Disclaimer:

This is fan fiction. Though the characters involve real people, this does not recount real events. The rating on this story is NC-17. If you are not 18 years of age, please do not read!

D A R K N E S S I N V I S I B L E

P a r t T w o

© Radiantbaby, 2000

* * *

This time I went outside for real, hoping that the dream wasn’t precognitive in that Christie would be unable to see or hear me anymore. I blushed at the thought that the rest of it could happen as well, but banished it quickly as I made my way across the lawn to where she was.

She sat on the ground, facing away from me. She seemed pretty into a magazine on her lap, probably trying to pass the long hours of the vigil. I couldn’t imagine doing it myself. Sure, I queued for hours to meet some of my idols as a teen, but I doubt I would have had the stamina to wait for hours outside their home while they were “missing.” I was actually even a bit surprised that she hadn’t left to go home since she knew that I was out of danger, unlike the others. “Good afternoon,” I whispered behind her.

I startled her and she looked back with an embarrassed smile. “I think I am going to take a walk and stretch my legs, okay guys?” she said to her friends.

They waved her off and she got up and walked back to what was now becoming our prime “communication” spot. “I was worried you wouldn’t be here today,” I finally said, breaking the silence as we got out of earshot from the others.

“Are you kidding?” she began excitedly and then more calmly added, “I promised you I would be here. I am a woman of my word.”

“Well, I am glad that you are here,” I replied, sitting with her under some trees.

“I see that you are still invisible, are you alright? You look a bit pale and disheveled,” she asked.

I blushed a bit, worried that she would somehow know what I had been thinking about her just moments ago and what I had done as a result. I wasn’t entirely honest with her. “I actually had a pretty bad nightmare, it had me screaming when I woke up,” I replied, quietly.

“Oh, I am sorry…anything you need to talk about?”

“I don’t know, nothing really to say I suppose. It was just a magnification of my dread now that I am invisible. I guess I just really needed the reassurance that I could speak to someone. I have never felt so alone in my life,” I sighed.

“Well, I am here for whatever you need, okay?” she offered, shyly.

“Thank you. I mean, really thank you. You are about the only thing that is keeping me sane right now. I just…I really need to tell people I am all right. I would ask you to, but I know what sort of burden that would bring. People would probably think you were crazy, I mean, I know that I sure would. I just have to find a way to get a message to people…” I trailed off, suddenly remembering the part in my dream of Christie where I spoke to her by writing on the mirror.

“Do you have any idea how you might do that?” she asked, looking back at me as if she could see that the proverbial light bulb had gone off in my head.

“Well…I had this dream where I was communicating through writing and I mean, I think I could easily do that in reality. I seem to be able to touch inanimate objects without any problem, so I am pretty sure I could pull it off,” I replied, now excited by the prospect of speaking to others.

“That would be great!” she said with an enthusiasm that seemed to have dread lying beneath.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She seemed a bit embarrassed that I had caught on to her mock excitement and stood up to walk away. “Wait, what is the matter?” I called out behind her.

She stopped and leaned against a tree, not looking up at me. “I am sorry. I am happy for you, I really am. I just…” she began

“You just are worried that once I begin to talk with others, I will stop talking with you,” I finished, her body language telling it all.

She sighed in defeat, agreeing with me. I walked up to her, standing in front of her. “Christie, look at me,” I commanded.

Her soft brown eyes looked at me sadly and for a moment I felt as if I were in the dream again and that I would kiss her, but I contained myself. “Christie, you have nothing to worry about, I assure you. You are my greatest ally right now and you have to trust that. I know you are worried, I am too actually.”

“You are worried?” she asked timidly.

“Yes, I worry that one day I will wake up and you will have left. I worry that I will bore the hell out of you talking with you incessantly like this all the time. I worry that…I worry that in the end you will see how really vulnerable I am. You are all I have right now.” And she was.

“You don’t have to worry, John. I will be here for you, no matter what,” she soothed, a reassuring smile spreading across her face.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“So…um, who do you think you are going to try and speak with first?” she asked.

“I was just thinking about that actually…I think I might speak with Simon first. I need to speak with him, I think. He seems to be the most broken up of them inside,” I replied, waving my hand towards the house.

“How is everyone doing then?” she asked, shyly.

“Well, they are all in there, I am sure you know. I think the press is having a field day. Anyway, I can only tell you what I’ve seen; none of them are really talking about it. Andy and Warren seem to be the best off, hiding any worry deep within them. Nick…well, Nick isn’t doing too well, but he is…well, hiding it inside an excessive use of alcohol. Roger is just quiet about it all and Simon, well, he just seems to cry a lot,” I replied, a bit nervous about being so candid about my old friends.

