Ecstagony

Far Away, Too Slow

Arcane blinked.

Graham's face brightened in pure joy. "You're awake!"

Arcane looked around woozily. "Graham...? Where am I?"

"You're at home, I thought I had killed you, I was so worried, but you're alive--" Graham's words tripped over each other in a sudden cathartic rush of relief.

Arcane sighed, sinking deep into his pillow. "Oh, Graham, I had the most bizarre dream--" He paused for a second. "What do you mean, 'you thought you had killed me'?"

Graham's face regained some of its tension, and he looked rather nervous. "Well, um, Dr. Arcane, you were about to kill yourself, and I kind of knocked you over the head with a stick, so that you wouldn't, but then you didn't wake up, and..."

"Graham, Graham, Graham." Arcane touched the man's face fondly. "I'm cutting your salary in half."

This seemed to reassure Graham, rather than worry him. His face relaxed. "I'm just glad you're alive."

Arcane grinned. "So am I." He sat up in bed all the way, making ready to get up, still in the clothes he had been wearing before. "Now, we have business to take care of." He breathed in deeply, drinking in the life he had almost lost.

"Sir, do you think that's really wise? I mean, you had so much mental trauma from the incident with the download, not to mention the bump you took to the head..."

Arcane smiled, jubilant. "Nonsense, Graham!" He thumped his chest soundly. "I've never felt better. My mind hasn't seemed this clear in ages. Come on, let's go down to the laboratory. We haven't time to waste."

Graham was still reluctant. "Um... all right, if you say so, Dr. Arcane. If you feel up to it."

"Of course I do!"

"All right." He waited for Arcane to move, so that he could follow him. However, Arcane was just standing there looking at him in the strangest way. Graham was puzzled. "Sir?"

Arcane's voice was extremely patronizing. "I'm going to need my hand back, Graham."

His assistant smiled sheepishly, growing red. "Uh, heh heh, sorry..." He followed his boss out the door.

~~~

Dr. Arcane grinned devilishly at the brain in the garbage can. "Well, it was glorious while it lasted, eh, Mirador?" He continued pouring oil into the can. "Unfortunate that you had to play me for a fool." He lit a match cheerfully. "Well, aurevoir !" Flames erupted from the trash can as Graham looked on worriedly.

"Dr. Arcane, sir... are you feeling okay?"

Arcane grinned happily. "I'm feeling marvelous!" His grin grew more malicious. "Now, Graham... I'm going to have a little chat with Dana Mirador..."

~~~

Arcane looked up from the solution he was pouring to see Graham drag a struggling Dana Mirador in the door, her hands bound behind her back and gagged with a rectangle of black tape across her mouth. Once he had brought her into the lab proper, Graham stepped away.

Arcane got up, picking a hand gun up off the counter, stalking close to the captive young woman. He admired the gun fondly, remarking, "Remarkable, isn't it, how receptive a person will become when the stark possibility of their death is staring at them from the barrel of a loaded weapon." He looked up into her wide, terrified eyes. "Hello, Dana. Do you remember me? I came calling once or twice when you were, oh..." He measured a small space with his hands. "--about so high." He pointed the gun at her. "But unfortunately for you, this is the last time you'll ever get a glimpse of me. Or anyone else, for that matter."

Dana gave a muffled sound of fear.

Arcane's attention stayed on the black handgun. He began to polish it. "Were your parents only children?"

A frightened, confused nod.

"Any brothers or sisters?"

She shook her head.

He nodded, flipping the gun back toward her. "Good. Then it seems you're the last of the Miradors. Your little clan is a dying breed, soon to lose its only chance of any more progeny. It's a mortal shame, really." He pressed the gun's barrel to her forehead. A sobbing noise broke from behind the tape.

Dana flinched as Arcane touched her cheek gently. "Oh, Dana, don't cry. It's not your fault. If it's any consolation to you, my dear, the blame lies solely on your grandfather. Now, before your pretty face becomes just another mess upon my floor, do you have any last words?" He glanced at the black tape. "Oh. I guess not, then." He placed his finger on the trigger. "Goodbye, Dana."

He winced suddenly, his gun hand trembling. Graham noticed. "Sir? Are you all right?"

"Peachy, Graham," Arcane grit out, focusing on the task at hand. "Shut up."

He gasped, dropping the gun. Dana backed away, as Graham rushed toward his employer. "I'm going to call the hospital."

Arcane knelt on the floor and wrenched his head away from his hands. "You'll do no such thing. Get the brat out of here and take her to the sub-level. I'll deal with her later."

Graham nodded, not wanting to disobey, and led Dana Mirador away.

The doctor struggled to his feet. "Just a simple migraine," he concluded under his breath. "I haven't had a thing to eat all day. That's the trouble." He clicked on his intercom unit. "Graham. When you've finished sedating Miss Mirador, be a darling and pick up some Chinese, will you?"

Graham's voice crackled over the intercom. "Is there anything in particular that you want?"

"No. And get anything you want for yourself. I'll be in the laboratory."

"Yes, sir."

When Graham came back with the take-out, Arcane was in a decidedly better mood. He took the cartons from Graham and placed them upon the empty cryo-tube, opening up one of them and inhaling the aroma deeply. "Lo mein. Goody." He pulled up a chair and helped himself to some noodles. Arcane didn't use chopsticks. Dammit, if he could use forks, then they were good enough for everybody!

Graham picked at his mugu gaipan. He wasn't overly crazy about Chinese food, but wanted to keep an eye on Dr. Arcane. No matter how many times the doctor professed how fine he felt, there was still clearly something wrong, and Graham was worried about him. He continued to move the pieces of broccoli around with his fork. The silence was becoming oppressive. Graham decided to throw out a topic for conversation. "So, what was it like to receive knowledge you've never had before?"

Arcane didn't reply. He had the strangest look on his face. Graham watched him swallow with difficulty before speaking.

"This tastes... rather odd. Where did you buy this from?"

Graham was puzzled. "The same place as always."

Arcane gave him an "are you sure?" type look, and took another bite. Strange... when he was eating it, it almost seemed like the noodles were--

Arcane peered into the carton and felt sick.

This wasn't lo mein. Lo mein didn't squirm.

Arcane felt like he was in a bad outtake from The Lost Boys. He stood up, shoving his chair back violently. "My God, Graham! Are you trying to kill me?!"

Graham peeked into the noodle carton. "I thought you liked lo mein."

What was wrong with him? The damn noodles were squirming around like they were having a blasted orgy. "You reach new heights of stupidity by the minute."

Graham was a little hurt. "Fine, I won't get it anymore."

Arcane was still peering into the carton. The food looked normal again. What the devil?! He shook his head and sighed. "I'm going to go lie down." He stalked out of the laboratory, confused and disgruntled.

