Dormant

DORMANT
by
Kevin Cathy
Dormant by Kevin Cathy
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Buy The Field Trotter

in bookstores now.
"Incredibly unique!" -Marcus Crowder, Sacramento News & Review
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DORMANT
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This is a work of fiction. The characters and events described in this book are imaginary and resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. Copyright 2009 by Kevin Cathy. Published by Lulu.com
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To Gary and Melissa Carter,
You guys have always supported me in anything I've ever done. For that, I dedicate this book to you. Cause I'm hoping you'll have to buy it once you see I did that.
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Table of Contents
Letter to the Reader.15 Excerpt from the book of poems Sleep Not Sleep19 Part One: The Resolution23 Chapter 1.25 Chapter 2.34 Chapter 3.43 Chapter 4.53 Part Two: The Consequence..55 Chapter 5.57 Chapter 6.61 Chapter 7.62 Part Three: Dj vu.65 Chapter 8.....67 Chapter 9...75 Chapter 10......78
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Chapter 11..83 Chapter 12..86 Chapter 13..92 Chapter 14....95 Part Four: Transitions.............................................97 Chapter 15....99 Chapter 16..103 Chapter 17....105 Part Five: The Punishment..113 Chapter 18...115 Chapter 19.120 Chapter 20.122 Part Six: The Awakening125 Chapter 21127 Chapter 22131 Chapter 23135 Chapter 24137 Chapter 25..140 Chapter 26....145
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Chapter 27...150 Chapter 28...158 Part Seven: Realizations163 Chapter 29...165 Chapter 30.170 Part Eight: Alive..175 Chapter 31...177 Chapter 32.181 Epilogue.191 ALTERNATE ENDING..199 Introduction..201 Alternate Ending...205 About the Author211 Disclaimer & Advertisements..213
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Letter to the Reader
All I gotta say is: it's been a long time since I wrote anything so please go easy on me. This book is based on a super trippy dream I had recently and I had to bolt it out fast. Thank you for checking it out. Hope you enjoy!
-Kevin Cathy
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as he woke his mind unbent like the direction of light coming out of water
straight was still
straight but flowed from a different point
he could feel the weight of it shift
like a weight of water in an airless tube even memory inclined another direction
reaching back the image was still there but different
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like rocks on the bottom of a pond moved
yet where they were
-Harvey Ellis Excerpt from the book of poems Sleep Not Sleep
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Part One:
The Resolution
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Chapter 1
His breathing was now beginning to be more frequently unstable. What used to be a strong rhythmic and capable sound was quickly disposing into a harsh huff and puff rollercoaster. He so wished this inevitable annoyance didn't have to occur so abruptly, or at all for that matter. Can't I just be done with this with no pain? Foolish question. It had to be done no matter what. He knew he would have to slow down very soon. His running was both an obsession and a necessity.
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He would stretch, breathe deeply a few times, psych his mind into the upcoming harshness he was about to face, and then dash off like the wind and always keep the pace until he absolutely couldn't endure the pain anymore. Doing this everyday for the past year no matter what condition his body or mind was in brought his current running credentials to professional athlete status. Because his pace was so intense, he could not last a marathon. Those kinds of runners include a certain pace that, although fast, they cannot give their all from beginning to end. Not like Eric Philpot. And it wasn't about winning anything. It wasn't about being an athlete. And it definitely wasn't for his own health. Well maybe partly. A doctor Eric met once on a bus specifically told him to either A: "Slow it down there, hot shot." Or B: "Why don't you run your little heart out on one day and then jog the next?" And this was because: "You're not doing your body any justice. Because your eating habits are so up and down, you're running off muscle tissue while you're going warp nine. Your heart is in shock when
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it goes from zero miles per hour and then accelerates to a hundred. You need to slow down, take a walk, shoot ever thought of taking the day off? What are you trying to train for anyway?" It wasn't about training for anything either. What was it about? An obsession is an interesting subject because those of any sort go beyond a simple passion for something. Some of it cannot be explained even by the most plagued OCD subjugates. Sometimes things just aren't meant to make sense. No need to obsess on thinking about why that is. He had to run. There was a bigger reason than just a simple obsession. It started last year when he got fed up with not being able to sleep. He would toss and turn all night. No matter how hard he worked or how much his brain had processed that day, his body wouldn't do what his mind was dying for. During the "fully" awakened parts of his day, he noticed he was more irritable and couldn't think clearly. He would do anything for some sleep. He had tried all
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kinds of sleeping pills: Lunesta, Ambien, Tylonel, and sometimes all three. They worked but then he found he couldn't function at his job or with his friends. Damned if you, damned if you don't. So he would switch off with the pills each week. One week, he would be a savage and just try to sleep, but of course never could. Then when his body ached for sleep, he would take the next week taking the sleeping pills. But he never felt good either way. Finally, one day, he had enough. He would work out now and then, but nothing too significant. His body was too exhausted from not ever being fully regenerated. But it was that one day of epiphany last year that destroyed that lifestyle (if you want to call it that). That late Saturday morning, June 25th, 2011, after lying in bed since 8:00pm the night before and not getting a wink of sleep, he stared up at the ceiling and said "No more." No other statement made more sense to him. He ached out of bed, tense as hell, and cracked his back as he stood up.
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Looking at the mirror, he looked at himself. He could feel the blackness he saw underneath his eyes, how it made him so ugly and visibly drained. What woman will ever want to come near me? I'm hideous. I'm uninteresting. They don't wanna hear what I've been thinking all night. They wanna talk about movies, and good party times they had, and how well they slept last night. Like me no not like me. I don't sleep. I stay up thinking about the meaning behind everything. Maybe the harder I think, the more school I don't need. While everyone else is sleeping, I can find the answers to life all by not sleeping. Maybe doctors don't want people to have dementia because somehow they know that in that chaotic world, there are answers. Answers that will put those money-hungry pompous bastards out of business. What am I analyzing? I'm so ugly. He had enough. No more. He felt so shitty. Always did. The intensity of the shitty feeling was definitely most felt in the morning. His muscles would be tight all over, his brain would be drained from thinking so much, the brightness hurt his eyes something awful, and the worst part was the
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realization that this new day would be worse than the day before. Because there were no up and down days. Only down and downer, in that order. Defying the feelings of his horribleness, he put on his gym shorts, took his shirt off, put on his shoes and marched to the front door. He opened the door and felt that terrible headache he always got when he got his first look outside. Most of the people that looked out this morning would have thanked God for such a glorious looking day. Bright and sunny. 80 degrees. Flowers blooming. Leaves slightly swaying in the calm wind. Not for Eric. Ulgh. Gross. Why me? He tricked his mind to pretend that the
brightness didn't bother him, that it had subsided as fast as it came. But of course, it hurt just as bad, but even flawed thinking is still thinking, and God knows he was good at that. He bent down and placed his house key under the welcome mat, still not exactly knowing what he was just about to do.
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He walked down the apartment stairs and across the lawn to the sidewalk and planted his feet. What am I doing? What am I about to do? Without questioning the instinctive voice that yelled "Move!", he burst out in a flash. He was about to stop in the first few seconds and ask himself what the hell he was doing, but something inside him pushed that thought away and made him continue. Faster, faster. He hadn't run in months. He had played soccer and tennis with some old college buddies but that was it. Working out for him was so sporadic; one couldn't define his stature as a guy who gets frequent physical exercise. His breath began to give out after just a quarter mile. Keep going. He increased his speed. Now he knew what that voice wanted him to do. And for those moments that he was running as fast as he could for the first time, he was only thinking and feeling ONE thing: I'm exhausted.
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That pushed him more. His body felt so empty. He didn't know about runner's diets or hydration requirements or any of that. It wasn't about that. He didn't exactly know what it was about at all that made him start running. Just that voice. That voice was now not just the dominant but the solo thought in his head. Twenty four seven, his brain was thinking about ten different things at a time. One for a minute would be the primary thought while all the others were changing places in the importance list until finally one of those then would shuffle the first primary thought down the list and would be the new topic of focus. It was a very frustrating thing to live with. Not ever being calm. Not ever just enjoying one single moment. But in this single moment, although it was not an enjoyable moment, it was very much single. Very much focused. The only thing on his mind was his speed and his breath and that was it. For the first time since he could remember, his brain was at peace.
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Finally, after heaving and almost losing balance, he forced his last few breaths out of him and collapsed in a blackout in the middle of the community park. No thoughts. No worries. No aches. He was asleep.
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Chapter 2
And he was hooked. From then on, every morning of everyday, just like the one today, he would push his body and breathing to the ultimate max. After a month or so, he was able to push it as hard as he could without passing out. He crossed that threshold. For the month that he did, it was because he was desperate. The first time he maxed out in the community park, he was out for ten hours. The best ten hours of his life. His body and mind knew he was lacking in rest and so even though he could have been only unconscious for maybe two hours, his mind was telling
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his body "No, don't get up yet. It's taken years to get this far let's embrace this!" The only reason he woke up that first time was because the nurse wouldn't stop doing all she could to awaken him. Who knows how long he could have lasted. But he wasn't upset. Even one hour would have been acceptable. "Talk about getting the wind knocked out of you. What were you running from? Aliens?" He heard the voice but he didn't open his eyes just yet. He could have, but he chose not to. His eyes were always open; they needed a break. His smell was returning though. That was involuntary. The smell was a little unpleasant. The taste was a very dry and subtle nasty aftertaste. Puke? Did I puke? He finally opened his eyes and moved his head all around. The florescent light was in his face, but he noticed for the first time that it didn't bother him. In fact,
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he ended up staring at the long cylinder glowing bulbs for a few seconds, absorbing the once in a lifetime feeling of the tolerance of the light rather than hatred. He finally moved his head down more towards what was in front of him. An obese woman, probably in her early thirties, was staring directly at him. For a fraction of a second, he was shocked. How normal do I feel? Jesus Christ. Because of his condition, he never felt it right to judge anyone because he was so abnormal. But as good as he had felt for the first time, his miniature shock was that of "I'm having a negative judgment about someone. Am I allowed? She's really fat. Goddamn." It was such a split second thought though; he quickly couldn't remember what he was thinking. He took a second to think about how to start thinking again. Usually, ten thousand thoughts would be
swarming around in his brain before he even ever did wake up (of course those were on the days he took the sleeping pills the night before). What's going on? Why is my brain silent?
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This is AWESOME! "How are you feeling, young man?" Her voice sounded different. Granted he never met this woman before in his life. But he could tell that the atmosphere of her voice's resonance wasn't so intrusive. It wasn't bothersome. And he knew it wasn't just this particular woman. Under "normal"
circumstances, her voice would have hurt just like anybody else's. He felt so different. Rested. Awake. Calm. At ease. He breathed in a deep yoga breath and exhaled. He realized it was a semi-long delay to her question, but he answered, "I'm okay, I think." "Really?" she rhetorically asked as she raised her eyebrow. "You just suffered a very mild heart attack. You've been out for however long you were out there in that park plus the two hours you've been in here." He felt so good, he over-rided the first thing he heard and looked at the clock behind the woman's head. "Ten hours. Wow." Wow. I just did simple math without thinking.
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What the hell is going on? Did I really just sleep ten hours? The record for Eric since he became an
insomniac was five hours. And that was with the sleeping pills. Of course that's not including the first time he started using the pills. They used to knock him out for almost half the day, especially when he purposely overdosed. But that was before his illness was so bad. And since he could remember, it's been bad. His past when he didn't have insomnia? Well. Hard to remember the good times when there's always negative feelings and things going on all around you. Don't want to add depression on top of all of that. Heart attack? It just hit him. "Heart attack?" he said, realizing he didn't exclaim. Noticing this man was taking a while to answer her questions, she replied "Yes. A very mild one like I said. But you're so young. Thirty or so, sir?"
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"Twenty-eight." He knew his illness made him look older. Goddammit. "No one should be having heart attacks at twenty eight. Of course it was more self induced than anything. Is there something you've been going through that you did this on purpose? Or did you just start a new workout program and didn't realize you got to take is slow before you become like Lance Armstrong?" He had been this route before. No way was he going to let this fat bitch or any other wacko wearing a white coat know that he had insomnia. Take this pill, try this medication, let me try to prescribe you this new one. Pills, pills, pills. Fucking FDA. Why find a cure for something when you can milk the general public for their cash for an endless amount of time and fund the politicians that'll make sure that keeps happening for them? They don't care. Oh, insomnia: take this pill.
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Pills if anything, made Eric's life worse off. It's not a solution. And thats the only solution any quack had nowadays. He had to lie. He didn't want to be stuck in this smelly hospital any longer than he had to and have to explain to three different doctors that he came to an "unhealthy" last resort to try to get some fucking sleep. Forget that. "I guess I didn't read up on running like I should've. I thought it would have given me a head start if I started out hardcore." The nurse looked at him for a second longer than she realized she should've before replying, "Yeah, no, you definitely don't want to do that if you want to be a serious runner. Especially if you're just getting into the sport, you have to start out very slow or else you could seriously hurt your heart" she smiled, "well, obviously." "Guess I'll have to get some books on the subject or something. I was just trying to get back into shape." He was surprising himself at how good he was lying. He really was putting some effort into it. Usually, he would lie with a slow drone voice that if one could tell
