Chapter Four

      Dr. Cassandra Westinghouse studied her patient. She didn't believe in giving false hope. "I must warn you, John, you can't find memories where there are none," the tone of her voice was gentle although she knew her words were not. "Your records say your mother gave you up at birth. You were raised in a series of foster homes before you were finally adopted. Your father wasn't even listed on your birth certificate."
   "I know, but there has to be more to me than my mother's last name. She was a real person --" Merlin looked away, "a person who probably had a really good reason for giving up her son."
   Cassandra softened her voice even more, "I'm sure she had a good reason, and I'm sure she loved you."
   Merlin looked up into her kind face and whispered, "Please?"
   Cassandra knew what he was asking. She thought for a moment then nodded her head. Satisfied, Merlin lay back on the couch and closed his eyes.
   "You are calm," Cassandra began. "You feel content. You are enjoying a sensation that is almost like floating."
   But Merlin didn't look content. He didn't look like he was enjoying anything, and he certainly didn't look like he was floating. The colour was draining out of his face, and he was beginning to perspire.
   Cassandra noted his reaction with concern, "It's all right, nothing here can hurt you. You're calm, you feel -- "
   Merlin sat up, "It's no good. I can't concentrate."
   Cassandra kept her voice quiet, even, "Relax, give it time."
   "No. It's come back. That feeling I had today, that feeling that something's going to get me."
   Cassandra reached for her notebook, "Describe it to me. Is it the same as before?"
   "No. It's different . . ."
   "How different?"
   "Stronger."
   "And?"