“I am sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay,” I replied, running my hands through my hair, “I just want this all to end. It is so fucking ironic it takes such an incident to get them all together.”

I squatted down on the ground, wrapping my arms around myself. Human touch. I never imagined how much I would miss such a basic thing. There I was attempting to just hold myself, but it just wasn’t the same. I needed just a simple hug. I took in a deep breath, not wanting to succumb to the tears waiting to burst forth.

“Are you going to be all right?” she whispered, squatting next to me.

I began to concentrate intensely, reaching out to try and touch Christie’s hand. I kept my hand just hovering above it, willing myself to try and touch her. She patiently watched me, our breaths the only sound between us. My head began to ache terribly, throbbing like a migraine and I felt wetness on my lips and realized that my nose was bleeding. With a deep exhalation of breath, I grabbed onto her hand, surprising myself as I held it. Her soft hand was held in my own shaking one, the warmth of her skin almost sending shivers through me.

She looked at me surprised, seemingly frozen, and I held her hand until the pain in my head began unbearable and let go. I collapsed on the ground, gasping as I wiped my nose with my finger, seeing the droplets of blood there.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” she asked frantically, trying to touch me, but her hand passing through like it had before.

“I don’t know…everything is spinning, I don’t know,” I mumbled, everything becoming a blur.

“Um, um, try and lean your head back, that should stop the bleeding and then…oh god, I don’t know,” she stammered.

I smiled at her half-heartedly, “Don’t panic, luv, don’t panic. I think I am okay, just give me a moment,” I whispered.

I just laid there for a moment, a bit worried about my physical state, but actually more consumed with joy that I was able to make contact with someone. Was that the answer then? Could I only touch someone if I nearly killed myself in the process? What if Christie was the only one I could touch, since she is the only one that can see or hear me? My mind was spinning with questions and the answers seemed so far away.

“Did I touch you, or was it my imagination?” I finally whispered.

She smiled at me, “You touched me.”

“I don’t exactly know how, but, God…I cannot believe I actually did it again,” I sighed.

“Are you feeling all right?”

I sat up. “I think so, just exhausted a bit, actually. I cannot believe my nose was actually bleeding and my head…it hurt unlike any pain I have ever felt.”

Just then I noticed a tightness in my boxers and looked down to see that I was quite erect beneath them. I wasn’t sure how long I had actually had the erection, but I suddenly became greatly embarrassed. Christie followed my eyes and seemed to notice along with me. She blushed herself and then turned her head to the side.

I pulled my legs up to try and hide the obviousness of it. I cleared my throat, trying to change the subject. “Er, well then. I suppose I should try and go speak with Simon soon.”

“Um, yes, yes of course,” she replied, still blushing. “What are you going to do?”

“I am not sure yet, I suppose I am going to have to improvise. I just need to get him alone,” I offered.

“Yes, that should work.”

“Okay then, I will be back to tell you what happens,” I replied, trying to casually stand up, my erection easing up and softening.

* * *

I walked towards the house, still very embarrassed by what had happened, wondering if the strong exertion of will it took to touch her had in fact aroused me in some way. I suppose that it wasn’t that odd, I mean it made sense in some odd way. At least I had actually touched her, albeit it ended pretty badly, but I was successful! I still could feel the softness and warmth of her hand still as the time passed, perhaps it was my mind trying to hold onto that sensation of touch as long as possible. Still, I had to stop with my reverie and focus at the situation at hand: Simon.

It seemed almost destined as I realized upon entering the house that Simon was upstairs sitting alone in the bathroom, weeping. I made my way upstairs, knocking lightly on the bathroom door. I could hear him crying inside and him answer, “Yes?” I knocked again and he answered with a more agitation, “What?” I knocked a third time and this time I could make out a sigh and his footsteps approaching the door. He flung open the door, grunting, “What?”

I slipped in past him, watching his confused expression, as there was no one at the door. He called out to one of the detectives that was at the end of the hall, “Hey, were you the one knocking at the door?”

“No man, it wasn’t me,” the man replied and I could tell by the tone of his voice that he thought Simon might be hallucinating.

Simon shut the door, muttering to himself about how it was probably the detective and that it was sick for someone to be messing with him at such a vulnerable time. I watched him sit back on the covered toilet seat, resting his face in the palms of his hands. He looked terrible, his misery worn on him like a coat. I hadn’t seen him this upset in a very long time and it caused me to cry as well.

