Dial Tone

I thought that being sedated would help me.  In my head I was sure that if I were sedated I would sleep and not dream.  It would be glorious, wonderful, silent sleep and when I woke up I would feel rejuvenated.  Yeah, I would still be in the Apocrypha, doomed to die in a cell and never see the sun again, but I would have slept without a dream.  I would have been asleep without seeing my memories.  It would have been perfect.  It would have been so spirits-damned perfect.  Except that my hopes for a night of dreamless sleep didn't come to fruition.

It happened maybe two weeks ago, while I was back home, in my home with Nora, just days before I was arrested.  Nora wasn't home then, she was at work.  She was a secretary and was usually gone throughout the day.  I should have been at work, I should have been doing something productive, but I wasn't.  But earlier I had called in sick and now sat in my room.

I was sitting on my hands, literally sitting on my hands.  My teeth were chattering and my whole body was shivering.  I couldn't control the cold.  All of it was leaking out of me and I didn't know how to reign it back in.  The sheets were turning to ice under my hands.  That probably wasn't good for the material, so I ripped my hands away and folded them over my chest, chilling myself to the bone to keep from freezing anything else.

"I'm in control, I'm in control," I whispered to myself over and over and over again.

In the past this mantra worked.  Somehow it magically (pun somewhat intended) calmed me down and brought the ice back inside.  Today, however, it was not helping.  Shutting my eyes tight and telling myself that I was in control was doing nothing for me.  Panic and fear was rising in me.  I used to be so much better at controlling this!

"No," I whispered to myself while I shook, "I never could control this."

I never had control over my magic.  In the past I just stuffed it in a box and shoved it into a back corner of my mind.  Magic was illegal, so there were no teachers around to show me how to control my magic.  The best I could do was pretend that I didn't have it.  This was how all magicians were caught in Meydera.  Eventually we lose the ability to hide our magic.  Something within us stirs and growls, demanding we use our curse, demanding satisfaction and release, and eventually we break.

I had been hiding for nearly twelve damn years.  I had been trying so hard to keep this a secret, to make sure no one knew.  There was no reason for me to go down this path alone—Greg had been hiding his magic since he was seven!  We couldn't be that different.  He could control weather and I could control ice.  Maybe he could help.

Another whimper escaped me as that thought went through my head.  I couldn't get help from my brother.  I told him I hated him years ago.  We hadn't spoken during all this time, what chance was there that he would give me the time of day now?  My shirt was coated in frost and my hands looked blue.  Even though I looked like I should have frostbite I knew beneath my blue skin I was fine.  I never get frostbite.  I never get that cold either.  I'm always comfortable—as long as I'm not in sunlight long.

My eyes dart over to my nightstand.  I had stolen Greg's phone number from mother's contact book the last time she visited.  For a while I had been planning to call Greg, to apologize and beg for him to re-enter my life.  Now I realized that I stole his number for more than just asking for forgiveness.  I peeled myself off the bed and snatched the piece of paper.  Afraid of myself and what might happen if Nora found out I grabbed the phone in the bedroom and shut myself in the bathroom with the phone.  Shaky hands with shakier fingers dialed the number.  A trembling hand held the receiver to my face.  I swallowed back a good mouthful of my emotions and prayed that he was home.  

First ring—no answer.  I cursed and bounced in place.

Second ring—no answer.

"Please Greg please!" I whimpered into the receiver.

Third ring—"Hello?"

A voice I didn't recognize spoke to me.

"Who is this?"  I said through my chattering teeth.

The voice laughed coyly.  "Well you called me so you actually should identify yourself.  But I'll be nice and answer your question.  This is Allen, who is this?"

Allen?  Shit, I must have copied the wrong number.

"I-I'm terribly sorry Allen I was looking for Gregorian but must have—"

"No, no, you got the right number.  Greg's just in the kitchen.  Who should I say is calling?"  Allen sounded really pleasant.  

I wanted to see him in real life and throttle him for being so damn pleasant while I stood here shaking and pacing in a bathroom with panic filled veins and ice coming from my eyes instead of tears.

"Hello?"  Allen prompted me for an answer.

Allen had an accent, an eastern region accent.  Maybe he was from Losaka or someplace by the hallori territories.

"I…um, tell him…t-tell him its his brother, I…Isaac," I fumbled.

There was a sudden silence from the other end.  My fingers curled tightly around the receiver.  Had Gregorian told this Allen about me?  About how I was a terrible man and that he should hang up?  Why was he stalling?  Did he hang up on me already?  No, no dialtone.

"_{Greg never mentioned a brother…}" I heard Allen mutter.  "One moment," the phone was placed on the table.  "Greg!"  Allen must have been shouting from one side of the room to another, or maybe across a house or an apartment, I didn't exactly know my brother's living arrangements at the time.  "Phone for you.  It's…well he claims he's your brother, Isaac?  You have a brother now?"

There was a shout that I couldn't decipher and then the phone was picked up.

"Isaac?"  That was Greg's voice—softer, gentler than mine, with far more emotion behind it than I could ever muster.

He sounded incredulous as he said my name.  I could almost see the snarling face he was making.

"Hi.  Hi Greg, it's me.  Listen I—"

"What are you doing calling me?  How did you even get my number?"  He demanded.

Allen was saying something in the background.  It sounded like calming words, or at least words spoken calmly.  I don't think Greg was listening to him.

"Look Greg I know you're mad just give me a sec—" I was panicking, full on panicking.

"No, Isaac.  I'm not going to hear it.  Good bye."

"NO GREG PLEASE!"  I screamed so loud maybe the neighbors heard me.



Dial tone.



"N…no Greg please," I whimpered.



Dial tone.


To say I lost my mind was an understatement.  There went my last hope—my one true last hope.  There went Greg, the only person I could trust enough to ever tell this secret person.  He was the one person I could ask to help me.  And he went and didn't even give me a chance.  I know that I can't blame him, that I can't hate him for this now, but at that moment…

I was screaming and crying in the bathroom.  Screaming and crying like a five year old throwing a tantrum.  I threw the phone at the wall in my fury.  It shattered and fell to pieces on the floor.  Ice burst from my hands and coated my arms up to the elbows.  I screamed and slammed my arms against the wall, breaking some of the tile because apparently my ice was stronger than the porcelain tile.

I was like that for a while.  Throwing myself and anything else about.  In the end I found myself sitting in the tub, in my clothes, the water on hot and melting away my ice.  Something inside me was broken.  I don't know what exactly, but I know that it left me feeling empty and foggy.  I sat in the bath until the water was up to my waist, almost to the brim, and then turned it off.  It felt funny, sitting in a bath with my clothes on and my head full of cotton.  I felt…empty.

That night when Nora came home I came clean to her.  I couldn't stop the words from leaving my mouth as I told her what I was, what I could do, and that I still loved her.  It was a stupid move.  Nora hated magic, and like every good child of the Four Regions she called in the Black Dogs to capture and take me away.  Since magicians can't be married our marriage was annulled.   I was erased from all files, my existence deleted.

Somehow this brought me some sort of peace at first.  I wouldn't have to hide anymore.  I would be put where people like me belonged.  Sure, that meant going to prison, but at least I would be…somehow better off?  I don't know.  At that point I was just happy to not have to hide.  I didn't fight when the Black Dogs came for me.  I was calm, maybe even serene when they hauled me off, stuffing me into a van and knocking me out for a (I assume) cross-country ride to this Apocrypha.

Maybe this is the place I was always meant to go.  I can't say I like it here, and even if it kills me, I'm...somehow happy that I'm here.


I think I'm crazy.