“I know!” Stanley cried out. “I know it’s the only way!” He put his right leg over the railing, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
“Come on, Stan,” Oscar said with calm. “I don’t know what’s going on here but bring your leg back over. It’s dangerous.” He pointed to the masked man, saying, in the same relaxed tone, “You get the fuck out of here.”
The Owlman leaned in and began to whisper something else in Stanley’s ear. Oscar couldn’t hear what was being said but it made the blood run out of Stanley’s face. With a blank look, he brought his other leg over the railing until he was leaning over the black hole.
“How about you just talk to me, Stan?” Oscar said, taking a few careful steps toward him. “Whatever is going on, we’ll talk about it the way we always do.”
Staring into the abyss with a resigned look, he told Oscar, “Not this time.”
“What did you say to him?” Oscar yelled to the Owlman.
The Owlman held up the tip of his white-gloved finger and pointed it at Oscar.
“Come on, Stan!” Oscar shouted. “Whatever this guy is saying, don’t listen!”
“Enter the uncreated night,” said Stan to himself.
At that moment, he looked over to the masked man, who simply nodded his head. Stan closed his eyes and let his body tumble forward. Suddenly Stan’s screams were running away, sucked into the black hole. Oscar ran over the railing in a totally vain attempt to stop him. All that was left was a vague echo of the collision at the bottom.
It took him a moment to remember the masked man. When he looked up, Oscar screamed, “Tell me what you said to him!” Then he charged after him, shouting, “What did you say? What did you say?”
The Owlman made it to the stairwell door just as a hand full of his suit slipped out of Oscar’s fingers. The chase lasted for several floors before the Owlman disappeared somewhere on the fortieth floor. That entire floor of apartments was abandoned and most of the front doors were missing or ajar. Oscar finally gave up the search when he saw the blue and red lights of the police at the bottom of the black hole.
...
Oscar was still shaken from the encounter when he met with the McSorleys the following evening. During their appointment, his mind wandered and he struggled to keep up the conversation.
About halfway through the session, Arnie stopped him, saying, “Doc, if you don’t mind my asking, what the fuck is wrong with you today?”
The comment took Oscar by surprise. “I’m sorry, Arnie. What do you mean? I feel fine.”
“The hell you do,” Arnie said. “Come on, Doc. We’re supposed to be opening up our souls to you. We’re in here talking about our abusive asshole father and telling you the most intimate aspects of our childhoods. The least you could do is share a little. Just a little. Now why don’t you tell us why you look like you’re about to have a heart attack?”
Arnie looked over to Dale, saying, “Come on. You’re a detective. You can see something’s going on with him. Can’t you? Come on. Tell me you can’t see it.”
Dale crossed his legs and stroked the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks. “I gotta say, Doctor Loste,” he told him, “you do have that look.”
“What look is that?” Oscar asked.
“It’s the look of a man with a secret,” Dale answered. “It’s the look that comes with the weight of the world on your shoulders. I know that look well from the job. People weren’t meant to keep secrets. Eats most of them alive. There are exceptions but most people are dying to talk, dying to confess, dying for that relief. You see, Doctor Loste, that’s the thing about people that I learned from being a cop. Most of them are god damned lousy when it comes to keeping secrets.”
“It’s that Bardo kid, isn’t it?” Arnie asked. “The one that caused my seizure?”
“Why would you say that, Arnie?”
Dale chimed in, saying, “You can’t say she caused your seizure. Not everyone believes in your crazy metaphysical ideas.”
“My ideas are not crazy,” Arnie said. “I’m just more evolved and more aware that the average person, certainly more than you,” he told his brother.
Oscar asked, “Why you say that, Arnie?”
“I know something is up with that kid,” he said, pointing his finger. “There is something up with that family. I know you think the same thing, Doc. I can tell.”
“That’s very perceptive,” Oscar answered. “But I really can’t go into it with you.”
