Please don't make fun of this!

[Mr. Fahrenheit]

Here's a little snippit of a story I'm writing. All comments welcome.

Disbelief

Chapter One: Messages

TOBY

Tobias Morgan was sleeping soundly. His dog, Balto, a faithful Siberian Husky, was lying beside him on the floor. The phone rang and his eyes sprang open. He didn’t answer it or even check to see who it was. He knew. The outgoing message played and the same old voice blared from it.

“Toby, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last in here. It’s me, George. They’re coming for me. They give me things to make me forget the truth. But I know. I know what they’re trying to do. You have to come get me. They’ll get you, too. Look, I don’t have much time before I forget. Protect your coins. They know where they are and they want them. Talk to me, Toby!”

The machine cut him off. There was no one like his brother to be his daily alarm clock. His brother was in the Chicago Mental Facility. He called every single morning and night since he was committed and taken by the Crisis Team; ranting about conspiracies and how the government was going to take him. Tobias didn’t know how much more he could take of it. Day after day, he would call and tell him insane things. Tobias had thought about having his phone privileges taken away, but he simply did not have the heart do go through with it.

Still, Toby couldn’t figure out how George had found out about the rare coins he had recently bought at an auction house. Maybe a guard gave him a favor or something. That had to be it. How else could he have known? There was something strange and different about this call. It seemed more urgent this time.

So, he got fully dressed, fed his dog and sat down for ten minutes of TV before he had to leave. When it was over he got his briefcase and left. A pretty uneventful work day went on, and on, and on, until it was finally time for the young man to punch out. Driving into his garage, he sensed something wrong. He went around and looked at the front door. The bottom right pane, closest to the knob, was shattered and it was slightly ajar. Knowing something was horribly wrong; he ran back to his car and got the gun he kept for protection.

Suddenly remembering his cell phone, he grabbed it from the loop on his waist and dialed 911.

“Hello? Hello…..is anyone there?” he frantically shouted into the receiver. He pulled the phone from his face and looked at the screen. “Of course,” he whispered “Perfect. No batteries.” He slid the phone back into its place and timidly and carefully, stepped out of the garage.

He crept around the wall, crouching under the window and got to the door. He peeked into the small space of the crack open in the door. It looked empty, but to be safe, he pushed the door open slowly. It made a loud, nasty, creaking sound that made him think that the door had it in for him. Still crouching to avoid unnecessary sightings by his assailant, he surveyed the kitchen and living room, looking for any sign of whomever the person was that had broke in. He saw no person, but he did see his dog, which seemed ok, ruffling through Toby’s ransacked possessions.

He swallowed and tried to slow his frantic breath. Maybe they had already left. Yeah, that’s it. They had gotten what they wanted, and left. He still wondered. Are they going to come out of the hallway, brandishing a knife, or worse, a gun? Are they going to kill me? Or my dog?

He forgot all about the .45 millimeter handgun gripped tightly in his left hand. His arm was limp, and the gun felt as if it were a piece of rubber, useless and flaccid against the intruders. Even if he was calm enough to use the gun, he was a horrible shot. He never went to the shooting range, and the one time that he did, he didn’t even hit the target paper.

He slammed his nervous body against the wall and peeked around the hallway corner. He couldn’t see anyone, so, staying against the wall, he entered the long hall. Every horror movie he had ever seen crept into his mind. At this point, the person would normally turn around to get brutally stabbed by the masked murderer. So, he didn’t look behind him. He finally came to the end of the hall. This was it…he looked carefully into his bedroom and…it was empty. They had already left. He was safe.

Hours later, after finally getting all the details straight with the police, he took an inventory of the items in his home. It seemed that nothing was missing. The officers were about to walk out the door when suddenly one of the officers said “Hey! What was in this box?” The officer was holding the ruby-encrusted chest that once contained the ancient Roman coins that he had bought.

“Erm… Nothing Really.” Toby lied as he grabbed the box and waved them goodbye. He had a lot of cleaning up to do. He started to pick up all the clothes and papers that were scattered about, with the help of his furry friend. As he grabbed a pair of shoes from Balto’s mouth, he suddenly remembered the phone call that had woken him up in the morning. How could his brother’s delusions be true? It had to just be a coincidence.

