11. A Death in the Kitchen (D1)

__ R. Lee Munson came to in the throne and, for a moment, forgot everything that had happened. For the briefest instant, he thought he had just dozed off in the elaborate chair and allowed Ardelene and the Bird Tester to escape.
__ That notion was further confirmed by his inability to move. His head throbbed with a migraine-like intensity, his drool was bloody, and the side of his head itched where the blood had dried to his scalp, but he was aware enough to see the silver cocoon he was trapped in. He had been duct taped to the chair.
__ "Ardelene. Ard--." It was the Bird Tester. He backed away from Munson as though the imobilized killer could spring out of the throne and attack. Apparently, Munson thought, the scrawny should-have-been-dead bastard was left to guard him while Ardy....
__ She came out of the bedroom toweling something off. It was his Glock. She got it wet. How did she get it wet? What, did she hide it in the damn toilet!?
__ "Give me the bullets," Ardy said to Douglas. He only hesitated an instant before handing over the two clips.
__ "Hurry. He's coming to."
__ "It's okay. He's secure." Ardy examined the pistol for a few moments before snapping the clip into place and charging a bullet into the chamber. She then gently lowered the hammer so she wouldn't accidentally shoot. Ardy clicked on the safety. She was a pro -- somehow -- and Munson became slightly aroused by her prowess.
__ Noticing his attention and smile, Ardy smiled back. "Amazed, R. Lee?" I learned it from you.
__ The mention of his name and an indication of a tactical intimacy made him want to profess his love then and there.
__ But Ardy's mood changed, darkened. She pointed the Glock at his face and took a step forward.
__ Douglas winced and stepped back. Hand held up to block the gory view, he said, "Don't shoot him in here, like that. That's murder. He's defenseless."
__ "He's a murderer," Ardy said.
__ Munson studied the end of the barrel. It wasn't shaking at all. What happened while he was out cold?
__ Douglas said, "You don't need to drop to his level, Ardelene. Please... put the gun down."
__ "You have no idea what he was thinking of doing to me."
__ "I could imagine. But, please, Ardelene. He's tied up. He ain't going anywhere. We should call the cops."
__ Ardy paused, pulled her finger off the trigger, and lowered the gun before saying to Douglas, "I do know. I know exactly what was in his mind."
__ Munson didn't know how she did it. He didn't know how she knew about Clye, how she knew something would go down if he didn't move both his car and her truck, or how she knew how to handle a pistol. There were no such things as psychics. He was sure of that. Whatever Ardelene Jacobi was doing was some kind of parlor trick.
__ Maybe you're right. Maybe I should kill her. __ Of course you should, dummy. But now you're 'all tied up.' __ I'll get out soon enough. __ Sure you will. __ I just gotta turn on the charms, get her to loosen this crap. __ And what about the Bird Testing Homo? __ I'll kill him while she watches. __ Ooh, that'd be hot. __ Oh, I know. __ I can't wait.
__ Ardy then told the scrawny Douglas to sit on the couch while she explained everything. She covered every detail from the time Munson walked in the door, including what she sees and how she feels when she's in a trance. And how glints of light seem to set it off.
__ "You never told me any of that. 'N I asked kindly," Munson called over.
__ Douglas glanced up. Ardy ignored him. She finished, "And I can prove it."
__ "Prove it?" Douglas said. "How can you prove it? You want me to think of a number?"
__ Ardy glanced around the room as if looking for something. Not finding a glinting light source, she said, "Nah. No, don't. Just think about what you want to do. Is there a plan you made with your life that you don't want your mom and dad to find out? Is there something you've been harboring? A secret. Something only you would know?"
__ Douglas shuffled uncomfortably. "I-I'm not sure. I-I don't think -- Um, Ardelene, you don't have to --"
__ But she was already off. Spotting the stained crystal ball on the floor, she went over to it, picked it up, and marched off to the kitchen with it, leaving Douglas alone with the killer.
__ Douglas' and Munson's eyes met. The sound of water running hissed in from the kitchen.
__ Munson lowered his head and stared out from under his eyebrows, arching them into the best sinister glare he could command. "I'm gonna kill you, cowboy. I am."
__ Douglas gasped and winced. His eyes darted to the duct tape binds. He wringed his hands and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Y-You aren't gonna kill nobody, mister."
__ "You wanna be first?"
__ Douglas stood bolt upright and called toward the kitchen, "Ardelene? You okay?"
__ The water stopped running. Then came a crash and a thud, not much different from a bowling ball dropping on a flimsy metal table full of silverware. The sound of a body falling followed immediately after.
__ Munson craned his neck toward the adjoining room. He called, "Ardy! Ardy girl!"
__ Douglas called out too, "Ardelene," and ran toward the kitchen, making sure to cut a wide path around the throne where Munson was held.
__ At the kitchen doorway, he said, "Oh, my God."
__ "What is it?" Munson tried rocking the heavy chair, scooting it so he could get a better view. The heavy furniture wouldn't budge. "What is it, idiot!? She okay?"
__ "No," Douglas muttered. "She ain't."
__ Munson grunted and strained at his bonds. Sure something horrible had happened to the woman of his designs, that could've been prevented if not for this dummy storeclerk, he was desperate to escape and run to her. "Get me outta this!"
__ Douglas stepped into the kitchen and knelt by Ardelene Jacobi's side. He leaned over her to see if he could see how far the steak knife was embedded into her chest. The handle wasn't moving because she had stopped breathing. Douglas inched back to avoid the slowly spreading pool of blood edging toward him.
__ Tears welled in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. Douglas Testerbird weeped for the loss he had never known, and would never have the chance to know. He placed one hand on her shoulder and one on her stomach. Neither moved or reacted to his touch.
__ In the other room, R. Lee Munson's shouts became a chaotic din over Douglas' screaming sobs.
__ And Ardy watched it all unfold below her.

