Chapter 4: The Parliament of Dreams

Sometimes questions are more powerful than answers. How is this happening? What are they? Why them and not others? Why now? What does it all mean?

“Alright, folks, let’s get this thing started. We have three months until…” Kate’s voice caught in her throat unintentionally. She looked out over the sea of faces in the classroom, watching her; she realized after a moment that she was mentally taking attendance, making sure everyone was there, was safe. It was interesting, she noted, that she was not the only one who looked more concerned than usual. On the one hand, it was January, and a lot of the staff still felt somewhat unprepared for the convention. Add to that the unusually high level of personal drama that seemed to be pervading the staff, and it was easy to see why most of the people in that room looked like they’d rather be somewhere else.

On the other hand, though…

She caught Bayani’s eye, who watched her intently from the back row, and with a nod of his head he prompted her to continue. After all, they still had the mundane responsibility to prepare and run Tekkoshocon.

“… until the convention,” she forced herself to finish. “And… um… yeah, we’ve got a lot of work left to do if we want to be ready. So let’s get started -- oh, damn it…” The connection from her computer to the classroom’s projection system had flaked out again, but she wiggled the cord around in the port on the side of her laptop and the picture restored itself.

But even the momentary and, by this point, somewhat routine glitch had more than a passing effect on Kate. She had to stop for a moment and compose herself before turning to the convention’s secretary. “Chris, let’s take attendance, huh?”

“Alright,” Chris started, “everyone, raise your hand, and when I read your name off the list -- “ he glanced quickly at Trevor, who gave him a subtle nod -- “put your hand down.” He went through the list of people he’d noticed come into the meeting room, one by one. As he went through, he also compared the names that he was calling to another list, one that he and Trevor and Shaune and Jeanie had prepared the night before.

After both their names had been called, Whitney turned to Trevor, who was sitting behind him. “Hey,” she whispered, looking like she was trying not to be conspiratorial, “I’ve been drawing more.” The look in her eyes was unmistakable as she passed him a folded-up piece of paper. Lindsey, who was sitting in the row behind him, leaned forward and scritched his neck affectionately. “Passing notes again?” she whispered.

He looked back, smiled and squeezed her hand, but said nothing, then turned his attention back to the paper Whitney had handed him. Unfolding it revealed to him a picture of the room they were currently in. The style was more abstract than he was used to from Whitney: it showed Jimmy and Bayani in perfect clarity, but the rest of the staff was blurred and indistinct, as if intentionally set in the background. Jimmy and Bayani were having what seemed to be a somewhat spirited conversation, and Jimmy’s face held a distinct note of panic, countered by Bayani’s expression of resignation.

Trevor looked over the picture for a moment, and then glanced to the row in front of him, as if to assure himself that Jimmy was in fact sitting next to Whitney and not standing in the back of the room talking to Bayani. Jimmy had his head in his hands, Whitney whispering gently in his ear and looking concerned. Trevor leaned forward and tapped her on the shoulder, then tipped his head towards the door and raised his eyebrows in a question: can we talk outside? She looked over at Jimmy and whispered something to him; he nodded, moaned slightly, and grabbing her sketchbook, she and Trevor got up and went out into the hall. As he left, Trevor looked pointedly at Chris, almost willing his thoughts to reach his head.

It was not Chris, however, that picked up on Trevor’s intended message. Rebecca had been running songs, poems, mantras, whatever she could think of through her head to filter out the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her as they had at Dave and Buster’s the previous Friday night. Try as she might, however, she could not keep Trevor’s emphatic thought -- We’ve found Isaac. We’ve found our artist. Damn it, Chris, we’ve got our Isaac. -- from entering her head. Her eyes snapped open, and John looked over in concern. He’d been trying to care for her for the past two days, since she had explained away her fainting to him as a product over overstress and under-eating, but she would have none of it. She could tell that he didn’t quite believe her anyway, but they both seemed content to let the lie remain between them, especially once she had picked up his stray thought of Not like I’m not keeping secrets from her, anyway.

Rebecca and John attended a weekly Tuesday night dinner with Trevor, Shaune and several friends from outside Tekko, and after hearing John and Trevor discussing the intricacies of “Heroes” episodes, she had begun watching the show herself and joining into their theorizing sessions. Thus, the mention of “Isaac” -- a character from the show whose power to paint the future was mirrored by Whitney’s own -- as “the artist” caught her attention, and she spent the next few minutes debating the ethical merits of eavesdropping on her friends’ thoughts, as she had spent the past two days practicing, in the hopes of trying to put some more pieces into place.

