Frank Black

(Note: If you are reading from the beginning, please scroll down to "Wednesday, November 6." I have once again exceeded the single post limit.)

The roof. I was on the roof. Sitting now, not standing, on the concrete of the roof. I was breathing heavily and my heart was racing, pounding. I stood up and walked to the brick wall that lined the edge of the roof and looked around me. The city. This was the city all around me. Recognition began to kick in. I saw the diner. The diner! The lights were still on. The diner was open twenty-four hours a day. I looked at my watch, noting that it wasn’t even midnight yet. I walked inside and decided to eschew the elevator in favor of the stairs. It was only a few flights down. Just walk it off a little, Cam. Walk it off.

---

My apartment was dark and cold. I went to the back of the living room and closed the window. I didn’t even remember opening it. I put my workbag down on the couch and sat down next to it. I flipped on the television but after about 15 seconds of wholly disinterested channel flipping, I turned it off. Television sucks. I went over to my desk and, sweeping aside pens, pencils and ceramic shards away with my foot, turned on my computer. I watched it boot up and then I turned it off. I had no patience for this now.

Frank Black was coming. I didn’t know when but I knew he was coming soon. He’d gotten to Maggie this morning. He’d gotten to Pete sometime this afternoon. Was he going to get to me next or was he going to find someone else first? I had some other friends. Dave, Jack, Ray. No one else that I really came into day-to-day contact with, just a couple of guys that I instant messaged with from time to time. Would Frank Black go to them first or would he come right here?

It didn’t matter. I needed to prepare myself. I needed to fortify myself. What would be my first line of defense? How would I protect myself from him? Better yet, where would he come? Would he come here, to my apartment? He obviously knew where it was. He’s probably looking in the windows right now. Lower the blinds. Quickly. How could you not have done this before? Why would you leave the blinds up? With the blinds all the way up, he can see in here. Put them down, not as easy. I went from room to room. My bedroom. Lower the blinds. The kitchen. Lower the blinds. The living room. Lower the blinds. I can’t believe you left the blinds up.

It was dark in the apartment now. I hadn’t turned a light on when I came in. I went over to my desk and turned the lamp on but it was small so it only lit the corner by the desk well. The rest of the apartment was still sparsely lit and bathed in shadow. I walked over to the window in the living room and peeked through the slats in the blinds. Where are you, Frank Black? I know that you are out there. I know that you are watching me. You aren’t across from the living room, are you? I went into the kitchen and peered through those blinds. Are you over here, Frank Black? Are you across from the kitchen? Shit. I can’t see you here either. Bedroom. Are you over there? Are you across from the bedroom?

He’s coming soon. He’s out there. He’s going to be here soon. You have to do something. What can I do? First things first, I needed to protect the apartment. How could I protect the apartment? Time was of the essence. He could be here in days, hours, minutes, who knows? He could be standing outside of the door at this very moment, with his hand cocked to knock on the door. Or now. Or now. Or now. Good god, I had to do something. What could I do?

I locked the door. Both the top and the bottom lock. Idiot. Do you think a lock is going to hold this guy? Not just one but TWO locks? One lock could never hold. But TWO? Certainly, two locks would thwart the person that’s been keeping a watchful eye on you for nearly a week. He wasn’t thwarted by any of the places you went to. None of the people you saw could convince him that he should leave you alone. One lock could certainly not deter him. Two locks, however, would turn back the mastermind that has crafted a scheme and invented days into to stalking you. Two locks would make him throw his hands up and say, “I give up. Cam Gordon is good.”

I looked around the living room. I needed something heavy. The couch? No, too much, too bulky. The chair. The big easy chair. Bring that over here. That’s good. That’s a good start. I went over to the chair and circled it once to try to figure out the best way to pick it up. I was, after all, only one man. Lift with your knees, Cam, not with your back. Frank Black could march in here with ease if you are lying on the floor with back spasms. I decided against lifting the chair and for dragging it. I lugged it over to the door and propped it up against the door. It’s still not enough. I needed more. I needed more bulk against the door. If he beat the locks, he could just push the door open with a little force. The table. The one by the door that I was always banging my knee on. That table could work. In fact, just eyeing the empty space, it seemed like almost exactly the right size. I took the table from the small corner that it rested in, brought it over and wedged it in. A little too long. Push against the side. Push. Against. The. Side. Got it. It’s in there.

Ha ha. Try to get in now, Frank Black. Give it a shot. I challenge you to try to get into this apartment. I have turned this apartment into an impregnable fortress. What else could I stack up there? The entertainment center. It had the TV on it too. That would work as extra weight. I put all of my weight into the side of the entertainment center. It began to move. Slide it along the wood floor. Push it over there. Almost there. Clunk. That was the sound of wood meeting wood. It was there. Wait. Turn it lengthwise. Put the long side up against the side that has the love seat and the table. That will totally block the door out. He’ll never get in.

The apartment was secure. I thought it was secure. What if he got in? What if he got past all of that? You need to defend yourself. I wish I had a gun. How great would it be if I had a gun now? I couldn’t get one right away. I’d have to wait five days. Fuck the government. Don’t they understand that I need a gun now? Frank Black is coming. I need to protect myself. Frank Black is going to come here. He’s going to pick my locks, move the furniture I stacked against the door and the where will I be? Face to face with my stalker and nothing to protect myself. I must have something around the house. Knives? They were all butter knives, dull and harmless. Come one, Cam, think. You must have something. There must be something here that you can protect yourself with. Tire iron, crowbar, paperweight, rusty spoon, anything. You must have something in this crummy apartment to protect yourself with. Mace, hair spray, household kitchen chemicals, oven cleaner, something.

Wait.

Last holidays. Didn’t your aunt give you one of those desk sets? One of those ugly, brown things that have scrap paper built in and spaces for office supplies. They have office supplies in them. They have to. What did you do with that piece of shit? You didn’t throw it out. I know you didn’t throw it out, Cam. It’s around here. Think. Check the hall closet. No, not that one. The one where you keep the spare towels and toilet paper and stuff. It has to be in there. All the way in the back. You must have buried it under the spare blankets and sheets. Where is it? It’s not back there. Check the other closet. Check the closet where you keep your jacket and the tennis racquet that you never use. Back behind your golf clubs. That’s where it has to be. Look harder! It’s there. I know it’s there. I just have to find it.

GOT IT!

It was ugly. My memory hadn’t failed me in that respect. It had brown vinyl trim, with taupe paper to use for scrap and notes filling ninety percent of it, the entire middle. Along the top were two gold plated pens in bank pen-like holders. On the left side of the pens was a pair of scissors resting in a scissors-shaped holder. On the right side of the pens was a letter opener, also resting in a holder that was in the shape of the item. Both of these could be very effective weapons if wielded properly. Very effective weapons, indeed.

The scissors had sharp edges and a point. The letter opener simply had a point. The scissors were clumsier to handle. The place to put your fingers was big and didn’t allow for the hands to work them nimbly without revealing them. The letter opener was easy, like a knife, and could be concealed very easily, in a jacket pocket, in the palm of my hand against my wrist or some other place on my person. The decision seemed fairly straightforward. It would have to be the letter opener. I palmed the letter opener and practiced a few quick cuts and jabs with it. This was easy. This was quick. This was …

OW!

I looked at my forearm and discovered that the letter opener had sliced a three inch gash in my arm on the last back swing. There was a brief moment of calm while the blood searched for its new path and then a flood. I went to the bathroom, put my forearm in the sink and turned on the water. Crap. This was beginning to sting also. The blood must have been on its way out of my heart. It was an oxygen-filled bright red, now reaching a gush out of my arm. Look at that color. It was so red, like Cherry Kool-aid, like a Popsicle, like a stoplight. I didn’t want to apply pressure to make it stop. That red hypnotized me.

My head began to fuzz a little and I applied pressure on the cut. I looked under the sink for my first aid kit. I knew it was down here somewhere. I needed medical attention now. I needed tape, gauze, Neosporin, alcohol. Things to heal my wounded and now throbbing arm. That’s what I needed. My hand hit the edge of a small canvas bag and I grabbed it and pulled it out from under the sink. I took a gauze pad out and sopped up some of the blood from my arm. The cut had stopped bleeding and once again, I thanked the forces that be for my superior clotting ability. I wrapped the cut lightly with a bandage, making sure to allow the wound some air. Then I palmed the letter opener to make sure the bandage wouldn’t provide any resistance. No problem there.

