Dark Side of the Looking Glass

By Vernon Harris

Sam Michael is having bad dreams; his sleep has been agitated and interrupted in the weeks leading up to his fiftieth birthday. On that day, however, tragedy strikes, and a freak accident leaves Sam in a comatose state. To the people who love him, he sleeps peacefully. For Sam, the state of unconsciousness is anything but restful.

Sam is the victim of a relentless incubus. This monstrous creature forces Sams dreaming mind into a parallel universe. He may have fallen into a coma at the age of fifty in 1995, but his mind has been transported to Vietnam in 1965. Sam must now survive a horrific war he thought he once escaped; worse, in the dream, he is wounded.

In order to awaken and return home, Sam must complete an unknown mission. But the shock of being caught up in this war leaves him spinning, however, and he feels unable to finish his task. A journey must be taken, a place discovered, and a mystery solved. The ruthless incubus would keep Sam in its power forever, but Sams life is in his grasp, if only he can escape the war a second time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491716922

Vernon Harris

Vernon Harris has traveled extensively throughout North America and West Africa. He worked as an international military specialist, studied languages, and pursued a career in architecture. He and his wife, Joanne, live in Reno, Nevada, in the shadow of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. This is his first novel.

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DARK SIDE OF THE LOOKING GLASS

Copyright © 2013 Vernon Harris.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-1690-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-1691-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-1692-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013921985

iUniverse rev. date: 12/17/2013

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

PART 1

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

PART 2

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

PART 3

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

PART 4

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 59

CHAPTER 60

CHAPTER 61

CHAPTER 62

CHAPTER 63

CHAPTER 64

CHAPTER 65

CHAPTER 66

CHAPTER 67

CHAPTER 68

CHAPTER 69

CHAPTER 70

CHAPTER 71

CHAPTER 72

CHAPTER 73

CHAPTER 74

CHAPTER 75

PART 5

CHAPTER 76

CHAPTER 77

CHAPTER 78

CHAPTER 79

CHAPTER 80

CHAPTER 81

CHAPTER 82

PART 6

CHAPTER 83

CHAPTER 84

CHAPTER 85

CHAPTER 86

CHAPTER 87

CHAPTER 88

CHAPTER 89

CHAPTER 90

CHAPTER 91

CHAPTER 92

CHAPTER 93

CHAPTER 94

CHAPTER 95

CHAPTER 96

CHAPTER 97

CHAPTER 98

CHAPTER 99

PART 7

CHAPTER 100

CHAPTER 101

CHAPTER 102

CHAPTER 103

PART 8

CHAPTER 104

CHAPTER 105

CHAPTER 106

CHAPTER 107

CHAPTER 108

CHAPTER 109

CHAPTER 110

CHAPTER 111

CHAPTER 112

CHAPTER 113

CHAPTER 114

CHAPTER 115

CHAPTER 116

CHAPTER 117

CHAPTER 118

CHAPTER 119

EPILOGUE

In memory of Momma

For now we see through a glass, darkly;

but then face to face: now I know in part;

but then shall I know even as also I am known.

—1 Corinthians 13:12

PROLOGUE

The year was 1958. Sammy Michael’s thirteenth birthday was half over. That summer day had started out like many others: Sammy on a bike ride with two of his best friends, Johnny and Pauly.

The three boys were going out to the railroad trestle, the long-span, heavy-timber, wooden bridge that crossed the Ochlocknee River. The Atlantic Coastline rails tracked west through Thomasville, Georgia, into Alabama and all points beyond.

The three young teenagers had just turned onto the path alongside the tracks when Pauly had to relieve himself—take a leak or drain his lizard, as they referred to it. As he stood pissing in the bushes, a king snake slithered out and scared the crap out of him.

Shit! Did you see that big snake? Almost made me mess in my pants, Pauly shrieked. His eyes followed it as it disappeared. To his delight, he saw something just barely visible in the overgrown brush. They had found an old discarded railroad work cart along the tracks. What a find!

After wrestling the contraption, wheel by wheel, onto the tracks, they were on their way… totally oblivious to what lay ahead. With not a care in the world, they coasted happily down the railroad, the clickety-clack song of the rails dulling their senses. Just kids having the time of their lives!

