A fight broke out. A fight older than time itself, if time truly existed. A fight not fought on land, sea, or air. A fight not fought between men or nations. Inside you, inside me, an intimate conflict is waged on the battleground of the human soul. An eternal war fought between fear and faith.

“Hey, slow down. You’re gonna miss the turn.” I applied gentle pressure to the brake, but my rusty ‘88 Century came to an abrupt halt. “Good lord, Will!” Justin said, jolting forward before slamming back to his seat.

I gripped hard on the steering wheel. "Sorry man, brakes are a bit touchy."

“Boy I’ll say, you'd better check those out. And seriously, get rid of that stupid CD player.” Justin's hand ran through his shaggy blonde bangs before reverting his attention out the passenger window. “Just listen to the radio, or better yet nothing.”

A portable CD player rested on the console between us. It had been broken for three months, the cassette adapter jammed into the tape deck. You couldn’t pry it out with a crowbar. I never bothered or wanted to fix it. Some things you can’t fix. The brokenness reminded me of myself, and my fight.

“Don’t worry. This car has never let me down before.” I laughed, playing it cool, wearing a mask to hide the truth.

“I’m not worried about the car.” Justin said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Dude, no chick's gonna think it's cool listening to the same song over and over on a device that was popular around the time of your birth. Let’s go. The house is down this road."

***

The Brownings moved into town about a year and a half ago due to the low cost of living. I guess that's why my family stayed. Without a flinch, Justin came up to me on his first day of school and began talking like he had known me his whole life. It was nice. I needed a friend. I didn't have many. Justin had his faults, he was arrogant and cocky, but I admired his confidence and swagger. The girls loved his surfer blonde locks, broad shoulders, and sun kissed skin. He bragged he was some semipro wakeboarding champion on the west coast before he moved. I have yet to see a trophy or newspaper clipping. A lot changed in a year, yet so many things remained the same. I was learning to cope. I could even leave the house without nausea from time to time. I had Justin to thank. Friendship is powerful, healing. The problem, I still couldn't look in the mirror and like what looked back. The thought of others looking at me made it worse. Suffocating anxiety ruled each time the circle of death surrounded me, each time I was the center of attention.

"Alright everyone, get in your discussion groups and go over the results from the acceleration lab." Mr. Noell instructed the class.

Groups are a hair pin trigger for someone like me. People staring at you, judging you, thinking about what a freak you are. I sat in the chair next to Justin, pretending to study my lab notes which allowed me to keep my face hidden.

The idea manifested itself during 2nd hour Physics class. I wasn't the igniter, far from it. I was an escapist.

"You guys heard the rumors about the house on Gale road that's supposedly haunted? Totally freaky, I'm gonna check it out. Anyone interested?" Justin said, his voice forcing me to look up into the eyes of the group.

"That sounds dumb." Jill said.

"Not really, Justin." Lucy responded.

Justin doesn't think. Jill Harrington and Lucy Gilman, really? Like they're going to take a night off from their boyfriends to go to a haunted house. He's such an idiot.

"How about you Will?" He asked.

"I have to check the chart, see if these results match up." I stood up and walked toward the wall.

"What about the house?" Justin called out.

"Oh, um, sure." I said, my back turned towards the group. If you run away you can’t get hurt. I needed a polite escape, one that would go unnoticed. I agreed because my stomach twisted and the tension in my neck rose to my face. If I said no, Justin would've just badgered me for a reason which would've drawn the attention of not just the group, but the whole class. I couldn't stand the way my classmates looked at me, seeing my face turn deep red each time I tried to speak. I stood off to the side of the room, faking like I was studying the periodic table. Nobody bothered me. My eyes darted across the room. Five, four, three, two, one, I repeated in my head until my jaw relaxed and my body stopped shaking.

***

There seems to be a tradition among kids growing up in small towns across America. You get bored and you tell ghost stories. We were no exception. In fact, it was quite common for the kids in our town to outdo each other with fanciful and exceptional tales. I’d always semi believed in haunted houses but I can’t say I have any reason to. I’ve never been witness to anything supernatural.

Millersville was a tourist attraction for the wrong reasons. It attracted people who lived on the fringes of society. Their beliefs did not mesh with mainstream America. Local history states that a philanthropist doctor, Sunny Miller, built a treatment facility in the early 1900's that housed and treated people whom society had shut out. The media praised Miller for his humanitarian and rehabilitative work. The locals held a different perspective. They believed the doctor was mad. People said he had delusions and visions of opening the gates of hell and conducted experiments on the patients he served as part of this process. Sunny later died, consumed by paranoia, as a patient in the very facility he built. His fate was hid from the public. Only his most trusted staff members knew of his condition. They wanted to preserve his good name and keep the integrity of the facility intact. It wasn’t long before the stories leaked and the townspeople put their own spins and interpretations on them.

The stories were local lore and I believed none of it to be true. No evidence of inhumane experiments was ever found. The story and our town gathered attention after a cable channel’s documentary feature about the mysteries of the paranormal some fifteen years ago. Now, we attract gawkers and thrill seekers looking for a scare. The local kids joke that our town is the Devil’s Rendition of Sedona Arizona. Once a month like clockwork a new shop opens up claiming to be the only one in town selling real cursed objects and magical trinkets. At best, the stories and legends helped to drive down housing costs. At worst, they attracted every fire and brimstone preacher within the tri-state area.

