The Mind of Man

By Dana Warner

A once talented and acclaimed writer inexplicably suffers a sudden breakdown and can no longer co-exist with his wife and adoring son. Could this have been brought about by a rare personality disorder as diagnosed? Or is the horror of these events the result of a greedy corporation seeking to destroy a family for the sake of money and power?

Can a burned out FBI Agent discover the truth? Or will he become the next victim?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 8, 2002
• ISBN: 9781462095872

Dana Warner

Dana Warner is an adventurous spirit seeking to provide entertainment and to share his hard-hitting imagination with his readers.

Book preview

All Rights Reserved © 2002 by Dana Warner

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Writers Club Press

an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse, Inc.

5220 S. 16th St.,

Suite 200

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

ISBN: 0-595-25259-1 (pbk)

ISBN: 0-595-65057-0 (cloth)

ISBN: 978-1-462-09587-2 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

C H A P T E R 1

C H A P T E R 2

C H A P T E R 3

C H A P T E R 4

C H A P T E R 5

C H A P T E R 6

C H A P T E R 7

C H A P T E R 8

C H A P T E R 9

C H A P T E R 10

C H A P T E R 11

C H A P T E R 12

C H A P T E R 13

C H A P T E R 14

C H A P T E R 15

C H A P T E R 16

C H A P T E R 17

C H A P T E R 18

C H A P T E R 19

C H A P T E R 20

C H A P T E R 21

C H A P T E R 22

C H A P T E R 23

C H A P T E R 24

C H A P T E R 25

C H A P T E R 26

C H A P T E R 27

C H A P T E R 28

C H A P T E R 29

C H A P T E R 30

C H A P T E R 31

C H A P T E R 1  

It was his eyes!

Something about them seemed odd.

Not that they were extraordinary. Not even special, yet she was mesmerized by them. Quite uncharacteristic for her she thought.

In-deed, she was staring…how odd, thought Mary. Usually she goes to great lengths to not look at people. Generally tries to avoid them.

Her shyness has always made her an introvert. So shy in-fact, that she lives her life as if she has an invisible shield around her. An imaginary bubble that protects her from the troubles of the world.

Mary lives by the motto: If I can’t see them…then they can’t see me! Not being seen means not being hurt.

Her husband often pointed out just how silly such a notion is. She knows that he’s right. She knows that any security she feels by this is simply an illusion, yet like all of us, she justifies this idiosyncrasy by telling herself that it’s just the way she is.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Mary didn’t understand what it was about the boy’s eyes, but they drew her. Those young and innocent eyes!

Gaze deeply enough and you can see right into his soul…see his dreams and desires.

He’s not very stout. Not much to look at. Rather thin and frail actually…his skin pale and chalky.

As Mary stares, her thoughts drift and she wonders what his dreams might be. Does he fantasize about one day becoming a famous athlete, or has that become old fashioned like so many of the values and traditions that helped to shape her life.

Perhaps politics is the dream that he aspires to one day fulfill. Although politics isn’t like it was back in her day when young men would have wanted to be like President Kennedy.

Today, money and the power are all they’re interested in!

In his hands is a book entitled Circuit Design. Maybe like so many of today’s youths, this boy seeks silicon gold. Maybe the thing that drives him is the hope of overnight riches made possible by the technology explosion.

In her day, young men and women still dreamt of possibly changing the world…of making a lasting contribution. It was still fashionable to take pride in your achievements. When she was in school, kid’s hearts still felt lifted with dreams of shaping our country.

Not today. Today, young people are only interested in instant gratification. Fast food, fast money…Easy money, fast cars, fast success, fast life-styles…Easy love, careless sex, fast this, easy that…Fast, fast, fast…easy, easy, easy. The easier the better!

Today’s kids, with lack of direction from their parents, no longer care about creating anything. Today’s fortunes are derived from worthless paper.

The kid’s of today no longer care about building roads or cars, or even families for that matter.

Her own son is no different, even though she’s tried so hard. He just couldn’t wait to leave home, to get away, just like his father. They used to be close when he was little, and then bam, overnight it was no longer cool to be friends with mom.

Mary continues to stare at the lanky kid with the soulful eyes. I’ll bet this kid doesn’t love his mother either, she thinks. He’s probably about what…nineteen, maybe twenty? I’ll bet the little jerk hasn’t had a meaningful conversation with his mom for a long time. I’ll bet he hasn’t remembered her birthday or Mother’s Day for years.

