Dark Day Dreams, page 14
We routed the enemy forces in Charleston and then continued south to Georgia. We knew if we could take Atlanta, the Confederacy would really be back on its heels.
As we entered the city limits, the southerners hit us hard. Our unit was ambushed by three choppers that had been hovering low, hiding behind some buildings. Suddenly, the air was full of blood and body parts. I lost a lot of friends that day.
Nelson was one of the first men that got hit. I held his hand as he lay dying on the asphalt and promised I would contact his family after the war and let them know what a good soldier and friend he’d been.
Those of us still breathing ran into a parking garage and called for our own pilots to put on their white hats and come to the rescue.
Our jets made mincemeat of those helicopters. We let out a triumphant yell as we watched them explode and fall to the ground.
Every so often you’d hear stories about the other side trying to pull off some kind of sabotage out in the western states, attempting to spread the fighting and disrupt our side’s focus. Their agents blew up a couple of dams in the Northwest and attempted to shoot up a meeting of governors being held in San Francisco. I never did hear if the culprits were caught or killed.
The last major battle I was involved in took place near Vicksburg, Mississippi. We blew up a bridge and managed to capture a large group of tanks that were retreating.
************
After eighteen months, the Confederacy was reeling. They were running out of weapons, ammunition and soldiers.
President Erickson offered them a deal. The
killing and destruction would end if they gave up slavery and rejoined the United States. And he would also need a complete list of all slaver owners who were still alive. Of course, all the Confederate government officials of any consequence fell into this category.
Our military rounded these folks up but didn’t arrest them. Instead, their right hands were simply marked with small star-shaped tattoos. When the general public in the U.S. heard about this, there was a lot of anger. It seemed like a strangely trivial punishment for people who had made their fortunes off the misery of others. It seemed especially strange that Erickson approved it…for a couple decades he’d been considered one of the strongest anti-Confederacy voices in the entire country.
Approximately nine months later, our questions were answered. The tattoos began to spread, turning those white people black. A famous dermatologist had been working on the formula for many years, hoping to see it applied if the Confederacy ever fell.
************
When I got out of the service, Russ and I began working on our comic books again. While I’d been gone he gained a few pounds, lost some hair and settled down with a sweet woman named Mary Jane.
Of course, I was different now too. Nothing will change your perspective like hearing bullets whiz by your head or having to hold a friend while he’s bleeding out. I certainly didn’t regret signing up to fight in the war but also hoped I’d never have to repeat the experience.
I just hoped those old wounds in our national psyche could heal up for good now.
There have been some interesting surprises since I got back. For example, Russ showed me a newspaper clipping last night of a much darker Elvis Presley performing at the Apollo theatre in Harlem. Apparently, at least the black folks in NYC have found it in their hearts to forgive and move on.
Glitch
Doctor Clarkson walked into his office carrying a couple of sheets of paper. Harold Simmons and his wife Suzanne were waiting in there for him. She said hello but her husband just sat silently looking forward, not sending any signal he was aware anybody else was in the room with them.
These appointments always scared Suzanne. Up to this point, each one had been a scary marker that measured how much more the disease had stolen from the man she loved. And today was even more nerve racking because these past few months she’d allowed a small bit of hope to grow. And if that positive feeling died, she had no idea where she would get the strength to go on.
Harold had a calm, faraway expression on his face. When he got like this, it always made Suzanne think of a farmer being off alone in a field somewhere taking stock of the crops he’d planted. It used to bother her a lot but over time she grew to understand it was much preferable to those terrifying moments when the Alzheimer’s suddenly made him act and feel like he had no idea what planet he was living on.
The doctor smiled and said, “I have some good news today, folks. It looks like this new medication is actually making a difference.”
Suzanne smiled and said, “What do you mean, doctor?”
“The cognitive tests show your husband’s condition hasn’t deteriorated to any great extent during the last three months. I think we may have found a way to at least help him hold the line for a while.”
“That is good news. Do you think there’s any chance this drug might actually help him get better?”
The doctor replied, “Suzanne, I wish I could say that. Unfortunately, only Mother Nature can build the connections in his mind. But it does look like at least now we can save a lot of the remaining ones.”
************
The bachelorette party was just getting started. Leah Barton and her friends were in a white stretch limo, laughing loudly and drinking champagne. The music in the car was thumping loudly as they headed down the street to their favorite dance club.
She screamed, “I love you guys! We are going to have an awesome night!”
Her friend Sherri took a baggie out of her purse and said, “I think a special occasion like this calls for a little chemical enhancement, ladies.” She handed each of the young women in the car a pink pill.
Forty-five minutes later, they were out on the dance floor. Leah felt so good, like she loved everyone and everything in the world and if she had one wish it would be that this feeling would never fade away.
************
FBI agent Lane Michaelson clearly remembered the first time he heard about Glitch.
It was around 6am on a foggy Saturday morning in October and he was in the middle of his usual routine, checking out the national news stories online and enjoying the day’s first cup of coffee.
