Ascent

by M. C. Zappitello

  There were some problems, however. Will wasn't to the point where he could be up and about, but he was well enough to need something to do. And by this time, he was desperate. Meds helped with the physical pain, but his emotional turmoil knew no relief. And his usually mild temper was exploding on a frequent basis. He didn't let me see much of that, either, but it was evident that he had begun throwing more than just fits.

  His parents immediately came up with a plan. First, they found a personal trainer with a physical therapy background to help Will work out as much as his injuries would permit―mostly upper body. The physical activity, limited as it was, did wonders for him. And his temper.

  The other part of the plan was to get him back into schoolwork. They arranged for one of the high school age clients at Paladin to work with Will on catching up with his classes. And they got him a laptop with internet access. That part of the plan worked well also. Perhaps too well. He threw himself into his studies, desperately attempting to keep himself busy and distracted. And, once caught up, he worked ahead. In fact, by the time he got back to school the next fall, he was a full year ahead.

  That was also when Will discovered the field of neuroscience. Once past the initial shock of our separation, he decided that he wasn't going to just let me go. He determined to do everything in his power to somehow re-establish communication with me, to whatever extent his abilities would permit. As part of that, he began searching for information on the web about how the brain works, hoping that he would find something to aid him in his quest. And he happened onto a site about neuroscience. He didn't find anything on point, but could see the potential and kept on exploring.

  After more long weeks, the metal was removed from Will's legs and he began physical therapy in earnest. He pushed himself mercilessly, realizing that he could now use the physical pain to mask the emotional pain that wouldn't go away. So, along with driving himself academically, he became obsessed with physical training. He progressed from the wheelchair to crutches, and finally, to walking and even running again.

  And he kept searching for me. Especially at night. It became a ritual for him. He would get all ready to go to sleep―always praying for me explicitly―then focus with all his might on trying to sense me. Even the most tenuous connection would excite him, reinforcing his resolution to hold on to me no matter what, for as long as it took.

  Dr. and Mrs. Stuart were worried about him. And he knew it. Although they realized that he and I had a special bond, they hadn't understood just how comprehensive and potent it was. They had long since accepted that Will was unique in terms of his intelligence and abilities, as well as his exceptionally cheerful, steady temperament. But the true nature and strength of his commitment to me only unfolded to them over time.

  After numerous attempts at redirecting his attention―particularly during his teen years―they finally acknowledged that it was no use. They decided they could only hope and pray that, when the time came, I would by some miracle accept him and return his devotion. And they―especially his dad―began talking to him about what to expect when they came for me, including all the turmoil the unsealing of my memories would create for me; and, by extension, him.

  Initially, I wondered why he had continued beyond the time when his injuries ceased to be an issue, providing me with a synopsis of his continued devotion to me and preparation for reuniting with me. But not for long. He clarified that he wanted me to finally and fully grasp that he had not only anticipated considerable turbulence during our first months together, but that he had acquired a singular appreciation for what I was struggling through by virtue of his own experiences.

  And I did.

  I opened my eyes and looked at him. What a strangely unique and glorious person he was! Surely no one in the whole world was loved better than I was by him. What more could I possibly want? Or need?

  Will opened his eyes. "Didn't you want more, later?" he asked, the hint of a smile around his eyes and mouth.

  Ah, yes. Was that only this morning? You're right. As usual, I smiled back at him.

  "Well, sometimes," he acknowledged. He released his hold on me enough to better access my face. And he gave me “more” in intensity as well as quantity, his lips moving proficiently with mine. But not too much more. Of necessity, we were soon on our way back to the populated family room and a movie already in progress.

  The rest of the evening went too fast, and it was time for Will to take me home. Then we didn't want him to leave, so he stayed. He and I were sitting together in the living room at my house with the television on when Mark and Gina got home.

  "How was your trip?" Will asked them.

  "Wonderful," replied Gina.

  "A Thanksgiving weekend I'll never forget," declared Mark, as they both headed back to their room with their suitcases.

  "Yeah. I know what you mean," I responded to Mark, looking into Will's eyes.

  He winked at me.

  ..

  Chapter Eighteen

  So life went on after what Melinda dubbed our "first fight." Strange fight, though―my whole purpose had been to avoid hurting Will again, not hurting him more. Wasn't a fight supposed to be just the opposite of that? Well, whatever it was or wasn't, I didn't want to go through another one. Ever.

  We went back to our regular routine the next morning, Mark and Gina none the wiser about the turmoil I had caused for the Stuarts, and myself. Dr. Stuart did insist on talking about the whole episode during our meeting the following Saturday. He again advised me “strongly” to tell Mark and Gina everything, and to do it soon. He even offered to meet with all three of us to help me explain things to them, and to acknowledge responsibility for his role in creating our current situation. Will also offered to sit in with us, mainly to support me. So, our meeting ended up not being too bad.

