The Realm of Realism

by R M Gauthier

  Aaron’s eyes snap open, and he glances around the room spotting his mother picking up articles of clothing and other debris from the floor.

  “Mom?” he attempts to say, but his voice is dry from sleep.

  His mother stops her movements and stares at her son.

  “You okay, Sweetie?” she bids.

  “I’m great.” A smile slowly appears on his lips for a moment, before he frowns. “Did you go somewhere, Mom?”

  “No. Why?” Her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

  Aaron thinks for a moment, trying to remember his dream. He knows it was a nightmare, but can only remember pieces.

  “Nothing,” he replies, as he plasters a fake smile on his features. “Just a bad dream,” he whispers.

  “Well, you’d better get up. Your appointment with Dr. Swanson is in an hour.”

  His mother wanders to the door, exits but turns around and glances at Aaron.

  “You sure you’re okay?” she probes.

  “Yeah, Ma. I’m fine.” Aaron flips off the comforter and swings his legs over the side of the bed as he sits up.

  “Okay,” his mother replies, then turns and walks out of sight.

  Aaron runs his hand through his hair as he concentrates on remembering last night. Try and try as he might, he’s still only getting strange visions, pieces really that don’t make any sense.

  He stands from the bed, goes to his dresser and stares at the mirror that sits on top of the wooden structure. The face staring back at him is unrecognizable. No wonder his mother keeps asking him if he’s all right. He looks like hell—Hell or Heaven—he knows something about them, but can’t remember.

  21

  Dr. Swanson sits back in his chair, a serious expression on his face as he considers what Aaron is sharing with him. It’s difficult to understand what the young man is revealing. Angels, heaven, hell are words being flung around during all of their sessions. The doctor has always been a man of science. Sure, he was raised under the veil of Catholicism, but once he was old enough to reason for himself, he questioned all his beliefs. Especially, once he entered college. He became a man of science, where religion no longer had a place in his life. Now, he wishes he listened closer to what the priests said about angels and heaven. It’d be a lot easier dealing with Aaron.

  “So, these angels are trying to teach you something?” Dr. Swanson queries.

  “I think so.” He shifts uncomfortably on his chair. “Or—” He quits talking.

  Dr. Swanson waits for a response but when it appears Aaron will not be forthcoming, he nudges him. “Or?”

  “Or, they’re trying to tell me something. Again, I have no idea.” Aaron gives the doctor a pleading glance. “Or, maybe I’m just crazy. What do you think, Doc?”

  “Well, we don’t like to use that term when it comes to our patients. But no, I don’t think you are. I think you believe everything.” He leans forward in his chair. “Now, we have to figure out what is happening to you and why.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “Oh, it won’t be easy. But, we’ll figure it out,” Dr. Swanson reassures.

  “Wish I had your confidence. One minute I think I’m crazy, the next I think it’s all real.”

  Aaron huffs, gets up from the chair and walks to the window to peer out. “This whole thing is starting to interfere with my life. I’m not sure what to do, doc.”

  He continues to stare out the window for a moment before turning back. “How do I handle this? I’m so tired, but I sleep all the time. I don’t get enough to eat. And work—forget about it. Tell me what to do.”

  “Well Aaron, we could put you somewhere safe. Somewhere you can get some rest—”

  “You mean a mental hospital?” Aaron blurts out, astonished. He didn’t think it had gone this far.

  “A recovery center, Aaron. It’s a controlled environment where you can rest and work through this trauma you’ve been suffering.”

  Aaron turns to look at him. “That’s the thing, Doc. I didn’t suffer any trauma, so why is this happening?”

  “I don’t know, Aaron. But, let me help you figure it out,” Dr. Swanson offers.

  Aaron stares at the Doctor as he considers his options.

  “Fine. When would this happen?” Aaron probes.

  “The sooner the better,” Dr. Swanson replies, then picks up his phone and dials a number.

  Aaron turns back to the window and stares out at the city street below. His mind scrambles with all the thoughts coursing through his brain. He’s not sure how he’ll tell his mother, or friends—work. How would he explain this to the guys at work? The longer he stands gazing out the window, the more his thoughts are turning against the idea. Dr. Swanson’s voice pulls him from his thoughts.

