FATHER’S
DAY
By
Daniel Skye
Death’s shadow loomed over Ted Holland.
X-rays
taken by his doctors revealed a brain tumor the size of a fist. Malignant and
inoperable. They had given him approximately six weeks to live.
As he stood in the threshold of death’s doorway, Ted
wanted nothing more than to forget the past and live his last few weeks in
peace and harmony.
Ted was incapable of forgiving the demon that had robbed
him of his only son, Gregory. Forgiveness was not even an option he’d indulge.
It wasn’t something he had in his blood. So it appeared his only hope of
savoring his final days was to erase Tanner Langstrom from his memory.
Langstrom was the monster who had been traveling at three
times the speed limit when Gregory was riding his bicycle down the driveway.
Tanner never saw him coming, never had a chance to brake.
The arriving officer smelled alcohol on Tanner’s breath,
and he was behaving belligerently and refused to take a breathalyzer at the
scene. The police finally got him to take one down at the station and confirmed
that Tanner had alcohol in his system at the time of the accident. But by the
time he had consented to a breathalyzer, he was below the limit.
And now, Tanner was out on parole, walking free amongst
the rest of society. Ted knew his own departure was imminent, while Tanner
would most likely go on to live a long, healthy life. And that thought gave Ted
no solace. In fact, it sickened him.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Tanner’s face. He
had to stare at that face every day during the trial. It was a face he could
never forget. Those bulging green eyes that made him look like a lizard. That
ugly scar across the bridge of his nose. That hole in his lower lip from where
he’d usually where his ring. He was considerate enough to remove it for the
duration of the trial.
Ted also found himself disgusted by how vehemently
Tanner’s lawyer fought to keep him out of prison. How he expressed remorse on
behalf of his client. How he called Ted’s parenting into question.
Stahl
was his name. Desmond Stahl. He was a portly man with a dark complexion and a penchant
for bowties that distracted from his rather plump head. He wore aqua blue
shirts under his suit jacket and he spoke in such a condescending manner that
every time he opened his mouth, Ted wanted to reach down his throat and yank
out his vocal cords.
These
were all the things Ted didn’t want to dwell on in his final days. These were
the things he wished to forget.
Cynthia
Rockwell had made all the arrangements for him. In his declining state, Ted was
in no condition to leave the house. Cynthia was a young lady, much younger than
the widowed Ted, who had no illusions about shacking up with a girl half his
age.
Cynthia
was a caregiver hired to look after Ted until the inevitable occurred. She wore
hoop earrings, but never lipstick or a dab of makeup. She had a rare natural
beauty that Ted and every other man within ten feet of her found entrancing.
Though he found her attractive, he also made it a priority to show her the
respect a woman deserves and refrain from flirting or staring inappropriately.
They
had formed quite a bond in the first three weeks they spent together. Cynthia
prepared all Ted’s meals for him and kept him company through the days. They
played chess together, a game Ted had mastered long ago, though he would let
Cynthia win every time. They listened to classical music like Bach and Mozart,
Ted’s preference.
And
Ted even confided in her, told her all about Gregory and his wife divorcing him
after the accident. He told her all about Tanner Langstrom and his sleazy
lawyer, Desmond. About Tanner’s parole, and his yearning to forget it all.
Ted
had heard through his lawyer that Tanner had been in touch with Desmond
recently. He was hoping Desmond would represent him in a case against the city
to get the DWI charge expunged from his record and downgrade the charge to involuntary
vehicular manslaughter. And this latest information only fueled Ted’s desire to
purge Tanner from his memory.
That’s
when Cynthia offered a suggestion. “Have you considered a hypnotist? I know a
guy who helped my friend quit smoking. They haven’t had a cigarette in four
years. This guy is supposed to be the best.”
“What’s
his name?” Ted inquired.
* *
*
Sunday,
June 19th, 2011.
Father’s
Day.
Ted
was in bed when Cynthia informed him that Brandt Bukowski had arrived.
“Let
him in, please,” Ted said, summoning all his strength so he could sit up to
greet him. The migraines were often debilitating and felt like a knife being
twisted in his skull.
“Mr.
Holland, I presume,” Doctor Bukowski said, standing in the doorway.
“That’s
me,” Ted said, finally managing to sit upright. “And what do I call you, doctor
or Mr. Bukowski?”