“Is that kid evil or something?” Arnie asked. “Possessed maybe?”
“There’s nothing wrong with Beth,” Oscar answered with a bit too much force. It could have been the cough syrup but he was having a hard time shutting his mouth. “And there is no such thing as possession. There are just innocent children and the evil fucking bastards that abandon and hurt them!”
“Whoah, Doc,” Arnie said, holding up the palms of his hands in a display of surrender. “I didn’t mean anything. I don’t even know that kid. I’m sure she’s a nice girl.”
“Beth’s had a rough time and doesn’t need anyone looking at her like a freak,” Oscar went on. “She was born to people who probably did the absolute worst and now she has the two coldest people on the planet to nurture her out of it.”
“This is the kid that stabbed her adopted mom, right?” Asked Dale.
“I’m not even sure what happened,” said Oscar. “I’m not sure she meant to do it at all. I think it was something strange.”
Dale looked worried, telling him, “Be careful, Doctor Loste. I know she’s just a kid. But she’s a kid that’s seen hell. It changes people. Kids too. Just make sure you’re seeing things straight.”
“Thank you for that, Dale,” Oscar answered, “but I think I’ve dealt with manipulative people in my career and I know when a patient is working me over.”
“Sorry, Doctor Loste,” said Dale. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just know how fucked up this world is. I know what it’s done to children. I care about you, Doctor Loste. Just be careful.”
...
Chapter 7
Nightmares
Oscar decided that he had no other choice but to make some sort of inquiry about the Owlman to the Bardos. While Beth waited outside, he studied their seemingly machine-driven faces before finally asking.
“Mister and Misses Bardo,” he said carefully, “there is something I need to bring up before we talk about Beth today.”
“Oh,” said Misses Bardo, slightly elevating her left eyebrow.
“Please go ahead,” said her husband.
“This may seem a bit peculiar but the mask over there, the owl, has anyone borrowed it recently?”
The Bardos laughed, with Eva saying, “I don’t believe so, Oscar. I’m afraid no one borrowed it along with the lawnmower.”
“I see. Well, are there a lot of these things floating around? Do you know of anyone else that might have one?”
They studied Oscar the way some old-fashioned formal therapists scrutinize their schizophrenic patients. Lorne finally said, “I’m afraid we don’t know anyone personally. There are some collectors abroad I know of. I’m sorry. Are you asking to borrow it, Oscar?”
“I’m sorry,” said Oscar. “No. I was only curious.”
“It is quite a striking artifact,” said Eva. “It was made with such mastery that it looks like it was carved yesterday.”
Oscar stared across the study, at the black ivory face and marble eyes, asking, “What was it for?”
Eva spoke with a touch of her academic lecture tone, sounding almost intoxicated by her own words. “The Abzuzu were virtuoso builders. Every carve, every line, every subtle detail, down to the ivory chosen to host the creation, chosen with the utmost precision to capture light in a certain way.”
“The damn thing almost looks alive,” Oscar said.
“Yes,” said Eva, with a sour roll in her voice to let him know that she didn’t like being interrupted. “However the purpose wasn’t pur
e aesthetics. The Abzuzu created something that could fool the eyes.”
“How so?”
“In a certain moonlight, the wearer of the mask could become effectively invisible to most.”
With a choppy voice, Oscar said, “That sounds absurd.” He looked Eva and Lorne in the face with thoughts racing in his head.
“Indeed, absurd,” said Eva as though she had been personally insulted. “I suppose not everyone can appreciate a belief system different from their own.”
Beth walked into the study, looking much more awake and lively than during her last appointment. She even grinned at Oscar, telling him, “You’re late. We were supposed to start ten minutes ago.” Pulling him up the stairs and sitting him down in between some of her stuffed animals, she said. “I’m ready to talk.”
“You seem to be feeling much better than the last time,” Oscar told Beth.
“Um hmm,” she said. “I’ve been sleeping.”
“You weren’t sleeping before?”
