Overactive Imagination

I had had worse job interviews, and honestly, that was a really sad thought. I wished I could at least comfort myself with the thought some of my others had gone much better. They hadn’t.

I shifted my shoes in my grip, the heel of the right pump hanging on by a thread, so that I could fish my keys out of my pocket, all the while being very cautious of where my bare feet landed on the sidewalk. My apartment complex wasn’t exactly in the nicest part of town, and there was no way I would be able to afford the medical bills if I stepped on something and caught some kind of disease from it.

Speaking of not being able to afford bills… my eyes drifted towards the mailboxes and I idly wondered if I should check mine. It’d been at least a month since I’d last gotten my mail, but with every day that passed I grew even more discouraged at the thought of how many late notices would come flying out when I eventually did open up the box. At least this way I had the flimsy excuse of having never received them.

I was pretty sure I got a splinter as I hiked up the rickety stairs to my third-floor apartment, but my landlord wasn’t waiting outside my door, demanding rent, so clearly the day wasn’t entirely rigged against me. I could handle a broken heel, a mailbox bursting with bills, and a splinter in my big toe; I could not handle 300 pounds of Mr. Krippling blocking the door to my apartment and threatening to toss me on my ass unless I paid him the last two months’ rent that I didn’t have, plus late fees. I’d take what victories I could because they were few and far between these days.

My life hadn’t always been like this. My first job out of college hadn’t been glamorous, but it’d been a steppingstone on the path to a successful career in marketing. I’d thought I was off to a good start. But then my health had taken a turn for the worse. I went to so many doctors, but instead of answers, all I got were bills I couldn’t pay. I missed so much work that I got fired, making it even more difficult to pay my bills. I had to sell my car, most of my belongings, and move to a cheaper apartment. So now I was still sick, still didn’t know what was wrong with me, broke, and no one would hire me. I had never imagined that my life could take such a turn for the worse.

I dropped my last pair of heels on top of my overflowing trashcan as I walked the short distance across my studio apartment to collapse on top of my lumpy mattress. My sickness had taken hold of me about halfway through my interview, causing the room to seem too bright, the voices to loud, my clothing too rough; and as the intensity of the room beat down on me, I had struggled to get enough oxygen through my collapsing lungs, but even that sensation, the effort it took, had seemed too much for me. Of course, my lungs weren’t really collapsing, as doctor after doctor had told me; it just felt that way for some inexplicable reason. My imagination seemed to be the consensus among the professionals, but if they had lived through one of my attacks, they would know that there was nothing imaginary about it.

Regardless of how real or imaginary my sickness was, the interviewer had seen me fall apart before his eyes. One minute I had been calm and professional, and the next I was shaking in my seat, a layer of sweat coating my body, and my hair in disarray as I tugged at it, my eyes darting around the room frantically. He had been worried, wanted to help, but the interview was over pretty quickly after that. No one wanted to hire a sick person.

I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. I was beginning to think I would never get better, never find another job, never have any semblance of a normal life. I’d be on the streets soon enough, and if I thought my life was bad now, I didn’t know how I would be able to live like that.

I should’ve done something productive with that thought. I should’ve pulled myself together and went back to the career center, started walking into random businesses until someone took pity on me and gave me a job. But I’d had three job interviews today, all of which I was certain would lead nowhere, and I just didn’t have the energy to do anything but drink.

I know, I know. I have $20.00 to my name, the last thing I should be spending my money on was alcohol. But hey, I can’t pay my rent anyway, so what difference does it make? Besides, it would help. After one of my episodes, alcohol always helped to calm me down and put the world back into focus. Was it the healthiest way to handle things? Probably not. But I had to survive somehow.

I changed into some tattered jeans, a faded blue t-shirt, and some functional, if worn-out tennis shoes. Once upon a time, I’d basically lived in business attire, but now this was what I felt most at home in; anything else felt too much like I was playing dress-up.

I ran a brush through my tangled, brown hair, trying to alleviate at least the most visible damage from being on the verge of yanking it out earlier, then I attempted to clean up the makeup that had gotten smeared somewhere along the line. My green eyes were still too bright, with a slightly manic gleam to them, my makeup was mostly rubbed off, and if you looked too closely at the underside of my hair, you could definitely see a few places where it was twisted into knots, but I at least looked passable as a normal human being. Admittedly, a sad, malnourished one, all too-sharp angles beneath clothes that were at least two sizes too large, but it was something.

I let my hair fall down around my face, shielding myself from the intensity of the world as I ventured back out of my apartment and walked to the small dive bar down the street.

It was pretty empty tonight; there was a couple playing pool, three regulars sat at a table by the wall, and some guy that looked far too put-together for a place like this sat at the bar that stretched along the back of the room. I took an indirect route to the back, taking the path that took me furthest from the table with the three men, then cutting across the room to sit at the far side of the bar from the businessman. Liz was behind the bar tonight, bleach blond hair falling in waves around her tan face, void of makeup as usual, the sleeves of her flannel shirt rolled up to her elbows. She looked too young and pretty to be working in a place like this, but her baby blue eyes were sharp and calculating, and I’d seen firsthand what happened to anyone who tried anything with her. All the regulars knew better than to mess with her; she could handle herself, and the fact that her dad, the owner of the bar, looked like a professional wrestler didn’t hurt, either.

