The Boy Who Would Rule the World

by Brian Toal

  "There..." he said in a small voice and the nurse in psychiatry was greeted only by screams and the clattering of the phone, as Miss Vivian Benton was attacked by numerous fibre clipboards and note pages that had left the bulletin board and were now chasing her about the room.

  FIVE - SEVEN

  Dr. Aaron Murance was about to finish up for the day, the paper strewn office reflecting his numerous ongoing projects, when his secretary leaned in through the doorway, a look of concern marring her plump features. "Dr. Murance, there is a call for you - from the emergency department downstairs."

  Aaron Murance looked up from the final figures he was entering in document for a lecture tomorrow, "From emergency?"

  "That's correct Doctor, apparently they have a young patient down there, who indicates he is supposed to see you." She paused, her face crinkled with uncertainty, "apparently, he says that he can break things...Ummm...Telekinesis - is what the nurse said downstairs." She wanted to be sure Dr. Murance had no doubt regarding the origin of her information. "I understand that he has demonstrated this particular skill in the emergency room. That is why they are calling you."

  "Really?"

  "That’s what they said, Doctor."

  "Telekinesis?"

  "Their choice of words, not mine."

  Aaron looked at his receptionist for a moment longer, then reached forward with his right hand to punch the flashing button on his phone. "Dr. Murance here."

  "Doctor!" An out of breath female voice came from the receiver, "we have a young boy here who says he is a patient of yours...a Christopher McCarter."

  "Nurse, are you aware I’m in research and do not take hospital patients?"

  "Yes, yes, Doctor," the voice was almost panicky with its determination to convince, "but this boy is very difficult and he says he has an appointment with you in two weeks."

  "Hold on." Aaron put his hand over the phone and spoke to his receptionist, who was still leaning against the doorframe. "Do we have an appointment with a Christopher McCarter in two weeks.?"

  She nodded, "Yes you do, you only have two appointments that week and he is one. I believe it’s for a MRI and some other work." She shrugged, I forget all the details.

  Dr. Murance nodded, he could vaguely remember agreeing to take this patient, apparently he had exhibited some unusual dysfunction due to a past accident. Brain dysfunction caused by physical trauma was Dr. Murance's work. He spoke into the telephone, "I understand I do have an appointment with this boy in two weeks. Why is it necessary for me to see him now?"

  The voice on the end of the phone dropped to a whisper. "Doctor, he ripped all the clipboards off the bulletin board from about thirty feet away. Then he said he would pull the ceiling down if he didn't get to see you. He pulled down three tiles to prove his point." She paused and he could hear subdued panic in her voice as she spoke again. "The security guards are holding him now, but I don't think they could do much if he decided to get violent."

  "Do you think he is violent?" Aaron certainly did not want to have to deal with a psychotic patient at 4:15 in the afternoon, although if the boy could do what the nurse said, it would be a first for medical science in North America. He had heard the Russians possibly had some people who could bend spoons, but he had never heard of anyone who could throw clipboards."

  "Oh, no, I don't think he’s actually violent. I think he just wants to see you."

  Aaron pondered the situation, he wanted to leave for an early tennis game, but if what this nurse said was true, this boy's ability would launch his career into world esteem. "Have security bring him up."

  "So, you think you were responsible for the destruction in your classroom?" Dr. Murance asked pleasantly, after Chris had told him of his new abilities following the summer vacation, with special attention to today's adventures.

  Chris nodded unhappily.

  "And you certainly seem to have created quite a stir down in emergency.”

  Chris nodded again, his eyes downcast.

  "And you think this power, Telekinesis as you have named it, as well as your improved memory, arise from your accident this summer. This accident or event that you remember only vaguely?"

  "Yes, I think so," Chris answered hesitantly.

  "Well, Chris it’s too late tonight to do any extensive tests. But I will schedule a MRI first thing in the morning. But more importantly - these psychic abilities you speak of. You are certain they began after your accident?"

  "Yes definitely. I couldn't do anything like that before."

