by A. C. Ellas
Nick gripped her hand loosely as he sighed, leaning back in the bed. “I understand how you feel, Evie. I worry about you, too. But do you understand what I mean when I say that what is going on with me is intensely personal and not something I’m comfortable discussing with anyone, much less my little sister?”
Evie nodded slowly. “I understand, Nicky. I really do. I’m sorry, okay? I promise I’ll stop pestering you about it.” A tear slowly trickled down her cheek as she spoke.
Nick brushed the tear away. “Get up here and give me a hug, Evie.”
Evie blinked at him as she slid off the chair. “I won’t hurt you?”
Nick shook his head and patted the bed in invitation.
Evie sat on the edge of the bed. A moment later, she had her arms around him, giving him a hug.
Nick hugged her back. “Thank you, Evie. I know you care about me as much as I care about you. I’m sorry that you felt left out, and you’ve no cause at all to apologize to me. I’d probably have been much, much more of a pest had our positions been reversed.”
“That’s for sure,” Evie giggled. “You really don’t mind that I was such a pest?”
“No, I don’t. I will mind if you keep at it, though.” Nick smiled a little at her exasperated sigh. “Shall I start nagging at you about your menstrual cycle?”
Evie blushed. “Uhm, no. Okay, Nicky, you’ve made your point. You win.”
Nick sighed, squeezing her again. “It’s not a contest, Evie. I’ll be okay, and that’s all you need to know.”
Evie nodded. “Okay, Nicky. Thank you.”
* * * *
Nick came home the next day, while Evie was at school. Gilly helped him put the necessary supplies away in places where Evie would be extremely unlikely to find them. They eventually sat down together on the sofa in the living room. Gilly asked him. “Are you going to be okay with all this?”
Nick glanced at her. “I think so, Mom. I don’t much like it, but I’ll get by.”
“Do you think that maybe a therapist could help you?” Gilly had offered him therapy before, and he’d flatly refused it.
Nick shook his head slowly. “No, I’d rather not. It’s bad enough having problems but discussing them with a stranger? A stranger who probably isn’t even as smart as I am? Who will then proceed to tell me how to live my life? No, Mom, I’ll pass on that.”
“Young man, you have a very odd view of therapy. A therapist won’t tell you how to live your life or criticize you. A therapist is supposed to help you work out your problems and assist you in making choices that will help you heal. A therapist could help you come to terms with what happened to you, you know. I don’t think that it would hurt for you to try it.” Gilly spoke with firm conviction, a hint of passion in her voice as she found that Nick was at least listening to her.
“So you think I should give this therapist a chance?” Nick asked, head cocked slightly as if he were intent on hearing her reply.
Gilly nodded emphatically. “Yes, I do. Where’s the harm in it? If it helps you, that’s great. If you don’t like it, no one’s going to force you to continue.”
Nick looked away as he sighed. “Okay, Mom. I’ll try it.”
Chapter Six: Cai
Jason took a deep breath as he studied the schoolyard. Sammie had locked his net access after their swim. He was still indignant over that. It just wasn’t fair that Sammie could block him so easily. He had resolved, as he lay tossing and turning sleeplessly, to research ways to defeat the parental block. At four in the morning, having given up on sleeping, he’d tuned his violin and quietly played all of his favorite pieces, mostly Bach. It had passed the hours for him.
There were now two pinballs in his head, bouncing against the inside of his skull with no discernable pattern. Tandem bouncing he could have understood. Contre-bouncing he could have coped with. But the randomness just added to his misery. He took another deep breath and realized that he was stalling. There was no use in stalling, no way to avert what was coming. But still, he lingered, hidden in the bushes until the first bell rang.
With a fatalistic sigh, he made a beeline for the doors. He knew he couldn’t stop Gary from pounding him, but at least he’d have to wait until after school for the privilege. He was almost at the steps when he was grabbed from behind.
“Where is it, nerd?”
