Eyes of Time - 11. Chapter 11, Training

Eyes of Time

Chapter 11: Training

 

It’s hard to wake up in the morning. It was harder to fall asleep last night. The whole sleeping through the day routine messing up with my inner clock.

 

That and the memories.

 

After the meeting with the Sensei, my tutor from now on, James resumed his mother hen act by accompanying me to my room. He made all the right questions, pointed at the pills and told me how to take them. He was concerned with my rest, because come morning it would be a hard day; after all my much delayed schooling and training is to finally begin.

 

I don’t think my teacher was very impressed with me though. James must have thought that as well because he made a point of telling me not to worry about it, that it was going to be alright.

 

As I get ready for the new day I must admit to myself this little sense of excitement, even if subdued, as I wonder what will take place today. I can only imagine how he’ll probably start by explaining my gift with big words and over ambitious, and ambiguous, concepts. Over complicating something I still struggle to put into words myself, but that at the same time just feels natural, innate. Well, at least it did, before. Now it’s just painful and erratic, like struggling to breathe through a constricted pipe.

 

I wonder if this training of theirs will shed any light over the recent changes. The way the visions are deviating from norm and how it feels all so different now. This last episode was completely different in the way it developed. The weird yet powerful thrumming connection I experienced with Leo. It made the scene stand still, like I could control the pace of time if only I knew what were the right switches to press.

 

That thrumming of something in my veins that made me so aware and alive, everything so sharp, it’s a novelty. It was a much welcomed change from being crushed to the ground with the absolute weight of gravity multiplied tenfold. The moment the thrumming started my insides felt lighter, the vibrant energy that sprung to life making it feel bearable. I have no idea what it was though, nor how to control it. Another question to add to my growing list.

 

I shake my head at myself, trying to shoo away the memories. Sometimes I feel that the more I try to remember the more my perception of the events changes. It’s like I remember little new things every time I recall them, new details and feelings, and it’s almost like that energy re-starts drumming inside me, speeding me to jump again.

 

To where I’m not yet certain.

 

I wonder if this Sensei will be able to explain all of this. Explain how I passed from witnessing the past, to have glimpses of what I believe to be the future, augurs of death that they seem to be. Maybe he will explain the vibrant thrumming, and how I was almost able to touch Leo, ridiculous as this notion may be, and how he shivered to my touch, even though my hand passed right through.

 

Except he never did, shiver I mean. Because that never happened, because I never called detective Haley and Leo never found me. Mostly because I was too doped, knocked out on that infirmary bed, to actually make it on time to my own scheduled death.

 

I guess that answers the question of whether or not the future can be changed. I’m either a bogus fortune teller with delusions of wisdom or then it was a warning I was able to heed.

 

I’m not calling the detective. I didn’t call him mostly because I had the episode, that warned me not to when I had every intention of doing just that. It sheds some light into what triggered the vision. In a way it was as much a survival instinct as my honed reflexes are while I’m performing daring stunts through the crowded streets, zigzagging people and cars alike.

 

There is always the little nagging voice in the back of my head, especially when questions and lack of answers abound in such high numbers like these last few days. Maybe this visions I have are not even true? Leo didn’t seem to remember our meeting in his room when I mentioned it in this future happening that I avoided. I can feel the beginnings of a headache.

 

Or maybe it has yet to happen to him? I would just disregard it as a dream, were it not for all the ruckus it actually caused. Robin and James were sure I travelled outside the warding walls, and at the time I was sure of that as well. Maybe it is all true, but it just didn’t happen to Leo yet? Maybe in his timeline I have yet to appear by his side, on his bed, during the middle of the night. Maybe he is going to hurt me in the future and him telling me to run was his way of trying and change that? All of this thinking in circles is making me feel almost in such a bad mood as the one I was in last night. Nothing makes sense, and turning to the impossible doesn’t look to sound either.

 

I sigh and just set about going through my stuff and getting ready, trying to discard my thoughts to the back of my mind, at least for now.

 

I’m aware that I’m repressing. That was what the psychiatrist called it, right after my mom passed away. Thankfully dad gave up on that after I told him the man was useless at it. He actually wasn’t, he sounded like quite the competent doctor in his field of expertise, but I didn’t want to talk about it. I still don’t.

