Violent Echoes

Violent Echoes

A Psychological Thriller

By

Marc Sloane

Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/baqpED

MarcSloaneBooks@gmail.com

Copyright 2015 by Marc Sloane

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses or establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life.

Jack Kerouac

There is no coming to consciousness without pain.

Carl Jung

Table Of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Violent Echoes

Chapter 1

Friday, May 29th, 2015 9:37 PM, Thousand Oaks, California

I’d waited all day to savor my wife. It was Friday, and on Fridays we had sex. Pathetic, I know. Holding my wife’s hands and kissing her lips I thrust deeply into her, reaching a bone-chilling climax. At the moment of orgasm was the first time I heard the voice but it wouldn’t be the last. Kill her, it said, the high pitch of it sent a shiver across my skin.

The voice caught me off guard, dissipating my climax as fast as it started. Out of the depths of my mind, from some lost echo of time it repeated. Kill her. Now.

Along with the voice was an urge to act on the command, sated only by my perception of reality. I would never kill my wife; I loved her, her smile, her personality, her blonde hair and luscious breasts. The thought was too disturbing to consider. I panicked. What the hell was wrong with me?

I collapsed on my wife’s chest and she looked me in the eyes. I was dazed and confused; a thin patina of sweat caused my skin to glisten in the pale moonlight filtering into our bedroom. Danny, are you ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

I rolled over and on to my back, silent, my face still frozen with fear. Danny? she snapped. I asked you a question and I expect an answer.

The voice continued bouncing around my mind, torturing me from one lobe of my brain to the other. Kill her. You want to.

I snapped out of the thought loop and looked at Michelle, trying to overcome the dread racing through my veins. Yea, baby. I’m fine. Just worried, that’s all. You know how I get sometimes.

She ran her hands along my chest. What is it now?

Nothing, really. It’s just a work project that’s spiraling out of control, don’t worry about it.

She sighed. Again? This happens all the time now. You never should have taken that promotion. Just quit, get rid of the stress. We’ll get by.

I laughed. If only it was that easy. I wished I would have told a different lie as I threatened to open up fresh wounds. The stress of my job had put a strain on our marriage and we were struggling to make it. Day after day, argument after argument, the resentment mounted. We navigated it carefully, both aware of its effects though some landmines were impossible to avoid.

She ran her fingers through my hair. It’s ok, you’ll pull through. We’ll pull through. Just like always.

Thanks. I appreciate the vote of confidence. She was always the optimist. We’d made it ten years, we’d make it another.

Michelle squeezed my body to impart some kind of comfort but only furthered my panic. Why would I have such intrusive thoughts? Perhaps I was finally going crazy. Lord knows I’d been close to crazy many times before, but this, this was something different. I let my body succumb to the suppleness of my mattress, covering myself with a soft, white comforter as I drifted into the darkness.

Not long after, my eyes opened to the ethereal construct of a dream. I looked outward in a semi-lucid state, able to see, to smell, to feel, but I wasn’t in control, at least not entirely. I was allowed to operate in only one direction through the visuals constructed by my unconscious mind.

I was in a brand new 1950’s Chevrolet Bel Air Convertible, driving down a lonesome highway, my headlights illuminating the road in front of me. A forest stretched on down the road to my left and right, the moon barely peeking over the horizon in front of me. A sign flashed by signaling that I was ten miles from Bend, Oregon, a place I’d never been, though my dream displayed in shocking detail.

I sped down the highway, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Any control I thought I had was revealed as an illusion as the car began to slow. My head snapped to the right, staring at the side of the road. A woman materialized in front of me wearing a white dress, her curled, blonde hair spilling underneath a bonnet.

The car ground to a halt and I reached over the seat to roll down the passenger side window. Miss? Do you need a ride? It’s late and you’ve got a ways to go until you hit civilization.

Her eyes were skeptical and full of fear. It’s ok, I can walk. But thank you anyways.

Really? Come on now, you can trust me. Where are you headed?

She cast an unsure smile in my direction. I’m going home to Bend.

I motioned for her to sit. There’s plenty of room. Why don’t you get on in? I can drop you off. It’s no trouble, really.

Where are you headed? she said, taking out a thin cigarette from a bronze metal holder and placing it between her fingers.

I’m headed to Redmond. You’re a whistle stop on the way.

She opened up the door and stepped inside the car. Thanks mister, I really appreciate it. What’s your name?

James Winters. It’s nice to meet you.

Nice to meet you too, I’m Missy Hallowell. She held the cigarette toward me. By any chance do you have a light?

My unconscious mind, always on point, placed a Zippo lighter in my hands and I flicked the wheel in a seamless motion, delivering a flame to the tip of her cigarette. You know, the Surgeon General says those thing’s will kill you.

She laughed, taking a drag. Kill me? I don’t think so. They’re the least of my problems.

She was probably right; after all she was in the car with me. Well ain’t you a peach? I can’t recall the last time I saw someone like you holdin’ out for a hitch. What the hell happened to you?

