He walked into the grocery store to buy a dozen eggs, a quart of milk, and a loaf of bread. It was a special evening and he planned to make dinner for his wife as they relaxed to an evening of Quantum Leap. After completing his purchase, the man waved away the sacker. “No worries, kid. I got this.” The sliding doors opened and he made his way to the car. The man was halfway across the parking lot when he was stopped by a shadow with a voice. "Hello, Jared." it said.
"Um, hi, do I know you?" asked Jared. "Yes and no. My name is Joseph Raymond Bowman. I just wanted to make sure that everything was going fine for you. How is your family? Are Martina and the kids doing well?" he asked. Jared’s spine was seized with adrenalin and fear. He took a step back and thrust his hand into his pocket, searching for the pepper spray on his key chain. Mr. Bowman was about 6 feet tall with squared shoulders. His back was to the light and Jared couldn't make out his face clearly. All he could tell was that Mr. Bowman had dark, close-cropped hair. "Jared, you don't have to fear me at this moment. What will happen to you has already been done. I just wanted to look you in the eye and tell you that you didn't deserve the past 15 years, you son of a bitch. Remember my name when your life has ended and God won't hear you. You’ll see my face soon enough." he said coldly. The strange man, Bowman, turned around and walked away in a peculiar serenity. He was whistling. Jared caught a glimpse of his face. He looked...Asian? Jared stared at his back, blankly, as he watched Bowman disappear from the glow of the Kroger shopping center and into the black of night. He was adrift in confused thoughts when a hand gripped his shoulder from behind. Jared shrieked and almost jumped out of his shoes. He fell forward and scurried a few feet away while twisting around and up to see Death chasing him...only it was a Kroger employee. "Sir...? Are you alright?" asked the pimply faced teenager. He was definitely more scared than Jared. Jared stood up and dusted himself off. "I....I.....I just lost place of my car and...I just lost my car. Thank you." The employee turned slowly, not averting his eyes from Jared. Yes, the boy was definitely spooked. Jared got up, dusted himself off, and opened his car door. He crawled inside and drove off with his mind already racing. He arrived at his house quickly and pulled up to the garage, hit his opener. The garage door didn't open. He hit the button again and two times after that with no action from the garage door. He looked at his opener, puzzled, and removed the battery cover. There weren't any batteries, which was impossible: the opener worked fine when he went to Kroger a mere 30 minutes ago. He shut off his car in the driveway and entered his home through the side door. He placed the groceries on the counter and headed through the living room. His wife, Martina, was watching the television on their sofa. She turned around to greet him. "Hello, Aking Mahal" she cooed. He kept walking towards the rooms of his children, compelled to check in on them. His son, Michael, and his daughter, Diwata, were both sleeping soundly in their beds. He went in and kissed them both while trying not to tremble. He left the children to their dreams and joined his wife on the sofa. He let out an exasperated sigh while the local news reviewed the day. "What took so long?" she asked. "There was a weirdo in the parking lot." he responded. "It's good to be home." he said. "I tell you what: let’s forget the French toast, watch a little T.V., and go to bed. You look tired." she said warmly. Jared took her hand warmly. “No way. I love having French Toast with you and Al.” he said with a smile. The news was somber. Today marked the 15th anniversary of the end of the Vietnam War, April 30th, 1975. There was a small program dedicated to the U.S. Armed Forces and a brief history of the war. It all but ruined a quiet evening of French toast with Al and Ziggy. Jared was irritated by the news broadcast which told a one-side story of The Vietnam War. The reporter characterized it as a political power struggle and a waste of American lives. Jared scoffed after almost every statement by the news anchor, that didn't look old enough to remember why Americans were sent there in the first place. "My love, don't forget that if it were not for the War you and I would not be here. Our babies would not be here. Don't forget how many lives were forever changed because of that War." she said in a loving but sure tone. Jared rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his T.V., trying to let it go. He shook his head as he tried to shake away the memories. She stood up and blocked his view of the T.V., which was replaced by her frame. The light from the T.V. pierced the sides of her nightgown and he could see the voluptuous curves of her hips. He could see the faint outline of her breasts, which confirmed that she was naked underneath. She extended her hands and said "Come, my love. Let's go to bed." Jared accompanied her and took off his shirt as they crept into their bedroom. They made love and fell asleep naked in their bed. Tomorrow was another day. --- Jared woke up to an empty bed. Martina must have gone to work already. He stretched and got up, walked to his bathroom, brushed his teeth, and flossed. He dressed in a suit for work and exited his bedroom after making the bed. He walked into the hallway, towards the kitchen and almost noticed that his umbrella holder by the front door was missing. He stopped at the entry to the kitchen and looked around. The breakfast table was gone and so were the chairs. The chandelier and the Van Gogh print were gone. He scanned the rest of the kitchen and found that dining table and refrigerator were also missing. He started to wonder if he was in a dream and pinched