Living the Nightmare

I'd like to thank blackrandl1958 and GeorgeAnderson for editing this. This story wouldn't have been written if it wasn't for her event.

*****

Turn left. I know to the meter where the traffic light is going to be. I've counted. It's red in about 82% of the cases. Today it's red. Everything else is grey. That includes the faces around me. I look at the other commuters, as I do so often. Again, I'm hoping to find proof that one of them is really alive, that one does something out of the ordinary, something making them a bit human. Their faces look as dull and lifeless as everything around me and they just keep staring forward. We all wait for that damn traffic light. Rain is dropping on my windshield in an unnecessary attempt to increase my misery. It's cold out there, and even though the car is heated up by now, my fingers refuse to move without the dull ache I'm so used to. They are clammy, like they are almost all winter long. Apart from that, the situation is just the same as it is in the summer or on any other given day.

My life is so unbelievably monotone. The repetition feels so perfect; it's almost like a trance inducing mantra. If I were more daring, I could probably live my whole life with closed eyes. Somehow, that actually sounds appealing. Better than having to watch this shit every day. It seems everything remains exactly the same; only the seasons change around me. Neither I, nor the world seems to change at all. My life surely doesn't. My routine doesn't. Nothing does. It's a prison of endless repetition. Everything is moving, yet static.

The seasons do change, so I know that I'm not living the same day again and again, but maybe I am living the same year over and over? I need to find permanent changes around me: the proof that I'm not living some kind of dream, that I'm living at all. That idea isn't new, but those events are rare and hard to find.

While I drive along to work, my obsession to spot even the most subtle, yet permanent, changes around me is keeping me busy. There. The park bench has been painted. It's still green, but it looks fresh and clean. The problem is, was it newly painted a year ago, as well? I can't tell, my memory is so damn fuzzy these days.

Still, I try to memorize everything on my way to work and back, trying to find minute changes. Maybe next year I will remember today's changes.

There's a guy in a black suit standing right next to the road. No briefcase, no movement, nothing. He just is. He looks completely generic. Black hair gelled back, immaculate appearance. He looks somehow... unnormally normal. I wouldn't be able to describe him if anyone asked.

Of course, nobody would ever ask me, about anything, come to think about it. My wife and I don't talk much anymore. I hardly see my colleagues at all and if I do, they don't seem to see me. I keep staring. Not being able to see anything distinctive about this guy unsettles me. He's standing too still; he seems almost artificial, like some Madame Tussaud's figure.

Wait, he's turning his head. The movement is too slow and smooth; it's almost robot-like. Is this guy even real? He continues to slowly turn his head until he looks directly at me. Is this really happening? I have an extremely weird feeling about this. He just looks at me and I'm unable to look away. The dead eyes hold me. It's like watching the devil anticipating the consumption of your soul. "Ah, that's Alex. He's on the menu tomorrow. Looks delicious," I can almost hear him thinking.

A horn blares. Ah, the light is green. I look at the stick to engage first gear, apologize to the honking, but otherwise strangely calm man in the delivery van behind me, and pull away. Don't look at the suit man again. Don't, it's not good. He's bad news. I look. He's gone. How did he disappear so quickly? Was he even real? I hope he wasn't. He was evil. I hope he was real. Because having imagined him would be even worse.

At work things are easy. They always are. I just wish they hadn't transferred me into this lonely annex. Still don't know why they did it. There was plenty of room in the main building. Okay, all of them are engineers, I'm the only accountant, but still, I feel like such an outsider, somehow.

I immerse myself in the files, as I do every day. The numbers seem to be exactly the same as yesterday. At ten, Ralph will briefly come by to bring me some files, just as he did yesterday. I get most of my data through our intranet, but sometimes paper still needs to be exchanged. Management has apparently insisted that someone will bring it to me, not the other way around. I'm more or less forbidden to enter the main building, these days. I try not to think about that insult too much anymore. It still makes me angry. Wait. No, it doesn't. For some damn reason it doesn't. Why not? It should. Rationally, I know it is wrong. They shouldn't exclude me like this, but for some reason I can't bring up the energy to be upset about it. I hear Ralph advancing through the empty corridors of this empty building long before he enters my small office. I can hear every step in these reverberating corridors.

