In The Mouth of Insanity IC

[Gabriel Zero]

Henry watched Camille leave through the front door through swollen eyes. He wasn't even aware that it had been morning, until he noticed the rays of sunshine breaking through the blinds on his window. Somehow he managed to talk through most of the night, his mind feeling numb from exposing himself like that to another human being. He went to grab another cigarette not realizing that he smoked all of them last night. As he fumbled through his pockets searching for his smokes, his eyes ended up staring at the spot where he had spent with Camille.

"I'm such a idiot." He mumbled in embarrassment, realizing he acted like a child dumping his problems on a complete stranger. He hadn't realized how far he had fallen, until he spilled his soul on someone he just met at a bar. He did feel something in that brief moment, but she hardly spoke a word to him. Maybe it was all in his head and he had been imagining the whole thing after all? It wasn't like he had any concrete proof, it was almost like he was chasing a ghost or a person that didn't exist. But then what was happening to him? Why wasn't therapy helping?

The next several hours he tried everything to keep his mind from thinking about anything but last night. He started out trying to do push ups, sit ups, and even some various Cardio exercises. When he realized that it wasn't working he tried working on some of his paintings, but everything reminded him of the visitors he had seen in his nightmares. Their endless black eyes staring back at him on the velvet canvas, it was enough to make him want to smash the expensive painting into pieces. That was when he decided to go out for a jog.

He fumbled through his closet looking for his jogging sneakers and MP3 player. When he spotted his old footwear, he heard his laptop notify him of a new message. He stopped what he was doing to read through the message, slightly surprised that it was from that Space Chicken fellow from the other day. His motivation to meet her was diminished by the way he acted with Camille, he didn't know if he could trust himself to act normal in front of her. The thought of breaking down in front of another person made him sick to his stomach.

Not wanting to blow off Space Chicken the only connection he had left to his nightmares he replied to her message. " Hi there. I still want to meet up and see what we have in common. Are you familiar with that old record shop near the local community college? My sister use to work there back when it was called Darkside Records and Gallery. Want to meet around 8pm?" Henry sighed after typing the message and clicking send. Despite any apprehensions he had in responding, he couldn't deny the loneliness and isolation he felt being in the mouth of the insanity he was in.

He hit the streets with his MP3 player, working his way through the various back roads. He had memorized his favorite streets to jog through, it was probably the only joy he had left that didn't remind him of his problems. The adrenaline and music gave him a high that made him feel like he broke free from worries and troubles. Henry needed to jog until he was completely numb all over, so he ran until legs felt like the would fall off from the rest of his body. While jogging back to his studio apartment, Henry passed by a coffee shop and noticed something that horrified him.

"You have got to be kidding me...?" Henry spitted while he gasped for breath. The sweat from his run dripped off his nose and slid off his chin. he had to rub the bodily fluid from his eyes to see clearly. After using the sleeve to clear his vision, he could see the black eyes of the visitors staring at him from behind the glass of the coffee shop. He felt his hands tremble, this thing that haunted and tortured him stood mockingly in front of everybody. He hated this creature for putting him at it's mercy, every fiber of his being wanted to destroy it where it stand. Without a moments hesitation he took a nearby rock and smashed the window display.

"Come here you little fucker!" Henry shouted leaping over the shattered glass. Henry grabbed the little gray creature by the scruff of it's neck, squeezing as tightly as possible. The female cashier screamed bloody murder, while one of the larger customers tried to pull Henry off of his victim. "Get your fucking hands off of me! Let me go!" Henry refused desperately, they didn't understand everything these creatures had took from him. He wanted his life back, he wouldn't let go until this thing was as dead as he was on the inside.

"What the fuck are you doing Henry? It's just a kid!" One of the smaller customers exclaimed. Henry turned for a second recognizing the voice as his old publicist and friend Johnny Andrews. When he turned back to see who he was choking her was mortified to see it was just some nineteen year old boy. The kid sobbed uncontrollably while Henry released him from his grasp, moments later the authorities arrived in full capacity. Henry didn't resist when they hand cuffed him and read him his rights. He didn't a utter a single sentence when the press arrived on the scene either. All he could think about was how could he let himself slip this far into madness.

