Disclaimer: I do not own The Listener or any associated characters.

Part Seven

Toby pulled his bedroom door open violently, then let it swing free into a collision with his bedroom wall. He himself practically fell into the main room, then righted himself and twisted around to view the entire apartment. Ray, who had apparently been waiting for him, now approached.

"Toby?" said Ray. Toby reached out to touch Ray's shoulder. His sense of touch, at least, had not been muted, and the feeling was an immense relief.

"It stopped working," said Toby, answering a question from many hours previous. Ray was stunned for half a second, but only at the confirmation. He appeared thoughtful. There was of course no way of confirming this.

"What happened?" Ray asked.

That was not a simple question to answer.

The world which Toby knew had been deserted. Its atmosphere was eroding and the vast nothingness of space was creeping in. The hordes that had once ravaged the planet's surface were gone. The diplomats and missionaries who bribed them with trinkets were gone.

The sensation of isolation was more tangible than the man standing in front of him.

Toby forced himself to look Ray in the eyes: they had the same spark of life, and of human intelligence. No, he thought, he wasn't alone, and he composed himself.

He inhaled. "There was a man, uh, Quickley. Stephen Quickley. He showed up at the door after Olivia left - she stopped by to do another exam - and I was so out of it I let him in."

Ray's eyebrows furrowed.

"He said he'd encountered other people with my problem." Toby rubbed at his forehead. A headache still gnawed on the fringes of his nerves.

"This is troubling, to say the least." Ray looked at him for a moment, evaluating something. "Toby . . ."

Toby pulled his hand away from his face. He adjusted his shoulders, and tried to force himself to be as all right as possible.

". . . Dr. Fawcett found a drug in your system."

"What?" Toby had anticipated several things that Ray might say. That hadn't been one of them. He had, actually, completely forgotten Olivia's tests.

"Your serotonin levels are strange, almost like you'd been taking an SSRI. And a drug that behaves very much like one is present in your system." Ray paused. "I thought it would be odd for you to take something like that without consulting me, considering the concerns I've voiced to you about psychoactive medication."

Toby shrugged, and modified his posture in the process. The air didn't seem to fit correctly around his body. "I didn't take it. Especially not recently."

"All of this seems very coincidental," said Ray.

Toby crossed his arms. "What do you think? Quickley's involved in this somehow?"

"I don't know enough about the situation, but it seems likely." Ray glanced towards the door, as if hoping Quickley might make a conveniently timed visit. "Toby. Either way, he knows enough about you to show up at precisely the right moment, and he's in possession of a drug which can knock out your ability. I don't like this."

"You think I do?" said Toby. His grip on his body tightened, and he swallowed. "Everything feels so wrong."

This was more familiar territory for Ray. Toby could see that even without reading his mind. "What do you mean?"

"It's all . . . hollow." He gestured towards Ray, then quickly retracted his hand back to his chest. "It's like you're not even there, and I'm looking right at you."

"Is this just because you can't hear me?"

Toby looked down. Taking his eyes off Ray was the strangest thing: if he wasn't looking directly at him, it was like he wasn't even there. "There's something else missing. It's just gone."

Ray inhaled. He didn't speak for a moment - it was one of those pregnant pauses where, ordinarily, the conversation would simply continue in Ray's head. Ray seemed to realize he needed to speak a second too late to avoid unnerving Toby further.

"If it was a drug that did this, it will wear off eventually."

"In a few days, he said." Toby shivered slightly. "Everything is still wrong."

Ray nodded, obviously trying to recalibrate his approach: after all these years, he was still on the job. Toby's shrink first, everything else second. Perhaps that was why Ray had eschewed a second marriage.

"We need to find Quickley," said Toby after a beat. "Or wait for him to come to us."

"Yes," said Ray. "It seems unlikely he'd just disappear."

"All of this is unlikely," said Toby.

After several more words regarding the absence of Toby's telepathy, and the affect this was having on him, the two men decided they needed to eat. The fridge and cabinets were devoid of anything worth eating either at that particular time of day or as a meal. Pickles, ketchup, and a box of cheap cereal nine tenths of the way empty did not a breakfast make.

The diner they chose was nearly empty, which suited Toby. Being surrounded by ghosts was not his idea of a good time. Ray still suggested Toby still call over Oz or Olivia in order to adjust.

"They're both probably worried about you," said Ray.

Toby decided to make up his mind on that one later.


Ray eventually was forced to leave Toby alone. He had a class to give, and he thought it would be a good idea to allow Toby to adjust without interference.

