Alas

Alas

Two weeks shy of his thirty-fourth birthday, Jeff Conrad awoke early to a real head-splitter. The pain started across the front of his head sometime around three, rapidly picked up steam then hit its crescendo around four. That's when Jeff said uncle and stumbled to the bathroom for something to lessen the pain.

It was Jeff's first migraine and he had hopes of containing the throbbing in his head. Ignorant to the consequences of light, Jeff felt his way through the door and flipped up the switch.

A sun's worth of light shattered the darkness and threatened to wrench Jeff's forehead from the rest of his skull. He staggered in pain and smashed the switch down. He didn't know such a pain existed, and for the first time, accepted the possibility that he was dying. Already, a massive blockage in his head had sealed his fate but needed several minutes to run out the clock.

His brown hair in disarray, Jeff leaned against the wall for support and pressed the palms of both hands to his head. He stood that way for several minutes before he dared move. He was afraid to leave the safety of the wall, but pain forced the issue. One hesitant step at a time, Jeff shuffled towards a medicine cabinet on the wall above the toilet. A bottle of Excedrin lived on the bottom shelf with a box of sinus medicine and a bottle of eye-drops. Jeff grabbed the white bottle and shook it.

A dozen or so pills rattled inside and offered up the day's first ray of hope. Jeff dumped out a few, threw them back and used a Dixie cup to wash down the pain- killers. Holding his head and bent over, Jeff stumbled back to bed. Two very fast hours later, his alarm clock buzzed and informed him that it was time to get up.

Jeff's initial thought was to call in sick. If he ever had a good reason, it was now. But senior associates at the small law-firm where he worked didn't call in sick. Not if they wanted to make partner. They clocked in and toughed it out. Forget the rain, sleet and debilitating pain.

More concerned for his career than his health, Jeff rolled out of bed and returned to the bathroom. He learned his lesson about light and ignored the switch. He still had to squint against light from a small window to his left and above the shower. Jeff found the same bottle, shook out three more capsules then struggled through a shower.

He wasn't hungry afterwards but thought food would help and downed a bowl of Cheerios. Forty minutes later, he stepped outside and pulled the door shut.

Jeff chose the condo for its good view and covered parking. He groped his way down a flight of stairs, across a sidewalk then up to where he parked his Range Rover. He went with the super-charged version and occasionally got the sleek SUV up to the speed limit in light traffic. Jeff pulled the door open, tossed in his briefcase and slid behind the wheel. He sat with his head bowed in capitulation and jabbed blindly for the ignition. Jeff needed six attempts but found his mark and twisted.

Thirty minutes later, he eased into his parking garage then his assigned spot. He had a good spot - wide and not far from the entrance but not partner-close. Those were up front and already filled with several of Germany's and Japan's finest. The garage was considered underground but wasn't entirely. During the day, sunlight filtered in through cinder blocks near the top of the walls and pushed back the gloom.

Jeff reached around the wheel and turned off the engine. The Excedrin or Cheerios or both had kicked in and reduced the pain from a ten down to perhaps a seven. But good as that was, Jeff had to deal with a new concern.

One block from home, he first noticed that his vision had become blurred. He couldn't see clarity in the oncoming cars as well. He could see each vehicle's outline but was unable to fill in the usual details. Jeff thought back to the stroke and how he was dying but blew the whole idea off to the alien fetus gnawing its way out of his head. Jeff gritted his teeth against the pain and drove the rest of the way without running anybody over.

Safely in his slot and with the engine off, Jeff forced his hand to reach out and grab the door handle. He started to pull the lever but stopped when a yellow Porsche drove past in his rearview mirror. Tires squealed then the little sports car swung into its space across from Jeff's.

Karissa Peterson worked on the second floor. She defended doctors against malpractice suits, and based on her choice of car, seemed to be pretty good at the task.

The sudden opportunity caused Jeff to wait and coordinate his exit with Karissa's. His head hurt but he could suck it up for the few minutes it took to get up to work. While he waited, Jeff looked down and was pleased to have gone with his favorite suit; a navy-blue number that hung well on his tall frame. He finished his inspection then waited impatiently for the yellow car's door to swing open and Karissa's legs to appear.