Over the next few weeks, though, many of these ‘coincidences’ happened. A very frightening experience of a fire in his home, a run in with a mugger, things that would have never normally happened, did. He was getting very scared about what was happening with his brother. He thought: Does he have some kind of psychic abilities? Were his delusions actually true? No! That’s crazy. I’ve just fallen into a bit of bad luck.

He went on thinking that until something very eerie happened. In the morning, as always, his brotherly alarm clock rang his phone and left his insane prophetic message.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Toby. But I have to make you believe me. Balto. Something’s going to happen to him. Unless you save him. Go! Now! Run! Out in the street!”

Upon hearing this, he sprang up in his pajamas, rushing outside. He ran through the open door, which shouldn’t have been opened. On the sidewalk was sitting Balto, body stiffened, head following a stray cat. He was snarling at it. The cat walked into the street and Balto was getting ready to pounce on it. Toby lunged forward and grabbed the dog around his waist. A truck sped past and almost hit the cat. It would have killed his dog if he had not grabbed him at the last second. If his brother wouldn’t have left the message, he would have a dead dog on his hands. He sat out there, still in his pajamas, maintaining the grip on his dog for a long time.

GEORGE

The cold walls of the institution did not muffle the yells of the raving lunatics in the next room. George was not like them. They were insane imbeciles, ranting about UFO’s and why they needed a coat of aluminum foil on their walls. He stood up from the bed, which was very uncomfortable and may be made of straw, to make his daily, but important, trek to the public phone down the hall.

He told Toby what they would do next, even though he knew that Toby would not listen. Soon, he would. As soon as the next phase happened, Toby would know that all of what he said was true and that he wasn’t crazy. Toby would love him again. Not in the way he did earlier. The way where he pitied George, not really meaning what he said and always having that look. The kind of look that a child has after being scolded, a sad, timid kind of look that can’t be mistaken for anything else than what it is.

There was still something different about him today. There was less of the pity, less of the snide superiority that Toby probably didn’t even realize he was exuding. Maybe he had begun to believe him a little bit. After all this time, maybe it was finally working.

George sat there, thinking about all of this, on the wad of straw that they called a bed, not moving a muscle, staring at the deplorable paint job on the ceiling. Out of nowhere came two large thuds on the heavy metal door.

“Who is it?” George said, as if he really needed to ask.

“It’s me Mr. Morgan.” The voice replied and the door slowly dragged open. It was George’s therapist, in his expensive suit, neatly trimmed and combed hair and seemingly harmless smile. To anyone else, he would be a perfectly normal guy, a little short perhaps, but otherwise everything about him seemed personable. “It’s time for your session.”

George followed the man, Dr. Buddy as he liked to be called, to one of the nicest rooms in the building. It was Dr. Buddy’s office, smoothly painted and comfortable, with a couch wrapping across most of the room. George sat down as far away from the desk as possible. The session started.

“So, Mr. Morgan, What do you want to talk about first?” Dr. Buddy inquired. He pressed down the record switch on his tape recorder. He maintained the same humdrum tone with each word.

“You know me, Buddy.” George snapped, “I’d rather not talk about anything.”

“All right, have it your way. Let’s begin with what brought you here in the first place, to this lovely little institution of ours. What was it, again, that got you sent here?”

“Only the truth. I know the truth just like you do. Are you locked away in some hellhole, though? Do they punish you? No! They give you tons of money, to sit here and talk down to everybody, to act superior and to record conversations with your ‘patients’. You know, I used to here that the truth will set you free. Look what the truth did to me.”

“And what is that truth, exactly?”

“You know it as well as I do.”

“Well then, humor me.”

George let out a heavy sigh. He stared at the winding gears of the tape recorder. Tell him everything, he thought to himself. Tell him everything he already knows, but nothing more. Make him think that’s all you know.

“There is a secret agency within the government, with the sole duty of eliminating everyone that opposes the government, and everyone not within the agency that knows about it. They call themselves the Threat Removal Agency or the TRA for short. A few years ago, I met a man named Andrew Patterson. I found him bleeding in an alleyway and he told me everything. The plans, the motives, everything about the agency. I went off to get help, but when I came back, he was gone. The area where he was propped up was clean, no blood, no anything. I never saw him again. So, is that enough for you, Buddy?”

