(Untitled Book) Chapters 1-3

Chapter 1

Morbid illusions drift like dark blue and red smoke intermingling across the abyss of my mind space. I feel it prodding and asking me questions just below my hearing level as I sleep. My eyes snap open and the shadows that have lunged close to hear the answers suddenly snap back into place: the lighting on the door frame; the shirt and skirt hanging on the closet door. My eyes roam across the room, as I prop myself upon my elbow. It’s early yet, not even 3:00am. I feel the sweat roll off the back of my ears, and down my neck. Sleep won’t be back for quite some time.

I close my eyes and lay back flat on my back. At least I didn’t wake up shouting as I usually do, and the wife is still asleep. What was the voice saying? I try to bring back the moment in picture in my mind, but it is still slipping from my memory. There will be no capturing it tonight. Tomorrow I can try again, if it shows up.

I drift off to sleep, scenes of moral or ethical issues racing across the mind’s eye. Again that voice just out of hearing… “And this? React to this one by …” It’s like instruction given subliminally. Is it trying to change me… and if so, change in a good way, or a worse way? Before I have a chance to worry about it everything goes dark.

“What ya gonna do now you mother fucker?!” Eyes snap open. I am standing a few yards from a corner of a building. A white man, about my size is standing about 5 feet in front of me waving a pistol at my head. A pistol? Where am I? “Hold still before I decide to just end your fucking life, you sonuvabitch!” Saliva is dripping from his mouth. I see a body on the ground already, and I wonder if it is someone I know or not.

“Chill out dude. I ain’t got nothing to do with you,” I try to calmly explain. Keep him from shooting was my ultimate goal. “I don’t know what is going on here, but we can go our own ways. Just put down the gun and walk.” I have my hand s up partway, trying to help show him the direction to put the gun. There’s some blood on my knuckles I notice. Can’t tell if it is mine or not.

“YOU’RE FUCKING CRAZY! You beat the shit out of my buddy and I am going to waste your ass now!!” Again the gun comes up waving, pointing occasionally towards my head. I step back a couple steps “Where you going? You ain’t going no where! We going to finish this!!” Saliva flies from his lips and he begins to step nearer to me. I take the chance and look down.

Sure enough, another male of similar build is laying face down on the sidewalk, sprawled out. I see from the side of his face that is upwards, there is some blood from the nose and mouth. I glance at my knuckles again. Could be. I see my wallet on the ground. At least it looks like my wallet.

“You and your buddy trying to rob me man? You want the money? I will give you the money. Just put that gun down.” The man just eyes me wildly, and the gun is not going anywhere but hanging in an elliptical orbit his hand is doing of its own accord. I start to bend down to pick up the wallet and the guy steps forward and presses the gun to my forehead.

It is dark. No, not quite pitch black, I can feel more than see, some smoke weaves across the space in front of me. I reach out my hand and feel nothing. No change in temperature, or sensation of touch. Are my eyes open. I think so, but I could not be sure. I reach for a pocket, but realize I have nothing on. Straining my ears, I hope for a sound of something, be it a scuffle from me, or a drip of moisture – something to put a limit to my boundaries. There it is! The whispers have come back. You can here the ss sss sss sounds but they are just low enough I still cannot make out what is being said, or asked, or explained. I feel the smoke wrap sinuously around me, giving the look of being clothed, but no one has presented them selves to me.

A flash goes through my mind. The man holding a gun to my head, as I am slightly stooped over reaching for the wallet on the ground – frozen in place.

How does it feel?

I swear I heard the voice, but there was not physical ness to the sound. Almost as if I heard it directly in my head. I am not sure anymore. “How does what feel?” I ask aloud, my voice seemingly to fill the area, and yet sound tiny.

To die. To die, for nothing.

I start to feel my breathing starting to speed up. I think it might be a panic attack, but am not sure. I never had had one before. Am I dead? I rub my hands on my forehead, over the spot where the gun seemed to be held – nothing. I feel my chest and arms – no wounds. I see no blood anywhere, or scratches. Did I die? Was it for nothing?

The scene again flashes through my mind, only this time it is going about 2x fast forward. I see my hand grab the wallet, which flips open to reveal a couple one-dollar bills, and a loud roar as the gun went off – then darkness.

Heh heh heh….