There's a local legend of a girl who died while waiting for her date to take her to the prom. She had been planning every minute detail for three straight months. Like so many other young women on prom night she wanted everything to be perfect. As fate would have it her date was running late. With anticipation growing, she walked to the end of her long driveway, the crisp spring created the antidote to calm her nervous stomach. Gazing into the distance, she entertained dreams of an enchanted evening with all her friends, becoming lost in the majestic beauty of the night that lay ahead, she never saw the out-of-control pickup truck barreling towards her. The vehicle struck with astonishing force as it slammed into the sturdy oak that had been standing for years, pinning the girl, knocking the life from her fragile body. Her beautiful pink dress torn with speckled crimson. Such was an act of terrible coincidence since the road in which the girl lived was hardly traveled. In fact, it was her date for the evening that put an end to her short life.

The driver was a local boy. He worked at the treatment facility as an evening janitor. People say the devil entered him that night. The experiments conducted by the doctor were said to have produced enough dark energy to create a crack in the wall that separated our world from theirs. The dark energy attracted the attention of the devils. They would slip through the crack and prey on weak willed humans, manipulating and controlling their behavior, causing them to do horrific things. Such was said to be the fate of the boy and his date.

As sad as this story is, I honestly couldn’t tell you if it was the truth or just the collective imaginations of the town’s people that passed it around. The human mind can have trouble distinguishing between what's real and what isn’t.

***

Logic and emotion were waging their timeless war, choosing my brain as their battlefield. Bloody images of the stories Justin told during class started to crack the wall I raised in my mind to keep them out. As always, he was our group leader but more into telling tall tales than working on assignments. I shouldn't have allowed him to convince me, but I never learned to say no. Instead, I'm trapped in a car, counting the panels of the dashboard air vent, praying I don't get sick. I'm not afraid for the reasons you might think. Who wouldn't be a little afraid going to a house that’s supposedly haunted? My angst runs deeper. If you've ever experienced mental illness you'll know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, pray you never do. Feeling trapped is like being on death row when you have anxiety. I said yes so Justin would leave me alone and the attention of the group would be drawn away. The problem, I avoided one disorder and traded it for another.

The moisture of my palms and shallowness of my breath indicated the floodgates of panic were ready to burst. My eyes focused straight ahead as I made the left hand turn to venture down the road haunted by the crimson ghost.

The road narrowed, changing from fresh pavement to loose gravel. Thick trees and falling leaves surrounded us. Crooked bare branches hung over head. Fall had set in. We left the safety and familiarity of our world and drove into another. “I really hope we don’t meet another car. There’s not even room to pull over.” I said, interrupting Justin who had been speaking the entire trip of the stories he'd heard about the girl.

“No way dude. Nobody comes out here anymore.” Justin said.

It's the first thing I was consciously aware of Justin saying even though he had been talking for twenty minutes. This had been his third trip down the superstitious road in hopes of catching a glimpse of the famed girl. He hadn’t personally seen anything unusual and appeared to carry himself with an outward confidence. However, I have a knack for feeling what others are experiencing. His experience of the road was no different from mine.

We rounded the curve as a squirrel darted out into the road. I jerked the steering wheel to avoid hitting the creature. “Dang that was close.” I said. How nice it would feel to be that squirrel, to have never heard the ghostly tales. In his world, everything was in its place and as it should be.

“Ok, the house is right after this hill on the left.” I slowed as we came to the top of a hill. “There it is, there’s the driveway. Look, there’s the tree that was half knocked down when the girl was pinned against it.” Justin spoke in a soft whisper. A tingling chill ran down my spine. Were the stories true? Or at least partly based on the truth? I pulled into the driveway and stopped the car.

“It’s fenced off and there are no trespassing signs everywhere. Do you think we should even be here?” I said, unable to gain control of my shaking hands.

“Don't worry man, the cops just put those up to scare kids from coming out here and setting traps for people.” Justin said.

“Traps!”

“Shh.”

“Why? Aren’t we the only ones out here?” I said.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Justin said, punching my arm.

“What the hell is up with these so called traps then?”

“Some kids like to come out here and leave bloody dolls in trees and stuff, it adds to the whole haunted effect I guess. They sit out here in the woods with night vision cameras and make videos of shaken tourists to post on YouTube. You should see some of them. They're hilarious.” Justin laughed. His enthusiasm triggered a wave of nausea. “We’ll let’s get out and have a look. Don’t sweat it, the cops did a good job scaring people off.”

“Sure thing man.” I made a weak attempt to duplicate Justin’s excitement. Knowing others had been here before gave me a slight confidence. If we saw something, it was probably just someone's idea of a sick joke. I turned off the car and stepped outside.

The night air owned a chilling bite that nibbled my erratic nerves. We stood by the car methodically taking in the scenery, neither one of us eager to make the first move. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the night. The moon was bright and gave an odd but friendly glow to the surrounding woods. It lit our path, inviting us to descend into the unknown. Out of the eerie glow of the forest came a high-pitched shriek. A jolt of electricity shot through my body as instinct swung my arms up in defense.

“Settle down Will!” Justin said. “It was just an owl or something.” Adrenaline pounded through my veins. “Man you’re jumpy. Take some breaths dude. Calm down.” My muscles tightened harder the more I pretended to relax.

“You’re right Justin. I guess I've been a little tense tonight.” I fought to distract myself from the fearful thoughts that pillaged my mind. It was no use. My mind looped worse than my broken CD player.

We hopped the short metal gate and within fifty feet the forest opened up. A long gravel driveway separated a small pond lined with white lilies. Given an alternative scenario, it would have been quite beautiful under the light of the moon. Being in the open space had a calming influence. It would be hard for anything to sneak up and surprise us. A wave of tranquility flowed through me providing mild comfort. Betrayal came seconds later. Fear tightened its clasp on my lungs the moment I let my guard down. I fought with agony to cling to the tranquil thoughts, but was asking the impossible of myself. I struggled to hang on, fear becoming more powerful with each hopeless slip. One after another, distressed thoughts rose to my unruly mind, each one more intense than its predecessor, begging me to panic. I jabbed my hand into the pocket of my jeans and rubbed the smooth cool steel between my fingers. The dip separating the two halves calmed me. I had been carrying the heart for almost ten years now. The charm’s texture grounded me to reality, giving me comfort, hope, strength. It was meant for someone else, not for me. I wasn’t a hero. I never had the courage to part with it. Doing so would make me vulnerable, in more ways than one.