The ungrateful little reject probably still lives at home and sponges off of her. Lets his mom cook and clean for him…slave for him. I’ll bet he shows no gratitude at all! Probably doesn’t even contribute to the household budget. Does he care that his mother takes care of him? Hell no. Probably takes her for granted just like he does all women!

After all…girls mean only one thing to the bastard!

Mary knows exactly what they are to him…to all men. He doesn’t care about getting married…doesn’t care about having kids or carrying on his family’s name. This kid could care less about values…or even what’s right or wrong.

She looks deeper into his eyes and there in the recesses of his male soul she recognizes what she’s always known. She sees the truth…All you care about is yourself, don’t you? mutters Mary under her breath.

All he cares about is the here and now, she thinks. He doesn’t care about the future, only this very moment…now…tonight. All he cares about is providing lousy service just long enough to collect this week’s paycheck. That’s all the little bastard cares about!

I’ll bet that as soon as his shift is over he’s going to drive to some girl’s house. Oh, he’ll be pleasant and well mannered so long as he’s in front of her mom and dad, but I know what’s really on his mind! I know what he really wants! He can’t wait to get into her pants. That’s all he thinks about. That’s all he care’s about.

He just wants to use her. He wants to satisfy his urges. That’s all…and when he’s done using her, he’ll dump her.

He’ll brag about it to his friends…tell them how good he was and how easy she was. Tell them what a slut she is. Tell his friend how she begged for it, and what’s worse, she probably won’t care either. It’s this kid tonight, but tomorrow she’ll be balling somebody else. I’ll bet the little tramp just can’t wait to pull down her shorts for anything with a cute butt!

Christ, she might even be with my son! Shit, who knows…she might even be balling my ex!

It’s not her fault though. Its men’s fault…All men!

Women are pure enough until they are corrupted by the two-legged swinging dicks that infest the world.

This kid looks so smug. He looks like he knows it all. Huh! Mary snickers. He knows all about AIDS…all about women…all about drugs! He most likely learned all about it in school!

Yeah…in school, where they even taught him how to masturbate! Where they taught him about sex. Shit, they probably even gave him the rubber that he has no intention of using! He doesn’t give a shit about infecting some girl.

Mary’s mind was now in high gear.

What the hell is this? I didn’t write this! Blake has been reading the text on his monitor and he can’t believe his eyes. Could Koni or Billy have done this? he asks himself before he realizes how ridiculous that notion is. Koni is his wife, why in the world would she want to write something like this? She wouldn’t. Billy is only seven years old. Besides, they don’t even live with you any more you schmuck.

Considering his last thought…considering that his first reaction was to blame his family, Blake frowned. He wondered what it was in his psyche that could have brought him to ascribe such an act to his family…his ex family.

Okay smart guy. Where did it come from? Blake’s sarcastic tone with himself put him on edge. Try as he might he simply couldn’t fathom how the foreign text could have managed its way into his book. His over-due book! His long over-due book!

SHIT! he exclaimed. I’ve only got two weeks left. If I don’t finish this piece of crap I’ll be working at a fast food joint!

Blake sat silent for a second and then added, Great…I’ve started talking to myself!

Being a writer…a good one up until the last year or so, he used to discuss all of his ideas with Koni. Lately however, he’s his only audience, one that he addresses ceaselessly…a byproduct of his over-active imagination! The thought of slinging greasy cheese-burgers for pimply faced kids made him shudder.

Blake highlighted the intrusive text. The text he’d just read. The text he had no idea where it could have come from! With his finger poised over the keyboard he was ready to hit the delete key but something made him hesitate.

Something about the words drew him.

He just couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it. Something inside of him…maybe his writer’s curiosity beckoned him to read more.

But why should he?

He didn’t write it. Somebody had managed to break into his house and into his system…or could it be something else?

Maybe there was something far more sinister at work here. Christ…listen to yourself! Conspiracy theories about your book now!

But someone had gotten into his story and added this…this…whatever it is!

There’s something odd about this text, Blake thought. Not simply the fact that it’s here. It’s more than that. It almost seems as if he wrote it!

But he knows he didn’t. It’s his style. That is, he very easily could have written it. But he knows that he didn’t!

Blake shook his head as he leaned back into his chair. He folded his hands behind his head.