The wound was a minor setback. If Frank Black was coming, I would be ready.

---

Silence. The silence was deafening and it was immediate. I was bathed in darkness and I lay quietly, still on my couch, waiting for something to happen. I cradled the letter opener in the pocket of the cargo pants that I had been wearing for nearly 4 days now. They were beginning to get dirty and they reeked faintly of the smoke that had attached itself to me at the bar. I thought briefly about changing them but I didn’t want to take the risk of moving, of turning my back on my now barricaded door. There was no point in changing now. It was all about waiting. It was a waiting game now.

I closed my eyes, my heavy lids inviting the brief moment of rest, but then they shot open. There could be no sleep now. Do not succumb to sleep. There must only be vigilance. Don’t let your guard down, Cam. He could be here. He could be outside the building, outside the door, upstairs, anywhere. The only place that he cannot be is in here. This place is secure and you must keep it that way. You must not let him move in on this. This is yours. This is where you live. He is not invited. Frank Black is not welcome here.

The darkness was suffocating, save for the little bit of light that filtered in through the mostly closed blinds, casting shadows all over the living room in different shapes and sizes. They were all over the wall, darkening portions of paintings handed down to me by relatives that I hadn’t seen in years. Even the couch that I was laying on was speckled with oddly formed shapes. I moved my hand over the light and cast a shadow on my stomach. My hand looked odd in the shadow, my fingers elongated from the angle of the light that shone in. I turned may hand sideways and the shadow cast was like one finger. I turned may hand again and my fingers reappeared. The shadows were odd and they were omnipresent. Light made things certain and the shadows obscured them. The things in my living room that I was so well acquainted with became uncertain and hollow. I couldn’t trust them. The pictures on the wall, the lamp on my desk, all casting shadows in bizarre shapes and patterns that made me question their form, their reality.

I walked over to the living room window and peered out the blinds again. Movement. What was that? At the corner of my vision, I saw movement. My hands found the letter opener in my pocket and I palmed it, as I had practiced, against the gauze bandage that was wrapped around my arm. There it was again. Who’s in here? Who’s darting back and forth in the periphery of my vision? I crept along the living room wall, slowly, my front hand guiding me along the wall to the corner where it turned into my bedroom. There it was again, behind you. The movement is behind you. Go that way. Over there. The movement came from over there. Someone in here is darting from place to place. Catch him. Find him.

I moved toward the kitchen, slowly still, stepping forward with my toes to make as little noise as possible. Whoever is in there, I’m going to get you. If you are in there, just get ready for me. Just a few more steps now. I got to the kitchen and put my free hand on the open doorway. I spun around. Nothing. The kitchen was empty. There was nothing there. I backed out of the kitchen and stood in the doorway, surveying the living room. There! It came from the right. No! Now left, look left. It’s over to the left. NO! Right again, right. It’s on the right now. Go! It went to the bedroom. Go! Go to the bedroom. Not right, not left. The bedroom. Go! Don’t you see the movement? It’s quick but it’s there. Get over there. In the bedroom now. Go!

I didn’t see anything except the movement. It wasn’t dead ahead. It was at the fringe. It was off the center. I couldn’t catch up to it. It was right when I went left and left when I moved right. It was in the kitchen when I went to the bedroom. I couldn’t catch up. And now, now I’m running from corner to corner and room to room, trying to catch up to it, wherever it is that’s where I’m not. I can’t catch it. I just can’t catch up. Goddammit, will you slow down a little bit? I can’t catch up to you. I can’t see you. Who are you? What are you? Why are you darting from place to place? This apartment isn’t that big. How are you so fast? Stop moving for one second. Look, there it is! Right, go right. Now left. Left. Come on, Cam. Follow it. Like the Simon Says toy you had when you were a kid. Keep going. Yellow, red, green, blue, red, green, red, blue, yellow, green. It’s easy. I can’t. It’s too fast. It’s too much. I can’t keep up. Slow down. Just a little bit. I need you to slow down. I can’t keep up.

Where are you going? Back and forth, back and forth. It’s too much. I’m in the kitchen now. Not here. Bedroom. Not there. Go right. Not right. Now left. Not left. The other side of the living room. Gone. Back to this side. Not there. Bedroom again. Still not here. Behind you. NO! Not behind me. Now behind you. Still not behind me. Turning around, twisting. Room to room. Nothing. Just movement and quick. And EVERYWHERE. Constantly moving, moving. There’s nothing but moving and I’m moving too. Slower, but still moving. Place to place with no result. Nothing to see, just empty and dark. Each room, one after the other, empty and dark.

I whirled around. Still nothing. I whirled again. Nothing again. I whirled a third time. Uh-oh. I didn’t feel right. My head was light. My feet were clumsy and slow. They hit each other and I lost my balance. I struck the floor on my injured arm and I screamed in pain. The letter opener fell from my hand and bounced away but I snatched it up before it had time to get out of my reach. My arms throbbed from the pain but I didn’t move. I just lay there, waiting for the movement to stop but it didn’t. It kept moving. I jerked my head left to follow but it was gone. I nodded my head back and forth furiously trying to keep pace but all I was doing was saying no. I didn’t see anything, didn’t catch up to anything. And I just stayed on the floor, the wooden floor with the connecting tiles that zigzagged through my apartment with ease, with fluid motion.

Finally, I just put my head down to the floor and stared across it at eye level. The tiles danced across the floor. The small amount of light that peeked through the closed slats of my blinds reflected off of the shiny wood, and my eyes readjusted. There was something on the floor, off to the side all the way across the room. What was it? What interrupted my field of vision at its depths? I got up off of the floor and walked across the room, ignoring the quick jumps at the edge of my vision. I kneeled down to the floor and reached to the very corner of the apartment. Look at that. It was the missing tile from the floor. I walked over to the empty space in the floor and replaced the newly discovered tile. I smoothed the piece with the back of my hand and went back to the couch to lie down to keep an eye on the door.

---

I was hungry, so hungry, but I couldn’t leave the apartment. Not now. Who the hell knows where Frank Black is? I couldn’t risk even going to the diner, not until I confronted him. Not until I’d seen him, gotten him here. No, I needed to stay on the couch, watching the door. I needed to make sure that when an attempt was made on the credibility of the two locks that held my door closed I would be ready. It was nearly three in the morning now. The sun would be up in a few hours. I needed to distract my hunger, to keep it at bay, at least for another little while.

“Focus on the breathing now”

It isn’t that easy. You have me on this couch here. What are you trying to do to me? I can’t focus on my breathing. I’m too busy focusing on you, on your voice telling me to focus. I’m too busy focusing on that pink sweater set that you are wearing today. I’m too busy focusing on the clock on the wall. I’m too busy focusing on what the point of this exercise is. There are a thousand other things for me to focus on except for my breathing. It’s a beautiful, sunny day out today. Look at how amazing the sun is today. I wonder what they are doing in gym class today. Do you think today is an indoor or an outdoor day? It has to be an outdoor day. Maybe they are walking around the track, just walking around the track and enjoying the sunlight bathing their faces. Do you think they are playing football? They could be playing football. I wouldn’t be playing because they always pick me last but I would sit on the sideline and just lie back on the grass and let the sun soak into my body. I could be doing that.

“Cameron, you’re not focusing.”

I am focusing. I’m just not focusing on you. I’m not focusing on my breathing. I know what you want me to do. You don’t have to keep repeating it. Deep breath in and hold for ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Good, now let the breath out slowly. Is that what you want? The same boring breathing exercise that we’ve been doing since I came here, since we first met. I can’t do this now. I can’t do this. I need to be out of here. Can I go now? Can I please go now? I get it. I need to relax, but I can’t relax in here. I need to go somewhere else, anywhere else. Can you take me somewhere? Can we take the rest of the time to go somewhere? How about the supermarket? A baseball game? Cuba? I need to go somewhere and not be doing breathing exercises.

“Let’s stay focused on the breathing.”

