I am standing in the remains of a burned down building. It used to be a halfway house for troubled teens. This the Truth revealed to me along with the fact that one of twelve inhabitants was going to burn it down, but it did not say who or why. For a solid week I made it a point to check on it, but it seems I missed the most important one.
I have no idea if any lives were lost, but I can't help feel the weight of the catastrophe on my shoulders. It never occurred to me that the boy would turn the machine pistol on me, but I should have. I should never enter a situation without considering all the variables first. I have no one to blame but myself.
It was foolish of me to think I could reach the boy when it was obvious that his fanaticism was so ingrained into his very identity. He had made his plan. He was going to go down in the history books as the patriot who rallied the cry of the disenfranchised and brought them to the forefront once again, or so he thought.
Even now I can feel my insides knitting together and the functions of my body resuming their proper state. I cannot allow myself to be so reckless. I am still only human despite the powers at my disposal and shouldn't consider myself anything more than a man. As such I have a duty to fulfill and it is for this reason that I cannot stay.
I'm walking the familiar streets. It's dark and there are only a few streetlamps to light my way. I don't need light. I'm perfectly fine in the dark. I see my destination ahead, but I'm blocked from entry. Some miscreants have taken to smashing bottles with a baseball bat. I don't need the extra trouble. I create a tear and step through it.
I am instantly transported to the porch of the house that I have traveled to return to. My muscles go weak and I'm forced to brace myself against the railing as my stomach churns. I take the time to just breathe and calm my nerves. Perhaps I should have just walked past the youths. Would of, should of, could of aside, I take the time to recover.
The door opens. "Carl, you're home," a shadow cast by the light from inside speaks to me and walks over to where I stand. "I wish you would have told me. I could have picked you up."
The voice belongs to my younger brother Simon. He lives in and takes care of our family's home. He helps me inside, shuts the door and brings me to a chair in the sitting room. He assists me in sitting and takes a love-seat near to me. He sits back and crosses his leg as he gazes across the room at me.
We both sit in silence as I recuperate. I'm fine enough to move about, but there's no reason to not take advantage of the plush seat offered me. I sit back and let my mind drift a bit. I see myself as a child running through the house and generally driving my parents crazy. I was an only child, but too much for my parents to handle. Eight years old and already a holy terror.
I remember the fights they would have over issues I couldn't understand. They would drift about the house touching things and murmuring to themselves. The only thing I knew about the problem was they couldn't find jobs. They were in danger of losing the house and with it their life savings. Everything they had built was...
"Why did you teleport here when you know what it does to you?" Simon cuts through my thoughts and fixes me with a gaze.
"Were you watching me the whole time?" I query and let myself sink a little further into the cushioned chair.
"I'm always watching for you," Simon informs me and sits forward. "I'm always waiting for the day when you decide to come home."
"I haven't come home," I refute his claim and sit further back. "I have merely returned to an isolated space."
"You're not going to use again, are you?" he asks as horror paints his face.
"You know I have to," I reply without any expression.
"That stuff is going to kill you," he insists and moves further forward so he's barely sitting on the chair. "Why don't you stay here instead? You could help me take care of the house and maybe even pay a visit to mom and dad before..."
"I will never speak a word to those two!" I snip and shoot forward in my seat before I regain my composure of neutrality. "I will never be in the same room as them."
"I know what they did to you. And you have every right to be angry," Simon admits and fights to maintain eye contact. "But if you could see how that decision has eaten away at them, I know you would find it in your heart to forgive them."
"What's to forgive?' I throw back with complete indifference and walk to the mantle above which hangs a large picture of the family, minus me. "They took a big bite of the American dream and nearly choked to death on it. Who knew all it would take to clear their airway was selling their firstborn for a thousand dollars?"
"That's not fair," Simon retorts and lowers his head a bit. "Once they got back on their feet mom and dad never stopped looking for you. But they wouldn't even tell us where you were."
"Fair doesn't even enter into the discourse," I throw back as I turn my head toward him. "Fair is a word used by people who have not tasted despair, because once you've tasted it you cannot taste anything else. It is a void that seeps inside your very being and absorbs everything you are as it consumes every ounce of your being. After that fair isn't even a concept that registers."
"How can you, how can you remain so indifferent when you're talking about something so heavy?" Simon asks of me as tears ring his eyes. "How can you even move under such a crushing weight?"
"Because I have a purpose that is greater than myself," I explain as I turn around and look down at my hands. "I have a responsibility to the people of my sphere of influence. I have a duty to make it a better place."
"And what about your duty to yourself?" Simon challenges and stands up. "What happens to you when you're all used up? When there's nothing left of you to give?"
"On the day I am no longer needed it will be time for me to walk away, else I'm likely to make it worse," I proceed and place a hand on the case in my right pocket. "The Truth will tell me when that day has arrived."
"Are you saying you're going to kill yourself?!" Simon demands to know as his face turns pale and his tears stop flowing.
