Today was different.
I could feel it the moment I woke up, right down to the familiar touch of my parents' minds. Something was going on, I was sure of it. I pushed inquisitively at my mother's mind for anything new, and immediately heard as clear as day what I was looking for.
New guide today.
I didn't reply – I knew this was a mind-thought – but felt my way to the table, and took the spoon offered to me, ruminating on this news. Who in their right mind would want to be my guide?
"Darling," my mother began. "I've got some news for you-"
"I have a new guide?"
"Yes." Even now she couldn't keep the note of surprise out of her voice. "It's rather strange. Apparently a volunteer turned up out of nowhere, and seemed very keen to take you on in particular."
I frowned. Very strange. I hadn't used a guide in a year or so, instead relying on my mother and a cane. No one had wanted to take me on, despite my mother's best attempts at persuasion. When your name was followed by the 'm' word, no one wanted to know. Recently, mutants had been expressly forbidden entry to certain shops and restaurants, and I'd caught my father saying, or thinking, bitterly that it wouldn't be long before mutants were made to wear certain badges on their clothes, and shipped off to labour camps. The possibility of segregation seemed to take pride of place inside his head, and I was too afraid to ask him what that would mean.
It was all based on fear – everyone was scared. Humans were scared of mutants, mutants were scared of humans, the government was scared of the general population, and all the government officials were scared of each other. Not to mention everyone's communal fear of the press. Fear was what initially brought humans together around the fire in the cold of the night, and it seemed that fear would be what drove us apart again.
"You don't have to use this guide," she continued. "What with the attitude towards m-m-mu..." She mumbled at the word as a horse might do at a particularly sharp bit, but try as she might she couldn't get the word out. She couldn't say what I was. "Towards that lot nowadays," she eventually finished, with what I imagined to be a decisive nod.
"Mum, it's not fair on you; you work far too hard," I insisted. "It'll be nice to get out. I'll be fine." I was lying through my teeth. It was far from alright, walking with an unknown, essentially placing my life in the hands of a stranger who most likely hated me and everything I stood for. And yet... A special request. That was highly irregular; usually you put your name down on a list, and then were assigned randomly. And yet all I could see was the memory of my mother's time-torn face, and the weary glint in her eye, and that decided it.
I stumbled back upstairs to change, and that was when the doorbell rang. I froze, a shirt halfway over my head, and waited, ears straining for any sort of sound, mind reaching out ready to catch a glimpse of this newcomer.
The door was opened, and I could hear blurry attempts at polite chatter as they no doubt waited for my arrival. There was my mother's mind, blue and pulsing – ever since that day I'd only ever seen her thoughts as the colour of the sky – and then...
That mind was like nothing I'd ever experienced. It was, in a word, unbreachable. There were steel walls thrown up around it on all sides, and despite some experimental pokings, I couldn't work my way in. I wasn't even sure if they were conscious of my attempts, whether the walls were able to keep my thoughts out whilst letting his or her own musings come and go as they pleased. I felt a little aggrieved that this mystery person was able to evade my abilities this easily, but there was underlying twinge of respect there too, an urge to ask how the devil they were doing it.
I hurriedly finished dressing, ran a brush through my hair, and made my way downstairs with as much grace as possible, my cane clasped tightly in one hand.
"Hen, at last!" My mother sounded a little off, and for the life of me I couldn't read the puffs of emotion she was giving off like a steam engine. "This is Charles, your guide for today."
A hand clasped my own firmly. "A pleasure," a voice said, presumably his, for I didn't recognise it at all. And still, nothing. Not so much as a thread of emotion for me to pick up. It seemed that this time I would have to rely on normal methods to work out this Charles properly.
"Nice to meet you." I tried to sound cheery – I had a feeling my usual, blank tone wouldn't go so well.
Mother tried to steer the conversation. "Have you ever guided before?"
"No, it's my first time, but I'm sure we'll be fine." He gently directed my hands to his elbow. "Shall we?"
I turned my head to where I was sure my mother was, and gave her my best reassuring smile. "We'll be back soon."The unspoken problem was that I was no longer quite sure of myself. If I could have read this guy to see what he was up to, then I would have felt far more confident than I was clinging to the arm of a could-be mutant-hunter. The mind block only further proved that he knew what he was up against, making it all the more likely that he was going to win whatever sort of game we were playing.
Or maybe he really was just a kindly volunteer. I couldn't tell.
We stepped out onto the street, and set off at slow amble, more than adequate for me to keep pace with him. In fact, I ended up dragging him along a little in my haste; I didn't have anywhere in particular to go, but I liked to walk fairly briskly.
"So what do I call you?" I'd finally managed to place the accent as English, and not just English, but smooth, and well-cultivated. I would have guessed a man of education, but without being able to see him, it remained a guess.
