Altered Gate (Dillon the Monster Dick Book 3)

by Shaun Meeks

  “Dillon, you really need to snap out of this. Lately, you hardly take note of our meetings. Are you hearing me?”

  I tried to nod, but wasn’t sure anything happened. I coughed hoarsely and felt spittle pooling in my lap. This was getting old.

  “You need to start working through things. This idea that you’re a monster hunter, that you attacked those boys because they were melting, and getting something on you that would kill you; it’s just not what’s real.” I told him about the melting faces? I didn’t remember that, but I wasn’t remembering much any more. I knew I had a girlfriend, but what was her name? How old was she? What did she look like? Or was she just in my head? “This desk, this chair; these things are real, Dillon. Monsters and ghosts are—”

  “—and then I found a cat and it was actually a friend I’d gone to school with reborn inside the little fella,” Harrison told me, and I realized I was back in the rec room. Dr Marshall had just disappeared, and I was in another room. “I took him home, tried to feed him Beefaroni, but then he got lost in my place and I was so sad. I thought he ran away because I got athlete’s foot real bad and it was smelly. Then I found him under my bed and he was smelly because he died a while ago. I hope he’s going to find another body to live it, because I still…”

  The words stopped and I was back in my bed staring at the ceiling. I felt sore and stiff. I looked down at myself and saw my knees were red and scraped. I had no idea what had happened, but it felt terrible to move my legs. I reached down to touch them while my roommate, Dougie, snored up a storm. My fingers found the cuts already scabbing and I—

  “—and three today,” one of the nurses said. I was sitting in a room with most of the other patients. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I was hoping it was movie time. We’d watched One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest a few times now, but I could only remember seeing parts of it here and there. I hoped to remember enough of the parts so I’d technically remember the whole movie. The order of it didn’t really matter to me.

  “Want a pit cookie?” Harrison whispered, and dug into his nightgown. He pulled out three crumbled cookies. I didn’t have to ask him why they were called pit cookies. I shook my head, and he smiled. “Good. More for me. Oh, they’re so moist!”

  I watched him as he put all three in his mouth and began to munch on them happily. He was my own hairy, balding Cookie Monster.

  Was he a monster, like Cookie Monster? No, there was no way. Monsters weren’t real. That’s what the doctor told me. Those things were a delusion, something I made up to hide a bigger issue. I’d thought I hunted monsters because it made me feel special, important, and less afraid. The only monsters were Muppets, and the things in horror movies.

  But if monsters weren’t real, and I made it all up, was my girlfriend made up? Was she another delusion? And what about the other people I knew? The Jamaican guy I buy tools off, for one. Was he real? And why did I buy tools off him? Did I make repairs? If I didn’t hunt monsters, what did I really do?

  I wanted to cry. I felt so confused and lost, but the movie was about to start, so I sat back in my chair and watched as the credits began.

  Then I was in the doctor’s office again and I was mad. I didn’t even make it five minutes into the movie before my world star wiped and faded back into the familiar room.

  “How are you feeling today, Dillon?”

  “Crappy,” I told him, and was surprised to hear my own voice. It felt like so long since I’d spoken out loud, at least that I could remember. “But, I’m hanging in there, I guess.”

  “Well, that’s something. You sound a lot better. We were worried about you after the fall a few days ago. Do you remember that?”

  “Only that my knees hurt a lot.” I reached down and winced as I touched them and felt the pain. I had forgotten what actual pain was. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “I felt that. And I can actually make sense of what’s coming out of my mouth.”

  “Well, I thought it might be good to cut back your meds by a fair amount. You seemed to be turning inward a little too much, and there’s no getting better without trying. Like I said many times before, the drugs only help so much. Especially these older ones that I personally feel are outdated. So I think if we do more sessions together, and you eventually join the group settings, you’re bound to improve overall. But, I do want to try you on something new today. It’s very exciting and I think it will do you a world of good. You will be there first person here to try it and I think with that, and the two of us talking more often, things will turn around for you. I don’t think they’re the golden ticket, but along with our talks, I think you’ll soon find your way out of here. Remember, it’s our words that help us heal, grow, and learn. Now, why don’t we start with how you’re really feeling today?”

  That night after an exciting dinner of chicken and rice, with Jell-O for dessert, we received our medication. I stood in line, waited for my nightly communion, and when it was my turn, I nearly expected the nurse to hold it out like the holy sacrament and gingerly place the pill on my tongue. Instead, I was handed a little paper cup with three pills in them. Two I knew as vitamins, and one was new to me. It was a big, purple thing that looked more like a horse pill than something a human should ever try and swallow.

  “What’s this?” I asked, and the nurse looked at me oddly.

  “So, you can talk,” he laughed. “It’s a new drug. Doc says you’re the lucky guinea pig in the group, so, swallow it and go sit and play pocket pool, Zippy.”

  I did as I was told. There seemed to be no fight left in me. I dry-swallowed the thing, as hard as that was, and went to walk away, but the nurse grabbed my arm and pulled me back. Of course, how could I forget? I opened my mouth and felt his invading sausage fingers swirl around to make sure it was gone. When he was satisfied I hadn’t hamstered it in my cheeks, he pushed me back towards the games room and called out for the next in line.

