Johnny Balthazar's Incredible Quest (Full Story)

Chapter 1: Capture  

 

    It was an extremely cold Friday in July of 2017 when I discovered that my cat violently vomited up his internal organs and flopped onto the floor while spinning in circles. I had decided, “That is the last straw,” and signed up for internet courses in veterinary school. I am still not sure why I thought becoming a vet after the fact would help resurrect my cat.  I am fairly certain resurrection is forbidden by the veterinarian's code.  However, after watching several mob movies, I realized that I could also make a killing on the side removing bullets from shady criminal types.  

    My mother had always warned me that the internet would teach me more than I had bargained for.  And the Harvard Online School of Veterinary Studies was no exception.  Or maybe the site was Hardvard?  Perhaps if I spent my remaining inheritance on glasses instead of rum flavored envelopes, extremely rare Pez dispensers, and erotically shaped bagels, I could have told you for sure. With my tuition paid, it was time to learn.  I opened the browser window for an online veterinary school and began my course.  

    There was the face of an elderly looking woman on the screen who was holding a phone to her withered face.  Just as the lecture began, my phone rang.  The number calling was listed as “Restricted” as the Adam West's Batman theme song was played on my phone.  With a strange trepidation, I accepted the call and mumbled “Hello?” somewhat stupidly into the receiver.  “Why hello there young man!”, the elderly woman said in a cheerful but creaky voice.  I could clearly hear her voice both on my phone and the computer screen.  There was a touch of that awful feedback sound that it makes. 

    My dead cat (which I hadn't picked up off the living room floor) began to shake and tremble violently on the hardwood floor, which remained its final resting place.  The terrible shaking of the cat's cadavers pushed aside the copy of last week's newspaper I had thrown over his entrails.  I had planned to keep all of its contents undisturbed until I knew what I was doing.  My stunned silence drew a coy smile from the woman on the screen, whose voice was synced perfectly with the phone call sent to me.  “You're in the shit now; you ungrateful little asshole!” the old woman cried with an unsettling savage delight.    

    My eyes quickly darted from a deranged old lady who began cackling at me, to the convulsing dead cat.  That old woman scared the life out of me, with her eyes turned a sickly glowing yellow.  I mean, no iris, no white, just all yellow.  I began pondering the possibility of having my tuition money refunded back to me.  That might be a bit short sighted, considering that there might be something in the coursework about this type of phenomenon.     

    Some force of curiosity and genuine concern for my cat prompted me to stand up from my computer chair and walk toward the center of the living room where the corpse of the cat was flopping around like a fish out of water.  It was when I could see Mr. Stinkopede's eyes, that I observed the same eerie yellow glow emanating from them.  I could hear the old woman’s voice still laughing through the computer monitor.  It was when I approached my open-mouthed cat, that I realized her cackling was also coming through the cat’s slack mouth as well.  I nervously excused myself to go to the store to get a pack of smokes.  

 

 

    My name is Johnny, and I spend most of my time posting on internet forums and critiquing YouTube videos.  No one usually asks for my opinion, which is why I feel obligated to ram it down their throat.  I was raised by my parents in a quaint little town in the suburbs outside of some random metropolis.  The moment I could work, I began saving money and moved out to a small town far from the metropolis or the suburbs where I was raised.  

    School was always hell for me, as I loathed anything militarized.  And public schooling is no exception.  I spent most of my time playing video games and reading fantasy novels.  I was always a big nerd and kept to myself.  The words “crazy loner” gets tossed around a lot.  And that describes me perfectly.  Still, I managed to find friendship here and there and always stayed in contact with my mother.  She is a sweetheart, and I owe her whatever sanity I have kept.  

    Living on my own brought little in the way of adventure or change in my life.  I found myself surrounded by a dick for a neighbor, beaten down by my job, and the victim of a series of morning bird chirps that often woke me up at 4 am, after falling asleep at 1 am.  I lost my father 2 years ago to a heart attack.  He left what little he had to me.  Yes, life was good.  But good things never last, and the summer of 2017 was the ultimate proof of that.  

 

 

    It was when I stepped out of my front door, that I realized my vehicle outside had been stripped of all its parts.  My 2004 Honda Civic was missing its engine, and the tires were replaced with cinder blocks.  Also, the party that had stripped my car also took the time to vandalize what was left of the shell.  My once proud vehicle now stood shamefully by the curb with a series of phallic images spray painted on the side of it.  I scratched the back of my head nervously and I noticed my neighbor to the left of my house was grinning broadly while watering his daffodils.  He was a tan skinned dude-bro with tattoos covering his muscled biceps and neck.  

    “Wow, bruh. Your car looks shittier than usual.  I know a guy who has a shop nearby and he can hook you up.”  His voice had a sonorous quality to it.  He looked like he could barely suppress his laughter at the end of the statement.  “I am sure I would get a fair deal,” I moaned sardonically.  He gave me a hard look and dropped his hose and puffed out his chest.  “You got a real attitude problem, my little friend,” He noted in a confrontational tone.  I rolled my eyes, while not facing him of course, and continued to walk toward the car, trying to maintain my nerves while my cat and some random online professor wickedly laughed at my predicament.  The hair on the back of my neck began to prick upwardly each step I took toward my defiled vehicle.  My heart began thumping like a jackhammer.  My neighbor was shouting something about “Liberal Pussies” while I slowly approached the vandalized vehicle.    

    I was close enough to the car to see red liquid covering the interior.  A chill went down my spine.  Did I mention it was extremely cold in July?  Like 37 degrees Fahrenheit cold.  My neighbor, who insisted on wearing shorts and a tank top, because it was July, yelled, “Global warming my ass!”  I wanted to correct him, and say that it was climate change, but the notion of correcting a man who insisted on keeping a weight bench on the front lawn and a gun in the garage seemed fruitless.  The distraction that my neighbor provided allowed me to muster the courage to get a clear look inside the car.  I gasped as I discovered that there were human hands scattered around the floor and seats of my car.   

    I turned down the sidewalk and began walking down the street trying to act as if I had seen nothing.  My thoughts quickly turned to authorities questioning me and sending me to some institution for a lifetime of hard labor and sexual abuse.  More pressing thoughts stole my attention however, as I realized that I was wearing sweatpants and a thin long sleeve shirt.  Hardly sufficient to combat the coldness which enveloped me as I made it down the sidewalk with no discernible destination.  My coat was still inside the house. Frankly, I was terrified of walking back there. The cold was stinging my extremities, and I started to walk back to my house.  The thought of the cat and the computer filled my thoughts, and I turned around.  This continued 5 or 6 times, with me feeling like a complete madman pacing back and forth.    

    I noticed a rather portly woman peering through the window of her Dutch colonial style home disapprovingly, as she shoveled Oreos into her mouth at an alarming pace. I was cursing myself for being so indecisive and unprepared.  I stood still for a moment while the cold ate away at my resolve.  I thought I noticed her dart behind the curtain.  She came back into view holding a phone.  I wanted to simply return home but I was not a man to play around with the supernatural. I decided that a trip to Walmart would be the answer.  I would need to buy a new coat and figure out my game plan as I trudged onward.    

    I estimated that the trip to Walmart would take roughly an hour on foot.  As I marched onward through the suburbs, I occupied my mind by trying to recall the ingredients list on a Diet Pepsi.  It was a challenging but rewarding exercise that kept the one thought that I feared most out of my mind.  “You are going insane.”  On the way to Walmart, I counted over a dozen dead birds laying around the ground or on the road.  Obviously, the cold weather was a bit too much for them.  It would have been for me, but the brisk pace I kept staved off the worst of the cold.  Barely any cars were out driving.  I had figured it was around 2 pm, and without my cell phone, it was uncertain.  While taking a mental inventory of the time and failing at quizzing myself about the ingredients list numerous times, I suddenly realized that I had forgotten my wallet as well.  How would I get the money for a coat now?  

    I cursed myself for being too proud to panhandle.  I couldn't work out a formula of what to say, or how to say it.  My first thought would be that people would expect I would use the money for booze or that Walmart security would throw me off the premises.  Since I was this close to the store, it seemed more worthwhile just to walk around the store while I warmed up a bit.  On the corner of the road leading to my destination, I saw a police cruiser.  A lone female Latina police officer with dark brown hair was in the driver's seat.  There was something odd about her.  I strained my eyes hard to get a better look at her, and I noticed her eyes were dead set locked on me.  My pace accelerated as I walked closer to the street that Walmart was on.  I nervously waved her direction, but a hard stare was all that I received.  I was almost jogging by the time I got into the parking lot of Walmart.    

    There was a record-breaking number of cars in the parking lot. 4.  I mean, I live in a small town, but damn, 4?  This sent another fear induced chill up my spine.  The fact that my fingers and face stung from the cold didn't help either.  I approached the front doors and tried to keep my confidence level up.  Panhandling, already a dismal option, seemed worse than ever.  It felt like a better time than ever to steal what I needed.  I really hate admitting this ethical lapse, but I felt I was entitled.  I, to this day, give myself a pass on that one.  

    I entered the gates of Walmart to be greeted by what looked like an aging hipster who defied Corporate America by sporting shaggy hair and an unkempt beard.  “Hello brother,” he whispered in an oddly hushed tone.  Something about the look on his face told me that he understood what the hell I was going through.  “Ahh, uhh... Something weird is going on.  I...,” I started but he looked in the other direction and said in a mechanical tone, “Men's clothing is the last aisle on the left. Jackets on the far-right side on the wall.”  I wanted to ask how he knew what I was after but decided against it for some reason. 

    I crept down the aisle looking for signs of other customers or employees who might hinder me on my caper.  As I made my journey down the aisle, I noted that the radio was playing a song I had never heard before.  It almost sounded like a combination of free-form jazz and techno.  The beat was incredibly discordant.  The harder I listened to it, the more I felt my balance failing me.  I nearly tripped over one of the U-Boats that was left empty and unattended near the pet food section.  The lyrics were awful.  Something about how true love was fornicating with raisin bread.  Apparently, the greeter knew the lyrics for the perverse song and was howling along with them like a sickly hound dog.  

    After what seemed like hours, I was in the men's clothing section.  I looked over at a plethora of coats before one truly caught my eye.  It was a light brown coat adorned with numerous patches and pockets.  I looked at the tag on the inside of the coat, and it identified the coat as a “Byzwik: Made in Sri Lanka. $49.99.”  I inspected the patches on the coat and was a bit amused.  One said, “My other car is your mother.” and another that said “Ass, cash, or vaccines.  No one rides for free.”  A third that said, “industrial waste,” and a small image of an arrow pointing down to the wearer's crotch.  I made a note to remove the more offensive ones not listed here.  It was when I was inspecting the coat I made a startling discovery.  

    There was something rectangular lodged in the inner pocket of the coat.  I pulled out what literally inspired an erection.  It was a huge stack of one-hundred-dollar bills held together by a rubber band.  Also, there was a folded-up photograph.  It was a picture of an elderly interracial couple locked in an amorous position.  Now when I tell you that I had an erection inspired by what I found, I swear that it was from the money.  I tucked the stack of cash into the back waistband of my sweatpants and put the photo into the jacket pocket.   That might come in handy someday... 

    I happily walked back toward the counter, pleased that I wouldn't need to make a hasty getaway from the greeter.  As I bounded over to the self-checkout, I realized that I could purchase a prepaid cell phone so I might call my mother and check on her.  I would have called my father, but he was still dead.  I grabbed a decent looking burner and surreptitiously pulled a 100 from the wad in my pants.  With an abundance of pockets, this jacket would at least eliminate the need for such a system.    

    I followed the prompt on the machine as I scanned my two items.  The prices rang up and there was the briefest moment something on the screen changed.  Before I could pick my payment type as cash on the machine, there was an interruption of video feed that covered the space of the monitor.  It was a gaunt looking balding man in his mid 70's.  His hair was long and stringy and combed over in a few small areas.  He was calmly eating what looked like a human limb.  Yes, it was a human limb upon further inspection.  He was eating another person's right arm.  He pulled his fork and a chunk of meat from the severed bicep and gingerly bit into raw human flesh.  After politely chewing his meal, he looked right at the camera and winked.  The feed stopped at the checkout prompt, then returned to its normal state.    

    “Jesus! Fuck me!”  I cried in utter terror.  The greeter looked over at me and yelled “Oh! He will!” and a cascade of throaty laughter followed.  Despite being completely horrified, I managed to feed the bills into the machine to pay for the coat and phone.  I collected the printed receipt and started toward the doors but found myself walking to the men's room instead.  I pushed open the door, while I breathed heavily, propping myself up on the sink until my heart rate could stabilize.  I gazed long and hard into the mirror, half expecting my reflection to jump out and apply a vicious choke hold on me.  

    I started splashing water into my face and praying that whatever nightmare I was living in, would stop.  I just wanted things to go back to normal.  I began sobbing.  My life seemed so warped, and I missed my cat.  Mr. Stinkopede was going to rot on the floor of my house.  What killed me most of all, was the fact that he would never earn that PhD in abnormal psychology, and become Dr. Stinkopede, like he always wanted.  I would have asked him to take me on as a client given the circumstances, but then again, psychologists don't usually take family as clients anyway.  I scolded myself for being so stupid.  I wiped the tears off my face and splashed more water on myself.  When I felt fully composed, I felt a moment of cleverness come on.  I moved a couple hundreds in my right sock and a few in a couple of different pockets.  After relocating to the closest stall, I lodged a good-sized roll of them up my anus for good measure.    

    I did a slightly bow-legged walk out of the bathroom and toward the exit of Walmart with my new coat on and receipt in hand.  The greeter gave me a disinterested nod, and I walked into the foyer.  At least it would still be warm there when I called a taxi to my mother's house.  The setup of the new phone took a few minutes given the condition my mind was in. It was an unusually arduous challenge.  Finally, after the setup was completed, I could call the local taxi service and get the hell out of this town.  The moment the prerecorded voice told me that the service was active, however, something else took priority.    

    I noticed a white van pulling up to the front of Walmart. Several large men dressed in white exited the van and entered the Walmart foyer.  I dropped the phone just before they approached me. “I am not insane! I am lucid and in control!” I screamed as they tackled me.  They dragged me outside, opened the back hatch of the van, and stuffed me inside.  The last thing I saw outside the interior of a padded van was the police officer I had seen on the way to Walmart with a smug smile on her face.  

 

 

I felt a pinprick on my neck shortly after they grabbed me. Everything turned black. That was 3 years ago.  

 

  

    I hated everything about the mental institution to which I was remanded.  Well, everything except one thing, the fact that everything seemed more or less normal.  Horrible, yes, but without the strange supernatural phenomenon, visiting me regularly.  They had me on high doses of anti-psychotic medications, which I grudgingly accepted might be the cause of the episode I was suffering.  The doctor (who we will refer to as “Dr. Sprinkles”) was adamant that I suffered a series of hallucinations and delusions based on a previously untreated condition.    

    Dr. Sprinkles was a man of Indian descent who spoke with a thick accent, which called for many repetitions of what he told me.  Out of child-like revenge, I would invent and use slang that I had made up on the fly, so he would have to ask for explanations.  It wasn't the kindest way to treat an immigrant, but I was terribly resentful that I was placed in this institution.  The sessions with Dr. Sprinkles ended the same way every time.  I would ask when I could leave, and he told me that when I had made sufficient progress, he would notify the review board.  

    The other patients were almost impossible to hold a conversation with.  Many of them would burst into conspiracy tirades, begin sobbing uncontrollably, make bold religious proclamations, or simply spout incomprehensible garble.  I truly felt like the belle of the ball here.  For the most part, people left me alone.  This went for people outside of the institution as well.  In the three years I spent in the institution, I had no visitors.  No friends, no family, and not even some jerk-off looking to get a good laugh at my expense.  It was clear to me that I was not at this place through the normal channels of such a process. I was certain I was being illegally detained.  This did not help the overwhelming feelings that I was a target of some kind.  

    There was little to do that I enjoyed besides walking around the grounds and watching ants crawl around the dirt.  I found myself wondering what the ants might do if one of their own went insane.  Send him off to his own ant hill?  Send him off to battle to die fighting other ants?  Or perhaps the queen devoured him.  Strange thoughts like this helped pass the time.  Or thoughts such as pondering where the roll of 100’s that were deeply lodged in my rectum went off to.      

    A rather pale skinned and sleepy faced young woman asked me why I stared at the ants with such fascination.  I told her, “I was just wondering if our society was much like an ant hill, what happens if I somehow pissed off the queen.”  She seemed to like my statement and burst into a giggling fit. “I don't know,” she said thoughtfully while brushing aside her auburn hair from the right side of her face.  “Neither do I,” I responded in a dull tone.  “I wonder what the ants would do if one of them went crazy like us.”  As she said this, she was looking down at the ant hill, while an involuntary shudder crept up my spine.  I had not shuddered like this since...the incident in July.  She returned her gaze to me and after a few seconds and offered her hand to me.  I was weirded out that she mirrored my previous thoughts.  She broke the temporary silence, “I am Laurie.”  

    I hesitated to meet her hand with my own.  I had witnessed her use that hand to wipe her nose, scratch her privates, and harass a number of insects scurrying around the grounds at the hospital.  And that was just this morning.  After a moment, I decided that politeness would trump hygiene today.  I extended my hand and shook hers and finally introduced myself.  “My name is Johnathan, but I prefer to be called Johnny.”  

    The moment our hands came into contact, one of the staff members watching us shouted, “No touching!”  The combination of being scolded and grossed out left me with a strange impression.  It was like shame meeting revulsion.  “Well, it is almost time to go inside. It is arts and crafts next!”  She announced this gleefully, like I hadn't been here for three damn years.  “Yup,” I responded in a gruff monotone.  She bounded off with a certain spring in her step.  I certainly did not get her.  

    I hated arts and crafts.  Everything about it felt like a chore.  I would lob whatever I found on the supplies table onto a piece of paper to pass the time. It was like working on the most painfully boring chain gang in the world.  One random Tuesday, the concept revolted me so much that I threw up my raisin bran on the piece of yellow construction paper I was working on.  The instructor running the class insisted that I immediately throw it out.  That was the only piece of art I thought she should have let dry and hang on the wall.  

    Arts and crafts proved to be more abnormal than usual.  I began by sitting down and coloring a picture of two ants locked in combat.  One was red and one was brown.  I thought it might provide a statement about the futility war and racially motivated violence.  I found the project both depressing and masochistically self-indulgent.  After I grew weary of coloring the brown ant's head, I looked out of the third story window in the art room for inspiration.  It was then that I noticed something truly unnerving.  

    It was a pile of ants about the size of a roasted pheasant creeping up the glass of the window.  I blinked twice and considered asking Dr. Sprinkles to up my dose of meds again.  I pulled myself out of my seat, gaining the attention of the fellow patients and the instructor.  I pressed my hand against the window of the glass, and I noticed that the pile of black insects scrambled on the thick, unbreakable glass to form an identically shaped hand out of ants.  It was like two people pressing their hands against a wall of glass between them.  I couldn't believe it was real until I heard the hooting and whispers of the other patients.  This was actually happening.  

    “Look at that!” one patient called out.  I could hear Laurie gasp and moan the words, “the ants are going crazy!”  The instructor called out to take my hand off the glass. Like this was some elaborate plan that I had cooked up to get out of arts and crafts.  As soon as I peeled my hand off the glass, the pile of ants lost its form and collapsed with a countless number of ants falling off the outside window ledge.  The instructor pushed the “help” button and waited with folded arms for the orderlies to arrive.  

    Two burly looking men arrived at the scene and instinctively knew to grab me.  I tried to protest and complain that whatever had occurred was not of my doing.  Instead, what came out was a Porky Pig stutter and the words, “T-t-t-t-that's all folks.”  All eyes followed me as I was dragged unceremoniously from the room and into a small padded white cell.  While they restrained me and put me into a strait jacket, I felt the old familiar prick of a Thorazine needle enter my body.  It was not going to be a fun day.  

    I lost track of time as the drool cascaded from my mouth like the Rivers of Babylon.  During the periods where I was not sleeping or shouting for a doctor, I spent my time trying to invent Sudoku puzzles in my head.  I suck with numbers and puzzles, so it was a lengthy experiment in failure.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dr. Sprinkles and his assistant arrived to discuss what happened.  “Are you going to remain calm?  I need your word that if my assistant removes your restraints, that you will not harm myself or him.” Dr. Sprinkles had a way of speaking in a tone that was oddly comforting while remaining incredibly pompous.  “Yessshhhh.” I responded, trying to shake off the effects of the medication.  

    We sat down in one of the conference rooms with one of the orderlies standing just outside the door.  Dr. Sprinkles had a glass of water in front of him, and his assistant sat several chair lengths away, ready to scribble down any information on a large yellow legal pad.  The assistant looked like a med student with neatly trimmed blonde hair and thick glasses.  It was an interesting contrast to Dr. Sprinkles who was a late middle aged Indian man whose own mental illness was medicated by pastries and streaming miniseries.  Not to mention the orderly, who looked like he would be right at home at a demolition derby or bounty hunting bail jumpers.    

    Dr. Sprinkles cleared his throat to draw my attention away from my dreamy assessments of all their appearances.  “I want to talk to you about what happened in the arts and crafts center two days ago,” He sternly began.  “Oh, OK,” I responded innocently.  The doctor took a moment to pause and consider his next words carefully.  “What you have experienced in that room is, for lack of a better term, a shared hallucination.” He told me this as if I expected it would be possible. “Excuse-?” I started to ask but he continued without noticing.  “Every once in a great, great while, there is a type of mind, that, well, defies the traditional categories of mental illness.  It is a person who by all accounts acts rationally, thinks rationally, and is sane but...” he trailed off to consider how to frame this devastating news.  

    “...if such a mind ever experiences a certain kind of trauma, that sort of schizophrenia is projected to those around them.  You, Johnathan-” He said, and I cut him off this time, “I prefer Johnny, thank you.”  He paused and said in an apologetic tone, “Of course, pardon me for forgetting.  I have a lot of patients, you know.”  He waited a moment then continued his revelation that I was almost certain would not be found in the DSM-V. “Johnny, you are in this institution because your mind has become too dangerous to remain around the public.  You may not have been in crisis when we found you, but you became the crisis.”  He emphasized the word “became” like it was in the preview for Hollywood's next blockbuster psychological thriller.  

    I started to grow irate immediately.  “Why in hell did you wait three years to tell me this?!” I demanded not realizing that I jumped out of my chair and blood rushing to my head.  I saw in the corner of my eye the orderly began to open the door with a syringe in his hand.  Dr. Sprinkles shook his head, and the orderly backed down.  I found myself nervously sliding back into my chair.  I had to listen to this doctor.  I had to know what he was talking about.  I let out a protracted sigh and gestured for the doctor to continue.  

    “Johnny, your mind is a puzzle that we need to solve.  To unlock.  So that my colleagues and I can better understand why people experience mental illness.  Perhaps in whatever trauma you are experiencing, we can develop a lasting and very real cure for paranoid schizophrenia.”  Dr. Sprinkles had a way and manner in his speech that for once in my warped and sad life, made me feel significant.  “How could I even help you at all?”  I asked skeptically, arching my right eyebrow upward.  “You must comply with the treatment Johnny.  You must stop playing games with me and tell me about yourself.  We must isolate whatever triggered this event in your mind that manifested in July.”  My heart sunk.  I had no idea what changed then; just that it had.  

    It seemed that every word that we exchanged was being furiously scribbled down by the assistant who appeared near orgasm from curiosity.  I also noticed that the orderly left the door open a pinch and was trying hard to decide if today was the day to quit his job and commit himself as well.  I would have liked to think he'd have the good sense of asking to go to another institution. The doctor had his hands neatly folded over his protruding belly as he waited for my reaction.  I gave him a sly look and asked, “How do you know whatever is going on is a hallucination and not something, weird, going on?”  The good doctor gave an honest shrug and said, “Our reality is governed by our perception of it.  How do we even know anything is real?”  Descartes, eat your heart out.  

    The doctor and I chatted for several more minutes about the usual stuff.  He mostly asked about my upbringing.  If I was abused, molested, or killed animals for fun.  Ever since he shared his insight with me, I couldn't help but fantasize about controlling this odd gift, if not to terrify people like my neighbor who would insult me, flex his muscles menacingly, and then loudly complain that I didn't stand up for myself.  Still, there was another problem: The doctor might have been full of it, and there was something completely unnatural going on.  It might ease his conscience to think it was me, and not that half the people he diagnosed were actually right about demons and apparitions.  

    The thoughts of whether I was an infectious crazy person or that everything they teach you in school is wrong haunted me throughout the night.  As my nighttime medications kicked in, the thoughts became a dull roar fading further from my grasp.  The more I tried to focus on an answer that suited me, the more new questions entered my mind.  They became fainter and fainter as I fell fast asleep.  The last thing I heard before entering my nightly induced coma was one of the other patients whispering to me “Don't forget about the ants.”    

    Moments after falling asleep, I found myself in an enormous tunnel deep within the Earth.  There were cocoons littered around the floor, plastered to the walls and ceiling of the tunnel.  They looked like they were wrapped by some kind of monstrous spider, and they contained person sized occupants all wriggling and struggling to break free.  The air in the tunnel was musty and acrid.  I could feel myself struggling to breathe.  Further down the tunnel I could hear whispers or singing.  I followed whatever instincts I had that pushed me forward.  I crept down the tunnel convinced that some kind of answer or escape would greet me there.  

    After walking past numerous more cocoons wrapped in slick glistening white strings, I began humming along with the whispers.  It was a freakish tune that was a mixture of horrifying and melodic.  Something about the visceral nature of this experience told me this was more than your average dream.  I could feel the hot breezes wafting from behind me, I could smell the ammonia scent oozing around my nostrils, and I could taste it as well.  Part of me wondered if I was suffocated in my sleep and this was a strange part of hell my unrepentant soul was condemned to.  My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of numerous small red glowing eyes peering at me from every dark corner of the tunnel.  

    I noticed these faintly glowing eyes were also the source of the humming sound that I was hearing.  I became deeply concerned that I was waltzing to my own funeral dirge.  Finally, after walking and humming for what I perceived to be hours, I entered a large chamber.  It was a large football shaped cavern about as large as the field said football would be used in. There was a large cairn made of odd shaped igneous rocks in the center of the room.  Maybe they weren't igneous rocks, and I just wanted to appear scholarly in my assessment of them.  After they began to violently shake and pile together in an odd shape, I couldn't have cared less.  

    The rocks combined into the shape of a large spider with the torso of a woman growing off it.  The rocks morphed from stone into flesh. Human and spider flesh.  The sight of the many legged spider lady caused me to lose what was left of my composure.  I instinctively formed the most manly of positions: the fetal position.  While curled in the fetal position, crying and telling myself “It is just a dream,” I felt a pair of powerful human arms scoop me up. My watery eyes opened just long enough to see the face of the girl I had the biggest crush on in high school looking at me.  

    I blinked and wiped the tears while she cradled me in her arms.  “Shh, you don't need to cry my love.” The spider-woman cooed with an air of genuine concern.  “I've eaten my fill today.” She added, revealing rows of razor sharp, needle-like teeth.  I assure you; those dental peculiarities were not shared by my former crush.  I tried to say something but couldn't find any words.  “You need to know what you are experiencing is real.  Your mind is not the reason why such strange things are occurring.  There are cataclysmic changes happening in your world, and you are at the center of it all.”  She looked up thoughtfully and continued, “I have a gift, from the other side, a memento to take back with you... to your reality.”  After she concluded her remark, a large bulbous purple tongue lolled out of her mouth and unfurled.  An object that fell out of her unrolled tongue and landed in my lap.  It was a large blazing red ruby about half the size of my fist.  It was warm to the touch.    

 

I woke up back up, drenched in cold sweat, in the psych unit, with a warm object resting on my belly.  It was about half the size of my fist.  

 

Chapter 2: Escape  

  

    I looked around at the other patients who all seemed to be sleeping soundly.  When I was confident no one saw me, I slipped the large ruby under my cot.  It made for a very conspicuous lump.  There wasn't really a good place to hide anything here.  I grimaced and did my best to rest on the now lumpy bed before the wakeup call.  I didn't have to wait long. The orderlies assigned to the unit did their daily wakeup call and I was off to the bathroom to do the usual hygiene ritual.  I couldn't stop thinking about the treasure that was under my cot.  It consumed me.  

    It was during breakfast that I started to feel better.  I felt lighter than usual.  Like I had a reason to live, or a purpose.  I ate some disgusting flavorless oatmeal with a smile on my face.  One of the other patients, Clarence, seemed to have noticed my improved demeanor.  After a brief moment Clarence noted, “You're looking a bit brighter eyed than usual.”  I nodded happily as I pushed the vile oatmeal down my throat.  After swallowing a mouthful, I turned to him and replied, “medications must be working out.”  He shot me back a puzzled expression and queried, “Oh yeah? What do they have you on?” My face told him I didn't want to discuss it, and he got the message.  

    There was a small window of time after breakfast, where I intended to go back to my bed and check on the ruby.  What I discovered there took the wind out of my sails.  It was two orderlies arguing in tones that they intended to be hushed.  The cot was overturned, yet the ruby remained where I had placed it.  “I don't get it!” one of the orderlies cried in a suppressed yell.  The other orderly stood over the ruby and with the look of a guy in a strong man competition who strained his muscles before heavy lifting.  He tried to lift the ruby, unsuccessfully.  I almost choked with laughter.  These two muscle men couldn't lift the damn thing.  

    “Alright Zeke, we try lifting this thing together on three,” said the one on the left, and Zeke nodded in approval.  “One, two, three!” The two orderlies in desperate futility tried hoisting the ruby in unison, while the veins on their rippling muscles throbbed and pulsed.  I could see the beads of sweat starting to form on their strained brows.  Inconceivable!  After several moments of more whispering, they threw the mattress back on the cot and started toward the door.  I made a quick approach down the hallway into one of the rec rooms.  I calmly zipped over to a vacant chair next to Clarence. A mixture of relief and amusement washed over me.  Clarence, who became a bit more interested in my mood since the day started, glanced hard at me but said nothing.      

    We were let outside for our usual “amble around the grounds like aimless zombies” festival.  I found myself humming the tune of the tunnel creatures unconsciously.  Clarence, clearly fed up with the mystery, approached me again.  “My man, you don't have to tell me what you're going through, but I still want to say something.”  I did not have the faintest idea of what he wanted to tell me, but I felt compelled to listen.  He licked his lips before announcing his findings.  “God told me that you got a way outta this dump.  He told me that you got something, some... way out of here.” I was mystified that he knew about anything that changed aside from my mood.  He then began explaining his story.  

    “Listen, I wasn't supposed to be put here.  I was going fishing off a bridge a few blocks from my spot and I tripped and fell off that bridge.  I went right through the wooden railing and fell about thirty feet.  I hit my head on the way down or something.  The cops found me half-conscious on the riverbank.  They took me to the station and told some judge it was a suicide attempt.”  Listening to Clarence's story brought back notions of the unfair nature of criminal justice in our nation.  I ran my hands through my hair in frustration.  It was obvious from his story and the manner in which he spoke, that the system just wanted to throw away another young black man.  

    I wasn't sure how I would do it, or what the game plan was, but I assured Clarence that when the time was right, he could follow me to freedom.  While chatting with Clarence, I noticed that Laurie was watching us with more than a passing interest.  “If we move, Clarence, it might need to be sooner than later.” I concluded with grim determination.  “That is the time frame I prefer,” Clarence added with an approving nod.  We were corralled inside for arts and crafts time.  That was where I drew my line in the sand.  

    I darted to the room that held all the bunks in a large semi-circle and went right for the mattress.  I turned over the mattress, grabbed my treasure, and held the warm ruby in my hand. The ruby responded by flickering and glowing pleasantly.  Almost on cue, Zeke and the other orderly (Troglodyte Flumpus?) appeared in the room, blocking the exit.  “Well, well, what do we have here?” Zeke asked in a smug tone.  “That looks like contraband to me, Zeke,” Troglodyte chimed in with a condescending smile.  “Sounds right Gus.”  Oh, I guess his name was Gus.    

    I stood paralyzed in fear, with the ruby gripped tightly in my hand, as the dynamic duo burst into action.  They were taken aback by my lack of resistance.  They tried to push me into a submissive position, but they were unable to move me.  Zeke and Gus seemed puzzled by this turn of events, as I am not very strong at all.  Zeke seemed to regain his composure and did what he thought he was best at.  He cocked his fist back and unleashed what would have been a dominating right hook to my face.  This time I didn't feel compelled to turn away or shut my eyes.  

    I still felt the blow connect with my right cheek, but it didn't hurt at all.  It felt almost as if a declawed kitten had batted my face.  I giggled slightly, but Zeke's reaction brought me to tears with laughter.  His hand was smashed with knuckle bones shattered and blood flowing freely down it.  He howled in pain screaming for help.  Gus, being a compassionate friend, did what compassionate friends do: casually turned his back and walked away.  Mumbling something that sounded like “fuck this.”  When the last of the laughter emptied from my belly, I stepped over the doubled over body of Zeke, who was crying in agony.  I noticed that the ruby was vibrating.  It was somehow contented by the pain it had caused.  That stole my mirth pretty quickly.  

    I had a promise to keep, and I was pretty damn sick of this place.  I confidently strode over to the arts and crafts room and signaled Clarence through the window.  He walked up to the door, while I heard him tell the instructor that he had to use the bathroom.  She glared out the window and saw my face.  I expected that we would soon encounter a platoon of enforcers on the way out.  With the ruby in my hand, I knew they couldn't stop me.  

    Clarence exited the room and gave me a hopeful look.  We both knew it was time.  We started to head down the long corridor toward the metal door leading to the emergency exit stairwell.  On the way there, three large orderlies stepped between us and our destination.  For the first time in my life, I felt powerful.  Like I was in control of the situation.  I looked at the largest one in the center and calmly uttered, “Me and my associate here are leaving this God-forsaken hole.  If any of you try to stop me-” I was rudely cut off by one of the orderlies.  “Just calm down Johnny, we don't want to have to hurt you.”  

    I waved my hand holding the ruby dismissively at him and was astounded by the reaction.  The trio of orderlies were flung across the hallway at breakneck speed.  I could hear the sickening sound of bone crunching as they were flung into walls with a tremendous force.  Clarence and I both winced at the sound in unison but wasted no time in making our escape.  We darted down the hallway seeking to avoid further confrontation.  The gem hummed and purred with excitement in my hand.    

    The sounds of the orderlies’ groans of agony were drowned out by a harried voice yelling from behind us.  “Hey, guys, wait for me!”  It was Laurie, who looked absolutely starved for excitement, and hit the jackpot with us.  I let out a disappointed groan and Clarence gave a brief but memorable facepalm.  “Hey, uh, Laurie.”  I tried to find the right words.  “This might not be the safest adventure for you, and I don't want to damage your treatment plan.”  She glared at me and hissed.  “Can it! I am coming with you.”  I shrugged in a helpless manner, then the three of us made our way to the exit door.    

    Without much of a better plan, I gave the door what I thought would be a modest kick.  KA-RASH!  The solid metal door burst off its hinges and was embedded several inches into the cement wall of the stairwell behind it.  “I guess that worked,” I pointed out as modestly as possible, while holding back a chuckle.  The sound of more orderlies shouting and running toward us was the response I got.  Not to mention a screeching alarm that was now blaring all over the hospital.  Our newly formed triad made all haste running down the stairs.  

    We got to the ground floor and were met by another heavy security door.  I tried my best to do what looked like a well-prepared Kung Fu style kick.  I admit, I looked stupid as hell.  That made very little difference. When the effect was the same, the door flew off its hinges and crashed right through the other set of doors waiting for us.  We could hear the orderlies descending down the stairs with cries of “Stop them!”  We exited the facility into the light of the day.  

    All that was left was the fence.  I simply trampled over it while my companions followed me.  I could hear the alarms blaring outside.  Outside the facility there was an open field which emptied into woodlands in all directions save for the main entrance.  I decided the best course of action was to lead us into the woods, where we could shake them.  Part of me wanted to go back and smash every person chasing us for a cleaner getaway.  Part of me wanted to leave the dead weight (Laurie and Clarence) behind me.  Damn the humanitarian in me.  Damn him to hell.  

    As we ran, I noticed in my periphery that the orderlies were loading into a golf cart for a game of roundup.  We were running at full sprint.  I half expected to be running a hundred miles an hour with the gem in my hand but, alas, no. We maintained a brisk pace, but the hum of the electric powered golf cart told me that escape alone wouldn't get us far.  Instinctively, I turned in the direction of the golf cart quickly gaining on us, and I punched the ground toward the direction it was approaching.  Laurie and Clarence both stopped in stunned silence by what they saw.  

    The sod, dirt, and rocks underneath the ground were all ripped apart by the rippling shock wave of my punch, which generated such a force that it pushed its way into the oncoming cart.  The cart was shattered then thrown upwards into the air while it dumped its passengers out at high speed.  The shattered cart soared about twenty feet upward before descending.  Rock, dirt, debris, and chunks of broken golf cart rained down on the already injured and bewildered security forces.  Almost a minute of more sprinting brought us to the edge of the forest. 

    “I have no idea where the hell we are, folks, but let's stick together so no one gets lost.”  I felt this surge of empowerment as I took on a leadership role.  The others agreed, but I immediately felt small again when I realized that I was just stating the obvious.  We crept through the woods for nearly an hour, trying to zig-zag around and hide our direction from any pursuers.  The sounds of the commotion and alarm at the institution were now completely out of ear shot. Only the serene sounds of wildlife filled our ears.    

    We sat on an old collapsed tree before anyone spoke.  “You didn't happen to grab any food, did you?” Clarence asked. “Uh, well, I thought leaving with the element of surprise would be best, and I didn't have any time to-?”  I stammered, feeling smaller than before.  “Actually, think this plan through,” Laurie finished in a scolding manner, sensing a moment of weakness since the escape.  Clarence didn't share her irritation, but the concern was equally disconcerting.  I could feel the ruby in my hand eager to dispense more comic book style justice, yet I managed to sequester it.  Maybe it wasn't the gem itself trying to coax me, but my own feelings, that it was feeding off.  

    I did my best to explain the phenomenon of the ruby.  How I acquired it in a dream.  How the orderlies had discovered it but couldn't pick it up.  How it was only a matter of time before the hospital staff put 3 floors between me and it.  To be fair, I hadn’t thought of this at the time we left, but it seemed like a good way to take Laurie down a peg.  Like the Sword in the Stone, we put The Ruby on the Cot theory to the test.  Like the previous attempts of the orderlies, neither Clarence nor Laurie could cause it to budge in the slightest.  That was the first time I put the ruby down since I removed it from my bed.  I felt naked without it. Scooping it up alleviated that sensation immediately.  

    After our brief conversation concluded, we set out to put more ground between us and our captors.  The journey was long, tiring, and filled with countless insect bites.  Somehow the ruby did not protect me from that. Did I mention that the hospital staff didn’t bother bringing us out real shoes?  We were walking around in hospital socks, and it sucks virtually every step of the way.  At least it wasn’t painful.   In fact, with the ruby in hand, I could hear the snap and pop of pebbles bursting under my feet.  It was perversely gratifying.  

    We spotted some interesting wildlife on our adventure.  We saw some deer, a badger, numerous squirrels, frogs, snakes, and a few other assorted oddities.  While the others were foraging for berries, I saw what looked like a crow with a bleeding anus for a face.  When I told the others about it, they didn’t believe me.  It didn’t seem like a good omen before making camp for the night.    

    Clarence must have been a survival expert or something, because he knew exactly how to build shelter and start a fire without matches.  Laurie and I were on firewood detail.  While hunting for kindling Laurie asked me with genuine interest, “Do you think Clarence likes me?”  I wasn’t sure how to respond as I had virtually no skill at determining such things.  “Well, do you like him?”  I responded innocently.  She must have found this riotously funny, as she burst out laughing, and finally replied, “Don’t answer a question with a question.”    

    I gave a resigned shrug and offered the best thing I could muster. “Probably.”  That was about all we could say to one another before we got back to camp.  Clarence built a reasonably impressive lean-to given the circumstances and time frame.  He also dug out a small fire pit and an impressive display of lighting a fire I would have only believed happened in the movie Castaway.  

    Clarence offered us some of the dew that had collected from the various plants in the woods to go with the berries.  He squeezed about an ounce and a half of water into each of our mouths from his ripped off sleeve. I was suddenly very impressed with Clarence.  If it was me alone, I would be dead from dehydration.  Maybe falling into a ravine, afflicted with ruby induced hubris.  I suddenly admonished myself for thinking of Clarence as dead weight, even for a second.  The jury was still out on Laurie.    

    The warmth of the fire was comforting, and the orange glow gave Clarence the appearance of a shaman when he spoke.  “I am not sure how far off from the nearest town.  The most important commodity we can carry is water.  When the dew settles tomorrow morning, we will need to collect more of it.  As for tonight, we need to huddle together for warmth.  These hospital scrubs aren’t exactly meant for the outdoors.  Though it is July, we could still die from exposure out here.”  That last statement seemed exceedingly true considering we were all already shivering.  We crept into a human pile without another word following Clarence’s pep talk.    

    The next morning, we gathered dew from our removed sleeves with our silence continuing.  I couldn’t figure out what the hell I would do if we did get into town.  I considered using the ruby to break into a bank vault and load up old cartoon style sacks with dollar signs on them.  The thought that our faces would be plastered on the nightly news as escaped (and dangerous) mental patients also consumed my thoughts. One thing was for certain; the quiet simple life was far from out of my view. Now it only seemed filled with oppressive woodlands. 

    We drank the dew on the removed sleeves of our hospital scrubs.  We traveled ahead with me in the lead, Clarence in the rear, and Laurie in the middle.  I could tell the strain of walking around the woods without any clear path was murder on their feet.  I would hear the occasional “ouch” or “dammit!” as the hours rolled by with nothing in sight but more woodlands.  We noticed a large rocky outcropping that looked to be at the base of a very small mountain.  Before trying to make any ascent, we decided it was best to try to get a better look around us.  

    Clarence recommended that he wanted me to climb a tree to get a better vantage point, but with our terrible lack of equipment, such an action put us at risk.  He conceded that I should try after we discussed the topic.  I thrust myself on a tree with the ruby firmly gripped in hand.  Climbing one handed would be difficult.  Not to mention that when my weight hit the tree, the damn thing uprooted.  There was a resounding crash of a large tree falling, and I let out an embarrassed cringe.  Laurie and Clarence darted for cover until they were sure I didn’t start a chain reaction that would destroy the entire forest.  When I asked Clarence if he would climb a tree, he replied that he was afraid of heights since falling of the bridge that landed him in the institution. Laurie simply refused due to lack of proper footwear.

    With the tree climbing plan a spectacular failure, we began our ascent up the rocky hill. It went upwards as far as we could see but without an overly steep gradient.  We hiked for a grueling couple of hours upward.  Well, it felt like hours.  It is kind of alarming how dependent we have become on cell phones for time.  Clarence seemed to have a good handle on the sun's position and its relationship to time of day.  Show off.   At least we could get a better view from a higher vantage point.

    We finally arrived at a large jutting boulder overlooking the tree line.  We collectively sighed in dismay.  There was almost nothing but more trees and mountains in view.  Clarence and Laurie informed me that we were likely in the woodlands of Connecticut. They had the luxury of being told where they were sent.  I arrived as an unconscious lump instead.   They never gave me specifics about where I was held when asked. That fact annoyed the hell out of me. 

    The descent from the small mountain was a somber and soul crushing journey.  Laurie attempted to break the creeping sense of doom with conversation about famous historically based films that were rife with anachronisms.  Clarence hushed her after a minute and told her to save her energy for the journey. And maybe my sanity as well. And Clarence's too. 

    We traveled for 3 more days following Clarence’s survival advice.  Despite our dew collection and berry hunting, we were getting weak and a bit delirious.  We didn’t have any luck trapping anything during those three days.  It was the worst three days of my entire existence combined.  We were looking gaunt, exhausted, and pissed off. Once and a while I used the power of the mighty ruby to smash a large boulder we passed or rip a good-sized tree from the ground.  Take that nature.  

    It was on the morning of the third day that we happened upon a miracle.  Laurie was scouting ahead and ran back to use yelping with excitement.  “You guys have to see what I found,” she squealed with exuberance.  Clarence and I exchanged puzzled looks but remained hopeful, nonetheless.  We were greeted by the sight of the most wonderful thing imaginable.  A semi-dilapidated cabin standing alone in the middle of the wilderness.  

    Clarence grunted in delight.  My eyes began to water with joy.  In the haze of my misty vision, I could see Laurie doing a bit of celebratory twerking.  “Shake that ass, girl!” Clarence commended emphatically.  I laughed.  The first genuinely good-heated laugh that I had in a good long while.  We shared a brief group hug before making a steady approach to the painted red wooden door.    

    Some of the windows were smashed but most of them were intact.  The roof also seemed to be steady despite a few minor holes in it.  I could see the calculating mind of Clarence already planning a fixer-up job.  I held my breath as Clarence pushed the front door open. Damn, locked.  I gave a mischievous look as I prepared to open the door ruby-style.  Clarence and Laurie both looked at me and cried, “DON’T,” in unison.    

    Clarence reached through one of the smashed-out windows on the right side of the house and unlocked it.  He slid the lock open and climbed through.  Several moments later, he appeared at the door with a can of beans and a bottle of water in hand.  “Lunch anyone?” He asked with a triumphant smile on his face.  Laurie and I both offered him gracious smiles.  “Why that would be just, lovely.” She replied, imitating the voice and mannerisms of a southern belle.  

    The inside of the cabin wasn’t much to look at.  It was musty as hell and wreaked of mold.  Still, it was furnished.  The living room held one of those itchy plaid sofas.  There was a large elk head mounted on the wall, a lever-action rifle suspended by nails on the wall, a bookcase full of dusty old tomes, and a quaint oak coffee table that looked like one of the legs was replaced recently.  We all took some time to soak in our surroundings.  

    The kitchen had seen better days.  There was a refrigerator that was plugged in but received no power.  The sink coughed and sputtered brown colored goop before failing.  The cabinets were well stocked with various dry and canned goods.  Not to mention numerous bottles of water.  The oven looked completely ruined.  It looked like we would have to do our cooking in the living room fireplace.  Clarence noted, “there was a stream back, about less than half a mile, which we could grab some water that we could boil, should we run out.”  

    There were two other rooms and a hatch to a crawl space below.  The room on the anterior left of the cabin was a bedroom, where unfortunately the worst of the roof damage was below.  The other room, on the anterior right side of the cabin, appeared to be an office or study of some kind.  Clarence was delighted to find a ham radio.  I found another bookshelf and a file cabinet.  At least I wouldn’t go mad with boredom, and I might learn something about our absent host.  

    Clarence excused himself to go outside and look around the cabin further.  I met with a locked file cabinet.  I made an earnest attempt to yank the drawers of the cabinet out without knocking the whole cabin over.  I partially succeeded.  The drawer flew off its tracks and showered the room in papers, folders, and photographs.  It dawned on me that I could have put the ruby down like with the tree climbing fiasco, but it just felt like the wrong thing to do.  

    I did my best to stifle the quiet shame, before I began trying to sort the documents off the floor.  Glancing at one of the nearest photos brought new shivers up my spine.  It appeared to be a photograph of some kind of ancient Mesoamerican ritual of a man’s heart being scooped out of his chest by several outstretched arms.  The look on the photographed man’s face told me that he very much was alive and feeling it.  I did my best to brush away the files on the ground, and brush the image of his face, transfixed in pain and horror from my mind.    

    Clarence’s return provided the much-needed distraction.  “Well, I found a generator in the back,” he said hopefully.  “However, it is empty and no sign of gas.  Laurie mentioned some kerosene lamps in the supply closet, but we need actual gasoline.”  He scratched his chin thoughtfully.  The only place that remains to search is the crawlspace.” After he said that the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up in a newfound sense of dread.  He seemed to immediately share my sentiment.  Our sense of cheerfulness went right back out the window he climbed through.  Laurie did a phenomenal job organizing and categorizing the supplies in the cabin.  We distracted ourselves from our brief terror by telling stories about ourselves while we prepared the meal.  After a dinner of canned beans and fireplace boiled rice, Laurie and Clarence were softly conversing on the sofa.  I excused myself to the office to try to organize and read some of the files from the cabinet.    

    The files were disorganized by both my clumsy attempt to open the cabinet and because our host was no professional archivist. I categorized the documents into several piles.  One pile were documents that were legible and in English, one pile of documents were peculiar charcoal rubbings of petroglyphs of some kind, and the other were photographs that I didn’t have the emotional fortitude to look at directly.  The photos went face down as quickly as I could tell they were photographs.  Even in those brief moments of flipping through the photos, I saw images that will be forever burned into my skull.  The kind of shit you just can’t unsee.  There were photographs of shadowy creatures that were thankfully obscured by their surroundings.  There were photos of a man wearing a white suit and shaking hands with natives of some kind.  The photos weren’t scary based on such a description but if you gave even a passing glance at the man in white, you would know what I am talking about.  This guy emanated an aura of fear, even in the most innocent photographs.  

    The documents that were legible and in English provided me with scattered insights.  Many of the documents were rambling journal entries.  Other documents were filled with poetic nonsense riddled with needless sophistries.  Some were itineraries, travel logs, and descriptions of various practices of native tribes scattered across the United States and Mexico.  In more than a few documents I noted that the narrator was looking for something to complete something called “Project Balthazar.”  It was after almost an hour and several breaks to rest my eyes that I discovered a document that gave the whole picture some meaning.  It was in a green sealed folder. I opened it and read:  

 

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Project Balthazar:  

Dr. H. Felter.  Physics Researcher at [Censored]  

14 September 1979.  Southwestern New Mexico - Near [Censored] Area.  

Mitigating the Negative Impacts of Gate Travel.  

Day 271:  

We approached our contact in an effort to discern what forces were interrupting the company's experimentation with Gates.  We have been unable to track the source of the interference by virtue of our testing devices alone.  The research group was forced to undertake unorthodox measures to ensure that the experimentations could proceed without any further complications.  (See document file 301.2a - Project Damocles)  

Our efforts to influence the high priest of the tribe with gifts or bribes was unsuccessful.  He informed us that blood sacrifice would be required.  I shudder to think about what he meant by this.  I politely offered Dr. Higgins to him, but according to his traditions, our blood was unclean.  I would normally chalk this up to tribal nonsense but given his tribe’s victory over “Azmodariel” (see attached images), it seemed unwise to argue the point.    

My efforts to translate the ancient language in the caverns in northern Mexico have been in vain.  I am certain with time, patience, and a bit of solitude, I could succeed.  The others in the research team are always asking questions, trying my patience, and interfering with my attempts to find the answers I seek.  They want a quick technological solution that looks good at the research lab in Mass. They need to see it.  They need to understand.  The secrets of Gate Travel are both a novel and ancient process simultaneously.    

I am running out of time with the board.  They want results, and my findings hardly gratify them.  Perhaps the elder was right, and our blood is unclean.  This would mean apocalyptic results if Project Balthazar was given the green light too early.  I need to retreat to my sanctuary in Connecticut.  I need more time.  Only myself and my closest associates can be trusted with the more nuanced portions of the experiment.     

  

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    I found the notes degenerated into petty insulting of various doctors and board members.  And the narrator became increasingly fascinated by morbid rituals.  I had the most important information I needed from this whole nightmare.  Project Balthazar.  I got a sickening sense that it was somehow connected to my surreal adventure.  Maybe I was a test subject.  Maybe my experiences were part of some grand design.  Or maybe...and with that half of a thought, I passed out face-first on the desk.  

    I woke up to find myself in a dream.  Or at least I thought it was a dream.  I was incorporeal, like some kind of ghost or specter.  I was standing just outside my home.  I saw a pair of black Humvees pulling up to the curb.  Several armed men dressed in black were storming into my home.  I tried to protest and wail about the violation of my Fourth Amendment rights.  No sound could exit my mouth.  My spirit was gagged.  

    I watched as the men stormed into my house.  I tried to follow them but couldn’t move either.  A strange man exited one of the Humvees.  He was an emaciated balding man with long stringy hair haphazardly combed over who looked elderly yet oddly spry.  I recalled his appearance after a moment.  It was the man who was feasting on human flesh during the brief video interruption at the self-checkout machine at Walmart.  He was wearing black fuzzy slippers, a red silk bathrobe that he didn’t tie up, and his testicles were freely flapping in the breeze. Despite his stringy limbs and chest, he sported a revolting pot belly that stretched his loose skin over it.  

    If my spirit had a stomach, it would be emptied right there.  He was sipping brandy from a glace chalice.  He watched the house as if scanning for something unseen.  After a moment, he sniffed the air around him and looked right at my ghost form.  I could see the insane hunger in his eyes.  I swore he noticed me but did nothing else to show it.  His gaze pierced through me, and it caused a deep and unsettling discomfort.  

    The mysterious paramilitary soldiers exited my front door.  One of the soldiers reported to him, “We found nothing inside, sir.  It’s clean.”  The balding man took another sip from his brandy and paused.  He looked thoughtfully at my house and said in an even tone, “Burn this piece of shit to the ground.  It is an eyesore anyway.”  The soldiers entered the home to begin the task of burning everything I cherished away.  I wanted to wail on this asshole so badly.  

    After a few moments, the balding man set down his brandy on the ground and scribbled something down in a notepad he kept in the monogrammed pocket of his robe.  The soldiers exited the house again, and the house began to start burning immediately.  The soldiers scrambled back into the military vehicles, but the balding man waited outside for another moment.  He ripped out and dropped a page from his notepad on the lawn before finally picking his drink back up and crawling into a Humvee.    

    I awoke on the chair of the desk with a searing pain in my left hand that was accompanied by a strange warmth.  I lifted my left hand and cried out in terror.  The gem that I had been obsessively clutching to in my left hand was now embedded in my palm.  I couldn’t believe it.  The pain immediately began to subside when I took a frightened inventory of my gem encrusted hand.  It dawned on me.  The entire several day hike before we got to the cabin, that gem never left my left hand.  Well, not including the time I set it down.  I wanted to chalk it up to the fact that the filthy scrubs I wore had no pockets.  I wanted a lot of things that weren’t true to be true.  

    Clarence and Laurie must have heard my cry, and I heard them rushing over to the doorway in the room I passed out in. I did my best to hide my left hand.  There was a blessing in all of this. My fingers could slowly unlock from the days locked fist they were curled into.  Laurie looked at me with deep concern.  “Johnny, are you alright?  We just heard you scream randomly.”  Her question revealed a deep empathy I hadn’t bothered to notice until then.  I think Clarence was more concerned I would go on a murder rampage.  

    “Bad dream is all,” I said in a slightly panicked yet slightly groggy voice.  Clarence, sensing that the situation was contained, informed us that he was going to use the outhouse that was built nearby.  It wasn’t indoor plumbing, but it was good to know such a thing existed.  Laurie leaned against the wall, tilting her head upward while she talked.  “I know you must be going through a lot.  It is not every day that we happen on superpowers.”  She tilted her head back down to meet my gaze.  

    “We are here for you.  Clarence and me.  If there is something that you know, we should know it as well.  I never told you how I ended up at the crazy house, but I think we should talk about it.  It might help you understand your own situation.”  She sat down with her legs folded on the floor.  I immediately mimicked her movements and did the same thing.  I wouldn’t say I was attracted to her at this moment, but I felt connected.  It was a rare feeling for one such as me.  

