Life Insurance

  Chapter 3: After Math

I led Rawson back upstairs. As we climbed, he didn't say a word, not even to comment on the elevator. For the first time ever, I didn't mind that the elevator wasn't working. I also didn't mind climbing the stairs in silence. I needed the time. So much had happened in less than thirty minutes, and while it was happening, I had no time for reflection. As I climbed, I recalled more and more things from the past few minutes.

First, there was the alarming fact that I found myself in Rawson's recollection of his past. How did that happen? I invite people into my own recollections quite easily, but I'd never before succeeded in inviting myself into some other person's memories.

Second, I couldn't forget what I saw during Rawson's recollection. I didn't feel comfortable knowing the truth about how Rawson and Mark's relationship ended. It shook the foundation of my image of the man. Because of my contradictory feelings about him, I find it easier to cope if I concentrate on his unsavory features. Thus I quite happily blamed Rawson for the failure of the relationship. I didn't need to be shown to be wrong. In this particular case, the truth wasn't good for me.

Even less I needed the memory of what else I'd seen in Rawson's mind. Firmly, I pushed any such wandering recollections out of my conscious thoughts. I already knew that I'd take a closer look at them, but the time for that was not then or there. I needed a plausible seeming explanation for what had just happened to Rawson and for my part in that.

We were at my door too soon. I let us in and asked Rawson to find a seat in my living room. He didn't seem willing to take even that little guidance from me.

"What the Hell is happening here?" Rawson demanded answers as soon as we both were seated.

By his tone of voice, Rawson had had enough of my stalling. I had to tell him something that would satisfy him as well as my boss. He wouldn't thank me for letting Rawson know about my gift, but if I spilled out even one more of the closely held secrets of the company, I'd be in dire straits. Above all, I needed to find something to distract Rawson from the fact that I knew in advance what was about to befall him. For apparent reasons, my employer didn't want that piece of information circulating among our clients. I came up with just one thing that might work. I took a deep breath and began my tale.

"As I told you before, I'm what my employer calls a clocksmith," I started, repeating my offhanded remark that had pissed Rawson off earlier and led to his latest predicament. "I work for an insurance company as a damage controller. Your life insurance is from us. As you see, it's in our best interests to keep you alive and in good health. Tonight, using my gift on you, I've been doing just that."

"So, I was right after all. You want my money."

It seemed that my ploy was working. Apparently Rawson was as sensitive about his money as I thought.

"The company wants your money. And, more to the point, the company doesn't want to pay your benefactors in case of your death."

"So, for your company I'm more valuable alive than dead."

A little crooked smile flitted on Rawson's lips, but it did nothing to sweeten the bitterness of his eyes. Knowing what I did about his self esteem, the reason wasn't hard to find.

"And, apparently, the patrons of my club are also valuable to your employer, alive," Rawson continued. "You saved the company a fortune tonight, didn't you, by keeping all those people alive?"

"True. I'll get a fat bonus for that. So, there's something in it for me, too."

"What exactly is it? What do you do?"

Since I was not going to tell him that, not exactly, I took advantage of another thing that I'd just learned about him. Using the information I'd gained without his consent against him like that didn't make me proud of myself, but what else could I have done?

"My gift is to manipulate the internal time consciousness of other people. Back at your club, I made you think that it was thirty minutes later than it actually was. That saved your patrons. You were a bit harder case.   

"It's a commonly known fact that you tend to spend time at your club after hours. For that reason, as soon as I saw that the other people were leaving the club, I returned to check on you. Then I just tried to piss you off enough so that you would personally kick me out. It wasn't hard, I might add."

"Apparently. You chose your means well. Since Mark and I parted ways, there have been too many opportunists trying to take his place. You seemed to be one more. So far, the approach you chose has been the most infuriating one, Red, I have to give you that," Rawson said in hard tones. "Regardless of my reputation, I don't have orgies at the club after the closing time. And, even if I did, regardless of my advancing age, I don't forget it if I invite tricks to join me."

I was right. In addition to his dislike of opportunists, there were two more things I could use to distract him. Rawson didn't want to be reminded about his reputation or about his age.

"I admit to being surprised that I found you alone." I let my tone of voice carry some of my contempt for the man. "It was a positive surprise, though. If you had been fucking someone it would've been close to impossible to get you to stop."

"Certainly." Rawson's eyes were already cold; my comment made his demeanor openly hostile. "But it didn't work as well as you thought, did it? I went back in, and you...did you follow me in? You did, you must have. I remember trying to get to a phone, but you manhandled me out of the building. I called 911 -- from your cell, right? -- standing on the sidewalk.  

"What the fuck happened after that? You claimed that I lost consciousness. Maybe I did, but I think it was caused by something you did, wasn't it?"

Not for the first time that night, I would've preferred the stupid slut that Rawson was supposed to be to this way too smart man.

"I manipulated your time consciousness again, making you think that it was three hours later. Since you thought that it was time for you to sleep, you did."

"I fell asleep? Just like that?" Rawson snapped his fingers, and I nodded, yes.

