Going Insane--A Psycho Thriller

by Tim Kizer

  As he turned into a major street, the man noted with satisfaction that his trick hadn’t caused any interest with the neighborhood residents, half of whom must still be in their bedrooms, waking up, yawning, scratching themselves, taking a shower, and doing other things people typically do on a lazy Saturday morning. And why would there be any interest? Nothing extraordinary had happened. A young woman stopped to chat to some guy in a Kia—or was it a Toyota?—and then continued to run. People had more important stuff to care about on weekends than some random jogger.

  By his estimate, he was twenty five minutes away from his final destination. He certainly could have gotten there faster, but he intended to drive the limit in order to avoid the risk of being pulled over by a cop. He was in no hurry, so he could take his sweet time

  The man smirked. This chick must be a big fan of healthy lifestyle; he personally preferred to sleep in on weekends as did the absolute majority of people he knew. What he liked about runners was the fact that you were almost guaranteed to meet one if you waited long enough on a quiet residential street. The man was highly pleased to have laid his hands on such a hot piece of ass. Today had to be his lucky day.

  Yeah, this girl shouldn't have talked to a stranger. Had she forgotten what her momma had taught her? If she hadn’t tried to be a good Samaritan, she would have been home now, gulping some tasteless health shake. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. In this chick’s case the punishment happened to be rape, death, and, possibly, dismemberment.

  Staring dreamily at the road, the man pictured himself carrying the woman from the garage to the basement. The thought of being alone with the girl in a sound-proof location quickly gave him an intense erection. He seemed to have made up his mind: he would fuck her while she was asleep. There was something irresistible to him about having sex with a woman in an unconscious state; he couldn’t put his finger on what it was exactly.

  His cell-phone vibrated twice, informing him that he had received a new text. After checking the message, he looked in the rear view mirror and saw a police cruiser pulling into his lane right behind him. He nodded with satisfaction: his escort had finally arrived.

  Chapter 3.

  JOSEPHINE

  1.

  Howl. Howl. Was ‘howl’ the important word he had to remember? He believed that word had an ‘h’ in it, but it was not ‘howl.’ He should keep trying; the word might pop up eventually.

  2.

  How were things going? How was he?

  Things were not good. A car crash. Yes, he had been in a car crash. It had happened somehow, even though he’d always been very careful. Had he gotten in the accident because of the safe? That thing weighed nine hundred pounds, you know. Actually, he had indeed wondered what would happen if you hit the brakes when driving sixty miles per hour with a nine-hundred pound safe in the trunk of your pickup truck.

  He could lose a hand. Or a leg. Or half his brain would stop functioning. Yeah, he would hate that. True, he felt okay at the moment, but he was not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot.

  A car crash on a highway. Why? Wife. Sister-in-law. Mister Fowler. Where was he going when he got in that accident?

  Mister Fowler. He was on the way to recovery, that was the good news. He had to recover as soon as possible because there was an unfinished business he had to attend to. He also had to remember that damn word; it was a matter of life and death.

  An innocent victim. He was a victim of an accident. He had caused that car crash. And his wife? What about his wife?

  3.

  “Frank. Frank... Wake up, it’s me, Josephine. Frank, wake up. ”

  He unglued his eyelids but refrained from opening them wide.

  And pain... He was suspended inside a thick layer of it, like a prehistoric insect frozen in a boulder of ice. The pain held him firmly above the bed, straining every single muscle in his body. But he had been learning to cope with it. Those good doctors supplied Frank with enough analgesics for him not to writhe in agony. He was floating in pain and knew he was alive because dead people feel nothing.

  “Frank, wake up.”

  Wake up... What for? It was so pleasant to sleep. To see those weird dreams, which he couldn’t remember right now. He was not sure how many dreams he’d had since he’d fallen asleep. He thought he’d seen a one-legged man in one of them, but it might have simply been a false memory. A fraction of a second ago, he had known why the one-legged man was important, but this piece of knowledge had just treacherously slipped out of his brain. If he stayed asleep, he could probably have that dream again and find out why Josephine was so dangerous. Dangerous to whom, by the way? And who was Josephine?