 

I try and just focus on the simple things, paying attention to the clock so I won’t be terribly late. I’m sure the Sensei wouldn’t be happy about that show of disrespect, on the first day of class no less. It’s still weird to consider this new format of education, the way Robin presented it, as a class, at least to conciliate it with what I’m used to.

 

A thud calls my attention as I pick up some discarded clothes from yesterday. I find myself with a bad sense of déjà-vu as I stare, again, at the cell phone that triggered all of this. I stare at it, my mind drawing a blank. I had assumed they had taken it from me, to avoid outside contact or something.

 

Dylan had mentioned me holding it when they found me, so I know they saw it. They left it there, just a thing, harmless. I snap out of it and grab it, half afraid it will trigger another episode.

 

It doesn’t, and I find that the process of erasing the detective’s number just isn’t going quick enough for my peace of mind. When it confirms deletion I drop the thing into a drawer and almost vow to never open it again.

 

It’s the tick tack of the clock that awakes me from what I’m sure was a long staring contest with that closed drawer. My mind was wondering far away; with me sitting on the floor, against my bed, knees drawn high against my chest, harms embracing them. It takes me a while to decipher that it’s telling me the time, the seconds that I have let go by in my inertia.

 

“Bugger, I’m late.”

 

Wouldn’t it be neat if I were able to jump back in time so I wouldn’t have to be worried about being late? That thought quickly flees my mind at the sight of what lies beyond the door I just opened.

 

James has his eyes wide open, blue pools of awkwardness, his hand in the air ready to knock on my door. It seems like I’m making a habit of this with the people around here.

 

He actually almost knocks me on my nose as I’m holding the door open on my out (the one they made sure to replace right away), momentarily stumped in my surprise at seeing him.

 

“Hi?” I’m not aware of the correct etiquette in a situation like this?

 

“hmm, yes, good morning” a pause. I think he’s trying to read some clue from my face, not sure about what though; maybe my mood?

 

“You were late for breakfast. I was worried. I mean, you should eat before, hum.. the sensei is known for teaching tiring lessons. You will need your energy levels up.”

 

And when has James become Robin and started babbling in short half-sensible sentences?

 

“Thanks, I guess. I got distracted but I was just leaving.” No need to elaborate on what made me late. I’m sure the questions will begin soon enough any way.

 

“Good, I’ll walk you to the cafeteria. I’ll send word to Sensei Barton that you will be arriving late. He’ll let it pass, because it’s your first day. You shouldn’t make a habit of it though. He’s a very strict educator.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

I lock the door to my room and signal him to lead the way. He’s fidgety though, staring at me from time to time, the silence too awkward for comfort. I think he’s unsure on how to act around me. I feel ashamed by my mood yesterday, and the fact that it obviously put James on an hard spot, not sure how to handle the volatile personality I have been subjecting him to. Where did happy go-lucky Rhina go to? It all used to seem so much easier. Maybe I’m finally growing up? That thought alone annoys me, my father would be proud no doubt.

 

James calls a person on the corridor to the side, one of those I have come to recognize as the staff of this place. He’s probably telling him to send word to the Sensei that I’ll be late.

 

As I watch a bit further away I find myself thinking it’s a bit hard to reconcile this person with the James that first brought me here. The same that threatened to put me to sleep by force just to be on the safe side, only a few days ago. Even harder if I consider the talk we had, how emotional and weak he let himself be during it.

 

That conversation is still a bit murky in my memory. I had almost forgotten it in the middle of all the chaos that followed: the vision, the infirmary, me being knocked out. But something about James posture is bringing it to the fore front of my thoughts. I just know that conversation was more significant than even I thought at the time. I remember the assumptions I made. I remember mostly James not denying them, but not blaming me for his brother’s situation either. Damn, poor Micah.

 

Small bits of the conversation are coming back to me again. I didn’t have time before to process the facts. The cell phone event was almost immediately afterwards. I remember fearing for my brother’s wellbeing. The fear aching almost as much as I was aching for Micah, someone so clearly and openly loved by his big brother. A man that has dedicated his own life to protect those like the sibling he loves and failed to protect.

