Thanks for all the responses. I was really surprised. The reviews had been dry for, like, two chapters and then all of the sudden I get three in my mailbox! One right after another.
In response to the person who reviewed and asked about fanart. (Sorry to respond this way, but you gave an anonymous review so I didn't have your email. I believe you signed your name "Sarah Pixen.") I don't know how serious or not you were about what you said in the review, but I figured I may as well answer for you and anyone else who cares to listen. In all fairness, these characters really aren't mine, so I can't tell you what to do either way. It is not my place. Not to mention the fact that, as a fanfiction author, it would be shamefully hypocritical of me to tell you what you could and couldn't do with them. Personally, I am absolutely flattered. Feel free to draw anything and everything you want with my full blessing. (Especially because I can't draw for crap.)
I do request, however, that just as I am careful to put a disclaimer before each of my fanfictions that explains where the characters came from, I receive a similar courtesy for my ideas if the pictures are going up on a website or anything. I'd love to speak with you about it. Go ahead and shoot me an email, Sarah, and I'll be more than happy to talk with you. Email is LaelAdair@yahoo.com
Again, thanks for all the responses. I'm hoping that, by repetition, I'm making it really clear that all types of responses are accepted, welcomed, and entirely up to you. Don't be shy.
As always: enjoy.
Sonic the Hedgehog is not my creation,
His story belongs to the Sega Corporation.
This fanfic is made with humble intention,
To honor their art and brilliant invention.
~ Lael Adair
V : It's Just a Game
"First the doctor told me the good news: I was going to have a disease named after me."
~ Steve Martin
I hate doctor's offices, they're stuffy and uncomfortable. I hate how they put stuff in the waiting room to make you feel better. Toys for the kids, televisions for the adults, magazines for the old farts . . . all to try and make you forget there's something wrong with you. I'm sitting in the farthest corner from nurse's desk, my earrings jingling because I'm bobbing my leg.
People say that nervous habits are genetic, but I'll be the first one to tell you that becoming a thief automatically gets you one. You know the international symbol for money? Rubbing the first and middle finger against the thumb? I guarantee you it was invented by a thief. Every thief has his nasty nervous twitch that he gets in anticipation of victory: Playing with the hair, chewing on the tongue, biting the nails . . . mine happens to be the infamous "leg bob." Yup, I'm the guy you hate sitting in front of in the theater because his bobbing leg keeps moving your seat. Problem is, you can always tell when I'm doing it because the rings in my ears jingle whenever I move, making it two annoyances for the price of one.
I glance around the waiting room for the tenth time. Guardian I'm so nervous. The old lady across the aisle keeps looking at me like I'm gonna pull out a nine and rob the doctor's office. The kid next to her keeps gaping at my piercings and asking her in hushed tones if he can have one.
I hate going out in public.
"Manic?"
The hot nurse at the door calls out my name, and in a chorus of jangling earrings and creaking leather, I get up and follow her towards the back. She leaves me in a nice furnished room at the end of the hall, giving me a good view of her ass before she shuts the door. Too bad I'm too freaked out to pay any attention. The room doesn't look at all like your typical examining room. It's got thick plush carpet, fine leather furniture, and a great view in the background. I guess, though, that all makes sense since according to Sonia this isn't a real doctor's office anyway.
"Ahh Manic!" a cheery voice comes from the door. I turn from nervously pacing the floor to see Pols, my hypnotist, come in the room.
If anyone ever tells you hypnotism doesn't work, don't believe them. I speak from experience when I say that it helped me out of one of the hardest and darkest times in my life. And contrary to what my sister thinks, it's not all hocus pocus and magic spells. There's really merit to the stuff.
Pols gives me a warm smile even though I'm sure he's noticed how shaken I am. I know from experience that the guy doesn't miss much. Which can be really frustrating when you're trying to steal the gold fountain pens decorating his desk. "Haven't seen you in a while!" He glances down his glasses, "I hope to Guardian that's a good thing?"
"Yeah" I force a laugh, trying to keep my mind focused. I pull out my pockets to show that I haven't taken anything from his office.
He chuckles at my joke and then notices the circles under my eyes. This time his expression does turn concerned. "And, the other problem?"
It takes me a while to figure out what he's talking about. "Oh!" I reply quickly. "No, I don't deal anymore, and I've been clean for almost a year now."
"Well congratulations, my boy." He glances down and notices that I'm wringing my hands nervously. "There something you want to talk about?"
I swallow, "Yeah, sorry. I . . . I'm not too keen on having to do this." I shudder at the thought of having to explain what just happened. "Uh . . . Everyone else I've told has figured me nuts."
Pols calmly takes a seat behind his large desk. "Well, that's the one thing I'm not going to do, so you don't have to worry about that. Why don't you have a seat and tell me what's bothering you."
I nod and jerkily grab one of the nearby chairs. They're nice, genuine leather bound with professional stitching, and really comfortable. I had thought about stealing them once but they were too big to get out the door.
I clear my throat and wring my hands one last time. I'm still not happy about having to do this, but I don't know where else to go.
"I . . . I know you're probably not the guy to see about this stuff, but I figured, being a hypnotist, you'd know a little bit about other things like this . . ." And with that, I jump straight into my explanation, never stopping once until I get the whole story out. I tell him everything. From the chase through the woods that started all this shit, all the way to the event just a while ago that sent me here. The more I talk, the worse I get. By the end I'm shaking and stuttering all over again, the fear magnified with retelling the tale.
". . . and he SPOKE to me! The little shit actually spoke to me! He's ignored me this whole time! And his freaky-ass eyes just slid towards me! AT ME! You know what I think it is?! Karma. Oh yeah! I'm getting paid back for all that stuff I stole!"
