It had always just been an assumption that Alex had a bit of an overactive imagination.

When he was a baby, his parents had been ecstatic that he was so little trouble, he slept through the night at only a month old, was rarely fussy and more than happy to be left to his own devices and not held constantly like other babies.

As he grew, the differences between him and other children became more noticeable, but still not overly concerning to his parents.

Gifted, that’s what the professionals called it, that a child so young could talk with correct sentence structure and grammar. His parents were baffled, but also proud of him, they encouraged him to express his more ‘eccentric’ tendencies of talking to his imaginary friends and recounting scenes that he had no way of being able to have witnessed.

By the time, he started school at five the differences were even more pronounced and starting to have a detrimental effect on the young boy’s life.

His first teacher had his parents in to talk often. Complaints of Alex being withdrawn and living in his own world, that none of the other children were privy to making him an outcast, even among children so young. Proposals of tests for disorders and syndromes; hushed suggestions to try and somehow ‘fix’ him, but he wasn’t broken.

His mother was practical and she worried that his lack of interaction with his peers could lead to massive problems in his life; social disorders spilling from her lips as she pleaded with her husband to sign the papers and start the examinations.

  His father didn’t want to have anything to do with it, arguing with quotes and justifications that his son wasn’t broken and ‘what did it matter if he didn’t play on the climbing frame with the boy from next door? Or run around the garden screaming and playing ‘tig’ with his cousins when they came around to visit’. Perhaps Alex wasn’t like other children, but it didn’t make him subpar to them in his father’s eyes. It was no wonder Alex was such a daddy’s boy.

By the end of primary school, he was at the very bottom of the social ladder; even the outcasts didn’t want anything to do with him. It had started to become apparent to ten your old Alex, that if he wanted friends and not always be the last picked for teams, that he needed to spend a little more time in the ‘here and now’ and less time ‘elsewhere’.

It was hard tuning it out; he had spent years open to the connection and he struggled to find a way to block it. Inevitably, with time and a stubbornness born of necessity, he did manage some semblance of control. The overwhelming sights and sounds and smells only surfacing in dreams.

His mother couldn’t have been happier with the change in her son, praising him and rewarding him with presents and outings and money over the summer. She was even more pleased when he requested not going to the local high school where most of his class would be attending and his reasons for that. Even at the tender age of eleven, he had learned that first impressions were hard to shake and he wanted a fresh start at a new school where no one would call him names or throw things at him.

Alex’s father had breathed a huge sigh of relief and showered his wife in apologies after Alex’s first day of high school had been a success.

His father had arrived home from work that night to the smell of his wife’s homemade lasagne that he knew was his son’s favourite and had thought the worse. Entering the kitchen, he had been pleasantly surprised to see Alex sitting at the kitchen table, chatting away to his mother about a boy called Chris who was, according to Alex, his best friend.

Alex had, of course, been nervous arriving at his new school, but it hadn’t lasted long. He had been directed towards a classroom to meet the children, who he’d be spending the next five years with. Entering the room, he had slid into the first empty seat he could find, next to a small, brown haired boy, who grinned at him and introduced himself as Chris. Chris had barely given Alex time to reply with his own name before he carried on talking; seemingly without the need to take breaths, he practically told Alex his whole life story. By the end of that first day, Alex was pretty sure he knew more about Chris than he knew about himself.

They were a perfect fit really, Chris talked a hell of a lot and so when Alex’s focus would slip it wasn’t noticed. Chris’ confidence and nonchalance about being made fun of by others rubbed off on his new friend, encouraging Alex to use his own sharp tongue and quick wit to keep up with him.

It were these new skills, which earned the boys a place in the hierarchy of the school that sat just below the popular kids. You didn’t mess with Chris and Alex unless you wanted to be humiliated. Their weekends were spent hypothesizing; Alex questioning, always questioning, what the other boy would do in a particular ridiculous situation as they played games and coasted through school.

Alex hadn’t been idle; he spent years struggling against the flow of information. Some days, it was impossible to block and he would ‘leave’ himself for a while. The strongest emotions always got through, no matter how hard he tried to stop it and he never did manage to stop the dreams.

