Paranoiac (6 page)

Determined to
continue my search, I walked up to a monster of a vehicle, an all
American, gas guzzling hunk of excess. It was black, brand new and
one of the biggest wastes of space I had ever seen. Just like the
other two it was unlocked and had that awful new car smell. I hated
that smell, the smell of sterility. I liked things that smelled
lived in, things with a history. I’m not one for shiny pretty
things. I love antiques, worn down furniture in creaky old
buildings, ready to collapse at any moment.

You couldn’t
tell that the house in front of me was built in the 1900’s. Most of
the wooden floors and furnishings were just as old but everything
else was brand new. The house was in a derelict state back when it
was found and refurbished. Luckily, most of the house was sealed
tight with only a few broken windows. Most of the wood in the house
survived the harsh, humid weather. A lot of the house is still
furnished with the original furniture too. Apparently it was
hunkered down inside of the cellar, hidden from the awful Southern
humidity. A sharp hard shiver ran up my spine just at the thought
of the cellar. It was almost like a living, breathing creature,
sitting still, ready to pounce on its prey at any moments' notice.
I pulled away from the thought of the heavy, bolted wooden door. I
hated that wicked corridor and its' gloomy, shadowed door but I
didn’t know why. Shaking my head violently with my eyes squeezed
shut, I tore myself away from that preternatural
darkness.

The humidity
was weighing on me. The sun was slowly setting and there were still
two cars to search after this one. I focused on the task at hand
and combed the mechanical atrocity for any notes or signs of life.
In frustration I all but ripped out the upholstery looking for that
little, yellow, sticky note. I stumbled out of the monstrosity and
slammed the door loudly. The sound echoed throughout the property,
temporarily muting the cicadas.

By
the time I reached the next car the cicadas were back in full
force. This vehicle was almost an exact replica of the first.
Promptly I christened the machine,
Monstrosity Mark II
. It was the same shade of black, had the
same interior and all of the same expensive nonsense. The only
difference was the fancy radio deck. It was the kind of deck with a
booming sound system that rattled every window in a 5 mile radius.
Sound systems, cars, and sports were things I never cared to learn
about. After several minutes I sighed with woe, finding no signs of
any little yellow notes.

After taunting
me constantly with these minuscule annotations, he was depriving me
of them. Like a drug dealer he gave me a taste of the truth, a
taste of how to find this wormy bastard. Then, out of seemingly
nowhere, he had stopped leaving them. I hated how much I wanted to
find another shiny, yellow piece of paper. Every time I saw one of
those little fuckers I got so angry. Now only my addiction and my
curiosity will drive me onward. Furiously, I kicked at the cars'
excessively large tires. I was irate with myself for playing his
stupid game. I could have just as easily went home, leaving this
madness behind. Defiantly, I could walk away with my back to all of
these sour memories. But while I write in this journal I already
knew I can’t.

As I walked to
the last car, I wiped a layer of sweat off of my brow and slung it
to the ground. The last car in the driveway surprised me as I
neared its dented and scratched frame. It was very different from
all of the others. The car was old, at least ten to twelve years or
so. It was worn, scratched, dented and beautiful. The only thing
new about the car were its tires. It was refreshing and comforting
to be in the presence of such a vehicle. I walked the perimeter of
the car taking in every ding and scratch. The bumper was covered in
Liberal, vinyl stickers that layered each other. I stared at all of
the typical pro-choice, anti-patriarchy, and anti-religion
stickers. It was as if the car was a protest sign unto itself. Even
if I agreed with most of the bumpers' messages, I felt that it was
overdoing it a bit. I smirked and studied this oh-so-familiar car.
I couldn’t dream of why I felt connected to it but again the name
Molly flashed into my minds' eye. I ignored the name and glared
into the windshield.