The article referred to Glitch as a “street drug” but that term seemed a tad out of date in his opinion (he thought it sounded a little too much like something you’d remember hearing on an episode of Starsky and Hutch a million years ago). It was often being used here in the second decade of the new millennium by kids at EDM concerts or in clubs.
Apparently, the original version of Glitch was a medicine that was supposed to help people suffering from Alzheimer’s. The idea was that it would wage war on the proteins that clump and create plaque that kills the brain cells of those who suffer from the disease.
But along the way, some enterprising young researcher discovered that it also offered recreational possibilities…when people with healthy brains took it, they quickly achieved a sense of euphoria for six to eight hours. And users reported having a less severe comedown period than with MDMA.
At the time, he didn’t get too worked up about it…just another trendy banana peel for teenagers to slip on during their journey to adulthood. No reports of the stuff killing anybody yet. And he supposed it was possible that if the withdrawal was less intense, fewer folks might decide to hang a noose from a light fixture or step off the roof of a building.
Besides, he was currently much more concerned about some information he’d received regarding a possible upcoming terrorist attack at a college football game in the region.
Two days later, he and his partner drove down to Portland to meet with agents from that city and Eugene. These days he was paired with a woman named Angie Simon. He liked her snarky sense of humor and she liked his ability to keep a cool head pretty much no matter what was going on around them.
After the meeting they were headed back north on I-5. Angie said, “These big crowd threats are always a little hard for me to wrap my head around. The security has gotten much, much better but there are just still so many people in the mix. I’m always worried it will come down to that one local cop who looks away at the wrong time because the cheerleaders have formed an especially erotic human pyramid.”
Michaelson chuckled. “You always seem to think your male counterparts are the problem.”
“Hey, look at my loser dad. Or my ex-husband. Haven’t made my mind up about you yet, you’re still on probation.”
Both of them were divorced. Michaelson’s ex-wife lived in San Diego with her new husband. It was that old cliché…she simply got tired of trying to compete with that ultimate other woman, his job. It was a reasonably calm split but he decided to transfer up north so they could both get on with the rest of their lives quicker.
Angie had always lived in the Seattle area. She and her ex had married right out of high school and he decided after a couple years that the idea of sleeping with only one person the rest of his life just wasn’t going to cut it.
The two agents had worked together for roughly eighteen months. They were definitely attracted to each other but had held back from doing anything about it. It was nice working together every day and neither of them wanted to put that relationship at risk.
When they got back to Seattle, Lane listened to a voicemail left by an acquaintance of his named Peter Arliss. They’d met about a year earlier at a mutual buddy’s houseboat party. The man had a worried tone in his voice and asked that the FBI agent call him back as soon as possible.
When Arliss answered he said, “Sorry to bother you, Lane, but you’re the only person I know in law enforcement here locally…”
“That’s okay, Peter. What’s the problem?”
“I’m worried about my wife. She never came home last night and nobody we know seems to have any idea where she might be. I’m trying not to freak out but I’m starting to get really worried.”
“I assume you’re at home right now?”
“Yeah.”
The agent grimaced and said, “Try to stay calm. My partner and I will be right over.”
************
Lane asked a Seattle Police Department detective to meet them at Peter’s house in the northeast part of the city.
Angie asked Peter if his wife had been having trouble getting along with anyone recently. He replied, “If there is one absolutely conflict free person in this world, it’s Cheryl. She even gets along pretty well with my mother and that’s no small feat.”
Lane said, “Who does she tend to hang out with the most?”
“Oh, she’s got a couple of close friends here in town and a couple more up in Bellingham. And she’s very close with our nephew, Jordan. He lives in Ballard.”
“Do you and Cheryl have children, Peter? I think you told me before but I don’t remember.”
“Rick and Stacey are both grown and living in other states.”
Peter called the out of town friends again to see if they’d heard from his wife. Angie and the SPD detective went to interview the older women in Seattle after calling them first. Lane called the nephew and got his voicemail. He left a message and then headed to Ballard to talk to him in person.
Before he knocked on the door, he did a quick background check on the laptop in his car. The young man lived by himself.
Lane saw that the door wasn’t closed all the way. He gently knocked on it and said, “Hello, anyone home?”
There was no answer. He took a tentative step inside and called out the nephew’s name. Then he saw a pool of something red leaking out from underneath the bathroom door.
When he opened it, he let out a gasp. He was staring into the eyes of Cheryl Arliss.
Unfortunately, they were now part of a head that was no longer connected to a body. The rest of her lay in a bathtub filled with crimson water. The bathroom counter and mirror were also both slick with her blood.
He felt unsteady for a couple seconds. He’d seen a fair amount of death during his time in Iraq and some pretty gruesome crime scenes since he’d been with the Bureau…but this was like something out of a slasher movie on steroids. He took out his phone and called both Angie and Lieutenant Harvey to let them know what he’d found.
