groovygamers.com

On Thursday morning, Colin finds himself near Laney's house.

He gets there just as Jean gets out to go to work, so Laney sees him through the door.

"Good morning" he says, waving.

Jean had done her part to ensure Laney got some sleep, sneaking into the girl’s room to switch off her alarm clock.  This being Thursday, Laney doesn’t have to be at school.  The boys have already left the house, Jean’s taking Joey now, and Mike is always out before the rest of the family.  So the teenager was still trying to work herself back into her morning routine of pills, clothing, shower…not necessarily in that order.

It’s Laney who greets Colin at the door, dazed and confused.  Her hair’s still wet, and she’s dressed comfortably for home, in sweatpants, socks, and an oversized plaid flannel shirt which billows open in the winter wind revealing the t-shirt she wears beneath  (a shark and an alligator sunning on a beach, overlooking the ocean and unsuspecting swimmers. “Tourists taste great!”  “They’re less filling.”), also, revealing what she’s not wearing, the longer she stands there in the cold.

“Hi.  What - Come in.”  She steps aside for Colin to enter.

"Thank you. Have I ever told you that I love your T-shirts?"

He says, getting in and getting out of his green jacket.

"Have you got any plans for today?"

"Plans?  I - Not exactly, no."  Well, she did, but there was no way she was telling him that.  She can't explain her attraction to the bomb site, not without further alienating another of her new friends.  I should chase him away.  It's too late, isn't it?

Automatically opening the hall closet to hang Colin's jacket, she stammers, "D-do you want something to drink?  Or eat? I have oatmeal or um....I can make...something. Shirts?  Oh. Mikey and Rick always get me weird shirts for presents.  You should've seen my collection before.."

"I'm glad you're alright, and...and that John...um...How're you?"

"I'm thirsty. Something to drink would be nice, thanks."

He sit on a chair facing her.

"I'm all right. I thought to drop by to check on you, and to thank you."

((A brief description of the house can be found here: ))
http://www.groovygamers.com/forum/index.php/topic,6631.msg218483.html#msg218483 

In the kitchen, while Colin makes himself at home, Laney forgoes rattling off a list of the family’s extensive beverage offerings.   She picks something at random.   After pouring the drink and setting the glass down in front of Colin, Laney slides into the chair beside him.   Her nose wrinkles while she tries to sort out what he said.

She moves differently here than at school, it should be noted.  Familiar patterns weave around her like a comforting cocoon.  Grounded in her environment, it's easier to remain focused - although Colin’s not seeing her at her best today.

“Check?  I’m alright, Colin.  I wasn’t harmed.  Thanks, though.   You’re um…welcome.  I didn’t – I mean anyone would’ve helped.  Why did um…You know you caught on fire before the explosion, right?  Why?”

"Ooh, grapefruit. Thank you. I like it."


"It was an explosion, Laney. I knew you weren't harmed - physically. I wanted to check if you were all right. You'll probably not want to talk about it, but I felt someone should ask anyway."


"Very few people could have helped the way you did."


"I overcharged. I was pretty desperate, and I channeled too much energy. My tattoos are like a special alphabet, they allow me to express myself through the energy I channel. They got too hot, and my shirt took fire."

He takes a long sip of juice.

"You see, I'm hardly in control. I negotiate. I ask for favors. When I ask too much, it taxes me. But I had every reason to act this way. I had a glimpse of what could have happened if John and Sammy didn't get there in time. Believe me, the world is much better this way. I'm not sure I could have done it without your help though. That's why I wanted to thank you."

Laney nods and lowers her gaze, nervously wringing her hands in her lap.   “Thanks, but I really didn’t do much, Colin.  Someone would’ve seen you needed help, and I probably wasn’t um...It’s not like I was fond of that coat, anyway.”     

“I’m alright.  It’s everyone else who’s –“  Funny how Laney’s black curls tumble low when she bows her head, by chance masking her eyes as they fill with tears. "It was very different from the last time.  I'm alright."

“I heard you call John.  I don’t know if that’s the right word... I know he saved them inside.  And Sammy outside… I guessed it was Sammy.  She was the only one who fit into the configuration after - Well, now I know…“

“It’s not the same as text messaging.”  She smiles slightly.  “They changed things.  Both of them…and you.  Perfect and beautiful.   Like superheroes…”

Her smile falters, and she dries her eyes on her sleeve.  “Sorry.”  Sniffling, Laney stubbornly tries this conversation thing again, “Who are you asking favors from?  Whose energy is it?”

"No one is perfect. And I'm hardly beautiful." he says with a smile.

"I'm very grateful you took off the flames, and my mom will likely insist to buy you a nice new coat. But... You have a peculiar view of the world, and I'm never sure what is it you already know or not. I'll just start from the beginning, and we'll skip the boring parts, ok."

He makes his knuckles snap.

"I'm the spirit dancer. I stand at the boundary between this world and the spiritual one. The spiritual one... well, all humans have a foot in both worlds, but our eyes are mostly on this side. The other part is where we go when we dream, and when we die. And there also the spirits there. Embodiments of concepts. Dreams, emotions, and also nightmares given shape and will. Both worlds need the other to be sane, to live and prosper, both worlds need the energies of the other. When they're in balance, 'good' energies freely flow from here to there and back. And here come the people like me. I... dance on the boundary. I try to help the two worlds to enrich the others. I can pray, and my prayers draw energies from there to be spent here, energies I can use to heal for example, and by acting in this world... well, we could say good deeds do make the world better, and fill the spiritual world with good energies. when things work out, it's a virtuous circle. It's nice."

"What I can really do here, in the end, is limited by how strong I am. I'm a conduit, and I can only carry so much energy. John and Sammy, for example, are much better at channeling, though their energies are different, and well, they were born for it. They can do things I can only dream about, but they couldn't do my job, they've got... a different shape, if you will. The world has a sort of consciousness, and sometimes I can draw upon a sliver of this consciousness, and get a glimpse of the future. That's how I knew of the explosion before it happened."

He pulls the collar of his sweater and shirt to show her the Eye tattoo on his shoulder. "I got this when I helped Sammy stay human. It's a gift, and it allows me to know when my friends are in danger, so I can try to help them. This time, though, I didn't have enough time. John could have probably made it even without my help, but he needed to know where to go. And Sammy needed to get there. But there wasn't time. So, well I made it. Not really. Nobody can make time. I stretched it, though, and sent it their way. It's incredibly dangerous. No one should mess with time, and even I am allowed only in extreme situations. Because messing with time can break the world, and nobody would like the beings beyond to get in. But here is where you figure into the equation."

He takes another long sip of juice.

Religion was intentionally absent in Laney’s upbringing; the opinions of her pragmatic mother dominated the household.  In a way, this was fortunate for the girl.  Her early life was a series of bizarre and frequently painful coincidences, which someone of faith might have questioned, and weaker souls would have despaired.  Laney never did.

Three weeks ago, Laney experienced the first changes in her perception of the world.  No, not the powers.   That’s another subject entirely.  These changes were very “normal” ones, indicative of personal growth.   And after realizing the world encompassed more than what she knew in the physical world, Laney found herself easily believing anything could be possible. 

So when she listens to Colin it’s with full and absolute acceptance that what he says is truth, and she inquisitively leans closer for a moment to study The Eye.  He might suspect she’s focusing too hard and is no longer listening to what he says; she hardly blinks those highly reflective eyes of hers.

