Delirious (16 page)

“Why?” Joe asked again.

“Because I thought you wrote this.” Charlie retrieved the envelope from the floor. He handed it to Joe. “Please tell me you did. I won’t be mad. I promise.”

Joe took the envelope, opened it, and read the list. Then he looked up at Charlie. The concern and worry showed on his face. “You said you went to see Dr. Evans, right?”

“Yes,” Charlie said.

“Why?” Joe asked.

“I thought she might have some answers.”

“Are you afraid?” Joe asked.

“Yes,” Charlie said.

“Of what?”

“Of being like you,” Charlie said.

“I didn’t write this, Charlie,” Joe said. “You have to believe me.”

Charlie closed his eyes and paused. “I know you didn’t,” he said.

The two embraced. Charlie felt the thin trail of a single tear as it stretched down his cheek. He couldn’t remember when last he’d cried.

A
post from Joe Giles’s blog, Divided Mind:

It’s late, but I can’t sleep. I had a really hard night, and I’m still freaking out about what just happened. I lost my temper and got into a fight with my brother, Charlie. I haven’t lost my temper like that in years.

So why did I fly off the handle, you ask? Charlie accused me of doing something I did not do, that’s why. It’s too disturbing to tell you what he accused me of, but suffice it to say, it was an appalling accusation. I think I now understand why he blamed me, though. He’s scared something is happening to him, but that’s his business and not mine to share. What I want to write about tonight is how I reacted. Like I said, I haven’t lost my temper like that in years. Tonight I did.

Here’s my fear, irrational as it may seem, but perhaps Mom’s sudden illness (you have to read my last post for more about that) is affecting my schizophrenia. Perhaps there’s a chemical change taking place in my brain, altering my behavior in ways I can’t yet predict. I’ve always wondered if my childhood epilepsy, seizures triggered by music (click here for my ancient blog post about that) was some sort of precursor or warning that schizophrenia was heading my way, still a few years out, but planning on staying forever. Doctors found my hypothesis interesting, but since my type of epilepsy was rare and my schizophrenia is a more common form, nobody ever explored the link. They just said it was an unfortunate double whammy, so to speak. Maybe there is a link, but it’s been dormant in my brain all these years. Now something has changed
in my brain chemistry, and the same anger—that uncontrollable violence—is back, but without the seizures this time.

I know all too well the stigma and misconception linking schizophrenia to violent behavior. I also know there are those with the illness who do behave belligerently and sometimes violently. There are “sane” people who do the same.

My illness, however, has never manifested itself in a violent way. It’s more like a warping of reality for me. I see things that are not there. I hear things that are not said. The illness has touched every facet of my life. My behavior may be unpredictable, but it hasn’t been dangerously violent before. My disorder makes it hard to organize my day, not to mention hold down a decent job, which I now can do (thank you, Walderman). My disorder doesn’t demand that I harm others. If anything, the person I’ve wanted to hurt most is myself (click here to read about my one and only suicide attempt).

So here’s the question you can help me answer. Am I being paranoid (ha, ha, ha, ha)? Could my fight with Charlie tonight be linked to chemical changes of schizophrenia? Don’t people get into fights all the time who aren’t schizophrenic?

I know it’s not easy for my brother to live with me. I know I’m not always easy to live with. But our mom wanted us to be together in case she ever got sick. She didn’t want just anybody looking after me; she wanted it to be family. And let’s face it, I sometimes need looking after. It’s a big deal for me to admit that, but Walderman has made it possible for me to do so. I love my brother and I always will. For the sake of both of us, I hope there won’t be a repeat of tonight’s events.

Writing this out is cathartic for me. Normally, I’m not all woe is me in these posts, but tonight I needed it to be this way. Tomorrow it will be better. I’ll remind myself to take it one day at a time. I’ll take my meds and endure the side effects same as I’ve always done. I’ll go see Rachel. And in the morning maybe my brother will forgive me. More important, maybe I’ll forgive myself. I’m still pretty angry at Charlie right now, though, so I don’t know if either is going to happen. I could use some thoughts and comments. I guess I’m feeling a little lonely right now. Thanks for reading, as always.