  I went into the rec room and sat down at a chair near the window. I was already tired from the day. It was the first time in so many days, days all blurred together, that I was able to string together coherent thoughts, but they weren’t all straight. It was just the opposite, really. Most of the things bumping around in the old cranium were little more than a bunch of jumbled images, ideas and pictures that made no sense. I wasn’t sure what was real, what was imagined, and what was caused by the medication. There was an idea there, of who I was, and what I did, but it wasn’t solid enough for me to believe. I could pull up images of monsters, and creatures straight from nightmares, but I wasn’t sure they were any more real that Santa Claus or Spider-Man. I looked at my hands, they looked real, familiar, and I hoped one day they were going to help me get a grip on reality. I needed to. I wanted nothing more than to fix myself, figure out what was broken, and find out where my problem ended and my real life started. I was broken, but at least I knew it. Most people here didn’t seem so lucky.

  “How’s it going, Dill Pickle?”

  I looked up and saw it was Harrison. He was digging his hands down the front of his pants and pulling them out to smell them. I hoped he just needed to check if a shower was required.

  “Hey, Harrison.”

  “Wow! You’re not a mute! That’s so cool. So, were you just ignoring me before? If you were, it’s okay. My dad’s the same way. He got me an apartment, pays for it every month, but never visits. He’s a dick, but if you were ignoring me, it’s okay. You’re not my dick… I mean, my dad, who is a dick. I’m not saying my dick is my dad. That’d be crazy.”

  “I think it was the meds they had me on,” I explained, and he sat in a chair next to me. “Sorry. I could barely remember how to sit up, never mind speak.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I liked that you listened, even when you were all zombie zoned out. High as shit on the stuff they give you, but I like to th
ink you listened to me. Most people just run away.”

  “Not sure I could’ve, even if I wanted to. But I didn’t. It was nice to have someone other than the staff talking to me,” I said, though I had a bit of trouble remembering much of what he talked about, other than a few rambles here and there.

  “So, now you can tell me. Why’d they bring you here? It has to be good.”

  I shrugged. There were things I remembered: three guys with melting faces and a cold blackness touching me, but I didn’t want those things in my head any more. They weren’t real. I needed to focus on the truth of what happened, not the story my mind had told. The doctor told me to heal I need to push those lies away and embrace the reality of what happened. So thinking about monsters and faces drooling shadows wouldn’t make me well. I needed to focus on wellness. “Why are you here?”

  “Because people don’t understand the things I do. In my building, the security guards are always on me. They tell me I can’t walk around the halls in my underwear, but they don’t understand. My place has bugs, and my cat, the one that had my friend hiding in it, died there. I couldn’t stand to be in there long. So, I walked the halls.”

  “In your underwear?”

  “Yeah. It’s hot and I don’t have any t-shirts—well, none clean. Plus, I have a killer Freddy tattoo on my chest. I like to show it off. So, I walk the halls to get exercise and to meet people. Physical health means better mental health, by the way. That’s what they tell me, but I think it sounds crazy. Anyway, I was walking the halls, and this new woman moved in. She was so hot. She moved in just down the hall from me, and I wanted to give her a welcome gift. You know, like they’d do on TV? So, I went to her apartment, and her door was unlocked so I walked in and tried to give her my nicest butcher’s knife. Apparently, she didn’t want it.”

  “Were you in your underwear?”

  “Of course. It was really hot that day. She screamed at me to get out, pulled her own knife out, which was way nicer than mine, and I left. A bit later I was standing in the lobby, and the cops showed up. They weren’t very nice. I was told I was lucky I didn’t have the knife any more, or I might’ve been shot. For what? Trying to be a good neighbor? What is this world coming to?”

  What indeed?

  I woke up in the middle of the night with a strange sensation. I slowly opened my eyes, trying to figure out what it was, and then I felt it again. Someone was sitting at the end of my bed. I sat up, and I let my eyes adjust to the darkness. I could see someone there, their back was to me, but they looked all wrong. They didn’t look solid.

  I reached out, and my fingers slide through their shoulder. It was so cold.

  “Hello?” I whispered with hesitation.

  The person on the end of my bed turned and when they did, my heart sank.

  No.

  It couldn’t be.

  Something was wrong, it wasn’t right. Maybe the meds they gave me were messing with my head, or I was having another episode. I closed my eyes and tried to lie back down. I told myself it wasn’t real, I was dreaming, but they shifted on the bed and I could feel it. I sat back up and tried to touch them again.

  “Can you not do that? It feels so weird,” he said, and there was the smile I knew. I did know him. It was someone I’d seen before, so many times, but it was impossible. He was dead. Father Ted was dead and gone, and ghosts aren’t real. The doctor told me those thoughts are part of my problem and when they arise I have to admit to myself how false they are. It was hard to think that way when Father Ted sat shimmering in the dark room. He looked very real, for a ghost.

  “You know you’re not real, right?” I whispered, and kept my hands to myself. “You need to go away.”