“Hey, Mel,” Liz greeted me with a nod as I sat down. “Usual?”

I nodded, then muttered a “thanks” as she set the beer down in front of me.

Her eyes flickered over me thoughtfully for a moment, but she didn’t hover. I appreciated that about her.

I liked coming to Eli’s whenever I needed to get out of my apartment for a bit, or more accurately, whenever I was out of beer. It was small and never too crowded, which was good because I didn’t like being around people. Liz and Eli had both learned my order within the first couple weeks of me coming here, so now the social interaction I had to suffer through was minimal. It was a welcome relief after being in interviews all day.

I was focused on my beer, carefully tuning out everyone around me. I had gotten quite good at that, and now I could almost believe that I was alone. Which was why I didn’t notice the businessman walking towards me until he took a seat on the stool right beside mine. I jumped.

He smiled easily. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Now that I got a good look at him, I realized just how out of place he looked here. His dark hair was slicked back out of his face, he wore a grey button-up that was free of wrinkles, his jeans were definitely not a brand that could be found at Walmart, and I was pretty sure he used whitening strips because there was no way anyone’s teeth were that white. The only way he would have looked more incongruous was if he was wearing a suit. “It’s Mel, right? I overheard the bartender,” he added at my stunned expression.

I shook myself lightly, suddenly wishing desperately that I was somewhere, anywhere else. “Melissa,” I said, unable to inject much volume into my voice.

“Melissa,” he repeated with that same smile. It was probably just my aversion to people I had developed since becoming a recluse, but I found it unnerving. “That’s right, I was wondering why you looked familiar. Didn’t you used to work at Riverview Marketing?”

“Um…” I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I mean, that was where I had worked before my life got turned upside down, but I was also pretty sure I’d never seen this guy before. “I don’t remember you,” I ended up blurting out.

He chuckled. “Not surprising. We worked in different areas. But I saw the work you did, it was good.”

“Oh, uh… thanks.” Please stop talking to me, I thought desperately.

“So, where are you working now?”

“I’m… not,” I muttered, looking down. I took another drink of my beer, hoping he’d get the hint that I wanted to be left alone.

“Really?” he asked with interest. Great, apparently sad, unemployed girl was the new hit exhibit at Eli’s Zoo.

“Hey, Mel,” Liz called from the other side of the bar, pausing in her washing of glasses to look uncertainly between me and the guy that was apparently my former coworker. “Everything okay?” she asked, an edge of nervousness to her voice.

I nodded with a small, grateful smile before returning my attention to my beer. Good to know that if this guy was a creep, someone here had my back.

“You know,” the guy continued. “I left Riverview, too. Started my own business.”

I made a noncommittal sound into my beer, definitely not about to point out that I hadn’t left by choice.

“I think I have a job for you, if you’d be interested.”

I choked on my beer. I coughed and took a deep breath, trying not to ruin this apparent job offer by dissolving into a coughing fit. I carefully lowered my beer to the bar and blinked up at him incredulously. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Like I said, you did good work. I’d love to have you on staff.”

A job. An actual job. Doing what, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t care. Did the details really matter when no matter what it would be an improvement over my current lifestyle? I knew I should tell him about my sickness, that he deserved to know, but then he would know better than to hire me, and I needed a job, dammit. So, I pushed those thoughts out of by head, focusing instead on the opportunity that was being offered to me. “What’s the job?”

“It’s… unique, difficult to explain, but I think it’ll be perfect for you. But it’s Friday night, let’s not discuss business. I’ll send a car for you Monday at eight to take you to the office. We can go over all the details then.”

He’ll send a car? Just how fancy was his company? I felt a thrill of fear at the new unknown that now stretched before me, but I shoved it down as I nodded. My fear, my sickness, my reclusiveness, all of that could take a backseat. I had an actual shot to pull my life back together here, so long as I could hide how broken I was. So that was what I had to do. I could pretend to be normal. I could run and hide whenever I felt my sickness overpowering me, so that no one would see. I could smile and make a convincing show that I wasn’t actively being tortured by something everyone said was just in my head. I could live the lie, and I would. There was no other option.

***

Monday rolled around, and I walked out to the curb in front of my apartment at five till eight. I really hoped that I’d be getting my first paycheck sooner rather than later because the few business clothes that my wardrobe still contained were nearing the end of their lifespans. After combing through my closet twelve times over, I had finally settled on a plain, red dress with minimal wear and my only pair of flats, since I had killed my last heels on Friday. I stood by the road, taking deep breaths, trying through sheer determination to keep from falling prey to my sickness for a second time this morning.

A black SUV rolled slowly up to the curb and I automatically took a nervous step back as it came to a stop in front of me. The man who got out of the vehicle was remarkably unremarkable. It crossed my mind that if you asked someone to draw a middle-aged, white male, the man standing in front of me now would be the result. “Melissa Rayburn,” he greeted me as he opened the door to the backseat. His voice matched his appearance – not exactly monotone, but not at all lively, either.