“I don’t have it,” Jason hissed. “Sammie caught me. You’re lucky he hasn’t reported you. Leave me alone or he still might.” It was a gamble, but he thought it had at least a chance of working. Then, Gary spun him about and decked him. One punch was all it took, and Jason sprawled in the mud, dazed, with blood pouring out of his nose and his left eye already swelling. Jason heard laughter and footsteps receding. He struggled up out of the muddy patch. The one mud-puddle in the schoolyard and, of course, that’s where I land.
The bugs scurried in his head, and he looked over to see a teacher approaching. Not the same one as when he’d had the seizure, but with the same air of scholarly authority.
“Jason? What happened?”
“I tripped.”
The teacher gave him a look that said she knew better, but she didn’t say anything, just handed him a round blue chip. “Go see the nurse, Jason.”
“Yes, Teacher.” Jason peeled his backpack out of the mud and trudged up the steps. It was going to be a long day. A very long day.
The nurse cleaned up his face, gave him some Tylenol and an ice pack then called his father.
Chris Hunter arrived shortly thereafter. He had brought Jason a change of clothes and a scathing lecture. The theme of his father’s diatribe was a familiar one. Jason needed to shape up. He needed to be more like Sammie. Sammie hadn’t ever caused problems like Jason. Sammie had excelled in sports. Chris had never gotten called to the school because of Sammie.
Sammie, Sammie, perfect Sammie. Jason couldn’t even find it in himself to hate his brother. Sammie was everything Jason wasn’t and their father’s obvious favorite. It wasn’t Sammie’s fault. And to make it all worse, the scurrying bugs in his head added to what his father had to say—shape up, boy. You’re a disgrace to the family name. You need to stop making yourself a target. Grow a pair, for god’s sake, be a man. Fuck, why do I even bother, the boy’s never going to amount to anything.
Finally, Chris wound down. Jason went into the bathroom to change his clothes. While he was in there, he spent several minutes bringing his rage and pain and grief under control. Jason had thought his life couldn’t get any worse. How wrong he’d been.
Jason went to class, plopped into his seat and jacked in. He made no effort to study. Instead, he researched breaking parental blocks. Upon discovering that it would require a new data port, he gave up and read an old science fiction book he’d found, about a planet where all the smart people were locked up in monasteries for years on end, with nothing to do but think and theorize and study. He wished he could live in such a place. It sounded like heaven to him.
When school ended for the day, Jason shouldered his backpack and headed home by the most direct, obvious route. He was tired of hiding. Gary was going to beat him up no matter what he did, and his father would probably give Gary a damned medal for it.
Gary and company were waiting for him about halfway home. Jason stopped when he saw them and set his backpack down. He waited, oddly calm. The pinballs had stopped bouncing, though the insects were now racing around his brain continuously, in loops, diagonals, even in figure eights. Around and around and around and then Gary punched him in the gut. Jason doubled over in pain and someone kicked his backside, sending him to the concrete.
Pebbles rose from the ground and flung themselves at Gary and his goons. “Ow!” “Ouch!” “Hey, that hurts!” and then, “Stop it, freak!” and the boys fell on him, kicking and punching until darkness closed in on Jason and the bugs stopped scrambling about.
The glare of the westering sun shining directly on his face was what brought him
around. Jason lay still, gauging the extent of his injuries. It was pretty bad but nothing felt broken. He was alone. Quite alone. There wasn’t a single living person nearby. He knew this with cold certainty. Slowly, he gathered himself up and staggered toward home, dragging his backpack because it hurt too much to lift it. He used his bugs now to tell him when someone might be near. He hid behind trees and bushes all the way to the back door.
Jason slipped into the house and continued his stealthy approach to his bedroom. Only once he was inside, with the privacy bolt thrown, did he feel at all safe. He staggered into his bathroom and attempted to clean himself up and doctor his many bruises. How can a body feel so much pain and still be conscious? He slathered medicinal salve all over, threw on a set of loose clothes intended as beach wear and eased himself onto his bed.
“Jason? Are you alright?” The heavy door muffled Sammie’s voice, but he was still perfectly audible, at least in Jason’s head.
