Invading Memories
beep… beep… beep…
The sound of the alarm clock drags Mio’s consciousness back to reality.
Six in the morning. The usual time. The usual sound.
But Mio’s body drags the weight of last night’s dream. The sensation of the white corridor still lingers on the soles of her feet.
pat… pat… pat…
The sound of bare feet on the cold flooring. Mio heads for the washroom. She stares at her own face in the mirror.
The shadows under her eyes are the same color as Tanaka Masahiko’s.
shhh… shhh… shhh…
The sound of the shower echoes in the bathroom. Yielding to the warm stream, Mio turns last night’s dream over in her mind.
That corridor. Those footsteps. And Tanaka’s receding figure.
shhh… shhh… shhh…
Mixed into the sound of the water, another sound reaches her.
clack… clack… clack…
Mio shuts off the water. Silence returns to the bathroom.
But the footsteps continue.
clack… clack… clack…
“An auditory hallucination…”
Mio tells herself so. As an HSP symptom, auditory hypersensitivity often worsens under stress.
But the footsteps do not stop.
click… clack… click… clack…
On the way to the hospital, Mio was organizing patient files inside the train car.
Tanaka Masahiko’s file was still blank. And yet, in Mio’s memory, her conversation with him is certainly etched.
rattle… rattle… rattle…
The train’s vibration stimulates Mio’s nerves. The breathing of the passengers around her, the rustle of clothing, the ringtones of mobile phones. All of it strikes her sensory organs directly.
And, between the in-car announcements—
clack… clack… clack…
those footsteps are mixed in.
Mio looks around. No one is walking. The train is packed; the passengers all cling to seats or straps.
clack… clack… clack…
Only the sound goes on reaching Mio’s ears.
tick… tick… tick…
The hospital clock announces Mio’s arrival.
8:30 a.m.
Mio heads for the counseling room. The fluorescent lights of the corridor call to mind the scene of last night’s dream.
pat… pat… pat…
Her own footsteps overlap with the sound in the dream.
When she enters the counseling room, a new patient file lies on the desk.
“Yamada Hanako, twenty-eight, dissociative identity disorder…”
Mio shakes her head. Today was supposed to be Tanaka Masahiko’s follow-up.
She phones reception to confirm.
“Tanaka Masahiko’s appointment—?”
“That name isn’t on today’s schedule, though…”
Mio sets down the receiver. Confusion dominates her thoughts.
Yesterday, she certainly spoke with Tanaka. His voice, his breathing, the sound of him sitting in the chair. All of it is vividly remembered.
And yet no record remains.
knock… knock… knock…
The sound of a knock at the door.
“Excuse me.”
A woman’s voice. Mio lifts her face.
The one who entered was a woman in her late twenties. Yamada Hanako.
“Please, have a seat.”
Mio puts on a professional smile. But inside her, warning signals are ringing.
rustle… rustle… rustle…
The sound of Yamada sitting down. Mio senses the rhythm of her breathing.
Irregular. Shallow. And—
hiss… huff… hiss… huff…
The same breathing pattern as Tanaka Masahiko.
scritch… scratch… scritch… scratch…
Mio grips her pen and opens the patient record.
“Please tell me about your symptoms.”
“There’s another personality inside me,” Yamada’s voice is thin and trembling. “At night, that personality appears, and…”
scritch… scratch…
Each time Mio moves her pen, the faint friction sets the air trembling.
“What sort of personality is it?”
“A man. Around his thirties…”
Mio’s hand stops.
“Does this personality have a name?”
Yamada’s eyes stare at Mio. In the depths of those pupils, a familiar light dwells.
“He calls himself Tanaka Masahiko.”
zzt… zzt… zzt…
White noise floods into Mio’s skull. The same phenomenon as yesterday.
zzt… zzt… zzt…
Yamada’s voice grows lower and lower.
“Doctor, how was last night’s dream?”
That voice was no longer Yamada’s.
It was Tanaka Masahiko’s voice.
Mio tries to rise from her chair. But her body will not move.
“We talked for a long while in the dream, didn’t we.”
Tanaka’s voice issuing from Yamada’s mouth. Her expression, too, is gradually changing. The angle of the eyebrows, the shape of the mouth, the frequency of the blinking.
blink… blink… blink…
Each time Mio blinks, Yamada’s face draws closer to Tanaka’s.
hiss… huff… hiss… huff…
The breathing of the two of them syncs.
Mio feels her own consciousness flowing into Yamada. The boundary is dissolving. The distinction between self and other grows vague.
Is this the extreme state of an HSP, or—
“There’s another personality inside you too, isn’t there, Doctor.”
Tanaka’s voice leaks from Yamada’s lips.
“A personality named Mio—one who can exist only within dreams.”
Mio looks in the mirror. What is reflected there is not her own face.
White skin, black hair, and the face of an unknown woman with hollow eyes.
scritch… scratch… scritch… scratch…
Someone is moving the pen. Mio’s hand moves on its own, carving characters into the patient record.
“Patient: Kitagawa Mio, 29, dissociative identity disorder”
“Chief complaint: the boundary between reality and dream is blurred; the personalities of others and of the self intermingle”
“Course: through an excess of empathic ability, the patient’s psychological boundaries have vanished”
tick… tick… tick…
The clock’s second hand shaves away at the reason Mio has left.
“Doctor.”
Yamada’s voice returns. Or was it Yamada’s voice, or Tanaka’s—she can no longer tell.
“Tonight, too, let’s meet in the dream.”
Mio stands. She tries to leave the room.
But the door will not open.
rattle… rattle… rattle…
The sound of the turning doorknob rings hollow.
“This is inside a dream.”
A voice comes from behind her. When she turns, Yamada is gone.
In her place, Tanaka Masahiko is sitting.
“The real you is still inside the dream.”
…silence…
Complete stillness.
Every sound vanishes from Mio’s world.
She no longer knows where she is, or who she is.
clack… clack… clack…
From far away, footsteps reach her. Someone is walking down the corridor.
Mio heads toward the sound.
A white corridor. An endless passage.
And the receding figure of the person walking.
clack… clack… clack…
Mio realizes.
The one walking was herself.
blink…
Mio opens her eyes.
The counseling room. 9 a.m.
On the desk lies Yamada Hanako’s file.
But that file was blank.
Mio phones reception.
“Yamada Hanako—?”
“She hasn’t come in today, though…”
Mio looks at the patient record.
There, in her own handwriting, were written words.
“Patient: Kitagawa Mio, 29, dissociative identity disorder”
“Symptom: the empath loses all boundaries”
“There are those who can exist only within dreams”
“They make their dwelling in the dreams of the living”
ba… dump… ba… dump…
Mio’s heartbeat strikes her eardrums.
She is beginning to understand.
Whether she is the patient, or the counselor.
Whether she is in reality, or inside a dream.
scritch… scratch… scritch… scratch…
Mio’s hand moves on its own and begins to write a new record.
“The empath’s condition is progressive.”
“They acquire the ability to invade the dreams of others.”
“In the end, the distinction between reality and dream vanishes completely.”
That night, Mio refused to sleep.
But at three in the morning, her consciousness sinks into darkness.
clack… clack… clack…
The white corridor is waiting for her.
And beyond the corridor, a new patient is waiting for Mio.
Whose dream will she wander into tonight?