The Vision(full novella)

part 1 '' I was in a bar, a sleazy bar you'd never see me in. You know, the dirty, sticky tables-type of bar, filled with flies-buzzing-around-so-dizzy-they-can't-make-out-the -exit type of bar. Yet, I was there, enjoying the show. That's the first awkward thing that comes to my mind now. Me, in a slimy, greasy strip joint? What's wrong with that picture? I'm probably the first person that crosses the sidewalk if he sees such a bar on the street, yet I was there. The exotic dancer moving along the music, kind of molding her body to the groove, a body that most men, if not all, were drooling for. Scratch that, it was a strip bar, of course they were all drooling for her. I think the owner actually sweeps the drool off the floor and makes beer out of it cause my pint sure tasted like that. Maybe I'm not used to beer, or maybe I'm not the type of person that drinks that type of lager, they only had one kind on tap, anyhow. What else was I supposed to drink? Interesting-named, flower-filled, spit-tasting cocktails....? Not my thing, either. But where was I?! Oh, the dancer...Yeah. Frankly, I've no fucking clue why they call themselves that, dancers, or why anybody else would use the same term. They're strippers, for God's sake. Stripping off some ugly, cheesy outfit, waiting for us, the audience, to shove banknotes in their underwear or lingerie if you will or whatever else is left for last in the act of stripping. What do their parents think of their daughters' profession? Anyway....Another eerie detail on the list is that the stripper didn't even strip. Odd. She was just dancing there, moving, touching her skin, doing moves only folks raised and trained within circuses could do. Maybe she was just a dancer, after all. She had barely taken off a sort of blouse and remained in her bra, underwear and boots, for what I thought it was half hour. Half-hour! And she didn't even turn around towards us. Of course, I found that to be quite interesting, exciting actually, cause she did have a great body, medium-long red hair and what I had come to the conclusion velvety soft skin, with small cute freckled dots. I was there, in a sleazy bar, enjoying my pissy drink, having this nameless, faceless, gorgeous dancer compliment me, and the others, with her technique. I looked around to realize the male audience looked every one of them like a pickle. Me included. Motionless, liveless, almost cadaveric-looking pickles. Some were like pickles bathed in coke to get the sour taste away, but still pickles, nonetheless. Didn't they have families to go to? I don't know, a wife and stuff, a garden to trim, a soccer match to get excited for, drunk over, cussed about, exactly in this order...... Which brings me to my own answer: I had no fucking clue of how had I gotten there and especially what was I waiting for to exit the place. The dancer's moves were great, I admit, but for half hour the same routine....it gets on your nerves. Yet, I felt mesmerized by her uniqueness, the growing pleasure of having her dance for me. She wasn't mine, I didn't know her, but that made the excitement even bigger once I'd meet her and look her in the eye. I turned to my bar colleague, who was quenching his thirst with the same washy product of a beer and said ''Isn't she great, she is great, ain't she?!''. I didn't have a mirror with me but I'm pretty certain the words I had spoken came accompanied by a big dumb smile. He rotated his head slightly towards me and through his rotten yellow teeth and crumbed lips he puffed a terrible tobacco smoke into my face. I bet he would've said ''Quit staring at me, boy, look at her arse jiggling, if she's so great!'' if my schmuck smiled attempt at a conversation wouldn't had been interrupted. Gunfire was heard and a band of three worked-out bodybuilders rushed inside , starting to shoot the place up. Everyone that was fast enough ducked under the filthy tables covered in spider webs. The man at the bar next to me had his beer bottle shot, glass shards flying into his eyes and another bullet hitting his neck region, coming out his mouth, taking a few yellowed teeth as casualty. One of the huge men with guns rushed to the dancer and I swear I could hear him shout slowly ''You're coming home, Brigitte!''. It was all slowmo! I supposed she had agreed to his benevolent asking when I saw her legs passing my table. I've never had an idea to be a hero. I don't even know what the word really means in the dictionary. There are enough cops out there more than willing to have their heads blown off aka be a hero, why should I take a stance? Yet, some guiding force pulled me up from my cozy spot under the table. To do what, I'm not sure......A heavy elbow came to say hi to my face and by its power and swiftness I concluded they hadn't seen each other in a long time. The elbow was part of the bodybuilder's body and it felt more energetic and more real than any fist, kick, blow, pinch I might've taken prior to it. Not that the list was long. It had a devastating impact, my head went back a few meters, followed by my body, and it seemed that my inner organs had felt the blow too. ''Stay where you are, boy, or I'll get your arse too!'' the big bloke threatened, finger pointing towards me included. His voice was the same as I had imagined the man's with the yellow teeth. And still I hadn't seen the girl's face. What was this, the forbidden-to-see-face bar? ‘’And then what happened?’’ my girlfriend that was sitting across the table asked me. ‘’Nothing, it blanked. I woke up......’’ I answered looking into her lovely blue eyes, holding her hand. ‘’Matt, you called me here to tell me something important. And all I heard from you was ''the girl was impressive'', ''she had a great arse'', ''the moves on her''. Be honest with me now, is this some kind of a bullshit foreplay to you telling me we're breaking up? I knew my facial expressions had changed. ‘’What! No.....Have you really been listening? I've been having this ''dream'',call it what you want, for more than three weeks now. And it's not a fantasy I'm having. I don't know any stripper or exotic dancer or whatever you or me or the rest of the world wanna call it. I've never been to a strip joint before and I don't plan to. Not soon, at least.......Well, maybe once yes.....but that was back in the days....’’ I tried to be jokey bout the whole thing cause she was really giving me ''that'' look. We'd been together for a year plus and hadn't once cheated on her. So, she kinda trusted me. Thus, she was just imagining I had feelings for this ''dream'' girl. Well, truth be told, I was. I continued. ‘’And I'm not breaking up. I'm just having this weird recurring dream and I just had to tell you. Cause every time something is added to the action. The first times just had me in the bar, then I was ordering the beer, the next ones brought along the other characters and now I'm already thrown on the ground by Schwarzenegger's body double. I mean, what's gonna happen next? I'm kinda freaked out. Plus, when the heck do we have time to talk? You're always either out with the girls, or busy with granny, we've barely time for us.’’ ‘’You need to take some calming pills and stop dreaming....a girl. Cause I think this is what's all about, that damn girl of yours. There's something else you're not telling.’’ ‘’Lisa, sweetie, there's nothing else. I'm not having an affair, you're not jealous of an unreal person, are you? I might've just told the story to one of your friends, you surely would've believed them on the spot upon hearing it.’’ She slightly blushed whilst being even more irritated. She had never been jealous before but I wasn't sure that was it. She was holding something back, just like me. And hence I wasn't gonna reveal the whole thing, I wasn't expecting her to lay all the cards in front of me, either. Goddamn secrets. ‘’Matt, if you wouldn't have that box of an apartment, I'd move in with you, I'd comfort you, I'd make you dream something else than strip joints, but I can't take that step now, you know that, we've talked about it before.’’ I knew that, the same ole, same ole. Her parents had died in a car accident when she was 12 and she had been raised by her mom's mom. Her granny was now very ill and hence she had no one else to take care of her, she had to fill in the shoes of nursing. It was only normal, for her. It was abnormal, for me, that after all this time, we were still living apart as if the relationship was a long distance one. And obviously the main fault was my tiny apartment. Well, she was right ‘bout it, in a way. My place was no bigger than a sleeping place for a couple Saint-Bernard’s. What a fucking thing! I leaned forward and tried to kiss her. ‘’I'm gonna be late for work, sweetie, gotta go!’’ Our lips didn't even touch properly, a moment after she took her brand bag and headed out my viewing field, leaving me there, sipping a horrible, over-priced cappuccino, imagining excuses I'd come up with for work. Deep down, maybe I kinda wanted to break up. Our relationship wasn't going anywhere and I wasn't the one to be stuck in something for ten years. It already felt like 20, dragged down on a rugged path, full of pointy thick needles towards the contest that would declare the worst love relationship of human kind. There were no other contestants, most likely. We couldn't go to a restaurant, to see a flic, or just be together for more than a few hours at a time, and all because of granny. Old hag. I had only met her a few times and I hadn't found her to be the likeable person that my girlfriend and her bff’s were telling stories about. I guess I just liked to think otherwise. But that's not the only thing I had in mind. My left shoulder devil was telling me to hate her with a passion, to want her dead. Yeah, dead! That way she could step out of my girlfriend's life. And I'd be that comforting shoulder to drown those tears into. Not a bad idea, after all. Maybe it was time for her to die. part 2 I had arrived ten minutes prior to my work schedule, hoping I could persuade my boss personally to send me home for the day. My colleagues I had called before had told me he was not in a good mood then and besides I had already taken the month’s leaves for sickness. To have a flu four times in June was straight awkward, if not supernatural. I found it funny that they had actually bought it up to that point. I entered the office with my best ‘’send me home-I’m sick’’ face, trying to make myself to cough. I was feeling sick just by the sight of it. The same long faces, with their eyes constantly on their watches, always trying to steal a few extra minutes on lunch breaks, constantly thinking about the imaginary bell whistling, telling them to hit the home route. I was part of that group. It was easy to understand, from my point of view, the reason I’d like to call in sick every day. If only was there a job where one could do that. I walked slowly the corridor, between my colleagues’ desks, having my hand and a handkerchief covering my mouth cause ‘’you don’t want the virus!’’. I hoped they got the message, although I was sure they weren’t buying my story. Suddenly, I felt a threatening breeze round my back and a thousand poisonous darts coming towards me in the form of vicious looks from my boss. He was waiting for me. Ten meters behind me. I turned and faced him. In my head this was a Mexican stand-off, all we needed was some windy dust and some Morricone music to make the tableau whole. I swear if he would’ve had a spear he would’ve shot it right at me, laughing diabolically while it would hit one of my vital organs and finally kill me. If skinning would be legal, he would tear the flesh off my bones and make a Sunday picnic out of my then maggot-eaten body. Good thing he hadn’t one. The scrawny, pen-pushing prick. He was only 4 years older than me but yet acting like the King of the World. Hadn’t they given that position to Di Caprio? I was already repeating my explanation inside my head as I approached him. ‘’Come with me, Mr. Crawley. I need to talk to you.’’ I knew I was in deep shit. The solution was so far away that a trip to the Seychelles seemed like a half hour walk. I followed him, trying to get a cough out of my perfectly healthy system. ‘’Sir, as you can see I’m not feeling too well and as a good colleague I didn’t want to endanger my co-workers. That’s why I need this day off. If not, from tomorrow on you might get your subordinates calling in sick, one by one. That’s the virus. It does things to them!’’ I tried to sound as much convincing as possible, but who was I kidding? The tone I had used couldn’t convince a mosquito to stop sucking my blood or myself to shave, when time was due. ‘’Mr. Crawley, spare me! This is the fifth time in a month when you’re claiming you’re either sick, flu-ish, having a cold etcetera. And you know there’s only 4 leaves you can use in a month, if needed.’’ He stressed the ‘’if’’ so much that I felt it had gotten to my lungs, complicating my breathing. ‘’ I’ll need you to work today. We’re already late on certain things and we do need to catch up. Your availability is crucial for the working process.’’ He almost sounded truthful. I needn’t truthful, not now. I had recurring dreams about me getting beaten up by Orcs and a girlfriend that I had spent a couple weeks of time’s worth out of one plus year. I needed to hear lies, big fat lies, coming from a person that looked every inch as if he held the crown for biggest liar alive, considering his work position. ‘’If you do head out that door right now, not only you won’t get paid for today, but you’ll get suspended for two weeks till I clarify myself with my supervisors. Is that clear, Mr. Crawley?’’ Scrawny, pen pushing prick. I left his office overlooking the other desks like a Baywatch tower. He had to have everything under control, having four windows to his office, always, and I do mean always seeming to observe our work from his boss armchair. Skinny bastard. The coughing was really making itself present now, for unknown reasons. I had always trouble connecting with my bosses and talking to them about things. And that office of his, damn organized, like a beauty salon. I bet if he’d seen my apartment he’d have a heart attack. That’s what the bastard needed. An out-of-nowhere blow that’d make him think ‘’Why am I a cock-sucking degenerate boss with my employees?’’ I took a seat at my desk, following the routine that would bring me home, at the end of day. I couldn’t help thinking about my girlfriend’s grandma and her. Where did she get all the money from? As far as I knew, she didn’t have a job, except the one that stated ‘’take care of your granny’’, yet she mostly clothed expensive brands. Her deceased parents weren’t wealthy at the time, according to her. And the State help she was getting for her grandma was nonsense, I was sure. But was I ready to keep her as a girlfriend? She was holding against me…what, I wasn’t sure. For some reason some faceless girl had made a bigger impression than my girlfriend. I was thinking how to duck the big guy in my dream, make him trip and get the girl. There was something in my cortex that was opposing the thought, though. The good thing was, if anything major would happen in that dream, maybe that would stop it. The whole series would be finished. That way I could’ve kept my life, without acting paranoid, without trying to skip work like a 5 year old kindergarten kid and without questioning my girlfriend and our relationship out of the sudden. Something still didn’t match, though. That skinny bastard of a boss of mine. I didn’t know how or why but it seemed like he was the broken log in the middle of a nowhere-road while I’d be driving my car towards my holiday destination. I didn’t have a car, but the thought still remained. I had never liked him and spot on he must’ve had the same feeling when hearing or pronouncing my name. Sometimes I saw him joking with some of my colleagues, looking like a fairly average guy, one with whom you could hang out at the pub or even enjoy a soccer match with. But not with me, he turned into Dracula, seeing me like a victim when I had to speak to him. And now he hadn’t even let me go home for being ‘’sick’’. I was feeling sick just thinking about it. Maybe it was better if he’d never existed. Maybe it was time for him to die. part 3 I had always enjoyed a fresh pint of cider on any occasion and it was long before I had the last one, so I decided to spoil my palate and stomach after finishing my dreadful ''being sick'' day at work. I was having no company at the table whatsoever, just me and the pint, contemplating what hellish nightmare the last years had become. Unable to maintain friends, not having the charisma at least to make new ones and a girlfriend that I didn't see on a daily basis. Above all that, I didn't have any other activities to fill the blanks in my time schedule; let's face it, I was a skinny, somewhat solitary person. I had taken the second sip out of my pint when the answering machine of my soon-to-be ex responded. Goddamn! Where the fuck was she? The cider didn't taste like in the good old days, when enjoying it was part of enjoying the experience to spend quality time with known-ones. I was feeling rather depressed, felt like everyone had to take a stance against me. My own conscience included. I had taken my time finishing my drink, by the time I asked for the bill everyone had almost left. The girl behind the counter brought me the receipt. ‘’Can I take a seat with you?’’ she asked. I didn't pay attention to her. I nodded. I could've used some chatting, but wasn't feeling that her was the right individual to share life-changing ideas with. ‘’Not to be intruding in your personal life but it seems like you've got issues. I've noticed you since you first entered and it seemed strange that you were alone, having just one cider for a couple hours. You know, normally people come up here in loud groups and drink till kingdom come, I don't know if you noticed it. Having one drink for a couple hours is bad for business, if my boss would've been here he would've thrown you out within 20 minutes from stepping in due to your limited alcohol ingestion.’’ Maybe it would've been better if anyone tried to throw me out the pub, right now I had no will whatsoever to stand and go home. I didn't say anything. ‘’But that's not why I'm here. I just saw you feeling down and thought I could cheers you up if I'd chat you up.’’ I guess me looking out the window every thirty seconds, observing how the world dealt with its normal life was a dead ringer for my state of mind. But I had the right answer to make her disappear. ‘’Are you a clown? Cause only clowns cheer people up when they're feeling sad....Oh, sorry, I missed! You must be a shrink handling people's business a.k.a problems in public, aren't you? What's my issue called? Notwanttotalktoanyone......so just take your clown red nose or your shrink couch and bother someone else.......’’ I looked at her for the first time. She had subtle lips, bright green eyes and her red hair was combed backwards in a tail. She seemed the innocent, friendly, next-door type of girl. Too bad I was the sick-of-everything-that-moves-and-breathes type. It just wasn't my day. She didn't lose her pretty smile or tone and said: ‘’I just thought you wanted some company, that's all. I don't charge for that.....’’ ‘’Well, I've got a girlfriend, so I won't need company, if you know what I mean.......’’ Was I really an asshole or was I just one everyday? Here she was, a cute girl trying to make me feel better and me pushing her away with my imbecile ways. ‘’Ok, no worries. I'm not like that anyway. Just wanted to help you, that's all. I think you should know your girlfriend is not what and who you think she is.....’’ She stopped to wait for my reaction. If I had any, it must've passed unobserved. She continued. ‘’They will come for you soon. You're starting to see beyond this life, it's not good for them. Just remember, everything you see is not the reality you think it is, deny everything.’’ Now that got my synapses working. But before I could shout ''what?'' she already stood up, walking towards the back of the pub. That's when I noticed the real red hair that I had seen before. It was a somewhat familiar red hair. And then it struck me, she was the girl of my dreams. ‘’What's your name? ‘’ I shouted. When she didn't respond, I stood and walked after her. She wasn't anywhere to be found. I looked inside the toilets, I even opened a door named ''Private'', yet no person was inside. When I came back in the main hall of the pub where I had my drink, there was another guy behind the bar which I hadn't seen earlier. Truth was, I hadn't noticed anyone the whole time I had been there. They could've carried me out and set me on fire, I'm sure I wouldn’t have battered an eye till feeling the flames roasting my inner organs. I asked the guy who was the girl and where had she gone. He looked at me strangely, answering exactly this: ‘’I've no idea what you're talking about, mate. I'm the only one around here, as you can see. There's no girl, although I wish there was one and there's never been one working inside this pub. So I can't help you....’’ But I had seen one, I told him. ‘’Listen, you're really getting on my nerves. Did you pay for your drink?’’ I had. I pointed my finger to the table of the ''crime'' and fucked off outside. I wasn't in the mood of having my arse kicked by a pubber. I had no idea who the lass was, why she'd been there, why she'd talk to me and tell me all that weird shit and how she'd disappear so fast. Why hadn't I taken part to ninja classes when a kid was beyond me. It seemed nowadays everybody else was using those tactics. She had an uncanny resemblance with the girl from my mystic dream, at least from the back. I carried my road home, I was tired, sick, although not necessarily on a physical level and felt like taking a hot shower, turn off my phone and just sleep it off, this disappointing yet intriguing day. I tried to call my girlfriend once again, no luck though. Upon entering my mini apartment I recalled I had no hot water running for a couple weeks and that my girlfriend would not return any calls, anyhow. If I'd try to call myself, I was sure the phone company wouldn't even put me through. I had no role in society and to tell the truth no one would tell the difference if I'd vanish. Maybe it was time for me to die. - part 4 It's always that thought that one can get away with murder that actually pulls one to the dark side of one's feelings. He had the exact same thought and knew he was doing the right choice as he closed the door of his apartment behind him and proceeded towards the first important place, that night. He was aware of the fact that the elderly woman would be alone in the house. She'd be an easy target, a task that shouldn't consume much of his time or energy. He'd do it quickly, not looking back, not asking himself whether it's good or bad, not questioning any of his actions. The night was somewhat chilly and the time of strolls was long over around the neighborhood. He arrived at the flat, looking at the number on it, placing its right order within the city, just to make sure he was on the right track. The lift took its time to get to the fifth floor, he got out and nonchalantly walked down the corridor. He put his ear gently to the door and all he could hear was the sound of night inside an average home. He opened the lock using an ingenious device made out of a thick needle and a nail polisher and stepped inside. The first thing he did was turn on the lights in the entrance hall, take out his shoes and check the place. The old woman had her apartment neatly organized, a dozen photos stood guard in the living room and all the appliances in the kitchen were either new, or never used. Her own bedroom was the second to the left, after the living room, in between the second toilet and the kitchen. Calmly, he opened the door to her room, taking his time watching her sleep, counting her breaths. It'd be her last ones. He took out a handkerchief, bathed it in chloroform and put it above the old lady's nose and mouth. She didn't even move, twitch or make sounds. Maybe she wasn't alive anyhow. He then took out a plastic bag from his other pocket and shoved the elderly woman's head inside, making sure to seal it carefully with an entire roll of duct tape. That would be enough. Not for him, though. He opened the drapes to let a bit of the night's darkness inside the room's corners. He got out of the room and went for the kitchen, turning the lights there also and letting the gas run freely. If the bag and duct tape would not be doing their mark a hundred percent, the gas might fill in the remaining ten percent of the shoes. He bowed, saluting the apartment and left. By the time he drove to his second taking-care-of business, which took about twenty-five minutes, the old lady had passed in her sleep, her identity being made possible to obtain only from her dental records. The fire broke down in the apartment, burning slowly the tidiness and new electronic kitchenware. His arch nemesis would have the same fate, he thought. It was time for him to rise as a new man from these actions, a man no one would recognize anymore. He parked the car on a corner two blocks away from where the second victim lived. The streets were still empty, but soon the first can't-sleep people would make their appearance either on the roads, going to early jobs, or just puck their faces out their windows to observe the quietness of the night. This wasn't a residential area of the city, but the flat in which his target lived looked appropriately luxurious. He made his way to the front door of the building and a couple of minutes later he was inside, having the electronic interphone on its knees, begging for mercy. He took the elevator up to the third floor but waited inside as the lift doors opened. He closed his eyes, imagining the sweet victory resonating inside his heart after he'd strike the first blow upon the man he was about to murder. His quiet steps on the fine tile in the hall of the building resonated like pick hammer drills in his brain. It wasn't until he was face to face with door number 11 that the sounds disappeared. He stood there for a few minutes, listening to the noises coming from inside the apartment. There were none. Then he did what no other person in his shoes, might have done. He kept ringing the bell. He thought a person would be more frightened by hearing the bell ring at four am than actually having a criminal inside their house, crept under tables or resting behind chairs, silent and deadly. Who would that be, at that early hour, with business, outside his front door? What kind of an emergency would prompt one to wake up that early and disturb someone else's quiet and relaxing sleep? His blood would rush through veins, his heart would start beating so fast, nervously, for no reason, whatsoever. His fingers would tremble and his hand joints would start to non-cooperate and soon his whole body would shake, making his voice tone change and thus making it obvious, the fact that he'd fear whoever's outside, ringing the bell. Although he wouldn't know the person, nor the motive for the creepy visit. And that would cause his body to produce the first tiny beads of sweat, falling down his temple. He knew that would work. The bell rang some more, the sound it made inside the apartment was far louder and more eerie than its counterpart heard at the front door. A moment later he heard how someone had turned on the lights, buttons pushed and steps slowly making their way to the door. He could almost see that man's shadow not wanting to follow its owner. The man in the apartment came to a stop. His heavily affected sleep voice made its move. ‘’Who is it?’’ No answer, whatsoever. It would be insane and foolish if he'd really answer or make a sound. The man's voice grew worried and he took a look through the small eye-window. There was no one outside. maybe it was all inside his head. He had had trouble sleeping lately, it could had been that, a mere imagination of sounds. He stood there for a couple moments more, expecting another sudden ring. There wasn't any, there wouldn't be any. The game had been played to perfection. He went back to bed. The guy outside was hearing how lights were turned off and doors closed. Now it was time for his second move. Everything he had wanted to do, he was about to fulfill. part 5 I woke up to the sound of thumping. I had heard thumps in my sleep before but had felt too lazy to open my eyes. When I finally had them open and active I looked at my watch, noticing I was two hours late for work. Damn it! And now, being able to distinguish better, I realized the thumps in my door were actually real and not part of my sleep imagination. I slipped on my house shoes, wiped the sleep off of the corners of my eyes and proceeded to my front door. It was the only door I had in my apartment, the whole thing looked like a normal living room turned into kitchen-bedroom-toilet all in one, with minimal surfaces each. About two meters from the door the kicks became stronger and louder and I could finally hear what was shouted. ‘’Open up, it's the Police!’’ I couldn't remember if I'd done anything that would require the presence of lawmen. Maybe some of my neighbors needed help. Maybe there was a fire in the building and the police was now prompting me to evacuate. Where was the loud siren though? Granted, I had been asleep up till now but even in my sleep I was sometimes able to hear or be aware of certain situations. Besides, we all got ''danger zone'' radars buried deep down our cortex, yet this time nothing let me know of any peril case. There was no smoke nor any screams from elderly persons. Hence mostly those lived in the building, I thought geriatrics might be in trouble, asking for help. Where's youth, when you need it? Suddenly the door flew off its hinges, allowing the door-kicking cops to tsunami into my apartment. It didn't take more than ten seconds till I found myself almost licking the floor, staring at the same-looking policemen shoes, trying to make out how many were there to apprehend the big bad criminal which, shockingly, was supposed to be me. The one with more nerves and a more threatening voice read my rights, telling me all about staying quiet or bullshitting. In fact it was him who was bullshitting. How could he read the rights to someone that hadn't done anything against the law. Alright, I had used my Visa before to gain access to ''members only content'' , as the ads would put it, on adult sites, but that was all I could think I had done wrong the past years. Sort of wrong, really. I would've allowed people to point fingers at me in public yelling ''You sick degenerate pervert!'' for my doings, but having cops knocking down my door for it was a bit far-fetched. The guy that cuffed me was definitely black, as I sensed a hate in his grip as he forced my arms inside the cuffs, along with a strength only a brother could have. Most likely as he was doing this he must've thought ''This is for all my proud, hung black ancestors, motherfucker. Now you know how it feels, skinny cracker!'' . I was skinny, but not a fucking cracker. He brought me up to my feet and I saw his face and Mr. Olympia body structure. He wasn't black, probably would've beaten his mom if he were, but he sure had the hate and anger in his eyes. His mental commentary must've read by now '' Cause of you, you skinny fuck, they had me woken up at six in the morning. Couldn't even have my damn breakfast. Be sure I'm a take my time to whoop your ass.'' I was skinny, alright, but I needn't read it in nobody's anger thoughts. The slick officer that had been bullshitting me with my rights was standing in front of me, looking a bit buff, his facial features resembling a wee bit Alec Baldwin. And he too had a sharp eye on me. He asked me if I knew two persons. He pronounced two names, one male, the other female. I was in shock. I didn't make much out of his rapidly spoken verbalisms. I couldn't. A few seconds later, when my brain de-froze itself I recognized both names. I had realized who was he asking me about and I stood there, blushed like a buttock is after a set of good ole daddy ''show you manners with a belt'' action and said yes. The names were my boss' and my girlfriend's grandma-cum-mom. My ears were buzzing by now and couldn't hear anything anymore. The officer turned to his men and signaled the body-builder cop to take me away. I was still in my pj’s. I sighed and as I looked behind I told the cop to untie the cuffs cause my arms were really hurting. Seeing his ugly grin up close provoked another de-freezing moment in my brain. This cop had an uncanny resemblance with the muscular guy that had elbowed me in my dream. Whether this was just a coincidence or I really was seeing people from my dreams have twins in reality was not something I could've gotten my head around now. If he really was, then I had fallen in a major deep shit situation. And no body-clock-radar-of-any-sorts had previewed me with this information. I glanced at him for a few moments more, maybe it was the sleep not washing off of me yet or the shock that I was now seeing persons that should have never existed. I wasn't wrong, though. It was him, alright and it sort of felt as if the feeling was mutual, could it had been from the same source, my dream? He hit me with his stick in order to make me turn my head around and said: ‘’I'm gonna have so much fun with you, boy!’’ I sure hoped it wasn't that type of fun he was referring to. Maybe the city police had these special ''beat the skinny white guys arrested for god-knows-what'' rooms and perhaps they'd already set one for me. They just needed the arrested guy to make the inauguration. And I sure wasn't feeling like it. Was I ready to run? Could I have been given the opportunity to escape? I couldn't take any chances, I knew they'd hunt me down with a vengeance and whoop my ass for real. Why for? Resisting arrest and escaping the forces of law. But I was innocent. Maybe it was time I had to think like the real me and act accordingly. part 6 The trip by car to the police station had taken more than forty-five minutes. We passed through a part of the city I had never been in and at times it seemed we had left the proper city limits and reached another town, cause sure as hell I wasn't recognizing sights or street names. There were two cars. A sedan with the Baldwin-looking officer leading the way, making use of its flashy and most likely expensive siren and the SUV containing the perpetrator, me. It was my first time in a police car, from any point of view, but now I was sitting on the back seat, stranded from the two cops in the front seats by a small grill. The nameless, ugly-looking, grinning Hercules cop used to give me a peak once and again. I had always been feeling uncomfortable around cops. Although they're still people, and do what they do as a job, I had always seen them as cold-blooded bastards. There was no way calling it a job as long as you were chasing suspects for a) thrills and b) so you can whoop their asses, once caught. They didn't speak a single word and me neither. I felt it had no use asking them why I'd been arrested. They would either tell me to shut the fuck up or start bullshitting. And bullshitting is part of their DNA. No cop is a cop until they master the art of bullshitting. With a bit of that and a few punches directed towards the right body parts, I was more than certain they could've persuaded their very own families to testify in court as being drug dealers and whatnot. I hadn't done anything but I was sure they'd make me say I'd done lots. As the trip ended and the cars came to a stop, I lowered my head to escape the back seat and remained in awe. I was supposed to breathe the air of freedom or its next of kin, but this was not the case here. The building I presumed was the police station/precinct looked as much corrupt as the folks working inside. It had a strange hexagonal form, it was all covered in glass, giving it a highrise look and all the uneven corners, abrupt angles and nonsense straight lines would have made an art critic exclaim Picasso as the main architect. And I couldn't spot any Police Department plaques anywhere round the surroundings, at least not in the small area my eye had bathed in. The tight cuffs and the bruises invited by them led me to believe I was still in the custody of cops and not bad men put to do bad things. The Baldwin-looking officer showed the way as we crossed large halls with barely any doors on any side and the few people that met my gaze were mostly clothed in white robes. The interior of the building was surely looking even worse than its outside counterpart. They might've called it minimalism but who was the asshole that had designed a police station to look, feel, smell and sound like a fucking secret experiments hospital. Ten minutes had passed, at least, since we had entered the building and we were still wandering through its never-ending Pentagon-like corridors. We finally entered a more familiar looking area, as the people were dressed in regular cop uniforms and looked more cop-ish than the ones I had seen earlier. I had assumed we had gotten to the core of the precinct, the place where interrogations were held, due to the distance from the exit door. If anybody were to scream, not only no one outside the building would hear or give a damn but the escape that logically would follow said scream would result in a dead-end: getting lost inside the building. The rooms had no numbers or names that I could've tracked or memorize and put into a fashionably order, if needed. I didn't lose my calm, or hope. After all, I had done nothing wrong, innocent was written all over my face and even without a map I was sure I could find the exit. By now everybody must had known they had brought in the skinny guy, so in case I actually started running for the main door no one would've said a word, or budge a muscle to stop me; in fact I imagined them to cheer for me like in a marathon, some of them even stopping to wave and smile at me, maybe even offer me some energy drinks along the way. I was in my pj's, there was no way they'd take advantage of me. My hands were still hurting and that was taking up my thinking. And in between I had slipped in a thought about not calling to work to let them know I wouldn't make it. The cops hadn't given me an opportunity anyhow; besides, if they had named my boss, then he wouldn't have been at work, either. For a split second I thought I was golden. Maybe they had found him doped up. A managing position in our line of work would provide the said person with copious amounts of stress and drugs would be seen inevitably as a good friend. Or maybe he had been caught with a prostitute. That would've made her the substitute to the good ole white powder. But what the fuck had it to do with me? Oh, the prostitute could've been my girlfriend, that would've explained the out-of-nowhere money. Nah, scratch that, she'd be too much of a bitch for him. But then it hit me......maybe he had been found murdered. What about my girlfriend's grandma? She could've been on the same list. And both persons' common link was me. It couldn't have been, the old hag had the right years to benefit of a natural death and I had no idea what my boss' address was. Yet, nobody had told me he had been murdered, or even her, let alone in their houses. What the fuck did I know and keep from myself? part 7 They had left me all by myself in a white creepy room that wasn't as large as I pictured it from the outside. It did seem it stretched for miles though, the whiteness gave it a glow that didn't suit a police station room, as far as I was concerned. Actually I did turn in my seat a few times cause I had the feeling that all-white entities would start creeping out the walls and give me the scare of my life. I had been placed in an average looking chair, resting my elbows on a wooden average looking table. It didn't have any buttons underneath it, so flipping it and turning it into a James Bond escape vessel was out of the question. There were no calendars to be seen on the walls and no clothing hangers. Strangely, not even corner cameras. In all honesty the room presented no trace it had been used before or at least its purpose to be this. How in the hell had I gotten myself into this. For once in my life I had no idea what was going on. There had been various other occasions when my mind had gone oblivious of certain things but at the end I had always been able to get my teeth into. Right now it felt like they had removed my not-so-white teeth and, thus, had no material to bite with. I didn't even want to get into presumed details about murders. Thinking about one was just about as bad as being the mastermind of one or taking place at one or just plain witnessing one. And I wasn't part of any of these extremist groups. ''Let me out, let me go!''. I started fantasizing in my one-minute-frozen-the-other-working-perfectly brain about what they'd do to me to get the truth out, the machinery they'd put to use on me, to convince me of certain situations and actions. I was trying to memorize answers I'd give to their accusations and questions, but there I was, arrested for more than a couple hours already, in a completely white room and they still hadn't told me why they'd brought me in for. ''Let me out!'' I was fighting inside my head, giving blames to an alter-ego I didn't have. Where's a twin when you need him? I couldn't just plan my escape, the long dreadful corridors and halls would give me a bigger headache than seeing the cops' firearms being pulled from their holsters and pointed at me. I hadn't entered the precinct bended but it would've made no difference whatsoever, I still had no clue where this room had its place in the whole building. Besides, not being clothed like a normal person didn't grant me any extra points. ''Get the fuck out, Matt!'' It was easier said than done. I kinda regretted I had not watched MacGyver when I was a kid. That guy would use his bloody spit and turn it into a goddamn bulldozer. Such skills could've come in handy, if only I possessed them. Instead I possessed a slight trembling, due to the whiteness of the room having impact on my head. Maybe they were using the room as a drug-free hallucinogen, cause it sure was giving me vibrations. More than half hour had passed and I was on my way to Paranoia Land, when finally I heard voices and steps outside the room. The actor-looking cop, that was most likely handling the unknown to me case and not just apprehending skinny sleepy suspects, entered the room with a bunch of files in his right hand, resting on his thy, followed by the stuntman of a cop, still bearing the sympathetic grin. What the fuck was he having that face for? He hadn't won anything....yet. Oh, I see, they must've given the big gorilla a lolly between beating-the-shit-out-of-suspects sessions. And still no sign of decent clothes I had asked for, before they had placed me in the playroom. The officer leaned towards me. I was all eyes and ears. ‘’Mr. Crawley, things look really bad from this side of the table.’’ part 8 ''Things look really bad from this side of the table!'' What the fuck was he smoking? Of course they looked bad. From any side of the table they looked bad too. From any part of this goddamn building things looked bad. From any corner of the corridors one would look, things looked bad. I understood that the Police was cut funds cause of all the folks working as cops plundering the Pension Fund, but for God's sake, how much would have cost the PD to use a bit of coloring instead of plain white. Things look bad, he said. It was more like this shit looks bad and I was looking at them bas as a motherf.... I resumed my ‘’I'm innocent, I swear! ‘’straight face and answered with a question. ‘’What do you mean?’’ The bodybuilder looked at me, I looked at him, the officer looked at the bodybuilder, I looked at the officer. He took a seat, arranged his files and started deranging my thinking. ‘’You do know why we've brought you here, don't you?’’ He sucked on his teeth, putting on his ''You didn't see that coming, did you?'' face. He was full of himself. Who had they thought they'd brought in? Osama bin Laden? I kept my calm composure, lowering my eyelids. Now dodge this, bitch! ‘’Well, I presume you're trying to torture me by leaving me here alone for....quite some time, looking at this god-awful white. I'm telling you, ten more minutes of this and I would've strangled myself.’’ I smiled. He didn't. ‘’Mr. Crawley, I hadn't expected such an ironic answer from you. You're in a position that shouldn't allow you to make jokes. No, you're here cause you're accused of killing, in cold blood, if I may add, Mrs. Cynthia Roegan and Mr. Joey Knicke on the date of the 23rd, which is last night. As for the strangling, I'm sure my fellow colleague here would be much eager to oblige, so you don't go through the effort and won't dirty your hands.’’ He smiled. I didn't. ‘’In cold blood, you say?’’ He nodded. ‘’Strange, cause, for one, I didn't have any ice with me and two, I didn't kill anyone!!!!!’’ My raging scream must've been so powerful that the white of the room took a break as an eerie atmosphere surrounded us. ‘’Mr. Crawley, I'd suggest you...’’ ‘’..cut the bullshit! Wasn't that what you were trying to say? To cut the bullshit! I don't know who you people are and what kind of a damn police station this is, cause it sure as hell doesn't look like one. What is this, the Candid Camera? Oh, I got it, I've been punk'd, now let me get the fuck out of here cause this shit ain't funny.’’ The officer adjusted his tie, observing me closely. ‘’Precisely, Mr. Crawley, it's not funny. Thus, I'd suggest stop making scenes. This is not the Candid Camera and you've been arrested for murder. Double murder. And that's no laughing matter, if I might add. Before you answer with another wise-ass remark, I'm gonna tell you just this: we know what you've done, you can't escape this facility and watch your mouth cause I'll smack you on it in no time and it might get you in bigger trouble than you're already in. Understood?’’ I nodded. This guy was good, real good, but it still didn't cling together. There was no way this room was an interrogation room or any other type of room in a police precinct and that these guys were cops. It all seemed surreal. Someone had framed me. Me! Me? But what for? I was no big pawn in neither the company I was working for, well, had worked for, considering the situation, and it made even less sense regarding my girlfriend's...well, my ex's grandma. Thus, these two persons must've had more common ground than just me knowing them both. Either that or all of it was a strange and expensive, at my own costs, coincidence. I had been framed. The thought didn't stick much, I wasn't on people's list of ''these ones need to pay/disappear/die'' and I hadn't had any major problems with anyone up till this point. Come to think about it, I hadn't recollection of knowing large groups of people. My few friends were hardly the true essence of the word nowadays and social life was not a big part of my overall existence. Why would anyone want to frame me? I wasn't staying in anyone's path to wealth, fame and stardom. I was just as much an average guy as the next man. I hadn't killed anyone, yet I was accused of it. What the fuck was happening? Was it another dream? Cause it couldn't happen in real life! I had been obeying all the rules in life, had tried to be as likeable as possible, yet there I was, accused of double murder, by a cop that was more than likely hating me and another one guarding his back that had made a hobby out of hate towards me. I decided to play along the cop's music and see where the whole thing was getting me. ‘’Ok, I'm still innocent, but I want to hear your facts you've come up with.’’ I must've touched the sensitive nerve on the actor cop cause he looked very joyous all of a sudden. ‘’Excellent, Mr. Crawley. Just the answer I was hoping to hear. Did you know the victims?’’ I nodded. He signaled me to continue to broaden the answer. I leaned back on my chair and cleared my throat. ‘’Cynthia is....sorry, was my girlfriend's grandma. She raised her after her parents died and been a friend, sister, mother, granny, confidant ever since. I've met her a couple of times, but have not talked to her a lot. Can't say I was on her list of acquaintances or she was on mine.’’ ‘’Did you know she had told your girlfriend to break up with you cause she thought of you....how should I put it.....not so good.’’ ‘’Who told you that?’’ ‘’Your girlfriend. We've talked to her this morning, before we've come to arrest you. She's the one that found her grandma dead. She was in shock. When we told her we found your fingerprints at the crime scene she almost fainted. I think it's only appropriate to refer to her as your ex from now on.’’ ‘’Listen, I didn't do it! Someone must've planted my prints there....’’ The cop didn't budge a muscle. Either he wasn't convinced or he knew I was telling the truth but someone had wanted me gone and he was just a piece of the whole operation. ‘’We'll get to that later. How about Joey? Did you know him?’’ ‘’He was my boss.....’’ ‘’Did you hate him?’’ ‘’What?.....Do you hate your superiors? Disliking one person's actions or clothes or whatnot does not put him in the ''to be killed ''list.’’ The cop smiled. I threw my eye on the bodybuilder, he looked unhappy with the actor cop's questions and overall show he was putting. For once his eyes were not pinned on me anymore, but were staring right at the celebrity cop. Who was I to question ''love'' between men? ‘’Mr. Crawley, let me tell you how you killed these two persons. They might've not been on your ''to be killed'' list but that sure didn't stop you from doing it.’’ I scoffed. These people were really turned on to bringing me down. Fact was , I wasn't on a pedestal, thus their action would eventually fail at a grand scale. ‘’First you head out to Mrs. Roegan's apartment, break in, use chloroform to immobilise her and kill her with a pillow. As if that's not enough, you cut a gas pipe in the kitchen. The result, we all know. Then you take your car....’’ ‘’But I don't have a car!’’ I almost spat in the cop's face when I said this. ‘’Mr. Crawley, don't ever interrupt me again!’’ He had his finger pointed straight at me, he might've just shoved it somewhere while at it. ‘’So you take your car and reach Knicke's residence where you use a substance that you insert into his body through a syringe. You wanna know what the substance is, don't you?’’ No, I didn't. I hadn't built my life to arrive at this point where I'd crave to know the answer to a killing technique. Frankly, I couldn't have cared less how they had died. Truth was, I hated them both and I had sporadic thoughts of seeing them finally turn the corner and meet the Creator. But from thinking it to putting it to practice was something that didn't suit me. I had a pretty effective system of unconvincing myself. In my childhood years I had always been the kid not wearing a mask or a cape or whatever the other kids were wearing on Halloween for this reason: I was unconvincing me not to wear anything. Same with going to the cinema, whenever I thought highly of a movie I wanted to see my counter-attacking thought emerged and I was ending up hating the said film. Thus, if I had ever wanted to kill anyone, really, really kill, I would normally dilute the feeling in a matter of minutes. So, no, I didn't want to hear the substance's name. It could've been a made-up name, for all I knew and cared. The actor-officer continued his verbal rally but did not mention the substance's name. Either he had read my mind on the subject or was just messing with it. Or, of course, he had seen my face. That was my ever give-away. Whenever I had something to hide, it always popped up on my face impression telling the person in front of me ''this is what he thinks, can I get a quarter now?''. The officer told me that the substance had immobilized Joey's body and he could see and feel while the-supposed-to-be-me killer slit his throat, without being able to react. I let every bit of info settle in my head and before dust could cover it, I responded to the cop's ''facts''. ‘’And what's the name of the movie you've seen, officer?’’ He grinned. ‘’You don't expect me to believe it all......You've actually come to break two cases in such little time, apprehend the so-called killer and if we'd wait another half hour, most likely prosecute and put behind bars too. Or worse. Such precision of found details, such accuracy of reworked killings. Well, I'm sorry, but I just don't buy it, and my main reason would be that I've done nothing of the ''facts'' you've presented me with. I guess you've got the wrong person. I won't say another word till I speak with my lawyer. I want to know everything from my attorney, please call me one.’’ And I stood there, silent, arms crossed like a disappointed kid. The officer stood, re-organized his files and spoke. ‘’With or without an attorney, you're still the killer of those persons. We've got eye witnesses, we've got prints, your ass is ours.’’ Funny thing to say for a police officer. ''Your ass is ours''. If that wasn't the proof he hated me then I didn't know what else was. And the remark seemed to have a certain sexual undertone as well. I wasn't gonna let my ass part my body for anyone, much less for a Baldwin-looking corrupt cop and his ''secret'' boyfriend, the big gorilla-looking Terminator cop. I wanted to answer with a ''whatever, man, just bring my lawyer'', but decided not to, considering I had no idea who the man to represent me in a court of law would be, and if he'd be part of the ''conspiracy'' against me too. I had high hopes, but that didn't mean shit. My whole life had been high hopes, yet it had turned out like no one would make a picture film out of it. Maybe they'd turn this into a documentary about the only killer ever to have been caught only hours after the crimes had been done. This was not the time to play detective. I wanted my lawyer. And I had gotten it. part 9 The two cops exited the room, leaving their suspect wait for his lawyer. This was their first case together and before the arrest they had seen each other for no more than half hour. And the roles they were playing were not their real ones. The muscular cop took the more elegant one by his shirt collar and threw him to the wall. His eyes were fiery red and did not look pleased. ‘’Next time you stick to the plan, jackass! Is that clear?’’ threatened the big guy. ‘’Hey, I was only trying to get answers out of him. If it's true as they say that he's remembering, I wanted to see till what point he does.’’ ‘’You do as I say or you don't do jack shit anymore. I'm in charge here, understood? You're supposed to convince him he did it, not handle the whole operation on a platter. He doesn't need to remember this part. You do as I tell you or I'll have to report to Father himself and you'll find yourself gone! Is that clear, Mr. Thorpe?’’ ‘’Crystal, sir!’’ The big guy let go of his clothes and went through their plan again. They'd better not screw it, nobody knew what the punishment was exactly but they knew it was severe. The Father would not allow any insubordinance, especially in this late stage of the operation. It all had to go smooth and all the workers in the Program had to be 100% effective, otherwise the whole thing could collapse or end in a bad light for them. ‘’Are we gonna give him a lawyer? ‘’asked the suave cop. ‘’Yes, although he can be tough as a nail on the surface and come up with clown-like scenes, he's frightened as hell. He doesn't know of us, doesn't know our plan, just appoint him a lawyer. Whichever, it doesn't really matter after all. No one will believe him! We've got enough evidence to lock the Pope , if we'd want to. I'll go inform the next level everything is going to plan. Don't let me down, Mr. Thorpe; I know I am big and that's why most men fear me, but my strength is somewhere else. Let's get rid of Mr. Crawley once and for all. Go, I'll meet you in your office in two hours.’’ Mr. Thorpe cleaned his suit and watched the big guy make his way through the white corridors. He had better not make mistakes. This was a chance to go before the Father and get granted a life. He picked up his pace and headed for the phone room; he had to call a lawyer for the suspect. Once arrived in the phone room, he picked up the apparatus, dialed the right number, spoke out his name and badge number and requested a lawyer for case 317. From the other end they answered that they were full with cases and did not have anyone available at the moment but they'd call another agency with whom they were collaborating and they'd send in a person. The cop thanked and put the phone down. The time the lawyer would take to arrive at the station was an hour and fifteen minutes, thus the cop decided to have himself a cup of coffee, a sandwich and a plate of thinking. The woman in the SUV had intercepted the call and would pass for the lawyer the Police had asked for. She had to phone the first Law office and let them know their collaborating office had found someone spare to send, then head out to the precinct and arrive in time, without raising any suspicions in the cops' minds. She put the car in gear and entered the highway. She had to be quick, yet not too fast, and had to dodge the traffic jams. The Program cops would eventually smell if any delay or early arrival was not due to real problems. She had been part of the Program too, but decided to give up the world of corruption and wrong-doing it had become. She was now on her way to save the only person that could save herself. Her only chance to get out was him. He'd recognize her, but she wouldn't be the person he'd think she were. It had taken her twenty minutes to exit the interstate and venture through downtown. This was the first of many she'd have to pass through. The precinct was part of the City, yet outside its limits. Part of a place only Program members or affiliates knew what it was and where. The people trapped inside this place were oblivious of their real existence and could not tell the difference between real lives or mere dreams. She braked the car and put it in the Police station parking lot, making sure she'd get a spot as close to the exit as possible. She got out, fixed her hair and her outfit, pulled some dossiers from the back seat and took the air of an attorney. Thinking of them as pompous and full of themselves , with no real reason backing that, she quickly donned and overall important look. This wasn't her first time inside the precinct, Granted, things had changed inside, people too, but when she was in the Program, she called the place home and pulled the strings. She was aware of entries and exits, where corridors took and had a vivid building map inside her head that provided her with enough secrets about the place, secrets unavailable to anyone working there. She started walking at a faster pace as the white walls surrounded her, covering her, soothing her. The fashionable top and the decent mini skirt that revealed her sultry legs made the men turn their heads and grinningly stare at her, even for a split second. Little were they knowing that if anyone would try to turn Casanova on her or just flex their muscles, her high heels would do more damage than having two male bodybuilders strap them to a chair and take turns with punches and evil looks. The cop was still chewing on his donut when she knocked and entered his office. He excused himself saying it was his lunch break and quickly informed her about the case, checking her out, not out of suspicion but for her beauty and elegance. The woman listened closely to the cop's words, it was the same routine she'd gone through so many times. She calculated his height and weight and caught a glimpse of his piece. The whole discussion took no more than ten minutes and they headed towards the white interrogation room where a certain Matt Crawley was waiting. His waiting time would be over as soon as she'd step foot inside that room. Not only that, but he'd be accused of something more than a double murder afterwards: kidnapping and assaulting an officer. part 10 I was still there, in the creepy white room, looking at the walls. For once I didn't feel threatened or scared between the vast whiteness, but bored. The least they could've done was throwing some crosswords or puzzle magazines to kill time. Cause apparently, I was good at killing. I didn't think too much of the accusations brought against me, nor the evidence they'd forged to keep me locked there cause I figured they'll have their way no matter what. To pull a guy out his bed and without giving him the opportunity to fully wake up, just to arrest and bring downtown was highly energetic for them, yet highly nauseous for said guy. I had deserved that slap. It was a convinced one, one that was trying to leave a mark on my cheek. I didn't say anything that could've formed the reason for the slap but it was probably my face showing surprise to her appearance that had triggered the gesture. She entered the room followed closely by the actor-cop. I'm not sure he was that interested in me and the case anymore by the way he was drooling over her torso. She excused herself about being private with her client and closed the door in the horny cop's face. She sat down, quietly arranging the files she'd brought with her and then it came. And that was a serious slap. She must've had a serious long arm cause the size of the table was rather large. ‘’What was that about and why for?’’ I was rubbing my cheek just like in kindergarten. Damn memories. ‘’Because you're here and I have to save your ass!’’ She was savvy, she had a sort of power when she spoke that I hadn't noticed when she had sat down in front of me in the pub. The hair was still there and her eyes were even more concentrated than before. Either she was playing her daily role or that's how she was in real life. This was one hell of a flexible woman, as she jumped over the table and kissed me fiercely. Then another slap arrived. Who the fuck was writing her script? And why wasn't anyone yelling ''cut'' before the slaps happened? ‘’Listen, who are you and for how long are we gonna do this? I've already been put to shame by men today, am not in the mood of having the rest of my pride lost to a young, very attractive woman. What's your name?’’ And yet another slap. This was one hell of a lunch. She looked me in the eyes and put her hands ahead of her, signaling me to do the same. I obliged. Thank God her palms were taking a break, another one of those passionate slaps and I'd have to call the medic to stitch my cheek up. ‘’Listen to me, Matt, I'm here to help you. If you would've done the way I told you, we wouldn't have this conversation now or here.’’ I was at a loss for words but still managed to reply something stupid, as always. ‘’All I got from you was to deny everything, which I have, cause I haven't done anything they're trying to frame me for, in the first place. So no need to get advices on that. And hence you've told me they'd come for me, you could've at least tell me to take the highway, hide in the wild, become a bush-tucker guy, I dunno, be more inventive with solutions. I don't exactly have Bear Grylls' skills or stomach.’’ She smiled. ‘’Do you think they wouldn’t have gotten trace of you in the first place? No matter the city, country, forest. You're on their list cause you're not living the life they've planned for you. You've done exactly everything they're accusing you of, you just don't remember it, it's all part of the Program. Stop being such a muppet and realize your position! You'll learn lots in the next twenty four hours.’’ That sounded like a deadline, what the fuck! I couldn't tell if she was part of the conspiracy that was supposed to bring me down, for yet unknown reasons. Maybe she was, against her will or memory. Thing was, I had no idea what was she talking about. The whole ''they're coming for you and nobody is what you think they are'' bollocks flew right over my head. I wanted answers, yet no one was giving me any, at least not the logical, straight-forwards ones. The whole thing seemed such a ludicrous plan into getting me tricked, a sort of Candid Camera Top 3, with me having the best chances for first place. That must've meant a bit of money and some media exposure, which wasn't that bad after all, if only that was what really was happening. But they all had played their roles too well, too convincing to lead me to believe this whole charade was anything but the real world happening at that moment. No tv show was gonna be recorded here, just me being trapped in my past, present and the unforgiving future. part 11 ‘’So we do it like I said and we'll be out of here in no time, trust me!’’ But that was the problem. I had issues with trust. And trust coming from her part wasn't gonna be met with any hospitality from me. Yes, what she had warned me about in the pub had come true, to a certain extent, whilst the core of the situation remained still unknown, but there was still something she wasn't telling. I looked her in the eye, looked at her hair and the thought of that kiss she'd given me, tongue slipping through included, dissipated any fears. It was either her way, or me sharing a lot of my time with who-knows-what fat greasy convict in who-knows-what rat infested, cockroach copulating-in filthy cell. The plan was this: she'd call the actor cop back inside, claiming the lawyer-client discussion had ended, hit him good, retrieve his gun, hand it to me and exit the building with the officer as a bullet-dodging hostage-prisoner. That sounded like a lot of fun for a never-in-his-life gun holder, skinny pijama clothed guy, me. I reckoned if I'd get out alive right then, I'll start watching Jason Bourne movies, just to realize what else could be added to the tension of the escape menu. We both took our positions and a couple minutes later we were out in the halls of the building, looking for the exit, her holding the cop's gun to his head, looking all deadly serious, yet gorgeous, and me following them, doing exactly fuck-all, but being frightened and slightly confused. Soon we had about a dozen policemen on each side of the corridor, pointing guns and ugly grins at us, seemingly having a contest on who was able to fully show their teeth. The angry wolfpack was led by the barbarian-looking cop who fired a couple shots at us but only hit the lower wall. ‘’Do you really think you can escape this facility? Don't be stupid, you're surrounded, you can't just exit the front door saying ''we thank you, it's been a pleasure!''