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Part 6
It seemed he had been walking an for an age, as he finally crested the top of the hill. He wasn’t quite sure why he was walking up it, it was as if something had been compelling him to do so. Bu now he reached the top to find a broad and grassy plateau. He spent a minute or two looking around, to see if there was anything of note on the plateau. Then he noticed a figure sitting on a largish rock about 100 metres over ahead and to his right. Brian decided to walk over to him, to see if it was he who had compelled him to walk up the hill.
As he drew nearer to the figure, Brian seemed to think that he recognised him. He seemed of average height, with jet black hair cut short on the sides and left to grow to about 2 inches on top, all gelled up to look like a terrible, if fashionable mess. His pale skin indicated an office worker, which could be anyone, since Brian himself worked in one. But as he drew a few strides closer still, the figure turned to face him.
Brian stopped, not able to comprehend the face that stared back at him. It was his own. This wasn’t right. How could this be? Another dream? He must be having another dream. Wonderful, he thought. He started to imagine all the inventive ways in which a mirror image of himself could now try to kill him in some horrific and bloody manner.
“This is just a dream!” He shouted aloud to himself, and turned to stare at his mirror image, as if by having spoken, it should now disappear. Instead, the figure reacted by standing up, and striding over to meet Brian face to face. It stopped, only 2 metres or so away from Brian before speaking.
“Not quite, Brian” For a mirror image, it’s voice was nothing like Brians. It was deeper, much deeper, and the image spoke each word slowly and carefully, as though every slight vocal resonance held an ancient power. “but close enough. Certainly, we’re inside your head at the moment. Nothing more.”
“If we’re inside my head, this is a dream. There is no discussion.” Brian was in no mood for this. He steadied himself, expecting the image to lunge at him at the first opportunity.
“I’m not here to argue with you Brian. We have decisions to make, and little time for pointless aesthetic debates.” The voice of the image still came out slowly and meticulously, but seemed to hold an air of age and wisdom akin to fairytale wizards and wise men.
“Wait a minute. Who are you? And why are we meeting up for non-aesthetic debates inside my head?”
“A good question, certainly one that will eventually require an answer. But not now. There is too much that must be decided for you, and little enough time for that. The fewer distractions you have now, the better.” No name, then, Brian thought. Just typical. But the image seemed to be pressing the idea of decision making on his behalf, and if someone was to help making decisions for him, he damn well wanted to know who it was.
“Your name. I’m not discussing anything with anybody until I know who you are.” The words came out half-shouted, and harsher than Brian had intended, but the image didn’t seem to take offence at it.
“What would you have me tell you? I have never had a name, as such, and to be honest don’t really care for one. Just make an assumption for now. I could be your deep consciousness, I could be a fraction of a broken mind driven to schizophrenia by tragic circumstances, or I could be a psychic medium, aware of your plight and contacting you through a crystal ball in my well lit and smoky study room. What I am and who I am isn’t a matter of any great concern. The fact that you have only a few months to live is.” Brian wasn’t happy at this, but it seemed the image wasn’t about to give up anything, but then he connected to the comment that the image had never had a name, and decided to give him one, if only for something to refer to him with.
“Marcus. I’ll call you Marcus. You may not want to give me your identity, so I’m going to give you one. Is that alright with you, Marcus? His mirror seemed to read something in this that Brian did not, and seemed to be recollecting something which brought a smile to his face and a glint to his eye as he replied.
“Marcus. Yes, yes I like that. Well done Brian. I think we’ll get along just fine.”
“So what am I doing here, on this hill inside my brain?” Nice as it was to put a name to a face, Brian was still all too aware of the fact that he was dreaming, and his dreams of late had not been among the most pleasant he’d ever experienced.
“I should think that would be obvious, Brian.”
“Well, it’s not obvious.” He retorted quickly.
“Brian, you have contracted a lethal form of cancer, and you’re going to die very soon.” Marcus seemed to be altogether too calm about any and all of this, as though he were simply reciting facts, and not repeating a grave death sentence that had cruelly been laid upon him several times in the last 24 hours, and none of which he was convinced was the truth.
“Have I? I’m not so sure, to be honest. The last day or so has been a little confusing.” He said after a pause.
“Brian, I won’t lie to you about this. I’ve seen it. You’re dying, and we have to take action about what to do with your life.”
“Such as?”
“Start with the simple things. She’s not going to take it well, you know.” Marcus was still smiling after having been named, and Brian was starting to find it disturbing.
“What are you talking about?” Brian demanded, Marcus was being too tight with information, an attitude which he found to be massively irritating. But Marcus answered by gesturing over his shoulder. Brian looked and saw Jane walking barefoot in the grass, towards the far end of the plateau.
“Jane!” Brian called out, but she didn’t seem to hear him. He called again, but still she didn’t turn. He started to walk towards her, but Marcus caught his arm.
“She has ambitions, Brian. She won’t stand by you.” He said calmly.
“Screw you” he replied, shrugging his arm free and running after Jane. Marcus called after him, but his voice still sounded calm and collected, even though he must have been shouting to be heard so clearly
“You can’t rely on her, Brian!” Then his voice fell to a whisper in his ear “Will you spend what little time you have left chasing shadows? Jane can’t save you now.” Then as he approached Jane, he heard almost inaudibly in his ear “We’ll finish this conversation some other time.” And with that he reached Jane, who disappeared before him without a trace. Jane was followed by the ground beneath his feet, which crumbled away like a landslide and sent him hurtling down the hill accompanied by a series of large rocks. The rocks smashed against his body, breaking his arms and legs, opening his flesh and grinding him like seeds in a pestle and mortar dish. Blood poured from his body as he hit the bottom, agony racking his body, and his breath coming in ragged gasps. He distantly heard the ominous pounding of a huge rock some way further back up the hill making its way down, then everything went black.
Part 7
Brian woke up, flailing his arms around like a madman. It took him a few moments to realise that he was no longer falling down a hill being battered and crushed by plummeting rocks. As reality sank in, he still felt a compulsion to check himself over for cuts, bruises and any broken bones. Needless to say, he was in fact uninjured. It had only been a dream. He stood up and quickly got dressed, and as he did so, a few pieces of paper on his bedside table caught his eye. He finished buttoning his shirt and picked one up to see what it was.
The words struck him like blows to the chest. Multiple Myolema. Cancer. Fatal. Months to live. All signed by his GP, Dogra. Either this was an intricately woven dream, or the cancer was very real. He could no longer try to deny the obvious, and sagging to his knees he finally had to start to accept the fact that he was going to die. Soon.
He glanced at his alarm clock, which informed him that it was now gone 3pm. He had slept longer than he had intended to, and still felt little better for it. His throat felt like he had been swallowing hot irons, and he could hardly breathe through his nose, which was full of cold. Moreover, he felt an absolute lack of energy. He wasn’t tired, but he found it difficult to motivate his legs to move as he made his way down the stairs to the kitchen.
He noticed blankly that Jane was still out as he went past the hallway, but wasn’t really in the mood to talk to her at the moment anyway. He somehow had to get the motivation together to re-enact the conversation he had had with her yesterday – was it yesterday? It felt like an age ago – only this time he had to do it right. Jane was likely to get more than a little irate given the crappy attempt he had made the last time, and he was suddenly thankful that he had Dogra’s letter which he could use as proof.
With that double-edged consolation, he continued to the kitchen and put the kettle on. While he waited for it to boil he grabbed a can of chicken soup from the cupboard, emptied the contents in a bowl and put it in the microwave for a few minutes. Soup tasted nicer when cooked on the hob, but it was faster, easier, and required less washing up when done in the microwave. As such, Brian more often than not cooked his soup in the microwave, for convenience.
