Mindwalker

by AJ Steiger

  I tense.

  “He was a man of great compassion. In a way, that was his weakness. As a Mindwalker, he took on many burdens, more than he could handle. Near the end, his mental health started to slip, and he was reclassified. He could no longer legally treat clients. I tried to convince him to seek help, but he refused. He grew increasingly paranoid and reclusive. In the end, his sickness overcame him completely, and he chose to destroy himself rather than accept treatment.”

  I struggle to keep my expression neutral. I remind myself that I don’t know whether Dr. Swan is telling the truth. But what if he is?

  He’s watching my face closely, as if he can see the thoughts playing out. “I suppose you haven’t given much thought to how it affected me. I was just his friend, after all. But I did care about him, and believe it or not, I care about you, too. It was devastating to watch him disintegrate. Can you imagine what it’s like watching you go down the same path?”

  There’s a hard, hot ball in my chest, and my throat is tight. “What does any of this have to do with Steven?”

  “If you continue to associate with him, he will destroy you. Anger and paranoia are contagious, and the more time you spend with him, the more his twisted way of thinking will creep into yours. It’s already happening. I can see it.” His voice softens. “Learn from your father’s mistakes.”

  My nails dig into my palms, burning.

  “You have a lot going for you, Lain. Your grades are impressive. Your behavioral record is spotless. If you seek therapy now, your psyche will undoubtedly recover, and this whole incident will be no more than a tiny blip in your file. Think seriously—do you really want to endanger all that? For what? Some boy? You barely know him.”

  “I know him better than you do.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He shakes his head, dismissing the question. “You’re a child rebelling against her elders, chasing after a boy she’s been told to stay away from. You’re fascinated by him because he’s forbidden. That’s all.”

  “You don’t understand the first thing about Steven. You think you know what he’s been through? You have no idea.”

  His mouth tightens. For a moment, he studies me in silence. I don’t move or speak. Then he leans forward, looking straight into my eyes, and lowers his voice to a near whisper. “Sometimes, it’s better to let the past rest.”

  A chill ripples through me. Goose bumps rise on my arms and legs.

  He knows. He knows what I’ve been doing. More than that, he knows that Steven’s memories have been altered. And he’s telling me to stop nosing around for answers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice shakes despite my efforts to control it. “If that’s all you have to say, I’m leaving.”

  “All it takes is two words, Lain. Two words in your file—emotional instability, perhaps—and you’ll never set foot in IFEN again.”

  A bead of sweat trickles down my neck. “Is that a threat?”

  “Please understand, I only want what’s best for you.”

  I turn away. A hot, bitter taste fills my mouth like bile. “You know, I’m getting really sick of that line.”

  I walk out the door.

  ***

  When I get back home, I check the house for bugs. I pull the books off the shelves in the living room, peer under the furniture, and examine the walls and ceiling. Nothing. I go through the house systematically, searching each room, until I come to my bedroom. After I’ve thoroughly examined every corner, I stand, chewing my thumbnail. He’s been watching me somehow. I know it.

  I look at the rows of stuffed animals on my shelves. The pink bunny, the green Cthulhu, the teddy bear with the eye patch. There’s something different about the bear’s shiny black eye. Slowly, I pick up the toy. Deep inside the semitransparent plastic eyeball, I see a glint of silver. Hands shaking, I grab a pair of scissors and cut out the eye. A thin, flexible silver tube trails from the back like an optic nerve. A spy camera. My fingers tighten on the bear.

  Greta must have planted it. That’s the only explanation. But when? How long has Dr. Swan been watching me? How much has he seen? Is it only video, or does it record audio as well?

  I throw the bear across the room. It bounces off the wall and lands facedown on the floor.

  My breathing quickens until my vision starts to blur. A scream wells up in my chest and tries to claw its way from my throat, but I choke it down. I won’t let Dr. Swan get away with this. I won’t let him beat me.

  “Are you going to tell me why we’re here?” Steven asks.

