Mr. Ed had always had this credo to not look back and to have no regrets. The bullet train shot out of town and there was a split second when the doubt that he had always considered to be a weakness slipped in: maybe he had gotten carried away.
A week ago, at the other end of town, a guy that had been beaten to an inch of his life was left at the steps of the police station. The cops had carried him inside and asked this man what had happened.
“A can’t say,” he said and he thought: I will die either way.
“You can’t, or you won’t,” the cop said and he looked over at his colleague.
“Just another low-life who must have had it coming,” the other cop says, “What does a guy like that do anyway?”
“Pizza,” the first cop says, “You deliver pizza.”
“….”
“Must have brought the wrong order.”
“Something ain’t right,” the first cop says, “Whoever did this new how far to go. He also had the discipline to stop at that point, which takes skill, practice and a methodology.”
“Maybe there was a second person,” the other cop says, “One to go all crazy and the other or others to restrain him.”
“….”
“That takes someone rich and powerful,” the first cop says, “Or an organization.”
“You’re thinking mob?”
“No,” the first cop says, “They would just have killed him. And leaving him at our steps isn’t much of a message either. I think things got out of hand.”
“Then why doesn’t he talk?”
“What did they tell you?” the first cop asks, “They threaten to kill you? Your family? Spread some dirt?”
“Every man has got something to loose….” the second cop says, “Unless he’s bad to the bone.”
*
Mr. Ed’s train was headed for Martossa: the sleepy town by the sea where Mr. Ed could lay low for a while. From what he had heard it was one of those towns where nothing ever happens.
1
The terror that had supposedly happened to Bradley was more than just an accident: according to those who believed that there even was a darkness lurking from on deep of the ocean floor. There just wasn’t any recollection or a record of fact. Neither was there any memory of this notion that, for some twisted reason, this same darkness controlled the lives and the fate of most people in town.
The thing about the darkness in Martossa, a small sea-side town on the larger land mass, was that all memories of the terror receded as it came and went. As it was, there were no memories at all and it was as if it had never been. There were a few people in town though who were more sensitive to it than others. Bradley was among the few who picked up on the subtleties of its return, but neither he nor anyone around him was able to identify it as such. As it was, it was all still at a subconscious level: there hadn’t even been an eerie feeling that had surfaced as yet.
*
What had happened came to pass many years ago and everyone around him had supposed that he had processed the whole history, and to be quite frank, most people in town had shoved it under the rug, or rugged it as they like to say here. After all, life always has a way of going on, even after the most horrific events.
The only thing that Bradley remembered about that time was that he had been hospitalized and that he had suffered brain damage at the age of nine. What had preceded before that, he couldn’t remember and his parents told him not to dig in the past when he brought up the subject.
*
“We have been over this so many times,” Holly says and she sighs, “And every time it ends the same way. First, we give in. We tell you everything that has happened. Then, all your memories come back and you literally break down. Your mind shuts down.”
“Why!?” Bradley yells in desperation, “What could have been so horrible?” he adds in a more timid voice.
“He needs to face what happened at some point,” Ian says, “He’s sixteen now. It all happened seven years ago. Hell, it’s about time the kid gets to grow up.”
It’s then that Ian sees the look of desperation in Holly’s eyes and he realizes that she really doesn’t want to go through the same thing again.
“Maybe now is not the time,” he says, trying to calm her down, “You need to talk it through with someone who’s qualified, son.”
Later that night Ian and Holly discussed the matter for the millionth time. Bradley had been in an accident and it had left him hospitalized for some time. Accidents happen all the time and for that reason alone it makes no sense why this one would be so traumatizing. At first though.
For a few weeks now, Holly had a nagging feeling that she just couldn’t shake. It was this feeling that there was something else, something that she must have forgotten, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.
“You think he’ll be alright?” she asked Ian that same night.
“Stop worrying so much,” Ian said, without looking up from his book, “He’ll get over it.”
*
Since summer Bradley had started getting those horrible nightmares that had gotten worse to such a degree that it started to effect his daily life. In these dreams he was out in a field by himself, or out in a vast forest, or out on the ocean in a small boat. He was always by himself and he was always without defense or having any means of sounding an alarm. Just before he woke up out of those dreams, there was always this wicked voice that entered his mind: It’s gonna start all over.
It told him these exact words every time, but it was just that the setting of the dream was never the same. It was as if those locations were meant to mean something to him, but in waking life they didn’t. After some time he was being chased by this prehistoric creature and this always was the most frantic part of the dream. When he was finally cornered and he felt that he would be slaughtered, those exact same words entered his mind: It’s gonna start all over.
