Give it to me

~Nariya Patel~

Faces flicker in the void of my dreamless slumber, distant yet intimately near, they laugh, smile, and converse, but their voices elude me. Within the recesses of my mind, these faceless figures materialize, emerging from the depths, shrouded and concealed. It's as if they hold the essence of a recent occurrence, a memory from just yesterday, though tucked away within me.

Despite days passing with the repetition of these visages, these nameless individuals I somehow recognize but cannot recall, I've resigned myself to the impossibility of engaging with them. My lucid dreams persist beyond my grasp, a realm where control remains elusive. It's as though not only have I buried them deep within my subconscious, but I've also inadvertently erased their existence from the recesses of my mental archives.

Once again, within the realm of lucid dreaming, I find myself ensnared in the same tapestry as the previous night, and the one before that. Seated in a secluded corner of my own reality, I witness these ethereal smiles swirling around me. Some, even though lacking distinct features, trigger a faint recognition—my parents at the forefront, Lucia, my caretaker, in another corner ushering in more faceless figures. The rest are mere blank canvases, devoid of any recognizable identity.

The moment arrived, signaling the impending conclusion of the dream, as a solitary figure approached my solemn self. A man, discernible by his deep yet inviting voice, extended not only a charming smile but also his hand towards me. His palm, notably larger than mine, opened to reveal a sweet delight—a cherished candy from my past, now discontinued. The child in me radiated with joy as I gleefully accepted the treat, darting towards my mother.

With a pat on my back, my mother acknowledged the gesture, while my father extended a welcome to the stranger. Conversations melded and mingled with the ambient sounds of the surrounding crowds. Lucia, ever present, approached, and my mother entrusted me to her, guiding me towards bed. As the doors closed behind me, so did my time in the nostalgic past. Darkness enveloped me, ushering in a newfound fear in my heart.

Yet, as this wasn't my first encounter with this unsettling darkness, I synchronized my breaths with the beats of my heart. Counting to ten, I gradually surfaced from the depths of the darkness and my dreams, a familiar process that eased the transition from the surreal to the waking world.

My lashes flutter, a profound and piercing pain pinching the sides of my temple. My eyes struggle to focus, and creaks of dryness form around them. Relying on memory alone, I slowly move my body, reaching for the eye drops conveniently placed next to my pillow. Two drops in each eye provide relief, alleviating the discomfort.

As the haziness subsides, I sit up and glance at the peaceful visage of Nyx sleeping beside me. A smile tugs at my lips as I gently coo at the feline. Observing the clock, I note with a sigh that once again, I've awakened at an odd hour—3:45 am.

For the past two weeks, these distressing dreams, accompanied by anxiety attacks, have haunted me—ever since the day Alexie shared unsettling information about my family and the potential creation that led to our downfall. On that particular night, we sought solace in a delightful dinner by the lakeside, where the cool breeze offered some relief to the tension gripping my gut. We followed it up with an arcade session at Wonder Land, just two miles away. Until then, I felt perfectly fine, as if the events of that day were a distant memory, something one might witness in a K-drama or a movie—a narrative that unfolds with others but seems improbable in one's own life.

The night continued on a positive note as we climbed the ferris wheel, creating cherished memories with the man I loved. However, happiness proved fleeting. The comforting darkness transformed into a disorienting hallucination, and a concerned figure carried me home, guiding me into an uneasy slumber. In the embrace of solitude, within the cocoon of darkness, harsh realities resurfaced abruptly, rendering my breathing ragged as I descended into a sleep devoid of rest. Tossing and turning, I gradually became aware that I was in a dream. Yet, this dream unfolded strangely; it began with the same scene—a little girl sitting in a corner, observing her parents bask in happiness. Approached by a man offering her candy, she joyfully ran to her mother, who lovingly patted the girl. Meanwhile, her father engaged in a conversation drowned in voices with the stranger, only for the caretaker to whisk the girl away to bed, disappearing into hallways shrouded in darkness.

That's when the true nightmare unfolded—when the lucid dreams transformed into episodes of paralysis, the immobilizing fear, and the shards of breathing sinking into despair. I found myself trapped, unable to move a single muscle, the terror amplifying with each passing moment. Despite being unable to physically react, I was apparently shouting loud enough for Alexie to rush in and shake me awake. Without his intervention, I might have inflicted harm upon myself. This harrowing experience occurred two weeks ago, and in its aftermath, I discovered a marked decline in my appetite and the will to engage in even the simplest tasks. My motivation plummeted to the extent that mundane activities, such as using the restroom, became overwhelming challenges.

Initially left to grapple with my inner turmoil, it became evident that my spirit was not going to lift on its own. Alexie, recognizing the severity of the situation, reached out to Dr. Jeon, who, in turn, recommended the expertise of a psychiatrist, Dr. Natwar, to provide the necessary support.

Since our sessions began, I have been on a slow path to recovery, gaining enough clarity to distinguish between my dreams and reality. No longer gripped by fear, I've mastered the technique Dr. Natwar taught me to easily pull myself out of the dreams. As I gradually extricated my body, I found solace in gazing outside my window. Although the world beyond remained shrouded in darkness, specks of light flickered in the garden.

Upon learning about my dreams and the darkness that haunted me, Alexie took it upon himself to illuminate our entire backyard, ensuring that even a power outage wouldn't disrupt the cocoon of light he created for my comfort.

