Disclaimer: I do not own teen titans.... Seriously, does it need to be said?
Mind and Body Chapter 5: Being Used, and Using Others
The next morning, Amanda woke Rachel up with a knock on the door. "Rachel, get up, I want to have a talk with you." Rachel, however, was busy dreaming with a thick comforter of green and purple check curled tightly around her body. She also had a large, green cat curled up next to her, so in her mind nothing was going to get her up except perhaps….
Splash! Suddenly the two of them were soaking wet and freezing. Rachel bolted upright and tried to scream in shock, but the ice water restricted her throat so she was only able to make a thin, high and weak squeak. Garfield, however, had no such restrictions, and dashed from the bed at full tilt, yowling at the top of his lungs.
"Get that cat to be quiet!" Amanda hissed, "This complex doesn't normally allow pets, but the proprietor allowed it this once!"
"Garfield, shush!" Rachel whispered, "There are still neighbors sleeping!" and Garfield instantly stopped, knowing he had almost thrown their cover. Amanda breathed a sigh of relief and set her bucket down by the door. "You should know by now that I'm an impatient person, and I don't use words if they won't work."
Shivering violently, Rachel peeled open her eyes as her arms wrapped around her chest. She saw Amanda wearing another business suit and skirt that was black, unlike the first one. She took a light blue, plastic bag from her other hand and tossed it with a soft thump at the foot of the bed. "Get into these clothes and come out for some breakfast: I have something I want to talk to you about."
Hesitantly Rachel opened the bag to find a full set of clothes neatly folded inside. As Amanda left and the smell of almost-cooked oatmeal arrived, Rachel gratefully changed her underwear, put on the black jeans that happened to fit her almost perfectly, and slipped the black turtleneck on over her night shirt. Slipping on the serviceable black shoes that she had been given by Anthony, she stumbled out of the room rubbing her eyes. Suddenly she remembered her hooded sweatshirt and turned back. But surprisingly, another hooded sweatshirt was also in the bag. Grateful, she slipped it on over everything and made extra sure that it hung forward far enough to conceal her eyes. Then she took a deep breath, allowed Garfield to hop onto her shoulders, and walked into the dining room.
She was greeted by a large bowl of oatmeal with some berries on top, and she sat down to eat. Amanda leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table and her hands cupping her chin. She had a pensive expression on her face that was faintly tinged with anticipation. She took a long, slow breath and let it out just as slowly. "Your power…I've been thinking about it and I've decided it could be very useful to me in my job. I could do a lot more good with you aiding me than without it. I was hoping you could turn that talent to my benefit, as repayment for the room and board."
"The room and board?" Rachel asked, confused.
"It's just an expression for the food, bed and other necessities. So, what do you say?"
"I suppose I have too," Rachel grumbled as she stared at her no-longer-appetizing meal, "or I'll be back on the street, won't I?" Amanda shifted uncomfortably before nodding.
Quickly, so she wasn't at risk of embarrassing herself further, Amanda asked how she liked the clothes. Rachel shrugged, and said, "They're fine. I don't care about color: only that it works. But that isn't what I want to talk about: just what is it you wanted me to do?"
Amanda sighed again in frustration. "You're too smart for a six-year-old, you know that?"
"I'll take that as a compliment. And your answer?"
Leaning back in her seat, Amanda folded her hands in her lap and set her highly polished shoes on the edge of the table. She crossed the right foot over her left foot and looked at Rachel over the top of them. "While it is my job to read body language and extrapolate from the evidence what my client is having the most trouble with, it simply isn't reliable enough to make my job predictable. Your ability, on the other hand, cuts straight to the chase."
"What do you mean?" Rachel asked, and thought, My talent even has an advantage?
"Of course your talent has advantages," Amanda and Garfield said at the same time, though it was in different methods of communication. "Lying never works against you," Amanda continued, oblivious to the amusing echo of her first statement, and you are able to see what mental problems my patients might suffer from. You can tell me what they are so I am truly helping them: think of the good we would do!" Her face lit up in anticipation, and Rachel couldn't help but smile in response.
