Between Two Minds: Awakening

by D C Wright-Hammer

After “losing” GIP and with pockets of fighting with FPR, our country had experienced tough times. Some economist said we had been technically in a recession for the last fifteen years or so. But it really mimicked what the history books described as a depression. There was mass unemployment, home foreclosures, civil unrest, and increased police forces. Luckily for me, Mom had been employed by Grant Machinery for the last thirty years. Originally, they’d provided pneumatics and hydraulics for commercial and industrial use. Once GIP started, the government quickly contracted the company to supply the military and municipalities. Mom maintained the distribution systems that had made sure all deliveries were accurate and timely. She had gotten plenty of overtime during the war and after, so while things were tight, we always seemed to have enough to get by.

  Still, Mom had been conflicted with the position she’d held for so long. On the one hand, she had been able to provide for us to live a decent life. On the other, she’d felt like she was aiding in the efforts of questionable conflicts. She told me stories about how she’d had to sneak into the back of her office building because protesters blocked the main entrance and parking lots. While protesting had been illegal for the last ten years or so, there was still the occasional group that gathered in front of the building before being chased off or arrested by the police. Mom hadn’t blamed them for being passionate, but it hadn’t made going to work for her any easier.

  While I was unhappy about a new war, it was relieving to think about something bigger than my mind migration even for just a few minutes. It reminded me that no matter how bad I thought I had it, others had it far worse.

  Wrapping up my breakfast, I walked into the living room to ask Mom her opinion on the international situation. Sitting in her favorite relaxer chair, she had a hologram pulled up on her netphone of what looked like different balls of yarn.

  “Did you see the news?”

  She swiped the hologram off. “I did.”

  “How will that play out at work?”

  She shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll be like it’s always been.”

  I sat down on the love seat across from her. “You know, you don’t need to take care of me anymore. Maybe…maybe you could find another job.”

  “Oh, sweetie. I’ve thought about it. But trying to switch jobs in this economy isn’t smart. I guess I’m just hoping that I can keep the job until I reach the maximum age limit, then I’ll just live off my savings.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll take care of you when you can’t work anymore. I promise.”

  “I appreciate that, honey, but I hope you won’t have to. I really want you to move on with your life even though it’ll be difficult for me to adjust.”

  “Mom! Moving on doesn’t mean I won’t be in your life. It just means I won’t be living with you. But I’ll call you just about every night to check in.”

  “It’s not the same, but I’ll take what I can get.”

  “All right. Well, I’m heading to Dr. Dean’s.”

  “Tell him I said hello. Love you, sweetie!”

  “Love you.”

  I got up and threw on my shoes and jacket before bursting out of the front door and down the stairs. I had a pep in my step as I boarded the bullet and arrived in the city in the blink of an eye. It was a decent walk to Dr. Dean’s office, but I was happy to stroll with the crowds and take in the scenery that I had always taken for granted.

  In the lobby of Dr. Dean’s building, I decided to skip the elevator and take the stairs to the third floor. Entering the office, I nodded at the doctor’s longtime assistant and said, “Hello!”

  He tilted his head in curiosity for a moment. “Ryan Carter, is that you?”

  “Yes, sir, it is.”

  “You did one of those brain transfer things, right?”

  I didn’t feel like correcting him. “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s amazing. Good for you. I just need you to put your right thumb in the scanner over here to verify your identity.”

  “No problem.”

  Beep!

  “Great! The doctor is waiting for you, so you can head right in.”

  “Thanks!” I stepped across the small waiting area and opened the door, finding him daydreaming out the window. “Hello, Dr. Dean!”

  Startled a bit, he turned and his eyes lit up. He walked in my direction with his hand extended “Ryan! Look at you! What a big change!”

  I gripped his hand firmly and gave it the best shake I could. With all of the intimate details he knew about me, standing eye-to-eye with him for the first time was a bit jarring, but his sincerity kept the mood light.

  “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s doing well, considering. She says hi.”

  “You know I told her to schedule an appointment to talk through her feelings about your procedure, but I haven’t heard anything yet. Let her know that I’m available.”

  “I will. Thanks!”

  He motioned me toward his office couch. “Please lay down and get comfortable.”

  I took off my jacket and hung it on the wall hook by the door, then stretched out on the couch, realizing that for as many times as I had been there, this was my first time without Auto. Even though I could have had him flatten out, Auto was not nearly as comfortable as the couch. With a sigh, it was easy to relax.

  “So, I’m guessing by the looks of it, the migration went well?”

  I caught him up on everything leading up to my first dream. He had always been a great listener, like every counselor should be, but he also provided great perspective as well.

  “That’s great to hear, Ryan. You know, I’m no expert, but I’ve always been fascinated with mind migrations. ‘Dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum.’”

  “What’s that?”

  “‘Dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum’ is the quote on which I based my dissertation. A lot of armchair philosophers shorten it, but I tend to think that waters it down, and to some extent, removes a crucial part of it. ‘I doubt, therefore I think, therefore I am.’ The ‘doubt’ is very important. You mentioned that during the catch-22 phase, you truly questioned whether you were alive or not. The very fact that you could doubt it meant that you existed the whole time.”

