Crow - The Awakening (41 page)

"Okay, Eliot, it would seem that you've contracted a virus that's been going around the building." Steven continued typing away on the computer in the apartment of one of his neighbors and squinted at the screen. "Again." He was just there a week ago. He would have to consult the man better on avoiding these things. Most virus scanners have loopholes that these attacks easily exploit, the biggest being the user.

The extra money he made working on the computers helped him recover much of what he had lost during the robbery and he was finally starting to feel a bit more independent and in control. He should have thought of this to begin with rather than trying to find a job. His rates were fair and he was very good at what he did so he had a lot of repeat business.

Today he would have rather taken the day off and hidden in his apartment. Asherah's presence had decidedly unsettled him, and he still found it hard to concentrate. Even after years away from her, he could still remember the scent of her hair and the feeling of her up against him, her fur tickling his cheek as she embraced him. Now she was back and he desperately wanted that again, and hated himself for it. Steven blinked hard and shook his head. Nevertheless, Steven's distraction this morning did not negate his promise to repair computers for his neighbors this afternoon so he dragged himself out of his greenhouse and made his rounds. Eliot was the last for the day, and hopefully the most fortuitous.

"How?" Eliot looked over Steven's shoulder as he worked.

"It's hard to say without going in deeper." Steven deleted the offending files and cleared the rootkit from the master boot record. He really liked having his flashdrive computers now. "Some websites get compromised and infect you just by visiting, for instance. This one had a keylogger so you'll want to change all the passwords you've typed using this computer and tell your bank to keep an eye out for weird transactions."

"But I had a virus scanner." Eliot frowned.

"It's an arms race, Eliot. They fix one hole so the bad guys find another. This one was a slight mutation from the last one you had." Steven could have sworn he recognized the signature of that virus and considered hitting up his network to track it back to the author. But these trojans changed hands so often that he may just get to the last guy who bought the kit and put it in the wild, which wouldn't help in finding the original guy.

Steven sat back. "There. All done." Steven got up and let Eliot sit at the computer and he went through his files making sure everything was still there.

"Wow. You're something else, you know that?" Eliot gushed, pulling up his client list. Steven looked up at his bookshelf and noticed the rows of books on psychology, then remembered that Eliot was a therapist.

"Actually, I'm not without my problems." Steven looked at him, wondering how to broach his particular problem with the man.

Eliot looked up, curious. "Come again?"

"If you're a psychologist, I could use a little help," Steven said. "Like a trade or something."

"I am a private therapist. Normally I go to my client's residence, but seeing as we're neighbors, I wouldn't mind listening to you. Whether I can help you or not is entirely up to you, however." He smiled. Steven nodded. Just what a therapist would say.

"Okay, long story short, I've been diagnosed with maladaptive imagination disorder." Steven took a deep breath and waited for the reaction. After all, he had been working on his computer. Would that ruin things for him, having that disorder?

"Maladaptive daydreaming disorder," Eliot corrected.

"Yeah, that. You've heard of it. Good." Steven wrung his hands. "I had it under control thanks to my last therapist. But..." he looked down, thinking of Asherah, "Well... I'm having problems again and I really need help."

"Your daydreams are intruding again?" Eliot had seen that before. It's a notoriously difficult disorder to recover from and many who suffer from it have to deal with it for the rest of their lives.

"You... can say that." Steven felt it was a whole lot more than intruding. He felt like a hormonal mess now that Asherah was back. "There's this girl. But she's not quite a girl. An Elf. That's what she is. But..." Steven closed his eyes, "...she is so real. And so perfect." Steven shuddered at the thought of her, then opened her eyes. Eliot was looking at him, listening quietly. "There was a meadow I used to hang out at. In my imagination, it became a tropical clearing surrounded by lush jungles." He closed his eyes again. "Lots of flowers. The smell was intoxicating." Behind his eyelids Steven looked up into the sky of his memory and held his hand up. "There was a moon in the sky, a little bigger than ours. And a planet but it was further off." He looked down in the meadow and saw her. "And there was Asherah." His heart ached for her as he remembered.

"Who? Sarah?" Eliot asked.

