Entry #0115: Working Out the Deal

07-20-2009

Bob was sweating, but he replied, “Listen. Two other agents did that job.  We were just supposed to transport the bodies to a different location far enough away, and then bury them – which we were going to do today.”

“So you’re accessories to murder.”

Bob continued, “But now things have changed. If you insist on taking us in, and if we don’t do it this way, someone else will come after you two. You know that.”

Mike swore and shook his head, as he lowered the gun.  “Damn-it-to-hell! This whole thing really stinks, you know.”

“We know. It’s a rotten deal,” Bill agreed.

Mike prodded, “So where are these two stiffs?”

Glancing over at their van, Bob answered, "Wrapped in plastic and duct tape on the floor of the van."

Mike said smugly, aiming the .44 Magnum at them steadily. "Man, you two are in real hot water."

As much as I wanted to, I didn’t interfere. Mike was right to arrest them and turn them in – but at what cost if other agents came later to kill us? Especially the ones who killed the journalists. They were still at large.

Bill replied, “If we don’t do it this way, like we’ve said, other agents will chase you down and kill you both. Most likely the same ones that offed the journalists.”

I just nodded, justified in my assumption. 

“He’s right,” Bob nodded. “The plan will work if we do it right. We’re experts at this kind of trickery. If our superiors think you’re dead, you’ll be off the hook. After that, once we report in and convince them of the scenario, we’ll wait a week or so, then we’ll fake our own deaths so that we won’t have to defect – make it looked like someone murdered us. Because if we just up and cut out, our own people will come after us. We would be on the run, but eventually they’ll catch us and execute us.”

Bill added, “So our only choice is to fake our deaths and disappear completely. Since we've thought about defecting anyway, we've speculated about such scenarios before."

Mike’s eyebrows raised as he queried, “Let me guess, you’ve got two extra corpses lying around somewhere?”

Bob replied, “We have ways of locating other bodies to pick up. It’s part of our job description.”

Mike grumbled, “I don’t even want to know.” He lowered his gun, and I knew he was feeling indecisive now. “This whole thing is insane.”

Seeing a problem, I asked, “But we can’t live our normal lives if we’re listed as dead.

Seeing my name in the obituaries isn’t exciting.”

Bill replied with a smile, “No problem. For the public record, it’ll show as two John Does, unidentified, burned beyond recognition, but we’ll confide to our superiors that it was you two, since you were on our hit list. That's all that matters to them.”

I gulped. “I see.” Then I realized something. "But the other problem is, as a journalist and author, too many people know me as R. R. Stark. I'd have to change my pseudonym, or worst become somebody else and start from scratch."

Bob shrugged and said, "Sorry, not our problem."

Mike huffed, "I don't like any of this.  It stinks."

Bill assured, “It's the only way it will work, as far as I can see.  Unless you can think of a better idea."

Mike said, and returned his gun to the back of his pants."  No, I can't."

"Neither can I," I agreed. As much as it sounded like a workable plan, I was still suspicious and paranoid, considering the possibility their plan was just a clever ploy, which would only benefit them and not us in the long run.

Entry #0116: Getting the Plan Underway

07-23-2009

Mike was standing there shaking his head. I just stood there, hands on my hips.

Shaking my head, I said, "I don't know, I'm still leery about all this."

"I agree." Then Mike said to them, “For all I know, you two are duping us – and this is just your clever plan to avoid being arrested, then Stark and I will still be hunted down. Probably by your other two goons." 

Bob said, “Look, that won't happen. We owe you guys. You saved our lives. And since we were planning to defect anyway, and it needs to appear you were executed by us, it all works out.”

I replied, “It all stinks royally, Mike, but it seems to be the only way out.”

“Fine,” Mike said grumpily. Then he snapped at them, “But if something changes, and it’s obvious you’ve tricked us, I will track you two down and shoot you both!”

Bill replied, “Understood. But I assure you, we aren’t tricking you.”

Bob added, “This plan benefits both partied here. Believe me.”