Through these therapy sessions, I've come to realize that the darkness and faceless figures represented my fear of the unknown—unknown people and the undisclosed secrets buried deep within my parents' hearts. This revelation has triggered a profound panic attack, causing me to question the very foundation of my past. Dr. Natwar advised Alexie that I need time to overcome these fears. No matter how many sessions we have, true healing will only come when I confront my fears independently. Over the weeks, a singular thought has persisted in the recesses of my mind—there's only one way to conquer my fears, to become whole again, to seek answers and know the truth.

Venturing outside, I turned right towards the guest rooms, a routine I had adopted since my anxiety attacks began. Alexie had chosen to stay close, occupying the room next to mine. Gently pushing the door handle open, I peered inside, finding solace in the peaceful slumber of Alexie. A sigh of reassurance escaped my lips as I turned to leave, but before I could retreat, his voice called out.

"Come in, moonpie."

Even in my attempt to use the lightest of steps, he had a keen awareness that I couldn't escape. One step at a time, I approached his bed, offering an apologetic remark, "Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you."

He smiled and reassured me, "You didn't. The same dream again?"

I nodded while absentmindedly scratching my arm. "I don't know what it means."

Tugging my arm gently, he beckoned me towards him. Apologizing again, I slipped under the duvet next to his warmth, his protective embrace enveloping me. His fingers traced soothing circles on my back, calming my breathing as I inhaled his scent—something capable of instantly easing my distress.

"Don't think so hard, moonpie. It'll come to you eventually."

"Hmm, Alexie... I think I am ready," I stated, the seriousness evident in my eyes. It was a crucial moment—either confront my fears or perpetually flee from them. Running away wouldn't lead to any resolution. Since my mother's death and the fallout with my father, I had a clear set of goals, achievable aspirations that provided stability. These dreams weren't unrealistic; they were well within my reach—simple yet grounding. I couldn't allow myself to be paralyzed, mirroring the helpless version of me in my dreams. Doing so would jeopardize all the hard work and suffering I had endured over the years to achieve these simple dreams.

"Are you sure?" Alexie's deep voice resonated next to mine, a comforting melody in the early morning hours.

"Yes," I replied, the accumulated fatigue from countless restless nights finally catching up to me. I succumbed to a deep slumber, this one far more peaceful than the nightmares that had plagued me for so long.

A yawn escaped my lips as I surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings, realizing that this wasn't the room I had grown accustomed to. Sometimes, I contemplated asking Alexie to stay in my room, but a sense of hesitation held me back each time. I wanted him to take his time, sort through his feelings for me—complex feelings that I understood were far more intricate than mine. His world, much more intricate than mine, now entwined not only with his problems but also mine. Embracing this complexity was something I yearned to know, to understand, to be prepared to face one day.

After freshening up in my room, I headed to the foyer to find Alexie, only to be taken aback as I whispered into the air, "Mao."

Instantly, the girl stirred, initially hesitant, but I didn't wait for her as I rushed into her embrace—my only friend. I could sense her initial resistance, this gesture perhaps a new intrusion for her as well. Gradually, she eased, her hold on me becoming tight and caring.

Pulling back a bit, Mao gestured with rapid movements, her fingers now easily readable for me after much practice. "I thought you would be angry with me."

"For what?" I asked her.

"I... nevermind," she looked away.

"Good morning, ojou-chan~," a grating voice I had failed to notice before suddenly boomed in the space, like an annoying morning chirp of birds, though far from pleasant to be greeted with.

My smile faltered a bit as I replied, "Good morning, Mr. Handler."

"Goooodd—" the annoying voice attempted to resume but was swiftly cut off.

"Here, Nari," Alexie interjected, "have your breakfast while we get to explaining."

Settling into a plush seat, I took my plate, adorned with cream-poached eggs atop sourdough slices and accompanied by freshly made bruschetta. Noticing a whiteboard in the center, I observed as Alexie started scribbling on it. He created a flowchart, beginning with a box labeled "The Head Table," followed by "The Council" in another box, and finally, "Members" in the last one. He connected these boxes with arrows, one arrow going from Council to the Head Table, and another from Council to Members. Towards the end, he drew two more boxes, one slightly below Head, with an arrow connecting both named "Trusted," and a lone box away from the others labeled "Rogue," connected to no other boxes.

Capping the pen, Alexie began pointing at the first box, "The Council." "So you see, Nari, people like us, even though we might appear disorganized in the underworld, are mostly connected to the Council. The Council serves as a flagstone to maintain a sort of order in the disorderly world of crime. This Council," his pointer moved down, "comprises its members—men and women keen not only for protection but connections and opportunities. When these members," the pointer moved to the topmost box, "become influential enough, they are nominated to one of the heads. And these heads have trusted companions, noted by the pin they are given," he pointed to the box below.

Chewing my food, I absorbed all this new information. It surprised me how even criminals could have an organized system like this, but upon deeper reflection, considering the numerous people, big and small, involved in the underworld, it made sense. "It's almost like a Mafia organization," I muttered.

"Except the Mafia has rules, family trust they abide by," Handler added, swirling the orange juice in his hand.

"What about that lone box in the corner, what is that?"

"Those," Alexie pointed at the last box, "are known as the Rogue, the lone wolves operating independently of any rules set by the Head Table. Individuals outside the jurisdiction of the Council, possessing enough power to shift the dynamics, causing the Council to simply leave them alone."

I nodded slowly, recognizing that even with a ruling organization, power play played a crucial role in shaping the dynamics of the industry.

"So," Alexie continued, "as I asked about the Enigma, it so happens that one of these heads is after it. Meaning they are after you, and the only clue we have right now is the letter you received. I mean, if you consider it loosely, a clue."

My gaze snapped to his. "So we need to go to St. Elmo."

"It seems so," he added.