Creative Copy Challenge #60

“Breathe carefully,” he warned her. “The slightest movement could bring them!”
She looked at him with disdain, but her adrenaline did start to rise. She glanced around briefly and tried to see deeper into the ominous darkness.
He hissed at her again, “Don’t even breathe!”
She whispered back, “You are too paranoid.”
Although, she admitted to herself, the bloodshed from the previous evening would make a lot of people paranoid.
Suddenly, through the grim silence, they heard a scream.
“What was that?” he whispered agitatedly.
She turned to look at him and reply, but he was gone.

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“It’s time to go for your piano lesson Billy.” 

To seven year old Billy this was an ominous phrase that pumped a blend of paranoia and adrenaline to the very tips of his pudgy littlie fingers. He hated to go to his teacher’s creepy old house where he gagged on the odor of Ben Gay and strained his eye in the darkness of the pale lighted rooms where centuries old furniture and pictures waited, and waited. He would have rather donated to the bloodshed at Little Big Horn than to try to form B flat with his reluctant little fingers.

As directed, Billy would carefully perch himself on the creaky old piano stool, afraid to breathe for fear of causing  structural failure to the tripod.  Then, on cue, the silence would be broken with the maddening scream of the metronome, Tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick.
 

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@Shane,  I told ya!  I was worried I would lose my bet.

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In Order:

Adrenaline pumps through each vein,
Bloodshed so thick it’s like rain.
Trying to breathe is insane,
Carefully avoiding the pain.

Creepy shadows cross the wall,
Darkness smothers my call.
Hearing ominous noises, losing it all…
My paranoia is growing so tall!

One short scream splits the silence,
I imagine the scene of violence,
The image on the screen is evidence:
Video games have terrible ambiance!

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Short story yet again…

Adrenaline began to surge as the first rays of the sun became visible.
We had spent the night with no bloodshed.
If I needed to breathe I wouldn’t have been able.
Carefully I turned her towards the sun.
“That feels creepy.” She said.
The darkness was receding quickly; the coming day ominous.
“We must run.” I said. “This is not just paranoia. The sun will be the end of you today.”
She began to scream into the silence of the pre-dawn.

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The Girl Who Stayed the Same (continued….)
The nurse showed up first, peeking into Jesse’s room, then stepping up beside his bed. He watched her carefully, searching her face with a desperate paranoia for any hint of his mental collapse.
 
He could feel the irony of that, but it did nothing to calm him. The nurse was kinder this time, though. She abandoned the ominous silence after a quick scan of his monitors, and even offered him a smile.
 
“Good morning, Mr. Lane. How are you feeling today?” She didn’t give him time to answer, which was probably for the best. Her eyes danced over a page on her clipboard and then shot back to his. “You’ve got a special guest.”
 
He felt his pulse pick up at that, with a flush of adrenaline that made it difficult to breathe, but he forced out the question. “Is it…is it Jonas? That man who was here–”
 
He trailed off, unable to finish the question for fear of her reaction, and for a moment it was as bad as he’d expected. She frowned at him, surprised, realizing for the first time how uncomfortable he was. She shook her head, and he fought down an urge to scream.
 
“No, sir.” Her eyes went back to the clipboard, and she flipped a couple pages, then turned it for him to see. “In fact, I need to speak with you about Mr. Jonas. You filled out this form?”
 
It was a Visitation Consent Form, and though Jesse had no memory of offering his consent, he could vaguely recall a moment on the edge of oblivion, darkness pressing in on his vision, when his creepy guest had presented him something to sign.
 
Looking at it now, he could see the signs of his own distress. His handwriting was jagged and wild, illegible and scratched wildly outside the lines. The nurse arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that your signature?”
 
“Well…yes,” he said. He could remember the nurse leaning over him, just moments before he’d signed it, with a fury that threatened bloodshed. That memory didn’t jive at all with the woman standing pleasantly beside his bed, though. How much of it was real? “I mean,” he started again, stuttering. “I remember signing it, but–”
 
“But you were under the influence of some serious drugs,” she said, pressing the clip and pulling out the page to crumple in one hand. “I suspected as much. This is worthless then.”
 
He watched the paper collapse, and his hopes went with it. “But what about him?” he cried, almost desperate. “What about Jonas?”
 
She glanced back over her shoulder, out of the room, then met Jesse’s eyes again. “You don’t need to worry about Jonas anymore. Okay?” She gave him the sort of reassuring smile caretakers gave to madmen. “There’s someone else here to see you today.”
 
