Welcome back to The Listening Room for the next installment of “Hypnotic”. David made a swift escape after his last test run but finds himself in another prison.
In chapter eight, his plans are set into motion.
8.
Friday came and it was time to set plans in motion. David got dressed in dark gray chinos, a gray button down shirt and black sneakers. He put on a light weight black sweater and zipped it up half way. He smoothed a steady hand over the front. He grabbed a tote bag from his closet which was a gift from Molly. A black bird was stamped against a white circle. He would turn it on the blank side later.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and the coils of his beard poked out from the sides of his face. His hair had also grown in thick on his head. He picked at his tapered Afro with his fingers and tucked the coils in. It would all be shaved off soon.
Before shutting the door, he looked once more at the room that had been his cocoon day and night during his recovery. He had the familiar sense of leaving a cloister just like this behind but knew he wouldn’t be able to place it. The fog was still heavy. There had been fitful nights and restless days spiraling between a sort of fugue state and stone cold reality. It was the withdrawal, they assured him. He was coming off hard drugs and needed time to kick remnants of physical addiction but most importantly, the psychological addiction.
There was one problem, however: David couldn’t remember doing what Molly said he did. He was never on drugs or even been inclined to try them. He didn’t even smoke weed because it made him paranoid. After his last stint as a truck driver, a confusing spattering of memories followed that seemed mixes of fantasy and truth. He was hesitant to say aloud exactly where he’d been.
“Hell of a bender,” he’d say, feigning remembrance of a time that didn’t exist. He came to shaking in that very bed with a man in a suit jacket holding a syringe. He read a “Chambers” name badge on the lapel, but never saw the man’s face. Dr. Chambers had been directing his treatment from afar, always missing David by a hair. He talked mainly to Molly and another social worker, Peter.
One night, in the midst of a vivid dream, David saw himself murder an important man in New York City. It was an exercise in espionage and after he stood over the man’s lifeless body on a carpeted office floor, David disappeared. He pieced together the rest of the plan while he was awake, hunched over books at the library downtown as a cover. The walls had eyes in New Directions. He went back into the same dream over and over until he got a name and location. He became fixated on the idea, especially when Molly suggested that his transfer was a long way off. It infuriated him, made heat rise from his belly and into his chest. He felt it every time he heard Molly’s voice with its tone of confidence and finality. He felt it at the dinner table with a strangely familiar group of people who were somehow odd and frightening.
He needed to get out and used fragments of his memory as inspiration.
David snuck downstairs, stepping gingerly over the creaking steps and boards along the way. They were a simple repair in the large, Victorian-style house, but proved a no-cost security measure.
Gerald, his first link, met him at the bottom of the stairs. David passed by silently and gave him a nod. Gerald would say that David had been in his room all morning. In exchange, David hooked him up with a job after his release from the program. It was no small feat considering Gerald’s past and the continuing fight for parental rights of his son. For his part, Gerald didn’t ask why David was going out that morning.
Gerald was not just smooth, but a good talker. David thought he’d be a good fit for sales. A company employing ex cons was happy to place him with a small chemical company. Gerald would have a chance at least.
The front door closed to a sleepy house awash with silence. In the kitchen, Peter was gathering cereals and fruit for breakfast when a small pineapple toy dropped out of one of the bowls. He looked at it and chuckled, disbelieving. What a strange little toy in an adult center. Maybe a child had left it there at some point but he couldn’t be sure.
The figure was a smiling pineapple with little white limbs and gloved hands. There was a winding lever on one side. He wound up the toy and placed in on the counter. It walked jerkily against the Formica and Peter leaned in to watch it. Then a smell hit him.
Gerald came in just to see Peter leaning up mechanically like a wind up toy. He looked questioningly into Peter’s blank face, then to the boxes of cereal on the island.
Peter turned, crossed the kitchen to the back door, and left without a word.
David’s next link in the chain was Kareema, who would meet him at the bus stop and hand him an unregistered pistol she borrowed from a friend. Kareema overheard bits of conversation with Paula one evening, brashly offering to help. She never forgot that David was the only person to check an abusive trucker who’d threatened her. After David gripped the man’s throat and whispered what Kareema hoped were the man’s greatest fears, the abuser quit at Carlsbad Logistics. The same man ended up a suspect in a series of roadside murders along his delivery routes. She could have been next but David didn’t turn a blind eye. He actually stood up and she felt indebted for that.
They stood close in the brisk morning and Kareema passed a brown paper bag into his tote.
