Imprint - 5. Memories of Green and Gold: The One, the Only

Dr. Allison Dyer had spent the ten free minutes before her next appointment reviewing the case file one last time. The details were familiar enough by now even if the patient himself was new; her colleague Susan had brought this one to her, wondering if there was anything she could do here because Susan herself was at a loss, and they had spent some time discussing the particulars. Allison had been by no means certain she could do anything here (frankly, she wasn't sure what to make of this at all), that she had been warned the patient would be hostile and completely uncooperative made it even less likely; the patient's guardian wanted her to try, and she had agreed to see him a few times, see what she could do.

She walked down the long, twisting corridor of the practice's suite to the full waiting room. Standing in the entryway, she called out the name she had double checked from the file, “Daniel Ellison?”

Two people rose to their feet, one on each side of the waiting room. From the right, a man in his forties with severe features, dark brown hair streaked with gray and slicked back from his face, wearing a business suit and carrying a lap top; from the left a blond teenager, barely fourteen according to the file, tall for his age, wearing a black zipped up hoodie, a white t shirt underneath and blue jeans. Slouched forward, hands plunged in the pockets of his hoodie, the boy walked quickly, looking neither at the other man nor at her, blowing right past her, walking several steps down the corridor before coming to a sudden stop, waiting without turning around.

She sighed quietly; oh, this was going to be fun.

Allison stood waiting for the other man, who approached at a much slower pace, coming to a stop a foot away from her. He kept his eyes on her, ignoring the boy further down the hall, inclining his head politely. “I'm Harlan Ellison,” he said, “I'm his...uh, guardian.”

She nodded, “His uncle, right? Yes, we talked on the phone,” and she held out her hand.

His lip curled into a faint grimace, “Right.” he wiped the expression from his face, taking her hand at a distance and giving it a brief shake. “I remember you saying this appointment could take one to two hours, yes?”

She glanced over his shoulder at the full waiting room. “Perhaps this is best discussed in my office,” she offered politely, gesturing toward the corridor, inviting him along, but he was shaking his head almost immediately.

“I'm not going with you. I just need to know when to pick him up.”

She blinked at him, “You're more than welcome to sit in, Mr. Ellison, hear more about what I'm going to-”

He cut her off, shaking his head dismissively, “I don't see any point in that, doctor. Now, can you just tell me when to pick him up.”

She blinked again, turning toward the corridor to catch Daniel Ellison watching them from over his shoulder. His jaw was tight in anger but he didn't seem surprised; when their gazes met, his green eyes rolled sarcastically. Susan had mentioned their relationship was not good, she had assumed that was largely on account of the boy himself. His behavior was fairly typical for his age and circumstance, even understandable; she was honestly surprised by Harlan Ellison's frigid demeanor and had no idea what to make of it.

Giving him a time, she then asked, “And how should I let you know how it goes?”

“If anything exciting happens, you have my cell number,” he answered even as he turned to leave, “I won't be waiting by the phone.” And he was quickly out the waiting room door, not a word in parting to his nephew, not even a glance back.

Trying to shake that off, feeling strangely awkward, Allison walked down the corridor, coming abreast of Daniel who was still waiting in the same spot, facing forward again. “Well,” she said to him, trying to force a cheerful edge into her tone, “looks like it will be just you and me now.”

Daniel scoffed quietly but otherwise said nothing.

Once in her office, Daniel disregarded the chair clearly meant for him and walked over to the window instead. It took up most of the wall, offering an oh so charming view of the parking lot and other office buildings in the distance; Daniel crossed his arms, leaned sideways against the glass, gazing outside.

She sat down in her own chair, turned to face him, willing to give him a few moments to collect himself. When Daniel still did not acknowledge her and seemed perfectly content to remain silent, she began on her own. “Daniel, I'm Allison Dyer. Doctor Adams thought that the two of us should meet.”

“Doctor Adams...you mean the fake blond with all the big, cheap jewelry?” he muttered in response. He turned his head just slightly to look at her, “Sorry. There's just so many of you and you come and go so quickly, I don't bother trying to remember your names.”

Somehow she doubted that was true, he knew exactly who she was talking about; this was just one of his (probably many) defensive mechanisms, designed to create distance with her. “Susan Adams is the therapist you're currently seeing for the past two weeks. She works in this same building.”

“All these places look the same, too.” he added. After a moment, grudgingly, he caved a little, “But I know who you're talking about.”

“Perhaps then you also remember her talking to you about this? About me and what we'll be doing here?”

The corner of his lip pulled up in a smirk, “Yeah. Wasting my time and my uncle's money.”

She had been expecting that and was neither surprised nor insulted. “Is that what you think?” she calmly inquired.

He gave half a shrug, “That's all it ever is. Even if this does sound more special than usual.”

She nodded her head calmly, “Well, that is the thing about therapy, you know. You only get out of it what you put into it.”

His head turned a little more in her direction. “That a dig at me?” he asked, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Its an observation,” she returned gently. “People have noted that you're not cooperative with them, with the therapy or the treatment plan.”

He gave another half shrug, “Yeah, well...I never asked to be here.” And he turned back to the window.

