Of Playthings and Puppets

Because of a terrible Internet connection, I just finished a weekend-long bout of Halo 3’s Living Dead ranked playlist (okay, it wasn’t the whole weekend, but it might as well have been). There’s still a couple hours left, so if you have the game (you really should), I’d suggest you get some time in as it won’t be around again ’til next year.

Blog/other stuff will be coming tomorrow.

Part two of two! Enjoy. (For the first part of the chapter, click here.) Stick around for the next two chapters in coming weeks.

“I’ll see you guys. Alright, let’s see… I guess this must be it? Ma’am? Maria? Are you there? Come on, open the door, lady—hello? Hi.”

“Hi… you’re an officer?”

“Yes, that’s right. Detective Tony Procyk, ma’am. And you’re Maria Alexandros?”

“The one and only.”

“Great. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about this morning and your neighbor?”

“Annie? No. Please, go ahead. Would you like to have a cup of coffee? I brewed some before and I just… I just can’t finish it all no matter how much I’d like to.”

“Sure, please, thank you.”

“Do you think anyone else would like any? I have plenty? And I could always make another pot?”

“I’ll ask them when we’re finished, okay? I promise.”

“Okay, thank you. So what would you like to know?”

“Well, why don’t you tell me what happened.”

“Alright. Well, what can I say? You know, I woke up just like always and I was going out—”

“What time was this?”

“A little after nine thirty, maybe closer to nine forty five. Sometime around there.”

“Did you look at a clock or anything before you left?”

“No, I had just watched the news and I waited to see the weather and that’s about the time they show the weather on the news, you know, that in-between time that people who need to leave and go somewhere need to know what its like outside.”

“So, continuing.”

“Tony, right? I was leaving around then to go for my usual morning jog—”

“You always go for a jog?”

“Are you going to let me finish my story?”

“Sorry.”

“Yes, I always go for a jog, just about the same time every morning. What else is an old lady to do? I’m not going to sit around watching reruns of Lucy all day and the soaps aren’t on until later. Look, my husband’s been dead for seven years and I’ve been alone since then, so I do what I want to do, you got it? I love jogging. I go for about an hour or two, run all over, through the park, down the city, maybe I stop at a little store or something and pick up a croissant for breakfast, but I go jogging and yes, I do it practically every day. So, I was leaving, and I noticed Annie had her door open. I thought maybe she just left it open by mistake, you know, it happens—”

“Had she ever left the door open before?”

“No, not that I remember, but I’ve been known to forget to lock my door before, so I can understand it when you’re in a rush or something, so I walked over to the door and knocked and called her name, thinking she might be in there or something. The lights were all on from what I could see, you know, the living room and kitchen combo area, those lights were all on, so I figured she was home. I walked in, slowly, called her name again. You know, it’s weird, but I think, well, I think I knew something was wrong as soon as I stepped in there… I can’t really describe the feeling, but it was like I knew she was in trouble. So I kept walking in there, and I just followed the lights. Through the door by the couch, down the little hall, and to her bedroom… and that’s… that’s where… well, you saw her.”

“Yeah.”

“And I just ran out. I was in so much shock. I didn’t even cry until after calling nine-one-one. Then I just sat down and couldn’t control myself. She was always… always such a good neighbor. And so sweet. I just… I can’t believe—”

“It’s alright, it’s okay. We’ll find whoever did this to her, you can believe that.”

“Such a wonderful girl….”

“Did she… someone mentioned that sometimes she brought guys home?”

“Well, you know, she is young. And attractive. And single. Is it wrong to bring men home?”

“No, of course not.”

“So, she had her fun. She never figured this would happen.”

“Do you know where she went? A specific bar or anything?”

“No, I never talked to her about that. She was always quiet about that kind of stuff with me. You know, I never really saw her ever talk to anyone about it. Such is the way of the young people. Do you have kids, Tony?”

“Actually, yes, I have a baby boy. Walt.”

“Aren’t they precious? God… I always wanted to have children. Rick, my husband, and I tried so much, but we never could have any. I know I should’ve adopted at some point… but, no. It wasn’t the same. I don’t know.”

“So you live alone now?”

“Right.”

“And so you were here alone this morning?”

“When?”

“About seven or eight?”

“I was… you don’t… you don’t think I’m a suspect? You think I killed little Annie?”

“No, no, you misjudge. I was just getting as much facts as I—”

“Now you listen here, Mr. Procyk. I did not hurt a hair on that little girl’s head and I swear to you that if I saw the man that did that to her I would kill him. Now, I know that’s something I shouldn’t tell you, but to see someone do that to another person, that’s just God awful and whoever did it, why, they should just burn in Hell for the rest of eternity.”

“Right. Thank you, Mrs. Alexandros. We’ll need you to come down to the station to give your formal declaration. I’ll have an officer come get you in just a little while, alright?”

