Chapter Two - Diving Deeper

I reached the coffee shop a little early. I was settling in at a corner table when Neha came inside. I heard her thoughts. She was a little confused, but I could sense some excitement and happiness beneath that. This had never happened before; I could only hear people's thoughts when they thought something inside their heads. I had never sensed their feelings. Maybe my subconscious was indeed right. I was descending deeper into people's minds.

"Hey, Sumit," she said and settled into one of the chairs.

"Hey!" Finally, my name. I thought for one second that she might call me Vijay too. Had it happened, I would have forgotten everything else and started murdering anyone who would make a sound close to that name.

"How are you today?" I asked.

'HOW WOULD I TELL HIM?' "Um...not good!"

"Tell me what?" I had developed a very annoying habit of ignoring whatever people would say out loud. Could anyone blame me? They were always lying. Instead, I'd respond to their actual thoughts. She had never seemed to have any trouble with this pesky habit of mine, but that day she looked offended.

"What? Oh! Would you please stop doing that?" she said.

I could sense from her voice that she was annoyed. "What? That has never bothered you before."

"That's right. But what I have to say today is something I want to tell you myself, not you reading it from my mind because that's the whole point here," Neha explained. "Can you please not be 'The Mind Reader' for a while? Can you respect my feelings?"

Alright. Even if my girlfriend had not said anything and not even thought about it, I sensed something weird. Something that even my subconscious picked at it. 'Uh! That's not gonna end well,' she said.

"Okay, Neha. Whatever you say. Go on." I assured her even though I wasn't sure of myself. I could sneak up on her thoughts, but as long as I kept my mouth shut, there would not be a problem.

'Um...SUMIT! I WAS THINKING ABOUT...'

'Stay quiet, Sumit,' I told myself in my head.

"Sumit, I was thinking about us this morning," she said out loud, and I tried my best not to look guilty, but something was not right about her. I tried not to pry it, but I could sense it. What was it?

'Come on, She is lying.' Apparently, my subconscious knew better.

"Things have not been so good between us lately," she added.

I had no clue when she ordered us coffee, when it arrived, or what she spoke. I could see her lips moving, but I wasn't listening. I had gone deeper into the mind. Not mine, hers. She had been with one of the boys in her class for a project that morning. I could see it. She was at his place. They were supposed to be doing the project, not chatting across the coffee table. There were two mugs too. Their project files, charts, and graphs were spread on the table unattended. Maybe it was a coffee break or something.

"So, how are you two doing?" he asked. "You know, you and him?"

"Umm, I don't know. We rarely talk, and when we do, Sumit's the one who does the talking." Neha seemed tense about me, but it was strange that I had never sensed it. She always seemed so happy about it whenever she was with me. "I have to keep thinking good things about him so that he won't notice," she answered.

So that's why I never realized the truth. I could only hear Neha's surface thoughts. But now that I could dive deep into her mind. Now that I knew she didn't love me, I didn't have to listen to her or even act. But why was she here? Why indeed? I looked further.

"I don't get it," the boy said. I knew what he was trying to do there. I could not read his mind, but I knew. "If you don't want to be with him, why are you?"

"I don't know how to say it to him, or how will he react? I am afraid of him."

She was afraid of me. I was shocked to hear that. I always thought she was impressed by me. I didn't want to see anymore, but I continued.

"Neha, I'm your friend, and I care about you. I think you should be with a person who makes you happy. You have to tell him the truth. You have to face him."

"Yeah, you are right. I have to tell Sumit. I am gonna tell him." She looked into his eyes for a moment. "You make me happy, you know. Strong."

"I do?" He seemed surprised even though he got what he wanted.

She moved closer to him and—

...

I returned from the dim and quiet to the radiance and gabbing of the coffee shop. Neha was still babbling, but I didn't have to wait for the end. My subconscious didn't have to simplify it for me, either. Before any of these could happen—

"You're breaking up," I spoke up.

It felt like dynamite exploded nearby.