  “No, Dillon, you need to go away. You need to get out of this place. It’s not good for you.”

  “You’re not good for me. I want to get better, but how can I if you show up? I want to get the bad stuff out of my head. Monsters, demons and ghosts aren’t real; which means you’re not real. So if I’m seeing you, it means I’m not getting better. And if I’m not getting better, I can’t get out of here and go home.”

  “And what would you go home to, Dillon? If everything you know is a lie, then what is the truth you so badly want to return to?”

  I had no idea. I can admit, my mind hadn’t even strayed to that way of thinking. The doctor had told me I was unwell, that my thoughts had led me to attacking three innocent people, so I needed to get better, let go of the delusions I thought of as real. But if they weren’t real, I had no idea what was. Where did I live? Who did I live with? What did I do to make money? Who the hell was I, if not who I thought I was?

  “You need to get out of here, Dillon. A lot of people count on you, but staying here is not helping them, and it’s not helping you. You’re a shell of the person I knew.”

  “You’re dead! The dead can’t come back to Earth. That means I’m crazy, and if I am, then I belong here.”

  “Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy, Dillon.”

  “But I know you’re not real.”

  “What is real? It’s true I may not be here, but if I’m not here, what am I? A visualization of your mental illness? Or am I a part of you that’s trying to get you better, to let you know you’re not as crazy as they’re telling you? I’m not saying I’m a part of you, though. What I am telling you, Dillon, is that you need to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and get out of this place before everything you are is lost in these walls. Don’t let them eat your soul.”

  Then, he stood up and vaporized into nothingness.

  I wanted to cry.

  I wanted to be better.

  I wanted to be allowed to leave.

  I wanted to find out what was real.

  After a lunch of mac and cheese, hot dogs and Jell-O for dessert, I was taken down the hall to the doctor’s office. He was in a sour mood, but asked how the medication was, if I felt better with the new pills.

  “My heads a bit clearer today,” I told him, and it was true. I kept my bedtime visitor a secret, but I hoped it was a one-off.

  “Good. And did you notice anything unusual?”

  Aside from my dead friend, you mean?

  “Not really. I mean, my piss smelled pretty rank this morning,” I said, offering another half-truth.

  “Yes, that is one of the side effects. You may also notice green stool, but don’t worry. That’s from the pills as well. Any sensations in your hands or feet? Tingling, or numbness maybe?”

  I shook my head and wondered if I should mention my visitor the previous night. I had hoped the vison of Father Ted on my bed telling me what he had was nothing more than a mix of new medication, stress, being overly tired, and coming down from the other drugs I’d been on. As someone who’s not a frequent user of pharmaceuticals, I had no idea what kind of side effects coming off anti-psychotics were.

  “Nothing at all?”

  “Nope,” I lied, and he moved on.

  “Excellent,” he said, and scribbled some notes down. “And how clear are your thoughts and memories these days?”

  I shrugged. I wanted to say they seemed fine, but there was still too much in my head that didn’t seem to make any sense. I could really visualize the monsters I’d fought off. I could smell their hot breath as I pushed strangely-shaped coins against skin made up of discarded items. I could feel them hit me with balled up fists of waste, and could taste the memories of satisfaction as I sent them back to where they came from. I could recall a life before this one, on an alien planet, where I was the last survivor of a race wiped out by demons, but I couldn’t tell him this. I needed to be better, to be “cured” and allowed to leave so I could go out and find out what was real, and what I was imagining. Could it all be a lie, an elaborate illusion I’d created to hide scars from an abusive parent, or a terrible crime done to me? The doctor wanted me to believe it, and I re
ally struggled with it. The reality in my brain and the one he tried to convince me of were in full brawl mode. I wasn’t sure which one was going to win.

  “You’re not sure? Well, let’s start with the day you were brought in here. That was something you’ve never been clear on. Can we go back to that day and see if you can recall the actual facts of what brought in with you here?”

  I nodded. I knew what he wanted to hear, and spun off a story that made it sound as though I wasn’t as confused as I was. I began with driving down to the lake to watch the storm, saying that I loved the way the waves looked when the winds were high. After that, I drove to the LCBO to pick up some rum and whiskey.

  “For yourself?”

  “Yes, I thought it was for someone named Godfrey, but I know now that I was just saying that to deflect that I have a drinking problem.” It’s amazing sometimes how easily lies roll off the tongue.

  “And when you were there, something happened. You told me a story of monsters there with melting faces trying to attack you. Is that what you saw?”

  I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to think about that. Not them or anything that had happened since I got back from Niagara Falls, assuming I ever went there at all. I could feel it, the way the mist from the falls felt spattering my face when I walked down there with Rouge.

  Rouge.

  Her face hit me hard, something I had all but forgotten. I could see her soft skin, my hands going over it lightly to give her goosebumps. I could smell that soft rose perfume she loved to wear, and could hear her laughter as I told her some terrible joke. She was there, in my head, and remembering her fully, after such a long time, was the best feeling in the world. It had to be a real memory.

  Please let it be real.