“I’m fine,” Jason shouted, surprised at how raw his throat was. He didn’t remember screaming, except distantly. “I’m just tired, bro.”
“I’m coming in,” Sammie announced and Jason flinched. He didn’t even get the privacy of a citizen. The bolt meant nothing; it was just a gesture. Jason was a minor and so his guardians had parental controls, of course. Sammie opened the door, walked in and shook his head when he saw the state Jason was in. “What happened?” he asked, tiredly.
Even he’s tired of me, thought Jason. I’m a burden, more trouble than I’m worth. He probed at Sammie’s thoughts like a sore tooth. There was plenty of ammunition there to fuel his deepening depression. This is why Uncle Theo’s so mean. Because he knows what we think of him.
“Gary, wasn’t it,” Sammie continued when Jason didn’t answer quickly enough. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. If it’s not one bully, it’s another or something else entirely. Get up, you’re going to ER.”
“I’m fine, just leave me alone. I don’t want your help. Go away.” Jason rolled over, turning his back on Sammie.
“Don’t make me pick you up and carry you,” snapped Sammie. “Because I will. Dad’s gone for the rest of the week, you know. He almost missed his shuttle because he had to stop by the school.”
“I didn’t ask him to,” muttered Jason. “Sammie, please. My head really hurts. The voices don’t ever stop. Just leave me alone, okay? Leave me alone and let me go insane and then you can lock me up with Uncle Theo and you and Dad can go play with your ships and not worry about me.”
Sammie made good on his threat and picked Jason up off the bed. He carried his brother back downstairs and out to the garage where he kept his hovercar. As he sat Jason in the passenger seat, he finally spoke. “I will always worry about you, Jason. You’re my brother. Dad expects me to watch out for you. Since Mom died…” He shook his head, expression sad.
Jason chewed on his lower lip. Sammie had raised him, really. Dad was too busy making boatloads of credits to deal with a small child. So when Mom had died in that flitter crash, it had been left to Sammie to take care of him. “Sorry, bro,” he offered as Sammie climbed into the driver’s side. He didn’t dare mention the voices a second time or admit that he could now sometimes hear things that had to be the thoughts of those nearby.
* * * *
The ER doctors were quick and efficient, but they were also concerned. One of them cornered Sammie in the hallway outside the treatment room where Jason was being patched up. “We’re concerned about Jason’s wellbeing,” the doctor said without preamble. “It appears that he’s being abused. Would you be willing to speak with a monitor?”
Sammie pursed his lips to hide his anger. He shouldn’t be surprised, not really. Jason had been coming into the ER far too regularly of late, and now with obvious signs of having been beaten. “Of course I will,” he replied.
The doctor led him into a small conference room. “Wait here, please.”
With nothing else to do, Sammie flung himself into a chair and stared at the door. He was at a loss for what to do. It felt like Jason was slipping away from him, growing ever more strange, less like the lovable little brother he’d always been, turning into a man who was a complete stranger in the way he thought and acted. Voices, he thought, he’s hearing voices. Maybe he is going mad like Uncle Theo. Maybe the insanity’s heritable after all. The psi test must have shown a negative result or the Guild would’ve claimed him by now. Sammie resisted the urge to get up and pace.
The door opened and a man dressed in a soft green suit entered. “Samuel Hunter?”
“Yes. You are?”
“I am Horem, a Guild monitor. I am a fully qualified level three telempath.” The monitor sat down across the table. “Do you understand why I’ve been asked to speak with you?”
“I brought Jason in because he’d been beaten up and the doctors can see that he’s been beaten up and think I did it.”
“This has nothing to do with their opinions on who did it,” Horem correctly mildly. “It’s simply procedural.”
“I see,” said Sammie. “So when you rule me out, then what?”
“Then I attempt to determine who did it.” Horem stared at Sammie, his brown eyes amazingly warm and deep. Sammie felt welcomed by those magnetic eyes, relaxed, comforted and, above all, trusted. “So, Samuel…did you beat your brother?”
