by Mike Wech
“Lost in a Roman...wilderness of pain.
And all the children are insane.
All the children are insane!”
Screams of pleasure burst out my women. With each thrust, each taste, each touch! Louder and louder. Bigger and better.
Primal nature arose intensely in the smoky air, building through the echoes, the screams and the music. Pounding with the drumbeats, we reached an unforgettable climax that I can still taste now. It’s on my lips with my morning coffee. It’s part of me now. I can’t explain it fully, but these women gave me power. They gave me strength. They gave me confidence.
Whatever it was? It’s in me now. I felt it enter me, like a rush of wind as I exploded with a primitive caveman grunt that said I OWN YOU! I’m going to carry that power back to Uphir and crack open this case. Nothing can stop me!
I am THE EMPEROR!
SATURDAY DECEMBER 11, 2010
AUDIO LOG:
DECEMBER 11 or 12? 2010 - 3:00 PM
“This is Eddie Hansen, back at the Uphir Behavioral Center with Doctor Allen Haworth. It is Saturday, December 11, exactly three pm. And we are discussing my re-admittance into…"
Dr. Haworth interrupted, “It’s the twelfth.”
“Excuse me?”
“Today is Sunday, December twelfth,” Haworth stated emphatically.
“No it’s not.”
“We expected you back Friday night. But you said you were going to spend the weekend in El Paso with your girlfriend."
“No. No," I told him. "I came here. I was only gone one night.”
“It appears two,” Haworth replied confidently.
I could feel my blood boiling, but I needed to remain calm. His voice was like nails on a chalkboard, screeching through me with an irritating tone saying, “Is everything all right, Mr. Hansen?”
Mr. Hansen. He says that on purpose to feel intellectual, superior. He says it to piss me off. To make things formal and impersonal, so while he probes me I’m supposed to feel indifferent. Since you want to know how I feel, I answered, “I’m fine.”
Could I have lost a whole day, slept twenty-four hours? Did I lose my memory?
What happened to me? Or is Haworth messing with me? Trying my patience to see if I lose control. For what seemed like minutes, we stared at each other, before he gave in and asked me, “Would you like us to prepare your guest quarters?”
“Please,” I answered, watching him scribble notes on to the pad that was my developing file.
Finally, he looked back up and calmly stated, “Reverend Billings will be here at six for service in the chapel. You are welcome to join us. A special dinner will be served afterward.”
“Thank you,” I said as I got up and moved around the table to shake his hand and look at his computer monitor. As I peered over his shoulder, I could see SUNDAY DEC. 12, 2010 3:03 PM.
JOURNAL ENTRY:
SUNDAY DECEMBER 12, 2010 - 3:33 PM
Sure enough, my computer and phone both say it’s the twelfth. A day in my life is missing and I can’t remember a thing. I don’t have a clue. I can’t conjure up an image or a memory. Not even a dream. And I’m trying hard to think of any clue.
The only thing that comes to me is a nagging voice that says, “I got you exactly where I want you. You’re mine.” As if it were Haworth gloating over the fact that he’s back in control.
Looking around, this room feels different. Everything looks the same crazy way, but it feels colder. I turned the heat on and feel the vent pushing hot air into the room, but nothing is changing yet. It smells stale, musty in here. I think I’ve got a bit of a head cold or sinus infection, because no matter where I go I smell that same smell inside my head. Like the inside of my head is rotting. I’m going to take some cold medicine, a hot shower and nap before service.
JOURNAL ENTRY:
SUNDAY DECEMBER 12, 2010 - 5:40 PM
That shower felt like hot nails driving into my skin. Dry cracked, skin that’s been weathered by winter’s chill. Each drop pierced through raw open skin. There’s something that looks like a rash on my right shoulder, surrounding three long scratches running down my back. It’s not four like a hand, but three close together.
I don’t remember anything happening. It’s amazing how the mind buries pain until your senses rediscover it, and then you can’t stop focusing on it. My leg is bruised outside my right thigh and my arm has a tiny swelling around the inside of my elbow. Maybe from when the nurse took my blood.
My eyes have dark circles around them and my skin looks a little pale. Looking into the mirror, I don’t even feel like I’m looking at myself today. I don't recognize me.
I feel like I’m on the outside looking in. I feel older, tired. That surge of power I felt so strongly, faded. Maybe it was the realization of lost time, or the nagging feeling that something is missing. Or the weariness of my mind telling me that I’m losing control, with an impending sense of doom crushing through my skull.
It feels like a vice grip crushing my bones. I sense this pressure, like cold steel, pushing in opposite directions, in the same spot on my leg, like it is going to snap it in to pieces. I can’t describe this fear any other way. It’s like I’m locked in one of Jigsaw’s traps and time is running out. It’s all I can think about lying on this bed after my shower. These crazy ideas fly through my head.
Crazy ideas, like I should pull my fingers back until they break, or scratch though the marks on my back. It's insane. My body’s craving pain to feel alive. To wake up. I didn’t want to give in, but my mind wouldn’t let go. I couldn't stop looking at the leopard statue. It seemed to draw me closer. I couldn't stop. I got up and walked over to it.
