Chapter 1

This traffic is a mess, Mack thought. Doubly so with the wreck up ahead snarling things up even more. I desperately need to be in the outside lane.

The vehicle in the left lane swerved and cut him off, causing him to slam on the brakes to keep from hitting the idiot. I need to get over. I need to get over. After seeing a small opening, he gunned the motor and forced his way in front of a Mercedes, doing to the Mercedes driver what the other driver had just done to him. I’m sorry, he thought as tires squealed when the Mercedes’ AI instantly slammed on its brakes to keep from denting itself on the old, beat-up vehicle Mack was driving. The window of the Mercedes slid down, and a gray-haired man yelled something, but Mack didn’t turn to look or pay any attention. Still, no place to pull off. After a right turn at the next intersection, he spotted a shopping center.

Just a little more. Hang in there. Just a little farther.

He fought to maintain consciousness as his vision blurred and tunneled. The old vehicle bounced across the rain gutter as he entered the parking lot.

I have to find a place — and soon.

Mack swerved to keep from hitting an old man and his grocery cart. More curses, but finally, the line of cars ended.

There. Next to the side of the building.

The vehicle rocked to a halt as he hit the brakes too hard, slammed the selector into Park and fumbled to turn off the motor. At last, he could lean back in the seat.

Maybe no one will call the cops this time. Try to focus on something else. Try. If I can concentrate strongly enough, maybe I can avert it again, he thought, his desperation building. It seemed to help for a little while, but his concentration waned and what he knew was coming happened yet again. The world seemed to cave in upon him as he lost touch with reality.

Consciousness gradually reasserted itself, and his vision returned. With a sigh, he realized the swirl of colors had finally ceased. As he stared dismally at his watch, he thought, Oh, crap. Almost an hour lost to the swirl of colors once again. With a sigh, he listened to the old engine grind its way to life. The starter sounds as if it’s going, and the battery has about had it too. That’s all I need, he thought sarcastically. New car, new house, most everything Jennie and I accumulated in our lives — all gone, but at least the doctor thinks I’m getting better. Fat lot he knows.

The heat was sweltering in the car, even with the windows down, and the air conditioner had long since died, the vehicle so old that even its AI had ceased to function. It had been cooler on the way into town with the breeze blowing in the windows, but in the slow downtown traffic, the inside of the car felt like an oven. He glanced at the sign as he pulled into the lot, although he had seen it dozens of times before. JOHNSON & JOHNSON — NEUROLOGY.

I wonder who the other Johnson is. Maybe it just looks better on the sign to have a partner, he thought as he parked and locked the vehicle from force of habit. Locking this piece of junk is a joke. I would have to pay someone to steal it. Oh, well. At least it keeps running, no matter what, and it sure beats walking.

Doctor Johnson was a nonconformist, at least as far as his office went. He was six blocks from the hospital and maintained an office in an old converted home. I suppose he saves money by having his office here rather than the professional building next door to the hospital. Staying away from the hospital is certainly something I want to do as well. All I need is one of my little forays to dreamland while I’m on a crowded elevator.

Even though he had left early, it was five-ten when he opened the office door and stepped into the deserted waiting room. The receptionist looked up before frowning slightly. Mack grinned and said, “Hi, Mary.”

“Hello, Mack. You’re late,” she singsonged. After so many visits, they had become friends.

“I apologize. I had a little problem on the way,” he tried to remark casually as he neared the receptionist’s desk.

Not deceived, she asked, “Was it a bad one?”

“About an hour, I think.”

“Dr. Johnson is running late too. He has one more patient, and he’ll be with you.”

“Thanks.”

He pulled a paperback out of his pocket, picked his favorite uncomfortable chair, and started on the book. About twenty minutes later, Mary opened the door to the examination area and announced, “Doctor will see you now.”

Her use of the doctor’s title as a name was more irritating than usual, but Mack forced himself to smile and say, “Thanks,” and let himself be ushered into an examination room.

He was no longer naive enough to think that the doctor was ready to see him just because he had made it to an examination room. Another twenty minutes or so drifted by, and he was starting on chapter three when Dr. Johnson entered with his usual fake smile pasted across his young face. Mack put the paperback away while wondering if the doctor could talk to anyone without the ever-present “everything-is-wonderful” expression.

Mentally admonishing himself for being critical of someone who had been so good to him, Mack put out his hand. Johnson shook it and asked, “And how are we today?”

We’re just great. Just another kaleidoscope to add to our collection, but aloud Mack said, “Good, Doctor. I think I’m gradually getting better.”

