Sleepwalker (30 page)

“I could snap your arm in two with one quick jerk. Shall I? Shall I do it?” He tugged a little harder. “But you might die too quickly. And
that
would be an anticlimax to something I’ve been waiting so long to do. Uh-uh, my friend...I’m gonna drag your death out long and hard and make you experience pains you never thought possible.”

Richard felt his mind go blank. Even though the man in black dominated Richard, he still managed to clutch the gun, knowing that he’d make himself do so until he blacked out--which, given his blurring sights, might happen soon. He attempted to pull the trigger, but his finger slipped away. The gun dangled, two fingers barely gripping the handle.

Then, as if his entire life had just slipped away, the gun fell to the ground.

The man in black eased his grip on Richard’s arm, then wrestled Richard around to face him. The shock of the moment was quick, but no less terrifying, no less startling-- terrifying because the man in black had removed his mask to reveal Richard’s mirror image to him, a duplicate countenance bathed in the cool blue moonlight, his very features staring back at him with eyes as dark as coals, lips wet with hunger. It was a stunning moment for Richard, gazing at
him
for the first time in the
real
world, every contour of his face, every exact freckle and imperfection present, making it a truly unreal situation--yet one physically discernible, a position Richard never once sustained beyond the barriers of his odd
dreamworld
. Quickly, in his pioneering mindset, he once more attempted to imagine this entire scenario as a concoction from a dream. But the pain was too real, the shock of the moment much more afflicting than any nighttime ordeal he’d ever encountered. The only distinctive characteristic present in his twin nemesis’ countenance was the evidence of hatred, of some chemically-induced inclination that forced this
man
to conduct himself in such an ultra-aggressive, violent manner.

The situation turned from terrifying to startling in a matter of seconds. Richard called every last bit of strength and fortitude he could muster, pulling away in vain effort from the tight grasp of the man in black. He managed to free an arm and spin around, tugging his attacker across a small area of mud as he tried to escape. He couldn’t break free, but the man in black’s footing slipped upon the cold wet metal of Richard’s dropped pistol. In this chaotic moment, with the man in black off-balance, Richard spun back around, brought his head forward and slammed it into the eye socket of his nemesis’s skull. Richard was immediately dazed from the impact of flesh and bone. The world spun around him. Blinding light besieged him. Still he did not let go. Instead he threw himself forward as the man in black tipped back, his entire body weight on top as they both slammed to the ground.

Richard reached behind, groping blindly for his gun. The man in black had done the same, only stretching for the rifle he apparently placed down prior to gripping Richard’s head. The cold metal of the pistol slid into Richard’s grasp first. He grabbed it, aimed it, but all too late as his adversary sent a swift accurate kick into his wrist, reintroducing the pain there. It fluttered from his hand and landed unseen, six feet away in the darkness. Richard sucked in a deep breath, and with this came the bit of strength he needed to whirl sideways, out of the man’s grip. The man in black crawled through the mud for his rifle, which was now a good five feet behind him. In this time, Richard remembered--and felt--the screwdriver in his front pocket. He dug into his pants and pulled it out, gripped it as best he could despite the mud and water on his hands, then gathered as much power as possible to bring the blade down onto the back of the man’s thigh. It tore through the fabric of his clothes, went an inch deep into his flesh. Richard locked his hands together, pulled it out and stabbed repeatedly at the same spot, the blade finally sinking all the way to the handle. The man in black howled pure agony as blood spurted from the wound. The warmth of it was satisfying on Richard’s hands.

Richard fell back, exhausted, eyes searching the black mud for his gun. Although the man in black gasped and writhed in pain, he still managed to reach for his wound, then slide his hand further down his leg. He pulled his pant leg up. Strapped to his ankle was a knife. He pulled it, looked at Richard and grinned evilly as he flaunted eight inches of muddied steel in his direction.

Heaving in desperate effort to recoup his wits, Richard had no time to look for the pistol which was buried in the mud, somewhere to the right, between him and the man in black.

