4. Down the Rabbit Hole (D2)

__ Ardy turned, coiled away from Munson as he approached her, demanding again, "C'mon, now, sweety. Tell me how you knew about Clye."
__ She glanced to the side, down, away, away from his eyes -- those terrible black eyes. Then a tiny orange glow caught her attention. The cigarette he smashed out was not yet completely deprived of fuel. An ember, a faint red star seemed to get brighter as her eyes locked on it.
__ Ardy felt herself catapult from the couch, the handcuffs melting away as she rocketed toward the orange glow that intensified and bloomed around her. She gasped and sighed as she felt herself sore and simultaneously shrink. The room became a vast dark cavern, the ember before her a forest fire.

__ She was looking out the window, through the neon glow of the PSYCHIC sign distorted by rivulets of streaming rainwater, and scratching the stubble on her chin. Stubble? Wait. No. It's happening again. I'm him. I --
__ Ardy -- inside the man -- looked over toward the couch and saw herself reclining there asleep. As she watched, she experienced R. Lee Munson's thoughts. He wanted her. He did want her that way, but he didn't want to rape her. He wanted her to give in to him, to actually desire him as a lover, consensually, as a wife. A wife!?
__ Aware of his thoughts, but also in control of her own mind, she could hardly believe the patterns that were shifting in his head. Maybe I'm imposing this myself, because I'm afraid he'll attack me. No. No, it's real. I know it's real because.
__Because R. Lee Munson's mind, like every other human brain, didn't remain focussed on one thing for long. Other flights -- memories, plans, ideas, dreams, distractions -- raced through in silvery streaks of thought. Munson, as Ardy experienced it, imagined a small house in the country, coming home through a swinging white picket fence. A young red haired boy comes running, shouting, "Daddy! Daddy! What'd you bring me?" Munson's lunch pail, Ardy can see as she looks down the suited sleeve to the hand in the mind flash, has his initials on it: RLM. "Hello, dear. How was your day?" And Ardy looks up into her own face through his eyes. There, Ardelene Jacobi, happy housewife complete with apron. Her name in the flash is Ardy Munson. That sounds better, he thinks, and she feels him think it.
__ But that happened in a fraction of an instant within a second. Other things that flash are memories from the last time he smoked a cigarette. Apparently, it had been several years. The pack Ardy had was giving him a pleasant buzz and the pull of the tobacco was calling him back.
__ And he thought about Clye, the man in the suit. The lawyer. A flash: A nameplate on a door that reads, Clyde R. Morrow, Family Law. And another flash, an instant where the lawyer began unbuttoning his shirt and winking, and the lawyer's ham sandwich breath close and repugnant on R. Lee Munson's face as the man steps up to him and touches his --
__ A sound outside pulls the distracting thoughts of R. Lee Munson, and Ardy the observer, back to the window. A seething hatred of the homosexual attorney brews deep within Munson and he feels the urge to kill again. Outside, a semi tractor-trailer roars by.
__ Again, he turns his attention to Ardy on the couch. She's propped up on an elbow now, awakened by the sound of the semi. Inside his head, Ardy hears herself say, "Don't go out there. If you go out to move the truck, they'll kill you."
__ Munson snorts and flash-thinks about being gunned down by marshals, then quickly dismisses the thought while simultaneously realizing the gypsy's right. He has to move the truck.
__ Seizing the keys he spotted earlier on a pegboard near the door, R. Lee Munson steps out into the rain. He steps up to Ardelene's pick-up and climbs into the cab.
__ That's the precise moment a beige Covert, Indiana squad car pulls up diagonally next to Munson's car one space over. Suddenly panicked, he throws the truck into drive instead of reverse and it lurches forward, jumping the curb and smashing the glass panes and the neon PSYCHIC sign which jiggles and sways until the cord gives out.
__ "It's him! It's him!" shouts one of the deputies. They raise their service revolvers as Munson springs from the driver's door.
__ Spinning, not sure where to run (and Ardy getting dizzy as she goes along for the ride in the killer's head), he finally picks a direction -- the cornfield across the road.
__ He feels the impact in his back before he hears the black police revolver explode. Immediately thinking his spine is shattered by the hollow-point lead, because his legs collapse under him, R. Lee Munson falls face-down across the double yellow lines of the old rural road. Another shot stings the back of his skull and --

__ Ardy woke from the vision as a roaring semi truck rocketed past the main window. Propping herself up onto her elbow, she saw Munson stare at her. She knew exactly what was on his mind.
She had just come from there. Wait a minute. Where was I? When?
__ "Don't go out there!"
__ Munson glanced at her, appeared to consider something, then set his jaw with resolve.
__ "I'm serious! Don't go out to move the truck. They'll kill you!"
__ Then he was gone.