“You made time,” she whispers.  “I’m sorry. I only knew it was too late.  Four hundred seventeen…too late for all.  I didn’t try hard enough.  I think I knew last week this would happen, but I didn’t tell anyone.  The numbers were right - I didn’t think they’d believe me, and…and I doubted myself.  Hindsight is 20/20, right?  I’m sorry.  If you’d known, then…then…we could’ve looked for – we could’ve figured out how to stop it before.  Maybe.  Always maybe.  Colin, there’s only one way I fit into the equation.  And it’s not – I don’t understand.  I’m sorry.“

Almost smiling, she withdraws and bows her head again.  "That's a lovely name.  Spirit dancer."

"It's ok. We can't save everyone, and we can't keep everyone from being hurt. That way lies madness. This time we came very close to save everyone. Hamilton died and that's awful, but... trust me, there were alternatives so much worse I still shudder thinking of them. I think I'll always will."

He pauses.

"You read reality in a special way. I'm afraid we'd be very lost if we tried to see things your way. We might not be able to understand you. But I can tell you this: I'll always believe you." he says with a smile.


"Messing with time can break the world, in a way. It might creak and splinter. It's always very dangerous. But you are special. A big part of the world is in the connections between things. These connections give it the shape we're used to. Actual science has only just begun to see them, and they're everywhere. I think... it's just an image, it's always very complicated, I can rarely truly say I understand something, a big part is still faith. but it's easy to have faith in what works. Imagine there's a fabric underneath reality keeping things from falling apart. The world as we know it sticks to this fabric. In this image, you are like a nice colored thumb tack. You pierce them both, and keep them together. All around you, the universe is stronger, more... definite, more real, more connected, just because you're there. That's how you helped me. Without you by my side, things wouldn't have gone so smooth. I remember that, before going away, I heard a note, like a single guitar chord. Did you hear it as well? That was reality falling smoothly in place. I couldn't have done that. You did."

"So, you see, maybe no one will ever know it, but you save the world too. And that's what superheroes do. No matter if they're not perfect./color]"



"Heh." Colin grins. "I think it comes from an age before high school existed. It sounded different back then."

“I don’t understand me, either.  And I’m not good at deciphering things.  Most of the time, I don’t know what the hell’s going on.  Reality’s not…umm….It gets in the way.  Always changing.   I can’t tell up from down sometimes.  That’s not a figure of speech.  I really can’t tell.  I think it helps to be around people.  Some people. Not a lot.  Thanks.  I think the problem is that I don’t believe me.  It’s nice someone else does.  Thanks.”



Connected.  The word reverberates in Laney’s mind, stirring the horrible truth she knew after the explosion, the memory of which rises like a thick silt, darkening her vision.  I was doing well suppressing it.  Yeah. Stupid.  He knows… Third option?  It can’t get worse…

The problem with crying is: the more one tries to stop it, the more one inevitably thinks about the reason one is crying in the first place - which, of course, makes the crying worse.   Laney tries so very hard now.   

“No..No, I didn’t hear…or I did, but it wasn’t a sound. Not really.  I felt.  I saw.  It was – I just knew it was my – Colin, it’s not saving the world.  I’m pulling it apart!”   

She can’t breath, and she must.  Hugging herself, with her forehead resting on the table, Laney forces words past choking sobs, “I’m sorry, I didn’t do it on purpose.  I can’t stop!  He shouldn’t have been here at all.  What are the odds a man like that would land another job at a school after what he’d done?   He got his second chance.   Here.  Now.  At the same place you’re here.  And they’re here.  All in the same box.  You see?  It doesn’t happen.  Ever.  And it did.  Because I’m here.  Still happening.  Your thumb tack’s a black hole.  And nothing’s left when I’m done with it.  I’m sorry!”   

Colin looks around and gets her a kleenex, wondering where things went wrong.


Colin waits for her to breathe a bit before answering.

"Are you sure you see the whole picture? Hamilton got here before you. And we had our big quote of absurd coincidences at least since the beginning of the year. I've been living here for ten years, Laney. You didn't draw us all here from across the country. You make connections stronger, but connections are created everywhere in every moment, even without you. Also, coincidences attract each other. That's a well known theory. It might be part of the very structure of the universe. it's probably something to do with the fact that dimensions here rubbed on each other and made the boundaries of reality thin. It's been theorized that people like us might be the immune system of the world. And what if the world itself has a plan? What if Hamilton had to come here so we could stop him? What if his coming here was no coincidence at all, but he was working with someone who helped him getting here, interested in his researches? We can't know everything, and we can't fix everything. And really, we're only responsible for our own actions, and you didn't do anything bad."

He takes her hand.

"Laney, I don't know many things, and I am unsure about many others. But of this I'm sure: I've seen what could have happened... That world, was wrong, very wrong. This one, the one you helped making possible, is much better. Trust me on that."

While pressing wads of tissues to her face with one hand and keeping a painfully tight grip on Colin with her other, Laney’s reply is too garbled to make sense of.   No doubt one or two  I’m sorry’s  are in there.

When she quiets down to intermittent hiccups and sniffles, she listens

“Y-you’ve lived here ten years?  Have weird things been…um…happening that long?  I moved here in August, Colin.   I couldn’t start school because of…things.   I don’t know how much over five can influence.  Oh.  I didn’t tell you about Adrien.  I – There are others like me.  Sortof like me.  He’s not like me.

“The world has plans?  I-I don’t see the whole picture.  I never do.  Except once I think I did.  Or a part of it.  On Tuesday, right after…um…it was…I didn’t like it.  No, I did like it.  I didn’t like that I liked it.  Everything falling apart. 

“I don’t have to do anything wrong.  Things just happen.  Bad things.  You think good things happen, too.  But I don’t get the plan idea.   I’m sorry.  I wouldn’t plan bad things if I were…Sorry.”

She tries smiling.  Fails.  Apologetically releases Colin’s hand.

“I know it’s better with everyone safe. I know.   If I only look that far, it’s alright.  Sortof alright.   I was alright until I – until Tuesday.  I can’t look at the whole picture, Colin.  I don’t think I can handle it.  See?  I’m losing my mind and I didn’t even …um… I’m not making sense.  I-I didn’t mean to freak out on you.  Sorry.”

"It depends. Coincidences brought us together here, and it took a lot of work. Sylvia had to be adopted by a family in San Francisco, and then they had to move here. John's father retired. Sarah used to live in the city. Maybe you affected something, but things were already in motion. Actually, maybe coincidences brought you here too, so we could have this conversation."


"There are others sort of like me too. What's he like?"


"Please, Laney, breathe. Breathe deeply. Calm down."

Colin takes her hand again and tries to send some peace her way.

"Please, tell me about it. What did you see?"


"The plan's not perfect. Sometimes bad things allow us to grow stronger by facing them, and we need to be strong or worse things could happen. Sometimes we miss our cue. Sometimes the world misses its cue."


"Nobody can see the whole picture, Laney. It's too big. I'd really like to understand though. Something weird happened to me on Tuesday, maybe you've suffered from some backlash too. Please, tell me. Or draw it, if you prefer."

Laney raises her arm to rub her teary eyes again with her sleeve.  Remembering she has tissues, she instead miserably stuffs her face into a handful, muffling her nonsensical rambling.

“Coincidences.  Accidents.  They knot together.  I thought it was only around me.   I can…touch them?  That’s not the right word.  Anyway, I’m more aware of connections now.  All the time now.  It only started a little over a week ago.  It’s ruining my life, but it feels right.  Funny.   Now I know it affects everyone, not just me.   

