Between Two Minds: Awakening Read online

  I took one last puff on the menthol, swiped it from my lips, and flicked it hard out of the window. Slowly exhaling the deadly smoke through my nostrils, I pulled the cross from under my shirt collar, lowered my head, and closed my eyes.

  True to his nickname, the Padre led a prayer as he had done before every single job. “Lord, please provide us with your protection as we attempt to complete the job that has been put in front of us. Please provide us with buyers who are of sound mind and soul and ready to make a deal. Please ensure, should something happen, that our resolve is quick and our aim is steady. We ask this in the Lord’s name. Amen.”

  “Amen.” In one motion, I opened the door and stepped out into the dank air.

  Spilling out of the car with the empty weapon case in hand, the Padre walked around and popped the trunk open. He placed the empty case in and pulled out a bulkier aluminum briefcase that had to contain the product. With his breath visible in the air, he slammed the trunk and approached me.

  “You good?”

  “Unless you know something I don’t, I’m good.”

  “They should know you’re carrying when they approach us. Just don’t draw unless we’re obviously headed down that road.”

  “I got it, boss.”

  “And one last thing.”

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “You’ve handled yourself well since I brought you in, and good help is hard to find. If tonight goes well, we need to talk about an even better gig for you. As much as I like you on the road, you might have better talents that we can take advantage of. Think of it like a promotion.”

  “Thanks, boss! You’ve always been good to me and mine.”

  We walked toward the building, and I pulled out the oversized copper key that would let us in. Pushing it into the rusted deadbolt with too much effort, I strained to turn it to the left with one hand. Grabbing the door handle with my other hand, I leaned back to let my weight do the work of opening the heavy steel door. The door screeched against the concrete ground something awful, and the echo must have traveled for miles. I held the door so the Padre could enter first.

  “Thank you, Charlie.”

  Entering the building to follow him, the door was already squealing shut behind me as intense confusion overtook me.

  Who the hell is Charlie?

  Chapter 6:

  Seeing Is Believing

  Who the hell is Charlie?

  My eyes shot open and I frantically moved my arms, inadvertently hitting the button under my left hand, which turned out to be a good accident. A nurse quickly appeared—a nurse that I could see!

  For crying out loud, I can see! I thanked all that was holy, and even those who weren’t, that my host’s eyes were working, and hell, my vision was pretty damn clear too!

  Without thinking, I said, “Hey!” I can talk! What a glorious day!

  “Ryan, are you okay?”

  I responded as fast as I could, and it came out as a mumble at first. “Yes…I mean, no. I’m…better than okay. I can see! And I can talk!”

  Her smile was so refreshing compared to the darkness and odd dreams that were my reality that last several days. Or weeks. Or whatever it was.

  “It’s Sheila, right?”

  Still grinning wide, she went to work typing away at the machine next to my bed and confirmed my guess. “Yes! Wow, your hearing progressed great as well.”

  “It’s all I had, so I leaned on it.”

  Her smile faded ever so slightly. “Your numbers are a little elevated, but that’s normal considering you just gained your eyesight and speech back at the same time. Usually, it’s a day or two after the vision that you can talk again, so consider yourself fortunate.”

  “Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good!” I sounded drunk, but at least I could talk.

  “I’ll let Dr. Little know about your progress. She’ll be here in a bit to run some tests and make sure you’re progressing safely. In the meantime, you’ve got a visitor. I’ll let her know you’re ready for her.” Sheila tapped a couple more buttons and then promptly left the room.

  With only the slightest bit of sunlight coming through the windows, I could tell it was dusk. To compensate, a postmodern lamp in the corner provided dim lighting, which seemed intentional since I was sensitive to light. Other than the usual medical equipment, a paint-by-numbers portrait was the only thing on the salmon-colored walls. There were two chairs and a walker in the corner, and a window where birds had sung to me the last several days, quickly becoming something I looked forward to when I was conscious.

  I had been in countless hospital beds in my time, and they were all fairly similar. Many nights were spent feeling at the mercy of doctors and nurses to keep me alive and healthy. It was really bad when I was younger because Mom could only stay so many nights before it really messed with her sleep. She would have to leave me occasionally, and while I was used to loneliness in general, it was especially bad when I was away from home for long periods. Luckily, the slight loneliness I was feeling in that bed was completely different. I was in a new body!

  Peering down to take myself in, I was like a marionette with countless tubes and cords going in and out of me. My hospital gown covered me pretty far down, and that was when I noticed the best thing of all. My legs. My legs! For the first time in my life, I saw my legs as muscular and full of life. For the first time, I saw feet suitable for walking. Tears welled up in my eyes because after twenty-two years without walking; needing help from Auto, Mom, and others; and the resulting anguish and depression, it all rushed back to me in an instant. It was almost too much to bear, so I forced myself to taper off those feelings before I passed out. Because of the strange dreams I had been having, the last thing I wanted was to be unconscious any more than I had to. Then I recalled something else exciting.