When he entered his room, he flicked on the lights and sprawled across his bed, picking up a Science News to peruse through, searching for articles by mental pygmies that he could scoff at. However, he found that he couldn't concentrate. His head started to pound dully. Another damn migraine. He tossed the magazine to the floor and let himself collapse onto the pillows. The softness of his bed cushioned him and put his mind more at ease. He closed his eyes and sighed. The darkness behind his eyes was so peaceful, it made him want to keep them closed and just go to sleep--

*click*

What was that? He looked up.

When he opened his eyes, the darkness from behind them didn't go away.

He sat up, looked around, a futile thing to do, really, because he couldn't see a damned thing. More confusion. "What the hell is going on?!"

The light came back. He allowed himself a noise of relief, and settled back down into the comfort of his pillows, but he didn't close his eyes this time.

The light fled.

He knew that no one had messed with the light switch because for some strange reason, he knew that the darkness was wrong. This wasn't the cool darkness that filled his room at night, like a womb. No, this was different. It crowded the corners of his eyes, squeezing him, threatening to choke him, thick enough to cut through.

Arcane was getting scared. He fumbled for his intercom unit, but he remembered that he had left it in the lab. But it was a stupid idea, anyway. It wasn't a power outage. Deep in the bowels of his mind, he knew that.

The lights came back on. Arcane lay flat on his bed, breathing hard, and came to the only conclusion he could think of. He said it quietly, fearfully, as if speaking it would confirm his most horrible suspicions, and make them true.

"Mirador?" he whispered.

Sleep mugged him.

Arcane opened his eyes with a start. He closed them again, letting out a huge sigh of relief. Everything looked normal. He was in his bed, in his home. There was no madness, no darkness. Sunlight peeked in behind the window shades. The red digits on the clock read 9 AM.

He opened his eyes and turned to his wife. "Oh, you wouldn't believe the dream I had."

She smiled, tracing patterns on the back of his hand. "Was it erotic?"

"Lord, no. It was horrible. A complete nightmare."

She used one hand to hold his, and the other to stroke his hair. "What was so horrible? Tell me."

He chewed on an irritating hangnail. "I'm having trouble remembering most of it. It was very strange... my old teacher... remember Mirador? He was in it, but he was behaving very strangely, and there was all this fire..." He slid his arm around her waist and drew her closer, burying his face in her hair. "And you were lost to me."

She frowned at that. "How?"

"I don't know, but I remember, in the dream, it drove me crazy. You were gone, and I couldn't reach you. You were forever beyond my grasp, and I started doing all these bizarre things, I can't remember what, but there was this big green monster chasing me, but it was supposed to be Alec..."

She kissed him. "You've been working too late this week."

Arcane shifted around so that his head was resting against her stomach, while she turned slightly. "Don't leave me," he murmured.

"Why would I leave you?" Tatania massaged his temples. "Anton, sometimes I think you're the silliest man I know."

"Mmm. That feels good."

"Maybe I should have been a masseuse," Tatania remarked, amused.

"No no no. I couldn't stand to see your beautiful mind go to waste." He reached up and caressed her face. "Besides, then I wouldn't have you all to myself, now would I?"

"And here I was, thinking it was me that had you all to myself." She paused for a moment, as if weighing a decision. She took a deep breath. "Anton, I have something important to tell you."

Arcane closed his eyes peacefully, on the verge of purring. "Pray, what?"

"I'm dead."

Arcane's eyes flew open. "Well, that was certainly morbid, Tatania. Wherever did that delightful non sequitur come from?" He waited for a reply and got nothing. He sat straight up in bed. "Tatania?" He turned around. "Love, what are you--"

He choked on the stench of decay.

She had obviously been dead for quite some time, and when he looked closely, even though he didn't want to look he didn't want to look he didn't want to look... but when he did look closely, peering clinically past the rot and maggots and decomposure of his soul mate, he saw abrasions, bruises, sores, old blood, as if she had been hit by falling rock and debris...but he didn't want to look he didn't want to scent he didn't want to see he didn't want to see anything anymore he wanted to gouge out his own eyes as he screamed and screamed and screamed over and over again and again as if his very soul had been ripped out of his body. The tear in his pulsing heart left a great void, filled only by the slow-but-not-slow-enough clotting of the blood as it filled his chest cavity and poured black out his mouth, choking him along with his anguished, hot tears. The oil drowning the floor set itself on fire.

Arcane woke up. The reek of burning flesh was still in his nostrils; whether it was Tatania's or his own, he wasn't sure. He staggered off to the bathroom and purged himself once, twice, five times, until his eyes were red and his throat was burning with the taste of bile. He made his way to the sink shakily, splashing some cold water on his face. Arcane glanced up at the mirror. His voice was shaky and frightened. "Mirador, stop it. I don't want to be crazy again. Please, don't make me crazy again. My mind is my own again. Let me keep it."

