Winters Family Psi Chronicles 1: Transformation

by John O'Riley

  “He’s probably expecting me to make a full recovery at any moment now. I usually snap out of it after a couple of days. This is the first time it’s lasted this long. I guess I’m one of the unlucky ones who can’t handle my psychic strength,” Brian said sardonically.

  “I don’t think so,” Derek said.

  “What makes you so sure?” Brian asked.

  Before Derek could respond, class started and their algebra instructor was the football coach who didn’t tolerate any idle chitchat whatsoever. It didn’t matter anyway. Brian knew his best friend was just offering his support which equated to hollow words of comfort. The longer his condition dragged on, the more certain Brian became that he was afflicted with psychic burnout. His body just couldn’t handle the demands of his empathic ability. Brian was exhausted by the end of the day when his final class, psychic control and development, rolled around. This particular course was designed for level ten talents like himself. He, Derek, and Amy shared the same class. The instructor, Mr. Scott Hagen, was medium set with thinning brown hair and cold blue eyes. He possessed a disturbing and formidable air about him which wasn’t too surprising given the fact that he was a level ten telepath.

  When the bell rang to signal the beginning of class, he immediately informed them in precise, measured tones that this session would be devoted exclusively to practicing their assigned tasks. He’d given individual assignments to everyone at the beginning of last week with goals. Today, they would warm up with gently but firmly pressing against the mental shield of their assigned partner. Mr. Hagen assigned everyone their seats and exercise partners which he would change once every other week. Currently, Brian had the misfortune of working with Zack who possessed level ten telepathy with no secondary ability. The two of them shifted their desks so they faced each other. Zack’s flaming red hair was a tangled mass that contrasted sharply with his pale face. He had a small, unflattering nose and a multitude of zits that covered his face and also sprinkled down his hair arms.

  “Are you ready?” Zack twisted his lips in a faint sneer.

  “Yes.” Brian regarded him with reluctance.

  The tight pressure against Brian’s shield made him wince and pain exploded in his head. This was not the light pressure of a warm up exercise. In fact, they were never instructed to strike out against someone’s mental barricades in earnest as Zack liked to do. Brian felt cracks spread over his weakening defenses. Instantly, everyone’s emotions intensified and beat at him relentlessly. Blackness crept along the edge of his vision and he found himself leaning forward with his face pressed firmly against the cold wood of his desk. Brian cautiously raised his head and realized everyone’s emotions were muffled and held at bay. Everyone was staring at him. Zack’s face was red and his brown eyes conveyed a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

  “I didn’t do it on purpose. I can’t help it if his shields were practically nonexistent,” Zack said.

  “You should never have used so much force. This was a warm up exercise,” Mr. Hagen pinned him with a cool, reproving look. He swept a stern gaze over the rest of the class. “Continue with your assignments.” He waited until he made sure they had complied before focusing his attention back to Brian. By now, Brian had figured out that his instructor had encompassed his mind in a shield. “You will spend the rest of the class strengthening your shield so that when I remove mine, you won’t black out again.”

  “All right,” Brian said.

  He was relieved when the bell rang to dismiss class. Unfortunately, Mr. Hagen wasn’t ready to let him off the hook so easily.

  “I need to have a word with you, Brian,” he said as Brian prepared to follow his classmates out of the room.

  “Yes, sir,” Brian murmured.

  He approached the front and his instructor gestured for him to take a seat at the desk closest to him. Brian reluctantly sank into the chair.

  “Your work on defensive preparation has been spotty over the semester and the last two sessions have been unsatisfactory,” Mr. Hagen said in cold, precise tones. “You will need to prepare harder or your grades are going to drop. Furthermore, you greatly increase the chance of psychic burnout if your shields remain this depleted.”

  “I’ve been working on it forty minutes every morning and one hour after school,” Brian said.

  Mr. Hagen stared wordlessly at him for an uncomfortable moment. “That concerns me a great deal. With that kind of preparation, your defensive mental barriers should be substantially stronger. Do you have any theories on why this is happening?”