“You didn't?” She crossed her legs, folding her hands in her lap, “The way I read it, it sounds like you were all but begging for help.”

He snorted softly, “Venting is not begging for help. Wanting that asshole to acknowledge what I went through is not begging for help. And that asshole didn't send me here for help anyway. He sent me here to shut me up.”

“I don't think-” she started but was very quickly cut off.

“I know exactly what you think.” Daniel turned to her again, his green eyes hard, forbidding. “And I don't want to hear it either.”

“I wasn't going to-”

“Yes, you were.” One more hard look, daring her to contradict him, daring her to say it, to lie to him, and his eyes moved back to the window again. When he spoke again, he sounded almost bored. “Don't you have a job to do? Something that doesn't involve talking to me and asking stupid questions?”

Again, she weighed her options and decided to let it go for now. Better to wait and tackle the issue later when she had more than old therapist's notes to work with; they had gotten nowhere with that, why would she be any different? “This is not entirely irrelevant,” she said instead, “Even more than before, my work here requires your cooperation. If you're resistant, we're going to get nowhere. If you're planning to fight me, if nothing I can say will convince you, maybe we shouldn't even try.”

He shrugged again, “I'm not going to get in your way, if that's what you're asking. Got not problem with all this, I could probably use a nap.” Again, she could see that small smile just barely curving his lips.

“It doesn't fill me with confidence when you insist this is going to be a waste of time,” she calmly pointed out.

“And I do,” he said simply, turning to look at her again, calm himself despite his words, “I think this is bullshit and its not going to work. Doesn't mean I'm planning on getting in your way. If I got to have my time wasted, and apparently everyone thinks I do, I'd rather it be sleeping while you do useless parlor tricks than listening to some stupid asshole talk at me like he knows my life better than I do.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, “You do know I didn't bring you here for a nap, right?”

“So I hear,” he turned to her again and this time that small grin that had teased at his mouth before was there, small and a little hesitant, but real. “Just promise me if you make me bark like a dog or dance like a chicken or any crazy shit like that, just please don't tell me about it. I'd really rather not know, you know.”

She studied his face carefully but didn't sense anything sarcastic or mean spirited, not this time. This, she thought, was a brief glimpse beneath his defensive shields at a genuine sense of humor. She wondered if this was a good sign, but knew better than to mention it aloud; if she drew attention to it, it was likely to go away again.

“Hypnosis does not work the way you see in sitcoms and cheap talk shows,” she explained instead, “I won't expect you to believe it until you see it for yourself, but rest assured, you won't be barking or dancing or anything of the sort.”

“Okay,” and he turned back to the window again.

Allison cleared her throat, “Why don't you come sit down, Daniel.”

After a moment, Daniel shrugged casually and ambled over, spreading himself out in the seat in front of her; slouched down, leaned back, legs splayed out, arms crossed on his chest. He looked utterly bored.

“First things first,” she began, “before we do anything else, why don't we touch on why you're here in the first place. Why don't you tell me, in your own words, about what happened with your mother?”

She had thought that small peak of something genuine was a good sign to start this conversation, that his relaxation might make him cooperative, but almost immediately his defensive shields slammed back into place. “What for?” he asked, glaring at her, “I've told that story five thousand times by now, I'm sure at some point someone wrote it down.” His hand gestured toward her desk and the file sitting atop it.

“It is,” she admitted, “but sometimes its helpful to go over the details again.”

“No, it isn't. Its pointless and annoying.”

She shrugged, aiming for casual, “I'd still like to hear it in your own words.”

“'Cause the sound of my voice makes all the difference,” Daniel mumbled to himself, head tilted back on the chair, eyes on the ceiling. He groaned loudly, very irritated and put upon by the whole thing. Allison waited patiently, giving him all the time he needed. Finally his head came back up, mouth set in a tight line, green eyes cold, shooting angry daggers in her direction. But he did speak.

“We were playing hide and seek, I was hiding. Some men came in, killed her. They trashed the place, they left. End of story.”

She nodded politely. “Do you remember how many men there were?” she began, looking to get some finer details.

“I only saw one, and then I only saw his legs...black pants, black boots.”

“But you say men, plural?”

“I heard other voices, I just didn't see anyone.”

“How many voices?”

Daniel shrugged, obviously uncomfortable, “I don't know...I thought four or five, but I could be wrong. Hard to be sure when you're scared shitless and all you can do it hear.”

“And they never saw you?” she asked now.

Daniel shook his head, “Like I said, I was hiding.”

“Where were you?”

“Under the kitchen sink.”

“And you could still see?”

“The cabinet door didn't close all the way. It was just a crack, but enough I could see what was going on.”

“They trashed the place, as you said, but never looked there?”

He shrugged again, she could feel his defenses rising. “Why would they? Its the kitchen sink. I mean, what do people keep under there? Bleach, Drain-O, dish soap, not stuff people want to steal. And besides, even if they'd opened the door, they would have had to stick their head all the way in to see me squished in the corner.”

Allison nodded calmly, listening. “And they were looking to steal something?”

“They were looking for something – something particular. I don't think they found it, I think that's why they killed her.”

“And you don't know what that something was?”

“...No.”

