Mindwalker by AJ Steiger

and takes a big, wet bite. Then he turns, walks toward the station, and disappears through the revolving door. For a few minutes, I linger, clutching the drawing. I watch the mono pull into the station, then glide away, taking Steven with it.
    Abruptly, Pike’s leering face flashes through my mind. A cramp seizes my stomach, and bile surges up my throat. I choke it down, close my eyes, and walk through my compartmentalization exercises. I visualize myself tucking the memories away in a wooden chest and locking it tight. Pike’s face will find its way into my nightmares, I’m sure. But for now, it fades away.
    Wanting a distraction, I return to studying the drawing. In myths, sphinxes usually ask riddles of travelers, and sometimes devour the ones who can’t answer correctly. Despite his denial, I wonder if Steven
did
have some reason behind the choice—perhaps a subconscious one. Or maybe I’m overanalyzing it.
    Such an odd, complicated, fascinating boy. Now that I’ve seen the inside of his head, I’m more determined than ever to help him. But it goes beyond that. I think about the concern in his eyes after I surfaced from his memories. I remember hisfierce desire to punish the man who hurt his friend. My fingertips wander over the ink lines, stroking them. He said he usually burns his art after he finishes. Why? Why would he hide this talent from the world? Whatever the reason, I’m honored that he chose to show it to me.
    Carefully, I refold the drawing and slip it into my pocket.
    There’s so much more to Steven than his trauma. I want to learn more about this broken, resilient young man. I want to find out who he is outside of the pain and darkness.
    In the courtroom of my skull, my psych-ethics teacher murmurs disapproval.
    â€œThe government is breeding us!” a man shouts, jarring me from my thoughts. “They’re breeding us like cattle!”
    My head snaps up. Outside the monorail station stands a thin, wild-eyed figure dressed in ragged clothes, his hair sticking up in every direction. A collar glints at his throat. He holds out a flyer to a passing woman, who ducks and hurries past. “Can’t you tell what’s happening?” Even from this distance, I can see the spittle flecking the corners of his mouth. “We’re all cattle!” His gaze locks onto me, and I tense.
    He walks quickly toward me, holding out a flyer. I stare into his wide, bloodshot eyes. “Join the resistance,” he says.
    â€œNo thank you,” I reply quietly. I turn and start to walk toward my car.
    He follows. “There’s a war coming,” he says. “You have to be ready. Everything will come crashing down. There’ll be blood in the streets—” He freezes, head raised, nostrils quivering, like a rabbit scenting the air for a predator. The stack of flyers falls out from under his arm, and the papers scatter on the damp pavement.
    A sleek police car pulls up, and an officer steps out, holding an ND.
    â€œIt’s all right,” I say quickly. “He wasn’t trying to hurt me.”
    â€œNo need to be concerned,” the officer says, tipping his hat to me. “We’re just taking him in for treatment. We’ve received complaints that he’s been disturbing the peace here again.”
    The corner of the man’s eye twitches. He pulls something from his pocket—a pen, it looks like—and aims it at the policeman. “Don’t make me use this.”
    The officer rolls his eyes and says, almost kindly, “Come on, Marv.” He takes a step forward and holds out a hand. “Let’s go. You’ll feel a lot better after it’s over.”
    The man—Marv—grips the pen in trembling fists. “I’m warning you!
I’ll use it!
”
    â€œWhat are you gonna do, write on me?” He chuckles.
    A tear slips down Marv’s stubbled cheek. “Butchers! You’re fucking