Dark Fiction

by David Kempf

  I went for a walk by myself that night. That was not a wise thing to do especially when you go around calling others foolish. I didn’t get to walk very far. I made it to the tip of the ocean. I loved hearing the sounds of the sea to calm me when I felt anxiety or anger. I heard the ocean. I didn’t hear Justin knock me over the top of the head with his gun.

  “Do you know why you’re here?”

  I was hanging upside down in some warehouse. Justin was standing right beside me and he didn’t look happy.

  “You’re here because I’m going to get a taped confession out of you. If you don’t tell the world you’re a fraud, I’m going to cut your ears off. Do you get me? Do we understand each other, psychic scumbag?”

  I asked Ironside how he knew that I was a phony.

  “Well, my first clue was that all psychics are fake or crazy. You aren’t crazy. Secondly, a true psychic would have predicted his own kidnapping. You didn’t! Edward Cleo is a fraud and the world needs to know.”

  He got out his tape recorder and I made my statement. I mean, what choice did I have? This son of a bitch meant business!

  “Come on, scumbag, start talking.”

  I made a statement saying I was a complete and utter fraud. I said that I was just in it for the money and that I was never at any time convinced that I had any psychic abilities whatsoever. This was bad. He then went a little further.

  “Now admit you married that crazy woman because you’re a vain bastard who has to see his face on TV. Admit that you don’t love your wife and I give you my word that I will let you go.”

  What good was his word? The word of a complete lunatic wasn’t worth a whole lot in my book.

  I had to admit even though I didn’t love my wife (at least I don’t think that I did), it was hard to say I didn’t out loud. It was hard to admit my marriage was as phony as my psychic abilities were. I still said it. Justin recorded me saying that I was jealous of her and I wanted to be on TV so bad that I married someone I hated. All this and I hadn’t even been on TV yet. How did Ironside know I was going to be on TV with my wife? Was he….psychic?

  “The talk around town is that the people want you and your wife to share a TV show together. That’s great. We can have the deluded nut and the scumbag phony all on the same show. Imagine the ratings. Think about all the people who would tune in just to make fun of it. People like me who think psychics are dangerous liars. Only, most people would just like to sit back and watch.”

  I told him that I had done everything he asked. He agreed. Justin cut me down.

  “I’m letting you go now. I know that I’m going to end up in jail tomorrow. That’s okay. As long as I get to expose you for what you are, I’ll go to prison for a long time.”

  I felt weak and humiliated. Ironside opened the front door of whatever warehouse we were in. I started to walk slowly towards the door. Suddenly, I heard a very familiar voice.

  “Don’t let him get away. We can’t allow him to release that tape.”

  I didn’t recognize the voice right away but I felt a surge of adrenaline when it spoke to me. The strangest thing was happening to me. I was no longer afraid my kidnapper. I rushed towards him with all my strength.

  “Cleo, what the hell are you doing?’

  Justin wanted to pull a knife on me but I had already grabbed his gun from his back pocket. I knocked him over the head with it just like he did to me. It was exhilarating! I took the tape that could have potentially ruined my career. Then I called the police. My lovely psychic wife was worried sick when I got home.

  “Edward, what happened? Are you all right?”

  I told her about my ordeal, my kidnapping. She was obviously very relieved I was okay.

  “We have to get you to a hospital.”

  I told her that I agreed. Then I said that I was happy to be alive.

  “How did you escape from him, Edward?”

  I couldn’t just tell her that he let me go over some stupid tape. So I told her a lie. Well, not exactly; I really did hear a voice.

  “Did you recognize the voice right away?”

  No. I told her I did not.

  “Was it the voice of one of the murder victims of the families you helped?”

  No. Wow. No!

  “Who was this mysterious voice?”

  I thought about it over and over again. Then the strangest thing happened. I remembered whose voice it was. It was my grandfather’s voice. My grandfather died four years ago, so he shouldn’t be saying much these days.

  It didn’t take me long to recover. I was on TV before too long. It was really great, too. I have to say that I think it was even better than I thought it was going to be. The live audience was thrilling. I think maybe the best part was just the huge thunderous applause at the end of each show’s taping. The show was now called “Talking to the Dead with Jenny and Ed.”

  The people never stopped coming. They never stopped asking questions about their deceased loved ones. I had to stay away from some of the more controversial answers like so and so is in Heaven or Hell! I also wasn’t big on saying someone’s spirit was still with us and would continue to haunt their loved ones for generations to come. Nope. Keep it simple was always my motto. I was a great cold reader. Maybe the best there was. What’s cold reading? Well, it’s like guessing but with a lot more style and talent involved.

  “I’ve experienced a great loss,” said the woman in Row B.

  I asked her if it was someone close to her.

  “Yes.”

  She was about late thirties or early forties.

  “It was someone close to me. She was very dear to me.”

  Now we were getting somewhere.

  “I hate to cry on TV, but I’m still devastated.”

