Chapter 3

With Henrietta gone, it was Lisa, who was supportive no matter what, me, who was terrified of screwing up and Thomas, who had more faith in me than he did in himself.

I dove in before I could lose my nerve. I already knew where I wanted to go, and I knew what I wanted to do. His own, personal storm was there, violent as ever and over it, over the whole ocean of activity, I tossed my net. I felt Thomas jerk under my hands, then settle back again, his breathing normal. I took just a moment to check him over, but he was okay, just sleeping.

My net ... it wasn’t. A net, I mean. It was just how I pictured it. It could have been anything ... the way a fitted sheet puffs out when you snap it with only two corners hooked, the umbrella over a table out by the pool or even the shadow cast by a low-flying cloud. The result was what was important, the effect and not the visual.

See, my net was a topical anesthetic, a cooling cloth on a fevered brow. It was there just to absorb the lightning, to calm the waves by smoothing out the peaks and troughs. It took the power from the storm and let it leech away, filling in the dead spots and giving them back that which was stolen.

In my own mind, anger was a thief, stealing from tranquility. Jealousy was a pickpocket, dipping into your love of another ... every negative emotion stole from a positive emotion. When all was negative, people died, and my net fixed that. It didn’t ... I don’t know, erase it. It didn’t invalidate that anger, anger was real, it was useful. It just ... governed it a bit, kept it from taking over, like lowering the temperature under a boiling pot.

Once the worst was tempered, I could use my hands to smooth out the debris left behind by the storm. When my hands passed, they left behind a little Zen garden. All the elements were still there; the sand that was you, the rocks that were the big events in your life, the sticks and logs that were the injuries done to you, and by you. Now, though, they were not tossed haphazardly about, a chaotic mess. They were a garden, artfully arranged.

A Zen garden is not all about the arrangement, though it should be pleasing to the eye and soothing to the spirit. It is also about ease of maintenance, and ease of change. You can direct the flow of emotions as easily as you can create pathways in the sand, the trick is using a rake and not dynamite!

I know, I am probably making no sense at all, but in my head it all came together.

When I was done, tired buy satisfied, the fear returned. My subconscious had been keeping tabs on Thomas’s life signs and they had become calmer as his mind did, smoother and more relaxed. When I pulled back, out of his mind and could see the world with my real eyes again, Lisa was grinning and pointing at Thomas.

Thomas, the ragged, homeless, tormented man who had such an indomitable spirit ... was smiling in his sleep.

We waited with Henrietta until Thomas woke up naturally. We had a cup of tea and I tried to describe to her what I had done, telling her about the garden. Even with her telepathic link, she could only partially understand, but she agreed that what I had left behind was an improvement, so I guess that is all I could ask.

Thomas, when he awoke, seemed a bit tentative, at first. He was moving oddly and, for a moment, my heart was in my throat.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I just ... I feel, raw. I feel like I should be in pain, like I am sore and creaky, but ... have you ever had a dislocated shoulder, or knee?” he asked quietly, his eyes on the floor as he moved slowly around the room, avoiding us and the furniture alike.