"I TOLD YOU—NOT TO—" she burst. Everyone in the coffee shop stopped talking and looked at us for a while. All of their thoughts did resonate in my mind. Neha, too, seemed embarrassed by herself. She looked around and apologised silently, and then she turned to me. "You know how hard this is for me."

"No, actually, it's not," I interrupted. "You're breaking up just because you have found a new boyfriend who makes you happy!" I said as cruelly as I could. She turned pale.

"How do you—?" She looked surprised. I could understand that feeling. When your darkest secret is revealed, you get a look just like hers. And soon, that look changed to that of anger. She slammed her hands on the table, stood up, looked straight into my eyes with the same rage, and opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it. Instead, she turned and marched straight through the door, and I heard only one word—

'FREAK!'

I didn't know if she said it out loud or just thought it in her mind, but I was sure who it was for—me. I stayed on the chair for a good minute, then paid for our last coffee and rolled back towards my home.

I was walking down the road to my house thinking about only one thing, 'Freak'. She thought I was a freak and as if it wasn't enough.

'I'm not gonna say 'I told you',' said my un-detachable, inseparable buddy.

"Yeah, well, you just did," I rolled my eyes.

'That is why I've been telling you to stop. And it's just a start.'

"You mean to tell me that I should stop because I would find out what people think about me deep down?" I asked. "I found out the truth."

'Do you somehow believe that truth is a good thing?' she asked, 'Do you?'

"It's not?"

'For some people, maybe, but for you, no, it's not.'

"Why do you always say things that don't make sense?"

There was no reply. It was like we were talking on the phone, and my subconscious hung up.

"Oh, come on!" I rolled my eyes again and marched straight to my home.

I turned in the street to my house and heard my parents fighting. They had come back, and they were shouting at each other. People have no idea how far their thoughts travel when they get angry, farther than they could scream.

'IT'S NOT MY MISTAKE. IT'S YOURS.'

'MY ONLY MISTAKE IS THAT I MARRIED YOU!'

It didn't bother me. There was nothing new for me. I walked inside, and I was going to ignore my parents and walk straight to my bedroom upstairs, but I heard something that turned my blood cold, something I had never even imagined. The second my parents saw me, they thought the same thing together. 'HERE COMES THE FREAK!'

I stopped dead. 'Freak'. Again. First Neha and now my parents. I did not believe what I heard. My head started spinning, and my vision blurred because of the tears that had filled my eyes. I was not angry but sad. My subconscious was right. I should have stopped long ago. I did not turn to say anything to my parents. I did not look at them, but even that couldn't stop my mind. My mother was thinking about a baby girl, and my father was just focused on his filing cabinet in his study. I could neither make anything out of those nor did I want to. I went straight to my bedroom, maybe because I was trying to hide my tears. I slammed the door shut, lay on my bed, and stayed there.

I stayed on my bed staring at the ceiling up until midnight. Nobody bothered to check up on me except for my brother. He just knocked once and said dinner was in the fridge. He cared about me, but I couldn't tell that for sure. I wouldn't know if he, too, thought I was a freak.

'How did this happen?' I began wondering. 'How did I end up being a freak?' I remembered that I used to be almost a celebrity. 'The Mind Reader'. Did people not believe that? I could actually do that. I remembered mind games and guess-the-word...something hit my mind; others thought it was just a trick or something. Those who didn't believe me. They thought I was a creep.

I remembered once reading a girl's mind in my school and telling her exactly when and where she was going to meet her boyfriend that evening. Instead of jumping with excitement and surprise, she jolted back in disgust and said, "Stop stalking people!" before leaving. I did not even think about it until now. And with that, my past started pouring memories into my head.

"Where are you going?" I had asked my father one evening. We were about to have dinner; my mother was in the kitchen, and my brother was in his bedroom.

"Uh, it's urgent. I got some important work to do in the office," replied my father without looking at me, but I was a mind reader.

"No! You're going to an office party!"

