Into the Light...

He’d decided that, in order to kill the thing in his mind, he would have to get it to come out in the open.
He was zeroing in on its location. He’d heard his own thoughts coming echoed in its soft voice for several days, and he’d followed the direction carefully. He’d thought long and hard (in the parts of his mind he could still consider exclusively his own) about how to catch this thing. It wouldn’t be easy. He was even coming to respect it somewhat. It was wise and wary and its survival instincts seemed as strong as his own. In fact, it was a mirror in many ways. Its presence was a threat to his control, but he also sensed it might offer clues to some of his most sought-after answers. He wanted to learn all he could about it before destroying it.

He’d never had a problem keeping his thoughts from those outside, but this was new. In a way he was enjoying the fresh challenge of keeping his emotions and plans just out of its reach. Like taunting a cat with a bright, feathered toy. He enjoyed watching the thing’s shadow-leaps as it tried to get teeth or claws into his consciousness.

This was the first potentially worthy companion he had ever known, which made him hate it all the more. He didn’t want a companion. Everything and everyone in his world had left him, or been out to use him in some way, and he was certain this thing was no different.

But what did it want? The times and places it stirred…by its agitation and attentions would he define its hunger, the hunger that would eventually bring it into the light.

For several weeks the two studied one-another.

The plan revealed itself to him by stages, but was, at last completed.
He laid the trap with care.

_<*>_

“Are you there? I’m lonely and I could use a friend. Sometimes I get lost. I could use a guide. Can you help me? Are you there?”

Silence…and stillness, which meant it was listening.

“I don’t know where you came from, but I know you’re here and I want to talk to you. Can you listen? Can you teach me? We can do anything you want to do. I know you’re safe, because you’re part of me. How could I hurt you, since if I did, I would be hurting myself? I didn’t understand that at first. I was angry and afraid and I tried to hurt you. We both felt the pain, so I know that I did hurt you. I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. I didn’t know what you were and it scared me not to be alone, after so long. I think you understand that. I think you understand a lot of things. Please talk to me. Please help me.”

Then he waited. For a very long time he waited. For a days and two nights, through tests and examinations, meals, baths and conversations between the concerned medical professionals charged with his care, he waited. He was causing a stir by withdrawing back to depths that must seem to the outside world a 4-year set-back, but he didn’t care. He’d deal with them later. Right now, this was what most demanded all of his attentions.

With morning came the first misty, murky images. There were forests, animals, faces and strange, empty cities. No thread or plot that he could discern, just images flowing one into the next. Sometimes the topography would change suddenly or the faces transform, but somehow that seemed natural.

As darkness returned, the music began, as if as orchestrated accompaniment to the still-swirling images. At first it was almost imperceptible, then unobtrusive, rising to prominence, then thunderous and violent. The images were those of change, growth, warfare, loss and rebirth. In these images, he found himself. With rapt attention, he continued to absorb all that was put before him with a hunger that only grew the more he consumed.

Finally, the music subsided, and the words began. Phrases, wishes and formulae all in meter…quotes and thoughts, beautiful, beautiful thoughts, desires as strong as the very force of the ocean, and an amazing, engulfing, comforting warmth.

He was no longer alone.

The stillness returned, and the image of a deep, deep forest. He stood, gazing into the forest for a very long time. The mist grew thicker and the heat became almost oppressive, then yielded to a chill and the sound of far-away, trembling strings. Finally, a young girl appeared, probably 10 or 11 years old, with long red hair. She peered at him from the edge of the forest. He didn’t dare move or say a word.

Her cat-green gaze remained locked with his storm-grey regard. She took not a step, yet she and the entire forest were slowly drawing nearer to the place he stood. Steadily, the distance between them closed until he could see the hair-fine lines of age, weariness and resolve in her young face.

He could almost feel the dampness of her whisper in his ear, the warmth of her small hand closing on his.
Closer, the distance cut by half, then half again, until the two were nearly one.

Then she was gone.

_<*>_