“Yes, I think it is.”

“I know that you’re an agent.”

He smiled and shook his head in the way that he does, as if he was laughing to himself. He dusted off his expensive blue suit, stood up and walked over to me. He held the tape recorder up to my face, and I flinched as he clicked it off in a quick, violent motion.

He whispered: “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Chapter Two: The Cold

TOBY

The large white building looked lonely and empty. In the windows, however, you could see the people, raging around their rooms or banging on the barred windows. Toby gripped his overcoat tightly as he walked up the lonely steps of the building. He pushed open the heavy iron door and walked inside. He walked through the cold, dormant hallway to the elevator. His pale hand shook as he pressed the button for the eighth floor. The sensation he was getting was hard to explain. The floors came and went all too quickly, but he didn’t feel them go by. They were like a crowd counting down to the moment when the guillotine blade falls.

He heard the chime that meant it was time for him to get out. He stepped out, walked forward, and opened the on the right.

“Hello, George.” He whispered. He sat down on the creaky wooden chair across from the bed. He took off his overcoat and waited for his brother to say something. For a few minutes, he didn’t.

“I knew you’d come.” He said, with a vacant expression. He threw the blanket off of him and stood up. “You haven’t come in a year. Where were you? I don’t think you know how hard it is to-``

“Stop!” Tobias yelled, as he jumped up out of the chair “What was I supposed to do, George? Was I supposed to visit you every day? Quit my job? End up like you, insane and alone in a padded room?!”

“I am not insane and I’m only alone because you made me that way! If you don’t believe me after all the things I told you then you are the one that’s insane!”

“What did you do? Hire someone to do all those things? The fire and the burglars and the…the truck? Why did do that to me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you! I know their plans. They knew they couldn’t get to me so they tried to get to you! I saved you, Toby! I saved you!”

“You are sick! I thought you cared about me, George! I thought you wanted me to be happy.” At this, George sat back down on the bed. He reached over to the left of the bed and pressed the red button there.

“Nurse,” He said, his face full of disdain, yet maintaining his calmness “I have a visitor here who refuses to leave. Could you please send someone to escort him out?” He released his angry press on the switch and closed his eyes, as if he was about to fall asleep after all of that.

“George. I didn’t mean what I said. I just wanted to know—and I still do—how you knew about all those things. I want to know what’s been bothering you all these years. I…” he paused here, bowing his head as he headed towards the door “love you, George.” As he met the guards in the hall he said “It’s okay, I’m leaving.” He took the long trip down the elevator and out the front door. As he walked out, he took a look at the cracked glass on the window of George’s room.

He weakly pulled the car door open, got it, and let it fall into its place. He sat in the dark leather seats for a while, car running, and felt the cold facts seep in. I’m a horrible brother, he thought to himself. He pressed down the gas pedal gently and he moved forward. He was going to turn to the exit that would bring him home, but instead, he turned right to drive around town for a while.

He saw the boutiques, the psychic advisories, and all the other things that made up the lively streets of the city. He thought of his brother. They used to do exactly this, drive up and down the streets. He thought of how they would stop at a pizzeria, sit down, laugh and have fun. He walked into the very same pizza shop, and glided his fingers against the smooth surface of the table that used to always be reserved for them.

“Hey!” A cheerful voice boomed from somewhere near “Toby! Great to see you, where’s the better half, eh?” The man held out his hand and Toby shook it instinctively, some flour rubbing off from the man’s hand. It was the owner of the pizza shop.

“He’s gone” he half-whispered, struggling for the last word.

“Oh, geez. What happened? Heart attack?” he asked, looking genuinely concerned.”

“No, he’s not dead. It’s just…he’s sick, you know, in the head, and we had to commit him.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Wanted to see him again. So you want I should fix you up something, you can stay a while and talk?” The pudgy old man inquired.

Toby’s head lifted up from looking at the floor for so long.

“Actually, I’ll take a pie to go.”

Hope you guys like it. Again, comments welcomed.

[greychupa]

Lousy dialogues, and you use too many words.

[Mr. Fahrenheit]

Like where? Give an example.