Something I Can Never Have Page 3

  I’m heading out to drive around. To try and find something to fill this thing inside.

  Don’t come up here. Please don’t.

  Jeremiah

  August 24, 1997

  Dear Dr. Barlow:

  Things are better. I apologize for the last few conversations and letters I’ve sent. They were from a sick man. That is why I got into this path, to try and help with my sickness. I thought that learning about God and the Bible would help. I felt like it could even out some of my imbalance. I’ve only learned now that I have a long way to go.

  Sometimes it seems like I blink, and then another person overcomes me. A fury like a wildfire just spreads and causes the rest of me to grow black.

  But I’ve got control again. It’s fine. And I will tell you why things are better. It started out when I bought Heidi a diamond necklace. Something that I knew she would love.

  But I guess I should back up.

  It really started when I went out of town to a conference. At least that’s what I told Heidi. But did I really? Of course not. I stayed to watch. I stayed to discover the truth.

  The truth will set you free. That’s the cliché.

  And in a strange way, the truth did set me free.

  It proved once and for all that Heidi was not mine and never will be mine. It proved that Cliff wasn’t just a nice little friend.

  And it proved what I’m capable of.

  He stayed two nights with her. I didn’t have to watch them to know they were together. I didn’t have to be in the house to know what was going on. She had the audacity to bring him into our home and probably into our bed.

  That was her decision.

  It was my decision to end things between them.

  Did I cover my tracks? Did I leave a trail behind? I don’t know.

  Perhaps these letters are the proof that will eventually incarcerate me. I hope not.

  I simply followed Cliff to a bar after he got off work one evening. I sat down and told him who I was, but of course he already knew. The smug guy acted like he wanted to actually have a talk with me. Like he actually wanted to help me. Can you believe that?

  We drank. I don’t drink, but I obliged him.

  I acted more drunk than he was, and that allowed me to persuade him to let me drive him home.

  And that’s when I did it.

  I won’t get into the gory details. I know that this admission will be enough to have you or someone working with you send for me. Which is good, because I do need help covering my tracks. They’re bloody and bruised. But they’re worth it.

  The next day when I could still see blood under my fingernails (I do not lie), I bought Heidi that wonderful necklace. I wrapped it up in a nice little box where I put one of the only remnants of Cliff left. His license. I kept it for proof.

  Then I gave Heidi her gift.

  I told her that he might have her heart, but I owned her soul. That I would forever own her soul.

  I put the pretty little necklace on her and then warned her that if she ever left me or ever found someone else or tried to tell anybody else, I’d kill her the same way I killed her boyfriend. I described in detail what I did to him and how you can be very creative when you know you’re going to burn the body afterwards. I think I was laughing, because Heidi couldn’t stop shaking and crying and fighting me off.

  Things have been better since. Heidi’s on that medication you prescribed. But I know—if you must come, that is fine. We won’t be staying around here much longer. They will be searching for Cliff soon, so I need to do my part and just calm down. I need to act sane and play the part of the nice pastor like always. My hands are clean, but I need to make sure they remain clean.

  It’s funny—as I write this, I hear sirens outside my window. Yet I don’t worry about them coming to get me. I don’t worry about someone knocking on my door asking where Cliff Floyd might be.

  That’s the power I’ve discovered. The power inside of me that’s not coming from me. It feels good and it makes me want more. Lots more.

  Jeremiah

  September 9, 1997

  Dear Dr. Barlow:

  The only person who has come around was the doctor I’d never met. Some fancy doctor with a fancy name and fancy glasses that I actually kind of liked. I just want the truth: did you send him?

  The cops haven’t been around. Nobody has. Nobody seems to know I had anything to do with Cliff’s disappearance. Heidi remains terrified of me. And now this. This doctor. This shrink who wants to ask me questions.

  I’m not losing my mind.

  I just want to know—was it you or was it Heidi who sent him?

  I’m planning on coming back to Solitary and bringing Heidi with me. I don’t care if she doesn’t want to go. She’s coming.

  I’ve started to plan things. I’ve started to write them down, the thoughts and feelings and dreams I’ve been having.

  I want to know about the terrible flames. Were they real? They just seem to be something I’ve made up over the years. But the other night I had this dream and saw myself standing outside a burning house and watching it and laughing with tears running down my cheeks. Not tears of pain, but tears of joy and amusement.

  Am I making that up, or did it really happen?

  We began to meet shortly after that, right?

  It’s time for those old rumors to start again. I remember hearing about them. The urban myths of Solitary.

  I know now the power of hate and fear. I have tasted a little of them, and I have to say, I want more.

  I want to learn more about this thing inside of me.

  We will be gone before the end of the year. Then you and I will be able to see each other in person. Things will calm down. And Heidi will be a nice little wife and do exactly what she’s told to do.

  More soon.

  The future is endless and open.

  Jeremiah

  September 14, 1997

  Dear Dr. Barlow:

  I’m not sure how to begin this.

