In the left ventricle, the noise is tremendous, like a relentless drum beating hard. A frenzied stream of blood rushes into the chamber, straining to continue its journey throughout the body. More undesired matter collects here, reducing the heart’s performance, and making its job difficult. The heart works hard, it deserves help, and the many deposits are not helping. I see it another way—with fewer.
The flow surges with new life, sending the many nutrients on their way. Now clear of the restricting matter, the heart muscle is evident, and its pain. A nasty injury has torn the precious tissue. Viewing the wound, I agree, let the damage be however it decides, but I choose to see it another way—healthy. Scars fade and the invigorated muscle pulses with dynamic thrusts, performing brilliantly.
Now, one other matter before the conclusion of this fine dream. Enough fooling around with internal organs. In the next instant, I’m approaching tall glass doors. Madison is at my side, Dave the other. The doors slide open and we pass outside. It’s a gorgeous day, sunny and warm, and a taxi is waiting at the curb. The driver opens the door, inviting us to climb aboard.
* * *
Madison, Dave, the doctor and nurse, all stare at me, silent and profoundly confused.
“All done,” I announce. “Let’s go now. We have much to do.”
“Now hold on,” the doctor says. “You can’t just imagine you’re well and have it be so.”
“Open your mind a little, Doc. There’s more to medicine than drugs and electronic gizmos. Hook me up to one of your gadgets and have a look for yourself.”
Determined to remove all doubt, the doctor pulls a small device from his coat, and without warning—which might be nice—he stabs me in the arm. A stream of blood flows into the thing and he withdraws it.
“How is this possible?” he asks, studying the instrument.
I only smile, confident that I’ve performed a feat of medicine he has yet to learn.
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Lie down,” he commands.
Before I’ve a chance to complain, he forces me onto my back and goes to the end of the bed, where he fiddles with controls. A panel emerges from the bed frame and flips horizontal, then other panels pop up along the sides to support it. The sections combine to create an archway that moves slowly over my legs, then my torso. The doctor leans close and studies the device.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“You told me to look, so I am. Now lie still and be quiet. This won’t hurt, just some discomfort.”
An energy field emanates from the archway and creates a tingling sensation in my chest, like a hundred flies crawling under my skin. He adjusts the device while studying what it reveals. What is he looking at? I want to see what he sees.
I’m outside the body, watching over his shoulder.
The display shows a view of the body’s interior, color and everything. Layers appear on screen like the body has been cut into thin slices, which the doctor moves through with the turn of a dial. He stops on a view of the heart. I mean, my heart.
The doctor looks up, astonished. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe what?” Madison asks.
The doctor stares at her like he’s seen a ghost. Or a miracle.
“He’s healed months in only minutes.” He looks to my body’s face. “How?”
I soar back into my skull and return a smug grin.
“There is no how, there is only do.”
* * *
The doctor conducts an exhaustive check of his equipment. What’s so hard to believe? I suppose that’s it—belief itself is difficult, regardless of what’s believed. The gizmos must be malfunctioning. Perhaps. Machines can be helpful, but to place all one’s faith in a gadget seems wrong. Another strange belief—that objects hold answers. His equipment could have been wrong the whole time, and just started working right, to show that I’m fine. Now there’s a perfectly logical explanation for this result, allowing reality to agree with me.
Madison looks awfully worried, likely due to my sudden recall, particularly, of the one person she so conveniently failed to mention. I have to be honest with myself, I’m not really upset about what happened, it was a lot of fun. But the manner in which she accomplished our pleasure is something else altogether.
“I’m mad at you.”
Her troubled eyes drop. “I know, Adam. I’m sorry.” She lowers to the bedside chair.
“Yeah, you should be. You lied to me.”
She looks up. “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
“Right, and that has a name—a lie of omission.”
In the aim of my stern glare, she remains silent, staring back with those sad, puppy dog eyes, loaded with guilt.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Why?”
“
Because!
I’m trying to be angry.”