I say nothing, but work on controlling my breathing. Slowly I get it back under control, but the voice doesn’t speak anymore. Time seems to have no limit here, and there is no feeling of standing too long, or hunger. Just a sense of being there, waiting for something.

To die … for nothing.

The scene again flashes through my mind, only this time it is going about 2x fast forward. I see my hand grab the wallet, then flip it off to the side. The eyes of the gun holder follow it. I reach up with my left and grab the gun hand, twist and remove the pistol from his grip. His eyes have turned back to match mine. I stick the barrel against his forehead, just above his eyes. His eyes. Red rimmed, watering, pupils dilated to nothing. His breathing started getting raggedly as if he had been running.

For nothing …

The eyes. I could see inside him. See his fear, what he had thought was power; what he had hoped he could do to me. My insides turned to ice. I pulled the trigger.

Click. I pull it again. Click. The once-attacker gasps then starts to back away, turning to his side to start running for his freedom. Click. I lower my arm. Sirens erupt around me as police cars come careening to a halt. I hear several voices yelling to drop the weapon, but I have no idea what they are talking about. What weapon? I hear another voice saying to raise my hands, which I do, and shots ring out. I feel the body twist in different directions, and amidst splashes of red feel myself fall to the ground.

To die … for nothing.

“Holy shit! I’ve been – “ I snapped upright in the darkness. My heart is beating like to come out of my chest. Sweat is rolling from my brow. A quick glance all around confirms I am in my bedroom, and it is barely 3:25am. The wife is still asleep. I sigh, and use one hand to wipe the sweat away from my eyes. ‘What is up with these freaky-ass dreams?’ I wonder to myself… knowing I will never have an answer. Then there in the back of my mind I hear that voice again “To die … for nothing.” I don’t have time for this crap to psycho-analyze some damn dream I am having, that doesn’t last but like 20 minutes, but feels like forever. I get up and head for the bathroom. I quick cup of water, and I head back to bed, quickly closing my eyes, and trying to clear my head. I feel myself slowly slide off to slumber.

Chapter 2

It was a simple pocketknife. Two blades, one a bit longer with a sharper point, yellow coloring on the outside. Plenty sharp, since I had spent the better of 2 days sharpening it correctly on a whetstone by hand. Nothing like good skill used correctly. I flick the hand up and spin the blade over end and catch it open-handed. A quick half turn and I fling it out side arm and it thunks into a dartboard at head height, just a couple inches under the bulls eye. I smile touches my lips, but not my eyes as I get up and pull out the knife. I close it up and slip it into a pocket. The other hand ranges along the belt and I feel the lock blade and the 12” Bowie. I check to be sure my jacket covers them well.

Walking down the street, no one notices me. Not many people out on a cold and cloudy day. The skies are looking like they want to drop rain or snow, but it is not destined to be per the reporter on TV last night. I call them reporters – they never guess the weather correctly enough to be a forecaster. I turn into the local corner mart; glancing back quickly to be sure no one followed me.

That’s always been a habit of mine. Since that one time two punks jumped me – but that is for another time, when I can remember what happened. If I start thinking about it now, the blackness will fill my head and I will lose track of what I am doing. I cross the street again and head up two more blocks. Turning left I see the police car coming from up the street. Lights not on. I tuck my chin into my jacket and pull the zipper higher. I head straight for the liquor store.
As I pull open the door, I see the patrol car turn down this street.

“Hey Pops,” as I unzip the jacket. “ How about a fifth of Jack?”
“You old enough to drink? I’ll need to see some ID.” He sets down the paper he was reading and gives me a look through his glasses.

A glance out the glass door shows the cruiser going by, not stopping. I reach back into my pants pocket and feel the knife. I give the old man a nice toothy smile.

“Sure Pops. Got ID right here,” as I pull up my wallet and show him a driver’s license. After a quick glance, he hands it back and turns to get my order. I hand over a $20 dollar bill and he makes change. I grab the sack and change, fastening up my jacket. At the door I turn and look at him. Already bored he has gone back to reading the paper, leaning against the counter.

The black cloud fills my mind. I try to get out the door, but my body has already stopped moving. How long is this going to last this time?

Ready to learn the next lesson?