 

I remember the certainty I felt then of how it was connected to me, and to Leo as well, not sure how I knew that though. I just did. I still do…

 

James didn’t deny it. Maybe he didn’t hear it, didn’t pay it any mind? Maybe I should ask him, but I’m too lost on the possibilities.

 

Micah saw me growing up. Not me, the ones around me. The exact phrasing of James «… just how everybody else fitted around her» becomes very clear in my head, his strong smooth voice echoing the words over and over. I remember finding it odd at the time, but they sound very significant now, some little bit of information wriggling somewhere in my brain, begging me to pick it up, to let I be known.

 

And Leo’s image springs up in the background, cold as ice, strutting up a familiar set of stairs, the library stairs. Robin’s excited voice makes an entrance on cue, almost as the only fitting soundtrack to this particular scene: «I was the one who tracked you down. Well it wasn’t you exactly that I was tracking…».

 

I’m not sure I can really make heads or tails of what it means, how this is significant, but my heartbeat and the feeling in my gut tells me it is. It’s so intense I almost jump when James voice catches me off guard.

 

“Spacing out much?” He’s smiling, amused. I return the smile before I realise it. I file my thoughts for later analyse and resume watching James through the corner of my eye as we head to the cafeteria once again. I can’t help but notice how much things changed in regards to my attitude towards James. He’s a safe port now, no longer a fire hazard ready to blow up in my face. That’s how it feels now.

 

Something sad crosses his face. “You were thinking of what happened?” He sounds regretful about it, just as if he would have been able to stop it, were he there on time. Why would he be blaming himself? I guess that’s how he felt whenever Micah spaced out. An unknown he couldn’t control and that could hurt his little brother. Poor James, always trying to save us, and not being able to.

 

“Sort of. I have tried not to think much about it, really. Is this the part where you drill me for information on what happened?” Even the thought of putting in words what I saw terrorizes me into goose bumps over my uncovered arms. The room temperature is nice here, almost summer, not too cold, not too warm. It doesn’t stop the cold from seeping into my very bones though. Should I tell him?

 

“Nah, that’s not my job. Or anybody else’s for that matter so don’t feel pressured if any of the gossip mongers badger you. We try and respect people’s privacy as much as possible around here.

 

You had a very strong reaction to it though. In such cases we suggest counselling. Your tutor will do if you trust him like that. We have professional doctors available too if you prefer one of them. It’s important that you share what happened with someone. The tutors here are honour bound not to disclose what they are told, unless they believe it will be a risk to either the life of the student or someone else’s, even then they’ll be discreet. The sort of gift you have is not something to be handled lightly. We care first for your wellbeing.”

 

“Who is ‘we’ James? I still don’t have all the answers you promised me.” His speech was very nice, kind of good to know I wasn’t going to be tortured into answering their questions, but still, that should have been the first thing they told me when I got here. He chuckled

 

“You don’t, do you? I can’t believe it, it just goes to show you what a trouble maker you are. Whenever I think it will be a quiet night there goes Rhina setting off the alarms.” I should be offended by his comment, but his smile is so amused and good hearted. After the emotional breakdown, and all I put him through I really can’t begrudge him his little fun. I still mock hit him in the stomach though, a smile fighting the lips I’m trying to set into a frown. I settle on being mature and I stick my tongue out at him.

 

He laughs. And it makes me feel all warm for putting it there, in his once stone set face.

 

“Tell you what, after your class, if the Sensei hasn’t given you enough answers for the day, we’ll talk, okay? For now, you’re already too late as it is.” His expression is sincere enough that I relax some more around him. I nod.

 

*

 

I knock on the door of the classroom I had been shown the day before. The Sensei should be waiting for me already. I hope James message caught him in a good enough mood. He didn’t look the type to forgive tardiness.

 

“Come in.” I do as the voice says. The room looks exactly the same as before. I frown when my eyes sweep the room for the second time, finding it very much empty.

 

“Miss Slate, be welcome to your first session of tutoring. I hope your delay isn’t a presage for the days to come?”

