Loss of Control

By Joseph R. Porter

26-year-old ad executive Michael chambers, the average boy next door is daunted with the task of raising his 16 year old sister Kate after his mother dies of cancer when he was only 16 years old. Things begin to go horribly wrong for Michael as his anger fuels the monster inside that starts to surface from a past he just can't escape. Upon Kate's disappearance Michael feels the only way we can find her and get her back is to become the world's greatest serial killer in this never before seen ending that is sure to keep you on the edge of your seat page after gripping page.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984570604

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

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They said it was an obsessive type of insanity—one derived from internalization of repressed emotional or physical trauma. A hate pulled deep from within. A hate felt for everyone and every living thing. More importantly, a disturbed disgust for one’s own self-existence masked in the bright, shining light of laughter and happiness of trivial coexistence among other not-so-disturbed human beings. Lately, rage, hate, and pain flow so easily, comfortably, almost soothing. Love and true happiness are hard to hold. They are as alien to me as if I were thrust among dingoes as one of their own. I’m containing the hate, the rage, the wanting of … death. All the while, I maintain the facade of a happy, normal, well-adjusted being. But for how much longer? And at what cost? What and why is this happening to me? Have I already …

Mike, Mike, Christ, Steve Tillman—a partner at World Design Advertising, the largest ad agency in Seattle, and a guy who can’t mind his own damn business—interrupted. Hey, Mike, what’s up? Tillman asked briskly, walking toward me.

What’s up? I said flatly, slightly turning to the right to see his approach.

What’s up? You’re what’s up, Steve jeered. Why so late? Whatcha working on, Mike ol’ boy? he asked, peering over my shoulder to catch a gaze of my memoirs on the computer screen.

Nothing, I responded, turning on my screensaver.

Hmmm, don’t want me to see, huh? Steve asked.

Look, Steve, I’m working on something private here. What can I do for you? It was then I started to feel the all-too-familiar rage building up inside of me. I didn’t know why. It just seemed to be coming up easier and easier lately. It’s not that I disliked Steve by any means. I knew he meant well—this twenty-seven-year-old guy with a good heart, bit of a nerd though; dark, greasy short hair parted off to the side; big nose; pimples that should have been dismissed after his teenage years; semistupid black horn-rimmed glasses. I always think of Elvis Costello when I see them. In combination with a short-sleeved shirt, brown tie, and brown polyester knit slacks, he reminded me of a 1972 ad out of a JCPenney catalog. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he still belonged to the high school chess club or, worse, the debate team.

I just saw your light on, Mike, and stopped by to say what’s up. So what’s up? Tillman irritatingly repeated. You finish the Kelso dog food ad yet?

Shit! The ad. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own bullshit, I completely forgot about finishing the Kelso dog food ad. John Riker, the owner of World Design, wanted the completed draft on his desk by eight in the morning for review. Fat ass, if there were ever a W. C. Fields look-alike left in the world, Riker made the grade. He was a hard-driven workaholic, always wanting everything completed yesterday. It’s a wonder anything of quality ever came out of this agency.

The ad campaign for Kelso wasn’t even technically due for another two weeks. I did admire though the fact that he came from literally nowhere, painting ad signs on delivery trucks and turning them into a multimillion-dollar Seattle advertising agency. Zero to sixty in just three short years. How he did it, no one knew, or would know for that matter, since he never gave interviews or insights about the mystery of his success, and that’s the way he liked it.

That was why I detested Steve right now for bringing up Kelso, thus adding to the fact that I’d be late with Riker’s deadline if I didn’t get my ass in gear. A year and a half on the job and I still couldn’t keep up with his stride. With everything else going on in my life right now, to hell with him! To hell with everyone if they couldn’t understand.

Mike, Mike, are you listening? Steve yelped.

Goddammit, NO! I’ve got other shit on my mind right now, I spat.

Well … if it’s not ready … Steve sighed.

Get the hell out of here, Steve! I yelled, jumping to my feet. If your scrawny ass would leave me alone, maybe I could get some fucking work done. Shit. I’ve never wanted to smash this asshole so bad in my life. How dare he invade my space, my mind like this.

I’m sorry, Mike, Steve said, sulking back. I just wanted to—

Get the hell out of my face! I screamed, surprising even myself as I watched my fist, almost uncontrollably punching into his chest. At that point, Steve lunged back, grasping his sternum. With a soured look on his face, he turned and ran back down the hallway from where he came.

Sitting back and dropping my face into my hands, I was once again sitting alone. I felt bad about the way I treated him. Bullshit! I didn’t ask him to come over. He invaded my space. My space.