  I told her that her grandmother was in a safe and happy place now.

  “Thank you. How did you know?”

  It was easy enough, I thought. This woman is at the age where people typically lose their grandparents, not their parents. Best cold reader in show business.

  “You’re really coming along with our show, Edward.”

  I told my wife I was flattered by her praise but I really wasn’t. I mean, why was her name first on the credits? I was the one with the real talent.

  “So who was this mysterious voice you heard?”

  I told her it was my grandfather, I thought. I wasn’t really sure because I might have just been traumatized by the kidnapping. Did I really hear his voice?

  “Yes, you did hear my voice,” he said.

  Why are you bothering me now?

  “I’m not here to bother you! I’m here to help you. I have a great plan for your life. You don’t want to end up some old man who worked in a lousy factory your whole life. Do you?”

  I told him no, of course I didn’t.

  “Follow my plan.”

  I humbly explained to him that I was already a famous TV star and author.

  “You are now, but it won’t last.”

  What did he mean that it wouldn’t last?

  “Your wife has already found that tape.”

  I was kidnapped.

  “It doesn’t matter. She’s going to divorce you. Then it will happen this way. People all over the world are going to see you’re nothing but a fraud. Then the lawsuits are going to come. You’re going to file for bankruptcy.”

  God help me, I was going to be penniless.

  “Follow my instructions.”

  I wanted to know what his plan was.

  “I will tell you my plan the next time we speak.”

  I talked to my grandfather. He had a plan for my life. Then I woke up.

  “Edward, you must have had a bad nightmare.”

  The real nightmare took place while I was awake. I opened my safe and my tape wasn’t in it. My own sheer stupidity was driving me insane. Why the hell didn’t I burn it when I had the chance? If I ended up in jail, then I deserved it for being such an imbecile.

  “Honey, I ordered us dinner. Hope y
ou’re in the mood for lobster.”

  How could that two-faced, hypocritical, phony act so damned nice all the time. I mean, she knew I made the tape. She was hiding it somewhere. I couldn’t imagine why she was waiting so long. Jenny had some sort of diabolical plan. That was okay because my grandfather and I had our own plan.

  “I know you like the best, so we will have Maine Lobster.”

  I didn’t care about lobster! I cared about my damned tape! Jenny knew that I had a bad temper but I should have been more careful. Talk about poor judgment. I must have broken twenty expensive things in less than five minutes. I rampaged through everything in a desperate attempt to find my tape.

  “Edward, please calm down. Whatever problems you’re having, we can get you help!

  I didn’t want help. I wanted my damned tape.

  “Edward, let me call your therapist, please.”

  I didn’t need therapy. I needed my damned tape.

  “Edward, where are you going?”

  I couldn’t stay at home with that backstabbing Judas of a wife. So I went for a long, long walk again. This time, since it was the middle of the day, people were having a hard time leaving me alone.

  “Aren’t you Edward Cleo?”

  “My mother died last month. Could you please tell her that I love her?”

  “My dog Barney died a year ago. Could you ask him if it’s okay if we move on and buy another dog now?”

  I think that was my personal favorite. I mean, think about it. Now people believe I can talk to dead pets. Unbelievable!

  “Edward, thank God you’re back. Are you okay?”

  Well, I’m just dandy. Thanks for asking Jenny! I was thinking, of course I’m back. I didn’t get my stupid tape and I just realized I’m too famous to go walking around by myself during the day. I turned in early that night. My grandfather appeared to me in a dream before. I had no reason to assume he wouldn’t come back in the same way.

  “Now do you believe me? Now do you finally realize she’s onto you?”

  Yes. I could always trust my grandfather.

  “You’re going to have to take action soon before it’s too late.”

  Yes. I know.

  “She’s diabolical and cannot be trusted,” said my grandfather.

  I told him that I would do whatever he asked of me.

  “It’s almost time for you to act. You need to do what needs to be done.”

  That’s the kind of guy I’ve always been. The kind that does what is necessary.

  “You’re never going to solve this problem unless you do exactly what I say. I’m not going to tell you to do anything that doesn’t need to be done.”

  I knew Grandfather was going to give me good advice.

  “I think we both know what you have to do, Edward.”

  Yes. I knew. I think I always knew what had to be done.

  “You don’t have to make her suffer. This is not some personal vendetta. This is just beating her to the punch. Don’t let her run your life!”

  Yes. Why should I be made to suffer? I don’t feel like I did anything so wrong I should be impoverished or end up in jail. Still, perhaps Grandfather was wrong. I could try to talk some sense into Jenny before resorting to violence.

  “Don’t even think about trying to talk her out of anything. She’s going to divorce you. That damned tape is going to expose you for the fraud that you are. You’ll be the laughing stock of show business.”

  I didn’t want to ruin my life but still I thought to myself…am I really capable of murdering my wife?

  “Listen, boy. You don’t want to go to jail. Do you know what will happen to someone like you in jail?”

