Lauren smelled onions. It made him hungry. It brought thoughts of the stir fries he had once been known to make. He was no longer in the small back room he had claimed as his own living quarters. He didn't remember how he got here exactly, wherever here was. He had said good night to Declan,whom he imagined would have had to be home by now. It was well after dark, and cold, in this strangely familiar street. A voice was calling him, but he ignore it. It too was familiar, but something about the taste of that voice made him, what was it? Angry? No, that wasn't quite right. Fearful.
That's it! He
thought to himself, this is it. This is where it happened. He
remembered now. The nightmare struck back, forcing him to forget that
it was all a dream. He was back in college, not as a student but as a
professor. His hair was short, his chin decorated with a goatee. His
glasses weren't gaudy and thick, multicolored or as strong as they
should be. Thin copper coloured frames, he didn't even need to use
them unless he was taking a drive. And even then, only at night.
Being as dark as it was outside, he took them out of his breast
pocket and put them on. He barely remembered owning a suit as nice as
this one, but it didn't matter. Every time he realized something was
off, he simply forgot. Assimilated further into the dream.
Taryn smelled
onions. The sweetness roused her senses with a touch of curiosity.
She didn't remember coming home, nor the ride on the bus she took
from the building being rented by Committee of Special Questions, the
strange building on Alto Street, address number two. Strangely,
although the thought occurred to her, she did not find anything odd
about the missing time.
There was that
strange eyeball, set in Lauren's right hand. There was the feeling of
disgust. She left quickly, and then? Oh, it didn't matter. She was
home, and there was a smell of onions from somewhere.
“Oh, hey
sweetie.” her mother's voice came, the round faced Indian woman who
always had a smile on, no matter what.
“Mom?” Taryn
couldn't believe it.
“Well,” her
mother said, always cheerful even now, “Who else would it be?
Mother Theresa?”
“But,” Taryn
said feeling a touch of abnormality, “I thought… Hadn't you
died?”
Taryn's mother
laughed, “Have you been having those dreams again?”
Declan smelled
onions. It was a distant smell, and it reminded him of his time in
New York City. He loved the smells and the tastes of the city, the
touch of every ethnicity he knew of in the air, all the cultural
food. He never realized how much he missed it.
But he didn't miss
it anymore. How could he? You can't miss something in front of you,
and there it was. As big as he remembered. The towering buildings.
The rushing people. The mass of cars at traffic lights. The smell of
onions. It was his favorite, wasn't it? Of course it was! The small
little stand that always smelled so good. It was three blocks from
his hotel, and as soon as he discovered it, it changed his eating
plans and habits. Gone were the attempts to try a new restaurant at
every meal. Lunch wasn't eaten in some fancy over priced
establishment. It was this stand, and it's strange lamb and spicey
foods. He was already in line, deciding on what he would be ordering.
Clenshaw smelled
onions. He knew better. He forced it. His dreams didn't alter. He
woke up in a start, and looked at the clock. 3:33 am. The old man
gave a gruff cough, and as quick as he could he brought his stout
frame out of bed and turned on the light. His stubby hands reached
for the phone, kept always at his night table where he kept his
prosthetic eye at night. He quickly dialed, the full number of
course, Adam Clenshaw was in too much of a hurry to use the speed
calling codes Declan had set up for him. That clumsy little thing
that he had never figured out nor memorized the required codes.
“Damn it, Lauren!
Answer!” he hung up at the voice mail, and tried again, this time
calling the Committee offices directly, “Answer!”
“Hello, thank you
for calling the Committee of Special Questions. Kasey Sams answering,
and who may I ask is calling?” came a familiar, but saddened voice.
Adjudicator
Clenshaw's eyes widened, growing a bit tearful. “I,” his voice
cracked for a moment as he whispered in his gruff way, “Smell
onions…”
“Of course you
do, sir.” Kasey Sams answered, still sounding sad. She was seated
across from Clenshaw. To her right was Toby Hennis, an auditor, or at
least at one time. Between Toby and the adjudicator was Catherine
Laines, whom Clenshaw knew was quite tragic, but couldn't remember
why. The adjudicator turned to his left, where Declan's brother,
Sammy Polis was just placing a large plastic bag on to the table.