himself. The counters were bare and there were no pictures of his family above the range. He opened the cupboards and they were empty, as well. Jared's pulse was racing. "Martina?!" he called. No answer. "Michael!! Diwata!!" No answer. He walked into the living room. Empty. Not just empty, though-- It was as if they never lived there. There wasn't dust on the floor. There weren’t blank squares on the wall that pictures normally leave behind. It was as if the house were as new as it was empty. Jared ran to the kids rooms as his panic level heightened. He ran so fast, he didn't notice that ten years' worth of pictures weren't on the walls of the hallway. He flung open the door to Michael's bedroom. Empty. Diwata's room: empty. The house was empty except for the master bedroom and bathroom. Jared ran to his dresser and grabbed his cel phone. He speed-dialed Martina's work, hoping that there was an answer on the other end of the phone. "Hello?" said the phone - it was a man's voice. Jared was confused. "Is...isn't this Stephens and Associates?" he asked. "Is this who?" asked the man on the other end of the line. Jared squeezed his eyes shut and said "Stephens and Associates. The law firm? My wife Martina is an executive admin for Stenny Steph--." "Sir, I don't know anyone by that name." the irritated man interrupted. "I believe you have the wrong number. This is the BFI Waste Management HR department. You may want to check your number." The man hung up. Jared didn't understand what was going on. There was no way he got the number wrong. He called Martina's cel phone and it was another person who claimed he had the wrong number. He called his best friend, Max, a war buddy from 'Nam. He had known Max longer than anyone else. He and Max did a tour together, spending weeks in Viet-Cong tunnels. They killed boys, smoked cigarettes and opium, and brought Freedom to Indonesia. After a brief and confusing exchange, Jared hung up his cel phone and screamed out at the top of his lungs. This was impossible. Jared went through all of his phone numbers. All wrong--no one had ever heard of him, his wife, or his family. It was like he had never been born. He walked out onto his front lawn and looked at all the houses. He felt reality was slipping from him. In an act of desperation, he called his mother. When the phone picked up, his mother answered the phone. "MOM!!" he cried. He began babbling and crying, recanting the last evening all the way up to now; not giving her a chance to speak. "...Hello? Yes, I believe you have the wrong number. I don't have a son named Jared. My son died in the Vietnam War many years ago. I don't know who this is but if this is a joke, it isn't funny in the slightest. Please, do not ever call me again." she said curtly. The phone clicked and Jared was given the choice to either hang up or talk to a dial tone. Jared fell to his knees and pulled his hair to the point of yanking it out. He felt like his mind was breaking as he cried in the middle of his yard. The neighbors started to come out of their houses, hearing the noise. The neighbors from across the street walked over to his lawn, stopping at the sidewalk. It was Harry and Amy Struthers, fellow members of the PTA and avid racquetball players. Amy looked over to Harry with a smooth, blank face and said "This will be sufficient, don't you think?" They were both looking down at Jared. Harry nodded as he watched Jared spill tears onto the St. Augustine. Harry called Jared to look up at him. As Jared did, Harry's face started to ripple and contort. Jared recoiled. It was the most horrific thing he had ever seen. Harry's eyes started to move around his face to places they were never meant to go. Jared could hear bones breaking inside the man's face. Harry opened up is mouth wider than Jared had ever seen. Harry's tongue shuddered and clumsily toppled out of his mouth. It made a “splat” sound and writhed briefly. Harry’s teeth snapped and popped out of his mouth then tinkled upon the concrete sidewalk next to his tongue, in a pool of fresh blood. The muscles on his face writhed and twisted as if his face were floured dough that was being kneaded for baking. Jared covered his eyes, suppressing a gag reflex, unable to look any longer. He kept his eyes averted until he heard a familiar voice. "Look at me, Jared. You will look at me now." the ice cold voice said. Jared looked up and took a brief moment to focus. "Do you know who I am now, Jared?" he asked. Jared squinted briefly and then the man’s identity came upon him like a flood. It was Joseph Raymond Bowman, the mysterious man from the parking lot. Mr. Bowman was clearly of Asian descent and had a stern, hard face on him. His eyes glittered but he had the most soulless glare that Jared had ever seen. It sent chills up his spine. Jared looked at the ground and squeezed his eyes shut. "No, I don't! What are you doing to me?!" he screamed. Jared heard a whistle and his son screamed "Daddy!" Jared's head flung around to see his wife and children running out of the front door of his house. "Martina! Kids! Oh, God! Where have you been?!" he bleated. As he got up off his knees to rush to them, but the sound of gunfire erupted and Jared instinctively fell flat on his stomach. He didn't take his eyes off his family as they started to stumble toward him. Jared saw liquid flames shooting from his peripheral that reached out and consume his wife and children. They were being burned alive by giant, hulking men wearing bizarre uniforms and wielding strange flamethrowers. They aimed the orange death at his babies. They were killing his family! Jared heard his loved ones scream gurgled noises and he could smell petroleum along with their flesh cooking. Martina reached for him as the flesh on her arms blackened. Jared’s family fell into mounds of burning meat as other uniformed giants