~Clark
“I HEARD IT AGAIN!!”
I jump as the face of Ray Richie appears before me, a look of both fear and expectancy in his eyes. Being able to talk to the dead is not as “cool” as you might think. The reason being that they all are stuck here for one reason of another and they need help. And, seeing as how not many others can even SEE them, much less hear from them, they rely solely on you. I groan slightly, ignoring another wave of pain which surges through my blood stream like a wave.
“It calls itself the Executioner.” Ray adds.
I can feel my heart racing as anger pulses through me and I take a deep breathe, if only to calm myself slightly, before looking Ray in the eyes. “listen, if you want me to help you, you're going to have to tell me everything.”
Ray nods, and after a moment of silence that seemed to last forever, he nods again. “Well, you see I've....I've always been a horrible man. I've done things that are unforgivable. For all time those things will haunt me...I've always fought with my father, you see. He was always hurting me and wanting more then I was able to give or do, telling me I was going to be a man if it killed me. I guess you could say my family has a long history of alcohol abuse and I starter when I was 15. Of course, I was struggling before then. I knew nothing but anger....when I killed my son...well, that's when things started coming apart....they'd been abused before then. I'd hurt them many times, especially Wendy. But after I killed Jay...they wouldn't even look at me...and eventually Jim ran away...”
Ray's face has gone blank and, although he's looking right at me, I know he's looking through me. His thoughts racing in his head as he translates them into words. I listen carefully as he speaks, his words becoming faster and faster, tumbling out of his mouth as if being shoved out by some force within him I feel neither of us understand. I struggle to piece together to form a story...and I assume he's talking about family, Wendy being his wife and Jim and Jay being his kids.
“I've always felt bad for Jim,” He continues. “I could see anger and hatred in his eyes every time he looked at me. Reminded me of when I was younger, only this time I was taking the role of the father. Of course, like my father, I pushed these thoughts away and replaced them with thoughts of sorrow for myself until I really didn't care anymore. Then the police showed up at my door and were telling me my son, Jay, was found on the road, dead and crushed...and all I could do was stand there an nod. Jim was yelling, telling them it was my fault. How he found out I'll never know...he said he was across the street, watching. The police thought he was going into hysteria and dismissed him. He ended up knocked out with some sleep drug when he started screaming at the top of his lungs. It was horrible...that night I heard them talking and the next morning, while Jim was getting ready for school, Wendy came down and asked me what really happened. She knew I'd been drunk that night. Drunk and mad and stupid too...and when she started accusing me of killing Jay, I didn't know what to say...because she was right. Then she starter to dial the police, said she'd tell 'em everything that I'd done from the start, set everything straight. The next thing I knew my hands were around her neck, gripping tighter until she's not making a sound. As soon as I realize this, I drop her....not sure whether or not she would survive. Right then, I didn't care to check. Just to leave and get as far as I could, thinking I wouldn't get caught. I thought I'd just start over...unfortunately wishes never come true...”
I frown slightly “How long ago was that....when you ran away..?”
“About 3 days ago.” Ray answers, as if just remembering that I'm standing here and can actually understand him.
“So that's why you came to New York?”
“Are you kidding? All I had was my family and I went and ruined it....there was nothing else for me, no where to run and hind. I didn't have a comfy little hide-away I could curl up in and wait for this to blow over, I was left wandering around, both physically and mentally. My head eventually was down to echoing questions over and over again...should I turn myself in? See if my wife is ok? Try to find Jim and see if I can work things out? Or should I just give up?”
I nod, becoming aware of a figure coming up to me from behind.
“YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!” Ray cries out as he disappears. The figure enlarges and slowly becomes Alan, glaring at me. He seems unsure whether to yell at me or maybe just run away screaming...or to offer help.
His eyes go cold as he voices his thoughts. “What the hell is going on?!”
I sigh, trying to ignore another wave of anger. “Have you done a background check on this guy?”
“What? We haven't even identified him yet and we're suppose to be gathering evidence before we tell the public. Speaking of the public, who was that kid and what happened to your face?”
“Listen...I donno who that kid was or why he attacked me but-”
“Attacked you...? I saw you all over him! So he did that to your face? Come on, Clack, what aren't you tellin' me?”
I groan. Is it just me or is everyone suddenly demanding of my answers? “It doesn't matter. This guy is named ray Richie. Apparently he ran away from his son after committing a murder or 2. or...his son ran away from him. One of the 2...”
“What?!” Alan cries out. “What are you talking about?”
