s stubborn as a donkey but she knows when she’s won. Okay, fine, you can be Wonder Woman. But you’re not on my team, I’m with Zoe and we’re the good team.

No good teams, Chris reminds her, a rule we implemented last year when Tabby and Jade got into a fight. We’re all good.

Tabby rolls her eyes, grabbing the crook of my arm and pulling me over next to her. Fine. Right. Well, you guys go over there- she points towards the bushes at the edge of the school- that’s your base. And we’re here. She gestures to the science building behind us. First to get to the other’s base wins. She pulls me back towards our base, whispering in my ear as we go; we know we’re really the good ones.

I shrug and tell her we’ll prove that. She laughs, high and sweet. She’s still as innocent as she was when she was born; freshly baked cookies and sunshine, she reminds me of. When I’m on her good side, anyway.

We touch the wall and meet the eyes of our friends, new found enemies. Tabby shouts across the battlefield, three, two, one, go!

And we run. The wind in my hair and one of my two best friends at my side, I fly in the way you only can when your heart is light and full of hope. Chris is coming closer and closer, and I shout as I near him, I use my sixth sense to read your worst fear and I terrify you with it!

Oh no! he feigns fear, grasping at the sides of his head and scrunching up his face like he’s hearing an apocalyptic noise. I always pick psychic powers because, if you’re creative, you can do anything with them. It goes back a long way, so long I’m nearly embarrassed to still be playing it. Tabby throws her hands up at Jade as she gets too close, and yells, I reverse time for only you and make you go backwards!

Jade takes a few steps back, stumbling over her feet. Chris comes up to me and says, childish glee in his eyes, I hit you and knock you back!, reaching a hand out and tapping my cheek.

I plan on stumbling backwards and faking agony, but my feet fall out from under me and the floor comes up to strike me in the back of the head. Dirt and grass is harder than you think. Until it isn’t dirt and grass.

I’m met by a dusty wooden floor and gentlest shade above me, rather than summer sun. When I open my eyes again, I’m surrounded not by my group of year seven friends, but my dream friends.

I sit up quick, coughing as I do so, my heartbeat rapid in my ribcage. Did I just die? I ask them hurriedly, panic infusing my voice. I know that I fell unconscious when I hit the ground. When I fall asleep, that’s the only time I see my dream friends.

All three of them are surrounding me as I lay on the floor of our living room. Pretty Lady offers a hand to help me to my feet, which I take, leaning on her dependable strength to steady myself. She gives me a comforting smile as I hold a hand to my racing heart.

No, Zoe. You’re fine, Zephyrus says in his quiet, dulcet tone. We had to pull you here suddenly, and I’m sorry for that. It was an emergency.

Why? What happened? Pretty Lady leads me over to a chair and settles me into it, my feet unsteady and shaky from the suddenness of it all. I look around the three of them, waiting for an answer. They look at each other, and Falk nods to Pretty Lady, putting responsibility on her. He hides behind the collar of his coat and observes me. He never liked kids, that’s what Pretty Lady told me.

Well, it’s nothing major, Pretty Lady bites her lip and searches for a way to explain. Listen, it’s just... we need to have a talk. She’s been dressing a little more modern lately, in loose skirts or blue jeans rather than the stiff Depression-era fashions she used to wear. A product of her time, the clothes she wore when she was last alive.

About? This stresses me out. I feel like I’m being given The Talk all over again. Pretty Lady looks almost the way my mum did when we had that discussion. Zephyrus is nervously checking the hallway door.

You know how parenthood works, kiddo? Zephyrus adjusts his collar and I can’t help but laugh a little.

I give him the side-eye. Are you trying to talk to me about sex? Because I’m thirteen, I know-

No, no, Pretty Lady interrupts me, grinning at the thought. No. What we- she glares at Falk to try and get his backup, and he glances away. -are trying to say is that in your waking world, you have parents, yeah? But here- she gestures vaguely around us- you also have something kind of like a parent.

We’re related? I state my first thought, contemplating the three of them.

Pretty Lady laughs nervously with a glance at Zephyrus. Okay, no. Z, please, I can’t. Help me.

Okay, okay. Zephyrus leans across the table and smiles gently at me. I try to meet his eyes, but they’re white from end to end, and so I can never be sure if I’m looking where he is. Zoe, you’re special.

I watch him, still holding Pretty Lady’s hand, still unsure of what’s going on. Zephyrus sighs, pauses, searches for words. It can’t be that hard, can it?

