Suddenly, a glancing bullet tore apart a piece of the stream bed about ten feet away. Richard sunk down, splashing in the six-inch deep water. Pam dropped to the floor of the car.
“He sees your breath!” she said. “You have to get moving!”
“What about you?”
“I can take care of myself. Go, Richard. Go!”
Richard again peered up to the top of the embankment. Another shot rang out, shattering the front windshield of the Corolla, half of it caving in, onto the front seat. He crouched back down, wiping water from his eyes.
“Richard, will you please get the hell out of here! Now!”
“Jesus, I should have never come here,” he said in a whirl of utter confusion. Fear now consumed every portion of his body. It would force him to act selfishly; he’d have to obey Pam’s demand and flee. If he stayed he’d be unable to accomplish anything but get them both killed. This way, at the very least, he could provide a distraction and lead the man in black away from Pam.
“He would have found you no matter where you went. And so would I.”
“Pam, before I go, tell me...why the hell did you attack me this morning?”
She swallowed, winced in pain. “You’ll find out soon enough, Richard. Now get the hell out of here.”
Dr Delaney had had a very interesting session with Richard
Sparke
. Leonard and Kevin listened to all of side one of the tape that had been left in the recorder, which consisted primarily of conversation between the doctor and Richard, intimate discussions of dreams and Richard’s intuitive inability to distinguish the waking world from the one that invaded his dreams on a nightly basis. Once it was realized they’d been listening to a recording of the first half of the second hour of
Sparke’s
session, Leonard dug out the two additional tapes located in Delaney’s desk. The first one they tried was blank. The second contained the first hour of
Sparke’s
meeting with Delaney, which expounded upon
Sparke’s
anxieties, his personal situations, the inner dealings with his dead mother and daughter, and his inability to maintain a working relationship with Pamela. It was here that they unearthed quite a bombshell, and listened intently as
Sparke
discussed the details of his last moments with Pamela:
‘Your injuries, they look fresh.’
‘
They are. From this morning, in fact.’
‘
How did you obtain them?’
‘
I’m not too sure, actually. You know my relationship with Pamela hasn’t been so good.’
‘
Why?’
‘
I’ve told you a million times before. Because I won’t let her sleep over.’
‘
Because you think you might go on another sleepwalk, and hurt her. Is that correct?’
‘
Yes. Only now...I think I did.’
‘You think you did..?’
‘Yeah, I think I might’ve hurt her.’
Leonard stopped the tape and they discussed briefly their meeting this morning with Richard, each struggling to see how some of the things he’d said might be construed as lies, or distractions.
“
Sparke
never mentioned sleepwalking in his defense.” Kevin grabbed one of
Sparke’s
folders, and began thumbing through it. “There’s a bunch of stuff in here on sleepwalking. Somnambulism. Uh, sorry to jump the gun, Len, but it might be helpful for us to understand some of the things we’re listening to.”
Leonard dug through his thoughts, then agreed with Kevin. “Just don’t get too lost in it. Smaller steps will help us to understand everything a little better.”
“Len, you gotta hear some of this stuff!” Kevin flipped through the pages with great enthusiasm.
“Hold your horses, Tonto. Let’s see what else
Sparke
has to say about Pam. Remember, our first priority is trying to find out what
Sparke
has up his sleeve, not what’s going on inside his head. We can use that later.”
When they started the tape again, they listened to details about Richard and Pam’s souring relationship. Only when Richard began to relate the true facts of his morning did Leonard and Kevin believe that
Sparke
might have told them the truth after all, at least as much as he remembered:
‘It was really weird. As far as I could tell she’d only been in my room for a few minutes. We were having as normal a conversation as possible, despite the circumstances. She still seemed upset about our break up. And then her eyes, they got all funny. The blue of her eyes turned black. She started to cry a little and turned away from me. When I got out of bed and tried to comfort her, she just went ballistic. Turned around and punched me. Upped and socked me a good one right in the mouth.’
‘She punched you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘
Was anything said that would cause her to behave this irrationally?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Did you hit her back?’
‘No! I mean...I don’t know. I can’t remember much after that.’
Leonard stopped the tape. “So he did indeed lie to us when he said that Pam slipped and cut her hand on the knives.”
“He had no choice, simply because he really didn’t know where the blood came from.”
“No, Kevin, I disagree. He knew. It was Pam’s, for sure. He just didn’t remember how it happened.”
“Because he was sleepwalking at the time.”
“Seems likely.”
“You know, he never mentions a third person.”
“I know. There goes that theory.”
“Don’t write it off so quickly, Len...he could still be covering it up.”
Leonard nodded, and pressed play. The rest of the tape proved to be very interesting, Richard and Delaney going into great detail about the lapses in Richard’s memory, the amnesia controlling his life, and when the dreams started coming--since the day his daughter died.
“He is one fouled-up puppy,” Kevin said.
Leonard grinned and put the second tape back in the player, side two. “It’s very good that we have an understanding of
Sparke
and the mess going on inside his mind. But what I’m itching to see, most importantly, is whether our killer was smart enough to turn off the recorder before accomplishing his or her deed.”
He pressed play.
