Chapter 38 - You shook your head, laughed when I said "What a waste of an education" 

20 Prairial Year CCXXXI, Potat, South Windland, Libertalia – Amazonia

She had set him up at a student’s desk, a modest table with a slight angle with an attached table. It was wood and metal and stood on four legs, and attached to a plastic stubby chair for Oliver to sit in. The shape was wrong for an adult, this was an unserious piece of furniture for children, but the proportions were slightly too big for Oliver, his feet could dangle freely if he wanted them to. The seat and desk were cool to the touch, and slightly dusty, on account of having been sitting in her garage unused.

She had strapped a monitor to his arm and head to track his biometrics, and she had given him a large book of lined paper for note taking, along with a half dozen sharpened pencils. The test itself was electronic on a large melon pad.

To a man like Oliver the test was frustrating. While all sections had some easy parts, it quickly ramped up to a difficulty somewhere between high school and college. For Oliver it had been too long needing to use any of this knowledge, and being reminded of something he could once do easily, but now struggled with, was a constant challenge to his self-esteem.

The questions were not static, rather the test took advantage of the electronic medium. It would track Oliver’s progress, and when he struggled with a question, a hint would appear, and if he continued to struggle, more and more instructions would appear. As long as he applied himself, and kept trying to answer the question, the test was willing to help. If he seemed to have no idea, the test encouraged him to move on.

Just under four hours later, Oliver was exhausted, his head sizzled like bacon on a plate, and his back and shoulders were sore from the chair. His stomach was starting to turn, and his hands and arms started to have a dull ache from his long fast.

Victoria did not acknowledge his testing, she did not ask him how he felt, or how it was going. She entered the living room and went straight past Oliver to the couch. She took off her blouse and patted next to her. Oliver said nothing, walking slowly to his new mother. She lifted him straight to her lap and placed him in a resting position in her arms.

He stared, wordless, at her fleshy globes expecting some new nightmare. He did not travel through time; he did not find himself dream walking to the far distances of the multiverse. The only sensation was the warm wet fluid that coated the back of his mouth, and the thick bumping of her heart beating. After a few minutes she switched breasts, and Oliver continued his feast. When he was done, she placed him carefully back on the ground.

Oliver looked at his hands, the odd shifting and tripping he had seen before was far less pronounced, as though he was developing a tolerance for the milk. His stomach started to turn, a consequence of only eating milk the past day. It even gave him a slight headache. He wanted a nap.

“No questions?” He tried at a conversation.

“This is an experiment, and I don’t want to compromise the results,” was her reply, before helping him up the stairs to his bedroom. Her dedication to science was admirable, he had dealt with plenty of employees that were less serious about maintaining such high rigor. I.E.D.R was working with a constant fire hose of new information, there was not always time for peer review, best practices, or standard methodologies.

He asked her to wake him in an hour.

She did not.

Oliver dreams were more focused and secular than cerebral. He was back in school, a recurring dream he still had decades after the fact. Typically, the dream would end with him standing naked in front of class. Today was different. Now he was wearing his pull-up, and no one seemed to mind him. He sat at a desk and spent an hour flipping slowly through a calculus book, as his teacher went into details on the Taylor series. It was tedious and uneventful; in a way normal dreams are not. The next dream was tamer, he spent his time building a bookshelf, and upon finishing it, he woke up to the new afternoon.

His bedroom was now well lit, the shades had been drawn and the lights turned off, but it was past the midpoint of the day and the sun crept easily through the edges of the window. Oliver took one look at the clock; three hours had passed. He flipped off his covers and revealed his damp cool pull-ups and stared at the small dark patch along the edge of the inside of his shorts.

With a defeated walk, he moved to his bedroom door and grabbed the hanging marker. He drew a simple frowning face for the AM period on his new potty chart.

