6 - at the wrong
"Explain," ordered Marco. He stepped back, letting Dr Glas down from the wall and onto his own feet. The psychologist rubbed his throat, clearly relieved.
"Explain what?"
"Everything. If Cassie has no child, then how come she says she does? She isn't lying to me. There's too much pain in her for that. Delusional, you say? How come? And how come I should believe you?"
"I see how this could upset you... coming home to find your friend like that, seemingly in need –"
"Doctor," snapped Marco, interrupting him, "I'm not convinced she isn't. You'll have to prove your point."
Dr Glas nodded, slowly. "I will, then. I will. If you'd come with me..?"
Marco gestured him ahead, and the psychologist led the two Animorphs back towards his kitchen. Marco had the weeping Cassie firmly held beneath his arm, both holding her up and keeping her from damaging something. Firstly now Marco noted that Dr Glas, when he looked at her, appeared mostly concerned. He did not lower his guard, though, making sure that the psychologist walked past both window, door, and phone, without trying to do anything.
"Put her here," the doctor said and motioned towards a comfortable couch in the end of the kitchen.
Marco carefully deposited his sobbing friend there, murmuring a soothing word before leaving her. He followed Dr Glas to a table, perhaps twenty paces away, and sat down on a chair so that he could easily see Cassie. Dr Glas took the seat beside him.
"What a mess this is," the doctor began, rubbing his forehead. "I suppose you have questions. Where to begin?" He drew a newspaper towards him, and pointed to the date printed on the first page. "This was yesterday's. You've been gone nine years. Not five. Five years after you left, your friend and her fiancé were attacked. It's been four years since then."
Marco nodded, slowly. "And she's been like this since then?"
"Yes, sadly enough. We tried everything... finally, there was nothing to do but to try to keep her as comfortable as possible. She might refuse to morph, right now, but she's not thought to be exactly harmless. We all had too much respect for her to ever consider her harmless." He smiled softly. "She knocked me out, twice. She tried to do it near a hundred times. That's why, after a year, I decided to stop being her therapist. She simply hated me – my presence hurt her. I remained in charge of her case, though, and I've sent her the best therapists and psychiatrists and psychologists I could find. No-one has had much more luck than I had – although she never tries to knock them to the floor."
"So what's it that made her like this?"
"We're not sure… shock, perhaps. She lost her fiancé, after recently having lost her parents. This, while pregnant in the eight month... there were hormones to consider, too. She was shot. She morphed away her child. Waking up... did she want to realise that she had caused her own child to... not exist? No, that would be too painful. So, to save itself, her mind took shelter behind the idea of... what did you call her? Tanya. To avoid pain, her mind chose delusions. A common enough reaction to tragedy."
Marco considered, seeing the pieces of the puzzle fall into place one by one, before finally saying: "But there was no Tanya nearby."
"And what conclusion could she draw, then, aside from this about someone having stolen the child?" Dr Glas finished softly. "There's another theory, too. I've studied morphing, and the minds of morphers. They adapt, take on qualities from the animals they visit. Female dogs and wolves sometimes, after being in heat but not mated, believe that they have puppies hidden somewhere, but they don't know where. They search, and they worry, and their temperament changes – temporarily, though. I think this might have contributed to Cassie's current state. These delusions fit the wolf as well as they fit her human mind."
Again, Marco nodded. "Will she recover?"
"We don't know. We haven't been able to reach her... she's isolated herself from the outer world. She might need someone close to her. Like... another Animorph. I'd say you're the closest thing to a family she has now."
"Tell me what to do," Marco said at once, softly, watching Cassie. "I'll help in any way I can."
"It won't be simple," Dr Glas sighed, shaking his head. "It'll take time. And effort. And... well, right now it's two in the morning. We'll talk of this over breakfast, in the morning. A good night's sleep, first. There's never any use to rush things like this."
"Fine," Marco agreed.
"But first, I must ask... what was that thing you threatened me with?" asked Dr Glas, to his credit more curious than afraid.
Marco dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the silver tiara. It was simple enough: a band to go over his forehead, with spirals on both sides, to be placed at his temples. As always it grew slightly in his hand, reading his DNA and adapting to fit perfectly to his head. The spirals were decorated with blue stones, and small, elegant patterns: Elŷrrian writing, which he had never been able to decipher.
Beautiful it was, and there in his hand, calling for him, he could hear its sweet song in his head, pleading him, reaching to him, beginning to embrace those corners of his mind it knew would welcome its return –
He slammed it down onto the table and turned his back to it, taking three complete steps from it. Anger had saved him again.
"Don't touch it!" he snarled at the doctor, seeing in his mind how the psychologist reached out to grab the tiara and study it more closely. He knew his instinct had been correct when a chair fell to the floor – so in a hurry was the psychologist to obey him and back away.
"Don't go near it," Marco said, now more softly. "Step away from it – don't even look at it."
Dr Glas came to stand next to him, staring at the wall, with the tiara behind him. "Is it that dangerous?"
"I'm at least six months worth of z-space travel from the closest Elŷrric. I haven't worn or looked at it for even longer. Still, it calls me, haunts me. Yes, it's dangerous. It..." he silenced.
"What is it? What does it do?"
"It's an Elŷrrian slave's tiara," Marco explained lowly. "It..." he drew a deep breath "It controls its wearer. It... warps its wearers mind. Causes madness. Makes them think and see and hear and feel and realise things they wouldn't do on their own. Things they don't want to think, see, hear, feel, or realise. It distorts our dreams, dispels our hopes… breaks our minds." The tiara's song was sweet, so sweet. "All to make us easier to control! All to let them use us. All to –"
Again Marco silenced. His voice had gone from numb and emotionless, to a growl, from there to a roar. He glanced to his right, and saw that Dr Glas had carefully stepped away from him. He found his own right hand punched into a newly formed hole in the plaster wall – he removed it, taking a long, steadying breath.