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that he was lying, he didn't care that they knew he was. Very unconvincing. But not this time. He was actually enjoying the feeling of lying right through his teeth. And she was buying every word of it. She didn't know him. Who cares? I just don't want to be in this hospital anymore. I wanna go hang out with my buddies. This is the first time I feel rejuvenated in years and I want them to see me how I really am or how I really should be (would be a more accurate statement). "Well, now that you're awake, I have to get the doctor to look at you again and make sure your fit enough to out-process. He might keep you overnight" Suddenly those dreaded words made Eric cringe a bit and he would have cringe more after dwelling on the thought before she finished with, "but that seems very unlikely." Whew! "Your vitals seem fine and your heart is stable. You just accidentally pushed it too hard. He'll probably come in here and tell you exactly what I just said. Take it
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easy on the running. Start by walking, then jogging slowly. It took years for those athletes to get where they are, they couldn't do it overnight. And neither can you." "Thank you, Nurse," he said. "Tabitha." "Tabitha I'm Eric. Thanks again." "No problem, sir. You go easy on that heart now, okay? Doctor'll be here in a little bit, you just hang tight." "All right, no problem, I'm not going anywhere." With a smile and reassured facial appearance, she left the room and closed the door.
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Chapter 3
He took yet another deep yoga inhalation and more than a long enough exhale, enjoying every
microsecond of it. He folded his hands together in prayer form and laid them on his chest. Looking back up at the ceiling, the first bold conspicuous thought of this groundbreaking awakening moment entered his head. I should just leave. The only thing that doctor is going to say is the same thing the nurse just said, and fill out insurance forms. That's what out processing entails. They want my damn money.
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They don't have my name. I've never been to this hospital. The guy or whoever brought me in obviously doesn't know me. I didn't have my wallet on me. I was at least a mile away from my apartment. The only way they can get my money is if I give it to them. She said I was going to be fine. Why should I wait for some hack to come in here, offer me the advice I already know, and then charge me up the ass when I could easily just sneak out of here and go home now? Plus she said he might even keep me overnight. I better do this quick if I'm going to do this. He thought about it just a hesitant second more and decided to go ahead with his plan. How clear does this clear-headed thinking go? I can't believe I just thought of that. Genius! He threw off the thin blanket and put on his socks on shoes that were to the right end of the bed. No shirt though. That's right. I didn't wear a shirt. Dammit!
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He couldn't very well walk through the entire hospital looking for the exit with no shirt on, especially with that nurse nearby. And he never did see what his doctor looked like. He could be outside as I walk out thinking I'm home free. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. But no! This is the first clearest thought I can ever remember having. He had no other things swarming around his brain like they always did before. That's normally what stopped him from completing or going through anything in the past. This was the new Eric Philpot. And he was determined to get this bandwagon on the right trail for a change. Nothing was going to get in his way. He looked around the room for anything he could use. He noticed the curtain to the left of him. Snoring. A definite sound of snoring. And a bleak shadow a bed behind the curtain. He got up to his feet, most certainly feeling a change in his overall balance and attitude about
standing. Like pretty much everything else, he hated to
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stand after being in bed. It meant the total realization that he wasn't asleep. Sometimes, when his
sleeplessness was really bad, he would tell himself "I am asleep. This is what my sleeping is for me." Of course it didn't work, but it was something. Better than facing the frustrated and despised consciousness. So anytime he stood up or sat on his bed, it was an unhappy ending to an unhappy story. But the unhappy story at least still had the potential to become good. He looked to the curtain and walked towards it. Without hesitating, knowing he may only have a few more seconds, he pulled the curtain back halfway. Sure enough, there was a very old man, probably in his late eighties, sound asleep. Lucky bastard. Next to the old man was a chair. And it was an awesome sight to see a plaid shirt hanging around the back of the chair. It was an ugly shirt definitely for an oversized old man. But at least it wasn't a woman's leotard. Gotta count your blessings sometimes.
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He rushed to the chair and pulled the shirt off of it. The old man's slumber was not interrupted. His snoring was still loud and proud. How Eric didnt hear that noise next to him when he awoke will remain a weird mystery. He buttoned up the shirt to the top. Way too big for his naturally skinny metabolism. The shirt almost reached to the bottom of his gym shorts. He decided to tuck it in. Definitely won't be hitting on any chicks while I'm racing out of here. He smiled for a quick second as he looked down at himself. Hey. Gotta do what you gotta do. He dashed to his neighbor's side door and looked out the miniature window. He could see the obese nurse writing something on a clipboard. Most of her head was facing the other direction. If I'm quiet, I can pull this off. Knowing he had to move quickly, he silently pulled down the lever of the door. There was slight click, but he was sure only he heard it.
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His heart was beating. This is exciting! He peeked his head out the door looking in the nurse's direction. Still preoccupied. He turned his head the other direction seeing two doctors walking away from him down a long hallway. Looking more in front of him after hearing a loud Ding! he saw the elevator. Above it said the number three. Third floor. Shit! Close the door. He closed the door as quietly and quickly as he could. Peeking through the window, he saw a man in a white coat come out and turn to the direction of Eric's vicinity. For a moment, Eric was worried the doctor was going to enter the room. Instead he had walked up to the nurse. Eric could see the nurse mouth the words, "Oh, he's awake." He could actually hear it a little too. Putting his ear closer to the wall while still trying to continue viewing
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the scene, he heard the doctor muffle something about "back bathroom" Be right back, have to go to the bathroom? The doctor took the clipboard from the nurse and walked down the hallway, out of sight from the peek ability of the window. The nurse then walked to the elevator and pushed the button. Next to the elevator was a beautiful sign above another door. STAIRS. Beautiful. The elevator door finally opened and the nurse stepped in. As soon as the metal doors were an inch from touching each other, Eric jolted from the room, taking two quick glances down each hallway direction, not seeing anything in particular in the blurs, and then slammed open the stairs' door and shut it quickly. He did make significant noise, but the nurse was in the elevator, probably on the next floor already and the doctor was all the way down the hallway in the bathroom. I should be all right.
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Realizing the third floor was the highest floor, he knew he might run into that nurse in the lobby. And who knows who caught a glimpse of him as he was brought in. Another brilliant idea entered his for once clear head. He took the thirteen steps up to the roof and opened the door. It was dark outside. And cold. This was a small building. Small hospital. In each direction, it was only maybe a couple hundred yards towards the end of the roof. He'd never been to this one before. It being dark and the stars not doing any real shining this night made it difficult to see what area he was actually in. I think a couple hundred bucks would be more worth it than getting shot. He looked around the flat roof for the fire escape ladder. Turning to power walk directly behind him, he noticed a lit-up billboard in the distance.
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"Another way to enjoy Nevada is to move to Wisconsin." Underneath it "WisconsinNewHomes.com" He remembered that billboard. He would pass it as he drove to the grocery store. It was only about two miles from his apartment. Normally, he would dread any sort of chore such as walking. But he was on such an adrenalin rush and felt so great, a walk that wouldn't be shitty didn't sound that bad. Of course it was pretty cold, but not painstakingly. It was only about 8:30pm. It didn't get too bad out here in the late spring until around midnight. He rushed over to the ladder and looked over the edge. Whoa. Far. A slight sense of vertigo entrapped his
swallowing throat for just a second. But it quickly subsided. He turned around and carefully placed his right foot on the second to last step of the ladder and began his dissent.
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If there was a timer that could measure exactly how many milliseconds it took for him to put one foot beneath the other foot and one hand beneath the other hand, he wondered if they were exactly in sync. His downward climb felt so fluid and choreographed. He knew it was just climbing down a ladder, but he felt like he was making it look good. I'm wide awake. I'm moving. I'm being
dangerous. I'm being sneaky. This is so awesome! A wide smile came across his face as he reached the grass. Mission almost accomplished. He ran to the direction of the billboard, crossing the parking lot, jumping a very low fence, and continued down the sidewalk of the street towards his home.
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Chapter 4
Taking a deep breath as he entered the key into the door, his heart was finally starting to slow its pace. What a great walk that was. His mind so at peace and clear. He walked into his apartment recognizing for the first time his place was a mess. He always knew was pretty disorganized, but the results of his messiness were never too apparent to him until this moment. Damn. I gotta clean. Also he never had the energy to buckle down and get something important like that done. Next to the fridge, he saw his cell phone.
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Before he knew it he was replying to his friend's question saying, "Yeah, man, I'll go. I'm down No, I won't flake this time What the hell is a Quaker baker flaker? That doesn't even make any sense Well, I'm proving you wrong; I'll be there in half an hour."
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Part Two:
The Consequence
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Chapter 5
It was like that for Eric from then on. The first month was the toughest getting used to pushing his body to the limit and then collapsing in the open. Luckily and intentionally, he only encountered two close calls with getting "caught". The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in some insane asylum for "attempting suicide". One time, found past out on the sidewalk, he woke up in a hospital again, not the same one as before. This time though, before the nurse or doctor came in, he nonchalantly just left. No one stopped him. He had his
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clothes. If the nurse or doctor got in his way, what legally could they do? The other time, he awoke next to a homeless man in the corner of a school soccer field. But it was Sunday. And the homeless man had a Bible that he insisted on reading to him. But Eric politely declined. Other than those two incidents for that month, Eric was untended by anyone. He realized in the first few days of his new treatment that his heart would give within just a little over a mile. Coincidently, Carson City was a city that had miniature rural areas all inside of it. One minute in one area it would be busy busy busy, and in the next couple a miles over, not a soul or building in sight. And his apartment was in a convenient place for locations that were unpopulated. He was not bound to a single route, although only one route would have still made him grateful. Those two times he awoke from being tendered to were fluke days when he past his mile limit and was able to keep running.
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At first he did not have control of his body when it was in this kind of savagery mindset. He would just move until he couldn't anymore, not really aware of surroundings, timing, or coincidences. A month later from the first "awakening", his body went as far as it could and instead of passing out, he threw up. Mostly water, but some orange chunks came with. He did this for about five minutes on a lawn in the front of an abandoned house. His mind was racing with worrisome questions: "Have I past the limit? Can I not do this anymore? Am I gonna die now? Am I asleep but throwing up in my dream and it feels real because I'm throwing up in real life?" He couldn't grasp why he didn't pass out like usual. After the initial delirium past, he stood hunched over with his hands on his knees, breathing deeply. He looked all around, no one in sight. Just like I planned.
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Unsure of what to do now, he wiped the sweat from his brow, gathered the minuscule amount of energy he had, and walked back home.
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Chapter 6
As soon as he unlocked the door and saw the couch, his brain switched off. If another were there to witness the occurrence, they would think for the first instant that Eric had been shot in the back of the head when he fell forward onto the couch. His body lay limp, but stiff as a statue in his awkwardly landed position. He dreamed he was stranded on an island, but was peacefully conscious and comfortable with his
situation.
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Chapter 7
And so that became his new routine. For the past year, he would force his body to go as hard as it could until he nearly passed out. Then, he would stumble home and fall asleep. He was now so skilled in his therapy that he could make it to his bed just in time. His nightly schedule was carefully planned out: A nice painful run at 11:00pm. Pass out at home at 11:30. Wake up in time for the news and cereal. He dared not changing his eating habits for he believed they would interfere with his current abilities to bring his mind and body to the brink of heart failure. Also, he didn't want to be able to run a long distance
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because his current route was now three miles to an open field far behind a small warehouse [just in case he were to pass out (of course that hadn't happened in over eleven months)]. No, no. What worked for him now had worked for him in the past, and will keep on working. No doubt. And so near the end of his nightly run on July 21 , 2012, his breathing was now beginning to be more frequently unstable. What used to be a strong rhythmic and capable sound was quickly disposing into a harsh huff and puff rollercoaster. That was normal. He so wished this inevitable annoyance didn't have to occur so abruptly or at all for that matter. Can't I just be done with this with no pain? Foolish question. He continued some more, not fully feeling the maximum limit just yet. Pushing himself with all he had, he didn't realize his heart was committing something that it shouldn't have been committing to. Of course, not until it was too late.
st
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His eyes bulged at the feeling, still not stopping his movement, fearing a sudden discontinuation might cause more harm. Am I going to pass out? He felt a burst in his chest. A horrible pain in his hips. An unimaginable migraine in his head. He did not see black this time as he passed out. He saw dark red.
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Part Three:
Dj vu
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Chapter 8
Silence. Nothing. Nonexistence. Death? No, I'm not dead. Your brain doesn't think if you're dead. Well, maybe it does. Maybe there's a part of your brain that scientists haven't discovered that remains active in death. Maybe this is what hell is. Not demons and monsters torturing you all day. Being left with only your thoughts in a world of nobody, nothing, and having no purpose.
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Forever. Just think. This is all it is. That's what hell is. I think I'm already going insane. And it's only been what 1 minute? Holy shit. Am I panicking? Am I capable of that? I don't FEEL anything, really. What's that up ahead? Light? Do I go towards it?
Eric didnt have much choice because the once microscopic brightness quickly enveloped his entire view. For what felt like should have only been an instantaneous moment, the light seemed to just linger and for a quick second, Eric believed that it was a tease. That this new light was going to be his sight for the next forever. As soon he thought, however, a familiar object began to appear before him. The light that was once surrounding him was slowly shaping into three cylinder-shaped illuminators.