Justin and I took our time moving down the driveway, being careful not to make a lot of noise. We’d pause often to listen for any unusual sounds. We heard nothing except for the slight breeze that swirled around us. In the distance stood a small barn whose white paint glowed against the moonlit background of the darkened forest. There was an opening on the second floor where a door used to be. We could see inside the barn, but it was too dark to make sense of anything.

“Hey, shine your flashlight up there.” Justin wanted to know what was waiting inside. I pointed the light towards the 2nd floor opening. A loud squawk rang out as an explosion of feathers burst into the air and floated to the ground. We both jumped back and looked at each other.

“Huh, just a bird,” I said.

“I heard a boy hung himself from the very ledge that bird was on.” Justin said.

“What? Oh my God."

“Ha, I just made that one up.” A smile cracked from behind Justin’s stern face, his lame attempt at humor pulling a feeble grin across my mouth. I searched my brain for a witty comeback. Banter was never my strength but I could usually come up with something, especially when directed towards Justin. He was one of those guys that was easy to give crap too. I think because he dished so much of it out it became natural to return the favor. Tonight was different. Fighting my anxiety disorder had a way of shutting me up, turning me inward, more than I normally am.

“Look up ahead!” Justin said.

“Shh, they might hear us. The kids, with the traps and cameras." I said.

“Will, you can relax, it’s just us. Don’t you remember talking about it? The police put a stop to all that. Are you ok? You seem distracted tonight, like you aren’t with me.”

Justin didn’t know about my condition, how the anxiety made it difficult to focus on the present, and how the constant battle for peace left me exhausted. None of my friends knew. They could never know. The rejection would send me into a turmoil I couldn't pull out of.

"Never mind." I kicked the ground in front of me.

“Look, there it is.” Justin said. We crept to a three story Victorian style house. Frightened and alone it called to us, begging us to enter and relieve it of it’s past. “Here, give me your flashlight,” I handed my light to Justin. “What the hell, Will. This thing is soaking wet!”

“I guess my hands must be sweaty. Here, let me wipe it off.” I grabbed the light from Justin’s hand and wiped it down with the sleeve of my jacket. I took a long glance upward toward the house. Its beauty was haunting. This was the type of place you’d work hard to keep up, not hide it a mile into the woods.

We approached the front steps, on both sides were two plain black posts that supported the overhang from the second floor. We walked up three steps to the front porch. Cobwebs concealed the pair of once black trimmed windows that stood on either side of the front door, yielding an old weathered appearance. For the house’s splendor, it was in dire need of restoration. The porch floor creaked no matter how light our steps. The screen on the front door had been half punched out and the white painted outside walls had accumulated dirt a half inch thick.

“We’ve come this far. Open the door,” Justin pointed to a dirty brass doorknob.

"Me?”

“You have the light. That means you lead.” Justin said.

"Please be locked." I whispered, turning the knob slowly. I really need to learn how to say no. The door swung open as if someone on the other side were inviting us in. I turned toward Justin. “Great, it's open.”

“Let’s go.” Justin motioned for me to move forward.

I peeked my head in the doorway, scanning the entryway with my flashlight. It looked normal enough. To my left were five pegs to hang jackets and a large rectangular mirror to my right. Ten feet ahead was a door and the entrance to the living room. Our steps were slow and deliberate.

“This place is the marriage of a horror movie and a subsidized housing project. What a dump.” I said.

“Wow, that’s the most I’ve heard you say since we got in the car to come out here, agreed. I guess the last family that lived here got so freaked that they just took off and left everything behind.”

By the way they lived they obviously had no respect for such a beautiful home. Everything was out of place and chaotic. The air was heavy and musty. The furniture was torn and there were two fist-sized holes in the wall. “They must have had cats,” I plugged my nose and pointed to a urine soaked stain on the couch and another in the corner next to it.

“Well Will, no one has lived here for several years. Were you expecting the Playboy Mansion?”

“I know. I guess I just hate to see something this beautiful get treated so poor."

“Do you always talk like that?” Justin asked.

“What do you mean?”

Justin paused, gazing downward. “Like everything is alive, like it has feeling and is hurt by its mistreatment.”

“I guess I tend to think like that. I feel you should treat everything the way you would like to be treated.”

“These are just things, objects, they aren’t alive. They don’t have feelings,” Justin said.

Maybe he was right, but it's not like I could change it. Objects have a life of their own. Each with its own history and story to tell. Everything has life. The earth, the trees, the rocks. When a rose died a part of me died with it. A tremendous burden to carry. That level of intensity can cause a person great pain when they are unable to turn it off.

We continued searching the living room. A television set with a cracked screen and a couple of the ugliest yellow recliners I’d ever seen consumed much of the room. A coffee table resting on its end against the wall was the only thing that seemed salvageable.

Justin took a few steps ahead. He was drawn to something. I stepped in his path to grab him and keep him close. He looked right through me and nudged me to the side. He walked up to a closet door and swung it open. “Justin, you alright?” I felt the blood in my face drop to my feet. There was a faint giggle, and then joyous laughter. “Damn it Justin!”

“I was just seeing if you thought I was possessed,” he said.

“Leave it to a comedian to play practical jokes at a time like this,” I said.

Justin’s laughter turned to concern. “Hey look, it’s not a closet, it’s a staircase."

“Huh?"

“Let’s check it out,” Justin looked inside.

“I don’t know, it’s dark and we don’t know what’s down there. What if there’s a family of diseased mice, or something worse.”

