Anthology Complex (27 page)

Not a second later, I have him believe that I actually am insane and now
he's telling me more than I needed to know. My father comes out of the darkness
and tells me that we need to go now. We leave the man there and walk through a
hidden door, and the next thing I know, I'm sitting somewhere with my father
and he's trying to tell me something but I can't hear him. After we both get up
and start walking down a dark hallway, his voice reaches me and I can finally
hear him.

On the news they say the police department has made the biggest drug
bust this year last night when they raided a home that sits on the corner of a
street. With fifty kilograms of heroin seized, it makes it one of the more
notable drug busts since the biggest drug bust this city has ever seen back in
the 1980s.

Along with the drugs, they found money and weapons, and of course a few
people to put in handcuffs and question later. At a press conference, there is
a man who I'm assuming has some kind of dominating rank who addresses the
people and answers their questions. Lieutenant Scott Merils. He talks about how
this accomplishment would not have been possible had it not been for the recent
initiation of a new task force with the help of the mayor designed to improve
the quality of life in the city.

I start to think about Derek and wonder if he is anywhere near all of
this. For some reason the thought reminds me of when Tao asked me if I had ever
wondered if I read a book written by a criminal who had never been caught.
"Just imagine, you're reading a book by a serial killer who never got
caught and you never even knew." I can only hope that when I looked at
Derek, I wasn't looking at a person who had it in his nature to become a
criminal.

I open my apartment door and head down the flight of stairs to check my
mail. What kind of junk mail will I get today. When I get to the most bottom
step, I notice that someone is entering the building. The first-floor man.
Think of the most mysterious person you've ever known in your life; the
first-floor man is at least two to three times more mysterious than that
person. Not because he has the look of a mysterious man; tall, skinny, always
wearing a long dark coat, but because he never speaks. In fact the only time I
hear him speak are in my dreams. Otherwise, he's just another character without
a proper noun.

He is also in the mood for mail-checking, and when I take a glance at
his preferred type of junk mail, I notice he is holding some kind of science
magazine. One of the taglines is "The secret to eternal life is perfect
cell regeneration."

He finishes before me and then disappears. Not a moment later, another
tenant is attempting to open the stubborn front building door with too many
grocery bags in his hands. I help him open the door, but I don't ask if he
needs help with the bags. Anyone attempting to do what he is doing must also
believe he can achieve the impossible without any help from anyone else.

I'm back at my door and I can hear the phone ringing on the other side.
Who is it now. I debate whether I should just let it ring or if I should answer
it. Sarcastically, I think to myself, "but what if it's Kathleen, she may
need my help." She hasn't spoken to me in a while, and I've never felt so
free.

I decide to answer the phone, and after I say "Hello," on the
other side of the phone is a soft-spoken voice of a young girl. I find out it's
Sarah, but what I can't figure out while I'm talking to her is how she knows my
phone number. "Mom told me to call you if she doesn't answer her
phone." Fucking emergency contact forms.

I must have told Lynne my phone number and then forgotten about it.
"Why are you calling me?" That's what I would have asked her if I
didn't have a soft spot for children. "How are you?" She tells me
that she is good today. I ask about David, he is good as well but misses his
toys. She asks me if I could see if her mother was home, and because she is
such a little princess, I do.

Lynne opens her door and I tell her that I have her daughter on my phone.
After she expresses a look of someone who has made a mistake, we go back into
my apartment and she begins to talk to her daughter. The conversation that they
have, or at least the words that come out of Lynne's mouth, they imply that
Sarah simply missed her mother and wanted to hear her voice.

While they are talking, I notice that Lynne unknowingly brought along a
book of some sort, except this book seems to be overly designed yet has no
title whatsoever. I also notice that it has some kind of belt around it, or
perhaps a locking device. What kind of an author would write a book in which
they do not want you to read the contents inside? Or at least want you to
struggle a little bit before you finally manage to open it? I'm actually still
sitting here baffled by the lack of no title.

When she hangs up the phone, I ask her what book that is, and she
laughs. I must be missing something. She tells me that it's not a book, and
before she finishes I realize it's her diary. I forgot people still keep those.
Whenever I think of a diary I picture it being owned by a teenage girl who has
a hard time controlling her hormones, but I suppose even adults of either
gender need a way to reflect on these days of darkness.

Lynne apologizes about the hassle, but I tell her it's no problem. She
explains to me how she just wanted some peace and quiet so she unplugged her
phone and turned off her cellular phone, completely forgetting that her
children or mother may need to contact her. I planned on asking her about how
Sarah knew my phone number, but I decided not to, to avoid any implication that
I am not as aware as I seem to present myself as.

After she leaves I begin to wonder if she is anything like me
considering she keeps a log of some sort. I do it with dreams, she does it with
whatever she does it with, but at the end of the day it's the same idea. Write
this down so you don't forget. Maybe one day, when you're older and you've
forgotten, you can open up these pages and relive the experiences. Your
bloodthinner. The only thing is, unlike me, she probably throws away old
diaries.