Mike reluctantly grumbled, “Okay. Get up then, boys.”

Bill and Bob got up, and tried to dust themselves off, but the sand was pretty thick on their clothes.

Mike said to them, "You’ll have to use my truck, obviously. Stick those two stiffs in it for

the set up. Then you two take off in your van so you can report back to your H.Q. Tell them we’re dead.”

I smirked, "Uh, let’s dig them out first.”

Mike chuckled, “Duh. That's a given."

While Bill and Bob went over to uncover the sand around their van, Mike went over to his truck, where the sand nearly filling the whole pickup bed. So with his hands, Mike pushed sand out of the bed, griping that his shovel was buried under a ton of sand, and by the time he dug down far enough and reached it, it was almost pointless to use it.  But he did anyway, and standing in the bed he began scooping the rest of the sand out onto the ground.  With my hands I was pushing away sand away from the sides and around the tires.

Bill and Bob first opened the rear doors of the van, and sand poured out profusely, but shortly tapered off. As I watched, they climbed into the back, and with their hands they dug for their two shovels, but they also uncovered the buried bodies wrapped in plastic and duct tape.  Mike had glanced over and witnessed this too, swearing under his breath. Then with their shovels they proceeded to dig the sand around the van, and especially the tires. They shoveled sand out of the large backend last.

Eventually both vehicles had been completely dug out. Just to be sure, Bob started up the van, and Mike did the same with his pickup, and fortunately both vehicles’ engines revved smoothly. No sand got into them thankfully.

Then they shut them off.

Bob instructed, “I suggest you two start walking back to town and forget about all this.”

Bill pulled a heavy-duty hand-held weapon from the back of the van, obviously a grenade launcher, loaded. For a second there, I knew he could just blast us both if he wanted to, killing us instantly, that is, if their plan was a trick to catch us off guard. But he didn’t.

I asked the two agents, "Are you actually sure this is gonna work?"

Mike interjected sarcastically, “Yeah, it will, because I've decided to fail to arrest them."

Bob or Bill didn’t respond to that.

I suggested, "Sure, but other things could go wrong. Their superiors might be too smart and hard to fool."

Bob smiled and said, "Just don't worry about it. It's all under control. We’ve talked this whole thing out in many different possible scenarios, narrowing it down to what we’re doing now."

“Yeah,” Bill added. “Once you two entered the picture, things just got easier, that’s all.

Made it work out better than we had planned.”

“That’s reassuring,” I said.

Mike grumbled, “Yeah, real reassuring. I could’ve turned them in if things worked differently.”

Holding the grenade launcher, tilted down, Bill said, “You two had better scoot. We’ve got to do this – and make it look good.”

“Alright. Adios,” I waved half-heartedly.

Mike just looked away.

“Good luck,” Bob said.

So Mike and I took off on foot, down the sand-strewn Highway 18, back toward Mulvern. I didn’t relish the nearly ten-mile hike back, in this blistering heat. We were already sweating, thirsty, and parched, but we gave the rest of the water we had to Bob and Bill.

I stopped and looked back, seeing those two agents drag the two bodies out of the van, unwrapping them, and placing them in Mike's Ford truck.

Watching too, Mike griped, “I don’t like this at all. Damn thing stinks.”

We turned and walked on down the dusty highway.

I tried to assure him, “Hey, if it was a trick, Bill could’ve blasted us with that grenade-launcher. But he didn’t.”

Mike grumbled, “That’s not what I mean. I let them get away. And my superiors will reprimand me for it.”

“Oh.”

Mike swore some more.

Entry #0117: The Long Walk Back to Town

07-26-2009

We walked on down the sand-covered highway, further away from Dead Man’s Point, where two dead bodies were being used for a convoluted plot to fake our deaths. Dead Man’s Point indeed!

I asked Mike, “So, is it over?”

He shrugged and said, “I don’t know. If you’re lucky, you’re in the clear. But I’ll become invisible, like usual, and be reassigned for some new mission. There’s still the cold war between the two secret factions that nobody knows about, which will never be recorded in history.”