"How does it work, Red, that gift of yours? How do you take control?"

"A touch, skin to skin, followed by an eye contact."

"Scary." Rawson grimaced. "Does it work on everybody?"

"On most of the people, yes, but there are people that I can't manipulate."

"So you force your way into the minds of unsuspecting, innocent people. You gain all their secrets." Beautiful man he was, but his sneer was decidedly ugly. "Have you ever thought about a career as a blackmailer?"

"No! My gift doesn't work like that. I can't read minds. Not yours..."

"Wait a minute!" Rawson chimed in, indignant. "You did sneak into my mind. You filthy liar!"

"I didn't! I can't do that. I was drawn into your mind; I did not seek for entrance." Something dawned on me, and I could but stare at the man before me. "Rawson," I said almost in a whisper, still stupidly staring into his smoldering eyes, "you drew me in."

"What?!"

"You're a memory manipulator, you must be. Like Scott..."

I forgot that I was supposed to keep the company secrets, I forgot what I was doing, I forgot Rawson. I could concentrate only on my desperate need for the long lost contact with my brother.

We trained together, Scott and I. Scott was a brilliant memory manipulator. Our gifts combined into something more than the simple sum of the two individual gifts. Ever since his death, I've missed our easy rapport. We shared so many experiences, directly mind to mind. I don't know which memories of our childhood and youth are mine and which, in truth, are Scott's. Back then, we didn't care.

"Red?"

Rawson's voice brought me back. Just like...

Oh my God! Could it...

"Rawson, I need to tell you something, and I need you to tell me something, too. Please, listen!"

Agitated, I stood up and walked around the coffee table, to him. I sat on the table and put a hand on his shoulder, but was it to keep him with me or to stop me from shaking? I didn't know.

"You've got a gift, too, Rawson! That's the only explanation that explains everything."

At that moment, I didn't notice how quiet and unmoving Rawson suddenly was. I just plunged ahead.

"I've got just a little whiff of the true gift of a memory manipulator. I can invite people into my own memories. I did that to you, back at the club, to show you that there was something amiss. The flickering lights and sounds from the attic. Do you remember them?" By his nod he did. "You weren't there when that happened; you got that memory from me."

"You implanted your memories into my mind," Rawson growled. "Bastard."

"I just shared some of them with you." I didn't find that an important issue. In a person's mind there's plenty of room for memories. "But, you did some sharing, too, Rawson. You invited me into your memories. You just did it unintentionally, and I'm sorry that I saw things that you didn't mean me to see. I tried to pull back, I really did, but I couldn't. Rawson, as a memory manipulator you are stronger than me. Your gift trapped me.

"I don't know if you have more of the memory manipulator's gift or how strong you are, but there's no doubt in my mind. You're one."

"Are you crazy? What the Hell are you talking about?" But by his expression and tone of voice, Rawson didn't seem as convinced about my mental instability as his words indicated.

"Rawson, tell me: have you ever used your gift before?"

My breath was caught in my throat as I waited for his answer. He kept me waiting for a long time, but I didn't dare move a muscle. I was desperate to know the truth.

"I think I have, a few times." Rawson's voice was very quiet, and he seemed determined not to meet my eyes.

"A country road, a stormy night, more than ten years ago?" I could barely get the words out; there was something huge in my throat that I could not swallow. "Two men in a wrecked car, one alive, the other dead: my brother and I. You were there." Rawson tried to push my hand away, but I didn't let him. "Don't deny it. I know that it was you. You stayed with me, and somehow I made it through the night.

"Connor Rawson, did you use your gift to make my memories bearable? Did you?!"

"I guess so." The admittance came in sullen tones. "But I didn't do it on purpose!" Rawson pushed up from his seat and started to pace, his hand finding its way up at his nape. He avoided my eyes. "I'm sorry for messing with your mind." Rawson had his back towards me; the apology was offered over his shoulder.

"I don't blame you! Not at all," I hurried to say. "Dear God! Did you vanish from the hospital because you thought you did something wrong? I never even thought about that option!

"I appreciate what you did; without you, I would've lost my mind. Most likely, I'd never have recovered from the trauma. Through the remorse. Through the madness. Not without you. Thank you from the very core of my being!"

He turned around then, raising his eyes to mine. He seemed unable to believe me, but also that he would have liked nothing more than to take my words at face value.

"Believe me. I mean it, Connor. Every word."

"Thank you," he said quietly, shy as I had never seen him before.

For awhile neither of us wanted to speak. He stopped at the window, and I stayed on the table. It was enough.

CUCKOO! CUCKOO! CUCKOO!

"What the fuck is that!" Rawson spun around, startled out of his reverie.

"I've got an email," I said, blushing.

"Some alarm!" The bastard was laughing at me.

"It's from my job. I have to open it at once." Why did I feel the need of explaining my email-alarm to Rawson? It was my home, damn it.

Feeling like an idiot, I went to my computer and opened the message.