  “Yes.” Brian didn’t volunteer any theories as he was reluctant to discuss his personal issues.

  “I sense that this problem has been going on for quite some time – possibly years,” Mr. Hagen said.

  “That’s right.” Brian regarded his instructor with surprise and wariness.

  “You’re correct. I’m reading your thoughts. It’s almost impossible not to do when I’m currently shielding you. Your mental protection is still too weak for me to withdraw from your mind safely.”

  “I spent the entire time working on my shields.” Brian crossed his arms in a defensive posture.

  “I know,” Mr. Hagen said. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the training to build up your shield for you. You’re just going to have to work on it for a bit longer until you’re well enough to leave. If it takes too long, I’ll call your parents and they can decide how to proceed. In any case, I will be informing them of what has occurred today.”

  “All right.” Brian heaved a weary sigh.

  Chapter 2

  A disturbing sense of unease flared across Brian’s empathic senses as he pulled his blue sedan into the street in front of his house. Paul’s black SUV and Amy’s silver sedan were parked side by side in the driveway. The darkness of night was almost complete with a nearby street light partially illuminating the front yard. Brian’s stomach clenched as he finally realized that the porch light was out. It was set on an automatic timer so it should be on by now. In fact, all the lights in the house were turned out. Brian’s pace slowed as he took in all these details and halted several feet from the front door with the keys gripped tight in his right hand.

  It wasn’t that late so his dad and sister should still be awake. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he slowly backed away from the house. He’d only taken a couple of steps when the front door burst open and a thin man dressed entirely in black emerged. An unnatural blackness covered his face as though the darkness had coalesced to obscure it. The long, serrated kitchen knife held in the man’s right hand glinted in the streetlight. Brian turned and ran toward his car. He pushed the remote to unlock the door but the attacker knocked the keys from his hand and they flew out into the nearby bushes. Brian knew he didn’t have the time to look for them as his assailant was directly behind him. He ran past his car and pumped his legs as fast as possible. He kept running for all he was worth as the assailant’s heavy breathing reached his ears from directly behind him.

  If Brian slowed down for just a second, he would be dead. He concentrated all his energy on running even as his legs threatened to give out on him. The assailant continued to doggedly pursue him as he dashed past block after block. Periodically, Brian glanced behind him to find that the man was still only several feet away from him. Abruptly, he awakened from the nightmare and found himself lying in bed, breathing heavily as though he’d really been running for his life. Adrenaline coursed through his body and his eyes struggled to pierce the darkness of his bedroom. He checked his alarm clock and realized it was only a little after three in the morning. He lay back down and struggled to quiet his mind.

  He managed to fall back to sleep and plunged back into a similar nightmare with the unknown assailant pursuing him. He awakened and dropped off to sleep again. His alarm clock didn’t go off but he only slept in until shortly after seven. After the incident with his shield collapsing yesterday, his father had scheduled an emergency appointment with Dr. Bettinger who happene
d to be the only shielding specialist in Snohomish County. Brian wouldn’t be attending classes today which wouldn’t have bothered him if he wasn’t already struggling with some of his grades and he didn’t want to lose his driving privileges. Brian considered laying in bed and trying to drop off but realized that was hopeless because he was wide awake.

  Even though Brian usually dreaded the doctor’s visit, he was so exhausted from the restless nights and his runaway empathic ability that he didn’t mind too much. No one was waiting in the small lobby when he and Paul arrived at Dr. Bettinger’s office. For furnishings, the room offered only four, blue cushioned chairs and a tasteful painting on the far wall along with the receptionist’s desk where a blond woman was seated who looked fresh out of high school. After only a short wait, Dr. Bettinger opened the door to his office and smiled welcomingly. He was a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair, brown eyes, and a calm demeanor. They gathered in his office and he closed the door behind them. Paul sat on the chair facing the desk while Brian sank into the comfortable, beige easy chair off to the side which faced an identical easy chair. The subtle aroma of lavender mixed with peppermint had a calming effect on Brian’s nerves. Dr. Bettinger tapped a few keys on his desktop computer to activate the voice recognition program that he used to record all his sessions before settling in the easy chair facing Brian.

