Between Two Minds: Awakening

by D C Wright-Hammer

  Dr. Pritchett extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ryan.”

  Ryan rolled up to her and obliged.

  Both doctors took a seat across from the couch while Ryan settled near it.

  Dr. Morris moved things along. “Does your auto-chair have a flat setting?”

  Ryan nodded. “It does.”

  “Some of our clients feel the sessions are most effective if they lie down.” He opened his hands making a flattening out gesture.

  Damn. The kid’s physically disabled, not mentally.

  I could tell Ryan detected the condescension when he responded dryly with, “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Great. Then we’ll begin. Like all of the conversations you’ve had with our specialists, this will be recorded for quality assurance.” He cleared his throat and tapped the company badge attached to his shirt pocket. Picking up the holo-pad next to him, he began reading a script. “As your reading material stated, PIDs are meant to help you harden the idea of ‘me’ into your mind before it has been migrated into a new host. ADG research has shown that a weak definition of self can cause adverse effects on the overall migration process. Adverse effects include being rejected as a candidate for mind migration, delayed migration recovery, quick onset dementia post-migration, or death during the procedure. Do you understand how vitally important these sessions are? And do you have any question before we go any further?”

  “I understand, and I do not have any questions. Thank you.”

  Dr. Morris swiped the holo-pad to the next page and handed it to Dr. Pritchett, and she spoke next. “When I ask you, ‘Who is Ryan Carter?’ what comes to mind?”

  “Well…I picture myself. Myself in Auto. I see me doing the things I like to do, like virtual vacations. I think about my legs and how they hold me back. I think about my mom and how hard she’s worked to keep me alive and as healthy as possible.”

  She typed something into the holo-pad and swiped to the left. “How do you think that definition will change when you’re in your new host?”

  “All of it will change. No Auto. I can do real vacations. My legs will be great. And Mom will finally get a break.”

  More typing and another swipe. “Okay. Next question: Does the definition of a word or phrase change based on its context? Where it’s said or by whom?”

  I couldn’t help but shrug.

  “I guess.”

  “Can you give me an example?” Dr. Pritchett probed deeper.

  Oddly enough, I could feel Ryan thinking for just a moment, and then I could hear the words before he said them.

  “Oh, I don’t know. If I said, ‘We have bad blood,’ to a friend, it means we have a bad history together. If I say, ‘We have bad blood,’ at a hospital, it could mean that they can’t use the blood for their tests.”

  “Good, Ryan. Now what about books? If you read the classic Sports of Royalty novel set, does it change depending on who reads it or where they read it?”

  “No, the books themselves will always be the same pages and words. But, I guess the reader’s interpretation of them might change depending on who is reading them and where they are.”

  “Great, Ryan. The last introductory question I wanted to ask you is—”

  Everyone froze in place, and after the momentary shock of it, I remembered that happening in other dreams I’d had. Or maybe they were memories. I couldn’t tell at that moment. I wasn’t sure if Ryan was frozen as well, but I did feel the urge to stand up. Attempting to do so, I could feel myself pulling apart the connection that Ryan and I had like stretching pizza dough out until it started to tear. Inch by inch, limb by limb, I climbed out of Ryan and into the frozen world. Stretching out to stand tall, I was facing the doctors, and did a quick glance around the office. Finally, I turned around to look at Ryan.

  The wheelchair was gone, and Ryan didn’t seem disabled at all. He was standing just as tall and as fit as me. It was like looking into a mirror, only there was no mirror. Then terror sunk in as I realized what I was seeing.

  He’s taken over my body!

  Chapter 22:

  Digging Up the Past

  “He’s taken over my body!”

  Helen glared back as I tried to explain what had happened the other night. “Ryan, pretend that you’re me for just a moment, which I know sounds wild since you’re telling me that sometimes you’re not you anyway. But humor me.”

  “Okay.”

  “What’s a woman to believe? The man she…likes a lot…is having episodes every time she tries to hold his hand or be intimate with him? Or he’s actually just scared of commitment and lied about me being his first?”

  She was more hurt than angry, but was plenty angry.

  “You are my first! You know that I didn’t even work…down there, before the procedure.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, but what about the couple weeks lead time you had on me after the migration? Is that when you slept with Sarah? Is that when you told her you loved her?”

  The server awkwardly interrupted our conversation. “Is there anything else I can get you folks?”

  We both tried to act normal as we asked for and received refills on our espressos.

  “Helen, there is no Sarah. At least not for me. This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. I think she was Charlie’s wife or something. I think that when you and I got together the other night, it triggered something in him, which triggered something in me. I don’t know. I don’t understand it all yet. That’s why I was digging at work. You heard about what happened. I was chased all over NTE by giant men in black!”

  Through her teeth, she responded, “I heard that the video footage only shows you hacking into someone else’s—a woman’s—account at the netbar, and then running around the building like a madman.”

  “They must have altered it!”

  “Who’s ‘they,’ Ryan?”

