Instinctive conditioning can be blamed for a lot of
neurosis toward many random influences. Some
people try to rationalize irrational behavior but if the
initial imprinting went bad, there’s no amount of
psychological treatment that can "correct" that imprint.
Nothing short of torture, for it is only when the ego is
completely broken down that fresh imprinting is
possible, that and a lot of persistence. So it is with this
in mind that I feel constituted in my efforts to affront the
American Society with my fresh, new brand of terror.
For is not terror that free, raw emotion that regresses
us to the point of simian instinct. Fight or flight behavior
at it’s purest.
The voices clamor as I approach the bar.
"Gin and tonic!" I shout as she steps away.
I can feel it; that presence, watching me; waiting for me
to be alone. I pay for my drink and step away from the
crowd and lean into a dark corner. The presence is still
aware of me. As if watching from someone else’s eyes
I receive flashes of this same room but from another
angle. This impression is so brief, my mind can’t quite
comprehend the direction. All I receive are brief flashes
of faces that are not in front of me. Then I recognize
one; a tall blond woman wearing a black latex corset. I
can see her from where I’m leaning, in this corner all
the way across the bar. She is facing me, talking to a
bald man and I catch a flash of the man’s face. Then I
see them. Green eyes fixing on my last location, then
scanning the room. It’s a woman with dyed auburn
hair, tied back, wearing a black lace blouse and an
intricately woven oriental silk skirt. She turns away and
I let my mind wander freely to her and whisper, as if
over her shoulder and into her ear. "What dost thou
seek?" Her body tenses and she slowly turns to look
over her shoulder, then glimpses me in the corner.
She looks further as if not believing she could hear me
but then she turns and approaches me.
"Did you say something?" her hair seems to sparkle
and a shadow falls over her face as she steps out of
"I didn’t say a word." I smile charmingly, "But you seem
oddly familiar. As if I’d seen right through your very . . .
green eyes." Recognition flashes across her face. So I
was the one she was looking for.
"I don’t think we’ve met before." Her face goes blank as
if determining whether I’m giving her a line and
deciding it wasn’t such a good idea to approach me.
"No, not as such. What’s your name?"
"Call me Lenore" she smirks.
"Ah, a rare and radiant maiden to be sure. . . call me
Leonard." I extend my hand.
"Would you kiss my hand now?" She continues to
smirk and lifts her hand. I consider this, then taking her
hand and raising it to my mouth I insert the tip of her
ring finger into my mouth and gently flutter my tongue
across the tip. She giggles rapturously and pulls away.
"Well I guess I didn’t expect that. And actually my name
is Ellenore but people always want to abbreviate it to
Ellen so I preempt this with Lenore"
I receive another nother flash from somewhere else. I
only get the impression of many bodies in motion, from
the dance floor? I can’t focus now.
"Everything alright?" She looks a bit spooked.
"Oh . . . yes, fine." I shake the image from my head,
trying to forget the impression of heat and blood that I
can’t seem to place. "Sorry, having one of those nights.
Soon after learning that "Lenore" occupies a
moderately low position at the office of a large,
corporation, I also learn that she is in fact, at least
somewhat telekinetic. This was imparted to me partly
by accident. Apparently she not only receives what
others see but others can receive what she sees as
well. "Ah" I said, "then that explains that." I replied. She
seems to withdraw, realizing that she was sending me
images. I tell her that while I’m sensitive to such things
I possess similar traits myself, and that perhaps this
was the reason she was drawn to me. She takes this
in stride of course, not wanting to drop her guard again.
"Did you know there’s another one here?" I ask. She
feigns ignorance but I can tell she’s getting flashes too.
"I’m not entirely convinced that the other is aware of us
though. Or at least I haven’t had any impulses to
suggest they’re seeking us out."
"How can you tell? I mean I’ve just been getting brief
flashes, usually of a crowd." She realizes she’s
opening up again and quickly withdraws.
"You seem to be afraid of it, if you don’t mind my
noticing." I sip at my drink and get another flash, this
time of a girl. She was definitely dancing but the mood
of the vision had somehow gone sour, like an aftertaste
of rotten fruit.
"Well, I had some pretty bad experiences once
involving an . . ." she suddenly stops and shakes her
"Memory or flash?" I ask wondering if she got the
"Not sure." She pauses to seek it out. "Sort of felt a
little like both."
"I’m getting a not so great feeling about that other one."
I suggest and look around suspiciously. She laughs
and asks why. "Getting a bad taste off that one."
"Like something . . . rotten?" She suggests nervously.
"Yeah, something like that." Then I’m hit with another
image, of the front parking lot. Or more importantly of
the same girl, walking away.
"I think they’re leaving." She says, staring at her drink.
"Well, good, less distraction." I take a sip and gaze at
her, still staring at her glass and looking far off and
lonely, hair falling out of the ponytail and down across
her face. Absolutely lovely.
"Wow, that was weird!" She jerks her head up and
looks at me. "I don’t think I’ve seen myself that way
before. It was so . . . vivid." Her eyes gazing into mine
and I tell her without a word that she is gorgeous and I
see her face flush.
As we head out of the club, I feel my heart racing and I
fumble for my keys, then drop them and stand perfectly
still as a vision floods my head. The girl in the
passenger seat of a car. Then the flash of a knife.