"In that case," Rachel said, "You should start by calming down that friend of yours: have him play a couple games of golf or something to focus on something unimportant."
Amanda just looked at her, a slightly puzzled look on her face, until the light went on in her head. "Oh, the man in beige?" she laughed when Rachel nodded, and continued, "he's not a patient, Rachel: he's a colleague. He helps the people with problems, so he doesn't suffer from them himself."
Rachel shook her head, "If you're not willing to listen to the truth when it's staring you in the face, then I can't help you."
"Well, Charles—the man you saw—has been complaining about stress lately, maybe a vacation is what he needs. But seriously, my concern is with my patients: those are the one's you should be diagnosing."
Rachel shrugged and stood up. Suddenly Amanda looked at her watch and jerked upright. "Oh my! It's almost time for my first client!" She got out of the light-colored chair and zipped over to the living room, where she sat at the desk opposite the door. "Come, Rachel," she said urgently, "stand on my left, and as the people come in you can suggest the problem to me."
She's getting a little bossy, Garfield said in irritation, shall I teach her a lesson? "NO," Rachel said severely, ignoring Amanda's startled stare, she still remembered the last lesson her ruthless companion had meted out. Garfield shook his head sadly, and murmered, You're too soft: if you don't want people to treat you badly, you need them to know what will happen to them if they do.
"And you're too hard," Rachel retorted, still unaware that Amanda's eyes were continuously widening as the conversation she could only partially hear continued, "You can't just…you can't…." she took a breath and forced the sentence out, "You can't simply tear off a couple of heads and expect the rest of them to take a hint!" Amanda went a little green about the gills as the comment reached her. She made herself listen further, however, hoping to get a hint about what the girl had been through. It went without saying that it wasn't pretty. "You have to give people another chance!" Rachel was on a role now, "If you can handle a problem without removing someone from the picture then things really are better for everyone!"
I get, it, I get it, Garfield said in impatience, Geez, you talk too much. I won't kill her, or even hurt her…this time. But if she insults you again, she'll be missing something afterward. If you could tell her I said that, then you can leave whatever part I'm targeting first up to her imagination. After a pregnant pause, he added an afterthought, and if you wouldn't mind skimming her mind as she thinks of it and telling me what it is, the threat will be that much more effective.
Amanda stared at her in curiosity. "I take it you can read animal's minds as well?" Rachel looked at her sharply and blushed, the red not contrasting well with her white skin and purple eyes. "…" she replied, and Amanda chuckled. "From your body language, did he threaten me with something?" although she hid it well, she was clearly nervous about the answer.
"Oh yes," Rachel said, "He wanted to kill you for your impudence. I convinced him otherwise." She winced, and said, "He has a lot to learn about keeping control of his abilities, and so do I."
"Hmm," Amanda said as she set her hands on the table and cocked her head to the side, "Maybe if you focus on an object in your mind you can block out thoughts."
Rachel stared at her in surprise and Amanda smiled faintly, "Although I don't know much, the mind is my specialty. What sometimes works for my patients might work for you."
Rachel thought about it, her brow furrowed, and Garfield nudged her leg with his head. Looking down at him, she saw a light in his eyes that seemed surprisingly like happiness. I think she's right, Rachel! This might be exactly what you were looking for! Rachel smiled and Garfield purred his joy as he jumped onto the table and sat on Amanda's papers. What? He asked in response to Rachel's blush and Amanda's exasperation, they feel good there: why shouldn't I sit on them?" Then he looked at the angry Amanda and sighed, You two are no fun, he mentally pouted, can't you take a joke? Then he rolled his eyes as if giving up and jumped down. By the way, I think the first client is on the stairs. He zipped over to the kitchen and leapt on top of the heat shield above the stove as Rachel turned and sensed the approaching person.
"Well," she said to Amanda, "Whoever it is, they're at the door." And in the same instant, a polite knock rang out.