 

I follow the voice around the room. Only when I’m facing the door I walked in through, and looking up, do I realize why I didn’t seen him right away. There is a second floor balcony surrounding the three walls of the room, leading stairways to my left and to my right side.

 

It is a deep golden wood, the walls covered in shelves. Most of them with books, others with odd looking instruments I am too far away to be able to decipher properly.

 

“No sir. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be late. J.. hm, James insisted I eat breakfast first. I trust you got his message?” See? I can be polite.

 

I hope I’m not being too forward by calling James by his first name. After yesterday I want to cause a good impression. This Mr Barton fella was right, I am lucky he is willing to teach me, at least if he is as good as everybody here is making him out to be.

 

Be that as it may I’m sure by his strict posture that I’ll have to swallow some toads along the way.

 

“He did well. That is actually part of the rules.”

 

“Rules?”

 

“Yes, I hope you’re familiar with those.” I can’t help but snort. First toad in.

 

“Unless told otherwise, starting tomorrow, you will arrive here, every morning, at eight o’clock, well fed and with no delays. We will then discuss any important matter that may arise between meetings. Afterwards we’ll proceed with the physical part of your training, the martial arts training you so kindly requested. Be it here or at the gym, depending on what I intend for you to do, you will do as I say or the sessions will end at once.

 

We will do this until twelve. You’ll then have an hour for lunch and rest. Afterwards we will focus on either your gift or your academic studies. I’m thinking Monday to Thursday for your gift and Friday to Saturday for academics. This until five in the afternoon, every day.

 

The rest of the time is yours to do what you will. There will be homework though. The schedule and focus of our work may vary considering what I believe are your bigger needs at the time. Any questions?”

 

“Huh, no?”

 

He rolls his eyes, or as much as he will allow himself to. His voice his still echoing through the room walls and I fight a shiver. I’m so dead.

 

“Concessions will be made when and if necessary, only when justified, very much so.

 

I know it sounds harsh to you but I believe a regular and predictable schedule is a big part of your training. It helps to settle your senses and train them to respond when necessary. It is vital in both the meditation we’ll work through, as well as the martial arts. You will eventually notice one practice is not far from the other in that regard.”

 

He’s now standing in front of me. He told me all of this while circling the balcony and descending through one of the sets of stairs, his voice crisp and loud but unwavering. His demeanour is that of someone who believes what he’s saying and is very much ready to make you believe it too. His stance screams that he is very sure of whom he is, impervious to outside judgement. His eyes are all knowing dark pools, ready to read through your very soul.

 

I can’t help but envy this man to an extent, and fear him too. He might be an iron fist ruler, but he knows it and has pride in it. Not a single drop of doubt in him.

 

“Which brings me to my next question. Yesterday you implied your interest in learning how to defend yourself. I gave you a time frame for you to consider whether or not you would be willing to do as I say under my guidance and under my rules. This will be essential in all parts of your training, but in the physical part it will be of the utmost importance, I will not only be your tutor then, I will be your teacher and I will know what is best for you, what you can and can’t do. I will know what you think your limits are and I will prove to you they are much beyond that point. I will know best in those situations and I will expect your utmost compliance. Any less and those lessons will be over.

 

I have noticed your stance on the matter of authority, and how very much independent you try to be. That trait is commendable only to an extent. To let it hinder your progress will be foolish. I asked you then and I will ask you know: Are you ready to learn from me Miss Slate, under my very strict rules, and no chance for backing out like a scared puppy?”

 

I’m pretty sure he can hear me gulp. I think it even echoes on the wall and back. Am I ready to do this? He’s right, I have a difficult streak when it comes to challenging people like him, people so full of themselves it stops them seeing reason. I blame my dad and his wife for that. And the way my mom would stand up to the big meanies in my life.

 

But this man is proving my earlier assumptions wrong. He might be strict, and very clearly in charge, but he isn’t full of himself, not in a bad way at least. All he said so fair makes sense and I really need to learn what he can teach me. I guess I’ll have to give him a chance until he proves me wrong, or right for that matter. It’s hard to stare him in the eyes as I give him my answer.

 

“I know I was difficult before, I’m sorry about that. I can’t promise blind faith though, all I can promise is that I’ll try my best to learn from you. Under your rules. As such I’ll accept your terms.” This is the most I can give him. I hope he can accept it as the white flag I intend it to be.