R
udy Gomes was going to die. Charlie felt it in his gut. It was the only thing in his upside-down life that Charlie was certain about. He’d spent a sleepless night after fighting with Joe and most of the following day trying to figure out his next move. This was it.

The mysterious kill list, with Gomes identified as the first target, rested on the passenger seat of Charlie’s BMW. He was parked outside Gomes’s home and had been there for the past three hours. The only things he had to pass the time were his thoughts, which he no longer trusted, and the list.

For Charlie, the list was an undisputable artifact of what he had been denying ever since the incident with Jerry Schmidt at the steering committee meeting. He might be losing control over his mind. As much as he feared the list, he couldn’t stop looking at it or bring himself to destroy it. He picked up the list at least a dozen times, rereading it, searching the darkest recesses of his mind for any recollection of being its author. Nothing came to him. And yet no other explanation worked.

Sitting alone in the car gave Charlie time to contemplate his situation and try to piece it together. Joe hadn’t written the note. Of this Charlie was certain. Joe’s reaction to Charlie’s accusation was enough proof. If anything, Joe lacked guile. And from his careful inspection of the house, it was clear nobody else had been inside. For that matter, nobody except for Randal even knew about his being fired from SoluCent, let alone the names of those who had taken part. That left only one person responsible for the kill list. For Charlie, it meant looking square in the mirror.

He gripped the steering wheel hard. Admitting he wrote the kill list was tantamount to admitting he was crazy. That he had created Anne Pedersen, sent e-mail to Sony with the InVision product plans, written cryptic notes to himself, and surfed the Internet, looking for porn, while at work. None of it made sense. Charlie couldn’t bring himself to accept that he could have written such a list, let alone carry out its horrific promise. It simply wasn’t possible. He had proved time and time again, through all his achievements, that fate hadn’t dealt him the same lonesome hand that it had to Joe or his father.

What was it that hurt the most? Charlie wondered, scanning the dark street for any sign of Gomes. The windows of his car were rolled down slightly, and a cool breeze washed over him from the outside. It was invigorating and, for the briefest moment, dealt Charlie the illusion that he was closing in on the answer.

The feeling faded with the breeze. Everything that had defined him and proved to others that he was as successful as he was brilliant had over the course of a few short weeks been rendered meaningless. For all his hard work and achievement, he might end up no better off than his brother, Joe. Two lost minds. Two lost souls.

“It doesn’t matter what you did yesterday,” Charlie muttered, “when all you have is today.”

His only hope was to find something redeeming in this. Some small salvation he could steal from this nightmare.

Doing that meant keeping a watchful eye out for Gomes. If this threat was real, as he suspected it was, then Gomes’s life was in grave danger. If Charlie was the threat, then at least Gomes would see Charlie out in the open and would have a fighting chance to defend himself.

“I’m here to save Rudy either from myself or from someone I don’t know,” Charlie said aloud, laughing.

Using an address that he had swiped off Yahoo! People, Charlie had played out a couple of scenarios on the drive over to Gomes’s house. His favorite plan involved somehow convincing Gomes to work together and trap whoever was planning to hurt him. But Charlie wasn’t certain Gomes would even believe the threat was real, let alone that he would cooperate with Charlie to set up a trap. As far as
Gomes was concerned, Charlie was crazy, and handing him a typed-out
kill list
wasn’t going to do anything to change his opinion.

By the time nine o’clock approached, Charlie was thinking about packing it in and trying again the next day. Just then Gomes came lumbering down the street, his massive frame casting a long shadow down the cracked sidewalk as he passed beneath the yellow glow of a streetlamp.

Now that Gomes was here, Charlie realized he had no idea what he was going to do or say.

Gomes was talking on his cell phone. There were a couple bars and restaurants near the center of Arlington, where Gomes lived. Perhaps he had been out to dinner nearby. Charlie had already suspected that Gomes was on foot. He’d seen two cars parked tandem in Gomes’s driveway and recognized Gomes’s hot-rod Mustang from the SoluCent parking lot.