Some basic instinct inside of me – the one that extended back to my mom telling me to never get into a car with a stranger – was screaming at me to turn around and run away. But it wasn’t like I was in any danger. I had already agreed to be picked up by a mysterious stranger this morning, to be taken to my new, unknown job. And alright, yeah, that wasn’t really the most comforting though, and I had wondered multiple times over the weekend why exactly I had agreed to this, especially when I’d realized that my new boss had never even told me his name, but it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. Wherever this path led, my life could only get better from here.

So, I climbed into the backseat of the SUV. I think. To be honest, I’m a little fuzzy on that part. I remembered hesitating, remembered making the decision to get in the car, remembered lifting my foot to step forward, and… well, I must have gotten into the car, right?

But suddenly I was lowering my foot down onto the sidewalk and my apartment complex was in front of me. I spun around to see the same SUV pulling away from the curb.

“Wait!” I shouted, lifting my hand, but the vehicle was already driving away. But suddenly, I wasn’t focusing on that anymore. When I started to lift my hand, I abruptly realized that there was something in said hand, something heavy. I looked down in surprise to see that I was holding a large, black briefcase. What the hell…?

I glanced around. The scenery had changed slightly since five seconds ago, which clearly hadn’t been five seconds ago. The changes weren’t anything horribly remarkable, just those minute changes a street goes through throughout the day. Aside from the fact that instead of being dawn, it was now dusk. Now that was disconcerting. I had lost an entire day. Was this a new symptom of my sickness?

There was no one around me, so I cautiously lowered the briefcase to the ground and opened it up. I blinked in surprise. There were stacks of hundred-dollar bills inside. A lot of stacks. After staring in shock with my mouth gaping open for probably far too long to be squatting in the middle of the sidewalk with an open briefcase full of thousands of dollars, I saw a note taped to the inside of the case.

‘Great first week. I’ll see you on Monday. Same time, same place.’

I hadn’t lost a day… I’d lost a week.

I slammed the briefcase shut and snatched it up, nearly sprinting back to my apartment and up the stairs. I fumbled with my keys for a moment, nearly dropping the briefcase my fingers were shaking so much, but I finally managed to get into my apartment. I slammed the door shut behind me and fell back against it. What the hell was going on?

My sickness had cause me to lose time before – disassociating, one doctor had called it – but that was minutes, maybe an hour, never days. Never a whole week.

And I’d been paid in cash. It may have been a while since I’d held a job, but I was fairly certain that you didn’t get paid with a briefcase full of cash for an on-the-record job. So, was I doing something illegal? Had they wiped my memory so I wouldn’t know, wouldn’t be able to tell anyone? Was I seriously considering the fact that someone had just wiped my memory? I was starting to sound just as crazy as all those doctors said I was.

I sank down to the floor, allowing the briefcase to fall to the laminate tile beside me. What was I supposed to do? Quit? But how? I had no way of getting in contact with anyone, and there was no telling what would happen come Monday, if I’d get the opportunity to talk to someone before they did something to me. And would they even let me quit?

I slowly pulled the briefcase around in front of me and began counting the money inside, just for the sake of doing something simple, easing my mind with quantifiable facts. One stack was a thousand dollars. I couldn’t remember the last time I had had a thousand dollars in my possession, it was surreal. Ten stacks. Ten thousand dollars.

My breath left me. I had ten thousand dollars. With this, I could get caught up on rent, make some headway on my medical bills, buy some clothes without tears and worn patches. And if I kept getting this much every week… I could turn my life around even faster than I would have thought possible.

I worried at my bottom lip as I contemplated that. I shouldn’t, I knew that. Whatever kind of work I was doing, it was shady, to say the least. It wasn’t something I should be at all willing to continue. And yet… well, if I was doing something terrible, it wasn’t like I had to deal with guilt. I couldn’t be held responsible for things I didn’t remember doing. And besides, it wasn’t like I’d be able to get out of this, even if I did try….

As my gaze slid back down to the money, I began to realize why he’d thought I’d be so perfect for the job. I was just that desperate.

***

The next few weeks played out much the same. I was picked up Monday at eight, and it was as though no time had passed when I got out of the SUV Friday at five. There were no longer notes in the briefcase, but there was always ten thousand dollars in cash. It had only been a month and my bills were paid off, I had bought a whole new wardrobe, and I no longer had to worry about where my next meal was coming from. But what was more, it took me a month to realize it, but I hadn’t had any more of my episodes. Of course, I had no memory of what I might be experiencing during the weekdays, but to go even four weekends without my sickness rearing its ugly head was unheard of. And it was more than that. I just felt better… I felt whole.

“Hey, Mel, it’s been a while,” Liz greeted me as I took a seat at the bar in Eli’s. “You’re looking good.”

“Thanks,” I said with a more genuine smile than I had ever been able to manage with her before. “I’ll have my usual.”

She nodded. “Coming right up.”