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Florescent bulbs. Why do they look so familiar? Around the bulbs was the tiled ceiling. That looks familiar too. An air conditioning vent. A spitball. A fire-preventative shower head. Things began to shape when he realized he was in his body and was lying down. A voice. A woman's voice. Very faint except for the last word spoken. "Aliens?" He moved his head all around trying to find out where this voice was coming from. A smell began to settle in gradually. It was unpleasant. And definitely familiar. A taste in his mouth that was equally if not more so also unpleasant. Once the feeling of a potential jolt of energy hit him, he quickly acted by moving his head towards in front of him and saw what was undeniably dj vu. The obese nurse from last year.
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Tammy? Tabitha? Yeah, Tabitha. But what was odd from what he could tell and remember was that nothing was different. Of course he knew it would be hard to spot differences in someone's appearance from a year ago, especially if you only saw them for two minutes. But it wasn't that. It was everything else. Same clothes as he remembered her wearing. The pink polka-dots. The place she was standing. The clipboard she held in her hand. The look on her face. Her hair. Granted he wasn't paying any close attention to her last year. But it also wasn't just her. The window on his door. A familiar smudge. He looked down at himself. No shirt. What the hell is going on here? "How are you feeling, young man?" she spoke.
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Instead of answering, he squinted at her. Focusing his mind on the weirdness of the situation and not believing what he just heard. It had only been a minute now since he was back into consciousness, but already he could see this event was not just similar to his last year's experience, but it was the exact same so far. Let's see how far I can take this? What did I say last time? Oh yeah "I'm okay, I guess." She quickly responded with, ""Really?" She's going to raise her eyebrow. Before continuing, the nurse raised her eyebrow in a "are you sure?" expression. "You just suffered a very mild heart attack. You've been out for however long you were out there in that park plus the two hours you've been in here." Same expressions. tone, This same resonance, not same facial
was
definitely
coincidence.
Especially the fact that she was looking at Eric like she didn't know him, said the exact verbatim words she said last year, and also that he didn't pass out in the park this
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last time. He could've, but even if he did, it didn't take away the reality that this occurrence was an exact duplication of the conversation he had a year ago. "Heart attack?" He said it before he even remembered that was his line. It was spoken as if in an almost hypnotic reaction. Noticing this man was taking a while to answer her questions, she replied "Yes. A very mild one like I said. But you're so young. Thirty or so, sir?" "I'm twenty-eight," he replied. "No one should be having heart attacks at twenty eight. Of course it was more self induced than anything. Is there something you've been going through that you did this on purpose? Or did you just start a new workout program and didn't realize you got to take is slow before you become like Lance Armstrong?" Okay, no more speculation. This is a repeat. I've done this. I've been here before and I've had this conversation and I know what she's gonna say next when I say "I guess I didn't read up on running like I should've. I thought it would have given me a head start if I started out hardcore."
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The nurse looked at him for a second longer than she realized she should've before replying, "Yeah, no, you definitely don't want to do that if you want to be a serious runner. Especially if you're just getting into the sport, you have to start out very slow or else you could seriously hurt your heart" she smiled, "well, obviously." At this point, he couldn't handle anymore. He just wanted her out of his face so he could think, so he could dwell. So he could figure out what the hell was going on. He remembered after he replied to her
comments that she would tell him the doctor would be in a minute and she would leave. Being patient and complying with this game-like feeling, he resorted to keeping his cool and to conclude their dialogue. "Guess I'll have to get some books on the subject or something. I was just trying to get back into shape." "Well, now that you're awake, I have to get the doctor to look at you again and make sure your fit enough to out-process. He might keep you overnight but that seems unlikely. Your vitals seem fine and your heart
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is stable. You just accidentally pushed it too hard. He'll probably come in here and tell you exactly what I just said. Take it easy on the running. Start by walking, then jogging slowly. It took years for those athletes to get where they are, they couldn't do it overnight. And neither can you." He quickly responded, almost talking over her last word, "Thank you, Tabitha." Shit! "Oh, how do you know my name?"
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Chapter 9
Shit! Fuck! I jumped the gun. She was JUST going to leave. Dammit! All I had to say was Thank you, Nurse. She tells me her name, I tell her mine, and she gets the fuck out of my face. Dammit! "Um You know, I don't know. Weird, huh?" Tabitha made the "yeah that's a little too weird" face. I'm losing her.
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He thought of a possible likely excuse. "Well, were you and the doctor in here while I was
unconscious?" "Yeah," she replied, still looking like she was pretty open for a reasonable explanation. "Well, did the doctor call you by your name while you were in here?" "Yeah, he might've. That's something you don't really pay attention too. I know I would've remembered it if he called me Jenny Craig, I guess," she said, laughing right after. She seemed like a nice, selfless person. She's not dwelling on this. She's not suspicious of anything. What can she prove? "Well you know, I don't about you but when I'm asleep and some people are talking in the other room or near me, their voices get inside my dreams a little bit and I can remember some of it when I wake up. That ever happen to you?" "Yeah, now that you put it that way, I've had something like that happen a couple times. I get what you mean." "Your name probably just got leaked into my brain. Believe me, I wish I was physic. I'd be living in
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L.A. chilling on the beach with my lottery money instead of in here next to snoring Grandpa next to me." He was trying so hard not to sound frustrated. He really wished he could just push this bitch out his room and close the door so he didn't have hear himself talk anymore and he could focus on his situation. Patience, man. Hang in there. His sense of humor was a little too harsh for the nurse so she gave him a quick fake smile before heading right back into the script with "You go easy on that heart now, okay? Doctor will be here in a little bit, you just hang tight." "All right, no problem, I'm not going anywhere." This time she left with an uncomfortable but still professional look on her face as she exited the room. Finally! With the annoyance of the ever-inquisitive nurse gone, he could now think about what his motive should be.
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Chapter 10
Okay. So the last thing that happened was I was running intensely and I blacked out. It wasn't like how I used to pass out though. This time it hurt. Cannot discount the possibility that I could still be dead and this is the afterlife. But what a lame afterlife it is if this is it. Just repeating what I did when I was alive? I certainly don't feel different. If I was dead, wouldn't I feel like some kind of weird out-of-body sensation? Then again, who wrote the rules on that assumption? Film writers?
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He pondered for a moment longer about what was actually occurring at this point in time. Why this repeat of events? Should he be fixing something he did in his past that would point in his life in the right direction? Was he given a second chance? Before he could wander anymore, he
remembered that the doctor would be coming out of the elevator anytime soon. He had to get out of there. Or did he? Should I keep playing this game to see how accurate it is or should I interrupt the flow of things to see where this could go? He knew that if he stayed put, he could maybe get answers. Answers to whatever questions that were unformulated at this point. If he did what he did last time though, he knew he would make it back home safe. What do you think that doctor's going to do to you anyway? His mind was racing back and forth between the two options.
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In a harsh ultimatum situation like this where each decision seemed to have the same amount of pros and cons, he would let what his first instinct was make the choice. Leave the hospital I like did before. All right, stop stalling. Let's do this. He jumped out of the bed, feeling a little disorientated. Not so much because the way his body felt but more of how spun-around the state of his head was in. Glancing out the window on his door, he viewed the nurse looking down at the clipboard facing to his right side. Her close distance to the door might be enough for her peripheral vision to see what was going on so he quickly ducked and crawled to the other door. His snoring neighbor was laid out on his bed completely oblivious. For longer than he should've dwelled about it, he looked at the man with a sense of jealously. So at peace. So dead to the world. So unaware and careless. Eric wished he could be in that state right now.
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Anything
would
be
better
than
this
weird
situation he was dealing with right now. The shirt. He looked to the chair next to him and sure enough there was the raggedy extra large shirt hanging around the back. Everything so far had the same qualities and quantities of what happened last year. Everything down to the lint on the sleeve that he brushed off quickly before wrapping it around his upper body. After buttoning the last button and tucking the shirt in, he positioned himself back underneath the window of his neighbor's door. Slowly ascending his head to a well positioned peeking level, he looked again over to the nurse's location. Still writing and looking down on the clipboard. Ding! He looked directly in front of him. Open the elevator doors, out comes the doctor. Same face, same godly walk. The doctor turned towards the direction of the nurse.
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This time, knowing he could hear better if he put his ear closer to separation of the rooms, Eric squished his right face into the stucco of the wall. Now he could hear the whole conversation he missed most of last time. Not expecting to hear anything different than Be right back, have to go to the bathroom, the doctor said the words: "If we shoot him in the back, there won't be so much blood and we can carry him into the bathroom."
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Chapter 11
Granted the words were muffled, but Eric couldn't think of too many words that could substitute shoot or blood in the context of the sentence that was spoken. After breathing the statement into his nerves, his eyes quickly opened wide. Did I just hear what I thought I heard? He poked his head back to his viewpoint and looked at the nurse's face. Disappointed. Disappointed? Why does she look so unhappy? She was a big chipper woman just a minute ago.
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The doctor then walked past the nurse and was walking down the hallway. As the nurse walked up to and waited for the elevator, he noticed something he didn't notice before about his view: a reflection in the metal elevator doors that blurred a unisex sign on a door right next to where he was. The bathroom's right next to me on the other side. The side the doctor is NOT going towards. Where could he be going? Then it hit him. Equipment room. For a gun. Most hospitals nowadays had metal detectors and that doctor couldn't be walking around with a weapon all day. Not good. This is not good at all. He heard the slight slamming of the elevator doors and that sound made him react without hesitation. No time to question anything right now. Just get the hell out of here.
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He hopped up to his feet, opened the door, and jumped far enough to only land his right foot on the ground before opening the stairway door and slamming it shut right behind him. He didn't conduct any glances this time. Ignorance is bliss. If I didn't see anybody or anything, then it wasn't there. He took a deep breath before racing up the thirteen steps to the roof. Sweat began to emerge on his brow as he opened the door to the outside.
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Chapter 12
A whoosh of mild cold air swept by him which calmed him for a second, surprisingly. He frantically looked all around him trying to see his beacon of direction. Where the FUCK is the billboard? Looking all around him, first skimming quickly and then a second time more thoroughly, the Wisconsin homes advertisement was nowhere to be seen. So far everything has been the exact replication of what I went through a year ago. The nurse. The old man. Thirteen steps to the roof. Why, of all things, and NOW, is the billboard not here?
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None of the occurrences were coincidences. This is a repeat for whatever reason. Whether I'm dead or this is a dream or what I did somehow sent me back in time or something. At this point, I'm not trying to explain anything. I just need to get out of here. And of course the one thing that points my direction is not here. There were streets on three of the four sides of the hospital, each similar looking to the other. Bushes, trees, and power lines all were aspects in the scenery of the roads. There were also four ladders, one on each side on the roof that reached to the ground below. He tried to take a deep calm breath so that his frantic mind would maybe remember which road and ladder to take. The billboard was the only thing that stood out in his memory of what direction he took and nothing else really sparked him a clue. Fuck it. I gotta be anywhere but here right now. He pointed in the directions as he whispered, "Enie, meeny, mino, moe."
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Running towards the moe ladder, he or his imagination heard stepping sounds coming from behind the door he just flew out of. Increasing his speed, he reached the vicinity of the ladder and quickly turned around. Not wasting any time dwelling on a possible fear of heights, he lowered himself to below the roof's surface. SLAM! He knew what sound that was. The stairway door. The doctor was looking for him after acquiring the gun. Eric did not move. He was out of sight from where the view ability of the door was. Hearing only the slight breeze, Eric quietly as possible sucked in his breath to prevent detection. For a long enough moment, Eric wandered whether the slam of the door and the steps he heard really were just his imagination in his distressed state of mind. Maybe he did hear the doctor wrong.
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Maybe he was just reacting to some medication the nurse gave him and didn't tell him about. Maybe he needed to go back to his room and have the doctor look at him. Maybe the doctor could help with whatever's wrong with him. Before anymore "maybes" proceeded in his thoughts, he most definitely heard real footsteps. The roof's surface was made up of miniature gray stones. So footsteps on there made undeniably slight rumbling noises. And that's what he was hearing. The doctor was walking around the roof to check out every ladder to find Eric. Find me and kill me. A loud gunshot exploded in the open air. The echo was still surround sound even after a full few seconds had inched by. That was no pistol. Eric was not too familiar with gun types, but based on movies and a couple that his friends had shot off before, the sound was way too powerful to be a simple handgun. If he had to make an educated guess, he'd definitely have to say it was a shotgun. Probably double-barreled.
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From where the shot was aimed towards was difficult to determine. He could be just shooting it into the air to frighten a noise out of Eric's mouth. Or maybe he saw something suspicious and fired at it to be sure. Either way, this doctor meant business. He had a real intense mission to rid of Eric Philpot. For whatever reason. Eric's pondering of why this doctor was on such a murderous undertaking was interestingly more what was populating Eric's thoughts than on how he was going to get out of this predicament. He doesn't even know me. What the hell in my entire life have I done to deserve having someone try to kill me? I'm not perfect and I've maybe stolen a couple things here or there, but I'm most certainly don't deserve the death penalty. What the fuck is this guy trying to do? And just then a crazy thought and action that maybe should have been more thought about erupted from Eric's mouth. "What do you want!?!" What the hell did I just do?
