I was about to defend myself and let him know I had known that, or at least suspected it awhile back but he shushed me before I was able to.
“Look, it doesn't matter. You need to get your shit together and figure out what happened to get you in here. Put together the hypothetical situations, use some common fucking sense, do whatever you need to do to figure out what you’re doing in here. Understand?”
“I think,” nodding my head in agreement, “but why does one of us die anytime I think of her?”
“There's bigger things to focus on right—”
“No!” I shouted, “tell me why!”
“Fine, like I already said, you felt angry when you found out she was moving away. It hurt didn't it? She was the only thing you cared about in this world and she betrays you and hurts you like that. Painful right? The things that happen, you murdering her, her murdering you… That is pure emotion. An unfiltered reflection of the rage, pain and betrayal you felt. Make sense?”
It did.
“Great. Now, do you have any more questions or can you finally start focusing on how to get out of here?”
I looked around the room, my own living room, my own head. The walls pulsed and throbbed in rhythm with my heartbeat. Everything in here was my own creation. I had full control of anything that happened inside of this place.
“Why is my furniture in here?”
He held his hand up and the television remote control appeared in his palm. He clicked the TV on and bits of different shows played as he browsed through the channels.
“Figured I'd make things a little more comfortable since you’re taking so long,” he said, not even looking away from the television, “so what are you still doing here?”
I leaned up against the walls and closed my eyes. I had to find Charles Green.
Chapter 18
I sat in my car of the Wonder Mart parking lot—Wonder Mart, what a stupid name—the car was off and the windows were cracked. It was getting pretty hot and stuffy inside.
What day was it?
I watched the main entrance intently; he always came here at least once a week for something or another. The guy spent more time shopping for groceries than any other guy I know. I guess that isn't saying too much considering I don't know a whole lot of people.
A mother, with a toddler in the front seat of a full shopping cart, came out the doors. She was visibly at the end of her wits. The toddler squirmed around in his seat, his face red from the screaming he must be doing. I couldn't hear him but I could see his face, mouth open eyes closed, face red, little fists clenched tight. The temper-tantrum pose.
There he is. He came out from behind the woman and toddler, carrying a small hand basket. It looked like he had a quart of milk and a loaf of bread stuck up from the top of one of the bags.
Those goddamn glasses... I hated the way they magnified his eyes. Those eyes... They ripped through me anytime he looked at me.
I slumped lower in my seat, hoping he wouldn't notice me. I could just barely see him over my steering wheel.
He was heading down the aisle to my right and stopped at a faded-red, sub-compact car. The paint was so faded it was almost a pinkish color. He popped the hatch and set his groceries in the trunk, closed it and walked back to the entrance of the store to return the basket.
How considerate.
Prick.
He dropped off the basket and returned to his vehicle, clearly out of breath. He hopped in the car and a couple seconds later, backed slowly from the spot and drove towards the exit of the shopping center.
Wait...
What was in his trunk?
He had popped the hatch, and something glimmered. Something shiny...
Like...
Chains.
He had set his groceries in the trunk and went to close it when one of the bags spilled over, right? And there was a claw hammer, nails and duct tape. Wasn’t there?
Is he doing home improvement or something?
My heart quickened. The last meeting with him didn't go so well, what was he doing with chains, a hammer—
With a claw.
—nails and duct tape?
How was I sure that was really what I saw?
You saw it, described it pretty well.
But I was far away from him, I might be mistaken.
Sure, but you know you're not.
He might be doing some fixing up around his house.
Ha! In his condition? He’d have to pay someone to do it.
He can’t have that much money driving a piece of shit like that, they could be for his home. Didn't he mention something about a leak in his house or something awhile back?
Last time I checked, you don't fix a leak with a hammer and nails.
Well then what is he doing with those?
Remember your last meeting with him?
The diner was busy. It was loud from all the people talking and the waiters and waitresses hurried from table to table, taking orders, refilling drinks, and busting tables so the next group could be seated.
We were sat at the back of the diner near a big window. The sun shone through and hurt my eyes a little. He sat on the other side of me and was granted some shade from the glare of the sun, but I didn't complain. I was at his mercy since he even agreed to meet me in the first place.
I opened my menu, not really caring what I was going to eat, I didn't have much of an appetite.
Without looking from his menu and without any genuine care in his voice he said, “The chicken-fried steak is good here.”
Like he actually cared.
The waitress came to our table. She was pretty. Slim, fiery red hair, kind face and her uniform complimented her figure nicely.
“And what'll we be havin' today?”
The fake enthusiasm was far too transparent.
“I'll have the New York steak, medium rare with a baked potato with an ice tea to drink” said Charles.
Bastard had to go and get the most expensive thing on the menu. I was the one who was going to be paying.
“OK,” as she wrote down his order, “and for you?”
