Dr. Apples®: The Psychic Chronicles – Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
Whispers in the void
The air around me sizzles with tension, my thoughts racing as I stand. The crimson sky darkens, feeling as though everything around is constricting. Yet, I’m far from defenseless. I have to recall what Doc taught me—balance, strength, focus. It begins with a single thought. I envision energy circling my third eye, then streaming down to my right hand. Energy swirls within, eventually forming a small red orb that glows intensely hovering over my palm. It’s weightless, yet warm. I infuse my emotions into the orb: rage, anger, madness, and with every ounce of willpower, I encourage it to expand. It vibrates in my hand and gains mass. I hear the distant laughter of children playing behind me. Effortlessly, I split the orb into two flaming spheres of light. My breaths are measured, deep, and charged with fury.
“Where is she?” The question sears within me.
“Where are you?” My heart thumps with both fury and anticipation. You’re not the only one wielding magic.
The idea of confronting my assailant fills me with a peculiar intrigue and a level of rage I had never before experienced. I feel within myself -as in someone- or thing from within me is now controlling my body of sheer fury. But before I can act, a familiar sound cuts through the tension—the hum of a portal opening. Too late to react, a force grips the back of my shirt, and I’m abruptly pulled backward. The crimson world in front of me contracts as the portal narrows and seals shut. I land hard, the vortex fading into the distance. Beside me, Dr. Apples stands, his posture a blend of frustration and relief. His irritation is more pronounced than usual.
The empty vortex around us feels both freeing and disquieting—where the in-between lingers. There is nothing but shades of grey surrounding us. The solid ground underfoot casts no shadows—if you were to fall here, you would simply do just that.
“Thanks, dad,” I mutter, though gratitude is far from my mind as I stand.
“What the hell were you doing?” he demands, his tone a mix of concern and reprimand.
“Why did you do that? Didn’t you see the red sky, her attacking me? I was ready to defend myself!” My stance is defiant, my palms open at my sides as if ready to summon the same magic again.
“And if the neighbors had seen you?” His eyebrows furrow, concern carving deep lines across his forehead. He isn’t just scolding; he’s fearful, reminding me of the stakes beyond our personal skirmish.
“What do you mean? They know who we are—”
“Yes, they know who we are—”
“So, they know we practice magic and it’s never been an issue before. And now when we use it to potentially save them, they—”
“They. Don’t. Care.” Each word is emphasized with his index finger punctuating the air. “They know we practice magic and we do so discreetly. If they see you wielding magic like this, it’s not just torches at our door; it’s the disruption of the calm we’ve kept. Our world’s equilibrium depends on secrecy. They hear whispers, but they don’t truly know. They suspect and speculate, but their lives remain unchanged. They are content with a hint of danger, but to feel truly threatened, to know their quaint world is part of something larger, would hinder us from our objectives. It’s another obstacle to our goal! Remember, Lacie, once our magic is seen, it cannot be unseen. It would shatter the delicate truce between our worlds. Is that a burden you’re ready to bear?”
“So, was I supposed to just let her keep attacking me?” My heart races from the adrenaline surge.
“Who is she? How do you know what you saw—by the way, only you saw it. The others around you didn’t see a red sky. But they could have seen a crazed girl conjuring magical fireballs as she stared at the sun!” A pause allows the reality to sink in. He continues, “And if it was her—or them, you wouldn’t have the foresight to predict their next move.”
“Easy! I would have attacked her right where she stood.” I was overconfident, and he knew it. ———————-
He steps closer to me, his jaw clenched, eyes ablaze with fury. “Fire in your hands, but ice in your judgment! Did you even notice the chill? The sky bleeds crimson, temperatures plummet, and you think to unleash fire? Foolish! Those flames of yours would’ve been smothered by the cold snap, leaving you exposed. Recognize the elements, Lacie!”
I mumble. “That’s a nice way of saying I would have lost.”
“Lost? You would have been obliterated!”
“I know who it is,” I insist, my fists clenching as a wave of desperation sweeps over me, my eyes pleading with him to see the truth as I do.
But Dr. Apples remains unmoved. “You don’t,” he says, his arms crossed over his chest, forming a barrier.
“I guess I should prepare more for her before she attacks again.”
“She. She…who the hell is she?”
“You know who. Misssss-es Toutant’s hold on you! It blinds you; makes you see only what she wants. When will you see past her illusions?” He scoffs. I feel a pang of guilt for crossing a perceived boundary. I step back, trying to focus on the shifting gray colors around me.
His disappointment feels magnified here. I loathe the weightlessness of this in-between realm. It’s disorienting, and with every passing moment, I feel less human, less grounded. Yet, when Dr. Apples suggests returning to the tangible world’s solidity, part of me hesitates.
