Mind Over Psyche (27 page)

Don't do it! Tasmae's coming, and she can't reach you if you take those. Don't buy into this reality. It's not real! Rememb
er Tasmae!

The feeling of incompleteness rushed over him, and he dropped the unopened bottle and staggered back, hitting the shower doors and sliding down. What was he doing? Alugiac was out there, manipulating his mind the way he had as a child; only this time, he was using elements of Deryl's memories to weave a com
plex trap.

Clarissa's antique perfume aerator caught his eye, but a different hand held it, and the woman who walked into the mist wore a wedding dress and hairstyle more suited to
the 1940s.

Not his memories alone—the memories of all the minds that had touched his! Deryl started
to shake.

Tasmae!
He teleped with all his migh
t.
Tasmae!

He felt nothing in reply and fought back a sob. Without consciously realizing it, his arms folded themselves over his middle and he began to rock. The world around h
im grayed.

*

“You know, it's a good thing I work out, or I'd be in so much pai
n by now.”

“Joshua?” Deryl blinked and saw his friend sitting beside him, rocking in time with him. In his surprise, he stopped moving, and Joshua sighed wi
th relief.

“Thank you. Now let's get out of here. Don't know what you've experienced, but this is Land of the Nasty Exes as far as I'm c
oncerned.”

“I, um, saw Clarissa. She
was okay.”

Joshua looked at him searchingly and Deryl felt himself blush. “Maybe you'd better not say too much about that to Tasmae,” his frien
d advised.

“Tasmae! Sh
e's here?”

As if in answer, they heard her cry for help. The two stood and ran, kicking up the fog as
they went.

They found her in a meadow like the one where he'd watched the battle from what seemed ages ago—and like on that day, she was under attack. Three warriors battled against her at once, pushing her back against a tree. Others were on
their way.

“Deryl, you gotta do something!” Josh
ua yelled.

“What?” Deryl watched in confusion. “That's
Salgoud.”

“What are you talking about? Those are like, orcs or something! Deryl, use your telekinesis—kill them before they kill he
r! Quick!”

“Orcs?” Deryl turned back to the scene. One of the soldiers had knocked Tasmae's dagger from her hand, which bled freely. She was in obvious pain, yet brought her sword up again and again to counter the blows. But they were her people. At least, he saw them as h
er people.

Kanaan or orcs, he had to stop them. He focused his energy on pushing
them away.

Nothing
happened.

“Deryl!” Tasmae screamed. “Point blows! K
ill them!”

Kill them.
The words echoed in his mind, bearing down on him. He shook
his head.

“Deryl, what's wro—” Joshua's question ended in a strangled gasp, and Deryl turned to see that another warrior had run hi
m through.

“Josh!”

Then the Kanaan's form changed. The sword became thick and claw-like, ripping Joshua's flesh as it grew and fused into the creature's arm. It pulled back its claw, and Joshua dropped to the ground. It lost its humanoid form, but not its triumph
ant smile.

“No!”

Behind him, Tasmae gave a last scream as the monsters ran her through. As she fell, she looked at him. Her eyes accused: Why did you
hesitate?

“No-no-
no-NOOOO!”

The world around him went red then black. The creatures changed again, surrounding him like a wall, bearing down on him like an avalanche. His ears filled with laughter that quickly grew into a high-pitched mechani
cal whine—

*

Deryl screamed and clawed at the inside of the MRI apparatus. He dimly heard people calling instructions, and he was pulled out. For a moment, he struggled against the nurses, but when they didn't change into some hideous form, he grabbed one by the shoulders and demanded to know the only thing of importance: “Are
you real?”

Ten minutes later, he sat in an uncomfortable upholstered chair in Dr. Acker's hospital office, waiting for the results of the MRI. Clarissa occupied the chair beside him, but after he'd shrugged off her attempts to comfort him, had contented herself with laying one hand lightly on his shoulder. He didn't look at her, but stared at the floor and the large brass plaque that read Dr. Alouicious Grant Acker, MD, PhD, and answered her questions in monosyllables if at all. They both looked up with a start when Dr. Acke
r came in.

Dr. Acker's sweet round face crinkled in a sympathetic smile, but it didn't hide the worry in his eyes. He didn't speak until he'd settled his portly body into his desk chair and slid the CD into its slot. “Sorry to have kept you waiting. What we found was most…startling. Deryl, do you remember taking your medicati
on today?”

