“God and my faith have gotten me through a lot.”
“I’m not sure I can believe in God anymore.” Ydrel spoke quietly, his face turned away from the intern. “Too many people talk about ‘God’s will’ and how God gives them the right to hurt other people. Taking their land. Killing.”
“That’s not God. That’s human nature. Religion is a useful scapegoat for people who want power or don’t want to get along with their neighbor. God gave us some pretty simple rules: don’t kill, don’t steal, don’t covet. Jesus said just love God and your neighbor.” Then he smiled, thinking of his reaction to Malachai just an hour earlier. “The hardest kind of simplicity.”
“Should you ever kill? What about self defense? What about Hitler?”
“Guess it depends: are you a martyr, or a suicide? That’s a sin, too. Hitler…Hitler should have been laughed into anonymity. Once he became so powerful, though, I don’t know. I can’t think of any other way to have stopped him for certain. And there is such a thing a just war, you know.” He wanted to ask why the sudden and intense concern, but couldn’t figure out a way to ask without sounding psychiatric. He waited, hoping Ydrel would open up, but instead, the young man asked, “Does this Anointing of the Sick stuff work for non-Catholics?”
“God is there for everyone, regardless of their specific beliefs.”
“Do you think the priest might stick around afterward and talk to me? He’s staff, after all, right? OK, then—as long as it doesn’t get you fired or anything.”
*
Ydrel opened his eyes in the dark room and glanced at the red numbers of the digital clock. 1:05. He picked up the phone before it could ring.
“Is the coast clear?” Clarissa asked.
“She’s talking to her boyfriend,” he told her. “We’ve got about an hour before she decides she’d better walk around, and everybody else feels pretty peaceful.”
“I’ll be right there!”
Ydrel brought the bed fully upright, then used a little telekinesis to bring the hairbrush from the table to his hand. He wasn’t quite sure why he was concerned with his appearance, except that Clarissa was the first normal non-psychiatric person he’d talked to in years and he wanted to keep a good impression. Of course, if I’d wanted to do that, I probably should have let the phone ring at least once before answering it.
Clarissa entered the room, and the thought was lost. As soon as the door was shut, she pulled off her robe. Underneath, she wore jeans and a T-shirt, and no back brace. She walked with athletic grace and plopped on the bed beside Ydrel and sat facing him.
“So the back’s OK?”
“A little twingy, but I’ve got an appointment with the chiropractor. Better than the brace. But never mind my back. How did you know to pick up the phone when you did?”
She was smiling at him, her eyes so curious. Her mind so open.
He shrugged. It wasn’t like he’d thought up a convincing lie, anyway. “I’m psychic. Truly. That’s why I was committed.”
She raised her brows, impressed. She believed him!
“Psychic? That is way cool!”
“No,” he replied in the same tone of voice, “that totally sucks.” But for once, he smiled as he said it. She believed him!
“Come on! You can read minds!”
“And I always know what people think of me.”
“What about empathy? If you can actually experience what other people feel—”
“Then I get overwhelmed in a crowd. Or, if the person is a strong projector, I lose track of what emotions are actually mine.”
“Fine, then. Telekinesis!” she challenged.
“You don’t want to see what I did to my room in my delirium. I don’t know how I managed not to hurt anyone.”
She leaned back. “OK. You win. Sucks to be you.”
For some reason, that made him laugh, and a lock of hair fell into his face.
She reached out to brush it back gently. “Anyone ever tell you, you have gorgeous hair?”
“No. Usually I get asked why I keep it so long.” Other than the priest, who had held his hand briefly before he left, and Joshua, who occasionally laid a hand on his shoulder, no one touched him for non-medical reasons. He hoped she wouldn’t stop.
She didn’t. Instead, she toyed with it in a very pleasant way. “Tell ’em girls dig it.”
“Oh, I don’t even want to open that can of worms.”
She pulled back her hand. “Oh! Are you…?”