Victoria approached him with all the stealth a ten-foot woman could manage. She had waited to see if Oliver would try to hide the mess, and her heart perked when marked it honestly. She crossed the hallway to Oliver just as he was putting the marker back and tapped him on the shoulder.

“You were supposed to wake me, what about the test?” Oliver had a hint of disdain on his tongue. He blamed her for the mess of his clothes but also did not want to mention it. A big boy does not blame others for his mistakes, even if they are the cause of them.

Victoria response was caring and sympathetic, “We’ll begin the second half shortly, I’m sorry I know you wanted to only sleep an hour, but you needed the rest. Let’s get you into fresh clothes first.”

As Oliver disposed of his soiled laundry, Victoria worked her way through his clothes. She found an argyle short sleeve shirt with dark brown rhombuses alternating with lighter browns to white. It had a zipper near the collar instead of buttons. He wore the shirt loosely today over khaki pants, Oliver did not like to have a belt, or even a shirt tucked in while wearing the pull-up. This gave his stature a bit of slop and might even cause him to lose the elastic waistband pants if he ran too fast but today would be without issue as he would spend the next few hours taking a test. Comfort was a high priority.

She returned him to his desk and got him settled in. The test was nearly the same, not in the exact questions, but in substance and structure. Each section had about fifteen questions of increasing difficulty on a range of academic subjects that a typical Amazon child would be expected to master in primary education. It had a broader range than the SAT or ACT, including questions on social studies, ethics, science, some parts asked him to be creative, and others were raven’s progressive matrices and shape rotation questions.

The second go around he found himself relying less on the built-in test helper, and sped through whole sections with confidence, finishing the test early in three hours. Where before he had the confidence and surety of a bed wetting six-year-old, now he was the hero who pushed the button – he felt like a man who could do anything.

Oliver was excited to be in his groove, but he knew things were going too easy. Just like the Markowitz test, there was likely a secret layer to this. This was another trick that Victoria was performing. That is why she did not bother to wake him in an hour, she wanted him to wet the bed, all part of her mind games for what would come next.

Victoria entered the room beaming, holding her laptop, she even bounced a bit with an excited attitude.

“You did it, Oliver. My precious baby boy, you did it. Strong increases in all categories. I’ve never seen such rapid change.”

Oliver was quiet, fuming at his desk. He slowly turned his head and squinted his eyes in anger, “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“What’s wrong?” Victoria was earnestly confused.

“How could you do that. I thought we had something, yet you still had to do it. To me, your son.” He was starting to sniffle.

“What did I do?” Victoria did not have a hint of vanity in her question.

“You’re taking it all away, and you’re covering it up. You’re using the test to target my academic knowledge. The test forces the hippocampus to access the memories, and then you use hypnotic suggestions in the tablet to erase it. You made the second test easier so I would not notice I was getting dumber.”

Drops of liquid started to appear at the edge of his vision. Oliver took a large gulp and pushed the moisture back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Victoria tilted her head concerned.

“You bitch, you fucking horrible woman. I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re trying to take away my mind. You’re the cause of all my recent changes, ever since that first cartoon with Jennifer. My bedwetting, the strange dreams, it’s all you. I can’t stay here.” Oliver started to breathe faster, unable to contain his emotions, “I need to leave.”

Victoria felt the pain in her skull when Oliver said the words. She wanted to reach out and slap him, but she also knew he needed to work through all the coping strategies until his true self emerged.

“Tell Ben I love him, but I can’t stay here. Not if you’re going to turn me into baby. I’m running away.”

Victoria put her palm up to her head, covering her eyes. There it was, he had finally reached his innermost child at the end of his rant. It was the ultimate six-year-old threat: I am going to run away from home. He could not come up with anything more dramatic or bigger. She would have laughed, but what Oliver needed from her was to be big and strong.

Victoria sat down on the couch where Oliver and she had shared an intimate moment a few hours before. She pointed to the spot next to her and placed the laptop down.

