Note:
some of the events where the title character talks about his dream sequences
are
what I call ‘flash forwards’ as opposed to flashbacks;
his
future adult incarnation from story arcs in X-Force and the New Warriors
"Child's'
Play story line, or possibly other back issues. If I stray from Marvel
continuity,
now
you know why <grin> Written in response to a story challenge
posted
on
CFAN’s Orphan Ideas board. A sort of what-if back history for the character.
“Vortex” by Karen
Jeremy Stevens crept down the stairs on slippered feet, the soft whoosh
of fabric rubbing
against carpet as an accompaniment to his movement, like sandpaper.
His inner alarm clock
woke him up without having to rely on a clock radio. His mother
called it 'mental static or
bio-rthyms some people just seemed to have;. which meant he didn't
any electronic gadgets
in his room. After only a few hours they had a tendency to
short out. He knew
other kids who begged for cutting edge video games, and once they
got their way, brought them to
school. Jeremy had tried the games and found they presented
little challenge once he mastered
all the levels. In a corner of his mind there was something
to the nuances of games that appealed
to him, but he still didn't 'fit in.'
Electric shorts or not, he didn't have a clue what caused the problem.
All the speciality doctors
his parents
had taken him to see, couldn't explain it either. It didn't
matter what 'they' thought
because
there was nothing anyone could do.
He made
it halfway down, when he heard angry voices coming from the kitchen.
He stopped,
frozen
like a rabbit caught in a moving vehicle's headlights.
“You're overreacting, hon,” Howard Stevens absently replied, scanning the
newspaper
headlines that were spread open on the kitchen, but for the words just
kept blurring
together. He reached up a hand and adjusted his glasses. They were
a bit smudged,
so he took the handkerchief from his vest pocket. Then went over
to the kitchen
sink, getting ready to clean them, when the the motion was halted a few
inches away.
“You’re in denial,” Gail Stevens shouted, slamming the coffee mug down
on
the
table, its contents sloshing all over the newspaper, staining the
Fairhaven
Chronicle
brown, turning the newsprint a soft beige, she glanced down at the
mess,
a line of disapproval forming along her forehead, then shoved a napkin
at
her
husband, who absently cleaned up the mess.
“I am not,” Howard Stevens countered, absently poking around a straw in
the
dairy
creamer before he poured it into his cup. He reached across the expanse
of the
table and awkwardly patted her hand. Trying to comfort her,
he knew that trying to
keep the house and deal with their son's declining illness was taking its
toll on her.
However, he'd never been the emotive type, so he didn't know what to say.
His
own gut felt like it was on fire with helpless fury, mostly because
he
couldn't make the boy's pain go away, or offer
a
word of understanding and make everything better.
"You know I'm not trying to be judgmental, or second guess you,," Gail
trailed off, I would just like to know what you talk about in those late
night meetings."
Mr. Stevens stood up and went over to the countertop where he kept
a hanging file to store documents. He had been intending to mention
something
about an organization called "The Right" but their work schedules simply
didn't allow
for it. Or, he just didn't want to admit that Bolivar Trask or
his too smooth, too smart aide, Cameron Hodge were on the level about the
threat posed by 'mutants.
"Gail, I wanted to protect you both from these modern day witch hunters.
And, before you ask, no, I'm not trying to be theatrical or paranoid
about
this. I've only gone to a couple of The Right's gatherings, and I've heard
Trask go on about this stuff."
"So, is he just full of hot air, or does he really believe that mutants
pose a threat that they're taking seriously?"
"According to this," Howard began, thumbing through the sheaf of papers
he'd taken out the folder, "Trask believes that although the statistics
at the moment show that the number of these mutants are pretty sparse,
the threshold is holding at two perecent, and could go up within
the
next five to ten years."
"Would it make any difference if we did register Jeremy with the mutant
control agency?" Gail asked softly.
"What if our son, is one of these 'mutants?" Gail asked.
"Hon, there's no stigma attached to success or to being smarter
or faster in order to get ahead," Howard replied.