I could have written words like this! He declared softly to himself.

But I didn’t write it! Once again he spoke aloud the words, as if to convince himself.

Who could have done this? And why?

Blake was getting increasingly perturbed as he went on thinking about the mystery before him.

He felt violated. He felt angry!

This is crazy. Why would someone want to invade my work like this? Why would somebody want to concoct this story?

Blake moved the cursor quickly through the story until he came to what he thought was the end of the unknown work. He wanted to see how much there was. After satisfying himself, he went back to the beginning. To where the new text started and his had left off.

Then he realized something he hadn’t noticed before.

Some of my work is missing!

He repeated the exercise just to confirm what he’d found. An entire section of his original work was missing. A fact that didn’t really concern him too much since he felt it was garbage anyway!

Besides, after years of writing, Blake was very good about making back-ups. He could always restore his work.

What did concern him is that sometime between midnight, which is when he’d finally gone to bed…and this morning, somebody had entered his home and violated his work!

Who?

Again the nagging question to which he didn’t have an answer.

Once more he stared at the words on the monitor. They haunted him…beckoned him. The words had to be someone else’s…not his! He had not written them. He hadn’t even thought of them, so how could he have written them?

The answer was unavoidable…He hadn’t!

Blake started to read.

The little bastard cares nothing for women. Just like all men. Just like my husband!

She can see the boy’s nametag. Walter. His name is Walter. The name a mother would give to a son that she expected to grow up to be a loser! Walter.

Mary didn’t realize that she’d voiced the name out loud.

The young man heard his name, turned and saw Mary and asked…May I help you?

Mary shook her head, turned and started to look at the items on the shelf.

Walter shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention back to his book.

Mary casually looked back over her shoulder. She could see that he was no longer interested in her. She sighed.

Walter doesn’t seem like a very tough name. Not the kind of name she’d expect from someone that she imagined behaved like Walter would. Walter isn’t manly enough…isn’t rough enough.

He looks innocent but she’s seen that look before…seen that look many times. It’s just a front. Walter wants young girl’s mommy’s to trust him. Walter wants daddy’s to think that he’s harmless. So he pretends to like the same team that they do, to be interested in their old football stories.

Men! What a bunch of jerks. She says carefully, needing to say the words, yet soft enough so as not to let Walter hear her.

Walter just wants to worm his way into mommy’s heart so she won’t object when he takes out her little girl. He wants them to trust him. To make them think they’re going out for ice-cream. When he really wants to screw the shit out of their little girl!

Blake can feel the woman’s anger. As he reads the intruder’s words…maybe Mary’s words? He feels her pain.

He is able to see all of this through the woman’s eyes.

Finally Mary takes a deep breath and wonders where these morbid feelings are coming from. She’s not usually like this. As a-matter-of-fact she’s generally reserved. She usually keeps things to herself. This is highly unusual but whatever it is that has gripped her cannot be ignored.

What is it she can do to make sure that innocent little Walter doesn’t get the chance to ruin some poor girl’s life?

How can she, as a good mother just walk away from someone like Walter? How can she let Walter go on breathing and longer?

If she was the unsuspecting mother of some little girl, surely she’d want some other mother to take care of him. So how can she do less?

Listen to yourself will you. What’s gotten into you? How can you be thinking such things?

Mary pauses, a blank look on her face. She hesitates and it almost seems as though her natural defense mechanisms, her in-born sense of right and wrong is working to pull her back into the reality of social existence.

What you’re thinking is ludicrous and dangerous. Do you want to end up on the cover of one of those sleazy tabloids you’re always reading?

Mary was attempting to reason with herself. Normally our social conscience prevents us from thinking like this…that’s what she told herself. She wanted to believe that she was normal, just like every other mother…

Just like Walter’s mother.

Mary tried to shake off the vial force that has descended over her, but something deep inside, a burning energy was driving her. Never in her life had she felt so out of control.

Suddenly it hit her. She’s thinking such things because it’s high time somebody did something about people like Walter! She wishes all the other mothers would help her do something about all the people like Walter.

If they did…if more people acted rather than sat back like cowards, if more people carried around a gun and blew out the brains of people like Walter, then maybe the world would still be like it was when I was growing up!

This has to have been written by a woman, by this Mary who-ever she is! Says Blake. Or possibly a man who wants me to think it’s a woman! He was now lost in the words and had to know more.