“Oliver Young, you get your butt over here. Right now!” She barked loud enough to fill the house. The full name was serious, he slowly got out of his chair and moved towards his captor.

“Now, I know you’re having a rough day, and I’m sorry I pushed you too hard, so I’m going to forgive what you said to me. It’s not the worst thing ever said to me by a little I was studying.” Oliver came up to the couch ledge and with force she pulled him up and on top of the flowery cushions. His tiny legs barely came out over the ledge.

“Normally, what I’m about to show you is only for mommies and professionals, but since you’re not actually a twelve-year-old Amazon child, I think it’s safe to show you diagnostic notes. I want to go over the results with you.”

The first test identified him as a developmentally disabled Amazon child, with significant signs of learning loss. The parent guidance tabs were filled with dire warnings, and along with guides and remedial tasks required to remedy the situation. It was not the kind of thing that could be easily faked, she would have had to have known ahead of time what he knew and what he would struggle with. Oliver’s paranoia may have been well intentioned given the dangers of the planet, but sustaining the paranoia required too many absurdities and coincidences.

After going over the two tests, she left again for the kitchen to make a phone call, leaving him alone with the tablet and a simple question to consider – Do you want to improve yourself, or do you want to stay where you are?

* * *

Victoria bounced around the kitchen, starting the coffee, while holding a phone to her ear.

“Oh, you should have been there. I have a recording of course, but he did the whole tantrum. You know the one, when they get the second test results. He's not even regressed, and he still just started crying. I think you're right it is the stress that triggers it, not the results.”

“He was even swearing, and he never does that with Ben. He blamed me for turning his brain to mush.”

“No... no, we're not going to spank him, I just gave him a bit of a tone and then walked him through what the results meant. He was laughing in two minutes. Crying to a happy laughing baby boy in two minutes. They're just like that, they just imagine all the worst things and all you just need to walk them back, ground them back in reality. Put things in context. He felt so bad about what he said, he just kept apologizing.”

“But... yeah, it’s my fault for pushing him to do two tests in a day. It was worth it though. You need to see these results. Hard spike on imagination. Thirty years regression. Just the one feeding this afternoon and a nap. Plus, one yesterday.”

“Two feedings and a thirty-year difference?”

“Portal littles, they keep all their imagination bottled up, no outlet, and as soon as they get an opportunity, they just explode. We'd need a specialized test to dial in the exact mental age…”

“Imagination is the key; he couldn't handle that much at once. He probably hasn’t experienced such peaks of imagination in decades. It's what triggered the tantrum episode. I'm worried for tonight though, if it's this bad while awake, the first nightmare is going to ruin him. We'll make sure he's extra prepared for tonight.”

“No... no we're not regressing. Ben is interested in the desert flower theory. He wants to go all native in his training.”

“I mean he isn't from around here, so maybe that helps, and there was real improvement on the other scores. Milk went right into the hippocampus, he had good schooling the first time, brought it all back.”

“We'll need to micromanage the milk intake, just enough to keep the mind active and growing. If he starts getting too many frowns, we'll know to dial it back.”

“Oh, you saw, Ben’s post with the picture of the chart. Ben was on cloud nine all morning.”

“Yeah, that was just the first feeding. Always happens. I think he's aware the milk is causing changes; he said he wants to switch to before nap time.”

“He'd probably still take it, but we'll let him think it’s his choice for now.”

“No Tee Vee. None, too risky.”

“He's not too far, with some preparation maybe he could get a Gee Eee Dee. An actual degree not a participation trophy. He's got some gaps that would need to be filled. Ben has bigger dreams though. I do wish we could just keep him the way he is. Even just dial him back a bit, he'd be perfect.”

“Enough gloating, that's not why I called. Well not the only reason. Eight years old on imagination, that's nearly perfect! That's a great achievement. From thirty-six to eight.”

“No, you're right. During his tantrum, he came up with the most brilliant idea. You know how Nash Syndrome is a big problem for us?”