  “You’re all set Aaron. They’ll be expecting you first thing in the morning.” The doctor stands and makes his way around the desk. “That’ll give you time to make arrangements and such.” Dr. Swanson places a calming hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “I think this will help you a lot.”

  “Okay,” Aaron agrees, reluctantly.

  “We’ll meet here and go over together. Will your mother be coming?” Dr. Swanson enquires.

  “Oh, I’m sure she’ll want to be here,” Aaron replies.

  “Good. The more support you have the better.” Dr. Swanson walks to the door to the office, and swings it open holding it for Aaron.

  Aaron walks through to the outer office.

  “Go home, get a good night’s sleep. The hard work begins tomorrow.”

  “I will. Thanks, Doc,” Aaron responds as he disappears out the office door.

  Aaron arrives home to an empty house, thanking the Lord that his mother is out. He still hasn’t worked out how to explain this to her. A recovery center. It sounds more like an addiction center than a place to help him deal with angels. He goes straight to his room and flops down on his bed. He’ll have to call work, but what excuse will he use? This is all becoming too complicated. Perhaps, he should just cancel.

  He’s already missed so much time, but he feels this would be a better option than having another breakdown on stage. His last performance wasn’t exactly drama-free. Luckily, no one really noticed anything amiss because it was subtle. But, what will happen if it’s not so elusive the next time? He’d hate to have a complete breakdown so publicly. He’s not sure his career could recover from something like that.

  As Aaron lays on his bed thinking of all the things he’ll have to do, as another thought drifts through his mind. He sits at attention and grabs the wooden box that had been abandoned on the floor long ago. He places it in front of him and opens the lid. He reaches in, pulling out all the papers and spreading them across his bed.

  He gives the documents a quick glance, then picks up one and begins reading it. It’s about a magician from the early 1900’s named Sigmund Neuberger who was the highest paid magician of his time. During the opening night of his show, May 9, 1911, a fire broke out during the performance of his trick, “The Lion’s Bride.” Fortunately, Sigmund made it out of the building, but a horse he used in his show was still inside. Being an enthusiastic animal lover, he ran back to rescue the horse. He never emerged from the building.

  Aaron places the document aside and grabs another one.

  Royden Joseph Gilbert Raison de la Genesta, had a signature trick called “The Milk Can Escape.” In 1930, during his performance and unbeknownst to him, the milk can was dented. This prevented him from being able to maneuver around inside in order to escape resulting in death by drowning.

  Aaron drops that paper and picks up the next.

  Washington Irving Bishop was a mentalist who collapsed during a performance on May 9, 1889. He suffered from catalepsy which causes someone to fall into a comatose-like state. His family didn’t believe he actually died until the autopsy was performed.

  As Aaron read these accounts of magicians, he finds the incidents a little unnerving. He’s never performed most of these tricks,
but he can’t say he hasn’t thought of doing at least one of these death-defying feats. He picks up the next article and begins reading.

  This article depicts the story of Joseph Burrus known as “Amazing Joe,” who on Halloween night in 1992, attempted Harry Houdini’s buried alive stunt, which killed Houdini almost sixty years prior. Unfortunately, for Amazing Joe the same fate awaited him when the dirt and concrete used to bury his coffin collapsed on top of him and he was crushed to death.

  Aaron drops the article and glances up at the ceiling. He’d heard all the legends before. The sacrifices past magicians have made for their craft was nothing new to him, but had taken on new meaning. Now, he wonders if any of them had a choice. Were their deaths the result of Azrael attempting to escape? It can’t be. There are no angels.

  He gathers the papers, places them back in the box and slams the lid closed. Tomorrow he’ll enter the center and they’ll fix whatever broke in his brain because surely something has snapped, and he can no longer think rationally.

  He hears the front door slam shut upstairs and glances at the ceiling. He takes a deep breath, places the box on the floor and gets up from the bed.

