leisure. Now,
you
.” Mrs. Krauss threw me a look. “You are excused. I need a moment with the doctor.”
I got up to go. “I’m really sorry, ma’am,” I said to Mrs. Krauss. “I just . . . Lucy needed help. I didn’t mean any harm.” Thinking of the judge: “I really don’t want to lose this job.”
The doctor said, “You didn’t do a thing wrong, and I’ll note that in the medical record. In fact,” she grinned, “you were awesome.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I don’t think I can write that in the record—it would sound a little weird coming out in court—but if anything
does
end up with the judge in any capacity, the medical record will be part of that. Might even be made public, I don’t know. But I’ll be sure to document what happened today—and my assessment of your behavior and contributions.”
I had a feeling she’d meant that more for Mrs. Krauss than me because Mrs. Krauss’s face suddenly pinked. If that look had been daggers, the doctor would’ve been skewered.
“Okay. Thanks,” I said.
“My pleasure,” said the doctor. “See you around, Christian.”
It was dark and there was no moon, so I followed the headlight on my bike all the way home. There were no cars on the road, and as the blackness closed around, I let my mind go.
Okay. To say that I was freaked out would’ve been an understatement. I really thought I was losing it, big time. The first time, I’d had the awareness that something was happening to
me
, Christian Cage. Yes, I’d been that kid, David, but the sense that there was something wrong in my/his head had been there from the start.
This time, that hadn’t happened with Mr. Witek. It was literally a case of here one instant, there the next—and it happened when I saw
them
, the paintings. There’d been the draw, the same kind I felt when I’d painted all over my walls, like a door waiting for me to have the courage to step through into the sideways place....
The thing was, I wasn’t being honest with myself. Forget being honest with the doctor or anyone else; they already thought I was crazy, even if the doctor had been okay. But the thing with Lucy? Oh yeah, I knew that feeling. That little click in my head happened when I painted, at the moment I separated the thinking, critical part of my mind from what I was actually
doing
. When the click happened, it was like another set of eyes opened up in my mind, and I painted what
they
saw. I drew
from
them. And I knew that because I’d done it before: with Miss Stefancyzk. And Aunt Jean. Now . . . Lucy.
Shit, I’d have to be careful.
That night, after Uncle Hank thought I was asleep, I painted over the door on my wall. There was no way, there was just no way I was going through there—or letting them out.
Then I went to bed, expecting to dream or time travel or body swap or whatever. But nothing happened. Thank God.
XII
I got to my first shrink’s appointment about five minutes early. The waiting room was empty. A closed door opposite the entrance obviously led to the shrink’s office. I’d seen in movies how shrinks usually had a little light or bell or something that told them when a patient had come in and then the shrink always opened the door like maybe three seconds later. So I didn’t sit. Figured, heck, I’d just have to get right back up. Only the door didn’t open and didn’t open—and then just when I started to feel stupid, the door opened.
“Hello, Christian.” Today, she was wearing a white, buttoned shirt open at the throat, blue jeans, and brown cowboy boots. But it was her. “I’m Dr. Helen Rainier. Come on in.”
I didn’t move. “
You’re
Dr. Rainier? But . . . they call you Doc, like you’re a real doctor.”
“Because I am? All psychiatrists are, and I’ve had additional training in neurology and geriatrics. So I’m boarded in both. Actually, triple-boarded.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“What did you want me to say, exactly? And would you
you
.” Mrs. Krauss threw me a look. “You are excused. I need a moment with the doctor.”
I got up to go. “I’m really sorry, ma’am,” I said to Mrs. Krauss. “I just . . . Lucy needed help. I didn’t mean any harm.” Thinking of the judge: “I really don’t want to lose this job.”
The doctor said, “You didn’t do a thing wrong, and I’ll note that in the medical record. In fact,” she grinned, “you were awesome.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I don’t think I can write that in the record—it would sound a little weird coming out in court—but if anything
does
end up with the judge in any capacity, the medical record will be part of that. Might even be made public, I don’t know. But I’ll be sure to document what happened today—and my assessment of your behavior and contributions.”
I had a feeling she’d meant that more for Mrs. Krauss than me because Mrs. Krauss’s face suddenly pinked. If that look had been daggers, the doctor would’ve been skewered.
“Okay. Thanks,” I said.
“My pleasure,” said the doctor. “See you around, Christian.”
It was dark and there was no moon, so I followed the headlight on my bike all the way home. There were no cars on the road, and as the blackness closed around, I let my mind go.
Okay. To say that I was freaked out would’ve been an understatement. I really thought I was losing it, big time. The first time, I’d had the awareness that something was happening to
me
, Christian Cage. Yes, I’d been that kid, David, but the sense that there was something wrong in my/his head had been there from the start.
This time, that hadn’t happened with Mr. Witek. It was literally a case of here one instant, there the next—and it happened when I saw
them
, the paintings. There’d been the draw, the same kind I felt when I’d painted all over my walls, like a door waiting for me to have the courage to step through into the sideways place....
The thing was, I wasn’t being honest with myself. Forget being honest with the doctor or anyone else; they already thought I was crazy, even if the doctor had been okay. But the thing with Lucy? Oh yeah, I knew that feeling. That little click in my head happened when I painted, at the moment I separated the thinking, critical part of my mind from what I was actually
doing
. When the click happened, it was like another set of eyes opened up in my mind, and I painted what
they
saw. I drew
from
them. And I knew that because I’d done it before: with Miss Stefancyzk. And Aunt Jean. Now . . . Lucy.
Shit, I’d have to be careful.
That night, after Uncle Hank thought I was asleep, I painted over the door on my wall. There was no way, there was just no way I was going through there—or letting them out.
Then I went to bed, expecting to dream or time travel or body swap or whatever. But nothing happened. Thank God.
XII
I got to my first shrink’s appointment about five minutes early. The waiting room was empty. A closed door opposite the entrance obviously led to the shrink’s office. I’d seen in movies how shrinks usually had a little light or bell or something that told them when a patient had come in and then the shrink always opened the door like maybe three seconds later. So I didn’t sit. Figured, heck, I’d just have to get right back up. Only the door didn’t open and didn’t open—and then just when I started to feel stupid, the door opened.
“Hello, Christian.” Today, she was wearing a white, buttoned shirt open at the throat, blue jeans, and brown cowboy boots. But it was her. “I’m Dr. Helen Rainier. Come on in.”
I didn’t move. “
You’re
Dr. Rainier? But . . . they call you Doc, like you’re a real doctor.”
“Because I am? All psychiatrists are, and I’ve had additional training in neurology and geriatrics. So I’m boarded in both. Actually, triple-boarded.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“What did you want me to say, exactly? And would you
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