Transcription

by Ike Hamill

  “Okay,” Bo said. “We can always turn back later if we have to.”

  # # # # #

  James didn’t speak as they hiked.

  The trail was well-designed and maintained. Most of the time, their path was wide enough that they could walk two abreast and still have room for people to pass on their way down. Here and there, the path wound up steps and passed between walls of rock. James liked those parts best. The rocks infused the air with cool moisture, and the stairs had handrails he could use to propel himself upwards.

  The trail wound up the hill, following a bubbling creek upstream.

  “There’s a pool at the top. The water is cold as hell and it comes from a little waterfall. It’s very pretty,” Bo said.

  James didn’t need more encouragement to keep climbing. He was determined to see the end of the trail, just because it was difficult for him and he didn’t feel that it should be. He’d wasted his vigor. He’d become an old man in the confines of tiny dark rooms. This was a hike that any forty-three year old should be able to accomplish.

  Chloe was telling a story that James couldn’t quite follow. Everyone else tracked with the names involved and understood the subtext. James was left to guess at the inside jokes, and the parts of the story he missed when she was too far away for him to hear clearly.

  “So I didn’t even bother to ask,” Chloe said. “I mean, every time Antonia gets a check, it’s all going into her ass in one way or the other.”

  Bo laughed until he coughed. He doubled over until he gained control of himself again.

  Chloe didn’t let up. “And then Zack comes in, and he doesn’t know what to do. He was trying to open his locker for, like, five minutes until he realized that he was standing at the wrong locker. Meanwhile, she’s just there with one leg up in the air, like a cat cleaning herself.”

  Chloe and Bo practically ran up the stairs. James could see open sky up ahead and hoped it meant they were nearing the end.

  Danielle waited at the top of the stairs for James to come up.

  “I’m fine,” James said, waving her head.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “My father has COPD, so I’m used to waiting for people. I mean, not that you’re…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” James said. He wasn’t sure how she planned to finish that sentence, but he was entirely sure that he didn’t want to find out. She either thought he was infirmed, or as old as her father. Neither option was flattering. He wondered about her age. She might be in her mid-twenties, which meant that he could be her father’s age, now that he thought about it. It was a troubling notion. One minute, he had been a teenager, still contemplating all the different turns his life might take. Now, he was old, and he had exactly nothing to show for it. His only life experiences were lived with a pen in his hand, transcribing visions of other people’s deeds.

  James saw a young boy leap from the cliff above and the breath caught in his throat. For a fraction of a second, he was convinced that he had been sucked into one of the terrible stories he wrote. The boy’s fear turned into a smile as his feet hit the water. He went under for a second and then popped back up with a shout and a giggle. The boy swam to the edge and practically levitated out of the little pond. He gripped his arms around himself and mocked a shiver.

  Bo and Chloe were already rounding the far side of the little pond and picking their way to the edge of the waterfall.

  “It’s beautiful,” Danielle said.

  James nodded. He started making his way to a stone bench, where an older couple were getting up. James slipped onto the bench before anyone else could claim it. Danielle stood nearby.

  “I should have brought my bathing suit,” Danielle said. “Next time I will.” She walked over to the edge of the pond. The water was almost a mineral green color. Danielle dipped her fingers into it and smiled as she turned around. “Never mind! I’m not going in that.”

  A girl ran behind her, making her way towards the cliff wall.

  James saw the backs of some climbers who were about halfway up the face. It didn’t look like a terribly difficult climb, but all the kids were only wearing bathing suits, so they moved cautiously. He spotted their destination. A knot of kids stood at the top of a ledge and seemed to be discussing the merits of making the plunge. Every now and then their positions would shift as a new person regarded the leap.

  James had a bad feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. He imagined the blood, broken bones, and death that was surely about to come. While he was distracted, a child flew through the air. James held his breath until this kid came up over the edge of a rock and climbed from the water.

  “Does that make you nervous? You look like you’re afraid of heights or something,” Danielle said as she crossed the distance and took a seat next to James on the bench.

  “A little,” James said. “I’ve seen too many accidents to not be nervous.”

  “Where are they going?” Danielle asked. She stood as she looked off towards Bo and Chloe. From their angle, it looked like the two were stepping under the waterfall, but they weren’t yet wet. “Is there a cave back there? I bet there is. I’m going to go see. Are you okay here?”

  “I’m fine,” James said. He brushed his hand at her. He meant it to be a casual gesture, but even to him it seemed a little dismissive.

  Danielle nodded and then left him.

  He leaned forward and stared at the water. Every time one of the kids would hit the pool, James flinched. A park official in a brown suit passed in front of James.

  Propping his head up on his hand, he watched as the man called the kids down and ended their fun. James smiled. The waterfall was thunderous, but calming now that the kids weren’t jumping and screaming every minute.

  In a little pack, the kids went downstream of the pond and played in the shallow rapids there. Soon they were whooping and yelling again, but it wasn’t as disturbing without them flying overhead. The man in the brown suit left.