"I do not know what form my retirement will take, but that is one such possibility," I relay and look him dead in the eye.
"Suicide is not the answer!" Simon breaks forth and takes a step forward. "A violent death will only leave those behind asking hard questions of themselves which have no answers!"
I take a moment to allow the shouted words to finish echoing through the room. "The hour is late," I change the subject and start to walk away.
Simon makes ready to say something, he knows he needs to say something, but he just can't find the words to put to voice. I for my part continue on my way and don't look back. Not even my memories can find me. I have a task to perform and there's no reason I should put it off any longer.
I find the door I'm looking for and pull it open. I gaze at the single set of stairs before me. I shut the door and take each step as I make my way into the basement. I take stock of the room. A bookcase against the nearest wall, a desk and chair on the opposite side and a wide open expanse beyond the two.
I walk over to the bookcase which is bare excepting four notebooks. I pull the fourth one and take it over to the desk. I set it down, pull out the chair and take a seat. I click on the desk-lamp and open the notebook. I pick up a pen and gaze at the words I have written in exaggerated print over images that are undefined.
Most would see this as a diary of madmen and I wouldn't be able to mount a defense. Within the pages I see the image of a restless ghost beneath the floor boards. A safe hanging open with a false back greets my eye. I cast my eye upon a little boy sitting on a bed behind a locked door while a ghost keeps him company.
There's a large splatter of blood staining the street with a body in the middle. A crime boss who is systematically corrupting the very ground upon which he walked. That one stings since I wasn't able to do anything about it. At this time he's beyond my reach. A man bogged down by his insecurities beats on his mother.
A boy taking to the train-tracks to get out of town. A man pulling children off the street. A boy lining up his classmates to gun them down. A building being burned down by a shadowy individual. Just one notebook out of three and it's impossible to know how many more are to come. I grab a piece of leather with bite marks and stand up.
It is time for the Truth. I walk over to the empty space, drop to my knees, pull the case out of my pocket and set it on the floor in front of me. I take hold of the leather and bite down on it. I pop open the case and remove the syringe and long needle. I put the two together before taking out the bottle and jamming the needle into it. I extract the entire amount.
The first step, I take a deep breath. The second step, I place the tip where I know my heart is. The third step, draw the needle away and slam it with as much force as I can so it penetrates my heart. I endure the pain and hold my hand steady. This is only the beginning and there is a great deal more to come.
The first push, a few drops of the serum into my heart. My muscles tense. My hair stands on end. My heartbeat increases and pushes against the intruding metal. My breathing becomes rapid and passes between the gap in my teeth where the leather is clenched. My blood is pushing through my veins and I can feel every drop.
The second push, a whole quarter of an inch and I can feel the wind pushing against my face. I can feel, things, crawling inside my skin. I can feel the floor shifting beneath me. I hear the ceiling groan under the pressure as the air pushes in all directions, originating from me. My eyes feel as though they are made of liquid and dripping all over my face.
The third push, an even bigger amount. My muscles are starting to spasm and it is difficult to hold onto the syringe. I can feel the stream of white light pushing through me. The Truth is nearly upon me and the anticipation is driving me to depths of sheer, unabashed need that feel as though I am prepared to jump out of my skin to attain it.
The final push, the entire remainder. The stream is now a raging torrent that feels as though a concentrated blast that peels away my skin. I can feel my raw nerve-endings screaming all at once. The Truth is upon me. It hits me hard and leaves me convulsing on the floor. My feet and hands hit the floor so hard I'm afraid they will break.
The images radiate through my brain and words wind their way around them like a snake. I can see things that I do not understand, but will become clear to me over time. My mind chases the intense feeling as it saturates my brain and suddenly dries up the next second. In its place there is only pain which takes me into the dark.
I find myself inside a small room with a single, locked, cage door and instantly recognize it as the holding cell I was kept in when I was recuperating from my surgeries. I start to panic and I feel the pain of freshly cut flesh running the length of my back. All of my old fears come at me and press on me doubly hard since I thought I'd left them behind.
I think to use my abilities, but remember I've never used them outside of the doctor's direct supervision. No, that's not right. My thoughts are being invaded by that of a scared little boy who just wants the nightmare to end and find a family who will love and take care of me. I just want the cutting to stop! I just want no more pain!
No! I'm not a little boy anymore! I'm a grown man! I don't live under the threat of impossible pain! I am the pain! I am the nightmare! And I will not be brought low by this bad dream masquerading as a nightmare! I beat my fists against the walls and slam my feet every which way.
Every hit takes energy away from me and I feel myself slowly sinking to the floor. Everything feels cold and the room seems to rise as I fall. I try to will myself to stand, but find myself hugging my knees and crying from the sheer hopelessness of the situation. I rock myself back and forth as I await my fate.
A faint light enters my sight, but hope is not the first thing that springs inside me, fear is. I collect myself and huddle against the back wall. A glowing hand takes hold of the door and its touch melts the metal. Soon the lock is no more and the door swings freely. A naked girl enters my vision. I recognize her to be Candice. She gives me a smile and a nod and moves on.
