A Start

Although I plan on writting a full story of this, I figure I post it up here and see how creative everyone else gets with the begining of my story. I tend to write my beginings very open ended. Anyway, here you are.



A sudden jolt goes through my body. White light is all that I can see. I cannot help but wonder where I am, and further more, how I managed to get here. Another stinging sensation and the white light is now three large aura-like beams above me. Am I in a hospital, or am I just dead? A hospital would seem most logical and appropriate, but nothing has been what it seems, and I can’t help but question. Have I come to my senses, or have I had them all along? If I have had them all along, then do I dare tell the story I have come to know as my life? I guess at this point, there really isn’t much of a choice.


The glass made a shattering noise as it hit the pavement. The noise made little impact on me, since I could hardly manage to keep my balance, let alone worry about the broken bottle. The number of these I had drank became as blurry as my vision. Each stair I climbed became more of a challenge then the one before it. All I can seem to think is “Déjà vu”, which is rather appropriate since I had been doing it everyday for four years now. I thought to myself “One more time up these old steps, one more memory I can only hope to forget.”

The doors were locked, but why wouldn’t they be? It was a Friday night between eleven and midnight, and usually high schools aren’t open at these times. I, being in a drunken, oblivious state, was not expecting this.

“Fig’res, nothing…ever goes my way!” I yelled with quite a slur. The alcohol was effecting my speech, and apparently my judgment as well, because within seconds I had picked up a brick and threw it right through the window. The alarm went off, but I was in no hurry to get away. Stumbling along, nothing seemed to matter to me. Luckily, no cop came quick enough to catch me before I left, or else jail would have been most likely the future for me. Given the circumstances though, I probably could have gotten lucky. Wasn’t long before things got dark. I can only describe this as what is commonly referred to as “blacking out“.

The sun must have been up for hours before I came to. A jail cell… apparently I wasn’t as lucky as I thought I was. The pillow was rather flat, bed sheets clearly worn, and the metal frame cold, as would be expected.

“So John, got anything to say for yourself?” Officer Armstrong said to me with this casual but disappointed look. Might have answered him but I couldn‘t bring myself to do it. Such a splitting headache often limits your abilities to function correctly, at least it did for me. After some time of gathering myself back together though, I managed to come up with a reply.

“What happen?” were the words that left my mouth. I knew about what happen. I threw a brick through a window, left a trail of broken glass bottles leading up to the scene, and passing out before I managed to get home. When I asked what happen, what I really meant was, “What do you know I did?” and “Why am I here?”. The response didn’t take long. He took off his glasses and said, “Well, this shiner you gave me might have been a start.”. It became blatantly obvious that some of the events I cannot remember last night, were the reason I got myself in here. “You’re lucky John, I decided to not file a report. Given the circumstances, I decided that for this one last time, I let you go. If this happens again, no more free passes, and you know what happens then. Now, you better get out of here before Officer Carpenter and Officer Willings get here.”

He unlocked the cell door, and opened it up. I was rather surprised. I could see getting off for something minor, but I had hit a cop. If this weren’t such a small town, and Mr. Armstrong hadn’t known me since birth, I could have been in some serious trouble. That didn’t keep me from asking what immediately came to my mind though.

“What are you going to tell them?” I asked him, without trying to pry. Officer Armstrong looked at me with dismay and said “Nothing.” I couldn’t help but say, “I meant about your eye. What are you going to say?”. He then realized what I meant and walking back to his desk said, “Got hit with a baseball playing catch with my kid.”. I wasn’t surprised though, since Officer Armstrong was always able to think up excuses on the spot. You don’t know whether he will be the guy giving the ticket, or the guy making up the excuse to get out of one. I wasn’t going to wait around any longer, I knew where I needed to be, and I was already late.


I will enjoy reading where everyone heads with this.

[edit on 1-12-2006 by grimreaper797]

Okay, so maybe I need to explain myself. I've never been good at explanations, mine or anyone else's. To tell you the truth, which is rare for me, I never thought about anyone else except myself...until recently.

I'm a lot of things. I'm a punk, and a liar. I swear too much and as I've already demonstrate, I drink too much. In spite of all that, I don't have much of a criminal record and I've never gotten anyone pregnant. My dad bought me a car for my sixtenth birthday and I haven't wrecked it yet.