[bluemoon]

Camille had wanted to sleep after returning home, needed it desperately, but it evaded her with every toss and turn. Flinging aside the covers, she swung her long legs over the edge of the bed and ran her hand through her tussled hair. She longingly looked at the down pillow before finally setting her feet onto the cold floor. Slipping a satin robe over her naked form, she made her way into the small galley kitchen, preparing a pot of coffee before settling in front of her laptop.

For a moment she sat there, blankly looking at her home page, then hesitantly she typed out his name…Henry Deacon…and stared with half open eyes at the several hits his name brought up. Sipping at her steaming brew, she spent the next hour looking through his blog and finally coming to a section displaying his paintings. She rifled through the first few quickly, but froze as the next picture filled her screen. “No…” she whispered, her hand coming to rest against a cyber image of a four-digited hand that dominated the view. The background was mostly black with swirls of grey, white pinpoints marking the stars. Each ghostly image resembled a soul…screaming…reaching… The misformed grey hand extended only to the elbow, the rest of the image lost on the edge of the canvas. Mille bit her lip to control the trembling.

She sat there for some time staring, until a sharp knock at the door startled her away from the painting. The sound was repeated and Mille tried to remain quiet, hoping the visitor would go away. The sound of a key in the lock brought her to her feet. “Mako,” she breathed with a hint of disgust in her tone. She reached the entry just as the door swung inward and the large frame of the officer from the bar entered her apartment. “Why don’t you just let yourself in?” She commented with sarcasm.

“Why don’t you just let me in?” He replied, looking around the small space.

“I was sleeping.” She responded, her hand closing the laptop quickly.

“Right.” His attention turned back to her, his eyes appraising her closely. “You should go without make-up more often--suits you. Besides aren’t you a little old to be playing at the whole gothic scene?”

“Aren’t you a little fat and ugly to be playing cop and chasing perps?” She retorted, instantly regretting it when his face burned red. He raised his hand at her, threatening.

Camille cocked her head, narrowing her eyes and standing her ground. “Go ahead…hit me…not like you hav…” Her words were abruptly cut short as the back of his meaty hand made contact with her cheek, causing her to falter back a step. “You son of a bi….” The next slap sent her to the floor, her legs folding under her.

He stood over her, an amused smile on his round face. “You were saying?” His hand reached for hers and she scooted away from him, pulling the edges of her robe closer together. “Now, why don’t you be a good girl and get me some coffee. We have business…unless you want to continue this game?”

Using the wall, Mille got to her feet, spitting blood on the floor from her split lip. “Hit me again and I’ll fucking kill you.” She muttered under her breath as she made her way to the coffee pot.

“I can hear you Cammie.” He laughed, using the nickname he knew she despised. “I’ll take it black with one sugar.”

The next hour dragged on into eternity for her, Mako puffing out his chest like a rutting stag as he demanded information on a local drug dealer that had gone underground. He seemed to gain confidence from hitting her and she wanted nothing more than to smash his face right the f**k in. He finally left, after getting her assurance that she would “look into” the situation for him. She leaned against the door, sweat starting to gather on her forehead. Calmly she walked into the kitchen and picked up the hot pot of coffee. With a choked scream, she smashed the carafe against the wall, hot coffee spraying over the narrow space and glass falling in small slivers onto the floor. The plastic handle still gripped tightly in her hand, her breath coming out in gasps, Camille strode from the room and threw herself onto her bed, burying her face into the pillow.

[ThaliaFae]

Why the boss insisted the store be open this late...she had no idea. It wasn't as if people even bought fucking records anymore.

"How much for this one?" an elderly man asked her, his stupid hat pulled low over his eyes. He didn't even look like he had eyes. Maybe he didn't and that was why he was asking her about the price.

"There's a sticker on the cover," she managed to tell him, quite nicely as well in fact, despite the fact that he was interrupting her nap time, since she... "Whatever it says, is what it is."

