CHAPTER 17

Do Madmen Dream?

03 NOV 2003

With short, shallow breaths, a pulse that, had it been taken by a physician, would of been recorded at 30 beats per minute, I laid on the cot....

The cot was in the middle of an abandoned warehouse. Boxes containing who know what were here and there, randomly left over from the closing.

Here and there, rats scurried about, taking care not to come too close to the man asleep on the cot.

They may only be rats, but they aren't stupid.

They know Death when it is near.

But wasn't strange was the man asleep in a coma-like slumber, or the fact that he was doing so in the middle of an abandoned warehouse, or the fact that the rats avoided him like he was Mort himself.

What was strange was, hanging from the rafters overhead, around the sleeping man, were corpses hanging from nooses.

Thirty.

Forty.

Fifty.

At least....

If one were to move in close to him, and studied his face in extreme closeup, one would see no REM, and one would realize, madmen don't dream....

And if one listened closely, one would hear his slow, shallow breathing.... the 30 beats per minute heartbeat on the bare edge of hearing.,,,

The silence around only broken by the occasional scurrying of the rats as they ran across the floor, the boxes, the rafters, or down a rope, to gnaw on the decaying flesh of the hanging corpses. The soft sound of a piece of flesh landing on the floor was audible every now and then, followed by a fight among rats claiming it for themselves.

And still, he slept, unmoving.

And flittering about on the edge of hearing, if one were there, one would hear the distant sound of a window breaking.

The wind?

A rat?

An eyelid flickered......

-----

"ssshhhhhh...." one of the men replied, climbing through the now-broken window.

"don't tell me to be quiet," the other hissed in reply. "you're the one making all the noise."

"you sure you saw that guy come in here?"

"yeah, Bill."

"well, either he's that I fellow they're looking for, which will get us a nice reward, or he's just another guy for us to rob." Bill said.

"either way," replied Tony, "we're gonna make a few dollars out of this."

"yeah... let's try this way...."

Making their way among the winding trail left by the boxes and crates, around machinery left behind, they made their way, taking care not to shine their flashlights around too much, lest they attract the attention of the man who was to be their victim.

"tony, what's that hanging....." Bill began....

Shining their flashlights more bravely now, they saw the hanging corpses.

Turning around, they saw the cot.

Empty....

Together as one, Tony and Bill began to shake, for they knew now, they were not the hunters, but the prey.

Shining their flashlights around over the corpses, looking for I. All they saw was corpses swinging on nooses, rats chewing on them.

"What was that?!" Bill said, shining his light back to one of the corpses.

Which was no longer there....

"Tony...." said Bill, shaking.

"Yeah?" Tony replied, begining to cry.

"He's right behind us, isn't he?" cried Bill.

"Yeah...." sobbed Tony uncontrollably.

"I hope," cried Bill, "that he's quick and painless....."

And so saying, I brought his arms down, a longshoreman's hook held in each firm grip, onto the necks of the two men, thus making it indeed, quick, but not painless....

And a short while later, I returned to his short, shallow breathing, his 30 beats per minute, his coma-like sleep.

With two new corpses hangning down from the rafters....