The kettle boiled about the same time as the microwave pinged. He left the soup to stand for a minute while he made his tea. One sugar and a dash of milk, as always. After putting the used tea-bag in the bin and giving his tea the obligatory stir, he went over to the microwave and got his bowl of soup out. With tea and soup he went through into the dining room, sat at the table and got stuck in. He felt a noise like rushing water in the back of his head, as he had when he was in Dogra’s office in the morning. He tried to ignore it and carried on eating his soup
As he went to take his third, he realised that there was nothing on the spoon. Going to dip the spoon back in the bowl, he noticed that there was no soup in there at all. The bowl was clean. Then the bowl wasn’t there any more either. The table disappeared from in front of him, and was followed quickly by the chair he was sitting on. As he fell helplessly to the floor, he noticed the walls fading away with everything else. Within moments, his house was gone, as was the neighbourhood around him. He was left sitting on a patch of mud in what was now the middle of nowhere. Was he still dreaming?
Still sat sprawled on his backside in the mud, he noticed a figure in the distance coming towards him. He approached with impossible speed, and was soon barely more than a few metres away. It was Marcus. Seeing him again, Brian noticed that he wasn’t an exact mirror of himself. His hair was actually slightly darker, as his own had been when he was much younger, and he also seemed slimmer. Brian had grown tired of being slim a long time ago, since slim guys rarely seemed to get a girl’s breathe ragged at first sight. He had pumped himself up, and was in excellent physical shape these days. Although he had slacked in recent months with his illness, he was still trimly cut and very muscular, but Marcus seemed to have never made the effort on his body.
“I do hope I’m not interrupting anything, Brian.” Marcus began, the smile on his face indicating that he knew all too well that he was interrupting.
“What do you want?” Brian asked, cutting to the chase. He had ignored Marcus once, and been rewarded for his efforts by being flung down a hillside accompanied by large rocks and a lot of pain.
“It’s not a question of what I want, Brian. It’s more a matter of what you need.”
“Don’t be such a cryptic. Why are you here? Why am I here?” Brian felt as if he were slowly going insane. His constant switching between dreams and reality were more than confusing and threatened to make lasting damage to his relationship with his wife if it carried on for much longer. He was struggling to make out what was real and what was not.
“I’m here because you need me, and you’re here pretty much for the same reason. As I mentioned earlier, you’re dying of cancer, and you need direction. I’m here to give you that direction.”
“And what direction is that? If you know all about my cancer, you know that I can’t live through it, so what’s the point in direction? You think I should find God and waste away my last few months praying for salvation?” Brian was becoming red-faced. He expected this Marcus was just a figment of his imagination, but he hated him already nonetheless.
“You don’t need to find God, Brian. But answer me this. You have scant few months left to live. You probably won’t even live long enough to see your daughter born.” His daughter. For the last month or so, he had been eager for enough time to pass to get him to the day when he could hold her in his arms, but now some terrible truths rang home.
He would never see her.
She had been conceived by a man with a deadly cancer.
He would be dead before she drew her first breath.
While he was thinking this, Marcus continued “Even your wife can’t help you get over what you’ve got. So what will you do with the time you have left? Will you stay here and be the loyal husband till your dying day?” Marcus paused, obviously waiting for an answer, but also obviously prepared to counter the likely responses.
“What else can I do? I have responsibilities. I may be condemned, but that doesn’t mean I can abandon my family.” Brian loved his wife, and would have loved his daughter dearly. He may not have the chance to see her live, but he could at least make life as easy as possible for her mother in his absence.
“Doesn’t it though? You’re no fool Brian, and you have made many a contingency plan for just this type of scenario. You could leave your wife tomorrow, and she would still see all the benefits of your policies when you’re gone.” Obviously Marcus wanted him to leave. Possibly get him to run around the world gathering experiences while he still had enough life left to do it.
“Why would I want to leave my wife?” The obvious question. Nobody abandons the people they love the most.
“Because you love her more than she apparently loves you.” What did he mean by that, Brian thought.
“What are you talking about? He asked
“Well, if she loved you as much as you love her, she wouldn’t do this to you…” Marcus gestured to a window, which had inexplicably appeared just next to him. It was a window from his house, from the dining room, but when he looked through it, he looked straight into a different house. Peering in, he noticed Jane run past on the inside. The view from the window impossible tracked her as she ran up a flight of stairs, giggling all the way up. The image held at the top of the stairs after Jane had disappeared off into one of the rooms at the top. The second on the right. After a moment, a man came into view, naked, coming up the stairs. He followed Jane into the room, the view from the window close behind him.
It was obviously a bedroom. A double bed made from what looked to be pine the centerpiece of the room. Laying naked on the unblemished white sheets was Jane, beckoning the man, who she called Micky, over to lie next to her. But he didn’t lie next to her. He approached and lay straight on top of her, holding her arms above her head and kissing her neck gently.
Brian went to look away, but a stiff hand held his head in place. He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see, but his eyelids became transparent and he saw it all regardless. He saw as Micky kissed his wife from neck to navel. He saw as he kissed first one leg, then the other from foot to hip and back again. Tears streaked his face and silent screams stuck in his throat as he entered her and as the view from the window closed in on his wife’s face.
She was loving it.
Choking on silent protests and a river of tears, the window erupted in flames before him. The flames caught his hair and set him alight. In moments he was engulfed in flames. There was no longer a hand holding his head, and as he ran about trying desperately to extinguish the flames, he found that there was nothing around that could save him. His skin peeled back and his flesh blackened. Agony streaked through every inch of his body and he fell to the floor, convulsing in pain. He could no longer see, his eyes burnt to useless cinders. A gargled choke for help died in his throat as fire burned inside him. His breath came in desperate gasps of smoke, every one of which he choked on.
Alone, ablaze, starved of oxygen and haunted by the images of his wife with another man, his last embers of life were consumed in the wrath of the flames.
Part 8
Brian was back in his dining room, staring through the window like a deranged recluse, tears streaming down his face like a relentless river of grief. Behind him, both his cup of tea and his bowl of soup lie splattered all over the dining room floor. Both cup and bowl smashed to pieces. Brian didn’t notice either the smashed crockery, or the spilled refreshments, he was too busy reciting things to himself inside his head.
“It was only a dream. Just a dream. It isn’t real. None of it is real. It’s all inside my head. It’s just my subconscious trying to sort itself out because I’ve been given some bad news. It’ll go away in time.” He recited it again and again, but it just wouldn’t sink home. The mages of his wife were too vivid, too real. But of course they would be real. They’d been sleeping together for years, if anyone should be able to build a mental image of making love to Jane, it should be him.
Just a dream, just a dream. It’s not real.
He was beyond confused. He had no way of knowing if he was still in a dream now. They were coming on with alarming regularity. Sat in front of the TV, lying in the bath, eating a bowl of soup. There seemed to be no escape. He was going crazy. He dragged himself away from the window, and forced himself to start picking up the shattered remnants of his soup bowl and mug. He scrubbed away at the soup for a while, before remembering that Jane had bought some new foam stuff which was excellent for getting stains out. He got the spray can out of the kitchen and applied it to the offending patch of soup-stained carpet.
While he waited for the foam to soak into the carpet, he came to a decision that he would not tell Jane about his supposed condition until he could get his own head sorted out around the subject. His hands shook visibly as he took the papers given him by Dogra and hid them in a drawer on his bedside table, he was completely on edge. After a while, he went back to the patch of soaken carpet and scrubbed away the remainders of the soup. The carpet would be wet for a few hours, but there was no trace that anything had been spilled there.
He made himself another cup of tea, taking a few Max strength cold/flu pills while he waited for the kettle to boil, and then went through to the lounge and sat on his leather chair. As he began to flick through the channels, he remembered that he should really call up work, but he really didn’t know what to say to them, either. Knowing that bunch of jokers, they’d just think he was winding them up, and insist he went into work regardless of his “deadly cancer”. He would have to go into work on Monday, and show them the paperwork himself, assuming it still existed.