10. Regaining Power (D1)

__ Ardy watched as the general store owner's head snapped back and his eyes rolled up. His body folded back and collapsed at Munson's feet with a sickening ka-thump.
__ "Oh, my God, what did you do that for?!" She screamed, partially in shock and partially in blind rage. While still blind, Ardy ran to Douglas's side without thinking. She intended to kneel down beside him, cradle his head, and see if he was still breathing. Try to revive him. But Munson stepped between them, ducked, and came up at her like a broad defensive tackle, catching her around the waist and throwing her back.
__ "Easy! Easy," Munson cautioned. He held her shoulder back with one hand and held up an admonishing finger with the other. "Don't."
__ "You killed him, you monster! You killed him!"
__ Munson's hand moved from her shoulder to Ardy's throat. He squeezed just tight enough to cut off her air, to get her attention. Her flailing arms went to his wrist and tried fruitlessly to pull his claw grip away.
__ The killer took a deep breath. "Now you listen closely to me, Ardelene. 'Cause I ain't gonna say it twice."
__ She sputtered, gagged. Her eyes went wide as panic wrestled with the rational thought to stop struggling so he could ease his grip.
__ "I killed that homo attorney. I killed that woman in Sioux Falls. I killed Douglas Birdtester. And I'm gonna kill you...." He let the last part sink in. Deep.
__ Ardy stopped struggling and he eased his grip. Tears welled in her eyes. She cried for the lawyer. She cried for the unknown woman in Sioux Falls. She cried for Douglas. And she cried for herself, about to die for no reason, not having lived or found her purpose in life. All for nothing.
__ "Unless," Munson added finally, "You agree to go with me. Stay with me."
__ The memory of that haunting vision flashed through Ardy's mind: Munson coming home from a hard day's work, the red-headed boy calling him "daddy" and running up to hug his leg, and Ardy coming to the door in a June Cleaver apron to wave and ask how his day went. Her tears became a whimper and a slow whine. Nothing would ever be the same again. She couldn't fight this man, but she also couldn't see going along with his twisted dream until she found an opportunity to break free. He would kill her long before then. He'd get bored and end it.
__ Munson stepped away from her and turned to snag the chair Douglas's arm was hooked on. Kicking the arm off the leg wrung, he turned the chair around and set it across the table and motioned for Ardy to sit. Then he circled the table and plopped himself in the throne, snatching up the cigarettes and lighter and drawing one out of the pack.
__ Ardy tried not to look at Douglas's lifeless form next to her, but she couldn't look away. The blood stained crystal ball had rolled against his side. A glint from a passing car's headlights outside caught her eye. She tried to look away, to address Munson, but it was too late.
__ Before she blacked out, she heard him start, "We are going to talk about how I can use your psychic...."
__ She lifted into the air, shrank, twisted, and catapulted down to the crystal ball on the floor. She felt her hair whipping around her shoulders, her blouse flapping around her, as the smell of blood on the thick glass ball became stronger and stronger.

__ Then she was inside Munson's head looking out at herself, blacked out, out cold, head lolling back as she entered the trance she's in now.
__ I'm in the present, she thought to herself. I'm in him looking out at me.
__ "Now what," Munson snuffed. Ardy noted to herself that his was how his voice sounded to him. It was deeper, more gravelly inside the skull. How distorted. She briefly wondered if all humans were under a delusion: The normal voice we hear is the voice we hear recorded. It's the inner voice that's wrong and sour.
__ As Ardy watched through Munson's eyes, he lit the cigarette and watched. He watched her chest heave with each breath. He watched her eyes flicker under wrestless lids. What's happening to me, she cried. Why doesn't something happen? She began to feel uncomfortable, looking at herself with a killer's lustful eyes. He still wasn't thinking of molesting her, but another voice in his head was trying to argue the point.

__ Do it.
__ No.
__ Look at her. Your future wife.
__ Shut up! Don't do this to me.
__ You gonna cry? You gonna cry like that time the lawyer made you put his thing in your --
__ SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!
__ And though Ardy could experience each painful memory brought up by the argument between the two personalities, she could also feel rage and anger -- and anguish -- instead of sorrow, guilt, and fear.
__ The battle inside Munson's conscience continued:
__ If you do it, you won't be a virgin anymore -- or a homo.
__ I'm not! I'm not! LEAVE ME ALONE!
__ I won't leave you alone until you do to her what Clye did to you.
__ No! It's wrong! I won't!
__ But you're a tough guy, remember. What did you call yourself?
__ Lemme alone!
__ A killer. You are a killer, killer.
__ ...
__ So rape her.... And kill her.

