by Michael Bray
Jasper nodded. “That’s how it was. It was in there, just buzzing around in my head. It’s odd, because I didn’t even have to speak. I could just think of something and it would know about it and answer me. It was around that time when I started to see it more often. Almost every other day, and pretty much straight away, things escalated.”
“What happened?”
“You know the answer to this… I don’t want to go over it again.”
“Talking about it is good. In fact, it’s a vital part of the healing process.”
“You promise me this isn’t a scam?” Jasper said, narrowing his eyes at Ronson.
“It’s nothing of the sort. Please, go on.”
Don’t do it, you know what they said if you told anyone. You know what happened last time.
He was afraid, but he was also tired of the secrets. He wanted to start living his life, a chance to just be normal and do normal things. He wasn’t sure the words would come out at first, but they did, and he was surprised by how smoothly they rolled off his tongue.
“I was sitting at the kitchen table, just looking out the window, and as always the crow was there. Standing on the grass, staring in at me, and as always, I could hear it in my head, buzzing and darting around and saying things. I… I threatened to tell people about it, and… it took flight and landed on the window ledge. It was standing on the other side of the glass, inches away and just… looking at me. And I don’t know if it was because it was so close, but I heard it as clear as you and I are talking now, telling me that if I told anyone about it, they would make me pay.”
Jasper was now staring into space, chewing at his fingertips as he recalled his story.
“I was angry, so I told it that it was just a bird, and I was going to tell my mother. It said it would be a mistake, and they would prove it, and with that, it took off and I didn’t see it for a week.”
“What happened after that?”
“You know what happened.” He snapped. “My mother was raped on her way home from work.”
The room fell silent. Ronson made more notes, and then looked at Jasper.
“You thought what happened to your mother was something to do with the crow?”
“I knew it was – or at least I thought I did. See I saw it again, later that night as my mother was taking her fifth shower since the police let her home. I was in my usual spot in the kitchen, wondering if it could possibly be a coincidence, and I heard that buzzing in my head and knew it was out there.”
“You saw it?”
“No. It was dark, and all I could see through the glass was my own reflection. I just knew it was out there, watching me from the dark. It was in my head, telling me it had proved its point and if I wanted to stay safe, I needed to keep what I knew about them to myself, and from that day forth do whatever they told me.”
“And you agreed?”
“I did.” Jasper sighed. “By then, I was too afraid not to. Things got pretty bad, pretty fast from then on. I was convinced that if I didn’t actually see it, nothing bad could happen to anyone close to me, so I holed up in my room. Painted the windows with black paint so I couldn’t see out, and just sat there in the dark. My mother and brothers were worried, but I couldn’t tell any of them what had happened. I was too afraid.”
“How long did this go on for?”
“Oh a few months. I couldn’t sleep, I barely ate. I just sat there in the dark, listening to that maddening buzz in my head as it told me things, things I had to do. I tried to be strong, Doc Ronson, I really, really did, but they were like poison, and it didn’t take much for them to break me. I was isolated and scared, and in the end, I did what they told me to do.”
“Which brings us to the day when you killed your family.”
To hear it said out loud made Jasper's stomach roll, and he lowered his gaze, staring at his white hospital issue pants and pumps.
Apart from the persistent tapping of the rain on the glass, the room was silent.
“I... I wish I could take it back. I really, really do.” He said, his voice barely a whisper. “I was ill, and whatever I thought I could hear, seemed real enough to me at the time to make me do what I did.”
“Tell me about it Jasper. It will help if you get it out in the open.”
Jasper looked his doctor in the eye, searching for reassurance, and finding it.
“They… they told me my brothers were a part of it. That they knew all about the crows and what they did. They told me if I wanted things to go back to normal, I would have to kill them. By then of course, my brain was pretty much fried. Of course, you already know that, I have been here long enough to make that point obvious enough. As sick as it sounds now, the idea to kill my brothers seemed like the most reasonable idea in the world. Joe was only seven, and Mark was fourteen. I…”
Jasper swallowed hard, struggling to hold back his emotions.
“I took the carving knife and I….” He trailed off and reverted back to rubbing his thumb and forefinger together as he jigged his leg up and down.
“I can see you’re getting upset, but we’re almost done.” Ronson said. “Can you go on?”
“I stabbed them.” Jasper blurted, losing the battle to keep his tears at bay. “I started and I just couldn’t stop. They were in my head, counting along as I did it. I stabbed Joe twenty three times and Mark fifty seven times. I… I have no excuse.”
“Jasper, Don’t blame yourself. You were ill, suffering from acute schizophrenia. It really wasn’t your fault. I…”
“My mother was an accident.” He blurted, flicking his eyes once again to the window. “She came home early from work, and I was there, covered in blood in the kitchen with my brothers dead bodies on the floor. She started to scream. I begged her to stop, but then that damn bird was in my head, telling me to shut her up… and I did... I did.”
Jasper lowered his head, weeping openly. Ronson made more notes. When he had finished, he set his pen down and looked across the desk.
“I know it was hard for you to tell me that.”
