CHAPTER I - "HELP THEM"

A MODERN DAY HORROR SHORT STORY.

 

                      HELP THEM

 
 
"Hey Dummy! Wake up and check the map." Jason said from the 
passenger seat of his well-used Ford mini wagon; or as his 
dad called it "the grocery getter." Shawn thought Dummy was 
a bit harsh, but he was supposed to be navigating. He sat up 
and pulled open the travel map for Pennsylvania.
 
"Aren't we through this state yet?" Shawn asked.
 
Jason looked tired and Shawn knew he should take over at the 
next rest stop. They had held off leaving home as long as 
they could, both of them knowing that going off to college 
was the end of many things.
 
"We are about half way through. We're over the Appalachians 
and on the down slope to the coast." Dan said.
 
"The shore." Shawn said.
 
"What?" Jason asked.
 
"You said coast, but they say `the shore', as in `Let's go 
down to the shore'. Remember, I got family in Jersey. Oh, 
and it's soda, not pop. They'll spot you as a hick for sure 
of you say pop."
 
"God forbid, Shawn. Wouldn't want them thinking I just fell 
off the turnip truck or nothing'." Jason said attempting to 
make a bucktooth face.
 
"Pull over," Shawn said. "I've got to take a leak and you're 
clearly on the ratty edge."
 
Jason snorted at that, but pulled over at the next rest stop 
ten miles later. He put the car in park right in front of the 
rest stop building and stared out the window.
 
"What do you think it will be like, Shawn?"
 
They had covered this ground many times in the last year since 
they'd both been accepted to NYU. Shawn had at least been to 
New York, visiting his mother's side of the family. The closest 
Jason had ever been to Minneapolis was when they drove by on 
this trip, even though it was only about two hundred miles from 
their hometown. Now here they both were heading to New York City, 
for what, four years maybe? More likely five years, with both of 
them having to work through the summer for living expenses.
 
"Not that different man." Shawn said. "Like my dad says, `they 
got good people and a*s holes everywhere'."
 
Jason smiled and looked back out the window. "I hope you're 
right, because there's no going back now."
 
"Trust me, my brother from another mother, you want a pop?"
 
"It's Soda!" Jason said.
 
Shawn rolled his eyes and climbed out of the infamous grocery 
getter that had reputedly seen more a*s than a toilet seat. 
Shawn knew for a fact that it had only been graced with two, 
and Jason had confided that neither times had he gone all the 
way. Shawn's reputation was a bit more accurate, and more was 
the pity, so much for small town legends. Before stepping inside, 
Shawn looked back at Jason. "Didn't think the damn thing
would even make it this far," to no one in particular.
 
Shawn passed a tired couple trying to get the vending machine 
to take their dollar and saw a creepy looking dude wearing baggy 
military style pants that were barely hanging onto his a*s. The 
creep had come out of the family bathroom that was located between 
the Men's and Women's, which was odd. He was moving fast for the 
exit and Shawn moved out of his way. The dude eyeballed him on 
the way by, as if to say, "you want a piece of me?" and Shawn 
sighed, sure he would have many such encounters in the city.
 
Five minutes and about two pounds lighter, Shawn dropped a 
paper towel in the trash and went back into the lobby to find 
a pop...soda. He fished for a buck and paused. He was sure he 
had heard a weird sound, but either it had stopped or he had 
imagined it. He pulled out a crumpled bill and started smoothing 
the edges when he heard it again. It sounded like a whimper. He 
thought of his dog, Penny, back home and felt a wave 
of homesickness.
 
The whining turned to crying and Shawn turned toward the 
bathrooms. He was sure the Men's bathroom empty, and theirs 
was the only car left out front. Shawn just about turned back 
when he heard a woman's voice cry out for help from the family 
bathroom. He ran outside and yelled for Jason. Jason cocked his 
head and looked at Shawn like he was expecting a scam, but Shawn 
screamed and waved frantically.  Jason came at a run, "What the 
hell's going on?"
 
Shawn just ran toward the bathroom and pointed at the door. 
Jason pushed open the door and they saw a woman lying in a 
pool of blood in the middle of the small room. She looked to 
be about their age, 18 with long blonde hair and pale skin.
 
"Jesus," Jason said and headed back toward the lobby.  
"I'm going to call for help. Stay with her."
 
Shawn stared at him, uncomprehendingly.
 
Jason said, "Go help her, damn it!" When Shawn still 
hesitated Jason yelled, "Now!"
 
