What the fuck is going on.
Suddenly, dozens of others begin to do the exact same thing. The woman then starts to vomit viciously. She tries to push herself up but seemingly loses all motor-functions and drops to the floor yet again. The vomit won’t stop, and the screaming becomes more muffled.
Dozens upon dozens more begin to drop to the ground. Jim turns to me.
What the fuck are you waiting for?
I can’t believe it. I- I just can’t. I don’t know what I’m even seeing right now. What the hell do I do about this.
Randall, get that fucking note out of here and then await my instructions. I’m serious, you don’t want to end up like them do you?
Okay Jim.
That’s not what you call your leader. He says to me with a look of pleasure in his eyes.
Supreme Leader Duke. Sir.
That’s better. Now get the fuck out of here.
Chapter 17. The Cigarette
October 1, 2019
Lydia Arnold
Things were going so well there for a little bit. I had my routine back on track. I was paying attention in school. Getting good grades. Being sociable. I even got myself a boyfriend. Well, kind of. We talk in school every other day and we made out at Stacy’s party last week. So, like he’s kind of my boyfriend but not really.
But every now and again I have my bad days. The days where I feel lost and empty inside. The days where I miss my father. He was the most important thing in my life and he was taken from me. I’m done complaining about it. Shit happens. But it’s changed me nonetheless. I never had bad days like this when he was around.
That bitch of a sister I have doesn’t help either. We haven’t talked much in a while, but she started to keep in touch with my mom. I just don’t fucking get why she has to intrude in our lives like that. We’re still grieving and she isn’t fucking helping. God damnit it makes me so mad. On my bad days, when I’m mad, it can be hard to control myself and think straight.
Today is one of those days. But, I think I have found a way to control it. See, I’m a very observant person. I notice things about people. Things that most people don’t see. For example, Aurelia is clearly a drug addict. Not a bad one, I think. But like just a little bit. She always has bags under her eyes and her hair is always messy. When she’s sitting down for too long she clicks her fingers together while her leg shakes rapidly.
Speaking of that, Detective Pete shows similar characteristics to his personality. That man has a lot of anxiety. He shows it a lot. He just constantly looks stressed out all the time. But, being the observant person that I am. I noticed how he counteracts it. How he gets rid of all that stress, anger, and anxiety.
Cigarettes.
So last week when I met with Detective Pete, I snagged a couple of his cigarettes when he wasn’t looking. I figured that he probably smokes so much of them that he would barely notice. I stole a lighter from my mom this morning before she left. She usually isn’t home until one or two nowadays. And I told her I was going to play soccer with one of my friends. So I have a couple hours to smoke one and get the smell off.
Well, there’s no time like the present. Let me light it up.
So this is what this feels like. Like there’s nothing but air in my head. Kind of like a balloon. I can’t really feel my arms or legs. But in a weird way, I can feel everything to touch so much more. Like everything is that much more sensitive.
Suddenly, I hear the front door shut. Fuck me. I’m standing out back, and there’s only one way in, one way out. The back porch door. I am so fucked. I toss my cigarette off the porch and onto the grass in my back yard. The smell still lingers in the air. And I’m sure as hell my fingers and clothes still reek of it. Detective Pete’s fingers usually do.
My mom opens the back porch door.
Lydia, are you out here?
Then suddenly, another voice from inside the house. A man’s voice.
Are we good?
Who the fuck is that?
She comes outside and finds me on the porch. The smell of cigarette consumes the air that we breathe between us. But I don’t give a fuck. I am not the one who needs to be explaining anything anymore.
Lydia, are you smoking a fucking cigarette?
Mom. Are you fucking kidding me? Who is that inside?
Lydia, answer me. What the hell do you think you’re doing? You are sixteen years old.
I can hear that fucking man pacing around inside my house. My kitchen. Opening my fridge. Eating my food. Breathing my fucking air. In the house that my father lived in. The house where he loved my mother and I. He gave us all of his love and my mom has the god damn fucking nerve to bring another man into the house? Forget what I am thinking. What the fuck is she thinking?