"Oh, but, would you be a dear and tell me? I'm afraid I left my glasses at home." His nose wiggled when he spoke. Did he know that? He had a disgusting nose. Perhaps she should be a 'dear' and tell him that. Somebody ought to tell him. Somehow, however, she thought that the boss would perhaps not like that so much. She could just hear him now, prattling on about how it was in her best interest to be nice to the customers. Something about earning her way. Bunch of nonsense, was what it was. Still...she didn't like risking it. She rather liked having a roof over her head.

She took in a steadying breath. He smelled like...diapers and spinach. She was so glad she'd been practicing not strangling old people lately. "Seven-ninety-five."

He beamed at her with the three teeth he had left in his head and nodded. "I'll take it."

She wondered how it was possible to have a dual conversation with almost every person who came in here. She thought one thing but said the socially acceptable version. The version that would sell records. Damn old people.

He toddled out of the store and she sat back on her stool, jimmying the cash register closed with a gentle push. Her dad always told her she was nicer with inanimate objects than anything alive. Eh. She thought people were pretty cool. When they didn't bother her. Sighing, she put her head down, her eyes drifting closed. It was getting too dark for a nap, but she was just so tired. She'd tried to sleep at Cassie's house last night...but it hadn't worked. She'd woken up on the floor, screaming but paralyzed, until she realized it was only Cassie who was holding her. Only Cassie.

If Cass hadn't believed her before, she certainly had after that. Moira didn't want anything to do with any of it, however. She just wanted the nightmares to stop. As long as she kept to little naps during the day...she was okay. But it was catching up to her. She barely kept up in school as it was...and now she actually had to expend effort to keep afloat. It sucked. It wasn't her style. But she also refused to fail at something she could easily take care of. She pushed away her stool to walk among the shelves of records, wondering which to pick. She kept the rolling ladder handy, as she was much too short to reach any of the higher shelves, and finally decided on someone she'd never heard of. Might as well. The cover was pretty, at least.

Back behind the desk she went, settling the black disk on the player and moving the needle over. For a moment, nothing happened, and then some actually good old rock started playing.

Huh.

She looked at the sleeve again. Potliquor.

Sounded disgusting. Probably why the radio never played them. Luckily, their music sounded better than their name did.

Now to wait for nine o'clock. It seemed hours away.

Oh that's right. Because it was.

[SpaceChicken]

Giovanna stood at the entrance of the record shop at promptly eight, hopping from one foot to another. She was dressed in a simple, casual fabric skirt and tank top along with a light jacket. She was feeling a little better than usual, too...it seemed to good to be true that she would be able to meet with Henry and at least be crazy together.

...and it was. Too good to be true, that is.

She knew it was when her phone read 8:10. She hung around anyway. 8:20. She alternated between sitting on a bench and standing up, looking around for him. 8:30. He wasn't coming. 8:40. Was he a jerk, or jokester, or did something really hold him up? 8:50. Holding back tears and shaking slightly, she went into the record shop to look for something to keep her mind off the cruel prank. She avoided the cashier's eye contact and looked straight at the floor as she half-heartedly looked through a rack of old rock.

[ThaliaFae]

Oh, joy. She'd actually decided to come in the store when they were almost closed. She'd been pacing in front of the little store for almost an hour now, and it didn't take much to see she was a mess. Looked to be about her height, but a bit heavier, though she was one of those types that wore it well. Older than Moira as well, though not by much. Maybe a few years.

It was odd, though, as she didn't seem the type to burst into hysterics at the slightest provocation. The girl may have not been looking at Moira as she hid behind the shelves of vinyl, but Moira had been carefully watching her. As the time had passed, the girl had gotten increasingly distressed until she'd finally entered the shop. Hmm. A record shop was a bit of an odd place for a date...and it didn't look as if she was dressed to go out either.

So what was the story? Mo brushed back her blue-grey bangs and tucked her hair behind her ear as she thought. Nervous demeanor but not fidgety... It wasn't drugs. She looked too healthy for that. Whoever or whatever she was waiting for, though, meant a great deal to her. And she'd given up after an hour...so there was clearly a set meeting time involved. Hmm.