Jesse pressed the heels of his hands furiously against his eyes, overwhelmed with frustration, but he didn’t want to make himself seem any crazier than he already did. He took several slow breaths, then lowered his hands. He used his “nice” voice.
 
“Please, show them in. Who is it?”
 
“Justin Marks,” the nurse said, and as she said it the man entered the room. “He’s an occupational therapist–”
 
“And I’m here to get you back on your feet,” Justin said, taking over for the nurse. He accepted the clipboard from her, then watched until she left the room. When she was gone, he scanned the papers on the clipboard rapidly, then raised his gaze to Jesse with a big smile on his face.
 
“You’re in luck, Mr. Lane,” he said cheerily. “Can I call you Jesse? You’re in luck, Jesse. I don’t really do this much anymore, but I’m making an exception for you. I’ll have you back to your real life in three weeks. How’s that sound? There’s maybe two other guys in the whole state who could get you patched up that quick!”
 
He dropped the clipboard on the bedside table and extended a warm hand to Jesse, but Jesse just eyed him warily. “What makes me so special, then?” Jesse said. “Why am I an exception?”
 
“You don’t know?” Justin’s smile slipped, and he glanced nervously out toward the nurse’s station, then he leaned close and spoke to Jesse in a whisper. “Jonas asked me to take care of you. A special little favor.”
 
He grinned and waggled his eyebrows before straightening back up, and Jesse giggled quietly in spite of himself. Crazy it was, then!

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Part 28

Jax felt as though he’d slipped from a digital universe into an analog world. Everything was black and white, grainy, and not quite real. Almost like being in a dream. A strange paranoia snuck over him. Where was he?
 
He took in the scene before him. He was mid-way up in a multi-story building. Modern artwork lined the gently curving walls of the perimeter. The large open center of the room allowed him a view of the airy atrium below. Moving throughout the room without meaning to, he noticed that the floor sloped gradually, effectively merging all stories together as one gigantic ramp that spiraled down from top to bottom. The view up through the center of the building gave him the impression of being inside a giant conch shell, with the organic curve of each floor’s consecutive balcony forming the interior skeleton.
 
He knew this place.
 
Jax wracked his brain, certain that he’d never actually been here before. But something about it was definitely familiar. Adrenaline pumped through him. He felt so close to the answer. Think, Jax! And then words popped into his brain. Guggenheim. Frank Lloyd Wright. With the words came other images, but not from this dim reality. Those scenes of the place, including the outside were trapped in his mind and unavailable to his eyes. They were in full color, high quality – photographs, he realized. He’d seen pictures of this famous piece of architecture somewhere in his unremembered past.
 
The people around him were perusing the art, not a crowd, but a small scattering throughout the place. He watched a middle aged couple as they visually drank in one of the paintings. They gazed at the solid square of gray as if in awe of the masterpiece before them. He tried to speak, to question how he got here, but nothing came out. Watching the other patrons, it dawned on him that no one here could see him. Was he a ghost?

An ominous feeling crept over him, chilling his insides. He was just about to reach out and try to touch the rail of the balcony in front of him – to see if it would resist his hand or if he would pass right through it like a vapor – but at that instant, the room disappeared.
 
He blinked, trying to clarify his vision. Still fuzzy, he saw in all gray tones that he was outside in the middle of a field. A little girl in a sundress (she looked about four years old) was taking advantage of the wildflowers that were prolific here. She plucked one from the ground as if it were a prized treasure and carefully tucked it behind her ear. Then, one at a time, she gathered a bundle of the blossoms, apparently unconcerned with their dreary lack of color. Putting them to her nose, she took a big whiff of the scent and smiled broadly.
 
Once her bouquet was full, she turned and danced across the field. It was at that moment that Jax saw the other people. A short distance off, a man and woman sat on a checked blanket. The girl’s arrival broke the gaze held between them. The woman smiled and reached out as the girl gifted her with the bunch of wildflowers. She put them to her face and smelled them. The man continued to watch the woman until she returned his attention. He smiled at her and pulled her close, burying his nose in her hair. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply and she laughed soundlessly at his affection.
 
The field and small family in it flickered and were gone. He wasn’t outside anymore. He was in an enormous darkened music hall. Every seat in the auditorium was filled. The audience sat in awed stillness, their gaze fixed on the illuminated orchestra. On the elevated stage a multitude of formally clad musicians each played his or her instrument with intense passion. But Jax could not hear a sound. There was only silence, like watching a muted television program.
 