The one thing I am most certainly not is a sheep. While everyone else is so-o busy conforming, I go out of my way to be different. Seems like the more different I am, the more stuff I notice. Stuff that's not normal. I'm not talking about two-headed monsters or pink elephants. I mean the small things that other people do when they want to hide stuff. I can spot a liar with my eyes closed.

You know what? None of this happened until I voted for the first time. I went to the polls on November 7th of 2006 like everyone else who was eighteen years old or even older. The stupid electronic voting machine was broken at the place where I vote. I had stuff to do after school, and I almost didn't make it in time before they closed up.

The lady who checked my ID said I was the only person to use a paper ballot at their station. I didn't really think about about. I just sat down and read the stuff and used a pen to mark the boxes. Come to think of he, she didn't seem too happy to see me. Some old guys there, trying to fix the machine. Wish I had gotten a look at his face.

So, I voted and went home. It was late and I had school the next day. My paretns were already in bed and asleep when I snuck in. I remember eating left-overs from the 'fridge, with the door open. I can't swear to it, but that may have been the last "normal" moment of my life before...this happened.

[edit on 1-12-2006 by Justin Oldham]

I'd like to think some of the leftovers I ate had gone bad, and that some of the fungi growing on it had been hallucinagenic. I don't have much experience with hallucinigens, in fact I'm not even sure how to spell it. But if a mold had been growing on my left-overs, as it often does, that may explain the things that occured just moments after as I walked drearily into my bedroom.

Oh, I can't forget to have that fridge looked at. Nothing lasts more than two days in the confounded thing.

I lay down on my bed and wishing I had another bottle to keep me company. Perhaps I should stay away from the stuff for awhile I thought wincing at the memory of waking up in that jail cell. After all, Officer Armstrong said I wouldn't get away with it again. Now that I look back on it, it was probably a mixture of the mold and the sobriety that can be to blame for what happened. After all, it had been so long since I had so little alcohol running through my veins, perhaps my brain didn't know how to handle it.

So anyway, I sat down in front of my computer, and was logging on to check my email, when I suddenly smelled something very strange. It was a good smell, though. It smelled kind of like that aroma of Crayola markers on construction paper at Christmastime. I almost smiled at the thought of it, but as my lips started to curl upwards toward my ears, (which everyone makes fun of because they're so big...*sigh*), when suddenly the room grew very dark. I couldn't tell if it was actually getting dark or if my eyes were just...blacking out or something. I had the feeling it was actualy getting dark because at the same time it was happening, it felt like the atmosphere around me was getting thicker and heavier. The glow of my computer screen was still visible, but I could barely make out the words. The smell seemed to get stronger as the room got darker.

I was looking around for a flashlight, which probably wouldn't have helped, when suddenly there was a big gust of wind. Wind! In my room! And not like a breeze from an open window, but a huge gust of wind that literally threw me to the floor. This is not normal I said out loud to myself. And yet it wasn't to myself, for I was not alone...

[edit on 1/12/06 by an3rkist]

She couldn't help but laugh at me, laugh at the utter shock that had taken over my face. She knocked me right off of my feet. The smell, the dimming light, it all came together now. Paranoia gets to me at times. Rachael was not like most other girls. She was a tomboy, to say the least. If she had any interest, she probably could have made the football team. She was a nuisance in my life, but who doesn't say that about a brother or sister. She came in through the back door, so I wouldn't hear her...and so her alcoholic father, Steve, wouldn't either. I say her father because he was only my step-father. I'll save that bastard’s story for another time though.

Not surprised that she had just come back from the store. She did the shopping, I tried to keep the house together, mom and Steve worked. Mom worked all the time, which maked it hard to depend on her to do much of anything. If Steve did anything around the house, it would have been trashing it. My responsibilities because of this rose greatly, even when I was little. The fridge needed fixing, TV was broken, but air-conditioner worked...in Steve's room. Far as I was concerned, I was the man of this household.

By the time I got up, Rachael was already in the kitchen unloading groceries. She had a hell of a tackle, and I sure was feeling it as I tried to get up. After turning the lights back up, I asked Rachael what she had been up to that day. The usual things came up. After school she had gone to the daycare center to color with the kids. She ended up being the paper, but she didn’t mind much since she loved kids. I assumed that it was the reason she smelt like crayons, and asked her if mom would be coming home tonight. She didn’t know, but we never usually did. As we looked at each other with a sense of despair, a door slammed. The steps creaked, we heard a rustling noise, and the sound of liquid in a bottle. Our sense of despair was only about to get worse, and we both knew why.