Jason's anger got through and Shawn shuffled forward to 
stand over her. She looked up into his eyes and raised her 
hand to him. He reached out, and for a brief moment their 
fingers touched and she look into his eyes. "Help them," 
She said. He saw her eyes go dim and her arm dropped to 
the floor.
 
#
 
A truck horn woke Shawn with a start. He didn't think he 
would ever get used to the city noises. The green glowing 
digits said it was 2:48 a.m. Even at this hour he could 
hear the city moving outside. His breathing slowed and he 
lay back down to find his sheets were soaked. He got up, 
pulled them off and dumped them into a basket and searched 
his closet for the spare set.
 
A pain lanced through his skull that brought him to his 
knees. He gripped his head and gritted his teeth.  With his 
eyes closed and he could see a woman slip and fall down cement 
stairs to a subway platform with a sign identifying it as 
the 34th and Penn Station. The vision zoomed in and showed 
her flat dead stare, then flew to the right making Shawn's
stomach flop.
 
The vision settled on a man reading a paper, the date was 
September 24th. The man then looked at his watch.  It was 
7:35 a.m. The man looked up at the sound of a woman screaming 
and the vision winked out, leaving Shawn alone on the floor 
of his apartment.
 
Shawn sat in his kitchen and sipped coffee and staring at 
the clock. It was 7:15 in the morning of September 24th. 
After waking from the nightmare four hours earlier, there 
had been no going back to sleep. He had soaked in the shower 
for an hour, hoping the hot water would make him drowsy,
but flashes of that woman's face kept coming back into his head.
 
He'd finally given it up and clicked on the TV.  Broadcasters 
had little respect for insomniacs. His choice had been between 
several infomercials and a cheesy karate movie from 1980. He 
chose the karate flick.
 
Her eyes were brown, her eyelashes full and long. A small 
pool of blood formed under her long black hair.
 
"No!" Shawn screamed and lurched in his chair, spilled the 
still hot coffee on his hand. He had nodded off and the clock 
now said 7:16 a.m. He went to the kitchen sink and held his 
hand under cold water.
 
He dried his hand and got some paper towels to clean up the 
mess on the kitchen table. He took a step forward, and then 
felt himself falling. He could see the dirty gray cement 
stairs rushing up to his face and see his hand reach out to 
stop the fall. Only it wasn't his hand, but the woman's. Long 
black hair fell into their eyes as they fell together down the 
steps.  He felt her hand hit a step and her fingers break on
impact. She rolled onto her back, bounced off another step and 
rotated through the air. Shawn could see the shocked faces of 
people all around her, some reached out trying to stop her fall. 
She hit again hard on her left shoulder then fell forward and 
landed with a loud crack at the bottom of the steps. Her vision 
began to fade as a woman nearby screamed.
 
Shawn awoke on the kitchen floor, curled into a tight ball 
and wept.
 
#
 
Shawn slept though the next three nights with no dreams he 
could remember by morning. He had tried to recall what the 
woman had looked like, but the visions that had seemed so 
real and clear before were now gone. He had checked the 
obituaries every day and watched the news, but there was
no sign of the woman, whose death he had so vividly experienced. 
Shawn started to wonder if there was a history of insanity 
in his family. He hadn't worked up the nerve to call his 
mom and ask.
 
With his first semester in full swing, he had a mountain 
of reading to get though. After, he and his friend Jason 
met Susan and Julie at the park, he had spent most of his 
free time trying (without success) to get into Julie's pants. 
Shawn was 5'10" with short black hair and was built like a 
runner, though he hadn't been running in a long time. His 
buddy Jason was 6'2" and looked like a defensive lineman he 
had been in high school. Jason had blond hair that he had 
grown long over the summer. He had an easy smile that girls 
found hard to resist. Shawn knew he was a bit awkward around 
girls, though his boyish good looks did attract a few.
He hadn't talked to Jason much lately, but at class earlier 
in the day Jason told him that he was dating Susan.
 
Now sitting alone in his one bedroom apartment, he stared at 
the daunting pile of schoolbooks and looked over his first of 
four syllabi. His European history class had a whole page of 
required reading with five, no six pages of "suggested" reading. 
His professor was cracked! Who had time to read that much? Did 
the old fart think his students took only one class a semester? 
Shawn took the top book from the stack and grabbed a yellow high 
lighter. He hoped the last student that had owned the book had 
got a good grade.  Shawn started to flip through and saw that the 
previous owner had not only been selective in highlighting, but 
had written legible notes in the margins. "Sweet."  Shawn said and
proceeded to read about the dark ages.
 