Steven opened his eyes looking at Eliot, suddenly confused as to where he was. "What?"

"Did you say Sarah? Like your roommate?" Eliot clarified.

"Oh...no. It's Asherah. Ah-SHARE-ah." Steven shook his head. "The girl. The Elf." He looked down at his feet and wondered if he said too much. But the cat was out of the bag. "But it is so vivid, Eliot. So remarkably real. I mean, I totally forgot that it wasn't real. I really, really forgot." Steven shook his head. "It didn't even dawn on me until Dr. Dougherty reminded me."

"She's back?" Eliot guessed. That seemed to be the most powerful part of his fantasy.

Steven nodded. "She's up in the greenhouse now, I think. Most of the time. And I think she follows me when I'm out in the forest." He sighed and looked at Eliot. "Eliot, she's driving me nuts. I can feel her here." He pounded his chest. "I can see her memories, can hear her. It's like she's always with me and I feel like I'm going insane."

"Do you dislike her?" Eliot sat back.

"Huh? She's a fantasy!" Steven was surprised by the question.

"That's not what I asked," Eliot answered quietly. "How do you feel about her?"

Steven sat there. He earnestly did not want to voice his feelings. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he decided to anyway. "Eliot, I cannot express to you just how madly and deeply in love I am with Asherah. It's consuming me completely," Steven said, trembling as he faced the feelings himself in a way he had never even told Dr. Dougherty. "I find it hard to breathe when I'm around her. My arms tingle and my chest hurts. My head... it buzzes and my ears ring. I can hear my heart beating so very loud, and I start sweating. I get dizzy and feel like I'm going to pass out. When she shows up, there is nothing, absolutely nothing that I want more than to take her up in my arms and hold her so tight." Steven closed his eyes, crying, hurting.

"You can touch her?" Eliot crossed his legs, listening closely.

Steven nodded. "She is so soft and warm. So real. Her fur is just... wow."

"Fur?" Eliot asked, curious.

"Yeah, of course. She's an Elf," Steven answered, as if that should be obvious.

Eliot frowned. None of the depictions of Elves he had seen were furry. "Are her ears..." Eliot gestured points on his ears.

Steven shook his head. "Those are tufts of fur." He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to bring himself back under control.

Eliot sat quietly, waiting for Steven to collect himself. He found Steven's description fascinating. Very unique. He really wanted to pursue his description of her but decided that would only compound his distress at the moment.

Wiping his eyes, Steven looked at Eliot. "Do you see the problem now? I can't even look at other women. None of them hold any appeal to me whatsoever. I have been completely hijacked by a fantasy."

"When you're in your fantasy, can you still see real things? Like your greenhouse? Or the meadow?" Eliot asked.

"I can see the plants in the greenhouse just fine. The old meadow disappears. But I can still see our forests and my..." Steven hesitated. He had never told anyone about his tree house. "...um, I can still see the forests. But also the jungles." Steven looked at his knees. Some secrets are hard to give up.

"So reality and fantasy are mixing, then. But it never bothered you before your therapist told you about it?" Eliot asked.

"Not in the least. It was all so perfectly natural to me," Steven said, calming down a little.

"This is interesting. Steven, most people who suffer from this disorder don't so completely disassociate themselves from reality. They remember that their fantasies are fantasies. But the fantasies are still a crutch for them. They can form relationships, create friends, even have arguments with their fantasies, but they never totally supersede reality. Part of them always remembers that they are just imaginary people." Eliot said, leaning forward. "I'm going to have to do some research on this. How did you control it before?"

"Okay, he prescribed a holistic tea and it worked. I mean, it really worked," Steven said, perking up. If he could just get Eliot to help him with that, Steven knew he would be okay.

"Who?" Eliot asked.

"My last therapist. Dr. James Dougherty." Steven forgot that he didn't tell him. He stood up and reached in his pocket, pulling out the list of ingredients that James had written down and handed it to Eliot.

Eliot looked at the ingredients, and raised his eyebrows at the psychoactive mushrooms. "This is extremely unorthodox." He looked up at Steven. "You didn't happen to have hallucinations while on this, did you?"

