Schasm (Schasm Series) (6 page)

Alex reaches across the counter for a straw. I watch her lick her lips like some kind of animal. What is she doing? He hands her the straw, keeping his eyes focused on the man taking orders. He’s unfazed by her strange behavior.

“Hey,” she says in a sultry voice. “Do you want to come party with my friends and me?” She flashes him her million-dollar smile.

“Nah,” he says, nudging his shoulder toward me. “I’m hanging with someone already.”

Heat washes over me as I realize he just rejected this blonde beach beauty for me.

She rolls her eyes at him and turns to me. “Lucky,” she tells me. She doesn’t sound very smart.

Alex just waits in line to order the coffees as if nothing has happened. Does that happen to him often? I can’t help but to wonder. He’s the definition of perfection. He could pass for some kind of Greek deity: Alexander, God of Beaches. I can’t help but stare at him the same way I see all of the other female beachgoers gawking at him. I’m just not sure if I can comprehend why he’s chosen to spend time with me instead of them.

This is
your
drift, Chloe,
I remind myself.
That’s why.

I know I should stop staring at him, but I can’t seem to look away. I suddenly understand what being attracted to someone feels like.

Our coffees appear on the counter. I’m grateful for the distraction. He grabs both of them for us. “Here you go.” He hands me my icy plastic cup with a pink straw. “I hope you like it. It’s a mocha latte with a shot of coconut. Perfect taste to go along with this great beach weather.” His lips mold around his straw. I wish they were molding around me instead.

As we continue down the shoreline, he leans over and nudges his shoulder into mine. “So, Chloe from the water…tell me a little bit about you.”

Maybe I was delirious the other day, but I don’t remember telling him my name.

I stop walking. “How do you…I don’t think I told you my name.” I say.

“You really don’t remember me.” His shoulders slump down and he lowers his head. “Do you?”

I give him a shove. “Of course I remember you. You saved me the other day. But I don’t recall telling you my name.” Maybe I did and I just ingested too much water to remember. Or maybe all the figments of my imagination know my name.

He lays his hand on my bare shoulder. His touch is nice. “Chloe, we didn’t just meet the other day on the beach. We knew each other long before this week.”

This confuses me. “I don’t understand.”

His eyes hold great pain. “Let’s just say we’ve always had something in common.”

I’m speechless, confused, and somewhat freaked out. I’m pretty sure I would remember meeting him, and I don’t think I’d ever be able to forget about him.

He interrupts my inner dialogue. “I enjoy my mind-drifts, too,” he whispers.

“How did you…” I made that word up. It’s not even medical terminology.

“How do you know about drifts?” I ask. My voice is a bit too loud.

“Shh,” he whispers through his puckered lips. “Let’s try to keep it between you and me, how about?" He chuckles and takes another sip of his coffee. "I drift, like you. Only I call myself a wanderer.”

I don’t know what any of it means; is he in my dream, or am I in his? “You sound like you actually enjoy having an incurable psychological condition.” I sound a bit hostile. “Do your doctors compare it to schizophrenia too?”

His smile fades a little. “Something like that. I don’t let it bother me, though. It’s my mind. I can do whatever I want with it. I might as well enjoy it, right? The sun, the ocean…” His eyes catch mine again. “The company.” I wish I could be as positive as he is. Being the demise of my parent’s happiness doesn’t always sit well with me.

I wonder if his parents treat him like mine treat me.

“I love the drift,” I say. “I hate the way others respond to it. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from you.” I sip my coffee. “It’s a nice escape sometimes. I might enjoy it more if I felt like I had any control over it. But I don’t.” I shrug. “So I guess you could say that I pretty much have a love/hate relationship with my ‘disability,’ as my mother calls it.”

He looks confused. “That isn’t true, Chloe. It’s your mind…you can control it if you try. If you learn how to.”

His confidence is a little off-putting.

“If I could control what my mind did, I wouldn’t be in and out of a mental institution every week.”

He drinks deeply. His face changes. I think I may have offended him. “It would be a real shame if you never took control of what you’re capable of.” He looks into my eyes, happiness and sadness mingling in his. Then he turns and starts walking away.

Why would he want to leave so soon? We just got our drinks. Did I say something wrong?