He eventually resigned to watching some mediocre rubbish on one of the film channels. Man kills wife, son witnesses murder, son runs away, man chases son etc etc etc. Hardly inspiring, but that was probably the point behind the vast majority of television these days. Inspiration might make someone get up and do something, instead of sitting in front of the TV set for endless hours at a time. No, that’s not what they wanted. They wanted people to watch crap, call up for their phone in polls, bid-up for things that no-one in their right mind would ever actually need, gossip about fictitious soap characters because you’ve spent so much time sat gormless in your chair too zombified by grievously dire unintellectual folly to think coherently of your own accord. The thought was too much, and Brian flicked the standby button on the remote.
The TV set flicked off, probably the most dramatic thing he had seen the screen do since he had turned it on. He was about to get out of his chair when the set flicked back on again, displaying a screen full of static. He grabbed the remote again and hit the standby button, but it had no effect. The static began to take shape, and before long, Brian could make out what looked like a residential road. Fairly modern houses on either side of a road devoid of any markings. A few parked cars littered the roadside sporadically, and each house had itself a fair sized front lawn, the houses on the left being slightly uphill towards the actual building.
The picture then changed to view one of the houses from the front, one of the nicer homes from the look of it. A well kept lawn, with symmetrically planted flowers making pleasant patterns around the garden. As the view panned forward, the number 35 clearly marked the door in large brass numerals. The door opened, and the view moved inside, the interior of the hallway looking all too familiar. Brian recognised the carpet on the stairs, the wallpaper and even some of the pictures hung up there as the view moved swiftly up to the landing. Before long, he was in the bedroom. The same pine bed. The same flawlessly white sheets. Then there was a man stood in front of the bed. He was at least as tall as Brian, and probably had two or three inches on him height-wise. He was also a little better built than Brian was, thick muscles knotting his arms and washboard abs gracing his naked stomach belly. He wore a pair of lightweight looking cream coloured pants which were held up with a drawstring. From the look of it, his legs were at least as muscular as his arms. He had a fashionable looking goatee on his chin, and his hair was thick and wavy in a sort of Mediterranean waiter style. The man looked to have a decent all over body tan.
Then Jane was there and the two of them started it all over again. The view panned quickly out of the room, back down the stairs and out of the house. It then zipped along the road toward the end, and Brian just caught a glimpse of the streetsign “Hastings Drive” before the TV screen died and went back into standby mode.
Part 9
The night lasted an eternity, but Brian was not aware that he was even sleeping. He was stuck in a repeating loop of what might or might not have been reality. Time and time again, he experienced the same thing in the subconscious depths of his tortured mind.
He was in the house, where he had seen his wife make love to another man, Micky. He was in the bedroom, and so was the other man. There was no Jane though; it was just the two of them there. Alone. He spoke to Micky, but couldn’t hear what he was saying, much less what Micky spoke back to him in reply. Micky walked around the bedroom, looking fairly concerned, and occasionally making slight dismissive gestures with his hands. After a time, his body language would change, and he begins to point an accusing finger at Brian. An accusing finger becomes a threatening one, and before long, the two come to blows. Micky is by far the stronger of the two, and Brian is easily overpowered.
It begins again, Brian speaking words he can’t hear, having a conversation followed by an argument with a man whose words made no noise. It becomes violent again, and the two come to blows. Brian is easily overpowered. Again it begins, and again it comes to blows, but this time, Brian somehow anticipates the opening blow, ducks under the oncoming fist and manages to land an uppercut on Micky’s chin. But Micky recovers quickly, his thick neck absorbing the blow as though it were a glancing touch. Brian is quickly overpowered.
Again and again, the same dream; differing only slightly each time. It was like an indulgent fantasy. His wife had betrayed him, or so he was led to believe. And he didn’t believe, if he was honest with himself. Too much was happening in too short a time. The Cancer, the being eaten alive by rats, the shark attack, the stones, the burning – The pain! He couldn’t be sure of much at all, and the only thing he could convince himself of was the idea that he was very swiftly losing his mind. He had seen some disturbing visions of his wife cheating, but how could he have really seen any of it? There was no way at all to prove it was real, short of confronting his wife. And confronting his wife about cheating on him, when all he had to go by were impossible visions was not a wise thing to do. Especially since she was likely still annoyed with him after he had tried – and failed – to tell her about his cancer, something else he was still having trouble getting through his own head.
So these dreams, were Brian fully conscious of them, were the logical result of his subconscious failing to catch up to what Brian had already concluded; that his wife had not cheated. The only cheating that was going on was the falsities in his mind. But his dreams weren’t accepting that. And so for a listless number of times, he spoke, argued and fought with the imaginary object of his wife’s affections. Each time Micky reacted identically to the time before, and each time, Brian adapted slightly to it, until after ten or a hundred or a thousand iterations of the dream, he had the upper hand. But the dream kept repeating, and Brian got more than the upper hand. Micky resisted with every last effort until after a hundred or a thousand dreams later, he was resisting with his dying breath, to no avail.
After he had killed Micky an innumerable tally of ways, the dream finally changed. He found himself on a boat. A yacht. The luxury sort that few people could really afford. The yacht was cruising through open waters, and Brian was sat on the port bow, legs dangling over the edge, one either side of the thick metal bar leading up to the rail which went all around the edge of the boat. He was not alone.
“Arrr me hearties!” Came a familiar voice, “Avast ye landlubbers! Mwahahahahaa!” It was Marcus, he was driving the yacht and was apparently in good cheer.
“I do love open water.” He said, obviously addressing Brian, “It’s just so beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Whatever.” Brian replied, not altogether pleased to find himself in Marcus’ company again. His meetings with Marcus generally provided him with two things; confusion and pain.
“Oh, come on Brian, don’t be such a girl. You should be happy. Things are starting to move in the right direction.”
“The right direction for what, exactly?”
“Hahahahahaa! Brian, you’re destined for great things, but by Hell, you’re slow on the uptake.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about” Which was true. Marcus, as always, was talking speaking in riddles Brian wasn’t clued in to.
“Perhaps not.” Marcus came around from the wheel, and walked over to where Brian was sitting “Listen to me, Brian. I need you to start believing that I’m on your side here.”
“My side?” Brian was incensed “My bloody side? Christ, every time I see you, you find some imaginative way to introduce me to large amounts of pain.”
“You’re not bitter about that are you? Hahaha! That’s just something I think you’ll learn to appreciate given a little time.”
“I don’t want to bloody well appreciate it, for God’s sake.”
“Brian, stop whinging like a girl and get a grip. You’re existing on the brink here. You don’t have time to waste on wishing things could be different. If you continue to wistfully stand around watching your life fall down the proverbial pan, then eventually time will catch up with you.”
“I don’t have much else in the way of choice. You said yourself, I’m dying.”
Marcus reacted by picking up Brian by the collar of his shirt and throwing him overboard.
“You arrogant, contemptuous little cur!” He screamed after him. Brian hit the water with a dull *whap*, and began to slowly sink in. It was no longer water, but some thick gelatinous substance Brian couldn’t name. He panicked, and started desperately thrashing about to keep his head above the surface. As he did so, Marcus was speaking to him again.
“You have to start trusting me Brian. We need to work together”
The jelly reached Brian’s chin, which was pointed like an accusation into the sky, he could feel the stuff slowly making its way into his ears.
“If we don’t, you’ll die, and if you die, I die.”
The substance was covering is mouth, which Brian had snapped shut to prevent the flow front entering, and was breathing for his life through his nose.
“I don’t particularly want to die, and I don’t think you do either.”
Brian shouldn’t have even been able to hear him. His ears were saturated with the thick gel in which he was no completely submerged. His lungs were bursting for air and he was still desperately trying to make his way back up to the surface.
“Therefore, our combined demise is not something I’m going to allow to happen.”
Brian’s reflexes got the better of him, and he exhaled, and tried to take in some air which was not forthcoming. He took a lung-full of the gel and started choking on it while his brain began to die of oxygen depravation.
“I’m going to cure this cancer if it kills you.”
His lungs filled with some unknown gelatin substance that had once been water, spots appearing before his tightly closed eyes, and limbs thrashing about in an almost random manner in a useless attempt to save him, Brian once again fell into darkness.