  I had a visitor! It had to be Mom, for sure! I might as well have been a little kid in that moment—I definitely wanted my mom. Despite how well the procedure had gone, I was still scared as hell. I needed her, and I knew, like the good mother she was, that she needed me too.

  It was at that moment I saw her in the doorway, and we made eye contact. My excited and anxious demeanor was immediately replaced with a soothed and comforted one as it usually was in her presence. But the more I looked at her, the more it was obvious that something was off. The way she was looking at me was more than alarming, and it took me a moment to figure out what it was.

  My mother’s loving gaze was completely absent from her face. Instead, there was a look of uncertainty and mistrust, something that I had never really seen from her. A bit of shock came over me at the realization that while I was looking at my mom, the woman who gave everything to give me the best life possible, she was looking at a stranger’s body with my face superimposed. Having been apprehensive about the whole procedure in the first place, she was going to have a very difficult time throughout my recovery. But it was something that her and I were going to have to accept.

  “Ryan. Is that you?”

  She was unusually timid.

  “Yes, Mom, it’s me.”

  I tried my damnedest to control my warped voice. Tilting her head to get a better view, she slowly moved toward me, grabbed one of the chairs in the corner, and pulled it next to my bed without breaking her stare at me. Gently sitting down, Mom leaned in quite close to my face. I couldn’t help but feel like an art exhibit or animal at a zoo as she examined me with the utmost concentration. Her intense stare into my newly-functioning eyes was reminiscent of the way people used to stare at my legs, and that was a bit jarring coming from Mom.

  “Sorry. It is you, right, Ryan?”

  “It’s me, Mom.”

  Still looking skeptical, she said, “Okay, do you remember the conversion we had before you had your procedure?”

  Blinking a few times, I searched my mind. Just like the dreams I’d be
en having, most of my memories were fleeting. “Somewhat.”

  With a tremble in her voice, she proceeded. “Okay. Humor me a little. What did we talk about?”

  Straining my new brain to remember the details, I knew that she had been worried for my safety. “I know you didn’t want me to do it. You thought it was dangerous.”

  “Yes, go on.”

  I was really happy to see Mom, but also beginning to realize why they put off visitors for some time after the migration. I shifted in the bed to buy myself more time. The answer was on the tip of my tongue, but it was difficult to dig that deeply into my newly migrated mind so soon.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. But it’s tough for me to remember some things right now. I just can’t do it.”

  Her eyebrow went up, and she got right in my face. “What did you just say?”

  Confused, I tried to explain. “I can’t quite remember the details of our discussion.”

  “No! The other thing!” she insisted.

  “What?” I was more than befuddled by that point.

  Her eyes lit up, and a smile stretched as far across her face as it could. “You said, ‘I just can’t do it!’”

  “Yes. Sorry, Mom. I just can’t do it right now.”

  “Oh my God, Ryan! My baby, it’s you!” Overly thrilled, she splayed her arms and hugged me awkwardly.

  Attempting to reciprocate, I flopped my arms around her. But I was still perplexed. “I don’t understand.”

  She pulled back a little and again looked deeply into my eyes.

  “‘I just can’t do it’ was your way of telling me you had a problem because of your legs!”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Shrugging my shoulders, it all sounded familiar, but nothing specific came to mind.

  “Oh, come on! Don’t you remember?”

  I tried again to reach to the depths of my mind, but all I could muster were vague recollections.

  Her expression slightly broke, reflecting the dampening in her spirits. She sighed and gathered herself. “Ryan.” She looked away for a brief moment and then back. “As you know, you struggled when you were young. You couldn’t crawl as a toddler, let alone walk, so you made do by dragging yourself on the ground with your arms. When you were old enough, I told you, ‘Do it like they do in the army, Sergeant Ryan Carter!’ You would pull yourself all around the house, saying that you are an army man fighting the enemy. Occasionally, you would get stuck or something would block your path. It might have been the stairs or your baby gate, but I would always find you in the oddest places because of your quests to save the house from danger.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “But once you could talk, you made your way around the house. And when you would come to a barrier of some kind, you’d say, ‘I just can’t do it, Mommy. I just can’t do it.’ And I would come to the rescue and hold you. Then we would have the same conversation every time. I would tell you, ‘You can do everything you need to do, sweetie, and Mommy will take care of the rest.’ I told you that hundreds of times. Each time you discovered that the world, as aware and advanced as it was, was made for those of us who could stand upright. And each time you came to that realization, you would tell me, ‘I just can’t do it, Mommy. I just can’t do it.’ But I had taken a vow when you were born that I would be your liaison through this world, and I would take care of you as long as you needed it. I always reminded myself of that promise and tried to hold as close to it as possible.”

  I expected a flood of deep, loving memories to come back to me, but could only recall bits and pieces. None of it was clear enough to assign emotions. It almost seemed like I remembered my childhood in the third person. It was like watching myself as a toddler come to obstacles that I couldn’t overcome, and calling for Mom. I could see her picking me up and holding me from a distance. I did remember her talking to me, but what was being said hadn’t quite come back to me yet. Still, I knew I should have felt something for those memories, so I did my best to conjure up the emotions artificially. Unfortunately, that was when my head began to pound, and I groaned.