Yeah I smoked a cigarette, so what? Who the fuck is that guy in our kitchen , mom? He sounds young. Way too young for you. Not that you should ever be seeing anyone.
And why shouldn’t I see anymore, huh?
Because you have a husband. Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean that he’s not your husband, mom. He’s still the love of your life and he’s still my dad. If you think I would ever allow anyone else to take that role you are taking fucking crazy pills!
Don’t you dare talk to me like that.
Fine. If she won’t tell me I’ll go inside and take a look for myself.
No, Lydia don’t go in there-
And there he is. God fucking damnit. This man is no older than thirty. This guy looks like he’s my sister’s age. That is disgusting. What the hell is she thinking and why is she doing this to me? Why is she doing this to our family?
Hey there, kid.
Who the fuck are you?
He sets down the carton of orange juice on the table. That’s right. He was drinking the juice straight out of the carton.
You know how to use a glass?
Settle down, kid. I’m just a friend of your mom’s.
Yeah. I’m sure you guys are great pals.
My mom bursts into the kitchen with fire in her eyes. I’ve never seen her like this. She sure as fuck wasn’t like this when dad was around.
Lydia, go to your room right now.
Fuck off, mom. I’m just trying to get to know your new boyfriend.
He’s not my boyfriend, Lydia. Calm down.
Yeah, calm down, Kid. We’re just-
Shut the fuck up!
This guy really is dumb as fucking rocks. I can already tell. One of my many intuitions. He also smells of something that I’ve smelled before. What is that? It’s faint but-
Were you guys smoking weed?
The fire from my mom’s eyes vanishes and her fists unclench. As if I had just stripped her soul away from her. The man, on the other hand, barely reacts. I suppose that is a side effect of smoking weed. You don’t really pay attention to anything. Maybe that’s why this dirty asshole was drinking straight out of the orange juice carton.
And you. I never got your name. if you’re going to be banging my mother I should at least know your name.
Lydia!
It’s okay, babe. Lydia, my name is Joe. Nice to meet you.
He sticks out his hand. What? He wants me to shake it?
I’m not going to shake your hand, Joe. How did you meet my mom?
That’s enough, Lydia-
Babe, it’s okay. We met at a bar sometime over a year ago. We really are just friends. I mean, you would know. Your mom only see’s me on Saturdays I’m sure she has told you.
God damnit, Joe. I told you not to say anything if this ever happened.
Every Saturday for over a year? Now it makes so much sense. Everything finally makes god damn sense. He is why I don’t feel the same love and affection I used to. Because he’s taking my mom away from me. He’s taking the only family I have left away from me.
This cigarette didn’t help. It didn’t help one fucking bit. I am beyond stressed out right now. The anger I feel in my body moves through my bones, up my spine, and is pent
up in my head. I can’t think straight. I can’t think at all. I need this fucking guy out of my home. I need him out of my sight.
So I pick up my father’s hunting knife. It’s at the very center of our knife set. He said the last time he used it was to gut the biggest deer he had ever killed. I always wished that he’d take me hunting. He said when we finally did, he would let me use the knife. The knife always fascinated me as a child. How something so unbelievably deadly could just sit in our kitchen. A mere three feet away from all of us. It always fascinated me.
Lydia, what the fuck are you doing with that knife?
Take it easy, kid. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.
I pause to try think of something one last time. It’s taking me all the power in my brain to conjure up a plan that won’t put me in prison. I’m crazy, but I am not insane.
Get out of my house immediately.
Joe backs up slowly and exits the kitchen. He better get out of here faster than that. This knife could cut through him like butter.
He leaves.
Lydia, are you fucking crazy?
Maybe, Mom. Maybe.
