"Dont writ so fast"
"I'm sorry, Tom."
Outside, the moon shone with its full intensity, but still the light was petty.
"Dis afternoon I saw things"
"During nap time?" Amelia guessed. A conversation through the keyboard was one of the most exasperating things in this world.
"How do yu now" Tom knew that every sentence was capitalized. That was fine.
"Because I know you, Tom. You like sleeping like a bear, and more in this heat. Phew!" He seemed to hear his Cousin Amelia's voice for a moment.
"he he he" Tom wrote a virtual chuckle.
"Tell me, Tom, what was the nightmare about?"
"Ther wer many peeple" his fingers froze for a moment and he corrected. “In the dreem, it was just one. Very bad. But I saw mor thins" Again there was a virtual silence. “I cant explein wel"
"Well, I understand you have more nightmares and you see things, maybe a lot of things. What are they exactly?"
"A nife, a stik, my momas pantis, dead cats"
"Oh!"
"Theyre like memrys"
"Memories?"
"Yes"
"You remember things, okay. Ammm..." This time there was a virtual silence at the other end of the communication, but she returned. You see things that happen to you, or you think they happen to you, and that scares you. Is it so?"
"Mor or less, cosin"
"All right. Are you taking the treatment?"
Tom nodded, thinking that she would see him through the wires and the computer screen. Then, he wrote it.
"Yes. All"
"Maybe you're getting worse for some reason. I would talk to your mother and visit the psychiatrist again. You may get a higher dose or another psychotic medication, a better one."
"No. Moma no. She hit me mush. She yells mush"
"I know. And are you afraid of those things that you see or remember?"
"Yes. Alot"
What Tom did not know was Chumy's fate, his neighbor's cat, would happen that night.
83
Chumy escaped again when Samantha got distracted closing all the windows and doors of the house. It had been an oversight, and Chumy had gone to the adventure like the day before, just like that, and Samantha saw nothing strange that night, even in the absence of the cat. She had thought only once of the animal and thought that perhaps he would be coiled somewhere in the huge house. Yes, somewhere where she could not see him. Chumy was quite independent and managed on his own to enjoy his freedom, except when he was hungry. But now Chumy was out of the house and was going to jump the fence between the two gardens, or rather between the Candrall's garden area and the Rush's dirt area. The cat had all night to stay awake scratching everything he could. He could go after some rat in that place. In Tom's house. Or maybe they were going to chase after him? Animal instinct did not allow him to predict his future. And it happened...
84
Tom changed to Charlie's identity, then Jack's, then returned to Charlie's, and finally had a transformation of each of them. It all happened as he hid his little eyes behind his glasses. It was something unheard of in medicine. But Justin, the most terrifying identity yet to be shown, was about to make an appearance. And it would be such an appearance. It was not long before things started to get worse, and they happened one after another like a chain of uncontrollable explosions.
Justin.
85
The kitten jumped in through the open window of the living room. Stella was sprawled on the floor, holding the bottle. She drank straight from the bottle; she said that way her throat felt fresher. She was conscious despite her drunkenness. Her vision was blurry, but she saw the cat come in through the window. It was a gray cat with short hair and deep green eyes. She saw the color of its eyes when the animal's nose touched Stella's nose and a pink, rough tongue licked her upper lip.
"Fuck, a cat... the neighbor's cat" she muttered as she stood up slowly.
The cat jumped on the couch and thence to the floor. Then it saw something that stopped it with frightful rapidity. It had frozen. Its claws began to come out of the short hair of its paws, and its hair came out bristled. Its tail was pointed toward the ceiling, straight. Its green eyes narrowed and its snout twitched.
"Come here, bad kitty. Come here" said Charlie, dreadfully approaching the animal that stood still, in a defense position, bristling.
"Damn, Tom!" Momma said, sitting on the floor. “How many characters do you become?"
There was no answer.