My heart
stopped for an instant and everything around me became silent.
Again, on the rearview mirror was a tiny, yellow note. I eagerly
grabbed for the handle to the front-passenger side door just to
find it was locked. Locked! I hysterically ran to the other doors
but they were all sealed. I sat, staring at the note trying to read
it from the outside. I couldn’t even make out a squiggle of
cursive. Every time I came close to reading a single word my eyes
would lose focus. “Dammit!” I yelled out, pacing back and forth. A
dysphoria passed over me. It was right there, right fucking there
and I couldn’t reach it.

Then
inspiration hit. I ran to the front of the house and right up to
the busted SUV. Sweat dripped down my back as I pulled the rock out
of the front-passenger side window. My arm scraped against the
broken glass jutting from the broken window’s frame but I ignored
the pain. The rock was dense and awkwardly shaped. I clumsily ran
back to the older, worn car at the end of the semicircle. The
gravel crunched underneath my feet, leaving me off balance and
straining under the weight of the jagged stone.

I slid to the
car, lost my footing and for the third time today landed brutally
on my ass. My tail bone felt obliterated and the palms of my hands
were pressed painfully against the hot, stabbing gravel. The large
stone laid beside me. The crag of the rock was covered in dirt and
pointed upwards. The rock and gravel alike were spattered with
flecks of my blood. I watched it trickle off the side of the stone
while catching my breath. I inspected my glass shredded forearms as
my heartbeat finally began to calm. The cuts were superficial but
bled out like a fountain. My hands were another story. I brushed
the sharp gravel out of my already cut filled hands and finally
mustered enough energy to stand.

Sluggishly I
picked up the rock, spun in a circle and heaved the stone into the
driver’s side window. To my dismay I had to jump a few steps back
to awkwardly avoid the ragged rock when it bounced off of the
window. “I will not be defeated by you!” I yelled angrily. Fueled
by a toxic rage I picked up the ugly chunk of stone, lifted it over
my head and started smashing the window with the crag repeatedly. I
screamed louder and louder with each blow. A mixture of blood sweat
and tears splattered forcefully against the car with each trembling
assault.

Finally on the
eighth strike the tempered glass of the window fractured and on the
ninth it shattered. Turquoise glass exploded into the car. Dropping
the knobby stone onto the gravel I staggered to the ancient,
antique of a car and steadied my balance. Knocking off the rest of
the glass from the window with my journal, I unlocked the door and
stood horrified at what looked like the scene of a bloody murder.
My life’s blood was spattered along the cars' upholstery and
dripped off of the shattered, blue tinted glass.

Unlocking the door I slipped into the car and slumped into the
seat. I was sore, out of breath, and dripping with a blood-sweat.
The sunlight was almost gone and the cicadas were dead silent after
my outburst. My arm, shaking with exhaustion reached out and peeled
the note off of the mirror. I was having an out of body experience
and I could barely feel the glass jabbing into my ass. The note
simply read,
“This
was her car you know.”
I was suddenly dizzy and nauseous. Images of a pretty black
haired, green eyed women flashed in my mind. I tried to push the
thought of her out of my head. Every time I caught a flash of her
crooked, slightly fanged smile I became sick to my stomach. I knew
every minuscule image that glimmered in my mind had come from
memories I refused to admit. I kept trying to block out the
memories that were scratching at the inside of my head. I patched
up the wall in my mind that was protecting me from my grief. The
pathetic mental barrier was only being held together with paper
mâché made from hard, cheap liquor and the rambling writings of a
madman. I knew the make-shift blockade wouldn’t hold forever but I
couldn’t help but delay the inevitable.

I sloppily
slid out of the car, my balance shot to hell. The sun was finally
down and the moonless sky left me feeling like I was in another
world. I could feel those creatures of the night staring at me
through the forest that framed the houses' entrance. One by one the
outdoor lights came to life. The lights illuminated the driveway
and the house like a center stage. Cautiously I walked through the
dim lit driveway following the lights that slowly flickered to
life.