Soccer. I'll talk to him about soccer. I really want to talk to him. About something. Anything. I don't know anything about soccer. We don't even have a TV. What else could I talk about? He's already in my office, I've missed a few seconds. The new files are already on my desk, he's leaving. How can I have missed the only brief human contact my work day offers?

"Ah, Ralph..." is all I can get out before he's out of the room, and he ignores it. Why? Ralph and I always got along well, but that was long ago. How long? No idea. My past is just one big mush.

Ah, the new files. Just concentrate on that, Alex. Do your job. Don't think about your life.

What? Eleven o'clock? I shake my head in confusion. The new files lie there unopened. How have I spent the last hour? I have no idea. Was Ralph late? No, he always comes at ten o'clock. Footsteps. In the corridor. Moving away from me. What? Ralph? I don't get up to check, afraid of what I might find.

*****

I arrive at home and park my car as I always do. Perfectly aligned, the steering wheel turned straight before I kill the engine. Tina is already at home as she always is. Her car is in the left spot, a bit crooked, as it sometimes is. Sometimes it's perfectly straight, but not always. I try to do things correctly all the time. These details are what keep me sane.

I look at our house. The lights go out in the bedroom upstairs; Tina must have heard my arrival. The curtain in the living room is moving. What? Is someone else in the house? We have no kids, not even a pet. I exit the car quickly, enter the house.

"Tina?"

"I'm up here," she says as she comes down the stairs. She looks a bit strained, as she usually does recently. Why? We're both working; we have plenty of money. Maybe if we ever talked, really talked, I would know what's bothering her.

"Is someone else in the house?"

She winces a bit and looks at me, worried.

"No. No, Alex." She speaks slowly and clearly, as if to a child. "No one else is in here."

That surprises me. Is she lying?

"But that curtain moved."

"Oh, Alex," she just says, as if that explains anything. For some reason she seems close to tears. Is she cheating on me?

I slowly and numbly go past her and sure enough, the bedroom is empty and the bed is neatly made, as always. I search every nook and cranny. The house is empty. Tina watches me silently, her worried expression unchanged.

The meal is silent and I'm just as embarrassed as I'm confused.

*****

Ten o'clock. Ralph. The new files. This time I'm quicker.

"Hey Ralph, how's it hanging?" I try to sound cordial. I'm even using a sentence I've never understood, but it's something that I think buddies say.

"Ah. Alex." It almost seems like he's surprised that I'm able to talk.

"You're here with the new files?" I ask, just to say something, maybe to start a real conversation. I have no idea what to say, though. I don't really know him at all.

"Yeah. Yeah. You know, I'm in a bit of a hurry. Boss is waiting."

"Oh, Geller himself?"

"Geller? You're serious? Geller's been gone for two months. Frank Thomas is the new man."

"Oh."

"You really didn't know?"

Awkward. Did anyone tell me we have a new boss? Have I forgotten? The name isn't even familiar.

"Oh, sure, just joking."

"Yeah, sure," he says, obviously unconvinced. "Have to go. See ya."

"Sure." This time I'm glad to see him leaving. That was awkward.

I check the files, look up again and he's gone. I didn't even hear the receding footsteps in the long corridor.

I look up again and there he is. The guy in the black suit. Or a different one that looks just like him. Hell, he looks so plain, so normal, like no real person could look like that. He looks like someone reduced every man who ever lived to numbers, and averaged them all, and turned those numbers into a man. An algebraic, perfectly average Frankenstein's monster. He's just standing in my door. He's not leaning on the door frame. He's not moving. He just stands there, watching me, his posture and expression as neutral as... I don't know. I've never seen anything that neutral. Even a sign post shows more emotion. I suspect he's pure evil, but I don't feel scared at all. I don't feel anything. I almost wish something would happen to me, good or bad. I don't care. Kill me. Kidnap me. Take me to an alien spaceship for examination. Any break in the drab routine of my life would be welcome.

"Who..." I start to say something, but when I look up, he's gone. Without a sound. How? I always hear every footstep reverberating in the corridor. Always. But I didn't hear Ralph leave. Did he leave? Are Ralph and the guy in the black suit playing a trick on me? Maybe they're the same person? I should have heard footsteps.

