In The Mouth of Insanity IC

[Gabriel Zero]

Link to the sign up OOC:
http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=24778



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A cold crisp breeze swept through the room, stirring Henry despite the fact that he had been wide awake on his futon for the last several hours. It seemed like sleep wasn't a option for him anymore, even though he already tried dozens of different sleeping pills. Every night filled him with dread, fearful that his unbearable routine would last until the day he died.

"Christ. It's three in the morning again." Henry's voice cracked as he looked at the clock that sat across from his position. He could hear his cat shuffling in a corner of his studio apartment, his ex girlfriend had named her Gnome Chomsky. The cat was probably chewing up his bills that rested on the floor, almost all of them were marked "over due". Yet his own financial dilemma was far from his thoughts during these late hours.

Henry couldn't stand being alone, especially since the nightmares seemed to become worse. He took a quick glance at his phone, yet he knew almost everyone on his contact list was sleeping at this ungodly hour. Even with the urge to call anyone, he knew most of his friends warned him against doing so. Some have even threatened to block his number if he dared to even try waking them up. He got up and shuffled amongst his empty apartment, wondering why his life was beyond fucked up.

Henry went over to his laptop and started at his log in screen. Something about the eerie glow that illuminated from the monitor triggered a suppressed hidden memory. One of many memories flooded his skull, twisting and turning in his brain like a rusted dull dagger. Flickers of pain appeared all over his body, haunted by the faint taste of metal and scent of chemicals that overwhelmed his senses. He arched his back in pain, knocking his lap top on the floor. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, while his mind was flooded with images of creatures staring at him with eyes containing endless darkness.

When it was all over he found himself on the floor of his apartment faced down on a pile of old magazines and scraps of food that had been left over from yesterday. All of this left Henry feeling unsurprised and more exhausted more then ever. This was something that was happening almost every night, despite silently praying that he would somehow be spared. Henry was aware of his increasingly deteriorating state, knowing that his mind wouldn't be able to handle this kind of punishment forever. In spite of all of this he knew no one that he knew would believe him, the only help he would get is the one that involved a straight jacket and a padded room. Yet he would take that option if it involved making all of these nightmares go away.

Picking up the lap top, plugging it back in and turning it back on, he decided that if help was to be found he would have to turn toward a much larger audience. Staring into his web cam with glazed over eyes, he spoke to his new audience. Everyone who would listen would have his story, he would put out everything that he could remember. He didn't care if this would jeopardize his career or not, as of right now he only cared about living and he wanted his life back.

Within minutes thanks to his semi celebrity status, Henry Deacon's video blog would be posted all over youtube and twitter. With in hours the video would spread to every major news website in the world. Within days Henry Deacon found himself more talked about then Charlie Sheen. Still Henry Deacon waited patiently for the help that had yet to arrive.

[SpaceChicken]

"Bahhh. What is wrong with me?" Giovanna said, staring down at the piece of paper she was doodling on. Subconsciously she had found herself -- once again -- trying to capture the horror of the nighttime visions she had so frequently lately.

She couldn't.

Like most dreams, they weren't something that could be captured on paper, least of all through a crude doodle. Unlike most dreams, she desperately wanted to. SOMETHING had to make them go away. Something had to ease the fear of so much as closing her eyes.

Yet, being so tired, close her eyes she did, and gave a bit of a scream when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She put her hand to her heart as she looked around at the reception-area of startled animals and their suspicious owners looking at her. She slowly turned around to find the owner of the hand, the head veterinarian at the clinic, looking at her.

"I just wanted to know if you've got a call from Spicy's owner today," the woman said quietly.

"No. And, uh, sorry," Giovanna said.

"How are you feeling?"

"Alive!" Giovanna said, trying to brighten. "I'm alive. I'll let you know when Spicy's owner calls." She gave her best smile and tapped some papers upright on the desk. The vet nodded slowly before going back to her room.

The end of the day an hour later couldn't have come sooner for Giovanna. She wanted to sleep, soooo badly. But she couldn't. No, not knowing what might come if she did. Instead she surfed Youtube, checking out the channels she was subscribed to and their updates.

When she came across Henry's video, she was nearly asleep against her will. But as his voice came through the speakers her heart began to pound. She looked directly at the screen; it was almost as though he was looking directly back. He was speaking directly to her! No, he couldn't be. He was just a tortured man, experiencing the same...thing as her...?