She finally decided that as long as she didn’t delve too deeply, and kept everything she overheard to herself, her friends would probably understand… assuming, of course, that they ever even learned what she had done. So she would have to be careful, as she didn’t know how subtle her new-found telepathy actually was. The question of who to start with was a relatively easy one: Chris seems to know at least a little of what’s going on. Concentrating on the meeting secretary, she at first picked up only an echo of the Hotel Department report that Kate was just finishing. Makes sense, she thought, he’s concentrating on writing down what she’s saying. Feeling the need to dig just a little deeper, she found his thoughts just beneath the surface. It’s all centered on this group, he was musing. But what is it? OK, so Jeanie’s got the Charlie thing going on, and Trevor’s all with the flight. But there are too many damn variables, and I have no idea how much time we’re going to have to figure it out. He’s outside with Whitney now, and she was on the map; I wonder how she fits in? Oh, crap, ok, Kate’s done, now what… Jimmy, Pubs. Damn, he was on the map, too. I hope everything comes together before it’s too late. Shit! Meeting! Notes! Come on, Aumiller, concentrate. OK…

His attention now fully on Jimmy’s Publications department report, she made a mental note to come back to him later, maybe actually discuss things with him “out loud” as it were. She glanced towards the hall a few times, wondering what Whitney and Trevor were discussing, whether she should include herself, or whether it was just convention stuff. “Just” convention stuff, she chuckled to herself. Amazing how quickly your priorities can change. As Jimmy finished up his short Publications report, she figured he’d make as good a next “target” as any. Her eyes settled on him as she started to concentrate, but very quickly an echo of feedback sounded in her mind. As Jimmy inhaled sharply through his teeth and put his hand to his temple, she winced and closed her eyes in pain, cutting off the contact. He looked back towards her, questions evident on his face, but she avoided meeting his eyes.

Looking around the room, she saw Bayani sitting at the end of the same back row she was in, very much lost in his own thoughts, the worry and concern written so plainly over his face that she didn’t even need to touch his mind to recognize it. Just grazing the surface of his mind, she was almost overwhelmed with an image of the ExpoMart:

It was Tekkoshocon weekend, and the convention was in full swing. The hallways were packed with cosplayers, the game room loud with the noises of consoles and attendees, when the call came over the radio: “Public Safety to the Dealers Room, stat,” Trevor’s voice barked. “Two attendees, it’s either a random hall battle or a fight’s about to break out. I repeat, Public Safety to the Dealers Room, STAT.” John and his lieutenants, Liz and Joe, ran down the hall, John bellowing to random con-goers to move out of their way. Chris Napolitano, the former Public Safety lieutenant and new head of Children’s Activities known as “Mila” to her friends, followed closely behind them. Jim, the Vice Con Chair, was already there, attempting to break up a scuffle between a girl in costume -- Bayani didn’t have a clear image of who it was, so Rebecca couldn’t pull it from his mind -- and a college-age male attendee in a scuffed beige jacket and blue baseball cap. He glared at the girl for a moment longer as a predator would consider his prey before striking, but then looked up and stared off into the distance with shocked horror.

With only the beginnings of a pained scream as a warning, the entire room erupted in light.

Panic ensued almost immediately… for all the good it did. The paint on the walls began to blister as the drapes around the dealer booths burst into flame. Attendees started to scream as the temperature in the room skyrocketed almost immediately. Trevor looked around worriedly for a moment, trying to see through the searing light, then ran off. A moment later he passed by going the other direction, flying through the air like a bullet, Whitney cradled in his arms.

The ExpoMart consumed itself in fire, the screams of the dying echoing in her mind as Rebecca finally snapped herself out of the vision, doing everything she could not to gasp in breath at the shock. She realized that over 20 minutes had passed since her mind had started -- quite literally, she realized -- wandering. Her decision made, she excused herself and went out into the hall. Trevor and Whitney were sitting on a bench down the hall from the meeting, looking over a sketch she had made a few days previous -- Chris and Jeanie standing and staring in thought at a map covered in pins connected by strings -- when Rebecca walked up to them, trying to hold back tears as the images she had inadvertently plucked from Bayani’s mind played in front of her eyes.

“So… Nathan…” she started, referring to Trevor as the “Heroes” character who, like him, possessed the ability to fly. Lost in contemplation as he was, he didn’t even realize the significance of what she had just said. “Yeah? What is… wait, what did you just call me?” He looked up at Rebecca with astonishment.

“Off -- Officer Matt Parkman,” she said hesitantly, mockingly introducing herself as the telepathic police officer “Hero.” She reached out her hand as if she intended for him to shake it in greeting. “It’s, um, nice to ‘meet’ you. This,” she said, motioning her head towards Whitney, “must be Isaac.” Whitney looked up at her confusedly, but before they could continue the conversation, her focus slid past Rebecca to Jimmy, who had apparently followed her out into the hall.

Jimmy looked like hell. His face was ashen, there were bags under his eyes, and he winced at even the relatively dim lights in the hallway. “Trevor,” he croaked out through the pain of a headache and a scratchy throat, “um, it’s almost time for the Dealers Room report. You should head in.” As Trevor was the Dealers Room Department Head, he would be expected to give his report, although he already knew that with these new developments, he would be almost completely unable to concentrate on convention matters.

