A Mind Game (Working Title)

Nathan is a WWII veteran. A near death situation in the war has left him slightly paranoid, but is still able to function normally. He goes home after work and ends up having to defend his apartment; his home. But who is he defending it from?

A MIND GAME

AYZA SOZA

 

 

 

            The evening rat race was on as men and women scurried to their homes, their place of refuge to relax after a hard day’s work with their smiling families. Cars crowded the narrow city streets and pedestrians overtook the sidewalks, all of them eager to get out of the seemingly never ending rain that had been resilient in its drenching of their city. The nightly serenade of sounds ensued as the usual, car horns, mindless chatter of the pedestrians, whistles from police officers and car engines orchestrated the area. The past couple of days, however has introduced the splashing of tires through the city streets to the mix.

            Nathan Gatz, a businessman originally from Galveston, Texas was one of the thousands of pedestrians that had taken to the streets. Dressed in a long beige rain coat, covering most of his six foot stature and a light grey fedora, Nathan was bracing the worst nature could throw at him today. The narrow glasses that sat upon his face were collecting rain drops that were whipped at him with the accompanying wind.

            Feeling uneasy, Nathan looked over his shoulder into the mass hysteria of fellow workers that were walking behind him.”That man,” he thought to himself, as he picked out this Asian man about 100 hundred feet behind him, almost immediately, the only one walking in a white skin dominated stretch of people. “I saw him four blocks ago. Is he following me?” Paranoia filled his body as his steady walk turned into a quick speed walk. He wanted to put distance between him and this mysterious man. He saw his chance when up ahead there was a cross walk, almost about to be stopped by the police officer officiating it.

            Nathan leapt out in the street passing the cop who was about to let the oncoming traffic move. A harsh whistle wailed from the cop, but Nathan kept going waving his hand in the air towards the cop. The officer shook his head and continued with the traffic. Nathan had escaped his believed pursuer.

            The now 32 year old Nathan is a veteran of World War II, having been drafted at the age of 22 almost immediately after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. He fought in the Pacific Campaign against the Japanese.

            “I’ve stared the enemy square in the eye,” he would tell friends and family while recounting war stories. “It was in Guadalcanal, and I was out scouting. While out I met up with this Gook. We each quickly drew our pistols, aiming them at one another. I looked into his eyes, and he into mine as we each waited for the other to blink. I made a quick movement and shot the son of a b***h straight in the head. He fell immediately to the ground. My eyes stayed pinned on my fallen enemy, after which I snapped out of the trance, and with haste, retreated back to my unit, fearing others might be around. It was the first man I had killed. I stared death in the eyes, and have lived to tell about it.”

            Since that moment, Nathan had gained a distrust and fear of Asians. Nathan, now slowing down his pace, continued his jaunt towards his apartment building, wiping his rain soaked glasses with his thumb and pointer. Up ahead he saw the archaic gray stone building that had housed his family since he had returned from war, first with his wife and within four years, two sons. He approached the wooden doors, looked down the sidewalk for his assumed assailant; no one in sight. Nathan pushed into the door, stepping out of the rain and into the dry lobby of the building.

            He walked across the wood floor, his black dress shoes squeaking with the movement. Taking each step one at a time, he scaled the five flights of stairs to the fifth floor, where he would find his apartment. It was nothing special, his apartment; small, quaint and quiet. He approached a white door with a placard reading 5C. His hands fiddled in the large pocket of his coat searching for the keys. From the pocket, a silver ring of keys emerged, singling out the solitary copper key. The key usually stuck and was troublesome, resulting in Nathan having to jimmy the lock opened.

            As the door opened, the aroma of his wife’s dinner rushed at him like a stampede. From the record player, the smooth sounds of Glenn Miller’s orchestra gave the room a relaxed atmosphere. He closed the door behind him, removing his jacket and fedora and hanging them on the brass coat rack behind the door. In a mirror, he fixed the out of place strands of his light brown hair.

            From the kitchen his wife of five years, Deborah emerged wearing a cooking apron over her outfit. “Oh hello, Nathan,” she said with a smile. “How was your day?”

            “Delightful,” he said walking towards her. Wrapping his arms around her, he gave his wife a kiss. From there, he pulled her into an open space where they danced to the record. His hand sat on her hip, their arms outstretched into the air, her hand behind his neck. She stared into his green eyes and his into her eyes of blue.

