Mind Over Psyche

by Karina L. Fabian

  Joshua chuckled with relief. Illusion or not, this Sachiko had a lot in common with the real one, including her quirky humor and ability to stay calm and focused no matter what the situation. He knew he’d made the right choice summoning her. They could trust her.

  That same calm, however, made Tasmae suspicious. “You’re taking this very well, considering that means you are also an illusion.”

  She shrugged. “It explains a lot. I can only remember very specific—and none too fun, mind you—snatches of time, all at SK-Mental and all involving Deryl. All pretty horrific. I’m actually glad to know the real me’s alive and fine in another dimension. Besides, if I’m an illusion, then that means my Joshua is, too.” She reached out to touch his face. She ran her hands over the smoothness of his neck again. “I’d rather you were the real one,” She whispered, then her voice strengthened. “But if the real Deryl’s caught in that illusion, then he’s in big trouble. He’s in the maximum intensity ward, he alternates between rocking and chanting that nothing is real, sobbing over what he’s done to you, and raving at someone named Alugiac—and they’ve brought in some doctor—Alouicious Acker—who wants to lobotomize him.”

  Tasmae’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and she swooned.

  The two eased her onto the cushions. Almost immediately, she struggled to sit up.

  “Just relax a minute,” Joshua urged. “You can make plans lying down just as easily as sitting up, you know.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you,” Sachiko said.

  “It wasn’t that,” Tasmae said. “Deryl. Something’s happened.” Suddenly, tears flooded her eyes. “Alugiac’s winning. Deryl’s starting to believe whatever illusion Alugiac has set up for him. I’m losing Deryl, I can feel it!”

  *

  “Deryl, look! How sad.” Clarissa stopped and pointed at a father trying to console a little girl of about six.

  Joshua and Sachiko were in town for their visit, and they’d decided to go to the street carnival. They were passing by the arcade area when they saw the father trying unsuccessfully to comfort the sobbing child. Clarissa, already feeling the mothering instinct, ran up to them to ask what was wrong. It turned out the father had been trying to win one of the large animals at the ball toss, and had finally had to call it quits.

  “The game’s gotta be rigged,” he said to Deryl and Joshua as the ladies tried to comfort the girl. “I know it was probably the wrong thing to do, but her mom and I split up and I don’t get to see her much now, and she loves white Bengal tigers, and I just—you know, wanted to be a big shot for her. I played varsity, you know? Now we have to go home early.”

  “No you don’t,” Joshua said as he quietly pressed a some twenties into the man’s hand. “Go ride the rides. Eat too much cotton candy. Have fun.”

  Deryl, meanwhile, was looking at the stand the father had pointed to, and his eyes narrowed as he watched the bored yet smug look on the carnie’s face as he counted out his earnings. “First, you’re going to win your daughter a tiger.”

  “I told you, it’s gotta be rigged.”

  Deryl crouched down in front of the sniffling girl. “Know what I think?” He told her softly. “I think your Daddy just needs one more shot—and maybe a kiss for luck. What do you think?”

  “We don’t have any more money,” She sniffed.

  “Sure you do.” He reached up behind her ear and pretended to pull a five dollar bill from it. “I’ll bet it’s lucky.”

  The father clearly thought it was a bad idea, but his daughter looked at him with such hopeful eyes that he took the money and went back to the stand. Deryl and the others followed. The man behind it smiled and his eyes shone greedily.

  “Back again! This is your lucky day, I can feel it! Your daddy loves you very much, little girl!” He almost shouted the words with plastic enthusiasm.

  Deryl looked at the five baskets sitting at angles. “Which one should he aim for?” He asked the little girl.

  “That one, Daddy!” She pointed. “It’s lucky, I know it!”

  “Sweetie, there’re no guarantees,” the man warned.

  “You’ll do it!” She said, and kissed his cheek for luck.

  He sighed, took the ball and aimed at the basket. They all watched intently.

  He threw.

  Deryl concentrated.

  The ball sailed in, landed and stayed.