Exhausted from this ordeal, I drop the knife and retreat to my bedroom. The only place on this god damn planet where I actually feel safe. How sad is that?
I just want my dad back.
Chapter 18. Man & Beast
October 31, 2019
Jim Duke
The Canadian provinces of Alberta, Manitoba and Saskatchewan are infamous for their whitetail deer hunting grounds. Many from the United States travel here for exactly this reason. There’s not much else to do. The further west you travel into Alberta, in the rocky mountain region, the easier it will be to spot mountain Elk and moose. In terms of big game, this is what I usually target. However, this particular summer the region noticed a lack of game. The animals had moved further west than anticipated, which made prey more scarce. A powerful and accurate weapon was vital. I had to manufacture a bow from Dogwood due to its high compression. It provided me with an adequate hunting weapon. The reliability of the dogwood tree is unlike any other. If you stumble across dogwood, and are in the market for a bow, I would strongly suggest making one yourself. The quality of the dogwood is unmatched. It offers a dense and strong structure for your stable and trigger arms to comfortably position themselves.
In the northern regions of Alberta hunting is more than a sport. It turns into a means for survival. During my escapades I found myself further north than I should have been. The night grew cold and the winds began to howl. That gut feeling we all have when something terrible is approaching is all I felt. I was the sole human for miles and my mind wandered like it had never done before. I was surrounded by a beast I couldn’t see. I was cornered into a corner that didn’t exist. And I only had myself. The mind’s one true test is isolation. If you can conquer isolation then you can conquer yourself. However, isolation is fleeting, and on the fifth day of battling my thoughts I fell victim to a canine attack. Seven full-grown wolves began stalking my every movement. The tracks I laid behind me provided them with where I have been and where I planned to go. It was more than a tale of man vs. beast. It was a tale of wits. Two great minds battling against one another, praying the other would fall victim to a well-set trap. The July sun beat down on us every day, and the chilling moon shun down on us every night. The wolves rested when I trekked, and I rested while the Wolves stalked. I had to be careful with every step I took and every mark I left behind. One slip and my name would have been tarnished. The man who was bygone. For twenty-one days I moved, and the wolves moved with me. Their presence was a constant reminder that I must succeed in returning to the safety of the protected regions south. Yet, there were miles to go, and I couldn’t keep hunting small game forever.
I began to ache and whatever youthfulness was left in this poor old man’s body began to fade. The distances I travelled by day shortened, and the gap between my pack of viscous predators and I began to close. I knew that if I stopped I would perish. Yet, I knew that if I kept moving I would run the risk of wasting precious energy. So on the twenty-fifth day I prayed. This was the first time I spoke to the lord in my adult life. I apologized like I had never apologized before, and he spoke to me. I gained courage and the will to fight. The light in my eyes burned a fire-y blue and my mind grew strong. The lord pointed me east, where I stumbled upon Dogwood. Using this Dogwood I could create a trap that would settle this battle of the mind and body for good. I knew I was close to safety. Yet, the wolves were approaching. I had one last fight left in me. Man vs. beast.
Wolves strategize during hunts. They play off each other’s strengths and weaknesses. When prey is detected, they split. These beasts usually split in groups of three. One group focuses on the high ground, tracking the prey using sight. They travel on ridge tops analyzing the ground below, tracking their prey’s every movement. Another group focus on the weakness of the herd, or in my case, the weakness of my body. They slowly track behind and wait for the right moment to strike. While hunting Elk, this particular group of wolves focus on the sick and the young. Those most succeptable to death. Lastly, the third group of wolves hide in plain sight. They travel through brush and are always closer to you than you suspect. These are the group that you have to be cautious of. You have to always be on guard and ready to strike, because once they choose their moment, they take full advantage of it.
