by Andrew Yake
I decide to walk over and inspect the damage. I can hear my younger self crying for my mother. I find myself wondering what I should do with this version of reality. I don’t recall things going like this, but then again, I was inside the car. I continue to look at the wreckage that has haunted me for so long. I take a step closer and the streetlamp above the car flickers.
I see a figure on the bridge walking toward the car, no toward me. She is looking at me and seems to be pleased that I am alright. It is either that or she simply enjoys watching car accidents. In either case, it occurs to me that if this is my memory and I have altered it for my own sanity, how is it that I am able to be seen by those in my memory?
A chill runs up my back as I think back to the rooftop and how the shadows of my mental landscape had been manipulated by someone else. I look at the edge of the bridge and think about jumping and attempting the same escape as before. The woman stops me. “Wait! Don’t go.” Her blond shoulder-length hair is soaking wet and clings to her face in a way that partially conceals her features. Most of her face and body remind me of a girl that I once with to school with years ago. I have a hard time remembering her name, but I also have a difficult time understanding why I would manufacture her in this place. Something else strikes me as I study her under the flickering streetlamp. Her eyes are not right.
Her eyes, yes, I recognize her eyes. I do not know where or when I have seen them, but I know that I have and I also know that they do not belong on her face. I speak to her, but remain poised to take a running leap from the bridge. “Who are you and where are we?”
“It isn’t time for you to know me, but it is strange because time is so relative.” She is beginning to ramble and stops herself. “As for the other part, you know where you are and so do I. That is why I am here.” She starts to pace back and forth by the side of the wreckage.
“Fine, but how…” I start to insist for answers regarding the strange state of affairs that I find myself in.
“Look, some know and understand how the brain computers work and some don’t. You are one of the lucky few that is both. But, you will understand and do understand on some level.” She continues to pace and is now waving her hands wildly as she speaks. “Science. Magic. It’s basically all the same just with different operating programs and levels of understanding, but that is only important for later not for now. Unless, later has already happened and now is then.”
I remember now where I have seen the eyes and connect it to the strange ramblings of the janitor in the hospital. “Um…” I start. “Matt, right?”
She now stops and turns to me. Her hands are still and she seems almost surprised that she is not alone for a moment. “I suppose the time is now.” Her appearance changes into that of a man. He is wearing a black tank-top and some military style pants with matching boots. I can see scaring along his left shoulder and across his chest. I see some sort of military tattoo on the upper right portion of his arm. He looks down for a moment and regards himself. He seems dismayed by his own appearance. Then his appearance shifts again and he is in the common outfit for the hospital’s psychiatric ward. He regards himself and seems pleased and comfortable in the gray sweatpants and white V-neck tee-shirt. He waves his hand and the rain stops as if someone has hit a pause button. There is no movement in the air. No sounds. The lack of sound is startling and makes me uncomfortable.
“What are you doing in my head?”
“Who is to say that this is your head?” He looks at me with a wicked smile.
“Alright,” I say slowly as I exhale and try to accept what I am experiencing. “Whatever.” I am getting exasperated by this conversation.
“Exactly! Now you get the point.” Matt seems happy with my resignation. “I don’t know how long I will be here or how much I should tell you. I have told you too much before and it did not end well for anyone.”
“What are you talking about? The first time we met was in the hospital.”
“Yes, I suppose that would be your memory of events this time.” He seems to think hard about this while running a hand through his thick black hair and studying his slippers. “Don’t leave her until the time is right for you.” He looks up at me as if he is concentrating hard on keeping his thoughts coherent for my sake. “You will know what I mean when it happens. For now, please know that she needs you.”
“Who, Jane? I don’t think she needs anyone. I mean have you seen her in action?” I make my best Karate pose followed by a chopping motion with my right hand while I say this.
This earns me a tired smile from Matt. “She believes that too. Just know, that is not the case and it took me a long time to figure out who could help her and even more times to get things just right.” His image starts to fade while he speaks to me. It does not appear that he is even aware of it.
“What do you mean ‘even more times’? That doesn’t make any sense. And HEY,” I start yelling at him now. “HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HELP HER AND FOR THAT MATTER, WHY SHOULD I?”
Matt looks up at me, barely visible. The rain starts back up again. His words eco as the last bits of his form disappear. “You’re helping us all.”
I awake from my vision. I can feel that I have been tossing and turning in my sleep. My muscles are tight and I feel restless. There is a thin sheen of cold sweat on my brow. I sit up, unsure of where I am. I remember talking to Jane just before passing out in this room, but I have no recollection of getting here. My memories flood back from the last room I do remember. I remember having visions after trying to help the man who had been shot.
Damn it! I think to myself. I panic for a moment when I realized that I am no longer holding my book and look around the room. My eyes land on where it has been placed on my bed. I can see Jane in a nearby bunk, asleep. I guess she put it there for me. I am glad that she doesn’t know what it is. I breathe a sigh of relief and start to feel the soreness of my mind and body. I do not feel rested and desire something to take the edge off. I instinctively reach for and retrieve the pills from my pocket. I am glad that they are there.
