Shining among Darkness

By
WingzemonX

Chapter 13
A little bit of sense

Samara did not sleep much that night, although someone could say it was for good reasons: more for excitement than for one of her usual nightmares, which had, in fact, been absent for a few days. This excitement was because she wanted to see Matilda, not only to tell her what she could not do the past day but also to know what her mother had said and if Matilda thought there was an opportunity to see her soon.

But Samara was also excited to see Matilda herself. She had not really known her for a long time, but in that short period, she had got used to her presence. Samara felt pleasant and comfortable and safe at her side. She liked how Matilda spoke, how she behaved, and even how she smelled. Was it weird that a person's smell was something important to her at the time of judging someone? Perhaps. But Matilda smelled like her mother, or at least how her mother smelled some time ago before she simply began to see her with hateful eyes and nothing else. That's why Matilda brought a certain nostalgic feeling to her every time she saw her. Samara wasn't sure if it was because of her that the nightmares had calmed down a bit, but she liked to believe that something had to do with it.

And knowing that she also had powers or special abilities, as she said, made her feel closer and more confident with her as if she could tell her anything and not be judged. And, most importantly, she would keep any secret. That was why she wanted to say to her, and no one else, the secret she kept about her nightmares... and about the horrible being that always appeared in them. Samara knew that if she told her, Matilda would find a way to help her, get rid of... that thing, and thus return to her normal life. She had complete confidence in her, although sometimes she wondered if her trust would not end up disappointing her again.

At that time, she was sitting on her stretcher, locked in that small room with white walls, but that had become a little bigger since Matilda gave her that little puzzle she had taken with her the night they met. The other doctors didn't let her have her doll, but that little puzzle had not been taken away, not yet, at least.

She had had fun several times dismantling the cube into its eight pieces of different shapes and colors, and reassembling it again until each position and order were memorized completely. That morning she disassembled it again to reassemble it once more, and she realized that it was no longer as fun as it was at the beginning. But that did not seem so strange. Solving the same puzzle several times, it wouldn't be fun for anyone. Once she completed it, held it in her palms, and observed it.

She remembered the beautiful way in which Matilda made it levitate in front of her, had detached its pieces, and reassembled them, all as magic... Of course, it wasn't magic, but it seemed like this. That was power, or rather a unique ability that she would have liked to have. With a skill like that, you could do beautiful and good things, and not capture nightmares and horrors on paper or on people's heads. She could even be a hero like in the cartoons, or at least help others like Matilda did. If only she could do something like that...

And then she thought about it: what if she could? Maybe she could do other things. Matilda had told her that she could translate her thoughts into objects; couldn't she bring them into that cube? Or wasn't that how it worked? Maybe not, but if she just spent drawing pictures on paper, she couldn't find out how far she was able to get, or what else she could do.

She decided to try but remembered the security camera in the corner that always watched her. If she could do something else that she didn't know, the last thing she wanted was for those men who always spied on her to know. She turned on the bed in such her back was facing the camera, and held the cube in her hands.

What would she do exactly? The idea of ​​portraying an image on paper made a lot of sense, even at the conceptual level. How did that apply in levitating a wooden cube? She struggled a lot, stared at the cube, imagining that it floated even a little from her palms, but nothing happened.

She sighed with exhaustion. She tried to review a little of what she did know about her own ability. How normally did it work? She visualized something in her mind, concentrated, and the image was reflected on paper, on x-rays, or on people's minds. What if she tried to visualize the image of the cube floating? But that was what she had just done, wasn't it? Maybe she should do it more clearly and with more force.

Samara closed her eyes and breathed slowly. In her mind, she tried to visualize in detail the colored cube, perched on her palms, with its eight pieces embedded together, those eight pieces that she already knew perfectly after having assembled and disassembled the puzzle so many times. She opened her eyes again, looked at the cube carefully, and visualized it... tried to imagine it rising in the air...

