I don't own these guys, Disney does. So don't sue me, you won't get nothin' anyway.
Past Evils
Chapter 1 - American Nightmares
The past is like a fog. It hangs around you, surrounding you so you can't escape. Some days you can't see it and some days it's so thick you feel like you'll drown in it. Right now was one of the drowning times. Of course looking down the barrel of a gun would give anyone cause to reflect on their life. Even more so when the man at the other end of said gun bears the distinction of being your best friend. My eyes twitch towards a window as I hear the growing sound of police sirens.
"Sounds like they're coming for you," my friend says, a nasty grin on his face. "I can hardly believe it. Steve Barkin; cop-killer." I could hardly believe it myself, but it was true. My friend lowers his head slightly, sighting along the barrel of the gun. "Don't worry Steve-o, they're not going to arrest you." The sound of the gun firing is a lightning bolt through my mind, illuminating everything that's ever happened to me for a brief moment. I can almost see the bullet spinning slowly through the air as it flies towards me. I catch a brief glimpse out the window at the night sky and wonder where she is right now. Then the bullet reaches its destination, slamming into my head and tearing a red-hot path through my brain as everything falls into darkness.
Two Weeks Ago
The dream is always the same. I'm back in the jungle with my squad, resting at our main camp. I feel like something is wrong, but can't seem to tell the others. I look up at the sky, watching as red seems to swirl in from the horizons. Soon the whole sky is a deep red color and that is when the shooting starts. We grab our weapons and return fire, but the bullets seem to pass right through our attackers as one by one we are cut down. I watch helplessly as the others are hit and I try to move to help them. I feel the rounds tear through me and I fall to the earth, watching as my blood stains the ground.
Someone appears, standing over me, holding a smoking rifle, and I look up to find the face of the woman I love. She grins down at me, enjoying my pain as another figure steps out of the shadows behind her. I want to look away, somehow knowing who it is, but find myself frozen as the face emerges from the darkness. The face of myself. Steve Barkin, smiling at the carnage he has created. I try to block the image from my mind, but the truth burns through like a flaming knife. I had killed my friends. My doppelganger and my former sweetheart raise their weapons, leveling them at my head. I always wake up just as they fire.
Tonight was no different. I woke suddenly from my dream, sitting straight up in bed, panting and sweating heavily. This one had been particularly bad, in that it was more vivid and real. Pushing my sweat soaked hair back I decided I wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight. Getting up I went to the bathroom. After splashing some water on my face I stood for a minute looking in the mirror. I always hated how I looked after I had the dream. Dark circles under my eyes gave me a haunted look that was reinforced by the paleness of my skin.
I hated it because I didn't deserve to feel like this. I'm not inclined to self-pity and I know that there are plenty of people much worse off than me. Whatever discomfort I had, I brought it on myself and had no right to pity myself because of it. Turning from the mirror I went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge.
I could have gotten a house, but had decided on an apartment instead, simply because I was the only one there. I had learned early to be as practical as I could about everything and it had become a habit over the years. One person does not need a big house. It was the logical approach. The apartment did have a small terrace, however, and it was there that I went whenever the nightmare kept me from sleeping.
I walked out onto the terrace, bottle in hand, and sat down at the small card table I had put there. Even though I had to work tomorrow I decided not to try going back to bed. The rest of the night I sat in the chair, looking at the starry sky and watching as it slowly turned brighter with the dawn. I finally got up, heading for the bathroom to take a shower. In a few minutes I was dressed and in my car driving towards Middleton High School.
I always feel very proud of Middleton High. I got hired to the staff very easily simply because it wasn't a very good school. Many faculty members only lasted one year before quitting, either because of the bad pay and benefits or because of the small number of students. Because of this, I was able to achieve the principal job rather quickly. It took a couple years of hard work, but things eventually started getting better. I was able to convince the state to fund repairs to the building and updates to the classroom material. Once the school was up to date more students started to enroll. I also interviewed each potential teacher personally, only hiring the ones I felt were right for the school. Now the school has a stable faculty and is rated rather highly in the state. Yes, I was very proud of Middleton High. Maybe the only thing I CAN be proud of.
While stable, the faculty still wasn't very big, so I found myself still teaching some classes. I didn't mind though, I really love teaching. I had majored in education in college before joining the military and was grateful for the chance to actually become a teacher. It felt like, for the first time, I was doing something worthwhile with my life.
This morning I had a history class. As I walked in I glance over the students. I made it a rule to know at least a little about every student. Jack Edwards was in the second row. Edwards could be a bit of a trouble maker, but I knew I could count on him to settle if I put my foot down. Near the window was Jennifer Kyle. Kyle the smart type and could be expected to ace just about every test, even if she did get picked on a little for it.
The only other students of note were Kimberly Possible and Ronald Stoppable in the back row. Possible was a slightly above average student who had gained prestige in the school from her extracurricular activities. Stoppable was your typical average student. He always seemed to try, but was always limited to C's and B's with the occasional A here and there. Stoppable could lose attention in the lesson and had a bad habit of bringing that pet of his into class, but I didn't have to worry about him causing any real trouble.