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Why did I just do that? But there was no other option. If I stayed here, he'd find me and shoot me. If I tried to step down this ladder, he'd hear me and then shoot me. At least I can get this guy to maybe talk. At least give my life a chance. Then again, maybe I'm just a fucking idiot and I just killed myself.
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Chapter 13
The rumbling rock steps that were once random and far away were now in a fast paced mechanical sequence and were getting louder and louder. This is not good. IDIOT! Eric's bugged out eyes stared straight up at the sky. Am I just gonna wait here? Wait to die? Before he could answer his questions, a shotgun appeared above him before the leaning white coat hung over it. The doctor's horrible, almost sinister expression
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that was painted on his face became undimmed and unquestionable in his intents. He was not going to talk. His mindset was to not be bargained,
blackmailed, or reasoned with. He aimed the shotgun directly below; directly at Eric's skull. This is it. Good job, man. What a fulfilling life this was. Can't really even remember who I was before the insomnia. And after that, it was feeling horrible, taking pills, and imprisoned in my always awakened mind. Well good riddance, I guess. Better luck next time. The seriousness and nonchalance of his feeling surprised even him. Everyone no matter how suicidal still would react to someone pointing a gun in their face with some sense of instinctive survival compulsion. But not Eric. Not really.
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He knew it was hopeless, and it really was more of a curious question than a plea, but he had to ask, "Why do you want to kill me?" The doctor's expression was that of a confused look. Either a Why are you bothering wasting your time asking me that? or a How in the hell do you not know? look. Looking like he quickly contemplated even
answering Eric's inquisition, he answered, "Because that's what you told me to do."
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Chapter 14
If Eric's eyes could protrude anymore than where they were at right now, they would have popped out of their sockets. Now the questions were forming at an
insurmountable amount. Each started with the basic whys, whos, whats, hows, and whens. Not even one had enough time to be completely formed before another one instantaneously emerged. But before even the shortest one could be fashioned coherently, another loud blast exploded, this time with a bright orange light to accompany it.
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The fiery light quickly dissipated, but not for Eric's vision. It remained there.
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Part Four:
Transitions
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-98-
Chapter 15
The brightness was unsettling. It changed in shades every few seconds. It was annoying. Unsettled and annoyed. Those were emotions. Those were feelings. I can still feel. I can still think. I'm alive! Right? Comparing to what he had experienced in what seemed like only just a few minutes ago before the florescent light bulbs materialized (again), he was in an trance of nothingness (once again).
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The familiar sentiments formed in his mind as they did before. Your brain doesn't think if you're dead. Well, maybe it does. Maybe there's a part of your brain that scientists haven't discovered that remains active in death. Maybe this is what hell is. Hard to believe I'm right back where I was a minute ago. Did I just die twice? If I had multiple lives, you'd think I'd be able to last a lot longer than five minutes until I retired the second one. Then again I wasn't the one chasing myself with a double barreled shotgun on a roof of a hospital. Obviously I'm not dead. Something way out of the ordinary is definitely going on. One minute I'm running like I did every day to get to sleep. Then I'm thinking I'm dead surrounded by blackness and my own thoughts.
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The next I'm back in that same hospital and except for the crazy doctor trying to kill me (and succeed in it), everything happened like it did last year, verbatim. How the hell did I get caught up in this strange chain of events? I must have either died or I'm in a coma dreaming these occurrences. Or A thoughts. This is all real and I'm the first to experience such a crazy happening. Maybe I passed out and time traveled back one year ago to that hospital. Maybe in my attempt to cure my insomnia, I unmasked the way to travel back in time. But just running to extreme exhaustion? That's not a very monumental creation to unlock the world of time travel. And if I just got shot in the head, why I'm thinking at all right now? Why is this state I'm in so similar to the one I just experienced when I passed out? long pause came between his flow of
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If I only passed out versus now being shot, how can the blankness I'm lingering in right now be so alike? Maybe my passing out was a temporary death and now that I permanently dead, it's going to be like this forever. Maybe what I originally feared about being stuck in here before waking up was true. Maybe I won't wake up from this. Maybe Before the next maybe become another never ending thought, a black spot in front of him appeared in the distance.
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Chapter 16
He focused his eyes (if he had them) on the emerging black circle ahead. At first, he felt it may have just been an illusion, but as soon as it got close enough, he knew the expansion was not imaginary. Its rate of speed increased without notice and enveloped him into a world of darkness, but not the same kind as before in his last weird consciousness. It was a more welcoming darkness. Which didn't make all that much sense. But at this point, he was growing accustomed to having things not make sense. It wasn't completely just black either. It had very blurry features.
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A miniature light abruptly appeared. Definitely very far away. And then another. And another. Very soon, there were hundreds. Some dimmer than others but all had the same qualities. Some were almost completely blocked out by a mass of some kind. Finally, a real physical feeling settled in. Cold. I'm freezing. That's a good sign, right? Also to the top right of his sight, he saw leaves brushing against each other in the wind. The sky. I'm staring up at the sky. Those lights are stars. Those masses are clouds. Suddenly, and definitely oddly, he felt "normal" again. It didn't take long at all to evolve back into a realistic feel of being alive if, of course, that's what this was.
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Chapter 17
It took a full minute to completely realize his situation before he rose to his feet. He stretched before looking all around him, seeing nothing but a long field of grass, a few trees, and some bushes in front of him. A few houses were lit up in the far distance, but to Eric's view they were as far as the stars up above were. He had passed out before in parks and fields, and although both locations had a lot of similar qualities, he knew for sure he had never been here before. Even though it was dark, he could tell this was unfamiliar terrain.
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Whatthefuck? His head was now hurting from the craziness of his circumstance. Impulsively, he put both hands on his head and rubbed into it deeply. It didn't feel like he had a headache, or what a headache is supposed to feel like, but his head certainly did hurt. Yeah, maybe because my head just got blown off. He placed his right hand on his face to see if he could feel any abnormalities. Nose, eyes, forehead, lips so far so good. He looked down at himself. No wonder I'm so cold, I don't have a shirt on. It must have been forty or so degrees outside in this environment. Actually, that was a warm summer night in Carson City (if, if course, that's where he was). What is my objective now? What the hell am I supposed to do? "I am he that liveth, and was dead," a deep manly voice erupted behind him. As he looked around to see who was speaking, the homeless man continued, "And, behold, I am alive for
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evermore, Amen; and have the keys of Hades and of death." Eric's eyes took a while to focus on the once invisible inhabitant. It made it more difficult because of the statements just heard undoubtedly were making his eyes squint. Is that?... It is! The same homeless man he encountered when he awoke from one of the times he used to pass out from running a year ago. There was no definite way to tell if this man was wearing the same thing as before. For one, it was nighttime both times and was hard to tell. Second, he didn't stick around very long at all. Thirdly, this man is homeless and so he probably doesn't have too many clothes to change. But it certainly was the same man. He
remembered the blue eyes and his half-drunken accent. Also the way he was laying on the grass in a half balled up stature. And the Gideon bible he had. "What year is it?" Eric inquired, attempting to investigate his time travel theory.
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Come on, you damn drunk! Tell me what the fuck is going on. The homeless man did not look up at Eric; didn't move his head at all. He spoke towards the ground looking at the bible in his hand, "It is the year of our Lord, Jesus Christ, your savior." Frustrated, Eric retaliated with, "Well does my savior have a fucking calendar and tell me what fucking year it is?" Eric didn't believe he meant to sound so hostile, but at the annoyance level he was at with what all had happened so far, he couldn't handle wasting time with civility. The homeless man, not offended, answered, "It is the last year of our days. The end is coming." Eric looked up and away from the man. This is pointless. Fucking drunk minister right here doesn't know shit, not gonna tell me shit. And then, in a twist of events that could only be defined as strange, the homeless man coherently (no
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slurs in his words or shakiness in the pitch of his voice) spoke the words, "You don't belong here, Eric." Eric, turning back to the homeless man, looking down with a different kind of squinting than before, saw that the man was looking up directly at him. No sense of false clarity was in the man's face, especially his eyes. "What did you say?" "You heard me, Eric. You don't belong here. You need to leave. Get the hell out of here. Go live your life." Trying to remain on topic instead of asking the questions he realized he may be able to ask to a now articulate person, he responded, "Where do I belong, man? I don't even know how I got here. I don't know where or how I'm supposed to go where I need to go" Interrupting Eric's last word, the homeless man cut him off with, "LEAVE!!!" Eric's eyes automatically protruded first from the unexpected shouting and then second from the gun the homeless man withdrew from under his side. "What the What the FUCK are you doing?" "You put me here to make sure that if you ended up here that I'd send you back."
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"What?... Back where? What year is it? Where the hell am I?" "You told me not to answer any questions or it would upset your plan. I know that seems unfair, but maybe you'll figure it out where you go from here." The homeless man raised the pistol into the air aiming directly at Eric's forehead. "Wait. Wait! Just fucking wait!" The homeless man's face appeared that his mind was in a debate against itself. To just kill Eric and get it over with because you're going to have to anyway or play out a longer scene with him before killing him. He looked like he was just going to have to wing it on this one. "If you can't tell me where I am or when I am or why I'm here, at least just answer me this." No gunshot. Maybe he's listening. He thought of the best way to ask his question before realizing the simplest would be the most dynamic. "Am I asleep?"
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The homeless man made a quick sigh and a very slight shake of the head, not answering no, but in an unfortunately disheartened way. Looking back to Eric, all he could say was, "Sorry." And there was the explosive sound and light again, not seemingly ever to diminish.
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Part Five:
The Punishment
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Chapter 18
It was not a drawn out transition this time. It was much more concise. A moment of darkness, an even quicker moment of brightness, and he was in his room. Standing. Breathing deeply. Staring back at him from his mirror was a confused and frightened face. A face that was still intact at the very least. No bullet holes or injuries. He was wearing his gym shorts and an old raggedly plaid button up shirt that was too large for him. The old man from the hospital. This is his shirt! Why the hell am I wearing his shirt? This has gotta be last year.
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I escaped from that hospital (the time I DIDN'T get shot) and walked back home. So what am I doing here now? Why I am looking at the mirror? Who's causing me to shift through times and locations? And why are these people who keep killing me telling me I told them to do it? None of this is making any sense. I must be in a coma in a hospital or in a park somewhere. Or I'm dead and my hell is to keep waking up and dying. Why would I be punished that way though? It seems so unfair for me to be in a hell where I'm repeatedly getting killed. I don't remember much before my insomnia, but I know I wasn't that bad of a person. I never really hurt anyone in my life. Why do I deserve this? Before the contemplation of his situation could continue, something in the mirror moved.
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It
was
so
instantaneous;
it
was
hard
to
determine what in particular shifted in the three by four foot reflection. He was too distracted by his thoughts to really to take into account what duplication suddenly fell out of place. There were only a few things it could be. There was him, a distance of 4 feet away. A Minnesota Vikings poster. The white wall. The window, which was shut and covered by means of a dark colored towel tacked onto the outer edges to not let any natural sunlight enter to the room, a classic insomniac's implementation. That was it. What the hell was that movement? I know there's the possibility that I'm imagining things, but so far from what I've seen the past hour, I KNOW I've been imagining things. And my imagination is all that is real to me right now so I know something changed before my eyes; I just can't figure it Suddenly, it round housed him in his tracks. It was him. It was his eyes.
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The darkness that had dissipated greatly after the year of his life threatening treatment was back. And darker than ever. Worse than he remembered it being. He looked like a zombie and unfortunately no make up was applied or needed. This realization of the returned dark circles made him angry. He had worked so hard to slowly rid of that annoyance the past year and now it was back. Son of a bitch. He approached the mirror to get a closer look at his face. I look damn near forty years old. I look like a criminal. And why is this more frustrating than the possibility that I've died two or maybe three times in the past hour? Priorities never had them straight. The very noticeable dark circles unfortunately accompanied his advancing face as he came closer to the mirror. He slightly hoped they were just an illusion because of the dim light in the room or perhaps were exacerbated in the position and distance from where he
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was. But they were definitely an attending addition to the many attributes of a face that could only be described as distraught. "What the hell is happening to me?" he said aloud. He stared at his face for a few seconds longer until he freakishly saw, heard, (knowing his vocal cord and mouth were inactive participants), and witnessed his reflection replying to his unsuspecting question.
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Chapter 19
"This is your punishment." Eric stepped back in an immediate scared response and stepped even further back a second time when he realized his reflection refused to copy his initial reaction. His reflection was no longer Eric. It looked like Eric, but it was its own being with its own personality. Just from the look, Eric could tell whatever that face was that it wasn't him. Taken aback by the weirdness, but adjusting out of his startled state quicker than he knew he normally would have if he hadn't already been through some previous weirdness so recently, he managed to ask the