Suddenly, after a few moments when nothing happened, the cube began to move before her eyes, waving in her palms as if trembling. At first, she was surprised and scared but tried not to lose concentration. The cube then began to rise, staggering in the air erratically but still rising up. Samara smiled happily. She was doing it; she couldn't believe it, but she was really doing it. For that little moment, Samara's heart lit up, and for the first time in a long time, a sincere smile that spread from ear to ear on her face was drawn... but that little moment didn't really last long.

She noticed almost immediately that something else was happening. The cube floated, but it also began to change. Its colors moved all over the surface as if it were water running from side to side. Then its shape began to change as well, becoming something that little by little no longer seemed to be a cube. The eight pieces separated in a blink, and gradually took other forms, no longer so straight, not so aesthetic, and not so colorful; there was no way they even fit together...

Samara got nervous and scared about this. She didn't know what she was doing, but she was destroying the precious gift Matilda had given her. She tried to return it to normal, visualize it as it was before, but it didn't work. The pieces kept changing and changing until they no longer had anything remotely similar to the original color or shape. They looked like deformed and disgusting burned plastic as if they had melted in the microwave. They were pieces of garbage, from which even reddish traces of blood and pus seemed to arise.

Samara clenched her eyes tightly, sobbing a little. A small tear arose from her right eye. Why was that happening? Why did she have to ruin everything dear to her? Why did she have those damn powers that did nothing but cause misfortunes...?

No, she could not be dominated by frustration or fear. She knew very well that every time she allowed it... that thing appeared. In fact, she could already hear it: the sound of her nails scratching the floor as she crawled behind her back. She also felt the wet, sticky air sticking against her skin, and the cold sensation running down her back. She was there, again...

Matilda had told her that she controlled her abilities; these did not control her. She was in control, she had to make things happen just as she wanted when she wanted it. If she wished to the cube to return to normal, she could do it. She concentrated, focusing on that image, on each of its pieces that she knew so well. She imagined the cube she touched so much with her fingers and appreciated with her eyes. She could not let the feeling of that being getting on her bed, and sitting right behind her distracted her. She had to return everything to normal...

Samara opened her eyes suddenly, and the presence sitting behind her vanished. She managed to see how the eight pieces fell at the same time in her palms, although some slipped to the white sheets. However, when looking at them carefully, she could see that they were again the original pieces, with their real colors and shapes.

Samara let out a nervous laugh, but also happy. Another tear ran down her face, but he wiped it quickly with the back of her hand. Had it been another hallucination? If it was, it had not been at all because the pieces must have floated; otherwise, they would not have fallen. But...?

Then she took one of the pieces and noticed something that caught her attention. One of them, in effect, had traces of what she had seen before. One of its corners had changed; it looked as if it had been burned a little, and it was darker... Had it been real then?

At that moment, she heard footsteps and voices coming down the hall toward her door. Somewhat alarmed, she quickly took the eight pieces of wood and hid them under her pillow. Again she felt it was something they should not see. She would show it only to Matilda, and tell her about what happened; she could perhaps tell her what it was and help her with that.

The door beeped, and then a mechanical sound indicated that the locks had been removed. It opened a moment later, and Dr. John Scott entered the room very safely, followed by Dr. Johnson and two male nurses of considerable size. Scott had his hands inside the pockets of his white coat and stared at Samara with a broad smile, which she thought was quite false.

"Good morning, Samara," Scott said with reserved enthusiasm, but Samara didn't answer. She just looked at him from her bed, with a menacing coldness. "They told me that last night you couldn't sleep much. Any special reason? Another nightmare?"

The girl still didn't answer. The way she looked at him as if she saw something that caused her absolute repulsion... It had always bothered the good Doctor Scott and much.

"Has Matilda arrived yet?" Samara said suddenly, completely ignoring the above questions.