"I-I thought Hamilton and what he did must be my fault because I’m connected to him, too.  Or was?  Am I still?  You see?  I’m sorry.  I can’t explain, and I really can’t deal with this right now.  Not this and the bomb, too.  Explosion.  Whatever.  Connected to him.  To everyone.   That's what I...I think I saw...and then...it all fell apart...and I liked seeing it.  Everything unravelled.   Then it was all connected again.   To me.  Everything.  Past and present.  It was...I didn't know what it meant.  I thought it was all my fault.  It had to be my fault.   Still don't really understand.  I can't explain it.  I'm sorry.  My drawings don't make sense anymore.  I think they bother Jean.  I used to paint and draw - anything with wings.  Angels, birds, insects...a lot of insects...

"You said…You said I helped just by being there.  That’s…I can correct my mistakes. That’s nice.  Thanks for telling me.   I think it helps.  It does help.  A lot.  Thanks.  Want some more juice or something?”

Laney hops up, washes her hands, then meanders to the refrigerator.  She pauses when her hand is on the door.

"Oh.  Sorry.  After I talked to Adrien.  I meant to tell you about him.  Because you helped me my first week at school. There were just more important things to...um...Well, John found him.  Sortof.  He calls them patterns.  What we see, I mean. Wrong word to use.  See.  So um....I'll tell you about Adrien if you tell me about um...others sortof like you, alright?  If you have time.  What are your plans for today?"  She tries smiling again.  This time it's better.

"It's a net. Everything's interconnected. But I think you make the connections stronger. Maybe painfully so."

He looks for her eyes in concern.

"I'm not sure I understand. Is it seeing them that is ruining your life, or living though them?"


Colin interrupts her here. "No. No coincidences can strip people of their free will."


"I'm sorry it is such a burden to you. I'd like to see your drawings, please."

He looks down.

"Once, I fell into a trap, and my powers were taken from me. They couldn't take everything though, so, instead of my 'normal' sight, I saw... threads. The blackbird said they were the threads of destiny, connecting people who shared a destiny. Looking at you, for example, I could have been able to follow that thread and find out who you are going to marry. Then I regained my powers, and they faded away, much like you can't see the stars when the sun is up. Is that how your life is, every moment?"


"I hope it does. The world that is not going to be wouldn't have been nice for anyone. And you fixed it."


"I planned to come here, talk a bit, and since we never had that Saturday dedicated to drawing, to either bring you at my home so I could show you some of my works, or take you somewhere else, if you'd like to go outside. How does that sound?"

She leans against the refrigerator, tiredly covering her face with her hands, hiding from his scrutiny as she tries to explain again.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t know how to explain.  This isn’t me.  I can’t…It’s irony, right?  I’m more connected to people, but that makes it harder for me to connect with them in any normal way.  You know I’m crazy, right?  No, I really am.  Handicapped.  Not like before.  Before it was just an inconvenience.  Now, I can’t…It’s…It’s alright.  It would be alright if it were just that.   I have to be this way to survive it.   I can’t not be.  I can’t turn it off.   I just miss being me.  What I was.  That’s all.  It would be alright, if…if…Well, this just makes it worse.  And I can’t tell anyone.  I mean, I told you now, and John.  That helps, but it’s an awful burden on you guys.   It just keeps getting worse.  And…and I think when I get used to it – if I get used to it – things will get better.  It’s only been a little over a week, right?   This is…I’m sorry. This is just me feeling sorry for myself.   Me being whiny.   It will get better.  It has to.   I don’t want to be alone.  So it has to.”


“An incarnation of a concept, in animal shape...Blackbird.”  Lowering her hands, Laney fixes her dark gaze upon Colin again.    “It’s not like seeing.  I’m sorry I can’t explain.  It’s just there.  And a lot of times, I don’t even know what I’m…seeing.  It’s just there.  Um…I don’t…I don’t think it’s destiny, Colin.  It’s contact.  That’s all.   Neutral.   Before and after all together.  It just is.   I…I’m sorry.  I don’t know.  I wish I did.  It’s all too new for me.   I don’t know what I’m doing.  Maybe something to ask Adrien.  How could anyone take it from you?”


“Really?”   Her head cocked to one side, her eyes wide and sparkling, Laney visibly brightens.  The entire room with her.    “You remembered.  I was afraid…I was afraid I scared you off, too.  It’s alright, you know.  I mean it’s not alright, but I’d understand if you…  I’m not that self-centered.  I mean you have your own life and problems and – Oh, I babble when I’m upset.  I’m sorry.  I think I babble when I’m not upset, too.  Sorry.  I promise to try to shut up if I can see your drawings, too.  I liked the photographs I saw in Sammy’s room and…Um…you can come upstairs, if you want to.   I have one painting up on the easel.  And my drawing pads are upstairs. Um…if you want to see.”

"Ok, first - being your friend is not a burden at all. Second - it's all too new now. You have no perspective on it yet. It's probably harder for you, but I think we all went through this phase when the fact that we are... well, different, actually hit in. With some exceptions, I mean, John has been this way since forever, and Alicia... that's complicated. But, in any case, we won't leave you alone, even though we'll have a bit trouble understanding you sometimes."


"Black magic on their part and naivety on my part."


"Of course I want." he says with a smile.

"I'm sorry I'm useless trying to tell you about what I see, Colin.  I really don't know how.  Thanks, though.  That's nice of you to say.  I think I'm more afraid of being alone than of dying.  Funny."



"There is such a thing?   Black magic, I mean.  I assume it's magic for ill purposes.  How does one...um...stop it?"  She rolls her eyes and sighs.  "I guess trying to explain that to me would go about as smoothly as me trying to explain patterns to you.   Sorry."



Laney's smile broadens, and she beckons excitedly for him to follow her.

“So um…about Adrien...” she begins, guiding Colin upstairs to her austere bedroom. 

The only difference between the room I described in the link provided and the room now is that there is an ivy plant merrily crawling across the surface of her dresser, and there is a new, cheaply built desk with a laptop computer resting upon it.   The surface of this desk has been badly marred.   Spills, paint, pen scrawls, pencil…Some stains appear random; some marks appear to be abstract designs or parts of incomplete mathematical equations.

“It started with – No, wait.  It…um…John found articles for me to read from certain publications about studies on probability.  Somehow or other he ended up contacting sixty people from these clinical trials.

“One of them replied.   In what was not exactly a conventional um…method.  He sortof showed up.”  She hastily adds, “It’s alright!  He’s nice. Thirteen seventy-eight.  He didn’t mean to um…Anyway, his name’s Adrien.  And he’s older than me – not much - and he started seeing patterns after he was shot in the Gulf War, though he might've been lucky before.  He said he focuses by finding missing people.  That’s what he does.  He has friends who – Well, he's not alone, either.  Not really.

"It's not magic, and it's not science, and neither can explain it, Adrien said.   He said…He said not to hold on so tightly or it would slip through my hands.  Probability, I mean.  So…I’ve been trying not to.   I've been trying to relax and let things...  Half the time my subconcsious is driving, the other half my conscious mind is trying to figure out how I got where I am and... That’s why I'm different from my first week here at school.  Can't go back, now.  John knows.  He’s been…nice.  But I’m hard to deal with.

