The Desolate Guardians (14 page)

I'm not crazy. I don't mutter to myself or
attack people. My thoughts are all still there - my 'faculties,' as
my brother Will calls them. So I force myself to behave normally
when I see something I don't understand, and I use logic to control
what I do.

I like music. Songs keep me grounded, because
they float through the air like mathematical chains. The songs that
I know, I know by heart, and I know I'm solid as long as the notes
keep making sense. I'm listening to
Man on the Silver
Mountain
right now, trying to keep coherent, but the strategy
doesn't help memories of my hallucinations.

Is it a hallucination? I ask, because the
media coverage of the molten Moon dropped off pretty quickly over
the last week. I mean, there's a massive cloud of glowing dust and
flaming gasses spread out across the sky like somebody thrust a
burning spear straight through the Moon - because
that's what
happened
- and nobody seems to care.

Today, I can't even find any mention of it.
All the videos and pictures are gone. I can't find the articles
anymore. It's been too cloudy here to see it myself, and I don't
have any windows in my basement apartment, but I've ventured out a
few times to look up. I still see the orange glow, like a smeared
second sun behind the clouds, and I have to wonder: why the hell
isn't anyone talking about this anymore? Has our attention span
really gotten that short? Are we right back to the next
reality-television drama and celebrity gossip
already?

A weird thing happened when I ran into my
next-door neighbor, Dean. I normally avoid him, like I avoid
everyone, but this time was different.

"Hey Alek," he said, smiling at me in the
hall.

Why would anyone smile at me? Grubby,
unshaven, wearing a Megadeth t-shirt, I was the epitome of
that
guy you ignore who is fine with being ignored.
I would have
said hello back and moved on quickly, but I had a question myself,
this time. "How about that sky?"

"Yeah?" he asked, studying my face. Tall,
blonde, and good-looking in that annoying Abercrombie sort of way,
he had no reason to so much as look at me. I wondered why he was
even talking to me. "What about it?"

I remember frowning slightly. Something
seemed off about his interest. I wasn't about to make a huge social
blunder and mention the sky was on fire if I was just hallucinating
the whole thing, either. "Crappy weather's blocking the view."

He smiled at that. "Yes. It's quite
unfortunate."

I nodded, laughed sheepishly, and hurried
down the stairwell. I think he stood there watching me until I
closed the door…

The more I thought about it, the more I was
sure that he didn't remember that the Moon was on fire. If I were a
normal person, that's the
first
and
only
thing that
would be on my mind. Hey, remember that time the Moon freaking
exploded?! Yeah, me too, since it was like last week! And because
half the goddamn sky is still on fire!

Every couple hours for several days, I'd go
outside, but I kept missing the sight due to the cloudy winter
weather. From the pictures I remembered seeing, the Moon was a
molten coin burning in between two jutting clouds, almost like a
fiery eye, and I wanted to see it for myself. If I could just see
it… if I could just stare at it for a time… I could finally
convince myself one way or the other. I was becoming pretty certain
that the Moon would just be the same old silver dollar it had
always been. Thing is, I thought I'd gotten a pretty good handle on
my issues.

If I've just imagined the entire thing, then
I'm in serious mental trouble.

I left a few messages for my brother, but he
hasn't called me back yet.

I even texted my younger sister, Laura, on
the excuse that I just wanted to see how she was doing. She didn't
respond, either… no surprise, though. Dad's probably passed out
drunk right about now. I might call Tracy if I get any worse…
although I wouldn't know what to say to her, really. She's probably
busy taking care of Dad's mess, anyway.

I don't know. I'm sure I'll get over this. I
just don't want to have to go to my doctor. She'll up my meds
again, and then I'll be a zombie.

---

Thanks for the responses, although now I'm
just more confused. Some of you say the Moon isn't on fire and to
go look for myself, and some of you are just trolling and say the
Moon
is
on fire? Hope the mods ban you. This isn't a place
to make fun of people.

