Chapter 5

The next day was a Saturday, and I decided to call Fiona. While dialing the number, a thought flickered out to the flame-haired secretary I collided with. With that in mind, my heart skipped a beat when Fiona’s voice chimed in. I felt ashamed for thinking of another while calling the “one”.

“Hello?” she asked. My hand almost dropped the phone from the mental reset.

“Hi, it’s Finn here,” I said. “We met at the park yesterday.” There was a pause.

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Thought you’d call last night.”

“I waited just in case there was some tradition,” I said, trying to stop the words from coming out of my mouth. The world I knew put strange barriers in place for these sorts of things. “But then I thought that it’s Saturday, and it would be great if we could meet up again.” There was another pause on her side.

“Can I ask you a forward question?” She asked. I nodded, only to realize I was on the phone. In my mind, she was right in front of me.

“Go ahead,” I answered, trying to imagine what she wanted to know.

“Do you like me?”

“Yes,” I replied almost immediately. Another long pause followed on her end.

“Yes, I thought so,” she said and hung up. My mind fractured from confusion. Did I miss something? Did I say something wrong? Was I supposed to call her last night? I dialed the numbers again, but hesitated. Was I being too pushy? The tone rang out in my ear.

“Hello?” a new voice answered. It was a man, about my age from the sound of it.

“Umm,” I hesitated. My heart sank. Was she already involved with someone else? Why did she give me her number then? “Is Fiona there?”

“Fi!” the guy yelled away from the microphone. “It’s for you!”

“Hello?” she asked when the guy handed the phone over.

“It’s uhh… Finn here,” I said. “I just called, but you hung up?” It was a weird thing to say, but I wanted to know why.

“Oh, Finn,” she said. “I’m sorry. I have this effect on men when I’m dancing, but I didn’t mean to send you mixed signals.”

“Was… Was that guy your boyfriend?”

“Who, Luke?” she asked. “No, silly, he’s just my big brother.” In many ways, that felt worse. The younger sister/older brother dynamic often meant that he would be overprotective. He was family, not just some guy.

“So you don’t like me at all?” I asked, feeling my throat close up. “Not even to give me one chance?” The long pause would kill me if she did it now, but she responded right away.

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” she said. “I like all humans.” That was a strange way to phrase it. She excluded herself from human kind.

“It’s that I can’t trust WHY you like me,” she said. It made no sense, unless she’d been hurt by dating to the point where she had no trust left. There had to be a spark of it left.

“I mean no harm,” I said, considering punching myself because of my stupid mind. Maybe I could still salvage this situation somehow. “I had fun dancing with you in the park. I thought we could go dancing again somewhere. You could pick where. Just consider it and call me back only when your answer is yes.” I hung up on her, with my heart racing, playing a sped-up version of some heavy metal song. I returned the rude favor, but hoped that it was only fair. She did not call back right away. In fact, the whole weekend passed without her reply and I felt stupid just waiting on her. I couldn’t help it. That smile was my new obsession, but life had other plans.

alter

You had her reject me? What the hell, man?

“Relax, ‘man’,” he says. “Without some push and pull, being together would be impossible for the two of you. The memory of New Year’s Eve will happen, but there will be some fun before that.”

“Fun” he says, and yet I feel it will not be as entertaining to me. It’s upon the writer to bend a story to their will and present it to the public for validation.

“If your story ever comes out,” he says. “I’ll probably head straight into a mental asylum. This back and forth between you and me can’t be healthy, but I needed to address the fact that other authors don’t communicate with their characters in the public eye.”

Or this is all about what your own author told you once. I bet it wasn’t something you were supposed to hear. Maybe he did it to torture you, or to get you to create me. Heh. Maybe we’re just marionettes, you and I, in that person’s story. That would fit perfectly in your writer’s continuum idea. What did you say his name was?

“I didn’t,” he says. “And I won’t.”

Oh, come now. We share a mind, you know. Ah, here it is. Alexander Virtu. I see you’ve written him into other stories of yours.

“I was trying to change my fate,” he says. “And yet in doing so incurred his wrath. You know what I heard from him recently? He said: ‘You’ll only be recognized as an author after death.’”

Rough. Maybe it’s because you never build up enough courage to publish this. The second someone reads this, they’ll know that your mind fractured a long time ago.