I watched her as she grabbed the beer out of the fridge and set it down on the bar in front of me. It was nice being back here, drinking just for the enjoyment of it, rather than to escape the hell that was my life, using the alcohol to suppress my sickness. Now I just felt like a normal girl, getting a drink at the end of the work week. Of course, most girls out on a Friday night actually remembered what they’d done during the week, but close enough.

I was a few drinks in when a sudden thought struck me. “Hey, Liz,” I began tentatively. “Do you remember that guy that was in here, last time I was?”

The corner of her mouth quirked up in an amused smirk. “What guy?” She probably thought this was about some guy I’d found attractive, I realized. That was probably more what she was used to, rather than a mysterious stranger who approached sad girls and offered them a job.

“He was the real business-type, slicked back hair and all. He sat at the bar with me. You can’t tell me you forgot him, he stuck out like a sore thumb here.”

She shook her head, her smirk dissolving into a worried frown. “There was no one else sitting at the bar that night, Mel,” she said slowly.

I blinked. “What are you talking about?” I asked with a slight laugh, refusing to believe that she was serious. My life was weird enough as it was, it didn’t need invisible men added to it. “He sat right next to me. I had a conversation with him.”

“You, uh… you were talking to yourself, Mel,” she said gently. “I noticed, but… didn’t want to say anything.” She gave a small shrug. “I don’t judge, but… if you thought there was someone here, maybe you should see someone.”

I shook my head. “But…” It didn’t make any sense. I knew he had been there. I mean, he was the reason I had this job, the reason I was no longer struggling to get by. So, why hadn’t Lexi seen him?

I felt like I was losing my mind, like maybe I had imagined the whole thing, but that didn’t explain how I kept coming home at the end of every week with ten thousand dollars. That came from somewhere. So, it had to all be real… right? But without being able to remember what I did throughout the week, it was hard to be sure. I let my head fall into my hands. Were all those doctors right about me? Have I really been crazy all along and it had now built to the point of full-blown hallucinations and black outs? Was that why I wasn’t having any episodes, anymore? Because it had turned into something else? Gone to the next level? What was I doing during the week, if I hadn’t been hired for this job? How was I getting the money?

“Hey, do you need me to call someone?” Lexi asked softly.

I shook my head again as I slowly lifted my face from my hands and got to my feet. I didn’t need another doctor telling me I was mad, especially not when I was starting to think that they might be right. If I went back to the hospital, if I told them the truth, they would lock me up in some kind of psych ward, and I’d never get any answers. No, I needed to figure this out on my own. I needed to know for sure what was going on before I did anything drastic.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “Just… sleep deprived, I think. I should go.”

“Mel-” she called after me, but I was already walking across the room and out the door.

As I made my way back to my apartment, my mind worked furiously to get to the bottom of this, and by the time that I closed my door behind me, I had come up with a plan. I had no idea if it would work, had no idea if I retained enough of myself during the week to follow through, but currently, it was all I had.

***

That Monday, I repeated my plan over and over to myself as I walked out to where the SUV was waiting, and the same driver that picked me up every Monday opened the door for me. I barely acknowledged him, dedicating every last ounce of focus I had on remembering my plan when I got in the car. And then my foot landed on the sidewalk in the opposite direction of where I had been stepping. The sky was darkening around me, and my heart hammered frantically in my chest as I raised my left arm, hardly acknowledging the briefcase that I lifted with it, and jerked my sleeve back. Carved into the skin of my forearm, not deep, but clearly visible, were two words: concentrate, listen.

I blinked in surprise. Not the kind of message I would expect to have left myself, but clearly I had remembered the plan, so it must be important. I had to trust myself. Even if my own mind was playing tricks on me, I had to believe that I had given myself this message for a reason.

So, I took my advice. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, tuning out all my other senses as I gave my full concentration to listening. It was surprisingly easy, like the kind of muscle memory that comes with continuous practice. One moment, the sounds of five o’clock traffic and people living their lives washed over me, mixing and blurring together in the usual cacophony, but as I focused, I realized I could pick out each individual sound. A bird flapping its wings approximately ten feet above my head, someone shaking dust off a sheet from their third-floor apartment balcony, a cat purring inside that same apartment, and the engine of the SUV, a part of the traffic, and yet distinctly separate. I didn’t have to look to know it turned left at the stop sign, then I heard it merge into the right lane.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” It sounded like a shout, just two feet to my right.

I gasped with a start and my eyes flew open. The colors all around me seemed more vibrant than usual, and I could hear the heartbeat of the older gentleman who was now regarding me with concern in his eyes. I could also smell that he hadn’t showered today.

I stumbled back, my fingers whitening on the handle of the briefcase, my own heartbeat thundering in my ears, much faster than the man’s. The world was spinning there was so much input, disorienting me. And the sensation wasn’t unfamiliar.

“Fine,” I managed to gasp out before I turned and fled. I ran back to my apartment, trying to ignore the way the wind slapped against my skin, trying to block out the scratch of the fabric as my clothes rubbed against my skin. Too much, it was all too much. The metal of my keys was too cold in my hand, and I dropped them twice before finally managing to get the apartment door open and staggering inside. The door slammed shut a half-second after the briefcase fell to the ground, and I flinched at both sounds as they echoed in my head.