I can’t. I can’t focus on the breathing. Is it stuffy in here? It’s very stuffy in here. We need to get some fresh air in here. It’s stifling. We need some circulation in here. Can we open a window? Please, just open that window over there and I’ll focus on the breathing again. The air in here is horrible and it’s warm and if we can get some better air in here, I’ll do the exercises. It smells in here. It smells of your perfume. All I can smell is your perfume. Did you have tuna for lunch? I smell tuna. Did you leave tuna in your garbage can? No, Chinese. You had Chinese for lunch. I can smell it. Let’s just open this window over here. Just a little bit. Why won’t you let me open this window? What are you afraid of? It’s hot in here and I need to make it cooler. I’m sweating profusely. OPEN THE WINDOW!

“Breath in deeply.”

If I breathe in deeply, I’m afraid I’m going to throw up. All of the smells in here, your perfume, your Chinese food, all of it, it’s making me gag. I’m afraid to breathe. I’m afraid to swallow. And it’s getting hotter in here. I want to take off these clothes. Maybe then I’ll be comfortable but I feel like I’ll want to tear off my skin. Just dig and tear off my skin until I felt a little cooler. That’s how hot it is in here right now. Why won’t they let me do anything here? All you are doing is watching me. All the time, you are all just watching me. Cam, come inside. Cam, eat your dinner. Cam, take this pill. Cam, don’t open that window. All I want to do is get a little air in here. That’s all. Why won’t you let me get a little air in here and cool off?

“Cam, are you OK?”

No, I’m not all right. I’m hot, so hot. I want to tear of my clothes, my skin. All I want is to be cooler and until I am, I’m not all right. I can’t swallow. Holy shit. I can’t swallow. Get me a glass of water. Quickly please, there’s not much time. I need some water to help me swallow. So dry. My throat. So dry. Water, liquid, from the tap, bottle, anywhere, I don’t care, just get me something. What are you doing? Where are you going? Don’t go to your desk. Who are you calling? Are you calling my parents? Don’t call my parents. Please don’t call them. They are going to yell at me. They are going to do something, punish me. I don’t know. Don’t call them, please. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to be normal. I’m trying so hard to listen to you people, but you don’t let anybody do anything. You don’t respond to me at all. I tell you I’m hot. You don’t do anything. You sit there and tell me to breath. That doesn’t help, not at all. You are on the phone. God, you are on the phone. There’s a glass of water right there, just give it to me. Bring it over here. I want to swallow. I feel like I swallowed sand. Like a thirsty lost wanderer in the desert running to a mirage and scooping up the sand to drink. Was that me? Did I wander to a mirage and sip up the sand?

It hurts now. God, it hurts. My attempts to swallow are painful and long. I can barely breathe in here because of the heat. TURN OFF THE HEAT! I don’t know what to do. I see the clear glass on your desk. Bring it to me please. You are off of the phone? Who did you call? Why did you call them? Who’s coming here now? Are my parents coming here? They’re so far away. They can’t be coming here. Who were you talking to? It was the men, wasn’t it? You are calling the men in here. What are they going to do to me?

“Just relax, Cameron.”

Jesus Christ, they’re here. Wait, where’s the jacket? They don’t have the jacket with them. Why would they come without the jacket? Did you tell them to lose the jacket? I don’t get it. What could they do without the jacket? Hey, get off of me. Get the fuck off of me. Let go of my arms. What are you doing this for? What did I do to you? I’ve never done anything to you before? How do you live with yourselves, holding me down like this for no reason? Don’t you know that I just need water? I would have done the breathing exercises, all of them. All I needed was an open window and some water and this bitch wouldn’t do that for me. This bitch in her ugly pink sweater set and that suffocating perfume that smells like she rolled around in kitchen disinfectant. Why did she call you here?

OW!

My arm. What was that? What did you do to my arm? Was that a shot? You gave me a shot. Of what? I don’t know. I’m not angry anymore though. I don’t feel warm either. Well, not uncomfortably warm. I do feel a little warm, tingly, like when your foot falls asleep and you have work the blood back into it. It feels nice and comfortable. The men weren’t here to put me in the jacket. I wasn’t mad about it anyway. I wasn’t anything really. Just sleepy. Kind of sleepy. What was I even talking about? It’s so nice when the sun is out, warm on your face. So warm.

(gasp)

I shot upright, clutching my shoulder. Where were they? The men. Where were they? Were they here at all? Are you here? I have a letter opener. I’ll take all of you. Try to hold me down now. I’ll take all of you. DO YOU HEAR ME, MEN? ALL OF YOU. I looked around the apartment. No one was here. Not now, anyway. Only me. I let go of my arm and let it fall to my side. I double-checked my bandage, which was still intact. My throat was dry, so I went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water that I drank standing up in the kitchen, before pouring another and retreating to the living room. I placed the glass on the coffee table. I felt my pocket.

Shit.

Where’s the letter opener? I had it while I was laying down here on the couch. I had it before my head hit the pillow and now it’s gone. Fuck. Where did it go? Someone came in here and took it from me. Did Frank Black come in here and take it just to fuck with me? I walked over to the door and looked at my makeshift barricade. Everything seemed to be in place. The chair was right against the wall with the table lodged against the wall keeping it in place. I had to reach around the entertainment center and brace myself to see, so that was still in place. Did he come in through the window? Fuck. I know I didn’t lock them. Maybe he came in through the window. This is only the seventh floor. I checked the living room window. It was closed but not locked. I clicked the plastic piece in place (Plastic? Was plastic going to be enough?) and the window wouldn’t budge. Good. I did the same with all of the other windows in the house.

Nothing was solved. I still didn’t have a letter opener. My first line of defense against Frank Black was gone and if need be I would tear the entire house upside down looking for it. If he got in here and took it somehow, I would have to resort to the scissors. The butt end of scissors sticking out of his eye would look awfully nice. Is that what you want, Frank Black? Check under the couch. I bent down and lifted the couch up. Let’s see. A bottle cap, lots of lint, sixty-four cents (a quarter, three dimes, a nickel and four pennies) and a couple of scraps of paper. Not there. Where was it?

I went into the kitchen and checked all of the drawers, looking through the silverware and the other utensils. I checked under all of the take out menus. Where was it? Why wasn’t it in my pocket? I went to the bedroom. Empty all of the drawers. Nothing. Under the covers? Nothing. Pillows. All of these fucking pillows. Not there. Was it under the bed? Not there either. On your desk? No. Under it? No. Look under the carpet. Why would it be under the carpet? Just look. Maybe Frank Black got in here, took it from you and hid it. He hid it somewhere in the apartment. Now you have to find it. So fucking find it. He’s playing games with you. Don’t let him get away with this. Find the letter opener. Find it. Then next time he comes here, show it to him and ask him if he wants to play games now. Do you want to play games, Frank Black? DO YOU?

I went back to the couch and tore the cushions off. The springs of the folding bed clanged and I caught a glint out of the corner of my eye. Was that it? Open the bed. Quickly. Not much time now. Open the bed and look. There it is! It had fallen into the crack of the couch, down and wedged itself beneath the bar of the bed all the way in the back. It was hard to reach. I had to wiggle my finger through the bar of the bed and my finger could just touch the point of the opener. I had to use my fingers like the little claw that they use in the arcade toy game. I was about as successful also. Come on, Cam, concentrate. The increasing amount of light coming through the cracks of the blinds glinted off the exposed metal of the opener and it was taunting me there in the corner. It left itself just out of reach and was now daring me to reach back and get it. Don’t taunt me. You have to help me, letter opener. Frank Black will be here soon. Any minute, he’s going to come plowing through that door, right over there, through my barricade and you are going to help me defend myself. Don’t taunt me like this. Don’t lie just out of my reach. Come to me. Help me. I was almost there, just a little further. Use your fingers. Reach out with your index and middle finger and use them like scissors. GOT IT!

OK, Frank Black. If that was a challenge, consider me up to it. I’m still here waiting for you.

---

I noticed that the sun was coming up, so I went into the kitchen, sat down at the table next to the window and raised the blinds slightly so I could see outside at my eye level. There was nothing in my refrigerator but water, a half-empty bottle of wine, an apple that was at least four months old and five thousand packets of duck sauce. I mulled over the idea of eating some duck sauce before almost throwing up at the thought of it and quickly discarding the idea. I sat now and my stomach growled angrily and I put a hand to my stomach to try to quell some of the hunger pangs that I was getting. I glanced out the window and I could see the diner off at the far corner. I could just run out for a second. It wouldn’t take long. I could get a Spanish omelet to go, with some hash browns and some orange juice and toast.

