What Doesn't Kill You (A Suspense Collection) Page 5

  “But your cousin’s still alive, isn’t he?”

  “I hope so. He’s a great guy.”

  Bobbing his head, Stanley leafed through his notepad for a while and then said, “Last week we talked about how you made your discovery. Let’s say someone came up to you and asked you if you had any proof. What would you tell him?”

  “I’m glad you brought this up, Doc. I have proof.”

  “Can you show it to me?”

  “Sure.” Richard opened his bag and took out a computer tablet. “As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words.” He turned on the tablet. “Look at this picture.” Richard poked at the screen. “Do you recognize this place? That’s the area in front of your building.” He swiped at the screen, changing the photo. “I took these pictures from this window.” He waved at the window behind Stanley’s desk. “Do you see Lakewood Boulevard?”

  “Yes, it does appear to be the area in front of this building.”

  Stanley was curious where Richard was going with this.

  “But here it looks a little different, doesn’t it?” Richard put the first photo back on the screen.

  He was right. On this photo, there was a small green park with lush trees instead of the parking lot.

  “Yes, it does,” Stanley agreed.

  “There was no parking lot there a week ago. And now there is one.”

  Stanley examined the photo for a few moments and finally said, “It doesn’t prove anything. I know there is software that allows you to manipulate pictures any way you want. I figure you either found someone who can use this program or did it yourself.”

  “What a smooth theory.” The corner of Richard’s mouth rose in a slight smirk. “Have you ever noticed that insane people are very good at rationalizing their crazy beliefs?”

  “Have you?”

  “I just presented you with photo evidence. If you want to check if it was manipulated, go ahead.”

  “Let me ask you a question. If there was no parking lot there, where did people park?”

  “In the parking structure on Lakewood and Carson.”

  “There’s no parking structure on Lakewood and Carson.”

  “There used to be one.”

  Stanley smirked. “I see. And who replaced that nice park with a parking lot?”

  “Me. I did it.”

  “So you can change the scenery at will?”

  “More or less.

  “What do you mean?”

  There was a short pause, after which Richard asked, “Do you have dreams?”

  “Yes. They’re not as sophisticated as yours, of course.”

  “Have you ever had a lucid dream?”

  “A dream where you’re aware that you’re dreaming? I believe I’ve had a couple of those.”

  “Then you must understand that even in a lucid dream you can’t change things with a snap of a finger. It takes lots of practice to learn to manipulate the environment in a significant way.”

  “So if I ask you to make a tiger appear in this room, you won’t be able to do it?”

  “I could try, but I can’t give you any guarantees.”

  After a short hesitation, Stanley said, “On second thought, let’s not involve tigers.”

  “Okay.” Richard slid the tablet back into the bag. “I have a question, Doc. What medical school did you go to?”

  “UCLA. I went to University of California, Los Angeles.”

  Richard nodded thoughtfully. “Last time we met you said that you’d studied at Michigan State.”

  Stanley shook his head. “I never said that.” He pointed his pen at the framed diploma on the wall. “Please go and take a look. UCLA, class of 2004.”

  “Actually, I can see your diploma from here. That’s why I asked. I clearly remember you saying that you went to Michigan State.”

  “Let’s just agree to disagree.”

  “Sure.” His face beaming, Richard raised his index finger. “I have an idea. Another experiment. I think you’ll like it. No tigers or anything like that.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m going to ask you a seemingly simple question and I’m going to bet that you’ll be unable to find the answer to it no matter how hard you look. Are you down to play?”

  “And what is the point of this experiment?”

  “I want to show you that if I don’t know something, no one in the whole world knows it. I don’t know the answer to the question I’m going to ask you, which is why I’m confident that you’ll never find it, either.”

  “How much time will I have to look for the answer?”

  “A week. I believe it should be enough; do you agree with me?”

  “It depends on the question, I suppose.”

  “As I said, it’s a pretty simple question. No tricks. And you can use any source of information you please: your friends, encyclopedias, textbooks, the Internet—anything and anyone.”

  “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  “Here’s the question: will you go to prison if you run over and kill a person crossing the street on the red light?”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes, that’s all.” Richard ran his hand through his hair. “So do you think you can find the answer by my next appointment?”

  “I guess a week should be enough.” Stanley began to write in his notepad. “And you’re saying you couldn’t find the answer to this question?”

  “As I mentioned before, I know little about the law. This particular situation is very puzzling to me. It would be easy to figure out if the person was not jaywalking—the driver would certainly be punished. But here we have someone who broke the law by crossing on the red light. Who’s at fault? Do we lock up the driver? Is the pedestrian liable? I honestly have no idea.”

  “All right. It sounds like a fun idea. I’ll do my best.”

  “Very well.”

  “Before you go, Richard. I can see that you put Helen Woods as your emergency contact. Is Helen your wife?”

  “I had a wife before I died. And her name was Helen. Now I’m just imagining her. In other words, she’s as real as you are, Doc.”