As usual, the tallish blond would be in a skirt with her hair pinned up in a bun. Jeff occasionally saw her in the elevator or in a hallway and traded light but professional banter. He had wanted to ask her out for months but wasn't sure about dating a woman in his own building.

Jeff saw the German car's door swing open and popped his own. He was in no shape to lay on the old Conrad charm - not with his head ready to split in two. But it was Karissa Peterson from the second floor; if not the most beautiful woman in the building, a very close second. Jeff grabbed his briefcase and slid out. He shut the door and was ready to cross over to Karissa but paused to straighten his suit. He was angry that he didn't check his teeth in the mirror but finally turned around.

Like an old computer asked to run a newer program, his mind seized up and threatened to shut down entirely. One byte at a time or frame at a time or however the human mind processes what it does, Jeff tried to take in what he saw and couldn't. Instead of a tallish blond in a skirt, a skeleton in only heels stood next to Karissa's car.

"Good morning," it said in his direction through a mouth with no tongue.

Jeff heard the creature's voice. The thing sounded like Karissa and even moved with her silky confidence. Jeff rubbed his eyes with the fingers of his empty hand and listened to blood pound in his ears. The intensity felt like a smashed finger; like his heart had shrunk to a fraction of its former size and taken up residence in the injured digit.

Unsteadily, Jeff took one step back and tried to shake away the cobwebs. But the skeleton didn't notice his trouble or didn't care and started towards him. Jeff blinked and was stunned to see that muscle had grown over the creature's bones.

The thing that was Karissa or used to be resembled one of those clay recreations; the kind forensic experts sculpt to determine what a person may have looked like when alive. But in the Karissa thing's case, the expert hadn't gotten to her skin. Red flesh rippled and shimmered under the weak lights overhead.

Twenty feet from Jeff, the creature tightened its facial muscles and formed what could have been a smile. With no lips to frame teeth or eyelids to cover golf ball eyes, Jeff couldn't be sure. He tried to speak but nothing came out.

Halfway to him, the Karissa thing reverted to the skeleton. Then muscle again. Then a mixture of bone and muscle. Jeff could only watch as plastic overlays like those in biology texts flipped over one-by-one to reveal new layers of the creature's anatomy.

The first overlay gave way to the creature's muscles. Then organs appeared in all their moist squishiness. Then for whatever reason, the overlays reversed course and muscle added back to the creature's frame. Just as fast, they reversed course and Jeff stared at a woman's reproductive system. Another overlay flipped and the claymation thing stared back with lidless eyes.

"Morning," it said and this time sounded concerned.

Jeff returned the creature's stare but refused to believe what he saw. It was only a dream and he was still in bed, he told himself. "Good morning," he said in a detached voice and dropped his eyes to where a heartbeat rhythmically in the creature's chest. Jeff tried to swallow but his mouth and throat had gone dry. He looked up to read the creature's expression but couldn't.

"You okay," asked the biology-book lady in Karissa's voice. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jeff almost laughed. He could have dismissed a ghost. Ghosts aren't real or probably aren't real depending on what cable channel a person watches. Besides, people see ghosts all the time. Ghosts and the Virgin Mary. But nobody ever sees a biology-book lady walk around in heels.

Jeff caught his breath. "Yeah," he said in a weak voice and licked his dry lips. "I just stood up too fast." He blinked and saw that the Karissa thing ate what could have been oatmeal for breakfast. The proof was right there in her stomach for everyone to see. At least for those who could see into a person's stomach from ten feet away, Jeff thought, and stifled nervous laughter.

Another page turned and Jeff was back to the circulatory overlay. Blood raced from the heart like a tiny highway system, circled the body and raced back. Possibly concerned, the abomination asked Jeff how his drive was.

"I...uh," he started and took a deep breath. "It was fine," he stammered, started to expand on his drive then froze with his mouth open. A hundred feet away, a metal door slammed open and broke the silence.

The short, wide shape of a man now stood atop a landing and provided Jeff his first ray of hope that he wasn't going crazy. Jeff wanted to sprint towards the other man but resisted the urge. He could barely stand on his feet let alone run on them.

Little-by-little, Jeff felt the carnival ride he was on move slower and slower. Soon it was going to stop and life as he knew it would return to normal. Then he would go into the building and take the elevator up to the third floor where he would see Mike and Tom and Sylvia and all the others. One-by-one, they would say good morning and even have skin on their faces. The squat man called out.

