Broken Monarch Read online

  

  Copyright © 2019 Tom Schneider

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9781090250742

  “If both the past and the external world

  exist only in the mind, and if the mind itself

  is controllable – what then?”

  - George Orwell, 1984

  * All places, secret programs, and some events

  were real.

  Sunday, August 19, 1979

  1

  1:00 PM, Atlantic City Marina

  He slammed the car at top-speed, straight into the railing again. Robert sat back in his captain’s chair on the boat, drink in hand as he watched a boy on the deck of the next boat. He had a remote-controlled ’76 white Cobra Mustang with blue racing stripes. The boy drove the car toward the edge of the boat, smashed into the railing then reversed and did it again.

  Robert walked back into the cabin and looked at Lindsey, sitting in the green velour chair. Legs crossed in a black dress, split above her knees.

  “I think you still have feelings for him, Linds.”

  She uncrossed her legs, leaned forward and put out her cigarette in the ashtray. “You’re a prick, Robert. It’s not about my feelings, it’s about not burning assets.”

  “Assets now, huh?” He took a sip from his glass.

  “You don’t ever look at the cost.”

  “Budget’s never been an issue, Linds.”

  “Not the price Robert – the cost.”

  He studied the rocks melting in his glass, with a hint of color left. He gave it a swirl around and then swallowed the last of it. He walked over to her and stretched out his hand. Lindsey reached-up from her chair took his hand and allowed him to pull her up into his embrace.

  He held her and stared ahead out of the window at the boats swaying with the wake of another yacht going out. He led her to the deck for some air.

  “We have to make sure this goes off without a hitch. I need you on board with this. Keep an eye on him and make sure he stays on track. Another week and he’ll be done.”

  Lindsey tilted her head, getting her hair from in front of her eyes and clenched her jaw, “done?”

  “No more missions. Keep an eye on him. He seems like he’s starting to put things together, remembering somehow.”

  “I don’t think so, Robert.”

  “If need be, intervene and get him back on. Or fuck it, I’ll transfer him to 119, for surgery, now.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him, he’ll be fine,” she said, trying to calm him down. She put her hand to his face like she used to. He looked into her eyes and she turned her gaze and looked across at the boy on the next boat. Robert relaxed his grip on her waist and let go. The kid crashed the car again. This time it hit on an angle and spun close to the edge.

  “Hey kid, you’re going to lose that car if you keep it up,” Robert yelled to him.

  He returned to talking to Lindsey.

  “You just have to look at the big picture. We’re not talking about the mind of a single man, we’re talking about the minds of men – the mind of a nation. The world. The direction of history. What we’re doing is the future and it can’t be stopped. If it's not us it'll be the Soviets. Or the Chi-Coms.”

  A woman’s scream rang out from a nearby boat.

  “Ah yes, saving the world by breaking people.”

  “These guys are already broken when they come to us. We give them purpose. Meaning to their pathetic lives. You of all people know that.”

  KABAAAM!

  A boat exploded with a deafening blast a few slips away from theirs. Robert grabbed the railing and steadied himself as Lindsey was thrust into him. He held her tight for a second or two and then she pushed herself off and grabbed the railing. She looked ahead as burning debris dropped onto surrounding boats and into the harbor. Smoke billowed into the sky above and nearby boaters aimed their hoses at the fire.

  Robert looked back at the boy on the next boat. The boy stared at him, then put his car down and drove it straight toward him and off the edge of the boat, into the harbor. He looked at the boy again. His back was turned and he was staring at the fire, like everybody else. Robert raised his glass in the air and went back inside the cabin.

  Lindsey stared at a man walking away from the harbor. Everyone else watched the chaos and burning debris, but he crossed the gravel lot and never looked back.

  2

  2 Minutes earlier, Atlantic City Marina

  The sunlight was blinding. Glenn walked out of the cabin and onto the deck as you walk out of a dark movie theater on a sunny afternoon – disoriented but determined not to let it show. There was a buzzing in his head. He rubbed his eyes and squinted to see boats rocking in front of him. He walked around to the side of the one he was on and to the dock beside it. He got off the dock and walked across the gravel parking lot. There was a scream from behind him. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to know what happened and didn’t want anyone to see his face. He didn’t know where he was or why he was there, but he knew enough not to go back, to try to figure it out. If he was going to unravel any of this and discover what was happening, it would be by surviving.

  KABAAAM!

  The explosion rang out behind him. He closed his eyes and kept moving forward, refusing to look back. He could hear more screams and the chaos mounting in the distance, behind him. He looked for his van in the lot but it wasn’t there.

  It used to be he had periods of time he couldn’t account for. Times he somehow blacked out. Times he couldn’t account for. But this was new. Finding himself in a strange place, not knowing how he got there or why. He realized he hasn’t been sleepwalking. He was completing tasks. Violent ones.

  He wasn’t a violent person. Sure; he served in Vietnam, but he was more of a cook than a fighter. He was a chef now. He spent his time cooking, drinking, smoking weed, lying on the couch and longing for a woman he didn’t know, that haunted his dreams. Now he realized there was a part of himself he didn’t know.

