Shit.

Mark was right, I shouldn’t have had a quick fix of heroin at 8 AM in the fucking morning.

I can’t even drink my coffee as it splashes onto my shaking hand.

Fuck, it’s itchy.

I scratch the crook of my elbow, the place irritated as I remember the needle piercing my viens.

I look down at it, the scabs a week fresh.

The weather was too damn good to wear a long sleeve in and not to mention I had sold my only deodorant for another couple grams of opium.

Opium…..such a beautiful name.

Almost as beautiful as the high.

My phone buzzes repeatedly before I answer, ending the disturbance.

“Hey Colin…I heard from James that you were at some diner. Your neices are nearby and they’ve grown so much- how many years has it been? Five? Somewhere around there,” my aging mother ranted on mentioning my brother’s kids, “anywho, it’d be nice if you greet them while they’re in town.”

“Alright ma, alright. I might see them later, I have a couple errands to run. Okay?- and I want you to know that there’s no damn reason to see that communist bitches children.”

“Oh, come on. That’s not nice to say Colin. I know you’re better than this. And don’t say that about their mother. She’s strong for withstanding your brother, you should know that!”

The only reason why I didn’t hang up was because I was too damn busy wiping my hands free from the sticky maple syrup that did such a good job from drowning the pancakes.

“Look ma, I’m eating right now. Some shitty food because you won’t give me some cash ‘cause I’ll spend it on some other shit. Anyway, shut the fuck up.”

It’s getting to me. The damn drugs- it’s like a hangover but shittier. Goddamn.

The walls churn like the butter on my toast.

My eyes glance at the restroom, I stand and stagger, inching to the door.

I put my cracked phone into the pocket of my sagging pants, my grey boxers attempting to make a fashion statement.

My shoelaces drag on the floor, I didn’t bother with them.

I grab the door handle and the door creaks open, revealing a ghost town.

My mouth waters and I swallow, my eyelids growing heavy.

I gag before falling to the floor, my mind shutting down as I drool, saliva involuntarily dripping down as I feel the nausea growing.

I blink slowly as my mind closes, unconsciousness pulling me away from present.

What a good excuse, I think as I close my eyes, my light-headedness hushing me to sleep.

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀

𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗁𝗂𝖼 𝖳𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾

𝟣𝟪+ 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝖲𝗈 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽

𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖥𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗂𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗒

𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖨𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝖢𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍

"𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝖾𝗍."

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒

"𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝖾𝗍." 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 "𝖧𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍."

𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍

"𝖭𝗈𝗐 𝖨 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗌."

𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗄𝗌 "𝖨- 𝖨 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖢𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗒."

"𝖨𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗈?." 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 " 𝖳𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆."

𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗆𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅.... 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝖿𝖿

"𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗆."

𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽

"𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇."

"𝖨-.... 𝖨 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗒."

"𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗎𝖾." 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝖽

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖳𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 "𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽." 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋 "𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎."

𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖺𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖳𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾, 𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗍𝗁𝗎𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗎𝗍 𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗀𝖺𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖽𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖳𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾

𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽

𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖾'𝗌 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝖺𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄.

𝗉𝗍𝟦 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖲𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖺𝗒

“Well you have to quit fooling around now and go to the damn doctor,” Frankie said. Dustin rubbed his temples as the growing goose egg on his forehead throbbed. “I’m fine, I just need to sleep.” “You slept like a log last night. Go to doctor, bae. “ Dustin half listened to his wife while remembering the restless night before. He had tossed half the night until Frankie ordered him out of the bed and he watched Catfish until the sunrise and he returned to his bedroom.