"Um... Well, mum calls me Hen, and dad calls me Henrietta, so anything goes really."
"What about Henry?"
I wrinkled my nose. "Isn't that a boy's name? Besides, that's a third name I'd have to keep track of – it's not an easy task!"
He chuckled. Okay, so he had a sense of humour – killer was looking less and less likely.
We were in the middle of a crowd now, and I had my cane out so as to clear myself a wide berth. Not that that was necessary; I could feel people skirting away from me, the familiar dirty looks. My mind was crammed full of words again, sentences left unspoken flying through the air so loudly that it was hard to make out what Charles was saying. I adjusted my grasp on his elbow.
I caught a trace of something, a brief whiff that lasted maybe a second or two, the sort you get when walking past the doorway of a coffee shop or bakery. For a moment I could have sworn it was anger, and then it was gone, and I was left grasping vainly at the air with my mind, sure that Charles had let his guard down briefly. Or maybe I was mistaken; there were so many people around me, it was impossible to keep track of whose thoughts were whose.
"Would you like to sit down?"
I nodded assent, and I was led to what felt like a bench.
The moment I sat down, I felt the abrasive shove of a mind right beside me, one that smelt of burning and metal. The wave of bitter anger caught me completely by surprise, and I gasped for breath like a landed fish, for a moment unaware of the concern of my companion. I briefly heard him speak in a lowered, chiding tone, and then the anger subsided. I could still feel it coiled about this new person like a writhing snake, but it no longer overwhelmed me, and infected me with its poisonous wrath. For a moment I sat trembling, before I was fully able to compose myself.
"Are you quite alright?" Charles enquired.
I nodded, and tried to school my features into something blankly pleasant. "Yes, just a little stomach upset." I forced a smile.
"How rude of me, I've neglected to introduce you to my friend Erik."
"Hello." A new voice, gruff and with the same glass-sharp quality of Charles'. There was an awkward pause, and then a rough hand grasped mine – causing me to flinch at the unexpected touch – before pulling away the instant we made contact. A quick judgement was made: this was a man who didn't care for company. I wasn't quite sure how I jumped to such a conclusion, or how I made it with such confidence, but I think it was the skittishness of his mind that gave it away, the way in which it flickered and shrank nervously almost as if he could sense my constant watch of his thoughts. And that anger, it acted as a wall, a defence. If I got too close, there was a sudden flare that sent me reeling. A warning: get out of my head.
Alarm bells were going off now. He knew. I was sure of it. And not only that, but he knew how to deflect my attacks, as did Charles. Did they both know?
"Yes."
"Sorry?"
"Yes. We know." Charles sounded embarrassed, even apologetic. "Sorry, I should have told you immediately."
My instant defence was to play dumb. "I'm sorry, I'm not quite sure what you mean. You know what exactly?"
"You know perfectly well-" Erik's voice was cut with menace, and I shrank back from him. This was a man I instinctively didn't trust; why Charles had decided to invite him along was beyond me. And it hadn't been a coincidence, he'd been waiting, and now I was hemmed in on both sides by two alien minds beyond my control.
"Erik," Charles warned. Then I felt his hand on my own, and could almost imagine his eyes flickering over my face. More than that, I could distinctly feel it, an intense stare that didn't stop at skin-level. "It's all right, you're perfectly safe; if we wished to harm you, then we would have taken you somewhere quieter." Hmm. The logic was faultless.
I turned my blank, searching eyes to him; I had an uncanny ability to deliver a hard, Paddington stare despite my lack of vision. "Who are you?"
He sighed. "A friend, I promise."
"Really, you think a promise from a stranger is going to make any difference?" I pushed his hand away, and shakily stood up, cane in hand like a sword. "It's been nice meeting you, but I think I'll be leaving."
"Wait!" Charles grabbed my wrist with the firm intention that I didn't leave. And then the strangest thing happened.
His walls dissolved. Not a trace of defence was left. I could see his mind, shining bright and golden, almost blinding me. I'd never sensed a mind like it before. Warily, I let my mind drift closer, gently probing his, but all too aware that he could sense me, unlike everyone else. I remained cautious, lightly brushing the edges of his consciousness, and almost in response, as if in a peace offering, memories began to flit before me that weren't my own. Real, tangible images unfurled of a large, drafty house full of loneliness and overwhelming silence. A small blue girl with scales for skin. A dusty library, packed with books, seen from behind a desk spread with papers that oozed importance, a loud bar buttery with golden light and the stench of beer, a pale face bobbing in a turbulent sea, hair slick to his head and eyes wild with a ravenous hunger. And I was there too, tossed in sea spray and a howling wind, cold water pressing in on all sides, clawing for air, bubbles and blackness, need to breathe, screaming threatening to shatter my skull, breathe, breathe, breathe, Erik!