“They never said?”

She could see his frustration mounting. “I'm sure they did, but I didn't understand it. I was fucking four, I didn't know what they were talking about. And now I don't remember at all.” He snarled at her, “What does it fucking matter? Who cares anymore, it doesn't make a fucking difference. What, you think if I can just remember that one, stupid little detail it will all unravel like magic? Everything will be solved?”

“I'm not an investigator, Daniel, I'm a therapist. My only concern here is you.”

His eyes turned cold again. “Don't do that,” his voice low, threatening, “Don't patronize me like that.”

She didn't think she had done any such thing, but knew better than to try and argue. “I'm sorry if anything I said offended you.”

Daniel didn't look even remotely appeased, his jaw clenching and his eyes fixed on a far corner of the room. He was trying to get himself under control; just enough anger to power his shields and keep her at bay, anything else would be showing more of his hand than he wanted to and that was not acceptable. It was a familiar game, and Daniel Ellison was very good at it for his age, especially considering he wasn't deeply involved in the system yet, wasn't institutionalized hadn't even been in therapy that long. He had himself calm again remarkably fast; it made her wonder what sort of practice he's had at hiding himself from the world.

When Daniel looked back at her again, he was once more perfectly collected; after a moment he spoke again, “I feel like an asshole sometimes, you know that. For that. Because I lived. Because I couldn't do anything. Because I couldn't understand and I couldn't make other people understand. I know, I get it, I was a fucking little kid, it wasn't my fault and there was nothing else I could have done. Sometimes that even makes a difference, but most of the time it really doesn't.” She opened her mouth to comment, but he quickly spoke right over her, “Don't you dare say that you understand how I feel.” He kept his tone level, pointing a warning finger at her, “You don't. This isn't the sort of shit you can read about in books and think you know what its like for me.”

And Allison closed her mouth, because she had been about to say something of the sort.

“You know the only thing worse than the guilt?” Daniel continued, still calm and cold, “Its people like you who try to take it away from, twist it all up into something its not, and then try to tell me what it is I'm really feeling. The only thing worse is being treated like a stupid fucking idiot that doesn't know what's going on here.” His eyes flashed at her, only briefly, “I know exactly what you meant there, and you know that I know it. You want me to cooperate with you? Don't patronize me, don't treat me like I'm stupid. Its not like if you suck up to me enough I'll let you convince me that everything I know is a fucking lie, so spare me that bullshit.”

This was a speech he's given before, she could tell. She wondered how long he's been using it, how many times its been repeated in offices just like this, to people like her that all look the same to him. She did feel a great deal of sympathy for this boy, for all this frustration and his burden of guilt that he didn't even need to carry; she knew he'd take a swing at her if she said as much and was careful to keep it out of her face.

“Now,” Daniel sat back again, trying to recapture his indifferent sprawl, “No more stupid questions. Just do your fucking job.”

Allison took a deep breath, picking his file up off her desk, flipping idly through, pretending to read while giving Daniel a chance to really calm down. When his angry aura lessened, when his body language relaxed (truly relaxed as opposed to just appearing that way), she turned back to him again.

She explained to him about what she did, how it worked and what she hoped to accomplish here, careful with her wording there so he wouldn't turn hostile again. Daniel's eyes remained fixed on the far corner while she spoke, appearing bored with her but clearly listening all the same. When she suggested a trial run, so he could see how it worked, to see how receptive he might be, he gave an indifferent shrug and said it was fine by him. He made another sarcastic crack about taking a nap, just so she remembered that he wasn't taking this or her even a little seriously. He readjusted himself into a more comfortable position, sitting up a little straighter, draping his arms along the arm rests and obediently closing his eyes.

When she finished her routine, Allison carefully looked him over. Daniel Ellison was, by all appearances, very susceptible and currently deep under; he was perfectly still, his head tilted down, breathing shallowly through his nose. But something about this picture seemed a lie to her; maybe because she had been anticipating a fight and instead it was so easy, too easy. The more she looked him over, the more she sensed something very alert about him, despite how relaxed he otherwise appeared. She kept expecting those green eyes to snap back open, to roll with teenage sarcasm while he snorted over how stupid all this was, even worse than he thought it would be. Either that or he'd try to crack a joke again; maybe open his eyes slowly, zombie like, call her master, await his commands. Heh, yeah that last one somehow seemed very likely and she waited for him to give it up. But he just sat there, silent and unmoving.

Finally, she was the one to break the silence. “Daniel?” she used the same calm, quiet voice as when she put him under, “Daniel, can you hear me?”

Nothing; not a sound, not even a twitch.

“Daniel,” she tried again, raising her voice just a little. “Come on, Daniel, say something.”

Still nothing.

“Very amusing, Daniel, but I think the joke has gone on long enough.” Still nothing. She called one more time, “Daniel.”

“I can hear you.” His voice was soft and calm, not the smartass she had been expecting; at first she wasn't sure she heard it. His eyes slowly fluttered back open, lazily glancing around the room before focusing on her again. As she had expected, he was very alert

Well, at least he seems to have calmed down again, she thought to herself.

