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Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Pardon My Neurosis
Category: Short StoryMy Obsessive Compulsive Disorder should have ruined my business years ago. I’m in Public Relations, the owner and operator of Gary Moriarty Media Relations. I can tell you, when it comes to O.C.D. and P.R work, never the twain shall meet. I try to hide it, but in times of stress it can rise to the surface like a tap dancing maniac.
I get the even numbered finger drumming thing going, and the person I’m with at that moment just stares at me with a “WTF” look I’ve grown accustomed to. People who know me and have grown used to it continue whatever they were doing before I went off into “compulsive land.” First timers fidget uncomfortably until I’ve stepped back and forth between the necessary number of floor tiles or reached up and touched the back of my ear the required four times in multiples of three.
Sometimes I think my clientele only hire me to remind themselves of how bad things could be. They can tell themselves that maybe their cigarette habit isn’t so bad, or maybe being a few pounds overweight is no big deal.
At the same time, I always do good work for my clients. I’m a likable guy, and people trust me. These things do mesh with P.R. work.
It can get complicated. My friend Dave Ortiz jokingly refers to it as, “Obsessive Complicated Disorder.”
We’re friends so he can get away with that.
Dave’s the guy who brought the replicators to my attention.
It was one of those blazing blue New Mexico spring afternoons in late May; not a cloud in the sky, eighty degrees and dry as a bone. I’d just cracked a beer and sat down on my back porch when my cell rang. It was Dave, and I could tell right away something was wrong. Not from the sound of his voice, but because he wanted to buy me lunch. Dave is so tight, the last time he opened his wallet Abe Lincoln was blinking from the light.
I agreed to meet him downtown at Bert’s Tiki Bar, a small dive on the south side of Central. I finished my beer, slipped on a pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt, and drove the fifteen minutes to Bert’s. As I entered Tiki’s I saw Dave’s slight figure seated at the booth nearest the door. I scooted my tall frame onto the seat and leaned my elbows on the blue Formica table top. Dave’s a dark haired guy in his thirties, five eight and a buck thirty five. We both have blue eyes, but I’m blonde, six inches taller, and a skinny one ninety. Dave makes cracks about how our differences “compliment” each other.
“What’s up?”
Dave didn’t say anything for a minute. He just stared at me.
“What the hell Dave? You asked me down here, now what’s going on Amigo?”
He leaned in, “I want to ask you a few questions.”
This was weird.
“Okay.”
“What did I order the last time we went out to eat together?”
“Why in the world would I remember that?”
A look of concern and what might have been fear crossed his face.
“All right then, what’s my favorite beer?”
“You hate beer idiot, you’re strictly a Rum and coke man.”
Dave seemed to relax, “You talk to Freddy lately?”
Freddy Simmons was a guy we hung out with when we wanted to be stupid, he was always willing to go along since we footed most of the bill. We could crash at his place, and it was near all the cool places to party downtown so we didn’t have to drive. He was an ok sort, just not the kind of guy you wanted to spend an inordinate amount of time around when alcohol wasn’t involved.
“Freddy? You’re taking the long way around the barn Dave, what the fuck is going on?”
“Have you talked to Freddy lately?”
“No, I haven’t even seen him in two weeks.”
As a matter of fact I’d been meaning to drop in on Fred; he never went a week without dropping in on one of us to see if we were in the mood for some carousing.
“Why do you ask?”
“I ran into him a few days ago. He was odd as hell. Acted like he didn’t know who I was, then after I pressed him, suddenly we were buddy, buddy. I didn’t think anything of it, but I saw him yesterday, and it was like he’d met me for the first time again.”
“Huh? You think he had a stroke?”
“I thought about that, so I went to his house to check on him. He answered the door and asked who I was. I told him I was worried about him. We’d known each other for three years and he was behaving like he had Alzheimer’s. Out of the blue he became friendly and invited me in. It felt very strange, so I declined and said I’d see him later in the week.”
“That is weird.”
“It gets weirder. As I’m walking away I hear a click. When I looked back, Freddy had a camera out and was taking my photo. He waved at me then went back inside.”
“What the hell?”
“Yeah and when I got to my car Freddy pulled up to the curb and parked behind me in a red convertible.”
“You’re not making any sense Dave.”
“Freddy was in his house, and then he was outside in his car. He walked right by me without a word. He didn’t know me, because he wasn’t Freddy.”
“You just said he was Freddy?”
“He looked like Freddy. I didn’t say he was Freddy.”
“Ok now Dave, you’re starting to freak me out.”
“I’ll tell you what I think later. First, I want you to go with me to Fred’s place and I want you to knock on the door, and see if he knows who you are.”
At this point I’d decided to humor Dave. I’d go to Freddy’s with him and after old’ Fred recognized me I’d insist that Dave come with me to the hospital.
Freddy’s was a few blocks from the Tiki Bar. Like I said, he lived near all the cool drinking establishments. He lived on a tree lined boulevard surrounded by apartments and houses that had been converted into either CPA or Law offices. His was the only single dwelling residence. He had a good job working for the city, and the connections needed to get a private residence near the center of town.