“Yes, with the smart babies.”

“Yeah.”

“He came up with something that might work. We offer them tests. Like we do now for research. Every little just wants to know how bad it's gotten right, so we offer them tests to help them track their own regression. Some of them are so paranoid they take tests anytime they think they’re exposed to hypnosis.”

“Nash is triggered from noticing a disconnect between remembering what they could do and what they can do now. Causes a total psychotic breakdown as the mind tries to connect to thoughts that aren't there anymore. Sometimes they keep the complex thoughts and higher training with whole foundational ideas just zapped away, and it’s all so confusing. When regressed littles take the tests it can trigger an episode. Especially when they get lower scores at the end. Even just taking a test can trigger it. Oliver was close to breaking, just the thought of it might have happened almost triggered it with him. They're all so afraid of losing their minds. It's worse than death to some of them.”

“It's their pride. They all work so hard and many even earn a place among the grownups, so when they lose it…”

“Very common in the boys too because they're more likely to be outside distribution. Plus, boys push themselves harder. What, only one in a hundred thousand can graduate with an advanced STEM degree?”

“Oh, that many? Well, same order of magnitude. When they're that smart how are you supposed to get them? Just a tiny bit of Nash Syndrome, and they will use what’s left of their wits to resist to the fullest. They run; they get help.”

“Yeah, the smart ones are a problem. Let me get you to Oliver's plan.”

“His idea was we give them the tests, like we do now. We make the questions easier on each subsequent go around. Just, sneak in a few more lower grade questions so their final score is constant.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that. Maybe use the Kahneman model to predict their development level? It doesn't have to be perfect; you just need to get ahead of where we think they'll be for the subsequent tests. We can even make them think they're improving. Oh, and we also need to fake the descriptors at the end. The ones just for the parents.”

“Yeah those. Just make them all seem like their brains are fine and we're even helping them get smarter.”

“Everyone wants a nerdy little, but they don't want them bright. Big dorky glasses, pocket protectors, big bow ties. You make the nerds think they still have their smarts because their tests are coming back all perfect scores. That’s the perfect baby, someone who is excited to read or learn multiplication for the first time, and you get to do it over and over again.”

“Yep that's… faster at relearning it too, they're still smart where it counts. Can keep cycling those first lessons over and over if you hit the sweet spot.”

“If we can do this... the rich 'zons might pay a million for a stable nerdy baby. You see the price for that philosopher?”

“It technically wasn't buying. It was donating. Five million. Super rare to get one like that. Normally when we regress the geniuses, we overcompensate... And they...”

“Yep, practically newborns at the end. But this might just work because the nerds will be too far gone by the time they figure out they've lost it all.”

“But that's not the least of it. He just started rambling about a better idea right after that. He said, what if there was an app? Like a phone app. He said 'like a brain age' app that tells your mental age. Get it? He came up with the pun on the spot!”

“Then he said, 'what if you could like put in what you think you were exposed to’. We could record their scores for them, like a fitness app. Make them think they lost some skills, pop up a few suggestions to rebuild them, and they take the test to make it look like they're recovering. It’ll be impossible to resist. Soon we'll get all the smart ones.”

“No, you have to keep the app clean, you get them on the cross sales to skill retention. The little leagues are gonna love it. They won't even know. Two-million-dollar ideas and they come from him just having a panic attack over a test score.”

“To littles, ideas like this are a dime a dozen. Imagine if they were in charge! I love him so much.”

“I think we can do this. I know a gal who is looking for some programming work. I think Stacy is free this summer. Do you think the school might fund it, since it's technically research?”

“I'll introduce you.”

“Yeah, he's the best. Just the best. A goose that lays golden eggs.”

“He’s from another dimension. Calls it Earth.”

“Yeah, they all call it Earth, but his is... They have travel tech, maybe he'll volunteer the coordinates. I'm sure there are lots of 'Earthlings' just like Oliver.”

