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“Nightingale,” Darius said gently, “are you sure you're alright?”
Gale looked at the two men before sighing. She then fixed her eyes on her fingers resting in her lap, and took a deep breath to steady herself.
“Sometimes, when I touch something—usually through my hands, but sometimes it just has to be bare skin—I...see things.”
Gale did not look up when she heard Doctor Elm and Darius shift. Gale allowed herself to get sidetracked wondering just who Doctor Elm was, and how he could throw out the words “evil spirit” so casually.
Gale then continued with her confession. “If I really try, I can draw a vision from just about anything I touch, but I don't have enough control to stop visions once they start. They tend to make me sick, because it causes a mental, and often emotional or physical strain. The visions can be of anything—the past, present, future, or even something less tangible, like an emotion or a feeling. A couple of times, the impression someone left behind on an object caused me to be possessed by their memory. I can't explain how it works, or how it happens—it just does.”
“Nightingale,” Darius put his hands on her leg, the clean white sheet between his skin and hers. “You're a psychic.”
Gale met Darius' gaze tentatively. Doctor Elm took a seat on another stool and crossed his legs in thought.
“But for using your abilities to effect you physically...have you had this power for long?” He asked. “I know with some psychics, their powers manifest around puberty, and Reid said you were 16, which means you're about the right age—“
“—I was born with them.” Gale looked back down at her lap. “I've just tried really hard not to use them.”
Darius gasped knowingly. “You were wearing gloves.”
Gale nodded, confirming his suspicions.
“I could get a read off of anything. And with no ability to stop the visions, just getting through the day can be really hard. I need to wear gloves just to function.”
“Interesting.” Darius mumbled, “From what Reid told me though, you were able to, at one point, stop being influenced by the spirit. You were then able to communicate the identity of the spirit to him.”
“Most of the time, the visions are a lot like a waking dream: I know I'm having a vision, and am aware of my actions under the influence of the vision, I just can't do much about it.” Gale shifted in the bed as she spoke, uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. “The amount of time I'm touching the object, and the intensity of the vision also matter. The feeling of joy I got from the spirit wasn't very strong since the spirit was trying to suppress it, and she let go really quickly.”
“I see.” said Darius thoughtfully.
“But why go to such lengths to suppress your power Nightingale?” Dr. Elm asked. “If you had developed your gift, I'm sure you could get to the point where you could have more control over the visions.”
At this question, Gale turned completely away from the men and faced the wall. The clock above her showed that it was almost midnight. Gale heard no other sounds outside of the room. She wondered if they were the only 3 in the clinic.
“At first, my mother just though I had an overactive imagination,” She began, “I was 6 when she realized it was something more. That was when I began to have nightmares about my father dying every time he tucked me in to bed...a month before he got into the accident that killed him.”
Gale ignored the sound of gasping, and continued to talk to the wall. “She started taking me to doctors, specialists, psychiatrists—you name it. There was no physical reason for my abilities, obviously, and to psychiatrists I seemed like a normal girl, aside from when I touched them I knew about the affairs they were having with their patients, bad relationships, and any insults they weren't saying about my mother. Finally, a doctor referred my mother to a college professor that specialized in paranormal phenomenon. I remember he spoke to me for little bit, then broke the news to my mother. She laughed at first.
“Eventually though, she realized that professor was right. As I got older, the visions intensified and became more frequent, and I learned what was behind my mom's smile: fear. My mother did not like the idea of having a psychic daughter, and the more my powers grew, the less I saw my mother smile. She stopped touching me. She was the one who bought my first pair of gloves. It became an unspoken rule that I shouldn't tell her about any visions I had.
“That was when school started to get difficult too. I hated school. It was loud and crowded, and every bump, every paper, every book gave me a vision. Even with extra efforts to keep my skin covered, I couldn't avoid having multiple visions each day. When I was 11, my mother arranged for a private tutor to home school me after I lost one of my gloves, and the amount of visions I had put me in a coma for three days.
After that, I stopped trying to have friends. I stopped going outside, stopped leaving my bedroom, for fear I would have a vision. Then last year, my mother finally suggested that I live by myself. She pays the bills and gives me a monthly allowance, and I have my own place. It was recently built, so no previous tenants to leave memories behind, all the furniture was ordered from the factory, and I meet with a tutor once a week for “school.” I barely have visions anymore.”
Gerbil_of_the_Vashness · Tue Dec 23, 2014 @ 06:09am · 0 Comments |
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