  “A winner!” the carnie said disbelievingly, then spoke with more enthusiasm as he heard the girl’s screams of joy and the cheers of the others. “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen! A winner, right here! Congratulations, little lady,” he said with a false smile as he passed the tiger to her. He puzzled over the baskets while the father and child gave the couples enthusiastic hugs and heartfelt thanks and went on their way.

  “Isn’t that bear cute?” Clarissa asked, and Deryl laughed.

  “Still a ball left,” he said and threw it into a basket without bothering to aim…physically, anyway.

  “And we have another winner!” the man at the carnival stand shouted enthusiastically, though his eyes couldn’t hide his surprise.

  Clarissa squealed and clapped as he passed over a squishy four-foot velour bear.

  “Where are we going to put that?” Deryl teased.

  “We’ll find a place,” clarissa replied smoothly as she hugged the bear. Then she bumped her shoulder against him. “Besides, if you didn’t want it in our apartment, why’d you win it for me?”

  “I figured it was another one of those craving-things.” Clarissa jabbed her elbow into him. She still wasn’t showing and hadn’t had much morning sickness or cravings, but that didn’t stop him from making jokes. “Seriously, I just wanted to wipe that smug smile off that guy’s face.”

  “Hey, let’s go ride some rides,” Sachiko said.

  They got to the Round Up first, and the person running the ride wouldn’t let them take the bear on, so Deryl volunteered to stay with it. Joshua elected to wait with him, and the girls gave the man their tickets and got on. Soon the ride was whirling in a circle and tilting and they could hear their wives’ laughter among the shouts and screams of the other riders. Deryl set the bear in front of him and leaned his elbows on the temporary fence. Joshua mimicked his posture.

  “So how long have you been able to do that again?” He asked casually.

  “Do what?” Deryl bluffed.

  “You’re not fooling me, buddy. There are going to be quite a few more winners at that game now, aren’t there?”

  Joshua looked at him directly, but Deryl couldn’t meet his eyes. He stared at the whirling bodies in the spinning circular cage. “I just evened the odds,” he murmured.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. Clarissa calls ‘Ko a lot. She’s worried about you. You are taking your medication?”

  “Ask her. She counts my pills every night.” He meant to say it lightly, but it sounded bitter even to him.

  “I’m asking you.”

  “Fine.” Deryl turned to confront his friend. “Tell me straight up: Are you real?”

  Now it was Joshua’s turn to drop his eyes. He swore softly. “Deryl, what do you think?”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “How am I supposed to prove to you this is real?”

  “Because…” Deryl started then stopped. How could he explain? Sometimes, he heard snatches of Joshua’s songs—on the radio, in the elevator—and the world around him would seem so fake, so wrong. “Because I trust you. Just be straight with me.”

  Joshua sighed. “Seriously, I don’t know how to prove it. The philosophers have been trying to do that for thousands of years. It’s the whole ‘brain in a vat’ conundrum.”

  Or psyche in the Netherworld, Deryl’s mind whispered. He tried to hide his disappointment and his frustration. It had been over two months, and
he still continued to experience blackouts and holes in his memory. Still, he had encounters with Tasmae, where he’d meet her, love her, lose her, often by her being killed in some kind of battle that he’d refused to take part in. Still, he felt the Master’s whisperings, trying to lure him back to his training. Now, he was having odd visions of two planets crashing, of the inhabitants falling into a trance, of power surging through him as he reached out, becoming large as a solar system. Through it all, that voice in his head, usually accompanied by pain, insisted none of this was real.

  Yet somehow, he managed to get everything done he needed to, whether he remembered doing it or not, and no one had noticed anything unusual in his behavior. Except, it seemed, Clarissa. He’d hoped his friend, who had guided him through so much in the past, would be able to advise him now.

  “You know, you were more help at SK-Mental,” he groused.

  Joshua snorted. “Dr. Acker helped you. You wouldn’t be here, alive, sane, married, and about to be a father, if it weren’t for him. All I did was give you a Band-Aid until he came along. Dr. Malachai was right about that much. Why do you think I chose music?”

