27 Doors

By Giacomo La Rosa

27 Doors begins in Baltimore, 1978, with twenty-two-year-old Jerry sleeping inside an iron-lung that keeps him alive, and where he has been living most of his life. The sleep is brutally interrupted by an evil dwarf, and a mysterious energy breaks the machine giving Jerry the strength to walk outside of his room.

27 doors appear and every door forces him to enter.

Covered with blood, he meets a child and his mother, who understanding that Jerry is lost and possibly hurt, takes him to the police station. The police database reveals a horrifying truth about Jerry.

Ultimately, each door will have to comply with Jerry's soul, in a race to redemption, from New York to Florida, from Las Vegas to Brazil. Time, space and people will take a whole new meaning... and Jerry's life reset forever..

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781329747203

Book preview

Contents

DOOR 1: 1,2,3… YOUR LIFE BELONGS TO ME

DOOR 2: A WALK IN THE PARK

DOOR 3: NEVADA EXPRESS

DOOR 4: THE ANDALUSIAN MAN

DOOR 5: WAVES OF A LIFETIME

DOOR 6: THE KID AND THE WOMAN

DOOR 7: LUCY BETH

DOOR 8: MOM, DAD! I AM HERE

DOOR 9: THE REVERSE OF 6

DOOR 10: AIR STRIKE

DOOR 11: THREE IS A PAIR

DOOR 12: AN INTERNATIONAL TWIST

DOOR 13: 1 AND 3, I ALREADY TOLD YOU;

YOUR LIFE BELONGS TO ME

DOOR 14: MOMMY LOVES YOU VERY MUCH

DOOR 15: LUCkY 7 NO MORE

DOOR 16: BLOOD AND ARENA

DOOR 17: A NEW GAME

DOOR 18: OUR LADY

DOOR 19: THE SERIAL KILLER STRIKES AGAIN

DOOR 20: 2.0 MORE THAN JUST A NEW INTERNET

DOOR 21: LUCY BETH AND THE LEGACY OF BLOOD

DOOR 22: THE DAY I DIED

DOOR 23: THE LUCKY DOOR

DOOR 24: THE EVIL IN ME

DOOR 25: LET'S GET THINGS STRAIGHT

DOOR 26: LET HIM REST

DOOR 27: MATH WILL SAVE YOU

Giacomo La Rosa

27 Doors

Description: Macintosh HD:Users:giacomo:Desktop:GatchoLogoB&W_Page_1.jpgDescription: Macintosh HD:Users:giacomo:Desktop:GatchoLogoB&W_Page_1.jpg

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 by Giacomo La Rosa

All rights are reserved. Published in the United States, and in the rest of the world by Gatchò Books, Tampa, a division of Graphitarget Co., Inc., Tampa.

www.Gatcho.com

Cataloging in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.

Cover designed by Graphitarget, Co., Inc.

ISBN 978-1-329-74720-3

To my parents

DOOR 1: 1,2,3… YOUR LIFE BELONGS TO ME

Baltimore 1978.

The pump regulated his breathing, almost in sync with the split-leaves of the alarm-clock, life companions alongside the yellowish round metal panel filled with rubber, which locked him from the neck down, flat, inside an iron lung.

The mirror above his face granted full view of the bedroom, but Jerry preferred the maps from around the world, his father had hung on the walls.

Thru a pane of square glasses he saw a bluebird on an oak tree, which in twenty years had outgrown his immobility and the main frame of the window. The plumage’s dim color entailed a female, he thought, although bluebirds were not common in Baltimore.

After sunset, the bird flew away, leaving him asleep, whilst the whispery wind pushed the rain against the glass.

Three minutes passed midnight, a ray of moonlight found its way over two small hands massaging Jerry’s forehead.

Thanks mom, he murmured, half asleep. Every night, I look forward to this moment.

The fingers moved to the back of the head, gently rubbing it, when suddenly, pulled Jerry’s hair. He tried to open his eyes, but the eyelids didn’t move. Heavy breathing landed over his face, and a smell of smoke and garlic entered the nostrils, down the stomach. The machine pushed the chest, intensifying the congestion of the esophagus and causing a regurgitation, which the supine position and the two hands holding the head still made impossible to cough out.