“There are others.  Um… the guy in the suit.  He makes money.  The mom makes the traffic lights.  The little girl makes ripples in the world.  There are some others, but those are the ones like us.  That’s what he said."  Laney even used the same vocal inflections Adrien had, although Colin may not realize it.   

“Earthquakes.”

Once upstairs, Laney opens her closet and retrieves a thick drawing pad, which she flings onto her neatly made bed and gestures for Colin to take it.  On this side of the closet there hangs no clothing.   Laney simply doesn’t own much.  On this side of the closet she has tucked away a plain, wooden easel, upon which rests a small canvas.  She tugs this out to the middle of the room for viewing.  It must be acrylic; the heavy scent of oil is absent.

"How did you find others like you? Another spirit dancer, I mean."

"It's... wise, I guess. There's not much to be afraid of in death."


"I can try. If I use magic to make you stumble so that you drop your purse and I pick it up, that's magic for ill purposes. If I draw into this world a wind from a darker place, and let it blow in the house of the one I want, so that when he breathes it he'll fall desperately in love with me, that's black magic. You could use black magic for good purposes, I don't think so, but suppose you can, it still leaves a stain upon the world."


"Sorry, what?"


"That's cool."


Colin chuckles.

"Sorry. I heard something very similar before."


Colin takes the pad and looks curiously at the canvas.

"I think Blackbird always told me I'm *the* Spirit Dancer, but he's.. cryptic sometimes. I know there have been Spirit Dancers before me. The last one might have been a woman. There are many others, anyway, who are in contact with the spirit world or have a spirit guide. My mom found Bobby. Well, they found each other, I guess, he entered her office just as she was talking to him at the phone. And he came because his guide, Crow, asked him too. He's different from me, he's a warrior. His role is to defend us from those who would use black magic and the things it lets in. Sort of a demon hunter. His grandfather is even more complicated. I'll tell you more when I'll get to meet him."

“Huh? “ Laney stares blankly at Colin, as if he were the one who had said something strange.


Most pronounced in the painting resting on the easel is Laney’s penchant for extreme levels of detail.  It is a colorful and surreal fusion of seemingly unrelated objects and locations, and it thrusts one’s eye into a struggle with illogical perspectives.  The piece uncomfortably pricks the viewer with feelings of unrest.

Having lived in the area as long as he has, Colin may recognize a corner of a building, the corroded pole of a street sign, a cracked curb of a worn road, or the bend of a peculiar tree branch.  Maybe.  Laney’s skill may not be sufficient to have that level of accuracy for his sake. 

“It was supposed to be a city skyline,” Laney mumbles in explanation.  “It um…went wrong.”


“Funny the way things happen like that.  So you have people to learn from, right?  I think that’s – wait.  Did you say ‘demon hunter?’   Um…demons?   Like the ones with the horns and red tails and whatnot?”

"Thirteen seventy-eight. I guess it's not his age."


"Why wrong? Did Escher's landscapes go wrong? It's not easy to give emotion to a skyline and you definitely did it. I think... well, mines are surely more boring. Do you take photos or work from memory?"


"I guess I don't have to learn to use my powers. They come naturally. I do not force them, I let them out. I have to learn about the world, and about myself. I have to learn to trust and to make good decisions. I have to learn when to let go. Hardly something anyone can teach me. I have to live to learn."


"Like those and worse." he says. Her eyes are drawn to the scar tattoo peeking from the back of his shirt.

"No," she offers distantly, "It's a connection."




“Wrong?  Escher’s work makes me space out for hours.  No, really.  I can’t look at it anymore.  I like it, but um….Oh.  This went wrong because…well, the sketch is in my drawing pad.  It was all done this weekend, Saturday mostly.  I’m pretty sure those are places in Oak Park.  Not from photos or from memory.  I made them up.  Only I didn’t make them up.  They’re real, I think.  From the map. More than fifteen.  Many more.  I couldn’t fit them all on the canvas.  I really tried. I’m making no sense again.   Sorry.  I’ll start over.   

“Saturday, we were crime fighting.  Oh, not me!  I stayed home.  It was John.  I just um…well, we were just talking, but then every once in awhile he’d ask me for a direction or a street name or…something.  Turns out things happened at those locations.  It didn’t stop after he did.  I couldn’t stop, I mean.  So I put them here in paint.   I didn’t intend to.  I didn’t realize I was doing it at the time.  I hope my teacher likes it because I’m not starting over.”   She giggles.




"Do you practice?"





“Nightmares given shape and will…”  She stares vacantly over his shoulder for a moment.  “Um…Colin?  You said dimensions are…um…boundaries of reality are thin here.  Why do you think that is?  If…if it’s not me.   This isn’t like the boundary Donnie deals with, is it?  Dragon Marches, I think you said.  I mean how many dimensions are we talking about here?”

"Like a file number?"


"It's powerful. He should like it."

He thinks at it again.

"So... These are all crime scenes?"


"My powers or my life?"


"A lot. There are alternate dimensions, worlds like this one where things went differently. There are mystical dimensions, like the Dragon Marches, that are something altogether different. And then... there's the outside. As to why the boundaries were weaker... I have no idea. It might be like clothes get thinner where they keep rubbing. I don't think anyone has come with a sound scientific or mystic explanation yet."

“Like a bus ticket.  It’s a connection.  Him to me.  Or me to him.  I don’t know.  Oh…Oh, no.  Do you…Do you think if I’m connected to things that…that it works both ways?  I mean I might be able to influence them, but what it they could influence me?   He said we couldn’t change things.   I don’t think that’s true.  Like the dice.  What connects dimensions?” 

Laney begins to look ill and sits right down on the edge of the bed, clutching her stomach anxiously.   She mumbles, “Not all crime scenes.  People needing help, but not always dangerous.   Very important to them, but not always crimes.  The ones in my painting we’ll never know.  They were for the moment.  Gone now.”

She looks up at Colin with a sickly smile.   “Practice both?”

“Sorry.  Um…I can drive.  Or I can borrow Mikey’s bike if it’s not far.  I’m tired.  Best not be far.  To see your drawings, I mean.  If you want to. If I may.  Sorry.”

"Uhm, I things connections affect you the normal way. Like sunlight tanning, you or cold making you shiver. I think there are definitely some things we do have influence upon and that we can change, while at the same time there are things that can change us. There are  much more possibilities than we use to see, anyway. Free will makes us quite unpredictable, even on a cosmic scale."


"Constants, I guess. Like the Earth having only one sun."


"Oh." Colin says. "We can't help everyone. We shouldn't, even if we could. Facing difficulties makes us stronger. Rising above them makes us better. We'd die out without challenges."


"With my powers, I'm quite reluctant. Balance is needed, and I prefer to have a lot of juice when it comes to tip the scales. With my life, I try my best. For example, getting to know a friend a little better."

He looks at her.

"You look like you could use a stop in a place I know on the way to my house. I think you'll like it."


"If you're tired, let's take the car."

Grinning crookedly, Laney notes, “We have a bad habit of waxing philosophical when we were speaking scientifically, don’t we?”

“That must be – Not knowing if you’ll be able to help must be awful.  I would practice anyway, if I could.   I worry all the time.  That’s – Oh.”

She drops to the floor, partly to hide her embarrassed pink face and partly to grab her shoes out from under her bed and put them on.

“I miss having friends.  Thanks.   I’m not a particularly good one, yet.  Working on it,” she mumbles.

