One

by J. A. Laraque

  He had lost a lot of blood. Still wet, it flowed down the driver’s side door forming a small puddle on the ground. I returned to my feet, I instinctively looked around for any sign of a rescue vehicle. I pondered if it was possible that he was rescued moments before the event or another possibility was that he was somehow able to exit the vehicle and make his way to help. The only problem was the lack of a blood trail or a trail of any kind.

  The police radio, I carefully reaching into the car and grabbed hold of the receiver, which sat on top of the center console next to the computer. The engine was off, but the keys were still in the ignition, a single blinking square icon on the squad car’s computer confirmed that power was still being provided.

  “Hello? Is anyone out there? My name is Timothy Hayden. I am at the corner of Halsted Street and North Avenue. There’s been an accident. There may be an officer hurt.”

  What I was saying was pointless. With each passing minute I came closer to believing that everyone had disappeared in the blink of an eye. Acting as if this was a normal situation, calling for help like they would actually respond was foolish and yet I continued.

  “Please… anyone, if anyone is out there… I’m…”

  In a dream one often finds themselves in a situation where there is something important to be said. Like running to escape your nightmare and the process is hampered by your sub consciousness or your fears or both. Running in quicksand, it is not just an analogy for the inability to escape, but the mind’s failure to allow you to properly communicate.

  Often at the most critical time to speak within a dream you cannot form the words. On the tip of your tongue like a child standing at the edge of a diving board for the first time, you are frozen and cannot continue. Standing there holding the receiver in my hand listening to my own words I could not continue. There was nothing to say, I released the receiver and watched it as it fell from my hand slamming against the door.

  I stared into the car, my ears did not listen for a response, I knew there would be none. The shadow cast into the car retreated, a shimmer from below caught my eye. I couldn’t reach the floor of the driver’s side without breaking the last of the glass from the window. With the glass removed I was able to reach down and grab the object. I recognized what it was immediately.

  I pulled it from atop the floor mat, I held the officers M911 service pistol in the palm of my hand. It brought with it two feelings. The first was a sense of safety. My uncle taught me to shoot a handgun when I turned eighteen. Neither my father nor mother protested because of his military service and record. He taught me to respect a weapon and that it was the person holding it who was the most dangerous. He died in his sleep the next year and I had not touched a weapon since.

  Plausible theories aside the fact was that I did not know who could be out here. Protecting myself had to become a priority no matter how alone I felt. There were not facts available to tell me that there wasn’t someone or something out there that could cause me harm, this lead into the second feeling.

  This world could be dying with me inside it. Unlike the balcony, this weapon could provide me with release if the time was ever to come. While the will to live was still strong it wasn’t just about creating my own ending if I could not discover one. If I was ultimately alone then there was the possibility I could become trapped or injured to where I would not be able to go any further. The ability to explore and continue is one of the few things remaining. If that were to be taken from me then I would have no choice but to bring everything to an end.

  I confirmed the gun was loaded and the safety was on so I returned to my bike. I headed north on Halsted Street and soon I arrived at Armitage Avenue. I turned west and could see Lincoln Park High School in the distance.

  The large walkway leading to the school was always crowded with students whenever I would come to pick up Ashley or go to some event at her school. The three story building with its four massive stone columns and red and white sandstone gave it a look more akin to an Ivy League university building. Square patches of green grass protected by black iron fences scarcely littered with small trees led to a large open park that stretched out for several blocks.

  I walked toward the front door; there was no sign that anyone had made their way to the school. Unlike most area’s I had witnessed there were no items were left behind on the ground. The closer I got to the school the less I thought about the present. A twisting in my stomach reminded me of the last time I walked there. I came to a dead stop, a gust of cold air blew through me and I felt a need to turn around me. Just in front of the walkway parked on the street I saw it.

  Mercedes E320, white, my father always wanted one. The day we went to the dealership his face glowed like mine did when he bought me my motorcycle. I believed that was why he agreed to get it for me. He knew it was a dream I had and having fulfilled one of his, he wanted to fulfill one of mine.

  I just stood there staring at the car looking inside its windows. A half smile, which began to grow on my face upon seeing the car faded. What I was seeing was not real and worse it was a time I did not want to remember.

  Disconnection

  “Tim, you forget something in the car?” My father asked.

  Hearing my father’s voice did not bring me joy. I was no longer in that empty world of the present, but the hollow world of the past, the one I wanted to leave behind. He stood there just in front of the school entrance. Looking at him I knew he could see in my eyes that I did not want to be there.

  “No, I…I’m done with high school. I just rather not be here.”

  He was not going to let that stand, not anymore. Seeing him walk toward me I just wanted to run back toward the car, but even if I had done that I would not have escaped.

  “I doubt that is what’s bothering you. What’s wrong Tim?”

  Unlike many people who feign interest in people’s problems my father wanted to know what was on the minds of his children good or bad. The Lincoln Park senior class would be graduating three days later, but up until then most of the seniors would still be attending classes.

