I couldn’t believe that they were watching that stupid movie without me. Even worse was that I couldn’t stop it from bothering me. I was tired and my thoughts were torn between two worlds. I couldn’t stop writing. I had to continue. We were close to finishing something that began in that small bathroom at the hotel in Georgia. I had to finish and I had to put my silliness aside. I wanted to go back to the computer but I didn’t I went upstairs into the kitchen. The lights were off and Sally and Michael were watching the movie. My thoughts went spinning out of control.
How? How could they do this? How? How could I care? My friend was just dumped and I’m thinking stupid selfish thoughts. I looked into the living room and saw Michael on the couch. He was enjoying the movie and he looked a lot better than he had. He had no idea that I was in the kitchen acting like a dork. Well, not acting but thinking like a dork.
I was able to get back downstairs without running my mouth. I was back in control but as soon as I sat down I heard it. From behind me my demons whispers blew up the back of my neck.
Betrayal.
With that word I began to type. I saw it. I saw the truth. I knew what was next and no matter how much I didn’t like it, it had to be. My vision shaded until all I could see was the keyboard. My fingers were typing fast and I wasn’t going to allow distraction. I didn’t and six hours later I’m done. I’m typing something I never thought I would, I was typing The End of T.B.O.T.E. and it was unbelievable.
I wish I could say that I was cool about the movie but I can’t. I didn’t complain. I just refused to ever watch it. It became a joke and eventually, a few years later, I watched it. It was a good movie and I can’t believe how stupidly stubborn as well as how self-distracted I’ve been in my life.
It’s funny, the movie was “The Count of Monte Cristo” it’s funny because the theme of the movie is betrayal between friends. On that night we completed an amazing story and on that night I betrayed myself and wasn’t what I should have been for a friend that was in need.
We were done. The Beginning of the End was done. It was done. Finally we knew the end of that story. Tammy moved out and we went on with our plan. We were going to rewrite the six screenplays and put them into book form. One month was the time we gave ourselves. Four years later I’m here now, in the basement as lost as ever.
In four years we have rewritten all six stories three times and part One, we’ve rewritten more times than memory allows. In those four years there has been drama or I should say distraction.
One time, I was in the basement. It was four A.M. and I was working on a rewrite. I was gone. Physically I was in the basement but mentally I was in the world of T.B.O.T.E. and it was intense.
Then I’m pulled from thought. My cat jumps onto my lap. I push him off and continue typing when the cat does it again. I yell at him then toss him off of me but when I turn to the computer I hear the dog. At the time we had only one dog, Pal. He was whining and he came up and put his paws on me. I didn’t pay attention at first. I was focused and I wasn’t losing it. He could go to the bathroom on the other side of the basement for all I cared. I wasn’t losing my focus. I pushed Pal off but instantly he did it again. I push him off then I stopped. I see the cats meowing and I see the look on my dog’s face as he continues to whine. I stand up and say “Show me.”
Pal takes off running upstairs and I follow. I go into the living room and see the dog and cats at the window. Pal looks at me then out the window as I approach. I look out the window and for a second time froze. The car, our car was on fire.
It was a sight that is hard to explain because it still doesn’t seem real. The flames were wrapping around our Volvo engulfing the whole car. Burning, it was burning and it was starting to spread to our Toyota which was parked directly in front of the Volvo. I took a deep breath and started up the stairs. I knock on the first door, Jessica, then Michael, Perry, in and out of our room and then to Bryans in the back.
Each time I opened the door I said, “Wake up. Our cars are on fire.”
My tone was calm as I yelled for all to hear. I went back into our room and saw Sally putting her robe on.
“Our cars are on fire.”
“What?”
“Our cars are on fire.”
I remember the look on her face. She didn’t believe me but she followed. I remember it was surreal standing outside with the others watching the fire spreading toward the other car, it was only a moment but time was moving slowly. Michael runs inside and grabs his keys. He comes back out running toward his car which is parked beside the Toyota. He gets inside his car and backs it up. It was quick thinking on his part; if his car had caught fire it might have exploded with a full tank of gas and at minimum that would leave us without any transportation.
We had called 911 and the fire department was on the way. It was weird hearing the sirens in the distance as we watched the fire engulf the second car and inch closer toward the garage.
I was upstairs in our room with my older two. We were ready to move the children if the house was to catch. The fire department had told us to stay in the house and only leave if the house caught fire. We didn’t think the fire would spread that fast and we were not panicking. Jessica was to grab Brandon, Bryan was to grab Savannah, and I was to grab Anthony.
Fortunately there was no need. The fire truck came and the firemen did their thing. We all reasoned that if the firemen had showed up five minutes later, the house would have caught fire. It’s a good thing to because later we realized that we had five gallons of gas just inside the garage, right in front of the Camry. But the firemen came in time and they were on top of it.
I was upstairs so I didn’t see it but I love to hear my wife describe how the fireman stepped into the flame with his hose and attacked the fire. She makes it sound so cool. She even told that fire man how amazing it was to witness, when he was in our kitchen.