Chris wasn’t slow on the uptake; he knew Alex wasn’t really like everyone else, but he didn’t care. The occasional barbs thrown around when Alex wasn’t present by their peers made Chris analyse his friend more closely.

It was their sixteenth year before Chris voiced his questions.

The words tripped out of Chris’ mouth without thought on how they would be received; his initial intention of reassuring Alex that he was his best friend and that he loved him almost cancelled out by the ‘but’ that followed.

Alex didn’t know how to describe something that he had been trying to not think about for so long. How do you begin to explain feeling emotions that aren’t your own? Or having memories of events, which you hadn’t actually experienced, so vividly that you can smell the air and feel fingertips ghosting over your skin?

He knew how it sounded and he didn’t want to see that look on Chris’ face that had graced his mother’s so often when he was younger. A look of utter disappointment and questioning that brought into focus all of Alex’s eccentricities for thorough examination.

Alex was scared he would lose his only friend, but he couldn’t control the flow of words pouring out of him. It was like a boil that had been lanced; an immediate feeling of relief and peace falling around him as he confessed more to Chris than he had even consciously admitted to himself.

He was terrified he was broken and he couldn’t bring himself to look at Chris as his brain finally ran out of syllables and his mouth snapped shut.

Chris suggested looking it up online, asking Alex if he had ever tried it before. His voice thoughtful, but not coloured with disappointment like Alex had feared.

Alex looked up then, to find Chris regarding him nothing different in the tilt of his head or the pools of his brown eyes.

‘No.’ He didn’t need to tell Chris why he hadn’t, Chris knew. Chris always seemed to know when it came to Alex.

Together they looked. Alex supposed it could have been worse, between the articles depicting auditory hallucinations and psychotic episodes that caused his stomach to twist and cramp in horrified uncertainty, there was some hope.

Websites dedicated to extra sensory perception and invisible connections between people across the world. Stories of twins feeling each other’s pain and mothers passing out when their children died. Sensationalised documentaries of evangelists and new age practitioners spouting a connection to the divine or an affinity with the nature of the universe. Ancient histories of people long since turned to dust by time, the intertwining of fate curling in and around everything and the chosen few who could sense and bend it to their will.

They both laughed it off at first, boyish bravados demanding they didn’t agree with what they read, poking holes and making fun of theories made by ‘weirdos’ and ‘bible bashers’.

As soon as he had arrived home, Alex had gone over it all again. Tears streamed down his face as he finally found some semblance of an answer.

It didn’t matter that it didn’t make any sense or that it seemed completely insane to believe in such things, it only mattered that he wasn’t ‘broken’. Finally he knew he wasn’t, the accounts on the web page he found practically screaming ‘kin’ in their descriptions.

It was another year before Alex managed to pluck up the courage to broach the subject with Chris again, reassuring his friend that he ‘knows how it sounds, mate’ and not backing down when Chris snorted a laugh and told him that he knew Alex wanted answers, but he wasn’t sure that he was looking in the right places. Alex had initially been hurt by his friend’s dismissal, but that had quickly evaporated when Chris suggested experimenting with it themselves to try and figure it out.

Experimenting was a very loose term for what they were trying to do. Alex struggled and fought with himself, trying with increasing frustration to ‘unblock’ himself after years of keeping up a barricade.

It had been weeks and Alex still hadn’t managed to do more than get some fluctuating images and snippets of sounds to flow through the connection.

“Here!” Chris said, thrusting a guitar at the other man. “Play something, don’t think about it and just play something random.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told, resting the guitar on his knee and plucking the strings for a moment, fiddling with the tuning pegs.

**********

“Are you playing Taylor Swift?” Ross asked, his brows pulled together in confusion as he pushed his headphones off his ears to hang around his neck.

Kim looked up at Ross as he turned in his seat, placing her open comic book on her lap, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa and shaking her head at him.

“Not me, is it someone in game?” She asked, pointing towards the pausing screen of the Call of Duty game that Ross had been playing.