Not a lot of people are like you. Most people don’t come to in-between places like this when they sleep. His words are slow and uncertain, selectively chosen. I worry I’m being shielded, and I’m not sure I like it.

Where do they go? I ask him softly, and he falters a little.

They have, sort of... scenes, that play in their mind? He shrugs his shoulders ever so slightly. You’ll learn all about that in a moment, okay? he says and I nod in return, wanting to get to the meat of the discussion sooner rather than later.

What I’m trying to tell you is that because you’re not like other people. You have some things special about you. And one of those things is that, in this in-between world, you have a parent. A mother, in your case. And she’s here. He stutters to a stop, looking around for some sort of help on the matter. She’s a mentor, who’s supposed to teach you everything you’re asking, alright?

It all falls on me in the same second. I sit up straight, my heart races again, and I squeeze tighter on Pretty Lady’s hand than I thought I could. How could I have a mother I don’t know about? I spurt out the words before I can think about them, and Zephyrus shrinks back. I didn’t mean to sound angry and I sit back in my seat, muttering a soft apology. Zephyrus is gentle and easily scared, even by me sometimes.

Kids like you, they don’t actually have their parent- you know, this sort of parent, not like your mum and dad- until they’re around your age. Pretty Lady tells me gently, like I’m in shock or something. I stare down at the table and try not to start overthinking; is she nice, is she funny, is she going to like me, what are we going to do together- all the immediate questions I have, questions I need answered, questions that let me know I’m overthinking.

Kids like me? I hear that sometimes and it never comes across nice, it sounds like it makes me a freak. What does that mean?

You’re special, remember? Pretty Lady says softly; although there’s still little explanation behind any of this. Thrusted into something new I had no idea existed, I struggle to wrap my head around what’s going on. It’s a good thing.

I try to believe that. Falk watches me with hooded eyes, silent. Zephyrus is moving towards the door, and Pretty Lady says to me, unable to keep the excitement from her voice, Do you want to meet your mother?

I jump out of the chair so quickly I bang my shin on the edge of the table and the chair screeches across the ground, wood on wood. I nearly trip trying to get away from it. Pretty Lady lets go of my hand and lets me get to the door, just as Zephyrus opens it. I hear a voice before I see anything: Now?

She turns around at the sound of the door and the reality that this woman here is, in some way, a mother I never knew I had hits me. She’s tall, far taller than I imagined she’d be, far taller than my real mother. She’s pale, like white lillies, she’s thin like sticks, she’s got long ginger hair flowy and soft like silk. She’s too young to be my real mum even if she could’ve been. Her smile when she sees me radiates happiness to everyone who can see her. She’s beautiful in the way that she radiates love.

Are you actually my mother? is the first dumb thing to come from my mouth, and it sounds really stupid floating in the air between us, I know. She laughs and takes a step closer; she’s only got a grey hoodie and shorts, and her feet are bare.

Oh, don’t call me that, she says in such a light, airy tone that it feels like it actually lifts me up in the air. My name’s Fi.

Okay, well, it’s nice to meet you, Fi. I stand up straight and smile my best, most charming smile. I’m Zoe.

Zoe? She raises her eyebrows.

This happens a lot with adults, and so I add, Yeah, it’s a weird name for a boy, I know. The standard speech. Sometimes I have to elaborate, explain that my parents named me after my grandpa who was Greek and that it’s a male name in Greece, or at least was. I’ve had to explain it to every second stranger I meet when my parents can’t explain it first.

I like weird things, Fi says as she takes a step closer, leaning down a little to look me in the eye. She has a curious look about her, like a dog meeting a new pet that’s being introduced for the first time. I’ve got something weird to show you, if you’d like me to. She extends a hand to me and I take it. It’s soft and cold.

Where are we going? I’ve been everywhere inside this house, and you can’t go beyond the fence. The fence is unreachable, I’ve tried. You can’t take me anywhere I haven’t gone.

Try me, she has a mischievous glint in her eye. I love it. She takes a few steps forwards and the floor tilts like a carnival ride; I blink and fall forward, but when I fall I’m still standing.

Still standing, but not in our house anymore. It appears I was pretty close with saying it’s like a carnival ride, because looking around, I see rows of stalls with games of chance and skill, covered in soft toys for prizes; there’s a ferris wheel and a merry-go-round, and a few different rides I can’t identify. We’re standing directly in front of a young man, brown hair and brooding eyes, his face forgettable and expression clearly bored. He spots Fi and his eyes light up.