“No.” He shook his head. Things were starting to come back. “I was going to. I'd gotten out of the shower. I had the bottle in my hands. Then.” He
shrugged.

“Go on.”

He glanced uncertainly at Clarissa. He didn't want to scare her further. For a moment, he considered asking her to leave, but a stab of fear echoed the stab of pain in the back of his skull, and he quickly discarded the idea. She was all that was keeping him together at the moment. She swallowed hard, but nodded enco
uragingly.

He answered, keeping his tone as bland and factual as he could, though with each word, his head hurt more, and his anxiety increased. “I was in the Netherworld, like another dimension. Joshua was there. He said he'd pulled me out of the illusion I was in—this world—and then Tasmae was attacked, and they wanted me to use my telekinesis to kill the attackers, but they looked like friends to me. Then they—the attackers—they turned into monsters. They killed Joshua and Tasmae. They were going to bury me alive. Then, I was in the MRI room.” He knew his explanation was disjointed and confused, but he prayed they wouldn't press him fo
r details.

Mercifully, Dr. Acker asked, “About how long did
it feel?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes. How long have I b
een here?”

Dr. Acker nodded to
Clarissa.

She swallowed hard before answering. “I came home at 5:30 and found you in the bathroom, just rocking and, and whimpering, so I called 911. We've been here about t
wo hours.”

His heart ached to see the tears welling in her eyes. “Sweetheart, I'm
so sorry!”

He pulled her
in close.

“How is playing this
game going to help us find Deryl?” Tasmae demanded impatiently, as she stared at a huge stone lion with a man's face.

“
Survival of the Sphinx
is a new reality TV-game show on Earth. We get a mission—saving Deryl, right? Then the Sphinx gives us riddles that will help us complete the mission. If we can interpret the riddle before the buzzer goes off, we get things that can help us: time, more clues, sometimes stuff. And if we don't, we don't get the prize, but we at least have the clue. Come on. I thought you liked
riddles.”

“I don't like wast
ing time.”

“Me, either. Listen. This is a half-hour show, half of which is eaten up with completing the mission. Take out commercials, and the quiz part is like ten minutes. It's time better spent gathering information than running about at random or brainstorming in
a vacuum.”

“Are you prepared?” The Sph
inx asked.

Tasm
ae nodded.

“We'
re ready.”

“When Roland and Fender get busy together, this is their issue, but its shape and soul are create
d by you.”

Roland? Fender? The words made no sense to Tasmae, though she had the feeling they had to create something. She turned to Joshua, who was repeating the riddle in a whisper. Then, his face cleared into an expressi
on of joy.

“Sweet! It's a keytar!” When nothing happened but the continued clicking of the timer, Joshua
hesitated.

“Its shape and soul are determined by you,” Tama
e pressed.

“Right! Um, built in amplifier and power system with enough juice to last our mission, sturdy but lightweight, Yamaha SHS-10 body, special effect sound keys on the handle, silver, with
a strap?”

A flash, and Tasmae's weapons cabinet transformed into a curtain, partly opened to reveal an the oddest instrument she had
ever seen.

“Yes!” Joshua pumped the air with his fist and snatched up the keytar. He caressed it lovingly before sliding into the strap and slinging it on his back. “Told you!” He said
excitedly.

“Shh!” S
he hissed.

The Sphinx was speaking again: “Russian dolls. Celtic scrollwork. Gordi
an knots.”

Joshua's triumphant sm
ile faded.

“Are you saying the trap Alugiac has set for Deryl is like these other things?” Tasmae
demanded.

The Sphinx merely repeate
d himself.

“Arrgh!” Tasmae ran her fingers through her hair. “He is worse than the Ydrel! Joshua, tell me what these th
ings are!”

“Russian dolls fit inside each other; Celtic scrollwork—” Joshua drew one in the air with his finger. “—complex design, no discernible beginning or end. Gordian knot, ancient legend, too complex to untie; Alexander the Great cut it with
a sword.”

“You're describing Deryl's trap,” Tasmae said with authority. “Illusion within illusion, each getting more tangled and complex, until he can't get out by going
through.”

“Correct. Here is your reward. Li
sten well.