  He decides it’s time to have a talk with his mother. He grabs the door handle, but before he can turn it and swing the door open, his world turns black as he collapses to the floor.

  22

  Aaron opens his eyes, his mind a hazy fog of confusion. Once again, he’s flat on his back as he glances up, seeing the misty forest surrounding him. He moans as he shifts to a sitting position, giving the area a once-over, recognition dawning on him immediately.

  “For crying out loud,” Aaron scowls as he scrambles to his feet.

  He brushes off his backside, then turns in a circle his gaze shifting around wildly.

  “Where are you?” he shouts.

  His listens intently for any sign of Azrael.

  “I know you’re here. Come out, now.” Aaron demands.

  A black mist swirls around the space to his right.

  Aaron stares at the mysterious mass, waiting for Azrael to make his grand entrance. It’s nothing Aaron hasn’t seen before, so he’s not surprised, and he rolls his eyes over Azrael’s dramatics.

  Azrael steps through the thick mist finally revealing himself.

  “Must you be so theatrical?” Aaron snaps.

  “Yes. It’s in my nature.” Azrael smirks and waggles his eyebrows.

  “You can send me back. I won’t be helping you,” Aaron retorts, ignoring Azrael’s remarks.

  Azrael loses his smirk and takes on a more serious demeanor.

  “You don’t have a choice.” Azrael steps in front of Aaron, using his height to intimidate him.

  Aaron stares up at Azrael with a gleam in his eye.

  “I believe I do have a choice,” Aaron challenges.

  “Who told you that? The altruistic twins?” Azrael counters.

  “No. It’s common knowledge humans have free will,” Aaron declares.

  Azrael looks closely, carefully into Aaron’s eyes for any sign of uncertainty, but spots none. Then he bursts out laughing. A full-on, bend-at-the-waist, hysterical laugh.

  Aaron crosses his arms over his chest, anger seeping from his pores.

  After Azrael’s laughter subsides, he returns to his full height and stares down at Aaron.

  “Aaron,” he addresses as he places a hand on his shoulder. “I love how you humans believe that. I’m not sure how those myths started, but it’s always amazes me how your kind falls for them and for so long, too.”

  Aaron’s anger intensifies.

  “I know what you’re doing,” he replies, striking his finger into Azrael’s chest. “You’re trying to trick me.”

  “There’s no tricks, no magic, Aaron. It’s just the right thing to do,” Azrael responds.

  “I don’t believe you,” Aaron bristles, then turns his back on Azrael. “Nevaeh, Fallen,” he calls out.

  Azrael watches Aaron in amusement.

  When nothing happens, Aaron tries again. “Nevaeh, Fallen. I need help,” he shouts louder.

  Once again, Azrael starts laughing, which aggravates Aaron even more. He spins around ready to face off with the angel/demon, whatever classification suits him best. At this point, Aaron believes it’s the latter.

  “They’re not going to help you,” Azrael informs in between the laughter.

  “They will,” Aaron insists.

  Azrael’s laughter comes to a halt, the smile fading from his lips as he stares sympathetically at Aaron.

  “It’s not what they do,” Azrael whispers.

  Aaron’s expression turns confused. “Of course, they’ll help me. They’re angels. It’s their job.”

  Azrael shakes his head. “I can’t believe you humans still believe that.”

  “Ugh,” Aaron throws his hands up and walks away again, toward the misty forest. “Where are you two? I need you two. Now,” he shouts.

  Azrael watches Aaron wander into the dense forest. He runs his hand through his hair as he thinks about how to turn this situation around. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to convince the boy to help him, but he never thought it would be so hard dealing with this species again. The lies, traditions and beliefs are hard to untangle. Humans really are slow learners.

  “Caleb,” Azrael calls.

  A bright light appears in the clearing.

  Aaron turns around to head back and quickens his pace, heading back hoping, beyond hope it’s Nevaeh coming to help him. He stops dead in his tracks as Caleb appears through the bright light. His chest tightens when he spots the angel and releases a breath of air, he didn’t realize he was holding, glad it isn’t Mazereth, still not happy.