The hands released his head, and he sensed air back in the lungs. He kept his eyes shut, pretending to be in the middle of a bad dream. When he opened them, he saw a bald Dwarf with black gums, hanging from the mirror, upside down over his head.

I will steal your breath and kill you little by little, the Dwarf giggled, his lips trembling with resentment. By dawn, your soul will be mine, and your body stiff as a tombstone, even more than what you got used to, the creature threatened, cursing through missing teeth and laughing at Jerry’s impossibility to move.

The gruesome midget’s skin turned into red fire, his eyes blackened, matching the color of the mouth, in the shape of a skull. An evil laugh echoed, and Jerry was left alone, in the middle of the room, inside the pumping machine, immobilized.

Out of the window, a crow flew over the oak tree, tweeting Schubert’s Ave Maria, revised as a ridiculing dirge at his expense; until the bluebird returned, forced the crow to leave, and reprised the melody in its classical version.

Jerry felt blood running through the veins, his muscles reinvigorated, and he began breathing without having to follow the pace of the pump. The bluebird’s eyes, locked on him, had become a pair of woman’s eyes, whose glance cracked the machine and crushed the metal into pieces in a matter of seconds, providing Jerry an unprecedented strength and a compelling craving to move.

His bare feet touched the carpeted floor, and he realized he was at least 6.2 foot tall. Looking at everything from a vertical angle was more destabilizing than the actual lack of balance on his feet. His muscles were well defined throughout the body, under a pajama of the Houston Oilers the team had given to him as a gift, a few months earlier.

The team’s chaplain, Father Luigi Contini, a longtime family friend, used to pay frequent visits to Jerry and his family every time he was on the East coast. That year, the Oilers played against the Colts a charity off season away game, and Father Contini thought it was a terrific opportunity to salute Jerry.

Jerry himself had grown some sort of stardom status and was often featured in the local and national news because many organizations favored being associated with him.

My dear son, I invite you to find always alternative ways to walk the path God had lined up for you. Great actions can be done even from a small bedroom with limited access to the external world, the priest told Jerry, after blessing the pajama.

Jerry thought about those words; however it had been twenty years since he could stand, and Contini’s moral remarks were not a priority in that instance. He took the courage and for the first time in many years, he walked.

There was no hesitation in his steps, nor weakness in the moves. He mastered his body, as if it had always been the case. He searched his voice down inside the lungs, in the attempt of calling his parents and share with them such moment of joy, but a silent hiss came out of his mouth. That didn’t stop him from gamboling toward the door, testing his knees.

Elated, Jerry walked from one corner to the other, increasing the speed. The objects around grew bigger or smaller, according to his moves. He hardly recognized the room he had been restricted for almost his entire life.

His father had put on the upper shelf, in between two miniature fake palm trees from Florida, a small water tank, big enough to host a couple of golden fishes and a few rocks with sea plants to recreate a basic ecosystem. If it hadn’t been for the fishes swimming, to Jerry it was no different than any still photo. But now, its depth revealed its tridimensional true shape.

He went around the standalone lamp his grandfather wanted next to the vanilla leather armchair, because he claimed the room wasn’t lit enough, since he would spend a considerable amount of hours sitting there, reading to Jerry, either the newspaper or one of the books randomly picked from the bottom shelf, before going back to his condo, a couple of blocks away, where he moved to stay closer to his daughter and sick grandson, after the death of his wife.

The next stop was inside the closet, almost a room on its own. Jerry didn’t have many clothes, and that space was used for storage purposes. There were drugs and medical equipment, along first aid items. There was also a drawer case with Jerry’s personal effects.

In the first drawer, he found his passport, of course never been used, but it was of symbolic importance for him to possess one. He opened it and smiled at the thought he could be near to travel around the world. From the second drawer, he took a pair of white socks and wore them, just because he could do it. Inside the third drawer, his parents had kept some of the toys he had when he was still a healthy child. There were only a few and Jerry’s attention went straight to a tin firetruck.