[edit on 1-12-2006 by grimreaper797]

The...thing...who calls himself my step-father doesn't scare me. Sure, I've picked up some bad habit from him, but he's never really slowed me down. His bark is worse han his bite. Even so, he bites like a rabid animal.

As he shuffles in to the kitchen, I can see that he's already numb. That's good. He ignores me and goes for the groceries. Raechal does a slow and very well practiced fade in to the other room. I've really got to learn how to do that for myself. Instead, I get up and start to walk out like I normally would.

On any other day, he would've challenged me before I left the house. Today, he ws more interested in stuffing his face. The fight I'd been so ready for didn't happened, and I was grateful. I went to the school to use the showers. I smelled like I felt. Bad.

I skipped school and went to the park to think. Only thing is, I didn't get there. I was riding my bike when I passed the storefront that they used for our polling place. Two guys were busy loading the electronic voting machines in to a large grey paneled van. Like I said, I notice things. That's my gift.

Just as I passed the van, the guys loading it dropped one of the voting machines. It hit the ground and came apart. I had to do some fancy foot work to avoid the pieces. There's a lot things that I am not. I am not ignorant when it comes to computers. As the guts of that machine spread out on the street in front of me, I could identify boards, modems, and a few other things that are common in most computers.

Trouble is, I couldn't identify some of the other things I saw. All at once, I remembered some of what I'd read on the net. Proprietary technologies. Some of these machines were known to have some really screamin' stuff inside. Without thinking, I dropped my bike like I was in a crash. All I got for my efforts was one lousy piece. It looked lousy at the time, and I was kinda bummed about that when the guys from the van chased me away.

Haven't you ever wanted to know what was inside those machines? I did. The idea of an electronic voting machine never really appealed to me. Computers can be told to lie. I know this because I've...done things you don't need to know about.

I took the component home with me and used a magnifying glass to find the part number. It wasn't hard to look it up on the Internet. The answer I got kept me away for three days. Seems that the 'device' was the property of a telecom outfit in Sedona, Arizona. The description in their online parts catalog said "optical lense, medical."

[edit on 4-12-2006 by Justin Oldham]

Woke up shivering in a 6 by 5 cell. Peeled the vinyl mattress off my back and stumbled to my feet. Tripped over the shoelaceless boots head first into the stainless steel john. Damn pig wasn't the only one with a shiner. Heaved up some bile that burnt my mouth, desperation sent me to the sink to suck up some fetid water out of the stubby tap.

Vaguely remembered the 3am call to Jerry, he'd promised to send someone. Everyone knew him there. Old fart was a player in every small town on the East coast. Spent time himself in the don, before straightening up and pulling off a bar. Bastard knew more bikers than most pot-dealers.

1 oclock rolled around and Tommy was there to sign me out. Stupid pigs handed me a bag full of the booze I'd had when I'd pushed that sucker down. Guess he wasn't hurt too bad or I'd have more than one rib broken. Only one place to go after a night like that.

"Gimmie my damn shoe-laces" I barked, when they handed me the bag. "I've got drinking to do."

I may have a nose for trouble, but I'm not entirely stupid. The little gadget I had in my posession didn't look like any kind of lense or medical device that I'd ever seen. As I was poking around on the net, I found a web site that opened my eyes to a few things.

Above top secret dot-com looked like any other clearing house for conspiracy kooks that I'd ever seen. Even so, I used the search function on that web site. Seems that I'm not the only one with enough curiosity to kill a cat. Strange and fragmentary reports relating to unidentified technologies being found in common everyday appliances and...voting machines...caught my attention.

As freaky as all this was, I still wasn't ready to start wearing tinfoil hats. I kept the device in my jeans pocket and managed to get to school more or less on time for the rest of the week. My home life took a back seat to my curiosity as I started to do more Internet research at the school's computer lab after the end of my official "work day."

As it turns out, Sedona is a place in Arizona reputed to be near a secret U.S. government underground installation called "Dulce." That company I told you about? It was called "Electronic Alternatives." The list price for the part I had in my pocket was $153. I was ready to be satisfied with the fact that I'd stumbled on to something I shouldn't know about. I was even ready to leave it at that and go no further.

