He’d come home to a wonderful life completely shattered. His father and grandfather had been tied up, murdered, the house ransacked. It wasn’t expected, he wasn’t prepared, who could be? He remembered sitting down and not being able to move. He remembered being carried, the sting of a needle, and that was all.
He tried to sit up again. He had to tend to the funeral arrangements, the wake, contact relatives, and make sure everything was as his dad and granddad would have wanted them to be. He couldn’t sit up.
What the hell?
he thought as he touched a huge belly, his belly. He was husky, but never fat. Now he felt morbidly obese. Maybe this was a prank, a fat suit? He rolled on his side. Long hair fell in his face, and he was suddenly aware of facial hair. He reached up and touched a thick, long beard.
“What the hell?”
When he tried to speak, his tongue brushed against jagged teeth. There were several gaps where teeth had gone missing. He grew panicked, confused. He rolled on his stomach and tried to stand. His hair blocked everything from view except the floor below him. He heard footsteps quickly coming toward him. A strong hand grabbed his arm, the other hand followed. He was able to stand after much effort, even with the added assistance.
His helper wore a pair of mirrored aviator shades, even in the low light of the gloomy building.
“Time for your pills, bro.” And the guy took off, coming back quickly with a large plastic bottle. He was fighting to get the cap off. “I got you, man. Come on brother, here’s your pills.” He was reaching for Henry.
Henry didn’t like to use profanity, so he refrained, but on this occasion he came very close.
“Who the flip are you?”
“Ah…it’s me, Jeeter.” He was floored. Fats was talking? All clear like!
Henry was confused and looked it. He was very upset, but he composed himself.
The only way out of a jam is a cool head
, his dad would say. He spoke calmly, even a bit gently.
“Jeeter? Jeeter? No, I am sorry sir, I can’t say I know a Jeeter.”
Jeeter’s eyes weren’t visible behind the shades, but his stiff posture, eyebrows an inch above his mirrored eyes, and tight lips indicated that he was freaking out. He dropped the bottle of pills.
“Well, I hope you aren’t offended…ummm…” Henry said. “Is Jeeter your first name or surname? I have been through a terrible shock. I don’t remember much.”
Hopefully this Jeeter fellow will have some answers
, he thought.
“Umm…ahh…umm…”
What the fuck was happening? Fats was talking like the prince of England, but without the gay accent.
“I am sorry about my earlier outburst.” Henry was worried his unruly hair and beard might be scaring this fellow, but he seemed to already know him.
Jeeter was starting to shake. “What’s happening, man?”
“Oh, I did upset you? I am so very sorry. I have been through a shock myself, quite a few actually.”
“Shut up! Just SHUT UP!!” Jeeter was backing away from Henry. He was holding his hands up as if to ward off an evil spirit. He was sobbing. “What the fuck is happening?”
Henry started forward. He was shocked at his size. He knew he must have been sedated and taken away after the shock of the murders, but it would have taken months, even years, to gain this much weight. He also seemed to be injured. His arm was stiff and swollen, and one of his shins really hurt, causing him to limp.
“I am desperately in need of some answers, sir.” He held his arms up in a placating gesture. “Mr. Jeeter, can you tell me where I am?” Henry was slowly stepping forward.
Jeeter lost it, his voice high and manic. “Shut up, Fats! Just shut up!”
“I am sorry I upset you. I assure you I am as distraught as you. Maybe we can put our heads together and figure out what’s going on.”
Jeeter was backing up. “I am tripping! I am tripping, man. This is all a bad trip.” He stopped and held his hands over his face, mumbling to himself.
Henry’s foot kicked the bottle of pills, and it rattled across the concrete floor a few feet. He held onto a shelf and managed to bend far enough to pick up the bottle. He read the label; it was Klonopin. This was a powerful and highly addictive drug for anxiety, seizures, and a host of other ailments. It was part of the benzodiazepine family of drugs. He knew a lot about drugs. When he’d reached high school, many of his chums were starting to experiment with substances, primarily pills they stole from their family’s medicine cabinets. He tried educating them on what they were taking so they would stop stealing and abusing, but to little or no avail. This was also when his interest in medicine started. Henry looked at this Jeeter fellow, standing in front of him with his hands over his face.