It wouldn't hurt, maybe it would help to at least leave a comment. It was the internet after all. Certainly, he wouldn't read the comment, but maybe she'd feel better if she at least posted it...

"Wow, that's so weird...the same thing has been happening to me lately...I feel so crazy haha lol...maybe I should see a shrink...I know you're not going to read this ever but if you do I guess just know that you're not alone, wish we could talk about it more..."

[bluemoon]

Her hips moved, but her eyes stared straight ahead, her body feeling the music despite her distant gaze. She commanded the dance floor, eyes riveted on her as she sensuously gyrated to the beat. Sweat dripped from her hair, her back, her legs, and still she danced. Lost in her thoughts, she ignored the whistles and catcalls, finally collapsing on a stool at the song’s end. Nights like these flowed into one another, alcohol removing her senses, but never allowing her to forget the dreams. The gloved, alien hands caressing, probing and exploring. Manipulated and turned with a backdrop of the sky, she would awaken to her own bedroom walls, the lingering shame hanging heavy.

Mille raised her hand to the bartender, a frosty margarita quickly taking up residence beside her. A quick glance at the clock revealed the early hour…2 a.m. “Do you know where your kids are?” she thought giddily. Her fingers drummed on the surface of the bar, ashtrays spilling their contents onto the wooden surface drenched in beer and alcohol. Over her drink she watched the other patrons, but one in particular. Her gaze was intentionally obvious until the heavy-set man returned the attention. Winking, she moved across the floor, her gait unsteady in the 4-inch heels. Allowing her hips to brush his, she slipped into the ladies room, holding the door open until he entered.

“Do you have it?” He asked in an impatient voice, using his weight to shut and hold the door closed. She allowed her body to sway and lean against his, her lips moving close to his ear.

“Of course…” she whispered, “…where would you like me to stick it?”

Roughly he pushed his hand between them, his voice getting gruff. “No games Camille, just give it to me.”

Placing a bulky envelope into his hand, she pursed her lips in a fake pout. “Fine…maybe next time you can get the damn DNA sample yourself.” Turning her back on the officer, she strode into the closest stall, slamming the door shut with a grunt. In the next instant, she was gone.

[Gabriel Zero]

Thoughts from Henry's Head.

The cold autumn season wasn't kind to Henry, as he doubled up on his clothing. He wore a thermal shirt with a warm sweater over it, since the heat in his apartment was turned off. (Due to his bad memory to pay his bills on time.) The past few weeks he has had a substantial amount of funding through his art work being auctioned off on ebay. He owed his increase of success thanks his youtube video that he posted a month ago. It seemed that his "alien paranoia" turned into something of a internet phenomenon, a lot of youtube channels re-uploaded his video blog and made it into musical remixes. Since then he has received numerous calls for interviews, a lot of people wanting him to be the next Charlie Sheen so they could profit off of his apparent insanity.

Henry didn't want to be labeled "that alien guy" or to be the butt of everyone's joke. Yet as he sorted through the numerous emails, it seemed like it would be a long time before he would be recognized for his art work not his extraterrestrial experiences. He was suddenly glad he picked up his nasty smoking habit, he figured he wouldn't live long to enjoy old age anyway. Reading through the emails he felt himself more and more agitated, annoyed by the fact that those people thought his pain was some sort of cry for attention. Henry was about to sign off his laptop, when his eye caught a email that didn't seem to be taunting him or making fun of his situation.

"What the hell." Henry remarked as he opened up the email and read the comment from the youtube user named Space Chicken. Henry took another drag of his cigarette, wondering if this was another prankster having fun with him. Deciding that he didn't want to risk the chance of meeting someone who could shed light on his situation he responded to the email anyway. At first he thought about giving the youtuber his phone number, but then decided against it since that was a bad idea. Instead he opted to meet somewhere in public, so both of them could feel relatively safe in each others company.

"Hey Spacechicken I see that we don't live that far from each other, any chance you want to meet somewhere public for a chat?" Henry awkwardly typed out the question, then immediately sent the private message before losing his nerve and backing out completely. Henry felt slightly relieved at the prospect that this might be someone who shared the same pain as he did. Up until now the only sympathizers who messaged him were those who were bat shit crazy. He got emails of those who said their husbands were martians or that extraterrestrial's lived in their attic, he couldn't believe that even some of these people envied the trauma he had been put through. However if this "Space Chicken" person wasn't full of crap, then he could have the validation he needed to prove he wasn't crazy like all of the people who emailed him the past few weeks.

