Page 18 of Presence

“Want me to rock you?” he asks, his eyes gleaming mischievously.

If Echo the Protector is supposed to do more than just help me sleep—if he’s supposed to shield me from sudden, crazy feelings, for example—then I’m doomed. Just having him next to me stirs up a whole bunch of new emotions. I mull over that thought for a second before my steps carry me toward him and the swing.

But then, something entirely different catches my eye, and my head starts spinning again. There, on the leg of the swing, is a weathered sticker. A plain, small thing, looking like a piece of white paper glued to a metallic frame.

Except, I know it’s not.

It’s a sticker with a blue pony and a name written in pretty golden cursive.

Claire.

I know because I planted it there many full moons ago. When I was just a little girl with her little stickers and a mother who temporarily cared.

I know because it’s mine.

6

Blue pony, Golden cursive

“What’s this doing here?” I ask, approaching the swing as if in a trance, my fingers reaching out to trace the sticker. Just touching it stirs something deep inside me—a memory I haven’t thought about in ages.

“Hm?” Echo murmurs, following my gaze. “Oh, this,” he says. “It’s a relic from the past. It’s here because it belongs.”

My eyebrows knit together, but the initial discomfort in my chest eases as I recall Echo’s earlier explanation: this place, the dreamscape, is built from my subconscious. Memories are part of it.

There are three main types of memory—conscious, subconscious, and unconscious. Conscious memory includes the things we are actively aware of and can recall deliberately. Typically, these don’t appear in dreams unless you’re lucid, able to manipulate and shift your dreams based on your memories.

Subconscious memory is trickier—it’s information stored in our brains that we aren’t actively thinking about but that influences our behavior and reactions. It’s probably what made me remember Echo, even when I thought I shouldn’t have known him at all. His existence was already embedded in my mind like a hidden code waiting to be uncovered.

Then there’s the memory I’ve just unlocked—a dark horse lurking so deep that only specific triggers can bring it to the surface. It’s not just something we don’t actively think about; we subconsciously suppress it, trying to banish it from our system. But it never truly disappears. Sometimes it returns to haunt us, seeking any opening in our mind to resurface, like in dreams. That’s what Echo means. Unwanted relics of the past don’t just die. They’re always inside us.

“Right,” I say, shaking my head. “Of course, it belongs. What I mean is… why is it here now?”

Echo shrugs and walks around the swing to join me. He looks at the sticker, and after I pull my hand away, he reaches out to trace its delicate lines. In the real world, that sticker should have long since fallen off the metal due to all the rain, wind, and countless other children it must have encountered since I placed it there years ago. But this isn’t just my imagination. It was real—this leg, this swing, the scent of cotton candy in the air, the whole park. It’s just that it got replicated here, in this dream. I don’t want to think about why, but I can’t help it. Echo’s reaction doesn’t make it easier.

“You asking me about that?” he asks, glancing at me from under his thick, dark lashes. “As I said, it’s your subconscious, not mine.”

I pause, absorbing his words. I haven’t shared some things with anyone, not even Camilla, my closest friend. We’ve been through a lot together, but we haven’t really talked about my problems in depth. I didn’t want to. She knows in general that my mother was disturbed, but not the extent of the feelings I have for her.

But Echo… Echo’s not a man. He’s either not real or some being from another realm here to help me. Logically, I could spill my heart out to him. But… can I?

I look at the sticker again, my mind flashing back to the day I put it there. It was a sunny afternoon, just like today, full of laughter and carefree joy. That was the first and last time I felt that way. It was also the last time I was at this park, the last time I decided to give hope a chance.

“I was here with my mother,” I say finally, sitting on the swing. Echo takes a place next to the other leg, leaning against the metal and looking at me with curious eyes. “I was a kid back then.”

He nods slowly, his head tilting to the side. Something about the way he does that makes the back of my mind tingle, so I stop speaking, narrowing my eyes at him. Then it hits me.

“You already know all this,” I murmur, more to myself than to him. I lift my hands in the air and scoff. “We’re in my head, so of course you know that.”

Echo watches me quietly, his expression unreadable, then a soft smile spreads across his face. Seeing his dimples now is the last thing I want.

“Oh, come on,” he says finally. “Stop being so hung up on it. Knowing your memories and knowing you are two completely different things. Besides…” He shrugs again. “Whatever you want to say, it’s only my job to hear you out.”

I bristle. “Your job? That doesn’t sound tedious at all.” Sarcasm drips from my words. Being considered his job is the last thing I want.

“You’re really too self-conscious for how much you have to offer,” he quips back, coming over and gripping the metal rods of my swing. He starts walking backward, elevating me into the air. All I can do is hang on.

“Meaning?” I ask, my breath quickening with the swing’s ascent.

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