Suddenly, the door opened once again and a slight girl with fuzzy blonde hair ran up to her, papers flying as she slammed them in front of Moira, pale cheeks flushed, panting.

"I found it, Mo. I found it--and I didn't...I can't believe--" Bright blue eyes were excited, a delicate finger stabbing at the printed-off pages.

"Cassie."

"--And this guy! He says the same things! I know you don't want to think about it--"

"Cassie."

"--but you have to deal with it, Mo! You can't even sleep! I know you don't even want to think about the word 'alie--"

"Cassandra Leigh!" She grabbed the girl's arm tightly and Cassie stopped talking abruptly. "We have a customer." Mo widened her eyes and nodded her head toward the back of the store.

"Oh." Cassie looked a bit faint, glancing down at the papers scattered in front of them. "Well. Do you have a TV? The man. The one I was trying to tell you about before. Harry Deacon? He was arrested today for choking a teenager."

"That just proves he really is crazy," Moira muttered.

"I really think you should look at this stuff, Mo. I went through and highlighted the things that sounded pretty familiar."

"Cass. This entire page is yellow." The girl in front of her gave her a meaningful look. "Fine," she growled. "I'll take a look at it tonight. Not like I'll be sleeping anyway. Oi, you! Pretending to look at records! Store's closed."

[Gabriel Zero]

Henry stared at the ceiling of his prison cell, half afraid to look outside the cell and make eye contact with anybody. He was partly expecting everyone around him to look like little grey men. He couldn't understand what was happening to him, he didn't feel like he was insane or that he had lost his mind. He never believed in UFO's when he was a kid, he didn't have a fascination with space travel, nor did he watch any science fiction movies when he was a child. Whatever was happening to him, he refused to believe it came from his imagination.

Henry wondered what his publicist John Andrews was doing this far away from New York. When they were both children they had been inseparable, but now they barely talked unless it was business oriented. Henry sometimes wished things could go back to the way it used to. Back when they would go out for beers and act like the way they did before he got married.

Henry's thought process was interrupted when he heard banging from his cell door. One of the police officers stood on the other side glaring at him, he was standing next to his old friend John Andrews. The officer mumbled something about having "ten minutes" then wandered back to his desk. Henry looked up at John and let loose a nervous smile, knowing he was going to be in for a ear full. John pulled up a chair and stared at him through the bars, he dropped his briefcase next to him which made a loud thud that echoed through the room.

"I saw the youtube video." John said out loud, not wasting anytime getting straight to the point. Henry had tried to talk to him about his episodes. The conversations usually led nowhere, usually John would get him a appointment with a therapist or a psychologist in the end. Henry had despised the various prescription drugs, in the end the nightmares still persisted and the medicine only made him feel worse.

"Look at me Henry, I am not here to yell at you this time." John scolded Henry. John's voice and appearance seem tired, almost as if he looked and sounded older then he really was. "I have been doing some research, I actually think I found someone who can help you for real." John's voice has a sense of sympathy in it, almost like he truly felt sorry for his friend. Henry dreaded what was going to happen next, where was he going to send him this time? Was it another psychiatrist? Or was he finally being sent to a mental institution?

"I am not crazy John." Henry started to protest. "Someone or something did this to me. I don't fucking want to be locked up in some padded room for the rest of my life." Henry stammered feeling his heart begin to beat out of his chest. He walked up to the bars where his friend sat, so John can look him in the eyes before condemning him to a mental institution. Henry wanted him to remember who he was talking to, that he wasn't just another one of his clients. He wanted him to see how sane he was, before they pumped him full of drugs and gave him a medical lobotomy.

"Listen to me and shut the fuck up." John growled while rubbing his temple anxiously. This was something he did when he was about to lose his temper and flip the fuck out. "We don't have much time left and I rather not spend it arguing, lord knows you caused me enough grief with that poor fucking kid you nearly strangled to death." John shot Henry his most threatening 'don't fuck with me' glare, before loosening his tie and taking off his jacket. Henry crossed his arms, then smiled waiting to see what came next.