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mirror's occupant, "Punishment for what? I haven't done anything wrong." The reflection, without hesitation, replied, "Well. Not necessarily your punishment. Mine." "What the fuck are you talking about? I've just been shot in the face TWICE! And this is the third place I've woken up where I'm not supposed to be. I know this is either a dream or I'm dead. I don't know what to believe or what punishment you're talking about. Can you at least tell me if I'm asleep or dead?" "Yes, I can." Surprised by the reflection's response, Eric lightened up his angered attitude a bit and presented a "please, do tell" kind of face to the impossible stranger in his mirror. A brief moment, that seemed anything but brief, finally passed before Eric's reflection answered his
question with, "You're both."
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Chapter 20
The second the bulging eyes returned as an additional feature to his face, the mirror also corrected its reflective properties. Eric noticed the reflection's eyes no longer had dark drained circles. He moved his right arm up and the reflection copied the act in sync. He was now staring at the real him. But he wanted more answers. The undesirable sight of him in the mirror did not provide any useful information. It only added to his now long list of questions.
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So far, I've woken up a year in the past to a place I've only been once in my life and had an almost exact repeat of what I went through before. A doctor and a homeless man have both shot me in the face and have told me I sent them to kill me. And according to a reflection of myself, I am both dead and asleep. Yeah That makes no fucking sense whatsoever. "Come back," he pleaded to the mirror. "What the fuck do you mean!?!" Furious that his reflection was duplicating his movements on queue, he positioned his right hand into a tight fist and smashed it against the mirror. Unaware of the strength he used, the point range of the violence his hand centered on was pushed back into the wall behind it, shattering it into hundreds of pieces that created many miniature mirrors. The area surrounding that center was broken in bigger pieces all the way to the outer edges. No pain. Why is there no pain?
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His hand was bloody and injected with jagged edges all across the knuckles. Yet he experienced no pain. Looking at his hand in confusion for a short period, he looked back up to the damage he created. "Quit fucking with me," he warned to nobody. Or the somebody that was causing these events. "Tell me what the hell is going on? Why I am here?!" Not expecting an answer nor receiving one, he proceeded towards the door.
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Part Six:
The Awakening
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Chapter 21
Turning
the
knob
and
pushing
through,
relentlessly bright white-colored light erupted in his face. He squinted his eyes down to a point of almost sealing them shut, barely enough to view if there was a cause for this anomaly. No objects or persons were present in front of him in this mass brightness. He turned around and realized he was no longer in his room. It had disappeared. But he hadn't even walked through the door. The room was just gone. He was alone in the light.
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He remembered certain movies and TV shows where either someone had died or was dreaming and was surrounded by nothing but white. As interesting as those scenes were, he never did imagine what those characters' physical feelings were about actually being in that encompassing canvas. He wondered if they felt like he did now. Cold, irritated at the brightness level, and uncomfortable in the legs seeing as he wasn't standing on anything. It was unreal. Because it ISN'T real. This is impossible. None of what has happened has been
experienced by anybody. And if they had, they would have written non-fiction books on the subject. Not discounting the possibility that he may be stuck in this situation for eternity, Eric shouted to the bright nothingness to see if he voice could still be heard. "SHOW YOURSELF!!!" he shouted. He was unsure why he chose those words to exclaim to the ever distance of light, but before he could contemplate his reasoning, echoes that overlapped each other and became louder each time bellowed into his ear.
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Each echo of his words reflected off the next one and reflected off the hundreds that were created that the sound very instantly made his eardrums shriek in pain. It was relentless. The exponentially numbered amounts of words went from a boisterous jumbling atrocity to a steady toned ringing. The ringing was so high pitched and horrible, Eric knew that if there was an end to this, there would be permanent ear damage. He would probably be deaf. Before he could scream in agony, knowing he wouldn't hear himself, it was gone. The noise, if one had to describe a blare like that, subsided as quickly as it was created. Eric wasn't sure if his hearing just went out for good or if the sound really did disappear. Reflexively, he opened his eyes, unaware that even had them tightly shut when the unbearable noise became to be. There was no longer the bright light. There was no longer the horrible sound. There was a sense of a peaceful feeling that overpowered him. A sense of relaxation that was hard to describe.
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A sense of restfulness unlike any other he had woken up with since he started his embarking on his dangerous treatment. What he saw was all too familiar now. The florescent light bulbs. The tiled ceiling. The fire preventive shower head. The hospital.
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Chapter 22
Why he felt like not thinking No, not again was perhaps due to the change in his senses. Somehow this transition was different from the others. An outcome that felt "normal" or in the back of his head had some affiliation with this situation being as it should. He was comforted for some reason. He felt safe. He looked down at his body and saw that he was covered up to the neck in a white thin blanket on his hospital bed. Sure enough, almost as expected, there was the nurse. But she looked different.
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She was still way too overweight, but he did notice her chin wasn't as doubled over as much as before. Also, the overall space she occupied wasn't noticeably as intrusive. And she was wearing a blue medical over shirt rather than the pink polka dotted one as before. He looked to his left and saw no overhanging blocking his neighbor. There was no separation at all. And no neighbor. Definitely different. "Doctor, he's awake," she spoke as Eric noticed her look over to his right side which he had not yet observed. Looking in that direction, he saw the doctor staring at him from above. It was the same doctor that chased him outside and shot him point blank in the face with the double barreled shotgun. But it wasn't him. And yet it was. This man had a professional and kind definition to his eyes. None like the ones he saw a while ago when he faced him on the ladder.
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This man did not appear capable of such madness. "Aw, finally. Thought we were gonna lose you there for a minute," he said, pausing for a second, giggling to himself, and then jokingly continued, "Not really. Just scaring ya. I have a bad sense of humor." The nurse smiled with him. Eric, confused, but still feeling unusually safe, was able to extract the words out of his mouth: "What happened? What am I doing here?" The doctor calmly replied, "You took a tumble, young man. You pushed yourself too hard out there on the playing field and had yourself a mild heart attack and collapsed. Thank God there was a pastor who saw it happen from a distance and brought you in. There's a lotta bad men out there who wouldn't hesitate to jump at that runner's physique you have there." Definitely bad sense of humor. An implication of an unconscious rape of my body and making fun of my physical appearance in the condition that I'm in? Yeah, don't go on stage, doc. "Have you been doing this for a while, sir?" "What?" Eric responded achingly.
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"Pushing yourself to the limit so you could pass out. Is this a new underground craze like asphyxiating yourself that you kids are getting yourself into?" I suppose anyone under thirty is a kid in your eyes, you arrogant bastard. Eric was able enough to struggle out: "No, doc. I just pushed myself too hard. I was trying to be a better runner in faster time. Didn't know I would risk coming to a heart attack." Eric could see that this man was not convinced and by the looks of the nurse, he already knew what was happening. They remember me. He knew before the doctor opened his mouth what he was going to say.
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Chapter 23
"Young man, I treated you last year for the same issue. The nurse told me that's what you had said. I don't know how you were able to leave the hospital without anyone noticing because the biker that had brought you was waiting in the lobby, the receptionist had seen you, and the nurse was outside having a smoke. This is a very small hospital. The only way we know for patients to leave here is through the lobby. But, putting that aside, I know you left because you didn't want to have to talk to me about your problem. Or you thought I was going to ask for your insurance
information. Well, if you would have stayed long enough for me to talk to you, I would have told you that the
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biker downstairs was going to pay for anything you may have needed. I don't know why you left and I don't know why you caused yourself to blackout twice that we KNOW of, but I have enough care and sense in me to make the assumption that you are intentionally
endangering your life. And because of that, I'm going to order a security guard to watch that door for the next couple days as I figure out why you're doing this to yourself and what we can do for you. Okay?" "Doc, you got it all wrong, man," Eric protested. "I'm not trying to kill myself. You're right that I was lying about just practicing to be a runner. I know you're smart enough to see through that. And I'll comply with your requests. Just please tell me something and I know it's going to sound weird, but am I still asleep?"
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Chapter 24
The doctor slightly closed his right eyelid at Eric to see if his question was a serious one. He could not tell any attempted humor in Eric's statement or face. "No, Eric. You're awake. Does your run-tilyou're-done-for trend give you the feeling of being in a dream state of some kind when you wake up?" The doctor's question was stated and formed with an actual sense of compassion and wanting
understanding. Not a shred of sarcasm was meant as far Eric could tell. Not knowing exactly how to answer the doctor's question, he summarized his last few dreamed events.
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He tried to form his presentation with some kind of coherence. The doctor seemed engaged enough to listen to the happenings in their entirety, but did not inquire about any specifics when Eric's monologue was
concluded. His eyebrows did raise a couple of times when he heard that he was in Eric's dream and that he had shot Eric in the head. Otherwise, he just seemed to listen with patience and a small level of curiosity. "Well, Mr. Philpot, the fact that you can
remember a lot of details of your dream just comes with the territory of being in a deep sleep, which is what occurred with you when you had that heart attack. Sometimes dreams can feel so real, even though weird stuff is happening all around. They don't have to make sense and they don't have to be a complete and situational sequential story. Just like real life, Mr. Philpot. Just like real life." The doctor's last few sentences sounded as if quoted from a philosophical book. He's right. We can't truly explain why anything happens to us when we're awake, what makes us think we can explain what's happening when we're asleep.
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The doctor's reassurance made Eric feel a lot less wound down, on top of the relaxed feeling he now was embracing. "So like I said, we're gonna keep you here for a while. In the meantime, there's the remote, we'll be feeding you four healthy meals a day, the nurse'll come back later when you're more awake and ask for phone numbers of people you can call so you could get some visitors. Sorry to put you on lockdown, Mr. Philpot" "Eric." "Eric. Doctor Johnstone." He continued, "But unlike a lot of doctors out there that would just send you home so they could deal with something less serious to write that million dollar book about some new medical breakthrough they invented that they will now be specially treating, I actually care. So please. Promise me you won't imitate your dream and escape out of here and I'll promise you that I won't shoot you in the face this time." A closed mouth smile came across Eric's face as he was comforted in the realistic care of his doctor and his now calm environment.
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Chapter 25
No one coming after me with guns. No annoying transitions from one shitty situation to another. No reflections telling me I'm dead and asleep at the same time. Eric knew he would be here in this hospital for a while. He also knew he would have to explain his addiction to his harsh prescription for his insomnia. Small price to pay. Maybe they can give me some REAL alternatives for my condition. I had a good run, literally, with sleeping well for the last year. I might have even cured myself. Maybe I don't even need to run anymore.
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"Sounds
good
to me, Doctor
Johnstone. I
promise I'll stay put." "Thank you. If you need anything, Tabitha here will be right outside this door. I'll come back tomorrow to check up on you and see what we can do. For right now, why don't you just rest, all right?" "Sure thing, Doc." With a concerned smile, the doctor handed the clipboard to the nurse who also forced a lighthearted grin, and they both exited the room. Eric looked up at the ceiling again, actually feeling good for once in since he could remember. His whole body felt rested. He wandered what time it was. Then he wandered what day it was. He looked around to see if there was a clock in his room and from what he could tell, this room had none. Sorely, he pushed himself up to a sitting position against the wall with his butt on his pillow. A quiet atmosphere was suddenly realized. It's so damn quiet in here. Is that door soundproof?
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He looked to his left where a neighbor did not exist and looked outside the small window. It was bright. If he remembered correctly, he left around 11:00pm as usual for his nightly run. If I passed out that hardcore at night and it's now bright outside, it must be either July 22 or the 23rd. He figured by the way he felt all loose and weak and how long and intense his dreams felt like, he must have been asleep for a day and a half. The bright light did not bother him one bit. Before it was a sharpened axe that repeatedly hacked at his brain through the entrance of the layout of his eyes. Now it was a pleasant sight. He felt rejuvenated. Alive. And he was hungry. His stomach just growled when he noticed the intense craving. It went from a simple appetite to a rapidly growing ravenous sensation. He very soon became not so comfortable. It felt like he hadn't eaten in weeks.
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Having meals wasn't something Eric chose to remember in particular. He wondered if in his weird state that his insides were in the past year had completely eradicated any special memory to eat or if he had eaten. For all I know, I could have not eaten for a year! But that's not possible. Even a five hundred pound man could only live a couple months without food. He knew he had drunk water and soda. He remembered that. But he couldn't remember even one meal he had ingested recently. Pizza? Hot dog? Sandwich? Nope. Cant remember. Putting the memory loss to the side, he knew he had to eat now and that was all that mattered. He threw the blanket off his weak body and struggled his feet to land on the floor. Standing up was not so easy, but at least it wasn't as mentally painful as when he never got sleep the nights before last year. He turned towards the door and began the trek as a bona fide zombie.
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His face was pale, his mouth was open, his eyes were half closed, and his walk was straight out of Night of the Living Dead. While he was lying down on the bed, he didn't realize how much energy had to be expelled to be able to walk out of here. Even if he wanted to escape, there would be no way his body would allow him to. He finally reached the door and pulled down on the metal lever.
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Chapter 26
In the back of his head-ached brain, he half expected the door to produce the out-of-this-world bright light that would immediately surround him in a cloud of nothingness again. The hesitation and slowness of opening the door was partly due to that half expectation but most of it was because he was so debilitated. Somewhat surprised, but not really, there was the nurse behind the counter sitting and typing on a computer. He let out a little sigh of relief, but only just a little because he knew it was silly. "Can I get you something, Eric?"