"Hmmph, I don't give a damn about statistics or threats,
I just want to know how that has anything to do with us, or with
getting Jeremy the kind of help he needs! Howard, the Right
can't help him, from what you've told me; they'd rather lock
up all these so-called mutants, and throw away the key."
Gail, often thought, late at night, that maybe she had done
something wrong during the pregnancy, or, when she was feeling less helpless
about Jeremy's rapidly declining condition, that some misguided but
well intentioned guardian angel had visited Jeremy in the cradle and
changed him somehow. It suddenly occurred that if that were the case,
then the 'gift" might be more of a curse than a blessing.
***
On the other side of the kitchen door, Jeremy instinctively know,
that some young children sometimes do, that he was 'different,
but he wondered why the word 'mutant, a single word couldn't quite
sum up the topsy-tury emotions that surged through him.
A sudden spasm swept over him, and he twitched like a puppet with
it
strings cut, and he toppled the floor. In the instant before
he
succumbed to the blackness of unconsciousness, the last thing he
heard
was, "I think we all need a change of pace. Lord only knows
we
could use one."
Jeremy heard the lap of the waves and the thrum of the motor, as their
boat flowed thorough the lake like it was born there.
He threw his head back and laughed as the spray hit his upturned face,
dark hair whipped into tangles by the wind, a dark curtain framing
his face.
He kept any extraneous thoughts from his mind; his parent's arguments,
their
constant worry, that his condition made him ‘different’, that he
was some kind of
'freak,' because he was a mutant. He just wanted to let it all go, and
just let things be.
He let a inner silence gather for a long time,,, when a shadow flowed over
his
mind, reaching, drawing him into its whirlpool. It passed like the
shadow of dark
wings across the moon...when the feeling passed, he woke to find his mother
shaking him, and shaking him.
<He knew that most people were afraid of being alone. With the constant
mental
chatter that sometimes overwhelmed him, and resulted in his seizures, the
voices
in is head were always there, it was like having a captive audience and
performer
all rolled into one. He wondered what was so terribly frightening about
being
alone in one's own mind.
"It's probably a lot more peaceful," Jeremy coughed and spluttering, like
a drowning victim rescued at the last minute.
"Jeremy, Jeremy, hon, wake up..."
At this point, Mr, Stevens was less concerned what people would think of
him,
then with getting his son the treatment he needed, as fast as possible.
Jeremy tried to stay awake during the drive, to admire the view of the
pine trees
that lined the road on both sides, and the grey ribbon of road that flashed
beneath
the car's wheels, but fell asleep and didn't wake up until the pulled into
a
parking spot outside the Institute's main building. In front there
was a sign
posted on a placard in the meticulously tended lawn that read Welcome
to the
Weisman Institute, for the treatment of mental and physical disorders.
We’re here to help.
“It looks promising, Howard,” Gail whispered.
Jeremy unbuckled his seat belt and unlocked the passenger side door.
and got out to look around.
They were greeted at the door by two male orderlies in white, that to Gail
looked like
they worked night jobs as wrestlers, their arms were corded thick with
muscle, one
wheeling a metal gurney around down the steps, the other waiting in the
foyer with
a wheelchair.
"Is that really necessary," Jeremy asked, indicating the wheelchair.
Howard turned, and lifted one eyebrow, “Promising?” he muttered and
went inside, Gail and Jeremy following along in his wake.
"It's probably for another patient, Jeremy. Don't worry about it," Gail replied.
******
They came to an office with white panelled walls and an off-white carpet
that ran the
length of the room. The pile of the carpet was either very old or intentionally
made to muffle the sound of feet trodding on it; for neither the orderlies
boots
nor their shoes produced any sound from it.
They were given forms with a pen attached to a clipboard and instructed
to fill them out.
"Dr. Frost will be with you in a moment. Please wait here," one of the
orderlies
instructed, then went down an adjoining hallway.
Jeremy sat down in one of the overstuffed couches and idly flipped through
the magazines that had been neatly tucked into their holders in a magazine
rack. But all were psychological and medical
journals, which translated into dull and boring, so he set them aside.