Fuck. I sighed. So much for getting any work done here tonight, I thought, once again looking around the room.

Fucking Steve! All I could do now was collect my shit and get the hell out of here. Maybe working at the house would be more promising.

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The drive home from the office that night was mundane although night driving without traffic was so much better on my nerves. The fact that it was already eight fifteen in the evening would mean a bedtime no earlier than two in the morning if I were to have the Kelso draft ready for Riker by the eight-in-the-morning deadline. I’ll be dragging ass in the morning for sure. All work and no sleep. No wonder Mike’s a crazy boy, I thought.

I had wasted so much time in my spinning thoughts today that I didn’t even break for lunch. So I figured I would stop at Taco Bell and grab something to eat. Hopefully, food would get me to feel a little better at least physically.

The smell of spices and tortillas filled the air as I approached the counter and walked in from the cool night air. I was greeted by a skinny teenager with the transparent Hi. Welcome to Taco Bell. May I take your order? knowing damn well, given the chance, the asshole would spit a loogie in my burrito and laugh about it with his friends the moment I left the restaurant. This was why I always kept an eye on the little bastards and tried to avoid the drive-through.

If I ever caught one of them fucking with my food, I swear I would wait for the creep to get off work and slowly slice the asshole’s neck from ear to ear and watch the blood rush from his squirming panic-stricken body. I would relish on the sound of his gurgling and choking on his own blood. I would pry open his dirty little mouth and churn up the biggest snot ball I could muster and spit it down his throat so that he would gag on that as well. A custom-fitted death for a disrespectful punk. Fuck. Just thinking about it pissed me off.

Drifting from reality in my own sick thoughts, the order taker once again butted in, Sir, can I take your order?

Goddammit, wait, you disrespectful fuck! I screamed. Fuck with me, and I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch.

Suddenly, everyone in the restaurant was staring in my direction, both in shock and disbelief. The kid at the counter disappeared into a back office. I could feel my face flushed with anger as I saw another man approaching the counter. My god, did I just yell that out loud? I thought to myself, my anger now turning to embarrassment.

Sir, I’m Bill, the manager. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave the restaurant.

Looking back at the people in the line behind me as well as those sitting, I turned back to the manager. Look, Bill— I started.

Bill sternly replied, Sir, this is a family dinning establishment. If you don’t leave now, I will be forced to call the police.

Feeling the palms of my hands getting ever so sweaty, I continued, Look, Bill, I apologize for that outburst. I’ve had a really bad day, and I have a lot on my mind. I am truly sorry.

Christ, I really was. I never realized how thin the line between what I’d been thinking lately and what I actually spoke really was. I didn’t know how that came spewing out of my mouth.

Standing behind me was a mother with her daughter who was maybe, hell, five or six years old. She was staring up at me with wide, fearful eyes, cowering back from my outburst behind her mother’s leg. Seeing the shocked look on both their faces, I knew they too could not believe what they had just witnessed.

Look, everyone, I said, turning to face the onlookers. I’m truly sorry for that. Especially to that sweet little girl, I thought to myself. Needless to say, there were no forgiving eyes in my audience.

Seeing that there was no graceful way to backtrack, I decided it best just to leave.

Pushing my way out of the restaurant, I got into my car and left. Clearly, I was no longer hungry and just wanted to get back home. During my drive home, one question kept plaguing my mind: What the hell was happening to me?

CHAPTER 2

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I got home around nine forty-five in the evening. As usual, Kate greeted me at the front door. Except this time, she was pissed.

Thanks a lot, Michael Chambers! Kate said angrily, barely leaving enough room in the doorway to let me in.

Thanks for what, Kate? I sighed, closing the door behind me.

What is today? Kate demanded. Michael, what is today?

Aside from being the day I’m behind at work—oh wait, I said, flailing my arms. I’m always behind at work. So I guess this is just like every other day. Why, more bad news for me, Kate? I said, heading toward the kitchen.

No, Michael, Kate whimpered. It’s the day we’re supposed to go to Mom’s grave.

Suddenly, I felt my arrogant self-pity drop. I could see the sadness in Kate’s expression as I turned to face her. All the sparkle vanished from her big brown eyes. Her blond hair was cutely styled in the front and pulled back into a teeny bop looking like a ten-inch ponytail in the back, wearing her blue silk blouse and midsized white summer skirt. She was definitely dressed to go somewhere.

Oh Christ, baby, I’m so sorry, I whispered, realizing my mistake.