I remarked, "And we're smack dab in the middle of it."

"Not really.  But it just seems that way from your standpoint.  This has been a pretty minor incident compared to the full scope of things in other parts of the world."

"Isn't it always that way?" I said rhetorically.

Mike nodded. "And like I said, I’ll get scolded for letting those two goons go. Although other Foundation agents were on the ready to apprehend them as a Plan B, if I called them in, the fact is I failed to follow through.”

"Sorry about that.  But like Bob and Bill  said, we’ll be pursued and killed by other agents if they didn't do it this way."

"It's the old lesser-of-two-evils scenario. And I'm sure the agents who killed the two journalists would be the next in line to snuff us out."

"My fear exactly."

"But letting Bob and Bill go will make me look bad."

"Just tell your boss the truth, I mean concocting this crazy plan."

"I’ll have to regardless.  But they’ll send other agents to find those two scumbags eventually.”

“Unless they slip away and disappear – fake their own deaths like they plan.”

“Good luck to them,” Mike chuckled.  “But I can't help but think maybe those two sneaks had a secondary plan.  Maybe they fabricated the whole scheme in advance, in case we caught them."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"They didn't want to be apprehended by me or any other of my agents. They wanted to get away. So they did.  Quite cleverly. So we just got suckered. So it's hard to tell if they actually plan to defect."

"I see your point. But do you think they’ll uphold their part of the deal?  Follow through and fake our deaths?"

"I can only hope they will. But there’s no guarantee."

Then we heard an explosion, we stopped and looked back and observed  Mike’s truck in the distance on fire.  Obviously they used the grenade launcher. We saw Bob and Bill climb into their black van and drive down Highway 18, into the west.

“It’s official. We’re dead now,” Mike laughed.

“Only to their superiors and their agency, right?” I assumed.

“More or less. If they stick to the plan. But as long as our real names don’t appear in the

local obituaries, we’ll be fine. Like they said, it’ll be a case of two John Does to the public. Or at the very least noted on page six of the Mulvern Daily Press."

Then I asked, “It’s that simple a clean up?”

“If Bob and Bill do their part, and my people will tidy things up for us on our end, tie up loose ends. So don’t worry about it.”

"Too late. I'm worried because if my readership thinks R. R. Stark is dead, that screws my writing career. I'm not thrilled about starting all over again with a new pen-name."

"Life sucks -- and then you get killed. Or so it will seem. I'd say it's better to come up with a new pen-name and still live."

"Whatever." I shrugged and sighed heavily.

We trudged on down the sand covered highway, Mulvern still several miles away.

Considering what he had said about “our real names,” I ventured to ask, "Alright, I gotta ask you something. You're here incognito too, just like me, not using your real name -- right?"

Mike just laughed, "Right. Then it'll be like we were never here."

"That's right."

“So, Mike, can you tell me your real name?”

“Only if I kill you afterward,” he grinned.

“Right. I’d do the same for you too, pal.”

We laughed.

Entry #0118: Walking and Talking Down the Old Highway

07-28-2009

Mike and I walked down the desolate highway, back toward Mulvern, Joshua trees and greasewood and cholla cactus to either side of us, and we were both thirsty, hot, and sweating, to which Mike bitched and groaned about, being a city-slicker used to big buildings and air conditioning. You could hear the whining high-pitched droning of a cicada off in the distance, then it tapered off. Then another started up. Very typical of high desert sounds.

Mike asked, “I keep hearing that weird noise -- ever since I arrived up here. What the hell is it?”

“Oh, it’s typical of high desert paranormal activity.” I tried not to grin.

“What?!” 

Then I laughed. “Just a noisy insect that lives here in the desert. Cicadas.”

Mike sighed and shut up after that.

After a few minutes of silence, Mike said, "Good thing John brought you onboard, for the time being. Basically, you were a pretty good partner.”

I chuckled, "Just ‘basically’? What a let down."