Scott frowned a little behind the thick frame of his glasses. He took a deep breath through his nose and then carved it a little with the thumb and index fingers of his right hand.

"I'm afraid Dr. Honey won't come today," Scott replied, with some irony in his voice. "Your session will be with me, as in the old days."

The coldness vanished suddenly from the girl's eyes, then filled with utter amazement.

"Why?" Samara exclaimed loudly, jumping off the bed. "Where is Matilda?"

"She had... an urgent personal emergency that she had to attend.

"You lie," Samara snapped accusingly. "She promised me we would talk today."

"Well, maybe keeping promises isn't her priority," Scott commented, shrugging. "So, if you're so kind..."

Scott stepped aside to open the door. However, instead of heading in that direction, Samara's first reflection was, in fact, going back several steps.

"No!" She yelled at him, unable to hide her anger. "I don't want to talk to you. I hate you! You are a horrible person! You locked me up and treats me like a monster. I want to talk to Matilda!"

Scott shared a tired look with his partner Johnson and the two nurses. He sighed heavily, adjusted his glasses by sliding them down his nose, and turned back to Samara, trying to remain as calm as possible. But, in reality, he was not able to do it so much. He still had some anger accumulated since his call with Dr. Honey, who asked to be retaliated in some way...

"That won't happen, ok?" Scott said firmly. "What you want is not always going to be done here. And I know you had a lot of fun playing with Miss Honey, but I'm your doctor, I'm the one who is treating you, and I'm the only one who really cares about your well-being."

"It is not true!" Samara shouted again loudly, and the lights in the room and the hallway clinked slightly. This alerted Johnson and the nurses, but Scott seemed so influenced by his frustration that he was not aware of this. "You just want to use me and know how I do what I do. You won't let me out of here! I want Matilda! I want to talk to her!"

The lights tuned again for the second time. The nurses took a step back, and Johnson tried to approach Scott and tell him not to overdo it. However, the good doctor slammed towards Samara, facing her. The girl, by mere reflection, stepped back a little, apparently intimidated by the enormous figure of that tall man with a thick build. All the patience he could have for that girl had already run out. He didn't stop to think about what he was doing, or if that was the right attitude a psychiatrist should take towards his patient or even an adult man with a twelve-year-old girl. It was like being dominated by a latent rage, which rose from his stomach and burned his throat...

"I already told you that that won't happen, demon brat!" He yelled at her suddenly, taking her strength from his right arm. "I am your Doctor! And you will do what I tell you!"

Samara groaned a little in pain when she felt how he took her that way. She lowered her face a little, and her long black hair fell over it, completely hiding his gaze. He stayed that way for several seconds, motionless, quiet. But before Scott could even make the gesture of wanting to pull her or say something else, Samara quickly raised her head again, and although she still had part of her hair over the face, she fixed her dark eyes once more on him. But these no longer had coldness or surprise, not even something that could be defined only as anger. No, the penetrating way she looked at him was full of aggressiveness, hate, danger... of evil.

Scott was paralyzed to feel those eyes totally black and deep like an abyss. Small gasps emerged from his throat, similar to those caused by slight throbbing pain. Samara kept looking at him, and Scott seemed totally lost and gone in that look.

Johnson looked at this notoriously alarmed.

"John?" The young doctor exclaimed behind him, but Scott did not answer, nor gave any sign of awareness. "John! Samara! Stop!"

There was no response, either from Scott or from Samara. It was as if both were immersed in their own reality, apart from everything; that room, that hospital, or those people. Johnson didn't know exactly what was happening, but it was caused by her, he was sure of that. And if what she was doing was even a bit similar to what she did to her mother...

"Hold her!" Johnson ordered the nurses with impulse, who hesitated at first, but then headed straight for the kid and took her from each arm.

Only until the two big men with strong arms took and pulled her away from Scott with a strong, did the latter finally react, giving a sharp breath of air, and then backed away, dying of fear until he hit his back against the wall.