But there was no mocking, matter-of-fact reply in his mind, no unfamiliar voices, no odd reflection in the mirror. Just one Anton Arcane, alone and scared out of his wits.

~~~

Graham watched Arcane stumble on his way toward the microscope on the counter, but he didn't say anything of it. Ever since the incident with Dana Mirador -- who they had long since let go, after Arcane had grown tired of her hanging around the basement -- Dr. Arcane had been in a pissy mood, firing people right and left. Graham really didn't want to get on the man's bad side at this point.

"Graham, hand me that slide, will you?"

Graham obliged. "Have the bacteria started to mutate yet?"

"No, but give it time. My darlings will grow, Graham, you'll see." He straightened up, and moved over to the bunsen burner, with Graham close behind.

"Sir, do you think that the ambassador will--" He stopped in mid-sentence as Arcane collapsed.

Graham rushed to his side, trying desperately to wake him up. He shook the doctor gently by the shoulders, tilting the man's head back slightly. "Dr. Arcane, wake up... come on, please, wake up..."

Arcane opened his eyes weakly. "...what just happened...?"

Worry was creasing heavily across Graham's forehead. "You fainted. I don't know why. Are you in any pain?"

Arcane shook his head, lying. He forced a grin. It was a pretty pathetic attempt. "Well, back to work, eh?"

Graham scrutinized his boss closely. He looked thinner than usual. "Dr. Arcane, have you eaten anything today?"

Arcane didn't say anything, just stared out into space, his arms folded tightly over his knees, with his head resting on them.

Now Graham was even more worried. "Have you eaten anything all week??"

Arcane buried his face in his arms. Even if it hadn't been muffled, his voice would have still been very quiet. "Everything turns to maggots."

Graham was extremely confused. What was he talking about?! "You've got to eat," he insisted, almost pleading. "You're getting weak from malnutrition."

"The last time I checked, you weren't my mother," Arcane snapped. "I don't need you telling me what to do." He got up unsteadily and headed for the doors.

Graham tried once more to entreat him. "Dr. Arcane, you're killing yourself!"

Arcane spun around. "It's time to start remembering who the genius is, and who the man is that's getting his paycheck signed by the genius. Now bugger off!!" He staggered into the elevator, and the doors slid shut.

Graham gave the doctor about thirty minutes to cool off before charging after him. He banged on the door to Arcane's quarters. "Dr. Arcane? It's me, Graham. Are you all right?"

He needn't have knocked. The door was unlocked. He walked in with more than a little apprehension.

"Graham?"

The doctor was sitting on his bed, hunched over tight. His voice sounded small and broken. "I'm hungry, Graham."

Graham sat down next to him. "Then why don't you eat something?" he asked gently.

Arcane rocked. "He won't let me eat. Not a thing."

"Who?"

Arcane didn't want to say it. He didn't want to even acknowledge the presence that he knew had to be causing this. He didn't want to make it true. "Just go away."

Graham was getting scared. "Sir, why can't you eat?"

Arcane shook his head. "Hallucinations... Everything I eat turns repulsive before my eyes. It's torture, Graham." He didn't even know why he was telling the man this. Graham would probably dial up 911 in two seconds flat and have them cart him away to a padded room.

However, Graham had been working here with Arcane too long, in Houma too long, to be skeptical of anything. The incident with the Chinese food made a lot more sense now, and Graham wished that Arcane would have confided in him sooner. "Maybe you could try to eat," he suggested. "I could try to find you something that might not look too awful... okay?"

"Whatever. I don't give a damn anymore."

Graham took that as a "yes", and when off in search of something to feed his boss. He hoped they wouldn't need to hook him up to an IV or anything, but if he kept starving himself, it might come down to that. As the elevator whirred, he sifted through the possibilities. Rice or any type of noodles were a definite no-no. And soup, too, now that he thought about it, although it would have been better for him, physically. Come to think of it, there were lots of foods that could look really bad through a hallucinatory haze. Meat products would probably be a bad idea, too. Graham bit his lip. The man had to eat something!

He finally settled on getting him a salad. It wasn't the best choice in the world, but it wasn't a harsh food either, or unhealthy, and Graham didn't see how lettuce could look bad anyway. He opened Arcane's door; the doctor was still rocking back and forth on his bed.

"I know you're the one doing this, Mirador," Arcane whispered. "I know it's not me. It's the only rational explanation. Just cease these infernal hallucinations, will you?"

"Dr. Arcane?" Arcane looked up to see Graham standing in the doorway. "I brought you something to eat."

Arcane looked down at the lettuce. He could barely see any of the green, there were so many maggots wriggling all over it. The sight made him pale. Arcane bit down a weakened sob. He was so hungry. He couldn't stand it anymore. It had been over a week since he had had anything but water, and even that congealed when he swallowed. To hell with it, he thought, and forked some of it down ravenously, trying hard to suppress his gag reflex. He could feel the little things crawling down his throat.

Graham forced a weak smile. "That wasn't so bad, huh?"

Arcane didn't answer. He went to the bathroom and retched up his entire GI track.

Graham sighed. How was he going to get the doctor to eat? He couldn't just let him starve, but the hallucinations were tormenting him, and Graham couldn't understand why this was all happening. He looked up, hearing a loud noise.

Arcane banged on the mirror. "Mirador! I know you're in there... come out, come out wherever you are..." He looked around the mirror, peering into it and at it from all angles, as if trying to catch Mirador in hiding. "Mirador, don't try to hide from me!" He banged on the mirror again. "Come out, my hallucinatory friend, and give your darling student his mind back..." He laughed. It was the kind of laugh that sent shivers down Graham's spine when he heard it. "Dammit, Mirador, answer me!!"

Graham peeked his head in the door. "Um, are you all right, sir?"

Arcane smashed the back of his fist into the mirror, cracking the glass severely. "Oh, I'm just fine, Graham!" He punched the mirror again. "I've never felt better in my entire life!" Blood was streaming down from his knuckles.

Graham moved forward, sucking in a sharp intake of breath. "Sir, you're bleeding... Let me--"

Arcane spun around. "And since when did I give you permission to go barging into my room?!"

Graham visibly shrank. "I was just concerned, that's all..."

"Oh, just shut up." He smashed his hand into the mirror again, shattering it further and exacerbating the wound on his hand. "Come on, old man! Are you frightened of me?!?!"

The lights went out.

Graham looked around. "Must be a power outage." He turned to Arcane, who was kneeling on the floor. "Dr. Arcane, what are you doing?"

*"I see you've come crawling back."*

Arcane's eyes widened. "HA! The inevitable confrontation! I knew it was you!!"

*"Is it me?"* His mind went still.

"NO!" Arcane clawed at his skull, as if he could rip the presence out of hiding and draw it to him. "Oh, no you don't! Get back here!"

Graham edged over to the doctor slowly. "Dr. Arcane, he's not there anymore. Why don't you go lie down?"

Arcane's voice was nothing but a whisper. "Mirador, let me eat something. Please. I'm so hungry."

Graham felt a stabbing pain in his heart. "Come on, Dr. Arcane. Get some rest."

Arcane just buried his face in his hands and didn't say anything.

Graham felt awful. He hadn't felt this helpless since Dr. Arcane's wife was killed. He sighed with far more weariness than a man his age should have known, and sank down against the wall. All he could do now was keep an eye on the man, and make sure he didn't do anything to hurt himself.

"oh, you said you never would leave me alone..."
The Cranberries, "How"

He had never felt so helpless. Never. Not once in his life.

He was motionless as she lay there on the floor of the laboratory, still. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't talk. He couldn't think.

They told him she was in a coma. They told him that nothing could be done, that she would never come out of it, and all she could do was fade away before his eyes.

"What?"

Untactfully, they repeated what they had said. He still didn't believe it. He couldn't believe it. This wasn't happening to him. Not to him. Not to his wife.

She would simply slip away and all he would be able to do was watch. He held her hand tightly and talked to her. He didn't know if she could hear him or not, feel him or not.

She was going to leave him. She was going to leave him forever, and he would be alone.

He cried.

The doctors left the room.

Tears of helpless, angry frustration spilled from his glistening eyes. He couldn't do anything to save her!! He was a scientist, he was a genius, and he was her husband... and he couldn't do anything to save her... His soul felt choked and dry. The light of his life was dying. His body felt wrung out.

They said she didn't have much time before she wasted away. He could already see it happening. He was absolutely, completely helpless. If he could have sucked his very soul out of his body to restore her own vitality, he would have.

But he couldn't. He felt like ripping his heart out, but he couldn't do that, either. She had stolen it away.

He didn't leave her side. The doctors were afraid to make him leave.

Helpless.

Ethics didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore while she was in that cryo tube. All that mattered was getting her back. He needed his soul, and she was half of it. He needed her like he needed oxygen, like he needed water. He missed her desperately.

Nothing mattered anymore but her.

The slow, downward slide of what used to be his scruples stopped registering in his numbed brain. The dull ache in the cavity where his heart had been drove him onward, through the grey space where the experiments became people, and the people stopped mattering, and the thirst for power was the only thing he had left to drink.

By the time he was at the point where she never would have loved him, he didn't know it.

She was his fever.

He still had nightmares about the hospital. Nothing strange or bizarre happened in the dreams, and that was the worst part, because the scene was just like it had been in real life. Rewinded and replayed, over and over and over until he could drag himself into wakefulness, cold inside and choking on tears.

After a while, the nightmares started to fade away, ever so slowly.

Until now. In his sleep, he held her hand, holding on to her, hugging Tatania, his precious light so tight that he would never, ever, ever let her go.

Helpless.

"we fell through the ice, when we tried not to slip we'd say
can't be held responsible
she was touching her face
no, i won't be held responsible
she fell in love in the first place"