“Some people like insanity,” he says. “I could be recognized by them. Even beast could no longer hide at that point. Would I be happier without a mind?”

Are you asking me that? There is no way for me to answer, is there? I live there, so if you’re planning to lose it, better write me out before that happens. Don’t keep me around like you did with Kara and Jeremy. You remember that place you put me into? Ah, you had to go back and find it in the notebook. Your mind is fading quickly, my friend. HA! You were stunned that I called you a “friend”. That’s sad. J, or is it the first sign of the end to become friends with a figment of your imagination?

“How about we get back to your story?” he asks.

Dodge all you want. We’re friends whether you like it or not.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like you’re useful in my world,” he says. “Doesn’t matter. Come on, it’s time for your story to continue.” If you’re reading this when he’s long dead, know that I was his friend, even if he’d never admit it to anyone.

alter

On Tuesday night, she called me. I didn’t know what to expect, but she was not conveying a clear agreement to my ultimatum. It was confusing, and I could not recall her exact words.

“I told you to call me with one word,” I said, interrupting her rant. “Are you dancing around the idea?”

“Yes,” she said and gasped.

“Ok, then,” I said with a smile. The trick was simple. “When and where do I pick you up?”

“No, I meant yes to your question,” she said. I let a pause linger a few seconds.

“It’s just dancing,” I said. “Answer me now or never call me again. Will you go dancing with me?” The silence lasted nearly a minute on her end.

“Yes, I will,” she said at last. “Friday. Text me when and where. I get off work at four.”

“See you then, Fiona,” I said, and hung up before she could hear elation in my voice. I’ve hooked her. Now all I needed to do was reel her in. Knowing the difficulty of getting a date with her, she might put up a fight all the way, but life would be boring without a little struggle.

The rest of the week went pretty standard. I was eager to reach Friday and see her again. The days until our date gave me some time to ponder why she was so negatively set toward me after being so happy in the park. It had to have something to do with her overprotective older brother, Luke. I’ve wondered about this a few times before. If I was the older brother to a baby sister, I would be concerned with the company she kept. I stopped the thought before Fiona felt like my sister. It was nothing like it. I wanted to do stuff with her.

I searched for nice places to go dancing while pondering why she struggled against the date. When we danced in the park it felt like freedom of expression, music she brought with her. If her preference was the country sounds of folk music, the city wasn’t the greatest place to find it, but I’ve prepared alternatives. One was a classical dance meetup, where class was valued. As a polar opposite, the second choice was a nightclub with pop remixes for setting the wild side loose. The third choice was more of her style, and I hoped she would pick the “Dance Me” group that allowed anyone to bring in their own tracks, dancing in soundproof rooms with visibility through the walls.

I called her around noon on Friday, but her brother picked the phone up again. What was his name again? All the time spent planning distanced that important part of her surroundings.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hey, Fiona’s brother,” I said, stalling for a moment. It was something from popular science fiction. About stars? Oh! Luke, it was Luke. Skywalker, heh. “Luke.”

“That’s me,” he said. “And you are?”

“It’s Finn,” I said. “We’ve spoken before. I called for Fiona. Is she at work right now?”

“No, mate,” he said. “She’s dead.” A needle pierced my brain, but before I could recover, Luke hung up. What he said repeated in my mind, pulsating with shock. I couldn’t believe it. I had to know what happened. My heart hurt, but was still racing much too fast as I hit redial. It rang a few times with no answer. When someone answered, it was the only female voice I was not expecting to hear at that moment.

“Hello?” Fiona asked.

“Fiona?” I asked with a sense of dread. Was I imagining this? Did my mind go insane after not being able to handle what Luke just revealed? My chest tightened in fear.

“That you, Finn?” she asked. Relief flooded my body as the tightness subsided.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I said, calming myself down. “Your brother just told me that you died.”

“What? LUKE!” she called out loudly. “Hold on a moment. I need to go punch my brother for being an ass.” The phone thudded against a table and there was some sound of commotion in the distance before a door slammed closed.

“You there?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I’m sorry about him. I think that was his way of trying to protect me. He’s… special, to a degree.”

“Interesting,” I said. “So I just wanted to call and see where you wanted to go. I have three places we could visit. At one, we could dance classical music, at another there were pop remix-.”

