Chapter Eight Page Three, Asta, Dani, and Bren, Dr. Cook's Office

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“You want that?” Asta asked.

            “Yes,” he said, “Would that be possible?”

            “Maybe,” Asta said, “Should I step out?”

            “Yes, please,” he said, “I will call you back in. Just, step into my kitchen. I will speak in a sufficiently low voice.”

            Asta turned and left. She realized her face was red. She stepped into the kitchen and turned the faucet. She tried to focus on Dani, tried to think of how she could best read her thoughts as they occurred.

            She caught something briefly, a glimpse of a great plain. Above it, a blue sky, that was like torn fabric. Asta wasn’t sure what it was. She tried to think of a word that might have triggered that image. The longer she thought about it, the more certain she was that the word was Periphery, but she did not know why.

            She turned off the faucet and waited.

            “You may come in now,” Dr. Cook said.

            She stepped back inside. Dani and Bren waited patiently on the couch.

            “What was it? What did I whisper to them?” Dr. Cook said.

            “It was,” Asta started, “Peripheral.”

            Dani looked over at Asta, the same surprise as before. She smiled, her mouth half open in surprise. “Wow,” she said.

            “Peripheral?” Dr. Cook asked, “I’m sorry but the word I whispered was not Peripheral.”

            “Periphery,” Asta said, “Sorry. Periphery was the word.”

            “No,” Dr. Cook said, “The word I whispered was Iceberg.”

            “Oh,” Asta said.

            “But she thought of what I thought of,” Dani said, “Iceberg made me think of Periphery! That was so cool! Did you see the field too? I keep seeing that!”

            “That’s exactly what I saw,” Asta said, “With the ripped sky.”

            “Dr. Cook,” Dani said, “What you have right here, is a girl who can, like, psychic her way right into my heart. Literally. Apparently. Or whatever.”

            Dr. Cook wore amusement like it was an article of clothing that one could put on their face.

            “Oh, like, you think we, like, prearranged that,” Dani said, “We didn’t!”

            “That’s cool,” Bren said, “That you both thought of that when you did, I mean.” She turned to face Dr. Cook, “They’re talking about something I know about, but they can’t possibly understand.”

            “What are you saying?” Dr. Cook said.

            “I’m saying that even if you don’t think she’s psychic, she’s convinced us. I want to enlist her aid in finding an object that was stolen from me.”

            “What?” Dr. Cook asked. The amusement was gone. He looked concerned; like someone had just backed a semi-truck into the room and unloaded a cargo of spoiled milk. The concern would be for the furniture, not the condition of the front facing wall. “You can’t encourage her like this,” he said, “She’ll just get more carried away with it.”

            “What do you mean, encourage me?” Asta asked.

            “These delusions,” he said, “You can’t possibly be psychic. What am I thinking about right now?”

            “You’re thinking about how crazy you think I am,” she said, “You’re thinking about how the shakes I get are a clear sign of schizophrenia. But that’s not true.”

Dr. Cook’s facial expression changed to one he might get if he were asked to sign for the spoiled milk.

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