Chapter Seventeen: Relation and Shadows
Personal Log, Jan 10 2030, 6:28 P.M.:
My sister hasn't talked to me for days. She hasn't been this mad at me since the great Potato Chip Wars of '25. Back then, she just got angry at me and Chrissy for getting potato chips all over her room. I vote that was the best battle ever during that year!
But now...she's just gone to a point beyond angry.
What's her deal? Just because I'm friends with Gina–who, by the way, is a very nice person–she blows her stack and storms off with Chrissy? (Chrissy's still my friend, but Ellie doesn't know.) The girl's gone nuts! I will never understand women. Ever.
Otherwise, it's been a pretty uneventful week. I'm practicing overshadowing with Dave and Chrissy–well, mostly Dave, since Chrissy thinks I'll do stuff and blame her–and it's pretty fun! It's like you can use another person as a body! The only flaw is that my voice and eyes stay the same. Oh well.
That Piper ghost was brutal. I've still got a shiner from where he hit me. And Gina's absolutely mortified–her mother's got her on round-the-clock protection and arming the cops with ecto-guns. Saves me a bit of trouble if they can actually get to the battle in time.
Anyway, Dad and Mom are leaving for Japan tomorrow and Aunt Jazz is volunteering to babysit. You know what that means!
"WHAAAHOOO!" Jake cried over the roar of the Fenton Wheeler.
The giant wheel-like vehicle skidded along the testing area below Fenton Manor. It was painted metallic green, with red highlights on the crawling legs that were used on rough terrain. The wheel was balanced through a gyroscope mechanism inside the main body, enabling the otherwise impractical device to stay upright constantly. It was developed for the Ghost Wars; nowadays, however, it made quite the stunt vehicle.
It was the motorcycle of the future.
In a world where cars and trucks flew through the air, Jake Fenton was grateful for simpler vehicles such as this one. Even though it didn't float on a static magnetic field, it could traverse any terrain, never toppling to the ground. It was, in short, amazing.
"Wanna ramp it up?" Jazz said over the engine.
"Kick it into high gear!" Jake shouted.
Jazz manipulated a few buttons on the control panel. Instantly, the wheeler sped up, a mighty cry rumbling forth from its innards. Tracks had already been left in the floor from previous laps, but now the wheel was churning up sparks like mud-spray as it careened over the sleek, metal floor.
Jake wondered what Gina and Dave were thinking from up in the control box as they manipulated the obstacle course programmed into the room. They'd already tried jungle, plains, and even aquatic terrain against the wheeler, and it had passed with flying colors, as Jazz had said it would.
Now, the steel floor was morphing and warping into a hilly, craggy, and uneven setting. Jazz grinned, saying, "Hold on!"
She pressed a button, and the claw-footed arms that had been retracted inside the vehicle extended. Once they touched the ground, the wheeler leaped into the air like a frog, easily making it over the artificial crags.
Figures, Jake thought. This thing was built to go over mountains.
As the hills receded, Jazz pulled the monster of a vehicle over, the skid turning up a shower of molten sparks. Inside the arena, a signal horn went off, telling the two kids in the control tower that it was alright to come down for their turns. When they came through the reinforced doorway, Jazz was greeted by collective voices saying, "Me! Me! Me!"
Jake got off the passenger seat. "You already got a turn, Gina. Dave gets to go next."
Gina sighed, "Fine. I like controlling the scenery anyway."
Jake went with Gina back up into the control box as Dave strapped into the crash-webbing. As they looked through the reinforced viewport, they could see the wheeler racing across the artificial landscape, now in the form of an arctic tundra.
"This is all pretty neat," Gina said, smiling at Jake.
"Thanks," Jake replied. "We have a lot of cool stuff here."
"I can see. I just wish we had as much of this."
"What do you mean?"
"It's just that... You guys have all this stuff and all this money, and I get jealous sometimes."
"Oh. Sorry."
"You don't have to apologize," Gina said. "It's alright. By the way, that's a pretty cool machine your aunt has. Where'd she get it?"
"She rode one during the war, back when she got out of college."
"Really? My mom fought in the war too!"
"That's cool!" Jake exclaimed.
"Yeah! She used a jet-sled instead of a wheeler, though. I rode on it; very neat!"
"I heard it's handled like a surfboard. Is that right?"
"No. That's a common misconception. It steers from the rear, like a snowboard."
"Really? For all this we have, I don't know half about it."
"That's alright. Where's your sister, by the way? She'd freak out if she saw us down here."
"It's okay. She's at some play with Uncle Vlad."
"Is he really your uncle?"
"No. Just a family friend."
A pause.
"If..." Gina started, but paused. "If you don't mind me asking, how did your aunt get that scar?"
"What?"