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His head slowly made its way to facing the nurse. In his peripheral vision, he saw an old man in a wheelchair, passed out from what he could tell. "Yeah," he managed to shake out. "I'm starving. My stomach keeps making noises." "Oh," she said, concerned. "Okay. Well. Dinner isn't until 5:00" Also in his peripherals, he saw the clock on the wall directly past the nurse's station. 3:52. "but I'm sure I can give you something right now." She looked down past her computer and opened a file cabinet. She searched through the array of weight watcher muffins, wheat thin packages, and Slim-Fast protein bars. She couldn't seem to find anything snacky for a person who was not on a diet, but Eric was guessing she wouldn't think he'd mind at this point. "Sorry, this is all I have," she said dropping a Slim-Fast bar and Wheat Thins package on the counter.
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"They're really not that bad. And they'll definitely hold you over til dinnertime." Eric knew this food was coming out of Tabitha's personal stash, realizing the hospital probably had strict rules on meal times, so he was very grateful. "Thank you so much," he said. As he walked a few feet more to grasp the generosity, he didn't know if his brain was messing with him but he thought to himself: What a good person. And you know what? I can see a very cute face. There's a sense of attractive innocence inside this woman. How he saw through the obesity of the woman was a shocker to him. He secretly had always been very hostile towards fat people. They disgusted him. But he couldn't judge. He definitely wasn't perfect. But she didn't nauseate him right now. Like he presumed, it was probably just the rested feeling and his mind adjusting back to normal and was undergoing some strange rewiring. But for the moment, he soaked in that feeling of being unprejudiced. He felt mature that he could see through someone's faults and imperfections. Especially someone with a weight problem. He never really did have any biased
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views towards any race or religion. But he did believe he was a tad bit sexist and definitely not a big fan of overweight people. As he reached to grab the two items off the counter, something he heard made him pause in midaction. "I love you." Before he looked up to see Tabitha's staring crying face, he had to think for a second longer about if what he heard was right. She was serious. She didn't let a tear or her solemn look stop her from staring at him. "Excuse me?" he immediately said. She sniffled her rosy face and said once again, with a stronger amount of sadness in her voice, "I love you, Eric." This is no joke. She's fucking serious. Eric looked down at his feet collecting himself, trying to come up with some kind of response. When he looked up, deciding to wing it, the woman was no longer crying.
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There was not even a residue of proof that showed she had been crying. No red face. No moist eyes. She was staring back at her computer like nothing happened. She looked back up to Eric and said, "You can have both. It's okay."
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Chapter 27
He noticed he was still stuck in the position with his hand out to the packaged food. She must've thought he was making a decision between the two. Did he say "Excuse me?" out loud? Had she just said she loved him? Oh fuck. My mind is all fucked up. I'm seeing shit now. Except this isn't a dream. Or He figured he knew how to be sure.
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Even if in a dream you were to eat something and your brain was telling you it is tasty, you're really not tasting anything. Eric had had a Slim-Fast bar before and they tasted like a moist sock would. If the taste was no good, he'd know he was awake. Of course now that his brain had just thought that, he knew that this dream world, if that's what it was, would counteract to make his dream more real and would purposely make the bar taste bad. So now he couldn't be sure. Maybe it was just a crazy moment. And hey, maybe she did say she loves me just to fuck with me. Maybe she does that to all her patients. He knew he was just making excuses for the unanswerable and strange event. This is the first time I actually FEEL really awake. I feel definitely different than the times I was asleep. This has got to be reality. But then again, because I feel different, doesn't it make sense that my dream would make me think I feel different, but I really don't?
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People end up breathing in outer space with no suit, they fly through the sky, and they have excellent skills in things they've never been apart of before. And at no time WHILE they're asleep do they think to
themselves: "This is impossible. I can't be doing this." They only think it was weird once they wake up. Well, I know what's going on is weird. So am I awake? Is this just a lucid dream? Can I wake myself up? Just to be on the safe side, I better go along with this. At least get back into my room. "Thanks again," he spoke quickly as he
attempted an inconspicuous dash back to his room. Unintentionally, he slammed the door to his room a little too hard. She had to have noticed my hurry. But so what? She knows I'm all dazed and confused. I've been unconscious for a day or two. What's she gonna think I'm up to anyway? Wait.
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Maybe she thinks I figured out what's going on here. That this is a dream and I'm supposed to play along. Maybe what she said was a glitch in the "program" and now she has to kill me because I figured it out. Will she send that doctor to come and kill me again? No, no, no just SHUT UP! Stop thinking. Nothing is fucked here, nothing is fucked! I'm just all messed up in the head right now. I've been meddling with a dangerous treatment for a year; you'd think it would have some kind of repercussions on the brain. It's just my brain fucking with me. I'm just in an unfortunate mindfuck because they were in one of my crazy dreams and I'm tripping out. Just chill, man. Chill out. As Eric did his best to try to calm himself, he realized he was breathing very deeply. One could maybe define it as an almost mild hyperventilation.
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He tried very hard to get his breathing under control. Slowly, but surely, his breaths were beginning to have less intermissions of sudden pauses and was returning exhalations. As soon as he felt a little less edgy, he ducked down to look out his window and saw the nurse in the short distance staring directly at him. Startled, he shot his head back up and that deep breathing made a cameo appearance back to his throat for an instant. "What the fuck is she looking at?" he whispered aloud. He was so quick to move once he saw her face that he couldn't really tell what expression she had. It was definitely a serious face. Could be sad. Could be concerned. Could be a frightened anger. It was definitely not a positive facial expression; that much was certain. She's concerned. She's just wandering why you raced to the door and slammed it shut. to semi-comfortable inhalations and
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Curious. She could be curious. Ever think of that? Just lay down, man. Watch some TV; eat some Slim-Fast nastiness. It could be that you're so hungry, you're just imagining things. Once the thought of hunger made its way back as the prime focus of needs, he thought to exclude everything else at this point for now and get something in his yearning stomach. He walked towards the bed feeling a little less achy as before and sat down at the edge. He ripped the packaging of the Slim-Fast bar down the middle and was about to take a bite, but curiosity got the best of him. He took what was meant to be one last peek just to see if the nurse was still staring at him. It ended up being a look rather than a peek because the nurse wasn't there now. She was not at the desk. Either she moved right after he turned to go sit at the bed, or maybe she's underneath the desk.
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It wasn't too strange because both were at least likely possibilities, unlike other instances he experienced in his dreams, but it was strange nonetheless. And the strangeness had to be put to an end sometime soon. At least just let me have ONE explanation for something, even though it's just a little thing. Continuing to stare out the window at the desk, he rose to his feet again and walked back towards the door. As he came closer to the window seeing the outside display enlarge, he still could not see her in sight. When he came as close to the window on the door as he could, he saw no nurse and no old man in a wheelchair. They had both disappeared. Now that nurse could have just walked away she had to have been very fast and based on how she looked, she wasn't a person that did anything fast. And the old man. If she was the one that moved him, she would still be at it right now. It had only been maybe ten seconds from when he last saw her staring at him. She couldn't have moved herself and the old man away that fast.
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Before he pulled the lever down on the door, the nurse's wide face appeared two inches away from Eric's.
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Chapter 28
"HOLY SHIT!!" he exclaimed. Her eyes were darkened. An altogether sadistic look was painted on her face. Her skin was completely pale. Her hair was now gray. Her ears had no earrings; instead, the holes were torn and the lobes were cut down the middle. She shook her head furiously and let out a forever unsettling high pitched shriek. A shriek that seemed to be louder and more trembling than being right next to a train on the train tracks as it constantly would blow its horn.
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Instinctively, Eric jumped back two feet from the door as he witnessed the horrific scene being played out in front of him. The woman was relentless in her insane vocals and shock-therapy movement of her head. There was no more look of possible cuteness or innocence in her face. She was a monster. Her mouth began to open wide and her tongue appeared to be five times larger than it should be. Making yet another horrible sound, this one an "aahh" like a doctor would ask to make before observing the throat, a green substance was expanding in the very back of her esophagus. Eric backed up even more as the nurse pulsated his ears and eyes with the abomination of sights and sounds that he was being forced to witness. The green substance now began to sludge out of her mouth almost like a fast waterfall. Because she was facing the window, her face disappeared for a moment as the entire window, and no doubt door, was covered in the vomit.
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As the liquid became now stronger in its intensity and speed, it was more a cylinder like structure in its outflow. Eric knew what was about to happen before he could even grasp a possible mental process of reacting to it. The glass window broke into thousands of pieces as the green liquid shot through. It didn't seem like the amount or speed could start to flood the hospital room so quickly, but it did. His feet were now invisible in the sludge. Okay. Now I know definitely dreaming. By why am I scared? That's an awakened emotion. Faster than any flood could occur; his face was now just above the thick mess. The entire room was filled from wall to wall. It now proceeded to spill out of the outside window across from him. The room no longer possessed a natural light.
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Before his head was completely covered in the strange liquid, he no longer felt afraid. For no reason that could be explained. As he was surrounded underneath, he could taste the sludge in his mouth. It actually tasted good. Like a sweet berry he could not completely define. His eyes were closed as to not get any of the substance in them. He was floating in the grossness as he inhaled the liquid through his nose and mouth as if in a natural reaction. The dark green vision he saw all around him was slowly convulsing into a bright light that his eyes were unable to penetrate.
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Part Seven:
Realizations
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Chapter 29
If teleportation was a real experience, Eric believed it probably would feel like what he just underwent. A feeling of a complete simultaneous
breakdown of all molecules and the restructuring of them immediately afterwards into a new location. Could that feel any weirder? This transition was definitely more accelerated than the ones before: almost instantaneous. He found himself shirtless once again. That was the first feature of this new ambiance that he realized. More graphics became to materialize before him. The night sky. The stars. First a few, then many.
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Blades of green grass. The open field. Lit houses in the distance. Not all of them, though. A tree not too far away. The bright yellow colored moon far up above him. It was a familiar place. He recognized this site from somewhere. One of the parks I passed out at? It was a very basic and, in other circumstances, a beautiful view. A car was driving on the road in the distance. The revving of the engine was almost inaudible. It was a serene atmosphere. Peaceful. An internal bodily feeling became the new primary focus. He was full. In a good way. His stomach felt very satisfied. He wasn't
hunched over in pain nor had heartburn, but he was definitely one hundred percent satiated.
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A smile made its way from his nervous system to actually slightly appearing on his mouth. Just then the inevitable thought entered his head: What next? Am I gonna be disembodied now by my great great grandmother? He realized his sarcastic attitude would not help him in the current predicament he was in. He did his best to focus in on the good, full feeling he had instead of dwelling on the unforeseeable and uncertain future. He took in a deep breath, inhaling the cool breeze as it slowly whiffed by. "Don't you know" a voice erupted behind him. Holy shit. He took a long one stepped one eighty degree turn to confront the voice. The shocked face, the one that had to have lost some signification to it, returned. It was an exact replica of him. In the flesh. Not completely exact. The dark circles around its, his, eyes looked as if someone had created a monstrous imitation of Eric's face and made it into a mask.
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The "twin" also had no shirt on. They were three feet away from each other as he continued, "that you have to power to control everything around you?" Eric was stuck, possibly in awe, not exactly listening to what this duplication was saying. To stare at oneself and not in a reflective object was pretty out of this world, even after what he had already been through. "You've done nothing but try to figure out how to get out of your situation. You didn't try to overtake the men that killed you. Don't you realize that you could've done anything you wanted? You could've flown out of that hospital and caused it to blow up. You could've snapped your fingers and made that homeless guy disappear. All you were able to accomplish was dying and getting soaked in a large bowl full of puke. Why didn't take on this experience!? Why didn't you defy the rules and limitations of the real world when you could have? You could've had any woman, killed anybody, done anything no consequences. You have not done me any justice." After every word spoken, Eric began to absorb more and more of what was being said, and still
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confused, he stated his heart's impulse. "There are consequences for that. If I grew accustomed to doing anything I wanted in this world, I may bring that life back to the real world." "You're not going BACK! Don't you understand!? You need to live this up NOW!" "Why now? Why are you so intent on me living it up now if I'm not going to wake up? Don't I have all the time in the world? And if I don't, and I'm able to do anything, can't I make it at least seem to myself that I have all the time in the world?" The duplicate Eric stared back at him. He had given himself away. Eric was going to wake up, someday. I AM going to wake up someday. And based on how this guy is trying to hurry me, I'm guessing that someday may actually be soon. Very soon.
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Chapter 30
What is this guy trying to accomplish? What is he trying to instill in me before I wake up. "Why are you trying to change me? What do you want me to become when I wake up? What do you want me to be?" "It's not what I want you to be. It's what you already are. Who I am. What you've forgotten. That body of yours out there belongs to ME! They've done
something to you to make you forget. But they didn't get rid of me altogether. I'm trying to save myself." "Well if I'm you, who the hell am I?"
