The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(61)

Time for a real revolution.





Encrypted video recording, April 2017, from Calix Lehrer’s personal archives The camera displays a therapist’s office: two armchairs facing a sofa, a desk by a window, bookshelves. A man, Dr. Gleeson, is visible on the right edge of the frame. He stands in an open doorway, facing away from the camera and speaking to someone in the waiting room (off-screen).

GLEESON: “You must be Calix. Would you like to come on back now?”

[inaudible response]

Gleeson moves away from the door, retreating deeper into the room. He is followed by a tall boy, nineteen years old, attractive with light hair and lighter eyes. The boy, Calix Lehrer, carries a book. He scans the room, as if assessing for quick exits.

GLEESON: “Take a seat wherever you like.”

Calix sits in the chair nearest the door. His body is too long for it, knees bent at a sharp angle and elbows tucked in close. He opens his book on his thigh and begins reading again.

Gleeson takes the seat opposite.

GLEESON: “Schopenhauer. The World as Will and Representation?”

Calix tilts the book to show him the spine.

GLEESON: “Interesting philosophy. The world, and humans as part of it, are mere manifestations of a metaphysical Will. Depressing, I always thought. Since we don’t understand others are composed of the same Will, we are doomed to perpetual violence and suffering.”

CALIX (without looking up): “That’s about the whole of it.”

GLEESON: “Tell me about yourself, Calix.”

CALIX: “You know everything there is to know.”

GLEESON: “Tell me something I couldn’t read in the papers.”

Calix eyes him without lifting his head. Frowns. The desk drawer opens and a bottle of scotch emerges by telekinesis, accompanied by a snifter. The bottle uncaps itself, fills the glass.

CALIX: “I think I’ll just read, if you don’t mind. Analyze that however you like. Or you’re welcome to just sit there and think whatever baseline humans think about when left idle.”

GLEESON: “That’s not very nice.”

CALIX: “Did Wolf tell you I was nice?”

Calix licks his thumb, turns the page. The scotch arrives and rests on his knee.

Silence. Then Gleeson reaches for a pen and begins writing.

Calix looks up, handsome mouth in a dissatisfied moue.

CALIX: “What are you doing?”

GLEESON: “Taking notes. Tell me more about your relationship with Adalwolf.”

CALIX (confused): “Why are you—”

Gleeson looks up, then smiles. He puts down his pen.

GLEESON: “Your power doesn’t seem to work on me, does it?”

CALIX: “I beg your pardon?”

GLEESON: “Your power. It isn’t working.”

Calix stares. He’s forgotten his book entirely, the pages falling shut and losing his place.

GLEESON: “Of course, I’m not an expert or anything, but I’m guessing it has something to do with my telepathy.”

CALIX: “What?” (His expression shifts, a calm sea roused to anger.) “You can’t—you—get out of my head!”

Gleeson is still smiling.

Calix pushes himself up so violently the glass topples off his knee, spilling expensive liquor on Gleeson’s carpet.

CALIX: “I’m leaving. Tell Adalwolf whatever you want, but I’m not sitting through this. No.”

He’s halfway to the door, flinging it open by telekinesis, before Gleeson speaks.

GLEESON: “I should have thought you’d jump at the chance to speak to someone who understands you.”

Calix turns, fixes him with a narrowed gaze.

Gleeson uncaps and recaps his pen.

CALIX: “Just because you can read my mind doesn’t mean you understand me.”

GLEESON: “Not that. Think about it, Calix. Pyromancy, telekinesis, healing . . . those powers are all very impressive, yes, but they aren’t like ours. We’re something else. Something not quite human.”

Calix hovers there in the doorway. At last he closes the door and returns, this time sitting on the sofa. His face is impassive, but one gets the sense of something else, movement beneath dark waters.

CALIX: “All right, I’ll bite. When did you learn telepathy?”

GLEESON: “It was my presenting power. I woke up with it after the fever. I was twenty. But you survived the virus quite young—two, yes? This ability is all you can remember. Your view of other people is completely shaped by it . . .”

Calix says nothing. He sits there, holding Gleeson’s gaze until Gleeson sighs.

GLEESON: “That’s a tangent, of course. My real question is, how long have you been having these nightmares?”

CALIX: “We’re not talking about me.”

GLEESON (laughing): “My boy, of course we’re talking about you. If you want me to answer your questions, you’ll have to answer a few of my own. It’s only fair.”

Silence.

GLEESON (as if in response to something unspoken but overheard): “Yes. But I’d still like to discuss them with you. So, I’ll ask again. How long have you been having the nightmares?”

CALIX (eventually): “Since the hospital.”

GLEESON: “Every night?”