Slight of Mind, ch 5
Man of the Mind

Mac's Voice-over:
The trees of Northern Maine are not much different than those in the backwoods of Northern Minnesota where I grew up. The biting air from the Atlantic Ocean, or perhaps it was my own bizarre condition, I'm not sure—whatever the difference, they seemed somehow more alive… more animated… talkative, if you will. Not in words such as you and I would use to speak, yet each bole and branch seemed to have a story to tell me, and it was with some difficulty that I achieved any measure of speed along my journey... such was my desire to stop and hear what could be said.

It was easier if I didn't think about it; just forge ahead blindly and let the weird tickling in my brain lead me to the left or right. I'd come so far and I still seemed no closer… but a feeling of urgency was on me and a dull ache was building behind my eyes. There was no going back until I found the man I had come to see.

The trip from L.A. was behind me; getting to this place had been an adventure in and of itself. I won't go into it now, but I will say this much: when a person is subject to unpredictable discharges of static electricity, traveling by airplane is not highly recommended! Luckily, no one was seriously hurt… and most of that would-be hijacker's hair will probably grow back.

But that's another story.

Right now, I was trying to find an old acquaintance. Starkoss; an unusual man with unusual abilities. Whether or not he was truly Sensitive… to use the word that one book on the subject of E.S.P. had given as a politically correct term for one who allegedly has such special abilities, that is, a psychic… I couldn't say for sure; none of the things he said or did during our time together in Germany had convinced me that he was psychic. Logic and reason and a good network of information could have provided the same results… but the fact remained that he believed it. And that is why I needed him now. Sensitive or not, I believed that he was uniquely qualified to advice me on my current uncomfortable condition.

So that was how I found myself in Northern Maine, trying not to commune with the screaming trees, standing on the crest of a woodsy ridge looking down into a small valley with a silver creek running through, and a small log-built cabin nestled comfortably among the fat evergreens. A ribbon of smoke rose from the chimney, waving in the air like a welcoming flag. I knew the moment I set my eyes on it that I'd found him.

I also knew that he was expecting me.

The cabin door swung open as Mac placed his foot on the first of three steps leading up to the wooden deck. A man came out. He was a little older, a little thinner than Mac remembered, but his face was glowing with warmth and health, and he was wearing a wide and welcoming smile.

"My dear MacGyver, you are well come indeed. How long it has been since we parted ways upon the road to Munich!" Starkoss took him by the arms just above his elbows and squeezed gently; the Russian equivalent of a hug. "I wondered for how much longer you would wait before seeking me out."

Mac felt a little dazed just standing this close to Starkoss; he had forgotten the feeling of presence that the man exuded. The confidence and bearing with which the older man carried himself had left him somewhat breathless when he had first encountered him. That presence seemed now even more tangible.

At first, he could find no words to say, but allowed Starkoss to guide him inside the cabin and show him a seat next to a blazing fire. Mac didn't feel overly cold, but the welcomed the cheery warmth. Starkoss disappeared into the next room for a few minutes and then returned with a tray covered with sandwiches and a pitcher of tea, which he set nearby before settling comfortably into another chair.

At last, Mac found his tongue. "You… knew I was coming?" This was not the question that was foremost in his mind—Mac was experiencing a great mixture of feelings; relief at finally having found Starkoss, as well as confusion and anxiety—but it seemed to be as good a place to start as any. "How did you know?"

"How else?" Starkoss smiled and tapped his forehead with the fingers of one hand.

The weight of the distance he'd traveled and all that had happened to him settled on Mac at that moment, and his mind rebelled. He felt cold in spite of the fire and wondered suddenly if he should not have come.

"Walter."

"What?" Mac asked, nonplussed. "Who is Walter?"

Starkoss's smile was a gentle thing. "That is my given name. I just recalled that I never told you what was my given name. People have called me by my surname for so long, I had nearly forgotten I possessed another. But for people who risked their own lives to help me to freedom… I make the effort to remember."

Mac smiled a little, shrugging with one shoulder. "It was no trouble… I was in the neighborhood."

Starkoss nodded and both men fell silent and watched the fire in silence.

Mac's Voice-over:

There is purity in fire… I have always found it comforting. Well-seasoned wood such as what Starkoss was using burned slowly, with only an occasional murmur and sigh as the tiring wood collapses into the bed of coals. The sound of the flames was the only sound in the room; like the rush of wind from the beating of a bird's wings, but softer. I was grateful that I could no longer hear the sounds of the voices of the trees. My mind became clear for the first time in a long, long time.

Mac felt himself calming as he watched the flames consuming the fuel, turning wood into coals which fell into ashes. This was the natural course of things, in his mind, and he drew as much comfort from that as he did from the heat and the light.

After a long while, Starkoss spoke again softly. "Why have you come here, MacGyver?"

Mac looked up from the fire, casting an uneasy glance toward Starkoss. "You don't know? I mean… can't you read my mind?"

Starkoss smile was now a small thing. "I cannot tell you of your own mind what you do not know yourself, my friend. I can only say that you are confused and afraid… but not why."

Oddly, Mac found comfort in the fact that Starkoss couldn't read him. "I trying to think of a way to talk about what has happened and ask you the things I need to know without dying of embarrassment in the process. I'm finding it hard… I don't believe in this stuff… but I can't explain what's happening without believing… at least, a little." Mac sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "You're the only person who can help me."

"How can I help you?" The creases and wrinkles in Starkoss's face were made deeper by the firelight; he seemed confused and yet somehow delighted at the same time.

"Tell me how to… control it! To make it go away!" Desperation edged into his voice. Mac paused and took a few deep breaths to calm down again.

"Control? Make what go away, exactly?"

Mac sighed. He was going to have to say it, no matter how much he would prefer to deny it.

"I… I think that… that I can read minds," he blurted out at last. "Like you did back in Germany. You told me that you could see things… pictures in your head. I didn't really believe it then. I thought it was all a trick… but now I—this is so weird and fantastic!—and I think it is driving me crazy!"

"Tell me everything that has happened." Starkoss picked up his cup and sat back. "Do not worry yourself with belief or disbelief. You are a man of the mind, as once I said, and facts are what you like to think about… so give me the facts. But also, tell me the feelings… for those are what I like most to think about."