  “You were a terrific psychologist,” he told him earnestly. “You still could be.”

  But Joshua shook his head. “I’m a musician. Want me to sing you sane?”

  He felt a sudden urge to tell him yes. He rubbed at the base of his skull. “That’s not funny. You left because of me.”

  Joshua snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, dude. Psychology was always my backup plan. But if you need a second opinion, I can ask my dad.”

  Deryl turned back to the ride. It had started to slow down. “No, I’m handling it. I am taking my medication. It just doesn’t work as well as we’d hoped. But I’m not ready to have someone cut out half my brain.”

  “It’s not half; it’s just a small area that’s causing you problems. And you were fine for the first three years after it was essentially disconnected. It’s natural to be afraid—I’d be—but you’ve got to think about the consequences. Do you love Clarissa?”

  Deryl closed his eyes and nodded. The only time he felt whole was with her. Reality didn’t matter. She did.

  “Then think about what’s best for her—and the baby, capice? Say, did you take care of that phone caller?”

  About a month ago, someone had started calling their house. When Clarissa answered, he made obscene suggestions, and she’d hung up furious and upset.

  Then one evening Deryl answered, and the caller warned that he’d better protect her because he was coming. He’d felt cold terror wash over him because the voice sounded like the Master’s.

  He’d mentioned the call to Joshua, but not the voice, even though he craved reassurance. If it really was the Master’s voice, then this wasn’t real, was it? Or was his twisted mind making an already sinister call even more insidious?

  The ride had ended and everyone was exiting. He didn’t have time to get into this now.

  “They couldn’t trace the call, so there wasn’t much the police could do. We changed the number, and I walk her to and from the gym. Don’t tell Clarissa he called me—she’s worried enough as it is, and I don’t want her risking the baby.”

  “Clarissa isn’t like your aunt, Deryl. She’s strong and healthy. She’ll be all right.”

  “I’m not taking any chances.” In fact, he hadn’t wanted to come to the carnival at all, and Clarissa had finally called her doctor to have her reassure him that it was all right for her to ride some rides. Now, as she and Sachiko hurried over to them, he couldn’t help but give her an anxious smile. “Have fun?” He asked, though he really wanted to ask if she was okay.

  She knew him too well. “Yes, and I’m fine! You’re such a big worrywart. Besides, I had an OB right next to me the whole time, right Dr. Sach?”

  “Absolutely!” Sachiko laughed. “Let’s find something we can do together.”

  “Like the carousel—that’s more Deryl’s speed!”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Deryl told his wife as he slipped an arm around her waist. “Let’s go do the Tunnel of Love.”

  Chapter 28

  As the last chords of Joshua’s song faded, Tasmae sat up, took a long breath, and released it. “Thank you. I do feel better.”

  “You look a lot better,” Joshua commented. After her fearful proclamation, Tasmae had fallen back upon the pillows, laboring to breathe and too weak even to sit up. In desperation, Joshua had tried singing to her, choosing a version of Psalm Twenty-Eight he had written some music for.

  “That’s a pretty versatile talent,” Sachiko said.

  “Yeah, but it won’t do any of us any good if we can’t figure out how to get to Deryl.”

  Sachiko cocked her head. “Can’t you call him with your music —like you did me?”

  He shook his head. “Didn’t work. I might have made things worse.” He glanced at Tasmae and bit his lip.

  Sachiko rubbed his shoulders, and he leaned back against her, grateful for her strength, even if she was an illusion.

  “All right, then,” Sachiko said, thinking out loud. “Can I take you to him? Why can’t I just talk to the guards, tell them you’re in town visiting me and want to say ‘hi’ to some folks? All our info is still in the computers; you should be able to get a visitor’s pass easily enough.”

  “What about Taz? She doesn’t have any ID or records—and if we let anyone know about her, Alugiac will know as well.”

  “Don’t take this wrong, but does she have to come?”

