Dark Mind (The Dark Mind Trilogy Book 1)

Dark Mind

Dark Mind is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Matthew Goldstein

All rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

To order additional copies of this title, contact your favorite local bookstore or visit www.tbmbooks.com

Cover design by Deja Jones

[email protected]

Printed in the United States of America

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ISBN 978-1-614681-519

eBook ISBN 978-1-61468-152-6

To all the great people in my life who took the time to transform my book into what it is today.

1

Cole's body jerked upright in his chair at the unexpected voice in his head.
Yes. It is an agreement
, he thought.

Cole concentrated on his history teacher's movements, waiting. Her words flowed over him as he stared at her, anticipating the perfect moment. The teacher turned to write on the chalkboard, but clumsily dropped the chalk on the floor and had to stoop to pick it up.

This is it!
His muscles tensed; the next couple seconds would be his best chance.

Just don't do anything dumb, like talk with your head an inch off the floor,
he prayed. Cole closed his eyes and swallowed hard and quickly. When it was over, relief washed over him, his muscles releasing their tension. A split second later, the teacher's voice echoed through his ears.

I did it. I won. That was too close. Why did she speak so soon? What was so urgent that she had to say it while getting chalk off the floor? Whatever, doesn't matter. I won.
He shook his head and turned his attention back to his teacher.

Looks like it's back to the mundane. It's sick. It's like
I almost hope for agreements in class.

The agreements would spontaneously appear in his head as if a thought that was not his own. The rules to complete the agreement were clear enough, but there was never any specific mention of the results of success or failure. Sometimes he could piece it together, but often he would never figure it out. Since the consequences could be accumulating without his knowledge or have effects he did not notice, on the rare occasion when he did lose, he was terrified of what might happen.

His teacher, Mrs. Taylor, had been starting the subject of the American Revolution. Cole had never had interest in learning about anything that happened before he was born. Unless it affected him directly, why should he care? The lessons seemed to drag on forever, making it unbearable to sit still and pretend that he was listening. As dangerous as they were, agreements would give him some excitement to alleviate the boredom.

Mrs. Taylor was a loudmouth, which made the most recent agreement difficult, requiring him to swallow when his teacher wasn't talking. He had gotten lucky, had potentially staved off a tragedy.

Now that the game was over, he took his mind off it by smirking at his teacher’s absurd appearance. Mrs. Taylor wore red-rimmed glasses that were half the size of her face and her hair was up in a bun that he was sure he had seen in one of those laughable history videos she loved to show. A checkered, brightly colored scarf was draped over a dull brown shawl and this, in combination with her polka dot skirt, gave her the appearance of someone who had lost touch with the world. She was also his homeroom teacher so, since history was his last class, every day was bookended by her.

At length, she wrapped up the lesson saying something about a test and studying and blah blah blah and then the class was allowed to leave. Cole got out of his chair and stretched, thanking God for another day in which he did not fall asleep during class. How much longer he could handle this torture, he did not know. The end of his school career was a long way off.

While his classmates chatted with their friends about meaningless topics, Cole left the building and climbed into his mom's waiting car.
Every day this car doesn't break down is another miracle
, he thought as he closed the door. He could hear the rusted 1988 Toyota chugging along, struggling to turn its wheels and push forward.

“Hi, Honey,” Cole's mom, Meredith, said. “Learn anything fascinating today?”

“Funny, Mom,” Cole said. “I don't care how long ago it was. You have to remember how boring school is.”

“It wasn't
that
long ago,” Meredith said, her eyes narrowing in mock resentment. “Look, don't fail another history exam just because you don't care. Do you really want to have to do this all over again once you get left back? You don't want to start your high school career a year late.”

“I know, I know. Don't worry. But I doubt they would leave me back a grade because of history. I ace everything else.”

“Hey, don't get cocky,” Meredith said in a stern voice. “You know how much I hate that. Remember, modesty is...”

“I know,” Cole said. “Can we just get going?”