__ Maybe it was because R. Lee Munson was a psychotic criminal. Maybe it was the "newness" of seeing someone else's thoughts, but Ardy was having a difficult time sorting out what she was seeing and feeling inside Munson's head. Images flashed by: A smiling woman (his mother?); a stern father; a car hitting his dog, the Golden's head snapping violently away from the bumper as the carload of laughing teens accelerated away; his first kiss with a girl in pre-med; his first fight in third grade; the sting of his father's belt; the gentleness of his mother's kiss; the smell of vomit; the smell of apple pie; mugged at gunpoint in Washington D.C.; swimming in a cool lake after a hard day's work in the sun; crying over his mother's corpse; laughing at a poker game.... The pace of the flashes, and their twisting and strange connections, whirled around Ardy as she struggled to make sense of them.
__ During all of this, Ardy was distracted by the visions. She didn't notice that Munson had stood and had circled the table to stand next to her. His hand was outstretched, his thumb and forefinger holding her chin. He leaned down.
__ He's going to kiss me! Oh, my God! I'm not unconscious! I'm here! I'm in HIM!
__ Ardy -- inside Munson -- felt her head lower to her own face, her/his lips part slightly as they were touched by her own breath --
__ Then pain. A shock of cold pain exploded through the left side of Munson's head.
__ Ardy's eyes snapped open. She was back -- instantly -- in her own body, staring up wide-eyed at Munson's face, his mouth hanging slack over hers. Blood coming in a trickle down the side of his head.
__ Crack! It came quick, a silver blur, as Douglas staggered forward and swung the bloodied crystal ball again. Refusing to let go, the store owner swung like a pendulum out of control. He spiraled dizzily toward the front door and dropped the crystal ball which fell with a loud wooden crack when it hit the floor. He staggered and tried to right himself. Blood still stained the collar and shoulder of his shirt.
__ Munson tried to steady himself on Ardy's chair, but couldn't hold himself up. With a whimpering breath, he fell forward, collapsing painfully onto Ardy and driving the chair, with her in it, over backwards.
__ Ardy landed with a hard thump and tried to roll out from under Munson, but his unconscious body was too heavy. She let out a short yelp as the chair hit the floor, and Douglas moved in to push Munson aside and help her quickly to her feet.
__ "Oh, God, thank you, Douglas."
__ "Salwhite," he slurred. Then he collapsed on the floor next to Munson.
__ They were both either dead or out cold.
__ Ardy had a lot of work to do before they regained consciousness.
__ She kicked the bloodied crystal ball aside and moved quickly to the kitchen for the supplies she'd need.

9. Brain Washing (D1)

__ No! Ardy wanted to scream. But in that brief millisecond, she actually thought her shout would do more harm than good. What if it was a bluff? What if R. Lee wasn't going to shoot Douglas? What if her scream would be the blame and cause for the hardwood to be stained not only with Pepsi, but with the blood and gray matter from Douglas' head.
__ So, instead, she mouthed the words, Please don't. Don't. I'll do anything.
__ Munson's smile faded slightly, then returned, like that of a mischievous child who was halted in an act of vandalism only to think of something better to do that was even more dastardly.
__ Douglas rose from the floor. "T-There. I think I have it all."
__ Munson took the soiled towel from him and removed the cigarette to blow smoke toward Ardy. "Not a problem, Doug. I sure do appreciate y'er help."
__ As the killer returned the sopping rag and towel to the kitchen, Ardy took a quick step toward Douglas and whispered harshly, "What are you doing here? You should leave. Leave now!"
__ "W-Whuh?"
__ From the kitchen: "Hope ya don't mind, sis. I asked Doug to stay with us tonight. Ain't that right, Dougie?"
__ Leaning toward Ardy, but twitching his ear toward the kitchen, Douglas Testerbird seemed to be trying to listen to two conversations at once, perplexed at the possible meaning underlying one and the tone overshadowing the other.
__ Ardy stepped closer, said, "Don't stay, Doug. Trust me. Just leave now. He's crazy. He's a --"
__ "Lunatic," Munson finished from the kitchen doorway. He was holding the Glock in one hand and leveling down its sites to the suddenly shivering Douglas Testerbird. The cigarette, now an orange-tipped nub, danced between his lips.
__ Reflexedly, perhaps from one of those shows he watched all the time, Douglas raised his hands high over his head and slowly eased them down behind his skull, interlocking the fingers. "P-Please, Mr. Jacobi, don't shoot."
__ Click.
__ Click.
__ Click. Click.
__ Munson squeezed off four shots at Douglas, but the gun either misfired, jammed, or was out of bullets. Not knowing anything about guns, Ardy had no clue what the answer was. A resolution to the question, however, soon announced itself in Munson's tale.
__ He said, "See. You can put yer arms down, Dougie. I can't kill ya. Ardy took all my bullets."
__ Douglas slowly lowered his arms, glanced between Ardy who was studying her brother and R. Lee Munson, whose gaze was like a hawk, piercing Douglas the frightened bunny. "I-I don't understand."
__ "She took 'em," Munson repeated. He stepped into the room. "I haven't seen my sister in years, ages. I was feelin' pretty low on m'self, and was plannin' to come back here to commit.... To commit...." Munson did an admirable job of conjuring up fake tears, albeit the soap opera variety.
__ "Suicide?" Ardy and Douglas asked together.
__ Munson sniffed. "I was gonna blow out m' own brains, I was. Ardy stopped me."
__ Douglas looked at her as if searching for more. Ardy let her gaze drop to the floor.
__ Munson stepped up to the two of them, raised the pistol, then spun it on his palm so he was handing it, grip first, to Doug. Lunging quickly, Ardy snatched it from his hand and stepped back before Douglas refused the offer.
__ Playing into the skit for now, Ardy cocked her head and said, "There, there. I told you to leave this alone. You took it outta the night stand, didn't you?"
__ Munson smiled. He was obviously loving the fact that she was playing along, but -- more frighteningly -- he seemed nonplussed by losing the weapon. He lowered his head and acted, "Yer right, sis. I-I'm sorry." Then to Douglas, "I didn't mean to scare ya, Mr. Birdtester."
__ "I-It's Testerbird, and that's okay, R. Lee. That's okay. You can just call me Douglas." Then to Ardy, his hands wringing, the new guest repeated, "Y-You can call me Douglas."
__ "Maybe you should get dressed, Ardy? Now's we got comp'ny," R. Lee said, and spat the cigarette butt onto the floor before mashing it out with his boot.
__ The heavy gun in her hand, Ardy turned quickly and shut herself into the bedroom. She looked around quickly for a place to hide the weapon, but nothing sprang to mind. She moved from dresser to bed, under the bed, the closet, an old shoe box; then she moved to the attached bathroom.
__ Gently removing the heavy porcelain toilet tank cover, she set it aside and dropped the pistol into the chilly water, then she replaced the lid.
__ Returning to her room, she pulled a pair of jeans and a sleeveless blouse from the closet and began to dress herself. She wondered what the killer and the admirer were talking about.
__Admirer? Yeah, she guessed that's what he was. She had a secret admirer and, the greatest secret of all was that she never knew. She didn't know Douglas Testerbird had a thing for her. She assumed there were other people in his life, or even in the store, he talked to more regularly than she. Ardy was just a customer after all, and didn't know or even care about his favorite TV shows.
__ But, back when she was in his mind, she detected something. He didn't care that she seemed to feign interest at some subjects, listened to others, or honestly told him she didn't know or care about what he wanted to discuss. He was moved by the simple fact that she looked him in the eye and listened to him. That's all it took to snag his heart.
__ After she pulled on her sneakers and tied them tightly (in case she found herself running for her life), Ardy took a deep breath and froze. A thought chilled her.
__ Now what? R. Lee Munson was a homicidal killer with delusions of family he can never have. Why would he want to keep Douglas around? Why the story about being Ardy's brother? What was he planning? While she was unconscious, Munson could have dealt with Douglas easily and hid his car around back with the other two. You can't hang a man for the same crime twice, right? Why is he keeping him here?
__ When the truth came, Ardy gasped and her eyes widened. She looked up at the door, as if she could see through it to the room beyond where the two men stood. He's going to use Douglas to get to me. He can't wrap his head around this psychic business any more than I can, but he can't leave me. I know too much. And... he's attracted to her.
__ Ardy stood and went to the door. Great, she thought. All my life I could never get a man to look at me. Now I have two and they both give me the creeps. As she opened the door, she found herself feeling guilty about thinking of Douglas that way. He was the innocent. If she cut out everything she knew about his deepest thoughts and his desire to get to know her better, he would seem no more bizarre than the average geeky lonely man. Munson was the creep. Munson was scum. He was crazy.
__ Maybe, she thought, there's a reason for Douglas to be here now. Maybe it's divine providence, or whatever, that brought him here at this particular moment. Maybe the unexpected general store owner, even a little too shy and geeky around the edges, maybe he could save her from Munson's unhatched plan.
__ Maybe he will be her knight in shining armor.
__ I never had one of those, Ardy thought sheepishly.
__ As she stepped into the room, she saw R. Lee Munson lift the crystal ball and bring it down hard on the back of Douglas's skull.