  He headed toward the entrance of the casino, waved down a cab and left the harbor area for the downtown strip. He got out at Resorts casino and headed to the blackjack tables. He found a seat and ordered a vodka and rocks from the cocktail waitress. He put five twenties on the table, downed his drink in a single gulp, and ordered another. Gary Wright’s Dreamweaver played in the background.

  Climbed aboard the Dream Weaver train, Driver take away my worries of today, And leave tomorrow behind

  As he lowered the second glass to the green felt table he saw the dried blood across his knuckles. He remembered his hand coming down on the upper eye area of a face slumped over by his knees. His head started to pound. It always did after one of these incidents. After the second time it happened he decided he better try to keep track of them. After the fifth he started waking up, checking the time and wondering if he had been there asleep the whole time, or not.

  He reached in his jeans pocket and pulled out a small travel bottle of Advil. He threw six of them into his mouth and put the empty on the table. He washed them down with his drink.

  The dealer threw down Glenn’s second card, “Blackjack!”

  He looked and saw king and ace of clubs stacked in front of him. The dealer was showing a six of diamonds and matched his chips. Glenn consolidated the pile in front of him and grabbed the other chips he had. He pushed them all forward to the white circle on the green felt table, staring at him. The dealer dealt another round of cards. He dropped another ace by Glenn’s chips. Around he came with the next card, a queen of hearts.

  “Blackjack, again! You don’t see that often.”

  Glenn stood, finished his third drink, picked up his chips and threw a black one to th
e dealer.

  Cross the highways of fantasy, Help me to forget today's pain

  He cashed out at the cashier booth and went out the glass front doors to the street and waived down another cab.

  3

  7:17 PM, Atlantic City Marina

  As he rode in the backseat Glenn pulled the silver Figa pendant from the small front pocket of his jeans. He squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger and thought back to the boat. He played the scene back in his mind as he walked from the cabin. He recalled passing a couple as he rounded the front of the boat. The woman stared at him with fear in her eyes as she stumbled away from him when he passed. The man stopped behind her and turned his head to watch him as he stepped off the boat.

  He looked down at the miniature silver hand and squeezed it inside his palm. He tried to recall what happened before he left the cabin. What was he doing there? Whose boat was it? How’d he know to go there? Who did he see? What did he do?

  They approached the train station parking lot and he could see the top of his van above the cars parked around it.

  “Nice van, man,” the driver said as they pulled up.

  It was a deep, space-blue with stars and the moon on the side lighting a Mexican, sleeping with his sombrero down over his face, leaning against a cactus. In the style of Pedro from South of the Border fame.

  Glenn climbed up into the driver seat and took a deep breath. He pulled the sun visor down and pair of sunglasses fell, along with a rolled joint. He put the sunglasses on and lit the joint. He grabbed the hand crank and unrolled the window half-way and started the van moving out of its’ spot. Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody played on the radio.

  Is this the real life, is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide no escape from reality

  He drove down the road as the sun was beginning to set. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and got a head-rush. His vision darkened with stars encroaching from the periphery. He flashed again back to the boat. There was a roar of sound in his head. He could see himself swinging down on a man’s face, holding him by the collar. The man was pleading with him to stop. Again he swung down. Again. And again until the man was slumped over, lifeless. Why would he do that? Who was he? What the hell was going on? How could he blank out for a period of time long enough to ride a train and cab an hour away? To a boat of someone, he didn’t know, to beat him? He could have killed him. He didn’t have any answers.

  The red neon lobster flickered ahead on top of the restaurant’s rooftop with the name, Silver Lake Inn. The lobster a throwback to the original tin lobster from the 1920s that sat on the lawn in front of the restaurant. At that time the town of Clementon was a popular destination spot for amusement seekers, travelers and the well-to-do. Featuring swimming, boating, picnicking and the nation’s leading entertainers. The Silver Lake Inn was the place for fine-dining between Philadelphia and Atlantic City. Located just a few hundred yards from the popular Silver Lake. During prohibition, the restaurant closed for a stretch and the old chicken barn, turned banquet hall served as a speak-easy. By the 1970s the restaurant was still popular but the times had begun to change the landscape. Silver Lake itself had become a destination only for random bonfires and teen parties. The town was showing the early signs of decline.

  He thought he should stop in and see how they were doing in the restaurant. As Richard’s right-hand man he knew it would be on him if they weren’t ready for the weekend parties. He looked at his hand on the wheel and saw blood was still there. He was too beat and in no shape to be seen. He passed by and went up the hill toward home.

  He turned into his building complex and pulled up to his condo. He entered the door, threw his keys on the counter and collapsed on the couch. The TV was still playing. He kicked off a shoe and threw it at the TV, hitting the dial button, pushing it in and turning it off. His other shoe dropped to the floor.

  Someone appeared from the shadows behind the couch, reached over and tased him with a stun gun.