“Stop by when you get a chance, we'll go over this. Does tomorrow work? I'll send an e-mail to Stacy.”

“Love you! 'Tschuss, Bis bald!”

Oliver had crawled closer to the kitchen to listen to the conversation, and as she hung up, he silently ran back to his spot on the couch she had left him.

For a second his imagination had flared up again, and he was afraid she had just faked a phone call for his benefit. He got close enough to hear the other woman talking but was missing half the conversation. Finding out he had just helped the slavers do something horrible was disturbing, but learning his new mother really loved him as he was made up for it.

He looked back at the score on the test he got for ethics and sighed: Kindergarten. Grade zero. Maybe that was one of those things where lower scores were better, like imagination. He popped open the section explaining the results of his ethics score to parents. Nope!

Victoria walked back from the kitchen and smiled as Oliver was sitting nicely with the tablet. His tiny legs swinging over the couch. “Mom, did I tell you I love you today?”

“Four times since you woke up,” she replied. That is something she would be tracking. She sat down next to him, and he handed her the laptop.

Oliver weighed all the options presented, “You asked me to go through the suggestions from the test results, and I don't want this to sound like a cop out. I put thought into this.”

Victoria was eager in anticipation: Please say nothing. Please say you want to be a baby forever.

“This section here is meant for parents, and their psychologist. I respect your knowledge of us smaller people. You know things about me I couldn't see because I'm on the inside. I've learned so much in just a couple days. I think as my mom you have my best interest at heart, and I want to trust you. So, I'm asking you to go through this list and pretend. Pretend I'm actually a challenged uh... Amazon or whatever this test is for and pick the suggestions on improving my development you would think are appropriate.”

She looked into his eyes. He knew. He knew she wanted to regress him to a baby and was putting the ball back into her court. If she did not take this seriously, he would know he still could not trust her, that she was in love with the idea of having a baby, and not in love with her current son. Her professionalism, and her desire to see him better, were being tested here. He had lowered his defenses in this daring move.

Beware the smart ones.

Still, he was not that smart. Just one small change and she could still call today a success.

“Oliver, we don't just monitor you in these tests for your top-level cognition. We also monitor things like subconscious ticks, how your eyes are moving across the page, lots of subtle indicators that help with improving our understanding of your emotional state. Like, you saw the reading speed question, the test knows there's something wrong with your eyes, but it doesn't realize your eyes are a fourth the size you need to be. Most of your physical functions are being monitored through the test.”

Oliver nodded; it made sense. Like a lie detector. She did ask him if he wanted a five-minute break at one point in the first test. He might have tried to hold it in if she had not forced the issue.

Victoria's long arm reached down to his testing station and picked up his writing utensil. She held up the delicate piece of wood inches from Oliver’s eyes. Against her giant hand it looked like a toothpick.

“What's this?” She started.

“The pencil I used for notes.” He was not sure where she was going.

She pointed at a specific part of the wood, about a third of the way from the eraser. “I mean this, what is this?”

No one had pointed it out in school. He was always a guy losing pencils and pens, so he had lots and lots of them. He had not even remembered he used to do it, because he just stopped needing to have a pen or pencil in his life.

“It's important we monitor physical changes as well, I need to know, when did this start?” She seemed genuinely concerned.

“It's hard to say... um...” Oliver tried to dodge the question.

Her stare forced his honesty. “Thirty-two years ago?” Her eyes went wide, she thought it was a recent tick.

The weight of pointing it out fell on his chest like a brick. Heat was rising to his cheeks. He needed something in his mouth. He had gone so long without doing it, but the moment he had a pencil in his hands, it all came back. His thumb was dirty, and he did not like to bend it. He needed a pen, or a pencil, or a fork, or a straw, the edge of sunglasses, even a shirt, and the occasional Lego. Something to chew when he was deep in thought.

“This is the first thing we're working on,” Victoria commanded.