But too soon, their elation turned to terror when they heard the wail of a train whistle. The engine was rapidly approaching; the large center-nose light flashed brightly, its horn blaring its imminent arrival. They had to get off this death trap! Jumping from the work cart, they tumbled in the briars and bushes that lined the side of the tracks. As they ran for their lives, they heard a horrendous crash as the train engine slammed into the cart. They had escaped with only scratches… and bruised egos.

PART 1

Incubus

1995

The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,

Who thicks man’s blood with cold.

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

CHAPTER 1

Sunday dinner at Mattie Michael’s house with the family was a once-a-month ritual. Momma started the meal with a blessing of the food. Then, as always, she asked her children how they were doing and what was happening in their lives.

Connie Jo, Sam’s oldest sister who had just retired from the Georgia public school system at sixty, mentioned she had already begun volunteering her teaching services to a local adult-literacy program. Yes, it is rewarding. I enjoy it a lot, she said. And things are about usual with Ben and the farm. He hated to miss your wonderful cooking today, but it couldn’t be helped.

Billie Jo, two years younger than Connie, said she was coping with her divorce from Jim. One day at a time. The hardest part is the empty house. Both women looked strikingly similar: tall—unlike their mother at about five-nine—with dark auburn hair and deep brown eyes. Most mistook them for twins but in fact, BJ was a twin of deceased brother, Thomas Josiah, Tommy Jo.

Sam talked about his firm and how he was working on one of the nicest projects ever. A government project in association with an Atlanta engineering firm.

Joli, Sam’s wife, said that she still felt blessed to be working for the church. The pastor and his wife are so warm and caring.

What about Sam Jr. and Joy Linh Jr.? Are they coming in for your birthday? Momma asked Sam.

Sam Jr. was his thirty-year-old son from his first marriage to Mary Sue Higgins. She and Sam had split amicably after five years of an on-again, off-again relationship that seemed to hold the allusion of a good marriage, yet one just out of their reach. After divorcing, Mary Sue raised Sam Jr. with his dad’s full support.

He’s tied down by a highly sensitive government project, Momma. He probably won’t be able to come unless something changes. Mary Sue called me yesterday and told me she got the same story, Sam said. Joli gave him a look. Sam hadn’t mentioned talking to Mary Sue.

Oh, really. Sorry to hear that, she replied. What about Joy Linh?

She’s involved in a summer program at vet school and won’t be coming either, Joli responded.

John Strawder, Sam’s longtime friend—a family member in every way except by blood—and his wife Noel, Joli’s sister, had a standing invitation at the Mattie’s residence for Sunday dinner. Momma Michael considered them her children. And John. How’s your and Noel’s week been? Mattie asked. And Callie Lynne and John Jr.? What’s up with those two?

Well, some great news from Callie. She’s pregnant! Noel said. All heads turned toward her. Just got the word yesterday. Haven’t even told Joli, she said, looking sheepishly at Joli.

That is exciting news, Joli responded with a put-on hurt look because she thought she should always be the first to know.

Noel knew she was teasing and continued without comment. She’s due in February. We’re hopin’ for a Valentine birthday like she was.

Well. Congratulations. John you got anything to top that? Mattie asked.

Not a thing. Nothing. All’s about the same down at the federal building, he said. Fortunately, nothing needs FBI attention right now.

And, as usual, Momma brought up Sam’s brother, James. Sam and Joli shared a look. No, he wanted to say to her, he had not brought up his dream. It had been almost thirty years since James flew out of Saigon, headed to Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines, his official last-known destination. His MIA status was yet unresolved, but officially, they linked it to his Vietnam action. Momma wished they would at least resolve it somehow. Sam wished she could leave it alone. But he knew she couldn’t, and it was working on him somehow too.

Later Sam and Joli had a relaxing evening of television before turning in after the late news. Then he got hit with a body-slamming mother of all nightmares.

CHAPTER 2

As Sam drifted into unconsciousness, the incubus patiently waited for him. Burrowed deeply into the shadowed recesses of Sam’s mind, it longed for another chance to latch onto his being.

