Pat Miller has always been a bit of a nonentity. But what could have been the end of a depressing existence triggers the beginning of a whole new life, filled with action and adventure, at Whateley Academy!

Catalyst

"This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place (http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

Catalyst

By Angie Hughes

Chapter 1- Prelude

July 19, Big Bend, Kansas

My name is mud.

Well, not really, it's really Patrick Miller, but it seems like it might as well be mud. I sat there on the toilet lid, holding about twelve valiums in my hand, a straight razor sitting next to me. I was really going to do it this time, I had nothing left to live for. Lately all I felt was pain and sorrow, and I couldn't stand it. Then my brother of all people, had to go and do that to me... And worse, some part of me enjoyed it.

I never expected that, to feel powerful, and physically good, while being raped. I wanted to forget it, but it wouldn't go away; all the more reason to take the pills and cut my wrists: maybe if I died I could forget. The last thing I remember is putting that handful of pills to my mouth.

*

I woke up two hours later, according to the clock, lying on the floor of the bathroom, apparently my sense of self-preservation wasn't quite as gone as I had though. The pills floated in the ick in the toilet bowl. Apparently there was no way out for me. I flushed the toilet and crawled my way back to my bedroom; leaving the razor forgotten on the side of the tub. Not that anyone would notice anyway. My mom died giving birth to me, and my dad, he seemed determined to pretend I didn't exist. He always had time to take care of my brother, who was slightly retarded, but since I was the smart one, I was expected to take care of myself and stay out of trouble.

I tried to shake the thickness out of my head, then put in a Ranma  ½ video, going back to the old standby of losing myself in fiction, be it anime or books or movies. When I sank into another world, I could almost blot out my own misery. But about halfway in, I felt myself getting sick again, and ran for the toilet. Everything went fuzzy, but I heard the front door opening, apparently my dad and brother were coming back from the store. Through the fuzziness in my head, I was sure I suddenly felt a sort of stupid joy at getting something special, and at the same time, a sort of tired annoyance , neither of which felt like they were my own feelings.

What was going on with me? I must have been hallucinating, I just tried to shut everything out and concentrate on my television. Maybe I didn't trim all of the mold off that leftover lasagna last night.

"Patrick, come out here. I want to know what this is all about." Wow, Dad had actually said something to me!

"Coming!" I walked out to the living room, a little unsteadily, to find my dad standing there holding the razor blade I left on the tub. Jeremy stood next to him, looking at me like a wolf might look at a chicken. I barely paid attention to what Dad was saying, I could literally feel the twisted, dull, hateful lust from my brother, and I got so scared I almost threw up. I did start crying, to my shame.

"This isn't funny, Patrick. You need to stop this attention-getting behavior right now. Your brother found this where you left it, and he could have hurt himself. You're grounded for three days, go to your room. Crying won't get you out of it, either. You need to grow up and be a man."

It wasn't a big deal, he wouldn't notice if I went out anyway. I went to my room, slipped out the window, and climbed the end tree in the vacant lot next to our house. About twelve feet up was a piece of plywood, just big enough to stretch out on, if I dangled my legs off the sides. It was my own personal thinking space. I chucked little rocks from it at the old Mazda in the back of the lot, the one that blew its motor almost a year ago.

I had to do something, figure out some way to get away. Jeremy was going to do it again, I was sure. I felt sick just thinking about it. How could anyone enjoy that? But the fact remained, I had. Maybe it was because no matter how terrible, someone was paying attention to me. But no, I didn't want my brother's attention, and if he did that again, well, maybe next time I wouldn't throw the pills back up.

A sudden wave of vertigo hit me, and I leaned over the side of the makeshift treehouse, and sicked up again. I must really have been sick, I almost never got illnesses unless they were BAD ones. I leaned back in on my perch again and stared up at the branches. Being sick meant the next few days would be a living nightmare. I wouldn't be able to run or defend myself from anybody, especially Jeremy. Another wave of dizziness hit me, and I felt the sudden sensation of freefall, followed by an explosive burst of pain, and then everything went dark.