Henry figured it would be awhile before this mysterious Space Chicken person would respond to his message. It was getting close to midnight again, which meant he wouldn't be able to sleep at all. He's lost track of how many nights it's been since he passed out. Sometimes he could go three or four days before he would black out and wake up somewhere he couldn't remember. He hated the black outs because he hated losing track of time. Little by little his world was starting to makes less and less sense, sometimes he would check his mail and a week would go by without him remembering it. The only time he felt safe was around people, yet he knew eventually those people would go home or wherever they felt safe closing their eyes. Except Henry didn't have anywhere safe he could turn to, eventually he would have to come back to the silence where only god knew what was waiting for him.

Henry decided to visit that little bar he used to go to with his ex girlfriend. It was currently under new management, he heard they even turned the upstairs into some kind of dance club. He decided the new flux of people would hopefully protect him from being noticed. He grabbed a pair of shades and a baseball cap before leaving, then fed the cat and exited the door without locking it. As he crossed the street he could hear the loud music booming from the newly renovated bar. He felt himself start to get cold feet, so he decided to push past the butterflies in his stomach and enter the front door. The bar was nothing like he remembered it, if anything it turned into a weird restaurant and dance club hybrid. The bottom floor was all modernized with slick flooring and expensive decorations. He looked up to see a group of women climbing up the spiral stair case where he presumed the dance floor was located. He quickly decided to grab a seat by the bar, wondering which drink would kick off his one way ticket toward getting plastered.

[bluemoon]

Music pounding, her body swaying slightly to the beat and her foot elevated in mid-step, Mille paused, a sudden tickling sensation in her head causing her to look down. Following the curve of the spiral staircase, her eyes scanned over the main floor, coming to rest on an ordinary looking man--ordinary in dress, but good-looking in a typical boy-next-door way. Her eyes met his for just a second before he looked down and she felt the jolt again, this time more urgent…stronger. Her mouth gaped, the ice-cube she had been nursing slipping off her tongue. She gripped the delicate Margarita glass in her hand fiercely, the thin stem cracking and sending shards into her palm. She continued to stare…gaping…transfixed…her blood dripping onto the metal grating as she opened her fist.

Unconsciously turning, she began to walk down the steps towards him. His head was down, but he seemed…so familiar. Her heels tapped a rhythm on the floor that only she heard. Her black dress clung tightly to her thin form, rippling as she weaved her way to the bar. Directly behind him, she stopped and leaned forward. Her lips pressed in close as her hands reached up and gripped his shoulders. “They’re real,” she whispered, the sound barely more than a hiss in the crowded room. Her breath was cold on his cheek, the faint smell of lime hanging in the air. Her hand ran down his arm, leaving a thin streak of blood. Her heat was pounding, her breath coming in short gasps.

Blinking rapidly, Mille stared at the stranger intently. Her mouth felt dry as she ran her tongue over her lipstick-darkened lips. She definitely had his attention now. “Who are you?” she asked.

[Gabriel Zero]

Henry went to light up another cigarette and noticed the "no smoking" sign hung up behind the bar. He sighed and quickly stuffed the cigarette back into the pack, wondering how much he was going to regret coming back here after receiving the bill for the two drinks. He was about to ask for the bill and leave, when he caught a very attractive staring at him from the spiral stair case he noticed earlier. She definitely looked like she had attitude, carrying a strong vibe of "you better not fuck with me or else" emitting off of her. She was the type of strong Gothic women that Henry has been attracted toward his whole life, but he usually was too shy or intimidated to make the first move. He put his head down and decided to pretend not to notice her, it was after all how he dealt with the intimidation of attractive women. Much to his surprise he felt her eyes on him, he gulped down and closed his eyes as he felt her soft hand rest upon his shoulder.

“They’re real.” she whispered in his ear, he could almost feel her dark crimson lips on his skin. Henry shuttered at her words realizing that he had been noticed despite his somewhat crappy disguise. His first thought was that he attracted a news reporter's attention or perhaps one of the crazy people on youtube, yet she didn't look like the type that worked for the press. Henry looked up at her with a mixture of confusion and a slight amount of intimidation. He noticed that most of her clothing was black, including the dress that clung to her slim attractive frame. She looked even prettier close up, he couldn't resist gazing into her eyes. He wondered if this was the mysterious youtube user "Space Chicken" who messaged him earlier.