“So good news according to the results from your sleep apnea test and the at home sleep test you are in great shape…” Dr. Bradley said. “What what do mean. I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept in days. I fainted in a Starbucks for Godsakes!” Dr. Bradley continued, “good results here. Try a little melatonin and no screen time after nine pm. Schedule with my girl for a follow up appointment in let’s say six months.” Dustin disconnected the call. Then he threw his cell across the room. Frankie ran and held Dustin as he sobbed. “So Dustin what brings you here.” Dr. Michaels’ office was in a gay Victorian with a wraparound porch and lots of ferns. The waiting room was hippie chic, pillows, tassels, severe Swedish furniture and macramé wall hangings. Dully Dustin repeated his story his doctors’ visits his failing health his endless nights. There was a long pause while Dustin examined the psychiatrist and she appeared to be turning over a thought in her head. “Once I read a case study about a family that couldn’t sleep. It started slowly but as each family member aged they needed less and less sleep until they each fell into a coma and died. “ Dr. Michaels formed her fingers into a triangle and pressed them against her chin. “Is that what I have?” Dustin’s voice squeaked. “ no not at all. You were sleeping in my waiting room. Sleeping like the proverbial baby.” Dustin shouted, “no I was awake! Awake! I read a couple of dusty Highlights magazines.” Dr. Michaels made soothing noises. “I believe you. But I also want you to know I only have Martha Stewart magazines and this.” Dr. Michaels showed Dustin a picture of him sleeping on her phone. The doctor gave Dustin a bottle of water.
“Dustin what if your problems is boring dreams?” Dustin choked. Dr. Michaels gave him a tissue. “Hear me out. These are weird times. We are all going through things. I say take these eight hours and live your dreams. Pick one thing you always wanted to do and try it. No risk no chance of failure. Try it. Tell me what you love.” Surprisingly relaxed, Dusty left the old house after his session. With a weary smile, Dr. Michaels watched him walk away and hoped this one would make it.

One year, three months before Jason Strange’s arrest.

Tyrone woke up in an empty room, lit only by a florescent light. Frightened, he looked around him trying to make sense of his current situation. He was just in a coffee shop having coffee, charging up, but then he felt dizzy.

“Hello?” He called out.

Nobody answered. But even though nobody answered, somebody was watching him. A camera. A security camera. A blinking red light in the top corner, out of reach from Tyrone Daryl. Tyrone called out again, “Hello?”

Still no answer. Tyrone began to get worried. He believed that he was in a lethal science experiment that could lead to his death. He began to panic. What is he gonna do?

Suddenly, he heard the opening of a door. He turned and saw the man he’s been trying to find for a long time, along with Lucky. It was Fragment. He carried an axe with him.

Tyrone decided to speak first to this monster. “So this is how I die? You’re just gonna chop me like I’m a log?”

Fragment replied “No. In fact, I’m only gonna use this when I know what to do with it. Now, tell me, where’s the mansion?”

“I would never tell you.”

“Oh really?” He pointed at the ceiling, which began to turn red. Tyrone was confused, then began to feel hot.

“What are you doing?” He asked the purple eyed monster.

“I’m making the room unbearable to stay inside of. If this doesn’t break you, I may just need to kill you myself with this axe. Now tell me what I need to know.”

“I would never tell such a villain like yourself.”

“Very well, let me make the room like a desert.”

After a minute, the room became like Death Valley, extremely hot and unbearable to stand. Tyrone began to sweat buckets in there.

Panting, he said, “You know you’re burning yourself too, right.”

“No, this suit is heat protected. Now my final resort is to kill you with this axe. So make your choice, either tell me or the slaughter begins.”

“Never!”

“Suit yourself. I won’t mind your blood being splattered everywhere.”

Fragment raised the axe above his head as Tyrone’s eyes widened in fear of what he had gotten himself into. He thought about all the memories he made with his brothers and sister, Tyler, Myra and Kyle, his best friends Lucky, Randy, Eli and Jason. He closed his eyes and lowered his head in acceptance of his own fate as Fragment swung the axe down. The axe hit something metal.

Is Tyrone alive?

• Adapted from a comic book made thirty-five years after the actual event.