"Right then." John cleared his throat. "I'm not going to say I believe their is little green men visiting you at night." John's voice got slightly quieter, almost like he was straining to say the next part. "However I talked to a friend of mine who believes she can help you get to the bottom of this. She works in hypnotherapy, if anything she can help you remember your black outs." John paused and took a deep breath. He never believed in the paranormal or the supernatural, just having this conversation shook the very foundation his own reality was built upon.

"I'm on your side Henry." John smiled. "Now get some rest, tomorrow I'm posting your bail and we're going to meet that hypnosis chick." John laughed as he picked up his briefcase. Henry paused for a minute, then for some reason John's words reminded him of his own meeting that he unintentionally missed out on. Not wanting to burn the bridge of the only person in the world who probably believed him, he asked his friend John for one last favor.

"Can you message someone for me?" Henry asked. "On my laptop at my house. A youtube user named Space Chicken was suppose to meet me tonight, can you tell her I'm sorry?" Henry's voice was soft spoken, wishing he could of kept the arrangement he had made tonight. John nodded since he had panned on staying at Henry's studio apartment for the meantime anyways.

[SpaceChicken]

Giovanna rubbed her nose, an album in her hand, though she wasn't really looking at it. It took her exactly eight seconds to realize she was being spoken too and she slowly looked up then. "...oh?" she said, her voice soft. She glanced at her watch. It was only 8:55, but... "Sorry," she whispered, trudging to the door. Why had Henry offered to meet her? Probably had just forgotten...probably too busy with interviews and stuff...unlike herself, who had to suffer the pseudo-insanity in silence. Thanks a lot, Henry Deacon.

Wait a minute...Deacon? She turned to look at the two girls. "I...I'm really sorry, but...did you say something about a Henry Deacon? He got...arrested?" she said. "The, um, guy on YouTube? He choked a teenager?" Now, to be honest, she was a little alarmed. If he was dangerous, maybe it was good she hadn't had a chance to meet him in person. She took a shaky breath, drew some courage, and walked up to the register. "Um, maybe it's not really my business, and s-sorry about eavesdropping, but I'm...I'm curious to know what happened."

[bluemoon]

Belly down, with her face buried in the fluff of her pillow, Camille slept fitfully until nightfall, her exhaustion finally having claimed her, but her dreams still finding a way to keep her from true comfort. Darkness crept over her apartment, bringing with it the unquiet of the building. Doors slamming, children crying, couples arguing and loud music drove her from the cocoon she had formed around herself with blankets. With disgust, she slammed her palm against the paper-thin walls, cursing their inability to keep the private lives of her neighbors at bay.

Pacing the bedroom, frustration brewing within her, Mille decided a walk in the cool night air would do her some good. She pulled on a black tank top, black cargo pants and black hiking boots--her favorite comfort clothes--and stepped outside, slipping a checkered jacket over her shoulders. The night life was just getting started in her part of town. She had no destination in mind, but wasn’t surprised when she found herself on Henry’s street. The windows of his flat were dark--an emptiness emanating from them. For a short time she stood and stared, remembering the night with his voice filling her mind with images of his experiences, so like her own. A chill crept along her spine, one not brought on by the cold, and she looked up. Blackness met her gaze, the stars all familiar to her untrained eye. Rubbing her hands along her arms, she turned, her pace picking up as she got farther away.

The streets were peppered with all types and Mille found herself looking at each one with curiosity. How many were like her and Henry--people who had “experiences” they couldn‘t explain? She had given up on the belief that they were just dreams some time ago. The increase in the frequency and duration…the lapses in time…were too real to be a figment of her imagination. Besides, she usually came back with something unexplainable….barely noticeable…a souvenir…so to speak. A new scar, or one that was no longer there.

Lights up ahead…a store front…and the tingling sensation again, drew Camille’s attention from her wanderings. She stared into a record store she had passed numerous times in the past. The business held nothing of interest to her. Three women stood near a counter, none of them familiar, and yet she felt a connection to at least two of them. She didn’t like it…not one bit. It was wrong. Her pale reflection came back at her in the plate glass window, a ghostly image of her ashen face highlighted with black. The image morphed, skin greying, the eyes enlarging and turning jet black. It took everything Camille had not to scream.