Like a trap-door spider, the demonic dream weaver lay in wait to snatch Sam from a pleasant childhood dream. Sam’s mind went into REM sleep. Seizing the opportunity, the thing caught him firmly; pulling him down, down into its lair, where Sam came face to face with his tormentor, a horrifying nightmare.

Fear gripped Sam, forcing him with arms flailing and legs kicking, into an obscure and unnatural universe. Panic paralyzed him, suspending him like a planet around a sun, in tethered helplessness. Terror securely held Sam captive in a bizarre state of deep sleep.

Fighting tenaciously for freedom, he wrestled bravely with his captor, but it was useless. He was firmly bound by unworldly restraints that shackled his imprisoned soul. Sam cried out for help, but no sound came from his constricted throat.

He struggled, relentlessly being pulled and dragged into the depths of… where? Floundering and thrashing like wildebeest caught in the powerful jaws of a hungry crocodile, Sam was helpless against the clutches of the unknown. His screams went unheard in the nothingness of space. In front of him appeared a mirror. He saw his reflection grow larger, then like a dust ball into a vacuum cleaner hose, he was sucked into it… into the dark side of the looking glass.

The fugue confined him in a surrealistic realm, a dream state of chaotic oblivion… and yet somehow, one of ordered awareness.

The unseen power clutched him tightly with claws of steel, its grip unbreakable and inescapable. Sam’s mind, his being, his soul, cried out for mercy from a ghoulish incubus that carried him through the darkness of a nether world, buoyed along relentlessly by raging streams of nothingness.

Lightning flashed from a monstrous thundercloud that melded into a black and starless sky. Angry seas trapped Sam in a violent whirlpool that pulled him down inexorably into another frightful dimension of existence.

He struggled to break free.

A gauntlet of ghastly guards dressed for jungle warfare stood at attention and awaited his arrival—their silhouettes illuminated against the fiery night sky. They growled like starved animals, impatient for a meal, and lunged at his prison wagon. But somehow, they were powerless to touch him—a pack of ravenous dogs held at bay by their master’s command?

A massive double door rose up before the cart—behind it, the entry way to a stone castle. Built with ornately carved wooden staves cross-banded with iron straps, the door was guarded by a pair of gatekeepers in ceremonial uniforms. With great effort, they parted it in the middle, and creaking on enormous black iron hinges, it opened to either side.

The macabre entourage hissed and spat at Sam as they guided the prison cart over a drawbridge and through a darkened stone tunnel, into a hellish court. Looming in front of him was a powerful, huffing and puffing beast, an imposing cyclops that shuffled toward him, screeching loudly as sparks from its body sprayed the night.

The colossus called out to him, Come, Sam. Come into my kingdom. Come see who I have waiting for you. It spoke with… an Asian accent!? Vietnamese, he thought. Did it matter? Then, as if to answer Sam’s query, a vignette of Vietnam battle scenes flashed across the backdrop of his terrified mind.

His paralyzing fear gave way to frightful curiosity. The beast’s words were difficult to understand… sounded like they were coming from a deep abyss… Not sure of what it had said, Sam asked, Someone to see me? Who?

Your brother James. The thing’s voice was deep, resonant, consoling. He’s here with me, but wants to go home. He says it’s dinner time. Will you come get him?

Sam’s heart leapt. "James? Did you say… James? My brother James is here? Now? Where? I don’t see him."

Right here! Open your eyes, boy! The inflection changed. The voice was taunting Sam.

Where? Please show me, Sam pleaded.

But the beast spoke no more. Thick, dirty, smoke billowed from a tall crown on its head. Directly below it, one large sickly eye twitched and winked. A set of jagged teeth projected from a gaping buck-toothed mouth that sneered at Sam with a wicked grin.

Sam teared up from the sulfurous steam that spewed from its ears. The acrid smell of brimstone enveloped the area like a heavy fog. He could barely breathe. His lungs screamed for relief.

The sound of the behemoth’s voice was now a deep, guttural chuff: James, James, James… the beast seemed to utter as it came closer and closer. Then it bellowed a deafening howl as its yellow stare washed over Sam. He fought for freedom, but could not break free. He realized too late that he was on a collision course with the approaching horror! He accepted his fate, and then—thanks be to all that’s holy—he awoke, muted screams filling his throat . . .