Part 10
A few things started to make sense to Brian Wainwright the next day. Remembering the dream of the previous night, the one thing he recalled with absolute clarity was Marcus telling him “I’m going to cure this cancer if it kills you”. Brian clung to that like a shining ray of hope burning down through the deranged canopy of his encroaching mental instability. It meant, to him, that Marcus was, at last, little more than a figment of his imagination. A character created to help him get over the mental impact of learning about his physical illness. “I’ll cure this cancer” – of course, the cancer was utterly incurable at this stage of progression, and any attempt to think otherwise was little more than wistful idiocy. “If it kills you” – the get out of jail free card; His mind could claim to itself that the cancer was cured at the cost of his own life, when of course, it was in fact the incurable blood cancer that had claimed him.
Obviously, his own devious little subconscious hadn’t thought that phrase through very well, or if it had, he had somehow underestimated his own intelligence. Nevertheless, he now believed he had some insight into why he was having these strange dreams and visions. It was merely self-dillusion, an attempt by his sub-conscious to divert his thinking from the inevitable. With this in mind, Brian was able to at least stop worrying about it all for a while, at least long enough to drive to the specialist unit out of town to see this super cancer consultant Dogra had booked him in with.
He parked the car in the visitors’ lot, and made his way into the appropriate building. Apparently, it usually took a number of weeks, or even months before someone would be able to get an appointment like this, but given that Brian might only have weeks to live, Dogra had managed to encourage the specialist – whose name was Dr. Carter, when you excluded the rather elongated list of titles from it – to shift his calendar around to fit Brian in at short notice. The place was obviously not your typical NHS Hospital, Brian reflected on his way in. The expected rank smell of disinfectants was totally absent, the floors were well carpeted, and the place seemed generally well kept. His opinion of the place went up yet higher as he approached the reception desk. There was nothing extraordinary about the desk itself, but sat behind it was a beautiful creature.
She was sat behind a desk, so Brian didn’t have a full view of her, but he could tell from this distance and angle that she was the sort of woman that most men would sell their souls to sleep with. Her long, dark blonde hair was as straight as an arrow, and the tight pink T-shirt she was wearing indicated that, if Brian were ever afforded the opportunity to inspect closer, he would find that she had absolutely perfect breasts. She looked to be in her early twenties, which likely made her only a few years younger than himself. Brian was instinctively imagining the rest of her as he walked forward. Perfect legs left exposed by a short black skirt, leaving little to the imagination. Brian almost wished she would stand up for him, so that he could see what she was wearing, but even the thought was getting him aroused, and he tried to think of something else. Obviously he knew that nothing would or could happen anyway. He was a married man and had long ago accepted that such fantasies were exactly that. But that line of thought did little to ease the growing warm urge in his groin.
“Ah, I’m here to umm... I have an ah, appointment with…” The words cam out like square blocks through a round hole. Not only was he half stuttering, but his voice had become unnaturally high pitched. He had known what he was going to say, but as he’d reached the reception desk, she had stopped whatever she was doing and looked at him with the most alluring big blue eyes he had ever seen. The feeling in his groin increased in intensity tenfold, and it was all he could do to keep himself from letting his jaw slack open and allowing his tongue to hang out like an overworked labrador. The girl – Sue if the small stick-on nametag placed just above her left breast was accurate – was nothing short of stunning to look at. Brian tried to clear his head, made a show of clearing his throat and started again.
“I have to ah, see Dr. Carter. I have an appointment.” He managed. As he finished, the clerk finally took her seductive gaze off him to check the doctor’s schedule.
“Mr. Wainwright I presume?” she asked, and refixed her piercing eyes back on Brian, who was trying to ignore the fact that she not only looked, but sounded like an angel.
“Ah, yes, that’s me.” He replied, and was answered by the most stunning smile he had ever seen. This wasn’t happening. He was falling for this girl as though he’s never seen one before. Thankfully, she soon turned away and picked up the telephone on her desk. She dialed a three digit number that Brian didn’t see, and waited for the Doctor to answer.
The doctor took far too long to do so. If Brian spent much more time having to look at this incredible icon of female sexuality, he felt sure he was going to burst. At last, he must’ve picked up, as Sue started talking, “Hello Dr. Carter, it’s Sue in reception.” A brief pause “I have a Mr. Wainwright to see you.” Another pause. “Yes Doctor. Thankyou. Goodbye.” And with that, she hung up. Brian braced his sense of spatial awareness to be pointed in the vague direction of the Doctor’s office, but if he had expected to get off that lightly, he was greatly disappointed. The receptionist stood up and walked around the desk to meet him. As she came around, Brian was almost breathless at how amazing her figure really was. She was wearing a black skirt, only a little longer than the one Brian had imagined she would have, and her legs were indeed perfect, from what he could see.
“If you’d like to follow me, Sir, I’ll take you to the Doctor’s office.” And with that, she wrapped her left arm around Brian’s right and began to lead him down the corridor.
Brian was on the verge of nervous sweats. He was trying desperately not to start panting, or saying something casually chatty, and most of all trying not to just grab this girl, throw her into the nearest utility cupboard and sate his urges. This girl was just unreal. A dream, Brian wondered. It was possible he was having another dream. Certainly, this situation was less comfortable than burning alive after having seen his wife make love to another man. He started to consider what imaginative ways this superb portraiture of female beauty could somehow kill him off.
It seemed to take an age to reach the doctor’s office, Brian threatening to break out into a sweaty heap the whole time, but at last they came to a white door. A copper plaque on the door had the Doctor’s name, complete with his multitude of qualified initials, emblazoned on it. Sue knocked and opened the door immediately. As the door swung open, it revealed a work environment to which being called an office was an insult of behemoth proportions. The place was huge, and was (neatly) littered with hi-tech gadgets and machinery. Certainly, it was far more impressive than anything Dogra had inhabited over the years. At the far end of the room, a man in what looked to be a plain white full-length labcoat sat behind a desk. As Brian and Sue entered, he stood up and began to walk over.
“Dr. Carter, Mr Wainwright to see you.” Sue exclaimed.
“Thankyou Sue, hello Mr. Wainwright. Can I call you Brian?”
“Hello Doctor, yes you may!” Brian said, glad to be finally in the company other than this obscenely seductive enchantress. As the doctor neared, he offered his hand, which Brian accepted and shook firmly.
“Please, take a seat, and we’ll begin.” The doctor said, confidently
“Can I get either of you anything? Coffee perhaps” Sue’s majestic voice was enough to make Brian want a coffee, simply because she was offering one, but he needed to be rid of her so he could think clearly.
“Not for me, thanks. Anything for you, Brian?” The doctor politely asked
“No. Nothing for me, thankyou.” And with that, Sue was dismissed, but before she went, she took a moment to unleash a heart shatteringly beautiful smile. Then she left, and as she closed the door, her eyes met with Brians one more time, and held there just long enough to make him feel uncomfortable again.
And then she was gone.
It seemed he had been walking an for an age, as he finally crested the top of the hill. He wasn’t quite sure why he was walking up it, it was as if something had been compelling him to do so. Bu now he reached the top to find a broad and grassy plateau. He spent a minute or two looking around, to see if there was anything of note on the plateau. Then he noticed a figure sitting on a largish rock about 100 metres over ahead and to his right. Brian decided to walk over to him, to see if it was he who had compelled him to walk up the hill.
As he drew nearer to the figure, Brian seemed to think that he recognised him. He seemed of average height, with jet black hair cut short on the sides and left to grow to about 2 inches on top, all gelled up to look like a terrible, if fashionable mess. His pale skin indicated an office worker, which could be anyone, since Brian himself worked in one. But as he drew a few strides closer still, the figure turned to face him.
Brian stopped, not able to comprehend the face that stared back at him. It was his own. This wasn’t right. How could this be? Another dream? He must be having another dream. Wonderful, he thought. He started to imagine all the inventive ways in which a mirror image of himself could now try to kill him in some horrific and bloody manner.
