Day 4 - Vapors (novel chunk)
In Stephen King's ON WRITING, which I just finished, he makes it clear that he believes the first draft should be a strictly behind closed doors project. I think in the future that's excellent advice that I shall take, but I've already committed to posting publicly for the purposes of this project so anyone who cares to read will get to see inside the process as it unfolds. Guaranteed the results will not always be pretty.
“It’s a lot to take in.”
I open my eyes and see Reginald’s shinning smile welcome me back to consciousness. Think I may have to add some petticoats to my wardrobe if I’m gonna keep passing out every few minutes. I suppose I should be more nonplussed by the current turn of events, including the fact that I do not appear to be in what one would think of as the real world right now. But I’m not. The brain is a funny thing, and all that mine can focus on at the moment is the ever-growing realization that my world is expanding in ways that I can’t yet comprehend.
One surprising comfort is Reginald. Despite the suspect circumstances of our acquaintance, I sense I can trust him. Trust feels like a warm blanket given that I also have a new found awareness of an undefined, deadly enemy out there. If it all seems hyperbolic then I can’t be faulted for that. Nothing to be done if the elephant in the room is actually an elephant, other than deal with the unlikely reality of it.
“Reginald, nice to meet you.”
“Oh, we’ve known each other for years, Mick.”
“Really.”
“Yes. But don’t worry, I know you don’t know.”
“OK. What do I know?” I asked.
Reginald smiled. “Not much I’m afraid. At least not in your current form. But we’ll work on that later. Right now we need to get you back to your body before Phil finds you empty.”
“Who’s Phil?”
“Y’know that yellowy awfulness that was messing around with your heartbeat?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s Phil.”
“Seems like he should have a scarier name.”
“It’s really just a representation anyway. Wisps of the truth are all you’re going to be able to grasp until you’re ready. And trust me, Phil’s plenty scary no matter what you call him. And very bad news if we don’t get you back before he finds you.
“Back to my body.”
“Yeah, you’re essentially astral right now. It’s not exactly accurate, but it gets the idea across.”
“So this is a dream?”
“More like a conscious dream state. Ish.”
“Ish?”
“Well, you’re pretty far behind the eight ball, so there’s no easy way to get you up to speed. Your life is gonna get a lot harder. Fast.”
“Great.”
“Now the first thing you need to do is imagine your body in better shape.”
“Wait, what?”
“You’ll face a lot of dangers soon, many of them physical. And you’re not in the best of shape. You can restitch yourself in this state. Give yourself some advantages for the coming fight.”
“This is crazy.”
“I know. But I’ll guide you as best I can. Now visualize yourself. Nothing outlandish or your body will reject it. Just strong, healthy, immune system unstoppable, flexibility and reactions near super human. Stamina for days. Fix it in your mind.”
“OK.”
“Good. Now look over here.”
“I don’t feel any different.
“You won’t at first. Now look at the wall.”
I look over and see the vapors. But this time instead of catching glimpses of an unknown world, I see clearly, and what I see is my body and Julie’s on the floor in my apartment. It’s weird, because we look dead. Like a double homicide and I’m the ghost left over to try and figure out what happened.
“You’ll learn better ways later, but the best way to get back to your body right now is physical shock.”
“What do I do?”
“You make Julie slap you. Hard.”
“What?”
“It’s why she’s the vessel. She’s locked inside herself right now, and you’ll need to release her once you return, but for now you can use her body, like a dummy. Make it slap you.”
I look across the chasm of vapors and concentrate on her hand. With less effort than I expected I make it clench into a fist.
“That is so cool,” I say.
“Gently now, try to move her toward you.”
Again I focus, but trying to figure out the sequence of coordinated movements necessary for full body manipulation results in her jerking about like a string puppet. It scares me.
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Don’t try to control each movement. Think of an action and push her body to fulfill the movement you want.”
I imagine Julie crawling over to me, hauling back and slapping the ever living shit out of me. There’s a delay, but as I fix the image in my mind her body begins to respond. Soon she is copying what I want. It is a stilted motion that makes me wonder briefly if this is not the genesis of zombie stories. But before I can spend much time on the thought her arm cracks across my face, and in what I can only describe as a whoosh, I find myself on the floor of my apartment, eyes open, cheek stinging. Life apparently altered forever.
I really wish Julie wasn’t collapsed in a heap like that.
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