Daniel continued to watch her expectantly, calm and serene, moving his hands from the arm rests and folding them in his lap. She raised an eyebrow at it. “I expected more joking, but the zen act is cute, too,” wanting to keep the mood light, hoping it would inspire him to look at her differently.

Daniel blinked at her, “Hmm?” It seemed to take him a moment to process her comment. He gave a very small smile, shaking his head slowly, “Oh no, I was just wondering what's supposed to happen next.”

“With our session?” He nodded, looking honestly interested; she wasn't certain what to think of that. “We can try again another time,” she told him. “I was not surprised this didn't work right now, perhaps next time if we can get you more relaxed we can try again.” Less defensive was what she really meant, no pushing his buttons and making him angry right off the bat. Chances were it would take a bit of trial and error to find something that wouldn't set him off, wouldn't put him on edge.

Daniel was slowly shaking his head. “No, no,” he said, “I meant if this were a normal session, everything went as planned. What happens now?”

She watched him with some concern, she didn't think there was any way an honest answer wouldn't make him angry; yes he did know why he was here, but he didn't like hearing it, being confronted with it, anymore than he liked being lied to or having the blow so obviously softened. She didn't want to ruin the peaceful atmosphere by taking yet another giant step backwards. “Daniel...”

“I'm just curious,” he calmly insisted, his green eyes focusing steadily on her with a sort of intensity that made her shift uncomfortably in her seat.

Allison decided to tread carefully, “Well, if this was a normal session and everything went as it was supposed to...I would ask you again what happened that day, with your mother, and...go forward from there.”

Contrary to the angry outburst she was half expecting, Daniel was calmly nodding his head. “Yeah, that's what I thought,” he gave her a small, regretful smile. “That's not going to happen though.”

She blinked at the quiet finality in his tone, “Its not?”

He shook his head once, one slow, sure movement. “Just thought you'd like to know. So you don't feel like you wasted your time.”

A cold prickle started at the back of her neck as she leaned forward just slightly toward him, painting an expression of concern on her face as she asked as calmly as he was, “And why is that, Daniel?”

His features scrunched up in a look of confusion, eyes drifting back across the room as he seemed to think. Confused herself, she opened her mouth to ask her own question, but he sensed her intentions and held up a finger. “Um...” he began uncertainly, though she could not imagine why, he had seemed so sure of himself before. “Um,” his finger lowered back down, tapping idly against his knee. “The color of your stones is five shades off- ...wait,” he frowned, “No, that's not it...damn it.”

Daniel's head lowered, focusing down on his lap, his hand on his forehead. He was mumbling to himself, very little of it making its way to her ears and what little did (“...nothing about tortoise shells either...”) made so little sense she was sure she must have been hearing wrong.

Okay, what...what is he doing now? Another game, most likely. A good one, too; he had fooled her for a minute there with his calm act.

Still, that prickling at the back of her neck continued.

Finally, Daniel looked up again, meeting her eyes and she could all but see the light bulb shining above his head. Slowly and carefully, he said to her, “You do not have the proper clearance level.” Almost immediately, his features lost that confident edge and he asked uncertainly, “That makes sense to you, right?”

Allison nodded, after a moment realizing she should speak herself. “Uh, you're saying I...don't have access to the information.”

Daniel looked relieved. “Oh good...yes, yes that's what I meant.” He leaned back in his seat, visibly relaxed. “For some people, its names,” he added conversationally, “But for me, that's what I get hung up on. Little turns of phrase.”

She blinked in confusion at that, at a lot of things, but decided to let it go for now in favor of the central, and far more important issue, “So, you're saying you won't answer any of my questions?”

He gave her that small, regretful smile again. “I'm sorry,” he said and damned if he didn't sound as though he meant it. “Its nothing personal, you know that, right?”

“So then, why not...why won't you cooperate here?”

Daniel raised one eyebrow, “Isn't it obvious?”

She shook her head. “Not to me, no,” she replied, feeling very out of her element here and uncertain as to why. “Sorry if I'm missing something.”

The expression on his face said he thought she was being stupid; his jaw tightened for a moment and she waited for an angry outburst, but it was quickly smoothed away. He gave her a very serious look, his green eyes now closed, unreadable. “Can I be blunt?” he asked, voice oddly gently considering the question.

She nodded, “Go ahead.”

He continued in that same gentle tone. “Just because you're a trained healer with a lot of fancy papers on your wall, doesn't make everything your business. You just met me, that doesn't entitle you access to all my secrets.”

“Do you have secrets?” it was out of her mouth before she could think better of it; call it a professional verbal tic.

He gave her a patronizing look. “We all do,” he said, “But it isn't just about secrets, is it? At this point in our relationship, you're not really entitled to anything, to know anything about me, any more than what I feel like giving you. Truthfully, you're not even entitled to an explanation for my decisions, nothing beyond I just don't feel like talking about it.” A pause, and his face softened a bit, “Sorry, I know its just your job and you don't mean anything by it. But you have to admit, those questions, they are pretty nosy, especially considering I'm not here on my own.”

She couldn't argue his points; that was the heart of the problem really, he didn't want to be here. Still, that professional tic made her want to try. “It can be helpful sometimes, to talk about these things with an impartial third party. I know you think I already have my mind made up, but I am willing to listen to you, I'm willing to be proven wrong. As I said before, it does seem as though you do need to talk to someone.”