  Aaron sat staring at the young boy for a moment longer, not sure how to continue. "You say, by thinking about an action or event, you can actually make it happen?"

  "Yes...something like that."

  "And you can do this anytime you wish?"

  Chris nodded, "Yes, I have to think about it for a bit, before anything happens, but I’m getting faster. I only had to think about the clipboards for a second or two. Then they just jumped off the bulletin board. I didn't want them to chase after the nurse, but that was the next picture that jumped into my mind and so that’s why they chased after her. But, I didn't hurt her," Chris added quickly, "I stopped the pictures as soon as I could." Chris leaned forward in his chair, as he explained further. "Anything I picture and want to happen - happens. But I have trouble stopping it after it begins, or at least I did at my school."

  "Does this upset you?"

  "Yes!" Chris answered venomously, "What happens if I think of something really bad, like killing someone? It might happen, before I could stop it." His blue eyes stared intensely across the desk and Aaron could see real fear mirrored in their youthful blue.

  "Ahhh...well." He swallowed the momentary unease he had experienced as he saw Chris' fear. But this was the time for a real test. A test he had wanted to propose, the moment he had heard of the boy in the emergency department. "Let us try something quite easy and without a chance of harm to others." He suggested hopefully.

  "What?"

  "Could you do something for me? Right now, in this office?"

  "Sure, I guess so," Chris answered, "What do you want me to do?"

  Dr. Murance felt a shiver go through his body as his heart rate jumped. He had met a number of subjects over the last many years who had professed to have psychic abilities, but they had always provided some excuse as to why they were unable to demonstrate their skills at that particular time. This young boy had just casually agreed to provide proof of a skill, no one in the known world could accomplish. He swallowed hard and looked about for an object that would make a good subject. Two medical books lay on top of an end table under the window. "Knock those two books onto the floor."

  "Those two books over there?" Chris pointed towards the table.

  "Yes, those. Knock them on to the floor or move them or do something to them."

  "Okay." Chris said turning to look directly at the table. Dr. Murance reached up and loosened his tie, he could feel his heart pounding within his chest and cold sweat dripping from under his armpits. This child treated this test so casually...

  The books slid off the table onto the carpet, landing with a muffled thump.

  Chris turned back to the doctor. "There." He said his face serene, almost a smile on his lips. "That was easy, I could have done anything with them. Pushing them off the table was easy."

  Dr. Murance looked across his desk at the small boy. The feeling had left his body and he felt incapable of motion or speech. He saw the boy's face break into a grin as he noticed the doctor's amazement.

  "Pretty neat...huh?" Chris laughed, "That's the first time I actually showed anybody on purpose. I'll do something else if you want."

  Aaron Murance finally found his voice, "No that's okay." He sat immobile in his chair, he had no idea what to do next. This revelation had taken him completely by surprise. He felt like locking the boy into a cage in order to keep him safe and available so he could show him off to his colleagues in the morning. However, the sudden thought of what the b
oy might do, if locked in a cage, jolted him out of his paralysis. To hell with morning, he thought, I’m going to start tonight. "Ahhh...Chris. We’ll have to do some tests on this. I’m going to call my staff and maybe we can start tonight."

  "Okay, I don't mind." Chris responded. "But maybe you could call my mother and tell her I’m here and tell her I didn't mean to do what I did at school. I don't think she’d believe me."

  "Absolutely!" Dr. Murance slid out from behind his desk. He had never felt so alive, so anxious for more knowledge. "Absolutely, Chris! I think we can easily convince your mother you didn't mean to do a thing at your school. After all you just learned how to do this today, didn't you?"

  "Yeah, I didn't know the ceiling would collapse if I just thought about." Chris answered. "But I was mad at my teacher and then everything started to fall apart. I didn't want all that stuff to happen - it just did."

  Dr. Murance stopped on his way out to his deserted secretary's office. "Do you mean to say that you can't always regulate what you do?" Again, he felt a shiver run through his body. From what this boy had described to him, Aaron realized, a little late, this child could probably destroy him before he had a chance to get further than his office door.