“You even know how to use this?” She asked with a side eye.
“Can’t miss shooting point blank,” he said. David was a mask of nonchalance, but inside, he trembled.
She scoffed. “You are dumb as hell. Good luck with this little plan. Paula meetin’ you after?”
“She’ll be at the house when I get back,” he said
Kareema turned to look down the street. No bus just yet.
“There’s easier ways. Like patience,” she said.
He shot her his own sideways glance. “You say that as you hand me a piece.”
“I’m just saying. This is a one-way street. You go one direction and don’t come back,” she said
He turned to face her. The familiar bright smile she was know for was now shrouded in concern. Kareema crossed her arms against the chill.
“I need to figure out what happened to me and I can’t do that here or anywhere near these people.” He looked in the direction of the house.
“I understand. But what if you get caught?” she asked.
“At this point, I feel dead anyway. And there will be no love lost for the senator. He’s a coward anyway,” he said.
“A coward who deserves to die?” She asked.
“You’re a part of this, Kareema, an accessory. Don’t get high and mighty on me now,” he warned. His jaw clenched.
“Planning and really doing something are the same things, I guess. Just wonder how this helps the rest of us,” she said.
“I won’t forget about you. Chambers been holding your release up for almost a year, hasn’t he?”
“Yeah,” she said quietly.
“Once I’m out, I’m coming back for you. I swear it,” he said.
Kareema swiped a tear away with her fingers and cleared her throat. She had people and a life to get back to. She embodied her advice, doing what she was asked and remaining patient, but she was being used. Long term, well adjusted residents made the program look successful. While the others also helped the center’s image, she had been there the longest.
The bus came bobbing down the street and they felt the rush of the air breaks when it stopped in front of them. They boarded and sat on opposite sides of the near empty bus.
The announcer heralded the next train pulling into the station. David boarded a rapidly emptying train and counted the four stops to his destination. He’d get off north of the senator’s office, then switch trains to go in another direction. He was going opposite the midtown rush which made it a bit easier for him to be identified. That was good. He wanted to be seen or for people to think they’d seen him heading into another borough. No one could escape surveillance, so you might as well show up somewhere.
One day his movements might be scrutinized and making a B line for the senator was not a good move. Once he’d pinballed around the city, he’d get off a few blocks from the office building. Once done, he would leave at the nearest subway opening to go back uptown, then take a different route home.
At the next stop, Peter, stepped into the car. David stiffened and tried not to panic. Of all the people to see today, a program counselor or more accurately, a narc was feet away from him. Before David could rise from his seat and slip to the other end of the car, Peter unzipped his hoodie to reveal a bright yellow square. David slipped back down into his seat and his body went slack. His head leaned to one side and he fell fast asleep.
Peter stood up and walked over. His eyes were focused, yet far away. He loomed over David, watching his head bob lazily to one side. Peter leaned over and whispered into David’s ear.
The rocking of the train coaxed him awake right before the next stop. He sat up straight and apologized to the woman he’d been leaning against. She scowled and clutched her shopping bag tighter. He gripped the rail next to him and hoisted himself up, still swaying from the train’s motion. Despite the sleepy fog, he wasn’t tired, but quietly energized.
Instead of his crisscross plan, David diverted from the path to the office building, traveling further downtown now, to a short street that was the closest thing to an alley he could get in the city. A man was waiting, leaned against a brick facade in a black bomber jacket. When he saw the tote pressed against David’s side, the black bird in full view, he approached.
He motioned for David to remove his bag and David handed it over. The man rested the bag between his feet and removed his jacket, while David removed his sweater. They swapped without a word between them and David patted the chest of the bomber jacket to feel a long barrel underneath.
The two stood face to face. Their scruffy beards, brown skin, and coils in need of a shape up were near mirror images. Any witness would do a double take. The man nodded and walked away to continue David’s circuitous route.
Senator Langston Filmore ambled into his office with a briefcase in hand. He greeted his assistant warmly as he unlocked his office door. He set down his briefcase next to his ornate wooden desk, which was framed by large windows overlooking a bustling city.
“Senator, you have your first appointment in 15 minutes,” the assistant said as she leaned through into the office doorway.
“Yes, thank you, Gianna. Can you get some coffee brewed?”
“Sir, you could just get a Keurig,” she said with a hint of snark.
“Come now,” he chided playfully. “It’s bad enough I don’t have my French press. I can at least have a dignified cup of coffee in the morning.”
Gianna sighed.