“No,” he groaned. “I mean, I don’t know. I— My abilities hit me just as I hit puberty. In an all-boys boarding school. Then in various mental hospitals. I’ve experienced plenty of other people’s feelings, but I’ve never had a chance to explore my own. I told you it sucks to be psychic.”
She returned to caressing his hair, slower, more deliberate moves that felt nice in a different way. He liked that, too. “But you have a handle on that now? You can block others out?”
“Yes…”
She kissed him.
Her kiss was gentle and it sent warm shivers along his spine that he enjoyed very much—until he remembered when he’d had those feelings before. He pushed her away. “Don’t.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s just—” He couldn’t tell her about the Master, how the only time he’d ever felt like this was when he’d been made to after he’d killed something. “I—What’s the point? I mean, you get to go home tomorrow, and you’ll see your friends at the gym and tell them about this great adventure and how you kissed this crazy psychic guy. And me, I have to go back to—” He stopped, seeing her eyes water with tears. He felt ready to cry, himself.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to be that way. I just thought—I’d better go.” She turned.
Ydrel caught her hand in a sudden firm grip. When she turned to protest, he clamped a hand over her mouth and jerked his head toward the door.
They listened to the footsteps stop just before his threshold.
“Don’t wanna go back,” Ydrel whined in a sleepy little-boy voice, as he moved his legs to make it sound like he was tossing and turning. “I don’t.” Then he gave a snorting kind of snore and sighed. Under his hand, he could feel Clarissa trying hard not to laugh.
He thought hard toward the listening nurse: Poor baby. Best to let him sleep as well as he can.
A moment later, he heard the footsteps continue on. They waited. Gently, Ydrel removed his hand from her mouth and twined it into her hair. “She’s back at her station. Clever idea with the pillows, by the way; she thought you were still in bed. Clarissa, I’m sorry. I know that’s not how you meant this, and it’s really important to me that we part as friends. Besides,” and now he smiled and gently caressed her hair, “who knows when I’ll get the chance to kiss a beautiful girl again. You really are beautiful.”
And he pulled her toward him.
After a few minutes, the warmth and tingling overcame the fear and he reached up with his other hand to stroke the back of her neck. When her tongue snaked along the inside of his mouth, the feelings made him gasp.
Then he felt a familiar, urgent scritching in the back of his mind. The Miscria. With a sigh, he pulled away, but just enough that they were still touching forehead-to-forehead and nose-to-nose.
“Made up your mind?”
“Yeah.” Again that persistent scritching. Urgent. Almost desperate. He sighed ruefully. “Sucks to be me.”
“Get well and get out.” She gave him one last kiss and tossed the robe back on, checking the hall carefully before scuttling back to her room. He stared at the door for a long time, not sure whether to laugh or to cry. Finally, he gave himself to the Miscria’s call before he really did dissolve into tears.
*
“Where have you been?” The strength of Tasmae’s projected anger rubbed against his raw emotions like sandpaper on a sunburn. He snapped back with projected anger of his own.
“I was sick. I’ve been in the hospital! I almost die
d! For pity’s sake, it’s only been a couple of days. Give me a break—“
“Days?! Six weeks!” Confusion mixed with anger, echoed and enhanced by his own.
“Weeks? But, how—”
“Almost—died?”
Suddenly, a maelstrom of images and emotions accosted Ydrel’s mind: Anger. Fear. Confusion. Responsibility so heavy it pulled him down.
His knees buckled. “Tasmae, stop.”
I am the Miscria. An older woman smiles down on her. “Tonight you shall be ordained; then we will complete your training. You have the strongest talent yet, but there is much I must teach you.” Her teacher at banquet, raising her cup, falling back, an arrow through her chest.
He felt a wave of grief so fierce it made him retch.
“Tasmae, please stop!”
I am the Miscria. Half trained, half brilliant. The Ydrel confuses. The Ydrel refuses. Others begin to doubt her ability to lead. She begins to doubt herself. People, friends, fighting and dying because she cannot lead. Because she has failed.
Thick waves of worry obscured his vision.
“Tasmae!”
