You Can’t Kill a Psychopath!
Nightmare | December 29, 2010
It's a race, or a hike, up a steep, 45° terrain, through a long tube or corridor that resembles a large bus interior, with windows along the side and bench seats strewn about like broken teeth. I am climbing up this rocky mountain terrain inside this bus, passing and getting passed by other climbers. At one point I notice I have my drawing tablet under one arm and the USB cord trails back hundreds of feet down the steep grade, catching on rocks and branches.
So I finally reach the top and shout triumphantly “I am the last guy!" before escaping out the driver's side window into the jungle. Over a bank is a dirt road and this is where the main segment of the dream begins...
A car like a VW Beetle stops and I get into the driver's seat and the other fellow is in the passenger seat now. The road continues to slope sharply up the mountain and in first gear the car just inches up the incline. I grumble to the other guy that the worst car is one that can't make this grade in first gear. But when I shift into second the car speeds up noticeably and in third we are humming along.
A yellow ‘76 Camaro speeds by us very close and throws me off momentarily. We're skidding around while I try to control it on the rutted dirt road and I crunch into the left rear taillight of the other car. Abruptly they veer sharply in front of us and force us off the road into a flat grassy area. A small concrete cube of a building overgrown with vines and creepers sits off to one side, partially embedded in the jungle. From the other car the driver and passenger get out. While us drivers go into the building to talk the passengers stand about watching each other. As we enter the building a Jeep or open military vehicle pulls up into the clearing.
Inside, the other driver accuses me of hitting his Camaro. He is kind of meaty, a little taller and with a tough, aggressive swagger. I counter that he had passed dangerously close on a narrow road and the accident is his fault. He gets angry and is about to pull something from his hip so I charge him and push him back through the old wooden door, slammming it as I recover my balance.
Immediately gunshots splinter the door. I slide back along the concrete wall. Then shots crack everywhere for a few seconds. During a silence I peek out the window and see the other two vehicles start to drive off.
Outside, the Bug has become a Ford van from the late 70s. As I run to it there are more shots, first whizzing past me, then punching holes in the side of the van, then shattering the side windows. My passenger is freaking out. We duck low while I fumble to turn the key. Then we are tearing across the clearing after the other vehicles. The van is all shot up and my blood is boiling now.
Now we're charging up after the other vehicles. They're just cruising along probably thinking they're done with the whole episode when we crash heavily into the rear end of the Camaro, sending it up the steep berm that borders the road, with the van following closely. Up on the hillside the vehicle is fishtailing like an injured animal. Once again I come up behind full bore and smash the left rear taillight where we had first hit. This sends the Camaro spinning around in a slow-motion circle until...
...SMASH! The van charges right through the front of the Camaro, destroying the entire front end, sending glass and metal shrapnel flying. I crank the wheel and gun it back toward the road.
We don't stop at the 6' berm and the van goes flying through the air for a few seconds before crunching soundly onto the dirt road, which has become very rutted and bumpy. The Jeep is now right in front of us. Both vehicles are bouncing merrily along the road at high speed.
With one final surge I thrust the van into the back of the Jeep, driving it into a large tree on the right side of the road. The impact is instantaneous. A couple of guys are hunched over the dashboard, not moving. I stop the van and get out to investigate. No survivors.
Back at the van the key is missing. Up the road the Camaro's driver is walking away, wearing only tattered shorts. He hears me and turns back. I think he has the key and run at him. He's ready and waiting.
Right before I reach him I pick up a sharp stick and thrust it up into the soft area between his neck and jawbone. Suprised, he clutches at his neck and stumbles back. With the same momentum I tackle him to the ground, pinning him down, holding the sharp stick above his chest. I see the wound in his neck is only bleeding a little, telling him that it won't require medical treatment but if he doesn't give me my key I'm going to drive this sharp stick down into his heart with all my strength.
A pause while we both stare at each other. The stick has become flat, with a sharp, serrated edge, hovering in the air menacingly.
Then his left arm comes up to throw me off and I'm stabbing and stabbing viciously into his chest, into his side, then into his back as he rolls with his motion and I dodge away then back again. He's trying to get up as I'm stabbing, but falls again. I shout, where is my key? I know now that he doesn't have it. Someone else does. Who?
Sweaty and worked up, I leave his body and walk up the road again. Somewhere up there, someone has the key.
From the berm the Camaro's passenger comes flying down, screaming and looking very scary. I slash slash at his throat with the stick and he lands with an ugly thud on the dirt road. He gets up dizzily and stumbles up the road leaving squirts of blood here and there.
A strange feeling haunts me now. I have become someone else — an insane killer bent on getting my van key back. I think of Al Pacino from Scarface.
The road comes along a Spanish-style plaza with broad white marble steps. I am wearing a white zoot suit with black undershirt. A high white wall topped with a fence surrounds the plaza. Everything is overgrown with vines and moss. I follow the other guy to the end of the wall and he disappears around a corner where another stairway leads up to the rear of the plaza. My van is now parked next to these steps.