  ***

  Glenn woke up on the couch in a daze around 11pm. He stumbled to the fridge and opened the pizza box taking up the whole main rack, grabbed the last slice and took a bite. He ripped to pop-top of a can of Coke, dropped it in the can and took a big swig. He looked at the clock, saw it was 11pm and he wondered what he did with his day and how long he had been sleeping. Everything was a blank since he left work the night before. He remembered driving home, but now he wondered if he did go right home or if he went out drinking. He noticed his knuckles and figured he had to of gone out. Maybe he could find out if he went for a drink. He felt he could use one and he may have already had a nights sleep so he might as well do something.

  He drove past the Clementon Lake Park entrance and parked on the side of the road next to The Park Grille. A half dozen Harleys sat angled in front of his van. He walked in the door and was slammed into by a couple guys scuffling over a game of pool. Georgie called him from behind the bar. Glenn gave the guy a little shove and headed to the bar.

  “Hey George, how’s it going man?”

  “Never had a bad day in my life,” he said as they shook hands. The brother-shake, that transitions from a normal handshake, to one centered around the thumbs, to a finger grip, ending in a final release with a snap.

  “Absolute rocks?” George confirmed as Glenn gave the thumbs up and turned around to survey the room.

  “Where’s all the talent tonight?” Glenn asked.

  “I can get Snaggle-Tooth down here for ya, she loves you!”

  Snaggle-Tooth was a hooker-friend of George’s that they had come strip and give lap dances during a closed poker game once before. In reality, it wasn’t so much that her teeth were snaggled it was that they were missing. At least that’s how Glenn knew her and he wasn’t interested in getting to know her more. There was a different girl on his mind – he just didn’t know who she was.

  “Woah, easy man. I’m good.”

  Glenn stayed for a few drinks before returning home and crashing again.

  ***

  It was her. He was sure of it. She was more welcoming than ever before. He was pulling her close and she was holding her tight. It’s the first time he could recall their tongues touching. He tried to get a good look at her but he could only catch glimpses of her to focus on. Her hair obscured her face. A flash of her deep dark eyes staring back, the outline of her nose, her bright white smile. Her plump red lips. He struggled to compile the images into a whole picture but he couldn’t keep them together.

  A sound distracted him. An incessant buzzing in the distance. An alarm sounding on and off, getting closer. He woke to her face many times before but it was always the same, he couldn’t get a clear picture of her.

  He reached over and felt his alarm clock on the night table, beside him. It was only a dream. He hit the snooze button and slammed his head back to the bed. It was almost two o’clock in the afternoon already. He had to be at work at three. His head throbbed. He wasn’t sure what time he got home the night before, but he remembered the light coming in the window as he lay down. He let out a groan sitting up and put his feet on the floor.

  He made a cup of instant coffee and headed for the shower.

  Monday, August 20, 1979

  4

  11:30AM, Clementon Lake Park

  Jack and Christopher headed out the back lot of the restaurant on their bikes, taking advantage of the downhill slope toward the lake. They rode onto the trail following the edge of Silver Lake. They had to walk their bikes across the dam of the lake before getting back on for the uphill climb to Clementon-Berlin Road and the edge of the park. They crossed the street and took another trail into the woods. They ditched their bikes in a patch of ivy and followed the park’s fence line toward Clementon Lake and the spot they could sneak into the park.

  The fence wrapped around the park except for where the lake ran up against it. Where the fence and lake met you could avoid tangling with the barbed wire on top and scale it to the end where it
stopped in the lake, then swing around to the other side. Or just swim it if you didn’t mind being wet but the guards were always on the lookout for wet kids who swam their way in.

  Christopher went first and was at the end of the fence out in the lake before Jack started climbing after him. As Jack finally maneuvered around the end of the fence he could see Christopher back on land waiting for him.

  “C’mon Jack, hurry up!”

  “I’m coming.”

  Jack jumped down and they started walking fast toward the pavilions, where families were eating their lunch. Jack caught the sight of a security guard at the far end of the pavilion heading their way.

  “Hey you, kids!” he yelled.

  “Oh shit, let’s get out of here,” Christopher yelled as he turned and ran back toward the lake. Jack saw another guard coming from the other end of the pavilions. He started on a path between the two of them when Christopher yelled back to him again. Jack came to a quick stop and did an about-face to head in the direction of Christopher, but as he did he stepped on an untied shoelace and face planted on the ground. A guard was picking him up from behind when Jack saw his brother jump into the lake down near the fence’s end. The guard chasing him stopped at the water’s edge as Christopher swam around the end of the fence. Jack was paraded up to the park’s office where a call was made to his parents at the restaurant.

  ***

  Jack walked from the dining room into the kitchen amidst the cheers and chants of “Jailbird” from the restaurant staff. He did his walk of shame out the back door. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it. The 6th-grade building sat next to the police station so when he was in an after-school fight in the schoolyard it was the police that broke it up. And it was at the station he sat for a few hours until his father was ready to pick him up. He tried to do the walk proudly this time but he was feeling like a dumbass for tripping on his laces and not following his brother when they ran.