Some of you have asked about Will before.
Yeah, he listens to me. He's the only family I have that takes me
seriously at all. I think that he considers it his duty as an older
brother. He takes care of Laura, too, although she's got a good
head on her shoulders, mostly. I don't think Will would have to do
nearly as much if Dad got a job, or stopped drinking. Tracy's nice
and all, but we're not her kids, and not her responsibility.

But, uh… even Will isn't really returning my
calls anymore. Not after that incident I posted about last month.
He got mad that I woke him up in the middle of the night for a
dream I had while I was
sleeping.
Waking hallucinations were
one thing, he said, but dreams while I was asleep were perfectly
normal, and I had to deal with them on my own.

He didn't seem to care how traumatic or
horrifying the dream was. I mean, I can't blame him. I'm sure, on
balance, he's done so much for me, and I've done very little for
him, but I've had a terrible sense of impending doom ever since
that night. I think about the kinetic terror I felt, and I still
can't shake it.

The tough part for me is that my dreams seep
into my real life. Like, right now, I feel like I'm being watched.
I'm looking up, and there's a small mirror to the right of my
laptop. I can't look away, even as I type - or am I looking away,
and just
believing
that I'm looking at the mirror? I keep
looking deeper and deeper, seeing further into the apartment behind
me, and a sense of tension pulls at me, a building scream-to-come
that keeps rising to higher and higher intensity. I already see it,
I already sense it, but I'm not consciously aware of what it is,
not yet…

A grenade goes off inside me, throwing terror
and adrenaline in a thousand conflicting directions within the
confines of my chest and limbs.
He's there. He's standing there,
in the shadows, watching me with hatred and intent.
He sees me
- he sees that I see him - and he stalks forward, approaching me
from behind.

But he's not there. He can't possibly be
there. Why would Dean be in my apartment?

I just have to sit still, breathe deep, and
-

---

Oh my God. I don't know what to do. I think I
killed Dean.

But I had to.

I had to.

I have to make sense of this… I have to
figure this out… ok, step by step…

I wasn't listening to music, or I would have
known that
he was really there.
Or was he? Is he? Is he
really on my floor, bleeding from his head? So secure in the matrix
of logic I usually keep myself in, I was certain he wasn't really
there. I kept believing that, even as the fear surged up right
behind me - and he grabbed me around the neck!

He was trying to drag me toward the door,
that's all I could tell. He didn't say a word. I don't know how I
got out of his grip, except by going limp and flopping down at a
lucky moment, and then he lunged at me again. I scrambled away,
pulled a lamp down, and threw it at his face.

A couple bits of shattered light bulb stuck
out from his cheek, but he kept coming, furious. He tried to tackle
me, but I slipped and fell out of the way, and he smashed sideways
into my table. I used his moment of disorientation to lift my
printer and bring it down on his head.

He fell, and stopped moving.

What do I do? What do I do? My condition, my
pills, would make me out to be a lunatic. Would they lock me up for
this? It was in my own apartment, sure, but they'd just say that I
invited him inside.

Wait…

Did I?

Did I ask him to come look at something? Did
I then attack him?

If I'm hallucinating things again, how can I
know what's real? I've always hated him… hated his niceness… I
always thought there was a smug arrogance behind it, even if he
never showed it.

I couldn't call the police, could I?

But I did. I had to. This wasn't some movie.
I couldn't hide the body or any such nonsense. Besides, that would
just look worse.

So, I called.

The first thing the cop on the other end
asked me was my location. He was very insistent on knowing where I
was - even before I'd mentioned what I'd done. Something about his
energy spooked me, and I hung up before giving any identifying
information.

Goddamnit, Will, where are you?

He's moving! Dean's moving!

---

Thanks for all the replies. Yes, Dean was
alive, just unconscious. He woke up, staggered to his feet, and
mumbled an apology. It was the weirdest thing ever.

No, he didn't explain what the hell he'd been
doing. He seemed confused, more than anything. He did say: "That
was really stupid of me. I'm sorry."

About twenty minutes after he stumbled out,
through the wall, I thought I heard somebody berating him in his
apartment.