Charlie, this is Zoe, she says with a gesture towards me. I gravitate towards her, hiding behind her almost. The most notable thing about Fi is the instant bond of trust; straight away, I feel like I can put my confidence in her. I’m not sure if it’s her, or if it’s because she’s my mother, whatever that means. Charlie smiles and waves.

Zoe, Fi looks at me and pulls me forward by the hand, gesturing towards him. This is my boyfriend, Charlie.

Hi. I find my voice cracking and I laugh nervously.

Charlie stands, struggling for words. Hey. You must be Fi’s dream kid.

I’ve never left the house in my dreams. It feels alien here; the air is different, not quite right, not quite real. It takes a moment for me to work out exactly what’s wrong with this world; it’s eerily silent, and despite the fact that this is a carnival, nobody is here. Looking around, I realise that suddenly Fi is wearing a deep blue dress, covered in little black heart patterns, and my clothing has suddenly changed as well, with a shirt to match her dress and black jeans. Okay, now I’m confused.

I look up at the ferris wheel beside us; it stretches out forever, endlessly colourful right up to the heavens. It looks impossible, the huge expanse against the dark sky, lit up by colourful lights circling around every metal bar of the ferris wheel.

Fi notices a smile on my face as I’m looking. She comes to my side, a light touch on my shoulder. Looks impossible, doesn’t it? I nod, silent in awe, and she grins at me. That’s because, where we are now, we’re in a dream.

I know that, I tell her; she leads me towards the ferris wheel as Charlie goes in the other direction. When you sleep, you dream. I’ve just… never left the house before.

Fi laughs, clear, inherently gentle. People like us, Zoe? she shakes her head. We don’t dream.

Then what do you call this? It didn’t even occur to me the implications of being ‘special’, of being a person ‘like us’, but now, I’m not sure I even want to know, to think about it.

We reach the gate of the ferris wheel, and I push it open. It swings eerily into the silent night, and the lowest of the carriages lies open, waiting for us, unmoving. It’s such a weird world, with everything just slightly ‘off’, but not ‘off’ enough for me to work out exactly what it is.

Right now, we’re in Charlie’s dream. When I look back Charlie has basically stayed where we began from, talking to someone who appears to have come from nowhere, someone dressed as a carnie. He falls asleep, and his mind conjures up an image. Usually, people can’t control dreams, because they don’t realise it’s a dream. When you realise, you can control them, which is why he can change the dream to whatever he likes.

How can you not know? I can’t imagine it. I always remember falling asleep, and then I’m in our dream house and that’s how I know I’m asleep. When I disappear from our dream house and wake up in my bed, it’s the same sort of thing.

Dreams are hazy for most people, she explains. They don’t remember falling asleep and a lot of people don’t remember most of their dreams when they wake up, or so I’m told.

Oh. We step towards the compartment, and she gestures for me to get inside; it just feels natural, and so I do. If where we were wasn’t a dream, what is it?

She gets into the compartment after me; it’s open-topped, and the seats are incredibly comfortable, red velvet. There are places that exist on a plane different to our waking world. Your house, your in-between is one of them. Spirits that are in between lives often get stuck there until they’re able to move on. I believe, anyway. I’m telling you this from my own personal experience; there’s no scientific way to check this, you know. I nod along with her words. I feel close with her already, almost like we’ve known each other forever.

Now, when you and I sleep, instead of having our own dreams, we’re able to travel around between other people’s dreams and these in-between worlds. I don’t yet know if there’s any proper way to get to an in-between world besides the one you call home yet, because I wasn’t able to until I found you. Your house is the second in-between world I’ve ever been in, besides my own.

So how did the others end up there? I ask. I don’t know when the ferris wheel started to move, but we’re slowly rising now, and across the horizon I can see a glittering sea just beyond an expanse of forest. If they aren’t like us, that is.

They’re not, no. Like I said, they’re somewhere in between lives. Something is keeping them from moving on to their next life, I think, although I can’t be really sure that that’s the case. Mine don’t talk to me much. She looks up to the stars, oddly uniform, like they aren’t real. They’re not, I realise; not in the same way waking stars and stars from our house are. This is in Charlie’s mind.

Fi goes on. There’s five people in my in-between. There’s a boy who I think can’t move on until his murderer does, a woman who used to be married to an oil baron back in the day- no idea what her thing is. There’s a rocker who died of a drug overdose in the 80s, a three year old I don’t want to know the story behind, and a minor Russian deity from way back when who can’t accept that nobody believes in his existence anymore and that he’s dead.

