Journalstone's 2010 Warped Words for Twisted Minds (21 page)

Keylee whirls around. “Sit back!”

Simon ignores him, pounding the plate glass like a man in the midst of torture. Keylee grits his teeth and impulsively reaches for his sidearm. “Sit back in that seat right now or so help me I’ll-”

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvmmmmmmmmmmmmmm-BMPT!

A loud crash as the hood of the patrol car collides with a thick mound of dirt. Keylee is thrown forward, his seatbelt choking him as the vehicle swerves headlong into a ditch. A spray of white rocks crack against the windshield. The sheriff grips the wheel and stomps on the brake pedal. No use. The vehicle falls directly into the ditch and flips on its side. There’s an explosion of shattering glass as metal crumples and exhaust fumes rise in thick black clouds.

Minutes pass. The echoes of the impact fade and the dust clouds settle. The police scanner crackles as the roaming frequencies locate Debbie’s transmission:

“Sheriff? You disappeared on me again. Is everything all right?”

A wind picks up. The patrol car headlights dim. “Sheriff…? Sheriff…?”

No response.

The road is silent.

SIMON’S EMPTINESS:

“How are you feeling today, Simon?” Dr. Fredrick Grover asks of his patient as he enters his living quarters (room 28-C), located on the fourth floor of the mental ward inside Jessup County Hospital.

Simon is sitting at the edge of his neatly folded bed, a suitcase at his feet.

“I’m fine,” he replies and his appearance suggests that this is the case. For the first time in weeks he is clean-shaven and wearing civilian clothes (donated to the Hospital by members of a local Protestant church).

Dr. Grover is pleased to see his patient looking sharp, but the sullen tone combined with his demure manner is somewhat unnerving. After this should be an exciting day for him.

The doctor grabs a metal folding chair that’s been placed near the front door beside the chrome sink area and sets it directly across from the bed.

Simon tilts his head at an angle, intrigued by the folder Dr. Grover is carrying under his left arm. A thin label is printed in the corner: FIELDING, SIMON.

Under the name is a personal identification code used for filing purposes. Simon studies the numerical sequence then drops his gaze to the polished marble floor

The doctor senses his discomfort and briefly eyes the suitcase.

“All set to go I see…” He opens his folder and sifts through several pages of handwritten notes, most of which are simple observations made during weekly sessions with his favorite patient. There are other notes left by substituting psychologists who filled in while he was on vacation or sick leave, but these are rarely considered by the hospital staff who meet twice a month to examine their patients’ progress and discuss further methods of treatment.

Dr. Grover is mainly concerning himself with the last six pages near the back section of the folder that are stapled to a Xeroxed copy of Mr. Fielding’s discharge papers. These pages consist of notes from last week’s session.

“You’re quiet today, Simon,” the doctor remarks, glancing up from his papers. “Are you sure everything is fine?”

Simon raises his head slowly, his expression shifting to one of dreariness. “I’m ready to leave this place.”

The doctor nods his sympathies. “I’m sure you are.”

A brief silence follows.

Simon’s gaze returns to the floor. “I want to thank you for putting in your recommendation.”

Dr. Grover leans back in his chair. “Well Simon, I have great confidence in you, as do many of the others on staff.”

Simon’s timid smile vanishes. He eyes the doctor suspiciously. “Your hands are shaking, Dr. Grover. Is something the matter?”

The doctor laughs, but there’s an underlying nervousness that seems, on the surface, unwarranted. “I am a bit shaky, aren’t I? I suppose I had a little too much caffeine this morning…”

Simon’s glare darkens. “Did you?”

Dr. Grover clears his throat, ready for a change of subject. “Let’s stay on track here, shall we? We have very little time this morning. I’m supposed to take you to the transitional housing center by noon and I want to finish our discussion from last week.”

Simon frowns. “You’re the one taking me to the halfway house?”

“Does that bother you?”

Simon shakes his head. “No. It’s just…well you’re a psychiatrist. Seems strange they would expect you to take the time.”

“I volunteered,” Grover says, a bit too quickly.

Simon turns to face the curtains over the sealed window above his bed. “I see…”

Grover retrieves a retractable pen from his sport coat and clicks the tip open. “Let’s get on with the session shall we?”