Today, in an armed robbery and the ensuing stampede at SouthSide Works 1:23 PM, 4 people will die, one of the victims will be Dane Norris, and 11 people will be injured.

Holy fuck!

"What is it, Red? You're white as a sheet."

But since there were two messages, I just raised my hand to ask him to wait.

As predicted in the message today 8:04 AM, "today, in an armed robbery and the ensuing stampede at SouthSide Works 1:23 PM, 4 people will die, one of the victims will be Dane Norris, and 11 people will be injured". However, if Connor Rawson has been told everything, he can save three of the victims and seven of the injured.

And I thought that it would be a Saturday like any other. My last! Or, would I be one of those that Rawson could save? What did it mean that the message about him did not mention my name? Maybe my fate was irrevocable.

"Red?" Rawson brought me back from wherever I had slipped into. His tone of voice was hesitating. "Should I leave? Apparently, something is amiss."

"No. Actually, it's of vital importance that you stay!" In a fraction of a second, I made the decision to tell Rawson also the part of the truth that I so carefully had danced around earlier. "There's something I have to tell you. Come. Let's have some breakfast," I said as the machine printed the two messages.

As soon as I had the coffee machine on, I put the printouts in front of Rawson, telling him to read them while I set the table.

"What the fuck?!" Rawson stared at me with plate sized eyes.

"It's an assignment from my boss." I knew that wasn't what he was focusing on. "I'm supposed to prevent the deaths and injuries."

"But, Dane Norris. That's you, isn't it?" Yeah, I was right.

"Yeah. It could be my last assignment." I said it lightly, but it wasn't an easy thing to put in words. I was getting anxious, and that was not going to help in any way. "It might not be."

"Who but you would joke about something like that?" In his expression, Rawson showed nothing, either, but in his tone of voice there was something a bit off. "Why would your boss send you on an assignment that might kill you? And how does your boss know about it, in advance? The robbery, the danger to the people involved, the danger you're facing. My involvement. That's absurd."

"Is it? Think about last night. How likely is it that I just happened to manipulate you to cut the night short and, by pure chance, saved all those people and you? No, Rawson, not by chance. I knew what was going to happen and exactly when."

"Damn! Earlier, I was about to ask you about that." Rawson's forehead was in serious need of ironing. "Why did I never make that question?"

"I did my best to distract you from that particular question." As I handed him a mug of coffee, I put on my best smirk. "The everything I told you was not exactly everything. The fact that the company knows about threats in advance is a closely held secret."

"But, you're yielding that information now. Why?"

I pointed at the papers on the table.

"What?" He took the printouts and read them through again. "A-ha. If Connor Rawson has been told everything. Your boss sort of tells you to tell me, doesn't he?"

"I choose to understand him so." I sighed. "It was hard work, distracting you, and it was all in vain."

"You are joking again, right?" Even though it was more than a half truth, I admitted that I was, indeed, joking.

"Are you ever serious, Red?"

"You know what them Chinese say about gardening. So, what's there to take so seriously?" 

He snorted. "I think that these jokes are your method of coping with your impending death. Is it a common hazard in your line of work?"

"Actually, no. They send me to dangerous situations, but usually I know what the danger is and how to avoid it. This latest assignment is a problem, though, since it lacks vital information."

"Such as?"

"We don't know what, exactly, will cause the deaths and injuries. The prediction tells us no more than that there'll be an armed robbery and a stampede. What kind of a stampede? Will the people, panicking, stampede, or will there be some animals? Will the robbers use their weapons? If there's shooting, it might be the guards or the police, or someone in the crowd opening fire. Or the cause of those deaths and injuries might lie elsewhere. There's no clue."

"I see your point." He turned his attention to the food on the table. "In order to change the outcome for the better, you'll need a lot of good luck."

"Luck, yeah, and sharp eyes and sharp wits. And, I need to be there, no we need to be there." I suddenly saw a problem. "Rawson, you'll come with me, won't you?"

"I guess I couldn't live with myself if I didn't, so yes, I'll be there." For once, I was glad that I had a false image of the man in my head.

"I can't see how I could help, though." Rawson was a bit distracted; he was putting together a sandwich. Thus, I think, I heard the effects of his weak self esteem. Usually, he kept that fact carefully hidden. "If it were just you, I wouldn't let you anywhere near that mall. That even I could do, and without my so called gift."

"Don't be so sure." I smiled, but it wasn't out of mirth. "Last night I had four assignments. First one was to save the people in your club. Because I did that, the second prediction came into play. You were going to be the sole victim to die. I got you out of the building which brought to life the third prediction. You were going to die under the rock pile. I got you out of that predicament, too, but it just led to the fourth prediction. Mishandling my power when I put you to sleep, I caused a threat to your life. You nearly died on the sidewalk, no more than an hour ago."

"I meant to ask about it, too. My recollections of that are very vague."

"I'll tell you, later. The important thing for you to learn right now is that if you change one thing it could precipitate trouble in another area. For example, to keep me out of the mall might be the worst thing you could do."

"If your boss hadn't sent you that message would you have been at that mall at that particular time today?"

