Summary: The lights are on, but no one is home. That's what the medical professionals try to tell Gary about his sister, but he knows they're wrong. The lights are on, someone's home, but she just doesn't answer the door, and rarely ever peeps out the window.
Take your typical 'so-and-so has a sister' story, and in some psycho-babble, a lot of screwed-up family dynamics, and then of course Alpha abilities, and that will just be a taste of this story. This will explore how a Transducer's ability may manifest in another way, and the consequences of it, as well as the pre-story to the show.
Alphas belongs to Syfy, of course, which I'm in no way affiliated with. I wish I was, but I doubt they have any use for someone in the healthcare profession that has an unhealthy obsession with their 'Syfy Universe' series. The original character(s) are all my own. Of course, they might have inspiration from some of my own clients/patients, but HIPPA prevents me from naming names. So this is where I say any resemblance to real persons is entirely coincidental. =D
Prelude
Her eyes wander aimlessly as her mind is far away from the small room. She pays no attention to the nurse talking to her quietly crying mother. Her senses don't register any of the world outside, not that there was much to register. The small white room is empty except for her bed, a dresser and nightstand, and the wheelchair she sits limply in. The antiseptic scent is familiar to her subconscious after twenty years living in these places. There's been nothing appetizing in the pureed food pressed into her mouth, especially when the bitter powders of her crushed meds are not mixed well enough.
Why should she pay attention to the lifeless world outside her when she has the wonderful digital world waiting for her inside her mind? The world's libraries are open to her with just a thought, every movie and TV show is waiting for her leisure, the video games were far more exciting than real life and at times even more real to her, and she didn't want for human interaction- she could chat with people all over the world. In short, she has no connection to the outside world, save one.
I hate the smell here, it stings my nose. I don't like it here.
Mentally, she smiles while on the outside her body makes a poor attempt at a laugh. It catches her mother's attention. She can't feel her mother stroking her short hair, or hear her teary words. She's too busy responding to her brother's email. Then leave.
I can't Amy. Mom told me to wait here for her. I'll get in trouble if I leave.
She's read about parents, orders, discipline, but can't understand it. All her life she's done what she wants when she wants-in her mind that is. She's rarely does anything with her body anymore. Huh.
Is Mom's crying again?
Dread creeps into her heart as she partially reattaches her body and mind, focusing her wandering eyes on the woman in front of her. Dark brown eyes are full of tears, while a hopeful smile instantly crosses her mother's lips when their eyes meet for a second before mind and body disconnect yet again. She stifles the uncomfortable emotions as she answers with a 'yep.'
I don't like it when she cries.
And she doesn't like the feelings that arose when her brother says that, or the thought she is the cause of the problem. She abandons the email and loses herself in the distractions waiting for her, ignoring the pings he sends her. She isn't a part of that world, she doesn't want to be. It was too harsh, too unfair, too… hard.
He smiles at the links his sister send him, opens them with a flick of his fingers and watches the silly Youtube videos. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees his mother try to keep the tears back as she drives away from the nursing home.
He doesn't understand why his sister stays there, she's not sick. However, he knows that talking about her is taboo. His mom always grows upset when he tries to tell her that Amy is okay, and that he talks to her all the time. He should know how his own sister is, she's his twin. They're alike, but they're not. Because he can walk, and talk, and she never does. She just sits there, dressed in a hospital gown with her hair cropped short.
"It's almost three," he says instead. "I have a therapist appoint with the new doctor at three thirty." He doesn't like his old therapist, or the one before him, the one before him, or any of them actually. They insist he doesn't see the data streams, that he doesn't hear the thousands of calls floating in the air, or that he can read the text messages on their phones. They insist that it's not his sister that chats and emails him all the time.
Amy is in a permanent vegetative state, the harsh ones told him time and again. The lights are on, but no one is home.
The lights are on, and she is home, but she just doesn't want to answer the door, or even peep out the window to see what's going on in the world. He doesn't blame her, most of the time. He doesn't understand people either, but he likes it anyway. He likes his food the way it is, and he likes car rides, and parks, and doing things for himself.
"We'll be on time, don't worry," his mom's voice is harsh from crying, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead he comments on the video and sends one back to her-this one about cars. He likes cars, and is still trying to convince her they're interesting. That they're fun to ride in and each one is different, and one day he is going to drive one. "Please, Gary, don't…"
He closes the data stream and gives her most of his attention. "Don't what?" She usually tells him to behave himself, and not to throw a tantrum in the middle of the office because the signals from equipment bother him.
"Don't mention Amy." Because, to her, that's why Gary gets upset. Because he clings to his imaginary sister and gets defensive when told that his sister isn't the one he imagines. She's given up hope that he'll grow up and understand that, and taken up the hope that it'll stop hurting when he mentions her. Because he cannot understand a mother's pain in having to choose one child and give the other up.
Gary frowns, his fingers twitching in the air as he touches the data streams again to take comfort in. "She's my sister, and, and they always bring her up. I don't. You should tell them not to mention her, not me. Because I don't."
Sandra's lips twitch it a deeper frown for a moment. She didn't mean to upset him, the last thing she needs is him upset and uncooperative today. She sends a small prayer that the rest of the day will go quietly, but her instincts are telling her otherwise. She reflects that maybe today was not the best choice to visit her daughter, but the psychiatrist's office is so close to the home, and it had been too long.
Long enough for her heart to ache when she sees her youngest sitting in her wheelchair, dark eyes wandering aimlessly and dirty blonde hair cropped shorter than her brother's. Her body was barely anything, her arms tiny as her finger moved restless as Gary's. Tardive Dyskinesia, the multitude of doctors tried to explain it off as a consequence of the meds she had been given almost all her life. The fact her brother did the same movements were either a coincidence, or he had seen the pattern in her movements and copied them.