"Dale's looking for you," he said from up on the landing near the entrance. Walt Vogel was the man's name. He was a veteran lawyer in Jeff's office from way back who specialized in personal injuries. At nearly five-nine, he went about two-fifty and sported a nice set of jowls. What hair he still had, Walt pasted down with some kind of gunk. The sixty-three year old man no longer had a neck and left the top button of his shirt unfastened for lack of room.

"Thanks," said Jeff, unsure whether or not he actually answered. For the moment, he was content to stand and watch the other man withdraw a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and tap one out. The normalcy of the act was further proof that he wasn't going crazy. His dreams typically dealt with weightier issues than people having a smoke.

He was only having a little hiccup in his circuitry, Jeff insisted. That was all - a short in the old cranial wiring. But everything was back to normal, Jeff assured himself. Better than normal. It was like what that black guy on ESPN used to say. "Cool as the other side of the pillow."

Then Jeff noticed that his head didn't hurt as much. He was surprised at first and waited for pain to rush back in like a wave and overwhelm him. But after several seconds, Jeff felt no additional pain. The migraine had loosened its grip and left a mere headache in its wake.

He wasn't checking out of Reality Hotel, he realized, nor was his head going to split in half. For most folks, that had the making of a pretty good morning. But movement to Jeff's left broke into his reverie and forced him to tune back in. He turned to Karissa and almost yelled. She was blond, dressed and more beautiful than ever. Jeff looked her up and down. "It's really you," he gushed and stepped closer.

But third in her class at Stanford law, Karissa wasn't down with PDA and stepped back. She also didn't like being teased. The tall, thin woman furrowed her brow and pressed her lips together hard enough for both to turn pale. Karissa started to speak, decided not to, then strode away at a fast pace. Embarrassed, Jeff followed at a distance.

Karissa reached the stairs and started up without slowing. She was a runner and had the legs of one. Instinctively, Jeff dropped his eyes to the flash of semi-exposed skin in front of him. He reached the stairs several steps later, glanced at the first riser to check his footing then, unable not to, refocused on Karissa's legs. Somewhere in between, though, the invisible hand had flipped an overlay.

Instead of Karissa's round calves, Jeff stared at skinless balls of meat that knotted and relaxed with each step. Pain exploded in his head and he stumbled on the next step. Jeff had to grab the handrail for balance and re-swallowed several Cheerios that had worked their way up.

"Take it easy there, buddy," said Walt and raised a Marlboro to his lips. The obese man stood atop the remaining six or seven stairs and to Jeff's left. He pinched his cigarette between two fingers more like a joint than what it was. Asthmatic, Walt inhaled on his cigarette and caused the bulk of his stomach to shift up to his chest.

Jeff would have screamed had it not been for a new mouthful of regurgitated cereal. Again unable to look away, he stared as smoke first entered then filled the older man's lungs. Jeff felt the garage start to spin and let out a moan. Dizzily, he tightened his grip on the railing as the claymation woman shouted his name.

"Jeff!" she said in Karissa's voice and stepped down from the top step. She reached out a clay hand. Mercifully, layers of raw muscle shielded the bloody awful underneath. The clay creature stepped down one more riser and slid an arm around Jeff's back. "Careful," it said and helped him up to the landing.

Walt had taken a step closer to help then stopped. It was ten to eight in the morning and cool, but the overweight man was already sweating. Small beads covered his forehead and threatened to form droplets. The balding man caulked his head to the left and exhaled.

Smoke cleared from his lungs and vented into the air through a set of stained teeth. But Walt's unhealthy teeth were only the tip of the iceberg. Whereas Karissa's lungs were pink and looked healthy, Walt's were grayish and sickly. The heavy man placed a hand over his mouth and coughed. This caused a thick wad of phlegm to inch up from his lungs before he swallowed it again.

Walt cleared his throat and looked Jeff in the eye. "You don't look so good," he said to his pale colleague.

Jeff stared at a much shorter and pudgier version of the female clay rendition. "I must have eaten something last night that doesn't agree with me," he said between pants. Jeff swallowed and forced down a hunk of something in his own throat. "On second thought," he continued with a firm grip still on the rail, "I'm going back to bed."