I feel dizzy. My head falls as I lose sense of where I am. You know when you feel like you know where you are but you can’t pinpoint it. I woke up in a starry night sky. I looked around to see spheres floating. I stand up and grab one as a memory comes flooding through my head. Me on a middle school quad sprinting after my friends lead me astray. They stole the book I use to escape. And leave this world behind. All I remember is running around the quad anxiously. I grab another sphere as I’m transferred into the moment I learned my grandpa died. I wake up from in my head.

Sixteen-ounce drip coffee, splash of cream, no sugar, blueberry scone, two chairs away from the window, back to the wall.

That was Tim. Some might call it boring or predictable. Tim felt it was comforting.

It would happen every so often someone else would sit in the second chair from the window. Tim did not make a fuss. He simple found another chair with his back to the wall. San Clemente is a small town halfway between Los Angeles and San Diego that relied on tourism, but was also the headquarters to several surfing-related companies - i.e. clothing brands, wetsuit manufacturers. The town would swell in size when a surfing competition took place, and when that happened Tim usually just his order to go. He did not like seeing the baristas he knew get overwhelmed by the volume of customers. 

But most of the locals knew Tim could be found sipping his 16-ounce drip coffee, splash of cream, no sugar, and breaking apart his blueberry scone while sitting in the chair two spots away from this window at Surfin’ Beans Cafe near Leslie Park, just south of the pier.

He remembered when San Clemente was just known as the closest place for marines from Camp Pendleton to get away. When President Nixon announced he would spend summers here, well that’s when things started to really take off. About 15 years after that, the surf industry realized this place had great waves. Even then, though, more customers did not equate with more problems. Sure, there were growing pains. But the customers themselves were always courteous.

This new batch of tourists were different. Or maybe Tim was different. 

He grew up in this town. His father was the second city’s second fire chief. Tim was just named driver engineer when Nixon made his announcement, and it would be another 14 years before he was named chief. He served his community with pride until his retirement when Bill Clinton took office. Geez. Had it really been 30 years? 

Tim kept in shape. He played tennis. He went for walks. He never did learn to surf, though. He joked he was the only person in a 50 mile radius who didn’t enjoy the ocean. That wasn’t entirely true. He enjoyed looking at the ocean. But the sand was too hot and ocean was too unknown to him. Still, his 91st birthday was in two months, and no amount of tennis could hide the ravages of time.

He watched what he ate. The only sweets he ate were those blueberry scones every morning. Tim was the reason Surfin’ Bean carried blueberry scones. When they opened right after Tim’s retirement, Surfin’ Bean had breakfast sandwiches. Tim’s wife used to make blueberry muffins. He missed he. She died when he was chief. It was during Ronald Reagan’s first term, but in the lead up to his election against Mondale. Tim was at the office doing payroll when he got a call Nancy fell while walking the dog. In reality she had a brain aneurysm and died before she hit the floor. When Surfin’ Bean opened Tim asked for a muffin, but the owner - Tim remembered when her family came to San Clemente - the owner said they only had scones. 

Every time he ate a blueberry scone he thought of Nancy. When he asked her to dance in high school. When they kissed under the now huge oak tree in Leslie Park. Their honeymoon to Mexico. All of the little things they did together. Nancy was the one who pushed him to go for the chief job in the first place. She was also the one who argued at the city council meeting the town needed more locally-owned shops. 

Tim was sipping his 16-ounce drip coffee, splash of cream, no sugar, when a group of youngsters he had never seen before threw the door open and caused heads to turn with how loud they were laughing. Tim was surprised, but thought they were just kids. They ordered their drinks with names that took longer to say than the barista took to make it. They complained about the lack of food options. They complained about the prices. They complained about the decorations. They complained about the music. They complained about the name of cafe.

Tim stood up to defend his cafe, his town, his routine.

Suddenly, he felt dizzy, and fell.

“Hi sweetie. I’ve been waiting for you,” Nancy said.

Like it or not we all fall into a routine from time to time. The monotony of daily life frees up mental real estate for other pursuits. And so it was for Jim.