“It’s the first time I have told it all to anyone.” Jasper said between great, ragged sobs.
“When you came here, I have to admit, we didn’t expect you to recover so quickly.”
“Almost five years is hardly quick.” He shot back, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve.
“Compared to what could have been? Life in prison perhaps? I would consider this a good day, a day to celebrate you finally getting better.”
“Does this mean you are letting me out?” Jasper asked, filled with a sudden surge of hope.
Ronson hesitated, and the pleasant smile faded. “Here’s the thing Jasper. I know how bright you are. I also know that you have taken to covering the windows of your room with a sheet during the day.”
“It’s to block out the sun I...”
Ronson held up a hand, and Jasper stopped speaking.
“I also noticed that since we started our conversation, you have been looking out of the window pretty much all the time. I think you still believe that the crows are out there. I still believe that despite our best efforts, you still hear them, and with that in mind, I’m afraid I can only recommend that you stay here indefinitely until such a time when you are fit to return to society.”
Jasper took the information in, staring at Ronson as his lip trembled slightly.
“You said I was progressing, you said I could go home…”
“No I didn’t. I said it was looking promising, however this conversation has raised concerns enough so that I wouldn’t be comfortable with releasing you at this time.”
Ronson, you backstabbing motherfucker.
He glared at Ronson as the thought bounced around his head, and was surprised to see Ronson flinch.
“There’s no need for that Jasper. I’m only trying to help.”
Jasper froze, the skin on his arms rippling with gooseflesh.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’
t have to.” Ronson said, staring at Jasper. He saw it then, the reason why Ronson always seemed so familiar.
He had the same stare as the crow.
“You’re one of them aren’t you?” Jasper whispered.
He gave Ronson time to deny it. To refute it. To call him ridiculous, none of which he did. Instead, he stared, his eyes dark and somehow terrifying.
“You’re sick Jasper. You need to stay here and let me help you.”
“No!” Jasper blurted, and looked to the window.
The garden was filled with crows. They were standing motionless, staring into the office and watching proceedings unfold. Jasper recoiled, and threw himself out of his chair on to the floor.
“Get them away from me!” He screamed as he pushed his way across the carpet into the corner. Ronson should, by rights be hurrying around the table to help, but he simply sat, a knowing smile on his lips.
He was enjoying it.
“Doc Ronson, please, shut the blinds, they’re out there.” Jasper shrieked, staring at the army of birds on the lawn.
Ronson also looked at the garden full of birds, and shrugged. “They are just birds, Jasper. They can’t hurt you.”
“You are one of them, aren’t you doc?” Jasper cackled. He was hysterical now, and had pushed himself back against the bookcase by the locked office door.
“Call em' off! I promise I won’t ever tell anyone about them. Please!”
Ronson only grinned, and pressed the intercom on his desk. “Nurse, get someone in here with a sedative, Mr. Collins is having an episode!” Jasper noted that he spoke with mock panic over the intercom, which was replaced by the oozing, cool calm when it was just the two of them.
And the lawn full of crows, of course.
“What do you want from me?” Jasper sobbed as he tucked his knees up to his chin and hugged them tightly.
Ronson stood and approached Jasper. He was holding a silver letter opener.
“Are you going to kill me?” Jasper whispered as the incessant buzzing began to drone around his head.
Ronson crouched and leaned close enough for Jasper to smell the expensive aftershave that he wore.
“No. You’re going to stab me.” He said, and then thrust the letter opener into his own arm. He yelled out in pain, and in unison, the crows as one let out a high-pitched squawk and took off in a flurry of beating wings. It was then that the orderlies burst into the room to see Jasper rocking and staring out of the window and Ronson on his back, holding his bleeding arm and moaning. No words were shared as Jasper was sedated, even so, he could hear Ronson clearly enough in his head along with the buzzing as he lost consciousness.
Six months later.
The lobotomy had been successful. Although rarely performed anymore, in the case of Jasper Collins, it was seen as a necessary step. The procedure hadn’t gone as expected, however Jasper didn’t care. He was happy in his room. The window was small and high up on the wall so that he couldn’t see out of it. It was also dark, and moonlight spread across the wall, making a projection of the bars that covered the window. He sat in the corner, knees tucked under his chin, wiry arms hooked around them. He was still the same on the inside, but he couldn’t outwardly articulate. He was a prisoner within a prisoner.
Ronson had pushed for the surgery, and although for a time he hadn’t known why, he thought he knew now. Of course, now it was too late, because although the thoughts were sharp in his mind, the procedure had meant that he couldn’t articulate them even if he wanted to. He heard a sound, and his heart rate increased. He cast his eyes to the window and saw it, the silhouette blown up to giant proportions on the wall. The crow walked back and forth at the window, and then stopped to look in at him. He met its gaze, and for a moment, the thick soup that had replaced his brain cleared. He heard a voice, Ronson's voice, clear and sharp. It said just seven words, but they were enough to confirm his suspicions. Jasper smiled, and closed his eyes, the fight long since having left him.
