(Untitled Book) Chapter 4

He flipped the covers off and sat up on the edge of the bed, his head cradled in his hands. Moonlight flickered through the curtains as a soft breeze whispered into the room. A faint scent of desert foliage drifted on the breeze, hinting at another end of a day being scorched by a relentless sun. The man rubbed his face, then stood and headed into the bathroom.

A scream broke the stillness of the night, and suddenly the man was at the window, peering out from against the frame. A pistol was in hand as his eyes fervently gazed at the scene outside. A lightning bolt lit up the desert off in the distance, and in its glare he saw the coyote standing, staring in his direction. For a moment, it looked to be a standoff, but without a sound the coyote turned, tucked tail and ran.

Quickly, with as little sound as possible, the man pulled on his jeans and slipped some shoes onto his feet. At the room’s only door, he listened with an ear to the door, and reached to the handle. The pistol was now in his hand again as he swung the door wide open, and leaned to the side. A flashing “VACANCY” sign briefly lit the parking lot where an aging, rusted out station wagon was parked a few doors over. Behind him was a non-descript truck. The man ran back into the room and grabbed a duffle bag, threw on a T-shirt and headed to the truck, digging in his pocket for the keys.

The truck started up filling the night with the sound of tires spinning in loose dirt as the man turned the wheel and headed down the road. There was no other traffic to be seen in either direction. Open desert lined both sides of the road, with mountains in the distance. Off to the right, the lightning storm was still going in full force. To the left, the moon broke through a small scattering of clouds and lit upon the side of the truck.

“Where’s it at?” murmurs the man, glancing ahead on the road. “C’mon. C’mon! It’s here somewhere.”

Suddenly a coyote jumps from the left side of the road, and the man swerves the wheel as he hits the brakes. The truck sloughs off to the right and he corrects the skid just as the truck hits a dirt road.

“Bingo,” he says, a small smile reaching his lips, but his eyes stay cold. He casually wipes the sweat from his forehead with an arm, and settles back to drive for a while.

* * * * *

“The End is near! Repent to your Gods!” yelled the raggedy dressed bum on the corner. I kept my distance from him as I headed down the walk. I made sure I didn’t step in some of the slush the lined the edges of the sidewalks. It had warmed a little over the last few days so it took the bite off the chill, but left messes like the slush. I rushed down the street until I reached the corner store, where I grabbed a coffee and a paper. Without a word exchanged with anyone, I made my way back to the house.

I double-checked the door as it shut to be sure the lock was in place. My wife had left and taken the kids to her parent’s home for an extended visit. She had been gone about a week, though I hardly noticed anymore. Since the voice had started in my head, and I tried to tell her about it, things had just rolled down hill. There was no evidence of the stories I told her, and she thought I need psychiatric help. When I told her about the liquor store clerk, she just looked at me funny. That night she told me she and the kids were going on a trip to her parents, and that I was not welcome to go.

That damn voice. I don’t know what brought it on, or where it came from, but it hadn’t been back since that last episode. For that much I was glad. But still I hardly slept at night, for fear it would return. I jumped at shadows in my peripheral vision; loud noises and dogs barking sent shivers of dread up my spine. I was turning into a basket case. I sat down at the kitchen table and opened the paper.

I never read the paper, before. Now I scan every local article to see if somehow something had happened and that voice controlled me, forcing me to do something I didn’t want to do. Everyday was the same lists of basic crimes, occasionally interrupted by a drive-by shooting, or hit and run accident. I sat back and rubbed he stubble on my face, somewhat relieved at the lack of information I feared. I finished off the coffee and lit up a cigarette.

The smoke curled slowly up into the air from the embers. Hypnotizing, weaving, I stared at it, thinking nothing but the simple wonder at the way it moved.

It’s time. Get ready.

I jerked instantly awake, glancing all around. The cigarette fell on the paper and smoldered. “Christ! Fucking leave me alone! I don’t need this shit,” I yelled hoarsely into the silence. I began to beat my fists against the table. ”Leave me alone!”

Get ready, for it your time to move on and use what I have shown you.

A flash of color runs through my head. Red, no, darker than red, more of a deep maroon. Another quick flash, and I realize it is blood, on my hands. I am standing in a pool of blood that I have no clue of it is mine or someone else’s. Another flash, I see the faces. The faces of people I don’t know, and they all smile at me with bloody grins.

Do as I say, and this won’t happen. Prepare for a trip.

I lay my head down on my arms on the table. I can’t stop the shakes that rip through my body, and barely manage to not puke on myself once I have them under control. As another dry heave racks my body, I realize I have to leave here. But then remember the voice said I had to go on a trip. Like Hell if I was going to obey that voice. I sat up and started to head for the sink when I realized the paper was on fire.