Gomes was just starting up the steps to his apartment in a two-family Victorian home when Charlie emerged from his car. A lifetime working in security had trained Gomes to be on alert. He caught the movement and swung his head in Charlie’s direction. Gomes stopped dead in his tracks. His expression was one of stunned disbelief.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Gomes snarled.

Gomes was wearing a blue blazer and tan khakis. Charlie saw his hand reaching inside the blazer. Was he carrying a weapon? Charlie couldn’t believe his own stupidity. He had been so concerned about how he’d convince Gomes that the threat against him was real, he had completely overlooked the possibility that Gomes would view his presence as a hostile act. Perhaps think it was a revenge attack for his being fired from SoluCent. Ironically, just like the kill list said.

“Rudy, don’t do anything stupid,” Charlie said from across the street, still watching Gomes’s hidden hand. “I’m not here for that.”

Gomes gave Charlie a long, cold stare. Through the ghostly glow of the streetlamp, Gomes looked even more terrifying.

“What are you doing here, Giles? I will fuck you up bad. I mean it,” Gomes growled.

“I need to talk to you,” Charlie said, trying his best to keep his voice down, not wanting to attract attention. “Let me just cross the street so we can talk.”

Charlie felt blood race to his head and his heart jump in his chest. It was fear. It had seemed so easy to get Gomes to listen to him when Charlie had practiced what he would say alone, in the safety of his car. Now, face-to-face with the hulking Gomes, Charlie knew that whatever he had to say wasn’t going to be well received.

“I have reason to believe your life might be in danger,” Charlie said.

Gomes took his hand out of his blazer pocket. The hand was empty: no gun. He then started across the street; after a few long strides he accelerated, running full out toward Charlie.

“Oh yeah? From who, jackass? You?” Gomes yelled it like a battle cry as he sprinted across the street. When he was in range, Gomes lowered his shoulder and drove it hard into Charlie’s sternum.

The force of the blow sent Charlie sprawling backward into his car. He was still sore from the fight with Joe the night before. The pain in his chest was staggering. Winded, Charlie slouched down on the street. Then he felt two hands grab him by the shirt collar and lift him up until both his feet were several inches off the ground.

Gomes let go with one hand and took a large windup to throw a punch with his right. Charlie timed it perfectly and ducked his head quick to the left. The blow glanced off his ear but was much less damaging than it could have been had he not moved in time. The body weight shift was enough to force Gomes to let go of Charlie’s shirt and drop him to the ground.

Charlie hit the asphalt, landing hard on his hands and knees. Adrenaline coursed through him as instinct instructed him to flatten himself on the pavement and slide underneath his car. His arms were tight against his sides, palms flat against the ground, forearms extended over his head, as though he were about to try and do a pushup. He could see Gomes’s massive feet pacing back and forth by the side of the car. Then he noticed Gomes’s right foot disappear from his sight as his left foot pivoted. Next he heard an explosive crash and saw falling glass pepper the ground.

“Want me to shatter all the windows in your Beamer, you sick prick?”

“Rudy, please!” Charlie said from underneath the car. “You’re not listening to me. I’m here to warn you about something important.”

“How about this for important?” Rudy snapped. “A guy I helped to fire comes stalking me at my house, talking nonsense, acting threatening, and I put him in the hospital. Do you think any judge is going to hold that against me?”

“I’m not here to hurt you, Rudy. But if you have your mind set on hurting me, you’re going to have to come and pull me out from under here yourself,” Charlie replied.

“You know what, Giles? That’s not a bad idea. I’ve been looking to blow off some steam. You’re giving me the perfect outlet, and I have the perfect defense. I think you’d rather take a couple shots from me than a night in the slammer. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He knew he had to act quickly if he wanted to avoid being Gomes’s punching bag. Charlie breathed a little easier as he recalled the keys still being in the ignition. That bit of good fortune might just be enough to save him.

Gomes crouched down to look under the car in response to the challenge. Charlie slid his body to the opposite side of the car, opened the passenger-side door, and jumped inside the instant he saw Gomes going into his crouch. By the time Gomes realized what had happened, Charlie was already in the driver’s seat. He slammed the driver’s side door shut and hit the automatic locks.