"Yes. I was going to get a birthday gift for my mother, and I planned to eat at the mall, afterwards." I rose to get another mug of coffee and refilled Rawson's mug also. ”I still plan to do those things, the only exception being that I'll have you with me. That's not too big a change, I hope."

"It doesn't change my plans for the day, either. I was going there, too. By chance, also I need to find a birthday gift, for my father. If as little change as possible is what you need, I think our walking there together satisfies the criteria." For the first time ever, I saw on his face an open, genuine smile. "But, you still haven't told me how you people know things in advance."

As we finished our breakfast, I told Rawson about the research team that puts together the glimpses into future that the seers of the company provide.

"What a freak show!" Rawson commented as we stood up from the table. "Are there any normal people in your company? An accountant or two, maybe?"

I laughed; he was pretty much right. But, it was time to get moving. Time was running, too quickly, and there were a couple of things we must accomplish before my deadline. 

"I think we need my friend and coworker, Larry Gleeson. Since you're a beginner and we're in a hurry, I think that he's the best man to help you get a little better grasp of your gift. As a fourth level memory manipulator, his gift isn't too strong, and he really excels at the basic stuff. We have only a few hours left before we have to go to the mall."

*****

Larry was more than surprised when he found me, Rawson in tow, at his door. As we settled in his living room, his raised eyebrow spoke volumes, and I was afraid that it spoke those volumes to Rawson, too. I felt my cheeks warming. Larry's eyebrow rose even higher.

"I saw you leaving together, so it's obvious that you've spent the night together. No surprise there." As he sat down beside me on the couch, Larry's eyes were dancing from my face to Rawson's. "But I'm surprised to see you still together and here of all places. Is there something I can do for you?"

I glared at him. Without so much as a word, I took Larry's hand and put in it the two messages from my boss. Reading them, Larry got paler and paler, and my irritation at him evaporated very quickly.

"Red?" he whispered and grabbed my shoulder. "Are you OK?"

"For the time being, yes. Thanks for caring, friend." I said in as soft a voice as Larry's, and I put my hand on top of his.

"If Connor Rawson has been told everything..." Larry read out the line in the message. "What does that mean?"

"I believe it to mean everything about the firm, or the freak show as he chose to call us. I already told him the basic facts. There's more to this than meets the eye, Larry. It turns out that Rawson has the gift of a memory manipulator. I guess that's why he is mentioned in that second message."

"Holy fucking cow!" Larry let out, just as I expected: my friend is such an eloquent man.

"Larry, I need you to help him! As you know, my gift as a memory manipulator is of the weakest level; yours is of the fourth best. I can't help him, but you can. He has no training; he doesn't even know the extent of his gift not to mention his strength." I couldn't stand just sitting there. My inner turmoil made me pace around the room until I found myself perching on the windowsill, like a bird, hoping for the glass to disappear. 

"I think that the everything in the message might also mean everything about his gift. Everything is a wide concept, you see, and whatever he's been told has a good chance of being of importance. I know that there's very little time, but teach him whatever you can, Larry! In order to succeed, we'll need every bit of advantage we can get into our hands."

"Red, Red! Calm down. Of course I'll teach him. Do you want to be present? You might need to know what he's been told, too."

"I know and I'd want to, but I haven't got the time. There's something I have to do."

"But...?" Larry started, but Rawson's stronger voice took over.

"You planned to do something before going to the mall, didn't you? Something that might have the effect you warned me about if you cancelled it now, right?"

My opinion about Rawson's quick wits was starting to slip into the side of appreciation. I nodded "yes" to his question.

"Go, Red," Rawson said in worried tones. "Don't rock the boat any longer. Where and when should we meet at the mall?"

Quickly, we decided on the time and place, and I left. As I stepped into my car, I was thanking the powers that be for Rawson's lack of curiosity. About my plans for the next couple of hours, I didn't want to tell even to Larry who was one of my closest friends.

Actually, I was already on my way to the mall. For the last few weeks, every Saturday morning, I'd been visiting a piano bar there. I arrived a few minutes late and received a disapproving look from the little old lady that was sitting behind the piano.

"Late again, Mr. Norris, and again without your notebook, I see," she answered to my greeting and apology.

Frail looking the grandmother might be, but she was nothing of the kind. Her cool and sophisticated voice was clear and carried easily into every ear in the bar. She was not a strict defender of the truth, either. Even though I was late for the first time, from experience I knew that it was not the right thing to do to correct her. She was never wrong. Not ever.

"If you can't find the discipline to get out of your bed in time for our practice sessions just once a week, how likely is it that you can find the discipline to practice every day?"

The dear old girl went on and on about my faults. I ignored the tirade. At my first visit, already, I noticed that she found reasons for complaints, disdain and chastisement in everything her students did. Regardless of her apparent dislike of the task of teaching the secrets of piano to us, the unworthy and untalented mob, she had been giving these group lessons for more than five years. 