  Today that fancy doctor came back to my house. He sat down with me and began talking. As usual, I tried to act nonchalant. I wasn’t about to tell him of the restless nights I’ve been having. Sometimes waking up throwing up blood. Other times waking up somewhere strange. I couldn’t tell him about Heidi, or about anything.

  I especially couldn’t tell him about Cliff.

  But then …

  This man—this doctor—said that his name was Cliff.

  Of course I already knew this. But this was Cliff. Cliff was in my house and not dead in a hole after I strangled him and carved him out like a pumpkin and then made him into a bonfire.

  Cliff Floyd is a counselor, who I guess isn’t in his thirties but closer to midforties. This is the same man who met with Heidi at Starbucks. But how often and what happened and whether he stayed with her that one weekend, I don’t know.

  I think I’m losing my mind. Seriously losing my mind.

  So tell me where I went wrong and what happened to me and why you did what you did, because I swear I think you know it all don’t you don’t you lizard liar face?

  There are entire conversations and memories and pictures and people I end up remembering in my head. But now I don’t know.

  I know what happened when I was young and living in Solitary. That’s not a dream, is it? I know how things got dark and I got messed up, but I’ve been better. You told me I was going to continue to get better, so what is happening and why do I want to stomp on everything until it’s just a messy runny flattened gooey sack there underneath my bloody boot?

  So I didn’t kill Cliff? Maybe Cliff isn’t even having an affair with Heidi? I don’t even know how remotely interested the guy is in women, to be honest. He’s a counselor who goes to our church. Of course I should have known that. I did know that.

  I have no idea where my mind is going.

  I just know what I said before—my plans and my dreams for Solitary.

  I know that I’m able to take all t
he stuff inside of my head and do something with it. I want people to get a little dose of this—this craziness—and have their minds blown in a good way. That’s how I want to suck them inside until they’re so far gone they can’t go back.

  I know I can’t go back. I’ll never be able to go back.

  Call me to give me some wisdom and guidance. Please. I need something. Anything.

  Jeremiah

  October 12, 1997

  Dear Dr. Barlow:

  The longer time goes by, the more clarity I have. And the more I begin to ask myself about those troubled, tortured teen days. My missing days.

  Tell me this: if you sell your soul to the devil, is there a chance you can buy it back?

  Recently I’ve begun to see things. Not in the nightmares, but in the broad daylight. Creatures. Faceless, monstrous, wretched things. Hovering in shadows, waiting. Crouched in corners, waiting. Silently breathing, waiting for me.

  I’m going along with Dr. Cliff, just going through the motions to try and get Heidi off my case, but it’s not working. She still looks at me in fear. It’s almost as if every time I have an episode and share it with you, she knows. But she’s not listening in on my phone conversations. She doesn’t see these words. Maybe she just knows.

  At the end of the year I’m going to hand in my notice. I know that we haven’t been here long, but this place is not for me. It’s not for us.

  I need to be back in Solitary.

  That’s what I feel when I wake up and when I go to sleep.

  And if those things following me could talk, I have a feeling that’s what they would say too.

  I dream of having my own church, as you’ve talked about. Of having people who know me and listen to me, where I don’t have to fake it.

  I’m realizing that the longer time goes by, the more hatred I have toward the things I was taught when I was younger, toward the whole Christian faith. The thing I studied at divinity school and the thing I fake every day.

  I want to go somewhere where I don’t have to fake.

  Like my relationship with my wife. A forgery.

  I have given up ever finding peace.

  It’s control I want.

  It’s control I desperately want.

  Because someday the old man of Solitary—that magician and mastermind who slips in and out of my dreams—will die.

  And I want to be there when he does.

  I want to be there to take his place.

  I think I can and will.

  I must.

  Jeremiah

  October 31, 1997

  Dear Dr. Barlow:

  Tonight I prayed to the dark spirits that been hovering around me ever since I started to come up with memories. Ever since I started to grow and see the world outside. I don’t know if they chose me or if it’s because of the evil that lurked inside our house. I don’t know. All I know is that I prayed, and the prayer was answered. I prayed to be shown a way and a sign, and it came in the form of finding something from my past.

  It was something I’d written down when I was a teenager and meeting with you.

  It was about the ancient rituals of Solitary and how every year they would pick someone to sacrifice to the dark spirits. Not to keep the spirits away, but to keep them coming back.

  And that’s when I decided that is what I would go and do. That would be my legacy. I would bring the ancient rituals back to Solitary, and fear would begin anew and the town would become something I could control.

  Then it was as if the spirits dared me. Earlier this evening, after Heidi passed out or fell asleep, I went into the kitchen and discovered the huge butcher knife just lying there on the island in the kitchen. I know I didn’t get it out, but it was there.

  The spirits want just a little taste. I know the date and the time. The idiots and morons of this world who don’t believe in the darkness dress up and play around with fire, but they don’t realize that they’re all just a second away from being set on fire and permanently scarred.

  It doesn’t matter.

