Mind Over Psyche

by Karina L. Fabian

  “Can’t!” Why didn’t Terry understand? He needed Tasmae! How could he have ever thought of leaving her? “Taz—”

  “You will hurt Tasmae if you go to her as you are now,” Terry said sternly. “Is that what you want?”

  He shook his head. He fought the urge to sob.

  Terry nodded, satisfied. “I didn’t think so. And you will hurt yourself. Why do you think I’m using your English? Your mind is weak and injured, and the only thing that can help you is time. And rest. Now try to sleep, or I will have to drug you, and neither of us wants to do that.”

  “No,” Deryl agreed, and Terry stood.

  “Rest, Deryl,” he said gently. “Rest and heal. I’ll be outside if you need anything.” Without waiting for an answer, he left.

  But Deryl hadn’t heard him. At that moment, he’d felt a familiar tickling at the base of his brain, and he’d joyfully given himself to the Miscria’s Call.

  He found himself in the small glen Tasmae had imagined for them the first time they’d actually “spoken” together in the Netherworld. The canopy of branches and leaves shrouded them in privacy. It cut off the view of the sky, yet somehow, he saw everything clearly. It didn’t matter; Deryl only cared about seeing one thing.

  “Tasmae!”

  She ran to him, and they embraced. Then he pulled away. “Terry said I’d hurt you—”

  She touched her fingers to his lips, and he understood that Terry didn’t know everything, and that the only pain she felt was at their separation.

  Then she flooded into his mind, and where she touched, waves of cool healing washed over his psychic wounds. He sighed with relief, and actually swayed a little. She caught him, and he wrapped his arms around her, first for support, then for something far more intimate. This time, they would be alone.

  A familiar voice, a voice from nightmare, interrupted them.

  I WOULDN’T BE SO CERTAIN ABOUT THAT.

  As one, they turned toward the intruder and blanched.

  “Alugiac?”

  “Master!”

  They gaped at each other. They both knew him?

  The Master, once known on Kanaan as Alugiac, laughed. A triumphant satisfaction flowed from him like the thick fog that slowly rolled from where he stood at the glen’s edge.

  AT LAST I RETURN TO YOU, DERYL—AND LOOK AT THE GIFT YOU’VE BROUGHT ME!

  “Tasmae, run!” Deryl shouted. A sword appeared in his hand, but though he held it at the ready, he was shaking so hard the blade quivered.

  The mist had surrounded them now. The trees, moss, even the rocks had eroded at its touch. Colors fled, leaving them in a gray and black world, with only an indeterminate ground and low fog as landscape.

  *

  “Run, Beloved!” Tasmae felt the tangle of Deryl’s emotions—fear, anguish, guilt, hatred toward himself and toward the one he called Master.

  “No.” She pulled the punch dagger from her hair. She did not know what hold Alugiac had on Deryl, but they would end it together.

  Alugiac laughed, an ugly sound. LITTLE TASMAE. ALL GROWN UP. IT WAS ALMOST WORTH IT, FAILING TO TAKE YOU IN THE LAST WAR, JUST TO SEE YOU AS YOU ARE NOW.

  He leered at her, and she felt her heart break again. She had adored him before the madness had scrambled his mind. She forced back the tears. She could not cure him. The greatest mercy was to be quick.

  She sprang.

  “No!” He cried, as Alugiac flung his hand in her direction, laughing.

  Tasmae slammed into a wall of hideous half-formed beings. Their viscous, grayish skin, darker than the fog, oozed over and around her as they bound her to their gluey bodies. Her dagger was more sucked out of her hand than taken. She screamed and struggled, but all her blows were absorbed, like hitting liquid rubber. Their toothless mouths latched leech-like onto her. She flung her head violently to keep them from covering her mouth and nose.

  “No! Stop it, Master, please!” Deryl begged.

  I CAN DO NOTHING OF THE SORT, DERYL. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU MUST DO.

  “I won’t kill!”

  THEN SHE IS MINE.