“You can bring that, if you want.”  Gesturing to her drawing pad, Laney stands and glides downstairs.   She offers to try to squeeze his bike into the car to save him from a second trip to her house.  It’s only at the last minute that she remembers to fetch their coats from the closet.

Her driving, as described in the past, is overly cautious.  Since she hasn’t memorized a map to Colin’s home or the place he mentioned, Laney doesn’t quite catch all the stoplights on green.   In fact, the ones she must stop at happen to be at turns she must make.  Weird.

Colin shrugs.
"I'm not sure why modern people are so convinced they're two separate things. Philosophy and science, I mean. They were born together."


"You're not doing a bad job of it" he says with a smile.


He takes the pad, but kindly rejects the offer. He's got other plans.

When they arrive, no one's home, not even Mrs Walters, so there are no introductions to be done.

The Crows' mansion is a not too large flat, occupying the first floor of Mrs. Walters little building. There are bookcases almost everywhere, and where there aren't, large photos hang on the walls. Some landscapes, some interesting view of Oak Park, and in the living room a large picture of a laughing Alexandra Crow, a man that could only be Colin's father and a giggling toddler. Next to it another one of an older Alexandra and a red haired man who look embarrassed like teenagers as they look at each other. In a corner there's a computer with a graphic tablet. There are also a couple articles framed as well. One is about the attack of a man seemingly made of water to some labs. Another talks of the sighting of a red dragon who prevented a metal beam from crushing some students.

"My turn to offer. Is there anything you'd like?"

“Speculation versus fact.   I wonder if that’s a chicken-or-egg kind of thing.”




She was alright until she entered the home.  In doing so, she slowed her steps, then stopped – nothing unusual.  Any “normal” person would do this when seeing a place for the first time.  However, there’s no change in her expression when he speaks, at first with no sign of comprehension.   There is something vaguely inhuman about her angular features, too pale, her silvered eyes too large.  Then she turns towards him and answers.

“Thanks, no, Colin.  Although I just realized I should tell you, especially now – What you said before about you not always understanding me.  I can’t help that.  Not really.  Not until I understand me.  I want you to, but half the words coming out of my mouth I don’t know where they came from.    What I can do is tell you how to help me understand you.

“That made no sense.  Let me try again.”  Laney pauses to take a deep breath, casts her gaze to the floor, and lines her words up.

“There are ways to interact with me – tricks, I guess – which help.  Not difficult!  Even my four year old cousin knows.  The resource aides are trying new things, too.  We’ll see how that – These things work for normal people.  It’s nothing weird. I swear!  Anyway, I keep meaning to tell you…and others.  It’s just embarrassing.”  Wincing, she rubs her forehead, trying to get back on track.

“Mostly it’s about holding attention.  Sorry.  I get distracted easily.   Holding my attention is easier than getting it in the first place.  Eye contact is helpful.  If I’m looking at you, chances are you got my attention.  Problem is: a lot of people look away.  When that happens, it’s really bad.  It’s like I’m unplugged or something. Rebooting is a bitch.  So if you lose me, just be patient.  It takes my brain a few minutes to get back to…whatever.   Excuse the horrible metaphors here.  Milk would be nice, actually, thanks.   

“Um…physical contact is a good way to get me, but only in crowds, at school…places like that.  One-on-one, it’s sometimes too much.  It might shut me down.  I concentrate on the touch instead of whatever you’re saying.  Useful, I guess.”  As she raises her head, her eyes begin roaming the room again.

“Using my name frequently helps.  Helps me to use yours, too.  I’m not sure why that is.  Be careful changing subjects too quickly.   I’m sorry.  I’m just slow.  And – this is mostly for home – if I put something down anywhere.  Please don’t move it.   It really shakes me up when things are moved.  If I forget, that’s one thing, but um… You were a cute baby.  Who’s that?  An uncle?”

She rambles on without waiting for a reply, “If you want me to remember to do something, have me either repeat it or write it down.  I try to remember to do that myself.   It’s childish, I know, but…Well, that’s all we’ve figured out works with any regularity.  I promised to shut up if I could see your stuff, didn’t I?   Sorry.  I like your home.  Is that one of Donnie’s dragons?”

Colin listens carefully to the instructions to better remember them.

"It's ok, Laney. You're not too much trouble."

He disappears to the kitchen and comes out again with a glass of milk.


"No, that's Chris. Christopher O'Brian. He's my mom's partner. You might have heard about him, because he's in the PCD now, and I guess he's our main contact with the law."


"Yes, that's Uther. This is him saving a bunch of students from being crashed by that pole. It was an attack against the cheerleader's team. Long story. I sold it to the local paper, and that has earned him the nick 'the school dragon'. He's all gentleman-y about it, but I think he enjoys the attention."

"Besides that one" he says pointing at the photo with his father "all the photos here are mine. In a way, I've always been a photographer. I guess I practiced drawing only because there are things difficult to catch in a photo. Or as a backup, in case I miss the right moment."

Colin's photos are peculiar in that they seem to want to tell a story, even the ones with no people in them have a detail that catches one's imagination.

"Lately I've started drawing because there are things nobody else can see."

He opens a drawer, and gets out a workbook. In it there are a lot of photos, taken and printed in several different ways. Many are edited, either digitally or directly on the print. There are pics of the Usual Suspects in one of their typical expressions, and showing their auras. Then there are drawings with a dreamy quality to them. The pencil ones are not very clean, he puts a lot extra lines in them. Alien landscapes, skylines, a starred sky in the desert, a couple kissing under a thunderstorm, an explosion. One looks like the school's parking lot, seen though a huge breach in the wall. Some have a date marked on the corner.

When Laney first walked inside, the atmosphere struck her physically.  Tensing under the assault, she instinctively resisted, frantic to prevent her senses from becoming tangled.   Stop it please!  Just try to be normal for once.  Who has this many books?  Too many corners.  This many right angles in the same room can’t be healthy…   And she was counting them, she realized.   Counting them, why?   Desperate for diversion, she began to speak – or babble, as the case may be.  By the time she finished her litany of dos and don’ts, Laney was trembling, her stomach feeling so heavy that she felt she might sink into the floor. 

The very next second, Laney is fine and calmly moving closer to a cluster of framed pictures while Colin replies.

Filaments of awareness lace the room.  She need not have worried.  Her count stops and starts and stops again, until she has three numbers, the last of which she links to the photograph of Colin’s father.

With a wistful smile Laney says, “I guess we have something in common – other than high school, I mean.   I’m sorry, Colin.  I didn’t know.”

She accepts the offered drink gratefully, startled and pleased, not at all remembering she had asked for it.  “Oh, thanks!  She’s right. You do win the prize.” 




"I like the ones of the city.  The angles, I mean."  She smiles again, as if something amuses her.

Regardless of proper etiquette, Laney sits right in the floor cross-legged, her back to a bookcase, to peruse the workbook while sipping her milk.

“Nobody else can see...Like your special alphabet?  What are these…You see these colors around people?”  Dates, lines, and faces merge with her environment, with Colin, with her own thoughts, with everything.  Her voice fades and she is caught by the details, unblinking and silent for a few minutes, her hand outstretched over a drawing, not quite touching it.

"He was a hero, you know? One doesn't need powers for that. He was a firefighter in the Navy. Once he risked his life to save four men who were trapped in a sinking ship after a collision. He died almost ten years ago in a freak accident on his ship. There was an explosion in the boiler room. I don't think they ever found out what caused it. Or if they have, they haven't told us."

He shrugs.