I contemplated on how to make contact with him without completely frightening him. For a moment I felt like a ghost, suddenly thinking that if they do exist they probably don’t mean to frighten anyone, they just have no other way to speak to you. I supposed that my first plan was to at least get his attention, so I knocked a hairbrush onto the floor.

He looked up, surprised by it, but seemed to blow it off and placed the hairbrush back on the sink. I knocked it off again, this time causing him to look up, a look of fear in his eyes. He slowly picked up the brush and carefully placed it back on the sink, this time watching it carefully. I then knocked it onto the floor again.

This time he jumped up completely startled, backing into the wall. I exhaled on the mirror, reminiscent of my dream, and wrote, “Simon, I am here,” in the condensation.

His breathing was heavy now, his arms up around himself and he was shaking. “John?” he gasped.

I grabbed a hand towel from the wall, Simon’s wide eyes watching it float across the room, and tied it to the door. It was an old signal of ours from days past. If there was a towel tied to the door between our rooms, then I had a girl in the room. If the towel was loose, then Simon did. It was a way I could show Simon that it was truly I that was there.

He gasped again, covering his mouth as tears rolled from his eyes. “My God, it is you, are you dead?” he whispered.

I exhaled on the mirror again. “Pen and paper. Talk. Keep secret,” I wrote, not trying to sound so enigmatic, but hating the shorthand I had to use on the mirror.

“You want me to get a pen and paper and not tell anyone?” he asked.

“Yes,” I wrote.

He rushed from the bathroom and I held my breath. Somehow I think I was more frightened than him.

* * *

He returned just a few minutes later, his face pale and his hands shaking as he held a notepad and a pen. He shut the door behind him whispering, “I don’t even think the others noticed, everyone is so self-possessed.”

He laid the notepad and pen on the sink and backed away, his eyes wide with apprehension. I picked up the pen and wrote, “First off, I am not dead, Simon.”

He stared at the pen intensely as I wrote and then moved forward slightly so that he could read what was written. “What’s going on then?” he stammered.

“I don’t exactly know,” I wrote. “All I know is that I woke up invisible a few days ago and that’s that.”

“You’re invisible, then? Why can’t I hear you either?” he asked.

“I don’t know, all I know is that no one can here or see me, no one save one girl.”

“There is someone who can see you?” he exclaimed, trying to quiet himself as to not be too loud.

“Yes, I don’t know if she is the only one, but so far that is what it seems.”

“Are you…are you okay otherwise?” he asked.

“I am fine, just frustrated as hell!”

He laughed, “Yes, I can only imagine you being unable to communicate!”

“Worse than death!” I wrote really big on the paper.

“So, who is this girl?” he asked. I could sense a bit a jealousy in his voice, but he valiantly tried to hide it.

“A fan, a fan outside. It is all pretty weird, you know?”

“Is she still out there?”

“Yes, she is, why?”

“I…I wanna talk with her,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“I just do,” he said indignantly.

“Its not like I can just lead you to her, there are tons of fans outside.”

“Lead me somewhere secret, there has got to be somewhere,” he pleaded.

I didn’t know why it was so important to him, but I could tell he wasn’t going to relent about it. “What, do you want to meet in the bathroom?”

“Ha ha, Johnny, no!”

“Okay, what about in the basement?”

* * *

It was rather interesting helping Christie sneak into the basement with the hordes of security milling about. Still, we had Simon ready for our knock on the other side to let us in as quickly as possible. I could sense the nervousness in Christie when I had proposed the meeting. Minus the horror stories always floating around, I had assured her Simon isn’t a difficult meeting. There was certainly a chance for flirtation as she was attractive and Simon never let such an opportunity pass, but overall he is just harmless. People actually think it is arrogance, even I did for a time, but as I got to know him much better over the years, I learnt it was actually quite the opposite. He was racked with insecurity.

“Christie?” he asked in a whisper, pulling open the door after she knocked.

She nodded in the affirmative, her body frozen at attention. “Go on, luv,” I whispered in her ear, trying to urge her forward.

Simon took her hand, seeming to also sense her apprehension, and pulled her inside so that they wouldn’t be caught.

“I am sorry,” she stammered, blushing.

“No worries, sometimes I have that effect on women,” he joked, winking at her.

“Oh God,” I groaned, causing her to giggle.

“Is John…with you?” he asked, his tone now becoming serious,

“Yes, he is right here next to me,” she replied, motioning to me next to her.

