Crash Chapter 11

"Looking at You"

Randy's POV

After what Wilson said a couple of days ago, I've been doing research on dreams and nightmares, and have dug up some really interesting, and hopefully useful facts.

For instance, I found out that whenever someone is snoring, that person cannot be dreaming. It doesn't really apply to my situation, since I don't snore, but is interesting nonetheless.

I did find out that what Wilson said about needing to face the truth about my situation is correct. Well, at least half correct, anyways. Apparently someone who has recurring dreams/nightmares about something needs to face that situation to end the nightmares, or something to that effect. That's all fine and hunky dory, but how can I face my situation? What do I do, walk into a morgue and say "Hey, I need someone here to saw halfway through my kneecap with a Binford 6100 Power Chainsaw". They'd lock me up in the psycho ward.

All of a sudden, I'm snapped out of my thoughts when I hear a knock at the door. I get up from the couch where I was trying to read, and walk to the door. (I'm still staying with mom and dad).

'Hi, is Randy Taylor here?' the man at the door asks. I immediately recognize him as the owner of the restaurant where I was supposed to be proposing to Lauren on our ten year anniversary of meeting.

'Yes, I'm Randy Taylor' I answer.

'Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you at first. Anyways, I'm here to drop off that ring that you brought by to me. Since you cancelled your reservations, I figured it'd be safer for me to give it back to you for now. If you ever do decide that you want to go through with your plans, just come by with the ring and let me know' the man, Anthony, says.

'Okay. Thanks for bringing this by' I say.

I stash the ring away in my secret hiding place here, and head up to Brad's old bedroom, thinking all the while about one sentence the man said. Has my appearance changed so much that a man I spoke with three weeks ago doesn't recognize me?

Once I get to the bedroom, I flip on the lights, and close the door incase mom and dad get back from the mall before I'm finished doing what I want to do.

I then walk over in front of the full length mirror, and look myself over. My appearance has changed. I look much more "worn", for lack of a better word, than I did just a few weeks ago. The stress and pressure of recovering is quite visible.

Here comes the hardest part. I take off my sweater, and then summon up the courage to look at my reflection. My eyes start out at my head, and slowly travel down my body. Midway through my torso, they automatically skip down to my groin area, so as to avoid the scar. I will them to move up the part of my abdomen where Dr. Weiss made the autopsy incision. I immediately want to look away whenever I see the red line, but force my eyes to stay there.

I stare at the line intently, and soon I have a whole rush of emotions. I want to look away (still), I start getting dizzy and lightheaded, I feel like I'm going to throw up, and I feel like just sitting down and crying. After a couple of seconds, or perhaps minutes, I bring my hand nearer and nearer to the scar. When I touch the skin around the scar, I want to move my hand about a million miles away, but I don't. When I touch the actual scar itself, I nearly jump out of my own skin. I can't stand touching the scar for too long, so I pull my hand away, and move over to the bed where I sat my sweater a few minutes ago.

Just as I go to put my sweater back on, it's like something commands me to get closer and closer to the mirror. Against my own will, I take a couple steps toward the antique mirror. When I regain control over my legs, I take one big step backwards. Then it's like a giant hand comes out of the mirror, grabs my body, and yanks it nearer to the mirror.

The last thing I can remember is either throwing my self into the glass, or being thrown into the glass. Either way, the cuts from the glass hurt like hell, and everything soon goes black.

A/N: These chapters just keep getting creepier and creepier. I for one would like to know where my brain comes up with these ideas. Honestly, the fact that I'm writing some of the things I'm writing scares the hell out of me, because I'm not typically a dark person, but for some reason, this stuff keeps coming out. There are spots in here where I'm shocking my self.

But anyways, you all need to focus on Randy, not the author. Okay, let me rephrase that. You all need to focus on the character of Randy in this story, not the author Randy.

This chapter did take a bit longer to write than what I originally intended, but I had to do a little bit of dream research of my own.

This is going to sound odd, but I need to kind of thank a scar of my own (the one from when my gallbladder was removed) for helping me come up with the emotions and feelings to write this chapter. I actually dropped the handheld mirror I was looking at it in when I was trying to come up with ideas.

Please R&R if you want this story to get even weirder. (At least for a while).

Thanks for reading.

Oh, and by the way, the reason I'm updating all my stories today is because I have to have yet another surgery done on my nose. This is supposed to be the final one though.

-Yours truly, Randy Taylor