A shrill ringing pierced her ears painfully. “What did you say his name was?”
“Blake. Blake Parrish. Why? Does it sound familiar?”
Yes, it did. Like a really bad case of déjà vu, her dream was haunting her again. She could feel the fierce presence of the soldier and hear the echoes of his command, ‘Blake, carry on’ reverberating through the crevices of her brain. She shook her head again and managed to choke out a whisper. “No. It just sounds sad.”
“It is. Very sad. I wouldn’t have seen this coming at all. He seemed like a normal teenager to me. Maybe a little quiet and shy, but he wasn’t dark, hateful, or aloof...like most the other kids in the group. He seemed almost confused by the whole concept of why he was there. I’m thinking the shooting had to have been done by someone else, and when Blake found his dad—he went into total shock.”
But Aislen knew better.
They walked to the doors of the Acute Center. Troy buzzed the doorbell and a nurse unlocked them.
Aislen felt lost. She felt adrift in the in-between, straddling the dream and the present moment. She could see her body, walking down the hall, but could not feel the air caress her flesh or feel the weight of her body pressing into the floor. Words floated in her mouth, gossamer and entangled tendrils, evading her tongue, denying her the ability to form them into speech. The woman she knew herself to be, controlled and articulate, didn’t exist right now. She didn’t know how to think or act.
Aislen tried to rationalize with herself. This was just an ordinary, psychiatric situation she was going to witness. She was over reacting, taking an insignificant, unconscious dream and giving it more significance and meaning. They have a word for that in psychiatry, delusional. The doors opened for them and they walked down another hallway.
∞
Voices in the hall had grown louder with conversation. Raze moved off Blake’s bed and to the window. A young man, about his own age, wearing a long sleeved dress shirt with a badge hanging from his pocket approached the room. He looked a little young to be the therapist, but Raze was a little young to be a mind control operative, so go figure.
There was a lot of hand shaking and introductions going on. Raze was able to make out that the therapist’s name was Troy, but when the Troy character turned to introduce the person who was with him, Raze felt a slight buzz brush up against his energy field and a sound of static filled the room. He checked in on Blake, to see if it was him, but it wasn’t. Blake’s energy was still complanate.
It had to be originating with Troy or whomever it was that arrived with him. Raze could not see who it was because Troy was blocking his view. He thought about pushing through the window for a better perspective, but decided to move back next to Blake instead. If Blake recognized the doctor when he came into the room and checked back in to his body, Raze had to be there to capture the altered frequency or he wouldn’t be able to influence him to suicide later.
He hovered around Blake and watched the door.
∞
Troy had been speaking to her all the way down the hallway, telling her about the different areas of the facility and what each section was responsible for, but Aislen couldn’t keep track. She felt like she was swimming under water. She could see his lips moving, but she could only hear her own breath. Her vision narrowed as they walked the hallway and the loose knot she had been holding in her stomach fisted tighter.
They turned the corner and approached a police officer and a man in a suit who were waiting outside a door. Aislen watched in a fog as Troy extended his hand to the detective, “Good afternoon, I’m Troy Kellen.” There was a round of hand shaking and name exchanges. Aislen could barely hear any of them. The shrill tintinnabulation fluttering in her ears had intensified. “This is Aislen, a nursing student and one of my assistants.”
The police officers offered to shake her hand. But a blurring of her vision made it hard for her to focus. She looked up at the ceiling to see if one of the florescent lights was burning out and making the hallway strobe, but all the lights were glowing steady.
Troy walked over to the closed door and peered through the side window then turned to Aislen. “This shouldn’t take too long if you want to watch from the observation window with the officers.”
She nodded at him although she hadn’t heard a word he said. The officers went into the adjacent room as Troy opened the door and stepped inside the room with Blake.
∞
Raze saw the doctor’s face appear in the door window just before he opened the door and stepped in. He wasn’t a bad looking dude, this Troy, a little loose around the edges, but he seemed confident. Being in the same room with a psychopathic child didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest.
Raze tuned his receptors into Troy and evaluated his signature as he pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Blake.
“Hello, Blake. Do you remember me? I’m Troy Kellen. You’ve been in a few of my classes.”
He was so sincere, Raze wanted to puke. He could easily feel and see Troy’s signature, a smooth and lolling frequency—waves of blue and green—as calm as a sea. Raze seized it and stored it away just in case he needed it later, then he returned his antennae toward Blake, who was still non-responsive.
A fierce vacillation was volleying around the room like an errant ping-pong ball. It was so strong Raze had to start compensating in order to remain anchored in the view. And something about it was starting to feel very familiar.
∞
Aislen remained in the hall. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Disorientation affected her vision and hearing to the point that she was nearly incapacitated. She watched the officers moving toward the observation room and thought she should follow them, but her feet refused. At the same time, she felt an irresistible, almost magnetic, pull toward the door that Troy had just walked through. The intensity caused a revolting twist in her stomach, yet at the same time, it had a seductive appeal.