My door just hangs there swaying back and forth. I know I must take advantage of the situation, but I am so afraid that being noticed means going back to the table. Every foot forward is a layer of fear left behind and another stab at my heart which slowly fills with the dread of freedom that may lay before me.
Once I make it to the door of my cage, I see a gaggle of children running away and ducking inside a hole that leads to the outside. Freedom had given these children the strength, will and energy to make a break for it, but such gifts were absent within me. I finally found my voice and called out, but it was too late, they were already gone and I was alone.
I wake to find myself in a bed. I sit up and glance about me. I'm in the guest bedroom and I'm alone. I stand on shaky legs and move the best I can. I'm still dressed in my clothes and I find my flip-flops tucked beneath the bed. I slip them on and exit the room. I move through the short hall and gaze down from the banister at the stairs and hall below.
I listen closely and hear nothing. It would seem I am the only one in the house. I walk down the stairs and stay aware of every sound that can be heard. I can't help but feel that this is a trap and the less evidence I find to support the idea the stronger it becomes. My eyes take in the surroundings and a sudden sound has me spinning toward it and preparing for whatever danger should arise.
Nothing happens and I need to get this down while it's still flashing in my mind. I make my way down to the basement, click on the desk-lamp and sit myself down. The fourth notebook is sitting on the desk open to my previous visions. I turn the page to a blank one and get to work while it's still fresh in my mind.
I grab a pen and start scribbling. I see a well, dark and deep, located in the middle of a thicket. I see a building collapsed upon an individual unfortunate enough to have survived its collapse. I see a woman walking into a major building with a bomb strapped to her chest and seconds later the entire lobby explodes and brings the rest of the building crashing down.
A car careening through traffic before smashing into an embankment and flows down the river where it eventually sinks beneath the water. I see a man being covered over with liquid cement at a work site while other men look on. A life at its end lying in a hospice bed, all alone while the rest of the world continues on around them. That is the last of the visions.
I close the notebook and return it to the shelf. I allow my hand to linger and slowly drag it along the bindings. I take a deep breath. The Truth has given me the answers now it is time I find the questions. I exit the basement and shut the door behind me. I listen intently and hear nothing. It would seem I am still alone, but I feel that is about to change.
The front door opens and Simon steps through carrying two grocery totes. "Good, you're awake," he addresses me and shuts the door.
"How long was I out?" I ask him and lean against the railing since my strength hasn't fully returned to me.
"Two days, and I was starting to worry," he answers as he walks into the kitchen. "But I know how you feel about hospitals so I held off."
I follow after him. "Did you get any raw meat?" I query as I take hold of the bag that had been left on the table.
"I did and I still have no idea how you're not sick as a dog from eating it," he remarks and opens the fridge.
I dive into the bag and find some raw hamburger which I tear into.
"I don't know what's worse," Simon starts in as he shuts the fridge and turns around. "The fact that you never seem to get sick off that stuff, or that I'm so used to it that it doesn't even bother me."
I swallow down a mouthful of pink meat and chase it down with several glasses of water. Finished, I place the glass on the back of the sink, throw out the empty tray and start for the door.
"Carl, please listen to me," Simon pleads with me.
I turn around. "I'm listening," I assure him and lean against the wall.
Simon takes a breath and lets it out. "It is my hope that one day you will be ready to, to leave the past behind and move into a prosperous future with us, your family," he relays to me and stabs at the floor with his foot. "But I promise you this, if you keep on the way you are, there won't be anything left of you to have a life."
I don't say a word. I just turn around and walk out the door. There is a truth to my brother's words that I just can't shake. But what he doesn't understand is that none of that matters to me. During those days I was under the knife or recuperating in the cage, the only thing that kept me from going stark raving mad was an idea that I shielded from the horror and cultivated during my quiet moments, the idea that I would one day be free of this place and live on for my fellow man. That and that alone is the reason that I go on living.
I walk down the street and seem to be chasing the setting sun. There is so much on my mind now that I've spoken with The Truth. Just like always I need to make sense of what I've seen through my mind's eye and the only way to do that is to go out into the wide world and absorb whatever I can.
Most of my information I glean from other peoples' minds, but I have to be careful. I can gather residual thoughts as though I were merely sweeping their brain with a sponge and collecting excess water. And it is at this surface level that I instill simple illusions such as shadowing my face. The effect only lasts so long as I am directly influencing it and there are no lasting side effects.
But when I'm out fishing for information I often find little nibbles that could lead to deeper things. I follow these people and dive deeper into their minds. It takes a great deal of concentration and I have to be careful. Playing around at this level can have lasting effects and I nearly put a man in a coma during my early days. It is at this level that I employ major illusions.
I walk amongst the people and listen to what they have to say. There is a great deal of noise, but I've trained myself to cut through all that and find the thoughts that lie closer to the surface while still being outside of the mind. In this way I uncover the necessary information and continue my mission.