Chapter 1 by Orion Fang

Chapter 1

By Orion Fang

“Far away the cracked bells ring, hidden beneath the sifting sand, In places forgotten to most, in visions of long-lost, foreign land, Where beneath the ruins within abyss, the living, slumbering madness feasts, Barrier shall crack and darkness roar, shadows call forth the dreaded beast.” -Excerpt from the Records of the Fall of Qe’lanth. Circa. 710 BC.

~

Is this reality, or this the dream?

I can’t tell anymore.

Call me insane, or call me schizophrenic, or call me dissociated from reality; stick a label, any label, any title you want onto me. It won’t matter because you can’t answer the question I’m asking you.

It seems like a simple question to answer at first; after all, the difference between being awake and being asleep is marked by a thick black line drawn in permanent pen which clearly divides the realms of the sleeping and the awake.

The only problem is that once you cross the line once too many times, both damn sides look so alike from where you’re standing that it’s easy to lose track of where you are, where you’re heading, where you will be.

And that’s when the lines blur.

Things start out simple at first. They’re pure, well-intended, meant only for the betterment of society and of others. It’s a straightforward, innocent ideal that tells you you have the power and what it takes to change the world.

Then come the compromises. The mistakes.

It starts with just a tiny crook in the otherwise pristine line; a small error. An accidental misuse of your power. It’s harmless, unnoticeable; hell, the only one who could spot such a mistake would’ve been the Seers, but their eyes were staring so far into the horizon they could’ve missed a tank driving right in front of them.

Only you know. And when only you know, it’s not hard to keep the secret.

It’s even easier to want for more, to try again.

So you do. And the cycle repeats, over and over again and again.

Suddenly, one day, for some reason, you have the conscious thought to look back and that pure, honest ideal is twisted and distorted beyond all imagination, surrounded by layers and layers of delusions and complexes.

That day is the day when everything comes crashing down around you.

Are you listening to me? Because you better listen damn carefully… Or else you’ll get lost too.

~

Kids are ignorant. Ignorant and naive. But hey, ignorance is bliss, right?

You go on for a while thinking you are an extraordinary, special existence in life, someone who is unique and shall leave a singular impact upon the world that no one else can. There’s something you believe which sets you apart from the norm: your exemplary grades, the way you can make everyone else laugh like no one can, your passion or hobby.

But eventually, everyone has a rude awakening from that. You snap to sometime down the line and you think to yourself, “Why the hell did I ever think I was special?” because there’s someone out there who you now know is and always will be better than you, and you were nothing but a big fish in a small pond. Somewhere along the line, you find out you’re not extraordinary; you’re just plain extra ordinary.

At first, I thought I was special, unique amongst even my own peers; I thought that I was the only kid around me who could change the dreams around me at will. Whenever I went to sleep, the Dreamscape version of the real world was waiting for me, all identical, all similar, except for one thing: the people.

For me, such people always appeared as indistinct silhouettes with a pale flame which would constantly burn, like a will-o’-the-wisp inside of their ethereal body. They would always be able to converse and interact with me and commit themselves to the activities I had asked of them; though if their personalities were stubborn like in the real world I would have to order them to commit to tasks.

As a kid, I found that whatever changes I would make in the dream world around me did not affect the real world, but if I tampered with the people, they would be affected in the real world.

It started as a harmless accident at first during my teenage years; in the dream world, I ran into the silhouettes of one of the school bullies, where I noticed a strange, dark stain upon the nebulous flame which should’ve normally been pale. As he passed me by, I stopped him for a second with an order, reached my hands to touch the dark stain–and was promptly greeted with a wire puzzle tangled together, which I could solve without difficulty.

Imagine to my surprise the next day where it appeared he had changed completely as a person. His violent tendencies mellowed out, he went to seek therapeutic help regarding the issues he was having at home, and he changed for the better as a person.

Today he’s a guidance counselor in the home area trying to help those in need who have issues.

As a result, from a young age I understood just what I could do in my dreams. I could change people.

Just by the virtue of solving the puzzles inside their hearts, which I grew to understand were abstract problems and emotions that could not be easily reasoned out physically, I could help them with their problems and even change them as people.