Charlie had a large knife clutched in his right hand while his left hand was raised in the air, moving his fingers.
"Come on! Fucking kitten, come here!"
And he came closer.
The dim electric light showed the animal bristling more and more, arching its back. Now it seemed like it was levitating. If at any time it had the ability to think, it must have wondered who the hell this guy was, who was playing with him the day before. But cats did not think, only calculated.
Charlie suddenly gave way to William.
"Oh! Gross! Cat hairs. It gives me dermatitis" he said in a soft, feminine voice, and his eyes shone different from Charlie’s. He looked at his hand and saw the huge knife he held. As if it were a nettle or even worse, a snake, he dropped it to the ground. It made a metallic blow noise and a couple of dry clacks before staying inert on the ground. "Oh my God! What is this?"
"Damn, how many personalities do you have, son of a bitch?" His mother moaned from the floor, leaning on both her immensely thin arms.
Now Tom was Jack.
"Fucking cat. I'm going to kick you so hard I'll throw you out the window like a missile..."
"Tom!"
"And you, old one. Why are you calling me Tom?" He struck his chest with a clenched fist and added "I'm Jack, old woman."
"Son" a forced tear came out from one of Stella's yellow eyes. Now she was holding her hand up.
The animal was still alert, bristling, and began to huff with a deep, low whistle.
Jack glanced idly at the knife on the floor. He bent to pick it up and held it in one hand as he got up.
"This will be useful..."
But Jack disappeared, and Charlie appeared again as if by magic. It was as if he was acting in a play. There was nothing about Tom in his eyes.
"Kittyyyyy..."
With his eyes shining alarmingly, he charged towards the animal, holding the huge knife.
Stella covered her eyes with one of her hands, but somehow she knew the cat had jumped with its nails spread.
86
The next day, before Samantha's phone rang, she saw the ghoulish discovery at her door. Chumy was nailed on it with the huge knife. Dried blood covered part of the door's wood. His mouth was open and his sharp teeth showed. His green eyes had remained open as if he were looking at her with a furious expression. Samantha screamed and screamed until her throat hurt and she felt a hoarseness with a bitter taste. The tragedy had begun and would get worse from now on. For a moment, panic gripped her in the most absolute manifestation that froze her brain and left her unable to think.
But she managed to call the local police.
87
Stella was spying from the living room window with half the curtain tossed, watching the entire scene full of policemen. She saw the cat stuck in the door, as she saw the night before Tom's blood stained hands once more.
88
He woke up because of his mother's cry and the first thing he saw was the blood in his hands. Horrified, Tom crouched on the bed. A huge ass was now the scene of Stella's vision, who stifled a grimace by bringing her fist to her mouth.
"You've done it again!" Said a Stella with a hangover. But being drunk, she had seen him come home with bloodstained hands.
"Bluh... blood" Tom muttered, alarmed and with one of his palms open, looking into her eyes instead of his palm.
"Yes! Blood! You fucking son of a bitch! Where the hell did you get that hobby for nailing cats on doors?" Ste
lla was hysterical, and her voice was furious. The police are in the Candrall's house, you faggot! Sheriff Coleman is out there and has looked for a long time at our house. You know?"
"Blooood..." Tom kept moaning now, looking at the palm of his other hand. His eyes began to cloud.
"You killed the neighbor's cat!"
"Cuh... cat"
Now Tom was whimpering, sitting on the edge of his bed. The mattress gave way like a sandwich squeezed by huge hands.
Stella, shivering and bawling at the top of her lungs, was still clinging to the jamb of the door with her white disheveled hair. She dared not take a step inside her son's room.
Suddenly Tom had several fleeting memories of things. Bad things. They were things that his identities did.
89
"We'll look at the knife's footprints" Sheriff Coleman said in a low voice and with a toothpick moving between his teeth, but by the time they discovered it, it was too late.
The end.