NO! You can’t leave. Not here. Not now. There is an apartment to defend. You’re livelihood depends on it. While you are gone, he will come here. Frank Black will come here and he’ll hide and when you get back, it’ll all be over. He’ll be here. He’ll have invaded your last sanctuary. Is that what you want? Do you want him to come in here and take that away from you? If that’s what you want, then leave. Go get your food and enjoy it. Might as well stay there and eat it with your girlfriend.

She’s not my girlfriend. She’s Maggie. She works at the diner. She brings me my food and she’s amazing. But that’s it. Nothing more. She’s beautiful and she’s sad, so very sad and I don’t know why. I tried to make her happy and I couldn’t. She deserves someone who can make her happy, someone who can help her and move her from her sad little apartment. That’s what she needs. She doesn’t need me. She doesn’t need me to help her. All I bring with me is Frank Black, nothing more. I don’t bring happiness and good cheer. I bring an unhealthy love of Spanish omelets and a lunatic that follows me around. That’s what I bring. She doesn’t need all that. What she needs is someone to love her and make her happy. She needs someone to help her with her plant and give it some sun and water. She needs someone who will pay attention to her during the day and hold her during the night. She doesn’t need me. She needs someone who’ll notice that she’s so very good at what she does and someone who’ll actually tell her that. She needs someone to look at her crooked little smile and smile one right back at her.

She’s Maggie. That’s all. She’s Maggie and she’s walking up the street right now. Look, there she is.

I looked out the window and I saw her. She was walking down the street, walking north to the diner from the far side of it, toward me. It was cold out today. I noticed my cheek was leaning against the window and I could feel the cool of the window against my skin. There she was, walking toward me. Her jacket was buttoned tightly against her and she had a scarf tied around her neck. You couldn’t even see the uniform that she wore beneath it. Her hair was covered with a wool hat. She walked along the far sidewalk, slowly, against the wind. The wind was blustery today and I could see scraps of paper and leaves being blown up into the air in mini twisters all around her. She just kept walking, slowly.

Behind her there was a man walking. He was a block or so back, but he was gaining on her pretty quickly. Why was he walking so fast? He’s not running. Certainly not exercising, he’s not dressed for it. He’s moving at an incredible pace. God, slow down, sir, you are going to run into her. Is he looking to run into her? Why would he want to do that? Maggie didn’t even know there was anyone behind her. She was still just walking, fending off the wind, slowly, slowly walking.

Frank Black. That was him. He was going to catch up to her and tell her more about me. He was going to get her to leave this time. He was moving in on her. He was going to attack her, do something to her. Look at that him move. He’s gaining on her and he’s going to catch up to her any second. Cam, do something. Don’t let this happen. Don’t let him catch up to her, send her away. He can’t do that to you. Go. Go do something.

I grabbed the letter opener off the table where I’d put it and I ran to the door. I climbed past the entertainment center and tried to move the table. It didn’t budge. It wouldn’t move. Move table. You got in there. You have to be able to get back. I used my shoulder and put my weight into the entertainment center and it moved back a little. I took that space and braced myself against the floor and pushed, pushed into the table. The table stood its ground. Good to know for Frank Black’s chances of getting into, though who knows what that guy is capable of. Very bad for Maggie, poor Maggie who was outside right now, with Frank Black taking two steps for each of hers, moving in on her right now. The table wouldn’t move an inch. I put everything I had into it and it wouldn’t slide out of its space against the recliner propped up against the door.

A saw. Is there a saw in the apartment? I could cut the table. That would get it out of there. Saw the table in half and then move the seat away from the door. That could help me. That would work. Do I have saw? I don’t think I have a saw. Go to the closet where you keep the tools. The toolbox is near the sports stuff, the tennis racquet and all that stuff. Go over there. I threw open the door to the closet and reached back to where my racquet was, where I’d found the letter opener this morning (yesterday?). There was no saw back there. I found the toolbox and yanked it out of the closet. A screwdriver wouldn’t do the trick. Pliers? No, they wouldn’t do anything. I took the hammer over to the table and lined up a shot to the wood. BAM! I made a dent in the table but nothing else. BAM! Another dent about two inches from the first one. BAM! Another dent, this time on the other side. You aren’t doing it right. Take the hammer and just wail away on the table. Just HAMMER away at the table. Go, quickly. I took the hammer back and down to the table. BAM! And I lifted it again and BAM! Again, BAM! Then, BAM! And, BAM! BAM! I kept going, BAM! And my hair fell into my eyes, BAM! And I blew it out of my face, BAM! One more, BAM! Then, BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

And I stopped, breathing heavily to look down. The table was chipped, a little, but it had held its own and all I had done was run out of breath. I needed to get out of here to help Maggie and I was in here. There was nothing I could do in here. Frank Black was out there and he was close, so close. I threw the hammer to the ground and started pounding on the table with my fist, hammering with my fist. The wood was hard and the cut on my forearm throbbed but the pain empowered me and I continued to pound, just pound away at the table. It wouldn’t break or crack, not even a little. I pounded away at the chip I’d made with the hammer and it didn’t work. Nothing worked. Was this table made of steel? I grabbed the far side of the table and I pulled at it. Pull. Pull the table out of there. My fingers slipped and I feel backward but I didn’t care. I got up and grabbed the table again and kept pulling, pulling. Maggie needed help. I need to help her, get Frank Black away from her.

I ran back to the window to see where they were, what was happening and they were gone. Both of them were gone. No Maggie. No Frank Black. Did she make it to the diner? Did she make it inside? Or did Frank Black catch up and make her keep walking, walking until she was gone? I needed to know. How could I find out? I couldn’t get out of here. I couldn’t go there and find out.

Call. Call the diner. You have the number on the menu in the menu drawer. Call the diner and ask to talk to her. If they put her on, you’ll know she’s still there. I opened the drawer and pulled out the menu. Where’s the phone? Living room. I ran into the living room and grabbed the phone. I called the diner. The phone rang in my ear and I wanted to hang up but I needed to know. What if she was gone? What if she wasn’t there? What was I going to do? What would I do for food?

“Four Star Diner.”

Thank god. I need to know if Maggie is there. You know Maggie the waitress? Black skirt, black vest, and white shirt. She’s there every day from six to six. Put her on the phone. Let me know that she’s there, still there. Let me know that she didn’t move on, didn’t keep walking when she got there this morning. I need to know that Frank Black didn’t chase her away for good this time. He could have told her anything about me, everything about me. Does she know about the letter opener?

“Is Maggie there please?”

Is Maggie there please? It came out weak, like a twelve year old asking for permission to go to the bathroom in church. It was good question nonetheless. Was she there? Or was she not? You need to answer me now. NOW! I need to know that she’s there and pouring coffee without spilling any. Can you just tell me that now and let me hang up the phone and get back to watching my door for Frank Black?

“She quit yesterday. Came to pick up her stuff and now she’s gone.”

Quit? Yesterday? Quit yesterday? Holy shit. She quit. She’s gone. Why would she go? I hung up the phone, no thank you or anything. I just put the phone down in utter disbelief. How could she be gone? I couldn’t believe it. Just like that. All you had to do was go in there when you went to check if she was there at lunch yesterday. All you had to do was sit at the counter and get something to eat. You didn’t have to go to the bar last night. You could have gone to the diner for dinner first and seen her as she walked out of there for the last time. What do you think she was thinking when she left? Was she thinking about starting a new life? Was she thinking about moving to another city? State? Country?

She would never know now. She would never know how much I wanted things to work out for her. She would never know all of the good that I wished for her and how much I appreciated that she got to know me and brought me my food She’ll never know how happy I was that she let me into her sad little apartment with the sad little plant, how she let me into her sad little life. She’ll never know how much I wanted to be there. She’ll never know that the one night that I spent there with her, holding her for that one lonely night was enough to make me happy for the whole week after. She’ll never know any of that. Why?

Frank Black.

My eyes narrowed. I walked over to the couch and replaced the cushions that I’d thrown off in a frenzied search for the once missing letter opener. I couldn’t sit still so I just paced. I paced back and forth in the living room, each step welling more and more anger in me. Maggie would never know anything about how I felt and it was all Frank Black’s fault. He drove her away, like he’d driven Pete away. Now I was alone. My friends were gone. One continuing a quest that had begun with the death of his wife and children nearly a decade ago and the other off to who knows where to do who knows what. Now I was alone.

