His glare changed to a slight smirk, “Alright Nate.” He pulled out the chair on the other side of the table. He spun the chair around and straddled the chair as he sat down. He rested his hands on the edge of the table. He leaned in toward me and got right in my face. Trying to intimidate me didn’t work for he is my prisoner, and this macho BS doesn’t impress me.
I smirked back at his gesture, and said, “You were a man once, right? And do you have a name? It would be rude to say ‘hey you.’ That will get old quick.”
“Why should I answer your questions? What’s in it for me?”
“Fair enough. How about plain manners. Even among enemies, it is a little rude not to introduce oneself. Also, you are my prisoner here in my mind. There are many kinds of prisons. There are comfortable prisons.” I changed our surroundings into a nice mid-range hotel room with a king-sized bed, a set of table and chairs in the corner, and an old CRT television on the dresser, a black and white model. I can only be so accommodating to the monster who tried to kill my family. “Or a prison can be a mind-numbing fortress of solitude.” The room changed into a classic rendition of the prison cell from The Count of Monte Cristo; I added a set of shackles attached to the far wall. It’s all about how you dress the scene.
Hmmm, a nice crispy Monte Cristo sandwich with real maple syrup sounds appetizing right now.
“Finally, a prison cell can be a nightmare.” The room became a swirling void of colors twisting into impossible shapes. Sound filled the air with blaring bad music from Barney & Friends to annoying Rap music with bad rhymes, inappropriate metaphors, and sick similes. To make it even more intolerable, I varied the volume from too loud to ear piercing.
The expression on his face didn’t change. If anything, it became smirkier. He spoke, “This is how you imagine torture? This,” he lifted his arms and motioned to all around us, “is, what’s the expression, a cake-walk compared to what I endured. But you are correct. I should introduce myself.” He stood, “I am Da’von, Campaign Leader of the First Harmony Guard.” He brought his hands to his side and turned them palm out. “Let me say. This is impressive holding me here against my will, changing our surrounding with little apparent effort, and trapping me here in the first place. Very impressive indeed, but how long can you keep it up? An hour? A day? No more than a couple of weeks at the outside I think.”
“Do you know how long you have languished here in my mind? The passage of time is hard to judge without a sun to mark the days or a clock to mark the hours. You don’t even have a heartbeat to count the minutes.” The smugness of his expression was beginning to piss me off. “Do you know how long you have lived here only in my thoughts?” I waited a measure of time before I spoke again, “A few days shy of six months.”
A genuine look of surprise briefly touched his face before he recovered his composure. “Six months or six years, time is on my side.” The song “Time is on My Side” by The Rolling Stones began to play in my head.
“Time is on my side yes, it is.”
“Okay Mr. K R A P stop it.”
A puzzled look came to Da’von, “I don’t understand? What did you say?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to speak out loud. Well, this has been …” Da’von leaped at me from across the table. He caught me off guard, and he quickly pinned me face down. While this tussle took the form of a wrestling match, it was, in fact, a mental assault. He began twisting my arm. The pain of his attack was beginning to register. The rules of this realm are my own, so I changed the rules. I twisted my head around 180 degrees and gazed into his eyes. I gave my face a menacing look and lit it from below to cast long shadows like the villain in a melodrama. Smiling first, then I spoke, “You are here in my world of Jedi mind tricks. Release me or suffer the consequences.” He kept up his assault and even manage to put a little more behind the attack. Sweat began to accumulate on his face. “I tire of your little tantrum.” I projected the memory of pain from one of my lesser migraines. I could see the strain on his face, but he held strong. “As you wish.” I took the memory of one of my major migraines and gave it to him. He released me and put a hand to the top right side of his head and fell to the floor. Yep, right there is where most of my migraines fester. I moved away and watched his torment culminate in a session of vomiting. I wonder what he was puking up here in my brain. No worries, I have a great cleaning crew.
“Are we having fun yet? Yea, migraines are a bitch. I would rather not have to use a stick. I would prefer to use a carrot.” The vision of a hotel room returned. At the table were a pile of blank paper and some pencils. A whiteboard was there also. “I understand you like working out math problems. Some high-level concepts, I hear. I offer you these carrots. Work your equations to your heart’s content. Remember if you don’t become a little more cooperative, I will not hesitate to give you the stick again. Let’s start over. Da’von, what are you?”
“I am beyond your comprehension,” he announced as he climbed back into his chair from his position on the floor. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Which is odd because all this are thoughts in my mind. The migraine must have rattled him. His whole manner was off.
I imagined a cold towel and a tall glass of water next to him on the table. “Please,” I gestured to the comforts. “Migraines can linger a bit. That headache laid me low for two days. You endured it for about,” I looked at my wrist where a watch should have been, “two minutes. Don’t feel bad. I’ve been dealing with those for as long as I can remember. Go ahead and take your time. We will begin again when you are ready.”
“Why are you mocking me? Torture me or leave me to your mental prison, but do not mock me.” Da’von stood up.
“I do not mock you. I am showing you more compassion than you showed me and mine. Take a seat, and we can begin again.” Da’von sat back down this time using the chair the way it was meant to be used. “What happened to you? You were a man of some importance once. What twisted you into the monster and make you kill so many people?” It was a long silence as we stared at each other across the table.