3. The Fortress of the Mind (D1)

(D1)
__ "C'mon, think," R. Lee prodded as he drew another cigarette from Ardy's pack. "This is some spooky stuff you got goin' on in that pretty little head of yours."
__ He lit the smoke with her lighter and tossed the lighter on the table. It clinked against the crystal ball. For some reason, that made him laugh.
__ Ardy squirmed and scooted on the couch, trying to get herself to a comfortable upright position. No matter how she twisted, the handcuffs continually fought her. Wanting to ask her captor to remove, or at least loosen, her bonds, she instead blurted, "What're you gonna do to-- With me?"
__ She cringed at the misspoken word. While it was obvious she didn't need to give him any ideas, she also didn't want to inadvertently dare him to rape her.
__ He turned his head and squinted through the stream of blue smoke rising from the cigarette. He appeared to consider the option she desperately tried to push from her mind.
__ "You're afraid I'm gonna rape you, ain't it?" R. Lee muttered.
__ Ardy quickly shook her head. No. Then convulsed a shrug or two. She began to feal queasy.
__ "See." His laugh was a harsh bark. "I'm a psychic too!"
__ "P-Please."
__ "Don't worry about it, Ardy dear. I ain't no rapist. I'm a killer." He took a long draw of the cigarette, let the smoke form whisps around his words as he said, "Hell, you saw that, didn't you?"
__ She shook her head slowly, then with greater, yet false, conviction.
__ "You said Clye."
__ Ardy just stared at him. She couldn't look away and she couldn't pull out of the twin black holes that were his piercing dark eyes.
__ "Ain't it interestin' that I just happen to kill a man named Clye. Then here you go sayin' his name not two minutes after I walk in here."
__ She remembered the vision, the clarity within that tiny glint of light reflected from the jewel in her phony gypsy head wrap. Ardy had entered another world in that glint, as though she were pulled by some unseen energy force into a parallel universe. There she was a man. A killer. This man. But it wasn't an alternate universe. It wasn't even as phony as her getup. It was real. It was recent. It had happened and she had seen it. Lived it.
__ The killer stood and replaced the chair at the small round table, then he rounded the table to the throne-like chair she sat in when doing readings. He sat down and leaned forward, stairing into the orange light in the frosted glass ball.
__ "Know what I see?"
__ Ardy shook her head.
__ R. Lee Munson reached out slowly, dramatically, and caressed the sides of the crystal ball as he stared deeply into it. His eyes twitched and widened, darted from side to side as though he could actually see something.
__ "I see a woman in a corn field. She's dressed like... Like a...," he glanced toward Ardy, "What do you call 'em? Like the old lady in that old werewolf movie?"
__ She swallowed, "A gypsy?"
__ His laugh was a mischievous chuckle, but it wasn't infectious. "Yeah, that's it. But she's young, ya know." He squinted into the light. "Yeah.... Young and beautiful. A real looker."
__ R. Lee turned and faced Ardy directly. "And she's being raped."
__ Ardy gapsed and shuddered, a sudden chill rocked her bones and made bile rise in her throat.
__ "By worms," he quickly added.
__ Then he stood again, took a final draw of the cigarette, and stomped it out on the floor. Slowly moving toward her, R. Lee smiled a wide greasy grin. "You know why, Ardy dear? Why worms?"
__ Again, a shake of the head. Not committal. Not adamant. She kept telling herself, Tell him what he wants and give him what he expects. You might live --
__ "She's dead, dear. She's dead because she didn't cooperate. She didn't answer questions."
__ Ardy swallowed again. This time the lump in her throat burned as it met the rising bile.
__ "And you're dead if you don't tell me how you knew about Clye. I mean.... How many people in this town are named Clye?"
__ And that's when the next flash came to her.

