Wild Thing

by L. J. Kendall

  'But it's not him that did it, it was Her. And I can hurt Her. So I can help Godsson.'

  'Even if you're right, that it's not Godsson but “Her” who… altered my colleagues, what would protect you from suffering the same fate?'

  'Godsson protects himself from Her. He'd protect me, too.'

  Her uncle kind of twitched forward, Sara saw, like he wanted to drop his head into his hands. For a moment, she almost felt sorry for him.

  But it was his own fault for being so stubborn.

  Ten full seconds passed before Harmon spoke again, extra slowly. 'Sara, Godsson is mad. He is not your friend.'

  Sara's lips pressed into thin lines.

  Harmon's hands twitched again. 'He has begun calling Melisande “Lilith reborn,” and you her-'

  Harmon stopped suddenly, shutting his eyes. Sara saw his lips purse, and his left hand clench. Finally, he took a deep breath, shook his head, and opened his eyes again; then started all over again trying to convince her that Godsson thought she was bad.

  But Sara knew Godsson just got mad with her because he was mad. Not because he didn't like her!

  In the end, Harmon stood up. 'Fine. Come with me. If I can't persuade you, perhaps seeing the incident for yourself will convince you. I had not planned to show you this for some years, however.'

  Shanahan had been shocked by the request after bringing them in to his office, and looked from Harmon to Sara. But Harmon had to give the man credit: Shanahan took one look at the stubborn set of his ward's features, put two and two together with the request to view that footage, and shook his head.

  'Sara, darlin’, you don't want to go into Godsson's cell. No one goes into Godsson's cell. Least not while he's conscious. We even have-'

  At Harmon's frantic cutting gesture the man caught himself, eyes widening.

  'What? We even have what?'

  Shanahan ignored her, spinning back to his monitors and angling them right around so his visitors could see them – and he couldn't. In seconds, both screens filled with views of Godsson's cell, and the room was filled with coruscating flashes of light and the mage's awful cries. Shanahan winced, his eyes glued to the girl's, desperately willing her to be convinced.

  From the screen, a voice shouted: “We have to help him, he's under attack!”

  The dialog played out exactly as Harmon remembered. Sara stood entranced, watching a younger Alex Harmon standing wide-eyed in the doorway of Godsson's cell.

  The nightmare scene unfolded.

  Crowded into the corners of the room by Godsson's protective circle, Abrams and Li faced the same direction as Godsson, blasting away as if they too could see what he saw: drawn into the shared delusion, wrestling the same demons he did.

  Then Abrams began changing, and a moment later, so too did Li. Abrams grew, his clothes tearing at the seams, the limbs morphing, softening, lengthening, and between his legs, the obscene exaggeration there was echoed somehow in his other limbs. Skin, thickly pulsing veins, all recognizably still human even as he morphed into something utterly monstrous. Li, meanwhile, had changed into something… hungry. Multiple mouths, yet with monstrously human teeth; long shaggy hair… They had thrown themselves forward at the mage's barrier, and somehow begun distorting it – something Harmon had never seen before, nor since. Any Ward, no matter how weak, either remained perfect, or shattered. They didn't bend.

  His hand twitched, remembering, and the younger Harmon on screen slammed the cell door shut, moments before a huge fireball whited out the monitors to perfect rectangles of intense white. Two, three seconds passed, then the light winked off, leaving just the golden glow of the now once-more perfectly circular Wards, but the room was now wreathed in a thick fog – the water vapor released from the two incinerated things his co-workers had transformed into, in the space of just twenty-seven seconds. Meanwhile, Godsson continued his raging fight against the unseen demons of his own mind.

  Had it been enough? Harmon hoped desperately that it had. 'Enough, Shanahan.'

  The videos stopped instantly.

  Even Sara looked shocked. Her mouth worked, her fists clenching and unclenching. Finally, she turned and plunged from the room, her footsteps faint but accelerating.