“I have not been twisted as you say. I have been transformed, made better, I evolved. Men, on the other hand, are still men. You are born. You live. You die. I am eternal.”
“Your statement is cryptic and not helpful.” Da’von smiled. “I don’t understand. While you have been a guest here,” pointing to my noggin, “I have treated you better than you treated me.” He stood and started to walk to the other side of the room. His walk is a futile gesture. I removed the walls and replaced them with a great empty void with only the floor and sky. He continued his stroll. It availed him not. With his every step, the table, chairs, and I followed right along sliding along the floor. “I am tired of these games. My wife is coming home soon, and I don’t care anymore.” He ignored me and continued his futile walk.
Standing, I flipped him around with a thought. I held him in place with another. Chains appeared and shackled his arms and legs. A steel collar materialized around his neck. Invoking my will, the chains stretched until it threatened to rip Da’von apart at the seams. His face contorted in pain. My visage grew into a giant and he diminished to the size of a bug. Stretching out my hand, I picked him up and lifted him up to my face. The ends of the chains binding him were anchored to my fingers. I flexed my hand, and he grimaced. I conjured a storm to rage around us with the magic of my thoughts. Lightning flashed around us, and the wind battered us. “I want answers.” The words echoed through my mind.
Da’von screamed at me, straining to be heard over the storm. “Ask your questions for all the help my answers will give you.”
“Why did you…,” at the edge of my perception I heard the familiar sound of keys in my front door lock. “Okay, we are going to have to put a pin in this right now. Bye.” I ended this mental play and placed him in the motel room prison. The joke is on him though. If he tries the television, the only thing on is Mister Rodger’s Neighborhood. Can you say ‘pablum?’
Chapter Two
I woke up from the half-dream state I used to interact with the prisoner of my mind. Charlene was home from her doctor visit. It has been a little over six months since the dreadful entity inhabiting Mark Galos’ body had ambushed my family and me. A single pistol shot had reached my wife’s heart. My wife clung to life by but a string. I held on to the tattered thread with loving strength. Only a wild gambit on my part had postponed her death until she reached the hospital. She suffered a stroke on the operating table. The doctors said she would not recover, and her body would slowly die in time. I gave up hope, but the faith and love of our daughter, along with all her schoolmates, gave me back my lovely wife.
Our front door swung open, and my wife stepped through. “Welcome home. So, what did the doctor say?” I asked Charlene. It is with disbelief I call her my wife. She is the best of wives and she is beautiful, too. She has an hourglass figure and dishwater blond hair. Her jade eyes can pierce your soul or comfort you with but a glance when you are in the deepest of despairs. Though she is not a tall woman at five-feet-five-inches, she can command the room with her presence if she so chooses. My debt to her can never be repaid. She saved my life. When I was resigned to let my life ebb away, she showed me it still had value. It had value to her at least. I’m still working on it having worth of its own or to me.
She ignored me for the moment as she put her purse away. She walked over to our dining room table and sat down in her usual chair. I rose from my place on the recliner and sat across from her at the table. I stretched out my hand to take hers, but she left it there hanging empty and sad. She took a breath and looked as if she would begin. She interrupted herself and sat there looking like she was somewhere else.
“Good news? Bad news? Tell me, please,” I urged.
Char started to speak again but stopped herself. She shook her head as if to snap out of a thought that was distracting. She finally spoke, “The doctor gave me a clean bill of health. He does want me to get one last CAT scan though.”
“Great news! Did he clear you to go back to your volunteer work and everything else?” I emphasized the latter. It has been so long since we made love. I’m afraid I forgot how, but I’m sure it will all come back to me when the occasion arises. Patiently I have been waiting for the doc to give the okay. I could have used my perfect memory to recall one of the many times we have been together, but it is not the same. And using my memory like that tends to be messy.
She hesitated and said, “Yes, I can go back to work.”
I jumped up and retrieved the phone and quickly dialed up John, Charlene’s father. “Hello John, this is Nathan. Can I ask a big favor of you?” John agreed. “Thanks. Can you watch Moiraine tonight? Fantastic! I’ll call you back with the details as soon as I firm up our plans.” Using the word firm was a mistake. I hung up the phone and sat back down across from Charlene. Her head was hung down. “What’s wrong? The doctor gave you great news. I thought we could go out and celebrate tonight. Go have some dinner at a nice place, maybe the Amber Glow. Remember, it was where we had our first dinner date. After dinner, we could come home and celebrate here without Moiraine in the house, if you get my meaning?”
“I always get your meaning, Nathan,” she said in a slightly hostile manner. “Dinner sounds great. As for the other, I have been poked and prodded enough for one day. We can be together another time,” she stood from the table and took the phone from me, sat down on the couch, and made a call.