“This is just a dream!” He shouted aloud to himself, and turned to stare at his mirror image, as if by having spoken, it should now disappear. Instead, the figure reacted by standing up, and striding over to meet Brian face to face. It stopped, only 2 metres or so away from Brian before speaking.
“Not quite, Brian” For a mirror image, it’s voice was nothing like Brians. It was deeper, much deeper, and the image spoke each word slowly and carefully, as though every slight vocal resonance held an ancient power. “but close enough. Certainly, we’re inside your head at the moment. Nothing more.”
“If we’re inside my head, this is a dream. There is no discussion.” Brian was in no mood for this. He steadied himself, expecting the image to lunge at him at the first opportunity.
“I’m not here to argue with you Brian. We have decisions to make, and little time for pointless aesthetic debates.” The voice of the image still came out slowly and meticulously, but seemed to hold an air of age and wisdom akin to fairytale wizards and wise men.
“Wait a minute. Who are you? And why are we meeting up for non-aesthetic debates inside my head?”
“A good question, certainly one that will eventually require an answer. But not now. There is too much that must be decided for you, and little enough time for that. The fewer distractions you have now, the better.” No name, then, Brian thought. Just typical. But the image seemed to be pressing the idea of decision making on his behalf, and if someone was to help making decisions for him, he damn well wanted to know who it was.
“Your name. I’m not discussing anything with anybody until I know who you are.” The words came out half-shouted, and harsher than Brian had intended, but the image didn’t seem to take offence at it.
“What would you have me tell you? I have never had a name, as such, and to be honest don’t really care for one. Just make an assumption for now. I could be your deep consciousness, I could be a fraction of a broken mind driven to schizophrenia by tragic circumstances, or I could be a psychic medium, aware of your plight and contacting you through a crystal ball in my well lit and smoky study room. What I am and who I am isn’t a matter of any great concern. The fact that you have only a few months to live is.” Brian wasn’t happy at this, but it seemed the image wasn’t about to give up anything, but then he connected to the comment that the image had never had a name, and decided to give him one, if only for something to refer to him with.
“Marcus. I’ll call you Marcus. You may not want to give me your identity, so I’m going to give you one. Is that alright with you, Marcus? His mirror seemed to read something in this that Brian did not, and seemed to be recollecting something which brought a smile to his face and a glint to his eye as he replied.
“Marcus. Yes, yes I like that. Well done Brian. I think we’ll get along just fine.”
“So what am I doing here, on this hill inside my brain?” Nice as it was to put a name to a face, Brian was still all too aware of the fact that he was dreaming, and his dreams of late had not been among the most pleasant he’d ever experienced.
“I should think that would be obvious, Brian.”
“Well, it’s not obvious.” He retorted quickly.
“Brian, you have contracted a lethal form of cancer, and you’re going to die very soon.” Marcus seemed to be altogether too calm about any and all of this, as though he were simply reciting facts, and not repeating a grave death sentence that had cruelly been laid upon him several times in the last 24 hours, and none of which he was convinced was the truth.
“Have I? I’m not so sure, to be honest. The last day or so has been a little confusing.” He said after a pause.
“Brian, I won’t lie to you about this. I’ve seen it. You’re dying, and we have to take action about what to do with your life.”
“Such as?”
“Start with the simple things. She’s not going to take it well, you know.” Marcus was still smiling after having been named, and Brian was starting to find it disturbing.
“What are you talking about?” Brian demanded, Marcus was being too tight with information, an attitude which he found to be massively irritating. But Marcus answered by gesturing over his shoulder. Brian looked and saw Jane walking barefoot in the grass, towards the far end of the plateau.
“Jane!” Brian called out, but she didn’t seem to hear him. He called again, but still she didn’t turn. He started to walk towards her, but Marcus caught his arm.
“She has ambitions, Brian. She won’t stand by you.” He said calmly.
“Screw you” he replied, shrugging his arm free and running after Jane. Marcus called after him, but his voice still sounded calm and collected, even though he must have been shouting to be heard so clearly
“You can’t rely on her, Brian!” Then his voice fell to a whisper in his ear “Will you spend what little time you have left chasing shadows? Jane can’t save you now.” Then as he approached Jane, he heard almost inaudibly in his ear “We’ll finish this conversation some other time.” And with that he reached Jane, who disappeared before him without a trace. Jane was followed by the ground beneath his feet, which crumbled away like a landslide and sent him hurtling down the hill accompanied by a series of large rocks. The rocks smashed against his body, breaking his arms and legs, opening his flesh and grinding him like seeds in a pestle and mortar dish. Blood poured from his body as he hit the bottom, agony racking his body, and his breath coming in ragged gasps. He distantly heard the ominous pounding of a huge rock some way further back up the hill making its way down, then everything went black.
Part 7
Brian woke up, flailing his arms around like a madman. It took him a few moments to realise that he was no longer falling down a hill being battered and crushed by plummeting rocks. As reality sank in, he still felt a compulsion to check himself over for cuts, bruises and any broken bones. Needless to say, he was in fact uninjured. It had only been a dream. He stood up and quickly got dressed, and as he did so, a few pieces of paper on his bedside table caught his eye. He finished buttoning his shirt and picked one up to see what it was.
The words struck him like blows to the chest. Multiple Myolema. Cancer. Fatal. Months to live. All signed by his GP, Dogra. Either this was an intricately woven dream, or the cancer was very real. He could no longer try to deny the obvious, and sagging to his knees he finally had to start to accept the fact that he was going to die. Soon.
He glanced at his alarm clock, which informed him that it was now gone 3pm. He had slept longer than he had intended to, and still felt little better for it. His throat felt like he had been swallowing hot irons, and he could hardly breathe through his nose, which was full of cold. Moreover, he felt an absolute lack of energy. He wasn’t tired, but he found it difficult to motivate his legs to move as he made his way down the stairs to the kitchen.
He noticed blankly that Jane was still out as he went past the hallway, but wasn’t really in the mood to talk to her at the moment anyway. He somehow had to get the motivation together to re-enact the conversation he had had with her yesterday – was it yesterday? It felt like an age ago – only this time he had to do it right. Jane was likely to get more than a little irate given the crappy attempt he had made the last time, and he was suddenly thankful that he had Dogra’s letter which he could use as proof.
With that double-edged consolation, he continued to the kitchen and put the kettle on. While he waited for it to boil he grabbed a can of chicken soup from the cupboard, emptied the contents in a bowl and put it in the microwave for a few minutes. Soup tasted nicer when cooked on the hob, but it was faster, easier, and required less washing up when done in the microwave. As such, Brian more often than not cooked his soup in the microwave, for convenience.
The kettle boiled about the same time as the microwave pinged. He left the soup to stand for a minute while he made his tea. One sugar and a dash of milk, as always. After putting the used tea-bag in the bin and giving his tea the obligatory stir, he went over to the microwave and got his bowl of soup out. With tea and soup he went through into the dining room, sat at the table and got stuck in. He felt a noise like rushing water in the back of his head, as he had when he was in Dogra’s office in the morning. He tried to ignore it and carried on eating his soup
As he went to take his third, he realised that there was nothing on the spoon. Going to dip the spoon back in the bowl, he noticed that there was no soup in there at all. The bowl was clean. Then the bowl wasn’t there any more either. The table disappeared from in front of him, and was followed quickly by the chair he was sitting on. As he fell helplessly to the floor, he noticed the walls fading away with everything else. Within moments, his house was gone, as was the neighbourhood around him. He was left sitting on a patch of mud in what was now the middle of nowhere. Was he still dreaming?
Still sat sprawled on his backside in the mud, he noticed a figure in the distance coming towards him. He approached with impossible speed, and was soon barely more than a few metres away. It was Marcus. Seeing him again, Brian noticed that he wasn’t an exact mirror of himself. His hair was actually slightly darker, as his own had been when he was much younger, and he also seemed slimmer. Brian had grown tired of being slim a long time ago, since slim guys rarely seemed to get a girl’s breathe ragged at first sight. He had pumped himself up, and was in excellent physical shape these days. Although he had slacked in recent months with his illness, he was still trimly cut and very muscular, but Marcus seemed to have never made the effort on his body.
