IA: Initiate (9 page)

“That’s deep. Are you saying it’s the darkness that makes us who we are … that defines us?”

“Not exactly, Naz, but don’t be afraid to embrace it … the darkness. It’s an important part of you. Good and evil are two sides of the same coin. How we view and interpret good will always be colored by our emotions, tempered by our own individual perceptions of evil, and based on our experiences.”

Naz made a gesture with his hand swishing it over the top of his head. “I think you just about lost me, Dr. Gwen,” he said with a laugh.

“What I’m saying is that I think you’re going to be fine. You have some conscience about what happened, and that tells me you’ll be OK. What about your friend? I assume from your attitude that he’s going to be OK as well.”

“Yeah, his mom said he’ll be back to school in a few weeks.”

“Thank goodness for that. Now … I heard you mention fear, anger, and excitement.”

Uh oh
, thought Naz.
Here it comes
. He knew Dr. Gwen was sharp and wouldn’t miss something so obvious. The sequence of events he had revealed to her brought her to a logical conclusion.

PART TWO

DURATION

In The Past …

“Thank you
.
Merci
. Thank you,” says Cory as he leans into the microphone, which did not quite extend past the front edge of the podium.

In response to the continuous standing ovation, Cory begins to smile and nods his head in humble appreciation. With no cessation of the applause, Cory raises his arms outstretched from the podium as a signal for the applause to end.

As the applause finally begins to wane and the audience takes their seats, one voice from the middle of the auditorium calls, “
We love you, Dr. Andersen
.”

“I love you too,” says Cory, laughing shyly.

There is a short silence as Cory, with his head down, gathers himself. Even though this scene is nothing new to him he has never quite grown accustomed to the fuss made over his accomplishments. He is taken aback by the audience’s response. The reception is more than he expected. To him, he was just doing what came naturally, as a bird would take flight.

As he looks up, his expression is sober. “Again, thank you. You are too kind. Let me start this evening by giving credit where credit is due. You applaud me for all that I am, but I submit to you, here and now, that I am nothing ... nothing without the person that stands beside me.” With his open hand, he gestures toward Camille and beckons her to step onto the stage and be recognized.

She shakes her head, waves him off, and mouths the refusal, “no,” shyly to Cory.

“Come on, honey,” he says. His hand covers the microphone so the audience won’t hear while he continues to beckon her with his open hand.

Knowing, as with all things, he will not give up, she concedes and readies herself to walk onto the stage.

Cory proclaims, “Ladies and gentlemen, my all ... my everything ... my beautiful wife, Camille.”

The audience begins to applaud as Camille begrudgingly takes three steps onto the stage, gives a forced smile, and a slight bow, then steps gracefully back into the wings of the stage. She gives Cory a dirty look when she is sure she is out of view of the audience.

“My friends, I think that little stunt may have landed me a trip to the doghouse tonight,” Cory says, and the audience laughs along. “But there’s more! There is someone else to whom I am also indebted, someone I’ve known for a long time—in fact, as far back as I can remember. You know him by his
nom de
voyage
, the name under which he travels ... Cory Anders!”

He points to the back of the auditorium where there is a resounding boom, resembling the sound of cannon fire. The startled audience turns in surprise to see the auditorium doors opening to reveal none other than Dr. Cornelius Andersen, only he has changed. He sports a cream-colored, long-sleeved, collarless shirt and a matching pair of tailored pants that seem to shimmer under the houselights as he enters the auditorium. The audience responds with gasps and murmurs, as they turn to look back and forth from the stage where Cory has stood mere seconds earlier, to the rear of the auditorium where he now appears dressed in starkly different attire.

Some begin to clap, but he raises his hand to stop them. As he makes his way toward the stage, he stops and greets a few of his colleagues and friends with a handshake here, a hug there, and a few friendly touches on the shoulder. He even introduces the president of the university. It is not until then that people in the audience begin to wonder how they can hear Cory. He has no microphone and to those close enough to see, there is nothing clipped to his shirt. Yet they can hear him as clear as if he is sitting right next to them in the auditorium. The sound is even better than when he spoke at the microphone on stage.

“A trick?” asks Cory, as he slowly walks toward the stage. “No ... magic? It sounds so much better. And better still, an illusion? Now you see me, now you don’t ... the sound of my voice coming from nowhere ... everywhere. But you believe just the same, don’t you? Because you see it with your own eyes, hear it with your own ears. Toddlers learn to walk, and later as small children ride bicycles, mainly because they believe. They believe because they have proof, provided by examples: people all around them walking and riding bicycles. Conversely, as they get older they learn limitations: what they can’t do ... not based on their potential abilities, but another’s lack of expectations and/or belief system. So, it really boils down to what we believe then. Doesn’t it? The greatest Master taught us,
what things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them
.”

As he approaches the front of the stage, he lifts his hand and dramatic music begins to play. As he lowers his hand, a large screen slowly comes down from the ceiling over the stage. The screen seems to move as if it is controlled directly by the movements of Cory’s hand. It doesn’t appear to be supported or suspended by anything other than the air itself, and its appearance elicits gasps and murmurs from the audience once more.

