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It started with books.
Holly had driven to Argon’s clinic after a long day at work and tread the familiar route past bored-looking staff in scrubs, through the security systems and to Artemis’s room. Normally patients had to see visitors in the common area, but the boy had vehemently protested interacting with other patients, and Holly had made arrangements with Argon so he could have a bit more privacy.
It had been almost a month since that conversation, she realized. A month of drudgery and sickly-sweet nurses and medicine. She knew, she knew the clinic was what Artemis needed right now, but a part of her wondered if the hospital wasn’t driving him more crazy than before.
Holly walked up a final soft, carpeted stairwell when her eye caught on a splash of color through the glass on Artemis’s door. His bookshelf, normally barren, was now filled with a handful of good-sized novels meticulously arranged by size and color. The teen himself was perched on his bed, idly flipping through the pages of one paperback.
She knocked on the pane and he looked up, snapping the book shut with a light smile. She let herself in, gesturing to the newly stocked shelves with one hand as she opened the door with the other.
“That’s new,” she remarked. “Enjoying the reading?”
Artemis grimaced. “Not particularly. My mother sent them, and while I appreciate the sentiment, I would have preferred a selection with less of the romance genre.” He ran a thumb across the pages, flipping through them like a deck of cards. “Or none of it.”
Holly laughed. “You’re reading them, though?”
“It’s better than staring at the walls,” he responded with a shrug.
She nodded, and didn’t think much of it the rest of her visit. Next week, however, when the shelf’s contents had expanded nearly threefold, she pressed further.
“Can I read one?”
The boy waved a hand at the shelf, a silent gesture of permission.
She selected a good-sized paperback at random and checked the title. Summer’s End by Violet Tsirblou. It had an appropriately gaudy yet appealing photo of a sunset on the cover, saturation values boosted just a smidge too bright. She snorted at the obvious pseudonym, and Artemis turned to look.
“Ah,” he said with the barest hint of a grin on his face. “That one is of passable quality. Keep it if you wish; I’ve already read it through.”
“Thanks,” she responded as she tucked the book into the crook of her arm. When she arrived at her apartment a few hours later, she skimmed through the first few pages idly. It was dramatic, but oddly compelling, and before she knew it she was a third of the way through. She checked the clock and realized with a start that an hour and a half had gone by, and hastily shoved a scrap of paper into the book and shut it. It was sappy garbage, anyway. Very well-written sappy garbage.
On her next visit, Artemis asked her how she was finding the book.
She spluttered. “It’s alright, I guess. For, you know. A romance novel.”
“I see,” the boy responded with a half-smile.
“It’s still not good. It’s just better than I expected.”
“Certainly.”
Holly cleared her throat loudly and cast her eyes back to the bookshelf. Now there were a few films sitting on top of it, and she strolled over and skimmed her way through them. The selection was fairly wide, but with a substantially larger portion of Disney films than any other genre.
“Your mom has a type, doesn’t she?” Holly said with a chuckle.
Artemis sighed slightly. “Very much so.”
“I don’t recognize most of these. They any good?”
“Some are. They are all quite famous, at least to humans.”
Holly spun around, catching herself on the shelf behind her and leaning back. “Tell you what; let’s watch some of these together next time.” She raised her eyebrows. “You must be bored to death here, and I’d like to see if human entertainment’s all it’s cracked up to be.”
Artemis blinked, then grinned.
“Why not?”
The first film they watched was a crackling black-and-white piece, dated even by human standards. Holly had laughed aloud when she heard the title; 12 Angry Men put her in mind of a room full of brawling hotheads, very far from the sedate film Artemis had described.
“It’s a classic,” he had said.
“It showcases the art of debating,” he had said.
Now Holly was bored out of her mind , watching actors strut around and argue back and forth in picture quality so bad she wondered how humans had ever managed to stand it. She hid a yawn under her breath as Juror #3 yelled something about stab wounds. It was so very typical that humans couldn’t even debate without nearly punching each other. She almost wished they would, to liven things up a bit.