No more sorrys, Mike, Kate cried, running to her room. And your dinner is burned in the oven! she yelled, slamming her bedroom door.

Great. Just great, I said to myself as I continued to the fridge and grabbed out a beer, popped it open, and took a long, cool, badly needed drink. I can’t believe I forgot you, Mom, I said, looking up. Please, forgive me. God, with everything else going on, I had to forget that.

Our mother passed away when I was sixteen. Kate was only six at the time. A spitting image of Mom, she held her physical beauty as well as her emotional strength and determination. Ten years ago today, my god, I remember that last day. I remember seeing her lying in the hospital bed, so weak and frail but oh so beautiful. And still, through all of her suffering, our mother was able to find the strength, the love to put her own fears of death aside. She was still able to be a comfort to Kate and me.

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How are you feeling, Mom? I asked, pulling up a chair next to her hospital bed.

I’m feeling good, Michael, Mother lied. She could see the sadness in my face, my heart. No matter how much I tried to hide my feelings, Mom always knew.

Looking into my eyes, she extended her hand and caressed my cheek. It’s OK, honey. This is where I’m meant to be.

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Every time I looked at her, the realization would hit me: my god, I’m going to lose my mother. I would feel my heart almost stop every time I looked into her ever-growing distant stare, seeing her soul drifting further and further away. Her once lavish auburn hair had become thin and wiry, showing even more of her scalp with each passing day, so unlike the picture of perfection and health she exuded in the family photo hanging above the fireplace mantle when her life and, more importantly, her love all held to a fullness that was actually larger than life. And now her face, her beauty were nothing more than sunken flesh and bone, almost giving the appearance of a living skeleton, with the smell of death and sickness wafting up from the sheets below, adding to the visual trauma.

Was the chemo even worth what she had to go through? I thought to myself, looking down at the tubes and needles tapped into the veins of her glass-like, frail arms. I knew even more than before I had to be strong for Kate as I would be all she had left.

Holding back the physical pain hurt so badly, I thought my head would explode. I just wanted to burst out into to tears and collapse into her arms. I wanted her to hold me and take away the hurt. I wanted her to tell me everything would be all right, that she wasn’t going anywhere, that soon the three of us would be laughing and singing and splashing in the pool like we did before her cancer, that nighttime stories would once again be shared after dinner with Kate and me by our loving, perfect mother, that she would be here forever … and that it would be true. But it wasn’t. She wasn’t. Cancer was taking our mother away, and there was nothing I could do about it. She was dying . . . decaying at the hands of a thieving and ravaging disease.

I pulled away from my own selfish and torturing thoughts and saw Kate still standing by the door to the room.

Kate, I said, motioning with my hand, come over here and tell Mommy hello.

I’d never forget the solemn look on her sweet little face that day. She was so happy leaving the house to go see Mom. She wore her favorite pink dress. She loved all the white lace sewn in the neckline and hem of the semipoufed design. She bragged that it made her look like a princess. The sight of her golden curls, sparkling brown eyes, and dimples while wearing that dress made her a princess. She was always a princess, my princess. And I was so happy—no, lucky—that she was in my life.

We were laughing and having fun all the way here. Kate looked so forward to our visits with Mom. That’s why when I looked at her, she knew—we both knew—there wasn’t much time left with our mother. My heart was breaking for her, for us both.

Hi, Mommy, Kate said timidly, walking toward the bed.

Hi, baby, Mom said quietly, trying to smile as Kate approached. Finding her destination, Mom tried to sit up and lift Kate up over the hospital bed railing.

No, Mom. Let me, I said, picking up Kate and placing her on the bed next to Mom.

Wow. You look so beautiful, Mom said, putting her arm around Kate and touching the front of her dress. I see you have your queen dress on today, huh?

Mom would always say queen dress, and then Kate would say, Noooo. It’s my princess dress, Mommy. And then they would both start laughing together. It was their funny little mother-daughter joke, one of many that they shared. I knew Mom was trying to lighten the situation, but it wasn’t going to work today.

Mommy? Kate asked, looking up.

What is it, baby? Mom softly answered.

Are you leaving me and Boo?

Boo was what Kate called me back then. Before our father left us, he was always trying to teach Kate to talk. She did quite well at learning to speak. At nine months old, she could say mommy, daddy, along with quite a few other words. When Dad tried to teach her to say my name, he would say, This is your brother Mikey. I think she got confused and thought that was my full name—Brother Mickey. Since she couldn’t make the R sound in brother, she would say Boohee that was soon cut short to Boo. I always liked it. Somehow it made me feel special.