Light blue light signifying dawn's onset streamed through the transparent door that led out to the deck, bathing the living room carpet in pale cerulean. He kissed the tips of her fingers, her knuckles, kissed gently along the smooth back of her hand; long sensual kisses up her forearm, trailing up her upper arm, the curve of her shoulder, the soft skin of her neck. Tatania sighed, closing her eyes in pleasure as she tilted her head to give him leeway. When he met her lips, Arcane found that she was kissing him back, as he wriggled out of his shirt.

Tatania stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Mmm, stop, darling. I think my father is waking up."

He kissed her again. "Let him. I'm not accosting you." His hands trailed under her shirt, caressing her hips. "Not against your will, anyway."

She smiled, shivering in the early morning chill, holding him close and drawing warmth from his nearness. The heat didn't come on this early. "Daddy's built like a Sumo wrestler, Anton," she whispered in his ear.

He kissed her all over. "With the grace of God go I, into the great unknown," he murmured.

She pushed him gently behind the sofa, kissing his forehead. "I love you too, darling, but I'd rather not see your spine telescoped." She looked up. "Oh. Hi, Daddy."

Tatania's father grunted. "Who's behind the couch?"

Tatania giggled. "Oh, nothing. I was just looking for my ring. It must have slipped off my finger." She was glad that she could keep the nervousness completely out of her voice.

Her father folded his meaty arms. "I want him out of here."

Tatania hugged him. "Oh, Daddy, you're so silly at times."

Her father grunted again. "Don't make me get the shotgun."

Arcane stood up abruptly from behind the couch, backing against the wall. "I'll just exit discreetly out the back entrance, if that's all right with you."

Mr. Bicep lifted Arcane by his shirt front. "If my daughter isn't a virgin, I'm going to break every bone in your body."

Arcane grinned nervously. "Well, virginity is such a nebulous, fragile term... Do you mean, technically, or-- My, did I comment on what a smashing bathrobe that is that you're wearing? It must be designer. I've never seen anything like it. It makes you look, what, twenty years old? No, not a day older than twenty."

Tatania sidled up to her father, twirling her fingers affectionately in what little hair he had left. "Now, Daddy, you know what Doctor Horowitz said about your blood pressure..."

Mr. Bicep dropped Arcane with a THUD, giving his daughter a tender bear hug. "Now honey, I just don't want you getting into trouble."

"Never, Daddy. Why don't you go back to sleep with Mother?"

Her father kissed her on the top of her head. "All right. Get some rest, precious." He trundled upstairs.

Arcane watched him go, and stood up shakily. "My God..."

Tatania led him by the hand out onto the deck, her eyes on the sunrise. She snuggled against him happily, as he wrapped his arms around her waist, standing behind her. Arcane rested his chin on her shoulder, as she sighed. "I'm glad that went so well. I'm not sure what I'd do without you anymore."

Arcane grinned devilishly. "I do. Your Friday nights wouldn't be nearly as interesting, now would they?"

"Definitely not, you demon."

"That's right." He nuzzled her neck. "How about a reprise?"

She smiled wickedly. "I was thinking exactly the same."

"for the life of me
i cannot remember
what made us think that we were wise and we never compromised
for the life of me
i cannot believe
we'd ever die for our sins
we were merely freshmen"
The Verve Pipe, "Freshmen"

Arcane lifted his head from the bathroom floor weakly. His head pounded as if he had one hell of a hangover. Early dawn peeked through the tiny bathroom window, muting the somewhat-eerie cast of the red emergency light. He groaned. "Ohhuhhhhnnnn... What the hell...?" He looked around the bathroom. He had really done a number on the mirror. Graham was asleep, lying against the wall.

"Sheessshhhhhh..." He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, staring at his hand. Now that he had noticed it, it was hurting like the dickens. "Cripes..." He pushed himself up off the cool tiled floor, and staggered toward the medicine cabinet, fumbling around for some gauze and antiseptic. Once he had finished bandaging his hand, he debated on waking Graham up. He decided against it. The man looked absolutely exhausted.

He sighed and stretched, shaking his head violently, as if to clear the best of the dreams from his mind's eye. After-images from sweet memories still lingered. The well-meant phrase of "Pleasant dreams" had become a cruel irony for him. The pleasant dreams were the worst. Arcane hated being reminded of what was forever out of his grasp.

He ran the water in the sink, and filled a glass, when he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

He dropped the glass.

It shattered in an array of infinitesimally small little shards of crystal as he spun around, reaching out as if to grasp something just out of his reach. The small effort was futile. She was gone, like mist vanishing in the better part of the morning.

"Dear?" Arcane asked, his eyes wild.

He spun around again, trying to catch the phantom image, but it was gone as soon as he faced it; he snarled, whirling around again in vain. "Exquisite tormentor!" he snarled. "Mistress of my pain!! How much longer will you torment me, Tatania?" He lurched around again, the attempt still worthless, his coveted treasure slipping between his fingers like tenuous, half-remembered dreams. "You, my wife, a more adept torturer than Mirador! I saw you for so brief a time, and then you died! And now, you dare?" He closed his eyes tightly, biting his knuckle, his voice breaking. "Come or go, but for God sake's, choose one..."

She winked, curling a beckoning finger at him just barely in the farthest end of his vision, as she danced seductively away, back into the dark limbo.

"No... I can't go with you, I can't..." He knelt on the floor, battling himself with unspeakable ferocity, his fingers running through his hair.

Graham stirred, opening his eyes dazedly. "Sir??"

"Oh, Graham," Arcane whispered. "I see her... She's dancing in the corners of my eyes..."

Graham swallowed, trying to pick the exact choice of words that he needed. "Sir... I'm not qualified to stop this. Maybe... you -- we... should get some help.

Arcane lifted his head slowly. His voice was extremely soft, dangerously so. "So that's it, is it? I'm batty. Completely daft. Sick in the brain."

"I didn't say that--"

"You didn't, Graham? Well then, come now." Arcane tilted his head, eyes glinting dark. "What did you say?"

Graham fidgeted, trying to meet Arcane's gaze. "I just think that it might be a good idea for us -- you -- us... to maybe call a psy-- a therapist to help... to help you."

Before Graham had a chance to react, Arcane pulled his head back by the hair. "Ah, you've made it clear to me Graham," the doctor murmured in the man's ear. "Maybe I will get a bit crazy, all right? Maybe I'll go a little mad right now, Graham. Won't that be fun? Won't that hurt?"

Graham's heart was racing, his voice quavering as the fear widened his eyes. He tried frantically to keep his voice calm. "I didn't say that you were crazy, sir. I swear I didn't. I just thought--"

Arcane shoved him away roughly. "You 'just thought'! Well, just think yourself out of here! I don't need some Frued-studying shark with a degree in fantasy to tell me what's wrong with me! Just get the hell out." At that moment, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he crumpled.

Graham moved over toward him carefully yet swiftly, quickly checking for a pulse. It was racing. "Oh, God..." He managed to drag Dr. Arcane back to the bedroom, and put him on the bed.

Arcane's eyes snapped open. "End it, old man!" he raved madly. "Give up your pointless game!! You can't beat me!! I'm Anton Arcane!!!" He closed his eyes again, gritting his teeth and straining upwards, as if some great weight was holding him to the bed. His eyes went wide again, and he struggled. "You don't understand who you're fucking with!!!"

He let out a strangled cry, and blacked out.

"Dr. Arcane!!!" Graham leaned over him, sick with fear and worry. He bit his lip. He had to try and stay calm. It could only get better, right? The worst possible case scenario would be that it was foreshadowing.

The doctor developed a fever, and it spiked 104 through the night. Graham kept a constant vigil, struggling to hold Arcane down as he went into inexplicable seizures and spasms. He watched him slip in and out of twisted, fevered dreams, sleeping fitfully. Graham placed the back of his hand on the man's forehead again. The fever wasn't going down. The myriad antibiotics obviously were slacking off on their jobs. He paced back and forth, careful not to take his eyes off Dr. Arcane for a minute. What was he going to do? What could he possibly do? He wanted to call the hospital, but what would the 911 operator say when he stated the problem? "Oh, uh, the voices in my employer's head are sending him into seizures and destroying his immune system..." Yeah, right. Then they'd both be sent to the Houma Asylum in straitjackets, most likely separated from eachother by a thick wall of plexiglass.

His employer moaned again, and Graham whirled, kneeling down once again by the bed. "I wish there was something I could do, sir," he said quietly. "But you won't tell me what's wrong, and I--"

Arcane opened his eyes slightly. "I'll fight you," he murmured weakly. "I'll fight you with every ounce of strength left in my body..." He slumped back inexorably, sinking back into the deep black pit with less of a struggle than before.

Graham buried his head in his hands.

Throughout the night, Arcane struggled against something that Graham couldn't see. He watched, feeling sick at his complete helplessness, his stomach cramping and tying up in tight, aching knots. He gave Arcane more medicine half-heartedly, knowing that, as usual, there would be no effect. The man's temperature crashed and rose, crashed and rose, until Graham wasn't even sure if the thermometer was accurate anymore. He fell asleep in a nearby chair, exhausted. The small respite soothed the ulcers he was contracting. At least, for a little while, anyway.

Arcane awoke. He sat straight up in bed, clawing desperately at his skull. "I'll beat you! I'll beat you!! I know it's you!! There's no one else it could be!!" He shook his head this way and that, like a horse shaking off an extremely persistent horsefly. "Get-out-get-out-get-OUT!!! I'll kill you if you don't!! I'll destroy you!!" He clenched his teeth, a last cry edging up his throat. "You. Can't. Beat me!!!"

Graham put a calming hand on his shoulder, trying to coax the doctor back down into reality. "Calm down. You don't have to fight him right now. He's a crazy old man, sir. Let it be."

Arcane turned on him, his eyes wild and feral as an enraged wolf's. "Get the hell away from me, you stupid fawning puppy!!! I don't need you to nursemaid me like some mother duck!! What, is my suffering arousing you? Don't touch me!! Never touch me! Get the hell away."

That hurt. Even Graham's wellspring of patience had limits. He left the room.

Arcane didn't concern himself with that, right then. He had other matters at hand to deal with. This was war. He jumped out of bed.

You don't control my mind!! You never have!!

AUGH!!