Justin
90
Samantha was whimpering and tears burned as they brushed against her cheeks. For the first time in her life she felt fear, terror, and panic in equal parts. Her trembling hand held the mobile phone to her ear.
"Dad, they killed Chumy..."
"How? What...?" Louis's voice sounded rather altered, and Samantha could see him in the distance with his wrinkled face and amazement drawn on it.
"They killed him with a knife..."
"What? Who has capable to do that barbarity?"
"He was nailed to the entrance door."
"Fuck!" A low, husky voice screeched on the loudspeaker of Samantha's cell phone.
"Dad" she paused, then broke into her broken voice. “I’m scared."
Louis immediately heard his daughter's uncontrollable cry and became more furious. He thought of Tony.
"Daughter, Tony will have a small operation with a catheter the day after tomorrow. With any luck, I'll be there tomorrow or maybe tonight, and you'll come with me. Have you called the police?"
Samantha nodded, thinking for a moment that her father was looking at her. She knew that he had received an image of her nodding, somehow...
"Ok, dad."
"Meanwhile, don't open the door to anyone" her father suggested. “Even the police."
"Police have been here." Remembering Chumy again in that awful position, pierced by a huge knife that shone under the rays of the sun, she burst into tears again, but in fear.
"All right. Do they suspect someone?"
"No. They're going to try to get the knife prints."
"Oh! All right."
"Dad, I'm very scared..."
"I'll be with you soon, my child."
He did not know at the time that he would be too late. Maybe too late for some things. The day passed as fast as a sigh, and the sun hid as usual behind the mountains in a blazing red atmosphere. Samantha had closed all the windows and doors of the house, even though she knew she would suffocate with heat. She fell asleep exhausted by fear.
91
This was the last conversation Tom had with Amelia, and the police officers had found it on the computer after everything had happened, already within the next day, at dawn. The conversation was transcribed in the police report. Sheriff Coleman had seen worse, but not like this. Or maybe it was worse than he expected? Maybe he had seen different things. A suicide with a hunting shotgun, shot to the head. A husband who smothered his wife with his own hands. A child floating face down on the bottom of a well. Only he knew it. But he never made statements. This time, everything was different. He even came to feel compassion for him.
"Cosin, I m scared"
"Why?"
"Now I remember evrything or almos evrything"
"What do you remember?"
"hands coverd with blod"
"What happened to you?"
"It was mee"
"???"
"I kild it. My hands. Blod."
"Tom. You scare me. Do you see visions?"
"No. They're reel"
Tom already knew in a way that strange things happened to him lately, rare and incomprehensible. He had memories. Short, fuzzy images that crossed his mind like lightning. He had a slight mental retardation, but was aware that something was wrong. Now he knew. He continued to write on the computer with blood-stained fingers that were already dry.
"Tom. It’s their fault."
And Tom looked away from the computer screen to see the arms wriggling in the window. Now he saw them more clearly. They were under the window and came out from the open drawers. There were many purple hands, and in the background he heard a groan, like a hoarse cry, on a continuous basis. It was them. Tom knew they had something to do with him.
"They al are heer"
"Who, Tom?"
"Blood" suddenly Tom came up with fleeting images, but he could see a knife, a roqué mallet, blood, red panties, fear, and sexual desire. He was beginning to have an erection.
"Don't pay attention to that" Amelia said. His words were absurd, and she did not know the reality of Tom. She was obsessed with Tom's mild mental retardation and personality disorders, but not the identity issues. Nobody knows anything, she said when she heard this.
"I see bad thins" the erection turned his virile member into a club. He was thinking about Samantha's naked breasts. Her tits.
"Take the medication, Tom. You'll see how you stop seeing things. Everything is in your mind, and I know that you can..."
"I like it" Tom's plump fingers wrote.
There was a long, ominous silence.
Then the specks of the screen began to move like a wave.
"Tom!"
"I see thins. Im other persons"
"Don't say that, Tom. That can't be real. It's impossible. Your psychiatrist is crazy. Nobody knows anything, Tom."
