I fell behind yesterday and only wrote about 1,000 words. So today I'm hoping for 3,000.
Doran's radio beeped insistently in his ear, the triple tone his boss used, and he cursed under his breath, mostly from sheer laziness. Then he turned it on. "Yes?"
The voice in his ear was nasal, and often tinged with whining in normal speech. His boss, whom he was supposed to call Spider, was nothing like the code name he aspired to: he was short and dumpy, balding, and sweated easily. An oily sort of man; Doran could see him scratching his nose as he spoke. "Doran," he said slowly, in a delighted sort of voice that usually meant he had information he could use to torment the person he was talking to, "you've been speaking to Valerie."
Damn and double damn. Had they taken her already? How had they found out? "Yes sir," Doran said, "I don't believe I did any harm. I was trying to encourage her to put her back up, sir."
"Harm? No harm? Well, this time you're lucky, Doran. If it were up to me, I'd put you at the mercy of the court, a suspension for re-education at the least, but lucky for you, it isn't my choice. The Court has seen the potential of such an interaction, and wishes you to talk to the girl again. We wouldn't choose you, you understand, but as you have already spoken to the girl we have no choice. You know her interactions are supposed to be limited."
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry about that, sir."
"No messing around with your orders this time, or I will make sure that you are punished to the full extent of the law." He paused; probably wiping the sweat off his face. "You're to be subtle, careful, and give nothing away. It is to our advantage that she thinks of this world as something in her own fantasies; encourage the supposition that you are only part of her unconscious trying to help her back on her feet. Maybe you are, at that," Spider chuckled wetly. "This sort of thing happens in daydreams. Since you have taken it upon yourself, you are now responsible for the expedient resolution of this... er, situation. After you have talked to her, Valerie must be able to talk her way out of this place, and either stop the cutting or hide it much better. We're counting on you, Doran."
"Yes, sir."
"You know what you've done isn't a minor thing, the cause you serve is very serious. You should do some long hard thinking about your loyalties, my boy, or you might not enjoy your current quality of life for long."
"Yes, sir."
"Remember how lucky you are; you're getting a chance to do some really effective work for the Court, really make a difference. If this goes well, we might even look at a promotion. And most important of all," another pause, "you serve, if even in the smallest way, the most important Organization in not only this world, but all the worlds. That is nothing to sneeze at. We're counting on you," he repeated. "Do you understand that?"
"Yes, sir. I'll do my best."
"Do better than your best, we have no room for failure. End communication." The radio crackled, starting up another headache, and the line was silent.
Damn, damn, damn, Doran thought. What the hell was I thinking? Did I really hope that they wouldn't find out? Now I'm the one who gets to be the scapegoat if she isn't out of there in a day or two. Plus they'll probably decide it's a good idea to have a liason responsible for making Valerie do whatever they want from here on out. Do they think I can work a miracle just by talking to her? He paced down the street angrily. It wasn't his fault that she'd gotten herself locked up. It wasn't his responsibility that her life wasn't working out the way it was supposed to. He didn't have anything to do with the outside at all! Except now. Now he did.
Spider hadn't told him when or where to talk to Valerie. He assumed that he now had clearance to her apartment, although it would probably be a nice touch to knock first. He'd have to track her for a while, try to catch her at a time when she was well in the City. Her body faded when she was completely in the outside world, but there had been many times when she wandered sort of half-in, half-out. He needed her full attention if he was going to do this right.
Valerie awoke to the sound of gentle knocking, confused for the moment as to where she was. She felt the softness of the couch and the smoothness of the hardwood floor one foot dangled onto, and realized she must have dozed off soon after getting back to her apartment. Then she realized she was probably still dreaming, wishing the real world was the dream like she'd sleepily supposed for a moment. She did visit her fantasy life in dreams sometimes, and it was always more vivid, if that was possible, feeling so much more like the real world than it should have. She always wished, after waking up, that she could have stayed in the dream forever.
The knocking sounded again, a bit firmer this time, and she brushed her hair back from her face, slipped her feet into the shoes that rested on the floor by the couch, and went to the door.
It was the same stranger that had talked to her yesterday, and they bowed, dramatic and cocky. "Valerie," they said, "I told you you'd have the opportunity to get used to me."
