by Andrew Yake
Will.
Time.
Fate.
By Andrew Yake
Acknowledgements:
I would like to take a moment to thank all those that made this book possible. I thank God for giving me the creative mind, surrounding me with the right people, putting me in the right circumstances to achieve this task, and giving me the passion to tell stories. I thank my parents for pushing me to achieve my dreams. I thank my wife, Wendy, for being willing to support my dreams and helping me make them a reality. I thank my brother, James, for introducing me to the world of pen and paper gaming. I thank my brother’s friend and author (a man I now call a friend also), Robert Wayne McCoy, for encouraging me and for showing me how dynamic storytelling can be. Most of all, I thank my children, Hope, Luke, Alex, Nick, Jade, and William for giving me constant inspiration. I give special credit to Alex who appointed herself my editor during this process and was very enthusiastic in her encouragement for me to continually push myself for a better story.
Prologue
I am sitting in my room considering what I should write in my journal. My ribs hurt from a tumble that I took. I stare at the empty bed across from me. The sounds of the residential mental health section of the hospital are all around me. There is a knock at my door. I look up to see my favorite mental health technician. His name is Matt. “Hey, the doctor is ready for you.” He is motioning with his hand for me to come to the door and follow him. I rise from my bed. I am dressed as I usually am here; gray sweat pants, white tee-shirt, and gray slip on shoes. They do not allow laces in this place. I like the structure and simplicity of this place. I greet Matt at the door.
“Fantastic. I have been looking forward to meeting the new Doc.” I say this as we start walking down the hallway. There are patients that I know here that have been here and come back, it seems, with some regularity. I look into one of the meeting rooms and see that an afternoon group session has already started. I wonder if I will be allowed back in today. We come to the psychiatrist’s office.
I enter through the open doorway. I have seen this man before, but only because I remember events that most cannot yet. I like this one. He is a bald middle age man with a gray beard. His glasses make him look very smart and I know that he has been in the military from the conversation that we have yet to have. It is a conversation that I remember having.
“Wonderful. It is nice to see you again Doc.” I say with an excited look on my face as I plop down in the chair opposite of his desk.
He looks up from his paperwork and smiles at me. “Actually, I don’t believe we have had the honor of meeting yet.” He leans back in his chair and studies me. “What would you like to talk about today Matthew?”
“The same thing that we talked about before.” I smile at him. “I wish to tell you a story that took place over the course of three days. This is not my story. It is the story of my will upon that which cannot be tamed; fate and time. It is the story of monumental failure with one success mixed in. One could say that the failure started late Wednesday night and the success happened early this morning. The setting, New York City in mid-November. We start this tale, not from an impartial observer’s point of view, but rather the three unique perspectives of youths, for whom morality is ever bending. This is not a story of heroes and villains. It is a story of perspectives and subjective realities.”
1
Jane Doe
There are no words that can truly convey what I am experiencing right now. It feels as if I am passing in and out of existence. I am unaware of who or what I am, but I am so close to something that I can almost reach out and touch it. I feel how warm and electric it could be. It is bright and wonderful. I reach out to touch it again. I desire to know what I am missing. I know that I am missing a lot of myself at the moment. I see brief fleeting flashes in my mind as I almost touch the light once more. I am crushed by the absolute loss of myself. The more I try to hold onto my tenuous grasp of self, the more I seem to lose touch with what I am. I feel pulled away from the light. The farther I am pulled from the light the colder I feel. I don’t want to leave this place. I fear what awaits me. Then I know nothing. I am nothing. I only experience the flashes of pain. I can hear the roaring of my own blood in my ears. The power that is and has been part of me is ripped from me in one last violent flash. All that is left is cold and pain.
Pain. Cold. Darkness. Damp floor. The smell of blood and dust. The first moments of consciousness battered me as I struggled against blacking out. The small remnants of electricity fade from my memory. I desperately want to return to something or somewhere to achieve the feeling of wholeness that I know, for some reason, that I have lost. I try to move and feel pain dance through my body. I feel the surface that I am on. It is cold and hard. My eyes flit open to reveal that it is mostly dark in this place. There is a small amount of light in the distance. I taste copper.
So, I find myself hoping that this is like one of those books or movies that goes back in time to a previous state where the hero or heroine is able to retrieve their memory and save the day. I want to start remembering what happened to lead to my current condition. Yeah, that would be nice right about now seeing as I cannot remember how I got here or, for that matter, who I am. I understand that I am alive and that I want to stay that way. I can identify that I am separate from my environment. My first motivation is to find out where this pain is coming from. I try to move again. I feel the icy tendrils of pain wash over me yet once again. This time I try to focus on where this is coming from. I move my right arm and start to push against the ground to prop myself up or at the very least reposition myself so that I am on my back.