"He was a good man and a good father. I've been lucky to have him as much as I did."


"What? Which prize?"


Have you ever heard of Philander Barclay? He was a bicycle repairman, at the beginning of the last century, but an historian and a photographer by heart. He took upon himself to chronicle the changes the village was going through. When he died, forty years later, he had accumulated more than a thousand photos of the views of Oak Park. He never married, he was a lonely man, but he loved this town. I always thought someone should pick up his work. Most of the world have forgotten where to look for beauty."


Colin sits down on the floor too, in front of her so he can keep proper eye contact as he's just been instructed to.

"I can see many things. I could say I can see dead people, but it's gotten old. Those colors... They're a peek into someone's soul. I can't delve too much, but I can get an impression. My dreams have also a bad habit of coming true. I marked the date I dreamed them. Those who really happened have a second date."

He takes the one with the breach in the wall.

"I guess that if I sneak into what remains of Hamilton's office, this is what I'll see."

Laney murmurs her three numbers, a date of loss she had seen. “Yes, heroes don’t always have powers.  I didn’t mean to pry.  Sorry.”




Laney giggles in response until her ears turn pink.  She tries to explain, “For n-nice folks.  S-something Sarah said-d.”  More giggles.




She shakes her head, smiling, delighted with the story.  “Never heard of him.  But I think I understand.   Quite ambitious of you, though.  Do you want to be alone?  I wanted to be Indiana Jones when I was little.  Don’t tell anybody!  I wanted to see ancient places, places everyone’s forgotten, and figure how they changed from then to now.   

“Then mom told me I couldn’t have a whip.  That kindof ruined it for me.”




“You…You really can see the future?  It is only bad things?   That’s useful.  An understatement there.   Wait.  Dead?   Like all the time?   Can you talk to them?  Thirteen.   It does look something like that, only there’s more – “   Laney stops herself, shaken.  She was reaching for his drawing to alter it, though she has no pencil in hand. 

“S-so…that’s what souls look like.   Funny.  I thought they’d be bigger.”

Colin chuckles. "I'm afraid she'd like me to be... 'badder' sometimes, though. It's a fine line between nice and boring."


Colin considers it.

"Girls wielding whips are a bit too kinky to be taken seriously, I'm afraid. For me it was the hat. I'd love to have that hat. And the deathtraps. Everyone else would die, but I would have figured the secret meaning of the inscription."

He tilts his head a bit.

"You know, we could still do it every now and then. We'd have an obvious edge. I guess real treasures wouldn't be as interesting, but it could be nice taking a vacation to some exotic place and try to figure out an ancient mystery."

His reverie is interrupted by another train of thought.

"No, I don't want to be alone. I'm very much afraid of being alone. Of having no one who could really understand me. I can't help but wonder of what'll happen when it'll be time for us to go to college."

He sighs.

"Blackbird would tell me to live in the present time." he says with a smile.

After leafing to a few more of his works, he adds: "I'd like to show the world some forgotten beauty. Or some forgotten truth. I'm always torn between wanting to become a photo-journalist or an artist. Keats would say I don't have to choose. I'm not even sure my future really belongs to me anymore."


"Only sometimes. Not only bad things. Only confusing things, I'd say. I can't know too much, or I'd be unable to act. Even this way, it's quite difficult. Fortunately full blown visions of the future, or rather, of the possibilities a future holds, are quite rare. Did you see my eyes go black after the explosion?"


"When I choose. It's a bit like opening another pair of eyes. I can talk with them if they come here. And I've got a friend who can bring them a message if they're on the other side."


"Well, that's what they look like to me. I think I can only see a very limited aspect of them. Some of the things I do are much more about believing than about knowing."

"Talking to dead people and seeing the future is not boring!"



"I wish.  That would be amazing.  I don't even know if I'll make it to college."



“How did you meet the black bird?  And Donnie.  How did that happen?  Did a dragon show up at his home to announce, ‘We reviewed your application and believe you’d be a great addition to –‘”  Giggling, she’s unable to finish.  “Sorry.  I’m just curious.   About the blackbird and the boundary.  When and how.   I-I guess it’s not important.  It’s past.”



"Nno. I was watching the explosion.  Did they?  If your eyes go black we should be worried, huh?"  She finds this amusing for some reason.  Her lips twitch as she tries not to giggle again.



"Who?  Not Bobby.  A relative?"  She looks up from the drawing, directly at Colin, trying to imagine what a dead person might look like.

"You think? Would you rather have a boyfriend who could anywhere in a matter of seconds, or who could make you fly, or one who can have a chat with long dead people you can't see, and collapse on the floor in the throes of a vision? And it's not even a matter of powers. It's just... "

He shakes his head.

"I should stop confronting my life to novels and movies."


"At the beginning he just showed up. At the time we weren't enough in tune to be able to talk. He'd appear out of nowhere to warn me of dangers, or to guide me to someone who needed help. It was only after... an accident that we were able to talk. I think he's the guide of the Spirit Dancers, or at least mine, because he's got aspects of a teacher. He helps awaken one's mind and consciousness. He said he chose me."


"I think, but I'm not completely sure, That for Donnie it was a matter of inheritance. When he was little he used to draw and make up stories about dragons. Especially about Pip. Then, one day, out of the blue, Pip showed up."


"I've been told that's what they look like when I look into the sea of possibilities."


"Kenneth. A very nice gentleman from another era. He sticks around Resurrection Cemetery, and acts as postman, if you like."

"Oh. Sorry.  Flying is the most fun thing ever.  Maybe not the most useful.  As for being a boyfriend, the powers don't matter.   Not unless they make you a better kisser or something.  I see what you mean, though.  Low coolness factor.   For what it's worth, I don't think she minds, Colin."

"I'd rather be able to change things."




"Colin, um...do you think they um...Do you think he made them up?  Is that possible? An entire dimension like that?  Constructs of his own imagination?  Can people do that?  Sorry.  Stupid question."  That was five questions, you moron.  She looks away and begins flipping through his drawings again, frowning slightly.

The possibility that the patterns might reach even farther than the living world, farther than this dimension even, is very much disturbing Laney.   It hadn't occurred to her before.  The longer she dwells on the idea, the more agitated she becomes.   She sets her milk and the workbook aside and pulls her knees up, hugging them close to her chest and resting her chin there.    Too many angles in this room...Hey, at least I don't hear little voices in my head, yet.  Can we leave the talking to dead people routine to Colin, please?  Please?  If you start visiting graveyards to count bones, I am so telling Jean.   The hospital was...quiet.   

"Odds are anything can happen.  It's right there.  All the time.  It's a wonder your eyes aren't always dark," she murmurs.   "Who does it belong to, if not you?   I don't - He sends messages?  For whom?  Just you?  How - Does he talk to other people?  What's he look like?   Do you see him as a person or like um...only the limited aspect like in your drawings?"

"That was my first thought too, I have to admit. It's not like that. They're fully independent beings. He didn't make them up."


"When I first met him, I realized he wasn't alive, because it was very cold, but his breath didn't puff out like mine. He doesn't breathe. He looks like an old-fashioned gentleman. People sometimes talk at the tombs of their dear ones. Maybe he listens and carries the messages. I don't know, it never occurred to me to ask him. Would you..."

He hesitates, but it's a question he has to ask sooner or later.

"Would you like to send a message?"

