Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Arrival 

    My dream began with me waking up in 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 definitely 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 definitely 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 really 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 is real.  This was the dream, and since it was a dream, the consequences of beating the doctor senseless were nonexistent.   

    I lunged onto the desk in an effort to strangle this demon who was tormenting me.  I could hear the footsteps come from behind me.  The doctor pushed his wheeled chair backward to put 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 thought I had really 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 in an effort 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 put on display in the parking lot that I could actually 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 kind of funny that he was asking my name now, instead of before renting the room.  We were definitely 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 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 really get his point across. 

    “Yes?”  I answered, without the slightest clue where he was going with this.  “I need you to remain in your room at all times 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 his TV watching.  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 as to 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 the garbage cans as goal markers, and it was actually 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 where 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 in an effort 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 guff 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 was actually enjoying herself.  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 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.  Whomever 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 off 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 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 really 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.  “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.” Screw 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 back 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 to be 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 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 really commuted 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 really 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 really 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 are able to 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.”  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 in 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 myself 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 Dana 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 really 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 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 kind of 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 had 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 did find out 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 really 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 hawks and a Pterodactyl.  Wait, a 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 in close proximity to 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 that were 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.  “Heyyy-Ya Laurie!  Long time no see.” Monica took a seat on one of the nearby benches with her hands clasped and 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 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 really 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 really 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 could hear 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 in 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.  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 actually 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 counting 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 came out of my mouth as 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 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 nice 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 enter 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.