  James let his eyes shut as he began to drift off. He pictured the house from Danielle’s story. The people inside wandered from room to room, looking out their windows at hordes of traveling corpses. But it wasn’t people inside, it was just a single person. Of course, the person was him. He was watching the dead, and tracking their progress. He was the only witness to the terrible march of death as it rolled through the world.

  Even in his dream, the obvious imagery annoyed him. Weren’t dreams supposed to be meaningful? Weren’t they supposed to reveal something about the subconscious state? What good were they if they simply echoed the last thing a person heard?

  “Do you want to come see the cave?” Bo asked.

  James looked up. Over the sound of the crashing water, he hadn’t even heard Bo approach.

  “Yeah, okay,” James said. Pain twitched up the back of his legs as he stood. It took him a few paces before he felt like he could stretch his legs out all the way. Bo kept a slow pace in front of him.

  # # # # #

  It wasn’t at all like he expected. James had pictured a little round alcove behind the crashing water, where one could look out through the veil of the falls and see a shimmering representation of the real world. Instead, the cave was just a diagonal crack. It wasn’t quite wide enough for James to fit through without turning his body a little. Once inside, it opened up as the sound of the falls was muffled by the rock. Chloe and Danielle were sitting inside on a little ledge in the rock wall.

  “This is where they used to hold the ceremonies,” Chloe said. “The blood of their sacrifice would seep into the living rock, bringing forth the spirit of the mountain.”

  “Shut up,” Danielle said with a laugh.

  “She’s the creepy one,” Bo said, pointing at Danielle. “You’re the dumb one, remember?”

  “Good point,” Chloe said. “But what else am I going to do? I forgot my hair dryer back in the apartment.”

  “Try picking your nose,” Bo said.

  James found a rock that was across the li
ttle room. Aside from being entirely too damp, the little cave was nice. It was good to get away from the white noise of the falls and the chaos of the kids.

  One of the girls screamed. James looked up and saw Bo waving his hand.

  “Oh, thank God!” Bo said.

  “What was it?” Danielle asked.

  “Just like the biggest bat I’ve ever seen,” Bo said. “Probably had rabies.”

  James sighed. He liked the tight walls and the darkness of the place, but he didn’t enjoy the thought that they were sharing it with flying rodents. He began to push back to his feet.

  “I’ve got to get going,” he said. “You guys stay—I don’t want to ruin your good time. I can find my way down the hill easy enough.”

  “Okay,” Bo said. “I’ll go back with you though. You guys don’t mind, right?”

  “No, please,” James said. “You stay. I’ll be fine. I’ve just got some things I have to do. I really don’t want to interrupt your trip.”

  Bo nodded and frowned. “Okay. Well, thanks for coming with us.”

  “It’s been great,” James said. “Really. Please let me know if you’re planning to do it again. I need to get out of the house more, I think.”

  “It was fun meeting you,” Danielle said.

  “Yeah,” Chloe chimed in.

  “Great meeting you, too. Best of luck with your stories and good luck at the grocery store,” he said, realizing how lame his wishes for Chloe were. “Any time. Seriously,” he said to Bo.

  James was glad that nobody insisted on walking down with him. By the time he walked around the pool of water and began descending the stairs, he knew that his trip was going to be an ugly affair. He could barely lift his feet, and he stumbled constantly. Pain shot up through his muscles. He resolved to unpack his exercise equipment. If he kept going on his current trajectory, he might not even be able to function in a few months. It would have to stop.

  When he reached the road, he was trudging.

  A car honked at him when he tried to cross.

  Back in his apartment, he forced himself to eat some peanut butter before he went to bed.

  CHAPTER 10: PRISON

  Diary of Thomas Hicks, 1977

  THE SHADOWS ARE MORE than halfway across the space between the cells when I start to scream. At first, I’m simply screaming out of pure terror. My sound is senseless notes, not shaped into words. My voice echoes back, mocking me. The reverberation sounds like laughter.

  One bright, sane thought lights up my brain—Officer Fradeaux!

  I begin screaming for help.

  “Help! Help me! Officer Fradeux, please!”

  I repeat myself over and over as the shadows continue their creep. I don’t want to leave any space between my words. If there’s space, I’ll hear the laughter of my own voice bouncing back. I’ll hear the words in the chalk chatter.

  When I finally hear the thunk of the metal latch, it’s melodic. My salvation is coming. I wait and listen for the footsteps. I don’t hear them. Instead, I hear the chalk noise again. It starts strong and then slows immediately. Words break free from the noise. First, I realize that I know the voice. It takes a whole sentence before I recognize that the voice is my own.

  “We’re the only real one. The rest are shadows and reflections. We have to banish the shadows with light, and smash the mirrors before we can find truth. It’s incumbent upon us to find the truth. It’s the very purpose of our existence.”

  There’s more, but I don’t feel that I can accurately represent it. The words, on their surface, are meaningless, but there’s something in them that I can understand. There’s a powerful emotion that resonates. It’s the idea that I hold a solemn responsibility. The universe depends on me to expose truth, in its purest form. I’m the only one with the power to do so. Maybe all reporters feel a version of this—that they have a responsibility to humanity to find and document the truth because everyone else is either unwilling or unable.

  I begin to feel a sense of duty and pride.