What had also changed was the fact that he started remembering more and more of those dreams when he woke up. In the beginning he just felt like he hadn’t had a good night sleep, then it slowly progressed to this vague notion that he felt abandoned in some way. Then he remembered the locations, but it was by the time that he remembered that voice, that things really had started getting out of control, and it was also around that time that he had almost had a nervous break down in class.
The school nurse had send him to a therapist in October. He started visiting this therapist every week, except for the two weeks before the New Year. The first visit had been awkward, but after a month things had gotten better in the sense that it was less awkward and Bradley had this feeling that it might help him get somewhere after all. The therapist was a pretty lady by the name of April West. The fact that she was pretty was part of the reason why Bradley didn’t mind coming back.
2
“It’s very hard for me to say what you’re suffering from exactly,” April said, when he asked her in the beginning of December what her diagnosis of him was, “This voice that you speak of, it only occurs in your dreams, but it clearly triggers some memory in some way that you’re not aware of yet. If it entered your mind when you were awake, then it would be easier to diagnose you, but it would also be harder to treat you, because then it would mean that you would have a very serious mental illness.”
“Only little kids and the elderly are allowed to talk out loud to their imaginary friends, I suppose,” he says.
“….”
“Bad joke,” Bradley says, “I’m not hearing any voices when I’m awake.”
“I know.”
“So then what?”
“Something happened in the past that your brain has decided to shut out and it’s something that I believe isn’t in the official records,” April said, “It’s hidden somewhere deep in your subconscious, and I’m of the opinion that it’s linked to some sort of post-traumatic syndrome.”
“Which happened when I was nine?”
“Yes,” she said, “The strange thing is that part of what has happened also seems to have been lost to those around you.”
“The thing that I can’t remember.”
“Yes,” she said, “Basically.”
“The thing that we somehow need to uncover.”
“There’s something in your medical record,” she said, “But I really believe that we need to give your mind some more time to uncover things for itself.”
Bradley looked questioning.
“The human mind is highly complex,” she said, “The reason that your mind decided to suppress what has happened, must have happened for a reason. It’s like a survival mechanism: in a way it blocks things that might lead to a sensory overload.”
“So how does that work?”
“We talk,” she said, “That’s what therapy is: talking. I do believe that those dreams are the key to all of it,” she added, “What can you tell me about that prehistoric creature?”
“You really want to know?”
“The creature might be symbolic,” she said, “It might be the key to all the rest.”
Bradley thought: really?
“It’s really scary,” Bradley said, figuring out how much he wanted to disclose, “Scary, like: your-worst-nightmare-scary…. Sometimes in my dreams it’s night time and I find myself deep in a jungle or someplace else. I look around and there’s nothing. Then I hear this strange clicking sound, like the sound that a bat makes to pinpoint location, except it’s audible. Then I can feel it closing in on me and I feel cold all over. And it looks at me with those scary bright green eyes.”
“Scary how?” she asked, “Do those eyes look human?”
“Definitely: no,” he said, “It’s like a prehistoric predator, or an alien maybe. Its pupils aren’t round, but they are like octagons and its eyelids slid from left to right.”
“That does sound scary,” she said, “How big is this creature?”
“Ten feet,” Bradley said, “It’s bigger than any human being I ever saw.”
*
The sessions continued until Wednesday, December 12, which was the last session of the year. They had unearthed a few more dreams, but they hadn’t learned anything more about the creature. For lack of a better description, his therapist had labeled it The Monster.
The sessions hadn’t shed any light on what happened all of those years ago. The conclusion of that last session read: client constructed prehistoric creature in an attempt of the subconscious to guard access to the past.
The vacation and holidays Bradley played video games, binged on movies and series, he was bored out of his skull, he overate and he got drunk on New Years. Most importantly, he met with friends for the weekends and the New Year. He acted just like any typical teen, all except for what went on under the hood.
3
Bradley shows up on the first Wednesday of the New Year to find out that his regular therapist is still vacationing in her holiday home up in the mountains.
“We have a sub,” the lady at the desk tells him, “I heard he’s pretty good.” The lady winks at Bradley.
Five minutes before his scheduled time, the lady at the desk gets up and tells Bradley to come with her. She walks him to the same office that his regular therapist used on all of those other visits.
The lady opens the door and says, “Mr. Ed, this is Bradley. Bradley, this is Mr. Ed.”
This guy definitely looks different from his therapist. He looks rich for one thing and he looks more like a man who’s in charge of a whole lot of people. He also looks like he has his act together. For some reason Bradley gets the feeling that he has seen this guy before.
The assistant leaves them to themselves.
“What’s going on?” Bradley asks, “Where’s my regular therapist?”
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Ed says, “We’re friends, me and your therapist…. How can I explain…. Your therapist thought it would be beneficial to meet with me…. To talk man to man….”
