Delirious

by Daniel Palmer

  For Charlie, the list was an undisputable artifact of what he had been denying ever since the incident with Jerry Schmidt at the steering committee meeting. He might be losing control over his mind. As much as he feared the list, he couldn’t stop looking at it or bring himself to destroy it. He picked up the list at least a dozen times, rereading it, searching the darkest recesses of his mind for any recollection of being its author. Nothing came to him. And yet no other explanation worked.

  Sitting alone in the car gave Charlie time to contemplate his situation and try to piece it together. Joe hadn’t written the note. Of this Charlie was certain. Joe’s reaction to Charlie’s accusation was enough proof. If anything, Joe lacked guile. And from his careful inspection of the house, it was clear nobody else had been inside. For that matter, nobody except for Randal even knew about his being fired from SoluCent, let alone the names of those who had taken part. That left only one person responsible for the kill list. For Charlie, it meant looking square in the mirror.

  He gripped the steering wheel hard. Admitting he wrote the kill list was tantamount to admitting he was crazy. That he had created Anne Pedersen, sent e-mail to Sony with the InVision product plans, written cryptic notes to himself, and surfed the Internet, looking for porn, while at work. None of it made sense. Charlie couldn’t bring himself to accept that he could have written such a list, let alone carry out its horrific promise. It simply wasn’t possible. He had proved time and time again, through all his achievements, that fate hadn’t dealt him the same lonesome hand that it had to Joe or his father.

  What was it that hurt the most? Charlie wondered, scanning the dark street for any sign of Gomes. The windows of his car were rolled down slightly, and a cool breeze washed over him from the outside. It was invigorating and, for the briefest moment, dealt Charlie the illusion that he was closing in on the answer.

  The feeling faded with the breeze. Everything that had defined him and proved to others that he was as successful as he was brilliant had over the course of a few short weeks been rendered meaningless. For all his hard work and achievement, he might end up no better off than his brother, Joe. Two lost minds. Two lost souls.

  “It doesn’t matter what you did yesterday,” Charlie muttered, “when all you have is today.”

  His only hope was to find something redeeming in this. Some small salvation he could steal from this nightmare.

  Doing that meant keeping a watchful eye out for Gomes. If this threat was real, as he suspected it was, then Gomes’s life was in grave danger. If Charlie was the threat, then at least Gomes would see Charlie out in the open and would have a fighting chance to defend himself.

  “I’m here to save Rudy either from myself or from someone I don’t know,” Charlie said aloud, laughing.

  Using an address that he had swiped off Yahoo! People, Charlie had played out a couple of scenarios on the drive over to Gomes’s house. His favorite plan involved somehow convincing Gomes to work together and trap whoever was planning to hurt him. But Charlie wasn’t certain Gomes would even believe the threat was real, let alone that he would cooperate with Charlie to set up a trap. As far as Gomes was concerned, Charlie was crazy, and handing him a typed-out kill list wasn’t going to do anything to change his opinion.

  By the time nine o’clock approached, Charlie was thinking about packing it in and trying again the next day. Just then Gomes came lumbering down the street, his massive frame casting a long shadow down the cracked sidewalk as he passed beneath the yellow glow of a streetlamp.

  Now that Gomes was here, Charlie realized he had no idea what he was going to do or say.

  Gomes was talking on his cell phone. There were a couple bars and restaurants near the center of Arlington, where Gomes lived. Perhaps he had been out to dinner nearby. Charlie had already suspected that Gomes was on foot. He’d seen two cars parked tandem in Gomes’s driveway and recognized Gomes’s hot-rod Mustang from the SoluCent parking lot.

  Gomes was just starting up the steps to his apartment in a two-family Victorian home when Charlie emerged from his car. A lifetime working in security had trained Gomes to be on alert. He caught the movement and swung his head in Charlie’s direction. Gomes stopped dead in his tracks. His expression was one of stunned disbelief.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Gomes snarled.