When I was a kid I wanted to learn to play piano. Back then, I needed no better reason than the fact that Tommy Hill, the boy next door, was getting lessons. For my parents that was not reason enough, though. Since I showed no real interest or talent in music, they decided not to pay for such a hobby.

Of course, I never forgot the disappointment. When I heard about the arrangement Mrs. Mary Blyton had with the piano bar at the mall, I was intrigued. I tried it out, and despite the teacher, I found myself having a great time. The people that gathered at her lessons were a varied, interesting group, and I became friends with quite a number of them. I quickly learned that my musical talents are close to non-existent and that I will never play even passably well, but I don't mind. Playing well isn't my goal, anyway. I just want to get something that I was left without as a child. That particular morning I was more than satisfied for having started with the piano playing. At least, if I was going to die that afternoon, I had had time to experience that.

I took a look around and noticed an unfamiliar face.

"Anna," I whispered to the girl next to me, pointing at the stranger. "Do you know that man?"

"He is new. Shane Morris, I think his name is."

I stared at her. "Shane Morris? Quite a coincidence..."

"What do you...? Oh, right! Your names." Anna turned to look at the man, her eyes as startled as mine. Not following suit, Mrs. Blyton turned her eyes on me, and one more tirade was flowing over my head.

"Since you seem unable to keep from disturbing the lesson, let's give you something useful to do." The teacher lady told the boy currently perching on the bench behind the keyboard to return to his seat. "Come here, Mr. Norris, and let us hear what you've learned, if anything."

I'm afraid the little old darling intended to keep tormenting me, but actually, it was my fellow students that suffered. I played the piece horribly wrong but with great enthusiasm. It could well be my last chance. Too soon, Mrs. Blyton told me to stop.

The others took their turns at showing off their improvement. Among us, there were a couple of people with considerable talent, but the better part of the group was just a tad above my abysmal level. The new guy seemed to listen resignedly. If he talked to people next to him I didn't notice it. The gradual change of his expression I did notice, though. He seemed more and more annoyed. I wondered if his bad mood would play some role in the predicament I was heading to. For the rest of the lesson, I kept an eye on the stranger with the familiar sounding name.

*****

Too soon, it was half past noon and the time to find Rawson. He wasn't late, either, and even in the crowds of Saturday afternoon, the tall man was easy to spot. Quickly, we decided on our plan of action. Since Rawson's intention had been just to wander around until he spotted something interesting, we would follow my sketchy plan of seeking for a piece of fabric suitable for a blazer for my mother. In particular, we decided not to keep an eye on the passing of the time. It seemed best if we acted as spontaneously as possible.

As we walked the corridors, I kept looking at people, with suspicious eyes. What does an armed robber look like when he or she isn't robbing anyone? I didn't know, but still I couldn't stop.

"Rawson! I know that guy." I tugged at my companion's sleeve and tried to point discreetly at the man that was just exiting a shop in front of us: Shane Morris. "He was present at my meeting this morning. He was somewhat unfriendly towards the other people, and he seemed to be in a foul mood as we parted ways. I think it might be him."

"And as well it might not be." Rawson shook his head. "Are you sure you want to jump to conclusions based on just how people look and feel, Red? I don't think that finding the culprit will be quite that easy."

"Shit." I combed my fingers through my hair. "Of course you're right. I'm just getting nervous. OK. No need to look at me like that: I'm getting more nervous."

"We've got time, still, Red. Are we close to that fabric store yet?"

"It's just around the corner."

"You've been here before."

It wasn't a question, but I decided to answer, anyway. What else was there to do?

"My mom likes to sew, but she doesn't like to shop. She tells me what she wants, and I do the shopping. This time she didn't send me on an errand, though. I thought that she might want to sew something for herself for a change. Since last Christmas, she has been working on orders from her friends."

"Why doesn't she like to shop, if you don't mind my asking?"

"It's not a secret. Because of an accident, my mom has only one leg. With her prosthesis and crutches or even with her wheelchair, she is able to move independently, but shopping malls are too much, she says. With the prosthesis, the stump gets too sore, and in the crowds, the crutches and the chair are too unwieldy."

"Has it been long since the accident?"

Apparently, Rawson also was willing to keep the discussion alive. We walked nowhere and talked about nothing important; we were just passing time.

Shortly, we arrived at the biggest fabric store of the mall, and leaving the place fifteen minutes later, I carried my mother's gift in a shopping bag. The bag was awkward in my hands; I could just imagine how much trouble my mom would have with one of those. One more reason to do her shopping for her. In the situation, the thought made me sad and worried.

"Do you know if there are pet shops at this mall, Red?" With a little frown, Rawson was looking at a mechanical kitten in the window of a toy store.

"Why, yes. I think so. You think that the stampede might actually be caused by some animals?"

"It was just a thought."

"You might well be right. Let's check if any pet shops are near a place I might want to go. I definitely wouldn't buy a pet."

We couldn't find such a shop. Frustrated, we kept walking.

During the next twenty minutes, I saw Shane Morris four more times. Wherever Rawson and I went the man appeared, too. I kept pointing him out to Rawson. As far as I was concerned, it was obvious that something strange was going on, but Rawson saw no reason to share my suspicions. Repeatedly, he told me to calm down.

