Harmless (28 page)
Not smart, by any
means, but you get heated, you say things, and they’re out there before you
have a chance to consider the ramifications.
So the patrolmen call
Agent Ackerman over (a.k.a. Detective Schott) and ask if he believes the guy.
The tumblers inside Ackerman’s head start clicking around and eventually
everything lines up. Well, not enough to completely unlock the safe, but he
got at least the first couple of numbers. This was after Berger’s weird phone
call and the fact that Ackerman knew Berger had been following Kerry, got it?
You know what—maybe I
better tell you about my problem before we go any further. It’ll make more
sense that way.
I’ve been seeing a
psychiatrist—Dr. Wayne Adams, if you’re curious—and I’m working on some
things. Mostly for the fact that I was suffering from acute confabulation
brought on by severe stress and mental trauma. It’s this thing where the brain
creates false memories and the person doesn’t know that it isn’t real.
Man, okay, it will
take forever to explain it all, and I don’t even understand everything myself,
but one thing that Dr. Adams said makes total sense to me. “Steve with a V,
you have to remember that when it comes to the brain, anything is possible. Go
read
The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat
. Fascinating stuff.”
The shortened version
goes like this:
Shauna, she was
real. Yes, I had an honest-to-God gut feeling that the plane was going down
and I didn’t get on it. The guilt and the mental trauma were so overpowering
that it rewired my brain. (You wouldn’t want to eat this one with a spoon,
it’s been damaged.) One day, not long after, I see Shayna in the grocery
store, and if you look at pictures—or Shayna’s mug shot—comparing the two, the
resemblance is uncanny, and
boom
, Steve with a V creates this fantasy
world where Shayna and Shauna are the same person.
Shauna’s still alive
in the form of Shayna, and with a simple flick, the guilt of her death is gone,
but it’s replaced with feelings of worthlessness and wretchedness. She was
this distant thing, this bundle of regret, that I desperately needed to make up
for, does that make sense?
Shayna was never my
wife. Smoke and Shade (Mark and Lily) were never my children.
Every single memory
related to my relationship with Shayna was totally imagined.
Apparently they tried
to tell me, but I wasn’t capable of understanding because it all seemed so real
in my head. How do you tell the difference between perception and reality when
your consciousness is inadvertently lying to you?
There were no affairs,
according to Dr. Adams—that was my brain creating a real world scenario to deal
with the guilt it was hiding. Oh, except for that tryst with Donny Row’s wife,
Johanna. That happened in the unaffected part of my reality. To be fair, yes,
it was a horrible thing to do, but, and this is the truth, I didn’t know she
was his wife.
What was I mailing to
Brian Williams? Honestly, I don’t know—I have this empty spot in my mind when
I try to recall, and for all I know maybe they were empty packages. I sent one
last letter to him, asking if he could send them back, just so I could see.
The only thing I received in return,
finally
, was a cease and desist
letter.
Go figure.
Now, jump forward a
little bit, and keep in mind that all of this comes from confessions and trial
records.
It got so bad (‘it’
meaning my constant trips to visit Shayna) that Berger started staking out my
house to keep tabs on me, just to make sure I wasn’t about to terrorize his
poor wife. And,
and
, he was plotting a way to get rid of me.
Enter Kerry.
Berger, like the rest
of us, was smitten.
So smitten in fact
that Shayna thought he was having an affair.
And thank God I
wasn’t really married to her, because she’s got one brontosaurus-sized jealous
bone.
Shayna figured she
could eliminate two problems at once, so she hired this guy to kill Kerry, and
he was supposed to make it look like I did it and then killed myself. A
murder-suicide. How, who knows—those details were never fully clarified during
the proceedings. Conflicting stories, muddled memories, alcohol-induced
forgetfulness. I think he was so baffled to see me in her house that he
reacted on instinct, knocked me on the head, and then ran.
