by Anne Carly Abad

Webbed lines of electricity flitted across the Motherlode’s network of metal neurons. Evan thought it funny that despite all the rage about Live Vision, they were still using thumb drives to upload shows to Mother. He let his thoughts fly and tuned in to the broadcast, just to make sure the sound and video were good. The actors’ faces were clear. Volume was just right. No lag.

Okay, done. And he disconnected himself. The images dissipated into thin air. He handed back the thumb drive to Maia. He tried not to look at her face.

Maia took it from him, flinching at an accidental brush of their fingers. Their hearts raced in synch. I’m sorry! She apologized again, and again, and again, but never met his eyes. It was a mere touch. She didn’t need to act so guilty about it, thought Evan.

What’s wrong? Want to talk about it?

Her cheeks glowed bright red. Talk about what?

And she closes me off again. Evan sighed.

He caught a shove of her annoyance. He wanted to reach into her mind, just to have a peek at why she was so on edge today, but the yellow glint of her wedding ring made him hesitate.

Maia was a media assistant from the planning department. They met on a rainy September afternoon during Evan’s first day at work. The hiring manager had been introducing Evan to the other teams when he and Maia had locked eyes and couldn’t break the gaze. They’d been psychically bound since then.

But Maia wasn’t someone he could have.

Each workday was a battle for Evan. It took everything he had not to cross the line despite seeing her regularly. He constantly wondered why she had to be so cold to him. And why was she acting like the ‘situation’ never happened at all? 

Imprinting was supposed to be a lifelong thing. 

That made it all the more unimaginable.

But since she seemed to acknowledge it today, he couldn’t let the chance pass. He ventured before she could think to block him out, Maia, I’m not expecting anything. I just wish you’d treat me like normal. You know, at least call me by my name?

Maia sneered. You really don’t know a thing, do you? Behind that forced smile of hers, she couldn’t hide the cold swathe of fear that washed over her. Evan was caught up in those emotions, the hairs on his back prickling and his stomach tensing. 

There was another presence inside her. Evan had sensed it before but didn’t think much of it. Now that he’d made a move on her, the presence became distinct. He was in strange territory. The presence loomed over them both. An inexplicable weight fell upon his chest, making it hard to breathe. He backed off at once.

“Is it your husband?” he said out loud.

She gave him a sideways glance, as if to say this was all his fault.

“Maia?”

“It’s none of your business!”

“How can it not be? I don’t know why it had to be you. You’re married! And yet you can’t cut yourself off from me, that much I do know. There must be a reason why this happened.”

“What?” she scoffed.

How could she still talk like this? Evan was at a loss for words.

He wanted to have a fresh start when he switched Live Vision stations. He hadn’t always been a telepath. He’d saved up for the treatment over the course of a decade so he could have better chances at finding a partner. The agents at the Center sold him the idea of a more perfect way to love, and he fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. Only in passing did they mention that there was a chance one could bond with more than one mate. They waved it off like it was nothing, but Evan just had to win that lottery with Maia.

“I…I have to go,” she stuttered. The imposing presence remained with her. It kept Evan at bay. He didn’t dare step foot into Maia’s mind again.

Maia left, hugging herself as if she were cold.

Evan became worried. Does her husband know? Is this the reason why she wouldn’t say my name? He shook his head. He’d barely done anything. He just wanted to reach out. What was so bad about that? Evan rubbed out the migraine that was gathering in his forehead. What kind of trouble had he gotten themselves into?

He didn’t want to see her like that again. The fear he’d felt from Maia dizzied him to the extent that he wanted to throw up. It must have been much worse for her.

He really had to stop.

But she went to work the next day with an arm sling. Smile plastered to her face again, she walked in and out of the halls and departments doing errands nonstop. Evan couldn’t get any work done. Her slender figure looked bent and fragile behind the lightly-frosted glass walls.

If it were me, I would never hurt you. Evan had to say it. It’s not our fault that we bonded. It must be because our minds know what’s best for us, Maia.

Without pausing from what she was doing, she shot back, You’re making this out to be something it’s not.

Am I?

Maia hugged herself like she did yesterday. Evan’s hands trembled from the bits of terror that slipped through the defences of her mind.

Stop trying to pry! she snapped.