Sprinting up I come into view of the plaza. There's a small gang of guys there, and the Camaro's passenger is talking hurredly with a guy also in a nice white suit who looks like the boss. He's chubby, about average height, with a short cigar hanging from his lips and he sees me. Next to the boss is a taller, thinner guy in a black suit who looks very dangerous, and in front of them is a young Latin punk about 15 years old, who looks like he's been in murderous gangs since he was a child. This kid is holding a dusty old Kalashnikov pointed out in front of him.
The whole group is coming towards me so I do an about-face and pretend to skip down the steps, but instead dart back along the stairway wall. As the kid comes around the corner I grab his gun and jerk it out of his hands. When I point it at him he flees back towards the group. Opening fire with the AK-47 I realize it's a piece of shit. It's slow and only discharges randomly. So I'm firing at the group but the gun goes click-click-click-click-CRACK!-click-click-click-click-CRACK!-click-click-CRACK!.... It's all happening in slow motion as I look through the sights and shoot at the group of dodging figures. I'm sweating and salivating, charged up like a maniac, yelling “You can't kill me! I'm a psychopath!"
When a couple of them draw guns and return fire I race down the steps and dodge around the plaza wall with the van behind me. After a quiet minute a new group of people is now walking trance-like down the steps, their eyes wide and watching me, fear on their faces. Behind them the gang is partially hidden and I realize these people are hostages or human shields. At one point the heads of the gang are suddenly exposed. I leap out and start firing in a box-shape. Again, slow-motion fire, with sporadic shots. The kid gets shot in the head and goes down. I accidentally shoot a couple of hostages as a police car goes by on the road. The rest of the hostages scatter behind me as I sprint up the steps again after the remaining gang members. A police siren oscillates through the afternoon sky.
The smooth white plaza is strewn with broken chunks of cement and various wreckage like a building had blown up. On the far side is a cement office building on high stilts, with an open parking structure underneath. In the middle of the garage is a raised platform or floor tucked under the building.
The boss and the tall dangerous guy in black run into the garage as a police car enters from the far end of the plaza with lights flashing and siren blaring. The Camaro's passenger is jogging ahead of me, blood still dripping down his throat. He turns to shoot but I mow him down with the assault rifle. As the police car drives by I open fire into its cabin, shattering the windows and instantly killing the poor officer inside.
During this segment the rifle was in full automatic mode and working flawlessly. Two more police cars enter the plaza and skid to a stop with their sides to me like a barricade. Still running I spray both vehicles and their occupants with bullets. They're screaming and jerking around inside. Still enraged and completely insane, I just want my key back!
As I creep through the garage the huge platform suddenly drops to the ground while I am under it. Leaping obliquely I barely escape from being crushed. It clangs loudly on the cement and shakes the building.
The tall dangerous guy has climbed up into the building and I easily spy him tucked into its structure. I aim the rifle at him...click!..only to discover I have run out of ammunition. So I start climbing up into the building after him, but he slinks away like a stealthy ninja. Without any weapon I figure I'll use whatever comes to hand when necessary.
Strangely, the boss has become a woman, fat and evil-looking, like a human-sized maggot. His/her suit is gone and she wear a dress that only half-covers her pasty body. She slinks around the tricky passageways and pipes like a phantom and I only see her out of the corner of my eye. Her voice echoes from down some dark corridor, how are you going to kill me? With your bare hands? If I have to, I call out. I lose her after that and end up outside of the building about sixty feet above the ground. Her eerie cackling drifts by on the wind as I wonder what to do.
When I finally climb down, the plaza is now filled with dining tables. Each with a clean white tablecloth. Next to one set with a meal a waiter holds a platter, waiting expectantly. Salad, dinner rolls, and soup. I'm very hungry but I think the woman has poisoned this meal. I turn abruptly towards the long Spanish steps in front of the plaza and see the woman and the tall guy watching me. I grab a plate and run after them.
Down the steps they're running. I fling the plate like a frisbee at the guy in black but miss. Then I pick up a chunk of cement from the floor and hurl it towards him. As he steps onto a brief landing before the next flight the heavy cement catches him between the shoulders and shoves him headlong down the final set of stairs. The cement block won't have killed him but the long fall onto cement steps will.
Where did the woman go? As I turn back she erupts from over the plaza wall and knocks me to the ground. Her face is twisted into ferocious hate. Down into my solar plexus she rams her foot. But I catch it and twist hard, sending her off balance and onto the plaza floor.
My fingers are around her throat. Amidst rolls of fat I'm throttling her life away. She is gasping and choking, her face becoming a purplish color. I feel the heat in my face, the sweat on my brow, the veins in my arms as I crush her throat...
Then all is still. As I withdraw my hands I feel a thin leather cord around her neck. A necklace? I pull it out and my van key is at the end. One yank and it's mine again!
Right before waking up I am walking across the white plaza past bloody bodies and bullet-ridden police vehicles. The nightmare is over.