Time to take a little yellow pill.

---

Ten o’clock in the morning. My energy level was sinking fast. I was lying face down on the couch with my arm hanging off the side, laying along the carpet, bandage dirty from all the rummaging around the apartment that I’d done over the last few hours. There was dirt hidden in all of the corners of the apartment and all of it had stuck to the gauze that protected the cut on my arm. My vision was blurry because my glasses had fallen off in the frenzy of trying to get myself out of the apartment and I was a little too blind and tired to go scouring the floor and/or the mess of furniture barricading the door to find them.

“Cam, you have to do something”

What?

I sat up (muscles, aching) and looked around the room. Did you hear that? Where’d that come from? The living room was lighter now, though still not totally filled in since the blinds in the living room were still down. I stood up and looked around the room that I had been in for the last 15 hours. There was no one in here. I went into the bedroom and came up with the same result. The kitchen (brighter than the other rooms because the blinds were still up) yielded the same findings. I know I heard a voice. Where did it come from? Whose voice was it? I couldn’t quite make the voice out, though it did sound familiar.

“Who is that?”

Who are you? Who is that talking to me right now? Your voice sounds so familiar now. It’s bouncing off of the inside of my head and it won’t stop and land on your name. Why won’t it come to me? Just tell me who you are and stop the bouncing inside my head. It’s right on the tip of my tongue. The voice is so familiar, so near, that I must be looking past it. Just tell me who you are. Where do I know you from? Will I know you if I see you? You have to be in here somewhere. The voice that I heard was so clear, so crisp. It was right near here somewhere.

Don’t let me keep thinking about this. Just tell me. Who are you? Why won’t you come out here and sit on the couch? Talk to me where I can see you so I know why the voice is so familiar. Come out here and sit on the couch. Come sit next to me and we’ll talk. No yelling. No screaming. Just talking. We’ll sit here and talk. Show yourself, dammit. Come out here right now. Don’t make me come and find you. I will search this house top to bottom. Where are you? In the bathroom? The bathtub? Are you in the closet with the jackets? Are you under the sink? The bed? Are you folded up in this couch that I am sitting on? WHERE ARE YOU?

“Who is this? Where are you?”

Come out come out wherever you are. This isn’t a game of hide and go seek. Come out here now and tell me what you mean, you fucker. What do I have to do? What is the something that I have to do? Cook dinner? Go shopping? Wash my car? Jump off of this building? What do I have to do? Tell me before I come and beat it out of you, you piece of shit. If you are in this apartment, I will find you. I will find you and you are going to wish that you weren’t fucking with me right now. Goddammit, why can’t I place your voice? Why can’t I figure out who you are? Why does your identity dance at the corner of my mind? Why? WHY?

My mind is racing, scanning through voices of people that I haven’t seen in years or that I’ve seen yesterday. So many voice, people. God, who are you? Why do you choose to talk to me now? What do you want from me? What do I need to do? What is my something that needs to get done? Either spit it out or shut the fuck up because I don’t have time for this. I have a stalker who’s going to get to my door any minute and god knows what’s going to happen after that. Maggie’s gone. No idea where she went. Pete hit the road too. I am not in the fucking mood, so either tell me what you are looking for or SHUT THE FUCK UP!

“Cam, you have to do something. It’s your turn.”

My turn? Is it my turn already? I don’t have anything. It can’t be my turn yet. I need someone else to go. Have someone else go first. What is the point of this exercise anyway? We’re all sitting in a circle. You keep getting us to try to close this “circle of trust,” except that she keeps getting up to go to the bathroom and he’s refilled his water glass so many times he’s challenging the camel that I rode in Israel for the bladder storage capacity. Let’s not even get into the guy sitting next to me. Why should I trust him? He’s got the attention span of a fruit fly, except when he’s staring at the wall (like he is now), which he seems to be able to do for hours. This “circle of trust” is barely a circle, let alone trustworthy, so why is it my turn? I respectfully decline to answer.

“Um, I don’t have one.”

I don’t have anything, so move on. Talk to Boo Radley over here, if you can tear his attention from the crack in the wall there. I have nothing to contribute here. I hate these group sessions. I hate that you come in here with that smile on your face. I hate that your teeth are so white and shiny that they blend in with the wall behind you. I hate that they make me go to these group sessions. I can’t stand sitting here. I need you to get off my back with this. I need for you to not pester me to participate today. Give me this one day off from participation and I promise you have my full, undivided attention for the rest of the time I’m here. Which is how long exactly? Do you have any idea? Because I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to take your white smile. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to take you walk, the way you swing your arms so vigorously when you walk like each step you take isn’t for pure locomotive purposes but to stay in perfect physical condition. How much longer is my stay? How many more descriptive adjectives am I going to have to conjure, beckon, summon, muster and call up for you before it’s enough?

“Come on, Cam, you can do it. ‘I think that Danny was wrong because …’”

I think that Danny was wrong because he’s a complete idiot. I think that Danny was wrong because there are ways to behave in mixed company and flinging shit at the wall isn’t one of them. I think Danny was wrong because I don’t appreciate him screaming all night long, while I’m trying to sleep. He howls at the moon as if were part wolf. Why does he do that? I just want to sleep and once the blue pill wears off all I can hear is him screaming. All that noise that he makes all night long and it’s not just one night, oh no. It’s every night. All night, every night, this nimrod is screaming until his vocal chords bleed. They come in and tie him down and medicate him but it doesn’t work. When the medication wears off, he starts screaming again. They need to move him, medicate him more with cat tranquilizers, horse tranquilizers, elephant tranquilizers. What do they use to put blue whales down? Something that will let him (and me) get a good night’s rest. I haven’t slept in days, weeks even. I’ve lost all track of time. My eyes hurt and my throat hurts. My muscles ache and my joints are swelling and each night that I take my pill I pray that it will put me under for the entire night, so I can finally end this chain of horrific sleepless nights. Is that good enough? Is that enough for you?

“Um, I think Danny is, uh, wrong because, uh. I can’t do this. Can I leave?”

Can I please leave? Please. I need to get out of this room. I can’t be in a room with these people any more. I loathe all of them. I can’t stand them. Bathroom girl, Boo Radley. All of them. I need all of these people to be out of my vision before I do something rash or stupid. I need to be gone from here. Why can’t you just let me go? You let her go to the bathroom every thirty-five seconds. I announce my intentions and you go ape shit on me? Just let me go. You’ll have no trouble closing your stupid “circle of trust” without me. Just have that jackass slide over a little bit and have Boo shuffle his ass over a little bit. That’s what you should do because I’m leaving.

“Cam? Cameron, sit down.”

I will not sit down. I will leave this room. I will not participate in this exercise. I will go up to my room and get some rest. Can you allow me this one indiscretion? I haven’t slept in days (weeks?) and I need some rest. I need some fucking sleep. My eyes are red and cracked. My glasses don’t help either. You won’t let me where my contact lenses because you think I’m going to jam my finger in my eye, like I couldn’t do that without feigning an attempt to put lenses in. So just shut the fuck up and let me be. All I want to do is sleep. I don’t want go throttle Danny Colluci, although he certainly deserves it. I don’t want to hide Boo Radley’s teddy bear. All I want to do is sleep. Just LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!!

“Cameron, this is your last warning. Come back to the circle of trust.”

I don’t want to be involved in this circle of trust. I have no trust, not for these people and not for you. You want me to trust you? I can’t trust you. I can’t trust any of you. Every time I do something you don’t like, every time I move, every time I do anything, you call the men. You call the men in and they take me away. Why should I trust you? I don’t want to be in your “circle of trust.” You suck. I hate you. I have no desire to trust you. I’m leaving this room. I’m leaving this place. I can’t stand it here. I can’t stand any of you. You sit here and you talk about FEELINGS and nonsense. You blather on about why people were wrong and what we need to do to fix it. LET IT GO! Just let it all go. I’m getting out of here.

“CAMERON! COME BACK HERE!”

