Machinery, Take Thy Dream

I was beginning to get rather irritated. I felt like no matter what I did, Amy, Chloe, or Sheriff (part time Reverend) Sheldon knew beforehand. Although Chloe claimed she was only human, some of the things she did made me wonder. Like how she reversed the power of the dream catcher's effects on me. I still didn’t understand. I mean, she had practically shocked the living hell out of me. How was I supposed to remember correctly?

A frantic knock sounds on the door and I am hesitant to answer. They think they know me so well, I scoff inwardly and remain seated in my empty living room. I know that it isn’t Isabelle, she has a special knock and I knew it very well. The knocking continues, and I hear Sheriff Sheldon’s voice, “Common, Connor. I know you’re in there.”

I sigh. This isn’t good. I mean, Amy is always around. Amy’s the one who visits too much, and Chloe came over occasionally, but when Sheriff Sheldon got off his fattened ass, that could only mean someone was in some serious trouble.

I leap off my couch (this was actually the first time I’d sat on it since I moved here) and answer the door. There stands Sheriff Sheldon and he doesn’t seem pleased about my defiance to answer the door, “What were you up to, son?”

I frown and open my mouth to talk but nothing comes out. There’s just something about Sheriff Sheldon that makes me speechless, “I was just taking a nap. What’s up with you?”

“Conner, I want you to meet someone.” Only after those words were spoken did I see the teenager standing next to him. His bright blond hair was short and for some reason it reminded me of the pet hedgehog I had owned when I was seven. His worried brown eyes looked everywhere and connected with everything but my own, “Jackson, this is Connor.”

“Hey.” I stretched out my hand, which he declined to shake. I nervously tapped my foot after folding my hands across my chest. He was staring at my bare feet which made me feel uncomfortable.

“Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Sheriff Sheldon was pissed.

“Certainly.” I move out of the way and Sherriff Sheldon basically drags Jackson (who is obviously here against his will) inside, “Jackson, why don’t you go and have a seat on the couch? I’d like to have a quick chat with the Sheriff.”

His shoulders are drooping and his body language has “fuck you and your mother” written all over it. For once in a lifetime, I might just be okay with wasting this kid, “So, what’s up with this one?”

“That is what you’d call your typical homicidal teenager.” The Sheriff put his hand on his gun, “He killed his parents bloody and-”

“Look, Sheriff, you don’t have to lie to me. That kid’s got douchebag written all over him but he ain’t no murderer.” I said the words but I seemed to be trying to convince myself more than the Sheriff.

“Believe it or not, it doesn’t matter. Just ghost the kid and make a call to me when you’re done, so I can tell his parents.” With that said, the Sherriff left.

I was left alone with a “homicidal teenager” as the Sheriff had put it so reassuringly. A sigh escaped my lips as I absent-mindedly rubbed my arm which was now covered with goosebumps. I look into the kitchen to see Jackson wandering around my kitchen. He seemed innocent enough, but I just didn’t see him as a murderer.

“Jackson, lets take a trip downstairs.” I smile that special smile that basically can get anyone to do anything. Jackson’s eyes (still not meeting mine) fall to the floor and he follows me quietly. Momentarily, I hear a giggle and I knew instantly, that my imagination was playing tricks with me again. Every time I went into the basement I would remember the little girl I wasted and this time would be no different.

“Lie down on the table.” I direct as I begin to untangle the various chords.

“Sheldon said you were a doctor who would help me with my headaches.” He said, worried. He didn’t seem ready to hop onto my table of death.

“Clinical studies have proven that electro-convulsive therapy has helped reduce severity of headaches. Trust me.”

With that said Jackson approaches the table, which is dripping with blood. He sits into the puddle with no hesitation. I blink and the blood is gone and my head begins to ache. I jokingly began to wonder if Chloe experimented on me some more, that my headaches would get better. At the thought of Chloe, I began Jones-ing for her touch.

I place the wires in the usual places and I sit back in my chair. I hesitate to flip the on switch but I knew what I had to do. All I had to do was think of those terrible scars which were inflicted on my Isabelle. I turn all the knobs up all the way and turn the machine on.

I didn’t watch the pictures on the screen and with all the electricity at top power it didn’t take long for Jackson to fry. As his now lifeless body lies on the table, I hold my head in my hands and think about how I have to call Sheriff.

Then I made a realization. Maybe I killed Jackson because of his headaches; maybe his headaches had prevented him from being the “model citizen” he was predestined to be. One thing I knew for sure was that Jackson didn’t really kill his parents; if he had, then Sheriff Sheldon wouldn’t need to call them.