“Do I write about it in one of my journals?” I ask.
“Yes, you refer to it from time to time.”
“Which one?”
“Which journal?”
“Yeah, which journal do I talk about the Knoll?”
The doc thumbs through several pages until he finds something I've written about the Knoll.
“It's in this one,” he says, holding it up and showing me the exact page.
“That's my red journal,” I say. “Everything that is real, I write about in my red journal. The green one is just stuff I made up for you, to throw you off on your suspicions about me being crazy.”
At this point, I figure I pretty much had to explain why I had two completely different journals, especially since the doc had both of them now.
I get this strange feeling that something I dread is about to happen, and before I can figure it out, two male nurses dressed in all white enter the room, one of them with a series of colored syringes in his shirt pocket.
“Not now,” says the doc, and he waves them off with a flick of his hand.
The two nurses leave without question, and a realization that they have been drugging me for some time washes over me.
“Have you been drugging me?” I ask the doc. I'm mad as hell because I want to have real control over my own thoughts and actions.
“Please don't give me anything,” I say.
“Simon, we have to keep giving it to you. We can't just stop. This new drug is too dangerous to just stop. We know what you are capable of if we just stop administering it. It's a drug you can't just stop taking all at once. That's why...” and his voice trails off. The doc doesn't want to tell me something. He's holding something back from me.
“Why what?” I ask.
“That's why you did what you did,” he says reluctantly.
“Kill my brother?” I ask.
“No,” he replies.
I knew that much.
“Tell me something I don't know.”
The doc shifts in his chair, then gets up and walks over to the barred window and looks out at the bare limbs on the tree outside.
“Your mother was giving you small doses in your lunch, of which I prescribed. But we didn't know that you weren't actually ingesting it. She's not only your mother, Simon. She's your nurse. She was allowed to administer it in small doses to you at home, and keep an eye on you. We didn't know that you went off the drug until after we found your red journal. It's a shame you fed your sandwiches to your dog. It shouldn't have happened. That was when we were able to figure out why you did it.”
“Did What?” I ask. I'm starting to get frustrated. I wish the doc would just shoot straight with me.
“Poison your father,” he says in a regretful way.
“No! It's the owls! Don't you listen to me? Mom was poisoning him! Not me!”
“Simon, you are a mental patient of mine, confined to this hospital, and for now, confined to this bed. A new drug has been developed and we are testing it on you because you are exactly the person this sort of drug was created for. It does many things, but primarily it's designed to keep your mind balanced in whatever mental state you happen to be in at the time of the injection. And it has no side effects like Haldol does. Unfortunately, you were given the drug about the time you were slipping back into your fantasy state of mind, so the drug has kept you there for quite some time. It has taken months to turn you around, and get you back on the sane side – the side of reality, but you're just not quite there yet.”
I'm reading the doc's every thought, even the subconscious ones. They come at me strong. So strong in fact that I can actually feel them, and I can see them swirling about. They look like a tangible substance hanging in the air like small clouds that have broken up after a thunder storm. I can almost reach out and touch them, but of course I can't because I'm physically restrained to this bed.
His thoughts appear as full images in my mind, crisp and clear, even more real than real life itself. I see his faults, and his dreams and aspirations, but I also see his dark intentions. And because of this clarity, I can see that he has been telling me the truth, at least the truth as he knows it, because I'm not convinced yet that I actually killed my brother, or poisoned my father. But I see things in his mind that are just as disturbing as what he probably sees in mine. Everyone has a dark side. But I'm surprised at just how dark his actually is, and I can't help but feel that he should be the one restrained to a bed inside a room with bars over the windows like mine.
“I have to leave, Simon,” he says. “I've got another appointment in fifteen minutes.”
He stuffs everything back into his briefcase and heads for the door.
“Hey, doc...” I say, stopping him briefly. “Keep a straight face.”
He turns and looks at me funny. He doesn't know what I mean by that statement.
“Tonight, when the detectives interview you... Keep a straight face.”
He steps toward me, confused, concerned and shocked, all those things and maybe more.
“What are you talking about, Simon?”
“This new drug... It does have a side effect after all.”
The doc loosens his tie a bit. He's nervous and clearly agitated knowing that I seem to know something he doesn't.
“The side affect is clairvoyance isn't it? At least that's what you call it. That's what your wife experienced after you slipped some of the drug into her drink the other night. She saw you. She saw the true you. She saw the many affairs you were having with a staff member and one of your other patients, and so she threatened to go to the board about it which of course would end your career. So you got rid of her in the woods. When the police find her decomposing body, you can tell the detectives she often jogged alone on the trails there, but it won't help you. You'll still go to prison for what you did to her.”
A scowl on his face hardens. He turns without saying a thing and opens the door. The same two nurses are still waiting just outside.
“Don't give him anymore of the experimental drug. Go back to Haldol. Double the usual dosage.”
One of them questions the doc's strange orders.
“Do it!” he barks, then stomps off down the hall.
The two men come into my room and one of them holds me down even though I'm already physically restrained. I can't fight them, so I don't even try. The one with the needle turns and looks back over his shoulder which makes me a bit nervous because it's like he's hiding something. He proceeds and pushes the needle deep into the vein in my arm, but it doesn't hurt that much.
