The Traveler: The Watcher Series

By Jeffrey D. Barbieri

A ground breaking work of science fiction, in this gripping novel tinged with supernatural events, Joey’s dreams lead him on a perilous journey of self-discovery that ultimately forces him to face his demons where he will eventually meet Ambrose or Satan himself who delights in chaos and violence. But who will have the upper hand in the end? Steeped in mystery and in imagination, working from his bestselling The Watcher, Jeffrey Barbieri, NJ Male Author of the Year continues to share his adventures his fan base has come to expect. Hold on tight as Joey finds himself in Mexico, working on a cruise ship and being thrown off only to land on the big island of Hawaii. Filled with twist and turns this story is tangled in an elemental struggle between good and evil remains as riveting as his first book in the series “The Watcher.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Feb 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9781977263636

Jeffrey D. Barbieri

The award-winning NJ Male Author of the Year for his books “Let’s Find You,” and “FROG” from the Ben and Ink series and best-selling author of “The Watcher.”   Jeffrey is a recently retired licensed Computer Hacking Forensic Investigator and is Board certified in Cyber Intelligence. His books include: Let's Find You, Frog, Viola, Crossover, The Watcher, The Traveler, The Last in Line, and A Silent Life, Dreaming in the Shadows, and Source Code.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

KILL EM ALL! I shouted above the fracas. The carnage surrounded me as it had so many times before. Monsters, shadows, demons, and angels waged war all around me. Do not stop. Do not back down. Kill every single one of them!

Flashes of light, blue flames, and gnashing teeth were everywhere. The smell of death and smoke filled my nostrils. My muscles felt ready to burst from swinging my sword and dealing out crushing blows.

Kill em all. I had heard those words over and over inside my head countless times. I couldn’t remember when they had started. The pain, the agonies, the death and destruction, the fire and light, the teeth, and the blood seemed to always be there, always around me.

Then I suddenly woke up. It had been another dream. I was in my bed and my sheets were soaked in sweat. Another one of those damn dreams that wound me up yet left me with an empty feeling. I had a big day ahead of me. I had to get my ass out of bed and get rolling. I could not reminisce about such nonsense. It was just a dream, just a damn stupid dream.

I was so over it already. I just didn’t care anymore. For months now, I could feel myself slipping. I couldn’t tell if I was depressed or if I was truly losing my mind. Whatever it was, it was getting harder and harder to put on a happy face. The world was falling apart around me, or at least it seemed that way. The bad guys got away with murder and only the people who really cared followed the rules. Our judicial system, considered by some to be the best in the world, was a joke. It was a freaking joke on a colossal scale and I was sick of it. But what could one man do? I mean really. The corruption seemed to permeate the entire governmental body. Normally I tried not to worry about things that I couldn’t control, but I was obviously waking up in a mood this morning.

I had lived in San Diego for the past ten years and only recently got to hear how broke the city was. It was sad how this lovely place could fall into such dark times. The city had teetered on the verge of declaring bankruptcy for months now. How was something like that even possible? How could a city of this size fall into such a mess? I knew the answer. It was so obvious that I found it hard to believe that no one else could see it.

This city was as corrupt as the entire country of Mexico. Our leaders just did a better job of covering it up. They approved the conversion of over fifty thousand apartments into condominiums, thus chasing out the people who could afford rent so that they could increase their tax basis. This, unfortunately, caused a mass exodus of the good people who could no longer afford to live here. With them left many small businesses and a good number of jobs. Those who remained were conned into believing they could afford the new condos even though they couldn’t. Brokers used exotic loans to fill the vacancies, which in turn, increased foreclosures at an exponential rate. Their idea to increase revenues backfired and now they all cried about how broke they were.

The horrific smell of greed permeated the city. Builders, politicians, and everyone right on down the chain lost sight of what was right and wrong. People yanked equity from their homes at an astonishing rate. And why? To show off. To keep up with the Joneses. This was a city of beautiful, fake-ass people who lived to show off. Whether it be the big fancy Hummer or the fake breasts and plastic faces; they were all the same. Look at me, look at me. And to pay for this lavish lifestyle, they mortgaged themselves to the hilt and beyond. They took out loans that no one could ever pay back, pretty much gambling their futures on nonsense. Banks shut their doors, and the people who worked for them were put out into the cold. Brokers, loan officers, and real estate agents quickly found out that they had all been duped by this new economic strategy implemented by the Federal Reserve and the big banks across the country. The trickle-down economics started to trickle at a startling rate, but not in the way they were designed to. They worked in reverse, and it seemed as though half the people I knew personally were either out of work or leaving town.