  “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Paul said.

  “It was no problem. I had an opening and fit you in.” Dr. Bettinger turned to focus on Brian. “Tell me about the dreams you’ve been having.”

  Brian explained them with as much detail as he could recall. Dr. Bettinger allowed him to recite them without interruption and only asked a few clarification questions before proceeding with the assessment of his mental barricade. Brian sensed the psychologist’s powerful presence gently probing the surface of his shield. After several moments, Bettinger requested that Brian allow him to enter his mind to avoid further weakening of the protection. Brian stiffened at the sense of invasion of another’s presence in his thoughts. Almost immediately, the strength of his shield increased and the pain brought on by the input of everyone’s emotional states evaporated. The tension slowly eased from his body as the protection swiftly increased. After about half an hour, the doctor withdrew and Brian’s shield was stronger than it had been in almost a year. Bettinger always performed first class work and he charged a generous fee. Luckily, their insurance covered most of it.

  “I feel so much better,” Brian said.

  “I suggest you work on your shielding for at least an hour in the morning and at least an hour in the late afternoon or early evening,” the doctor said.

  Bettinger strode across the room and positioned himself at his desk so he could type into his computer and swiftly typed some notes into it.

  “I sensed the kind of damage to your shield that usually indicates a psychic attack,” Bettinger said.

  “There’s this kid who attacked me during class,” Brian said and filled the doctor in on the specifics of Zack’s attack and how his protection had collapsed completely.

  “That could explain it. I don’t have enough information yet to determine whether this is a traditional psychic burnout or just a phase that a lot of level ten talents go through during their teen years.” The specialist typed in some more notes and asked a lot more personal questions about Brian’s state of mind and physical wellbeing. Finally, the session was at a close. “There is no reason to miss another day of school as long as your condition doesn’t deteriorate. I recommend you see me in about a week.” He turned to direct his attention at Paul. “Did you want to schedule another appointment while you are still here, Mr. Winters?”

  “Yes, for the late afternoon. If you have something open after four, that would be great. I don’t want Brian to miss any more school if possible.”

  “I believe that could be arranged. Stephanie has my appointment book at the front desk. I look forward to seeing you. Hopefully, your condition will remain stable,” Bettinger said.

  He opened the door for them and Paul thanked him again for arranging to see them on such short notice. A young woman in her early thirties was waiting in the lobby and leafing through a magazine. The doctor ushered her into his office while Paul set up an appointment for his son next week. Paul didn’t have much to say until they’d almost arrived home.

  “How are you feeling?” Paul asked.

  “A lot better. My empathic abilities are completely under wraps now and I’m not as exhausted as I’ve been all week,” Brian said.

  Even though his energy was returning and it was a huge relief to know that everyone’s emotions weren’t screaming at his psionic senses, he felt nervous about someone working so closely in his mind and having access to his innermost thoughts. Because Brian was taking a lot of psychology courses in preparation for his career as a psychologist, he knew that a lot of his memories and thoughts had seeped into Bettinger’s mind. Even though he was a doctor and everything he learned was kept strictly confidential, it still bothered Brian a great deal.

  “A lot of level ten teens have similar problems with their abilities so there is nothing to worry about. I’m sure after a few more sessions, you won’t have any more problems with this,” Paul said.

  “Or I may have psychic burnout in which case I’ll have to see a shielding specialist at least once a week for the rest of my life,” Brian said.

  “I know that it’s common but most level tens don’t suffer from that condition,” Paul said firmly. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  Brian didn’t argue but he knew his dad merely spoke hollow words of reassurance. Paul was a psychologist but he had no experience working with high level talents and since he wasn’t a level ten telepath, he would never be able to do so. Only level ten telepaths could learn the skills necessary to strengthen and repair someone else’s psionic protection.

