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CHAPTER1
It’s cold. Raining. And dark. Very dark. I know I drove here, but where... I can’t see my car.
“Douglas?” calls a voice out of the dark. Like a ghost, or like a character on a stage, lit by a single spotlight, a large man appears.
“Don’t forget,” warns the voice in my head. “You’re Douglas tonight.”
Thank God for the voice. It makes sense, whereas my own thoughts run in confusing circles. Whenever I lose track of who I am, the voice reminds me. Coaches me. It says, “You’re not that weak bastard. You’re a new man. A man we both created, who gets what he wants and punishes anyone that stands in his way.”
The voice is like a father, guiding me to be a better person. Guiding me away from the person I’m ashamed I ever was.
“I’m looking for a guy named Douglas,” calls the spotlight man again.
“Right, yes,” I say.
“You alone? Nobody else in the car?”
I look around and see a spotlight shining on a car nearby. No, not a spotlight. A streetlight. How silly of me.
“Nobody else,” I lie. Because there is somebody else, but he’s in my head. Invisible.
Now that I’m here, awake, I wonder if I should be nervous that chunks of time have disappeared. Chunks of my life. Like that car over there. Is it really mine? When did I get it?
“Pay attention, asshole,” mutters the voice.
I look back and see the man in front of me is talking. His mouth is moving. Sometimes he laughs, mouth open and head back, but a rush of static fills my head. I feel my mouth move and an unfamiliar sound fills my head. Buzzing, scraping.
Whatever I’ve been saying hasn’t made him suspicious, so I guess I shouldn’t worry. But should I be worried that I can’t understand myself? Or comforted that the voice is taking over for me by talking? Yeah, maybe I’m comforted.
“Your message just said small and medium explosives,” he says. “But I brought a range in case I can talk you up.” He laughs, but hearing him speak surprises me.
I try to laugh along, but it comes out in a choked cough.Come back, I beg the voice.I can’t do this on my own.
Now I sense something different. The voice, which sometimes takes over while I sleep, is crouching out of sight. Usually it’s in my mind, but now it’s somehow plucked itself out of me and hiding.
I think I see a flash behind this guy’s car. But then I hear a sound behind me, near mine. This new situation is not what I want to deal with tonight.
“Fuck,” I mumble, and the guy jerks his head, backing toward his car and opening the trunk.
“Fuck is right, my man.” He waves his arm like a game show host.
Inside lies a maze of cardboard boxes, their various shapes arranged to fit precisely into the trunk. Filling the boxes are more boxes—green metal boxes, some square, some rectangular. They hold hand grenades and flat discs. Others hold packages of a gray clay and things I don’t recognize.
I wait, pretending that I’m examining the explosives, which I am. I just don’t have a fucking clue what I’m looking at.
The deadly power of the contents of the trunk seeps out, touching my feet like icy fog and creeping up my legs. This has always been part of my plan, but now… I can’t remember what my plan is.
“Step aside, kiddo,” murmurs the voice comfortingly. “That was a test, and you did good.”
My mind steps aside, relieved, and an energy rushes into my head, my body. I’m a different person now, watching from the sidelines.
My mouth moves, asking questions and making demands. I point to one corner of the trunk, and the man lifts out a black plastic box. My hand points again, and the man pulls out a bundle of wires, walking me through some kind of setup.
I’m crouching in the back of my mind, letting the voice take over. Letting the actual commander of my plan handle all the details of executing it.
I’m pointing again and again, and I hear my voice rise. The man’s voice rises too, I think in excitement. Everybody is happy about what’s taking place.
The trunk slams shut and I step back, but suddenly I’m thrust forward again from my crouching position.