“I do hope I’m not interrupting anything, Brian.” Marcus began, the smile on his face indicating that he knew all too well that he was interrupting.
“What do you want?” Brian asked, cutting to the chase. He had ignored Marcus once, and been rewarded for his efforts by being flung down a hillside accompanied by large rocks and a lot of pain.
“It’s not a question of what I want, Brian. It’s more a matter of what you need.”
“Don’t be such a cryptic. Why are you here? Why am I here?” Brian felt as if he were slowly going insane. His constant switching between dreams and reality were more than confusing and threatened to make lasting damage to his relationship with his wife if it carried on for much longer. He was struggling to make out what was real and what was not.
“I’m here because you need me, and you’re here pretty much for the same reason. As I mentioned earlier, you’re dying of cancer, and you need direction. I’m here to give you that direction.”
“And what direction is that? If you know all about my cancer, you know that I can’t live through it, so what’s the point in direction? You think I should find God and waste away my last few months praying for salvation?” Brian was becoming red-faced. He expected this Marcus was just a figment of his imagination, but he hated him already nonetheless.
“You don’t need to find God, Brian. But answer me this. You have scant few months left to live. You probably won’t even live long enough to see your daughter born.” His daughter. For the last month or so, he had been eager for enough time to pass to get him to the day when he could hold her in his arms, but now some terrible truths rang home.
He would never see her.
She had been conceived by a man with a deadly cancer.
He would be dead before she drew her first breath.
While he was thinking this, Marcus continued “Even your wife can’t help you get over what you’ve got. So what will you do with the time you have left? Will you stay here and be the loyal husband till your dying day?” Marcus paused, obviously waiting for an answer, but also obviously prepared to counter the likely responses.
“What else can I do? I have responsibilities. I may be condemned, but that doesn’t mean I can abandon my family.” Brian loved his wife, and would have loved his daughter dearly. He may not have the chance to see her live, but he could at least make life as easy as possible for her mother in his absence.
“Doesn’t it though? You’re no fool Brian, and you have made many a contingency plan for just this type of scenario. You could leave your wife tomorrow, and she would still see all the benefits of your policies when you’re gone.” Obviously Marcus wanted him to leave. Possibly get him to run around the world gathering experiences while he still had enough life left to do it.
“Why would I want to leave my wife?” The obvious question. Nobody abandons the people they love the most.
“Because you love her more than she apparently loves you.” What did he mean by that, Brian thought.
“What are you talking about? He asked
“Well, if she loved you as much as you love her, she wouldn’t do this to you…” Marcus gestured to a window, which had inexplicably appeared just next to him. It was a window from his house, from the dining room, but when he looked through it, he looked straight into a different house. Peering in, he noticed Jane run past on the inside. The view from the window impossible tracked her as she ran up a flight of stairs, giggling all the way up. The image held at the top of the stairs after Jane had disappeared off into one of the rooms at the top. The second on the right. After a moment, a man came into view, naked, coming up the stairs. He followed Jane into the room, the view from the window close behind him.
It was obviously a bedroom. A double bed made from what looked to be pine the centerpiece of the room. Laying naked on the unblemished white sheets was Jane, beckoning the man, who she called Micky, over to lie next to her. But he didn’t lie next to her. He approached and lay straight on top of her, holding her arms above her head and kissing her neck gently.
Brian went to look away, but a stiff hand held his head in place. He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see, but his eyelids became transparent and he saw it all regardless. He saw as Micky kissed his wife from neck to navel. He saw as he kissed first one leg, then the other from foot to hip and back again. Tears streaked his face and silent screams stuck in his throat as he entered her and as the view from the window closed in on his wife’s face.
She was loving it.
Choking on silent protests and a river of tears, the window erupted in flames before him. The flames caught his hair and set him alight. In moments he was engulfed in flames. There was no longer a hand holding his head, and as he ran about trying desperately to extinguish the flames, he found that there was nothing around that could save him. His skin peeled back and his flesh blackened. Agony streaked through every inch of his body and he fell to the floor, convulsing in pain. He could no longer see, his eyes burnt to useless cinders. A gargled choke for help died in his throat as fire burned inside him. His breath came in desperate gasps of smoke, every one of which he choked on.
Alone, ablaze, starved of oxygen and haunted by the images of his wife with another man, his last embers of life were consumed in the wrath of the flames.
Part 8
Brian was back in his dining room, staring through the window like a deranged recluse, tears streaming down his face like a relentless river of grief. Behind him, both his cup of tea and his bowl of soup lie splattered all over the dining room floor. Both cup and bowl smashed to pieces. Brian didn’t notice either the smashed crockery, or the spilled refreshments, he was too busy reciting things to himself inside his head.
“It was only a dream. Just a dream. It isn’t real. None of it is real. It’s all inside my head. It’s just my subconscious trying to sort itself out because I’ve been given some bad news. It’ll go away in time.” He recited it again and again, but it just wouldn’t sink home. The mages of his wife were too vivid, too real. But of course they would be real. They’d been sleeping together for years, if anyone should be able to build a mental image of making love to Jane, it should be him.
Just a dream, just a dream. It’s not real.
He was beyond confused. He had no way of knowing if he was still in a dream now. They were coming on with alarming regularity. Sat in front of the TV, lying in the bath, eating a bowl of soup. There seemed to be no escape. He was going crazy. He dragged himself away from the window, and forced himself to start picking up the shattered remnants of his soup bowl and mug. He scrubbed away at the soup for a while, before remembering that Jane had bought some new foam stuff which was excellent for getting stains out. He got the spray can out of the kitchen and applied it to the offending patch of soup-stained carpet.
While he waited for the foam to soak into the carpet, he came to a decision that he would not tell Jane about his supposed condition until he could get his own head sorted out around the subject. His hands shook visibly as he took the papers given him by Dogra and hid them in a drawer on his bedside table, he was completely on edge. After a while, he went back to the patch of soaken carpet and scrubbed away the remainders of the soup. The carpet would be wet for a few hours, but there was no trace that anything had been spilled there.
He made himself another cup of tea, taking a few Max strength cold/flu pills while he waited for the kettle to boil, and then went through to the lounge and sat on his leather chair. As he began to flick through the channels, he remembered that he should really call up work, but he really didn’t know what to say to them, either. Knowing that bunch of jokers, they’d just think he was winding them up, and insist he went into work regardless of his “deadly cancer”. He would have to go into work on Monday, and show them the paperwork himself, assuming it still existed.
He eventually resigned to watching some mediocre rubbish on one of the film channels. Man kills wife, son witnesses murder, son runs away, man chases son etc etc etc. Hardly inspiring, but that was probably the point behind the vast majority of television these days. Inspiration might make someone get up and do something, instead of sitting in front of the TV set for endless hours at a time. No, that’s not what they wanted. They wanted people to watch crap, call up for their phone in polls, bid-up for things that no-one in their right mind would ever actually need, gossip about fictitious soap characters because you’ve spent so much time sat gormless in your chair too zombified by grievously dire unintellectual folly to think coherently of your own accord. The thought was too much, and Brian flicked the standby button on the remote.
The TV set flicked off, probably the most dramatic thing he had seen the screen do since he had turned it on. He was about to get out of his chair when the set flicked back on again, displaying a screen full of static. He grabbed the remote again and hit the standby button, but it had no effect. The static began to take shape, and before long, Brian could make out what looked like a residential road. Fairly modern houses on either side of a road devoid of any markings. A few parked cars littered the roadside sporadically, and each house had itself a fair sized front lawn, the houses on the left being slightly uphill towards the actual building.