  Of all the counseling I had gotten at ADG, no one had summed it up that succinctly.

  “Wow. That’s a great way of looking at it.”

  “Yes. Pretty neat stuff.”

  “Dr. Dean, there is something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Yes, of course. We have time.”

  “Apparently, it’s normal for people who complete a mind migration to have dreams and visions and hear voices. It has something to do with your mind being reprocessed in the new brain, and it usually has to do with media that you’ve consumed in your life—like books, movies, video games, and so on. They say it can last for a couple of weeks after the migration. Well, I’m still having dreams and visions and hearing voices.”

  “Okay.”

  “And if they were obscure and random, I actually wouldn’t be nearly as worried. But mine seem related to one another. They seem real.”

  “What do you mean by related?”

  “Well, in the dreams, I see through the eyes of a person, a man. I’m pretty sure his name is Charlie. And as Charlie, I do things…things I’ve never done in real life. Most of the details escape me when I wake up, but I have been able to piece together a few things in my journal. In one dream, I’m running from someone. In another, I’m manually driving an old car. Then there’s a dream about a family where everyone is sick, and yet another dream about betrayal.”

  “Hm. I could see how these experiences reflect aspects of your real life. You always wanted to run. I’m sure you’ve at least subconsciously wanted to manually drive. It’s a lot of fun. You could consider your paralysis a form of sickness, and you may have subconscious feelings t
hat someone has betrayed you. Perhaps you feel this way about your mother. It’s a stretch, but maybe Charlie is an incarnation of your subconscious, and your mind created him as a defense mechanism.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind, but the voices make me think otherwise.”

  “And what has happened with those?”

  “They question things. Who is Charlie? Who is Ryan? It’s gotten to the point where I am actually researching characters named Charlie in the media I’ve consumed.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, but I haven’t found anything that adds up. So that has led me to my next guess.”

  “Which is?”

  “Maybe Charlie was a real person.”

  “How would that be possible?”

  “Maybe they screwed up my procedure. Maybe they migrated another person’s mind into my host’s brain. I don’t know. But up until last night, it really bothered me.”

  “Up until last night?”

  “I was at the Cameron Walsh speech and blacked out in my seat.”

  “And you’re okay?”

  “Yes, that’s what’s strange. I woke up at the theater, and I had the worst feeling. The words ‘save me, Ryan’ came to mind. I panicked, got home as fast as I could, and locked myself in my room. Then I laid on my bed to try to calm down, and fell asleep.”

  “And you said you feel better today?”

  “Yes! I had another dream last night, though. In this one, I think I was in some kind of jail, and I had the feeling that everything would be over soon. I can’t really remember anything else. Just exceptionally good today.”

  “So, if this Charlie person were real, what do you make of the dream?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I was thinking that Charlie got what he deserved. And that’s what I needed to…experience for it to be over. This is the best I’ve felt since before the procedure, so I’m not too sure what to make of it.”

  “Well, that’s great, Ryan. Our time is up for now, but it seems like you’re handling everything really well. I’d say keep trusting your gut as you go forward. You’re a strong person, and I know you’ll keep making great progress.”

  “Thanks!”

  I popped up, grabbed my coat off the wall hook, and headed out of the building. Dr. Dean was as helpful as I thought he would be, and if my good mood couldn’t get any better, I actually had another reason to be in the city on that day. Barb, the building manager for the apartment I applied for, had left a message agreeing to show it to me. I messaged her to make sure she was ready, and with a little time to kill, decided to skip fast transit and walk the five kilometers to the building. After forty-five minutes, I pressed the button for Barb to let me in.

  Buzz!

  I swung open the outer door and darted up the stairs to the inner door.

  “Hello there. You’re here to look at 75A, right?”

  “Yes, I’m Ryan. Hello.”

  She motioned me to follow her down the hallway, and we made our way to the elevator which might as well have been from the movies as it had no virtual interface. Hell, you had to manually open two sets of doors. There was no way I could have lived there comfortably when I was with Auto. After the elevator ride, she led me down a long hallway, and we stopped in front of a dark wooden door. I was pleased that they had updated it with an automated, wireless lock. Barb retrieved the netphone from her pocket and tapped two buttons.

  Click. Click.

  Beep.

  The door creaked open slowly, and a gentle puff of stale air infiltrated my nose. We were met by a dark, empty kitchen as we walked in, and with my eyes forward, I could see the pastel green curtains covering what had to be the sliding balcony door. The curtains filtered the sunlight producing an uninviting tint, and it soon became obvious that the apartment in no way lived up to the vibrant photos I saw on the net. But surprisingly, instead of disappointment, anxiety began to grow.

  “Like the ad says, the rent is twenty-five hundred, and we need two months up front. The security deposit is a thousand. Any questions?”

  “No. Thanks, Barb.”

  “Just message me when you’re done so I can lock it up.”