He spent a couple of minutes looking at his hands, which he hadn’t seen since they were the hands of a small kid, then he caressed the wood of the drawer and compared it to the metal of the firetruck. The first was strong and warm, while the second cold and moldable. He forced his finger against the roof of the truck, right about the siren, with some extra pressure dented it and found arousing to change the conditions of an object with the touch of his hands. Amused, he ripped a few pages off a magazine. Such sense of power grew bigger when he broke a pencil in half. Until that moment, he never had the urge to weigh his actual strength, nevertheless, to overcome or control another entity, and it felt good.

He returned to the small aquarium, stuck two fingers in the water, and the bizarre texture of liquid amazed him. Water had been spilled on his face before, and the tongue had advised him of the different nature of non-solid items, but to be able to create small vortexes of water and seeing it dripping from his fingers, while the disoriented fishes struggled, was a whole new experience.

He walked to the window, opened it, and the night city noises embraced him, as well as the fresh air. He waved at the bluebird on the tree and tried to grab it, but the bird jumped a few inches, enough to be out of reach.

Come here, little one! I won’t hurt you, he made an effort to scream, still not able to produce a sound. He stretched his arm to grasp the bird, but the animal flew away, leaving Jerry hanging in a dangerous position, since a fall from the third floor would’ve been lethal. Fearless, he regained his spot and, leaning on the window, was delighted to add more elements to what had been a static image for so many years. Jerry could see the cars down the street, but when he tilted the head, he saw the stars in the sky, and the universe appeared magnificent and infinite.

If the bedroom had been such an adventure, he couldn’t wait to see what the rest of the world held for him.

But just when he touched the door, a chill on the back reminded him of what the Dwarf had spoken, and Jerry’s trembling right hand struggled to turn the knob. The rapid and extraordinary chain of events made him forget his parents, in all those years, had never closed that door, now shut in front of him.

There were no signs of the Dwarf, just the moonlight projecting Jerry’s shadow on the door, as his shaking hand reached one more time the knob. This time, he held his wrist with the left hand, took a deep breath, which let alone, just a few minutes earlier would have been a lifetime achievement, and opened the door.

It took some effort to push the door, which, despite the appearance, felt as if it were made of thick iron. Jerry kept on pushing it, but it moved only a few inches. He pushed it harder, even hit it with his shoulder, but he only scratched the floor and produced a noise in the vast empty area behind it, like a rusty gate kept closed for centuries.

When the space widened enough to squeeze in, Jerry was introduced to a pitch-black environment. He looked for the light switcher, but couldn’t find it, and a familiar metallic pulsing sound made him turn to the iron lung back in one piece, perfectly functioning. Jerry turned back toward the darkness and came across the ugly Dwarf.

You have no choice, he threatened before disappearing, to reappear a second later, at a much further distance. You have no choice, but to follow me into your destiny, the little monster solicited.

Jerry, confused and scared, walked through the door, which now, without any particular strain, closed behind him, at once, leaving him wrapped in total obscurity.

He knew he couldn’t be in his parent’s condo anymore and, as he stretched his arms behind his back, he couldn’t find the wall of his bedroom. A punch in the stomach, followed by an evil laughter, forced him to bend over, whilst a violent kick in his genitals left him airless, a very familiar sensation.

Just a reminder of whom you truly are, and I’ll make sure you will suffer every moment to your death, Jerry heard, falling on the floor unconscious, before being able to get a glimpse of a bright white light, round and blurry, far away into the darkness.

When he opened his eyes, a long red worn rug rolled out and floated in front of him, slicing the black ambience. At first sight, it seemed a flying carpet with unidentified embodied golden patterns, but when it stabilized, the rug formed a straight hallway. Jerry recognized a combination of angels, morphing into skulls and back into angels, but he had a hard time to determine if the change was real or due to his sight, still affected by passing out.

Furthermore, two endless walls formed on both sides, shaping a corridor, featuring a pale yellowish wallpaper, with large moldy stains all over it, releasing a strong odor of moisture, similar to the basement of an ancient building.

When Jerry gained some strength back, he was able to stand up again. The only visible thing was the hallway. A tingling crawling from his back, around the neck down his both arms revealed two parallel lines of ants marching to eventually merge toward a small hole in the wall. Jerry waited for the last ant to leave his hand and followed the long black procession of tiny insects, when the ants increased their speed and vanished in the hole.

