by Michael Bray
"What? No, don't do that. I'm getting up, I'm standing, look, please just look."
She got onto her knees, gripping the edge of the chimney. The wind drove into her, and for a second, she almost overbalanced and tumbled into the black depths of the open chimney. She rubbed her palms against the soot-covered brick, distressed at how slick they were. They were like ice. She was shaking and the world around her was pulsing. She closed her eyes and tried to calm down, but that only made the sensation worse. She snapped them open and focused on her filthy hands. Slowly, carefully, she stood up. With nothing to hold on to and nothing to protect her, she stood on the edge of the tower. She realized just how small she was just how insignificant. The wind howled against her again and she rocked on her heels. Every sense was alive. She knew she couldn't afford to stumble or make a mistake. Every single step could be her last. She took a slow step, the grip under her feet unsteady, the wet soot threatening to pull the ground out from under her and send her to her death.
"Very good, Mrs. Sandoval," Reeves said in her ear. "This is a big moment. Very good indeed."
Chrissy said nothing. She blocked him out, blocked everything out. Her entire world was now nothing but the bricks at her feet and the wind billowing around her. There was a sick and perverted exhilaration surging through her, an intoxicating mix of fear, disbelief and adrenaline. She supposed it was this that the thrill seekers searched for, the extreme sportsmen, the base jumpers and mountain climbers, the racing drivers and the skydivers. It was this same mix of terror and excitement. She inched around the circumference of the chimney, willing her feet not to be thrown from under her by the slick brickwork. She was now halfway around the tower, and surely close enough for Keisha to see her. She couldn't risk looking up, though. If she did she knew she would lose focus and fall. Instead, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. She could see the chair now in her peripheral vision, and knew she was close.
"Keisha, I can’t look at you, but please, tell me you're alright. Just talk to me."
She glanced up, then paused where she stood, staring at the chair. It was a dummy. It was dressed to look like Keisha, to sell the illusion from far away enough to motivate her to climb. She stood there, struggling to take it all in. The wind blew. She rocked with it without even thinking, maintaining her balance.
"Where is she?" Chrissy said.
Reeves didn't answer. She looked down over the edge to where she could see him on the ground, a tiny speck so far away. "Where is she, you bastard?"
"This is over, Mrs. Sandoval."
"What do you mean? Where is she?"
"Look at you," Reeves said. “When you set off you were terrified, now you stand there confident and defiant, looking down at me without an ounce of fear within you. I’d say that was a success, wouldn't you?"
She looked at the dummy, then down at the ground. Reeves was right. There was no fear, no crippling vertigo. Just numbness and confusion.
"What happens now?"
"Come down. Back the way you came. You can sit and shuffle if you prefer."
She didn't do that, though. She walked back to the ladder, angry and confused, then started to descend.
NINE
By the time she reached the ground, Reeves and Jimmy were gone. She stood by the tower, looking back up at it and unable to quite believe she had climbed it and survived.
"Reeves, are you there? What now? Where are you?"
Reeves, however, didn't answer. She stood there for a moment, unsure what to do, then started to walk back towards the abandoned industrial site where she had left the car. She was sure they were dead, all of them. After everything she had been through, there was never any hope of saving them. She had stumbled into something she shouldn't have, and now those she loved had paid the price.
"Chrissy?"
At first, she thought it was Reeves in her ear, and then looked up to see Shawn leaning against the car. He was bloody and bruised but seemed otherwise okay. She ran to him, and the two embraced.
"I thought you were dead, I thought they had killed you."
"What the hell happened, these two guys broke into the house this morning and roughed me up, drove me out here and just sat me down. Later, one of them told me to wait here for you then drove away."
She stepped back and grabbed his arms. "Your hand, what happened to your hand?"
"My hands are fine."
She held his hands in hers and stared at them. Unlike the photo she had been shown, Shawn's hands were fine and complete. "I don't understand, I was shown a photo..." it was all she could say before she broke down. He held her, both of them confused and unsure what to do.
"Come on,” Shawn said. “I'll drive us home."
"Wait, just a second," she replied, then spoke into the Bluetooth headset. "Reeves, where are Keisha, where is my sister?"
Reeves replied, but his voice was distant as if far away. "They were never a part of this, Mrs. Sandoval. Remember what I told you in my office."
"I don't understand, you showed me pictures, you...Shawn's hand was in the microwave."
"Smoke and mirrors, Mrs. Sandoval. Remember the purpose of this program. To recondition the brain. Your reality wasn't necessarily how things were. The hand in your microwave was prosthetic, the photographs of your sister and friend were models paid to dress and pose like them following our surveillance. Like I said, in order to recondition, you had to have the right motivation."
"You bastard, you put me through hell. I could have died."
"But you didn't. And judging by the way you descended, you were no longer afraid."
"No, but I..."
"Go home, Mrs. Sandoval. Enjoy the feeling of life. You are one of the few who can appreciate it. You have stared death in the face and lived to tell the tale."
The line clicked off, and Chrissy tossed the headset to the ground.
"What is all this, Chrissy, what's happening?" Shawn asked.
