The Night Reporter ✔

More Bad Ideas - Part 28

Days passed, and true to his word, Zeke skipped his meds. He fell into a rhythm of working through the clues, though he hit his progress from his cousin. Well, if it could be called progress.

The pills were supposed to quell his paranoia and aggression. By the third day, Zeke was convinced that he could curb those traits all on his own. Probably never needed meds in the first place.

Denial was a part of paranoia, but that didn't apply to him at all. Part of his aggression manifested first as OCD, but that also didn't apply to him.

To appease Raffi, Zeke kept to their morning routine: bagels, chit-chat, and coffee. On the last swig of good stuff, he pretended to swallow his pill, quickly rolling it between his thumb and palm, a trick he'd perfected in his teens. After breakfast, he would check the drawer of utensils, making sure the forks, knives, and spoons were facing the same direction. Just for extra safety (could never be too safe, these days), he rearranged her closet, color-coding her shirts. 

Everyday, Raffi assured Zeke that her contacts were learning all they could, and would report back. No reports had yet filtered in.

After the fifth morning of Raffi promising 'news', Zeke thought to himself,

I never should have trusted anyone but myself.

Such assertions had driven him to action. For the last five days, he had used note cards, arranging them by relevancy of information, shuffling cards to and fro. It was an exercise that had served him well as a reporter, and the shuffling often resulted in an aha moment. Still, at the office, he usually opted for an online notepad methodology, and the shuffling was more of a virtual ritual. Yet, there was something about holding actual cards in his hands, running his fingertips over the surface of the words, that comforted him. He also needed the physical words, like a breadcrumb trail, for when (if) he picked up on his meds again. Medicinal vacation were fun, or at least left the impression of fun, but they also left the impression of being lost in the woods. Understanding a case was like finding the way out, only now, he had to find the way out, or stay lost forever. 

Zeke stared at a few of the cards, hoping for a moment of clarity to suddenly strike. He scanned over each detail, attaching meaning and fitting together several clues at once.

Carter: "spotted" at store/possibly near Campbell's.

Bubble Butt.

Dream/memory of driving Carter home/yelling.

Memories/hallucinations of hurting someone.

Dream/memory of vamp feeding.

But nothing fit together. Vacations rarely failed him. Zeke slid two cards side-by-side:

Memories/hallucinations of hurting someone.

Bubble Butt.

Ah, Bubble Butt. The shapely beauty knew something. Why else did she run from him? Yeah, there was the whole wanted-for-murder thing, but she was freaked out before that was widely publicized.

Zeke focused on the noises, the impressions of the hallucinations, or, perhaps, memories.

--Please, don't! I said no!--

An image hovered in front of him, but when he reached out to grab it, it disappeared.

Different cards. Experience and an obsessive personality had taught him to keep going. Zeke propped up two other cards, and concentrated:

Dream/memory of vamp feeding.

Dream/memory of driving Carter home/yelling.

Sleeping w/ Carter

He couldn't be sure which one was real, and which one was a dream. In placing them next to each other, he was sure that he could separate one reality from the next. However, the words bled together, and he rubbed his eyes.

Whole lotta nothing.

The once vivid dreams were fading. He reminded himself he might be forcing them from his memory, as was his other habit. Bury the bad, and live in the moment, a favorite saying of Pop's.

Not a peep out of Andrea or Dominic, according to Raffi. They hadn't reached out to the police, or her. Made sense, at least to Zeke. With their last encounter, he had managed to scare the man that had spent his life scaring. Having your kid wanted for murder would scare any parent. Zeke was sorry he had scared his mother, but was more than proud of himself.

Mom.

Thinking about her sparked the moment of clarity he had been wishing for. He grasped the cards, and the rest of the dream hit him hard...

The subtle slurping noises, the slight moans. None of it had deterred him, not as an 11-year-old.

A man embraced a woman, clasping her upper arms, so that it seemed like she was trapped. Ensnared. The word came to him from fifth mod English.

Zeke was worried about the ensnared woman, and he reached out to see if she was okay. Her exposed shoulder was like marble, and just as cold.

His brief touch was enough to dispel the heady atmosphere. The stranger broke off from his bent position on the woman's neck, glaring at Zeke. The woman turned, and in a very slurred voice, directed him to go back to bed.

But he was sure this was important, and that he had to stay. The man who had ensnared his mother wasn't even pop, and that wasn't right.

"Mom..."

"Off to bed, young man," the stranger told him.

The honeyed tones of his voice washed over Zeke, and the next thing he knew, he was laying in bed, eyes heavy with sleep.

Disturbing as the images were, they confirmed two things: the dream was really a memory, and he had to go see his mother.

~*~