The politics of San Diego had become a joke. They used the write eminent domain to take away people’s stores and family-owned businesses only to replace them with condo towers that were, for the most part, empty. They allowed developers full reign of the county and they overbuilt everything. It seemed absolutely ridiculous to see that many for sale signs right next to new buildings still being built. Why would they allow new structures with even more condos to rise up all around the city when they couldn’t sell the ones they already had? Was it just reward? Was this payback for our city leaders’ arrogance? Supply far surpassed demand and the people who did own properties found their values diminishing almost as fast as they had risen in previous years. Foreclosures were up six hundred percent and market prices were down by as much as thirty to forty points. San Diegans had taken the equity out of their homes at an astronomical rate and now they were all paying the price.

Unfortunately for me, I had to pay too. No new speculatory homes meant no new work for me. I had been installing surround sound and building home theaters in people’s homes, and when the construction industry slowed, so did my work. At least my boss was cool enough to keep me on the books and keep paying me. I had several slow days of finishing up some smaller jobs. Hanging flatscreen TVs for clients, running wires inside walls, and untangling massive piles of wires had become the norm as of late. I put special brass and silver ends on wires and used a device called a tone generator to label which of the wires went to which rooms of the house. The tone generator made a sound I could pick up with a small speaker, hence finding the one wire that matched up in the huge, snarled piles. Most of these houses were gigantic, so I could put miles on my sneakers on any given day. These were monotonous jobs, to say the least, but it had to be done, and it was work.

I used to get a nice reward of a beer on the beach at the end of a hard day. Nothing beat the cool, refreshing taste of an ice-cold Bud Light with the warm sand under my butt and my bare feet. But the passing of a new law banning drinking on the beach was the last straw for me. Once again, the needs of the few outweighed the needs of the many, and a few drunken idiots ruined it for millions of us. Wednesday night volleyball on the beach had become a mission to sneak beers under the noses of the lifeguards and the roving police officers. Those charged with watching the waters to keep us safe were now up our butts, looking to see what we had inside our plastic cups. Our freedoms were being systematically taken from us one at a time and I, for one, was growing quite tired of it.

The constant persecution of the little things that made me happy had gone more than too far. I was frustrated, to say the least. As it stood, I wasn’t doing all that well mentally. A few months back, I had gone with some friends to a past-life regressionist to see if we could be hypnotized to remember previous lives. We wanted to see if we could remember different places, maybe even speak in a different language.

We were so damned excited that we all drove out into the desert to the east for a day of discovery. Unfortunately, it did not work out as we had expected. The old woman who was to be our host and our guide to the past had expired while holding my hands. She had taken my hands in hers and was speaking to me softly, then suddenly her eyes widened with a look of absolute fear, and she died. She slumped in her chair and her neck seemed to turn to rubber. The light of life left her eyes and she was dead.

It was both odd and very depressing, and I think I had not really recovered from the experience. Who could really expect me to? How many people had a complete stranger die while holding their hands? It had really creeped me out, way more than I had realized at first. It haunted me and daunted me. Since that day, I felt like I was just going through the motions, kind of like a zombie. I was feeling more than a bit lost.

This feeling, coupled with an extreme amount of time on my hands due to the growing lack of work, was beginning to take its toll. I was smoking a lot more pot and drinking way more alcohol than I should. I tried to busy myself but watching the crap they put on television was working over my brain. Reality TV ruled the airwaves and it seemed that every channel was filled with nonsense. They even had a whole channel set up about jails and prisons. It further re-enforced my beliefs that the evildoers of the world needed to be reckoned with or even destroyed once and for all.

