Mind Over Mind

by Karina L. Fabian

  He asked, “Sure you don’t want to at least get together in the morning? I could meet you for church—“

  “Did my grandmother put you up to that?” she snapped.

  He flinched.

  Way to end a date, ‘Ko. “I’m sorry. You were talking to her right before we left and— It’s just that I haven’t been to church in a very long time. It’s kind of a sore spot between us.” Suddenly, she felt awkward. What would he think of her now? And why should it matter so much?

  But he took her hand, dispelling her fears with a touch. “That’s all right. Just, if...you know, if you change your mind, the offer’s good all summer. In the meantime, will you at least call me tomorrow? I don’t want a single day to go by that I don’t hear your voice.”

  She realized she felt the same way about him. “Deal. So, what did she say to you as we were leaving, anyway?”

  “Oh, uh, she’s going to pray la novena to Santo Valentino.”

  Her jaw dropped. She wasn’t sure which was worse—Grandma using him to get her to church or Grandma praying for their romance! “Oh, Josh! I’m sorry!”

  “Why? I told her to add one to St. Joseph.”

  She raised her brows.

  He got that funny expression on his face. He looked at their hands, suddenly shy. “To, uh, well, that I’d be worthy of you, I mean, if anything ever...”

  She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. “I think it should be the other way around,” she whispered. They kissed until she almost changed her mind about leaving, but she pushed away and dashed out to her bike.

  As she roared off, it didn’t occur to her to wonder why she was so happy.

  CHAPTER 28

  Ydrel found himself in the land of mists, disoriented, shivering, his sword in his hand and a cramp in his side. He turned a slow circle until he saw the Master.

  “Let me go,” he moaned. “I don’t want to fight today.”

  The Master didn’t even answer, simply faded into the background as the monsters approached. Gray things, with depressions where the facial features should have been. Alien but weirdly familiar. This time, instead of their arms ending in blades, they had hands which held swords. I can knock the blades from their hands, he thought. Then when I have a safe minute I’m using all my power and leaving—

  The sword was gone from his hands.

  “What?” he breathed, then felt the Master’s command: YOU DO NOT NEED THIS PROP. YOU ARE THE ONLY WEAPON YOU NEED.

  The monsters advanced.

  “No!” he shouted to the Master. “I don’t want to do this. I want to go home. Leave me alone!” He cast about for a ley line. Were there such things in this world?

  One of the creatures swung and he ducked. The others waited, but not from some cliché of honor. They were letting him warm up; soon enough, they would come at him at once, and not in some choreographed demonstration fight.

  He couldn’t find a line. Again he ducked another swing then stepped to the right just in time to avoid a blow. The movement made the stitch in his side flare.

  “Just let me go!”

  YOU KNOW WHAT YOU MUST DO TO LEAVE.

  If only he had his sword. There was energy in it. Anything else? Not the sky, the fog, not even the barren ground.

  But the monsters?

  Energy flowed from living things, Joshua had said. His mother had poured out her energy to heal him once. Could he work it the other way around?

  One jerked forward with a stabbing motion and he grabbed its arm. Instead of tossing it aside, however, he imagined himself a sponge, pulling, absorbing. When he felt the first energy, like cool water, he suddenly thirsted as he never had. He grit his teeth, pulled on the energy, felt it swirl around him. It filled his head, dizzying and glorious.

  When Ydrel came to himself, he found all eight monsters collapsed in the mist. Why were they there still? Always before, they faded when he’d struck the winning blow. He knelt and shook one, lightly at first, then harder.

  GOOD.

  He whirled and saw the Master, shining as if he’d absorbed the life energy of the beasts.

  “Are they dead?”

  The Master smiled at Ydrel with pride.

  “Were they alive?” Ydrel demanded, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Were they real?”

  AGAIN.

  Suddenly, twelve monsters replaced the eight.

  “Were they real?” he demanded. Had he done it again? Had he killed? A sob escaped his throat.

  AGAIN.

  “No!” He didn’t care if he got lost, if he died. He was leaving this place. The creatures had sacrificed their life energies and he was going to put them to good use. Ignoring the advance of the new enemy, he closed his eyes and chanted. “I’m going back to my body. Back to the asylum. Back to Joshua and Sachiko and safety—”

  One of the creatures scored on his side as he faded out of existence.

