This is my psychiatrist's couch. Take from it what you will.
But do leave a note.
I still am a late middle aged former government worker marking time until the cliff.
Short Fiction, Doggerel and Insensitive Opinion are spoken here.
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Thursday, February 26, 2015
Out of the Wilderness (Blogophilia 1.8)
Sleep was futile.Energy bounced through him and then back out again. He was more alive
than he had ever been. Rushing blood and breathing were the white noise on
which he worked. Carefully, he attached the last of the metal threads to their
connectors. It has to be just right.
What was the guy’s name the priest mentioned the other night,
John? Yeah, wandered the wilderness for the 40 days, with locusts and honey and
desperation was his lot. He escaped only to bow to something greater. It was a concept he was both familiar with and
hated. HE was the greatest.They will
bow to me, not the other way around.
Lucifer Light was what they called him in the hospital. Keep the light away from him, he’ll burn
you! Maybe. But they weren’t the pigs. They were their keepers and
servants. Not worth the time.
Who needs a loin cloth or a tunic to prove greatness?Expanding gases and shrapnel will voice his arrival out of the wilderness, and it will make his way straight.
The highball glass sat on table about half full. Silhouetted with the square bottle and row of crackers, it was a Still Life
waiting to be painted. The gray and black with tinges of amber. Absently sipping the warm liquid, Murray
became lost in his thoughts. Carol would nag him tomorrow, pointing out the
liquor made him half of himself, closed up and stoic. Not the fun loving man
locked up in its prison. She was right, she always was. He wasn’t a mean drunk,
just needed to be alone. But putting it aside would have to wait until the axe
falls, hopefully somewhere other than this house.
Beezelbub was going to lash out. But without a little more
information, there was no probable cause for a search warrant. Since that drug
raid that left the old lady dead, the process had been tightened up and you
needed a real conspiracy. The where and how was what the Psychic couldn’t
provide them, only that there would be no unfinished business. It wasn’t a dead
end lead, just one without a hook to go forward. No method or a place, it would be a fishing expedition.
The Lawyers would love that.
Was this personal? It sure seemed like it. Allen was the
right personality to blame anyone but himself for the fire, or for any other
misery that might have befallen him. An fuzzy image of him jumping over the
table bubbled up.Pain flowed in his cheek as the broken teeth clamped
down. Killing the messenger? In that twisted mind, surely that was what was happening.Smacking the Hound of Hell in the head with a pair cuffs got him off. Allen was screaming
that he would avenge his cousin’s death. The last image of the hogtied form being
carted off faded away.
Yeah, that grudge no amount of drugs would have erased and
he had twelve years to hone it.
Atlanta PD had been as a courtesy. If something did turn up
on Allen, they would be the ones doing the searching. The call had actually been
fruitful, though. They had been tipped
by a worker at a coffee shop about Allen’s behavior. He would come in with his
laptop and spend hours fiddling with his settings before seeming to do real
work. It confirmed in Murray’s mind that a direct IP trace wasn’t going to
work.But it was a small piece of the
puzzle. There just wasn’t quite enough to justify either a warrant or
continuous surveillance to glue those pieces together.
The amber liquid twinkled in the moonlight, beckoning at
least the escape from the reality of his thoughts. Picking it up, the cold blue
eyes stared intently to see if this crystal ball might give a light in the fog.
The interior silence gave up nothing and no one. There would be no snitching
from inside his mind. Chiding himself on thinking it would, he slugged the
The picture was a whim. Monkey Dirty Harry just struck him
funny and he just had to share. Kicking a hornet’s nest was fun. He had learned
to run in a zig zag pattern to confuse the lead insects.The lead pigs would be looking for him like
the hornets. And maybe they would find
him before show time, but he didn’t think so. The trail to him was muddy and
obscure and the bush that he hides in is not visible to the naked eye.
Absently, he packed the remaining pipes and fittings into a
storage container. Exhilaration tinged with a bit of dread filled him. Sarah
would be avenged and those pig bastards that had ruined his life would be dead.
Had he gotten all the wire?
Surveying the apartment one last time, it appeared like it
had never been occupied. Good. It would soon be all over and he would not be coming back.