I feel as if these are the one saving grace for me right now. I know that they are constant and real regardless of all that is going on around me. I open the cap and carefully count the pills. I take two, swallowing them expertly with no aid of water. I’m going to have to get some more soon. As I look around the room, I replace the half-empty bottle of pills back into my pocket where they will be safe. I feel the warm glow of relief as the pills start to work.
I stand and survey the room more carefully. Although I do not recognize this room, the elegance of its simple layout does not leave much to be discovered. I see a well-lit hall leading out of the room. I move around the room quietly, so as not to wake Jane. I find that I am still disturbed by the information in my vision about Jane given to me by Matt, the weird dream walking bastard. What he has told me, moments before, has given me far more questions than answers. I feel as helpless as a pawn on someone else’s chess board right now. I feel the need to explore and find my edge so that I am not without knowledge. I know that knowledge will be what gives me power and safety. I may not be able to swing a bat like Jane, but if given enough time, I will prevail.
I leave the room and start down the hallway. I come across an area that has books and guns. I also see Alex at the far end of this cavernous room. He is sitting at a desk that has lots of computer screens and has not noticed me. I am interested in the books, but decide not to poke around them just yet. I do not wish to draw attention to myself just yet. I look along the wall closest to me and see several heavy looking metal doors. Each door has a numeric key pad next to it and I am willing to bet that there is something to be found in each one. I am also willing to bet that there is no way that I would be welcomed into free exploration. People always seem to think that I need adult supervision because I look like a kid.
I am curious about where they lead. The door that is closest to me is slightly ajar. I am sure that I can satisfy at least some of my cur
iosity and gain some ill-gotten knowledge, the best kind in my opinion. I quietly squeeze through the opening. The hall that it leads to is dim, but unlike the rest of the structure that I have seen. The walls are tiled in white porcelain and it feels more like the hall in a hospital or a lab simply because of how sterile everything seems.
I take several steps in and look back. I panic when I see that the place that I entered through does not seem to exist. It is simply more length of hallway. The hall seems to extend forever. I cannot see an end to it, nor do I see any doors or turns off of it in that direction. I turn back around and I can see several different turns to my left and right scattered down the hall. I decide to move forward and figure out the rest as I go.
As I continue walking, I decide to take my first right. I do so and start noticing that there are large patches of the tiled walls that are slightly discolored. Next to each set of discolorations are touch screens. It takes me a moment to recognize them as this because they are recessed just enough and colored like the rest of the walls that I almost miss the fact that they are computerized. It must be the light playing tricks with my eyes to make me miss something this obvious.
I decide to touch one of the screens. It comes to life and the discolored section of wall fades enough for me to see through it. There is a dead body with a wooden stick protruding from the chest cavity laying, chained to the floor. This person has been shot several times in the head and it seems as if the corpse was left chained as an afterthought. It is obvious to me that the person died somewhere else because there is no blood on the floor. The corpse is garbed in some authentic looking renaissance fair costume. There is something that feels like discontinuity to me. I can tell that the body has… dust… yes, dust is covering the body, but the features of the body do not seem desiccated and this would suggest that the person died recently. I cannot help my curiosity. I look down at the screen and tap on the computerized selection that says “Open”.
An opening appears. Not a doorway, an opening appears. There is a hole in the wall the size of a door as if no door or wall had ever been there. I walk through, but look back before I am all the way through to make sure that the opening is still there. It is. I also notice that the rest of the wall seems solid. I cannot see through it like I was able to on the other side. I realize this could come in handy for exploring the other possible chambers.
I return my gaze to the corpse on the floor and move closer to inspect it. This room is now well lit. Dust covering the floor aside, this feels like a lab room that I once used in my undergrad work when I was studying the effects of different diseases on rats. Here, there was no equipment. There was just me, the dead guy, and the chains that connect him to the floor.
I kneel down. There is no stench of decay that I can detect. His features are pale and his dark hair is a stark contrast to his skin. He has a bushy, well-trimmed beard. He looks as though he could not be more than twenty-five, at least he would if he was alive. His eyes are open and vacant. There is no life here at all and his eyes seem to be the only indication of death. I can tell that his eyes would have been brown if they had any life to them, but they are more of a milky toned brown right now. Here the mystery thickens for me. His eyes are covered in dust also. The body should have rotted away long before dust could settle on him. I blow gently toward his face. I see a puff of dust come off his face, much of it from his beard. I end up coughing from the dust, but at least I am able to see his eye tones a bit better now and I am also able to see that his hair had been covering up a bullet hole above his eyes.
I run my fingers along the clothing. It feels old and stiff. I trace my fingers along more bullet holes that are present on his chest. I poke a finger into one of the holes expecting that the flesh will be dry, but I am surprised when I feel that it is simply cool and slick. I retract my hand right away and see that the tip of my finger has blood on it. What the hell is going on here? I turn my attention to the wooden stick that is coming out of his chest. It is actually more like a branch and could only have been put there on purpose with force. I wiggle it a bit. I want to see inside this strange corpse. After some effort, I am able to carefully remove the wood from his chest cavity. I lay it down next to me and return my attention to the hole. I really wish that I had some gloves with me right now. I look in the chest, but before my eyes the chest starts to knit itself back together. I see the wounds close.