I’ve never once gotten a chance to talk about mine, so I jump on it. My dream friends, well, you met them, I begin to tell her. There’s Pretty Lady. She hates her real name and never told any of us what it is, so I call her that. I’ve done it since I was five and it just stuck. I shrug my shoulders and put myself back on track before I turn into the ranting mess I know I can be. She died sometime in the 1940s.

Fi nods, grinning at me. Oh, yeah, I met her. She was really excited to see someone new. She nods for me to go on. I can’t keep myself from going on anyway; we’re rising higher now, and looking out across the landscape, I don’t think I’ve felt this peaceful in a while.

Then there’s Zephyrus. He’s the Greek god of the west wind, and he’s the most gentle, kind person I’ve ever known. He’s been there forever, and so has Falk. Falk- I check Fi’s still listening; I worry endlessly about boring the people I talk to, but she’s attentive, smiling and happy. -he’s weird. He never talks to me, he always hides in his room and doesn’t speak to me. I know he was around in medieval times and that’s it. The world goes on forever below us. Peaceful and content, all is good.

Fi nods along. That’s interesting that they’ve been there so long. A couple hundred years is a while as is, but a Greek god and someone from the medieval times? That’s a long time.

That’s interesting, but I have way too many questions to consider that for now. There’s something I want to ask, burningly, but it feels dumb and sounds even dumber in my brain; it can’t sound good out loud. I look at my own two hands and at the scene all around us. Charlie’s dream, not mine. We don’t dream.

"Is this- I gesture vaguely around us, between us, hoping she’ll get what I mean- like, a good thing or a bad thing?" I find myself asking the question despite my uncertainties; it’s better than simply asking, ‘is it a superpower’, which harkens back to the game I was playing what seems like mere moments ago.

Definitely good, Fi answers without a second of thought. You can do things no other human being can do. Take pride in that and use it for good. She sounds so confident in her answer that I can’t feel any doubt. I smile and nod and the world feels like a new place, like a new door has been opened for me. I want to explore this new thing. This new power.

How can I go into other people’s dreams, Fi? She looks up from staring off into the distance, wistful.

It’s easy, actually. She stands, oddly confident for the shaky height we stand at. I copy her, eager to learn, eager to have a teacher worth listening to for once. You think about the person whose dream you want to see. Imagine their... essence, I guess, what they’re like as a person. And you picture, in your mind, that essence; then, you start to feel a weight in your brain. When you feel that, you walk forward. She extends her hand to me once again. Like this.

She stands on top of the seat, and for a moment I’m confused and a little terrified by what she might be able to do. However, following the vote of confidence, I follow. For a second, she thinks; and then, she takes a confident step forward, falling into the space between the seats and the front, and I’m powerless to not fall with her.

My feet hit solid ground and my balance returns out of nowhere; the scene around us has changed to a nightclub filled with quite literal bears. I feel slightly queasy again, and I see one human in a red dress with her back turned to me, but I don’t get a chance to explore further.

Fi suddenly drags me forward again, and this time we stumble into a forest with a well built lumberjack cutting down trees, and a bespectacled man watching him from the limbs of the very tree he was cutting down. Fi pulls me forward one last time and we’re back in the carnival, this time at the foot of the ferris wheel again.

After a second of catching my breath, feeling like I’ve ran a fair way now, I can’t help but say, That was the coolest thing I’ve ever done. Going into other people’s dreams? Literally exploring their minds? Who am I kidding, that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.

Fi grins at me, enjoying the wonder in my eyes. I suppose you should get used to it.

I have yet more questions for her. What if they’re not asleep? Or not dreaming?

Here, let’s try this. You try and take me to one of your friends, who’s awake. Then you’ll see. She avoids directly answering the question, so I suppose I’m about to find out.

I nod and take a deep breath; and I feel.

Tabby feels like warm blankets- yarn or fleece, not cotton or wool or down. Biscuits, maybe, or the feeling of walking on warm grass in the summer. Like a dog licking your hand. I walk up to her in my head, imagining her school uniform and the proud way she holds herself. The world starts to materialise around her- linoleum floors of the sick bay, Chris, bright fluorescent lights. I walk forward and suddenly I’m right next to her, and so is Fi.

