The Easy Way: 3 Years Ago
Sunrise, but there is no light to show on The House. The honey of dawn sunlight that would slowly drip into every corner of The House is snuffed out by deep black clouds. A misty shade circles the sky and casts doubt upon all it looks over. The house lies in a field of dead leaves and dirty grass. Weeds pop up in patterns of anarchy while dead morning glory snakes it's way through the wooden holes covering The House. The House is silent but crying can be heard. The crying is soft. It is a woman. It is a lost sound of pity and sadness. No one can help her. No one can even see her. She is trapped inside The House.
A light comes on in the basement. It is natural light. The Stairs show flowing shadows. They flicker and pop then disappear just to reappear again. The inside of the basement is cold. The walls are made of stone. There is a fireplace where a small log drifts toward ash. A small wooden desk is in the room. On top of that desk is a piece of parchment and a spilled bottle of ink. The writing on the parchment is not black but red. "I CANT BE KILLED" The back of the page has nothing. A small flicker of blue mist disappears up the stairs. The door closes on it's own. Once proud flames now die down to a flicker. There are no more logs and before the light goes out completely The Man lies down and falls asleep.
Crying could still be heard. There is something else as well. The man sits up straight as an arrow. He has only slept for three hours. He thought he heard the crying coming from the basement of this lost house. He was trepidatious as he entered the house. He had only wanted to go on a walk. Five hours ago he had lost something so grand it could never be explained. Now he was in a lonely cold basement. Soft, but cruel laughter was what rousted The Man from his post sleep malaise. His eyes were deep with fear as he looked around the small basement. A knife lay on the floor. Quickly and rather clumsily he scuttles over and feels the hard leather of the sheath. The hard steel beneath is cold but yearns for air. The Man slowly pulls the blade out and inspects it's sharpness. His finger slowly turns deep crimson as his essence spills from a small cut. He puts the blade away. It is sharp enough. Both the laughter and the crying are gone.
Three Years Later:
The Man is still in The House. The crying and the laughter has never died.
"Crazy job they gave me. But if I wasn't doing it, someone else would be. And they might get it wrong. They might set Arctor up, plant drugs on him and collect a reward. Better it be me, despite the disadvantages. Just protecting everyone from Barris is justification in itself. What the hell am I talking about? I must be nuts. I know Bob Arctor. He's a good person. He's up to nothing. At least nothing too bad. In fact, he works for the Orange County Sheriff's office covertly, which is probably why Barris is after him. But that wouldn't explain why the Orange County Sheriff's office is after him. Something big is definitely going down in this house. This rundown, rubble-filled house with its weed patch yard and cat box that never gets emptied. What a waste of a truly good house. So much could be done with it. A family and children could live here. It was designed for that. Such a waste. They ought to confiscate it and put it to better use. I'm supposed to act like they aren't here. Assuming there's a "they" at all. It may just be my imagination. Whatever it is that's watching, it's not human, unlike little dark eyed Donna. It doesn't ever blink. What does a scanner see? Into the head? Down into the heart? Does it see into me, into us? Clearly or darkly? I hope it sees clearly, because I can't any longer see into myself. I see only murk. I hope for everyone's sake the scanners do better. Because if the scanner sees only darkly, the way I do, then I'm cursed and cursed again. I'll only wind up dead this way, knowing very little, and getting that little fragment wrong too." - A Scanner Darkly
A light comes on in the basement. It is natural light. The Stairs show flowing shadows. They flicker and pop then disappear just to reappear again. The inside of the basement is cold. The walls are made of stone. There is a fireplace where a small log drifts toward ash. A small wooden desk is in the room. On top of that desk is a piece of parchment and a spilled bottle of ink. The writing on the parchment is not black but red. "I CANT BE KILLED" The back of the page has nothing. A small flicker of blue mist disappears up the stairs. The door closes on it's own. Once proud flames now die down to a flicker. There are no more logs and before the light goes out completely The Man lies down and falls asleep.
Crying could still be heard. There is something else as well. The man sits up straight as an arrow. He has only slept for three hours. He thought he heard the crying coming from the basement of this lost house. He was trepidatious as he entered the house. He had only wanted to go on a walk. Five hours ago he had lost something so grand it could never be explained. Now he was in a lonely cold basement. Soft, but cruel laughter was what rousted The Man from his post sleep malaise. His eyes were deep with fear as he looked around the small basement. A knife lay on the floor. Quickly and rather clumsily he scuttles over and feels the hard leather of the sheath. The hard steel beneath is cold but yearns for air. The Man slowly pulls the blade out and inspects it's sharpness. His finger slowly turns deep crimson as his essence spills from a small cut. He puts the blade away. It is sharp enough. Both the laughter and the crying are gone.
Three Years Later:
The Man is still in The House. The crying and the laughter has never died.
"Crazy job they gave me. But if I wasn't doing it, someone else would be. And they might get it wrong. They might set Arctor up, plant drugs on him and collect a reward. Better it be me, despite the disadvantages. Just protecting everyone from Barris is justification in itself. What the hell am I talking about? I must be nuts. I know Bob Arctor. He's a good person. He's up to nothing. At least nothing too bad. In fact, he works for the Orange County Sheriff's office covertly, which is probably why Barris is after him. But that wouldn't explain why the Orange County Sheriff's office is after him. Something big is definitely going down in this house. This rundown, rubble-filled house with its weed patch yard and cat box that never gets emptied. What a waste of a truly good house. So much could be done with it. A family and children could live here. It was designed for that. Such a waste. They ought to confiscate it and put it to better use. I'm supposed to act like they aren't here. Assuming there's a "they" at all. It may just be my imagination. Whatever it is that's watching, it's not human, unlike little dark eyed Donna. It doesn't ever blink. What does a scanner see? Into the head? Down into the heart? Does it see into me, into us? Clearly or darkly? I hope it sees clearly, because I can't any longer see into myself. I see only murk. I hope for everyone's sake the scanners do better. Because if the scanner sees only darkly, the way I do, then I'm cursed and cursed again. I'll only wind up dead this way, knowing very little, and getting that little fragment wrong too." - A Scanner Darkly