I instinctively back up. I do not see the chest rise and fall with breath, but the man groans and gives a slight cough followed by rapid blinking. He turns his bearded face toward me and speaks with a husky voice that seems almost pathetic. “Please, I thirst.” I can tell that he has an accent and I think it is English, you know, the sexy kind of English accent, and if the sight before me wasn’t making me nearly crap my pants in terror I may have wanted to get him a glass of water.
Instead, I end up staring at him and barely being able to whisper, “What the fu...”
15
Decisions
The ride back to the city is largely uneventful, save for the many traffic laws that Benny has decided to liberally disregard. For the most part I simply keep my eyes closed so that I can resist the urge to scream and vomit at the same time. His driving skills leave something to be desired, at least in my mind. I would like to see my next birthday.
I hear and smell the city and the cold air still stings my face as we race through the streets weaving through traffic. I know that the sun will be up soon and I look forward to the light of day. I want to make my way back to the hospital and see Hailey. I do my best not to think of the implications of the homicide detective arriving at the hospital to speak to me. I hold onto my faith and hope that Hailey will be fine.
I feel the bike slow. We stop. My legs are sore from the vibrations of the motorcycle ride. I look around and realize that we are only a few miles from the hospital. “The hospital is the last place that I smelled her.”
“Right on, pup. If you take a whiff and smell ‘em on the way, feel free to speak up.” Benny seems to be distracted, but we start moving again. We get about a block from the hospital and Benny pulls into a parking garage. “I have a meetin’ that I have ta get ta. I’m afraid that yer on yer own for right now.” Benny gets off the bike and reaches into his pocket. He retrieves a small flip-phone and hands it to me.
I get off the bike and stretch once again. I am more than fine with the idea of parting company with Benny, but I am concerned that he will not uphold his side of the deal. “Hold up, I thought you were going to help Hailey.”
“Right, well don’t you worry yer self ‘bout her. I made a promise. I keep my word.” Benny points at the phone that he has put into my hand. “Now, I’m gonna call ya once I’m done with my meeting and I will meet ya.” His smile is gone and he seems as if he is thinking about his next task. I pocket the phone.
As the first strands of daylight started peeking over the city Benny and I had parted company. I consider my next actions as I start walking down the sidewalk toward the hospital. I stop at one of the many street venders and pick up some food and coffee. I continue a few more paces before it occurs to me that I may not want to show my face near the hospital. I stop at another vender and buy a cheap baseball cap and hope that it is enough to keep my face off the cameras.
I decide to go to the hospital and check in on Hailey before I get on to finding the young lady that Benny is looking for. I walk around to a side entrance and go toward my best guess of where they may have taken her. I think of how Hailey smells and attempt to follow her smell as I did before. I do smell her, but the scent is weak and it is mixed with something close to death. It reminds me of how Benny smells. It occurs to me that he may have already been here and helped her prior to approaching me. Maybe he knew how bad her situation was and wanted to make sure that he could hold up his end of the deal.
I am wandering the halls and following my nose down the corridors. I take a set of stairs down a level and I can smell her nearby. Again, the smell i
s different and almost muted. I realize that there have been fewer and fewer people around. I continue, but I feel my heart breaking as I get closer to her smell and see that I am approaching the morgue. I feel tears building behind my eyes. I walk into the morgue expecting to have to trick someone into letting me get into see Hailey’s body.
There is nobody here. I smell death. That I am expecting. I smell fear. That is not what I was expecting. I smell Hailey. It is muted, but stronger. I follow her scent past empty rooms. One room I see has a cup of coffee that is still hot enough to give off steam, but there is no one there to drink it. I feel a chill run over me. I may not be alone down here after all. I smell blood. I had smelled it before, but again I wrote it off because this is a place of death simply by design. I did not want to believe that there had been blood shed here.
I am walking down the hall and looking into the different rooms as I come upon them. I see one of the classic exam rooms with a steel table. The door is open and as I get closer I can see that someone is on the floor and that they are keeping the door open with their body. In a heartbeat, I am at the door and I immediately regret my decision. Blood, so much blood and bloody bodies. There are many bodies in this room and they are all freshly dead. It looks as if their throats, at least some of them, have been ripped out.
The horror of what I am seeing makes me grab hold of the doorway. I am fighting the urge to vomit and I stumble backwards into the hallway. I hear a voice and footsteps coming from far behind me in the direction that I had come. It takes a moment for my mind to register that I know the voice. I look down the hall and see a well-dressed woman in a business pantsuit and leather jacket, Detective Barr. She is talking on a cell phone and walking toward me. It occurs to me that she is probably here to ask the cornier questions. Good luck with that. She sees me and a spark of recognition flashes in her eyes.