2. Introductions (D1)

(D1)
__R. Lee stood transfixed, his eyes drilling white hot holes through the woman standing before him. Did he hear right? Did she just say what he thought she said? His gaze was a dare, locked on her timid face, as he opened the case and withdrew the pistol.
__
__Ardelene began to shake uncontrollably. She couldn't move or turn away. Somehow what she was seeing was a continuation of the vision that electrified her skin moments ago. Barely aware of the movements of the man's scarred hand, she felt locked in place.
__It wasn't until her next blink that she noticed the pistol in his hand, rising from the case, pointing toward her heart. She whined, "No."
__The weapon discharge and the pain of the impact against her left breast made Ardelene jolt, but before the darkness took her she had a moment to marvel at two things: how quiet the gun was, and how sleepy she suddenly....
__
__R. Lee returned the dart gun to the case, smiling briefly in awe of himself for having the forethought to re-load it after he used it to knock out the lawyer that morning. It was unfortunate that he didn't have another tranquilizer to lock into the chamber now. You never knew who you might have to shoot next.
__That thought jiggled in front of him a carrot of paranoia and he drew the nine millimeter Glock from the small of his back. With the smoothness of a jungle cat, R. Lee moved silently to the door and switched off the neon pink PSYCHIC sign, turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED, then locked the door. Then he searched the building.
__The roadside Psychic Reader Parlor was nothing more than a tiny ranch house on the brim of a cornfield. The main room was a illuminated by looping strands of white Christmas tree lights and the orange glow of a spherical lamp on the central table. Lame, R. Lee mused, that she uses a cheap kiddy night light as her crystal friggin' ball. A second-hand couch with a red tasseled cover sat to the side. A fan of magazines sat on a crooked coffee table in front of it. The room smelled faintly of must, incense, and cheap pine furniture cleaner. Below that, the aroma of stale cigarettes.
__Through a beaded doorway was a kitchenette dominated by a card table with a small TV on it. An ash tray full of butts explained the wreak in the room as well as the burnt yellow finish of the formerly white walls. The refrigerator contained half a two liter of Pepsi, a bag from Arbys, a loaf of wheat bread, and a jar of peanut butter. Muttering to himself, "No refrigeration required," R. Lee took out the peanut butter and placed it in an overhead cabinet devoid of anything except a Mickey Mouse mug.
__In a short hall beyond the kitchen, R. Lee found a back door blocked by a desk and two doors.
__Behind one was a three quarter bathroom. Behind the other, a bedroom with an unmade bed. He spent no time searching the rooms. He could see from a glance they were both a mess. And empty. The psychic woman seemed to be the only resident. Good. This bad stop in the middle of nowhere should be fairly simple after all.
__Except for one thing: the reason he had to take her down to begin with.
__Returning to the main room, R. Lee squatted to examine the woman. She lay on her back where the tranquilizer dropped her. Her arms and legs were bent at opposite angles forming a a human Swastika. She looked to be in her late thirties, early forties, but it was tough to tell because she was attractive despite the obvious smoking habit. Why would such a gorgeous creature make her insides so ugly? He mused. The woman wore what R. Lee figured to be a some kind of gypsy costume, a long skirt and richly-patterned blouse. A head wrap trimmed with tiny dangling crystals matched the dark green beaded shawl that hung loose around her shoulders.
__He pressed the back of his hand against her long smooth throat and felt a pulse and a rhythmic rush that accompanied the rise and fall of her chest. Though she was breathing heavily, the woman's pulse was slow and steady.
__R. Lee grabbed her wrists and dragged her toward the couch. Nudging the coffee table aside with his boot, he hooked his hands under her armpits and hoisted her onto the couch in an angled sitting position. Then he went back to the case on the center table, removed a pair of handcuffs, and returned to the woman. He pulled her arms back and cuffed her hands behind her before leaning her back and gently resting her head on a beaded throw pillow on one end of the couch.
__
__Ardelene's dream was hot with rushes of ice water that shocked periodically through her veins. In the dream, she was in Whisper Woods on the far west side of town. She was breathless, running from a man chasing her. Though the man carried a shovel and rake clumsily in one hand and dragged a full-sized man by the necktie by the other, he was gaining on her. She could feel his hot breath as he came closer and closer, fury burning his dark eyes.
__Waking with a gasp, Ardelene choked on her own saliva and tried to wipe her eyes and face but her hands were somehow trapped behind her.
__"Good morning, gorgeous," came a resonant voice. Recognizing it, she snapped to a full waking position and sat upright on the couch.
__"W-Who--?" Ardelene meant to ask more than that, but she felt her own words die with the futility of asking. She knew he wasn't the one to answer questions, but knew also that there was no way she could answer the one in particular he would throw at her.
__To Ardelene's surprise, the man smiled, pulled a chair over from the reading table, turned it so its back faced her, and straddled it. His smile was slippery but confident. He said, "My name is R. Lee Munson. Never mind what the R stands fer. I never did care for it."
__His accent betrayed him as a local though she had never seen him before.
__"What's your name, honey?" He asked. Then he produced a pack of Marlboro Lights from a pocket, a pink flamingo lighter from another, and proceeded to light up. Ardelene followed every movement of his hands, how they boldly produced her cigarettes and lighter. He was in charge. That's what that was saying.
__After a long drag, he blew smoke toward her. "I asked politely."
__Inhaling the second-hand cloud and longing for a drag of the real thing, Ardelene said, "My name's Ardelene. Ardelene Jacobi, but my friends call me Ardy."
__He smiled wide behind the hand holding the cigarette. "Like Arty the Smarty? The cartoon fish?"
__"A-r-d-y. Short for Ardelene."
__"Never heard o' that name before."
__"Was my gram's."
__"She long dead?"
__Ardy nodded solemnly. "Long time," she confessed.
__"Ardy." He appeared to taste the name as he repeated it two more times in different tones. "I like it. It suits you, but not the gypsy you."
__She shrugged, felt her chin quiver as new tears welled up.
__"No, no, no," R. Lee barked, standing and pushing the chair noisily aside. "You're not gonna break down on me. Not when we're off to such a super start."
__She sniffed and glanced toward the tissue box on a narrow shelf in the corner.
__R. Lee glanced where she looked, crossed over to the shelf, and plucked down the box. He returned to her and sat next to her on the couch. Pulling a couple of tissues, he gently dabbed her eyes before wiping away the smudges and lines of mascara.
__"You shouldn't wear make-up," he said as he studied her skin beneath the coloring he removed. "You've got a warm face."
__Ardy sniffed. "Thank you," she whispered weakly. Again, the chin quivered. She couldn't help it.
__"Stop it!" He bolted up from the couch and began pacing. "I hate that water works crap. Women should be stronger than that!"
__Chin still quivering, but tears drying up, Ardy stammered, "W-Why are you doing this?"
__R. Lee Munson paced two more circuits before stopping and turning toward her. He smiled. "I was just gonna stop in until the rain quit, but then I sees you n'--."
__Ardy blinked.
__"How did you know about Clye?" He asked. "I thought this psychic junk was all fake."
__"So did I," she said. Her voice was as cracked as her soul felt. "So did I."