But she supposed #8 was alright. He was passive, quiet, but something about him reminded her of Artemis. He argued eloquently, more kindly than the boy himself, but with the same intelligence. She gasped along with the jury as Juror #3 nearly stabbed him in the chest. He didn’t flinch.
Artemis was eyeing her from across the room, watching her reaction. She settled back in her chair.
“Capital punishment,” she murmured. “How barbaric.”
She did not see Artemis clench his fist, fighting the urge to combat her four-worded sentence with his own tapping.
“Have you been enjoying Summer’s End ?”
“Yeah, I guess. I finished it last night.”
“Quite fast, for a book that size.”
“Don’t read too much into that, alright?”
“I would never.”
“Who’s Violet Tsirblou, anyway? There’s no way that’s a real name.”
“Me, of course.”
“What?”
Holly chose the next film they watched, much to Artemis’s dismay.
“Must we watch this, Holly?”
“Come on, Mud boy, it’s one movie. And yours was so dull anyway! This one’s way more exciting.”
“It falls into every cliché! The plot is clearly derivative of-”
“Hush! It’s starting.”
Artemis pursed his lips as blocky yellow text began to scroll up the screen, accompanied by a familiar brass fanfare. Human media was quite popular in Haven, and Holly remembered going to see Star Wars as a brand new cadet just a few decades ago. The opening fanfare still filled her with a swell of nostalgia.
Now this was a movie. Dramatic, intense, and wholly entertaining. Who needed fancy-pants thinkpieces when there were films that were just plain fun? People who couldn’t have fun, that’s who.
The pair watched in companionable silence as the movie rolled by. Holly grinned as C3PO and R2D2 bickered in an endless desert.
Sure, it was a little predictable, but what was the problem with that? It was fun, and who cared about predictable when it told a great story of triumph over evil, against all odds? People liked it.
“What is the purpose of giving sentience to protocol droids? It seems quite inhumane, really.”
Well. Most people.
“So, why on earth did Artemis Fowl start writing romance novels?”
“Why should I not, Holly? They can be written quickly, and they practically sell themselves.”
“But I thought you hated romance.”
“It is not the genre that I do not like, but the fact that it is often written quite poorly. There are far more terrible romance novels than there are of nearly any other genre, at least from my perspective.”
“Well, I feel a lot better about liking the book now. I might give it another read-through when I get it back.”
“Did you lend it out?”
“Yeah, I thought Nº1 would like it. Also, just so you know, I think Foaly wants in on movie night.”
“He is welcome... to join.”
“Are you feeling okay? You look a bit pale.”
Foaly tagged along next week, with his selection of film on a slim hard drive which he placed atop the projector.
“Now, I know it’s not a movie, per se,” he said as the show was transferred wirelessly to the device, “but the episodes are about 90 minutes each, so we can just watch one and it’ll be about the same.”
“So, this brings it up to the… one millionth Sherlock Holmes adaptation you’ve made me watch,” called Holly from a lounge chair in the corner. “You know the theme is picking something out of what Artemis has?”
“It’s worth it, I swear.”
“I’m sure. Eggs Benedict has the lead role!”
“Holly!”
Artemis watched as his friends bickered, tapping his fingers slowly and deliberately against the metal of his bed frame. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. The two other occupants of the room did not hear the quiet pings of the metal.
“Alright,” called Foaly as he stepped back and pressed a few buttons on the remote. “All set up.”
The episode began with a dizzying blur of gunshots and shouting, and Artemis had to close his eyes for a few seconds until the cacophony faded. His head was pounding.
“Quite the intro,” Holly muttered.
“Give it a chance,” Foaly responded.
Four words. He continued tapping.
Onscreen, events rolled by sluggishly. Artemis half-watched until one scene made him sit bolt upright.
