Author's note: This is my submission for Bullet for My Valentine contest.
Have you ever wished for something? Of course you have, everyone does. Most of the time it is something like a million dollars, or a hot wife, but there is another wish that most people have. A wish to change something from the past.
It seems like most people would like to be able to forget something they had done in the past. Something that fills their life with regret, sorrow, or even just a longing for a chance at something they never did. Think about it for a second, and I’m sure that you’ll see that there is at least something that you would like to change. I know that I wanted to forget something.
The thing is, I was granted that wish, so I can’t remember exactly what it was. Well, that’s a bit of a lie, I can’t remember it at all. The events around how I forgot about it are still clear as day, but whatever it was, that was wiped clean. I figured I’ll write this just to get the facts out there, and if you are able to find this man, or someone like it, and decide to go through with his proposal, you will at least have something to go off of.
I was really depressed, thinking about suicide levels of depression. In fact, I had a gun on my nightstand, one round in the chamber, and was ready to end it all. Before I did though, I wanted to give God a chance to lead me in a different direction. It’s funny, I was never a very religious man, but at that point had nothing to lose and everything to gain. I figured it was worth a shot.
It was only a few minutes after I finished praying that someone knocked on my door. I didn’t think anything of it at first, just a coincidence, but my mind would be changed rather quickly. The man on the other end of the door wasn’t someone I’ve ever seen before. He was in a suit with a roller bag at his side. I thought he was a Mormon or Jehovah’s Witness or something like that. But he didn’t preach to me, instead he made a proposition.
“Is this the residence of Mr. James?” the man asked.
I tilted my head at him, who was this and how did he know my name? I figured I would tell him the truth. At the time I told myself it was because he could have been important, but the truth is I was just buying time before I went back to my gun.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. James,” the man continued. “I’m here to offer you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The ability to forgive yourself and forget your sins.”
With those words my heart skipped a beat. Did this man know what I’ve done? How could he unless he was a cop or something? Now, I may not remember what it was that got me considering suicide, but I do remember that I didn’t want anyone else to know. So when the man just hinted at what I did it terrified me.
“What do you mean?” I asked. I tried to show confusion, but my voice cracked a little so I know the man was able to see through my façade.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Andrew. Do you mind if I call you Andrew?”
My nerves were tingling throughout my entire body. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat, he knew too much about me. He had to be from the police station? Was he God’s response?
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Your secret’s safe with me. I’m not a police officer, nor would I ever tell them that you…”
Sorry I had to leave it like that, but even in remembering this I cannot recall anything about what it was that I’ve done. The mere act of him mentioning it to me is blanked from my mind. I cannot hear the words, and the image of his face becomes a blur. Not that I could read lips, but even if there was a chance of it triggering something in my mind, the visuals were scrubbed clean.
I pulled him inside the house and checked to make sure no one was outside to hear him. Once I noticed the coast was clear, I closed the door and turned to him again.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “Who are you and why would you say such a horrible thing?”
“You’re still worried,” the man chucked. “That’s okay, I just want to help you to overcome your problems. If you’d like, I can give you’re an offer. Otherwise, I’ll let you get back to your gun.”
I didn’t know what to say. There was no way he could have seen into the house, I made sure to close all the curtains and blinds. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Are you the Devil?” I asked.
He laughed. Head leaned back, both hands on his stomach, as if I had just told him the funniest thing he’d ever heard. I watched, not knowing what to do. With one finger he wiped a tear, although I think this was more for show, from his eye.
“There is no such thing as the Devil. And if the Devil isn’t real, one can only assume that God isn’t either. No, I’m just a man who had perfected a way of removing unwanted memories.”
With that, the idea of God sending help dwindled, although I still couldn’t count it out. I’ve heard God works in strange ways before. I now know that the man was right about God; he isn’t real. He couldn’t let all the horrible things in the world happen, and he wouldn’t have gave me such a strange solution to my problems. A solution that only added more problems to my life.
Still uncertain, but interested enough to keep talking to him, I asked what it cost.
“My services are free. Think of me as a sort of non-profit organization. My work is done to make people happy, and that in turn is enough pay for me. Although, if you feel the need, I wouldn’t turn down a tip.”
What did I have to lose, beside an unwanted memory? I was about to kill myself, and this man offered to remove the one thing that drove me to suicide. So, I agreed. The look on his face when we shook on it should have been a warning, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. His smile was too large. It looked as though the corners of his mouth were about to split open. Every time I think about that smile, it seems to have come from some nightmarish cartoon.
The man led me to the couch. I stood facing him, and with one hand he forced me to sit. It wasn’t because of any physical force from his part, but as soon as his hand made contact with me, my knees buckled. Instantly, my heart started racing. I wanted to go back on the agreement, but I couldn’t move. I tried to tell him to get out, but no sound escaped my lips. I was paralyzed and muted in an instant. All I could do was look at the blank TV.
His reflection appeared in the TV, distorted and darkened. He didn’t look like the happy man I’d seen before, now he looked more like a shadow with gnarled limbs and an elongated face. I tried to move, but couldn’t. My breathing was shallow, yet I still tried to scream for help. Not even a moan came from me. I was trapped.