Johnson glanced up from scanning Mack’s chart. “I heard you had another attack on the way in.” As Mack started to answer, Johnson went on, obviously unimpressed with Mack’s comment about getting better. “I want to have more bloodwork and another brain scan done. How have your attacks been since you were last here? Three months, isn’t it?”

“Yes, about that,” Mack said, avoiding the question about his problem. “Do you think I actually need the blood work, let alone the scan?” Then quickly added, “Tests cost money and lots of it. In case you’ve forgotten, money is something that I don’t have much of these days,” he finished with a sick grin.

Johnson was shaking his head. “I told you before not to worry about the money.” He waved down Mack’s attempted comment. “And yes, I know your appeal to the insurance company was rejected. They were explicit about that in their letter, but I’ve never had a case like yours,” he said, lightly tapping his pen against his teeth as he thought. “Let’s get the nurse in here for some blood. I’ll meet you in my office when she finishes. I want to discuss something with you before you go.”

It wasn’t a very stimulating conversation. Johnson wanted Mack to move in closer so the drive wouldn’t be as long for the office and lab visits. He also wanted to do another set of tests which involved cognitive skills. That translated into several thousand dollars more Mack would owe the hospital or lab, and with the new Maximum Benefit legislation that the hospitals had managed to get passed, he would have their attorneys sharpening their knives for him yet again.

Desperate to maintain the status quo, Mack had convinced Johnson there was always plenty of time to pull over before his kaleidoscope, as Mack had started calling his attacks, built to full force. He wondered who had goofed and failed to inform the DMV the way they did with epileptics. So far, he still had a license. Let them turn him in if they had to — he would continue to drive, license or not. How was he supposed to get around if he didn’t drive? Besides, he had always managed to pull over before the attack made him black out — so far.

During the last two years, one way or another, he had lost everything he owned or cared about, with one exception. The hospital’s attorneys still hadn’t found out about the five acres of land and the old rundown house his aunt had left him. He had gotten a post office box and told the people in the hospital billing department that he was living with a friend. Since the property was in the next county, he hoped the bloodsuckers wouldn’t find the place and confiscate it too. He couldn’t pay his bills; he kept losing jobs, and the insurance company bailed after the first year. Johnson had been the only doctor who had stuck with him, even though Mack had told him in the beginning that he was without funds of any kind, and unless his health improved, he was likely to stay that way. He hadn’t received any bills from Johnson or any of the labs the doctor used — not that treatment had done the slightest bit of good. He suspected that Johnson had more than goodwill behind his continuing to treat him long after all the other doctors had given up — perhaps a published paper or article in one of the medical journals, if he could manage to cure Mack.

If I can have something that even comes close to having a normal life again, let him publish his paper.

As he sat waiting while Mary scheduled his appointments for the new tests, the office seemed to grow darker, and the colors threatened to overwhelm him. He concentrated on what she was saying, praying the swirling colors would go away. At last, she handed him a slip with a date and time on it. He mumbled something and managed to get out of the office without raising her suspicion — he hoped. He had spent enough of his life in a hospital. He was done with them. After sitting in the car a while, depressed, he started home. Thirty minutes later, he was clear of most of the city and the worst of the traffic.

Quit feeling sorry for yourself. There’s the bookstore. It doesn’t cost anything to browse.

Once inside, he made his way to the “Self Help” section and took his time with his selection. Mack guessed the bookstore manager was tired of him hanging around without him purchasing anything except an occasional used paperback novel. The guy probably thinks I’m a cheap thief. Well, today will be different. He still had money left from his last part-time job. He spent forty-one dollars and fifty-two cents of that on two books, but he had thought about buying the books for weeks. It was time to face reality. Medical science had done all it could do for him. Whatever is wrong with me is probably here to stay, he thought morosely.

It was almost dark when he eased his vehicle into the long, winding dirt drive and stopped next to the house. He had paid his final bill at the power company and had the power turned off more than a month ago. Might as well stay one step ahead of them. On my meager income from the few part-time jobs that I’m able to pick up, utilities are unaffordable anyway. I suppose that I’ve returned to the Dark Ages, he thought as he pumped up the antique gas lantern first, then the camp stove. His diet had consisted chiefly of dried vegetables since he had moved out here, and he had surprised himself on how little money he could get by on.

He had found an old spring on the hill behind the house, cleaned it out and was using it for his water source. He boiled all his drinking water, but doubted if doing so was necessary. He had cooked enough beans this morning for two meals, and he dumped the last of them into a pan to warm. After a few minutes, he poured the contents back into the original bowl and sat at the kitchen table to eat. An avid reader, he moved the lantern closer, opened the sack and scanned first one book, then the other while absently eating the beans. One book stressed the idea of self-health while the other was on self-hypnosis.

