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| Is Johnny There? |
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Average Rating: 4 (1 ratings) |
"Is Johnny There?" - By Killer Klown
Monday, 23. April 2007, 14:50:47
Sheila ran for what seemed to be hours and hours until she reached her destination. Every few second she peered over her shoulder to make sure that there was no one there. She had to look and see for herself, for at this point, she was deafened by the sound of her own heartbeat banging in her ears. She looked again, and ran on. Sweat poured into her eyes temporarily blinding her. As she reached the edge of the woods, she slowed until she entered them foot by foot. She cut through the paths that the children who went to Carter Elementary School went to and in no time at all wound up on the outskirts of Route 26. Looking both ways, she crossed the street. It was Saturday. No one was going to be in the industrial park. She made her way down the backsides of the buildings that were all along the main road, hoping to go undetected. No cars, no movements, not even Steve the Pallet Guy working for Benzi Motors. He usually worked Saturdays, but his Dodge SUV was not there today. It was almost too quiet.
Sheila reached the destination that she had hoped for: Millen Behavioral Health Center. She walked breathless to the front door and struggled with the keys. Sliding one in the lock she quickly popped the lock and entered the building. It was a huge building, much like a doctor's office. It had rooms for group therapy, a kitchen, and lots of offices for the case managers, and a magnificent dining room. Looking all over for any sign of a weekend guest, she slammed the door shut and locked it tight. A smile began to wash over her face. It was the weekend now, and if no one was here now, it would most likely be empty until Monday. Long enough, she thought. Sheila felt that she did a wonderful thing by leaving her car back at the quarry across from the Regal Bar and Grille. No sign of a car in here. She walked slowly down the long hallways, which were now pristine and shiny from the Friday night buffing that they received at the hands of the cleaning crew. In the distance, Sheila heard a phone ringing, but it was the mainline to the agency and not a direct call. As Sheila walked the hallways, she double checked the windows and the doors, making damn sure that they were locked. The rings stopped. Voicemail must have got it, she thought. Sheila returned to the main hallway and stood there for a moment confident that she had the entire place sealed up - she was safe.
Her office was directly across from a pair of double doors that were glass and gave a wonderful view of the parking lot. Should a vehicle enter the lot, she would have a bird's eye view of it. With key #5, she unlocked her office door and entered the office. She shared the office with another case manager named Carlo, who was an intern, and loved the job a little too much. Sheila was what those in the mental health field commonly refer to as "burnt out", and said many times over that she had little patience for the patients. The phone in the front office rang again. Probably someone that needed help with a crisis, she thought. Sheila clicked on the IBM and plopped down in her chair. Nothing to do now but wait. Wait until Monday.
Sheila stayed in that first position for over an hour until she received an impulse to go and get a snack. She directed herself to the vending machines and produced a wet dollar, soaked from all the running she did through the woods, and being tucked against her pants. After retrieving the Butterfinger, she heard the main phone again. One ring - then it stopped. Again. And yet again. The person was clearly calling, letting it ring once, and then immediately calling again. Continuing on to the office, she let herself back in after scanning the premises. The phone ceased in the background, yet the silence began to thicken, and then the phone rang again. Direct line to her extension this time. And again. Again. Sheila could feel the pounding of her heart as it kicked into high gear, and her blood was on fire. Was she going to answer it? Did she want to know who was on the other line? Who knew that she was here on Saturday? She was about to find out.
"Hello?" Sheila greeted the caller. Silence and some static followed from the other end.
"..."
"Hello?? Is anybody there??" Again she had dead air on the other line.
"HELLO!!?? IS THERE ANYONE THERE??!!" she yelled. Sheila began to hear a whirring, electric sound emanating from the other end of the line. It sounded much like an electric can opener. Thinking about it as the sound played, she realized in horror what that sound was. The thought of it was enough to take the air out of her lungs, and steal her ability to speak. It couldn't be. HOW could it be? All Sheila could do was to hang up the phone. With tears streaming down her cheek, Sheila clicked off the phone. If that was a person, could they have known? It was just a fax machine that got the wrong number, she thought. Curled into a mass on the floor under her desk, Sheila hid herself from the view of the world.