  We’re walking side by side down a hallway in the Complex— a vast hundred-story shopping mall. It’s probably the best-known spot in downtown Aura. The stores are all situated along the edges of the cylinder-shaped building. The center is empty space, giving shoppers a vertigo-inducing view of the drop to the first floor. Elevators glide up and down transparent chutes.

  I lean toward him, until my lips are barely an inch from his ear, and murmur, “I’m not sure my house is secure.”

  He stops. “What are you talking about?”

  “Keep moving,” I say, hooking an arm through his. We pass a toy store with an elaborate, twinkling model of Aura in the window.

  The dull clamor of voices and footsteps fills the air, mingling with the music drifting from half a dozen stores. There are cameras, of course, but no audio-recording devices. That would be pointless, since it’s impossible to pick individual conversations out of the chaos. Still, I keep my voice low, just in case anyone is listening. “Dr. Swan—you know, the director of IFEN? He called me to his office and told me to stop spending time with you. And I found a spy camera in my room. He’s been watching us.”

  Steven tenses.

  “I checked the rest of the house for bugs. I couldn’t find any, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. For now, I feel safer talking in a place like this.”

  “What about Chloe?” he asks.

  “What about her?”

  “I mean, could he use her to watch you? Like hack into her database or something?”

  I wince. How did that not occur to me? “It’s possible.” Has he been keeping track of my searches, too? I make a mental note not to use her again unless I absolutely need to. If I activate her at all, it’ll only be to clear her caches. Though I’m not sure that’ll help at this point.

  We pass a clothing store. Grinding, thumping music pulses from inside, and holographic models pose in the windows, showing off the merchandise. Their bodies are human, but they have the heads of extinct animals. There’s a full-breasted tiger in a shimmering green dress, a muscle-bound zebra in a black tuxedo, and some kind of improbable-looking white bird with a long, hooked beak wearing a two-piece bathing suit.

  Steven walks quickly, his expression grim. “He could ruin everything for you, couldn’t he?”

  I nod reluctantly.

  “I’m putting you in danger just by being with you.”

  There’s a twinge of cold fear, deep in my belly. I think about the clusters of homeless people huddled around fires in the more run-down parts of Aura—people who can’t find employment because of their Type. Even if I never wind up in that situation, I’ll certainly be barred from treating clients again if I continue to defy Dr. Swan.

  Fresh anger surges inside me, hot and bright, overpowering the fear. He thinks he can manipulate me with threats? He thinks he can spy on me and intimidate me and expect me to bend to his wishes? “I don’t care what he does,” I say. “I’m not quitting now. We’ve come too far to turn back.”

  “Lain …”

  “We’re going ahead with the plan.”

  Steven doesn’t reply.

  We leave the Complex and walk to the nearest monorail station. As we wait for the mono, I notice someone washing away graffiti on a cement wall. I can still make out the words.

  A shiver runs through me.

  Leaning closer to Steven, I point
to the graffiti and lower my voice. “Do you think there actually is some kind of secret resistance movement?”

  He gives me a long, searching look. “What do you think?”

  IFEN has made official statements that the rumors of a resistance are false, that the Blackcoats are a thing of the past, that anyone who talks about an underground network of rebels is merely disturbed. Troubled people often try to stir up fear and unrest, because they want others to be as troubled as they are. They hammered that point into us over and over in the psychology classes I took during my training: Fear is contagious. As a Mindwalker, you’ll be exposed to many paranoid people. The most dangerous thing you can do is to take them seriously.

  Maybe they’re right, but it strikes me as a very convenient mantra for those who want to keep the status quo in place: Anyone who questions the wisdom and goodness of our system is sick, and they’ll infect you if you pay too much attention. I wonder if having such thoughts means that I am already infected. Isn’t that exactly what Dr. Swan warned me about? Am I slipping deeper and deeper into insanity, as my father did?

  I think of the wild-eyed man on the street corner handing out his flyers. Join the resistance, he said. If I picked up one of those incoherent, exclamation-point-laden flyers now, maybe it would actually make sense to me. Maybe the words would magically rearrange themselves into a compellingly written thesis on the rights of man, complete with citations.

