Byberry

Charles is awake now, though it is dark in the room and in his mind. He is under the blanket and under his pillow and under the influence of the pills his mother powders with her fingers three times every day. The voices are back and he listens to them until the sun creeps through the slats of his blinds. He wants to sleep and to die and to be normal but the voices are chanting in unison and the only time they do that is when there is a warning.

Scramble

The
Spies
Are
Watching

Your Mind

Scramble

The 

Spies

Are 

Watching

Your Mind

Charles does not want to think about the spies but the daylight has revealed a familiar message on the walls. He is naked and soaked in urine and he knows what must be done.

It's twelve years ago now and Charles is staring blankly at Bärbel. 

"You're fucking crazy in your fucking fucked up fucking head," she says.

There are words and pictures scrawled in feces on the bedroom walls. Charles moves to the window and carefully peels the curtains open just enough to look out without being seen. 

"The walls are covered in shit," says Bärbel.

"It is a warning," he says.

"It's a psychotic episode," yells Bärbel. "You've lost your fucking mind."

"There it goes again," he says. "That Oldsmobile has been circling all morning."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't know how you're doing it," says Charles.

"Doing what?" asks Bärbel.

"Signalling. Communicating," says Charles. "You've told them where I am."

It is five hours later and Charles has bashed Bärbel's head in with a baseball bat. He is dumping her body in the Delaware river and he is cold.

Charles now hears his mother's knock on the door. Tappa tappa tap. Tappa tappa tap. 

He peeks through the blinds. An Oldsmobile.

Tappa tappa tap, he thinks. Tappa tappa tap.

"How would you like your eggs?" his mother asks.

"Scrambled," says Charles.