A glimpse into the unprepared mind of Olivia Dunham...
Rifts in Readiness
The world is a darker place now. It still rotates at the same speed, still follows the same orbit and yet it hardly resembles the one I remember. Every shadow has a thicker cloak, each noise carries harsher potentials. Still, I'm coming to appreciate that the dark can be innocent. Rather, it's the deeds done in the light of day that birth the most dangers. The spiral of such thoughts cause a burying of my head under the covers as the alarm sounds. I don't always feel ready to face that world when the sun rises. And the three other people in my new daily life also share this distinct lack of readiness.
It's not only the knowledge I've gained that stirs dread, but the realization of just how much I don't know. What brilliant men can craft under watchful government eyes is a secret kept from the sleeping world while keeping me awake at night. The experiments believed to reside solely in fantasy's realm are carried out beneath our careless notice. Gentle, mild-mannered scientists breed atrocities in labs; mutating human genes and forging weapons too appalling to conceive. One might ponder what mind could produce such deviances, but I have no inclination. Because I stand beside that mind every day.
He's not entirely ready to leave the cocoon of the past, carrying the walls of his cell with him and enclosing himself in that soft-padded world when this one knocks too hard. But there's much to recommend the hobby of watching an old man finding new wonders when he pokes his head out from his shell. The focus of Walter's substantial brain narrows at the discovery of commonplace items. Instant messaging, Blue Tooth devices and camera phones attract his attention, but can't compare to Dibs ice cream, which he tosses into his mouth like popcorn. The boyish grin and childish flourishes belay the work his hands have done. A part of me fears him, fears what a mind like that can do when set to a task. And I worry yet more over his shifts into acute abstractness, a sort of tunnel-vision where the darker ideas fester. And I'm not alone.
It's more than he bargained for. That was clear recently as Peter listened to the familial stranger detail the steps he'd taken to alter an unsuspecting volunteer into a conduit. The younger Bishop had to reconcile this mad scientist image with the absent father he'd believed performed harmless work with toothpaste. It's gotten no easier with time. He calls his father by his first name, speaking volumes of all that remains fractured in their relationship. The strain is there, etching fatigue into his eyes every time Walter's past efforts are dragged out for scrutiny. Of course Peter must be exhausted, for even when still, he's always running. And it won't be long, I suspect, before his body complies with the demands of his head. Where his heart lies I'm unsure, but I know it's not here. He's living from a suitcase, not ready to make this move permanent. I can't blame him.
Astrid pulls me aside every evening and debriefs me on her version of the daily occurrences within Harvard's basement when I'm not present. There are arguments over principle, often halted by her strategic throat-clearing. There are leaps in logic that spin her head and frequently break a case. The more Astrid learns, however, the more uneasy she seems with our government. They may pay her bills, but a feeling of betrayal is creeping into her voice. They allowed human experiments, they funded grotesque studies and they continue to do so, evidenced by our presence here. She's not ready to see her employers as culpable for the dire events we investigate, but the seed of doubt is striving to bloom in her mind.
For all the money and resources being poured into our team, it cannot stop every pattern event from invading this world. Some will get past us, some won't be resolved in time and some may get us killed. Among the many worries consuming me is the possibility that the worst I've seen thus far will not compare to what's coming. The edge of the pattern we now see is but a blurred section of a stark, catastrophic whole. This team, with its frail alliance, lacks the cohesive bond to face these threats with assured success. One is rarely in the sphere of normal. One doesn't want to be here. One questions her place.
And I am overwhelmed. The duty of protecting hundreds, even thousands, is hinging on my ability to keep this conglomeration of personalities in line. Unused to working alone, I find the lack of true partnership difficult to navigate. There is one that could fill the empty space at my side, but he resists such commitment. In the field, I trust that he has my back and will do what I ask, albeit with occasional reluctance. But he holds close his secrets and I've tired of mysteries. So I prepare to release him from our collective company whenever he deems it time. Still, when he offers a figurative shoulder, I lean with gratitude. It's comforting to belong to a group, regardless of the circumstances that bind us.
Upon entering this morning, I hear Walter postulating on the newest pattern case and observe the interest with which his audience follows his hypothesis. It's time to work and at least for today, we're all ready.