Leaning down, I just stared into the leopard's eyes, seeing crazy ideas of hurting myself fly through my head. Finally, I took my hand and pushed it hard into the jagged edge of the leopard's paw, feeling the claws dig into my skin. I can't describe it fully, but it felt like we connected. Like we were blood brothers, taking an oath. As I saw the first drops of blood trickle out of my hand, it brought me peace, a relief that let me rest, until now.
JOURNAL/ AUDIO LOG:
SUNDAY DECEMBER 12, 2010 – 11:08 PM
As I stepped into the arched cathedral, the dome engulfed me. The statues and paintings of the Saints looked like a museum of Renaissance art. It took me back to the Cathedral in my neighborhood, when I was a kid. The beauty and magnificence of the work was only overshadowed by the angelic voice that echoed off its walls. Listen.
“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see”
Her voice is beautiful, clear, warm, soothing, penetrating. It’s the kind of sound that gives you goose bumps. My hair is standing up straight as I listen, but for some unknown reason, I feel irritated. As I worked my way into a back pew, I began to notice the freak show surrounding me.
I didn’t see grace, I saw disgrace. I saw demented, mentally ill patients trying to find salvation in an empty manger, which stood on the altar.
But the most horrific sight to me now was the angelic voice singing. As I looked closer, I recognized who she was, the monster she was. And she stood up there singing like an angel, pretending nothing happened.
This monster acted as if that the pouch around her belly was not her next victim, but the child of Bethlehem about to be born. How could it be Annette Dobson?
I began to make my way closer up the side aisle to make sure what I saw was real. She looked so transformed, so undeniably different and so at peace, but it was her. I knew it.
My skin crawled, but I lifted my hands and smiled, joining the chorus as my eyes looked toward Reverend Billings, watching him as he did me.
He knew it wasn’t the Christmas decorations on display; it was his show for me to witness. And his audience, captive to his words and the power of what he called, “The Holy Spirit.”
As the song ended, the demented choi
r took their seats and turned to the great Reverend who ceremoniously took the pulpit, saying:
“Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests. This is what we say today. God’s favor rests on us. We praise him. This is how we usher in Christ. He shall be called Emmanuel. ‘God with us.’ Jesus is God with us, here right now, in the form of His Holy Spirit, our counselor, our comforter and our friend. And we welcome him to bring us into this season of God’s favor. For the next twelve days of Christmas, we will celebrate his life on earth, which gives us life in heaven.”
Who are you fooling? I asked myself. God was not farther from any other place in this world. If God is truth, as you say, then he knows the truth of the evil that lives in here. But Billings went on preaching as if his words had power.
“For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Look around you at the Redeemed of the Lord and celebrate his love by greeting one another with joy and peace. Peace be with you!”
No more hollow words have ever been spoken to me. It was plausible deniability that any true joy could have rested inside the evil deeds of those in this room.
I laughed at the sight of hugging monsters pretending to have love. But as Annette came to me with a greeting, I could not help but feel her genuine warmth.
She was indeed glowing as she said, “Hi, I’m Annie. God bless you.”
“You too,” I answered, pretending that I held innocence to her true identity. “You’re due any day now,” I told her.
“Yes. My first. I think it’s a boy,” Annette said excitedly.
Her first. She couldn’t possibly believe the words that spilled from her lips were anymore true than Reverend Billings words.
The sermon then carried on as Billings spoke about a new birth. About a guy named Nicodemus who asked how a grown man could re-enter his mother’s womb to be born again.
Billings continued, “Jesus told him that no one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit. Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit."
That’s when I shut off my recorder. I was craving to speak with Dobson, but had to sit through “The Billings Show” as he rambled on how God’s words were spirit and life.
Yada. Yada. Yada...
Soon I blended into the Christmas decorations, hanging there waiting for this sermon to be over, while I pondered the deeper meaning of dinner.
We finally got to eat. Surprisingly, it was like a Thanksgiving meal complete with all the trimmings. All the happy, little elves gathered around as Billings, his wife Annabelle, Haworth and I sat at the main table.
Annabelle Billings was an attractive woman, in her mid forties, who seemed genuinely interested in my life, peppering me with questions about California and how she always dreamed of living there. I wasn’t sure if Billings or Haworth put her up to some of this, just to get more information about me.
I told her basic facts of my meager existence and did a little probing of my own, finding out that they had a son at Texas A&M, and a recently married daughter who moved to Phoenix.
It was actually refreshing to talk to her because it kept my focus off business for a moment and actually made dinner enjoyable.
She had this joy, a contagious energy that brought life to the room. Even Haworth seemed at ease, after a few glasses of wine. He was more jovial and actually called me Eddie for the first time, even if by the mistake of intoxication.
As the dinner progressed, I could see Reverend Billings beginning to fade. It was like he was coming down off a high, and the adrenaline that charged his batteries was diminishing by the minute. His eyes would often retreat into a deep, meditative trance and this sense of remorse crept in, before he’d smile and bounce back into the conversation. There was something deep going on in the back of his head and his wife was acute to it. Her supporting touch and loving gaze always seemed to be enough to bring him back, and fill him with a sense of love. And as conversation took it’s normal breath of relief, a hushed lull inhabited the room.
