Judgement

Judgement Commencing; the neon-green phrase disappears with a blink. I crinkle my brows, then lean back in the chair. Placing pressure on my temples, I sigh as tiny circles dig into my brain. Exhaustion is taking its toll.

               I start the coffee-maker. Pleasant pops and dripping sounds fill the air, along with its distinct aroma. It finishes with a hiss. Steam fogs my glasses as I hold a mug close. I ease into the chair and stare at the computer screen. Digital numbers scream 4:32 a.m. Muscles protest as I stretch my arms over my head, popping my neck to the right, then left.

               There’s no time for sleep. I’m treating half a dozen violent subjects right now. They have two weeks to prove my method works. The hours go by fast. A wave of adrenaline washes over me as one client describes their scenario in detail again. My difficult client agrees to a mental training exercise for the first time. I buzz with anticipation over what his desires are.

               The display reads noon, and I excuse myself for another break. The sandwich goes down in four bites and I carry a large bag of chips to the desk. I slide the mouse out of the way and witness a phenomenon that defies all logic. The little arrow, normally confined to the edges of a computer screen, has broken free and sits suspended in the air. Chips rain on the floor as my hands go numb. Run or scream? Run or scream? Trembling, I reach out and gently pull the mouse forward, bringing the cursor back to its home.

The arrow taunts me. That didn’t happen. There’s no way that happened. My toes turn to ice as I stand frozen. “Breathe, just breathe. You’re extremely sleep-deprived and have reached the point of hallucinating. You just need some sleep.”

               But I don’t move. Instead, I watch my hand extend as though it isn’t a part of me. It pushes the mouse. I track the arrow as it glides to the edge of the screen. Bile burns my throat as, again, it slips off the screen and into the world. “Eek!”. What is happening? This can’t be possible. And yet, a little arrow is suspended in the air. It sits there, as though it’s always had the capability.

I steel myself and sit down in front of the mouse. It’s a simple wireless gaming mouse with an ergonomic design; colored in solid gray. The sides are covered in bumpy material. A plain, benign object. The cursor remains still, hovering in the air. The mouse looks normal. My heart rate slows as the immediate shock wears off.

Curiosity overrides fear, and I rest my hand on the mouse. I slide it to the right. The cursor moves to the right in the room. Sliding it forward, the arrow follows, running into the blinds. Moving the mouse toward me, it comes back out into the room. Intrigued, I grasp the mouse and lift it off the desk, and the cursor soars towards the ceiling. Lowering the mouse back onto the desk, the arrow floats down to its previous spot. My mind churns over the madness. I contemplate what it means and what I should do. After several moments, I decide.

               I grab the mouse and stand up. The arrow shoots into the ceiling and disappears from sight. Lowering my hand, it reemerges like a ghost. Feet prance down the hall as every trace of fear leaves me. The arrow moves to a plastic cup on the coffee table. Then, I left-click, and hold down, and gently raise the mouse in the air. Above the table, it hovers, taking the cup with it! Excitement overwhelms me, and I release the button. The cup drops, clattering as it rolls away. A shrewd grin crosses my face. I start clicking objects, moving them about. Every piece of clutter that covers the room is selected, and like the robotic maid I’ve always dreamed of, the arrow moves the objects to their rightful place. The laundry room is next. I guide the cursor to the broom and click. My wrist makes sweeping motions, and the broom swishes across the floor. The entire house is swept with a few steps and small movements of a single hand.

               Feeling a little deflated by the mundane activities, I search for a thrilling way to use the mouse. I step outside and spot a blue jay. Guiding the arrow to the bird, I click before it has time to react. The bird is pulled down toward me. It flaps furiously, struggling to get away. I pull it to the gravel, just inches from my feet. Watching it writhe under the arrow for a few moments, I’m engrossed by my power. Reluctantly releasing the button, the blue jay flies away. Unsure what to do next, I scan the yard. A neighbor walks out of his house, and the corners of my lips turn up. The dopey-headed man always bothers me when I garden; maybe I can return the favor. Using short, repeated movements, the cursor can move far into the distance. My arrow stalks its prey. I click on his hat and lift it in the air. The look of bewilderment on his face is incredibly gratifying. A quick, upward motion of the wrist and the hat soaring into the sky. He chases after it. His slow movements increase the distance between him and the hat with each step. It lands on the road. My neighbor’s eyes never leave the hat. He doesn’t see the car coming. I’m frozen, entranced by the scene. He steps onto the street, and the car swerves no more than two feet from him, blaring its horn.