  “Jonathan transferred here. I don’t want to run into him.”

  “After your fight…?”

  Just because a parent cares, enough to ask you about your life, your friends and your troubles does not mean a child will openly talk about them. My father unlike my mother was very good at getting us to talk out our feelings without asking many questions and without appearing to be prying.

  “Our fight…”

  I felt the frustration well up inside me. Turning around I wanted to return to the car more than ever and yet I wanted my father to understand that what happened between Jonathan and me was not my fault and was something that could have been easily remedied, only if…

  “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t even care; it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t make him leave.”

  “Then tell me, what was it that made him leave?”

  The reasons people disconnect from each other often seems incredibly stupid when explained to an outside party. Why would two family members who love each other stop talking for years over a baking recipe? I would laugh at something like that with Jonathan blaming it on their inability to use their reason. There is always a solution and it can be found if you think it through, especially if done together and yet knowing all that I allowed it to happen.

  “There’s nothing to tell. It’s…stupid.”

  A lie on two counts, there was something to tell and I wanted to tell it and it was not stupid, it was an all too common problem that separates those who will from those who will not.

  “Stupid or not, why don’t you tell me anyway?”

  Looking back toward him there was no doubt he knew me. Most parents never really know their children, but with my father it was different. He knew what to say to get me to talk and he knew that I needed this, to explain out loud not just to him, but to myself.

  “He knew high school would be different. I told him how things would b
e, that we couldn’t be kids anymore, not if we wanted to make something of ourselves, but he just couldn’t understand that.”

  “What was he doing?”

  That was the question, what. Our school was just like Lincoln Park or any other high school. It had its social groups, its clubs and associations, but it also had direct lines of contact to the leaders of the next generation. From the children of billionaires to foreign dignitaries to legacies, it was not just about fitting in it was about getting ahead and laying your foundation for the future. All Jonathan had to do was follow my lead.

  “He was holding me back. I told him that I hated to play the game, but it has to be played to get ahead. Dad you know that better than anyone else I know. You fought working for Mr. Davalos for so many years and had to put up with all kinds of crap, but you did it so you could reach your goals, reach the top. All I wanted was the same thing, to keep moving forward, to advance. I learned how to play their game. I learned how to adapt, he didn’t. I don’t know what he thought he was doing.”

  My father looked at me as if he had done something wrong. It felt like forever until he finally said something.

  “I fought because of my family. There was no choice for me. I had to play the game to provide for your mother and your sister and for you. My hope was that because of the sacrifices I had to make you and your sister you both would not have to make them yourselves. Adaptation is a powerful skill to have, but you cannot allow it to take you over to where you leave the ones you love behind. I had to learn that and luckily and I did before it was too late. You wondered what Jonathan was thinking. Maybe he was thinking that as long as he had you as a friend that nothing else mattered.”

  Something changed that day, my opinion of my father. I had come to understand and forgive him for having such drive that he was not around during Ashley’s and my childhood. I came to look upon his willingness to keep pushing until you reach your dreams as an admirable ability, but in the end like so much else it was just obligation. What would he have become without it?

  “He was wrong and so were you.”

  I did not hate him, I was disappointed. There was no reason to stand there any longer. My words hurt him and it was a long time before we sat down and talked about that day and even once we did nothing was solved. I thought there was more time, but is that not what we all think?

  Shadows

  The walkway was empty again. The warm summer breeze was replaced with a chilling wind. It brought me back, reminded me what I had to do. I wondered if I was losing focus because of fear or something else. The sky seemed to darken a little, I needed to get inside.

  I climbed the concrete steps to the school and found the large metal doors locked. I banged against them; it brought nothing but sore fists. While it was possible the door was locked to prevent people from entering after the event it was just as likely that the door was locked before everything had happened. I contemplated breaking a window when I saw the first classroom to the left had its window partially open.

  I jumped down onto the grass and pulled myself up and inside the classroom. The floor was ice cold. Finding nothing of interest I continued on into the hallway. I knew the layout of the school from visiting several times while Ashley attended. The bomb shelter would be one floor below where they kept the auto and wood shops.

  That familiar sound returned, my footsteps echoing throughout the vacant hallways. I stood at the top of the steps, at the end of the hall there was nothing but darkness below me. I slowly walked down the stairs, there were no sounds, and the only noise was my steps and my breathing.

  The basement hallway was much colder than upstairs. At the far end of the hallway was an emergency light, it casted a dim light, barley illuminating the room. A large red steel door sat shut just beneath it. My hands gripped the handle and I pushed with all my strength but it would not move.

  I banged my fist against the door and called out begging anyone to hear me. I pressed my ear to the door, there was nothing, another failure, and no one was there. Desperately my mind searched for another place to check, another reason to continue searching, but I did not want to listen to my mind any longer.