“Can we just go to the park again?” she asked. I felt a bit stupid for doing all that research, but the plans evaporated from my mind in that instant. The park was a great idea.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” I said. “I’ll head straight there after work. Are you still at work?” I didn’t even know what she did, but it gave her a semblance of freedom I did not possess if she was at home during the day.

“I chose to work from home today,” she said. “And I had to look after Luke, so I didn’t get much done anyway.” I felt a bit sorry for her, but figured she wouldn’t like me thinking that. Family was always a strain on life. If either of my parents survived the crash but remained disabled, I’d be leading a similar life. It sickened me to feel that way. I’d give anything to have even one of them back in my life. The truth of the matter was, that if they didn’t die in that event, I might never have moved to the city, and I’d never have met Fiona. I’d never be able to see her dance and smile the way she did in that weekend sun.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” she said, breaking me from my thoughts.

“Sorry?” I asked. Did she read my mind, or was I thinking about what many people have told her about her brother?

“I had this feeling that you thought I was weighed down because of Luke,” she said. “That’s just family. You don’t want them too close, but feel terrible when they’re too far.”

“Yeah, I understand,” I said. “My parents died in a car accident three years ago.” It felt like I was trying to validate my opinion. She did not reply with condolences like everyone else.

“Five years ago, house fire,” she said. The words set my mind back to the fire I started when young. The fire blazed so red in the night, giving off heat like a bonfire I saw once out camping. “They just didn’t wake up, but I got my brother out when it happened. We’ve been on our own ever since. Don’t be sorry. Those things happen.” I was just about to say “sorry for your loss,” but she was repressing emotions. That image of my family house full of memories going up in flames made me feel sorry for her. It was my fault, but where only physical memories faded for me, she lost a lot more.

“Well, that’s the past,” I said. “So what do you do?”

“You first,” she countered.

“Desk job, graphic design,” I said. “Keeps me busy, but on a schedule.”

“Same here,” she said. “For the desk job, at least. I write stuff.”

“Anything I’d know?”

“Not sure,” she said, pausing for a few seconds. “Do you read a lot of erotica?” I was stunned for a moment.

“Uhh…”

“Don’t sweat, that’s just part of my portfolio,” she said. “I write restrained stuff, too, and that desk job I told you about is this new editing job. I don’t much like the corporate mentality, but if it helps take care of my bro, I’m sold. Plus I can even work from home sometimes. Speaking of, I should get back to it. See you at the park?”

“Definitely,” I said. “See ya.”

She was a writer and editor. Coupled with my graphic design experience and prior industrial design background, we could take this country by storm. Was that the right expression? We’d only need a finance person, and another to interact with the public and plan stuff. Both of those I already had on retainer as friends. A well-integrated college experience formed great networks. My mind was running away from the present and my job. The day was not over, but the future brightened up all of a sudden.

alter

“What do you think, Finnelgamin?” he asks.

I think that you’re considering two ideas you know I will not approve of. When Fiona excluded herself from human kind, you wanted to make her into some sort of being that makes the story into a fantastical experience. Why? Isn’t this entertaining enough? We might have a great future together.

“But it’s just so plain,” he says. “It follows that barely-fiction type I despise. It’s a story of make-believe that you don’t have to make anyone believe. The elements of the story do that by being in a realistic setting. It’s like boxing up an imagination that could be so much more. Sure, it could be intricate on the inside, but from the outside, it will always look very plain.

Then what about the other idea? That Fiona is your writer’s daughter. Isn’t that a bit selfish? I don’t care about Virtu. You’re my author, so listen to me and do not mix him up in this.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “I’ve given him too much recognition already. There is no way to change his mind, so I should work within my time limit. I should at least finish your story first, but will that really ever be over?”

It would end with my death, I assume. That depends on you, JJ. We’ve done this dance before. I can’t tell you I don’t want to die, and you can’t have me in your mind forever. Even so, you can talk to me, use me as a pretend person to speak with while my story is running onto these pages. It drains your sanity, so best not dawdle here too long. You have more stories to tell, to create, to pull from the Infinity Void. Don’t be afraid to let me go there. I might get to watch your story from that place.