  Gomes was wearing a blue blazer and tan khakis. Charlie saw his hand reaching inside the blazer. Was he carrying a weapon? Charlie couldn’t believe his own stupidity. He had been so concerned about how he’d convince Gomes that the threat against him was real, he had completely overlooked the possibility that Gomes would view his presence as a hostile act. Perhaps think it was a revenge attack for his being fired from SoluCent. Ironically, just like the kill list said.

  “Rudy, don’t do anything stupid,” Charlie said from across the street, still watching Gomes’s hidden hand. “I’m not here for that.”

  Gomes gave Charlie a long, cold stare. Through the ghostly glow of the streetlamp, Gomes looked even more terrifying.

  “What are you doing here, Giles? I will fuck you up bad. I mean it,” Gomes growled.

  “I need to talk to you,” Charlie said, trying his best to keep his voice down, not wanting to attract attention. “Let me just cross the street so we can talk.”

  Charlie felt blood race to his head and his heart jump in his chest. It was fear. It had seemed so easy to get Gomes to listen to him when Charlie had practiced what he would say alone, in the safety of his car. Now, face-to-face with the hulking Gomes, Charlie knew that whatever he had to say wasn’t going to be well received.

  “I have reason to believe your life might be in danger,” Charlie said.

  Gomes took his hand out of his blazer pocket. The hand was empty: no gun. He then started across the street; after a few long strides he accelerated, running full out toward Charlie.

  “Oh yeah? From who, jackass? You?” Gomes yelled it like a battle cry as he sprinted across the street. When he was in range, Gomes lowered his shoulder and drove it hard into Charlie’s sternum.

  The force of the blow sent Charlie sprawling backward into his car. He was still sore from the fight with Joe the night before. The pain in his chest was staggering. Winded, Charlie slouched down on the street. Then he felt two hands grab him by the shirt collar and lift him up until both his feet were several inches off the ground.

  Gomes let go with one hand and took a large windup to throw a punch with his right. Charlie timed it perfectly and ducked his head quick to the left. The blow glanced off his ear but was much less damaging than it could have been had he not moved in time. The body weight shift was enough to force Gomes to let go of Charlie’s shirt and drop him to the ground.

  Charlie hit the asphalt, landing hard on his hands and knees. Adrenaline coursed through him as instinct instructed him to flatten himself on the pavement and slide underneath his car. His arms were tight against his sides, palms flat against the ground, forearms extended over his head, as though he were about to try and do a pushup. He could see Gomes’s massive feet pacing back and forth by the side of the car. Then he noticed Gomes’s right foot disappear from his sight as his left foot pivoted. Next he heard an explosive crash and saw falling glass pepper the ground.

  “Want me to shatter all the windows in your Beamer, you sick prick?”

  “Rudy, please!” Charlie said from underneath the car. “You’re not listening to me. I’m here to warn you about something important.”

  “How about this for important?” Rudy snapped. “A guy I helped to fire comes stalking me at my house, talking nonsense, acting threatening, and I put him in the hospital. Do you think any judge is going to hold that against me?”

  “I’m not here to hurt you, Rudy. But if you have your mind set on hurting me, you’re going to have to come and pull me out from under here yourself,” Charlie replied.

  “You know what, Giles? That’s not a bad idea. I’ve been looking to blow off some steam. You’re giving m
e the perfect outlet, and I have the perfect defense. I think you’d rather take a couple shots from me than a night in the slammer. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  He knew he had to act quickly if he wanted to avoid being Gomes’s punching bag. Charlie breathed a little easier as he recalled the keys still being in the ignition. That bit of good fortune might just be enough to save him.

  Gomes crouched down to look under the car in response to the challenge. Charlie slid his body to the opposite side of the car, opened the passenger-side door, and jumped inside the instant he saw Gomes going into his crouch. By the time Gomes realized what had happened, Charlie was already in the driver’s seat. He slammed the driver’s side door shut and hit the automatic locks.

  Gomes’s thick arms and strong hands reached through the broken glass of the driver’s side door and clawed at Charlie’s face, leaving large red streaks that burned down one side of his cheek. Charlie cut the wheel hard the other way and jammed the car into drive, reaching across the seat to close the passenger door as well. The car jumped off the curb, rolled back onto the street, sending Gomes sprawling backward, away from the vehicle as it took off.