  "Oh now I can." Chris answered easily. "I only had trouble this morning."

  And Chris spoke what he thought was the truth. But at that moment Charlie was making his way back to Detroit and slung underneath the helicopter wrapped securely in a tarp, hung a bulky rectangular bundle. Although still too far away, it was already searching for the creature it had adapted, which then had been torn from its dominion before it could exert total control.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ONE

  The tests began that night. Aaron called his staff, his co-researcher, Dr. Jerome Reid, and his two technicians. It was just after 6:00 pm and all three of them were eating dinner, but after he explained the circumstances, all agreed to meet at the hospital in one hour. Then, as Chris wolfed down a plate of hospital food, he made the difficult call to Mrs. McCarter.

  Aaron didn't really want Chris' mother involved although there was nothing mysterious or risky in what he was about to do - tonight anyway. But concerned mothers could create unexpected complications.

  He sighed, watching Chris suck up the bland hospital supper he had arranged to have delivered to his office. Chris was currently eating the remainder of his own dinner. Aaron was far too excited and eager to eat much himself. A woman who identified herself as Beth Rutherford answered the phone and, as Aaron explained who he was, he learned that Beth was a nurse at this very hospital. Good, he thought, I’ll have her come along to explain what we are doing for her sister's benefit. Mrs. McCarter was also much easier to reason with than he had expected. She was concerned about the whereabouts of her son, anxious that he had felt it necessary to check himself into a hospital, but relieved now that she knew where he was. She readily agreed to beginning some initial tests tonight, although Aaron was sure she didn't understand what he was looking for. He let her assume he was going to 'cure' her son.

  She agreed to arrive, with her sister, at Saint John's in less than one hour. Aaron put the phone down and breathed a sigh of relief - things were going well and by the end of this evening he should have developed enough information to begin his paper. A research paper, Aaron was convinced, that would make his name a household word.

  "Your mother and aunt are coming to meet you." He said, watching Chris slurp down the remains of a bowl of watery rice pudding. "They also agreed we could start some tests this evening."

  "Okay." Chris said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "As long as I don't have to spend the night in the hospital. I don't like sleeping in hospitals."

  "Well, we’ll see how we progress."

  "You promised!" Chris said, a trace of anger in his voice. "You said I could go home tonight, after you’re finished."

  What strange eyes he has, Aaron thought as he looked back into Chris' blue eyes. I could have sworn that the left pupil expanded independently of his right. He made a mental note to call an ophthalmologist in the morning. "Yes, Chris I’m sure we can complete enough work this evening to allow you to go home tonight. But you’ll have to return tomorrow, you know?"

  "That's okay, just as long as I get to sleep at home."

  "Well since we are in a rush, why don't we begin?"

  "All right." Chris pushed the plastic tray aside, the remainder of the rice pudding, a gluttonous mass in the bottom of the white dish.

  Chris stripped down to his underwear and socks and with great contortions managed to tie the two fabric ties, on the white hospital gown, behind his back. He left the dressing room, his pants and shirt balled up on the floor, and stood beside Dr. Murance, looking up at a massive machine. A large circular hole, with a narrow bed sticking out of the front stood before him.

  "You have probably seen this machine in movies." Dr. Murance commented as he attached an IV bag to a long pole.

  "Do I have to have one of those?" Chris nodded toward the IV Tube with its covered needle. He was familiar with IV's - having had one in his arm for two of the days he spent in Toronto.

  "Yes. It’s got a substance in it that allows us to better see into your brain. It won't bother you a bit."

  "Except the needle." Chris said, flinching as Dr. Murance reached for his arm.

  "Well, if you want to find out what’s wrong with you, we have to give you this." He took Chris' arm and laughed, "and a needle is better, than what we insert if you have a bowel problem."

  Chris looked away as he felt the sharp sting of the needle sliding into his vein and the pull of the tape as Dr. Murance secured it to his arm. "Now, we’ve got to wait a few minutes for that fluid to make its way up to your brain. So I’ll explain what we’re going to do."