She didn't answer him. She couldn't. She was too drained of energy. Instead, she got in the car and stared at the tower in the distance. Shawn got in the driver’s side and closed the door.
"Can we just go home?" she said. She could see how worried he was, but also knew he wouldn't push her to talk just yet. He's let her do that in her own time.
"Yeah, absolutely," he said, starting the engine. He turned the car around and started to drive away. Chrissy looked over her shoulder, staring at the tower until they turned onto the road and it was lost from view.
ONE WEEK LATER
When they arrived home, it was as if nothing had ever happened. The house was clean and tidy, the blood and hand (prosthetic or not) removed from the microwave. Even the bags she had abandoned on the doorstep had been unpacked and put away. It could almost have been a dream if not for the cuts and scratches on her hands and on Shawn's face and body. She had called both Lisa and Keisha, hysterical and desperate to know they were okay. As Reeves had said, they were clueless about everything she was saying. In that, he had told the truth. Like he had said, it had all been smoke and mirrors, a very elaborate deception to make her go to lengths she never ordinarily would have to beat her fear. The trip to the Grand Canyon, however, would have to wait. They had a bill to pay. A bill which arrived in an unmarked white envelope for a shade over fifteen thousand dollars, one which she and Shawn had decided to pay without question for the simple reason that they were afraid. They reasoned that if someone like Reeves would go to such lengths to help someone, they didn't want to consider how far he might go to chase a debt. Sometimes at night, she would still wake up screaming in the dark, sure she had lost her footing on top of the tower and was plunging into the opaque maw and the waiting grip of death.
Even so, Reeves had done his job. Simple things like heights no longer scared her. She knew there were monsters in the world, real monsters with respectable appearances and wedding rings, monsters with simple contracts and a mastery of smoke and mirrors to achieve the desired results. Those thin
gs were what she feared now, and it was a fear she knew she would have to live with for the rest of her life.
SUBMITTED FEAR: HEIGHTS
FAN FEAR SEVEN:
DRIVE
(Submitted by Keith Parsons)
****
As the only male contributor in this book (completely by chance) Keith offered me a few different options about the things he hated / scared him. Rather than pick out one in particular, I decided to try and incorporate a couple of them into one story. This is a tale of misinterpretation, how right can ultimately lead to wrongdoing, and how even the best of intentions can turn out horribly wrong.
***
It was one of those perfect mornings for driving. Traffic was light, and the skies were blue. Keith loved days like this, when the roads were clear and traffic flowing well. He had the radio on, none of the modern stuff; he wasn’t sure what the appeal of it was. He listened strictly to the classics - 70's and 80's was his era- and he was crooning along with enthusiasm on his way to work. He was getting closer to his fifty-fifth birthday and had started to think about the future and retirement. His ideal scenario was to find somewhere away from the rat race, somewhere in the hills where he could enjoy a bit of peace and quiet and clean air instead of the constant hustle of New York. Today, at least, was a change of routine. He was not going to his office in Buffalo, but instead driving to Canada for a meeting with other supervisors and Department of Defence staff. It meant a break from the routine and monotony of his regular day, and he would, at least, get to see some open country. Canada was on the list of places he would maybe like to go live someday, maybe out in the wilderness in a log cabin. The meeting itself he wasn’t particularly excited about. It would be a room full of bored and jaded people just like him who didn’t want to be there but had no other choice in the matter. Even so, the change was good, and it meant he would, at least, see some different scenery to the usual. He changed lanes again to move past a slower moving station wagon, still singing along to the radio. Welcome to the Jungle by Guns N Roses was the song he was singing along to, and he was making an admirable attempt to match the power of lead singer Axl Rose as he made his way closer to his workplace.
The song finished and the enthusiastic and animated DJ was now taking calls from the public for some kind of competition. Keith wasn’t interested in that, so he turned the radio down and drove on for a few minutes in silence. The traffic had stopped at an intersection, and he stared out of the window. . He liked to drive, he liked the time to himself to think. Sometimes, there was nothing better than not having to make conversation, or at least that was true for the most part when traffic was moving. Now, as he stared at the chrome bodywork of the car in front as they waited to get moving again, he was feeling antsy.
He grabbed the Bluetooth headset off the passenger seat and put it on, then dialled Janet.
They had been together for thirty-five years and had seen the best and worst of each other during that time. They still had a great relationship even after so much time had passed, and he still loved hearing her voice. Just as the line connected, traffic started to move again.
"Hey, it's me," he said as he changed gear.
"Aren't you usually singing right about now?" Janet asked.
He smiled and signaled to change lanes. "Yeah, usually, but traffic is getting heavier and you know how much I hate sitting and waiting."
"Maybe it's for the best. I can’t imagine what the other commuters would say if they could see and hear you wailing away to yourself in an empty car."
"Very funny," he said, grinning as he completed the lane change.
"How are you feeling this morning? You were up and out before I had a chance to talk to you."
"Busy day today. I wanted to set out early to get the jump on traffic. It looks like everyone had the same idea, though. It's not as light as I'd hoped."
"Maybe it will be once you get into Canada. Are you making good time?"
He checked the clock on the dashboard.