  Except, that is, for an annoying habit Dr. Stuart had of expecting me to figure things out for myself. (I say that facetiously. Mostly.) For example, after reviewing the events of the previous week, he would ask me questions like, "How do you think/feel you handled it?" and “What went well?” and "What would you like to see change?" and "What will you do differently next time?" In the process of answering those questions, we consistently ended up with two basic points (my paraphrases, not his): I needed to be reasonable in my expectations of myself; and, I needed to stop jumping to conclusions and overreacting before I had all the relevant facts. Both of those points certainly applied to my “meltdown” over Thanksgiving weekend.

  "It's not always going to be this hard, Cassie,” Dr. Stuart encouraged. (He had asked to talk with me for a few minutes more after our meeting was officially over while Will took a phone call from a student in one of his classes.) “We did a very thorough history with you and your parents when you came to Paladin, and I was very much aware of what happened in your life during your time there. So, from everything I know about your first seven years, I believe that you've now identified the most traumatic events from that part of your life: Saying good-bye to your parents; Will’s accident, and leaving him; and, finding yourself here with your memories blocked. You have now processed―or re-processed―Will’s accident. Having the experience of working your way through that and through the rediscovery of your identity when I removed the memory block, along with the skills you are developing now, should make dealing with the other trauma memories less difficult.

  “You know, there are a number of fun and happy events I’m aware of that you haven’t mentioned yet. Then there were also a lot of routine and uneventful days. Those should resurface as well, and will serve to counterbalance the hurtful ones.

  "Keep working on your 'curtains,' as you call them, so you are able to prevent overload, and everything else will settle into place. You'll continue to improve in routinely handling situations and settings that used to be unmanageable. You're already doing much better. Do you realize that, Cassie?"

  “Yes, I do. But I don’t understand why I haven’t recovered all those ‘trauma memorie
s.’ Why don't I remember saying good-bye to my parents? And why don't I remember anything from right after Will's fall until several days after my memory was sealed, except for some odd moments with Ben?”

  He took a deep breath and considered how to respond. "I am not sure why those particular memories aren't back. Of course, the ones that you mentioned―saying good-bye to your parents, the events around Will's hospitalization and your separation from him, and Ben bringing you here―are among the most traumatic of your life. So, it is possible that you are subconsciously protecting yourself by keeping them stored away until you are ready to deal with them.

  "The details of Will's accident that you did remember probably came through because you were deliberately led to them. Following the same process might bring back the missing memory about your parents leaving. I was there and could help you with that. So was Will. And Ben might be able to help you recall more of his time with you, and get you started on what happened the first few days you were here. I'm sure he'd be willing to try. I’m wondering if you didn’t have an independent recollection of being at the hospital with Will because you shut it down when you were overwhelmed by memories of events at the hotel and of the accident itself.

  He leaned forward and looked straight into my eyes. "Cassie, is this where you most need to be concentrating your time and energy right now? I understand that it's important for you to remember these things for yourself, but is there any reason it has to be now when you have already been through so much recently, and have some major changes coming up that you need to prepare for?" he asked.

  And that's how we left it―with more questions for me to answer for myself.

  It didn't take much thought for me to decide that it would be better to just let it go for the present. There was a big change coming, and I needed to finish preparing instead of dividing my efforts between too many things. In fact, though Will and I continued to do some work on it, we weren't really focusing on refining my ability to sense others for that very reason. Our work was almost entirely about self-protection because I would be finishing high school before Christmas and starting at the University in January. With tens of thousands of students on campus, I would definitely be needing my filtering skills solidly in place.

  School had become easier over the last few weeks since I had started working with Dr. Stuart and Will. And I had been working the job for Mrs. Miller that required contact with the public and experienced very few glitches. Also, I had become so comfortable not only with Mark and Gina, but also Will's whole family, that I didn't feel anxious about being around any of them anymore. In fact, I was now able and in the habit of filtering out virtually all but the strongest of their inner workings. It simplified life immeasurably.

  The one exception to all of this, of course, was Will. While I was still working on my three distinct "curtains" as I learned how to filter out the whole of mankind, he was so advanced that he seemed to be using an infinitely calibrated dial that he could adjust to precisely the level of input he desired. And, lately, he had refined his abilities to the point where he could control input and output separately.

  In other words, he could keep me out while sensing me, and keep himself from sensing me while letting me in. (Though I didn't really see what purpose the latter served. He agreed that he didn't either, but it was good exercise.) I hadn't mastered any of it with him yet―getting in (when he didn't want me to, that is) or keeping him out.

  We were in Dr. Stuart's study discussing progress after our Saturday meeting a couple of weeks before Christmas. He and Will were theorizing that my apparent inability to get through Will's shields was partly because of the nature of my relationship with him, and a strong unwillingness on my part to do anything that seemed to me like I was opposing him.

  "That's kind of sweet, in a way," Will commented to me. "But I don't think you're going to be very happy when Christmas gets here and I already know what you've gotten for me. Among other things," he hinted.