Aislen moved toward the doorway and peeked through the slat of glass. Troy had pulled up a chair and was sitting with his back to the door. Just beyond his shoulder, she could just see the dark, tousled crown of a small head resting face down on his knees. The force luring her toward the little boy became too intense for her to resist and Aislen opened the door.
∞
The grating sibilation turned into an obnoxious jackhammering, forcing Raze into overdrive. He checked Blake’s energy for any signs of life. Still nothing. He re-checked the doctor’s space again to see if he was the source. He wasn’t.
What the fuck?
Raze saw a flutter of movement behind the little shaft of window. A shadow of a face peeked in, and the room flooded with another tsunami of energy. Raze was thrown back and pinned against the wall. He had to compensate by pulling his field in close in order to retain his grip on Theta. He was determined to hold on so he could find out who was causing all this chaos.
Raze watched the door slowly crack open. A fury of unseen force sliced through the room, nearly pushing him out, but he held his ground. Troy, hearing the door open behind him, turned in his chair.
“Aislen?” He said, surprised and confused by the visitor.
“Sorry,” a female voice said, but rather than shutting the door and leaving, the door opened further and a young woman slowly walked into the room.
It was her! The stray strumpet he booted from Demesne this morning. Raze was stunned, which caused his control to falter and he started to slip out of the view.
The room became frantic with static, like bees swarming in a hive. His hold on the space felt like it was being plucked at, one ethereal finger at a time. He gripped the space with all of his might as she walked further into the room and over to Blake.
Raze glanced down and saw that Blake had stopped rocking and was slowly raising his head up off of his knees.
Shit! Blake was back! But the vortex in the room was overpowering. Raze couldn’t hold himself in the space and capture Blake’s frequency at the
same time. He watched helplessly as Blake looked up, straight into the woman’s shocked face.
Blake cocked his head to the side. “You’re the lady from Demesne.” He smiled at her, not with the sweet eyes of an innocent boy, but with a glower of someone sinister. “I knew you would come.”
The room exploded with the force of a nuclear bomb, and Raze was slammed back into his body in The Womb.
“FUUUCK!”
∞
Aislen heard a loud crack inside her skull. Her brain felt like it was ripping apart, her heart stuttered, and time stopped.
She was standing face to face with the boy from her dream. He really existed—and he knew her! Only this was not the same, small creature she felt pity for in the dream. His smile was twisted and seethed evil. She felt something reaching at her throat, trying to crawl inside of her.
Her stomach curdled, she turned, and ran out of the room. Sinister fingers clawed at her back, trying to grip her and pull her back into the room. She ran even faster, back down the halls, and out the front doors of the hospital where she vomited in the shrubs.
CHAPTER 9
Aislen lost track to how long she’d been sitting on the cold curb. She felt like Humpty Dumpty, fragile, ready to fall off the wall and shatter into a million pieces.
The late afternoon air was laced with crystalline particles of winter and she wrapped her arms around her knees resting her frost-nipped face against them—not so unlike Blake had been sitting in his cell.
She had a little mantra going on her head, too. It went something like, “What the fuck just happened? What the fuck just happened? What the fuck just happened?” And although the idea of it soothed her, she left out the rocking part. That would just be the icing on her cake of crazy.
She heard footsteps approaching behind her and braced herself. She had no idea how to explain herself to Troy. What could she possibly say? “I had a bad dream last night, and that little boy was in it?” Yeah, right. She already ruined any good impression he had of her by intruding in on his session and she didn’t want to make it worse by confirming she was a nutcase.
He crouched down behind her and the heat of him wafted around her. He placed his hand on her shoulder, searing its print through her coat, sweater, and into her skin, making her shiver with something other than the cold.
“I called Rachel,” he said softly, his breath tracing the contours of her ear. “I told her that you’re really sick and can’t come back to work. I’m going to take you home.”
The humiliation was unbearable. He had finally realized she was “really sick.” Her emotions started to get the best of her. Tears stung the back of her eyes in their attempt to eke a way out. She was determined to keep them in check. She was not a crier, damn it! She refused to appear weak and broken.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined everything,” she lamented.
“It’s okay,” he said, “and you didn’t ruin anything. I don’t know what on earth possessed you to come into that room, but it triggered a reaction in Blake that nobody else has been able to do. So that’s a positive. At least we know there’s a light on in there somewhere.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking, that’s the problem.”
“I was more than a little surprised when you walked in, that’s for sure. But when he spoke to you—I almost fell out of my chair. Do you know him from somewhere?”
She did know him! He wasn’t just a figment of her imagination and yet he was. But she couldn’t explain that to Troy. If she couldn’t understand it, he surely wouldn’t. She lifted her head, wiping her face on her sleeve.
“I’ve never seen him before in my life,” she said with faked confidence. She was getting really good at this lying thing. At least she still knew the difference between knowing someone in the real world and dreaming them.