  In moments I will be going out and doing a trial run for the sacrifices that will come in Solitary. This time it won’t be to some imaginary Cliff in my mind. This time it will be some unsuspecting fool who won’t be stupid much longer. I will take a life and offer it up to the dark forces I’ve neglected and run from.

  I no longer refuse to believe in them. I know they’re real and know they followed me all the way from Solitary, from that evil little house I once lived in all the way to this normal, average house that serves as their den and their home.

  Jeremiah

  November 14, 1997

  Dear Dr. Barlow:

  Heidi knows. I don’t know how, but she knows. She doesn’t just seem to be distant whenever I’m around. She’s afraid of me. Afraid. It’s a visible fear, maybe the same kind I had when my stepfather came around me. It’s a fear that seems to say I know what you’re capable of. But I haven’t told her anything. I haven’t. And the only other person who knows is you.

  But that’s impossible. I know you wouldn’t tell her anything. You have been the one telling me what to do when it comes to Heidi. To keep her under control. To keep her on a short leash. To keep her so she’ll do anything any time I want it all with just a look and a smile and her body cowering in fear in a corner.

  I’m no longer at the church. It doesn’t seem like a big deal or a big surprise. But I am excited about the plans to begin a new church in Solitary. I know it’s a small town, but big things can happen in small places.

  I look forward to not having to write these letters or talk on the phone anymore, but being in Solitary and seeing you in person. I look forward to getting my life and mind and soul back in order. It will be good to be back. I cannot wait. So it will be soon. Very soon.

  Sincerely,

  Jeremiah

  November 24, 1997

  Dear Dr. Barlow:

  In my dreams I’m burning the world down. The flames are surrounding me, and I’m watching everything start to melt and flake away. The heat is smoldering and everlasting and I’m standing there laughing just like I laughed when I burned them down and just like I laugh now sometimes when I know I’m going to burn more when the time is right.

  Jeremiah

  December 5, 1997

  Dear Heidi:

  So you know now.

  I guess I should feel good, since there’s nothing left to hide. But since you’ve so carefully read every single one of these letters, and since you laid out everything to me with such precision, I figured I would write one more letter to you in order to share my thoughts and feelings on the matter.

  The address on these letters—the 49 McKinney Gap in Solitary, North Carolina—it’s a real place. But nobody lives there and hasn’t for a long time. There’s just an old abandoned cabin there in the woods that I used to go to and hide out in. I guess—I guess I always thought these letters were just stockpiling there instead of returning back to us.

  I never even bothered to notice the letters were coming back unopened.

  So yes, you know quite a bit, but there are still a few things you don’t know. So I will share the rest here.

  Do I need help? Yes, of course I do. And I will get it. I promise.

  There are reasons. I’m not going to blame anybody else, but since you heaped a lot of blame on my shoulders, I want you to know the truth. Everything started to turn black when my stepfather came into the picture. I was nine or ten, and the whole world suddenly turned to ashes. This man was a monster. He took the heart and soul of a boy—a child—named Jerry Turner. There was nothing left to take after he was done. Oh, but he was never done. He kept taking night after night for a long time. My mother didn’t know at first, but soon lived in denial and then later in fear. It doesn’t matter. She was partially to blame for marrying a sick and demented man. He scraped the essence of who Jerry Turner was and left him with a huge, black void.

  Something filled that void, Heidi. Not fear, but h
ate. And I did something with that hate. I took back what was mine. I took back my identity and my future. I took back my life by ending my parents’ miserable, sickening lives.

  Then someone came and helped me out. Someone older, a man who is from Solitary and seems to run it. He gave me another name and another life. He gave me an identity. And he showed me how I could be free.

  You’re right about Dr. Barlow. This man who helped me wasn’t Dr. Barlow.

  Dr. Barlow doesn’t exist. Yes, I can admit that now, now that I’ve seen the proof. The letters coming back, the highlighted novel. Dr. Barlow was an imaginary friend and doctor I had when I was young. I was an impressionable kid who grew up listening to heavy metal and reading Stephen King. A man named Barlow was the reclusive man living at the Marsten House in Salem’s Lot—the one who turned out to be a vampire and infect the entire town.

  When I was ten and eleven, and my stepfather decided that I looked a lot more interesting than my mother, I needed to escape. And escape I did. And what ended up happening was that people like Dr. Barlow became real to me. Why I chose him, I don’t know. Just a stupid kid making something up to escape. But I needed that. And back when I was young, I would’ve sworn on my life that Dr. Barlow was real.

  Something happened after we moved out here, Heidi. I don’t know what it was, but it triggered those childhood fears and anxieties. The ones you made sure I knew about, the imaginary behavior and the paranoia and all of that.

  It’s all been in my mind. All of this. Your supposed affair, the man I supposedly killed. I’m sorry that it took you this long before you shared the truth with me. I’m sorry that you’ve been living with a man who probably seems more like a monster. It’s just—there’s medication I can take and doctors—real ones—I can talk to.

  I’m going to get better, Heidi. I promise you.