  He jerked awake and just managed to stumble to the toilet in time to vomit into it. He sat on the cool tile, his back to the tub, gasping. He felt weak and shaky but full of frantic energy. His head was clamoring, and not even with the thoughts of others for once. His side was on fire. He scrambled at his shirt, pulled it up. The skin looked unbruised, but when he pressed on it, he felt the pain lance through him.

  He pulled himself to his feet using the counter and splashed cold water on his face from the faucet. He felt too hot, then too cold. He looked up into the mirror at his shadowed, pain-filled eyes.

  Then he saw the not-quite-human monster standing in the tub, watching.

  They’d followed him to the real world!

  He ran out the door, through his room, and slammed into Joshua in the hallway.

  “Whoa! You OK?” His friend backed up a step and caught his balance.

  “Joshua! I have to talk to you!” He scanned the hall. Where had it gone?

  “I need to talk to you, too. I need to apologize—”

  Joshua’s thoughts came at him in a flash, and he growled with annoyance. “I don’t care what your father’s stupid organization thinks. It’s not like they’d believe me. Do you believe me?”

  “Ydrel, it doesn’t matter what—”

  “Yes! Yes it does!” He couldn’t catch his breath. Was it pain or some kind of compulsion the Master had put on him? They have to know now. If the monsters have followed, they have to know. “Don’t give me any crap about it not mattering what other people believe. I’ve been here five years because no one will believe me. And I’m going to die because no one believes me. Me, or someone else. He’s going to make me a murderer or kill me trying!”

  “What?!”

  The creature was there—in the hall, its eyeless face tilted in seeming curiosity. A mist swirled beside it, then solidified into a second beast. Ydrel stumbled over his words, but he had to convince Joshua, make him believe. “He calls himself the Master. He calls me in my sleep. He makes me fight, makes me kill. Monsters, but they get more human each time. He wants me to kill. When I’m good, he...he rewards me. And when I don’t fight, the demons, they—”

  “Ydrel, slow down. Have you told—”

  “Are you stupid?! They’d lock me up, say I’m imagining things. Did I imagine this?” He pulled up his sleeve, revealing the bruise where the demon had struck him. He heard Joshua’s sharp intake of breath, but he couldn’t see the expression on his face. The light was too bright. His head felt too light. He looked toward a shadowed doorway and saw another demon, faceless, waiting. A sob escaped his throat.

  “They followed me, Joshua. To the waking world. They’re waiting. The Master said if I ever told anyone, he’d kill me. Dammit, I need your help and I need you to believe me!” He scanned the hall, counting monsters. Three. Four…

  “All right. I believe you. I’ll help you, and if you need me to believe you, I will, but you need to do what I tell you, OK? Look at me.” Ydrel felt the other man put his hands on his face, and withdraw them almost as quickly. “Ydrel, you’
re burning up. How do you feel?”

  “I’m cold,” he complained. “I’ve been hot and cold all weekend, and my head’s on fire and my gut’s on fire, and they’re just waiting to finish me off and I’m tired and cold and I’m scared and— You have to believe me!” He stopped before he could dissolve into hysterical sobs.

  “All right.” Joshua’s voice was calm and firm and authoritative, and Ydrel felt himself calm just a little. “The first thing we’re going to do is get you to bed. You need something to drink and maybe something to eat—just soup, if you want, but you need strength in case whatever hurt you tries again. Have you tapped the ley line today?”

  “I can’t concentrate. I—”

  “Try. C’mon. Can you walk?” Slowly, but on his own, he made it to his room and into bed with Joshua keeping pace beside him. Joshua brought him a glass of warm tap water and made him drink it. He thought he would retch, but managed to get it down. The monsters hadn’t followed, and he felt a moment of worry for the other people in the building. He reached with his senses. Found them near, focused on him and waiting. They’d wait—wait until his strength was back. Until he rested. He needed rest.

  He leaned back against the pillows.

  “Good man. Now try to lie still. I’m going to get you some Gatorade, and I’ll have Kelly come in and take your vitals.”