"You'd better," said a circulation overlay of a short and very overweight man. "You look like you're going to be sick."

Jeff nodded and took a deep breath. "Take care," he said to his two grizzly colleagues and turned for the stairs.

"Need a hand?" asked Karissa who couldn't decide on an overlay and flashed between a skeleton with organs and one without.

"No," said Jeff and waved off the creature. His legs had become rubbery and barely supported his weight. He would have tumbled down the stairs and landed on his face if not for the handrail. "I'm fine," insisted Jeff between pants and stumbled back to his Range Rover. Whether or not he puked all over the leather interior was of no concern.

Jeff awoke the next morning with the jolt. He remembered very little of the previous day. Only that he made it home in one piece, stumbled up to his condo and locked out the world. Jeff also remembered throwing himself down on his bed then being unable to sleep. He couldn't have seen everything he did, or at least, thought he did.

Jeff's mind raced from one scene to the next and each time came to the same conclusion. Maybe he was going crazy after all. In need of shutting down for a few hours, he got up and downed a couple sleeping pills.

The next time Jeff awoke, no lights were on and the sun had gone down. He needed a moment for his brain to catch up then determined he was in bed. Groggily, Jeff looked at his bedside clock. Red numbers informed him that it was nine forty-three. He had slept for twelve hours.

Jeff rolled into a seated position and planted both feet on the floor. If a person could live with a cleaver buried in his forehead then he knew how it would feel. Jeff stumbled to the bathroom, swallowed another sleeping pill and several more Excedrin then, with the help of his alarm, awoke the next morning at his usual time.

His headache still hurt but had loosened its grip. Even so, Jeff's initial reaction was to turn off the buzzer and stay in bed. But he already missed one day of work. One more and he would show up on management's radar. Then tongues would start to wag. Maybe he's not ready after all, a voice would say. And he showed so much promise.

Jeff showered and got dressed. He wanted to eat but decided to skip breakfast. In the event of more guts and gore, he wanted an empty stomach. One hour later, he pulled the front door shut and made for the Range Rover.

Several other cars were already parked when Jeff arrived. One was Karissa's. But rather than fear the yellow car, Jeff took the Porsche's presence as a good sign. Everything was back to normal, it said. The previous day was only a nightmare or mental hiccup of some sort. Just like the song said, he had only gone a little insane in the membrane.

If he wasn't careful, he would start seeing UFOs and Big Foot. But Jeff couldn't convince himself that the previous day occurred entirely in his head. Anxiously, he braced himself for the worst and slid out of the driver's seat. Then as he expected, the horror show awaited him on the third floor. Jeff dashed to his office and only came out rarely.

Twelve hours later, he was more than ready to go home and pass out again. A whole day of looking at people's guts was enough, he figured. Surprisingly, the next day was better and the next even better. Jeff still saw guts and bones but managed to handle the worst.

His initial thought when he got home that second day was to schedule a doctor's appointment. What he would say was anyone's guess. Hey, doc. You're never going to believe this, but I can see inside people. Hell, I can see inside you. Jeff saw his doctor stop writing and peer over his glasses.

"And how long have you been experiencing this?" the short, Indian man would ask and finger up his glasses.

Jeff wasn't ready for that. Besides, there was a simple explanation for everything. He only needed to learn what it was.

A month later, he still hadn't gotten used to seeing people for what they really were; gristle and mucous and worse. And there were more than a few surprises.

Who had breast implants was no longer in doubt. Neither was the number of people with plates in their skulls. Quite small, Jeff realized, with some interest. Mostly old-timers who had probably been in battle, he figured. Then there were the people with screws in their bones or fake joints. There were also pacemakers and stents. The first IUD caused Jeff to walk into a light pole. And the diseases. Goodness the diseases.

It didn't take long to recognize cancers and any number of other maladies. The first several times, Jeff stopped people to explain what he saw only to be ignored. That is if hurrying away in fright is the same as ignoring. One of the first debacles happened at a grocery store.

Jeff stood in a checkout line behind a man in his late fifties. The man sported wire-rim glasses and a perfect goatee. Possibly a doctor or college professor, he was in the market for vanilla ice cream. But what Jeff noticed was a little blob of tissue near the man's stomach. It didn't look right.