My right arm works. My left arm works. My torso is sore. I breath heavily as I start to force my body to roll over. A searing pain shoots through my left side as I start to roll. I cry out. I hear it echo as I complete the transition. My left hand immediately shifts to where the pain originated from. I feel the slickness and comparative warmth of what I know is my own blood. What the Hell happened to me? I breathe heavily as I rack my brain trying to figure out what happened to put me in this state. Nothing, no glimpses of my past. I feel the need to continue moving toward the far end of this structure. Not only that, I know that there is something that I need there. I also know that if I do not apply pressure to where I feel the pain that I will not make it. I have no idea how many times I have passed out already.
I push against the ground with my right foot and use my right arm to continue scooting in the direction that I know I need to go. I struggle against the dust on the floor and the pain that is my constant companion at this point. I keep moving until I feel a cold metal object at my back. My eyes have adjusted just enough to the darkness that I can use the dim light streaming in from the opposite side of this structure to see shadowy outlines of objects in any direction. None of these objects move. I can only assume that I am alone in this place. I look back toward the light. It seems like a distance that I could not possibly cover at this point. I consider how long this building is and as I gauge the distance from what I think is the back of the building, where I happen to be for my consideration. I come to the realization that it’s possibly 1,100 feet or, if you are from anywhere else in the world, 330 meters from the back to the light. Huh, I know how to guess measurements and I do understand the difference between types of measurement. I know this, and yet I do not know anything about myself.
I feel myself leaking more as I hoist myself up. I am now at a metal desk and chair. I fumble around in the near dark. I feel a lamp as my fingertips graze the far-right edge of the desk. I find the switch. I turn it on. The light pierces the darkness and I am momentarily blinded. When I open my eyes again my head is pounding and the first thing I notice is that I am
covered in blood. There is a hole on the left side of my hips. I am wearing blood soaked jeans. I look again at the desk. I notice a green box with a red cross on it. I unlatch the box that is bolted on the wall and open it. There are medical supplies. I know that they are basic, but I also know that they may save my life. As I rummage through the bandages and medicines, I hear the distant sound of an animal outside the building and a soft whimper. I recognize this sound, but I am in no shape to go investigate it just yet.
I unzip my jeans and pull them carefully down to reveal three things. First, I am apparently female. I did not know anything about myself before this, but now I know at least this much and from my physique I must work out a great deal. I seem to have a smaller chest, so either I am young or I am simply not going to develop larger breasts. The black and red plaid button up shirt, leather jacket, blue jeans, and leather military style boots all suggest that I can look very good while hunting or that I simply enjoy the “lumber jack sheik” fashion. Second, I have been shot by a large caliber round and it went clean through. I don’t know how I know the second part of this, but it seems right to me. Third, I have an empty holster on my belt and I know that I had a gun and that I am a very good shot with it.
I see the alcohol I know that this is going to hurt, but I also know that I have been unconscious on the dirty ground for a good while now and that my wound needs to be disinfected. I find an old pen and put it in my mouth before I pour the alcohol on my hip. I brace myself as I start pouring the alcohol. The pain is almost too much for me to handle, but somehow, I know that I have been in worse pain before. I make sure to pour more onto the exit wound that is apparently slightly lower on my ass. I cannot tell if my hip bone was nicked, but if any major arteries where hit I am sure that I would have died before waking.
Now, I take a moment to use the bandages that I have found to slow the bleeding. I need to find a hospital or some sort of infirmary with medical supplies that are more substantial than basic aid. After I have dressed my gunshots the best that I can and carefully refasten my bloody clothing back on, I start looking around the desk again. I open one of the drawers. It figures, there is nothing there. I hear the keening of that dog again from outside the building. I find some Ibuprofen and a bottle of water. I down two of the pills and greedily quench my thirst with the water.
After a few moments, the pain lessens slightly. I know that it is not wise for me to move around much, but I also don’t feel completely safe here. I know that I need to find medical attention, help of some kind, or at the very least a better hiding spot that is a bit warmer. I scan the area by shifting the light on the desk to shine toward where I started out. I scanned the area. There, on the ground slightly off to the right of where I had been, I see what I know must be my gun. I also take note that the building must have been a decommissioned hanger of some sort. There are still a few olive-green crates pushed against one wall. There are also some old broken wooden pallets stacked to my left. Those could come in handy if I need to make a fire and stay here longer.
I limp over to one of the crates and unlatch it. There are a few old medical supplies, most notably a dust covered pair of crutches. I take the crutches and adjust them so that I can use them. The number on the crutches and the size that I require them for comfortable use suggest that I am about 5’ 11”. Okay, here is another thing I now know about myself. I use the crutches to move to the next crate. I unlatch it like the last one and open it. There are old medical supplies in the form of pharmaceutical drugs. This must have been the medical supply building. Either I lucked out or I knew that I would need to be in here. I move the dust covered packages inside the crate. I find vials and syringes.