  “Can I talk to her?”

  Richard spent a while thinking over his question and then replied, “I suppose you can. What are you going to talk to her about?”

  “About you, mostly. I’d like to learn more about your life, your circumstances. I believe it will help me understand you better. Are you okay with that?”

  Richard moved his jaw, as if chewing something, and then nodded. “Fine. Why not? There’s no harm in it, is there?”

  “Can you bring her with you next time we meet?”

  “Why don’t you drop by my place and catch her there? Can you do that?”

  “No problem. See you next week.”

  4.

  Before leaving his office for Richard’s house, Stanley did something that was completely out of his character.

  His eyes fixed on the UCLA diploma, Stanley stepped over to the wall and put his hands on his hips. What he was thinking of doing was outrageous and ridiculous. He’d be happy if he could come up with a compelling excuse to just turn around and get out of the room, but nothing good came to mind. Instead Stanley found a reason why he ought to examine the damn diploma right now: he was alone and no one was going to find out what he’d done.

  The diploma was real, he had no doubt about that. And it did say that the UCLA School of Medicine had conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Medicine.

  With a stupid grin, Stanley hung the diploma back on the wall and headed for the door.

  5.

  Richard’s wife had a pleasant, soft-featured face, which was framed by long dark hair. She appeared to be in her late forties, and it was obvious she took very good care of herself. She was what one would call a well-maintained woman. Helen wore little make-up when she met Stanley.

  “You have a beautiful home, Missis Marshall,” Stanley said as he followed Helen inside the sprawling two-story house.

 
“Thank you, Doctor Blake.”

  “I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me.”

  Helen led him into the living room and asked if he wanted anything to drink. Stanley opted for a glass of water.

  “How long have you been married to Richard?” Stanley asked when they both took their seats.

  “Twenty years.” Helen’s voice was soft but confident.

  “That’s impressive.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “Did Richard tell you why he came to see me?”

  “He was looking for someone who would listen to his stories.”

  “Do you know what kind of stories those are?”

  “I have a general idea.”

  “Did Richard ever tell you that we all might be living in a dream? His dream?”

  Helen half-nodded. “I believe he mentioned that a couple of times.”

  “And what do you think about it? Is that some sort of joke or does he sincerely believe that the whole universe is just his dream?”

  “Dick is not the joking kind, so I assume he means what he tells you.”

  “Has Richard ever shown any signs of violence?”

  Helen shook her head. “My husband is a calm man. He’s never raised his hand on me or our son. I don’t remember the last time he got angry.”

  “Did any member of Richard’s family have a mental disorder?”

  “I don’t know of anyone who does or did.”

  Stanley opened his notepad at a blank page and started writing. “When was the first time he mentioned this dream theory to you?”

  Helen thought for a few seconds and replied, “About a year ago.”

  “Did he try to prove it to you?”

  “No. Honestly, I don’t really remember whether he did or not.”

  “Does Richard want you to believe that he’s right?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not one of his egghead friends. I doubt my endorsement of his theory would mean much to him.”

  “I’m sure he values your opinion.”

  “Maybe. To tell you the truth, I haven’t had a chance to chat with my husband at length lately. Our schedules have been incompatible the last few months, you see. He leaves the house while I’m still in bed, and when he comes home, I’m already asleep.”

  “Even on weekends?”

  “Yes, even on weekends.”

  “I see.” Stanley quickly scanned the notes he’d made before coming to Richard’s house. “Has Richard gotten into a car accident of any kind recently?”

  “If he has, he’s never told me about it.”

  “So you don’t remember him crashing his car into a wall on a freeway in the past year?”

  “No, he did not crash his car in the past year or even ten years.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Although I’m a woman, I’m not completely clueless about cars. I can tell a car that’s been in a crash from one that hasn’t.”

  “Do you think Richard would ever hide from you the fact that he’d been in a bad accident? To spare your feelings, for example.”

  Helen shook her head. “My husband loves telling the truth. Even if it’s cruel.”

  “All right.” Stanley took a sip of water from his glass. “What do you think could cause Richard to invent the dream theory? What was the trigger? Did he seem depressed or disturbed in some way lately?”

  “No, he didn’t seem depressed to me.”

  “Would you consider institutionalizing Richard if there ever was a need for it?”

  “Am I the one who’s supposed to decide?”

  “I believe so. Are Richard’s parents still alive?”

  “No, they’re not. His father died four years ago, and his mom passed away two years later.”

  “Then I guess it’s going to be on you.”

  “So it’s your opinion that Dick might need to be put in a mental hospital?”

  “I can’t rule it out.”

  Helen smiled. “Good luck with that.”

  “Why?”

  “Did you forget what he said? You’re living in his dream.”

  There was no humor in Helen’s voice, and the smile was no longer on her lips. Stanley was thinking of telling Helen that it had been a good joke, but chose not to do it. Instead he said, “I’m sorry.” His tone suggested that he’d misheard Helen.