"What? How?" he asked but did not look shocked, though. "Well, yes. But don't tell your mom." And he said just one more thing before leaving that I had never paid attention to, "Stop reading my texts!"

One day I was with my mother, and nobody else was home.

"So, when is your next kitty party?" I asked.

"What? What kitty party?" she was not a good actor; even if she were, that wasn't gonna help her.

"Those you held right here when dad's not home." I smiled.

My mother looked at me, annoyed, "Stop eavesdropping," she said. "That's not a good thing."

Why would people think that? I was still in my bedroom and was still awake. They didn't believe that there was anything such as mind-reading. They used to think I stalked people and eavesdropped on their phone calls, and why wouldn't they? I remember when I was a kid, my favourite game was stalking my parents. I would hide behind the kitchen door and watch my mother cooking.

"Oh! Don't do that, honey," she would say. "You scared the hell out of me."

I used to watch my father sometimes in his study. One day he got angry when he saw me watching him. He was putting some files in his cabine—wait!

His cabinet! I sat upright, and my heart started pumping faster. I felt something different. Was it the thrill? My father had a secret drawer in his cabinet, and that's what he was thinking about that evening. There was something there that he was afraid of me knowing about. That's why he got angry that day. It all made sense, but what could it be? I sat there for a moment and thought, 'one way to find out.'

I slipped out of my bed, walked to the door, opened it quietly, came down the stairs and sneaked into my father's study. I was not making any sound. And even if I did, my parents would think I was looking for something to eat in the fridge. I just had to make sure I didn't make any noise that wouldn't seem to come from the kitchen.

I sat before the cabinet and looked at it for a second. I, very slowly, opened the left drawer. Nothing. Just some files, folders, and stuff. Then I opened the right one. The same usual stuff. Nothing. I browsed through everything but found nothing except some papers, insurance and mortgage, and other stuff. I even pulled the drawers out. Maybe it was just my imagination. My father was thinking about his pending office work or something.

It was when I was putting everything back in order I found something.

When I pushed back the drawers, I realized that one had less depth, maybe just half the other. I touched it and felt that something else was beneath it. The floor of the drawer had been boarded up. Something was hidden there perfectly, invisible and unnoticed.

I pulled up the boarding. There was an old folder beneath it. It even had a date of fifteen years back. I opened the folder and looked at all the papers trying to figure out what it was and what it had to do with me. My heart was racing, jumping out of my chest, sending more and more blood and oxygen to my brain to deal with whatever I might find. They appeared to be some custody papers. No! Wait! Adoption papers—for a boy, who would be about fifteen right now.

Me!

My heart stopped working. I found it difficult to breathe for a while. I felt such horror that I had never felt before, not five years ago in my dark bedroom, not yesterday night, not before, not ever.

"I was adopted?" I asked myself. Maybe asking out loud might get me an answer. 'I was adopted,' my mind kept repeating that phrase inside my head. They are not my actual parents. Hell, Sumit is not even my real name. I searched through those papers to find my name, but I didn't have to. I already knew that, had known that for five years. I finally found the address of the orphanage I was adopted from and my real name.

"Vijay," I said to myself.

Just a moment ago, my heart and lungs were trying to save me from shock and trauma. Now when they had failed terribly, my brain was a wreck.

'So now you know,' she was back.

"That's why you call me Vijay?" I asked after a moment of silence.

'Yes.'

"But how did you know something I don't even remember?"

'I've been to some dark places in your mind. That's why I've been telling you to stop this,' my subconscious explained.

"I still don't understand why?"

'Because I don't want you to go there. It's darker than your worst nightmare. It's like falling into an endless dark pit.'

I was lost.

I had no idea how I got all the stuff back in the cabinet; hell, I didn't even know if I did. I had no idea how I got back to my bedroom and onto my bed. The next time I was aware of my surroundings, I was back on my bed just like I was a few minutes ago. Maybe all this had never happened and was just a dream; I had never gone to my father's study. And I had never found anything, but I knew that wasn't true.