She and Chris stand at the door to the sick bay. My unconscious body lies on the plastic sheets of the bed; Tabby is pleading with the nurse to call an ambulance, or my parents at the very least, and Chris is backing up her words whilst the nurse nods and looks through my medical history, searching for a possible explanation.

You’re sure you didn’t hit him very hard? she asks sceptically, and I cringe at the thought of Chris getting in trouble for this. I know he didn’t do anything, a sentiment Tabby echoes.

He really didn’t, she says, firm in her words. He was probably just trying to fake fall and then hit his head on something, or, I don’t know.

Chris nods along with this. Fi turns to me, a slight vein of worry in her voice, ...did you just collapse?

My dream friends- er, you know, whatever they’re called- they just pulled me there all of a sudden.

They can do that? Fi asks, incredulously. It feels like she’s this holy beacon of knowledge about these... powers, yet she’s still learning too. It feels both comforting and strange and scary, all at once; she can teach me a lot, but in the end we don’t know anything for sure. I shrug in response to her question. There’s a giddy feeling rising in my chest at this new knowledge. Giddy at knowing I’m special, in a good way.

I notice Tabby side-eyeing the room, almost looking at us. Can she see us at all? I whisper the question for fear of being heard. Fi shakes her head.

To her, it just seems like these are thoughts she’s thinking. If she’s focusing on something else, she won’t even notice our voices, especially if we talk quietly. I wasn’t paying attention to what was going on either; I tune in as Tabby says, -please just call someone.

I should wake up, I mutter, glancing at Fi; she’s looking upon my body where it lays with a sort of wistful silence. Her eyes are blue, sky-through-clouds blue, mirrors-in-a-pool blue, little-faded-flowers blue; and reflected in them is some shared quality between us, unnamed, unspoken, and not fully certain.

Wake up before they put you in hospital. I’ve been there and it’s not fun. She turns to me suddenly and her hands stroke my hair on either side of my head; she kisses me gently on the forehead, like a real mother to a real son. When you fall asleep tonight, come and see me, okay? Unlike Tabby, I’ll be able to hear and see you. Just like I taught you.

And with that, she’s gone. She fades in a split second, like the image on an old-timey television screen when it turns off. I’m alone, standing next to myself. I feel like I’m dead, but not in a bad way. Neutrally dead. My immediate thought is how much I want to see Fi more.

Pretty Lady taught me a long time ago how to wake up on command, before your body wants you to. ‘Dying’ in the dream is the easiest way, but if you just feel for your body you can make yourself sit up suddenly without much difficulty.

Of course, when I sit up suddenly and smack into the nurse’s head, she’s not too pleased.

Tabby breathes a loud sigh of relief, and Chris is quieter but just as visibly relieved. The nurse rubs her head where I hit her and grumbles. I guess you are fine, then.

What happened? I ask, stopping myself from adding ‘while I was gone’. I have so much new to mull over and nobody to talk it out with. I know nobody would believe me; when I asked my parents who the people I met when I went to sleep were, they’d say I was dreaming. In primary school I used to tell people I always dreamt in the same place and that I had a group of friends who were kind of like a family there and they said I was making stuff up. Imagine the reactions of people if I tried to say I could see into their dreams, when I tried. Tabby would pretend to believe me to save my feelings, and Chris might do the same, but neither of them would really believe me. Neither of them could.

You fell and hit your head and got knocked right out, Tabby explains faster than I can keep up with. We thought you had to go to hospital.

I thought I hit you too hard, Chris says through his fingers over his mouth. I’m sorry.

I shake my head, no, no, you hardly even touched me. I just slipped and hit my head, I guess. I’m a reasonable enough liar, when I need to be. I’ll have to come to be good at it.

chapter two

late summer, year seven

I try to make excuses to sleep early that night. After dinner I tell my mother- my real one, that is- that I’m feeling sick, and that I’m going to bed early. I put on the malaise and ham it up real good, leaning against the doorframe like I can barely stand and groaning.

She puts a plate down and raises a hand to my head. Well, you don’t have a fever. You hit your head at school? I nod slowly, downcast, as though something truly hurts. She sighs.

If it really hurts, I don’t want you going to school tomorrow. I nod, trying to still seem downcast and not incredibly happy at the suggestion. Do you need some Panadol?

It’s tedious trying to extract myself and get to damn sleep. I end up taking the pill just so she’d calm down a little bit, although it certainly doesn’t help me sleep. Lying on the mattress and staring determinedly at the wall is frustrating; sleeping is not a skill one can improve, even for me.

