multifariam.net

Franklin impatiently checked his watch. Ordinarily, waiting on a train platform in Manchester offers few amusements. Franklin smiled. The door-to-door salesman in the corner wondered how people lived without their own copy of Encyclopedia Britannica. A street performer who only knew one chord debated the existence of orange blueberries. “What A drugged out lunatic.” A woman, sitting on a bench, turned to thoughts of her fiancée. That was interesting. Slowly, innocently, the woman began to remember slights, hurts, arguments long laid to rest. Kisses in the dark, notes and gifts of love, professions, and then the thoughts slowed. The train arrived, and Franklin boarded. He enjoyed love stories, although he envied their players. The conductor walked through the cabin, asked for Franklin’s ticket, but thought better of it and moved on. Without turning, Franklin scanned the paper headlines of the man behind him. Satisfied, he settled into a short nap, after making sure a student would think to wake him when the train reached Paris. Franklin was a telepath. In fact, he was the only telepath on Earth, or so he was certain.

 

“ Bitch!” Cari was surprised by the force of the blow. She crumpled to the ground, panting for breath and sweating from her unusually heavy dose of Ecstasy. “c’mon, Cari, think, think, open up….” She thought to herself. Shaking her mind free from the drug-induced heaviness, she began to touch his mind. He – whoever he was, she didn’t remember – crumpled to the ground unconscious, bleeding from his eyes, ears, and nose. Piter, entering a few minutes later, surveyed the scene, upset but not surprised. Sighing, he assisted Cari with her injuries. She laid in her bed, not listening to her agent’s lectures on her lifestyle. She was a big enough girl to take care of herself. The London Music Festival sounded promising. She was good. She had a good CD sample. She lit a cigarette. She was telepathic, and that was very helpful in negotiations.

 

Franklin loved meetings. Not in the way most low-level managers or non-essential personnel do, of course. Franklin was there for the thoughts. When everyone is bored and daydreaming, the telepath can gather very interesting and exciting information. They can also get free trips into nice places. Today was no exception, and he knew is job well.

“We need to optimize our resources across the board, not just in concentrations…” droned the manager.

“Donuts”, thought William.

“Coffee”, thought Calvin.

“Toilet…” thought Dan.

“Interesting idea…” thought Bob.

But Franklin didn’t care about the surface thoughts. He sifted through his co-worker’s underlying thoughts, putting together his cohesive picture of the local political climate. Office romances were his specialty interest, but nothing that exciting existed in the meeting.

“ …which is why we need an experienced negotiator in London. Franklin, are you free?” The boss asked.

Of course he was.

He could have laughed at his innocent and confused co-workers, who truly didn’t understand why Franklin always seemed to be in the right place at the right time.

 

Through the early morning, Franklin walked to the station. The suburbs were not quite awake. He began to pass a playground. He stopped, and walked through. Telepath signatures remain long after the people leave. Twirling, he felt the events of a day previous. The thoughts were gone, but emotions remained. Joy was tempered with pain. Lives begun in fear and anxiety from aggressors. He shook his head, and moved on.

 

Cari checked the time. Early morning, and Piter would be waiting soon. Regretfully, she looked about the shell of a building, still incomplete. It would be finished soon, though, and one more retreat would be lost to the unending parade of thoughts surrounding her. When the bustle outside pushed too hard in her mind, she looked for an empty site, to sit and think, and write. When surrounded by the feelings of others, how can you tell which feelings are yours? Sadly, few places in Amsterdam provide solitude.

 

As usual, Piter was already waiting in her sitting room. She greeted him as she entered.

 

“ How’s the weather in London?”

“ Rainy. All right, everything is set. I’ve got friends who’ll let you stay with them. They’ll forward all your calls. Here’s the contact information…”

Cari accepted the manila envelope.

“ This is it… I’m getting this record out.”

Piter paused.“ Why don’t you want me to negotiate? Sometimes, I don’t understand you…”

Cari only laughed. “ See you next week…”

Moving out, a small pouch fell out of her pocket. Before she could retrieve it, Piter picked it up, placed it in his desk, shaking a silent“ no”. Cari glared at him, then left.

 

As she approached the London station, Cari’s excitement built. Every city has a unique telepathic signature. She began to sense, and frowned. There was something she had never felt before. She probed deeper.