“Good evening,” a woman's soft voice woke Jeremy up. “You must be the
Stevens, allow me to introduce myself, I’m Dr. Cordelia Frost, the director
of
the Weisman Institute.
Jeremy looked up to see in a blond woman dressed in a white lab coat with
a vest pocket and glasses. In one pocket of her white coat she wore
a pager
which went off then with a jarring tone that broke the uncomfortable silence.
She glided over to his parents, and extended a hand for
them to shake. For some reason he couldn't figure out, but they seemed
reluctant
to make eye contact with the doctor. A moment later, his mother determined
to
not to show fear for her boy, maternal instincts took over and she rallied
to take
the other woman's and firmly shake it. His father gently nudged
her aside, only to
repeat the gesture. With that done, Dr. Frost pivoted on her heels and
ushered
them into her office.
“Please, call me Cordelia, it would make this first session go more smoothly,"
Feel free to say whatever comes to mind. Don't worry if it makes any sense
or not, or about saying 'the right thing" Dr. Frost said, noting with clinical
detachment the way Mr. Stevens flinched at the mention of the word 'the
right,', then using a pen from her vest pocket, she made a note on yellow
pad from her desk.
“It’s okay, son, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,
“
Mr. Stevens said, reaching over to pat him on the back.
“No, Dad,...I think I need to,,” Jeremy hesitated, then doubled over as
dry cough
sputtered out of him. When it passed, and he felt stronger and able to
continue
speaking.
“Dr. Frost, we've taken our son to every specialist doctor," Gail
began...
and began shuffling through the papers she pulled from a folder.
He's had seizures, sometimes with rather alarming frequency. Sometimes
several
times a day. There are times when he, just 'goes away.'
From the what the doctors have told us and the brain scans; all I can
understand is that he's got some sort of chemical misfiring, and there's
not
a damn thing anyone can do about it."
"Exactly, the prescription medications aren't helping either. All
they're doing
right now is stave off the frequency of the seizure attacks, Frankly,
Dr. Frost
we're at our wit's end. We did try a change of scenery. I thought
that might
provide a break from his usual routine. And he was enjoying himself,
just like
any kid his age. Then right when were coming into shore, he had another
bad session. That's what sort of clinched our decision to come here,"
Howard said.
“From your description, your son may have a fairly rare disorder
in which certain
areas of the brain become hyper stimulated, flooding the brain with errant
signals that
are caused by the release of an intense burst of electrical energy and
flows throughout
the nervous system causing everything from seizures to blackouts.“ Dr,
Cordelia Frost remarked.
In the back of his mind, his subconscious, he figured she’d call it, he
absently noted
that she had pulled out a tape recorder and had begun recording. <I’m
not crazy,
no matter what that lady says,>
"At
this point, I think we need to hear from Jeremy,” Cordelia added.
No one here will be judgmental. I just want to find out what the symptoms
are
so we will be able to extrapolate and find the proper treatment to help
him."
“I’ve had terrible dreams,” Jeremy interrupted softly, his breath catching
in his
throat. He brought his hands up to temples and massaged them in a
vain attempt to
soothe a lingering headache that started there and managed to move around
his
head like a snake wrapping its coils around his mind.
Jeremy felt he was suddenly in two places at once, or that split into
two observers, both watching through his eyes. One part of him wanted
to tell his father that it was 'all right', the other was reeling from
both mental static/chatter that had been quiet ever since they
returned from the boating trip. It had resumed at full volume the
moment he entered Dr. Frost's office. He felt a wave of seizures
sweep over him. He tried to remain upright, but he failed.
From the perspective of the unattached, emotionless observer
he saw himself as an adult, wearing a stark brown tunic, and
some kind of headgear that covered the left side of his bald head.
“It’s gotten so bad that I think the dreams are more real, than what's
going on when I’m awake. First thing, I don't even have a body,”
Jeremy paused,
and glanced down at himself, he was what they called slight, his
twelve year old
frame was lanky, tall for his age and thin. Too thin his mother often said.
