What Doesn't Kill You (A Suspense Collection) (8 page)

Stanley grabbed the rock, weighed it in his hand. Then
he looked around like a thief about to break into a house. Or like a guy
planning to smash a store window with a stone. He was feeling giddy; he had
goosebumps all over his arms and torso, boiling over with anticipation. He
didn’t know why he was so excited. He also realized that he ought to be ashamed
of stooping to such behavior, of succumbing to temptation. He should have
ignored Richard’s provocations, but he hadn’t.

Was he really going to do this?

Why not? There was no harm in it, was there? He’d just
sit in his car and wait for the cops.

Gritting his teeth, Stanley swung his arm and hurled
the rock at the window. The sound the pieces of glass made as they fell onto
each other, and the window sill, and the sidewalk was loud and indignant. There
were also pleading undertones in this noise; it was as if the store window was
asking Stanley through tears why the hell he had broken it.

The piercing shrill of the burglar alarm startled him.
Wincing, Stanley climbed in behind the wheel and shut the door. Luckily, the
alarm sound was quite tolerable inside the car. Stanley glanced at his watch in
order to register the moment his wait began. It was 8:41 pm.

When someone broke into a boutique store in an upscale
area, the police should arrive promptly, right?

Yes, that was how it worked.

At five past nine, Stanley got out of his car and
peered down both ends of the street, looking for police car lights. There were
no red and blue lights flashing in either direction.

Stanley found another stone and broke the window of the
store to the left of Juicy Couture.

Fifteen more minutes had passed, and it became clear
that cops were not coming.

Did it prove that Richard was right and the whole world
was nothing but a dream? Probably not. All it proved was the ineptness of the
local police.

Or maybe he was just burying his head in the sand.

9.

“Remember that patient I told you
about? The dreamer?”

“Yes.” Gina nodded. “What did he do now?”

“I talked to this guy’s wife last week.”

“What did she say?” Gina scooped some salad from the
bowl and put it on her plate.

“Our conversation was a bit odd, to tell you the
truth.” Stanley speared a piece of chicken with his fork, placed it in his
mouth, and started chewing. “I couldn’t help thinking that she was cuckoo
herself.”

“Maybe that’s why they got married.” Gina laughed.

“Maybe.” Stanley chuckled. “You’re funny.”

He opened his mouth to tell Gina about the gun Richard
had brought with him, but then changed his mind and said nothing.

They ate in silence for a minute. Gina was
half-watching television, and Stanley was sneaking peeks at her face.
If
she’s a replica, she’s the most authentic looking replica I’ve ever seen,
he thought to himself.

“Honey, do you remember being born?” Stanley asked in a
nonchalant tone.

“What?” Gina shifted her eyes from the TV to Stanley.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“Do you remember being born? I’m just curious.”

“No, I don’t. I doubt anyone remembers that.”

“Do you remember your childhood at all?”

Gina took a sip of water from her glass and thought for
a few moments. “I remember going to some lake with my mom and her boyfriend. I
was nine or ten. I had a lot of fun there. I swam, lay on the sand, drank a lot
of soda. That guy took us to that lake every two or three weeks the whole
summer.” She cracked a smile. “I don’t know why I even remember this.” She gave
Stanley an inquiring look. “What do you remember from your childhood?”

“Not a lot. I remember fighting some guy in the
schoolyard when I was in the sixth grade.”

“What did you fight over?”

“I forgot. Maybe he called me a name. I got beaten up
pretty bad, but I managed to throw a few good punches, too.” Stanley began to
tap his fingers lightly on the table. “When was the last time you had flu? Do
you remember that?”

“Flu? Why are you asking?”

“No reason. Just popped in my mind.”

He moved his tongue inside his mouth. The chicken was
delicious. And the rice was delicious, too. There was no way this marvelous
food was imaginary.

“I think when you’re married to a doctor, you get sick
less often than other people,” Gina said.

Stanley brought his left hand before his eyes.
High
definition dream
, he thought as he examined the friction ridges, lines, and
wrinkles on his fingers and palm. This hand must be real. It was ridiculous to
even consider doubting that.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because of all the good habits you pick up and the bad
ones you quit.” 

Later that night, when they were in bed in their
pajamas, preparing to go to sleep, Stanley cocked his head as if he’d recalled something
important and asked, “Honey, where did you park when you came to see me at work
a month ago?”

“In the parking lot.”

“Was it the parking structure or the parking lot?”

“I didn’t know there was a parking structure there. Is
it close to your building?”

Staring affectionately at his wife, Stanley put his arm
around her shoulders, kissed her, and said, “Never mind.” He kissed her again.
“I love you.”

10.

He woke up around two in the
morning. The image of Juicy Couture’s smashed window immediately emerged in his
mind. Then Stanley quietly slipped from under the blanket and proceeded to do
another preposterous thing.

His palms sweaty, he pressed his ear against Gina’s
chest and, holding his breath, listened for the heartbeat. He hated himself for
doing this. He would burn with shame if someone saw him right now. Somehow
Stanley was sure that it would be easy to guess what was going on here: a
college-educated man is checking if his wife is a living being and not just an
image in a schizophrenic’s mind. However, the urge was so strong that he
wouldn’t be able to overcome it even if he tried. It was as if he were
possessed.

He was still under Richard’s spell.

He met no surprises this time; Gina’s heart was
beating, just like it was supposed to.

Stanley took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through
his mouth. One could call it a sigh of relief, and perhaps that was what it
was.

“What are you doing?”

Stanley started and immediately got weak in the knees.
He drew himself up and, staring at the barely visible face of his wife,
replied, “I was just looking for something.”