“DOES IT MATTER!?” I yell, suddenly enraged. “HE TOLD ME HE WANTS ME TO MAKE EVERYTHING RIGHT, JUST JUST LIKE YOU! SO FUCKIN' DEMANDING! DAMN IT! We were put into this world with brains so why can't we FUCKIN' use 'em!? NO! Instead let's all interrogate Clark till his FUCKIN' head explodes! I SWARE if I see that kid again knock him out COLD! I don't CARE what the law has to say about it! CLEARLY no one cares about me and-”
“CLARK!” Alan yells, interrupting me in my angry rant. “Cool it, will ya'? We've still got work to do so let's finish it. We'll talk later, ok?”
I grimace, anger boiling within me and my head pounding as if my heart migrated. Trying to keep my thoughts all in order, I nod. Slowly I turn to Alan, then turn away at the feeling of tears warming my eyes and my thoughts running rampant. I turned away...for fear of him seeing me weak...so vulnerable. I whip around and walk off.
“Clark, where are you going? What's wrong? Clark, come back!” Alan's voice whispers faintly in my ears, though I know he's yelling my head blocks his voice as thoughts of my own father make their way into my thoughts. I can still see his blood-shot eyes....spit forming a white froth at the corners of his lips when he's angry. Stupid drunk....that's all he'll ever be to me. I'd always worried that some day I'd grow up to be like him, Hatred on wheels. Although I've never touched a drink, I sometimes felt we were at the same low, helpless level when it comes to anger. Images of the black-haired boy taunting me float through my head. It....was justified to lash out at him...right? He was asking for it. I almost scream, but trap it in my throat. Why must things be so complicated now!? Being bi-polar doesn't help a damned bit, either...
“I HEARD IT AGAIN!!”
I jump as the face of Ray Richie appears before me, a look of both fear and expectancy in his eyes. Being able to talk to the dead is not as “cool” as you might think. The reason being that they all are stuck here for one reason of another and they need help. And, seeing as how not many others can even SEE them, much less hear from them, they rely solely on you. I groan slightly, ignoring another wave of pain which surges through my blood stream like a wave.
“It calls itself the Executioner.” Ray adds.
I can feel my heart racing as anger pulses through me and I take a deep breathe, if only to calm myself slightly, before looking Ray in the eyes. “listen, if you want me to help you, you're going to have to tell me everything.”
Ray nods, and after a moment of silence that seemed to last forever, he nods again. “Well, you see I've....I've always been a horrible man. I've done things that are unforgivable. For all time those things will haunt me...I've always fought with my father, you see. He was always hurting me and wanting more then I was able to give or do, telling me I was going to be a man if it killed me. I guess you could say my family has a long history of alcohol abuse and I starter when I was 15. Of course, I was struggling before then. I knew nothing but anger....when I killed my son...well, that's when things started coming apart....they'd been abused before then. I'd hurt them many times, especially Wendy. But after I killed Jay...they wouldn't even look at me...and eventually Jim ran away...”
Ray's face has gone blank and, although he's looking right at me, I know he's looking through me. His thoughts racing in his head as he translates them into words. I listen carefully as he speaks, his words becoming faster and faster, tumbling out of his mouth as if being shoved out by some force within him I feel neither of us understand. I struggle to piece together to form a story...and I assume he's talking about family, Wendy being his wife and Jim and Jay being his kids.
“I've always felt bad for Jim,” He continues. “I could see anger and hatred in his eyes every time he looked at me. Reminded me of when I was younger, only this time I was taking the role of the father. Of course, like my father, I pushed these thoughts away and replaced them with thoughts of sorrow for myself until I really didn't care anymore. Then the police showed up at my door and were telling me my son, Jay, was found on the road, dead and crushed...and all I could do was stand there an nod. Jim was yelling, telling them it was my fault. How he found out I'll never know...he said he was across the street, watching. The police thought he was going into hysteria and dismissed him. He ended up knocked out with some sleep drug when he started screaming at the top of his lungs. It was horrible...that night I heard them talking and the next morning, while Jim was getting ready for school, Wendy came down and asked me what really happened. She knew I'd been drunk that night. Drunk and mad and stupid too...and when she started accusing me of killing Jay, I didn't know what to say...because she was right. Then she starter to dial the police, said she'd tell 'em everything that I'd done from the start, set everything straight. The next thing I knew my hands were around her neck, gripping tighter until she's not making a sound. As soon as I realize this, I drop her....not sure whether or not she would survive. Right then, I didn't care to check. Just to leave and get as far as I could, thinking I wouldn't get caught. I thought I'd just start over...unfortunately wishes never come true...”
I frown slightly “How long ago was that....when you ran away..?”
“About 3 days ago.” Ray answers, as if just remembering that I'm standing here and can actually understand him.
“So that's why you came to New York?”