But
already showing the promise of filling out. His fingers were those
of a piano
player, long and tapered, and he loved the sounds he produced from that
musical
instrument on the piano he’d been given for his last birthday, having learned
to
play after only a few lessons.
"I wish all those voices would shut up. Why won’t they leave me alone?
I don’t mind hearing them, but do they have talk at the same
time, day in and day out?> Then another feeling swept over him, this time
one
less pleasant, Why me? Why am I different from other kids? I just want
to be
‘normal,." Jeremy got out all in one breath, then succumbed to a
fit of
coughing.
“Please continue,” Cordelia softly asked, breaking his train of thought.
Mental static, definite manifestation of psionic talents, parents are probably
aware that their son is showing signs of exhibiting the mutant gene. How
ironic,
the gene nom seems rather capricious, randomly picking and discarding those
who
manifest it.>
"Like I said, I don’t have a body, well I kinda do, but its not mine, or
its an
older version of myself. In this place its like big ocean of minds, and
I’m constantly
struggling to swim upstream but the current keeps pulling me under.
The harder
I try to keep my head above water, I keep drowning in the ocean,”
Jeremy said.
“And then what happens,” Cordelia asked.
“Dad, what’s that thing when you know you’ve been somewhere before,
but it’s like super familiar that it has to be true?” Jeremy asked.
He turned to his father.
"Deja vu," Mr. Stevens replied.
"Are hallucinations common with this type of disorder, Dr. Frost?" Gail asked.
"Possibly, but there's no one type of condition that triggers seizures.
This is the common supposition, but that's not strictly true."
Jeremy felt a vague sensation of guilt about what ‘condition’ had
forced his parents
to go through, to sacrifice for him. ”I’ll get better, I promise."
Suddenly he felt foreign thoughts creeping into his mind, snuggling to
find a warm nest
and implant themselves. The thought was cold, and harsh, but a few
of what the doctor
called electrical shorts, cut off the his internal monitor.
In this hallucination, he had arms resting on some kind of inset computer
displays.
He floated through the mental static at a manageable level, liked he'd
slapped on a pair
of mental mufflers, while he listened to the mental chatter like some people
zoned out on music. Although the sensation at first was unsettling,
and at times painful, he discovered that it wasn't terribly frightening.
In fact
it was almost diverting and allowed himself to sink deeper into the skewed
reality
of the hallucinatory mindscape, bouncing from one mind to the next. always
living
vicariously through the thoughts of actions of others. A part of him, that
was still
Jeremy ignored the fact that this wasn't real, it was just his imagination
working
overtime from all the stress he'd been through lately.
He heard his adult self say:
'I apologize for the cheap theatrics, but it is only in this realm that
I can be as I truly
wish I were. Dominant, controlling, overpowering. It is really a
rather exhilarating
experience. I tend to revel in it. But listen to my ramblings,
its
is rather presumptuous
of me to be talking about such things, when the three of you, are in this
unfortunate situation."
"I am not responsible for your presence here, but I do arbitrate the game
played by
those who are. They compete against themselves in the name of greed and
conquest by
killing the targets of my choosing."
Two guesses actually. Any of the surviving members of the New Mutants
or Hellions
groups,. You have been captured as prizes in the treasure hunt, and so
you shall remain
until such time as you will be disposed of and the points for your deaths
appropriately
disbursed among the Upstarts."
Jeremy blinked and his eyes snapped open, unaware that he slipped
into one of
his trances. Disoriented he glanced around and saw his parent's worried
faces anxiously
peering down at him. He gasped and tried to respond to their anxious
questions asking
if he was all right. He noted the tell-tale annoyed furrow that crossed
his father's forehead
when he was out of patience with someone or something, and wondered if
he just
overheard those horrible last words from his hallucination, or if he uttered
them aloud.
He snapped out of his thoughts, when he turned his attention back to Dr.
Frost.