He sighs out of frustration. For a fleeting moment, confessing my feelings about her felt liberating. But the relief is short-lived. He speaks, “There are depths to our enemies, Lacie, that you’ve yet to grasp. Shadows so dark that even light fears to tread. Even there, we politic. Be careful with your words.”
“Careful. Careful. Yes, I was careful!” I fling my hands around like a wino, not proving my rationale.
“No, you were not careful. You, were wrong. You’ve been wrong before,” he reminds me, hinting at countless past mistakes I’d rather forget. His observation of my energy, though technically accurate, feels like a cold dismissal of my efforts.
“I am not –“
Like a switch, he turns calm, “Lacie, you are wrong. How many times have you been called a ‘whack’ or a ‘fraud’ for being a psychic?”
He waits for a response from me, but I remain silent. He continues, “We are wizards, and witches and have supernatural abilities and they are quick to think the worst of us. They are quick to believe the raging bitter person making speeches against us online. Never giving us a chance but falling for the bitter person’s cons. And you, are doing that to, her.”
“No. She’s truly awful,” I snap, turning away abruptly to keep my ounce of credibility, but Dr. Apples’ response only deepens my sense of isolation.
“Noooo. You have a hunch.” he counters, his denial a wall I can’t seem to break through.
“I-I can’t explain it. It’s more than a hunch. I-I just don’t get -what does she have over you?”
“You need to be as caringFrustrated, I ask, “How can I prove it to you then? What do I need to show you that she is evil?”
“There is no evidence that she’s who you claim she is. I’m not turning on someone who raised me, especially when the world holds such harsh judgments of her.”
“But they are right! What do you need? How can I prove it?” My voice cracks, frustration rising, and I turn away, unable to face his dismissive gaze any longer.
“That’s not fair. It’s not right, and I won’t turn on her,” he states calmly, his tone patronizing, which makes my voice whimper. I hadn’t even realized I had crossed my arms in frustration.
Doc looks at me with a tinge of disappointment, “You should stay in the library,” he suggests gently, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder, his touch conveying a plea for understanding mingled with the gravity of his directive.
“What? But—” My eyes grow glossy and hotter.
He speaks slower, “Go record some more visions. Ensure he’s not sending more signals to report that his security has been breached. Stay in the library until I can effectively clear and then protect the neighborhood!”
Again, with a snap of Dr. Apples’ fingers, the void collapses, yanks me forward like an ocean tide returning to the sea. The gray void gives way to the familiar surroundings of the library. This time, I land hard in the chair. The abrupt shift from the in-between’s weightlessness to the library’s grounding presence disorients me. I find myself back in the chair, the grimoire open, pencil in hand—my makeshift prison and sanctuary.
“Stay in the house,” Dr. Apples’ parting words carry a weight of unspoken fears as the portal seals and vanishes before me. His instructions resonate, a persistent reminder of my confined role in this escalating conflict. Despite the isolation, my mind races, plotting, refusing to be restrained by fear or limitations.
As the library grows quieter, my restlessness morphs into deep, unsettling concern. Dr. Apples’ final words reverberate through the room, a protective mandate that feels more like an enchantment of confinement. The question unsettles me, igniting a defiant desire to break from my imposed stillness.
My gaze drops to the intricate patterns on the rug beneath my feet, the designs now appearing as a map of the very dilemmas we confront. It dawns on me—while he battles to shield us, there’s no one ensuring his safety. Our protector, our steadfast defender against the dark, might be walking into a trap, with no one to rescue him.
This realization propels me into action. I cannot sit idle, ensnared in a web of inactivity, while uncertainty looms over his every move. Approaching the window, I press my hand against the cold glass, peering into the darkness that shrouds his residence. The night is silent, eerily so, and in this quiet, my decision solidifies.
Turning from the window, I move with renewed intent. I gather what I need. Each item I place on the table—a candle, a crystal, and a small, worn book of protection spells—feels like a step towards becoming the guardian Doc needs. My fingers brush against the book’s cover, tracing the ancient symbols carved into its surface, each one a testament to the power I wield and the duty that now beckons to me.
With the candle’s flame casting a weak glow in the dim library, each motion I make is calculated. This moment of realization, that I might need to safeguard Dr. Apples as he has always shielded us, imbues me with a mix of resolve and trepidation. Emotional turmoil swirls within me—a concoction of fear, anticipation, and an unwavering commitment to my duty. How can I, still exploring the extent of my own powers, step into the role of protector? The question lingers, potent as the scent of the melting wax.
Then, as if to answer my unspoken question, the candle flickers violently, casting shadows that dance across the walls with an urgency that seems like a premonition. The shadows stretch and contort, forming shapes that elude my comprehension, yet the message is unmistakable: the threat is closer than I can imagine, and time is running out.