posted September 21, 2015 05:42 PM            

I was never looking for a twin flame.

I don't even think I was looking for my 'imaginary best friend', for lack of a better description, though, he claims that I was. At the beginning of my first Saturn Return, newly engaged, and eager to become the official stepmom to the girl that completely stole my heart, I thought I was just finally growing up; putting childish notions behind me.

Especially, yes -- him.

I don't even know what he is, except that he's infinitely familiar to me, and I've never had a clear understanding of him. Up until age thirty, I didn't even think he existed -- I didn't think he could. I was willing to accept having been an eccentric youth with an overactive imagination. And, as aforementioned, I was intending to grow up -- finally -- once and for all. Putting stories, strange experiences, dreams of every shape and size, and mysterious phenomena behind me. Permanently.

But all stories have a beginning, so let me minimise the skipping about and start there. At fourteen years old.

My world had just come completely apart.

As of 16 March 1993, at age twelve, my parents and I suffered an incredible tragedy, losing our home in a four-alarm fire, and our two-year old maltese from asphyxiation. We were already becoming a family of survivors; that September, my mother became deathly ill, and would begin fighting for her life for the next few years -- with the only respite to come with her thyroid being ablated in 1996. She still managed to throw me the most incredible sixteenth birthday party, however, even as they coincided the same week. Her personality shifted dramatically, leading her to become what my father and I could only eventually call 'monstrous'. I forgave her everything, even if some hadn't. She was still my mother, and I've always had a powerful love for her, and she, me. If anything, I just wanted her to survive and become happy again. But she wouldn't for many years.

I never considered, really, that I was lonely.

I was becoming a writer, so my stories -- and my ability to tell them -- was precious to me. I valued my creativity, and was in glowing appreciation of that of others. I cared for my mother, as my father ran (and still does) his own business, and was always working. I studied perpetually, too, and my grades were excellent. I was only allowed an hour of television a day, (films on weekends, and watching more than one hour-long show, or two half-hours) and could talk to my friends on the phone on weekends, up until dinner-time, providing the kitchen was clean, linens changed, and I had no academic work. Internet service was new, so that was limited as well.

I can't say that I retreated into my head, a world of fantasy, and my own imagination, as much as it felt as if reality was slowly but surely pushing me there. As of age twelve, soon after the fire, I did a total one-eighty, becoming a hardcore sceptic; I'd be a full-fledged debunker, working with the top organisation for paranormal (namely anomalous aerial phenomena) investigation by eighteen. I also retreated into the world of science, and scientific enquiry. I studied everything I could get my hands upon, deeply. Occam and I became buds, with his famous razor as my trusty weapon of choice. Curiously, I couldn't abandon astrology -- it was the one constant in a world that had become filled with chaos and uncertainty.

I suppose I was just tired of weird things.

posted September 21, 2015 06:49 PM            

I didn't know that what I was doing was lucid-dreaming. There's nothing about the concepts in Chris Nolan's Inception that's the least bit unfamiliar, however, and, like my father, I've had recurring series of dreams as well. By sixteen, I had developed several 'identifiers' much like Cobb's spinning top, to reveal with certainty whether I was dreaming or awake. There was always that moment when something seemed just a bit off, and I needed to be sure.

Here, though, I was still fourteen.

I hesitate to say that I was already travelling to other eigenstates; it's possible, but the sensations are very different, by my personal experience, when travelling to a close proximal eigenstate. Of course, these are so different in terms of location, experience, and social circle (so to speak) that it may have been one of my first 'trips' elsewhere.

By that, I define such experiences as possessing a separate memory track of sorts; a bit like instant reincarnation. I find myself in a new place -- fortunately, as myself, or a closely relatable version of me -- and around people I don't recognise immediately, but realise that I should, as the 'other memory track' reveals information I hadn't known prior, but now do.

Forgive me if I'm bungling the explanation of this; it's rather complicated, and I'm attempting to articulate it as best as I'm able.

I awoke in a library in someone's home. Some sort of party was transpiring, or had, and I knew that I had arrived with three of my friends -- all female, and we were roughly the same, if not the same, age. Schoolmates, I assumed. Two were lying about the room -- one upon a divan, the other, limp in a chair. A tallish, lanky man in his mid-twenties (or so it appeared) with hair that seemed golden in the dimmish lighting, but, his back being to me, couldn't discern his eyes, was close to one of the previously mentioned friends -- whom I now realised was unconscious.