  “Yeah, the game was pretty clear about that.”

  “All right, we sneak in. I’m going to be so fired,” She sighed in exaggerated resignation, but when he glanced back at her, he saw the twinkle in her eye.

  He couldn’t help it; he grinned in return. “Blaze of glory, babe. So how do we do it?”

  They turned to Tasmae.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know the area. The only part of SK-Mental I saw was a pink padded room.”

  “That’s the place.”

  “—But I only know it from Gardianju. I would most likely send us back into that time, maybe even literally, rather than into Deryl’s illusion.”

  “She’s right,” Sachiko affirmed. “They renovated a couple of years back. Put in new security equipment, changed the shade of the walls—still pink, but a less imposing shade. They even changed the layout some, added a couple more rooms by shrinking the existing ones. It’s not the same. It’s up to you, love.”

  “Great,” Joshua pursed his lips and let his fingers play idly over the keytar keys. “SK-Mental have a theme song I don’t know about?”

  “What about that song you sang for Deryl and me?” Tasmae asked.

  Joshua grimaced. “’Cure the Guy?’ We’d probably end up in Randall’s office—and I don’t think he’d be happy to see us.”

  “So change the words,” Tasmae responded impatiently. “This is taking too much time. We need to hurry—something’s happening to Deryl.”

  “Don’t rush me!” Joshua snapped back. “Remember the last time I sang the first thing off the top of my head? I didn’t do my stint in high-intensity yet. I don’t know it well enough to parody.”

  “Pick something else,” Sachiko urged. “How about the grounds? Can you imagine them at night?”

  He smiled, remembering one evening he’d stayed late and on her 8:00 break, had found her in the grounds, leaning against the glass of the wall, the moon illuminating her face and bringing out the blue in her black hair. He’d gone to stand beside her, also leaning on the glass, and while they talked, had looked out at the manicured grass and the evergreens that lined the wall because if he’d looked at her then, he’d have kissed her.

  She caught the intention behind his smile. “Don’t make it a romantic song,” She warned.

  “Right.” He searched his m
ind and played a tune he and Rique had made up but didn’t have the words for as his mind thought up some verses.

  *

  When Deryl came to himself again, he was standing alone in the elevator in damp swim trunks, a towel around his neck.

  What time is it? he wondered. The elevator reached the eighth floor, and the doors opened. He stepped out, saw the darkened window at the end of the hall, and dashed to their apartment. Clarissa was closing that night, and he had to pick her up!

  When he ran into the apartment, he saw the message light blinking and pushed it as he hurried into dry clothes.

  “Hi, honey! I hope this means you’re on your way! I was going to ask you to call us a taxi—I’m bushed—but I guess I’ll wait until you’re here. And don’t worry! Jacob is staying with me, so I’ll be fine. See you soon!”

  Despite her reassuring message, he couldn’t help feeling something was terribly wrong. He raced down the stairs and hailed a cab by jumping in front of it.

  “What are you, crazy?” the Korean driver shouted at him as he threw himself in. Despite his heavy accent, he had plenty of rude American words for the idiot paying his fare. Still, he shut up once Deryl passed him a twenty, and he made a left at the next intersection, heading toward the gym.

  “Go faster,” Deryl urged tensely.

  “I get ticket, I get deported. You want go faster? Get out and run.”

  Nonetheless, they arrived quickly, and Deryl dashed out, handing the man another ten and telling him to wait. He pulled at the door, but it was locked. He looked in and saw Jacob sprawled in one corner. Deryl didn’t need psychic powers to know he was dead. He pounded on the door. “Clarissa!”

  He was answered with a scream.

  “Call the police!” Deryl shouted to the taxi driver, then shoved at the door. When it refused to budge, he gave it a psychic push and the lock sheared off. Ignoring it, he ran inside.

  He heard a second scream, followed it, and found Clarissa, pinned down by large barbells while a man tore at her sweats. She struggled and screamed, and he punched her, first in the face, then in the belly. He laughed at her whimpers.