“This wasn’t formal enough?”

“No, this is… this was me trying to help Anne-Marie.”

“Annie.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Thank you, Tony.”

“No, thank you. And for the coffee.”

Sorry for the delay on this post. I honestly would’ve kept to schedule if not for an unexpected… opportunity. I’ll talk about this more should it pan out, but let’s just say much of my available writing time was dedicated to this single piece over the last few days. That said, the second excerpt of Chapter 2 will be posted tomorrow around 12:30 EST.

Bookmark it!

Still, even without updating a thing, I pulled well ahead of my writing time from last week (though it remains a bit inconsistent… still got to work on it).

Date	Writing	Drawing	Total
October 4, 2009	25		25
October 5, 2009	45		45
October 6, 2009	58		58
October 7, 2009	30		30
October 8, 2009	25		25
October 9, 2009	70		70
October 10, 2009	75		75
Week Total:			303

Well, hello again. How’s it going? Beautiful day, huh? Bit windy though around here. Think a tree fell down somewhere over here, too. I know my fiance’s house was riddled with falling limbs and nuts during lunch… yet somehow, the dog managed to escape completely unscathed as things fells all around him.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Another excerpt. You’ll notice the first one, here, was completely different than what’s to come now… but it’s a good thing, believe me. Lots and lots of weird tricks up and down this book. Of course, this chapter and many subsequent chapters are also a bit more frustrating… you’ll see what I mean.

So, please to enjoy, Sanity’s Flaw, Chapter Two (part one): 11:18 A.M.

“So, Charlie… ever seen anything like this?”

“Nope, not in my time. Too much for you, Jim?”

“No. No, it’s not that. It’s just… I was just thinking it reminded me of that movie. That one with the guy that ate people and the other guy that dressed up in women’s skin? Anthony Hopkins.”

“Silence of the Lambs.”

“Yeah, that one. It reminds me of that. But damn, it’s a rough thing.”

“Yeah it is.”

“What was her name?”

“Apartment’s out to Anne-Marie Barrios; it looks like her.”

“How can you even tell, Charlie?”

“Point taken.”

“Any kids? Husband? Roommate?”

“No kids. Neighbor said she was a pretty quiet girl but emphasized that she brought guys by sometimes, probably for a good lay. Could be she brought one home, had some of those drinks, got in that little nightie to show him a good time and he went off and attacked her. You got a theory, Jim?”

“Maybe. But there’s still no weapon.”

“Nope, still no weapon. And the captain says this one’s going to Procyk and Torrington, so we got what we got until they get here.”

“They on their way?”

“I guess.”

“Great. Faster I can get out of this place, the better. So how was the weekend?”

“Eh, it was alright. Sat around, watched some tube, had some dinner. You know, the usual. How about you?”

“Went bowling.”

“Bowling, huh? How’d you do?”

“Shitty. Barely broke a hundred. Whatever, it was with my kids so I can say I let them win.”

“Bumpers?”

“I wish.”

“How’re the kids doing anyway?”

“They’re good. It’s almost little Jimmy’s birthday, and Dan’s actually started doing his homework on time, so, you know, they’re good.”

“Good, good. Jim, let me ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“They ever ask about what you do? Or, I mean, do you tell them some of the shit that goes down in this place? Like, just looking at this woman here, when they ask you how your day was, how could you possibly just say ‘good’ like that?”

“Good question.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess I just shrug and say something like ‘I’m a cop, and I make sure the city is clean for you guys.’ Something like that. Hell, if I ever told them half the shit I’ve seen, they’d have nightmares for the rest of their lives.”

“Got that right.”

“Hey guys, what’s the scoop?”

“Oh, hey Procyk.”

“Charlie, Jim.”

“Torrington come with you, too?”

“Yeah, he’s right behind me, Jim. Who’s first officer? You, Charlie?”

“Yup. Woman’s name was Anne-Marie Barrios, twenty-four, single, lives in the apartment. The neighbor, a nice old woman named Maria Alexandros, found her at nine forty two when she came out of her place and noticed the door open. She was just like this she said. Her neck’s cut, and, as you can see, the… attacker, he carved her face off.”

“What about time of death?”

“Some time this morning, not too long ago. Judging by the rigor and the fact that she’s still a bit warm, the med said only about three or four hours ago, so around eight or a bit earlier.”

“Okay.”

“And over here’re two glasses but we haven’t checked for prints yet. Could be something. They’re screwdrivers, nothing special. We’ve got a bottle of vodka over here, but we can’t know if it’s doped yet. Oh, and we don’t have a weapon. All the steak knives are on the counter in the kitchen and none of the drawers look like they were opened at all. So that’s a dead end.”