She got a fearful look on her face and shook her head no. After a moment, she whispered, “They’ve been leaving me alone. Mister Smiler has been keeping my dreams away so I can sleep.”
“So you haven’t been having any more bad nightmares?”
“Umm mmm,” She shook her head no.
“What about Mister Smiler, Beth?”
“Oh he’s still around,” she said with a wider smile. “He never leaves me.”
“Is he here now?”
“He says you’re going to ask me about what I did to mommy.”
Oscar’s face betrayed the fact that he was completely spooked. “That’s right, Beth,” he said. “I want you to tell me everything you remember from that night. I want to understand what happened from your point of view.”
“Kay,” she nodded, while she swung her feet underneath the chair. While she stared down at her swinging white patent leather shoes, she told Oscar, “I asked Mister Smiler about the parts I can’t remember and he won’t tell me.”
“Why won’t he tell you?”
“He says it will break my mind in half.”
Her choice of words caught Oscar off guard. “That’s a strange thing to say,” he told her. “What does Mr. Smiler mean by that?” She just shrugged her shoulders like Oscar had asked her about the rainfall in Zimbabwe. Oscar went on, asking, “The parts that you do remember, tell me about those.”
“I wanted to kill her,” said Beth in a near whisper. “I don’t know why.”
“Were you angry with your mom?”
“No,” she said confidently.
“Were you scared?”
“Umm hmm,” she sharply nodded. “I was scared of mommy.”
“I’m confused, Beth. Why would you be afraid of your mother?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I woke up and she was there and I was so scared. I saw something shiny...That’s all I remember.”
“Was Mr. Smiler there?”
“Umm hmm,” she said. “He was afraid for me.”
“Afraid for you, Beth?”
“Mister Smiler says to stop it, Oscar. He said to tell you that I’m just a child.”
“That’s OK. We don’t have to talk about it any more. I’m happy that you’ve been sleeping better with no nightmares.”
“Who’s Stanley?” Beth asked. “Mister Smiler says that you’re sad about him. He says he fell into a black hole.”
Oscar let his eyes question how she could have known. Then he answered plainly, “I should have done more to help.”
“He can’t get out of here that way,” Beth said with her eyes wide. “It doesn’t work,” she shook her head.
“What do you mean, Beth? I’m confused.”
“You can’t get to the next fold by hurting yourself. It doesn’t work.” She added, “You can get stuck and can’t get out for a long time.”
“I’m not sure what all that means.”
She shrugged her shoulders as though it was barely clear to her. Then Mister Smiler spoke to her. She nodded, telling Oscar in a whisper, “I’ve seen the Owl people too. They’re mean. Stay away from them.”
“Who is he? I mean who are they?”
“Mister Smiler tries to protect me from them but I see them sometimes. In my dreams, they come after me.”
“Ask Mister Smiler why they wear the masks.”
“He says it’s a...” She seemed puzzled at the last word. “Veil,” she said.
“I don’t get it.”
“Mister Smiler says it has to do with bending light and you wouldn’t understand.”
...
The following evening, Dale showed up to his appointment with his brother, who happened to be quite drunk. Arnie nearly fell into Oscar’s office, yelling about how the government had been infiltrated by an evil reptilian race. It was difficult to tell if he was serious because his loud ramblings were punctuated by fits of laughter.
“And these God-forsaken reptiles,” he went on, “they look as human as you and me, Oscar. I have it on good authority that these God damn things are shape shifters.” Arnie plopped down in the seat across from Oscar, laughing so wildly that he was snorting. “Shit,” he said, “the whole human race. We’re slaves to these God damn monsters. That’s what the internet says anyway,” he started giggling.
“I don’t understand what you think is so funny,” said his brother, Dale. “I hate it when you drink.” He addressed Oscar, telling him, “He isn’t supposed to drink with his epilepsy. It can bring on a seizure, and,” he added, “it never sat with him right. He isn’t a normal drunk, Oscar.”