“Don't worry kid,” he whispers to me. You're going to be fine. I'm not doubling the dosage like the doctor ordered. You're getting less than the usual dosage. We're going to get you off of this stuff. It might take a while, but we're definitely getting you off this stuff.”
A feeling of relief comes over me, and in a few minutes, the drug is doing its thing, and it takes me somewhere else.
* * *
My power of perception has always been good to me, and because I have never abused it, I think it has grown and gained strength inside me for years. And this new drug they had me on has somehow made my power of perception even stronger. It almost seems to have developed a strength and a will all its own. It has become an entity in and of itself. It's inside me, feeding off what's left of the drugs in my system, at least mentally. My physical body is still suffering from the numbness it causes in me, but my mental abilities are coming back, like driving through a fog bank and into a patch of crystal clear air. My thoughts and mental images projecting in my mind are of things that have not actually occurred yet - but will very soon in the near future. They flood in like ocean waves, one after another, filling my head.
My house is on fire. (Not at this very moment of course, but soon). Nobody's inside except the owls on the clock and the tips of the flames have swiftly advanced up the walls engulfing the clock and event
ually the entire house. I'm lying outside on the front lawn, choking and coughing up soot from deep within my lungs. There's a boy my age running from the house. It's Kyle Treblee, and he's carrying a can of gasoline that I recognize from the garage. He stops briefly and looks back at me, shoots me a big grin and vanishes into the smoke that’s drifting and following him out into the street. I soon pass out but the paramedics arrive on scene and bring me back.
* * *
I eventually start to feel myself getting better and I wake to find that I've been moved to a real hospital room, one with a window that has no bars. I can tell that the drug is wearing off, but they still give it to me, but in such small doses now that it doesn't seem to really affect me. They're weaning me off it slowly, and I'm happy that my gift appears to be intact and remains stronger than ever.
Someone has left my door open so I can see everything going on out in the hall. There's a bit of a commotion and I see the doc being escorted out by two police men. The scene causes a smile to form at the corners of my mouth because I know what he did to his wife and I am happy to know that he has a lifetime to pay for his crime.
One of the nurses pokes her head in my room to check on me, sees me happy and content, then leaves and closes the door behind her. My room becomes dim, quiet and peaceful, illuminated only by the soft orange glow of a winter's setting sun just before dipping below the city horizon outside my window – beyond the bare maple.
The drug has worn off entirely, and I'm happy to know that the owls (and their voices) will soon burn in hell where they will speak to me no more. They will no longer have any form of control over me. I'm free. I'm finally in control of my own thoughts again and I'm very much alone in this room - all by myself. And I couldn't be any happier, because that's exactly how I like it.
Just before I doze off, my entire family walks into my room and surrounds me in my bed. I'm so glad to see them all that my idea of preferring to be alone seems so far out of normal that I find it hard to believe that I actually thought that I preferred it that way.
Dad looks healthy and Mom looks very happy. And just seeing them both lifts a burden that I didn't know I had. Dale brought me some books to read and Tina brought her flute and proceeds to play something she made up herself that turns out to be so absolutely beautiful that it makes me cry, even though I fought hard to hold back my tears in front of them.
They tell me all about a new house across town that Dad and Mom just bought and are finally all moved in, and can't wait for me to come home.
“It's got your favorite kind of tree in the back yard,” Dad says.
“Yeah, a great big old Maple,” Mom adds.
“And there's a little park right around the corner from us, so that'll be nice when the weather warms up a bit.”
* * *
Two weeks later I'm finally released from the hospital. It's winter time, but it's a balmy forty degrees today and no snow on the ground, so Dad stops the car at the park near our new home and we all go for a little walk because I really need the exercise after being cooped up for months. I tire quite easily and so we find a bench to rest on for a bit. Mom and Dad are looking at me, I guess because for the first time in a long, long time, we are all smiling. It just feels good that we are all here together – healthy and happy. Speaking about my little brother Derrick is no longer taboo. In fact my parents now encourage it to keep his memory alive in us all. I think they have finally come to terms about what happened and no longer look at me as though the circumstances surrounding his death were somehow my fault. And because of that I feel that the final burden has been lifted and I can now truly be myself and love my family.
“There's only one rule,” says Dad. “There will be no talk about the owls.”
I relax and meditate there for a few moments, allowing my power of perception to work. Even without the drugs in my system anymore, I can still tell I have it, and it is stronger than ever. It begins to reveal images to me that make me feel good about the weeks, months, and even years ahead.
Things are going to turn out just fine for the Kruger family. Dale goes to college and earns a degree in visual arts. Tina earns a scholarship and becomes a music teacher at a posh school in town, but she spends her spare time going to other less advantaged schools and getting young kids interested in music. Mom and Dad are able to retire and go sailing all the time.
As for me... it's no surprise that I end up a counselor at a drug rehab facility. I get to use my power of perception on my clients so I can really get inside their heads and help them find a way out of their addictions. The pay is nothing to brag about, but if they only knew how much satisfaction I get from this job, they would quickly learn that I would gladly do it for free.
About the Author
_______________
Christopher David lives and works in Washington State. He loves sci-fi books and movies. Other interests include writing software, gardening and hiking. When asked what question he ponders the most, his response is always - “What if ...”
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends