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|Hey guys -- wanted to come up with a plausible idea for a sequel to Backfire. Think I have hit upon it. As always, comments are welcome! V|
|I found this couch comfortable, very comfortable, as a matter of fact. Seeing that it was in a therapist’s office, I never though I would even by laying down on it, but I did, and several times so far. I had to watch that I was not going to sleep, though that usually was not an issue, with what I was discussing with the therapist.
It all started soon after my adventures with Chuck had come to an end. I knew I needed time to ‘come down’ from the odyssey that had happened, but even after two weeks I was still fitfully sleeping, maybe getting about 3 hours a night. Being a writer, that was not helping the quality of my stories, and lesser quality meant less getting my writing accepted by publishers. I knew I had to do something, talk to someone, but who? Who would believe that I had a 24 hour period where I was the ‘plaything’ of an eventual 25 foot tall muscle behemoth?
So there was my issue. I needed to talk out my problem, but most people would think that I had a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket. I turned out to be right…
Since I lived outside of a small town, I did not have many options for a therapist, psychiatrist or psychologist, so I expanded my search area to the surrounding towns as well. I must have spoken with a dozen assorted counselors during first sessions. To a one, each of them believed I was delusional and needed intense therapy to distinguish between reality and fantasy. I KNEW I was not delusional, but nobody else would believe me. I resigned myself to many sleepless nights and many poor quality writings.
I was resting on my hand one day, dozing off in the middle of the day after a particularly sleepless night, when my head fell directly on the table, falling on the local newspaper. Damn my preference for hard wood tables. I picked up my head about to rub it, when I saw that the newspaper had stuck to it. Wonderful, now my forehead contained all the news that is fit to print. Peeling off the newspaper, my eye caught a little article at the bottom of the page. It read, “Local Professional Claims to See Giant Man”. I awoke instantly and scanned the article.
“Local therapist Rex Morgan claims that he has seen a giant man on the outskirts of town. According to Dr. Morgan, the man must be approximately 25 feet high and heavily muscled…” The article went on with quotes from local law enforcement authorities regarding Dr. Morgan’s own state of mind and throwing in a few very poor jokes. What did you want from a local paper?
I couldn’t believe it! Someone who might be able to help! Someone who I might be able to talk to! Unless this Dr. Morgan truly WAS some sort of nut job, this might be my chance to actually get some sleep! I jumped up from the chair and threw on a jacket and rushed to the car. A moment later, I walked in the house, took off my coat, and proceeded to the bathroom to wash all the newsprint off my face.
Doctor Morgan was right in town, and since it was in the late morning, I was able to find a parking space in front of the small building the phone book indicated was his office. I saw a bunch of people in front of his office…hecklers with nothing else better to do, I guess. If they ever saw Chuck up close and personal, they would not be laughing, I thought to myself. I threaded my way through them and up to the doctor’s office.
“Go away!” was the greeting that my knock received. I guessed that the good doctor had his share of pranksters, an assumption that a message that someone left on the answering machine just then confirmed. Poor guy. I knew how he felt. “Please, Dr. Morgan, I’m not here to ridicule. I really do need to speak with you on a legitimate matter”, I pleaded. I head soft footfalls and the click of a lock turning, then saw the door open.
The poor man was haggard, worn down, and disheveled. It had obviously been a rough time for him. Tentatively, he let me in his office and gestured for me to sit down. Smoothing his hair and clothes, he asked me what he could do for me.
Choosing my words carefully, I said to him, “Dr. Morgan…what you saw…I believe you.” I saw him instantly tense, believing that he had been duped into letting me into his office for more ridiculing. He stood up and began to speak, but I cut him off.
“He’s about 25 foot high, blonde hair, incredibly muscled. No visible scars or tattoos. You may have seen him at Miller’s Woods…”, I said, and began to rattle off a bunch of facts that were not in any news account. He sat wide eyed, tears almost forming in them. “My God yes, that’s him! You saw him too! I was beginning to believe I was crazy…”, the words spilled out of him. Almost reversing roles, I asked him where he first encountered this giant.
He began, “Well, it was very early one morning and I was driving back to my office to pick up a few papers. I had been out of town and was tired. I was driving past the county equipment yards when I thought I saw some people in the yard. I thought someone was trying to steal something from the yard and would call the police. I wanted to be sure, though, so I turned off the engine and the lights, got out of the car, and snaked around the fence to get a better look. I couldn’t believe my eyes! There was this…this…giant, with more muscles than I think I had ever seen on any human being, and he was lifting the heavy equipment! I mean off the ground and back down again! It was incredible. When he finished, he went to the top of the equipment and grabbed something. Only it wasn’t something, it was someone! Must have been my height or so, my build or a bit bigger, and this giant was carrying him around like he was a rag doll.” He paused for a second before catching his breath and beginning again. “I was transfixed…I had never seen someone so big before, so strong, so…”, he searched for a word, “…huge. I grew very scared for fear what he was doing to that little guy he would do to me if he saw me, so I ran back to the car and drove off as fast as I could.” He paused. “Later on, I told this to a friend, who told a friend…and got me into being called the therapist who needs a therapist.”
He paused again, obviously glad to get that statement out. He continued, “How did you know about him?” There it was…THE question. How would I answer him? Would he think the same thing as all the other professionals I had spoken to? This is what I had come here for, so I decided to tell him.
“…because the rag doll you saw lifted and tossed around…was me.”
He stared at me for a moment, trying to remember if this face was the face he saw that night. After a while, he looked satisfied. Motioning to the couch, he said, “Well, I obviously have no patients this afternoon. Shall we begin?” I knew I would sleep better that night.
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