Clenshaw recognized it, they had just ordered lunch.
“What's going
on?” Taryn asked her mother, who had returned to cutting the
onions. Her mother shrugged, not answering. Something crawled under
Taryn's skin. Something stirred the skin to the point of goosebumps.
Feeling weak suddenly, in her stomach and her chest, Taryn hesitantly
took three shuffled and stammering steps towards the woman who raised
her. A hand reaching slowly out, but never made contact as it reached
towards her mother. She was alone in an instant. It didn't smell like
onions anymore.
She was moving away
from the master bed. She felt warm. Wet. Her hands shook. She was
holding something. Something terrible. Her eyes started to look down,
despite her mind's screams not to. There was the knife. Covered in
moist and fresh blood. There was the body. What was left of it. Taryn
couldn't remember. Why? How? She could barely comprehend the
questions. Her mother lied on her back, twitching. Her neck opened
up, flooding the floor with a sickly red. Her hands upright, reaching
towards Taryn weakly, fingers splayed and clawed outward. She still
wore that smile.
“Professor!”
came a young voice Lauren had been trying to avoid, “Professor
Barr!”
It was catching up
to him. He couldn't ignore it anymore. He turned, and forced a smile,
“Ms. Keller?”
The woman came
jogging up from a side path, the particular path connected to the
campus cafeteria. He felt a pang of shame hit him, though he couldn't
remember why, as he set his eyes on the young woman. He felt he knew
her, but could not for the life of him recall why. Her purple sweater
was tight seemed so out of place. Something about that sweater irked
him. Bothered him deep where his memories were being kept from him,
without his immediate knowledge he knew he hated it.
“I,” the
student said pausing to take a breath, “I was thinking. I… I'm
sorry but I can't, I just can't do it anymore.” She looked scared
but somehow brave to Lauren, who wouldn't answer. That wasn't
correct, he felt it for a moment, he wanted to answer. He wanted to
ask what she couldn't do, and why, but the words vanished in his
brain and he simply remained quiet. Distant.
“I'm sorry,”
she repeated, “Don't, please don't fail me.”
The professor
turned and started to walk away, leaving the woman to run up and pass
him. She turned to stand before him with a more desperate face, “I
swear, I won't tell anyone what we-” her words choked up, “I
won't tell! Just, just don't fail me!”
For some reason he
knew he'd grow to regret, before forgetting that he would in this
strange dream memory, Lauren laughed.
“And then I
said,” Sammy Polis went on, red cheeked and laughing, “Wrecked
him? Damn near killed him!”
The table laughed,
even Clenshaw. But where the others laughed with an earnest honesty,
Adam Clenshaw's laugh seemed jerky. He gave a chuckle, then his face
twisted into anger, before turning the corners of his mouth upwards
and pitching forward in a full on laughter. Why was he laughing? He
couldn't remeber the joke. Wrecked him? Damn near killed him? Why was
that funny? It bothered him and Clenshaw became agitated again, but
then for reasons beyond him he smiled and turned towards his old
partner.
Between chuckles,
he tried to speak, “You, you're dead. And you too!” turning
towards Toby, and right before he managed to burst into a side
splitting laughter he turned his attention to Catherine “And you!
You set yourself on fire!”
He had started to
mention Kasey but he couldn't. The giggles around the table
continued, but he pitched forward with tears falling from his cheeks
and landing on his white shirt. “You,” he started to say,
slapping his knee as his shoulders bobbed up and down. He still made
the sound of amusement, good spirited laughter. His face did not
match, and neither did his mood. Between the jokes being told around
the table he was hysterically crying and laughing at the same time.
He didn't know or realize why, but felt every emotion as genuine.
Lauren shook his
head, thinking to himself of the student. He remembered her bit by
bit as he walked. She was young, it was her first year. Home schooled
in an overly fearful and religious family. It took so much for her to
leave, to travel across the states. He remembered her telling him one
night how she had to jump through hoops. What was her name again?
Anyway, he reminisced of the story. It was difficult, or at least she
made it sound so, to make the transition. All the while in partial
secrecy. Her father was supportive and helped her keep admission to
college a secret from her mother, who practically looked as if she
would die, as the student had told him, when she found out she was
leaving for college. What was her name?