The picture then changed to view one of the houses from the front, one of the nicer homes from the look of it. A well kept lawn, with symmetrically planted flowers making pleasant patterns around the garden. As the view panned forward, the number 35 clearly marked the door in large brass numerals. The door opened, and the view moved inside, the interior of the hallway looking all too familiar. Brian recognised the carpet on the stairs, the wallpaper and even some of the pictures hung up there as the view moved swiftly up to the landing. Before long, he was in the bedroom. The same pine bed. The same flawlessly white sheets. Then there was a man stood in front of the bed. He was at least as tall as Brian, and probably had two or three inches on him height-wise. He was also a little better built than Brian was, thick muscles knotting his arms and washboard abs gracing his naked stomach belly. He wore a pair of lightweight looking cream coloured pants which were held up with a drawstring. From the look of it, his legs were at least as muscular as his arms. He had a fashionable looking goatee on his chin, and his hair was thick and wavy in a sort of Mediterranean waiter style. The man looked to have a decent all over body tan.
Then Jane was there and the two of them started it all over again. The view panned quickly out of the room, back down the stairs and out of the house. It then zipped along the road toward the end, and Brian just caught a glimpse of the streetsign “Hastings Drive” before the TV screen died and went back into standby mode.
Part 9
The night lasted an eternity, but Brian was not aware that he was even sleeping. He was stuck in a repeating loop of what might or might not have been reality. Time and time again, he experienced the same thing in the subconscious depths of his tortured mind.
He was in the house, where he had seen his wife make love to another man, Micky. He was in the bedroom, and so was the other man. There was no Jane though; it was just the two of them there. Alone. He spoke to Micky, but couldn’t hear what he was saying, much less what Micky spoke back to him in reply. Micky walked around the bedroom, looking fairly concerned, and occasionally making slight dismissive gestures with his hands. After a time, his body language would change, and he begins to point an accusing finger at Brian. An accusing finger becomes a threatening one, and before long, the two come to blows. Micky is by far the stronger of the two, and Brian is easily overpowered.
It begins again, Brian speaking words he can’t hear, having a conversation followed by an argument with a man whose words made no noise. It becomes violent again, and the two come to blows. Brian is easily overpowered. Again it begins, and again it comes to blows, but this time, Brian somehow anticipates the opening blow, ducks under the oncoming fist and manages to land an uppercut on Micky’s chin. But Micky recovers quickly, his thick neck absorbing the blow as though it were a glancing touch. Brian is quickly overpowered.
Again and again, the same dream; differing only slightly each time. It was like an indulgent fantasy. His wife had betrayed him, or so he was led to believe. And he didn’t believe, if he was honest with himself. Too much was happening in too short a time. The Cancer, the being eaten alive by rats, the shark attack, the stones, the burning – The pain! He couldn’t be sure of much at all, and the only thing he could convince himself of was the idea that he was very swiftly losing his mind. He had seen some disturbing visions of his wife cheating, but how could he have really seen any of it? There was no way at all to prove it was real, short of confronting his wife. And confronting his wife about cheating on him, when all he had to go by were impossible visions was not a wise thing to do. Especially since she was likely still annoyed with him after he had tried – and failed – to tell her about his cancer, something else he was still having trouble getting through his own head.
So these dreams, were Brian fully conscious of them, were the logical result of his subconscious failing to catch up to what Brian had already concluded; that his wife had not cheated. The only cheating that was going on was the falsities in his mind. But his dreams weren’t accepting that. And so for a listless number of times, he spoke, argued and fought with the imaginary object of his wife’s affections. Each time Micky reacted identically to the time before, and each time, Brian adapted slightly to it, until after ten or a hundred or a thousand iterations of the dream, he had the upper hand. But the dream kept repeating, and Brian got more than the upper hand. Micky resisted with every last effort until after a hundred or a thousand dreams later, he was resisting with his dying breath, to no avail.
After he had killed Micky an innumerable tally of ways, the dream finally changed. He found himself on a boat. A yacht. The luxury sort that few people could really afford. The yacht was cruising through open waters, and Brian was sat on the port bow, legs dangling over the edge, one either side of the thick metal bar leading up to the rail which went all around the edge of the boat. He was not alone.
“Arrr me hearties!” Came a familiar voice, “Avast ye landlubbers! Mwahahahahaa!” It was Marcus, he was driving the yacht and was apparently in good cheer.
“I do love open water.” He said, obviously addressing Brian, “It’s just so beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Whatever.” Brian replied, not altogether pleased to find himself in Marcus’ company again. His meetings with Marcus generally provided him with two things; confusion and pain.
“Oh, come on Brian, don’t be such a girl. You should be happy. Things are starting to move in the right direction.”
“The right direction for what, exactly?”
“Hahahahahaa! Brian, you’re destined for great things, but by Hell, you’re slow on the uptake.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about” Which was true. Marcus, as always, was talking speaking in riddles Brian wasn’t clued in to.
“Perhaps not.” Marcus came around from the wheel, and walked over to where Brian was sitting “Listen to me, Brian. I need you to start believing that I’m on your side here.”
“My side?” Brian was incensed “My bloody side? Christ, every time I see you, you find some imaginative way to introduce me to large amounts of pain.”
“You’re not bitter about that are you? Hahaha! That’s just something I think you’ll learn to appreciate given a little time.”
“I don’t want to bloody well appreciate it, for God’s sake.”
“Brian, stop whinging like a girl and get a grip. You’re existing on the brink here. You don’t have time to waste on wishing things could be different. If you continue to wistfully stand around watching your life fall down the proverbial pan, then eventually time will catch up with you.”
“I don’t have much else in the way of choice. You said yourself, I’m dying.”
Marcus reacted by picking up Brian by the collar of his shirt and throwing him overboard.
“You arrogant, contemptuous little cur!” He screamed after him. Brian hit the water with a dull *whap*, and began to slowly sink in. It was no longer water, but some thick gelatinous substance Brian couldn’t name. He panicked, and started desperately thrashing about to keep his head above the surface. As he did so, Marcus was speaking to him again.
“You have to start trusting me Brian. We need to work together”
The jelly reached Brian’s chin, which was pointed like an accusation into the sky, he could feel the stuff slowly making its way into his ears.
“If we don’t, you’ll die, and if you die, I die.”
The substance was covering is mouth, which Brian had snapped shut to prevent the flow front entering, and was breathing for his life through his nose.
“I don’t particularly want to die, and I don’t think you do either.”
Brian shouldn’t have even been able to hear him. His ears were saturated with the thick gel in which he was no completely submerged. His lungs were bursting for air and he was still desperately trying to make his way back up to the surface.
“Therefore, our combined demise is not something I’m going to allow to happen.”
Brian’s reflexes got the better of him, and he exhaled, and tried to take in some air which was not forthcoming. He took a lung-full of the gel and started choking on it while his brain began to die of oxygen depravation.
“I’m going to cure this cancer if it kills you.”
His lungs filled with some unknown gelatin substance that had once been water, spots appearing before his tightly closed eyes, and limbs thrashing about in an almost random manner in a useless attempt to save him, Brian once again fell into darkness.
Part 10
A few things started to make sense to Brian Wainwright the next day. Remembering the dream of the previous night, the one thing he recalled with absolute clarity was Marcus telling him “I’m going to cure this cancer if it kills you”. Brian clung to that like a shining ray of hope burning down through the deranged canopy of his encroaching mental instability. It meant, to him, that Marcus was, at last, little more than a figment of his imagination. A character created to help him get over the mental impact of learning about his physical illness. “I’ll cure this cancer” – of course, the cancer was utterly incurable at this stage of progression, and any attempt to think otherwise was little more than wistful idiocy. “If it kills you” – the get out of jail free card; His mind could claim to itself that the cancer was cured at the cost of his own life, when of course, it was in fact the incurable blood cancer that had claimed him.
Obviously, his own devious little subconscious hadn’t thought that phrase through very well, or if it had, he had somehow underestimated his own intelligence. Nevertheless, he now believed he had some insight into why he was having these strange dreams and visions. It was merely self-dillusion, an attempt by his sub-conscious to divert his thinking from the inevitable. With this in mind, Brian was able to at least stop worrying about it all for a while, at least long enough to drive to the specialist unit out of town to see this super cancer consultant Dogra had booked him in with.