“I thought I muted everyone and it’s really loud, listen.” He said, pulling the headphone jack out of the port, filling the room with ambient music and gunshots.

Kim pushed the comic onto the seat next to her and stood, walking over to the computer to stand next to Ross. “I don’t hear any Taylor Swift.”

Ross’ face fell, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips before pressing them together in a thin line.

Kim bit her lip and asked the question which she already knew the answer to. “You can still hear it?”

Ross nodded at her and leant forward in his seat burying his head in his hands and fisting his hair. “Shit.”

Kim reached out and pulled the other chair towards her to sit next to Ross and placed her hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing small circles. “Ross?” He didn’t reply so she continued. “It’s just one time, it’s fine. It’ll be okay.”

Ross shook his head and lifted his head, staring straight ahead with unfocused eyes. “It’s been happening off and on for the last few weeks.” He admitted.

Kim’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ross snorted out a breath. “Because I was hoping that ignoring the fact that I’m going bat shit crazy again would make it go away.” He deadpanned, still not looking at the girl sitting next to him.

“Ross, you’re my best friend.” Kim stated. “I love you and I get that you’re scared, but you can’t just ignore this stuff.”

“I know.” Ross admitted quietly. “I just, I hoped that I was just tired or stressed or something and it would stop.” The music cut off, blessed silence radiated through Ross’ head and he smiled. “It’s stopped.”

Kim smiled and removed her arm from his back. “Maybe you just need to take it easy for a bit, I know…”

‘Hello? Can you hear me?’ A voice called, overlapping with Kim’s words.

“Oh, fuck off! Please!” Ross implored, leaning back in his seat talking to the empty space in front of him.

‘Shit, hi. You aren’t crazy, mate.’ The voice answered.

Ross slammed a hand down the desk. “Arguing with the voices in my fucking head sounds pretty insane to me.” Ross argued back, out loud.

“Ross.” Kim sighed, grabbing at his hand to stop him from slamming it down again.

‘Is he talking to you?’ It was a second voice, one Ross heard almost as often as the first.

‘Yeah.’ The first voice answered. ‘He thinks he is going crazy.’

‘Well that’s what you thought too, mate.’ The second supplied.

“Would you both please shut the fuck up?” Ross implored, rubbing at his eyes to try and clear the ghost of images that were being superimposed over his vision. A bedroom, that wasn’t his own, swimming into his vision.

Kim slid to the floor in front of Ross on her knees so he could look her in the eye. “Ross, you have to calm down.” She insisted, holding his face between her two hands. “Do you want me to get your mom or call Doctor Green?”

Ross shook his head and stood to put some distance between himself and Kim. “No, I’ll be fine. I just need to ignore them or distract myself or something.”

‘He can hear what you’re saying.’ The first voice informed the second.

Kim looked over to where Ross was pacing in front of his bed, using the chair to stand, she approached, coming to a stop a few feet from him. “Okay, I have an idea.” She said, hands on her hips.

Ross could almost feel the interest from the first voice through their connection as he regarded Kim. ‘The girl has an idea,’ the voice commented. ‘Ask her what it is.’

Ross sat on the end of the bed and licked at his lips. “What is it?”

Kim strode over, a reassuring smile on her face as she sat next to him. “We break the illusion; we both know it isn’t real, but your brain is still throwing the hallucinations at you, right? So we prove they can’t possibly be real and maybe they’ll go away.”

‘She wants to prove we’re a hallucination.’ The first voice relayed to his companion.

‘That’s perfect!’ The second voice agreed. ‘Get one of their numbers and we’ll call them.’

Ross patted at his pocket and pulled out his phone, rattling out his number and placing the phone on the bed between himself and Kim. “They said they’re going to call us.”

Kim nodded to show she understood, but watched Ross’ face as he stared intently at the device on the bed.

Ross didn’t have long to contemplate if the phone ringing would be better or worse than it not doing so. The screen burst to life, his ringtone sounding in the silence of the room and an unknown number flashing on the screen. ‘Answer it then!’ The voice commanded.

Kim came to her senses first and stabbed at the screen, answering the call and putting it on speaker. “Hello?”

