I observed him carefully as he walked to the door. I knew that time was running out but suppressed my urge to check my watch. I took a deep breath and started counting in reverse under my breath. “Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven…”
Damn, I should have timed it better. This guy was taking an eternity to open the door.
“Four, Three….”
Get in, dude. We would miss the ride otherwise.
“Two, One….”
Just then he opened the door and stepped inside.
“We are in,” I hissed into the intercom.
A brief static. A moment later, Krampla squawked, “He is a volatile human being, frustrated from his job – he is the passive aggressive type. Everything is bottled up inside. It would be a rough ride. And he has already decided the course of his life. It won’t be an easy job to convince him.”
I considered the information. That’s all these guys ever told me. “Any after effects from the ride?”
“Nope. He seems not to have noticed. I told you this was a great contraption to stitch multi-dimensional portals. He didn’t seem to notice that he walked into his own mind when he opened that door to his house. Now move your butt.”
“What am I to be?”
He smirked. “Your natural self.”
I mentally made a rude gesture, and hoped that it carried over the radio waves. I got out from behind the patch of bush where I was hiding and walked up to the door. I knocked.
It took him some time before he opened the door. And when he did, he was transfixed by what he saw!!!
Who the hell was I impersonating? How was I looking?
He brought up his hand to my face, and stroked my cheeks gently. I dare not hesitate, or do anything to break his trance. This house was now a physical embodiment of his mind palace, and I was an intruder. I had to be impersonating somebody who was pleasing to his mind, otherwise his defenses won’t let me in.
He just stood there like a zombie, slavering. I nudged myself past him into the house, he didn’t resist.
Of course, it looked like his house, I had reconnoitered it long enough to know the basic layout. But then, it was totally unlike his house. The edges all faded out, there was a mist-like appearance to the place – this was something etched out of his mind, blurry on the non-essentials. But he stood there, ogling at me. I looked at my hands – I was surprised by the bare feminine quality instead of the big, hairy arms. I looked at my clothes. And winced. I was barely dressed.
I would wring Krampla’s neck once this job was over. Grimacing, I looked back. The guy was being unreasonably stoic and unresponsive.
Somebody else controls him. And that somebody has already pre-empted my arrival.
I could hear a fire crackling inside the living room. I imagined a gun in the back of my shorts’ pocket. The cold of the steel transmitted through the thin fabric to my butt. Through the corner of my eyes, I observed the zombie – he wasn’t responding. So I took out my gun, and slowly inched towards the living room. I could make out the outline of our unknown guest. I removed the safety latch from the gun, and aimed it at our intruder.
Something struck me hard from behind – a reanimated zombie hit me with a vengeance. I was backed up against the wall, and in no time – three more guys joined him. Their faces were greatly deformed, like half-baked clay – more formless than formed. These guys were the physical manifestation of the dark emotions of the zombie.
And they were expecting me.
I balled my hands in a fist, and slowly unclenched it. Now wasn’t the time to fight. I surrendered. They clasped my hands behind my back, and during that whole time, the zombie pawed my ass.
Remove that hand, my dear friend. I am judging you, big time!!
I couldn’t even mentally kill this guy, because of the mental patch between us, vis-a-vis the mind palace. If I imagined myself breaking his hand, it would agonize him and even if I wanted to, I was bound by the cardinal law that I wasn’t supposed to hurt the subject, only play with his emotions.
To be continued…
Alienman 