“Yeah, basically. Not outstanding work at all. Considering you gave in to the bad guys' evil plan.”  

I shot back. “Hey, so did you.”

“Yeah, I know. I shouldn’t have caved.”

"But it probably saved our asses, since their plan of faking our deaths appeals to me –

remotely, that is. Either that or be killed for real later."

“If I was being my usual stubborn self, I’d call my back-up agents and let them apprehend those two sly dogs.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and messed with it, undecidedly.

“And where are they hiding?”

“Not sure. But they’d swoop down in a chopper and nab them.”

“I see. Well, if you do call your back-up, at least give those goons a head start.”

“We’ll see.” He put the cell phone back in his pocket, for now.

“If they’re serious about defecting from an evil group of New World Order reprobates, I don’t blame them. If that's they're real intention.”

“Yeah, hard to say. Anyway, I've been thinking. I hope John employs you permanently, and I can put in a good word. The Foundation needs intelligent researchers and analysts. If not basic field workers."

I was definitely curious about this mysterious outfit, this Phoenix Foundation, yet cautious as well.  "I'd have to think about it.” I prefer to be a solitary free agent, or freelance journalist, independent researcher, or whatever other terms I can cough up.

"You see. I can recommend individuals as new recruits, but it's up to my superiors to actually hire them, and John is my immediate superior."

“And what if I don’t qualify?”

“Hard to tell. But one fact is, you know too much – but not enough to get a higher classification. That’s earned. Loyalty is key, and the ability to keep secrets.”

"Whatever.” Keeping secrets was obviously not my strong point, and since I tend to reveal various secrets and other juicy info “they” don’t want you to know about in my articles, I clearly don’t qualify. But I said to him, “Well, I've gotten into enough danger and intrigue already. Too much cloak-and-dagger for me. I'll take a rain check for now. "

I looked back and observe the dark smoke from the Ford pickup billowing into the air. 

Pretty soon the sheriff and his deputies would be driving out to the site to investigate. 

But things like this out in the desert took a while. Plus, death and murder and such mayhem are too specialized for simplistic desert cops; they won’t know what to do with such a crazy crime scene. But I feared they would call on the FBI. If that’s the case, I hope those bodies can’t be identified, finding dental records and all. If they ended up as John Does as Bill and Bob mentioned, that was good for us – but bad for the innocent journalists from Barstow. I shrugged it off for now.

Mike said, "I have to leave soon as possible. Gotta go down below since my immediate mission is over.  Gotta turn in my report.”

I asked, “Exactly what was your mission?" 

"Keeping my eye on you, and keeping you out of trouble."

“Fine job they gave you."

“Yeah.  Fortunately, my job didn’t require me to make an arrest, only to call in other agents for that. But if conditions allowed as a last resort, I was expected to do it myself. I should have, once I witnessed two corpses in their van. I should’ve called it in at least, and called the back up agents.”  Mike fumbled with the cell phone in his pocket.        

I smirked, “Except those burning corpses are technically us, getting us off the enemy’s hit list.”

“So it would seem,” he sighed. Then he brought up another concern of his. "It's also eating at me that the two other agents that killed the journalists are still at large."

"What can you do about it?"

"Some of my fellow agents are still looking for them; I hope they find them and apprehend them."

"I hope so too."

Entry #0119: The Other Enemy Agents

7-29-2009

After half an hour of sauntering under the hot sun, something unexpected happened. I just happened to glance behind me, to see how far we had gotten from Dead Man's Point, which was now out of sight and behind the range of foothills to the north, and I saw a vehicle coming down Highway 18 from the west.

Wiping my sweaty brow, I laughed, "Hey, maybe we can catch a ride."

But Mike countered, "We'd better be cautious, just in case."

We both stopped and turned, watching the vehicle approach, and then slowing down. We realized it was a black sedan with tinted windows. That didn't look good.

Mike shot, "Damn! Get off the road!"