  'By the Holy Mother, Dr Harmon, I never want to hear or see that again.' He crossed himself. 'Did it work, d'you think? Should you go after her?'

  'No, Shanahan. I think it worked. Best if Sara wrestles herself on this topic, not I. I think it worked.'

  'Let's hope so, Dr Harmon. She wouldn't want to be going into that room in the years ahead, by all the saints.'

  'I agree, Mr Shanahan. I wholeheartedly agree. And thank you.'

  Shakily, he left the office and then the small house, trying to wash the terrifying images from his mind. If that evidence didn't dissuade her, nothing on Earth would.

  So, why was he still so fearful?

  Sara didn't stop running until she reached the point where she knew the Ward encircling the whole Institute held out all bad magical stuff.

  Like Her?

  She hugged herself, suddenly scared of crossing the unseen barrier. Then got angry at her cowardice. She pictured her uncle sneering at her, and that was enough to force her across.

  Besides, she wasn't sure the barrier really stopped Her. Not properly.

  What if She grabbed me right now; turned me into some disgusting monster like young-Keepie's friends?

  She shuddered, her flesh crawling so badly that for an awful moment she thought it'd already started happening.

  She needed to get a hold of herself. Then almost sobbed, when she realized she was holding herself. She let her arms drop, and forced herself to go on into the Forest. Even if She did attack, she'd tear Her up, so there!

  Besides, that happened ages ago. Inside Godsson's cell. If She could have done it again since then, She would have.

  She sighed and shut her eyes. The image of the man who'd gone all swollen and wriggly inside his bloated flesh suddenly squirmed before her and she gasped and opened her eyes to focus instead on the trees. But each time she shut them for more than a moment, she saw the two human monsters inside Godsson's cell.

  And Keepie still thought it was Godsson doing it? That She was just imaginary? How could he be so dumb?

  'Agh!'

  It meant she was the only one who could help Godsson.

  And she still had no idea how to actually get into his cell, to fight alongside him. Plus, now Keepie and Mr Shanahan knew she needed to, so they'd both be working extra hard to make sure she couldn't.

  Unless… unless they decided that seeing the video had changed her mind?

  She tilted her head to one side, considering the idea. Could she just start pretending she didn't want to go into his cell any more?

  The most horrible part, though, was that she didn't even really want to. She wasn't certain Godsson could protect her. Not really. She wasn't sure he'd even be able to keep protecting himself. Not if things kept getting worse each year.

  Which meant that since she had to get into the cell, once she did, she might turn into some kind of disgusting monster like young-Keepie's friends had.

  Or something even worse.

  Chapter 32

  She did a real good job of acting like she'd changed her mind and didn't want to join Godsson to fight alongside him anymore. Keepie had been super relieved, and so had Mr Shanahan.

  And things went along just fine for months.

  Though, early on, there had been one night. They'd just been eating dinner, and she'd been thinking about excuses for why she needed a spy cam. After all, she couldn't tell Keepie she needed it to stick to his shirt to record the secret code for Godsson's door! And straight after she'd thought that, he'd started choking on his food.

  For a moment, she'd worried that she'd caused it, before jumping up to thump him on the back like you were supposed to.

  He'd looked at her kind of shocked.

  'Sorry, Keepie. I didn't mean to hit so hard. Are you ok
ay now?'

  But over the next few days, everyone started to act peculiar around her: they'd look at her, then look away quickly when she looked back. Like they all assumed she'd been attacking Keepie that night when he was choking, when actually she'd been saving him. Why does everyone always think I want to hurt people?

  Plus, no matter what reason she came up with, Keepie kept refusing to get her the spy cam, too. And Mr Shanahan seemed nervous whenever she visited him.

  It had taken months for everyone to go back to normal.

  And then, months after that, at the start of summer the next year, just a month before Godsson's attack was due, Mr Shanahan said something shocking.

  He was leaning back in his super-comfy black chair, and smiled at her. 'It'll be grand having your company again this year. You and Faith: “Team Sara” ready for action again, eh?'