I’m gone. Running now. I’m running as fast as I can. Through the halls. They all look the same. All of the halls look exactly the same. Where are the doors? I need the doors. Front, back, I don’t care. Find me some doors. Go left. No, right. Right. Look over there. It’s the back doors. To the courtyard. Go out the back doors. Keep running, just run, run. Run until you can’t run anymore. Keep going. Faster. They are going to catch you if you don’t run faster. Faster! FASTER! The grass is wet again. Be careful. Did it rain again? Who cares? Just keep running.

This is the longest courtyard ever. They’ll never get me. I’ll be gone. I’ll be free. I’ll be in the woods. I’ll get home. Home! My walls aren’t white. No. No more white, sterile, too clean walls. My walls are blue. They are light blue and they aren’t so clean. They are there and they are mine. I’ll be there, soon. If I can run, keep running. Just keep going. Don’t turn around. Don’t look back there. If you just keep looking ahead, they’ll never get you. Never. How much land do these people have? So much land, so long, this courtyard. No matter. Run. Keep going. Keep going forward.

NO! They’re coming for me. They are behind me. God, the men are so big. They are so big and strong and FAST! Holy shit they are fast. How did they get so fast? They are gaining on me. Look ahead, Cam, not back. Don’t look back at all. Just keep running. If you keep running, you’ll get away. You’ll get home. You’ll be in your room, not this hospital. No more hospital. Keep running. But they are so fast. They are so fast and they are gaining on me. Look at how close they are now. They are so close and so fast. Just keep running. Come on, legs. Why are you so slow, legs? MOVE! It’s not hard. One in front of the other. Quickly, now. You aren’t going fast enough, not nearly fast enough. Churn and move. Just go, go, GO!

OW!

A rock. Who put the rock there? Shit, get up. HURRY! Get up. They are almost here. Scrambling now, feet are slipping on the wet grass. Why is this grass wet? Dammit! Just go, forget the grass. Run. Just fucking run. You are still on the ground. Why can’t you get up? Look they are right there and they are closing in on you. Don’t you want to get away? Don’t you want to get out of here? Don’t you want to go home? The men are here now. Look they are over you, four of them. They have you by the hands and feet. Kick! Struggling but god they are so strong. I can’t wiggle free. I can’t get loose but I’m kicking and screaming. One puts his hand over my mouth to stop the screaming and I bite him. Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking put your hands on my face. I’ll bit you until you bleed. GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!

“Calm down, Cam.”

That’s all I hear is calm down. I don’t want to fucking calm down. I want to run home. I want to get out of here. Why won’t you let me run home across this big wet field? All of this wet grass. Just let me go and I’ll run home. I won’t tell anyone you let me go. They’ll never know. Just say I got away. Say you didn’t catch me. Say something but just let me go, let me free, let me get out of here. I need to go home. Please. PLEASE! FUCK! LET ME GO! And I’m kicking again, kicking and screaming and fighting and wiggling and let me free! Let me go.

I’m fading again. Fading. Did you give me the shot while I was struggling? I didn’t feel the shot. When did you do it? You guys are quick and strong. The struggle is leaving me now, draining. It works so quickly. How does that happen? My body isn’t responding anymore. I want to kick you. I want to kick and scream and move but I can’t. My legs are limp and my arms won’t go. Just don’t put me in the room with the padded walls where I can’t scream. Anywhere but that room.

(gasp)

“AHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

That room. I remembered that room. Its walls were soft and non-confrontational. It was quiet, so quiet. How many times did I wake up in that room? Wanting to scream out loud but knowing that no one would hear me? I screamed out loud now. Did you hear me, Frank Black?

---

I hadn’t slept in days. I sat on the couch, which had to have an imprint of my ass by now, and my whole body shook. I went to my bedroom and got a blanket and wrapped myself in it to try to curb the shaking that was beginning to overtake my body. Was I cold? I didn’t even know. I was still fully clothed. I hadn’t taken these clothes off in days (weeks?). I pulled my knees up to my chest with the blanket around me and I started to rock back and forth slowly to try to shake the shivers. The letter opener was in my hand beneath the blanket. I was still prepared for the eventuality that lay somewhere in the not-too-distant future. Frank Black.

I sat in the corner of the couch, knees to chest, waiting. My eyes were fixed on the door, or what I could see of it without my glasses, which were still somewhere in the mess of furniture that lay propped against my one and only way out of my apartment. The windows were sealed tight. If Frank Black were going to get into this apartment, he’d need a battering ram and a couple of Vikings to barrel down the door.

“Do you really think so?”

Not again.

Whose voice now? Who’s talking to me now? Who is that? Leave me alone already. All I want to do is sit here and wait for Frank Black to come, wherever he is. He’s going to be here soon and all of these distractions are too much. I need to keep my eyes on the door. I can’t speak to you right now. Cameron no en casa so whoever is talking to me now needs to shut the hell up, so I can pay attention to what I need to pay attention to, i.e. the door.

Holy shit.

There’s someone in here. A man. In the corner. He was just standing there, looking at me. Looking pleased with what he’d said, as if he’d just disproved infinity or something. I scrambled off of the couch, with the blanket still draped over me and I ran to the door to find my glasses. How did a man get in here? How could anyone have gotten in here? Windows sealed, doors barricaded. I was mystified and I couldn’t really see. Where the hell were my glasses? I found it supremely ironic that I was pawing around the floor looking for the very thing that I needed to help me look for things. I’d put in my contacts but my hands were still shaking. It would be impossible for me to get them in.

Success.

I found them and put them over my eyes, which hurt so much from squinting to try to make out things around the room. I looked to the corner of the living room and there he was. His eyes were dark, black even, and that much darker surrounded by the white of his eyes that was so bright that it looked like it had been bleached. He was standing in the corner, not moving, with his gaze focus on me. It was sharp and it hurt. I wanted to move away from the stare that he had locked on me but his eyes just kept following me. No body movement. His eyes just shot around the room with my movement.

Who are you? How did you get in here? How did you get into my apartment? Who sent you here? What do you want from me? I have no money, nothing of value. All I have is a letter opener and I’m not afraid to use it. I’m not afraid to come at you with this. I was willing to come after Frank Black and I’m willing to come after you. Maybe you are Frank Black. You could be him. You appear out of nowhere in my apartment. You say nothing except to answer a question that I didn’t even say out loud. You just stand there and you watch me. You don’t move, not even an inch. Why won’t you move at all? Flinch, blink, scratch, wince, something. You have to be him. You need to be him. Please be him already. You have to be him.

“I’m not Frank Black.”

Well, then WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? Get the fuck out of here. Go away and leave me alone. Can’t you see I have things to do? I have things to take care of. No one else matters now, only Frank Black. Not you, not anyone. I need for him to be here, not you. Come on Frank Black ring the doorbell. Knock on the door. Try to pick the lock. Kick the door down. Come with a chainsaw and cut through the fucking thing. Anything. Just get here now. Get here and take care of this guy before we can figure something out.

He took a step forward. The man in the corner just took a step forward. What now? You’re advancing in on me? Great, bring it on. Come on over here. I’ll be on the couch, knees to my chest trying to stay warm with a letter opener in my hand. That’s me on the couch right now. I’m the guy who looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week and a half. I’m the guy who hasn’t slept in three days. I’m the guy who’s wearing the same cargo pants and maroon v-neck that he’s been wearing since Wednesday. That’s me, right there, in all my glory. So come on over. Sit down. I’ll make some tea. We can sit here and chat away and you can tell me how the fuck you got into this apartment and why the fuck you came here and who the fuck sent you. You can tell me all of that. You want sugar with your tea?

“One lump, please.”

One lump, please? Is this a fucking joke? I’m asking you all of this shit and you are telling me that you take one lump of sugar? I might just throw the whole bag of sugar right in your stupid fucking face. Your face that doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. It only moves when you talk. How could it only move when you talk? There are no tics, no spasms, no adjustments. How can you not blink? Everyone has to blink. I’m been looking at you for 5 fucking minutes and you haven’t blinked once. How can that be?

He took another step forward and I moved back further into the couch. He’s just moving toward you. No explanation. Only answers. They are answers that don’t mean anything. He’s not Frank Black. I know that much. At least he said that’s he’s not Frank Black, which probably doesn’t mean shit. We’re talking about a guy who appeared in my apartment, with seemingly no way to get it, and can hear what I’m thinking and answer the most banal question that I pose. Why should I be looking for explanation? Why should I be looking for anything at all? Why not just ask him what my favorite color is?

