Uncanny Day (12 page)

Best patient
? This guy had to be full of it.

“Nolan, if anything, please know this. Your father loves you very much.”

I dipped my head and raised my eyebrows at him, giving him an “Are you frickin' kidding me?” face. I wanted to bust out laughing. This doctor was a crock. Somebody didn't live his life abusing his son, go mutant insane, and then talk to a psychologist and simply turn it all around.

Something told me Dr. Vance knew I'd respond that way. He was getting me worked up, but why? I wanted to know what this guy was really up to, but instead, he offered me the couch Tracy had been sitting on and asked me to lie down.

“If you could, please, just relax. I'd like to hear your perspective on your father. Forget that my coming here is on his behalf, and let's make this about you.”

I didn't see the harm in that and did as he asked.

“Explain to me, if you would, your first impression of your father—not the first time you became aware of him, but the first impression of him right now, in this very moment. What do you feel?”

I stared at the ceiling, folded my arms over my chest, and decided this couldn't be all bad. Heck, maybe it was what I needed. I spoke.

“He's nothing to me but a shrewd coward, a bully, a freak, a half-cocked loon, and he has wanted nothing more in life than to see me suffer.” It felt good to say those things. I hadn't expected that.

The doctor let a moment pass. He wasn't so bad, I conceded.

Then I looked at him and saw he was taking notes.

“Let me explain to you, Nolan, why your father treated you in the way that he did.”

This should be good,
I thought.

Dr. Vance continued, “Did you know that your mother left him shortly after you were born?”

A breath of air caught in my chest. I was shocked. Dad never mentioned his wife, my mom. When I asked questions about her, he simply started to loosen his belt. Let's just say I stopped asking.

“That's…that's still no excuse,” I mumbled.

The doctor went on. “You're right, Nolan. You see, people react to certain experiences in a multitude of ways. What I mean to say is that the mind is a fragile thing.”

I knew exactly what he was talking about. I had experienced it daily.

Jotting down some more on his pad, the doctor spoke again. “When the mind becomes broken, that imbalance can have various outcomes. If I may stay on the topic of your father's case, he tapped into what we will call a ‘dark place.'” He used his fingers as quotation marks.

I wasn't shocked this time, but curious.

“Serial killers, rapists, terrorists, evildoers in these cases act out physically and aggressively. But to simplify it further, he tapped into this dark place when he gained knowledge he didn't previously have.”

Dr. Vance waited a moment and let me soak it in. I finished the thought for him.

“The knowledge that my mom was leaving him, right?”

“Exactly,” he said, smiling at me. “Nolan, love can be a powerful thing, but it can also be a very destructive thing. I don't want to spread out too far, and I don't want to divulge information that is your father's right to give you.”

Now I was even more curious and confused. I let him continue.

“Having been left by your mother, who was your father's soul mate, and left alone to raise you, he began to experience new feelings. This information and change in status quo broke him.” The doctor swallowed. “Nolan, please understand. I tell you this in hope of discovering the final truth.”

I nodded, following along.

“Struck by this new, powerful knowledge, your father tapped into this dark place and was abusive to you because of it. And may I speak plainly and again say that it was not right to do. Yet it's my belief that something cracked further in his mindset that led him to become irrational and out of control, and without professional help, it went to extremes—his mind, in the end, obviously shutting down completely.”

Although this was Dr. Vance's “professional” evaluation, there was something he was missing. I knew it.

“When people are dealt an extreme change in their normalcy, be it with words or an action, the mind can become a destructive place.”

That statement made me sit upright, tears welling in my eyes. Everything was becoming way too much for me to handle. A tiny thought exploded in my mind, and I was instantly overcome with one realization: Everything I'd ever done in my secret-sharing business may have set in motion destructive tendencies in those people.

The most recent being Stephanie Daniels. A wash of guilt came over me, and I felt myself go lifeless. I felt as if I were going to be sick.

“Nolan, are you all right?” the doctor asked.

I answered without thinking. “I think I'm leading people to their dark place.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

MY EYES CAUGHT THE clock that hung on the wall behind Dr. Vance. It read ten minutes after seven. I was late to my meeting with Kate!

I cussed out loud and stood. This was becoming too much.

“Wait a moment; I'd like to talk more.” The doctor's tone was clearly a mixture of intrigue and frustration. “Please, tell me what you mean. Tell me what you are feeling.”

Standing up next to me, the doctor reached out and grabbed my arm. I turned, looked him sharply in the eye, and entered his mind.

I was instantly transported to a tiny library with nothing but shelves of books. I felt upset, exhausted, and confused.

What was this guy up to? I wanted answers.

Walking to the nearest wooden shelf, I began scanning the spines of the volumes, tearing at them, tossing them on the vacant floor behind me. Some were titled with emotions, others had names of places on them, and still others had people's names. It dawned on me. I had to find Dad's name.

The books weren't in order, so I continued to throw them haphazardly. I was through half of the first shelf when I found it. Dad's book. The title was just his name, “Jacob Day.” I was shocked but glad that I had come across it so quickly.

Lifting the black cover, I hadn't even begun to read it when something pushed me off my feet and I flew across the room, slamming against another bookshelf. Dad's book was no longer in my hands. My shoulder ached, but I spotted the book again and stood to get it. I was pushed to the floor again. My breathing began to quicken.

What was going on?