Now, your guess is as good as mine, but upon slowly rising from my own reclined position, adjusting my vision to the darkness of the room (nothing but a lamp was on, upon the large oak desk at the furthest wall, with a few recessed lights in the ceiling at the outer corners) I wasted no time getting to said desk. Upon it was a large enough letter-opener ( ... me and letter-openers; really, unless this was its origin, I can't say) with a sufficient blade. He turned to me; within moments, I plunged it straight into his heart.

I still can't say why. Not that I won't -- I just can't.

He blinked (his eyes were still unable to determine; they weren't dark -- this much I could tell in the poor light), seeming almost annoyed. He plucked the blade from within his chest, regarding me as one would a child who'd just spilled the milk, and spoke.

'Is that really necessary?'

' ... but you're a vampire,' I asserted. It seemed to be prior knowledge, even as I honestly had no idea why I knew.

He wasn't even bleeding that badly. He wiped the blade with his shirt -- which was nondescript; perhaps an older button-down which was unbuttoned at the time, with a tee shirt underneath -- and set it back upon the desk, lightly glaring throughout.

'Actually, I'm a transdimensional vampire,' he offered, very plainly. I'd never heard the word before. I wasn't even sure what it really meant. But, having a head for linguistics, I put it together quickly.

'You're a vampire from another dimension?'

'Something like that.'

Great. I felt like Arthur Dent, even though I wouldn't realise it, fully, until later. He was certainly my very own Ford Prefect, though. I wouldn't know that immediately, either. It was becoming illogical, quickly, and I still couldn't deny the fact that my friends were unconscious, and he was the only one in sight. But there was another blatant detail I couldn't ignore, either.

'I staked you.'

'I noticed.'

By this time, he'd gone back to rummaging through the papers on the desk, studying -- it would seem -- various aspects of my unconscious friend -- and even taking in the room as a whole.

' ... What are you?'

He walked right past me, as if I was barely even there. 'You already said. I'm a transdimensional vampire.'

'No, you said you're a transdimensional vampire.'

'Well, one of us did. That's good enough, isn't it?'

I stood there, blinking, for what felt like several seconds. I'd never met anyone like this. Ever. In anything. Besides, what the hell was a transdimensional vampire anyway?

'How long have they been like this?'

He snapped me from what was about to be a long personal enquiry. I was glad, too. My friends were unconscious. Sure, I was dreaming, but they were still my friends, and apparently something had happened. That's when I realised a crucial detail.

'You didn't do this?'

For the moment, he seemed offended. 'Of course not.'

I folded my arms. 'I don't even need to evaluate them. I already know that if I was that eager to stake you, they've been attacked. Obviously, by a vampire.' Then I stopped myself. 'That's new.'

'It is?' He was surprised -- or so what I could see of his face indicated as much.

'A vampire? Yes. I don't encounter them very often,' I said, unable to help but snicker.

'Really? Because you seemed awfully prepared to handle them. Well, me at least.'

I couldn't believe how I suddenly felt awkward -- even apologetic -- for what I'd just done to this bizarre stranger. That isn't how I operate. Emotions aren't my thing. I'm very private, logical, and by-the-book. He appeared to have attacked my friends. I knew (for some reason) he was a vampire. Put two and two together -- yes, I was going to stake him. This isn't rocket science. And yet ...

'Yeah. I'm sorry about that. I honestly didn't know.'

He turned his eyes to me, off of whatever he had been looking at or thinking about elsewhere in the room. 'No apology necessary. You were doing what you always do. And, so am I.'

I can't say it's what I always do; I'm still unclear on why I was so 'prepared', as he put it, but it seemed pointless to argue. Instead, I was far more interested in something else.

'Which is what exactly?'

It took him a moment to answer. 'Things. Just things.'

'You ... do things.'

'Yep. Don't you?'

'Are you always this difficult to have a conversation with?'

' ... Are we having a conversation? I thought we were looking for a vampire. Or something.'

'Or ... something?'

'Could be a vampire. Could be something. Can't be sure yet.'

'And ... when will you know?'

He blinked. 'Well, that's obvious. When I do.'

And he continued his internal dialogue about various things in the room, or what he thought he had identified about my friends, and whatever 'something' was. Something occurred to me. Being no stranger to both mysteries, true crime, and criminal motivations, even at my young age.