*

The next time I woke up, it was dark, and I was staring at the ceiling of a hospital room. I felt really hot, and really cold at the same time, and there was a really messy muddle of emotions in my head, and none of them made sense. I tried to think straight, but it was like swimming through an atmosphere of honey, not knowing which way was up. Everything felt thick, and overbearing. I think I blacked out again, maybe a bunch of times. I think I got up at one point, dragging an IV stand, and went to the bathroom, and everything felt wrong, like my body was the wrong shape or something.

I remember alarms going off, and I think there was a fire or something, because all the doctors and nurses came into my room and put me into an icy cold bath. I felt like I was on fire. They said something about keeping me cool because my body was trying to change way too fast and it was overheating with the work. They put something in my IV, and I went back to sleep, which was good, because I hurt.

When I started coming to again, all I knew was I had to get out of this place. I still felt kind of fuzzy, and nothing felt right, not my body or my head, but I knew I had to get away from all these people. The things I was feeling could not possibly have been my own feelings, so by logic, they had to be someone else's. EVERYONE else's. And in a hospital, well... I felt sick, I felt excited, I felt hopeful, I felt like I had a broken arm, I felt like I was dying, I felt sad, hopeful, and I felt like I was going crazy. But most importantly, I heard one of the doctors say that there had been an accident, and there were going to be several very wounded people arriving, ETA seven minutes. That cinched it, I did NOT want to feel those people's hurts too!

I waited until no one was around, then simply got up out of the bed, put on my clothes, which thankfully, were clean and neatly folded in a pile on the chair in my room. They didn't quite fit right, but I didn't think about that much at the time. I didn't have much time to get away before the wounded started pouring in, and the broken arm feeling made it VERY hard to concentrate on putting my clothes on.

Apparently all the doctors and nurses were too busy getting ready for the new arrivals, because nobody even noticed me walking right out the doors. Someone mentioned that room one-oh-seven was empty, and I knew that was the room I'd been in, but I was already out the doors and making my way across the street before anyone even came out the doors. The emotional muddle was thinning out a little, and I could finally think a little, when I heard the ambulance sirens pulling up. After that, I just ran.

Now my hometown, Big Bend, is not a big city. It's maybe three miles end to end, in any direction. So before I really stopped to think about it, I was home. I was about to open the door, when I saw a suitcase on the porch, with a note pinned to it.

"Here are the clothes you'll need, the hospital called and told me you left without permission. They gave me some paperwork to fill out, and you're moving in to a private school for mutants in New Hampshire. I took Jeremy to go bowling and play at the arcade, so he won't be upset you're leaving. Leave your keys in the mailbox when you go."

It wasn't even signed, but it was in dad's handwriting. There were some train tickets in the envelope with the note, some papers and a pamphlet for some school called Whateley's Academy. However, there was no money for a cab, and the train was scheduled to leave in less than an hour, I would have to run if I wanted to catch it.

Did I want to catch it? I thought about it for a minute, about what waited for me in Big Bend. No real friends, a dad who seemed to forget I existed most of the time, a violent, mildly retarded brother, who had recently... Nothing, there was nothing for me here, except maybe a suicide that I would eventually carry through. I ran, as fast as my legs would take me.

*

Somewhere between Kansas and New Hampshire, on the train

On the train ride I found myself assaulted by the miasma of confusing emotions again, and I really needed to think, so I did something I had no idea I was capable of. It was like I built a wall in my mind, bricks on every side, and suddenly it was gone. Only my own emotions, which at the moment were mostly confusion and surprise. Then I looked at the note again. Whateley's Academy, a school for superheroes and mutants? I guess I must have been a mutant, how else could I be feeling everyone else's emotions? I scratched absently at my itchy shirt as I thought about it. Maybe I could be a superhero, save people from evil masterminds and stuff! Maybe then my dad would notice me. Or somebody at least. I brushed an errant lock of hair out of my face as I read the front of the pamphlet. It seemed like an ordinary preppy English school- wait a minute. I didn't have long hair.

I pulled a handful of hair in front of my eyes and blinked. It was a little past shoulder length. My hand looked small, too, oddly. I scratched my chest again, and was again surprised, this time by an odd sponginess to my chest that I didn't remember. Was I turning into some kind of monster, too?