He took out his gun and checked the rest of the apartment. Nothing looked out of order. He found it disconcerting that a fairly small dwelling like this could contain both areas of quiet normalcy and what was essentially a small abattoir. Heaven protected from hell by just one standard door you could purchase at any big box hardware store.
************
Jordan McKinnon had a hard time staying focused on the drive from the apartment to his aunt and uncle’s house in the Wedgewood neighborhood. He wove back and forth between the lanes on the freeway several times, inspiring angry honks and looks of hatred from other drivers he barely managed to avoid sideswiping.
He was definitely hallucinating. The color of the sky kept changing and a Hummer he passed seemed to change into a rhinoceros charging down the freeway.
Jordan had lured his aunt to the apartment with a last minute lunch invitation. He was in cooking school and she loved trying out the various dishes he was learning how to prepare. He had felt bad lying to her and terrible about what happened once she came inside…but there a monster inside him that demanded to be fed and all other concerns were quickly falling to the wayside.
Even though he felt completely out of control, he had managed to wash his hands and face and put on a long trench coat before leaving the apartment. He’d also stashed a large butcher knife in an inside pocket.
When he finally pulled into their driveway, he turned the car off and began to shake. Then he took a minute to consider the pain he was feeling.
Jordan never knew any could human could feel like this. He imagined a diagram on a chalk board that showed a point in space where physical discomfort and emotional agony connected…he could feel those two lines intersecting inside him, creating a sensation that would quickly drive most people mad.
And there was what could only be described as a wind inside his mind. It was screaming and he imagined it pulling memories out of him the way a strong October storm yanks leaves off trees and sends them hurtling every which way. There goes summer camp, third grade, his first girlfriend…
He managed to get the car door open and slowly walked up to the front step of the house. He tried to gather his wits so he could come across as calm. Then he knocked on the door and said, “Uncle Peter? Are you inside there?”
Peter Arliss went to open the door and then suddenly had a small, unusual burst of premonition. He hesitated for a second and then peered out through the peephole. He saw their nephew standing there and a slight shiver went down his spine. Jordan had a look on his face Peter had never seen before, one that said even though his body was only inches away, his mind was off lost in a dark galaxy nobody should ever consider visiting.
He picked up his phone and called Lane’s cell. He said, “My nephew is here and I think there’s something weird going on with him.”
“Have you let him in yet?”
“No.”
“Well, don’t. No matter how much he might beg or try to convince you, keep him outside. We’ll be right there.”
Lane called his partner and the SPD detective, directing them to go back to Peter’s. Then he jumped in his car and headed toward I-5.
************
Jordan pounded on the front door and said, “Please, Uncle Peter. Let me in, I need to talk to you. I think something might have happened to Cheryl.”
Peter wasn’t exactly sure what to say to his nephew. He finally replied, “I can’t do that, pal. I’m not feeling well and I don’t want you to catch whatever I have.”
The younger man was starting to breathe harder. He touched the knife in his pocket and thought about what he needed to do.
He knew he was running out of time. Even if it hadn’t helped to open up his aunt, he had to keep trying. His uncle was holding on to such a rich supply of memories. He had to share what he had with Jordan…nobody can live long knowing they’re dissolving into nothingness.
He was starting to feel a combination of panic and anger. He pounded harder on the door with both fists and screamed, “LET ME IN RIGHT NOW!”
Eventually his frustration got the best of him. He opened the side gate and ran around to the back, hoping to gain access through a sliding door.
Peter was really starting to worry…his nephew was acting like a wild animal. He picked up a fireplace poker and prepared to defend himself if necessary.
Suddenly, a piece of lawn furniture came crashing through the locked sliding glass door. A couple of seconds later, Jordan was charging into the room with the butcher knife held high over his head. He screamed, “I NEED SOME MEMORIES!”
Peter backed away when his nephew tried to stab him. He said, “Jordan, what the fuck is wrong with you? What are you doing?”
Jordan tackled his uncle with what seemed like superhuman strength. Then he was sitting on top of Peter and they were struggling. Peter was desperately trying to avoid getting stabbed.
Then there was a loud noise and he saw the expression on his nephew’s face change, shifting from violent insanity to stunned disbelief. He fell off to the side and the last thing he saw was Angie standing there, a pistol in her hand.
************
That night Lane got a call from one of the crime scene analysts who’d been dispatched to Jordan’s apartment. He advised the agent about what they’d found then said, “Okay, here’s the weirdest part of this mess. The victim was not only decapitated but there were also like a dozen deep post-mortem knife wounds in her skull. It reminded of what it looks like when somebody carves a pumpkin for the first time.”
The next day, Peter came down to the Seattle FBI office to talk to Lane, Angie and Lieutenant Harvey. He was still very upset up about losing both his wife and nephew in the matter of a few short hours. They told him it appeared Jordan had somehow lured Cheryl to his apartment.