“Since when are you in such a rush to get to your appointments?”

“I just don't wanna talk about this.”

“All right,” Meredith said as they pulled away from the curb, leaving the school behind, “but this won't go away if you simply ignore it.”

As they drove away from the school, Cole tuned the radio until he found the familiar classical station. His mother no longer said anything about his musical preference, but he knew that she still had mixed feelings about it. Their similarities went beyond the reddish blonde hair, brown eyes, round face and below average height, and Cole knew it was those outlying similarities which concerned her. That, however, was where they differed. He was more than satisfied with the direction his life was taking and was past the point of hoping he could ever fit in.

The car pulled over to the curb outside an office, coming to a stop just short of the white sign hanging over the lawn, which read “Dr. Rita Stern” and then below that, in smaller lettering, “Psychologist.”

“Here we are,” Meredith said in her cheeriest voice that always fell well short of cheery. “I'll be back to pick you up in an hour.”

“Okay, bye Mom.” He opened the car door and swung his legs out.

“Cole?”

“Yeah?” he said, looking back at his mother.

Meredith hesitated and Cole could see her in the midst of an internal struggle. “Never mind. Good luck today. I have a feeling you'll be making some progress.”

“Yeah, hopefully. Bye.”

“Bye,” Meredith said as he slammed the door.

Great,
Cole thought, as his mother drove away.
She's getting frustrated that these sessions are getting me nowhere and she suspects that I'm not trying. And she probably wants me to get “better” quickly because she can't afford this.
Cole knew his mother was not aware how much he understood.
One of these days you're going to have to accept that I'm not the typical eighth grader you want me to be. I have more issues than anyone knows how to deal with. Just because you regret not being social in school, doesn't mean I have to be.

“Good afternoon, Cole,” Dr. Stern said, looking up as he walked in the front door. She was seated behind her desk, filling out paperwork, in her usual dark blue pleated skirt and jacket and white shirt, her shoulder length gray hair falling tidily down her neck. “Shall we begin?”

“I guess,” Cole said. He followed her into the side room where she conducted her sessions and which he was fairly certain was used as a living room after hours. Dr. Stern lived and worked in her house. She had transformed the entrance room into a reception area, her living room into an office. There was an antique coffee table in front of a plush red couch and next to a black leather swivel chair.

Dr. Stern sat in the chair and Cole took his seat on the couch. “So what do you want to talk about today?” Cole asked.

“Anything you would like to say?” Dr. Stern replied.

“No, not really,” Cole said, leaning back against the cushions.

“Well, have you tried any of the suggestions I gave you? Have you tried talking to anyone at all?”

“Not yet. Haven't found anyone who interests me.”

Dr. Stern took a deep breath. No patient gave her the urge to scream like Cole. “You really should just try. What's the harm? Someone might surprise you.”

“Look,
I gave up a while ago trying to make someone like me. I'm not like everyone else. It always just leads to disappointment.”

“You can't give up on making friends.
I think you're far more like your classmates than you realize. At the very least, think how happy it would make your mom.”

Cole leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Fine. I guess I can give it another shot. For my mom.”

“Really?” Dr. Stern cleared her throat. This was the first time Cole had ever agreed to anything she said. “That's wonderful. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.”

“Yeah. Maybe. My mom is getting upset so I can pretend to have a friend.”

“Don't go in with that attitude. You need to have more faith in people. There's so much to learn from this world and most of it comes from other people. I know you're exceptionally intelligent, but you don't know everything, and the sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be. Trust me.”

“I already said I'd talk to someone. I don't need a lecture too.”

Dr. Stern kept her voice level. “All right. Do you have anyone in mind?”

“Not really. I'll figure it out tomorrow. But I'm letting you know, if it fails again
I won't be able to take it anymore.”

“Hey, if you don't hit it off with someone right away, don't get discouraged. There are billions of people out there and lots of them would love to be your friend. What are you going to talk about?”

“The weather.”