"Who are you?" She asked taking the words right out of her mouth. If she didn't know who he was, then she wasn't the youtube user who messaged him this morning. That would also mean she never saw his youtube video and she wasn't familiar with his artwork. Momentarily at lost for words he allowed himself to sit their with her in a almost awkward silence. As she removed her hand from his shoulder, he noticed that it was bleeding from a gash on her palm. Intrigued by how interesting things were getting by minute, he decided they should get out of there and talk somewhere more privately. He left a hundred dollars bill on the counter, assuming it would cover the three crappy drinks he allowed himself to indulge in.

"My name is Henry Deacon" He said in a somewhat concerned tone."We should go somewhere to talk. I have some first aide in my apartment, I could take care of your hand if you want." As he touched her petite hand, he felt a sudden rush of familiarity. Almost as if they had met each other before, like a dream that he struggled desperately to remember. Only vague snippets were revealed to him, flashes of the two of them surrounded by cold icy steel. Then suddenly it was gone as soon as it came, disappearing from his mind with no way of bringing it back. His eyes searched her own, wondering what the hell just happened and if she felt the same thing he did.

[bluemoon]

Mille’s eyes drifted to the crisp note laid on the bar by the attractive man she had approached, her eyebrow lifting a notch at the excessive tip. He was a bit too clean-cut for her tastes, but as she wasn’t looking to get hooked up, she went with the moment. For a few heartbeats she suspected he was going to just continue to stare at her, the long pause between her question and his response drawn out. “Henry…” she repeated, finally getting her answer. The name had no meaning to her, but she felt sure she knew him. When his proposal to go with him to his apartment was offered, she surprised herself by accepting without hesitation.

As soon as Henry took his eyes from hers, Mille rubbed her hand where he had touched her, his fingers leaving a chill on her skin. She opened her handbag, spreading the edges wide enough for him to see the pistol concealed within. “Hopefully it’s not too far,” she commented as she pulled out a fifty, laying it on the bar next to his cash and exchanging the bills.

The walk was much shorter than she had anticipated, her nerves finally starting to get the best of her. She was not afraid of him. It was the “talk” she was dreading. What was there to discuss…the dreams that were not dreams…the little grey men...the insanity of their plight? It didn’t matter, she realized. He was a port in the storm...perhaps her only connection to this whole mess. As they came upon his apartment, Henry stepped in front of her to open the door, allowing her to enter first. Standing just inside the entry, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim light coming from outside, before going further.

It was a typical man’s apartment, clean, but not tidy. Spacious. She could lose herself in all the room it offered. A dark shape circled around her ankles as Henry removed his hat and glasses and she casually slipped off her heels and set her purse next to them.

“I could use a drink,” she said, leaving the choice up to his discretion. Barefoot, she stepped deeper into his home. “You can call me Mille,“ she called, her hand drifting over the surface of his laptop. Papers littered the floor, food remnants scattered about, and cigarettes butts spilling from an ashtray. Whatever he did for a living, he also spent a lot of time here. She sat in the comfortable office chair, pulling her legs up under her, her dress hiking higher up on her thighs. Moving the mouse, she looked up as the screen was activated.

“Space Chicken?” she read aloud. Right or wrong, she began looking through his e-mails, a frown coming to her features almost immediately.

[Gabriel Zero]

Henry escorted her to his apartment, his heart pounding through his chest the entire time. He seriously hadn't had a woman in his apartment for the past three years. Not even his sister or mother had visited him, most due to the fact that the never returned their phone calls. For all intents and purposes Henry was a shut in, it was the only way he could function and paint. He had seen her weapon too, but instinctively knew she carried it for self defense. They didn't live in the most safest of areas after all, besides a bullet in the head was the least of his worries at the moment.

He watched her remove her heels from the corner of his eye, while he searched his messy kitchen counter for the first aide kit. Even her toe nails were painted black, which for some reason amused him. Despite his socially awkwardness it was nice to have someone else in his house. He was able to momentarily forget the night terrors, the black outs, and the wicked case of insomnia he had. Her presence was strangely comforting, despite the fact that he still couldn't find it in himself to talk about "it". He had to laugh at his own absurdity, he didn't even know her name yet he felt closer to her then most people he knew for years. He eventually spotted the first aide, taking out the necessary contents for cleaning a small wound.