"Manic" Pols says patiently, "I don't think --- "
"That's the only explanation! That's the only thing it could be! The little shit's gonna haunt me a year for everything I've taken. Shit! That's like . . . six thousand years!"
"Manic! I don't think that's the reason. Now calm down. Panicking isn't going to solve anything."
"Easy for you to say! You don't have some sadistic little shit following you around everywhere you go!"
Pols just looks at me with that patient stare all doctors seem to be born with. "If you don't stop shouting, I'm not going to help you."
"Ok, I'm sorry." I raise a shaky hand to run through my spiked hair. It doesn't get very far. I almost end up losing the glove on my hand to my hair gel. "I just . . . I just want this to go away. So how do we deal with this?"
"Ah ah, Manic. What's the first thing I've always told you: I can show you the path, but I can't help you take it. This is not about we, this is about you. You have a problem that you, ultimately, must solve. The only thing I can do is push you in the right direction."
"Why don't you just shoot me up with something to make me forget?" I ask caustically.
Damn me and my tongue.
Pols raises an eyebrow. "That's not how it works and you know it. Now, you believe this to be a ghost?"
"Yes! I've told you everything, wouldn't you think that's what it was?! It's not a hallucination, if that's what you're thinking. A hallucination can't do half the stuff I've seen that little shit do, I can tell you that!"
"Oh I believe you. Or at least, I believe that is what you believe."
"What?"
"Never mind. Going back to what you first said: you were right, Manic. I don't know hardly anything about the paranormal. Just because hypnotism is unorthodox does not automatically mean it deals with ghosts and the supernatural. However, if I were to treat this, I would look at it from the other angle. Why do you think this creature is following you?"
"If I knew that, I would have gotten rid of the fucker a long time ago!"
"Language, Manic. Now be serious. Think. Why, out of all the beings on Mobius, has this spectre chosen to follow you around?"
"Because I was stupid enough to try and help it, that's why! This is what I get for trying to be nice."
Pols shifts his shoulders. Apparently, I'm not going wherever it is I'm supposed to go. He decides to change angles. "What was this ghost doing when you found it?"
". . . . It was crying."
"Why?"
"It had lost something. Something it couldn't save."
"Do you think it's possible it wanted help?"
"I tried to help it! I just told you that! When I got close it went berserk and attacked me!"
"No, Manic. Not that kind of help. I meant did you try to help it with its problem?"
"Huh?"
Pols leans forward on the desk and touches the tips of his fingers together. "I'm going to be honest with you, Manic. I think this is a hallucination. I know you think it's real, but first of all there is no such thing as ghosts. Secondly, even if there were, everyone knows that Tails and Sonic both died honorable deaths defending the kingdom. There would be no reason for their souls to be tortured in this manner.
"Now, normally I would not recommend humoring the hallucinations in the interest of maintaining sanity, but I know for a fact that your sanity is not in jeopardy. This leads me to believe that in your case, this may be a seriously delayed symptom of overcoming your recent drug addiction. I think you are still struggling with the addiction in your mind, and your subconscious has manifested this struggle into some physical form that you can identify with."
I lean forward in the chair. "What the hell did you just say?"
Pols sighs. "Never mind. Let's just deal with the situation in front of us. Now, I think this creature is stuck in a loop. From what you have told me, it seems that the circumstances of its death were so traumatic that the being is forced to relive them over and over again. There's a very similar condition called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that occurs in war veterans and crime victims. Rest assured there are not many cases around today since those barbaric times are behind us, but I have seen a few of them.
"I think this spirit chose you because it wants someone to right what was wrong with its death. For whatever reason, this creature feels that its demise should have gone another way. And since it can no longer act, being deceased, it is actually not haunting you, it is trying to get you to help it. I think that if you approach this ghost the next time it appears and become a character in its 'play,' then you can trick it into acting out an alternate ending. Hopefully one that will be decidedly happier than its true death."
"So, you're saying . . . you want me to play with it?"
"Exactly. From what you've described, this creature sounds like it still has the mind of a child, prone to tantrums and outbursts of emotion. It is possible that the trauma of death has stripped the being's mind to an extent, rendering him confused and unable to execute mature thought processes. My suggestion: Go along with what it wants and pretend to do whatever it needs you to. Only then will the spirit feel it has been reconciled and move on."
I let out a tired sigh. I am so sick of dealing with ghosts I could puke. "I can't believe I'm actually agreeing to this. All right. I'll give it a shot. I'll do anything if it gets that thing out of my life!" With those gallant words, I stand from the nice, comfortable chair and head towards the door.
"Good luck, Manic" Pols calls after me, "and remember, you're in control."
"Yeah right" I mutter under my breath.
I like the opening speech. Oh, and just so you know: I've never been a thief, I've never met a hypnotist, I don't know a thing about ghosts, I've never met a drug dealer, and I've never studied psychology. I'm making all this stuff up using common sense, some personal theories, and maybe some tidbits from things I've read. I think the best stories are the ones that have some hard thought behind them.
I don't know about you, but the mental image of Manic trying to get a huge leather chair out of an office makes me laugh.
Can you guys tell that I taught myself some html? Ha ha, this chapter looks a lot nicer, huh. Took me forever to get it right the first time (~cough~ experimented on chapter 1 ~cough~) but once I got the hang of it, it wasn't too bad. The next chapter should be up pretty soon. I'm moving back up to college this week, so I don't know if I'll be exactly on time, but I'm going to throw August 29 out there as a date. Once again, thanks for all the responses. Glad you guys like it so far.
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