Then let me see, if it’s really nothing. Just as he was making his way in—tendrils of his mind venturing deeper than the first layer of her active thoughts—a flock of black birds rushed Evan’s mind. She was pushing him out with a psychic Wall. He tried to power through it, imagining himself parting the mass of beaks and feathers with his bare hands. But the noise was too much. He could barely hear himself. It’s not our fault, Maia. That’s all I want to say!

The Wall receded into a flat white background. There was another person in there, far in the distance, where the horizon became a misty blur. It wasn’t just a presence now. There was an echo of footsteps. A man manifested himself a few feet away from Evan. The other seemed well-built, with a somewhat decent face but no gentleness to his features.

Evan stood his ground.

You, called the other. The threat in his voice was evident. Maia and I have been bound since we were children. But clearly you’re just someone who bought your way into our world. You don’t even have the sense to respect boundaries!

Get out. It was Maia this time. She didn’t show herself but her voice resounded across the white expanse of their connected mind spaces. Her order was firm. Evan was not welcome here.

Evan returned to himself. Maia glared at him from behind the frosted glass window. He felt small and disgusting under her gaze. She let him see all of it before storming out of sight.

He buried his face in his hands. This was torture. How was this any different from before? He was love-drunk again and forcing a dead-end relationship to work.

Maia didn’t come in the next day. And four more days later, a different woman was still handing him the thumb drive; her name tag read Jane and under it, Trainee. He wondered when Maia was planning to come back. To pass the time, he tinkered away at the electrical pathways of the Motherlode, exploring more efficient connections that could improve sound or image clarity for the viewers.

Yeah…this feels real enough, I guess. The actor in the scene he was testing held the lead woman’s hand under the table. The two were bound but couldn’t let people know…blah blah blah. Evan tuned himself out of the snippet from this afternoon’s show. These sappy romances should have given him a clue about the reality of telepathic relationships. They were just as ugly.

He went to the men’s room to splash some water on his face. It pained him to keep feeling a piece of Maia close by. She was an ever-present thought that remained out of reach.

Yule, from HR, greeted him and another guy who was brushing his teeth. Evan snapped out of his reverie. Yule and the other paused for a bit. Evan assumed they were talking telepathically (hopefully not about him).

“AWOL? Odd. Maia was at my old workplace. I always thought her to be the reliable one,” said Yule.

The other spat out toothpaste. “Dude, what use is it ‘whispering’ to you?”

Yule turned to Evan. “Whoops. Old habits die hard, huh?” He smirked. He must have meant how he was artificially-enhanced, just like Evan. The two men fell quiet again to resume their conversation in private.

Evan dried his face and then excused himself. This was bad. People were already talking about Maia’s absences.

He plopped down on his seat. His small office felt too big for someone like him. Here he was, sitting alone with a big metal brain that never talked back. He lost his appetite for lunch and much else. He knew he’d never forgive himself if she lost her job.

He started to hate it all, but what he hated more was this persistent unease. A pit in his stomach was telling him something wasn’t right. Would someone really drop everything just because he had a crush on her? His skin crawled at his own obsessive thoughts. 

A similar feeling had bedeviled him to check his ex’s phone while she was showering after a particularly horrible evening. Luckily, she and the other guy were both non-telepathic, so all he had to do was show her the messages that she had meant for him to find. Hair dripping wet, towel wrapped about her shoulders, she’d taken a cigarette from his nightstand and lit it inside the room.

“Yeah, I also smoke,” were the last words she had left him with, referring to how they both lied about not smoking. Talk about being doomed from the get-go.

As for Maia, he wished he could just let her go, but…

I just need to make sure she’s all right. This would be the last time, he decided.

He retreated into himself. The vast white space of his mind represented the electricity that existed between people, traveling at light speed and shortening the distance between them. His footsteps sent shadowy ripples across the blankness.

There was someone gasping for breath… He thought it was just him imagining things, but as he focused his attention on it, he became certain. Fear shot into him—‘her’ fear. It was Maia. The emotion was so powerful that his mind blanked out.

Panic rose to his throat. If only he knew where to find her. There was no way he could ask HR. Feeling helpless, he stayed there with her, at least to let her feel that she wasn’t alone. She was in pain. Her head, her face, her arms. Weakness and a stinging sensation continued to resonate between their minds, making Evan’s knees buckle.

