Something I Can Never Have (4 page)

I want to learn more about this thing inside of me.

We will be gone before the end of the year. Then you and I will be able to see each other in person. Things will calm down. And Heidi will be a nice little wife and do exactly what she’s told to do.

More soon.

The future is endless and open.

Jeremiah

Dear Dr. Barlow:

I’m not sure how to begin this.

Today that fancy doctor came back to my house. He sat down with me and began talking. As usual, I tried to act nonchalant. I wasn’t about to tell him of the restless nights I’ve been having. Sometimes waking up throwing up blood. Other times waking up somewhere strange. I couldn’t tell him about Heidi, or about anything.

I especially couldn’t tell him about Cliff.

But then …

This man—this doctor—said that his name was Cliff.

Of course I already knew this. But this was Cliff. Cliff was in my house and not dead in a hole after I strangled him and carved him out like a pumpkin and then made him into a bonfire.

Cliff Floyd is a counselor, who I guess isn’t in his thirties but closer to midforties. This is the same man who met with Heidi at Starbucks. But how often and what happened and whether he stayed with her that one weekend, I don’t know.

I think I’m losing my mind. Seriously losing my mind.

So tell me where I went wrong and what happened to me and why you did what you did, because I swear I think you know it all don’t you don’t you lizard liar face?

There are entire conversations and memories and pictures and people I end up remembering in my head. But now I don’t know.

I know what happened when I was young and living in Solitary. That’s not a dream, is it? I know how things got dark and I got messed up, but I’ve been better. You told me I was going to continue to get better, so what is happening and why do I want to stomp on everything until it’s just a messy runny flattened gooey sack there underneath my bloody boot?

So I didn’t kill Cliff? Maybe Cliff isn’t even having an affair with Heidi? I don’t even know how remotely interested the guy is in women, to be honest. He’s a counselor who goes to our church. Of course I should have known that. I
did
know that.

I have no idea where my mind is going.

I just know what I said before—my plans and my dreams for Solitary.

I know that I’m able to take all the stuff inside of my head and do something with it. I want people to get a little dose of this—this craziness—and have
their
minds blown in a good way. That’s how I want to suck them inside until they’re so far gone they can’t go back.

I know I can’t go back. I’ll never be able to go back.

Call me to give me some wisdom and guidance. Please. I need something. Anything.

Jeremiah

Dear Dr. Barlow:

The longer time goes by, the more clarity I have. And the more I begin to ask myself about those troubled, tortured teen days. My missing days.

Tell me this: if you sell your soul to the devil, is there a chance you can buy it back?

Recently I’ve begun to see things. Not in the nightmares, but in the broad daylight. Creatures. Faceless, monstrous, wretched things. Hovering in shadows, waiting. Crouched in corners, waiting. Silently breathing, waiting for me.

I’m going along with Dr. Cliff, just going through the motions to try and get Heidi off my case, but it’s not working. She still looks at me in fear. It’s almost as if every time I have an episode and share it with you, she knows. But she’s not listening in on my phone conversations. She doesn’t see these words. Maybe she just knows.

At the end of the year I’m going to hand in my notice. I know that we haven’t been here long, but this place is not for me. It’s not for us.

I need to be back in Solitary.

That’s what I feel when I wake up and when I go to sleep.

And if those things following me could talk, I have a feeling that’s what they would say too.

I dream of having my own church, as you’ve talked about. Of having people who know me and listen to me, where I don’t have to fake it.

I’m realizing that the longer time goes by, the more hatred I have toward the things I was taught when I was younger, toward the whole Christian faith. The thing I studied at divinity school and the thing I fake every day.

I want to go somewhere where I don’t have to fake.

Like my relationship with my wife. A forgery.

I have given up ever finding peace.

It’s control I want.

It’s control I desperately want.

Because someday the old man of Solitary—that magician and mastermind who slips in and out of my dreams—will die.

And I want to be there when he does.

I want to be there to take his place.

I think I can and will.

I must.

Jeremiah

Dear Dr. Barlow:

Tonight I prayed to the dark spirits that been hovering around me ever since I started to come up with memories. Ever since I started to grow and see the world outside. I don’t know if they chose me or if it’s because of the evil that lurked inside our house. I don’t know. All I know is that I prayed, and the prayer was answered. I prayed to be shown a way and a sign, and it came in the form of finding something from my past.

It was something I’d written down when I was a teenager and meeting with you.

It was about the ancient rituals of Solitary and how every year they would pick someone to sacrifice to the dark spirits. Not to keep the spirits away, but to keep them coming back.

And that’s when I decided that is what I would go and do. That would be my legacy. I would bring the ancient rituals back to Solitary, and fear would begin anew and the town would become something I could control.

Then it was as if the spirits dared me. Earlier this evening, after Heidi passed out or fell asleep, I went into the kitchen and discovered the huge butcher knife just lying there on the island in the kitchen. I know I didn’t get it out, but it was there.

The spirits want just a little taste. I know the date and the time. The idiots and morons of this world who don’t believe in the darkness dress up and play around with fire, but they don’t realize that they’re all just a second away from being set on fire and permanently scarred.

It doesn’t matter.

In moments I will be going out and doing a trial run for the sacrifices that will come in Solitary. This time it won’t be to some imaginary Cliff in my mind. This time it will be some unsuspecting fool who won’t be stupid much longer. I will take a life and offer it up to the dark forces I’ve neglected and run from.

I no longer refuse to believe in them. I know they’re real and know they followed me all the way from Solitary, from that evil little house I once lived in all the way to this normal, average house that serves as their den and their home.

