Chapter 2
The cool breeze from the balcony helped Charles to relax from that phone call. From where he was standing was the park across his apartment where people had been lingering on the Saturday evening, enjoying family time. Charles watched some children playing with dogs. People watching grew as his favorite habit since when he needed to see real people doing normal things he couldn’t do.
Charles lit his cigarette. He started to smoke since the first year as the counselor and the addiction became more difficult to quit. His work was stressful and it required more energy to focus and bury something inside. He was the garbage for the clients to throw their unwanted memories. And Charles couldn’t help but working to balance his stress with anything he could get a hand on to release those troubling feelings from the others in his mind.
He hung up a phone call from a client. A woman was pleading him to eradicate her memories about her ex-husband who cheated on and abandoned her with a five-month baby in the belly. Charles sighed while their conversation was still hanging in a thick air of calamity. Those memories never, and ever went away. The woman still didn’t give up on the contract even Charles insisted that he couldn’t do it. Frist, her case was sympathetic enough but not caused by a trauma, more likely a heart-breaking mime. Secondly, He would not remove her memories during her pregnancy, whether she would keep the baby or not. It would cause a drastic effect to a child whom even the mother would never acknowledge its being.
Charles’s stomach churned when he thought of the last conversation and how she desperately pressed him to do with her husband’s menacing abuse story. He couldn’t help but thinking about his own mother. What would she do if she known there was a ‘healing process’ to choose at that time? Charles thought it would make no difference, at least to him. His mother would have wanted to get rid of the unwanted baby by her own choice no matter what cost she had to take.
The weather got colder until Charles could not stand in the open air. He retreated from the room after a half an hour outside, littering the butt and sucked out the fresh air. His head was still clouded by other people’s messed up mind. The last one was a Soldier from the Vietnam War. Charles clung onto his head for a month until he could wipe of his entire memories in the war. To work on it, He had been suffering from nightmares, repeatedly with the screams, gunshots and goring of blood and sense of hardcore fear and hopelessness. The worst was boredom and emptiness of how a life could go. The question was haunting not only his client, but him either.
Even though Charles had a strong, vigorous will to prove his power would do anything good, what kept him doing such a work that can torment him every day and night was an arrogance that grew into an addiction. It was an obsession since he wanted to fix up his childhood and looked up for the future with a power that still ingrained to him. Making it a good use will be an obnoxious sign that he wouldn’t come back to the past life he dragged himself out of before. It sounded slightly promising as Charles wanted but couldn’t dare to hope.
Hank had always told him how crazy he was and repelled him to quit. He was close to be considered as a friend. He was a physics student who lived in the dorm near his apartment. They had seen each other from time to time in the local library in the science sections. Charles started to make at least one friend and Hank was kind enough to be one. They did not have to touch each other and that would a benefit for an adult friendship that Charles would never have when he was a child, longing for human loving touch. They had been keeping in touch on each other since then.
“It will take you less than two years to become an Alzheimer's disease but before that you will have to cope with depression, sleep-deprivation and insanity. Plus one day you will go mad.”
Charles chuckled. Hank’s warning reminded him of himself when he used to warn Raven with a fatherly concerned tone. Hank unintentionally mimicked it so perfectly.
“I've been coping with it. It’s not that I’m suicidal or anything,” he rambled. “It’s my intention that wanted to keep on.”
“For how long? Don’t tell me you really want to do this job. With such a talent like you, you could’ve become a professor. No need for physical contact or anything and it is a fine job you deserve.” Hank retorted.
He could tell this was the line Hank always wanted to tell him, even knocked his sense by shaking him if he could.
“I know. I will quit, okay? If I know myself I reached the limit. I promise.”
But Charles didn’t quit even he had known he already hung on his reach for a while. Self-destruction as he always was, he often joked with himself. It might run through family gene that made him wanted to push over it. He continue overcoming those nightmares to find the balance so he could still suffer from pain and can be healed aftermath over and over again, to feel like he accomplished something worthwhile.
Coincidentally, he did. It was something Charles had never expected he could do, it was sex.
After the ‘healing process’ of the woman whose case Charles took it as one of the most disturbing ones. She had been violated by sexual relationship with her father in a very unusual way. She told him, with her shaking voice that she needed to end this promiscuity as she was used to please him after her parent’s divorce. He met up with her in person to talk and touch her, holding her hands with as if he committed an affirmed vow. It took him three times in meeting to finally get rid of her memories about her father, but the consequences were left with Charles alone.