  From the rearview mirror Charlie could see Gomes getting to his feet. His head was thrown back, as if he were having the biggest laugh of his life. Hopefully it wouldn’t be his last, Charlie thought as he slipped out of sight. Although if Gomes were to meet an untimely end, Charlie wasn’t sure he’d care much anymore.

  Soon after he pulled away, the BMW’s InVision system came to life. The sweet, calming voice of the computer wafted through the speakers. It settled Charlie’s jostled nerves.

  “Hello, Charlie,” InVision said. “Where would you like to go?”

  “Home,” Charlie said. “I just want to go home.” “To home,” InVision repeated. “No,” Charlie said. “Waltham. Home in Waltham.” “Home in Waltham. Enjoy the trip.”

  Compared to that experience, he thought, anything would be enjoyable.

  Chapter 19

  Monte must have heard keys rattling and let out a delighted yip the moment Charlie entered through the back door. He saw Joe standing in front of the hall mirror, buttoning the last button on his blue-collared security guard work shirt. Joe waved at Charlie’s reflection as he approached.

  “What happened to you?” Joe asked. He pointed to the large red scrapes running nearly the full length of Charlie’s cheek.

  “Cat attack,” Charlie said, scooping Monte up in his arms and carrying him past Joe and into the living room. He fell onto the sofa, letting out a grunt. Monte rolled onto his back, legs pawing at the air, hoping to entice Charlie into a little roughhouse, or at least a good tummy rub.

  Joe clasped his Hanover Security badge around his neck and made no further attempt to speak with Charlie. Charlie knew his brother. If Joe was being quiet, it was because he was still raw about their fight last night. Otherwise, he’d be talking up a storm. As drained as he was, Charlie was thankful for the moment’s peace.

  “I’ll be home after nine,” Joe said. “Shift ends at seven, and I want to go back to the hospital and sit with Mom. I’ll try to stay quiet,” he added.

  “That’s fine. Do what you have to. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t,” Joe said under his breath.

  The brothers had worked out a schedule so that their mother was rarely without company. Joe had been with her most of the morning, and it didn’t surprise Charlie that he was going back for a couple hours after his shift. Charlie had even set up a wireless hub in her private hospital room but still couldn’t muster the focus and energy needed to start the job search in earnest. What he liked best, despite his loathing for hospitals, was to sit by her bedside and read aloud to her. His mother had once lamented not having time to go back and read the classics she loved as a young girl—Jane Austen and Dickens especially. He was about midway through A Christmas Carol and thoroughly enjoying it. Perhaps she was, too, but he couldn’t tell. Her face was still and without expression; her body a statue. He wanted to believe that reading to her helped, but even if it didn’t, at least it made him feel useful. And that was a rare feeling of late.

  “So, you’re coming Saturday, right?”

  “Excuse me?” Charlie said.

  “To Walderman. You’re coming, right? Mom always comes. You know this is a pretty significant checkpoint for me. I’m getting my three-year progress report and feedback on how I’ve been doing with my work assignment.”

  Charlie wasn’t thinking about Walderman or Joe’s checkpoint. His mind was on Rudy Gomes and the kill list.

  “I don’t know. Why do you need me there?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Let me think….” Joe let his voice trail off. He began rubbing at his chin as if deep in thought. It was a precursor to a particular brand of sarcasm that Charlie knew all too well, for he used it himself.

  Brothers will be brothers.

  Joe’s fingers kept rubbing at his chin as he spoke. “Let’s see … Well, you are family. The only family I have right now. And I guess support is a good thing. Yeah, I think it is. And you know, you could be … I don’t know … supportive, and be there for me when Mom can’t. Doesn’t that seem like a good use of your time?”

  Charlie scratched at the scruff of his beard. Every joint in his body ached. It was still amazing to him how quickly he had let himself go. He was no longer the lean, fit corporate executive he had been just weeks before. He was now nothing more than a vagabond; an unshaven, out-of-shape, jobless wretch who thoroughly disgusted himself.

