Psycher Chronicles: Chapter 1 Therapy (Patreon)

<<<< Author's Note: Good evening everyone, last time I started a new project, I was asked to wait until the first five chapters were completed before posting. I have heard and followed your advice. With that, I would like to present to you the first of five consecutive posts to be released today.

Also attached is the proposed cover for this story.

Hope you enjoy it, and as always, thank you for reading. >>>>

Chapter 1

Therapy

“Good morning, Misha, do you know why you are here?” The well-dressed therapist, Dr. Grier, asks the girl wearing self-modified black gloves that have bands of copper wiring strung throughout, and wearing what appears to be a black bike helmet with a pair of modified black shades.

“I do, you are here to test my competency and to ensure that I am not a threat to myself or others.” The girl, Misha says, looking around the room as if she is in a self-created virtual reality game, even though it is clear the equipment she is wearing offers no such connectivity.

“Yes, that and we are also here to ask you about what you found at your grandmother’s house.” Dr. Grier states cautiously, clearly not wanting to delve too deep into a topic that might be too much for most kids to handle.

“Oh, you mean the ghosts?” Misha asks.

“Yes, well not the ghosts, but the various bodies that were there as well.” Dr. Grier begins, but then pauses as she wonders how to continue the conversation.

The girl for her part seems completely unfazed by the situation, part of the therapist’s thoughts is that this is what one would expect from a typical seven-year-old that such concepts like life and death would be beyond their typical understanding. Yet, Dr. Grier thinks there might be more to this little girl who most might dismiss as cooky, but to Dr. Grier’s eyes, the girl is clearly quite intelligent, if a bit eccentric.

“Did you know about the bodies before you found them?” Dr. Grier asked, trying to seem casual but inwardly feeling that the question was more forced than expected.

“No, how could I. Grandpa forbid us from ever seeing him, especially after I tried to tell mother that he had fresh blood on his shoes that came from a girl.”

Gasp.

The mother who had been part of this session suddenly clasped her hands over her mouth in astonishment, as she just seemed to realize the truth of the words.

Tears.

The mother was instantly crying, covering her mouth with her hands. The whole event of finally being able to go over and visit grandmother, then their daughter going missing only to find her talking to the open air in their grandmother’s backyard, then to finally find that no less than ten bodies, and counting were found.

“Yes, that’s right. You did. I am so sorry pumpkin.” The mother said, as she ran over to hug her daughter who seemed completely unaffected by the sudden contact or the emotional reaction from her mother.

After a moment, the therapist cut in, trying to save the moment and grab onto as many details as possible before the mother became an incoherent mess.

“I’m sorry, when was this incident?” Dr. Grier asked.

“This was, gods, I don’t when. Three, maybe four years ago. The last time we were allowed to visit my grandparents, that is when she had that weird conversation with grandpa. She had snuck into his room and found his gardening boots. Oh, gods, did she? Could I have stopped?” At that point the mother, Andrea, began to break down into an inconsolable mess.

The doctor saw all the signs of grief on her face. The family had gone through a lot, as they had recently gone through the death of their grandfather, the subsequent reacceptance back into the grandmother’s life, then finally the finding of an apparent murder graveyard by the estranged grandfather. From what it sounded like, the grandmother was not having a good time of it either, though from all accounts she seemed to be the naïve housewife.

Finally, after a few minutes, Dr. Grier began asking the odd girl some more questions.

“What made you think that the dirt you saw on your grandfather’s boots was blood?” Dr. Grier asked.

Misha just paused, whatever odd dance she was doing with her hands and turned her full helmet covered face toward the doctor before answering.

“Well, it was clearly blood, as blood has a certain energy to it. Then his overreaction and dismissal from his house and the barring of us ever returning should have also been an indication that things weren’t exactly perfect there.” Misha said.

“Right but I just thought that” Adrea, the mother, began but found the words getting caught in her throat, so she stopped her response.

“You thought that he, like father, thought I was a freak and thus decided to leave us the same way he did. I get it.” Misha said, again her voice showing no true sign of emotion, as most children, especially little girls would have at the thought of their father leaving.

“You seem awfully brave.” Dr. Grier stated.