She sighed, and gestured them in. The door slid shut behind them. She'd read somewhere that dreams involved no element of choice, that the events were mapped out beforehand by the unconscious mind and only played to the dreamer like a videotape, or more like it, a virtual reality disk. Except VR systems were clunky and impratical in the real world. The thought that she had no control over her actions was both comforting and disturbing, like the thought of fate or destiny. Valerie liked to be in control, but if there was no choice in the matter, she wouldn't have to second-guess herself so much. Here she comforted herself with the thought that there was no choosing whether to let this person in or not, whether to talk and listen or stay cocooned in comfortable solitude.
Except she didn't really believe it, and suspected that she'd allow a stranger all kinds of freedoms with her just out of loneliness. It wouldn't be the first time.
"Allow me to introduce myself," they said with a smile that was much too dazzling to be sincere. "I'm Doran, and you would be... Valerie."
"You're laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?"
The smile this time was realer, rueful and tinged with exasperation. "I suppose so. Can we talk a bit?"
"I let you in, didn't I? It's not like I have anything better to do," Valerie said, and returned to her couch by the window. She refused to do the hospitable thing and tell them to sit down. They didn't seem like the type that needed much invitation, anyway. Yes, they crossed over to the other sofa and lolled there, picturesquely, as though they'd been arranged. A mystery to Valerie was why so many people in the City appeared to be, or at least looked just like, gay men. Femmey ones. Assumptions aside.
"I'm worried about you, Valerie," Doran said, leaning over confidentially as though speaking about delicate things. "It's not good for you to stay in that hospital – you know as well as I do that you're not crazy."
"How do you know me, anyway?" she asked, ignoring the hospital reference.
"I know you because I am a part of you. Created by you. In your head," he said, softly but audibly.
"Part of my fantasies..." she wondered aloud. She thought of how real they'd seemed lately, how she'd almost believed the City was something that would live and breathe apart from her, something bigger than she was. She didn't seem to have the kind of control that befitted a fantasy or daydream – it was more like a night-dream carried over into the day. Where the choices were already made.
Doran said nothing, but their silence was an assent. It seemed strangely self-referential, for a part of her dream to know their limited scope. It seemed not-quite-right, like an imperfect splicing in a movie. She asked, "Why would I be so annoyed by you if you were something that I made up?"
They chuckled. "Perhaps that is all you are prepared to believe in." It seemed just wrong enough to be plausible.
"So why'd you come to me with your blinding worry? I don't want to be there either. You got some advice?"
"Maybe," they said. "I don't know. Maybe I just want to offer my support, help you through it. It can be hard to deal with people who don't understand you."
Valerie felt her skepticism weakening. Why was she always so suspicious of everyone, anyway? Maybe her mother was right about some things – maybe people didn't like her because she pushed them away. Sometimes she wondered if the only reason she was so wary all the time was a grandiose sort of pessimism, or maybe a lack of self-esteem. Being afraid to believe that she was worthwhile to anyone else in the universe, that they would ever have any kindness or even time of their own to offer her. She wouldn't even be surprised if her mother was right about everything. But she was a stubborn girl, dammit, and she clung to her perceptions because they were all she could trust. The world seemed ranged against her, but better to know about her battle than be duped and used and left out in the rain, realizing too late that her trust was misplaced.
"What makes you think you understand me?" she quipped, a kind of parting shot as her resistance faded. Sort of faded, she amended to herself. She'd listen to this person, talk to them, waste time with them; she didn't debate that she was lonely. But she would keep herself back, allow herself the wariness. This person seemed to understand and be armored against sarcasm and suspicion anyway.
"Call it a hunch. I'll let you judge for yourself, if you like."
"I will."
"So... are we at an impasse yet or can more conversation be dredged from the foxhole? Are you holding up okay out there?"
"I'll survive."
They sighed, exaggerated. Everything they did was exaggerated, come to think of it; their clothing was too black and anachronic, their gestures grand and sweeping, their voice too feeling, even in sarcasm. The kind of person her mother would hate, and Valerie felt the same repugnance rising in her. She squashed it firmly, not wanting to have anything in common with her mother, thinking how wonderful that this person could allow themselves such excess, how wryly they pulled it off. "You're not making this easy, you know," they said.