I didn't sleep that night. I could not. How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I would see those adoption papers, my adoption papers. 'I was adopted!' my mind was still repeating that phrase; it kept doing that the whole night. 'I was adopted! They are not my actual parents. Who are my parents, then? Who am I? Does my ability have something to do with that?'

All those years, I had believed, had assumed, had fed myself with the lie that I had gotten this ability because I faced my worst fear that night five years ago, the dark. Could this be true? Was it even possible? People come across their fears and overcome them every day. They don't just start reading people's minds or moving objects with their own. Those people don't start crawling walls or flying. My abilities were part of my existence, identity, and my past.

Who was I? I needed to find out more than I needed to breathe, more than anything else, but how? Who would tell me? Who would even know? Where could I even start to look for anything? It was funny that I was asking that question as I already knew the answer. The orphanage.

The following morning was very dull, very usual. It was quiet and mundane. I skipped school and took a bus out of the city, to the town, to my past. The previous night, I had managed to take a good, short morning nap, thanks to my subconscious buddy, but she was not convinced about me going there.

'Vijay, stop!' she said. 'Please!'

'I must go there. I need some answers that I wouldn't be able to live without,' I explained. 'There's no point in trying to stop me.'

'I would knock you out. You'll be sent back home,' the voice in my head tried her best, but I knew she wouldn't do that. Maybe she couldn't.

'You won't!'

'How could you be so sure?'

'Because I don't want you to.'

And she was out again. I couldn't understand this thing about her. Why did she keep doing that, coming out of the blue and then going out without a clue? But I wasn't worried about that.

The bus reached the town. I still had to walk about a mile through the open field. I could see the house standing alone in the middle of nowhere. 'This is my home,' I thought. 'Or was, for some time, though.' When I reached the front gate, I felt something different that I hadn't felt ever, something new. I was like a traveller who had arrived at his pilgrimage. My heart was pounding. And with thrill, excitement, hesitation, fear, and confusion, I entered the house.

I was standing in a long corridor. In the end was what looked like a drawing hall or reception, maybe, but I didn't see anybody. I wondered, 'Shouldn't an orphanage be more 'alive' with children playing and running around and all.'

"Hello! Is anybody here?"

I stood there for thirty seconds when a door opened to my left. I turned and saw a wrinkled woman walking with a stick. She had a large pair of glasses on, but even with that, I doubted if she could see me because I had to wave my hand in front of her face before she noticed me at last.

"Oh! I'm sorry I did not see you there," she said softly with all of her voice. "I left the door open for you." She looked at me and said with surprise, "Aren't you a little young to be a repairman?"

It took me a moment to get what she meant by that.

"Oh! Oh! That! No! I mean—I'm not a repairman," I explained. "I am here to—" I added, but I couldn't finish, "—to talk about—"

She looked at me, and when I couldn't finish—"The orphanage?" she did.

"Uh yeah. But how di—?"

She smiled and started to walk towards the end of the corridor where the reception was. I followed her.

"How did you know?" I asked again.

"You are one of the kids who lived here. Are you not?"

"Yes, but how could you tell?"

"You are not the first one to come back to see your old home," she said, smiled again and sat on the couch. I sat next to her and asked.

"Where are the other kids?"

"Oh, they took them a long time ago. They said that the children would live in a better home in the city and would all go to school," she said, and I could feel the pain in her voice. "Maybe they thought I was getting old."

I could feel her loneliness. After all, I had been alone too for some time.

"Maybe they were right. Maybe I AM getting old because I do not remember you." She continued, "You are..?"

"Vijay," I said.

She gasped, put her hand on her mouth and kept looking at me for more than a minute. "Vijay...I can not believe it," she said finally. "After all these years. I really can't—Oh my god! You have grown up and are too handsome a boy." She put a hand on my cheek, felt it and when she realized I was there, a few drops of water emerged in her eyes that I could see through her glasses. "I can not believe it," she said one more time. "But how did you know about this place? You were too young to remember any of this."