“He?” quipped Arnie. “I have a God damned name. And I can drink every once in a while. I’m not hurting anybody.”
“When’s the last time you got drunk like this?” Oscar asked him.
“Shit. That would be the day our old man died. Going on ten years ago now.”
“You seem to drink pretty infrequently,” Oscar said. “What makes tonight so special?”
Arnie seemed deeply bothered by the answer that occurred to him. With the glaze of drunkenness temporarily drying up, he looked at Oscar in a way that could only be described as grave. “I had kind of a rough night last night,” he admitted. “It was a pretty bad nightmare. I read online that alcohol will stop you from dreaming.”
“It also triggers seizures in epileptics,” Oscar told him.
“I know. I know,” said Arnie. “This is the last night of drinking for the rest of my life. I solemnly swear,” he smirked. “Besides I’d rather have a hangover tomorrow than deal with another God damned nightmare like I had last night.”
“You understand that I might be curious about this nightmare,” Oscar told him.
“He didn’t say shit to me about this,” said Dale.
“I didn’t tell you,” Arnie said, “because there is no sense in upsetting you. These are some crazy fucking ideas and we don’t need them spreading throughout the human race. I just want to forget about it. Damn.”
“You don’t have to talk about it, Arnie,” Oscar told him. “I’m curious about it but I don’t want to make you talk about something if you’re not ready. Also, maybe we should wait until you’re in a more sober state.”
“Fuck it,” Arnie said, ignoring Oscar’s advice. “At least I won’t be the only crazy person with this shit running around his head. My nightmare was about that little girl, you know, the one that gets you all nervous, Doc. My dream was about her and I was just along for the ride.”
“What happened?” Oscar asked with a mixture of interest and confusion. “What happened to Beth?”
“Beth, that’s her name,” said Arnie. “Yeah, well, Beth was asleep in this glass thing. In fact, everywhere was glass. She was in this kind of glass temple with all these weirdos around. It seemed like all these people were actually doing something horrible to the kid. It was weird.”
“That doesn’t sound that scary,” said Dale.
“Fuck you,” argued Arnie. “You weren’t ther
e. One second of that shit would have had you and your cop friends shitting your pants.” He added, “I don’t know why it was so upsetting, Doc. I wanted to ask you something about my epilepsy too. I was reading on the internet that epileptics back in olden times used to be thought of as prophets and sages.”
“That’s true from what I understand,” said Oscar.
“Then what the fuck is that dream about?”
“Dream interpretation isn’t even close to hard science, Arnie. I don’t know what to tell you. Life is a fucking mystery.” It was evident that his exasperation went well beyond the therapy session.
His reaction made Arnie smile and relax. “Damn, Doc,” he said. “I knew something crawled up your ass today. Care to talk about it?”
“No. I don’t care to.”
“So me and my brother are supposed to divulge all our fears, secrets and insecurities but you just sit in that chair, all authoritative, and judge us.”
“Except for the judging part, that’s right, Arnie.” Oscar looked at the two brothers and took a long sigh. Some mental current was bending him toward telling the McSorleys about is own difficulties with sleep. “I guess the bad dream thing is going around,” Oscar admitted. “Maybe it’s because I hear about bad dreams all day long but lately, I’ve been having my own trouble and I’m afraid I don’t have any good advice.”
“What the hell are you nightmaring about then?” Arnie leaned forward from the couch. “What do shrinks dream about?”
“I don’t know what to say, Arnie.”
“You could just tell us about your damned dream.”
Oscar hesitated, saying, “There is a concept in psychology called transference, the subconscious transmission of ideas between patient and therapist. Are you familiar with it?”
Arnie laughed, saying, “I knew we weren’t gonna get an answer. Instead we get another fucking question. This shit is ridiculous.”
“My nightmares have been similar to yours, Arnie. OK. I said it.”
Enter the Uncreated Night Page 7