Dr. Apples®: The Psychic Chronicles – Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

The Crimson Psyche

I snap out of my psychic trance. The world snaps back into focus with a jarring intensity, colors too vivid, sounds amplified to a deafening volume. The table where I write shakes violently. I cannot control it. I open my eyes as the trance leaves my senses raw, every whisper a shout, every ray of light a spear through my aching head. Before me, Dr. Apples is shaking the table, staring at me to awaken.

I glance at the overturned books on the floor. “Seems like quite a tussle to find the right volume,” I comment, my eyes catching his for a moment. Dr. Apples pauses, the briefest flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. ‘Yes, well, some answers are harder to find than others,’ he replies, his voice carrying an undercurrent of something I can’t quite name.

Dr. Apples stands up from hovering over the table. The abrupt motion sends more books tumbling to the hardwood floor. His trench coat flares out, its embroidered edges brushing against the fallen pages as he paces the room, his usual impeccable posture slightly hunched, the creases in his embroidered trench coat more pronounced than usual. A faint smudge of soot stains the edge of his sleeve, a silent witness to chaos unseen.

My gaze lingers on the sleeve, questions forming silently in my mind.

“Where is he?” I ask.

The room, usually filled with the comforting scent of old books and the soft ticking of the clock, feels charged today. A shadow seems to linger longer across the floor, cast by the dim light that struggles through the windows. Everything seems to hold its breath, awaiting Dr. Apples’ next words.

“He’s somewhere safe… I can’t—” Dr. Apples’ words break off as he turns away, pacing a short, tight circuit by the window. Each step is quick, the heel of his boot clicking against the wooden floor with a rhythm that echoes the rapid beat of a heart under stress. He stops as abruptly as he starts, hands clenched at his sides.

“No. Don’t tell me where. It’s safer this way.” I hadn’t realized, but my shoulders relax and go down as I exhale with a sigh of relief.

In the silence that stretches between us, I see the shadows of guilt flicker across his face, a turmoil that echoes the pounding in my temples.

“You know, I would tell you if—”

“If it were safe. Yes, I know.” I stare intently at him. “I’m not offended. I want it this way.” Guilt still riddles his face. “If I were you, I wouldn’t trust me. So, don’t trust me. Please!”

I think he believes me. His face shows relief, so I continue, “Do…you know at least what happened to cause the alert? D-don’t tell me, but do you know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh.” Not what I wanted to hear.

More awkward silence between us.

Curiosity claws its way through my pounding headache. “So, it was an attack?”

He flips through a few pages of a book to keep himself occupied. “Yes,” he finally says, his voice low, “he managed to send that emergency message- I-It was fortunate you were under the trance; otherwise, I might have been too late.” Outside, the usual laughter of the children playing abruptly ceases, creating a tension-filled silence that fills the space between us with unspoken fears and the shadow of a close call.

As he speaks, he avoids making eye contact with me. His fingers absentmindedly trace the spine of the book. This simple action carries with it a tension, a restraint, as if he carefully weighs each word. It isn’t just his words; it’s what he painstakingly chooses to withhold that tightens the knot of urgency in my stomach.

“Are you sure it’s safe where he is?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I guess... that’s all that matters. Anything I can do?”

He shakes his head, a weary sigh escaping him. “So, what revelations came to you in your vision?”

The pain in my temples pulses with the rhythm of my heartbeat, forcing my eyes into a squint. I know he’s trying to change the subject and I have little fight to argue, so I reply. “That you’re an insufferable brat,” I quip, a strained smile stretching across my face in an attempt to lighten the dense air between us. However, the gravity in Dr. Apples’ expression remains immovable, his face as serious as the ascot neatly tucked into his coat pocket.

He leans in slightly, his voice laced with concern. “You need to take better care of yourself. Perhaps cut down on delving so deeply into these visions, at least for a short while.”

I roll my eyes, a half-hearted chuckle breaking through. “Great, thanks, Dad.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, someone has to say it. And with that scowl, you’re frightening away any potential suitors.”

 “Maybe I’m aiming to rival your level of asexual-isim?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “That’s not a word. And, you’ll get here.”

The throbbing in my head intensifies, fogging my ability to grasp the full magnitude of our breach in security. With a heavy sigh, I mutter, “Send my love to him.”

“He’s aware,” Dr. Apples responds softly, yet there’s an unspoken depth in his gaze that compels me to add, “Yeah, but do it anyway.”

Acknowledgment flickers in his eyes, and he nods, solemn yet understanding. He extends his palm, his fingers tracing the air as he conjures a circle. The fabric of our reality bends, welcoming the darkness of a black portal.

My curiosity verbalizes. “Heading there now?”

A flicker of amusement crosses his features. “No. I can’t rest so, I’m off to kidnap a few celestial monsters for Jameson’s science fair project. I’ll put them in flashlights, so he can tell the class he created solar-powered energy.”

“Hey, that’s cheating.” I strain to say.

He wags his finger, “Only if he gets caught. Those fifth graders aren’t smart enough to figure it out yet.”

And just like that, he steps into the void; the portal sealing shut behind him, leaving a lingering silence filled with unvoiced questions and the echoes of our conversation.

 See, you’ll learn many of his actions which lead to his wealth of knowledge and talents derived from curiosity, sheer boredom, and lack of patience.

 Men.