8. The Bird Tester (D1)

__ Ardy was floating naked in a twisting, churning sea of stars. She knew she was dead because she was weightless and unashamed of her nakedness. Though she drifted through space, she was calm and warm, and awash in loving feelings.
__ Where is the light? She wondered. Isn't there supposed to be a shaft of light?
__ Maybe not. Maybe I just float here for eternity, not knowing--
__ "--To talk to her this time."
__ What was that? Ardy strained. A disembodied voice, but not her mind's voice, had spoken. She wasn't sure, but it may have been a man, a gentle man's voice. Not Munson's. Not the psychotic killer with the family issues. I wonder--.
__ "Oh, Ardelene. How am I gonna say this?"
__ The voice was familiar, but she couldn't place it. And suddenly she didn't feel like she had died anymore. She was alive, but deeply unconscious, and somehow in the mind of yet another person in their future or their deepest thoughts.
__ As she floated, the stars around her condensed and coalesced into a streaming blurry vision. At first, the vortex of dark orange light appeared to rush toward her, around her. Then the image divided: orange and blue on top, dark gray below with green on either side, rushing toward her, spreading around her.
__ Her naked body drifted downward and tilted back slightly. She could feel clothes form on her, but not her nightshirt. Her legs were sliding into jeans and sneakers, her chest flattened to fit into a Polo shirt. She could feel the itch of the logo on her left breast and she could feel the weight of a heavy watch on her left wrist.
__ Douglas?
__ Her vision began to clear -- well, as much as it could. The eyes she was seeing through were not that good, even with the thick glasses. What she could see through Douglas's eyes was framed by the convex distortion of the lenses and the wide rectangle beyond. Ardy felt her right foot move to the left and press down on something. Her body shifted slightly with the deceleration.
__ A car.
__ Even as she realized she was inside the man's mind, her vision cleared more and she saw that he was driving somewhere. The road stretched out before her and the waning sun burned the blue sky and began to turn it orange.
__ Douglas. It was him all right. But why? How?
__ While it was true Ardy didn't have many friends -- actually, none really at all -- she knew you couldn't go through life without meeting a person here or there, or even dealing with people on a daily basis if you had to. Sometimes you interacted with the same person repeatedly, a veritable stranger converted into a friend or acquaintance over time, simply by applying a title: teacher, boss, partner, vendor, assistant, supervisor.
__ In this case, Douglas -- she couldn't recall his last name -- was the owner of the Covert General Store. Ardy did all her shopping there because it was close, had just what she needed, and there were never any crouds or lines. She even spent a lot of time making small talk with the bespectacled man. He was always friendly, though she often suspected Douglas was a little mentally challenged. No one could be that friendly, or that interested in popular TV shows. Douglas always struggled to chat with her about Lost or Heroes, Desperate Housewives, or 24. She had heard of them, but Ardy hadn't seen TV since Cheers was on. He always squirmed when he talked, crinkled up his face to push up his heavy glasses, and made bizarre groaning sounds in his throat when he was disappointed. Douglas was always disappointed when Ardy confessed she didn't know anything about Jack's relationship with the president, or about the Tail People, or whether or not some housewife was interested in some gardener, and she really knew nothing about Hiro's dad being the captain of something called Excelsior.
__ But now she knew it all.
__ All of what Douglas was was now apart of her. Much deeper than the swim through R. Lee Munson's mind, Ardy had an instantaneous grasp of who Douglas was and what his loves and fears were. He considered himself a "Trekkie," not a "Trekker," whatever that was. He felt a deep connection, almost a kinship, with characters from TV shows. He wept when Keith was killed on One Tree Hill. He shouted in anger every time Cancerman bested Mulder and Scully. He laughed through tears when Ross finally confronted Rachel and told her he loved her, and he repeated the performance when Chandler proposed to Monica.
__ But he could never laugh, nor even smile, whenever Drew Carey was on TV, because the comedic actor looked too much like Douglas's father.
__ Sometimes it's the little things, the little bizarre things, that you only know yourself. Douglas would never tell anyone about his avoidance of all things Carey, not even a friend.
__ Which was something -- like Ardy -- that Douglas didn't have.
__ He was tops of all his subjects in school, Covert Junior High and East Maple 394 High School. But he never had time for pursuits beyond what labeled him a "geek" and a "nerd." Always too skinny and gawky for sports, Douglas avoided the athletic crowd. He found one friend named Kenny who invited him into the Geek Realm of Star Trek, Speech and Debate, Chess Club, and computers. By the time he was 20 he had built his own computer and was well on his way to establishing his own local network -- before anyone knew what a LAN was.