“You really can see him? And hear him?” his voice rose, full of excitement.

“Yes, just like normal. I don’t know why it is just me that can though,” she replied, glancing at me and then back at Simon.

“Where is he again?” he asked, looking all around the room.

“Just right here,” she replied, running her hand along where my back was, “next to me.”

He looked straight at me, his eyes seeming to desperately try and see me, but only failing. He reached out, his hand passing right through me, “I wish I could see him,” he sighed. “What does he look like right now?”

She laughed at his question, causing me to be a little embarrassed, and replied, “Well, actually he is standing here in boxer shorts and stubble all over his face.”

“And my hair looks atrocious I am sure,” I added.

“No, it doesn’t look that bad,” she countered.

“What? What did he say?” Simon asked, looking like a child wanting to be let in on a joke.

“He just thinks he hair looks bad, but I don’t think so,” she replied, almost matter-of-factly.

“But…he looks alright, doesn’t he? Healthy and all that?” Simon asked.

“Just fine, Simon, he looks great…he…well, he is even making faces at you right now,” she replied, trying to stifle another laugh.

“I am sorry, it is just too fun,” I said, standing eye to eye with Simon and making faces at him, as he stood completely unaware.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Simon snorted, “I am surprised he isn’t out looking at girls naked in the shower.”

“Who says I haven’t been?” I joked.

“John!” she scolded, swatting at me.

“What did he say now?” Simon asked, enthusiastically.

“He said who’s to say that he hasn’t been,” she replied, rolling her eyes at me.

“Yes, that is certainly ole Johnny boy,” Simon mused. “Anyway, on a more important note, I had a brain wave while waiting for you two,” he added.

“What?” both Christie and I exclaimed simultaneously.

“Well, I was just thinking that if John cannot touch people, but he can touch inanimate objects, can inanimate objects touch him? I mean, if I throw a blanket over him, with it fall to the ground or will it conform to his shape as if it were just covering him?” Simon asked.

“That is an interesting point, I hadn’t even thought of that,” I replied, Christie repeating what I said to Simon.

“Well, let’s test the theory, I snuck a sheet down here to try it,” Simon said, walking over to pick up a white sheet from a table.

He unfolded it fully and asked, “Okay, you said he is right in front of me, right?”

“Yes,” Christie replied.

“Johnny, be sure to bend down a bit so when I fling this thing it can cover you easier,” Simon said. “Alright, are you ready?”

I nodded my approval to Christie and she replied, “Ready as ever.”

Simon then tossed the sheet over me, his theory actually successful! I stood up slowly, the sheet caped over me like a Halloween ghost costume. “Oh my God,” Simon exclaimed.

“I can’t see a bloody thing, I need eye holes!” I exclaimed, unable to see anything but the faint light through the sheet and the shadows of Christie and Simon next to me.

“Do you have any scissors, Simon? John says he can’t see anything, he needs eye holes,” Christie asked Simon.

“Er…yeah, I do actually,” he replied, rustling through some stuff for scissors. “Does John mind if I cut up his designer sheets?” he added, joking.

“No, tell him I don’t care,” I laughed.

“How do I know where to cut?” Simon asked, now close to me.

As soon as he asked, he had lightly brushed the fabric of the sheet and gasped at the solidity of it. It seemed that though he could not touch me flesh to flesh, he was able to touch me through the covering of the sheet. He rested his hand against my chest through the sheet, caressing my chest and arms through it as if he were a blind man. “This is so bizarre,” he breathed.

He moved his hand up to my face, cupping my jaw and then lightly running his fingertips over my whole face. “Tell him to not poke my eyes out,” I told Christie, getting a little uncomfortable with Simon’s affectionate caresses.

“John said to be careful not to poke his eyes out,” she echoed me and I felt the sheet lifted a bit and the slicing of the scissors to make two holes for me to see.

“I do hope that is okay, Johnny. It had to guess exactly where to cut,” Simon said, now in my view.

“Tell him, he did perfectly actually, I can see just fine,” I said, looking down at myself, now a floating mass of a white satin sheet.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Christie asked excitedly.

“What?” Simon asked.

“We could probably put clothes on John like in ‘The Invisible Man’ and he’ll be visible…well, somewhat,” she replied.

“You know, she’s right,” Simon said, looking me up and down.

“Simon?” I heard Warren’s voice call from upstairs as he opened the door to the basement.

“Oh shit,” Simon whispered, pulling the sheet from me and urging Christie into the corner to hide.