He could remember
her body but not her name. He remembered some of this long ago night.
She would go back to the dorm. And then? Something was important
here. He didn't smell onions. He smelled something entirely
different. It smelled strong and rotten. He heard screaming. He heard
people calling for help. There was the sound of women screaming. The
cafeteria, that's what happened. She was going back to the dorm, but
stopped at the cafeteria!
“I'm so sorry, I-
she…” Taryn had started to say, choked up with tears.
A man stood in
front of her. He was tall and square jawed, with a blocky face, a
dark hand sat on her shoulder. A sign of comfort that didn't quite
ring true. He nodded as he spoke, “It's alright. You can't blame
yourself.”
The voice sounded
so faked. Rehearsed. Uncaring?
“I, I stabbed
her, it – I didn't mean to!” Taryn sobbed.
“I understand.
But you can't blame yourself, she attacked you. Obviously,” the man
sad, although the words sounded right the voice did not, “It's
going to be hard. But you did what you had to do.”
“She was my
mother!” Taryn cried.
The man took a deep
breath. Taryn was sure he was white, blonde haired, but not anymore.
She could have sworn he was short, heavy and smelled of cheap
cologne. But here he stood, different than she remembered him a
moment ago. His eyes were the color of freshly watered garden dirt,
and his skin shone in the darkness. He looked too sweaty. Worried.
“Who are you?”
she blurted out, catching the man off guard.
“Shh, it'll be
okay.”
“I know you,”
she said trying to scramble away. The towel the paramedics had handed
her fell to the ground, but she could not flee. The man's grip too
strong.
“No, we never
met.” the man assured her. His face suddenly familiar.
“No, no -no!”
she cried out. Despite the volume and fear in her voice, her
scrambling and fighting actions as she tried to kick out at the man
who held her steadfast with a single hand on her shoulder, none of
the others around her seemed to notice. The forensics team kept
taking pictures. The EMT who she thought was just as scared she she
was continued talking on the radio at his chest. The other police
milled around and did their job.
“We,” the man
said with a more stern voice, “Have never met.”
“I saw your
picture, you were that guy!” Taryn blurted with a sudden
realization, “The one before me! Tevil!”
The man smiled, and
shook his head once, as he spoke, correcting her, “Teivel. Jonathan
Teivel.”
“No, this, this
didn't happen.” the adjudicator said placing both hands firmly on
the table. His smile continued to mock laughter, despite his
determined and angered eyes. If he could see himself, if he could
think clearly, he'd assume he had cracked up.
“What?” Toby
said looking up, with a genuine smile. Toby always smiled. He was the
happiest person Adam Clenshaw had ever known.
“You. You never
knew Catherine. Or Kasey. You died three years ago.” the
adjudicator said to Toby still laughing, “And I can see. I lost my
eye just last year. This, this isn't right.” He suddenly burst into
laughter, along with everyone at the table. Save Kasey Sams, who
continued to sit there looking sad and tragic.
“And Kasey didn't
know any of you,” the man continued, “Because you all died.”
Kasey stood
suddenly, in a jerking action that took her a foot away from the
table and dropped her chair to the ground, tears swelling and running
down her face now as well, “It was your fault!”
The table's mirth
broke then.
“And you've got
him working for you too now, don't you?” Sammy Police said with
disgust. “Not good enough you killed me, but you gotta fucking kill
my baby brother too? Didn't you come close enough the last time?”
“I,” Clenshaw
started to protest, he wanted to explain himself but the words kept
freezing in his throat.
“Do you know how
much it hurt?” Catherine asked with venom dripping from every
deliberately paced word, “Being burnt alive?!”
Adjudicator
Clenshaw was no longer laughing, or crying. The words struck him and
he felt dead. He sat there without making a noise, without moving an
inch.
“It doesn't hurt
much, in the end.” Catherine said, stopping to settle herself as
Clenshaw saw raw emotion starting to swell, but a hand was placed on
her shoulder, from the darkness behind them. Clenshaw hadn't even
noticed they sat in darkness now, save for the single light set above
the table. The hand reaching in was dark, and seemed to shine in the
light.