Sherlock and Watson had just arrived back at their flat, and it was so messy. There was an itch at the back of his skull, down his spine. He couldn’t concentrate. How could they live in that space? They couldn’t even see, he couldn’t even see how much they owned. How many magazines were on that table? He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t count anything, it could be any number, it could be a multiple of four-
“Mud boy? You all right?”
Holly. Did she know how much of his mind he had lost? Why was she here? She told him it was because they were friends, because she cared about him, but that couldn’t be right. He had hurt her, so badly, so long ago and it just wasn’t possible that she had forgave him. She must be plotting, planning something, planning to destroy him, it would serve him right-
“Artemis, I’m going to call a nurse, okay?”
“No. Don’t call anyone,” he said, standing shakily while holding out a hand. “I’m watching you.”
Foaly inched toward the door in the corner of his vision. The boy snapped his head towards the movement, and the centaur stopped, one hoof off the ground, a nervous expression on his face.
“Calm down, mud boy,” he said, holding his hands out in a placating gesture.
No, a voice in his head screamed. He’s trying to trick you. He’ll destroy you if he has the chance.
That’s not true, he tried to protest. He’s my friend.
Then Artemis heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He whipped his head back towards Holly and found her face wracked with guilt.
“What did you do?” He whispered.
She did not respond as a security guard and a nurse entered the room, and she slipped out behind them.
Next week, Holly knocked on the door instead of letting herself in. She was greeted by a quiet “come in” from the boy inside.
The creak of the door as she opened it seemed unbearably loud. Artemis was laying in his bed, eyes closed, breathing slowly and deeply. If he hadn’t just spoken, she would say he was asleep.
She pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. Neither of them broke the silence, though Holly wished to dearly. She wanted to… apologize? Ask how he was doing? Say something , even just hello, he was her friend, D’arvit-
“I’m sorry.” Artemis spoke softly, in almost a murmur. “Dr. Argon raised the dosage of my medication. It shouldn’t happen again.”
“You don’t need- it’s ok, Artemis,” Holly responded in a rush. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He opened his eyes slowly, but did not respond.
The elf twisted her fingers together, looking aside. “Do you… Are you meditating? Do you want me to leave?”
The boy blinked quickly, then turned to her. “No, please. Stay.” He sat up slowly, muscles shaking as though he had not moved for hours.
When he was settled, he let out a sigh. “My apologies. I’m still adjusting to the new dosage.” He attempted to smile, but it slipped off his face at the worried look on Holly’s.
“Are you ok?” she asked quietly.
His eyes drifted from her, deep in thought. Several seconds passed in silence as she waited for an answer.
“I’m not sure,” he finally responded. “I am right now, but in the next five minutes, who knows?” He sighed. “It is a terrible thing, to not be able to trust your own thoughts. To not be able to speak for your own actions. I feel I have been betrayed, almost, by my own brain.” He looked down, a frown creased in the fold of his eyebrows.
Holly looked at the boy across from her and reached out her hand, clasping it around his own.
“You’ll get through this,” she responded. “You’re Artemis Fowl Ⅱ, for Frond’s sake. If anyone can outwit their own brain, it’s you. And,” she smiled, “we’ll be right with you the whole way through.”
The boy looked up at Holly’s face, and for a moment she thought she could see the weight sloughing off his shoulders, falling in uneven chunks.
Let it go, mud boy. How much of a front do you put on for the rest of us?
“Thank you,” he murmured with a squeeze of her hand.
His demeanor faded slightly as he asked, “how is Foaly, by the way?”
“Fine. He wanted to come with me, but I thought you would want a bit of space.”
Relief showed plainly across the boy’s face, and Holly smiled.
“Would he want to finish the episode we started?” he asked tentatively.
“I think he’d love that.”
“Nº1 loved the book, by the way.”
“I thought he might.”
“Yeah, he really liked it. Wouldn’t stop talking about it.”
“I… see.”
“He freaked out when I told him you wrote it. I think he has a few billion questions for you next time he visits.”
“Oh dear.”