Trevor turned to the two girls. “That means Charity and Industry reports are coming up soon too. Crap.” Whitney and Rebecca, the respective heads of those departments, were similarly obligated to return to the meeting room. He looked very pointedly at Rebecca. “We will continue this discussion later, I trust?” She nodded, and the two of them headed inside while Whitney stayed with Jimmy for a moment. Oh, God, she thought, please don’t let him be wrapped up in this. He’s been through enough, he doesn’t need this too.

“I can handle it, Whitney,” he responded without thinking.

“Handle what?

“Whatever it is you’re ‘wrapped up in.’ The thing with your art, and Trevor, and Rebecca, and whoever else. I’m pretty sure I’m part of it, too.”

“Wait, I was… just thinking that…”

“I know. I heard you.” He looked at her, and she saw the truth in his eyes. He could hear her thoughts. “I’m part of it, too.”

Whitney and Jimmy returned just as Mila was finishing up her first report as the head of Children’s Programming; the former Department Head had chosen to resign, and as Mila had been asked to step in and assume those duties, her report had been mainly requests for help from other members of Staff. The rest of the departmental reports were marked by the same tension that seemed to have pervaded the entire meeting: people were jumpy, distracted, and even more prone to side conversations than usual, and Kate had been forced to snap at people to try to keep their conversations down to, as she finally lashed at them, “a dull roar.” Jeanie’s report as head of Human Resources was the sole exception, as she delivered her report precisely, efficiently, with almost a monotone lack of expression, and -- as Jim commented out loud afterwards -- completely from memory. Chris and Trevor passed a look between them at the words.

Rebecca, Trevor thought as “loudly” as he knew how, I’m going to guess -- well, guess, hope, whatever, I suppose -- that you’re listening to this, so yeah, here we go. Jeanie’s got the same memory thing as Charlie had on the show. Whitney showed me a picture she drew a few days ago: she’d found Jeanie’s body, scalp cut open, brain missing… the whole ‘Sylar’ treatment. I don’t know when whatever’s going to happen will happen, but if I had to guess I’d say at con. If you’re our mind-reader, then we might have a chance. Because we have one advantage they don’t have on the show: We already know each other.

Trevor’s concentration was broken by a tap on his shoulder, and he shook his head as he turned around. Lindsey leaned forward and whispered questioningly into his ear, “Rebecca said to tell you ‘Yes, it happens at con.’ What’s going on?” He glanced past her to Rebecca, sitting in the back row, raising his eyebrows so that the look on his face mirrored his next thought: Is it as bad as I think it’s going to be? Rebecca shook her head side to side, but her expression gave him no cause for relief, especially when she mouthed the word “worse” back to him.

How do you know? You’re Matt, not Hiro. Hiro, who possessed the ability to manipulate and travel through space and time on “Heroes,” had witnessed a nuclear explosion in New York City’s near future, and was therefore a major catalyst of the show’s plot. Rebecca, now realizing that she could not send thoughts but only receive them, grabbed a piece of paper scribbled “No, but I think I know who is” and held it up for him to see. Lindsey followed his fallen gaze, reading her message, then turned back to him.

“Trevor, I’m serious. What’s going on?”

He looked at her, every protective instinct he possessed screaming at him to keep her as far away from this as possible. “If you never have to find out, we’ll both be a lot happier.”

Jimmy lay with his head down on the table, Whitney gently stroking his hair. His headache had been getting worse and worse as the meeting went on, and although the short break he had taken earlier to clear his head had made things better, the pain returned almost as soon as he stepped back into the room. By this point, he felt very much as if his head would explode. It was all he could do to keep some semblance of his attention on Kate as she began talking about the dates for the upcoming AIM and in-person meetings.

“February 18th, folks, that’s the next Staff meeting,” he heard her say. “By then we’ll have less than two months until the convention, so all of you need to be on the ball and really ge --“

It took him a moment to register that Kate’s voice had suddenly halted mid-word. A few more moments and he realized that Whitney’s hand was no longer against his head, and that his headache was lifting. The room had suddenly gone silent. Had he fallen asleep, and the meeting ended without him knowing? No, he thought, surely even with as bad condition as he was in, Whitney would have let him know. He lifted his head to see what was going on.

Everyone he could see in the room was standing perfectly still, frozen in a living three-dimensional Polaroid picture. Whitney sat motionless next to him, her hand poised to run along his hair yet again, looking frustrated that there was nothing more she could do to help. Kate was at the front of the room, her mouth awkwardly hanging open, mid-syllable. Chris was hunched over his laptop, in the midst of typing down whatever Kate had just been talking about. Everyone else was similarly immobile. At least, he thought to himself, I can think again.

“How,” he mused out loud, “did I do this?”

“You didn’t,” a familiar voice spoke from the back of the room. Jimmy spun around in surprise, a note of confused panic on his voice.

Bayani walked effortlessly through the aisles and around to where Jimmy stood. When he spoke, it was with calm resignation. “I did.”

To be continued…