Which I cannot do. She was only following her heart, and you can’t blame someone for being in touch with their emotions. More importantly, her actions stemmed from a love for me, not malice toward Christina. There’s a difference of some magnitude, and I recognize that. But while her heart was busy chasing after affection, she should have listened to her head as well, and been more forthright. What happened might have happened anyway, without adding the tense emotional wrapper we must deal with now. How will I explain this to Christina? I forgot? Perhaps true, but it’s a lousy excuse. I cannot begin to imagine any better excuse, so for now, I won’t. When the time comes, I will be honest, even if the hard truth hinders our reunion, and I will seek her forgiveness. But first, I must find her. Starting now.
“Dave, how’s the ship?”
“Why? We going somewhere?”
“To get Christina. I know where she is.”
Madison stands fast. “How could you possibly know?”
Perhaps someday she’ll have more faith, and learn to believe in me when I’m this certain.
“The dream told me.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. It’s just silly dream nonsense.”
I return the sly grin she once offered. “Dreams are not always nonsense, remember?”
She stares back, a face of stone. Given time, her little talk about listening to the mind has proven effective. However, probably not the result she was hoping for.
* * *
It’s creepy to think people actually die here. I can almost sense them around me, wanting in. Go find your own body, this one’s taken. A shiver climbs my spine, I shake it off, then peel the tape and tubing from my arm. Back on two feet, this body isn’t all that steady, but comes around after a few deep breaths. I flex these stiff joints, find a balance, then gather my clothes and start getting dressed.
The doctor is still busy with his equipment, in search of a rational explanation for what just happened. He’ll think of something, his mind like any other, driven to justify every result, whether intended or not. He notices me out of bed and lifts a stern finger, preparing to dish out another scolding. He can insist all he likes, but he can’t make me stay if I no longer require his services. I thank him regardless, as I’m sure his skill saved my life. Now it’s time to save the rest of this life, all on my own.
Dressed and ready to go, I herd Dave and Madison toward the door. “Come now, we have much to do.”
Madison is reluctant. “But, you’re ill. How did—”
“No, my dear, I
was
ill. Big difference.”
Dave eyes me with distrust, like I might be possessed. Right, I’m full of
myself.
I push them both out the door. A wide corridor leads to a spacious lobby, then we pass a long reception counter. Ahead, a pair of tall glass doors slide open, and together we exit the hospital. It’s a gorgeous day, sunny and warm, and a taxi is waiting at the curb. The driver opens the door. Dave and Madison pile in back, I hop in up front next to the driver.
“Where to?” he asks.
I twist around to face Dave. “Me and you need haircuts. Where’s that stylist you were talking about?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Are you going to tell the driver where to go, or am I going to smack you?”
“I like my hair just fine. What are you making me do?”
I climb the seatback and get in his face. “You’ll find out when we get there, if you ever tell him where to go.”
Though reluctant, Dave is obedient and gives the cabbie directions. Apparently, I have given Dave a complex over his hair. That or intimidated him. Madison, too, she looks surprised. I twist around and face forward. It’s my turn to know what the hell’s going on.
The car lunges into traffic, tires squealing and snapping our heads back. What is it with taxis around this place? If a heart attack doesn’t kill me, one of these rides will. They’re all maniacs, and this guy is no different, changing lanes to drive up the next car’s ass, then switching back the instant another lane opens up. Now he hugs the curb, street signs whizzing past, and every dip tossing us like rag dolls. Sure, I know what’s going on—death to all passengers when we plow into that parked truck ahead. No, another lane change, breezing past inches before impact.
As the taxi weaves through traffic, Madison says, “Adam, what about the dream? What happened?”
“I saw Christina, crying for help.”
No reply. I turn around to see if she heard me. She’s doing that guilty thing again, and doesn’t appear interested in the rest.
Dave says, “So you saw her in a dream. How’s that tell you where she is?”
“She was trapped in ice. She’s with the others.”
“Right, they’re in ice. But where?”
“Precisely what you and I shall soon discover.”
“So you have a plan.”