    “A few years back, I was living in a trailer park with my uncle and brother.  It was a shit hole, but it was home nevertheless.”  I got an awful creeping feeling this story was going to turn into a tale of sexual abuse.  I guessed that excusing myself to buy a pack of smokes wouldn’t work in this scenario.  She patiently waited for my attention to drift back toward her.  “Stay with me Johnny, this is important.” I nodded for her to continue.  

    “My brother and I were playing cards before my uncle got home.  There was a hell of a thunderstorm raging that day.”  She looked away thoughtfully, like it was the best part of the memory.  She gulped hard before speaking again.  “He came home drunk as hell.  Our uncle was a happy drunk though.  He never hit us or did anything shady.  There was something different about him though.  My brother said something I will never forget, ‘That’s not our uncle.’”  She was fighting back the tears. I couldn’t tell if I should have given her a hug, but I waited patiently for her to regain her resolve.  

    She did.  “He looked at us and I could see this weird evil yellow glow in his eyes.” The memory of Mr. Stinkopede's eyes sent a shiver down my spine.  “He started laughing.  It was this, almost, demonic cackle that caused the whole trailer to shake.  Blood began to pour from his nose and mouth.  A ton of blood, like I couldn’t even believe there was that much blood in a person’s body.”  I could have sworn I heard Clarence reenter the cabin, but he remained in the living room.  I think he knew this conversation was coming.  

    “After my uncle started erupting blood, my brother and I tried to run past him and get out of there.  I managed to get away.  B-b-but the last thing I saw before I ran out of the door was my uncle’s mouth opening wide, with sharp pointy teeth, was him…”  She started to sob and shake as she spoke.  I moved toward her unconsciously.  “...Biting my brother’s head off!”  Her shrieks trailed off into an explosion of horrified tears.  I found that my arms were instinctively wrapped around her.  We cried together.  We sobbed and wailed for what seemed like an eternity.  We sat on the dirty floor with our arms wrapped around one another, sharing a shared supernatural trauma. I will never forget the feeling of her tears on my chest.    

    After we calmed down a bit, she explained how she ran to one of her neighbors screaming and crying.  Not even 24 hours later, she was institutionalized.  Details of what happened to her brother and uncle remained undisclosed.  No big surprise there.  Clarence arrived with two mugs of tea that he boiled during our conversation.  With the worst emotions in recession, I asked Laurie, “What year was this? What month?”  She blew on her hot tea ritualistically, before looking at me and answering, “July of 2017.” 

 

Chapter 3: Revelations  

 

    Lengthy silence and a breakfast of instant oatmeal (which was surprisingly better than the mental hospital served us) followed our conversation on the floor.  After breakfast, I decided to reveal to the group what I had discovered.  I told them about the research that was being conducted.  I told them the fragments I put together related to Project Balthazar.  Laurie and I had both agreed that continued looking at the photos and charcoal petroglyph rubbings was beyond our emotional capacity.  Clarence wrestled with curiosity after I told him, but he aired on the side of caution.  Or he simply didn’t want to be the odd one out.    

    During my explanations, my left hand became visible to the others.  This drew concerned looks from their faces. “That explains why your hand was so warm when you, uh... we, had our moment,” Laurie posited. Clarence seemed intrigued and put his hand up in a high 5 pose.  I pressed my palm against his.  His face divulged devilish curiosity.  “That’s the gem making your hand so warm?” He asked curiously.  “Yup.” With our collective stories and secrets revealed, it was time to broach the subject that was quickly becoming an unspoken taboo. With all of the tact of a crying 5-year-old, I announced my plan. “I was thinking about taking a look in the crawlspace for gasoline or any other supplies that we might be missing.” Laurie and Clarence both exchanged nervous looks.  

    Clarence casually strode over to where the lever-action rifle was located on the wall. He inspected the weapon and was convinced it was still functional, though we hadn't discovered any ammunition. “I thought I might take it there in case we find a raccoon or something,” Clarence declared in a comical tone. I imagined that any raccoon we might encounter at this point in our adventure would be 8 feet long, have glowing yellow eyes, and spray sodium hydroxide from its mouth.  

    Laurie continued to rummage through the supply closet and cried out in delight when she discovered what she had been looking for. It was a box of rounds for the antiquated firearm. Clarence tried (somewhat successfully) to force an expression of enthusiasm. He had two obstacles to confront from my perspective. The challenge of learning to operate a weapon that looked like it would be home at a museum, and the challenge of mustering the courage to face whatever the crawlspace had to offer us.  

    Clarence explained that he wanted to fire off a couple of rounds before he felt confident enough to enter a potentially hazardous situation. He wandered outside by himself.  Meanwhile, I found an old marble ashtray in the living room that I used to determine if the gem was still working properly. I crushed it into a fine powder in my right hand. At least my hulk-like strength in my average body build was still in effect. The fact that I had no way to turn it off frightened me, however.  

    I was clapping the dust from the ashtray off my hands when I could hear the loud “Pop” and “Bang” of gunfire outside. Laurie was observing him from the window. I got the impression that guns made her nervous. I had no great love for them myself. I would like to think a true gentleman would brandish a potato peeler when engaging in mortal combat. But I am romantic. What can I say?  

    Clarence reentered the cabin with the “I just shot a gun” glow. It was certainly the boost he was looking for. We stood together hovering over the old iron handle to the crawlspace. “Laurie. I think you better wait in the other room in case something happens to us.” At first, she tried to ignore my attempts at protecting her lady-like delicacy. She thought for a moment and responded, “If something in there devours you, I want to be able to shut that door as quickly as possible.” I was flabbergasted and Clarence got a good chuckle at my expense.  

    I held one of the kerosene lanterns while Clarence pulled the hatch open. It gave him some resistance but finally gave way and opened with a churning creak. Our faces were peppered by dust and mold. I let out an astonished gasp by what I saw. It was a smooth cement tunnel leading down into the darkness with iron ladder pegs embedded in the circular passage. “Not quite what I was expecting,” Clarence muttered. He flung the rifle's leather strap over his shoulder where the weapon now rested on his back.  

    I climbed down first. Grasping the lantern in one hand and carefully stepping down each rung of the ladder. I wasn't certain how far down this tunnel went but there wasn't enough room to get a good view. I had to descend on faith alone. Clarence was several rungs above me. He was chanting some kind of prayer. I surmised that he had a fear of enclosed spaces.  

    The ladder stretched for what I estimated to be 2 full stories into the earth. The clang of our feet echoed in the small tunnel around us. I could hear Laurie above us calling out to check on us. I wanted to wait until my feet hit solid ground before doing so. And then, they did. The lantern illuminated what looked like a small research laboratory. Despite the use of the word small in my description, the total size of the open room I saw was still significantly larger in square footage than the cabin above us. I took a few steps forward and noticed a large switch on the wall to my left.  

    I could feel Clarence's presence behind me. He made it down safely as well. I turned the lantern on his face to see slack jawed amazement. I called Laurie, “We are fine. There is some kind of lab or facility down here.” I shouted upwards. It's incredible!” I added a second later. I could hear the echoing clang of feet hitting the iron rungs of the ladder. “I am heading down there,” she cried out.  

    Clarence took the initiative and flipped up the large breaker switch on the wall, and the room flickered with the glow of fluorescent lights. It must have had its own separate power supply from the rest of the cabin.  This place was amazing. There were 2 rows of lab tables with 3 tables in each row. A pair of stools stood adjacent to each table. I spotted a large metal disk with some kind of enclosure around it. There was an inordinate number of wires, levers, and buttons covering the enclosure. As well as a pair of what looked like a pair of Tesla Coils protruding from both sides of the enclosure. It looked like the lair of a mad scientist or a Disney villain. Probably both. Definitely both.  

    Clarence and I split up to opposite ends of the lab to inspect what we had encountered. Clarence was pawing through documents that appeared to be maps or blueprints. I headed over to an unmarked metal door on the left side of the far wall from the ladder and carefully pulled it open. It was locked, but my strength enhancement caused the door to rip through the double deadbolts and hang limply off one hinge. Despite using a bit more force than I wanted to, I found myself getting a better handle of measuring my newfound abilities.  

    Inside the large supply room, I noticed several strange instruments on the floor. The devices were rectangular boxes with a series of digital readout monitors and a multicolored cornucopia of buttons.  They each had odd metal wands tethered by coiled wires on them.  They looked like Geiger counters or maybe some kind of sophisticated anal probe. I discovered a small cluster of lab coats suspended on hangers on the right-hand side of the closet. I pulled one of the coats off the hook and ripped off my slimy, sweat covered, and muddy scrub shirt. I threw the lab coat over my bare chest.    

    I exited the closet eager to make an appearance for an impromptu fashion show for Clarence. Laurie had just finished her climb down the tunnel stairs. They both looked in amusement as I did a slight bow and did my best to imitate an intellectual.  “As persons of science, it is our duty to look the part.”  

    Laurie and Clarence wasted no time bursting into the closet to change their attire. After a brief moment, we suddenly looked like a distinguished group of scientists. Distinguished scientists who were living in the woods for a week. Clarence also discovered a box full of rubber safety boots. My boots were a bit too loose. Clarence's boots were a bit too snug. And Laurie's boots flopped around with a solid two inches of unused space in the toe area. Clarence informed us about a saw upstairs that could at least remedy that problem.  

    Clarence told us that he discovered blueprints for a machine of some kind labeled as the “Daedalus Gate.” I didn’t even bother trying to decipher the complex diagram.  He also showed us a map of the area where we were staying and the cabin we were calling home. He drew his finger across the map and noted in a matter-of-fact tone, “The cabin is here, and it appears, half a click due north of us, is a helipad.” Half a click. What are we now, Marines? “I guess that explains how the scientists got here without any kind of road connected to the cabin.” Made sense.  

    Laurie meandered around the room and moaned in ecstasy when she discovered an emergency wash station. She turned the shower on to test the water. At least it worked.  We planned on taking turns in the shower near the corner of the room, while the others sat in the closet to give each other privacy.  Since she discovered the shower and she went first. We took turns ordered by the first to call it.  It wasn't a sophisticated system, but it worked for us.

    Clarence pulled the strap around his shoulder and propped the rifle against the wall of the closet by the futuristic looking gadgets I saw earlier.  We sat on the floor and discussed our next move.  “I figured I would climb back upstairs and grab the ham radio and bring it down here where we can give it some juice.  My old man had one when I was growing up, so I know what I am doing,” Clarence informed me.  I could only speculate whether such a machine would work this far underground, but I had no way to validate such criticism.    

    He continued his calculations, “If you come upstairs with me and use the blanket on the bed as a sack, we can haul food down here and cook it on the Bunsen burners instead of the fireplace.  I am damn sure it is more comfortable to sleep down here than up there. A lot less mosquitoes at night” He had a fine argument.  “I could throw down cushions from the couch as well,” I added.  “Now you’re thinking,” He replied with a comforting smile. Our rickety woodland cabin was turning into a real Hobbit Hole.  

    As we debated for several moments about the logistics of our relocation, I could hear the water stop running in the other room.  The sound of flapping skin, limbs, breasts, and hair could be heard audibly in the other room.  No towels.  I guess flailing around to air dry ourselves was the game plan.  Clarence’s face scrunched in consternation for just the briefest moment.  I had a feeling that he wanted to tell me something.  Maybe about himself or our predicament.  Laurie’s call of “Almost done!” in the other room provided him an out from opening up to me.  “I’m next. I just called it.” He announced with a slight wolfish grin.  

    Laurie appeared outside the doorway, and Clarence bolted out the door.  She stepped out of his way as he charged over to the shower.  Laurie sat down next to me.  Her hair was a sloppy pile pulled over her shoulder.  Her pale skin glistened from the moisture still on it, and the lab coat was slightly discolored from the water it absorbed.  Despite these oddly noticeable details, it was the first time I became aware of her unique beauty.  She frowned when she realized I was staring at her like a hypnotized goon.    

    She broke the tension by speaking.  “I was thinking in the shower about contacting some old friends of mine.  They also have a ham radio, and don’t live too far off.  We might need a new place to lie low until things die down.”  I was dumbstruck for a second and asked, “what to die down?”  She exhaled sharply, as if dealing with a mentally deficient toddler.  “Our escape from the mental institution.”  Oh yeah.  I could only wonder what they would tell the press when asked how we escaped.  Maybe something involving an elaborate catapult we built out of bed sheets.    

    Regaining my composure I affirmed her course of action, “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan.” She scratched her forehead while explaining the major complication to the said plan.  “I can’t think of a way for my friends to actually reach us.  There are no trails, paths, or roads.  It’s not like my friends own a helicopter.”  My heart sunk.  “At least they’d know we were coming, and that’s something,” I offered feebly.  She sighed.    

    We both heard Clarence singing his heart out in the shower.  He performed a soulful rendition of a breakfast cereal commercial from 15 years ago.  I was sure the folks at Kellogg’s would be brought to tears.  Laurie and I both roared in laughter.  Our gaze met briefly.  Damn, she had the most beautiful, radiant green eyes.  How did I not notice before?  We both briefly looked in opposite directions when a wave of awkwardness followed.  

    The awkward silence was broken by Clarence standing outside the doorway still dripping wet.  He gestured to me that I was up next.  I walked past him, and he replaced my seat on the floor next to Laurie.  I stripped down and turned on the water.  It was cold and there didn't seem to be any knob to turn on a hot water setting.  How did the others fail to mention this?  When I worked up the nerve to stand under the stream of water. I yelped in shock.  I haven't taken many cold showers before, but I could see why it was a remedy for arousal.    

    The muck and grime slowly peeled off of me, though it was a grueling process because of my need to jump out of the water, so my eyeballs didn't pop out of their sockets in shock.  I couldn't believe someone would take a shower like this willingly.  I tried to focus on something else instead of an ice-cold shower.  Clarence and Laurie were having a loud and heated debate over the merits of either delivery or DiGiorno.  They both offered compelling arguments.  

    I was in the process of washing the grime and dirt from my hair when I heard sounds that stole all interest away from Clarence and Laurie.  It was the sound of feet clanging down the tunnel and into our new sanctuary.  The others must have heard it too because their conversation ended abruptly.  My heart skipped a beat, and I had just enough nerve to pull the triangle shaped handle of the emergency wash shower off.  

    There I was standing in the rear corner of the lab, dripping wet, and completely naked when figures entered the room. I recognized their pseudo uniforms.  They were the same types of soldiers that arrived at my house in Humvees and burnt the place to cinders.  For some reason I didn't imagine I would stark nude when this confrontation inevitably occurred.  The men were armed with assault rifles, all pointed at me.  I could hear one final set of feet climbing down from the ladder.  He appeared into view and then faced me.  It was the stringy haired balding asshole that had a taste for human flesh and tormenting me.  

    Seeing this sick person created a peculiar mix of emotions that stirred within me.  It was something like dread, seething hatred, utter contempt, and sickening curiosity.  He was wearing his signature red monogrammed robe (untied of course.)  His disgusting wrinkled and saggy skin fit over his bones like an absurd Halloween costume.  His stretched and bloated belly walked a full 6 inches in front of him.  His hair was a long-tangled mess that he barely made any effort to comb over his head.  He clearly savored the feelings he stirred up within me.    

    The first look I got from him was a toothy grin revealing a row of sharp teeth.  I swore that his entire row of front teeth was nothing but incisors.  He signaled nonchalantly for his men to storm the closet that Clarence and Laurie were inside before speaking to me.  “Hello Johnathan.” He said with an impish smile.  He somehow knew I hated to be called Johnathan.    

    “Where are my manners?  Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Thomas.  Thomas Balthazar.”  He paused for a moment, and on cue, an involuntary shudder crept up my spine.  “Though, I have taken to using the moniker, Azmorariel.”  Another shudder.  If he kept this up, I would need to see a chiropractor when this was all over.   

    While Thomas was enjoying his own introduction, Clarence and Laurie were dragged out of the closet with zip-ties around their wrists.  The soldiers were dragging them to the back of the lab.  I prepared to leap into action, but the sight of Thomas kept me in check.  “Your friends will remain unharmed if you are cooperative,” Thomas assured me.  “What do you want from me?” I demanded while blood began rushing to my head.  “Such impudence.” Thomas replied with a condescending tone.  “What I want is simple.  The gem embedded in your left hand.”    

    Two of the soldiers that remained by the side of Thomas cautiously approached me with their weapons drawn.  I kept my gaze on the real threat.  The soldiers tried to push me onto one of the lab tables behind me.  It was as if a pair of slow-moving bunny rabbits tried to push me over.  They grunted with exertion and desperately looked back at their leader for answers.  Thomas frowned and hissed, “I said...COOPERATE!”   

    With those words, it was like being manhandled by some invisible force.  I was flung into the air and landed on my back right on the lab table. I gasped in pain.  It hurt spectacularly.  One of the guards fumbled around a satchel on his waist and pulled out an electric bone saw.  I guess if I couldn't hand over the gem my hand would be over.  I had to hand it to them; they were quite a handy bunch.  OK, I'll stop now.  

    The whirl of the electric bone saw brought an involuntary gasp of panic.  When the blade hit my wrist, the machine sputtered and whined.  There was a burst of sparks and with a loud “pop,” mechanical parts scattered around the room.  The guard, who sported an attractive goatee, cursed loudly and stepped back.  The other guard just looked at me with confused fascination.  “I hate getting my hands dirty.” Thomas spat in utter disgust.  Hey, that time it was him, not me, who was milking the hand puns.   

    Thomas had the most fiendish look in his eyes when he widened his jaw and moved swiftly to my wrist.  I tried to jump off the table, to move, to yell, or to... something.  I was totally paralyzed by some sort of spell or entity.  Thomas' sharp teeth descended into my wrist.  I braced myself for whatever supernatural pain was coming.  I could feel his sharp teeth digging at my flesh.  The gem protected me well enough that he couldn't break the skin.  However, his bite still hurt quite a bit while he gnawed at my wrist.  I almost forgot what pain felt over the past couple of days, but this made up for it in spades.  

    Thomas gave a quizzical look at my wrist.  This was a man (and I use the term loosely) who rarely experienced failure or results that weren't expected.  He took a step back and entered a thoughtful pose while tapping his chin rapidly.  Based on what I could read from his expression, he had an answer, but he didn't like it.  “Axle.  Diesel.”  He called out to the guards that stood watching Clarence and Laurie.  Axle and Diesel?  Were these guys soldiers or washed-up American Gladiators?  

    They understood some kind of nonverbal cue and pointed their rifles at the heads of my companions.  “Here is what is going to happen Johnathan.  I am going to release you from your binds.”  I assumed the binds were whatever in hell it was keeping me frozen in place.  “Then you are going to join your companions inside the Daedalus Gate.  Next, you are going to sit still and wait for the fireworks to begin.  Any sudden moves or tricks, and your companions will die.  Play along, and I can give you a comfy ride back home.”  Thomas explained to me in a calculating tone.  The idea of complying with anything this guy ordered bothered the shit out of me.  

    He could feel my righteous indignation fade after a moment.  He watched my resolve melt away, and when a combination of fear and compassion for my friends sunk in, he released me.  I got up and marched over to the Frankenstein machine with my head hung down.  It was a slow walk over to the shiny nickel colored platform where my friends awaited.  Thomas walked over to the machine and started rapidly inputting calculations into the machine.  There was a hiss of pressure being released as the enclosure surrounded us.  

    Clarence and Laurie both pushed as far away from me as possible.  It was like being stuck in a tube that was 8 feet in diameter with a completely nude person was somehow unappealing.  While trying to brush off my self-consciousness, a deep and resonating hum began to fill the chamber.  I can't find the right way to describe the feelings and sensations that followed the hum very well.  It was like moving disturbingly fast or flying but going nowhere.  It was like every cell in my body was vibrating in different directions.  It was like, blinking and seeing the inside of a science fiction machine immediately turn into my front lawn.  

    There we were.  Right in front of the twisted ash pile, that was my old home.  On the overgrown lawn where my grand adventure began.  Immediately, I was overcome with nausea and what little food was in my belly emptied onto the lawn.  Nausea must have been a side effect of Gate Travel because Clarence and Laurie were both doubled over and puking in the grass as well, with their hands, zip tied behind their backs.  At least they had clothes on.  

    After the symphony of vomiting concluded, I noticed something stuck to the dirt under a pile of my discarded stomach contents.  I pushed aside the vile mess of recycled oatmeal and discovered a note stuck in the dirt.  I wiped away the whitish-tan grime of it and took a closer look.  It looked like a sheet of paper ripped out of a pocket-sized notebook.  The words scribbled on it read, “I WILL TASTE YOUR FLESH.” 

 

Chapter 4:  Rebuilding  

 

    The nausea passed as quickly as it came on.  As did my moment of disbelief that followed discovering Thomas' note still embedded on the front lawn.  How much time had passed since they burnt my place to ashes?  My thoughts were interrupted by a sense of dead weight that was my body.  I felt a compulsion to examine my ruby laden hand.  The ruby was missing, and a gem shaped crater was all that remained in the center of my palm.  The flesh that remained was gnarled and twisted like a poorly healed burn.  

    I groaned in mourning my new powers.  Laurie wiped her mouth and wrinkled her face in disgust from the taste in her mouth.  She was looking at me curiously.  Clarence's attention was also drawn to my visible discomfort.  I revealed my hand, and a pair of gasps followed.  With my only discernible ability gone, I became the dead weight in the group now.  It wasn't a tremendously confidence inspiring feeling.    

    After the reaction faded, I noticed Clarence shimmying and rubbing his arms together.  Behind me, I could hear the horn of a car passing by on my street honking vigorously at me.  I didn't need to look to know that the motorist in the car found my nudist predicament amusing.  I had to find clothing as quickly as possible.  Clarence, after grunting with effort, produced his freed hands and the zip tie on his wrists dropped to the ground.  Perhaps he found a sharp object to cut himself free?  He began working on Laurie's ties while I crept over to my ash pile home.  I hoped to find something, anything, I could cover myself with.    

    Our respective tasks were interrupted by my neighbor's door opening and a hearty guffawing from the loud brute.  I could hear a woman's voice from inside asking, “What's so funny, babe?”  He motioned for her to remain inside.  “Stay in there, there are some real weirdos outside,” He commanded her.  He glanced at Clarence and Laurie's attire and made a wisecrack, about “perverts playing doctor on the front lawn.” He stood in the doorway while we scurried around, transfixed by the sight of us all.  

    Clarence managed to break Laurie's hands free before purposefully striding over to my neighbor.  Clarence chatted with him in a low tone while I found a half-burnt armoire to find cover behind.  Unfortunately, the only contents I kept inside were board games that I never found friends to actually play with.  Yeah, that's right, I didn't store clothes in it but used it to store games instead.  At least my Star Wars themed copy of Stratego was still in good shape.  While pondering whether I could challenge my new friends to a game, I saw Clarence point in my direction while explaining something.  Did a look of sympathy appear on my neighbor's face?  He glanced at my feeble attempts to hide my nakedness, shrugged, and darted off into his house.  

    Laurie stood nearby me, attempting to provide me with a pitiful screen from any passing vehicles.  Thankfully, it was only one car.  After an uncomfortable minute of waiting, my neighbor returned outside and handed Clarence a cell phone and a pile of clothing.  Clarence walked over to me with clothes in hand, while trying to unlock the phone in the other.  “The password is 1-2-3-4,” my neighbor called out.  Someone get that man a job in cyber-security!    

    I never mentioned my neighbor's name before because I considered him to be an inconsolable douche.  Given that he had a decent side to him, I'll say it now – It is Chuck.  Chuck's clothes looked way too big for me.  It was a pair of extremely large cargo shorts that came down to about 4 inches above my ankles and a faded gray t-shirt with the inscription, “Ass Kick'r.”  Thankfully, he included a length of bungee cord that functioned as a makeshift belt.  I looked absurd, but at least I had something on.  I waved thankfully to Chuck who gave a slight nod back to me.  

    Clarence immediately began dialing some unknown party on the phone my neighbor lent him.  I rummaged through what was left of my possessions with Laurie as an audience member. When boredom set in, she opted to help me paw through some of the ashes to recover anything useful or valuable.  She also spoke to me about some of her friends that she mentioned.  They sounded like survivalists or some other kind of fringe religious group out in the woods of Massachusetts.  She wasn't even entirely sure.  I guess they moved around a lot.    

    Clarence's phone call took at least 15 minutes.  It sounded like logistical details for our next move.  Chuck returned inside his home with his new girlfriend, and Bad Company's, “Feel Like Making Love” blared out of the windows of his house.  I assumed they were playing pinball and didn't want me to get jealous.   My thoughts were interrupted by Laurie asking me, “Johnny, do you even know what you are looking for?”  I didn't have a clue.  I just wanted to hold onto something that was mine.  Something familiar.    

    “I honestly don't know.” I admitted with a bit of embarrassment.  Her look of stern disapproval was replaced by an emphatic nod.  “I know what you mean,” she said as she revealed something in her hand.  It was a glass jar full of marbles that I kept near my bed.  It was covered in soot and ash but unbroken. “Well, I guess I haven't lost my marbles after all,” I said chuckling at my own joke.  I wasn't sure if the noise that came out of her mouth was a sigh of disappointment.  Or a gasp of panic, realizing just how awful my sense of humor is.    

    I felt a compulsion to keep the marbles. I emptied the contents of the jar into one of the large cargo pockets.  I also found the charred remains of my Zither.  I planned to learn how to play it, after two years of owning it.  That was the bright side of the house fire; I could always blame my lack of focus or motivation on the evildoers that ruined my stuff.  My thoughts were distracted by Clarence, placing Chuck's phone on a little plastic table on his front porch and turning to us.  

    Clarence called us in for a huddle.  “My cousin is coming to pick us up and we are going to head into the city to lay low.  His place is pretty chill, and I doubt they would know to look there.”  He informed us.  We had a plan.  But what if they intercepted the call and were waiting for us?  Who were “they?”  All I could see were problems and traps everywhere I looked.  I think this was why I trusted Clarence to handle this.  My recollection of my first flight demonstrated that I had no clue how to move around when I was being screwed with.  “That sounds like a good plan.”  I agreed.  It was settled.    

    We sat on the lawn peacefully while waiting for Clarence's cousin to drop by.  We watched the clouds go by slowly.  It was nice to appreciate the weather with my new friends.  Clarence pointed out a cloud that looked like a chair.  Laurie spotted one that looked like a dog's head.  And I saw one that looked like a remarkably accurate depiction of the Battle of Gallipoli.  The warm summer afternoon air settled over us, and it was almost a disappointment to see Clarence's cousin come by.     

    He was an enormous black man, who appeared to be a serious bodybuilder, who let himself go for a couple years. Yet, somehow, he wasn't intimidating.  Maybe it was his warm smile or charming demeanor.  Clarence's cousin motioned for us to come to the car.  We hurried over.  It was an old silver Cadillac with R&B music playing from inside.  Clarence rode in the passenger seat and Laurie, and I took the back.  As he drove off, I took one last look back at my ash pile.    

    Clarence's cousin turned down the music and made conversation as we drove to his apartment downtown.  “Clarence told me all about you, Johnny.  Says you're good people.  My name is Dayton.”  He stretched his arm into the back seat where I shook his hand.  His grip had a certain firmness about it, but a strong softness remained. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Dayton.  Thanks for picking us up on short notice.  It's been a weird-” I couldn't quite work out a good time frame to finish the sentence.  He didn't seem to mind.  “And you must be Laurie,” he said almost seductively to Laurie. She grinned and nodded.  Dayton turned the music back up, and we arrived at his apartment downtown without incident.  

    Dayton parked behind the tenement complex where he lived.  We exited the car and walked around to the front of the building.  There were intermittent clusters of people that greeted us on our way up.  Dayton seemed to know everyone, and everyone seemed to like him.  Whatever skill or talent Dayton had for talking to his neighbors stirred up deep feelings of envy within me.  I couldn't talk to anyone in my neighborhood without feeling ridiculed by, or contemptuous toward.  We entered the complex and took a rickety old elevator up to the 11th floor.  He fumbled around the lock and finally let us into his comfortably furnished domain.  

    Laurie, Clarence, and I sat on his black leather sofa.  Dayton sprawled out on his loveseat.  Before he could fully sink in, he suddenly seemed abashed.  “Where are my manners?  Y'all want anything to drink or eat?”  He looked at us hopefully while asking, and I broke the silence. “Yeah!”  The only thing I had eaten that day found itself on my lawn after all.  “I'll take some grub,” Laurie chided in. Clarence shook his head dismissively.  He seemed a bit preoccupied.  “How about sandwiches?  I got turkey if you want it,” Dayton offered.  Laurie and I graciously accepted our host's hospitality.  

    While Dayton was in the kitchen, we heard a loud knock on the front door.  Dayton looked at us, visibly confused.  He wasn't expecting anyone, and judging our response, he deduced that there weren't any stragglers left from our group.  Dayton called through the door, “Who is this?”  A voice answered him back, “Yo, It's Ronnie from across the hall.”  I guess the two of them were acquainted because Dayton shrugged and opened the door.    

    A large silver handgun was immediately and forcefully thrust into the face of Dayton upon opening the door.  Dayton was stupefied as he seemed to recognize the voice but not the person who followed it.  Then the stranger stepped into the room, and I took a good look at him.  I recognized the curly blonde hair and pale blue eyes.  It was hard to pinpoint the face at first, because it was covered in dark brown shoe polish.   After a moment of staring at the black-faced lunatic, I was hit by a flood of recollection. 

    It was Wayne Ackerman.  I knew Wayne from grade school, but I never cared for him.  He would always try to say silly things in class to get attention.  He would also brag incessantly to girls who were not interested.  I knew his humor was off color...but showing up at an African American man's door in full black face with a drawn weapon?  That just crossed a line.  Wayne sauntered into the living room led by his pistol.  Dayton gave him a wide berth, holding his hands up in an effort to appear innocuous.  Wayne began arbitrarily pointing his weapon at each of us to inspire fear.  I wanted to slap him so badly.  Clarence was livid by Wayne’s display.  “This is how it's gonna be,” Wayne started in a voice, that I think he felt imitated an authoritarian.  “You are gonna sit real quiet and wait for me to tell you when you can leave.”  We waved the gun menacingly to emphasize the need for our strict compliance.  

    Dayton replied in a soft tone, “All right my man, whatever you say.”  Wayne knew that he was trying to placate him, which seemed to piss him off.  “Yeah, it IS, whatever I say,” He remarked while puffing out his chest.  Wayne was by no means a big guy, and I was sure that Dayton could rip him in half like tissue paper.  Wayne found a vacant rocking chair in the corner of the room and sat down while pointing the gun at me.  Dayton could see his discomfort despite intimidating us.  He started to get up to offer Wayne a glass of water.  “Hell no, I want your ass where I can see it,” Wayne interjected.  Dayton returned to his love seat.  That reminds me...Wayne was the reason I didn't get that turkey sandwich.  Only a truly heartless monster comes between a man and his sandwich.  

    Wayne looked at me and pointed the gun at me while he spoke.  “There is a crazy high price on your head Johnny.  Like, retire and live on a private island kind of high.  I came to collect.  If your friends don't stand in my way, they can walk.  They ain't worth shit to me.”  I suddenly felt like I was at the center of a criminal conspiracy.  Given my skill set, that was not a good thing.  I tried to change the subject.  “So, uh, Wayne.  Why the blackface?”  I asked as disarmingly as possible.  “Cause it's the hood and I wanted to blend in!”  He said, trying to assert an insane form of dominance. 

    Dayton looked perplexed.  Clarence was trembling with rage.  Laurie looked mortified.  And I was suddenly certain this was not the Wayne I once knew.  Wayne's face suddenly was engulfed in a wicked grin.  Was there an odd flicker of that strange yellowish glow that I had seen before?  I couldn't tell for sure.  Wayne used his free hand to pull his cell phone from his left pocket and briefly glance at it.  I thought about trying to make small talk.  “Hey Wayne, did you end up getting accepted to Princeton like you always wanted?” I asked.  Well, I didn't actually ask.  I am sure that he was a Yale man after all.  

    Twenty awkward minutes passed until Wayne's phone finally rang.  There wasn't a sound in the room except for Dayton's occasional chorus of flatulence.  The ringtone was an unusually timed series of notes that seemed like some kind of bizarre code in itself.  Wayne answered it with a purposeful, “Talk to me.”  I waited on the edge of my seat, straining my ears to pick up some information.  Wayne just nodded while he listened and gave a few short “yeah's” and “mm hmm's” that got his point across.  He finished his call, pointed the gun at me, and gestured with the firearm for me to get up.  

    “Me and Johnny are leaving.  The rest of you dickwads better stay where you are.  Don't even think of getting up before the count of...71,” Wayne ordered.  We all suspiciously looked at him for a clue as to why such an unusual number.  He seemed attuned to the confusion we shared.  “I just like prime numbers, is all,” he shrieked defensively.   With that clear cut display of insanity, Wayne marched me out of Dayton's apartment with a gun jabbing into my lower back.    

    We moved through the hallway that led to the elevator and right into said elevator.  Thankfully it was empty, and I didn't need to have an awkward elevator ride with this lunatic.  I really didn't want to be lumped into whatever category of racism that his nonsense fell under.  We entered the elevator and when the door closed and I was in that little rickety elevator with him, chills crept up my spine.  I could feel the warmth of Wayne's breath on my neck as he crept up to my ear.  “Someone is dying to have you over for dinner,” he said.  But it wasn't just those words.  It was the fact that the voice that came out of his mouth belonged to my deceased father.  

    The elevator ride seemed like a long panic attack, and the silence that followed Wayne’s voice was almost more than I could process.  At some point during our descent the elevator stopped on the third floor.  A middle-aged woman carrying a baby was waiting for the elevator.  Her face was a mixture of horror, anger, and revulsion when I gestured that she couldn't come on the elevator.  She stepped back from the door, and I apprehensively pushed the button to close the door.  Wayne dug his gun into my back to emphasize my powerlessness.    

    We arrived at the ground level and there were a couple people talking in the lobby.  All the conversations stopped, and their eyes followed us.  One of the younger men wearing a tank top and doo rag approached us with a very concerned expression.  I couldn't see Wayne's face standing behind me, but whatever look he gave the guy scared him enough that he slunk out of the way and pushed himself against the wall.  I knew the gun was still concealed in my back and by the baggy shirt surrounding it.  It wasn't the gun that frightened the man who approached us.    

    Fear, confusion, and suspicion followed us all the way to the parking lot.  No one dared to approach, and Wayne seemed to expect this.  I knew that Wayne had a penchant for the dramatic, but his bravado was astounding.  Not far from where Dayton had parked his car, I saw an old brown Ford SUV that we were making a direct route for.  “Just slide in the backseat and lay down.  There is a blanket back there, cover yourself with it.”  He commanded me.  Who the hell was he hiding me from?  

    I briefly considered how to stall him.  I was inclined to believe that the longer he stood here in that getup, the more likely it would become that someone intervened in this charade.  “Where are we going,” I asked politely.  Wayne's face contorted in fury.  “Does it really matter, if it's the last place you're going?”  He replied with the air of a man, who considered his question oozing with profound wisdom.  “Well, I just-” He cut me off with a sharp jab of the gun into my back, probing me to open the back passenger side door of the car to get in. The door was locked.  What a moron.  

    His vehicle apparently didn't have a remote unlocking mechanism, and he was forced to walk back to the driver's seat side to push the unlock button for me.  He awkwardly kept his gun trained on me the whole time.  I froze for a moment and considered running at full sprint back into the tenement.  He noticed the spark of resistance in me and yelled, “stand there!”  He circled back around to where I was (passenger rear door.) He came at me with the butt of his pistol raised for a presumably uncomfortable session of pistol whippings.  I averted my gaze from him and tried to brace myself for the incoming concussion. CRACK!  

    The sound wasn't accompanied by the pain I expected.  After my courageous flinching, I squinted my eyes open long enough to see my companions standing over Wayne's sprawled out body.  Dayton was panting heavily with a crimson splattered baseball bat in hand.  “Holy shit!  Where did you guys come from? I thought I was screwed,” I cried in a rejoicing tone.  Clarence tilted his head toward the fire escape ladder on the back of the building.  The fact that Dayton made it down successfully and so swiftly surprised the hell out of me.  He was definitely quicker than he looked.    

    Our celebration was cut short by a blood curdling series of cackles coming from the face down body of Wayne Ackerman.  He rolled over and his eyes were glowing yellow, while laughter and deep crimson blood ejected from his mouth.  The group took an instinctive step back.  Except Dayton, who hoisted his bat in stoic determination.   I guess once you start whacking someone in the head with a baseball bat, it sort of becomes a muscle memory.  Dayton wasted no time and began wailing on Wayne while he was still prone.  Wayne's demonic laughter became garbled by the blood filling his mouth and his teeth shattering.  Wayne's painted face took on the appearance of a morbid, as well as racist Picasso painting.  The rest of us looked on with horror.  Some of the other nearby residents who were spectating began cheering and clapping enthusiastically.  

    Once his composure was regained, Dayton ordered Clarence to help him stuff Wayne's still convulsing body into the trunk of his Cadillac.  I peered inside the windows of Wayne's car.  It was mostly empty with the exception of the keys on the front seat of the car.  After making short work of the body, Clarence and Dayton motioned for us to join them in front of both cars to plan our next move.  Clarence said to us, “I think the best option for us now; is to split up.  Dayton and I will deal with this clown's body.  I think you two should head for whatever friends Laurie has out in the mountains.”  Laurie scratched her neck nervously.  “I am not sure where exactly they are, but I know a few places to start looking to make contact.  They aren't the easiest bunch to just drop in on,” she said.  “Do whatever you need to,” Clarence retorted.  Laurie shrugged.  “After you two settle in, try to make contact with me.  You can reach me on this ham radio frequency.”  He handed her a scribbled note.  “Wait at least a week,” he added.  He had some kind of plan up his sleeve he wasn't directly stating, but I took an odd comfort in that.  

    I wanted to give Clarence and Dayton a big hug and tearful goodbye, but it seemed sort of inappropriate.  The cousins nodded to us in unison, and Laurie and I nodded back in unison as well.  Somethings just don't need to be said.  Laurie and I scrambled into Wayne's SUV and started it up.  The music coming from the CD player started to play loudly.  It was one of the tracks from a Kidz Bop album.  Nothing struck me as more Satanic than Kidz Bop.  We were dealing with some real sick animals.  I turned it off and we drove out of the parking lot.  The crowd that had formed by the sidewalk parted and dispersed.  We received a warm exit before zooming up Main Street.  The gas meter registered that we had nearly a full tank, which a welcome reprieve from the ongoing complications.  While casually driving down Main Street, Laurie checked the glove box and discovered a modest size wad of cash.  Mostly 20s and 10s, with a hundred on top of the roll.  At least my concerns about traveling expenses were alleviated.    

    Laurie instructed me to stop at a nearby strip mall so that we could change clothes.  I was pretty contented by the idea of changing out of Chuck's apparel.  I must admit, I would be pretty disappointed by the sight of Laurie outside of her lab coat.  We arrived at a small strip mall just on the outskirts of town.  The sign for “Village Plaza'' was a welcome sight.  Virgil's Discount Apparel was our first destination. “After we pick up some clothes and change, we are hitting that Chinese buffet.  Then we need to go back to Virgil's to get new clothes to fit around the food baby I plan on making,” Laurie happily said sporting an impish smile.    

    The shopping trip took a couple of minutes.  Laurie quickly found a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting tank top that she liked.  I took a pair of khaki shorts and a tan polo shirt that matched.  The cashier tried to make small talk with us about the upcoming election.   As long as the candidate didn't have glowing yellow eyes, eat human flesh, or projectile vomit blood out of his mouth, I didn't care.  I think Laurie felt the same way and mumbled, “whoever lowers taxes the most.”  We returned to the car and changed.  I dumped the marbles from the pocket of the shorts into the cup holder in the center console.  

    We hastily walked over to the Golden Flaming Dragon Wok House, and the smell of food was intoxicating.  My objections about buffet style melted away.  I would gladly excuse myself to the bathroom to profusely vomit and refill my belly.  We ordered our plates and did our best to avoid shoveling in the food recklessly.  It wasn't the best Chinese I have had by a long shot, but at that moment, it was the greatest thing I had ever tasted.  I did my best to pace myself.  Laurie seemed a bit more adept at eating carefully.  We each had two full plates.  Pork fried rice, General Tso's Chicken, Wonton Soup, Beef Lo-Mein, and some French fries later, we were nearly ready to continue our journey on the road.  I thought it was best that we picked up a few items for the ride.  Laurie agreed with my plan to stop at the nearby convenience market for the journey ahead.    

    We entered the store labeled Convenience Shoppe.  A dark-skinned man of an ambiguous ethnic origin greeted us.  “Hello, my friends, let me know if you need any help finding something!”  The clerk offered emphatically.  Laurie asked for a road atlas.  I stocked up on sugary caffeinated soda, assorted snacks, and a lighter.  The lighter was covered with one of those plastic wrapped graphics on it.  It had a picture of a bull with the word Taurus written on it.  I'm not a Taurus, but I didn't give a shit.  

    Laurie informed me that the journey would take 6 hours on the highway to get to a tavern off the exit.  Apparently, some of her friends hung out there, and it was a good spot to make contact with the group.  It was late evening when we made it to the highway.  I guzzled a colorful rainbow of different sodas in an effort to keep myself awake and alert.  Laurie kept me alert by feeding me various bits of sporadic information about her friends.  They sounded a bit xenophobic, a bit paranoid, and somewhat lovable.    

    “The guy who runs the place is David McCallister.  Though, to call him a leader would be a bit short sighted.  Each person has delegated responsibilities, but authority is shared in their community.  David owns different properties all over the Northeast.  He runs an exclusive summer camp up in the mountains.  Some people say they brainwash kids there, but I went there, and it was nothing like that.”  Laurie explained.  Her last sentence sounded exactly like the line someone who was brainwashed would say.  I wasn't exactly chocked full of options myself, so I deemed it wiser to ignore that nagging thought.    

    She told me about an odd gesture that was a combination of a hand signal and facial expression that were code that you were friendly to their cause.  I thought it looked like she was having an aneurysm or experiencing some odd psychotic tic when she demonstrated it.  She talked for about another hour about her cult.  I mean friends.  She changed the topic eventually, to one thing or another.   

       The drive continued uneventfully into a mild summer rain.  It was around 10pm when Laurie told me that the town where the tavern was located was our next exit.  We passed through the Connecticut state line around 8, and I honestly had no idea where we were.  I was unaccustomed to driving to strange places, and in a dead man's car no less.  Not to mention the fact that my license was missing.  Running into an officer at this point could be disastrous.  The thought of being considered an escaped mental patient did nothing to ease my mind either.  

    We approached the exit, and I saw a state trooper parked by the sign.  I feel like my timing for nervous thoughts was impeccable at that moment.  Laurie noticed the tension radiating off me, and gently put her hand on my arm, which was gripping the wheel in white knuckle fashion.  My heart skipped a beat when I saw the headlights click on, and the vehicle followed us.  There were no other motorists on the road, so I got a very sickening feeling that we would be pulled over.  The police cruiser followed us off the ramp into some small town in a very scenic wooded area.    

    I could tell Laurie was getting nervous because her grip on my wrist began to tighten.  She didn't let go but instructed me to follow Hicks Street for about 30 miles.  Laurie turned the radio off, and we continued to follow the dark and windy road through the woods.  The officer maintained a safe distance behind us but appeared to be going out of his way to follow us.  “What should I say if he pulls us over?” I asked Laurie.  “Just pray he doesn't,” Laurie flatly responded.  I did just that. 

    I maintained the speed limit of 45 miles per hour with excruciating care.  I began to wonder if he saw camera footage from the rest stop where we filled up on gas.  Maybe he was working for Thomas.  Maybe he was like the other yellow eyed freaks that make a habit of tormenting us.  My thoughts of being ripped to pieces by a possessed officer were interrupted by flashing police lights.  I exhaled in terror and pulled over as carefully as I could.  

    Relief doesn't begin to describe the feeling I got when the trooper whizzed past us. I could feel Laurie experiencing the same sensation.  I turned to her and she did likewise.  We got caught in another one of those moments where our eyes froze in the heat of a moment.  It wasn't like love or anything carnal.  It was something more akin to experiencing a common feeling on such an extreme level that it forms a bond deeper than words can accurately describe.  

    Our journey continued more peacefully as the tension melted away.  It felt like we traveled down Hicks Road for an eternity.  The destination of Mark's Tavern was only a few miles down the first intersection we hit.  Laurie laid out our game plan: “I will look for someone who can get us an in. I just want you to hang back at the bar and get a beer.  Don't talk to anyone, and if anyone talks to you, just tell them you are waiting for a friend.”  It sounded like a close-knit joint.  

    I never had much of an affinity for drinking, but it was a sound plan, nonetheless. She described the owner as a surly man who was quite wary of strangers (I assumed his name was Mark or a huge fan of someone named Mark.)  If he was working at the bar, it would be in my best interest to mention her.  Otherwise, if anyone else was bartending, to keep her name out of it.  I was told he was a heavy-set fellow with a prominent tattoo of a shark eating an angel running up his arm.  Classy.  

    We pulled into the parking lot and there weren't many vehicles there, I counted 3 pickup trucks, and two beater cars that were piled into the small parking lot.  Outside the bar there was only the road going onward and woods in all directions.  I spotted a sign in front of the bar that read, “Pink Floyd Patterson: Playing live all this week!”  There was also a graphic of a silhouette of a boxer punching the color prism featured on the cover of Dark Side of the Moon.  I softly groaned at the notion.  I never cared for cover bands.    

    We exited Wayne's SUV and made our way to the front of the bar.  I was a bit nervous, honestly.  I don't go to bars much, and this seedy backwoods tavern wasn't the most inviting.  Laurie led the way and told me to wait a couple minutes after her.  I paced back to the car trying to appear as if I had forgotten something.  I wasn't sure who I was trying to convince, as I was the only one in the parking lot.  I made a mental note to make a more thorough search of the car.  It was a tidy car, but there might be some more hidden gems here.  We found almost $400 in the glove box.  

    After some time passed, I walked into the bar.  It was the hole in the wall I was expecting.  The band was playing a pretty shitty rendition of “Wish You Were Here.” How I wish they weren't here.  The place didn't seem as rough as I imagined.  Most of the patrons here seemed like simple folk who didn't like a big ruckus when they came to the local watering hole.  I sat down at an unoccupied stool by the bar.  The man standing behind the bar looked like the description of Mark that Laurie had given me.  

    “Hey stranger, never seen you around here.  What can I get you?” He asked in a discerning voice.  “Whatever's on tap.” I replied to sound like I fit in. I half expected him to check my ID based solely on my obviously disingenuous confidence.  He nodded and poured me a glass of some amber swill.  I was going to try to make small talk, but he gave me an out when he went to restock the peanuts.  

    In my periphery, I could see Laurie comfortably leaning against the wall with a beer in hand chatting up a middle-aged couple.  They seemed to be having a fair time, and I suspected she found one of her contacts.  Mark kept a wary eye on me, but I was sure he was confident that I wasn't bringing any trouble to his bar.  I slowly sipped my beer and stared at the clock, occasionally watching the band play off key Pink Floyd.  I strongly suspect Mark didn't pay them anything, and they played for the glory of amusing a handful of patrons a night. 

    Laurie approached the bar and let Mark know I would cover the tab. She gave me a sort of head nod signal that told me that we were done here.  He waited for me to finish my beer.  I gulped it down, paid the tab, and left a generous tip.  I was certainly glad we didn't have to linger here long. I walked out of the bar carefully, not showing that I could feel the effects of one beer in my system.  It is surprising how a low alcohol tolerance can affect you.  

    Still, I was certain that I could drive once the initial shock of walking around passed away.  Laurie and I sat in the seat of the car.  When I turned it on, the clock notified us that it was just past midnight.  Damn.  Where would we go?  That was when Laurie told me, “Bob and Elizabeth, just told me that they would get us a place at the camp to stay for a while.  It is closed to the kids for renovations or something.  We need to wait a couple days for the arrangements to go through.”  I frowned at the prospect of trying to kill a few days in the middle of Nowheresville, USA.  Not to mention the obvious cover renovations was being used as to disguise the complete insanity going on around us.

    Laurie continued to talk past my obvious disappointment.  “They gave me the address to a motel that isn't too far from here.  They know the owners and say it is a safe place for us to stay.” Clarence told us that Dayton's place was safe and found me incredibly mistrustful of what people called safe.  Laurie seemed optimistic at least.  That was good enough for me.  We pulled out of the bar cautiously, and I began my drive in the direction that Laurie sent me.  We zoomed off in the same direction we came from, back toward the highway.  

    The effects of the caffeine were wearing thin, and the beer wasn't helping.  I was getting drowsy, and I welcomed the idea of getting some rest.  Laurie yawned in agreement.  The drive was uneventful, but I kept an eye out for the state trooper that I saw a couple hours ago.  Not another car on the road was present to greet us.  Laurie had a fairly good grasp of the area and was able to turn us down several country roads that led to the motel.  The sign for the Road Stop Inn was a pleasant sight to my weary eyes.  

    The most significant thing I saw was a large scrap metal-shaped horse in front of the office.  “How quaint,” I thought to myself.  There were several cars parked in the lot, and all of them looked like broken down shit boxes that were owned by the proprietor.  Maybe he kept them outside to give the appearance that his establishment had a number of guests.  We parked near an old Ford Taurus that was decorated with a liberal amount of rust spots.  We exited the car and made our way to the front office, where the light was still on.  

    We entered a dimly lit office where the man behind the desk was watching TV with rapt attention.  He was a stringy pale skinned man with a ratty looking beard with bits of spittle caught in it.  He was vigorously chewing a wad of gum that looked large enough that it caused my jaw to hurt, simply by watching him.  He barely paid us any notice when we walked in. He reached under the desk and slapped a key on the desk.  “Room number 4 is open,” he told us in a raspy voice between chews of his gum.  

    I wasn't sure if I should have paid him right then or asked for the rates, but Laurie scooped up the keys, and we swiftly exited the office.  We trudged over to a room in the two-story building about a hundred feet from the office.  I counted 8 rooms in total. Room 4 was the farthest door on the left side of the building.  It was adjacent to the stairs leading to the balcony that held the rooms above us.  I was grateful we didn't have to climb up the stairs.  

    We entered our room, and I flipped the lights on.  The bulb above us flickered in protest before finally illuminating our surroundings.  The first thing that caught my attention was the revolting yellow floral wallpaper.  Some of it was peeling in places and covered in the yellowish grime from years of cigarette smoke clinging to the walls.  There was a dingy chipped table, a few plastic chairs, a pair of twin beds that looked like they had been soiled many times, and nightstands that at least looked like they were replaced at some point in the last 5 years.  

    I collapsed onto the closest bed wordlessly.  I heard Laurie check on the bathroom.  I was just about to start letting myself doze off when I heard her loudly exclaim, “Gross! Nasty!”  My eyes popped open.  I sprung off the bed and darted over to the bathroom to inspect what her complaint was.  I got close to the door and was able to see the tail end of a cockroach parade scurrying from the light that Laurie flicked on.  Not unexpected, but not a pleasant sight either. She sighed, said “forget it,” and laid down on the other bed.  

    I returned to my bed, at least convinced that the cockroaches were not from outer space hell bent on our destruction. Sleep came quickly despite the fact that the bed was gross, uncomfortable, and I didn't even bother to pull the blanket over me.  It was hot as hell in here anyway.  While the sleep came quickly, the dream that followed came on slowly. 

 

Chapter 5: Arrival  

 

    My dream began with me waking up in a dimly lit area.  I wasn't sure where I was at first but then it dawned on me.  I was back at the psych unit from a few years back.  I was in a strait jacket and inside a small, padded cell.  I struggled with the restraints on me.  They felt so real.  It was disconcerting how my dreams were so immersive.  I swore I was just laying down in a motel moments ago. 

    While I couldn't see my hand in the jacket I was placed in, I could feel the ruby shaped crater in my hand was gone and my palm was as smooth as it was before.   I struggled in my restraints for minutes, waiting to wake up.  Waiting for this dream to end.  The door of my cell opened up and a pair of familiar orderlies came into the room.  “Alright, looks like you have calmed down Johnny.  I am going to take off the jacket.  Okay?” I immediately recognized the softly spoken voice and face it was coming from.  It was Zeke.  His hand didn't look smashed and twisted, like I had left it.  

    The restraints came off, and I followed Zeke and Gus into the hallway.  My eyes stung from the lights in the hallway, as if I had just woken up from a long and deep sleep.  They led me into one of the doctor's offices, and I sat in the chair across from a doctor I didn't quite recognize.  Wait, he looked familiar somehow.  He wasn't Dr. Sprinkles though.  He looked at me and smiled warmly and said, “Take a seat Johnny.”  I did as instructed.  He cleared his throat before continuing.  

    “Your usual doctor has taken a sabbatical, and I will be treating you for the time being.  My name is Dr. Felter.” He informed me.  Wait?  Now I recognized his face, now that I had his name.  He was the man that I briefly saw in the photographs in the cabin in the woods.  He wasn't dressed in his white suit performing some kind of twisted ritual or greeting half naked indigenous people.  It was him though.  “Uh, Hello,” I stupidly replied.    

    “I am going to ask you some questions to establish a baseline.  Please be cooperative and we can move on quickly,” he said as he removed his glasses.  “Sure.”  He pulled some papers in front of him and began to ask, “Do you know what year it is?”  You know, it's kind of funny how easy that question normally is for me, but at this point, I didn't even have a clue.  “It's 1945.  And the boys just brought us victory over Japan,” I answered.  “Do you want to be funny, or do you want help?” Dr. Felter replied in a stern tone.  “2020?” I found myself sputtering out.  He gave a curious “Mmmhmmm,” as his reply.  

    He scribbled something down and asked another question.  “Do you believe you are awake or dreaming right now?”  That question was a bit more to handle than the first.  The first I was a bit uncertain about, but this question unnerved me.  “This feels real enough,” I responded in earnest.  “But you have had dreams that you were certain were real,” the doctor contended.  Man, this guy was good.  I narrowed my eyes at him.   Whatever he was getting at, it was flying over my head.  

    “Johnny, I believe you are living in two realities.  In one reality, you are some kind of hero battling supernatural forces and running from a clandestine government agency.  In another reality, you are a mentally ill person, struggling to accept a reality that you consider humdrum.  One of those realities is consistent with the world we live in. One of those realities is a fabrication of an unsound mind.  I think, if you take some time, and work with us, you will discover which is which.”  Dr. Felter's explanation concluded with a deep gulp of water and a probing glance.  

    I couldn't quite describe what I believed.  Everything felt so real.  Every part of both realities was almost indistinguishable empirically.  Yet the conclusion that Dr. Felter was trying to lead me to felt strangulating.  If I accepted that he was right, I felt like I was insane at a level that was beyond salvation.  Somehow battling the yellow eyed demons seemed preferable to what he described.  Still, I felt a need to placate the doctor until I could wake up to the reality that I was beginning to feel more comfortable in.  

