As you could probably guess, my mom was naturally pissed off when I tried to convince her that I had totally no memory of me ripping off the overhead fan.
"I felt nothing and saw nothing." I protested. "The only thing I remembered was that some lunatic was yelling some mumbo jumbo nonsense in my head!"
"You just turned your room into a garbage dump. How can you possibly feel nothing?" She insisted. Her hands were busy bandaging my wounded knuckles.
"Well, except for my head." I admitted. "It hurt like hell all along."
My mom wasn't that pissed off at first, though. The moment she rushed into my room after forcing the door open (the doorknob was smashed off entirely), she stopped right in her tracks. Her mind was apparently trying to process what befell her eyes. Upon seeing my crumpled self weeping in a pillow, she had hurried over and took me in her arms. "It's alright. It's over now." She murmured comfortingly in my ear. I snuggled into her arms and wept like I had always did after a nightmare when I was younger.
Mom was speaking again. "What gave you the urge then? Anything that you were watching, any threatening sounds, images..." she prompted.
I tried to recall. Oh right, the Master Sudoku! I made a mental note to check on it when I got back to my room. Then I remembered that my room was wrecked and my computer was toast.
To mom I said, "I don't think so. One minute I was surfing the net; the next my head started hurting and before I could figure something out, I was already lying on the floor with my dead Pikachu."
Mom stared at me skeptically, as if she was trying to see past the obvious truth I was telling her. "Trust me, mom." I added. "It wasn't me. It was someone else. Someone that was inside my head. Or at least, something."
I could tell that my mom wasn't buying my confession, but she sighed anyway. "Whatever." She had finished bandaging my hand, and gave it a soft pat. "Here you go."
"Thanks." The pain didn't hurt that much anymore, just a dull ache that throbbed on and off under the bandage.
As she trudged off towards the kitchen, mom called over her shoulder. "I'm making some cupcakes. Grab one in the kitchen if you're hungry."
"Sure."
"Oh, and before I forget," Mom spun around and gave me a grim look. "Your probation period had been extended by a week."
I groaned. "You've got to be kidding me. Two weeks of total boredom? C'mon, it's just an accident."
She wasn't finished yet. "And besides, you'll be dishing out cash of your own to clean up the mess you've made in your room. Non-negotiable."
Great. Just what I needed to make my sem break even more miserable than it already was. How much more devastating could it be?
I was struggling to get the two brand new parts of the ceiling canopy fixed together when the doorbell rang. Muttering a curse under my breath, I shuffled down the ladder. I had to answer the door for my mom was out working. The fan would have to wait.
For the rest of the room-wrecking day and most of the next morning, I had busied myself dashing to and fro from the nearby utility shop, buying the necessary part to fix my room. A pre-measured piece of glass for the broken window, some plywood for the computer desk and several other miscellaneous stuff. If you're wondering about Pikachu, too bad, but I decided to dump it. It's too old for me anyway. A few more years and it'll be infested by mites.
Then, I forced myself into carpenter mode as I fixed all the broken furniture manually. Miraculously, I succeeded in mending the comp desk, the bookrack and the broken window without any major problems. Well, if you could exclude the additional cuts on my hand I obtained when I handled the plywood and the sharp glass.
The overhead fan was the toughest to fix. As the original fan was damaged beyond repair, I had to buy a new Panasonic fan. With my own money. I could literally feel my blood getting sucked out of my wallet.
As for the ten thousand dollars? I wasn't quite sure, as my computer had been disconnected from the power socket when I turned Hulk. When I checked my email afterwards, there weren't any new mails in my inbox. Or maybe there still weren't, I hoped.
"Coming!" I called out as the doorbell rang a second time. I could hear Saul's enthusiastic barking. "One second."
I opened the door to a very grand looking Layla. She was donned in a posh red dress that flowed along with the slight breeze. She was plucking off the pair of Gucci sunglasses she was wearing, slid it into her handbag and beamed brightly when she saw me.
"Jarod! It's great to see you up and about again!"
I returned the smile politely. "Of course it is."
Before I could say further, Saul, who'd decided that Layla was a friendly guest after all, was taking a fond interest in her bright colored stockings. His tongue was lolling and it seemed like he wanted to lick the colorful fabric.
Layla had too noticed the creature lurking suspiciously at her feet. "Ooh! Such a cute pup! Lemme guess, an American Cocker Spaniel?" She was about to cuddle Saul when he reared back and gave her a warning growl.
