More Editing: How Do I Do This Without Les? (Not at all probably.)
Hours later, Leigh is still staring at the child, watching her sleep. “Les? Who the Hell is Les?”
“Crap! She’s got me talking to myself. What am I doing?”
I’m sitting on the bed, beside the child, waiting for the woman to go to sleep. Dreams are the thing. I can communicate through dreams. I’d given the mother “psychic” dreams several days in a row. Things like ‘You must let the child go!’ ‘It is for the best!’ “The stranger comes!’ It might’ve helped. She might not have remembered the dreams at all, always hard to tell.
I get up and pace for a few minutes. Leigh yawns and rolls on her side. I wait. The ticking of the damn clock is inside my head. I wait a few more minutes, then I walk to the woman and lay my hand on her head and the world dissolves.
She’s standing in a room. A very familiar room. I try very hard to block out memories. This one is difficult.
“Morning, Leigh,” I say.
She turns around and smiles up at me. “Morning, darling. I thought you were going to sleep in today.”
“Yes. I --” Damn it. I hate this kind of thing. Her sub-conscious expects me to act as if I’ve read some fucking script. Skip this shit.
“Leigh. Listen to me. I’m not who you think I am. Not exactly. I’m Les.”
“Les? The kid’s imaginary friend? Funny, you remind me of my husband.” She laughs.
She doesn’t get it, yet. That’s just fine. The next several years are going to just fly by.
I take a deep breath. Why am I even bothering with this, now? I should wait until she has the least glimmer of understanding. Then I can help. Maybe. Until then, this is just a waste of time. Unless I’m meant to be the one who makes the point.
This thing is impossible. “Listen, Leigh. Things are not exactly what they seem. This part of it is --”
She’s crying. Sobbing as if something is tearing her in half.
“What is it, Leigh?”
“You think I don’t know. You think I don’t see! I’m not blind!”
Suddenly we’re standing in the hotel room. We both look toward the bed. The child rolls over and sits up. Her blue eyes a shining silver in the dream light.
“Look in her eyes. Look.”
I walk to the child and kneel beside her. She smiles at me and I touch her hair.
“What do you see in her eyes? I mean literally. What do you see?”
Robin looks at me and nods. “Tell her what you see. She already understands.”
Her voice is from another place and time. I nod and look in her eyes. I see my own reflection, as if I was looking into the clearest mirror.
“What do you see?” Leigh says, and there is a coldness in her voice.
“I see myself.”
She walks to us and kneels. “Now look at me. What do you see in my eyes?”
I look at her. Her eyes are beautiful and blue and almost identical. There is no reflection.
“Nothing. That’s what you see. Because that’s what I see. The day I was born into this world it was the first thing I noticed about myself. No reflection. Nothing in my eyes. Not even myself.”
She stands and walks across the room. “I’m here. I do exist, but just barely.”
“I’m one step away from you. I’m nearly imaginary.”
I stand up as the dream walls fall away. The woman on the bed sits straight up and looks toward me. Self-realization will do it every time. She can’t see me now, but for at least a small moment she knows I am here. “Les?” She says my name and it sends a chill through me. Another time and place calling to me from just too far away.
She blinks and it’s gone. The dream fades, any connection to me disappearing in a movement. She shakes her head and rolls over; to spend the rest of the night trying to sleep.