Blood spraying across the dashboard. Then I’m just
left standing there in awe as I see Lenore’s face
drained of all color and shivering.
"Oh Fuck." Is all I can manage to say.
Our waitress is in a pretty foul mood. I notice this when
half the fries slide off my plate as she tosses it down in
front of me and she just walks away. I don’t say
anything as other matters are pressing me at the
"Well, should we go to the police?!" Lenore is asking
as I sweep up the mess.
"Oh sure; ‘Ah officer? Yes I’d like to report a murder.
Where? Oh, well ah, I don’t really know. Somewhere
around 8th and Spring Garden somewhere. How do I
know? Well, to tell you the truth I saw it happen. No I
don’t know where. . .’ I think it would go something like
that. We have no evidence, didn’t find a car with blood
all over the interior and don’t know who did it. Sound
about right?" I smile in spite of myself, "I’m sorry, I’m
pretty upset too but we’ve got nothing to go on at all. I
suppose if we concentrated really hard we could find
that personality but what then, just hang out in a killer’s
mind until he happens past a mirror? How would we
know it was him, or even if it is a him. I sure wasn’t
paying that much attention."
"It was a Honda! I’m pretty sure it was a Honda." She
smiles sheepishly, "or maybe it was a Hundai."
"See? We have nothing. Well, nothing in regards to an
answer to this surreal spy novel we’ve been thrust into."
I try to focus on positive thoughts, like the fact that I’ve
met a really wonderful person exhibiting qualities such
as empathy, warmth, personality, and even beauty. I
see her smile again and feel a copacetic tremor. "What
a completely fucked up way to meet someone. I can
see us together, years from now. ‘How’d you two
meet?’ ‘Oh, well we met in a club and had mutual
telekinetic visions of a murder! It was quite romantic."
Her laughter sounds like fresh rain falling on crystal as
her face flushes and I feel my own blood rise. "I’m glad
you can find humor in these grim circumstances. You
know technically we don’t know that we actually saw a
murder. For all we know it was just a very, brutally vivid
fantasy. I’ve played with that before. It’s hard do it strait,
that’s for certain. I kind of experimented with a friend a
long time ago when we used to drop acid. We’d try to
push each other in certain directions and make each
other see what the other saw. A lot of it is the power of
suggestion but after a while you gain a certain amount
of control. I was better at the visual translations, being
able to send visions and receive them just because the
mind is more attuned to that sort of thing on LSD. It
wasn’t until later that I could do that without the use of
"Can you still do that? I mean can you make me see
something in your own imagination? Can you see what
I’m thinking of?" Her sentence is overwhelmed by a
vision of myself kneeling naked, overhead. I grin the
biggest grin I’ve had in years.
As the waitress is walking by I grab her arm "Check
The first rays of sunlight glinting off a brass lamp rouse
me from slumber and I have that brief moment of panic;
Where am I? What happened? Where are my clothes?
Is she still… yes. I run my hand over her shoulder,
down her waist, over her hips and around. I watch her
torso gently rise and fall with her gentle breathing and I
feel at peace. Then I’m drawn back to that awful image
of screaming, struggling and spraying blood.
I let myself fall into it and try to find some detail, some
clue that I missed before. I’m watching more of the
scene than I saw before. I see the girl’s body
convulsing and her arms flailing about in the air and I
feel pain as her nails dig into my cheek. I see her eyes
staring into mine and watch the light expire there as her
hand falls away and she lies motionless.
As I come out of the vision I here Lenore stir. She
arches her back and stretches, grunting with the
groggy, first waking stiffness. I begin to feel my own
stiffness as her eyes flutter open and she smiles at
Police sirens wail in rising and falling critiendo as we
sit looking out the window of Lenore’s 5th floor
apartment sipping tea and gazing at each other in
uncomfortable silence. Neither of us knows how to
proceed. Should we try to forget the awful visions from
last night or should we attempt to find word of a murder
or some sign of violence? We determine that the most
sensible action would be to get a morning paper.
Otherwise I suggest the use of a scanner to keep track
of police updates, but that would be a pretty arduous
activity for a Saturday morning.
"It might be a few days before anything hits the papers,
if anything is even found!" I hold her hand and plead,
"maybe we should give it a few days before taking
extreme actions like hitting the pavement and trying to
find a blood soaked car somewhere."
"Yeah, I know that logically," she pushes the hair out of
her face, "I just feel like a shit not doing anything! I
mean what if it was one of our friends you know!?"
"I know! I know! But if it were a friend we would have
something! ‘Our friend suchandsuch didn’t come
home last night and no one has seen her! We saw her
leaving with some guy…’ hell we don’t even know it
was a guy, much less what they look like! Live isn’t like
movies where the quaint psychic lady storms into the
police station with ‘I’ve witnessed a murder through a
vision!’ ‘Oh, well maybe we should tell the chief the
crazy psychic lady saw another murder!’ and they play
along just to find out she was right. The only reaction
we’d end up getting is being placed in a Psych ward."
We walk out to the elevator and hold each other until it
arrives. As the doors open, the music playing is an
orchestral version of tainted love. We both laugh all the
way to the lobby.
The day is bright and warm as we step onto the
sidewalk, nature showing all it’s ambivalence toward
our petty concerns of the night before. Our moods are
lifted and we are finally and comfortably engrossed in a
newly blooming relationship having found compatible
souls in each other.