In the reception area, she pulled a hermetically sealed container of coffee beans from a lower cabinet and put three scoops into the coffee grinder. She went about the rest of her tasks automatically, snickering to herself that she’d moved up to a glorified coffee girl.
Vincent slipped into the reception area, his steps muffled by the thick burgundy carpet. He paused, waiting and watching the woman move about her tasks. Gianna was pouring the ground coffee into the filter and just shut the top of the coffeemaker when a sound came from behind her. A low whistle came in a familiar melody. The melody continued and her arms fell to her sides.
“Turn off the security cameras, Gianna,” Vincent said, his voice just above a whisper.
She walked silently back to her desk and clicked her mouse to disable her screensaver. She logged into her account and navigated to the security controls. She had convinced the senator to adopt this one modern thing because he could monitor the office from his phone. She went to the program settings and switched the feed off, opting to not notify connected users. Then she sat at her desk and typed away as the coffee brewed.
“You’re going to forget about what you just did, Gianna. When I count to three, you’ll turn to me and say ‘Good morning,’ then walk me into the senator’s office. Don’t forget the coffee, though.”
She slowly nodded her response.
“One… two…” he said, leering. “Three!”
Gianna turned to him with a bright salutation.
David knew that there was a security camera in the senator’s office only operable from the inside, so the assistant could not disable it. But he also knew that upon entering the office, he would be blocked from that camera by a campaign sign propped against the wall. He would point, shoot, then close the door. Certainties. His chest swelled with anticipation. The mission would soon over.
The senator’s assistant had stepped out on a break just as David entered the reception area. He crept along the carpet with noiseless steps to the office door. If he squeezed the doorknob and turned it slowly, the click of the lock wouldn’t sound. Okay, here goes, he though. But before he could turn the knob, a hand clapped against his wrist. He gaped at the small but firm hand and followed the arm up to a woman with amethyst eyes.
“Mother…”he whispered. “What are you doing here?”
David faltered and eased his hand off the doorknob. She kept hold of his wrist and led him back onto the landing outside the reception area, a heather gray sweater billowing behind her.
“I thought, I thought…” he started.
“The mission is over. We found a much more elegant solution that didn’t involve so much fuss,” she said.
“The Alchemist,” David said, pleased.
Her answer was a slowly spreading smile. He didn’t know what overtook him, but he leaned in and hugged Mother tight. They rocked together for a few moments.
“It’s time to leave,” she said. Mother reached into her pocket and pulled out a train ticket and a wad of cash. She planted it in his hand and closed it. David stuffed it into his jacket’s inside breast pocket. Then she handed him a key on a length of thin black leather.
“The plan remains the same. Make that stop that Carmine told you about. You know the one, “ she said.
It was a storage space in north western Jersey. David would find everything he needed there. He just knew it. Maybe Carmine had survived after all and he’d see him again. Maybe Sam too.
Mother interrupted his thoughts, turning her palm face up and curling her fingers in a “give me” motion. David pulled the gun from his breast pocket.
“You won’t need this. You could get in a lot of trouble if anyone caught you,” she said smiling. She went over to the secretary’s desk and planted the gun in a lower drawer.
“Get what you need, then take that train ticket and leave. Don’t come back here. And don’t answer any wanted ads,” she said grimly.
“Thank you, Mother,” he said. He welled up with gratitude.
She brushed aside his coils and roved her eyes around his face like someone who wanted to commit every feature to memory. They embraced again and he held her tight. Mother broke his hold and her eyes bore into him in a way that calmed him.
She squeezed his forearms. “Now go!”
He kissed her forehead and walked briskly down the stairs. He threw open the door to the building and strolled to the nearest subway opening, looking more purposeful than rushed.
Mother stood for a moment longer in the landing and slowly exhaled. She pulled a small white container out of her pocket and opened it up. She leaned her head over and swiped a finger into each eye, one at a time, plucking out the amethyst contact lenses.
She stared into the reception area to the closed doors of the senator’s office. She was the unseen hand that kept it closed.
Vincent sat with Senator Filmore, tapping his foot against the expensive area rug. The Senator sipped freshly brewed black coffee as he launched into a story about his childhood upstate. The Catskills were not mountains, but had actually been a massive sea that eroded the plateaus into peaks. And so on and so forth, he went, naming charming towns along the Hudson River his family knew well.
Vincent planted his chin in his hand, his eyes glazed over as the senator’s tales continued. He excused himself a moment and peered out the door to find the assistant typing away.
Vincent checked his watch, waiting and waiting in a silent rage.
Share this post