Clocks

White Sheets and a Two Week Morphine Drip

"How's your arm, Mr. Vargas?" Mr. Icadin motioned to his left side, to the arm wrapped in thick white gauze. Both of his wrists were secured behind him but Edgar could honestly say he didn't feel anything below his elbows. He was in Mr. Icadin's office for the second time this week as part of their three year schedule. This man wasn't a doctor, or at least no one addressed him as such, but he saw him regularly and the man had complete access to his file.

"I can't feel anything, and given the extensive damage to it I would assume that to be a good thing." Mr. Icadin nodded and took some notes while Edgar looked around the room in a slight daze. Finally, sometime later, the sick man's consult looked up and began their session.

"We'll begin with our normal cocktail, to help you relax and clear your mind." He said half jokingly as he nodded to a male nurse a few feet behind his patient's chair. The man's shoes lightly thumped the floor as he came forward and with every step Edgar's heart rate increased though he wasn't sure why.

A hand pushed on his head, tilting it to his right. His eyes stayed tuned into Mr. Icadin even through the familiar sting of that tiny needle being pulled out. Later, when they would take him back to his room Edgar would count those tiny red marks in the tiny bathroom they afforded him with the tiny unbreakable mirror, plastic sink, toilet, and tiny shower stall that had no door.

They gave him what room they could but he was sure they could have given more if they really cared for the mental health of their patients. Cabin Fever was a common ailment in the hospital.

When the nurse he couldn't see finally let go of him, his he slowly righted himself and relaxed. This really was the easiest part, just letting it happen. It was quick, painless, and they treated him better for it afterwards.

"Mr. Vargas? Can you hear me?" Numb was the closest he could describe it. Numb in some parts but hyperaware in others. He could almost count the fibers in the ugly Oriental rug Mr. Icadin had strategically placed in the center of the room. Red, blue, purple, green, green . . .

One, two, three . . .

"Mr. Vargas?"

"I can hear you just fine." Edgar finally spoke up.

Eight, nine . . .

"Good, good, now why don't you tell me about these dreams you've been having. Have any of them been about what happened that night? Do you dream about that man?"

"Not yet, no. I'm sorry."

. . . sixteen, seventeen, eighteen . . .

"How about the woman? Do you dream of her? Of your father?"

. . . twenty two, twenty three, twenty four . . .

"I don't."

"You haven't had any dreams? At all?" A swish of fabric behind him, a door opening, shoes on the rug there and gone . . .

. . . twenty nine, thirty, thirty one . . .

"Not of them, no. I'm sorry." A soft laugh, or maybe a growl, he couldn't be sure.

"There's no need to apologize."

"I did have another dream. But I didn't dream of them."

. . . thirty four . . . thirty five . . .

The click of a button and a small recorder was placed on the desk between them. The white sheets behind his eyelids were pulled taunt and tight, a movie reel started, the white noise of the tape recorder amplified to an almost deafening volume.

"I was in an elevator."

-

He leaned back against the wall opposite the silver doors. There were a couple of girls near the buttons, a blonde and redhead in casual jeans and similar black tank tops. They got off on the third floor only just noticing him as they exited and the doors closed. The sound of the cables whirring to start him towards the upper levels and he felt his stomach drop out from under him. Every few seconds he would feel a tremor or jerk in the machine. Four floors later it stopped again.

The doors opened after a brief stall to the open hallway of the apartment building. Standing on the other side of the rail that overlooked the foyer was a figure leaning out towards nothing but a straight drop down. Edgar stepped off of the elevator but the doors didn't close behind him.

"What are you doing?" He asked out loud, if they decided to jump now he knew he wouldn't reach them in time.

"Wondering how long it would take for me to hit the ground."There was a loud snap and whistle, and then very suddenly, before he could fully understand what was going on, he felt a great whoosh of air. The elevator behind him dropped like a stone down the elevator shaft. After a moment, there was a crash followed by the opening of many doors. Finally the cold and dry night air grew silent around them.

"I have to go up." Edgar said as he turned again to face the figure leaning farther and farther out towards the open air. The person, whoever he was, looked back at him and cracked a grin.

"Then why'd you get off on this floor?" But before he could respond the person was gone. He ran to the ledge and looked over, over and down at the body sprawled on a bed of concrete and black. His fingers felt numb.

"Because I knew it wouldn't go any higher."

-

He could never remember making it to thirty six, the fibers of that ugly rug always blurred. Very slowly he pulled away from the images and the dream faded back into the white sheets fluttering softly in his mind.

"Thank you, Mr. Vargas. You've done very well. We'll continue this in our next session as always." Papers shuffled and suddenly he was being hoisted up and out of the chair. The nurse walked him back to his room, sat him on the edge of his bed and removed the restraints from his hands and ankles. Edgar never saw him leave, his eyes were glued to the fuzzy shadows that seemed to dance in his bathroom. He heard the click of a lock and a low buzz of the security system switching on and then nothing.

This was the part he hated, coming out of whatever they put him under. He was already becoming aware of the fact that he couldn't see very well and that it had been several hours since they'd taken him off of the pain medication. That soothing numbness was sinking into his skin and he could distinctly feel the press of the gauze on his left arm. The ache of it wore on his senses.

An Absent Intersection

Part I

[Dear Diary,

Today I stuffed some dolls full of dead rats I put in the blender.

I'm wondering if maybe, there really is something wrong with me.]

Don't be silly, Johnny. What could possibly be wrong with you? Mr. Fuck piped up, leaning close to where the dolls were scattered about the floor. D-boy elbowed him and the two pigs toppled over, nearly landing in a pile of rat guts.

Watch it D!