One student, however, was not in the classroom, but standing out in the hall. She was a transfer from another state and had just enrolled in Middleton High.
"Alright everyone," I said, raising my voice above the din of voices, "before we get started today I'd like to introduce our new student, Sidney Wilks. Miss Wilks has just transferred to our school from California and I'd like you all to show her how well we behave in Middleton High School." This last statement was accompanied with a meaningful glare that swept the classroom. Once I was sure that everyone had caught my meaning I opened the door for Wilks.
I must confess that I wasn't quite sure what to make of Wilks. In many respects she looked like a normal teenager. Baggy clothes, pierced ears and eyebrows, and dark hair that was dyed a bright blue at the ends. But there were also things that didn't seem to fit. Her whole demeanor seemed older, the way she talked seemed to be crafted from years of experience, and then there was her body.
Sidney Wilks was built like a brick chicken house. Her shoulders were broad and solid and the small amount of leg you could see between her cargo shorts and boots was as thick as a log. Lots of students worked out, but she didn't have the overly defined muscles of a bodybuilder, but the over-all thickness of someone whose strength was made by hard labor. The kind of hard labor a teenager just doesn't do.
I didn't think too much about it at the time though, figuring I'd find out the answers later. Wilks entered the class and was greeted by the other students. She sat down and class proceeded as normal. After class, as everyone was leaving, she stopped at my desk.
"Excuse me," she asked, "Mr. Barkin?"
"Yes Wilks?" I looked up at her with my usual teacher scowl.
"I was wondering," her hands fidgeted in a controlled fashion, "I'm kind of behind on the class and I hoped you might help me out."
"That's what the advanced material was for," I answered, referring to the papers we sent her before she arrived.
"Yeah, I know," she continued, "but I'm just having a really hard time with this. I was hoping you could help my out a little out of class. Just until I get caught up," she added hastily.
"Of course Wilks," I always tried to help out the students who actually asked for help, a rare occurrence with students. And besides, it wasn't like I had anything else to do. "What time would be good for you?"
"How about after school, around six," she asked. She smiled and thanked me when I agreed. The rest of the day went by uneventfully. After the classes were over I went out for a quick bite before meeting Wilks. She showed up at exactly six o'clock and we immediately began discussing the class material. She said that her main problem was with the Civil War section, complaining that the book kept contradicting itself on the reasons for it. I ended up talking with her for several hours about the many causes of the Civil War and by 9:30 she seemed to have a pretty good grasp of it.
We decided to call it quits after that and we both left for the night. I have to admit that I had rather enjoyed myself. While she seemed to have a hard time grasping the subjects, Wilks was very attentive and eager to learn. She asked lots of questions, many of them rather difficult, but very good ones. The next night we talked even later and often veered wildly off subject. By the fourth night history discussions lapsed quickly into regular conversation.
It was at the end of the fifth night of "lessons" that I started to feel a little uneasy. I was enjoying myself a little too much, and she was just a little too interested in my life away from school. It was the day when she said she couldn't make it that night and could we maybe meet for lunch on Saturday, that the warning alarms really started going off in my head. My every instinct and common sense told me to halt this whole thing right now, but somehow, looking at her right there in front of me, I just couldn't say no. I curse myself for my weakness.
Lunch on Saturday didn't involve any history talk whatsoever. She asked me what I did before I became a principal, what I did in my free time, did I live in town or out of town, etc. Stuff I really shouldn't have bothered answering, but did anyway. The "lunch" lasted for three hours and I hate to admit that I enjoyed every minute.
"Hey, Mr. Barkin," she said as we were leaving, "I just wanted to thank you for going out of your way like this. I felt real uncomfortable in the new school and everything and you really helped me out." She stood up on her toes suddenly, kissing my cheek. It was a harmless enough action, but it lasted just a second too long. I tried to deny it, tried to tell myself it was just a friendly thank-you from a grateful student, but as she dropped back to her feet and turned to leave her eyes caught mine briefly and it was clear that we both knew it was something more.
I swore at myself the entire drive home. Walking into my apartment, I threw my jacket and tie on the chair and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Standing at the windowed door that led out to my dirty little terrace, I watched the sun set and wondered how I had let things get so out of hand. All I had accomplished at Middleton could be destroyed in seconds just because I hadn't been careful. I'm not sure how long I stood there, but when I looked up it was dark.
I turned and set my beer on the table and shrugged off my dress shirt leaving me in my undershirt and pants. I would get a good night's sleep and try to get myself out of this mess tomorrow. Nothing real serious had happened yet, but I could tell from the look in Sidney's...... I MEAN Wilks' eyes that something could happen if I didn't do something about it soon. I lay back in bed and closed my eyes, but decided to set my alarm clock to go off an hour earlier so I would have the WHOLE day to try and fix things. I rolled quickly to the side to pick up the clock, and that is how the gun man who kicked in my door happened to miss me.
To be continued. Let me know what you think. I'm tryin' something a little different.
