Hide All Night

by Tim Kizer

  Well, to his credit, the son of a bitch always had a plausible excuse.

  “You could shoot your assistant if you don’t want to shoot me,” Richard said. “What’s her name? Vicky?”

  “Please put the gun away. No one is shooting anyone here,” Stanley said assertively, his eyes shifting between the gun and Richard’s serene face.

  “Okay, Doc. I’m not going to push you.” Richard shoved the gun back into his bag. “Can you do me a favor? Try to open your mind, and look for the proof yourself. Maybe you have to find proof on your own in order to see the truth, Doc. Perhaps that’s how it works. Is that something you can do?”

  Stanley issued a sigh of relief and said, “On one condition. Don’t bring any weapons to my office, okay?”

  “You got it, Doc.” Richard gave Stanley a wink. “Let me give you a tip. Look for things that are there that should not be, and things that should be there but are not.”

  8.

  The name of the store was Juicy Couture. There was nothing special about it, and the only reason Stanley had targeted it was that Juicy Couture had been the first store he’d seen when he’d gotten out of his car.

  As he gazed at the fancily dressed mannequins behind the glass, it occurred to him that he must be under Richard’s spell. Why else could one explain what he was about to do?

  Find the proof.

  Look for things that are there that should not be, and things that should be there but are not.

  Stanley grabbed the rock, weighed it in his hand. Then he looked around like a thief about to break into a house. Or like a guy planning to smash a store window with a stone. He was feeling giddy; he had goosebumps all over his arms and torso, boiling over with anticipation. He didn’t know why he was so excited. He also realized that he ought to be ashamed of stooping to such behavior, of succumbing to temptation. He should have ignored Richard’s provocations, but he hadn’t.

  Was he really going to do this?

  Why not? There was no harm in it, was there? He’d just sit in his car and wait for the cops.

  Gritting his teeth, Stanley swung his arm and hurled the rock at the window. The sound the pieces of glass made as they fell onto each other, and the window sill, and the sidewalk was loud and indignant. There were also pleading undertones in this noise; it was as if the store window was asking Stanley through tears why the hell he had broken it.

  The piercing shrill of the burglar alarm startled him. Wincing, Stanley climbed in behind the wheel and shut the door. Luckily, the alarm sound was quite tolerable inside the car. Stanley glanced at his watch in order to register the moment his wait began. It was 8:41 pm.

  When someone broke into a boutique store in an upscale area, the police should arrive promptly, right?

  Yes, that was how it worked.

  At five past nine, Stanley got out of his car and peered down both ends of the street, looking for police car lights. There were no red and blue lights flashing in either direction.

  Stanley found another stone and broke the window of the store to the left of Juicy Couture.

  Fifteen more minutes had passed, and it became clear that cops were not coming.

  Did it prove that Richard was right and the whole world was nothing but a dream? Probably not. All it proved was the ineptness of the local police.

  Or maybe he was just burying his head in the sand.

  9.

  “Remember that patient I told you about? The dreamer?”

  “Yes.” Gina nodded. “What did he do now?”

  “I talked to this guy’s wife last week.”

  “What did she say?” Gina scooped some salad from the bowl and put it on her plate.

  “Our conversation was a bit odd, to tell you the truth.” Stanley speared a piece of chicken with his fork, placed it in his mouth, and started chewing. “I couldn’t help thinking that she was cuckoo herself.”

  “Maybe that’s why they got married.” Gina laughed.

  “Maybe.” Stanley chuckled. “You’re funny.”

  He opened his mouth to tell Gina about the gun Richard had brought with him, but then changed his mind and said nothing.

  They ate in silence for a minute. Gina was half-watching television, and Stanley was sneaking peeks at her face. If she’s a replica, she’s the most authentic looking replica I’ve ever seen, he thought to himself.

  “Honey, do you remember being born?” Stanley asked in a nonchalant tone.

  “What?” Gina shifted her eyes from the TV to Stanley. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  “Do you remember being born? I’m just curious.”

  “No, I don’t. I doubt anyone remembers that.”

  “Do you remember your childhood at all?”

  Gina took a sip of water from her glass and thought for a few moments. “I remember going to some lake with my mom and her boyfriend. I was nine or ten. I had a lot of fun there. I swam, lay on the sand, drank a lot of soda. That guy took us to that lake every two or three weeks the whole summer.” She cracked a smile. “I don’t know why I even remember this.” She gave Stanley an inquiring look. “What do you remember from your childhood?”

  “Not a lot. I remember fighting some guy in the schoolyard when I was in the sixth grade.”

  “What did you fight over?”

  “I forgot. Maybe he called me a name. I got beaten up pretty bad, but I managed to throw a few good punches, too.” Stanley began to tap his fingers lightly on the table. “When was the last time you had flu? Do you remember that?”

  “Flu? Why are you asking?”

  “No reason. Just popped in my mind.”

  He moved his tongue inside his mouth. The chicken was delicious. And the rice was delicious, too. There was no way this marvelous food was imaginary.

  “I think when you’re married to a doctor, you get sick less often than other people,” Gina said.

