Psycher Chronicles

Chapter 28

The Decision

(72 Hours Later)

(Phil Tulley)

The world that Phil had known had been spun on its head in the past week. First there was the fact that Misha could create fires with her mind.

Then came the death of his beloved Julie. Had it not been for Misha he likely would have followed her. Yet, Misha never gave up, never let him mourn. That or when he could mourn, he was always forced to do so in a helpful manner. Honestly, being near Misha these past days made him wonder who was older, as she had profound ways of dealing with death.

While it was clear that Julie’s passing clearly affected Misha, she never let it go too far. She focused on projects. First was encapsulating everything that made Julie special. She went with him through their bedroom, where they took items and enshrined them to help preserve the memories of Julie.

“Here is your mourning room. When you need to decompress, you will come here, focus on the good memories you had with Julie, then realize you need to make more good memories once you leave. While you are here, you are allowed to be weak, to let the weight of everything hit you. Here you will not be judged, stay in here as much as you need. But once you leave that door, you are my grandfather again, and I will need you the same way I always have.” Misha stated, her words brokering no judgement or sense of guilt.

The room, or mourning shrine, was Julie’s old work office. Which was perfect as everything in it was mostly hers to begin with. Everything else just involved taking a few mementos, photos, and nick-nacks to especially remind Phil of his Julie.

One day he just woke up, and then the room was there, complete with his favorite lounger that he would sit in the living room with and just enjoy an evening with Julie, while she too sat in her own chair.

This was his favorite chair that had been moved without his permission to this room, and yet the way it was arranged, so close to Julie’s chair that if he held out his hand, he could almost imagine holding her hand while they enjoyed a television show, or a movie. Now when he sat in that same chair, he felt the same familiar comfort, and the movie he saw was the room filled with photos and memories of Julie. The movie he would watch was of his past. Which Phil realized was exactly what a movie was, even ones set in the future were always a past event that was captured and recorded and set about for all to see.

Honestly, Phil didn’t know how Misha did it, but the room was just catching enough to spark fond memories of the past, while not appearing to be overly cluttered, which after having memories of Julie that spanned close to seven decades, there were clearly a lot of memories that were worth remembering.

Just entering the room caused tears to flood his eyes, as he wept silently. Distantly he was aware that at one point Misha had closed the door, giving him his privacy. A fact that he was immensely grateful for.

On that first night, Phil felt that he had cried enough and for the sake of his daughter and granddaughter, he decided to come out. Only to find Misha standing there with a plate of food and a soda.

Misha took one look at him, then shaking her head, handed him the plate and drink, before demanding that he head back in. “No, you aren’t fooling anyone. No one needs you to be strong now. Right now, this is your time. Mom is out with her cop, and there is nothing pressing for you to do. Go and only come out when you are actually ready.”

Phil wanted to protest, but just saw the defiant stare of Misha and sighed.

The meal was light, nothing more than bread, condiments, meat, and a slice of cheese, but at that moment that meal was heavenly. Only a moment later did Phil realize that even his mini table was there. Normally this was used to hold the remote, but since there wasn’t a television up here, the table was empty. Which was where Phil finally rested his empty plate and glass.

That night Phil fell asleep in his easy chair, his hand draped over Julie’s chair’s armrest. His hand up constantly searching for a warm hand that would never come.

When he finally felt good enough to leave the room, he did as Misha said. He mentally made a note that once he passed the threshold of that room, he would become Phil again. While he was in Julie’s old office, he could be as weak and distraught as he needed to be, but once he left, he would be Phil again. Or as close to Phil as he could be, for her at least.

After walking through the doorway, he was surprised to see that the hallway was relatively empty. Last time, Misha had been there seemingly ready to pounce on him. This time, had he come out when she was not expecting him?

“Oh, good, you’re out.” Misha said, looking like she just got out of the shower and was dressed in full winter gear. “Now get showered and cleaned, we have a busy day today.”

Before Phil could protest, he saw Misha enter his shrine, and was about to call out, only to see her go in and pull out the empty dish and cup. As he came out, she paused to look at him, “are you really going to spend today dressed like that?”

With that Phil looked down and saw that yes, he had been in a bad way these past couple of days. There were stains on his shirt, and just looking down caused his nose to be close to his own sweat and body odor that made him cringe.

“Yeah, not your best look. Better go fix that. Then come on, daylight’s burning.” Misha said, still pressing him.

While he wanted to protest, he did remember her all but stating that she would push him once he left that room.

For a moment he regretted leaving the sanctity of that room. Then a moment later, he realized how much he needed this, his Misha pushing him on, just as she always did.

“Fine.”

The act of grooming was both cathartic and helped wash away the funk of the past seventy-two hours. He had gone through so much, from Julie being pronounced dead at the scene of the crash, to a police search being set up to look for the offending vehicle, to now Misha telling him to get dressed and go with him.

Oddly enough, they walked.

Misha as usual was quiet, and seemingly introspective. That was the best part about her, she never spoke to hear herself speak, as so many kids today seemed to think was necessary. Instead, she only spoke minimally, which made her words have more meaning.

“Where are we going?” Phil finally asked, although he had a vague idea given that they were heading in the very same direction that had caused his life to change what felt like a lifetime ago.

“You already know,” Misha began, but continued, “though I will get to the point. We are going to see if we can find out more information.”

