Foreverland Is Dead

just guessing you wouldn’t know it if it was really you.”
    “Guessing?”
    “We don’t have much to go on, Cynthia.”
    “He said this was an experiment, what did that mean?”
    “Who did?”
    “The old man.”
    Linda and Thomas exchange looks. “There aren’t any males here, Cynthia.”
    “He said he was from someplace else .” She shakes her head, staring blankly at the floor. “I can’t remember.”
    “Foreverland?”
    “How’d you know?”
    Thomas scribbles something in a notebook. “Did he tell you his name?”
    She has to think about it. “Mr. Williams. He brought someone with him, a boy. About my age. I don’t remember his name, though.”
    “That’s all right,” Linda says. “How are you feeling?”
    “Why don’t you just pull the needle out of their heads?”
    Linda holds her arm, just above the elbow. Cyn’s not sure if she looks as weak as she feels.
    “Think of the body as a vehicle,” Linda says. “You are not your body, Cyn. None of us are. Whoever we are—the soul, the identity, whatever you want to call it—resides in the body. Right now, the girls are there.”
    “If we pull the needle out,” Thomas adds, “they’ll end up like human vegetables. Empty bodies.”
    Suddenly, the girls look like machines wired to a small computer, these organic human-like things used to power an alternate world. It’s the motionlessness, the lack of expression, the lifeless repose that clearly illustrates whoever they are—whoever Jen is, Mad, and Kat, Roc—whatever or whoever they are is not the body.
    They’re not in there.
    “Where are they?”
    “You were transported somewhere else.”
    “Where?”
    “How did you escape?” Thomas interjects.
    Cyn looks at him, searching for an answer. Finding none. “Where did they go?” she repeats.
    “If we know how you escaped,” he says, “maybe we can help them.”
    Cyn yanks her arm away from Linda. “Tell me where they went.”
    Linda gives her space, doesn’t try to force comfort on her. She pauses, considering whether Cyn really wants to know the answer. But she already does. She knows where they went.
    The image of an old woman suddenly forms. “Patricia,” Cyn says.
    Linda nods.
    Cyn wishes Linda was holding onto her, keeping her from falling. Or maybe she just wants someone touching her, to let her know this isn’t a dream anymore. This time it’s real.
    Because she’s just not sure.

51

    The next morning is brisk.
    Cyn sits on the front porch of the dinner house, watching the morning sun streak over the meadow. Dew glitters on the helicopter, the blades sagging.
    She dreamed that night. She dreamed a normal dream, one with random images and illogical scenarios, the way dreams are supposed to be. No fog, no gray.
    No cliff to perch upon.
    It seems so obvious, now.
    This is real. This physical world feels different, feels real. The colors more vibrant, the air more fragrant. The sensations deeper. The experience denser.
    Is that what defines reality? Is the human experience in the physical world the gold standard for truth? Do our five senses separate illusion from enlightenment?
    She shivers, not from the cold but the questions.
    She can’t ask them, not now. Not yet. She has to be here, has to be present. Those thoughts make her doubt.
    Maybe this is a dream, too.
    Linda steps onto the porch, a thick beige coat to her knees and two steaming mugs. She hands one to Cyn.
    “I’m sorry, tea is all I have. Would you rather have coffee?”
    Cyn shakes her head.
    Linda takes the chair on the other side of the door, cupping the mug with both hands. She inhales.
    “Beautiful morning,” Linda says.
    Birds are chirping. Cyn doesn’t remember hearing birds inside the dream. Maybe they were there in the beginning. Not at the end. Not when it was so cold.
    “Oh, I almost forgot.” Linda pulls an apple from her pocket. “If you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten much solid food, so it may take some time to adjust.”
    Cyn examines the apple. So red and firm. Shiny. She rubs the skin with her thumb, takes a bite.
    The taste is explosive.
    “We had fruit when we woke up.”
    Linda sips and listens. Cyn studies the apple after each bite, like each one is a new experience.
    “I thought someone would come for us.”
    “We did,” Linda says.
    Another bite. Another look. “Not like I thought.”
    “Did you do that assignment?”
    Cyn pretends like she doesn’t hear, but Linda doesn’t look away. Finally, she reaches