I nearly collapsed in my haste to get across the room, and ended up half-staggering, half-crawling into the corner. I pressed my back against the wall and drew my knees up, wrapping my arms around them tightly, digging my nails into my arms in an attempt to stop myself from shaking. The pain was way, way too much, so much so that it drowned out the other input. I managed to take a deep breath.

Alcohol. That had always managed to deaden the effects of my sickness before. It took me a few minutes before I was able to get up, and then I stumbled over to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of beer and gulping it down like it was a lifeline.

I had been wrong. My sickness was still there, though I was no longer sure that that was the best term for it. It was making me imagine things, that I could hear things I couldn’t possibly hear, see things that weren’t there. And it was making me forget chunks of time. My life, this past month, none of it was real.

It looked like the doctors had been right, it really was all my imagination. I really was insane.

***

I still went and got into the SUV on Monday. I didn’t know what else to do, and besides, I still didn’t know where the money was coming from. Not that I really expected to get any answers from my crazy self, but what else did I have? It was either this, or turn myself in and get locked up somewhere. No thank you. I wasn’t giving up till I got some answers, and if that meant living in denial, then that was exactly what I would do.

When I came to on the sidewalk Friday evening, I immediately became aware of how much my body ached. Not internally, but like I had a thousand papercuts along my stomach and thighs. I cringed as I climbed the stairs to my apartment, and when I got inside, I lifted my shirt to look. There were more words carved into my stomach, like there had been my arm the week before. I vaguely wondered if my alternate personality, or whatever the hell part of me it was calling the shots, knew how to use a pen.

I sighed and read the words: get car; follow SUV; careful; suspicious.

I frowned at my stomach for a minute, then dropped my shirt and hiked up my skirt. There were more words on each of my thighs: real; hyper senses; using me; not sick; power.

I shook my head in disgust as I released my skirt and let it fall. What kind of twisted delusion was I suffering from? Did I really expect myself to believe that I had superpowers and that these people were using me because of it? My hand rested against my stomach, feeling the throb of the cuts beneath the fabric of my shirt. No, I didn’t expect myself to believe that, I realized. I expected me to find out for myself. It looked like it was time to get a car.

***

As Monday itched closer, I grew more and more nervous. On the one hand, I didn’t even know for certain that there was a SUV picking me up and dropping me off at my apartment. For all I knew, that could just be another hallucination. But if there was, and if I followed it, I couldn’t imagine that the people I was working for would be too happy with me for that. Hell, if my weekday self was right, these people sounded pretty dangerous, and who knew how they would react? Oddly enough, though, that wasn’t what scared me the most.

The SUV would be out of sight before I could get in my new car and follow it – and honestly, that was probably for the best; they’d be less likely to catch me at that distance – but that meant that I’d have to follow the sound, which meant that I’d have focus on it like I had the previous week, which could easily lead to another episode, and the idea of going through that while driving was even more terrifying than it was normally. It was ridiculous. I knew that I didn’t have super-hearing, that I couldn’t possibly use it to follow the van, but clearly some part of me was convinced that that was the case. And I had to prove that part of me wrong, even if I did suffer for it. And okay, yeah, maybe a part of me was hoping that I wasn’t crazy, that this ludicrous plan would work and I was about to get some real answers. I tried not to think about that too much, though; I didn’t want to be too disappointed when my insanity became undeniable.

I took a deep breath as I walked out to the SUV that morning, and when the world darkened around me, the scenery spinning as I abruptly faced the opposite direction, I didn’t hesitate, just continued walking straight ahead to where I had parked my car. Nerves twisted in my stomach, coupling with the sharp pain of what I assumed was my latest message to myself. I pulled up my shirt to check as I slid into my car and started it.

Your in control not it, was carved into my stomach, over the faded words from the previous week.

I swallowed thickly as I brought my shaking hands up to rest on the steering wheel. I was right. I still didn’t know what I believed, but if this was some kind of power I had, it was my power. It belonged to me, and therefore, I could control it.

Not thinking too much about how I was taking advice from the possibly insane part of my personality, I took a deep breath and I listened. Just like before, all the sounds that made up the background noise of my apartment complex abruptly became clear and distinct, but I didn’t allow myself to get distracted by it all. Knowing what I was looking for, I immediately recognized the sound of the SUV turning the corner. I didn’t hesitate, didn’t allow myself to second-guess my plan; I followed.

I stayed far enough away so that I would be out of sight, the engine rumbling at the very edge of what I was capable of hearing. Just like before, it wasn’t just my hearing that was enhanced; I could see better, feel every slight brush against my skin, smell things I had never experienced before, and some of those smells I could even taste. But I didn’t let myself focus on any of that. The sound of the SUV was the only thing that mattered.