My car ran out of gas on Route 97. I thought I could make it back to Bend, I guess I was mistaken. She took another drag off her cigarette.

I put the car in drive, continuing down the road. Good thing I found— I shook my head, unable to finish my sentence. I’d drifted away from what my unconscious mind wanted to force feed me.

She ashed her cigarette in the vehicles chrome, pull-out ashtray. Hey, Mister, are you ok to drive? You’re scaring me.

I’m fi— Once again I couldn’t finish my sentence. My answer was a bold-faced lie, anyways. I was far from fine.

The voice returned, with a vengeance. Kill this fucking bitch. You can’t let her live, she’s seen you!

No! I yelled at the voice, shaking my head, as if it was enough to stop it.

Stop the car and let me out, she said, a timbre of fear gradually escalating in her voice. Let me out now!

The voice ran rampant through my mind, and I was unable to stop or slow the progression of it. Cut her fucking throat! it said.

She began to pull at the door handle, but the locks slammed shut, securing her inside. Let me out! she screamed, finally breaking the door handle off. Her eyes widened as she spied the piece of chrome in her hands.

I looked to her, possessed. You’re not going anywhere, Missy.

Where are you taking me? she screamed, kicking at the door as the vehicle rolled down the road.

I looked forward; we were now headed down a muddy dirt road in the Deschutes National Forest, nothing but the sound of frogs, crickets and my engine in the cool night air. One thing was certain; she wasn’t making it to Bend tonight; she wasn’t making it Bend at all, ever.

What are you waiting for? Kill her! the voice commanded.

A bowie knife emerged in my hand, placed there by my unconscious mind. The handle was made of antler bone, the initials JRW were carved into the base. Missy began to scream at the top of her lungs, the cool air outside condensed her screams, causing my windows to fog. She pulled at the window roller, it also broke off. There was no escape, for either of us.

I grabbed the back of her blonde hair and pulled her away from the door, slamming her head against the dashboard. She bounced back and clawed at my face, trying to gouge out my eyes. I began to feel a thrill as I fought her back. She continued screaming at the top of her lungs, the shrill sound of her voice escalating in volume brought me pleasure.

Please James, she cried. I’ll do anything. Don’t do this!

I screamed into her face, climbing across the seat to face her. I can’t stop it! She beat me with her hands but I restrained her with my weight. Her efforts were all for naught. Her neck glistened in the moonlight and without hesitation I slid the blade across her throat, splitting her skin open and sawing through the bones that provided resistance against my blade. Blood shot out of her neck in powerful streams coalescing with each beat of her heart, each pump with less force than the last.

I leaned back and watched her die. She brought her hands to her neck, trying to stop the flow of blood but in doing so removed more oxygen from her brain, hastening her demise. She gave up and her hands fell to her sides.

I expected her eyes to close, but they didn’t. Instead she looked at me, her ghostly gaze searing through my soul. She saw who I was, what I was, and I couldn’t stand it. I’d never felt more exposed. My body shook anxiously at the thought.

I took the blade and pressed it through her pupil and into her brain, her body letting out a jolt. I pulled the knife out, watching vitreous humor pour down her face like the biggest, thickest batch of tears I’d ever seen. And then I plunged my blade through her remaining eye. She’d never see anyone again and that thought settled my nerves like a double-shot of whiskey.

Sitting there, staring at her gouged out eyes I realized I was smiling. There was something fascinating about watching her die and being the one responsible. I held the power of life and death in my hands, if only in the dream. It unearthed an emotional need buried deep down in my mind. I wiped the blade on her dress, cleaning it until the metal shined once more and placed it on the dashboard.

I opened the driver’s side door and walked around the back of the car toward the passenger door, pulling it open. The cool air of the night dried the blood on my hands. I pulled at Missy’s arms, dragging her from the car until her body collapsed onto the ground. I looked around the forest and noticed a bunch of boulders all around me, studding the ground like gravestones. I was standing in an area of significance. A shovel materialized near my feet. I was filled with an urge to take it in my hands.

I left her body on the ground and took the shovel. With haste I began to dig her grave. The earth came up easily. I was down to my ankles in Missy’s grave when a car drove toward me. Its lights blinded me and the dream collapsed on itself.

I woke up screaming.

Michelle woke, startled at the sound of my voice. Jesus Christ Danny! What in the hell is a matter with you?

I looked left and right in a panic. I grabbed her face. Are you ok? Did I hurt you?

She was shocked. Did you hurt me? No. What the hell are you talking about?

My lungs were labored, a feeling of intense dread rushed through me. I came to. It’s nothing. It was just a bad dream. Forget about it.

She rubbed my back. I’m telling you baby, you need to quit that job, the stress of it is killing you. Can’t you see that? And if it kills you then it kills me. She frowned and grabbed her pillow, fluffing it before she put her head back down.

I looked down at her. I know sweetheart, I know. I hated lying to her.