Moments later I hear yelling in the apartment next to mine. That
familiar voice that seems to have a soft-spoken inferior counter-part. I don't
have to guess that it's Mary because she always seems to find the strength to
be angry. A door slams shut and now her angry words have translated into loud
footsteps. Stomps, almost. Give them a few seconds to grow up.

As the angry footsteps begin to drown out, the sound of my television
becomes louder and louder as I hear a news reporter speak about another homicide
and how the case was solved less than three hours after the homicide because
the perpetrator was an idiot. Not in those words. Even though the idea of
having stupid criminals may sound great as first, the police that chase them
should often find a challenge as to keep themselves from being just as stupid
as the criminal.

There will be police officers who praise an intelligent criminal simply
because the criminal made them a better cop. If a police officer is lucky, they
will chase a criminal their entire career, and regardless of whether they catch
the criminal or not, they may thank the criminal under their breath for giving
their life a purpose. Or at least keeping them busy.

The reporter begins to speak to a female police officer and she makes
some mention of sentencing. You could almost say a prison sentence is
determined based on the average of the crime's frequency, and of course the
crime itself. If it was statistically correct that each person would kill at
least one other person in their lifetime, then the severity of the punishment
for a homicide would go down. One, because the the crime happens so often, it
would not seem as heinous, and two, because there would be too many people in
prison and there simply isn't enough money too keep them all there.

Imagine the punishment of a homicide if there was only one homicide
every ten years. Someone might call that murderer Satan himself. It should also
be noted that the crime itself holds a large amount of value towards
determining the punishment as well. You won't get a hundred years in prison for
stealing a radio from a radio store even if a radio is only stolen once every
one thousand years.

There was a man who said that political and religious authorities will
often try to confuse the people with over-complicated moral systems so that the
people might actually believe that certain things are more complex than they
really are. To get people in a state of mind where they are vulnerable and
realize that they may need guidance. Sometimes you wake up and assume that you
didn't have a dream, but I've heard some people say that no matter what, you
will dream about something each night, even if you can swear that you didn't
have a dream. You keep trying to remember what it is you could have possibly
dreamed about until you start to make stuff up.

My memory, for the most part, is above average, but sometimes I forget
the smallest things. Sometimes I forget what it is I've done, sometimes it's
what I've said. It was worse as a child than it is now as an adult, but I can
only wonder if it will get worse as I age. If it will return back to
"normal." Does your blood get thinner as you age? You want to avoid
blood clotting, but you also wouldn't want your blood to get too thin. You
already know that many things in life require a happy medium to function
properly.

Chapter 46:

OPERA OMNIA

A few years going in the opposite direction, I had a dream which mainly
dealt with sanity and survival. After a large percentage of the world
population had been defined as "civilized," I had run into very few
others who were considered outsiders, or "uncivilized," and who were
also hiding from the firm grip of the civilians.

Among one of the strangers I'd meet who would later become an ally was a
young boy named Sterling. No more than seventeen years old, no less than six
and half feet tall. On his own after his entire family had been taken by
civilians, he looks for guidance, he looks for someone not to show him where to
go in life but where to find good fruit to eat.

Normally I would travel alone, but on a particular day in a particular
place which used to be known as the city of Cape Town, Sterling saves me, as
well as two others, from being captured by civilians.

If you are living the life of an outsider in the eyes of the civilians,
the first rule of that life for the outsider is to run whenever he or she sees
a civilian, we all know that, but Sterling doesn't run. Sterling, he laughs as
he taunts the civilians as if this were all just a game. As if he doesn't fully
comprehend what is going on. Sometimes a lack of sanity can be the most
powerful weapon, and Sterling proves that as he tears the civilians limb from
limb, one by one.

A few seconds after the last limb is torn, there is a cry for help from
another outsider in the area. Sterling and I rush over, and we find a woman
kneeling over a man. Unfortunately the man's life is lost, but Stephanie's must
go on. Sterling extends his hand to her, and he helps her up. "You can
come with us."

Not only does Sterling invite himself to travel along with me, but he
invites another person who is another stranger to me as well. Things get a lot
more merrier when Stephanie asks if we can help her find her brother. Sometimes
the word "civilian" can be used to describe someone as "not
belonging." For a while I feel as if I am a civilian when I travel with
the both of them.

There's a knock on my door, and as firmly as I believe it will be Tao, I
find my beliefs are incorrect when it is Lynne instead. Lynne tells me about
how Kathleen told her she's been diagnosed with diabetes. I ask her what type,
but she says Kathleen never mentioned it over the phone.

Now Lynne is laughing while she looks at the ceiling. I ask her why she
is laughing and she pauses. It was a nervous laugh.

Lynne says that Kathleen didn't call me and tell me herself because she
thinks I find her to be annoying. Kathleen is more observant than I've given
her credit for. Lynne looks at a small device she is holding in her hand and
realizes that it is beyond time for her to go, and she says goodbye. After she
walks away I am left with the visualization of what used to be Joe's door. A
truly empty home for a man who is truly undefined.