A man was walking down a sidewalk, paper in one hand and a large 
cup of coffee in the other. He glanced at his watch. It was 8:15 a.m. 
He looked up kiddy corner across the intersection at a small patch 
of gray sky near the top of the Empire State building, New York's 
tallest by default. Something caught the man's attention as he 
stepped into the intersection on the green light. A yellow cab, 
it's driver's head down as if looking for something on the floor 
plowed right into the man, throwing him three lanes into the 
intersection and under the wheels of a moving bus. The paper and 
coffee cup hit the ground inches from where the man had been hit. 
The paper fell open and Shawn could see the date, September 28th.
 
Shawn screamed and fell out of his chair, sending his textbook 
across the room. He spun around looking for the man, then ran 
to his window. He looked up and down the street, but it was night 
and the man was nowhere to be seen. Shawn looked at the clock; 
it was 1:30 a.m., the morning of the 28th. He tried to get back 
to sleep, but didn't nod off till around 6:00.
 
Shawn was walking down the street on a cool gray morning. He 
had a cup of hot coffee in his right hand and a paper in his 
left. He had the feeling that he was just a bit later than he 
liked, though not late by office standards. He looked down at 
his watch. It was 8:15 a.m. Shawn realized what was happening 
and tried to yell out for the man to stop. He tried to make the 
man's legs stay in place, but he had no control. As Shawn
thrashed out, the man's head tilted back and he looked up 
diagonally across the intersection and into the sky at the 
spire on top of the Empire State building. Shawn could see a 
tiny dot. A bird circled near the top and then landed. Not a 
pigeon, some kind of falcon perhaps? Shawn felt the man's face 
form into smile.
 
His head lowered and Shawn saw the light turn green, and the 
man stepped into the sidewalk to cross.  Two steps and out of 
the corner of his right eye he saw a yellow blur. The man's 
head turned at the last instant as the cab caught him just 
above knee and launched him into the air. The pain was intense 
as the world spun by and Shawn felt the man hit the pavement
hard, his head bounced on the tar. His eyes were blurry, but 
just clear enough to see the tread of a very large tire half 
a second before it hit.
 
Shawn woke up shaking, his body racked with uncontrollable 
sobs. He lay there for more than an hour, crying into his pillow.
 
Later that morning, he managed to get himself cleaned up and 
headed for school. He had missed his early morning philosophy 
class, no great tragedy. He stopped at his favorite newsstand 
near school and grabbed the paper and a pack of Juicy Fruit. 
He flipped to the obits. Halfway down the page was the face of 
the woman that he had watch die just four days ago. Karen 
Fletcher, 32, survived by her husband and three children.
Shawn felt his throat clench. After bawling like a child all 
morning, he thought he wouldn't be able to cry again for a year.  
Instead of school, he turned toward the Empire State Building. 
It was a long walk, damn near two miles but he hadn't been able 
to force himself to take the subway and he couldn't afford a cab. 
As he headed up 5th Avenue, he looked up into the cold gray 
September sky that had covered the city for more than a week. 
It wasn't unheard of weather, but it did nothing to improve 
his mode. He prayed it wouldn't last.
 
He could see the intersection now, still a half a block away. 
The old, tall landmark loomed overhead.  Everything looked normal. 
There were no ambulances. No cops. He walked more boldly, feeling 
stupid for the way he had acted earlier.  He crossed 34th Street, 
turned left and waited for the light to change. He looked down 
and saw pieces of broken clear plastic and a large empty coffee cup; 
its lid lay next to it, crushed. Shawn looked up and over to 
his left toward the middle of the intersection. A bus pull 
forward and uncovered a large red stain on the wet black tar.
 
#
 
Halloween was a week away, and Jason was worried about his friend. 
Shawn had grown more and more moody over the last few weeks and 
had missed a lot of classes.  They had History together and the 
prof knew they were friends.
 
"See what you can do about getting your friend back to class 
this week, or he needn't bother coming back at all."
 
Jason had called and gone by his place a few times but there 
was no sign of him. He hadn't seen him now for a week and he 
was starting to think something bad had happened.
 
He skipped his next class and went over to Shawn's apartment. 
He knocked on the door and called for Shawn until a neighbor 
from down the hall stuck his head out of his door and yelled 
at Jason to "Shut the F**k UP!"
 
Jason found the landlord and begged him to open up Shawn's 
apartment. The landlord, a creepy old b*****d with a heart 
of stone told Jason to "Piss off."
 
"What a great city." Jason said to no one in particular and 
headed back up the four flights to Shawn's apartment. Jason 
tried again, knocking on Shawn's door. He was about to give 
up when he heard a noise from inside the apartment.
 
