Senses

Something was wrong with me. I was standing in front of my bedroom mirror, getting dressed when I noticed that my entire body had went numb. At 30, I could not be having a stroke. I was young, healthy and in shape. Still, the feeling was terrifying. I was breathing. I was standing, but I couldn't feel a darn thing. I finished dressing and headed to the coffee pot in the kitchen. Then, it struck me. Strange. I could not smell the coffee. It would be funny, if it was not happening to me, I thought. But, it was. Come to think of it, as I poured the coffee, I could not feel the warmth of the cup. I drank a sip. A bit of warmth, but not much taste. I grew more alarmed with every passing second. What on earth was happening? A critical care nurse with a busy shift planned, I hated to call in sick, but that is exactly what I did. Then I made an immediate appointment with my doctor. They'd see me this morning and work me in. I went.

"You are fine, Kat." the doctor calmly stated. I had been through an EKG, x-rays, blood work, a full exam and nothing. I smiled. It wasn't a real smile, but I tried. I went home. An envelope was taped to my front door. My heart almost stopped beating when I saw it. I knew it would not be good news. Who tapes a note to a door? No one I knew, I was quite sure of that. I was right. A plain stark white envelope. One word on the front. KAT. That is me. I ripped it open with shaking hands. It read: Come to 222 Park Place at six. A cold sweat trickled down my neck. It would be a long wait until six, I thought. Was I really considering going? That was my next thought. Of course I was. I began planning the trip. I tucked my gun into my purse, along with my pepper spray. Can never be too careful these days. 2050 was a dangerous time for a woman alone, but no more than usual, I supposed. Armed and ready. I put on a black jogging suit, tied my blonde hair into a ponytail and waited. Restlessly. The hours dragged by.

I comforted myself with the fact that I was wearing my new running shoes. Well, in case I had to run. I got into my car and turned on my navigational unit. With a cheery "We're off." it proceeded to guide me to Park Place. An office type brick building, not in a bad part of town, thank goodness. Two story, windows, ivy, the whole nice package. 222 was on the second floor. A SENSES INC sign was on the front of the building. Oh, boy. I was in the right place. I entered, following the menu posted on the door. I took the stairs to the second floor and turned right. 222 was down the hall. Red arrows directed me. This place was quiet. Too quiet. My cold sweat was running down my back, now and it was not a pleasant feeling. I stood in front of door 222. A plain wooden brown door. A feeling of dread came over me and I shivered. I had to know. I summoned massive courage and opened the door.

A sparsely furnished office and waiting area combo greeted me. Tan carpet, brown leather small chairs and a frosted glass window. I couldn't see through the glass, but there was a small bell on the counter. I tapped it quickly, before I could think about it much. I was alone in the waiting area and I felt relief, for some reason. That didn't last. The outer door few open and into the waiting area walked a tiny and frail looking man. White hair, close cut and the most brilliant blazing blue eyes I have ever seen. They met mine. I was speechless. "Kat, I am glad you have visited. Sit." he spoke in a sharp manner, but added a soft smile that put me at ease. I sat. He was in a black tailored suit complete with shined black shoes. I admired their sheen as he began speaking. "I have a lot to tell you and please save your questions. Most will be answered before you leave." I nodded. He continued. "I suppose you noticed that you are feeling really strange." I nodded again. "Well, my dear, it's a matter of your senses. They have been purchased." I gasped. He held one hand up. "Allow me to explain. We have no control over these things. I did not do the deed. I volunteer my time to try and help victims. You are now one. Some years ago, a man learned how to stalk people in their dreams. Well, as you sleep, he seeks. He finds and though I do not know exactly how he does it, rest assured, as you know, it is done. His clients are wealthy. Talented. Privileged. They have different needs. Some require eyes. Some need touch. They can't feel. Some can't hear. Others cannot taste. And some can't smell. Your touch and smell have been harvested. While you will retain some functional use of these particular senses, I am afraid they will never come back. I have dedicated my life to explaining this happening, this theft, as I can do, which isn't very much, because it happened to me. Long ago. I woke up and could not feel my chest. I kept thinking it was a spiritual thing and that I had somehow gone soulless. But, we can't live without a soul, can we? So, I set out to find out what had been done to me. I did finally meet one of the senses purchasers. A lady who allowed me into her world. She closes her eyes and can feel my sense of touch. And there are so many more like her. Those that see through blinded eyes. Those that hear through deafened ears. I came to believe the stories and they are many. Wonderful for the recipients. Tragic for the victims. My only consolation is that once they harvest, they don't come back. Be glad you can still see and hear, my dear. And, you can question me, but nothing will change what has been done. At least you can have peace in knowing you are not crazy. You are not sick. You have been sold. To the highest bidder. Awful as that is."

The tears started coming and I cried for a few minutes. This man handed me a tissue from his pocket and I wept. He allowed me some time to calm down. "Here is my card and I will try to answer any questions you may one day think of, but I have told you the truth, best as I know it." I nodded. Then, I asked one question. "Did I do anything to deserve this?" "I don't think so, but you never know who you may have came across, in your life. So far, I can't find a good reason for the choice of victims and most of them seem to be good people at heart. Maybe it is a lesson to be learned, but I am not sure. You are lucky, luckier than many. Find consolation in that." He took my hand, squeezed it gently and stood up. I sighed.

I don't remember driving home, but I did, somehow. I tucked the card away in my jewelry box. It read: Dr. Divine. A phone number was on it, along with the address. I have never looked at the card again since that day, but I do still have it. I think I know all there is to be known about this happening. This theft. I may not feel much anymore, but my taste comes and goes. I can live with that. I try to go back and think about what I could have done differently, in my life. I made a lot of mistakes. I was a victim of abuse, both from family and a spouse. I had a time in my life where I was pretty selfish. But, I also dedicated half of my life to saving lives and that has to be good for something. I think I am a better person for the loss of some of my senses. As funny as that sounds. Technology progresses and those who worry about it's dangers need to remember. Sometimes, it is the other world, the dream world, the ones who prey upon the sleeping and innocently unaware that may need worrying about. Then, again, maybe not.