Simon looks back from the curtains, unable to ignore the doctor’s rising impatience. “I had the dream again last night,” he says and the doctor immediate poses interest.

“You mean the one about the road?” he presses.

Simon shuts his eyes, nodding. “And the policeman…Keylee…”

Grover flips to an empty page, jotting brief notes. “The one whose death you feel responsible for?”

Simon’s lids open, he stares blankly at a wall. “I am the one responsible.”

Dr. Grover sighs. “Simon we’ve been over this. There are no officers in this county - in this state for that matter – with the last name ‘Keylee’. Nor are there any records of any law enforcement officers dying in a car accident while on duty. Your dream is a symbolic reflection of your own suppressed guilt. The victim represents your unresolved issues. An inner self you can’t remember.”

Smile can’t help but smile. “You say that so convincingly.”

Ignoring the humor, Grover shakes his head. “I think we should continue with what we were discussing previously.”

Simon cranes his neck, glancing toward the ceiling. “You mean, Shepherd’s Pass?”

“Yes,” Grover replies. Once again, his nervous energy betrays him.

Simon shifts his weight on the mattress. “Something’s happened to you. Hasn’t it, Dr. Grover?”

The doctor’s lips part, but there’s a subtle hesitation. The chance for denial passes as silence prevails and both men remain still.  

“I’ll tell you what, Dr. Grover” Simon finally begins. “How ‘bout we make a deal? I’ll tell you about Shepherd’s Pass, if you tell me whatever it is you’re hiding.”

Again the room goes quiet. From behind the door, footsteps can be heard. A full minute passes. Then two. At last the doctor speaks.

“Very well, Simon…” The doctor places his pen back into his pocket and points a steady finger. “You go first.”

Simon cocks an eyebrow. “So, we have a deal then, doctor?”

Grover nods curtly. “Yes. We have a deal.”

“Okay,” he says. “So where did we leave off?”

Dr. Grover sits up, instantly alert. “You were describing that first night.”

“Right…I remember now.”

Simon shuts his eyes, ready to begin.

MEMORIES OF THE FUTURE:

I wake up in a hospital room. I know it’s a hospital room because I’m connected to an IV drip and a loudly beeping heart monitor. My head is firmly bandaged, although I do not sense injury. In fact, if anything, I feel a tremendous sense of elation. I sit up quickly and unhook the tubes in my skin. Next, I unravel the bandages and focus on the front door, left partially open to reveal the empty ward beyond.

As I rise from my position on the bed and drift slowly out of the room, I am amazed to discover that the entire floor of the hospital is utterly deserted. No nurses, no doctors, no other patients; I am completely alone.

Making my way along the narrow corridors of the building I locate an exit by way of a staircase and once I descend the three flights that lead the first floor I enter the lobby (also empty) and head for the automated doors, which direct me to a massive parking lot where there are no cars and the sky is pitch black and the moon is a bright crescent, partially concealed by dark looming clouds.

There are no stars out tonight and as I look down at my bare feet, I’m forced to wonder if I should locate a pair of shoes. I test the feel of the pavement beyond the edge of the hospital grounds. I discover a bleak path that eventually progresses into the rough terrain of an open field, expanding outward into a desolate stretch of highway. Somehow I walk onward without discomfort even as the asphalt joins with the barren earth. Somehow, I visualize myself being lifted. In the dream, I move upwards and with each step I take I’m miraculously guided above a fiercely blowing wind which carries my weightless body through the air.

The wind increases the higher I ascend. Finally, I achieve great distance from the field below me and I’m overtaken by an invisible force that wraps itself tightly around my chest. The sound of flapping wings echoes above my shoulders. Suddenly I hear a voice. It speaks to me in whispers. This is what is says: “Remember all that you see…and all you will be shown.”

Though these words are unnerving, I remain unafraid. I do not cry out or demand to be released. Instead I embrace the hidden power and I allow myself to be flown through the clouds, until at last the wind changes and I’m gradually moving downward, returning to the landscape that is no longer an open field, but a path of white light: the intended destination.

“Where am I?” I ask, hoping that the voice will respond. And it does.

