Authors: The Demon
feels great. Every bone and muscle in his body aches and screams and he feels great. He feels magnificent!!!!
Harry had stayed in an office so long the night before that he almost had missed the last train home, yet he had felt flat when he left and now, only halfway through the morning, his body was starting to cringe from a free-floating anxiety. Another small change in his routine was needed. He wouldnt be able to wait for a week or two as he had hoped, or even a few days. He would have to go out again tonight. With that decision came almost instant relief as the apprehension and anticipation grew.
But there was also another kind of anxiety. Linda was in her ninth month and could be ready any day. Any day or night. He wanted to be with her. This he wanted desperately. To be able to take her to the hospital and be there when the baby was born so he could hold his wifes hand and kiss her forehead when she came back from the delivery room. Harry Junior was already at his folks house, and Lindas bag was packed and ready. Jesus he wanted to be with her, but he knew he could not go directly home tonight.
What he could do though would be to start earlier—an instant flush of excitement bolted through him. Yeah, before he could be certain everyone had gone home. Jesus—he was squeezing his thighs together and tensing his muscles—that should do it. He was familiar with the schedule of most of the security systems in the large office buildings; they did not vary much from one another. He would start early and see if he could miss the guard by only a few minutes. Jesus krist that sounded great. He could feel the lump in his gut and at the back of his throat. His body jerked spastically for a moment, then he attacked his work for the remainder of the day.
He did not have to wait until the security guard was almost due to satisfy the craving within him that night. He had been walking through an office for a few minutes when he
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turned a corner and almost tripped over a cleaning lady. He grabbed her arms to keep her from falling and she started apologizing while they were still tottering and he instantly went hollow as he looked at the woman looking at him and he thought he would puke and shit and panically tried to get his legs to move and he clutched the woman and screamed at himself to stay, dont run, and he realized his hands were clamped on the womans arms but he couldnt release them and she kept saying she was sorry, are you all right? I hope I didnt get your clothes dirty and Harry clung and fought and nodded and shook his head and the pounding of his heart almost drowned out her voice and somehow she managed to free herself of his grip but he couldnt seem to open his hands and he felt his face shattering into a smile as he asked her if she was all right and he stuffed his cramped hands into his pockets and the damn woman wouldnt stop apologizing and Harry wanted to get the hell out of there and he kept smiling and smiling at the stupid lackey and finally started easing away with that same goddamn smile stuck on his face and the deafening pounding in his ears, its all right, no trouble, no trouble at all, and he finally turned and walked away slowly and felt himself get dizzy as his vision blurred and he opened the door to the stairway and walked down the stairs and down through the basement and out to the street, then turned into and alley, still conscious of the people and cars passing just a few feet away, and threw up and stared at the pool of vomit at his feet as he leaned against the wall and felt his body tingle with that excitement and he felt the air suddenly rush down his burning throat and he retched again, then once more, then slowly stood erect, hearing the voices of the people passing by and wanted to shout and laugh and pound people on the back and wish them a happy birthday or happy new year or happy Chanukah or some damn thing or maybe do a soft-shoe and sing a song or two and open the jailhouse doors and follow that yellow brick road to Oz and goose Frank Morgan and maybe pull a fuse or two from his wizards machine and everybody trip off into a technicolor sunset be-
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cause by krist he felt great and all he needed was to whip out his sword and yell to the masses of churls rushing up and down the street to bring him giants, by jesus krist thats what he needed GIANTS!!!!
GIANTS!!!!
or perhaps a
baby. Yes, by God, a baby. A jewel of a girl to go with his son and heir. He wiped his mouth and face with his handkerchief, then his shoes and pants legs, tossed the handkerchief into a garbage can with finesse, then rushed to the corner and took a cab to the station.
He got home just in time. He took Linda to the hospital and stayed in the waiting room for a short time, until the nurses finally convinced him to go home, that it would be hours at least and there was no point in his staying there.
The excitement that had been driving him disappeared instantly when he closed the door behind him in the empty house. The place suddenly seemed huge and had dozens of dark corners. He turned on the television and tried to force his attention on it, but his mind kept drifting back to the barren house, the dark corners and Linda. If he closed his eyes for a second, he would see her body in a casket, so he would get up and walk around and refill his cup with coffee, then sit back down and try to concentrate on whatever it was he was looking at, and eventually he dozed off in the chair for perhaps a few hours and was awakened abruptly by the telephone. He could come to the hospital now. A routine delivery and mother and daughter were doing fine.
He forced himself to drive carefully and not exceed the speed limit. He could feel the elation pounding through him again. Mother and daughter doing fine. Fine. Everything was fine. For a year now, or however long it was, everything had been just about perfect. Ever since he started stealing—not that that was really stealing. A few pennies here and there. And the machines belong to large corporations and were insured and no one really was hurt by their loss, if they were in fact lost. They were probably found the next day and re-
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turned. No, it really was not stealing. Not in the real sense of the word. And even if it was, it was no big deal. No one was being hurt and it certainly was solving his problem Things in his life had been just fine, splendid, since he started That was the important thing.
Linda had a bow in her hair. A pink bow. She was propped up slightly in bed when he went into the room. She glowed like a thousand stars. He kissed her. Again. Then again and held her hand and smiled at her. They just smiled for many long, loving and beautiful moments. . . .
You
lost some weight. She squeezed his hand and glowed brighter.