It was not even an issue. No one had ever pointed it out before. It did not need to be fixed.

“You said you trust me on this right? That I know what's best?” Victoria threw back his language.

He nodded.

“Well. In my professional opinion. This is stress related and manifesting as physical cope, likely picked up as a toddler the first time around. You probably had a pacifier late or got into school very early. The two habits just crossed the streams. We need to uncross the wires. Instead of putting wood or plastic in your mouth, something you might choke on or regret breaking, we need to train you to do something else. Please, wait here.”

It had been a suggestion on that website when she had started buying Oliver things. The Amazon store picked up quickly she was shopping for a new baby boy.

“All the other mommies also buy one of these.”

It was expensive, it had some fancy tracking and health monitor but otherwise it was just well produced. It came with a watch chain and crossbar and clip. Silicone nipple, durable, even personified with an O. It was orthodontic, non-toxic, hygienic, and naturally shaped, with a shiny silver handle that hung loosely. It was handmade and hand-wash only.

It was going to be a gift for him at the wedding, but by then it did not seem appropriate. He seemed too mature. She meant to return it but did not because she held out hope. She returned to Oliver in a couple minutes and handed him the plastic wrapped white box and told him to open it.

The crying, the stress from the tests, the embarrassment of the chewed pencil, her understanding, her not spanking him, her gushing on the phone, the fact he had likely caused thousands of bright littles to be set on a path to doom, and that she was counting how many times he said he loved her.

He needed the gift. It looked like an iPhone or some other high end electronic, a simple white box wrapped in plastic. He pulled at the plastic but was unable to make progress and handed it to her for help. She easily tore a hole with her finger and let him unwrap the rest. He threw the plastic to the side and let it fall off the couch to the floor.

The cardboard easily opened, and he moved into the packaging. There was an ad, which he handed to his mother. Then an instruction book, which he handed to her. A warranty explanation. Certificate of authenticity. All were ignored. Cardboard protectors on the floor, another layer of protective plastic. He pulled at the box from the bottom and with force pulled out the leather case. It had that smell, like new earbuds, the new phone, or the new watch. The case was branded.

Every little had a binky, but this put him in an elite class. Not super rich, just rich enough to afford the good versions of everyday things. He knew what that meant on Earth and how important the equivalent must be here. He popped open the case and saw it.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out something, meanwhile he just stared at the pacifier. Not once in his adult life had anyone ever gotten him something like this. Sure, he sometimes bought himself things like this, but not as a gift. It even had a small black cloth for cleaning.

“It's also from your dad.” It was not. She had bought it herself. That was the thing to say though.

“And this will help right? With the chewing?” Oliver was suspect.

She waved the pencil at him, “Oliver, if anyone ever sees you do this here, they will let you know how inappropriate it is. We don't do this here. This” she points at the pacifier, “this is how a billion littles deal with the stresses of daily life here. And as you get used to things and you get older, yes, you'll need to use it less and less, and then you'll be fine.”

He said he would do anything; he thought he had her with that, but this. She won. You cannot say no to a gift like this, especially because he did need it. He breathed in heavily like he was going to cry again but just turned his head and took a couple quick sniffles. He thanked her.

She showed him how to properly clip it, and attach the fob to the handle, it attached like a watch. He held it cautiously near his mouth while she showed him the accessory. It was a simple plastic protector, like for pens, it would go in his front pocket to keep drool away from the shirt.

“These are just for casual wearing, and as a responsible young man you need to remember to take it out each night when you put your clothes in the hamper, so it doesn't go through the wash. OK? Next time we'll go shopping I'll help you pick out a matching pocket square for your nicer clothes.”

He had been in the diaper dimension less than a month and he had already resigned himself to calling two natives mommy and daddy, drinking breast milk, wearing protection at night, and had his first dummy. Oliver, you are completely in control of this, you are not being regressed.