I was about to tell her the truth. I was not gonna sit here all day and listen to this old lady. I was just about to look into her mind, her memories, but what had just happened made me think. It made me think about respecting the love this lady had for me. That single touch of affection made me happy about my existence for the first time in the last two days.

"Uh...my parents told me," I lied. "They thought it was the right thing to do."

"Oh, I am not so sure about that," she said. "I mean, when kids are old enough to remember, it is good for parents to tell them the truth. But you—I mean, if you did not remember anything, especially you, it was better if you never knew about what happened."

So it was true. There was something about me that people didn't want me to know.

"But why?" I asked with agitation. "What happened? Where did I come from? What happened to my parents?".

"No! I can not bear to remember all that again. No, please, no!" She looked away from me and started shaking her head.

I was controlling my urge to look into her mind. I wanted to listen through her mouth to have the proof that somebody had told me that, to believe it to be true. Maybe I was afraid of what I might see. I was scared of what I sought the most, my past. But I went on.

"Please, tell me," I urged. "I want to know. I need to know. Please!"

She looked back at me and felt my agitation, that urge into me. Her face changed. At that moment, she knew that I was burning inside to get to the truth. She closed her eyes, looked away from me, and opened them again.

"That was a terrible night because it had rained all night. We had a power cut. All the children and I stayed awake in the light of melting candles, sitting close to each other, listening to the rain and thunder. We were waiting for it to stop, for the sun to come up and cheer us all on again." She was looking at nothing as she was not here but was somehow sent back to that night, feeling it just like the first time. She went on, "Finally it came, the sun. But it did not bring any cheers. It brought with it the police officer, officer Patel of the town, and with him, it brought a child, barely two months old, all covered in blood." She looked at me. "You," she said.

I could see it. Not in the woman's mind but in my imagination. A police officer, carrying a baby in his hands. But I could not imagine the blood. Before I could ask anything.

"At first, I thought it was your blood," she continued. "I asked the officer what had happened. And he said–" her voice broke, and she started sobbing.

I put my hand on her shoulder and pressed it gently. She put her hand on mine and started crying.

"What did he say?" I asked.

She controlled herself, and after a moment, she continued, "Someone broke into your house that night to take shelter from the rain or to steal. Maybe your parents got in his way." She started crying again.

I did too. I did not say anything, nor did I ask anything. I didn't have to. I finally knew what had happened to my parents, how I came here and how my foster parents adopted me.

So this was it. My past. The darkness. Was that what I felt that night five years ago? The same experience from my childhood, from the night my parents were murdered. Was that why I always feared the dark? Because it always took me back to my childhood, that doomed night.

When I returned from the orphanage, I did not go back home. Instead, I turned towards the town to meet officer Patel. There was still something I needed to know. The truth about that night, about what happened. I still could not completely understand my relationship with the dark and the reason for my abilities.

Officer Patel had retired and lived with his wife. He would stay in his bedroom most of the day, sleeping or reading. I knew that because a good guy unknowingly told me when I asked him the directions to the officer's home. When I rang the doorbell, his wife opened the door. The second I mentioned I wanted to talk to officer Patel, she took me to his bedroom. He was reading at that time. As I entered the room, he looked at me and put the book on the bedside table.

"Hello, officer," I said.

He did not say anything.

"I am–I'm Vijay," I said.

As he heard my name, his expression of suspicion changed to that of shock. I think he could not believe what he heard or saw too. He raised his hand and touched my face to authenticate my presence and to trust his senses. I went closer and sat on the chair beside his bed. He patted my cheek, smiled and–

"I knew you'd come," he said, "I was waiting for you."

"I jus–I just found out abo–about my parents," I said.

"Those were good people, your parents," he replied while he tried to remember. "So friendly with everybody. They were the heart of the town. Everyone was fond of them, especially Geeta. They would visit her orphanage every Sunday. Bring candies and toys for children." He was not looking until now, but when he looked at me, he stopped for a while. "That's why I decided to leave you with Geeta when..." He stopped again for a moment. "She was broken when I told her about your parents. She could not stop crying for weeks, and she still does whenever I can go to see her," he said, and I already knew that.