"It's okay, boy. She's neutral. Threat-less. And yeah, you're right. He's one of a kind." I gave Saul an encouraging pat on his head. He gave Layla a disdainful glare before stalking over to her side. Show-off.
"Do you seriously speak to your animals in that kind of language?" Layla tut-tutted as she ran her hand through Saul's golden pelt. He gave a pleasured rumble.
I chuckled. "Only during extraordinary circumstances." Giving her a wink, I held up a welcoming hand. "When you're done fondling with my dear puppy, I hope you're staying for some drinks."
A few heartbeats later, I was showing Layla the way to the dining room. Pouring two glasses of chilled orange juice from the fridge, I sat down at the dining table with her. "So, what brings you here on such a fine day?"
She took a sip of the juice. "Just curious about how you're doing with your recovery. You seem to be doing a fantastic job."
Wait till you see my room. I thought. "Yeah. Everything's healing perfectly. No missing bones, so far as I'm informed."
"That's wonderful." She nodded approvingly. "Keep the momentum and soon you'll be out there running the trails like before." Layla's one of the few friends of mine who knew about my obsession for running. That knowledge came from the incident when I totally freaked the wits out of her when she was taking a late night stroll around campus. She apparently thought I was a snatch thief or something when I whizzed by her in my running shorts. With no shirt on (well, it was a warm night). Long story.
"I hope so." My tone must have been not too bright, as Layla caught my uncertainty and leaned forwards. She laid a comforting hand on mine.
"Jarod? Is everything okay?" Her eyes were brimming with concern. I averted my eyes from hers. For an unknown reason, an uneasy feeling was crawling up my chest.
"Yep. It's fine-everything's fine." I replied shortly.
Layla wasn't Nostradamus' Best Actress of the Year for nothing. "Jarod, I admit that you're good at many things, but lying isn't one of them." She sighed. "Come on, just spit it out-what's bothering you? I'm a good listener."
"It's just..." I struggled to form a confession that didn't sound like a psychotic patient's ramble. "It's hard to explain." I slumped, defeated.
"Try. I'll fill in the blanks if I can." Layla offered.
Why is she so desperate to know about anything that could possibly be bothering me? The thought flickered like a dying bulb in my head. With a shake of my head, I doused the flicker of paranoia.
I was met with a dilemma. To confide in her or not to. Do I trust her? We might not be really close friends, but she was the first and only friend of mine who'd visited me at the hospital. Even Wong didn't turn up. Her sudden interest in me took me by surprise, I must admit, and the abrupt turn of coincidental events gave me suspicions about her motives. But what if she's truly being a caring friend?
Layla must have noticed my inner conflict, but she waited patiently, all the time gazing at me with concern. Blast it! I thought. To have someone to confide in is always better than keeping everything inside. My mom wouldn't be the ideal confidant for obvious reasons, and Layla here was willing to listen. What better opportunity than this can I possibly get?
"Okay. Ten bucks says you'll run away screaming like a banshee when I finish." I smiled grimly. Layla smirked. "It takes a lot to intimidate me. Let's make that twenty."
And so I told her about the incident at Del Taco. How my legs started moving without my permission, and how I'd beat up the guy like I was Arnold himself. Layla listened attentively, uh-huh-ing and nodding at appropriate intervals.
"Mom had me grounded for a week. And as if that wasn't enough, I totally lost control and demolished my room yesterday." I mumbled bitterly.
"Lost control?" Layla's eyes brightened with curiosity.
I gave her a rough account of the chaotic experience. "It felt weird too. Like someone had ripped away my control over my body, leaving me blind and helpless." I shuddered at the memory.
Layla bit her lip. I could hear the gears in her mind whirring. "You think there's a person in your head? The same person who initiated your moves at Del Taco?"
Layla was always a sharp girl. I nodded. "Yeah. Except for this time I totally had no control over my body. I felt nothing. One moment I was gone, floating in a dark void, and the next I was back in a post-apocalyptic wreckage that was left of my room."
"Creepy." Layla admitted. "But are you sure that it wasn't just like, a fictitious vision of yours? I've read from the net about post-trauma patients experiencing the same thing like you."
I was incredulous. I've ruined my room, killed my beloved Pikachu and am officially grounded for two weeks. And now she's telling me that all this was just a bad dream? "Are you doubting my sanity?" I demanded.
