***
When I got home, I was filthy. Not only physically, but also emotionally soiled. I was covered from the real dirt and mud from the clearing and the emotional grime from the vision, or whatever it was. I went straight into the bathroom. I could at least rid myself of the physical dirt. I cranked the water as hot as I could stand it and stepped in. It burned, but I remained under the harsh pulsating water for as long as I could stand. No amount of soap successfully made me feel clean. After being surrounded by that much squalor and inhumanity seemed to give me a permanent feeling of disgust. I cleaned off as well as soap, water, and shampoo would allow me to and dried myself off.
Putting on my most comfortable pair of pajamas, I sought out things that would comfort me the most. I doubted I would sleep at all, and if I did there would be only nightmares. With the covers pulled all the way up over my head I tried my best to sleep. Not wanting to take any chances, I left the light on.
At some point sleep overpowered me, and I was under its influence. When I woke up I didn't remember any concise dreams. Just horrifying flashes of the events I witnessed the day before. I was determined to find out who that man was. He deserved some sort of recognition for his bravery. I had to find a meaning in all of this. I am by no means one of those people that believe everything happens for a reason, but there had to be some sort of reason for our connection.
Maybe it had been some sort of hallucination, maybe I had heatstroke. Or maybe, just maybe I am just stark raving mad. The latter wouldn't bother me so much if it meant someone didn't have to go through what I saw.
I dragged myself out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. Looking into the mirror I looked as bad as I felt. Huge, dark puffy circles had made their home under my eyes and my face looked blotchy. I felt like I was falling apart. I went to the kitchen to make breakfast, and after I did, I didn't touch it. My fork had more interaction with my food than I did. I raked the food into the garbage and went to put real clothes on. Everything felt so surreal, and I always felt a bit more grounded when I actually get dressed.
I threw on a pair of jeans, a shirt, and my shoes and decided to take the first step in finding out who the familiar man had been. That step happened to be toward the family room. I went on the computer, not sure what I was going to accomplish. I decided to type in descriptive words to try and find out who the man was but which descriptive words: Cannibalism, torture, abandoned insane asylum. Or what? I rested my fingers on the key, unsure of what to type. I just sat there, hoping that some sort of clue would come to me. After a few hours of staring off into space with my hands on the keys I came up blank. I still had nothing. I was no closer to finding out who the man was.
My mother came in and asked me what I was doing, and if I didn't have something more productive to be doing. Keeping my mouth shut was probably the best idea, so she didn't try and lock me up before I figured out who the man was. How he related to me, and if he even existed in the first place.
"I asked you what you were doing." she barked harshly. I didn't want to answer her so I said, "Nothing, I was just leaving." and got up to leave the room.
"Where are you going? You didn't answer me, get back in here." I was of the mind to just leave; parental scolding was the least of my worries at that point.
"I was trying to look something up on the computer, for school." I added, lying. Lying was definitely easier and more convincing at this point in time. I expected a fight, but she let me be and I went elsewhere. I was at a loss when it came to how to go about this. How does one go about finding someone that may or may not exist without any knowledge of a timeline, geographical location, or any other details? If there were a way to go about it, it was lost on me. I went back to my room to decompress and try and to clear my head. I stretched out in bed for a while, but I was too restless. I had to get up and do something productive. I owed the familiar man that much.
I went into the living room and looked through the photo albums. I started with a rather old looking album and began flipping through its worn pages in search of an answer. A few pages were of people I didn't recognize. I guess they were people on Mom's side who had died long before I was born. We tend to focus on the living relatives, as opposed to the deceased. Most of my friends knew tons about their great grandparents, or relatives that died young. In my family, as far as I was concerned I had a mom, dad, brother, grandma, grandpa, and papa. Grandma on my Dad's side died before I was born, so I knew nothing of her. I had seen a picture of my great grandmother only once. I came home to Mom staring at a picture of her on the anniversary of her death, but she didn't want to talk about it.
A couple pages in I saw what I thought was my great grandmother; it looked like the picture I'd seen of her at least. It was presumably a picture of her wedding, as she was in a big poufy white dress. I dropped the book when I saw the man standing next to her donning a suit. It was the spitting image of the familiar man. My heart beat so wildly it threatened to burst right out of my chest.
Was it possible that the familiar man was my great grandfather? The more I stared at the picture, the more certain I was that he was the man from my vision. Knowing, or being pretty certain that he was related to me made my heart sink. If he existed, chances were he went through exactly what he’d shown me. I ran into the kitchen to find my mom, maybe she could help me.
"Mom. Mom. What ever happened to my great grandfather? I have never once heard him mentioned. Not even in passing. I know we don't go in depth with our deceased relatives, but I am very curious about him. What happened to him?" I spit the words out as fast as I possibly could, I felt time was of the essence. She gave me an annoyed look, sighed, and made it seem like the story was a big deal. I sat down at the table, hoping she would follow my lead. She did, started to say something and then stopped.
"Why is it that you want to know?" she asked, sounding skeptical.
"Family tree assignment at school." I lied, because she wouldn't believe the truth. Sounding exasperated, she started talking. "Your great grandfather left on a trip with his buddies, and never returned. He didn't even have the decency to tell your great grandmother why. She always said he was probably out gallivanting with every girl in town. She was strong though, she raised her family without that coward."
My blood boiled. I wanted to scream at her. To shout that he wasn't a bad man, he had simply gotten lost. That he'd been eaten alive, but who would ever believe such a thing?
Trying to avoid conflict and an impromptu trip to the loony bin, I decided to be civil. "For the project I need to know his name." I wanted so badly to know anything and everything I could about him. It killed me that my family thought of him as some sort of cheater who abandoned his family.
"His name was Proctor Mortimer," she said with no elaboration. My first thought was that it was a kickass name, and my second thought was about how I would clear his name. I feared I wouldn't be able to, but I would try my best. I mean, my sources weren't the most concrete of sources. A vision in the middle of a clearing where you see your great grandfather being eaten alive isn't exactly normal. Or credible.
"He could have had other reasons for not coming back. Did anyone ever think that he could have been killed, or did everyone just jump to conclusions?" I couldn't mask my anger as much as I tried. What had come out of my mouth was way toned compared to what I wanted to say.
"Don't talk to me like this, Alice. You have no clue what you're talking about. So tone down the attitude. I think you have enough for your schoolwork." Really, I don't know what happened. I wanted to shake her and scream 'who the hell are you to think you know what happened'. Some story passed down from a scorned lover. Hardly any more accurate than saying I know because I said so. At least my unorthodox methods helped me learn his identity. So if the identity matches, it would stand to strained reasoning that the rest was true too.
My great grandfather, Proctor Mortimer, was a hero. If only someone would believe me. I no longer cared about t
he consequences; I told my mom exactly what happened. "Actually, Mom, I do know what I am talking about. I met him yesterday. I was in a clearing and he took me to the place where he died. It was an abandoned mental institution. There were patients left there, only they were withered beyond recognition. They were hurt and I had to watch in horror as they ate my great grandfather. So don't you tell me he walked out and was 'gallivanting' all over the town as you put it. I was there. It was terrifying. I may never get another night's sleep." I cried again by the time I finished speaking. What happened to him made me feel sick and achy inside. I feared that she would have me put away, but all she said was "What a crazy dream, honey." and walked away. I went through all of that, and she didn't even believe me. I'd have to deal with all of it alone.
We never mentioned the familiar man again.
The Familiar Man: A Short Story Page 2