 

Franklin was exhausted. The customer had a strong will, and he almost resisted the telepathic pushes. Some “ mundanes” have a mental order or discipline that makes them very difficult to penetrate. He sighed, and choked slightly. “What the hell is that?”

He frowned. It seemed to be coming from the train. The doors opened.

 

It had to be him.

It had to be her.

 

Sometimes, the world takes off its coat and dusts it off, then puts it back on, but backwards.

 

Although neither Cari nor Franklin had ever realized that other telepaths existed, each recognized the other instantly. For moments, they stood, stunned, together on the platform. Then, slowly, horribly, terribly quickly, they each read into the other’s mind. Almost instantly, their blocks went up, but too late. Their silence continued. When you stand before someone who has just stripped you naked, and stolen your entire sense of uniqueness and self-worth, what is there to say, but, “I hate you”?

 

Franklin, dazed, raced through the last few seconds. He had felt her distaste and disgust grow, the bitch. She was a wasted-out slut who fancied herself an artist. “No… what am I saying? As if I am any better.” He felt sick. “I’m alone. I’m surrounded by people I can understand, but who can’t understand me in return. I don’t even have a real friend. Neither does she.” A memory from her mind reappeared in his head. She really was a first-rate artist. He decided to speak.

 

Cari clenched and unclenched her fists. She felt ashamed, but felt angry, even more. In their brief contact, she felt his scorn, the self-righteous prick. He was a detestable mental peeping tom, and he scorned her? At least she was a creator, an inspired and successful artist. He was just a middleman and a mental thief. But she couldn’t leave. Then he spoke.

 

“You’re a fantastic writer. Your music really is good.”

“Er, what? Ah… thank you…”

 

Artists, especially musicians, have a massive soft spot: their ego. Tell them they’re great, and they melt. Cari was no exception. However, having a fan rip a song out of your head is a damper on any praise. Her anger swelled again.

 

“Just what the hell do you want, anyway?” she snapped.

“Do you know… any others like-- like us?”

 

Telepathy is the inverse of solitary confinement, but the effect can be similar. Telepaths are consigned to a lonely life, since it is near impossible for them to form strong friendships with mundanes. No matter how many people are around, telepaths can’t confide in ordinary people the trials and pains that go with telepathy.

 

Despite her mistrust and spite, Cari couldn’t let this go.

 

Over the next week, the two telepaths spent a lot of time together.

“ Franklin! They’ll distribute my record!”

“ Fantastic. Does that mean you’ll stay for a while? I’ve got some vacation and…”

Cari cut him off. “ No, silly. I’m heading back to Amsterdam. We’re looking for others, remember? I’m going on a walking tour of Europe.”

His heart sank.

“ Oh. I – I thought we might go, ah, together…”

She paused, and contemplated this. He had warmed on her, in a way. But he still was Franklin, and she could not bring herself to like him. “ no, no… we have too different styles. Look, we’ll keep in contact. I’ll travel while you research. It is the perfect combination.”

“ Ah… of course.” Was all the reply he managed out loud.

“Don’t try to lie to me. You know you can’t. Just say what you mean.”

Cari blushed, but gave no answer.

 

Cari, distributor in tow, returned to Amsterdam. They both promised to call and visit, but never did. Cari began her walking tour of Europe, hoping to find a telepathic friend she could respect. She disappeared.

 

Franklin took a leave-of-absence from his job to begin his own search. First, he searched his immediate family for telepaths. When nothing turned up, he researched his family history. The tale-tale signs were terrible relationship trails, extremely unusual luck, and infamous persuasiveness. Painstakingly, he gathered data and created results. He uncovered a complete picture. Telepathy was, in fact, genetic. It generally manifested itself shortly after the onset of puberty, although some people may have been born telepathically active. Franklin began to follow trails of relatives outwards. He hoped to find some sort of common thread, allowing him to trace telepathic origins, allowing him to find yet others.

 

It’d been a long week, but fruitful. Franklin glanced at his clock, and groaned.

Knock. Knock.

His mind sprang to life. Looking out, he felt carefully with his mind… and leapt out of his chair to throw open the door.

“ Franklin… been a while.”
“ Two years,” he responded, quietly. He motioned her in.

For a while, there was an awkward silence. Then she asked how Franklin was doing with research. She herself had promising leads. So the night wore on, comparing notes, leads, and theories. And the night wore on.