  Two of the creatures’ lobes caught her head, held it. A mouth opened before her, a gaping void moving toward her face. She looked straight into oblivion.

  No! Tasmae, get out of my mind!

  She felt something grab her, not just her body but her mind, her soul, her very self. Grab, and pull. She jerked backward, though quicksand, through space, through consciousness. She heard Alugiac howl with fury.

  She sat up screaming, back in her own room.

  Deryl! Suddenly, little clues she’d picked up from his mind and from his behavior came together in blinding clarity. The Master, the one he feared so—he was Alugiac!

  And Deryl was caught in the Netherworld with him.

  She would not leave him alone with a madman! She reached with her mind, found herself cut off from her beloved. She needed help, and she knew just where to find it.

  By the time Leinad and the healer had reached her room in response to her screams, Tasmae was gone.

  *

  Deryl sagged onto hands and knees, weak from the effort of forcing Tasmae out of the Netherworld. The torn, half-finished feeling threatened to overtake him again, but he fought it down. There was only one way out of this and back to Tasmae, and that was through. He forced himself to rise and glare defiantly at the Master, though he didn’t take up the sword. “Now what?” He demanded. “More monsters? Is that the best you can do?”

  FUNNY YOU SHOULD ASK THAT.

  The attack he threw at Deryl was not of monsters or weapons, but of madness itself.

  Chapter 23

  Joshua sat in front of Deryl’s tent with one of the musicians, trying to play a simple scale on a wooden flute. Although roughly the size and shape of a recorder, it was subtly different, not in the least because it required some psychic ability to alter the shape of the flute itself to reach some notes. Joshua tried to replace the psychic pressure with physical pressure. Ocapo laughed when an indignant squawk came from the instrument.

  “It sounds like Spot when someone steps on his tail!” He said gleefully. He’d made similar comments all afternoon.

  “Give me a break! I’d just started learning to play reed instruments at home. The sax uses totally different lip action.” But Joshua chuckled, too. Deryl was sleeping; Terry had checked him and said he was fine; Ocapo had spoken to some of the pride leaders about finding a way to get Joshua home; and the challenge of learning a new instrument had helped him relax.

  Then, with a soft BAMPH! of displaced air, Tasmae appeared in the compound and staggered to him.

  “Oh, no!” Joshua moaned as he set the instrument aside and ran to her. He caught her by the shoulders. “What are you doing here?” He demanded angrily, causing some of the nearby Bondfriends to gape at his effrontery.

  She grabbed his arms. Her eyes were wild with relief. “Joshua! Where’s Deryl?”

  “Asleep. We checked on him a few minutes ago.”

  She shook her head. “Not asleep.” She tried to push past him, but he held her fast.

  “Does Leinad know you’re here?”

  “Let me go, Joshua! Deryl’s in trouble!”

  Joshua almost started to say that they would be in even worse trouble if Leinad found her here, but her urgency stopped him. She pushed past him, and he followed her into the tent.

  “See?” He said as she sat down beside him. “He’s asleep, just like I said.”

  “Not asleep,” Tasmae whispered. “Alugiac has him.”

  “What?”

  “Alugiac—the one he calls Master—has him trapped in the Netherworld.” Tremblingly, she brushed back a strand of Deryl’s hair, then squared her shoulders and faced Joshua. “You will help me get him back.”

  Joshua sat down on the other side of his sle
eping friend and took his wrist, counting his pulse. It was shallow and steady, but wrong for sleep. The number of beats tickled a memory.

  “Oh, don’t do this to me,” Joshua murmured as he sat his unconscious friend up.

  Just like one of Sabrina’s baby dolls, Deryl’s eyes snapped open, unseeing and unreacting, as soon as he sat upright. He wasn’t rocking this time, though Joshua didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one.

  “Would it help me to know how he got this way, or would it just make me madder?” He asked Tasmae.

  “Alugiac has him,” Tasmae said, then looked at Joshua questioningly. “Deryl called him Master.”