“That isn't funny,” Dr. Stern said. “Don't act like you're better than them. That will only alienate you. Try to connect on their level. Talk about things they are interested in, even if you're not. And most importantly, keep it friendly.”

“Uh-huh. No problem,” Cole said.

“Cole...”

“Okay. I'll try.”

Dr. Stern felt like she was making progress for the first time and it excited her. “Let's discuss some possible conversation topics that you could use to help you connect to someone your age.”

Forty-five minutes later, Dr. Stern looked ready to pull her hair out. She had tried for the entire session to find one interest, just one, that was relatively normal for his age, or for anyone for that matter. The only hobby she had managed to extract was collecting foreign language books and learning new languages, which Cole was shocked that she actually believed. It seemed he could convince her of anything if he tried.

“All right, time's up,” Dr. Stern said. She stood up, flattened her skirt and took a few deep breaths. “Your mother should be here. Just keep thinking and find some topic to talk about. Make something up if you need to. You're smart. You may have a somewhat unique disorder, but together we can work through it.
I believe in you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

After Cole left, Dr. Stern sat down absently at her desk. “Wow,” she said aloud.

2

“So? Anything different than usual happen?” Meredith asked as Cole climbed in the car.

“It wasn't bad,” he said and then, in response to the disappointment in his mother's face, added, “I think we're finally making progress.”

She immediately brightened. “Yeah? What was it?”

“I'm gonna try to make some friends at school.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened and she took a moment to compose herself. “That's fantastic. You're going to be so happy you made this decision. Dr. Stern's a great doctor, isn't she?”

“Yep,” was all Cole could say. He wanted to please his mother, but he couldn't lie to her. That made life difficult as the two always seemed to be at odds.
This doesn't have to be a lie. As much as I hate to admit it, Dr. Stern was right. Finding a friend would make my mom so happy. All right, Dr. Stern, you win. I'll do it for you, Mom.

They pulled up to their small two-story house. Cole had gotten used to ignoring the peeling white paint and rotting roof so well he almost didn't realize it existed. His house was just that, a house. “What's for dinner?” he said.

“Made your favorite. Macaroni and cheese. Extra cheese.”

“Nice, I'm starving.”

“Already? It's not even five. Did you eat your lunch?”

“They had those fried fish patties,” Cole said. “You know I can't eat those. I think I might actually throw up if I tried.”

“You didn't eat anything?”

“I had the sides, but I'm ready for dinner.”

“If you can't eat the main dish, try to get extra sides. We're paying for it. If they won’t do that, I'll have a word with the principal.”

“No, it's okay Mom, I think I can get more.”

They walked inside the tiny entranceway and Cole expertly maneuvered the broken screen door until it latched into place. Inside the kitchen, he helped his mother clear the mess of papers and random supplies from the table so they could set it.

“I got a new phone today,” she said as they cleaned. “It has caller ID. Nothing like new technology for us that's still way behind the times.”

“Ha, nice. It’s cool,” Cole said, lifting the phone out of the cradle and inspecting the features. “Now we can just not answer when all the telemarketers call.”

“Exactly. Maybe one day we’ll even upgrade from dial-up to cable internet. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Cole laughed, thinking how strange it was that a new phone managed to stick out from the rest of the kitchen. While Meredith finished clearing the table, Cole went to the cabinet to get out the plates. As he reached up for the stack, it came.

Stomp your right foot, clear your throat three times and then get the plates to the table in the next ten seconds. For your mother.

What kind of ridiculous game is this?
Cole thought.
Whatever. It's easy enough and the subject is too important to let it pass.
Fine. It's an agreement. But just for the record it's dumb.

As Cole moved to complete the agreement, he thought he heard some faint whispers in the back of his mind, but there was no time to think about it. He stomped his foot on the floor, and before he even had a chance to feel the impact, he was clearing his throat. Once, twice, three times.
Go!
In one fluid motion, he grabbed the top two plates and swung towards the table, nearly crashing into his mother, dropping them heavily on to the table with a thud.

