Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Confession

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am Johnny Balthazar.