Author's Note: I don't own Star Wars, Monty Python, or the Phantom of the Opera—weird disclaimer, I know, but well…just read the chapter, and all we become somewhat clear.

Amara's Mind

Now…

Vice Admiral Harris gazed skeptically at the Mon Calamarian before him. She wasn't exactly what he had expected—Doesn't look like a Jedi. But, then again, the only Jedi he had ever seen was Luke Skywalker…from a distance. He didn't know much about them besides the fact that they had some sort of mind powers—something he did not trust in the least. He crossed his arms over his wide chest and offered the Jedi a half grin. We'll see what powers you have.

Cilghal felt the Vice Admiral's distrust the moment she entered the room; it was a sensation she was growing accustomed to. Even though she was a healer, relatively unskilled in combat, most of her patients tended to greet her with disbelief before she healed them—Jedi's were still a novelty, and she hadn't anywhere near the fame of Master Skywalker. In medical circles, however, she had begun to gain some notoriety of her own. So she hadn't been surprised when her services were requested by the Republic base on Belkadan, but when she learned the background of her new patient, she was shocked. The holovids of the girl's ordeal had been painful to watch—but she had to in order to understand exactly what she would be dealing with: a girl backed against a wall, defending her last safe haven—her mind.

"I want this business resolved as soon as possible," Harris said, rocking back on his heels, "How long will it take you to help Ms. Richards wake up?"
Cilghal spread her fin-like hands in a shrug, "I cannot be sure—the healing process is different for each patient. This poor girl has suffered serious mental, emotional, and physical trauma. She's hiding."

Harris huffed. "Look, I don't mean to rush you, but I just want her fixed up and on her feet as soon as possible."

"I can understand that…" the Mon Cal began.

"No, not completely, you can't," Harris interrupted, "Ms. Richard's continued illness is hurting the moral of my soldiers, specifically one of my best sergeants. That girl needs to wake up."

"Yes, but…"

"You probably noticed that your arrival was not announced…"

"Well, there was no need to announce…"

"Don't interrupt me," the Vice Admiral snapped, "Sgt. Knight cannot know you've arrived—he would just interfere, trust me." Harris frowned, and Cilghal sensed true concern for this sergeant. "I don't want him to get his hopes up."

"I'm sure I can reach her, sir," Cilghal said reassuringly.

Harris smiled. "You better hope so because if you don't and Sgt. Knight finds out (which he will), I won't be able to stop him from killing you."

The girl's room hummed with fear and pain and sorrow—the emotions radiating off her patient hit Cilghal in the gut as she sat beside the bed. She released the breath she didn't know she'd been holding and willed peace and calm to flood her mind. She laid her hands on Amara's head and opened herself to Amara's mind…

Fog swirled across an endless black plain under an endless black sky. No stars broke the velvet night. No moon destroyed the perfect, glowing darkness. Cilghal was stunned by the haunting beauty of it all. She had only been inside another being's mind once before—but it had been nothing like this. She walked forward, looking for any sign of Amara. There was something far in the distance, balanced on the horizon. Cilghal tried to think herself closer, but the mist rose up and blocked her. Stretching out with the Force, she tried project safety and reassurance, tried to break through the fog wall.

A small, white rabbit hopped out of the mist. It cocked its head at her and raised its ears as if waiting for her to say something. I'm making progress, Cilghal thought, and bent down to the rabbit, reaching her hands out to it. "It's okay, Amara, I'm not here to hurt you. You're…" But the rabbit cut her off—with a giant leap, it attacked her, sinking its fangs into her neck. Cilghal was so surprised that she almost gave up without a fight, but, calling on the Force for strength, she managed to tear the thing from her neck and hurl it back into the fog.

"…then lobbest thou the Holy Hand Grenade in the direction of thine foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it."

Cilghal whirled around fast enough to see two oddly dressed men fade into the night. She had never been so confused in her life. Yes, a person's mind was a complex thing, full of memories, feelings, and images, but this…Cilghal drew in a cleansing breath. She would find Amara—nothing else mattered. She drove forward; her eyes fixed on the structure growing on the horizon: it was a wall.

Something disturbed the fog on her right. A teenage boy and girl emerged. The boy spotted her, laughed, and pointed, saying: "Look, Kat, a giant squid! We'll eat well tonight." He rubbed his belly, in mock hunger. "Mmm…calamari."

The girl punched the boy in the arm. "Shut up, Jake. You don't want offend it." She began dragging both of them back into the fog.

"Wait!" Cilghal shouted, but they were already gone. Those must have been people Amara knew, Cilghal thought, with a shake of her head—she was more prepared to deal with such apparitions, shades…memories. At least they hadn't tried to attack her. Hopefully, she would find them again or someone who could lead her back to their creator.