One door after another materialized and positioned about twelve feet from each other, on the left side of the corridor. Jerry tried counting them, but they appeared too fast. They were all brown wooden doors, each having a digital counter display of rapidly increasing numbers.

Without warning, the corridor rounded up, and Jerry remained still in the middle of it, while every door lined in a perfect circle, and while the number counting stopped, the digital display showed a distinct numeral for each door, replaced by a solid bronze version of the exact same figure, from one to twenty-seven, following the door marked with a 1, which stood right across from Jerry.

All surroundings turned black once again, allowing only the first door to be seen through the edges of the frames, tinted in dark red, matching the round knob.

The contrast of black and red recalled the toga crossed with red piping of a Catholic Cardinal, just like the one Cardinal Karol Wojtyla wore, meeting Pope Paul VI in a photo Father Contini used to carry with him all the time. Such a combination of colors also reminded Jerry of the elegant garments of the despicable Cardinal Richelieu, so well described by Alexander Dumas in The Three Musketeers, and equally well narrated by Jerry’s grandfather in their reading sessions.

Needless to say how much D’Artagnan had stimulated Jerry’s soul, and because of him, he dreamed of sword fighting and long horse rides, but the image of Richelieu stuck with him every time he’d appear in the story. He perceived his presence and his diabolical schemes. Jerry instinctively rejected the French Cardinal’s methods and way of thinking, but he couldn’t refrain from admiring Richelieu’s intelligence and brilliance to maneuver, whilst the others, often seemed mavericks in a strong need of unity to defeat one man. Although, in time, the noble gestures and spiritual profile of Aramis also entered in Jerry’s favors.

Jerry thought the flashbacks of the photo and the novel were because such memories represented his sole sources of life experiences and, by default, were part of him, more than he ever realized. After all, he had never been called to face a situation of any kind on his own, and his soul was providing the best available tools at its disposal to prepare him.

A red light came out underneath the door, and the number 1 lit up of the same red, just like the edges and the knob, when Jerry was pushed so abruptly, he thought to have broken his jaw. Fortunately, it wasn’t the case, but he had been smashed against the door, with his arms twisted behind the back, whilst powerful invisible hands held him. He felt again a breath on the neck, when an evil voice shouted, breaking the silence, 1,2,3, your life belongs to me, then hushed again.

The light went off, and a loud knocking started simultaneously from inside the other twenty-six doors, which reappeared in a wide range of pastel colors, in sync with that noise, louder and more frequent, as if hundreds of people were behind, waiting to be liberated. Then, it all stopped, the doors vanished, with the exception of Door Number 1, which moved closer to Jerry. If he hadn’t known any better, it looked like it was smiling, inviting him to get closer as well.

One of Jerry’s favorite books as a child was Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carrol, and no matter how many times his mother had read it to him, the part when Ebenezer Scrooge saw the ghost face of Jacob Marley always frightened him.

And now, just like he pictured it in his mind listening to his mom, a ghostly head looked at him right from the center of the door, where a few instants earlier there was a shining red number 1. The face was Father Contini’s, Stay away, he warned, then disappeared.

Jerry’s deepest fears from Dickens’ story resurfaced, but, free to move, he felt a genuine desire to open the door, positive it was the right thing to do and, mastering his fear, he reached for the knob, which slowly turned by itself at the first touch, as if someone was opening it from the inside.

And, when the door was wide open, Jerry wished he had never touched it.

DOOR 2: A WALK IN THE PARK

Loud screams accompanied Jerry out, as if everything were about to start all over again. Door Number 1 closed behind him, disappearing; and hell was no longer around him.

Blood dripped from his hands; his heart raced at the speed of the sharp cutting objects, the brutal murders, and the Dwarf challenging the desire to erase them.

Three people had been decapitated, and two more mortally injured in the neck. Jerry heard Father Contini praying, before his head rolled. The other victims had barely the time to realize what was happening to them. Jerry was short of air.

