Therapeutic Stumbles

*This is Part IV of a four–part series. If you would like to read Part I, you can find it here: Therapeutic Stumbles – Horror Obsessive

War Zone

Bangor, Texas, was a war zone when he opened the door. The first thing that hit him was the blast of wind. Not a relieving sort but like a furnace was opened, one filled with hornets. The rain slammed him in the face, and his hair was drenched by the time he got to the driveway. His shoes were soaked and cold, but the raincoat had kept his upper body dry. He hopped into the Kia and hauled ass out of the driveway, the only maniac on the road.

The roads were covered with debris: tree limbs, blown trash cans, and even power lines. Streams of water were pouring down the drains on both sides of the street. The windshield wipers worked overtime but barely provided Thomas with any visibility. Tension kept gripping Thomas’s hands. They stiffened as he drove, and he had to open and close them slowly to keep them from locking.

It’s all in your head, the tension and Marissa’s dead, staring face.

Every few flashes of lightning brought it back. Staring at him through the windshield or in the rearview mirror. He gripped the wheel and stared around it or through it. Get to fucking Clement’s! There was no other way. Rather than take precautions, he floored the gas, betting on the fact that no one else would be out driving. With as much focus as he could muster under the circumstances, Thomas drove on through the rain.

Reckoning

The Kia jumped the curb as it careened onto the driveway at about 20 mph. He heard a pop! But he hardly even noticed it through the sound of the rain and thunder. He pulled up on the driveway in what would be called a “hard landing,” the rim doing the heavy lifting as he put the car into park. Clement’s house stood to the left of the driveway, a two-story affair made of bricks. Thomas didn’t take much of it in as he had other things on his mind. The lights were on downstairs. Thomas opened the car door and dashed for Clement’s front door, his feet squishing into the drenched grass of the front yard.

Clement was waiting when he looked up towards the front door from the four steps leading up to the porch. He looked as distraught as Thomas did. Thomas didn’t notice, but Clement was fully dressed, albeit disheveled.

“I need to talk,” Thomas blurted out, pushing forward into Clement’s house.

“Okay. Okay. Now settle down.” Clement had tried to put himself between Clement and the passageway inside, but he hadn’t been fast enough. Instead, Thomas was already in the foyer, pacing around like a tiger and trembling. “What’s got you all stirred up? It ain’t the rain, is it?” His eyes shifted towards the darkness in the room beside them.

“No. No. Not that,” Thomas began. “The fucking nightmares. Anxiety attacks. Everything. Stuff like that.” His voice quivered as he spoke, and he was looking at the floor, still walking around in tight circles. “You got any water? My damn throat is parched. I need a drink.” He looked up, finally seeing the concern in Clement’s eyes.

Under Construction

Clement took a moment to respond. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got water. You’re soaking wet. Hang that jacket up. It’s getting the floor wet.” He took the jacket from Clement and put it on the coat rack. “What did you say brings you here again? It’s mighty late. Follow me to the kitchen. I’ve been doing some DIY renovations around here, so I can’t let you into most of the rooms; they’re all disasters at the moment. And dangerous. Doing it myself, you know. Wouldn’t want 2X4 to fall on your head and knock your ass out.” Clement chuckled at his own joke.

“I’ve been having nightmares. Horrible stuff. Dead bodies and shit like that. I was going crazy sitting at home by myself. Throwing up and seeing stuff. I felt like a vise grip was squeezing my chest. Man, it’s good to see you. I just needed to talk.”

“Well . . . I’m glad you came over.” They crossed into the kitchen. Knives were scattered all over the island in the center, and they caught both the men’s attention. “I was getting ready to cook tomorrow. You said you wanted water, right?” Clement reached towards a cabinet next to the sink and brought out two glasses. He filled one with ice from the nearby freezer and filled it from the tap. He handed it to Thomas, hands shaking and eyes darting around.

"Wrong Place, Wrong Time" by Jesse Giles. — “Wrong Place, Wrong Time” by Jesse Giles.

Thomas was still pacing. He was unable to stay still and was going back and forth in a straight line past the island in the center. “Nice place.” He had to say something, anything, to ease his nervousness. The rain was still slamming against the windows, testing the strength of the small one behind the kitchen sink. “It’s that girl. Marissa. I’m seeing her in my dreams.”

In His Dreams

Clement’s head shot up, and he looked Thomas in the eye. “Who?”

“Marissa. My former student.”

Clement walked slowly toward the island and began fiddling with a butcher’s knife that was lying there. “I wouldn’t worry about that. That’s probably just because you heard about it on the news or something. You’re stressed out, man. You need to get some rest.”

“No. No, it’s not that,” Thomas said. “I’m seeing her dead face. Horrible stuff.” Clement now had the knife in his hand. He was holding it in the light, looking at it as his face was bent in concentration. “I don’t even want to say this . . . no, no, it’s too crazy, man. It’s too weird.”

Clement squinted one eye and cocked an eyebrow. “What? What is it? I’m your sponsor. Get it off your chest. Hell, if you can’t say it to me, who can you say it to?” He kept his eye on Clement, looking at him seriously, the knife handle rolling around in his palm.