  Joshua swiped a hand over his face, and raised his eyes heavenward, seeking strength. “The Master was this entity—kind of like you, really—that used to call him from consciousness. Only the Master was trying to train him to be a killer. Deryl has been resisting him for years.” He pulled up his catatonic friend’s sleeves and checked under his shirt. “Usually, whatever wounds the Master inflicted on him in the Netherworld show up on his body, but I don’t see any new bruises or anything.”

  “He’s doing something else this time,” Tasmae whispered. “I felt Deryl’s terror, then…madness. And now I can’t sense anything. He’s trapped, Joshua, and you have to help me bring him back. I know you can reach him. You’ve done it before.”

  Joshua sighed. “What do I do?”

  “Go to him as you have before. I will follow. Together, we can find a way to help him.”

  “If I ever get back home, I’m changing my major,” Joshua muttered as he prepared to enter “uptime” And get inside the head of his once-again catatonic friend.

  *

  Deryl tumbled in a sea of chaos; the thoughts, emotions, and memories of thousands forcing themselves upon him, searing themselves into his mind, re-opening the psychic wounds Tasmae had just healed. Once again he was flayed, his shields destroyed, his psyche laid bare and raw to the conscious and unconscious whims of others. A vortex opened before him and he swirled down into it—

  His eyes snapped open. Everything was quiet and still, padded and tinted pink. His arms were bound in a straitjacket.

  He was in the high-intensity care ward of South Kingston Mental Wellness Center.

  This isn’t real! something inside him screamed, but confusion left him off-balance and unable to process the thought. With difficulty, he sat up and turned toward where he knew the surveillance camera was hidden. “Hello!”

  He heard a click of the intercom activating, and a woman’s voice said, “Good afternoon, Deryl. Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

  Idly, he wondered how many patients had freaked out at a disembodied voice talking to them from thin air. Again a part of him nagged that this wasn’t right, but he pushed the thought aside. He needed more information. “I want to talk to Joshua Lawson.”

  There was a long silence. He forced himself not to fidget, repeat his request, or give into the thoughts that none of this was real. He had to stay calm, act sane.

  Finally, the voice answered. “That would be up to Dr. Malachai. I’ve contacted him, and he’ll be up momentarily.”

  “I don’t want to talk to Malachai! I want to talk to Joshua—or Sachiko. I’ll talk to Sachiko Luchese. Could you at least ask her?” But the nurse or orderly had turned off the intercom, and he forced himself to settle back against one padded wall and wait patiently. He wouldn’t help himself by getting angry now.

  If this is even real, that part of him persisted, and he bit his tongue to keep from snarling that, yes, he realized that. Even if it weren’t real, he had no idea how to break the illusion. There’s no way out but through.

  He heard the subtle click of the lock, and the door opened. Dr. Malachai stepped in, calm, well dressed as always, the bruise and split lip Deryl had given him still healing, though looking better than he’d remembered. Two orderlies entered behind him. One turned away only long enough to ensure the door closed securely.

  “So what day is it supposed to be, then?” Deryl asked in as level a voice as he could.

  “Friday. I’m pleased to see you taking things so calmly, Deryl, considering what happened Monday. I also find it interesting that you want to talk to Joshua—or believe that Joshua would speak with you. Do you remember what happened?”

  Deryl didn’t answer. He wasn’t going to let Malachai lead him into a trap.

  The chief psychiatrist sighed. “As it happens, this is his last day with us—”

  “You fired him?”

  “In fact, it was decided by his family and yours, as well as the Board, that it was in everyone’s best interest if he returned home and we put this whole unpleasantness behind us. He’s receiving his full salary for the summer—he deserves that much—as well as a sizable settlement from your family. Small compensation for what he’s been through, of course, but at least he can pay for college, which was his immediate financial goal.”

  “What are you talking about?” Despite himself, Deryl let himself be lured in. He leaned forward.

  By way of answer, Dr. Malachai signaled to an orderly, who knocked on the door. It opened, and he slid through. Deryl heard Malachai say to someone that he had only a few minutes, then Joshua stepped in.

  Deryl gaped at what he saw.