"I guess I don't make much easy for people often."
"They don't make it easy for you. Even I'm not making it easy; I know that much." They winked at her. "I'm not quite as dumb or foppish as I come off."
"I wouldn't say dumb... just determinedly annoying." They laughed a little, and Valerie allowed herself to join in. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Ask away," they replied, with one of their grand gestures.
"Do you even have a gender?"
Doran laughed so long and hard that Valerie was a little scared, and very irritated. It might be a dumb question, but they'd made a big show about wanting to be her friend, confidante, etc etc.
They turned up the swish when they answered. "Oh, darling, I'm flattered. Androgyny takes so much work to attain." They wiped tears from their eyes. "Last I checked, I still had that pesky Y chromosome, but you know it could have been cowed by your relentless feminity, my dear."
This was meant to be a joke; Valerie had an uneasy truce with her natural sex, at best. She envied boys not their penis, but their freedom, maybe, a little. It seemed to her that they could do more of what they wanted, say more of what they were thinking, go more places. Her mother was always trying to get Valerie to act "more like a lady" and usually it precluded most interesting activities.
"You're lucky I'm not easily offended," she retorted.
"I always wonder why gender is so important to people anyway. I'm impressed that you didn't make an assumption about me."
"It was your eyes," she said, suprising herself. Doran's eyes were liquid and hazel, intelligent, understanding. They were not masculine. She didn't think she'd even noticed them.
"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, yawning. "Life is easier when you assume the best, don't you think?"
"I wouldn't know." She looked out the window at the city lights. They illuminated so many colors of glass like pixels on a screen, spelling out some cryptic message Valerie felt she could almost have understood. They were beautiful and strange, unfamiliar, far away.
"How sad for you."
She focused her attention back in the room, looking at his shoes, which were black and polished. Because she looked down so much of the time, Valerie had an excellent memory for shoe and sock styles and colors. It was easier than looking at someone's face. She didn't have anything to say, so she waited for Doran to say something. He was quiet, though, and they sat like that a while. It made her uncomfortable, but on reflection she kind of liked that he could let the silence be there without feeling the need to fill it. The sun started to rise in the blue-tinted glass behind his head, giving him a witness-protection kind of a look. Valerie relaxed deeper into the softness of the sofa. She realized she'd been tense for days or weeks, and she didn't let the tenseness go altogether, but it went down a peg or two. The sunrise always made her vulnerable, dammit.
Finally Doran said something. "It's getting light. Are you going to go back and show them how sane you are at the hospital?"
"I guess," she sighed, reluctantly. "I hate talking to people."
"Buck up, and you'll be out of there before you talk to many."
"I'm not so sure..."
"Me neither, to tell you the truth. Never having been hospitalized myself." Valerie smiled at this. He continued, "But it seems like it shouldn't be too hard. I don't get the impression that they love being understaffed and overcrowded."
She didn't say anything. She didn't want to think about the hospital. She wanted to stay here in her cozy little world forever, saying not much at all to some tall androgynous stranger with liquid eyes. Christ. She ought to listen to herself. Not that it would be the first time that her daydreams got steamy; actually that sort of thing was normal enough to be reassuring. Everyone fantasized that way, didn't they? Many people, anyhow. She always went from suspicious to horny in real life, too. It was a failing of hers. Sometimes she was both at once.
Valerie was getting annoyed with herself. She always did this, always obsessed enough to destroy any situation. Even bad situations were made worse, and she couldn't allow herself to enjoy anything. The sun inched up in the sky. She wanted to weep for the second or third time in less than a day. Who was she kidding, escaping to these vapid daydream interactions? Sometimes an anger at herself surged up so intensely she felt like she would have had the strength to wrap her fingers around her own neck and squeeze hard enough and long enough to never breathe again.
"No," she said faintly, "but then again, what do I really know about how it works?"
He looked at her seriously for a moment, then laughed as though trying to break the spell. "You're smarter than they are, or I miss my bet. You'll figure it out. And here," he scribbled a number on a scrap of paper, "my radio. You have a link somewhere in your apartment, I presume?"
"Yeah," she mumbled, taking the paper.
"Then you can call me. I have places to be," he spoke briskly. "See you." And he strode purposefully out of the room.
Valerie felt tireder than ever.