However, across the way, behind his enemy, he
could
see the rifle. He ran to the left, feet splashing in shallow water. The man in black leaped to his knees, groaning as his hamstring gave out. He crawled clumsily toward Richard, dove forward with the knife outstretched in a twittering hand, swiped the air and managed to catch Richard in the calf. Richard tumbled forward, yelling out in pain. Roaring, the man in black grasped Richard’s ankle, pulled on it while trying to get a better lick in with the knife. Richard kicked at him furiously, his shoes connecting again and again with the man’s head. He rolled side to side, trying to dislodge the man’s grip, all the while making every effort to avoid the encroaching blade. It found his shin, taking a thin slice out of him that felt like it touched bone. He howled in agony. Finally he broke free, stood, nearly collapsed from the pain in his leg, then staggered over and grabbed the rifle.

At this moment, time seemed to slow. His newfound awareness kicked in, thankfully, for it told him to pump the shell in the chamber. He did that. But then his mind told him that the gun would implode if the barrel were clogged with mud. He aimed it at the man in black, knowing very well he couldn’t fire it now. It would be like playing Russian Roulette. Perhaps the threat of gunfire in the man’s direction would dissuade him from attacking further. The man in black stood up, crazed and hunched, eyes rolling madly. Richard could see the screwdriver sticking out from his thigh. The man in black wavered; clearly, he was weakening. He held the knife by the blade. Smiled. Then brought it back, intending to throw it at Richard.

The instant the man in black’s arm whipped forward, Richard held the shotgun up in front of him. He could hear the knife cutting the air in its end-over-end rotation as it came at him. Miraculously, the knife grazed the barrel of the shotgun. It was deflected off target; instead of finding Richard’s heart, the blade brushed his shoulder, still causing a nasty slice in his arm, but not enough to disable him.

With his adversary now unarmed, Richard smiled back.

The man in black looked flabbergasted, his eyes taking on a wary look, his trembling hands dropping to his sides. His sudden inaction was curious, brought
 
by a state of severe and sudden confusion, not due to the unexpected shock of ending up in such an uncompromising position, but because he looked as if he’d just awakened from a terrible dream, only to find it to be true.

Wakened from a dream...

The man in black looked up at Richard, contemplated him with quivering eyes, looking very much like Pam did earlier today when she sat stupefied on Richard’s kitchen floor, blood on her hands, her nose smashed.

Her nose smashed...

He peered around, surveyed his injury, then moved to pluck the screwdriver from his thigh. When the pain told him it was too serious a ploy, he faltered rather awkwardly in the general direction of Richard’s dropped pistol.

Richard limped over, not about to give his adversary another chance. With all his might he swung the shotgun around in a wide arc, aiming at the top of the man in black’s head. A horrible cracking sound echoed in the night as the barrel connected flush with his skull. Blood spurted from the hole it made.

The man in black collapsed to the ground, writhing like a worm out of earth.

Richard smiled. Knew
exactly
how he looked.

He then placed the gun against the man in black’s temple, and blew his brains out.

They’d brought everything with them, the tapes, the files, the murder weapon, all of it now back in the box labeled ‘evidence’, which currently rested on the floor of the cruiser by Kevin’s feet. Siren off, Leonard took the back roads across town in an effort to prolong their short trip to Samantha
Sparke’s
residence. He feared the certain brutality of the scene, that in combination with Reese’s probable wrath. Kevin had one of
Sparke’s
folders out and was skimming through it.

“You gonna tell me about that other tape?”

“It’s a recording of the interview I did with
Sparke
after the attack on his wife.”

“Yeah Len, I know that already. So what gives? Why’s it so important now?”

“I seem to recall him saying something to me...well, let’s just say that it might correlate the attack on his wife two years ago with today’s events. I don’t want to say what it is until I listen to the tape first. I want to be sure I remember everything correctly. We’ve got way too many ‘maybes’ on our plate right now.”

“So you really think the two events are related?”

“Now more than ever.”