The silhouette on the wall took flight and he was again alone. He knew he would never be able to leave. Because the crows wouldn’t allow it. He thought of his brothers, his mother and his father during happier times when they were still alive, but his mind kept going back to those seven words uttered by the crow. He didn’t think he would hear from them again. He was sure that now that they were satisfied that he had been silenced. After all, wasn’t that the entire point?
Seven words.
Enough to make sense of the whole mess. Jasper covered his ears and rocked back and forth just a little harder as those words bounced around in his broken brain. It was his error, because he didn’t think that Ronson counted. After all, he was a doctor. How could he have known it was a test?
Either way, it was too late now. He had done it and he would have to live with it. He wondered if the crow’s presence meant that something bad was going to happen, or if it was just a final goodbye, a gloating show of victory.
Those seven words spun around his head.
You shouldn’t have told anyone about us.
And they were right, Jasper thought as he bit into his wrists, tearing through veins and sinewy flesh. He sat there, bloody mouthed and smiling as he bled out onto the padded white floor, which greedily soaked up the precious fluid. He was smiling. At last it was over. At last, there was silence.
TILLY
Tom Johnson accelerated, pushing the S-Class Mercedes past sixty. It had been one of those days, the kind that start badly and just get worse, and now to top it all off, he had a headache. As he maneuvered the vehicle around a slow moving campervan, he acknowledged that he might well have been fired instead of just given a verbal dressing down, and for that at least he could be grateful.
The car flashed past a road sign, and he shook his head.
Four miles to go.
At least Gloria was asleep. On top of his already shitty day, she had given him hell when he had cancelled their plans. He had promised to take her to dinner, and then to an expensive hotel. To say that she was less than pleased to be driving out here into the middle of nowhere would be an understatement. Somehow, he had managed to convince her to come along with him, with the promise that as soon as he had done what he needed to do, he would make it up to her.
A rare flush of guilt raced down his spine, and in his mind’s eye, he saw his wife of ten years, Melanie, and his children – Alice and George – swim out of the darkness. He thought of them now, and what they would be doing. It was almost seven, which meant that the kids would be watching television, and Melanie would likely be washing the dishes from their evening meal. He loved her of course, but as he supposed was natural, the spark had gone from their relationship, and even if it hadn’t, it had been a long time since she had been able to excite him, which was the exact opposite of his dozing travel companion.
The more he thought about it, the more the guilt took hold. As always, he tried to convince himself that he shouldn’t see it as an affair, but as a way to save his marriage. He got the warm, genuine love from his wife, and his thrill seeking excitement from his lover, and as long as the two remained separate, he was happy to continue with his deceit.
Johnson turned his attention back to the road, and his mind to the reason for his journey out into the boonies.
He had been head of quality control for Randell's toys for the last seven years, doing his part to assist in the growth of a company that had started out as a local business run from a shed in the late sixties, to what it was today - A global multi-billion dollar business and undisputed leader in the toy industry. When seventeen-year-old James Randell first had the idea to start a toy business, he was an unemployed farmhand who most said had no future. When he died sixty-three years later, he was worth close to seven hundred million dollars, and counted several high profile celebrities and politicians (and two former presidents) amongst his close friends.
Johnson had joined the company in 99’, and had clawed his way up the corporate ladder until he reached,
what he thought, was a secure and, more importantly, a financially stable role. As head of quality control, he would be required to make sure that the products were safe to use before they went to manufacture, and if Johnson was honest with himself, the job was an easy one. Hardly anything ever came across Johnson’s desk that his team couldn’t deal with without him.
Or at least, that had been the case until Tilly.
Tilly was a new brand of doll for girls aged four to eight. It was hailed as the latest great revolution from the Randall toy company, and Johnson had to admit, the gimmick was a good one. Each doll was essentially a micro PC, fitted with a small computer processor and hard drive in its innards, and tiny cameras inside its eyes. The idea was that the dolls would recognise gestures made by its owner, and remember certain things, and when appropriate, would respond with one of around five hundred pre-installed words or phrases. The public went Tilly crazy, and the Randell brand added a few more millions to its already swollen bank balance.
Within a week, local stores were sold out, within a month; you couldn’t find a Tilly anywhere in the country. Desperate parents were paying up to six or seven thousand for a doll online in their desperation to deliver their children with the latest craze, and the media frenzy only served to push sales and prices even further.
The CEO of Randall, James Crockett, congratulated his staff for another big success, and Johnson, along with everyone else, was waiting for the expected fat bonus for another job well done.
But that all went out the window when he was called up to Crockett’s office earlier that day.
Crockett was a large man, always dressed in a suit that cost more than most of his employees made in a month. He had cruel eyes, and a thin handlebar mustache perched on top of a thin, pencil line mouth.
“Get in here Johnson.” He said as he glared from behind his desk.
Johnson had complied, and for a moment, Crockett had only stared at him, and because Johnson had no idea why he was even there, he stared back.
“So Tom.” He started. “You want to tell me what the hell happened with these damn Tilly dolls?”