It was not a question Laney was prepared for.  She stares vacantly at Colin for moment.  “Send? I…Could I say anything that would matter, now?   It’s past.  I can’t change it, no matter how many times I tell them.   And Denny…He was walking already, but…Colin, would he remember me?  He wasn’t even two years old.  He wasn’t even two…”  That’s as much as she can say before her voice falters and she is pressing her knuckles into her eyes to stop the tears.

“Sorry.”

Colin sits down beside her and wraps his arm around her shoulder.

"No, I'm sorry. I should have been more delicate. I only thought it would do you good to be able to tell them goodbye. Love never gets wasted, Laney."

“Do me good?  What could I say that would help them?  I’m sorry they’re dead? Sorry I don’t know why?  Sorry I couldn’t go to the wake?  Sorry I was never as good as they deserved?  Sorry for sneaking out with Rainy?  Sorry for lying about smoking?  Sorry for hating Nan?  Sorry for not saving Andy?  Sorry I’m so much trouble for Mike and Jean?  Sorry I haven’t joined them, yet?"

Those must have been rhetorical questions; she's cries too hard for a few minutes to hear any answer.  When she's able to speak again, Laney is miserably apologetic, "“Um...I-I guess I’ve got a few issues to w-work out from the bomb Tuesday.  Explosion.  W-whatever.  I didn’t mean to start bawling again.  I’m s-sorry.  Thanks for putting up with me today.”

She raises her head and looks at Colin.  There in Laney’s eyes is as sharp an image of himself as he would see in polished metal, suspended in an ocean of stars.   “What do the dead want from the living, Colin?”

Colin just lets her cry, keeping her close. When it looks like she's getting a little better, he offers her a pocket pack of tissues.

"I hope someday, you'll be able to get all those sorries out of your system, Laney. It isn't your fault. They know it."


"They want us to live, Laney. They want us to live, and love and be the best we can. There is so much we don't understand here. From the other side, things are much clearer. Things start making sense. Only the most important things remain. Like love. I know it sounds silly, but we make up things to be much more complicated than they actually are. It's difficult from this side. From a certain point of view, this is a war ground. Thing are clearer over there, but here they matter most. Life is not pointless, no matter how hard it might seem to go on."

He caresses her head.

"At least it's what I believe. The universe defies simple explanations. I'm sure you know it by now. Still, there are thing... that just work. Trust me on this."

“T-to live...I...I’m a mess today, but it’s not your job to put me back together again. Chances are I’m not supposed to be in one piece.   Th-that sounded pathetic.  S-sorry.”   

Laney sniffles and smiles crookedly at nothing in particular, completely unfocused.  She places her palm flat upon the floor where she sits with her head resting on Colin's shoulder.  The room is moving and becomes more distorted, the harder she tries to make sense of it.   But it’s alright.  She’s learned rooms do this sometimes.

"I don't know...Tell them I'm alright and I...I miss them...and...Or tell them n-nothing at all, because..."

“I...I appreciate you taking the time to help me figure out this paranormal stuff.  I wish I could show you how I see things.  Wrong word to use: s-see. 

"You’re right.  It’s kindof like knowing the stars are there, even when I can’t see them in daylight.  Except I don’t know they are there.  I’m g-guessing.  I see the signs then interpret. And...and I can be wrong.  Nothing is certain.  Ever.  You can look through my drawing pad – you brought it, right?   It's obvious.  It’s not the way you see aspects.  Not at all…You’d look good in that hat.  I didn’t see any sketches of you, Colin.  Can you not see your own soul?” 

"No, it's not my job. But it's a friend's job to try to help you out, isn't it?"
   

He just nods.


The question catches Colin by surprise.

"Ehm... I think I never thought of it. I made those pictures as a present. Donnie loved his one. You see, I'm a photographer at heart. Part of taking a photo is deciding what won't fit in the picture. The frame cuts the world in two. If I'm the eye that sees, how can I look at myself? Self-portraits don't come natural to me. Even the visions I get, are always from someone's eyes. And I'd rather not have visions about myself."

“Thanks.  Sorry.  I’m..hard to deal with.  Thanks.”

Patting her eyes with a tissue, Laney sits up so she can lean over Colin’s workbook again.  There are too many lines in his drawings, those auras…She finds herself continually resisting the urge to pull meaning from those lines.  It proves too difficult, and there is a solid ten minutes during which, if Colin does not distract her, Laney is very still and silent, unblinking.




She answers haltingly, “You…You can use a mirror.  It’s…It’s not like…um…Like you’re standing in the middle of something looking out?  Maybe draw the window.  That would be you.  The window.  The pane of glass, I mean.   Stupid thing to say.  Of course, you’re drawing the glass.  You have to.  You can’t see the world any other way, but with your own eyes…Even if you're looking through someone else's.  You can't not impose...Well, you have to interpret it, right?  I...I understand not wanting to have bad...bad visions about yourself, but aren’t you curious what you might...be?...where you fit in the pattern?  Does John really look like that?”

While Colin is speaking about one of his sketches, Laney watches him thoughtfully for a moment, not even sparing a glance for what he’s showing her.   She asks without warning, “Why does Kenneth do that?   Him and not someone else, I mean.  Or no one at all.  Is he like the black bird - connected to you?  Does he have a soul or…I mean, can you see him like this, too?”   Then she does look down and gestures to the paper.







On a side note for the morning, Laney can easily be coaxed into talking about her art classes and about school in general.  It might be a pleasantly “normal” exchange, although Colin would find Laney has a habit of turning the conversation back to him because she’s far more interested in hearing his opinions than in expressing her own, curious about how Colin fairs at school and asking him about his own interests and about the technical challenges of photography.   Laney simply enjoys the act of creation; an enthusiastic amateur, she has very little negative to say. 

"That's not how it works. I don't see what will happen, I see what could happen. And with a vision of myself, I'd start second guessing both my present and my future self. Did I have this vision because it's something that should come to pass or not? Am I meant to pull in that direction, or in the opposite one? And what if my present and future self disagree? It would get so confusing it'd be paralyzing. So no, thanks. I'm fine not knowing everything. I'm fine living here and now. Yes, John looks like that. Bright, isn't it? But you already know how nice he is."


"He has a nice soul. He's a kind man. I think he volunteered for the job. Sometimes, things are left unsaid when one passes away. He's able to help a bit. He likes to help, I think. But no, he's not connected to me like the blackbird."


Colin happily talks about all that, and his sources of inspiration. He doesn't forces any other subject, Laney is allowed some privacy now, and he's contented with what little she shares. He shows her his room too.


One of the largest photos shows a fiery sunset over the woods west of Oak Park, taken from some high building. It kind of vibrates with love.

“Oh.  I’m sorry. I thought…”  She smiles a little.  “I’m sorry, but that kindof makes me feel better.  That you’re guessing, too.  It’s selfish, but true.  Sorry…It’s not quite the same, though.  I mean I wouldn’t see the patterns if I weren’t connected to them.  They’re…mine.  Oh, not that I control them or created them.  I mean figuring them out is entirely…subjective. There must be a starting point, a focal point.  And I’m it.   

“You must have a hellish amount of self control.  I’d be so curious!”





Colin could have timed it.  Predictably, Laney’s face darkens an embarrassed red – even more so from her crying earlier.  “Um…Yess…”

“What’s it mean?  Do you know?  Like your special alphabet, is there a code for reading this…colors?”





“I’d love to meet him, but…I wouldn’t be able to see him, would I?  I don’t have your…your power.”