"Shawn? Shawn buddy is that you? Listen pal, you got me a 
little freaked out. How about you let me in?"
 
"Go away! You can't make it stop. No one can make it stop!"
 
"Shawn. Let me in. I can help."
 
"No one can help me. There's only one way to stop it."
 
The voice from the apartment barely sounded like Shawn, it was 
high pitched and raspy as if he had a bad cold. Jason heard a 
window slide open and he got a sick feeling in the pit of his 
stomach.  "What are you doing Shawn? Talk to me!"
 
There was no answer from inside the apartment and Jason stepped 
back and kicked at the door. His body shuddered with the impact, 
but the door held firm. Jason stepped back across the hall and 
ran at the door; throwing his foot out in a kick he had practiced 
thousand of times at his old karate classes. The door stayed shut, 
but he heard a loud crack. Jason backed up as far from the door 
as he could get while still having a straight line of attack. 
He got down into his football stance and looked at the door like 
it was the visiting teams quarterback at his last homecoming
game. He shot forward and threw his body through the door and 
into the apartment. He collided with a small table and slipped 
on some paper. He fell down hard, ending up near the base of 
the couch.
 
He rolled over and looked up to see Shawn sitting half in and 
half out of the open window.  Shawn's gray hooded sweatshirt was 
filthy and he had a weeks worth of scrub on his face. He looked 
pale and his cheekbones protruded.
 
"Shawn? Shawn, what are you doing?" Jason said trying to sound 
calm and failing. Shawn stared out into the sky.
 
"There are falcons in Manhattan, Jason. Did you know that?"
 
Jason took a step forward and Shawn turned to look at his 
friend.
 
"I keep seeing people die." Shawn said. "I see them die, 
then feel them die and I die with them."
 
Jason took another small step toward Shawn.  "Whatever 
is happening, we can get you some help."
 
Shawn made a noise that was half cry and half chuckle. 
It sounded to Jason like madness.
 
"Only one thing will stop it. I can't keep dying."
 
Shawn looked back into the sky and Jason shot forward to 
grab him, but Shawn was already out the window. Jason fell 
half way out grabbing for his friend but only managed to 
pull off Shawn's left shoe. He watched as Shawn hit the 
pavement four stories below.
 
Jason rushed outside yelling for someone, anyone to call 911. 
He ran up to Shawn's crumpled form, hoping there was still a 
chance to save him. Shawn was on his back and there was a 
serene look on his face.  Jason checked and found a weak pulse. 
He felt the beat once, then again, then nothing. He cradled 
the body of his oldest friend and rocked him back and forth.
 
After Shawn's body was taken away, the police wanted to ask 
Jason a few questions. They brought him back up into Shawn's 
apartment and Jason looked around closely for the first time. 
There were pizza boxes lying around as well as a pile of dirty 
plates. Two of the chairs were smashed, their pieces scattered 
around a floor that was covered in newspapers. There had to be 
a months worth of papers spread all over the floor and coach.
 
He looked up on the wall above the TV and saw the words "What Do You
Want From Me?" in large black magic marker. Around it were a dozen or
more newspaper clippings marked up with yellow high lighter.
 
"Mr. Roberts?" An older looking cop with short-cropped gray 
hair motioned to him near the door.  He looked Jason over like 
cops do, and said "I need to ask you a few questions about what 
happened here today. Are you willing to make a statement?"
 
Jason nodded and the cop started asking him routine questions 
about how he knew Shawn and why he had come by today. Jason gave 
him short clipped answers; barely aware he was even speaking. 
There were two younger cops standing over by the newspaper collage 
now and Jason could just make out their whispered discussion.
 
"Some nut job, huh?" Said the younger and taller of the two. 
"These are all obituaries. You think this kid killed all 
these people?"
 
The shorter, slightly older and pudgier cop shook his head 
while sipping from his coffee cup. "No way. I responded to 
two of these. Neither one was a murder."
 
"How do you know? Did you make detective while I was on 
vacation or something?" asked the younger cop.
 
"No d********g, I didn't make detective."  The shorter man 
said. "We got camera footage on this guy that got crushed by 
the bus. He wasn't pushed. Just stepped out in front of a cabbie, 
who fell asleep at the wheel. And this one here." He indicated 
to another of the shreds of newspaper.  "This lady wanted a 
natural child birth at her home in the tub or some crazy thing 
like that. She had complications and bled out."
 
"Did the kid make it?"
 