He finally stopped for a moment, and I got to ask the question I was so eagerly waiting for.

"But– what happened? I mean–that night?"

Officer Patel's face went pale as I asked that question. He was a police officer, retired though, but I could see fright on his face that one would never get to see on any police officer's face.

"It was horrible. Horrible. I was going to the police station on the routine that morning. And on routine, I would see your father watering the plants and your mother through the kitchen window. They would greet me with the warmest, sweetest smiles that would make my day, but that morning," his voice deepened. "I did not see anyone. Doors were shut, and so were the windows. That was normal because it had rained all night, but then I saw a broken window from the side of the house." He stopped for a glass of water, drank it all, put it back on his bedside table and continued. "Being a police officer, I suspected something wrong and went in to check if everything was okay. The front door was locked, I had to break it to get inside, and when I reached the bedroom, I saw a horrible sight."

At this moment, my excitement took over me. I lost control of myself and dived into officer Patel's mind and his memories. I could still hear him.

"Your father was lying on the floor bathing in his own blood. The floor was red. There was not an inch to even place a toe."

As he went on, I saw a man lying on his stomach, swimming in blood. This man was my father, and he was dead, really dead. This was not the worst part.

"I entered the bedroom,'' he went on. "Your bedroom, and saw your mother lying dead with eyes still open just next to your crib. Her right hand was still in the crib and holding her finger, sleeping safe and sound, peacefully, were you." His eyes filled with tears, and so were mine. I could see my mother dead but still holding me so I could sleep without fear.

That was the worst part.

I bade officer Patel farewell and started to walk back towards the bus stop thinking about everything I had discovered that day. I had no idea where I was walking to. I was just lost too deep in my thoughts.

My parents were murdered. And that night, the darkness did something to me, made me something else. I still could not understand it completely. What was it that turned me into this? What gave me this unique ability? I was more frustrated than I would have been. Something happened to me that night, with me, in front of me, and still, I could not remember anything. If I could look into my min– my heart skipped a few beats. I stopped right at that moment. Yes, that was what I needed to do, look into my mind. I never realized that everything I wanted to know was in my mind. I was just about to go deep when–

"Don't do this, Vijay. That's the only thing I was worried about. Don't go there," she was back again.

"Oh, it's you again. You come right at the moment to stop me. Are you out of town or something when I need you?" I asked.

"I get burned out," she said. "I am always here but can't reach you. I have to wait for my energy to replenish."

"What? You are talking like you have some form of stamina or energy?"

"Yes. It's something like that. It keeps growing, so I stay longer every time I come back."

"Oh, that's a relief."

"Please don't do this."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid you will not come back from there. You would not be able to."

"You came back. Didn't you?" I asked.

"Did I?"

And that made me want to go there even more. Now I could no longer stand this confusion. What was this dark pit? I had to find out. I had to go inside my mind. I ignored everything my subconscious buddy was saying and all her warnings while I prepared to go deep.

"Go, Sumit! You have to go down," I said to myself. "You have to dive deeper." And with that, I fell into an endless dark pit.

It was still dark. I could see the sky through the window and the occasional lightning. I could hear it, the thunder, and I could sense that something sinister was about to happen.

"I found the candles," said the sweet and gentle voice of a woman, my mother.

"Get them here quick," replied my father above me.

I was lying in my crib, throwing my hands and feet, unable to see anything, and just about to panic. But the voices gave me comfort. And soon, I could see the light shimmering, flickering and moving toward me, and I could see the figure of a woman and a man standing by my crib. Those were some pretty faces. Even in the candlelight, they looked kind, caring, loving, and smiling.

"Oh my chweet bunny, are you alright? We are here, baby." The sweet voice of my mother gave me comfort that I had never felt in my entire life that I could remember.

"Oh look, he's smiling," said my father. "Hey, my boy!"