“The Gordian's knot could not be untied, though luck and skill had many who tried. Alexander cut it to keep his word. Deryl's survival, and yours, rely on th
e absurd.”

“What?” Tasmae started to argue, but Joshua gripped
her hand.

“We'll figure that one out later,” he hissed. The Sphinx was speak
ing again.

“The Master asks this of him, but it is not his Call. Ask this of him, and you endanger all. His spirit is strong, but not for this task. His purpose is set; beware what
you ask.”

Joshua looked at Tasmae. “Deryl told me the Master wanted to make him into a weapon. Sphinx, is it that we can't ask Deryl to hur
t anyone?”

“To kill,” Tasmae said, suddenly regretting what had happened at the salle and the field. “We must never ask him
to kill.”

*

When Clarissa got home from work, Deryl had the house clean, the candles lit and romantic music playing on the stereo, and was reclining on the couch, chuckling over
The Hitchhiker's Guide to t
he Galaxy
.

“What's so funny?” She asked as she set her purse on the side table and went to him. She set her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of
his head.

He realized he couldn't remember anything from the novel except the “Mostly Harmless” joke. He held the book so she could see the cover. “Joshua sent it to me years ago, but I'd never gotten around to reading it. Found it this afternoon when I was cle
aning up.”

“Yeah, I noticed. The place loo
ks great.”

“Thanks.” He set the book down and got up to put his arms around her. He kissed her lightly. “I cleaned the whole place, including that closet we never dare to open. And I hauled a bunch of junk to the Goodwill bin, took a l
ong swim—”

“Did you do any work on that program?” She
demanded.

He smiled proudly. “Worked, finished, compiled, and delivered. And I've made your favorite Chines
e dinner.”

She blinked at him with exaggerated awe. “Did you sprain your finger
dialing?”

He did his best to look affronted. “I ordered on-line, madam! Speaking of, Joshua e-mailed. He has a break in his touring schedule in June and Sachiko's taking time off, so they're coming up to visit for a
few days.”

She sighed and hugged him closer. “I could get used to this. We should have put you on that extra medication a long
time ago.”

“I certainly have more energy,” he replied, as he rested his cheek on her and started to shift his weight from one foot to the other, easing her into a slow dance. He really didn't want to talk about it. It had been a week since Dr. Acker had shown them the MRI, which blazed with color and activity in the area that should have been dark and null, and had said that somehow, impossibly, his mind was rebuilding connections. They'd left with two new prescriptions and the warning that if these “seizures” Continued, they might have to completely remove that part of
his brain.

Since then, the days had been strange and full of holes. He didn't remember finishing the program, only sitting at the computer with the intention of working on it. When he returned to himself, he was pressing “Send” to deliver the finished product to her parents. Even more, some of those blackouts resembled the “Callings” He'd had as a teen. The ones of Tasmae were hazy and shadowed, however; he could hear her, almost feel her, but not see her, and the feelings of incompleteness ate away at his soul. The Callings of the Master, equally distant and subtle, played a darker accompaniment: whispers of how Deryl was so much better, so much
more
than mere humans, gentle suggestions that he could get back his power, have anything—everything—he wanted, if only he would use that ability, succumb to the Master's training, and follo
w through.

The resurgence of his abilities frightened him more. Twice he'd picked up the phone before it rang, knowing who was on the other side, and when he'd opened the Closet of Doom and its contents had spilled out, everything had fallen around him, leaving him in a small cle
ar circle.

Through it all, a small but persistent voice insisted that none of this was real. The only time he felt truly normal was with Clarissa, and he had to fight his panic each time she left him for the fitness club where she worked as an i
nstructor.

After the second day, he'd forced himself to call Dr. Acker about it, though he told him only about the blackouts. The psychiatrist had told him that it would take time for the medications to build up in his system and that as long as the “seizures” didn't last too long or become too intense, he should stay calm and busy and be patient. He'd hung up, only slightly reassured. He vowed not to mention anything to Clarissa. Thankfully, nothing happened when she was with him. He'd buried himself in activities he only half-remembered and tried to concentrate only on the present. It was help
ing, some.

“You're awfully quiet all of a sudden,” She
murmured.

He rubbed her back, reaching under her T-shirt. “Why are you talking?” He
countered.