“The neighbor didn’t see the perp, Charlie? Didn’t hear anything?”

“Nope.”

“Alright, tell me more about Anne-Marie.”

“Neighbor said she was quiet but liked to bring guys home every now and again. Typical woman, nothing too outstanding.”

“She likes to paint.”

“Oh, yeah. Just a hobby. We found a couple brushes, some prints, nothing too spectacular.”

“Not a day job, then. Where’d she work?”

“Oh, hey Torrington—the neighbor said she worked at a day care. We haven’t checked on it yet.”

“Alright, you mind giving them a call? What was its name?”

“You’ll never believe it, Procyk—Baby Watch.”

“Baby Watch? You’re serious?”

“I know, I almost chuckled when I heard it too.”

“Alright, Baby Watch it is. Give them a call, Charlie, see what you can find out about her. Who’s shooting this one? He here yet?”

“That’d be Joey, and no, not yet.”

“Good, guess it’ll be up to me. Watch out, Jim.”

“By all means, Procyk, go ahead.”

“You know, I’ve asked you guys a dozen times to call me Tony.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, just habit.”

“No problem, Jim. Jesus. How’s it look, Pete?”

“Looks like he fucking carved her up like a Christmas turkey, Tony. How’d the neighbors not hear any screaming? She had to have been screaming or doing something… damn. Jim, you know if there’s any family in the area?”

“Still looking into it.”

“Hurry it up.”

“You got it, Tony.”

“Alright, Pete, other than that beautiful reference that’s sure as shit gonna make us lose our dinners, what do you think?”

“Well, she’s got that pretty little thing on, there’s a bottle of vodka open on the kitchen table, a couple glasses. Figure she brings the guy back, they fool around, have some drinks, maybe she says something to him he doesn’t like or something, he slits her throat, cuts her up like that, cleans up the place, and leaves.”

“That’s pretty much what we were just saying, too.”

“Could be, Pete, yeah. We’re gonna have to scour this place for prints, see if we can get a match on anyone. Make sure to check the fridge, too. We’ve still got to wait on Joey, though. Where the Hell is he anyway? He should be here by now.”

“Who knows? The kid’s probably stuck in traffic somewhere. Or, you know, maybe he’s taking a picture of some chick he’s trying to impress.”

“That kid sure is a trip.”

“Jim, enough with the chatter, you’ve got a job to do. And listen, Tony, why don’t you go ask the neighbor what happened and I’ll handle Joey and the prints and searching. You can start up on the canvas too when you’re done.”

“That works. You sure, Pete?”

“Yeah, I’ve got this.”

“Alright, but be sure to keep these guys in check—”

“Bite me, Procyk.”

“—I’ll be back in a bit. Oh, hey Joey, we were just talking about you. Where’ve you been?”

“Traffic. What’s the… holy crap.”

“What? Oh, yeah. It’s pretty bad.”

“Holy shit. Wow. Fuck. Torrington? You in the lead?”

“Yeah, me and Tony.”

“Joey, you treat my partner right. Make sure you come see me if you leave soon so I can get your impression and notes. Alright?”

“Okay, Tony. So, alright, Torrington, point me the way, man.”

“Sure—what do you got, Joey? Some kinda girl on the side or something….”

(Please come back later this week for the rest of Chapter Two!)

I’m keeping at it! And with some improvement, despite having to study for an exam (don’t worry, pretty sure I rocked it) and spending my Saturday winery-hopping. I’m not quite at the 1 hour a day mark I’d like, but its a large step up from the previous week.

Date	Writing	Drawing	Total
September 27, 2009	35	30	65
September 29, 2009	37		37
September 30, 2009	27		27
October 1, 2009	25		25
October 2, 2009	85		85
October 3, 2009	20		20
Week Total:			259

Hello, all! I’ve got a special treat for you today: the first chapter of my brand new (and, as of yet, unpublished) novel, Sanity’s Flaw. This is what is currently being passed through literary agents, and so I figured “Why should they get all the fun?”

So, without further delay, I present Chapter One: 6:03 A.M.

My first memory was of walking along the East River. It was two hours before the first death and a cold Monday morning in December. There was a fine frost on the ground and dense mist hung in the air. As I recall, the ground crunched loudly beneath my boots with every step. It was my first sound, and when I paused to look toward my misbegotten journey’s beginning, it grew ever more dramatic. Aside those murky waters, gazing at the trail I had unknowingly completed, the grinding crunch never seemed to stop. Even the latent burning of wind buzzing past my ears and the crying horns of distant ships pleading for my attention couldn’t call the sound away. I can still hear it, even now, nearly two decades later.

To say it’s haunting would be an understatement.