    “I think that I am mentally ill and living in a fantasy world,” I said in an effort to present the answer I thought he wanted to hear.  He homed in on that effort immediately and gave a skeptical look my way.  “Well, Johnny, you might be on the right path to accepting the reality that is, and not as you want to see it.  It is going to take a lot of work on your part, and a high dose of medications.”  I groaned.  This was not news that was welcome to me.  “The other doctors and I will work diligently to uncover the root of your illness.  Work with us, stop trying to clown around, and cooperate and you might get out of here someday.”  Some day?  That sounded like never to me.  

    “Your mother stopped in last week.  Do you remember?” Dr. Felter asked, breaking the momentary silence.  My thoughts stopped short, and I stared at him in disbelief.  “She said you didn't even recognize her.  She told us you kept calling her Laurie.  I am not sure why you did, but I suspect you are projecting your fantasy world on those around you.”  I started shaking.  I knew what reality was.  This was a dream that was put into my head to distract us from taking down Thomas.  I knew that Laurie was real.  This was the dream, and since it was a dream, the consequences of beating the doctor senselessly were nonexistent.    

    I lunged onto the desk in a vain attempt to strangle this asshole who was tormenting me.  I could hear the footsteps come from behind me.  The doctor pushed his wheeled chair backward to put some distance between myself and him.  “Hold him!”  The doctor cried out.  I felt the rough hands of Zeke and Gus grab the scruff of my neck.  I became momentarily frozen by the very rough feeling of their firm grips.  It actually hurt a bit.  And I could certainly feel the prick of the Thorazine needle that followed.  My vision faded.  

 

 

    I awoke on the motel bed with a start.  I guess I was loudly yelling, because Laurie was standing over me crying out, “Johnny, are you OK?  What's wrong?  Talk to me.”  She stopped pleading with me as my surroundings came back into focus.  I wasn't in the hospital.  It was all a bad dream.  The sight of our dingy motel room never looked so inviting.  Laurie filled one of the cups in the room with water from the bathroom and rushed over to me.  I was covered in cold sweat.  I tried not to think about the roaches that called that bathroom home as I drank.  

    I gave Laurie a look that puzzled her.  I found myself trying to find my mother's face in hers.  She looked back at me as though I had lost it this time.  I shook my head and decided it was safest to press on as if both realities were really occurring.  There was no sense in trying to constantly stare at my surroundings to dispel them.  No matter what reality I was in, when I felt something, the feeling was real.  When I tasted something, the taste was real.  There was no way to determine what was what.  Going with the flow would need to be my new motto now.  

    Laurie and I agreed that it would be a good idea to stretch our legs and spend some time in the sun.  We exited the motel room and shuffled around the parking lot.   I felt that it was prudent not to mention the dream I woke up from, but I got the impression that she wanted me to open up.  I had to hand it to her; she knew when to back down and when to press onward.  I kicked around a few of the loose stones on the gravel and dirt parking lot which our car sat in.  

    There was a statue on display in the parking lot that I could see in the sunlight.  While getting a closer look at the scrap metal monstrosity in the shape of a horse, I could hear the desk man calling out to me.  I wondered if that man ever slept.  Laurie followed me inside.  “You’re Johnny, right?” He asked in his raspy voice and gum filled mouth.  “Yeah.” I replied.  It was funny that he asked for my name then, instead of before we rented the room.  We were certainly not dealing with the standard hotel protocol you get at the Holiday Inn or something.  You know where they want an original copy of your birth certificate before they let you lay your head down.    

    “Phone call for you.  It’s a... Dr... Balakrishnan for you.”  He said pronouncing the last name as if it were rehearsed a few times.  Who the hell was he talking about?  I picked up the phone and nervously answered, “Uh, Hello?”  There was a short pause before the voice on the other line started.  “Listen to me Johnny, you are in serious trouble.”  I recognized the voice.  It was Dr. Sprinkles.  “Don't ask how I got a hold of this number or how I found you, but you need to listen to me...very...carefully.”  He emphasized the last two words and dramatically paused to get his point across.  

    “Yes?”  I answered, without the slightest clue where he was going with this.  “I need you to always remain in your room until after 9pm tonight.  When it reaches 9pm, I need you to steal the keys to room number 7 from the front desk.”  I discreetly looked over to the man who ran the desk to see if he heard what was just asked of me.  He seemed oblivious.  Dr. Sprinkles continued, “Once you have the keys, go into room number 7 and wait there.  Do not under ANY circumstances stay another night in room number 4.  I cannot talk any longer.  More information will follow.”  With that, the phone gave a click that seemed to loudly resonate inside my head.    

    I handed the phone back to the clerk, and he resumed watching TV.  He turned the volume up a great deal in protest of the phone interruption.   Laurie was standing just outside the door.  I almost thought she followed me inside the office.  I looked at her with renewed panic since waking up, “We need to stay inside for the time being.”  The color drained from her already pale face.  She didn't need to ask any questions to know that something bad was coming for us.  

    Once inside, I quickly relayed what Dr. Sprinkles had told me.  She sunk into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs by the table.  “I guess we need to figure out a plan on how to steal the key from the office,” I mentioned.  She and I took some time to formulate the logistics of a plan.  When that got boring or degenerated into uncertain “what if's,” we spent our time naming state capitals.  I got stuck on Rhode Island.  We also invented a game that resembled hockey and basketball using a copy of Gideon's Bible as a ball/puck.  We used a garbage can as the goal marker, and it was quite entertaining.  

    We continued to distract ourselves throughout the day and the waves of fear that we experienced kind of melted away.  When the clock reached 8pm, we found that fear returned with a vengeance.  It was getting close to the time when we had to make preparations for our heist.  Laurie planned on distracting the desk man, while I snatched the keys from under the desk.  Simple, yet elegant.  9:00 rolled around quicker than I wanted it to.  It was time to make the magic happen.  

    Laurie marched over to the horse statue and gave me the signal that the desk man was at his position.  I crept along the sides of the building to conceal myself.  I tried to use a combination of stealth and speed.  I doubt that it was more than a superfluous effort to try to imitate a spy movie.  When she saw I was about 10 yards off from the office building, she began yelling and hooting. “I wanna ride the horsey!” She repeated this a few times in a comically silly tone. 

    She made several clumsy attempts to climb up on the horse's rear.  I couldn't help but cringe at some of her efforts.  I was now around the corner from the door of the office. I waited while nervously panting in anticipation.  I couldn't help but smile when she finally made her way on the horse.  I think she enjoyed herself causing such a ruckus.  I heard the door swing open and watched the desk man scramble outside to try to coax her off the statue.  “Hey miss!  That is a valuable work of art!” He bellowed.  

    That was my cue.  While his back was turned, I darted in the front door and dove behind the desk.  There was a wooden rack with pegs on them numbered 1 through 8.  I replaced the 7 with the 4 as quickly as I could.  My heart was thumping wildly.  I don't have much experience with this sort of thing.  It may as well have been a bank vault in my eyes.  I could hear shouting and laughing coming from outside.  I pushed my way out of the door and sprinted off behind the office.  I had a feeling that Laurie knew that I did what I needed to, because she was now loudly apologizing.    

    I darted through some of the foliage that grew between the back of the office and the back of the rooms.  I crept around the back of the building, doing my best to avoid prickers and piles of refuse strewn about.  I made my way around the corner and peeked my head around.  I saw Laurie on the stairs panting and still a bit giddy from all of the excitement. “We are good,” I said.  “Yeah, I could tell you were successful.” she said with a small grin.  We climbed the stairs and made our way to room number 7.  

    I nervously unlocked the door, constantly glancing to see if the desk man would notice us changing rooms.  He must not have.  When I opened the door, the smell of mold and grime filled my nose.  This was certainly a downgrade in accommodations.  I flicked the light switch, which was unresponsive.  We slowly crept into the room together, and I fumbled around with only the outside lights giving me visibility.  I made my way to one of the lamps that rested on a nightstand.    

    Luckily, one of the two bulbs in the lamp still functioned.  The lamp had the unsavory task of revealing a room that made room 4, look like room 4 stars.  The walls were a sickly discolored sheet rock.  Planks of wood covered holes that remained unfilled.  The queen size mattress frame was missing its mattress.  The bathroom was without a sink or toilet.  There was no other furniture and half of the rug looked like it was torn up.  Laurie bent over and picked up something off the ground close to the door.  She held it into the light for us to both see. It was an envelope with the words Johnny and Laurie written on the outside.  We opened up the envelope and read the letter that was inside:  

 

 

Dear Johnny and Laurie,  

 

 

If you are reading this, then it means you were successful in changing rooms.  Congratulations: You won't die tonight.    

 

There are many things I want to tell you both, but they will have to wait until we are in person in case this letter falls into the wrong hands.  I will say this... What Johnny is experiencing has become a phenomenon appearing with alarming frequency across the country.  Some people are brazenly attacking one another, some are hiding in terrified solitude, and others are exacerbating the factors that are contributing to these occurrences.  

 

I understand that you both are on a journey to see Laurie's friends in the mountains.  They have been on the move, trying to fight whatever comes their way, but with little success.  They do not have the tools to fight an enemy of this kind.  One of my closest colleagues is en route to contribute his unique knowledge to David McCallister.  The two of them are close friends and you can expect that they will be awaiting your arrival.  

 

Once you two weather the storm tonight, I need you to follow my instructions to the letter.  Whoever is coming tonight will not leave that car in any condition to drive in the morning.  Consider it a loss.  However, at 6:00 AM tomorrow morning, there will be a new car waiting for you.  It will be a red Mazda, and the keys will be under the driver's side wheel well.  Inside that car, you will find a note with further instructions.    

 

  

It is imperative that you turn off any lights or avoid making any sounds that might reveal your location.  Be silent and remain unseen.  

 

Sincerely,  

 

Dr. Balakrishnan  

 

     After reading the note more 3 times, we switched off the light.   At least we had some help coming in from elsewhere.  It made the idea of sleeping on the floor of that hellish room more tolerable.  Laurie and I found two spots where the carpeting wasn't completely foul and laid down to rest.  We waited in silent terror for something horrible to happen.  I could hear Laurie softly snoring a few feet away in the darkness. Her courage was inspiring.  I couldn't help but lay on my back waiting for something, anything.  It was a while before darkness took hold, and I drifted into a dreamless sleep.  I wasn't sure what I expected to hear before I fell asleep, but I heard nothing.  I wasn't sure if that frightened me more or less.    

    The piercing glow of the morning sun was a good sign that we survived the night.  I hesitantly approached the window overlooking the parking lot.  Indeed, there was a red Mazda parked in one of the spots that was previously vacant the night before.  The brown SUV that we arrived in appeared untouched when I looked at it.  I decided the smartest choice would be to leave Wayne's car alone.  Laurie must have sensed what I was thinking and said, “I get the feeling we should give our old ride a wide berth.”  I nodded in silent agreement.    

    We walked out of the room and descended the staircase in a stealthy manner.  I approached the red Mazda with a silent prayer that we weren't walking into some elaborate trap.  I gave a good peep at our old room.  The door didn't appear tampered with.  I didn't bother trying to glance into the window, it felt like no matter what I saw, it would torment me.  The keys were right in the wheel well where Dr. Sprinkles' note said they would be.  

    I unlocked the door and Laurie climbed into the passenger seat.  Laurie checked the glove box and found another sealed envelope.  I guessed that searching in the glove boxes was quickly becoming our protocol when we entered some random person's car.  Laurie held the note so we could both read it.  It was far less telling than the first.  It included an address and an expected ETA.  “Don't be late” was underlined twice.    

    According to the address, our destination was north in central New Hampshire.  It was about a 3-hour ride.  The note expected us there by 11, and it was just after 6, so I felt comfortable with the time frame.  I offered to let Laurie drive, but she declined.  She didn't like driving, and it didn't bother me. So, that worked out.  

    The drive was far more comfortable in Dr. Sprinkle's car.  His air conditioning wasn't as dated, and he had a fine selection of Bach, Mozart, and other classical shit I don't normally listen to.  After we traveled through the beautiful state of Connecticut, we made our way into Massachusetts just outside of Springfield.  I found the drive to be comfortable, and I decided to switch up our musical selection to celebrate entering a new state.  

    Laurie was dozing back off when I fumbled around looking for a radio station.  Some classic rock station was just at the tail end of some song that I kind of like but couldn't recall the artist or name of the song.  Classic rock stations are like that; full of songs you kind of like but would need to be high on radon gas to actually buy the album.  It was right after the last song ended that one of the station's announcers began to advertise a contest for tickets to a big Kiss concert.  

    During his announcement he went into some kind legal jargon about the rules of the contest.  I became alarmed when the host, Ryan Calvin, changed the tone and speed of his voice suddenly.  “WXT102 is not responsible for concert delays...when you are running from something.  Are you running from something?” The announcer asked in mock sympathy.  “Are you afraid...?  Afraid you are going insane.  Afraid you are being led around by the tusks by an elaborate series of notes that you thought came from your psychiatrist.”  "Hmm," I thought to myself, these contest rules seem highly irregular.  

    I turned up the volume just a bit to hear this bizarrely targeted contest.  Laurie stirred but didn't wake up.  “Maybe, you think you have a chance to defeat forces beyond your comprehension.  Perhaps you should drive this ugly red Mazda into an embankment at full speed.  Maybe if you're lucky, the impact will kill you instantly.” Red Mazda's aren't the most unique cars on the road.  Maybe he was talking to someone else.  “You think you are driving around with some kind of purpose, but really, you are drooling mindlessly in a psychiatric institution while writhing around in your own excrement.” Fuck you, Ryan Calvin.  “Right back at you, Johnny,” the voice of Ryan said, responding to my thoughts.  I turned the radio off.  I didn't bother to wake Laurie up.  

    Laurie woke up around 20 minutes after the radio rudely insulted me.  I was just pulling into a local gas station.  It was EconoFuel or some other place I had never heard of.  Full service?  That was sort of unaccustomed to me.  I went inside to pick up another round of snacks and sodas.  After paying, and nodding to the curly haired, gum chewing clerk lady, I walked back outside and witnessed Laurie trying to force small talk with the attendant.  He did not look like he was in a particularly chatty mood.  

    “-And one other reason that people think swamp gases are UFO's is- Oh, hey Johnny.  All set?”  She interrupted herself to the relief of the attendant who was gingerly wiping his hands off.  “That'll be $21.32, sir,” the attendant politely requested.  I handed him $25, and we traveled back on the road.  “How did the topic of UFO's come up?” I asked with halfhearted interest.  “Oh, he thought he saw one the other night,” She replied with a matched level of enthusiasm.    

    The road was pretty clear when we crossed into New Hampshire with a couple of small traffic clusters.  The last two drives we made almost made me consider Dr. Sprinkle's warning of increased wild occurrences a bit outlandish.  Maybe I was driving into a trap. Laurie was becoming more attuned to when my thoughts began turning toward the unpleasant.  In an effort to distract my thinking, she told me a remarkably interesting story about a cheerleader at her high school who managed to service nearly every male on all the varsity teams.  “All of them? Even the swim team?” I asked in amused interest.  “All of them. Even the chess club.”  Wow, Checkmate.  

    It was around 10:30 that morning when we got close to Dr. Sprinkles' address.  It appeared to be a remotely located house in a rural area of New Hampshire.  We got turned around a couple times, but we eventually located our destination.  He owned a house with one of those private road driveways that snakes around into a wooded area.  I was getting the impression that my adventures would keep leading me to the forest.  Like, the end goal Fate had in store for me was to live inside a cave in the woods making cave paintings with feces and arguing with imaginary friends.  

    Tollgate Ave (Private Road) the sign read.  I took a deep and dramatic breath before pulling into the driveway.  Once you enter the property of pure evil you abrogate certain legal rights to your soul.  I think it's a New Hampshire state statute.  I don't think Dr. Sprinkles is evil, so I am pretty sure a decent attorney could prevent eternal damnation.  The dirt and gravel road turned and winded for several hundred feet before his house came into view.  It was actually rather beautiful.  

    It was some kind of combination of rustic and modernistic.  Not that I have any real knowledge of architecture.  There were splendid flower beds in front and various exotic flora scattered around the front yard.  This man knew how to live.  I wonder if he would commute from here to the mental hospital.  The thought of the hospital made me shudder.  Going back there made me shudder harder.  And the thought that I never left in the first place put a cramp in my neck.    

    There was a small open roofed garage that seemed the obvious place to park.  I could see Dr. Sprinkles standing in his front yard with a hose in hand and a comically wide brimmed hat that I wasn't sure would be found in the men's section of a clothing store.  Not that I could judge him for it- he looked adorable.  He warmly and gently waved as we pulled in. Laurie must have agreed with my sentiment because she was grinning from ear to ear when I looked her way.  We were here and I could only pray that more answers would follow.  

    We exited the car and did the ritualistic stretching of limbs after a few hours of limited mobility.  “Hello Johnny! It is a pleasure to see you here and well,” He called to me.  He looked over to Laurie.  “You must be Laurie.  I never worked with you at the facility, but I have heard a lot about you.” She looked downward in puzzled skepticism.  I already assumed he knew her based on the letter we received, but I guess this puzzle was a little more complicated than I wanted it to be.  

    “Hi, Dr. Bala-balbla-ah..Krash...” was my sad attempt to sputter out his name.  He chuckled and slowly repeated each syllable of his name.  “Bala-Krish-nan.” I had made a concerted effort to avoid learning this and simply called him “Doctor” when I spoke to him during my time at the hospital.  I feel that in the spirit of cultural tolerance and self-improvement, I will continue to refer to him as Dr. Sprinkles.  “Come inside, it is getting far too hot to stand around out here.” We followed him into his impressive home.  

    He led us through a wide hallway and into a beautifully adorned living room.  There were several splendid tapestries of colorful mandalas.  We sat down in very inviting looking easy chairs placed in a triangle formation in the center of the living room.  A woman who looked close to his age but incredibly beautiful stood outside the entrance to the kitchen.  He looked to us and then to her before informing us, “this is my wonderful wife, Aahanah.”  Laurie and I both respectfully waved.  She nodded pleasantly and disappeared into the kitchen.  

    The first thing I noticed about the doctor, when his hat was removed and I wasn't half blinded by the late morning sun was that fact that he looked older than I remember. It wasn't that he looked tired or that he looked worn out.  He just looked...older.  His hair had significantly more white color in it.  The lines on his face were more pronounced, and his skin sagged more.  He even looked a bit thinner as well.  Careful examination of the doctor's features gave me a brief but fleeting sense of mortal terror.    

    His presence was not intimidating in the least. Nor did he appear to be acting aberrant.  It was like seeing the kind of certainties associated with your memory fail you.  Just a little less grounded in your own perspective.  Like going to water your cactus and discovering that it is merely a baloney sandwich in a flowerpot.   I tried to push the absurd similes from my mind as he prepared to give us an explanation for bringing us here.    

    “First and foremost, I would like to apologize for reaching out to you in such an unusual manner.  It was not my intention to add anguish to an already stressful situation that you must be both experiencing.”  He took a deep breath as if he wanted to give a prepared statement that wasn't entirely sure he believed himself.  He was clearly out of his comfort zone.  “When I was working at the hospital, I earnestly wanted to believe you were deeply mentally ill Johnny.” I almost had to bite down my contempt, but it came naturally because I knew more was to come.  

    “Soon after you, Clarence, and Laurie escaped from the institution, things went back to normal.  There were no further paranormal occurrences.  There was nothing besides the usual.  This furthered my theory that you can spread some form of schizophrenia to those around you.  Or somehow, you had a means of controlling hallucinations of those around you.” I looked at him hard for a “but...”  I couldn't tell where he was going with it.  

    “It was 2 days after you disappeared that Dr. Felter came forward and confided in me some rather alarming details as to the nature of your unique situation.  He told me that you were being targeted for a unique experiment on something that Dr. Felter called 'Gate Travel'” he said with justifiable concern.  I exhaled sharply and admitted that I was familiar with the concept.  I alluded to some of the documents that I read while staying in Felter's cabin.  He nodded in confirmation of what I had read.   He continued his explanation:  

    “Johnny, Dr. Felter attempted to shield you from some of the awful side effects of such experimental technology.  That is why your stay at the psychiatric institution was relatively uneventful for 3 years.  It was comforting to believe that you suffered a psychotic break of some kind.”  I was suddenly offended by his last statement.  “Comforting?  I was stuck in a padded prison with nothing but shitty food, terrible conversation, and boredom that was soul crushing.”  Dr. Sprinkles looked at me both apologetically and sympathetically and said, “I know.  I am deeply sorry for your pain and lost time.”  

    My chagrin dissipated as quickly as it had come on.  “All mistakes aside, we must discuss what our options are.  We must find a way for you to set your life back on the course of your choosing.  As it so happens, I have something that may be of use to you.”  Laurie and I exchanged puzzled looks.  Right on cue, Aahanah walked into the room with a serving tray.  On that tray there were 3 glasses of iced tea with sprigs of mint floating in them and a large jewel encrusted dagger.    

    Aahanah set the tray down on the small round table that sat in the center of our chair triangle.  Suddenly, the thought of saying “I-I-I-Want the knife,” in the voice of Eddie Murphy came to mind, but I suppressed the off-color movie reference.  “Dr. Felter sent me home with this artifact shortly after your escape.  He told me it was recovered from the Ural Mountains.  It has supposed properties that can permanently put to rest, one afflicted with the yellow eyed madness.”  I saw Laurie shudder at the reference to yellow eyes.    

    I made an attempt to explain the efficacy of a baseball bat in reference to Dayton's triumph over racial stereotyping and Wayne Ackerman.  His response deeply intrigued me.  “There are one of two explanations for what happened.  One:  Your friend was using a holy instrument blessed by a divine force.  Two:  Your adversary's battle with Clarence and Dayton had not fully concluded when you parted company.”  I liked the former better.  It was more hopeful to think about a Louisville Slugger that had the blessings of the Almighty than my friends in trouble.    

    I had to admit; Dr. Sprinkles certainly had a more open mind than the last time I had talked to him.  Just for reassurance, I had to ask the doctor about my sanity.  Something that became more questionable than before following the dream with Dr. Felter.  “Doctor-” I started, and he interrupted me politely.  “Please, call me Lavesh.”  It was a bit refreshing to be on a first name basis with him.  He did invite me into his home after all.  

    “Er, yes, Lavesh...” and trailed off, forgetting whatever I wanted to say.  He didn't seem to think it was that important and began talking again.  “Dr. Felter was at a crossroads in his research.  He was experimenting with teleportation of matter.  Not just inorganic matter, which was in test phasing for numerous years, but with the transportation of a living person.”  Laurie decided it was her time to contribute to the conversation.  “Wouldn't teleporting a living person destroy them?  By reassembling their molecules, they would essentially be incinerated and rebuilt elsewhere.”  Dr. Sprinkles looked impressed by her reasoning.  

    “This is actually, true,” he admitted somewhat shamefully.  “But there is more than that occurring here.  What we have is a door.  That door can open to anywhere in the charted universe.  If we have seen it, and can know what's on the other side, it should be safe to go there.”  I scratched my chin, pretending that I was well studied in such matters.  Laurie seemed fascinated and conjectured, “if there is no Gate at the destination in question, then there is presumably no way for the traveler to return.  It's essentially a one-way trip.”    

    Dr. Sprinkles smiled at her intuitive knowledge of Gate Travel.  “There are an inordinate number of complications that we count within the confines of the process, assuming that the gates functioned exclusively as we expected.”  This was the part I was waiting for with bated breath.  The old “This is how we screwed up” explanation.  Almost as interesting as that was, I wanted to know who Lavesh Balakrishnan really was.  A mild-mannered psychiatrist with a nice house and a horde of crazies to watch, or a deep space scientist returning from a trip to Mercury.  

    I got what I wanted in the first riddle.  Dr. Sprinkles took a deep gulp of his iced tea and called out a gracious thanks to his wife.  He spoke in a very serious and a little frightening tone at this point.  “The complication that caused the research teams was the utility of the Gates.  As a door opened, anyone, or rather, anything could enter the gate.  Dr. Felter's team was unintentionally allowing entities into our world that they couldn't see, hear, or touch.  However, they could feel them.  The first test opening of a Gate left the research teams with a unique feeling.  They felt horrendous loneliness accompanied by a dominating presence.”  

    I didn't like this feeling he described.  I had felt it before.  “Much of the first team went horribly insane.  Many of them were sent to the hospital that you were treated at.  They couldn't interact with those around them.  They couldn't connect, laugh, or cry with any other people.  While completely separated from others, they constantly complained that they were being watched.”  Dr. Sprinkles let out a protracted sigh and morose downward glance.  I got a strong inclination that he didn't consider treating those scientists as the positive highlight of his professional career.  

    I could see empathetic tears streaming down Laurie's face, which I could see left Dr. Sprinkles feeling conflicted.  He stoically continued his explanation.  “The most terrifying thing that I can recall was that their psychotic episodes were in perfect synchronicity.  They would all begin howling or crying simultaneously.  Sometimes the sedatives did absolutely nothing.”  I saw a tear begin to stream down his own cheek as he continued. “When gathered in groups, they would all point to the same phantom and their eyes would all track the same invisible object.  Moreover, their eyes would become unnaturally dilated.  At times, the pupil covers the entire visible eye and then turn a glowing yellow. Certainly not like any form of jaundice.”  I thought about the veterinary school instructor.  She still owed me 8 weeks of classes, but I think that I would have declined at this point.  

    “The phenomenon of the group hallucinations was more than I could handle, and most of the patients were split up and transferred to separate institutions.  I took copious and meticulous notes of the event but eventually burned all of my findings.  As time went on, the conditions and problems of the patients I treated normalized.  Well, until you came in Johnny.”  His speech ended with a note of hopefulness in his voice.  I think, in hindsight, this was what he wanted from me that day the ants gave me a high 5.  He wanted to figure out why I was able to develop a sense of mental stability, even if it was laced with facetiousness and contempt.  

    “In that institution, treating patients afflicted with the condition associated with Gate Travel was named a 'Code Violet.'  When you were brought in, that was the first notification on the memo.   What I immediately noticed was that you were more interested in complaining about violated civil rights, that you missed your manicure, and for a phone call.  All deviated from the usual pattern of screaming about spirits or demons.  Also, Code Violets are expressly forbidden from contacting the outside world.  The scientists all were labeled as Code Violets, though, when treating them, I didn't know what it meant. Before Dr. Felter's explanation of your situation, I had no idea what the meaning was.  Simply the protocol. In case you were wondering why you languished without contact from loved ones.  I hated that the most about your stay.  It sounds demoralizing.”  He paused to catch his breath and guzzle the remaining iced tea he had left.  Laurie and I hadn't touched ours.  This conversation was way too engrossing.  

    He sighed again and continued recounting what happened.  “It was when you two contacted one another, that whatever seal was holding you back, slipped off.  Your condition worsened from the point you were brought in there.”  Laurie had the expression of someone who felt innocent but discovered that had accidentally committed a serious felony.  It was my turn to ask a question.  “I have never gate traveled or seen a Daedalus Gate before my stay there.  How the hell did I get...infected?”  I asked in a more demanding tone than I intended.  Dr. Sprinkles looked at me with complete defeat on his face.  “I don't know, Johnny.  I wish I did.”  

    His countenance immediately brightened after drifting into thought. “I don't think you are infected.  I think you are somehow a conduit for those who are infected.  Maybe they are attracted to you or those with whom you share a destiny with.” He looked and subtly gestured his head at Laurie.  Laurie had the look of a woman who won the lottery, if it paid in a lump sum of pennies.  I changed the subject, “I was wondering how you knew our plans to see David McCallister.  And who was the colleague that you mentioned.  Dr. Felter?”  

    Dr. Sprinkles straightened into his chair and scratched his head pensively before answering.  “Ah yes, the web of connections between myself, Dr. Felter, and David McCallister is quite complicated.  Perhaps, I could elaborate a bit more in the future, but here is what you need to know: Dr. Felter and I were friends quite some time ago.  We would meet at annual gatherings in the Berkshire Mountains.  Dr. Felter and I are both men of science.  Dr. Felter felt that a research-based approach was the key to answering the problem of humanities' troubles, whereas I preferred a more direct approach to people.  David harbored feelings that science was more akin to sorcery.”  I noted a bit of disgust in his voice.  

    “In the end Dr. Felter traveled the world searching for ancient relics, rare artifacts, and pursuing knowledge about spirits or demons.”  He chuckled for a moment and wiped his glasses off.  “I guess David was righter than I gave him credit for.”  Laurie nodded her head in approval.  I suspect that she idolized David to some degree.  “I simply went into psychiatry on the basis that the human mind followed rational and observable patterns that one could, with proper study, explain the worst of human behavior.”  His demeanor became slightly forlorn at the thought of his profession weakened by paranormal explanations. He returned his glasses to his face.  

    “We made an agreement in the mountains that we should meet at the rallying point only in the event that something catastrophic took place.  That something has come to pass.  I was told that a couple by the names of Robert and Elizabeth Walker were tipped off about your approach.  One of David's people dropped the Mazda off to you with a note that I wrote.”  He let out a sigh of relief.  His explanation made sense and didn't appear sinister in any way.  I was satisfied.  

    Laurie brought the conversation back to more pragmatic matters.  “I guess that leaves the question:  What do we do next?” Dr. Sprinkles seemed prepared for this inevitable topic and replied. “You two shall remain here for a short time, make your preparations, and then you will make for the camp up in the Berkshire Mountains.  I am going to ask you to swap cars with me.  Something without GPS or any sort of on-board computers.  I am not certain if you are aware, but Thomas uses those devices to attempt psychological manipulation.”  That seemed incredibly obvious at this point.  

    “Yeah, it seems to be a pattern with him,” I muttered in disgust.  I never told Laurie about the radio or the day this whole thing started, and I could see a hint of confusion on her face.  I made a mental note to explain myself.  Dr. Sprinkles seemed content that the worst of the conversation was over and told us to make ourselves at home.  We did.  

 

    We spent about two days at Dr. Sprinkles's house.  His two girls were both studying abroad for the summer, so it was the four of us.  He gave me some books on certain psychological tricks to use to combat Thomas' unsavory tactics.  We also played doubles badminton.  I have to admit Laurie and I made a pretty good team.  It was a relaxing time, where the hellscape that was our past week sort of became a dull thought in the background.  Still, it was present.  

    Laurie and I talked more and became more acquainted when I wasn't reading, or she wasn't exercising around the property.  We would trade old stories and sometimes speculate about what Clarence and Dayton were up to.  I would like to tell you that I worked out and was fitness conscious, but I wasn't.  I make it a point of morality not to turn the place where I am staying into a personal boot camp.  If my adventures taught me one thing, it was that no amount of muscle held up in a battle with the supernatural.  Mind and spirit trumped body any day.      

    The Tuesday morning that Dr. Sprinkles and Aahanah woke us up early was a bit unexpected.  He blindsided us with the news that we would need to leave within the hour.  I would have expected some more notice, but he said there were good reasons for keeping the moment of our exit concealed from us.  Bags were packed with clothing that were bought with us in mind ahead of time.  I took a few seconds to check.  There was food, clothing, toilette trees, a compass, Swiss Army knife, and a wrapped package.  I assumed it contained the dagger.  I forgot what he called it.  Some kind of mystical sounding shit.  

    We were given an old pickup truck to take to the mountains.  There was a gas can tied in the bed so we wouldn't need to stop anywhere for gas.  Dr. Sprinkles was quite clear that we shouldn't stop anywhere and try to make as swift a time as possible.  Laurie and Aahanah were talking and gesturing like old friends on the front lawn.  Meanwhile, Dr. Sprinkles and I were discussing logistical details of travel and other details of the trip.  He included a map with directions, extra cash, and a detailed list of instructions should we encounter any problems on the way.  I dearly hoped that we would not need to read those.  

    Bittersweet goodbyes were said, then Laurie and I loaded into the pickup.  The old beater didn't have a radio.  Then I remembered that it might not be a bad thing.  She wanted to drive this time, and I figured I could use the rest.  It took a bit of effort to get onto the main roads, but perseverance won the day, and we were headed into civilization, to eventually wind up back in nowhere in a different state.  It was a cloudy day, but I still felt cheerful about seeing the world whiz past us.  Traveling was one of those treats that kept the insanity of the world at arm's length.  

    Laurie told me about her friend Vicky, who usually stayed at the camp year-round.  She told me that Vicky would probably be there and was a great person to discuss matters of spirituality with.  I always get vexed on the topic of spirituality.  The common claim that I hear so often is “I am not religious, I am spiritual.”  It is one of those claims that I contend with frequently.  I ask what exactly spiritual means or what exactly a spirit is.  Usually, a conversational run around leads me to correct them and say something like, “So you believe in a sound code of ethics and are morally upright, correct?”  Unfortunately, with all the weird science crap going on, maybe I should have invested more in my spirit.  Though how one does that confounds me.  But I digress.  

    While spacing out on my diatribe about common claims, Laurie explained her friendship and relationship to Vicky.  I was too embarrassed to mention that I was wrestling with the philosophical legitimacy of silly cultural platitudes.  I think it comforted Laurie to think about people she cared about and had not seen since her hospitalization.  She, like I, had a very lonely time there.  Dr. Sprinkles hadn't worked with her, but I suspected that she was a Code Violet as well.    

    I found some interesting tidbits about her friend.  That she had encountered supernatural monsters while at camp and had some kind of fool-proof plan to keep your soul safe.  I wanted so...very...badly, to call it superstitious nonsense.  Given what I had seen, I had lost all valid claims to being a skeptic.  It completely sucks when your foundation crumbles, and all the people you scoffed at suddenly became gurus rather than a carnival sideshow.  That's life though.    

    I was nibbling on some trail mix that Aahanah had packed us.  It was good, save for the cashews, which I have a unique aversion to.  I am not allergic to them; I just find them gross and ugly shaped.  Maybe I was a carnival sideshow after all.  Laurie brought up a topic after a short silence that kind of unseated me.  “Let's say we send that infernal creature back to the Abyss, then what?  What do you plan on doing with your life once it is all over?”  I hadn't considered it.  In fact, I was more than ready to believe that whatever we were walking into would be my doom, and it would save me the inconvenient task of rebuilding my life.    

    “I am not sure honestly,” I replied with a bit of dismay.  I think Laurie appreciated my candor but found my lack of ambition a bit off-putting.  I think she gave me the benefit of the doubt.  “I plan on working up at the camp with David and the gang.  Maybe you should join me.  I think you would fit in there,” she said, giving me an answer I could at least pretend I wanted.  I nodded trying to look ambivalent, but actually found the idea gave me a degree of hope.  It would be kind of awesome to have a place or community to call my own.  My life prior to all of this wasn't exactly a social networking success.    

    “What kind of stuff could I do there?” I asked with a tone of interest that betrayed my apathetic bravado.  I think she liked watching my walls come down.  “There are a lot of things you could do.  You could be a counselor for the kids during camp times.  We always need another groundskeeper.  We could use help in constructing new cabins, maintenance, or even filing paperwork.   The paperwork is a remarkably unpopular job with the more naturalist types out there.”  I puffed out my lower lip in thoughtful interest.  “What did you do before, your...incident?” She asked delicately.  “I unloaded freight at the local grocery store,” I uncomfortably admitted.  “Then this is a step up!” She said with a pleasant grin.  Step up indeed, into certain doom.    

    The ride upwards into the mountains was a spectacular sight.  We saw several large birds, including a couple of hawks and a Pterodactyl.  Wait, Pterodactyl?  I asked Laurie if she saw it as well.  Her response makes me laugh to this day, “It's best not to think about it.  That's what it wants!”  I never was well studied in dinosaur psychology, yet I had never known the Pterodactyl to be a particularly attention seeking beast.  This is why it was good to have Laurie around; she was knowledgeable and levelheaded.  

    The clouds cleared up overhead as we approached late morning.  And with no further prehistoric sightings, I had a good feeling about our anticipated entrance into the camp.  I dozed off for a few minutes during the ride, which was just long enough for my hair to get matted to one side, and I had the Herculean effort of trying to assemble it to a presentable state for our arrival.  Laurie must have thought this was adorable by the “Awww's” and snickering she did at my efforts.  Our travels led us to a long windy dirt road into a thick wooded area.  “This is the road that leads to the camp,” she said in exuberant delight.  

 

    There were sporadically placed signs for Camp McCallister leading down the rocky and dirt road.  There were no alternate routes or forks in the road.  They served more as reminders of where you were and less directive.  You would need to be extremely forgetful or extremely bad at driving to need them.  Finally, the road led into a clearing with several open fields.  The fields looked like they were used to host sporting events.  Just past the first pair of fields that were running parallel to both sides of the road was a check-in station of sorts.  

    It was a small shack with a tiny desk built into it.  There was a beefy but somewhat fat man behind the desk who stood up to get a better look through the window into the truck.  He stepped outside the shack.  Laurie stopped the vehicle's slow movement and gave the odd facial expression/hand gesture that she demonstrated before we hit Mark's Tavern.  The man nodded and was hit by a moment of recognition.  “Hey Laurie,” He greeted in a somewhat slurred tone.  I suspected that he was getting his night started early.  

    “Hey...uh, Rick?” She responded hesitantly.  He nodded again.  Bits of spittle flew out of his mouth, as he notified her that she was expected down by the main pavilion.  “It's been a busy summer here even without the kids," he told us.  David's out running some errands, but he told me to tell you that he will be back.  Guess he has important stuff to tell you.  Didn't tell me.  Nobody tells me nothing here anyway,” he added in a voice that sounded like it disguised some kind of hurt.  “Thanks Rick!”  

    We bounded down a very steep hill, passing a few small buildings including a water pump station, and a little gift shop.  At the bottom of the hill there was an open area with a large pavilion near a flagpole, and about 50 yards away, a massive lodge where I assumed many functions were held.  There was a dozen or so cars parked in the gravel lot that led in the direction of the pavilion.  Laurie parked near one of those spots and we exited the truck.  It felt wonderful to stretch and yawn in the parking lot.   

    We sat down on one of the wooden benches in the pavilion and enjoyed the shade.  Now that the sun had peaked, and the clouds had moved, the heat and humidity were actually a bit oppressive.  There was an older couple sitting on a nearby bench happily chatting and glancing our way.  Maybe they assumed we were a couple, or knew Laurie, or were devising the best means of delivering cyanide laced Kool-Aid to me.  They offered a friendly wave when I turned a hard gaze over to them.  They seemed nice enough.  

    I wondered who or what we were waiting for.  I didn't have to wonder for long as a kindly middle-aged woman with dyed blonde hair happily pranced toward us.  I doubted it was David, but I got the impression we would get some kind of information.  Laurie looked overjoyed at the sight of her.  “Hey Monica!” Laurie greeted her.  “Heyyy-Ya Laurie”!  Long time no see.” Monica took a seat on one of the nearby benches with her hands clasped and a beaming smile.  I shifted uncomfortably by the woman's boundless energy and ecstatic greeting.  

    “Are you going to introduce me to your...friend?” Monica asked with a coy smile.  My thoughts turned to high doses of Prozac being emptied into the water supply.  I promised myself to drink only from the bottled water Dr. Sprinkles gave to me.  “This is Johnny, I met him, on a... fishing trip.”  She answered clumsily.  I cringed at such an obvious use of deceit.  Monica, on the other hand, appeared enchanted by the idea of a budding romance forming with fish guts and impaling worms on metal hooks.  I shot Monica a nervous smile and stiff-armed wave.  

    Monica must not have felt that was sufficient because she leaned in and threw her arms around me.  She was a lean woman, but her hug was surprisingly firm.  Laurie grimaced at my obvious discomfort.  Monica returned to her seat but leaned forward in hushed tones when she started speaking.  “It has been a really weird summer.  Like, I have no idea how to describe it.”  There was a twang of competitiveness that crept up in me.  Her story couldn't hold a candle to ours.  

    She took a deep breath before what I expected to be a long-winded speech about unusual bird migrations, peculiar weather patterns, or the dead rising from their graves to play soft ball.  To be fair she had me at the first sentence.  “I have been having the strangest dreams lately.”  Me too.  “It's like they are all connected into some kind of larger story that I can't quite nail down the significance of.  You were in them Laurie, and I saw you with someone.  I think maybe it's him.” She added while raising her hand in a half shrug and half pointing motion in my direction.  

    Monica was one of those types wearing a hemp dress, shell jewelry, and flowers in her bleach blonde hair.  I would normally consider “dream talk” as, run of the mill shit to turn my brain off while listening to.  Not these days.  She continued lowering her voice yet again, “I keep seeing this sick old man.  He's mostly bald with a disgusting comb over and long stringy hair on the sides.  His skin sags like a soggy sock puppet and his belly is bloated.  I think, he is a cannibal.”  I gulped hard and I could hear Laurie do the same.  “His name is Thomas Balthazaar,” I clarified.  

    She looked puzzled at my certainty.  “Have you seen him?”  I began telling her the parts of our story in such a fashion to be consistent with Laurie's fishing trip fabrication.  She could have poked holes in my story, but I think her focus was drawn to the fact that her dreams were confirmed to some degree.  Monica continued to recount strange sightings of unusual animals in the woods by the camp.  She told us about howling and scraping that was occurring at all hours of the night.  What sent the ice into my veins was her description of seeing glowing yellow eyes tracking her whenever she went out alone.       

    At this point of the story, I can say for certain, that glowing yellow eyes is not a good sign.  It has become of those little red flags that means something unpleasant is going on.  “Has anyone else seen anything like this?” I asked out of deep concern for our mutual survival.  I almost had the strange feeling that I was interrogating her.  Sort of like the psychologists who probed me at the hospital. It wasn't the case, but I felt I came off that way.  “Vicky says she has, a couple others deny it, but I think they are hiding something, and anyone else, I am afraid to talk to,” Monica said with a hint of panic and frustration.  

    It's not very easy for some people to discuss things that defy normative expectations of sanity.  Trees, rocks, clouds, animals, and humans.  We usually feel most comfortable talking about the things that we know we should see.  How do we talk about the things that we sometimes do see?  Laurie broke the tension with a simple statement, “We have seen the same thing, and it's not just you.”  And at times such as these I wonder: Is it better that you see those things, and think you're the only one, or to know that others see them as well?  

    I put those odd questions out of my mind when Monica told us that everyone was expecting David within the hour.  Laurie and I had time to walk around the nearby lake.  It was a peaceful lake where we could hear splashes of fish in the water, frogs croaking and the sounds of assorted birds cawing into the early afternoon. It was a fine way to burn an hour before I met the prolific leader of the strange camp where we were staying.    

    While walking back to the pavilion area, we heard a loud PA system informing everyone that, “David McCallister has arrived at the pavilion area for a major announcement.  Please report to the pavilion area right away.”  Laurie and I shuffled back to the pavilion while the announcement played a couple more times.  I saw roughly 20 people sitting on benches or standing around the pavilion.  At the edge of the parking lot there was a man standing there in shorts and a T-shirt with a fisherman's hat.  He appeared to be one of those young-looking men who was still over the age of sixty.    

    David called out for everyone to be silent.  Laurie and I stood on the outskirts of the pavilion, quietly waiting to hear what David had to say.  He took a moment to take inventory of the gathering before he spoke.  “Hello everyone!”  He said in an enthusiastic voice that I suspected was accustomed to getting the attention of children.  The group (including Laurie) called out in unison, “Hello David!” I softly sighed at how cheesy it all sounded.  

    He began speaking in a rehearsed voice, “It is fantastic to see everyone this summer.  I understand that many of you are concerned that we aren't hosting our usual summertime sessions for camp, but there are good reasons why we aren't.”  He took a moment to scan the small crowd's reaction.  “I have been recently made aware of events that have taken place outside this camp that affect the security of this camp.  I could not, in good conscience, allow children to be brought here while that threat remains unchecked.”    

    The crowd murmured in confusion and dissent.  He raised his right hand, and silence fell back over the group.  “I have found out, from old friends, that this camp is a target for some unwholesome forces that wish to inflict harm on myself and those I care most about.  I can't quite explain who or what those forces are, but I can say, that we all need to be completely prepared for the worst.”  Worried and confused expressions dotted the faces in the crowd.  David seemed to be an experienced orator and continued to maneuver his speech.  

    “The reason I have called you all here is for your unique skills and abilities.  I have handpicked the most capable, intelligent, and experienced people I have, for what is to come.”  He took a deep breath pause before continuing.  “There is to be a showdown, at this very camp.  A showdown between the happy forces of humanity, and a force that is an abomination to nature.  It is a perversion of our natural world, and we have a duty to see balance restored to our world.”  All I could think about was how the hell I got myself into this situation.  I half expected some ascension ritual suicide nonsense, and instead I got War of the Worlds.  It could be worse, I guess.  

    “I would like to introduce everyone here to someone, who I believe will turn the tides of battle and change humanity’s destiny from the course of destruction it is on.  Everyone, this is Johnny.”  That took me by surprise.  All eyes in the crowd turned to me.  I felt the blood rushing to my head in embarrassment.  Without warning, the crowd began clapping vigorously and called, “Hi Johnny!”  If it was brooding sarcasm and off-color jokes they wanted, their salvation was at hand.  Otherwise, we were boned.  

    I wasn't expecting such a grand reception, but I politely nodded to everyone.  “Hi, uh, everyone,” I said, feeling just a bit on edge.  The crowd was receptive to my feelings of embarrassment.  Their faces were a warm and inviting sensation to the normal cascade of despair I would feel at such an event.   I had to hand it to Dave; he knew how to make me feel welcome.  David's speech took on a more logistical approach.  He assigned various duties to the group, discussed emergency protocol, exit strategies, and a rough itinerary of the days to come.    

    The afternoon played out wonderfully.  There were many greetings and spirited discussions about what was to come.  The afternoon rolled by with leisurely talk with some of the other camp members.  I couldn't remember many of their names, but I felt a kinship with all of them the more I talked to them.  It made me wonder why I was so xenophobic to begin with.  The evening's festivities included an exquisite barbecue where David played the role of the jovial cook.  I don't think I had eaten that much or that well in quite some time.  Except for the cooking of Aahanah at Dr. Sprinkle's house.  

    The food and excitement of the day had a potent sedative effect on me, and I felt ready to pass out around 9 that evening.  I could tell that Laurie felt the same way.  Monica showed us to our cabin.  It was one of many cabins gathered in a semi-circle around the enormous lodge as a central point.  Monica wished us “sweet dreams” and skipped off to keep talking to friends.  The way she said it almost felt like it was a command and not an expression.  

    The bunk was a bit crammed, but a cozy little sleeping bag was unfurled for me. It was sweetly serenading me.  I placed my travel bag under the bed and sprawled out.  I immediately felt the warm embrace of sleep taking hold of me.  Laurie was trying to whisper something to me. I found myself unable to comprehend her while I drifted off.  I wanted to say, “tell me in the morning,” but what came out was, “tell bee him more-”    

 

 

    I didn't recall sleeping propped against a wall.  I immediately felt restrained and could feel the familiar discomfort of a strait jacket covering me.  I rolled my eyes and sighed.  I was back in the psychiatric center.  I grunted in frustration.  Was my subconscious mind making a habit of returning here for some reason? I wriggled and struggled against the restraints and slumped back onto the floor. A second sigh of defeat followed.  

    I couldn't make heads or tails of the time of day, or what led me to this point. I could faintly hear footsteps outside the door of my cell. I struggled to call out to whoever was passing by and found the words that came out of my mouth were mush.  I could feel the cumbersome weight of medications flowing through my body.  The door opened and I could see a nurse flanked by two orderlies.  She looked like a no-nonsense type, and I sparred both of us with the trouble of one of my smart quips.  

    We were led into a room that I expected would be a doctor's office.  Instead, it was a large room with a stretcher in the center.  I noticed several contraptions in the corner of the room with wires stretched into various diodes.  I got the sickening impression that this was an ECT machine.  I guess the good doctors were tired of playing nicely and wanted results faster than I could give them.  Peter Gabriel's, “Shock the Monkey” played loud and clearly in my head.  

    I could see the now familiar face of Dr. Felter entering the room.  The orderlies placed me on the stretcher and began the process of strapping me down.  I had several objections to their methods, but I think they were convinced they knew best.  Dr. Felter looked at me with pity before speaking in a soft tone.  “Johnny, I understand this has been a difficult time for you, but we need to employ more extreme measures to reach out to your more rational mind.”  I wasn't sure what he was talking about.  “What happened?” I asked trying to at least delay or abort this barbaric procedure.  

    His pity seemed to grow with my question.  “You attacked two orderlies last night.  You claimed that they were working for a man named Thomas Balthazaar.  You bit one on the neck and fractured the other's arm.  This behavior cannot continue.  We both know that.”  The last sentence was laced with condescension that made me ill.  I noticed that some kind of jelly was being rubbed on my temples while he spoke.  “My hope, is that with ECT, you might have the ability to discern reality from this adventure fantasy you are trying to live out.”  I gave up on protesting and braced for the worst to come.  

    The ECT procedure did not make my top 10 favorite experiences.  Dream or not.  I could feel every nerve screaming out in protest of the electron parade invited into my brain.  I wasn't sure how this would make me a better person.  A more resentful person, certainly.  Several minutes later, the orderlies released my leather shackles and dragged me back to a cot in a room that I didn't remember staying in. I passed out immediately.  

 

  

 

I hoped and expected to wake back up at the camp, but I was elsewhere. 

 

Chapter 6: Dreams 

 

    I awoke with an aching stiffness in my lower back.  It was like I was sleeping on...a sidewalk?  I took a moment to examine my surroundings, and I could tell I was in a large urban setting.  The air was thick with ash and soot, and there was an eerie violet glow cast over the city.  I Couldn't make out the time of day.  It was as if I were in Chicago, if Chicago was relocated to Neptune or something.  It was a desolate feeling and the fact that I was on the verge of asphyxiation did nothing to alleviate my oncoming panic attack.  Something about the air, or what felt like the light from the violet sun, caused an uncomfortable burning sensation under my skin. 

    I couldn't see another living soul in any direction that I looked.  Just the wind picking up a stray scrap of newspaper and an eerie hum which came from no discernible direction.  I did my best to push out the wellspring of fear that was forming inside of me.  The windows on the buildings looked smashed or decayed. It looked like a dystopian urban setting that was long abandoned, or its inhabitants were killed in some kind of futuristic holocaust.  The nearby Savings and Loans bank seemed to be the most convenient place to seek shelter.    

    The inside of the building was covered in darkness but still managed to produce a violet glow that illuminated nothing.  I stayed as near to windows as I could to maintain some degree of visibility, but that invited the ash filled air that felt like it was choking me more by the second.  I could make out a table that contained the deposit/withdrawal slips with some masking tape and tried to cover my face with a makeshift mask.  It did little to ameliorate my condition, but it did something at least.  With nothing useful or visible, I trudged back into the street seeking a more suitable place to gather my bearings.  

    I marched down the street trying to find something that looked actually worthwhile to protect my breathing with.  While I staggered from place to place, I noticed that many of the cars looked like burnt out husks, lampposts were toppled, and there were no people or animals.  Just a desolate city.  When I glanced upward to the sky, I found that I could not focus my eyes on the skyline.  It was like being blinded by a very low light.  My best comparison would be staring into an extremely low wattage light bulb for 6 hours.  Oddly the sun was more of a silhouette than a well-defined object.  It was just this outline of a slightly darker violet disk hovering in the predominantly cloudy sky. 

    Purpose kept me moving.  That purpose was finding some kind of clue that would inform me of why I was here.  Hope kept me moving as well.  Hope that I would wake back up in the camp and go about a normal day of fighting demonically possessed super cannibals.  As I walked up the street, I found something that caught my eye.  It looked like a World War 2 era propaganda poster. It featured a happy young boy's face and a stern looking hand in front of it.  The poster read: “Save your children from themselves!  Do not allow subversive or dangerous literature into your home!”  There was a circle with a line through it that I normally associated with cigarettes, but instead of a cigarette, it was a menacing looking book.  

    I really liked that poster; it made me feel comforted to know that those raving mad artists were being kept in check.  Maybe if people read the damn poster instead of “subversive literature,” then this city would be in top shape.  I pushed aside my sardonic musings and continued ahead with my face crammed full of paper.  Maybe it was panic or shock, or maybe my lungs were getting acclimated to the strange atmosphere here, but I started to gain my stride as I walked.    

    My vision was drawn to an old-time pawn shop on the left side of the street right before a four-way intersection.  I decided I would check it out.  The light pouring through the metal screens on the front of the pawn shop gave the combination of visibility and protection I desired.  I wasn't sure if I hadn't noticed before, but it was kind of chilly out here. I stepped into the doorway and noticed that the door was locked but warped enough that a solid kick would grant me entry.  With a smash, the door opened effortlessly.    

    What caused an involuntary shudder was the fact that there was virtually no echo.  It was like what should have been an uncomfortably loud sound was muffled.  I got a creeping sensation that the Laws of Physics were kind of an informal guideline here rather than a hard and fast system.  I shook the feeling off and braced myself for anything inside.  The obscurity of darkness was a serious problem, but I could still make out the rough shapes of shelves, stacked boxes, and a desk with a cash register.  The light from outside was shining off the silver register.  It looked like one of those antique registers you would see in an Old West style pharmacy.  The violet light gave it a unique shine.  

    I looked around the display window and found all manner of oddities.  Some of the items looked like congealed organs in mason jars; others looked like elaborate children's toys or miniature models. I saw a large stack of unusual looking playing cards, and a 6 wheeled bicycle that looked like it was only good for injuring the rider in a spectacular fashion.  I wondered if this was some kind of fetish store, or if this kind of stuff was just standard merchandise in this city.  Where the hell was I?  

    I continued searching the store with no good answer for that question.  I rummaged through boxes that I dragged near the windowsill.  There were dozens of shirts that, when held up to the light read, “I voted for Santiago!”   They included a big thumbs up.  I took off the polo shirt that Dr. Sprinkles gave me and tossed one on.  It was a bit large, but it gave me a sense of wellbeing to consider myself politically active. The remaining boxes were stuffed with all manner of junk that were of no use to me.    

    I carefully searched with the use of tactile senses to find anything of use on the shelves behind the counter.  Fortune smiled at me, and I discovered a flashlight.  I clicked it on and shined the shaft of light across the store.  The wind outside seemed to howl balefully at my brief moment of euphoria.  I got a cold sense of dread.  I could feel it at the base of my neck and in my gut.  It was unconscious knowledge that I had entered a world that stole joy.  I attempted to test my wild theory by thinking about some of my happiest memories.  Nothing came to mind, and the more I thought, the worse I felt.  

    I directed my actions to more pragmatic concerns.  I found nothing else useful.  No food or traveling supplies.  Just knick-knacks, oddities, and assorted collectibles.  I found a door at the back of the store.  I turned the knob, and it opened without resistance.  I guess I was getting used to locked doors.  The door led to a staircase that ascended into darkness.  Armed with my new flashlight, I climbed the stairs without hesitation.  The stairs abruptly placed another door in front of me.  It was covered in grime and a strange orange greasy substance.  I opened the door and entered the threshold.  

    I examined my surroundings and was surprised to see a room proportionally sized to the floor below.  All that sat in the room was an aged-looking sofa and round table in front of it.  On the table, papers were haphazardly strewn about with a large map covering most of the surface area of the table. I pointed the flashlight at the papers and sat down.  The sofa creaked in protest.  It felt just a little bit colder than I remembered it being.  No change in the eerie violet glow lightly shining through the upstairs windows.  