“You scared? That’s why you have your light.” Justin nudged me in the back as I shrugged my shoulders. Again, I found myself in the role of reluctant leader as we crept down the old wooden staircase.

The air grew heavier and damper. I prayed my flashlight wouldn’t fail. We reached the bottom stair and stepped onto the cold stone floor. I scanned the room with my light. The basement was odd looking and about ten times scarier than it should have been under normal circumstances. There were strange symbols painted on the walls. A huge stone well sat in the middle of the room. The walls were lined with wooden shelves and corrugated boxes that stored old files. I pulled out a file and shined my light on it. "Patient is experiencing auditory hallucinations and delusions of religious persecution. Patient is being treated with electric shock. Patient's response to treatment is uncertain. Patient is suicidal and needs 24-hour supervision.”

“That’s enough reading for now. You don’t need to fuel your imagination any further.” Justin called out.

“What’s with all these misshapen symbols on the wall?” I asked.

Justin bent down to inspect an empty drawer. “A group of Occultists squatted here about a year ago.”

“Are you kidding me. I got freaked out over a group of nut-job Occultists.” I said.

We broke out in laughter. It was rather common, however, given our town’s history. Like I said, we attracted people on the fringes of society. They mostly came because of morbid curiosity. Some bought into the myth that the doctor actually did open a doorway to hell and that they could summon dark entities to invoke diabolical favors. No one took these people seriously, except the doomsday preachers who rode into town every Sunday afternoon, fulfilling their self-appointed duties to preach that the Rapture was Nigh, and that we're all on the short track to damnation.

Occultists were easy to spot in town. Most wore dark clothing and had hair that was dyed jet black. Some had tattoos of pentagrams and wore the symbol on jewelry or in some other form of self-expression. My friends and I referred to them as Outsiders in reference to the classic novel. Once, a group of them opened a flower shop in town. Odd, I know, but it was the only way the owner knew how to make a living. The shop stayed open for about two months. One of the Puritan preachers convinced a group of elderly women that they would go to hell if they didn't stop buying flowers from the shop. I mostly felt bad for the Outsiders. They wanted to fit in. Being normal, belonging, just wasn’t written in their DNA. I knew the feeling well.

Millersville was divided between two opposing forces, the Outsiders and the Doomsday Preachers whom were nicknamed Puritans. My family stayed out of the politics of the town. Dad said politics and religion divided people. When there's division people behave badly, blinded by whatever beliefs they think are absolute truth.

“Wow, now that’s messed up.” Justin said. A door stood at the other end of the basement leading to a modern washing machine which Justin decided he had to open.

“What?” I asked, half expecting to see a severed head or something equally grotesque.

“There’s still clothes in the dryer, these folks must have been in a major hurry to get the hell out of here.” Justin said.

“I’m wondering if we should do the same.” I said, the thought of fleeing invited panic to invaded me. A sharp pain twisted my stomach. God no, I'm having a panic attack in front of Justin. The air was freezing cold. Nerves bombarded my brain with a million stabbing thoughts, torment and suffering. My legs gave out and I tumbled to my knees.

“We have to go. I can’t be here. I’m gonna throw up.”

“Lay still and relax,” Justin said.

My stomach turned over and released vomit on the floor, splattering up to my face. The palpitations of my pounding heart muted my hearing. “Help me get him to bed, and get him some Xanax, hurry.” I thought I heard Justin call out. A large figure rushed towards us, forcing a pill into my mouth and water down my throat. My vision blurred. Darkness consumed me.

“How you feeling?” I opened my eyes. The room was fuzzy.

“Justin, is that you?” I whispered.

“No, just lay still and rest.”

Adrenaline tried to alert my brain that I was in danger, but failed. The panic attack left me drained but I had peaked and was slowly starting to recover. I laid still, too disoriented to move. I was no stranger to overwhelming fear, but to throw up and black out like that, it can’t be good.

I gathered enough strength to sit up. Every muscle was numb. I scanned the room for a clock but was unable to locate one. The mirror next to the bed told me I looked the same, normal on the outside, anything but normal on the inside. My dark eyes carried an air of sadness to them. That was nothing new. I kept my brown hair short and my t-shirts plain; doing everything I could to remain as unambiguous as possible. I hated drawing attention to myself. If I did, people would look at me; if they looked too close they might see the truth.

Computers and gadgets lined every square inch of the room. A large dark figure was fast approaching. My blurred vision remained but I sensed no danger.

“How’s the head feeling, Will?” The figure spoke with a dry raspy voice.

“It hurts.” I said.

“That’s normal; you’ll feel like yourself in a few hours.”

“Where am I?”

“Let me be the first to welcome you. You’re at Gateway. The figure said with an excited tone.

“Gateway.”

“Don’t be afraid. Gateway is the name of our operation.”

“Ok, can you show me the exit please?” I said.

My vision was clearing and I could see that the large shadowy figure had features of his own. I would guess early forties, wrinkles around the eyes, and a few gray hairs at the temples. He was snacking on a fried chicken drummie and drinking a can of soda. He could do without the snack since he was obviously overweight.

“Hey! Mind your own damn business.” He said.

“What are you talking about?”

“You think I’m fat, so I told you to mind your own damn business.”

“Um, I don’t think you’re fat. What gives you that idea?”

“Well, first of all you just thought I could do without this chicken since I was obviously too heavy. That’s how I know you think I’m fat.” He calmed after putting me in my place.

“But, I didn’t even say anything.” I glanced away, unable to make eye contact.

Justin entered the room. I was glad to see his face and have the attention diverted away from the awkward conversation. “Hey Will, how ya feeling?”

“Ok I guess, but what the hell is going on?”