I AM THE MISCRIA! The Ydrel says wait. The Ydrel says no. The Ydrel does not come. I call and he does not come. I am forsaken. We are forsaken. The world pulls itself apart; invaders, demons, fall from the sky. NO!
Desperation overwhelmed him, so strong that he could barely tell his own feelings from hers.
“Get out of my mind!” He tried to throw up his shields, but they were ripped away.
“I AM THE MISCRIA! Do not leave me!”
“STOP!” With desperation of his own, he pushed himself away from her.
He awoke bolt upright in the hospital bed, his scream still resonating off the plain walls. His sore body protested the sudden movement with a pain that made him gasp. For a moment, he welcomed it. It was his, not some projection of another’s. Not Tasmae’s.
Tasmae! Had she followed him? Was she lurking in the shadows the way the demon’s had? His eyes searched the dark room.
Footsteps he’d barely registered ended at his door and the lights snapped on, making him blink.
“What is it, Ydrel? Did you have a nightmare?”
“Don’t call me that! My name is Deryl.” And, despite the pain it gave him, he leaned his forehead against his bent knees and burst into tears.
CHAPTER 31
Joshua returned to the hospital at six in the morning, ready to take another long shift as the world’s highest paid babysitter. He was already anticipating four o’clock when Edith said she’d have someone come relieve him and stay with Deryl until the client fell asleep. Sachiko had her final that afternoon, and had promised to come by right after to commiserate or celebrate. He’d told her that they’d be celebrating, and he wanted to go home and get his place in order.
This time, he’d brought his computer and small keyboard to the hospital with him; Rique had some changes to one of the songs they were going to audition with, and wanted Joshua to work the transitions. He had his headphones so he could work it whenever Ydrel slept.
He found out from the nurse that they’d given Ydrel a sedative around two that morning, so he had a couple of quiet hours to work until Kate showed up to visit.
“Douglas is taking the opportunity to meet with some of his clients,” she said, as she sat down beside her nephew and took his hand. “How is he?” she asked.
Joshua shrugged. “Guess he had a rough night, but nothing major.”
Ydrel stirred and opened his eyes with difficulty. “I’m OK,” he answered.
“Good morning, Darrel.”
“Deh-rill. D-E-R-Y-L. If I let everyone call me Deryl from now on, will you at least say it right?” He closed his eyes and was asleep again before she could answer.
Kate released his hand and pulled Joshua into the hallway. “What do you think?” she asked him.
Joshua thought the whole situation was stupid, but he replied, “I think he has the right to his own name.”
She sighed and looked away—accessing a memory, Joshua noted. “Our grandfather was named Darrel. Our father was always furious that my sister insisted on the unusual spelling. Said it just encouraged unusual behavior. So when Darrel came to us, we thought…”
“With all respect to your father, unusual spellings are pretty commonplace nowadays.”
“I know,” she said. “We’d just hoped…” They heard footsteps approach, and saw Douglas approach. Joshua went in to check Ydrel—Deryl, now—while Kate talked to her husband.
He found Deryl drowsy but again awake. “When’s breakfast?”
Joshua checked the clock. “Half an hour or so. How are you feeling?”
“Not so well. Groggy.” He lolled his head toward the door. “My aunt’s crying.”
“Good tears, I think. Do you remember what you said a couple of minutes ago?”
“I remember,” he replied neutrally, then said no more until his aunt and uncle entered the room.
“So…Deryl?” his uncle ventured, pronouncing it correctly. “D-E-R-Y-L?”
Deryl smiled and held out his hand to them.
Deryl didn’t volunteer why he’d decided to change his name, and his aunt and uncle seemed afraid to pursue it, so they spent an awkward half hour avoiding the subject until the nurse came in with Deryl’s breakfast. Douglas declared that Kate needed nourishment, too, and they left with a promise to return later that evening.
Joshua waited until Deryl had finished most of his meal and was picking at the crumbs. “So? What’s the story?”