“Wait, Alex…please. I’d like to talk to you a little more.” I’m pleading with him. “Don’t leave.”

He turns toward me, his bright eyes smiling. He whispers, but I hear it as loud as anything. “Try to control your mind, and I promise you’ll see me again soon.” He winks. “See ya, beautiful”

I continue walking toward him, ready to chase him down. But he disappears into thin air. He’s gone, nowhere in sight in the next mile of open sand.

Am I hallucinating within my hallucination?

I continue staring down the long beach, trying to make out even a shadow of a possibility that he was real. My mind drifts again, my body becomes weak and my muscles give out.

I melt into the sand…

I fall onto a soft surface and open my eyes. I’m lying in my cold bed at home, gazing out of the frost-covered window.

No beach. No coffee.

No Alex.

Ordinarily, I have an overwhelming sense of sorrow when I find myself back at the one place I can’t stand to be. This time it's different. This time, my drift took me
to
someone
rather than just to somewhere. And he knew things about me, about my drift.

I feel like I’m on a mission now to solve my own mystery.

 Whether he was real or not, I’ve never even considered the possibility of having control over what my mind does. I’ve always just assumed it’s impossible. If I can actually learn to control this “skill”, I could leave here…forever.

I could be happy and free.

I just need to figure out how to do it.

I open the calendar on my computer and find that I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning. It’s a chance…small, maybe, but it’s there. I’ll have to try to convince the doctors—just one doctor, even—that I’m not insane. That my condition may not be curable, but maybe it can be controlled. Maybe they’ll be more willing to work with me toward a solution instead of strapping me into that damned machine again.

One doctor at the institution has always been kinder to me than the others. He’s always seemed interested in my case for some reason. The others just pass me by like any other patient. Maybe if I can speak to him like a rational human being, he’ll be willing to help me. I have nothing else.

I have to try.

I plan my mission for my morning doctor’s appointment as the remaining sunlight fades away. It only takes a few minutes before my room becomes pitch black. But I welcome the darkness. It allows me to shut out the world and trace the memory of Alex's freckles, the way the sun almost erased the color in his beautiful eyes. I can smell the coconut scent of his tanned body, the feeling I got when he touched me. I hope he was real. And I hope I get to see him again.

***

Family dinners in this house are brutal and exhausting. After an hour of ridiculous questions and badgering, all I want to do is run upstairs and go to sleep for the night. Tonight was no exception. It’s not even eight, but the thought of sitting here awake twiddling my thumbs for the next few hours seems almost as bad as eating dinner with my mother. Eleven hours of sleep actually sounds pretty good right now. If I didn’t know what was waiting for me on the other side of it, I’d say that sounded pathetic.

I climb into bed, hoping for a dream to take me somewhere good tonight. Anywhere would be better than here, though. I close my eyes. It only takes a minute or two before I feel myself speeding through the familiar black tunnel. There’s a pinhole of light at the end. The light is growing larger by the second, and I can only anticipate who or what is waiting for me on the other side this time.

The aroma of fresh coffee and pastries…

My whole body jerks.

I land on a hard chair. I’m back at the French café, happy to see the older man who scared me off earlier isn’t here this time. Things seem ideal again. My vision is clear this time. I can take in additional details of my surroundings.

“
Puis-je vous aider, madame?
” a young man asks me. He’s stout, with slicked black hair and a white apron tied around him. He’s waiting to take my order, his notepad and pencil ready to write.

I’m still getting used to others interacting with me here. “Non…merci.” I wave him off, in case my French isn’t as accurate as I think it is.

He nods and rushes over to the next table. I glance around the café and up to the front counter. There’s a long line of people, all dressed in dated clothing again. I’d love to know what year I’m in.

I study everyone's details as my eyes wander through the line leading to the cashier. He has his head down, counting out change for the customer in line. He looks up and across the room, gazing directly at me. I think it’s…

Alex?

He gives me a quick wink just as everything becomes blurry again.

I feel ice-cold water being thrown onto my face.

My body jerks again as the freezing haze in my eyes clear.

There is no French café this time.