“You mentioned pills, my pills. Are these the ones I have been taking?” He held the bottle out to Jeeter.
Jeeter remained still, hands on face, and didn’t respond.
“Answer me. Have you been feeding me these pills?” Henry was growing more intense.
“You’re not real,” Jeeter replied.
“Correct, I am not real. So, talk to me. Why would I come to you in a dream if it weren’t important we speak? Now, answer my question.”
Jeeter inched forward, took the bottle, and backed away. He looked at the label carefully, then put his finger on a word and showed it to Henry.
“Yeah, see, benz-o-peen.”
He was pointing at the word
benzodiazepine
.
“As long as it says benz-o-peen on the bottle, you’re good.”
“How long have you been giving me these pills?”
Jeeter just shook his head. “I dunno, a long time.”
“How long is that? What is today’s date?” Henry was growing weary of talking with Jeeter, but he seemed to be the only source of information presently.
Jeeter just shook his head and backed away. He found an open bottle of Jack and started sucking on it hard. He plopped to the ground mumbling, “A dream? A fucking weird dream.”
Henry looked at Jeeter. He was clearly suffering from any number of ailments induced by physical abuse, mental problems, poor upbringing, and serious abuse of drugs and alcohol. He was trying to be gentle, compassionate.
“Jeeter, I need you to answer my questions so you can answer your questions. That’s how these dreams work. I am here, or what appears to be me, because you trust me. Do you trust me?”
“Yeah, sure. Of course, man. You and I have been through a lot together.” Jeeter was lying back on the floor, holding his hands over his face, but talking much calmer. “I don’t remember a lot of it, but it has been a lot.”
“Now, let’s start from the very first time we met.” Henry was feeling like he might finally get some answers, and he did.
“Now
that
I remember.” Jeeter was smiling and started talking.
§
Henry remembered the discovery of the bodies of his father and grandfather. The condition they were in was what pushed him over the edge and caused his mental shutdown. He had been conscious, but in a deep catatonic state that might have only lasted a few hours had he not been a ward of the state. He remembered the ride to the state facility, the horrible main recreational room. He was given meds to calm him, and there his memories stopped.
With the expectation that a family member would soon come for him, Henry was placed in the rec room to wait. He was also administered a dose of Klonopin that was much larger than he should have received, a common practice to keep inmates under control by less-than-competent, state-employed health-care workers.
Twelve hours later, and no one had come for Henry. He hadn’t moved the entire time. He was given a cot on the ward. Again, the expectation that a family member would soon come for him was the reasoning behind the decision. No one behind the desk wanted to go through the tedious process of admitting Henry if he was just going to walk out before they were even halfway through the stack of required forms. In addition, they would then be obligated to go through the entire discharge process the second they put his name on a form.
It wasn’t rare for a person to go missing in the state psychiatric hospitals, which were large, underfunded, and poorly run. In this case, had Henry been formally admitted, he could have been released immediately to someone with the right paperwork. If he were lucid, he could have walked out on his own in seventy-two hours. But the informal admission, a note between administrators, and he was lost in the system. His initial dose of Klonopin was carried over as a daily medication, and he was dosed again the next day. He remained in what appeared to be a catatonic state, but he’d slipped into a fugue.
The cops and the lawyers were looking for Henry in earnest. A large fortune was at stake, and a brutal double murder had to be solved. The two groups were very motivated. Had he remained but a few days more, after the mess had been sorted out, he would have been home free. And this was where Jeeter came in.
Jeeter had been in and out of mental institutions, hospitals, and juvenile detention facilities all his life. Now he was an adult, and the next stop was prison. His attorney was able to secure him a brief stay at this facility as punishment for one of his many crimes, the one he got caught committing. He was at the institution for a few months and was awaiting his discharge in the rec room when Henry arrived. Jeeter went over to talk to the hulking guy. He’d asked Henry what he was in for, and Henry only said one word, murder. Jeeter assumed it was a murder Henry committed.
