Adventures of Matt Parkman, Chapter 14: Confusion
For a few days, Matt and Patty went to her place each night. She had drugs and they used them together, but she was taken aback by his foggy-eyed trance state while high. He latched onto her colored charcoals and drew a man leaping in front of a train and himself looking down at his hand, which was suppurating, possibly gangrenous.
He'd warned her beforehand, so the fugue state and the odd artistry wasn't a total shock to her. He still had to soothe her afterwards, finally telling her to Calm down, don't worry about it. He caught himself after, realizing it was the first time he'd used his ability on her to tell her to do something. He looked at her evenly, steadily for a long time, thinking about that. He hated her, because she was weak, because all he needed was a moment of fear or anger or distraction and he'd accidentally coerce someone, force them, change them.
He turned away as she went about her life, thinking to himself that this was how it was going to be now for him. It hadn't exactly been an accident, what he'd told her, just like it hadn't been when he'd snapped something very similar to Janice. He had become so familiar with using his powers to overcome the slightest difficulty in dealing with someone that it was second nature. He shook himself and looked at the two renderings. It didn't matter. He hadn't hurt her.
He took the tattered bandages off his left hand to see it looked very much like he'd drawn it. He'd never taken the prescribed antibiotics. Among all the drug use, he had forgotten to take the one drug he really needed, the one drug he should be taking legally and regularly.
He had to go to the hospital, frightened that he'd lose his hand. He left Ryan unattended, part of him hoping the man would expire quietly and save him the guilt of dealing with him. They only kept Matt at the medical center for a day though, pumping him full of medication for the infection and debriding the area. The hand was saved, though they told him it was a near thing. He lost function on the last two fingers.
When he got back, Ryan was exactly where he'd left him, having not moved at all. He had not recovered, though he became alert and aware as Matt looked at him and renewed his mental link with the boy. Matt kept him around, even though he thought it might have been kinder to kill him. He wasn't sure how morality factored into it.
The man would eat if Matt put food before him and told him to. He was eliminate if Matt took him to the restroom and directed him. He would carry out any simple task as long as Matt was within a few score of feet of him and could spare a sliver of concentration to keep him at it. If Matt had enough attention to spare, then any degree of detailed behavior could be achieved, including carrying on conversation. He could fight, at least with his hands - Matt didn't trust him with a gun and he didn't seem to have he finesse to handle a knife. He couldn't drive or talk on his own, though he did sometimes make inarticulate noises. When Matt pressed him too hard, confusion would fill what was left of his mind and he would cry silently. Matt stopped pressing him too hard.
He thought about blocking him from weeping as he'd blocked him before from trembling, but he didn't. Ryan had urinated on himself when Matt had prevented him from shaking as an expression for his feelings. Now feelings were all he had. It seemed cruel, even to Matt's thinking, to take that one outlet from him. It was the only expression he had now that was truly his. Besides, Parkman told himself, it was a useful indicator. He didn't always pick up on when he'd done too much to what was left of the man.
As the days and then weeks passed, Matt developed a way of living and getting by. He moved in with Patricia. He infiltrated the drug ring he'd found himself in, the one he knew he'd be part of because he could see it in the future, in the present. He didn't shut it down or anything noble like his original intentions had been. He'd lost himself entirely, so far gone that most of the time he didn't even realize it.
The third time out for collecting the submersible, the Coast Guard confronted them on the way back and Matt sent them off empty-handed. Those particular men wouldn't stop the New Sun again. It bothered Matt a little that he was thwarting the people whose job it was to find and stop drug smugglers. They were, in a way, cops like he'd been. He remembered starting this crusade with the intention of stopping people like Jay and El and Brandon and Patty, not joining them. It didn't bother him beyond his next hit though. He forgot about any moral qualms under the influence of the drugs.
He took Brandon's place in accompanying Patty to parties, but instead of giving her to men, he gave them memories of having been with her and collected. She loved having him use his abilities on her behalf. She pushed him to use them more and more. She wanted to be an actress. He made her one. Brandon confronted them once after a gathering. He was never seen again.
He maintained Ryan because he was useful and at times, entertaining. One thing Ryan was extraordinarily useful for was possession. He was a perfect vessel for it, compliant and unresisting. Matt used him when anything dangerous was going to happen. He put the other man's body in the way of danger. Even when Matt wasn't possessing Ryan, his expressionless visage unnerved more than one would-be shooter. It was funny - they would have shot him if Ryan had any semblance of awareness. Without it, they fled to escape uncanny valley.
Matt still got high, switching to heroin once he was out of morphine pills. He lost weight, but he didn't think it mattered much. He'd been heavy to start with. After a few months, he was actually getting a thin. He imagined he looked more fit, even if he wasn't. He vacillated between having a frenetic energy or sullen depression.
He followed his visions. He saved a man from jumping in front of a train - not a suicide, but a stupid attempt to get around the train before it cut him off from the other side. He averted a house fire, saving three, perhaps four lives. He stopped a few muggings and a couple rapes and dozens of accidents. He caused others unwittingly.
His ability seemed to have a mind of its own. Some events that were shown to him were created by his investigations and couldn't seem to be changed no matter how much he tried. Others were easily thwarted because it was fated. He eventually grew blasé about it. If it was to be, then it would be. If he could save people, he would, but he knew that was not always how it turned out. It was okay, so long as the scales of justice in his mind were heavy on the correct side.
He stopped painting, relying instead on experiencing the vision directly, forcing his mind to see the future and hold the images within himself rather than purging them through art. It expanded his mind. Even when he was not addled with drugs, he had a sense of the future. He knew what was going to happen next and he lived his life five steps ahead, going through the motions of the present, exploring the future. He was very rarely surprised, but on the other hand all reality seemed unreal to him anymore. He was disconnected, detached. He waited in the present for what he'd already seen to happen.
He knew his father was coming long before he got there, but he grew, as he knew he would, as he already had, increasingly apprehensive as his arrival approached. There were many paths away from that meeting and he couldn't tread any of them more than a step or two before his father's eyes were boring into his own, staring him down accusingly. For the first time in months, the future was unclear.