Watching prisoners beat each other up or file appeals and lawsuits from behind bars just reminded me of the massive flaws in our judicial system. Why did it seem that a man gave up pretty much all of his personal rights when he entered the military, but prisoners retained so many more rights than the average working joe well after they were convicted? Why did it seem that the bleeding hearts of the world continued to allow this and even push for more privileges? Why were we paying for murderers to live out the rest of their lives behind bars rather than just eliminating their DNA from the species? And why the hell was the ACLU defending illegal immigrants against America and American’s rights? I thought the American Civil Liberties Union was about protecting Americans and our rights, not every hole that snuck across the border or the terrorists who were being held at Guantanamo Bay. Our world, our way of life was crumbling, falling apart around us and we were letting it. We were letting it happen.

I still had a paycheck coming in every week by the grace of my boss Stevey, but there was little work on the horizon. I was often asked to stay home rather than get all up in his business. There were only so many times his truck could be washed and waxed, and he hated to have me just busying around the shop. He would rather I just stay home and collect the check when we didn’t have work, but I knew that couldn’t last forever. I was falling deeper and deeper into a depression, with little hope about my future. I was growing edgy and snapping at people a great deal more these days. In general, I was being consumed by this feeling of hopelessness.

The final straw came on a Wednesday night in September. We were playing volleyball on the beach, and I was drinking my diet Rockstar when an overzealous lifeguard walked up to me and asked me what was in my can. He was so pompous and righteous in his belief that he had authority over me. I laughed at him and asked him to guess, with a smartass tone. When he reached to grab the can from me, I smacked his hand away. The next thing I knew, several cops, two of them on quads and two on foot, surrounded my group.

The lifeguard told the cops that I was being belligerent and that he assumed that I was drinking in public. I told them that he had overstepped his bounds and that after spilling some of my drink, he owed me a new one. Bottom line was the cops didn’t think the lifeguard had done anything wrong, even though I was clearly not drinking. They actually told me that I could be arrested for touching his hand when he reached for my can, that I could have been arrested for assault. That was it for me. I popped a gasket. That was the moment I decided it was time for me to move on. The funny thing about the whole situation was that out of all the people who were playing volleyball that night, I was the only one who hadn’t been drinking. I was the only sober person in the group of ten or twelve. Just prior to the lifeguard approaching us, one of my friends had gathered all their beer cans and had stashed them in the sand under a towel. Luckily for them, I had drawn all of the attention to myself. All I wanted to do was play some volleyball and I was almost thrown in jail. Obviously, there was something wrong with that whole situation.

I had walked home in a huff. As much as I had been trying to improve my outlook on life, I felt myself slipping more and more. I was a powder keg waiting to blow. I could feel the darkness creeping into my mind and soul. I went home and popped in my DVD of The Secret to try to fix my brain, as it had on so many occasions in the past. But tonight, was different. Nothing was going to save me, and though the video played on in front of me, my blood boiled at the thought of what had just happened.

I slammed my fist down on the coffee table and the hardwood surface crackled under the force of my fury. The impact of my flesh upon the tabletop caused a momentary flash of blue-white light. Somehow, the whole table was blasted into bits. Coasters and magazines were sent to the far corners of the room, and I just sat there for a moment with my mouth hanging wide open.

Thankfully my roommate Dan wasn’t home, but Mary the apartment manager who lived below us was. Her presence at my door was always preceded by the puffy gray pile of hair passing under my front window as she climbed up the stairs leading up to our door. I barely had time to think before she was there.

Joe…Dan, she called in through the heavy metallic screen door. God, I was in no mood for her.

Yes, Mary? I replied in the sweetest tone I could muster. She was a nice lady and for the most part I did try to have the utmost respect for her, but there were plenty of times she could be a colossal pain in the ass.

I had to snap to and figure what had just happened. I also had to be sure that she didn’t see the mess I had just created. It was quite obvious by her presence alone that she had heard the burst of energy and crackling of the wood. It had almost sounded like a mini explosion.

Are you okay? she asked. What was that noise? She was trying to look inside. My whole apartment shook!

I had to think fast. My living room looked as though a bomb had just gone off. Sorry Mary. Dan and I were wrestling again.

Oh, is Dan in there? I didn’t see his car.

Crazy busybody, I thought. Yeah, it’s down at the Sunshine Company. It was the local bar we hung out at, just down the street. He just headed out to go and get it. There were a lot of cops out and he didn’t want to get in trouble, so he left his car there.

I was stumbling, trying to come up with a story, lying through my teeth. I didn’t even know what I was saying exactly. It just rolled off my tongue. We were out drinking earlier, and we decided he could get his car later.

Mary didn’t sound too convinced. I didn’t hear him leave. Usually, I can hear him leave even if he goes down the back stairs. Dan was a big guy, and he made no effort to hide his size when he used the stairs. He kind of stomped up and down them but not on purpose. He was just big and the stairs were old.

I was done answering questions. I had to figure out what had just happened, and I had no more time for Mary. So, I just went over to the door and grabbed hold of it. Okay, well sorry about the noise. We’ll try to keep it down. And with that, I pretty much closed the solid front door in her face, and then I slid over and closed the vertical blinds.

I turned around and surveyed the damage. What a major mess. The heavy oak table was in several splintery pieces, and it appeared as though their edges had been burned a bit. I rubbed my

head and could feel the sweat and bits of sand that were still in my hair from the volleyball games earlier. My living room looked like a war zone.

I quickly picked up all the pieces of paper and bits of the Sports Illustrated and political magazines and threw them into the garbage, then I picked up a couple pieces of the table and carried them down the back stairs and out to the dumpster. I repeated the journey two more times until all the pieces of the table had been disposed of. A quick follow up with the vacuum and everything looked spic and span, except for the big open place where the thick squat old table had once been.

Dan showed up an hour later and rolled in through the front door with his usual bravado. Joey Pickle, he started with a big smile. He went to throw his car keys onto the table when he realized it was not there. Should I ask?

You can ask, but don’t expect a believable answer, I told him with a smile.

I kind of figured something happened when Mary caught me on my way up the stairs and asked me to lay off the wrestling. I didn’t bother telling her that I had no idea what she was talking about. He plopped down hard onto the futon. She’s such a nosey old bat.

Yeah, well, she kinda thought me and you were wrestling, I told him.

Hmm, I wonder why, he said with a big smile, which was followed by his hearty laugh.

I’ll find a new table on Craigslist tomorrow, I told him.

No hurry. The room looks a whole lot bigger without it. Then he looked at me and smiled. Seriously, what happened to it?

I looked over at him with my mouth hanging partially open and two words just slid out. It broke.

At first, he didn’t react. He just sat there and looked at me. I could see his mind playing with the words. Then his head cocked a bit. How did you do that? Tell me how you broke a solid oak table? That thing was thick as a tree trunk.

It had been a stout old table. It was maybe five feet long by two feet wide, with short fat round legs. It was nothing fancy. It had been around the block. It was marred with some dings and dents, a scratch here and there. I polished it and dusted it and generally tried to keep it clean and looking good, other than the clutter. Now it was just garbage.

Smallfry came over and stuck his chest out at me, and I put him through it, I lied again.

Smallfry was a friend of a friend. He was a nice guy but a bit rough around the edges. He liked to act up, and I would have to handle him every now and then. He stood just over five feet tall and thought of himself as a tough guy. His short, lean, tattoo-covered form had allowed him to get away with acting up, as he had often done. I felt it was my job to adjust his way of thinking whenever he came over. He spouted off once in front of Dan and I and I had to throw a chokehold on him. Another time I had to grab him up by his neck because he was getting too handsy. He thought he could punch and slap me around one day. I had to show him who was who and what was what. It was all in fun, but in the process, I had laid the groundwork that I was no one to be crapped on. I was also the only one who got away with calling him Smallfry or Short Stuff.

You put him through it? he asked in a bit of astonishment. Is he okay? You’d think he’d have learned after the first four times you had to wrangle his ass, Dan said with a chuckle.

What can I say? Some people are just slow learners.

Dan laughed, and within fifteen minutes he was into his usual position, crashed out on the black cushy futon with his face in a pillow. It was a ritual that he performed almost every day after work. The black futon mattress actually had a dent where he often held onto it in a death grip. He was snoring so loud he could wake the dead. I just sat on the couch opposite of him and looked at my right hand.

It looked as normal as it always had, yet it had just destroyed our freaking big-ass piece of furniture yet there was not a mark on it. There was no sign of bruising or anything to show what I had just done. And what was up with that flash of light? It was like some sort of electrical burst. I should have been burned to say the least, yet I felt nothing. If I had experienced an electrical shock that arced like that, I would most likely be knocked out. I would, for sure, still have the pins and needles tingling sensation throughout my arm.

I studied my hand and my arm, ran my left hand over it, clenched and unclenched a fist. It didn’t seem to be one bit different. I needed to try to figure what had happened. It made no sense, but nonetheless, there was a big empty spot in the living room right in front of me where the coffee table used to be. I decided to head on down to the end of the street, down to the cliffs, to my happy place. I put my shoes on and went for a walk.

The end of Whippoorwill Avenue was just a block and a half away. There was a guardrail set up so that no car could run off the edge of the cliff and down into the ocean some fifteen or twenty feet below. Next to the barricade was a set of stairs. The steps were often times wet and sometimes slippery from the ocean spray and they always smelled like piss. There were a lot of bums who lived along the coastline, and they used the hidden corners of the stairway as a bathroom often enough. Sometimes on a hot summer day the stench was enough to gag you.

I walked down through the darkness to the rocky landing and continued over to a block wall, which I like to call my happy place. This was a retaining wall to hold back the sandstone cliffs above. It was short, about four feet tall, but it did the trick. I had come here many times before to contemplate my life. Tonight, I had to try to find out what had just happened.

Something in the back of my head had been telling me that I was different ever since the old woman had died holding my hands. I had been having crazy dreams and just felt unsettled. At times I seriously thought I might be going mad.

Kill em all!

Why did those words keep jumping into my mind? What was happening to me? Was I on some subconscious guilt trip? Was I truly losing my mind? These thoughts and many others had been tormenting me as of late. And it only seemed to be getting worse.

Tonight, I finally saw something physical to substantiate those thoughts. But how could I have blasted a solid piece of wood into so many pieces like that? Where did such a force come from? I had definitely seen some kind a crackle of light like a burst of energy that seemed to come from my hand.

I was deep in thought when I realized that someone was standing to my right in the shadows. I was startled and snapped to with my hands clenched into fists, ready to defend myself. I turned to look in that direction but saw no one. I even took a couple of steps to see for sure, but no one was there. Weird, I thought, as I allowed my guard back down. That was another thing. I had a constant feeling that I was being watched lately. It was damn freaky. It was as though a crazy form of paranoia had fallen over me like a shadow. This was just one more example of that.

I stepped back to the block wall and balled up my fist and gave the top of the flat stone top good pound. Nothing happened. I rubbed my hand, then brought my fist up again, this time slamming it down hard with all of my might. It hit hard with a smack, but nothing happened other than giving myself a good sting that reached up into my forearm. I was stung pretty good, but I wasn’t done yet. I was determined to see if I recreate that crackle of energy that seemed split that table.

I whacked the top of the wall, and again felt the shock of pain through my arm. I hit it again and again until my hand was sore, then numb. It was damn frustrating. I had to stop before I broke my hand or did some kind of muscle damage. But when I did, I felt like I was being watched again. I turned quickly to see that someone was actually standing behind me. I was more than a bit startled.

You okay? a willowy, dirty, long haired man asked me. He was close, standing between me and the frothy water, ten or twelve feet behind him.

Yeah, I’m cool, I replied, and I watched as he then continued on down the rocky coastline. I did not take my gaze from him until he walked around an outcropping of rocks, some hundred yards away, and out of sight. You weirdo, I mumbled under my breath. What did he care anyway, I thought.

I rubbed my hand, which was now throbbing, then used it and my left hand to boost myself up onto the top of the wall so that I was sitting, looking out at the ocean. I rubbed my sore hand as I watched the waves crash on the rocks in front of me. The thunderous vibration ran through the rocks, then through the wall, and up into me so that I could feel it throughout my entire body. I closed my eyes and tried to relax.

I tried to visualize the event and see exactly what had happened. I watched the whole thing unfold in my mind’s eye, and the thing that I remembered most about it was the fact that I was mad as hell. I had been stewing the whole back from the beach, and I erupted when I got home. I didn’t think, just reacted. I had let that little incident blossom into an event. When I walked in the door, I just exploded, and so did the table.

