Timmy was a good boy. He got good grades, he always did his chores, was a sociable and active member of his school, he never talked back and, in general, did as he was told. He was a most unassuming little boy and quite amiable most of the time and displayed a fair amount of patience. A very pleasant boy and was loved by all who knew him.
He had not a care in the world—as far as anyone knew. His parents doted over him and were very proud of his accomplishments. They were happy their parenting skills were paying off.
But there was something wrong with Timmy. He was not normal—not quite right. His parents, or anyone else for that matter, did not know he was not normal as it never showed. Timmy made sure it did not show and went to great pains to never let anyone know his secret; his abnormality.
This was something he had contended with since he could remember. He tried to communicate his feelings about this when he was first able to but failed to do so adequately as his parents thought him very imaginative and creative in his stories. Timmy soon relinquished to silence regarding his abnormality as the only ones he could trust, his parents, would not listen.
As time continued on and the years passed he found he could keep this to himself rather easily. He learned to control the headaches. They were not so bad really. And if he applied himself he could make them go away rather quickly. Then there were the pictures and the torrent of emotion that accompanied these pictures. He discovered early on that he could easily become swept-up in them and they would carry his own emotions out of control. This he could not let happen. He would be found out and they might take him away somewhere—somewhere bad. He had heard stories about what they did with little boys they did not know what to do with. They take them away. They lock them up. That he did not want.
But he always had a bit of trouble with the pictures. Those pretty little pictures in his mind he could not dispose of so easily. He could not shrug them off like he did with the headaches. Once they started they kept coming. They flooded his mind and once that happened the emotions could have their effect on him as well. A spiraling out of control of thoughts and emotions as these pictures would take control and bury his own determinism of thought. The first time this happened he was but a baby and was quickly overcome and overwhelmed. Hence his being a troublesome baby. It took years to master just the management of such an onslaught and yet he learned much from his experiences. He learned composure and patience. When the rush began he just held steadfast in body and mind and allowed the emotions and pictures to permeate and didn't react or even try to resist. Resistance, or lack thereof, was the key. If he resisted he would become overwhelmed and confused to a point of collapse. Hence his early childhood fainting spells.
No, Timmy was not going to tell a soul about his somewhat strange malady. He didn't quite understand it himself—but he was learning.
It did not take long before he began to notice patterns in the pictures. Pictures of certain subjects would seem to appear at certain times or in certain places. Emotions always accompanied them as well. Sometimes strong, sometimes weak, but emotions nonetheless. In familiar or often-visited places is where these patterns appeared. It was most confusing at first. Always the same kinds of feelings and pictures in certain places. Timmy thought these places haunted! That is all he could think at the time. Being not more than ten years old he was not too sophisticated and not very practiced in the art of research and discovery—fact finding and problem solving. He endured as best he could and continued with little resolution.
The answer came one day that was from a most unlikely source for him to discover the true nature of his pictures. After he had pretty much resigned to the fact he would never find the answer to the cause of his affliction, the epiphany arose unexpectedly and with force.
In his mid-teens, Timmy, being tall and rather fetching to the fairer sex, caught the eye of a young girl. A beautiful, young girl with long, wavy, blonde locks and a dimpled, button-nosed face. With blue-green eyes that seemed to pierce Timmy's soul each time she glanced his way. Timmy was smitten; as was Sarah, his new obsession.
This was the day—the day he got his answer.
Timmy smiled at Sarah and Sarah returned in kind as they admired each other from opposite ends of the bleachers. Timmy rose and made his way through the entangled legs of the onlookers. As he approached it seemed that Sarah was beaming, she was so beautiful!
He summoned his best confidence and approached. "Hi," he said somewhat timid as he sat beside her.
Sarah looked him deep in the eyes. "Hey," she replied then slightly shied away.
As Timmy became lost in her beauty he began to see the pictures; lots of them! But these pictures were not like the other pictures he had seen. They were pictures of him—with Sarah! Then the onslaught of strong but warm and pleasing emotions. It was intense! He was quickly becoming overwhelmed and his head began to ache yet he didn't want to back off as he was so engrossed in them and the accompanying warm and pleasurable emotions. He did his best not to resist as the pictures became stronger and clearer. They were of Sarah and different parts of her life. Many pictures, all different, all with emotions—strong emotions. Pouring in all within a split-second.
Timmy now knew what his malady was. The thing which he thought was such a burden and embarrassment. The unstoppable and uncontrollable aberration which plagued him. But it was not a malady at all. It was an ability to see another person's pictures, the ones in their mind! He had always thought they were his pictures. Pictures which also carried emotions that varied as much as the pictures themselves. That is what has been happening the whole time! All he had been doing is tuning-in to another person's mind; their thoughts and feelings. He just never really put it together as most times the visions were rather random and not always so clear. Then he remembered the times they were clear and that was when he was around those whom he had an emotional attachment; someone he cared for. But with Sarah; that was new! They were so clear and strong! This time it is not like he was looking at them but was immersed, surrounded by them. He was living them! And he was in those images too! She had imagined him in her thoughts—her intimate thoughts!
The pictures and emotions became so intense he had to back away from Sarah. "I'm sorry," he murmured as he rose and walked from the only place he wanted to be.
"Timmy!" she called out with confusion as he disappeared from sight. He was not prepared for this barrage upon his mind and tried to understand what was happening to him as he unwillingly fled.