He gave a small smile. “I'm doing better than people think I am, believe me. But you may be right, and when I do talk it will be when I want to, with whom I want to. Not because good old Uncle Harlan opened up his checkbook.”

She nodded slowly, deciding to change tactics. “I apologize, it isn't my intention to pry or make you in any way uncomfortable,” she said sincerely and meant it. “But since we are both here, perhaps you can tell me what I might do to gain your confidence? To have proper access, as you put it?”

That regretful smile reappeared on Daniel's face, his features at once gentle and uncompromising, “Sorry, but we don't have that kind of time.”

“I wasn't thinking it would happen today-”

“I know that,” he interrupted her. “But even if we had years, it wouldn't be enough.”

“But perhaps if-”

“I'm sorry.”

“But if I-”

“I'm trying to be nice about this,” he interrupted yet again, voice still calm but with just the slightest strain audible, “because you seem like a decent person and I know your intentions are good. But this is the way its going to be, and I'm not going to change my mind, Ms. Dyer, no matter how many different ways you ask me.”

And he meant that, Allison could see that very clearly. This wasn't the angry, defensive mask he came in here with; this wasn't an aggressive act to push her back, piss her off and otherwise keep her distant. The Daniel Ellison beneath the mask was quiet and thoughtful, kind but absolutely determined when had made up his mind, which he obviously had. She sensed a mature young man with a long fuse, but if she kept ignoring that firmly closed door she could see there in his eyes, that fuse would begin to shorten, and when it reached its end there would be no coming back from that.

Allison took a deep breath, setting that aside for now, at least until she could figure out a better way to handle it. She switched tactics again, wanting to keep him talking, keep him open. “Okay, well, if not me, do you have somebody you can talk to? Someone you're close to, feel comfortable with?” She tried to think but there was no mention in his file about him dating or having any close friends; he wasn't much of a social butterfly but nor was he an introvert, friendly and charming enough but he seemed at times to have trouble relating to his peers.

“What about your uncle?” she started with, certain it was a mistake but that was the only person she knew that he knew. And besides, this was a conversation the two of them ought to have, somehow or another.

Daniel laughed quietly, almost cruelly; not at her though, at the idea itself. He slowly shook his head, “That man is nothing to me.”

“He is family,” she quietly, gently protested, “The only family you have any more from what I understand, and that is-”

“He is nothing,” Daniel calmly, firmly repeated, his green eyes boring into her again unreadable. “Nothing at all. And you know it.”

He didn't seem angry, or hurt, or in any way affected by the words he was saying. Just stating a simple fact. Still, she wanted to try and smooth this dismissal away, “I know your relationship is not good right now, but-”

“He knows it, too,” he quietly interrupted, “You know that?” His tone turned more conversational, eyes moving off her, roaming with lazy half interest around the room. “Not in any conscious, concrete sort of way,” he continued, “not in any way he could ever point to or explain. Its just some vague unease, some weird distance, you know. But on a deeper level, the animal level where everything is still instinct, that level that can just recognize the difference between us and them...he knows it. They always do.”

She was so confused, that cold prickling at the back of her neck beginning to spread, to trail down her spine. Something...something isn't right here. But she didn't know what, she couldn't put her finger on it. “I'm not – I'm not sure what you mean.”

Daniel kept talking as though he hadn't heard. “It took me a long time to work that out, you know. That that's what it was, that's the problem. Its amazing, isn't it? The things people know, without knowing that they know them.” His green eyes wandering back to her, fixing on her face again, “I would think that would be of particular interest to you, considering your job.”

Allison nodded her head, yes it was and she couldn't help but wonder if it was ironic or telling that he was bringing this up now. Her eyes kept roving over his body, the way he was sitting, the look in his eyes, that small smile on his face. Something is...something is wrong...it's different, too different, but I don't...I don't know...

“I agree, Daniel,” she made herself speak, “This is interesting, that interest is one of the big reasons why I do this work. But I don't – I'm not sure how that applies here, with your uncle. What do you-”

“You do know,” he insisted, issuing a small, cynical laugh and shaking his head when she continued to look confused. “Oh come on, I saw the look on your face when he left. That surprised you, how cold he was to me. You didn't know how to react, how to think about that, you're still trying to rationalize it somehow, but you know it was wrong.”

And he was right about that, she couldn't deny it. She had expected the hostility and wasn't unfamiliar with it in her line of work, but something about the way Harlan Ellison had looked at his nephew (and the way Daniel had looked back), the way he so utterly dismissed him and anything to do with him...it worried her, deeply. As Daniel said, it wasn't right.

“I know you two have been having problems,” she said, “and you didn't come together under the best of circumstances as it is. But it could be worked out, that's part of what therapy is for-”

“If that's the case, why isn't he here?” Daniel retorted, “You're not the first who's said this, people keep trying to set up family counseling. I think if he gave a shit, he would have done something by now.”