“This is the Road of Things to Come…” Then it repeats: “Remember all that you see…and all you will be shown.”

Before I can ask what “things” I will see, the power around me dissipates and I fall to the earth like a discarded stone. Again, I’m alone, but the light beckons me onward.

With only slight hesitation caused by caution of the unknown, I take my first step down the brightly lit path. Silence becomes deafening - an eruption of space - as intense vibrations swarm all around me.

Somewhere the world is shaking.

Somewhere a void is preparing to open.

A figure emerges from the shallow end of whiteness; not a person exactly, but rather a translucent being, similar to myself, but without definition, save for a pair of illuminate pupils that shimmer as they stare at me. I cease all movement. Both arms are at my sides. The shifting form levitates and I am transfixed with fascination as I gaze longingly into its disappearing eyes.

Simon stops talking and studies the doctor’s captivated expression. “You’re believing every word of this, aren’t you?”

Grover blinks and immediately shifts in his chair. “Why wouldn’t I believe it?”

Simon shrugs casually. “Well, according to you and your staff I’m a diagnosed schizophrenic...”

Grover realizes the trap and quickly defends himself. “Schizophrenia is a fairly open ended diagnosis, Simon. When you were first brought here-”

Simon cuts him off, raising a dismissive hand. “When I was first brought here, you didn’t believe a word I said. All this time you have never once considered anything I’ve told you to be anything other than paranoid delusion. Everything I’m telling you now, I’ve told you before, but until last week you’ve never really listened. Why is that, doctor? Why are you so suddenly interested?”

Grover crosses his legs, avoiding eye contact. “This is our last session together…I just want to make sure that we don’t leave anything half dealt with.”

Simon shakes his head. “Doctor Grover, please don’t lie to me. Remember we have a deal.”

Grover takes a breath, inhaling deeply as he considers something. The moment passes and he recovers. “I think we should get back to what we were discussing.”

Simon nods with full agreement. “You’re absolutely right. I wasn’t finished yet. It’s still my turn…”

GLEAMING VISIONS:

I stare at the glowing image for what seems an eternity and when the voice speaks again, a question is imposed: “Do you know why you’ve been brought here?”

Without moving my lips, I am able to respond. “You want to show me something…”

The shape moves closer. “That’s right, Mr. Fielding. I want to show you the future. Do you wish to see it?”

Without hesitation: “Yes. I do.”

“Then you must close your eyes.”

“But how will I see?”

The image raises both hands. “Your own vision impairs you. There is only one way to examine the future…and that is through me.”

I shut my eyes, my body trembling as cold fingertips caress my cheeks and gradually move up toward my eyes. Instinctively, I flinch. That’s when it happens: the fingers seize my skull, thumbs sink deep into my sockets - an eruption of pain - and instantly I’m screaming.

A fantastic blue light bursts inside my head. Electric waves shoot down my spine. A magnetic force is pulling me. Draining my energy. The blue light intensifies then abruptly vanishes. I lose all sound. And everything is black.

-FLASH-

I’m in a car, the front passenger’s seat. There’s someone else with me and they’re driving the car. For some strange reason, I can’t see their face. A scene of a suburban morning surrounds us: a rising sun, a neighborhood of three storey houses, fresh cut lawns, children with backpacks walking to school.

Another -FLASH- the person driving disappears. I’m all alone now. The car is still in motion, racing to high speeds. Something is coming for me, a massive white shape, and I’m terrified. It’s headed straight for me…

Impact. My world endlessly spins. Instantly, I am dizzy. My pain is constant. A part of me has broken. And I’m whirling upside down, the sky becoming pavement, the streets becoming clouds. In the distance I hear voices. Some of them are screaming. From across the street I see a man at a bus stop is clutching his cell phone, he’s frantically dialing numbers, calling for an ambulance.

The roof of the car caves and I am trapped inside.

Next comes the blood, it’s splattered against the windshield. The smell of smoke is choking me, but there’s one last image to see. I remember it very clearly. It reminds me that I’m dreaming. It’s the sight of golden apples, falling in reverse - from the blue sky below me to the paved road above – and there are hundreds of them, falling like rain, landing in piles that form all around me.