He put it in his mouth. He was expecting something to happen, like magic, or chemistry. Instead, it was just smooth but flexible. It had a soft hint of plastic, and a slightly off smell. He chewed it with his teeth. He fought the desire to squeeze it, to apply pressure on it to the point it would pop. It reminded him of a short time when he had tried a stress ball, before it broke, and he didn't get a replacement. He found a spot deep in the mouth he could suck with a large gulp of breath.

It was not hypnosis. It was not some science fiction addictive chemical. It was just soothing. He moved it in his mouth and chewed on the other side and then popped it out slightly to chew the end with his front teeth, and then back to the original side. He rested it at the back of his tongue, drawing on it like a straw. His mom said something.

“Hmm?” It was probably almost as important as what was going on in his mouth, he should give her some courtesy and pay attention to her instead.

“Oliver, now you're going to promise me a few things, this comes with responsibility.”

What? No! It is a soother. Why would he need to be responsible? He was just a baby.

“For one, you are not to put that anywhere it will get lost or stolen. You keep it in your mouth, in your pocket, or in its case.” Victoria started going down the list, pointing at a finger on her hand.

“Two, you are to have mommy or daddy properly wash it.”

“I caun rawsh it,” Oliver tried to respond.

“Three, you aren't to talk with it in your mouth.”

He looked at her confused, tilting his head, “Hum?”

“You can either be an adult or you can be a little. You can't be both. So please, take it out of your mouth when you're having a conversation with someone, give it a small wipe with your cloth and put it in your shirt pocket.”

His mind was racing, there was a whole etiquette to this. Manners. He needed to pay attention. He forced himself to take it out and examined his new binky. Only a small amount of drool had pooled up. He took the cloth and wiped it and put it in his pocket with the counterweight. You could hardly tell he had a pacifier on him.

“Thank you, now if you're at dinner or with people you're expected to not use it. You need to focus on your company and not suck your pacifier. If you need a minute to relieve stress you can say you need to use the restroom, or 'take a smoke'. There are dedicated areas and times. When you're in a meeting, or at a conference, there will usually be a break, but if you're out and about you are expected to hide it. When you're working at a desk or at home, you can use it as much as you need. You'll need to ask your dad or aunt if they're fine with you sucking on it while they're in a room. Past that, you need to learn to politely ask.”

“Yes Ma'am. I will absolutely respect others on this. It's my habit.” He had sucked on a pacifier once as an adult and was now addicted.

“You'll also respect the other little's 'nyms on this.” Victoria cautioned.

“What?”

“Your aunt calls hers a binky. If someone wants to call it a binky or a sucker or a pacifier or a snoring relief device, that is what it is to them. OK?”

Right in the head. Bullseye. She knew exactly why it was bothering him. A binky is for a baby. A sucker is for a toddler. A pacifier is to pacify someone screaming. This was a stress device, to be used by an adult. It served a medical purpose and was to help him manage. It was his, “Soother.” He said the word quietly, but loud enough she heard.

“Hmm?” She needed him to say it again.

“I appreciate the soother that mommy and daddy got me. Jennifer is not going to be jealous, is she? That mine is new?”

“Oh no, she's practically out of hers. Just uses it at night. I do expect you to wear it every night and at naps. I'm worried about this.” She picked up the tablet with the scores and pointed at the imagination – age eight.

“No one has ever spiked this hard before Oliver, I'm afraid you're going to have a complete melt down or psychotic break. While I do want to work on improving your natural talents, what happened earlier with the tantrum scared me as well. So, if you ever feel something like that coming on, I want you to put your soother into your mouth. Even if it's impolite. More than anything you must keep your imagination under control.”

He could feel it, a shift in the air, his pupils dilating. The tick of a distant clock was slowing. He kind of had to pee. Sweat was building up; his mom was asking him a question. His hand slowly moved to the shirt pocket, and it brought the soother back up to his mouth. The rippling came through the walls and towards him.

Once again, the timelines broke.