“I guess I should fill you in on a few things huh. You are still in the haunted house. This house was formerly a halfway house for patients at the old hospital. You weren’t supposed to get your hands on those old files. I think it overwhelmed you. The truth of the matter is, we, um, sort of set you up.” Justin’s eyes were glued to the floor.

“What!” Justin stood silent, continuing to count the tiles on the floor. I raised my hands. “You mean to tell me this whole thing was a setup. You brought me out in the middle of nowhere just to scare the piss out of me. What the hell is going on Justin?” The forcefulness of my voice compelled him to shed his reluctance to speak.

“Ok, this was an initiation. Congratulations! You are our newest member. You’ll get a membership packet in the mail and we’ll need a picture for your photo ID.”

"I always knew there was something shady about you. I guess this is my proof." I raised my middle finger and extended it towards Justin.

“Looks like you’re starting to regain some of your old self, great.” Justin’s sarcastic smile raised my blood pressure. “Will, listen, we brought you here for a reason. You see, we’re investigators, the supernatural kind.”

I leaned back on the couch. “Are you kidding me? Like on those stupid cable shows.” I purposely rolled my eyes. Justin didn’t find the humor in it.

“Our group, we’re paranormal investigators, you know, investigate hauntings. Ghosts and things."

"Ok, a lot of kids are into that. Why be so secretive about it? Why not just tell me rather than give me a heart attack?" I asked.

Justin glanced away from me, pausing for a second before speaking. “You wouldn’t have come.”

“And you know this how?”

“Because you fear God."

The statement caught me off guard. "What are you talking about?"

Justin’s shallow breathing indicated the conversation was making him uncomfortable.

Justin rubbed his chin and changed the subject. “The entire earth and its inhabitants are made of energy, energy that breathes life into all things. Science has proven that energy can never be destroyed, only altered and manipulated. At its core the energy is powerful and pure, but there are forces that seek to misuse it. The energy can be gathered and collected. The more we obtain the more we can alter and control it. We just don't know how. That’s where you come in. The energy is drawn to you. You have certain gifts. Gifts that give you an unique advantage. Your fear holds you back, but in a way it's your greatest power. When you're strong enough, and I mean He-Man strong, we're going to break in and you're going to break them out.” Justin stared.

“Are you saying I’m some sort of chosen one?”

“Don’t flatter yourself! There are no chosen ones. Every person on this planet has the ability to obtain the energy. We're all chosen ones.” The heavyset man’s lip curled at the corner. I kept my silence.

“Will, meet Corbin.” Justin said. I nodded politely towards the man’s direction. He never returned the gesture.

“Why the initiation? I still don’t understand why you didn’t just ask? What does fearing God have to do with anything?"

"Our methods are progressive, somewhat New Age. You're from Millersville and your not on Team Outsider. That means you come from the tradition that believes the dead should be left dead." Justin said.

I knew what he was getting at. I'd seen the TV shows, how people attempted to contact spirits and meddle with things they shouldn't. I was no Puritan but Justin was right. I did consider myself to be a good, God fearing Christian. Lord's Prayer before bed. Come Lord Jesus be our guest, before every meal. Church on Sundays. I prayed a lot, but mostly out of desperation. At least I knew better than to mess with this stuff.

All around me, buzzers began buzzing, beepers began beeping, and lights began flashing. My headache intensified as I stumbled like a drunken sailor back to my bed. Justin and Corbin raced to a computer, intently studying the screen.

“Hey Corbin, check this out,” Justin said.

“What is it?”

“It’s another message. There’s an image and the word Exit written beneath it.”

Corbin puzzled over the image. “I wish they could just talk. This metaphorical communication is maddening.”

“Sorry man, just the way it is.” Justin shook his head in sympathetic agreement.

I fought the searing pain in my head and made my way to the computer. I looked at an image of two adult men, one holding a small worn book and the other on his knees. The man with the book had pristine features, not a scratch or scar on his face. His clothes were bright and he appeared to be draped in a flowing white gown. One you might see in a painting of Greek Gods. He stretched his hand as far as it would go to the man on his knees who was pinned against a stone wall. The man was unresponsive, dirty and beaten, his face distorted with unforgivable disgrace.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“No clue. Haven’t seen or heard from them before. What time is Monika supposed to get here?” Corbin said as he turned to face Justin.

“Not sure, she said she worked until ten o'clock and was going home to bed afterward. I’ll get a hold of her and convince her to come in.” Justin said.

Air traffic controllers with a plane spiraling towards the earth had nothing on Justin and Corbin as they pounded on buttons and tried to keep up with the data being hurled out of the printer. Their setup was elaborate. How they could afford all of this?

“Who’s Monika?” I asked Corbin.

“Monika Kingsbury is like you, only stronger,” he said.

“Stronger? What do you mean?”

“She could bench press a house, where as you'd be lucky to lift the bar off your chest.” Corbin said. My guard tightened with his comment.

“Geez Will, don’t get so defensive.”

“I wasn’t being defensive.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Corbin replied.

Justin came back into the room and announced that it took some convincing on his part but Monika would stop in and try to establish a connection.

“Connection to what?” I asked.

“The men in the image,” Justin said.

I sensed Corbin and Justin weren’t telling me everything I needed to know. I needed answers and they weren’t giving any. “I’m leaving.” The declaration spun both of their heads around.

“Leaving! Where are you going? You can’t leave now.” Justin said.

“Please then, one of you tell me what this is all about? Where the hell am I? Who the hell is Monika? And why does it feel like I am standing in the middle of Google’s IT department!”