 

“Very well. I believe we started on the wrong foot Miss Slate. I am aware you have been under a lot of stress, and for that I will let go of what transpired before. I will nonetheless accept nothing but your best efforts inside this room. Follow my rules, accept my guidance and I can promise I will not rest until I see you thrive in your achievements.”

 

And what am I supposed to reply to that? That sort of conviction sheds a new light on my opinion of him. I can see why he’s so well respected around here. Fairness and iron determination all glued together by an unshakeable sense of self. Most of all, he sounds like he actually cares.

 

I reinforce my decision to learn as much as I can from this place. This man right now looks like the key to the knowledge I seek. I just nod and hope he has dealt with enough nervous teenagers to understand I’m agreeing. It’s not that I’m nervous, not much. I’m just not sure what to say, that and I am afraid I might say something to set him off, again.

 

He smiles a little. It’s too quick to be certain it was there though. Next thing I know he’s sitting down on a mattress to the side, legs crossed indian style.

 

“Sit down Miss Slate. This session will be introductory but no less informative.”

 

I sit down in front of him. No matter what, this alone makes me certain nothing conventional will come from this man. I find myself oddly excited about that prospect. I look around to grab my backpack so I can take some notes only to discover I forgot it. Well done Rhina.

 

“If you’re looking for writing supplies they are available in this room, and can be used, but I would like this first class to be more of a conversation. There won’t be a test so there is no need for note taking. I’ll gladly supply any references you may need for research later.”

 

“As a matter of fact not much note taking will be happening during the sessions we will be focusing on your paranormal abilities, unless you make a point of it of course. As my tittle implies I am to tutor you, to guide you in the right direction. To help you discover what that direction might be. The first thing you must learn is that nothing in this matter is set in stone. There are no rules to follow or to learn when it comes to harnessing ones gift. There are only sets of exercises to experiment with, and some shared traits your peers have presented that might prove true to you as well.”

 

I feel a bit let down by his statement. So he’s not teaching me how to do it after all? Wasn’t that why they dragged me here in the first place? My expression must have shown my disappointment because the sound of him snorting, almost a chuckle, brings my attention back to him.

 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to figure things by yourself. I honestly hope you are not as empty headed as most of the students around here. That would be a pity. Potential such as yours shouldn’t be wasted likewise.”

 

I’m pretty sure he insulted me back there, or was it a compliment? I’m too dizzy to really pay it any mind. Might as well count it as toad number two, swallow it whole and move on.

 

“I’m not sure I know what you mean. I thought you were supposed to teach me how to do it, whatever it is I do.”

 

“A very coherent way of putting it, «whatever it is you do». Tell me Miss Slate, what do you know about your gift?”

 

What do I know? Shouldn’t he be the one telling me that? I sigh and try and recall all the facts I have gathered thus far, all the impressions and feelings. How does one explain something one doesn’t even completely understand?

 

“I have visions, of real events that took place, usually quite nauseating. Some are clearer than others. They have become less ambiguous as time wore on. It started when I became eighteen and have been going on for about a year and a half now. I have no control over it, and it happens randomly, no predicting when it will happen or what I’ll be witnessing next.”

 

I resist the urge to look down, I shouldn’t feel ashamed, but also I have taken so much care not to let on to others how abnormal I am. This is sort of new to me, to talk about it in such plain terms without having someone suggest the psychiatric ward right away. No judgement, just someone listening and actually understanding. When I look up at the eyes of the man in front of me I wonder for the first time if he too has the gift, or the curse, however one decides to look at it.

 

He takes my pause as a cue for his next question.

 

“Visions. May I ask why do you call them that?” It’s his only reply. I wonder how that is relevant. My confusion shows because he proceeds.

 

“Your file mentions you always referring to these episodes in such a way. James was quite insistent on that. I expect that from his own personal experience with other gifted he knows what to look for. He registered all his interactions with you quite thoroughly.”