"I nou"
Tom got new names in his mind like blows and excreted a bitter taste in his throat. The erection dropped instantly. Was he really remembering his other identities? Almost.
"Take care, Tom."
"I think theyr many"
"Tom!"
And Tom turned off, for the first time after a year, the computer screen that faded like the darkness of a bottomless pit. Now it was another object to contemplate with isolated interest and disdain.
Sheriff Coleman would have drawn his conclusions, later, from this strange conversation in which he struggled to decipher Tom's writing. He knew he could not write, but he could not understand anything else.
92
"Af... after thir... thirty comes tuh... twenty"
When he could no longer see the purple arms and the window was closed despite the heat, Tom stuck the last sticky snot on the dirty glass without knowing it.
93
Stella was kneeling on the scraping floor in front of Christ for the last time. Her hands were clasped together. The pressure of the palms ripped off the old scabs from previous wounds made by her broken nails. And again, the half-moon cuts bled again, as if she had stigmas on her hands. He spoke with the Christ, immobile and with muted eyes, with a dull and sad gaze, with a farewell tone and pale complexion. Somehow, Stella knew that her life was in danger. For the first time in his eighteen years, Tom was a serious threat to her. So it was.
94
Justin's new identity appeared at last, well that was no reason for joy, Stella thought. But there was nothing she could do against this new identity that would end her. Holding her bottle of Bourbon, supporting herself on shaky and trembling legs, after speaking with her beloved Christ and confessing for the last time. Justin was all madness in his eyes as he raised his hand, holding a knife. Yeah, it was one more, and this was not Jack, because Jack was the closest thing to a part of a schizotypal disorder and although really aggressive and monstrous, Justin was worse.
"Schizotypal patients are rarely sociable, but they are always strongly attached to a close and protective figure" the psychiatrist had pointed at her.
Curiousl
y, Stella remembered this before seeing her vision blurred red. It happened as follows.
Justin's madness could be seen in his eyes.
"You bastard! You were always a bastard!" Justin's identity bellowed. Outside, the moon shone at its maximum intensity.
"Tom?" Stella asked, stunned even though she had already seen Tom adopt other identities and had assimilated this situation too much. Too many times. But this one was special.
"I'm not Tom. That mental retarded... I'm not your son."
"Tom!" Stella's voice rose in a scream.
He grasped the knife with both hands and lifted it over his head. The dim light of the bulb glittered eerily over the metal of the large knife.
Stella lowered her head. Drunk but aware of what was happening, she was prepared. However, she had to fight to the end. She could not give up so easily.
"Tom! You are my son! Whoever you are, get out of my son's head. Get out of it" Stella's words bounced off the walls like waves and melted into nothingness. Justin was relentless and lowered the knife on her, with a sharp, hard blow.
The blade of the knife easily penetrated the tense musculature of her left shoulder. A sudden stream of blood flowed from the wound, which seemed to him somewhat fresher than sweat itself. Blood ran quickly down the arm until it ended on the floor after dripping from her long fingers. And the scream. Her voice did not come out or maybe it was not heard. Such was the pain that it incapacitated her to squawk something. A nerve woke like an electric shock all over her arm and instinctively took her right hand to her left arm. Still, there was no cry from her mouth, but words of compassion.
"Tom, you are my son."
The blood-stained knife rose again over her head. Justin's eyes shone more brightly now, more than the blade of the knife. His teeth, white and perfectly aligned, were pressed by the powerful force of his jaw.
"You don't know what you're doing, my son."
The knife lowered again with an impulse, and this time it penetrated her right leg, at the level of the groin just two centimeters from the femoral vein, as precise as that. Blood spurted again in a jerk after extracting the blade. Pain again was something insurmountable. Her mouth opened in pain, but there was only a moan and an arch. Her face was a Christmas postcard under a layer of snow.
Tom´s Story Page 13