“I’m not the Ydrel anymore. The Miscria—Tasmae—she’s gone.” He tossed down his fork, shoved the tray away, and told him about their meeting, and the argument, and how he had been overwhelmed by her thoughts and emotions.
“I couldn’t breathe. I could barely keep track of what was me. I couldn’t make her stop. So I ran. Back to here. To…reality. And I’ve got my shields up so tight that I feel kind of blind or deaf and I wouldn’t be able to sense her Call if she put the weight of her world behind it.” Ydrel—Deryl now—stared miserably away for a minute, then glared at Joshua. “Well?” he snapped. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me? I did it. I’ve rid myself of this Miscria illusion, cold turkey, left her high and dry. Aren’t you going to say you’re proud?”
Joshua pulled up a chair so he could look at the boy directly. “No, and I’m not going to make you feel guilty, either. You’ve been at her beck and call for five years now? You’ve answered all her questions to the best of your ability. Maybe she needs to be pushed out on her own, find her own answers.”
“She was so scared,” he whispered. Joshua could see his eyes tightly contracted. Accessing memories not his own.
“It’s scary on your own sometimes. Lonely, too. But sometimes, it’s the only way to grow.”
*
Joshua looked up from his keyboard and checked the clock on his living room wall. It was almost six. Sachiko should have finished with her final an hour ago. Why wasn’t she here yet? Why hadn’t she called?
The place was clean; the take-out he grabbed from a nearby restaurant waited in the oven; a small cake from the store sat on the counter. He’d showered, shaved, put on his best shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, and made a new CD of music. After this crazy week, he couldn’t wait for a couple of hours alone with her doing something other than studying.
Where is she?
He called her phone again, got no answer, then to distract himself, dialed the hospital and asked for Deryl’s room. He’d been feeling pretty bad all afternoon, and the doctor had diagnosed him with a post-op infection.
“He’s asleep,” Danika, the orderly assigned to watch him for the evening, answered. “Nodded off after he ate. He seems to be doing better.”
“K. Thanks for being there tonight.”
She laughed, “I’m getting paid overtime to sit around and read my novel. I didn’t have any plans tonight.”
He did—or at least he thought he did. H
e hung up and glared at the clock: 6:13. “C’mon, ‘Ko. At least call me.”
He had turned put the CD into the player when he heard the familiar growl of a motorcycle. He turned on the music, then bolted to the door and threw it open. “Well?” he shouted down to her.
If she heard him, she gave no sign; she grabbed her backpack and trooped up the stairs silently, her helmet still on and the sun visor blocking her face. Joshua backed up a pace to let her in, shutting the door behind her and waiting apprehensively as she stripped off her riding gear. When she pulled off her helmet, she was smiling radiantly.
“Ninety-eight!” she shouted and leaped into his arms. Joshua caught her, cheering. They smothered each other’s faces and necks with kisses, their words tumbling over each other’s:
“He graded them as we finished, so—”
“You did it!”
“He said my essay was the best he’d ever read—”
“I’m so proud of you!”
“He thought I should go into gynecology, what a joke—” She leaned her head back to laugh and he kissed her neck. Her skin was as silky as her hair.
“You’re incredible!”
“I’d never have passed without you.” She pulled away just enough to look at him, and the adoration and desire on her face did more to him than any of her kisses.
“Sachiko, I…I didn’t do much.”
“Yeah, right.” She kissed his mouth.
The kiss kept going longer and deeper until he was very aware of her body pressed against his, her legs around his waist, her weight totally supported by him, his hand on her—
They had to sit down. Fast.
Still holding her, still kissing, he backed up until he bumped against the bed. (Couch, Joshua, Couch!) He started to sit, but she pushed against him until he fell back with her over him, her tongue doing amazing things inside his mouth, her hands reaching under his shirt. On the CD player, Ricky Martin was singing, “Do you really want it?”
“Well?” she whispered.
He did. Oh, he did.
They had to stop.
He did not want to stop.
She shifted position in a way that set every nerve in his body screaming.
Mind Over Mind Page 28