It’s that damn voice again. What was it saying the last time I heard it. Something about being faster… I can’t remember. Now a pain starts to rip through my mind. My eyes open, seeing the old man leaning against the counter – frozen in place it seems. Suddenly my hand is gripping the Bowie knife and pulling from its sheath. Watching in a daze of confusion and fear, but with a sense of knowing what is about to happen, I throw the knife at the old man.

Everything moves in slow motion as the knife flips through the air to land point first in the man’s temple. Time speeds up to normal. I hurriedly reach out and pull the knife, side-stepping the spray of blood. Spinning around I get behind the counter and pop the drawer, grab the cash and turn to leave. The knife is still dripping blood. I go to wipe it on the man’s shirt, but instead I find myself plunging it in his back and side several times. I force myself to wipe it off and sheath it. Sweat is dripping down my face, and I am not sure if it is that or tears I am tasting. Definitely something salty. Quickly I step around the counter and head out the door, cramming the wad of bills into the coat pocket.

Did you learn the lesson?

Again I am frozen and the blackness swoops in. I think back to what just happened. I killed someone. I stole. Without thinking just violently killed and mutilated another human being. Someone I didn’t know, had never met before. And I stole money. Not like it was lying out for free, I made an effort to get the drawer open to take it. What lesson is this supposed to teach?

How do you feel about the power of taking a life?

What?!? How do I feel? Just once why don’t you show yourself? I feel the blackness darken and seemingly solidify near me. I start shaking in fear. I start thinking about how it felt to have the ability, the control to end someone’s life. It does feel sort of good deep inside – more that it was a person than an animal. Imagine if it were someone I knew, or better yet, was emotionally attached to – imagine the rush as I killed them! Yes, I learned a lesson.Was it the correct lesson?Yes. I feel the presence in the darkness move away somewhat. The feeling of power fades from me, and I slowly start to hope this can still be saved.

I am stepping out on the street from the liquor store. I stop and look around. I still see the cop car about a half block up the street. Should I go and get him? It’s to late. I quickly reach into the coat packet, grab the wad of money and run back to the door. Flinging it open I toss the cash in, and grab the Bowie. I wipe off hopefully all my prints and toss it by the body. No time to cover my tracks, as I take off down the sidewalk, mixing my steps in with the multitudes of others as I hurry home.

Chapter 3

As I lay on the couch to the side of the living room, I glanced over the mess. Miscellaneous small trash from potato chip bags, pizza boxes, napkins littered the floor as well as pieces of clothing that needed to be washed. I didn’t have time for that right now. I sat up and glanced out the window, seeing if anyone was coming this way. I saw nothing moving. Just house fronts with snow in the yards. Some had walks shoveled, others didn’t. The street had been cleared and was edged with dirty gray slush.

I lay back and think about what has happened the last day or two. The first thing was that weird-ass dream. I closed my eyes to try to remember what it was about. All I can grasp is I was supposed to learn something, but from who confused me. The longer I thought about it, the more I started getting a headache.

Then I think about what happened yesterday. I killed a man. OR rather, something in me killed a man. I didn’t do it, I never could have. I froze up and something made me move and do all that. Plus I robbed the store! The money was scattered from me tossing it back in. The jacket was across on the arm of the chair by the door where I had taken it off. I hadn’t been outside since – scared to be out there. Scared that the police will be here soon. I had tried to watch the news to see what happened, but nothing was said about the murder/robbery. It would all have been in my head, except for the memory…

… and the blood on my knife. I had tossed it by the body of the clerk. All I had left was the pocketknife and I had hidden it up in the attic access from the hall closet. No way I wanted it around on me in case that happened again. I wanted nothing to do with knives no more – they were trouble if I were to have another fit like that one.

I dozed off as the hour got later. A police cruiser drove by flashing his spotlight along the front of the house, but I was asleep and didn’t even notice. The car never stopped, continuing his tour of the neighborhood. I drifted deeper into the void.

Feel the power yet?

I jumped. I swear I jumped awake, but it was dark all around me. I swept out my arms feeling for anything solid. I kicked my leg thinking the coffee table had to be about there. ‘What do you want with me?’ I asked, trying to shore up the sound of strength. I began to sweat as no answer came back. I sat down. It wasn’t anything I could thin of that I was sitting on; dirt, grass, tile, wood. There was no feel to it, just solidness.