  “What now, Azrael?” Caleb solicits, aggravated at being disturbed.

  “Fix it.” Azrael waves his hand toward Aaron.

  Caleb glances at Aaron, then turns a fierce glare on Azrael.

  “Fix what?” he enquires.

  “Him.” Azrael glances at Aaron and waves his hand in his direction more dramatically this time around. “Fix him.” His glare shifts back to Caleb.

  Caleb stares at Aaron.

  Aaron shrinks back under the scrutiny.

  “What’s the problem?” Caleb inquires.

  “He’s stupid,” Azrael snaps.

  “I’m not stupid,” Aaron protests.

  “Yes, you are.” Azrael fixes him with a glare. He turns his vicious scowl to Caleb. “Fix him,” he demands.

  Caleb stares blankly at him.

  “He believes all that human crap. Fix him.” He points at Aaron.

  “That’s not what I do, Azrael, and you know it.”

  “You can fix his mind,” Azrael commands.

  “No. I can’t. You need Mazereth for that,” Caleb answers, his gaze back on Aaron.

  Aaron turns once more and walks away.

  “What’s his problem?” Caleb whispers.

  “He thinks he has free will,” Azrael proclaims.

  “I see,” Caleb watches Aaron’s retreating form. “Did you try being nice?”

  Azrael’s head snaps to Caleb. “What?”

  “Nice, Azrael. Were you nice to him?” Caleb glances at Azrael and scrutinizes his expression. “I see.”

  “What?” Azrael snaps.

  “Azrael, if you want humans to do your bidding, you’ll need to give them a reason to do it,” Caleb explains. “You can’t just demand it.”

  “That’s why you’re here. Fix it,” he persists.

  “I can’t just fix it. Go after him.” He waves a hand in the direction Aaron headed. “And be nice.”

  Azrael moans, then walks in long quick strides toward Aaron.

  23

  Aaron picks up his pace when he hears footsteps coming up behind him. He’s upset that Nevaeh or Fallen have not bothered to come and help him. He just wants to return home, go to the center in the morning and get better— swiftly. He’s had enough. Enough of these delusions, enough of angels and positivel
y enough of feeling crazy all the time. He just wants to be normal again.

  His strides become faster as he strides through the dark forest, looking for an escape route, as doubt creeps through every pore of his skin. If he’s dreaming, he’d like to wake up. If he’s dead, he prays this isn’t heaven. He wonders if this is purgatory. He’s not a religious person by any means, but he has heard about that specific belief. He’s never been one to put much stock in religious convictions or beliefs, but he’s rethinking his viewpoint as his feet carry him away from the angel chasing him.

  “Aaron,” Azrael calls out. “Stop,” Azrael pleads.

  Aaron continues as if he doesn’t hear him.

  “Aaron.” Azrael reaches out a hand toward Aaron, but thinks better of it and pulls it back. “Please. Just wait.”

  Aaron halts his steps as he hears Azrael fall into step directly behind him.

  “What do you want?” Aaron snaps.

  “I’m…” Azrael clears his throat as he struggles with the next word. “Sorry.”

  Aaron whips around to face Azrael.

  “Bullshit,” he yells. “You’re not sorry at all. If you…” he jabs his pointer finger against Azrael’s chest. “…were sorry, you’d stop harassing me.”

  “I wish I could, but I need your help,” Azrael explains.

  “No,” Aaron snaps. “I’m not helping you with anything.” Aaron spins around and walks away, calling out over his shoulder as he goes. “Leave me alone.”

  “Damn it.” Azrael throws his hands up in the air.

  “That was a little better, but watch a pro go to work,” Caleb says with a smirk as he strolls past Azrael.

  Caleb’s pace quickens as he falls into stride beside Aaron.

  Aaron ignores him as his gaze shifts from left to right repeatedly, seeking a way out of this forest because he knows there must be one—somewhere.

  “Aaron, can we talk for a minute?” Caleb begins.

  “No,” Aaron snaps. “You guys have said enough. I’m not falling for anything more. Leave. Me. Alone.”