I got home after dark that Friday night. The front door was wide open, and there was nobody home. That's not so unusual around my house, trust me on that. I didn't start to get worried until I noticed that there was a full dinner setting on the kitchen table. Knives, forks, spoons, plates, and cups. And food. I stuck my finger in to the pot roast to find that it was still slightly warm.

It's not unusual for my "family" to eat without me. I've never seen them leave an entire meal on the table. Never seen anybody do that. It took me that long to realize that something was really seriously wrong. A quick check of the entire house didn't reveal any signs of a struggle. The t.v. was off and the remote was in its usual place on the coffee table.

That's when I noticed there was a single message on the answering machine. I walked through the house one more time before pressing the buton to hear the message. The caller was a man. Serious. The kind of guy who was born without any sense of humor. He was very direct.

"You've got something that doesn't belong to you. All you've got to do is leave it where we can find it, and you'll have your life back. If you decide to do anything else...anything else at all...You'll wish you'd never been born. You have 24 hours to comply."

Nobody threatens me. Nobody. I've spent more than my fair share of time in detention after school to prove that point. Even so, there was a tone to this guy's voice that I'd heard before. It's what my step-father sounds like after he's been on an all nighter. This guy was daring me to cross him. He wanted me to do something that he could make me regret.

I sat on the couch in the dark living room. It would be so easy to just leave the computer part on the coffee table and go to bed. Whoever they were, they'd probably find it long before I woke up. The idea of never seeing my step dad again suddenly appealed to me. For that reason alone, I might be convinced to not give in to their demands.

Then, I thought of my mom and my sister. Raechal is my step sister, and I'll be dipped if I know how a pig like Steve had anything to do with raising a decent human being like her. She get sthe good grades, and she's my mother's "favorite." Not that I blame my mom for that. I haven't exactly been on my best behavior since she re-married.

[edit on 5-12-2006 by Justin Oldham]

Never was much into impressing people. Oh, I liked being right sometimes, made
you feel downright "smart", but it never helped convince anyone who met me that
I was anything other than I appeared to be, a rebel. And I liked being me.
Now however, I had to find someone who would believe my story, and impress on
them the importance of trading back this "gadget" for the safe release of my
family. At least my Mom and Raechal.
Uncle Ray came to mind immediately! Uncle Ray! If there was another individual
in our family that commanded my respect, it was Uncle Ray. A free spirit from the
get-go, he was also a former soldier, a rancher, a farmer, and a skeptic with an
attitude. I knew I needed to talk to him.
Twenty-four hours didn't seem that long of a time.
I'm sure that the invisible guy that left the message about me returning the lens
probably wouldn't expect me to contact anybody. Probably thinks I'm scared as
hell. . .Well, I'm not. Just never did like lines. Guess its time to start crossing.

The idea of talking to somebody who would believe me really did sound like the right thing to do. I won't make any apologies for that. I needed to hear somebody say that I wasn't making this up. Yeah, sure. I couldn've left that stupid little part on the coffee table. I could've just gone to bed and the whole thing might've been over quick and easy. I'm just not built that way.

My mother's car was still parked at the curb. She'd given me a spare key when I turned sixteen. With that key in my hand, I went looking for Steve's gun. My step father knew what kind of a drunk he was. His gun, which really was meant for home defense. was an old .38 that he kept in a locked box in the garage...right where it would be totally useless in an emergency. I used a hammer to open the box, and I took the gun and the box of bullets that I found with it.

I put my travelling supplies in a bicycle pack and stopped at the dinner table to pu the food away. I made a sandwich from the pot roast and ate it will I loaded the dirty dished in to the sink. Just in case I didn't come home, I wanted the place to look 'normal.' I couldn't tell you why that mattered to me, but it did. I got in the car and started to drive just after midnight.

I thought about calling my uncle about the time I hit the freeway. There wasn't much traffic, but I was paranoid. Every car that came up from behind seemed to be following me. I had half a tank of gas. The idea of pulling over for a fill-up didn't appeal to me. I turned on the radio, and kept the car headed toward my uncles ranch.

Without thinking about it, I turned on the radio. Coast-to-Coast A.M. was playing, which I'd never heard before. Some kind of late night call in show for conspiracy hounds. Just what I needed. the computer part in my pocket felt like it weight fifty poinds. the guy on the radio was going on about black projects, and how they were funded by rogue elements inside the U.S. government. The whole thing sounded a little bit too real until I finally had to pull over for gas.