A flash. Another scene. This one had the creepy overtones that came from Jax sharing an intimate encounter with a couple. Specifically, he was standing at the foot of their bed. The man and woman, clad in only sheets, seemed to be having a cozy conversation, she lying on her back looking into the man’s eyes and he on his side, leaning on his elbow, eyes locked her face.
 
Jax’s insides crawled as he watched unwillingly. He tried to escape, to back up, to exit the room as quickly as possible, but he was unable to move. If the man spotted him, he knew he was going to be in a world of trouble. What kind of scum spied on people like this? There might very well be bloodshed and from the looks of that guy’s muscled arms, it wouldn’t be his.
 
The man’s gaze flickered up at the window for a moment and then back to his beloved, the adoring smile on his lips never once faltering. Jax’s heart skipped a beat, realizing that again he couldn’t be seen. Somehow he was frozen here, forced to watch whatever was placed before him. There must be a reason for these scenes. But what?
 
He scanned the room, realizing he was also unable to turn his head or change the view whatsoever. What was important about this picture, about all of them?
 
Still uncomfortable, he forced himself to take in every detail of the interaction. The man was still talking, without sound, and his fingers gently trailed up the woman’s arm, from wrist to shoulder. He lightly cupped her cheek in his hand and leaned forward to press his lips on hers. Just as the scene died away, Jax realized what it was. Touch.
 
His vision went black for a second, but his mind analyzed with speedy efficiency the five scenes he’d just witnessed. The restaurant – taste. The art museum – sight. The girl with the flowers – smell. The concert hall – hearing. It was the five senses again. What was the connection between these and the mysterious rooms in the building?
 
He processed all these thoughts in a fraction of a second – the amount of time that it took for the last scene to dissolve into blackness and be replaced by a new view. He was back in the solitary room in the building. His sight was normal again. And he was still strapped to the metal chair. He’d never left?
 
The waves hovered in the air around him, as if waiting for something.
 
“So what’s the point?” he asked aloud. “Five rooms to appeal to the five senses. Five scenes, each focused on one of them.” He looked at the ripples, wondering if it was too much to expect some type of answer. “So you’re obsessed with senses. But why show me them this way?” Who was he talking to, anyway? He had no idea, but something kept him going. It was that ever-present compulsion to find the answer.
 
 “If you’re trying to make me experience things, there’s one problem. I’m just an observer here. I couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t taste or touch or smell anything either. And my sight was greatly limited – the visions aren’t even in color, for Pete’s sake. Is that really the best you can do?”
 
He looked at the distortions again, at the moment not concerned about his well-being. He wanted to solve the puzzle. Cocking his head thoughtfully, he spoke again.
 
“You can’t fool me with cheap imitations. I know those aren’t real. They’re more like…well like a distant memory than a reality.”
 
At that, the waves converged on him again, and this time his curiosity trumped fear. He felt the light zap of the electrical current again, but it wasn’t enough to cause serious pain.
 
A new scene. Black and white. He was in a small bedroom. Darkness cloaked the room except where a thin trail of moonlight illuminated a figure, lying on her side in bed. The woman’s back was to him but he could see the outline of her curves through the sheets. Completely still, she appeared fast asleep, completely oblivious to her observer. But after a moment, she rolled onto her back and he saw her face. His pulse raced when he recognized the gentle curve of the cheek, the closed lids, and the thick curls framing her face. Kel.
 
He wanted to scream her name, but he was unable to make a sound. What was she doing in these visions? His thoughts were chaotic and disorganized. Had she made it back? Was there was some sort of video feed watching her? Were somehow these electrical waves able to project the image into his mind? That kind of technology seemed farfetched, but there had to be an answer.
 
His eyes stayed on her even when he felt the sensation of movement. It was as if he was floating through the room. But he was unable to keep focus on her as he passed through the closed door and down the darkened hall. The vision stopped him in front of another door. It was at that moment that he recognized the house and its familiar layout. Even before materializing through the closed door, he knew exactly what he’d see on the other side. A bedroom. His bedroom…from before.

But one thing he didn’t expect. There, lying in his bed, was a man. In his sleep, he tossed and turned, a frown creasing his brow, the picture of pure restlessness. His hands clenched and his face distorted as he suffered silently from an unseen nightmare. Jax stared at the face, framed by a mess of tangled dark hair.
 
The man was himself.

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