He wakes up at 7 am, briefly does some basic calisthenics and stretches, followed by a revitalizing cold shower and other morning ablutions, gets dressed and heads on to work.

8:30 he steps into Le Chat Chanceux, orders his usual iced coffee, black, and a almond croissant. He’s got time before work to sit at his favorite table by the window, indulging in his light breakfast while his mind is preoccupied with fine tuning the creative projects for work. He enjoyed being an ad writer.

And so it was like this everyday. Structured. Organized. Jim likes the order, it gives him as sense of control. He felt that the more control his life had, the more his creative juices were supercharged.

To Jim nothing is ever by chance. His friends all believed Jim to be a cynic. Perhaps his need for control came from a past emotional trauma, a bad relationship, or some painful experiences... Maybe it the years of being in marketing that shaped Jim’s views. He understood too well how easily influenced people can be by the media. He knew, because he was doing to manipulation.

The only way to stay above the fray is to exert control over your life. But, Jim is only human. And being only human, he too is prone to making errors of judgement.

As he sipped his coffee, pondering over his recent assignment of an ad to present a particular politician in a favorable light...his vision started to dim.

A bout of sudden exhaustion. He tried to get up from his table... Head spinning. Jim feels his body get heavy and light at the same time as the world around him disappears into darkness.

—————————

His head was pounding. Where was he? What was going on? Dazed, and cold, Jim look around himself. His vision still foggy. All he could make out is the very bright sun above him. It was blinding, and only warmed his upper body.

He tried to move, but found no strength. His limbs just wouldn’t move. He was in a desert. A cold, strange desert. Lights danced around him. His face and neck was sweating profusely, but his arms and legs were freezing. Jim realized he’s naked.

His mind rushed with all the possibilities. He prayed this is just a bad dream... Jim pleaded with himself.

‘Wake up! Wake up damn it!’ his thoughts yelled out in a growing sense of fear.

He felt movement around him. Movement of entities. To a frightened mind everything is possible, was this an alien abduction?

He saw strange creatures hovering over him, their voices murmuring in a familiar language that Jim couldn’t quite catch.

The sun. That blasted sun danced and changed colors. Even shapes.

Jim closed his eyes, and noticed just how sharp his hearing could become. The strange tongue of his captors slowly started to make sense to him.

“How are we doing here?” English! He could understand! Help me! Jim hoped they would telepathically hear him.

“As far as his office is concerned, he’s taking a personal day to finish his VIP assignment.”

“Good, what about his state?”

“This one is a tough bugger. He’s resisting us but we’ll crack him before the op.”

“Excellent.”

Three distinct voices. Human. 2 men and one woman. Jim opened his eyes again...it was blurry but he could make out outlines of bizarre beings with animal heads.

Jim felt pain. A shock. It reverberated through his body. Darkness again. Cold, lonely darkness.

—————————

Jim woke up later than usual. His head spun like mad. He felt like he was hit by a truck.

This was a tough project. Perhaps he had one too many scotches. It’s not like him to drink to excess like he remembered doing last night, but his assignment was complete. Complete, and he even dared to call it a masterpiece. His best work!

His hapless scandal riddled client will be beloved across the political arena. Jim was confident.

It was late. No workout today. Jim showered and got ready for the meeting with the disgraced politician.

The cold shower felt different. Jim felt odd. Vague memories of a cold dark desert permeated through his usual shower affirmations.

That’s odd, he thought. Odd and like deja vu. The cold that his body was conditioned to evoked a sense of a terrible fear. Jim felt cold, scared and alone. Something was nagging at him.

He shook it away, attributing it to remnants of a nightmare and a bad hangover.

There was no rush. Jim got dressed and picked up his work briefcase. He had enough time to rehearse his presentation and indulge in his light breakfast.

At the Le Chat Chanceux, Jim sat at his favorite table and sipped his coffee. His mind was on fire today! He felt confident! This project will earn him a hefty bonus not too mention access to more elite clientele. Life is good!

