Welcome back to The Listening Room for chapter four of Hypnotic. In chapter three, David’s allies came to the rescue, both inside and outside the dream world. We resume with who he was before the experiments.
4.
David grabbed his lunch pail out of the fridge and put it on the table next to Janine. She was dead set on completing a game of Candy Crush and didn’t look up. Her tousled hair was in a ponytail tucked into the back of a well worn ball cap. She learned the art of blending into a boys club where she neither got harassed nor included. It was this unsexed limbo where she existed as a neither, invisible.
Janine’s elbows were planted on the circular table and bright, flickering colors danced across her pale face. David knew her lunch was either long scarfed down or ignored completely until break was almost up. One or the other.
The break room was a dull and virtually colorless room with grimy Formica countertops in a regrettable light brown and a white fridge probably on extended loan from someone’s garage. One would assume it was full of beer instead of lunchboxes and an aging box of baking soda. Next to the fridge was a silver microwave that no one used because it had never been cleaned.
David laid paper towel down as his place mat, then zipped open his lunch pail and took out a sandwich and chips. Janine exited the game and nodded in his direction.
“Good game?” he asked.
“No, an unfortunate addiction,” she replied grimly. She laid the phone down in front of her.
“I hear that. Where you headed after this?”
“North Carolina. I’ve done it before.” She yawned and swept her elbows out to lay her head on the table.
“You’re just headed near Pittsburgh, right?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s quick. But I’ve never been out there.”
“Really? Like Pittsburgh?”
“Nah, the state.”
She scoffed and rubbed a hand against her cheek. Her nails were short with a thin layer of grime underneath.
“I usually take the longer hauls down to Florida or Louisiana so I’ve been all along the East coast and the South. Never been to PA.”
“It’s like a hour from here,” she said.
“So what? Never had a reason to go.”
“What? There’s Philadelphia, Amish country, there’s farms, Crayola… that’s so lame,” she said.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said casting his eyes down to his lunch.
“I think it does. It’s a bordering state.”
“It’s not a big deal, Janine,” he said, his annoyance ascending.
“Jesus, what other basic human things haven’t you done?”
He widened his eyes at her, squaring his shoulders. Her smirk evaporated like steam and her mouth gaped in an unspoken apology. She was like that, though, always pressing someone over some little thing, digging her dirty nails in needlessly. But when he saw her shrink away, he relaxed. It wouldn’t do to embody a threat. It wouldn’t work in his favor anyway. He folded his hands on the break room table.
David had done this often over the years, kept this heat from burning his insides. It was probably some vestige of childhood he couldn’t place, something he only remembered in his body. He had never snapped thankfully but he had been close many times. It was the tiny cuts that got to him, not a drunk throwing a punch or an ex spewing their heartbreak on the street in front of strangers. It was the mockery, the smug look of victory when someone finally got to you.
He remembered this now and quieted himself. Janine did not want to hurt him, but he had to flip that switch and behave.
“A friend told me he had a college professor who was born, schooled, lived, and died in the same 5 square miles. Sometimes its choice, other times chance. The guy was from PA, by the way and had never been anywhere else.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel weird about it.”
They sat in silence as he finished his lunch and she busied herself looking in every direction except his. Tiring of her fidgeting and expectant, furtive glances, he spoke up.
“It’s fine. But it’s really weird you’re talking since you don’t even have a passport!”
“Oh, screw you!” Janine shoved him playfully, but was mostly relieved he wasn’t mad at her.
“Nah, you were getting on me about not being to PA, but I’ve actually been outside the US.”
He reached into his back pocket and thumbed through his wallet. When he reached what he was looking for, he hunched down onto the table. She mirrored his stance and they stared at each other in amusement like two lion cubs ready to pounce on each other and roll in grasslands.
David slipped a £5 note out of his wallet and popped out of his chair, slamming down the note.
“Bam!”he said triumphantly.
She threw her head back and shrieked with excitement. The raucous between the two escalated and soon they were both on their feet with comedic jabs and pats on the back. Before long, they were stretched out on their chairs, panting and wiping away tears.
This is what he always clawed his way back to: that lightness of forgetting. But he did not forget. Just as that heat inside him flared for reasons he didn’t consciously know, all those tiny offenses piled up ready to feed that flame.
“Oh my god, this is why I should never be on shift with you,” David said.
“It’s definitely a problem,” she agreed.
They both looked up simultaneously to see their break was over. It was time for both to take their overnight assignments for supply deliveries in different directions. They packed up their things and walked together to the docks.
“Just take 95 to 78, then 81. More scenic and less assholes than 80. The state cops don’t shoot radar like in Jersey so you can make good time.”
“Yeah, it’ll be a breeze,” he assured her.
“Oh, definitely,” she said raising an arm to give him a hug.
“Call me when you get there, J.”
“Sure thing,” she replied.
The neon lights of Carlsbad Logistics shone blue light onto the pavement made slick from an overnight drizzle. Some spots reflected multicolored swirls from oil that mixed with the water. It was beautiful and calming. He stood there a while not exactly watching Janine board her rig and pull safely from the dock, but the pools of water and oil awash with light.
It was pitch black along the stretch of Pennsylvania highway. Must be a time of night for only truckers and demons, he thought. The air was crisp with traces of winter but the day would be warm by the time he got to his destination. He opened the window and wafted the scent of deep woods with the occasional sting of manure.
A pair of headlights ascended a hill behind him, rapidly closing the distance between them. He looked in the side mirror and squinted against the car’s high beams. He adjusted himself in the seat and placed his hands firmly on both sides of the wheel.