"Red, is that a dog?"

I turned to look at Rawson, perplexed.

"Didn't you hear it? I thought I heard a dog barking, but it stopped too soon to be sure. Anyway, do people bring dogs into the mall?"

"Is it even allowed? I don't know; I've never thought about it. But now that I do, what about Seeing Eye dogs? Wouldn't they allow those dogs inside the mall?"

"I would guess so, yes. But, I can't see any. Do you think that I heard one barking?"

"I wouldn't know. Maybe. Where do you think that dog was?"

"Close by. Maybe behind those." Rawson pointed at six closed wooden doors some distance ahead of us. The doors hid from our eyes a space that seemed to be at least the size of the fabric store.

"Let's go and see what's in there," I said, pointing at the posters on the doors.

As we walked down the corridor, a thought popped into my head. "My store of red wine has nearly been drunk dry," I thought aloud as we passed by a liquor store.

Rawson stopped and turned his eyes on me. As true as my words were they made me wince. I looked back at Rawson, sheepishly, but he didn't smirk. His eyes were serious.

After a second, he nodded. "Makes sense."

Without any more fuss, Rawson turned his steps towards the store. In silence, I followed suit.

Despite it being a Saturday afternoon, in addition to the two of us, there were only a couple of other people. At the shelf near the counter, a young man was quietly talking with his girlfriend, and a stressed looking mother with three children was paying for her bottles of wine. I looked around, but as far as I could see, Shane Morris wasn't lurking behind the shelves. There were no barking dogs, either.

"There aren't enough people here; not nearly the amount mentioned in the prediction."

Rawson's quiet words found their way into my otherwise occupied mind. I relaxed; the man was right. We weren't in the place yet. It wasn't the time.

"You two!" A loud, male voice from behind me almost made me jump out of my pants. "Walk to the counter. Get moving, now!"

I turned to look at the man who so rudely ordered us around and ended up staring straight into the barrel of the gun the young man I earlier had spotted pointed at my face. I turned back very quickly and started walking. I didn't know what compelled Rawson to do the same, but we arrived at the counter together.

This is it, I thought. Shit! Despite the warning, despite our vigilance, like idiots we walked right into it. I'm as good as dead already.

I admitted to myself that I was a completely useless mess. For the sake of all the innocent people at risk, I hoped that Rawson had more reasonable thoughts going through his mind. Mine were embarrassing. In spite of admitting that, I couldn't take myself from that track. Logical thinking was way beyond me.

The young man kept Rawson and me in line with his gun, and meanwhile, his girlfriend was forcing the cashier to open the cashbox. The cashier did as she was told, but in her fright she seemed to be clumsy. It took her some time. Before she got the box open, four guards, weapons drawn, were rushing in. The cashier ducked behind her desk.

"Drop your weapons and put your hands behind your head!" the foremost guard yelled, but the robbers didn't obey the order. The girl took a shot at the guards and was hit by their return fire.

I didn't have time to react in any way before the male robber fired his gun, too. He took aim on the guards, but I happened to be in his line of fire. I froze, but still, the bullet didn't hit me. I felt a sting in one arm as, by the other, I was swiveled to the side.

Rawson had succeeded in pulling me out of harm’s way, and so instead, I ended up causing harm. I fell against a freestanding shelf full of wine bottles. It fell against another behind it, and that one fell, too, against the one behind it. I could but look as shelf, after shelf, after shelf fell, until the last one fell into the green glass wall that stood between the liquor store and the space next to it, and smashed it into thousands of sharp projectiles.

For what felt like a long, long time all I could hear was the glass breaking. The shards of the wall rained everywhere, and the bottles were still breaking. It felt like everything had stopped to wait for the noise to fade away.

The silence never came. Instead, people started screaming. Some were screaming in pain, being slit by the sharp edges of the flying glass. Others screamed in fright. Some seemed to scream just because others were screaming. Then all hell broke loose.

Dogs started barking. There were high pitched barks of pocket-sized dogs, there were loud barks of dog-sized dogs, and there were growling barks of bull-sized dogs.

Oh, God. It's a fucking dog show! My sluggish brain, at last, kicked in.

With my jaw dropped open, I stared at the scene behind the broken wall. There were dozens and dozens of dogs: of all sizes, of all forms, of all colors. Beautiful dogs, and ugly ones and every kind in between were adding to the chaos. Some dogs were trying to find a safe haven in their carrier bags; some seemed to be parted from their people, poor beasts running at everyone's feet; some were protecting their owners, fangs bared. Some of the dog owners, in their panic, made the dogs even more nervous. As I stared at the hubbub, more and more of the dogs were getting aggressive.

Adding to the already volatile situation, a number of the panicking people started to force their way out of the room. They didn't care about the things they broke in their hurry to leave. They didn't care about the dogs their feet kicked or trampled underfoot. They didn't care about the people they pushed out of their way. They were blind and deaf to anything but their own fear.