I tried to run through it again in my head, but my hand was throbbing so hard now that it was hard to relax. I leaned back so that my back was resting on the sandy bank behind me. The wall on which I sat separated the ocean from a hill on which several homes sat atop. I let my feet swing out and back and tried to rest my weary mind.

I had been trying for so long to lock away that anger, but now it seemed that very anger might have opened a door to something new and completely different. I had always joked for years that if you messed with me, you would get to see the beast. And if you saw the beast, it meant your ass. I had no problem standing up to anyone who felt the need to insert themselves into my or my friends’ business. And God forbid anyone would ever, ever hurt someone I loved. This thought could be construed as hypocritical because back in the day my brother had been killed by a group of scumbags and I had done nothing to avenge him. At that point in my life though, I could not have been the bearer of any more misery to my parents.

I also knew I would not have stopped at just hurting them. I would have killed them all. And when I say all, I mean them, their children, and every person they knew. I even had visions of tying them up and killing their loved ones in front of them so that they could truly appreciate the helplessness that I felt. This anger permeated my life, and it was hard to let it go, but I had to promise my father and my grandfather that I would just walk away. They explained to me that they had lost their baby and they could not bear to lose me to the prison system. It was hard, the hardest thing I ever had to do, but I did let it go. I turned it over to the universe and allowed karma to be the judge, jury, and executioner.

A tear rolled out of my eye as I thought about my brother. He was a good guy, an innocent. He didn’t deserve to die at such a young age, and I did not deserve to lose someone so precious in my young life. I thought of him often and wondered how different my life would be with him in it. I wondered what kind of a man he might have become. I was so deep in my thoughts, that I did not notice someone slide up close to me until he spoke.

You got a light? the man asked me, jarring me back to reality. It was the same guy who had watched me hit the wall.

What? No, I told him with a bit of anger in voice. Really, I thought. How dare you disturb my thoughts? Then I realized that he was eyeballing me, and he smelled really bad. What? I asked angrily.

He just stood there staring at me, which got me a little worked up. Close your mouth and keep going, I told him, not holding back my disgust. But when he didn’t move, I felt slightly threatened. Seriously dude, shuffle. You need to get out of my face.

I had been working on my self-control for years, and up until lately, I had been doing a pretty good job of it. I knew I could handle myself and truly believed that if it came down to it, I could take on three guys at once and win without a problem. The thing was though, I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want to get hurt or hurt anyone else, let alone wind up in jail. It had always proved to be a dangerous roll of the dice whenever I let the beast out of the cage.

I could usually talk my way out of anything. If some dumbass told me that I was sitting in his seat, I would get up and move. I didn’t care what my friends thought about such actions because I knew what I had to do to keep the beast locked away. Now, if I got up and moved and that person still decided to push me, well that was a different story.

But for the most part, people understood that to push me was to flirt with death itself. I don’t know why, but I just put off that kind of a vibe. So, when this stinky piece of crap continuedto stare at me, I thought it was probably best just to get up and walk away. I put my hands flat on the top of the wall on either side of me to boost myself down, being careful not to put too much weight on the sore palm. My feet hit the now slippery wet rock and I pointed myself toward the staircase.

That’s when I saw how raggedy the man was. His clothes were extremely tattered, and his hair was long and as dirty as his dirty, dried-up skin. I was just going to pretend he wasn’t there and walk past him, but he put an arm up to block my path. I seriously thought I was going to snap, but instead I simply pushed him back out of the way. I didn’t push him hard or put any effort into it. I just wanted him to move. His feet slipped and slid on the wet rocks, and he started to fall backward into the foamy water behind him. He reached and grabbed at something, anything to slow his momentum, but there was nothing there for him to grab hold of. A look of fear swept across his face as his feet went out from under him. He landed on his back and right side and quickly slid into the cold frothy ocean.

I didn’t move to help him. I didn’t try to catch him or anything. I just stood there and watched. I thought about helping him, but it happened so fast, and I could not move. I was temporarily paralyzed. It had not been my intent to push him that hard, nor did I really mean him any harm. But nonetheless, he was in the water.