It brought him suffering with nightmares a couple of weeks, which was quite usual to him, but something strange happened as well. He felt what the poor woman had been through, not only pain but the need to be touched with possessive force. The vigorous desire was burning his body like fire.
He went to the bar after the late night in the second week after the woman case because he could not stand jerking off every night to pass on the unbearable needy feeling. He was almost blinded by his lust, so whiskey strongly helped his crotch hard under the pants. His first night was a man, similar to the woman’s father in her memories; tall, strong arms, short hair like a soldier.
The first time was blurred, full of stars and white blank orgasm. He was drunk enough not to care with his power. It was also the first time he couldn’t remember anything since he was born and Charles considered it was the best thing happened against all odds. He woke up and saw a stranger sleeping on the bed in the cheap motel and decided to peek out his mind.
It was so messed up. Charles picked up pieces from what happened last night. Without consciousness, he had asked him for the blindfold, spanking and tied up with mattress pulled as a rope to the cardboard. Besides being embarrassed and ashamed, he was relieved; the memories showed that he merely stole anything from the stranger, or not the core of his memories. The other woke up. The sign of remembrance was shown on the grin when he looked at Charles and tried to crawl back onto him. Charles rapidly searched for his memories. The one missing was the memories of his breakfast the day earlier.
He almost shouted out to himself. It was clear that he didn’t steal the memories of the stranger he just had physically touched the whole night. He tried once more, with a third shot of pure vodka and went off the bar with a woman. The same miracle happened. She lost her memories about the birthday date of her boyfriend that came into Charles’ mind instead.
The curse had its shortage with anyone Charles rarely felt attached with, or only for the real physical touching without emotions. It made sense when he considered the earlier cases in his childhood. Her mother only touched him about minutes after her memories wiped out due to their blood bonding. Jane was the first person he felt her genuine smile and caring and his curse affected on her in the short terms. And his clients, for a month’s healing process, undoubtedly provoked some emotions to Charles to eventually care for them, or at least for their wrecked, broken memories.
It allowed only his body instinctively acted to response with lust but without feelings, like a machine that needs to be energized or an animal in the spring. To hell with the curse, Charles thought then he went off to the bar, pick another stranger to fuck.
So Charles’s life was used up with a lot of sex and stress and nightmares repeatedly happened but he learned to get used to it, even enjoyed it its silent rhythm.
One of a restless night, he met a man with over one’s life-time memories named Logan.
It was a wild night on Christmas holidays when Charles met him and knew his power, not only the metal claws as he used to tease but Logan’s wondrous mind. It was like a journey getting through his many layers and with his power he could unlock some. Charles knew that he found they get along pretty well due to their solitude figures. They both need no one, but still want someone to hold on in some nights but lack of feelings involved. Logan’s long-timed memories fit with Charles’s condition that no matter he steals a piece of it, the whole still remained.
“I don’t give a damn about your power,” said Logan, a beer bottle swinging close to his lips. “as long as you make sure they all gone. It’s full of shit.”
Turned out Logan didn’t lose a bit and their relationship had begun since then. Logan’s presence was closed to Charles’s sex partner he didn’t expect to commit to, yet it was distant enough with no emotions invaded. Charles occasionally stole the man’s memories. Most of them are tiny bits of histories that even Logan sometimes had forgotten they happened: the massacre in Civil Wars, the Dunkirk beach, the journey on the ship to France in World War II, the battle in Soviet War. None of these matter much to Logan and somehow Charles helped him to get through those things. From time to time, Charles was convinced Logan was being healed as he was.
Charles woke up in the late morning with Emma’s call.
“Glad you finally pick the damn phone,” She said. “I called you million times last night but I guess you are on the fling until now.”
“Best guess,” Charles yawned. He hadn’t minded taking an offense on her sarcasm since he knew her by now. “What’re you up to?”
“An unusual client,” She started, “if you want to, I can’t tell you the details until you give me my word. This is a very confidential case.”
There was something strange in her voice that almost made Charles reluctant. He neither rejected the case, nor was deflected by her warning before. Emma was his boss, the founder of the firm and also the telepath as him. She was at the omega level telepath and specialized in medical surgery, searching through the false cells on the patient’s brains, attempting to cope with neuroscience surgery. She was also the first one of the telepaths who started using their mutation to work as the specialist. “It’s time people have to be knocked down by the truth we are far more capable in doing these things we are born to do.” She told him once when the knowledges about telepaths were still on the surface.
