Mindwalker by A. J. Steiger

Author:A. J. Steiger
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Dystopia, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Fiction, Romance, Mental Illness, Adventure
ISBN: 9781780747255
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2015-06-04T00:00:00+00:00

I find Steven standing on my front lawn, hands in his pockets, staring into space. The sun sinks toward the western horizon, orange light bleeding between the clouds and reflecting in the windows of the houses around us.

He turns to face me, his expression grim. “What the hell is going on? Did I hallucinate all that?”

I swallow, mouth dry, and collect my thoughts. Automatically, I slip into my neutral Mindwalker voice. “Even if the memory itself was real, that doesn’t mean it’s accurate in every detail. Memories change over time. The raw sensory impressions start to decay almost immediately, and the brain patches up the holes, so eventually, what you have is less like a photograph and more like a painting of a photograph. A blend of imagination and reality.”

“So my brain gave him your eyes.”

Which is disturbing in its own right. Why did his subconscious project me into that role—as one of his tormentors?

In a nearby tree, a crow caws once.

His eyes are distant, unfocused. “Tell me something, Doc. If our memories can’t be trusted, then what can?”

I hesitate. “Science? Things that can be validated with hard evidence?”

“Yeah, well, we’re a little short on evidence.” His hands are shaking. He shuts his eyes and presses the heels of his hands against his lids. Fumbling, he fishes two more pills from his pocket and swallows them. How many of those does he take in a day?

I move a small, cautious step closer. “You trust me, don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Steven?”

“Nothing personal, Doc.” He smiles tightly. “I don’t trust anyone.”

The words sting more than they should. “Even after I saved your life?” The question comes out sounding somehow arrogant.

“I’m grateful for that. Really. But I still don’t understand why you did it.”

“Because …” Because you’re my client. Because you’re my friend. Because the thought of losing you makes me so scared, I can’t breathe. “I don’t want anyone to die if I can prevent it,” I finish limply.

“So you run around hoping to save every sad sack who tries to off himself? Must get pretty tiring.”

My nails dig into my palms. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing.”

I breathe in, struggling for patience. “I swear, I just want to help you.”

He grips his own arms, fingers digging into his flesh. “That’s what scares me.” He laughs, a bitter bark. “Every guy in a white coat who’s ever strapped me into that fucking Conditioning machine, every nurse who’s ever stuck a needle in my arm to sedate me because I was getting ‘agitated’—they all just wanted to help. Because I’m too sick and screwed up to make my own decisions, they have to force a cure down my throat, like I’m some bratty little kid who doesn’t want to take his cough syrup. And you’re not like them—I know that—but still, you work for the system. You have to follow its rules.” His lips twist in something that’s half smile, half agonized grimace. “So, what happens if you have another conscience attack and decide that ‘helping’ me means turning me over to IFEN?”

I flinch.

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