 

For some reason that hurts. Here I am trusting James and there he goes spilling all my secrets to the wind. I haven’t trusted very many people during my life, it shouldn’t hurt, I should have expected it. I did see James all cosy with this man yesterday, spilling the latest Rhina gossip more likely. It scares me to think that even the correct number of doped induced giggles I experienced around him are accounted for in that damned file.

 

“I can see by your face this upsets you. Don’t be, he wrote only facts, nothing private or emotional. And to put peace to your mind, once your file has reached my hands it will not be open to anyone else. James was its guardian before, and now I am. All that will develop from now on will be for my eyes only and strictly confidential. Only the files of deceased students are open to an extent. Most times as a source of learning from past experiences, but most personal references are erased beforehand.”

 

The fact that he’s reading my every expression, mostly with a correct assessment, is quite disturbing. There is a calm quality to his voice though, it soothes my fears and in a way I can’t help but to believe, trust him a little even. I berate myself for that, didn’t I just state people aren’t trustworthy?

 

James also described your conversation with Mr Thorpe, Robin. The first time you two met in person. This leads me to one conclusion: that in your visions, as you call them, you are merely a spectator. Is this correct Miss Slate? Could you please describe me how these visions feel to you? If I’m to help you master this, it will prove quite relevant in your training that I’m aware of such details.”

 

That makes sense, the last part at least. What confuses me though is why would I call them anything else? They are visions: I’m not allowed to intervene. I can’t even touch anything, only my eyes, ears and nose tell me it’s there. My touch and my voice are forbidden to interact with the events taking place. Isn’t this how it goes with the rest of them? I ask him this very thing.

 

“I’m afraid that isn’t the case Miss Slate. Allow me to clarify some of what we know before you can relay to me your own experience then.” He pauses and frowns a bit, his pensive expression telling me he’s gathering his thoughts, trying to decide where to start.

 

“There are many theories that try to explain what you are. Some more reflected than others. There are old records of happening such as this all over History. This community is the result of the effort of gathering such sensible info and actually trying to make sense of all of it. Your condition has crossed the path of some very important people in the past, people that thought it best to understand its meaning, as well as offer protection to those like you whom might need it. Some of the records and History of this institution are available to you in the main library. I’ll leave you to delve deeper into that on your own for now.

 

As for what others have gone through before you, those are a bit more turbulent waters to travel. It varies deeply from person to person. We have created a chart of progressive and comprehensive abilities in order to try and make sense of all the data we have gathered. We call them stages. The inferior stages are less pronounced, some of the students in those stages never achieve much. Most of the time they end up not needing our help because the ability never develops past a certain point. Those in such stages usually have classes together and share their meditation exercises in groups. They need less direct attention. They are here by choice, not exactly necessity, but after a while few decide to actually stay. Part of our intern staff actually comes from such cases.

 

Now, the higher stages are another matter altogether. They are very rare, but very powerful and as such, almost impossible to master. Usually there are only a few cases in every generation, from all over the world. I have trained a select few during my life, some showed great potential but not enough determination. Some were victims of a cruel fate and never did get the chance to evolve further, so is life. You Miss Slate belong in this category. You have so far shown more potential, and more frequently so, than anyone I have had the pleasure of coming in contact with recently. Let’s just hope you actually know what to do with it.”

 

He has risen and starts pacing, delivering the various characteristics of every stage. I try to push the numbness that his last words instilled in me so I can pay attention. His voice drones on though, I signal him to stop, hand raised in the air, palm up; the other with fingers grabbing my hair and my temple.

He’s in silence now, his back to the desk on the top of the classroom and he’s observing me.

 

“Forgive me my bluntness Miss Slate, but I’m not known to coddle my students. Much to the contrary. Are you ready for me to proceed with the rest of my explanation? You may present your questions or thoughts at the end.”

 

I’m afraid I’m becoming a mute around this man, all that I seem able to do around him is nod. I do so again. His speech proceeds, no less factual, no less impersonal than before. His words had no impact on him. They did on me though, they numbed me, chilled me to the core. I try to ignore it and grasp whatever will come next. I look up at him again.