“Right,” he says. “You’re getting scary philosophical. Let’s just get back to your story.”

Don’t be afraid, JJ

alter

“GRAB MY HAND!” she shouted over the rush of wind. My heart was pumping hard while the only hand I had holding onto the ledge was slipping. Fiona laid down at the edge above me, reaching out to me. Her hair was messy with sweat and dirt, and her face was covered with bruises. The rock surface was covered by a thin layer of moss that left me hanging on one arm. Even if she could pull me up, the moss would slip my hand out. “COME ON, FINN!”

I pulled up to grab hold, but slipped out like I predicted. This added yank betrayed the other arm, severing my determination to survive. In the seconds it took for me to realize what happened, Fiona was already by my side in the air, clutching onto my body as we plummeted.

“Let’s go dance in the park again after this,” she whispered in my ear. I was drawn to that memory, but shook it away to a rush of adrenaline. This was no time to think back to the pleasant past. She jumped after me, putting her fate in my hands. I had to do something. The trees below would slow us down, but a stronger branch would be our death. I swore that I would catch something on the way through, even if it ripped my arm off. With that mentality, we plunged into the canopies below.

alter

What the HELL was that? I was preparing to dance with Fiona on a second date, and then we’re falling to our deaths? I felt that fear, JJ! My heart was dying from it. Did you just write our death?

“Search my mind for it,” he says. “It’s a writing technique. I gave the audience a look into a strange future where only action is definite. That could be at the start of this whole story, if I’m honest. It’s a tease of what will happen. The mystery now is how things will get to that moment. I don’t even have a path to it yet, but your story will have some interesting events. For now, let’s calm down and get back to dancing in the park.”

Give me a moment. The memory is too fresh in my mind.

“You will have the memory with you,” he says. “Don’t you remember? You dozed off at work. That was your daydreamed fantasy of terror.”

alter

“Ah!” I gasped while waking up with five minutes to four in the afternoon at my computer. Some people in my area looked in my direction to see what happened. This wasn’t the first time, but the doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with me, suggesting the fault was psychological. I would doze off without meaning to and dream of some strange things that later felt like déjà vu. I was starting to feel like I was dreaming of future events, but my rational mind righted me with disbelief.

Just one more hour remained until I could see Fiona again, but what was with that dream? How could I end up in some forest or jungle anyway? In just a few minutes, the memory of the dream started to fade, though it left an ominous feeling behind. I almost wanted to cancel the date with Fiona, but shook the feeling off. After such effort to elicit a response from her, giving up was not an option. A memory of the previous phone call entered my mind. What did she mean by having an effect on men? Would she just dismiss me like other suitors?

My computer beeped at five to signify the end of work. I had to set that alarm because at times I worked through lunch and way past quitting time without realizing. That didn’t come up the past few days, as Fiona was on my mind since Tuesday. I kept counting down to when I’d see her again. Most days, I was a committed employee, a workaholic. Thanks to a doctor’s recommendation, I took a few half-days to unwind my work ethic. On the last day of the two weeks, I met Fiona thanks to that. I’d have to thank the doc one of these days, but only if Fiona turned out to be the one.

I felt happy rushing out of work with other matters on my mind. No matter how I tried to contain myself, a smile kept forming at my lips.
alter

Don’t do it. Why can’t you just let me have this? I can hear all of your thoughts, JJ. You’re debating two awful ideas. One has her not showing up because she died, or was kidnapped. Another has her there with another person. What pushes your mind to these scenarios? Are all writers such assholes?

“Relax, Finn,” he says. “They are just ideas. They’re all ideas until they come out onto paper. I was just considering the impact of her brother Luke foreshadowing her demise, and the part you play to get her there so that she can be killed. The fact that she’s a ‘ladies man’ type could also play a role here. In that scenario, her boyfriend is driven to kill her out of jealousy at seeing her with another. You have to admit, it sounds like a great story even if it’s not a possibility for you.”

Possibility? NO! Don’t do this! This is far worse than just making me forget her! I’m not like you, JJ! I don’t think in possibilities with no steps to make them real. Don’t make me into you because you’re hurt. If you need help, see a therapist, but leave my created mind alone. Now put me back. I have a date with the girl of my dreams.