riddled them with gunfire, finishing the job. Jared screamed and whirled around to see a sick smile on Mr. Bowman's face. Jared screamed again but under those screams, the voice of Mr. Bowman resonated: "Wake up, Jared." --- Jared's eyes opened and he was blinded by lights on the ceiling. His screaming choked slightly as he tried to get his bearings. He tried to look around but his head was fastened by something and unable to move. He was lying on a cold, metal table and the rest of his body was tied down as well. Jared heard Mr. Bowman's voice: "Jared, welcome back. As I said earlier, you didn't deserve these past 15 years. It is with great pleasure that I announce that your sentence has been reversed. The courts no longer feel that living the rest of your life in Subconscious Timeflow is acceptable. It has been a long, long 15 years, Jared." he said. Jared struggled for words but could find none. Only a moan came out. "This is perfect! Jared, you don't remember that I was originally your defense representative 15 years ago. I fought for you to be placed in a drug-induced coma for the rest of your life as punishment for your war crimes. I wanted you to die, Jared, but your family paid me well to let you sleep forever as your mind created a life for you. They paid for you to be placed in that Timeflow. What you all didn't know at the time, Jared, was that it was my family that you had killed: It was my family that you slaughtered when your platoon burned my village to the ground. It was my life that you destroyed, war criminal!" Mr. Bowman was panting, but he took a few deep breaths and composed himself. "I decided that it would be more poetic for you to sleep while I used your family's money to pay my associates to have them all killed. While you lived your life inside the dreams we created for you, your life was being slowly erased in the real world. Make no mistake, Jared, I had every intention of avenging the deaths of everyone I loved. You killed them all and you celebrated as the napalm burned them to ashes. Jared, you must pay for the lives you took." he said, sincerely. “It is time for justice to be paid in full...for my family.” Jared couldn't understand what was going on. He started to ask questions, but his mind was still trying to adjust itself. He couldn't get his bearings. "Jared, you don't remember any of this because you are so fresh from the wonderful life inside your mind. You must remember that it is not 1990 in the United States of America: It is the year 2009 and you are in The Socialist Republic of Bảo Đại, what was once America. America does not exist because the 'Joes' lost the war. I have waited 15 long years for you to live the life you wanted inside your head. For 15 years I have had to live with the sickening thought of you sleeping peacefully in this complex." Bowman said. "Last year, after the last of your family had been eliminated, I lobbied the High Court to prosecute your case. ‘New Evidence’, I insisted. When that didn’t work, I paid off judges and officiators with your family's money and was placed in charge of your care, Jared.” Bowman said proudly. “After being placed in your care, I deleted your records from the Central Data Hub. You no longer exist. But don’t fret, Jared. You will still answer for your crimes.” he said. “You are to answer for your crimes by living out your days in a Life Extruder as the Republic slowly drains and uses your life force as consumable energy. You will become a human battery and once your body has been sufficiently used, we will mount your dried husk on Hanoi Bridge--- er, Golden Gate bridge." he smiled. "Lastly, while your life's essence is leeched from you, you will watch the footage we have recorded as we killed everyone in your family. You will see your family again, Jared, but only as an observer." he said with a smirk. Mr. Bowman turned to two giant men dressed in strange uniforms - like the ones who killed his family not long ago. They were puffy, hulking beings that looked like massive pillars made of hard foam. They wore orange-colored outfits with strange insignia that was a mixture of Vietnamese and unintelligible symbols. He was able to make out the Vietnamese word for "Refuse" on one of the uniform lapels. "Take him to the Extruder, but be sure it is set to the lowest possible setting. I want this to take a while." he said. Mr. Bowman started to walk out of the room but stopped and turned at the doorway to say "I will be checking on him in 5 years and he had better be alive.” “Oh, and Jared? My name is not Joseph Ray Bowman. My name is Phong Vo. Your name is Joseph Raymond Bowman." he said, coldly, before walking out of the room. Jared screamed Mr. Vo's name over and over as the giants wheeled his metal table out of the infirmary and down the sea-green hall. He screamed as each light bulb passed over his head. His body strained and heaved against the restraints, bruising his body. His screams could be heard for almost a minute after the magnetovator closed and descended down to the Extruder Complex. Mr. Vo consumed those screams as if they were audible food and he shuddered every time he drew a breath. Mr. Vo called for another magnetovator and pressed the "up" button upon entering. When he arrived at the roof of the Ho Chi Minh Royal Containment Facility, Mr Vo walked to the ledge and stared across the Bay. Mr. Vo wept briefly, then wiped his nose and composed himself. He watched the black helicopters fly through the smog. He could smell the industrial pollution mixed with salt water. “Five years.” He chuckled to himself. “He will last at least twenty.” Mr. Vo leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He smiled. Then, Mr. Vo pulled out Joseph Raymond Bowman's army-issued pistol from his jacket, placed the barrel inside his mouth and blew his own brains out. |
Archives
May 2016
|