More comfortable now, she has enough trust in him to let the room take her wherever it will as she looks around.  Although there’s an absurd moment when Laney is staring up at the ceiling, sways, and falls backwards, right to the floor on her rear-end.   This startles her out of her reverie – for about two seconds.  Then she’s staring at the ceiling again.

“I…Mom wouldn’t let me paint my room.  We'd go under the bridge and…I liked painting the ones that fly…”  Fully aware she sounds foolish, Laney clasps a hand over her own mouth.






“You have lived here a long time,” she whispers.  “I’ve never been there, but it’s…How did you know it would be like that?  From there, I mean. From where you stood.”

"I wouldn't call it self control. It's just what I've got after months of whining, a couple really bad incidents, and growing some faith."


"Maybe there is, but I've been able to read only for a little while, and I still don't know most of the words. But to keep things simple, I'd say that brightness is good. Uhmm, good is a kind of vague. Altruism, then. Generosity. Self-sacrifice. You know how easy it would be for someone like John to abuse his power? That's self control."


"Well, we could try. I can share part of what I see with others."


"Laney, do you know Chagall?"


Colin smiles.

"I had hoped it would." He doesn't say anything else, but his eyes go for a moment to Sarah's photo, on the mirror. And he smiles again.

Laney nods.   She never did correct her awkward position and seems content to remain sprawled on the floor, staring up.    "He can do so much!  Help a lot of people with...with what he can do.  He's...He could be seen as a threat...I guess...doesn't fit.  My color must be grey.  He's too nice to hurt anyone.   Like you said, he's had this all his life.  Was born with it.   How long have you um...been able to um...do what you can do?"






"Really?  That would be fun!  Oh...If you...If you think he wouldn't mind...um...being a zoo exhibit.   Do you talk to him about other things?  Do you talk to any of them regularly?  The dead, I mean."





"Um..Russian artist.  Religious stuff. Used a lot of different mediums.  I don't...Sorry.  Don't remember.  Oh, my art teacher would be disappointed."





It doesn't take a great leap of intellect to decipher that.   She asks quietly, "How long have you known her?"

"I'm finding out about new things I can almost every other day. But the first time I had a vision? It was September the 4th. After that for a long time something weird happened each time I shook someone's hand. That's pretty much when it all began."

He shrugs.

"Looking back, it feels like ages, but it was only a few month. Weird."


"Kenneth's the only one. There are many others out there, but I don't have regular contacts with them."

He thinks about it.

"I can't promise it would work. But if it does, I think he wouldn't mind a chat."


"I ask because you remind me of him a bit."

He goes back to the living room and returns leafing through a book.

"Here. Look." he says, offering it to her.

(http://theboldsoul.lisataylorhuff.com/photos/favorite_artwork/adleasa121.jpg)


At that, Colin just chuckles. "Since September the 4th."

"Yeah...weird..."  The date was bothering her.  She tried to apply it to what she knew about Colin, statistics of dimensions and schedules, of times and even of how he fit into this room.  Frustrating.  Focal point, moron.

"Um...What do you mean? When you shake someone's hand you see what could be?   Is it every touch?"   She sits upright, worried, and shoots a stream of questions at him, "God, I'm sorry, Colin.  I'm more of a touchy-feely person than I was before...everything.   Did you see anything about me?  Do you see bad things every time?  How can you stand it?  Can you shut it off, like seeing souls?   See it only when you want to?  What else can you do?"






"Thanks, Colin! Not today, though.  I think I'm a little um...Maybe after Friday because I have an appointment with...um...Whenever it's convenient for you both.  We don't have to!  I mean if you think it's a bad idea."





((I'll type up a blurb about the contents of Laney's drawing pad in a couple minutes.))

"How so?  I'm not a religious Russian, Colin.   I think there's some Irish on my father's side and my mother's all from England.  Pilgrims or something.  But we're -"

He returns with the book, which Laney pulls into her lap and leans over curiously.   Her expression is masked by the dangling strands of black hair, but he can see her ears turn pink.

"Oh."

She cautiously touches the picture.   When she confirms it is real, her hand remains resting there.  A few minutes pass before she speaks, "I've seen this before.   The wedding.   But this is simple.  And beautiful.  And it makes sense.  These musicians.  Creatures.  They're all...happy.   It's...it's a good image."






Laney smiles as it came to her.   Of course, she knew the date.  She was supposed to start school that day, when she tried to function outside her new home for the first time, when she tried to rejoin the world, and when everything started going to hell.  So many patterns spray outward from that date, Laney visualizes an intricate web expanding infinitely.

"It must have been a strange day."

((As promised: )) Controlled precision is perfected with practice.  That Laney is still developing her technique with pencil and pen is evident in her work, although her obsession with detail is as prominent as in her painting.   She has drawings of random items in her home, individual birds, flying insects, portraits of her youngest cousin as he sleeps, outlines for serene landscape paintings…

There is nothing atypical of an amateur artist to be seen, until closer to the back of the drawing pad and on the reverse sides of some of her earlier sketches.  There Laney detours.  Pages of symbols, letters, dates, and equations overlap sketches of buildings, doors, angles, faces, and calculations without resolution.  More eclectic than her painting; it’s maddening...meaningless.

From the way some of her frenzied scribbling appears to have launched right off the pages, Colin can easily surmise the reason the surface of the girl’s desk was scored so badly.  In fact, if he is observant and has visited the school’s library recently, he might recall seeing similar markings on the corner of one of the tables there.

"I can turn on and off my ghost sight whenever I want, but visions do not always knock before coming in. It wasn't like that though. It was a lot of different things. Once it was an electric discharge so strong to send us both flying. It turned out it was mainly my expectations turning it into some strange event. I think I already told you what I see when I touch you. All those lines, connecting you to... everything. It's beautiful."


"You make me think of him because of the way everything seem to flow together, and yet the composition still makes sense. Look at this one too."

(http://tars.rollins.edu/Foreign_Lang/Russian/3chag.jpg)


"It was just the beginning of the strangeness." he says with a smile.

"Your expectations...Is that the real reason you don't want to second guess?  So you don't electrocute someone?  Oh, that must've been something to see."   Laney hastily covers her mouth to stifle her giggles, sure they're inappropriate, and leans over the book again to see the next page he shows her.

She traces the face in the painting with her finger, speaking softly as if caught in a dream, "It's a...a natural harmony.  It's beautiful.   You're not talking about my 'experiments,' are you?  My scribbling.   I was only trying to map patterns I thought I found...You're talking about...about me?  What you see when you touch me, when you look?...Connected, you said.  I didn't understand what was going on then.  It makes a little more sense now.   It makes sense to you?  Does it look the same or did it change?  It seems like things change all the time...It's...It's alright.  I can change with them...It's alright..."  Her finger stops moving and she becomes absorbed in the surreal scene on the page, her lips curved in a slight smile.  "Beautiful..."

"This job is much about following the signs, and going with the flow, so my expectations sometimes to get in the way. But, unwittingly, I had become to expect something weird to happen when I touched someone, and my 'wish' was often granted. That discharge turned out to be useful, even though at the time I had no idea."


"Both, I guess." Colin simply says.




Would you like anything else to happen here? I think this is a nice ending note.

((Nothing further.  I'm curious what place he meant to show her on the way to his house, but Laney has forgotten that.  She is at peace for the moment.))

Duh. I knew I forgot something.

((It's okay. :}  It's not necessary.  I'm just curious.  As you say, it's a nice place to leave it.))