    The map appeared to be a map of a city.  I had to presume it was the city that I was in. The papers were written in scrawled handwriting.  Some of it even looked coded.  Certain words were replaced with symbols or confusing shorthand.  I gritted my teeth in frustration when I tried to make sense of it all.  From what I could tell, it looked like some sort of plan or clandestine operation.  Whatever was going on in this city, it reeked of civil unrest.  I also discovered some photographs of a device that looked disturbingly familiar.  It was a Daedalus Gate.  

    I felt compelled to shine the flashlight around the room a bit more.  I studied the walls in the room, through fastidious use of perception, I made a discovery.  There was a spot on the wall left of the doorway entry where the sheetrock panel was askew.  While holding the flashlight with one hand, I was able to dislodge the errant panel.  I gasped when the light revealed what was in the alcove.  It was a huge pile of explosives.  Well, I think they were explosives.  I am no demolitions expert, you know.    

    I spent a few seconds trying to fathom why a curiosities shop was connected to some form of underground resistance.  Moreover, what force or intuition led me here of all places.  Perhaps if my mind was the construct of that reality, it would seem my subconscious was leading me to an escape route. Perhaps I was merely lucky.  I pushed the philosophical speculation out of my mind and rolled up the map from the table.  I assumed the area circled in red marker was the location of the Daedalus Gate.  Moreover, since the explosives remained in the alcove, it was still intact.  Or so I reasoned.  

    Stumbling around the shop provided several blows to my shins with stray objects.  I stopped and grabbed another T-shirt from the box to use as a face wrap.  Breathing was a shock at first, but I found my breathing remained a touch labored.  I tied the short sleeves around the back of my head and faced the outside world yet again.  With a map equipped with one hand, and flashlight in the other, I felt that I could at least be more prepared for anything.    

    The map's location matched the street I was on.  The red X that marked the location of the store was a handy bit of information.  According to the directions I would need to walk three blocks south.  The walk was uncomfortable and the silence around me seemed unnatural.  Something was feeding off the energy in the world.  Little ambient sounds that you don't notice until they are gone were just lacking.  Just the whistling of the wind occasionally was my only companion.  The cold chill of the wind was the only tacit sensation I could feel. 

    I did my best to alleviate this by humming a tune to myself.  It felt strained and forced.  Almost as if something was enforcing the strange silence.  I was approaching the 3rd block where I would need to take my first left turn.  The peculiar sense of coldness grew just a bit.  What made it so peculiar was the fact that it was not the cold contacting my skin.  It was like the coldness bypassed my exterior all together and wriggled into my insides.  Like a physical manifestation of fear. I would describe it as that chill you get when something makes you uncomfortable but with the consistency of an ongoing weather phenomenon. 

    Pushing myself toward an objective was the only defense I had against the strange encroaching despair.  The odd purple light that came from the sky was stinging my eyes, and I was forced to keep my gaze downward.  At last, the left turn came into view on Hallback Street.  One of the large faces of a brick wall on a burnt-out husk of a building had some chilling graffiti written on it.  “The end is at hand.  The Gates have ushered in our DOOM!”  The street artist clearly put a lot of time into a dazzling graphic of the word “DOOM.”  I wanted to critique his penchant for the dramatic, but he kinda had a point.  

    It was another couple blocks down Hallback Street, then a long trek down Sandalwood Ave. Despite my need to keep my field of vision low, something else uncovered my interest.  It looked like a small recreational or dog walking park on my right-hand side.  The park had small trees that appeared twisted, black, and leafless.  The gnarled bark looked twisted and shadowy.  I am loath to use an adjective like “evil” to describe a tree, but these trees looked just plain nefarious.  I couldn't tell if my eyes were just out of focus, but the trees rustled.  They were almost beckoning me to step closer to them.  I avoided them and nearly hugged the wall on the left sidewalk as I passed the park.  Then I noticed it.  The branches of the trees were growing and stretching toward me. 

    As I continued to walk, the trees appeared to be stretching their limbs at an increased speed and length.  I was now convinced they were actually trying to attack me.  There was a sickening sensation that followed as they clawed and raced at me with alarming alacrity for flora. My speed hastened from jogging, to running, to full sprint.  The limbs were closing in on me.  I wasn't sure how far they were behind me because I was far too terrified to look backward.  Fear was circling in my mind.  The numb chill of the strange coldness in the air intensified. 

    I ran for what seemed like a quarter mile.  At some point the limbs were just in my peripheral vision trying to tangle me up at my ankles.  I began leaping and running, doing everything in my power to evade the twisted black limbs.  After getting several more feet ahead, one of the limbs caught me around the shin and caused me to come tumbling down and land on my back.  I wasn't sure if this was how I was going to die, but I was uncomfortable with the thought of being bested by a plant. 

    The limb closed in on me as I butt scooted backward to the best of my ability.  I was just a few feet further back, when I was blessed by a bit of luck.  I guess the tree ran out of branch length, or its ability to grow had reached its maximum.  That length was insanely long when I saw the wriggling limbs stretching back almost out of view.  I was able to breathe a huge sigh of relief as I realized that I was going to survive this horrible encounter. I picked myself up off the ground and began panting, trying to regain my breath.  The twisted dark limbs of the trees were still writhing and twitching violently in protest to my escape. 

    I flipped the tree the bird and then resumed my travels.  It took me a couple minutes to regain my wind as I resumed my pace.  The joy of my victory was short lived as the discomfort and despair of this alien world continued to assault my senses.  I kicked an old aluminum can into the road as my trek continued down the road.  While I would normally recycle at this point, I had to forgive myself as I was uncertain of the location of the recycling center in this unknown city.  Some people might think I was just making excuses, but I will give myself a pass on that one.  
 

    Sandalwood Ave proved to be a long and arduous trek.  The sense of inner coldness grew with each passing step, and the light became excruciating.  I considered using the mask as a blindfold, but I already was lacking in coordination.  The road eventually elevated as was raised above other streets in the city.  There were holes in the pavement that made walking around blindly an impossible task. I wasn't sure what happened to the people in the city. Spending more time pondering it than I had to seemed like a death sentence.  

 

    As I made my way closer to the destination marked on the map, I was pretty sure the building was in view.  It looked like a research center or laboratory of some kind.  Security looks like it was tight there, at some point in the past.  When I arrived, however, there were abandoned watch towers, barbed wire, burnt out tanks, decayed armored personnel carriers, and not a soul in sight.  Not even a skeleton or the remainder of a body.  In fact, since I had been here, it was as if death visited without bothering to leave a calling card.  Anyway, it seemed like an odd location for conducting such sensitive research, but this wasn't exactly Chicago.  Or maybe it was.  It wasn't exactly clear, and many of the signs were faded or unclear.  Without the map to guide me, I probably would have been lost. And sadly, the name of the city was nowhere to be found on that map. 

    I trusted my instincts that I was doing what would get me out of there.  The front gate was down, but the guard booth was unmanned. I hoped I could simply waltz into the building, but no such luck.  The windows must have been sturdy because they remained undamaged.  Getting inside proved to be a challenge.  All of the entrances were locked and required some form of key card or ID badge.  I was forced to double back to the booth and search through the small building.  Just under a couple of manila folders, I found what appeared to be a weathered security badge.  

    I swiped the door expecting the magnetic lock to open.  Unfortunately, the key slot was unresponsive.  I swiped the card several more times, like a desperate and obstinate child trying to get a candy bar from a vending machine with his library card.  To no avail.  I began searching around the perimeter of the building trying to locate a suitable entrance.  I silently cursed myself for leaving the bombs at the shop.  It was easy to forgive myself though, I would have no idea what the hell I was doing.  

    The most promising lead I discovered was a manhole within the confines of the facility grounds.  I noticed that there was a rusted padlock on the exterior of the lid.  My foot made some progress in loosening the twisted metal, but the butt end of the metal flashlight was the ideal tool to implement.  With a couple minutes of primitive smashing under my belt, the lock was broken, and I stripped it off.  Looks like I would be descending into a sewer complex.  I held my breath as I climbed the ladder downwards.  

    There wasn't much of an odor of any kind to my relief.  The water inside the tunnel was roughly ankle deep but chilled me to my core. The coldness continued to creep up on me.   I was forced to hunch over and measure my steps carefully.  The flashlight provided at least some comfort, but the confined space put me at unease.  The shadows in the periphery of my vision loomed and shifted with malefic intent.  I did my best to keep my breathing steady as I did a crouched walk through a tunnel for a lengthy journey. 

    During the walk, the tunnel seemed to go on a gradual incline, and the tunnel grew narrower.  I was covered in a disgusting sludge-like liquid that soaked my pants' legs and hands.  I pressed on with growing determination.  The cold of the water and in the air around me was growing more oppressive by the second.  I felt like I was freezing from the inside out.  Normally, I would expect such a strained effort to keep me warm, but it felt like the opposite.    

    Finally, after crawling for what seemed like an eternity, I discovered a panel on the upper right side of the tunnel.  It was a hole that was meant for pumping liquid waste into the tunnel.  Whatever would normally be attached to cover it was unhooked, and it provided a small portal to which I could exit.  Squeezing through the narrow hole proved to be quite a challenge.  I was struck with indecision of whether I should have chucked the flashlight up through the hole first.  If I couldn't make it, it would make the rest of the trip incredibly awful.    

    I put my faith in my ability to wiggle out of tight situations.  I tossed the flashlight out of the portal and could hear it bang on the floor just a few feet below.  I reached my hands up and pulled my head out of the portal first.  It was a darkened room, but there must have been an emergency backup system still in place.  There were small red lights flickering softly on the ground below.  I pulled myself upwards as most of my upper torso was outside the tunnel.  My midsection struggled against the narrow passage.  

    I wiggled and shimmied for quite a while.  I found that success was slow but progressive when I puffed my chest out and yanked my belly upwards.  The threaded metal of the pump entrance scraped against my skin causing painful abrasions.  I was spurred on by each painful centimeter that I progressed.  The next challenge was my waist and thighs.  Through a variety of different angles, speeds, and thrusts I was finally able to free myself from the tunnel.  The force of my exit caused me to tumble out onto the ground on my stomach.  It wasn't pretty or fun, but it was done.  

    I exited the strange pumping closet that I was in and began checking my surroundings.  The hallways were illuminated by similar red lights that flickered in time with one another.  I searched through a few offices and found a handful of different key cards that I could only hope still worked. Thankfully, with whatever power remained inside the building, they did.  I spent quite a while looking through supply closets, offices, laboratories, conference rooms, and other stations whose function baffled me.  It was when I reached the floor labeled 4F on the staircase that I found what I was looking for.  

    It was a setup similar to the one in Dr. Felter's personal cabin lab.  I was certain I was standing in front of a Daedalus Gate when I looked over the machine.  My chief concerns were how to get power to it, and what the hell buttons to push.  Even if an owner's manual existed, I doubt it would be comprehensible to me.  I struggle with technical directions or diagnostic systems. What can I say? I was a humanities major. 

    As I struggled to stare at the buttons and assemble some kind of meaning for them, I had a breakthrough.  Or rather, something had a breakthrough for me.  The sound of metal grinding and windless force pressing against me filled the room.  A form took shape in the darkness. I shined a flashlight into the void and saw a familiar figure standing in front of me.  It was Monica.   She was standing in the doorway of one of the entrances to the lab.  “Hey Johnny, so good of you to join me.” I stood a bit slack jawed for a moment before clumsily replying, “Yeah.  Thanks for showing up.”  

    My mind was buzzing with questions.  She spoke quickly and expunged the confusion.  “We have to leave quickly.  This is not a good place to be.  I will speak to you more when you wake up.” I shrugged off my confusion and followed her to the platform.  She punched in a complex series of buttons on the exterior of the machine and hopped in with me before the enclosure closed.  The sensation of being yanked through time and space isn't one I would describe as comfortable.  Still, the second time wasn't as discombobulating as the first.  

 

 

I awoke back on my cot at the camp with just a touch of nausea.    

 

 

    It was dark out when I woke up.  I couldn't tell how long I had been asleep. I crept over to Laurie's cot and tried to wake her from her slumber.  “Psst, hey Laurie.  What time is it?  Have I been out long?”  I asked pleadingly.  She grumbled in irritation but said nothing and turned her back to me.  I decided that waking her wasn't in my best interest, so I exited the cabin into the warm summer night.  

    Some of the lights were on outside the lodge and I could see people still chatting around the outside of the building.  I could make out the flicker of a fire blazing inside the lodge through the windows.  I wasn't sure what I was looking for when I walked down to the lodge, but I was sure I didn't feel like going back to sleep.  With the queasiness in my stomach passed, I felt awake and alert.  

    I meandered down the dirt trail from the cabin to the lodge.  The crickets were chirping pleasantly, and it was a calm reprieve from the apocalyptic setting that I had just emerged from.  My eyes darted at the random people gathered around the lodge.  I recognized a couple of them Daryl and Ralph were both in good spirits, heartily laughing and drinking cheap beer.  I nodded to them, and they nodded back at me.  I walked through the large open doors of the lodge and saw what I was looking for.  It was Monica, sitting on one of the benches against the wall of the lodge.  

    Monica was looking right at the doorway expectantly.  I was certain that she was waiting for me. I tried not to let this fact make my skin crawl.  She scooted over to one side of the bench and looked at the empty space for me to fill the vacant spot.  I sat down and let out a nervous exhale.  There was a brief moment of tense silence.  I looked at her and asked what time it was.  She said it was just past 10.  A sickening moment of disbelief followed.  Hours passed at agonizing speed in the dream I just woke from.  I was under the impression that I had slept for over 24 hours, but I guess it was only one.  

    She looked at me with a very discerning look and began speaking. “I guess you must have had some dreams.  I just saw you go inside the cabin a little while ago.  It looks like you have been asleep for days.”  She knew just how I felt.  She followed up her statement with a soft chuckle.  “Who is Santiago?”  Wide-eyed horror stole my face.  I looked down and the T Shirt I took from the pawn shop was still on my chest.  What puzzled me the most was the fact that my pants' legs were still soaked from my pipe crawl, and I hadn't even noticed until I looked down.    

    Her tone took on a hushed tone as she continued, “David told me that you were traveling through worlds while you slept.  He told me that you would see places or times that no person has ever seen.”  I ran my fingers through my hair trying to shake off the alarm that her assessment inspired.  “I have no idea how to stop it,” I admitted.  She clutched my hand sympathetically and continued to relay what David had told her.    

    “David also told me that I am to be your guide.  You can get lost in your dreams and you can die or be lost there too.”  She let her last words linger in the air a little too long for my liking.  I shifted uncomfortably and her grip tightened.  “What you need to know is how to assemble your dreams into some meaning.  The places you go or see are not random Johnny.  It is a journey, and on that journey, you need to learn skills that can help us.  David told me all about our enemy and the story behind him.  Without the knowledge of how to stop Thomas, he will destroy everything we care about.  The world will be corrupted and bathed in eternal twilight.”  My mind danced to the thought of the strange violet light in the strange dream world I just emerged from.  

    “It was so cold there.  Like I was freezing from the inside,” I relayed feeling more than a little forlorn.  She nodded expectantly and said, “That is because Thomas wants to drain the warmth of life.  He wants to eat our energy and leave us as hollow shells.”  I didn't have the faintest clue what that meant.  She sensed my confusion yet continued to speak.  “Thomas is, or was, a man.  A man that became a conduit between himself and an entity.  Some folks call him Azmodariel.  Azmodariel is sort of like an evil god.  He rules over his dominion and is always looking to engorge himself on other realities.”    

    So, he turned out to be some kind of maniacal cosmic vacuum cleaner. Check.  She took a deep breath and continued, “When Dr. Felter began experimenting with gate technology, he gave Azmodariel a key into our world.  That key unlocked certain doors.  One of those doors was inside a broken-hearted man by the name of Thomas Balthazar.  Once Azmodariel took over his mind, Thomas felt that he became all powerful and was given all the knowledge of the universe.”  I interrupted her and asked what the connection between Thomas and Dr. Felter was.  

    She admitted that she didn't know how exactly they crossed paths but that their destinies were ultimately entwined. She couldn't explain how or why Thomas was chosen.  She also had a hazy understanding of the timetable, at best.   “So, Thomas wants to destroy the world?” I asked, attempting to summarize her information.  “Thomas isn't a creature of destruction.  More of a creature of entropy.  His aim is to cause things to wither and crumble slowly.  He sets things in motion that eat away at us...” She cleared her throat to shake the feelings that she was experiencing.  “I don't know much more than I told you.  David says he will speak to you when the time is right.”    

    I wanted to ask her about his cannibalism and about a thousand other details, but I could tell simply talking about the topic drained her.  I managed to squeeze one more question out of her.  “Do you remember being in my dream?  Like, going through the gate.”  She gave me a unique expression of familiarity and confusion, then earnestly replied, “I think I knew on some level.”  With that, she trailed off into a partial state of stupor while I walked away from the bench.  I started walking toward the door and heard Monica call back out to me.  “Wait...Johnny.”  

    I turned back and saw her remove one of her pieces of shell jewelry.  She held it with her outstretched arm, and I approached to collect it.  “This amulet will help keep your sleep dreamless tonight,” she said in a voice that almost didn't sound to be her own.  I took the amulet in my hand and thanked her.  Amulet is a bit of an overstatement.  It looked like a piece of string with a single beach shell on it.  Still, I was willing to try anything to avoid falling back asleep in another dream like that one.  

    I walked up to the cabin and waved to a few other people on my way up the trail.  I couldn't deny that I got some answers but, as usual, it left me feeling like more questions were coming.  I hated that the most about my adventures.  Answers always led to more questions.  Life was becoming a never-ending series of SATs.  I stared at the ceiling of the cabin for a while simply listening to the crickets chirping as I drifted back to sleep.      

    Morning came and I got the dreamless sleep that I was promised.  Laurie was already up and making her bed when I was roused from my slumber.  “Morning,” she said pleasantly.  “Morning,” I replied trying to hide my relief that it was morning, and I was still there.  I think she noticed that display but said nothing.  Laurie was adept at reading me.  She was also adept at not pressing issues and waiting for me to tell her.  

    I wasn't sure if there was any kind of organization to the day here.  Sleeping in a camp atmosphere almost programmed me to feel like a kid being corralled into the next activity.  Sure enough, the PA welcomed in the new day and invited us to breakfast at the lodge in 30 minutes.  I got dressed and cleaned up in the bathroom facility several hundred feet from the cabin.  I met Laurie down by the lodge and we waited in a short line for some food.  

    The breakfast aroma was intoxicating.  I chowed down several plates of the stuff before needing to stop.  Laurie averted her eyes from the shameful display of gluttony.  Monica sat near us but appeared to be in some kind of trance.  I couldn't get a handle on her.  I was petting my newly engorged belly, and she turned my direction and said, “Johnny...” Laurie and I both shot her puzzled looks.  “Johnny, you must listen to the doctor.  Your mental health symptoms are worsening.” Laurie asked her if she could help in any way.  

    Monica just kept repeating my name, in the same tone one might expect to hear from a grieving mother. Everyone around me went silent and I swore something awful was about to happen.  While in the throes of a trance, Ralph clapped his hands on her shoulder loudly and exclaimed, “Snap out of it, Mon!”  A few seconds later Monica gasped like she had been suffocating for the past two minutes.  Laurie and I excused ourselves to bring our trays up to the kitchen and go outside.    

    Laurie could see that I was visibly shaken by Monica's statement.  I didn't have it in me to explain the odd dream connection that we had.  It was something I was struggling to explain myself.  She looked shaken up by it herself.  I assumed that her discomfort was centered in her own struggles with the mental institution.  Laurie and I walked out near the lake.  It was good to get some space from the small group of people standing outside and talking while looking right at us.  

    We walked over to a wooded area nearby that gave us shelter from the prying eyes of the others.  I tossed some rocks into the lake to distract myself for a few minutes.  Laurie sat on the ground and watched some of the birds flying around nearby.  I felt a pressing need to talk to her, but suppressed it and let the tranquility of the morning sun pull me out of the mood I was in. Laurie appeared to be at peace as well.  I was beginning to see why Laurie had such a high opinion of this place.  

    The announcement of another group meeting stole our serenity.  “All persons please report to the lodge for announcements and headcount.”  We quickly retreated from our sanctuary and made our way back to the front of the lodge.  It took a couple minutes for everyone on the campgrounds to make their way down to the lodge.  David was standing in the doorway of the lodge, and the rest of the group was standing at the base of the small concrete stairs below.    

    David stood before everyone and had the look of someone trying to appear austere and benevolent.  I could tell this guy operated best in crisis situations.  He took a deep breath and started his standard introduction.  “Hi everyone!” He said in a tone that I was quickly becoming sure was a camp tradition.  “Hi David!” Everyone chanted in unison, repeating the same tone.  I did the same.  I got the sinking feeling that I was beginning to fit in. Everyone stared at David expectantly for big news.  

    David looked at different members of the group trying to engage the entire group as he spoke.  This guy made a phenomenal demagogue.  “I have created a list of preparations that each person staying at the camp will undertake to prepare us for the inevitable worst that is to come.  I posted a list of duties inside the lodge.  When finished, I'll ask that you check the list to see what tasks you are assigned. I will be honest; there is a lot of work to do.”  Some of the group groaned but he didn't pause or lose his stride.  

    “I just wanted to take time to thank you as a group.  You are all doing much more than you can understand to protect what humanity really stands for.”  I couldn't help but feel a strong distaste for his grandiosity.  On cue, he looked right at me as he continued his pep talk.  “I urge all of you to consider the safety of this camp.  If you see anything that looks unusual or out of place, please talk to me, Elizabeth, or Ralph.  I will try to speak with all of you individually about what is to come. The information that I have is delicate and requires a personal touch.  Those of you who know me well, know what I mean.”  I saw some heads nod in agreement.  

    I felt kind of disappointed that we didn't get a detailed explanation of Gate Travel or the forces of Thomas Balthazaar, but hey, it's only day 2.  Or day 1 if you choose a more Eastern approach to temporal awareness.  Laurie and I walked toward the list of chores.  My task was listed as “construction of deer stands.”  I had no idea what that meant.  Laurie checked hers and written on the list was, “gardening.”  I wasn't sure which task confused me more.  She didn't seem so happy about her task, but she seemed to trust David's judgment.  Perhaps Thomas was allergic to petunias.    

    Ralph immediately appeared into my field of view with an enthusiastic grin on his face. “Looks like you're working with me today,” he bellowed emphatically.  “OK, I don't know what deer stands are,” I admitted, feeling like a cancer patient who was just conscripted.  “It's alright, I'll show you.  Just let me load up the supplies into the cart.  Meet me in the parking lot in 10 minutes.”  I nodded with all of the positive energy I could muster.  I saw Laurie walk off with a woman who looked just a bit older than her.  I think I heard Laurie call her Elizabeth.  I came to the sudden realization that we were being paired off with David's lieutenants.  

    I ambled over to the parking lot after staring at the tree line for a few minutes.  He was rolled up to the parking lot a few moments later.  The cart was loaded with a toolbox and boards of varying sizes.  Ralph patted the empty seat on the little work cart that he was sitting in. I joined him and we zoomed up the steep hill in the little gas-powered cart. The ride was bumpy and stirred up my nausea from earlier that morning.  We took a right off the main dirt road onto one of the trails that snaked into the woods.  Ralph asked if I liked Nascar.  I told him I did, to seem agreeable.  He asked if I had a favorite driver.  I told him  Khrondak Timpledoogan.  I guess he was put off by that.  

    We pulled up to a large oak tree where he told us that we were to construct one of the deer stands.  It was basically the task of making a tree fort.  “We are using these to post snipers up, for when Thomas' men come.  I don't think we can out gun them in an outright firefight, but with an intimate knowledge of the terrain, we can at least put some hurt on them.”  I held the boards up while Ralph nailed them in, kind of admiring him for sounding like an expert tactician.  I kinda felt bad for being a smart ass before.  

    The boards were built into a ladder leading up to a point in the tree roughly ten feet up.  Then he constructed several boards nailed together that formed a Y shape pointing toward the entrance of the camp. I kept handing him nails and boards as he continued.  It wasn't the most laborious task, but it still was draining to do anything as the late morning sun became oppressive.  At least it wasn't bizarrely cold like it was that summer of 3 years ago.  He finished up the rudimentary sniper nest, and we zoomed off for another location down the trail.  We did these two more times, breaking for a few minutes to eat some sandwiches that he packed for us.    

    Ralph was a funny guy.  The type who managed to turn everything into a joke that was actually amusing.  He also had a sizable arsenal of dirty jokes, hilarious anecdotes, and other assorted things he said to keep the work entertaining.  By the time we finished the last nest, I was the one climbing up on the tree and nailing the boards down.  I must admit, he would have made a great boss back at the old job I was working.  A charismatic supervisor is often the difference between a happy workday or a nervous breakdown.  

    It was about midafternoon when we finished our efforts.  We drove over to the gardens to check on Laurie and Elizabeth.  I saw Laurie weeding around some light, purple-colored flowers.  I waved to her and dismounted from the cart.  “Hey Laurie, how goes it?”  She wiped some of the sweat from her brow and answered, “pretty good except for the sun.”  I curiously looked at the flowers she was tending to.  “What kind of flowers are those?”  She answered, “Lilacs.”  A moment passed where I wasn't certain what to say.  Elizabeth broke the silence.  

    “These Lilacs are native to the mountains.  We are taking care of them for their unique properties.  Sadly, David needs us to pick all the flowers in a couple of days.  This variety is a late bloomer.”  I got the impression that her subtle smile was indicative of a hidden message.  One that I felt I wanted to ignore.  I glanced back and saw Ralph sitting on the seat of the cart melting in the sun.  He looked worn out.  Laurie looked up from her work and asked me, “how did it go with the deer stands?”  I shrugged and replied, “it got done.”  We said goodbye and agreed to meet at the cabin before dinner.  

    There was a corded off section of the lake and a small dock for swimming.  I was more than ready to enjoy the cool water around my grimy and sweaty body.  Thankfully, Dr. Sprinkles had some swimming trunks packed.  Laurie agreed that a swim would be a nice way to relax and joined me.  She was given an adorable floral one piece that belonged to one of the doctor's daughters.  We waded in the water and talked about our plans for the future.  I told her that I was torn between starting a reptile petting zoo and constructing the world's most elaborate Rube Goldberg device for opening a can of peas.  Between that and a no-holds-barred splash fight, it was a good time.  No one else at the camp joined us.    

    Diner was uneventful but a delectable feat of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, carrots, and rolls.  I started wishing that I would never leave a place that served food this good.  Monica sat nearby again but seemed far more at ease.  I couldn't help but keep a wary eye on her, however.  I wasn't enthralled by the notion of a doom prophecy or another communication with the “other side,” being spouted out during a mealtime.  It really takes the flavor out of your meal.  Laurie made a sculpture out of mashed potatoes that she claimed was in the likeness of St. Thomas Aquinas.  I contended that it looked more like Edward Norton.  The debate raged on well into the evening.  

    We gathered for an evening bonfire down a trail past the cabins. People talked about their day.  Mundane chit chat that brought us a little closer together.  A bright young woman from Panama by the name of Mercedes had some fascinating insights into String Theory.  I couldn't quite follow much of it.  I think she was a grad student studying physics abroad who opted to come to the camp for the summer.  Ralph attempted to dumb down the conversation by blurting, “String Theory?  More like String CHEESE Theory!”  OK, it wasn't his best joke, but the man had a hard time turning it off.    

    David joined us late into the bonfire session and mostly listened and laughed with the others.  I suspected he didn't want to be constantly associated with misery and fear.  I felt myself unconsciously stroking the amulet in my pocket, hoping that its power would work again tonight.  While rubbing the shell between my fingers, I glanced over at Monica and found that she seemed preoccupied.  Everyone else seemed to be in good spirits.  Elizabeth led some camp songs that I didn't know any of the words to.  I just moved my mouth around to look like I was singing along.  

    The group eventually dispersed around 10.  Laurie and I walked back to the cabin and settled into bed.  I placed the amulet around my neck and let my mind relax.  I could hear Laurie giggling while reading a book in bed.  I looked over and told her something that just kind of popped out of my mouth, “I am glad I met you; you're a good friend.”  She set her book down on her chest and looked over at me.  “Thanks Johnny, I feel the same way.”  The feeling that washed over me before sleep was a warm and comforting one.  

 

I think the warranty on that shell amulet must have expired. 

 

    The shaky and rattling sensation of traveling jarred me awake.  The interior of a train car filled my vision.  I noted that I had scored a window seat wherever I had woken up.  The car was loaded with people; many of them were brandishing weapons from small firearms, rifles, clubs, bats, to knives and even a sword or two.  Everyone on the train car was wearing a mask of some kind.  The masks appeared to be China Doll masks.  The masks were bone white and the features on them were very baby-like.  It looked like some kind of ultra-violent gathering was underway.  Many of the passengers were looking at me suspiciously.  I felt very out of place and very uncomfortable all at once.   

    One of the passengers sitting next to me handed me a mask he had tucked into his jacket and said, “Here you are... Rodger."  He said that while pausing to think of a name for me.  "Don't be so forgetful next time,” he added more confidently.  I saw that he gave me a slight wink.  He was a tall man who looked to be around my age.  He was covered with tattoos and scars.  Everyone else on the train car seemed satisfied by his display and stopped paying me any attention.  Afterward, they all kept riding in silence.  I couldn't make out anyone's eyes too clearly, but they all had blank stares.  They looked mildly catatonic after I donned the mask.  The lights on the train flickered as the train jostled and shook rapidly approaching a city.  

    It was an odd trip filled with a strange tension that I felt I was the only one aware of.  It was like everyone was doing a coordinated group dance I wasn't familiar with.  Several minutes in surreal silence followed before the train reached its destination.  Then the people began pouring out of the train with their weapons hoisted.  I followed the group and imitated what I saw to try to fit in.  I hoisted my fist, and I made a rather silly sounding yet enthusiastic pirate's “Yarrrggh.”  Several people in the crowd saw me and were not amused.  

    The tall guy who handed me the mask handed me a switchblade from his pocket, while we marched to some unknown destination.  I hoisted the switchblade up but managed to suppress the pirate talk.  Some of the crowds were armed with torches.  I could see our group was intersecting with another group of similarly armed and masked people.  When the groups connected at a 4-way intersection in the street I could faintly hear the whine of helicopters above.  I became very apprehensive about the situation I was pushed into.  See! THIS is what happens when I follow the group.  

    The helicopter descended and hovered above the merging crowds.  The sound of an amplified voice coming from the helicopter's speakers played loudly.  “This is an unlawful gathering!  Please, disperse and return home immediately!”  The voice played it on a loop a few times before whirling off.  People in the crowd were taking pot shots at it with small arms fire.  I darted off into an alleyway that was filled with rank garbage.  I slipped under a few of the black plastic bags of junk and waited for the bulk of the crowd to pass by.  I removed the mask but tucked the blade into my pocket.  

    Once I was sure that no one would notice me, I darted back into the street by continuing the alley to its other end.  I couldn't quite understand why I was hit by such a severe sense of familiarity.  I ignored the feeling tugging at me and darted behind cars trying to keep up with the crowd without being sucked into it.  Something about the group-think occurring here made me feel out of place.  I had nothing in common with these people.  I saw the group converging with yet another group at an intersection.  Then I got a big clue where I was when I saw the sign for Sandalwood Ave. I was at the very end of the group so I could keep an eye on what was going on without being drawn into whatever was about to go down. 

    Familiar sights of the city that were once defunct came into view.  I strongly suspected that I knew where I was headed.  It was when I followed the group to the facility with the Daedalus Gate that I was sure I knew what they were here for.  Fitting the puzzle pieces together was rudely interrupted by helicopters screaming overhead raining down bullet fire and small missiles at the crowd.  It was turning into a massacre very quickly.  The crowd barely flinched.  Their determination was unnatural, almost superhuman.  

    I had decided against joining in this little pitched battle and bravely fled the scene. I came down several blocks at full sprint.  No one appeared to be following me when I periodically turned my head backward.  It still felt comfortable to keep an eye out for danger.  Once the sounds of human butchery were becoming increasingly faded, my speed decreased.  My pace dropped to a walk, and I began to turn my strategy from running to hiding.  I veered off Sandalwood to some street named Van Greet Ave.  I then scanned for a more remote hiding spot. 
 

    I hid in one of the narrower alleyways where I could easily stay out of sight.  I was quickly taken by surprise when I realized I was not alone.  It was an elderly black gentleman who looked very, very familiar.  He guffawed at my look of both recognition and confusion.  “You look lost.”  He said, and his laughter turned into a brief coughing bout.  “Yeah, I am not from around here,” I confessed, trying to avoid the confusing details of my voyage.  “I am.  Born and raised.  The name is Clarence.  And you are?” 

 

Chapter 7: Catharsis 

 

 

    There was a long pause before I responded to his question.  “Oh, yeah, I am Johnny. You don't remember me?” He shook his head.  I could have only speculated if I was in an alternative timeline, a dream, or that this was another Clarence.  I never got his last name.  “I see you aren't with those maniacs out there.  Their plan is pure suicide.  There is no way they are going to make it inside that compound.  Second time this week they tried.”  Almost one cue, I could feel the ground shake from tank shells being fired.  I could only wonder what organizations were leading these pitched battles on either side.    

    Clarence shouted over the thunderous sounds of battle, “We've got to get out of here.  I have a place that's safe.  Follow me!”  I swore I've heard him say that before.  We scurried down the alley and went into another alley and another.  He led me to a large brick building with a green steel door.  He pulled out a large steel key and unlocked the door.  He fumbled while putting the key into the lock due to some shaking that looked like a result of a neurological disorder of some kind.  The ground continued to shake from missile and artillery shells being dropped, which certainly didn't help his situation. 

    I followed him up several flights of stairs into a cozy little loft.  His place was full of books, paintings, and posters.  The paintings included portraits of several people I have never seen.  They looked like oil paintings of the kind of people that seem to appear in history lessons. Some of the paintings were classic landscapes and a few splattered looking modern art disasters.  There were posters of what looked to be propaganda urging people to stay indoors and to avoid contact with terrorist groups.  The books were too innumerable to count.  I recall having a heightened sense of appreciation for Clarence's sense of taste. 

    He let out a sigh of relief and motioned for me to take a seat on a small red sofa.  I graciously accepted his invitation and plopped down on the sofa.  My muscles dropped a load of tension as I sunk into the cushions.  “Thanks for getting me out of there.  I guess I got lost and got caught in with the group.”  He looked at me skeptically before bluntly stating, “You're a traveler.  This isn't your world.”  His eyes were differently colored, which looked to be the result of cataracts.  I still felt an alarming feeling of being exposed.  Clarence noticed and sat on the sofa next to me to help ameliorate the concern I was experiencing.  I noticed Clarence seemed to have this supernatural sense of intuition that always raised odd skepticism.  I still remember him knowing all too well that I was his exit from the mental institution. 

    “I bet you just fall asleep and wake up in a different place,” he added.  I tried to come up with some kind of rational statement, or at least a witty joke.  Nothing.  He asked about the world I came from.  I told him both the world I was used to and the world that it seemed to be turning into (a violet paradise with excellent population control.)  I talked at length about my understanding of the world I call home.  I led up to the story about our world, but I found myself anxious about bringing up the topic of his younger self.  I felt I had to.  

    “Clarence, I believe I met a younger version of you,” I started.  He stopped me and said, “another version of me, yes.  Was I handsome?” He said, laughing at his own joke.  I admitted that he wasn't a disfigured monster (this is a joke - he is actually quite handsome.)  I continued to explain the time we had together, our escape from the mental institution, and our brief battle with Thomas Balthazaar.  He shifted uncomfortably at the mention of that name.  It wasn't unfamiliar to him.  I got to the point in the story of when we met Dayton.  It brought a troubled look into his eyes.  

    “I lost Dayton when I was about 15,” Clarence said.  This was a major clue to me in the puzzle.  I wasn't simply in the future, but a future, in an entirely different world.  I suddenly was uncertain if this world was connected to the world with the strange purple twilight.  I felt compelled to press Clarence about the nature of the riots occurring outside the compound.  He straightened and took a deep breath before beginning.  I knew I was in for a serious history lesson.  

    “That is actually kind of a long story, but I'll do my best to summarize it without putting you to sleep.  About 25 years ago scientists working with the government discovered the means to create a machine designed to move objects from one location to another.  It was hailed as a miracle of transportation and distribution.  Commerce flourished and people were able to save countless hours in their day sending things from one place to another.”  I was listening with bated breath. He would occasionally lick his lips and stare off into space for short periods when talking.  I wasn't sure if the information was particularly hard to recall or if his advanced age was the culprit.  Maybe it was all the lingering effects of gate travel? 

    “There were side effects though.  People were experiencing strange feelings of fear and uncertainty.  Some people were becoming downright unglued.  Cases of people sending and receiving in close proximity to gates were often sent to mental institutions.  They said that they saw shadows moving in places counter to where light shining should have produced them.  They also said they were seeing ripples in the air similar to gas leaks, and that these ripples resembled the shapes of humanoids.  These sightings, growing in numbers, caused public outcry against the increasingly common use of Gate Travel.”  He looked like he was going to pause to explain the concept, but the familiarity on my face saved him the time.  

    “The authorities issued PSA's claiming that Gate Travel was safe and there was nothing to fear.  Meanwhile, they were tinkering with the possibility of sending people through.  Some of the tests were, alarming, to say the least.”  He seemed struck with an epiphany and darted to one of the nearby bookshelves and produced a device that looked like an extremely slick and futuristic tablet.  He tapped on the screen several times and held the tablet in front of me.  It looked to be like a video file playing.  The video played on some kind of holographic projection that looked absolutely marvelous. 

    The tablet showed a video of a white lab rat.  The rat was inside of a glass cage trying to climb the walls with reckless abandon.  There were odd hissing sounds coming from the rat which did not settle well in my stomach.  The rat continued its frenzy as it was filmed, and scientists lowered a metal probe into the cage with it.  The rat's eyes glowed yellow, and sharp teeth emerged from its gums.  It bit down on the metal probe and snapped it effortlessly.  It then used its little rat arms and teeth to bend and twist the piece of metal into a shape.  A couple of moments later, the rat constructed a metal phallus.  It then promptly imitated performing fellatio with the probe.  Then it promptly stabbed itself in the throat with the object.  The camera remained trained on the body of the bleeding rat before cutting out.  

    I was becoming more convinced that these entities had an extremely warped and sophomoric sense of humor.  Clarence shook his head in dismay.  “There are countless videos of these that circulated by the Resistance.”  I was puzzled at what the story was with this Resistance.  Clarence didn't wait long before explaining this to me.   “As more and more of this crap surfaced, the more people were gathering to put a stop to the use of gates.  One of the most influential people in leading this resistance was a man by the name of Thomas Balthazar.”  Oh, that cannot be good.  “I take it you two are acquainted,” he added in a sly manner noticing my discomfort.  

    “Naturally, certain voices in government were not about to give up on such a lucrative system.  So, they clamped down on anyone trying to boycott Gate Travel.  All the while, trying to figure out how to put a person through the gate, without winding up like the rat.  No one knows for sure if they have done it.  But I think so.  Just look at you,” he said like I was living confirmation of something nobody believed him for saying.  I couldn't help wondering if my eyes would start glowing yellow and I would start attacking a children's hospital.  

    Clarence saw the whirling thoughts in my head and made for one of the bookshelves farther back in the room near the window.  He ran his finger across his collection while humming before mumbling, “ah, there we go.”  I wasn't sure what to make of his actions.  It was a thick brown old time looking book with letters in gold.  The title was Gate Travel: and its Relationship to the Human Psyche, by Dr. Phillip J. Higgins.  That name sounded familiar to me.  Ah yes, Dr. Felter's rival.  I expected it would be an interesting read if it wasn’t too muddled with technical jargon.  

    As the book sat in my lap, I felt a tug around my neck.  It was the amulet, starting to vibrate and move without warning.  Clarence looked at me with amazement.  “I think you must have gotten what you came for.”  He observed expectantly, like I was going to explode or vanish into thin air.  I braced for some kind of weird impact.  It is hard to brace for something you don't see or sense coming.  I woke up to the sound of Laurie outside the cabin talking to someone.  Looks like the shell amulet wasn't totally busted. 

 

    My eyes were a bit watery, and I felt groggy.  I got that awful sense like I overslept, and I immediately sat up.  From under my blanket, I could feel a rustle and the sound of something hitting the ground.  At this point, I wasn't remotely surprised to see a copy of Dr. Higgins' book on the floor.  The other voice that was conversing with Laurie sounded familiar when I took a moment to listen.  Was that...Clarence?  The real Clarence.  Not that the man I spoke to was fake.  Or was he?  I was suddenly wrestling with an existential crisis.  

    I heard Laurie call out, “I think he's waking up, meet up at the lodge, and we can all talk soon.”  Shortly afterward, Laurie opened the cabin door and saw the look of justifiable confusion splashed on my face.  “Hey Johnny.   Clarence arrived at the camp last night, and we spoke just this morning.  He will explain everything soon.”  This all seemed so oddly synced with my dream.  “Yeah and... what's that?” She said with curiosity at the sight of the book on the floor.  “Oh, I just found this.” I said, trying to downplay the role of dreams.  The relationship of dreams and Gate Travel remained a painful mystery.  

    She picked up the book and thumbed through it.  “It seems this book was copyrighted in 2053.  What a peculiar typo,” she commented matter-of-factly, as though she knew the book was from some dystopian future.  “I guess so,” I said in a pathetic attempt to use deception to match her snarky comment.  “This is the kind of info that David said we would need.  I am thinking Mercedes or one of the other brainy people here could get something out of this.” Laurie concluded her last statement with a self-assured nod of her head.   

    I liked the idea of handing it to a more scholarly person on the surface.  Though, I was fiendishly curious about what lay inside myself.  I wanted to read it. “I am gonna bring it down to the lodge while you get ready.”  She left the cabin with the book, and I got a extremely ugly feeling.  I wanted to plead with her not to give it up.  I wanted to scream at her that it was mine.  I wanted to wrestle it from her hands.  I wanted to hit her for daring to take it.  I wanted...  

 

    It took a great mental strain to abandon the grip of malevolent force that gripped my heart.  I intended to distract myself with a morning shower.  While I was waiting for the water to reach the desired temperature, I was just about to undress, then something strange happened.  I could hear a strange gurgling from the water drain.  I inched closer to the drain like Cthulhu himself was going to pop out of it.  I could hear the clicking of insectoid legs echoing around the drain.  I paused my approach and stared at the drain virtually paralyzed with terror.  A loud thump echoed on the bottom side of the drain.  I stepped backward trembling.  “Hello?” I asked moronically.  

    In a flash of movement, the insect legs were poking viciously out holes in the drain.  It was accompanied by the most diabolical sounding clicking and hissing.  The thumping on the drain continued and echoed in the bathroom.  I began to get my bearings enough to flee at high speed out of there.  While I turned, a man entered the doorway of the bathroom building.  He was an older man with a buzz cut and neat mustache, by the name of Walter (I think.)  I tried to explain that he should stay out of the shower.  Instead, what came out was a jittery series of “Uh's” and “Uhm's.”  

    He tried to calm me down with small talk.  “You're Johnny, right?  The name is Waldo.”  I guess I got that wrong.  I was wondering where here was.  He can be a challenge to spot in a crowd.  “Hey, Walt...-Waldo. You might want to be careful in here.”  His expression grew puzzled.  I turned around and whatever disturbance was occurring within the drain had abated. It was just an empty running shower.  I stared cautiously at the shower for a good moment before he cleared his throat.  He eyed me with concern and said, “I guess if you're not using this one, I'll take it.”  He could have it.  

    I walked back to the cabin a bit shaken.  Looking around at every bush, shrub, rock, and tree for signs of sinister creatures.  Every bit of wind jostled my nerves.  I felt so on edge. When I was back in the cabin, I changed clothes and sat idle for a few minutes.  This was turning into the worst morning since we arrived.  I could only pray it would get better.  The thought that Clarence made his exodus to the camp successfully brightened my thoughts, and I bounded off for the lodge.  

    I found Laurie and Clarence chatting on the stairs leading up to the lodge.  They waved to me, and I quickly joined them.  “There is some cereal out in the kitchen if you're hungry.  You missed breakfast,” said Laurie.  I shook my head dismissively.  I wanted to talk to Clarence way too much.  “Hey, Clarence, how was your trip,” I asked, trying not to sound concerned about how things turned out with Dayton.  

    “It was crazy man.  So, you remember that crazy guy at Dayton's place?” He asked.  “Yeah, Wayne.”  His gaze shifted downward as if recalling something rather unpleasant.  “Well, we drove toward the river to dump his body, and we heard this thumping in the back.”  Chills took hold of his body before he continued.  “He was screaming, and his voice was echoing in the trunk and through the speakers of Dayton's car.  It was supremely messed up.  He said our ‘flesh was fuel for the Harbinger of Suffering.’  Or some kind of nonsense like that.”    

    “We stopped near the river, and Dayton opened the trunk.  He was knocked the fuck out. We dragged him out and beat what was left.  We threw his body back into the trunk and continued down to the river.  Same thing happened, with him laughing and the radio going crazy.  Dayton ripped his stereo system out to make it stop.  We finally made it down to the river.  Tied some rocks to it and dumped it.” The experience looked remarkably traumatic to him, and I felt kind of guilty for letting him go off without us. 

    Clarence continued his story for several minutes.  He explained how he and Dayton spoke to some friends and family and let them know that there were some supernatural shenanigans afoot.  They went to the camp, but the rest of the community was gathering information and resources for what was coming.  I was told the camp's population was going to roughly double within the week.  I got the wonderful feeling that the inclusion of the cousins' community would bring some additional diversity to the camp.  It was kind of white bread. 

    I excused myself to get some cereal.  By the time Clarence had finished filling us in, I realized that the lurching sensation of hunger had caught up with me.  On my way over to the kitchen, Monica caught my eye.  She sniffed, then in a weak tone greeted me, “Hi Johnny.  I guess the amulet didn't work completely as I expected.”  My face crinkled in confusion before it hit me.  Last night's sleep wasn't dreamless.  “It still worked to pull me out of the dream,” I replied before I knew I was saying it.  She brightened a bit when I told her that.    

    I tried to dismiss the conversation and make my way to the kitchen alone, but she followed me.  I guessed she wasn't done.  “Johnny, I heard about the book.  And it wasn't the only thing that came from your dreams.”  I didn't catch her meaning.  Then a second epiphany hit me like a thunderbolt.  The blade that I tucked into my pocket from the train ride remained there.  I didn't mention it to her.  I suddenly felt attached to it, in the same way as the book.  “I think you are finding yourself a little too attached to your dreams, Johnny.  You need to separate yourself from those realities.  There lies the path to insanity.  The more you invest yourself in a world outside your own, the more your soul gets ripped to pieces.”    

    I poured myself a bowl of some off-brand cereal called “Tastee Flakes,” while trying to swallow what she just said.  She continued speaking in a tone that grew steadily sterner, “This is what happened to Thomas.  David told me all about it a while ago-”   I grew irritated with the cloak and dagger routine.  “Why doesn't he just tell me himself?!” I snapped, spilling the flakes on the ground.  I felt the blood rushing to my face in embarrassment.  Monica looked wounded but held her ground.  

    “When David talks to you, it...” She paused thoughtfully before finishing.  “Changes you.  Changes how you see the problems you are facing.  David doesn't know you like he knows the rest of us.  He is watching you carefully, studying how you react to stresses.”  I suddenly felt like this man's yellow-eyed rat.  I could feel the razor in my pocket hum in the same way the ruby did.  Something in my dream state was urging me to cause some hurt.  To perpetrate unspeakable acts of violence.  I made a secret agreement to throw the knife in the lake.  

    I conceded to the wisdom of those around me.  I was just unable to grasp how I could trust all of these people I didn't know in a situation that was so extreme.  I was never good at connecting with people before this happened.  She saw a moment when I couldn't quite figure out how to move the conversation along.  “I think Ralph will be picking you up in a few minutes to help out again.  I think he's got something special planned for you.”  She gave an impish grin that told me it might be fun.  I got the feeling that she got some kind of satisfaction out of coaching me. 

    She left the kitchen in a bubbly mood.  She pranced out gleefully, almost floating to some tune that I imagined might be played by Enya.  I wolfed down my cereal and gulped down the milk at the bottom of the bowl.  I eyed the large kitchen dining area suspiciously.  Looking for hidden cameras.  Perhaps the stuffed severed elk head had a hidden camera in one of its lifeless glass eyes.  I avoided the urge to wave to it.  When I finished up, I made my way to where the chores were posted the day prior.  

    Ralph was waiting for me, full of jubilation, as usual.  He gave me a sly look and whispered, “Today's work is all about you.  We are going to see how you handle a rifle.”  He looked like he got no greater thrill than watching a gun being shot.  I had to admit, I had never shot a gun in my life, but it wasn't a skill I was about to rebuke at a time like this.  He marched me over to his cart, which was loaded with a few different rifles, boxes of ammunition, and a cooler, which I assumed had our lunches.  

    The trip up the hill was as bouncy and rock filled as ever.  He asked if I had ever shot a .22 caliber rifle.  I shook my head no.  “That is where we start,” he said like a man who was deeply enjoying himself. The rifle range was a bit off the beaten path and involved a cumbersome walk carrying two different rifles.  He lamented that we had only limited time to try to teach me how to use the weapon.  

    The rifle range was a few wooden booths with a chipped log wall about 50 yards away.  The wood absorbed tons of bullet fire over the years.  Ralph posted paper targets on the wall with a staple gun.  When he returned to the booth, he handed me some ear plugs and began to explain the basics of firing the .22 rifle.  I found the earplugs a bit ironic, considering the fact that slow degradation of auditory faculties was the last of my problems.  He demonstrated loading the rounds into the clip, locking the clip into place, how to pull the safety off, and how to operate the bolt action lever. It wasn't terribly complex, but it did require more thought than just "aim and shoot." 

    He laid down and demonstrated a few live fire rounds.  As he shot the weapon, my interest in the weapon grew deeper and deeper.  Not long afterward, it was my turn.  I took a lying down stance.  The first time I squeezed the trigger; I expected that the recoil would shatter my clavicle.  It was incredibly gentle.  It took me a bit of effort to get the hang of lining up the iron sights of the gun.  I am not going to lie; I was a lousy shot.  I fired an entire clip and hit nothing.  I think I at least hit the wooden barricade.   Ralph was patient and demonstrated by practically firing the thing in my hands.  I didn't hit one bullseye, but I hit the target more than half the clip.  It took a while but lining up the iron sights on the two ends of the rifle was the key to firing straight. Several clips later, I scored a bullseye.    

    We took a break for lunch and Ralph used my gun euphoria to emphasize the importance of the Second Amendment.  I enthusiastically nodded my head in agreement while I munched on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  He complained about the government taking the guns out of the hands of decent Americans.  He blathered on about other various Conservative viewpoints, but I was too enraptured by gun fever to care.  I see the danger of a nut recklessly shooting up a supermarket, and the danger of being unprotected from said nut.  Everyone has a good point, and everyone is an ass.  That seems like politics.  

    We continued our firing exercises into the afternoon until I was sick of it.  Firing a gun was now officially as boring as hammering a nail.  Ralph brought an AR 15 which he demonstrated firing.  The rate of fire and sound of the weapon firing was astronomical in difference.  All guns are not created equal.   He got up from laying down, then let me fire off the last round in the magazine.  I was getting accustomed to the lack of recoil of the .22.  I found that even firing one round of this automatic weapon kicked a bit more comparatively.    

    Ralph dropped me off at the camp in the early afternoon.  There was no sign of Laurie or Clarence.  I just meandered around the cabins and lodge observing the local flora and fauna.   Nothing too exciting.  I had to urinate yet felt a great need to avoid the bathroom.  Luckily all the scenic splendors around made for excellent natural waste disposal.  Moments after I relieved my bladder, David appeared from around an outcropping of trees.    

    “Hey Johnny!”  He said in that odd camp counselor style greeting.  “Hey David!” I replied in the now-familiar tone.  He smiled warmly, putting on his friendliest face possible.  I suspect a man like that wore that expression before bad news came.  I braced myself for anything.  “I really hope you are enjoying your time here.  This camp has always meant to be a refuge from those beaten down by the world outside.”  I narrowed my eyes at him.  “Not that you're beaten down,” he corrected trying to appear sensitive.  Or maybe he very was sensitive.  

    “Anyway, I guess I just wanted to talk to you myself, in private.  Get to know you a bit better.”  He added a charming smile to help lift my spirits. “Not much to know,” I contended.  I was guarded and he knew it.  “I just wanted to thank you for bringing that book to us.  Dana has a master's degree in psychology, and she even sent photos of each page to Dr. Balakrishnan.  They are already studying its meaning.”  This news actually caused my guard to drop, though I was kind of surprised that sending it electronically worked.  Maybe there are some other means of sending things that quickly?  He honed right in on it and continued speaking.  

    “There are several symbols that even the author hasn't deciphered the meaning of.  Apparently, Clarence told us that one of his friends from back home has a very intimate working knowledge of ancient languages.  He has studied under a number of indigenous shamans who can offer insights.”  He paused to let this information sink in. I had to admit that I was surprised that Clarence's friend would have success where Dr. Felter and (future) Dr. Higgins had failed.  I guess knowledge is knowledge, regardless of fancy titles.  

    “In the meantime, Monica told me that she talked to you earlier today.  I don't want you to feel that you are being watched to the point where you can't be yourself.  I just know that a lot of strange things are centered around you.  And, frankly, you're new.  I just want my bases covered.”  He conveyed his interests in such a way that I was almost ashamed that I felt they were cult-like or untrustworthy.  To be fair, there is a fine line between a camp of happy folks staving off Armageddon and Jonestown.    

    “Thanks.”  I couldn't help what came out next.  “I have had these strange dreams, and things can come out of those dreams.  Like the book, and this...” I pulled the silver handled switch blade out and shamefully held it in front of him.  He shot me an understanding look.  “It's yours to deal with Johnny.  If it bothers you so much, the lake is always a fine place to chuck it.  Not the first piece of junk to wind up at the bottom of that lake.”  Thoughts of dead disobedient campers filled my thoughts.  I continued confessing my troubles to him, and the thoughts vanished.  “I just find myself unable to separate myself from my dreams.  To know where I am.  Even IF I am. Why has Thomas chosen to torment me?  I just kept to myself my whole life.  I figured that if I just went my own way, no one would care.”  

    David laughed at my logic and almost condescendingly replied, “someone always cares.”  I normally associate that line of thinking with some type of positive affirmation.  I guess the opposite is true as well. “I mean what am I supposed to do? I feel pushed around from one crisis to the next.  I am starting to feel like the craziest thing that could happen is if everything went back to normal.”  I ranted, feeling close to the edge of tears.    

    His face became suddenly serious before he probed me again.  “I don't think you were happy with normal Johnny.  You don't want to go back to any of that.  I think you just want to feel safe.” The tears grew closer to my eyes when he told me that which I was most afraid to face.  “I didn't know any other way to feel safe.  I just did what felt comfortable by keeping to myself,” I admitted to him.  David pressed further, “And that... is what Thomas preyed on.”  