“More?” Phil asked.

“Yes, I am pretty sure I can get more details than the cops could.”

“Does this have anything to do with your,” Phil began, but then only managed to make vague gestures with his hands towards his head when she looked back.

“Yes.”

That was enough for Phil, as he mulled it over. The oddity of how much everything had changed so quickly. Just a few days ago, they were scaring off a boy who wanted to spy on Misha, and now they were potentially going to the scene of a murder.

In the daylight, the spot of the accident was easy to see.

Not only was there broken glass on the ground from where Julie’s van’ impacted the trees on the right side of the road, but now the signs of tread marks on the asphalt were readily apparent.

Phil was busy looking at the tread marks, trying to imagine how fast the car had to have been going to create such long streaks, but he couldn’t.

When he looked back, he saw Misha just standing there, over the remains of the wreckage, her right hand out, and her eyes closed in concentration as she seemed to focus on the remains.

That’s when she asked the craziest question imaginable.

***

(Misha Tulley)

Revenge is an alien concept, one that a Psycher long ago was taught to dismiss. Revenge by itself is irrational, a waste of energy, and ultimately can blind one to the true way things are meant to go.

However, things had changed. Whether it was this new body, the forced hybridization of her Psycher profile and this Bakshee organo-tech body, but either way the result was there. Misha, despite all her training, despite her need to lay low and gain as much insight as she could into Bakshee fundamentals, she felt true emotions.

Rage.

If she had to point out the one emotion that was currently driving her it would be rage. Not the crazy manic rage that so many Bakshee are prone to exhibit. This was not the lash out wildly and strike at an enemy and inflict as much damage in a self-destructive manner.

Instead, this was Psycher rage, cold, defined and logical.

Why she was here, and how she suddenly found herself in this state was both obvious and slightly wanting in its simplicity. Bakshee, always known for their baser desires had found a wounded creature and killed that creature.

Of this Misha was positive, as the scent and unmistakable musk of Bakshee Warrior, or Werewolf genetic material was present all along the driver’s side door of her grandmother’s vehicle. The scent of a newly awakening warrior was also present throughout the entire murder field, and that is what happened. It was a fact that her grandmother had been murdered, no, not just murdered. She had been hunted down, disabled, and then left to bleed to death on the side of the road.

Psycher Rage.

The more she thought about the conditions, the more she took in and understood the effects of what was happening, the more Misha realized that justice would need to be delivered.

In the civilized universe, peacekeepers would come in and deal with the situation, finding relevant parties and doling out punishments. While this planet was not at the same level as the Intergalactic Federation, they did have a court system.

However, the court system here was often unable to truly deal with problems to a satisfactory level. This was why Misha began to make plans to ensure that justice was dealt out adequately.

For now, she would gain evidence, find out who was involved, and then make her move. By the end of this, Misha wished to prove one thing, Psycher rage was a state that one never wanted a true Psycher to reach, ever again.

“You find anything?” Phil, Misha’s grandfather asked.

Phil too was broken, having lost the love of his life, it was clear that he was barely hanging on. If not for the constant pushing of Misha, he likely would have given up, or begin the process of self-extinguishing, the process where his inner fire ultimately fades to nothing.

“I’ve found plenty.” Misha said.

Right now, it was just the two of them. Andrea had gone off to be with Frank who was a good help all things considered. Which meant that it was Misha’s job to do two things, first find out who did this, and second to make sure her grandfather didn’t follow his now ex-wife’s path.

Hearing her, Phil sparked to life, as the first sign of his inner fire glowed within his eyes. This was the brightest his curiosity had sparked since this whole thing began.

“What did you find?” Phil asked, a note of curiosity in his voice as he looked at Misha, his eyes wide with hope.

“Depends, just how far are you willing to go with me to get justice?” Misha asked.

With that Phil paused, looking at Misha like she was speaking gibberish.

“Justice?”

“Yes, justice. You and I both know that the lacerations on her neck were not caused by broken glass, despite what the coroner said. Also, you and I both know that the vehicle that did this, had to have sustained damages, despite being able to drive off.” She said coldly, as she pointed to the wide-open stretch of road that looked different under the glowing light of the sun.

“Do you know who did this?” Phil asked, a slight rising light to his internal flame sparked as it was clear that this was a topic he cared deeply about.

“Yes. Now the question is, do wish to help, or do you wish to just rest and assume the world will work itself out?" Misha was probing, she already knew the answer she expected, but she just wanted to hear him say the words.

***

(Phil Tulley)

Badump, badump, badump.

Hearing this, something deep within Phil stirred to life, as he realized that this was what he wanted. Deep in his heart, he knew that this was not something that Julie would want, but she wasn’t here. She would never be around again to speak out against injustices of the world, or bad actions.

Right now Phil had a choice, he could either accept what happened to Julie, go back to his shrine and slowly die a little more each day. Or he could move on, help his granddaughter and exact the justice that he felt was befitting such a crime.

“She was killed?” Phil asked, though he already knew the answer. Something about the events seemed odd, the spots of blood on the road that had not had a chance to be washed away told the story that was separate of an accident victim.

“Yes.”

Hearing that resolute answer, Phil just nodded to himself, then finally answered. “Okay, what exactly do you have in mind?”