We never found out who set our cars on fire. That night there were like four vehicles hit but only our cars burned beyond repair. They never found out who did it and since then there has been no trouble like that. It’s actually a great neighborhood.
That was hard though, in one night we lost two cars and if not for Michael we would’ve lost another. But our house is strong we survived and no one complained.
It wasn’t long after that that we gained focus. We came into contact with a guy who knew a guy at a publishing company. It’s funny, because it wasn’t just a publishing company. It was the president of this company and it was the leading publisher in our genre.
We gave all six to this guy and he read them. It took a couple months but he came back saying that he’d send a copy to his friend at the publishing company. He and I talked and he said that we should send only one, at the time One, was only fifty thousand words. A novel needs to be eighty or ninety thousand. In two days I added forty thousand words. I was done. My brain fried and I couldn’t see straight. That hurt but we did it.
A few months later we get the typical we’re not interested letter response. It was heartbreaking but looking back it’s easy to see why. I’m not making excuses but in the process of increasing the number of words we lost it, it became a word count instead of just writing. We knew better but we got caught up in the false excitement that lack of experience can create.
Then came Michael Edward. We always said that if we were to get published we’d like to stay unknown. We aren’t telling stories for fame we tell stories for the pure enjoyment of it, as well as the enjoyment it brings to others. Since we couldn’t break through the traditional route we were to go the self-publishing route. We could do it however we wanted. There’d be no maximum word count and we’d be bound by nothing but us.
It was a fun process and much was learned. We did a book signing once, that was interesting and we sold zero books but it was still fun. We ended up selling over four hundred books but we still have like six hundred left. We made the rookie mistake of having too many printed. We give them away now and I feel h
orrible about the people we charged money. The copy we printed was a mess it was unedited and well what I call a sloppy copy. I’m embarrassed by it.
It’s interesting, people who are readers, have issues from the very beginning. The format and style is too immature, wrong, whatever, they don’t get too far. They don’t give it a chance. Some do and their response is what the response has been since I was fifteen. A good story that was better than they thought. I have test questions and instantly I can tell if they read it and I can tell when they lie. A lot of people do but we don’t take offense.
The ones, who like it the most, show excitement for the sequel we have had over three hundred requests for part Two. They are the kind of people who normally don’t read. We knew that, it was our purpose to try and target the non-reader. It wasn’t our purpose to put out such a sloppy copy and reality hit us, we needed an editor. Mentally for me it became very challenging. My dreams were intensifying and my day visions were increasing. I remember the first time my wife saw me having an attack. In the past she had seen my movement and heard my speech while I slept but the attack was something different.
She said I was shaking, shaking to the point that I woke her up. She said I was not responding at all. She went and got Michael. They tried to wake me but they couldn’t and then they panicked.
My memory of the night is short and I have only images and half thoughts but I remember waking. They had me sitting up but I couldn’t sit up by myself. I hear their dialogue and recognize the words “take him.” No way. No one was taking me anywhere. My vision was fading in and out and the shadows were everywhere. It was light then dark, light then dark but I was determined. No one was taking me anywhere. I started wrestling with those who had me. I was trying to break free and then I did. I ran away from them as fast as I could.
My wife and Michael said they couldn’t stop me. They said they watched me run down the hall in full sprint slamming into the hall closet where I collapsed to the floor but I never went to the hospital. From that night to now my back has never been the same. The door to the closet is still broken two years later.
I remember another attack my wife was witness to. It was mid-day and we were in the car. We had just left her parents house and were on our way home. The morning had gone as good as it could for a funeral. We went to the funeral, her parent’s house and then we left. That’s all we did. I remember being tired. The entire week, I’d been writing and I’d gotten little sleep but I didn’t mess up. I found the focus to go with my wife.
For two years in the basement I didn’t get out much. There had been times where I should’ve gone with my wife but I didn’t. I was too tired, or I had to work on the story. Legitimate or not I always had reasons but not on this day
We were only a few minutes into the car ride home when I looked at my wife. I told her I was tired and I had to rest. I shut my eyes and the blackness takes over instantly. I wake and I see my wife in front of my face. It takes a second for me to hear her words.
“Baby, Baby you need to breathe. Baby you need to breathe.”
Breathe? What was she talking about and then I tried to sit up. My body was heavy and it was hurting. She helped me with my balance and she had a drink in her hand. She’d pulled over to a gas station and gotten the drink. Guess she was getting used to it because she wasn’t panicking and she kept me focused.
Since then the attacks have come in waves, none for a period of months and then a couple in a row. It’s easy for me to track why and each time I’m getting better at handling them. We know what they are and eventually we’ll take care of them. Now’s not the time though.
Now. Now. Now. I come out of my travels and that’s where I’m at, I’m here in the now. There’s less than an hour before some in the house have to wake. I need more coffee and I need to finish. The reason for this I don’t know yet. This? What am I doing? Why am I here? Why?