A short time later, Jeeter did something all too common for him: he got into a fight. He was overpowered by the patient and pinned beneath him. He was being strangled, fighting for air, when suddenly his attacker fell to the floor. Henry was standing over him, holding an ancient radio, an old-fashioned wooden monstrosity that had sat broken in the rec room for decades. He turned around, placed it right back where it had been, and sat back down. Jeeter was in his debt. He knew this fellow was on the hook for murder and decided to spring him.
Jeeter was still waiting with Fats when the med cart came by. Nothing for him anymore, he was leaving, but the orderly gave Fats a small paper cup of pills. Fats took them and drank some water. Jeeter waited until the orderly was distracted to snatch the clipboard. On it was the name of Henry’s medication and notes pertaining to it. From what Jeeter read, he inferred that Fats must always take these meds, or he would die. Jeeter would never let that happen to a guy who had killed for him.
Breaking into the understaffed hospital was a breeze for a full-time felon like Jeeter. The ward doors were all locked from the outside, designed to keep inmates in. He had free access to the wards once he was within the walls of the institution. He planned to break into the pharmacy. It should have been locked, but someone had taped the spring-operated latch open for convenience. He walked out the back way with an armful of meds and his new friend in tow.
Henry remembered not one bit of it.
§
“I shall leave you now, Jeeter.” Fats began walking. “Lie down, the dream is over. Lie down until you awake.”
Jeeter closed his eyes.
“Fall asleep, and when you awake the dream will be over.”
Henry walked in the gloom, looking for a door, a phone, something. Looking around, he realized he was in a big box store, a discount warehouse. Why did he wake up here? Had this Jeeter managed to fill him with dangerous psychotropic drugs for an extended period? What had happened to his body? He was distraught and wanted answers. He knew that a psychotropic like Klonopin coupled with severe trauma could induce a fugue state. Had he been in a fugue state? And for how many months?
He found a door and opened it. Sunlight streamed in and blinded him. He shielded his eyes. He could see there were people walking around out here.
“Hello? Hello, can one of you help me?”
They were all coming to help. A few of the folks were closer than the others. His eyes were adjusting, and he could see more clearly. He smiled at the person closest to him, a lady, but before he could speak he saw her face, a nightmare of ripped flesh, milky eyes, broken teeth. She was coming at him, hands out. A man came up on the right. His eyes were likewise milky, his lower jaw missing, one arm bent at a very unnatural angle. Henry’s first thought was that they had been in an accident and needed help. They were getting closer. Henry gagged; he almost vomited. These people smelled rotten, literally like rotting meat.
He looked left, and there was a man with his innards hanging out! His eyes were gone, his cheeks chewed away. He wasn’t sure how to help these poor souls.
He was startled as hands latched onto him. Nails scratched him as they pulled him hard down to the ground.
34.
Cooper found himself thinking about how beautiful the world was, again. He wondered if it were a good thing or a bad thing that even in light of all the tragedy he couldn’t help but notice just how beautiful things were in the early morning.
It was a typical day in California; the sky was clear blue, the temperature in the high sixties, and there was a nice breeze. He was walking across the long-term parking lot of the San Jose International Airport, a vast flat field rowed with light poles and shuttle stops and neatly divided into thousands of car-sized spaces. He entered from the southern side of the parking lot, coming from the office park surrounding it.
The control tower was also located here and was easily visible for several miles, allowing him to navigate by sight. He was, however, still a good distance from the airport, as the long-term parking lot was located across a major highway from the tarmac and the airport itself. As he got closer to the airport, he came upon the street that led to the tower, a large sign reading Air Traffic Control Tower at the corner. He went halfway down the street and turned off just before reaching the structure, stepping through a large hole in the fence and into the long-term parking lot.