So I just laid there.
Lightening struck behind where I was laying inches from my head. It scared the crap out of me, and when the light from the flash finally went away I was somewhere else altogether.
It was an old Victorian era house, white with peeling paint. I recognized the house but I couldn’t remember from where or when. Since I was somehow now standing, I decided to walk inside and take a look around.
As I walked through the front door I was hit by a massive cold chill that shook my whole body. I rubbed my shoulders, and started to look around the house.
“Hello.” I said aloud.
There was nothing but silence. I checked the rooms on the first floor. Every single one was either empty or the door was locked. I became frustrated with one door, and melted the handle, but before I could actually open the door the handle had reappeared.
The memory of this house scratched at the back of my head. I knew that I had been in it before. The kitchen was empty and so was the living room.
I decided to finally stop wondering around on the bottom floor, and go upstairs. Each step creaked under my footsteps. When I reached the landing at the top of the stairs the memory hit me like a ton of bricks.
The house came back and even the night. I remembered what was happening now.
And it was too late to turn back.
I walked down the hallway where my room had been. This house was one of the orphanages that I had lived in as a young child before I was sent to Hillside.
I looked into the doorway and there I stood. Eleven years old against the back wall. I was crying and holding a stuffed animal. My hair was a mess and there was a smashed table next to my bed.
He stood on the other side of the room. Furious, but crying as well. The man’s name was George Halaway. He was one of the caretakers along with his wife and one other woman for this orphanage.
“I don’t understand it!” He yelled, spit flying everywhere.
“What are you talking about?” the other me sobbed from across the room.
“Whenever I am near you, your thoughts get inside my head.” He pounded on his own skull trying to understand the emotions inside of his head, “Why must you torture me?”
Looking at it from this angle, it looked so pathetic. This grown man yelling at a young girl because he felt sad when he was around her.
He walked over to the younger me and knelt down in front of me. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me, “What are you doing to me?”
“I’m not doing anything.” the young me cried.
I rubbed my neck because I knew what was going to happen next.
He wrapped both hands around the young me’s neck and squeezed, “Make it stop! Make it stop!”
I rushed over and tried to grab the man as my younger self’s body began to go limp from oxygen deprivation. My hands went through the man. I remembered that I was in a dream, or a memory, or something. I forced myself to remember that this was all in the past.
My younger self gasped the words, “please stop.”
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” he yelled like a maniac.
A woman rushed into the room. Her name was Rebecca. She was not George’s wife, but the other woman that managed the orphanage.
She grabbed George and pulled him off of the other me.
“Get off of her!” she yelled.
He let go of the younger me’s neck sending me crumbling into the ground gasping for air. Rebecca ran over and scooped me up into her arms. She left the room and rushed down stairs where all of the other children were waiting and listening to what was going on.
She put the young me into the back seat of a car and then got into the driver’s seat. I climbed into the passenger seat so that I could listen to what happened next.
She started to drive in a hurry. She took her cell phone from the seat where I was sitting. It felt strange to see someone put their hand through me. She held the phone to her ear and said, “Call James.”
After a few seconds she said, “I have a natural. I don’t know how she got past the screenings, but she should be a good candidate for the C-series.”
I could hear a man on the other end of the phone but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.
“She was able to project her emotions onto another person. Best emotional projection that I have ever seen, even from some of the people that have focused on learning to control it most of their lives. It was extremely effective.”
More that I couldn’t understand.
“But sir I think that she should be brought in for at least observation.” She pleaded with the man on the phone.
She waited, “No, the Hillside location is not ready yet. If I put her back in the system I am going to lose her. Like I said, she has gotten through screenings before. She may be able to hide her ability completely. It almost got her killed.”
A pause, “I can’t take her back to that orphanage. A man tried to kill her. I assume that he was very susceptible to the girl’s ability and couldn’t take it anymore. He may try to hurt her again.”
“Yes sir, I will have him terminated.” She said after a final pause then hung up the phone.
She threw it through me and sighed loudly. She slammed her hands on the steering wheel and pulled the car over to the side of the road. She looked around for a few seconds then she looked up into the rearview mirror, and smiled as I slept in the back seat.
I woke with steam rising from my skin. I was sweating; it was from my nerves. The sweat was evaporating almost instantly.
I climbed out of bed, in the hallway I could see that the sun was still down. I slowly shambled down to the first level and into the bathroom. I turned the water on full blast, cold, and stepped into the stream still fully clothed.
The water evaporated like my sweat had, billowing in the air of the small bathroom. The thick white cloud of vapor made it hard to breath.
I just stood there until the steaming stopped and I actually felt the cold chill me. I turned off the water. I climbed out of the shower grabbing a towel.
I dried what I could and left the bathroom.
I took the steps one at a time.
It took me a few moments to find clean, dry clothes, and get dressed. My head was killing me and I didn’t want to turn on the light. I laid back down in my bed and stared at the ceiling. I saw nothing but darkness but could feel the memories of that man’s hands around my neck.
I played the parts of the dream that I could remember in my head over and over again.
I wondered what it all meant. I had caused a man so much sorrow that he tried to kill me and I was only eleven years old. Rebecca had told the person on the phone that I had used emotional projection. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Rebecca again after that incident or the man for that matter.
I had to find out what exactly emotional projection meant and if I was still able to do that. I have to keep myself from torturing anyone else with my emotions; I hardly understood what was going on in my head. I didn’t need anyone else to suffer because of me.