  The mono pulls up, and we get on. I haven’t answered Steven’s question, I realize. I don’t have any answers. Only more and more questions.

  ***

  Back in the Gate room, I settle myself into my chair, open the compact, and pluck out the mushroom pill. I glance over at Steven. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.” He smiles, though he’s a little pale. “Let’s ride the mushroom train.”

  I hand the pill to him, and he curls his fingers around it, gripping it tight. I remember the way I felt after the blue bunny pill—sick, my head pounding like a drum—and I try to swallow my dread. But of course, the physical pain is the least of my worries. Suddenly, my palms are wet, my throat clenched. “You’re sure about this?” I can’t resist asking.

  “You got any better ideas?”

  “No,” I admit. St. Mary’s is clearly a dead end; we saw for ourselves there’s nothing there. These pills are our only key to the truth. Still … “This is going to be stronger than the last one, you know.”

  “Getting scared, huh? Can’t say I blame you. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to go back into my head, either.”

  “I just wish I had some idea of what we’ll find.”

  He rolls the pill between a thumb and forefinger. “You ever read Dante’s Inferno? I think it’s like that. I think I’m like that. The farther down you travel, the worse it gets. I wonder just how deep you’re willing to go.”

  I meet his gaze. “To the very bottom of the ninth circle.”

  He stares back at me for a long moment, his expression solemn. Then he smiles with one corner of his mouth. “Kinda cheesy, Doc.”

  The remark is so unexpected that I burst out laughing. “It’s your metaphor. Don’t blame me.” I swallow the laughter. “I mean it, though. However bad it gets, I’ll be there.”

  “You’ve got a masochistic streak,” he says, arching an eyebrow. “You know that?”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  We maintain eye contact, drawing it out, locked in a silent battle to see who can hold a straight face the longest. Then we start to giggle again. Giddiness swims through my head like silver bubbles. “There’s nothing funny about this,” I gasp, tears of mirth leaking from my eyes.

  “I know,” he replies through bursts of laughter.

  When the manic giggles finally die down, I square my shoulders and say, “All right. Let’s do this.” I shove the helmet onto my head and buckle the chin strap. Steven puts on his own helmet, then swallows the mushroom pill. I slide my visor into place as the familiar tingling of immersion spreads through my body, and I feel the pill sliding down Steven’s throat.

  I brace myself for the disorientation, the vertigo, the feeling that space is stretching around me. But this time, it doesn’t happen that way.

  My stomach cramps in a sharp, wrenching spasm. Steven gasps, his back arching off the chair. His fingers twitch, clench, and flex, as if he’s being electrocuted. As the drug works its way into his bloodstream, my body and brain burn along with his. My heart slams against my breastbone. Electricity buzzes in my skull. My muscles spasm, then lock tight, as if someone flipped a switch in my brain, shutting off my voluntary motor functions. I can only lie there gasping for breath as my heart rate climbs.

  Then a hole opens up in the air in front of me.

  It’s perfectly black, an expanding circle of nothingness. The edges blur and distort the room, as if it’s warping the very fabric of space. From within, I hear a low, buzzing hum. No, not a hum—voices, a soft chorus of them. There are no words. It’s somewhere between moaning and singing, and it grows louder with every passing second. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. I can’t move.

  My body lurches forward into the hole, and blackness swallows me.

  For a span of time that might be seconds or centuries, there’s nothing. Then I’m walking through a desert. The sand stretches in every direction, white and rippled under a star-filled night sky. I have the sense that I’ve been walking for a very long time. Years, maybe.

  I stop. An enormous sphinx of sand-colored stone looms before me. She has my face.

  What is this place? Why am I here? I knew a moment ago, but now it’s gone.

  Between the sphinx’s paws, I see a dark square. A hole.

  I approach slowly. Voices swell around me, warbling in their unearthly harmony as I near the edge. A set of stone stairs leads downward, into blackness.