  I know that I cannot turn away from this responsibility. I will take it, and do whatever I can to do the job with integrity, until I take my dying breath. What’s the job? I have to expose the hypocrisy of life. I have to demonstrate that to live, one has to be on the path to death. To embrace your vitality, one has to exist on the very precipice of losing it. It will be a difficult, but noble undertaking.

  A million images flash through my mind.

  I picture a woman, alone in her bedroom, getting ready for a good night’s sleep. She’s caught up in the minutiae of her routine, and ignoring the miracle of her own beating heart. What could rescue her from wasting the precious resource of time? She needs to understand her own mortality. She needs an intruder to break down her door and scare some sense back into her. Only then will she appreciate how precious her time in this world is.

  As I understand the pattern emerging from my visions, I resolve to become that agent of change. I will rescue the victims of mediocrity. I will become a hot red tornado of blood.

  # # # # #

  He’s got me by the arm.

  I struggle to get free, but his grip is too strong.

  I realize that we’re walking. I’ve got my notebook gripped so tight that it feels like my fingers will become fused to the cover.

  I tune into what he’s saying mid-sentence.

  “…and she’ll come pick you up, and everything will be right as rain.”

  “What happened? Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you to the office, Mr. Hicks.”

  “But why? Wait. I’m not done with my research.”

  “I don’t care what you signed on for, I’m going to have Ed check you out while we’re waiting. If he finds anything unusual, you’re getting an ambulance ride straight to the hospital.”

  I shake my head. “Wait. Can you just explain to me why you’re taking me away?”

  “I thought you were going to make it all night. You nearly did. Some people just can’t handle isolation. We used to see it all the time when we had to put men in solitary. Some of them lose track of time and start screaming like a baby within an hour. Usually, if they make it as long as you did, and especially if they have a window so they can see that dawn is creeping back in, usually a man will last a few days. No shame on you, though. I wouldn’t want to try it. Especially with all that research under your belt. You were probably seeing ghosts just from the accounts you’ve read, right?”

  I shake my head again. I’m not following what he’s trying to tell me.

  He bangs on the thick glass and a man turns halfway around. He’s preoccupied with something else, but he takes the time to hit a button. With the buzz of an electromagnet, the door pops free and we step through to their office. It smells of musty old files, being aired out for the first time in a decade or more.

  “Have a seat,” Fradeux says. “I’ll make some phone calls.”

  While I’m waiting, Fradeux brings over Ed. After a quick introduction, he begins to check me out. Apparently, he was a medic at one point. He declares that I’ve had a panic attack, and that I probably can’t remember exactly what happened.

  I remember, but I can’t make any sense of it.

  Fradeux has called Judith to come pick me up. I don’t know how that’s going to work—she’s at home with Jimmy. When she arrives, I’m back in my street clothes. I walk out to see her behind the wheel. Jimmy is asleep in the back seat. She made a little bed for him back there and somehow got him to go back to sleep.

  I climb into the passenger’s seat. She can drive—I’m too shaky.

  I wave goodbye to Officer Fradeaux as she backs out of the parking lot. The gates are up. We don’t have to pass inspection to get back onto the road.

  “Did you get what you came for?” she asks.

  I’m trying to light a cigarette with shaky hands. I give up.

  “Yes and no,” I say. I have only a rough memory of my revelations. It’s like a dream—by the time you�
��re in the shower, you can piece together some images, but the thread of the story is gone.

  “You still think there was something environmental in that cell that caused those men to become violent murderers?” she asks me.

  I turn and hang over the seat, looking at my boy, Jimmy. He’s a little angel. He has no idea how precious every second of life is. I jolt upright at the thought. There’s something evil lurking behind that thought.

  “I really don’t know,” I say to Judith. “I need to get some sleep, and then I’m going to write. I can feel the words making my fingers twitch, you know? I’m going to bang out some pages tonight.”

  “On the story?”

  “Maybe. I might take a little detour though. I feel some fiction coming. I might take some time and see where it goes. I’ve got to get the poison out, you know?”

  Judith nods. “Don’t neglect the prison story too long. I want to see how it comes out. I want to see how you tie all your theories together on this one.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “For sure.”

  When we get home, I’m glad to find out that my hands have steadied enough that I can carry Jimmy inside. Judith trudges off towards our bedroom. She has always been really good at falling back to sleep after interruption. Not me. I stay up to wait for Jimmy to wake, so I can get his breakfast and get him off to school. Judith can have some more rest before she has to get ready for work. I hope I’ll be able to get some shut-eye after the house empties out.

  While I’m waiting for Jimmy to wake, I sit in the living room, looking out the window and reviewing my notes.

  I wrote them only hours before, but it seems like all that stuff happened in a different life. And yet, it doesn’t. The experience changed me. I can feel it down in my cells. Either that, or I’m so tired that I’ll believe anything. The day is beautiful as the sun comes up. There’s a tiny bit of mist clinging to the ground near the trunks of the trees. Dew sparkles like little diamonds scattered in the grass. Only the birds and squirrels take advantage of the morning Eden. They’re up and at work while the rest of the world is still shaking off sleep.