The doctors can’t cure me, and I have plenty of time to read. Might as well try something new. I can’t screw myself up much worse than the accident, the doctors and the surgery already have.

The hypnosis book was fascinating reading, and he kept at it until after three in the morning, pausing only to pump the lantern up from time to time. He had learned that it consumed very little gasoline if he kept it turned down low, and he could still see to read by it if he set it on the table close to his book. He found he could do without luxuries he once thought of as necessities. Now, he gave little thought to the old kitchen with the uneven wooden floor, the exposed shelves made of rough lumber barren of anything except a few pots and pans, a well-worn kitchen table, and two old straight-backed chairs he had found at the dump — but he still missed Janie horribly.

He still missed his job, too. He had enjoyed his work, and after spending nearly twelve years with the engineering firm, it was hard to just forget it. Gone. All that time down the drain, he thought. But the company couldn’t use someone who kept going into a daze and staring at nothing for hours. They had given him a large severance check — which the hospital had promptly gobbled up — but severance check or not, he had been fired.

The hypnosis book was a drastic change from his usual reading material, but he made occasional notes and reread sections until he was confident that he understood everything the author was trying to convey. Eventually, fatigue overcame him, and he shut the lamp off and gave up for the night.

No sooner had he relaxed on his bed than the kaleidoscope struck again, this time with an intensity that was overpowering. Tired, he couldn’t fight it, and he was suddenly adrift in a swirling stream of colors, each separate and distinct — different from all the others — more colors than he had ever imagined existed. Buffeted by them as if they had substance, his body floated on the swirl of radiance, turning and twisting like a leaf caught in a whirlpool.

He awoke hours later, bathed in sweat and deeply scared. This ... thing, this kaleidoscope was getting stronger, and the doctors were no help. He suspected all but Johnson thought he was just a nut, anyway.

Do insane people see my kaleidoscope? Is this what it’s like to be nuts?

Needing something to do, he walked up to the spring and filled two water bottles. Back in the kitchen a few minutes later, he poured the water into a big pot and put it on the camp stove to boil.

A month or so ago, he had noticed three stray chickens in the woods behind his house. They probably belonged to one of the farms down the road, but he hadn’t reported their tardiness to the farmer. Instead, he had bought a sack of chicken feed at the feed store and started feeding the hens. After a stealthy hunt through the woods, he found their nests. Now breakfast frequently consisted of beans and eggs, instead of the same old beans. He tossed a handful of feed out the back door, and while the chickens were eating, raided their nests. Two this morning. Good, he was hungry. He scrambled his find and put some dried beans on to slowly boil before sitting down to eat and review his notes from the hypnosis book, then began studying where he had left off the night before. Still tired but afraid to sleep because his kaleidoscope might come back, he studied for a couple of hours before deciding to try the relaxation exercises from the self-hypnosis book. If the bogeyman were after him, it would eventually get him, anyway.

He approached the bed with trepidation, but nevertheless, lay down on it. The book said the subject was to lie back and concentrate on relaxing. First, he should tense every muscle in his body, hold for a few seconds, then relax. Each time through the process, he should try to relax deeper until he felt completely limp. Then, starting with his feet, he was to work his way up his body, first tightening a muscle group before relaxing it, all the while visualizing a soothing mist swirling around and around that area.

Mack slowly worked the process up his body, willing each part into as deep a state of relaxation as he could.

Gradually, he awakened, this time feeling rested. He smiled when he realized it was well after noon. His knowledge of self-hypnosis was still sketchy, but he had managed to put himself to sleep. I feel great.

Over the next few days, Mack studied the books and practiced until he could make an arm or leg feel numb or imagine that he could. The books insisted that hypnosis was nothing more than a very deep state of relaxation in which the mind became more susceptible to suggestion, either from one’s own mind or from another person. The author said that anyone of average intelligence could be hypnotized, and the ability came from within. A professional hypnotist was merely an educated guide on a tour of the human body, the depth of the hypnosis controlled largely by the strength of the subject’s imagination.

The book on health was an offshoot of the hypnosis book, using self-hypnosis to concentrate one’s mind on healing the body.

Though he eagerly digested the material in the books, read and reread them, he was still unable to reach the state of deep trance that the books depicted. Each night he did, however, put himself to sleep using the method described and awoke the following morning feeling better than he had since the accident. He wasn’t sure whether it was the post-hypnotic suggestion that he would awaken feeling fine, or the excellent sleep he was now getting that made the difference. He didn’t care; the result was the same.