Excerpt of Dark Knowledge by Keith Pyeatt

Wesley sat in the common room, a place he'd spent countless hours over the years. With few exceptions, this place was a comforting anchor in a frightening world. Today something was different, but he wasn't afraid. It wasn't the room that had changed. It was how Wesley saw it.

Three residents entered from the hall. The first two looked around anxiously. Wesley understood. They needed to make sure everything was the same as always. But some days, even if nothing had changed, it felt like something might, and that used to make Wesley nervous.

The third resident to enter, Adam, stood just inside the doorway and stared at his feet until an aide urged him into the room. Even then, Adam looked up only enough to find his way to his favorite chair, near the couch where Wesley sat.

Wesley recognized his fear too. Adam felt the pull.

Unlike the mind–world, which Wesley entered at will, madness tugged. The pull was absent most days, at least for Wesley, but on a bad day, it was all he could do to keep from being dragged against his will into a swirling pit of madness. Even small changes––a different juice at breakfast, no napkin at lunch, no television set in the common room, no Bobby––could weaken his hold on this world and send him sliding nearer to the pit. Creatures waited for him there. Wesley never saw them, but he'd heard them scurry in excitement when they thought he was coming, their hard claws clacking together. They'd sigh and go quiet when he regained his grasp on this world, but he always knew they'd be waiting for their next chance to use their sharp claws to turn him into something that could never escape.

He shuddered from the memory. He normally refused to think about it, afraid doing so would uncover the pit and let the pull take hold. But today nothing happened. The pit didn't even seem real anymore. So what was Adam afraid of?

""Hello,"" Wesley said.

Adam didn't look up.

""Hello,"" Wesley repeated.

Adam left his head bowed, like Wesley used to do when he felt the pull. What he couldn't see couldn't hurt him, but if he found something had changed, found he'd lost his anchor, the creatures in the pit would have him.

""It's okay,"" Wesley whispered.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut.

""Nothing will happen if you look around."" Wesley wanted to explain why, but he couldn't think of the right words. Although he knew Adam's fear, memories of it faded against the light of the knowledge Wesley carried back from his mind–world. Every day for three weeks, since he removed Bobby's bad color, Wesley had returned to his mind–world and taken from it. Every day his fears in this world lessened.

""Don't be afraid,"" he told him, but Adam didn't understand. He couldn't understand what Wesley now could.

Why didn't mother want this for me?

Shame edged its way into the thrill of understanding. He had disobeyed his mother to gain knowledge.

Hadn't he?

Or had he finally done what she wanted?

Familiar confusion clouded his thoughts. Frustration joined shame to further darken his mood. When his mother came, she would explain things. She would come, and she'd know he had entered his mind–world, just like she'd always known when he'd failed her before. But would she be angry or pleased? Not knowing bothered him. And something else bothered him, something the fog had told him––

""You've been there!""

Wesley jumped at the voice beside him on the couch. He turned his head then jerked back with a gasp. Beth sat very near and leaned even closer, bringing her face within inches of his. He pulled back to let his eyes focus, but she moved with him. Each of her eyes remained doubled and fuzzy.

""You've changed. I see it,"" she said softly. Her breath stank of ham and the sharp odor of mustard. Was she smiling? He couldn't tell from so close, but he didn't back off further. The same instincts that guided him in his mind–world told him to hide his fear.

""My mama was wrong about you,"" Beth said. ""You will compete, won't you?"" She stood and walked away. She glanced back over her shoulder before leaving the common room and smiled, a confident challenge. For an instant, her color shone clearly, outlining her body as if she were back–lit by green.

For the first time in eight years, Wesley not only expected his mother, he wanted her. He needed her. Lydia would teach him how to defend himself.