Now I'm more confused than ever. I don't
understand what he was trying to do. It's satisfying, though,
hearing someone shout at him for being an asshole and an idiot.
Yeah, I know, right? If I didn't have my own issues, I'd call the
police on him myself for breaking and entering.

Sometimes, mental problems make you feel like
an outcast. You don't get to call the police. You don't get to ask
for help. If there's a problem,
you're
the one in trouble.
That's one of the many reasons I don't leave my apartment much.

You guys ever feel like that?

---

I just had the oddest experience. A girl came
by - Dean's girlfriend - and asked if I wanted to take a walk. She
wanted to apologize and explain what happened, so that I wouldn't
'press charges.' I guess she had no idea I was terrified of
interacting with the cops.

She was like Dean. Thin, blonde, perky like a
fashion magazine model… I hated her immediately, even though she
sort of reminded me of my sister. "Fine," I said, and locked my
apartment behind me.

The first thing that hit me, aside from the
cold night air, was the blazing orange casting everything in eerie
burnt colors. The weather had cleared up! Immediately, I could
sense the molten Moon and blazing veil above, but I avoided looking
at it. It wasn't real, and I wasn't going to give in to my waking
dreams.

"Nice night out, isn't it?" she said,
oblivious to the burning sky. She walked beside me as we circled
the neighborhood. "Look, I'll be honest with you. Dean's kind of a
controlling asshole. He's never been violent before, but I think he
got the idea that something's going on between you and me."

"What?" I laughed, the last note rising
awkwardly high. "I don't think we've ever even spoken."

"No, we haven't," she agreed. "But I saw you
in the hall last week and mentioned that I used to date dirty
grunge types. You know, metal."

I suddenly felt very warm, and I'm sure my
face was red to someone who saw silver moonlight instead of orange.
"You did?"

"Yep. He's not really my type. Crazy, right?
Since we both look like we belong in an Old Navy ad."

"You said it, not me," I replied. Did I
actually just make a joke? I don't think I'd ever gotten this many
seconds into a conversation with a pretty girl.

And she actually laughed out loud. "I know, I
know. When I dress and act like this, I know what I’m doing. Call
it an experiment. If we're being honest, I had to get away from the
drugs. I love me some Megadeth and Dio, but the scene -"

"Wait, what?" I asked, surprised. "Those are
my two favorite bands right now."

She blinked. "Really? I didn't think anyone
our age liked the classic stuff still."

I opened my jacket and showed her my
t-shirt.

"No friggin' way," she said with a smile.
"Well it's nice to meet you, -" She held out her hand.

"Alek," I said, shaking her hand and
marveling at my own ability to actually hold a human conversation.
I didn't feel numb or terrified, I just felt… normal. The fact that
she reminded me of my sister had made it easier to deal with her.
"Short for Alexander."

"Alexander," she said, smiling. "I'm Ashley."
She looked up at the sky for a moment, but I did not follow her
gaze. "Beautiful night out," she said.

I still didn't look. I didn't want to face
the flaming hallucination that was so insistently trying to ruin my
first real connection with someone else in a long time.

"How about this," she continued after a
moment, finally looking back at me. "I'm done with Dean either way.
He's such an asshole… but I honestly believe it's a one-time thing
from him. If you don't press charges, I'll go on a date with
you."

That part finally broke my scant coolness and
made me clam up. I'd seen that moment enough times on television
that I knew to force myself to say one word: "Sure."

I think she mistook my terseness for aloof
confidence. A genuine and warm smile crossed her face, and then she
took my cellphone and put her number in it.

Ten minutes later, I'm back in my apartment,
and more shocked than when I thought I'd killed Dean.

Now here's the part where I need some help
from you guys. I know I'm posting a ton tonight, and I'm sorry, I
just… it's so hard to tell what's real. I keep thinking back on it
and obsessing over our little walk. I can't help feeling she was
trying to get me to look at the sky. Little details, like her
choice to talk to me outside, and her long pauses to look over at
the Moon… and Dean had been trying to drag me to the door…