Chapter 7

 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 did get 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 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 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 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 where we met Dayton.  It brought a troubled look in his eyes. 

    “I lost Dayton when I was about 15,” Clarence said.  This was a major clue in the puzzle to me.  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 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 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 really 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.  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 on with amazement.  “I think you must have gotten what you came for.”  He looked on 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 really see or sense coming.  I woke 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 really 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 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 really 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 at 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 and 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 showers.  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 back 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 had arrived.  I could only pray it would be getting 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 really 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 definitely knocked the hell out. We dragged him out and beat what was left.  We threw the 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 camps 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 swallow what she just said.  She continued speaking in a tone that grew steadily more stern, “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 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 to 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 really 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 then 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 actually 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 gonna 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 actually 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 pretty 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 really 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 masters degree in psychology and she even sent photos of each page to Dr. Balakrishnan.  They are already studying its meaning.”  This news actually did cause my guard to drop.  He honed right in on it and continued speaking. 

    “There are a number of symbols that even the author hasn't deciphered the meaning of.  Apparently, Clarence told us that one of his friends back home has a very intimate working knowledge of ancient languages.  He has studied under a number 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 lofty 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 culty or untrustworthy.  To be fair, there is a fine line between a camp of happy folk staving off Armageddon and Jonestown.   

    “Thanks.”  I couldn't help what came out next.  “I have been having these strange dreams.  Like the book, and this...” I pulled the straight razor 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 and 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 actually 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 diner meant a trip to the cafeteria.

    Diner 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 to 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 pretty 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.  My 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 my 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 abruptly, 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 myself 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 actually ponder his words carefully.  “Sometimes in the world of medicine...”  Oh great, an analogy.  “...A patient falls in love with his 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 tagged along 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 others 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 often.  This was clearly a tender area for him. 

    “Who did he lose?” I asked trying to keep the conversation flowing.  David shook his head and earnest replied “I can't tell you.”  I was puzzled, yet 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 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 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...severe 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 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 ones 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 a really 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 showed her or told anyone about it.  The tea roiled and churned in my stomach. It was clearly unhappy companions 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 dulled 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.