~~~

Graham took another drink, setting down the empty bottle. Dr. Arcane didn't appreciate him at all. He cared for him, stayed patient with him, and all the man did was berate him. The doctor's recent words to him still hurt. He felt like he had been punched in the stomach.

It occurred to Graham that Dr. Arcane wasn't in his absolutely right mind right now, and that he'd say things he didn't mean; that he was frustrated, and ill, and upset. But dammit, he was upset, too! He had emotions, too! He wasn't just a doormat.

Graham took another swig. Let him stay up there. He was sick. He wasn't going anywhere. Just let him stay.

~~~

Arcane had his back to the bedroom wall. He swallowed convulsively, his heart racing. *"Say it."*

"No."

*"Say it."*

He screwed his eyes shut. "NO!"

*"Say it,"* the voice from his brain persisted, its tone more firm and dangerous than it had ever been. *"Say it."*

"AUGH... AUGH... stop stop stop, it hurts..." Arcane sighed in relief, trembling, as the searing sensation in his neck ended. His voice was barely audible. "I'm sorry."

*"Again."*

"I'm sorry -- AUGHH..."

*"I can't hear you."*

"Get out! Leave me alone -- NO, don't do it again, please... AUuGhHhh..."

*"Again."*

He collapsed, shaking. He would never resist again. Never ever ever. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry--"

*"Louder."*

"I'M SORRY!"

*"You don't sound like you mean what you say. That hurts me, Anton, really it does. You can talk to me. You can always talk to me."* Pause. *"Say it again."*

Breathe In Out Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe--

"I'm in control. My mind. Not yours. Get out. Mine."

Breath In In In In In Breathe Let it out real slow Breathe Breathe Breathe...

*"And after all I've done for you, Anton. What an ungrateful student of mine you've turned out to be."*

"I'm grateful, very grateful -- No, please, NO--" He screamed, the carpet swallowing his cry, as he felt a presence close by him.

"Shhh. Dr. Arcane, it's all right."

Arcane looked up, untucking his head from his hunched shoulders. "Graham?"

Graham stared at the doctor, feeling horrible. He knew he should've come back sooner. He knew he should've. This was all his fault. He sank down to Arcane's level, sitting next to the doctor, who was curled up on the bedroom floor. "Sir, can you move?" He looked at Arcane closely. He was shaking something awful.

The words were choked and desperate. "Graham, pacify him, please..." He screamed again. "Mirador, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... That's a bloody lie, I know you can hear me, I know you can, NO, no, I'm sorry, I won't resist, I swear it..." He shook with pure terror, his eyes wide as dinner plates as he rocked himself despondently.

Graham just wanted to hold him and tell the man that everything would be all right. But he couldn't do that, who knew what Arcane would--

Oh, hell with it.

"It'll be over soon," Graham soothed, trying his best to comfort Arcane. "I promise, it will end. Stay calm."

Arcane just rocked back and forth, back and forth, in an effort to calm himself. "He's taking over, Graham," he whispered. "It's getting harder to fight him. He's getting stronger, I feel it. He's flaunting it. Everything is less subtle than before." His eyes widened then, and he looked stricken. "I have to give that talk tomorrow."

Graham chuckled. "I don't think so, sir. I'll call and postpone for you."

Arcane turned around and stared at Graham with intensity. "No, you don't understand. I have to give that talk tomorrow."

Graham didn't understand. "Doctor, you're not feeling well. How can you--" He stopped, as Arcane looked at him in an expression of naked fear. He took a deep breath. "--but I guess you can if you want to..."

Arcane nodded.