She pulled back with a smile that made his heart skip. “Maybe I should change clothes? Walk into a little
perfume?”

“Only if I get
to watch.”

One of Joshua's CDs started playing as hand in hand, they wandered into th
e bedroom.

*

Joshua smiled at Tasmae as he sat on the cushions, running his hands over the keys of the guitar-style keyboard, playing with the function keys. The game was over, and the Sphinx gone, and though they had not been able to make out all the riddles, they did well enough that Joshua felt rather pleased with himself. “I told you this was a good idea. Now, I've got this, and we also have a lot more information to make pl
ans with.”

“Do we?” She paused in her pacing to snap. “We still don't know ‘where' Deryl is or how to get to him. You have that thing, but do you know why? If the information is accurate, there's supposed to be no way we can defeat
Alugiac!”

Joshua set his keytar aside and stood to lay a steadying hand on Tasmae. He could feel her quaking. “Calm down, Taz. You're not going to be able to help Deryl if you get this upset. Think with me. The Sphinx never said we can't
defeat
Alugiac. We just can't
kill
Alugiac, and we can't ask Deryl to kill him. Deryl is trapped, somehow, in the illusions Alugiac has set for him, and while we might be able to help him, only he can break himself out. Us, too, because we'll be in his ‘world' once we find him. When we do find him, our talents will be at odds with Alugiac's, so we can't expect to do anything major. Am I right so far? What else?” He waited encouragingly as she took a deep breath and re
leased it.

“We need allies to help us find him—but I can't Cal
l anyone!”

He flopped onto the cushions and picked up t
he keytar.

“
I
can.”

Her eyes widened with realization. “Yes,
you can!”

She knelt beside him. “Try, Joshua! Use your music to bring Der
yl to us.”

*

On the CD, Joshua was singing about returning to his True Love, and Deryl found himself humming the melody. That awful sense of unreality threatened to sweep over him, but he drowned himself in Clarissa
's kisses.

ENJOYING YOURSE
LF, DERYL?

Go away!
Deryl commanded the voice in his mind.
You ar
en't real!

I AM THE ONLY REALI
TY, DERYL.

The world around him dissolved and became dark fog, then sharpened again until he was back in the padded room at South Kingston Mental Wellness Center. He groaned. This time, he stood up and shouted, “Alugiac! Come out and
fight me!”

“Shh!” Joshua hushed from behind him. “That is about the last thing we need r
ight now!”

“Joshua?” Deryl whirled, and saw his friend was dressed in the loose tunic and pants of Tasmae's world. “Taz!” He ran to her, but stopped before he got too close. “Are you real?” He
demanded.

“Is this real?” She asked, and flung herself into his arms, kissing him enthusiastically. He felt her mind flowing into his, filling him with wholeness. He responded with eq
ual ardor.

Beside them, Joshua cleared his throat loudly. “Can we save that until after we're out
of here?”

“How?” Dery
l replied.

“Actually, it's easier than you think.” Joshua grinned. “Turns out the Netherworld is all about teleportation. You just need the right key—and mine happens to be B Flat.” He hummed a note, then sang, “Be it ever so humble / There's no place like home” As he pushed open the door. Beyond lay a landscape of rough plains, with low grass and small scrubby trees Deryl had only seen in books. Past them were tall mountains, green moving to blue-gray in the distance. The sky was a fantastically deep blue with white puffy clouds. A few cattle grazed under the hot s
ummer sun.

“Westcliffe,” Joshua said fondly. “Mom and Dad's ranchland, in fact. I'll have some explaining to do about how I got there, but at this point, I don't really care.” He turned back to Deryl and Tasmae and asked wryly, “You're not coming back with me,
are you?”

Deryl stayed in Tasmae's embr
ace. “No.”

Joshua shrugged. “Well, good luck. Taz? Tell everyone I sai
d thanks.”

He stepped through the door and
was gone.

Deryl watched the scene fade before him, then looked back at his love. “So what
do we do?”

“I Called you into the world. I simply need to Call you back.” She whispered in his ear, “Retu
rn to me.”

A moment of blackness, then he was lying on a mattress on the ground in a dark tent.
He sat up.

“Tasmae?” He started to call, but she silenced him by placing her mouth over his. Soon, she had joined him under the blankets and the next time he called her name, it was with a moan of
pleasure.