  “I don’t know, Joe,” was all he could manage to say.

  “Thanks, Charlie. That really means a lot to me. I’ll make sure to slam the door hard when I get home.”

  Charlie lay on the sofa but was unable to sleep. Monte curled himself into a tight ball against Charlie’s side. Minutes later, after Monte stopped squirming and found his spot, he began to snore.

  What if it is me? Charlie thought. Like a night stalker, a sleepwalker. Charlie remembered a movie he’d seen back in his MIT days. It was a German expressionist film titled The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Cesare, the somnambulist, was compelled by the evil Dr. Caligari to commit murder without any self-awareness. Charlie’s mind traveled down that winding road, in search of possibilities, explanations, anything. He headed deeper and deeper into that abyss, until finally, somewhere lost in that darkness, he found sleep.

  Charlie didn’t wake until nearly ten o’clock the next morning. Light flooded the living room, rousing him from a night filled with horrifying dreams. Only flashes of those nightmares remained.

  Rubbing his temples, he tried to force himself awake, then rose slowly and creakily from the lumpy sofa. His cheek was throbbing and raw from where it had been scratched the night before. He groaned.

  “You finally up?”

  Charlie heard Joe call to him from the kitchen. It was then he noticed the warming aroma of bacon and the earthy, aromatic smell of fresh brewed coffee. Charlie entered the kitchen and saw eggs were scrambled in the pan.

  “You’re making breakfast?” Charlie said.

  Joe looked back at his sleep-eyed brother equally quizzically.

  “Of course I am,” Joe said. “You asked me to.”

  “I did?” Charlie asked.

  “Sure. You left me a note,” Joe said, waving a piece of paper in front of his face.

  Charlie’s eyes widened, and he lunged for the paper, ripping it out of Joe’s hand, tearing one of the corners in the process.

  “Hey! Easy does it,” Joe said. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute.”

  Charlie read the note. It was definitely his handwriting. Pen written on lined paper.

  Joe,

  I’m sorry about our fight. Let’s start again. How about you make breakfast, eggs, bacon, and coffee, and I’ll buy lunch? Deal? Count on me for Saturday at Walderman, too. I’m really proud of you, Joe.

  Charlie

  Charlie gasped, then covered his mouth with h
is hand. “Where did you find this?” he asked.

  “It was on the kitchen table,” Joe said.

  Charlie’s heart began to race. Same as it had when he’d found the kill list and all the other notes he had no memory of writing. A terrifying thought occurred to him.

  “Joe, were there any other notes?” Charlie asked. His voice was low, as if he were asking his brother to reveal a secret.

  “Yeah. One. But I didn’t know what to make of it.”

  “Give it to me,” Charlie said.

  Joe slid another piece of paper on the kitchen counter over to Charlie. Charlie could tell without even reading it that the note was scribbled in his handwriting. He read the single line, and his blood turned ice cold.

  One down. Three to go.

  “God help me,” Charlie said.

  Chapter 20

  Charlie swerved his BMW in and out of traffic down Massachusetts Avenue. Wind and cold air blew in through the broken driver’s side window and whipped at his face. It was a stinging reminder of the unraveling of his life. He nearly ran a stoplight at the intersection of Mass Ave and Route 16, his concentration less on driving and more on what might have happened to Rudy Gomes.

  Joe had been upset at Charlie’s departure. Charlie felt guilty about leaving him in such a rush. But how could he have made Joe understand why he had asked him to cook breakfast but wasn’t going to stay to eat it? It was a no-win situation. Charlie didn’t have the time or the answers.

  “Turn right in two hundred feet,” InVision said.

  Charlie waited for InVision’s navigation cues as a matter of habit, even though he could have driven the route unassisted. He pulled in front of Gomes’s house, in the exact spot where he had parked the night before. As Charlie exited the car, his feet crunched on shards of broken glass, which he assumed were remnants of his shattered window. The house was peaceful. The street was quiet. Charlie’s heart sank when he looked in the driveway and saw only one car parked. It was Gomes’s.