CHAPTER 3

Sam Michael sprang from the bed like a freed jack-rabbit. Even the king-sized, overstuffed, pillow-top mattress didn’t squash the hard jerk that he made as he flung himself to the floor. He had finally ripped free from the monstrous claws of the otherworldly incubus.

Sam, you okay? asked his wife sleepily. Only half awake, she saw the time: two o’clock.

Yeah, I’m fine. Go back to sleep, Joli.

Sam lay there awake for the rest of the night. His mind tortured by replaying the nightmare. He heard her purring softly and knew she had finally gone back to sleep.

For over twenty-three years, Joy Linh O’Neil Michael—Joli—his soul mate, had always been there for him in times of trouble. Sam tried to comfort himself with that thought, but how could you fight against the unknown!

What was that!? Distinctly different in feel from a nightmare, these terrors were starting to happen more and more. He took to calling them his nocturnal excursions. But he couldn’t be sure what they were. Were they trying to show him something? Was his subconscious channeling a message to him? Was it just his own imagination playing with his head? Or was this some real, alternative universe where he was being tortured by a macabre demon solely for its morbid pleasure?

When the sun rose, so did Joli. Sam immediately started talking. Joli listened patiently for a minute, then said, Hold on, Sam. I need to pee.

He heard water running in the lavatory. The towel bar squeaked. She returned from the bathroom and sat back down on the bed.

Now continue, she said.

The chilling aura that enveloped him as he repeated the episode to Joli in every possible detail felt like stepping into a blast freezer—instantly, the mind-numbing coldness overtook him.

Finally, after several gut-wrenching minutes, he concluded his story and said, Joli, I… I don’t know what I’m going to do. Last night was the worst one yet… but the most revealing.

It must have been bad, Sam. She looked at him, concerned. He was shaking, trembling.

I thought I was a goner… no, really, I did! If it’s possible to die from a nightmare, I was almost there. I just know it. Sam shivered again—from the unnatural coldness that hung in the room or from pure fear, he didn’t know.

CHAPTER 4

It had been five hours since Joli heard Sam bound off the bed and hit the floor with a loud thud. Tiredness now clung to his body like a rain-soaked shirt. The dark bags under his bloodshot eyes sagged like two flat tires. He looked ready to collapse.

But what can I do? Joli thought as she took in the haunted image before her. I’m not helping him . . . or myself. And I can’t go on like this either, she admitted to herself. I feel for you, Sam. I really do, but— She caught herself. What am I thinking!? What’s wrong with me? He obviously had a very rough night! And true, so did I because of him . . . but now, I have to think of him.

Joli asked wearily. Do you remember throwing yourself off the bed, Sam?

Sam bounded back angrily, grimacing. Hell yeah, I remember! What a dumbass question! He responded much too irritably, yet persisted with a condescending tone. "And Joli, it wasn’t the damn bed that I was jumping from."

"Do not snap at me, Samuel Thomas Michael! Joli, the godly, patient, and always understanding life partner was instantly hot and barked back at him. If not from the damn bed, then how did you land on the damn floor? She highlighted the curse words that she almost never used. And, Sam, watch your mouth! You’re the one sounding like a dumbass!"

The blood drained from his face. Instantly, he regretted what he had said. I’m sorry, Joli. You’re right. Shouldn’t have, he said, now sounding drugged. "But… I told you about the thing—the ugly cyclops, shackled to a prison cart, the imminent head-on collision! Sam continued his tale, but he was starting to slur his words. Then, a blaring horn and the beasht wazh right… on… me! I had to break… free… and jump… jump… for my life!"

Sam, it’s clear that you—

What’s clear, Joli?

Oh, nothing, Sam… Never mind. She dropped her head in submission. She didn’t want any more harsh words.

After a brief pause, she questioned, Sam, are you all right? You sound funny, like you’re going to pass out. Is anything hurting? Headache? Nausea?