“What were you looking for in the middle of the night?
What time is it?” Gina’s voice was sleepy and displeased.

“Half past two.” Stanley started walking to his side of
the bed. “Never mind. I’ll find it in the morning.”

11.

“How often do you experience déjà vu?” Stanley asked.

“Occasionally. Probably as often as when I was alive.”
Richard was idly drumming his fingers on the armrest.

“Don’t you think it should become more frequent now
that nothing new is happening to you?”

“Why? I’m not reliving my past life, Doc. It’s more
like a… like a game now. You know those city-building video games where you set
up factories, houses, restaurants, collect taxes, and so on? It’s quite close
to that.”

“Are you talking about SimCity?”

“Funny you should mention it. That’s what I was just
thinking of. I never played this game, but I heard the name.” Richard grinned.
“You see, if you’re thinking something, I’m thinking it, too.”

Observing Richard’s calm demeanor, Stanley couldn’t get
rid of the feeling that the man knew about the smashed store windows and the
heartbeat check. Then Stanley recalled that he’d driven past Juicy Couture the
next morning after destroying its window and found no signs of his rampage, which
of course didn’t prove that Richard was right.

“Can you read my mind?” Stanley asked.

“No, I can’t. And I have no desire to be able to do
it.” Richard interlocked his hands in his lap. “You know what I’ve been curious
about this whole time?”

“What is it?”

“I wonder if everyone gets the opportunity to have an
afterlife dream. Could I be the special case? Or maybe you have to earn it
somehow.”

“Hopefully, you’re not the only one.”

“I hope so, too. Just imagine what kind of afterlife
dream Einstein could have created. Incredibly sophisticated, I bet. I would
love to take a peek at it.”

“Maybe you are Einstein and simply don’t remember it?”

“I wish.”

Stanley made a hemming sound as he pondered Richard’s
words. Then he said, “If I am a creation of your mind, then doesn’t it mean
that when you talk to me, you talk to yourself?”

“I suppose it does.”

“Sane people don’t talk to themselves, do they?”

“A lot of sane people talk to their dogs, cats, and
ever cars, although they realize they might as well be talking to the wall.”
Richard cocked his head. “They talk to dogs and I talk to my characters.”

Stanley squinted at the window, whose blinds were drawn
at the moment, and suddenly realized that he couldn’t remember whether he’d
parked his car in the parking lot outside the building or in the parking
structure on Lakewood and Carson.

“I’d like to tell you a secret, Richard,” he finally
said. “Last Wednesday night I threw a rock at a store window. Did you have
anything to do with that?”

“Why did you do it?”

“I had my reasons. But I was wondering if you had a
hand in it.”

“How can you blame me for you breaking a store window?”

“Hypnosis, for example. Did you study hypnosis? Do you
know how to hypnotize people?”

“I wish. Last Wednesday, huh? Right after we spoke? Were
you perchance conducting an experiment, Doc?”

“As a matter of fact, I was.” Stanley shut his eyes and
massaged the bridge of his nose for a few seconds. “Listen, Richard. I’m
willing to discuss your theory with an open mind. Just for the sake of argument,
let’s assume that you’re right and we’re living in an afterlife dream.”

Richard narrowed his eyes and cracked a mischievous
smile. “What happened, Doc? What changed your mind? Did you notice something
odd?”

“Maybe.”

“What was it? Did you finally remember that there was
no parking lot there a month weeks ago? Or did you jump off a tall building?”

“No to both questions. What I was going to say is, I
want to see more proof.”

Richard put his right hand inside his jacket and said,
“I bet you know what have in here.” Then he pulled out a gun, which was
probably the same gun he’d brought a week ago.

“Didn’t you promise not to bring any weapons?”

“Come on, Doc, don’t be such a scaredy-cat.” Richard
held out the pistol to Stanley.

“Why the hell do you want
me
to do it?” Stanley
noticed that he was getting annoyed and maybe even agitated, and it upset him
quite a bit. It was unprofessional to let emotions control him. “Why don’t
you—” He stopped before finishing the phrase, because the last thing a licensed
psychiatrist should do was telling his patient to commit suicide.

“Why don’t I shoot myself? Is that what you were going
to say, Doc? Or why don’t I shoot
you
?”

“I’m just asking you to leave me out of this.”

“I need you to take a leap of faith. I have a feeling
that’s the only way to make it work.” Richard closed his left eye and aimed the
pistol at the door. “You see, I’ve already tried shooting myself. Right here,
in this room.”

“When?”

“Five weeks ago.”

“Was I present when you did it?”

“You sure were. The problem is you don’t remember it.”

“You’re right. I don’t remember you shooting yourself.”

“That’s why I want
you
to pull the trigger.
Maybe, if you
really
open your mind, you’ll see the truth.”

Stanley reached for the pistol, touched its handle, and
after a short hesitation grabbed a hold of it.

“Excellent, Doc!” Richard exclaimed. “That’s a great
start. Now stick the gun in my face and the pull the trigger. I promise you
nothing bad will happen.”

Panting, Stanley looked at the gun, then shifted his
eyes back to Richard. “You want me to pull the trigger, huh?”

“Yes, I do. This is the proof, Doc. The best proof
there is.”

Stanley inhaled deeply, pointed the gun at Richard.
“Okay. Just remember it was your idea.”

Then he pulled the trigger.

12.

Saturday morning, Stanley made an odd discovery. As he
washed his face, it caught his attention that the scar he’d had on his chin was
gone. He’d earned this scar in that memorable schoolyard fight he’d gotten into
when he was twelve. Stanley could swear he’d seen the scar while washing his
face the night before.