Oh, please excuse me you lying sack of shit. Ignore him and know the truth you can feel inside, Johnny. Look at the horrible things you've done and see how fucked up you really are! There are more than just a few screws loose in your head.

'You're tired, aren't you?' Nailbunny called out from where he was mounted on the wall. Johnny glanced over at him, rubbing his eyes as he stared out at the street from the windowsill. 'You usually have something to say when they get like this. How long has it been?'

"I can't remember the last time. Maybe it's been awhile."

Succumb to the inevitable!

You know the world deserves the treatment you afford them. People have made you who you are, they reap what they sow!

Excuses and lies! If that were true then there would be shitloads of people like you! You are alone, Johnny. Alone and full of bugs and mistakes, you are! D-boy laughed cruelly from where he and Mr. F lay stiffly on the floor. His counterpart seemed to be trying to push him away without actually attracting Nny's attention.

Turning away from the window Jonny sank down to the floor, pushing bloody dolls away from his side and looking towards where the doughboys were fighting. The kitchen was a mess he realized, a mess like his walls and like his head.

'Maybe you should get some rest?'

Maybe he should, D-boy said thoughtfully, maybe he should rest for a very long time. . .

NO! No rest for you Johnny, so much to do! We need more people, we are running out of time. You haven't been out in weeks! Go out and find some cub scouts to deface! Rats won't keep our master at bay!

That was pretty creepy, the doll thing I mean. D-boy admitted distastefully.

'Nny?' too long since his last sleep. Too long since he'd closed his eyes. The dreams, he'd do anything to avoid them. Glimpses of places and people who couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't exist in the real that escaped him in his sleep . . .

NNY! And his eyes snapped open. He hadn't even realized they'd been closed. Johnny knew he had to get up before he did succumb to his body's physical need for . . .

Let the boy rest, Fuck. He needs it, everyone needs it. You're tired, aren't you boy? You feel drained and sick of it all . . .

Ignore the bird! He knows nothing of you, of what important things you do.

'Nny?'

-

"So fuck fear. I have nothing to fear."

Klik

KKCHNNNK!

Blood drained and the smell of it was like the metal filings of all of his knives being worn down to empty hilts. His knives, the machines and chains and devices, they became dilapidated. This one's blood, the essence of his being seemed to speak to him the way the man himself had.

"Well that did nothing for me."

-

Cold and quiet, that was how he could describe the house a few days later. He went out, finally to the happiness of Mr. F, and brought back some people he met on his late afternoon stroll. Despite the fact that they filled the quiet with noise everything felt still and the others were careful of when to breach Nny when he was in his moods.

As soon as he brought them he felt regret for it. They made too much noise.

He had slept, Nny was sure of this but for how long he could never tell. Waking up disoriented was the part he hated most. Falling asleep under an open window meant he woke up with a hot ray of sunshine in his face that for a moment had looked like a flash light being waved around in front of him.

Those people also did wonders for the wall. Buckets and buckets of them were cooling downstairs and the fresh coat was moist, the wood that held back whatever it hid greedily sucking it up. Greedy like the people that blood belonged to.

That blood belonged to them. Suddenly Nny's thoughts took a sour turn.

'Nny, there's someone at the door.'

BAM BAM BAM-!

This sort of noise, this angry and impatient slamming was what he preferred over the slightly disconcerting cries and begging of house guests. He could say that normally it wouldn't matter but today . . .

What if I'm not like all those goblin people?

Little tidbits of that dream kept clicking in and out like pieces replayed from a tape recorder. The more he thought about it, the more it faded out and white noised on him. Johnny just wanted to forget about it, or remember completely, either way.

You just randomly picked me out . . .

Did he? He couldn't be sure. Normally people with reasonably sane conversation skills didn't register on his radar. How could it have been . . ?

So fuck fear.

And then it was gone, he'd been trying too hard again.

BAM BAM BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM-!

Oh well, back to business. He threw the rag he'd been trying to clean his shorter saw with at the sink full of all his other tools and walked into the hallway.

On his way upstairs D-boy's voice seemed to drift in out of the mourning silence.

I will agree with Mr. Fuck on one point.

Johnny reached the door that lead to the main floor of his house. His hand paused on the door handle.

"And what's that?"

BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMMM!

Your neighbors do seem to have a death wish.

The sound was infinitely louder on the top level. Nny cringed slightly before stalking towards the door and ripping it open. On the threshold of his house was a tiny girl carting a load of boxes in a small red wagon.

"HI! Wanna buy some NINJA STAR CHOCOLATE COOKIES?"

X

You seem distant these days, Johnny.

"I've been thinking a lot lately, D."

You did sleep for a long time. Maybe you need to take another break, you function better when you've had a good rest.

"I hate waking up and wondering . . ."

Wondering what?

"Huh?"

What were you going to say?

"The things I dream, the people I see, do they-?"

-exist?

"No, do they mean the things that they say?"

What kind of things do they tell you?

"Normal things, average, sane conversations. We talked and I understood what he was saying. I killed a person."

You kill a lot of people, Johnny.

"Yes, but this was different."

How? How is killing someone in your dreams different from killing someone in real life?

"No messy clean up. Heh . . ."

Ah, I see now.

"But there is."

What?

"A mess, he said things, things I can't really recall, things that made me see how messy I am."

Messes can be cleaned up and you know what you must do to achieve this. For every stain that exists there is a formula to lift it, to erase it. You are right on that point, Johnny, you are a mess. There is only one way to clean the slate for you. The stain must release the grip it holds if there is to be hope for that something to be renewed.

"D-boy."

Yes, Johnny?

"Did I ever bring a guy with glasses through here?"

Several of your visitors have worn corrective eyewear, I don't remember particulars.

"Oh."

X

End Chapter One