I check my watch. One o'clock. Three hours since Ralph has left? What have I done meanwhile? I've done the files, apparently. They are completely finished. That's another stretch of time I've completely missed. An hour yesterday, three hours today. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? No. I don't have good things or bad things in my life anymore. I can remember that Tina used to be a good thing, but now she's like everything else. Grey.

*****

It's Wednesday. I come home after work. Tina's parking spot is empty, as it is every Wednesday. She's with her friend. What's her name? Lina? Lisa? Lena? Hell, she's my wife's best friend for more than... how long exactly? For a long time, anyway, and I can't remember her name. What's wrong with me?

I enter the house. Of course it's empty. Suddenly nothing seems certain. Do I live here? Is this my life I'm living? I leave the light off so I don't have to see the same stuff I see every single damn day. Nothing in here seems to have any connection to me anyway. What am I doing here? I go to the bedroom to change my clothes. I switch on the bedside lamp. The bed is unmade. I simply register that fact, but I feel no emotion because of it nor can I turn my eyes away. The bed is unmade. Should I be upset? Is Tina cheating on me or am I just paranoid? We haven't had sex for... how long? Months? Seems like an eternity. Why didn't I notice that? Maybe because it was never that good. Did I make the bed this morning? I remember doing it, but I'm not sure it wasn't yesterday. I really have no idea. All that's left as I leave the room is a vague suspicion.

While I prepare a simple supper, I think about my situation. My life is shit, or maybe it's just nothing. What can I do? I can't escape it. Is Tina cheating on me? I really don't know. Would I care if I knew for sure? I don't know that either. It's not like I have to defend my territory; we've lived like brother and sister for an eternity now. Do I need to know for sure? Yes. For some reason I need to know. My life, boring as it is, is also strangely confusing. I guess I have to live with that as best as I can, but I'd really like to know if my wife has an affair. She's the only friend that's left and I need to know if she still is.

What can I do? I always leave after she does in the mornings. I will close the bedroom door when I leave and lean a match against it. The fall of the match will also be the fall of our marriage. Oh, God, it feels like I'm becoming dumber by the day.

*****

Next day. Afternoon. Is it even the next day? Yes, my phone says Thursday. I briefly greet Tina with a peck on the cheek and realize she's in a better mood than... since when? She seemed a bit concerned for... I don't remember. Quite some time, it seems. Anyway, I see she's still wearing her work clothes, so maybe she hasn't been in the bedroom yet. I go upstairs immediately and check the match. It's lying flat on the ground. She, or someone, went into the bedroom. What does that mean? Did she go upstairs a few minutes ago or did she take a long lunch break in here with her lover? Shit. This doesn't answer anything.

*****

I sneak out of my office during lunch break. No one will miss me. Everyone knows I always do exactly the same thing at exactly the same time every damn day, so no one has felt the need to check my presence for... a long time.

Our garage is empty. No unpleasant surprises in store for me while I check the house. I immediately go to the bedroom door. The match is gone. What? Did Tina find it and throw it away? There is no other trace of her having been home since I left for work. Did I put it there this morning? I think I did, but I can't remember for sure. Damn, my memory is too unreliable to play this game. I need to think of something else.

I drive back to work immediately and sure enough, the suit guy is standing at the roadside again. This time he watches me as I approach and looks me in the eye. His whole face is totally static, it seems as if he's wearing a mask, but today he has this evil grin. Scary. Damn bastard. The lights are green, so I have to keep going. Even if they were red, I wouldn't dare to talk to him. He just exudes evilness. As I pass him, his cruel grinning face follows me. Wait. His arm is moving. I haven't see it do that before. It moves slowly, smoothly, like a well-tuned robot. It stops and gives me a thumbs up. Scary guy. Yet, apart from Tina's possible cheating, this is the most interesting thing that's happened to me in... damn, telling the days and weeks and months apart gets more and more difficult. My whole past is just one big unstructured mass of chaos.

*****

"Could you please chop the tomatoes, Alex?" Alex? Since when does my wife call me 'Alex'? Hasn't it always been 'honey'? When did this change?

She bought those extremely tiny tomatoes again, but I love the huge cooking knife and nothing, not even absurdly small tomatoes, is going to stop me from using it.