What seemed like hours later, she picked herself up from the floor and came out from under the counter. Wiping her eyes of the tears, she looked outside in time to see a red van pull around the corner and into the parking lot. The person driving obviously had a purpose. The cleaning crew had arrived.
Sheila walked quietly out of the office and into the group therapy room. In one of the makeshift kitchens that they have is a stairwell that is hidden in a closet. It is kept from the view of the clients in case they decided to go upstairs to the attic and play house. Not that a few of the staff members hadn't done that before. Outside, the cleaners unpacked their things and began to walk towards the building. Fumbling for keys they popped the lock and began to head into the building. Sheila had moved herself to the attic and quietly closed the door. The cleaners were not allowed to enter the attic, and they didn’t know that it existed.
Suddenly, Sheila realized that there was no noise from the buffers, and there was no squeak from the carts on the floor. She emerged from the attic, and slowly peaked around the room. Nothing. No cleaners, no equipment, no carts. Sheila called out to them expecting an answer in Chinese, but there was nothing. She slinked out into the main hallway and risked everything by exposing herself in full view. Looking out into the parking lot, she saw no van, no cleaners, nothing.
Then the phone rang again. Line 3, which was her direct line. Perhaps, it was the cleaners leaving a message, but they don’t have the direct line number. Walking to the phone in terror, she picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" she asked.
" Yes, I'm looking for Johnny? May I please speak to Johnny?" the caller asked. Sheila's hair on her entire body stood up on end at the sound of his voice. Johnny?! How could she say?! Why had someone called here looking for Johnny?!
"Who are you?! I want to know right now, damn it."
"I'm sorry, I was looking to speak with Johnny. He's not in group today?"
"He's not here today, mister. And I don’t know who you are but you stay the hell away from him."
"I thought he was there today, that's too bad. He's not there, but I will be." He hung up. Sheila screamed an obscenity at the top of her lungs at him, but he was gone. Her mind went into warp drive. He said that he'd be here, he asked for Johnny, and he knows I'm here, she thought.
Sheila ran from the office sprinting to the kitchen, throwing open the double doors that lead to the main part of it. Taking the secret keys off the wall, she opened a cabinet above the stove and got the sharps kit. Inside she took the largest knife in the case. A Halloween special. She then locked the sharps up, and began going room to room checking the locks and windows. All secure.
Sheila waited for signs, listening to every sound that she could. The phone rang again. This time it was the main line and not hers. She reached down and picked the receiver up from the desk . "...Johnny wants to send you a message. Ha!" The sound of thunder and exploding glass ruptured her ears as she felt the hundreds of little pellets of glass cover her. Ducking for safety under her desk, she turned to see that something had been thrown through the window that she was standing next to in the front office.
It was slightly grey and steamed a little bit. Crawling on her fours she looked closer. A battery- Johnny's battery- was tossed like garbage through that glass window. Crying, she stood and started walking backwards when another explosion came through the window. This time it was something bigger. Tubes were attached to it. She looked closer. It was Johnny's suction machine. Giving time for clearance, she stood and began to run down the hallway towards her office. Just before she reached her office door she heard the sound of feet on the deck outside of the door behind her. Turning she froze with terror at what she saw. A tall, heavily built man, dressed in a one piece sweat suit, with a hood pulled over his head running from a sprint, was holding Johnny's electric scooter, and released it sailing into the glass double doors. It was as if two claymore mines had exploded at once. The scooter sailed past Sheila's head, crashed into her office door, breaking it and sending it to the floor. The double doors were now shattered completely out, and there was hardly even a frame left to them. Picking herself up off the ground Sheila ran into the therapy room, closing the door. She took a seat in the chair, and sobbed loudly. Looking up from her hands, she saw him. The hooded man, standing across from her. He had no face, it was all white and shiny as if there was white nylon pantyhose over his face. He stood motionless watching her.
"It's time that we talk." He said. His voice was loud, clear, and purposeful.
"Who are you?"
"My name is not important to you now, what is important is that you confess to this group. I believe that you own them all an explanation."