  Hmm. I thought I had done well in not thinking about my plans for Christmas while I was around him. Had he been improving his range in addition to everything else? Could he now be that clear at a distance? I considered him speculatively. Should I ask, or just find out on my own? He and his dad were distracted now, both of them behind the desk as his father checked the computer for new e-mail updates from Ben. Maybe I would have a chance, if . . . .

  No time like the present, I quickly decided.

  It always seemed to help if I closed my eyes to begin. So I did. I pictured Will clearly in my mind, then reached for him with it. Because I was so familiar with his, I had no trouble finding it―especially since we were in the same room. But there was a barrier around it. The same shield that I had run into every time I had tried this without being invited. The same one that had always proved to be impenetrable as I tried to force my way through.

  And then something occurred to me―force of any kind was not the answer. Force almost invariably created resistance. I had to ease in; infiltrate. Instead of being a solid, I would be a very fine mist. Or, even better, a gas. I thought of the periodic table of elements for inspiration. What was the gas with the smallest molecule? Hydrogen, of course, with the atomic number of one.

  My thoughts could easily be even smaller than that; smaller than the spaces between the particles of his shield. And as I thought it, they were. They dissipated, separating enough to slip through the less than microscopic spaces between the mental molecules that formed his defense. Then, as if drawn by a powerful magnet, they spontaneously reassembled on the other side.

  And I was there! I saw, and heard, and felt all that was transpiring inside Will. Though I had been there before, it was thrilling to know that I could now enter when I chose. Whenever I wanted.

  Among other things, I knew at once that he knew I had penetrated his defenses. I quickly thought for the two pieces of information I wanted, drawing them to me. I was surprised and elated, respectively. Now, stay or go? As much as I delighted in being there, it would be more considerate to leave, making it clear that I would not take advantage of my newfound power. I slipped out more quickly than I had slipped in. And I was safely back, entirely within myself.

  I opened my eyes to find Will staring at me incredulously. "How did you do that?!" he demanded, not angrily, but startled. His father turned from the computer screen, looking first at Will, then me.

  Stopped using force, I responded mentally, tacitly suggesting that he would find within me a more complete answer than could be provided with words alone.

  So he did. And he smiled―somewhat grudgingly. "Amazing."

  My strategy, or me? I asked rather smugly.

  "Both."

  "I get the distinct impression that I'm missing something here," observed Dr. Stuart.

  "Sorry, Dad," Will responded. "Cassie got into my head, in spite of my shield. Or, more accurately, through my shield."

  "How did she do that?"

  "She went in between the molecules."

  "Good for you, Cassie!" Dr. Stuart exclaimed. And he meant it. "So, Will," he continued, "what are you going to do about it?" He meant that, too.

  "Oh, I'll figure something out," Will returned, smirking. But I knew he must have something in mind. Perhaps he had already implemented it. Well, I would find out soon enough. Didn't have to be now. I was busy pondering the information I had just acquired. What to do with it? A few inquiries seemed in order―

  "So you can read me clearly at a greater distance now?" I asked Will.

  His face sobered instantly. "Yes."

  "When I'm at home?"

  "Yes."

  "And school?"

  "Yes."

  "And work?"

  "Yes."

  "Hmm." I paused, thinking. "Why haven't you talked to me?" I wondered aloud.

  "That wasn't what I was working on." Evasive? "And, if I had let you know I could reach you that far away, you would probably have been more careful about some of the things you were thinking.
And feeling."

  "Oh." Well, at least that was honest. But I immediately realized that some of the things I allowed myself to daydream about when I thought he couldn't know were, um . . . well . . . I mean, it wasn't like we hadn't talked about that kind of thing―in general terms, anyway. And being naturally curious, I, of course . . . uh . . . wondered about some things.

  My face grew warmer and warmer, and my temper began to do the same. What about some privacy? Did I have to give that up because I loved Will, and he loved me? I closed my eyes to concentrate. I needed to breathe, and stay calm, and express myself appropriately. Breathe. I reminded myself that this had not come up before. And he certainly hadn't intended to offend me. Breathe.

  I opened my eyes and looked toward the desk, but Will and his dad were no longer there. In fact, Dr. Stuart had apparently left the room. Will had come to sit in a chair across from me. "I thought you could use a little space about now," he explained.

  "I guess so." He was right, but I wasn't entirely comfortable with being so far away from him. Seemed contradictory, and I didn't do well with contradictory. I needed this resolved. Right away.

  Breathe. Remember to breathe.

  "So, what . . . ," I began. I was going to ask what he had actually gathered from me unawares, but the answer was already flowing into me. I closed my eyes to more completely absorb the answer to my unasked query, and more. He not only shared what he had gotten from me, but also how he himself had reacted upon sensing it.

  If I expected any kind of negative response―which I did, though I'm not sure why as I couldn't actually recall any such thing from him―I was mistaken. His exhilaration at realizing how I experienced him, and how much I wanted to experience him more fully, was enlightening. He valued these insights, even treasuring them, setting them apart with some preferred others for ready reference. How could I possibly be upset with him for that?

  My budding anger died a quick and painless death.