"No!" Samara shouted, totally insane, while the two men subdued her and put her against the stretcher. "Let me go! Let me go!!"

The lights blinked, harder than before. One of the nurses groaned in pain and had to slam away. He clutched his right hand tightly, as a trail of blood drained from his palm emanating from an open, clean, and deep wound, and quickly stained his entire arm. How had that been done?

While the other nurse was holding her, Johnson hurriedly prepared a syringe with a fast-acting sedative, which was among the medications the nurses had brought with them. Once he had it ready, the doctor approached Samara to apply it to her arm, and she seemed horrified to see the syringe with the clear liquid.

"No! I don't want to sleep!" She snapped, almost crying. "I don't want to sleep! Don't!"

Johnson felt a sharp pain in his right cheek. He put his fingers to that place and felt wet. Looking at them, he found them covered in blood. A horizontal cut was drawn on his young face, from the tip of his nose to near his ear.

"What the hell?" He thought scared, but he didn't let the situation immobilize him.

"Hold her! Now!"

The other nurse, even with his hand bleeding, took Samara as he could, holding his arm and extending it so that Johnson could inject it.

"No, no!" Samara shouted again, and again, every second, as the injection fluid penetrated her vein and slowly permeated his entire body.

It took a few seconds, but the girl's eyes closed, her voice went out, and in the end, she fell peacefully asleep in her bed. The lights normalized, and everything went silent.

Johnson pulled away from her, breathing heavily. His face was still bleeding, but perhaps because of the adrenaline flowing, he still didn't feel any pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Scott rushing out the room and back into the hall. Johnson took a handkerchief from his pants pocket and pressed it hard against his face to stop the bleeding.

"Lie down and tie her up," he ordered the nurses just before leaving behind Scott.

The good doctor was leaning against the wall, staring at the floor while breathing slowly.

"John, are you all right?" Johnson asked him. Scott looked up slowly, and looked over his shoulder, but not at him, or anywhere else; He seemed only to see nothing. "Hey, you hear me? John."

He kept looking lost for a while longer, without even blinking, until he finally managed to react, also if it was a little.

"Yes, of course," he murmured softly and blankly. "What happened?"

"What happened? Don't you remember? Samara... I don't know what she did to you. We put her to sleep for safety."

"Well done... yes... well done," Scott muttered the same way, absent as if his mind were floating somewhere else.

"Hey, how are you feeling? Let the doctors check you."

"No, no. I'm fine..." Supporting the wall with one hand, he began to walk down the hall at a leisurely pace.

"John, wait. But..."

"I have work to do," Scott declared sharply, advancing without paying attention to his colleague's words.

The nurses did what Johnson ordered them, tying Samara to the stretcher of wrists and ankles with safety straps. She didn't move a single finger while they placed her. The sedative had her totally asleep... for now.

— — — —

Vazquez was a friend of the head nurse in the Emergency Department of the Hospital, which was quite useful when he needed to quickly know the status of a patient or request a special favor. That morning he needed the latter, and ask her to allow them to use one of the nurses' break room for a few minutes, to be able to interview privately the two strangers who had just arrived. The room was a square with beige walls, a circular table in the center with five chairs around it, a candy dispenser, and another soda machine, a bottle of water on a vending machine, a microwave oven, and a medium-sized flat-screen prostrate on the wall, which at that time was off.

Matilda and Cody took a seat on one side of the table, while Nancy and Wayne sat on the other. Vazquez, on the other hand, preferred to remain standing behind his two acquaintances, crossed his arms, and with an apprehensive gaze placed on the two strangers.

"I met Doug at Yale," began the young woman with brown hair. His speech was quite soft and sure. "We were partners during the doctoral studies."

"That was about five or six years ago," Nancy pointed out, confused. "How old are you exactly?"