“The chicken-fried steak please. French fries on the side and I'll stick with water to drink.”
Coming right up…
“Coming right up!” She said in her far-too-cheerful voice.
“So what did you want to talk about?” Charles asked me.
I fidgeted with the napkin on my table. It wouldn’t be easy swallowing my pride to talk to this guy. I've never liked laying all my cards out on the table, so to speak, and this was definitely all of my cards.
“Well,” I started, “your daughter is back in town,” I couldn't look him in the eye as I spoke, “and we didn't exactly end on the best of terms.”
He was expressionless as I spoke. I already knew how he would respond.
I continued, “And I just want to talk to her. I was kinda hoping we could pick up where we left off. I feel horrible for what was said and done before she left. I was just hurt, scared, and I didn't want to even try being without her. And she didn't let me know she was planning on leaving or anything and... I don't know, I just didn't understand why. And I just want to talk to her. Get some closure.”
“Well here ya’ go, enjoy your meals guys!”
The waitress set our plates in front of us and cheerfully bounced away. Charles began cutting into his steak and looked over the rim of his glasses at me. I just stared at my own food. I didn't have much of an appetite to begin with and the uncomfortable silence was starting to get to me. I went to speak but he cut me short.
“So why are you telling me this?”
Good question.
“She listens to you. She respects your word. I know you guys haven't always gotten along the best.” That was an understatement. I could recall several occasions when she would tell me stories that would make my blood boil and the only thing I wanted to do was strangle him. “But, she does listen to you. And I was hoping that maybe if you could m
ention me to her, just that I want to talk, that maybe she would give me a chance. I know that if I tried talking to her on my own she wouldn't listen.”
Charles chewed on his food agonizingly slow. Intentionally. At least it seemed like it was. He looked from his food and up to me again. He was studying me.
Those damn eyes. I hated them. The way they seemed to look through me instead of at me.
“Are you gonna eat? You don't want to waste your food.”
I hadn't touched my plate yet and he was over halfway done.
Nice way to avoid the subject.
I cut a piece of my chicken-fried heart attack and put it in my mouth. Deep fried grease. Delicious. He probably knew it was horrible and still suggested it.
You know how much he hates you.
“So... What do you say?”
He finished chewing, wiped his hands and mouth on his napkin delicately. He paused for a second, still studying me, before folding his hands on the table and intimidatingly leaning in closer.
“You don't seem like a stupid guy. You have a stupid job—”
Not anymore...
“—but I don't think you're stupid. Maybe a little unmotivated though. And to be honest with you, I hate that even more than I hate stupidity. She's brought home some stupid-ass boyfriends before, but she's never brought home someone wasting as many brain cells as you on some bullshit job when you could be doing so much better. Now, that being said, I don't particularly like you as a person. But I've also never seen anyone treat my daughter as well as you. Which is the most any man could hope for his daughter.”
Not quite the answer I was hoping for. I bit my tongue, the personal attacks were making my cheeks red but lashing back wouldn't help.
“So I’m in a very strange position as a father. On one hand, I have a guy who appears to not be going anywhere in life who I wouldn't want sapping my daughter dry. But on the other, I have someone who I can tell obviously cares about her. You wouldn't be sitting here if you didn't. So if you were me, what would you do?”
Great.
Tell him what you'd do.
“To be perfectly honest,” I fidgeted around in my seat uncomfortably, “I couldn't say what I'd do. I don't have a child and I won't ever know your stance until I do. I can't say. All I'm asking is for you to get her to talk to me. That's it. We didn't end on good terms and she probably doesn't even want to see me. I just know I'd regret not taking this chance when I have it. I hope you can understand that.”
Oh that was good.
Charles sat back in his chair, both confused and impressed. He folded his arms and furrowed his brow, drilling his piercing eyes right through me.
“Like I said earlier, you aren't dumb,” he paused, “which is why I don't know if I can believe you.”
You've got to be kidding me. I would have had better luck asking the chicken-fried steak, that was far too cold by now, for help.
I was frustrated and clenching my fists underneath the table.
“Alright look, I get it. I'm outta here. Thanks.”
What a disaster.
Chapter 19
So what? That doesn't prove anything. It was a bad meeting, what's your point?
My point is that he's almost out of the parking lot, are you going to follow him or not?
He was right. The little red car was about to turn out onto the street.
You want to know where he's going with all that hardware, don't you?
I did.
I turned the car on and squealed my tires as I sped out of the parking space. I raced in and out of the aisles trying to keep my eyes on the little red car. He was already on the street and I couldn’t lose him. I weaved through the parking lot trying to avoid the various shoppers getting in and out of their cars, unloading shopping carts and children. I got to the driveway and turned right onto the street. He was a couple cars ahead of me but I could still see him.
So why did you have me remember that? Nothing happened.
You don't pay attention to people very much do you?
What do you mean?