  “I don’t know! The henchmen! Or maybe NTE, to justify firing me without getting the cops involved!”

  “You’re lucky ‘they’ only terminated you and didn’t send the cops to your house.”

  “Helen! You have to believe me. No one else knows about this.”

  She looked across the room as she sipped her drink, then cleared her throat. “There’s something I never told you, Ryan. Something that is important for you to know. I kept it from you because I wanted to move on from it, but I know now that isn’t possible. When we first met, I was still with someone…Brian. We had been together since high school when he asked about my auto-chair, and when I waited for a joke, he was actually quick to relate that he had MS. We hit it off, and spent most of our time together after that. Talked for hours about our future together. College. Marriage. Kids. We were madly in love…or at least that’s what I thought. Our senior year was when I noticed something odd. Every month, he’d miss school for days at a time, saying he was getting treatment for his disease. But he wouldn’t call or message me during those times, and I never understood it.”

  She took a sip of her coffee, then continued. “It went on through college, only we didn’t go to the same school, so I talked to him less. When I asked him to call me more, he said the treatments made him too tired. I believed him, and stayed faithful to him. But as time went on and his condition worsened, it got difficult for him to keep up a façade. About the time you and I met, I had started to find evidence that Brian was lying about everything. Other women’s numbers, receipts for extravagant purchases…drugs, and not his prescriptions, either.” She flinched. “It turned out that Brian’s parents felt sorry for ‘giving him a disease,’ even though that was nonsense. They had allowed him to do whatever he wanted. Skip all his treatments, run up the bills on their credit. He was intentionally wearing out his diseased body, and planned to divorce it and start his ‘real life’ afterward.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a good plan.”


  “I know. Worst of all, I didn’t leave him when I found out. I was used to being his backup plan. I thought being with him was better than being alone. I was wrong. After a drug overdose, he was finally migrated in an emergency procedure. Even after all that, if he had changed his ways post-migration, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But his destructive ways only got worse. It’s been almost two years since I saw him for what he was and left him. I couldn’t handle the lying and cheating, but mostly, I couldn’t bear to watch as he slowly killed himself with the help of his family.”

  “That sounds awful. I’m really sorry, Helen.”

  “It was—it is. He was the one that really convinced me to migrate. That was one of his last lies. He said that with healthy functioning bodies, we could start our lives together. I had always thought about migrating, but he really pushed the urge into an obsession. I actually looked into migration right after his, but with my first counseling session, I realized that I was doing it for him and he didn’t even love me. He couldn’t even love himself. I left him, and it took me another year or so to commit to migrating for me and no one else.”

  “I’m really glad you did.”

  “So now that you know, what am I supposed to believe? Your paranoia, your episodes, your conspiracies? How do I know I’m not being strung along again?”

  My thoughts swirled at Helen questioning my intentions, rather than my sanity. That hurt more. I knew that hurt her me. Part of me wanted to march right into ADG and let my anger erupt in front of all their staff. I paid good credits to get a body that functioned normally, and Charlie wasn’t supposed to be part of the package. He was putting me and those around me in danger, and it wasn’t fair. Another part of me just wanted to burst into tears. With the exception of Tony and Helen, no one really knew what I was going through. Though in Helen’s case, she didn’t believe me. I barely believed the whole thing myself in between episodes.

  For the first time since migrating, I felt like I had as a kid when I began to understand my disability. The initial feeling of helplessness had been almost as paralyzing as my physical limitations, but even if Mom did a lot for me, I wasn’t helpless. I’d worked very hard to do the best I could, and at no point in the last ten years did I say, “I just can’t do it.” I had no intentions of throwing in the towel just because things had gotten tough. That was when two things became clear to me.

  First, if I was going to get through the “Charlie” situation, I would have to work hard and smart to figure it out and keep moving forward.

  Second, I needed to surround myself with strong people who believed in me. Tony was a start, but Helen was just as important. In spite of her doubts, she actually knew me better than anyone since migrating.

  Looking around the café, I chose my words carefully. “I’ve never been good at talking to people, let alone women. You remember in the elevator. I tried to woo you with a bad joke, and you were having none of it. But you also didn’t completely reject me. Whether you appreciated the effort or actually liked me then, I still don’t know, but one thing was for sure. You had no pity for me. You were in an auto-chair too.”

  I looked her in the eye. “But that’s what made me fall for you in an instant. When I gave you less than my best, you challenged me. When I was so used to being coddled, you gave me shit for everything. As odd as it sounds, I immediately respected you for that. That initial respect has only grown steadily into a deep attraction. So, the other night when you said you loved me, I was the happiest man in the world. I almost couldn’t believe it. A tough-as-nails woman feels so strongly for me? Nah! But I knew you meant it, which validated all my efforts to be a decent person.”

  Her expression finally softened a little.

  “And as hard as all of this is for you—and I know it is—this is my reality. Every moment, I’m wondering if I’m slipping away. Each morning, I’m coming out of some crazy dream, not about Charlie but as Charlie. Hell, you’ve seen it. I’m not even safe from him when I’m awake.”