  “Frank, it's me, Josephine.” The voice was pleasant. It was a pleasant female voice. God, what a pleasant voice! Keep speaking! Don't stop, woman! Such a pleasant voice!

  “Doctor Raynolds, are you sure he can hear me?” asked the woman.

  ‘Are you sure he can hear me?’ Doctor Raynolds, are you sure he can hear me? Are you sure? Sure? Oh yes, he was sure he could hear her... But he was not Doctor Raynolds, she was not asking him. Who was she asking? Who was Doctor Raynolds?

  “Yes, this morning he came out of a coma. I even talked to him,” a male voice answered.

  An alarming thought swiftly glided through his mind that he ought to be afraid of Josephine. Why?

  She is insane, buddy, she is batshit crazy.

  This thought was absurd because Frank couldn’t reconcile it with Josephine’s lovely voice. The thought vanished and never came back.

  This morning he’d come out of coma. This morning... Morning... What time was it? What day was it? What month? Daughter? What daughter? Or son? Did he have a son? Or wife? This morning Doctor Raynolds had talked to him.

  “Mister Fowler, if you can hear me, please move your right index finger,” said the man.

  Move a finger? Sure, he could do it. He would move his right index finger for the good doctor. What a pleasant voice that woman had! Frank had heard this voice before. Was she a relative? Who was she? What was her name again?

  Frank opened his eyes. A woman. A nurse? Was she a nurse? The woman wasn’t young. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, but her actual age could certainly be as old as fifty five if she’d been able to afford facelifts and Botox shots. Her neatly arranged brown hair was immaculate, which gave him a warm feeling inside: she had bothered to spruce herself up before visiting him.

  “Frank, it's me, Josephine,” said the woman, bending over him. She was wearing an ambrosial perfume; probably some expensive fragrance from France. What a wonderful smell it was. And her voice sounded beautiful. Or was it just painkillers talking? “How are you feeling, Frank?”

  Her eyes. She was touching them with her handkerchief. She’d been crying, he guessed. Josephine sobbed and gave Doctor Raynolds a hopeful look.

  “Who are you?” asked Frank.

  The woman startled, froze for a moment, and turned her face to him, taking the handkerchief away from her eyes that were full of tears. There was a mixed expression of sadness and surprise on her face.

  “My Lord, he's going to be alright!” she almost wailed, letting her tears loose.

  “Mister Fowler,” Doctor Raynolds said. “Your sister-in-law is here. Can you speak now?”

  Frank looked at the doctor inquiringly and asked, “Who is she? Who is this woman?”

  Raynolds raised his eyebrows in slight amazement.

  Josephine? Sister-in-law? Josephine... Josephine... The name didn’t ring a bell at all.

  “Mister Fowler, your sister-in-law has come to visit you. Would you like to speak to her?”

  Josephine... Josephine... Josephine... Still nothing.

  “Frank, do you recognize me? Do you remember my name?” the woman asked with a tinge of hysteria in her voice. “Do you have a headache? How are you feeling?”

  Josephine... Frank... Yes, his name was Frank Fowler. He was sure of it now. The good doctor called him Mister Fowler.
And Josephine called him Frank. Frank Fowler. Had he really forgotten his own name a while ago? Nonsense.

  So who the hell was Josephine? And what was he doing in the hospital? He must be in the hospital, right?

  “I’m okay. I can hear you very well, you don’t have to shout,” Frank murmured. He was mesmerized by these two names spinning in his mind: Frank, Josephine. Josephine, Frank.

  Frank... Josephine... He didn’t know Josephine. And he still needed time to get used to his own name. Frank Fowler. Not as cool as, say, Cassius Clay or Chuck Norris of course, but he could live with it.

  “We were all so worried about you.” Josephine took his hand, squeezed it, and gave him a significant look as if she was going to tell him a very big secret. Or as if they shared a mind blowing secret and were members of some underground society chartered to protect it.

  She kept squeezing his hand. Her grip seemed to have grown tighter, unless he was hallucinating that.

  Frank... Josephine... Frank and Josephine.

