Nora~~

"It's beautiful." The sun beats down on me, warming me, chasing away the shadows left underneath my skin from the void. The meadow looks exactly how Charlie recreated it except with more flowers in many different colors and the grass is shorter.

            I'm outside the city.

            "Why doesn't anyone question why they can't leave the city?"

            Lying back in the grass, Charlie tucks his arms behind his head. "Do you remember how when you used to dream, you were able to overlook things that didn't make sense until you woke up? It's the same here. Since you're Lucid, you have a hard time looking around them unlike the other dreamers."

            I sit down beside him, crossing my legs. If I had been able to accept that nothing came before Somnia, it would have altered everything. I would have settled in, creating a second life for myself. I wouldn't have drawn attention to myself. Pace wouldn't have hurt me. Aaron would have stayed Ryann and probably my friend. Like Tye, I'd be slowly accepting the idea that Radia chose to leave us.

            Eventually, I'd be happy.

            Content even.

            Plucking a strand of grass, I tear it down the middle before turning my focus on Charlie. He's so still, save for the rise and fall of his chest, that I could almost swear he was napping. But this is Somnia; he can't be napping.

            Earlier when I let him inside my house, something was off about him. Almost as if he was ashamed to see me.

            "This probably isn't my place to ask, but are you all right? At my house you seemed troubled."

            His face tightens, his jaw locking. After a few moments pass, he says, "Yesterday I had to orient new dreamers. I had to then help put them under."

            The grass falls out of my hands.

            "I made a deal with my dad. That was the cost."

            "When I was forced under were you . . .?"   

            He rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his arms and putting me out of sight. "No. Not then. Yesterday was the second time. Please, don't think that I enjoy it."

            Were the ones who forced me onto that table and connected me to the dream doing it because they didn't have a choice? They certainly seemed to enjoy it.

            "What deal?"

            Underneath his shirt, his shoulder blades tense. "My hands were forced, but I'd make it again if I had to."

            "Charlie, what happened?"

            "It's my burden."

            I'll do anything you want.

            Name it.

            Charlie . . . that day when I was taken, he did something. My memories of that hour are blurry. I only remember pieces.

            "Did you stop my interrogation?"

            Silence.

            "Charlie?"

            "I had to do something."

            "And that was the price?"

            He nods.

            My heart aches. Once upon a time, I thought I would have liked to see him suffer, but now that I know he's been suffering because of me, I feel as if I might crumble. "Is there anything I can do?"

            Sitting up, he angles himself in my direction. "I didn't want you to know."

            I reach out my hand, intending to cover his with mine, but he pulls his back. Warmth coats my cheeks, and I duck my head. "Thank you."

            "Please don't thank me. I don't deserve it."

            "Don't say that."

            "You don't know what else I've done."

            He's his dad's hound.

"No matter what you've done, you got me out of there."

"I find Lucid for him. He uses them." He rubs his face. "Some of them have died."

I can't keep the fear from showing on my face, and it takes me a moment to mask it. "Did you have a choice?"

"If I hadn't, he would have used me the way he used them. But that's a coward's excuse."

"Charlie . . ."
            "I've lied to him before. Said they weren't. But he usually knows when I'm lying. I'm not the best at it."

Yanking out another piece of grass, I snort. "You really aren't."

He shrugs, grabbing for his own piece of grass. "I was there that day you woke up in Somnia. I was behind the mirror. You've probably pieced together that Marcella is my sister."

"You've always known that I'm Lucid?"

"I told my dad you weren't. He also didn't believe me then." He rips up the strand of grass into small pieces. "It's exhausting being the bad guy."

            "You aren't the bad guy."

"Tell me what you thought of the people who forced you into the dream."

"They enjoyed what they were doing."

He pushes himself to his feet.

"I don't think you're bad, Charlie. As you said, your hands were tied. We're all trapped. Our cages are just different."

"Sometimes . . ." His hands tighten into fists, and there's an expression of sorrow on his face. When he unclenches his hands, his face clears. "Chrysanthemums, right?"

I blink, confused on where he's decided to turn the conversation. "Yes."

            He's silent, and they appear all at once, all across the meadow, chrysanthemums in every color they come in.

I witness a new memory, this time of my mom and I picking out the flowers at the garden shop, her buying me my last pair of gardening gloves, green with a red floral design. They would sit on top of hers in a bookcase-turned-gardening nook in the garage.

"What's the story behind them?" I suppose I can't fault him for wishing to turn the conversation away from his own morality.

"Multiple times every year, my mom and I would plant chrysanthemums. Sometimes we'd add succulents into the mix. Those were hard to kill. I love gardening, at least with her I did. She never shut down my ideas. Even if she knew the combination of flowers I wanted would turn out atrocious or tacky, she'd buy them anyway. I wasn't very good at keeping the plants alive, either giving them too much attention or neglect. I tried fruits and vegetables, and I think I got one good tomato. I killed our wisteria tree. But chrysanthemums always managed to survive me. That's why I went back to them year after year, and eventually they became tradition."

"Do you think your mom knew what your dad's job was?"

My shoulders sag, and I pluck one of the flowers, cupping it in my hands. "I don't know. It's not something I like to ponder."

He shoves his hands into his pockets, his eyes on the meadow before us, remaining silent.

"Do you think I could plant chrysanthemums outside of my house?"

"Plant them or conjure them?"

"Plant them for real."

"I know of a store that should sell them."

Brushing my finger over the tops of the petals, I savor the familiar feeling. "Could we go?"

"We?"

"Unless you don't want to. I don't know if it would even be a good idea, with your dad and all . . ."

"No, I'd like that. And if we were just to run into each other at the store, who can say it was planned?"

I can't stop my smile. I want to say Let's go now, but I'm supposed to go to Ricky's where he promised coffee if Avery and I would sit down with each other so we can discuss what Raymond said. It's only been two days since Avery and I had our spat, and I haven't seen either of them since. I'm sure they'll question me more about being a Class One and how I seemed to come into my power out of the blue. "Tomorrow? I mean, I'm sure you have to work, so after?"

Charlie plucks a white chrysanthemum, and I watch as it turns to purple in his hands. It reminds me of a story I read years ago, but the title fails me as if not all of my memoires have returned. "That sounds perfect to me."

They're totally not going on a date.