Considering we had just passed the spanning dry lakes and back into the desert flora across the land, we darted into the thick of the greasewood bushes and cholla cactus. We ran to a stand of Joshua trees and hunkered down behind them. But we peeked up to see what was happening. The black sedan stopped and two typical dark-clad men got out, holding machine guns.

”Holy crap!" I whispered.

Mike whispered back, "I'm pretty sure those are the two goons that killed the journalists. They're the only other agents in the area."

I half-whisper shouted, "Then they're gonna kill us!"

Suddenly the enemy agents fired their machine guns as they slowly walked into the desert shrubbery. The tops of bushes and cactus were shaved off, not to mention several Joshua trees where sheared in half, and some of the spiny tops fell on top of us. We ran further into the desert and hid behind a large boulder the size of a pickup truck. We heard bullets bouncing off the side of the big rock. Thank God rocks were impenetrable.

I whispered, "So much for our faked deaths."

Mike replied, "Forget that, let's worry about our real deaths."

"I'd rather worry about how to stay alive."

"Right on. Anyway, I doubt if these two even know what Bob and Bill are up to."

"We can hope."

Mike decided to get a little bold, stood up, pulled his .44 Magnum out, and shot back at them. Realizing that didn't help any, he ducked back down swearing profusely. Might as well been a pea-shooter against machine guns.

The cacophonous volley of bullets continued, getting closer as the two goons drew nigh to us. Fearing inevitable death, my life began to pass before my eyes, and I wondered why being a kid playing Army soldier with a toy machine gun who loved war movies and spy flicks didn't turn me into a hardened courageous gun-toting agent like Mike, instead of a cowering freelance writer like I became. I reckon I had gotten all that out of my system when I grew up. Besides, I left my shotgun back in Mike's truck -- which had been blown to smithereens.

We heard the sound of something up in the air. The whirling blades of an approaching helicopter. We looked up and it was an ominous black helicopter.

I didn't whisper but shouted, "Holy crap! We're really screwed now!"

Entry #0120: The Black Helicopter

7-30-2009

The loud whirling blades created a wind that vigorously whipped through the shrubbery and Joshua trees and other desert flora. I saw a jackrabbit hightail it out of there. It hovered there in the air practically above our heads.  We observed a door in the helicopter opening, and somebody aimed a machine gun down, but it was aimed at the two enemy agents, who now fired upward at the helicopter. The man pulled back, but shortly returned to the threshold of the doorway and fired down at the two, who now began running back to the highway. One of them was clipped in the legs as he fell. The other continued running. But when he turned to fire back, the man in the black helicopter got him full in the chest. He collapsed to the ground, blood oozing from his exposed white shirt. The chopper landed on the highway near their sedan as the blades slowed down, but didn't stop. Two other men in grey suits climbed out of the chopper. They grabbed and tossed the dead man through the open  door and handcuffed the one still alive, who struggled of course. They threw him in the doorway too.

Mike and I walked toward the helicopter, knowing we were safe now. Mike waved at his fellow agents, and they waved back. But they had no time to stick around and chitchat, so they climbed back into the chopper and it took off into the sky once again, heading into the east. We continued walking down the highway once again.

Mike explained, "That was the cleanup crew. So those loose ends are tied up finally."

I frowned, "They could have at least given us a ride."

Mike shook his head and said, "We're lucky those goons didn't kill us."

"So are we still dead to the public?"

"Only if Bob and Bill got away with their plan, considering the helicopter is heading in the opposite direction. But I'm sure they'll be apprehended sooner or later, unless they succeed at faking their own deaths first -- if they actually go through with it. It's hard to tell how things are going to develop now."

"As long as we're still alive, I'm thankful for that."

"That's the right attitude."

"But what about the missing journalists? The ones that are posing as our burned up corpses?"

Mike signed heavily. "I may have to tell my people about Bob and Bill's plan, so hopefully they'll go along with it for a while so the Armageddon Initiative will still be fooled. Right now let's not even worry about that. The worst is over."

"Alright."