I pursued him for over an hour, following him outside the city limits to an unfamiliar countryside. When the sound of the engine finally died down, I slowed my car down to a crawl. Now this was the hard part, the part that I hadn’t really planned for. I had to enter my place of employment, to look around, to find out what I did every week. And somehow, I had to do that without being discovered.

Of course, there was still the possibility that this was all in my head. I could very well have followed my imagination out into the middle of nowhere, like I could have done every week for the last month and a half. But it felt so real. And being in control of my senses, not allowing them to overtake me… I felt more sane than I had in a long time. But hey, maybe that was just a testament to how far gone I was.

I saw the building sooner than I felt I should have been able to, given the distance, and if I hadn’t been specifically on the lookout, I might not have even noticed it. I continued to inch slowly closer, and the image became clearer. It was just a white square sticking up from the ground; one-story, nondescript, with a row of black SUVs parked out front. It could have been anything. From what I could see – and I knew I could see everything – there was no one around.

I parked at the end of the fleet of SUVs and took out my phone, taking the necessary steps to put the last phase of my plan into motion. Then I got out of the car, scrutinizing the building. There were no windows and only one door. It looked like I didn’t have much of a choice. I walked forward.

As soon as I got within a foot of the door, a light that I got the impression was probably invisible to the average human eye scanned over me. The door opened. Guess it was safe to assume this was where I worked. I looked around carefully before stepping inside.

The room I found myself in took up the entirety of the building and was as characterless as the outside. White tile made up the floor, and the walls and the ceiling were also an uninterrupted span of white, with faint light emanating from the corner where the two met. There was nothing in the room, nothing on the walls. I had never thought of the color white as eerie before, but when it took up your entire field of vision, it had a peculiar effect, as though I had stepped out of reality and was standing in a sea of absolute nothingness.

I turned around. The door had closed behind me – it was also white, but at least I could see the clearly defined shape of it. To the left of the frame was a shape that was not as clearly defined. It was a small circle that should have blended perfectly with the wall, except that I could see the different texture that set it apart ever so slightly.

The pounding of my heart was almost distracting, but I carefully tuned it out as I reached forward and pressed my index finger against the circle. It curved slightly inward under the pressure, and then there was a scraping sound behind me. I turned to see the floor sliding apart, separating at the halfway point of the room like elevator doors sliding open. I pressed my back against the door, fumbling desperately behind myself to grab at the doorknob, but the tile below my feet remained steady. The scraping ceased, and I saw that beneath where the floor had been, there was a staircase beginning immediately in front of me and leading down into darkness.

It was at that point that I decided that if this was all in my head, I had a way too overactive of an imagination. I sighed, shaking my head, and not seeing what else I could do, descended the stairs. I found myself unsurprised when, as soon as my head was clear, the ceiling closed up above me, plunging me in to absolute darkness.

Despite the fact that it was pitch-black and there were no handrails, I had no problems navigating down the narrow staircase that led me deep underground. When I reached what I imagined was the half-way point (approximately 50 steps down, though I hadn’t been taking much care with counting), I could make out the shadow of a door at the bottom, only the very faintest glimmer of light managing to slip beneath the nearly nonexistent crack between it and the floor. As I came still closer, I could hear voices from the other side.

“… as usual,” my driver was saying. He was still a good distance away, but his footsteps were coming closer, and he was accompanied by someone else.

“Good.” I recognized the voice immediately. It was the man from the bar. The one who had offered me the job. The guy that had apparently not even been there. “If there haven’t been any problems by now, I think it’s safe to assume it was an isolated incident. Perhaps she was telling the truth, and the message on her arm really was simply to placate her inquisitiveness on the weekends.”

They were talking about me, I realized. Someone had seen the first message I’d left for myself on my arm. That must be why I’d switched to less noticeable places. And if they were cautious enough to have noticed that, then they were probably also cautious enough to avoid giving me access to pens, as I had already figured must be the case. It was good to know that the unpleasant method of carving messages into my skin likely hadn’t been my first choice of how to communicate with myself.

“Perhaps,” the driver responded, skepticism giving unusual character to his voice.

The footsteps slowed. “You’re not convinced?”

“I see her after she’s been wiped. It’s doing a number on her mind, her sanity. It’s only a matter of time before she snaps.”

I took a deep, shaky breath as I drew to a halt beside the door. I didn’t know what the layout was like on the other side, but given how close their voices sounded, there was a good chance that if I opened the door, they’d be able to see me. So, I remained where I was, listening and hoping the conversation would lead to more answers.

“And how do you foresee that playing out?” my boss asked curiously.

“I don’t know,” the driver replied uncertainly. “Checking herself into a psych ward, perhaps.”

“If she does so, I’ll get her out,” he replied with confidence.

There was silence from the driver.

“You disapprove?” my boss pressed.

“I just think it’s a risk letting her go every weekend.”

“If I don’t, it is her cooperation that will be at risk.”

They were closer now, and I realized with a sinking feeling that they were probably about to leave for the night, which meant that they were about to open the door that I was hiding behind. Unless my powers included invisibility, I was screwed. Of course, that was only if I believed that any of this was real. If it wasn’t, if I was just standing in the middle of the country, painting my surroundings with my imagination, then none of it could hurt me. If I didn’t believe this story my head was spinning for me, then I had nothing to fear. So then, why was I so terrified right now?