I reeled back, winded. For a moment, I was still trapped in the water, pulled down by the weight of it all, so cold that I would never feel warm again, a deep-bone chill at the never-ending screaming...
"I'm so sorry, I didn't realise you'd be so badly affected..." A hand grasped my arm, and I was hauled into a sitting position. I must have been sitting in the middle of the pavement; I could feel the reverberations of the footsteps around me, the occasional brush of fabric. Then I was standing, a little unsteady, but with a hand on my back to prevent me from falling again. I was guided back to the bench.
"What..." It took me a moment to find words. "What did you do?"
"I showed you a few of my own memories. I thought it might help you to trust us, but I had no idea..." He paused as if looking for words. "Your mind is exceptionally sensitive; you became trapped in my memories as if you were experiencing them yourself in the present. I've never known anyone to be affected in that way with the exception of myself."
"You're like me?"
A mutant? Yes. I could hear his words as though he were whispering directly into my ear, and yet I felt them too. I felt his mind reaching out to my own, but more guarded this time, sometimes pulling back from contact sharply like a startled rabbit. And Erik is too.
"He was the man in the water?" Another guess, but one I felt to be true. Erik, who had remained silent the whole time, stiffened.
"The point is, you're not alone. I can help you. Your mind is too open, and whilst your ability is remarkable, it's too raw. You need to learn to guard your thoughts." He laughed. "I could distinctly feel your presence from about a mile away, at least."
Oops. "I just don't know how," I mumbled. "Everyone is so loud."
He seemed to understand this. "What about if I were to this?"
Suddenly the explosion of chatter and feeling that had so overwhelmed me for the majority of my life dimmed and faded, as if some undiscovered volume button had just been pressed. I could still feel the presence of those around me, but it felt as if they were now tiptoeing by rather than crushing their presence into my brain with every pounding footstep. The feeling of lightness I experienced was unimaginable, and almost exhilarating. "How...?"
"I've suppressed the minds of those around you with my own defences." I could feel Charles' delight at my new-found freedom. "It's only temporary, mind you, as it unfortunately requires a close proximity and a great deal of concentration on my part."
"Teach me." The opportunity to become normal, to hide my mutation away and finally start living as opposed to surviving, was one that I couldn't afford to miss. I'd tried ignoring other peoples' thoughts before, even blocking them out with loudly-projected ones of my own, but that had been a failed experiment.
Charles made a musing sort of sound, a mix of "hmm" and "uhh". "It's not quite that simple. Different methods work for different people. I've learnt that projecting the image of a wall works well for me, but it does require an awful lot of patience."
"Charles, we really need to be going." I had completely forgotten about Erik, the only image of whom I had was a pale man with wide eyes tossed about in a tempest.
Charles sighed, and I knew he agreed, possibly even nodding if the slight rustle of his shirt was anything to go by. "Alright. But I'll visit again tomorrow."
"That's a promise I believe." I grinned. An actual, genuine grin.
"Good to know I make such a lasting impression!" he chuckled, and gave me his hand.
On the walk home, I was able to navigate through the sensation of thoughts alone; thanks to Charles, each mind was a dimly glittering pinpoint of light rather than an exploding supernova. I knew it would not last, and anticipated the moment when Charles would shut the front door, and the whole world would pile upon me once more in endless roaring noise. Charles himself seemed to sense this, and I could feel soft waves of sympathy emanating from him as we talked, sometimes with ear-words, but more often with mind-words. I'd never had a mental conversation before, and ended up deafening him with over-enthusiastic projections of my replies.
What we discussed was hazy; I later recalled his questions on what it was like to be blind, and my answering demands for a description of where we were, in which he responded by sending me a mental picture that took my breath away with the vividness of its colour. Mostly I enjoyed the company, the sense of informality with which our minds circulated and intertwined, the silent understanding of what could be shared, and what was private, although he forgave me the odd mistake.
Eventually, we returned home, and my mother was waiting anxiously by the door. Questions hovered around her like bees about a particularly potent flower. "Where have you been?" she exclaimed. "You were due back half an hour ago!"
I was caught up in the pressure of her mind, but luckily Charles was able to answer smoothly. "I'm so sorry, we quite lost track of time," he said, and as he spoke, a warm blanket of calm suddenly fell over both me and my mother. "Rest assured, it won't happen again."
My mother, having lost track of her maternal anger, sought about for a simple means of gaining the upper hand. Failing that, she managed a faint: "Well, see that it doesn't."
I adopted a look of what I imagined to be humble sincerity, and was swept inside, Charles too despite his most charming protests. Whilst he was cornered in the living room with the promise of a drink for his efforts, I scrambled upstairs, and fell upon my bed in the first laughing fit I'd had in two years.