“I could use a drink.” She said nonchalantly while she too a peek at his laptop. He pretended not to notice actually welcoming her to browse through his emails. He was tired of talking about "it", perhaps she should see for herself the reasons why. All the hate mail, the people calling him crazy, and the endless waves of trash talk. For whatever reason the concept of alien abduction brought out the worst in people. He took his time mixing the drink, partly because he wanted to give her time to peek through his emails and partly because he didn't want her to leave right away.

“You can call me Mille“ She said knowing that he was watching her. Henry smiled and brought the mixed drink over to her. He nodded and asked for her hand, gently cleaning the wound while she browsed one of the emails. Not once did she flinch or squint in pain, even when he cleaned the wound and wrapped it. In a couple of minutes her hand was completely bandaged, she smiled and returned her attention back to the computer.

"Millie is a really nice name." he awkwardly replied holding on to her hand slightly longer then necessary. Upon realizing he let go in embarrassment and sat down on the floor next to her in the office chair. "Her name is Gnome Chomsky" Henry remarked watching the cat rub up against Camille's ankle, desperate for the attention that Henry didn't give. She looked at the cat bemused, then asked him a question about the user that messaged him earlier.

"Space Chicken?" She asked with curiosity in her voice. Henry nodded and explained to her how he had just received the message earlier this morning. His answer led toward a slow trickle of the events that had plagued his life for the past several years. He gradually told her about the last few nights, then told her about the black outs and loss of time. It was like a dam that had been shattered, all of the built up emotions flooding out at once. He found himself unable to stop, almost gushing out on a complete stranger he only met ten minutes ago. He didn't even realize the tears that were starting to stream down his face, before he knew it he told her everything that he could remember.

[bluemoon]

It began with “Millie is a really nice name,” and from that point on, it was Henry doing the talking--an occasional nod or word from Mille her only participation. He had made his private life public, the e-mails evidence of the damage he had done. As he spoke, she had reached down to pet the persistent cat several times, finally joining the two of them on the floor. Legs crossed Indian style, she looked at him intently as he poured his soul out to her. His story was familiar, one she could just as easily been telling to him. She felt a connection to him, but it was one she tried to ignore. Often, she looked away, her eyes searching the room as if for an intruder. Nursing her drink, the ice cubes slowly melted, eventually diluting the flavor until she set it aside.

Mille was not good at sympathy, so she did what she could to show her support. She listened and nodded and remained attentive as he talked throughout the night. Nervously, she picked at the bandage on her hand, sometimes unwinding the gauze and rewrapping it many times over. Time seemed to pass quickly and she finally relaxed when the early morning light filtered into the apartment. She was tired, but also felt as if a weight had been lifted. Henry’s story was her own--his telling of it relieved her of her own need to share. She had spoken of her “dreams” to no one, her reputation already poor enough without adding aliens into the mix. When Henry finally became quiet, she rose, reaching for his hand.

“I think you could use some sleep,” she murmured softly, stifling a yawn herself. He seemed drained as he took her offered hand and stood. Managing a smile, she rocked her shoulders to work out a kink before glancing towards the door. “I’ll let myself out,” she stated, placing a finger over his lips when he started to speak. She moved in closer, allowing her lips to brush over his. “I have to go,” she lied, quickly moving to the door and grabbing her things. As soon as she was outside, she stopped, staring for a long time at his home. She didn’t need any more trouble and exposing herself to the truth was a step in the wrong direction. Shaking her head, she turned away, feeling a deep regret she couldn’t explain and refused to accept.

[SpaceChicken]

Late at night, that was always when the terror would start. Finding herself near sleepless, Giovanna would feel herself pulled backwards into a half-asleep state she didn't want. She couldn't do this forever, she had to sleep, or she'd die...she thought. Where had she heard that, Star Trek? She rubbed her face and, hands shaking, made her way to her computer to view hear email.

One can well imagine her surprise to see that someone had actually responded amidst the flood of comments she'd only added to. It grew even more to see that it was the poster of the video himself. She checked...then she doublechecked. It was his account, for sure...

He really wanted to meet? To talk about "this"? Was it even the same thing?

She paused several moments between sentences as she wrote back a response. "Wow. You really want to meet? Um that would be really cool, tbh I'm not sure if I can even help you much or whatever but...maybe we can figure something out. Where do you want to meet?" She hit send quickly before she overthought the message before going over to the window and throwing it open to let the cool night air in. Maybe it would help her keep awake.