Part 5

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THIS DOCUMENT MAY NOT BE COPIED OR DISSEMINATED TO ANY ENTITY WITHOUT DIRECT AUTHORIZATION OF THE SECRETARY OF HOMELAND SECURITY

Exhibit 7, excerpts from manuscript found in cell of John Doe, AKA Robert Michael Wilson, 13th Circuit Court of Appeals of the United States of America, in the case of the Government vs. John Doe:

There was a lot less modesty after I had my first premature ejaculation. That’s what Tiffany called it, though she said, technically, it didn’t fit that definition precisely. She wouldn’t say why. I argued with her, saying that if she didn’t explain things exactly and in full, then how was I supposed to learn. She said there were things I didn’t need to learn then, and that maybe she’d teach them to me later.

I slept naked after that, too. Tiffany did not, but I didn’t think that was strange. The biggest difference, though, was that Tiffany said I was allowed to masturbate if it would help me get rid of what she called my sexual tension. I tried it in the tub one night and the splashing caught her attention.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Masturbating,” I replied.

“Well don’t do it in the tub. You’re splashing water. Do it in bed. That’s why I gave you the towel.”

“I thought the towel was for accidents, while you’re taking a bath,” I said.

“Good grief,” she sighed. “It’s for any time you need to have an orgasm, okay?”

“Well, in any case, I learned something tonight,” I said.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“You said the masturbation would help my tenseness,” I said.

“Okay.”

“The only time I feel really tense is when I’m masturbating,” I said.

She laughed.

She wouldn’t tell me what was so funny, either.

Tiffany is frustrated that I can’t write down the colors I see in people’s brains. I’ve explained to her that they are not colors you can find on a regular color wheel, like in art. She showed me a page in a big book that had thousands of colors, each one a little square and couldn’t understand how there could be colors that aren’t on it.

She finally decided I’m seeing something that is not infrared, ultraviolet, or between those two, which is what regular people can see, like on that color wheel. I think I’m seeing some other frequency that only I can see. It has as many colors as a color wheel of visible light would have, which is what makes it so difficult to decipher them all, in terms of what they mean. At that point in my life I could mostly see the “primary” colors in that spectrum. Since then, with practice and study, I’ve been able to refine my seventh sense so that I can do what most people would call mind reading. It isn’t, but people would think it is. The colors tell me what they’re feeling, which tells me what they’re thinking, sometimes. Tiffany called it “reading”, by the time they caught us.

Tiffany bore the brunt of most of our research. She learned how to sit there, with her eyes closed, and just say what she was feeling. Initially it was confusing, because she couldn’t tell whether I was making her feel something, or she was just feeling it on her own. Eventually, though, she got really good at detecting my influence.

We became close in ways that are a little like the colors I see with my seventh sense. It’s hard to explain, and I don’t think anyone else could feel what we felt. What caused it is also just a theory, but I believe it’s because I spent so much time touching her mind that we began to feel an intimacy that other people can’t feel.

I know for a fact that she never intended to become intimate with me. It just happened. I think of it like osmosis, where elements of my consciousness somehow transferred into her consciousness, until it felt like we’d known each other all our lives, and had been best friends for the same amount of time.

That first manifested itself when, one night, she got out of the tub in our apartment and walked over to her bed, drying off, as if walking around in the room naked like that was completely normal. I was reading my psychology textbook at the time, and glanced over. I was watching her dry off when she realized what was happening and covered herself with the towel.

“What did you just do?” she asked. Her brain looked accusing.

“Not a thing,” I said.

She looked at my groin and I looked there too. I had an erection. I was already in bed for the night, so I was naked.

“I don’t just walk around naked where you can see me,” she said. “You did something to me.”

“No, I didn’t,” I said.

She knew I never lied to her. That was one rule I never broke, because I knew if I didn’t have her trust, I could lose everything.

“Really? You didn’t paint me with some color you saw at the Ecstasy Palace?”

The Ecstasy Palace was a strip club a couple of blocks away. I’d never been in it, of course, and I’m pretty sure she knew that. I was eighteen by this time, but you had to be twenty-one to go inside the Ecstasy Palace. But she also knew I got coffee at the same stand some of the dancers did, and that I had chatted with some of them. I no longer had to have her with me every second of the day, because I knew how to control myself and why that was so important.

“What color would that be?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Exhibitionist?” she said.

She was still standing there, draping the towel over the front of her body.

“Hold on. I’m examining the colors you’re showing right now,” I said.

“Why?” she complained.

“Tomorrow I’ll go down the Ecstasy Palace and talk to some of the girls, to see if any of them have any of the colors you have right now.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” she snapped.

“Well, I didn’t make you walk around naked,” I said. “And now you’ve given me an erection and I’m going to have to masturbate before I can concentrate on psychology again.”

She bloomed ‘interest in a man’ again, which pleased me. She liked to point out how much older she was than me, but I knew she liked me in a way no other girl had ever liked me. This was something I had yet to explore. Some instinct told me not to write about that in my journal, or talk to her about it. Not yet. Tiffany still got worried about “us” and was nervous sometimes, when we were studying my powers. I knew she trusted me and I didn’t want to do anything that might make her pull back. I remembered her colors when we had talked about her fornicating in the army and they had included colors of guilt. That seemed normal at the time, because fornication is a sin.

Now, when she was looking at me, sometimes, and that ‘interest in a man’ color bloomed, there was also some ‘guilt’ there, too. I had a sudden thought. I knew that masturbating made me feel “better” somehow. I knew that masturbating released sexual tension. It was Tiffany’s opinion that it was better to sin by masturbating than by expressing that tension in some antisocial way, like we saw happening on the street all the time.

But how did Tiffany get rid of her sexual tension? I knew she had to have it. She’d fornicated in the army. I’d fornicated with my hand. I liked it very much and she’d already said one of the problems she’d had as a novice had been expunging thoughts of fornicating and that kind of thing from her mind.

“Hey,” I said. “Do you masturbate?”

She stood there, the towel covering her front. I saw exasperation fairly explode from her brain.

“Sorry!” I yelped. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just wondered how you got rid of your sexual tension, that’s all. I was rude. I’m sorry.”

“Would you please look somewhere else?” she said, her voice quite steady, while her colors suggested something other than steady and calm.

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The Seventh Sense

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