Soft Focus

Originally written Saturday, January 7, 2006 (cont.)

Before he could ask, I instructed, “Now, tell him to relax his neck and shoulders.” He did, and Moshe obeyed. I began to talk him through a very simple exercise, not much different from what some holistic healers or hypnotists would use to ease their patients’ pain, only with some variations necessary for the vampire’s physiology (deep breathing, for instance, would still help for improving his focus, but would not provide any respiratory benefits). It was combined with a lesson for Patrick, as well. “Don’t just search for what you want him to do, search for why you want him to do it. Let go of rationale. Your focus has to be just a bit off-focus and surrounding what you’re aiming for.” The only sounds were my voice, Patrick’s echo, and the steady flow of air through Moshe’s ineffective lungs. Patrick himself seemed to be ensconced in a hypnotic state, but I recognized it as no more than a near-meditation.

Eventually, it was time to draw them both back out. “OK,” I said, “take off the charm.”

For the first time in twenty minutes, he looked uncertain about my directive. “But he’ll…”

“He’ll be fine.”

“I thought this was for his headache.”

“It’s for both. His headache and his, um, leash.”

Once Patrick had turned his attention from Moshe to me, Moshe had stopped the rhythmic inhalations and seemed to be listening.

“If there’s a problem, we know how to get him back.”

Patrick sighed and reached behind his neck to release the clasp. I twisted my charm back around to its safety position. Moshe’s calmed expression didn’t change, but he picked up the cards he’d lain in front of him. “Whose turn is it? What number are we on?”

Patrick’s eyes widened. “What did we just do?”

“How’s your headache?” I asked.

Moshe surprised himself by saying, “Uh… it’s gone.” He said no more, but the way he was examining our faces and the coral crescent now on the table communicated the questions he was not asking. Trudy, however, had been quietly observing the whole interaction and while subdued by the spell, her memory had not been disrupted. She did his asking for him:

“OK, so what happened to the free will thing?”

“This was the only way to help him,” Patrick muttered reluctantly.

“Whatever this thing is we’re all involved in, we have to be prepared to let our values be compromised sometimes,” I decreed. “And we knew he wanted the headache gone.” To Moshe, I said, “I assume you didn’t want to be tied to Patrick’s neck, either.”

He looked like he wanted to get up and walk away. He could have, and no one would have stopped him. It was daytime, but as I’ve said, the tunnels afforded their residents a fairly broad range of sulking space. Instead, he asked, “What is that thing? That’s what you were gonna show me the last time I saw you?”

“Yeah, it is. Except for that, we don’t know, but you’re linked to it somehow. Doesn’t look familiar?”

The events of this day to be continued...