XII – ETHAN

Madness consulting

Being on a constant run from The Centre never gave me enough time to simply stop and enjoy the world around me; to get to know people other than the ones who were running by my side. Nowadays everything's changed. Thanks to 'I don't know who or what', The Centre now poses a threat less dangerous than a disgruntled postal-worker sending out some bombs.

Ethan, there's something I need to tell you.

Are you one of the voices?

Uh... No, I'm the author. I've been doing this for almost every chapter. Hadn't you noticed me yet?

I didn't bother to check the other chapters. They all looked too silly.

I hate to tell you this, but yours will not be that much different.

I don't want a silly chapter! People already think I'm crazy when I start talking to my mom!

There you have it. The reader already expects silliness. We can't deny him that. Besides, this chapter is already written – this is just a revision.

I am not happy with this, but all right. What is it you needed to tell me?

Oh, right! You shouldn't do jokes about bombs, much less involving postal-workers.

I see. But it's perfectly all right to have Sam making jokes about cannibalism and kidnapped people.

No. It's different... He was... Carry on, please.

Anyway, like my brother Jarod and everyone else whose lives were organized according to The Centre's caprices, I also had to look for a new purpose in life. More specifically, a place where I could finally settle down and get a job.

One thing you need to know about us, the Charles family, is that we don't need money. Or, better yet, we don't need to work. We have plenty of money in our bank accounts. Plenty enough so we don't have to work unless we want to or if mom and dad cut our allowances. Having three geniuses at the house, playing at the stock-market sure has its advantages. (I'm putting my sister Emily out of the loop on this one; she is gifted on many things, but stock broking isn't one of them. On the other hand, I suck at making chocolate fudge. Can't be good at everything, right?)

The reason why we all chose to find new jobs, despite all the wealth we possessed, was so that we could prove to ourselves that The Centre hadn't take our lives, our will to live as normal people do, as undoubtedly was their wish. Our lives needed some purpose, something to make them more meaningful.

You're not being silly enough, Ethan.

Shut up! I'm not listening to you!

But you are, Ethan... You are...

12345678910123456789101234567891012345678910

Is that you ignoring me?

Having the gift I have, and now being able to almost control it perfectly, I quickly found out what my logic career of choice would be.

What is it? What? What? What?

Stop that! You're running a perfectly good story!

You're right. You're being completely childish.

No! You are!

You are!

You are!

You are!

You are!

You are!

Are you happy now?

Yes. I'm gonna take a break for a while.

No more interruptions?

No.

Using some of the money at my disposal, I opened up a small office. The sign at the entrance of the building read 'MADNESS CONSULTING'. I chose not to give any more details as a way to influence people to go there motivated by sheer curiosity. Nevertheless, in order to give the thing a professional look, I put the word 'specialist' under the job title.

I opened up almost a week ago and the flow of people coming in to see 'what's it all about' has surprised me to a great level. Most of them came back a second and a third time with friends and relatives. Probably they heard about what I did and, doubting such claims, wanted to check it out for themselves.

No problem with that. The more, the better.

Here's what I did: people came in and talked to me about what was bothering them. Now, you're probably thinking: Hey! That's kinda like what shrinks do. Kinda yes, but clearly not the same. Far from it. Shrinks and psychologists base their evaluations on logic, not to mention scientific and behavioral observation. They act according to a scientific method, while I, on the other hand, used the Voices and their craving to pry on people's lives to guide me.

An interesting fact about the dead, that most spiritualists never really acknowledge – probably because they're all just a bunch of hacks – is that they feed on gossip. True fact. Rumor and hearsay is to them what food and beverage is to us. I've been hearing the Voices ever since I was a kid, but I only found out about this during my second day of practice.

At the time, I was with Mr. Edwards, a man who had some issues (we specialists don't like to use the term 'problem' when referring to a patient) with his business associate, and two of the Voices kept telling me to ask him about that week in Bangkok..

They helped me most of the times, but every once in a while, I had to put a stop to it. This was one of those times. So, I tried to change the subject.

“I hear you have a problem with women.”

“Who told you that?”

Tricky question. One that I always had trouble answering. For one thing, I didn't like lying to the people I was trying to help. On the other hand, telling the truth on this subject would the same as stamping 'LOONEY' on my forehead.

I considered what to answer when a more careful observation of my patient's look and body position told me that we was asking a rhetorical question. The best thing I could do was to behave like a professional.

“I can't divulge that. It would be a breech of doctor-patient relationship.”

“You're no doctor,” he said.

“Okay, I'm a specialist. So?”

“And you were the first to break that vow.”

“I did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

Ask him about that week in Bangkok, ask him about that week in Bangkok, the Voices insisted.

Like a player at a poker game with a bad hand, I decided to use that card. “I'm telling you I didn't. And if you say I did one more time, I will tell everyone about that week in Bangkok.” That hit him, I could see that. “Now, pay your bill and get out.”

Mr. Edwards pulled a twenty from his wallet and handed it over. “Same time, next week?” he asked.

“I look forward to it.”

He grabbed his coat and walked to the door.

“Before you go, one last thing, Mr. Edwards.”

“Yes?”

“Don't let people tell you what to do. You're your own man.”

“I'll try,” he said.

“Don't try. Do. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Mr. Edwards nodded once before leaving the office and closing the door behind him.

I know I was a little harsh on him, but it was for his own good. Ah...! Feels good to help people.

THE END