Mary doesn’t have a gun or anything else that could be considered a weapon, which is okay. Shooting Walter would be far too simple. He wouldn’t learn a lesson if she just shot and killed him. That would be too quick. Other boys like Walter wouldn’t get the message if she simply blew him away. That could easily be confused as another senseless killing of a convenience store clerk. Happens all the time.

No, she needs something better than that.

Let’s see…what can she do that will really impress little Walter here.

Despite himself, Blake found that he was really getting into this…into Mary. Into the cold, calculating way that she thinks. He can’t help thinking about a woman who is obviously pissed off at men in general.

Is she some stressed out working woman who has finally snapped, or just some homemaker that has seen one too many soap operas?

What would her deranged mind conger up? What would Blake do in the same situation?

What would some suburbanite housewife come up with to take care of poor Walter? Would she flip out like what’s her name…Bobbitt? Would she drag some rusty steak knife out of her purse that is most likely filled with all sorts of useful and not so useful utensils like most women carry around? Would she saunter up to the boy and ask for a lottery ticket? While he is distracted would she simply move around to his side of the counter and start hacking away on his private parts?

Asking these questions, Blake found himself thinking about what his writer’s mind would come up with. Thinking about the inventive way that he would dream up to dispatch Walter

Mary needed something, but what? She looks around. This convenience store is one of those that makes deli sandwiches with fresh baked rolls…interesting!

It’s rather late at night and she hasn’t seen another customer in the store since she’s been here. The lack of a crowd made her feel safe…fills her with that little bit of confidence she needs.

She walks around to the back of the deli counter keeping one eye on Walter. He appears to be reading his text-book but she’s willing to bet that he has some sleazy girlie magazine hidden inside!

Ah! Just what she needs! On the counter…a nice heavy rolling pin.

All Right, blurts out Blake. She’s going to beat the little SOB to death with the rolling pin.

Nice touch. He says as he grins. Somehow fitting of a mother’s tribute to the terrible male influence. Having been made to suffer and serve the demanding men in her life, she now uses a tool with which she is intimately familiar. A tool that is typically used in the preparation of baked goodies to pacify boys like Walter.

Jesus, listen to yourself. Somebody ruined your work and for some unknown reason inserted this scenario, and here you are getting right into the middle of it…pathetic!

At this point it didn’t matter. Blake would have time later to figure out what was happening. Right now he has to know how little mama is going to take care of bad old Walter.

Mary walks around behind the young man who seems to be engrossed in his magazine. She can see it now and it really is a book! Oh well. Even if he isn’t leering over smut right now he surely will be later.

Looking up, she found herself staring into a security camera. Mary scans the counter and then she sees it…the security monitor. Again she looks at Walter and then back at her image on the monitor. So far he hasn’t seen what she’s doing. As a matter-of-fact, he hasn’t paid any attention to her at all! Serves him right for not being more observant.

Taking a deep breath she raises the rolling pin above her head and grasps it with both hands. With all the strength she can muster, she swings the rolling pin down and strikes Walter on the back of his head.

His body makes a loud thud as he crumples to the floor. Funny…she thought there’d be more blood!

Mary licks her lips, adrenaline coursing through her…it feels good…the power feels good…exciting. She feels very gratified. Here is little old mama who has been used and abused by her husband and her son for years.

Little old mama has finally put Walter, and symbolically all men in their place.

It’s more than that though…much more. This is merely the catalyst that will spark a revolution among all women for surely they have to think as she does. They just don’t know where to begin. They’re waiting for a sign, that’s all, and now she’s given them one. Years from now the world will be quite a different place. Men will no longer be in control. Once men find out that women are something to fear they will be more respectful.

Let’s see now, she needs something to tie up Walter. Good old Walter is wearing high top hiking boots. How thoughtful.

She removes his boots and takes out the nice long laces, which she uses to bind his hands and feet.

Okay, let me see. There are a few more items that she needs. Little mama goes searching around…goes shopping!

Wait, what’s that? Mary says in response to a noise outside.

Mary realizes to her horror that somebody has pulled in for some gas. What do I do now? She says in a panic.

Mary grabs Walter by his feet and moves him around so that he can’t be seen from the front of the store.

Think damnit…think! The register looks simple enough. She can do this!