A plan? Yeah, I got one, and it operates on a fundamental principle—make it up as we go. But I don’t think Dave needs to know about that ingenious feature just yet.
“Sure, I have a plan. Trust me.”
Nice. My turn to use that annoying phrase.
“Okay, I’ll trust you,” he says, though his tone fails to convince me. “But I still don’t understand why you have to screw with my hair.”
* * *
The taxi speeds through downtown. The sky is clear, mid-afternoon, but I have no idea what day it is. There’s no telling how long I was laid up in the hospital. Deciding to know ripped open the veil of certain knowledge, but focused little on recent events. The obedient servant reached into the depths and brought back a confused mess I must now sort out. Knowing a past, and knowing what to do with it in the present, are two entirely different things. But a portion of the mess falls together like shards of glass in reverse, reassembling into a clear pane that looks out on the most important memory of all—Christina.
She is the love of my lives. How could I forget? I can only justify the ignorance with pain, both physical and emotional, that I had associated with her. The recurring nightmare, never knowing who she was, yet feeling that itch, that intuition. She was real, not just a dream. But the pain, so great, and the fear of facing my mistakes, certainly to blame for our capture, and losing the memory of her. Regret that still holds power over me. I’m afraid it’s all my fault.
However, the memory of Christina has other effects, one of which is a powerful surge of confidence. The memory of her includes the subjects we have talked about, and the concepts we believe in. The power of being, when it commands the body and all the minds, converting intent into reality. Christina is a wise soul who has guided me through much confusion over who I am, what I am, and the abilities I possess. She taught me to trust and believe in myself, and above all, listen to my inner voice of knowledge. I have her to thank for every effect I may cause, stemming from an unwavering confidence in all I know. Talents that have escaped my grasp—until I remembered her. It’s all coming back, except the most valued treasure of all, Christina herself. I would give up all the rest, just to be with her.
The taxi double-parks outside a hair salon.
Dave’s curiosity is boiling over. “Okay, we’re here. Now tell me what you’re making me do.”
“You’ll see.” I smile, he frowns. He’ll know soon enough, and when he does, boy, is he going to have one hell of a fit.
We enter the salon and settle into seats along the row of barber chairs. Madison stays in the waiting area and picks up a magazine. An odd fellow approaches, frail and wiry, swinging his arms like a girl. He has hair like Dave, the same yellow riding dark roots that tells me it’s not his natural shade. No wonder Dave likes this place—he gets what he likes from someone who enjoys the same.
“Hello, David,” the wiry fellow calls out. “What are you after today?”
“Hi, Freddie, good to see you. I guess we need new hairdos, at least that’s what my friend Adam says. But you’ll have to squeeze it out of him. He’s been tight-lipped with me all the way down here.”
“Well hello there, Adam,” the wiry fellow says. “I am Fredrico, pleased to make your acquaintance.” He performs a dainty bow while shaking my hand, then glances up at me. “Such a handsome devil.”
Huh?
He circles the chair, fiddling with my hair. “You have such a lovely mane, I’d hate to take much away. But your bangs, now there’s a disaster, you poor child. Never go back to that incompetent hairdresser. Only come to the best, Fredrico, and I shall treat your hair as a goddess.”
My hair is a goddess?
Freddie pokes at the choppy locks, becoming intimate with the mess. “Whatever will I do? Your bangs are just so short. Oh, honey, there’s so little left to work with.”
“Don’t worry, that guy won’t ever be cutting my hair again, trust me.”
Freddie steps back, hands at his hips. “I knew it. One of those greasy slobs that call themselves a barber. They know nothing of fashion, just snip snip snip, there you go. Don’t you fret, honey, I’ll think of something fabulous.”
“It shouldn’t be too hard. We want something shorter anyway.”
Dave is aghast. “Shorter? Hey, I don’t know about this.”
“Shut up, Dave, you don’t have a choice, I’m giving the orders here. You can change it back to that silly yellow crap later.”
Freddie glows with fascination. “Ooo, how exciting. You are such a top, Adam, such a beast. Please, do continue.”