I reached for a hand towel to bat at the flames, which only blew bits of charred paper everywhere. One piece caught on the curtains, and they started flaming. This was too much; I needed to call for the fire department. I ran over to the phone in the next room and dialed 911. Dead silence was all I heard once I had the receiver up to my ear. I tapped the hang up and dialed again – no sounds at all.

You must leave now. Gather what you need and leave. You have nothing here.

I look at the kitchen. The flames are roaring through the room, but somehow have not yet moved out the door or up through the ceiling. I stand and watch it for a minute, trying to think, to figure out what I should do. Finally I give up a loud sigh, and walk back into the kitchen. I grab the first chair I see and sit down. The fire is raging around me and I decide it is time to give up. I feel nothing as the sweat begins to bead on my forehead. I close my eyes and wait.

Saying Goodbye

It was always a weird feeling I got, down in the pit of my stomach, when we would walk through the automatic sliding doors and that first smell of hospital antiseptic hit the nose. Most times I would have to stifle a gag reflex, hidden behind my hand so my step mom wouldn’t see. I would push Katie, my younger half-sister in her stroller down the hall to the elevator. This was how the weekend would start.

Dad was in a room on the 4th floor – back then it was for cancer and mental patients. Offhandedly I always wondered why they would group two way separate types of ailments on the same floor, and came to conclusion because no one wanted to visit either kind of patient. I would get the chance to see Dad for a short while, and then be told to go play in the waiting room until I was sent for. I did a lot of reading back then, heck I had time for nothing else it seemed.

One Saturday, I remember it was in February, we did the normal trip to visit Dad. We walked into his room and he was asleep. My step mom tried to wake him up a couple times, just as a nurse came into the room. Immediately I was told to go to the waiting room. My sister had stayed at home with my step mom’s mother, and I had no book, so I spent what seemed a very long time waiting. Finally, the nurse came in and said I was wanted back in the room. I slowly walked down the hall, wondering what was going on. Things felt different. People were being different.

As I entered the room, my step mom looked up from Dad’s bedside, and I could tell she had been crying. She handed me her calling card, and told me to go call my grandparents (who lived about 2 hours or so from the hospital), and then also gave me some money and told me to wait in the cafeteria until they arrived. Dutifully I did as was asked, and spent the time in the cafeteria. I knew something was wrong, but no one would tell me.

When my grandparents arrived, we went back to the room and that is when we were told. Dad had not awakened that morning, and the doctors said he was in a coma. There was no chance of him reviving out of it, and they could not begin to guess how long he may live. ‘How could this be?’ I was asking myself. Dad was only in here for a blood clot on his knee. ‘What kind of hospital was this?’

Just over a year before, Dad had been in a major operation for a brain tumor. Doctors had estimated the cancer growth to be the size of a grapefruit in his front left temple area. After several hours of surgery, the diagnosis was they had removed what they felt was most of it, but tendrils of cancer were in too deep into healthy brain areas to remove completely. They said he would be lucky to live 6 months, and his speech and mannerisms would be affected. At first, the signs never showed up. Eventually there were some speech issues, and within 6 months, he was paralyzed right side arm & leg. From that point on it was Chemo & radiation treatments that literally would leave him green colored and wiped out. Handful of pills morning and night, 24 hour care needed (which we did in shifts).

Back to that day. Late in the afternoon I was given some time alone with Dad. As a kid, I knew nothing else to do but say I am sorry for all the wrong things I knowingly did and wasn’t caught at; to apologize for anyway I would have let him down; to beg him to just wake up and get better. And lastly that I loved him – something he and I never much said to each other over the years.

My grandparents took me briefly out to dinner – I can’t even remember where. I know between them and my step mom, there were phone calls made that they were trying to keep from my attention. I really didn’t care at that point. I know one call was to my mom, to let her know what was going on and that it didn’t look good. Preparing to get flights for my sister and brother from Phoenix. Everything is mostly gray to my memory right now of how most of the evening went.

I know it was late, past 11:00pm when I started keeping track of the time between breaths. About every 10-15 seconds, there would be a longer gap of time between intakes, until finally he didn’t breathe in again. I remember sitting there, and the tears falling down my face thinking ‘I am so glad he didn’t go hard.’ I don’t think I could have taken it if with that last breath had he gone into seizures, or whatnot.

The few weeks after that are blank. I know there was a funeral, where many of the people Dad had known were there, and talking to me, but I couldn’t tell you more than maybe five of them. Most of them I had never known, or didn’t care to know. My siblings were flown in of course, but I don’t remember spending time with them offhand. It took several weeks before the VA finally got his tombstone in place. Then I was down there at least once a week. The following year I left Frankfort, and have only been back a handful of times. I hope to be back soon to visit again.