“Are you kidding? All I had was my family and I went and ruined it....there was nothing else for me, no where to run and hind. I didn't have a comfy little hide-away I could curl up in and wait for this to blow over, I was left wandering around, both physically and mentally. My head eventually was down to echoing questions over and over again...should I turn myself in? See if my wife is ok? Try to find Jim and see if I can work things out? Or should I just give up?”
I nod, becoming aware of a figure coming up to me from behind.
“YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!” Ray cries out as he disappears. The figure enlarges and slowly becomes Alan, glaring at me. He seems unsure whether to yell at me or maybe just run away screaming...or to offer help.
His eyes go cold as he voices his thoughts. “What the hell is going on?!”
I sigh, trying to ignore another wave of anger. “Have you done a background check on this guy?”
“What? We haven't even identified him yet and we're suppose to be gathering evidence before we tell the public. Speaking of the public, who was that kid and what happened to your face?”
“Listen...I donno who that kid was or why he attacked me but-”
“Attacked you...? I saw you all over him! So he did that to your face? Come on, Clack, what aren't you tellin' me?”
I groan. Is it just me or is everyone suddenly demanding of my answers? “It doesn't matter. This guy is named ray Richie. Apparently he ran away from his son after committing a murder or 2. or...his son ran away from him. One of the 2...”
“What?!” Alan cries out. “What are you talking about?”
“DOES IT MATTER!?” I yell, suddenly enraged. “HE TOLD ME HE WANTS ME TO MAKE EVERYTHING RIGHT, JUST JUST LIKE YOU! SO FUCKIN' DEMANDING! DAMN IT! We were put into this world with brains so why can't we FUCKIN' use 'em!? NO! Instead let's all interrogate Clark till his FUCKIN' head explodes! I SWARE if I see that kid again knock him out COLD! I don't CARE what the law has to say about it! CLEARLY no one cares about me and-”
“CLARK!” Alan yells, interrupting me in my angry rant. “Cool it, will ya'? We've still got work to do so let's finish it. We'll talk later, ok?”
I grimace, anger boiling within me and my head pounding as if my heart migrated. Trying to keep my thoughts all in order, I nod. Slowly I turn to Alan, then turn away at the feeling of tears warming my eyes and my thoughts running rampant. I turned away...for fear of him seeing me weak...so vulnerable. I whip around and walk off.
“Clark, where are you going? What's wrong? Clark, come back!” Alan's voice whispers faintly in my ears, though I know he's yelling my head blocks his voice as thoughts of my own father make their way into my thoughts. I can still see his blood-shot eyes....spit forming a white froth at the corners of his lips when he's angry. Stupid drunk....that's all he'll ever be to me. I'd always worried that some day I'd grow up to be like him, Hatred on wheels. Although I've never touched a drink, I sometimes felt we were at the same low, helpless level when it comes to anger. Images of the black-haired boy taunting me float through my head. It....was justified to lash out at him...right? He was asking for it. I almost scream, but trap it in my throat. Why must things be so complicated now!? Being bi-polar doesn't help a damned bit, either...
~Kem
“Kem....Kem...?” Cross waves her hand in front of me.
“hu...oh, sorry. Day dreaming...” I reply. Ok, more like a day-mare, but they don't need 2 know that...
“looks like u jus got eat by a cay-yote and barfed back up 4 da vultures.” says a 15 year old with a thick southern accent.
“gee...thanks 4 the visual aid, there, Bruno...” I mutter under my breathe.
“he has a point, Kem...” Cross replies. “u sure...?”
“i'm fine. Cross.” I reply with a sigh, catching the annoyance in my voice a second 2 late.
“well EXCUSE ME 4 caring! I promise i'll NEVER do it again!” she turns her back and stomps off....shit, not what I wanted. I hadn't meant 2 sound annoyed...it just happened....i fucked up but....4 some reason....i can't bring myself 2 admit it aloud. So, instead, I walk out, leaving them all confused and looking from Cross' room 2 the door I exited.
“Kem....Kem...?” Cross waves her hand in front of me.
“hu...oh, sorry. Day dreaming...” I reply. Ok, more like a day-mare, but they don't need 2 know that...
“looks like u jus got eat by a cay-yote and barfed back up 4 da vultures.” says a 15 year old with a thick southern accent.
“gee...thanks 4 the visual aid, there, Bruno...” I mutter under my breathe.
“he has a point, Kem...” Cross replies. “u sure...?”
“i'm fine. Cross.” I reply with a sigh, catching the annoyance in my voice a second 2 late.
“well EXCUSE ME 4 caring! I promise i'll NEVER do it again!” she turns her back and stomps off....shit, not what I wanted. I hadn't meant 2 sound annoyed...it just happened....i fucked up but....4 some reason....i can't bring myself 2 admit it aloud. So, instead, I walk out, leaving them all confused and looking from Cross' room 2 the door I exited.