Yes, it was a Monday morning and I was walking slowly up the cement path, with no other person in sight to guide me. Instead, instinct alone drove me on, a notion that only fed my confusion and frustration. At the time, I already knew the city’s layout, but I couldn’t name a single street. I also knew the river, but not its origin. As to the path before me, I knew where and when each stride should land, but couldn’t describe how I had come to be there on such an icy morning. And as for myself, I could feel greatness flowing within me, desperate to be released upon the world.

Yet I was a victim of lost memories. A blank slate. And so I wandered forward, ever forward.

And as I wandered, I questioned. What was the meaning of my life? Why was I there? In my gut, I knew I was set loose with a distinct purpose, a strategic goal set forth by some creator. God? Whether or not He or She truly meant for me to target the city or the people within it, to cure it of its ailments, I still don’t know. I’m considering it in depth here, now, for the first time, so many years later, but when I looked upon New York City with an empty stare as nineteen ninety-three drew to a close, my thoughts all ended with the same question: what do I do now?

Eighteen years later, it’s just another question I have yet to answer. Eighteen years. That is far too long a time not to understand the actions of a single week, and yet there are still so many more questions. Why didn’t I simply walk away and embrace the offered freedom? Why didn’t I try to find help or attempt to rationalize my actions? Why must I remember the week now as but a disheartened soul? It is difficult to address these concerns knowing what I do, knowing that whatever woes and wherefores I now describe of my short and pitiable life, none can truly describe the tortures I, and the people I met, had to endure.

I was not unlike a marionette, a doll forced to dance by some unseen puppeteer in order to weave a tale of despair and destruction in my wake. I felt no remorse on the surface, yet my heart ached with each and every woman. Did I even have a heart that day, or did that come only later? Did Antoni do that to me?

I suppose that makes this story as much his as it is mine. Perhaps Antoni’s even more so, actually. Our paths were so fatally intertwined—what else could I have done to make amends for the rather unfortunate series of events that unfolded for my dearest friend? An apology would never suffice, and none was ever given. How could I simply apologize for setting off what tore his life apart through and through? It couldn’t be done. I wouldn’t be able to stand myself if I had but said sorry after leaving him with no hope for the future. He was a brilliant man, and quite pleasant, and I never meant to do him harm—but I will let my actions speak for themselves. No point in shaming his memory.

Before we get to that, though, I must ask that, as you follow whatever sort of storyline I inevitably create, you please keep in mind that point: I never consciously intended to harm any of the victims. Not once. And I still believe, to the deepest depths of my heart, that were it not for the actions of that week, much more damage would’ve been dealt upon the poor souls who found their time with me cut short.

It is, of course, so much a matter of opinion, but as I sit here now within this isolated terminal, pondering the lives of those self-proclaimed innocents I freed, it is not for sanity’s sake that I’ve sought to commit my atrocities to paper after all these years. Nor is it merely for historical perspective or for the occasional editorial revolutionary who believes my word is first and foremost invaluable to the scientific study of the criminal mind. No. Instead, I’m writing this now for those of you who believe—truly believe!—in what you see, in what you hear, taste, smell, and even touch. I’m writing this for the readers who walk the world in disbelief of the men and women and children who stare at the television and hang onto the endless lies fed through the mass media. This book—this account of that week in December—it’s for all of you who seek to know the absolute truth, who want access to all of the details, who wish those in charge of our lives would let us know what the true, unbiased events and simply be done with it!

I shouldn’t come on so strongly. You need to be convinced. There’s no point making an argument, a statement, like that without backing it up. Otherwise I just come off as insane and I’ve tried for the past eighteen years to prove that I’m not. So yes, I am putting off my other activities for the day and sitting down to type this with a guard at my back and bars on my window for you, and for a very specific reason…. But why should I spoil it for you? You have to see it as Antoni and I did, and then maybe, just maybe, you’ll understand everything that’s ever plagued your life.

Or maybe not.

Please check back here next week for another excerpt from my forthcoming novel, Sanity’s Flaw. You won’t regret it.

So, last week, I made mention of a “Creativity Chart” I promised to keep in order to track my progress as an artist. Well, I did not lie. I kept perfect record (approximately, at least) throughout the past week, entering the alotted time I spent into an Excel sheet. Here are the results (in minutes):

Date	Writing	Drawing	Total
September 19, 2009	40		40
September 21, 2009	60		60
September 22, 2009	25		25
September 23, 2009	20		20
September 25, 2009	40		40
September 26, 2009	15		15
Week Total:			200

As you can easily see, I have yet to meet my goal of writing for a minimum of one hour per day (though I did manage this on Monday). Total activities hit 200 minutes–just over three hours–and consisted entirely of writing, including activities on this blog as well as my current story.

A piss poor beginning, but I’m working on it. It’s difficult to balance a full workload, college, social life, a fiance, reading (usually while traveling to and from work) and writing.

I think I see a NetBook in my future.