~~~

The talk was awful. Arcane was still sick, which made him want to talk even less to the little band of fawning mental pygmies. He didn't know why he had even agreed to it in the first place. He was miserable, and felt sick as a dog. But when a few people inquired about his health, he responded only with, No, no, I'm not sick, just a bit under the weather, thank you for asking, yes, all I need is some rest, yes, I've been working late the past few days, no, I'm sure I haven't caught what's going around, no, I'm not shivering, I just had too much coffee today, all that caffeine, you know. He wanted this day to end as soon as humanly possible. A familiar voice filtered through his grey matter as he strode out into the parking lot. *"Good job. I'm proud of you. Isn't it better to listen to me?"*

"Shut up." He got on his motorcycle and hit the gas.

He worked hard the rest of the day, feverishly hard in an attempt to ignore the persistent voice. It worked, at least for a little while.

What a nightmare this has all been. I can't believe this is happening to me. This shouldn't be happening to me. Open door to kitchen. It's just not fair. After all I've done for humanity, surely I deserve more than this. Well, no use getting depressed. It will pass, I'm sure it will. I'm just overtired, that's all. Walk to sink. I just need to get some rest, and I'll be good as new. Or I could get some drugs prescribed for me. Yes, that's what I could do. Like Prozac, or some such. No, all I need is some rest. Then it will go away. What a wretched day. I need another vacation. That's what I need. Drink Windex. A vacation. To somewhere tropical. That would be nice-- He had the bottle of Windex to his lips before he realized what he was doing. He slammed it down on the counter disgustedly. "All right you, that's enough of that!!" he snarled, teeth bared in anger. "Don't you ever get bored with making my life a living hell?!"

*"No."*

Arcane growled, and stomped off to the couch. "I'm going to lie down," he muttered. "Try not to keep yourself busy, all right?"

*"I'm not making any promises. You're quite entertaining, you know. Hmm. Has the water seemed somewhat normal today?"*

"Yes," Arcane grumbled.

*"What do you say?"*

"Thank you." The words were forced.

*"Thank you for what?"* Mirador prompted.

Arcane shuddered, his voice quiet. "Thank you for letting me drink something."

*"Good boy."*

Nazi, thought Arcane before he hit the pillow.

~~~

It wasn't too hard for him to get the Zolof discreetly prescribed for him. Arcane had connections that owed him, that knew better than to screw with him, and that didn't ask questions.

He wasn't crazy, he rationalized as he swallowed the pills with a gulp of water. He was just... mentally disheveled. Just a slight chemical imbalance of the brain thanks to a stupid old man, nothing to worry about, really. The drugs would fix that, and than he'd be all set. Good as new. So taking the drugs didn't really mean he was psychotic or clinically depressed or shizo, did it? Of course not. Just balancing an imbalance with some chemical aids. That was all.

He hadn't really specified every important detail to the person who had got him the drugs, and now that he thought about it, that might not have been too wise, but he couldn't exactly go shouting off the rooftops about Mirador. Still -- the Zolof made him feel a little bit better. He felt less like jumping off the roof every time he got out of bed each morning, and he was hearing Mirador's voice less and less. Bit by bit, life got a little more bearable. He worked more because he wanted to again, than by rote, going through the motions and feeling miserable through every one of them. And now, he actually felt somewhat... happy. He couldn't remember the last time he had been really happy. It must have been at least a few days. How many days exactly had he been miserable for all twenty-four hours? It was a scary thought. He pushed it away.

Arcane laid back on the couch with a contented sigh. Everything was going according to plan. The Lithuanian ambassador's virus must have spread quietly throughout half of his country by now. By early next week, the wonderful little lysogenic bacteriophages -- oh, how he loved them so -- would assemble and burst their cells, spreading and ceasing their dormancy. They would all pay a nice price for the antidote he carried.

Ahhh. At last, Arcane felt like he was beginning to regain some semblance of control over his life. He closed his eyes, and amused himself by trying to guess how many figures his income would be from this latest little scheme.

His watch beeped; he got up, took the other half of his dose, and then settled back down, feeling relaxed and somewhat peaceful.

*"Anton."*

Arcane grinned. "Give it up, old man. I'm marvelously content. You couldn't bother me now if you gave it your best attempt. Do yourself a favor and get some rest, will you?" He sighed, sinking deeper into the pillow comfortably and closing his eyes, thinking of all the strangest ways he could blow off all the money he was going to receive soon, just for fun. He could get a lifetime's supply of Rogaine for Graham. Hell, he could re-invent Rogaine for Graham! He'd probably make a more fool-proof formula than the one out there, anyway.

*"You've been taking drugs."*

"I had some prescribed, yes." He seemed utterly calm and nonchalant.

The voice sounded deceptively conversational. *"Well isn't that nice, Anton. I'm happy for you. Oh, and I was just wondering if you remembered this... but do you remember --anything at all-- about what happened when Carl tried to use drugs to control me?"*

Arcane felt somewhat less relaxed. "I'm not trying to control you, Mirador, I assure you... I'm simply calming myself, that's all..."

*"I don't like drugs, Anton. I don't like them at all."*

Arcane fidgeted, playing nervously with his sleeve cuff. "It's only Zolof, you know... a rather weak drug, as these sorts of drugs go. I don't think it would hurt you in any way. That wasn't my intent, you know -- not at all."

*"You've made me very, very angry, Anton."*

Arcane gave his most charming Cheshire smile. "How about we both get some rest, and then we can talk about this later? When we're both in better moods and acting more like gentlemen... all right?"

*"I think you should be punished."*

Arcane's entire body tensed and stiffened like a coiled spring. "What do you mean?"

*"Exactly what I said."*

The doctor's eyes became very wide as he reached with a trembling hand for the pill bottle, fumbling desperately with the child-proof cap. He would be ODing, but he didn't care, he had to stop Mirador before he started-- White-hot needles of fiery slow-boiled hatred shot through his arms and hands. The plastic pill bottle dropped to the carpet soundlessly as he swallowed a cry.

*"Naughty, naughty Anton! Bad!"* Arcane held onto the wall to steady himself, as fire ate at his head. *"Even now, you dare to go back to your drugs! Your crutch!"*

Inside his brain, millions of raccoons were screaming.

*"Stupid, stupid boy!! Bad student! Why do I even bother with you?!"*

Arcane clutched his head with a silent cry, stumbling forward to his knees. He tore his fingers away from his skull, glaring up at the ceiling angrily. "Is this what you do to Dana when she misbehaves?" A cry tore from his throat as more hatred thrashed through him.

*"Insolent student! Ungrateful, unappreciative, stupid boy!"* Each accusation punctuated itself with shooting bolts of pure torture. Arcane clutched the intercom unit with grasping fingers, pressing the button with effort.

"Graham?" he whispered.