 

 

    Then it happened.  The tears poured out of me like a floodgate opening up.  I fell into a sitting position and cried into my knees.  I wasn't sure how long I was in that state.  Only about a minute.  When I looked up to see if David was still there, he was gone.  What came into view instead was Laurie and Clarence rushing down the trail to check on me.  They both pulled me in close to ease my grief. No words were said.  No words needed to be said.  

    After a somber yet heartfelt gathering, we decided that the remainder of the afternoon would be best spent relaxing by the lake in the sun.  Laurie was forced to hide under the shade of an umbrella as the summer sun was already baking her fair skin a bright red. Clarence and I were laying on our backs looking up at the sky.  We talked about all kinds of topics from ethical theory to favorite types of soups. I can't believe anyone likes clam chowder.   

    We also played a couple games of ping pong.  We alternated playing the winner, and it got oddly competitive.  I find myself getting alarmingly irritable when I get into a competitive mood.  Clarence and Laurie seemed to mirror the energy as well.  It was like the strange frustration we were all feeling was channeled through us all during our matches.  Despite this, we still managed to have fun and keep things light, and no feelings were hurt.  I still think Laurie cheated by insisting that she was up by 3 instead of 2.  Maybe Clarence was colluding with her, because he agreed; or I was just terrible at counting.  Afternoon turned to evening, and dinner meant a trip to the cafeteria. 
 

    The dinner was a fantastic chicken and pasta feast.  Ralph and Dana sat with us at the large rectangular table in the dining area.  Monica was nowhere to be found.  I checked around the dining area and didn't see any sign of her.  Laurie and Clarence were smiling at one another when they thought I wasn't looking.  I suddenly got the strange impression that they might have some kind of deeper connection than I was previously aware of.  I think a wave of jealousy passed through me.  Was it jealousy?  Maybe indigestion.  I was eating quickly.  

    I excused myself to go on a walk.  Partially because I didn't want to face the possibility that I was on the path to romantic rejection, and partially because I wanted to talk to Monica.  Maybe she knew how to give the amulet a boost or at least replace the shell with a functioning one.  I couldn't quite get a handle on how shells and strings warded off supernatural dream states.  Maybe it was all psychological in nature.  Nothing is more frustrating than trying to will the placebo effect on yourself.  

    Clarence and Laurie merrily waved to me as I walked off.  The first place to check was the lodge.  I searched around and saw a few of the other residents I wasn't totally familiar with.  There were a couple basketball hoops in the lodge.  I grabbed an old, half deflated basketball and made some half-hearted shots at the hoop.  My attempts to stave off my feelings with sad free throws must have looked like an advertisement for antidepressants.  Maybe after taking new “Damnital,” I would be vigorously bounding around making lay ups.    

    I replaced the sad ball on the rack and began wandering around the camp.  I wandered around the perimeter outside of the lodge near the lake.  I picked up a few stones and chucked them into the lake while trying to push the feeling of melancholy away.  I could seriously feel the need to recede back into my isolation.  Anytime I have expectations, anytime I have hopes, any time I get close to someone, I feel the sting of disappointment.  One thing changed my feelings rapidly, was the sensation that I knew I simply wanted to control how people feel about me.  Whether those feelings were real or simply projections of my self-worth, remained unknown to me.  

    The mysteries of my self pity were interrupted by the serene sight of David.  I wasn't sure whether to recoil in terror or beg him for inspirational wisdom.  “Hi Johnny!” He said in his usual enthusiastic manner.  “Hi David,” I responded in a tersely.  He gave me a compassionate look with a slight head tilt.  “What's the matter Johnny?”  I sighed and couldn't find the words.  I didn't see a fair way to explain my feelings without degenerating into bitterness.  He was keenly aware of this face.  

    “I think you might be letting jealousy get the best of you,” he warned.  The look in my eyes told him I was pushed to the side far too often to think about it any other way.  He struggled to find the words to explain why I shouldn't feel that way.  It was a rare moment of seeing him ponder his words carefully.  “Sometimes in the world of medicine...” Oh great, an analogy.  “...A patient falls in love with their doctor.  This is because there is a bond between the savior and the saved.”  He nodded his head expectantly that I would accept this was my own relationship with Laurie.  

    I wanted to argue that she was the one who followed me out of the hospital.  If anything, I saved her.  Something stayed my tongue.  “She didn't follow you because she needed you.  She followed you because you needed her.  It is not an easy thing to process.”  I gulped in fear that he was right.  “I see your point,” I conceded.  He didn't seem to like that.  I think the idea of slumping down in defeat wasn't the desired reaction he wanted.  Somewhere within my subconscious the truth was beginning to boil upwards.    

    “I need you to keep your thoughts sharp and grounded,” David said trying to steer the conversation away from my fears of rejection.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Polaroid photo.  He handed it to me without a word.  It was a group of people standing outside the lodge with their arms locked around each other's shoulders.  I could recognize the face of a younger David.  A few other faces looked familiar.  There was Dr. Felter.  And was that...a young Thomas Balthazar?  

    His head of hair was much fuller, and he didn't have that gaunt, almost ghoulish appearance that he had when I saw him.  He almost looked normal.  His demeanor was a bit distant and aloof, but nevertheless, not overtly psychotic.  I looked back at David for some kind of further explanation.  He looked at me and said, “I think you recognize a particular face in that group.”  I nodded in understanding.    

    “At the time I first met Thomas, he seemed distant and preoccupied.  He was always looking for an excuse to run off by himself.”  David noted in the grips of vivid recall.  I got a strong feeling I knew where he was going with this. “About a year before this photograph was taken, he lost someone very close to him.  The only person he was close to.  Afterwards, he became inconsolable.”  I studied David's features carefully.  Sadness was not a feeling that he would allow himself to succumb to that often.  This was clearly a tender area for him.  

    “Who did he lose?” I asked him to try to keep the conversation flowing.  David shook his head and earnest replied, “I can't tell you.”  I was puzzled yet I chose not to press the topic.  “Johnny-” he said in a voice that quickly became pleading. “Don't forget that those around you might fall short of your expectations, but you can't stop trying to love them.  Love them for who they are, not what you want them to be.”  Such a prolific meaning. I wonder if he bought the camp from money, he made writing for greeting card companies.  

    My sarcastic musings were interrupted by his accursed empathy.  He gently placed his hand on my shoulder and switched to his usual cheerful tone.  “We have the supplies for S'mores.  Why don't you help us build the bonfire tonight.”  I couldn't help but smile.  “Sounds like a plan David.”  We walked over to the fire pit and helped some of the others build a fire for songs and s'mores.  I ate 6 of them and had to stop myself from going further.  I saw Clarence and Laurie sitting close together, talking and laughing about one thing or another.    

    I did my best to be happy.  I did my best to wish my friends happiness.  It worked well enough and as the night slid by, I grew sleepy and wandered off to my cabin.  It was that kind of sleepy that you only acquire through a deep sense of catharsis. When I returned to the cabin, I saw that Laurie's things were moved out, but a new pile of belongings were present.  The cabin was now littered with flowers, paintings, various beads, and trinkets.  I deduced that my new bunkmate was now Monica.  I had to concede with the wisdom of this; Monica was far more helpful in the area of dreaming.    

    I sat on my bed and prepared to go to sleep when Monica entered the cabin.  She entered with an expression of grim determination.  “Johnny, we need to talk before you go to sleep tonight.”  I ran my hands through my hair nervously.  “What's wrong?” I queried.  “You are going to have a very...unusual dream tonight,” She warned.  Her voice sent ice into my veins at the thought of that.  A strangely uncomfortable night breeze accompanied that feeling which brough strange synchronicity to the feeling. 

    She explained to me how tonight was going to be a bit different as far as sleeping patterns.  She informed me that I would be sleeping right on the floor.  This was due to the fact that I could easily hurt myself.  She brought in some pillows and candles.  The candles were placed in various locations in the room.  She took meticulous care in each one's location.  Stepping back and viewing them from various angles.  She also burned some incense in little metal bowls.  I felt like I was in a low budget science experiment.  Or at least an unconventional one.  

    Monica asked that I sit down and drink some tea before bed.  The tea was vile looking olive green that tasted bitter and left a wicked aftertaste in my mouth.  She also insisted that I sleep in full clothing with the photograph in my pocket.  I guess she knew about it.  I hadn't shown her or told anyone about it.  The tea roiled and churned in my stomach. It was clearly an unhappy companion with the sugary snack I had.  The feelings of discomfort passed as quickly as they came on.  I felt my body becoming encumbered.  Everything slowed down as I began sprawling out on the sleeping bag on the floor.  My vision was dull and blurred.  The sounds of the crickets and night wind echoed and faded.    

 

  

 

My last thought before sleep took hold was that the sight of the cabin must have appeared dreadfully Bohemian. 

 

Chapter 8: Exposition      

 

    It took my eyes a moment to focus when my dream began.  I almost cried out in terror when I realized that I was inside a psychiatric institution again.  Something about this hospital seemed different, almost dated.  I was standing in the corner of a large room filled with chairs forming a circle in the center that I expected groups were held in. I looked down and noticed that I was stuck in the strange specter form that I took when I first dreamed of Thomas.  

    A nurse wearing a uniform that looked like it belonged in the 1970's ushered patients into the room.  She pleasantly waved them in while chanting “Group time everyone” repeatedly, in a melodic tone. The chairs filled up with patients and the last one to walk into the room was Thomas.  He did look a bit better with more hair, less sunken eyes, and skin that fit him properly.  Seeing him not chewing on human meat made a difference.  Orderlies were practically forced to shove him inside the room.   He was grumbling something that I could not quite make out.  I wanted to move in closer to listen, but I couldn't move.  Like the last time.  

    The nurse was a blonde woman who appeared to be in her early to mid 30's sat just outside the group with a clipboard.  The orderlies each posted on a different corner.  They created a box shape where they were standing just outside the circle, with the nurse in the middle of the top line of the box.  That configuration seemed to resemble the candles that Monica placed around me before I went to sleep.  I would have shivered at the use of weird mystical powers if I could have felt anything at all.  

    The nurse asked if people were having concerns and started the topic of the day.  She wanted the patients to focus on a joyous childhood memory.  No one seemed particularly interested in talking.  It was when I took my eyes off the nurse that I noticed that the entire group was staring at me.  One of the men with wavy gray hair pointed, then began raving, “How about we instead talk about the guy standing in the corner of the room?”  I wasn't sure if there was a way to act nonchalant in my strange paralysis.  

    The nurse turned over her shoulder and looked where I was, then turned back to the group.  “I don't see anyone there,” she said in a tone of mechanical sweetness.  She then looked over to the orderlies and said, “Ron, Bert, Daniel, Sam.  Do any of you see a man over in that corner?”  They all shook their heads. One said, “No, Nurse Heimer.”  Another remarked, “I don't see anyone there.”  She smiled warmly and said, “well, there you are Mr. Richardson.”  

    “Dr. Richardson,” He angrily corrected.  She seemed to relish having authority over him and apologized insincerely.  I could see Thomas' face contort with fury before jumping up and shouting, “I see him too!” The nurse seemed practiced in the phenomenon, but not readily able to dismiss it.  The orderlies were visibly shaken.  I guessed that the nurse thought it was some game that the patients devised, but the orderlies seemed to have a better handle on determining honesty.  They knew the patients were experiencing what Dr. Sprinkles once described as a “shared hallucination.”  

    “Hopefully the apparition doesn't interfere with group time,” the nurse commented.  She lightly cackled at her own joke.  Most of the group was eager to try to focus on the nurse and avert their eyes from the specter of yours truly.  Not Thomas.  He started at me hatefully, as if I represented an offensive coffee stain on the white shirt that was his life.  The group talk was relatively mundane, but Thomas and I remained locked in a supernatural staring contest.    

    The patients in the group complained about lack of sleep, seeing apparitions (I had a weird guilt complex about that one at the time,) being tormented by whispers, and seeing peculiar shadows.  The nurse seemed hellbent on keeping the conversation in the bounds of standard topics one might expect at such groups.  I couldn't tell what scared her more:  The horrifying and vivid accounts of the patients, or the fact that rational explanations were at a loss to find.  She seemed well trained and adept at concealing that fear.  

    She would try to chip away at the validity of their accounts by questioning what they saw.  “There has to be a rational explanation,” became kind of her mantra throughout the group.  There was a rational explanation; she just couldn't bring herself to accept it.  I thought the group was going to conclude with one of the patients explaining his difficulty sleeping even while medicated, but then Thomas decided to steal the show.  

    “We all know what this is about!  It is about the opening and use of the Daedalus Gates.  Things are coming through, and they are infecting minds!  Certain minds can't handle the pressure and cave in.  Brilliant men, such as those in this room, adapt, and yet are constantly under attack from extra-dimensional forces!”  He thundered, then quickly began panting.  Thomas appeared to be calming down when the nurse probed his statement with the question: “Do you believe that it was your wife that had a weak mind?” She asked with the subtlety of a battleship firing all of its canons at once.    

    Thomas exploded from his chair and his eyes bulged out while he ranted.  “You bitch! I will tear your fucking head off!”  The orderlies quickly circled him and began the process of restraining him.  Thomas grabbed one of the orderly's arms and shattered it with his free hand.  The beefy and red faced orderly howled out in agony.  Thomas kicked and flailed as they threw him to the ground.  “I'll kill you all!  You're all dead!”  He screamed in tormented fervor.  The last thing he spouted before the syringe of medication knocked him out was, “You especially, JOHNNY!”  

 

 The dream passed as quickly as it came on.    

 

     I was filled with intense dismay that the dream was so short lived.  I retained my wondrous ethereal form in the next dream that I was transported to.  Or maybe it was a memory.  It was a comfortable living room with two glasses of brandy on a round oak coffee table and a pair of easy chairs.  It was Dr. Felter and Thomas, both sitting comfortably and chatting softly.  This time Thomas seemed not to notice or pay any attention to me.    

    Thomas looked younger than before, and his face didn't carry the weight of constant consternation.  It struck me immediately when I studied his features.  This was a Thomas before Gate Travel ravaged his soul.  This man looked more human than I had ever seen him.  Dr. Felter leaned in closer to Thomas and said something that I did my best to focus my attention on.  “Thomas, the gates are a means to traveling, in ways that you wouldn't believe.”  Thomas interrupted him.  “You know the Shaman told us that your team meddled in the Weave or Fabric of Creation.  He said the punishment would be severe and he would not help us.”  

    Dr. Felter rolled his eyes arrogantly.  “It is not up to some indigenous peoples to make decisions about the course of science.  We have precautions and technological advances that they could never have produced.”  The doctor seemed to be trying to convince himself more than Thomas.  Thomas thoughtfully disagreed.  “If that were the case, they would not have had the successes in fighting the spirits off and keeping our world free of malevolent forces.”  Dr. Felter rolled his eyes again and sarcastically repeated “Malevolent forces,” like the superstitious prattle would never end.  

    I witnessed a nearly endless debate about whether it was worthwhile for Gate Travel to move forward to experimentation phases.  Thomas' arguments were based in safety concerns, and Felter's arguments were grounded in the need for progress.  What I saw, was a man who thought everything around him was dangerous, and a man that simply wanted to make his prestigious mark on the world.  They both seemed woefully out of touch with their own real interests.  Or they played a clever game of hiding them.   

 

 The debate faded into shadowy abyss, and something spirited me away to another dreamlike memory.  

 

     I was inside a laboratory.  It looked familiar.  Yes, it was definitely the laboratory that I met Monica in, during one of my dreams.  I recognized the many of the faces of the doctors from the first dream that I had.  I could see Dr. Felter with a bottle of champagne and the other scientists with their flute-shaped glasses preparing for some kind of celebration.  They were hailing their success and praising their own hard work.  The Daedalus Gate stood proudly for its own unveiling ceremony.  

    Thomas was present but not dressed in a lab coat like the rest of the group.  He was dressed in a fine black suit and tie. I could even make out a firearm tucked in his jacket pocket.  I guess hanging out with Ralph was having an impact.  Thomas' role as chief of security made sense, combined with the complaints that he voiced to Felter.  The man made his living pointing at things and calling them dangerous.  Thomas did not appear in a festive mood whatsoever.  I would wager that he would have liked to have shot all the scientists and smashed the Daedalus Gate with a claw hammer.  

    After the champagne was poured, Felter put the empty bottle in the center of nickel colored base of the teleporter pad.  Almost out of nowhere, I could hear the nebulous voice of Monica calling out, “Get into the Gate before it's too late Johnny.”  Suddenly, my body was free of its strange paralysis, and I hovered over to the base of the teleporter.  Dr. Felter was punching commands into the machine's computer with the grace of jubilant drunkard.  I guess he was already half in the bag.    

    I piled into the machine as the whir and churning began.  The enclosure sealed around my incorporeal form and the champagne bottle.  It was not the same sensation of Gate Traveling without a physical body incorporated.  It was like being mid dream while still conscious that you were mowing the lawn. That was a terrible explanation. It was like a mind diverging and converging simultaneously.   Dreaming two dreams at once might be a more accurate description (while still mowing the lawn.)    

 

I was jostled from my sleep with the feeling of the warm summer sun on my body.  

 

    I was walking out the cabin in my underwear to where Clarence and Laurie were standing.  I stopped mid stride with the sudden revelation that I was no longer in the dream world but at camp.  Laurie had to hide her face from the outpour of laughter that fallowed.  Clarence looked sympathetic and unfazed by my confusion.  “Looks like he just snapped out of a sleepwalking situation.”  Laurie's laughter was replaced by a bit of tenderness and an apologetic cooing sound.      

    I could hear the cabin door behind me and Monica called out, “Sorry Johnny.”  Clarence and Laurie walked off to give us a moment.  I walked back into the cabin and Monica explained that she miscalculated the final portion of the dream.  I recounted the dream, and she explained that she wanted me to appear right inside the teleporter during the final leg of the dream journey. Releasing me from the dream paralysis meant that I was released from the safety of sleep paralysis.  She also explained that my clothes were left in the dream for a reason.  I guess I could leave things as sure as I could bring them with me.   

    That fact started an intractable train of thought that led me to ask Monica if she knew about my house burning down.  She looked at me with deep pause and informed me that she wasn't the only one who knew these tricks.  Someone was manipulating my dreams.  And I didn't know if they worked for Thomas or were warning me against Thomas.  No matter how I sliced it, I felt like a puppet.  A foul-mouthed Muppet cut from the Sesame Street lineup.    

    I glanced around the cabin for the champagne bottle.  I kind of assumed it would come with me.  When it did not turn up, I mentioned it to Monica.  She explained that removing my spirit from the destination in the computer is a completely different process than simply moving a bottle from one area to another (or my physical body for that matter.)  While the bottle moved, my spirit was sort of abducted from the desired destination.  It was explained as the equivalent of jumping off a train mid journey.  “What might really blow your mind, is the fact that the scientists needed to account for the spirit of the bottle when sending it to its destination,” She concluded matter-of-factually.  I could scarcely believe someone could be so spaced out and scientific at once.  

    “What do you mean by the bottle’s spirit?” I was a bit confused by such a concept.  She smiled briefly and remarked, “Everyone sees a bottle and knows it's there, and it has a presence that exists independent of the atomic structure of it.  It is how we can know the bottle exists without actually seeing it.”  It sounded like the kind of thing Plato held awful lectures over.  By the time I listened to Monica's explanations and got cleaned up, I was already late for breakfast.  I made haste toward the cafeteria. 

    The folks working in the kitchen left me some lukewarm oatmeal.  I guess this was becoming a regular thing.  After eating, I checked the chore list, and I found I was put on garden detail.  I saw Dana and Elizabeth chatting up Laurie outside the lodge in the garden supply area.  They both waved over at me, and I did the same back.  I walked toward their direction and was told to grab gardening gloves, trimmers, bucket, and a few other supplies.    

We traveled up the hill in another gas-powered cart like the one Ralph used.  I thought that I heard that he was doing some work on traps dug around the outskirts of the camp.  We zoomed over to the Lilac Garden and began our clipping of Lilacs in the summer sun.  I tried to make it a point to avoid talking to Laurie.  I wasn't mad at her or jealous of Clarence, but some deep discomfort writhed within me anyway.  

    The work in the hot sun left me sweating profusely in no time at all.  Elizabeth and Dana were there.  Dana was quietly gardening, and Elizbeth was gardening nearby. I declined to take a bandanna yet found myself rubbing the beads of sweat off my forehead with great frequency.  Elizabeth talked about the blooming season of the lilac (or Syringia Vulgaris), its significance in the local ecology, and about a dozen other interesting facts.  When I asked what the relationship between lilacs and Thomas was, she simply told me “Demons don't like them.”  I fantasized about showering Thomas with the purple flowers like confetti, while he shriveled and screamed in abject terror.  It was a hard mental scenario to take seriously.  

    As the sweat poured from me a couple hours into the work, I began to feel a bit woozy.  Laurie asked if I was OK.  She looked worried, but I tried to feign a tough guy act.  Dana grabbed some bottles of water from the cart.  I walked over to attempt to grab them from her.  I could see her eyes widen with concern as I staggered, fell on my back, and landed on the grass.  I thought I had just slipped and was still awake.  I could see shortly after that I drifted into a brief dream.  

 

    I looked up and didn't see her at all.  It was the face of Thomas.  He was gnawing on a piece of uncooked meat with blood dripping between his teeth as he spoke.  “I will see you Tuesday, Johnny.”  I cried out in terror and fury all at once while trying to swing my tightly bawled up fists at his hideous image.  I nearly hit a face, but it wasn't his; it was Dana's.  

 

    I blinked and refocused my eyes on Dana's face.  It was a quick dream, or hallucination, or vision that stole my grip on reality.  It was incredibly compelling, nonetheless.  Dana joined her and hovered over my sprawled-out body.  She held some water over me.   I quickly guzzled the water that she held over my mouth.  “Slow down!” She said in a motherly voice as I could feel the water sloshing uncomfortably in my belly.  I spent the next moments gasping, panting, and wiping the mixture of sweat and grass off my head.  Laurie cast a worried look from the lilac bed.  It took me a while to finally stand up and for the shaking to stop. 

    I spent the next few minutes recovering and telling Laurie, Elizabeth, and Dana about the short visit I had with Thomas.  They both were deeply concerned by the news that I shared with them.  The tension was interrupted by a white minivan rolling down the camp's windy narrow dirt road.  It provided the distraction I needed.  I could also hear Laurie call out to the van in excitement, “Vicky!” I saw the face of a young woman appear and poke out of the window of the slow-moving vehicle.  “Laurie!  Hey Girl!” Laurie rushed over to the minivan while I continued the process of steadying myself.  

    The van skittered down the road, and Laurie walked back beaming with excitement while still trying to show concern for my little episode. It was pleasing to see her happy.  Laurie and Dana spent more time in flower bed collecting lilacs in plastic buckets.  I sat in the cart sipping bottled water regaining my strength.  Elizabeth said that David had a plan of how to use them against David.  I think it amounted to the manner in which one uses chalk in a summoning circle to invoke spirits. Not that I would do that.  A circle of your own urine works just as well.  

    We finished our work and made our way back down to the lodge for relaxation before the evening time.  I wanted to remain isolated and would have rather avoided Clarence and Laurie.  Eventually they discovered me brooding in a clearing down one of the trails.  I was sitting on a grassy mound, playing with an oddly shaped twig.  I sighed as they approached.  Clarence opened the conversation, “Johnny, I know you are going through something, but I think you need to open up to us.”  Laurie nodded emphatically in agreement.  

    I tried to avoid directly complaining about my fears that they were an item, and I would be shoved to the backseat of this adventure.  Laurie sat beside me on the grassy mound.  “You once told me that you were glad, we met.  And that you were glad we were friends.  Isn't this still true?”  I gulped down the tangy vinegar that were my own words.  Clarence had remained standing but now leaned into a hunched pose to appear disarming.  “It is true.  I guess I made something out in my mind that wasn't there.”  I said in an attempt to be diplomatic.  

    Laurie leaned in and whispered, “it's OK that you feel that way.  We have been through this struggle together, and we still are.  We need to stay focused.”  I could see her thin pressed lips glistening in the late day sun.  Even the slight layer of sunburn on her skin gave her a unique resplendent quality.  I couldn't figure out if I wanted to kiss her or argue with her.  My feelings of tense resignation must have been an impetus for Clarence to sit next to me as well.  He clapped his hand on my back in a friendly way, but I still flinched.  

    “It's fine, if you two are an item.” I declared against my own sense of pride.  They shared looks and Clarence got back up.  “Hey, if you two want to talk this one out, I could help out with the bonfire.”  He offered to my relief.  We both said goodbye, and she moved in closer to talk to me.  “Johnny, there are things about Clarence that you do not know.  There are reasons why you shouldn't worry about him and I.  Just worry about yourself, and how things will go.”  She paused thoughtfully before continuing.  

    “David told me that he spoke to you about a few things.  He told me that you are just finding out a lot about Thomas.” She paused again.  Her voice ushered warning when she continued, “You are a lot like him, or so I have been told.  Thomas assumed the worst and acted out against anyone who tried to tell him differently.  He became a pawn that spiraled out of control.  One that they fear more than death itself.”  I stiffened up a bit and replied in a sardonic tone, “Yeah. Besides the arson and cannibalism, we are two peas in a pod.”  

    Laurie cut me off with a fierce and stern glare.  One of those glares informed me that I should drop the sarcastic funny guy routine.   Her eyes sparkled with the convictions of someone who took my sanity more seriously than I did.  I didn't know how to continue. She did.  “I don't think we can kill Thomas or his men with silly tree forts and cruddy rifles.  We need to beat him in the arena that fuels his power.  His mind and his twisted spirit are the keys to shattering the control that the entity has over him.”    

    “Azmodariel,” I corrected.  She seemed disgusted by mentioning that name.  “It sounds like the mashup of two villains from a popular video game franchise,” she noted.  Well, she did have a point.  Sorry folks...she's got me there.  Laurie gently waved away some insects that were buzzing by her head.  She proceeded to push her brilliant auburn hair back into place.  “I am sure the others will have some interesting crap to say about the book you brought to me.”  I felt a twinge of guilt for my murder impulses the other day.  “Yeah.” I agreed and the thoughts left with the insects that buzzed around her head.  

    We spoke about a few other topics before heading back to the lodge area.  We had some good laughs about the Omnipotence Paradox.  She likened God to a, "Great Magnet in the Sky.”  We also spent a couple minutes turning over stones looking for newts, worms, bugs, and other assorted oddities.  It always pleased me to look at the variety of strange little creature scurry, as their stone fortress was lifted.  While watching a newt scurry away from our last stone turning, I felt a deep sense of empathy for it.  

    I found the bonfires were becoming an increasingly pleasant time for me.  I was becoming more adept at memorizing the lyrics to the songs and enthusiastically sang with the group.  When I first arrived at the camp, I was sure I would have been mortified by the present version of me.  The pain of being a hopeless cynic is that you see anything remotely beautiful or jubilant as pitiful or campy.  In addition to singing, we roasted spicy Italian sausages on the open flame with skewers.  It was a delectable treat.  

    While amid our last chorus of songs, I noticed that Monica was not actually singing along with the words of the song but chanting something else entirely.  It was an eerie sight to see her rocking back and forth mouthing some unheard and unfamiliar words.  I tried not to let it trouble me, but we had a strange kinship.  I knew in some way, that the throes of her state would have significance in my dream state later tonight.  Laurie noticed that the sight of Monica unnerved me a bit.  

    She asked me, “What do you think is wrong with her?”  I focused my attention away from her inquiries and silently prayed that Monica could hold it together.  My prayers were answered instantly.  Monica lifted her head hopefully and began resuming the camp song with the rest of the group as though nothing had happened.  I sure wish nothing had happened, and I suspected that Laurie shared that concern.  

    The last song concluded, and I expected David would dismiss us to retire for the night.  Instead, he held his hand up.  A wordless gesture that silenced the group, and all eyes were upon him.  David slowly tilted his head downward then back upward.  Almost like a doctor informing you that your dear aunt's spider bite was terminal cancer.  The crowd let out a collective gulp. He took a deep breath before spilling the news.  

    “We have word that our camp will be attacked sooner than I had anticipated.”  Gasps filled the group, which caused David to raise his hand again to silence them.  “Our best source tells us that he will be here Tuesday,” He darkly announced.  I felt a strange uncertainty. The fact that this group's battle plan came from a heat stroke induced hallucination.  “This means that we will need to increase the rate of our preparations.  I am afraid that late afternoon tasks will be assigned.”  I could tell that he expected resentful groans, but given what was at stake, no one seemed to complain.    

    “As an added precaution, I would like the entire group to remain in the lodge and to avoid staying in your personal cabin.  With one exception.”  He looked right at me when he included that little addendum.  I did my best to remain stone faced at his glance.  I had no idea if it was common knowledge that my most helpful contribution to the camp was sleeping.  The snapping and popping of kindling on the fire filled the brief silence.  He continued explaining the importance of a buddy system.  His chief aim in his speech was safety and solidarity.  

    He concluded his announcement with the reminder that if anyone sees anything strange or out of place to report it to him, Ralph, Elizabeth, or Dana.  We were dismissed to return to the lodge.  Laurie and Clarence were ahead of me, and I heard her lamenting that her back was going to be so sore if she slept on the floor of the lodge.  Clarence remarked that it was a “small price to pay for safety.”   David pulled me to the side before my descent down the trail and motioned that we seek a more private location for a talk.  

    I wanted to tell him that I left the stove on, and that a lengthy talk would be inadvisable.  I had come to know that David sees through nonsense and snarky jokes.  He led us right to the spot where Laurie, Clarence, and I had our last chat.  He had a small LED powered lantern and sat it down in front of us.  He politely gestured for me to sit on the grassy mound, and he did the same.  He and I sat for silence for a short period as we watched the shadows dance around the light.  

    “I happen to know that your dreams tonight will be your most dangerous yet.”  He warned while still casting his gaze toward the shadows.  I turned and looked at him, and he returned my gaze.  “What do you mean by dangerous?”  I said fully, expecting that the worst things are to come.  “Monica informed me that Thomas knows that you are visiting his memories.  He knows that you are seeking knowledge that could be detrimental to his cause.  He has the means to lock you in a dream prison of sorts.  The kind of dream that never stops.  The kind of dream that becomes your waking reality.”  Camp McCallister: where your wildest dreams turn into your worst nightmares!  

    He pressed the conversation on.  “Mercedes gave me some solid information about how Gate Travel affects the psyche.  While the body can move seamlessly and without error.  The brain can become partitioned.  Living in the world it inhabits and the world it left behind.  What's more is the technology can be used on a person without them standing in the device.”  He paused for me to absorb the details.  “So, I may have been teleported before any of this began and not be sure of it.  David gave a knowing smile and nodded blissfully.  

    We resumed staring into the shadowy void beyond the reach of his LED lantern.  I deeply considered that the day in my house when I was tormented by my dead cat might be a completely different reality than the one that I remember being raised in.  The thoughts of school yard anxieties, silly infatuations that proved fruitless, and bitter rivalries that all seemed so significant at the time...all seemed so pedantic in hindsight.  The things that seem like the greatest tragedies always look the smallest when your world is turned upside down.  David could see that my mind was headed in this direction, and it prompted him to continue his conversation.  

    “Much like a house divided cannot stand, neither can a mind.  My hope is that by fixing your mind, we can fix this reality.  My motives for helping you and stopping Thomas are one and the same.”  I furrowed my brow when I considered his motives.  He wasn't telling me something.  “Thomas has wanted to destroy me and this camp for some time now.  He wasn't able to access the grounds for certain... reasons.  But since you have arrived, now he can.  That said, you are in the unique position to make him vulnerable enough that it will be his downfall.” So that explained it; I was bait.  But why me?  

    His offer of fixing whatever fractured my mind was tempting.  Though, I still wasn't clear on what my role was in the upcoming battle.  He still looked like he was holding back some information, and he noticed that it registered with me.  He pulled a small piece of chocolate out of his pocket and offered me some.  I graciously took it and nibbled on it as he spoke.  “What you are conscious of, in this world, alters where your dreams take you.  What you are told affects what goes on in your dreaming mind.  I can tell you about the danger, but I cannot tell you why it is dangerous.”  He emphasized the word "why” to alleviate some of the concerns.  It didn't help, but I felt more understood.  

    He stood up and picked up his lantern.  He offered his hand to me, and I took it.  He pulled me up with more strength than I was expecting.  I knocked some of the dirt free from my shorts and we walked back to the cabins.  He offered me a rough hug before I walked up the small wooden staircase to the cabin.  “Sleep well Johnny, we're rooting for you.”  He tipped his fisherman's hat and made his way down the path to the lodge.    

    I could hear Monica rustling around the cabin before I opened the rickety door.  She was arranging the pillows and candles while I stood tapping my chin in confusion.  I had no idea where to sit or where to go.  My bags and clothes were gone from the cabin.  I suddenly felt a strange jolt of irritation that someone had absconded with my belongings.  It took me a while to figure out that the knife that I failed to throw in the lake was calling me.  She put her finger over her lips to call for silence as I stood motionlessly watching her.  I said nothing.  

    She motioned for me to lay down on a pile of pillows.  I did so, while she glided over to me in a graceful motion and handed me another one of her patented amulets.  This one looked like a length of hemp rope with three shells.  The center one a flat oyster shell shape with two curled shells running on each side of it.  There were small bits of sea glass separating the shells.  A wave of comfort blanketed me as I laid down on the pillows.  Monica brought over some of her foul-tasting tea to help with my time in the dreams.  I reluctantly swallowed a few gulps.  The taste was revolting and the quivering it did in my stomach was not pleasant.    

 

The churning in my belly and the sickening taste in my mouth followed me to slumber.  

 

    “Darlene, you must eat something.  It's been almost two weeks.”  The voice that I heard was familiar.  It was Thomas.  I could hear the grunt of refusal return his pleading requests.  When I materialized, I realized that I was in my specter form yet again.  The woman, who I presumed was Darlene, looked upon my visage in horror.  She looked like she was in her mid 50's with dark brown hair, ever so curly, with the occasional wisp of whiteness in it.  Her age was betrayed by her current condition, sunken in eyes, and somber expression riddled with horror that never ceased. She appeared to be near catatonic.  She was seated in a comfy looking easy chair while he remained standing in front of her. 

    I felt a misplaced guilt that I was adding to the condition that she was in. She tried to call out and point to me.  Thomas denied the sight of me, though on some level he was aware of my presence. He got up from his seat and grabbed a vase from the end table.  He then hurled the vase in the direction of my ghost, and it sailed right through me.  I expected it to hurt or feel some sensation, but it did not.  I heard the stylish vase crash with a menacing smashing sound behind me.  She wailed softly at the sight of her husband frantically and manically trying to disprove my presence.  She was right, but Thomas knew this was no matter of being right or wrong.  

    Thomas managed to capture her attention and tried to spoon feed her what looked like creamed corn.  It was obvious that this man's taste in food ranged from the disgusting to the disturbing.  She let the foul nourishment dribble from her lower lip and kept feebly protesting.  He let out an exasperated sigh.  He carried her off to bed, while I remained watchful.  The living room did not reflect the man who tormented me a while ago.  His dwellings were humble and resembled a grandparent's home.  Lots of antique furniture that wasn't purchased as antique furniture.  He returned to the living room and sat in the easy chair that his wife was sitting in. 

    He had a book with him, and he opened the book.   He began reading words that were in a language that I didn't comprehend.  They sounded like a combination of Latin, Hebrew, and gibberish.  I began to feel uneasy, like my ability to move was being granted to me, but not of the will of my own.  He closed the book and abruptly and set his gaze on me.  He looked younger to me in this memory.  There was a deep hunger in his eyes.   A deep anger and resentment that I could not place my finger on.  

    Suddenly, my specter took physical form.  It was a moment of turning from a translucent ghost to a briefly corporeal form.  It was accompanied by a deep and searing pain.  The pain felt like a burning fiery pain that radiated from my center outward.  My specter returned to its previous form a moment later.  I could hear the panicked voice of Monica screaming in my head, “Johnny, we have to get you out of there quickly.  Try to fight it.  Focus on something in the room, do not think about him!” I could see Thomas picking the book back up and running his finger along the page, and he resumed his chants.  Above his head I could see the specter of a present-day Thomas.  His ghost had time traveled to aid his past self.  This made the task of thinking about anything else exceedingly difficult.  

    On the wall hung an amateur painting of some daffodils that caught my attention for the briefest period of time.  The stinging and burning pain that rippled through my body was becoming more pervasive.  I tried to look at the picture further, but the chanting stopped, and Thomas began speaking to me in the common tongue.  “Hello, my friend.  I see that we are visiting places that we shouldn't be.  My wife is not very well.  And it is the likes of you, at the bidding of Harold Felter that are making her condition worse.”  I tried to study the painted gold oak frame of the picture more clearly.  I tried to visualize the daffodil that it was based off, in my mind's eye.  

    “Harold is using you.  He thinks he can send people into the past to fix his messes.”  I paused to listen to his embittered rant for a second too long. I could feel some weight or gravity of a thousand worlds pushing me down.  Compressing my mass into a singularity, or that's what I'd like to describe it as.  I couldn't speak.  I wanted to question him about what he was talking about, yet he knew the bait of information was distracting me.  The pain had reached a burning crescendo that felt like I was vomiting lava.  I looked at the daffodil once more.  My concentration snowballed due to some unseen distraction that was eating at Thomas' attention. 

 

The flower of the daffodil wasn't the last thing I saw before the world changed.  The stems were.  

 

    I was inside one of the familiar rooms inside the psychiatric center.  I was in the games room.  There was a puzzle in front of me.  It was a half-completed puzzle of a yellow daffodil, and the assorted pieces of the leaves were laid out in front of me.  I nearly jumped out of my chair in a panic.  “Why of all places, here?” I mumbled to myself.  I was going to have to have a word with Monica.  I looked at my arm and noticed it was completely fleshy.  My hand was also missing its ruby shaped crater.    

    I looked around and saw familiar faces. There was Jeff, a lovable but unpredictable bipolar man, seated at the nearest table.  Despite some familiarity one face jumped out at me.  It was Clarence!  I darted over to him and said, “Clarence, what's going on?  What are you doing here?” He shot me an incredulous look and disapproving gaze.  “I've told you this before.  I don't know you, and I don't WANT to know you.  So please leave me alone,” He bellowed.  The guards inched forward expecting violent outburst.  I nervously inched away from where I saw him and went back to the puzzle.  I should take this moment to point out that they were guards, not orderlies.  They looked like they were working with the state in some capacity. (It makes a difference) 

    Completing that puzzle felt like a muddled mess of confusing thoughts, unsolved riddles, and a sickening feeling of being trapped.  We were corralled for afternoon medications and group time.  I didn't see any signs of Laurie there either.  I just sat in my chair with a vacant look on my face trying to figure out how this would end.  How could I leave this dream and get back to the real world.  What sickened me twice as much is that without a Gate, I would have no means to do that.  I was lost.    

    Diner was also a sickening charade, and it seemed like it would be back to the old routine that I was used to.  I ate in silence, eyeing all of the other patients and guards dangerously.  The staff seemed to know I was on edge and sent a stream of personnel to watch me like a hawk.  I tried reading a book about the mating habits of the Aardvark to ease my mind, but it was an unsuccessful venture.  So much seemed to be at this point in time.    Night times brought a glimmer of hope I might wake up elsewhere.  

    It didn't.  I continued the usual routine I had during my first visit.  The doctor that I spoke to was a Dr. Lloyd.  My first meeting with Dr. Lloyd was an unusual one.  He claimed that he never heard of a Dr. Spr--Balakrishnan or a Dr. Felter ever working at the hospital and that I had been working with him and a few other names I didn't recall.  It was extremely peculiar that he kept referring to the “incident” which resulted in my extended stay at this hellish hotel.  I had absolutely no idea.  I felt arguing on the grounds of supernatural forces, sci-fi experiments, and government cover-ups would not bring me the desired results.  

    The third session with Dr. Lloyd proved interesting.  “Johnny, why do you insist on hiding your delusions from me.  I know that you are not well and that you feel that you are being persecuted.”  The man didn't know the half of it.  “I think it's a sick world Doc.  I am just trying to adapt.”  He nodded thoughtfully and replied, “I think because you feel that way, is why you are a danger to those around you.   In a situation where you were treated with medications and care, someone might not have gotten hurt.”  I eyed him suspiciously.   “Who did I hurt?”  He sighed as continued, “Denial and regression are symptomatic of the damaged mind.” Whatever he knew, he was holding it back.  I could see an apprehension in him that told me that he genuinely feared me.    

    “Try to think back to the day of July of 2017.  What precisely do you remember?” He asked me in a cold tone with piercing eyes.   I strained to think of something, but all I remembered was a bizarre web seminar, trying to flee my home, and getting picked up at Walmart.  I tried to convey all the details as I remembered them so far as they seemed relevant and not otherworldly.  He clearly noticed my avoidance of reanimated cat, car full of body parts, and unusual Walmart occurrences.  It made my summary concise and obviously deceptive.  

    He leaned back in his chair while tapping a pen against his chin.  I would like to think it gave him the self-image of a judge about pronouncing a sentence.  “Johnny, I believe what you told me in the office several weeks ago.  I believe you were being followed.  Does that help?”  (I did NOT remember this conversation.)   I feigned a pretty convincing head nod of affirmation.  “Who was following me?” I asked in an attempt to be clever.  His lips curled up in a triumphant smile.  “I believe you are dissociating.  I believe you are trying to blur the events that happened on that incredibly cold July.  I could be wrong.”  

    My blood froze at the mention of that “Cold July Day.”  It brought forth a torment of nightmarish memories.  I kept replaying the moments left unsaid to him over and over again in my head.  He kept repeating his great astonishment at the weather for that July.  He even mentioned a forecast for similar weather on the horizon for this week in the local area.  He and his wife were going to stay home in case the worst happened.  “In case the worst like; your precious family gets devoured by yellow eyed demons?!”  I yelled angrily.  He concluded our session there.    

    The days in the institution dragged by with no real change in routine that I could recall.  There was no word from the outside, my dreams remained painfully blank, and my progress in group was noted as being “stagnant.”  There were times at which I was certain I was seeing apparitions or wavy ghosts of some kind.  They remained formless and always at the edge of my periphery.  I avoided calling out or yelling in terror at times at the things that I had witnessed.  I became certain that I developed a condition akin to the doctors who conducted the first Gate Tests.    

    Dr. Lloyd mentioned that I was making progress with him.  I wasn't sure if he made that claim to bolster his own ego, or if he made that claim because it was true in some way.   On my third session with him (that I could recall), he suggested that I undergo hypnotherapy.  He asserted that my constant regression into fantasy worlds could be halted by alternative therapeutic tools.  That, and loads of pills. I had no alternative suggestions, and things here were becoming tragically boring.   Avoiding Clarence was especially difficult for me.  

    Dr. Lloyd invited me into an office that I had never seen before.   There was one of those typical sofas with the elevated head rest that you would expect to see in any movie involving hypnotherapy.  I tensely approached the sofa.  He gave a slight nod at my anxiousness and said, “Relax Johnny, everything will be fine.”  His cool tone eased my nerves just a bit.  I had no experience with being hypnotized, and I did not know what to expect.  

    I laid down on the sofa, and he approached a chair that he had placed there prior to entering.  He sat in the chair and pulled an odd gold pendulum from his vest pocket.  He asked if I had ever been hypnotized before.  I honestly told him, “No.”  He said there would be nothing to fear and how it would work.  Part of me was reticent to voice any concerns and part of me wanted to bolt off the sofa.  He assured me that I would make it through the process unharmed.    

    I relaxed a bit more as he told me that I would start to relax more.  I felt myself becoming increasingly vulnerable to his suggestion.  He said, “I will count down from 20 and you will become steadily drowsier.  When I say 1, you will fall asleep.”  I agreed and the sensation of relaxation was growing and deepening inside me.  My resistance was fading, and I slipped further into drowsiness.  My vision blurred and the word one was the last thing I heard.  

 

Dr. Lloyd did not make me act like a chicken or cause me to do handstands.  It wasn't him standing in front of me when I woke up.  It was Monica.  

 

    Monica had an extremely worried look on her face when I saw her.  I slowly blinked my blurry vision away while she spoke.  “Oh God Johnny! I thought you were never going to wake up.  Thomas took control of the dream and sent you to a place I never thought I would find you.”  She was practically gasping for air as she told me this.  I tried to wipe the still-present taste of the foul tea concoction from my mouth before responding.  “Yeah, I guess...I-” I was cut off abruptly by the thought.  Am I actually here?  

    Monica grabbed my hand in a pleading way, as if she were alluding to the fact she knew I was questioning my current reality.  I fought through the haze of confusion and responded to her.  “How did you find me?”  She sighed distantly, then told me, “It is hard to explain.”  There was a momentary pause.  I explained to her my reoccurring dreams about being placed in a mental institution. She listened with rapt attention.  She assured me repeatedly that Thomas was playing off my greatest fears.    

    “I think what Thomas knows about you, is that you are afraid that you are insane.  You aren't insane, Johnny.  What is happening to you, to me, to everyone in this camp, is real.”  I tried to take solace in this fact, but I couldn't.  The fact that what we were experiencing was real, demonstrated a far greater breakdown than one man's fractured sanity.  “Yeah, I guess you're right,” I admitted.  I wanted to talk to Laurie and Clarence and get an idea of what they might make of my confusing dream world. “What time is it?” I asked.  

    She hesitated before answering, “It's around 9 o'clock.” Long pause.  “On Sunday.”  This almost didn't compute as it was Thursday night when I had fallen asleep.  The length of my dream had mirrored the time that passed in reality.  I did my best not to present a strong reaction.  “I couldn't have woken you; the process would have...damaged your mind,” she explained.  I didn't get a particularly encouraging feeling from that bit of information.    

    I got up, stretched, and set on getting dressed.  Monica exited the cabin and informed me that Clarence and Laurie were by the lodge waiting for me.   I thanked her and set about getting ready.  My body felt weakened by the extended duration of sleep.  I got dressed and walked outside.  At the bottom of the short path that led to the lodge I saw Clarence and Laurie standing and talking to one another.  I rushed down the path to greet them.  I was met with big smiles.  

    “Johnny!  We were so worried about you!” Laurie exclaimed in delight.  “Good to have you back!”  Clarence added joyfully.  We all shared hugs.  It was definitely a postcard moment.  One of those generic photos of random people you see in pictures frames at stores.  “I still can't believe I slept that long,” I told them in both disbelief and somewhat shamefully.  “It's OK,” Clarence replied with a wistful smile.  “Johnny, I hate to say it, but-” Laurie said.  “You stink!” Clarence finished.  “Better go get cleaned up then,” I said with a sheepish chuckle.  A moment of silence followed.  My stomach let out an incredible lurch.  “Maybe a bit to eat first,” I blurted.  We all shared a roar of laughter.   I had to admit; I was so glad to be back with my friends that I quickly forgot about the lost time.  

    There was a huge plate of breakfast waiting for me in the kitchen.  The cook introduced himself as Karl, told me that “such a rest, deserved quite the breakfast.”  He babbled about the outrageous price of rubber bands in major retail stores, then recommended a website in case the need arose.  [Website information not provided.] I would nod politely as I shoved in eggs, toast, bacon, cereal, and grits into my food hole.  I finished my hot tasty meal and excused myself to go back to the cabin to get ready to wash up.    

    I was wary of the bathroom building after my last experience there, but it was actually a normal shower.  No creatures in the drain today.  It was a fine experience- washing off all of the accumulated sweat of a three-day long night terror.  I could hear the melody of the songbirds outside the vents of the outdoor bathroom building.  Their chorus followed the beating of the water as it fell from the shower head.  My breathing became labored in the steam momentarily and gasped out in protest to the strange pressure building in my temples.  

    I finished up the shower, and it got dressed shortly after.  As I did so, I noticed detail in the porcelain tiles on the bathroom floor.  Little chips and imperfections that made this floor unique.  Each chunk missing telling a story minute or grand.  I felt like my entire perception was changing.  The feeling of my shorts clinging to my leg, the wispy steam curling into the afternoon air, the smell of dust particles hanging in the air, and the churn of my massive breakfast in my gut.    

    I walked back to the cabin with a damp brown towel tucked under my arm.  I could see Clarence standing outside my cabin.  “Hey Clarence!” I said enthusiastically.  I was a bit elated, and my heightened perception was the culprit.  He looked over and nodded.  I suspected by the direction of his nod that he wanted to follow me into the cabin for a talk.  I walked up the steps.  He followed quickly behind me.  I threw my towel on the floor and turned to him and asked, “what's up?”  

    He drew a deep breath.  I could feel the vibration of each muscle in his chest while he did so.  “I think you should know that tea that Monica has been serving you, contains a powerful hallucinogenic compound.”  He studied my reaction carefully, while I watched the light sparkle from his deep brown eyes.  “I feel sort of strange,” I admitted.  He explained that I would be experiencing life at an unusually slow pace for the next few hours and to take it easy.  One of those times where you experience every moment of your life in excruciating detail.   

    I felt sort of angry at Monica for doing that to me, but I understood that she had her reasons for doing so.  “Dayton showed back up this morning,” He informed me, switching the topic a bit.  That was good to hear, as I was deeply interested in speaking with him further.  It is always good to get to know the man who saved your life a bit better.  Or at least that seemed like the right thing to think at the time.  “He wanted to talk to you a bit.  He and Laurie were chatting all day yesterday.  We were all worried about you.”   Clarence's observation melted the doubts creeping up.  

    Clarence told me that I could find him inside the lodge patching up some holes that cropped up over the past winter.  Clarence also brought it to my attention that he and Ralph were working together on that project.  Apparently the two of them were guilty of causing more than a few laugh riots.  I could only imagine their antics.  Clarence informed me that he was going to practice shooting today, and that he would be at the range if I needed to speak to him.  

    I headed down to the lodge and greeted the stragglers along the way.  It was a lovely day, just a bit cloudy with a cool summer breeze cutting through the heat.  I entered the lodge and nearly died laughing.  I saw Dayton holding the ladder while Ralph nailed a large board across the angled ceiling.  Spray painted on the large board were the words: “Demons Beware!!!”  Dayton looked up at me and with a big grin greeted me.  “John-nay!”  

    I couldn't help but match his broad grin with one of my own.   “Hey Dayton!”  I enthusiastically replied.  Ralph carefully descended from the ladder.  He pointed with his hammer at the sign that he used to cover some rotten boards with.  “Well, what do you think?”  He asked in an amused tone.  “I think they should definitely beware,” I added with a bit of mock bravado.   Dayton chuckled lightly.  Ralph broke up the mood and said, “I am going to go pick up a few things at the shed.  Why don't you two catch up a little.”  I agreed, and Dayton and I walked on the porch of the lodge.  

    Dayton immediately began with an apologetic tone, “I am so sorry we had to leave you like that back there.”  I was puzzled by his sudden change in tone.  “It wasn't right that you had to handle all those things alone.  Me and Clarence didn't want to leave you like that.”  I felt completely disarmed by his point of view, but I felt that he didn't have any reason to be sorry.  Any reason whatsoever.  “I think we all did what was best,” I responded in earnest.  He gave me another one of his big grins.  

    Dayton plopped down on one of the wicker chairs on the porch that ran around the perimeter of the lodge.  The chair crackled a bit under his massive bulk.  He gazed off into the lake and let out a deep sigh.  “Things have been getting all kinds of messed up around the hood where I live.  Your friend wasn't the first wacko-” I cut him off and said, “He wasn't my friend.”  Dayton shrugged harmlessly.  He continued, “I have seen all kinds of things going on around my place at night.  Shit that would make your skin crawl.”  I gulped reflexively.  “Like what?” I asked out of stupid curiosity.  

    “Garbage trucks moving through the city at all hours.  Picking up strange bags.  I didn't see it for sure, but I think they were hauling bodies out of the city.  People were being snatched up, people disappearing without a trace, and all kinds of other shit.”  I was having a difficult time processing the information that he just told me.  I joined him in gazing at the lake after he finished that statement.  A moment passed when we said nothing.  He broke the silence and said, “I saw a couple people in the building that would have the strangest yellow glow in their eyes for a brief moment.”  

    A brief moment?  I got a sickening truth splashed into my face.  I kind of assumed that the yellow eyed possessions were a permanent affair.  Maybe it was more like a condition where a person would be used temporarily.  “What happened when you saw it?” I asked.   He continued staring at the lake thoughtfully before he told me.  “It would happen when someone got really angry, or like demented.  It's kind of hard to explain, but bad things always followed it.”  My suspicions that our world was passing into a nightmare reality were steadily becoming confirmed. 

    “I am not trying to scare you, but I honestly think that the whole planet is going to hell.” Dayton said, finally looking me right in the eyes.  My spine tingled and the hair on my arms stood on end.  “I think you might be right.”  I said with a tone of veiled fear in my voice.   Dayton sighed and repeated, “I am not trying to scare you.”  I tried to show no visible reaction.  “But I guess I did.”  His mouth pushed into a sideways frown.  We both resumed our view of the tranquil lake. 

 

Chapter 9: Family 

 

    Dayton turned back to me and said, “Laurie's got a thing for you.”  An impish smile accompanied that statement.  “I don't know what you mean,” I said, starting to feel a bit defensive.  Dayton threw back his head laughing.  I patiently waited for his wave of amusement to pass.  “I talked to her earlier.  She said you got a world of problems.  She just wants you to be OK,” he told me.  I was getting totally sick of hearing this, for better and for worse.    

    “She told me about what y'all both went through on the way up here.  The night at the motel...” He trailed off, and his tone became a bit more speculative.  “Someone set up a car bomb in your vehicle.  If that doctor hadn't contacted you, it would have been bad.”  I shifted uncomfortably at the thought of ignoring the letter and taking Wayne's car.  “I really owe him for that,” I added in an effort to sound grateful.  Sometimes it's hard to be grateful when you are just terrified.  

    Dayton switched topics again.   He told me about his friend Jamal, who was sending information to Mercedes about some of the pictures in the book I brought.  He told me that Jamal was a gifted PhD student who traveled across the country studying ancient languages.  He seemed to think we had a lot in common.  I heard that the entire camp was discussing the events circling the influx of new information.  He also told me that more help might be on the way to halt the encroaching threat of Thomas Balthazar.  

    “That man, frightens me...  He... is not of this world.” Dayton told me with an ominous tone.  “He scares me senseless,” I acknowledged.   “What do you plan to do when you see him Johnny,” He asked in a very careful and measured tone.  “I plan on killing him.”  I replied grimly.  Truth be told, I didn't know how or if that would be possible.  Dayton let out a very world-weary “hmm.”  I think he knew more about people than I could ever hope to. 

    I felt a strong tingle on the back of my neck, like I was terrified of what I was planning or thinking. Dayton broke the tension again with talk about how he thought the food at the camp was fantastic.  He went on a long diatribe about the proper way to cook eggs.  He said something about how Karl got it “mostly right.”  I didn't disagree, but my thoughts continued to try to pour into the negative. I watched the shimmering late morning sun on the lake paying particularly close attention to the intricate chromatic display of colors of the light.  I thought Monica's tea was still working hard.  