“I’m a little disappointed, but the fact you’re fully healed is the most important thing.” My mind wandered as I waited for Char to complete her call. Why is she being so cold? The doctor gave her the okay to resume a normal life. Maybe I’m reading too much into it? I know things have not been perfect between us, but our relationship has been strained before. It does worry me a bit because she has never withheld her affections. Something has changed. Could it be she does not view me as a desirable man anymore? Could it be she sees my failing the family at the corner as too great a sin to forgive? Not finding a well-paying permanent job after six months of looking can’t be helping either. All I have managed to find is a job at a carwash and some odd jobs here and there, but the greater sin, I failed to keep my family safe. The ambush at the corner was where my failures started. Though I tried my hardest, the bullet still pierced her heart and killed our unborn son. She never even knew she was carrying a second miracle baby. It is a secret I have kept from her and a burden I must carry alone. My fears are if she knew of the son we lost, it would kill her spirit and sever the few thin ties remaining of our love. In the end, the bullet had murdered the greater part of her love for me, too.
“Nathan, did you hear me? I said I am going to get Moiraine from school,” Char said matter-of-factly.
“Oh yes. Let me grab my keys, and I’ll go with you.”
“No. You might as well stay here. I called the school and told them I was fit to come back. They need me to fill out some forms to be cleared for volunteering again. It will be boring. No need for you to tag along.”
I grunted an okay. Charlene walked out the door. Will she be walking out of my life, too? That thought had sunk my heart to the bottom of an ocean of hopelessness like an anchor freed of its chain. Some fresh air is what I need to clear my head, so I left a note saying I was going to take a walk and would be back in time for our evening out. As if it had a will of its own, the car drove itself to Balboa Park.
Being at peace in mind and spirit comes easily to me in this small grove when I sit there taking it all in. Yes, this is what I need. Strolling into the small copse, I slowly spun around and looked at all the different trees. There was oak, ash, walnut, and others. The fresh scent of the air was exhilarating. It had a hint of ocean salt to it. The sky could be seen through the break in the canopy of the trees. If this spot weren’t a park, I would want to be laid to rest here. After a moment of sitting there on the grass, I felt the breeze on my face, and I listened to the sounds of everything around me. I was starting to feel better. I heard a woman scream nearby. I jumped to my feet and ran in the direction of the call for help.
As I ran out of the grove, I saw a figure wearing a hoodie trying to take a woman’s purse. She was on the ground and had a death grip on her purse and wouldn’t let go. The dark figure kicked the lady in the face. Bastard. She sagged and lost her grip. The street thug took his prize and hightailed it out of there.
As I was about to give chase, I heard a weak plea for help from the woman on the ground. Changing course, I rushed to her side. After giving her a quick once over, I could tell she had no broken bones. Although, the cowardly kick to her head had mauled her nose. It was bent at an odd angle to the rest of her face. I instructed her, “Just sit still and don’t try to move,” shouting to the crowd, “Could I get some help here please?” No one stepped up to the plate, so I pointed to a woman with a stroller and baby. “You,” she pointed to herself, “Yes, you. Call 911 for the police and ambulance.” I pointed to a man close by, “You stand over here to give the lady some shade.” Once people saw others lending a hand, volunteers started helping on their own. Someone gave her a bottle of water. Murmurs of “how can I help?” and “you’re going to be okay” found my ears.
I know it is too late to give chase, but I’ve always liked lost causes. I flew from the victim’s side toward where the hoodie-clad fellow ran. As I expected, the pursuit led me to defeat. There was no thug in a hoodie to be found. Winded, I walked back to the lady with the broken nose. The crowd was still there. A couple of patrolmen had joined the crowd and started taking statements from the witnesses. The gentleman who gave the victim some water pointed to me, and the officers started walking toward me. Great. That is all I need, more hassles with the police.
All the police wanted was a statement about what happened. They received the down and the low, as I saw it, on the situation. It was getting late. I had to ride the speed limits by a razor’s edge to make it home in time. When I returned home I found my daught
er, Moiraine, at the dining room table doing her homework.
“How was school today?”
She looked up at me, and half giggled, “Good.” My daughter Moiraine makes all of life’s hassles worthwhile. Her brown hair was cut in a bob, and as she bent over her homework, it fell covering the sides of her face. Mo hasn’t grown much since the end of kindergarten. She still stands about three feet tall, but bigger than life. The nightmares which plagued her are all but gone. She has learned to take control of her own dreams and how to deal with those nightmares. I was afraid we had lost the little girl she was, but she is back to her joyful self. Gone are her puffy cheeks replaced with a more mature look a child gets when they finally lose the last traces of baby fat. Her hazel eyes sparkle in different colors depending on what she is wearing, and her smile fills the room and my heart. It shines brighter than the noonday sun. There was a time when Moiraine would strike up a conversation with anyone who crossed her path; not so anymore. The trauma of seeing her mother gunned down in the street has closed her off a bit to the world. She is more guarded around strange adults which is for the better. Our daughter is a miracle baby. The doctors said she would die in the womb or kill Charlene during her birth. She taught the doctors a thing or two. She is a one-of-a-kind girl, so we gave her a one-of-a-kind name. We named her Moiraine after a strong female character from a series of novels by Robert Jordan. Somehow the name Moiraine felt right to us when she was born. It is a strong name for a strong girl.
The Calling Page 2
