Myths and Monsters

Flames dancing on fingertips. "Do it again, do it again!" A low chuckle, and this time sparks followed, miniature fireworks cartwheeling through the air in front of her in a shower of green and gold.

"Again!" Now her voice wasn't a little girl's anymore, the command stripped of childish excitement but still full of awe. The fist unfurled to produce a bloom of white roses, shining in the darkness. "For my Asta," he whispered, and she searched the night for his face.

That name. It was all she knew about herself, and it came from one of those memories. One of the ones she'd probably invented for herself. No one could produce roses out of thin air or make firework displays with their fingertips. It meant, when it came down to it, she didn't really know anything about herself.

And yet. It wasn't just that single false memory—the name fit her, like she'd been called it hundreds of times over her life. She hoped she had. If even that was false, then Coulson had no chance of ever finding anyone searching for her.

"Aren't you getting frustrated yet?" she asked him. They were in the suite her sessions were held in. Dr Mabb, the psychologist in charge of her sessions, was off searching for an old set of notes.

"Are you?"

"A little."

"Only a little?"

"Okay…a lot." She nodded to the calendar in the corner. "It's been six months. That's two sessions a week, for twenty-six weeks, and we still don't even know if Asta is my real name." Six months of hypnosis and visualisation and random attempts at experimental therapy techniques, and her past remained as empty as it had ever been. The dreams, though, they came after every single session.

"I'll admit I was expecting more progress. Dr Mabb's symbolism theory didn't lead us anywhere." A month into the sessions, they'd started delving into Asta's dreams. She'd been afraid to bring up the monsters that hunted her at night but she'd been losing sleep and Coulson, ever-vigilant, had noticed. Dr Mabb's theory had been that her nightmares could be interpreted to help them unlock her memories, the monsters symbols of whatever she was repressing, but they'd got nowhere with that. "Do you know what I think? I think you're too fixated on believing what you remember."

Coulson's face was carefully blank. Did he know how she worried about her mind? Hearing monsters, seeing monsters, believing monsters existed, didn't happen to normal people. She understood the words psychosis and delusion. She understood what it meant to experience them, and her mind was all she had. What would happen to her if she didn't even have that? Was he trying to get her to trip up, to admit to him that the dreams were leaking into her waking life, so they could diagnose her and fill her with drugs and strip her of everything?

"Well, nothing I think I remember is believable."

"And maybe that's blocking you from moving forwards. What you talk about under hypnosis is exactly what you describe to us when you discuss your dreams. Yet you seem unwilling to accept that maybe there's a truth to them. Perhaps not the full truth, but if you stop trying to force things and accept what your mind is showing you, we may finally get somewhere."

He looked guileless, as always. Coulson had been so kind to her, had been the only person in this whole organisation who had ever shown anything other than curiosity or hostility towards her. She'd trusted him so far—and did she really have any other choice than to continue trusting him?

"Did you ever find out where Donald was from?"

Another of those inscrutable expressions crossed Coulson's face. "Donald? There's someone we haven't discussed for a long time."

"Well, did you?"

Coulson paused. "Unfortunately, it's not something I have clearance to discuss."

"But you did, didn't you? That's why you're persisting with me, even though nothing seems to be working. It's why you seem to want me to believe…whatever it is you want me to believe."

"Unlikely as this may seem, I do have your best interests at heart. Your link to Donald is intriguing, and it's certainly something we need to pursue, but I've managed to keep certain aspects of your case away from people who would be more ruthless in their quest for information. I have a mission, a mission I believe in, but I'm also aware that you're a young woman who's clearly been through a lot before you ended up with us. I'd like to complete my mission without causing you anymore distress."

Asta was taken aback—it was the most Coulson had ever said at once. He didn't appear anymore earnest than usual, but she unexpectedly found tears pricking at her eyes. Whatever agency she'd found herself in the hands of—and she still had no idea who they were—Coulson was trying to protect her. Her, a shell of a person. She knew, just from the television, what kind of things groups like this could do to a girl like her. She could vanish off the face of the earth, be locked in a cell like the one she'd spent her first months in, for the rest of her life. She'd never see sunlight again. Whatever they had to do to get the information they wanted out of her, they'd do, and she would have no power to stop it, and the worst part was she didn't even have the information. Coulson was keeping her shielded from all of that.

"Thank you," she whispered. He just nodded, one simple down and up of the head.

"What made you think about Donald?" he asked after a few more minutes, when it became clear Dr Mabb wasn't returning any time soon.

"I read something yesterday."

His lips twitched into a half-smile. "You read something everyday, Asta. We're having to dip into emergency funds to buy you books. But I suppose this was something in particular?"

"It was a book about Norse mythology. It reminded me of the name you said Donald gave you."

Coulson's face had now gone extraordinarily empty, his eyes focused on some point on the wall. "How so?"

"You said he called himself Thor. Except, Thor was a Norse god. A myth. There's no way this man could be a god."

"That's certainly a logical conclusion to come to."

"Then why mention it to me? You were looking for a reaction from me when you said that name, like I'd recognise it."

"I was hoping to prove you knew Donald. It was clear to me after we spoke that if you did, you couldn't remember it."

Asta bit her lower lip, worried it till she thought it might bleed, trying to keep the next question inside when she knew she had to voice it. "Was he delusional?"

"No, he was not. And before you ask, we don't believe you are either."

Strangely, that didn't reassure her. "You're saying he gave his name as a god's but you believed he was sane, and I talk about monsters and magic but you think there's nothing wrong with me either?"

"I've learned to keep an open mind with the work I do. I think your fear of being judged as insane, or even your fear of really being insane, has held you back. I'll give you what answers I can, in time, but for now we'll continue what we do here. I'm going to recommend that you learn to meditate, as that should help you open up, but you need to stop self-editing. Let us be the judge of reality."

Despite the reassurance, Asta left the session worried exactly whose hands she was in. If anything, she needed to be clinging to reality tighter than ever. Coulson's words just left her feeling like she hung on the edge of a void, and one wrong step would leave her tripping headfirst into it.