Emma took a long breathe then she explained, “This one insisted not to talk to you on phone. He prefers the letters”
“What?”
“A letter, Charles, as most of people in nineteenth century used to fashionably do. He wants to ask you some questions before accept your service and continue your process. Is that fine?”
Since he was the only telepath who was in charge with other people’s memories, Charles didn’t reject the case. And if the other want to write, let him do.
“Then he would contact you in a few days. I don’t give him your address but he has to contact through the firm’s address.” Emma concluded.
“Then I think I have no choice.”
Three days later, Charles a letter came from Emma.
Hello,
I know it must have been out of place when you have to talk to a person with letters while having a phone call would make it better. Since I have moved so often from places to places. Even somewhere we don’t even have a phone number.
On the other hand, I also prefer writing. It makes my thoughts more tranquil which constantly they are running wild. As a written form, it gets me to talk to my settled consciousness. Well, writing a letter to someone I don’t know is different, yet I hope it will be a fresh start.
As I said I have traveled many places, then I just moved to live not far from New York. I heard from a friend that there is a healing process run by telepaths, the counseling that can do something with memories and I find it mesmerizing. Could I ask you a question then, how do you feel about working to wipe out people’s memories for a living?
I don’t have any telepaths around. There are some debates flying here and there that mutants nowadays have been doing jobs to serve as human labors. It was economically necessary, but at the same time we do not get anywhere far from since mutants announcement officiated in eight years ago. But I think mutants still exist to serve human’s vacancy.
I’m sorry if this is hard for you but this letter will not reveal any of my life yet, if it’s what you expect me to tell. I have to make sure I can trust you because what I have in my head all the time is also a part of what I am now.
Good days.
There was no name put on the end of the letter.
Charles blinked. He couldn’t respond to his client simultaneously. He took time to take in and put out his thoughts in words.
He sit back on the armchair and read the letter again. No one, especially his clients had asked him about his work, or even how he feels. This man must be a quiet type, but generally not easily to be played off with. He was certainly a mutant and a radical one. Charles felt amazed but unnerved. He wrote ‘we’ included others living with him; a wife perhaps. He moved a lot and still managed to have friends around without a settlement?
The last part wasthe strangest. Charles convinced himself that that this man was unwilling to let him do the counseling. He was tricking on him, but into what? Charles didn’t know.
He tried to call Emma but the line was busy. It was the rush time in a day that she was probably in the surgery room. Charles hung up and went to the balcony and smoked. He stood there for an hour, watching new people in the same surrounding at the park for a while, then he came back to his studies room and decided to write the reply with a cautious mind.
Hello, my friend who minds to be named.
My name is Charles. It was quite new for me, receiving a letter from a person I barely know. But I decided to address you as a friend and writing the reply to you will be less formal if now you’re my companion in writing.
I understand your uneasiness, but I can’t help myself feel intrigued by some facts you don’t directly tell me. You are a mutant, a quite actively one, I’m sure. I heard a lot of mutants news and I don’t disagree with you. We are working to serve the general people with our abilities, but we also made our own extension to do what we could at best. It is a compensation for mutants and humans to accommodate one another.
It is not a satisfying position from both, mutants or humans but it was the finest place humans and mutants can live together and continue considering on another’s potential, as long as both of them are in use of one another. It was a tactical way to live, I would say.
I appreciate your concern about my feeling that you’re kind enough. I’m doing very well at my work. I have been working for five years since I moved to New York. I can’t tell you about any of my cases but I must say it is challenging. The key is how you can cope with it, find the balance between to absorb and release some you don’t want in your head, another way is to bury them deep until they are forgotten.
I understand your conditions and can accept that you want to get to know me until you trust me to share your memories and find a way to help you sort them out. But my friend, what is for you to call yourself ‘a what’ of how the past makes you become a person as you are today?
I’m looking forward to another response and hope you have a good day too.
Charles
This was honest enough. Charles thought, even he left the part of his real mutation: the curse he bore for all along because it was no good to tell.
The birthday party in Sean’s house was loud and cozy. Charles was dragged to the party because Sean was one of Hank’s few friends. They were also mutants who knew about Charles’s mutation and understood. Besides, Sean was harmless one and Charles admired his optimism.
When He arrived, Sean was surrounded by people and laughing at his own jokes. Charles greeted him politely and got a greeting, ‘Good to see you professor!” from Sean though he was not. Sean always called him like that, because Charles’s worn out blue cardigan and tweets.