  Stanley brought his left hand before his eyes. High definition dream, he thought as he examined the friction ridges, lines, and wrinkles on his fingers and palm. This hand must be real. It was ridiculous to even consider doubting that.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because of all the good habits you pick up and the bad ones you quit.”

  Later that night, when they were in bed in their pajamas, preparing to go to sleep, Stanley cocked his head as if he’d recalled something important and asked, “Honey, where did you park when you came to see me at work a month ago?”

  “In the parking lot.”

  “Was it the parking structure or the parking lot?”

  “I didn’t know there was a parking structure there. Is it close to your building?”

  Staring affectionately at his wife, Stanley put his arm around her shoulders, kissed her, and said, “Never mind.” He kissed her again. “I love you.”

  10.

  He woke up around two in the morning. The image of Juicy Couture’s smashed window immediately emerged in his mind. Then Stanley quietly slipped from under the blanket and proceeded to do another preposterous thing.

  His palms sweaty, he pressed his ear against Gina’s chest and, holding his breath, listened for the heartbeat. He hated himself for doing this. He would burn with shame if someone saw him right now. Somehow Stanley was sure that it would be easy to guess what was going on here: a college-educated man is checking if his wife is a living being and not just an image in a schizophrenic’s mind. However, the urge was so strong that he wouldn’t be able to overcome it even if he tried. It was as if he were possessed.

  He was still under Richard’s spell.

  He met no surprises this time; Gina’s heart was beating, just like it was supposed to.

  Stanley took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his mouth. One could call it a sigh of relief, and perhaps that was what it was.

  “What are you doing?”

  Stanley started and immediately got weak in the knees. He drew himself up and, staring at the barely visible face of his wife, replied, “I was jus
t looking for something.”

  “What were you looking for in the middle of the night? What time is it?” Gina’s voice was sleepy and displeased.

  “Half past two.” Stanley started walking to his side of the bed. “Never mind. I’ll find it in the morning.”

  11.

  “How often do you experience déjà vu?” Stanley asked.

  “Occasionally. Probably as often as when I was alive.” Richard was idly drumming his fingers on the armrest.

  “Don’t you think it should become more frequent now that nothing new is happening to you?”

  “Why? I’m not reliving my past life, Doc. It’s more like a… like a game now. You know those city-building video games where you set up factories, houses, restaurants, collect taxes, and so on? It’s quite close to that.”

  “Are you talking about SimCity?”

  “Funny you should mention it. That’s what I was just thinking of. I never played this game, but I heard the name.” Richard grinned. “You see, if you’re thinking something, I’m thinking it, too.”

  Observing Richard’s calm demeanor, Stanley couldn’t get rid of the feeling that the man knew about the smashed store windows and the heartbeat check. Then Stanley recalled that he’d driven past Juicy Couture the next morning after destroying its window and found no signs of his rampage, which of course didn’t prove that Richard was right.

  “Can you read my mind?” Stanley asked.

  “No, I can’t. And I have no desire to be able to do it.” Richard interlocked his hands in his lap. “You know what I’ve been curious about this whole time?”

  “What is it?”

  “I wonder if everyone gets the opportunity to have an afterlife dream. Could I be the special case? Or maybe you have to earn it somehow.”

  “Hopefully, you’re not the only one.”

  “I hope so, too. Just imagine what kind of afterlife dream Einstein could have created. Incredibly sophisticated, I bet. I would love to take a peek at it.”

  “Maybe you are Einstein and simply don’t remember it?”

  “I wish.”

  Stanley made a hemming sound as he pondered Richard’s words. Then he said, “If I am a creation of your mind, then doesn’t it mean that when you talk to me, you talk to yourself?”

  “I suppose it does.”

  “Sane people don’t talk to themselves, do they?”

  “A lot of sane people talk to their dogs, cats, and ever cars, although they realize they might as well be talking to the wall.” Richard cocked his head. “They talk to dogs and I talk to my characters.”

  Stanley squinted at the window, whose blinds were drawn at the moment, and suddenly realized that he couldn’t remember whether he’d parked his car in the parking lot outside the building or in the parking structure on Lakewood and Carson.

  “I’d like to tell you a secret, Richard,” he finally said. “Last Wednesday night I threw a rock at a store window. Did you have anything to do with that?”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “I had my reasons. But I was wondering if you had a hand in it.”

  “How can you blame me for you breaking a store window?”

  “Hypnosis, for example. Did you study hypnosis? Do you know how to hypnotize people?”

  “I wish. Last Wednesday, huh? Right after we spoke? Were you perchance conducting an experiment, Doc?”

  “As a matter of fact, I was.” Stanley shut his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose for a few seconds. “Listen, Richard. I’m willing to discuss your theory with an open mind. Just for the sake of argument, let’s assume that you’re right and we’re living in an afterlife dream.”

  Richard narrowed his eyes and cracked a mischievous smile. “What happened, Doc? What changed your mind? Did you notice something odd?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What was it? Did you finally remember that there was no parking lot there a month weeks ago? Or did you jump off a tall building?”