Jeremiah

Dear Dr. Barlow:

Heidi knows. I don’t know how, but she knows. She doesn’t just seem to be distant whenever I’m around. She’s afraid of me.
Afraid.
It’s a visible fear, maybe the same kind I had when my stepfather came around me. It’s a fear that seems to say
I know what you’re capable of.
But I haven’t told her anything. I haven’t. And the only other person who knows is you.

But that’s impossible. I know you wouldn’t tell her anything. You have been the one telling me what to do when it comes to Heidi. To keep her under control. To keep her on a short leash. To keep her so she’ll do anything any time I want it all with just a look and a smile and her body cowering in fear in a corner.

I’m no longer at the church. It doesn’t seem like a big deal or a big surprise. But I am excited about the plans to begin a new church in Solitary. I know it’s a small town, but big things can happen in small places.

I look forward to not having to write these letters or talk on the phone anymore, but being in Solitary and seeing you in person. I look forward to getting my life and mind and soul back in order. It will be good to be back. I cannot wait. So it will be soon. Very soon.

Sincerely,

Jeremiah

Dear Dr. Barlow:

In my dreams I’m burning the world down. The flames are surrounding me, and I’m watching everything start to melt and flake away. The heat is smoldering and everlasting and I’m standing there laughing just like I laughed when I burned them down and just like I laugh now sometimes when I know I’m going to burn more when the time is right.

Jeremiah

Dear Heidi:

So you know now.

I guess I should feel good, since there’s nothing left to hide. But since you’ve so carefully read every single one of these letters, and since you laid out everything to me with such precision, I figured I would write one more letter to you in order to share my thoughts and feelings on the matter.

The address on these letters—the 49 McKinney Gap in Solitary, North Carolina—it’s a real place. But nobody lives there and hasn’t for a long time. There’s just an old abandoned cabin there in the woods that I used to go to and hide out in. I guess—I guess I always thought these letters were just stockpiling there instead of returning back to us.

I never even bothered to notice the letters were coming back unopened.

So yes, you know quite a bit, but there are still a few things you don’t know. So I will share the rest here.

Do I need help? Yes, of course I do. And I will get it. I promise.

There are reasons. I’m not going to blame anybody else, but since you heaped a lot of blame on my shoulders, I want you to know the truth. Everything started to turn black when my stepfather came into the picture. I was nine or ten, and the whole world suddenly turned to ashes. This man was a monster. He took the heart and soul of a boy—a child—named Jerry Turner. There was nothing left to take after he was done. Oh, but he was never done. He kept taking night after night for a long time. My mother didn’t know at first, but soon lived in denial and then later in fear. It doesn’t matter. She was partially to blame for marrying a sick and demented man. He scraped the essence of who Jerry Turner was and left him with a huge, black void.

Something filled that void, Heidi. Not fear, but hate. And I did something with that hate. I took back what was mine. I took back my identity and my future. I took back my life by ending my parents’ miserable, sickening lives.

Then someone came and helped me out. Someone older, a man who is from Solitary and seems to run it. He gave me another name and another life. He gave me an identity. And he showed me how I could be free.

You’re right about Dr. Barlow. This man who helped me wasn’t Dr. Barlow.

Dr. Barlow doesn’t exist. Yes, I can admit that now, now that I’ve seen the proof. The letters coming back, the highlighted novel. Dr. Barlow was an imaginary friend and doctor I had when I was young. I was an impressionable kid who grew up listening to heavy metal and reading Stephen King. A man named Barlow was the reclusive man living at the Marsten House in
Salem’s Lot
—the one who turned out to be a vampire and infect the entire town.

When I was ten and eleven, and my stepfather decided that I looked a lot more interesting than my mother, I needed to escape. And escape I did. And what ended up happening was that people like Dr. Barlow became real to me. Why I chose him, I don’t know. Just a stupid kid making something up to escape. But I needed that. And back when I was young, I would’ve sworn on my life that Dr. Barlow was real.

Something happened after we moved out here, Heidi. I don’t know what it was, but it triggered those childhood fears and anxieties. The ones you made sure I knew about, the imaginary behavior and the paranoia and all of that.

It’s all been in my mind. All of this. Your supposed affair, the man I supposedly killed. I’m sorry that it took you this long before you shared the truth with me. I’m sorry that you’ve been living with a man who probably seems more like a monster. It’s just—there’s medication I can take and doctors—real ones—I can talk to.

I’m going to get better, Heidi. I promise you.

We need to go back to Solitary where my roots are so I can continue to heal and continue to do what I’ve been called to do. To be in front of people and give them a message. I know it will take time, but that healing can’t happen here. It needs to happen back in my home.

I didn’t mean the words I said—the harm that would come to you if you told anybody else. It’s just—this is a family matter. It’s a delicate matter. And I have a disorder, Heidi. It’s treatable, but it’s not something that you can simply share with others. They won’t understand. They will only judge.

Please don’t judge me anymore. I know that for some reason, I relapsed. Maybe it was memories and hurt that had been suppressed that suddenly came to the surface. Maybe it was the thought of losing you that got me afraid. I don’t know what triggered it. But I’ve been running in the wrong direction for some time. Not anymore. I’m okay now. Things are going to get better. When we get to Solitary, we will start a new life and build new connections and do what we’re supposed to do.

I love you more than life itself. I can’t do this without you. I need you, Heidi. I need you to stay by my side during this turbulent time until things come back in place and we get our life in order.

Thank you for the courage to stand up to me. Now I ask that you take that same courage and use it to remain at my side.

I love you.

Jeremiah

Dear Mr. Kinner:

This is a letter to confirm that we will be arriving in Solitary Monday, January 5. Thank you for your assistance in our move. And with everything else.

We look forward to being back home. I look forward to seeing you again, and beginning the great work you have entrusted to me.

Please tell Dr. Barlow that I will be arriving on this day as well.