I felt that wall around me start to crumble as I worried, and little bits leaked through, so I ran to the train car's bathroom, and locked myself in. I checked the mirror, and my face looked almost the same as always, except it was somehow softer, finer, and smoother. And my sort of dirty-blonde hair framed it, making me look almost girlish. Slowly the idea coalesced in my mind, and I checked under my now oversized shirt. Soft little mounds greeted my questing hands, and my hypothesis became a working theory. Then my right hand quested downward under my jeans, which had slid down from my waist to catch on my hips in a style that I'd seen girls wear, though the jeans didn't quite look right that way. Reaching into my briefs, I found the proof to my theory: nothing but a little mound with sort of puffy lips. I never thought the first vagina I touched would be my own. The brick wall came crashing down and the confusing rush of weird emotions washed over me like an ocean swallowing me up. I drowned in it, screamed, and blacked out.

I never used to faint.

I woke up on the cramped floor of the train bathroom, and the smell was awful from this close. I quickly climbed to my feet, and tried to rebuild the brick wall. It worked, but I noticed each brick seemed to block out one emotion, or maybe one person's emotions, it was pretty mixed up and hard to tell. I finished the mental wall, and went back to my own situation. It really wasn't all that bad, at least I wasn't a monster right? Besides, everybody knew girls had more fun. Boys had to ask girls out and girls just had to say yes or no. Boys bought stuff for girls. Being a girl definitely could be more fun. I might even get some attention... And maybe if I tried hard enough, I could convince myself my whole existence had been flushed with those pills. Maybe I had died, and this was hell.

Someone was knocking at the door.

"Are you alright in there? I heard a scream!" I tried to compose myself.

"It... It's okay, I just slipped and fell. I'm fine." I said loudly through the door. Whoever was checking on me seemed to accept that, and apparently left.

I walked back to my seat, visibly shaken; I had a lot to deal with. But still, I could handle it. It's not like my life had been anything worth fighting to keep. And my manhood... Well, remembering the kind of boy my family tended to breed, maybe it would be best to have left that behind too. It was something to deal with, and survive. After all, I'd already tried the alternative, and it hadn't worked out for me. I didn't want to die, even if living meant being a girl, and a mutant. I just had to figure out how. I was determined to find out who I was, and be me, no matter what I looked like.

Keeping my mental wall up seemed to take just a little bit of concentration, and every time I got too distracted, people's feelings would leak through. Sometimes, it was hard to tell them from my own, like when I slowly started to feel a sort of feminine joy at the prospect of being a mother, holding a baby, nursing, the warmth and closeness... Then snapped out of it to glance at a woman with a beatific smile, nursing a tiny baby four seats down. But other times, it was very easy to differentiate, like the sort of sickly desire a greasy-looking middle aged man sparked when he looked at the nursing woman. It made me want to wash out my brain.

I spent the rest of the journey watching people, practicing letting in little glimpses of what they were feeling, to pass the time. Some of it was private, and I tried not to dig too deep into those. However, it was nice sharing the wonder of a little boy watching the countryside roll by, or the comfort of a sleeping elderly passenger, and I kept returning to the mother, enjoying her motherly feelings of love and caring. I was careful to keep the greasy man screened out.

Dunwich, New Hampshire

I think I fell asleep concentrating on the warm loved feeling the baby had, because the next thing I knew, the train had stopped at the station at Dunwich. When I stepped off the train, someone immediately grabbed my wrist, put a hand over my mouth, and dragged me into the girls' bathroom. Once the door was closed, the hands pulled away, and I tried to scream. I've never been a fighter, and it was obvious unless I got some help, I was about to be kidnapped or killed or something.

The scream died on my lips however, when I turned around to see a seeming mirror image of myself. I stared, openmouthed, for at least an hour (okay, maybe a few seconds) before a few discrepancies struck me. While I was only fifteen, wearing blue jeans and a comfortable sweater, the person with my face was older, maybe somewhere in her twenties, and sporting a black suit and skirt, with a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses in the breast pocket.

"Pat... It really is you! You look so much like me it's uncanny! I'm sorry I had to grab you like that, but I only have a few minutes, and you can't be seen with me."

"Ummm, who are you? You're not gonna kill me, or sell me into slavery, or anything are you?" I couldn't help but shudder at that second thought.