 

“As I was saying these stages are a progressive scale that serves to measure ones aptitude. The first one is what we call the Instinctual Stage. Something you have already described to me yesterday, something that seems so normal to you that you have made a hobby out of it. You mentioned your instincts with physical prowess, how you never had an accident, how your muscles just know when to jump even before you do. This stage of the gift is a tad difficult to detect when no other manifestations arise. It is not so different from what every regular human being is able to achieve merely by training themselves properly, over and over again until a given task is as natural to them as breathing.

 

There are other instances though, not just physical ones. Some call it premonitions. They are first and foremost survival instincts. One does not catch a train because one knows it will crash. Someone deliberately stays home until the feeling is just so because going out before meant they would be run over by a speeding car. One stays at work late because if not one would be attacked and robbed on the way home. Most of these people never truly realize what they have done, how they have cheated death and disgrace time and time again. We have been able to spot them here and there, for the most part, we have our ways. We’ll delve more into that in the future.”

 

He starts pacing the room, his movements precise, his posture straight.

 

“The second stage provides more concrete evidence that something might be amiss. It means having glimpses of past or present events. Be it in the form of dreams, be it through blackouts during the day, the subject is presented with a scenario one not always understands but that is outside oneself. There is no interaction; most times there isn’t even a defined action to be understood. In the more developed cases they see complete events, like watching a movie. They don’t have much control over it though. I would guess this sounds familiar to you, but I have reason to believe that in your case there is much more to it than this. Allow me to proceed.

 

“The third stage allows for something that bents the laws of time and space a little bit more. There aren’t many records of it actually being achieved. We currently have one student that has been able to do so by willing it but it’s still very hard and taxing for him. You have met him. I heard you met him while he was doing this very thing. Mr Thorpe travelled through space in order to find you. He told us you actually saw him across the street. That most of all tells me you aren’t telling me the whole story Miss Slate. Mr Thorpe is able to move in space but it is still a self-projection of sorts. He hasn’t mastered it yet. People just aren’t able to actually see him. Were he a master of the third stage he would be able to fully transmute himself to another location. He isn’t, and only someone very gifted would have been able to see him. That was the first time ever that we were able to spot you. You have proven to be very elusive to our scanning resources thus far.

 

“This third stage also implies a very natural ability to sense the forces that are behind such happenings. Mr Thorpe calls it a feeling, an energy. He is able to discern through these feelings, assign it to its source and even work alongside them. An affinity of this kind is what allows him to work so well with one Dylan Pryde. It is all very subjective though, and dependent on ones interpretations of it. In simple terms that which to some is cold to others might be warm. Others might not feel it at all.”

 

The way he’s drawling it all makes me think he must be amused by my blank face, trying to grasp the meaning of his lecture. It’s hard to tell though, his face is a blank canvas waiting to be marred by the paint of expression. I think he’s immune, whenever I think he’s smiling… it’s gone.

 

“The fourth stage is something many aspire to, but very few have achieved in the whole of history. Many have suffered its effects, but almost none has been able to control it. This is the Future Stage.”

 

He stops in his smooth cadent speech to gauge my reaction. I try to not give anything away, I’m not even sure I have moved a muscle ever since he started his explanation. But he was right somewhere along the way. This is starting to sound awfully familiar, and I’m not sure I’m happy that the more he’s progressing the more I identify with his descriptions. A freak among freaks indeed. Next thing I’ll know someone will be lighting the fires and raising pitchforks, as a cackling scream of it’s alive! travels the thundering of the night sky.

 

I think my lips are twitching, damn.

 

“As its name implies it deals with premonitions of the future. Visions as you call them. For unknown reasons this instances occur much less that the ones of the previous stage. Some theorize it’s because the past is set in stone, in a way. It already happened and therefore is easier to witness.

 

There are even scientific studies that corroborate this by implying that the memories of past events are all around us, charged with a particular set of vibrating energy. If in tune with it you may even be able to capture and relive these events at any given place they have occurred. A collective conscience of sorts, a database of human kind accessible through the very air we breathe.

 

The veracity of this theory is as questionable as any other but it may shed light unto the fact that witnessing of the past, which is very rare, occurs in much larger numbers that that of witnessing the future things to come. The ones that haven’t left a trace in existence yet; things that are yet to be created and can therefore be changed, transformed.