~~~

Graham rushed over as fast as he could the minute he heard the whispered entreaty over his intercom. About a billion instances of horror flashed through his mind as he got to the room's threshold.

"Doctor!!" Graham's eyes were wide in horror.

Arcane was sprawled against the wall as if he had been thrown there. Blood tracks of crimson tears ran in lines down from his eyes. He looked around as if he didn't know where he was.

Graham knelt by him protectively. "Dr. Arcane... can you hear me?"

Arcane coughed and looked up, afraid. "Graham, is that you?"

"Yes. Yes sir, it's me. Are you okay?"

Arcane only cowered, shivering deliriously. Twilight outside deepened.

Graham hoisted Arcane up on his feet and helped him to the couch. "Come on, Doctor. Let's have you try to rest."

But Arcane couldn't rest. As the night darkened and the moon rose, he sank further and further into delirium. He begged Graham to let him sleep, as he slipped in and out of blackness.

Graham rested his forehead in one hand, gripping Arcane's hand tightly with the other, his knuckles white.

"nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling
tell me baby -- where did i go wrong?"
"Nothing Compares 2U", Sinead O'Connor

He looked up slowly, bleary.

"Graham... let me sleep... please..." Words left him, and he moaned. Graham closed his eyes tightly, praying to everything and no one.

"Stop. Just stop. It's enough. He's suffered enough. Please. It's enough."

There was no answer. Only stillness.

Graham squeezed Arcane's hand comfortingly. "I'm going to get help," he whispered. "Stay calm. Hang on."

He headed out towards the swamp.

Time went by, he didn't know how much. Despair threatened to swallow Graham as he trudged through the swamp, desperately calling out the name of its guardian.

"DR. HOLLAND!!! DR. HOLLAND, HELP!!" Step step step step. "COME ON, PLEASE!!! HELP!!!"

Nothing. Walking steps turned into running. "DR. ARCANE ISN'T HERE! IT'S NOT A TRICK, I SWEAR!!! HELP!!!"

There was a rustle of leaves, a slight breeze. Alec Holland stepped forward, sighing wearily. "Where is Arcane? I can't believe that he isn't here. You--"

"You gotta help him," Graham cut in, gasping. "He's--"

"I don't want to go near him," Alec growled bitterly. "And if he wants the swamp's aid so badly, why doesn't he come here himself?"

Graham tried to catch his breath. "I doubt he would have come here, but even if he wanted to, he can't. You've got to help him. Something went wrong when he downloaded the information from Mirador's brain, and it's awful, he can't eat, he can't sleep, he tried to kill himself, and--"

Alec stopped him with a stare. "What?"

"It's Mirador, Dr. Arcane said that--"

Alec interjected. "No. That can't be possible, Graham. Mirador's life force should have faded from Arcane's mind by now."

"He downloaded it," Graham said, insisting. "When you download something, it's forever. It's imprinted."

"The human brain is not a computer, Graham," Alec explained. "The life force of someone deceased shouldn't stay long. It would have found some way to escape." More thoughts spun through Alec's mind, and he came to a conclusion that was inescapable, if bizarre. "Somehow, it has to be Arcane doing it. Whatever is happening to Arcane, he may be bringing it upon himself... unless, for some reason, Mirador has decided to stay..."

Graham closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. "Listen. I don't care who or what is tormenting him. I just want it-- whatever, or whoever it is-- to stop. And I'm asking your help."

Alec closed his eyes for a beat, the equivalent of shaking his head. "No. I can't. I... encountered... Arcane earlier. He must deal with this on his own. There are no quick or easy passages with such a sickness."

Graham growled. "He's suffering. Can't you do something?"

Alec began to walk away. "I've helped him as much as I could. Arcane has to face this beast by himself." He paused as he walked, and then continued. "Have you ever considered that Arcane might deserve this? He has made countless others suffer... including you."

"If you saw him for just five minutes, you would change your mind!"

Alec stopped and turned. "I'll humor you."

Graham had no time to lose. "Then follow me."

By the time they got back to Arcane's home, Graham fairly leapt into the living room. "Dr. Arcane, I've brought someone to help y--" He came to a complete and utter halt. The couch was empty. Arcane was gone.

Alec was grim. "We have to find him before he hurts anyone in his deranged state." He turned. "Come on--"