  Hopefully, my celebrity status would keep me out of a real prison.

  “No. You would end up in real prison. Don’t make me say what those animals would do to you in federal prison. It’s unspeakable what they would do.”

  That settled the issue for me. Grandfather always had a way to make sure I knew the truth of my circumstances. I would kill my wife, but how?

  “I would make it look like an accident. You can make it simple. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

  Poison would be a good option. I could poison her.

  “That’s a terrific idea. I would recommend using rat poison.”

  Yes. That would be simple enough and it would be a nice, quick death for my beloved Jenny.

  “I would just bake her cake. Sprinkle just enough on top of it to do her in. Don’t overdo it, since you don’t want to get caught.”

  Yes. This plan was really beginning to come together.

  “I wouldn’t wait too long.”

  He was right. I asked him if he wouldn’t wait too long because she was out to get me as soon as she knew she could. Grandfather didn’t think so.

  “I don’t want you to get all sentimental and attached to her. If you start thinking about ramifications of murdering your wife, you won’t do it.”

  He was right, of course. I mean, what kind of man kills his wife? I know that I truly hated her at times. Still, she was my wife. It may have started out as a jealousy thing, but she still provided my life and career with a lot of good things.

  “You deserve a show of your own and you know it. The only way to get it is to go out there and get it yourself. No one is going to just give it to you. That’s not the way life works. Hell, that’s not even the way the afterlife works!”

  I didn’t have to question him. Grandfather was always right. He was always my friend and mentor. Much more so than my own father ever was! Now that he was dead, I trusted him more than ever!

  My beloved wife was sound asleep when I woke up. I watched her for the longest time. It must have been an hour or so. The thing was that I wanted to see the expression on her face. I mean, did she look guilty or innocent? It was really hard to tell at this point. She could have been guilty or innocent. The one thing I wasn’t going to do was take chances. If my grandfather told me she was going to betray me, I had to believe him. I just figured the dead always knew more than the living.

  “Edward, are you okay?”

  She woke up and I had to reassure her everything was just fine.

  “What a beautiful morning, Edward.”

  I told my beloved that I agreed and that today was going to be special.

  “I’m so glad you calmed down. I was really worried about you, sweetheart.”

  The only thing I could think to say was that I wanted to bake a cake. First, I had to go to the store. I needed some special ingredients.

  “Well, honey, you go the store and get anything you want. Watch out for obsessive fans. They may want to find out what your secret recipe is.”

  I certainly hoped no one was going to find out my special ingredient for this love cake. The ease with which I purchased the rat poison with the rest of the ingredients cannot be overstated. It was real easy. The flour, icing and the rest weren’t any easier to purchase than the poison. I mean, it was unbelievable. They register guns. Why the hell don’t they register rat poison?

  There wasn’t anything especially dramatic in my wife’s death. We had dinner and then for dessert I had already made my special cake. What made it special is that my wife fell on the floor foaming at the mouth after one bite. I called 911 and reported that my wife must have suffered some sort of stroke. Jenny was already dead when the ambulance arrived.

  “We’re so sorry for your loss,” said the funeral director.

  I explained to him that it was all for the best. There must have been a grand plan for this. Besides, I could talk to dead people now. I could just have a little chat with her and make sure there were no hard feelings.

  “I guess it’s your TV show now, Mr. Cleo,” said the funeral director.

  Yes. I was going to have my own TV show now. That was the real grand plan. Unfortunately, I knew Jenny was going to steal my thunder for at least a week. Dead celebrities are hard to compete with.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Edward,” said
my producer.

  I had to pretend I was devastated. Her funeral was, of course, covered on national television. It was time to put my mourning face on and leave my shadow self behind.

  The entire tragedy was over with before I knew it. Jenny was buried and I got a lot of fan mail. Some of it was nasty. About a thousand or so letters asked me how I felt now that someone I loved was gone. Would I pay with money I don’t have to have another charlatan pretend to talk to Jenny? The letters poured in the first week and then dramatically decreased the next week.

  I was ready to move on now. It was time. I mean, you have to admit that it’s pretty horrible when you have to pretend to mourn for someone. Especially someone who was just holding you back!

  “Edward, I would like to talk to your dead wife,” said the man in the front row.

  I told him that she had just recently died. How could I get in contact with someone who was just beginning to understand the afterlife? Next question, please.

  “I have the same question as the last man. Could you contact your wife and then have her talk to my wife? My wife was a big fan of hers and she passed away about a year ago.”

  This was getting ridiculous.

  “When can we hear what Jenny has to say?” asked another woman.

  I just told them that this was a complicated issue. Then I said that I might have some problems because I was too attached to the deceased in this particular case.

  “We miss Jenny,” said another fool in the crowd.

  I was beginning to feel like some stupid sidekick. I mean, think about it. I was an excellent host. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know all the little tricks and how to manipulate people. I wasn’t a bad psychic. Why did this moronic audience prefer my dead wife as a host over me?