He lifted his coffee, stopping midway. Something about it felt odd. Something about the color. Black. The sense of dread started to creep up again. A strange feeling as though he is forgetting something important.

‘Wake up! Wake up damn it!’ He heard his thoughts shout at him.

Must have been some nightmare to have such an affect.

‘I am calm’ Jim reassured himself.

‘I am confident.’

Back at the office Jim’s boss informed him that the VIP is in the large conference room with his PR team. They were ready for his presentation.

Jim was shaking with anxiety. Or was it fear. What is the difference, really? Something felt wrong. He didn’t feel like himself.

On his way to the conference room Jim was stopped by a young man in a suit. The man seemed familiar, but Jim couldn’t recall.

“Excuse,” the man reached out, “Can you please tell me the time?”

“It’s a quarter after 1” Jim answered without stopping.

“Excellent...” the man’s said slowly, with a strange emphasis on the pronunciation, “Thank you.”

Jim froze in his tracks. A powerful force was rising from the pit of his stomach. It was fighting Jim for control. As if forced out of a cockpit, Jim perceived his body moving without his control.

‘Oh no...’ Jim thought, he didn’t know what was happening but he knew for sure it wasn’t good. Terrified he tried to regain control of his body.

Watching himself in agony.

What the hell is going on?

‘Get close to the speaker, shake his hand, and pull him in close.’ The whispered?! He remembered! The whispers! The aliens! The instructions...

He never finished any presentation! He was drugged and abused. But...why?

The briefcase! Jim never carried a briefcase to work. All his presentations were digital.

His mind was racing all the while his body acted on someone else’s orders. Jim’s mind could conclude that whatever was going to happen involved himself, the disgraced politician, and the strange briefcase.

“Good to see you Jim,” the client said, stretching g out his hand, “I trust you’re going to wow us with something truly amazing?”

Jim’s arm was elevating to meet the clients. He had to stop it.

‘No!’ Jim yelled in his mind.

In a blink of an eye something shattered.

Jim was falling along glass shards. Holding the briefcase close to his chest, Jim understood the plot. At least he felt he did.

Jim’s last few moments were of a serene clarity. He went out on his own terms. Content with not knowing the full extent of the strange plot he was involuntarily privy too.

The explosion left very little trace of the man.

———————————— The next morning it was all over the news:

‘Political terrorist kills self in botched assassination attempt on House Speaker McGann’

The VIPs scandal was old news. Polls rising. The masses were angry at fringe political extremist...as Jim was portrayed to having been.

No one knew...not even the Hon. Speaker McGann, that McGann was meant to have perished along with the unwitting “terrorist.” A dead McGann would have raised a sympathetic polling for his entire party nationwide... Still, the masterminds of this whole plot were happy with the outcome.

Poor Jim however... In a short instance, Jim’s life and reputation were ruined. A casualty of the powers and principalities whose existence most people would never come to know about.

I took a careful sip of the steaming coffee, the warmth reaching down to my toes. I sighed contentedly, nothing could beat a cup of coffee on a cold winter day. Just then, the barista brought my freshly baked scone and placed it next to my newspaper. She flashed her familiar smile at me, and like everyday, I thanked her and tipped her. Once I had finished the newspaper sudoku, I felt the need to use the restroom. As I stood up, a wave of dizziness hit me suddenly and I grabbed the windowsill for support. The barista, Linda, noticed and rushed over with a face full of concern. “Jasmine? Are you alright?” She asked. “Just fine, I’m just a little dizzy is all.” I answered while pushing myself off of the wall. That was a bad decision. The dizziness hit me once more, and I tried to grab onto something, anything, but my vision failed me. I hit the ground hard, and the last thing I remember is Linda screaming.

“He spiked your drink.”

“He what?!”

Armand sighs, fiddling with the small glass between his fingers. His gaze is frozen. “Tell me what happened.”