My mother is glaring at me. “You wouldn’t wake up, Chloe. I had no choice.” Somehow, I think people always have a choice about throwing cold water on someone to wake them up. “Get dressed and brush your teeth. We need to leave in twenty-five minutes.” She rips my pillow from below my head, flings her wrist up to her chest and looks at her watch. “We can’t be late today.” She groans. I’m doing my best to recover from the shock of being drenched. “Chloe? Chloe!” She snaps at me. “Are you listening to me?”

I ignore her. I just want to be alone with my thoughts for another minute. Everything in my drift is in my imagination. But I can’t figure out why it would put Alex in a café in France in another century when he “lives” in San Diego.

Unless…

Is he in my mind with me?

I think I’ve just entered an entirely new dimension of misperception.

CHAPTER SIX

DR. GREENE

I ENDURE THE TWENTY-MINUTE RIDE
with my mother to the institution, and I feel like spicing things up today with a little surprise. “So I’ve met this guy, Mother. This really wonderful young man.”

The look on her face makes this horrible trip worthwhile.

“What guy?” She’s suddenly furious. “Who did you meet, Chloe? And where exactly did you meet him?” Her eyes dart back and forth between the mirror and the road.

I gaze out the window and say nonchalantly, “Oh, I met him in my other life. He’s no one you need to be concerned with.”

“We’ll need to discuss this with the doctor, then…now you’re hallucinating boyfriends.” Her eyes fix on me in the rearview mirror. “Hearing voices in your head is a definite symptom of schizophrenia.”

She sneers and brushes her bangs out of her face. Her prim attitude during these excursions is disgusting. Who is she always trying to impress with her perfect appearance and her proper demeanor? I think she’s trying to prove to the doctors that she treats me better than she does. No signs of abuse as far as her hair and make-up are concerned.

As soon as I feel the car come to a stop, I jump out and stalk through the doors to avoid the invasive white-glove attack. I’m so tired of that. My speed inspires alarmed looks from hospital staff. I know I'm making them nervous…as if I’m about to do something crazy. I’m sure they’re always ready for stuff like that to happen.

Just as I think I’m in the clear, one of the doctors yells for me to stop. I turn to see who’s shouting demands. I see Dr. Greene out of the corner of my eye. He’s the one who always treats me like a human being during these appointments. He’s one of the younger doctors here, probably only twenty-four or so. I've heard he's finishing up his fourth year of residency. He tries harder than all of the other residents around here. He always appears to be buzzed on loads of caffeine. His cheery disposition makes me kind of nervous sometimes, but it’s better than being barked at and pulled around by the arm.

“Chloe," he shouts. "What’s the rush? Slow down a bit. Come talk to me.”

I know if I don’t stop and talk to him, I’m going to be grabbed by a bunch of doctors with a syringe full of tranquilizers.

I play it cool instead. “Oh hi, Dr. Greene,” I say, as if I hadn’t noticed him already. “What’s up?”

He leans in quietly and asks, “Are you looking to be strapped down today? You know better than to run down these halls like you’re up to something.” His eyebrows bunch together. “You shouldn’t go looking for trouble here.”

“Sorry. I’m just…”

“Just what, Chloe?”

I trust that his concern is genuine. “I just need to find someone who’ll believe me,” I explain.

“About what?” he asks. His tone calms me.

“I’m sure you’ll just laugh when you hear it, but since I only have thirty seconds before my mother catches up to us, I’ll lay it all out on the table for you." I check over my shoulder just to make sure my mother isn't creeping up behind me. I’m clear. "You know all about my
condition
, right?” He nods. “Everyone seems to want to write it off as schizophrenia and tell me there isn’t a cure.” I think my clarity on the subject has surprised him. “If this is true and there isn’t a cure, why doesn’t anyone want to help me figure out how to live with it instead?”

“Chloe, I—“

I cut him off. “I’m not a danger to myself or anyone else…I have huge spans of clear thought.” My voice lowers. “And I actually think I may have the ability to control the drifts between realities. I just don’t know how yet. But maybe someone could help me figure it out.” I look back down the hall for my mother again. “The bottom line is, I’m looking for someone who actually wants to help me.” He doesn’t jump in. I give him one more chance. “If you can’t be that person, I have no problem moving on to the next doctor.”