The first signs of daylight were just on the horizon when I pulled in to a dusty little gas station with lots of white neon. I used what money I had to buy half a tank of gas and a six-pack of "Jolt" soda with extra caffein. I asked hte old guy behind the counter for the key to the men's room. When I can out, there was a large black SUV at the pump just behind my car.

That big four-wheel-drive had privacy glass everywhere. It also had government license plates. I returned the key to the station attendant. Inside the little office, I noticed a guy in a dark suit buying some junk food. He was wearing sunglasses. He looked right at me on time, but never said a word to me. The silent treatment.

I got back in to the car and went like a bat out of hell. I changed the radio station to something that sounded like music I could relate to, and just kept going while I drank all that caffein. Ray's ranch is located near this little flea-bite of a town. The local sherrif is a putz, looking for any excuse to write a ticket because the money from the fine goes straight in to his pocket. I slowed down as I went through his jurisdiction. I got to my uncle's place justas the sun was starting to reach over the horizon.

Pasted a rusty mail box, down a long dirt road, I came to a loud stop on the gravel that pretended to be his driveway and front porch. I turned off the engine and jumped out of the car. I could smell fresh coffee, fried eggs, and sizzling bacon coming from the kitchen. I ran to his front door, and without thinking, let myself in. I stepped in to the living room for just a moment. Ray was hard of hearing, and I didn't want to sneak up on him.

That's when I felt the barrel of a gun on the back of my neck. I saw movement out of he corner of my eye, and I started to turn. I saw the muzzle flash, and I felt the passing of the bullet as it creased my face. I was deaf even before I hit the floor. I'm not sure, but I think somebody kicked me in the head before I passed out. The last thing I saw was a hand on my face...then...nothing.

The room looked like two dots. Miles away. Two small lights in a sea of black. I closed my right eye. I closed my left eye. The respective dots blinked in and out of existence in turn. Everything was fine. This is what it looks like to regain consciousness.

I waited for the next step. The wash of dull pain to come over my head. The rising tide of pressure in my skull like a stern lecture from my brain. Usually my brain is lecturing me about the downside of alcohol. This time the lecture sounded like this: In the future, please avoid situations where you get kicked in the head and shot in the face.

My brain. What a know-it-all.

I sat up and tried to determine where I was. My vision was back to about fifty percent, which is why I didn’t believe it when I saw bars, a cot, cement. It didn’t make sense. Officer Armstrong pressed his face against the bars of my cell.

“He’s back.”

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. How the hell…

“Back in the klink, I see.”

Oh good. A familiar voice. At least my Uncle Ray was in here with me. And he was dressed like Officer Armstrong which my brain told me might come in handy. Uncle Ray was sitting at a counter on the far end of the cell. He was eating pot roast.

“Is that from the fridge?” I asked.

Uncle Ray laughed and a little piece of pot roast fell out of his mouth.

“Pull yourself together boy. Here. Eat.”

I sat down next to Uncle Ray at the kitchen table and had a bite of pot roast. It did not taste good at all. Uncle Ray slid a bottle of gin across the bar and I took a heavy tug. It tasted like crayons.

“I’m dreaming.” I told Uncle Ray. “This isn’t real. I’m dreaming.”

Ray took another bite of Rachael and washed her down with the bottle of wine. He shrugged.

“Hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t these days.” He said.

Rachael tried not to cry as Ray took a chunk out of her arm.

“Please stop that.” I said. “Stop it now.”

Ray exploded. My docile and jovial uncle threw the table aside, spilling Rachael to the ground where she shattered like a bottle. He was in fatigues. His face was painted for the jungle.

The ground crunched as he stepped toward me. Under his feet were the pieces of Rachael, hundreds of glass optical lenses.

“You do not give me orders!” Uncle Ray drew his sidearm and held it to my head. His face contorted in rage.

My brain was calmly explaining to me that none of it was real. My heart pounded disagreement. Something was odd. The gun pressed to my skull. Uncle Ray’s breath hot against my face.

“I spent my life trying to get away from them. My life, boy. You don’t understand.” Camouflage paint dripped down the side of his face like blood. “The things I did for them…and I was free. I’ve been free from them. And you brought them to my house? You led them…TO…MY…HOUSE?”

Gunshots.

The room retreated against a canvas of black. It was nonsense. The whole thing. Impossible stacked on impossible. My vision split and spun into two small points of light. The process comforted me. At least it was familiar. The two lights twinkled for a moment before disappearing.