He saw images then, like a vision, of a house with a black gate. Number 7. A street sign, bent and rusted over. It read ‘Santos’. Which Santos Street this was, he had no idea. But there were other things—smoke and the smell of charcoal and barbecue.

Something clicked in Evan’s mind. Maia had once complained about the barbecue place beside their house. Evan had even joked that she should take it to the barangay and get them to close down.

“No way! San Mateo’s a small town. Everyone knows each other. If I file a complaint, I’ll make a lot of enemies.”

That’s right. She’d told him that much. Evan grabbed his car keys and hurried out of the office. It was 8 p.m. and mostly everyone had left.

What the hell am I doing? He drove down to San Mateo because Maia had mentioned that place once. Nothing good could come out of this drive.

But what was there to lose? He drove past two cemeteries, a mall, and several places that served inihaw. The roads grew narrower as he kept on. When he got to the town proper, where the Church of Nuestra Señora de Aranzazu stood, he spotted a police station across the street. He parked his car and swallowed his pride.

He went in, the stench of mold and dampness assailing his nostrils. A single officer sat behind a desk that had been vandalized to a pulp. There was a free monobloc, maybe for walk-ins like Evan. Farther in, a clerk typed away while staring at an old CRT screen. The officer’s uniform was unbuttoned, exposing the white inner shirt and a protruding belly.

“Yes?” asked the officer.

“I think someone’s in danger, Sir.”

“Ok. Danger. And?” The man couldn’t sound more bored with him.

“I could show you. If you’re…if you’re…” Evan sat down, unable to finish.

“Nope. I’m not.”

Okay. Evan’s mind raced. “So, since I can’t show you directly, I was hoping you could accompany me. It’s urgent. It’s just really hard to explain if you’re not…”

The officer put up a hand to stop him. “I get it. What did you see exactly? Did you witness it yourself? Give me something to work with here.”

“She’s a colleague at my workplace. She hasn’t come to work in five days and I can’t reach her.” Evan ran a hand through his hair. How could he make this sound convincing?

The officer pulled out a piece of paper from under his desk. He also handed Evan a pen. “You can write it down and we’ll look into it first thing tomorrow. Be specific. We need names, addresses, and a complete description of the incident that made you think this woman is in danger.”

Evan shook his head. “No, it can’t wait, Sir.” He kept his voice low and slipped a 1,000 peso bill under the blank paper.

The officer looked him in the eye. He set aside the piece of paper and the bill along with it. “I’m Santos,” he introduced himself while buttoning up his uniform.

Santos…Wait, so it isn’t a street? Evan was confused. What did you show me, Maia?

Evan coughed. “Yes. So for the name, she’s Maia Roxas. I don’t have an address. But hopefully you’ve heard of her before?”

Santos cocked his head. “Roxas. A woman with that name came here yesterday. But her complaint didn’t sound urgent. It was about rats. Wanted us to check it out.”

“Rats?”

“Yeah, who calls the police for a pest problem, right? She wanted us to go there at night, too. Said they’re really noisy then. Dunno if she’s in her right mind.”

“Is it possible the problem isn’t really rats, Sir?” asked Evan.

Santos’ eyes widened. “She also a telepath?”

“Yes. And she’s bound to someone. Her husband.” And to me. Evan left that part out. Maia must have wanted to avoid her husband overhearing, the same way she hid Evan from him. “Did she give her address?”

Santos rummaged through the trash bin. From among the candy wrappers and soda cans, he produced Maia’s address which had been scribbled on an old receipt. “Domestic problems among telepaths are a real pain,” he mumbled under his breath.

Santos opened several drawers beside his chair until he found what he was looking for—an old smartphone. He turned it on. “Good, still has power,” he said. He snuck a look at Evan. “Well, you know, ordinary men like me still need to use one of these.”

Santos had Evan ride with him on his motorcycle since the streets were choked up with tricycles and jeepneys. It would take too long if they went by car. They wove through traffic for a good 10 minutes before reaching a small compound lined with mango trees and a house with a solid black gate.

Number 7. That’s the one, thought Evan.

Santos rang the doorbell. A few moments passed, and the gate creaked open by an inch.