“Well, it kind of just went black.. my head whirred, my surroundings disappeared.. and— agh!” A blistering pain throbs at my head. My heartbeat pounds loudly in my ears, although it sounds awfully scratchy and high pitched.

“Take this.”

Armand rolls a small glass tube to my end of the table. It rumbles against the wood, clinking as I catch it just as it nearly hits the ground. A black liquid sloshes around the tube, and for a second I see it glimmer somehow.

“What is it?”

“Josh gave it to me before he left. ‘Guess he felt sorry for you.”

I narrow my eyebrows and slam the tube back onto the table before it even reaches my lips.

“Sorry for me? I spent months searching for him and he nearly killed me!”

Armand has no reaction. As always, his demeanour is nonchalant, and he stretches his legs under the table while ruffling his jet black hair. “Well, you better get some rest if you’re still going after him.”

I scoff. “Who said I was?”

As he gets up, the back of his legs push his chair backwards. “You’re easy to read.”

“What? How?”

For a slight second I swear I see a flash of a smirk on his face. He taps the table gently. “It’s your eyes. You’re always processing so much.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Figure it out for yourself. Good luck finding Josh.”

It was a Monday morning and my coffee machine broke. So I invited my friends Jonathan and Mark to go get some coffee at a nearby coffee shop right before school.

We arrived at the coffee shop, and ordered the usual which is the iced caramel macchiato with almond milk. “Unfortunately we are out of almond milk. Is regular milk okay?” asked the cashier. “Yeah it’s fine.” I said. And so the baristas were making the macchiatos for me and my friends. As we got our macchiatos, we started heading to school. We took a sip of the iced caramel macchiato and turned out fine. Nothing really happened until we went to our economics class.

“Alright class. We will be having a pop quiz.” said our economics teacher. “And it’s worth 40% of your grade. Hopefully you took very well notes on this.” As he passed out the quizzes, I started to shake and started to feel funny. My mind was blurry, my heart was pounding, my stomach was feeling gassy, and I felt like I was about to pass out and faint. And I did. I don’t remember what happened other than the other classmates looking concerned at me.

I woke up in the nurse’s office, not remembering what happened, just that I got sick from the coffee. “Do you remember what you had this morning?” asked the nurse. “I didn’t eat. All I had was an iced caramel macchiato. They didn’t have almond milk so I don’t know what milk they used.” I said. Then my friends Mark and Jonathan came to visit me. “Marcos, you are not going to believe this. Look what we found in our coffee.” said Jonathan, holding chunks of crystal meth covered in iced coffee. “They even added molly on the iced coffee.” said Mark, holding pieces of molly also covered in iced coffee. “It had nothing to do with the milk and everything to do with the drugs.” “Oh shit, I didn’t know this shit had drugs in it.” I said. And I started to throw up.

This got me sent home from school. I spent the rest of the afternoon getting some sleep and also thinking about getting to the bottom of why there were drugs in the coffee. Later that afternoon, I got a message from Mark saying that the coffee shop is now hiring, and he sent me all the info. I decided to immediately apply for the job and work on weekends.

A few days later I ended up getting the job and started working as soon as I got better. It was a Saturday morning and my first day working at the cafe. I got the barista position so I started making lattes, macchiatos, and coffee for the customers. During my break, I overheard some employees talking about how bad they feel about accidentally pouring drugs in the milk gallon, and how scared they are of getting fired from their job. Then security guards and police officers came with a service dog and the dog smelled drugs in the baristas who messed up the orders on Monday. Not only those baristas ended up getting fired from their job, but they also got arrested from the job.

“Thank you officers.” I said. “I actually got sick from the iced caramel macchiato last time I ordered here.” “Hey, you’re not the only one who got sick from their orders in the past week.” said the security guard. “My son recently got hospitalized from the coffee with the drugs.” “I’m so sorry to hear that.” I said. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you decided to work here. And I have to thank you for making these orders safe.” said the security guard. “Take care kid.”