1. Bad Stop (D2)

(D1.5)
__The rain pounded the windshield so hard it felt like tiny fists trying to get in at him. It was like they were trying to get inside, to wash the blood off his hands and shirt, then beat him for what he'd done.
__R. Lee Munson pulled off Route 9 into the tiny gravel lot of a roadside bar. Well, it looked like a bar. He squinted through the rainwash his wipers couldn't quite keep at bay and strained to read the piercing red neon in the window. There was only one other vehicle on the lot, a pick-up truck. The other six or seven spots were empty. Across the street was a cornfield. Next to the bar was a junkyard. The spot was blissfully secluded.
__The weather pattern shifted slightly and he could make out a design above a single word. The design was an eye with a curling neon iris. The word: PSYCHIC.
__"Great," he spat. Then he laughed. "We'll see about that."
__Turning, straining to reach the satchel in the back seat, R. Lee pried his hand under the shovel handle, nudged the rake, then found the case under a pile of loose wet garbage bags. He hoped they were just wet from the rain. It was going to be hard enough to clean the blood off himself. He hated the thought he'd have to detail his car.
__Maybe the psychic has some cleaning solution? He chuckled. "I wonder if they know I'm here."
__
__Inside the shop, Ardelene was straightening her fake gypsy scarf and head wrap adorned with tiny fake crystals as she studied her reflection in the mirror. She had to make sure she looked authentic.
__When the car pulled into the lot, she jumped up from her chair and smacked the television's power button. The Price is Right would have to wait.
__She pulled on her slippers and bracelets, quickly pulled the scarf and head wrap from the table in the center of the room, gave the crystal ball a quick buff, and muttered her mantra, "Cross my palm with gold. Cross my palm with gold...."
__Now she stood transfixed, staring at a glint of light on the fake jewel that dangled from her head wrap in the middle of her forehead. There was something in that tiny blue glow, like the point of a sniper's laser scope that vanished when she turned ever so slightly.
__Turning so the glint appeared once more, she allowed herself to forget about the source of the light and fell into it headlong.
.