The night Kerry died,
before he’d learned of Shayna’s plans, Berger saw an opportunity, got he and
Schott assigned to the case, then played it off like it was a suicide until he
could find a way to pin it on yours truly. If he wasn’t able to, then there’d
be other chances. I’ll give him a modicum of credit—he didn’t want me dead,
merely
gone
, unlike Shayna.
Essentially, husband
and wife were both scheming to get rid of me at the same time, unbeknownst to each
other.
Shayna told Berger
what she’d done, which basically forced his hand. He knew he had to frame me
before someone discovered the truth and his wife went to prison for murder.
Ackerman, super
sleuth that he is, connected these dots—mainly after he spoke to my parents and
learned about my problem—and sent me into the lion’s den because he figured
that if he couldn’t take Berger down for the federal crimes, he could at least
pop him as an accessory to murder. He figured they’d be so pissed to see me
that it’d elicit some kind of verbal confirmation.
Thank God he was
right.
Are you getting all
this? I can slow down.
When I asked Ackerman
why he’d put me in such danger, he said, “Sorry you got shot. His psych
profile didn’t fit the trigger-pulling type.”
So really, who’s the
wretch here? You can attach the label to about ten different people in my
story, but I’d say Shayna’s the worst.
Shayna’s the real
wretch.
Once I was free to
leave Shayna’s house, Thomas gave me a ride back to Pendragon Castle—the old
post office.
Win was still there.
She wouldn’t move in
with me, of course, but Thomas had a spare bedroom, and his wife, in a rare
instance of generosity, agreed that she could stay until she got on her feet
again.
It took about six
months, but she’s asleep next to me, breathing softly.
Can you believe it?
Like my grandfather
said, “Never lose your faith in magic and mystery
.
”
And I have to admit,
normal isn’t so overrated after all.
These days, I don’t
have to “Be the victor,” but I do keep one single synonymous item on my
To Do List.
The only thing I have
to do, every day, isWin.
THE END
Continue
for a note from the author
So. Steve, huh?
I would love to hear
your thoughts on that guy. He was such an interesting character to work with,
regardless of how strange he was at times. The challenge I set out to conquer
was to take a completely unlikeable character and eventually have my readers
rooting for him by the end. If I accomplished that, I hope you enjoyed the
novel and had fun with him in the process. If I didn’t, I’ll be sure to let
Steve know. He’s working on some things and, begrudgingly, is happy to hear
feedback.
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Throughout the novel, I
took some liberties with procedural tactics and any missteps within are my own.
I had a number of readers and a
professional editor review HARMLESS before publication, but the occasional
oops
does occur. If you happen to notice anything and would like to point it out,
please feel free to send me an email at
[email protected]
.
You can also visit my website at
http://www.ErnieLindsey.com
to learn more about me and my other
works.
Lastly, if you enjoyed HARMLESS and
would like to support the author, nothing is more effective than word-of-mouth.
Please give some thought to posting a review and sharing with your friends and
other readers on your social networks.
Thank you!
Ernie Lindsey, June, 2013
They say it takes a
village to raise a child, and I firmly believe the same goes for bringing a
novel to life. Without the help, encouragement, and support of the following
people, Steve would still be an annoying spot in my imagination, likely tucked
away somewhere complaining about how awful cherries are. First and foremost, a
huge thank you goes to my wife Sarah, who sacrifices more than she should while
allowing me to pursue this career. I couldn’t possibly be more grateful.
Next, my son Jack, who’s responsible for my motivation, much-needed laughter,
and a multitude of dirty diapers.
Thanks to my early
readers, Jason Pafford, Krista Slavin, Ann Bresnan, and Shay Bresnan for
providing high quality feedback and enduring way too many emails asking, “What
did you think?!” And to my editor Ashley, who made this a better book. Get
ready for the next one...whenever that may be.
Lastly, to my
readers, the first-timers and those of you that (thankfully) keep coming back
for more, none of this would exist without you. I really appreciate the hours
you invest in reading my work, and with any luck, there’ll be plenty more to
come.
Other
works by Ernie Lindsey
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