    With that thought, Monica approached the two of us right on time.  Her head was adorned with a multicolored assortment of wildflowers that morning.  “Hey Monica.” Dayton warmly greeted her.  “Hey you!”  She replied, then seductively made kissy faces at him.  He threw me a knowing wink, which seemed to radiate an incredible feeling of wellbeing from within me.  I had a feeling these two were just meant for each other.  Maybe that is that thing that people see that I always believed I couldn't.    

    Monica stood by us and perched herself on the railing.  I could smell a faint waft of lavender and rosemary emanating from her.  I was going to ask her about the tea that she gave me, but she spoke first.  “Most of the camp is preparing for battle,” she said with a slight shiver.  “We have found out some super interesting things from the book you brought us.  It appears that only weapons forged by hand and blessed from the true Creator can harm the abominations.”  A moment passed before she finished her thoughts.   

    “That would make guns useless in this fight.  Still, the leadership insists on preparing for a big shootout.”  She shook her shiny dyed blonde hair in dismay.  “Sometimes, some men, have a romanticized ideas of what battle should be.”  Monica rolled her eyes in a way that seemed too familiar to her.  Could the idea of a bunch of liquored up men shooting things strike this hippy woman as vulgar?  I asked myself as I doubted that this was her first time sharing this rhetoric.  I made a “pew pew” sound and pointed my fingers in the air like fake guns.  She grinned, and I swore I heard her voice in my mind say, “exactly!”  

    Dayton didn't seem surprised by this information, but I could tell it was still news to him.  “I am sure that reason will prevail,” he said in a soothing tone.  She seemed to enjoy his concession to her viewpoint and rewarded him by sliding off the railing and onto his lap.  I could see a faint trail of her body as she moved, and it forced me to blink several times to dispel the strange visualization.  She plucked one of the wildflowers from her hair and placed it in his.  I snickered at the sight of it.    

    “So, Johnny, I believe I also found some information on how to keep you safe in your dreams,” Monica said in a pleasant and hopeful tone.  I wondered if it could be more amulets.  “It is a completely different process than I am used to, so it might be a crap shoot.”  Now I was kind of hoping that it was more amulets.  Being a guinea pig in a dream experiment seemed like a risky situation.  The words “crap shoot,” didn't settle well with me.  “I believe that Dr. Felter's findings will stabilize the process,” she reassured me.  “With Jamal's translations,” Dayton added.  “Of course,” I concluded.  

    We moved into a discussion about what was going on around the camp.  Monica and Dayton filled me in. Everyone was on high alert since Thomas was arriving on Tuesday.  People were watching the entrances and known pathways from the deer stands.  Dayton told me that the “situation resembled a city under siege.” Still, people managed to make the best of it and held together in solidarity.  I was told Laurie was helping around the camp, and that I would probably see her later in the afternoon.  “Given that you are still struggling from your experience, and the lingering effects of such a high dose of tea...you should just take it easy for the day.”  

    I decided to earnestly take her advice.  I followed the path upwards toward the rifle range.  I figured I might catch Clarence and say hi.  While walking, I ran into a couple people including Karl and Rick.  Everyone seemed kind of distant and agitated.  I could have cut the tension with a knife.  One of the little paths led to a cabin that I had never checked out.  Some strange force pulled me toward the cabin.  It was significantly larger than the rest of them, with a large back porch and garden in front.  I saw a small sign on a tree that led into the clearing where the house stood.  The sign read: “David's Cabin.”  

    I approached the cabin with nervous energy because I had no idea why I was even walking that way.  David was standing by a window and talking on the phone.  He started walking toward the back door leading to the elevated porch.  I darted behind a clearing of trees and crouched behind a bush.  I could hear him when the door opened; he appeared to be loudly yelling on the phone.   I was certain that he hadn't spotted me, yet I remained frozen in place hidden in the bushes.  

    “We cannot afford to be caught unprepared,” he said in a tone that betrayed his normal charismatic facade.  Momentary silence followed the last thing I could hear.  “Even if that is the case, I can't let my people go without defending themselves.  We need to keep the night guard up.  Doubled even.”  His voice cracked a bit with that last statement.  I instinctively flattened myself further toward the ground.  “I don't care what some PhD student said!  When trouble comes, we shoot.  That is just how we do things here.”  David wiped some sweat off his head, then resumed listening to the unknown party on the other line.  

    At once David's demeanor changed from bitter determination to complete resignation.   “You're right, my hands are tied.”  Momentary pause.  “Yeah.  Bye.”  He pulled the phone from his ear, cursed loudly into the sky, and then walked back into his cabin.  I let out a long-held exhale, then slowly inched back from the bush.  It almost took a complete minute to muster the courage to resume my crouch and stand back up.  I walked back up the small trail, kind of wishing I hadn't taken this detour in the first place.    

    I continued my trek up the trail and made my way to the rifle range.  The last words that David said rang through my head numerous times.  I could hear the sounds of rounds being fired as I approached the range, which at least meant that I wasn't going in the wrong direction.  As I got closer to the range, I noticed the firing had stopped.  The sounds of bullet fire were replaced by enthusiastic whooping.  Almost maniacal in nature.  I heard Ralph scream, “You certainly can shoot mother [expletive deleted]!”  I heard Clarence reply, “No shit!” They continued to roar with testosterone fueled rapture.  It suddenly turned me off approaching.    

    I couldn't help but feel like they would pull me into their fervor, so I turned back down the trail and made my descent down the hill.  It was a cold glass of water splashed on my face.  It seemed like everywhere I went; insanity was following.  Maybe Thomas wouldn't need to show up at all, and we would all just kill each other.  The words “city under siege,” in the voice of Dayton, popped back up in my mind.  The ominous scene was chased away by the sight of Laurie pacing up the trail.  The tension eased immediately when I saw her.  

    She rushed toward me and wordlessly, we entered a tight embrace.  Her hug was firm, almost bear-like.  I met her energy with equal force.  My vision blurred from the tea.  Wait a sec. Those were tears cropping up in the corner of my eyes.  Laurie made no sound; I couldn't see her face, but I knew that she shared those same tears.  We remained locked in that embrace on the trail for minutes.  By the time we unlocked our arms, both of our faces were soaked with tear stains.  We both knew what was wrong; we, they, everyone, was afraid.  

    Laurie managed to choke back her tears to say, “It's good to see you.”  Our eyes locked.  “You too,” I said in a barely audible croak.   “Speak up,” She chided, and a half smile took her face.  Her tear splattered face bolstered my resolve.  We had greater things to fight for, and we had to become vigilant.  Laurie and I walked down that hill, and I knew what we had to do.  We had to survive.  We had to live.  It was only when we got to the lodge that I realized that our hands were locked together tightly.    

    Vicky approached us with a wide grin and gave us a thumbs up.  Suddenly realizing that we were hand in hand, I withdrew my hand, and blood rushed to my head.  In hindsight, I should have looked to see what Laurie's impression of that move was.  Vicky gave Laurie a big hug and asked to excuse me while they talked.  “Girl talk” or something.  I shrugged and began my trek back to the lodge to get a better impression of the situation there.    

    I saw Dayton and Monica playing tether ball near the lake.  Dayton was a good 7 inches taller than her, but he was lettering her win.  What a goon!  Show no mercy, no matter the opponent (I always say.)  I waved to them; Dayton waved back, thus allowing Monica to get the final push to win the match.  I felt like an accessory to chivalry-based poor sportsmanship.  From there I wandered back into the lodge.  I saw a man I wasn't too familiar playing ping pong against a half folded up table.    

    He was a tall man with long white and gray hair.  He had a pointed chin, long hooked nose, and a pair of gold framed glasses that hung off them.  He looked to be locked in fierce determination against an opponent he could never best.  I felt the stark contrast between the sight of him and the sight of Dayton moments ago.  I stood by and watched him as his pace of volleys increased in speed and the look of steely determination on his face increased.  I waited until the ball bounced free before introducing myself.  I had to wait for a while.  

    “Hi there,” I said to the man.   The glasses slightly slid down the nose as he tilted his head down to get a closer look at me.  “Hey-o,” he answered in a chipper but somewhat winded voice.  “I am Johnny,” I introduced myself in my most cordial tone.  “I know.  We met before.”  A wave of embarrassment hit my face. “It's OK.  I am Don.  Don Camden.”  He said in a way that let me know it was a forgivable trespass.  “I am guessing you are just a bit overwhelmed,” He empathically offered.  I nodded.  “You a shut in?”  He asked rhetorically.  “I was too.  I know what it is like.”  I offered to open up the table and play some ping pong with him.  We did, we talked, and the hours flew by.  Don told me that he used to hide out in the rural areas of New York.  He confessed that his wife of 17 years left him, and that he just stopped caring about anything.  He just stopped going out, and David saved him from himself.  This reassured me about our leader.  A bit.   

    The dinner wasn't anything special, but it was good to sit with Clarence and Laurie.  Monica and Dayton joined our table, and I felt we made a formidable little team.  Clarence was a bit more boisterous than I remember him being.  I think shooting off rounds all morning with Ralph amped him up considerably.  Dayton enjoyed talking to him, while Monica was discreetly nuzzling against his side.  Laurie was telling me about Vicky.  “I heard that she is staying with David, in his cabin,” she said.  I made a mental note to talk to Vicky when I got the chance.  

    Almost as soon as that thought came into my head.  David approached me and whispered into my right ear, “I need you to do a walk around the camp with Ralph tonight.”  I was surprised by the request but before I could think about asking about it further, David had bounded off to talk to someone else.  Ralph, who was sitting with his wife, waved his hand to get my attention.  After finishing up some rice, beans, and conjecture with Laurie about thermodynamics, I set out to talk to Ralph.    

    He patted the adjacent seat next to him, and I sat there promptly thereafter.  “Looks like we are teamed up for tonight's watch.  I just want you to observe, listen, and get the hang of how we do things here.” He announced between bites of a chicken leg.  “Sounds good,” I replied.  Dana finished a gulp of water and told Ralph, “Go easy on him Hun.”  I shuddered at whatever connotations accompanied that statement.  Ralph let out a hearty guffaw and said, “Of course!”  The shudder resumed, while he shot me a disarming smile.    

    Ralph told me that I would meet him after the nightly bonfire for further instructions.  I noticed that Laurie had left the table.  Monica, Dayton, and Clarence were talking and laughing.  I exited the kitchen and poked around the lodge.  I saw Don resuming his one-man ping pong playing.  When I looked around the interior of the lodge, I saw Laurie and Vicky talking.  Vicky looked extremely distressed.  Laurie was trying to comfort her, but I couldn't make out what they were discussing.  I decided to make myself scarce and walked back onto the porch.    

    I walked the perimeter of the porch and saw Mercedes studying one of those Mead composition books with a look of complete consternation on her face.  “Hi Mercedes,” I said with a tone of friendliness, and the intention of gathering some information.  It took her a few seconds for her to look up from her book.  “Hi...uh, Jimmy?” She finally acknowledged my presence.  “It's Johnny, and I was hoping to pick your brain for a second about what you discovered.”   She let out a slight exasperated sigh and set the book down.  “What did you want to know?”  She asked with her irritation, dissipating.  “Maybe just a summary.”  I replied, feeling a bit silly I didn't approach such a committed academic a bit more prepared.     

    She focused her light brown eyes on me with great intensity, trying to read the seriousness of my interest.  She must have known I wasn't making small talk.  “The primary argument offered by Dr. Higgins is that Gate Travel has negative side effects to people's mental health, while working in close proximity to the machines.”  Old news to me.  “He also discovered that over time, the will and desires of those affected would steadily begin to change from normal to aberrant.   Furthermore, those altered wills were all singular in their purpose and obsession.  Higgins concluded that those individuals who were affected were deeply concerned with sealing the gates.  They also were certain that the world was doomed, and because of that sense of doom, entitled them to act recklessly.”  Mercedes was keenly aware that I had heard all of this before.   

    In order to avoid further overlap, I shared what I knew.  I informed her of the hospitalized research scientists, the nature of Thomas Balthazar, and the information given to me by “future Clarence.”  She listened very carefully while scribbling notes down.  She told me some more of her findings shortly thereafter.  “According to this book, the condition caused by the yellow eyes is a parasite that attacks the mind.   It couldn't be detected by the strongest electron microscopes because it could not be viewed in the normal wavelengths of light.  Higgins categorized as a creature composed of what was like 'radiation,' and it struck people the same way cancer does.  It doesn't strike the psychical portions of the brain, so no operation or procedure could cure the affected areas.”  I tried to swallow the information given to me.    

    Her mood improved by presenting me with novel information.  “What do the symbols have to do with anything?”  I asked, hoping for more clues.  “It turns out that the human mind has always been susceptible to these forces.  It explains why people do insane things, scream about the end of the world, or have chronic mental conditions.”  But the symbols?  She noticed my failure to follow where she was going.  “The symbols are just an ancient way of helping people cope.  To understand that there are forces always trying to press their way into your mind.  Those forces push you to do things that are harmful.  Certain symbols may have effects in warding off these parasites.  And these are the kinds of parasites that feed on sanity.”  I think I wanted to get a better answer than that.  I scratched my chin and queried, “what role do gates even play in such a thing?”  

    “Excellent question Johnny, and the answer isn't a simple one.  The best I can figure is that the gates amplify the problem.  This stuff is way out of my depth, and there is no other relevant material in this field to compare it to.” I didn't want to posit endless theories and ask superfluous questions.  “Do you think there is anything relevant of a means to stopping such parasites?”  Hopefulness replaced the feeling of intellectual inadequacy on her face.  “My hopes are tied to the petroglyphs that Jamal has been translating.  According to his translation, certain indigenous tribes in the Southwestern portion of the United States and Mexico have lived for millennia without any kind of documented insanity.   They led harmonious lives.  Albeit not perfect or advanced by our standards, but completely without the mental illness that is commonplace in our society.”  

    If only the Surgeon General could get his hands on this info, maybe America wouldn't be such a madhouse.  Unfortunately, I suspected there were things fundamentally wrong with the way we conduct our daily lives that were too impractical to fix.  I guess progress breeds insanity.    Mercedes disrupted my morose thought train.  “I just need some more information from Jamal for specific instructions on what to do.”  I gulped down my fear and asked, “What if we have no fix for this problem?”  She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and replied, “Then things will continue to get worse.”  Not reassuring at all.  

    I didn't notice Laurie coming up from behind me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when she tapped me on the shoulder.  “Hey.  Sorry about earlier, I was just busy talking to Vicky.”  I gestured that it wasn't a problem.  “Do you want to take a walk with me?” She asked politely, but with a hint of distress.  “Sure thing.  Thanks Mercedes, I'll talk to you soon.”  Mercedes nodded her head and immediately stuck it back in her notes.  I followed Laurie to the trails that led around camp and past the cabins.    

    Once we were out of earshot with anyone in the camp, Laurie explained the reason for pulling me aside.  “Vicky is scared about the way David has been acting.  He has been acting really on edge, like he is expecting the camp to be overrun at any second.”  I couldn't blame the guy.  “I think Thomas is trying to push us to the limit before he shows up,” I offered.  She didn't seem surprised, but it did nothing to assuage her fears.  She bent over and picked up some stray kindling that blocked the trail and tossed it into the woods.  She abruptly stopped and turned to me.  “Do you think David can be trusted?  I have never seen him like this.”  I cringed at her doubts, and solemnly said, “I hope so.”  

    “Vicky says that David is pressuring her for something.  She won't say what.  Do you think you can talk to her?”  I couldn't figure out how I might get information from her where Laurie had failed.  “I can try.”  We had made it a good distance from the camp down one of the trails.  I almost lost track of where we were.  Laurie and I passed a large rock down the trail, and I noticed a pair of squirrels staring at us.  I stopped and looked back.  Laurie noticed them too, and we stood staring at the squirrels looking back at us.  Another pair appeared and climbed up a nearby large rock.  And another, and another.  There was quickly becoming a small crowd of squirrels gathering on the rock.  The rock filled up.  Laurie turned, “Johnny, I think we should go.”    

    I could hear her words but could do nothing but remain transfixed by the mob of rodents congregating in front of us.  The massive boulder was filled with squirrels, and they began to form a giant cluster on the ground all around it.  I noticed that they were closing in. My heart almost skipped a beat when they began chittering in unison.  Laurie tugged on my arm with great urgency.  The first squirrel I saw on the rock tiled its head to the side like a predator taunting its prey.  Its eyes began to take on the eerie shade of yellow, while exposing its large front teeth.  I started to accept Laurie's tug, and we darted down the trail.  

    As we ran, I could see in my periphery that there were two walls of squirrels standing on their hind legs running parallel to the trail.  A line of them on either side of the trail.  All making high pitch chirping sounds that caused the base of my neck to ripple with fear.   Laurie and I bolted down the trail hand in hand.  We came to the clearing where the trail entered the open space of the campground.  Clarence was standing at the trail entrance with a perplexed look on his face.  “What is wrong?”  He asked out of a very genuine concern. “I... Look! There is...” I turned back to see a horde of maniacal squirrels, and there was nothing.  It was as if the scene we left behind simply vanished.   

    “Laurie?  Did you...” She cut me off and said, “It was nothing Clarence. We just thought we stepped on a hornet's nest.   Nothing to worry about.”  Clarence nodded his head, clearly unconvinced, but unwilling to voice his concerns.  “It is time we had a talk,” Clarence announced with a grim tone.  He drew a deep inhale through his nostrils and exhaled sharply.  Laurie and I agreed, and we set out to find a private place to sit. One that wasn't potentially filled with a ravenous pack of demonic squirrels.  

    We found a spot near an arts and crafts lodge overlooking the lake.  I hadn't been down this trail, and the view was spectacular.  We meandered around the building.  I peeked inside and saw all sorts of beautifully crafted dream catchers, oil paintings, and all manner of assorted crafts suspended around the building.  It sparked a creative side of me.  Something about this place told me that my creative side would flourish, unlike the institution, where the idea of art was mechanized and set as a task to keep the crazies occupied.    

    There was a large log bench overlooking the lake that we all sat in. Clarence took a moment to get settled while a brief lake breeze washed over us.  His voice took on a cryptic tone as he announced, “I don't think that Thomas is coming Tuesday, or at least this Tuesday.  I can tell he has a strategy that involves spreading fear.  He wants the camp on edge and divided.”  Laurie sighed, and I nodded my head in dismay.  “I regret that I said anything, when I woke up from that dream,” I said full of lament.    

    “I am glad that you did Johnny,” Clarence reassured me.  I looked up hopefully, to not feel responsible for all the buzzing around camp.  “I've heard that Ralph is taking you on night patrol.  I think you should be careful around him Johnny.  He is funny and charismatic, but he is dangerous.”  Clarence let his warning hang in the air for a few moments.  Laurie wore an expression of quiet despair.  She didn't want to think of all her childhood mentors as victims of psychological warfare, under duress, and on the verge of self-destruction.  Clarence put a comforting hand on her shoulder and calmly spoke.  “This will be over soon enough, and I am sure it will work out.”  I wish I could share that man's confidence.  

    Clarence leaned in closer to me and said, “just watch Ralph, and remember not to lose yourself Johnny.  Battle and shootouts aren't glamorous.   They are just destructive.”  A flash of the memory from earlier that day of their hooting and shooting crept up into my mind.  “I know Clarence, and maybe it'll be a nice break from the usual nightmares.”  He offered a weak smile.  With that, we settled down about such serious topics and made our way to the bonfire area.  The gather was slow, somber, and unspoken tension ruled the night air.  

    I would have thought that David would try to comfort the group, but he insisted on maintaining a firm distance from the mood going around the camp.  After the usual festivities, Ralph beckoned for me to follow him.  There was a chilling energy produced by him.  I could tell by the bags under his eyes and the veiled irritation that he was carrying, that he was under serious stress. More than likely, he was suffering from sleep deprivation from increased night patrols.  It was a stark contrast to the Ralph that I spent helping set up deer stands with.  I was not looking forward to working alongside him tonight.  

    “Don't say anything while we do our rounds, unless it is imperative to our safety.  Just follow along, I'll show you the route, and hopefully we can get a replacement by 3AM.”  I silently groaned at that time, as I was just getting comfortable with a more reasonable sleep schedule than I have had in a long time.  He turned a flashlight over to me and saw that his orders were understood.  He huffed deeply and led me up the trail leading to the outskirts of the camp and some of the more secluded areas within the campground.   

    I wasn't sure if I should have tried to conceal the sounds of my footsteps.  Part of me felt the strong urge to take on a ninja persona.  The sounds of the gravel and stones bouncing off my footsteps immediately made me feel like a failure at such an attempt.  Ralph seemed a bit more adept at weighting his steps, but the presence of the flashlight beam might indicate that it was a bit early for stealth.   We made our way to the first deer stand that we constructed.  He pulled a box out of the brush, and it contained one of the rifles.  He looked at me to confirm that I understood that the weapons were hiding near the stands for easy access.  

    He spent about 30 minutes on the perch scanning the horizon periodically.  I waited on the ground trying to gain an understanding of his tactics while observing him.  He focused most of his attention to the road that leads into the camp where flood lights on poles served as streetlights.  There must have been other paths that he knew about, because he would periodically rotate about 45 degrees in each direction.  I couldn't tell if the task was tedious or tense by watching him.  More than likely, both.  

    After what seemed like a lifetime, Ralph descended from the deer stand and returned the rifle to the box motioned for me to follow him down to another deer stand.  We walked down one winding trail into another.  Along the way, Rick was making his way opposite of us.  The two men exchanged wordless nods, and we made our way up a snaking trail that led uphill.  I followed Ralph to the next deer stand, and it was pretty much more of the same stuff.  I had to stifle any urge to make conversation, which further added to the tension.  It was extremely difficult because the debate between warm- or cold-blooded dinosaurs was raging in my mind with fervent intensity.  

    I was growing extremely weary by the time we made our way to the third deer stand.  Ralph offered me a sip of his miniature energy drink shot concoction, but I declined.   I figured if I waited this out, I could at least pass right out when we finished.  The last thing that I wanted was to lay in bed after we finished, wishing I could sleep.  To break up some of the monotony, Ralph would point out in the directions he was looking to give me an idea of where I should focus my attention, should I be in his position.  I hoped it wouldn't come to that.   

    Luckily, around 2:30 AM (according to Ralph's Timex,) someone was able to man the next shift.  I felt irritated with how I spent my night.  I wasn't sure if I wanted something more eventful or if I became attached to learning things about the dream world.  We made our way back to the cabins, did a quick scan of the area, before he saw me off to sleep.  I wasn't sure if I would need any kind of preparation for the dream world.   I didn't.  I slept in a dreamless state, and without incident late into the morning.  

    The odd tension did not decrease in the morning when I awoke, in fact, the people I saw as I walked through the camp to the kitchen seemed even more on edge.   I peered into the lodge and saw Don trying, with only limited success, to maintain a volley against a half-folded ping pong table.  Karl left a plate of breakfast out for me and pointed to it without saying a word.  It was becoming customary that I would be the last one to get breakfast.  Clarence was waiting in the kitchen for me. He looked up at me expectantly when I grabbed my plate.  I took a seat next to him when I sat down to eat.   

    He didn't have any food in front of him, and he was clearly waiting there to talk to me.  “You look tired,” he casually observed.  I shrugged helplessly.  He cleared his throat and waited for direct eye contact before speaking again.  “We had someone arrive at the camp earlier this morning.  I think you might recognize the name.”  He let his words hang out in suspense.  Clarence was getting a small thrill out dramatic build up.  I waited patiently for him to continue.  “It is Harold Felter.”  My eyes widened in surprise.    

    I nearly choked on the ham that I was chewing on when he told me this.  “There is a huge buzz around camp about his arrival.  He has been spending most of his time with David, Mercedes, and Laurie.”  A momentary wave of confusion passed through me.   “What does he want with Laurie,” I asked with more of a demanding tone in my voice than I intended.  Clarence folded his hands together, presenting himself as wizened when he responded, “I think you better ask him.”  Was that a brief smirk on his face that I saw?  

    I thanked Clarence for notifying me of the recent developments. I exited the kitchen and walked into the lodge not quite certain where to find Dr. Felter.  I would have asked Clarence, but I felt that strange feeling of wanting the conversation to end the way it did.  Luck was on my side as I saw a new face sitting on a bench with Laurie talking.  He looked to be an aging man, wearing thick framed glasses, with neatly combed white hair.  He a was man who took great care to maintain his appearance.  Intellectually dominating, with a gentle presence.   

    He looked away from Laurie for a moment and waved to me.  I felt instinctively on the defensive for some reason.  I approached the two of them timidly.  The man stood up and introduced himself, “Hello Johnathan.  My name is Doctor Harold Felter.”  As I approached, I could recognize him from some of the photographs I saw in his cabin after our escape from the institution. “I see you have become close friends with my daughter.” 

    

Chapter 10: Confession 

 

    It was at moments like this, that I really wish I had taken the time or made the effort to ask Laurie what her surname was.  I needed to do the same for Clarence as well.  I was so taken aback by this information that I forgot to remind him that I prefer to be called Johnny.  “He likes to be called Johnny,” Laurie called out to him.  He stared off awkwardly, before correcting himself.  “Ah yes, Johnny.  How are you today?”  I tried to reply, but I felt a combination of revulsion and being star struck.  It was like meeting John Wayne Gacy in person.    

    “Hi Doctor Felter,” I managed to sputter out.  He cut me off to respond, “Harold is fine,” he said.  He beckoned me to sit on another vacant bench nearby.  Laurie scuttled off and joined Vicky on the porch of the lodge.   My hands were shaking when I sat next to him.  “You don't need to be nervous,” he mentioned in a placating tone.  But I was.  This was the man who masterminded Gate Travel technology, unleashed Thomas Balthazar on the world, and changed everything I knew about reality.  

    “I imagine that you have some questions for me, but please allow me to explain myself before you ask.”  I nodded in agreement, figuring this man couldn't turn the protocol of giving lectures off.  “Where to begin?”  He asked rhetorically before continuing.  His gaze focused out of reality for a moment, like he was stuck between a dream and a memory.  His cold gray eyes returned their gaze on me while I waited for him to continue.  “I suppose you read through my files at the cabin.  I have heard through the grape vine that you have been doing a fair amount of research yourself.  Not that you took the job willingly, but you did the job well nevertheless.”  Harold did not strike me as a man who knew how to give proper compliments.   

    “Many years ago, I was commissioned to study the process of teleportation of matter.  Specifically, what has been called 'Quantum Teleportation Theory.'  This of course was all very academic in nature.  I was under the impression that sending anything more than a bit, wasn't possible.” He studied my features for an expression of confusion.  He didn't have to look very hard.  “Quantum information travel was the theoretical basis.  How information is sent through things like the internet.”  He went on to explain concepts like no-cloning and no-deleting theorems.  It was more than my attention span, capacity to understand, and willingness to learn could process.  Harold did seem to be able to read his audience, even if he couldn't give proper compliments.  

    He held his finger up to indicate that he was searching for the right things to tell me and how to phrase it for a nitwit.   I politely accepted his watering down decades of theoretical physics research for me.  “I, uh...we, discovered that trying to physically relocate matter wasn't really possible.  What was possible, was that we could recreate the matter elsewhere.  Simply put, we deconstructed objects at a molecular level and rebuilt them elsewhere.   It turned out to be a process of destruction and creation, not of space and time.”  I nodded my head feeling a bit more confident in his explanations as he continued.  

    “One of the major challenges facing our research was power.  How does one acquire the power to smash apart molecules, and use a process that amounted to fission?”  I couldn't tell if he was asking rhetorically or quizzing me.  “As it turns out, by harnessing the power of the Earth's gravitational fields we could charge particles to snowball into what became known as a 'Singularity Engine.'”  Oh yeah, certainly rhetorical.  “The engine would amass power by condensing particles and forming them into the desired shape of matter.  I thought such a concept was science fiction, until I saw the research laboratory in Massachusetts.”    

    He let out a heavy sigh, then waved to Laurie who was watching us through a window while he spoke.  She waved back at him.  The sight of his daughter renewed his confidence in speaking to me.  “The chief concern with the review board was the ability to send people through gates.  The process, as we knew it, violated ethical principles.  The team and I would need to vaporize people and then reassemble them.  Ergo, no one could survive the process.  Some parties, who will remain unnamed, insisted that it would be painless, and if you don't know you are dying, then are you dying?”  

    I thought about his question for a second before he resumed talking.  “One person came forward to become the first test subject of the process of organic teleportation...” I finally felt I could contribute to the discussion.  “Thomas Balthazar,” I posited.  “Exactly,” he replied with a measure of respect.   Ah, deductive reasoning!  “I knew Thomas for many years prior to the experiments.  He worked security and kept a close eye on me.  He made an excellent watchdog for the company we worked for.  Corporate espionage was a chief concern of theirs.  Sadly, the least of our problems.”  I could see Harold's distaste for marketability interfering with scientific progress come alive quickly.  

    “Thomas wasn't supposed to be involved in any human testing, yet his curiosity must have gotten the better of him.  The higher ups would not have liked their top security man being vaporized.  He had a plan to stage his involvement to look like a rogue action.”  He looked away thoughtfully, as if trying to talk a memory out of doing something long done.  “Thomas' statement right after the first test occurred, will be cemented in my memory until I die.”  He shuddered in a way that was becoming more of the norm for myself these days.  

    “We flipped the switch, and we were all pleased to see him disappear in one gate and appear ten feet away, appearing perfectly normal.  But the words that came out of his mouth-” He shuddered far more violently.  “He said: 'I have seen thousands of worlds, I have lived a thousand lives, I spent an eternity in the world between worlds.  Here I am now, no longer the same thing you killed moments ago.'”  I gulped at the deeply prolific meaning behind what he said, and the experiences I was having with the world of dreams, memories, and traveling to other worlds.  How much time had even passed since Thomas pushed Clarence, Laurie, and me through that gate?  

    I was forced to push such thoughts from my mind.   I strongly desired to know the relevancy of such abstract concepts, as they would relate to my struggle.  Felter seemed to understand my need for a more pragmatic approach, while he continued his explanation.  “I believe that Thomas' soul was separated from his body during his reanimation process.  If such a thing truly exists.”  I think that he added the last statement to try maintaining an air of an objective scientific perspective.  “Men have tried to kill him.  He has been shot, stabbed, thrown off a building, and numerous other actions were taken that should have resulted in a gristly end.”  I wondered if he was descended from Gregori Rasputin.  

    “Where would I fit in, Doctor?” I asked, with heavy skepticism in my voice.  He looked a bit disarmed with my tone, but he rushed to reassure me.  “We expect that you will be able to find a way. That dagger that Dr. Balakrishnan gave you, your unique mental gifts, and our combined studies will make that way happen.  You need to have faith, Johnny.  And you need to find it as quickly as possible.”  He looked like he wanted to give me a reassuring pat, but his adherence to professionalism wouldn’t permit such frivolous contact.  

    So, it was me, an abnormal thought pattern assemblage, and a mystical knife dug out of some hole in the Ural Mountains, against a supernatural abomination.  Hopes were not set skyward.  “Johnny, don't try to fight Thomas with a combat mentality, like some here might hope you will.  Just strike when the time is right.  I have spent a lifetime pushing aside what was right to gain the most efficient results.  Progress should be an eventuality, not something forced.”  Harold's pontification held some merit in my eyes, and I certainly needed the boost.    

    “I am going to see if there is anything left in the kitchen,” he added whimsically.  Then he doddered off toward the kitchen.  I remained on the bench in a semi stunned silence, barely noticing that Laurie had resumed his place next to me.  She leaned into my field of vision with an apologetic look on her face before she spoke.  “I am sorry that I didn't tell you that he is my father.  I just wanted to get us to safety and leave all the explanations to the professional.”  Her emerald eyes sparked in amusement by referring to her father as “the professional.”  However, I vigorously wanted to protest such a deception.  It seemed like a huge detail to omit during our journey, especially with all the time we shared for her to tell me.   

    “I still think you should have told me,” I shot back with venomous spite.  Her face dropped and I could tell she was visibly wounded by my tone.  I had never spoken to her that way, but I hated feeling pushed around and like I was the last to know everything.  “To be fair, you never asked my last name.”  She said and followed it with a warm smile.  I couldn't tell if that made me more annoyed or less annoyed because I had thought that seconds after I found out.  “You got me there,” I admitted, trying to both let my own feelings settle, and smooth over lashing out at her.  I think she accepted the olive branch, or at least, I hoped she did.  

    I was in the process of trying to map out a line of questioning about her connection to me.  Did she follow me out of the mental institution as part of a larger scheme?  Before I could burst into a full inquisition, Dayton and Ralph approached us and offered her an escape route.  “Hey Johnny,” Dayton said, gleefully, changing the mood.  I shook off the creeping paranoia and greeted him back.  “Ralph and I are digging some pits to slow down any approaching vehicles.  We could use a good pair of hands out there.”  An invitation for grunt labor wasn't the most appetizing way to give Laurie a break, but I am sure she wanted to catch up with her father.  Searching for meaning in my own adventure would have to wait for the time being.  Laurie offered me a warm hug before we split company.  It eased the doubt and fear.  It also drew a chorus of “Ooohhh's” from Ralph and Dayton.  

    Ralph, Dayton and I worked through the morning plotting out major entry points for the camp to lay traps with Tuesday approaching.  It was a grueling day of labor in the hot sun, but the time flew by.  Ralph and Dayton took turns keeping the mood lively with exchanges of jokes, almost none of which I had heard before.  It was almost difficult to work at points, when you are doubled over laughing nearly 4 times an hour.  Despite the jovial appearance, the mood undercurrent remained ominous, uncertain, and unrestful.    

    The late afternoon I spent with Clarence reviewing some of what he discovered about Gate Travel.  He noted that the reason for disintegrating the person was that; existing in two separate places was impossible.   He also explained that by existing after Gate Travel, we were essentially clones whose souls were always trying to wander back to them.  More or less, this was the condition of all of the yellow-eyed people.   They were animated bodies, with their souls chasing them around the world, trying to reassemble a person that was no more.  It was a long explanation that Clarence gave, and it involved a series of different learning tools, including a French fry and ketchup that he ripped in half.  I suck at visual learning aids, and I just wanted to eat the fry.  

    “Mercedes has gotten the last of the translations from Jamal.  I guess there is a delay around home.”  I gave him a puzzled look.  “What could people find more important?” I asked blind to my own ignorance.  Clarence gave a sigh that I expected he gave when talking to uniformed white people.  “It's not like in our neighborhood; we have a biweekly meeting of what to do if demons attack.  This stuff takes time, and the right people talking.”  I conceded to his point.  He changed the subject back to Jamal.  “There is a prophecy written in the sacred texts about one who can undo all the harm done in this world through a single moment of truth.  'A true act of contrition,' he said.  I don't know exactly what he meant, but it seems to be the key to solving the crisis that we are locked in.” Clarence gave me a minute to think about it.  A true act of contrition?  I was trying to scan my brain for moments of unforgivable guilt.  To ascertain something about myself, that would hold the key.  Anything.  

    Nothing immediately jumped out at me, but a tingling sense, at the base of my neck washed over me suddenly.  It was a feeling of knowing but not born of conscious thought.  I felt like it was a case of my brain outsmarting me (or vice versa.)  Clarence continued to nibble on fries, half expecting me to bolt up in a revelation.  He broke the silence.  “They've got you sleeping up in the loft of the lodge.  Some people will be below you, keeping you in some kind of 'dream stasis.'  Don't ask, because I couldn't tell you what it means.  Monica says it's complicated.  I think she said she can tell you more.”  I thought for a moment and offered a connection between the dreams and the concept of souls seeking their own bodies.  He liked my ideas or at least entertained them while he finished up his snack.  I asked why Monica didn't tell me herself.  “I think she likes me more,” Clarence concluded with a sly grin.   

    Clarence and I parted company with pleasant goodbyes.  I walked to the interior of the lodge to get a better look at the loft.  I saw Laurie standing in one of the doorways leading to the back office.  She seemed to be in mid conversation and didn't notice me.  As I approached her, I could see the interior of the office she was standing on the edge of.  Apparently, her father had set up a small desk which was already littered with piles of folders and documents.  He nodded and smiled, then immediately returned to scanning pages and pages of notes.  Laurie ushered me away from the office and toward the lake.  I suspected that she wanted me to feel confident that smarter people were on the job.  At least I didn't feel belittled by that fact.   

    Laurie and I walked up toward the rock that overlooked the lake by the arts and crafts lodge.  We exchanged a few pleasant looks.  Before we got there, I swore that I heard sobbing or some kind of loud emotional reaction coming from our destination.  Laurie grabbed my right hand with both of hers.   Her body language and sharp stare gave me a sense of urgency.  Her voice became a hushed whisper.  “I think Vicky said she would be here, and that sounds like her.  Just listen to what is going on.  Vicky is one of those types who open when you don't ask her anything.  The second you pry; she clams right up.”   I nodded to show I understood.  I still wasn't sure how I would open a dialogue.  Thoughts of me coming around the corner and proclaiming: “Hark!  Is that the sound of distress I hear?  Tell me what troubles you, M'lady!”    

    Laurie noticed my visible discomfort at the prospect of intelligence gathering.  She resumed her low pitch whisper, “Just act like you're looking for me.  I'll be around when you finish talking to her.  Just remember, act natural.”  I sighed, then tried to puff out my chest to look confident.  I must have looked ridiculous.  Laurie trotted off down the hill, and I walked over to the rock.  I had to increase my pace as my initial approach was that of a poorly trained ninja trying to sneak up on someone.  My arms were even stuck out to my mid sides, like that actually does anything to reduce noise or obscure view.  I straightened up and walked right into her view.  

    Vicky wasn't sobbing loudly as I approached, but her chestnut brown hair was hung in front of her face to conceal her puffy red eyes and tear splattered cheeks.  She turned and looked up at me, and I heard one of those laughs that people make when they shift right from crying to laughing.  I think she saw through the whole charade before I even could see her.  I struggled to think of a good opener.  I nervously greeter her with, “Hi.  It is a nice morning out there!”  Nailed it... Wait! it was late afternoon.  Hopeless.  Her earlier laugh was now followed by a cascade of laughter at my bumbling attempt to approach her casually.  

    She wiped her face on the side of her shirt.  It took her a moment to gain her composure.  I think my awkwardness was more effective than tact and a clever opener.  I sat nearby on the rock.  She broke the silence and began, “I guess Laurie sent you here to figure out what is going on.”  I tried to think of a way out of answering.  “I was just talking to her but-” I mumbled with uncertainty.  “It's OK Johnny.  Honestly, I don't know you at all.  That makes you safer to talk to, because I feel like you can keep the information safer.”  I wasn't sure that I knew what she meant.  “Just don't tell Laurie exactly what I tell you.”  My heart sank.  I didn't want to lie to Laurie, but I couldn't tell Vicky No. “OK,” I said in a gruff tone.  

    Vicky took a moment to stare off into the dirt below her feet and chart what she wanted to tell me.  She drew in a sharp inhale and began to speak in a rapid but perfectly coherent voice.  “When I first got here, I knew that the circumstances of our gathering were super unusual.  Everyone was nervous and worried about some kind of monster invasion.  I asked David time and time again to fill me in on the specifics, but he didn't want to get me worried.  He acts very protective of me sometimes.  Well, I did what I do when I want to know, but no one will tell me...I snoop around.  I followed him into his cabin and listened to his phone calls and would look through his desks.  He keeps a key on the backside of a bird box just outside his back porch.”  That is handy info.  “Oh, wow, is everything OK?” I asked innocently, now more interested in getting the information for myself.  “Yeah.  Well, no.”  

    Vicky ran her long nails through her hair and pulled out some tangled clumps of hair before she looked over at me.  “David has been calling Dr. Felter and some other people on the phone in an effort to understand his situation.  The word has been, near as I can tell, to stay put and not to go nuts.  David wants to play soldier, have a pitched battle, and maybe die like a hero.”  This wasn't any new information to me.   Vicky presented more surprise at this, because it appeared to contradict the David McCallister that she had known for years.  Given my own feelings of the situation, I couldn't argue that he was doing was what many men would do.  “I was thinking just the same thing,” I offered her in earnest.  She bounced her curly hair up and down vehemently in agreement.  

    “From what I have heard, Thomas can just teleport into the camp, whenever, and wherever he wants.  Laurie's father even said that these entities feed off human misery and strife.  The more the camp gets consumed with fear, the greater their presence here becomes.”  The sighting of the mass squirrel gathering confirmed this.  “Would you like me to talk to David?” I asked, trying to be of some kind of help.  “I don't know if it will help, but you can sure try.  Please, just don't mention this conversation.”  I shot her a serious look that indicated my commitment to keeping her name out of it.  “And don't tell Laurie that I am having doubts about David.  She really looks up to him, and I don't want to cast doubt on him.”  I nodded again.  “So is the general vibe here the reason you were crying?” I asked rather bluntly.  

    “Yeah...” She started to say, but there was more behind it.  “...I just want to feel safe around the people I grew up knowing and not feel like there is an enemy outside and an enemy within.  We have enough on our plate.”  I know what she meant.  “I know what you mean,” I added, externalizing my inner monologue.  “David was talking to someone about simply giving you up.  Just sending you out to Thomas to save the rest of the camp the trouble.  Unfortunately, Thomas is not known for keeping his word, and he got talked out it.”  I gulped deeply.  I felt a bit surprised and cast out.  Vicky patted my knee reassuringly, and it set my mind at ease a bit.  “I think, if you can watch David, you should.”  Vicky added the tone of a schoolteacher who assigned important homework.  

    “I don't know you very well Johnny, but I feel like you aren't meant for all of this violence and battle.  Just do what you have to when the moment seems right.”  There it was again.  That penultimate moment of climax where I would make a simple decision that would magically fix everything wrong with the world.  Maybe that's how they should be, but I had always imagined them as a long and uphill road that was the culmination of endless work.  It was probably the Protestant work ethic instilled in the deepest core of our society.  “I will try my best,” I added hopefully.  “When the time comes Johnny, you won't have to.”  She replied with her countenance fully rejuvenated.  That gave me some hope.    

    Vicky excused herself to go check on the lilacs, while I continued to sit on the rock and mull over what she had told me.   I listened to some birds' chirp, and I found their melody sounded like The Allman Brother's, “Rambling Man.”  I figured I would tell Laurie that she was just worried about the state of the camp.  As for my intentions to spy on David, that would remain between me and Vicky.  I am sure that is what she wanted.  I hummed along the tune, or at least what my mind made out to be the tune of the song.  I considered the best time of day to sneak over to David's cabin.  I think that he would spend his time there while he assigned work tasks to his underlings.  My opinion of him seemed to continue to change at the drop of a hat.   

    While trying to formulate my plan, I could hear the crunch of leaves and twigs as Laurie appeared around the corner.  Oh yeah, Vicky heard me coming.  “Hi, Laurie,” I greeted as warmly as I could.  She could immediately read my expression and knew that I was trying to put together what my next course of action should be.  “So?” She asked expectantly.  “Sewing is for circles.”  I added an enthusiastic waggle of my pointer finger.  I don't think she shared my love for puns and rolled her eyes as punishment for my terrible sense of humor.  “Well?”  She asked, just as expectantly.  “Wells, are for fetching water!”  I responded, hardly containing my laughter.  She marched over to me with her fist cocked back, clearly tired of my game.  

    “OK, OK!  She is just worried about the state of the camp.  She doesn't like seeing everyone so on edge.”  I told her, feeling confident in my deception.  She stared right into my eyes, and I felt my vision going out of focus.  “What else?”  She countered.  This was not news to her, and she wanted to hear what Vicky was planning to discover, or what she knew.  “I am not good at finding out such things, Laurie,” I protested, feeling a bit convinced of my own ignorance.  “That is why I asked you to do such a thing.  Vicky is hard as hell to interrogate, which is why I chose, a... uh, special guy, like you.”  The thought of interrogating her friend made me feel like a pawn, and an incompetent one at that.  “I am flattered.”  Her eyes narrowed, “stuff it.”  This matter was clearly of great importance.  I tried to reconcile the truth with a version that made little difference to helping Vicky.  

    We hopped off the rock and began walking down the path together while we continued our conversation.  “Did she ask about David?”  Laurie asked, eager to get to the point she felt strongest about.  I wasn't sure how to answer, but my hesitation must have confirmed some suspicion.  “Don't play spy games around here Johnny.  It is a good way to piss everyone off and be trusted by no one.”  She let that warning hang in the air before she stopped and used warm eye contact to break the tension.  “I told you before, it isn't my thing.  I rarely went out before this whole...thing happened.   I just want to make sure everyone is managing fine,” I replied in a tone more sincere than I meant it to be.  She brightened up a bit more at me.  “And it will.  Just trust that you will have you to, for the moment, Johnny.  Just like my dad said, he is a smart guy.”  She didn't have to convince me too hard of that; I saw the man's meticulous notes.  

    I noticed that the strides in our walk matched rhythm.  What an odd thing to notice, I wondered to myself.  I thought I heard her chuckle at my thoughts, but nothing was beyond my ability to believe it at this point.  She broke the silence with some leisurely talk.  “I hear there is a monster or a monstrous fish that lives at the bottom of that lake.”  I scratched my chin skeptically, before replying.  “I assume the bad campers are sent down as human sacrifices.”  She giggled at the absurdity of it all now.  She shoved me playfully and told me, “It scared me.”  I made a fish face with my lips and suction sounds that sounded (or what I believe) sounded ferocious.  It earned me another well-deserved shove.  She continued her odd anecdote, “It totally scared Vicky.  She thought every time that she had a crush on a boy, the monster would get her.  Her foster parents are Catholic, so you know.”  It all seemed plausible to the Catholic rhetoric.  The thought of Vicky looking so distraught a few moments ago stole all the amusement from my thoughts, however.   

    As we closed in toward the lodge, the sight of Dayton talking to Ralph caught my attention.  Ralph held a tool bag in hand, one of his feet was planted like he was listening to something he had an obligation to continue hearing, and the other foot looked hell bent on trotting off to work.  Dayton was scratching his back on a large wooden support beam as they talked, with a relaxed look on his face.  I thought Dayton resembled a bear in the woods trying to gratify an itch that its claws couldn't get to.   Dayton looked away from the conversation and waved us over to him.  Ralph saw this as an opportunity to declare that David needed some work done on his own cabin.   I could hear Ralph's voice trail off, “just as soon as I am done with this job for David, I would happily look into it.”  Work done with David's cabin, you say.  Intriguing. Ralph bounded off without saying hi or bye to us.  

    “Johnny and Laurie, the camp's most adorable couple,” Dayton greeted with twinkling eyes.  I watched Laurie's pale skin go lobster red with embarrassment.  It could have been the increased exposure to sunlight though.  “Hi Dayton.  How are things?”  I asked out of a commitment to make small talk.  Dayton immediately began doing a robot impression in arm motions and in vocal pattern replied, “I am fine, thank you for asking Johnny.”  My face wrinkled in confusion.  He let out a loud belly laugh at my puzzled expression.   I turned to Laurie for her reaction, to see her hand covering her face, in a vain effort to keep her smile out of view.  Dayton's laughter died down after a moment, and he spoke.  “Come take a walk by the lake.   Laurie you are welcome to join us.”  She declined but I followed Dayton toward the lake.  He straightened and looked far more serious when we were out of view of the occasional person straggling around the lodge.   

    Once we were out of view or earshot of anyone, nearby a reed patch he gestured that it was time to talk.  “Listen, we gotta go on a supply run.   I know that they have a stocked freezer and dry goods room here, but I just want to get an idea of what is out there.  Besides, there are a few snacks I can't live without.”  He gave a wink as he cradled his protruding belly.  “I didn't know if it would be such a good idea to leave, with Thomas coming and all.” I conjectured.  He turned his head as if a foul odor had blown his way.  Dayton did not seem to be the type to suffer obsequious people.  To seem a little bolder I offered, “maybe if we just let David know, it'll be fine.”  Dayton shook his head in dismay.  “Tell Laurie if you wanna tell anyone, even invite her if you want” Dayton said to appear less shady.   I considered his proposition for a minute, and couldn't fault it on ethical grounds, just safety in numbers.  “How far off is this place you want to go?”  I asked, finding myself more intrigued by breaking up the routine here.  

    Dayton grinned, clearly finding the opening he was looking for.  “It is about 30 miles on the other side of the mountain.  It is a one-location superstore, with an attached amusement park.  I thought it would be fun.”  I felt self-conscious about the thought of going on rides or even facing the forces of evil on a crappy makeshift rollercoaster, but it was strangely appealing.  Bugs were beginning to land on me relentlessly.   I swatted at them ineffectively.  Screw it.  “Let's do it.”  Dayton clapped me on the back a little more roughly than I would have liked, but it was still a good feeling, nevertheless.  “OK my man, here is what we are going to do:  First, meet outside my cabin.  Monica will be there too.  We are going to skip diner tonight, and head up to where my car is parked.  We will drive over to the store and should be there in time for a night of good times.  Once we get bored, we can make our way back to camp around bedtime.”  I gave him two enthusiastic thumbs up at his plan.  He let out another one of his belly laughs and walked back toward the lodge.       

    Laurie exited from inside the lodge and walked straight for me.  Dayton branched off and walked off seemingly randomly toward an indistinct bush.  “What's up?” She demanded in a somewhat paternalistic tone.  “He did invite you to talk with us,” I responded without considering my words.  “I didn't want to be your plus one.” She said in a menacing tone.  “Well...” And I explained to her the situation with Dayton and the plan for a night on the town.  I may have added a bit of hyperbole in my story about Dayton's invitation extending to her.  Using words phrases such as “we need her” and “wouldn't be a good time without her.”  I think she might have seen past my ruse but didn't bother calling me out on it.  Her perspective seemed more conflicted.  I could tell she didn't want to stir the pot, when it came to security here.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dayton pretending to examine one of the leaves on the bush with grossly exaggerated interest.    

    Laurie did make a few good points, however.  She said, “What happens if the camp is looking for you at bedtime, what about preparations to sleep in the lodge, or if you are on patrol again, or if we are somehow delayed?”  The best thing I could do was offer her a blanket assurance.  “We will be fine.  We have made it through so much worse.”  I suddenly felt like I was foreshadowing a terrible occurrence.  Was that a crow overhead cackling at me?  But, on the other hand, I was looking forward to cotton candy and cheesy carnival games.  Laurie grimaced a bit, then agreed to go out on the town with us.  I nodded over at Dayton, who forsook any pretense of botany and grinned at me.  I wasn't even sure if we were even violating some kind of protocol.  Maybe it felt that way because of the clandestine approach Dayton took, the fact that no one else had been leaving for any reason, or the fact that it did seem like a needless risk.  Either way, it was decided.   

    Time seemed to crawl by slowly, while we waited for our diner escape time.  Laurie and I passed time in the cabin.  She and I were sitting on our respective beds.  “I have been thinking about our relationship,” she offhandedly mentioned.  The sound her voice made caused my stomach to flutter.  I tried to reply but felt compelled to remain silent by some unseen social cue.  “What have you been thinking about?” The question popped out of my mouth seconds later.  “I have been wondering if we would make a good couple.”  I suddenly felt unprepared.  The sensation of uncertainty and genuine interest in Laurie filled me with a squirming feeling in my stomach.  “Oh,” was all that I could manage as a reply.  Her eyes suddenly became intense and filled with anger.  I watched the blood climb onto her face and shrunk down in embarrassment.  I thought she was going to explode on me, but instead she softly smiled.    

    The remainder of the time we spent in the cabin was planning for any kind of supernatural foes we might encounter.  I kind of wanted to bring the knife given to me by Dr. Sprinkles.  I took it out of the wrapped package it was in. It was a bundle of newspaper comics covering it, with clear tape wrapped around certain parts.  It took me a minute to get it open, and I placed the papers on the bed next to me.  When I removed the packaging, I discovered a short sword.  It was a 10-inch blade, and a 6-inch curved handle.  The handle's pommel was that of an eagle head with a sparkling ruby in the bird's mouth.  The sight of the ruby sent a strong tingle up my spine.    

    I wrapped the knife in the pillowcase from the bed.  I tucked the knife away into my backpack.  I was deeply concerned that the knife might jab me, so I wrapped up with an emergency change of clothes.  While Laurie was packing, I swore that I heard her sigh.  It looked like she was still summoning the resolve to go through with this plan.  I think she had a bad feeling about it, but a good feeling about how excited I was getting.  I kind of figured it would be nice to change things up and give me less of the feeling of being in a military camp.  We made our way to the car, even trying to be a bit light footed about it.  People saw us walking together to the exit, but we just waved as if we were going about our business.  Most of the people were heading to the lodge for dinner, so I expected our absence would be quickly noticed.    

    We made our way up to the parking area and there was quite a little group there.   Dayton was standing next to Clarence, while chatting excitedly.   Monica and Mercedes were also there.  Mercedes held up her cellphone in the air in futility.   I kind of figured there was no coverage here.  The daunting task of 6 people piling into one Cadillac seemed uncomfortable and cramped, but given the smaller frames of Mercedes and Monica, it appeared manageable.  We piled into the car slowly, with the women and me in the back.  Clarence rode up front with Dayton.  Laurie sat on the left of me, with Monica, and Mercedes on Laurie's left.  Dayton boldly announced, “Onward!” as he started up the car and peeled out.  The jerking motion of the car almost created a human pile with me squishing three women.  Laurie held onto me to brace for the shaking of the vehicle.  It felt nice.  

    I tried my best to hide the gasp on my face when I felt her arms slide around me.  The combination of danger and sex appeal were palpable.  I think Mercedes was smiling at me.  It came off like a wolfish grin, but my vision was blurred from the car's jerking.  The car pulled out and followed the course back up the curvy and meandering road that led to camp.  It almost felt funny being inside a car again.  The windows were rolled down and a fresh warm breeze wrapped around us.  The car jostled and bounced playfully as we reached the main road.  Something about being on the road again just seemed nice.  

    Once we left camp, there was a certain weight or encumbrance that faded when we started down the main road.  Dayton enthusiastically thundered, “it is GOOD to finally get out,” in his deep booming voice.  Monica spun back on the passengers in the back seats and performed vigorous jazz hands.  I couldn't help but tip my head down with a huge grin on my face.  There was a moment of euphoric silence that filled the car right afterwards.  Dayton cleared the silence again by engaging us in a fascinating conversation about how human beings are aliens on our planet.  I was astounded, Laurie kept looking for an opportunity to interject, Mercedes softly groaned, Clarence chuckled, and I couldn't quite see Monica's reaction from where I was seated.    

    Dayton's voice took on, what resembled, a scholarly tone as he spoke about our term on this planet, as a prison term.  “You see, we were cast out of home world galaxies many years ago.  We are trapped on a loop in this planet for things we have done in our home galaxies.”  I wanted to argue against him, but the fact that his beliefs were non-falsifiable really sucked the wind out of my sails.  I very quietly mumbled under my breath, “the burden of proof is on you.”  Laurie seemed to share my desire to challenge his beliefs but was more vocal about it.  “What makes you so certain?”  She asked, while narrowing her eyes.  “I know.  I have it on good authority.”  Dayton's voice carried such certainty and pathos, that no one felt it wise to argue with him.  As we drove past the higher elevation of one of the mountains, I could faintly recall the spot where we saw the pterodactyl, and I felt that maybe I should have given Dayton's own wacky ideas more credit.  Laurie's words echoed in my mind about not paying the pterodactyl attention.  