“Blake said you were the girl from Demesne. Maybe he recognizes you from there.”
“What?” Aislen was confused. She had no idea what Troy was talking about. “I’ve never heard of Demesne. Where is it?”
“Demesne isn’t a place—it’s a game...a video game. So you don’t play video games?”
Aislen shot him a look that said, “Does it look like I play video games?”
“No? But you so seem like the type.” His face relaxed with the joke. “Demesne is a simulated war and role playing game set in a dystopian future world. Lots of destruction and debauchery. It’s the game that Blake’s parents believed he was addicted to and why he was sent to my group.”
Aislen felt a little itchy all over. Demesne sounded too similar to what she’d dreamed, and if he told her anymore, she would really lose it. “Never even heard of it,” she said.
Troy let it go with a little shrug. “Maybe you remind him of an avatar he knows in the game. You do have that fantasy anime look, you know.” He gave her ponytail a playful tug. “Do you think you can get up so I can get you home?”
She nodded. He took hold of her hand as he stood and helped her up off the sidewalk, sending her emotions spinning again.
Why did he have to be so considerate? Why did he have to be so cute and so smart? And why did she have to be such a mental case? She could actually start to like him. Then she realized. She already did—a lot. And in a very un-professional way. But after this afternoon, he was probably all too ready to get her crazy ass home and get as far away from her as possible.
They walked back to his car where he opened her door for her again. Now she was suspicious. Maybe he wasn’t just being sweet. Maybe he really thought she was a pathetic invalid. That would make more sense.
He got into the car and looked over at her, “So where’s home, Dorothy?”
She started to give him directions to her house, but thought better of it. “You know, could you just take me back to my car? I can drive myself. I’m feeling better now.” He could think what he wanted about her, but she wasn’t about to continue playing the incapable, damsel in distress.
“No problem,” he readily agreed.
A-ha! It was just as she suspected—he was eager to be rid of her. Although he drove in a more civilized manner back to the facility, the engine was too loud to talk. Aislen glanced over at him a couple of times, but he appeared to be lost in thought and uninterested in trying to converse with her either. When he pulled into the parking lot of the facility, he turned off the engine and he looked over at her.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, with the sincere countenance that she was beginning to believe was nothing but a great performance.
“I’m all right,” she replied in a clipped tone.
“You know, Aislen. After doing what I have been doing for the last couple of years, you kind of get good at reading people. And I can kinda tell—you aren’t all right.”
Just freakin’ great. Not only can he tell I am a nut job, he’s going to call me one now. She bit back a withering retort and looked down at her hands.
“I think we have gotten to know each other pretty well over the past few months, and I would hope you know by now, that if you need to talk about anything, I’m a damn good listener.”
“You know, it’s been a really strange and stressful day for me and I really just want to be alone for a while and decompress.” And scream. She really wanted to scream. And cry. She really, really wanted to cry.
“Okay. I understand.”
She reached for the door handle to let herself out. “I am sorry about everything today.”
“And like I said earlier, you don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
She sighed. She disagreed, but wasn’t in the mood to argue about it. She got out of the car.
“Hey, Aislen,” he stopped her. “You know, I am the one who should apologize. You were under my supervision today and I was obligated to make sure you were all right. I shouldn’t have put you through that.”
“Obligated?” She spit the word back at him. She didn’t know why, but it made her angry. Of course, he felt obli
gated and responsible for her. She was his subordinate. They weren’t equals. They weren’t really friends.
“I get it. No worries,” she said, sounding angry. She slammed his car door and stormed across the lot to her car. She fumbled with her keys, eyes blurry with frustration and unshed tears. She managed to unlock the door, get inside, and pull the door shut. The windows immediately fogged over with condensation. She glanced into the rearview mirror. She could see the shadowy figure of Troy through the haze of the back windshield. He had gotten out of his car and was watching her. She needed to get away—the faster the better.
She started the car, floored the gas pedal, and sped off, leaving Troy standing in a sputter of exhaust. It was not as impressive an exit as the Mustang, but it felt good making the tires squeal, slamming on the breaks, whipping around the corner, and making something else her bitch for a change.
She drove down the road in the completely opposite direction of home. The last place she wanted to be was home. She didn’t want to have to face her mom or answer her questions about her day and have to lie, yet again. She knew exactly where she wanted to be.
Driving fast and furious, cutting in and out of traffic, Aislen made her way to Route 108 and drove it out of town. As businesses grew sparse, the landscape was taken over by dormant orchards and unplowed fields. Just before she reached the river, she pulled onto a private, dirt road and drove under a tall, vermilion torii gate almost completely shrouded by overgrown oleanders. The sign on the gate once read “Lotus Garden,” but time and weather had stripped it of both its “u” and its gilding. Aislen parked the car, put on her coat and walked down a steep hill into the garden grounds.
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