  I don’t want to enter that hole. I know with a bone-deep certainty that something terrible awaits me. Somewhere in the depths of my dream, I’m still aware of my physical body sitting in the chair. Maybe I could wake up if I tried. Go back, my instincts scream.

  I descend the stairs. Silence enfolds me. The shadows grow thick, and the only sound is my own rapid breathing. I touch the wall, trailing my fingers along the cool, dry stone, feeling my way down a long tunnel as the faint light dwindles behind me. Then I see another light ahead, dim and reddish. The tunnel opens out into a vast stone cavern, filled with that bloody glow, which comes from everywhere and nowhere. In one corner, a pale golden form is curled up like a cat. But it’s enormous, bigger than my house.

  A dragon.

  Its nose rests on its car-sized, scaled paws. Its blue eyes watch me, unblinking, as the tip of its tail flicks. Slowly, its head lifts, and its jaws stretch open, revealing rows of dripping white teeth. Smoke curls from its nostrils.

  I take a few steps back. My hand tightens around the hilt of my sword— Wait, I have a sword? I glance down and see a shining blade. In my other hand, I’m gripping a shield.

  The dragon growls and takes a step toward me, then stops. It watches me, waiting. Waiting to see if I’ll attack or defend.

  I look into its eyes. Sharp, intelligent eyes, cautious and wounded.

  I drop my sword and shield. The dragon looks at me.

  “Go ahead,” I say.

  Its jaws stretch wide, descending. A gust of hot breath hits me in the face as the jaws close around me. The dragon swallows me whole.

  And then I’m falling again, plummeting into a dark, deep pit.

  Time stretches and bends. For a while, I float. I drift up slowly through layers of murky darkness, growing steadily lighter. Distantly, I can hear voices. Men’s voices.

  I open my eyes.

  Everything is white—the walls, the ceiling, the overhead lights. I’m lying on a cold metal table, and I can’t move. Out of sight, a machine buzzes and whirs. My breathing quickens. I try to sit up, but I can’t. My body feels like it’s glued in place. Only my eyes can move. I strai
n them down, trying to see myself, but everything goes fuzzy.

  “Gently, now,” says a soft voice. It’s distorted and echoed, but there’s something vaguely familiar about it.

  “Relax,” replies a deep voice, equally distorted. “I know what I’m doing.” In the corner of the room sits an old, boxy gray machine with a little window. Behind the window, tiny circles turn, and a woman’s voice drifts from the speakers. She’s singing in another language.

  “Can we turn that thing off?” the first voice mutters.

  “It helps me focus. I’m the one doing the tricky part here. You just concentrate on holding up pictures.” The drill whirs again.

  An image fills my vision—a black-and-white drawing of an animal, and I should know the name, but it won’t come. “Do you see this?” asks the soft-voiced man.

  I whimper.

  “Steven, I need you to concentrate. Look. What is this?”

  The name drifts into my head. “Elephant.” My own voice sounds soft and far away.

  The picture lowers. Off to the side, gloved hands pass shiny knives back and forth. Something red drips from the blades. Blood. My blood. I start to breathe faster. Move, I tell my body. The little finger on my right hand twitches once. I try to lift my hand, but it’s too heavy. The blade lowers toward me and disappears. There’s a faint, wet, crackling noise, as if someone is cutting meat.

  Another picture comes up in front of me: three fluffy kittens in a basket. “What about this one? Do you see this?”

  I feel sick. Dizzy. Black spots wiggle in front of my eyes.

  “Steven. Can you tell me what’s in this picture?”

  “Cats.” My voice is faint now. Weak. A drill whines and whirs, and grinding noises echo through the room. Somewhere deep beneath the numbness is pain, and for a few seconds, I feel like I’m going to throw up. They’re taking me apart, and I can’t move.

  More whirring and grinding.

  A moment of blinding panic—THEY’RE KILLING YOU. RUN!—then the gray fog comes over me again. Run where? Where would I go? What would I do?