  He pushed himself up. “No! Don’t tell anyone. They—”

  “You’re sick, Ydrel. Physically ill. You need medicine and I can’t prescribe it. You can’t defend yourself if you’re not healthy. You promised to trust me.”

  There were two demons in the corner by his closet. Ydrel shut his eyes and lay back against the pillows, forcing down a whimper. Joshua said more gently, “Tap your energies. I’ll be right back.”

  *

  As soon as he shut the door, Joshua let himself feel worry. Ydrel was definitely sick, probably delirious, but how much of his hallucinating was physical in cause? And even if it all was, would anyone here believe it was simple fever and not full-blown psychosis?

  Let’s take care of the fever first, he decided. If he’s still talking about demons later, we’ll handle that then.

  Kelly wasn’t at the desk, but the other day nurse was. “Hey, Keith, could you do me a favor and check Ydrel’s vitals? He’s got a fever something fierce. And do you have any rehydrating drinks here, or should I go check at the kitchen?”

  “For Ydrel or for you?” Keith asked as he pulled out the cart with the thermometer and sphygmomanometer.

  “Ydrel,” Josh said. “He’s got the chills.”

  “Why didn’t he come to us?”

  “You know how he is,” Joshua forced his voice to stay casual, and was spared saying anything else by a loud crash. He and Keith traded looks, then ran for Ydrel’s room.

  The room was in shambles. Ydrel was standing on his bed, his eyes bright and desperate, head twisting as he looked wildly about him. Wherever his gaze landed, something happened. Keith gasped as a book flung itself off the shelf toward the closet. Ydrel shouted and whirled; the desk caught fire. Joshua ran to the desk grabbing a fallen pillow and using it to smother the flames.

  “Ydrel, cut it out! You’re going to hurt somebody,” he called.

  For a moment, the young patient focused on him. “Joshua, get out of here! Can’t you see them?! They followed me, they—” He shrieked and jerked, and fell to his knees.

  Joshua saw a bruise form at the base of Ydrel’s neck. Keith ducked out of the room, dodging a glass that flew toward him, smashing on the wall beside the door.

  “Stop fighting them,” Joshua shouted. “Defense, Ydrel. Where are your shields?”

  “They get past them,” he sobbed. “These aren’t thoughts!”

  “Change them! Make them like armor. Do it!”

  “I can’t—”

  “Concentrate! E=mc2. Here!” Feeling rather stupid, Joshua forced himself to picture video game characters in combat armor and threw the image at Ydrel.

  After a moment, things got very still. Keith came back in, followed by Dr. Caldwell. They looked at Joshua, but the intern shook his head slightly. “Ydrel?” he asked gently.

  He was looking around the room, but his eyes were focused elsewhere. “They’re…backing off. They can’t get through.”

  Trying to sound as if it were an everyday thing, Joshua said, “Tie your armor to the line; that way, it’ll stay with you. Can you do that?”

  Ydrel nodded weakly. A moment later, he curled into a fetal position on his bed and lay on his side, crying. He offered no resistance as Keith took his vitals, but when he saw Dr. Caldwell, he shrank back, backing into Joshua who had sat down beside him. “Don’t lock me away! Please! I didn’t mean it! I—”

  “Easy,” Dr. Caldwell spoke gently, as if to a child. “No one’s taking you anywhere. Keith says you’re sick. Let’s just find out what that’s about, hey? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

  “My stomach’s on fire and my head’s on fire and I’m so cold and they kept—” Ydrel bit his lip anxiously. “My stomach hurts.”

  “OK. Can you lay down flat so I can check it out? I’ll be as gentle as I can.” With difficulty, he and Joshua eased Ydrel out of his curled position. Joshua sat at his head, brushing his hair out of his face, murmuring general reassurances. Ydrel complied docilely, but struggled when Dr. Caldwell tried to pull up his shirt. Dr. Caldwell pulled his hands away. “That’s OK, Ydrel. I’ll just feel around, shall I?” As lightly as he could, he prodded his abdomen. Ydrel winced several times, but when he pressed to one side, Ydrel shrieked and passed out.