  Drained of energy my back felt the coldness of the door as I laid against it before slumping down on my backside. Reason was defeated and my will was dying. I brushed my left hand across the handle of the gun, I felt ashamed. I had only been in this world a few hours and already I lost my ability to deal with what was presented to me, to do what I said I would always do, adapt.

  My head against knees, there were still questions to answer and if nothing else, I should continue with that search. If there is something here for me to find then it was time to find it even if it meant abandoning my search for all others. However, a new thought invaded my mind. Was it possible that the real problem was with me and that continuing was the wrong choice?

  The emergency light flickered then went dark. My eyes strained to find the stairs leading back upstairs. A chilling fear coursed through me. Something was wrong, a feeling, no, a wanting to run came over me. I quickly stood; something else took over causing me to run toward the stairs.

  Above me at the stop of the stairs the hallway was much darker than before. I was only in the basement for a few minutes and yet it looked as if the sun had set. My heart raced. Halfway up the stairs the pain in my forehead returned. Like a burning blade cutting through my flesh I fell to one knee just before the top of the steps.

  Breathily heavily I put my hand to my head but felt nothing. Fighting to stand my body froze, my eyes locked onto a shadowed figure standing at the top of the stairs. It looked like the shape of a human, but every ounce of my being wanted me to flee from it.

  All I wanted was to move but I could not make my body do so. The figure took a step forward the pain in my forehead increased. I opened my mouth to scream out but nothing came. Slowly, like a predator stalking its prey it moved toward me. With each step closer, the pain in my head intensified. My vision blurred distorting the image further and yet strangely it felt more familiar and more terrifying.

  It reached out toward me. Hand or claw I could not tell. Finally the proverbial ice that held me in place shattered. First instinct, I reared backwards. The room spun, I lost my balance. My foot tried to land squarely on the step but I fell backwards. My upper back and shoulders slammed against the edge of the steps.

  I slide down the steps, my head cracked against the cold hard floor. My body went numb. As I felt myself losing consciousness, the figure stood above me. I could see the figure was tangible, but it was cloaked in shadows, as if an aura of dark smoke surrounded it, containing all my nightmares. It felt like death. It leaned over and once again reached out toward me. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, the only place left to escape was into my mind.

  Requiem for the Mind

  Awakening from a nightmare only to find yourself trapped within another dream can be just as or if not more frightening. When you believe you are safe, returned to your world, a sense of peace covers you like a warm blanket. It is a feeling that what you left behind would remain there and that only what you know is real is before you. Then slowly one by one you discover that what you thought was your world is missing several pieces. Not always critical ones, but just enough to let you know something is terribly wrong. In the end when the truth is apparent and your shell of self-protection is shattered, only then is the true horror revealed.

  Darkness and pain was the first thing I felt when I could feel again. But there was something else, soft. It felt familiar and foreign at the same time.

  “Timothy, Timothy Hayden. Can you hear me?”

  My eyes shot open, but the image before me was blurry. The shadowed figure was standing over me just as it was before I lost consciousness, but now it had a voice. Deep and concerned, again it sounded familiar. Perhaps the fall had broken my mind and I was hallucinating? That was one of the thoughts racing through my mind. Also, there was still a feeling of fear. Instinctively I began
moving backwards when I realized I was lying on a bed.

  “It’s okay Timothy. You don’t need to run you’re safe.”

  The tone of the voice sounded like my father’s when he would find me tossing in my sleep, fighting a nightmare. Warm human hands pressed against my shoulders, not specifically to hold me down, but to reassure me, yet again just like my father. He would tell me I was safe and that everyone was there for me.

  The shadows faded as my vision cleared. The man was tall, looked to be in his fifties. His grey carefully trimmed beard traveled up the side of his face connecting to his silver hair. He smiled taking notice my look of confusion, my eyes searched his for lies that this was a dream or something worse. He wore a blue suit covered by a white overcoat. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small pen and pointed toward me.

  “You’re in the hospital. I’m a doctor. My name is Earl Stormed. You gave us quite a scare, Mr. Hayden.”

  He shined a light into my eyes; if I still believed I would call its glow salvation, but it was not that easy. When you have seen the impossible, the probable is what seems most unlikely, not foreign. So many thoughts and I could not convey any to him.

  “I’m… in a hospital?” I said softly.

  “Yes, the fall knocked you unconscious, but there were no signs of a concussion. Of course we will run a few more tests later, just to be sure. I must say you are pretty lucky, Mr. Hayden.”

  Sore back, shoulders and head aside I sat up quickly. The single patient room was small, devoid of any comforting design. My bed sat against a plain white wall facing another plain white wall. Standard hospital bed, white sheets, and one white pillow; but I was not connected to any monitoring devices. Tall ceiling, also white with only one plastic covered light high above me, dressed in a hospital gown, green and white, my head perfectly wrapped with a soft cloth.