I know there is little time left. Very little time left. Perry in the last year met a girl. He is moving in with her in January, two months away. We have between now and then to make something happen. That’s not true but the writing portion better be done before then. If not my early end may be the result. There are certain truths, certain truths that I’ll never say. Some of them are good, some are bad, some are unbelievable, and some are scary. I wish to never experience them again.
The end is coming and I know it. I feel it. Things will change for this family very soon. Soon there will be a new way of life. Good or bad I’m not sure but we’ll find out soon. Right now I’ve tried to stop three times. I tried sleeping on our bed, on the couch in the living room and in our son Bryan’s room but peace was not found. I find myself in the basement. It’s 8:52 A.M. and I show no sign of slowing. This is what I knew would happen. I’ve been here before I know it. My confusion grows with each second that passes. Here. I know I’ve been here at this time, right now.
Am I traveling through my memories? Am I going to wake somewhere? It has to be a travel. This is too familiar. By this I mean my current thoughts, my feelings and when I stare around the room I know it. I’ve been here in this time. I know what I’m going to type. It’s going to be about the editor that we needed.
An editor, that’s what we need. We need someone with the ability to write. We have the ideas but no education. I’m not sure that we are that far off; we might just be hesitating and forgetting what we know. I know one thing. I need to end this. I need to end this before I can rest.
This? I still don’t know what this is. It will end in the next twenty pages. I will end this today.
The editor we needed was found. Our neighbor a man I only spoke to twice in four years and maybe waved to every now and then, was to be our editor. He was a film critic which I find funny.
I know what will happen. I don’t know why I fight it. I shouldn’t. I should give in and do what I know.
I told everyone that I was done, done with this untitled story. That wasn’t true. I had to stop. I took Wednesday and Thursday off for sanity’s sake or trying to stay sane anyways. I knew what was next and I still do. It’s not something I’m looking forward to but who cares. I don’t I don’t. I can’t.
I hear a soft wind from behind me. I feel no breeze when I turn around and I see nothing but the wind continuing to whistle along the wall behind me. I see my cat, Buddy, sleeping in the corner near his food. Buddy jumps up hissing in the direction of the sound and his head turns, staring, following the whistling wind blowing around the wall.
I sit watching the sound reach the corner and I listen as it nears. I stare at the wall behind my computer because that’s where the sound ends. It is quiet for a few seconds and then I hear my dog Pal from behind me. I spin my chair around and see Pal whining, staring directly at me. He turns to the wall behind the computer and I spin back around. I see nothing. Nothing. What’s Pal looking at and then something happens.
My vision blackens for a slow motion blink and appearing over the computer is a Being I’ve never seen before. It stands on the desk with one foot on each side of the monitor. The Being is black air outlined by gold-white showing its massive height weight proportioned frame. The Being is hunched down so as to not hit the ceiling and solid white eyes fade through the blackness staring down at me.
I freeze. I can move my head but not my body. I turn to see Pal but he’s not there. I can see to the stairs but he is not in vision and I can’t speak. I can’t call out to him. I don’t want to turn back around. The Being may still be there.
I know this is my imagination. I know it. I know it is. I know this is my imagination so when I turn around and see nothing, I’m not surprised. Suddenly from behind I hear an eerie voice.
“Write.”
I turn around and there is nothing. What am I doing? This is a distraction I don’t need. I turn back to the computer and Wham, something pushes my chair forward and I hit the desk. My hands hit the keyboard and from behind I hear the same voice as before.
“Write.”
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nbsp; I feel a hand on the back of my neck and my head lowers. I feel fear for a second then the fear fades and information slams into my subconscious. I remember. I need verification on a memory. I know. I know what it was, but I still need to verify.
I shut my eyes and accept the blackness of the void as my mind clears. I hear the wind and then the whispers.
I become aware. I’m laying on the couch in the living room. My four-year-old daughter Savannah is lying on my chest, smiling.
“Daddy.”
“Yeah baby?”
“I’m tired.”
“Go to sleep then baby.”
I kiss her forehead as she lays her head down on my chest. I see the blanket on the top of the couch. I reach up but I stop. I hear the sound of wind roaring from the kitchen. I follow the noise across and watch the sound as it blows across the ceiling above us.
I jerk from surprise as the gold-white outlined Being appears standing above us. He has one foot on the arm of the couch behind my head and the other on the top of the couch. He reaches down and I feel his long fingers gently touch my left arm. Everything is in slow motion and I can’t move fast enough. The Beings fingers wrap painfully tight around my arm and as the Being roars it jerks up. The motion is fast, breaking through the slowness.
I yell out from the pain and then I become consciously aware. I see Savannah on my chest. She’s sitting up looking down at me. I don’t see the Being and I know why. He wasn’t real. I know this but my arm and shoulder still hurt. I take a deep breath and then I hear her. Savannah says something that startles me for a second.
“Don’t worry Daddy. The bad guy is gone now. He is.”
“What? You saw him?"
I didn’t want to ask her that. The words came out before thought. I know that I dozed off to sleep for a second. I had a quick bad dream but when I ask her another question. I asked her where he was. I was startled when she pointed out his position correctly.
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