He parked the car in the visitors’ lot, and made his way into the appropriate building. Apparently, it usually took a number of weeks, or even months before someone would be able to get an appointment like this, but given that Brian might only have weeks to live, Dogra had managed to encourage the specialist – whose name was Dr. Carter, when you excluded the rather elongated list of titles from it – to shift his calendar around to fit Brian in at short notice. The place was obviously not your typical NHS Hospital, Brian reflected on his way in. The expected rank smell of disinfectants was totally absent, the floors were well carpeted, and the place seemed generally well kept. His opinion of the place went up yet higher as he approached the reception desk. There was nothing extraordinary about the desk itself, but sat behind it was a beautiful creature.
She was sat behind a desk, so Brian didn’t have a full view of her, but he could tell from this distance and angle that she was the sort of woman that most men would sell their souls to sleep with. Her long, dark blonde hair was as straight as an arrow, and the tight pink T-shirt she was wearing indicated that, if Brian were ever afforded the opportunity to inspect closer, he would find that she had absolutely perfect breasts. She looked to be in her early twenties, which likely made her only a few years younger than himself. Brian was instinctively imagining the rest of her as he walked forward. Perfect legs left exposed by a short black skirt, leaving little to the imagination. Brian almost wished she would stand up for him, so that he could see what she was wearing, but even the thought was getting him aroused, and he tried to think of something else. Obviously he knew that nothing would or could happen anyway. He was a married man and had long ago accepted that such fantasies were exactly that. But that line of thought did little to ease the growing warm urge in his groin.
“Ah, I’m here to umm... I have an ah, appointment with…” The words cam out like square blocks through a round hole. Not only was he half stuttering, but his voice had become unnaturally high pitched. He had known what he was going to say, but as he’d reached the reception desk, she had stopped whatever she was doing and looked at him with the most alluring big blue eyes he had ever seen. The feeling in his groin increased in intensity tenfold, and it was all he could do to keep himself from letting his jaw slack open and allowing his tongue to hang out like an overworked labrador. The girl – Sue if the small stick-on nametag placed just above her left breast was accurate – was nothing short of stunning to look at. Brian tried to clear his head, made a show of clearing his throat and started again.
“I have to ah, see Dr. Carter. I have an appointment.” He managed. As he finished, the clerk finally took her seductive gaze off him to check the doctor’s schedule.
“Mr. Wainwright I presume?” she asked, and refixed her piercing eyes back on Brian, who was trying to ignore the fact that she not only looked, but sounded like an angel.
“Ah, yes, that’s me.” He replied, and was answered by the most stunning smile he had ever seen. This wasn’t happening. He was falling for this girl as though he’s never seen one before. Thankfully, she soon turned away and picked up the telephone on her desk. She dialed a three digit number that Brian didn’t see, and waited for the Doctor to answer.
The doctor took far too long to do so. If Brian spent much more time having to look at this incredible icon of female sexuality, he felt sure he was going to burst. At last, he must’ve picked up, as Sue started talking, “Hello Dr. Carter, it’s Sue in reception.” A brief pause “I have a Mr. Wainwright to see you.” Another pause. “Yes Doctor. Thankyou. Goodbye.” And with that, she hung up. Brian braced his sense of spatial awareness to be pointed in the vague direction of the Doctor’s office, but if he had expected to get off that lightly, he was greatly disappointed. The receptionist stood up and walked around the desk to meet him. As she came around, Brian was almost breathless at how amazing her figure really was. She was wearing a black skirt, only a little longer than the one Brian had imagined she would have, and her legs were indeed perfect, from what he could see.
“If you’d like to follow me, Sir, I’ll take you to the Doctor’s office.” And with that, she wrapped her left arm around Brian’s right and began to lead him down the corridor.
Brian was on the verge of nervous sweats. He was trying desperately not to start panting, or saying something casually chatty, and most of all trying not to just grab this girl, throw her into the nearest utility cupboard and sate his urges. This girl was just unreal. A dream, Brian wondered. It was possible he was having another dream. Certainly, this situation was less comfortable than burning alive after having seen his wife make love to another man. He started to consider what imaginative ways this superb portraiture of female beauty could somehow kill him off.
It seemed to take an age to reach the doctor’s office, Brian threatening to break out into a sweaty heap the whole time, but at last they came to a white door. A copper plaque on the door had the Doctor’s name, complete with his multitude of qualified initials, emblazoned on it. Sue knocked and opened the door immediately. As the door swung open, it revealed a work environment to which being called an office was an insult of behemoth proportions. The place was huge, and was (neatly) littered with hi-tech gadgets and machinery. Certainly, it was far more impressive than anything Dogra had inhabited over the years. At the far end of the room, a man in what looked to be a plain white full-length labcoat sat behind a desk. As Brian and Sue entered, he stood up and began to walk over.
“Dr. Carter, Mr Wainwright to see you.” Sue exclaimed.
“Thankyou Sue, hello Mr. Wainwright. Can I call you Brian?”
“Hello Doctor, yes you may!” Brian said, glad to be finally in the company other than this obscenely seductive enchantress. As the doctor neared, he offered his hand, which Brian accepted and shook firmly.
“Please, take a seat, and we’ll begin.” The doctor said, confidently
“Can I get either of you anything? Coffee perhaps” Sue’s majestic voice was enough to make Brian want a coffee, simply because she was offering one, but he needed to be rid of her so he could think clearly.
“Not for me, thanks. Anything for you, Brian?” The doctor politely asked
“No. Nothing for me, thankyou.” And with that, Sue was dismissed, but before she went, she took a moment to unleash a heart shatteringly beautiful smile. Then she left, and as she closed the door, her eyes met with Brians one more time, and held there just long enough to make him feel uncomfortable again.
And then she was gone.
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*scans post*
*dies*
I will read it when it's finished. Promise!!
*dies*
I will read it when it's finished. Promise!!
No, but I'm sure you were aware of that!
*shudders*
*shudders*
Ah yes, you don't like rats, do you?
Excellent work. I like the way it blends the normal rigours of life with a surrealness Dali himself would have ben proud of.
*slaps IB on the back*
Good work! When i finished it on the train last night, I snarler in anger - I wanted to read the next part and, hopefully, an even more intricate death.
O yeah, the bit with the rats still makes me shudder.
I'll be very interested to see where the half-life story goes...
*slaps IB on the back*
Good work! When i finished it on the train last night, I snarler in anger - I wanted to read the next part and, hopefully, an even more intricate death.
O yeah, the bit with the rats still makes me shudder.
I'll be very interested to see where the half-life story goes...
Azul wrote:
> How long is the Half-Life story gonna be??
> Not that I'm bothered, it's just out of interest.
Let's just say that I've gotten the preface out of the way and can start on the story now...
> How long is the Half-Life story gonna be??
> Not that I'm bothered, it's just out of interest.
Let's just say that I've gotten the preface out of the way and can start on the story now...
Just read parts 2-10. Decided it was time to catch up with this, but I must say I didn't intend to sit and read right through the lot at once.
It's excellent, this really is. It's fast paced with plenty of variety in the style, but still flows well and doesn't confuse. It's difficult to stop reading it once you've started.
Looking forward to the next addition.
It's excellent, this really is. It's fast paced with plenty of variety in the style, but still flows well and doesn't confuse. It's difficult to stop reading it once you've started.
Looking forward to the next addition.
Brilliant.
As per bloody usual.
Fantastic stuff again, IB.
How long is the Half-Life story gonna be??
Not that I'm bothered, it's just out of interest.
As per bloody usual.
Fantastic stuff again, IB.
How long is the Half-Life story gonna be??
Not that I'm bothered, it's just out of interest.
*beams*
Already printed now thanks.
I'll let you know what I think tomorrow
8 Pages !!!
I'll let you know what I think tomorrow
8 Pages !!!
I've got it in word, if you like...
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