This is what it looks like to lose consciousness.

Had I seen a needle in that hand? A freaking giant of a needle aimed right at my
eye?
I woke up having to puke. Maybe I was still dreaming, but I swear someone was
continually punching me in the stomach, still trying to push me across the line.
I was dizzy and felt like I was falling, over and over again. Vaguely, I could make
out a voice telling me to shake it off, that I'd be alright in a few minutes. But the
punches to the stomach continued, and my throat opened up involuntarily, and out
spewed whatever I'd eaten in the last few hours. I choked for air as the punches
to my midsection raged on. I tried opening my eyes and had to blink away blurry
tears to see anything.
I was being carried ! Yeah, someone was running with me over their shoulder.
Running fast! And I was bouncing around like a ragdoll. Now I began to sense what
was going on. Those punches weren't punches at all, it was me bouncing up and
down on somebody's shoulder, knocking the air out of me again and again.
I tried to turn my head back as I gagged again, to get a look at who was killing me.
Ray! It was Uncle Ray! He was running as fast as he could, with me over his
shoulder, and talking to me at the same time, saying "Shake it off boy, you'll be
okay, just shake it off!"
Lifting my head again, I could see Ray's house burning like all hell. He pulled up
and lowered me to the ground, helping me stand up. "John, you've get to work
with me here! Start helping me. Stay awake. Think. Help me!"
"Okay,okay, I'm with you now Ray, what do we do?"
"Well firstly," he replied, "we pack us up some supplies and get the heck out of here. I took care of our dark-sunglasses friend back there. The bastard almost
took you out though! What in hell is going on?"

And that was the question. What was going on? Was he in the cell or at Ray's
ranch? Another damn "blackout"? What was real? He put his hand into his pocket
and touched the lens, or whatever it was. It began to vibrate slightly and felt
warmer to the touch. He refused to look at it, wishing he had a bottle of Rachael,
and a glass.

I had...the strangest dreams. Man, I really thought they'd killed me. When I came back to life, I found myself on my own bed with all my clothes on. My head hurt, and there was a bandage on my face. The room was dark, and I could see my digital alarm clock on my cluttered nightstand. 1:55 A.M.

I was so involved with being alive that I didn't realize I'd stood up. My sneakers were on my feet, which did surprise me. The, I reached in to my pants pocket. The small comptuer part whas gone. In its place, I found some dryer lint and someting like three hundred dollars in small bills.

Using a flashlight, I made may way through the dark house. My mother and her husband were fast asleep in their bed. There was a slight hint of something chemical in their air. When I realized it might be knock-out gas, I held my breath and went to check on Raechal. She was in her own bed, snoring. Everyone except me was in their night clothes.

I went to the kitchen to get some aspirin. There was no message on the answering machine when I checked it. My mom's car was in the driveway. I checked my pockets. The ignition key was right where it should be. Shuffling back in to the kitchen, I turned on the light to read the calendar on the refrigerator. No surprises there. I'd lost a day.

The stink in my armpits told me that I hadn't showered in atleast that long. I poured some soda over ice in a large plastic cup and sat to think. The flavored sugar water tasted good. As I saw it, the crisis was now over...if I chose to let it be over. The mystery men had their stolen part bakc, and I had a little something for my troubles.

I was beginning to see why those conspiracy nuts on Above Top Secret dot-com were so in to their subject. Nobody wants to believe this stuff until they run in to it. Then, when you do get a taste of it...well...I dunno. It changes your world view. If I'm smart, I'll just go to bed and put this behind me.

I climbed back into bed, pulling the covers tight all around me, and began
to feel warm and comfortable for a change. What a trip! All of those damn
things that I thought happened to me! Just bull! My imagination running
away with itself, that's what it was! Maybe too much drinking!
As he dozed off, John saw once again Ray's house burning to the ground.
The bars on the cell door appeared thicker and stronger, and nicer, as if
they were trying to protect him while he remained inside, away from the
evil.
Officer Armstrong was there, stuffing money into his pockets. Why?

And the phone kept ringing, over and over again. Ringggggggg!

He sat up just in time to hear another message! . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Yeah Johnny-boy, your ass is grass, and we're the lawnmower!"
"You should've given us that part when you had the chance Johnny-boy!"
"Too bad about your family!"

My mother was yelling. Her shrill voice chipped at my headache like an ice pick.

“John! Come in here pleeeeease!”