Almost a half hour later, as we began to see a few houses that resided outside of Mulvern itself, I asked, "How are you gonna get back down to the city without your truck?"

"I'll walk or hitchhike to Victorville. Catch a bus there, head back down below. But since we're both ‘dead’ now, we should completely disappear."

I chuckled, "I've been trying to disappear for the last several months."

"Try harder," Mike laughed.

"I can give you a ride to Victorville, once we get back to my cabin."

"I'd appreciate that." He clapped me on the shoulder, smiling.

Entry #0121: Farewell to Mike the Secret Agent

07-31-2009

The sun was blazing in the late afternoon, and the heat didn’t let up.

Once Mike and I got back to town, hot, dehydrated, and sweaty, we went to the Kountry Kitchen and ordered two large iced teas -- and two scrumptious, greasy hamburgers and fries. We devoured them like ravenous animals and drank the iced tea too fast, and then ordered refills.

After we ate, Mike said, “This damn desert sucks. I don’t know how you fools can live hear.”

I chuckled, “I was raised hear since I was about nine years-old. I reckon you get used to your environment.”

“Or brainwashed most likely,” he snickered.

“Only an intelligence agent like you would think of it that way.”

“You got me pegged.”

After a few minutes, I went to the pay phone outside the restaurant and called Calvin, who snivelingly sought forgiveness and redemption from me, and I asked him for a ride in return. So he gladly complied, met us at the restaurant, and drove us to my cabin. He kept laying on his sob story about being harassed and forced to do the goons’ dirty work, like trashing my cabin, and I told him to forget about it, all’s forgiven, and finally he left.

From their, Mike and I got in my Chevy Blazer and drove down to the Rocket Station, gassed up, and then we drove to Victorville, which took half an hour by way of Highway 18. I dropped Mike off at the Greyhound station.

He smiled, “Perhaps we’ll do business again some day.”

I chuckled, “Not if it gets us killed.”

“Anyway, I’ll call you sometime soon, give you an update, if I hear anything.”

“Alright. Stay out of trouble.”

“Can’t promise that!”

He got on the bus, and that was that.

Would I ever see him again? Would he actually call? I don’t know, but I gotta move on, that’s for sure.

Entry #0122: Updating Leo and Monica

08-02-2009

A few days after that, I called Leo and informed him what happened. He said that I should write a book about it. I told him it’s all in my blog for now. The book may come later. Or just an e-book, I’d see what developed. He was amused that it all culminated at Dead Man’s Point, where he and I used to climb around when kids. No one ever knew who died there or got killed in order for that place to be christened with such an ominous moniker. And ironically no one actually died there that strange day Mike and I and the two covert agents concocted that crazy harebrained plan – only two deaths were faked. But the Mulvern Daily Press is having a field day with the incident – two unidentified individuals burnt to death in an old pick up truck -- another eerie unsolved mystery.

I also told him the second pair of agents who executed two journalists were also dealt with, when killed and the other arrested. So I told him that I assumed the Armageddon Initiative was finished with their shenanigans in the Mojave desert, or so I hoped.

Then I called Monica, told her how the whole thing transpired. She was relieved to hear it, but she warned that we couldn’t trust those two agents, Bob and Bill. She said I should still be careful just in case things backfired. She posed the idea that their little scene of blowing up the pickup with corpses in it could have just been for show, to make us think we were off the hook, faking our deaths and all that. I shouldn’t be so naïve, she said. What if the Armageddon Initiative still sent agents out to finish me and Mike off?

Maybe she was right. I’d have to stay alert for a while – until some dark-suited goons snuck up and tried to kill me some day when I least expected it!

Hello, paranoia! Nice to see you again!

Entry #0123: Looking for Closure in All the Wrong Places

08-06-2009

 I have no idea when Mike will call, or even if he will at all. Sitting in anticipation is not a good thing, especially when things are too quiet now out here in the high desert.  That could be good or bad.