'Is that why you're here?'

' ... I'm sorry, what?'

'Is that why you're here. Because of the vampire. Or ... ' (I loved air-quotes and used them far too often) 'something'.'

He grinned, and pointed at me. 'Not bad. Wrong -- but, still not bad.'

I laughed. I downright laughed. I hadn't had this much fun with ... God, with anyone. A transdimensional vampire? What the hell was this? Why was he here -- if not for 'the vampire or something'?

'You just happened to be here at the same time?'

'What, I can't go to parties?'

Even with how little knowledge I possessed of him, some things seemed clear to me. 'No. You really don't seem the type.'

He shrugged his shoulders. Less inclined to admit when I was right, apparently. Pride. Or something. For a budding psychologist, he was a case study all on his own.

He continued looking around the room -- and I kept looking at him. He was almost banal. Nothing particularly memorable. His clothes were hardly unlike I'd expect any other twenty-something, or even collegian to be wearing. There was one feature which I couldn't forget: his voice. It was thin but resonant. Even in the simple acoustics of the room, it carried. It had a weight to it that contrasted with his tall and lanky form and uninteresting attire.

This was a vampire? Or -- apparently, a transdimensional vampire? I still wasn't clear on what that was about.

I was just beginning to contemplate whether or not I'd ever heard his voice before, or if I could relate it to anything when I heard my mother's.

'Oh, no.'

'What?' He was instantly interested. 'Did you find something?'

'No. It's my mother.'

He looked very confused. 'Sorry. She's calling for me. I have to go -- rather, I'm going to go -- really soon.'

He just blinked at me.

'I'm going to wake up!' Why did I shout? Was I ... angry?

Then, he looked quizzical -- as if he realised something.

'You're not really here, either?'

I wasn't sure what to say. His words echoed in my head. I heard the very last syllable resonate as I opened my eyes. I had no time to answer -- no time to even contemplate what it might've even meant.

You're not really here, either?

... Either?

It was a school day. And, when I wasn't staking riddlesome transdimensional vampires in other dimensions, I was actually a rather ordinary eighth grader. If my mother's voice on the intercom was any indication, I'd overslept. Again.

I also remembered everything. The day was at a crawl. I don't remember my breakfast -- only that I couldn't find 'transdimensional' in any of the dictionaries in the house. I don't remember what I wore to school -- only the fact that he didn't match any of the defining attributes of a vampire. I didn't even remember what I got on the physical science test, for which I'd studied so hard.

Only that I had no idea what just happened -- if anything. And nothing more than a terrible certainty that my life had just changed in some profound, permanent way.

And I had no idea how I felt about it.

Doyle Fluegel taught science at the preparatory school I attended. As much as I'd love to say he was a wealth of information -- he wasn't. I was attending a very Christian school at the time, which was very no-no about weird things. I honestly didn't mind it all that much -- until the weird things started to happen. Ixnay on the ampire-vay was probably also a good watchword when approaching anyone from the school anyhow. I'd check the library -- especially encyclopaedias -- for anything even remotely useful -- and leave it at that. Nothing. Not The Book of Knowledge, nor American Heritage, or Grolier.

Nonetheless, I assumed he could tell me something about the subject, so long as I remained vague enough. Really, he couldn't get beyond 'transdimensional'. Frankly, neither could I. The Internet, in its infancy, had nothing on the topic, either. All I could do was peruse what little was available in the realm of quantum physics. A subject I wasn't quite ready for just yet.

Instead, I asked my father, on whom Bill Nye has very little. I was fortunate enough to be born to a psychologist and metaphysical pioneer, and electronics engineer, inventor, and musician. Helluvan upbringing. So, when everything else failed, my Aquarian father with the retrograde Mercury conjunct, always had an answer. He's always been like Tesla -- but nicer. Only slightly less kooky. (In a good way.)

He crooked his brow in a way that rivalled the late Nimoy in his most famous role. ' ... hang on, trans ... dimensional?' We both tried to break it down into parts, along with my mother, the ultimate grammar goddess', help.

'Where did you hear that?' he asked. And, soon, I had to tell him. We agreed it was a crazy dream. My mother was becoming agitated and tired, and I went to clean the kitchen soon after and turn in for the night. I wasn't intending to dream of him again.