My mother was making shadow creatures on the ceiling in front of me, and my father was making faces to make me smile even more or to laugh if he could. I was enjoying the show throwing hands and feet some more, but the other me was waiting, agitated, distraught, scared and praying just when I heard something from the other end of the house. It was the sound of the breaking of the window glass. My parents heard it too.

"What's that?" my mother asked.

The making of shadows and faces stopped. They both looked out of the bedroom into the darkness beyond. This darkness was about to change so much in my life and end theirs.

"Maybe we forgot to close one of the windows," my father suggested.

"No, I checked everything," said my mother.

"Well, let me check again and are you sure the flashlight ran out of batteries?"

"Yeah. No spares either. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Hand me one of the candles."

"Here."

My father moved out of the bedroom towards the sound, to his end. My mother was waiting, looking into the dark. Nothing happened for a few seconds, nothing moved, and nobody spoke. They were getting relaxed, but I knew, and I was afraid. I wanted to scream and warn my parents. Ah! If I could save them somehow, maybe I would get them back, and I would never have to live the life I was forced to live, not that it was a bad life, but now seeing my parents and their love, I wished things went differently. But that was not possible. It had already happened and what happened shook my soul even after I knew what would happen.

"HEY! WHO THE HELL ARE Y-," my father bellowed, but then lots of things happened. There was a thud, something heavy fell, someone was moving around quickly, there was a noise of breaking glassware, and when it stopped, I heard something. There was no mistake as to what it was. It was the sound of a man gasping for breath, gushing blood.

"No!" my mother screamed and ran towards my dying father, but after a moment of silence in the dark, she fell too. There was the sound of heavy breathing followed by hurried footsteps and climbing and jumping out of the window and the last thing I heard was footsteps running away.

There was silence and utter darkness. Both of me were looking in the dark. One was just worried, curious and waiting for the light, and the other was victimized, scared of the dark, yet feeling a part of it. It was quiet, and then I heard something. A voice. A soft, feeble, gentle female voice. Calling out my name, my real name,

"Vijay…"

Something or someone was being dragged on the floor, moving towards me. And then I saw it through my peripheral vision. It was my mother crawling on the floor, reaching out to me. My heart and mind felt a terrible jolt of pain. It got worse when I heard my mother again.

"Viijaay…"

She was just next to me, and then she slid her hand into the crib and started patting me. Her movements slowed down every second, but she did not stop. I felt something slipping on my skin. I was covered in something, but this time it was not cold. I suddenly felt warmth. It was not because of the blood. This warmth and comfort were because of the love, the love of my mother. She wanted to say something like 'I'm here,' 'don't be scared,' or 'mommy loves you,' but she couldn't. She put all her remaining life in to comfort me, so I could sleep peacefully. Her movements slowed down and finally stopped. My mother was dead, and her hand was still on my stomach. I was still throwing my arms, and one of them found my mother's hand. I gripped onto one of her fingers and held it tightly. I knew she was with me. I could sleep peacefully, and nothing would scare me. I finally drifted off, but only one of me. The other me was devastated. The other me was still falling, falling in an endless dark pit.

I was unsure where I was, it was still dark, but somehow, I was floating. I was also feeling gravity. I was going up through stairs, but how? I could hear, but it was as if I was underwater, and then I heard my foster father.

"Hey, what are you doing up there? I told you not to do stairs!" he was saying, and yes, it was like his voice was coming from downstairs.

"I was looking for something," it was my foster mother. I was surprised. "This photograph of my childhood friend, I was missing her,'' she said.

"And I was looking for you. I have–I have a name for our baby."

"Really?"

"Ahan"

"What is it?"

"Um–how about...Supriya?

"Aw! It's beautiful!"

"Hey, watch it–watch your ste–HEY!"

I fell again. Everything was spinning around, and I was falling yet down, and then everything went even darker and quieter. I kept falling and falling. It was as if there left nothing to do in my life but fall. Falling into this endless dark pit.