With that, the little girl just shrugged, before going back to her own world of moving her gloved hands and interacting with seemingly nothing.

“Can I ask what you are doing?” Dr. Grier asked.

“Practicing.”

“Practicing what?” Dr. Grier asked.

At that the mother took a deep breath, as if in preparation for a subject that she knew would come, while also being somewhat embarrassed by the response.

The girl, being somehow very perceptive of her surroundings despite her young age just looked to her mother, then answered innocuously, “life.”

With that the mother let out a deep sigh of relief. Almost imperceptibly, her daughter lowered her shoulders just slightly at that reaction. It was clear that Misha had altered her answer to make her mother feel more comfortable. Given that there was an active murder investigation, and that Dr. Grier had been tasked with trying to find out everything she could about what the little girl saw, and how she identified the Shenandoah Killer, as the police called him. That is when Dr. Grier came up with a plan.

“Would it be okay if I asked your daughter a few questions in private?” Dr. Grier asked.

Andrea hearing this looked like she wanted to protest, but then she realized how it would look if she refused. Thus, she reluctantly paused.

“Don’t worry, I will have a separate session with you right afterwards as well.” Dr. Grier said.

With that Andrea nodded her head, before shakily getting up to her feet. “All right. Pumpkin, I will be just outside getting a soda. Would you like one?”

Hearing that the girl just shook her head, “water please.”

“Right.” Andrea said, mentally chastising herself for forgetting that her daughter was on a health kick. Or was it really a kick if it happened for a few years now?

Click.

The door closed behind the mother. All the while, Dr. Grier watched for any signs of a reaction from the little girl. Who for her part just kept moving her hands around in a rhythmic motion, that the doctor would almost swear was dancing, but there was no music being played.

“Can I ask what you are doing?” Dr. Grier asked.

With that the girl paused, then turned to Dr. Grier. Pausing she asked, “do you want to know for yourself, or as a doctor?”

Hearing that, Dr. Grier wanted to answer immediately, but something caused her to pause. There was a weight to her words. Even at seven this girl had a commanding presence, an almost aura to her that was nearly impossible to describe. Pausing, Dr. Grier weighed the response, then truthfully said. “For myself honestly, you are a remarkable young girl who has been through a lot.”

Nodding her head, the girl made a quick gesture with her hands.

Click.

There was the slight sound of something clicking in the distance, just when Dr. Grier was about to look, the girl answered. “I haven’t been through a lot, those that were killed have.”

Dr. Grier momentarily caught off guard by the statement, looked from her stand that held a hidden camera, the source where she swore, she heard the clicking come from. Then she turned back to the girl and began asking the questions that came to her.

“How do you know?”

“They told me.”

“The ghosts?”

“Yes, that’s why they stay. They felt anger and betrayal. Then worse, they wanted others to know. And of course, to stop any future murders.” Misha said, once again going back to her semi-rhythmic dancing.

“Did your mother tell you about them?”

“How would she know, we were cut off from them for four years, until grandpa had a heart attack.”

Hearing that Dr. Grier nodded her head.

“You are certain that there has been no contact between your grandparents and your mother until recently?”

“More so than you are certain about your husband not seeing his work colleague. He is by the way.”

Dr. Grier paused, feeling like she had been punched in the face and the gut simultaneously. “I’m sorry what?”

“You are correct, your husband is cheating on you with his work colleague, but not the one you think. It is the other one from shipping.” Misha says.

Hearing this, so many emotions swelled up within Dr. Grier that she didn’t know where to begin. First, this kid was spooky. The way she knew things, like how could anyone expect her husband of an affair, let alone a seven-year-old kid. There were also details that no one should be privy too, as there were two girls that Dr. Grier had originally expected, but she quickly ruled out the girl from shipping as, well honestly Dr. Grier couldn’t tell you why she ruled her out. Other than possibly the biased thinking that her husband would be going down for the hot receptionist in shipping, versus punching up for his co-worker.

Shaking her head, Dr. Grier didn’t want to get into that part of her life, not now, not ever. It had been something she had accepted, but now she had to wonder, but that would come later. Much later, after a long hot soak, and possibly a glass or two of wine. For now, she had this girl that clearly was coming up with odd coping mechanisms, but why would she need such advanced coping mechanisms at her age? What had she been subjected to, that made her this way?