. What d'ya think this is, Walmart?’’ He was right, but we weren't gonna give up without a fight, which was the thing that most concerned me. ‘’We have your cop buddy here, if you shoot some more, you'll kill him too!.. ‘’I said, hoping I could wake up in him some sort of respect and admiration for his law partner. He replied laughing. ‘’Mr. Crawley, you have no fucking idea still! That broad is gonna tell you all sorts of shit, stupid shit, nothing real though. She'll trick you! Now, I know you're not an evil person, just a bloody murderer, but I'm sure we can put our differences aside and work this out. Have faith in the justice system, don't ruin your life much more than what already is.’’ ‘’Tom, is it? He always call them Tom, and judging by your assignment, you must be Tom. Or should I call you Mr. Morton?’’ ‘’You know him? ‘’ I asked her. ‘’No, but I did know the one before him. Father has a thing for names, once he picks one, he sticks with that for several dozen programs.’’ I was in need of someone splashing some water over my face, like buckets thrown in my face. Suddenly I felt like a pawn no group wanted, yet I was caught in the middle of something that had nothing to do with me. I thought of leaving there and then, might as well leave them argue about names, programs and persons I didn't know and wasn't gonna be bothered about. ‘’Who's this Father? What are you talking about?’’ She turned towards me, with a slight need to roll over her eyes. ‘’Your father, dumbass! Your Father!’’ ‘’What?’’ ‘’Listen, why don't you just let me go, and you people can have your little fancy family reunion, cause I'm dead tired to hear you bullshitting.’’ The actor cop apparently wasn't feeling like his ''method'' classes were put to use for this role of a mere hostage. ‘’You shut up!’’ we both replied I asked her once again about this Father dude. ‘’Matt, we gotta get the fuck outta here. That's what's most important now. I can give you the whole back story now, and most likely get shot in the process, or wait till the moment is the right one, and that won't come until we find ourselves far away from this building.’’ She knew how to put me in my place. What else was there to reply to that. She fired a couple shots in the big bad cops' direction and a moment later, using her knowledge of the building schematics, we found ourselves in some sort of sewers that were cleaner than my apartment. Guess the color ''white'' and antiseptics were becoming cult key components within police buildings from the first brick of the foundation till the last radio antenna on the roof. The actor cop had been hit in his right leg, and was limping and losing a bit of blood too, slowing our escape. Great. We might've just left small bread crumbs on our tail if the blood wouldn't have been so obvious. We finally exited the building, after being inside its belly, crossing aqueducts and air vents, and climbing ladders, bridges and pipes. Now I was almost fit and ready to take on mount Everest. Who needed sherpas when I had this green eyed cutie who knew her way with a gun in her hand better than me with a pint to my mouth. ‘’Shit!’’ ‘’What? What now?’’ She didn't look pleased one bit. ‘’We got out the wrong end. My car is parked somewhere else.’’ I nearly laughed. ‘’You're joking, right? At this moment, we must be having some hundred plus itchy trigger finger cops on our tails, looking for a murderer, his crazy commando amazon lawyer and their own partner, and you're caring ‘bout your car. Fuck this!’’ I went for the parking lot, chose a nice Escalade, broke the window, got in, managed to start the engine. ''Dean Anderson, eat your heart out!''. She was still there, in broad daylight, watching the cop rest his wounded leg, gun not far from his temple. ‘’I didn't find any pen and paper, thus if you want a written invite sent through post office, it'll take some time. Move your arse, love!’’ She obliged, taking the hostage along. The plan was to dump him as soon as we had gotten off the interstate and lost our track to whatever pursue would have followed. I put the car in gear and drove off. An hour later, she had bought me some decent clothes from a road tent vendor and left the suave cop sleep his wound off on a park bench. Now it was only me and her in the car, with her at the wheel, taking us to the safe place. Full of people I could trust, persons that would help me and that'd need my help too. I only hoped they wouldn't be junkies or hippies, I couldn't stand any. Being in the same room with high dudes talking like they'd expect someone to throw letters at them so they can finish a sentence, or guys preaching equality and fair rights after I'd been abused by cops was not my fairytale idea of ''getting away''. She had a lot of explaining to do, a lot of loose ends to put together and I couldn't wait to hear the explanations, who she really was, who was this Father, why'd she helped me. Something told me I was gonna be in for a ride. She never took her eyes off the road ahead the whole trip, giving quick looks every now and again in the rearview. They'd soon come look for me in full force, she had said. But that was my last concern now. She was there, she had gotten me out of the enemy's claws. I found myself staring at her, at her hair, her eyes, the facial features, her lips. She had no idea but she was inviting me, unknowingly, to kiss her. Would she react in any way, if all of a sudden I'd start caressing her hair, take her by the neck and just put my lips onto hers? ‘’ You're damn right, I would!’’ She looked at me slightly disappointed. I was confused. ‘’You're thinking out loud, Matt! Don't make me slap you again....’’ ‘’What? Who? No! Wait...’’ I blushed. ‘’ Can I ask you something?’’ She nodded. ‘’Was it just me or did that cop look like Alec Baldwin? For real...’’ She looked at me with a ''are you serious?'' look on her face. ‘’Too bad I didn't ask for his autograph......’’ part 12 I hadn't closed one eye all night. It wasn't because she had called me ''dumbass'', it was cause, all of a sudden, I had found out my dad was behind this...this plan to apprehend me. I was looking at the ceiling, envisioning a man with a Darth Vader helmet on, talking to me. ''Luke, I am your father!''. That was flabbergasting. I would reply ''My name's Matt, not Luke, dude!'' at which he'd explain himself, whilst scratching his helmet, ''Wrong set, I guess''. She had taken me to the nobody-knows-we're-here secret hideaway, hidden somewhere in the forest, some hundreds miles away from the city. We had stopped along the road to get a few supplies and me, looking at the vastness of pine trees and the overall greenness, felt liberated and at peace. Somewhat truly disturbing for a city rat like myself. The hideaway looked like a plain, simple holiday cabin in the woods, except it had been equipped with a ton of electronic hardware, as computers, floppy disks, cds, cameras and usb keys laid around, probably all waiting for their content to be released into the big ole brightly lit, only-the-pro-can-use-it, our-life-depends-on-it mastermind computer. When we had arrived at the hut, I had made acquaintance with the persons in charge of being helped and helping me, as part of the backstory the redhead had told me about. There were four of them, in this order: an older guy that called himself Dave, he was the brain of the operation. He resembled Michael Caine in Children of Men, his clothes all rugged looking, his hair not washed for who knows how many days, a full beard and a Lennon-type glasses that augmented his ''let's make love, not war'' look even more. His hands were full of African rings and Ethiopian wristbands, showing he was pretty much still living in the 70's. I wanted to tell him that era was long gone, but I thought my remark could've given him a stroke. That's all I needed now, a third victim on my already full-to-the-brim murderer conscience. The second guy was in his thirties, Johan by name, spoke perfect German, but not-so-perfect English. And he was tall. It was like looking at a Christmas tree, the one so tall that, in order to place the star on its top, one would need to call the firemen to help out. He looked rather enthusiastic ‘bout meeting me, all smiles and a long handshake, but no real conversation. The third guy was Jake, the guns expert, all tatted up, scars on his neck and a Travis Bickle haircut. Whether I was supposed to fear him or not was not yet clear, but he had flexed his muscles around me long enough for me to consider even talking to him without prior excuses. The last component of the group was a young woman, blonde and quite pretty. She had a scouse accent, which could have explained her pale complexion. When I had asked her if she was from Liverpool she had answered ''Liver-what? I'm a vegetarian!''. Then and there, I knew, brogue or no brogue, she was from Ireland. I had been given the smallest room, next to the toilet on one side, and next to the wolf howling his heart out on the other. Some pesty owl would join the concert at times. I hadn't closed an eye all night. Was this what my life was to become? Away from the world, a fugitive living with strangers that didn't show a certain gratitude I had joined their ranks. And now, apparently, this Father figure everybody was talking about was really my dad, out to get me and put me in my place. But I hadn't seen my dad in four years, right around the time my mom had passed away in the car accident. He had wanted to grieve alone, I had given him the space. He had told me ''Live your life, don't stay a prisoner of the past''. Whatever that meant. I woke up to the smell of coffee. There she was, in her pajamas, hair all messed up, waving a cup of freshly brewed coffee under my nose. ‘’I woke up earlier to make you this. Take it, you need it!’’ ‘’I don't drink coffee!’’ I replied grumpily, still observing the room I had woken up into. She gave me an angry look. ‘’I didn't sleep all night, please, let me have another half hour.’’ And I closed my eyes back again, hoping I would wake up on a deserted beach, in a hammock, sea breeze caressing my face gently and an inventive cocktail in a coconut waiting me on a tray nearby. She removed the sheets and yelled at me. ‘’Matt, wake up, this ain't a game anymore!’’ I obliged. A quarter of an hour later, I met them all in the kitchen, the gun expert drinking his protein milkshake, the hippie smoking his somewhat dubious pipe, the Kraut talking about parameters something, sipping an orange juice, next to a nutella spread toast and the young Scouse-Irish gal that was preparing some pancakes. ‘’So you're sure you're not from Liverpool? You know, that city in England?’’ She looked at me strange. ‘’Nevermind I asked, love, nevermind. Katye, was it?’’ She smiled and nodded. Jake gave me a look that competed with the worst grin I had gotten from the Terminator cop. ‘’Why don't you make fun of me? Leave her alone, she's just fresh out the Program, still has to regain full conscience and ideas about who she is.’’ I wasn't in the mood to fight. ‘’Listen, mate, apart from the fact that you look like one damn pissed racist redneck, thinking he can solve the world's problems with guns, there's nothing else I can tell you.’’ ‘’Who made you the King overnight, eh?’’ ‘’I did!’’ she answered. ‘’We need him. You need him, although you might not see his importance now. Treat him with respect and he'll show you the same.’’ Jake looked as if he'd care less of her answer. I was still the intruder and I still didn't know the exact fuck I was doing there, apart from hiding from les cops. ‘’Have you told him everything?’’ the hippie asked her.’’His role in this, what's he doing here.’’ Yeah, I wanted to hear that. Not just fragments, not just pieces, everything. She excused herself from the table and left for her room. ‘’That's one woman that loves you and hates you at the same time, Matt! She's struggling within for you, you know that!’’ He continued to smoke his pipe, looking after her. After breakfast, I caught up with her, looking through files. I sat down on the edge of the bed and started being a pain in the arse. ‘’So when are you gonna tell me the whole backstory? Do I know you, do you know me, where from, why have I been arrested, what in the name of Lex Luthor am I doing here, who are these people?’’ My question was met with silence for a couple of minutes. Then, she suddenly found some spare time, turned to face me, sighed and began explaining. ‘’Do you know why those cops arrested you for murdering those two people? Because you did it, Matt, you did it!’’ The man signed the last piece of paper and handed them over to his secretary. To his right, in a comfy armchair, another man, younger, in his forties, smoked his cigarette, seemingly not bothered with and by anything. The secretary excused herself and exited the office room, after asking if she'd be needed anymore. ‘’I heard from Mr. Morton. Matt's escaped!’’ said the cigarette man The older gent rose from his chair, threw his glasses on the table and took a framed photo off his desk. He looked at it, examining the portrait. ‘’Matt, Matt, always a troublemaker! You know, even before the accident, he was a rebel; skipping classes at school, going out even when I told him not to, seeing the wrong people. He had a bad influence throughout high school. Not saying college was any better. To tell you the truth, we weren't that close. Me, I was thinking that after college he'd mature and I'd get to spend some more time with him. Then, his mother dies, he goes in a coma and I lose the chance to have a son.’’ The man put the photo down. ‘’I've taken too much time to plan this, Matt has to comeback, my son has to live.’’ The cigarette man squashed the butt in an ashtray. ‘’You knew he'd get away all along. It's not like we won't get track of him again. I just hope Brigitte doesn't tell him everything.’’ ‘’What does it matter, anyhow. He won't believe her.’’ There was a knock on the door. The secretary pardoned herself again upon entering and announced two men were waiting outside. ‘’It's Mr. Thorpe and Mr. Morton, I sent for them! ‘’ said the cigarette man. ‘’Send them in!’’ ‘’Right away, sir.’’ The muscular cop and the actor cop entered the office blindfolded and were asked to kneel in the middle of the room. ‘’You may take your blindfolds off, now!’’ ‘’Thank you, Father!’’ Mr. Thorpe slipped an eye onto the elderly man and his serious-looking friend. ‘’Don't you dare look at me, Mr. Thorpe! Eyes down, hands down, both of you! You fucking useless breathing bastards!’’ he yelled at them. ‘’We're sorry, Father!’’ ‘’Twats! I don't want your excuses, I don't need your fucking explanations, just bring me Matt Crawley! Is that clear, gents?’’ The cigarette man rose from his armchair, adjusted his suit and circled the two cops. ‘’Father here is giving you another chance, he's merciful. You fucked up once, but we're reasonable people. Fuck-ups happen, we understand. Your job now is to find Brigitte, the lawyer that broke your nose, Mr. Thorpe, and her little gang of merry men. They're hiding somewhere 300 miles east of the city. Matt is with them. This is your last assignment. You know what that means.’’ Father put on his glasses. ‘’Before you leave, gents, I just want you to know one thing. This is the first and last time you'll be speaking to me. Now, fuck off, you bastards.’’ The two cops were rushed outside the office, eyes still pinned to the ground. ‘’Mark, you're to keep an eye from now on. I have to go see my son now, the doctor says she found something. Bring me Crawley.’’ The cigarette man lit himself another cancer stick and puffed the smoke into the air. Matt Crawley was gonna be welcomed back in the family. I was in the kitchen, opening drawers and whatnot, trying to find an aspirin to stop my head from spinning. I had received too much information and my brain had yet to assimilate it all. Johan joined me. He made himself a cup of tea and started staring at me. I just had to tell him! ‘’Mate, you gay or something? You've been looking at me coarsely ever since I arrived. What's the deal?’’ He smiled. ‘’This ain't funny! I ain't like you, capisci?’’ I was ready to leave when the fruitcake stopped me. ‘’Wait.’’ ‘’What now?’’ He urged me to take a seat. ‘’So, did she tell you?’’ I looked at him nervously, I couldn't tell is he was naive, stupid or just playing his part, like all others. ‘’Tell me what?’’ ‘’Ah, c'mon, you know what I'm talking about! Don't give me the ''I'm new round here'' look.’’ His German accent had faded a bit since the first time I had spoken to him. Either that, or my ears were trying to warn me by leaving the scene, to do something better than listening to Eiffel Tower here. ‘’I bet she told you we're all living in a dream, or at least we were.’’ I nodded. ‘’And that our dreams are actually the lives of the persons that live in a parallel dimension to ours.’’ I nodded again. ‘’And these worlds are the created imagination of a guy in a coma.’’ It had sounded pretty flat and unengaging the first time already, him recounting these ''facts'' was bringing the whole thing into pure lazy sci-fi territory. ‘’What's your take on this, then?’’ She suddenly burst in the kitchen, prompting the Kraut to follow her. Thanks a lot for ruining the tension, lady. I asked her if I could tag along, all I got was a dry ''no!''. She was turning into a real bitch, what ever had happened to the sweet next door gal side of hers? She was playing these roles by the day, I reckoned. It was the tatted guy, her, Katye and the Kraut in the car. As they drove off, the hippie put his hand on my shoulder. ‘’They won't come back till morning. Come, help me pick some mushrooms. I'll make you a stew you won't believe.’’ Behind the lodge there was a small garden with fresh legumes and vegetables. When I told him we've got there everything we need, he declined. ‘’We'll get to chat a bit, too. Don't worry, I know the way back.’’ The old man knew his way through the forest, in fact the path we were on looked like it had been used regularly. ‘’I guess she told you the backstory! ‘’ he said, while checking under leaves and flowers. I was in for another scoop. Either that or these people were so lonely that even me, the unsociable guy, had had more conversations than them. Or he was making it up along the way. ‘’Truth is, Matt, she used to date you!’’ Well, that was new. I wanted to ask him if he knew any spicy details or if he had any amateur material of us together stashed away to prove this, but I thought the moment didn't ask for it. ‘’Then, you had an accident, fell into a coma and that's that. But that was in another life.’’ Oh, that science-fiction element again. Reclusion must've had an effect on these people's minds, after all. And now I understood why the guy was after mushrooms. You goddamn hippie-junkie! He finished foraging through the soil and we headed back. His cooking skills, the ones he never had most likely, left much to be desired. I didn't even dare to ask what job he had before his hippie days. The grand stew he so marvelously described was just a mish-mash of twig-tasting, sour-smelling, porridge-looking ingredients put together. Calling it food was farfetched, but I don't think we could've ordered pizza, in any other case. After dinner, I fucked off to my room, hoping I could get some sleep, with or without the intrusion of howls or other animal sounds. Dave had prepared his pipe session for the evening and cleaned the stove and the table. I threw myself in bed, looking at the ceiling. I sighed. I had gotten three different stories out of as many persons. I didn't know what to believe. They all shared this idea that we were living in a dream world, parallel to other dream dimensions, and I was their Neo. What the three of them had told me was, put together, a mish-mash of episodes from Dallas, The Young and the Restless, Twin Peaks and a pinch of Matrix and Dark City, thrown in the mix for good measure. Just like Dave's ''stew''. I wasn't closer to the truth listening to these people. One version of the story had me in a coma, another one had my dad running this ''Dreams R Us'' evil empire, in another one me and Brigitte were together. I might've just added my own twisted rendition to it, me being the President, or me speaking perfect French, or why not, me being God. I had heard so much bullshit, that nothing else they could've told me was gonna be a surprise. In a moment of boredom I grasped the remote control, turned on the tv and flipped through the channel for a good fifteen minutes. Nothing to be seen. Their techy antenna wasn't doing its job very good, either. I wondered,if, with all the technology they had brought along, any Scorsese dvds might've slipped the baggage check. A bit of Joe Pesci acting funnily paranoic in Goodfellas could've made me see the positive side to my arrest and subsequent escape and refuge in the woods. '' Am I funny, do I amuse you? Tell me, what the fuck is so funny about me, tell me!''. I could've recited the whole movie with a smile on my face. I must've fell asleep without knowing, cause the tv was still on when I woke up. I looked at the watch, it was half past eight. I went to the toilet and then headed to the kitchen. No sign of anyone. The happy gang hadn't returned and the bearded hippie was not in his room. Probably making the most of the fresh, sunny morning that was shaping into one gorgeous day. I got dressed and went out myself. A small walk won't kill me, I thought. At least I hoped so. The risk of bumping into an army of rabid squirrels was minimal, and the fact that I was skinny would've automatically crossed me off their lists as a potential prey/food source in case of going face-to-face with a cuddly wolf or Winnie, the Pooh. Twenty minutes had passed and I decided to head back. The ''dreamers'' must've come back by now, and the least I could've done was to make them coffee for breakfast, if only my household skills wouldn't had prohibited me from doing more. When I got back to the lodge, there was another SUV parked in front and cardboard boxes lay around. They hadn't heard me return, they were having a fired-up conversation in Dave's room, with Brigitte leading the role of a soprano. I couldn't make out the discussion until I was feet away from the door. ‘’When will you tell him he's going to die?’’ I opened the door and there was silence. Everybody looked surprised like i was an unwanted guest. I could read ''what's he doing here?'' on all their faces. ‘’Who's going to die?’’ I asked, looking everybody in the eye. part 13 I wasn't agreeing with their plan, but then again I hadn't agreed to get arrested, flee the hand of justice and become a Robin Hood-like figure. It was all there, me, Marion and the Merry Men. And my dad as Cardinal Richelieu. Oh, ok, that's another story. I couldn't care less, the more they talked and told me stuff, the more it became like an imbecile had written their script. And I hadn't expected that. When she had entered the police interrogation room, I had almost a mental orgasm. Oh, my God, she's here, I know her, so she must help me! Yes, She's here to save me! No fucking way! It had turned up to be yes fucking way , but more like the wrong fucking way. Why was I still listening to these people? Why wasn't I trying to escape? Granted, they had weapons and all that, and most likely they were able to use them to some extent, better than myself, that's for certain, but the thought of running out the window and lose myself into the woods seemed like a decent thing to do. They didn't have any vicious dogs to release on my tail and rip me to shreds once found and it seemed like, overall, I had no importance whatsoever. Or, at least, not an evident importance. That way, I would take the way of shamanism, build me a nice recluse hut, living off the forest, grow a beard, let my hair grow and turn it into rasta hair, invoke the sky for rain or something, and just be utterly dirty and smelly, like Sam Jackson in Crime Shades. Add in a few wine cartons to the formula and you've got the perfect hobo-woodsman. A sort of witch man. Yes, I'd have to work on that. I'd even take part in Bigfoot documentaries, allowing different scientists to prove I'm the missing link or something. Then, I looked out the window and remembered the talking fox from Von Trier's film where that chick cuts her woman bits, some freaky shit. The whole debating had led to day turning into night. I wasn't going out there anymore, no sir. ‘’Yeah, but I'm not doing it!’’ I replied for the millionth time. I had given the same answer to each and every one of them. And I had been given the same reply each damn time. '' No, because our fate lies in your hands this''. ''No, because you have to face the truth that''. All bollocks. All. Bollocks. They stood there, looking at me, like none of them understood English. The hippie smoking his pipe, the Kraut munching on his fingernails, the lovely I-can-talk-like-scousers-although-I-ain't-from-there looking all flushed, the paranoic arms dealer waiting for a good reason to choke me to cross his mind, and the ginger being more disappointed than all of them put together, a bit of regret in her eyes, that she'd gotten me out of the police station. In a few words, I wasn't the Matt everybody had expected. ‘’You know, I expected you to be somewhat different!’’ said the blonde. I smiled at her. Geez, thanks for pointing it out, love. Truth was, I hadn't been given any cape, thus me turning into this superpowers I'm-a-save-yer-arse guy, overnight, was something everybody hadn't considered. Comic books are overrated anyhow, I thought. ‘’I'm still not doing it, whatever impression you've had of me before you met me. And whatever ideas your petty fricking obsessed minds have let emerge about me, the answer is still no.’’ Atta boy, Matt! Stand your ground , mate, show them you can do it. Unless you think of it, of course. If you go that way, yes, they can make you do it. How? Tie you up, put you in a cage, feed you absolutely nothing for a few days and degrade you. And then you'll see how the killing machine within you will be awaken. My mind wandered to unknown corners of the cabin, trying to figure out if I had seen any rope or a small enclosed space. Tricky bastards. I still wasn't doing it. Dave stood, approached me and shook my hand. ‘’Friend, I respect your decision, but there's one thing we can't do without you and that is what we've been discussing all day long. Now, I'm sure everything you've been told by any of us must've come as a shock, I know. It was a shock for me at the beginning, too. I'm still somewhat shocked, even now.....’’ Really? Like you no say, old man. I looked at him with a lot of diffidence. He continued. ‘’.....but we've put all our faith in you. Each and every one of us. You must be looking at us and see the worst group of people ever. True, maybe we're not what you had in mind, but neither are you, from our point of view.’’ No fucking kidding. The blushed gal had already let me know of that. This wasn't about doing them a favor, this was a bout me. If I'd do them this favor, I'd be the loser, the one they'd point the finger to afterwards saying ''poor chap, he actually fell for it!''. I wasn't gonna be that chap. Fuck that! Fuck them! Maybe it was really time I started doing favors of my own. The tatted guy replaced the hippie and squatted in front of me, arms crossed. ‘’Look, I don't know you and you don't know me. We've started with the wrong foot, I guess. That's not what's important. It matters what you do now. No matter how strong we seem, no matter what compact group we give you an idea of, we need you. And that coming from me is a difficult thing to say, especially when I mean it. You're all we've got, buddy.’’ And he gave me a light punch in the right cheek. Ok, this was turning really awkward. It was the confessional all of a sudden. I felt like Oprah, minus the fat and the skin color, listening to these I-want-to-be-famous-thus-I'll-tell-you-my-story wannabes. What had I gotten myself into. If only I wouldn't had followed that stupid broad, right now I would've been comfy in my cell, reading some porn magazines and counting the spider webs. Not really a fair deal, but still one at that. It was Johan's turn to speak. I felt like he'd bring out the big guns and start crying his heart out, telling me how he reminisces of some long lost cat of his and how only I make him forget that painful childhood experience. Like I give him strength and stuff to overcome difficult, traumatic happenings. Dude, gimme a break. And probably then, the scouse or whatever gal would finally lose her thick accent and blame the miracle on me. Gimme a break, part 2. And after that, maybe the redhead would offer herself to me, in turn of doing it. For a second there, I fantasized and let my guard down. Just for a split second. Matt, get a grip, man! These folks want to do you harm just as much as those crooked cops, man! But was I gonna listen to my brain, for once? Mr. Morton sat down at the table, sipping on the ice cold brew. It tasted great. The few minutes of lunch break in the company of a shawarma and a nice imported lager. What more could he want? The head of Matt Crawley. ‘’How do you figure we should do this, then? ‘’Mr. Thorpe asked, being careful not to dirty his suit with the wrap's sauce. Mr. Morton took another bite of his lunch. He chewed slowly, calculating, planning, thinking. He swallowed, put the sandwich down and cleansed his hands. ‘’I was thinking of going full throttle on them. I'm not sure they've got movement sensors ahead of their position, though. If the alarms set off, they get out of dodge faster than you saying ''check, please''. I say put an apb on the whole area, check contacts, if they do grocery, what time of day, for how many times a week, where.....’’ ‘’Yeah, but that'll take preparations and time. Time lost, mind you. I don't think Father wants us to lose more valuable time setting up antennas and mics and frequency receivers and all that bullshit.’’ ‘’Let me worry about Father.’’ Mr. Thorpe chuckled. ‘’What, you a tough guy now?’’ Mr. Morton stood silent. There was something he didn't want to say, something he kept inside, all to himself, a small getaway plan he was hoping it'd bring him the much needed victory, the much sough-after number one spot he'd so much hoped for. He grinned. ‘’I fucking hate this Matt Crawley guy. If it weren't for that bitch, he'd be begging mercy now, sitting in his cell, wiping his arse with the back of his hand. Skinny fucking prick.’’ ‘’Listen, I hate him just as much, but Father needs him. Alive. As in walking on his own two feet. As in breathing. As in healthy.’’ Mr. Morton laughed. ‘’Healthy! Ha! Mr. Thorpe, let's make a bet.’’ The well-dressed cop wiped the grease off his mouth and offered his hand to his partner to shake. ‘’Ok, let's! What are we betting?’’ The big guy grinned. He knew he'd get his partner's money. ‘’One hundred bones that I'll slap the shit out of Crawley once I get him.’’ ‘’We get him! I'm in this as well, remember? Together.’’ Mr. Morton grinned, like ''whatever''. The two cops shook hands. But the muscular cop had in mind another bet. He clutched his beer, raised it and looked into his partner's eyes. ‘’And here's to another one!’’ Mr. Thorpe looked at him slightly confused. ‘’I tell you, Graham, that by the end of the week, Father will be apologizing in front of me for ever raising his voice at us.’’ part 14 They had all agreed to leave me beside the road, carrying just a small backpack containing some fruit and some energy bars and a few hundred bucks in my pockets. They had been disappointed, I could feel it in their words, see it in their eyes, observe it in the way they moved. They may have agreed to it, but weren't very pleased with the choice they had taken. Somehow, it felt strange, the decision they had taken felt out of place. It felt really awkward to leave me out of everything and pursue the path without me, the guy that was supposed to provide the moral backbone to the whole operation. I mean, they were doing this because of me. It was like Ben-Hur signing himself up in the chariot race with no horse and just drag the damn carriage by himself, hoping that the Roman guy's futuristic ''cut your wheels'' blades won't do him harm. What the hell happened to gagging me, knocking me out and throw me in the trunk, for whatever future possibilities of use. Since when, all of a sudden, had they become mannered persons? I scratched my head and attempted to wave at them whilst the car drove off. Dust covered the road and soon I lost visual. I didn't know where I was, I had no ID on me, basically I was starting fresh all over again. No more strangers irking me with their made-up stories of dreams and reality portals, no more funny tales about my dad and most important , no more me trying to figure out if I should act a tough guy or just be the perennial skinny bloke with a crush for fiery redheads. Oh, and no more me in the custody of eerie cops. I watched the car slowly disappear my visual point and proceeded on foot the opposite direction. I had no will whatsoever to bump into these dreams mercenaries again. I didn't know how much it'd take me to reach a settlement. I only hoped my face wouldn't be on some newspaper's front page or in the news. If I'd find my name attached to a photo of mine in the ''died'' section of a paper, that would be no biggie, I'd just explain my twin had had passed away recently. Identical twin. Yep, we look alike, that way I'd skip the part where they'd fire up torches and form small fork-armed posses. Bloody hell, I only hoped I wouldn't end up in one of those God-fearing communities, carrying Bibles with them and stopping people on the street just to get New Testament-based answers out of them. Religious zealots need their own Who wants to be a millionaire too, I thought. The redhead and the rest of them had gone to the hospital where Father held his comatose son. They had explained me it wasn't strictly a hospital, but more of a secret facility that housed some hundred pacients wanting to leave the bleak reality for a colored dream world, whatever that meant. Guess they'd run out of crack or something. They had added ''heavily guarded'', ''dangerous'', ''we may not get back alive'' and ''the truth'' somewhere in the sentences that had made up the explaining. Not really my cup of tea. I fucking hated tea, anyhow. I thought they were hoping they'd catch up with Robocop on the road to help them with blowing stuff up, judging from the way they had been sighing and gesturing. Or a good lawyer for later on, at least. Let's just say they weren't ready for this, it was a bloody suicide mission. And me, even less than them. I started pacing myself, making steady steps in the direction of what was to become my new life. Odd jobs, the usual and necessary crazy looks from people, maybe some spit in my face, some cuss words and an unproper sleeping place. But I was prepared to face all that, with a smile on my face, no less. I decided to hitchhike, there was no way my feet'd bring me to a town till sunset. Going by car was inevitable, so I stuck my thumb out and hoped for the best. Mr. Thorpe and Mr. Morton had already checked a good part of the outside city environments, gaining terrain. They were now in a black BMW, driving through a pine forest, swiping for huts and holiday cabins. ‘’Mr. Thorpe, a mile up ahead, there's an exit that takes to an uncharted cabin on my map here. Strangely enough, it does appear on an older map, from three years ago, with a ''restricted site'' flag atop. We'll see what's so restricted about it in a few minutes. ‘’Think we'll strike gold?’’ asked Mr. Thorpe while munching on some crisps. ‘’I couldn't care less about gold, Thorpe, all I want is to strike Crawley's face!’’ Both men laughed. ‘’When we track him down, remember, that bitch and her Spice Girls ensemble must be protecting him.’’ ‘’So what? We didn't come thus far to just bow down, throw our guns, apologize to these fruitcakes and get back empty handed to Father. What would he think then? I'm not gonna do that, I'll go all out on his ass, on their asses. If I go, they go, period!’’ Mr. Morton looked at his partner intrigued. That wasn't his usual tone or choice of words, he was becoming more and more like him. ‘’You know, Thorpe, I think we're really becoming a team here. Yes, I know, I may have not treated you lightly, but when there's this much at stake, you can't expect otherwise.’’ Thorpe kept his eyes on the road. ‘’Listen, work is work. If I'd been in your shoes, I would've acted just the same, don't sweat it. I might've even gone further than verbally abuse you, to be frank. You're big and all but if Father would've given me power over you, I would've made you shrink to half your size.’’ Morton smiled. ‘’Thorpe, you joker, you!’’ ‘’No, I'm not!’’ Morton kept smiling, although the calm composure of his partner gave him goose bumps, more than upsetting him. ‘’Yeah, but I couldn't picture you the bad guy. Some people don't have it in them, in this case, you. The way you spoke to Crawley, the way you got your ass handed by that Brigitte bitch, just the overall you. I think Father did just fine putting me in charge. You just ain't got it in you, partner!’’ In a split second Mr. Thorpe pulled out his gun and fired a bullet that flew right over Morton's right ear, before crashing into the window and smash it into tiny bits. ‘’What the fuck!’’ Thorpe braked the car suddenly, plunged his pistol into Morton's jaw and resumed his position, swiftly. ‘’Really!? Mr. Morton, don't underestimate me, if I don't show my claws on a daily basis, that doesn't mean I don't have them.’’ Morton felt his jaw. That was a serious blow. He could barely move his mouth. ‘’What now, we pull pieces on each other and just shoot? Don't we have better things to do?’’ ‘’We do, partner! That was merely a measly demonstration.’’ ‘’I ain't buying it, though! What do you think will stop me from pulling my gun and shoot you in the face once we're back on the road, just to remind you, I ain't joking either.’’ ‘’Cause we're switching places, you drive now.’’ The men got out the car and switched seats. Mr. Thorpe put the gun back on his holster and frantically took out his phone. ‘’Who the fuck are you calling now?’’ Thorpe pointed out a man with his thumb stuck out, walking slowly towards them, at about a hundred fifty meters. ‘’ We're having lost bunny for lunch today, I think Father will be very pleased to know we'll have a third passenger brought home with us.’’ Dave and Brigitte were looking over the hospital building plans, arguing over which entrances and exits were the easiest and safest. This was supposed to be a slick, fast and effective job. The last one, the most important one. Pulling the plug. Literally. There was no backing off now. Once they'd be in, they'd have to pull their heart out their teeth and go forth. They may not make it. They were very well aware of it, but the significance of their actions was far greater than their small, petty lives. Johan rode in the back with them, while Katye was in the front passenger seat, with Jake at the wheel. Brigitte put away the plans, she felt tired and overcome by obstacles. ‘’I still think we should get back and get him.’’ ‘’Listen, darling, he's made his choice, just leave it be. We can't just make him tag along!’’ said Dave. ‘’Why not?’’ ‘’Brigitte, you're really getting on everybody's nerves, you know. For the past five months all we've heard from you was Matt Crawley, Matt Crawley. Enough is enough! Stop stressing us! For God's sake, that guy is a pussy and a faggot, no offence Johan. He doesn't have anything in him! Fuck him, we've come together before him, we're still together after him, what's the big fucking deal? Actually I hope they get to hunt his ass down and fuck him up real good, without you having to intervene!’’ ‘’Jake, buddy, ease up!’’ ‘’Ease up, me? She's the one who has to ease up! We go in there, fuck them up, get the job done and we're out. Simple as that. Ain't no Matt Crawley gonna make my balls grow when I have to shoot them bastards. I think I can do that even without that skinny prick beside me.’’ ‘’You stupid ignorant sonavobitch! We're all here cause of him.....’’ ‘’No, we're all here cause you wanted us here, Brigitte, don't give me that bullshit Messiah story. Crawley is just your scapegoat, that's all!’’ ‘’Jake, Brigitte, enough!!!!’’ Johan outbursts were rare but when he managed to get himself angry, everybody else listened. ‘’Guys, I won't allow you to break my focus. We're doing this now, today. We've got bigger fish to fry than fight over this guy. ‘’Johan is right, guys, let's just put our minds on us!’’ said Katye. Brigitte wanted to retort but Dave stopped her. ‘’He's gone, it's better that way. Right now, he must be whistling, enjoying a beer in a bar somewhere. Jake, let's recap, mate, what each and every one of us has to do.’’ ‘’I get the guards and plant the explosives.’’ ‘’I log into their main frame computer, insert our virus and shut down the Program.’’ ‘’Katye, you?’’ ‘’I'll be the nurse stopping the machines.’’ ‘’While you do your duties, I'll get all the civilians out.’’ ‘’…..and I'll get to kill Matt Crawley!’’ The cigarette man was still puffing on his cancer stick when the phone rang. His office was darker and more austere than any other in the whole building. He preferred it that way. He picked up gently and calmly, just nodding his head and not saying anything throughout the whole conversation until the last bit. ‘’Yes, you take him to the hospital, we'll meet you there.’’ He put the phone down, walked the office, opened a door that gave into a vestibule, crossed the tight corridor and enter another office. He looked at the man resting on the couch. ‘’Tell me, what is it?’’ ‘’They've found him. He's alone. I've arranged to bring him at the hospital as we speak.’’ ‘’Finally! This seemed like forever....’’ ‘’I know what you mean, old friend. I'll make sure everything is set at the clinic once he arrives. Rest some more, I'll meet you downstairs in half hour.’’ The cigarette man exited the office, throwing the butt on the floor. Father rose, put on his jacket, packed his gun and gave a last glance to a photo set on his desk saying to himself ''Matt, today is your birthday, son! Time to celebrate!''. My thumb hadn't helped me one bit. I was ready now to show a bit of skin, if only I would've shaved my legs. Maybe leaving the Scooby-Doo gang was wrong, after all. Perhaps they'd be victorious and live the rest of their lives in grand villas with pools, equipped with tennis courts and Finnish saunas. Actually, not such a grand idea, tennis courts were for queers. Well, not entirely true, if the redhead and the blondie would suddenly decide to share a match on the court, playing commando. And maybe their villas would have servants to clean, cook, wipe and maintain the house. A bit like what life was before the American secession, when words like ''boy'' and ''the klan'' weren't such big ''you're offending my ancestors'' bullshit everyone was stuck with now. No truck and no car had passed for half hour, and the ones that had, hadn't stopped, no matter the amount of f-words I'd use in my persuasions. Goddamn, not even a bloody bike, a scooter, a fucking rickshaw. What was this, the no-car-is-passing-so-you-can-say-goodbye-to-hitchhiking territory? Had hitchhiking been banned in this small area of the state, thus restricting the drivers to use their automobiles on these bumpy roads? What was it? The sky was bright and the sun shone dimly through the thick forest branches, but it still gave me a moment of hope. I was way out of danger's path, there was no way life wouldn't turn out for the best. What was possibly going to happen to alter my state of mind now? Geronimo! There was a car parked on the margin of the road, at about hundred fifty meters ahead. Finally! It was a BMW, no less. Nice! By the looks of it and my good fortune, I hoped it hid a couple of half nude, half drunk college babes, just out to have fun. The beautiful version of Thelma & Louise, so to speak, minus the revenge and killing spree. Maybe they were really that, on spring break, looking for that one person to awaken all those uninhibited desires they'd kept inside, locked out from the rest of the world, for so long. If they were underage, even better. Maybe I could've even ask for some sandwiches, cause I was starving. Geronimo! In my mind I was already sharing shady motel rooms and showers with these two gorgeous unknown gals, taking risquée photos in bed, so as I approached their car, my arm raised before me, I yelled ''I'm your guy!''. They both got out with their guns pointed at me. I wished it were Thelma & Louise, after all. ‘’Damn right, Mr. Crawley! You're damn right!’’ part 15. The gorilla cop looked even more on steroids than before and the Baldwin guy smiled as if NBC had granted him another 30Rock season. Puh-lease! I hadn't even tried to run. When I saw myself inside the car, babes or not, I was relieved no punches were thrown, although I could smell a mile away their suppressed urge to teach me a lesson or two. And there I was, in the back of a police car again. Luckily, no more cuffs this time and no separating grill. I felt like a VIP. I expected, at any moment, to be offered a premium Cuban cigar and some Krug. I was, after all, their fugitive star. They didn't speak much and I didn't want to ruin their abstinence from kicking my skinny butt, thus I just sat quiet, like the most beloved criminal they had ever laid hands on. But that didn't last long and soon I was bombing them with questions that they had to, ultimately, answer. ‘’We're taking you to Father. I'm sure you've already been told who he is and what use for him you have!’’ said the big guy. I started laughing and patted the actor on the back. ‘’Where did he learn to speak, mate? Yoda 1-0-1?’’ ‘’Mr. Crawley, must I remind you this gun is loaded?’’ said the actor, turning both his head and gun to my face. I buried my eyes on the floor. ‘’You've caused enough trouble already, it's time to fix it! By the way, where's your lawyer partner in crime and the rest of her posse?’’ Maybe it was the gun pointed at my head or just the fact that I had arrived at one point I could not care for their mission. Maybe I did believe they were all out of their minds and needed to be stopped, just as much as these cops had thought the same when they had me woken up for a fresh ''arrest this guy'' audition. Thus, I ended up spilling the beans. I had told them everything, from the amount of explosives they had brought with them, the guns, whatever roles they had and every other details Brigitte and the rest had made me aware of. I even threw a few lines about their lip moisturizers and that the blonde was wearing fake eyelashes(and too much make-up) and that the German guy was nothing more than a sort-of Bruno wannabe. I figured they had both gotten the message when I saw them smirk. ‘’Mr. Crawley, you've done your homework, bravo!’’ ‘’What, don't I get a lollipop for this? C'mon, not even a mint?’’ The actor cop gave me another insipid look. I replied to it. ‘’Yes, I know it's loaded. Chill out, for fuck's sak...’’ And that ''e'' flew right out my mouth, taking a tooth with it, dancing into the air before falling into Arnold's lap. Ouch! Now that fucking hurt! Why hadn't I, still, learnt to shut the fuck up. I resumed my ''fuck you!'' posture and just leaned on the back seat, quiet like a puppy and with nothing to do. A couple minutes later, Mr. Thorpe's cell rang and he spoke with such freshness and in between laughs, it almost seemed we were heading straight to the airport and then to Hawaii, on Father's expenses. He turned to me. ‘’It seems your friends have arrived at the clinic too. My men shot and killed two of them already, whilst the other three are in custody. You weren't that stupid to not stick to them, after all.’’ He laughed. They weren't my friends but that didn't give me the right to just sit there, impassive and cold. Brigitte had helped me escape, even though the escape hadn't lasted more than I hoped it would. Dave had cooked for me, or at least had given his best to accommodate a hot plate of something and offer it as food. The other three hadn't done anything special, except waking up inside me feelings of dislike towards gays, rednecks and scousers, respectively. But a bond had formed, nevertheless. I didn't know any of them at a personal level, but I still felt sorry their plan had been broken down. Maybe it was my fault. Yes, of course it was my fault. With me saying no, they must've suffered a serious breakdown or something. It was hard to accept it, but I had been their ultimate demise. Another five on the ''guilty conscience'' bandwagon. I lay my head down and fell asleep. There was nothing else I could've done to help them. Two of them gone, three other waiting to head out that same route. I didn't think I was gonna end up any better, though. For as much as Father needed me, my real life had no real value whatsoever. At least, dead, I wasn't gonna pay any more rent. There was always a bright side to bad things. I woke up being dragged into the elevator, both cops keeping their guns close and eyes closer on me. Where the fuck could they think I'd run. This wasn't the ''arrest the guy and let him loose'' Olympics. The hospital had an eerie vibe, but then again, it was meant to scare. Men and women in grey cloak-like robes with their faces almost covered by masks, walked around in an almost zombie state. Everybody had the same haircut, same eye color, same height and overall features. Hmm, secret facility doctors assembly line. No one spoke a word, they were just nodding at the cops and looking insistently at me. Some of them even had stopped their awkward walking to stare straight at me. This was beyond strange and scary put together, this was fucking mental. I imagined experiments done on me, probes stuck up places where the sun doesn't reach, tickled feet with the softest feathers, Desperate Housewives put on replay 24/7, all accompanied by late-night Shakespeare read-off. Fuck! ‘’Why are they all looking at me? Who they seeing, a movie star?’’ The answer came just as dry as the air in the building. ‘’No, they're seeing a ghost, Mr. Crawley, a ghost.’’ That was reassuring. We had reached the 14th floor when a guy smoking a cigarette, looking somewhat familiar, greeted us. ‘’Mr. Crawley, it's a pleasure, welcome back! Gents...’’ I wanted to ask him if there was anything in that fag, beside tobacco, cause by the way he spoke, I had my doubts. ‘’I've never been here, creepy guy that looks like John Waters, what's with the welcoming back stuff?’’ He refrained himself from smiling. He led the way, one hand in his pocket, the other entertaining yet another cigarette, telling us Father was expecting us and eager to meet me. Yeah, I was eager too, to see this arsehole that had messed up my already messy life. We entered this large room with a couple zombie nurses reading lines in constant movement off a monitor and numbers on a machine seemingly attached through cables and wires to a guy's head, that was apparently sleeping in an average-looking bed. With all their technology I expected at least something hovering. The man on the couch next to the bed rose, pointed to the two females to exit the room and shook my hand, with a faint smile on his face. ‘’Matt, welcome back! Thank you gents, for bringing him, safe and sound. Oh, and without a tooth.’’ He looked at me, holding me by the arms. ‘’Look at you, all grown up!’’ I stepped back, releasing myself from his grip. The more I lived, stranger the folks I encountered became. ‘’Ok, what's going on, what the fuck am I doing here and who the fuck are you people? And who's him, the sleeping beauty, male version?’’ I looked at the guy in the bed for a couple of times, it was me, only looking very cadaveric. The man that had greeted us spoke. ‘’You've already met Mr. Thorpe and Mr. Morton, you don't have to know my name, though. He's Father!’’ ‘’So you're the evil warlord that's gone through all this trouble to capture me, against my will, if I may add. Do tell me, what's this Father name? What, you're, like, my father?’’ He slipped a smile. ‘’Matt, don't be stupid. Of course, I'm not your dad.’’ ‘’Then why is....’’ He stopped me. ‘’I am his father, though...’’ He pointed to the bed vegetable. ‘’Allow me to tell you a story. Three years ago, my wife and son were coming back from holiday. It was early spring, they were in the car, somewhere near Napa. A drunk prick entered their lane and hit them full frontal, making the car leap into a 20 feet ditch. My wife died on impact, she was sitting on the back seat, looking through files and receipts, for no fucking reason, wearing no seatbelt. My son, Matt, was severely injured, had suffered more than 40 bone and joint injuries. He was basically a soup inside. The doctors tried to do their best and partly succeeded. But the major problem was his mind was gone. You see, the brain couldn't take it, so it shut off. Not his heart, he's always been tough as a bull, a healthy sonavabitch, his heart is still breathing strong even now. His brain, though, had been turned into piss. He went into a coma. And he's been into a coma ever since. The magnificent thing is, everybody thought he'd not make it, they told me to plug him off, to let him rest with his mother. I didn't. The doctors that I had copiously paid had learnt that my son's brain was still very much active. On a higher level. So they did tests and we found out, that the coma had released inside his brain the will to still live, in a different dimension. What he did, inside his injured mind, was take all his memories and mold them, shape them, to assemble and move them randomly, creating new ones that gave birth to new dimensions of his own persona. He was basically living a multitude of characters based on his real self. We tried deep brain stimulation and we were able to capture these movements and create parallel lives and dimensions, all having the same source, my son's brain. That's how you came to be. We then developed a machine that created persons living the lives that we wanted, all connected to Matt's brain. Some worked, some didn't. You're the 6th or 7th Matt Crawley we design.’’ I had to stop him. This was utter bullshit. I glanced around the room, the guy was definitely having some hidden ''Do androids dream of electric sheep'' copy laying under the cushions. Or one of the lesser Stephen King stories. ‘’Ok, ok, I get it. But what do I have to do with this?’’ ‘’You see, my dear Matt, my son has to live your life now, in your body. So what we'll do is transfer his memories into your brain. Don't worry, we'll erase yours first.’’ ‘’Wait, wait, why me? Why...this Matt Crawley? Didn't you say I was the 7th? Where are the others? Get them instead, I'm skinny!’’ ‘’Matt, Matt, you still don't understand. My son chose you. That recurring dream of you at the bar, meeting Brigitte, was not a dream. It has happened in real life, in my son's life, when they met. Not everything, but elements. She used to be his......girlfriend or something. Problem with your dream was you were not just receiving memory information from his brain, the signal was that strong that your mind had actually gone upstream to the stem, to the origin and kept the memory, enhancing it. Your body and who you are would not accept it as a memory, thus, obviously, turning it into a dream.’’ ‘’Ok, I see you've got the money, you've got the technology, sure there's gotta be something else they can do to wake your son up.’’ ‘’Unfortunately, doctors said his brain activity is too strong for his body to cope. There are strong chances he'll wake up, but he'll be in a permanent vegetative state. I can't allow that, not when I have you. I've put a lot of money into the Program, I'm not gonna release you, watch you walk out of here, whistling, whilst I give you my blessings and a pat on the back. You're fucking mine, you prick! I created you!’’ Suddenly the calm tone had disappeared. I wiped his spit off my face. Talk about anger management. ‘’Well, at least let my friends go!’’ ‘’Your friends? Ha-ha! Since when do you refer to them as friends? You barely know them, and you signed their death letter.’’ That was true, he'd caught me with my guard down. ‘’Ok, at least Brigitte. If you take me and somehow revive your son, he must want his girlfriend back. Think about it, you can't give him his life back without the gal he loves or love or will love or....you know what the fuck I mean.’’ He hesitated for a sec. ‘’I never liked her that much. She's the reason me and Matt were fighting so much prior to the accident. Afterwards, she stuck around, actually growing enthusiastic of the progress we were making with all the findings. She was in charge, technically. Then, when I started using the technique on outside people, she left the Program. I don't think she'd want to get back with him anyhow. She didn't break in today to say hi, she was here to pull the plug. Bitch be actin' crazy, homes!’’ I was starting to feel for the guy. No wife, no son, tons of money, mad scientist technology and all he could come up with was parallel dimensions. Gimme a break! Whatever happened to ruling the world, using his brain-dead or brain-alive son as a weapon? I almost asked for a pen and paper to write down ''and the world will bow down to my feet'', to give him to read. This was the clou moment, after all. Maybe becoming the coma guy and the coma guy becoming me was not such a bad idea, after all. I could've seen myself as the son of a wealthy, powerful man. That way, those cops-secret agents or whatever would've been in deep trouble and I'd still get to disagree with him. No more lousy job, no more lousy girlfriend, no more lousy life. Miami all day, baby! I was almost getting eager ‘bout it. Oh, wait, my memories would be gone. Ah, what the hell, I could've overlooked that. I wanted to ask him about how they had killed my ex gf's granny and my old boss, but I reckoned he'd start yapping his mouth again, taking so long, that his dead son would wake up, slapping the shit out of him, yelling ''just fucking download my brain into his, and let's get on with it, it's been three years I haven't been to the toilet'', and then get back to bed. Nobody wanted to see that. He signaled for me to be taken to the adjacent room where the first part of the process would take place: erasing my memories. I had been strapped to a metallic bed, with a headband on my head, monitored by a green screen with strange unintelligible signs, that was beeping. I had an IV in my right arm and pressure and breathing points on my chest. Another apparatus was calculating my brain activity, if any. A nurse would enter every couple minutes to check on me and the stats. It was experimenting time, indeed. For some minutes there, I didn't hear anything anymore. Grave-like silence. Fuck, they had done it. Was I already dead? I could still see all the things attached to my body and my fingers could still move but no sound. Then the glass window broke. Somebody was fighting somebody else in the next room. Voices grew loud, then louder and louder and all I heard were shots fired. Lots. One bullet hit one of the apparatuses, cause there was an alarm quickly after. The door went open. I couldn't move, I was still strapped to the bed. He leaned over me, pieces of glass in his cheek, splinters of wood in his hair, blood dripping from his hands on my chest. He lay his gun on my lips. ‘’Open your mouth, Crawley! You have no idea how much I've thought of this moment. Shh, don't speak. It's too bad that now, with all these engines eating at your brain, you won't remember who killed you. Remember when you're dead, that is. Yes, it's me, Mr. Morton. I just killed Father. And my partner. That cocksucker, he didn't want to oblige to my rules. after I'm done with you, I'm gonna get your bitch too. The cigarette man is gone, it's all falling apart, Crawley. Remember, Mr. Morton....your grim reaper. Nod if you recognize me.’’ Of course I knew the ugly fuck. He was so ugly, that Richard Kiel, in comparison, would've won a beauty pageant. And somebody was not keen on using tooth paste, either. I understood we were second-class imaginations out of an injured brain, but c'mon, I could still smell and see. I stood still. He then pulled the IV needle from my vein and turned off the machinery, but left me tied. Maybe he was into erotic fetish games, after all. Two shots were fired. One bullet hit my Adam's apple, allowing torrents of blood to spurt out. The cop fell to the ground. The second bullet had hit him in the head, coming from Brigitte's gun. She rushed over to me. ‘’Matt! No, Matt! No, no, no...’’ She started crying. I couldn't speak, the more I tried to breathe and make up words, the more blood was leaving my body. ‘’You'll be fine, I'm gonna get you out of here, I promise! You're gonna get well.’’ I closed my eyes. I felt dizzy and nauseous, her words losing power and resonance and just creating an echo. ‘’Don't you fucking leave me, Matt!’’ There were all sorts of voices, my own, my mom's, my dad's, sudden flashbacks of a life Father had told me was never real: the first time on a bike, falling off an infinite times, my first swimming lesson, my first kiss, my first shave, my first hangover. The voices grew more distant and more distant. I was getting cold. She kissed me and these were the last words I heard. ‘’I love you!’’ Then it all went black. Epilogue. It was a quarter past eight in the morning when I woke up. My girlfriend was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. ‘’Morning , sweetie!’’ I kissed her on the cheek. ‘’Morning, lazy!’’ ‘’How come you're up so early? You know you don't have to work until midday.’’ ‘’I know, but I'll pass by grandma later on. There're some things she said she wants you to have.’’ I sat down at the table, rubbing my eyes, yawning. I had barely spoken to her and she already wanted me as her grandson-in-law. Such a sweet woman. ‘’Just tell her she doesn't have to. She's already done so many things for us.’’ ‘’Remember, tonight we have reservations at Le Chevalier. Don't stay late at work, will ya?! I'm out.’’ I finished my breakfast alone, got dressed and fucked off. It was my birthday, but I didn't feel top notch. Something was bugging at my brain. Sure, I had a great job, a wonderful fiancée with whom I shared a nice, comfy apartment, courtesy, partly, of her grandma, but I still felt like something was missing. My work schedule passed with no grave happening. Today I hadn't even felt like bossing and teasing my employees. My best friend and partner, Joey Knicke, was off. Oh, boy, the stupid shit I had done with him. Actually he was the one that had introduced me to my now girlfriend. I finished work rather early, thus I decided to enjoy myself in the company of a cider. I parked my arse on a stool at a bar nearby the office and ordered a drink. One sip, two sips, it tasted great. A few cheddar crisps to make atmosphere and I found myself staring at the tv, watching a lame-ass golf tournament. Why the fuck was I feeling miserable? Why the constant worrying? Why was I checking over both my shoulders when I was in public? What was wrong with me? Truth was, I was having bad dreams for over a week now. Always the same one: getting arrested, beaten, then killed. I didn't know what the fuck it was going on, the dreams felt so real, it was startling. I was already having my third pint when I checked the time. Shit, I was late for dinner. I finished the glass in a gulp and asked for the bill. A pretty redhead that I hadn't seen before, came up, gave me the bill and stopped to stare at me, while playing with her hair. ‘’I'll pay in a moment, miss. Just a sec.’’ I took out my wallet and threw some money on the counter. Her gaze was still on me. ‘’Thanks.’’ ‘’Cheers.’’ I grabbed my jacket and made for the door when she shouted at me. ‘’Wait, Matt!’’ She knew my name. What the fuck? I turned. ‘’How come you know my name, who are you?’’ ‘’Don't you remember? It's me, Brigitte! Do you remember me? Matt?’’ I smiled. I didn't know her. What was she on about. This was surely another one of Joey's pranks. He knew it was my birthday, that's why he'd taken the day off, to plan this. Cheeky bastard. I kept on smiling. She started smiling too, maybe she really thought I had recognized her, after all. She took my hand and squeezed it. I was about to crush her fairytale expectations. ‘’Listen, I don't know you. You're cute and all. Tell Joey I thank him for it, but I already have a girlfriend.’’ She let go of my hand. ‘’They're coming for you, Matt!’’ I snugged. ‘’Who, Ashton et al? I'm out of here.’’ Before I got out, she yelled at me some more something about ''being careful and watching out for them''. Damn, I only had three pints and the people were already saying stupid shit. I got in my car, took out the cell and called my fiancée. ‘’Sweety, I'm gonna be a bit late, I stopped by the pub and lost notion of time, I'm sorry. Make sure the shirt you like is ready, I'll be home in twenty minutes, max.’’ ‘’It's ok, hon, don't worry. Actually we're not going out for dinner anymore, we're eating in.’’ I could hear she was juggling glasses and plates in the kitchen and there were faint voices in the background. Had her grandma brought people with her? But who? ‘’Why's that, love?’’ ‘’Cause we're having guests! You're gonna be so thrilled, you won't believe who's here to see you! I give you two hints: he's tall and he smokes a lot.’’ This was getting obnoxiously intriguing. ‘’Who?’’ All my friends had to work, my parents lived in another town, hundred miles away, high school colleagues, that was out of the question. I didn't recall to have any other important person in my life that I hadn't seen in a long time, that knew it was my birthday and that smoked. Who was there? ‘’Let me put him on the phone.’’ My heart was pounding away for no reason, I started sweating and shaking. I could almost imagine the person on the other side of the line by its heavy breathing. ‘’Hello, who is this?’’ His voice sounded familiar, rough, decrepit. ‘’I can't wait for you to arrive home, Matt, it's time to celebrate! Your birthday!’’ ‘’Yeah, yeah, enough with the sweet stuff, you're giving me diabetes here. Who are you?’’ ‘’Matt, this is your father....’’ The world stopped there for a second. ‘’Oh fuck!’’ THE END.