__ The pace at which Douglas's mind uploaded into Ardy's consciousness was dizzying, but it didn't seem to be harmful. Facts and figures, both real and imaginary, swarmed into her head. Visions streamed by like the road beneath the car (a six-cylinder 1997 Dodge Intrepid, maroon with gray interior. The transmission catches sometimes, but only in extreme cold. If I could have any car I'd have a Corvette Stingray). Lines of dialogue from TV or movies traced lines from ear to ear like Morse code (Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father. He told me enough. He told me you killed him. No.... I am your father). And tiny factoids stuck to mental synapses like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth (I'm allergic to walnuts. I love dogs, but cats make me sneeze. I wonder if Ardelene likes dogs or cats. I miss my gram. I wish football wasn't pre-empting my show tonight. I wonder if I should've washed the car before driving out here. I want to order that new video card, but the store needs an overhaul on the freezer unit in back. I could let the payment on the bait supplier go one more week. I need to pay the beer guy first).
__ The sound of her name in Douglas's mind conjured pictures of her own smiling face: with her hair pulled back and her tan lines showing on her shoulders; with her hair pasted down by torrents of rain; trying desperately to carry too much without a cart; looking confused as Douglas tells her about an old Twilight Zone episode that wasn't in the movie from the 80's.
__ Oh, my God. He has a crush on me.
__ True enough, particularly by the thoughts racing through Douglas's mind, but nothing like the bizarre David Lynchian visions of R. Lee Munson. Douglas had no delusions about marrying Ardy. In fact, he was on his way to see her at the Psychic Parlor to return the sunglasses she'd left on the counter last week. He had been wrestling with the notion for some time and finally got up the courage -- and formulated the plan -- to use the sunglasses as an excuse to visit, rouse conversation, and eventually ask her on a date. Nothing more. He just wanted a friend to talk to and she was the only one who ever gave him the time of day in the store.
__ Sweet. That was the word to describe it. Sweet. And, despite herself, Ardy couldn't help but think that's what any girl with a big heart would say, just before she let him down easy: "Oh, you're sweet, but I can't because... I'm a loser too but feel superior to you because I'm not a geek!" That had happened to him countless times in the past, and why he deeply feared not only that he would die a virgin, but that he would die alone. Alone with every episode of The X Files on DVD, and no one to watch it with. With Douglas's every thought, every hope and dream, every recalled television moment in pixelated clarity, his only fear was... fear of rejection.
__ Wait a minute. On his way? Here?
__ Ardy felt herself swirl out of his head. She felt her own body coming back into form as the vision blackened and left her in cold darkness again. Then, the pain. Throbbing at first, then sharp, she felt the sting in her side and now the pulsing hell on the side of her head. Opening her eyes slowly, she pulled herself onto her side, resting on an elbow.
__ She was in her bedroom, lying on top of the covers, still wearing her nightshirt and panties. Listening intently, her ear cocked toward the doorway, she heard rustling but no conversation. No gunshots. No shink of a knife blade and crumple of a body Douglas's size.
__ Then Ardy realized something that made her feel Douglas would be okay after all. In the vision, it was sunny and late in the afternoon. It was earlier than that now, and raining like cats and d--.
__ She looked toward the window, then the clock. Sunset was only an hour away, and the sky had cleared to a fading umber. "Oh, my God," she whispered through a burning throat, and rolled out of bed as quietly as she could.
__ Stepping lightly into the doorway to the main chamber and Psychic Reader Parlor, Ardy braced herself on the door jamb. Through the window, orange sunlight glinted dully off the windshield of a maroon Intrepid.
__ "Oh, Ardelene. Hi."
__ Douglas, previously hidden behind the reading table, stood from his crouch. He was holding a sodden rag stained with cola. He motioned weakly toward the other door in the room, the one leading to the kitchen. "I was helping your brother, R. Lee, clean up the mess he made."
__ Dazed. Stunned. She could only stare and look confused.
__ R. Lee Munson came to the kitchen doorway, a fresh towel in his hand and a cigarette dangling from his lips. "Hiya, sis. Dougie here was just helpin' me with my little mishap. Hope we didn't wake ya. We was talkin' for seems like hours before he offered to help."
__ "Well, I-Ida jumped in right away, but I didn't, d-didn't know if you m-minded."
__ Sweet. Was all she could think. Her mind was slow to draw the points together, and her head pounded too hard to define the scene before her.
__ After a moment of awkward silence, Douglas exchanged the wet rag for the towel R. Lee handed him. He said, "Oh. Sorry. It's me, you know? Douglas Testerbird from the General Store."
__ When she didn't respond right off, Douglas turned red and dropped slowly to his hands and knees to finish mopping up. He made a soft groaning sound in his throat.
__ Ardy's face slowly turned toward Munson's. He was smiling broadly.
__ As she watched, he reached behind his back to pull something from the small of his back.
__ His dark eyes glinted. He mouthed the words, "Watch me kill him," and produced the gun.