  The physician ordered Keith to call for a flight for life and a surgical team to be ready at South County.

  “I don’t understand,” Joshua said. “What’s wrong?”

  “His appendix,” Dr. Caldwell spoke grimly. “I think it’s burst.”

  *

  Joshua leaned his head against the curved wood of the pew in the small hospital chapel. He’d accompanied Ydrel for the short flight to the hospital, told the team that met them the vital information Dr. Caldwell had coached him on, then filled out the admittance papers using the emergency file Keith had thrust into his hands as he’d boarded the helicopter. Dr. Hoffman called to tell him Ydrel’s aunt and uncle were on their way from New York and would be there in about three hours, and that Edith and Dr. Malachai were heading down from Boston, and that he just needed to stick around for any reports from the surgeons. While he waited, he downed a Diet Coke from the vending machine and tried to bury his feelings of helplessness in a magazine. Then he realized there was one thing he could do. After getting reassurance from the volunteer behind the desk that he would get him if there were any changes, Joshua went to the chapel to pray.

  There he had been for at least a couple of hours. Twice, a nurse had come to give him an update on the surgery. The hospital priest had prayed with him and even heard his confession, before leaving him to go and tend to others. Edith and Dr. Malachai dropped by; in an act of compassion that both surprised and touched Joshua, the senior psychiatrist admitted that Ydrel had complained to him of a stomach ache earlier that weekend, and he’d thought it an excuse to get out of a session. Then, he was alone again, praying or just kneeling quietly, hoping God would help him make sense of things he’d experienced in the last few weeks and especially what he’d seen today.

  Ydrel had glared at the desk, and it had caught fire, spontaneously and without cause; he’d seen it. And when Ydrel had told him to duck, he’d felt something fly—it hadn’t been thrown, it had flown—past his shoulder. He’d seen a bruise spontaneously appear on Ydrel’s neck just after the boy flinched as if struck. Could there really be something to his claims of being psychic, after all? And if he was telekinetic, what about the rest of his claimed abilities? And the demons, and the Miscria? Was he delusional, or was he really what he claimed to be: a sane psychic overwhelmed by his paranormal abilities?

  It doesn’t matter, his training argued. Either
way, you treat him the same: accept what he believes at face value and give him the tools to interact with “normal” society in spite of it. It shouldn’t matter.

  Then he thought about Ydrel’s desperate plea, and the conversation he’d had with Sachiko on Saturday, and he knew that it did matter.

  “Joshua Lawson?”

  Joshua snapped out of his reverie and looked up at Ydrel’s uncle. “Oh, hello, Mr.—”

  “Douglas will do. May I interrupt?”

  “No problem.” Joshua stood up a little stiffly. “I was more thinking than anything. How’s Deryl?”

  “Darrel,” Joshua could hear the difference in pronunciation, “is in recovery. They had to remove a portion of his intestine; there was some infection—gangrene, I think. He’ll be here for several days, at least; we have to decide whether to put him in the psychiatric ward or see how he does in a private room in the post-op wing. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Me?” Joshua’s voice almost cracked. “Sir, I’m just an intern; I’m not qualified—”

  “I may not get to visit as much as I’d like to, but I do keep very close tabs on my nephew,” Douglas interrupted. “I have heard from nurses and psychiatrists about the improvement Darrel has made with your support and guidance. I know, too, for all his sarcasm at his party, he considers you a friend. Just a few minutes ago, he roused just enough to say three words: ‘Josh, shields holding.’ You probably know what that means better than I, but I do know that the last time he was sedated in a public hospital, he babbled deliriously. He couldn’t hold onto a thought or even a personality. To see the difference—” Douglas’s voice choked up with tears.

  “Dr. Malachai and Dr. Sellars have been working with him for years.”

  “And they’ve done a fine job. But I’m wondering if they’ve done all they can for him. Darrel doesn’t trust them, and I’ll bet he doesn’t tell them everything. He trusts you.” Again, the older gentleman paused, but this time he seemed to be trying to find the right words. Finally, he said, “There are bruises and odd wounds all over Darrel’s body. Fresh ones, not from that fight last week with the bastard they put in the room next to his.”