  “Oh no, are you all right?”

  “I’m sorry. Headaches have been common since I’ve regained consciousness. It’s not your fault.” I tried to comfort her even though that particular headache was likely caused by all the brain activity her presence was causing.

  “No, Ryan. Don’t apologize. It is my fault. All of this is my fault.” She gasped and began to weep. “Had I taken better care of you, of myself…you would still be in the body I gave you. You wouldn’t have had to save all your credits. You wouldn’t be in this hospital, in this strange body. You wouldn’t have had to risk your life to get a set of working legs. No. I failed you as a mother even before you came into this world, and I spent the last twenty-two years trying to make up for it. But the one thing that could make it better—this mind migration—I told you it was a bad idea. It scared me thinking that I could lose you.”

  She grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and wiped her face before continuing.

  “But the procedure was the one thing that you wanted more than anything. I could see it in you the moment you heard about it. At no point in the last ten years have you said, ‘I just can’t do it.’ Not once. You went for it even though I didn’t think it was a good idea. It just goes to show you. What the hell do my concerns matter anyway? I’m the reason you’re here. I’m the reason you suffered your whole life. I’m so sorry, Ryan. If you are really in there, Ryan, I’m so, so sorry!”

  With a great moan, she sobbed harder than ever.

  It was awkward struggling to keep up with her words and emotions, which was a shame because I knew something important was happening. I didn’t know if it was the drugs or if I was truly experiencing limitations of my new, freshly migrated mind. The doctors said it would take some time. I knew it made the sadness of the situation that much worse, but I couldn’t quite comprehend or express those feelings in that moment.

  “Oh, Mom.” I moved my hand to hold hers, but my mobility was still lacking.

  Not noticing, she took a deep breath and pulled herself together. With bloodshot eyes, she made direct eye contact again, and there it was. It was the look that had eased my troubles throughout my life, the comforting glance that had always made everything better.

  “Ryan, I really hope this turns out well for you. I just wish I could have done more for you.”

  As limited as my mind was in that moment, I still knew exactly how to respond.

  “Mom, please believe me when I say that you’ve done more than enough for me. As hard as life was, I’m happy with who I am and the opportunities I have had because of the sacrifices you’ve made. When I get on my feet, I know things will be better for both of us.”

  She sobbed some more as Dr. Little entered the room, instantly awkward.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I can come back later.”

  Mom motioned the doctor in. “No, it’s okay. I’m leaving anyway. Ryan, I’ll call you in a few days.”

  “Before you go, I just want to say thanks.”

  She inhaled deeply. “You’re welcome, sweetie.” She got up and headed for the exit as Dr. Little stepped out of the way.

  “Oh, and Mom?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, sweetie.” I tried to wave, but could only lift my arm about six inches off the bed.

  Smiling, Dr. Little tried to comfort me. “The first visit after the procedure is always tough.”

  “Yeah. I was feeling a little detached from my thoughts and memories. That’s normal, right?”

  “Absolutely. Give yourself a break. Your mind and body go through a lot of changes in the first few hours and days after gaining your sight and speech back. That being the case, we need to run some tests.”

  “Okay.”

  I heard the familiar b
eeps while she typed into the computer console.

  “A health disk is going to do the work for these scans, so just lie back and relax.”

  Like before, a hatch in the ceiling opened and a tiny floating saucer with flickering red lights appeared. It hummed down to about three inches from my face, drifted down to my toes, and back up again.

  “Ryan, the disk is going to affix itself to your head and give you a slight poke in the base of your skull. Just breathe through it.”

  Sure enough, the disk changed into a helmet and fastened itself to me. Then it stabbed me, but the sensation was more startling than painful that time. Looking at the screens, Dr. Little pressed several buttons and a projection appeared at the foot of my bed. It had a colorful illustration of a human brain and a column of numbers on the right side.

  “There it is—your new brain.”

  I really didn’t know what to say, so I just tried to take it all in.

  “You see the areas that are green, Ryan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Those are the areas of your host’s brain that your migrated mind has reached so far. As you can see, it’s shaped toward the occipital and temporal lobes in the back and sides of the brain. This is not uncommon, but normally, we see more of a circular shape from the center of the brain out. The good news is that you have your vision and speech back. The bad news is that it could be up to a week before you get the majority of your motor skills back. That’s when we can start physical therapy.”

  “Compared to my whole life, a week doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “It really isn’t, but we have so many migrators who get anxious and annoyed with the process that they actually slow things down. We want you upright and using your new host just as badly as you do, but you have to learn to crawl before you can learn to walk. Now, do you see the numbers to the right?”

  “Yes.”

  “The top number, forty-eight percent, is the percentage that your mind has progressed, and the twelve percent in the middle indicates the next likely jump in percentage.”

  “What’s the bottom number?”