"Enough," Matilda replied, somewhat curtly. "A few days ago... before what happened, Doug contacted Dr. Taddeo Armstrong, a renowned psychiatrist who was our professor at Yale." Then she took a piece of paper out of her bag, which had written the name just mentioned, an email, and a phone number. "These are his contact details. You can verify with him everything I say."

Wayne took the piece of paper, analyzed it for a second, and then handed it to the policeman behind him, who took and put it in his bag. He would definitely investigate it later.

"Doug sought his advice about the case of Lily Sullivan, the girl that her parents wanted to burn in her oven, right?" No one answered, but she didn't need them to. "After considering the situation, Dr. Armstrong advised him to talk to me, and that's why he called me; the same day he died, so now I understand."

"What kind of advice was he looking for exactly?" Wayne asked.

"He didn't tell me much during our call, except that he had noticed something unusual in an interview with Lily Sullivan that made him suspect that it might be a case of Antisocial Personality Disorder."

"In other words, she is some kind of psycho?" Vazquez added, with a somewhat cunning tone, that Matilda did not like at all.

"Some kind of psycho, yes. But he wasn't sure about it. What he was sure of was that he had perceived something different in her, something dangerous."

"Doug told you that, exactly?" Nancy let out, obviously skeptical.

"He made it clear to me. I am currently attending a case in Eola, near Salem. He asked me if I could come here to Portland and give my point of view about the girl, but I couldn't leave my other case. I asked him to send me the information he could, but he never did. Now I know why..."

"You express yourself quite neutrally about the death of your colleague, Doctor," said Vázquez with accusing tone. Matilda looked at him, slightly irritated by his comment, although she must accept that perhaps she was misbehaving. Sometimes it was difficult to know how to act in situations like that in the presence of adults. With children, everything was always more natural.

"What exactly are you looking for here?" Nancy inquired, impatiently.

Matilda regained her composure and crossed her hands on the table.

"We want to see the girl. Interview her and know if what Doug told me could be true."

Nancy snorted, although perhaps she had not done it consciously.

"With all due respect," the social worker began to tell her, "but if what you said is true, the State has quite trained psychologists who can take care of..."

"Doug told you something else?" Wayne interrupted suddenly, cutting off Nancy's words. Wayne looked severe at the doctor and very carefully. "Doug told you that he suspected something specific about this girl? He told you that maybe she could have something else wrong?"

"Wayne, please..." Nancy exclaimed slowly, almost between her teeth.

"What more proof do you need, Nancy?" Wayne replied, looking down at her contemptuously. Matilda and Cody then noticed some latent tension between them. "Doug saw it, there is something bad with her."

"Even if it doesn't, it doesn't mean she caused all this in some way."

"In fact," they heard Matilda intervene suddenly, while she was taking a file out of her briefcase; the same file she had shown Cody in the cafeteria, "I'm afraid she could have caused more than you think."

The three seemed intrigued by her words. Matilda placed the file on the table and handed it to them to take.

"We did our own research, and misfortune has accompanied this girl from the moment of her birth. Family and friends of the Sullivan's have died in strange circumstances. Car crashes, suicides, strange accidents...

Wayne took the file and opened it. Inside were several newspaper reports, and even police reports, that talked about the death of Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan's brothers and sisters, and other acquaintances who apparently were in some way or another related to them. As Matilda had said, all seemed isolated events: car or home accidents, fires, suicides under suspicious circumstances, and even some simply deaths without cause or explanation.

"Where did you get all this?" Vazquez questioned, somewhat mad, but also surprised.

"We have our sources," Matilda and Cody exclaimed at the same time, word for word. They looked at each other, grieving a little.

Wayne continued to review the papers a little more, but then Vazquez asked him to pass them on so he could study them himself. Everything seemed genuine, as far as he could tell.

"Now that list is followed by Doug, Mr. Sullivan, and even Miss Jenkins," Matilda added.

"Emily is not dead," Wayne corrected, almost offended by the comment.