  She left after a couple clicks of the door, and an intense silence seized the room. My anxiety heightened as I took a couple more steps into the living room. Then I stopped to take it all in. To the right, I saw the hallway leading to the bedrooms and bathroom, but my nerves were most intense as I eyed back at the curtains—the balcony. Something deep within me was beckoning me to check it out. The only way I could describe it was that it felt like I was going to get back something I had lost. But my anxiety was quickly turning to fear.

  My feet were heavy, but I muscled through the apprehension to reach the other side of the room. Upon moving the curtains aside, the bright sunlight made me squint as I firmly grabbed the handle. It felt oddly familiar as I flipped the lock with my free hand and the clammy air outside rushed onto my face accompanied by the din of the city. My nerves calmed ever so slightly as I took my first step outside, then another. Completely on the balcony, the buildings across the street seemed to go on forever in both directions, but I wanted to see just how high seven stories was so I stepped to the edge. High enough, it turned out. Then I eyed the fire escape. It was weird wrapping my head around the fact that stairs could possibly save my life someday. I was used to them being a barrier.

  Satisfied with the balcony, I was about to go back inside when I realized something. The conflicted feelings I’d had when entering the apartment had melted away. It would be a new home, but more importantly, it was the first step toward a new life. And from a financial perspective, I was getting twice the place for the same price as other, smaller apartments. As elation grew in me, my musings were interrupted by a hard wind that blew right into my eyes.

  “Ow!” Closing my eyes for just a moment, shock immediately overcame me when I opened them back up. “What the hell!”

  Nighttime!

  Blinking repeatedly to make sure I wasn’t crazy, I looked all around me. The streetlights were on, and I couldn’t remember if they had always looked that vintage. Taking a deep breath as I attempted to rationalize my situation, my nose was attacked by the disgusting smoke from what had to be an old-fashioned cigarette. Glancing down, I assumed I would find that a neighbor above had flicked their butt onto my balcony. But that wasn’t the case at all.

  The cigarette was in my hand!

  Then that hand began to creep up from my side and toward my mouth, and though I fought it like hell, it was only a second before I placed the cigarette between my lips against my own will and inhaled hard.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!”

  Suddenly, everything was okay. All the anxiety from the day waned completely in that instant, and an undeniable peace replaced it. Satisfied with the view of the city at night, I looked back at the apartment. The lights were on behind the curtains. Instinctively, I took one more hard puff and put the cigarette out on the ledge. Blowing the remaining smoke out, I pulled open the sliding door and took my first step in. Before my eyes could adjust to the light of the room, I heard a noise in the direction of the hallway.

  “Hee-hee hee-hee hee-hee.”

  Fluttering my eyes to gain focus, I saw where the noise was coming from.

  “Hee-hee hee-hee hee-hee.”

  A little girl in a pink shirt and overall jeans was laughing at me. Not knowing who she was, I wanted to ask if she was lost. But instead, the strangest words left my mouth.

  “Hi, sweetheart!”

  The cutest smile stretched across her face. “Daddy! Let’s play hide-and-go-seek.” Then she disappeared down the hall.

  I, too, had to smile wide as I marched through the living room to follow her. Entering the hallway, it was only a couple steps until I arrived at the first door on the left, and knocked.

  “It’s Dadd
y. I know you’re in there. Here I come!”

  “Hee-hee hee-hee hee-hee.”

  Opening the door, I was met with pure sadness, and my stomach dropped as I took it all in. The little girl was standing in the middle of the room with her eyes closed. She was deadly pale and had countless medical tubes running from her to some machines by her bed.

  “Lucy—”

  She opened her pitch-black eyes and let loose a demonic growl. “You’re not my dad! Where’s my dad?”

  Chapter 17:

  Thanks, But No Thanks

  “You’re not my dad! Where’s my dad?” I questioned the strange man who had entered Mr. Fredrick’s office.

  As my social worker, Mr. Fredrick stepped in to explain. “Now, Charlie, we talked about this. Mr. Reno and his wife are going to be taking care of you from now on. They’re good people, and I’m sure you’ll feel right at home with them soon enough. You just need to give them a chance.”

  Mr. Reno grinned through his bushy auburn beard as he sat in the chair next to me. “Yeah, Son. We’re really excited that you’ll be joining our family. We don’t have much, but we already have a room made up for you. I hope you like baseball.”

  I never knew that there was such a thing as an involuntary stink eye until that moment. I couldn’t control myself. He gave me bad vibes and was nothing like my dad.

  “No. I like football.”

  His grin faded slightly. “Oh, that’s okay. We’ll find something we both like.”

  He began talking with the social worker about the terms of my custody, and I kind of zoned out since I didn’t really understand. Mr. Reno had a very average build underneath his black trench coat and wore his hair neatly parted to the side. His red-and-green flannel and tan slacks were nice even if they had some obvious wear to them. The scent of his cologne was tolerable, but judging by the cloud that followed him into the room, I was guessing he used half the bottle that morning. He was chewing gum with his front teeth and snuck in words between chews and breaths, and it was the most annoying thing even for my ten-year-old self.

  “Well, Charlie, I know your time with us has been difficult, but leave here knowing that we tried to do our best by you. You have my number if you need anything from me. Otherwise, we’ve already packed your things into Mr. Reno’s car. I wish you the best in life.”