  “You were in a coma for thirty six hours, Frank. We all prayed for you,” the woman named Josephine went on. “How are you feeling, Frank? Please, say something.”

  Who was she? She was his sister-in-law, according to Doctor Raynolds.

  “I have no idea who are you, Josephine.” Frank disconnected himself from his surroundings and dove into his memory where this damn name, Josephine, had to be stored. He scanned the name index inside his head as thoroughly as he could and came up empty. It was as though all memories of his sister-in-law were buried under a skyscraper the size of the Empire State Building, and Frank was unable to budge this monster and look what it was hiding underneath it.

  Frank Fowler and Josephine. Josephine was Frank's sister-in-law. She was Frank’s wife’s sister. Frank did not remember he was married either. What was his wife’s name?

  “It appears Frank can't recognize you, Missis Buckhaus,” said Doctor Raynolds. “He doesn’t remember you, I’m afraid.”

  4.

  Frank really couldn't recognize Josephine. Her face was completely strange to him. He saw that woman for the first time in his life.

  “Why?” asked Josephine in a concerned voice. Her eyes shifted from Raynolds to Frank and then back to the doctor. “How could he forget me? We just spoke two days ago.” She sounded indignant now. “What does all this mean, Doctor?”

  Raynolds frowned but remained silent. He probably believed that frowning made him look empathetic and cerebral.

  Josephine Buckhaus... Okay, enough memory trawling; this name had vanished into thin air. He would just accept that Josephine Buckhaus, a woman in her mid-forties, was his sister-in-law. He saw this lady for the first time in his life today, but he had talked to her only a couple of days ago, if she was telling the truth. He must have lost his mind.

  “What do you mean he doesn’t remember me?” asked the woman. “He has to remember me, Doctor.”

  “Ask him yourself, Josephine,” said Raynolds. “Memory loss is not uncommon in cases like this.”

  ‘Cases like this?’ What kind of case was it?

  Had Doctor Raynolds been hiding something from him? Dear Lord, please don’t let it be schizophrenia.

  Josephine followed the doctor’s advice and addressed Frank, “Do you really not recognize me, Frank? It's me, Josephine. Kelly’s sister.”

  Josephine, Kelly’s sister. If Missis Buckhaus was his sister-in-law and her sister’s name was Kelly, chances were that Kelly was his wife, right? Kelly. Kelly Fowler. His beloved wife Kelly. No, this name was also securely entombed under the damn skyscraper. He didn’t know any Kelly. No surprise, of course, since he didn’t even recall being married.

  He’d done a great job figuring out his wife’s name, by the way.

  “No,” Frank said. “I don't recognize you, Josephine.”

  He peered into her big, deep-set brown eyes in order to take the last stab at spotting anything familiar in Josephine’s face. The attempt failed. He still could not remember her.

  Then whom did he remember? Did he remember anyone at all?

  “I'm Kelly's sister, Frank. We talked on the phone this Monday.” Josephine lifted his right hand and pressed it to her chin, as if she was going to kiss his fingers. Frank darted a quizzical glance at the doctor, waiting for his professional opinion that would explain everything. Raynolds was silent, knitting his brows, with his arms crossed on his chest.

  “I'm your wife's sister, Frank. Do you remember your wife?” Josephine said pleadingly. “Do you remember Kelly? I can’t believe you don’t remember Kelly.”

  She had a pleasant voice, Frank thought again. He was somewhat sorry that his words had distressed Josephine so badly, that she took them so close to heart, but he had only told the truth. He had forgotten her and her sister Kelly, who was evidently also his wife. He realized he was supposed to know Josephine since she was his sister-in-law and they had hung out on a regular basis, but he couldn’t just force his brain to remember her, it wasn’t how it worked.

  Why was it so important to Josephine that he remember her, by the way? And how about that list of people he did remember?

  Think, buddy, dig into that beautiful mind of yours. Answer this question: what is your son's name? Why don't you remember it? You forgot your son’s name. Don't laugh, you simply forgot everyone in your family. Damn, you had a really bad luck, Frank Fowler (it has to be your name because they call you that, right?).