In order to help the situation, I tried to find a person, a leader, that could take control of the situation. If I found such a person I could use my clocksmith's power on him or her. My power could calm a man. Like I made Rawson's inner clock run too fast, I could make a person's clock run at a slower pace, too. When a person perceives that there's enough time, the person can relax. Relaxed, he or she has a chance for logical thinking. There's time for more than just gut reactions.

Where are you? I cried in my mind. I needed just one person that was capable of controlled, logical thinking.

But, I couldn't find such a person. Disheartened by my inability, I was getting desperate enough to reach for straws. Soon, I would be looking for a dog that I could calm with my power!

Suddenly, all the colors in my vision blended into one perfect shade of gray. I felt a brief touch of vertigo, and then the colors flooded back. Regardless of the fact that the vista in front of me now was more vibrant than before, I didn't see it. Instead, I was enraptured by the sounds surrounding me. How curiously different was one scream from another! How intriguingly different was a bark of a frightened dog from a bark of an aggressive one! How delightfully different was the clatter of the glass falling on the floor from the grinding sound of the glass breaking under the feet of people! Every little sound fascinated me.

Perceiving the myriad sounds, I was too busy to be afraid. I had to get them all before they slipped away. They were losing their individuality. There were fewer and fewer screams or barks. There was no more glass to fall. The sounds were quieting, fading, turning into mere background noise. They were gone. They were mere memories in my mind. Echoes of sounds.

The echoes were voiced. It surprised me; it delighted me. I took a deep breath, and the feeling inside me spread a smile on my face. The music that replaced the lost world of sounds tickled the most intimate strings of my being. With joy I understood that I didn't lose the sounds after all. In the music, anew, I heard every scream, every bark, every clinking sound. They were filtered through the music, and the music took them, wove them into its fabric. The mere sounds were transformed into something exciting. I didn't know when the music had started, I had no idea where it came from, and I didn't care. It existed and that was enough for me. I listened.

For how long I listened to the music, I don't know, but when it ended I returned into a quiet world. No one screamed, no beast was barking, no glass was breaking. Nobody moved. I felt no need to move, either.

"We have to get away from here!" In addition to the indiscreet voice, a rude hand tugging at my arm intruded my private moment.

Indignant, I turned to face the intruder, finding Connor Rawson trying to get my attention. I couldn't find any explanation for his appearance at the scene.

"Come on, Red. Don't just stand there!" I tried to pull away from Rawson, but his grip on my arm was relentless. "I don't want to be anywhere near this place when they start asking questions, and neither do you, I guess!"

When I didn't start walking, he forced me. The first step broke the spell.

"What the Hell was that?" I started to ask, but as I gained back the control of my body I also came back to my senses. "Forget my question, for now! You're right; we must get away. At once."

We walked out of the liquor store, careful not to disturb the guards or the robbers that still were under Rawson's influence. Of the cashier we didn't see a glimpse. Next, we moved towards the closest exit as quickly as we could without running.

"Rawson, wait," I said as soon as we got out on the street. My voice was a bit trembling. "I need to sit down for awhile."

"Me too. Some bar or a restaurant?" Rawson took a look around. "How about a coffee? I don't think I could stomach anything stronger right now."

Since he voiced my own feelings, it was easy to agree with him. With wobbly knees, we walked the couple of blocks to a coffee bar Rawson had spotted.

*****

We drank our coffees without a word about the events at the mall. All in all, there wasn't much talk about anything. Rawson either didn't feel the need to fill the silence between us with prattle or was as unable to find a topic as I.

While drinking my coffee, I tried to recall as much as I could about the last thirty minutes. Topmost on my pile of excuses to do so was the report my boss would want me to write. The true reason was at the bottom of the pile; I wanted to recall Rawson's music. The second time I was exposed to it, I was ready to admit to myself that I was deeply moved by it. I wanted to hear more of it. But, I wasn't ready to admit that to Rawson. I wanted to rerun the memory again and again, to strengthen it, so I wouldn't forget it.

"Red?"

As I turned my eyes from my coffee mug to my companion, I noticed that Rawson's demeanor was as hesitant as his tone of voice. I told him to go on, but he didn't, not right away. He finished his coffee first.

"Do you think people will know it was me?" Rawson then got out.

I didn't need to ask what he meant.

"No, I don't think it's likely." I put my own empty mug on the table. "Don't worry about that. Even though people know that something extraordinary happened to them, even though they will learn that they all experienced it, nothing will betray your secret. How could they point it at you?"

"What about the surveillance cameras? We're bound to be on a tape somewhere."

"True, but what will people see? You and I, standing just like anyone else. You don't make grand hand gestures; there isn't any light show. Your power is invisible."

"Well, yeah, but we left while others were still under my spell, so to speak. Doesn't that seem suspicious?"

"Oh, shit."

"Yeah, shit."

We dropped the topic. That decision had been made and executed. No longer, there was anything we could do.

I couldn't stand the silence that ensued and, after a very long minute, opened another topic.