“Simon, are you down there?” Warren added.

“Uh, yes, yes I am,” Simon stammered.

Warren came down the stairs into view, “Simon, what on Earth are you doing?”

“Nothing…I just…I came down here to think,” Simon replied.

“Well, we are going to order some Chinese, you want some?” Warren asked, looking at Simon

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be up in a minute,” Simon replied, waving him off.

Warren went back upstairs and Simon rolled his eyes in annoyance. “I suppose I should get back up there. Tomorrow we can meet again though and I’ll bring a full set of clothes to see what comes of it,” Simon said, looking in my general direction and at Christie as she came out of the darkness of the corner.

* * *

The plans were laid for the next day to meet with Simon again and later that evening I again made my way back upstairs to my bed. That night my sleep was equally as restless and I found myself still plagued with erotic thoughts of my cohort, Christie. I couldn’t explain it, I mean, there was no denying that she was an attractive woman, but I felt inexplicably drawn to her somehow.

The next day, these fantasies and feelings were to come to manifestation. It all started innocently enough. Simon brought me an overcoat, some gloves, and a hat and I put them on, looking rather like a Herbert. He had ranted for a while about how Warren had left so abruptly that morning and that Nick was soon to follow. The conversation ended when I simply could take no more of Simon’s negativity (he can really be a diva when he wants to be) and made an excuse to go off alone with Christie, sans the clothing of course.

“Are you alright, you seem pensive?” Christie asked quietly as we made our way to our spot in the yard.

“Uh, yeah…I…uh, just have a lot on my mind I guess,” I answered, a bit distracted.

“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked, sitting down on a rock and pulling her knees to her chest.

My eyes rolled across the supple skin of her calves and the light color of her flesh. My heart began to race and I tried to punctuate my erotic thoughts of her with more platonic ones, but it was like there was a spell being cast and I was helpless to its hold.

I reached out and brushed my hand against the sleeve of her shirt, feeling her beneath the material, knowing this was the only way that I could touch her in this form. “I just feel…very alone right now,” I whispered.

She smiled shyly at me, her body obviously shivering as I stroked her arm through her sleeve. “Its okay, I can keep you company as long as you need,” she offered, barely looking me in the eye.

“Thank you, Christie,” I whispered, tipping my head so that I could have eye contact with her.

Her deep brown eyes looked back at me, full of dark desire and affection, and I felt myself moving towards her and my lips lightly touch hers. To my amazement, there was actually a physical connection and I found myself moving deeper within the kiss. I could feel her sigh as her tongue tentatively touched mine and I moved my own tongue against her, tasting the sweetness of her mouth.

I rolled my tongue softly over her bottom lip and she moaned, “Oh God,” and the spell was somehow broken. I was unable to kiss her anymore and I shook my head as if waking up.

I pressed my fingers to my lips, still feeling the wetness of her mouth there, and said in a panic, “I...I am so sorry! I don’t know what came over me!”

She looked back at me, her eyes carrying her shock and a twinge of disappointment before her guard came back up and her eyes were solid and impenetrable. She bit her lip and looked away, “It’s okay,” she whispered.

“Christie,” I said urgently, grabbing her arm through her sleeve, “You did nothing wrong.”

There was a long silence before she finally answered, “I feel like I did…you recoiled from me as if I was a leper.”

“No, no, you are far from being a leper!” I countered.

“It’s okay, I should go anyway,” she said, still not looking at me as she stood up and began to walk away.

I stood there frozen for a moment before I started after her. “Christie, wait!” I called out from behind her.

She stopped and I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her to me. “Don’t leave,” I whispered.

* * *

What was I doing? It seemed that ever since I was put into this dreadful state of being, I had changed more than physiologically. My emotions were spinning out of control and I felt as if I was slipping away from all sanity. I could not control thought or even any action. Attraction. Like a moth to a flame, it was. I was overwhelmed with attraction for this girl Christie.

It made no sense on the level of logic. I was a happily married man to a woman whom I loved very much and children that I loved even more. Still, I found myself drawn to her, thinking of her almost incessantly. Perhaps it was because she could see and hear me and I was somehow confusing those feelings of elation with desire.

When I slept that night, my dream affected me more than any of the other nightmares I’d had since the whole waking nightmare had began. In the dream I was walking through the yard, though now it seemed empty of the legions of fans, but strangely it was full of noisy conversations of unknown origin.

“Mr. Taylor?” I heard one ask near me and I turned around, looking for its source and seeing only nothing.