Layla held out two placating hands. "No, of course not. But there might be a possibility that your mind had made up the entire thing. You know, our minds could be very deceptive at times with its various imaginations."
I felt tired all of a sudden. "No, it's just impossible that my mind made up the entire thing." I shook my head. "I even have live witnesses. How does that make all of it just part of my imagination then?"
Layla gave a doubtful nod. "Then PTSD is not an option. If I must be frank, your case reminds me of the weird mind-controlling attempt by a doctor named Dr Klaus Van Jauken on several test subjects of his in 1995. His experiment was proven to be against human rights and deemed illegal, and Dr Van Jauken was arrested a year later."
"Holy cow!" I exclaimed. "I'm impressed! Since when were you this into Criminology? And here I thought you were just a promising actor."
Layla blushed. She continued, with just a slight hitch in her voice. "In Van Jauken's case, the test subjects complained of severe headaches and muscular paroxysms, loss of consciousness and brief paralysis."
That perked my interest. "I score...three out of four."
"The biggest difference is," Layla sighed regretfully. "Among the ten test subjects, none of them reported of hearing a 'man' screaming in their head or neither did they bash up things or act on their own."
I wasn't daunted. "Wasn't that like, what, seventeen years ago? Technology must've improved by a mile since then! The experiments they're planning, the methodology and everything-it might be a whole different experiment this time."
Layla was the one to stop me this time. "So now you're saying that you're part of a mind-blowing scientific breakthrough? Like Frankenstein?"
"Yeah. But a way better-looking one." I smiled slightly. To think of myself as the product of a scientific experiment was impossibly far-fetched. But the more I listened to Layla's deduction, the more I was bought by the idea.
Layla rolled her eyes. "A good-looking Frankenstein. What a terrible oxymoron."
"So, how did you manage to know all this? Years and years of intense midnight researches, I suppose?" I asked casually.
Layla's face paled, so slightly that I thought it was the light playing tricks on my eyes. "W-well, if you put it that way..." she stammered. "Wikipedia, several criminology sites and criminal database..."
She's lying. A voice murmured persuasively in my head. "Oh really? You think I'll buy that crap? So tell me, how is that you were the first one to visit me at the ICU when even my mom hadn't been there?" I challenged, voicing the suspicion that I had kept in a dark corner of my mind for some time. Or, to be exact, my mouth challenged. Damn. I really have to teach my traitorous mouth some discipline one of these days.
But no, my mouth wasn't finished yet. It was aggravating the already awkward situation with the closest possible mimic of Layla's voice. "From whom did you hear the news of my accident, huh?"
Layla's expression flickered for a second before regaining her hardened composure. But I didn't miss her unsettled look. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She muttered quietly, averting her eyes.
I could tell she was hiding something from me. "The hell you don't. Are you taking me for a freaking one-year-old who knows nothing but his momma's tits?" I sneered.
Holy shit.
A stunned silence ensued. I could even hear my ragged breathing. Layla, on the other hand, was...too shocked to breath. She could only stare at me, first with horror, then the hurt and disgust began to crawl onto her pale face.
What the heck was that? I wondered where that kind of language came from. I mean, yeah, I've swore countless times, mostly when I was alone or with my buds. But never in front of a girl. And that last part...well, I've never been that vulgar before. Until now.
The silence was deafening. I was trying to come up with some damage control countermeasures, but all that was in my stupid head was static.
Layla was the first to break the agonizing silence. "You know what-what you just said? It actually does makes perfect sense. I get how you feel. You're insecure, unsure whether to trust anybody at all, and even suspicious that I might be the reason of this entire...heck that's happening to you right now. I understand, I really do."
At this point, Layla gave a somewhat hysterical chuckle. I did not miss the swirling tears in her blue eyes. "I'm not mad at you or anything. In fact, I really won't give a damn if you believe that I'm your enemy, but when all of this reaches the point where you have to make a decision-it might be a split second thing, or one that'll change your life forever-I hope you'll make the right choice."
Layla grabbed her handbag and hastily left the dining room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. I was too stunned by her words to follow her right away. My mind was still ringing from the reverberating echoes of her ominous advice. Or was warning a more suitable word?
When I eventually made it to the front door, all I saw was the disturbed leaves that were left scattered around by Layla's car, already long gone.
From under the wooden bench where he was hiding, Saul gave a timid whimper. My poor dog was clearly unnerved by the sudden change of events.
"It's okay, boy." I repeated vaguely. "It's just an itty-bitty problem."