Saturday, November 10, 2012

CoSQ, Chapter Three: It Hurts so Bad You Don't Hear Yourself Screaming

So now we're at chapter three. I'm just posting all seven finished chapters while I'm here. In this chapter we come across a series of dreams involving onions.



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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