"Do you have any idea how many people there were, under your spell, I mean?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew it wasn't the best wording of the question. Apparently, Rawson agreed with me. "Sorry, Connor. Don't answer that. Of course, you didn't have time to count them. I'm just trying to figure out how wide your range is. Let me rephrase my question: do you know if there were people you couldn't reach with your power?"

"A few, no more than ten, I think," was Rawson's gruff answer.

I was grateful that I got as much as that out of him. Clearly, he didn't approve of my choice of topic. I couldn't indulge him, though. My report needed his answers.

"Were the people too far or were they just minds that were closed to your power?" I went on, doggedly.

"They weren't the people furthest from me. Actually, one of them stood just a couple of feet away."

"So, all the people in the liquor shop and in the adjacent space were in your range." I felt overwhelmed. "Connor, your range is huge. Consider this: a memory manipulator of the second level or higher is the most likely candidate to equal your range.

"In addition, you took all those people into your mind, didn't you? You didn't just broadcast your thoughts to the people around you." With a nod, he admitted to that. "That's another indicator of a strong gift.

"Connor, you need to be trained! Used ineptly, such a gift as yours could be dangerous. So far, you've had luck, but you mustn’t think that your good luck will last forever."

"Of course," Rawson said, but his tone of voice belied his agreement. It was bitter. "I need to be put under supervision of more trustworthy people."

Oh, God! I didn't see that coming, but I should have. I wonder. How many times has he been told that he's no good, that his wildness is a threat? Vividly, I recalled his self image: the transparent, ugly creature, with numerous scars. I have to convince him of his need of help, but how am I to reach him?

Rawson put his palms on the edge of the table, readying to push himself up and to leave. I couldn't let that happen.

Logic wasn't the answer to the problem at hand. There wasn't time to think. Reaching over the table, I took Rawson's hands, not letting him pull free. I looked him in the eyes, and said, "Connor. I saw you. Unintentionally, you let me see you as you see yourself. I don't agree with you! Come into my mind. Look at my image of you. In my mind, I can't hide anything from you: you're too powerful. Still, come! I invite you."

And, he let me suck him in.

It wasn't like any other time I had invited a person into my recollections. Every time in the past, I was the one driving the train of thoughts; this time the driver was Rawson. Even knowing that he had a strong gift, I was surprised by it. His power felt tremendous.

Also his method of finding my mental image of him took me by surprise. I expected Rawson to seek for my memories of him. That was what I would have done: the logical choice of action.

But, it seemed that logic wasn't as important to Rawson as it was to me. His approach to the matter at hand went beyond logic, outside of the boundaries of mathematics. He was walking down the paths that came after math. In awe, I understood that Connor Rawson lived in the realm of art.

He wasn't interested in my recollections of him. Following his intuition, he went straight through my memories, into a plane that I was only vaguely familiar with. His firm grip on my mind ferreted out more refined mental images than mere memories could ever be. He found my attitudes towards him: the attitudes that were the result of combining my experiences involving him. There were old attitudes and newer, but he didn't stop at the newest one, even. He was after something else.

A moment later, I began to get glimpses of what he was looking for. It gave me a start. Somewhere, behind the plane of attitudes, there was my perception of the whole that was Connor Rawson. He was closing on the part of my mind that, for years, I had determinedly avoided looking into. Willfully, I had hidden my perception of him from myself. On a conscious level, I didn't know what he would find.

Suddenly, a line of a song in a foreign tongue filled my conscious thoughts: "Sa olet baarin kaljalasi, janoisin huulin hiottu (1)."

I was taken aback. I had heard the song before, but I never before had associated it with Rawson. Still, it was my perception of Rawson, in a nutshell. As soon as I heard the words I could but admit that they fit, perfectly.

The next moment, Rawson withdrew from my mind. After a moment of disorientation, I looked at him. He smiled an open, beautiful smile.

"When it comes to music, Red, you've got the most peculiar taste and peculiar friends, too! What is that strange language? Anyway, I found the words for your perception from your memories. The meaning of them was stored with the song: You're a beer glass in a bar, honed by thirsty lips. I thought that the resemblance was pretty accurate. I noticed that you agreed with me."

"I was afraid that you'd be offended, but you seem almost delighted!"

"I am delighted! Red, through your perception, I see myself in a very different light. I always thought that the men I fucked with sullied me, leaving me less and less worthy. Now I understand that without them, without being "honed by their thirsty lips", I wouldn't be the man I am. They have taken much, I've lost a lot, but what's left is worth something, too. Thank you, Red, for letting me see that."

I smiled, too. His happiness was catching.

"In your perception I saw also the reason why you want me to be trained," Rawson went on. "I was completely wrong."

I could but nod, yes, hoping that he had seen that I was afraid that untrained he might accidentally hurt himself. Of course, I wasn't that lucky.

"Did you know that you want me to train because you want me as your partner at your work as a damage controller?" he asked.

I blushed furiously.

1) Original lyrics by Tuomari Nurmio, from the song Onnen kerjäläinen

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