“You have to excuse the theatrics please, but I just love the roar of the crowd, the smell of the greasepaint, and I have a flair for the dramatic,” says Cory.

Once the screen is in place, he then faces the audience, raises his hands again, and asks, “Do you believe?” He snaps both his fingers, and the lights go out.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE VOICE

Present Day …

“What
about the voices? Did you hear any during your encounter?” asked Dr. Gwen.

Naz smiled hesitantly as he shifted in his seat.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be prescribing any medication today,” she assured him.

“I did, but not just during the fight, I heard ’em again at school too.”

Dr. Gwen suddenly came alive. She sat up in her chair. For the first time in a long time she was genuinely excited, and it confused Naz. “Don’t misunderstand my enthusiasm, Naz. I don’t mean to sound excited that you’ve heard voices again, but understand that if we are to address and hopefully solve these so-called ‘problems’ that you have, then we need specific examples of what they are, and today it seems we have them.”

“OK,” Naz reluctantly agreed.

“Do you remember what the voices were saying?”

“Pretty much.”

“I’m listening.”

“The voice said, ‘He’s mad. He’s scared,’ and ‘He doesn’t understand us.’ It said, ‘You can’t fight,’ and ‘You better not run.’ It said, ‘
U…U…Únete a nosotros
…’”

“Únete a nosotros?
The voice said
úneta a nosotros?”

“Well, the voice didn’t say that, but one of the boys did. Do you know what it means?”

“It’s Spanish for ‘Join us,’ Naz, now stay focused. What else did the voices say?”

“Sorry, Doc. It kept saying, ‘You’re gonna die, oh my God,’ and ‘blood.’ And then it seemed to repeat after me, ‘Somebody call an ambulance.’”

By now Dr. Gwen had put on her glasses and was writing feverishly in her notebook. When he saw her with the glasses, Naz was distracted, and his thoughts drifted immediately to the drinking fountain and the mysterious girl.

“Naz!” she said, bringing him back to reality. “What about the second time at school? Tell me about those.”

Naz paused and then smiled shyly. There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Was it a girl, Naz?”

How embarrassing
, thought Naz.
How could she know that?

“
If you’re wondering how I knew, it’s because we already know that the voices are triggered by emotions … strong emotions. We’ve already dealt with the anger and the fear. Hmmm … let me see. It was the first day of school for an eighth-grade boy with hair starting to grow on his chin. What else could I infer, but an even stronger emotion … love? Besides, you forget, I have a son just about your age.”

Naz's fingers automatically went up to touch his chin where hair had begun to grow. He didn’t know whether to laugh out loud or ask to be excused to conceal his embarrassment.

“So, tell me all about it,” she continued with a calming smile.

Naz told Dr. Gwen about the girl at the drinking fountain and how he stood on guard at the girl’s bathroom and waited for her return. He told her how she appeared from nowhere and disappeared the same way. He also told how he hadn’t been able to find her since. Then he told her about the voices as she continued to write.

“Naz, could it be that the voices you hear are likely you talking to yourself and that you externalize them as coming from somewhere else?”

Naz thought back,
at the drinking fountain the voice said, “What are you looking at?”
He tilted his head and looked puzzled. “I guess … I do hear words that I’m thinking.” As Naz thought further, he added, “But there are times when I hear words that I’m not thinking at all, and the voices are as clear as if someone is actually talking to me. We both keep saying voices, Dr. Gwen, but it’s never voices, plural. There’s only one voice, always the same voice.”

“What do you hear, Naz? What voice … whose voice?” She continued writing in her notebook.

“I don’t know. I don’t recognize the voice. I don’t think I’ve heard it before. I can’t explain it,” Naz said as he began to sit up. He was getting louder and noticeably frustrated. “But somehow it is familiar.”

“Maybe it's from your past, a voice from before you came to live with your mother.” Dr. Gwen had a hunch and habit of never holding back when something came to her. “Your father, Naz, could it be your father’s voice that you hear?”

“I don’t know!” Naz raised his voice. He was now sitting straight up, holding his head between his hands. He was visibly upset. “I have no memory of him! You know that, Doc! I don’t know what he sounded like or looked like.” Naz stood up and began pacing. “I’ve never even seen a picture of him. No one has ever shown me even a picture of my dad,” he continued, as if just realizing that fact.

“I think that’s enough for today,” she said, knowing it would calm him.

Naz stopped pacing and looked at the clock on the wall. He knew there was more time left in his session, and he valued his time with Dr. Gwen, so he calmed himself and sat back down. “I’m OK, Dr. Gwen.”

Dr. Gwen wasn’t finished, but she decided to change the subject and come back to her theory at a later date. “So tell me about this girl.”

“There’s not much to tell. I don’t know her name or who she is, and I haven’t seen her since that first day of school.” Naz blushed.

Still contemplating the origin and possible causes of the voice, Dr. Gwen finished jotting down a few notes then looked up at Naz and said in an assuring tone, "I’m sure she’ll turn up again. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?”

“I have been sleepwalking again.”

“Tell me about it.”

“First, there was my dream.” He was dying to tell Dr. Gwen about his dream. There was one good thing about the stabbing incident that morning in the Exclave. It seemed to burn the images of his dream in his mind.