Kevin went back to reading the file. After a moment, he said, “Listen to this, Len. It says here that
Sparke
suffers from an extremely rare case of sleepwalking, called
psychoparasomnabulism
. This is the word Delaney uses to term his theory that
Sparke
, patient ‘1410’, suffers from a combination of sleepwalking and paranormal activity.”

“Read it to me. Maybe there’s something there that’ll clue us in to what’s really going on.”

Under the pallid glare of the dome light, Kevin recited Delaney’s notes:

“Patient 1410, Richard
Sparke
, appears to suffer from a very severe, previously unrecorded case of
parasomnabulism
. He believes his delusions to be real, as they regularly intrude into the sleep process, creating highly disruptive sleep-related events. This behavior, and the experiences that materialize from it, occur solely while sleeping, are frequent in their manifestations, and prove to be severely taxing on 1410’s mental capacities. They’ve occurred often enough and have become so burdensome that medical and psychological attention is required. 1410’s
parasomnias
incorporate various combinations of multiple arousal disorders, including multiple sleep-wake transition disorders,
parasomnias
associated with REM sleep, and other
parasomnias
, which I’ve put into a classification known herein as
psychoparasomnabulism
.

Kevin paused, then said, “You see, this indicates that Delaney’s passion for the paranormal has led to a very intimate diagnosis of
Sparke’s
problems. Man, Delaney was pretty off the wall himself.”

“Makes you wonder what another doctor, one that played by the book, might have seen in Richard
Sparke
.” Leonard made a left turn, even further out of the way from Samantha
Sparke’s
neighborhood. Kevin looked at Leonard, noticing his partner’s roundabout route, but didn’t say anything. “I’d imagine we’d get a completely different diagnosis altogether. Wouldn’t you think? Keep going. This is quite interesting.”

Kevin went back to reading from the file:

“1410’s arousal disorders are presumed
psychoparasomnabulistic
in nature due to an abnormal arousal mechanism in the cerebral cortex. In addition, I’ve examined the plausibility of paranormal phenomena, most specifically the recurring visitation of 1410’s deceased mother, child, and the unknown twin-nemesis he refers to as the man in black.”

“Well, I’ll be…”

“What is it Len?”

“That’s the first time I heard that.”

“What?”

“He refers to
Sparke’s
twin as the ‘man in black’.”

“You think it means something?”

Leonard paused, gathered his thoughts in an effort to make sure he got his overloaded memories straight, then said, “This may sound really crazy, but isn’t it real odd that Carol Davis, our only real witness of the day, said that
Sparke
had left wearing different clothing.
All black clothing?
”

Kevin’s eyes went wide. “Wow...that’s right...”

“And then Delaney wrote about a
twin
nemesis in his notebook.”

“Len...can it really be, though?”

“What, that our mysterious third person could be a Richard
Sparke
look-alike? A twin brother?”

“Really far-fetched. But then that might explain why Samantha
Sparke
pointed the finger at her husband. Because she thought it was really him.”

“Kevin, I think we may be on to something here.”

He grinned. “You said that before.”

“Yeah, but this time I really mean it. Go ahead, keep reading.”

Kevin read verbatim from Delaney’s notes:

To explain this paranormal phenomena, one must realize that forced arousal during sleep can induce vivid episodes wherein the appearance of ghostly apparitions become apparent. The "classical" arousal disorders, sleepwalking (somnambulism), sleep terrors, and
confusionalisms
are all solidly present in 1410’s case history. I believe that all of 1410’s arousal disorders are fully interrelated and share multiple characteristics, as all have occurred while in a mixed state of being both asleep and awake, coming from the deepest stage of
nondreaming
sleep. This would affirm 1410 to have been awake enough to act out complex behaviors, but still be asleep and not be aware or able to remember his actions. Again I stress that in this case, 1410’s disorder is triggered and maintained by
psychoparasomnabulistic
activity, in conjunction with sleep apnea and excessive limb movement during sleep. In one documented instant, the activity became so violent that it led to severe injury to 1410’s
bedpartner
. It is my professional opinion that treatment should involve medical intervention with a prescription of sleep aids and regular behavior modification through relaxation/mental imagery, and ultimately hypnosis.”