"It's alright. I shouldn't have–"
"Oh no! It's fine! She talks about it all the time! She got it from a shrapnel wound."
"Really? Where? How?"
"That she doesn't talk about."
"Oh. Alright."
"Hey; wanna change the scenery again?"
"Sure!"
"Let's go with..." Jake selected a lever mentally. "...this one!"
As he reached for the lever, Jake was surprised as ever to see Gina's hand already on top of it. But–for whatever perverse twist of fate–before he could pull away, his hand clasped over hers.
The moment seemed to drag on forever.
Finally, Jake took away his hand, using it to rub the back of his skull.
"Um..." he began.
"It's fine," Gina said. "It didn't mean anything...did it?"
"Um–no!" Jake said a bit too defensively.
As they looked down into the artificial arena set before the wheeler, Jake saw Gina's reflection. He never realized before how cute she looked...
Ellie and Vlad walked along the upper levels of the opera house, looking for their private seat for this night's production of Fiddler on the Roof. At last, they came to a door flanked by two ushers. Vlad didn't need to speak; as he and Ellie drew near, one of them said, "You are expected," and opened the door.
Inside were a motley crew of people that Vlad had explained beforehand to be part of his Board of Directors at Dalv Corp. One was a sleek-looking woman with red hair who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, her shoulders draped in a faux-fur coat. Another was an older man with silver hair and moustache, bearing muscles upon muscles on his tanned arms. One familiar face was the undercut, the sunglasses, and the cadaverous lantern-jaw of Chet U. Calinison. Ellie took a seat beside Vlad, who sat in the front row away from the businesspeople.
As the actor who played Teyve sang on stage, Vlad leaned aside to Ellie.
"Are you enjoying the show, my dear?" he asked.
"Yep!" she replied eagerly. This was her favorite musical.
As Ellie sat back and relaxed, she took comfort in the knowledge that the voice of her ghost-half wouldn't disturb them tonight. She found that when she was performing an entertaining activity, such as playing a game, exercising, or otherwise, she never heard the voice. Otherwise, it often popped up in conversation, whispering to follow her instincts and lash out. She wondered if this was how psychotics started: hearing voices nobody else could hear.
"Um..." She said, "...Vlad?"
"Yes, my dear?" the man replied.
"Could I talk to you about something? In private?"
"Of course." He turned to the businesspeople in the box. "We'd like to be alone."
The men and women filed out neatly from the box. Vlad and Ellie were now alone.
"Now then, dearie, what was it you wanted to talk about?"
"Well..." Ellie said. "I wanted to talk about my dreams."
"Your dreams? You mean what we talked about a month ago?"
"Yes. They haven't stopped."
"Do you have any idea why?"
Ellie gulped. She knew exactly why she dreamed these things, and she couldn't tell Vlad about that.
"I don't know," she lied.
"Well," Vlad said, "I happen to be quite the expert in psychology, since I studied it in college. Your dreams seem to center around this girl, correct?"
"Yes."
"It seems to me that this girl is a subconscious projection of your shadow."
"My what?"
"Shadow. In Jungian psychiatry, it is an archetype that represents the darker side of human nature. Everyone has one, but it contrasts with our public persona, therefore being unfit for society. Therefore, we cannot often listen to our shadows. However, we call upon the instinctive power they can provide in emergencies."
"Your shadow is like an animal?" Ellie asked. "It empowers you when cornered?"
"Yes. It also acts like a curtain, protecting and concealing what we repress inside our minds. Perhaps the reason your shadow is growing is because you're repressing something."
Ellie couldn't speak.
"Ellie? Is there something you want to tell me?" Vlad asked with the air of a caring parent.
"No," she replied blankly. "Nothing."
"Oh. Well then, you just tell me if you need to talk. Remember: you never need to keep secrets from me, nor I from you."
The girl slouched down in her seat, no longer enjoying the performance of the soloist on stage.
Dear Diary,
I don't know what to think anymore. I went to see uFiddler on the Roof/i with Uncle Vlad, and he talked to me again about my dreams. He said that I'm repressing something, and that I should talk about it. The only problem is, I can't talk about it with him or anyone else.
Also, Aunt Jazz was over today. I could tell from the mood Jake was in at dinner; he only gets that way when he rides her wheel bike. I got a turn when I got back, but I couldn't enjoy it. I just went to eat dinner, let Snickerdoodle out for the night, and I'll soon go to bed. I wonder if I'll dream.
Aunt Jazz tells us that scars have the power to remind us that the past is real. That they're tokens; medals of honor gained in the line of combat. I think that might apply to my mental scars in the mind palace. The floors have been scuffed the last days, ever since I stopped talking to Jake.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
Except what Vlad said. That makes too much sense.