“Green”

And another step forward. He’s only about one step from the couch now and I was beginning to get a little frightened. How did he know that my favorite color is green? That’s absurd. How could he know that? Who the hell even talks about their favorite color past the age of ten? Why do you know that I like green? Did you call my parents and ask them? Did you dig through the records at my elementary school? Call my kindergarten teacher? I don’t get it. Why would you go out of your way to catalog this information? What would make you study the insignificant details of my life only to regurgitate them to me while I sit here virtually incapacitated from lack of sleep and food?

He was slight, this man, not intimidating in the least physically. His pants were black and his shoes were black and his shirt was also black. His hair was black and slicked back. All of this black, this darkness was staring at me, focused on me, as if to reveal something to me. What do you want to tell me? What are you here to say? Is there something I need to know? About Pete? About Maggie? What are you doing here? Will you answer a question of significance? Or will I just be told what kind of toothpaste I should buy?

“Crest. Whitening Formula”

Of course, I should have been smart enough not to pose a seemingly rhetorical question. I want some answers. I want some truth. You appeared from nowhere. You stand here answering the question that you shouldn’t know the answers to, so answer something important. Give me some knowledge. I’ve earned it. I’ve been patient. I’ve waited long enough. I’ve sat here waiting for Frank Black to come to me. He’s taken from me. He’s taken friends from me. He’s taken time from me. He’s taken life from me. I want something back. Give me some answers. Give me something that I can take away. GIVE ME SOMETHING!

Except another step forward. Please don’t take another step forward. Stay where you are. You are moving in on me, my personal space. You can have that whole piece of the apartment. Stay there, stay as long as you like. I’ll wash the dishes if you dry but please don’t get any closer to me than that. Please don’t move in any closer. Not even one more step. I’m comfortable with where you are but even one inch closer is too close. I can see it in your eyes. You want to move closer. Don’t do it. Resist that urge, man in black, because I don’t think you want to find out what’s going to happen to you if you take that step and sit down on this couch. I will end you. Do you understand me? I will fucking end you.

Another step forward. Why? Why would you do that? I know you heard me tell you not to. I know you heard me. You hear everything that I’m thinking. I don’t even have to fucking talk out loud. You can just listen and answer. Why would you do that? Why are you sitting down on my couch now? Don’t sit down on my couch. This is my couch. This is where I watch for Frank Black. He was opposite me, now the man in black, just staring at me with those black eyes. He was sitting on my couch, sitting here as if he owned the place. You don’t own this place. I own this place. This is my apartment. I have the crappy job, with the terrible deadlines and the stupid boss that pays the bills around here. I am the owner, the proprietor, as far as you are concerned buddy. Get the fuck up off my couch. And clear out of here.

“How will I get out?”

However the fuck you got in, that’s how you’re going to get out. I don’t care. What do you do, cross your arms and blink like Jeannie? Whatever it is, do it and get the fuck out of here. You’re the one who has all the answers, admittedly the trivial ones. Figure it out. Snap your fingers. Wiggle your nose. I don’t what works just that it does work. Get the fuck out of here. NOW! He didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He just sat there, still, unmoving. Expressionless and vague and just there. He was just there. It was creepy and all of the fear that I was suppressing in the form of anger welled up in me. I didn’t want him here. I didn’t need him here. He wasn’t doing anything for me, not a single thing. I already knew that I liked Crest Whitening Formula. I didn’t need him to tell me that. Just go. Please go. I don’t want you here. Can’t you see that? If you are here to help, just know that you aren’t. Not even a little bit.

I was sitting on the back of my couch now with my back leaning up against the wall and my feet on the cushions. I turned the letter opener over and over in my shaking hand. My whole body was still shaking and I pressed my back against the wall to get as far as I possibly could from the man that was at the other end of this couch. You have a letter opener, Cam. It’s in your hand. It’s sharp. Go at him. Go at him with the letter opener. He moves at the rate of one step a minute. He’ll never be able to avoid you. He won’t be able to get out of the way. Just go at him with the opener and stab him and he’ll scream. That’ll be great. He’ll scream out loud and you’ll get some answers. Who is he? What is he doing here? Who sent him? It’ll all be out in the open. He’ll tell you everything. Do it. Go for it.

“I wouldn’t do it if I were you.”

Why not? WHY THE FUCK NOT? If you hadn’t been sleeping or eating, if you were being stalked by a madman who was driving your only friends out of town, if all of that were happening to you, wouldn’t you want some answers? Wouldn’t you go to any length to get them? Wouldn’t be willing you jam a letter opener into the leg of the man who materialized and was sitting on the edge of the couch reading your mind in order to get some answers? Wouldn’t you in fact be willing to do all of that? You know all about him don’t you? You know all about Frank Black. What are you holding back from me? What won’t you tell me? Why shouldn’t I jump to the other end of the couch and jam this into your leg until I hit bone? Why? TELL ME WHY?

“All right. Go for it.”

Go for it? Go for it? I’ll fucking go for it. I jumped across the couch with the letter opener pointed down and when I got to the other side, I came down with all of the anger I could summon. This jab is for all of the instant messages and this one is for all of the e-mails. This one is for Pete and this one is for Maggie. This one is for Frank the old guy and this one is for the only woman that he ever loved. This one is for me and so is this one and this one and this one. All of those were from me. Go for it? Go for it? Fuck you, you fuck. You fucking fuck. Fuck you. I should kill you. I hate you. Why are you here? Who brought you? Tell me. Tell me, you piece of shit.

“Are you finished yet?”

I looked up and he was gone. I was laying stomach down on my couch, jabbing at the cushion like it was the thing I wanted to hurt. The interior of the cushion was beginning to show. White puffy stuff peeked out from each of the slashes (five) that I’d made in the cushion. Where did he go? Did he jump off of the couch before I lunged to him? How could he have been that quick? He didn’t move at all, didn’t flinch when he saw me jump. How could he have gotten away and where was he?

“Over here.”

I jumped. He was back in the corner. How did you get back to the corner? Did you jump up and run? How did you do that so quickly? Did you just materialize there? Again? Tell me how you did that. Tell me what you know. I didn’t want to hurt you. That’s not why I went at you. I just want some answers. I want know who Frank Black is. Is that wrong of me? Should I not wonder who he is? Should I not care? How could I do that? How can I just let it all go?

All I was to do it let it all go away. When does it end for me? How does it end for Cam Gordon? Are there flashes of light and fanfare? Or is it quiet and subdued? Is there a manic burst of activity and then just a huge reaction? What is it for me? Where do I go from here? Is that what you are here for? Did you come for me? I need some resolution here. I need something to hang my hat on because there’s nothing. Just Frank Black. He’s it. He’s all right now. Should I forget about him? Because I can’t. He’s tipped my life over, like the rock in the desert that balances on the point. Frank Black was the stiff breeze that tipped my life.

Are you here to let me learn? Are you here to let me know that is what life is? Is life the rock in the desert that one stiff breeze can knock off its perch? Do I need to balance like that rock has for all those millennia? Where is my balance? Where is my life going? How do I get there? You have all the answers. I can see it in your eyes but you just stare at me. You don’t say a word. Why don’t you give me anything? A hint, something? You are a guest in my home. You inhabit my corner. I need something in exchange. I need payment for services rendered. What will you give me? What? Advice? A lesson? Tapioca pudding? What are you here to give me? Why won’t you tell me?

The man just kept looking at me, his gaze intent on something, on me. His arms were behind his back, one hand holding the other wrist. He stood up straight, feet together. The looking at me was what bothered me most. He looked at me, with a straight face. His look wasn’t stern or authoritative and it wasn’t kindly and welcoming. It just was. That’s what threw me most. Why don’t you express something to me? Why doesn’t your face convey attitude or necessity or absolution or grief? You don’t tell me anything, not even with you face. How can that be? How can you not show anything? You must be fucking amazing at poker. A busted inside straight or four of a kind? Which one is it because no one at this fucking table knows? We’re all experienced poker players here and we’re out of ideas. What’s your tell?