"Sorry. The case is all these incidents are not coincidences. And the only common element is this girl."

"Please..." Nancy exclaimed, already somewhat tired and frustrated with so many accusations. "Don't keep this up, it's absurd."

"Well, listen," said Vazquez, closing the file and leaving it on the table again. "I will not deny that all this is quite suspicious or worthy of further investigation." Nancy turned to see him in annoyance, but he held out a hand, indicating her to wait. "But, how exactly could a ten-year-old girl kill all these people without anyone noticing? And in these elaborate ways, and making them go through mere accidents."

"Yes," Nancy added, encouraged to have some support, "and Doug died in his bathroom, being locked, both the front and the bathroom door. Mr. Sullivan's in an asylum, and Mike was in the parking lot of the police station. During all these deaths, Lilly was with Emily at her home, miles away from the scenes. How could she have done that? And I doubt she could force Emily to jump into the river, no matter how much... psycho or manipulative she is"

Matilda and Cody were silent and looked at each other discreetly. They seemed to be deciding how to respond to such questioning.

"There is something you are not telling us, right?" Wayne mentioned suddenly. "You said you were colleagues, but colleagues of what exactly? Who are you, really?"

Again they both looked at each other for a few seconds, and then Cody leaned forward a little, taking the floor after being silent all that time.

"Listen... we'll tell you, but you have to have a very open mind."

"My mind is totally open right now," Vazquez said from his position, crossing his arms again.

That would not be nice; it rarely was. But they had to do it if they wanted to get somewhere.

"We represent the Eleven Foundation," said the professor directly without many detours, "an organization in charge of helping children with special abilities."

There was a small silence, in which Cody assumed that each one separately tried to process what they had just heard.

"What do you mean by special abilities?" Nancy questioned, with reservations.

Cody sighed slightly and rearranged his glasses.

"We think Lily can have strong psychic abilities."

There was silence again, but the reaction on the faces of the three people before them was quite clear.

"What?" Said Wayne, doubtful he had heard well.

"Telepathic, to be precise, of the illusionist type as I like to call them. That means she can deceive people's brains, causing them to see and feel things that are not really there. We've seen other similar cases before, but apparently, Lily could be so powerful that she can affect people over a long distance. That way, she can hurt people without needing to be present and force them to do things that lead to their deaths..."

"Is that a joke?" Nancy interrupted forcefully, almost offended.

Cody had been quite straightforward with his explanation, but Matilda couldn't criticize him. There really was no way to explain this without being direct, and even if there weren't, the reaction would not be very different.

"Do you think we're joking?" Matilda intervened gravely in her voice.

"Well, you are joking, or you are a couple of maniacs," Vazquez replied, quite aggressively.

"Maniacs? The psychic phenomena are quite real," Cody declared powerfully. "Have you already forgotten the case of Chamberlain, Maine four years ago?"

Matilda was startled slightly at such an unexpected mention, getting nervous. She turned to look sideways at Cody, but he seemed not to notice because his attention was still ahead. Why did he mention Chamberlain so suddenly? Would it be just a coincidence? Or did he know that...?

"The story about a young girl burning all her town with the power of her mind?" Nancy mumbled, doubtfully.

"It's not a story; it has been the case of psychic phenomena best documented of this century," Cody added with the same determination as before, but that did not seem to have the desired effect on his audience.

"Just bullshit," Vazquez said mockingly, "conspiracy theories for Bloggers and YouTubers."

"Bullshit?" Matilda released, glancing at the policeman. "More than four hundred people died that night, officer. Does that look like Bullshit?"

Vázquez let out a small chuckle. He took a deep breath, trying to get the air through his stuffy nose.

"I won't presume to know exactly what happened on that site. But what I'm sure of is that there wasn't a psychic witch went crazy and killed people."