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"Your personality is a fraud. You don't exist. Not yet anyway. Not as long as I can wake up first." "What the fuck are you talking about!?" "You, whoever the fuck you are, took over my mind and body, and reversed everything of who I am, righting the wrongs I committed. Those wrongs were necessary! If I wanted to take it back, I would've already!" Eric stood there, listening to this craziness coming from the soulless looking character that
possessed his features. He felt a slight bit of understanding. Enough to understand that this personality incarnate should not be released to the real world. He seemed like a bad seed. A bad seed that maybe required some sympathy, but whose acts were too heinous to allow such a thing. He didn't know exactly what this man was talking about, but he knew what action he needed to take. A bright burst from the moon struck above and enveloped the entire environment with yellow light. The sky lit up in an explosive illumination.
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The madman was startled. He turned to look up and then all around him, trying to contemplate what was occurring. A determined face was shown on the real Eric when the identical Eric turned back. "What are you doing?" "Don't you realize you can do anything you wanted?" Well, now I am. I'm getting the fuck outta this hellhole. An indistinguishable realization became apparent to the identical Eric. "You can't," he half pleaded, half ordered. "Don't." Eric smiled. "You're staying here. I'm exiting that portal." "You're not. You can't just leave." "I can do anything I want. That's what you were trying to do, weren't you? Keep me here while you fight to open that door yourself and leave me here to be deleted from existence. That's why you sent that doctor and that homeless man to kill me. That's why in the mirror, you told me this is a punishment and that I was
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dead; so that I would think this would last forever. But this is my world now. And I'm leaving you here to rot, whoever you are you son of a bitch." "No, waitwe can cut a deal," the identical Eric quickly said in desperation. "We can work this out. You can have all your dreams come true in this never ending dream. Let me pass through that portal to the real world and I promise to keep you alive here. You don't want what's out there. You don't want to find out who you were who I am." Eric thought for a minute. Not considering the deal, but to plan his escape. "This isn't real. And very soon, neither will you be." Having made his motives clear, he jumped into the air with lightening speed. He had no intention of landing back on the ground. As he ascended into the sky, he looked down to see that the duplicate was thirty feet away from him. I must have subconsciously thought if I'm able to fly, he could to. Eric focused his mind hard on his intention. No one else but me, the real me, can fly.
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After zoning in on that aspiration, the identical Eric began to fall. Very fast. It could have appeared that the madman was falling faster than he really was as Eric was flying upward and he was descending downward at the same time. "YOU HAVEN'T WON!!!" were the shouting words he heard when he was nearing the moon's illumination. Yes, I have. Die, you bastard! As he was quickly approaching the light's
doorway source, he could see very clearly three men standing over him looking down through the aperture. They looked real. Really real. They were not dreamed up figures. Eric could tell before he even past through the moon. He could tell that he was awakening. Into the true real world.
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Part Eight:
Alive
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Chapter 31
"Holy shit, it worked doctor," spoke the man in the black suit who was positioned to the right of Eric's bed. "Amazing." The doctor was in utter astonishment. He had brought the ever popular, ever talked about, most controversially subjected man back to life. He had worked diligently for the past three years on discovering a possible cure to bring this man out of his coma. Of course, it wasn't really a coma. The papers invented the phrase "coma stasis" to describe Philpot's condition. But whatever it was, he had
succeeded.
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This was definitely going to be a case that would be studied for centuries. And now his name would be brought up in every conversation about the medical mishap, and how he miraculously solved the dilemma no other medical expert could solve. Eric's eyes were aching, really aching as his eyelids were barely absorbing the energy to open. He could barely tell what he was envisioning, but there were three unfamiliar male face's staring down at him at every angle. A man in a white coat was directly across from him. In the peripherals that he had, he noticed a medical stand that held a bag that had an elongated tube that led to his right forearm's vein. Inside the bag was a dark green liquid. A very familiar liquid. Dazed beyond imagination, his mind swirled in confusion before he took a deep breath which
immediately calmed him a bit. He wanted to ask, "Where am I?" but the energy he lacked disallowed him to. The man to the left in a white polo shirt said to doctor but still staring at Eric, "When can we talk to him?"
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The doctor replied, also not taking his amazed eyes off of Eric, "He should come around within the hour. Keep in mind, his body and vocal cords haven't moved in years. And we don't even know if he remembers even how to talk. Like I said before, it's likely he would come out of this without any memory at all. That includes even how to speak. He could be a vegetable." Eric knew what they were saying. He understood their English perfectly. He tried once again desperately and managed to murmur:"Wheream?" All three men drew more inches closer to the man on the bed. The doctor took the initiative to respond with a child spoken tone, "You are in a safe place, Mr. Philpot." Eric moved his head a bit, surprised at how difficult it was to do so. "You've been asleep for three years." His right eyebrow popped up as a reflex to the statement. "Wha How" "You just lay there, Mr. Philpot. Gather some strength. My colleagues and I will be back in hour when
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you're more alert, okay? And we'll answer any questions you may have." The doctor motioned to the two men to his sides to exit the room. All three eventually turned around and headed towards the door, leaving Eric in a state of disability and confusion.
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Chapter 32
An hour had past when the three men entered back into the darkly lit room. Eric's mind had been gathering strength during that time to comprehend his situation. He knew he was no longer dreaming. He could not control anything that he wanted. And he desperately wanted to stand up, but his legs and arms were paralyzed. He remembered everything of his dreams. Everything. The sayings his evil "twin" had stated were burned into his memory. "You don't want what's out there. You don't want to find out who you were."
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What if the dreams meant something? What if they weren't just random? The doctor acknowledged that Eric was fully awake and realizing his condition. The amazed look was still apparent on the doctor's face, but it had dissipated somewhat. "Mr. Philpot," he said very articulately. "Do you know who you are? Can you speak?" Eric's attempt was noticeably painstaking, but only somewhat successful. He was able to slur out, "My mame es A wick." He hated that his voice and word structure sounded like he was mentally handicapped. His mind was anything but. The doctor seemed to give Eric the benefit of the doubt and continued, "Can you remember anything from before you fell asleep for so long?" Eric's eyes went up and down, side to side. He always assumed he remembered, he just never bothered to. But now that he tried, he realized he literally couldn't think of any event in any form of any particular time. At all. Not even a simple like or dislike of anything.
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After all he'd endured in his dreams, nothing shocked him as realistically as this awareness. He shut his eyes in a harsh concentration before the energy only allowed him to be able to reply with: "No." Hearing the word spoken with such honesty and meaning, he suddenly felt depressed. He wanted to embark on all the reasons for this tragedy and to wander what his life would be like and if he would be able to retrieve his memory, but that was put on hold as the doctor asked, "Do you think you can read, Eric?" Of course I can read. Can't I? "Eric, I believe you still have subconscious cerebral memory, which means you can still do things you used to do but not remember how you learned them. Will you give reading this a try? I think, or hope, it will spark a little memory flash back into you. If not, it will at least explain better than I can why you're here and what happened to you." In Newspaper. his hand he had the Nevada Appeal
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The doctor spread it out to a full display and brought it a foot away from Eric's face. Eric wandered what a newspaper would have to do with him when he saw on the front page a picture of himself on the side of the story. It didn't look exactly like him. The major difference was the sunken swollen eyes that possessed dark circles. The man in my dream. The crazy me. At the top, the title read:
Doctor to Finally Awaken Death Row Inmate Who Received Torture Drug
Curiosity had him lost in a trance for an instance for it took him a while to answer "Yes" to the doctor's question of: "Are you able to read, Eric?"
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As soon as he aimed his eyes back to the title, he looked beneath it and read the article after seeing the date at the top right: July 22nd, 2012:
Eric
Philpot
of
Carson
City,
convicted
of
murdering his wife's lover, Leon Johnstone, a general practitioner, and Ethan Messier, a homeless man who witnessed the event, was walking the Green Mile to undergo lethal injection as ordered by the Jury who decided his fate four years prior. But then something went horribly wrong. The lethal injection drug which is supposed to be composed of sodium pentothal, pavulon and potassium chloride, was not properly engineered and to this day the medical staff involved could not explain in what way the properties of the drug had become tainted. In the beginning, it was theorized that Philpot had a very rare immunity to some of the effects the drug was supposed to inflict, but that hypothesis was soon after rebutted. "It was just a fluke operation," Dr. Fleisher, who administered the drug, spoke on the subject days after.
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"We didn't manufacture the batch, we just ordered it. We had no idea." After Philpot was injected, he underwent what could only be described as an intense spasm. After the attack, he fell into an unusual unconscious, but not dead. The staff realized Philpot was still alive when they saw he was still breathing and his vitals were strong. After acknowledging something had gone wrong, a case was brought up shortly there after in federal courts. The case was brought by the American Civil Liberties Union, the most recognized advocate for
banning capital punishment in the United States. Their argument was that the state could not proceed with continuing the execution because the prisoner was mentally incapacitated, a commonly looked over
exemption stated in Nevada's death penalty law. For two years, Eric Philpot had been under what's been called a coma stasis, where he is not asleep but not awake. "The best description would be to imagine day dreaming with your eyes closed and not being able to stop," said Dr. Craig Benton, who was overseeing Philpot's condition.
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After many routine medical attempts to awaken the convict had proved unsuccessful, Dr. Benton told the press that he was going to look into "more creative ways to revive the young man." Last year, Dr. Benton had concocted a series of heart shocking treatments that were to be administered nightly. The first sent Philpot into an actual coma which Dr. Benton said was progress. "It means he's finally asleep and can no longer damage his body by
restlessness. We can now fully proceed." For the first month in its experimental stage, Philpot's heart was taken to its extreme limit. Many on Dr. Benton's staff believed it was inevitably going to kill the patient. In the last year, Dr. Benton, at 11:00pm every night has been personally administering the shock
treatment, believing that enough shocks to the heart would revive the convicted killer. And now today, as he has told the press since last week, that he is abandoning the heart shock treatment and will administer at an injection tonight of that an is
experimental
medicine
11:00pm
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supposed to have the opposite effect of every substance that was in the original fluke lethal drug. He also has stated that it most likely will cause part, if not full, memory loss. The ACLU has filed many suits in the attempt to fire Dr. Benton as Philpot's permanent overseer but they still have not succeeded in their claims since their victory in keeping Philpot alive three years ago. Robert Green of the ACLU has protested saying, "Dr. Benton cannot just take advantage of this man's condition to use it for his barbarous experiments. If he goes ahead with his plan, we won't stop until we know he will never practice medicine anywhere, ever again!" Dr. Benton responded to the comment on Fox News yesterday saying, "They're not the government. They're nothing but lobbyists who make empty threats."
Eric could not believe what he had just read. He simply couldn't.
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"Well it's probably been a while since you ate a hamburger," Dr. Benton lightheartedly interjected. "You probably don't wanna eat this green stuff anymore." Delicately, he detached the tube that was inserted in Eric's vein.
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Epilogue
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Four years had past since Eric had read the article. He sat in his Lazy Boy chair with the back all the way tilted. A comfortable fire had been set in his fireplace that emitted just the perfect amount of heat in the small living room. Why he decided to remember that article just now, he wasn't sure. It definitely would stay stuck in his head, word for word, until the day he would finally perish. After a year period of deliberation between the capital punishment fanatics and the ACLU, the
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determination was that the murderous Eric Philpot was exterminated for he could no longer and never remember who he was. Many physiologists and biophysicists took their turns at examining Eric, but in the end all made the conclusion that Eric did not possess any of the tendencies his previous life had. The courts decided that after all Eric had been through, the physical therapy he had to endure, and what medical data had been acquired for the medical community that he would be let free on parole and check in with Dr. Benton once a week. Since then, he had not committed nor had the yearning to commit any such unspeakable acts. His ex-wife, Tabitha, would call occasionally to check up on him to see how he was coping. He liked it when she called. He could tell her anything on his mind and she would listen with genuine care. Not like the press who just wanted to make their big break with inside editions, producing sixty minute specials entitled: "The Dreams of a Killer" or books entitled "Cruel, Unusual, and Righteous Punishment: The Eric Philpot Story." The past four years had been rough, but were actually starting to die down. And he never did encounter
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either externally or internally the man he met in his final coma stasis dream. And he was sleeping fine. Nightmares would usually be repeats of the events he experienced.
Although in the dreams he knew it was just a repeat of running from the doctor at the hospital and getting shot by the homeless man, he was frightened by the possibility that he would be stuck there and wouldn't be able to wake up. So saying he was sleeping fine wasn't a completely accurate statement. But the nightmares were so infrequent; he would say his sleeping habits were "normal". I probably never did have sleeping problems. My brain imagined me running to exhaustion to make up for the reason why my heart was racing during the shock treatments. I don't even know if one could run themselves into unconscious. But why I'm not inclined to look that up is of no mystery to me. A ring of the door bell prompted him to get out of his Lazy Boy and walk to the door.
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He opened it and there stood a man in a UPS uniform. The man had a shocked expression, probably realizing the Eric Philpot he was delivering to was the man that was constantly the number 1 news topic a couple years ago. Keeping it professional, he kindly asked, "Hi. Can you sign here for me please?" "Sure thing." He took the pen and signed his name at the bottom of the form. The man gave him the receipt, took one more look at the convicted killer, and then walked back down the apartment steps. Eric closed the door taking the small box the man had left on the ground into the living room. He looked at the return address and saw his exwife's name above: Tabitha Conley. She had been sending his things gradually over time but he had not received something in months. He stood in the middle of the room as he ripped opened the box.