Maybe it was the peculiar sound of a phone ringing that seemed to stun the patients.
Haworth’s cell phone rang and he excused himself with a sense of urgency. He acted casual, but I read him for a change, and knew that there was important information about to be relayed.
How was he getting cell phone reception when no one else can? My phone is useless out here. There’s got to be something to tap into. A satellite or wireless service provider somewhere in the area.
I watched Haworth as he walked outside. I knew I couldn’t get close enough to him to eavesdrop, but with the Billings comforting each other, my golden opportunity arose. I could see it clearly across the room.
I excused myself to use the restroom, turned on my recorder, slipped it in my jacket pocket, then carefully made my way over to Annette Dobson for a few words. She seemed excited to see me.
“You were at the service. Are you the doctor who will be delivering my precious baby?”
“No, I’m just visiting,” I told her, taking note of her bubbly new persona.
“Are you a friend of Reverend Billings?” she asked with an innocent smile.
“Yes,” I answered.
“You’re lying. But it’s okay,” she bluntly told me.
“What?”
“I can tell, when someone’s not truthful. I just know.”
“We’re business associates,” I told her, watching this child-like confusion set in.
“Then how come you weren’t here yesterday?" she asked. "It was my birthday.”
“Happy Birthday!” I exclaimed.
“Thank you. A lot of people were here for the ceremony, but they’re gone now.”
“Ceremony, you mean party.”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, knowing she was being truthful in her answers.
“Isn’t it silly I don’t even remember my own birthday party. But I was born again. That’s what they told me. So Happy Birthday to me.”
That made me laugh. She stunned me. For a moment I was asking myself, “Is this the same person?” There were physical similarities, height, hair color, eye color; but her persona was completely opposite from the murderer the media had crucified. As my laughter ended, I just looked at her and had to ask. “Are you Annette Dobson?”
“I’m Annie,” she smiled back.
“Where were you born?”
“Here,” she said, completely convinced of her answer. “You ask a lot of questions. Isn’t it beautiful?
“What?”
“This. The lights. The tree. The chapel. Life. Isn’t it beautiful?" Annie said.
“I guess,” I replied and with that I felt a sudden tug pull me away hard.
“Mr. Hansen, we need to speak with you. Could you join us please?” That was Dr. Haworth right on cue to break up the conversation. He practically ripped my arm off trying to get me out of there.
“It was nice to meet you,” Annie smiled as I was dragged away.
Haworth held on tightly to me. His strength was greater than I imagined, as he sternly exclaimed, “I should have informed you at dinner that Annette Dobson is in a very fragile state of mind. You can not mention anything about her past. Is that clear?”
“That is her,” I smiled, knowing truth was at my door.
“We are not hiding anything from you, Mr. Hansen. Had you returned here as scheduled, you would have been briefed with the team.”
“Briefed for what?” I asked.
“Her exorcism,” Haworth said as he pulled me back down to the table, forcing me into my seat.
“What?”
“We were trying to prepare you. But you disappeared and we needed to proceed as scheduled.”
I guess when I was pushed down my recorder got bumped
and turned off. But Billings and Haworth informed me that they recruited a team to administer the exorcism, following strict procedures and confidentiality.
Haworth promised they would show me tapes of the exorcism at our meeting tomorrow morning, along with letting me observe Annette Dobson’s post exorcism psychotherapy sessions.
According to Billings the exorcism was very excruciating and Dobson had developed amnesia. When delivered from her demon, she collapsed and when she awoke, she had no memory of her past life. They are not sure if it is temporary or permanent. I’m going to meet the Medical Doctor, Mark Preston, tomorrow. He’s returning to observe Dobson and deliver her baby. I’m exhausted right now and I’m pretty sure I’m caught up with my notes. . I don’t feel like writing anymore. I don’t think I can.
My body is tense and cold. I feel like this room is watching me. That triangle window glows and it's casting a strange aura throughout the room. When I stop focusing on writing and take in this atmosphere, it sends chills through me. The hairs on my arms are standing up and this rush of anticipation hits me.
I want to knock myself out so I can sleep. I took a Tylenol PM and some Nyquil. I’m waiting for it to kick in. I need to detach myself from this physical world around me. The objects in this room feel alive. When I touch things, like the bowl or statue, I feel energy surging through me. It’s a dark pulse of energy. A haunting breath of life that feeds this place. Even the eyes, the round shapes of stone and steel, which decorate and line the wooden furniture, seem to have something alive within them.
I checked them earlier to see if they were wireless cameras or glass mirrors built in to reflect my image back to some hidden camera. I don’t think so, but it feels like these eyes are watching me, moving with me.
This energy steals my breath. It’s like I ran up a hill and I’m struggling to catch my breath. The moment oxygen enters my body, it rushes out like it is afraid to stay inside me. It feels like the air that comes into me in here is filled with some life force that my body rejects.