The doorknob twisted and instincts I didn’t know I had kicked in. I didn’t have to look to know exactly where the driver would be standing when he opened the door, I could hear every shift of his stance, and I was already moving when the door was pulled open and light spilled in from the room beyond. The driver’s eyes widened when he saw me, but he didn’t have time to react before the heel of my hand slammed into his trachea. He stumbled back, gasping for breath.

“Melissa,” my boss exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“I want answers,” I demanded, fixing him with a glare. He looked just as put-together as he had when I’d first seen him at Eli’s, except now he was wearing a black suit with a skinny, black tie and a white undershirt. He was standing in a hallway, all white like the room above us, but here there were grey doors lining the walls, alleviating the dream-like quality the other room had had.

The driver collected himself and took a step forward, but my boss (or probably former boss now; I doubted he’d want to keep me on staff after this) held out his hand to stop him. “Melissa,” he said gently. “You need to calm down. You know how sensitive you are, how vulnerable. Your mind is attempting to combat it by crafting a world around you, a world where you’re not weak, you’re strong. But it’s doing you more harm than good. None of this is real, Mel. You need to wake up from this fantasy.”

I blinked as everything I’d been telling myself got recited to me. It was what I’d been so sure the truth had to be, even though I couldn’t stand the thought of it. And then I smiled. “No,” I said with sudden confidence. I gave a shaky, unbelieving laugh at the realization. “Because the part of me that I thought was making you up was trying to convince me that this was real, even though I wouldn’t listen. So, if you were really that part of this fantasy cooked up by some crazy part of my mind, you wouldn’t be saying that this isn’t real. So, that means it is real.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Further proof that you aren’t in my head,” I said triumphantly. “So, who are you? What is this place?”

He hesitated, looking nervous. “Come with me and we’ll talk.”

I shook my head, taking a step back and up onto the step behind me. “If I go with you, you’ll wipe my memory. Again.”

His answering smile was almost apologetic. “You can’t overpower us.” The driver came level with him as if to reinforce his point.

“And you can’t risk hurting me. I’m too valuable of an asset, right?” It was just a hunch, but I felt that it was a good one, given what I had recently learned about myself. Whatever it was he wanted me for, the fact that I had some kind of super-senses definitely had something to do with it, and I couldn’t imagine that there were too many other people with the same ability. He couldn’t afford to lose me.

His jaw clenched, telling me I was right. “Melissa, I thought we had a good deal going,” he tried to sound reasonable, but some frustration crept into his voice.

“Hey, maybe we do. But it’s hard for me to know when you wipe my memory every week. Why don’t you fill me in, and I’ll be the judge?”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous for you to know.”

“Then, if I agree, I’ll let you erase my memory,” I lied convincingly. “I’ll even leave a note for myself not to go snooping anymore. Because feeling like I’m going crazy sucks, and I’m not doing that anymore. If you want me to keep working for you, I’m going to have to give my weekend brain some kind of assurance. But I need answers before I can do that.”

He seemed to be legitimately thinking it over. Good. If I could convince him to explain everything, that should give plenty of time for my plan to work. “And what if you don’t agree?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I can’t overpower you, right? I can’t promise you we won’t replay this in another week or two, when I come snooping around again, but really… what have you got to lose?”

He considered that for another couple of seconds and then nodded. “Very well. If you would like, we can go have a seat-”

“I think I’ll stay right here,” I interrupted firmly.

He sighed resignedly. “Alright. Where would you like me to begin?”

“Who are you?” I asked as the driver stepped to the side to lean against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, but I could tell that he was ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

“I go by Ian. I’m a businessman. My clients pay me to provide them unique services.”

Yeah, that fit. “What kinds of services?”

“Oh, the possibilities are endless. Especially with people like you. We can eavesdrop on conversations from such a distance that no one could possibly be suspicious, we can investigate places and see things the average person would miss, we can identify people by their smell. Really, Melissa, there nearly limitless uses for your abilities.”

“And what kinds of people require these services?” I demanded, feeling uneasy at the thought of all the things I might have done under Ian’s employ. Everything he’d listed had been mostly harmless on the surface, but there was no telling how his clients applied the information I got for them. And besides, I had developed the instincts that had driven me to attack the driver somehow.

“All kinds,” he answered casually. “But I don’t ask questions. It’s bad for business.”

Of course. Well, if it really was all kinds of people, maybe I had done work for some good guys, too. I kind of doubted many good guys would hire someone like Ian, but it was a nice thought, nonetheless.

I wondered if enough time had passed yet. We were too far underground for even me to hear what was going on outside. How far away were we from civilization? I hadn’t been paying as much attention to that as I should have been on the drive here, all my focus having been on the sound of the SUV. Too far, I figured. “How’d you find me?” I asked, buying more time. And I had more questions I needed answers to, anyway.