A lasso shot from the dark, and only her Jedi reflexes kept her from being garroted. Cilghal turned to face her assailant—glowing golden eyes glared back at her. A corpse-like man stood a few meters from her; he wore a white mask, and a black cape billowed out behind him. He advanced on her. Cilghal was a healer and had never excelled (or wanted to) in combat. She sensed this man's pain, and even though he obviously wanted to hurt her, she yearned to help him. She gave herself a mental shake. This man was not real—he was a creation of Amara, a guardian of her mind. If she forgot that, she could wander lost forever, unable to help Amara or herself leave. The masked man was now close enough to strike her, but the blow never landed—Cilghal blasted him away.

Tiny, tinkling bells began to play. A soft voice echoed across the plain: "Masquerade…paper faces on parade…masquerade…hide your face, so the world will never find you…" The masked man ripped apart before her eyes, becoming shreds of black paper that fluttered away in a sudden, icy wind. Cilghal trembled—this world (mind!) was becoming too real.

"Get out, get out, get out get out getoutgetoutgetoutgetout…" the wind hissed.

Cilghal tensed, reaching out with the Force. A hatred so intense it almost knocked her down slammed into her across the Force connection. She ran. Get to the wall, she chanted over and over to herself. She almost barreled into the boy who stepped into her path. She stopped so fast that she fell to her knees. Cilghal found herself looking into the startling violet (almost black) eyes of an eleven- or twelve-year-old boy with messy black hair. They starred at each other. The boy broke the silence first: "It's her fault." His face split in a menacing, terrifying grin. "And yours." Shadows of what were once people appeared out of the fog and began circling her.

"Wait," Cilghal pleaded, "I'm not who you think I am." The Shadows got closer. The boy continued to grin. She raised her head and shouted into the black sky: "I'm here to help you, Amara! I'm not Dr. Rave!" As soon as the doctor's name passed her lips, Cilghal knew she had made a terrible mistake.

The boy's eyes turned from violet-black to blood red—blood filled his eyes and overflowed, cutting red rivers down his cheeks. The Shadows shook with rage and flew at her. The boy was laughing and screaming. Everything…Amara…herself…the wall…was slipping away.

Cilghal yanked her hands from Amara's head and collapsed back in the chair beside the hospital bed. The Force trembled around her. She was shaking—the boy's laughter and screams still hummed inside her head. Shadows still swam before her bulbous eyes. Cilghal rested her head in her hands. "I'm going to need help," she whispered to herself.

"You can't help her?"

Cilghal started and looked up to find a slender young man standing rigidly in the doorway. Sgt. Knight. Anxiety and…something else…was coming off of him in waves. How long has he been there? She felt disoriented, but she knew she needed to reassure him. "I can't help her by myself, no," Cilghal said soothingly, "but if I had help then…"

The sergeant's face darkened. "You've been in here two hours and…"

She balked at that: "Two hours!"

"Yes two hours, and now you're just giving up." Sgt. Knight drew in an audible breath—outwardly, he became calm. If Cilghal hadn't been a Jedi, she wouldn't have known the turmoil raging in his mind. This outward stillness was only the calm before the storm. He didn't make a sound as he approached her.

Cilghal hurried to placate him. "I said I need help—I'm not giving up." She stared straight into his stormy eyes. "I won't give up on her."

The sergeant rounded the bed and stopped only a few feet before her. His eyes flickered to the girl lying motionless in the bed. "Explain."

"I went into Amara's mind to try to draw her out," Cilghal drew in a steadying breath and continued, "to tell her she was safe. But I fear I might have made her condition worse. Her mental defenses are too strong for only one Jedi—for me. I don't want to risk entering her mind alone again—she might kill herself to keep me from getting her. I don't think I would be able to stop her."

A shuddering sigh escaped Sgt. Knight's lips. "She thinks that bastard doctor is trying to hurt her." His words were tinged with venom.

"I believe so—when I mentioned his name…she…" Cilghal shook her head—the images were too fresh. She didn't want to relive them now, but she caught a glimpse of the sergeant's murderous thoughts. That doctor is lucky he's in Republic custody where this man can't get him. She laid a comforting hand on his arm. "He'll get what he deserves."

"Will he?" He shook his head; cynicism glinted in his eyes.

"You shouldn't worry about him, anyway," Cilghal continued, giving his arm a gentle squeeze and projecting warmth and comfort into the grief-wracked room, "Concentrate on Amara now. You can help her."

"How?"

"Just be with her, talk to her—perhaps you can give her some small measure of comfort, even if she doesn't trust it."

"And you…?"

"I will request the assistance of my fellow Jedi—next time I'll be ready for whatever she dishes out."

Sgt. Knight cracked a small smile. "You'll have to tell me what she did to you—you looked like a ghost." A note of pride entered his voice: "Was she that bad?"

"You have no idea." It was her turn to smile. "How did you know I was here? I was told you weren't informed—that you were to be kept away at all costs."

"Nothing happens on this base that I don't know about. Nothing," he said, "I assume you will inform the Vice Admiral of his failure?"

Cilghal laughed, but it was hollow laughter. I'll tell Harris of his failure…and my own.