"What? No! Pat, I'm your mom!"

"You're... No, you can't be, Mom died when I was born, because of me."

My reflection (my mom?) grabbed me suddenly in the biggest, tightest, warmest hug I've ever felt. My brick wall came crashing down again, but this time the confusing deluge of emotions was drowned under a warm, comforting wash of love. Nothing else mattered, my mom was back from the dead and I NEEDED her. After several minutes, I felt an edge of worry and fear creep into her mind.

"Sweetie, for one, even if I had died, it would not have been your fault. I'm so sorry I had to go away, especially the way I did, but I didn't have any choice. I know you missed me, and it tore me apart all these years, not being there for you growing up. But for now, I have to go again. There are some really bad people chasing me, but I just had to see you before you go to Whateley. Yes, I know about what's happened to you, maybe more than you do, even; I was in the hospital when you blossomed. I was expecting it, I just hope your brother doesn't develop too. He's not responsible enough for it, and I don't think he ever will be. Luckily he seemed to get your father's genetics more than mine. Anyway, I know you can handle this change, you really are strong, though you may not think so. Just follow your heart and I know you will be alright. I filled out your paperwork for you, and made sure your father got it from the hospital. Your years at Whateley will be paid in my name, your father thinks you were offered a scholarship there. Here."

Mom handed me a bank card, emblazoned with the logo, á”First Bank of Dunwich.'

"You'll have an allowance of one thousand dollars every month, but be careful with it. It's actually an expense account from the people I work for, but I got it cleared with them, because they owe me that much ate least. I'll keep in contact, okay honey? I have to go, but always remember I love you, and am watching out for you."

Mom kissed me on the cheek again and grabbed me in another wonderful hug.

"Please don't go, Mom..." I held on as hard as I could, tears already streaming down my cheeks, "Don't leave me alone again..."

"Pat, honey, you're never alone, I'm always close by. And I will visit you soon, I promise."

"You better, Mom! I can't stand being alone anymore..."

She kissed my forehead, put a hand to her heart, then hurried toward the door, but suddenly turned around and shoved me into a stall with a whispered, ""Hide!" I heard the bathroom door come crashing open, and I watched through the crack in the stall where the door met the wall as three men in black suits blocked the doorway.

"Mindwave, you're getting sloppy. You stayed still too long. Come with us nicely and we won't have to harm you. All we want is information about your employer. You know your powers won't stop us, we're trained to resist you."

I could feel them, just like I felt my mother. While they were calm and collected, almost emotionless, Mom was terrified. How could she be so scared but still look so calm? They took a step towards her and she seemed to slump. Was she going to let herself be captured just to make sure I wasn't found? No way, I could not let that happen. But what could I do about it?

Suddenly I felt something building up inside me. A bubbling, roiling, mass of every emotion imaginable, but not like when I felt everyone else's emotions, it was coming from me. And it was maddening. I pushed it away from me, tried to throw it at the three men, and somehow, it worked. All three of the men went wide-eyed, then as one, they dropped into heaps on the floor. Mom looked surprised, but I probably looked even more surprised.

"Did you do that, sweetie?" Mom tapped on the stall door.

"Ummm, yeah, Mom... I just couldn't let them take you. You were so scared, and I... Did I kill them?" Suddenly I felt sick, the men felt empty now, and I was pretty sure they were dead.

Mom just grabbed me and hugged me tight.

"Honey, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault... Don't worry about these men, they were going to do worse to me, and to you if they caught you with me. You did nothing wrong. There will be more of them though, so you need to hurry and take a cab to the school, and I have to go. I will visit you when it's safe, and I promise we'll talk then, okay? Remember sweetie, I love you, and you are a wonderful person. Now hurry to school." Somehow, the words comforted me. I felt bad about killing those men, I didn't mean to, but they had been bad men, and accidents happen sometimes. I wondered idly what powers Mom might have.

I walked out of the bathroom with my mom, and she quickly kissed me on the forehead and went to a black sedan, with a last little wave, and left. But I knew I'd see her again. I quickly rebuilt my little brick wall, shutting out the confusion of the rest of the world, then hailed a taxi. It was time to see my new home.