He's never liked you as a person let alone with his daughter. Did you even notice the look in his eye? Or were you too busy fidgeting?
No, I didn't notice...
I didn't think so. Heads up, he's turning here.
Oh shit, I wasn't even paying attention. I glanced behind me in my mirror and merged over two lanes to get into the left lane. There was one car separating Charles and I.
The left-turn arrow changed yellow and I wasn't even at the line yet.
Don't lose him...
I slammed on the gas and made it into the intersection right as the light turned red. I almost smashed into a car turning right onto the same street and had to hit the brakes and swerve to avoid hitting him. The driver honked and flipped me off but Charles was still in my sight.
“Not bad,” a voice to my right said.
The Voice In My Head had a boyish grin on his face as he leaned over the seat to look out the back window.
“You almost caused some damage back there, you should be more careful.”
“Hey, you told me not to lose him so I didn't,” I retorted, “where is he heading anyways?”
“You never were much for navigating. If he turns left on this street—”
He trailed off as Charles turned left just up ahead.
“—then he’s heading towards Sunny Way.”
Chapter 20
I blinked.
I sank into the worn spot in my sofa and felt instantly relaxed until I remembered what I was doing a second ago.
I jumped from my seat, panicked. I needed to get to her house before Charles did.
The Voice In My Head put his hands on my shoulders and guided me back to my seat. I struggled against him but he was somehow stronger than me so I gave up fighting and let him sit me down.
“Easy there pal,” he said gently.
I took a look around, it seemed like I was back in the room but it looked just like my living room now. The walls still pulsed unsteadily and changed, the ever-changing sickly gray was now a little closer to the actual color of my walls, my end table was next to the couch and even my coatrack was in the corner near where the front door should be. Across from that was what looked like the formation of the hallway that lead to my room, but it stopped abruptly just past the entryway. The wall on my right seemed to bulge outwards as if something were pushing on it and stretching it which is right where my kitchen would be in my house.
The Voice In My Head pulled a chair out from nowhere and sat down on it to my left. He leaned forward, and folded his arms, he seemed amused as he watched my confusion.
“We need to get back there before he gets to her house!”
He chuckled a bit.
“Shut up!” I screamed as I jumped from my seat and kicked the coffee table over, “you don't tell me any fucking thing that's going on and give me cryptic bullshit answers and I'm fucking sick of it! Now get me back in there so I can save her!”
“Well look at you, all fired up! That's what I like to see, get angry why don't you? Instead of using your head..”
“Fuck this, I'm getting out of here.”
I stormed over to where my front door would be, it was the only wall that wasn't bulging or in the process of shifting into another section of my house.
“You said anything I think will happen in here, so how bout my fucking front door?”
I put my hands on the wall, it felt like putty. As soon as I touched the wall an outline of a door formed and a second later the door knob appeared as well. The Voice In My Head remained seated, studying me curiously. I flipped him off and opened the door and stepped—
—into the same. Damn. Room.
“Are you done yet? You tried this once before and it didn't work so why would it work the second time?”
“Fuck!” I screamed, angrily. Frustrated and desperately, I beat my fist upon the putty-like wall, every time my fist connected a pulse of color
s and pictures radiated outward, sending ripples across the entire room.
“Get me the fuck out of here! Let me out!”
I balled my fists up and glared at the Voice In My Head. His cool, calm and collected demeanor had grated on my nerves long enough and I was sick of it.
“So go ahead and do something about it,” he tapped his head with his index finger, “thoughts remember, I can hear them.”
“I want you gone, I don't wanna look at you anymore. So,” I wasn't really sure how it was supposed to work, “get back in my head and leave me alone. There, I thought it.”
He just sat there with his arms crossed. He looked sarcastically from side to side and shrugged his shoulders.
“So what did you think was going to happen?” He asked me with that same smart-ass tone in his voice.
“Get. Me. Out. Of. Here.” I spat through gritted teeth.
“What do you think I've been trying to do? You think this is fun for me? It's not my fault I'm stuck in here with the dumbest motherfucker I've ever known. Sit and listen and I'll explain this real slow for you.”
He gestured for me to sit on the couch but I remained where I was.
The hallway had almost finished forming, I could see the door to my bedroom and it looked like the office was next. The wall behind The Voice In My Head bulged and stretched until it finally snapped, and behind it was my kitchen. Pieces of the putty walls stuck to parts of the furniture and dripped off the ceiling, plopping onto the floor. The pieces of putty moved and slithered, combining together and speeding to the walls where they were absorbed.
I watched in amazement, it had changed into my living room in its entirety now. The wall colors, the carpet, the windows, the window curtains, everything. The hallway had finished morphing and I could see the open doors to my office down the hall.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked as I began walking the perimeter of the room, running my hand along the wall. It was no longer putty, it was drywall and solid.
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