Eventually, the darkness behind my eyes fades into my living room in the in-between, the walls lined with white and yellow striped wallpaper and a fireplace that, for once, is going. I run into the kitchen to find that it’s apparently almost dinner. This place- this in-between place- still has days and nights, it just takes a lot longer to complete a day cycle, perhaps two or three times longer. I don’t think food is actually necessary here. I’ve never been hungry and Falk rarely, if ever, eats. Zephyrus has a garden that he tends to, to fill up all of the spare time he has. Most of the food that he makes comes from there, although I’ll admit I don’t think the rules of gardening work the same here as they do in the waking world.

Pretty Lady looks up from where she’s standing at the kitchen counter, watching Zephyrus stir a mysterious pot. Hey Zoe, you’re early tonight. You would’ve been just in time for dinner.

Zephyrus looks up and gives a little wave. Falk is, as of yet, nowhere to be seen.

I wanted to sleep early so I could go see Fi, I admit. Pretty Lady and Zephyrus are like older siblings to me, the ones I get along perfectly with, not the sort that constantly gets on your nerves. I don’t have siblings in the waking world, but I’ve heard enough stories. That’s why it doesn’t bother me to tell them how excited I am to have Fi in my life, the way it would embarrass me to talk so openly to any of my other friends. I’ve never understood pre-teen boys’ obsession with knowing so little about each other’s hearts, no matter how close they were. It’s not like I ever fit in with the majority of them, anyway.

Well, don’t be gone too late. Be home in a couple of hours, okay? Bring Fi if that’s possible, Zephyrus says without looking up, sounding far too much like my dad.

Okay! My voice breaks from the added excitement, and I clasp my hands over my mouth as if that’ll stop puberty or something. Pretty Lady laughs behind her hand and waves me off.

I try to remember exactly what Fi told me to do. I think of her, all soft and pretty in the way nature is pretty, like waterfalls in the forest and orchid flowers. Like the first notes of classical music, like bird feathers.

I picture her in my mind and all around her are people- tired eyes and messy hair pulled into buns, smocks and pulled up-sleeves. She’s sitting in a makeup chair, and a blonde woman is carefully putting powder on her cheeks like she’s art.

I take a step forward and I’m there.

Fi sees me in the mirror and her eyes go wide, but she doesn’t jolt or move, like she’s practiced at this. She smiles lightly, and with one careful finger she points to the make-up artist.

Can’t talk right now? I ask and she smiles again, puts her thumb up. Maybe I shouldn’t have rushed so much.

I do, however, have a chance to look around.

Fi’s not the only one; four more people, all but one girls, sit around in chairs facing mirrors in a cramped room- a trailer, perhaps? The shape and type of walls seem to be compatible with that- full of boxes and tools for sculpting and shaping a person’s appearance into exactly anything but their real self. Fi is a soft person, and yet somehow this wizard has turned her into a secret agent that can kill a man. I can at least see what girls my age are trying to recreate when they attempt eyeliner now, if not why.

I move and look at the faces of the other people in the room. Two of the girls I don’t recognise; the other I believe might be from a show on Disney I used to watch, but it’s been long enough that my memory isn’t clear and she looks so much older that I can’t be sure it’s even her. The guy, I vaguely remember his face, but from where? None of the people in the chairs can see me and neither can any of the make-up artists. When I reach out to touch a shoulder, my hand never reaches its destination, as though I’m standing in an illusion and nothing around me exists.

I turn back and stand behind Fi again. Leaning over her shoulder, my image is reflected in the mirror as if my face is right beside hers. Blink once for yes, twice for no. Are we on a movie set?

Fi blinks once, and the corners of her mouth turn up slightly.

You’re an actress? I can’t help the excitement that creeps into my voice. I mean, if my mother- whose existence is a miracle in and of itself- is famous, or is going to be? That’s like nothing I could ever even imagine. Fi blinks once.

Are you going to be able to talk soon? I ask. I have too many questions that can’t be answered with one blink or two. She blinks once and I try to keep my excitement in. I know she’s the only one who can see me, but still I don’t want to be too obvious about how much this makes me, just, excited.

While I wait, I go over to the boxes and try to mess with them. I can’t control anything in this state; my hands just never touch it, like it’s much further away than it is. It’s a visual trip, I’ll say that much. I do find that if I absolutely throw my entire strength of will into it, I can move things as lightly as the tiniest breath of wind; I can make a struggling latch finally come undone or a precarious make-up brush fall from where it sits. This only annoys