On the penultimate day of my odyssey I chose to fight. I manufactured a series of traps using sharpened dogwood and hid out of plain sight. Using the blood of small game I set the bait. Wolves can smell the blood of prey for miles. Rabbit blood in particular. It was in this moment of my life that I experienced true hardship. I was fighting for more than myself, I was fighting for everything that I believed in. I thought about my daughter Lydia, and how she would grow old without a father. The woman I love most in the world, and I would never get the chance to tell her again. My only priority was returning to her. My only wish was to see her beautiful face once more. So I waited.
I fashioned two motion-activating traps. I dug two holes, six feet deep, with dogwood spikes awaiting the beast that loses the battle of wits. I figured it would be fitting to bury the beasts six feet under. Every living organism on this planet deserves a proper burial. We are all living creatures no matter how often it’s overlooked. The men and women that I have taken from this world in my long life deserved the burial that they got. In the end, it is an entrance into the afterlife, and it must be respected. Sunlight began to fade and any exposed skin on my body began to chap. Water was a scarcity and food was no longer an option. I had to ignore my primitive desires. The night grew colder as the wolves approached. I could sense their proximity. They were waiting for the perfect time to strike. I wrapped my bow around my shoulder and climbed a nearby tree. I had exactly five arrows left. Five arrows for seven wolves.
Sunlight was no more, and the fluorescent beauty of the moon engulfed the Canadian forest with wonderful glow. The white-tip mountainous region sat in the background like a Monet landscape. The sky grew purple and the air grew cold. Colors of which I had never seen before moved through the sky like a snake in the water. For the first time in my life, I was terrified.
A twig snaps. I had one of them. I whipped my bow around to see if I could see the beast who lost the first battle. Nothing. Silence. The beast knew that I was aware of his presence. I climbed up a branch so that I could get a new perspective of the battle that was to come. There I saw one. He was waiting behind a small area of brush sensing who would make the first move. Little did the beast know that I would make the first move. I slowly drew back my string. The arrow gently rested on my index and middle finger. If I weren’t in a Baltic region sweat would have run down my face. A cold breeze blew by, it deterred me from firing. The beast removed itself from the brush and wandered into open territory. He moved close to one of my traps, so I remained steady. Suddenly, another twig snaps. I impulsively whip around 180 degrees and spot anoth
er beast upon a small ridgetop. The crater that I positioned myself in began to highlight its weakness. Any sudden movement and the beasts would become aware of my presence. I had to aim very still and track the wolves’ movements. I waited for the right moment to strike. It needed to be an instant kill. Any communication between the wolves could be detrimental to my existence. One falls behind the other. An older male wolf I presumed. Maybe 13 years given the shade of his hair. I hold my breath. Every second counts. The wind chills and the leaves become stationary.
I release.
The arrow soared through the sky with a thunderous roar. Carving its way through the brisk air.
And he falls. An arrow, directly to the head. The Alpha panics and began rounding the troops. The wolf below hears the howl of her leader and attempts to dash toward him. Unbeknowingly she ran directly into my trap, and died a painful death. Upon the ridgetop I see the remaining five wolves gathering. They are a hysterical cyclone. I had to wait for the wolves to leave before I could climb down the tree. Moments pass before they eventually do. I climb down, deactivate the traps and continued on my journey south.
I knew I was close. I could smell it. I could hear the cars. There were few but I could hear their engines. I grew close to the outskirts when I stumbled upon a highway. Only a couple of minutes passed before a gentle and pure woman stopped to give me a ride into the town. And that’s what brought me to this exact moment. Sitting in this chair at this desk in this cheap motel. Writing this god damn memoir. At this point, diary, I feel as though I am simply losing my mind and spewing nonsense onto paper. Living in fucking Canada for no apparent reason. With the Duke Clan I had power. I had all the power. It was America’s largest Cult according to The New York Times. Although I hated that description, I much preferred the term “Public Organization”. I told people what to do and they listened. I was a God. Now, I am a mere mortal. I was responsible for loss of life and I have repented for it, clearly. It’s looking close to returning to the United States. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I need to speak to Richard.
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