  “No to both questions. What I was going to say is, I want to see more proof.”

  Richard put his right hand inside his jacket and said, “I bet you know what have in here.” Then he pulled out a gun, which was probably the same gun he’d brought a week ago.

  “Didn’t you promise not to bring any weapons?”

  “Come on, Doc, don’t be such a scaredy-cat.” Richard held out the pistol to Stanley.

  “Why the hell do you want me to do it?” Stanley noticed that he was getting annoyed and maybe even agitated, and it upset him quite a bit. It was unprofessional to let emotions control him. “Why don’t you—” He stopped before finishing the phrase, because the last thing a licensed psychiatrist should do was telling his patient to commit suicide.

  “Why don’t I shoot myself? Is that what you were going to say, Doc? Or why don’t I shoot you?”

  “I’m just asking you to leave me out of this.”

  “I need you to take a leap of faith. I have a feeling that’s the only way to make it work.” Richard closed his left eye and aimed the pistol at the door. “You see, I’ve already tried shooting myself. Right here, in this room.”

  “When?”

  “Five weeks ago.”

  “Was I present when you did it?”

  “You sure were. The problem is you don’t remember it.”

  “You’re right. I don’t remember you shooting yourself.”

  “That’s why I want you to pull the trigger. Maybe, if you really open your mind, you’ll see the truth.”

  Stanley reached for the pistol, touched its handle, and after a short hesitation grabbed a hold of it.

  “Excellent, Doc!” Richard exclaimed. “That’s a great start. Now stick the gun in my face and the pull the trigger. I promise you nothing bad will happen.”

  Panting, Stanley looked at the gun, then shifted his eyes back to Richard. “You want me to pull the trigger, huh?”

  “Yes, I do. This is the proof, Doc. The best proof there is.”

  Stanley inhaled deeply, pointed the gun at Richard. “Okay. Just remember it was your idea.”

  Then he pulled the trigger.

  12.

  Saturday morning, Stanley made an odd discovery. As he washed his face, it caught his attention that the scar he’d had on his chin was gone. He’d earned this scar in that memorable schoolyard fight he’d gotten into when he was twelve. Stanley could swear he’d seen the scar while washing his face the night before.

  Look for things that are there that should not be, and things that should be there but are not.

  Was it possible that he’d had this scar surgically removed and then simply forgotten about it?

  That was a crazy proposition.

  To hell with the scar. Even if he had indeed imagined that fight, it didn’t follow that the universe was Richard’s, or anyone else’s, dream.

  He must be tired.

  One thing was for sure: schizophrenia was not contagious, so he didn’t have to worry about catching it from Richard. And since his family had no history of mental illness, chances were that whatever he’d been going through wasn’t insanity.

  By the way, at what age did schizophrenia symptoms typically start? After digging in his memory for a minute, Stanley was surprised to find that he didn’t remember the answer to this question. He wished he could say that it didn’t bother him, but the truth was he felt quite uneasy about forgetting what any decent psychiatrist was supposed to know by heart.

  What would be the best evidence that he was living in Richard’s dream?

  Maybe he should try Richard’s approach and shoot someone? If that person came back to life, he would have no choice but to believe Richard, because in real life people that had been shot dead stayed dead.

  13.

  “So? Are you satisfied, Doc?” Richard crossed his legs, his gaze fixed on Stanley. “Do you believe me now?”

  “Satisfied? Satisfied with what? Did I miss something?”

  “You got your proof. You shot me las
t week. With a pistol. Right here, in the head.” Richard tapped himself on the forehead. “And as you can see, I’m still alive. Not a scratch on my entire body.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, I see.” Richard grimaced. “I guess the trick didn’t work.”

  “What trick?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Are you sure? Let’s talk about it.”

  “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Something else? All right.” Stanley opened his notepad. “Over the weekend, I read a little about that Vishnu guy and his thousand-headed snake. Turns out the snake floats on the universal ocean called the Milky Ocean.”

  “I’m glad I got you intrigued.”

  “But here’s the kicker: the Milky Ocean and the snake and Vishnu are all the same thing.”

  “Doesn’t that blow your mind, Doc?”

  “It sure does.” Stanley looked at Richard’s bag and asked himself if there was a gun in it.

  Then a feeling overcame him that he was on the verge of a big revelation. With a grin, he said, “If I’m just a manifestation of your fertile mind, you could have given me any name you wanted, is that right?”

  “Yes. I named you Stanley. Is there anything wrong with this name?”

  “Why didn’t you name me Frasier Crane?” Stanley’s lips stretched in a grin. “That would have been smart and funny.”

  “As a matter of fact, I was considering that. But I chose Stanley.” He took a sip from the glass. “Besides, I couldn’t remember whether Frasier was a psychiatrist or a psychologist. These are two different professions.”

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t remember that either.”

  “Of course you don’t. If I don’t know it, you don’t know it. By the way, you seem to be in a good mood today, Doc.”

  “Are you afraid of anything at all, Richard?”

  After a short silence, Richard replied, “No, I don’t think there’s anything I’m afraid of.”

  “You must be afraid of something. You’re human, after all.”