 

Which brings us to the last and fifth stage. And here is when things get very exciting. Here is when kingdoms are made and civilizations destroyed Miss Slate. If History events were books in the library that would be the world, the one to master the fifth stage would be its archivist. We call it Control Stage. Can you guess what this stage means Miss Slate?”

 

I gulp. Is he serious? What he is implying... It’s mad, it can’t be. I hesitate before providing my thoughts on his question.

 

“You want me to believe that there are people out there, at this very moment, interfering with world events as we know them, through time and space, and rearranging them as they wish? That’s mad.” I give a little insane giggle. This is all so taxing, so confusing. Are these people for real? What have they brought me into? What do they want?

 

“Not people Miss Slate, perhaps a someone. There isn’t a way to be sure. This level of mastery is only rumoured about, it’s almost considered a myth, even among your kind. This very community exist so that were someone like this to exist than it would be stopped before destroying the world as we know it. Were his or her intentions pure, so that it could be guided into developing the gift into something that might help us all. A gift to humankind, not a curse.

 

What we do know though is that the amount of gifted children above the second and third stages has been rising. There are suspicions to a chain of events leading to a reality so unacceptable that even nature is reacting in ways of protecting itself, mostly by bringing forward the most gifted children converging together into the same timeframe. You are one of those Miss Slate, and for some reason you have been managing to elude the very brothers that were gifted with the tools to find the ones like yourself.”

 

I’m this close to running for the door when he laughs at my gobsmacked expression. Oh my god, he’s a lunatic.

 

“Relax Miss Slate, only conspiracy theories that abound to those that have nothing better to do with their spare time. I am sorry, I couldn’t resist. Your expression has been getting more and more incredulous as I move on. I wanted to see how long it would take you to actually snap.”

 

“I’m glad you find it amusing.” Not. I sigh. “Was any of it true?”

 

“Everything I told you is true, except the last part about you being part of a world domination plot. Theories abound as to why this gift exist, and it is true it has risen in number somewhat in the last decades, but it also means we keep better records than our ancestors, nothing more. I’m sorry I have frightened you, my intension was only to break the tension that has risen in the room.” He looks at his wrist watch and sighs.

 

“I have an appointment for the rest of my day. Considering this was your first lesson I’ll let you get away a lot earlier that I intend to do in the future. Just tell me Miss Slate, have you kept a record of your previous episodes, your visions?”

 

I hesitate at this. Should I trust him enough to show it to him? Maybe it will be important for him to know. He’s supposed to guide me after all. But what if he’s lying? But I guess there isn’t much use that he could have for the rambling of an over emotional eighteen year old that just had the most recent, and by far one of the most devastating, events of her entire life, at least until then. I started a journal with that first vision, trying to make sense of it by putting it on paper. Since then it has become quite full with research material that supports the veracity of my paranormal experiences. It’s quite the scrap book folder by now.

 

“Maybe.” Something in his raised brow tells me he’s not very happy with my answer.

 

“How very coherent of you. Let me assuage your fears yet again Miss Slate, every information provided to me by your person is strictly confidential to anybody else. I so swear on my honour as both a man and a master of my heart, as well as on the name of my ancestors. Do believe me when I tell you I make no such promises frequently nor with a light heart.

 

Now, if such records have been kept by your person I do advise you to bring them tomorrow so that I can analyse them and conclude from them the best way to help you. Do make sure that these records state very clearly what has happened ever since you got here; consider it today’s homework if such a task has not been accomplished yet. I want to know what happened to you that caused you to reach a near catatonic state by merely holding a cell phone in your hand. I will not pass judgement to anything you may have written, concluded or seen. Much less on what you felt during such times. I do make a point of knowing what may hurt my students so that I may protect them in future instances. Of that I make a point of honour as meaningful as the promise I made to you.

 

Any final questions, requests or remarks Miss Slate?”

 

I pause to think and mule over all of what I heard. It’s too early to make any pertinent question. I think I’m going to sleep over it today and confront him tomorrow. I do have a request though…

 

“Yeah. Call me Rhina.” It annoyed me every time he has used my last name, like prickling needles in my veins.

 

He snorts. “Have a good day Miss Slate.”

 

And he leaves.