7. A Dark Line Crossed (D1)

__ Ardy sat at the fortune-telling table while Munson worked in the kitchen. She heard the clink of a knife in a jar, the refrigerator open and close, heard the fsst of the Pepsi being opened, and smelled faintly the aroma of peanut butter.
__ Munson kept coming back to the door, looking in on her to make sure she hadn't moved. He'd left off the handcuffs, but denied her a change of clothes. So, Ardy sat in a nightshirt and panties, awaiting her captor's meal. Even if she could escape, she wasn't sure she wanted to. Something weird was happening to her. She was actually able to enter his mind from time to time: flashes of the future, glimpses of his memories, and absent times filled in. It was all very strange and, she thought, somehow connected to him. After all, she couldn't see the future until the second before he walked into her psychic parlor. Huh. Irony.
__ "You got milk?"
__ She looked up. He was standing in the doorway, his dark eyes wide and demanding. "Huh?"
__ "Milk. You got any?"
__ Ardy shook her head slowly. "Just the Pepsi." She was a little ashamed to admit her habits for keeping a tidy refrigerator and a stocked cabinet were a little lax. Ardy wasn't a gypsy, or a real fortune teller -- well, at least until a couple hours ago. She didn't have any family or friends. She lived alone in the back of this roadside psychic reader parlor.
__ It used to be a farmhouse, but the land was bought up by a farming conglomerate and the family that used to own it took the money and bugged out. They had planned on keeping the house separate from the farm, but soon found there was no reason to live glued to a rural route if you weren't going to farm the land around it. So, the two acres surrounding the house and tractor barn were left out of the deal with the conglomerate and consequently went for cheap when the family left. Ardy continues to get buy-out requests from the company, but hasn't been ready to give up her solitude yet.
__ R. Lee Munson came out of the kitchen with a glass and a plastic Disney tumbler emblazoned with Mickey Mouse. He set the plastic cup in front of her and the glass at his place, then he returned to the kitchen and came back with a couple of peanut butter sandwiches on wheat bread. All she had.
__ "Sorry I didn't have more," she shrugged.
__ "Shut up!" Munson's tone was suddenly agitated. His eyes were still wide, but this time they were fierce and tiny droplets of sweat ringed them and dotted his forehead. "Did I say you could speak?" He was yelling now. "I got the gun!"
__ She didn't need the proof. Her side still throbbed, but Munson pulled the Glock from where it was tucked in his pants and pointed it at her face. If it went off now, even by accident, she doubted there would be a psychic journey into his apologetic mind. Ardy winced and lowered her head. She held her hands up and leaned back in the chair. "No. Don't."
__ "Don't what?" He came forward and smacked her hands down, pressed the hard square barrel of the Glock into the top of her head. "Don't what?!"
__ Ardy started to cry again. How could she be so wrong? She had been inside his thoughts, his deepest thoughts when she was unconscious. He's troubled, yes, but he's not as bad as he's acting. She wished she could fly into his mind now and see where he was going with this torture, why he was suddenly so violent.
__ "DON'T WHAT?!" He roared again. The barrel pushed down hard enough to force Ardy's chin down and her shoulders up.
__ "P-Please don't k-kill me," she whimpered. Then, the pain radiating from the weapon's metal barrel became too much. "Oww... Please."
__ "What!?" He breathed hard through his nose. The tension, the fury was rising in his vibrating muscles.
__ Pain pushing her, Ardy ducked her head and twisted away from the gun. "You're hurting me."
__ "You don't know what hurt is!"
__ Ardy looked up at him, agape, and before she could stutter a response, the black blur of the Glock swung down at her temple. And everything went black and cold.

__ R. Lee Munson looked down at Ardelene Jacobi's crumbled body. Her nightshirt and lifted up above her hip and he cocked his head, tracing the curve of her thigh with his eyes.
__ No. No, it's not right. Stop it. She's not your wife, yet. You can't do what you're thinking.
__ Leave me alone. I'm not gonna. I'm just lookin'.
__ Munson took a deep breath through his nose and tucked the Glock back in his pants. Then he turned away from the overturned chair and Ardy's sprawled unconscious form, and sat in the fake throne to eat his peanut butter sandwich.
__ Maybe I should just kill her so I don't have to debate this with myself.
__ Then how will she become your precious wife? How will you get your life back.
__ Shut up!
__ Oh, you're going to start yelling at me now? You're going to what, turn the gun on yourself and knock your own ass outta the chair?
__ A jolt of fury waved through Munson's arm and he reached out with a swoop, flipping Ardy's plate and cup of soda onto the floor. The Pepsi hissed like an angry snake as it spread across the hardwood.
__ Real smooth, dummy.
__ Shut up!
__ Maybe you should kill her? It'll calm you down.
__ Maybe I should.
__ Maybe you should... what?
__ Kill her.
__ That's when Munson rose from the throne.
__ That's when a car pulled up outside.