He was politely social able enough, giving Sean a leather notebook he’d wanted for so long and left to the balcony for smoke. His face is touched with frizzling snow in the same coldness he was familiar with in his room, then another figure came to stand near him. It was Angel.
She smiled to him. An another mutant who knew about his power and safe enough to be around and good at keeping secrets even she was, sort of a turbulent one living half of her life in the orphan and then in the prison for vandalism and treated with mistrust more often than taken as a friend.
She nodded at him, handing him a cigarette for the light. Charles obligated her. They were standing without looking at each other but outside in the sky, opened for the night wind and lights out there.
“How are you doing?” Angel asked with a casual tone, as usual.
“I’m good. How’s yours?”
“It’s pretty rough, though I’m sure those assholes will be kicked out soon.”
“It’s your choice, you know.” Charles tried to touch the subject so lightly.
“Yeah, said from a professor.” She emphasized the word and Charles sighed with exhaustion.
“There’s no need to mock me. I have already pity myself, Angel.”
She didn’t laugh but eyed on him. After a moment pause she said.
“I came here to tell you,” She never said anyone’s name. “That I met your sister, Raven.”
It took him a long while to articulate what she had said even the breath he didn’t dare to take in. The silence inside Charles’s head broke into million pieces.
Angel seemed to understand him.
“Sorry for the rush, but I can’t bring this to you in other moments.” She dragged a long breath and took the smoke out of the white air. “I knew her for a while. She was a friend of a girl I work with.”
Charles tried to restrain himself even it was eight years since someone said her name out loud. Angel looked at him with an unreadable expression, then went on.
“I don’t give her details but I’m sure she knows about you. I don’t give a shit what’s between you and I don’t want to pry--, ” She paused and Charles felt he was observed the reaction but he gave her nothing.
“You know, she makes me swear I won’t tell about her but I think you deserve to know.”
“Is that all?”
Angel sighed. “She is now out of town. I know her from a friend, so she doesn’t really trust me to tell anything after all.”
“How is she?”
“Blue.” Angel grinned. “And pretty tough one, considered a girl living with her own device, she is fine.”
Charles couldn’t find the reason why his heart ached and burning like a charcoal. “You said she is a friend of your co-worker, does it mean—”
“No, she doesn’t work as I do,” Angel disrupted, not seeming to take it an as offense. “Only I know is she is off and on. She doesn’t give me a clue about her work but I think she knows enough about you and how I know you.”
Charles didn’t notice he hold breathe for so long he sucked the air into his lung. The smoke was thick and nauseous like he had never felt before. His stomach stirred with a sickening grunt and his throat was dry like sand in the heart of the desert hole even it was in the winter.
Angel coughed, “It’s not my business but I think she is proud of you. She doesn’t hesitate to say she was once your sister.”
Angel decided to leave him in the balcony, excused herself to refill a glass of wine. From the inside the laughter continued and Sean’s voice is the loudest and brightest. Charles took a long smoke for one last time then left the house without anyone noticed.
He didn’t expect the letter would be returned at the instant but the envelope was found, lying in the post box next morning. He also got a voice mail from Emma that this client accepted and turned into the further step of process.
Charles didn’t want to be surprised or even wonder why this man trusted him. He opened the letter and read.
Charles,
You would have known that I decided to take the healing procession which was farther than I had expected. I scarcely trust my feeling but it feels right to continue writing to you.
But it doesn’t mean I’m pleased with your letter. It wasn’t close to persuade me why you’re doing your job. Let me clear to you my friend, there is no right or wrong in this world. Making peace can be equivalent to making yourself arrogant. I know because I’m the one either.
You said about compensation but what you have gained from this position only pain and all those ugliest memories, no one but you who take in but do not have a chance to let out. Memories are not used up to bury, Charles. They are meant to torment and haunt you that make you become of who you are.
As same as in conscience, you mentioned about the way to live. It’s like now you’ve been redeeming from something unpaid and it was so burdened. You did the job based on gratitude for your existence. I’m sorry if I am maddening you, but I always judge people but I’m capable of changing my mind. I can apologize if I guess wrong, but most of my assumptions are true.
You have any time to deny this healing process, as you claimed you have been doing it to ‘compromise with this world’. You certainly think my letter is disturbing. But when it comes to writing, as same as living in the world that needs to be fixed up, I can’t hide from its brutal honesty, or something you are absent from.
And my name is Erik Lehnsherr. It’s nice writing to you, Charles.
Have a good day.