Behind me, a door flew open and a beautiful young woman came marching in. She walked with her head held high and spoke with a voice that demanded her presence, better be worth it. I sensed both Corbin and Justin held this woman in high regard. My eyes wouldn't leave her. She wasn't dressed to kill, a simple ensemble; blue jeans and a plain faded gray sweatshirt. She was older, but not by much. Early twenties, maybe just out of college. There was an unnamed presence about her. She looked like she just got off the third shift at the Millersville meat packing plant, but possessed a natural beauty only a lucky few are born with.

“Geez,” I said. “You come from a slaughterhouse or what?” Shock and guilt flooded my body the second those words came out, stress and confusion getting the best of me. It was out of my character to respond that way. On most occasions, I can only mumble a shy hello when first meeting someone, especially someone as pretty as Monika. I went over a list of excuses to explain my rude and uncharacteristic behavior. I couldn’t spit any out. The only resort was to assure myself that all would be forgiven due to my lethargic condition.

“Excuse me? Are you saying I’m a cow?”

“No. No, I actually, I’m not sure why I said that,” hoping my honesty would soften the blow.

“You better not be making fun of me for spending all day neck deep in turkey crap and then covering the second shift at my aunt's cafe. I might smell like today’s meatloaf special but what gives you the right?"

“No ma’am. I was just, um, you work where?”

“Who the hell is this guy?” Monika asked, turning to see Corbin’s jaw stuck wide open.

“Oh hey Monika, let me introduce to you to Will. He is our newest member, I guess.”

Corbin made a weak attempt to introduce us. Monika shook her head, wanting nothing to do with me. Like the new kid at school, I kept my distance. Despite her apparent hatred of everything about me, I wanted to know everything about her.

Long blonde hair flowed just past her shoulders. She exuded a slim waist and perfect chest that any woman would be jealous of. Deep blue eyes pierced my soul on the rare occasion I had enough courage to gaze into them. This girl would be a handful, but worth every effort to get to know. I wonder if she will ever feel the same about me.

“What? Are you just gonna to stand around?” Monika waved Justin along.

“I’ll get the table and candles prepared,” Justin said.

“Corbin, can you please shut these damn lights and beepers off! They're driving me nuts!” Monika said. “I’m going to prepare.”

It didn’t take a genius to see the pattern. Monika had a bossy, take charge and gives orders personality. The kind I hate. I don’t have a problem taking orders from a female; it’s not that. It’s the way people like her go about it that gets under my skin.

“Yeah Will,” Corbin said. “You just seem to get used to it after a while. She doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s just her way.”

“Oh really, thanks for letting me know,” I said. She’ll quickly change her way. I don’t deal with those types.

How did Corbin seem to know what I was thinking, it’s not like I told him I didn’t like the way Monika barged in here and took control.

“Ok, I think everything is set. We’re ready to roll. Hey Will, can you hit the light switch on the wall there?” Justin said. The noise and lights stopped, there was calm.

“Um, sure,” I replied, blindly doing what I was told.

Justin and Corbin lit two-dozen white long stemmed candles and placed them at various spots around the room. Corbin looked towards me, “the candles create a warm, inviting atmosphere.” I nodded in agreement to avoid awkward disagreement. The side door flung open and Monika walked in. She wasn’t the same person I met earlier. She failed to make eye contact with any of us. Her mind crossed into a different reality from our own.

“Are you ready Monika?” Justin asked. Monika starred forward. “Alright then, everyone form a circle and hold hands. Clear your minds and focus on the computer image.”

The symbols drawn on the basement wall flashed through my mind sending warning signals to my brain. “Wait!” I said. “I know what this is. You guys are trying to channel the spirit of that crazy old doctor, Sunny Miller. I want no part of it. Let me out of here!”

Justin sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous Will. We’re not naive brainless Outsiders. We're here to help people. Please, humor us for a minute.”

“No, I don’t do magic or séances or whatever this is. It isn’t right.”

Corbin looked at Justin. “Told you he wouldn’t go for it. Too afraid of God’s wrath.”

"Tell ya what. If I pass out or get struck by lightning during this you can have all the computers in this lab." Justin said.

"Some wager, they're all mine anyway." Corbin laughed.

"Come on Will, I'm only joking. Nothing bad's gonna happen. Maybe you're more like the Puritans than I thought."

Justin's arrogance struck a nerve. Against the advice of the angel on my shoulder I decided to play along. I wasn't a religious extremist like the Puritan preachers in town. Justin and Corbin weren’t going to make me look like a fool in front of Monika. I took Corbin’s right hand and Justin’s left as we formed a triangle with Monika in the middle. She sat on top of the table with her legs crossed, palms turned outward, and eyes closed. Monika’s breathing started to slow and deepen. She hummed a weird chant that I was unable to make sense of. We waited fifteen minutes, with sweaty palms and tired hands. The whole thing felt pointless.

“Tell us what's troubling you? Why are you attempting to contact us?” Monika said. A few minutes of silence passed. “Tell me what your pain is.”

"Escape." Voices made themselves known but weren’t from human vocal cords.

“Can you give us your name?” Monika asked. “Why do you keep repeating the word ESCAPE?” My body fell weightless, my mind turned off all thought, attention focused inward to the bodiless voices. “Who are you?” She asked again. The voices whirled around us, sounding from all sides.

“Names are unimportant.”

“Why do you need us?” Monika said.

“For the rescue mission. We've never been this close, to finally have the key amongst us. We're going to-"

“Are you in pain?” Monika asked again.

“I think you just cut them off.” I said.

“What do you mean I just cut them off?” Monika replied. “Now we’ve lost them, thanks a lot!”

“Why in the world are you blaming me?” My neck was on fire, boiling blood pounding against the vessels.”

“You shouldn't talk,” Monika growled.

“What did I do?”

My grip tightened around Corbin’s hand. “Dammit Will!” He shouted, pulling away. I broke from the circle, took a few steps back and arched my spine. Monika’s icy gaze sent a clear message. She was uneasy about having a new guy being let in on the group’s secrets.

