No Peace for the Damned

kept coming. Excruciating. I ground my teeth together to stop from crying out. The pulsing power surrounding Uncle Max’s office had turned to twisting pierces everywhere it touched me. My flesh, my mind. Red hues tinted the room as my consciousness started to slip.
    There was a wailing. Like a siren inside my head. Blaring, echoing all around me. The floor trembled beneath me. Passing out meant dropping my invisible mask. I
had
to stay conscious.
    But there was so much pain. And I’d been away too long.
    There was movement. My eyes couldn’t focus. The wailing got louder. I felt Uncle Max’s presence as he entered the room.
Oh my God—he’s right there!
My body violently cramped as another surge of power lashed out through the room.
    Just stay conscious. Just stay conscious
.
    He was right in front of me. I shut my eyes tight. The pain fought to pull me under. I was going to lose it.
    From some great distance I heard Uncle Max’s terrifying voice call out over the blare, “Not yet! Not yet!
Who the hell is in here?
”
    For a horrific instant I saw his mind clearly. Then all went black.

Just as pain had pulled me under, pain brought me back. A dull pressure softly pulsed at the back of my head. Annoying at first, like a headache after the Tylenol wore off. But it quickly sharpened, became piercing. Before I knew it, my entire head was swallowed by fierce, painful throbs—a direct hit to my mental powers. I couldn’t even tell if I was invisible anymore. My telepathy swirled out of control.
    Oh God, please don’t let this happen!
    There were at least two people in the room with me, maybe more. Fear, confusion, anger—every foreign thought bored into my mind like metal spikes. I tried to breathe, to settle my muscles. I
had
to regain control. Warm tears leaked from my eyes.
    On the edge of my mind I saw it. An escape. Empty and gray, a cloud of nothingness crept on the fringes of my thoughts. So dull in its appearance, yet so brilliant in its appeal.
    This
was the madness that had taken root in Uncle Mallroy’s mind—the emptiness that I feared more than anything.
    God, no
. It had appeared in my mind only once before. The memory of it sent me into tremors. I had thought I could conquer the madness, use it as a temporary escape when my family was being especially cruel.
    I had been wrong.
    The madness was
too
empty, like turning off reality and personal control altogether. Giving in would be losing myself as well as my consciousness. Defending myself would be impossible. I’d be completely unaware of how my powers were used. I couldn’t let it take me or I might never find a way back.
    My tears turned to sobs. The gray fog pressed further, deeper into my mind. Fear slowly overwhelmed the pain. But even worse than the fear was knowing that somewhere deep inside me, where I would never admit it out loud, there was a piece of me that had always
wanted
the madness to take over. Insanity would be a freedom—an excuse not to care about my family or their evil or the consequences of my powers.
    There was movement around me. My body tensed as another shot of someone else’s worry drilled into my mind. A comforting burn touched my lips. I swallowed instinctively and the burn slid down my throat. I gulped it again and again until there was nothing left. The gray fog slipped away.
    Aah. So much better
. I took several deep breaths and just savored the feel of my own control. Slowly I pried open my eyes. The images blurred together. I blinked the room into focus. Thirteen stared down at me. His eyes were bloodshot and his face pale. His voice was raw as he whispered, “Magnolia? Can you hear me?”
    I lay on my bed at the farmhouse. The sheerness of my yellow curtains made the evening light glow more white than gold,brightening the room more than it would have otherwise. Thirteen had pulled a chair from the kitchen to sit beside my bed. His face was tight.
    Where was Theo?
    I started trembling. Couldn’t breathe, terrified of what had happened to him.
    Thirteen sat straighter, scooted his chair closer. That’s when I saw him. Leaning with his back against the doorframe. A bottle of whisky dangled from his hand. My tremors calmed instantly.
Theo. Still beautiful. Still perfect
. The ache in my chest rejoiced. Any lingering pain flew right out of me.
    “Are you OK?” he asked. He spoke as if we were the only two people in the room. Maybe in the world.
    “Yeah,” I said softly, “I’m good.” He stepped