Sam ignored the questions, I know whatcher thinking, Joli. I need ta shee a shrink. Right? But he did hear himself: I’m talking like a drunk! he realized.

The caffeine from the two cups of Puerto Rican espresso he’d slammed at two thirty that morning, because he had not wanted to go back to sleep after the nightmare, was wearing off. To compound matters, at about five that morning, he had taken a double dose of an over-the-counter sleep aid to try to calm the jittery high from the strong, black coffee. The jitters finally faded about six o’clock. He was now left without any nervous energy and only wanted to lie down and rest… but not sleep!

Mus’ lie down, he said as he slumped down on the bed.

Sam! Snap out of it! Joli screamed at him. She was not aware of the coffee that he’d drunk or the sleeping pills he’d taken, so she didn’t know what was happening. She was genuinely concerned about what had come over him.

Sam responded with dull grunts. I’m fine, he said. "Jus’ skoffee and Shominex."

Joli stared at his blank face… at nothing. His eyes were empty orbs. Then a few more impaired words slipped from dry lips. The trauma of what he had experienced and described must have struck him a swift blow.

She swung his legs onto the bed. Sam, just lie there and rest. I’ll call your office and let them know you’ll be in later. And I’ll stay here with you.

She, too, was nearly at her wit’s end. What was happening to her man? Was it an early sign of a mental disorder? Was he having mini-strokes? He was definitely more depressed of late—with good reason, no doubt! I must get him to a psychiatrist, but can I hold on?

Sam, should I call the doctor, or take you to the emergency room?

No, no, Joli. I’m okay. I jus’ feel groggy, totally exhausted… jus’ need to rest.

CHAPTER 5

When he was able to get up, he stumbled to the bathroom to relieve himself and to freshen up some. Washing up at the lavatory, Sam looked at his tortured face in the mirror and didn’t like what he saw. Calamity was staring him in the face. Catastrophe scowled back with contempt and a contorted grin. Being the kind of person he was, he liked to fix things, perfectly, himself.

Sam Michael was a logical-thinking, well-grounded structural engineer and owner of his own company, but now he was feeling concerned about his sanity. The battle that was raging in his head was fierce. His stubbornness and perfectionism, as inseparable as a boy from his dog, only made bad matters worse. The nighttime mind games were getting worse, and he knew he was teetering on the brink of disaster.

His type-B personality mostly made for great creativity and stick-to-itiveness, but now, it was his enemy, tearing at his insides with anxiety and depression. From one day to the next, his moods swung radically, from one extreme to the other.

What are you looking at? he asked the wretched image that stared back at him with haunting eyes. I’m going to fix this, he blurted out in anger to the face in the mirror, but just as quickly he realized that he was beating his head against a wall and was losing.

CHAPTER 6

It was late that Monday morning, nearly noon, when Sam ambled lazily into the kitchen.

Well, look what the cats dragged in. Feeling better? Joli asked.

Yeah. Much better. Still a bit groggy and light-headed. Not serious, I don’t think, Sam replied. Then he said, I need to talk to someone. I’m convinced of that now.

"Good! Yes, Sam, you do need to talk to a professional. I have nothing more to offer, Joli calmly said. And face it, this is one problem you can’t solve alone."

I think that’s right, Joli. I’ll call Dr. Reynolds office and have him refer me to someone, Sam said. I just hope I can make it till then. I’ve got to do something . . . for my sanity . . . for Joli’s . . . and for our marriage.

Joli was glad that Sam had realized his distress. Now he would seek the help he needed in spite of his keep-it-close personality.

She had known from the start of their life together that hot August of ’71—before they had been married—that Sam’s almost wound-too-tight personality could make life with him a little rocky at times. Sam was a perfectionist, a handsome one, but nonetheless. Sam’s American Indian features: chiseled face, dark olive skin, and a full head of salt-and-pepper hair did not tell the full story. After over two decades, she saw him clearly: a proud man with a heavy streak of impatience and obstinacy. He did not have the forbearance of his ancestors.

When added to his always clean and polished good looks, his pride in himself could come off as arrogance to those who did not know him well. It was not the best combination, but during the years that she had known him, he had always handled it well enough, and made it work for his success in