As I soon learned, there were rules in the Dream world that could not be broken:

1. Without fail, no matter what was done to the buildings, background, or environment of the Dreamworld, the real world would not be affected.

2. I could interact with and order the silhouettes of the people around me in the Dream world; they were the manifestations of a person’s soul or consciousness while asleep.

3. The problems people were suffering from manifested as a dark stain upon the normal hue of their personality; by interacting with said mark I could solve the puzzle within the person in order to either eliminate it completely or ease the anxiety people had.

4. Within the Dreamscape, your imagination may dictate how you control and shape the dream, but no matter how you changed the environment around you, the people would not be explicitly affected by environmental change unless you interacted with them physically within the world by touching them with your ethereal projections.

5. Damages in the dream world weren’t permanent, and if you woke up and then went back to sleep everything would be reset as if nothing had ever happened.

6. The dream world reflected the real world and its changes: for example, if a tree was struck by lightning and burned down, in the dream world said tree would still be burnt down.

7. To return to the waking world, I had to lie down on a bed within the Dream world and ‘fall asleep’ to wake up and return to the real world.

These rules were what boosted me into the career I had chosen: therapy. It was a job which didn’t require the patient to do anything other than talk and sleep, and all I had to do was to utilize the time they were asleep to solve their problems with a quick puzzle solving and their psychological problems would pretty much be eased or gone.

It was simple, the office only needed a desk and a computer for me to deal with paperwork, and there could be 2 beds: one for the patient, and one for me, the therapist.

Then, all I had to do was make sure the patient fell asleep, fall asleep right next to him, and solve the problem. Easy and done, right?

Supposedly, yes. People praise me as the best damn therapist they’ve had the fortune of meeting. For them, something about me is comforting to them: the shape of my face, the way I talk, the manner in which I move… it makes them feel at peace and allows them to calm down like their problems suddenly disappear.

Truth is, it’s almost a scam with the money I run away with. As a kid in middle school and high school, I started playing with puzzle games, trying to learn how they worked and trying to solve them in order to hone my own abilities in clearing away those dark stains on someone’s personality. Rubik’s cubes, wire puzzles, sliding piece puzzles, etc… I mastered them all.

For most people, their internal problems aren’t exactly a problem for me to put at ease for them to stop panicking. While I couldn’t exactly solve it for them directly, I could at least unknot the worry and anxiety they had in their hearts so they could try and confront the situation. Hell, isn’t that what all therapists or counselors do? They provide advice and guidance for you to calm down and take your problems one step at a time, right? See, I’m actually good at that!

However, everything I had known about my ability and how it affected the world I knew came crashing down around me 8 months ago.

~

It should’ve been a normal day, that damn Friday. Well, as normal as things could’ve gone. I was a sleep therapist of little renown, graduating with a master’s in psychology and living in a decent building where I lived on the upper floors and the bottom was my clinic. I was liked by clients for charging low, affordable prices for long sessions where I could purportedly allow people to relax and calm down for a “low, humble price of $50 per hour session! And it actually works!”

If I were a villain using my special powers to silently terrorize the residential area I live in, this is probably what I would say when confronted by a hero:

My name is Jimmy Cartwright. I am 28 years old. My house is on the western side of San Francisco, where the older carbon copy-and-paste buildings are, and I am not married. I work as a self-employed sleep therapist for Cartwright Catnaps, and I work out of my house. I don’t smoke, but I do indulge in the occasional shot of hard liquor. I’m usually in bed by 11 PM, and no matter what I make sure to get 8 hours of sleep. After brushing my teeth and filing away the paperwork for my clients of the previous day, I usually have no problems sleeping until morning. Just like a baby I wake up without any fatigue or stress in the morning, and I have been told that there were no issues at my last check-up. What I’m trying to explain is that I’m a person who wishes to live a very quiet life, and I take care not to trouble myself with trivial issues such as taxes, politics, or winning and losing that would cause me to lose sleep at night. That’s how I deal with society, and I know that’s what brings me happiness. Although, if I were to fight I wouldn’t lose to anyone.