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18
Harry had to terminate his relationship with Dr. Martin. He had wanted to terminate it for quite some time, but knew he would have to face protests from the doctor and his colleagues.
It was not an arbitrary decision. Harry had had hopes when he started therapy, but it had become obvious to him that he would not be able to continue. It was a feeling that was so strong and so deep that it had become an absolute conviction. He just could not spend a few hours each week consciously searching for, and living in, problems, problems that continued to disturb him when he left the doctors office.
He knew he would have to wait until the proper time to start his withdrawal. After things had been going well and he was feeling, acting and looking better, he asked Dr. Martin if he thought that it might be a good idea if they cut the therapy down to one hour a week, that he felt he would get enough strength from the doctor in that hour to carry him
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through. Dr. Martin readily agreed—the process of sublimation seemed to be working very well—and so from then on it was simply a case of waiting for the proper opportunity to decrease the treatment further. Eventually it was down to once a month, and then complete termination, with the understanding that Harry would call the doctor immediately if he started feeling anxious or upset in any way.
Harry had waited for exactly the right moment to take the final step. The international syndicate that Harry had conceived and helped organize with Von Landor had proven to be a tremendous success. So much so that a subsidiary syndicate had been formed and was now functioning successfully. The innovations and imagination that characterized the project were so remarkable Fortune had done a full-length article about Harry White, one of the brightest young men in American business. In the article Harry was quoted as saying that there was a time when he had had a few problems that caused him anxieties and tension, but a Dr. Martin had helped him cope with these problems, and, as you can see, I am certainly capable of functioning at absolute peak efficiency now. It was after the publication of this article that Harry and Dr. Martin terminated their relationship with a handshake and smiles.
As a result of the termination Harry felt a sense of release. He felt free to indulge his own answers rather than search for problems. In many ways he was more relaxed after the termination. He had known he could not tell Dr. Martin what he was doing, though he had felt obligated to do so. He had been constantly on guard to be certain he did not say anything that might somehow lead to his being forced to tell him the truth. And, underneath it all, had been the urge to tell him everything—and so he had been involved in additional conflicts.
One Sunday Harry told Linda he was going to take her for a drive. I want to show you something.
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They drove through a less populated area, then through the gate of an estate that was completely hidden by huge trees. Harry parked in front of the house. O.K., everybody out.
What is this Harry? Who lives here?
A friend. Come on. I want to show you something.
They walked around to the rear of the large Colonial stone house. There were gardens that gradually sloped into endless trees—primarily birch.
O
Harry, this is beautiful. Absolutely breathless. I have
never seen anything like this in my life. How many trees are
there?
A couple of acres.
My God, its incredible. What is all this? Why did you bring me here?
Its Whites Woods.
Whites Woods? I dont understand, shaking her head in complete confusion.
Its called Whites Woods. Or if you prefer longer names: The Woods and Estate of Mr. and Mrs. Harold White, gesturing with an arm and bowing slightly.
Mr. and Mrs.... You mean this, waving her hand and looking around, all of this . . .
Thats right. Its ours.
Linda sat on a stone bench by a lily pond and briefly returned the stare of a frog, sunning himself on a pad. I dont know what to say. Its overwhelming.
Well, its ours. All of it. And up there, back in the woods— you can see it from that balcony up there—theres a small stream of cool, clear water. A veritable babbling brook.
I
just cant imagine it. I just cant imagine this—all of this—
being ours.
Well, its not as big as the Wooddale Country Club, but it will do for now. Come on, I/ll show you the inside.
Harry stirred slightly when Linda got up at night to feed the baby, but went right back to sleep. But even if he did not
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get enough sleep, that would not explain his feeling so goddamn edgy. He thought of his success: the money, the feature articles about him in Fortune, Wall Street Journal, Dun & Brad, their new home and Whites Woods, and his family. He had everything, including the respect of his peers. What in the fuck was wrong? clenching his teeth and squeezing his hands into white-knuckled fists. Thinking of all these things —the possessions, the accolades, the love—did not help. He had money, property and prestige, but he still felt that vague discontent and edgy tension gnawing at him.
He had discovered a relatively safe way to relieve these feelings, certainly superior in every way to the previous solution he had utilized, but now that was starting to prove as fickle and unreliable as the first. It still worked, but for shorter and shorter periods. Lately he had been timing his little projects so that he would be leaving just as the security guard was entering. Jesus, the excitement was great. Actually it was better than fucking some broad. And he did not have the fear of disease. But he was running out of methods to keep the excitement at the pitch necessary to relieve him of the gnawing tension.
He went back to the same office three consecutive weeks, and each time he could feel more and more sweat rolling down his back. They would have to have additional men on guard sooner or later, or at least change their schedule, but after three weeks everything was exactly the same. The fourth week he did not enter the building through an alley and the basement, but through the front door and smiled at the guard as he signed the register and went back to the same office. He emptied the petty-cash box and left a thank-you note, then went down to the lobby and signed out, smiling at the guard once more and wishing him a happy evening.
The exhilaration from this venture was intense, but after a few days he was fighting that same edginess and was developing a problem concentrating on his work.
Pilfering offices was just not working anymore, and he once more started drifting from the midtown area toward the water-
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front. He set up an elaborate system for finding the best place and for determining the police schedule and how to get in and out in just minutes, or less, before the police were scheduled to make their rounds. This preliminary stage continued for many weeks and the old release and excitement surged through him as he walked through the gray and littered streets; he was once more able to concentrate properly on his work.