"Come in," Amanda said in a business-like tone, and the door opened to admit a slouch-shouldered man in overalls and a grease-stained shirt. Discreetly, Amanda plugged her nose to the smell, and as Garfield bristled his tail in reaction she asked him his name.
M' name would be George, ma'am, George E. Furze. M' friend Fred said you were good at the helpin' of mind problems, so I thought…." He trailed off as Amanda nodded absently.
"Oh yes, Mr. Furze, I remember your problem—" Amanda was distracted by Rachel whispering in her ear. "I don't know what his problem is," Rachel breathed, "but it has nothing to do with his mind: his thoughts are clear, logical and easily explained."
"Well obviously you don't have the previous information," Amanda said quietly, "The file on him says he is suffering from a decent case of ADD."
"Huh?" Rachel said.
"Attention Deficit Disorder," Amanda explained, not caring that George could hear her, "It means that he can't focus on one thing for too long."
George, knowing only that she was trying to help him, added at that point, "Tha's right, it's stopping me from completing a couple of the construction jobs I've been commissioned to do."
Rachel quirked an eyebrow at him from under her hood, "How long can you stick to a project?" she asked.
"Oh, only about four hours," was the answer. Rachel turned to Amanda and smiled slightly.
"See what I mean? Perfectly normal."
Amanda looked at her hands uncomfortably. "Your jobs don't take longer than that usually?" she asked.
"Mostly they don't," George said, "but sometimes when a house needs a full overhaul, or a new one is being built, it'll take a couple weeks without the interruptions of my ADD."
"And with them?" Rachel asked, "How much longer does it take with those interruptions?"
"Oh, er," George paused as he thought about it, "Hmmm…well it's…um…why, it doesn't take any longer!"
Amanda looked at him in confusion. "Then why do you give up on the projects?"
"I guess I'm just lazy," George said in a good humor, "an' that's funny, b'cause my friends call me stubborn." He grinned, his teeth gleaming whitely in a ruddy face, and turned to Amanda. "How much were y' plannin' on charging me?"
"Well, I," Amanda said, stunned, she hadn't had a case react so well in 5 months, and that one had taken 3 hours to handle. It had mostly been luck. She shook herself and said, "Well, I was planning on 60 dollars…going by…past experience…."
The man happily counted out the full sum and held it in his hand. "Seeing as it was done without drugs, and I'm sure I won't feel sick after a talk, I'd be willing to pay twice as much, but as it is…." He handed the money to Amanda, and gave another ten to Rachel. Whistling as he picked up his cap, George left the house with a new spring in his step.
Amanda stared at Rachel and said, "…Well…that was surprising. I guess you were right."
Isn't that why you hired her? Garfield thought, and Rachel couldn't help but chuckle.
"What did he say?" Amanda asked,
"He said that it was the reason you hired me, after all." Rachel smiled and then blinked. "Wait a minute," she said slowly, "How come he's not surprised about money?"
I've seen humans exchange it for just about anything: it's one of the few systems they've come up with that I approve of. When Rachel translated this, Amanda nodded pensively. "When it's explained that way," she said, "then his understanding makes sense. But Rachel," she continued, "this means he is no ordinary cat—or at least, his color isn't the most remarkable thing about him. He must be about as smart as people: and that's supposed to be impossible."
"Believe me," Rachel said slowly, "I know that better than you ever could."
An hour and 7 more satisfied patients later, and Amanda was enjoying her best day in years. Rachel refrained from saying it, but the problems of these were about the same as George's: there was almost no difficulty in finding that all their problems were mostly imaginary. It seemed that all they needed was an urge to simply act on their own tendencies. And Rachel had earned money as well: it seemed George and his kind were perfectly willing to pay the real benefactor, and she had earned an astonishing 91 dollars that morning. If I can do this wherever I go, she thought to Garfield, then money will never be a problem.
That, and it feels good to do good. Garfield added.
Yes, that too.