As I chop away, I notice that the liquid on the cutting board is too dark to be tomato juice, and there is too much of it. Slowly, not really wanting to, I shift my gaze towards my fingers. One, two, three, four five, all of them are there. But holy cow, do I have a nasty gash right through my hand. How did I manage to do that? Why don't I feel any pain? Why is there no panic? I just watch the blood oozing out of the straight, somehow interesting looking wound. I turn around and see Tina. She's looking into my eyes, then shifts her gaze slowly towards the wound and she's just as oddly calm as I am. For some reason she's holding a large knife herself.

I wake up. I'm in bed. My hand. I check it from every angle and it looks just fine. The gash was just a dream. Why am I not more relieved? Why do I even dread sinking back into the uneventful, repetitive mass that is my life? Wait, maybe the grinning suit man was a dream, too? And Tina's maybe cheating on me? Hell, maybe I'm still working in the main building with my colleagues?

Tina is not in the room and I don't even know what time it is. I check my phone. Saturday, 9 o'clock. I usually don't sleep in that long. I also usually don't have dreams about chopping half of my hand off and seeing weird guys in black suits. My mood improves drastically. All of this shit was just a dream. My life is still as it was. Why don't I feel happy about that?

I get up and start to dress. I open my sock drawer. I don't have to work and it's winter, so the unwritten Alex rulebook says it's time for the thick grey wool socks. I own four identical pairs. Of course, I rotate them, so they wear evenly. That's just common sense. Tina's drawers are a mess, but mine are very organized. The socks in question are on the very right side, neatly aligned, next to the black... what the... what is this? Someone has rummaged through my drawer. Tina knows very well that is no go territory for her. She doesn't fully appreciate my sense of order, just as I don't appreciate her ubiquitous chaos, so we stay out of each other's domains.

The grey wool socks and the black business socks had been moved. Why? There should be exactly 27 pairs of socks in here, while seven are in the laundry. I check the other drawers and everything in them has been moved just so slightly as well. There is no real disorder; but every single item seems to have been moved methodically just enough for me to notice. What the hell is happening here? Is someone trying to deliberately confuse me? I have to ask Tina about it. She's in the living room, reading.

"Say, have you been fiddling with my clothing?"

She looks at me, sighing. "Not for a long, long time, Alex."

I have no idea what she wants to express, but she seems to be telling the truth. I wanted my life to change, but do the changes have to be so confusing?

*****

Driving to work. Shit, that was close. A split second later and I'd have crashed into that red, well whatever that is. Toyota, apparently. This has to stop, Alex. You can't drive around, staring everywhere, looking for imaginary men in black suits. This is starting to affect your life. They don't exist. Just go back to your boring, grey, monochrome life. If you can call it a life.

*****

I'm ready to go to work; just one more coffee. These few minutes alone, after Tina has left for work, are the most precious of the whole day. Nothing unusual has happened for a few days. No black suit sightings, no new cheating indicators. I've just lived my life. Is that a good thing? Ralph hasn't brought me new files for... I have no idea. Days. At least. No need to exchange paper anymore, it seems. I don't even know for sure if my colleagues are still alive. The only human contact I have is with Tina. What is she to me? My wife? Without intimacy? Hardly. A friend? We have exchanged maybe a dozen words since... well, for a while. I'm a little fuzzy on dates these days. Can someone be a friend if you don't even talk? What is her life like these days, anyway? I have no idea and if I'm honest, I don't even care all that much. Why don't I care? I remember caring. I seem to remember thinking that every little thing about her was critically important, but not anymore. Lots of things that once were important seem to have lost all their significance. My brain feels, I don't know... numb? Most of the time. It's how I imagine being on drugs might feel. Nothing matters much; dream and reality just blur into each other.

What if I'm being drugged, so I lose my grip on reality and see men in suits? By whom? Tina? Why? So she can cheat on me? Maybe I'm being drugged by those suit men and Tina has done nothing wrong. But why, and who are they? Maybe Tina is cheating with the man in the suit and they both drugged me? Maybe just suspecting that Tina is cheating is enough to drive me mad? And worst of all, what if my life is just like that? Or maybe I'm just slowly going mad on my own? That looks like the simplest explanation and Ockham doesn't care if it's the one I dislike the most. All I know is I have to leave for work now.