Normally I would roll over and ignore her, but the past twenty-four hours had done more than just mangle my face and scramble my brain. It had awakened a curiosity in me that I’d never felt before.

I’d stumbled into the middle of something and it was something important, if only because it made me excited to get out of bed.

“What?”

I stood in the kitchen, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the light.

My mom was fixing a piece of toast while smoking a cigarette. She glanced over at me and pulled a quick double-take at the bandage across my cheek, then turned and ashed her cigarette in the sink.

“What the hell happened there?”

“A little fight.”

She snorted in disgust and the cherry from her cigarette drifted to the floor. She coughed as she ground the ember out with a dirty slipper. Her eyes were glistening, wet to the point of dropping a tear onto her right cheek.

“You okay mom?”

She sniffled and re-lit her cigarette.

“Damn allergies. And your damn friends calling the house ungodly early for a prank.”

“What?”

My friends didn’t play pranks. It just wasn’t their thing.

“Listen to…”

She trailed off in the midst of another coughing fit. She pointed at the answering machine as she wiped her nose and eyes with a wad of toilet paper from a roll she’d brought into the kitchen.

“You sure you okay?”

She gave me the finger as she waddled into the bathroom, flicked her cigarette into the toilet, and slammed the door.

I hit play on the answering machine. A man’s voice filled the room over the muffled coughs emanating from the bathroom.

"Yeah Johnny-boy, your ass is grass, and we're the lawnmower! You should've given us that part when you had the chance Johnny-boy! Too bad about your family!"

My headache was gone. I hit play again.

“…should’ve given us that part…”

The optical lens. Where was it? I cycled through the last twenty-four hours trying to separate reality from hallucination, fact from dream, searching for the moment that I parted ways with the lens. It was like reading a Where’s Waldo book.

“…bad about your family!”

A cold chill.

The machine beeped and fell silent, clearing the way for a hideous sound from the bathroom. My mother.

I ran to the bathroom door and pounded on it. I tried the handle and it was locked. I could hear her gasping inside.

“Mom?!”

Her breath was ragged.

I stood back and threw my shoulder at the door as hard as I could.

Ray has it! He must have it! I wouldn't just get rid of it, or quit. Not after
all that's happened in the past couple of days. If indeed I stumbled into the
middle of something, and some of the craziness that was taking place was
real, at least some of it anyway, then I know me and I'll stick it out until I
find a link between that lens, the computer, and the manufacturer.
All of this flew through John's head as he slammed into the bathroom door,
shattering it off of its hinges. His mother rested on her knees, her thin
hands gripping the bathtub for support. Blood dripped from her nose, and
joined a river of blood spewing from her mouth. She was already dead!
"Mom!" "Mom, what the hell?"
As he choked back some tears, ( he hadn't cried in years and years ), the
phone once again began to ring. After letting it ring eight times, he lowered
his mother slowly down to the floor, covered her with a soft bath towel,
stood up, and went to answer.

Back in the cell it no longer felt safe. Officers Carpenter and Willings were
there, hittiing me with a hard rubber club that hurt like hell but left little or
no visible bruises. I know they used that needle on me! My eye screamed
with pain, and it could only have been that. Officer Armstrong, the "good
cop, bad cop" good cop side of things was nowhere around.
I smelled like someone had poured a bottle of whiskey all over me.
Maybe they had!

My mother was yelling again, shrilly telling me to "Come here,John!"
No, she was dead! I saw her in the bathroom dammit! What the . . . .

Another blow to the back of my head made me remember the voting
machine, breaking up into pieces, scattering. Hey, I had a piece of that
machine! Somewhere! But where? Where?

Was it all a dream..I'm back in school..there's Lisa..god she looks great. I need to ask her out this time. WTF....I started to get up but now I'm laying in the bathroom. I picked my head up as my body finally responded about needing a breath. I sucked in the air greedily, the burning in my sides starting to subside. My vision is hasy, like a snow globe who has been shook too many times. What was I thinking about...machine...no...what.
"Smack", I feel it before I hear it and I'm back in school staring at Lisa from behind.....

This time when I get up and follow Lisa I can. I don't know why I'm following her, she leads me..to another room. She stops and bends over, my eyes follow and stay on her rump. " You better not be looking at my butt", she says. My eyes quickly return to her face, then her arms. She is picking up a piece of equipment. What is that from, it looks like it belongs to me....What is it..Too late I'm back in the bathroom.