"Psychic witch?" The psychiatrist snapped, clearly offended, and made the gesture of wanting to stand up. However, Cody rushed to take her hand to stop her. He looked at her in silence and shook his head to tell him not to. Matilda took a deep breath and sat back straight in her chair.

Directly revealing the existence of people with the Shining was a somewhat debated issue among the members of the Foundation. Some preferred to leave everything private as possible, and others who claimed that there was nothing to be ashamed of. The incidents, good and bad, derived from the use of psychic abilities, had been quite abundant, especially since decades ago. But it had only been until the rise of the Internet, the rapid flow of information, and the immediate availability of video cameras and images at the reach of each person's hand, that such news began to be more and more abundant and known among the people. Chamberlain's case was perhaps the greatest and most known in recent years, especially for the attention given by the authorities to want to discover precisely what had happened on that site that night in May, and the publications that were derived from those acts.

However, despite all that, people still saw them as mere scams, superstitions, rumors, and tricks to fool on the Internet. Eleven once told her that the human being was credulous and incredulous by nature at the same time. Blindly believe only in what they want to, but distrust everything they wish not to. A fervent believer in God will find every test that supports his belief, and will deny all that refutes it; and would apply precisely the same, although in reverse, to someone completely atheist. The same happened with their abilities. Those who wanted to believe that there were people who could move objects with the mind, read minds, see people miles away or create images with a thought, would believe it, even if they were pure lies. But those who wanted to feel that they had absolute knowledge and control of their surroundings, their first impulse would be to completely deny any evidence, sometimes even if this happened in front of their eyes.

While this discrepancy existed, it would be best to keep such disclosures as reserved as possible, and taking care when it was prudent to do so and when not.

Once Matilda calmed down, Cody retook the floor.

"Listen, I understand that what we say might seem strange and incomprehensible. But I guaranteed you that we aren't here to joke or to annoy you. We want to help."

"Well, thanks for your help," Vazquez muttered. "Your observation confirms our suspicions that this girl should be better monitored."

"Official Vazquez..." Nancy grumbled, looking at him over her shoulder again, with more annoyance than before, but he preferred to ignore her and continue.

"But from that to the scams of psychics, there is a great stretch. Anyway, we will take care of getting to the bottom of this."

"You don't understand," Cody said firmly. "If our theories are correct, you could be dealing with something that you cannot drive."

"And you can?" The policeman released with an annoying mockery in his tone. "How will you do it precisely? Do you come from the X-Men or something?" He pointed back with his left thumb. "Is Patrick Stewart going to enter with his wheelchair at any time through that door? Because that would be impressive to see."

Cody listened as Matilda sucked hard through her nose, and when he turned around to see her, noticed how she looked at Vazquez with her eyes almost bloodshot, and her jaw clenched tightly. Ever since he had a memory, that kind of jokes always altered her more, but he hoped she could contain herself on that occasion.

As if saved by the bell, someone suddenly opened the door of the room, breaking the dense air that had formed around them. Because it happened just after the officer's hurtful comment about Patrick Stewart, comically made everyone doubt for a second. But no, it was actually a nurse, with short black hair, who looked inside the room.

"Detective Vázquez," the woman informed him in a rather calm tone. "The girl is already stable and awake. You can talk to her now."

"Ok, thank you, Lucy," Vazquez replied, just before giving another loud sniff for his nose, and a small cough to clear his throat. He turned back to Cody and Matilda and stared at each one inquisitively. "Wayne, you two go ahead if you want. I'll guide these good people to the exit."

"You are making a serious mistake..." Cody tried to say, standing up from his chair, but Wayne stepped forward, also standing and snatching the word first while buttoning his gray coat again.

"Don't worry, I will. You have to take Lily's testimony to find out what happened. I'll take care of them, you go."

Vazquez nodded, supporting his suggestion. Nancy also seemed to agree and carrying her bag, briefcase, and coat again. She stood up from her chair and headed for the door to follow the nurse. Vazquez went after her, but before leaving, he turned once more towards the two strangers, and pointed them sharply with his index finger, like an adult who scolds a child and with that act tries to be more authoritarian with his words.