Oh, baby, Mom said. I will always be with you and Boo. Hugging Kate, Mom looked over at me. I could see the tears now welling up in her eyes. She took Kate’s tiny face with both hands and stared directly into her eyes. Look, honey, Mom said, I will always be with you two. Even if I’m not here physically, Mommy will always be here. Right in here, she said, touching Kate’s heart.

But I don’t want you to go, Mommy, Kate replied, starting to cry. Don’t you love me anymore?

Oh god, Mom said, pulling Kate close to her bosom. I love you more than anything in the world. You’re my special, precious little girl.

Then why are you going away? Kate cried.

Because Mommy’s time here is done, sweetheart, Mom said, now fighting back her own tears. It is time for Mommy to be with God now, baby.

Are you going to be an angel, Mommy? Kate asked, looking into her eyes.

Yes, Mom assured with a smile. And Mommy’s going to watch her beautiful children from heaven. If you ever feel sad or alone, Mom continued, just talk to me. Even though I’m not here, I will always be listening to you. Just remember how much I love you and that I always will. I am so, so proud of my beautiful, brave little girl, Mom finished, pulling out a box from her bedside drawer. Here, I want you to always wear this. Mom smiled, opening the little box and pulling out a beautiful white stone bracelet with a black letter inscribed into each tiny stone, spelling out the words Katie Bud.

Oh, thank you, Mommy. Kate shined, her eyes lighting up with joy as Mom wearily placed the loving gift on her daughter’s wrist.

I am proud of you too, Mommy, Kate said, staring at her newfound treasure. I love you, Angel Mommy.

They both smiled at each other and hugged once again. My heart continued to break, watching the two of them. Kate was such a special little girl. They both were, and how I loved them dearly.

Mom died later that night. I just thanked God we had such a beautiful afternoon with her and the chance to say goodbye, which was a lot more than most people got.

I found Kate had developed incredible independence after Mom passed on. About two months after her death, I was still on a leave of absence from school, trying to figure out how I was going to do all this by myself. I had forged a note from my father, stating we were going away for an undisclosed amount of time because of the death of my mother.

In a note from my mother left to me after her death, she informed me about a deal that she made with Dad when he left us six months before she died. He was to remain married to Mom until my eighteenth birthday. By doing so, he could go and do whatever he wanted to do without any present or future financial obligation to the family, that is, child support, spousal support, and others—a deal too good for him to pass on, I guess, seeing as how he took up on her offer instantly. It was obvious he didn’t love Mom or us kids enough to stick around when he found out she had cancer. Even today, I wonder if he ever thought of us from time to time … or even cared.

Anyway, Mom was smart as I said. Even though she had passed on, the state still thought we had Dad watching over us. Mom knew that I would be able to take care of Kate and myself after she departed. The thing she wanted to be sure of after her death was that Kate and I would never be separated. All Mom’s hard work and planning was almost for nothing because of my negligence.

It had been about two months after Mom passed away. Things for Kate and I were finally getting back to normal. It was early Sunday morning, and I was out mowing the lawn. I turned off the mower, wiped my brow, and looked back at the work I had done so far. Half down, half to go, I thought. God, it’s hot out here!

Kate, I called. Kate. I looked over to the porch.

Hmm, that’s odd. Kate would usually sit on the porch swing and watch me work on the weekends, kind of like my personal little cheerleader for yard work. She would get me drinks, Katie’s world-famous lemonade, when I’m hot and cheer encouragement when I was tired. I figured she went to the bathroom and would be right out, so I continued mowing. I kind of lost track of time when I suddenly realized Kate still wasn’t outside.

Sometimes when it’s really hot out here, like today, she would go inside and watch the Little Mermaid, her all-time favorite movie. So I guess I’d have to put aside work and get a drink myself. I needed a break anyway, and this was as good of an excuse as any to take one. Plus, I needed to check on Baby Sis, making sure she wasn’t getting herself into too much trouble.

Walking into the house, I called out, Sis? No response. Katie. Boo is dying of thirst. I think the only thing to save me is Katie’s world-famous lemonade. Hurry. I chuckled, dropping to one knee. I think I’m passing out. Still, not a sound was heard as I continued walking toward the back door. The living room is to the right when you first walk into the house. Sure enough, playing on the TV was the ending credits to the Little Mermaid. I peered out the back door to see if she was in the yard, playing. To no avail, no one was out there.

The downstairs was pretty open. From where I was standing, I