  As Frank stared at Josephine’s face, it registered in his mind that she used very little make-up, which explained the absence of running mascara on her cheeks when she had teared up a few minutes earlier. Josephine had probably gotten Botox injections in her forehead as it was enviably smooth.

  Frank heard Josephine’s and Doctor Raynolds' voices, but didn't bother to listen to whatever they were telling each other. The mumble of their conversation enlivened the room and had a soothing effect on him. There were two living souls by his side, who were concerned about his condition. He was glad they were here for him.

  Accident. Blood. Death.

  A pang of fear wrung his heart.

  He didn’t remember Josephine. Hell, he’d even forgotten his own name. He’d forgotten his wife and son. Or daughter. He had wanted a son, but dreams do not always come true, do they?

  What date was it?

  Don't torment yourself, bud; just ask Josephine. Why torment, if you can simply ask?

  What year was it?

  Josephine loved him, cared about him. She had taken time out of her busy schedule to come here and check up on him.

  What year was it? Ha-ha, he must sound like a guy who had traveled in time. He should ask what year it was and thus complete the picture. Had he ever thought that one day he would ask himself this question?

  He felt alright, his legs and arms were intact, save for a few bruises here and there, and he still had all of his fingers. There were no major problems with his body. However, he might be jumping to conclusions; he’d been in a bad car crash after all.

  Frank closed his eyes. He had no desire to think about the car crash. Car crashes were associated with mutilation, broken bones, dismemberment, blood, and death. He didn’t need all this negativity; he craved happy thoughts. He’d forgotten a lot of things, but sooner or later all those memories would come back, wouldn’t they? He would recall his whole family in due course, but now he needed a little rest. He didn't remember what his bedroom looked like or what kind of chandelier hung in the living room, and it was okay. At least he remembered having a house. Yes, he definitely owned a house in a Buffalo suburb.

  His name was Frank Fowler. He’d been in a car crash. He had a son. Or a daughter. And he was married... A daughter. Yes, he had a daughter. He was fairly confident he had a daughter, not a son.

  “How long is it going to last?” Josephine asked the doctor. “Can you treat it?”

  A Buffalo suburb? Why was he so sure about it?

  Wife. Daughter. Why hadn’t they visited him
yet? So rude of them.

  He commanded his brain to go into a stand-by mode so as not to be distracted by Josephine and Raynolds' conversation and his own thoughts that kept trickling into his mind. Frank fixed his vacant gaze on the white ceiling right above him. At the bottom of his frame of vision he could see the fluorescent lamp radiating soft light. A lulling wave of carefreeness suddenly overwhelmed Frank, who had gotten tired of feeling weary. The time had come to take a break from suffering and somber thoughts. Thank God, there was no physical pain in the mix; one fewer thing to worry about, you know.

  Frank Fowler... That was his name. Frank Fowler... Yes, yes, without a doubt, his name was Frank Fowler.

  Fowler... Frank Fowler.

  Mother. Do you have a mother, Frank Fowler? You must have a mother and a father; otherwise you wouldn’t have been born. What are their names?

  Names? Yes, they surely had names.

  They have names, buddy, which are stored somewhere in your head.

  The house had been ruined. Nothing could have escaped destruction in this fire, nothing. The flames were exceptionally hot, and even metal pipes got twisted in whimsical ways by the blaze. Something might have been preserved in the basement or in a fireproof safe. There could be jewels, important documents, or something else of value in that safe. Cash.

  His mother's name was... Mo... Mo... Something beginning with Mo.

  Father? Will? Walt! His father’s name was Walt!

  Monica? Was his Mom’s name Monica? No, he was wrong. Her name did not begin with Mo. But he was sure his Dad’s name was Walt.

  There, in the dusty smoke-filled basement, something had been saved from the fire. Old furniture—chairs, tables, sofas... Walt Fowler and... Arlene. His mother's name was Arlene.

  He closed his eyes and fell asleep before he knew it.

  5.

  He woke up a few days later. No, it must have been only a few minutes because the woman was still talking to the doctor and had the same clothes on. Josephine and Doctor Raynolds were still talking; he could hear their voices.