I’m just kidding about the trivial issues, of course. Let it be known that I, Jimmy Cartwright, was a tax-paying, law-abiding citizen of the United States of America!

Things were pretty calm at the time; there hadn’t been any particular issues with my business, or accounting issues, or anything like that. Murder rates around were at all time lows, and to the best of my knowledge, the addicts were getting help and staying off the streets. A quiet life, normal and uninterrupted; a life that did not cause problems. That was the life I was living.

All of that changed on that day when a pale, Asian man came stumbling into my clinic.

~

I eyed the man suspiciously. He was dressed in a decent-looking suit with a black tie and darkly colored pants, about 5’10’ or so, but the most defining characteristic about him was his pale, almost sickly complexion. He was sweating all over, and judging from how hard he had been panting, he must’ve run at least a block or two before choosing to stop here.

However, within his eyes was a piercing glare, almost like he was staring into my soul.

My mind immediately towards taking the baseball bat I had at my desk drawer and swinging first, asking questions later, but I stopped myself.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Er, Er, Eric… Zhang.” Breathing hard, the man–Eric–slumped into one of the chairs. I patiently waited as he caught his breath before speaking. “I had an appointment today, but I was running late so I had to sprint here. Sorry.”

I checked my schedule, and sure enough, the next person on the list was one Eric Zhang, 33 years old.

“Well, come in, Mr. Zhang.” Ushering him into the room, I closed the door. “Alright, now just lie down here on bed and go to sleep. All the other problems will be taken care of.”

He raised an eyebrow, seemingly conveying the message Really now? Sounds like a quack deal to me. I did my best to impart a gentle smile.

“It’s all going to be fine sir. Unfortunately, these techniques are a trade secret so unless you go to sleep, I can’t do anything. Rest assured that no harm will come to you.”

He made a snorting noise, but lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Pretty soon, he was out cold like a light, his breathing even and steady. I cracked my knuckles, rolled my neck, locked the door, and lay down the bed.

However, the first thing that I promptly realized when my consciousness arrived in the Dream world was that Eric Zhang’s presence was not on the bed. The Dream bed was empty, nothing at all.

“So, it was you.” A voice rang out from behind me and I shrieked, rolling off of the bed and tumbling onto the ground of the Dream-office. Eric Zhang stood there, casually propped up against the wall, smoking a cigarette and eyeing me up and down.

Not Eric Wang, who should’ve been a pale flame glowing with an ethereal darkness inside of him. Eric Zhang, the person, a full-blown physical apparition of his appearance in the physical world. Only here, he was smoking a cigarette, which was not something I actually had in my office.

Just from looking at him, I got shivers. This man is… the same as me. He blew out a long cloud of hazy smoke, which drifted in the air before dissipating. No… he’s even better than I am.

“You’re the Dreamer in this area. Who do you work for? Nozpin? The Sunside? I sure as hell haven’t seen you in the Wang Group offices.” All of these foreign phrases flew at me in an instant, among which only one I recognized: The Wang Group. They were an overseas multi-million corporation from China who had opened up a branch in the heart of San Francisco recently. “Hurry up and speak, kid. You’re pretty green, but whatever the hell you’re doing here, it’s been attracting a lot of unwanted attention. Unless you really are working with them...”

His eyes narrowed and mine widened as before my eyes, a spear appeared in his hands. “I don’t like wasting my time.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I spoke as honestly and as calmly as possible. “I’ve always been doing my business here.”

“Pah!” He spat his cigarette to the side, muttering in what was probably Chinese, presumably cursing. “10 gone? And you’re saying that you’re not the one responsible?”

He jutted the spear in my face and the blade burst into flames, sending me scrambling backwards.

“Honest, sir.” I raised my hands, thinking as fast as possible.

He asked me who I worked for. Nozpin and the Sunside must be rival factions to the Wang Group, which came just recently. Whatever I’m doing is attracting attention… in other words, my sleep therapy sessions. But that doesn’t make sense. I’ve been here for 4 years, and the Wang Group came here just 5-6 months ago…

“I think I’ve been scapegoated, sir.”

He glared at me. “Then who the hell–”

Conveniently, at that moment the ground beneath us chose to give away.