“A word of warning, Finnelgamin,” he says. “When you see three stars in an equilateral triangle, be afraid. Be very afraid.”

O…k…? That’s random. You better not be foreshadowing here or I’ll be very upset. He’s silent.

alter

Off the train, I almost dashed to the park. It was difficult to contain myself, but prior dates reminded me to calm myself down. The second date was never like the first. Expectations built over time spent apart and clashed against the partner’s own. It was best not to act any different at first, as it was a lie. The only truth about lies is that they don’t like to be contained.

With that bumbling thought of trying to remember if I acted differently at the time we first met, I found myself already in the park. She stood beside me in silence, perhaps mirroring the fact that I ignored her completely. I could feel eyes on us, brief glances of how odd it looked.

“Fiona, hi!” I said and reached over to hug her. She was taken by surprise and did nothing to make the hug pleasant. This was no different than hugging a tree. I almost cringed at the happiness that poured out of me. If she was a writer, her mind must have been running wild with reasons for the way I was acting. Only a few seconds into the date, and I was already panicking.

“Hey, Finn,” she said, pushing me away gently. “Are you ok? We’re barely at the stage for close contact, or did you think that what you just did was normal?”

“Sorry,” I said. “What’s the harm in a little hug? We’ve danced together already. That was far more intimate.”

“I suppose so,” she said. “I just get different when I dance. I spend most of my time in my head, but when moving to a rhythm, it all fades away. I don’t mean to sound cold, but well, I am cold in that regard.”

“Huh,” I replied. “A cold writer that focuses on sexual stories? Curious.” I smiled and noticed her lips smirk a little. She wasn’t all ice, and I was glad of it. Before my mind delved too deeply into why she was so cold, whether it had something to do with previous partners or her brother, I held out my hand for Fiona to grab.

“Shall we?” I asked hoping I did not sound too pompous and noble. She took my hand with a smile and I could not look away. Hours passed within her reach, shifting our bodies to the music with her eyes like caverns of things yet unknown. What music did we dance to? I didn’t even care. When we stopped, it was already night. We stood outside her home and only then did my mind catch up.

“Do you want kids?” she asked. I froze in time to imagine our future, built upon a question of this second date and crafted in a spark of thought. No matter how I wanted to remain in that cradle of possible futures together, her words brought me back. “I mean, are you looking to start a family or are you just having fun?”

“Of course I’d want a family,” I replied without a second thought. My mind hesitated. “Eventually, I guess. I’m still building a life for myself.” She smiled, but I knew she meant to frown instead. Her eyes said more than her lips.

“That’s great,” she said. “Then I think we shouldn’t meet again. There are plenty of women out in the world that can give you that.” I was confused.

“So you’re writing me off already, huh?” I asked, putting up the most concerned of faces I could muster. “That’s a sad story you’re writing for yourself, Fi.”

“Don’t call me ‘Fi’,” she replied. “You sound like my brother. That nickname is his forever. As for my story, well, it ends with me. I can’t have children, so starting a family isn’t an option with me. If you understand that, you’ll go find someone else to start a family with.” She turned to go into her apartment complex, but I wasn’t done.

“How about I decide that for myself, Fiona?” I asked. “I will call you and we’ll set up another date. It can be just dancing at the park, but I want to see you again. Don’t write me off, ok?” Her face shifted between anger, happiness, and sadness for a moment, but ultimately arrived blank of emotion. Fiona gave me a nod as the door closed. It was all the response I needed.

alter

“I can tell you’re upset,” he says. “Let me guess, ‘How could you write her infertile?’ Right?”

Cheater. Although, this is starting to feel like a story rather than just you going mad. Good job integrating that bit of future into the real world. Daydreams of what could be create sensations of déjà vu. It’s a nice theory. Now you can toss it in with the other trillion out there. Why do you think your voice will be anything different in all of that? What if nobody ever reads this, your story of how you pulled me from your mind into an actual being on physical paper? Do you think anyone will ever believe I had a will of my own, a free thought?

“No, I guess they won’t,” he says, displaying sadness. “Which makes you even more important to me. No matter what, I will see you to your grave, Finnelgamin. For now, let’s get back to your moments of happiness, however few are left.”

What?

“Nothing,” he says, but I know he is already planning something to get to that place in the daydream.



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