But she was about to learn just why the job had few professionals. A stumbling footstep made itself known as Rachel snacked on a candybar; thinking it to be another ordinary client, she let her mind follow habit and latch onto the other.
The contact almost made her through up. It had a familiar ring to it completely apart from the utter jumble of thoughts, and before he ha even knocked she was prepared for the sight of Amanda's "business associate".
His beige suit was crisp and neat, his slender face was in a neutral expression, and his white suitcase was held casually in his right hand but, also like before, he hopped from thought to thought wildly and clearly was unaware of his surroundings.
She shuddered as Amanda walked out and took his suitcase. "How are you Charles?" she asked.
"I'm just fine, Amanda, though I am a little tired. My morning client was a tough one: I just couldn't find the problem." He sat heavily on the dark couch and put his arms on the back. Staring at the floor he grumbled to three pairs of attentive ears—two of which he didn't know existed—and the complaints that issued forth were patently absurd.
"No matter how much I dug, the only thing that came up was a silly little argument he had had with a sister. Nothing that might explain his ADD, and he wouldn't tell me any other problems."
With a groan at his density, Rachel spoke up for the first time in a long time. "Respectfully, sir," she said sarcastically, "don't you think that could be because that WAS the problem?"
Charles glanced at her in surprise and turned to Amanda, ignoring her outburst. "What's this?" he asked Amanda, "I didn't know you had a niece?"
"I don't," Amanda replied, "She's a girl I picked up off the streets just yesterday: I found her to be quite helpful today."
Charles snorted. "Well, that does explain her brazen tongue." Then he turned to a fuming Rachel, and said in a condescending tone, "My name is Charles Masterson, and I have a philosopher's degree in psychiatry as well as three years of experience. I got the highest grades in my class and you believe you know more about the subject than I? Don't make me laugh: you're a child and you need experience to find the right touch with each new client."
Rachel gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes as the edge of her vision tinged pink. "What did you say?" she growled as, involuntarily, her hooded sweatshirt started to flutter in a ghostly wind, and she quickly focused her mind on an image of green fur. She sighed with relief as the power faded away, and realized she had taken the first step to controlling her power. She deliberately ignored Charles's cold chuckle and carefully explored his mind.
Surprisingly, by holding back as she had a moment before, she was able to back out smoothly. She re-entered his mind and discovered that she was able to filter the wild thoughts with concentration, and focus on only a single subject.
By keeping her own wits about her, she was able to mute the stomach-churning aspect and find the thoughts that pertained to his college days. Smirking, she mentally condensed the information that had come after his medical degree—she knew she wouldn't be able to understand it—but she grasped a basic truth about those classes and mentally smiled. Overjoyed with her successful control, she backed out once more.
Her eyes were slow to translate the physical images at first, as Rachel had become used to seeing with mental eyes, but in a couple seconds her vision had faded back into being. In front of her, Charles was still glaring at her with small, close-set and beady black eyes that reminded her of a rat. The image was made more accurate by the fact that, as the images had shown her, he had been an utter suck-up in school, reporting the slightest mistake of his classmates as serious offenses to ensure he had the top grades.
With a slow smile she stepped foreword and said quietly, "You know, the little games you played on your classmates won't work on me."
"What?" he blinked in surprise, "What makes you say that?"
"Only the fact that being a snitch isn't a very effective way of bringing down those who don't make mistakes." She said lightly with a shrug. She ignored the jerk of Charles's shoulders and knew that her search had not been in vain. "Besides," she continued, "If you really did get high grades, then you would be able to tell me how ADD is cured."
Charles stumbled over his own tongue for a while before he was able to choke out, "Well actually, I, that is, there are many opinions about what helps best. Each has certain merits, and one can never truly discard any of them as possibilities…."