He bent over to reach into his bag, and when his reflection returned he had some tool. It looked something like an old drill with an egg beater crank. The head of the instrument was long and fat.
“Now, this is the part that I’ve been told hurts the most,” he said.
He placed that sharp edge of his tool on my head. I could feel the cold metal teeth biting into my scalp. The pain when he started to turn it was unbearable. Each slow revolution of the blade tore into my skin, ripping hair and flesh from my skull. Tears welled in my eyes, distorting the image in the TV even more.
“I have to get inside your head to completely remove any unwanted memories,” he said with a deranged glee. “There may be better ways for me to get to this point, but they aren’t as fun.”
He leaned closer to my face as he finished speaking. His breath smelt of rancid milk and rotten meat. I gagged and closed my eyes tight.
I don’t know how long he was doing his makeshift operation, but when it was over he placed something in my hand. I didn’t want to open my eyes, I could tell that what he gave me was part of me. It was soft, wet and warm. Curiosity got the better of me, and I had to look. A small piece of what I could only guess was brain was resting in my palm.
“Now,” he told me, “all you have to do is eat that and the memory would be gone forever.”
I tried to throw it across the room, but the only movement I could make was bringing my hand to my mouth. When I realized this, I stopped and looked at it. There was no way I was going to eat that. The man got close to me again, right into my face. His hot, foul, breath assaulting my senses.
“If you do not eat it, you will bleed out. Your last minutes on this earth will be filled with agony and you’ll be unable to move for that duration. However, if you do eat it all the pain will stop, and you’ll have full control of your body again. Not to mention, you will no longer remember…”
I fought with myself on what to do. The pain was overwhelming, I couldn’t take it anymore. As quickly as I could, I threw the meat into my mouth and swallowed. For a moment I thought I was going to choke, it got stuck in my throat and I couldn’t get it free. Then the man smacked me on the back, dislodging the meat and all my ailments vanished.
I could move again and immediately sprung to my feet. I spun around looking for the man, but he no longer was in the house. All the evidence that he had ever been there was gone. There was no blood on my sofa or floor. My head didn’t have a hole in it. Even my hand was clean. At first I thought the entire thing was a dream, until I tried to think about what it was that had upset me so badly. It was gone.
The short amount of pain was worth it. I felt like I did before I the event in that memory happened. It was like a weight had been lifted from me, and for the first time in a while I was happy. However, that feeling was short lived.
The cops came to my house shortly after. They took me to the station for questioning. Shoe prints and my DNA was at the scene of a crime, and of course, I had no idea what they were talking about. They didn’t believe me, and locked me in a holding cell for the night.
Even as they spoke of the incident, everything was blanked. It was the longest night of my life, all I wanted to do was remember what they were talking about. I couldn’t sleep, just constantly trying to figure out what was going on. It was like knowing an answer, having it right at the edge of consciousness, but unable to pull it free.
In the morning, when a cop brought me food, I stumbled away from the cell door. The man on the other side was the same that made me forget what I was being accused of. When the door was fully open, he walked into the cell and placed the food on the bed. Our eyes met, and he gave that same cartoon smile. It was at that time I attacked him.
The cell was swarmed with cops, each pushing, punching, and kicking me. Even after I was pulled off the man, they kept hitting me. I was left along to lick my wounds for a while. At least I had something else to do besides drive myself crazy wondering about why I was being arrested.
A cop came to the cell door, his hand on his pistol. He came in, cuffed me and brought me to another room. The lights were bright and reflected off the white walls. I was introduce to Dr. Fifer, a psychologist.
“So,” Fifer asked, “why did you attack Sargent Lowes?”
“That wasn’t a cop,” I told him. “It was some demon, or monster, or something.”
“How do you know?”
“He was the same one that removed my memory. He was at my house shortly before I was arrested. He drilled into my head, and took a memory.”
“What memory?” the shrink asked.
“If I could remember it, it wouldn’t have been removed, would it?”
“Good point. So, did he just drill a hole in your head?”
“No.”
“What else did he do?”
“he made me eat what he removed.”
“I see.”
That was about the extent of our conversation. He left the room and later that day I was transferred here. It’s been a few years now, and for the most part I’ve been bound by leather restraints. Only when I’m locked in my padded room will they let me free, and even then it’s not that common. Apparently, it all depends on who takes me to my cell.
It’s not my fault, I try not to hurt anyone. Well, anyone other than the man. He works here, and they seem to like to put him in charge of me. When he is the one that escorts me to my cell, they don’t release my shackles. The first few times, I tried to strangle him, but I was overpowered by the orderlies. I realized that I wouldn’t have the time to kill him that way. The last time they released my restraints when he was around, I tried to bite his throat out.
It seems like some sick joke that they keep putting him with me. Some kind of failed therapy, they the doctors are refusing to end. I keep begging them to keep him away from me, but they tell me that every time I make this request they change the orderlies that interact with me. Apparently, each time I’ve attacked someone it was a different man. I know that’s not true though, I know he is telling them what to do. At least it makes sense to me.
It doesn’t matter anymore though, I’ve been here for so long they have me questioning my own sanity. But that’s a sure sign that I’m not insane, right? That’s what everyone says, that the insane don’t know they’re insane.
Written by JohnathanNash
Content is available under CC BY-SA