“You
can call me Brandt if it makes you feel comfortable.” Bukowski walked towards
the bed with Cynthia trailing behind him.
“Cynthia
filled you in on all the details?”
“She
did,” Bukowski informed him. “First, let me say how sorry I am about your son.
If it had been me, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I can understand why you
called me.”
“Okay,
Brandt,” Ted said. “Be honest with me. How real is this stuff?”
“Very
real,” Bukowski said. “And I have a one hundred percent success rate,” he
assured Ted. “I’ve cured people of their phobias, helped them conquer smoking
and other addictive substances, and suppress unwanted memories.”
“Well,
that’s why you’re here. I have a surplus of unwanted memories and I don’t want
them haunting me anymore.”
“Then
you’ve made a wise choice,” Bukowski said. “Shall we begin?”
“Sure,”
Ted said wearily. “Cynthia, you can leave us for now. Thank you.”
Cynthia
left them alone and Brandt took a seat beside the bed where Cynthia usually sat
and removed a gold pocket watch from his tan blazer.
“This
watch is a family heirloom. It belonged to my great grandfather. It still
ticks. But other than that one little marvelous detail, it’s just an ordinary
watch. Nothing special about it. Hypnotism does not depend on the object used
to entrance the patient. It’s all about the patients’ mentality. Those who
truly wants to be cured of their affliction are more susceptible to being
hypnotized.”
“So
what is it I’m supposed to do here?” Ted asked.
“You
don’t have to do anything except use your eyes.” On that note, he held the
watch from its chain and let it swing back and forth like a pendulum. The watch
drifted from side to side and Ted followed it with his eyes.
“I need
you to clear your mind, Ted,” Brandt said in a soft, soothing voice. “Think of
absolutely nothing. Free yourself from thought. Just let your mind drift and
soon your body will follow.”
His eyelids
fluttered as he tried to keep his focus on the watch. He didn’t realize how
tired he was until he observed he wasn’t sitting upright anymore and his back
was sliding down the headboard.
“I’m
going to count down from ten, and when I’m finished, you’ll be asleep.
Ten…nine…eight…seven…”
Ted
was out cold before he could even count down to five. But before the real procedure
could begin, Ted’s body was awakened by a massive jolt, as if some form of electrical
current ran through him.
He
sprung up in bed, hands shaking, eyes rolling into the back of his head until
all Brandt could see was white. Then he fell back, his body going into
convulsions. He kicked and thrashed and flopped around the bed helplessly,
unable to communicate at all.
“Cynthia!”
he called and she came rushing back.
“What’s
happening?!” she exclaimed.
“I
don’t know…this has…this has never happened to me before. Is there a phone? We
need to call for an ambulance immediately.”
Just
as Cynthia ran for the phone, the convulsions ceased. Ted’s muscles relaxed,
and his body returned to a calm, peaceful state. His eyes rolled back into
place and he sat up, confused and disoriented.
“What’s
going on?” Ted asked. “Are we done? Is it over?”
“Ted…you
had an attack of some kind. We never even began. Are you prone to seizures?”
“Seizures?
No. I’ve never had one before in my life.”
“Any
history of epilepsy in your family?”
“Nope.
The only thing that’s hereditary in my family is alcoholism.”
Cynthia
returned but dropped the cordless phone in shock at Ted’s miraculous recovery.
“Mr. Holland? Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m
fine, Cynthia. I don’t remember what happened. But I feel okay. There’s just
this throbbing in my temples. I’m sure it will go away.”
But
the throbbing didn’t go away. It intensified. Ted massaged his temples as the
pain continued to surge.
“Sir,
can I get you anything?” Cynthia asked. “Water? Aspirin?”
“No,
I’m fine,” Ted assured her. “Just give me a moment.”
“Ted,
I’m not really sure if it’s safe for us to continue,” Bukowski informed him. “I
should probably be going.”
His
temples throbbed rapidly and he found himself inexplicably filled with rage. It
was an overpowering feeling of hatred. All he could think about was hurting
Bukowski. He lost all control over his thoughts and emotions. His own mind was battling against him. And his mind was winning, rapidly ceasing control over his body.
And
Brandt Bukowski was the first to feel the wrath of Ted’s imagination. Brandt’s
feet left the floor and his body hovered in the air, a few feet off the ground.
