My Dirty Little Secret
Author: Stealth Dragon
Show: Night Stalker
Disclaimer: Consarnit! I don't own this. Never have never will. And yes, I did get the title from the All American Rejects song (which is not mine either) but titles cannot be copyrighted or we would all be in trouble. It would help if you listened to the song and got it stuck in you head while reading this story. Would make it more interesting.
Synopsis: Carl Kolchak has a secret, and it frightens him.
A/N: Hmmmm, I hope others do Night Stalker stories as well. I really love the show, but only know the new episodes, not the old ones from the seventies. I like how creepy Kolchak is. Good guys rarely get to be creepy, and still remain very cool and likable.
This story will begin in first person, kind of like the show, but then will move into third in the next chapter. Just a warning. It is also a 'what-if' story, kind of my own little theory that I doubt to be true but is fun all the same. I've been wanting to do a story like this for some time, and Night Stalker just gave me the means. For those of you reading my Numbers fic, I'm still on it, I just need a little time to plan the end out perfectly. I like all my stories to end with a bang.
Prologue
Dirty secret. Now that sounds wrong, doesn't it? What comes to mind when someone says they have a dirty little secret? Something deviant, immoral, something that – in all truth – you don't want to know anything about, but can't turn away from all the same. So maybe the term 'dirty secret' shouldn't really apply to me. Saying it out loud, or typing it down... makes it sound like I actually killed my wife. But that's exactly what people would think if I told them I had a 'dirty little secret.'
Two reasons to tell a secret: as a means of gaining attention, or to confess. Don't mistake me for someone who loves the spotlight. I've had enough attention in my life, I don't need anymore. So where does that leave me exactly? With a confession, an unburdening of my soul.
Here's the problem: I use the term 'dirty little secret' for a reason, even if my word choice might be a little questionable. It's not dirty in terms of ethics... at least I don't think it is. Think of it more along the lines of a dirty bomb, that should it go off would shatter the last refraining fragments of my life and taint whatever was left so it could never be recovered. No one would believe me, not without proof, so they would think me crazy.
But they already do. The difference is, they would think me crazy enough to drag me off to the psyche ward. Lock me up where I'm sure half of everyone at the office thinks I belong. But you can't blame them, not really. I mean, come on – if I hadn't of seen what I had that night on the road, if I didn't have a mutilated Gumby swinging from my rear view mirror, smiling at me like nothing happened despite a ragged, absent lower half – hearing someone else talk the way I do, I'd be on the "he's a wack-job" band wagon too, whispering and staring with all the rest.
Lucky for me, that night on the highway, and waking up to find her... in blood... made me rather numb to all else. I've got better things to do then listen to the whispers and distant laughter at my expense.
I think you're starting to see what I'm getting at though. My dirty little secret is fuel to the fire, the final straw, not to mention an end to my career, my existence as I know it.
But this secret, it scares me. Not petrifying terror, no, but it does make me uneasy if I happen to think about it, wonder if I should tell someone. Secrets are not meant to be kept. They tend to eat away at the soul, the mind. They hunt you and forever catch up to you, waiting in the wings for the right moment, the moment of unintentional revelation. And by unintentional revelation I mean someone finding out on accident, which is probably worse than not telling. Then they would know it was true.
What would follow after? What would need to be done? Something else to worry about. Perri, she might understand. She's seen glimpses of what I've seen, even if she'd rather cling to the reasonable. Jain, I don't know the guy that well, but he's a little more open then Perri, more ready to believe and accept. If it came down to having to tell, needing to, they would be the ones. Hell, they'd probably be the only ones. But only if it came down to it.
I'd like to confess, because I'm worried. But I'm worried more about the reactions, with or without proof. All people react differently, and either way, I don't know what I would do if the response had me ostracized. I may need help, but I can't afford losing the only friends I have, the only people I trust.
Maybe I'm jumping the gun. Maybe it's nothing, and I'm giving in to dark conclusions.
I doubt it.
So what do I do?
NNNNNNNN
TBC
A/N: More to come, I promise.