"I don't want to see you here again. Did you hear well?"

Neither of them answered anything, and he didn't expect them to do it either. He left the break room and followed Nancy and Nurse Lucy down the hall.

When the three of them were alone, Wayne had his gaze down, unable to look at either of them directly. He moved slowly away from the table to the vending machine until he stood in front of it. But he didn't look at the machine, the products inside, or even his barely appreciable reflection in the front glass that separated people from snacks. He didn't look at anything in that room. He brought one hand to his waist, and the other to his forehead, carving it firmly with his fingers.

"You believe us," Cody said after a while, forcing him to turn to them. Both were still at the table and looked at him doubtfully. "Or at least, you aren't sure that we lie, are you?"

Wayne did not respond immediately. He walked to one side of the room and then to the other. His walk was undecided, as was the way he looked at the ceiling and floor consecutively and ran his hand nervously over his face.

"I... I don't know what to believe anymore," he stammered, at last, not daring to see them yet. "What you said sounds like real madness." He was silent for a few moments, losing his attention in the water contained within the jug; a big air bubble rose from the base to the surface. "But even so, it seems to be the only thing that has a little bit of sense... if this can be called that way."

He had said it himself, it had all started when Lily appeared. After what happened with Diego and Doug's death, Emily began to behave strangely with that subject, but he did not give it importance. And now Mike, Emily, and all those deaths in the file, all happened around her, including her own father... How could he ignore something like that? Even Vázquez himself, in his skepticism, was unable to ignore all that as mere coincidences. But psychic powers? Would he really have to stoop to believe in theories like that?

To Wayne's memory came those stories that his grandmother told him about when she was a child and met an old woman in Clearwater that lived in the same street as her. She offered her a cookie every time his grandma had a bad day at school, with no need for her to tell her first as if she had known before. She knew the name of her friends, her teachers, and the children who bothered her without having met them. And every time his grandma or one of her parents lost an important object, she walked to this woman's door, knocked on it and when she opened she told her exactly where it was, without even asking.

"I told her it was magic," his grandma had said once. "But she always told me that magic didn't exist. That she simply paid more attention to the things that most people preferred to ignore. Those things that shine, but not everyone can or want to see. I told her to teach me, but she laughed and told me it wasn't something to be learned. That one day everyone would shine just like her or more, but not soon."

For Wayne, all those stories were always that: just stories, memories from an older woman who over the years changed and adorned these. Like the one that every time he tells a fight he had, the number of opponents increases, or stories to keep children interested and believers in a world beyond what the eyes see. As a child, they might have fascinated him, but when he grew up, he rarely thought about it. But at that moment, standing in that room, staring at that bottle of water, he could only ask himself: "What if...?"

Matilda stood up from her chair and approached her cautiously.

"Listen, Mr. Wayne," she began to express delicately; Wayne looked at her sideways, listening. "What we told you about the telepathic skills, they are only theories at that moment. If you allow us to see the girl, just a few moments, we could be sure. If it's not what we believe, we'll leave, and we won't bother you anymore. But I owe that to Doug, at least."

"What if it is exactly what you think so?"

"Then we'll advise you what to do," Cody added.

Wayne looked down again thoughtfully and stayed in that position for a long time.

"This is crazy, but I will take a risk anyway," he released with resignation. "Lily is currently in emergencies, but she will surely be in the room at any time, and they will have her under monitoring. Go to the cafeteria, stay out of Vazquez, and Nancy's eye for a couple of hours, and I'll see how to pass you to see her."

"All right," Matilda agreed, smiling at him. "Thank you."

Wayne sighed tired, and headed to the door. He had no idea where this would lead, but there was no going back. What would his grandmother think if she saw him at that time?

END OF CHAPTER 13