6. The Naked Lie (D1)

__ The explosion of the gunshot in the open room was deafening. Ardy felt the impact of the bullet in her chest and whirled as though whacked with a baseball bat. Then everything went dark. And cold.
__ When she came to Ardy thought she was in the afterlife. At any moment an angel or demon was going to step out of the dim to escort her to her final rest, but the smell of cigarette smoke and roar of another semi speeding past outside tuned her back to the world of sweat and pain and nausea she was now cycling through.
__ She was on the couch, but this time propped up with pillows from the bed. Her legs were also elevated and she was covered with a quilt tucked in around her neck. Her right side was stiff and ached and, when she reached over with her left hand to touch the area where she was shot, she felt tight bandages stretching the skin of her side under her arm. She was also bandaged around her right forearm. The bullet must have passed by her right breast, creasing both her side and her arm as it punched through. It wouldn't more more of a scratch if her arm wasn't held tightly to the side by --.
__ Handcuffs.
__ They're gone! Ardy winced from the pain in her side as her right hand felt her left wrist. She could trace the creases of depressed skin where the cuffs had been pulled tight, probably while she was unconscious and being moved around like a rag doll by Munson.
__ Munson. Where? Ardy turned her head but couldn't see the fortune telling table from this angle. A table with gauze, bandages, alcohol, rubber gloves, a syringe, and a small vial of a clear liquid drug obscured her view.
__ Ardy shifted. And winced. She held her side as she attempted to sit up, but immediately felt dizzy and collapsed again. With her left arm across her midriff to her side she noticed something else. Her clothes had been changed. She was no longer wearing any of the gypsy gear she'd worn before. Though she kept her panties, everything else had been stripped away and replaced with a long gray nightshirt.
__ Tears welled in her eyes as her brain forced the horror upon her. She couldn't help imagining what the monster did to her while she was unconscious. How he took advantage of the situation, touching her, smelling her, tasting her.
__ A shock of revulsion seared through Ardy and she pinched her eyes tight against the thoughts that raced like a vicious horror film. She thrashed her head from side to side, whimpering and pulling herself painfully into a fetal position. I have to get out of here. I have to get help.
__ The thoughts alerted her to two things. One, she was alone. Munson had gone and the top of her truck was no longer visible through the big picture window beyond the backwards PSYCHIC sign. And two, she was no longer cuffed.
__ Opening her eyes, Ardy's vision locked on the vial of clear liquid. A tiny glint reflecting off the chrome lip of the drug pierced her vision like a lightning bolt and she found herself pulled into it. As the room elongated and Ardy's body shrunk, she felt herself levitated off the couch, soaring for countless miles, toward the vial on the table right next to her.

__ She was in him again, looking down at herself. But this wasn't a vision of the future, or even a glimpse of where R. Lee Munson was now. This was moments after he'd shot her.
__ She followed his thoughts: Oh my God! No! I didn't mean to! It just went--! I thought I'd flicked the safety! Ardelene! Then aloud, "Ardelene!"
__ He goes to her prone body, face down, and watches as a small amount of blood stains the hardwood floor. He rolls her onto her back and feels for a pulse in her neck. Thank God. Thank God. Just unconscious. She'll be all right. Where's my medical bag?
__ He's a doctor! Ardy was treated to flashes of memory: internships at the Covert Hospital, medical missionary work in New Guinea, crying buckets over the first patient he ever lost, leaving the medical field to become --.
__ Then the thought-chain broke and Ardy finds herself within him as he carefully lifts her and carries her to the bedroom. He gives her a shot of something pulled from the medical bag: a combination sedative/anti-biotic. There, he gently removes her vest and blouse, struggles with her bra (... Never done this before ...), and noticing how tightly she pulls her belt, loosens it and -- from the end of the bed -- pulls off her shoes, socks, and slides down her pants.
__ Oh, God, Ardy thinks inside his head. This is it! But she can't pull away from his eyes, the feel of his hands as his grip flexes.
__ His thoughts are clinical. He takes only the briefest moment to admire her body, but doesn't think of her as anything but a patient. Rolling her onto her side, he wrestles with the handcuffs before laying her flat again and elevating her right arm to check the damage underneath. The bullet passed through perfectly, searing the skin next to her right breast and tearing a trough out of the inside of her right arm. Scar won't even show, he thinks.
__ As Munson works: giving Ardy a Tetanus booster, cleaning and stitching the wound (such detail to minimize the scar!), bandaging her carefully; she can feel and hear all of his thoughts. Again, he thinks of being with her (happily married -- Never done that before, either. She'd be nice, but she'd never want to...) and he fears what will happen when she wakes up. He knows she'll accuse him of raping her, or at the very least attack him for shooting her. (... Has every right. She didn't know it was an accident....)
__ But I need her, he thinks. She sees things. Knows things. She can help me get my life back. And another voice deep within his head, perhaps his conscience, But you killed a man, idiot. You can't turn away from that! You're a murderer.
__ And then he cries. He cries again, like the child who was beaten and told not to cry when his father and uncle did those horrible horrible things to him. Like the lawyer. Clye. Better off dead so he can't do that to his boy. Then nausea. Munson turns, vomits into a waste basket.