"Sometimes you're drowning out all the rage and thunder,.." Cordelia
softly remarked,
as she suddenly recalled that on a more personal level, she could empathize
with the
young man. But she chose not to reveal to anyone where she had picked
up the
saying. She knew that her sister, Emma, had no doubt experienced
similar obstacles
and 'mental static' when her psionic mutant abilities manifested themselves.
Note to Self: if treatment is successful remember to add this patient to
the list
of possible candidates for Emma's boarding school."
"I realize this will be difficult for you, all of you to accept, but from
what I've
heard
today, and from all the signs, Jeremy has every sign of manifesting
the
mutant
genome, often referred to as the X-factor," Cordelia softly remarked,
as she
thought, to try and soften the blow.
"We know that," Gail snapped, the question isn't there anything you can do about it?"
“How you can you be so, so, cold and clinical about this, Dr. Frost?”
Take a good look at this place! Your orderlies look nightclub bouncers.
Just what kind of loony bin do you run here?”
Howard demanded, half rising out of his leather padded chair, out of patience.
“Please calm down Mr. Stevens, I’ve seen that dealing in the past, dealing
with the
parents of children with systemic disorders, such as your son's;
it is best, for me
as the doctor, to remain detached from the emotional turmoil you
are
experiencing,” Cordelia replied.
"Emotional turmoil," Howard echoed, stunned.
"Yes, emotional turmoil, " Cordelia snapped. "Well, I have news,
some good,
some bad. Which do you want first?"
"Give it to us straight, Doctor," Gail smiled, but it wasn't reflected in her eyes.
"Give a moment, I need to look something up in one our medical references,
if
you could wait outside, I'll be right with you," Dr. Frost replied.
"Very well," Howard agreed, helping Jeremy to the door.
“Please believe me, Mr and Mrs. Stevens, when I say that I speak on behalf
of the entire Institute, that we have your son's best interests at heart.”
“Why do I get the feeling that there's a But...coming up,” Mrs. Stevens said.
“Your son has a condition that can only be treated here,” Cordelia said.
“He’s going to be instuitionlized like some crazy person?” Mrs. Stevens asked.
“It’s for his own good, and consider Jeremy's future well-being.”
“And if he doesn't get better?
Good
God! Are you telling us that you can't help him!” Gail shouted..
"There is another option," Dr. Frost replied.
" I didn't think we had any options left at this point," Gail said.
"Mr and Mr. Stevens, from what you've told me and what extensive research
discovered,
the two halves of the brain communicate with each other via the corpus
calloum."
"Which is?" Howard demanded.
"A thick band of fibres travelling between the left and right hemispheres.
In order to
alleviate and perhaps even prevent further seizures in the long run, I
would recommend
that the half of Jeremy's brain, that triggers them, be removed, " Cordelia
explained.
"If you remove one side of his brain, will he still be our Jeremy?" Gail whispered.
"In essence, you can have your son the way he is now, but without the seizures,"
Cordelia smiled.
Howard turned to Jeremy, "Is this what you want?" Still a little
groggy but lucid,
Jeremy nodded, his mind made up.
"Agreed," Mr. Stevens replied, shaking the doctor's hand.
"Will you be performing the surgery yourself, Dr. Frost, " Mrs. Stevens
asked, "And if
so, what sort of release forms and information will we need to sign before
we go
through with this?"
"I can't say for sure, if I will be performing the surgery, that decision
is made by our
board of directors, but Jeremy will be in very capable hands, but
I will put in
my request, and it actually might be best if we give you some breathing
room,
say a few weeks before anything happens," Dr Frost replied.
"Will he be okay until then?" Gail asked.
"He'll be fine, in the meantime, while we work on the getting the paperwork,
why don't you take him home for a couple of weeks, get him situated, and
start
thinking what he'll need in the way of clothing for before and after the
surgery.
as mentioned, everyone will need a little breather after this. The
best thing of course,
would be to get some rest," Dr Frost smiled.
"Thank you, Doctor," Howard Stevens, stiffly said, echoed a few seconds by his wife.
"No, thank you, " Cordelia replied, as she stood up and escorted them to
the
door of her office. "I promise you, we'll do everything we can to
help Jeremy."