The entire situation was deeply disturbing. He could still remember the man who brought Toby in, and his warnings regarding not letting "them" find him. If this Stephen Quickley was one of the people Frank Cardea had been so desperately afraid of, Ray wasn't sure what he would be able to do.

The class went as well as it could. Ray retreated to his office to think and to worry. Much to his surprise, he had a visitor.

The man stood up, and offered his hand. "Stephen Quickley," he greeted. "I guess Toby's mentioned me."

Ray froze. He glanced at the filing cabinet where he kept Toby's information. "He has," said Ray cautiously. He edged over to take a seat behind his desk. Quickley lowered his hand.

"You probably think I'm one of them. He wouldn't still be here if I was." Quickley reclaimed his seat. "I'm just here to help."

"With what?" Ray asked. He stole a second glance over to the filing cabinet.

Quickley looked him over for a moment. Ray returned in kind; he wanted to know what the man looked like. Eyes an ugly shade of green. Arching eyebrows. A narrow nose. "This happens when they get older," said Quickley. "Their abilities get stronger, but they can't keep up."

"Really," said Ray. "You know, we found a drug in Toby's system - an SSRI - and we don't know how it got there."

"I wouldn't know anything about that," said Quickley smoothly.

"Really," said Ray.

Quickley smiled. He ran a hand through his hair. "That has nothing to do with this, anyway. And you're missing the point - I can help with the problem. I have a drug which can regulate the various chemicals involved in his, well, you know."

"Like an SSRI affects serotonin."

"I guess." Quickley smiled again. "Now, I call this drug Q. For 'quiet', not Quickley. That'd be kind of narcissistic."

Ray leaned back. "What's it actually called?"

Quickley told him, then quickly moved on. "It costs around two hundred dollars per dose," he said, "but I gave Toby the one for free. It wouldn't really have been fair to get him to agree to something like that when he was so messed up."

"Toby doesn't have the money for something that expensive, and I highly doubt this is covered by his medical benefits."

"Which is why I'm talking to you," said Quickley affably. "I've done this in eight different countries around the world. New Delhi, New York, Sydney. I travel quite a bit, I guess you can imagine. I need to support that somehow."

Ray folded his hands on his desktop, and gave Quickley as steely a look as he could manage. "I need more information."

Quickley shrugged, and smiled yet again. "Whatever works for you. I'll be back in a few days."

Quickley stood up and left, leaving Ray to his initial pursuit.


When Toby was a child, some years after he met Ray, a number people thought he was creepy. A smaller number actually gave voice to this thought, but none of them had to. It was true he was a strange boy. He knew things he shouldn't. His biases were oddly colored and his reactions often apropos of nothing. Less observant people simply didn't like his eyes.

It was the eyes that bothered him now. If he looked closely enough, he could still see the life in them. He could still see the heat. Heat, sometimes like burning wads of newspaper, sometimes like half-melted candle wax: all of it was in the eyes. On normal days he could feel it in a person's entire body. People radiated life, enough so that he could catch it, feel it, even hear it.

Now it seemed as though they were all trapped. Tiny bursts of warmth and emotion, trapped inside cold shapes.

Without the ability to reach out, to see how apt that warmth was to escape, Toby felt trapped as well. He was by himself, with nothing but his own thoughts for company. And while he could finally sleep, and heal his aches and pains in peace, he discovered he sincerely did not like being alone.

Ray informed him of Quickley's offer; both of them knew for a fact Quickley was behind his control trouble. But nothing could be done unless they figured out how Toby had gotten the drug in his system.

"We need to be sure none of your food has been contaminated," said Ray. Toby agreed. It seemed the most likely source.

Ray gave his next advice more reluctantly. "And contact that detective. She may be able to help."

After Ray left that evening, Toby dug around for his cell phone (buried after so many days left alone) and clicked Charlie's number. The phone rang once before she picked up.

"Marks," she greeted.

"Uh, hi, it's Toby," he said.

He heard her stop something on the other end. "Toby," she said. "What's up?"

"Can I stop by the station? I need to talk to you."

There was a pause. "Uh, sure. Can I get some idea of what this is about?"

"I've been having a bit of a problem - you might be able to help."

Another pause. "All right."

"I'll see you in twenty minutes." Toby snapped the phone closed. He didn't know if Stephen Quickley was the man's real name, and he didn't know what Charlie would be able to do without jeopardizing The Secret. It just felt good to be doing something.