“Excuse me, John? May I have an autograph?” I heard the same voice ask and spun around looking again for the person speaking to me.

“What?” I asked, bewildered.

“An au-to-graph?” the voice repeated, stretching out the syllables as if I couldn’t understand what they were saying.

I began to walk quickly through the yard, the chattering rising around me, most of it mocking whispers about me. “God, he’s rude,” “I cannot believe he’s snubbing everyone,” “I came all the way out here to meet him just for this?”…

I went to the far space in the yard, the place that had become my new sanctuary of my alone time with Christie. I lay back on the grass, letting the scent fill my nose as I tried to calm myself.

“The fans, they are the ones who are invisible,” I heard another woman’s voice whisper in my ear.

“Huh?” I asked, sitting up quickly.

“The fans are the ones who are invisible,” she repeated.

“I…I don’t understand…” I stammered.

“Yes, you do. You understand. They are there but you do not really see them. They speak but you do really hear them. You come into their lives as reality, but are you actually real with them? Yes, you walk the rope of telling them more about yourself than they may even need to know, but you also hold yourself away from them,” she whispered, almost harshly.

“I disagree! I am there for my fans!” I countered.

“When its convenient. You don’t remember her, do you? Of course you don’t,” she argued, her voice beginning to seethe with anger.

Who did this voice belong to and how did I make her so angry with me? I tried desperately to place her voice in my memory, but came up short. I concentrated on the way she spoke and only came up with feeling and not a clue as to whom she was. There was anger in her voice, indeed, but there was also hurt. Had I hurt this person in some way?

“Close your eyes,” she commanded.

“Excuse me?”

“Close your eyes…close your eyes so that you can really see,” she repeated.

I closed my eyes and saw bright flashes of light and then a bus. It was the tour bus for my band from the last tour. Around me were the crew and the band and, even stranger, there was also me. It was a bit disconcerting watching my own self before me, but it was clear I was here for a reason, so I put those feelings aside as best I could. I concentrated, trying to listen to the conversation. The jumbled words finally came together in pieces. They (we?) were simply discussing the rehearsal.

“What is this about?” I asked, impatiently, taking note that no one noticed me there.

“Just watch,” she whispered.

“Why can’t I see you?” I demanded.

“Because you never saw me before, why should you see me now?” she said curtly.

“What?”

“Just watch,” she repeated, more firmly.

I watched myself and a few of the band members glance across the way and snicker slightly and then resume speaking. I looked over to see what they were looking at and saw a group of four girls. What stood out most for me though was that Christie was one of them. I watched them whispering frantically to each other and watching the band intently. The other me turned and looked at them again briefly and they waved over at me, but I turned too quickly to even acknowledge it.

I watched my other self then walk quickly towards the bus and get on it. I saw the fans move towards me, but then they stopped abruptly once I got onto the bus. I saw the disappointment flash in their eyes and for a moment felt the pang from the times when I was a kid and had the same thing happen in the presence of my own idols.

I walked over to Christie and her group of friends. She put her hand to her head and in a sigh said, “God, I just wish he would notice me.”

“He notices, Christie, he was just busy,” one of her friends said.

“I know, I just want him to really see me and hear me, sometimes it is like he isn’t even paying attention,” Christie said with another sigh.

“I pay attention! I just…I was just very busy!” I countered.

“Busy doing what? Busy stroking your own ego?” boomed the voice of my tormentor.

‘Who are you? I must know!” I screamed, now becoming overwhelmed.

“Who I am is not important, it is what is going on,” she replied.

“So…so, this is revenge then? Revenge for being an unsociable pop star?” I stammered, crossing my arms over my chest.

“If that is all you think this is, you may just never know,” she whispered.

I woke up in a cold sweat, shaking, and my heart was racing. Christie was lying asleep next to me in the grass. She did not leave as I had wished and stayed with me throughout the night. She seemed to sense that I was troubled and now that seemed an understatement.

And what of the dream? Was it even a dream or was it something more? It was more lucid and vivid than any dream I had ever had, as if it had really happened. If it was real, who was this woman, this entity, who was tormenting me? Did she really exist or was she some odd manifestation of my subconscious?

I looked at Christie sleeping peacefully next to me, her hand curled at her mouth and her chest rising and falling slightly with each breath. Was the scene of the dream with her something that really happened? If it happened, when and where was it? I couldn’t recognize the surroundings enough to know. Most importantly though, do I need to apologize to her?

N A V I G A T I O N :

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