  'Whatever makes you think that, Mr Shanahan?' She laughed, and patted his arm. 'Silly! I'll be right there, watching, to help guard against Her. Plus shouting out just to encourage him. That helps too, you know.'

  'Uh. Oh, yes, mmm, sure and I forgot.'

  But Mr Shanahan had such a guilty look on his face she'd gone straight to Keepie to check. And found out then that the FBI had said she wasn't allowed to go, this year!

  'No! Why? No, they can't, that doesn't make any sense!'

  'I believe it has something to do with your attack on the shaman last year.'

  'But everyone said it helped Godsson! Even though they all said it was just cause he thought it should!'

  But her uncle just shrugged. 'I'm sorry, Sara, but there is nothing I can do about it.'

  He didn't look sorry. In fact, he looked guilty!

  'When did they decide?'

  'Several months ago.'

  Several months ago. She just stared at him. 'When were you going to tell me?'

  'Don't take that tone of voice with me, young lady!'

  He was really angry, she saw, though most people wouldn't have seen the signs. But I can help Godsson! I just want to help! Why were they all being so stupid, and so mean?

  His eyes narrowed, just a fraction, and suddenly she felt a horrid shock, like she'd just been plunged into an ice box. He's going to send me away! But he promised he wouldn't! Not ever! Water started blurring her vision.

  He frowned at her. 'I think it best you go to your room, Sara. When you have calmed down we can discuss this further, rationally, when you have stopped behaving like a petulant child.'

  It's happening again. Finally. Her mind kind of slowed, then stopped. He's sending me to my room, while he looks for somewhere to send me away for good.

  Numbly, she turned around, not even caring now about the water streaming down her face. She stumbled away.

  'Sara.'

  She stopped. His voice sounded gentle. He'll say “this is really best for the both of us, Sara.” She didn't trust herself to turn round.

  'I am only sending you to your room, Sara. As soon as you can do so rationally, we can discuss this again, should you wish. But you are banned from seeing Godsson at this year's episode. That is not open to negotiation.'

  She froze. Was he saying…? Did he mean…? Wiping her face so he wouldn't see, she dared to turn around, hoping against hope that he might be telling the truth.

  She sniffled, studying him. He wasn't angry any more, at least.

  Her heart swelled. He isn't angry! He isn't going to send me away! For some reason, her vision was going all swimmy again.

  Somehow, she found herself snuggled up against him, hugging him tight, her head pressed into his shoulder while he sat.

  She didn't say anything; didn't trust herself to speak. After a while, she stepped back, and nodded. And left the room.

  He'd looked… almost sad. She didn't understand. But at least she was sure he wasn't planning to send her away.

  She was sure. She was.

  But once in her room, she felt at a loss, all churned up inside. Fear about being sent away still pressed down on her, even if it was kind of squashed flat by a certainty that he really wasn't going to.

  But somehow, she just couldn't stop thinking about it. As if something about it made her brain itch. And the longer she thought, especially at how quickly he'd gone from being real angry to almost-nice, something about it felt wrong. Like she was missing something.

  For some reason, then, she remembered the night he'd almost choked on his food at dinner time. It had been straight after she'd thought about getting a spy camera to capture the secret code for Godsson's door. And just before everyone had started being real “eww” to her.

  Like they would have acted if they'd discovered I still planned to go into Godsson's cell with him?

  And just now: how perfectly he'd seemed to understand her fears, and said exactly the right thing to reassure her. And he'd done that silly finger dance when she'd stormed into his office just now, hadn't he? The same weird twitching dance of his fingers. A bit like how Godsson did a different finger dance for his talking spell.

  Keepie did that, too, when he did a spell. Keepie had done a spell. Tonight. On her. And then he'd gotten all nice.

  He read my mind! Keepie's got a spell to read my mind!

  The moment she thought it, she knew it was true.

  She flopped back on her bed stunned, staring at the ceiling, remembering other times he'd guessed exactly right about what she'd been thinking; she even remembered a certain kind of feeling in her own head when he had. She'd felt that way tonight, too. Like there'd been a butterfly flitting about in her head, dancing around her thoughts.