“I know it can feel that way, but-”

“Why are you telling me these things when you don't even believe it yourself?” Daniel leaned forward a little toward her, hands in his lap. He tilted his head to the side, studying her with some interest. “Are you trying to make me feel better?” he asked, his voice softening again, “Because you don't have to worry about that. It doesn't bother me. Having to deal with his shit right now does, but in a couple more years I'll be gone, we won't see each other again, we'll both be happier for it.” He shrugged carelessly, “That doesn't bother me. At all. I'm used to them leaving, I know not to get attached.”

He meant that, she could see it. That was what she had sensed between them, or more accurately hadn't sensed, in that short time in the waiting room. In even the most dysfunctional families, underneath all the hostility, there was still a bond, they were still family and they still cared; Allison had sensed nothing of the sort between Harlan and Daniel. If they lacked any foundation, was there really anything to salvage? She honestly didn't know, and thankfully the particulars of their relationship or lack thereof were beyond the scope of her duty here. At least Daniel did seem like he would be okay, whatever happened.

Still, what he had said... “When you said you're used to them leaving, did you mean family? Did you mean your mother?”

He smiled tightly, “Sure.”

She wondered at the implication that his mother's death may be seen as an abandonment; it might be the start of an explanation. But Daniel's eyes, meeting her own cold and serious, told her she had the wrong idea and he wasn't going to talk about it either way.

Something is off here, her brain kept screaming at her; she had picked a pen up off her desk and tapped it against her knee as Daniel's eyes wandered off again, satisfied the subject was dropped.

She hated the silence, speaking again mostly just to break it. “So, if your uncle is out, who do you have to talk to about all this?”

Daniel's focus had shifted to the far corner of the room, leaning forward with his chin propped in his hand; he was calm, a far away look in his eyes. She didn't think he was going to answer, didn't think he had an answer, didn't think he had an answer. But then a small smile curled his lips, a sparkle kindling in his eyes; in that moment he looked every bit the handsome young man he would one day grow up to be. “My soul mate,” his voice was quiet, barely a whisper, “I would tell him.”

The quiet admission hit her like a slap upside the head; the pen rolled out of her fingers into her lap as she turned her head toward the file on her desk as though to search for answers in it she already knew weren't there. “What?” she turned back to him, “Did you say him?”

Daniel's eyes shifted back toward her a moment, he didn't speak otherwise; she had heard him, he knew it.

“You're a homosexual?” if so, it would be, as far as she knew, the first time he had ever indicated as much to anyone.

Daniel snorted, shaking his head, “I didn't say that, but...whatever you want.”

“You did say him though, right?” she asked, confused.

Daniel nodded, “Yeah, him, singular. Not talking about men here, a man, one in particular.” He shrugged again, seeming a little annoyed with the conversation, “But like I said, whatever you want. I know this means a lot more to you people than it does to me.”

What people? She wanted to ask him, if he had ever mentioned this before not even a rumor of it was recorded, whereas his pointed lack of interest in dating was mentioned several times. But she abandoned that, again, in favor of the larger issue. “What man, Daniel? As far as anyone has said, you're not seeing anyone.” Nor was he close enough with anyone that it could possibly be a friendship covering up a romance. Nor was he ever away from school or home long enough to be carrying on any affair.

Daniel shook his head. “He hasn't found me yet,” he mumbled, his eyes shifting down into his lap.

“Excuse me?”

“He will,” Daniel's voice was dropping, reaching the level of a whisper. “It just hasn't happened yet. When it does, I'll...I'll have someone to talk to... So, no need to worry.”

Allison paused, working through all this information, trying to make some sense of it. “All right, so...you're not talking about a specific male you know right now, but a – a general soul mate, as in who you're meant to be with?” Who will definitely be male even though you claim not to be interested in men and don't consider yourself homosexual?

Daniel had fallen silent, head down staring at his hands folded loosely in his lap. She watched him calmly, waiting for him to speak again, but he showed no sign. Despite him saying not to worry, the atmosphere around him had turned melancholy very quickly, though she couldn't think of why, what would have brought it on.

A hand raised to cover his face, his shoulders jerking as a soft, strangled sound barely escaped from him. She blinked in surprise, unsure at first what to do. “Daniel...are you – are you okay?”

“I just want to know that he's okay,” his voice was so quiet the words barely reached her ears, his fingers rubbing at his eyes. “I want to know he was okay after I...after I was...”

“Were what?” she asked, though she wasn't sure he was talking to her anymore. “Who are you talking about?”

“I want to know,” his voice was losing strength with every word, weak and quivering, “want to know that – that he doesn't hate me...”

The cold feeling had seeped into her veins as she watched his head raise out of his hand, eyes distant and unfocused, wet looking, visibly upset. He stared toward a point on the wall above her desk but she didn't think he was seeing anything. He shook his head at himself, “Why would he be all right?” he mumbled, wiping at his eyes, “I'm not all right, why would he be any different?”