"Are you saying there is no reliable cure for this disease?" Rachel asked, as she knew full well from her search that there wasn't, "What about the other diseases? Are you fooling the general public about those too? All you're really doing in this job is getting people to fear everyday occurrences, isn't that right?" she said casually. Charles' face began to be frightened. "While you may have become a doctor first," she continued, "All that was actually accomplished was to complete the required number of courses without any real work. You intended to live a life of luxury by riding on the budgets of more honest people and to say you were helping when all it was doing was to keep them under your foot! You're a fraud, the whole profession is a fraud, and you know it!" she shouted, "Just how much of it is helpful, mister? I'll tell you: the answer is no—"
"Stop it!" Amanda screamed from behind her, Rachel turned in surprise to see her holding shaky hands to her ears and crying copiously. Rachel's eyes widened, and turned to look at Charles, but the image now more closely resembled how he was on the inside: violently ruffled and highly erratic. "Rachel," Amanda choked out, "What…what do you think you're saying? We're helping these people: we really…*sniff* we really are, or we are doing our best. Just please, stop saying such things."
Rachel frowned sadly. She hadn't meant to catch Amanda up in it; apparently she had a lot to learn about using another's thoughts to influence them. It was something she would need to learn to control.
Charles stood up shakily and left swiftly with a fearful glance over his shoulder.
Wow, Garfield said, I didn't know you had it in you to be worse than me.
Neither did I, Rachel thought with a shiver.
The day slowly started to move again, but even though she was able to help many more people, and collected a little more than 100 more dollars, Rachel couldn't help but remember the power she had wielded over Charles after the little exploration. With a shiver she realized this new aspect of her original ability was probably more frightening than the telekinesis. This "work" was doing more than help people, it was giving her an iron grip over every person she met. It frightened her that she had such control over other people.
With that in mind, she slowly ate her dinner and quietly went to bed.
She lay down and hugged Garfield tightly, burying her face in his green fur as he licked her cheek in sympathy. She didn't know what to do:should she stay and earn money? Or should she leave immediately—rather than eventually, as she had first planned—so that she wouldn't risk reducing other people to pitiful shells of themselves?
In the end, the choice is yours. She sensed Garfield's explanation. She sighed, Yes, I know the answer. They couldn't stay there. She quickly took out a pen and a piece of paper, wrote a note to Amanda, and began packing up the money and new possessions she now had. A flashlight, some travel food, a mirror, some tough twine and a kitchen knife found their way into a small satchel before she slipped out the door under Garfield's guidance.
It was remarkably easy to slide the door open without a sound and appear on the balcony only to slip down the stairs, and she followed the glow of Garfield's eyes down the cast-iron steps. Upon arriving at the base of them, she looked back up.
It hit her then that she was truly meant to be alone: everything she did ended up hurting the people around her…except for Garfield. She was beginning to rely on his presence like no other: always an uncaring voice that was used to the world's difficulties. He was untouchable by her harsh words, as he simply did not care what others thought of him. He had no such illusions that he had to be liked by others, so he was thoroughly comfortable with the real him.
She could definitely learn from that.
The next morning, Amanda woke and walked with wild hair to her coffee machine. Gulping down a cupful as black as a coalmine at midnight to recover from the previous night of tossing, turning, and mulling over Rachel's harsh words. She then fumbled in the pantry for a large muffin and took a large bite of lemon-and–poppy-seed-flavored pastry before going to Rachel's room.
Whatever she had planned to say vanished when she saw the bed had not been slept in. A quick run around the house revealed some missing objects, and it wasn't until she returned to the guest room that she spotted the note pinned to the pillow. She snorted and said, "How cliché: the note on the pillowcase. Wait a minute, that means…!" she ripped it off the pillow and read:
I'm sorry for the pain I caused you yesterday, and I realize I have stolen some of your belongings, but I can't stay in that house with those rules, and I left half of the two hundred dollars I earned to repay you for the objects and your hospitality. You don't need to worry about me either, because even I can't take care of myself Garfield will do it for me. Good bye, Amanda, and I hope you'll be happier with me gone.
Rachel.
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A/N: I'm pretty proud of how this chapter turned out, but what do you guys think of it?