  “Listen, Doctor Blake. If I were you, I wouldn’t do anything to piss off my husband.”

  Now Helen sounded like one of those women who loved to criticize and nag at their husbands but hated it when others tried to do that.

  “Why? Is he dangerous?”

  “You know why.”

  A puzzled smile crawled onto Stanley’s face. “Helen, do you believe that Richard could be right about all this dream stuff? You can be completely honest with me.”

  Helen gave him a long look and then replied, “I’m not an expert in things of that nature.” She paused. “Let me ask you this. How far back do you remember your life? Do you remember being born?”

  “No, of course not. Nobody remembers that.”

  “It’s a presumptuous statement, Stanley. Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that you don’t know for sure how you were brought into this world.”

  “Come on, Helen. You can’t be serious.”

  “When was the last time you had flu?”

  Stanley shrugged. “Why does it matter? I don’t get sick a lot, what does that prove?”

  “Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.”

  6.

  Let’s try and have an open mind.

  What if Richard was right? What if the whole world was just a dream in this man’s head?

  But what about his thoughts? Stanley knew he had thoughts in his mind; the very fact that he was having this internal discussion proved that he was engaged in mental activity. I think, therefore I am, that was what Descartes had said, and he was one of the greatest philosophers in history. Stanley thought, therefore he existed, right?

  What if his thoughts were not his own but came from Richard the Creator? How did that work, by the way? Was Richard feeding streams of thoughts directly into his dream’s characters’ minds? Or had he set up a list of rules that dictated what to think in any given situation, and let the characters roam around on their own? That must be one hell of a list, but then again Richard was a PhD.

  Just imagine: everyone in this town, except Richard of course, could be nothing more than a sophisticated version of those vacuum robots that crisscrossed the floor, knowing exactly what to do when they bumped into an obstacle. Well, ‘knowing’ was the wrong term. A robot was incapable of knowing by definition. Robots were programmed. The program told them what to do and when to do it.

  But what about the fact that he was questioning the authenticity of his thoughts? Had these doubts been planted into his mind by Richard, too?

  Why not? Richard had said he was bored.

  Did all characters have an ability to think? Maybe most of them were mindless extras filling up the background. And how many characters were there?

  Maybe he should discuss this matter with his other patients.

  Stanley broke out laughing when he realized that, if Richard was right, all of his other patients were figments of imagination. Perhaps he ought to stop coming to work. Or maybe he wasn’t allowed to stop coming to his office, because he’d been programmed to be a psychiatrist.

  Later that day, as he helped Gina cook the dinner, Stanley said to his wife, “I got a new patient a few weeks ago. He believes that he’s dead and this world is just an afterlife dream. His dream.”

  “Afterlife dream? That’s crazy,” Gina replied. “This man is nuts.”

  “He told me he knows everything there is to know in the entire world.”

  “He thinks he knows everything, huh? I’ve met a few guys like that.”

  “Well, it makes sense if he indeed created this world. He must know it all because he’s the Maker.”

  “What do you call that? Is there a t
erm for his condition?”

  Stanley thought for a few seconds and replied, “I’d call it megalomania.”

  “I hope he doesn’t hurt anyone.”

  After dinner, Stanley called his buddy Adrian Quintana, who was a lawyer with eight years of experience, and asked for help with the legal riddle Richard had presented him with. Adrian happily obliged.

  7.

  “You see, Doc, come to think of it, it’s not as crazy as it seems,” Richard said. “As far as I know, Hinduists believe that the world is only a dream dreamed by god Vishnu, who, by the way, sleeps on a thousand-headed snake named Ananta. It’s a billion people, my friend. A billion people believe that.”

  Stanley scribbled a note in his pad and said, “Are you sleeping on a snake, too?”

  “I hope not. I hate snakes.”

  “But you’re not a Hinduist, are you?”

  “No, I’m not.” Richard looked meditatively at the tips of his shoes. “I traveled to India the other day. I hadn’t had a chance to go there while I was alive, so I had no real-life impressions of that place. It turned out to be exactly what I’d expected it to be. People hanging from buses, weird smells in the air, endless slums, rats in the streets. All my imagination had to work off of was stereotypes, and that’s what I got—one big stereotype.” The corners of Richard’s mouth lifted in a small smile. “I bet that if I go to Russia, I’ll see bears on every corner and it will be snowing in the middle of the summer.”

  “You’ve never been to Russia?”

  Richard shook his head. “I wasn’t much of an international traveler. But I did make a point of visiting Australia. I just had to see it for myself.”

  “Did you tell your father about it?”

  “Yes, I did. And I showed him pictures, too.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘Good for you, son.’”

  “Did you manage to convince him that Australia is real?”

  “I might have. I don’t want to overestimate my powers of persuasion.”

  “You were his son. He had to trust you.”

  Richard made an uncertain motion with his head. Then he asked, “Did you speak to my wife?”