“What is it, Sir?” a pair of dark eyes greeted them from behind the small opening.

Santos began, “Good evening. Is this the house of Miss Maia Roxas?”

“My wife, yes,” said the other. He seemed so small. Evan remembered this man to be taller when they were inside that shared mind space with Maia. Maia’s husband glanced at Evan for a moment but didn’t seem to recognize him.

“Well, it’s nothing serious, Sir. Just doing a quick check. Is everything all right?” Santos continued.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?” the other snapped.

The officer smiled disarmingly. “Your wife complained of hearing worrying, uh, noises, that’s all. She seemed frightened. But now that we know it’s nothing, we’ll be on our way.” The officer saluted.

As Maia’s husband was closing up, he lost his balance for some reason. He steadied himself against the frame of the gate. Evan noticed that the back of his hands had several inflamed lacerations and the knuckles were skinned nearly to the bone.

Evan felt it again, that sickening pit in his stomach. He fought back the urge to throw up. He tried to reach Maia with his mind. He caught a shadow of her presence but it was too faint.

“What happened to your hand?” asked Santos.

“Oh, you know…” Maia’s husband trailed off.

Santos widened his stance. His demeanor had changed. “Is your wife inside?”

The other looked toward the house but didn’t answer.

“I know that it’s getting late, but could I trouble you to accompany me to the station, Sir? It won’t take long.”

“I-I can’t.” Maia’s husband wiped beads of sweat from his brow. “She’s inside.”

“You’re shaking. Is there something you need to tell me?”

“I didn’t want to hurt her!” He fell on his knees, sobbing. “I’m not like this. I can’t lose her like this.”

Evan’s head swam. Maia? He called out to her. In the silence that ensued, he kept forgetting to breathe. “I don’t think she’s conscious,” he managed to tell Santos. He could barely keep standing. Cold sweat trickled down his nape.

Santos turned back to Maia’s husband. “Will it be okay if I come in, Mr. Roxas?”

The other dropped his gaze, nodded.

Evan watched Santos disappear into the house. A part of him still hoped that a flicker of Maia’s presence would rattle the deafening silence in the halls of their mind spaces. But it was endlessly quiet. Not long had passed before Santos reemerged from the gate. The officer clicked his tongue. He wouldn’t meet Evan’s gaze.

Santos extracted his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. His fingers were mottled brownish red. After a few moments, he spoke into the receiver, “I need an ambulance here in Cecilia compound. House number 7, black gate. One or more persons injured…” Evan didn’t hear the rest.

“We’ll wait for the barangay, Mr. Roxas. Once they’re here, please accompany us inside.”

It took thirty minutes for the barangay to arrive with the ambulance. By then, people had already gathered around them. More came out of their homes to eavesdrop when they saw the red and blue ambulance blinker.

Evan stepped aside to let the yellow T-shirt-clad tanod pass. Some telepathic youngsters whispered to him, asking what was up. He ignored them all.

Maia was brought out on a gurney. Her face looked fine except for a bleeding gash on her lower lip. Her shirt was torn, the collar stained with dirt and blood. Her hair was slick with what might have been sweat. Her arms bloomed dark purplish welts, as if she’d been tied up. She didn’t move nor open her eyes the whole time. Once she was loaded into the ambulance, the barangay tanod went in and closed the doors. Santos began to lead the husband to his motorcycle.

It was then that Evan pried his eyes away. He shrank back into the crowd as if in a trance. He was too lost to mind the questions that the onlookers were proliferating freely. Did he beat her up? What happened? Is he being arrested?

It was none of his business. It never was. He kept walking. Acid burned his throat. He retched. If she’d never met him, if he’d ignored the imprinting that had taken place when they met. If he’d just listened to her and stayed away. He couldn’t bear to think anymore. Evan stumbled in the dark narrow streets. The ground was wet and riddled with potholes. He didn’t know how to find his way back.

About the Author. Anne Carly Abad received the Poet of the Year Award in the 2017 Nick Joaquin Literary Awards. Her work has appeared in Apex, Mythic Delirium, and Strange Horizons, to name a few. Her first poetry collection, We’ve Been Here Before, is now available through Aqueduct Press: http://www.aqueductpress.com/books/978-1-61976-222-0.php