Abruptly, my
ears started to ring with a high pitched noise. Or was that the
cicadas? More memories of her leaked from the cracks of my mental
blockade. This time I saw flashing images of the gorgeous woman,
she was smiling and laughing. It sent chills up my spine. I felt
warmth in my hand and the sensation of fingers intertwining with
mine.

More and more
lights winked on, leading me to the path behind the house. More and
more images of the emerald eyed siren crawled into my mind. I could
still feel an echo of soft hands tracing my arms and into my
fingers. It felt like she was haunting me. Looking down slowly, I
peered at the long, ragged scratches that marked my arm. There was
dry, crusty blood that ran the length of my arm. It was pulling
painfully at the hairs matted to my skin. Opening my clenched fist
I looked down at the thin, sweat drenched note and let it float to
the floor. There was a rumbling in the sky and an intense need to
get out of the moonless, miasmic darkness.

Journal Entry Ten

Out of thin
air a cool, fat rain drop splashed on to my cheek. Then another and
another until I was being bombarded with the sloppy, heavy,
ice-cold rain. The humid heat was obliterated with this sudden
unexpected rain. The icy rain and chilling wind pushed the dizzying
memories of Molly out of my head. I impatiently shoved the journal
under my shirt, protecting it with my life. I’ve always found my
grave ramblings to be more important than my life.

I glanced at
the path leading behind the house and as if on cue a thunderous
bang lit up the sky. A compulsive, adrenaline fueled fear forced me
to take off running down the illuminated passage. Icy rain started
to soak through my clothes as I ran across the stone path leading
to the garden. The towering trees and banana leaves on either side
of the walkway formed a tunnel. The trees served as a shield from
the abrupt thunderstorm. However, even with the plant life
protecting me from the rain, I was still dripping wet. I could feel
the blood and grime wash from me as I ran through the path. I
couldn’t help but stare in awe at the trees, plants and bushes as
they were blasted with a torrid wind.

The rain
started pelting me sideways stinging my open wounds while I tried
to protect my face. I started to lose my footing as the wind
whipped me with debris from the garden’s path. All I could do was
follow the blooming light that was a beacon to a dry sanctuary. It
felt like I was traveling through a black hole, passing through
some ethereal portal to another world.

Lightning
cracked from above and thunder vibrated through my ears. The little
lights on the stone path flickered turning this awful experience
into a true horror show. I started to jog, out of breath from
running, along the slippery stones. The foliage started to get
thicker the closer I got to the back of the house. The banana
leaves and trees started blocking out most of the rain.

At last the
wind was letting up and the nightmarish storm eased up almost as
fast as it had come. I slowed to an even walk and finally started
to catch my breath. If there is one thing I’ve learned today it is
how out of shape I am. I have been here for little less than a day
and I’ve gotten more exercise than I could stand.

I sighed with
relief when I turned around the corner and found the garden. It
felt like it had been an eternity of nasty weather and flying
debris. The entrance to the garden was barred by a long forgotten
wooden gate. The gate, which was covered in vines and overgrown
vegetation, was locked. I almost lost my mind with frustration when
I realized the gate was only as high as my waist. I laughed at
myself in embarrassment as I climbed over the fence, which was no
match for my long legs.

In the center of the
garden was a pool
, framed by a fence and lush garden. The flora was
tall enough to block out any unwanted visitors, except me of
course. The entire expanse was filled with beautiful flowers and
small trees that I couldn’t name. Old statues littered the back
yard, especially near the pool area. If my memory serves me
correctly, most of the statues were from the original owners of the
house. The lights around the garden gave off an eerie ambience. The
caustic luminescence from the shimmering swimming pool only added
to its’ creepiness. The pool was very large and at least nine feet
deep. There were miniature waterfalls that formed into a small
slide, all of which was surrounded by foliage and a small
cherub-like statue. Underneath the waterfall and slide was a small
hidden cove. A perfect place for romantic nothings, especially in
this ethereal light. I stood watching the rain pierce into the
glowing, turquoise pool before jogging through the patio that lead
to the screened sunroom.