The man was a mess of old scars and freshly sealed wounds. An eye missing. One purple, flapping nostril, dangling like a blown tire. He smiled, though, and shook my hand. His one eye met mine, dancing back and forth from left to right.
"Mr. Coulson," I said. "It's nice to meet in person."
"My mother," said Coulson, taking his seat. "She fundraised. Online. Kind of embarrassing, actually. But...I couldn't have afforded this otherwise. My face is compelling, I guess." He smiled again, and this time I saw there were missing teeth, maybe as many as ten, spaced almost evenly. I thought how self-conscious he must have been and it was then that I realized he wasn't thinking.
I couldn't hear a single thought coming off the man. The silence was like a void. After twenty years of investigating people from the inside, hearing their inner dialog as loud and clear as their voice, I felt suddenly unmoored.
My face must have been more open than it should have.
"You see?" said Coulson, brightening just a bit. "You do see, don't you?"
"Are you...are you making an effort?" I said.
"Oh no," said Coulson, picking absently at the various pink and purple ridges that lined his arms. "It's always been like that. No thoughts. None at all. So you really can hear them, then? I thought perhaps that was just marketing."
"Um. Hmm." I leaned back in my own seat. Coulson hadn't mentioned this when he'd made the appointment. Though I suppose I wouldn't have believed him if he had. "Have you ever had a thought? A voice in your mind?"
Coulson shook his head. "Not as I understand them, no."
"That's not possible." I laughed. It was ludicrous. "Thoughts are a core component of intelligent life. You're here. You're not a vegetable. You must consider the information you receive, correct? You must consider your actions before you take them...right?"
Coulson looked almost sheepish. "I was hoping you might have some insight, seeing as you're the expert."
It wasn't meant as a jab, though it was hard not to take it as one. "The scars - are you harming yourself?"
"Well, yes and no," said Coulson, holding up his arms. "Yes, I suppose, because it does appear to be harmful. But no, because it's...well, this may sound silly, but if there's no voice...if there's no thought, doesn't that potentially mean that I'm not... you know..."
"Human?"
"Wires," said Coulson, gingerly touching the space where his left eye once was. "Plates. Conductors. I'm not a scientist. But it's hard not to think that maybe I'm something... not quite human. Like there's a secret in there, just behind the flesh. But I haven't found it yet. So..." He sighed. "However you look at it, I seem to be in trouble."
He was, but then so was I. I hadn't realized then just how much I'd come to coast on my ability. My signature ability had become a crutch, and perhaps I'd lost touch with the fundamentals.
I wasn't suddenly useless, mind you, just slow and unsure. I listened. I gave advice. I listened some more. I drifted at times - I kept going back to the silence. I kept finding myself listening - straining - reaching for the thoughts that weren't there. Coulson was kind. He was sad, too, but mostly he was concerned about this grand, integral thing he lacked.
"You are a whole, complete being," I said as the session drew to a close. "You have everything you need to live a full life. As shocking and strange as it is, whatever it is that you're missing is not the impediment you think it is. In other words - you aren't lacking in some way. I just want you to know that. You are not inhuman."
I had other things to say, and in all honesty the things I did say didn't come out the way I wanted them to, but the point was made. He was a man without thought, and that was fine. Who says that we need to have thoughts, anyway?
I offered to walk Coulson out, but he declined. His mother was coming to pick him up and after glancing at the clock he raced off down the stairs. Too fast, it seemed, as his wallet had fallen out. I grabbed it and went down to catch him on the curb.
I met him as he was entering a small sedan. He thanked me, ducking quietly into the car. I couldn't quite help myself. I tapped on the glass of the driver's side window. The window lowered and an older woman - gray, wide-chinned, eyes barricaded behind a wall of black plastic - inclined her head toward me.
"Pleasure to meet you," I said. "I'm Doctor..."
She didn't open her mouth, but the sound that came off her was piercing and clamorous and searing as a white flame. It was not one voice or one thought, but many. Thousands. Millions. All crashing together in unison. No language of man, but a bracing discord of synchronized frequencies. It came screaming out of her like a canyon full of wailing kettles. Her face, behind those enormous sunglasses, was impassive. Emotionless.
And in the passenger's seat, Coulson just watched. In silence.
The screaming slowed and settled, before disappearing. I stepped back from the car, blinking. The old woman nodded, then drove away.
I never saw Coulson again, but nor did I ever return to my practice. I couldn't. I was too afraid to listen anymore. I couldn't bear to hear that noise again. From then on, every thought that rose too high in pitch made me shudder and collapse. Eventually, every murmured, half-considered thought rattled me just as deeply. Then I couldn't hear any thoughts at all without falling apart.
And now, now all I want is silence. Silence. I have escaped into solitude, only to find that I am still haunted by thoughts. My thoughts. And what to do about that?
When I think of Coulson now, I'm overcome with jealousy. How could anyone be so lucky?
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