“It’s like she’s talking to me. Reaching out. I couldn’t get her out of my head. And you. Like this rain, it was an unstopping barrage. Call Clement. Go to Clement’s. The girl. It was bizarre.” Thomas spoke, still pacing. Lightning was still tearing up the night’s sky, flashing light into the darkness around the lit-up and cozy kitchen.

Movie Ticket

That’s when Thomas saw it in the space outside of the kitchen. On a desk right outside of the kitchen’s light. A movie ticket. “Mission: Impossible”. He stopped midway through his pacing and froze, his back to Clement. Clement caught the sudden change in demeanor. Think! Think, damn it! But Thomas was frozen, staring at the spot where the ticket was lying.

“Thomas? What is it? Maybe you need to have a seat.” Clement’s voice was coming from behind Thomas, but Thomas wasn’t listening. He was waiting. Then it happened. Another flash of lightning, and he saw the driver’s license. Marissa Starkey. He turned around aghast. He tried to talk but couldn’t form the words.

“Thomas, it ain’t what you think it is,” Clement began. Lightning lit up the entire room, and then a crash followed. Everything went dark. Thomas ran into the room blind and hid behind the nearest piece of furniture, a couch.

“Thomas, goddamnit!” Clement yelled from the other room. “What in the hell are you doing?” Thomas was hunched behind the couch, hearing the rain pour outside. He heard the rain and his heartbeat racing at 170 bpm. “It ain’t what you think. I can explain.” The voice had moved now. Was it to his left? His right? It seemed farther away. Every few seconds, lightning would shed some light around Thomas. He used this as an opportunity to peer over the couch’s back.

Knives Out

Clement was gone. So were the knives.

He had to think fast. Sweat was dripping from his forehead, and he reached for his phone with shaking hands. He dialed 9-1-1 and tried to get his bearings in the room. The house was massive, and this room had three entrances.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency.”

“I’m in someone’s house, and I think they’re trying to kill me. Tell the cops, I’m Thomas, a teacher at Bangor High School. I’m friends with Officer Jan Mitchell; she will know me.” Thomas gave Clement’s address and slid the phone, which was still connected with 9-1-1, across the tile floor. He hoped that the dispatcher’s voice would lure Clement to the wrong part of the room as he escaped. Thomas also made a desperate prayer that the dispatcher would recognize his acquaintance with Officer Jan.

He got up, dashed to the island, and crouched down, peering around the sides to see if he could find Clement. No Clement in sight. Thomas had never been here before, so he did not know the layout. He was blind to a certain extent.

Last Chance

The hallway to the foyer loomed in front of him from his view of the kitchen. He was about to sprint towards the front door when he heard a crash from back in the living room. “Damn it, Thomas. I just want to speak with you. Come out here and talk like a man.”

This was Thomas’s chance. He stood up and ran towards the door. His heart was beating out of his chest, and his breathing was heavy as he made his way through the hallway. As his hand gripped the doorknob, he felt a hot flash in his back shoulder, and he stopped dead in his tracks – frozen in mid-step. He screamed as he turned his head and saw Clement beside him with a horrible smile on his face.

“It’s over, Thomas, you dumb fuck. You’re not one of the pretty brown – haired girls I like, but just like ‘em, you were at the wrong place at the wrong time.” Clement pulled the bloody knife from Thomas’s back and stabbed it into him again, this time in his lower back. Thomas cried out and dropped to one knee.

Lightning flashed behind the front door’s glass and illuminated the space the two men were in. Thomas came to his senses and threw a punch at Clement that caught him in the gut, but he was weak, and blood was pouring all over the floor, causing him to feel nauseous and want to retch. He grabbed Clement by the waistband of his jeans and used the crimson pool on the floor to his advantage. Thomas pulled Clement down to the floor with him by using all his weight. Clement, taken by surprise, tumbled down to the ground with Thomas and was now soaked in blood himself.

The two men wrestled and rolled on the floor, but Clement was stronger. He grabbed the knife and had Thomas pinned down, pushing the knife towards Thomas’s heart. Thomas had Clement’s hands and was restraining them with every ounce of his strength.

Black Out

“You . . . are . . . a dead man!” Clement growled through clenched teeth. Thomas was growing weary, and the lack of blood was affecting his senses. He could feel the sharp pains in his wounds and the sweat in his eyes as he pushed back against Clement’s attack.

And then it happened. Marissa’s face flashed before Thomas’s eyes. He could see her clear as day. Not dead or frozen in a stare but alive and well. He mouthed the word “Marissa”. This caught Clement off guard, and he paused for a slight moment with the knife inches from Thomas’s chest, and then the thunder and rain were interrupted by a blast that sent glass all over the scene of the struggle. Clement’s head jerked violently to the side as the bullet went through it, and he collapsed sideways into his blood this time. Thomas did his best to scramble back to his hands and knees, and he saw Thomas dying from his wound on the floor.

Two police officers kicked in the door and quickly assessed the scene. Officer Jan Mitchell said, “Sir, an ambulance is right behind us, and we’ll get you cleaned up. Please allow us to go through our first aid measures.” But Thomas was unable to consent; the last thing he saw before he blacked out from the loss of blood were the missing girls smiling down at him.