    Dayton stopped his lecture for a bit, and we listened to the ambient sounds of the road as we made the rest of the drive to our destination.   As we curved around one of the lower elevation areas of the mountains, I noticed a brightly colored cluster of lights at the base of the mountain.  I was certain this was our destination, then Dayton confirmed it.  We sped down the mountain road while chatting excitedly about our destination.  I was rambling about how certain games are rigged at places like that, and how to avoid the crooked ones.  Mercedes expressed interest in seeing a haunted house or scary ride of some kind.  “The interest that people have in scaring one another fascinates me,” she said to explain her interests.  Monica contended, “I think you just like the thrill!”  She used a voice of mock accusation that gave Clarence a good laugh.  Laurie had her gaze cast downward, clearly anxious about whatever lay in front of us.  I did my best to ignore that feeling.  

    The Cadillac made its way into the brightly colored parking lot of what looked like a large major outlet store that was sold to a local company.  The sign outside was written in Old West stylized letters said: Wild Billy's Market.  Inside the perimeter of the parking area were tents, several rides that looked small and rickety, several small buildings, large carnival tents, and modest sized crowds of people walking around excitedly.  Dayton found a spot that was a good distance from most other cars.  “Welcome to Wild Billy's Market,” Dayton loudly pointed out in a mock cowboy accent.  It made Laurie smile a bit at least.  We piled out of the car and into the cool summer night.   The smells of food, the occasional shout from a megaphone, the lights all around, and the sounds of creaky metal rides all assaulted my senses at once.     

    The group made our way across the parking lot and into the parking lot.  According to the sign in front of the market, the store itself was closed.  Mercedes appeared by Clarence's side and began whispering to him.  “Mercedes and I are going to check that tent out,” Clarence announced, which was the only audible part of conversation.  He pointed toward a tent that read, “Selena the Mystic: Palm readings, fortune telling, and divination.”  Dayton pointed over to a large building that looked intentionally defaced.  “I bet something spoooooky is inside,” Dayton said while widening his eyes to look comically surprised.  Monica looked up at him and defiantly called out, “I'm in.” Dayton slapped a small wad of cash in my hand.  His face said, “have fun you two!” Though he said nothing.  We waved both couples off.   Laurie and I walked around kind of aimlessly, yet I'll admit, I was trying to steer her toward the games area.  She seemed even more preoccupied, since our group had split up.    

    She seemed to abandon trying to contain the situation as more mentally palatable and walked with me toward a row of games tents.  I looked over at a nearby ring toss booth.   I carefully studied the size of the rings and compared them to the wide mouth bottles they were supposed to be thrown on.  The necks of the bottles were just a bit thinner than the mouth, so I was sure it would look much easier than it was.  “What do you think?”  Laurie asked, and my attention turned slowly toward her.  “I think it isn't impossible to make the toss, but it is way harder than it looks,” I added, feeling very worldly and crafty.  “I bet I can make it,” Laurie challenged, daring to allow herself to have a bit of fun.  A man with long bright red hair and an old trilby hat on his head, greeted us exuberantly.   “Step right up, my friends.  Toss a ring on the bottle and win a prize!”  He had a bright red handle-bar mustache that playfully twitched as he spoke.  I slapped three dollars on the table, and the mustached man placed three rings on the counter.   

    I gestured for Laurie to pick them up with a phony smile of cordiality.  She returned my look with a broad, yet sarcastic smile on her face.  Laurie tossed the first ring onto the bottle, and it ricocheted off the mouth of the bottle.  As expected, she tried another, with a higher arc, but it sailed tragically over the bottle.  She appeared to be a bit miffed after the second ring.  She launched the third ring at the bottle, and it bounced off the bottle and hit the mustached man in the arm.  He must have thought this was hilarious.  He turned beet red, as he tried to suppress hysterical laughter, and choked out the words, “Try again miss?”  Laurie grumbled and we moved on to another gaming booth.    

    I saw a basketball toss game, but I also knew that they adjusted the net and rim width to make those exceedingly difficult.  I did see one of those games where a person fills a clown's mouth with water to pop a balloon.  Those are fair, assuming the folks running it haven't planted someone in front of the quickest balloon to fill.  Sometimes those are a waiting game; for when the person who keeps winning, ducks out.  Still, I thought we could at least have a chance.  Or get irritated together.  Knowingly playing rigged games is fun, if you know you are playing to lose.  We walked over toward the clown game.   

    There were four other people posted up in front of the spray game.  The area above the clown balloons was covered in stuffed animals of various sizes.  I paid the corpulent bearded man behind the counter, and he grunted for me to stand in front of my clown.  Laurie hung off, just to my right, examining the spray gun, and wiggling it around to test its mobility.  I did the same.  I noticed the person on the left most position was a child of about 12.  He had long blonde hair and backwards baseball cap on.  I immediately had him pegged as the plant.  I told myself we had a chance, but the nervous smile on Laurie's face shut that down for some reason.    

    The bell rang and we began spraying.  My attempt at filling the balloon began well but degenerated when I lost aim to focus on the boy I figured was the winner.  His blue balloon popped first.  I wasn't even close, but Laurie could have won had the game been fair.  I knew what I was getting myself into, but I suddenly became heavily irritated on her behalf.  The child began celebrating; what I came to believe was a rehearsed dance number.  Laurie looked disappointed that she lost, but smiled when she saw the excited child.   It took every ounce of my being, my very fiber, to shut up about it.  The bearded man presented the “contestant” with a small fuzzy rabbit.   He skipped off and said, “I can't wait to tell mommy.”  I swear when he scurried off, he turned his head and looked right at me.  I suspected he was just trying to evaluate how his con went over.  The chills that followed up my spine quickly turned suspicion into fear.  Did his eyes flash yellow ever so briefly? 

    This seemed like the optimal chance to snag the most pressured water sprayer, yet something disturbingly dark was moving within me.  Laurie seemed to immediately recognize the look, took me by the arm, and we walked toward the area where several food carts were parked into a pair of long rows.  The smell of food brought my anxiety level down, but not much.  Something was wrong here, and it wasn't the games alone.  Though, I had to admit, this place was kind of greasy.  Speaking of greasy; I spotted some fried dough on one of the carts.    

    “I am going to grab some fried dough.  Would you like some?”  I asked somewhat hopefully and somewhat politely.  She shook her head no but agreed to wait in the line with me.  It took a few moments to get to the counter.  In that time, I made the mistake of looking around at some of the random folk at this place.  Everyone looked tired, angry, or just drunk.  It was as if no one wanted to be here but were out of some strange obligatory force.  An old man with a huge pink foam top hat gave me a huge toothless grin, but other than that, most people averted their eyes from me.  I looked to Laurie before placing my order and asked, “Do you think there is something strange about this place?”  Laurie shot me a look that said, “You are the one who wanted to come here!”  At least the dough was decent and not overpriced.    

    We continued to wander around the food area, Laurie looked at a couple carts but declined to eat, while I stuffed my face with fried dough.  I would like to tell you that I am a pretty suave guy, but the fact that Laurie had to point out the splotches of confectioner sugar on my face says otherwise.  “Let's go look around for the others,” she recommended, which revealed her discomfort further.  We made our way toward the large, haunted house attraction.   I could hear the voice with the megaphone a bit more clearly since we got there.  His amplified voice warned any passerby that haunted doom awaits within, and that the ghosts of gristly medical experiments still haunted the old facility.  The building looked more like an unused garage for larger vehicles to me.  I couldn't see Dayton or Monica outside, so I figured they were still there.    

    We approached the entrance of the building and the man with the microphone; I could see Clarence in my periphery.  He stood by Mercedes and held his hand up to get my attention.  We quickly joined forces.  Mercedes looked disappointed.  She said something like; “a quality seer wouldn't have asked so many questions.”   At a ticket price of $20, I would have expected the fortune teller to tell you that you like blue, because you were wearing it.   Then again, at 20 grand, you would probably get the same thing, except with maybe a laser light show to follow with it.  Clarence asked about the games.  I bit my tongue instead of answering, “rigged as hell.”  Laurie chimed in and told him that they were, “fun.”  I had more fun figuring out the angles they were playing.    

    Clarence looked over at the haunted garage (or whatever it was) with a slight smirk, said, “who is ready for the creep show?”  I thought the scariest thing of all would be waking back up in the mental institution.  Now that gave me the creeps.  Mercedes let out a mock “Eep!” Laurie grabbed my arm and pretended to latch onto it for security.  I hate to admit it people, but it felt incredibly good to feel her hands wrap around my upper forearm.  It sent a warm surge of energy to my center.  I felt that way numerous times, before when she touched me, yet I only chose to notice it now.   

    The feeling of warmth, although inviting at first, became extremely uncomfortable.  I tried to tug my arm free of her grasp.  I couldn’t bring myself to look at her, but the feeling of tugging became an inexorable force stretching my body in a strange and painful way.  I could only tell you that I felt like I was being sucked into a vortex of some kind while my muscles were painfully still, preventing me from getting a good look at the phenomenon, pulling me in, against my will.  My vision briefly went black before I could finally break free of the odd grip of reality.  I could feel my mind moving like I was traveling through a dream yet again.   

 

    I awoke with a splitting headache in a padded room.  The drugs had run their course, and I was awake to the bland reality that I was almost certain I escaped.  I groaned in disgust at the harnesses, locking my arms and legs in place.  I wanted to pass back out to block the pain of a roaring headache that made the light in the room almost completely intolerable.  I took the time to check my hand for the traces of the scar that the awesome ruby left.  There were none.  I swore this must be reality, because in no dream could my head possibly hurt this much.     

    After several moments of mental masturbation, the door finally creaked open.  Another doctor that I almost didn't recognize entered.  I suddenly had a flash of memory that I wasn't even sure I consciously recalled.  It was Dr. Lloyd, some kind of psychotherapist working for the institution that I was staying in. Dr. Lloyd stepped into the light, and with an aura of methodical impassivity, waited for me to stir.  “Hello Johnny,” was the bland introduction I received.  “Since you have been acting extremely violently during groups and my meetings with you, I am afraid...,” he began before I cut him off.     

    “Violent?”  I asked in an innocent tone heavily laden with grogginess and a pounding headache.   The doctor gave me a piercing stare and replied; “You tried to bludgeon me to death with the Newton’s Cradle on my desk.”  I gave a helplessly confused look at him.  I didn’t recall that incident, or seeing him outside some survivalist camp, or what a Newton’s Cradle even was.    “Johnny, we have been increasing your meds, but these outbursts continue happening, so I have had to resort to serious measures.  You must understand WHY you are here and take inventory and accountability for your actions.”  Ohhh yeah, Newton’s Cradles are those little things where the marbles are attached to strings, and you pull one end, and they clack the outer most marbles.     

    The doctor looked exasperated and mumbled something about this happening over and again.  “I am going to show you a photograph of the person you killed during a psychotic episode, and I need, no. Beg; you to put the pieces back together.”   The doctor walked closer with a folded-up piece of paper.  As he did so, the headache that became a marching band in my temples grew to car bomb proportions.  Something told me not to look, to close my eyes.  There it was...   

    It was a picture of that ass, Thomas Balthazaar!  I dry heaved, but there was virtually nothing to regurgitate besides bile.  “That... is the bastard who set me up!”  I cried in defiance.  The outburst cost me dearly as the headache reached a powerful crescendo.  The doctor made a sharp sigh then said, “Johnny, this man, was your father.” He started, while the room was getting foggy again. “It was the Fourth of July party, and you stabbed your father right in the heart with a kitchen knife.”  I spent the fourth with my mother alone.  This was the worst hose job I had ever gotten, and this institution was in on it.  Something about fabricating a new reality to make this pile of crap more palatable, I guess.   

    To be fair, my last name is Balthazar.  I insist that it was actually an error to assume that Thomas and I were related somehow.  You know how two people say, “This is Johnson, and this is Johnson...no relation:” Well, that was the case here.  Dr. Lloyd was still trying to explain calmly that I had never left the mental institution this whole time.  That I keep claiming that I have been having these awful dreams in which I leave and go on magical adventures against demonic forces.  He thought they were kind of amusing at first but sad given that bloodshed was the result of my inability to cope with reality.  And that is the reality: 

 

I am Johnny Balthazar. 

 

Chapter 11: Phantasms 

 

    I did my best to push out this false narrative.  How did I know that it was false?  Because I was too afraid that it was true.  Things that I find that I want desperately to be true or terrify me that they are true, tend to be the most illusory things of all.  The trouble is...I could be doing that to myself right now.  The doctor offered me a patriarchal pat on my restrained shoulder.  The only place or time he felt safe touching me.  Just because my name is Balthazar, it does not make me guilty of patricide.  I did avoid revealing the connection out of a desire to create suspense.  What can I say?  I have a penchant for the dramatic. 

    After several more minutes of exposition, he continued to tell his version of the events of my life, but the words dulled out.  The more he spoke, the more his words became more mundane and less of a huge personal reveal, the further I felt my mind escaping the cage that I was in. I could hear the voice of Monica just at the periphery of my consciousness.  There were words that were gradually becoming more comprehensible which she was speaking to me.  I used all my energy to focus on her and not to let the medications suck my mind further into darkness.  “Wake up Johnny,” I could hear her say, and the blood rushed to my head slowly at first.  The blood gradually poured upward into my brain.  It was like waking up in the strangest way possible.  

    It was as if someone threw a bucket of ice water onto me while sleeping, all happening in slow motion.  The mind is aware that the ice water is shocking the system, but the eyes have not fully opened.  The ability to form a conscious thought is not present, but the shapes and colors of the world around me began to fade into view.  The picture and audio get crisper slowly, but the whole time the rudeness of awakening of ice water carried with me at a speed that made the whole process seem like an eternity.  I don't think I have enough good similes, metaphors, and analogies to describe the whole thing correctly. 

 

    That is what it felt like to get awakened for yet another time.  I was on the ground of the carnival, and Dayton, Clarence, and Monica were all staring at me with shared looks of terror.  While it felt good to see them again, I was beginning to feel shameful in the way in which my mind was scaring the people around me.  Dayton offered me his beefy hand to pull me up with one of those self-assured smiles that could disarm anyone.  It made the bitter pill that is my insanity, much easier to take.  At least, what we could call insanity anyway.  The definition was becoming much more abstract and more of a general guideline than a hard and fast rule.  

    After we regrouped and I shared what I had experienced, there was a long and very awkward silence that followed that little revelation.  I left out certain specifics of that dream.  What surprised me most were the next words that were spoken.  They were by Clarence, and I shall never forget them.  They were: “There are some carnival folks performing a vivisection right over there.”  They were words that almost didn’t register with me, combined with the gravity of the big reveal of the institute.  Then, we all shared horrified screams when we turned our heads over to see what Clarence had witnessed.  

    There were three carnival folks holding down one of the fair goers, and they were using an electric bone saw to start carving up the person they were holding down.  It was an early twenties man with a goatee, and he appeared to be enthralled by the act of being dissected alive.  The demonic laughter poured out of his mouth while the others angrily shot profanity at him.  I couldn’t tell what anyone’s angle in this situation was, or who was actually in control.  Once I could focus my eyes totally clearly, I could make out that all 4 of them were sporting glowing yellow eyes.  We suddenly became the focus of their attention.  They ceased their bizarre surgery and started moving toward our group.  

    This would normally be a great time to sit down and have a strategic meeting to discuss group synergy and fundamental corporate strategy.  The most efficient way to minimize losses and provide maximum growth to our professional agenda is to improve our business acumen.  We could formally declare an itinerary and delegate certain tasks to each member of the group to coordinate a final plan of action.    

 

Naturally, instead of that crap, we ran like hell.  

 

    The way back to the car was blocked by a fiendish mob that was circling and descending on us like hungry wolves.  We somehow ran as a single unit through the horror show doors as it was the least obstructed path that we could see.  I plowed through the tent flap in front of the double doors and bowled over a podium where a pissed off looking host was trying to ask for tickets or kill me.  I couldn’t really tell.  

    The haunted house was filled with all sorts of amusing traps and spooky things that would have been kind of entertaining had this not happened.  The black lights that were kept on keeping the area darkly lit but still visible were flickering.  It was hard as hell to get a clear view of where I was going.  I kept knocking into shelves with glass jars filled with little alien specimens or props of something.  I tried my best to keep from crashing through the displays and tripping myself up.  I could hear Clarence yelling from the left, “Everyone this way!  Through the spider tunnel!”  

    I did my best to run in that direction without even being able to see where my feet were landing.  I think Laurie or Dayton were also struggling to find their way out of the fake spooky laboratory as well because I heard crashing sounds around me as well.  Several props were dropped from the ceiling, and they were triggered by pressure plates or some other mechanism like that.  As I was running, I saw a stretched medical bed covered with fake blood (or at least I hoped it was fake) and a scalpel laying on it.  I slowed down and grabbed it.  I then continued my run toward the spider tunnel which was illuminated with a green light near a fog machine.  

    I didn’t even have a clue where Mercedes was.  I didn’t have a clue where to find her either.  Before I could even focus on a plan for regrouping, I could hear voices screaming through the area calling for murder, calling for death, calling for the return of all-day fast-food breakfast menus.  I skittered through the tunnel and weaved around many giant plastic and robotic spiders that were either rolled or spring loaded for the purpose of jump scares.  As I was running, I could see hands trying to pull me down by my ankles around the sides of the tunnel.  The hands were only 6 inches from the ground, which probably meant the lunatics outside were belly-crawling to get their hands on us.  

    I made it through the tunnel, and the light of the bright fake full moon was my navigation point as I stumbled through a lazily constructed cemetery.  There were skeleton hands poking up from the cheap imitation sod and a mausoleum door that kept creaking open.  I could see one of the doors that staff would use to get into and out of the show, and it looked like there were fists pounding at it.  Somehow there was a locked door between me and a horde of angry possessed people.   It was after a couple of minutes that I saw the light of one of the service entrances peeking out near the end of the cemetery display.  I bolted at full speed to my destination.  

    I burst through the door, which I kicked open with no regard for whether it was locked.  I was kind of lucky that the door wasn’t sturdier than it was.  I could have been seriously hurt.  Shame on you, Johnny.  It was when I could smell the sweet freshness of outside air that I could see Clarence and Laurie beating off a handful of possessed loonies.  I had no clue what exit they took to get out of there.  Clarence was armed with a mop from the supply cabinet, and Laurie had a broom.  I howled like a barbarian berserker (or what I hoped was a historically accurate depiction thereof) and joined the fray to help my friends.  

    Clarence jammed the mop head into the face of what looked to be like a devout religious old woman.  Her hair piece and crucifix pendant both flew off.  I guess her faith might have been a bit lacking to have gotten to this point.  She staggered and fell backwards.  Clarence yelled, “Got to run.  We can’t fight this one out!”  Clarence mercifully stepped over the elderly woman to spare her further pain.  Clarence was leading the way toward the car, and we were right there to follow him. He made some distance past her, but when I followed, I didn't bother dodging her as I used her prone body as a launching pad for my jump forward. 

    Laurie used the broom to sweep a long blonde-haired surfer-type guy off his feet.  He tumbled down and in an exaggerated fall, shattered his arm on ground by landing in the most peculiar way possible.  He let out this “Whoah,” that made it sound like this was some kind of silly extreme ride or something.  The ways some people get their thrills, I tell you.  She quickly followed Clarence, and I was right behind her.  I had to admit that she had some kind of kung-fu type skill with a janitorial device.  I had to do my best to keep him from dragging me down with his wild pawing when I darted past him. 

    While we began running one of the demon possessed approached me from the rear side.  It was an Asian man in a leather jacket with a walking cane in his left hand.  “I am a demon, Johnny!”  He announced this like a game show host doing his typical greeting to the studio audience.  I didn’t waste any time; I just reacted.  I took the scalpel that I found and jammed it into his left eye. “Oh No!  That was very inconsiderate!” He said as I pushed him, and he lost his balance and fell backward.  I still hope that he turned out to be a demon, I would just feel awful if he was just saying that to be funny.  

    Our run became a mob scene as we started to gather quite a following behind us.  We had a decent amount of space between us and certain doom, but not as much as anyone ever wants in one of those situations.   We rounded the corner of one of the stretch of games booths and then I saw Dayton in his full glorious battle mode.  He had one of those monsters in each hand holding them up by the throat.  He then proceeded to throw their limp bodies into a small crowd of the other demons.  I just want to point out that the use of strength was superhuman, and the speed to have gotten this far ahead of us was equally inexplicable.  I mean this guy looked like a regular at the all-you-can-eat buffet.  Somethings just make no sense, I guess.  

    Dayton seemed confident that our arrival meant that it was time for us all to gather and run as a group.  Where was Mercedes?  That question was immediately answered when I saw her driving the car up, barreling people over as she rode toward us.   Laurie let a triumphant “whoop.” I also heard Clarence and Dayton giving her praise as well.  I was starting to get a strong burn on my side from running so far.  I think the camp food was slowing me down and sticking to my ribs a bit too much.  We quickly and awkwardly scrambled into the car.  The mob was just 20 or 30 feet away when we peeled out leaving the forces of evil to let out a collective, “Aw, shucks!”  

    The horde of people from the fair tried to give chase, but Mercedes did a fine job putting distance between them and us.  She was able to navigate the winding back roads without issue, and it seemed like the night was going to be without any other events.  I was in the back on the driver’s side next to Laurie.  The feeling of her next to me frightened me for the first time.  Rather than comfort, I suddenly felt like her touch could pull me back into the psych center at any moment.  Thinking about that fact just unnerved me.   

    I thought she noticed it as we were bouncing down the bumpier parts of the road on the way back.  She gave me a curious look and finally waited a moment to see what I might say.  I couldn’t find the words.  “I really hope that you don’t think that if I touch you, that you might pass out again.  I am sure whatever happened back there was an isolated incident.”  I perked up a bit, hoping that her assessment would be accurate.  She smiled at the sight of my mood improving.  “Just don’t send me time travelling to the Jurassic,” I replied.  The joke landed better than I had hoped as the entire group in the car shared some much-needed laughter.  

    As we approached the camp, we slowed down to a crawl and turned the headlights of the car off.  We were hoping that our little clandestine outing wouldn’t attract any attention from the rest of the camp.  What we did was a bit stupid and dangerous, and it kind of put the rest of the camp at risk.  On the other hand, the leadership at the camp would have been fools not to have expected us to go a little stir crazy.  We had no communication with the outside world, nowhere to go, and no access to streaming series to binge on [popular streaming network name removed.]  

    The car was returned to its original position, and we slowly and quietly exited the vehicle.  I also grabbed the backpack with the magical knife I forgot to use. We all exchanged the type of looks that you can only share with those you have shared trauma with.  I found my legs shaking considerably, as I began to walk down the road to the center of the camp.  The plan was to make our way around the lodge and creep up to our cabins where we could lie our heads down and pretend that the last couple of hours was just a pleasant fishing trip.  

    As we walked down the hill, I could feel a rough hand clasp down my shoulder.  I knew before I turned around that it was Ralph.  I turned to see his stony and very displeased looking face glaring at me.  “Johnny, I see you were eating a bowl of stupid for dinner tonight.  I must have missed that on the food line.”  His voice came out as a near-feral growl.  Ralph didn’t mess around with safety protocol.  Something in voice gave me a deeper fear of Ralph than I had ever had before.  It seemed more hateful than concerned.  I think he realized that I had come to this assessment.  I thought I saw his face soften a bit before Laurie tugged on my arm and said, “we’re so sorry Ralph, let’s just hit the sack.”  I think the rest of the group was just pretending to ignore the not too veiled hostility.  

    After a few more uncomfortable moments, we made our way back to the cabins.  I was still bunking up with Monica, who was waiting for me when I got back.  She looked at me, took a deep inhale, and handed me another necklace.  This one was just a ton of different shells with no discernible pattern or design.  Randomness made manifest.  I took the necklace with a gracious nod.  “This amulet will try to keep your dreams from straying into the hands of those who seek to do you harm.  Dreamless sleep is out of the question given all that has been going on.  However, you won’t get the luxury of being in an incorporeal form in this dream.  You will be made flesh.”  I gulped hard at that last sentence.   “I just need to get cleaned up and I will be right back.”  

    I walked over to the bathroom building and thought hard about a few things that had never crossed my mind previously.  Why was it that I would be in dreams or in a teleporter and sometimes be whole and sometimes be a ghost?  What would determine how much of my being was present, or if I was paralyzed?  I puzzled over the time when Monica mentioned that the scientists said they teleported, “the spirit of the bottle.” (when referring to the champagne bottle they teleported) Perhaps there was a part of me that was being teleported insofar as my spirit, body, or both together.  Perhaps depending on the nature of the voyage, it would determine what parts or totality of my being gets teleported.    

    The influx of thoughts had me almost smiling with interest when I was brushing my teeth.  It was when I looked into the mirror that I saw something that truly frightened me.  I swore that I saw a yellow glow in my own eyes.  It was like my own thinking was becoming perverse in a way far beyond that of watching Japanese anime characters acting licentiously.  It was the kind of thinking that distorted all reason in myself.  It was like I was crossing into a threshold of forbidden thought.  I was suddenly filled with a supernatural amount of hate.  The type of hate where you feel an uncompromising distaste for anything living or joyous.  The kind of hate where you see happy people enjoying themselves and wish nothing more than to ruin it.  It was like that but so much more amplified.  Worlds more.  

    I suddenly hated the reflection in the mirror.  I wanted nothing more than to smash the face of the snarky man before me.  My hand instinctively flew into a fist and shattered the mirror.  There were shards of mirror stuck in my hand.  The yellow in my eyes flickered in intensity at the pain I had caused myself.  Something in me, really, really enjoyed it.  It was then; a tiny speck of reason caught my consciousness and pulled me to safety.  Like a safe space that your mind saves for the type of moment where you might do something completely irreversible.  I noticed that the shell necklace on me was vibrating.  In fact, I didn’t even realize that I had worn it.  I yanked it off my neck without another moment’s hesitation.  As soon as it released from my neck, the bile and loathing I felt melted away like an ice cube on a hot frying pan.  

    I don’t know how I knew how to do what I did, but something immediately told me I was using something meant for sleep while awake.  It was like trying to carry on with your daytime activities on Nyquil.  It just isn’t recommended.  I slowly went through the trouble of pulling the shards out of my hand and washing the blood.  It felt like it took quite a few minutes to get all 6 of them out.  The whole process gave me a chance to let the thoughts and hate pass from me more fully.  I had to push the thought that was singular in my mind out.  The thought that scares me more than anything else: “You are becoming just like Thomas Balthazar.”  

    After I got my act together, I walked back to the cabin and tried to think about pleasant things like being a professional competitive Uno player or doing parkour in a rainforest previously undisturbed by man.  I made my way back to the cabin and tried to avoid any irritation pouring out about the lack of warning labels on the amulet.  Monica seemed to be meditating on the floor and when her eyes burst open, they were wide with surprise.  “Oh, Johnny, I am, so, so, sorry.  I just had no idea the total effect of wearing that amulet before you were drifting to sleep.”  She looked severely apologetic, and I had to give in to the genuine nature of her feelings.  And I had to hand her some respect for immediately identifying the problem. 

    She handed me a pair of sunglasses.  This drew a puzzled look from me.  I guess I was going to have a beach themed dream tonight.  Before I could ask her why, she just looked at me and said, “these will help in case you end up going where you have been before.   Put the amulet on just before you lay down.”  I complied with her bizarre instructions and laid down on the floor with all the pillows strewn about.   “Do clothes matter?” I asked.  She shook her head, and before I could muster the energy of asking a couple more questions, sleep overtook me.  

     It was a slow transition from sleep to dream.  There was a cascade of thoughts in the black vision that swirled around my head.  Most of the questions were incomprehensible and were disconnected insofar as a larger context.  It was all the mysteries I had been facing were suddenly staring at me as I descended slowly into dream.  The world melted away from darkness to light slowly and steadily.  What followed with the darkness was an itch and maybe a slight burn.  It was uncomfortable, whatever sensation accompanied the dream state.  I also felt more tired than I had before I started sleeping in the first place.  It was like eating food and getting hungrier as you kept eating.  

    I was in a kind of daze when my surroundings came into view.  I was in a room with chairs in a circle, but the room was not lit. It was like looking into a dark room with sunglasses on.  It made the idea of wearing them seem impractical.  Still, I trusted Monica and kept them on.  There was an exit door, and I walked through it.  As I walked past the chairs, I was hit with a flood of recollection.  I was in the same room that group was held when Thomas Balthazar called me out to the therapist.  The place seemed desolate and disused.  I made my way to the exit.  It was just as I approached the door that I noticed a kind of wavy figure sitting on one of the chairs.  In fact, a few of the seats seemed to be occupied by blurs of light.  The kind of distortion in the air when gas leaks.  I couldn’t focus my vision on them, and the more I did, the more unsettled I became.  

    After a few seconds of glancing at the waviness in the air, the feeling of itchiness and stinging under my skin seemed to get exacerbated.  I made my way through the door and into the hallway.  I began walking down the hallway, seeing odd waves in the air as I made my way to the nearest door.  The window on the lefthand side of the hallway was shining in some light; barely.  I approached the window and was treated to a familiar spectacle.  It was the chilling horizon of the sky filled with cloudiness and eerie purple light.  I was in the mental institution, inside of the “Neptune Chicago” place I went where I crawled up a sewer drainpipe.  It was a combination of the two absolutely worst places my adventures had taken me thus far.  I almost gasped, but the air somehow sucked out of my lungs.  In my periphery, the wavy gas leak apparitions stirred in response...  

    I started whistling “Yankee Doodle,” and made my way to the door.  The attempt to whistle, while sounding funny in my head, made matters worse.  It seemed like the distortions in the air were beginning to assemble and descend on my location.  My pace increased to a bit more briskly than it was before.  I managed to find one of the doors leading down the stairs, and I pulled it open and bolted down the stairs as quickly as I could.  The dull echoes of every sound from my footsteps to the door were all muffled and dead in their sound.  It was like there was something inhibiting sound waves from travelling at their correct velocity.  I wished Monica brought me a whip so I could try some experiments regarding the sonic booms that they created.  Oh wait, I was too busy running in mortal terror.   

    I got to the bottom of the stairs and ran across another hallway on the ground floor.  There were more apparitions as I ran further.   I was starting to notice a humanoid shape to the gas-leak monsters.  Perhaps they were people or something?  I wasn’t sure if this was a reverse version of the specter that I was during a few of my travels.  I don’t think I could have had a stronger combination of terror and curiosity possible.  The lower level was filled with glass windows that let in the sinister purple light that made the situation less comfortable.  Something about that purple light causes chills, itching, and burning.  *Talk to your doctor if side effects worsen*.  I made my way around a few corners and wound up going in a couple of circles.  This place was full of these specters, and it finally happened as I bolted through one of them.  I felt like a bucket of ice-cold acid was thrown all over my body.  It was the hands-down, WORST feeling ever.  I tripped and fell afterward.  

    I was shivering on the ground for moments that followed me passing through the phantasm.  I tried to get up, and it took a great deal of strength to move.   There was a hopelessness and despair that followed the pain of that experience.  It seemed like this would be the place where I would suffer eternal torment and pain.  I was convinced that there was no point in running away and that I should just accept that the pain was part of my new world.  Before the pain and terrible thoughts could consume me, I could see the face of Monica.  It was a look of pleading.  The look of someone cheering me on with a sense of purpose.  I started to pull myself up to my hands and knees.  I was struggling but the despair waves came back harder.  To make matters worse, other phantasms began to slowly hover in my direction.  Every survival instinct told me that they were going to devour my life-force (or something.)  

    A second face popped into my mind.  Well, a face and a hand.  It was Laurie.  I could see her lying on her cot in her cabin with her hand outstretching while sleeping.  She was smiling with the most serene smile I had ever seen.  It made me feel like there was hope, and she could help me find it.  That help was the force that pulled me to my feet.  I was suddenly back in the fight, and I began to return to moving through the hospital at first from a jog and eventually to a full sprint down the corridors.  I deftly dodged every spirit that came my way.  They were slow, and I was now armed with the knowledge of how devastating their touch could be.  Stoic determination and resolve took hold of me, and I finally found what looked like the front doors.   The main problem was that I wasn’t sure how to open them.  

    There were two sets of doors leading outside, each of them had some kind of key card slot.   I couldn’t tell if they would work by just pushing them open, but it was worth a shot.  I ran to the doors and tried with all my strength to get them to budge, no luck.  More specters began floating toward the foyer.  I ran behind the main desk and tried to find a key card.  There was a drawer that I had to bash several times to open.  Eventually I got in and dug through the bin searching for anything to open the door.  The situation was getting worse in the evil spirit department.  I found it!  Now to try to get it open...and...it doesn't work.  There was no functioning power that allowed the magnetic lock to open.  

    I was forced to bolt and ran far off to a large room with a lot of tables in front of me.  I think it was one of those cafes for visitors.  I saw a food station and plenty more wavy clouds of despair.  There was no stopping for lunch.  I continued down one hall, then another, and then another.  It was becoming a situation that quickly exhausted me.  I took the opportunity to get my wind back where it seemed to be safe enough.  It was becoming a real rat in a maze situation.  I hoped for some top-quality cheese on that one. Cheddar.  I am a cheddar man after all.  

    Finally, during all of this draining marathon, I started to read some of the signs posted around and got a brilliant idea.  The laundry room.  I followed every sign to the laundry room, making a couple of detours to avoid the looming specters when they grew too many.  They didn’t seem to have a long attention span for following me, but there were just so damn many of them.  It was like being chased by a horde of ADD afflicted monsters.  Mental disability insensitivity aside, I managed to get to the door of the laundry room, and it was wedged open with a towel.  Someone had used this exit before.  

    I darted into the laundry room and found what I was looking for.  It was one of those tunnels leading from where the laundry carts emptied the clothing to the outside of the building. I climbed up and into the tunnel, slid down for a few exciting seconds, and landed safely on a pile of towels.  The towel pile was placed outside in a large bin, and I landed with a soundless thud.  When I finally saw the outside world, it became clear why Monica sent me off with these sunglasses.  Even with protective eyewear, the sinister violet light pierced my eyes with relentless abandon.  I saw nothing but a parking lot and woodlands around me.  There was also 15 feet high chain-link fence surrounding the perimeter of the facility grounds.  I had a slight navigation issue here.  

    The feeling of stinging and itching evolved into a coldness that lurked just under the surface of my skin.  I heard no ambient sounds from the woodlands.  No birds chirping, no trees rustling, and nothing else one might associate with a fine camping trip.  It was worse than coming upon a dead world; it was like coming upon a world that just never lived.  I didn’t see any specters in my immediate field of vision, but that meant precious little in the land of madness.  I began jogging across the parking lot hoping to find something that looked familiar.   This was not the same institution that I had escaped from.  

    There were cars parked in the spots and many of them were parked haphazardly.  It looked as though things were falling apart prior to some kind of extinction level event.  I still tried to find some working vehicles that I could use to carry me on my merry way.  I was in luck!  There was a blue Jeep that was parked with two wheels up on the curb.  When I peered into the side of the vehicle, I saw that there were keys still in the ignition.  I hoisted myself up and sat in the driver's seat.  I turned the key.  I was in luck!  Because it didn’t blow up.  But as far as a working ride... it was a wash.  

    I gave up trying to find a ride and began looking for the road out of there.  I noticed a check-in station on the perimeter of the grounds where vehicles entering the grounds would need to stop.  As I got closer, I could feel the icy terror of knowing that there were more ghostly fiends around where the guard station was posted.  It was then I began to come to a slow realization.   These were the ghosts of all the people who were once here, or some kind of imprint of their energy that remained in a dead world.  I tried not to focus on the thought of being one of millions or billions of ghosts left on a dying world.  

    Frustration and desperation yielded way to a slight elation of the mood.  I saw a bicycle propped up against the side of the check in building.  I moved full steam toward the bicycle and made it a point to dodge the specters who were slowly descending on my position.  I managed to avoid a repeat incident that came from touching one of these abominations.  I pulled the bike upward from the wall and set it down.  I can’t recall what brand of bicycle I took.  I was in far too much of an emotional state for brand recognition.    

    I hopped on the generic bike and began peddling it past the check in station and down the road leading away from the building.  The thrill of moving at a higher clip gave me some kind of joy to find the stinging madness that ate away at the very fiber of my being.  The tires were semi-flat, and it made peddling very difficult.  Despite the challenges of moving on this thing, the joy of being on a bike was making my night easier.  As I passed several specters and hurled profanities their way, I swore I could see Monica telling me to keep pushing on.  I was somehow going in the right direction.  

    I was making quite some distance down the road, and I was out of view from the specters that I left behind.  The vacuum cleaner that sucked all the joy out of this world was still having a serious effect on me.  I could see a few abandoned cars on the road as I continued my aimless trek into the unknown.  I must have been going for miles down the road, and the bike was becoming extremely burdensome to ride.  The stinging and burning of my skin began to take physical form.  I looked at the exposed skin on my arm where the T-shirt ended and saw that my skin was forming blisters.  It was a slow burn, but I knew that I could not survive in this type of environment for a long time.  

    As I made my way down the road, I saw a sign for some kind of power station on my right.  It looked to be down some beaten path that was intended to be discreet.  This was certainly no tourist attraction.  I held my breath in fear and hope as my bike began its ascent upwards on a gravel road.  After about 500 feet or so, it became obvious that this bicycle had outlived its usefulness.  I dumped it to the left of the trail and began to walk at a brisk pace.  I wanted to run terribly, but I was winded.  The exhaustion of not having a proper break and a hostile environment made for abysmal bedfellows.    

    I finally made my way to a building with rows and rows of electrical pylons of some sort.  I don’t recall ever seeing such power stations where I lived.  For some reason, the machines were humming like they were still active.  In a world where everything was dead, the fact that a place like this was up and running was more than a little suspect. I slowed my pace down to a walk as fear began welling up in me like never before.  I started to notice the strange shapes of air distortion and a general haze of something.  It looked to be like smoke or fog or something.  It had this odd yellow color, separating it from the violet light that covered everything else.  The sunglasses did a bit of helping from the discomfort of even gazing at the unnatural fog.   

    I could feel Monica pushing me onward into this building.  Every instinct was telling me to just run and hide somewhere that wasn’t yellow and/or purple.  If I had anything in my mind come up, I would have taken the cowards path right then.  The large steel door to the compound was open thankfully.  The door was held open by many lengths of bungee cord keeping the door from shutting itself.  Some of the cords looked frayed and like this situation wasn’t going to last forever. I held my breath and crossed through the breach.  

    The inside of the building was some kind of vile institutional gray.  There were white, fluorescent lights on the ceiling that were somehow still receiving power.  This place was some kind of last bastion of technology in this wasteland world.  I began walking around the building and discovered hallways and rooms of all shapes and sizes.  The doors were all automatic and stuck in the “open” position.  I found some supply rooms, I found some generic laboratories, and I found a room that looked to be a very small engineering bay.  “HERE,” I could hear Monica’s voice echoing out in my head.  It looked like some kind of blueprint.  There were also pages and equations.  I instinctively grabbed as many documents as my arms could carry.  

    My trip around the facility was a bit of a maze situation, but as I roamed, I got the handle of this place.  I could still hear the hum of the electrical generators working around me.  The physical discomfort of being in this world was somewhat abated by my current surroundings.  I noticed that there was some kind of metal and foam padding around the walls and ceilings of these buildings.  I guess there was a way to reduce whatever was distorting the laws of nature around here.  I was almost certain that my trip was turning into a lost cause when I discovered a very large room that I hadn’t seen before.  

    There it was.  It was this huge purple nexus of energy.  It looked like it was swirling recklessly, and it would periodically push this yellow fog out of the center.  I noticed that there were these vents that seemed to be sucking the yellow fog out this chamber and (presumably) right outdoors.   Approaching that swirling mass of yellow and purple was the most foolish and brave thing I had ever done.  This was not going to be fun.  

    Before I could slowly walk into the distortion, I was struck by a terrible thought: If this was the place where Thomas Balthazar was taken for mental health treatment; why would such a facility be so close?  It dawned on me like some sickening revelation.  Someone or something wanted to see just how much they could push the envelope.  I think I felt something that resembled pity for Thomas.  I think that he might have just been continuously exposed to harmful substances for the purpose of documenting its effects.  They didn’t keep him in that institution to help him; they kept him there to watch him fall apart and take meticulous notes.  The pronoun “they,” suddenly made me feel small and very much outnumbered by this problem.  

    Every step toward the swirling maelstrom brought more pain and more negative thoughts.  My stomach was in knots.  I had to stop 3 times in 20 feet to keep dry heaving.  My body was rejecting my trek through my stomach, and my spirit was weeping from the terror that lay inside.  I was hit by the thought of getting home through this thing as the equivalent of jumping into the chlorine tank to get into the pool.  There was something raw and unrefined about this portal.  The last conscious thought before I made it into the Aether was: This is what it is like to go through a Daedalus Gate without any of the protections of the machine that the knowledgeable scientists had constructed.  

    I was ripped through the hole, and my body began sucking into it the same way one might think it would occur with a black hole.  My body began to crumple up and twist toward the center in the same fashion that a toilet bowl flushes.  It was just as painful as it sounds; my body was being twisted, ripped apart, and reassembled. The burning echoed in my spine like a thousand cannons firing at once.  This was everything bad about gate travel without the safety nets that I was used to.  Some way, somehow, I was able to clutch onto the documents and blueprints well enough that they came with me.  

 

    I woke up with smoke pouring off my body.  My clothes were shredded, and I could see the skin on my arms bubbling and blistering from some kind of burning force.  The smell of my own flesh being cooked filled my nostrils, and the dry heaving gave way to full vomiting of phlegm and bile.  This had to be the worst traveling experience ever.  My travel agent was so fired.  I could see Monica’s face wavy in the distance as I kept trying to gasp for air.  

 

    “Oh God Johnny!  Let me get you some aloe and [some kind of hippie herb I can’t recall]!”  Monica called out looking distraught but determined to provide some kind of aid.  Now I am all about natural remedies as much as the next guy, but I needed extra strength Ibuprofen at the very least.  Probably some Neosporin, and a space blanket.  Oh yeah, and mouthwash.  My mouth tasted like I was feeding off my own flesh.  I couldn’t stay awake from the pain, but I could not fall back asleep.    

    I think the shell necklace was taken off, and my clothes were changed by some nice people.  I don’t remember much about the next 12 hours, but they were spent being nursed to health by a conga line of Eastern and Western medicine.  Most of the time I spent huddled on the ground trying to shake off the pain.  I think someone congratulated me for getting documents from the dream world.  I have no clue how any of that paperwork survived.  I just knew that I was in a state of survival mode.  Laurie and Clarence visited me a few times to keep my spirits up.  They were sweet to me, but it was hard to focus on anything they said.  

    Eventually, I gained enough strength to get onto my feet.  Dizziness and headaches were exceptionally strong for the next several hours.  I felt just hungry enough to hobble down to the cafeteria when I could.  Almost everyone I passed walking down there offered me help walking or just came right out and helped carry my weight.  More than I was hungry, I was just thirsty.  I had water dripped into my mouth and almond paste pushed onto my gums, so I was still able to replenish my basic hydration needs.   I finally made it to the cafeteria, where I plopped down on one of the chairs where grits and water were served to me.  It took considerable time and effort to eat the food and gulp down the water.  Finishing that first meal was surprisingly helpful to my cause.    

    I spent the next day preparing myself for what was to come.  I got back to my full strength and was eager to help the others around the camp.  I had to look around that evening to find Ralph and get some kind of status report of what was going on.  I was more than a little surprised to find out that day was Saturday.  The camp was running out of time before the grand entrance of our supernatural tormentor.  While I got a lot of encouraging looks and feedback, I could tell the lingering fear in the camp had only grown while I was out of commission.     

    While searching for Ralph, I ran into David McCallister.  He wore an expression of both concern and disappointment.  He turned to me and said, “Johnny, we need to take a minute to talk about what happened and what will happen next.”  I shifted my eyes nervously as if to reply, “who me?”  David could see my discomfort combined with a very weakened physical state from my ordeal.  I think it gave him some measure of satisfaction that I was in so much pain.  Like my punishment was already served.  “We were completely ready in the camp to protect your mind, and you and the others vanished.  It was an awkward time that led to a very limited search of the area for all of you.   Luckily, Harold had some kind of hint that his daughter was in one piece.”  I was going to have to check over Laurie for an RFID chip.   

    David took a measured breath and set his hand on my shoulder.  It felt like someone slapping sunburn, if that sunburn ran all the way down into your bones.  He pulled back when he saw me wince in pain.  “I want you to know that we can make your dreams safe when you sleep here again tonight.  As long as you don’t go on some hairbrained scheme with your inner circle, then we shouldn’t have a problem.”  He offered a bit of a pleading look that suggested that he wanted or needed me here to maintain control over the situation.  “I won’t stray again, for sure,” I said with honest conviction.  He looked off for a moment as if to frame a totally new line of conversation.  

    He broke a very brief silence with the words: “Harold Felter has discovered far more information from the blueprints and documents than we would have expected.”  Personally, I was surprised by this fact when I assumed he invented those machines.  David explained how the machine in that strange purple twilight future was a 2.0 or something, maybe a 3 or 4.   However many iPhones there are currently maybe?  In any event, someone had picked up where Dr. Felter had left off.  “Separating your body and spirit through time can be quite a process, and we believe that you were visited by the specters of a world that cast off its corporeal remains.  You were in a ghost future, Johnny.”  David kind of made a face or gestured that he was doing his best to give me a secondhand interpretation.  If I wanted a more specific explanation, I would need to get closer to the source.    

    The trail of information led me to conversations with Monica and Laurie to begin with.  Monica explained that she relayed the dream’s narrative to Dr. Felter along with some semi-damaged documents.  Laurie said that her father was locked in one of the camp offices with his “old smoking pipe and a bottle of brandy.”  According to Laurie, this meant that the old man was in the equivalent of a cellphone's “do not disturb” mode.  The only good thing about this sort of run around, was the fact that my body, and to a lesser extent, my mind was becoming more healed.  The camp food and atmosphere were keeping my spirits and health up.  

    Laurie beckoned for me to speak with her again while making my inquiries.  “I hope you haven’t been having dreams about the mental institution again.”  I gave her a strange look.  “I have been keeping my dreams to purple twilight worlds, and wavy ghost people.” I said trying my best to be adorable.  She shook her head to diminish the relevancy of my most recent dream adventure.  “Sometimes, I find myself back in that place where we spent our time together.  Sometimes I try to talk to you, and you barely recognize me.  It is as if we are living two simultaneous lives together.”  She turned her head away a bit shamefully.  She totally missed my eyes bulging out in surprise.  

    “I have had dreams like that myself,” I admitted while reaching my right hand out to pat her left arm.  She leaned into it subconsciously.  She then turned up and shot me a nervous look that I could immediately read as the one that I get the most in knots about.  Maybe where we are right now isn’t real.  When I glimpsed into her sparkling emerald eyes, I just knew that I was in the world I called home.  It was that feeling you get where you shake off the cold after coming back from work and you know you are safe.  Demon attacks and everything; this felt safe.  

    “My name is Johnny Balthazar,” I finally said after a moment passed.  The look of surprise on her face was a bit more than a small reaction.  She cupped her hand over her mouth like she had witnessed a 10-car pileup on the highway.  “I guess we are both confused about our mutual paternal issues.”  I tried to be funny here I think, but who can tell what constitutes funny anymore.  “So, is Thomas your father then?”  Laurie asked her question, trying to sound as impartial as possible.  I let out a world-weary sigh and told her what I knew to be the current version of the truth.  

    “My father was a man known as Steven Balthazar.   He was a good father and a kind man, but nothing special.  He worked in a soda bottling plant for a huge portion of his life and suffered from typical kinds of heart disease.  The name Balthazar was a small family name and there were no other Balthazar’s on my father’s side of the family.  It was a name that his father got when traveling through Ellis Island.”  I gave her my rehearsed and honest family story.  “The name Thomas Balthazar is that of a person who is not actually my relation, but the name is the same nevertheless.”  I studied Laurie’s face for belief or mistrust.  I think she was willing to listen to my side of the story.  “The guy calls himself Azmodariel for crying out loud!  He could be saying whatever he wants to play with my head.”  I was starting to get a bit annoyed by my own observations.  Laurie became more confident than ever that I was trustworthy.    

So, there it was, either Thomas had the same last name as a happy coincidence or that he was simply full of it.   Either way, it didn’t fill me up with the sounds of “the cats in the cradle and the silver spoon...”   I chose to avoid revealing it because I wanted to avoid this conversation, but I suppose it was inevitable.  I had to process the shock that I was with Laurie Felter, so I guess the reveal had to be mutually devastating.  Laurie Felter and Johnny Balthazar; what a pair. 

 

Chapter 12: Matriarch 

 

    My big reveal to Laurie was dramatically interrupted by Mercedes, who looked to be a bit more unhinged than I ever remember her being.  “Dr. Felter and I, have had so many interesting facts come to us in the past several hours.”  She absolutely beamed with pride.  I was more than a little happy to hear that some answers were coming.  I think Laurie was happy now that we spent God knows how long actually learning each other’s full names.  I was about to simply walk off from Mercedes despite how rude it was, before she managed to flap her arms subtly enough to let me know more information was coming.   

    “We have learned that dreaming is a way in which the non-physical portion of our selves, can travel and exist in other places.  Depending on the nature of the dream, one can even will a body of flesh to exist within the confines of that dream world.  However, using a gate makes the whole process real in the space we occupy and in the time we teleport.  Sometimes...your mind can splinter into another place, and you can start an entire new life, in an entirely new world.”  She explained all of this at a pace that was hard to follow to the letter.  She kept trying to think of analogies to frame the whole thing, but it was like trying to explain biochemistry in a paragraph.  Kind of like how the author just tried.  

    Efficacy is rarely enjoyed by those of us willing to try to teach things beyond the mundane.  Apparently, teleportation using the actual physical gates will begin the process of splintering the mind such that travel becomes possible independent of the machine.  I think Clarence, Laurie, and I were all pushed into a teleporter by Thomas.  We were all trying to figure out where we actually existed.  What in the hell were Laurie and Clarence even going through?  It is hard to know such a complex question when such complex things were happening to three people at once.  It wasn’t that I didn’t care, it was simply that I was unable.  And what time we had together, I think, we had to make less insufferable than trying to unravel this ugly rubber band ball.  

    The rest of the day was spent in a calm state of recovery.  I was notified that I would be sleeping in the loft for certain this evening.  Ralph did not look like he was in a compromising mood about letting me sleep elsewhere.  Monica assured me that I would be safe in this place.  There was no telling where my dream state energy could be pushed, but it could be the surface of the sun.  I ate my meals in silence with Laurie, Clarence, Dayton, and Monica.  We were doing our best to try to keep a low profile, as it seemed as though the rest of the camp were giving us accusatory stares for our little outing.  All that effort and we didn’t even get Dayton the snacks he wanted.  Sometimes justice is just a pipe dream.  

    After dinner, I went to play a bit of tether ball with Clarence outside of the lodge where the metal pole stood.  It seemed like one of those games you play where the outcome of the match was the last thing either player cared about.  We also couldn’t break a strange silence that was lingering, or the fear that Thomas’ arrival was coming very soon.  Mercedes interrupted our second match to talk to Clarence.  She said she would have him back in a minute, but I didn’t feel like waiting around.  My own feelings of fear and mistrust were forming a speculative conversation in my head about what they could be talking about.  The fact that the two of them seemed to be getting closer gave me a better feeling that it wasn’t about me.  Sometimes I really worry when it is about me.  Given what Thomas was after, it doesn’t take much to worry.  

    I was sitting on a large rock in front of my cabin when I saw Clarence again.  He approached me with the look of a person who had very interesting news.  “Remember when Thomas first teleported us to your house?  You know, when it was turned to an ash pile.”  He tried to present a tone of sincerity and empathy.  Clarence didn’t know that I saw Thomas order the deed while I was in ghost mode or whatever you might call it.  “Yes?” I replied suddenly overtaken with curiosity.  “Thomas was looking for something, something that I think that you might have lost.”  Now the curiosity was taking a near burning sensation.  

    I always assumed he was looking for that ruby that got lodged into my hand a for a short (but exciting!) time.  “I guess an artifact was passed into your possession by your father.  It was something you had but never knew what it was.”  I did my best to recall anything my father left for me after his heart attack in late 2014.  He left a pile of junk including a lot of cultural relics from the 1980’s, some tacky furniture, and the money to buy a house along with a ton of impulse purchases.  I am not going to lie; I did spend a lot of money on impulse purchasing.  What can I say?  I am a typical American consumer.  

    “Think Johnny!”  Clarence said, bringing my thoughts back into focus.  The only thing that was missing was an old box of junk from my father’s more sentimental collection.  One of the items included was stolen from me several months before this whole ordeal started.   Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.  “My father’s old ring!” I shouted this way louder than I intended to, but the look on Clarence’s face immediately recognized the importance of the item that was stolen.  Clarence tapped his chin thoughtfully and asked if I knew where it was.  I explained that it was stolen with very little else.  Whoever burglarized my house that evening, didn’t take anything of value other than that ring.  The ring was a simple gold band with a small...ruby in the center.  Oh Boy.  

    I tried filling out a police report, but they told me that there was precious little information available.  There were no nearby cameras, and none of the neighbors were home or witness to the event.  Also, given the fact that the ruby couldn’t have been worth that much money, it meant that theft wasn’t as much of a priority.  The party which entered came in through one of my downstairs windows that I had left open.  Good news / Bad news situation.  The bad news was that there was an important relic that was nowhere to be found.  The good news was that Thomas didn’t have it.  I was struggling to find the connection between rubies and the whole teleportation thing.  It seemed like a silly motif to me.  

    Clarence marched off to spread the news that something went missing before my whole ordeal in July of 2017.  I spent most of the evening relaxing in the cabin trying to avoid the sun, too many conversations, and the challenges of making wartime preparations.  My time in the purple place caused me a great deal of both physical pain and mental anguish.  It was like running out of energy, pain tolerance, and joy – and it was not pleasant.  Laurie checked up on me while I was in the cabin.  Her face brightened my day.     

    “I have been talking to Monica quite a bit about your condition, and where your dreams have taken you.”  She seemed to be trying to understand something truly unusual, which is a great description of where my dream travels had taken me. “It is no place for a picnic,” I said, forcing a smile the best I could.  The look of pity on her face told me not to bother.  “I have been having some strange dreams of my own Johnny.  I have not mentioned some of them to you.  Clarence a bit.  But not you.  I was afraid to worry you.”  I wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but it did fill me up with a bit of anxiety, maybe quite a bit of it.  She joined me on a pile of pillows on the floor of the cabin.  

    There were veils that obscured the sunlight into the cabin, and the interior light of the cabin was off.  These cabins were the size of a very small studio apartment mind you.  Her features were heavily shadowed, but I could tell they were still laden with concern.  There were several seconds of silence that introduced whatever bombshells were coming my way.  “My dreams have been about you and well...us.”  She gulped and shivered a bit.  I wanted to hold her close, but my skin felt ravaged from the dream I had left.  She seemed to be aware but didn’t appear to be in the mood for that right now anyway.  