"An explanation!!!??? You were the one that tried to kill me." The man then ran over to her.
"If I wanted to kill you, I would have left you in that lobby with your brains all over the wall, or the support staff would have had a joy seeing you nailed to a wall with your intestines removed. Do you like that?"
"Why are you doing this? What did I do to you?"
"You have all the answers Sheila, the group just needs to hear it."
"What group? There's no one here, just empty chairs."
"On the contrary, the group that I speak of are not in this room, but are listening right now."
"A hallucination? Is that what this is?"
"How can someone so deep in regret have no recollection of the event?"
"I don’t know what you’re talking about?"
"Do you think that no one knew??!! Do you think that they are all so stupid?! He loved you, Sheila! He needed you, you were his link to life." Sheila dropped to her knees crying loudly.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..."
"What Sheila? What are you sorry for, confess to the group."
"...I'm so sorry, Johnny. I'm sorry that...I..."
"..Yes?"
"...killed him. I couldn't stand taking care of him anymore. He ruined my life, I had no life. The burden was too much and I killed him." The man moved behind her slowly, and produced a gun.
"Your confession has made you strong, and it will not harm you anymore. Your spirit is free now, by your admission. But now you must end it, Sheila. It is time for you. Take the gun and end it."
"I need to end it, to stop the pain, the lies. I can’t carry it no more."
"Liberate yourself, in front of the group. End the torment. Everything will stop, Sheila."
Sheila looked to the man and took the pistol that he held out. Sobbing Sheila put the gun to her temple. She stood, and began to walk around the group circle.
"I'm so sorry all of you, I know that you loved him, and I killed him. I'm so sorry."
"End the sequence, Sheila. Take the next step." Cocking the hammer back, she was prepared for the sudden pain that will follow the muzzle blast. She felt the cold steel press against her head, and thought of the place she may go after. She thought of the bullet passing through her brain. She thought of Johnny.
"..I sleep."
"..No." Sheila turned and lifted the pistol to the man's head and fired two successive rounds into his head. Two large holes were made in the white of the man's face, which began to spill blood. His legs went out from under him, and he fell backwards to the floor. His white face began to fill up red. Sheila walked to him and pulled his hood down, and lifted the fabric he had covering his face. Sheila was expecting a human being or a person that she knew. Instead, there was only dirt. She began to walk out of the group room, so tired. She was very, very tired. Not wanting to go back to the office, she walked to the bathroom, opened one of the stalls, and sat next to the toilet. She leaned her head against the cool wall of the stall, and felt relief.
"..I'm done here, Johnny. I couldn’t take care of you. That body of yours was a prison for you. I honestly in my heart did not kill you out of hatred, but out of redemption. Your redemption. It is not fair to you that you live like that, or that I live like that. Never knowing when that day may be. For now, I will sleep. Tomorrow, I will find my own redemption. If there is one for me...if there is one for me." Sheila closed her eyes and drifted away...
Prologue-
The clinic's psychologist was the first one on the scene. As he put his key in the lock of the clinic, he popped it and entered. All was in order, and the cleaners did a wonderful job on the floor. He put his things down and went to open the rest of the clinic. Walking down the hallway, he saw the broken glass, and a battery.
"..In the pre-dawn hours of this morning, a community is grieving. Police this morning responded to a call from a staff member at the Millen Behavioral Health Clinic, who reported that he saw signs of a break-in. Shortly after the police arrived, they discovered twenty-three year old Sheila Pascal, a social worker at the center, dead in the facility's bathroom. Cause of death has been ruled a suicide, which puts a chilling period at the end of another grisly discovery this morning. 17 year old, James Pascal, was found earlier this morning after the young man's uncle and aunt tried to reach the Pascal residence, and got no answer. A Wellness Check was performed by police who found Pascal shot to death in his home. More information about the crime that has rocked this small community will follow shortly..."
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Filed under:
Literature
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February 27, 2008, 1:55 am |
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1 Comments
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| Calico |
Aug 25 2009, 05:45 PM UTC |
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I like this one, Killer Klown! It's very nicely written. It didn't end up playing out the way I was expecting. I thought that it would end up that she was actually a patient!
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