Catherine put a
hand up, to slightly touch the dark stranger's hand, whose face was
hidden in the blackness. She nodded. She was fine enough to speak
again, though tears started to fall from her eyes now as she did.
“It hurts. It
hurts so bad you don't hear yourself screaming. And then it goes
cold. And you can't feel anymore, and it's so, so scarey. You could
have done something. You knew. You could have stopped it.”
“You could have
stopped all of it.” Toby abruptly interrupted, but no one at the
table seemed to mind.
“You should
have.” Sammy added in, looking like a broken man.
“I,” Clenshaw
again tried to apologize, but stopped himself. The dark hand had
removed itself from Catherine's shoulder. That hand, the only sign of
the stranger vanished into darkness. There was no sound, and Clenshaw
felt fear growing.
The sudden touch at
his shoulder a moment later sent the chill of death through his body.
He looked up and saw the man's face, and spoke to him, though the
face retained a cold and judgemental expression the adjudicator spoke
with sincerity.
“I'm sorry, I
didn't mean it. Teivel,” and he turned to face the others at the
table, “Sammy, Catherine,” there was a slight pause as he looked
into the eyes of the tragic Kasey, “I'm so sorry. Especially to
you.”
Lauren ran. There
was a pain in his throat. He knew what was happening. Despite the
dream world trying to force him to forget, to relive it as he had at
the time, he knew. And he could not forget. He raced, and ran as his
scrawny legs would allow him. His glasses falling from his face as he
did so. His tie, a plain black piece of fabric was flopping over his
shoulder in the wind he created as he ran.
There she was. The
students around her were crying. She was still conscious, and there
were some trying to help her. Lauren couldn't make out the details.
They were fuzzy shapes in the night, his vision blurred and off, but
he knew where she was. The stark purple sweater set amongst the more
neutral and shallow colours of the other students, some members of
the staff amongst them. The stark purple sweater amidst the red.
A hand suddenly
grabbed him and turned him around with impossible strength.
“Stay back!”
the security officer had grabbed him, and pulled him back a step
despite his attempts to fight.
Something was
wrong. He remembered it for a split second. He had broken past the
security, the old gray haired man. He had managed to get to the dying
teen, and the name suddenly came to him. Judith. It was a strange
name for her.
“You can't,”
the security officer said, but his voice was deep. It wasn't nasally.
It had the wrong accent.
The rest of the
campus security had already pushed the other onlookers back, as a
nurse was looking at Judith, trying to save her. This was where
Professor Barr was able to break through, the first time. This was
when he was able to apologize. This was why he was fired, but that's
not what was happening. The grip was too tight.
Lauren spun his
head to face the man, “You're supposed to let me go,” he said
suddenly calming, “That's how it happened.”
Lauren saw the man
and laughed, genuinely at that. The auditor wasn't wearing his
professor clothing any longer. He was wearing his multicoloured and
random attire. Reaching a gloved hand into his pocket he pulled out
his thick black and pink glasses.
“Teivel?” the
auditor said amused, with a snarky smile “Okay. I know, oh I know
I've lost it now. What are you doing here?”
Jonathan Teivel
seemed confused for a moment. A flash of anger later, and the man's
hand set on the auditor's shoulder shoved him back and away. Lauren
woke up to a phone ringing.
The auditor quickly
rosed, back in the waking world, and grabbed for his glasses and ran
out of the room he had claimed as is own, and into his office. By the
time he got there the voicemail had picked up, but there was no
message. As the auditor went to check the caller identification, it
rang again.
“Hey,” Lauren
said as soon as he put the phone to his ear.
“Oh,” came
Clenshaw's apparently relieved voice, “Good. Good it's you. Did
you, I can't believe I'm asking this, but-”
Lauren cut the man
off, “I'm in the mood for something with lots of onions.”
There was silence
for a long moment.
“Call everyone.
And I do mean everyone!” the adjudicator said, “Emergency
meeting.”
Lauren took a deep
breath, “Everyone? Even Teivel?”
Clenshaw gave a
startled noise, “Teivel? No. Not him. I'll explain when we start.”
“Righty-oh
chief.” Lauren said, with no amusement in his voice this time.
There was actually a touch of worry.
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