“Thank you for that, though I think we should talk more about yourself. Can I ask what you are doing?” Dr. Grier asked.

“I am practicing my technic-codas.”

“A techni-whata?”

“Technic-coda, movements to better integrate with technology.” The girl said.

“Right, and where did you learn this? Did you see it on television? A particular show?” Dr. Grier asked.

“No, that stuff will rot your brain.” The girl said, adamantly believing her statement.

“You know that isn’t true, right? That Television will rot your brain? That is just a myth.” Dr. Grier said, trying to help the child at least get over this misconception that she had undoubtedly been told.

Shaking her head, the girl replied, “no, it does rot your brain. At least the part of the cerebral cortex responsible for deeper cognitive processing.”

Not wanting to get into an argument with the girl who was showing signs of being agitated about her view on watching television, or not watching it in this case, the Doctor decided to push her questions in a different direction.

“So, these technic-codas, where did you learn them from exactly.”

“From my past life.”

Hearing this, Dr. Grier choked up, hearing the statement and then instantly felt floored.

“Past life, you remember a past life?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly did you do in this past life of yours?”

“I was Psycher. A pyrotechnic psyche to be honest, though I did have an affinity for technomancy, it wasn’t discovered until later.” The girl answered completely truthfully.

Shiver.

“A psycher? What exactly is that?” Dr. Grier asked, wondering where this term came from, especially if she didn’t watch television. Not that any show on now had psychers, not even recent books that would be appropriate for a child, let alone an adult seemed to have this term in it, so she was curious about the imagination of this little girl.

“A psycher is a space ranger. Someone who was meant to go out to the edges of the universe and save civilization as we knew it.” Misha said.

“So you were a hero in your past life?”

“No, we died by the enemy at the edge of the universe. Our commander’s last action was to detonate our ship, before the enemy could track us to our new location.” Misha answered.

As she spoke, she had a distance to her look. Even with the shades, Dr. Grier had gotten better at following the flickers of light to see where Misha’s eyes were pointing. This time they were pointing down and to the left, as if recalling a memory. Her voice was subdued as if remembering something particularly troubling, in a way she had a harder time speaking about this past life than she did the veritable graveyard she found in the back of her grandparents’ estate. Hearing this, Dr. Grier knew that this was her coping mechanism, the way she dealt with everything.

“So in this life you want to be a technomantic, versus a pyromantic?”

“A Technomancer, not a pyrotechnic, again, but yes.” She said, making sure to stress the technic part of the word.

Dr. Grier opened her mouth to speak again, but then was cut off by the large wooden clock in the corner.

Chime, chime, ding.

“I guess that is all we can cover for today. Would you like to meet again?”

“I don’t think my opinion really matters with this, as it is likely necessary until you rule us out as suspects, or having more information that could possibly link grandmother to the crimes.” Misha said, her voice almost cold and reserved from the conversation at hand.

Hearing that, Dr. Grier just paused her eyes going wide with how situationally aware this child was of the way the world worked in general. Not wanting to belittle her intelligence, Dr. Grier answered truthfully.

“That is part of it, though I do think you too could benefit from having someone to talk to. It can’t be easy with your father gone.”

With that Misha just shrugged and got up.

“Please let your mom come in. Though I will need you to remain outside while I talk to her quickly, is that okay?”

Misha just nodded.

“If you want there is a playroom down at the end of the hallway.” Dr. Grier said, pointing in the direction of the playroom.

At that the girl visibly snarled at the thought. “The one with the old staticky television blaring in the corner.”

Hearing that, Dr. Grier paused, as this was the first true emotion the girl had shown all session, and it was about the state of her old television of all things. Yes, it was an old television, but the images it showed were clear, and it picked up all the local channels for free, which was the most important thing for her practice. Yet, after hearing her and seeing her reaction, Dr. Grier couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to this apparent disdain of televisions for her.

Misha strode out to leave, but then stopped as she got to the door. “Oh yeah,” she said, before waving her cloved hands in the direction of the hidden camera.

