“Manifested poignantly in the fourth dimension struggles of humanity, is the ambivalence of the ‘narrator’ (the fifth dimension will) and underneath this some ‘reason’—an ideal that can be realized in no other context. This ideal, known generically as ‘love’ but existent in countless forms, is a motive power that elevates one to a heightened state of consciousness and awakens one to as great suffering as it does joy. For this reason, any contact with it in the fourth dimension is not only beautiful but terrible, and somewhere on the spiral of experience, many will try as hard to disbelieve as they once tried to believe in it.”

-Dr. Gerard Mann, ‘Discermination’
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But something tugs at the Chains. I feel it this morning, when arriving at the Institute I watch her exit: her beautiful, emotionless face passing closely by somehow manages to seem far away; she walks at a normal speed but in my eyes moves in slow motion or not at all, a picture of something but not the thing itself. We say hello, but to my mind it is not real—she is still a picture of something else.

I never see Jody without experiencing that tug, but strongest of all, and most consistent of the feelings which attack me under her influence, is that of conscience. Not only do I feel guilt in her presence: the very thought of her can submit my confused mind to a kind of masochism, and in those times I cling to the painful feeling, unwilling and perhaps unable to trade it for any happiness.

But I can’t trace these feelings to any logical source; we’ve hardly said more than that surreal “hello” in the brief course of our acquaintance. Anyway, I can’t narrate now, can’t possibly focus on anything other than that picture and that feeling.

So instead, I tell the doctor about my dream absentmindedly while he listens intently, as he always does. When my story, stretched by his many questions and my unmotivated answers, is through, he asks me as he often does, how I am doing. Am I happy? What do I believe in? And as always, I have no definite answers for him. I am happy sometimes, but I don’t want to be happy. I don’t want to believe in anything, but I believe in things anyway. I guess I believe in the Chains of Consequence, and anyway I must have already believed in them as the dream came from my own mind.

He can’t be surprised at my answers, neither does he seem pleased or displeased: only interested, as he always seems to me.

That night, there is no Voice in my dreams…

Run!—through a dark forest; grey shadows dart in and out of sight all around—silent, ghost-wolves—herding me—throat-tightening, hyperventilating terror. They’re going to… have me!...

Suddenly I’m running through a gloomy neighborhood. I can run so fast! I leap in bounds of twenty and thirty feet at a time, but somehow I know…I know that no matter how fast I travel or how far I go—I will never escape. Hopelessly I run and run, faster and faster, my body refusing to so easily acknowledge what has already been determined.

Finally, I find some inner strength and come to a halt, turning about slowly. The neighborhood is silent in the early morning, but seems not so much sleeping as waiting, static with the terrible energy of attention. The sun is still below the horizon and the world is asleep, but somehow my surroundings are clearly visible. I stand with my head tilted down and my eyes focused straight ahead for only a few moments before a large grey wolf materializes from some nearby shadows.

A breath catches in my throat and my eyes water; closer than I had expected—close enough for its smell, the smell of death, to stop my breathing altogether, to slow my heart, to paralyze my will—it calmly approaches with a half smile and a hanging tongue.

Something glints on the horizon, and I twist to the left just in time to catch the first ray of sunlight streaking through the still morning air, but a movement in my peripheral jerks my head back. The wolf gives a shiver, and I notice only the slightest change—with only the slightest change, the wolf becomes a woman, naked and obviously satisfied with her new skin. Jody steps forward, terrifyingly beautiful; her eyes pass judgment, her soft skin digs into me. The wolf does not seek to kill me, I realize, looking fearfully at Jody’s eyes, but what is worse, to bring me to life.

At that moment I awake suddenly, sitting up and greedily inhaling the chilly air of my room, which—along with my chest—had stopped for Jody, and having once regained control of my breathing, reflecting ironically that I must have passed out in the dream.

It is the time of morning, just before the birds awake, when the world is suspiciously quiet, and I can’t help wondering if everyone else has snuck off sometime in the night. I lie still for a while, trying to gain my bearings before slipping out of bed and dressing quietly. I arrive at the Institute early and sneak into the ‘Discerminating Room’, on the lookout for beautiful wolves, waiting for the doctor to arrive and reassure me.