When we got close to Freddy’s place Dave halted.
“I know you think I’m whacked, but do me just one favor. Don’t say hi Freddy. Knock on the door, and wait for him to acknowledge you. Please.”
“Okay.”
Dave waited on the sidewalk down the street while I walked up to the front door. Feeling stupid, I told myself I’d tell Fred what was happening and we’d both work on getting Dave to someone who could help him come back to reality. As I approached the door it opened and Freddy exited. He was turning to lock it when he noticed me. He stared for a moment, and then stepped back inside. I saw him pull squares of paper from a table near the door and gaze at them, then back at me. Then I realized it wasn’t scraps of paper, he was looking at photos. He smiled and stepped outside.
“Hi.”
I didn’t know what else to say so I just parroted him, “Hi.”
“How are you?”
“Okay.”
He was obviously waiting for me to say something.
“How’s it going?”
“Fine. Have we met?”
By now my skin was starting to crawl. “Nope, just canvassing the neighborhood looking for my dog. Have you seen a Chihuahua?
“No. I’ll keep an eye out.”
I hated Chihuahua’s, but it was the first breed that came to mind. I could feel various twitches coming to the surface, but I held it together.
I was watching his hands against the door. As he talked to me, Freddy was unconsciously fidgeting with his fingers, bending them back and forth against the door sill, at the joint up from the knuckles. His fingers bent both ways. Watching his digits bend unnaturally made me feel queasy, like watching someone swing their lower leg completely forward on a hinge at the knee. He seemed to notice my gaze and looked down at his hand.
“You sure I don’t know you sir?” He said looking back up at me.
His eyes had taken on a hard questioning look.
“Nope. I’ll be seein’ you.”
I turned to walk away and I felt a hand on my collar. I was pulled violently, and fell on my back. He was dragging me into the house! I hung onto the doorsill, and was just about to lose my grip when Dave appeared out of nowhere and tackled Freddy or whoever he was. We sprawled into the entryway of the house, and thrashed around. “Freddy” started spurting a viscous yellow syrupy liquid. Whatever they were, they were strong but fragile, within a minute we were holding a deflated bag of skin. Dave and I held back our dry heaves and dragged what was left of pseudo Fred into the den, warily casting our eyes around as we entered. I glanced at the table by the door and saw photographs of people. I recognized one of Dave, but the other people were unfamiliar. We let go of our “Freddy bag,” and Dave grabbed my arm, and pointed at the photos.
“It’s been taking shots of humans so his various incarnations would be able to identify people they met.”
“It?”
“Yeah, it. What else you want to call something that spurts yellow puss for blood?”
“Christ in a sidecar.”
“Hey Gary, calm down.”
I realized I’d been touching my cheekbone, then my ear, one two three, one, one, two three, one.
“Sorry, this must just add to the surreality of all this.”
“Actually, it’s strangely comforting to watch you act so humanly fucked up.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“It’s obvious; something’s replicating us, and mingling with humanity.”
“From where?”
“Hell if I know.”
“You think Freddy’s ok?”
“I hope so, let’s find out.”
We began walking around the house while yelling Freddy’s name.
“Freddy! Fred!”
“Yo! Freddy!”
We heard banging from below. The basement. We walked into the kitchen and opened the door to the stairway going down.
“Yo!” Dave yelled.
“Hey!” came a voice from below.
It sounded like Freddy, but so had the bag of skin Dave and I had just been holding. We started to walk down, but Dave halted. He went to the back porch, and grabbed a bat Freddy kept by the inner door, his home defense weapon, and started down with me close on his heels.
“Don’t say anything,” he whispered, “Make him acknowledge us by name.”
As we stepped onto the basement floor we saw Freddy, he was standing in a small enclosure. A third of the basement had been sealed off with steel bars. A bluish gray goop had been poured onto the floor and spread on the ceiling, and the ends of the bars had been set into it. We pushed against them and nothing budged.
Freddy watched us in disgust, “What? You think I haven’t tried that already monkey spank?”
Dave and I both laughed in relief, it had to be Freddy.
“Man,” I said, “I am so glad you’re still alive.”
“Yeah,” Dave grabbed Freddy’s shoulder through the bars, “Me too bro.”
Fred glared at me, “Fuckin’ aye Gary!”
I was pulling my foot up, touching the bottom of my shoe before putting it back down and tapping my toes twice, repetitively.
“You’re losin’ it dude!”
“Come on man,” Dave chimed it, “Cowboy up brother. We gotta get Freddy loose, and get the hell outta here!’
“Sorry guys, I’m just major stressed here. How the hell do we get him out of there?”
Dave pointed in the corner, “His circular saw, we’ll cut across his flooring, and the bars should drop away.”
“Aw crap,” Freddy moaned, “My floor! I just had bamboo put down!”
Dave and I stared at him in disbelief.
“Okay, my bad, get on with it.”
Dave bolted up the stairs and I started looking around the room for defensive weapons, while holding myself to mild twitching for Freddy’s sake. Just as I picked up an axe handle Freddy tapped on the bars,
“Shhh!”
I could hear footsteps, a lot of them, and scuffling.