I want definite closure with this whole fiasco, not just blind assumptions. I have no way to reach him, so I can only hope he will definitely call me, let me know it’s all totally completely over – or if there are any loose ends to tie up.

My nerves are still on edge; the anxiety I’ve been living with for this past year has to be neutralized. I’ve gotten back to doing relaxation and meditation like I used to do. That’s helping, but I can’t help but wonder if what Monica said was based on her psychic senses, that Bob and Bill’s plan may not be trusted, or just her own fear. I tried to call her last night so we could talk about it, but only got her voicemail. She was probably visiting friends or family, which she had a lot of down below.

I’m still afraid to step outside, wondering if all is clear, or if some dark-clad goons are gonna whack me. A sniper hiding behind a Joshua tree somewhere outside my cabin could shoot a hole in my head – I’d be dead in a second!

Entry #0124: Dying from Anticipation

08-09-2009

All I can say is, nothing is presently stirring in the desert, no more dark-clad enemy agents snooping around that I can see. I’m still waiting, or hoping Mike will call, tell me if anything has happened that will give me a sense of closure so I can safely go outside without thinking someone is snooping around to snuff me out. Plus it still bothers me that if I try to use my R. R. Stark moniker for my online writing, that would raise flapping red flags for Armageddon Initiative, if they still kept their eyes peeled.

On the other hand, maybe I’m not that important, at least, I hope that’s the case.  Maybe the crazy spiel in my articles is just rantings of a crazy man and no one cares. Not even hit men, especially the ones that get paid for executing anyone who might spill the beans about their secret organization.

Maybe I’m just being totally paranoid and it’s probably safe to go outside.  I tried to reach Monica again, but I still got her voicemail. She could help me with her psychic sense, tell me if the coast is clear. So why couldn’t I get through? I started worrying about her now.

I had to do something, anything, but sit down here in the dark bowels of Area 57, a veritable symbolic form of my subconscious mind that’s hiding secrets even from me! Since sometimes I can’t be sure whether all that has been taking place is some crazy delusion, or for real.

Alright, around noontime I climbed out of the bomb shelter and into the cabin above. I looked out each of the draped windows, peaking cautiously through, to see if anyone lurked outside. I saw no one -- the whole two hours I kept watch at the windows. Bored, I drank a glass of iced tea and munched on Oreo cookies.

I wanted to go outside, and I was feeling stupid for not doing it. But I was being stupid due to my extreme paranoia. If the Encyclopedia Britannica had a picture beside the word “Paranoia,” it’d be my photo. 

If Mike will just call. Damn! The anticipation is killing me! So if he never calls, will it kill me? Hmmm…

Entry #0125: Stepping Outside

08-12-2009

This morning I decided to step outside. I couldn’t live in fear and paranoia any longer. I opened the front door of the cabin, and looked out. It was warm and sunny outside, and I heard nothing but the droning of the cicadas. I stood on the porch for several minutes, looking in the greasewood bushes and the Joshuas to see if I could spot a sniper hidden somewhere. If someone was gonna shoot me, you think they would have done it by now. I walked around the cabin, considering that I should take one of those walks.

Then I saw a vehicle rumbling up over a hill in the dirt road, a dark SUV! I ran inside and closed the door, but peaked through the draped window. The vehicle climbed up the rocky road, past my cabin, and continued on. I only saw a bearded man wearing a ball cap driving the dark blue vehicle and no one else. He could be a vacationer looking for the cabin he had rented -- or could it be one of those goons looking for me? A goon in disguise?

I was tired of being paranoid, but just in case, I decided I better stay inside a little longer, hoping to hear from Mike. I tried Monica again – no answer. What the hell was wrong? Did “they” kidnap her? I really started to worry now. I called Leo, but he couldn’t help, but talking to my old friend was good. He said sometime he’d come out and visit me, an old subject, so I said, “Come out soon!” He said I was too paranoid and had to stop being obsessed about this whole crazy fiasco that was most likely over now.

Maybe he was right. If Mike never called, I had to stop this insanity and live my life -- but not in fear for it.