8:04AM
"Yeah, I’m pretty much on schedule. As long as the traffic doesn’t get much denser I’ll be okay I think."
"Are you okay?" she asked. "You sound tired."
"I’m alright," he replied, finally able to pick up a little momentum. "It’s just that I don’t get why we have to have these things. Those people don’t listen to me. Nothing will ever change. It's a pointless job."
"Yeah, well, you make sure you tell them who's boss."
"I will," he said, then considered not saying more. Before he could think too much, it slipped out anyway. "I've also been thinking about retiring, maybe taking it early."
"I thought we'd agreed you would stay on?" Janet said, her voice rising a little as it did when she was concerned.
"I know, it's just that I’m not getting any younger, and I want to enjoy these years."
"You're fifty-four, not ninety-four. There will be plenty of time to enjoy life. Besides, I thought you liked that job."
"I did - I do- it's just... I don’t know. I don’t feel like I have the energy to devote to it anymore. Working for the government is fine, the pay is decent it’s just.... I have no enthusiasm."
He waited, allowing her to process the information. He knew better than to rush her. He had come to a stop again at the toll point for the Peace Bridge, which would take him across the border into Canada. He waited in line and waited for Janet.
"Alright," she said. "We'll talk about it this weekend, okay? Weigh up our options, see how viable it is."
"It's not something I’m in a rush to do, just something I’m thinking about, that’s all," he said. He pulled up to the booth, paid the toll, then was moving again down Queen Elizabeth Way towards the bridge that would take him into Canada. He was grateful she understood his situation and was about to tell her so when he heard a symphony of car horns from behind him. He glanced in the wing mirror and saw the source of the noise. A black eighteen-wheeler was carving through traffic, causing other vehicles to swerve out of the way to avoid a collision. The huge chrome grille glittered in the morning sun, the lower section splattered with dry mud. It too was honking its horn but seemed unwilling to slow down. It weaved past waiting cars and smashed through the toll booth without stopping.
"What is it?" Janet asked.
"Some guy in a truck, he-"
His words were cut off as the truck thundered past, coming within inches of slamming into the back of the car. Even so, as it screamed past it obliterated the wing mirror and scraped the paintwork down one side.
"Keith? Are you alright?" Janet screamed as the sound filtered through to her.
"Some son of a bitch just hit the car," he said, feeling both shock and anger. He watched as the eighteen-wheeler veered across two lanes, the trailer swaying and threatening to break loose before finding purchase. He tried to get a glimpse of the plates, but it happened so quickly he didn’t catch them. Shock morphed into anger, and without thinking, he put the car into gear and gave chase, fully intending to make sure the driver knew what he had done.
TWO
"Are you okay? What's happening?" Janet asked, her voice shrill now in his ear.
"I’m fine," he said, changing gear and glancing at the spot where his wing mirror used to be. "He hit me and drove away. I’m going after him to get some details, insurance information at the very least He didn’t even stop for the bridge toll."
"Are you sure you're alright? You sound strange."
"I’m fine," he repeated. He knew that wasn’t strictly true, though. He was angry, and adrenaline was surging, willing him on to catch the rig which was still causing chaos ahead. He accelerated, allowing it to feed and control him. Normally, he would never have considered giving chase. He wasn’t a confrontational man. Even so, the driver of the truck had ruined his day and then attempted to flee the scene without stopping. It was one incident too far, one thing that pushed him a little further than he was prepared to allow for.
"Keith, will you talk to
me? I’m worried about you." Janet said.
"I told you, I’m fine. This guy is all over the road. It's dangerous."
"Just leave it, don’t go after him, you never know what might be wrong with him. It could be drugs or... well just don’t do it."
Keith was barely listening. He was catching up to the truck, following in its wake of chaos. As he watched, it clipped the rear of another car, sending it spinning out of control and off the road.
"Keith, you better answer me."
"He might be hurt or something. The way he's weaving around, he might need some help."
"He'd stop if that were the case. You better not be chasing him down."
"I know what I’m doing," he said, driving past the spun out car and its furious driver standing by the rear of his vehicle and assessing the damage. He changed gear and pushed the car up to fifty, closing the distance to the weaving truck, which was now moving towards Peace Bridge. He couldn’t imagine what would happen if he clipped a car there and sent it off the edge and into the Niagara River below. He wasn’t prepared to let that happen, and even though he knew he would have to face Janet's wrath later, was prepared to do it in order to save lives. He was closing on the truck and its swaying trailer and knew this was the most dangerous part of the process. It would be easy for him to be clipped without the driver of the truck even knowing about it, not that he seemed to care by the way he was speeding towards the bridge. There was no divider lane on the bridge, just a single lane each way of traffic with nothing to separate the two. He tried to ignore the scenarios that played out in his mind about the truck drifting over and hitting those cars head on. There would only be one winner in that situation, and the unfortunate person in the car - perhaps on their way to work or to drop children off at school - would pay the ultimate price. More worrying than that, is that there was a footpath running down each side of the 5,800-foot long bridge. The potential for destruction was high on the steel framed bridge if the driver continued his chaotic and reckless driving style.