“Alright everyone, enough." Justin asserted himself as leaders do. "We need to focus on finding out who these voices belong to and see if we can get them back ... but we can’t do anything more tonight. It’s past midnight and I think we all should get some rest. We need to prepare for what’s to come.” Corbin and Monika packed their belongings and left without speaking.

“I know you have a lot of questions, Will, but put them aside for now. I’ll fill you in as we go. We're doing an investigation this weekend. There’s a house in a small town north of here. I’d like you to come. Just watch, see what we're about, what we do. Don’t worry about the others. They're just highly dedicated to the work we do. It’s not easy for them to trust.” Justin said as we left the old Victorian house and walked down the gravel road to my car.

“How do you know it’s haunted?” I asked.

“There have been five owners in the past three years. That’s a major red flag.”

“Sounds like termites?” I smirked.

“Glad to see that sarcasm again. Just try and get some rest.” Justin didn’t fist bump as he normally did when I dropped him off. I had a million questions that I wanted answered now, but I was exhausted.

“Ok Justin, see ya at school tomorrow.”

"Hi Will," her voice was exceptionally bubbly.

"Oh, Hi Allison." My face lit up along with every blood vessel in it. I dove into my locker, pretending to search for a lost book.

There's a cruel phenomenon within all of us. It teases us, misleads us, lies to us. It tells us we are the one, the next big thing, the only one holding the million dollar ticket. That's how it was with Allison Channing. I knew this adversary well, I believed anyway.

"So, you going to the Lodge next weekend?"

"Oh, is there a party?" I asked. Questions divert attention away from yourself yielding a slight calming effect.

"Yeah, after the game. I really hope you guys win." Allison said.

The Lodge is the nickname of the party house kids at my school go to on the weekends. It's just an old cabin in the woods, once quite elaborate though."

"Hey, hey, hey, my two favorite people." Justin came running up, putting his arm around Allison as if they were best friends."

"Hi Justin. How's life treatin' ya." Allison said.

"Oh you know. I've got the looks of an Abercrombie model and the soul of Ghandi, can't complain."

Allison laughed. I was annoyed.

“Hey Will,” Justin said. “What class ya heading to?”

“I gotta get to math.”

“Let’s meet up afterward.”

“Whatever."

"You're such a charmer, Will. How do you do it?"

I gave Justin a scowl as he turned his back.

"My lady." Justin held out his arm, gesturing to escort Allison to her next class.

"Oh wait, today’s Friday.” I called out.

“Yeah, so what.” Justin said.

“Um, I have to meet with Mr. Johnson after class to go over some homework. I meet with him most Friday’s.”

"You’re such a brownnoser.” Justin's eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "Let us depart my lady." Allison locked arms with Justin and both went skipping down the hallway. I wanted to shoot him.

I didn’t like lying but it was better than the alternative. I had been meeting with Dr. Z on Friday’s for about a month now. I was reluctant at first but my parents insisted after they learned I was having difficulty paying attention in class. The school social worker had me tested for ADHD. Not the squirrely, can’t stay in your seat type, but the absent minded, can’t hold a thought in your head type. The tests came back negative and I didn’t meet criteria for an ADHD diagnosis, but the social worker thought I could benefit from meeting with Dr. Z. She said it would help me to "better connect with my peers,” whatever that meant.

Some of the kids criticized me for being aloof. It wasn’t that. I just had secrets. Secrets that were killing me, but I would rather die than have them exposed. So I remained distant, stayed guarded, and stayed safe. I wanted desperately to connect with them, to be part of their group, to fit in. It just wasn’t in the cards. I was different from them. Maybe they were different from me. It didn’t matter. Difference creates fear. Fear leads to anger. The anger that I masked and kept hidden was born from frustration, from not being understood. I stuffed it down, buried it deep.

Despite my initial reluctance I found the meetings with Dr. Z helpful. Dr. Z. was an old soul with boyish features, soft green eyes, and a kind smile. Despite his youthful appearance he often joked that he was, "pushing 70." Dr. Z. was confined to a wheelchair. He never talked about it and I never asked. He had a background in Theology, but was different from the crazy preachers in town. He never forced his beliefs on you. Dr. Z. allowed you to have your own mind without condemning you to hell for it. A lot of what he talked about made sense. He helped me recognize how my thoughts made me anxious and distracted, especially around others. He never officially diagnosed me. He said that he didn’t believe in labels. Best I could tell from self-diagnosing Internet searches was that I suffered symptoms related to generalized and social anxiety.

“Willy, come on in.” Dr. Z greeted me in his office.

“You’re the only other person who calls me Willy, well, other than my grandfather who’s been dead for five years.” I said.

“Does it bother you? Please tell me if it does.”

“No, it’s nice actually. We were close. You kind of remind me a little of him, at least your personalities.” I said.

“Well, tell you what, I'm going to leave that memory for your Grandfather. It's William or Will from here on out. Tell me, how has your anxiety been?” I wiped the moisture from my hands onto the legs of my pants. The anticipation of having to speak honestly about my feelings was more alarming to my body than someone sneaking up behind me with a blow horn. My eyes darted around the room. The plant on his desk. The ugly yellow shades on his window. "Who’s that?" I gestured toward a painting on the wall.

"You're not answering the question, William."

“Oh, um, I feel more panicky in the morning. It’s hard to get going and feel motivated. I just get so nervous before school. My stomach hurts a lot.”

“Is there anything that triggers your anxiety in the morning?” Dr. Z. asked.

“Not that I can think of."

“Try to recall the thoughts you have in the morning before school.”

“I don’t know. I always feel like I’m being judged by others. Like if they really knew how messed up I was they would be appalled. I don’t want them to think I’m a loser or see me as weak. I guess the thoughts make me anxious and then the stomachache comes which intensifies everything. Thinking about panic makes me panic. If I could just forget.”