I looked at the spot where he went in and didn’t see him. My heart was now racing, and the thought of my throbbing hand was no longer in my brain. I looked around to see if I could see but did not. I wondered if he hit his head or even if he could swim. I heard voices down along the little rocky coastline and decided to get out of there. The water was rough, and the waves crashed hard on the rocks in front of me. If he was alive, the current was surely slamming him around. I didn’t know what to do. The other people were getting closer, and I did not want anyone to jump to any conclusions. I turned and ran toward the stairs. I didn’t even take the time to look to see if he was able to pull himself out, I just hurried up the steps and ran the rest of the way home.

I was breathing heavy when I got inside the apartment and closed the door behind me. Dan stirred from his slumber and looked up at me. Smash anymore coffee tables? he asked with a smile and a yawn.

No, but I may have just killed a bum, I told him, trying to catch myself.

Are you serious? he asked, popping quickly up to a seated position. No way.

He knew I had a bit of a temper, and he also knew that I could handle myself pretty well.

Where? What happened? If he wasn’t awake the moment I walked in, he was now. His eyes were as wide as paper plates and his hair was all disheveled.

Down on the rocks by the water, I told him as I hurried over to the kitchen window and looked toward the end of the street. I was waiting to see if the guy might emerge from the shadows or if maybe the lifeguards or police were headed that way.

My mind was whirling, and my heart was now pounding. Our kitchen had big windows that faced both across and down the street. They provided great views of the neighborhood, sunsets, and of course, all of the little hotties walking by on their way down to the beach. Right now, I was just standing in the shadows looking down the street between the vertical blinds.

Dan sat there and rubbed his head. What the heck happened? he asked again as he reached for his smokes. He pulled himself up and headed over to the door.

I don’t know what is going on right now, to be honest with you, I told him as I searched the darkness below.

He lit his cigarette and stood halfway in and halfway outside the door, blowing his smoke up into the night sky. What are you gonna do?

I stood there without answering for a moment, partly because I didn’t know what I was going to do. I don’t know, I finally admitted, But I think I’m pretty much gonna hide out in my room until I can clear my head.

You okay? he asked. He could see that I really wasn’t kidding now. The missing coffee table was one thing, but now having me tell him that I might have killed someone, was something different. He could see that I was genuinely freaked out.

No, I don’t think I am really. Ever since that old lady– I started but was cut off.

I knew it. I knew that crap was going to get to you. You haven’t been the same since that day. He took a drag on his smoke and then let it out. It’s like she’s haunting ya.

That was an odd thought, but it kind of fit the situation. I hadn’t been right since that day, and I seriously thought that I might be slowly losing my mind. But maybe I really was being haunted. Then a real thought crossed my mind. What if it was guilt? What if my own brain was creating this craziness? I was punishing myself subconsciously and I had been since the minute the lady died. It was a good possibility. But then I looked over at the spot where the table used to be. No, this was a heavy load. This was something that was going to take some consideration.

I stood there in the kitchen and Dan stood just outside the front door, which was about twelve or fifteen feet away. Maybe you just need a vacation; get away from here for a bit, he told me. He finished his smoke and snuffed it into the ashtray that we kept outside the door.

That was an idea, but where would I go? What would I do? I didn’t have any money. It seemed I worked harder and spent less, yet I never could get ahead. Maybe it was time for a change of venue. I would have to sleep on that one. Maybe, I said with a forced smile.

I’ll walk down by the water in a little bit and check things out. He stepped back inside and closed the door. Me and the Gimp are going out for a beer a few. We’ll walk by the cliffs and see if anything is going on down there. That is unless of course you wanna go with us.

Thanks, but I better chill out tonight, I told him.

Dan started to walk toward his room but then turned and smiled. What happened to all that crazy good luck you used to have? Maybe you should crack a beer and watch that DVD of yours. Then he went into his room, emerged with his towel, and went into the bathroom to shower.

I just continued to stare out of the window. I had that sinking, lost feeling in the pit of my stomach. I needed help, but I didn’t know where to look. So, I did what he said. I stopped looking out of the window, grabbed a beer and flicked on the TV. I had started watching The Secret earlier and I decided to pick it up where I had left off. I needed some inspiration and that disc seemed to give it to me time and time again. The whole power of attraction thing did seem to work when I put