“What are you doing?” Meredith said in a raised voice. “What's the rush? You almost broke the plates.”

The whispering faded. “Sorry, Mom. Don't know why I did that,” he said, but all that was going through his mind was:
Was that within ten seconds? How am I supposed to know? I think so. It better have been. And for my mother? It's never that specific. Don't ever make stupid agreements like that again! They're not fair! And what the hell was that whispering? Did I imagine it?
“Can we eat? I'm really hungry.”

“Okay,” Meredith said, “but be more careful. I don't care how much of a rush you're in.”

Cole didn't say anything; he just sat and waited for his food. Meredith brought to the table a giant bowl of steaming macaroni and cheese. The smell made Cole's stomach growl audibly and he dug right in, the satisfying taste diffusing the anxiety from the strange agreement.

“This is delicious,” he said after the first bite. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Enjoy,” Meredith said smiling.

After a quiet dinner, they placed their plates in the sink and took their usual seats in the living room. Cole curled up on the old reclining chair with his favorite book,
Les Miserables
, which he had read more times than he could count. Meredith sat down on the decrepit couch and flicked on the news, followed by late night comedies.

Around ten o’clock, Cole rose from his chair. He walked around the back of the couch and planted a kiss on his mother’s head. “Goodnight, Mom.”

“Night, Cole,” Meredith said.

Once he was alone, Cole flicked his light switch on and off three times and fluffed his pillow twice. After his nightly ritual was complete he had a sudden urge to rub his knees together and then rock his head left, then right. Finally, he was able to crawl under his covers. He closed his eyes and began his second nightly ritual, half an hour long, of relaxing the extreme tension in all of his muscles. Even at this age he knew the constant tension was unhealthy yet, as far as he could tell, it seemed to be an unfortunate but unavoidable side effect of receiving unexpected agreements. His compulsions were another side effect. Since his simple actions had the potential for dire consequences, his every movement, muscle twitch or thought felt meaningful.

The agreements went back as far as he could remember and had progressively worsened with no sign of leveling off. He tried not to think about that fact until he had some course of action to moderate it. He hoped it would plateau eventually without his conscious effort. However, he also knew his compulsions were getting more frequent.

Despite all of this, he was never angry about his plight. He appreciated the importance that had been placed on his life and would remind himself of this whenever the agreements began to overwhelm him.

After the necessary half an hour, he managed to drown out all the thoughts running through his head. He breathed deeply, falling into unconsciousness, left to his endless dreams of insanity.

His alarm woke him the next morning, fully refreshed and dreading yet another boring day at school. He was compelled to blink two more times after rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He rarely even noticed these extra movements that took up most of his day. They had become a part of his life and he only concentrated on remaining conscious enough of them so that no one else noticed. He was almost certain no one knew the extent of it and he planned on keeping it that way forever.

As always, he arrived five minutes early at the bus stop and stared at the ground, all of his compulsions running through his head like a freight train.

Don't step on that crack. Don't breathe in until that car passes you. Don't move your right foot until you see a bird.

The bus pulled up, right on time, and opened its door to permit Cole inside. He had not seen a single bird anywhere around him.

How is this possible? It's the middle of spring and there must be a hundred birds here every morning.

“Come on, Cole,” the bus driver shouted down to him. “What are you waiting for?”

You're being ridiculous. This one isn't even a real agreement. Just go. Nothing will happen.

The bus driver opened his mouth to shout again when Cole caught sight of a single bird fluttering into the branches of a tree across the street. He immediately jogged up the steps of the bus, breathing a low apology, and took his seat in the front row. He hated having to walk down the narrow aisle through the bus, knowing that every kids' eye was on him as they wondered why he was so weird. It was easier to just stay up front. Last one in, first one out.

School that day was as uneventful and uninteresting as it always was, and he spent the majority of the time trying to stay awake while feigning interest. Halfway through the day, his math teacher announced she would be handing back the tests from the previous day.