“Oh shit.”
Then a small mob descended down the stairs with a struggling Dave in tow. Eight Freddy’s wearing eight different sets of clothes filled my vision. They spread out around the room, never taking their eyes off me. Two of them held Dave. The others held blue ropes which they were switching back and forth.
“Don’t let them touch you with those blue strands they’re swinging around!” Freddy yelled, “It’s got some kind of drug that incapacitates you. It’s how they nabbed me!”
I was holding the axe handle up with both hands, flicking at anyone who dared move close. I smacked a wrist and it squirted yellow puss. The wrists owner yelped and grabbed it above the wound with a panicked look, and the flow of liquid ceased. Yes, they were fragile. The calm had left their eyes and they were warier now.
They were also twitching. Their chins were making little jerks to the left. They were mimicking my unconscious movements! I was in a heightened state, and my O.C.D. was only exhibiting itself in small ways because I was trying hard to stifle it. I let myself “off the tether” a bit, and started to twitch my head more noticeably. It was a “move” I only did when I was home. They emulated it. Whatever was happening, they were completely tuned to my tendencies. Maybe their replicating DNA or whatever the hell it was could only be only marginally controlled. The Freddy I’d injured earlier stopped holding his wrist wound and ‘bled out.’
I started doing all the little touches, steps, and twitches I normally reserved for my alone time. Within fifteen minutes I was exhausted, but my audience of Freddy’s continued the macabre performance. I put my hands on my knees, bent over to catch my breath, and glanced back at Fred. He was staring at me through the bars, an incredulous expression on his face.
“You are one fucked up dude man.”
“I laughed, “Yeah, I know. And now, so are they.”
“Hey!’
It was Dave.
“Get me outta this!”
They’d wrapped his ankles in blue rope. It took a few minutes, but I finally managed to free him. He grabbed the saw and bolted upstairs while I stood guard over our newly neurotic friends. He only had to cut through a few feet, the saw passed through the blue goo easily, strong but fragile. We pulled down six of the bars and Freddy squirmed out. One of the fake Freddy’s hit the corner of a table top during his gyrations, opening a wound, and within a minute the floor was covered in yellow alien juice, with a skin bag hanging off the table edge.
Freddy took the axe handle from me and nudged it off the table corner onto the floor.
“Jesus.”
I started to feel my head begin to twitch again.
“Don’t start that shit.” Dave said gripping my shoulder.
One by one the fake Fred’s started hitting the floor. Whatever their physical makeup, apparently they couldn’t survive this much exertion. It was obvious from the expressions on their faces as they lay across the floor, they were no longer alive. They’d gyrated themselves into oblivion.
The three of us stared down at the bodies, Freddy broke the silence.
“Well, this is freakin weird.”
We filed up the stairs to call the authorities. After a lengthy discussion amongst ourselves, we called emergency services, and we told the 911 operator we’d found a cache of bodies in Freddy’s basement. It was the only thing we could think of. The police came, guns drawn, and after looking at six Freddy’s and three skin bags, they called the F.B.I. who in turn called Homeland Security. After the folks who identified themselves as H.S. showed up, they made some calls on their cells, and some very spooky men and women in dark suits and black SUV’s showed up. Then they loaded the three of us onto a helicopter that landed in the middle of the street and we spent the next month in a nice complex somewhere in the middle of nowhere.
Turns out our “false Freddy’s” weren’t from another planet. They’d escaped from a lab in Los Alamos. The government was very happy we’d stopped them before they did any real damage. They would have been even happier to just thank us and pay us off to keep quiet. Unfortunately, with all the other law enforcement agencies involved, there was no way to keep the story from becoming public. We were heroes, and after they let us go home, something we weren’t sure they were ever going to do, we settled into a life of notoriety.
The nicest part about my new found fame? The three of us have started co-writing a book. Yeah, I know, how do you write a book about an episode in your life lasting less than a day? Hey, as they say in Hollywood, ‘The truth is just a place to start!”
The other nice thing? Along with being considered a very eligible bachelor, no one gives me a hard time about my O.C.D. anymore.
The End
Back to VotingI’ve never heard of “bullet-bra” sci-fi, and I’m not a sci-fi expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I had a good time reading this; my favorite part was the slang, which was for the most part natural and fun (although I did think it was a bit too much in some instances).
OCD and PR are like Obama and Non-partisanship. I don’t envy it. Nice piece.
Appreciate the comments folks.
Hey deminizer, I really need to stay on your good side, you help run this place! But I really have to say, or non-partisanship and the right wing!
I must add, I am sick to death of politics this year, it seems as if the election cycle never ends anymore.
Yes you could, and you’d be right. Part of the problem is this “2 party system” gives us the same garbage on both sides, he’s just front and center now, and as horrible as Bush.
This was fun, creepy, quirky and kept me reading all the way through without yawning. Good stuff:)
Fun little piece! I particularly enjoyed how you were able to incorporate some serious stuff in a light and humorous way. I felt you treated OCD, which can be quite debilitating, fairly and humorously without crossing that very fine line into bad taste. Thanks for the read!