__Ardelene found herself in a forest. Her body felt different, stronger, strange. She wasn't use to the shift in her center of gravity, wasn't used to the collection of objects between her legs that moved naturally with her gait but were nonetheless unfamiliar to her. Her right arm felt strained, taxed, and her left hand awkwardly clutched two long-handled items. The eyes that were not her own, slightly glazed with poorer vision, glanced back at what was dragging at her right arm.
__The body of a man in a shirt and tie was dragging along the ground behind her. The tie pulled like a red paisley noose, the loose end wrapped and clutched by her right hand. Her manly right hand was as strained and purple as the bald head of the man being dragged.
.
__The jingling of the bell over the door snapped her out of the vision and Ardelene turned toward the sound.
__Stepping in from the rain was a hulking shadow dripping silver drops of rain. He smiled and said, "Sorry to startle you. Pourin' cats n' dogs out there." His laugh was weak, fake. Like my costume, she thought.
__Ardelene was still trying to shake the images from her vision, her daydream -- yeah, that was it -- a bizarre uncontrolled daydream.
__"Can't drive," the man said, "The rain and all." He remained standing in the doorway, his face and features mostly hidden in silhouette. His voice, his manner of speaking, was probing, testing. It was somehow familiar, like she'd heard it in her own head once before.
__Trying her best to compose herself for the unexpected customer, Ardelene motioned for the table in the center of the room where the crystal ball waited. Her brow knitted under the glinting jewel on her forehead as she found herself unable to shake the feeling, the imagery, the realism of the vision. She never had a vision before. Her fortune-telling shop was like all the rest, a flim-fam, faux, a fake. She told people what they wanted to hear, used vagueness and pulled from her customer's expressions. "Will my husband get the promotion he wants?" They were always easy questions, and always provided a fifty-fifty solution that didn't matter in the present.
__Ardelene slowly took her place at the table, easing into the chair, not sure if it were her own legs she was feeling, or the legs of the man she inhabited in the vision.
__Flashes: The tie, the body, the tools, the woods, the dirt, the blood. She gasped and rubbed her eyes. Her mouth opened and spilled the words, "Ain't nothin' under here. Nothin' grows under the forest, Clye."
__The man had approached the table but didn't sit. Now he tensed. "What? ...What did you say?"
__Ardelene's eyes were watery, tears drew black mascara tracks down her cheeks. "I, I don't--" Her eyes fell to his right hand which placed a small wet case on the table. In the orange glow from the crystal ball she could see a raw red burn across the back of his hand.
__Like a burn caused by a silk tie pulled taught against his skin.

Background on UNTITLED 7 (aka. Read Me First)

If you've seen my blog, Baby Blue Spider, you've probably seen how I struggle and rejoice in the writing process. At some point I may even mention Untitled 7, my new novel. If you haven't, check it out and come back. Here's the direct link: http://www.babybluespider.blogspot.com/

Welcome back!

I'm working on a novel project which I'm calling UNTITLED 7. It's the first novel I've written (of seven, could you tell?) in a long time, and it's the first one ever written in the first-person perspective.

Because it's first-person, I have been left without a voice for one of my characters, R. Lee Munson. Oh, sure, R. Lee gets around. But his character is primarily described by the protagonist, Robert Helper, and other characters in the story. He doesn't get a chance to speak for himself -- except in dialog.

So, this blog is his chance. Each entry will serve as a snippet of an "alternate chapter" of UNTITLED 7, featuring the perspective of my antagonist, R. Lee Munson. I should warn you, he's not a nice guy. The nice guy is the I in the page-print novel. As R. Lee would say, "There ain't no room for him here."

I should also point out a couple of other things: 1) UNTITLED 7 and The Munson Chapters are works of fiction; 2) Any similarities between these characters and real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental; 3) The Munson Chapters will not, when they are finished, constitute a full story. For that, you'd have to read UNTITLED 7.

Oh, and I should point out that what you read here is to be considered VERY VERY ROUGH. This is free-form fiction without the generosity of editing or time. That stuff is reserved for UNTITLED 7. Side note to that: The "D" and number after a title indicate what draft the chapter is.

That's it. I hope you enjoy The Munson Chapters enough to want more, and I hope I can give you the opportunity to some day read UNTITLED 7.