Days later, as he had spent his time in retrospection of emotional events and coming to terms with what was truly happening, he decided he would need to learn all about and to completely control his seemingly newfound abilities. Now that he understood what was happening he had a point from which to start.
He practiced all the time. With each new person he met he would study what was happening in their mind and learned to sift through the images. He soon found he could choose to see what he wanted or ignore the entire lot! The same for emotions as well. After much study regarding this subject, he discovered every person possessed this ability—everyone could do it! He was no longer alone! It is that feeling you get when you walk into a room and know someone had been talking about you. Or when the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife type of feeling. Everyone had it. Some just in larger degrees than the others.
But Timmy was special as he got the full brunt of pictures and emotions all at once and with an intensity that would throw the average person into a mass of confusion or worse. He also found one more ability he never imagined; he could transfer his pictures and emotions to another person as well as receive them. Timmy could could effect another person's mind with his own. He was telepathic! It all made sense to him now. Even the reason he was so persuasive with others. It wasn't skill, he put what he wanted to in their mind, they had no choice!
It wasn't long before Timmy was able to, not only control what was happening, but to be selective in what he experienced. He more or less closed his mind to others so he could not read them. He thought it proper manners to do so now that he knew what was happening. He found one more ability he never imagined; he could transfer his pictures and emotions to another person as well as receive them. Timmy could could effect another person's mind with his own. He was telepathic!
This all went along fine for quite some time. Timmy had honed his skills and was very good at "turning" on or off his ability until one day he was caught off guard. It is a day he will not forget as this was the day Timmy's life changed to a path few ever travel and for good reason.
In his late teens Timmy was quite the adventurous and curious type. He loved to "get lost" in the city so as to discover new and exciting things. Things he may have never discovered with a predetermined plan of direction.
The sun began to dip in the afternoon sky and shadows were cast on the streets especially in alleys and narrow walkways. Timmy noticed and read minds of some rather nefarious characters as he passed by these illicit havens. Drug deals or prostitution and the occasional mugging, which bothered him but didn't feel capable of really helping in any way. All part of life he would think to himself and continue on his way.
Timmy was engrossed in his usual ritual of walking and looking up at the tall buildings in amazement at the sheer strength and power they represented. He walked along and passed a darkened doorway and was hit with some of the most horrific pictures he had ever encountered.
Visions of degraded, morbid acts. People in fear and screaming and scurrying for their lives as they were tortured. A feeling of exhilaration was present. Pleasure from the torturing and mutilation of people. The victims were of no particular age or gender. Old and young—very young; children and infants.
Timmy was sickened and overwhelmed with these visions and their unnatural and contradictory emotions. He found it hard to believe anyone could do such things, and above all, gain pleasure from them! He paused and collapsed against the wall as he found it difficult to compose himself. This was not a thing he could let pass. He needed to do something about it—to stop it.
After a few moments he pulled himself together and decided to go back to the darkened doorway that produced such misery. The doorway haunted him as he approached in a slow, cautious manner. The intensity of violent scenes and pleasure increased the closer he came. He inhaled a breath of courage and rounded the doorway. There a man stood smoking a cigarette... waiting—waiting for his next victim, his next fix of sickening pleasure.
Timmy stood before the man of roughly thirty five years. Sunken face carved with deep lines. His stare was piercing and evoked a shiver in Timmy as he knew the man's intentions and deeds. "Whatta ya want, kid?" asked the man. Timmy remained frozen and silent. "Go on, kid, get the hell outta here, I'm busy." At that moment Timmy had made his decision. A decision he never thought he would ever have to make. This man needed to be stopped and he could think of no other way than his way. The man read the look of determination on Timmy's face and began to move closer in a menacing fashion. Timmy, without thought, began to hurl images into the man's mind. The man's own images, those of his victims yet he accompanied them with emotions of fear and terror. The man leaned back and grabbed the sides of his head. Timmy increased the intensity and added intense feelings of pressure, of a squeezing along with images of dispersal—a shattering of his brain. A brain that is literally being pulled apart as it is simultaneously being crushed. Timmy became focused in his barrage of images and emotions. The man fell to the floor and screamed in agony. He pulled at his hair and flesh trying to reach the turmoil within and somehow stop it. Timmy imagined extreme heat and cold juxtaposed on either side of the man's brain, then switched to top and bottom extremes. The man writhed on the floor. To Timmy's amazement blood crept from his victim's eyes, ears mouth and nose as he soon passed out from the overwhelming barrage upon his mind. Timmy continued. The man's body twitched then lay still. Timmy continued. There was no more effect. The man was dead.
Spent, Timmy removed himself from the doorway and moved awkwardly from the scene. Oddly, he did not feel bad about what he had done, at least for the moment. He was of the opinion it was his duty to do what he did. If fact, he felt the need for more, he could do more. There were terrible people out there doing terrible things and no one knew about it. All locked away in their minds. Only he could discover the destructive actions these people have thrust upon society. Only he could stop it.
As he walked he realized his purpose in life. To right the wrongs only he could discover and only he could put an end to without a trace. Night had fallen when he reached his car. He drove home in silent thought, deep in contemplation of the next encounter he would inevitably have. All he had to do was wander through society and they would present themselves. There own hidden thoughts would betray them. There, Timmy awaits.