Jeremy Chikalto and Leviathan Island (Book II of The Hazy Souls)

  Chapter 2

  Dr. Adler

  Jeremy sat on his ottoman, still as stone, while Maren digested the news.

  "But you don't know?" was all she could say. Her lips went pale. She hoped she didn't sound too frightened, but she could feel the hairs on her arms rise. "I mean, shouldn't you? Even if you're Apollyon, don't you decide who you are?"

  "I don't know. I didn't decide to make lightening. How am I supposed to know how to use it? What's my aim?"

  "Stop saying 'I don't know.' You decide, Jeremy!" Jeremy. The Anti-Christ. It was all too much for Maren to take in, and she felt herself grow angry. Why should she be angry at him? "I'm sorry, Jeremy. This is all too much to take in right now. I have to go to bed." Maren abruptly turned from him and went to her guest quarters. She sensed Jeremy wanted her counsel but was convinced he already knew far more about himself than she ever would.

  As Maren lay down in bed, dressed warmly in her fleece pajamas, she decided to assess Jeremy, as honestly as she could, without letting her emotions cloud her judgment. She owed him this much after storming out of his room when he needed her most.

  Jeremy Chikalto, she mused. He likes games; he's playful. Probably a headache to be in a relationship with. Maren pressed her fingers against her temples. Focus. Was Satan playful? Maren closed her eyes and saw an image of Satan as a goat. Yes, Satan was often depicted as Pan, the part-man, part-goat Greek God of the Wild. Pan was flirtatious with the nymphs. He played music and danced.

  Maren stopped herself and took a deep breath. The very idea of Jeremy being Satan seemed absurd. Jeremy likes to surround himself with women, and loves to sing and dance. Plus, Jeremy has a low capacity for compassion. He's narcissistic. Then she faced the elephant in her mind: there was the darkness in Jeremy, the sadism.

  Maren stopped herself and took a deep breath. He's not perfect. At least he doesn't see himself that way. He must want something he can't get. What does Jeremy want? Maren rolled over and felt the cool pillow against her face. She'd forgotten to wash off her eye makeup; there'd be black on the pillow case in the morning. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. Jeremy couldn't possibly be Satan.

  Maren awoke early the next morning. She decided, after an uneasy rest, that Jeremy needed her to be strong and decisive. He needed her to help him to discover himself. Maren waited for Jeremy or a maid to retrieve her, but when no one came, she decided to check Jeremy's room. "Hello?" she called at the door.

  There was rustling. The door cracked open. Jeremy, wearing a mint green and black robe, appeared, rubbing his eyes.

  Maren smiled weakly. "I thought we might continue our conversation from last night before we speak with your father. He'll probably want to regulate our public behavior until we know what to do with you."

  Jeremy spun around and crossed his arms. "Have I inadvertently enlisted the help of another image consultant?"

  Maren pulled out a small purple notebook and pen. "So you have questions about your identity. You want to know what it means to be Apollyon. To address this, I thought it might be helpful to figure out what it is you want in life." She felt her brow tense up. Behind her eyes, the tears were forming. She tried to blink them back. "What do you want?" she repeated, louder.

  "What? What the hell kind of question is that?" Jeremy shook his head in disgust.

  "I thought I might help you to understand yourself." Maren's voice gave a slight quiver as she clutched her pen and brought it up to her notebook. "What do you want in life?"

  Jeremy's eyes flashed and before he could stop himself, he grabbed her wrist and squeezed it, thrusting it violently towards the ceiling. Maren dropped the pen and let out a cry. Jeremy shoved her out the door and she fell back on the floor in the hallway.

  "This is beyond your idiotic ideas! I don't need your clinical bullshit!" yelled Jeremy, slamming the door.

  Jeremy saw his seven-year-old self in his mind's eye. There he was, frightened and sitting across from his shrink, Dr. Adler. They were in a small, claustrophobic room with white walls. Piles of sharpened pencils sat in neat stacks on the desk and the room had the distinct smell of a robust black tea.

  "Let's talk again about how the air twitches." Dr. Adler brought his pen up to his black, spiral notebook and paused.

  "Okay," said Jeremy. "It moves and I'm afraid of what's behind it."

  "Interesting." He jotted something down. "And what do you think is behind it?"

  Jeremy scratched at the back of his neck and then quickly folded his hands on Dr. Adler's desk. "Creatures? Hidden things. Emotions are behind the air, maybe? It's hard to explain."

  "Hidden things, emotions, very interesting. Do you sometimes feel like you need to hide your emotions 'behind the air' so your parents can't see them?"

  Jeremy twisted his face. "I don't see what that has to do with―"

  "It's all right," said Dr. Adler, scribbling down more notes. A woman gently tapped at the door and then let herself in.

  "Excuse me doctor, Jeremy's wanted. Will the dosage be the same?"

  Dr. Adler sighed, set his spiral notebook and pen down, and said "I'll just be a minute, Jeremy. Why don't you think some more about those emotions?" He and the woman stepped out of the room and closed the door almost all the way. Jeremy heard the doctor say through the crack "Increase his Picova to twenty milligrams a day. I want to try him on Flebula too, to address his anxiety. I'll have his medications ready for him when he's done class."

  "Yes, doctor."

  "I don't need more medication," sneered Jeremy. The doctor opened the door and smiled, but the corners of his eyes were cold. He walked slowly into the room, savoring his own explanations.

  "Jeremy, a person's mind is like a small boat, rowing through life. Now some people don't have too many passengers on that boat, but folks like you and I do. We have lots of thoughts and emotions, all having interesting conversations in the boat. People like us, we need to make sure that the weight is evenly distributed, otherwise the boat will capsize. Now this medicine is like a wise old captain, who has sailed many voyages. He knows just where the passengers need to stand to ride out the waves and winds of life. All we have to do is just move some of those passengers around."

  He paused. "And sometimes, some of our passengers don't belong on our boat at all. There are stowaways and thieves." His expression darkened, and he sat down in his plush chair and spun his back to Jeremy, examining the wall. "Sometimes, some of our passengers need to be thrown overboard." Dr. Adler stood up from his desk and gestured towards the door. "Cajjez." He bowed.