His legs curled on their own, bending back to such an extreme degree that they
snapped at the knees, the broken bones jutting out through the skin. Then his
arms, as if being pulled by some invisible force, were drawn back as far as
they could be stretched, and ripped straight from the sockets.
Brandt,
still suspended in the air, let out one final cry as his upper body contorted
and folded back, severing his spinal cord in the process. Brandt was released
from his invisible grasp and his body plunged to the floor, motionless.
Cynthia
screamed at the top of her lungs as she scrambled for the phone to report the
incident. Ted’s temples throbbed again and he just wished Cynthia would shut
up.
In
seconds, her cries were muffled as an invisible force had taken hold of her
windpipe, squeezing the air out of her. She choked, gagged, clutched at her
throat. Her face turned red, then purple, then she collapsed to the floor, and her
cries ceased.
Ted blinked his eyes rapidly and massaged his temples and
the pain gradually subsided. He took a glance around the room and the carnage
that had transpired. He couldn’t recall a second of it.
His mind only seemed to have one direction. It craved
blood. It craved revenge. It craved Tanner Langstrom.
Ted rose from his bed, taking full advantage of his
newfound energy and abilities. He hadn’t felt this alive in months. He dressed
in a hurry and grabbed his coat and jacket. As he went for the door, he tasted
something bitter in the back of his throat.
Blood. Ted surmised he might be bleeding internally. But
his mind would not let him focus on this concern. It pushed him towards the
door, down the stairs, out the front, and into his car.
He didn’t know where to find Tanner. But he knew where to
start.
* *
*
Desmond Stahl made his living on the grief and misery of
others. He was a defense attorney. But as repugnant a specimen as he was,
Desmond could work some serious magic in that courtroom. And I’m not just
talking about pulling rabbits out of hats, either.
So Ted took a little drive out of town and marched right
into the law offices of Kramer and Johnson. He approached the receptionist, who
asked politely if he had an appointment. His temples ached and throbbed and he
imagined his hands wrapping tightly around her thin throat.
The receptionist heaved and scratched at her throat,
struggling to find the air. “This is how it’s going to work,” Ted said. “Tell
me where to find Desmond Stahl and the pain goes away.”
“Down the hall,” the receptionist choked out the words.
“Third door on the right.”
“Thank you,” Ted said, his mind releasing its grasp on
her. She clutched at her throat and coughed as the air returned to her lungs.
The throbbing in Ted’s temples ceased and he tasted blood again and felt a
sharp pain forming in the pit of his stomach.
Dismissing the pain, he walked down the hall and
approached the third door on the right, marching in uninvited. As Ted
anticipated, he was wearing a bowtie and an aqua blue shirt under his jacket.
Desmond
was a fidgety man, always pulling at his belt or tugging at the legs of his
trousers or scratching at his ample belly.
“Who are you?” Desmond asked, arms crossed but still
fidgeting around in his chair. “I don’t believe we have an appointment.”
“You don’t remember me?”
“Should I?”
“You should. But none of that matters now. You won’t
remember me after today.”
“That
sounds like a threat. Just who the hell are you?”
“Tanner
Langstrom. Does that name ring a bell?”
“I
vaguely recall representing a man who might’ve had the same name.” Desmond
unfolded his arms and tugged at his pant legs.
“He
killed my little boy and you got him off with a slap on the wrist.”
“I’m
very sorry for your loss.”
Desmond’s desk and shelves were polished oak, and the
long narrow windows behind him overlooked the adjacent park. He swiveled his
chair around and looked out, so he wouldn’t have to face Ted.
“Just tell me where to find Tanner.”
“I don’t know where Tanner is. I represented him years
ago. Even if I did know where he is, I wouldn’t be at liberty to divulge that
information. Attorney-client privilege, you know?”
“Tanner just got released from prison. I know he’s been
in touch with you. He contacted you with plans to sue the city to try and get
this stain removed from his record. Where can I find him?”
Desmond, his back still turned to Ted, was about to call
for security when he felt the sharp pangs in the pit of his stomach.
Ted’s
temples pulsed wildly. Desmond squirmed in his chair as his ample belly swelled
three times in size. “Help! Help! What’s happening to me?!”
“Just
give me an address,” Ted said. He could taste the blood rising in the back of
his throat, but it didn’t discourage him or the grip his mind had over Desmond.
“The address,” he demanded again.