All of the sudden, I felt small. He had nothing more to say. I knew it. I could see it in his face. He had nothing more to contribute. His work here was done. I got up off of the couch and walked over to the man on the corner. I stood there, inches from him and nothing came to me. I was a blank. I stuck out my hand as a force of habit but he didn’t even look at it, just kept his eyes fixed on mine. I broke first. He wasn’t just looking at me. He was looking into me. I felt uncomfortable. I didn’t want to share this with him. I don’t want to share this with you. You can’t just take it from me, my essence, my soul. You can’t have it. Don’t look at it. Don’t take any. You don’t deserve it. You come here and give me nothing and you take what you want. You help yourself to me, as if I were seconds on dessert. I’m not an apple pie. You can’t just take a fucking slice of me.

If you have nothing more to say, then just go. I’m tired and I’m hungry. I have no more strength to deal with you. So, just go. Get out of here. I don’t need you here. I turned away from him and walked back to the couch, blanket draped over me and trailing me like some sort of bizarre wedding dress. I sat down and put my hands to my face, then ran them through my hair. And I’ll tell you another thing.

Gone.

He was gone.

I paced around the living room. I was furious. FURIOUS!! Where the fuck did he go? He was just here. No he’s gone. He had to go somewhere. I paced across the floor then ran from room to room. He has to be here somewhere. I went to the corner and stood there, I just stood and stared and tried to see what he saw. What did he see? Why did he look at me like that? Get the hand mirror from the bathroom. Look into that. Maybe you have the answer you are looking for. I got the mirror from the bathroom and stared into that, stared at myself, my unshaven face and my messy hair. There was nothing there. I looked into my eyes and saw nothing but fury at the man who had disappeared from my apartment, from this life. I threw the mirror against the wall and it shattered to pieces.

What could I do? How could I get him to come back? What did I need to do to bring him back here? He’s behind the wall. Where are your scissors? The letter opener? Something. Go get one of them and cut into the wall. I had the opener in my pocket and I took it out. The light glinted off of it and I dug into the wall. I jabbed at it. The dry wall was soft and it came apart easily. WHERE ARE YOU? Keep dodging these jabs into the wall because I want to make sure that you are alive when I get back there so I can kill you myself. I’ll hang you out the window for Frank Black to see. He wanted to fuck with me? He wanted to come after me? He’ll stay way the fuck away from my door after he sees what I’ve done to you, his minion, the weird dude that he sent to appear and reappear in my apartment.

I put my hand against the wall to brace myself and kept jabbing, jabbing, jabbing.

OW!

Fuck, my hand. The opener is in my hand. Not in it, through it. The opener is through my hand. Fuck this hurts. Try to take it out. OW! Fuck. Fuck. Are you happy now, Frank Black? Are you happy, you son of a bitch? Look what you made me do. My hand. Oh, god, my hand hurts. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t. My voice was trapped again and I didn’t know how to let it out.

I stumbled to the door and my head started getting light. My hand was losing blood quickly and I needed to get help. The darkness was rich now and it was inviting. I tried to move but everything was in slow motion. I slammed the door with all the force I had in me, but the sound was muffled and far away. Just lie down on the carpet, Cam. Lie down and wait. Just wait.

---

“Cam, it’s time to wake up.”

I opened my eyes and the white walls greeted me. The sun coming through the windows reflected harshly off of the walls and I squinted to shield my eyes a little bit. Was it time to wake up already? The past weeks have flown by so quickly. Should the time go by that quickly? Was it the surge to mental well being that made everything go by so fast? I didn’t know.

The nurse closed the door behind her and I rolled out of bed and put my robe on. It was cold this morning, a cold January morning that left a sheet of ice on my window from the freezing rain that had fallen overnight. I wiggled my fingers at the top of my cast. The bones were beginning to heal now, after a little reconstruction. My hand would be almost as good as new. There was a little nerve damage that wouldn’t heal completely. I looked out the window briefly, enjoying the layer of white snow on the ground and then went off to the bathroom to get myself cleaned up for the day.

The institution was all about clean. A clean body and a clean mind make a clean life. That’s what they say. So I did that as best I could. I made my bed every morning. I showered and shaved every morning. I attended sessions with a group and counselor during the day. I don’t want to end up like I was a few weeks ago, when neighbors heard me screaming from my apartment, when my parents had to call the super because I wasn’t answering my phone, when he tried to key into the door but couldn’t open it because I’d barricaded it, when my parents had to bust through the door of my apartment, breaking all the furniture stacked there, when they had to lift me up off of the floor with a letter opener through my hand and carry me out. I didn’t want to be like that anymore.

I’m being taught that there’s no subtext to the actions that I witness in my day-to-day life. There’s no conspiracy against me and no one is following me, least of all Frank Black. My new one-on-one therapist tells me to be in the moment and take things as they come. He says that I need to recognize that events that happen in the world are not necessarily connected. Life is not easy, but I make it more difficult then it has to be by grouping things that happen together. If I learn to separate them, he says, then I will be much better equipped to deal with them. He knows that is not easy for me, but he always remembers to tell me that I’m doing a good job trying.

All I needed to do was my best. As long as I was living the best way that I knew how, then I was succeeding. That’s what I needed to remember. I had it written down now and I carried it around with me in my wallet. If I ever forgot, I pulled out the sheet of paper and I read it to myself. Sometimes, I read it twice.

My parents had my room waiting for me, for when I was released from the institution. They were going to help me, when I was released. They were very understanding of the whole episode and were extremely worried. Another thing that they told us here was that part of living is recognizing that you live with other people and making amends to them when you have wronged them. I have made amends to my parents for all that I have put them through. My father was appreciative and my mother just cried. I think that they have accepted me for all of my difficulties and want to help me with everything.

I felt healthier and I felt that I was improving each day. I followed a routine after breakfast and I had chores around the hospital that I was responsible for. They only gave chores to the people that they feel may soon be ready to leave, so I guess they felt that I was improving each day also. That made me happy. It made me happy to know that other people were feeling the same way I was. It had been a long time since someone else had the same thoughts that I had.

I missed Pete still. I missed Maggie also. My therapist is helping me deal with those personal losses as well. They hadn’t died or anything, but they were a big part of my life. My therapist says that sometimes the best way to achieve closure is to confront the issue head on. I asked him how and he said that maybe I should write each of them a letter. That sounded like a good idea to me and I did it. I had nowhere to mail them. I sent Maggie’s to her old address, which I got from the phone book. I took Pete’s into the courtyard with me and I tore it up and scattered the pieces in the wind. Maybe he’d get some of them somewhere, wherever he was.

Frank Black didn’t send Pete away. He didn’t send Maggie away either. They made personal decisions to do something based on the best course of action for them. They didn’t do it based on some threat from an imagined source. They needed to do something to affect change in their life and they are my friends. So I wished them well in whatever it is they do. Maybe if I’m back in the city soon, I’ll swing by Maggie’s apartment and see how she is doing, if she’s still there.

I finished my breakfast and went upstairs to clean my room and prepare myself for the day. I had a journal that I liked to make an entry in each morning before I leave to start my day. The writing refreshed me a little bit and allowed me to keep track of my mood and monitor myself. Everyone has bad days, my therapist says, try not to let them control you. I made my bed and swept the floor, making sure to replace the broom and dustpan where they belonged in the closet. The room looked clean, so I went to get my notebook from the drawer in the night table next to me.

“Cam?”

I looked up and saw one of the nurses standing in the doorway with another person, who had a bag slung over his shoulder and was carrying the institution issued linens for the empty bed in my room. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept in days. He had a beard, eight or nine days of unshaven growth. He moved slowly over to the bed and put the linens down, sitting next to them with a plop.

“Cam, this is your new roommate.”

The nurse turned and left us to get to know each other. I eyed him for a minute and thought about what to say. It didn’t really look like he wanted to talk. His eyes were red and cracked and they darted around the room suspiciously before landing on me. It was almost like looking back in time, looking at this sad creature, terrified of his surroundings and unable to focus on everything. It was exactly how I’d come here a few weeks ago. I hope he was as ready to learn as I had been. This place had helped me so much.

“What’s your name?”

He jumped a bit when I said it, startled that I had spoken. He looked at me for a minute and then closed his eyes, rubbing them a bit, maybe to make sure that I was really there, really speaking to him. When he opened them and looked at me again, certain that he and I were still there, his voice cracked a bit when he said it.

“My name? Frank. Frank Black.”

THE END