I recognize one of the names, amoxicillin, as an antibiotic. I have no idea how much to use, but I take a guess and inject myself. That, I know, will do nothing for the pain, but hopefully it will keep me alive a bit longer. I also find a package with morphine and inject myself with a small amount of the substance. I know that it could compromise me and I do not wish to be incapacitated. I feel the effects of this drug almost immediately. The pain dissipates and I feel tingly. I hope that I have not given myself too much, but it is too late to second guess myself at this point. I pocket a few more syringes, pain killers, and antibiotics.
On my way back to the desk, I pick up my gun. It feels cool to the touch and I know it’s inner workings completely as I hold it. This gun is a thing of beauty. It is a 1911 issue .45 caliber that has been modified with a flash suppressant muzzle and an extended magazine. It has a silver plating and makes my skin hum as I hold it. This feeling reminds me of some feeling that I cannot quiet reach back into my memory to touch. I desire to study it and try to reach that feeling once more, but now is not the time.
I look at it further and I see an interesting design etched in the handle. It looks like eight arrows that are in a crisscross pattern on the silver plate of the handle. As I hold it, I get the feeling that I could easily hit a moving target with lethal accuracy at a distance that is about equal with the length of this building. I also get the impression that I have done this before, possibly very recently. It is loaded with rounds that look like they are either plated in silver or that they are actually silver. There is one round in the chamber and it smells as if it has been fired recently. Two rounds are missing from the magazine. This means that I was able to get off one shot before I blacked out and returned with no memory. I holster my weapon.
I move back to the desk. I look around the area one more time and end up finding an opened pack of cigarettes and a box of matches. I wonder if I smoke? Well, no time like the present to start. I take out a cigarette and light a match. The combination of the nicotine and the morphine works wonders as I feel myself getting higher from the head rush. Yep, I like this. I think to myself and I finish the cigarette before I continue forward on my trek to the other side of the building. I put the remaining cigarettes and matches into my coat pocket.
I look one more time around the area. I attempt to burn into my memory the different items that I have come across in this building and their positions within the building. In the back of my mind I am thinking that I may need to come back here without the use of any light to hid from whomever decided to put a hole in my hip. I turn the light off and make my way across this vast dark space of the now dark building to the only light now present, the door. I hear the keening of the dog once more and I realize the name of this animal, Orion. I know this because I recognize the timber of his animalistic voice and the feelings of security and love associated with the mental picture of this beautiful, black furred, blue eyed German Wolf-hound that I have called friend for what feels like a lifetime.
2
Allison
The nightmare is always the same. The sound of twisting metal and the roar of shattering glass all around me. The feeling of gravity shifting all around me as my seat belt keeps me in place. The smell of blood in the air. I can feel my head being jerked back and forth as the car lurches violently. I feel my legs crack and bend unnaturally as my feet stay in place under the car seat in front of me and the rest of the cabin shifts and shrinks around me. I feel the pain, but my eyes focus. I am aware of what is happening. I know that this is a memory and that I am not really here, but I also remember the smells and the feelings of pain and terror as if it is happening right now. Then silence surrounds me like a great cavernous abyss. The air is still except for the smell of smoke.
The only sound now is my ragged breathing. There is no sound from the driver’s seat. The realization that my mother’s limp bloody body, mangled before me with one eye still open and clearly visible in the mirror, tell the entire story. Terror ripples through me as I realize that I am unable to free myself and get to her. I have a curious realization that I am upside down as I see the smoke rolling up toward my feet. I hear myself screaming, but I do not recognize my own voice. A new scent hits my nostrils and gives me pause. Bacon?
The smell of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and coffee waf
t through the air. I jerk my head up off of my biology text book. My cheek sticks to the page that I had been reading the night before. “Damn, not again.” I find that I am dismayed that I have fallen asleep while studying, yet again. Visions of my mother still dance before me and I could swear that I am able to see my mother standing next to my Dad for a moment as I attempt to focus on my surroundings. I am sitting at an odd angle and, apparently, I had been sleeping at an even stranger angle during the night. This is not conducive to a good night’s sleep.
“Ally! Language!”
“Sorry Dad.” I say to my father. I start collecting my thoughts and cataloguing all that I have to do today. I am looking forward to what I will be working on in class today. I get to work with cadavers doing dissection and identification of diseased organs within a real human body. I have spent the majority of the night studying, not that I needed to. Yes, there are many things I have to do today, but first I will eat and then I will take a shower and change. I feel the stiffness in my legs and add another item to my immediate needs list, take my pain pills.
Although I am the age of most 9th graders, I am a bit shorter than others (about 5” 1”) and look even younger. I have often been mistaken as a 10-year-old with larger boobs than I should have. This, of course has been a point of contention between me and most others my age. I make up for it with my above average brain. I am happy to report that I am in my last year of medical school.
Like most other young ladies, I enjoy the idea of boys, watching TV, and “hanging out”. However, I enjoy school and scholastic success much more. I have always pushed myself to be the very best. It has paid off because I am the best. I am not being conceited here. I really am top of my class and I know that I am amazing. This almost makes up for experiencing physical pain almost every waking moment because of the car crash.