I’ve been in this spot for way too long. I need to move around. I need fresh air. Stepping out for some fresh air seems like a small act of self-care after the tension of the day. The front porch offers some relief, but a nudge in my thoughts says:

‘Sit on the bench by the park. It’s not too far from the house.’

It’s a whisper of a thought, but it feels right. As I walk closer to the park, my pounding headache eases. My senses sharpen; each leaf fluttering in the breeze is a vivid shade of green, each more beautiful than the last. Writing here is peaceful. It’s a wonder why I never thought of it before.

‘Why don’t you just stay outside forever? You’re better off alone.’

Whoa. The thought jolts me. It’s my voice, my internal monologue, but twisted and malevolent. I’ve never been that emo before.

‘You know you can’t trust anyone. They’re all out to get you.’

Its tone is nasty and spiteful. Another thought. I didn’t think that. Did anyone else hear that? The surrounding people enjoy the park. This doesn’t make sense. What are these thoughts?

‘It’s how you feel.’

No, the hell it is not! The air around me feels suddenly electrified, thick like smoke. Breathing becomes laborious. I need to act normal. Despite my mental turmoil, the kids in the neighborhood are blissfully playing and running around me. There’s no need to cause panic when I can manage this situation.

‘You cannot control what’s about to happen. Run away!’

Run away? From what exactly? No. Lacie, don’t entertain it.

‘Run from it all… or it will consume you.’

I shake my head, trying to banish the intrusive thoughts, but they persist, swelling in intensity.

‘You can’t save anyone. You can’t even save yourself.’

My hands tremble, not only from the barrage of thoughts but also from something new, something alarming. I glance down to see hives erupting across my skin, red and furious. These aren’t mere thoughts; this is a psychic onslaught I’m enduring. My heart races, beating a frantic rhythm against my ribs, mirroring the chaos in my mind.

As I look up, the world doubles, triples, then reverts only for my vision to blur and distort until every object in the park is outlined in geometric grids. It’s as though I’m viewing the mathematical framework of the world, a reality beneath reality, and it’s disorienting, terrifying.

‘You can’t help him. You can’t even save yourself from your own shadows.’

“No!” I argue aloud, my voice cracking. “You’re not me!”

‘Look at you, pretending to be strong. But inside? You’re just a confused little girl.’

I murmur to myself, a technique to anchor my thoughts, but my words twist, dance, echo with voices that are not my own. I must control myself, remain grounded in who I am to end this.

‘You know he talks about you, right? Laughs behind your back?’

A shiver runs through me, the cold realization dawning—this is no mere stress or psychic echo. This attack, this violation of my mind’s sanctity, is insidious, weaving doubt and fear with every word.

‘Your fears, Lacie, they’ve whispered to me. Now we’re friends, closer than shadows, dancing in your doubt.’

I’m engulfed in a torrent of emotion, a psychic assault so personal, so vicious, it feels like an unraveling from within.

‘Pathetic. Worthless and pitiful. Clinging to scraps of affection. No one wants you. You’re—‘

I briefly focus on my inner strength and snap. Abruptly, there is silence. It’s not relief but a heavy, suffocating quiet. My heart pounds against my ribcage, breaths coming in quick gasps. The surrounding park, once a place of solace, now feels like the scene of a battle.

Panic clutches at me, a cold vice around my heart. I find myself gasping on the park bench, the geometric visions fading, the hives receding, leaving only the echo of the battle and a deep, unsettling fear of what just occurred while children run around me, oblivious.

The vividness of the attack fades, leaving me questioning the reality of what just happened. It was an attack here, too close to a home filled with protection. My gut immediately calls to the one person I think capable of breaching those defenses in such a personal, targeted way.

The realization strikes hard. She must think I’m naïve, a fool easily manipulated. The clarity of the moment slips through my fingers like sand, my mind already fogging, trying to erase the traces of the assault. It happened, though, because I wrote it down this time. I felt it, every terrifying second. My head’s a mess, a tangle of thoughts, voices, emotions that are mine and not mine.

The worst part? The one person who should believe me, my anchor in all this chaos, might dismiss it as a figment of my stressed, overworked mind. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is just a result of overworking myself?

“What now?” I whisper to the empty air, the weight of betrayal and fear a new burden to bear.

As I rise from the bench, the world shifts subtly yet unmistakably. The sky, once a clear New Orleans blue, slowly turns an alarming crimson. This change isn’t just visual; the air thickens, tinged with the briny scent of the nearby Mississippi River—a smell that’s suddenly more oppressive than comforting, mingling with the tang of fear in my mouth.

The wrought-iron fences that line the park cast longer, more grotesque shadows on the cobblestone paths, twisting into shapes that seem to dance with whispered urgency. Even the gentle rustling of the leaves in the magnolia trees now carries a note of warning, their broad, glossy leaves reflecting the crimson light in unsettling patterns.

The faint sounds of laughter from children playing in the distance reach me. They play under the shade of live oaks, the Spanish moss draping like wisps of ghostly hair, untouched by the encroaching dread. They appear as moving black silhouettes, their carefree joy forming the backdrop of my unease. I take a deep breath and try to ground myself.

The air around me feels charged, as if anticipating my next move, and I know that whatever comes next, the battle is mine alone to face. The contrast between the children’s laughter and my readiness for conflict underscores the solitude of my path, even in a world teeming with life.

I steady myself, pushing down the lingering pain and disorientation, my gaze fixed firmly ahead. I’m ready for what comes next, even as the surrounding park, drenched in crimson, seems oblivious.