“Holy fuck! Trott, that’s her. That’s the girl, that’s Kim!” Came a shout from the other end of the phone.

Ross clamped his hands over his ears. “Shit, mate, not so fucking loud.” He murmured as the voice echoed through his head and in the room, a distorted reverberating noise that left his head pounding.

“Fuck, that’s weird. Hearing you in my head and through the phone.” The voice answered, smile evident in his voice.

Ross huffed an amused breath. “So, does this mean I’m not losing my mind?”

“This means we’re both not losing our minds.” The voice laughed. “Fucking hell.” The voice trailed off, awe radiating through the strange connection.

“Smith? Mate, you alright?” The second voice asked, Kim looked at Ross who shrugged at her.

“You’re Trott, right?” Ross asked, recalling that was what the other voice had called him when he wasn’t using an expletive to refer to him.

“Yeah, Chris Trott.” The second voice answered. “I think Smith’s freaking out, he left the room.” Trott answered.

Ross shut his eyes, trying to blot out the real world around him to see what Smith was seeing. “Kim, meet Trott, Trott meet Kim.” Ross said, before pulling his bedroom door open and stepping out into the hallway.

**********

Smith closed the door quietly behind him, striding towards the bathroom. Locking the door, he slid down to the floor his back against the wood and pulled his knees to his chest.

‘I guess it’s a bit of a stupid question to ask if you are okay.’ Ross asked.

Alex couldn’t help, but smile at the question. “Yeah, a bit.” He breathed back into the empty room.

‘You’re not going to piss or something, right? I can see you’re in the bathroom.’

“You can see it that well?” Alex asked, his own vision of wherever Ross was at the moment was fuzzy and kept shifting in and out of existence in front of him.

‘You have to kind of ‘Un-focus’ your eyes and try not to really look, just see.’ Ross explained, somehow making perfect sense to Alex, who did as he was instructed.

“You’re not in your room anymore?” Alex asked, tilting his head slightly.

‘Thought I would come out here and check on you without Kim around, I think she’s talking to Trott on the phone.’ Ross said gently.

Alex brought a hand up to run through his hair. “I remember that scar.” Alex commented, watching in his head as Ross ran a hand over a small white line on the inside of his forearm. “I had a dream, a couple of years ago, about falling off a skateboard and ripping my arm open on a nail that was sticking out of the ramp. That is how you did it, right?”

‘Yeah,’ Ross answered with a smile, finger tracing the line. ‘Didn’t hurt at the time, but then I had to go have a tetanus shot. That fucking hurt like a bitch.’

“I remember.” Alex breathed.

‘You broke your leg,’ Ross stated. ‘You were stuck in bed for weeks and you hated it.’

Alex smiled and huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I pretty much lived through you whilst I was bedridden. I was so bored I didn’t even mind going to lessons with you and watching you scribble notes to Kim in your notebook.”

‘You used to talk to yourself a lot when you were a kid.’ Ross said, voice sad. The feelings that came through the connection then were old, but they still ached. Feelings of inferiority and a deep loneliness that no child should ever have to endure.  

“I wasn’t talking to myself though, was I? I was talking to you.” Alex replied pushing his heels back and using the bath to pull himself to his feet. Somehow pushing aside the emotions that Ross’ recollection had brought forward.

Ross hummed a positive noise. ‘I guess so.’ He agreed.

Alex could feel a sadness radiating through the connection. Something that brought forth images of clinical settings in twilight, lemon disinfectant wafting through cold rooms with icy, polished floors and the buzzing of strip lighting.

Alex cleared his throat. “So, it has occurred to me that basically I have known you my whole life, right?” He asked, not pausing for an answer. “But I have no idea what you look like, other than I assume you are quite tall, because of how small Kim always seems.”

‘Hang on, there’s a mirror on the wall by the stairs,’ Ross answered. ‘You first.’ He said, closing his eyes so Alex could see nothing, but black from his end.

Alex trained his eyes on the bathroom mirror, pulling faces at his reflection and holding both hands up to swear at Ross. “Your turn.”