"Vijay! Wake up!"

"Wha-???"

"Wake up!"

I was lying on the ground. I could hear the birds and the wind shuffling the leaves.

"Come on. Wake up! Please wake up!"

I snapped into reality and slowly opened my eyes. It was dusk. I was lying on the side by the road leading out of the town, back to the city. I was back. I sat and then stood up. It took me a moment to remember everything, and when I did, my heart started crying, and so did my eyes and soul. It was painful to know how my parents died, but it was even worse knowing that I was there and the worst to see it again. I remembered the last words and actions of my mother. She was dying and was still trying to comfort her son. I couldn't get that out of my mind, and I knew I would never be able to. I wasn't thinking about anything else because it didn't matter how I got that ability anymore. It didn't matter what the dark did to me. I was only thinking about my parents and the life I never got to live. And for the first time–

"You were right," I said. "I should not have gone there. I should have listened to you."

"It's okay," she said. I'm just glad that you came back."

"Did I?"

I took a bus back to the city but didn't want to go home. I was sitting in the back and thinking about everything. I was still feeling like crying my heart out, and I was dying inside. Then I got a text, so I drew out my cell phone and started checking texts and calls to get my mind off everything else. My parents were calling me all day. I got a text from my brother asking where I was. The recent text was from my aunt. She was the elder sister of my foster mother. My brother and I liked her very much. I suddenly knew where I wanted to go and who I wanted to talk to.

"So you know."

"Yeah. I found my adoption papers in dad's study."

"Did you tell them that–?"

"No, and I don't want to."

"What are you gonna do?"

"I don't know." I took another sip of the hot chocolate my aunt had made for me. It was one of the reasons we liked her so much. However, I was not feeling any better than earlier on the bus on the way back but talking to my aunt gave me some peace.

"Are you okay, son?" she asked.

"Yeah," I lied. "I don't understand why my parents didn't tell me. I deserve to know."

"Maybe because they wanted to forget what happened to them," she said.

"What do you mean?" I asked, and suddenly my mind drifted off from everything else.

She sighed, stood up and started walking around her living room.

"Before they adopted you," she started, "Your mom had an accident."

"What happened?"

She hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether to tell me and then she decided.

"She fell from the stairs."

Something hit my mind. I, too, stood up. I opened my mouth to ask, but my aunt answered before I could.

"She was six months pregnant. It was a girl." Her eyes filled, and her voice broke as she spoke, "They had even decided on a name for the baby."

I remembered that my foster mother had been thinking about a baby girl the previous evening. I remembered something else. The dream I had a couple of hours ago. My foster parents were talking about naming a baby. I knew what my aunt was going to say before she did–

"Supriya." She didn't say anything after that, or even if she did, I was not there to listen anymore. I was carried away to some deep, dark place in my mind.

Now it all made sense. The darkness, my fear, my relationship with it, those voices, the reason for my unique mind-reading abilities. Everything. Now I had understood everything. The voice in my head is not my subconscious. It is the consciousness of my dead foster sister or whatever is left of her. Her spirit? She died in that house, but her consciousness stayed. Somehow she stayed there. She was there when my parents brought me home. She saw me or felt me. She saw my past, my recent tragedy, and she must have felt that one common thing between us was the darkness.

I remembered that night five years ago when I was in my worst nightmare. I was experiencing the same thing I did when I was just a baby. I was scared. The first time my mother was there, my dying mother comforted me, but that night I was alone. She must have felt my fear. She saw the darkness inside me that had become her world. I don't know whether she sought refuge or wanted to help me but somehow, her consciousness merged into mine. We became one. She went into the deepest darkest places in my mind. She dived deeper into my past, and she became my subconscious. Her presence calmed me down, just like the presence of my mother did. I was not scared anymore.

I remembered everything that had happened after that night and my five years as 'The Mind Reader'. Her presence made me more than one. One human, one mind, one consciousness, one soul. It made me capable of doing things that nobody could do, things none could even think of.

Now I knew everything.