  “Once your mother returns from her assignment, she can help you build your shielding and you won’t have to see the specialist as often or hopefully ever again,” Paul said.

  “Great.” Brian’s expression turned sullen.

  “I know how you feel but it’s necessary for someone to work on your protection until you’re able to manage it on your own,” Paul said.

  Brian didn’t respond even though he knew his father was right. Maybe spending two hours working on his shielding wasn’t such a terrible price to pay after all if he could avoid allowing others access to his mind. Paul allowed an unspoken quiet to descend over them for the rest of the trip home. In the late afternoon, Amy arrived with Brian’s homework. Before he could escape to his room, she asked how the appointment with Dr. Bettinger went.

  “It looks like it’s psychic burnout.” Brian threw his sister a dejected glance.

  “We have an appointment next week,” Paul interjected. “This may just be a temporary problem. A lot of high level talents have this difficulty.”

  “Do they also have nightmares?” Brian demanded.

  “Yes, some of them do. The same types of dreams that you have,” Paul said.

  “Really?” Brian regarded him with curiosity. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I didn’t know before. I did a lot of research these last couple of days.”

  “I’ve looked for information online but didn’t find anything that pertained to my situation.”

  “You have to wade through a lot of information but I have access to professional databases due to being a licensed psychologist,” Paul explained.

  “I think you’ll be fine, Brian.” Amy offered a reassuring smile. “You look a lot better already.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Brian escaped to his room to begin working on his assignments. He lost track of time as he became absorbed in his work. When his door knocked forcefully, he flinched and looked up. His great uncle, Dick, burst into the room without waiting for a response. Dick Mackenzie was his mother’s uncle, and a multipath with psychomet
ry, telekinesis, and self-regeneration psi that made him look as though he was only in his early twenties instead of his real age, seventy-nine. Dick had piercing green eyes, brown hair, and a thin wiry frame. He wore a blue tee shirt, jeans, and blue running shoes.

  “How’s my favorite nephew doing?” Dick said flippantly.

  “I’m fine,” Brian said.

  “Amy told me about what happened,” Dick said.

  “Everything is okay,” Brian said.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Dick asked.

  “No,” Brian said.

  “Do you want to play darts?”

  “I have a lot of work to do. My grades are getting behind because of the problems I’ve been having this week,” Brian said.

  “Amy said you weren’t sleeping well and you have psychic burnout,” Dick said. “But you’re feeling better now though, right?”

  “Yes but I need to get caught up. I wasn’t able to concentrate in my classes and I’ve gotten behind.”

  “We can just talk about stuff in general. We don’t have to talk about your psychic burnout if you don’t want to. Let’s play darts. You need a break,” Dick said.

  “Where is Amy?” Brian said as he realized he couldn’t hear the wind chimes which meant his sister wasn’t in her room.

  “She’s not home,” Dick said. “She told me she had a date with Derek.”

  Amy and Derek had been going out a lot lately. They were good about including Brian though. He shrugged, stood up, and stretched briefly. Maybe a break was a good idea. He followed Dick to the family room and they picked their darts. Paul joined them when they were half finished with their first game. He waited patiently until they started a new one.

  “How are things going at the prison?” Paul said. “Are you still working overtime?”

  Dick was a prison guard for the Pine Hills Corrections Center.

  “Everything’s fine now. We’re fully staffed again so I’m back to forty hours a week,” Dick said as he drew back his arm and narrowed his eyes at the board with concentration. He was in his competitive mode now. With his arm pulled back and ready to spring forward to release the dart, the right sleeve of his shirt rode up to reveal more of the large skunk tattoo. He finally tossed the dart and it landed in the bull’s eye with uncanny accuracy. Everyone suspected that Dick cheated by using his telekinesis when he played so well. His other two throws hit the bull’s eye.