In addition to the devoted priest, he thought he had recognized Doctor George Sarandon, his mom’s former gynecologist who, often seen at the condo for friendly visits, didn’t refrain from giving his professional opinions on Jerry, in exchange for publicity in scientific magazines and general media, even if for the most part, Jerry’s conditions were outside his range of expertise and medical specialty.

Jerry had never met the others, but they knew him, and apparently way too well. Perhaps there was a woman among those dead people, maybe two; he tried to remember. The dramatic sequence of violence overtook every bit of space of his memory and didn’t allow him to focus on the locations. He vaguely remembered another person with him, a man, or rather a moving silhouette, but couldn’t recall his features, or anything else. Jerry felt that a controlling presence had undermined his willpower; but at times, it had also enhanced the inner instinct to impose his power over others that Jerry was growing more and more aware to have.

He knew whomever or whatever that essence was, it shared a common nature with him, almost a mutual root, which created a bond and yet an addictive evil energy. All he could recollect was the rage inside him.

Jerry took a deep breath out of desperation, wide opened his eyes, and saw darkness, while his ears could only hear silence. Isolated, he sat in an egg position, holding the legs against his chest.

Mom? Forgive me! Please? He rocked against his legs. You raised me well, and I screwed up as soon as I had a chance. It was too easy to live by your values from inside a machine. Please forgive me, Jerry cried. My heart is in a good place, but my brain must be ill, and it controlled my actions, he kept saying in tears. How in hell, all of that was possible? ‘That’s right, in Hell,’ he thought.

Lost, Jerry hid the face in between his knees, whilst silk white gloves, floating in the air played Swan Lake on two violins and a piano.

The doors shed a green and golden glow, blasting the ambience at first, to become a spotlight that guided Jerry in front of Door Number 2, light blue with green edges and no knob. The music played softly in the background, embracing Jerry as if he were a musical note, leading his body toward the door, whose colors blended into a growing sky and trees of what seemed to be a vast city park with a lake in the middle, and grass everywhere. A few ducks swam together, ready to leave the right of way to the swans that elegantly skimmed the water behind them.

A light breeze on his skin betrayed a colder season than what the blue sky and sunlight had staged. The smell of the vegetation mixed with the odor of the city, just like the noise of the traffic blended with the voices of people gathered in small groups, either jogging in training gears or, in business suits, eating sandwiches.

Jerry nibbled his lips to hold back the tears, because he had learned of such things only from secondhand stories or by reading books and watching movies, but his senses had never experienced any of that. This is what he dreamed of, by looking out of the window of his room. But when a child bumped into him, the memory of the Dwarf immediately came back.

Fear soon transformed into a smile, when Jerry looked at a boy running behind a kite, concerned to have lost it. By instinct, Jerry grabbed the wire and gave it back to the kid, who skipped away without thanking him. Jerry followed the kite with his eyes, up in a sky way bigger than the one outside of his window. He wondered if the kite could reach the clouds, still adjusting his perception of size and distance.

Thank you very much. Sorry for my son, but that kite is his life, and when he flies it, he loses track of everything, a blue-eyed blonde spoke. Jerry had never interacted with a woman in a social manner before. He stayed still, trying not to stare too much, not sure whether his voice was back. By the way, I’m Jane, she waited. Do you understand me? Do you speak English? The woman asked with a reassuring smile, not at all bothered by the awkward silence.

Yes, I speak English, Jerry opened his mouth, and his voice came out, loud and strong.

Wow, I guess you do, Jane replied surprised by the tone of his voice.

My name is Jerry, still sounding like a tenor.

After a closer look, she couldn’t miss on Jerry’s clothes, Kinda of vintage for a training outfit? What’s up with the Houston Oilers? Jerry was indeed wearing his pajamas with torn pants, as a result of what happened inside Door Number 1. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. Are you from Texas?

No! I’m from Baltimore, he said, trying to control his voice.

Well, Jerry from Baltimore, you better put a jacket on, it’s supposed to snow in a couple of hours, she advised him. Are you in New York for work or pleasure? She continued in an amicable fashion, keeping an eye on her son, who not too far away, was still running after his kite.

New York? You mean thee New York City? He asked in shock.

"Let me guess? You decided