  Her stern look returned but not nearly as intense. “So, what are you saying, Ryan? What do you want from me?”

  “The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But the more I learn about Charlie, the more it becomes clear. I can’t guarantee my own safety, let alone yours. In that sense, you’re absolutely right to question me. But in thinking about the last couple of weeks, I’ve realized something else. We’re both at our best when where together.”

  Helen’s face softened even more, cuing me to put myself out there.

  “I never knew true love until I met you, Helen. Take a chance on me. Take a chance on us.”

  She revealed the slightest grin and took a deep breath. We waited in silence for a moment, and when she was ready to speak, she said only one word.

  “So.”

  So? Confused, I pried. “So…what?”

  “So, I guess we’re going to have to figure this ‘Charlie’ thing out.”

  It was the best thing she could have ever said. But the urgency of the situation left me no time to be awestruck if she chose to be with me; there were pressing things I needed to do. Pushing my thumb into the table’s ID reader, I motioned for Helen to get up. I gave her the biggest hug, and she reciprocated.

  Pulling back, I looked her in the eye again. “Come with me. There’s something I need to look into.”

  We headed for the door, and without a word, we walked to the nearest bullet stop.

  After ten minutes, her curiosity finally got the best of her. “Where are we going?”

  “There’s a part of the city where many of my dreams take place, but many years ago. I was going to walk through the neighborhood on my netphone, but after my run in with those guys, I’m not taking any chances. Going there in person will ensure we don’t make too much noise on the net, and I’m hoping it will help me figure out the next steps to learning what happened to the Padre.”

  “Didn’t you say that that Padre character died?”

  “Yes, but with everything else that’s going on, something’s not adding up. Now, it’s a rough part of the city, but I think we’ll be okay if we keep to ourselves.”

  Zipping past street by street, we stayed on the bullet longer than I ever had, until we were on the other side of the city. A big sign alerted that we’d be getting off at the next stop.

  WELCOME TO MARKTOWN: ON THE CORNER OF PROSPERITY AND OPPORTUNITY.

  Jumping off the bus on to the corner of a major intersection, I spun around trying to orient myself.

  “I think we have different definitions of ‘rough,’” Helen quipped.

  We were in the downtown area, but none of it made any sense. Street names were different. Lots of ritzy businesses and restaurants had replaced the modest shops. The apartment buildings and houses were obviously upper class. Even the roads had been recently solarized with the latest panels.

  Helen looked at my puzzled expression with concern. “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not what I expected.”

  A silly grin came across Helen’s face as she pointed at a nice shop across the street.

  “Maybe Charlie really wanted me to get a new handbag!”

  “Yes. That’s definitely it. Anyway, let’s walk.”

  “Oh, boo!”

  We headed down Plum Street, and nothing hinted at the former ghetto run by the Padre. Then I remembered the little bit of research I was able to do on him, and I couldn’t hold back my thoughts.

  “The son of a bitch did it.”

  “Who did what?”

  “Charlie’s boss. The Padre. He became alderman of the neighborhood years ago and started to turn it around, economically.”

  “So, you still think this is the same place?”

  “Has to be.”

  We kept walking until we found ourselves in a residential area, and none of it meant anything to me.
I was about to give up hope when I spotted a building that didn’t quite fit in with the new look of the area.

  “There.” I pointed at the two story, tan-brick building with thick windows and ivy covering one side. It was in great shape, considering how old it had to be. The old-time marquee attached to the second floor was partially burned out, but I could still read it.

  MARKTOWN COMMUNITY CENTER: AMATEUR ARTIST SHOW. THIRTY CREDIT COVER.

  “You recognize it?”

  “No, but let’s check it out.”

  A smaller sign near the entrance to the building became visible as we got closer.

  No Personal Electronic Devices (PEDs) allowed past the front desk.

  Entering through a heavy wooden door, the dirty checkered linoleum floor and green walls provided an authentically quaint feel, and its stale air reminded me of grandma’s house. The room was sparsely decorated save for a chalkboard with a list of events hanging behind a mustachioed man behind an impressive antique desk.

  The man greeted us with a smile. “Hello, friends.”

  I followed suit. “Hi. We’re interested in the art show.”

  “That’ll be thirty credits from each of you.”

  He presented a credit acceptor, and we extended our thumbs while smiling through the shock of the ridiculous cover.

  “Any PEDs on you?”

  “Yes,” we said simultaneously, then smiled at each other

  He dryly replied. “Cute. We’ll keep those up here while you look around.” Over the counter, he extended a long stick with a black net at the end of it.

  We dropped our netphones in, then headed through the double doors to a large room scattered with paintings, sculptures, and “unique” pieces on the walls and floor. There was even something hanging from the ceiling, but I wasn’t interested enough to look for long. Filling half the room, a crowd of people wearing anti-trendy-but-still-trendy clothes were standing around having low, monotonous conversations and nodding a lot.