The car pulled up beside him and two men rolled by in a cherry red convertible with the top down. Their hair whipped around their heads like strange halos, stabbing the midnight air. David glanced over and caught the gaze of the passenger. He made a fist and pumped his arm, signaling for David to sound the horn.
David hated that. He could get that lame request from schoolchildren and hip grandmas alike. In the beginning, he let that request drive this strange twinge of guilt. It was stupid. But there was something in their eyes that demanded it. He could feel it burrowing into him and it twisted his will until he gave in.
Now he looked at the two men beside him and felt the passenger’s eyes burrow in. He didn’t know why, but it made him angry now. The rage formed deep in his belly, rising up as heat into his chest. His body jittered to dissipate the tension.
The driver tooted his horn playfully and the passenger again pumped his arm. Before, he would have wished for some glittering skyline or multicolored fall foliage to give his eyes somewhere else to land, to break the awkwardness. But there was nothing out here at this hour. He was alone, in the dark, with two eager sets of eyes compelling him to act.
David looked straight ahead and sped up a little to get ahead of the car. The pair persisted, pulling next to him and shouting. The passenger scooted up and out of his seat, waving both arms to get David’s attention. The man teetered but was no less determined. They were both cracking up and having the time of their lives. David glanced over again and saw they were young, maybe in their mid twenties, with too much money and too much time. He paid them no mind and kept driving, but his grip tightened on the steering wheel.
The convertible’s engine roared as they sped up, pulling in front of him. His rig was 18 wheels with a load of over 30 tons. He could not play games with these fools. The rear lights blazed red and David depressed the break.
“Assholes,” he whispered to himself. He threw his hands up in disbelief. He checked his mirrors and no one else was around.
The car darted between the two lanes, hugging the center median in the left lane before swinging back to the right lane and breaking hard. The passenger flipped his middle finger and laughed in the glow of the rig’s headlights. That rage in his chest moved up and filled his head, beat at his temples, and locked his jaw.
“Move out of the way,” he growled.
The car came back into his lane for another brake check but instead of slowing down, he sped up. David rammed into the left tail light and for a moment, the driver swerved before recovering. The passenger turned with a mixture of interest and mischief on his face. They slowed down again and the back of the car crunched against the grill.
David could not believe his eyes at the damage to the car. Who would risk that for some highway play? He quickly decided he did not care and sped up. This time the passenger sloshed on the bench seat then turned to look at David. This time the childish playfulness was gone and the man carried a deep foreboding like maybe he had done something wrong for which he would pay dearly.
David rammed them again, knocking the car into the next lane where they slammed into the median. The tires squealed and painted dark strokes against the asphalt. Liberated metal fragment littered the road as the driver over corrected and skidded to the right, into the darkness and out of sight.
In the dream room a tear streamed back into his hair.
The car’s front end tipped into a ditch and it tumbled end over end through the brush. The passenger was quickly thrown from his seat and whacked against the bark of a thick tree, crushing his chest. The driver remained in the car, repeatedly banging his head against the steering wheel, then breaking his upturned glass with one smack. His left arm flailed over the door, flattened under twisted metal during the roll.
The car came to rest far in a field. Fuel leaked from the punctured gas tank and spread before catching exposed and sparking wire. A whip of flame began in the undercarriage of the mangled car. Both passengers lay still in the dark at the roadside.
Ahead, David floored it down the road and did not look back.
David pulled into the warehouse dock and made sure his load was secure before checking in at the main office. He was greeted by a short, burly man with an amiable face.
“You didn’t have to come in. Donny should be outside,” the man said, with his hands planted on his hips.
“First time here, figured I’d show my face. David Fuller,” David replied with an outstretched hand.
They shook hands while they stood in his doorway. The man flashed him a friendly smile, though he didn’t actually introduce himself. David was left to read off a name plate on his desk: Aaron Stoltzfus. The man saw him mouthing the name and broke in.
“Stoltzfus. It’s Pennsylvania Dutch. It’s a common last name.”
David nodded and withdrew his hand awkwardly. He detected a mock sincerity in Aaron that twisted his stomach with a mixture of disappointment and disgust. This would probably be their last interaction up close and the charade would soon be over.
“Say, did you hear about that big accident on 78 in the middle of the night? Last stretch before 81?”
David searched his mind for answer. Was that where he was last night?
“N-no, I didn’t,” he stuttered. He swallowed hard and clasped his hands behind his back.
The man opened up a file cabinet at the far end of the office and rifled through a drawer stuffed to its limit. He flicked each piece of paper he passed. The sound was like a drill to David’s skull.
“These two guys were drunk and lost control. Real shame. Some actor’s kid and the cousin or someone.”
“Did they make it?”
“Nah, both are dead. The passenger wasn’t even wearing a seatbelt.”
“News travels fast,” David mumbled.
The man turned around from the file cabinet. “What’s that?”
“That’s… really sad,” David said.
“Did you see anything out there?”
David drew his lips together and shook his head. The man appraised David this time, with that expression of helplessness those far from tragedy often wore. It was a spectator’s closure to hear the details firsthand that would illuminate some unassailable fact about life or give them an answer to the why. David bit his lip to keep his secret and for that man, those details would remain a mystery.
Aaron finally resigned himself with a sigh before finding what he was looking for. He marked off David’s arrival and load details on an intake sheet. There would be something to take back to New Jersey in about an hour and he would be free to wait seated in the hallway until it came in.
“Well, tragedies happen every day. Stay safe out there.”
“Sure will,” David replied.
It was fortunate that Aaron had walked away and that the hall was empty because at the moment the door closed, David’s face betrayed him. It was a dark mask of mischief with a satisfied smirk spreading.
On a cork board outside the office was an ad for participation in a sleep study.
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