"Sorry about that."
"Don't worry about it," replied Dr Glas, in a soothing therapist's voice. "Now take your time, and just try to calm down."
"I am calm." Marco took another deep breath. "But... anger is the only way I've found to fight that thing."
"Perhaps you should... get rid of it?"
Marco snickered joylessly. "I can't."
"Why not?
"Because it has told me not to."
"Why do you obey it?"
"Because of what it is," the Animorph whispered. "Because of what it does – what's it's done, to me."
"What has it done?" Dr Glas continued, still in the steady and somewhat dry voice of his profession.
Marco sank down to the floor, on his knees, leaning against the wall, tears staining his eyes. He blinked them furiously away, and left his eyes closed. What had it done?
What had it not done? The same thing, repeated endlessly, for years and years.
Every horror and nightmare. Every broken hope, crushed dream. Every fear. Every night spent huddled in a dark corner, weeping for how useless he was, how worthless, how completely wasteful his very existence was.
And his only task, his only duty, the only thing he could ever do to feel better, was to serve the Elŷrrics. Serve them, and perhaps his life would have meaning.
Serve them, whispered the tiara. Serve them, for they will care for you, you meaningless wretch. Serve them, for they love you, despite your many faults. Remember your faults? Your weakness, your arrogance, your cowardice, your selfishness? That's why they died, Marco. That's why Jake's dead, and why Rachel's dead, and why Ax is gone, and why Tobias and Menderash and Santorelli will never again see the light of day. And what about Jeanne? You thought you loved her, in your own pathetic way, didn't you? Why did you let them catch her, then? You're not capable of love. You don't know what it means. You're flawed, too flawed to ever love, or be loved. That's why you'll never be going home, no, not ever, for you're not worthy of going home. Serve, though, and everything will be okay. They'll love you, you see, despite your faults. Everything will be –
The short burst of joy in serving soon became addictive. The endless torture between crushed and devastated him, continuously, even when all that was left of him was pieces, like shattered glass strewn over the ground and still being stepped on.
Marco felt a hand on his shoulder, and awoke from the memories of the tiara's hold. He saw Dr Glas seated on a chair just beside him, and he found himself crawled down by the wall's roots, arms wrapped around himself and tears running freely down his cheeks.
"Tell me," said Dr Glas, ever so softly. "If you can. You don't need to tell me now, if you don't want to. What has it done?"
Marco drew a deep breath. "It has –"
It is being taken from me, came the unbidden thought, and he spun around and to his feet in alarm.
Cassie placed the victoriously glittering tiara over her forehead and leaned back against the opposite wall, facing Marco. Her eyes were growing wide, slowly, her mouth ajar. She sank to the floor with a whimper. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms about them, beginning to shake her head, beginning to wail "no... no... not that... not –"
Marco darted forwards to tear the tiara from her head. Her entire manner changed at once – she kicked and clawed to defend the thing, with frightening ferocity. Marco's attack was no less determined, though, and he was both larger and stronger. He forced the tiara from her forehead, then from her clasping fingers, and threw the frail form of Cassie away with a swiping arm. She curled together, preparing an attack... but hesitated. For a moment she was dazed, as the tiara turned its focus back to Marco. As it let go of her, she curled together again and continued her wailing.
Marco paid her no attention.
The tiara was singing again, it had grown to fit on his temples comfortably, and with a welling sense of pride and jubilant accomplishment did he raise the thing to his forehead.
"I don't think you want to do that," snapped Dr Glas suddenly, and something – a thrown apple – struck the back of Marco's neck. The pain and flare of anger jolted him out of the tiara's spell.
Quickly, before it could claim him again, anddispell the anger, he shoved it into its pocket, muttering a haggard "thanks".
It took him a moment to sort out his thoughts, and to forget the vile sweetness of the tiara's call. When he looked up, he first turned to Cassie. She was sobbing, again, heart-wrenchingly, and this time tears flowed down her cheeks. Dr Glas had knelt beside her, speaking in his calming voice, patting her back comfortingly. She did not appear to even notice him.
Marco was glad she had only worn the Elŷrrian tiara for a short moment – she would not suffer its song for the rest of her days, as he would for the rest of his. But fury boiled in him, and he swore that if he ever saw another Elŷrric, the creature would pay for the tiara making Cassie weep. Cassie had already been through enough turmoil. An encounter with Elŷrrian torture was the last thing she had needed.
It would fade in a moment, though. The effects should last no longer than a few seconds, a minute at the most. She had worn the thing for too short a time to suffer longer than that.
Still, for longer than a minute, the other Animorph kept weeping.
"Cass," he whispered, making his way towards her on his hands and knees. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her into his embrace, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead. "Cass, don't pay any attention to it –"
Suddenly, she shoved him off and stumbled to her feet. "Leave me alone," she cried, and headed for a window. She dove through it head and hands first, shattering it, leaving a shower of glittering glass and bloodstained feathers.
Marco flew to his feet with a strangled cry and rushed to the window, staring out. First down, and then – with a curse, both relieved and annoyed – up towards the sky.
"I'd forgotten just how fast she can do that," he commented, beginning his own morph to owl, watching Cassie's ascent into the dark night.
"She morphed?" gaped Dr Glas.
Marco, half-owl, only nodded, flapping his wings, and took off, following Cassie.