Desmond
could not see his legs, but he could feel that they had increased in mass. They
had swelled to the size of telephone poles. And his stomach had expanded to the
size of a hot air balloon.
“1291
Cambridge!” Desmond shouted, just before his stomach could no longer withstand
the pressure. He burst open, the explosion propelling his innards against
the glass and tainting the serene view of the park.
The
pain in Ted’s head dissipated but the taste of blood still lingered in the back
of his throat.
“1291
Cambridge,” he repeated.
* *
*
1291 Cambridge was a dilapidated house in a neighborhood
riddled with many other abandoned or neglected properties. But this hole in the
wall had special significance to Ted.
It was once the home of his childhood friend, Aaron. In
the decades that had passed, the house remained virtually the same; the only
major difference being a two-door garage where Aaron’s dad’s boat used to be.
In retrospect, the boat was nothing special. But as a
kid, that big boat raised up on that trailer seemed larger than life to Ted.
Aaron and his dad took Ted out on the water and showed him to bait a hook and
cast the reel out into the water. Ted got a catch on his first try, a six pound
fluke.
He never took Aaron for an angler, but his friend really
seemed to love it out there on the water. And that made Ted enjoy the
experience all the more. For years, it seemed like Ted and Aaron were inseparable.
So what came between them? A girl. Years of friendship
tossed down the gutter over one girl. Jenny Washburn. They both fought for her
affection. But it was Aaron who won her heart, and he and Ted never spoke
again. Though Ted had heard years later that Aaron and Jenny had married after
college.
Maybe I’ll pay them
a little visit when I’m done here, Ted thought. But it wasn’t really him
thinking. It was this strange, anonymous force that had taken hold of his mind
and his body that caused him to think and act like so.
Ted walked up the red stone path that extended from the
sidewalk to the porch. He looked down when he reached the third stone,
expecting to see a huge crack in the center. It was still there and the
childhood memory made Ted–the real Ted, not the entity that possessed him–smile
briefly.
Ted didn’t knock. He didn’t ring the bell. He just closed
his eyes and as his temples throbbed uncontrollably, he let his mind do the
work. In mere seconds, the door was reduced to splinters and Ted made his way
in, confronting a startled Tanner Langstrom in the living room.
He looked different. He still had this bulging green lizard eyes
and the lip ring and that scar across the bridge of his nose. But he looked
aged and exasperated.
“Who the fuck are you, buddy?” Tanner demanded an answer.
“You can’t just bust in here. This is my family’s place. You’ve got no right to
come barging in.”
“Gregory Holland,” Ted spoke.
“Get out before I call the police.”
“I know you remember him.”
“I paid my debt.”
“Six years? You didn’t pay shit.”
“I remember him. And I remember you staring a hole
through me every day at that trial. I’m sorry about what happened to your son.
I truly am. But there’s nothing I can say or do to bring him back. There’s
nothing I can do to fix it.”
“There’s one thing you can do,” Ted said and his temples pounded.
A tear formed at his scalp, creating a zigzag-like
pattern that traveled down his forehead, cutting across the bridge of his nose,
bisecting his lips, and ripping down his chest. With his face ripped open and
his lips torn apart, Tanner could no longer speak in his defense. He gurgled,
attempting to speak, but the words refused to come. The skin peeled away,
separated at both sides of the torso like an unbuttoned vest flapping in the
breeze, leaving his ribcage, nerves, fat, muscle, and sinew exposed. But Ted
decided he wasn’t finished there. And in the blink of an eye, Tanner’s body
split down the middle like a piece of lumber, the halves of his body dropping
to the floor with two loud, wet thuds.
Ted breathed an audible sigh of relief. “It’s over,” Ted
assured himself. “It’s…Ah! Make it stop! Make it stop!”
Ted crumbled to his knees, his temples ready to burst. The pain in his head was too much to bear now. He
tasted blood again, but that was the least of his concerns. Now he could
actually see the blood. And not just the blood of Tanner, but his own. It was
flooding out of his nose, pouring out from his ears, even from his eyes. He was
hemorrhaging blood from every orifice of his body.
The force that had possessed him was strong, but not
strong enough to stop his last thoughts from being of Gregory. When every last
drop of blood had been drained from him, the force vacated his body. And moments
before Ted collapsed, he whispered something, barely audible.
“I did it, Gregory.”
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