__ Ardy would like to stay, hear and feel more as she learns about the demons within the demon, but she is pulled back, out of his mind and heart, out of his hands and head, and painfully back into her own contorted weeping body.
__ She gasps loudly, sucking in air as though she'd been holding her breath the whole time she was in the vision. She closes her eyes and tries to relax, to absorb all the thoughts and miasma of feelings within the man that she experienced. He didn't do anything but correct his mistake. He accidentally shot her, almost killed her, but felt deep remorse for doing so. Ardy couldn't be sure, because it must be different for everyone, but she could almost believe R. Lee Munson, murderer and abused child-man, was falling in love with her.
__ The door opened in time with a distant peel of thunder and her eyes snapped open. She gasped at his silhouette in the doorway.
__ He stood for a moment, still as a tree. She couldn't make out his face or his expression, though the angle told her he was staring right at her.
__ "Had to move your truck," he said. His voice deep and menacing, but more wary, like a jungle cat approaching a zebra large enough to put up a good fight. "Want to make sure this joint looks as closed as it is."
__ Ardy allowed herself to sink deep into the pillows. She nodded slowly, pretending to be more scared than she actually was. Munson approached her, pulling over a chair from the fortune table, and turning it so he could straddle it and rest his arms on the back. He wasn't too close. Maybe he thought she'd spring up and attack him.
__ "Hurt?"
__ She blinked. Nodded again.
__ Munson looked away, thumbed his upper lip, looked back. "You was gettin' too close. That," he said, pointing at her side, "was a warning shot. You step outta line again and I swear I'll put a slug through your skull."
__ Ardy was tempted to call him a liar, to stand up to him and tell him she knew the truth about what haunted him -- at least part of it. But that might be dangerous. He wouldn't -- nobody would -- want to know someone could get inside your deepest most intimate thoughts. And he has a gun.
__ So, instead, she said, "So... What happens now?"
__ He thought for a moment, his eyes tracing her body beneath the quilt, his brow knitting. Ardy guessed he was probably wondering why she didn't point out the fact he had removed all her clothes. He's probably thinking that any woman in her right mind would unleash fury at the violation.
__ She moved her arms beneath the quilt and widened her eyes, pretending like she just came to and was only now discovering the change. She gasped, "W-What did you do to me!?"
__ Munson scowled, stood and pulled the chair away. "I shot you --."
__ "My clothes!"
__ He retrieved the gun from the fortune table and came back to her. He didn't point the gun but swung it at his side to make sure she saw it.
__ "What did you do to me?" She whimpered. And, to her surprise, found real tears to accompany the act.
__ He chewed his tongue, then said, "I didn't rape you, if that's what you're thinkin'. But you don't have to believe me. None of the others did."
__ Others? This new revelation jolted her. In his mind there was only Clye -- the lawyer. "What do you mean, 'o-others?'"
__ "The women I killed."
__ She knew -- felt -- it was a lie, but didn't dare say a word.
__ "And you'll be next if you don't do exactly what I tell you."
__ She swallowed hard. Allowed her eyes to grow wide again.
__ He smirked. "Hungry?"

5. Making Matters Worse (D1)

__ Ardy rolled from the couch forgetting she was handcuffed, and landed painfully on her knees. Using her shoulder against the couch, she leverages up one leg and the other until she's standing, staring out the window. She remembers clearly the psychic vision of Munson attempting the move her truck to get a better view of the road, the arrival of the deputies, and the two gunshots that end his life, but she's powerless to stop him. He's already out there.
__ "Why did I try to stop him?" She wondered aloud, and scrunched up her forehead as she searched for the logic. He came in here, shackled me at gunpoint, threatened to kill me, and I know he is a murderous maniac. Why do I care if he gets gunned down on Route 9 in front of my shop? This is the middle of nowhere. It's not like I get a lot of traffic.
__ Because he's innocent.
__ Ardy watched as he moved to his own car instead of the truck, pulled open the door, and backed out after only an instant's hesitation.
__ He's not innocent, she told herself. He murdered that lawyer in cold blood.
__ But there was a reason that he cannot be held accountable for.
__ "Now why would I say that?" Ardy muttered to no one under her own breath. She watched as Munson pulled his car around her truck and ground it through the mud alongside her building. She could here the engine taxing as the wheels struggled for traction. When the muffled revving stopped in back, she turned her attention toward the window.
__ And gasped as she saw a Covert police car roll by. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, and no reason to stop, the deputies continued down the road toward town.
__ A moment later Munson came in the front door and slammed it shut behind him. Dripping from the rain, he blew water off his upper lip and said, "How did you know?"
__ Ardy stood shivering, now wondering why exactly it was that she was relieved the cops were gone. She shrugged weekly.
__ Instead of the rage she thought would come, Munson cringed against a pain Ardy couldn't identify and ignored her as he turned back toward the ornate chair in the middle of the room.
__ "Are you all right?" She asked.
__ He nodded and plopped down. He stretched and arched his back. "Bad back," he said by way of an explanation. "It flared up when I hauled Clye into the wood and--" Suddenly catching himself, Munson's eyes widened, "Hey! You git your butt back on that couch, or I swear I'll kill you right now."
__ If he was trying to sound cruel and serious, the tone was lost by the obvious pain.
__ "No you won't, Mr. Munson."
__ He stared, agape.
__ "Because you need me. You need me more than you've needed anyone in your life."
__ Was that the hint of a tear in the corner of his eye, or just a droplet of rain?
__ Ardy said, "I believe you came here after you murdered that man for a reason, and I believe I suddenly acquired a real ability to see psychically for a reason too.
__ "I think we need each other. I don't know why, or how this'll work, but I do know one thing."
__ He waited a moment, still staring, before his gruff, angry exterior seemed to melt slightly in the chair. "What's that?"
__ "You are going to take these handcuffs off me and let me make you a hot soup and sandwich."
__ His laugh was noncommittal. Suspicious.
__ "And I'll get you some Ibuprofen for that back."
__ R. Lee Munson, murderer, was suddenly disarmed. He looked around uncomfortably, suddenly on the defensive, but also defeated. He slumped further in the chair and started to cry like a weak frightened child. His sobs were so heavy and racked his body so hard that Ardy shrank back expecting a shrieking wail of anguish.
__ She took a step toward him, her head tilted compassionately.
__ He raised the gun and shot her.