"What? No, my hallucinations went away. Life was normal. It all worked perfectly," Steven insisted. "I tried to contact him and his phone has been disconnected."

"With this stuff, let's hope he's not in jail." Eliot waved the paper. He sat there for a moment, looking at Steven. "Normally, this disorder is not treated with medicine. Therapy is the main avenue for recovery and control. I think, however, that your case is a whole lot more complicated than this disorder."

Steven looked disappointed. "I've been through a lot of therapy with him. And it's worked well enough. But that tea, that knocked the problem out completely. Without it, none of the techniques he taught me are working. Eliot, I have got to have some relief. But I don't want commercial drugs. This stuff worked for me."

"Well, let me call around real quick and see if I can find your therapist." Eliot decided not to interfere with another man's work just yet. He spent some time on the phone making several calls while looking at the name and number on the list and marveling at the ingredients. He put the phone down and looked at Steven.

"Well, Steven, the reason why his number is disconnected is that he had suffered a cardiac arrest." Eliot looked at Steven.

"He's dead?" Steven was stunned.

"I'm afraid so. Just a few weeks ago." Eliot looked at him sympathetically.

Steven suddenly was at a complete loss for thoughts or words.

"Here, sit down." Eliot pulled up a chair.

Steven grabbed the arm of the chair and sat down heavily. "He was my friend. I taught him how to keep bees." Steven wiped his eyes. James had seemed so healthy and full of life for all the time he had known him. Steven felt like his past was slipping away. That he would never be able to go back to the way things were. His godparents were no doubt disappointed in him, and now his friend and therapist was dead. He inhaled deeply and stood up. "Well." He looked around. "I guess I'll go now."

Eliot stood up, concerned. "You don't have to." Steven was clearly distraught and needed a friend.

"No, I'm okay. I'll just go upstairs and work things out." Steven pulled his flashdrive from the computer and walked to the door.

"At least let me pay you," Eliot said, not wanting him to leave and trying to find any excuse to delay him.

Steven looked at him and smiled weakly. "This one is on me, Eliot. Thanks for your help."

Back on the roof Steven looked in the door of the greenhouse. Unless she was hiding in the jungle, he didn't see Asherah through the foliage. He sighed and looked over at his beehives. He remembered that James really enjoyed beekeeping. He walked over to them and picked up his hive tool that he left sitting on the top of one of the hives and pried the lid off. The bees had cemented the cover on with a sappy substance called propolis but once the lid started coming off it was pretty easy to peel away. Bees boiled over the tops of the frames and on the side of the hive and several took to the air, flying around him.

Steven smiled, looking down at the bees and remembering his friend. A tear splashed onto one of the frames and he wiped his eyes with his fist, then pried a frame out to inspect it. Since it was at the top of the hive, the frame had more honey and a little spot of brood at the center and bottom of the frame. He scraped a few caps off some of the honey cells and pushed on the cells to make honey ooze onto the tool so he could taste it. It was divine, with a very distinct wildflower taste. He scraped more honey out of the comb and held it up. "Here's to you, James," Steven said, then he licked the honey off. He put the frame back in, then misted the top with a fine spray of water, like he taught James to do. The bees promptly receded back into the hive and he was able to slide the cover on without crushing bees. He went to a chair he liked to sit in to watch the bees, and sat there for the rest of the day until the sun had set as he remembered his friend.

Sarah found him sitting there and sat in the chair next to him. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I guess so. Just found out that a good friend of mine had died." Steven looked down at his feet.

"I know. Eliot called me and told me to find you. I'm so sorry." Sarah scooted the chair closer to him and put her arms around his shoulder.

"So am I. It seems like my old life is just fading away." Steven wiped his eyes as he leaned against Sarah.

Sarah didn't say anything, just sat there with Steven. Charley came up with a couple of beers and gave one to Sarah. She whispered the news to him and he sat quietly in another chair. They had gotten used to going up there on the pleasant evenings to watch the day come to a close and play on their guitars. Steven felt a little guilty putting a damper on their evening and sorely hoped the next day started better than this one ended.