A soft beeping interrupts her thoughts. What can that be? Desperately she scans the work-space searching for the source of the noise. Finally a blinking light catches her attention. Below it is a switch labeled reset.

Come on…come on…what do I do? Mary’s face is flushed. Maybe I should just run and hope for the best. She thinks. NO! Mary yells the word in defiance of herself.

You’ve started this and now you’ve got to finish it!

Once again, and filled with determination she studies the switch and the blinking light. Looking out the window, she can see the man looking in her direction. He’s waiting to pump his gas…that’s it!

Mary almost jumps with glee as she figures out what to do. It was really quite simple. She was proud of herself as she recalled all of the times she tried almost in vain to get the attention of some clerk so that they would reset the pump for her.

Hoping that she was correct, she depressed the switch and held her breath. Time seemed to drag by, but sure enough the light stopped blinking and the man started filling his car with gas.

Mary finally dared to breath a sigh of relief.

Watching from the window she tries to remain calm and thinks about what to do next. Nervously, she bites her fingernails, hoping that the man will finish soon.

Mary was so caught up that she failed to notice the customer as he entered the store.

Where are your men’s magazines?

What…what did you say? Mary sputtered, realizing that she was now staring at the man who had been pumping the gas. This was different. She hadn’t expected a confrontation.

Mary was shaking and her voice cracked as she spoke.

I’d like a copy of Penthouse please. The man said pointing to the rack behind the woman.

She turned and saw the array of men’s magazines, each showing some scantily clad bimbo or a combination of bimbo’s in some lesbian like pose.

Looking over the titles, she found the one that he requested. She grabbed it from the rack and sat it on the counter.

I’d like a bag for that please. The man said looking her square in the eye.

She grabbed a bag from beneath the counter and inserted the magazine into it. Here was another example of a man who obviously had very little respect for women.

As Mary returned his gaze, she could see that he viewed women as simply a tool…a thing to be used and then discarded. Maybe she should take care of this creep right along with old Walter!

Mary calmed a bit as she succumbed to her desire to dispatch this pig like she had Walter. She reached down slightly to where she had stood the rolling pin up, leaning it against the corner of the counter. Her hand closed around it, but then something caught her eye.

Something that nearly made her heart stop!

C H A P T E R 2  

Pounding rain falling from an iron gray sky streaks before his eyes in waves of liquid depression. Penetrating eyes…transfixed, watch the sight as if to deter intense scrutiny of nature’s fury would be akin to calling forth a fiery demon from hell.

The storm is a sign. Harboring a foreboding message. The man watches in silent homage…Watches and listens to the storm’s secret words.

Looking out the window, his concentration is so vehement that even if one of LA’s famous earthquakes groaned to life, it would not divert his attention. No power on earth could wrench him free of the transmission carried upon the air meant only for him.

There is an unseasonable chill in the air, although that is not what is causing his bones to freeze. The apartment in which he sits is heated, still the unnatural cold he feels persists. Icy fingers play down his spine, the result of the insidious power that sought only him. An intrusion, calling forth needs that he thought were long since purged from him.

The man is not aware of the inescapable demons behind his desires. He cannot know the purpose behind the malignant specter that calls to him. The unseen force has complete control. It feels only like a long forgotten memory…subtle, like a putrid smell he encountered once but cannot now recall.

The sensation he feels is nothing more than a shiver down his spine, formless, yet there. A feeling he doesn’t recognize, yet he cannot ignore the effect it’s having on him.

The signal came to him from beyond the confines of the city. Powerless he sits, gazing at the storm, confused…falling deeper into the abyss.

Suddenly he stands. He has to go to San Diego! He doesn’t know why, but the desire to go is inescapable.

Something there wants him…is waiting for him. Something or someone is calling to him.

Maybe it is he who wants? It feels like an aching hunger. A burning thirst that he has to quench.

That which he needs, awaits in San Diego!

Driving now, his obsession is so great that it drags him into the belly of the storm.

He should at least want to know why! His instincts should be alerted to the fact that this is not rational behavior. Even for him!

For some unexplained reason, he is being drawn to San Diego. Why? What is there that he wants so badly? What is there that wants him so badly?

He isn’t even aware that there’s anything odd about his actions. It all feels perfectly normal, yet at the same time he feels something wrong, deep in his gut.

Where is he going? To someone’s house? To some place?

Although his mind conducts the obligatory motions, this normal process is irrelevant to him. The power