  His friend wore dress slacks, but a polo shirt took the place of his usual shirt and tie. The collar loosely surrounded a bandage that covered his throat. He gave Deryl a wan grin and a wave, then pulled out a pencil and paper and wrote a note. The orderly passed it to Deryl.

  Got out of the hospital yesterday. Docs say if I take it easy, my vocal cords should heal well enough to talk by the end of the summer.

  Deryl stared at the note, looked again at Joshua, then laughed.

  “Okay, Alugiac!” He called. “Now I know this isn’t real. You think you’re going to play on my guilt, but I’m not buying it!” Through his peripheral vision, he saw Joshua lean against the wall, shaking his head sadly. It made him angry. He stood up, and shouted. “This isn’t real! Come out here and fight me. I’m tired of playing your games.”

  One orderly hustled Joshua out of the room and a nurse came in bearing a syringe. “Deryl, you have to calm down, or I’ll need to sedate you. Dr. Malachai’s orders.”

  “Malachai-Schmalachai! This isn’t real, and I know it! Now, come on!” He turned in a circle, seeking a break in the illusion. The orderly took the opportunity to grab him. He felt a prick on his neck. “This isn’t real!” He screamed, struggling nonetheless. “I don’t believe this! No!”

  Deryl sat up in bed, a shout catching in his throat, stealing his breath. He leaned forward, wiped his sweaty brow in a sheet that smelled like fabric softener.

  “Honey, what is it?” Came a sleepy voice beside him. Someone switched on a bedside lamp.

  He turned and gaped. “Clarissa?”

  Chapter 24

  I must be getting good at this, Joshua thought as his awareness returned and he found himself in a spooky, dim, and foggy world. He spun in a slow circle, scanning the abyss, but Deryl was nowhere to be seen.

  That hadn’t happened before.

  “C’mon, Tasmae,” he muttered through clenched teeth. He didn’t know what he’d do if she didn’t show. Find Deryl and hope Taz can fend for herself, I guess—though I have no idea where I am, how to find him, or what I’m supposed to be doing here. Come on, Taz!

  A shimmer caught his eye. The fog swirled, and Tasmae appeared.

  “Am I glad to see you!” Joshua said fervently. “So where’s Deryl?”

  She, too, made a slow circle. “They’re not here.” She sounded surprised by the fact.

  Joshua felt his heart sink. “That’s bad, isn’t it?” It was more statement than question.

  Tasmae nodded. “I don’t know how to find them. The Netherworld is not a place. There’re
no real space or time. It’s mental, it’s…”

  “Great. It’s the Twilight Zone.” Joshua started to whistle the show’s familiar theme song.

  Suddenly a voice, controlled and moderate yet a little creepy, echoed across the foggy vastness: There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity...

  “No way,” Joshua whispered with awe.

  Tasmae moved closer to him. She held her dagger before her. “What is that? What did you do?”

  “Shhh!” Joshua hushed her, then muttered. “Come on, signpost, signpost.”

  …the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.

  Joshua swore. “Season one. Why couldn’t we get season two?”

  “What are you talking about? What did you do?”

  Joshua shushed her as the voice took up again.

  Suspended in time and space for a moment, your introduction to Mister Joshua Lawson, a nineteen-year-old psychiatric intern whose primary ambition was to hit it big in the music industry until he befriended a patient whose psychic delusions turned out to be real. Joined by an alien woman with the power to change worlds, Mr. Lawson will be challenged to use all his talents as he attempts to rescue his friends—and himself—from the depths of madness as his internship makes an unexpected turn—into the Twilight Zone.

  “If we get out of here alive, that will have been so cool,” Joshua said.

  Tasmae grabbed Joshua by the shoulder and spun him around. “What is going on? What was that?”

  “Rod Serling. The Twilight Zone. It’s a television show—used to watch it all the time with my mom. The real question is, what was he doing here?”

  “Nothing happens in the Netherworld without a purpose,” Tasmae snarled at him as if he were purposely being stupid. “This Serling person was right. This is the dimension of imagination. We control what happens here by our wills.”