    “I keep seeing myself with you Johnny, and you aren’t the same person.  You are becoming increasingly bitter and hateful.  I keep imagining you snapping at every word I say and losing your self-control at every moment.”  The crestfallen look that stole my countenance was obvious even in the dimly lit cabin.  She gave me the look you might offer to a child that scraped his knee.  Maybe a child that was pushed down a hill wrapped in barbed wire.  I started to smile in amusement a bit at that sadistic thought.  I hadn’t meant it, but I was sure that Laurie picked it up as a sign that she was on to something.  “I am fine Laurie; I just need some time to work through-” she cut me off by holding up her finger.  

    “It isn’t that I don’t care about you, or that I believe that you are changing.  It is just that the dreams keep coming, and you do all kinds of sick and violent things in those dreams.  It is like I am a spectator, in a horrible television show that you are the star of.”  She looked like she was holding back fear or tears.  Maybe both.  I had no clue that she was having these kinds of dreams.  “Have you told Clarence about these dreams?” I asked her, hoping that he would come to my defense.  She slowly nodded her head.  “He thinks you might be changing as well.”  I suddenly felt very alone and vilified.  Nothing going on here felt like something I had an ounce of control over.   

    “They are just dreams though.” She added hopefully with a bit of a hopeful smile.  She waited another moment before changing tones.  “Clarence told me that he wasn’t having dreams at all.  Frankly, I didn’t believe him.”  Interesting – Neither did I. He probably didn’t want to worry anyone about it.   “Did you talk to Vicky about these dreams?"  Laurie sighed and said, “Vicky has been all but locked up in David’s cabin.  I haven’t seen her at all.”  I have no idea what it means.  I wanted to tell Laurie about what Vicky had told me, but I remembered agreeing to not mention anything to Laurie.  I had to just hope and pray that David was keeping it together.  “We need to go down to the cafeteria to eat something.  Karl said he made you a plate of his famous meat loaf.  Let’s just have a calm evening, eat well, and sleep in that stasis thing they have planned for you.”  I let Laurie go ahead of me.  

    I remained in the cabin for a few minutes after she departed.  The idea of her secret fear of me was tearing me apart.  The fact that Clarence shared that feeling instead of just denying it made me feel a bit betrayed.  I mean, how do they know what I am going through?  I started to grind my teeth, and I could feel my vision going into tunnel mode.  I turned over some of the pillows and began unleashing a volley of punches on them.  It did very little to mitigate the rage I was feeling.  After a few seconds of thrashing them, I turned to something more substantial.  I started punching the floorboards of the cabin with great gusto.  I was surprised by the fist marks that I made in the wood.  Enough so that cuts and splinters in my hands were markers of personal pride.  I covered the dented wood with a pillow and walked to the bathroom to wash my hands off.  Combined with the glass from the mirror, my right hand in particular was looking especially ravaged. 

    Walking to the bathroom building gave me a chance to see Don Camden.  He gave me a bit of a concerned look when he saw me.  The feelings of unsettled anger, fear, and confusion must have been a bit more obvious coming from me than I realized.  He weakly offered me a wave, and I croaked out a meager, “Hello Don,” as I passed him.  The bits of wood and blood washed off my hands easily, and I wiped my hands slowly with a rough paper towel.  The adrenaline had passed, and the discomfort in my hand and skin was returning to its original state.  The reflection in the other unbroken mirror wasn’t the object I hated like the last time I saw myself, but I could see a sicklier version of myself.  My skin felt sunburned but looked pale, like I was recovering from a very serious flu.  

    I eventually made it to the lodge and then went into the cafeteria for some food.   It was Sunday night.   I wasn’t sure if I lost or gained a day.  Time was becoming more a matter of Tuesday or not Tuesday.  Laurie, Clarence, Dayton, Monica, and even Mercedes were all sitting together waiting for this supposedly epic meatloaf that Karl was making.  At first the talk was small and awkward, but eventually the mood was lightened by Dayton by describing milk as “cow’s titty juice.”  One thing led to another, and the conversation had everyone in much better spirits.  Even I was laughing and making jokes of one kind or another.  And yes, Karl’s meatloaf was as epic as advertised.  Legendary even.  

    After dinner we played some board games that were left around.  Most of them were missing pieces of some kind.  Boy that gets my goat, when someone steals the battleship from a Monopoly set.  Despite settling for inferior game pieces, we had a great time until it was time for sleep.  Everyone was sleeping in cots placed in a circle right below the loft.  The loft had very steep wooden steps leading up to it.  I ascended the steep steps leading up to the loft high above the others.  It looked like athletic equipment was originally stored here, and now another pile of pillows was set up.  There were also bowls of oils, incense burners, and even a pair of candelabras set up on opposite sides of the loft.  It kind of made me feel important for such a spread just for the purpose of going to sleep.  While getting comfortable, many of the group were singing strange songs that were somehow incredibly soothing.  It made the process of falling asleep rather pleasant.  

 

I was incredibly surprised when Monday morning arrived without any incident.  My sleep wasn’t even completely dream free.  I had a dream about surfing with my childhood dog while trying to study for a big math test.  In the end, my dog agreed to follow me to school and eat the math test before I could turn it in. What a good boy!  

 

    Monday morning was filled with an ominous silence that followed everyone around.  No conversation seemed to want to last more than a few words or even a few grunts.  Laurie, Clarence, and I went swimming in the late morning.  Given that it was such a hot day, it was a welcome break even if it seemed like the mood was spoiled.  Clarence did a great job of breaking up the mood by telling me that he would protect me from the worst if evil came my way.  I gave him a confused look when he told me that he would guarantee my safety.  He said, “they can’t get what they can’t see!” He then proceeded to dunk me under the water in the lake for a few seconds.  When I wriggled free and burst up from the water, I began laughing and sputtering out water.  Laurie giggled madly as Clarence had a broad grin on his face.  At least I had good friends around me.  

    It was at lunch when things got interesting.  Ralph approached me looking excited and eager to tell me something after I finished a wonderful tuna sandwich.  “You have a guest that I wasn’t expecting to see.”  He studied my face to see if I had a clue where he was going with this.   I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach like someone that I cared about was suddenly present and here to support me.  As the words came out of his mouth, the truth hit me simultaneously.  “Your mother is here to see you, Johnny!”  

 

  

    I put down my sandwich and followed Ralph out of the cafeteria and headed toward the parking lot.  Laurie and Clarence must have thought it better to hang back while I saw the person that meant the most to me in the entire world.  Not that I play favorites, but I am a bit of a “momma’s boy.”  The warmth of the sun felt inviting; the irritation on my skin departed, and a surge of hope filled me.  I saw my mother’s hatchback pulled into one of the parking spaces not far from Dayton’s ride.  The car appeared to be scratched and dented in numerous places.  It looked like my mother had a story of her own.  

    There was nothing that could have prepared me for the sight of my mother.  She looked worn down, exhausted, and somehow more hardened than I had ever seen her.  The look of vivacious femininity was erased by hardship, catastrophe, and trauma.  Standing next to her was her neighbor, Charlie.  He had a shotgun harnessed on his back and looked like he had several bandages that he had acquired quite recently.  Charlie backed away and walked toward Ralph, so the two of them might consult and compare notes.  This left my mother and I alone to catch up and try to reconcile a world that put a whole lot of death between us.  

    Her eyes teared up at the sight of me.  “Oh Johnny, my precious little boy.”  She shuffled toward me motioning for a tight embrace.  I wasted no time meeting her.  I would have been embarrassed that she spoke to me that way, but my ego was far from my priority in this situation.  We hugged each other and held each other for a long and wonderful minute.  As I held her, I could see Charlie nod toward me, and I repeated the motion appreciatively.  “Are you ok?  Have you been hurt?  Has anyone tried to hurt you?”  My mother blasted me with more questions than I could hope to answer quickly.  Once our embrace concluded, we walked toward the lodge and sat on one of the benches.    

    I spent the better part of an hour explaining my story in as much detail as I could give without worrying her too much.  I tried to downplay the dream quest parts of my story as much as possible.  It just didn’t seem to be a rational way to tell a story about what happened during the wild summer of 2020.  She gasped and cried at all the right parts of the story.  She also seemed to develop a quick fondness for Laurie and Clarence.  I had a feeling that my mother was going to bombard Laurie with more questions and inquiries.   My mother could be a bit protective before Armageddon.  Now...it seemed to hit a higher than usual point.  

    Once I got everything out and answered like 500 questions, I could get what I was looking for; her story.  “Well in late June, things got strange in our old neighborhood.  People were roaming around at night, causing all kinds of trouble, and vandalizing anything that resembled a pleasant sight.”  She looked like a neurotic old person trying to shake off the memory of every kid in the neighborhood treading on the grass.  She was always a tidy woman who liked everything in its place and valued things like symmetry and manicured lawns.  “It got worse every night this summer, and I became increasingly terrified to speak out to anyone engaging in the antics.  And people were getting more bold and violent by the second.”  She stared off with a forlorn look that illustrated her fear manifesting.  I really felt bad for her.  

    “Charlie was about the only person in the neighborhood that seemed to have his head on straight.  I was still confident that I would be okay if I just stayed inside and kept to myself.  Eventually Charlie and I were staying together when things reached a boiling point.”  She sighed and straightened herself to maintain her composure.  I almost smiled at the thought that Charlie was there for her.  She needed someone to look after her, but the situation was a little too dire to take any joy from it.”  She drew a bottle of water she had with her up to her lips before continuing her story.  “It all became too much when the local news channel went crazy.”  I gave her a confused look, but she barely paused.   

    “William and Cheryl (the local news anchors) started kissing each other on camera that didn’t seem appropriate for the news team.  I know that William Barnes is married which made the whole matter just sorted.”  I was puzzled why this would be the straw that broke the camel's back.  My mother continued, “out of nowhere, Cheryl took a pen off the desk and jammed it right up William’s nose full force.”  She shuddered violently, which caused me to put my arms around her to comfort her.  “William just kept laughing and trying to kiss her with blood gushing out of his nose.  It was the most disturbing thing I had ever seen.”  My mother backed away from my touch and folded her arms in stoic disapproval of the news team's scandalous behavior.   

    Moments later it dawned on me to ask, “were their eyes different in any way?  Like glowing yellow or something?”  I already knew the answer, but my mother nodded grimly.  I think she got the impression that the people on the local news were far from themselves during that broadcast.  “Once Charlie and I saw that on the news, we started packing to get as far away from the city and the neighborhood as possible.  We didn’t have a destination, but we were sure that we would be in trouble if we stayed where we were.”  My mother seemed a bit lost in her next thoughts.  I was still confused about how she ended up at this camp.  I wouldn’t have to wait long for an explanation.  

    “Someone stuck a letter in our mailbox while we were trying to make plans to get away.  It was then that we discovered that one of your doctors, a doctor, uh... Bal... Balkra...” She trailed off making the same mistake I made about the good doctor’s surname.   She was talking about Doctor Sprinkles.  I let out a pleased exhale that he came through for my mother as well as me.  Despite the lack of respect that I showed him; the doctor did care for people and was a far better person than I was.  “Balakrishnan,” I corrected.  My mother made a sound of acknowledgement.  “The doctor had to give me written directions on how to get here.  The web is down Johnny, and I wasn’t too tech savvy before civilization started to collapse.”  Personally, I wasn’t sure the web was technically down, but at least, the smart devices that we relied on were having issues.  

    My mother continued to explain her journey, which involved staying in a few places where contacts working with the camp had aided her in her journey to this camp.  I guess CB and Ham radio were two functional technologies that made communication possible within this group.  Her story was certainly interesting, and she kept speaking highly of Charlie.  I guess he was able to scare off unruly punks, be wary of danger, and guide my mother through all the traps that she might have otherwise fallen into.  I was glad that he stuck by her, and that he was part of the camp.  I never thought about having a stepfather before, but it wasn’t a thought that completely bothered me where he was concerned.  I was engrossed in her story for a few more minutes when I saw Laurie sneak up on us.  

    My mother has a great sense of intuition and immediately knew who Laurie was.  She grinned genuinely for the first time since I saw her.  She and Laurie shared hugs, smiles, and banter immediately.  It was only seconds before I was in the background of the conversation and could sit back and watch these two socialize.  I will admit that the conversations got embarrassing at times.  Luckily, there were no embarrassing family photographs that could be used to humiliate me.  There were stories of course, but I denied what I could.  Hey!  I must at least TRY to look cool to my love interest.    

    The afternoon turned to evening, and we came in and enjoyed dinner.  My mother also seemed to adore Clarence.  She asked him a few awkward questions about being black that embarrassed me to no end.  I spent most of their conversation locked in a face palm that seemed to never end.  I still think that Clarence got some kind of kick out of it.  My mother was at least well intentioned when she told Clarence that things like, “slavery was just awful.  It was terrible what your people went through.”  I mean she was right, but it just seemed like the kind of thing that goes without saying.  Still, Clarence was still unafraid to share what the African American experience is and was like.   

    During our meal, my mother asked me the strangest question she has ever asked me.  “Have you been having trouble sleeping, or with bad dreams?” When she asked, I almost choked on my carrots.  I suppose there is some kind of intuition that comes with a mother knowing what her child’s problems are, but this bordered on the surreal.  I took a moment to compose myself.  “Well Mom, it has been kind of hard to explain but I am not sure if you would even believe me.”  She leaned in, very interested in what I had to say with hardly a look of doubt on her face.  Given what has been going on, nothing is out of the realm of possibility these days.   

    I cleared my throat lightly and continued, “someway, somehow, my dreams have been connected with time travel and the ability to other places or even other times.”  I looked at her expecting to see some kind of confusion or disbelief, but she just kept looking at me like she wanted me to continue.  That is how my mother is; she is the type who will actually let you finish what you started saying.  It is surprising how rare that is. (social commentary aside) “I was able to even recover items and objects.  I even had this ruby...” I started to trail off enraptured by the thought of having superpowers again.  Boy, would I like to pop ol Thomas in the eye one good.  “...well, it gave me super strength.”  I gave her a chance to react, and she said a typical mom thing. “I always thought you were super strong honey.” She tipped her head upward in a joking fake smug look of superiority.   Like her lady parts did some kind of wonder job.  

    After a second of trying to be cute, she regained control of the conversation and told me in a more sober tone, “your father was always getting caught up in his dreams, you know.”  The amusement I gathered from her faded quickly at the mention of the old man.  Anything that compared me with him usually meant that danger was somehow the topic of discussion.  “I am doing my best to be careful mom, but a lot of people are counting on me.”  She sighed as if she knew a whole lot more than she was letting on.  “People were always asking your father about his dreams.  Some folks would even tell me that they spoke to him at length in their dreams.”  I immediately became more puzzled than a Rubix cube.   

    She waited a second for me to catch on.  “He said he would know just what he said to them in the dreams.  It weirded some people out.  It was like he couldn’t get enough socializing with people in his waking life, so he had to do it while he was sleeping.”  I stared at her with eyes hungry for more information.  This seemed incredibly relevant to what was going on, and more than a small detail to have omitted in my life prior to this moment.  “What did he say to them?”  It was the first thing I could think of asking after getting so much pertinent information.  “To be honest... I don’t know a whole lot of what he said, or who he said it to.  Just people I guess.”  I wanted more information, but I had to settle with what I had.   

    “I think your father knew you were going to have the same problem that he had before things took a turn for the worse.”  My mother gave me a look of deep concern.  I grimaced a bit but retained eye contact with her.  “He told me that if you ever became lost in your dreams, that you should keep fighting like your life is always on the line.  Find the strength in your mind to not let the worst parts of your nightmares drag you in.” She seemed like she might have been paraphrasing a bit, but the message was kind of clear.  One more thing seemed like it needed to be addressed.  

    “Mom; have you ever heard of a man called Thomas Balthazar?”  I asked her fearful of almost anything she might say next.  Her face took on the appearance of having swallowed a lemon before her gaze cast downward.  I instantly knew that she knew something.  “Johnny, there are some things that I cannot tell you right now.  You just aren’t ready to hear everything.”  I bit my lip briefly then began, “there must be something you can tell me that can help.  This man means to kill everyone at this camp!  Who is he?” She took a step backward partially out of shame and partially out of increasingly disturbed energy.  I knew I had to at least try to be delicate here.  

    “What I can tell you is that your father left unfinished business, and Thomas is relevant to that business.  It is something that you must finish.”  I instantly felt burdened by whatever my father had done during his life that made him such a powerful and dangerous enemy.  Any kind of information I could weaponize against my antagonist was greatly required, and post haste.  My mother’s uncomfortably shifting legs told me that this conversation had reached its natural limit.  I tried to find a comfortable exit strategy, so that the conversation didn’t end with me trying to pump information from my mother.  

    David McCallister was that option as he moved at an ambulatory pace downward to where we were situated.  “Why hello!  Nice to make your acquaintance!”  He greeted my mother with his usual merriment and pleasant demeanor.  “It was good talking to you Johnny.” My mother said before she left to chat with David.  I was left alone with my thoughts for a few moments.  Was Thomas my uncle or something?  Was there some other weird explanation that might put things in perspective?  I knew that because of what my mother said that a great revelation was in store for me.  One that would open my eyes to my enemy and one to my father. 

 

Chapter 13: Faceoff 

 

    I went off on my own for a few minutes to contemplate all that I had learned, and I had barely noticed that I stumbled into Vicky.  I was kind of surprised that she wasn’t in David’s cabin.  I guess she wiggled out of there.  She was standing near the lake dropping small stones into the water near the shallow bank.  She watched the water ripples with a strangely detached fascination.  She took a mild notice of my approach, but it looked like she had some vague sense that it was coming.  I wanted to say she had some kind of precognition thing going on.   

    “Hey Johnny.” She mumbled in a vaguely morose sounding tone.  I wanted to say something interesting to break the ice.  “Hi Vicky,” was the extent of it.  “You know, I think that my foster parents are in trouble.  I think David was hiding it from me.  He thinks that I can’t handle anything unless he makes the information pass through his filter.”  I gave her a minute to take a deep exhale after saying what she must have been thinking for a couple days now.  “Can you tell me anything about them?”  I asked innocently.  “Yeah, they are really weird, but I love them more than anything.  I even have this old photograph of them.  It is gross but take a look.”  She handed me a Polaroid picture that made me suddenly uneasy.  

    The picture featured a certain elderly couple mentioned at the beginning of the story.  It was the very same picture that I had put into my jacket pocket.  There was even a fold on the corner where I accidentally bent the photo a bit.  “Well, that is certainly something you don’t see every day.”  Come to think of it, thanks to the Internet, you can see that many times a day.  Still, the reoccurrence of the photograph had startled me a bit.  Vicky was looking at me with the expectation that I would be grossed out.  “Seen this little item before?”  

    I don’t know what came over me.  There was a sudden jolt of movement from my hand into my pocket.  I pulled out the knife that I had gotten in the dream of the city during the teleporter riots (I guess you might call them) and grabbed the photo with the other hand.  I stuck the photo to a nearby willow using the knife to pin the photo to the tree, like some kind of demented flier for guitar lessons.  All at once I was struck by a dream.  Unlike so many other dreams, I remained conscious during this one.  It was like I could see the tree and photo with my eyes but inside my mind a movie started to play.   

    “I think we are out of lubricant honey,” the man said to the woman in a disappointed voice.  “What time is Vicky’s bus coming back?”  Their silence followed by a pause and a disembodied voice in the other room which said, “Not long.  We don’t have time for another go.”  The old man slumped his head down.  He seemed to be going on a soliloquy for a moment.  “It looks like Tuesday is coming and Thomas will be here to make our fun more interesting.  I think we can arrange a visit for Vicky’s little friends while the grown-ups do what we love to do.”  There was a great deal of throaty laughter. “Eh?  Who are you talking to?”  The man looked down and in a lower voice said, “to the ninny who is listening to me.”  

    I lost focus of the photograph as it became blurry and clear then back to blurry.  The process of gaining and losing focus continued for a long period of about a half minute.  In my peripheral vision, I could see Vicky watching me expectantly like this was all part of the show.  “Tuesday seems to be a busy day for people nowadays," she added whimsically.  The vision was beginning to darken when I then glimpsed Thomas Balthazar in all his insane glory sipping brandy.  “I do so love a good Tuesday romp of mayhem, blood, carnage, and orgies.”  I don’t like the guy, but I had to agree with him.  Tuesday it is then.  

    I looked back at Vicky and tried to explain what had just happened. The words came out thusly: “Vicky, I was dreaming but awake and I thought I saw those people in the photo, but I was looking at the tree but losing focus...?”  She shrugged and gave a halfhearted smile.  I hope that you don’t think less of my foster parents.  They were big followers in the club of Thomas Balthazar.  How did she know what I was dreaming of?  Is it me or does everyone here have access to all my thoughts before I do.  It sucks the fun out of sharing any kind of information.  

    I sighed with the heavy prospect that Tuesday might be linked to a lost memory shared by our collective unconscious minds.  Thomas might be coming Wednesday for all I knew.  Maybe never.  I was suddenly filled with a deep need to conquer this whole experience.  To be done with the whole situation and move on.  I also thought I heard something about increasing the dosage of the meds in my right ear.  Like there was a psychiatrist planning to update my medications while ignoring my presence.  It gave me an odd shiver.  Then there was a brief moment when one of the images of the petroglyphs ran through my head. It looked like the letter “T” with two dots over each of the upper branches and wavy lines like tildes over to the left and right of it.  

    Vicky tried to pull the knife out of the tree while I was distracted by the thoughts.  I was quite bemused by what I observed.  She was unable to pull the knife out of the tree.  It was like some bizarre King Arthur situation.  She looked kind of desperate to get her photograph back, maybe due to the embarrassment of the content of it.  Regardless, I felt the strangeness of it all was...cathartic maybe?  I just couldn't find the emotional energy required to remove the knife.  Maybe I could have, but I just wouldn’t take it down due to some unforeseeable reasoning.  The picture was placed like some kind of marker that crossed a kind of cosmic leyline.    

    Her pleading look turned into a disapproving stare while she started to wander off.  “Wait! Vicky.  Laurie wants me to be sure that you are OK.  Just tell me that David won’t keep you in the dark if it comes to that.” I said breaking the curse on my verbosity.  “David plays by his own rules, and he expects everyone at camp McCallister to do the same.”  She emphasized the surname with a sardonic venom.  I was sure Laurie was not going to like what I had to say.  I made my way back to the lodge to look for her.  After a bit of searching I found that she had gone back to her cabin.  I made my way over there trying to fit together the words of how to proceed.  

    Clarence and Laurie were sitting together in one of the other cabins on separate beds talking softly when I approached the half-screened cabin door.  “We have a visitor!” Clarence said with a bit of mirth that brought my guard down a bit. “Hey everyone.  We need to talk about what is going on around here.”  There were suspicious looks cast around before I finished.  “Vicky is worried about her family, and she thinks that David is holding back something. I think we need to find out what that something is.”  We discussed a plan of action.   

    The plan was roughly devised as such: First, we would load up on caffeine and nicotine gum that Charlie keeps around, so we were all awake.  Tonight was no good night for being caught in the dream world.  We were to sneak out of our cabins after lights out, 2 hours after everything was silent.  Approximation would need to be epic, but we seemed linked emotionally or something.  Then we would congregate and meet out of the trail leading to David’s private cabin.  Clarence even loaned me his extra black pants and shirt.  The clothes were a bit baggy given that he is a few inches taller than me.  Once outside, we were to sneak around to the elevated side of a hill on the opposite side of the trail behind the cabin.  From there we could get a better look through the window.  Much better than the last time I was peeping in on our great leader.  From there it would be a bit touch and go as we would act based on what we observed.  

    The rest of the day passed by without major events.  There was a bit of buzz around the camp about the knife in the tree with the photograph.  Several people tried to remove it.  I must have some kind of extra muscle I didn’t know about. I pushed the weird hubris off my mind and focused on specifics that would help us on the little caper.  Dayton was impressed with my knife antics.  He approached, “Oh Johnny...” He said with a coy smile.  “How exactly did you pull that little trick with the knife?”  He flexed his muscled biceps to illustrate the insanity of it all. I gave an innocent look and shrugged.  He gave out a belly laugh that made my lips curl into a grin.  

    “Just when I think I have you figured out Johnny; you go and pull a stunt like that.”  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and gave me a moment to reply.  I just kept waiting for him to go on.  “I would say that I saw a miracle today.  Not that you performed a miracle, but that God performed a miracle and used you as the vessel.”  He accentuated that “you” with a gentle poke on my chest.  “What can I say? I am always causing a scene.”  He laughed yet again, and said, “you sure are!”  I really like Dayton.  He had to have been the most real person I met on this journey besides Laurie.    

    What of Clarence you might say?  He seems so hidden to me, like there is another level underneath him that he is far from ever showing me.  I occasionally ponder the possibility that he is in the military to come to watch or direct me in some kind of way.  Maybe he is just incredibly smart and hard to get a read on.  But based on what I know now, and what I knew at the time this was happening, I barely scraped the tip of the iceberg.  We shall get back to that.  Oh yeah, and along with his last name.  Reveals are kind of my bread and butter.  

    Just after dinner I found out that Monica had a whole dream ritual planned for me tonight.  I was incredibly lucky that the lodge setup was a one-time thing. There was to be a waking and sleeping component to the whole ordeal that would take a full hour before I was even ready to go to sleep.  This complicated matters a bit, as I now needed to convince Monica that I was playing along and had to figure out a way to avoid drinking any strange teas or poultices.  I debated inducing vomiting when her back was turned, but that seemed a bit obvious.  Maybe pointing out that a Sasquatch was behind her and then dumping the tea?  No matter what the case, I had to be careful.  One characteristic that doesn’t define my stealth ability is; adroit.    

    I reconvened with Laurie and Clarence to tell them what happened.  Word from Vicky was that if I kept the chocolate in mouth while the tea was in there too, it would neutralize the effects of the tea.  I was wondering if I was getting that chocolate for just being a good scout.  They told me to just do everything in my power to fake sleeping, which can be tough.  “She tries to paralyze you with her astral projections and teas.  Just act like you can’t move a muscle for however long it takes.” Laurie proposed with me, staring off stupefied that “astral projection” was somehow the operant mechanism at play here.  At this point however... “Also, don’t forget we need to get an idea where Ralph is.  If anyone is going to spot us, it is him.”  I couldn’t agree with Clarence more.  

    We all shared hugs before our clandestine little surveillance mission.  We parted ways and went to our separate cabins.  I opened the door, drawing a sharp anticipatory breath before entering.  This was my moment to shine.  “OK, Johnny, I don’t want to worry you, but this might be another dangerous yet crucial dream challenge yet to come.”  Hopefully not.  I nodded in what I hoped looked like stoic determination.  There were candles set around each of the four corners of the cabin on standing candelabras.  There were also small incense bowls burning one in from of the cot and one behind.  I think there were chalk lines and salt circles, but this was all getting a bit too hokey to follow and describe.  

    I sat down on the cot on the floor with pillows surrounding me.  I nervously realized I wasn’t sure what came first, the chocolate or the tea.  Then it hit me, I was screwed there because I can’t just hide a mouthful of tea.  Oh well.  Luckily, I did not see any teacups around.  I felt instantly relaxed.  Monica was poking through a book that I recognized from the dream that Clarence gave me.  I could only wonder how they were connected.  My thoughts were interrupted by Monica sternly clearing her throat like the noise in my mind was a child screaming for attention.  “Lay down, this will take a while.”  

    I did as she instructed.  The nicotine and caffeine were both running through me at full blast, so it was kind of uncomfortable to act like I was in a relaxed state.  Monica was attuned to my energy better than I was expecting.  “You seem tense” she stated flatly with mild suspicion.  I made a weird face to express confusion.  “Right.  Now I want you to breathe in slowly.  Count your breaths, inhale through the nose deeply, and exhale through mouth quickly and sharply.”  I did so, assuming this was some kind of meditation process to undergo homeostasis or something.  She let me count my breaths for at least 150 counts.  It wasn’t particularly fun.    

    After the breath was a bit of chanting that involved phrases, I won’t repeat.  I assume they were vulgar or at least damaging to the minds of small children.  You never know who might be reading this.   The chanting went on until my lips were a bit numb, and the so-called words were turning into mush in my mouth.  Once my mind was in a complete spin, Monica had me do extremely small crunches and leg raises.  She said that just a slight bit of physical exertion would streamline the process.  I continued to do everything down to the letter, but the chemicals in my blood demanded more action than this.  I couldn’t wait for this to be over.  

    Monica eventually told me to lay down and close my eyes while she went to each candle slowly and blew it out.  Each candle was given a different prayer.  Something about being eternally watched and loved or something.  I can’t tell you because I thought it was super dumb and boring. Monica kneeled in front of me after she blew out the last candle.  How did I know?  With the cabin mostly dark, I could peek and make out an outline.  Yeah, I cheated, take it up with the ethics committee.  She kept chanting, breathing, and stopping.  She repeated this process countless times.  I was worried she was going to just kneel in front of me all night.  That would make slipping through undetected a bit problematic.    

    After a while my eyes were closed to kind of stay calm and focused while she did her thing.  Finally, she stopped, and I was surprised by what I heard next.  It was this odd squeaking sound and a faint whimper.  Then it turned into full sobs.  She was crying in front of me.  I wasn’t sure what she was going on about.  I tried to play like I was asleep.  “Don’t pretend to be sleeping Johnny.  I know you are awake, and I know what you are about to do.”  I kept silent for another moment, unsure of myself.  “Just go meet up with the others.  Clarence told me what you were planning.  I just wanted you to relax and focus.  None of this was about dreaming.”  Her voice faded out of crying and gathered composure.  

    All my reply was amounted to be an odd grunt.  “I think we must know what he is doing there.  Vicky is worried about her family.”  Honesty would need to be my next option with her I figured out when I told her that.  Besides, it was stupid to try to deceive her at this point.  “Wait another 5 minutes, and I will be back to tell you if the coast is clear.”  She sniffled heavily then exited the cabin, and I was left alone with my thoughts in the dark.  Something in the dark reminded me that this whole affair was shrouded in secrecy.  From the mental hospital to this very moment, everything was hidden like some kind of messed up demonic onion.   

    Monica confirmed that no one was nearby.  She specifically mentioned that Ralph was nowhere in sight and was probably the first lookout at the entrance of the camp.  This would be a slightly wrong direction to head to David’s cabin.  More northeast instead of north, I reckoned.  I changed into the clothes Clarence gave me.  I didn’t know it at the time, but the turtleneck he gave me was navy blue – not black.  While changing, I noticed that the knife that Dr. Sprinkles gave me was slightly in view.  I wonder if Monica put it there.  The ruby on the pommel of the knife reflected the moonlight ever so subtly. I felt compelled to bring it with me.  I tucked it into my pants behind my back.  Afterwards, I crept out of the cabin and made my way around back to the woods.  I was getting the hang of figuring out my way around the camp and was able to cut across the woods to a trail that ran parallel to the trail to the bathrooms.   I winced at every twig snapped and every leaf crunched.   

    The trail that leads to the firepit for communal song and storytelling was clear at first sight.  Moments later I could hear the thumping of footsteps and a wet cough coming from further down the trail.  I think it was Lewis.  He is a heavyset man who is also a notorious smoker.  I nimbly moved past the trail and hid behind a tree that is split into a giant V. I crouched down and listened carefully for the sounds of the steps.  I knew that further down the trail, by the firepit, there was another deer stand that Ralph and I had worked on.  I knew that once Lewis made it past me, he would be maintaining a watch on the stand for over 20 minutes.  It would be a good time to press on then.  

    An eternity of silence passed for me.  Lewis amused himself with a filthy limerick that I cannot recall and should not mention.  Something about a well-endowed man and mysterious portal in a wall?  I steadied my breath and focused on the count just like I was doing with Monica.  The rhythm was consistent too; it was like she was preparing me for this moment.  It was incredibly comforting to hear the count in my mind pushing out the distractions and noise that was beginning to pollute my thinking.  At last, several more moments passed, and Lewis was far enough out of earshot for me to continue my trek to the meeting spot.  

    My sense of direction was a bit askew as this would be a challenge during the day let alone during the dead of night.  Finally, I heard the faint sound of voices that sounded familiar.  Laurie and Clarence.  I was becoming more adept at picking them out when they conversed.  They carried a certain energy during their conversations, like siblings, or close friends.  They still made me wonder if there was some kind of romantic relationship brewing between them.  I did my best to leave things on more certain and pressing matters.  Like trying to get a lead on what the hell we were dealing with.  

    “It is time to make this happen,” Clarence confirmed to strengthen our resolve.  “Am I the only one who sucks at sneaking?” I moaned somewhat shamefully.  Laurie shook her head no, which was a bit comforting I suppose.  Clarence held up his finger for silence, which was effective in doing what he intended.  He began a catlike crouching walk around the perimeter of the house.  It took what seemed like an hour to get around what could be described as single floor ranch dwelling.  Once around the back, I could hear Clarence gasp.  “Oh shit.  Shit. Oh shit!”    

    Clarence looked like he was having an ordeal trying to keep his voice down.  I moved around closer to him to see what the commotion was about.  I was not disappointed with the sight he went on about.  It was a huge blood splatter, or what looked like blood on the back window of David’s cabin.  “We have to go in.” I am not sure why I felt such a surge of determination and confidence at that moment.  Clarence gave me a surprised look but followed my lead as I walked at an accelerated pace toward the cabin.  I made my way to the back door.  I gently pulled the handle and hoped to hope that it would be open.  It was.  

    I entered the cabin with a bit less confidence.  There was a wall that ended in the middle of the back room that would lead to a corner.  Turning that corner would put us face to face with God knew what.  The others followed and I could smell the tangy odor of their body glazed in a fear sweat.  Clarence and Laurie had never been this scared.  Or at least that I had ever seen.  I hugged the wall as I continued forward.  The place looked like it was owned by an aging hipster with all of the acculturation of Native American relics and hippie posters for Grateful Dead concerts.  There was also this one lamp.  Let me tell you about his lamp on the nightstand.  It was ugly as hell.  

    I turned the corner, and I was the next person to let out a fear response.  “Hello Johnny, I was expecting you.  Though I must admit, you took your time getting here.”  It was David with blood all over his face and mouth, like he was the star of a cheesy vampire movie.  Ralph was also there, sitting on a chair next to the kitchen table with an indifferent expression on his face.  This did not seem to be Ralph in his usual joking manner. Clarence and Laurie both got the memo because they were praying and uttering surprised profanities.  “Why don’t you sit down Johnny.”  He gestured to an empty chair across the table from Ralph. I didn’t want to be rude, so I complied.  The knife felt uncomfortable, jabbing into my back.  

    “As for you two idiots.  Sit this one out.”  David snapped his fingers, and Laurie and Clarence both dropped to the ground completely unconscious.  David smiled wickedly.  I turned back to see if they were alive, but David didn’t like me distracted because he quickly spat out, “Pay attention!” I was very much paying attention.  “You have it.  What exactly do you want, David.  And don’t tell me it was an impromptu slumber party.” I folded my arms around my chest to show that I meant business.  I don’t think he cared very much about that gesture.  “You know what the greatest thing about Tuesday is?  It comes today.”  

    An awkward silence followed.  Ralph glared at me hatefully.  “Why don’t we take a look at things as they truly are.  Maybe this might awaken your sleeping mind.”  David then reached under his chin and began pulling at the skin.  It was a strange tugging motion that almost looked like he was taking off a mask.  Then I realized it was a mask of flesh and muscle. Blood splattered everywhere as a face was revealed under the David skin mask.  It was a disgusting and familiar face.  One that I have come to hate more than anything in this world.  It was the face of Thomas Balthazar. 

 

Chapter 14: Showdown  

 

I found my vision began to fail me, and my ears began a fierce sound that shook down to the base of my skull.  There was a strong urge to fall asleep, and I could not think of a more inconvenient time to be struck with the urge for a cat nap.  Thomas looked at me in some sort of combination of sneer and smirk.  I think the feelings of contempt and amusement were fighting for control as the dominant emotion he was operating on.  I could see this yellow flicker in his cold blue eyes that wrapped around the iris and outlined the whites of his eyes.  It was like he was somehow in control of whatever malefic force has been possessing people, like it was using him and he it.  Like some perverse symbiosis.  Like if those birds that eat from the crocodile's mouth also had sex with it.   

    I tried to focus my mind on such amusing analogies to keep my head from falling into the table and my consciousness with it.  Thomas’s slight amusement switched to full amusement as my body became his plaything.  The knife, which was poking into my back, was giving me a strange feeling of inertia from a feeling of falling into complete darkness.  Whatever force was protecting me was beginning to falter, and the room faded from view.  I was transported to a swirling grey mist.  There was no distinct horizon, just a fog that was laden with shadows and had a certain thickness about it.  The feeling was like being submerged in an ice bath.  

    I could hear voices all around me.  I could make out the voices of Clarence and Laurie the loudest.  I could also hear Monica.  Laurie and Clarence were expressing confusion and alarm.  “Help?  Where the hell am I?”  I could hear Clarence call out from nowhere.  It wasn’t even possible to pinpoint a direction.  It seemed to come from where he was standing behind me but there was a louder echo that centered his voice in the room.  I could hear Laurie saying, “please God don’t let this sick monster kill us. I just want to go home.  I just want to see my father, and Clarence, and Johnny.”  She said my name the deepest longing.  I was bound by fear and confusion, but some measure of pride sparked my sense of optimism.  

    I thought I could see the outlines of shadows in front of me.  I think where Ralph was sitting, and the vague outline of a shadow began to shift and ambulate toward me.  I could faintly hear Monica.  She was pleading to me somehow.  “Don’t think about what you have with you.  Don’t let on that you have it with you.”  My mind started to drift to the knife behind my back, but I recoiled and thought about the specter of Ralph standing nearby.  There was nothing visible where Thomas was standing, almost like he was the center of the swirling mist in front of me.  A screeching noise began to assail me, and it felt like I imagined what a dog whistle might sound like to a dog.  It is not pleasant to experience, but I was convinced that this was some kind of dream torture that Thomas was using to soften me up.  

    I could hear faint voices surrounding the area.  Maybe there were more people entering the cabin?  The wavy lines and outlines of people were moving in an awkwardly slow motion toward me in the center of the room.  I was still in a sitting position, but my head slumped down.  I thought I might have fallen asleep while sitting upright.  I could hear another voice that started to drown out the screech.  It was the voice of...David!  He was near somewhere, or something.  “Johnny, you must listen to me!”  There was a note of urgency and desperation that I could never have associated with David.  It was unbecoming of him.  Still, whatever he wanted seemed even more important than the predicament I was in.  

    I could hear the voice of David growing stronger and sharper.  “Johnny, up here!”  It was as if I saw a celestial hand made of yellow light reaching down into the mist and offering me a hand up.  I nervously waited a moment then extended my own hand toward the disembodied hand that beaconed me upward.  The shadows were closing in on me, and the hand began to pull me up further from the mists.  I strained to hear what Clarence, Laurie, or Monica might be saying.  There was nothing but silence from them.  I had to hold hope that there was salvation from the way David reached to pull me out of this wretched dream state.  

    The hand pulled me up and I was standing on the mists, and it was almost like standing on clouds.  It looked almost like the cliche version of Heaven you might see in cartoons or movies.  There was even the sun hovering above us.  David looked serene and angelic as he stood before me.  Whatever fear and desperation he showed, it was not for his own situation, but it was meant for me.  He was truly worried about me.  Now there was only an austere glow that radiated from him.  Not like the yellow glow of the possessed maniacs, but a yellow glow that was warm and inviting.  The warm late spring sun on your exposed back.  

    “Looks like we both got off the beaten path, Johnny."  He smiled briefly.  "I am glad you were adventurous enough to risk venturing into my cabin.  A more cowardly hero might have been in the camp going slowly insane waiting for ruin.”  He reached his hand over to my shoulder to add a bit of warm physical contact to emphasize his pride in me.  “I never felt like a hero.  I just snuck around and spied on you.  Or well... tried to.”  I tried to keep my embarrassment and feeling of meekness at a tolerable volume.  I did not feel heroic or brave.  Maybe curious or a bit meddling.  “What happened to you?”  I felt uncomfortable asking him about what terrible fate he might have endured or was enduring.  

    “Let’s just say that the blood you saw on the cabin was a bit of a spoiler as to my fate.”  It very quickly dawned on me that David was no longer a living person.  A sense of intrigue was quickly followed by a glumness that accompanied the early stages of mourning someone.  David, as he always did, noticed that fact and eased the tension by offering, “I have only shared a few words with you Johnny, it may only seem more important or cathartic because of the journey you have undertaken.”  He pointed at me when he said “you” and it relieved the strange tension of missing the departed camp owner.  He smiled at me like these kinds of revelations were a dime a dozen.  He looked down somewhat dismayed.  

    “My body is under the floorboards in a crawl space.  There is a key to it under my dresser.  When this is all over, please let the others know so they can send my remains off properly.  Thomas enjoyed playing with the remains before he cast them aside.”  I stoically listened to David as I swallowed the bile rising in my throat at the thought of Thomas desecrating David’s body.  David may be a bit controlling and manipulative, but the recent changes could easily be explained by a doppelganger situation.  “You may not be happy to know this, but your body is being dragged to the flagpole where you are being tied up, and prisoners will be surrounding you.  The shadows you saw are an elite ops team that agreed to follow Thomas to the end.  They aren’t possessed, but they are dedicated to their mission.”    

    I stumbled a bit on my thoughts before sputtering out my next words.  “What mission is that? Who are they?”  David shrugged and said something about it being “above his pay grade.”  I would have thought as an angelic being; it would have superseded such mortal concerns, but I have no idea how heavenly bureaucracies work.  “Monica warned you about hiding the weapon.  Its powers are being kept hidden from Thomas’ third eye.  He would never expect a sneak attack from you when you are conscious.  Oh, and he wants you to be conscious to see what he has planned.  He gets a sick thrill out of such things.”  There was just a note of bitterness in David’s voice that betrayed his angelic demeanor.  I guess even celestial types have hang-ups too. I still had so many questions.  

    “Who is Thomas to me?”  I looked at him expecting an explanation of the relationship, or whatever obsession he had with me.  “That is a question you can always ask yourself, Johnny.  Who is anyone to anyone when we are all children of the Almighty?”  His response irked me a bit, considering I wanted a more concrete answer.  Maybe one of those charts with the string and thumbtacks going from one photo to the next that lunatics and police use.  “There is one other loose end...” David started to build up the anticipation just a bit.  “The ring that you had stolen.  It was taken by an old associate of mine.”  I gave David a quizzical look as to why a ring stolen years ago was relevant to today’s little debacle.  “They were tasked with recovering that artifact with the intention of restoring your most loved ones.”  I couldn’t figure out what he meant.  

    “There is a reason you could still hear Clarence and Laurie’s voices while you were in a forced dream state.  They should have been dead.”  I suddenly realized that Thomas had meant to simply will my two closest friends dead when they fell over.  He basically put a vice grip on their brain stems.  The ring was in a nearby proximity, and the third ruby had saved their lives.  The three rubies were now connected in their meaning.  One that granted me immense power, one that brought salvation to my loved ones, and one that was calling out for completion of the darkest chapter of my life.  They say terrible things come in three, well; strange rubies with supernatural properties are no exception.  At least it wasn’t emeralds.  I despise emeralds.  

    “You have little time before you will awaken Johnny.”  I stared hard at David wondering what in the world I would do if he had the power to just knock me out again.  “Draw him in, then spring your trap.  I would tell you more, but you are just the type of clever person that would have the stuff to make such a plan work.”  David’s serene aura flickered when he winked and had just a moment of impishness.  A bit of yin in the yang. Or something like that.  I am not versed well in east Asian culture.  While pondering what my plan might even be, I could hear the wailing sound that Thomas was bombarding me with just below my feet.  I could feel my weight being pulled down into the mists of the clouds.  David held out his hands in a peaceful gesture bidding me farewell from this strange heaven-like realm.  

    The sound around me began to echo and fade like it was being reduced by the force that started it.  I could tell by intuition that Thomas was releasing whatever pressure he had on my mind that called me to this dream realm.  I knew I had moments before I would wake.  My body began to change shape and position.  I felt like I was being tied to a pole or some kind of standing object.  It certainly felt like the diameter of the flagpole in the center of the parade field in the camp.  I could also see many wavy shadows around me.  I just knew that, while I couldn’t make out their features, the population of the camp was in front of me.  The noise alternated from a slight whine to complete silence as the fog began to lift and vision began to be restored to my eyes.  I was indeed in the parade field.  

    I could see everyone in the parade field on their knees in some kind of pose of submissive surrender.  They all looked like they were prisoners awaiting some kind of monstrous execution.  The sight of the people I had come to call family.  The people that showed me true friendship and compassion were helpless.  What tugged at my heart was the fact that they were all there terrified for themselves, but more so, for me.  It was like seeing someone you care about deeply made to suffer for a madman's amusement. To succor some insane desire to display power and dominance.  Not to control for a purpose, but for the purpose of control.  

    All eyes were on me.  Soldiers surrounded the ring of people that were all kneeling.  The soldiers were standing above them with assault rifles trained on them.  It sickened me when I saw one soldier looking right down the iron sights of an AR right at my mother, like she was a threat or something.  Charlie looked livid.  Between me and the cowering group of prisoners, were the bodies of Clarence and Laurie.  I knew that while they looked dead, they were not, a deep slumber that none would think fits the living.  Thomas stood right in front of the bodies with his arms extended to the sides and a sick grin exposing his jagged sharp teeth.  His bathrobe was tastefully blowing in the wind, graciously covering his genitals.  

    “It looks like the sleeper has awakened!”  Thomas said with mock thrill.  The ring of soldiers laughed mechanically, like they were ordered to laugh.  Your jokes must not land if that's how you get your laughs from people.  I struggled against a dry mouth full of contempt and short of answers.  “We see what happens to your friends when they stand in the way of what is to come.  When they try to stop what is inevitable, and what is required, they receive the due penalty of interrupting progress.”  He spat on the ground and scooped up a nearby glass of brandy that awaited him on the grass.  I tried to think of a response to get him closer, but not too quickly.  My hands were tied to the pole but were free enough that I could start cutting the rope with the knife.  How in God’s name had they not found this knife when they tied me up?  

    I could feel the ropes loosen, and the knife sawed through the rope one by one as Thomas began his insane pontifications.  “Do you know what the plan is?  Why Azmodariel has come amongst us?  It is unification!”  He pointed his finger upward to try to create a deifying gesture to this madness.  “All of the living on this planet will embrace the hive mind of this grand extradimensional entity.  When every last soul on the planet has submitted their will, every dead one will join too.  The Pearly Gates and Hades themselves will open their coffers of souls to feed the one true power in the universe!”  Thomas clearly had some kind of control issues.  Not that I would be his therapist mind you.  

    I could see foam at his mouth.  He started walking toward me in a menacing way, trying to draw all eyes on him captivated by fear.  I could see the pleading faces of everyone around me, knowing that there was some means to end this.  “I am but a vessel, and you could have been too Johnny, but you were a little too separate.  A little too cynical and detached from the group.  Since you can never join something greater, you will be the chum that feeds the hungriest of the sharks.”  He grinned at me further as he advanced.  I was closer now, only two more rows of ropes, and I would have access to my right arm and could swing at least one shot at the monster.  

    Thomas was getting a little too close a little too fast, and I desperately needed a distraction.  I heard Charlie call out, “For a cynic, he has far more hope than you or any of your cronies!”  Thomas looked back at Charlie and hissed.  “Think you are brave?  Think making a token gesture to defend your little friend does anyone any good?”  Thomas nodded over at one of the troops, and the deafening sound of a shot being fired at Charlie stole all our attention.   Well except mine, I had to honor his sacrifice by continuing to cut through to the last rope.  To everyone’s horror, Charlie’s head popped with a crimson mist spraying everyone but mostly my mother.  I hated the look of horror and revulsion that stole her face.  I was really looking forward to getting a shot at this guy.  

    My mother began sobbing and someone had to prop her up from falling to the ground and crying.  One of the soldiers turned to her and demanded, “on your knees!”  His voice was a chilling bark whose sinister tone immediately sobered my mother up.  She had to find another time to grieve when there weren’t so many guns pointed at her.  Thomas got closer and closer to me.  “Johnny, I am going to level with you.”  His voice began to grow with mock sympathy that would be followed by a sick joke.  I am aware of the set up for a truly sick joke.  

    “I see a lot of myself in you.  I think there is a part of you that feels the same way.”  He chuckled and added, “Because it is true what they say, you are what you eat!” He let out a cascade of laughter as he bared his fangs.  He then showed the prisoners his fangs to emphasize the fact that he was going to literally eat me alive in front of them.  This man does like to put on a show.  After there was a gasp from the crowd, my hands broke free of the final rope, and I now had use of my right arm.  Thomas moved in, inches away, and began to open his mouth, and it disjointed and opened extremely wide to accommodate the size of my delicious (?) head.  

    While in his moment of triumphant sadism, I was able to reach behind me and thrust the knife forward.  It was a motion of pure focus and intention.  I made my attack and thrust the blade directly into his heart.  His mouth shrank closed, and his eyes faded back to a normal blue color.  There was a look of surprise and confusion, like he was experiencing a pain he could never know existed.  Thomas stumbled backward and turned toward the crowd with a 10-inch-long blade with a ruby on the pommel sticking out at them.  I am no anatomy expert, but I was certain that was dead center in his heart, tearing each of the four chambers into one terrible hole.  There was no blood.  There was nothing that resembled the gore I would have expected from such an attack.  

    He tumbled down and fell on his knees, looking upward to the sky in a look of disbelief.  The faces in the crowd looked at him with surprise and relief.  The sight of seeing such a terrifying captor fall before them was surreal.  The soldiers all lowered their weapons.  They began to strap them to their backs and walk away.  I began to wiggle myself free of the remaining rope as the crowd slowly gathered around Thomas’ body.  He looked like the star of an ancient Greek tragedy lying in front of all of us.  While he let out his dying gasp, I could hear Clarence and Laurie stirring from the spot they were lying in. I immediately ignored Thomas and ran to the woman I had come to love.  

    Both Clarence and Laurie looked like they were recovering from incredible migraine headaches.  I wrapped my arms around Laurie and whispered, “it is okay, it is all over.”  Laurie’s look of relief was washed over by nausea, and she turned over and vomited.  Clarence leaned over and did the same simultaneously.  I still held Laurie close as she began to sob tears of relief, joy, and sorrow.  She and Clarence somehow immediately knew that we lost Charlie and David that day.  Dayton lumbered over to Clarence and offered him a hand up, which Clarence declined.  Clarence looked determined to walk on his own.  Laurie and I were contented to lay on the grass and bask in a feeling of relief.  

    “I can’t believe it is finally over.”  Laurie started off like she was trying to digest something she was only on the verge of understanding.  While I whispered to her, “I know where David’s body is, we need to retrieve it with Charlie’s and...”  I was interrupted by the sizzling and popping of flesh being incinerated.  All eyes turned back to the body of Thomas Balthazar which began to incinerate itself.  It took mere seconds for the body to turn to ash and spread away into the early morning breeze.  It took the whole camp a long time to work up the nerve to leave that parade field.  For some strange reason, the knife was no longer there.  

 

  

     

    We piled David’s body into a canoe and set it to the center of the lake where it was set ablaze.  The fire lapped up the canoe and everyone at camp sang songs that reminded us of him.  We let his memory surround us and fill us up with his love.  I knew that David would have wanted us to continue without him.  The ceremony was lovely, and it somehow brought Vicky some of the closure that she needed to have.  Somehow, she knew that David wasn’t hiding things from her, but that Thomas was.  What she feared about David was only the things everyone hated about dealing with that possessed maniac.  Charlie was buried in a small cemetery on the outskirt of the camp reserved for the rare person that die on campgrounds as a hero or legend of the camp.  Charlie told my mother that he preferred his remains buried should the worst happen.  

    Dr. Harold Felter took over as the administrator of Camp McCallister, and it seemed like a slightly superficial title as camp wouldn’t be in session anytime soon.  It still made Laurie proud that her father took such a role, prouder than she was of his status as a scientist.  Dr. Felter spoke to me a few times about teleportation and did his best to explain how my dreaming was a projection or manifestation of the energy portion of my teleportation journey.  Sometimes a person’s energy and body don’t wind up in the same position, and the dream world becomes manifest in some kind of way.  It also explains how one can move things from the dream world to this world.  I liked his description of the physics of the tether ball a bit more.  It was a bit more down to Earth that I needed these days.  

    Mercedes and Clarence grew closer together and spent the next week hiding in their cabin talking and playing kissing games.  Maybe poker, too.  Dayton was a huge source of emotional support for Monica.  Apparently, during that time I spent in the strange mist while Thomas had control over my body, she spent a lot of mental energy just telling me to hide the knife.  Sometimes we can go through great personal pain and lengths to send a simple message that most people would text these days.  We all owed Monica a great debt for all that she did for us.  I mean it was a real group effort.  Some of the other people from the camp kind of weaved in and out of our lives.  Ralph was catatonic for days after it all happened.  I guess he was possessed and snapping out of his state was no simple process.  Monica had to work with him round the clock.  

    My mother seemed deeply troubled by the death of Charlie.  It was hard to get her to open up right after we buried him.  I could only hope that she would move past this whole thing.  She saw me as a hero, but some part of her saw me as a monster who plunged a dagger into a man’s heart.  Even if it was no man, who had no heart, but the sight of the whole violent ordeal was a bit too much for her.  I deeply wished that I could have shielded her from that part of the adventure.  Alas, saving the world has so many messy bits that it is just unrealistic to expect there not to be some damage.  It looked like this camp would be our home until we moved elsewhere, or Karl got sick of cooking our meals.  I hoped it would be the former and not the latter.    

    I felt the need to write down my experiences during the event I will call my “incredible quest.” It took me a great deal of courage and time to piece together the words to express the strange things that took place during those years.  Many pieces were left out, but I think I nailed all the most important details.  There was a period where I had, not writers block, but a sort of writing slump.  My story needed to be told but it seemed pointless with the world in such a mess.  Who would read it?  Who might it help?  These questions dragged me down.  And naturally there was no good way to monetize it, so I had to release it out of the goodness of my heart, or at least a deep need for attention.  I leave with some closing thoughts as I wrote this down on the computer in David’s cabin.  The place Laurie and I found comfort and distance from the world.  

    Or maybe by now you decided that Laurie isn’t real.  Maybe now you might think that I never left the mental institution, and that the three years that I spent there I described as “three years later,” was what this entire journey was.  It was all a medication fueled ride from one night's sleep to the next.  Even most of the days I spent inside the institute were spent sleeping and dreaming of this ongoing adventure.  My dreams binding together like some larger narrative that kept me going during my time in an institution.  All the while trying to convince myself and the dear reader that I didn’t murder my father.  Trying to convince you that he died of natural causes...

    Decide for yourself, I suppose because I despise stories that you need to interpret one way for certain.  Truth is not a binary or an exact matter of things; it is merely a label we apply to things that we verify based on what we perceive.  All our experiences in life give that label greater meaning the more they are observed.  The truth is like a web, with each strand representing facts we know as true.  The closer to the center, the greater the verification over our lifetime, and the more it impacts how true something is to us.  Things that are on the periphery are more questionable facts that do not shake the core things we believe as truth.  It is only when the information is so shocking and deep that it shakes the center of the web, do all the other strings rattle.