“The grades on this test were disappointingly low, with few exceptions.” Cole noticed his teacher shoot a quick glance in his direction and then continue. “You need to study more. I won't say it again. I know you are all capable, but this subject is difficult. I expect better results next time.” She then proceeded to walk around the room and hand out the papers face down.

Cole didn't respond or bother to look at his test. He stuffed it in his backpack and looked around at all the other students grumbling to themselves about their test grades or secretly comparing grades with their neighbors.

After the tests were all returned, the students were brought down to the cafeteria for lunch. Cole purchased his food and took up his usual place at the end of the table. He picked up his sandwich, paused, and put it back down. It was not the less than appetizing food that was preventing him from consuming his meal.

I have to do this. I promised myself I would. For my mother's sake. It's just a bunch of dumb kids. How hard can it be?

He lifted his tray and carried it over to the nearest group of kids at his table. They were engaged in some juvenile discussion, the topic of which Cole could not decipher. All he could discern were random words and the exaggerated gestures accompanying them. At the sight of this, Cole almost turned back, but he forced himself to place his tray on the outskirts of the group.

The conversation stopped abruptly as he seated himself beside the nearest kid and every head turned to look in his direction.

Cole tried his best to look nonchalant. “Hey. How's it going?”

No one responded for a second and, despite his apparent disregard for others' opinions of him, he could feel the heat on his face.

A girl across from him who looked familiar, and the only girl of the group, was the first to break the silence. “Hi. You can sit here.”

She got a few looks
, but no one argued. She turned to one of the boys, the one who had been making all of the exaggerated gestures, and said, “Then what happened?”

“Um.” He shot a glance at Cole and then turned to the rest of the table. “It was so crazy. Like, you wouldn't believe...” And he was back to the exaggerated gestures.

Cole watched the storyteller, trying to get into the narrative, to care about something he was saying, but the inability to relate to any of it sent him drifting off into his own world.

Whatever, I talked to them and they accepted me. Good enough.

The story that had held the group fascinated came to a dramatic conclusion. A new topic was introduced. Cole continued to eat his lunch in silence, watching the action and absorbing none of it until one word crawled its way into his consciousness: “history.”

Finally! Something I can talk about.

He tuned in to the conversation in time to catch the girl saying, “...not fair. It was really hard.”

Another boy responded, “Couldn't have been as hard as mine. My teacher makes all of her tests too hard. I mean we all fail them.” There was a glance in Cole's direction at this statement. “How am I supposed to remember all those stupid little things that happened?”

“I know,” Cole cut in. “History is the worst. How does she expect me to care about something that happened a hundred years ago?”

There was a slight pause in the conversation. “So true,” someone said.

See, that wasn't so hard. Got involved in the conversation and everything.

“Why do you do stuff like that?”

All of a sudden he noticed the conversation had stopped. Every face was turned towards him and he realized that the question had been directed at him.

Cole froze as a cold hand gripped his throat. “Like what? What do you mean?”

“You just jerked your arm twice and then your neck. Do you know you do that?”

Dammit.
Whenever he got nervous or excited he tended to have greater urges for compulsive behavior. He thought he kept it under control, but it apparently had just happened.
Has this happened before and I don't know about it? Is this something everyone knows about me?

“Ummm,” Cole's brain was not cooperating and was refusing to supply him with an answer. “I, uh, I have a little twitch. Just happens sometimes. No big deal.”

“Oh,” the boy said.

“That's kind of weird,” another one added.

“Do you know why it happens?” the girl said.

This was not the kind of attention he wanted. “Can we just forget it? It's nothing, really.”

“We just want to know.”

There was a snicker.

“I think I'm gonna go,” Cole said, grabbing his tray and getting to his feet. The snicker had spread and now there were smiles on all of their faces.
Judgmental closed-minded bastards,
he thought as he turned his back on them. He brought his tray over to another group. They all stared at him as he placed his tray on the table.