 

Touch and proximity increase telepathic power. When telepaths sleep together, they dream together.

 

Early the next morning, Cari slipped out of the bed, crept into the closet and cried. Nothing was the same. Love and hate blended into one. All this time, she had felt confident in her moral superiority. Yet, who had changed? “ Certainly not me”, Cari reflected bitterly. Yet Franklin was unmistakably… different. “Why?” Soul in turmoil, she slipped back but slept fitfully.

 

Cari sat, back to the door. She kept one eye on the living room mirror. Quickly, skillfully, she slipped the paper onto the table, packed in the hash, and added some white powder from a small pouch. She started, and palmed the joint; too late. Franklin gently took the joint, throwing it in the trash as Cari dropped her head.

“You said, ‘ no more.’”

“I know, yeah. But I haven’t…I thought…”

“Why don’t you just ask me?”

“Ask what?”
“How to let it go.”

There was no answer.

“You’re going to leave again, aren’t you?”

Silence. Franklin stood for a moment. He nodded, and kissed her forehead. He knew he wouldn’t see her again.

 

Franklin took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. Cari was with him for so long… but she was gone. Off to explore Russia, Ukraine, Turkey, India… and who knew where else. “Were we in love?” He just didn’t know. She never said, and would not answer the question. They had agreed not to pry into each other’s deeper thoughts. All she admitted is she didn’t despise him anymore. Well, it was a start. He slipped into bed. And felt for the mind that was not there. He slept fitfully, but didn’t know why.

 

Eight years passed this way. Then he received a phone call.

“Hello?”

“Franklin, this is Piter. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

“What?”

“She’s OD’d. And it looks like a suicide attempt. They pumped her stomach, but there’s concern over her body’s overreaction to withdrawal. I think she’d like to see you.”

Piter looked sorrowfully on Cari.

“I told you to take care of yourself…”

Cari only smiled thinly.

 

Franklin ran down the hospital hall past surprised and sometimes horrified nurses. Piter sat outside the door, head in hands. When he saw Franklin, he only shook his head. Franklin went in, anyway.

“Cari.”

Nothing.

“Cari!”

Nothing.

“Cari, don’t do this to me!”

Franklin’s voice broke. One last time.

“Cari.”

“Franklin…”

“Cari I…:”

“No, let me… I love you, I didn’t know. It was foolish…”
“You’re going to be OK, Cari… I promise…”
“You can’t promise that. But please, there is someone…”

Images began to flood into Franklin’s head. A child… his child!

“Oh, dear God, Cari, I didn’t know we had a son! I…”

“I think he’s got the talent, Franklin. Please, take care of him, I knew I couldn’t… Goodbye, Franklin… I… missed you…”

“Cari!”

Down, down, the mind drained away, a whirlpool of consciousness, sweeping him down. Fighting, he struggled out, pushing. In a flash, it was over and he was standing alone in a room. The activity monitor quietly intoned the obvious.

For the first time in decades, Franklin cried. Once again, he was alone… but not quite.

 

 

 

 

With heart beating in throat, Franklin approached the orphanage. At the front desk, a young secretary greeted him pleasantly.

 

“ May I help you, sir?”

Swallowing, he placed the papers on the desk.

 

“Yessir, that’s him, Vand.” Replied the director. He pointed across the playground.

Franklin squinted at a figure, sitting, staring out, alone.

“Alone by the tree?”

“Yes, he seems to prefer to be alone…”

“Thank you…”

The director smiled slightly, then returned to his office.

 

Franklin stood for several minutes. The figure before him seemed so familiar. The stare, the feeling, he knew so well, the sense of being alone in a sea of people. He blanked his mind, carefully, but the small figure sensed something strange, but looked away before Franklin could lock his gaze. Finally, Franklin steeled himself.

 

“Vand.”

Vand looked up, stunned. He glanced over to Franklin, and this time locked eyes.

“You… can…”

“Yes, and so did Cari – your mom. I am a close… friend of your mother’s. I’m here for-- to take care of you, now.”

“My mom, is she here too?” Franklin nearly cried at the hope in the young silent voice. Vand sensed this.

“What’s wrong with mom?”

“She-- I’m sorry, so sorry…” Images of her last bedside came involuntarily to Franklin’s mind.

Vand broke into sobs. Franklin strode towards him, sat and embraced his son.

 

In the playground, two telepaths found peace.