Click.

This was the second time the girl had done that odd set of hand movements, and the second time she had also heard the audible clicking sound that lets her know when her camera is rolling to preserve the session.

Just as Dr. Grier was about to ask the girl about that, her thoughts were distracted when the mother, Andrea, came in.

“You said, you wanted to see me?” Andrea asked.

“Yes, it is about your daughter. I think she might need some help coping with everything that is going on in her life.” Dr. Grier asked.

Sigh.

At this Andrea just let out an exasperated sigh. This was the sigh of a desperate mother struggling to make ends meet, one who just found out that she might need to come up with yet more money to pay yet another unexpected bill.

“Relax, I think I can work with the investigators to cover my fees for a bit.” Dr. Grier said, as she pulled out a business card from her pocket.

“You want to see her again?” Andrea asked, confused more than anything about this.

“You mean, did she scare me off?” Dr. Grier asked, her tone light and joking, though Andrea’s reaction told her that was exactly what she was thinking. “No, I think your daughter is exceptionally smart, and self-aware. I also think that she has been through a lot and would likely need some help to get through this part of her life.”

There was an awkward pause, as Dr. Grier held out the card to Andrea.

“Do you think it will help?” Andrea asked, her whole-body trembling as she thought about throwing away more money, money that was very precious at this time.

“I don’t think it would hurt.” Dr. Grier said.

At that, Andrea nodded and with a trembling hand took the card, desperate for something that would help her daughter, but hesitant about paying yet another doctor’s bill.

“She really is exceptional.” Dr. Grier said, trying to be reassuring.

“I know.” Andrea replied, then after carefully putting away the card, she made her way to the door. Where her daughter was there standing in the middle of the hallway, arms out wide as her gloved hands groped for imaginary objects, while her eyes shifted about wildly.

“Oh, my.” Andrea said, clearly startled to see her daughter there staring straight forward into the room, but somehow clearly oblivious to the world around her. Or the fact that she was in the middle of a hallway drawing attention to herself.

“Don’t worry Dr. Grier, I forwarded the incriminating evidence to you.” Misha said.

Ping.

“What?” Was all Dr. Grier managed to say, before she received a link to a drop box account.

“There was too much for one email, so I had to create a private storage account for it. Hope it helps.” Misha said.

Pausing, Dr. Grier accessed the link, something she knew she should never do, but she was too curious. Then she saw it, videos, emails, pictures, hotel receipts from credit card purchases together. Everything showing that her husband had been unfaithful. All there in a magic drop box.

Pausing Dr. Grier turned to the girl, trying to wonder how she had managed to access the internet at all. Then jumping up from her seat, she darted out the door where she saw the seven-year-old wearing a modified black biker helmet and black gloves bouncing playfully through the hallways. Just as Dr. Grier was about to ask her questions, she heard the pair speak.

“How would you send her information?” The mother asked curiously, clearly trying to play along with her daughter’s antics.

“With my mind, of course. Don’t worry, I sent the link from the husband’s alternate account, so there was no tie to you. Also, this way it will look like he accidentally self-incriminated himself.”

“Accidentally self-incriminated?” The mother asked.

“Yes, it is best for the doctor.”

“So you like the doctor then?”

“I like her. She is a bit too trusting, but honest.”

“So you want to go back?”

“As long as I don’t have to wait in the waiting room…” She said, as she took her first step out the main door and out towards the parking lot.

After hearing all of that, Dr. Grier paused, then realized she was going to have a busy day.

“Jean,” Dr. Grier said, to her receptionist.

“Yes, Dr. Grier?”

“Cancel all my appointments around lunch. I need to make an emergency stop to a lawyer.” Dr. Grier said, realizing that she needed to act quickly with the information she had been given. By a seven-year-old girl no less. Then out of curiosity, she pulled up her session recording with her laptop, only to find that there was a blank space in recording time. Right from when the girl began to wave hands, to when she was seen exiting the room to bring in her mother.

“What an odd little girl.” Was all Dr. Grier could say, after replaying everything and going over the details in her mind. Then she quickly dismissed those, as she had work to do, and a cheating husband to get rid of.