               I recede into the house, heart pounding. A strange jumble of emotions boils inside me. I really wanted him to get hurt, didn’t I? Putting the mouse down, I grab a glass of water and head to the living room. The heaviness in my body and mind makes me wonder if this has all been an elaborate hallucination. It was a mental imagery exercise, you knew that; that’s why you wanted the car to hit him. This thought eases my mind and I eye the couch. It calls out to me with open arms, and I collapse into its loving embrace. Dings from the computer remind me of my clients, but exhaustion finally wins. My head nods forward, and I feel myself drifting off.

  A red glow permeates the kitchen. I snap up and creep towards the entrance. The mouse is bathed in red light. I pause as splinters of fear prick my body. “What are you doing now?” I ask, almost expecting it to answer me.

               The mouse raises and hovers in the air. I step back, banging into the coffee table and collapsing on the floor. Petrified, I struggle to get to my feet. The arrow inches towards me.

               “What the hell?!”

               It creeps across the room to a picture on the mantle. I run towards the front door. But, as I reach for the handle, a painful blow pierces the back of my head. Shards of glass cascade around me, and my arms become unable to move. I swivel my head to see the arrow. It has gripped me, and I feel it jab into my skin. My feet give way as the door gets further away from me. Scream. SCREAM!

               “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

***

               Pulses of pain assault my forehead. I try to lift my eyelids, but the task is beyond my ability. “MMMMM.” What? Why can’t I speak? Another wave of pain consumes me as I try to cry out. I release muffled hums, attempting to pull my lips apart. Something is adhered to them. I try to raise my hand, but I can’t move my arms either. My shoulders thrust forward and sideways, desperately trying to get free. My respiration increases. Nauseating swirls of pain mix with panic.

               When I finally manage to open my eyes, everything is blurry. After blinking a few times, things start to clear. The monitor sits dark in front of me; I can see my reflection. Duct tape covers my mouth, and strips of fabric wrap around me. I jump when the screen turns on. The mouse sits on the desk with its evil, red glow. It slides around, opening up my work on the monitor.

               The cursor scrolls through my business page, Victimless Violence, and my bio. It highlights a section: “Using my patented technique of mental imagery exercises, you can rest with ease knowing you’ll never harm another soul. We will walk through those dark, violent desires together, moment by moment. You will discover a satisfaction that you’ve never experienced in traditional therapies.”

               Images open across the screen. A body is missing its head. Severed legs are thrown in a pile. A particularly gruesome photo depicts a naked woman hanging by her tied-up hands. She screams in pain, with a knife sticking out of her chest. Knots twist in my stomach as a flicker of delight mixes with horror. As I try to understand what’s happening, a chat box with one of my former clients pops up. Then, a cluster of photos is organized on the screen. They line up from one side to the other, like a story. The first is a handsome young man. The last is a mass of bones and bloody flesh. I recognize the scenario without needing the chat box. I vividly recall his dark desire.

               I lower my gaze to the desktop. The arrow jumps out and digs into my face, forcing me to look. My brain is filled with turmoil. That wasn’t supposed to happen. The exercises work. But there are always outliers. I can’t be responsible for every person.

               A new image appears with a name listed underneath, then another, and another. Each image lists a different name. I stare in disbelief as almost every client’s name files past. No, I use this technique on myself! Paint opens up, and the arrow begins drawing. A dizzying haze washes over me. I try to push away from the desk as I recognize the elderly man chasing his hat.  

               Tears roll down my burning cheeks. I didn’t actually hurt him. But I’m sorry, okay? I’ll do whatever it takes to make this better. Please! I let out muffled screams through the tape and try to shake myself free. The screen flashes the words Judgement Complete. I feel the chair start to slide. I’m pulled from the office. Drumbeats rage in my ears. My heart threatens to explode as I see the basement steps grow closer. I frantically struggle against the ties. For a moment, I feel gravity suspend itself as I peer into the abyss. Then momentum gives way, and I tip forward.