  Chris grabbed hold of the IV pole with its wheeled base and followed Dr. Murance over towards the front of the huge machine.

  "This machine is called an MRI, which stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging. It uses magnets and other methods to actually create a picture of the inside of your brain. It doesn't hurt at all. But, it is really, really noisy and you have to lie as still as possible when you are inside."

  "I have to crawl inside that thing?" Chris asked, taking a step back.

  Dr. Murance laughed, "No, you don't need to crawl into it. You just lay down on the bed here and the bed will move you inside. But again, you need to be really still when you are inside. Okay?"

  "Okay." Chris nodded.

  "And when we are all finished, we end up with a three-dimensional view of everything that is going on inside your head." He turned and smiled down at Chris, "and it won't hurt a bit."

  "Except for the needle, that is."

  Aaron Murance smiled, "No, except for the needle."

  SIX - TWO

  The lights of Detroit, Michigan and Windsor, Ontario with the wide Detroit River separating the two cities, were visible on the horizon. The tall Renaissance Hotel overlooking the River Front, pinpointed the downtown and served as a marker for Harry who had a newly purchased map clipped to the map-board at his side. Harry and Charlie both had donned padded headphones to reduce the noise of the craft's engines and to allow communication between the two, although they had said hardly a word to each other since Harry had recovered that morning in the bed of Charlie's trailer. There had been little need of conversation since then, their thoughts, motives and desires originating from the wrapped bundle slung beneath the helicopter.

  Harry had only taken four hours to recover, a great deal less time than it had taken Charlie. Now too, Harry's body was relaxed, his face calm and expressionless, his hands automatically making the proper corrections to the helicopter's flight.

  If Harry's emotional centre had still functioned, he would have undoubtedly been quite excited at the prospect of crossing the river, as he had never left the country of Canada before. Instead, he calmly consulted the map for the location of the abandoned G.M. test track where they had
decided to quickly land the helicopter before proceeding to the Detroit Metro airport and U.S. Customs. They hoped that their momentary touchdown would not be noticed by the tower's radar, but that was a risk they needed to take.

  Underneath the helicopter, the wrapped bundle communicated its interest to the two individuals in the cockpit. It had found its first progeny.

  The room was dimly lit by a small, spaceship-shaped night-light plugged into an electrical socket beside Chris' bed. Its bluish light illuminated the room enough for Sharon to see the dark head of her son, twisted partially underneath his white pillow. Her sister leaned against the doorframe as Sharon walked into the room to stand over Chris' sleeping form. She could feel the pressure of more tears in her eyes, but she held them back. She needed sleep, not more sorrow.

  The Doctor had placed a number of calls, before they left the hospital to confer with other associates regarding the strange and uncanny manifestations he found growing within Chris' brain. He had done his best to reassure Sharon of Chris' future health, but admitted it would be some time before Chris could expect to spend another night in his own bed. Tomorrow the tests would begin in earnest and it was likely Chris would be moved to another hospital, before the week was through. Dr. Murance and his staff simply did not have the knowledge or tools necessary to attack the unknown growth infiltrating Chris' brain tissue. Sharon gently bent down and pulled the pillow out of Chris' weak grip, fluffing it in her hands. Chris groaned weakly and rolled onto his back, his black hair gleaming in the blue light. Carefully she placed her hand under his head, feeling the warmth of his living body and gently lifted his head, replacing the pillow under him. Her eyes lingered on his baby smooth face and she recalled the expression, 'sleeping boys have the faces of angels.’ She felt tears well into her eyes, helpless to stop them or the wash of despair that overcame her. As she felt Beth's warm, reassuring arm on her heaving shoulders, she looked down at the composed face of her only child. A face she realized she may never see again resting on these same pillows. Beth murmured softly into her ear and gently tried to ease her from the room. She resisted, longing for this last opportunity to see her son at peace. As she watched, his left eye began to open. The white liquid surface of the cornea, barely visible beneath the fine hairs of the lid. It opened further, the pupil appearing as the lid softly folded upwards. Then it moved, the pupil expanding in the dim blue light, as it focussed on her face.