‘No. I don’t feel any power. Who are you? Why are you bugging me? I am a normal person, and if you don’t –‘ I hear soft maniacal laughing all around me ‘stop it, I am going to turn you in.’ the laughing continues for a moment more, or it seemed like a moment. I still can’t tell time here. Hell, I just want to wake up. A picture flashes before me – or is it in my mind – I can’t tell.

It’s a picture of me leaving the liquor store. You can see the door open, the clerk on the floor, and me taking the knife out of his head. The picture flips to another one. This one I am standing taking cash from the drawer. Everything goes black again. I think to myself how could anyone have taken those pictures? There was no one in the store, no one outside. I start shaking.

Get ready. The next step is coming.

‘Next step? I said I wasn’t going to do anything more with you.’ The pictures flash again in my head. ‘Why me? Can’t you just leave me alone?’

Suddenly there is a bright light and I startle awake. As I sit up, I see someone has turned on the living room light.

“Who’s there?” I yell as I reach for the knife at my belt. My hand felt nothing – I forgot I tossed it with the body.

“Just me, Hun,” says my wife. “You need to clean up that mess you left form the weekend while I was at Mother’s. Why are you all sweaty? Catching Cold?”

I glance at her concerned face from the doorway. “Naw, just a little fever I was getting over. I’ll clean this up later. I am going to bed.”

“Be up in a bit then. Take a good hot shower before you get into bed.”

“ – and the high today is going to be around 36 degrees. More snow expected tonight, expect about 3 or-“ I hit snooze. I roll over, but the wife has already left for work. I know the kids are still at her mother’s while on break.

Get up. We need to go.

Not the voice again. I think no way am I doing anything with that voice. I head to the bathroom and turn on the hot water. While it is running I am taking care of other morning chores. When I turn back, it is steaming. I add some cold water and rinse my face. Here comes the shave gel, and I pick up my razor. As I lift it to my neck, my arm suddenly stiffens and the razor digs into the skin. I try to move but can’t.

Get moving. We need to go.

At that suddenly I am released and bend over the sink. I look back into the mirror. There was no one behind me the whole time. I look at my neck. It is dripping blood where the razor had nicked. I am wondering what is this Voice thing that can do this shit to me.

I wipe off my face, not bothering to shave, head back the bedroom and put on some clothes. I slowly descend the stairs, thinking every minute I am suddenly going to fall and die. At that thought, I hear some soft laughing in my head. That’s it. I am going crazy. I am going to call the doctor and make an appointment.

I make a quick egg sandwich and reach for the phone to call my doctor. With the phone to my ear I reach for the phone book, but stoop when I realize there is no dial tone. I click the receiver a few times. Nothing. I hang it back up thinking the snow must have knocked the phone lines out. I grab my jacket, figuring to walk a few blocks to the store and calling from a payphone. As I start for the front door, the phone rings. I stare at it. No way, what are the chances?

I open the door, walk through, and shut it. As I am making sure it is locked, the phone keeps its shrill ringing. I turn to the front walk and try to think how to get a hold of my doctor. I head in the direction to down town, not really paying attention and turning when I get the mental urge to do so. This way looks familiar. It is! The liquor store is around the next corner. I don’t want to t see it!! I try to walk past the next street without looking or turning; against my will my body turns and walks towards the store.

I glance up quickly, and see the yellow crime scene tape across the doorway. I look down at my feet and keep walking. I hear a door open and some one walk out. I stop and turn back to look again. No tape. Someone had just walked out carrying a bag and was headed for their car. Light is coming from the window. Again my body is turned away and the walking continues.

What is going on? Did that happen? There was blood on my knife, I know that. That is why I hid them. My hand grasps my belt. Wait – no, nothing there. I stick my hand in my jacket pocket, and grasp something chilly. I pull it out and it is my yellow pocketknife. But I don’t remember getting it out of hiding. I really need to get to my doctor, or someone.

My mind is reeling and I have no idea how far I have walked. I find myself in an alley, and there is a brown car up ahead. A 4-door, older model. I am so cold I just want to get warm. The front door is locked, but the back door isn’t so I climb in and stretch out best I can on the seat. Someone had just been in here because the residual heat was still good. I lean back to rest for a moment and fall asleep.