"Yeah. Her sister was there and called 911, but it was too 
late for the mother. So two of these weren't murders for sure. 
The others? Who knows? I ain't no detective, smart guy, but 
my money is the kid got depressed what with the holidays and 
the being away from home. So he got depressed and obsessed 
with death."
 
The younger cop started arguing about how holiday suicides 
didn't start till closer to Thanksgiving, and Jason realized 
he had not heard the older officers last question.
 
"I said. Did your friend Shawn call you recently."
 
Jason refocused on the older cop. "No, I hadn't heard from 
him for awhile. I started dating this girl and..."  The 
older cop just nodded and jotted something down in his book.
 
"You'll need to come to the precinct with me to finish this 
up. Sorry about your friend, I'm sure there was nothing you 
could have done. You need to call someone?"
 
Jason shook his head no and followed the older cop outside. 
He looked back one last time at Shawn's last message and 
wondered what he had meant by feeling and seeing people die. 
What had he been through that had tortured him to the point 
that he saw death as his only option?
 
#
 
Four days after Shawn's funeral, Jason sat on the edge of his 
girlfriend Susan's bed. She was already asleep, but he hadn't 
been able to sleep much since Shawn's death. After watching 
some stupid movie about a killer Bigfoot, Jason crawled in next 
to Susan and closed his eyes.
 
There was a light dusting of snow in the park. A forty 
something looking man in a running suit was making his way 
along the asphalt path, steam puffing out with every other step. 
The man looked at his sport watch display, he had fifteen 
minutes left on his countdown. The time was 5:05 a.m. on the 
2nd of November. It was a bitter cold morning, and there
were no other runners on this part of the path. The man 
adjusted the volume of his MP3 player and picked up his pace.
 
The man grabbed his chest and staggered. He slowed, fell, 
and rolled onto his back just off the trail. He slid on the 
snow and down a slope off the left side of the trail and 
rolled under some bushes.  His mouth opening and closing 
like a fish. After a couple of minutes, he stopped struggling.
 
"Jason, what's wrong?"
 
Jason opened his eyes and saw Susan leaning over him in bed. 
She was shaking him and looked scared.
 
"You were screaming. Screaming in your sleep." She said. 
"Was it a dream about Shawn?"
 
Jason remembered the man vividly, but didn't want to freak 
Susan out. "No. I mean I don't know.  Just a bad dream, I 
don't remember any of it."
 
She held him, trying to sooth him and eventually fell back to 
sleep. Jason looked at his watch when he was sure she was out. 
It was 3:30, the morning of November 2nd.
 
#
 
Ryan Anderson woke up at 4:15 as usual. And as usual, despite 
the cold he got into his cold-weather running suit and went to 
the park. He was thirty minutes into his routine and a little 
behind on his pace. He checked his watch. It was 5:05 and his 
timer was rolling backwards past fifteen minutes. He was normally 
beyond the bend up ahead by this time.  Frustrated, he crank 
up his music and kicked his pace up a notch.
 
Fire shot though his chest and he stumbled.  Agony spread from 
his chest and down through his left arm as he tried desperately 
to remain upright. The pain lashed out again and he fell to the 
ground. He rolled onto his back and tried to call for help but 
nothing came out but a low croak. He stared into the blackness 
overhead and felt himself slip off the edge of the path.
 
Strong hands grabbed him and dragged him back onto the cold tar. 
A young blond man leaned over him and shoved something into his 
mouth.
 
"Chew. You need to chew these and swallow."
 
Ryan bit into the small pills and gagged on the bitterness. What 
was this guy trying to do to him? Who the hell was he? Ryan 
watched as the young man pulled out his cell phone and pressed 
a button.
 
"My name is Jason Roberts, I'm in the park, west side by 
108th Street on the running path. I have a man down who 
appears to be having a heart attack.  Please send an ambulance 
right away."  Ryan swallowed the bitter chewed up pills realizing 
they must be aspirin. A heart attack? Him? How could that be? 
He was only 43, ate well, and exercised regularly.
 
"Stay with me sir, help is on the way." The man called Jason 
said as he took off his coat and draped it over Ryan like a blanket. 
It seemed like an eternity before Ryan heard the sirens approach. 
The man named Jason never left his side. The paramedics came 
and put Ryan on a stretcher and rolled him to a waiting 
ambulance. The police were speaking with Jason.
 
Ryan reached out to him as he passed by.  "Thank you." 
Ryan managed in a whisper. "You saved my life."
 
Jason nodded in response but did not look happy. Not like 
a man who had just saved someone's life.
 
Jason leaned down to the jogger and said in a low voice.
 
"For Shawn."