He climbed swiftly to his feet and Allison felt her ribcage and everything in it twist into a painful, throbbing knot of tension; that cold feeling flashed through her brain, she half expected to be able to see her breath come out as a white cloud curling into the air. What she could only get a faint sense of while he was seated and mostly unmoving came into stark relief as she watched him stand and move across the room. Gone was the slouching teenager from the waiting room, Daniel Ellison walked with his head up, shoulders back, back perfectly straight, like the posture came naturally to him. His arms hung close to his sides, not loosely not too stiff, the fingers of his right hand curled just slightly, ready to reach out, grab hold. His steps were slow and careful, with the sort of confidence that comes from knowing both exactly what's in your surroundings and that there's nothing there you can't handle. Absolutely everything about him, down to the way he moved and carried himself, was completely different.

I don't – don't understand, she thought, watching him walk back to the window, standing in front of it again, Is he acting? Was he acting before? No one had ever mentioned as much; she had expected the hostility, the cruel sarcasm, expected him to shut down completely, glaring daggers at her while pretending her to be beneath his notice. Not this, this was not usual, no one had seen this before. She didn't know what to make of it, of him, of anything.

Daniel stood, head up, shoulders back, back straight, in front of the window. He raised his left hand and gently placed it against the glass. He was turned from her and she wished she could have seen his expression. She could only hear his uneven breathing, sorrow pouring off of him in waves. She wanted to say something; she didn't know what to say.

After a moment, she heard him speaking, so very quietly. “I still remember, you know.” She was about to ask what when he continued and she quickly realized Daniel was not speaking to her.

“I remember what I promised you. We'll have a little place by the ocean. We'll...raise puppies, or something like that. We'll have a nice, boring life...and I'll spend every minute of it kissing your feet, telling you I love you, making up for – for what a...fucking jackass I was.” He leaned his forehead against the glass, his hand there curling into a loose fist. “I'll do anything...anything, to make that happen. I won't...I can't...go through that again. Not – not now...not this soon...not ever again...”

(a blinding light overwhelms your vision, burns your eyes...the figures looming above are dark and indistinct with that light behind them, all the more intimidating for that and how much do you want to bet those bastards know exactly the effect they're creating...the one on the left is holding the phone again, the phone you still won't take, won't use; the asshole on the right...the light glides almost playfully, winking at you off the edge of a thin, sharp blade...)

(Fuck you...I won't – I won't do it...I heard you, I heard you talking, I know what you'll do and I won't...there's nothing you can do to me, nothing will make me...)

(...not my face...anything else, just...not that...)

(…......)

(a shower of bloody glass flying through the air, all around, falling slowly to the dark floor, glinting like macabre snowflakes...the glass has mostly been reduced to pebbles but a few larger shards survive spread out around your feet...bend down, lean closer and look, see it again, the bruised, swollen, ruined face of a stranger staring back up at you...)

(…......)

(that single hand, inching slowly across the floor toward you...that thin, pale skinned, beautiful hand with the long tapered fingers...knuckles skinned and bloody, that middle finger might be broken... so close now, as close as it can currently come, looking for...what? help? comfort? support?...)

(not that I deserve...my fault...this is all my fault...)

(can't give it anyway, couldn't move if you tried and you know because you did try, tried so hard...if you could move this would be stopped...all you can do now is tilt your head and blow, hope your breath hits those fingers...can't yell anymore, throat feels like a column of fire and your voice won't sound...not that the screaming stopped anything...but it wasn't really for them, it was for him, so he would know...)

(you're not alone...sorry that all you got left is me)

(…......)

(that same hand, beating frantically at your chest, its twin gripping tight at your throat)

(“Come on!”)

(sounds are distant...vision blurred, in and out of focus...gods, he's such a wreck, near hysterical)

(“Breathe!”)

(want to shove his hands away, push him off, push him away, make him go...can't move again...

so much of that lately)

(go...go...go,go,go...)

(“You can't do this to me, you can't do this. Come on! I need you right now, you can't leave me alone.”)

(...I'm sorry...go...please go...)

(…......)

(its like looking through a thick, fogged sheet of glass...there's the wall and the door, the door is closed and suddenly it is open...a man appears, in a thick coat, carrying a blaster, don't know him....his eyes see something that frightens him, they widen and his mouth drops open; there's a flash of movement in the air, and his head explodes...blood and brains and bits of skull flying backward, painting the walls scarlet...two more quick flashes, too fast to discern, and the torso blows apart as well; arms drop, intestines splash the ground, the legs fold in on themselves and go down in a tangle... you feel that splatter all up your side, blood and bile and don't want to know what else...a dark shadow, a cold breeze, movement out of view, behind, then above...a leg appears, then a second, a new figure drenched in blood and gore, soaked through the tattered clothing, crimson droplets falling from the ends of slim, elegant fingers to fall on your face, so cold that they burn...hair dyed red and flattened to the skull, it doesn't turn, doesn't pause, stepping right through the mess that was that unknown man, right out the open door the man came in from...the storm followed in his wake...)

(...did I see that? was it real? or...a dream, a...hallucination?...wish fulfillment?...I wanted you to be all right, gods, please be all right...)

“Who are you?” the words out of her mouth ahead of her conscious intentions; she didn't even realize at first that she had spoken, it was a further shock to realize she was standing. The temperature in her body plummeted another dozen degrees, she knew she had hit upon something, some understanding her brain had been trying desperately to grasp while it danced maddeningly out of reach.