Graham was already out the door.

~~~

The jerk. The stupid, stupid, pompous, arrogant, posturing, malicious, vindictive, rotten-to-the-core, family-hurting, child-stealing, insane, hateful JERK. She hated him. To God in the high heavens and hellfire down below, she hated him. HE was the one that was the ruiner. HE was the one that ripped her child, her precious son that came out of her own body away from her. HE was the one that hurt her, hurt her friends, hurt her family, hurt her family's friends. God, but she hated him. She really did. Abigail, Will, Alec, (...Jim...) -- he hurt them all. She really, really hated him. God in heaven, but she did. He deserved a special vindictiveness, a hurtful revenge, a chilling payback for every death, every torment, every ounce of harm that he had ever inflicted, and there had been plenty of that. She. Hated. Him.

So why was he asleep on her couch?

She had no idea why Arcane was in the swamp while she was in there taking pictures for a new tour brochure, nor had she any what he was doing, or why she found him like he was; that is, delirious, and brokenly terrified. He kept talking to someone named Mirador that obviously wasn't there, and even though her gut twisted at the sight of him, even though he had torn her flesh and blood, her precious little boy away from her... she... she couldn't hurt him when he was like that. She wanted to. She would have ripped him apart like a she-wolf. But not... not when he was like that. It just went against something inside her, somehow, to hurt him when he was like that, in such a terrible state. He was so scared. Tressa had never imagined seeing Arcane so unbelievably terrified. His efforts to get away from her when she approached were as desperate and frantic as a trapped animal's, a fox with it's leg caught in the metal teeth of a clamp. And then... while he was scrabbling, terrified, for purchase... he had begged. He had begged her. And that was what scared her the most.

Besides -- she couldn't sink to his level, now could she?

So here he was, on her couch, fever spiking impossibly high, whispering, "Water... water..."

She watched silently, warring.

Arcane opened his eyes faintly. "Where am I? Graham? Where are y--" His eyes widened. "Tr-Tressa???"

She pushed a glass of water into his hand without enthusiasm. "Here," she said flatly. "You were asking for it."

Arcane stared at the water as if it were some rare archaeological find, instead of mere H2O. He forced a grin, as if trying to sound convincing. "No I didn't."

"You did. You're dehydrated. Drink."

"I assure you, I didn't..." He was still staring at the water, as if caught between two extremely difficult choices.

"I assure you, you did. Drink up." She sounded weary and bored, and was that anger he detected hiding in the back alleys of her tone?

He continued to stare at the glass of water, looking for all the world like he thought it was going to jump up and bite him. This went on for a few more minutes before he took a teeny tiny sip.

Tressa drummed her fingers on the coffee table. She really wanted him to recuperate the hell up and get out of her house. If she kicked him out now, she wouldn't be able to stand the guilt. What a crappy day.

Arcane's face acquired a "hell with it" expression, and he swallowed the rest of the entire glass in one swig before lying back down, staring at the ceiling diligently, his entire body tensed in anticipation for... something. When nothing happened for two minutes, he seemed to visibly relax. He closed his eyes.

Tressa was about halfway into the kitchen when she heard the scream.

She spun around and headed back into the living room. Arcane was rocking back and forth on the couch, hugging the pillow tightly, his head down, his voice muffled. She could still hear it, though.

"I was thirsty... please, Mirador, don't, not again... I promise you, I won't drink another thing, but I was terribly thirsty, you haven't let me drink or eat anything in days-- at least, it feels like days... no, no, no--" He bit down hard on his knuckle to stifle his own scream, continuing to rock faster. "I am sorry, I swear that I am, I'm sorry--" He gripped the pillow tighter, his face drained of all color, as one of his teeth broke the skin on his knuckle and eventually drew blood.

*"Don't hug the pillow, Anton. No more crutches."*

Arcane responded only by holding it closer, like a comfort. Tressa inexorably thought of how Jim would hug his little stuffed zebra when he was young enough that his whole fist could only close around her pinky. She swallowed.

*"Don't hug the pillow, Anton."*

Arcane gasped and curled up into a tiny ball, falling off the couch and onto the floor. He buried his face in the carpet, digging his nails into his palms. "Stop... stop..." He shuddered convulsively and to Tressa's confusion, started humming quietly. "Hmmhhmm hmm hhhmm... you can't beat me, you can't beat me, Mirador, don't even try..." He clenched his teeth, beads of pain-induced perspiration breaking out on his forehead. "You can't-- unh... -- beat m-me... hhhmmm hmmmm hmm hmhm hmhhmm... I'm the strong one, you're a senile old bat, you're not real, you're not AUGH--"

The mental voice sounded surprisingly gentle and sad. *"Don't try to fight, boy. Please don't. You don't know how much this hurts me."*

Arcane wept.

Tressa felt like she was frozen in place. Arcane was crying. It was so strange -- she had never imagined Arcane doing something so human as to cry. She had never really thought of Arcane as even having emotions. He probably didn't, she realized, when it came to anyone else but himself. But look at him... just look at him. He was crying and broken and hurt.

She moved forward, almost in a stagger, as her mind spun in circles, wondering what she should do. Her gorge still rose when she approached him, but somehow, she still felt sorry for him. He looked like he was in agony.

*"Now, isn't it better to listen to me? Isn't it?"*

Arcane nodded, still weeping quietly in agony. "Yes, yes, now stop, please. Please?" He hung his head again. "Hurts, Mirador, hurts, please stop?"

And at that moment, Tressa, in a swift instant of blind instinct, did the only thing she knew to do. Empathic instinct effectively blocking hatred, she moved over to the tortured doctor and held him. "Shhh," she whispered as he cried, stroking his hair gently with her fingers. "Shh shh shhh."

Arcane was feeling somewhat humiliated. He should run away. He should get the hell out of here. He could deal with Mirador on his own...

...no, he couldn't. Pain surrounded him, became his world, and blindly, he leaned more into her touch, tears streaming down his face, shaking. Awash in torment by the one he trusted, this woman he had wronged so many times seemed as an anchor, holding him to reality, gently soothing him through the worst of it. Gradually, Mirador wearied, and the agony subsided. Fiery-hot resistance mellowed and chilled, giving way to grim resolution and slow, creeping, sick fear deep in the black pits of his stomach. He moved away from Tressa slightly, his voice firm and desperate. "All right now, you listen to me. Never give me water. No water, no food, not any type of sustenance at all. Never."

Tressa flinched involuntarily. It might have been the fever, but his gaze had a sudden fiery intenseness to it. "That's insane. You--"

"Never, Tressa. You will promise me."

So she didn't. Whatever was happening to the man, bizarre as it was, seemed real, and even though(when it came right down to it)she still hated him, she didn't want to be responsible for it. Especially not twice in a row. So she agreed, and she didn't give him any. Not any, not at all, until he was halfway delirious and begging her.

"Water now, please?" ... "Tressa, I beg of you..." ... "Tressa, so thirsty..." ... "...water...water..."

She finally gave it to him. She couldn't stand it anymore. He was haunting her dreams. She was losing sleep.

Arcane rocked back and forth, mumbling incoherently, his eyes wide as dinner plates. "Don't do anything, Mirador... continue your slumber... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it... You must understand, I was delirious... Surely you can forgive me for that... For God sake's, please don't wake up..." He suddenly stiffened. "No... heh heh, of course I wasn't trying to disobey you, Mirador -- whyever would I want to do that? --Mirador, I was delirious! Please don't be angered! Those whispered phrases were merely incoherent ramblings! I didn't mean what I was saying! Surely I can't be held to blame if the silly wench believes them? I was delirious, Mirador, I was delirious..." He suddenly relaxed, laughing in relief. "Oh yes... thank you, thank you Mirador, yes, yes, I'll be a good boy, I'll be a very good boy..." He continued to laugh, giddy with relief, until exhaustion konked him out.

Tressa took some Pepto Bismol, but she knew it wouldn't soothe the terrible ache in her stomach.

She managed to get some fluids into him, but he wouldn't let her give him food. He was terrified every time she offered. Well, this was just great. Peachy keen. She wanted to get Arcane out of her house, but she couldn't very well throw him out while he was this sick! That would be like... like being like him. But how could he get well if he didn't eat?! It was a no-win situation, every which way.

Continued in Part 4

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