They sat riveted as Delaney began discussing with Richard his passionate interest in the paranormal, and his assumed belief that Richard may be the target of otherworldly presences, or ‘poltergeists’. Delaney revealed himself as a scientific skeptic, someone who disbelieved any and all metaphysical explanations until every other avenue had been explored and rationalized,
at
which point he would willingly and most enthusiastically explore a ‘mystical solution’. After more than two years of research and devotion in unsuccessfully pinpointing Richard’s problem, he felt the only way to unearth any sort of definitive answer to his life-long enigma was to place him under hypnosis, the ‘deepest sleep of all’, and see what really occurs when he ‘sleepwalks’.
Leonard and Kevin listened to the tape with great intensity, leaning forward as Delaney began the procedure, performing a progressive relaxation exercise, using guided imagery and the virtual countdown--ten to zero--towards deep sleep.
Methodically, Delaney counted his way down.
Sparke
was silent. So were Leonard and Kevin. They didn’t even breathe as they listened to Delaney reach zero and say, ‘
Richard, you are now completely asleep’
.
After making sure the safety-latch was in the ‘locked’ position, Richard shoved Pam’s revolver into the waistband of his pants. He still had the screwdriver in his front pocket, keeping it there just in case he ran out of bullets, or if he couldn’t get the pistol to work at all. As far as he knew he’d never used a gun before, and was hoping that a buried memory on the mastery of firearms would somehow make itself known to him. Once his meek arsenal was in place, he took off along the stream, away from the road and into the woods.
The thought of coming face to face again with the man in black had Richard truly terrified, and even though he prayed history wouldn’t repeat itself, he kept reminding himself that a final meeting between them would probably take place. Assuming the likelihood of this, Richard tried to think along the lines of his adversary, premise his next move and then try to counter it. And then, make every effort to drum up the new deft and calculating talents stirring within him. A balanced combination of the two would make Richard
Sparke
quite the formidable opponent, no doubt.
He pulled the gun from his pants and poised himself for defense, concentrating on the sound of the pelting downpour, listening for anything that might be
him
, footsteps, breathing, any misplaced sound. He paused next to a tree, leaning on it for support, then looked down at his body, at the thick layering of mud and slime that refused to come off his clothes and skin, even under the muscling rain. He’d acquired numerous cuts and bruises from his confrontations with nature, and his ‘new’ black shirt was torn across the front, bits of bark and weeds clinging to the fabric like appliqués.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then used a hand to rub away the running precipitation from his face. Suddenly, he heard a quick, high-pitched whistling noise rise up from behind. He shot his eyes open, turned around and looked towards the distant Corolla. For the briefest moment he saw a flash of blue light illuminate the rear window, as if Pam, still inside, had taken a picture with a camera. But as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, along with the whistling sound.
The blue light...the one from my dreams. I remember...it had appeared once before, while I was awake. Just like that...like a quick camera flash. In my kitchen. When the cops were there. I had my eyes closed then too. And then...well I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch! Then the knife disappeared, at that precise moment! The man in black--somehow he was able to seize it at that very instant. While I had my eyes closed...
He looked around. He didn’t notice any movement by the car, or in any part of the woods nearby. Aside from the steady rainfall, everything was deadly calm. Almost too calm, he thought, inundated with the anticipation of something about to happen. Wanting to call out to Pam, but fearing the presence of his twin, he turned around and darted in the opposite direction, deeper into the woods.
He watched his footsteps as he ran, dodged trees and leaped over small piles of sticks and muck. His body trembled, wracked with fear and freezing from the rain. His clothes stuck to his skin. He felt like a rubber band about to snap, an anxiety-induced tightness constricting every muscle in his body: the stress of knowing that a bullet may find any part of him at any instant. He reminded himself that the man in black could have easily killed him a long time ago, and that to shoot him in the head or chest now would oppose the sick delight he apparently took in watching Richard suffer.
As he rushed along, shrouded by rain and darkness, his mind ran in giddy circles. He wondered where all the unforeseen past-life memories had come from, why they were appearing now, and whether they would continue to flourish as they did. With each passing second he felt himself gaining professional experience on many disciplines, on many levels, a few of them conveniently able to nurture the situation at hand. He instantly had the fortitude of a runner, the prowess of a spy, the skill of a sharpshooter.
Perhaps firing that gun won’t be so difficult after all.
Yet, with all these new memories and abilities at his disposal, he still felt it necessary to second-guess the direction in which he’d chosen to flee.
Wouldn’t running towards the road, instead of deeper into the mountains, prove a better escape route?
He could conjecture and theorize endlessly, but that would ultimately drive him crazy.
Suddenly, a thin solid form appeared ahead, between two large trees.
He stopped, crouched, held the handgun out and did his best to aim it towards the dark figure, through the rain and trees and darkness, all of which limited his vision. Rivulets of water invaded his eyes. His limited field of vision blurred. God help him, if he didn’t hit the man in black on the very first shot, then he’d be a wide open target with a bulls-eye on his chest. This would be his only opportunity.
He unlocked the safety. Aimed. His finger kissed the trigger.
The man-shape didn’t move.
A voice spoke inside his head. Not his conscience, but that of a newfound ingenuity.
What if it isn’t the man in black?
Richard waited. Five seconds. Ten. He stooped down, stepped closer, struggling to glimpse the figure. The
unmoving
figure. Finally, after venturing within ten feet of the shape, he realized that it wasn’t the man in black, but a rotting tree trunk. Spooked at the resemblance to a person--two twisted branches hung lifelessly along the sides like arms--Richard ranged to the left, keeping a safe distance from it. His mind’s eye contrived an irrational nightmare-like image of the thing coming to life, grabbing him with both branches, choking him...
...like the man in black did in his dreams...