“Why?” and he thinks: this wasn’t part of the deal.
“I didn’t read your file, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Mr. Ed says, “That would be what I wouldn’t like if I were in your shoes.”
“Ok,” Bradley says, “Then how do you know what my problem is?”
“I don’t,” Mr. Ed says, “And I don’t know all that much about therapy.”
“Then why are you here?”
“My way of giving back,” he says, “To talk, man to man.”
Bradley still looks questioning: who is this guy?
“Sometimes it’s good to talk to different people. It will help you to find your way with the world and to find out how you can be your own man,” Mr. Ed says, “Let’s make a deal: we’ll talk for fifteen minutes. If it’s not working, then you’re free to go and I will make sure that you’re reimbursed.”
Mr. Ed pauses for a few seconds. “Deal?”
“You’re sure that you’re that good?” Bradley asks, “It’s a deal.”
“At the risk of sounding very full of myself, I need to tell you a bit about myself, so you know what you’re dealing with,” Mr. Ed begins, “I’m a business man first and that’s why I like making deals. I didn’t start out like that, because when I was young, my family was as poor as dirt. I was about your age when I left school and ever since then I have worked about 80 hours a week to get where I am today. I started out working in a warehouse and a factory, separate jobs. I saved most of what I earned and I invested. At some point I bought my own warehouse, then a ship, then a few trucks and bit by bit I expanded my business. Invested in other businesses, etc etc. At some point I had gotten into frozen dinners, but the one that has become most successful has been the frozen pizza line. I’m getting sidetracked…. When you’re in business, it’s all about chasing deals, it gives you a thrill, but it also gives you a sense of control.”
Mr. Ed pauses again.
“In my opinion life is all about making deals and the most important person to make deals with besides God or your mother, is with yourself. You have to deal with yourself in the literal sense, in that you need to make the most of what you have got, but there’s also the other sense and that’s linked to that whole idea of the kind of man that you want to be – it’s a kind of deal with yourself.”
“So what’s your deal?”
“Hoehaa. That’s a good one,” Mr. Ed says, “A man isn’t an open book, that’s the first thing I will tell you. My deal? Making the most out of everything, which means business, but also this: reaching out.”
Mr. Ed pauses again to let Bradley think and process.
“In other words: I’m just another fucked up teen that you’re gonna fix in a day?”
“Every teen is fucked upin one way or other,” Mr. Ed says, “So that’s a given and I can’t fix that.”
Mr. Ed leans forward.
“You got to stand your ground, kiddo,” Mr. Ed says in a much more intense way. If Bradley was younger, it would have given him the creeps.
“And hang on for the ride?” Bradley responds in his smart-ass-way, but as he speaks, he realizes that his words sound hollow and almost weak.
“Now I know one thing about your generation and it’s that for some reason you all like to bottle things up,” Mr. Ed says, and he continues in this plotting tone, “When we were young, we flung it all out. I went into the ring and beat up guys twice my size. That’s another part of it, not to let other people, or situations for that matter, let you down.”
“You’re loosing me, doc….”
“I’m not some hard ass old fool: I read the papers and I know that your generation is crippled by anxiety and depression, but do you really think it was any different back in my day?” Mr. Ed asks, “And I know that life is more complex without life-long jobs, benefits and all that crap. What it does come down to is very simple though: you need to find a way not to let yourself get down. You have got to learn how to be your own man.”
Bradley thinks: ten minutes, doc.
Something else happened as well: Bradley feels that he’s letting his guard down, which he hadn’t anticipated. He needs to regroup, but before he gets a chance of reading Mr. Ed’s expression and coming up with another smart ass response, something else happens.
Out of nowhere the wicked voice that had tormented Bradley all those years ago enters his mind: you better get ready, sonny-boy.
Mr. Ed reads something on Bradley’s face.
“Sometimes things have a way of getting worse before they get any better.”
“No, shit.”
“Actually, when things get worse, it’s more like a shit-storm,” Mr. Ed says dryly.
“What kind of therapist are you?” Bradley asks in a scared voice, and for a moment another thought crosses his mind: this guy is getting some sort of kick out of this.
“You knew what was going to happen?” Bradley asks.
Mr. Ed sits back.
“Whatever kicked loose in that head of yours needed to come loose for a reason,” Mr. Ed says, “You had a few clogged pipes up there, kiddo.”
“….”
“In business you always need to anticipate what the other guy will do,” Mr. Ed says, “But you can’t always win: how you deal with setbacks may be even more important. Whatever kicked loose: you have to try to deal with it the best way that you can. Play ball if you can.”
*
When Bradley walked out of the office, he didn’t exactly feel better. The wicked voice had entered his waking life. There was one thought that stayed with him for the rest of the week: does this mean that I’m crazy?
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