Sammie felt utterly at peace within himself. He had no reason to lie. The truth would set him free and make Horem happy. He wanted to make Horem happy. “No, never. I love Jason like he’s my own kid. It was some of the kids from the school. They were bulling Jason, forcing him to do their work for him. I put a stop to it, of course. I’m so sorry, though. I didn’t think they’d be stupid enough to take their anger out on him physically. I feel like it’s my fault. I should have known. Should’ve watched more closely.”
Horem smiled. “It wasn’t your fault, Sammie. Don’t blame yourself. And thank you for your honesty.” The monitor stood. “I will report my findings to the authorities.”
Abruptly, Sammie felt clear-headed again. His eyes widened as he realized that Horem had been using psi on him, to draw the truth from him. That was legal, he’d consented to it. But knowing what would happen and experiencing it were two very different things. He cleared his throat. “Before you go…I am really worried about Jason. He’s hearing voices and we’re afraid he’s going mad.”
“Mad? Voices?” Horem sat back down. “Has he been tested by the Guild?”
“Yes, but we’ve heard nothing. They didn’t claim him, obviously.”
“I will take a look,” Horem said after several long, tense minutes had passed. “Perhaps there’s something I can do. I am a mind healer as well as a monitor.” The man stood again, nodded gravely and left the room.
Sammie closed his eyes and offered a brief prayer that the telempath would be able to do something for his brother.
* * * *
Horem paused in the doorway of treatment room three. Jason Hunter was laying on the gurney watching a vid. He was dotted with icepacks and medication patches over the worse of the injuries. He appeared quite calm, but Horem knew just how deceptive that appearance was. The boy was a fully functional telepath and completely unshielded.
Out of self-preservation, Horem shielded himself against the strength of that young mind. He stepped into the room. Jason’s head turned toward him, his brilliant blue eyes flashed, and his telepathy shot out toward Horem like an arrow. Horem blocked the probe and felt a moment’s pity for the young man. No bloody wonder he’s hearing things, Horem thought. “Jason Hunter?”
“Yes?”
“I am Horem, a Guild telempath. Can you tell me when you were last tested by the Guild?”
“Yesterday, at the Guildhall,” Jason replied. “They said the results would be mailed to us in a day or two.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Horem replied, mind scrambling for a suitable exit strategy. The Guild never, ever claimed a child at the time of te
sting. If a positive result was found, the testee and the family was told that the results would be mailed in a day or two. The collection team would be assembled, the child would be taken, and the letter the family received wouldn’t be the test results but the notification of the legal claiming of the child by the Guild.
If he said a word, even in reassurance to the young man who feared he was going mad, he would face Guild disciplinary action. Kids had been maimed or even killed back before the Guild adopted its policy of secrecy. People, even parents, often feared the Guild and the power the individual guildmembers wielded. They’d lash out at the easy targets—the kids who were set to be inducted into the Guild. Some had been lobotomized to destroy the part of the brain where psionic ability stemmed from. Others had simply been killed, either by mob action or by cold-blooded murder.
“It takes the computers a day or two to analyze a brain scan completely,” Horem lied. “The brain’s very complex, after all.”
“So I should know the results soon?”
“Oh, yes, very soon. Now, about your attackers? How many of them were there?” Horem soothed the young man, reaching out with his empathy to get the answers he required, and all the while, holding the tightest shield he’d ever managed to keep Jason out of his head.
* * * *
From the window of the hovercar, Jason stared at the school glumly. He turned to Sammie. “Must I?”
“Yes, Jason, you must.” Sammie reached over and ruffled his hair. “You’re not sick, there’s no reason to keep you home. The docs cleared you to resume normal activities.”
Jason sighed, grabbed his book bag, exited the car and trudged for the steps. He hadn’t gotten halfway across the yard when he noticed everyone looking at him. And keeping their distance. The bugs in his head scurried furiously—snitch—tattler—fink—weasel—and Jason shook his head, setting the pinballs loose to bounce about again.