Brian O'Grady - Hybrid

“I’d like this to remain confidential, if you don’t mind. I know that this is not exactly confession, but I need to talk about something sensitive.”

Oliver stiffened visibly, afraid of what he was about to hear.

“Oh my God, it’s nothing like that. I know how that must have sounded, but this is not about me, it’s about her. She’s coming down here, and there are people looking for her, people that I’m afraid want to hurt her.”

Oliver felt relief flood into him. He didn’t know how he would have reacted to someone he had grown to admire confessing to an illicit love affair with his daughter-in-law. “How can I—”

He never finished his sentence. His mind suddenly exploded in pain. It was as if someone has sneaked up behind him and hit him in the back of the head with a baseball bat. For a moment, his identity was lost within the pain, and in that moment, he glimpsed the world through someone else’s eyes. He was inside a moving car; in fact, he was driving the car. He was slowly coasting down a snowy residential street, looking for something or someone. It was at once familiar and disorienting. He worked his fingers and watched as the fingers in the vision opened and closed at his bidding. He turned the steering wheel and felt the car skid along the slick road. Then, abruptly, he was back in the sacristy with Greg Flynn. His head throbbed, but the pain began to recede.

“Father, are you okay?” Greg was standing over him, his hands on Oliver’s shoulders, steadying the teetering priest.

“I don’t know what happened. Just a sudden sharp headache, but it’s better now.” Oliver reached for Greg’s hand, and the pain struck again, only this time he saw himself grimacing in pain through Greg’s eyes. However, the pain and the disorientation were not as intense as with the first attack, and they seemed to pass almost immediately. In their wake, Oliver was left with an almost euphoric feeling. Energy surged through his mind and body. He suddenly felt like he was eighteen again. His heartbeat became strong and regular, his breathing deep and unlabored, his limbs light and powerful. A door opened in his mind, and a fresh breeze blew away all his stale thoughts and self-doubts. Something had freed him, and unencumbered, he could for the first time in his life see the world as it really was. He took Greg’s hand and squeezed it; he felt his own hand as well as Greg’s, and the strange duality made him laugh.

“I know about Amanda, my friend,” Oliver said. “She’s driving down from Boulder to see if your suspicions are correct, and you’re worried that the FBI will try to take her.” The words exploded out of Oliver’s mouth. “And if they do, you’re worried that she will hurt, maybe even kill some of them. She’s been changed; she has grown into something different. I can see it all in your mind.”

Greg pulled his hand away from the priest and stared at him, dumbfounded. “How?” was all he managed to say.

Oliver sagged as the connection was broken. He was sixty-two again. His heart returned to its old familiar, irregular rhythm, and the heaviness found its way back into his limbs, but his mind remained invigorated. It raced with excitement and wonder, the disillusionment and depression that had troubled him for weeks suddenly locked away in the basement of his mind. It was inexplicable and amazing, like suddenly discovering that he had wings, and could fly.

“I don’t know, Greg, nothing like this has ever happened before,” Oliver said, amazement filling his voice. “You touched me, and suddenly I could see myself through your eyes, but it went beyond just sensation. Somehow, I knew what you were going to say. I saw your thoughts. I felt them in my mind in my chest, everywhere.”

“Can you feel them now?” Greg sat back down, eyeing the priest with suspicion.

“No, I guess I’m back to normal,” Oliver said.

Greg stared at him — fear and caution written across his face.

Oliver was coming down from his high, and as the exhilaration began to fade, reality crept back into his mind. “Just before you touched me, I was somewhere else. I mean. . I saw. . except I more than just saw. .” Oliver struggled to put the experience into words. “I was in a car driving down a road. It was only for a moment, but I got the distinct impression that it was near here. I wonder if it was Amanda. We were talking about her just before it happened.”

Oliver watched as Greg’s entire appearance changed with the mention of Amanda. He suddenly became aware of just how physically threatening the police detective was and a hint of fear crept into Oliver’s mind.

“It wasn’t Amanda,” Greg said, barely contained anger coloring his terse words. He quickly got to his feet, and his chair skidded to the wall. “I have to go.” He began to edge his way around the priest.

“Greg, I didn’t mean to. .” Oliver stood and reached for the retired detective.

“Don’t touch me!” he screamed, recoiling from the small man. Greg was red-faced. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but you stay away from Amanda.”

Oliver stepped aside and gave Greg a clear path to the door.

“I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, Greg. I had no control over it. Please don’t leave like this,” Oliver pleaded.

As Greg opened the door, the sounds of the awakening church invaded the sanctuary. He hesitated and turned back to face the priest. His emotional energy now spent, Greg seemed to sag back to his usual size. “I need time to work this out, Father. It was bad enough with Amanda.”

“I understand, but there’s something you need to know. If it was Amanda driving down that street, she urgently needs help. I can’t be completely certain, but I think she’s come here with the intention of killing someone. She’s sick. I felt the illness inside her.”

“Amanda would never intentionally hurt anyone,” Greg declared defiantly.Greg was a bad liar, and the flash of concern that crossed his face was plain to see. “I’d like to help,” Oliver said simply.

Greg stared back at the priest, and Oliver could tell that Greg was appraising him from a new perspective. “I’ll talk with Amanda,” he said and then left quickly.

Phil awoke with a start; certain someone was in his room. He clicked on the light but found no tall, dark, deformed man looming over him. His heart was thundering in his chest; it had been a rough night after a rough day. The waitress had caught him staring down her blouse; he had hallucinated a fairy-tale monster brazenly knocking down a woman and then disappearing; and finally, he had alienated the entire office by demanding that he be left alone. Now, after a night filled with tormenting voices and dreams about invisible phantoms, he faced a day filled with menial tasks and a sullen staff. Phil couldn’t relate to his staff any better than to the rest of the world, but their emotional states mattered to him, if only at a professional level. He needed order and consistency in the office, and it was his secretary and the rest of the staff who created it. He would have to make amends today. He would apologize to a few, and to others he would find an excuse to praise some trivial accomplishment, all for the sake of his own inner peace.

He rolled over and found that he still had eight minutes before his alarm would go off and officially start his day. Eight minutes of solitude. He breathed deeply and tried to let his mind float free. It was an ability he was trying to develop, but with little success. It should have been simple, a natural thing; but to him, it was anything but simple or natural, and it never had been. Even as a child, perhaps especially when he was a child, he had never been able to simply sit and daydream. There were the rare occasions in which he could shut down his mind and simply exist outside of thought, but he had never been able to just let go and let his thoughts wander without direction. He had been conditioned to always be focused, always be on guard, lest the unstable, dangerous portions of his fragmented mind seize control. For nearly forty years his mind had been racing, trying to stay ahead of the insanity that matched his every step.