  He read my mind when I was thinking of putting a spy cam on him!

  And he'd looked guilty tonight, too: when he'd said the FBI said she couldn't help this year. She thought about that. Why would he have felt guilty?

  Oh.

  He was the one who'd told them I planned to break in; and that's why they said I couldn't go!

  She flung her arms wide, simultaneously amazed and excited and exhausted. And then she had perhaps the most important thought of all: that because she hadn't realized he could read her mind until right now, he didn't know she knew!

  Yet.

  So what she really needed to work out, was how to keep that a secret from him. She'd have to find a way to hide her thoughts when she knew he was doing it. At least now she knew he did that finger-dance first, to cast the spell.

  Still, it sounded tricky.

  But it'd sure show him, if she could do it…

  Chapter 33

  Two thousand five hundred kilometers to the east, the thing that had once been the stockbroker Marc Disten waited as his ’Link made the now-usual negotiation with the Robotel's admin facility and the boom gate opened. After the car parked itself in its assigned underground spot, Disten emerged, pausing just long enough to ensure the auto-locking completed correctly. It had begun to malfunction. As he waited, he noted the score marks on the vehicle's side panels. The car seemed to attract such damage. The frequency had dropped as the scratches accumulated. Presumably, then, the root cause was envy.

  Foolish.

  Heading to the elevator, the body's needs were assessed. There was little stiffness, thanks to the hourly isometric and stretching routines. But toilet facilities were required, as well as nourishment. The clothing could be laundered at the same time. Others reacted if this were not done every few weeks.

  During the lift ride, the ’Link's nutrition app was used to order a suitable meal, then its directions were followed to the assigned room. Inside, the clothes were stripped and the Marc Disten financial accounts queried. Exhaustion of capital was now not anticipated until 2172, well exceeding the predicted life expectancy. The investments continued to do well.

  A dombot arrived to collect the clothing, and by the time the self-cleansing had completed, another was waiting with the delivery of the food. While eating, the ’Link's mapping function was cast to the tiny room's meager smart frame, allowing study of the directions for the route
. A twenty minute walk.

  It was curious that Dr Callahan Scott's announced paper had been withdrawn from publication. The research had clear parallels to the superior new mode of thought. Had the paper been suppressed?

  Later, striding through the extensive and well-maintained grounds of the University of Illinois, Disten noted the uneasy glances, despite the care taken to blend in. Meeting the gaze of two young women who had reacted particularly strongly, a decision was taken to alter course to intercept and question them.

  They immediately changed direction and hurried away.

  Disten briefly considered what non-verbal cues could have provoked the response, but failed to identify one. The issue was of minor importance, however.

  After a five minute walk, the Beckman Institute for Advanced Mental Science loomed ahead. Three forty six, p.m. Like the University itself, the building appeared well maintained, with pleasing regularity and patterns in its design. He proceeded to the reception area.

  But there, things became difficult.

  'I'm real sorry, sir, but Dr Scott has taken a leave of absence,' the middle-aged woman offered.

  'Callahan Scott was scheduled to publish a paper, “A New Cognitive Model for Human Thought.” Why was it withdrawn?'

  It was exceedingly difficult to read human body language, but the receptionist's reaction was sufficiently pronounced that he felt confident she had just become agitated.

  'Well, his wife died, three years ago, you know, and he didn't cope very well with that at all.'

  'Incorrect. The death of Scott's wife was a key enabler for his new research direction. Where is Scott? A discussion would be of mutual benefit.'

  'I'm sorry, sir, I can't give you that information.'

  Disten stared at her. A discussion with Scott should be very productive. There had been no success, so far, in communicating the new and perfect thinking mode to others.

  The woman took a step backward, looking to her right, to the flimsy door which would be of little impediment to his entry into the office area from which she worked. She then looked… frightened, her eyes darting around, as if looking for yet another door.