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Inside was a sight he didn't want to believe was real. He stuck his hand inside and pulled the object out. It can't be. How did this get here? It was an old raggedy plaid button up shirt. Same size. Same design. Same everything as the one that had appeared in his dreams so long ago. He threw it in the fire and sat cross legged on the ground to watch it burn. To see if it would burn.
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ALTERNATE ENDING
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Introduction
First of all, I see it rare when any book goes out of the book box of limitations on what extras you can put in. Usually, from what I see in any random book is just a straight cover page, story, and the back blank page. And that's it. Sometimes they got critics' reviews of their other books and maybe a preview chapter of their next book, but that's all standard now. I want my books and other books out there to have DVD-like extras. Like here: alternate ending. Or if I had written more, I probably would have deleted an unneeded chapter so I could have a "deleted chapters" extra. Commentary from the author. How the book idea was created: getting into the head of where authors come up with stuff.
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Like I said in my Letter to the Reader intro, this book idea was based on a dream I had. Of course the plotline and outcome wasn't the same, but the main basics of it was that I kept waking up in my dream, thinking that I was awake and then something weird would happen, and I'd wake up again into another dream. At one point, I seriously thought I wasn't going to wake up. And as neurotic as it is, in the back of my head, I'm always thinking if I ever did wake up from that dream. Trippy. Anyway, so about this ending: I felt the original ending was a little too much at the end. I wanted the shock of the newspaper article to be the primary feeling one got after finishing the book. If I was to get into the details of the aftermath for thirty more pages, it would've taken that shock value out of it. But at the same time, I also wanted a happy ending. And so I was torn between ending it early with a depressing and definitely unsolved finish, or doing a quick happyish ending with a somewhat unsolved finish. Well, I know life doesn't always end happy and Stephen King is the master of not having his ending ever
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be Hollywood style where the bad guy dies and the good guy's a hero. But this is my book. And my books end happy. It makes me feel good. I already felt bad enough to make Eric out to be a killer so I thought after he got some punishment with having to go through three years of a weirdish torture, a complete memory loss, and the guilt, I felt he could live and just be somewhat not sure if he was awake or not. Cause if I have to live like that, well then goddamnit: he should to! So this is the ending I was maybe going to put in instead of the one I kept just because I felt it flowed a little more with the pace of the book. The original ending (the real one) had a lot going on in the couple pages that it was, but I likened it more because it was a semi-happy and more closed-ended finish rather than one that left the reader dwelling on the absolute uncertainty of the following alternate ending. Enjoy!
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Alternate Ending
Eric could not believe what he had just read. He simply couldn't. "Well it's probably been a while since you ate a hamburger," Dr. Benton lightheartedly interjected. "You probably don't wanna eat this green stuff anymore." Delicately, he detached the tube that was inserted in Eric's vein. "Course we dont know if we can bring you a hamburger unless that's what you want you're last meal to be." Eric looked up to the solemn face above him who had just spoken. The man on the left. The old man in the wheelchair in his last hospital dream.
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"Who are" Eric tried to say. "Who am I?" the man quickly interrupted. "I'm Judge Ortiz. I'm the one who made sure you received justice. Obviously God had other plans for you. But only for a time. Now that you are no longer incapacitated and those damn liberals can't figure out why they have no case, you are now eligible for immediate execution. The RIGHT kind this time, I hope." Eric wasn't sure if what he was hearing was right. He looked more over the doctor's face and couldn't tell if the man next to him was telling the truth; all he could see was disappointment.
__________
Sweat, real sweat, began to drip from Eric's brow as the medical staff laid him down onto the bed. What a shithole to wake up in.
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Here I bust my ass to come out of my coma stasis, find out my memory's gone, and then to top it off, I'm going to be executed for two murders I committed in my past life that I don't even remember. At least this pain will finally be over. All I've endured the past few years has been insomnia, strenuous shocks of the heart, and getting killed over and over again; not to mention that I obviously wasn't such a good person as I thought I was if I was capable of killing two people. This just makes sense. His ex-wife, Tabitha, was watching behind the glass window, with tears in her eyes. She couldn't understand why. This man was the one who abused her and made her feel horrible. No wonder she fucked another man. This beast was a murdering, crazy, and
chauvinistic psychopath. He's now, after three years, FINALLY going to get what he deserves. So why am I crying? she thought to herself. This is ridiculous.
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The man in the white coat walked past the window, which was actually a see through mirror, with the needle of the syringe pointing upward. Without a breath of "Why did I take this job?" the man quickly injected the needle into Eric's right forearm, pushed down, and then released. He then nonchalantly walked away. It was as if this man had done these thousands of times. Or he just decided to bury his emotions when he was put in the rare situation that he would sometimes have to be voluntold to do. Eric looked in the mirror as if he could see his ex wife through it. Tabitha looked back with remorse. Remorse? Can't be. All he saw of course was himself as his eyes were unintentionally beginning to close. This is for the best. It will now finally be over. Soon, he allowed the last few miniature
measurements between the eyelids to close willingly. In his vision, he saw the black background. Forever.
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Forever, until forever was not forever anymore as a white light appeared in the distance. It came closer and closer. Soon it became a volcanic eruption and right after all he saw was white light all around him. Oh no. The white light soon became scattered as a blue hue was appearing. A bright yellow light to the left of him showed itself. He realized the image before him was the sky as more environmental themes of a bright and sunny day began to shape their appearance before him.
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About the Author
Kevin Cathy wrote The Field Trotter in the ninth grade in the fall of 2000. Since then, he has recorded a few song tracks and played local shows as a solo musician, received his degree in Business, and joined the United States Air Force Reserves. This is his first book written in over five years. He lives in Sacramento, California.
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Disclaimer & Advertisements:
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See more books by independent authors from all over the world or become a published author yourself at Lulu.com
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Rise and Walk By Gregory Solis
The walking dead descend upon a paintball competition in the mountains. Two brave young women join forces with two thrill seekers in a terror filled struggle against the undead. Low on ammunition and supplies, the survivors use anything at hand to fight off the flesh hungry horde. As the party makes their escape they soon realize that there is nowhere to run when the dead Rise and Walk
Available in the Lulu Marketplace at Lulu.com
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Dead Seed By R. Vance
Suicidal Aralyn Montgomery finds herself thrust into a world of domination and torture when a Master vampire claims her as his. If she does not obey his every command, he punishes her in ways that have been considered sick, twisted, and evil. The Master wishes to make Aralyn his eternal lover. To do this, he must turn her into a vampire. But first he wants her to give him what he has always desired.... Will Aralyn escape his monstrous clutches? Or will she be forced to live with him for eternity and made his pet?
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The Redemption By Michael Coyle
After one wild night out, Veronica McKenly and her friends- Connor, Stacey, Michael, Frank, and Erin- return home to discover some abnormal activity on the bank of the towns creek. After some investigation, they inadvertently find themselves at the center of the towns secular controversy. The Church that once embraced its members is rapidly being split apart by Father Kraths extremists, who are desperately seeking to right everyones wrongs. Veronica and her friends are among the first to bear witness to the devastations, as the town sinners soon learn the true meaning of repentance. Trapped within the confines of this isolated town, these friends live in desperate fear as people continually end up missing or dead, and most of the towns 600-person population no longer knows whom they can trust. They must choose to either join the iniquitous cult of Father Krath or try to escape the town before they too meet their demise. Turmoil, unlike this town has ever seen, breaks loose, leaving behind a trail of blood, chaos, and deception that leads up to one final night of sacrificial annihilation- one that is destined to bestow the members of this town their final redemption.
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Clock By Nick Hemsley
The clock is ticking...The setting is West London in 1992. Nick is a high school teacher and Elizabeth is a management consultant. The story charts their experiences over a period of three weeks; these experiences challenge their beliefs (our beliefs) and change their lives forever. 'Clock' is about honesty, weakness and atonement. It is a ghost story that contains nothing supernatural. 'Clock' explores madness, perversion, horology and art; terrible things happen, terribly sad and terribly funny. A deadly comic and intense novel; it will continue to haunt you long after the clock has wound down.
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Mirror By Anna Beguine
After five years as a Chosen, nothing touches Rosemary Ames. She's gotten used to being a ghost in the normal world, and if she can't quite let her Keeper fully into her mind, it doesn't matter. They have time, right? Wrong. Rose's Keeper, Michael, has kept her isolated from the bloody shadow wars his kind are prone to, but he can no longer do so. The storm is gathering, and Rose is now the target of assassins even the Kindred fear. Because her Keeper is not just Michael Constantius. He has another nameAvatar. And yet a third, Kinslayer. Michael thought he had atoned for his past. He thought he had found redemption. He thought he was free of the god who marked him at birth, a god of darkness, fires, and blood. He was wrong. How far will the god's followers go to get Michael back? And how far will Michael go to protect his Chosen? Let Darkness begin...
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Twisted Loneliness By Joe Knetter
Seventeen sick and twisted horror stories by Joe Knetter. Features an introduction by horror legend Sid Haig.
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Dead Horizon By Robert Zachar
Dead Horizon is an epic story of horrific proportion, spanning both coasts. It begins on the morning of Halloween and the obliteration of the Chrysler building in downtown Manhattan by something falling from the skies. As the strange orange smoke clears, police, firefighters, and news teams are the first to be welcomed into the new world: Where the dead rise and eat the living. The plague spreads to Los Angeles where an out of work actor, his successful brother, a lonely but determined girl from eastern Europe, and an enigmatic man/boy with a secret as deadly as the weapons he carries, join forces in a hopeless frantic attempt to leave Los Angeles and find safety before they too join the ever growing ranks of the walking dead.. In New York, a crazed general fields a makeshift army of man and machine whose orders are simple: enter Manhattan and reclaim the city from the rotting hands of the dead, now numbering in the millions.
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Sorrow: A Vampire's Tale By J W James
Wren is a young, newly sired vampire, abandoned by his mistress after a tragedy destroys the keep where they live. Sent forth into a world which he does not comprehend, he searches for love, acceptance, and an understanding of what he is. What he finds instead is a world of lust, betrayal, and conflict in which he becomes a pawn. Now he must choose between two sides while protecting his beautiful new bride. Will he fight for those who wish to rule the world or will he follow the ancient path which keeps vampires in the shadows.
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Cemetery Things By Keith Latch
For one hundred years, The Devils Graveyard has been a place of horror, gruesome murders, and terrible mutilations. For too long have the locals allowed this place to take their loved ones. But one murder too many causes action. The death of a teenager spurs his family and the local authorities into action. Armed with little more than myth and superstition, the time for a showdown is long overdue. Can loyalty, love and the indomitable human spirit overcome the evil that lurks and feeds among the graves? There are good things, bad things, and then there are cemetery things.
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Under the Pale Moonlight By Patrick Sheridan
On Ballard Island, an island plagued with a supernatural history, the death of a wealthy merchant sets off a frenzy of speculation, theories and superstition as to the creature that claimed his life. Little does the Island know, one of the most respected individuals in town is seeing through a plan years in the making. Tim Sullivan, the local Sheriff, tries to unravel the clues while dealing with the supernatural overtones of the case. Enter the local psychic and a renowned Professor, who each try to track down the culprit as the moon waxes and wanes. After the slaughter of a family, all three must make an unlikely partnership to discover the person behind the murders and stop him before the moon rises full.
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Christmas Coffin By Michelle Lundy
On Christmas Eve, the Noel family receives the strangest gift. A coffin decorated with a big red bow, containing an unconscious man, bound in chains, is left in the snow at the end of their drive. When the man awakes he has no recollection of who he is, where he came from or how he got there. For names sake, the Noels decide to call him Michael until his memory returns. The only glimpse Michael has of his former life comes in dark vivid dreams, where the taste of blood arouses his senses, making him yearn for more from the mere pleasure of it. Caught between the growing love in his heart for this kind family and the cold yet longing desires taking over his nightmares that are hard to ignore Will the Noel family, in fact, have a Merry Christmas? Or will their world be shattered, at the fate of their own doing, from taking in a stranger under the strangest of circumstances?
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Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Buy The Field Trotter

"Incredibly unique!" -Marcus Crowder, Sacramento News & Review

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

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To Gary and Melissa Carter,

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

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Letter to the Reader

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straight was still

straight but flowed from a different point

he could feel the weight of it shift

reaching back the image was still there but different

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

like rocks on the bottom of a pond moved

yet where they were

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

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Dormant by Kevin Cathy

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

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standing. Like pretty much everything else, he hated to

Dormant by Kevin Cathy

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Dormant by Kevin Cathy