Dr. Z. leaned forward is his chair. “Do you see the loop? Think about a digital media player and how it plays songs over and over again. It does this because the minicomputer inside tells it to. Your brain is that minicomputer. The more you focus on something the more intense it will become. Distraction. Distraction. Distraction. It's the only way to break the cycle. Tell me Will, what else helps you manage the symptoms?"

"I pray, a lot, but I don't think it helps."

"Why not?"

"It helps for a little bit, then I start thinking about having a panic attack and it comes back."

"What do you do then?"

"Start over."

"Say more."

"I start my ritual over. Get on my knees, pray, stand up, get back down, pray, touch my heart seven times, make sure I didn't mess up the rug on the bathroom floor, and then touch the doorknob with three taps before leaving."

"Yes Will, I'm quite familiar with your routine. The reason your prayers don't work is because they come from a place of desperation. Tell me about this feeling of messing up?”

“So God won’t be angry.” The words were out before I realized that I had spoken them.

“You’re afraid God will punish you if you don’t pray the way he wants you to?” Dr. Z. raised his brow. I thought about Justin and Corbin’s comments last night, that I was afraid of God. Were they right? If so, how could they see it and not me?

“I don’t know.”

“Have you been practicing your coping skills, breathing and distraction exercises when you feel compelled to start a ritual?" Dr. Z. asked.

“I have. They help a little.”

“Good Will, keep practicing. The more you practice staying with the moment and accepting your feelings, the more your brain will rewire itself. Over time your anxiety will weaken. Each time you engage in a ritual you are avoiding anxiety. Avoidance keeps you trapped.”

“I get that. I just wish it didn’t take so long. I wish it wasn’t so hard. I feel so alone sometimes, so isolated. I can't tell my friends, they wouldn't get it.”

“It is a learning process Will. Compulsions are acts of desperation. Acute anxiety is devastating. People who haven't experienced it don't understand the pain it causes. It's only natural to want to fight it but it takes time. Your brain needs practice and repetition to learn a new skill. You've been thinking anxious thoughts for so long your brain doesn’t know any better. Would you expect to lose one hundred pounds in one week if you were obese?”

“No."

“Well, psychological disorders work the same way,” he said. “Give yourself a lot of credit. You have to deal with all of the same things that kids without mental health concerns have to deal with. It’s a heavy challenge, but I have no doubt you are the person to take it on."

"It feels like a curse.” I said.

"You don't have to fight this alone. You said you couldn't tell your friends. Maybe in time you can. They may not truly understand, nobody can understand your experience but you, that doesn't mean they won't support you. What about Allison?”

“Oh God, are you kidding?”

“By the way you describe her she sounds like the right person, warm, caring, compassionate.” Dr. Z. said.

“She is.”

“Do you still carry the heart?” He asked.

I reached in my pocket and pulled out the charm.

“Why not tell her then?”

I had known Allison since elementary school. She meant everything to me but didn’t know it because I could never bring myself to tell her.

“Do you enjoy torturing people for a living?” I asked. “You put on this front that you’re this spiritual person, but I think there’s more. There’s a darkness in you.”

Dr. Z. gave a hearty laugh and I couldn’t help but crack a smile as he reached out and gave my knee a playful slap.

“Just be open to the possibility. You never know if the opportunity will arise. You’re on the verge of a great awakening. You have an opportunity to experience how these disorders affect your life.” Dr. Z. said.

“Why would I want to experience that?”

“There’s reason and purpose for everything. Experiences develop character. Challenges in life awaken the spirit. Be careful. With any great gift comes tremendous responsibility. Because of the difficult nature of psychological disorders it can be easy to slip off the path and lose your way.”

“Slip off the path?”

“Some people turn to drugs, alcohol, sex, extremes of all kinds. They wind up in a hell of their own creation.” Dr. Z. said.

“I assure you, I’m not headed down that path."

“Nobody purposely heads down that path. Always, it sneaks up. People don’t realize it until they spiral down, out of control. That’s when they cry out for help.” I sat back in my chair. “Now tell me Will, how’s your anger?”

My chest tightened. “I’m not angry. I keep telling you that but you don’t listen. To be honest it’s frustrating.”

“Ok, Will, you’re not ready to talk and that’s fine.” Dr. Z said. I remained silent. Anger was the one thing we didn’t see eye-to-eye about. Dr. Z said anger was the one chain that could prove most difficult for me to break. I wasn’t convinced. He called it denial.

"In The Wilderness," he said.

"What?" I turned just before stepping out his door. Dr. Z. motioned to the painting on his wall.

"The name of painting," he nodded. "It's symbolic of the people that come through my office. They tell me they can relate, that it's therapeutic."

The painting was a picture of Jesus sitting alone on a rock, his head buried in his arms, the weight of the world on his shoulders. I studied it for a second. "They let you hang it? I mean, being in school and all. The Puritans lost control of the school board several years ago after the state stepped in."

“I know. Administration has asked me to take it down six times now.” Dr. Z. gazed at the painting, never removing his eyes from it. There was no way it was coming down. I turned and left his office.

Why was Dr. Z. so concerned that my anxiety was driven by some hidden repressed anger? The only anger I had was directed towards my disorders. They make me different, like there is something wrong with me, like I am a bad person.

“Hey Will," I heard someone say just after my face planted itself into a building support post. “Watch out for those posts. They come at you so quick.” I looked down, pretending to hide. Heat filled every blood vessel in my face. Keep walking and get the hell out of here. Having my embarrassment exposed was far more devastating than actually running into the post. Thankfully it was Friday. This will all be forgotten by Monday. I just needed to get to my next class and hide in the back row.