Somehow, Daniel heard her words and he paused. Pushed himself back from where he had been cowering against the glass, arms still visibly trembling, legs working to remain upright. He looked over his shoulder, eyes bloodshot, face parchment white and wet looking at a distance; sweat, tears, both? Underneath the remaining fear, he appeared confused.

What happened? She wanted to ask, what was that? What happened to you? “Who are you?” she asked again, “Who...who am I talking to?”

It was impossible, ridiculous, her mind screamed against it. But...if not that, then what? How else to explain? What else made sense?
Daniel's brows lowered, he didn't seem to understand the question. “Same man you were talking to before?” After a moment, his eyes widened in realization, seeing the implication. The corners of his lips pulled up weakly, his amusement at her seemingly enough to overcome the remaining effects of his...fit?

“You got the wrong idea, Ms. Dyer,” he carefully turned himself around, leaning back against the window, facing her again. “I'm the only one in here, I promise you. Always have been.”

As he turned toward her, Allison found herself taking a step back, sitting uncertainly at the edge of her desk; floundering for something to say, she felt so confused, off balance, intimidated in a way she couldn't ever remember being before.

Daniel raised a hand to ward her off before she could even get started; the hand was shaking, Daniel himself struggling to regain his composure after...what? A fit? An episode? “I'm sorry,” he sounded hollow, empty, “I should have ended this right away...have no excuse. It's just not often that I can...” He trailed off, shaking his head, “Know what, never mind. It's not important. I've gone on too long as it is.”

She started to shake her head, wanting to keep him talking, keep him going so she could have a chance of figuring this out; it was weaker now that it had been, Daniel was able to go right over her without pause, “I can't answer your questions...and even if I did, it wouldn't make any difference. There's nothing you can do, that's just the way it is.” He gave her a kind look, “It's no failing on your part, you know. It's not because...because there's anything wrong with you or what you're doing or anything. I know your intentions are good, I do know that, whatever I may say to you later on.” A sardonic grin curled his lips, “But it's all a game, you know. Got to pretend I don't know.”

What...?

Daniel relaxed back against the window. “If it makes you feel better, I don't really need help. Not like people think anyway. I just need time. Change of scenery might help, too.” He snorted softly, shaking his head just slightly. “Figure that out on my own. Sooner or later.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. She prodded at him a couple of times but Daniel ignored her or didn't hear, the former most likely she knew, but the way he looked it was hard to be sure; he could have fallen asleep.

Allison slowly made her way back to her chair and sat unsteadily in it. She found herself eying the file still sitting on top of her desk. She knew she was going to have to report this, going to have to say something to Harlan Ellison (surely this counts as “something exciting”, right?) and she had absolutely no idea what to say. What to call this...any of this? She felt so drained.

“You moved me across the room? Seriously?”

She jumped in her chair, whipping around fast; it had been at least ten minutes of utter silence, she had almost forgotten she wasn't alone. And she certainly hadn't expected to hear that loud, brash tone again. She turned and met challenging green eyes and a sarcastically cocked brow.

“Impressive, I guess. Didn't really expect you to do anything.” He gave her a mockingly polite golf clap before crossing his arms on his chest again, though in a more defensive way, not anywhere near as relaxed and casual as he had been.

Her eyes scanned him up and down, cataloging every change. She wanted to ask him about what happened, not because she thought he would tell her anything, she was sure he wouldn't; she wanted to look in his eyes for a flicker of recognition, of remembrance, before he blew her off. Did she think it would be there? She honestly was not sure.

Daniel pushed off the window, plunging his hands immediately back into his pockets. “Well, if you're done playing puppet master, I got to take a piss.” He walked briskly, slouched over, stopping in front of her chair and looking at her expectantly. “So...where's the bathroom around here?”

She opened her mouth to speak but words would just not come out. From angry to calm, conversational to depressed to...a breakdown?...and back to angry again. He was dizzying, her mind was still trying to catch up.

“...okay,” Daniel's eyes rolled, “I'll find it myself then.” And he barreled out of the room, muttering under his breath (disparaging things about her, she would bet), ripping the door open and shoving it closed, not hard enough to slam but enough so his irritation was evident.

Allison sat back in her chair, taking several deep breaths, trying to put her thoughts into some sort of order.

The rapidly changing moods were one thing, she knew from the first the anger was a cover rather than a representation of who he really was...but why strip the mask off, show her what was underneath and just as quickly take it away again?

That's not all it was, it was more than just a mood change and you know it.

What worried her more was that sudden intense depression, that...frightening meltdown...by the window. That she couldn't figure out where it came from. That too much of what he said made little sense and had little connection to what she knew to be true about him; it was not entirely a surprise, of course, but it was...more extensive than she thought.

And she just couldn't quite shake that sudden earlier idea. Even if Daniel dismissed it, even if it seemed so damn unlikely, really what are the chances...she couldn't shake the notion that it made a strange sort of sense.

She didn't know what to think, didn't know what happened. Except that it was beyond her expertise, and that of every previous therapist apparently.

Perhaps Daniel Ellison needed something more intensive than out patient therapy. Perhaps she would discuss that with his uncle when she made her call. When she figured out what to say.