[ThaliaFae]

"That's fantastic," Moira snapped. "How about you take your eavesdropping, curious little self and shove it up your--"

"--Mo!" Cassie stepped in front of the scowling girl behind the desk, blocking her from view. She smiled kindly at the plump girl. "I must apologize. She hasn't been getting enough sleep lately and she--ow, stop pinching me-- and I would be more than glad to answer your questions." She took a deep breath, giving Moira another meaningful look as she turned to collect her papers. It was not as if her friend would do any reading on her own.

"They didn't have much in print, but it was all over the news," she began, scanning the pages she's made note on. Aliens. Who would have thought. "Did you say 'Harry'? 'Henry'? Hmm...his name really is Henry. Thought it was Harry. Oops." She gave a small laugh and squinted at her hastily scribbled writing. "It was...at a coffee shop, and apparently he just started going at this kid...People tried to pull him off but he was really going to kill the boy...raving about aliens or something...and then all of a sudden, he just stopped. Like he came to his senses or something. He was arrested and...that's all I know, really. You may be able to catch it on the news tonight at 11 if you're interested more.

"You know, I've been watching his Youtube videos, and I really don't think he's--ow! Mo! I bruise easily, you know! And I don't think he's crazy, so there!" She imitated Moira's scowl back at her before turning her attention to the girl once again with an encouraging smile. "Do you watch his videos too?"

She felt Moira behind her shift impatiently, but she knew the blue-haired girl wouldn't actually mind waiting for the answer to this. If there was one thing Moira always wanted, it was a new story. She should become a journalist. Except that it involved talking to people and not being lazy. She was actually quite nice once you got to know her... She really was. Cassie couldn't imagine not being her friend, especially after all this. She was so very worried about her friend and her health. These nightmares were really taking their toll, no matter how much Mo tried to play them down or hide her feelings from Cassie altogether. It just didn't work like that. They both knew each other so well. Too well, sometimes. Cassie had to be sure to keep her distance in some cases, or she knew Mo would become uncomfortable.

She may be pushing this issue a bit much, but she was not going to let her friend hurt herself through neglect of a problem. Sometimes, people just can't deal with issues on their own, and Moira needed help. Help Cassie herself couldn't give, but she could find someone who could. It was just sorting through the garbage that was a challenge. Conspiracy theorists, crazies, paranoia. It was so hard to find something that matched Moira's account of her...what, 'abduction'? It sounded so...fake. It was difficult to find a re-count that fit the description of Mo's ordeal.

This Henry-Not-Harry Deacon--why did she have such issues with names?--seemed to have the right presence, the right idea. His story wasn't exactly the same, but Cassie had seen the progression of the videos, and more than ever, that was what what was scarily similar. The degrading over time. Mo was already close to strangling 99 percent of the population without provocation. Cassie didn't want to see what happened next when Moira snapped.

[SpaceChicken]

Giovanna straightened and looked Moira in the eye for a moment. "You know, being a bitch is bad for your health AND your job -- I would know, I've been there. Just don't let your manager catch you like that while you're still clocked in; if you have to be a cock, do it on your own time," she said sweetly, before turning to back to Cassie. "Thanks. I watch his videos sometimes, I saw the one where he was talking about..." She waved her hand. "...you know. That...stuff. About weird things." She sighed and rubbed the back of her head. "I-I dunno if he's crazy, but at the same time, I don't know if it matters...SOMETHING'S wrong and I..." I'm going through what very well may be the same thing, but hell if I can just SAY that, "I feel like I can relate to him." She stooped nearby to start picking up a mess a careless customer had made, whether to steady herself or because she felt bad for snapping at Moira, it was hard to say. "It just seems to me like there may be something to it."

She suddenly turned, feeling eyes on her, and saw Camille. A shudder ran through her body and she put her hands over her ears for a moment in a self-protective gesture, feeling very nauseous. "I guess you guys are closed now," she near-whispered to the two other women, and, having finished picking up the messy display anyway, slowly made her way to the door.