Keeping my eyes trained on the book, I bolted to it like a track star. I had to know what was inside. A creaking noise sounded and the bookshelf nearest me tipped, spilling all its books onto the floor. I avoided getting smashed, but tripped backward and fell to the ground.

“No!” I yelled. Then I felt it. Something was behind me, another presence. Whirling around, I saw that it was Dr. Vance, but then again, it wasn't him. His skin was pasty white, and the deep black eyes and sharp teeth were the same as I'd seen on Stephanie in her mind.

He stood over me, almost looking proud. Then with clawed fingers, he reached for me.

As quickly as I could, I broke contact.

In a flash I was back in the Mitchells' living room. I was whole, still alive. I checked the clock. Not even a second had passed. Doctor Vance still had his hand gripped on my arm and was shouting demands.

“You have to talk to me.” His voice sounded strained now. As pain surged into my arm, he pulled me in closer. I watched his eyes grow large as if they were about to jump out of their sockets. His body shook and he spoke again, this time almost a whisper in my ear.

“We've … found … you.”

“Let him go.” It was Dean's voice now. I turned to him as he began to walk toward us. The doctor seemingly realized he was clenching my arm, released me, and moved back, adjusting his tie.

Dean, car keys in hand, stepped between the two of us and ushered me to the front door. Then I saw Rick, his hand resting on his gun belt. He was still there; he had never left.

“Go on, boys. I'll see that the doctor here leaves.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

RIDING IN DEAN'S CAR, I felt as if I were in a haze. I rolled down the passenger window and let the cool night air hit my face. It reminded me I wasn't dreaming. Dean and I drove in silence for a while.

“Thanks,” I said, finally finding my voice.

Dean nodded.

“I had a feeling he was bad news, so I asked my dad to stick around and step in if anything went crazy.”

“Crazy isn't half of it. There's a lot more to it than that,” I said.

Dean's Dodge Intrepid gunned along Memorial Avenue almost as fast as I began to yammer, filling Dean in on everything that had happened up to Dr. Vance's strange visit.

“Whoa, wait a second.” Dean turned the car stereo down to make sure he had heard me right. Keeping his eyes on the road and attention to traffic, he tried to straighten out the facts.

“Okay, so you're saying there is something inside minds now? Could it just be a projection of themselves or something?”

I waved my hands as if I were an umpire for one of Dean's games, calling a player safe.

“No, no, it's definitely not them. It's something else, wearing their skin.” I tried to think, but my head was blurry. “Man, I don't know what happened. It was all so fast.”

I ran my hand through my hair, starting to question what I had seen. Dean changed lanes and turned on his signal to enter the mall's parking lot.

“Hopefully Kate can figure it out,” I said, my thoughts moving into words.

“Kate knows?” Dean took his attention off traffic and looked at me.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, I must have left that part out.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her everything,” I said simply.

Dean's mouth was still ajar. “
Everything, everything
?”

I winced like I was going to get hit by a baseball bat and answered, “Yeah.”

Dean blew out a big breath of air and let his shoulders sag, his hand tightening on the steering wheel.

“Why didn't you run this by me first?” he said, shaking his head. I hadn't expected him to say that.

“I didn't think I had to,” I said, turning a bit defensive.

Dean blew out another breath of frustration. “Okay. I guess that was your choice.” He sounded annoyed and strangely upset. I thought he'd give up then, but he pressed further. “Did she believe you?”

I nodded.

The Dodge slid into a parking space underneath a yellow industrial lamppost marked Row 8. Dean killed the ignition and leaned back in his seat, rubbing his face.

“This is heavy, man,” he said.

I released my seatbelt.

Dean was concerned, and I couldn't tell if it was because I'd told Kate my secret or if he was still fuming about Dr. Vance.

“Tell me about it,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. I rolled up the window and grabbed for the door handle.

“Wait, Nolan.” Dean reached over and held me back. “Look, man, I heard what you were saying in the family room.”

I had figured as much. It was still fresh in my mind as well—even more reason I had to fill Dean in on everything.

“Whatever it takes, man,” he said. “I … I can get you help. You and I will figure this out.” His words were optimistic, but he sounded defeated by the information I'd just unloaded on him.

I immediately agreed, but I wanted to make it clear that I trusted Kate and added, “You mean the
three
of us.”

It was true. Now two people knew about my strange—heh, uncanny—power.

I was about to find out they weren't the only ones.

Chapter Thirty

SCHOFIELD MALL HAD YOUR basic stores, nothing fancy, and that was a good thing because my wallet didn't speak fancy. It being a Friday night, the mall was pretty packed. I could only assume that most of the young patrons were all getting last-minute items for tomorrow night's dance as well.

Dean and I had both told the girls we would meet them in the food court. Dean agreed to keep my secret between the now three of us and suggested we play it normal around Celia. Like I even knew the meaning of normal.

I have never been a mallrat or liked the idea of shopping. It just wasn't my thing. I'd never had a lot of stuff to begin with, and generally, anything I ever actually wanted cost more than what Uncanny, Inc. could pay out.

Dean and I passed a cell-phone kiosk and a sign displaying new, lower rates. A cell phone was something I'd say I wanted most of all. I could probably manage the monthly payments, but how would I explain that to the Mitchells? I couldn't keep up that kind of lie, not to them. Even if getting a phone made good business sense so clients could get in touch with me.

Then it dawned on me again. The words of Dr. Vance and the “dark place.” Was he right? Heck, was my theory right? Was I leading people to their dark place?