Ian gave a small smile at that, an excited gleam in his eyes. “I’ve had a theory for a while about people who are… let’s say hypersensitive to the world around them. I’ve been searching, and anyone that I thought might fit the bill, I tested. So far, you’re the only one I’ve found, but I know there’s more out there.” As he spoke, his tone grew in passion, a note of desperation creeping in. He must have spent a lot of time looking for people like me, to the point that he had grown obsessed. I could use that.

“How’d you test me?” I frowned slightly in confusion, but then I realized. “Wait… is that why I’m the only one that saw you at Eli’s?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed excitedly, a fierce pride in his voice. “It’s a device of my own creation – it transports my consciousness wherever I wish, and only someone with your level of sensitivity is able to detect it. Isn’t it genius? And it’s been great for missions, too; for me to stay in contact with you without anyone else realizing.”

It was all starting to come together. My life that had been such a convoluted blur as of late sharpening into a clear picture. “So, why do you have to erase my memory?” I asked, still stalling. I had to be sure. There would be no second chances.

“Isn’t it obvious? Think of how many valuable secrets you learn on any given mission. It puts my clients at risk. And if they didn’t have my absolute guarantee that your memory would be wiped, it would put you at risk.”

“So you, what? Retrain me from scratch every week?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That would be an atrocious waste of resources. I store your memories somewhere safe, and give them back to you when you arrive every Monday.”

So, my memories weren’t gone. They were stored. And that meant that technically, I could get them back…. But that wasn’t important right now. I didn’t think I could stall much longer without prompting suspicion, so I just had to hope that I had allowed enough time.

I nodded. “Alright, I think I get it now.”

“See? And for ten thousand dollars a week, it’s not such a bad deal, is it?” He smiled, offering me his hand. “So, what do you say?”

I slowly lifted my hand, extending it towards him. “I say… catch me if you can.” I grabbed the door, slamming it in his face as I spun around to run up the stairs.

I was in better shape than I remembered – I would have thought that running full blast up a hundred stairs would be too much for me. But I’d apparently been going on a bunch of secret missions lately, so that must have done something for me.

“There’s no where for you to run!” Ian shouted as he sprinted up the stairs, just a few feet behind me.

I didn’t waste my breath responding, just pushed myself harder. The narrowness of the staircase was working in my favor. I could tell that the driver was probably faster than Ian was, but Ian had reached the stairs first, and there wasn’t enough room to pass him.

The ceiling opened up like an automatic door as I neared it, and I bounded up the last couple stairs, then wrenched the front door open, throwing myself through it. My vision was immediately assaulted by flashing blue and red lights. There were five police cars parked out front and just as many officers lined up in front of them, guns trained on the building.

I smiled to myself as I raised my hands and went down to my knees, hearing Ian and the driver come to an abrupt stop behind me, Ian cursing under his breath. Perfect timing.

A few minutes later, the police were handcuffing the two men, and I was explaining to an officer Ian’s delusions that I had superpowers. That he had grown so obsessed with the idea that he had built this lair as a base of operations for us to work out of. That at first, I’d thought the delusions were harmless, but then he’d started terrorizing me. That he’d brought me out here and wouldn’t let me leave, and that’s when I’d called the police.

“She’s lying!” Ian shouted, digging his heels in as another officer attempted to escort him to one of the police cars.

“Ian,” I turned to face him, looking him dead in the eyes. “You need to calm down. You’ve been so obsessed with the idea of people having superpowers that you just can’t handle the fact that it’s not true. Your mind is attempting to combat the disappointment by crafting this world where I have powers and we work together, but it’s doing you more harm than good. None of this is real. You need to wake up from this fantasy. And these officers will take you somewhere so that you can be helped.”

“But your memories!” he blurted out desperately. “You’ll never get them back without me! Tell them you’re lying, and I’ll give them back. I promise!”

He was right. But if I got my memories back, then I would have to live with it all. There was no telling what some of those missions had entailed, no telling the guilt and trauma that knowing could leave me with. Yeah, that was a part of myself that I’d never get back, but that was okay. I didn’t want that to be a part of who I was. I didn’t want to remember.

I sighed, shaking my head. “Ian, you never took my memories from me,” I explained gently, my eyes wide and honest. “You only believe that because you can’t stand that I don’t remember the same things you do. None of it was real, you just have an overactive imagination. I hope that with time, with the right help, you’ll realize that.” And then you’ll think yourself as crazy as you made me think myself, I finished in my head.

His eyes went wide as he picked up on my unspoken words, and I watched with satisfaction as he was hauled off into the nearest police car.

Well, it looked like I was unemployed again, but hey, that was okay. I was no longer in debt, and I still had enough money left over to get by for a while. And it would be good to take some time to myself, to figure things out. And when the time came, it shouldn’t be too hard for me to get a job now. After all, I wasn’t sick. I had abilities that made me sense things that others couldn’t, made me have a heightened degree of awareness of the world around me, but that just made me unique, more valuable. Sure, it might get to be too much sometimes, but in those times, I could take a step back and remind myself that I was the one in control. I was no longer being ruled over by a mysterious sickness. Instead, I would play to my strengths and take control of my abilities.