            “Always the charmer,” she said. The song on the record ended and Deborah gave her partner a peck on the cheek and broke away. “I must get to the produce stand. I need a vegetable to go with the chicken tonight. Any preference?”

            “Carrots or green beans if they’re any good tonight. Do you need money, sweetheart?”

            “No, I’ve got it,” she said fixing her brunette hair in the same mirror. She removed her apron and set it on the dining room table. From the coat rack she grabbed her rain coat and a white purse with a brass clasp, slinging it over her shoulder. She gave him another peck on the cheek.

            “Where are the kids?” Nathan wondered.

            “In their rooms taking naps. They had an exciting day today with my sister and their all tuckered out.”

            “Be careful,” he instructed. “It’s awful outside.”

            “I will. Goodbye.” She walked out the apartment, and Nathan was left alone. He removed the needle from the record in the living room, stopping the music. Rotating around the room, he took in the pleasures of the surrounding area. A dining room area with a china cabinet sat near the window, while adjacent to it was the living room sporting a small antenna television, a coffee table, two end tables, each with table lights, a couch, record player and a chair; his chair for when he reads his paper. Hanging from the far wall in the living room was a portrait of his lovely family; him, Deborah, and his son and daughter.

            He strolled through the kitchen, smelling the delicious chicken his wife had been preparing. Across from the kitchen was the bathroom, small but functional for the family of four. At the end of the hallway were three individual rooms, peering in on each of his children and then in on his empty bedroom.

            “I have a pretty good life,” he thought to himself, smiling.

            From the door, he heard a fidget, gaining his attention. He knew his wife couldn’t have returned so soon. He walked slowly to the door, as more noise came from the opposite side. Reaching the door, he bolted the lock and then peered out through the eye hole. What he saw startled him, as he jumped back. In the hallway, trying to get into his apartment was the Asian man he had seen earlier on the streets. Black hair, thin rimmed glasses, a suit, a long brown rain coat, and a derby on top of his head.

            Nathan yelled through the door, “What do you want you f*****g Jap?”  

            The man, with a slight accent responded, “Open this door, open it now.”

            “You have no right to be here. Leave now or I’ll be forced to call the cops,” Nathan threatened. He watched door and saw the locked bolt turn. His eyes widened as he quickly jump to the door and chained the latch on the door. The door opened the extent that the chain would allow. Nathan’s heart had jumped into his throat as he looked out through the crack into the eyes of his attempted invader. His eyes, an angry golden brown seen through the lens of his glasses scared Nathan, as thoughts from the war rushed back into his head like a speeding train.

            “Open this door now,” the man harshly said staring straight back into Nathan’s eyes.

            “Never,” he said, and with all his might, slammed the door back closed, bolting the lock again. Next, he grabbed one of the dining chairs, propping it under the door knob.

            “I don’t have much time,” he said to himself, rushing to the phone in the kitchen. “The Gook was able to unlock the door once; he’ll be able to do it again.” He grabbed the phone, using the rotary to dial 9-1-1, peering around the corner at the front door to make sure it was still secured. “C’mon d****t, go through already.” He looked again at the door and saw the lock once again unlatch and turn to the unlocked position.

            “D****t,” he said dropping the phone to the ground and running to his bedroom. He dropped into a prone position on the rugged floor. Under his bed, he grabbed a cardboard shoe box, tossing the lid to the side. Held in the box was a black pistol. From the other room, he heard the man began to throw his weight against the door. He popped in the clip and ran back towards the door. On the hardwood floor, he dropped to a kneeling position, waiting for the door and chain to break.

            With each thrust from the Asian man, the door loosened up. With each bang, Nathan gripped his weapon harder as he waited for the inevitable. After five attempts, the door gave way, ripping the chain from the wall. The chair was thrown from its position as the door swung open. At the first sight of the man, Nathan unleashed bullet after bullet into the man until the clip was empty. The man staggered and then fell to the ground, face down, blood leaking from his wounds into the apartment and into the hallway.

            Nathan got up, breathing a sigh of relief, walking towards his victim. He looked at the gun in his hand, and the body on the floor. “This is the last man I will kill,” he said to himself.

            From the hallway, a stampede of footsteps made their way up the stairs. Three policemen came into Nathan’s view, their guns drawn. “Drop your weapon,” one of them instructed, “and kneel down on the ground, your back facing us.”

            “Officer, it’s alright,” Nathan tried to explain. “I killed the Jap. He was trying to break into my apartment.”

            “I said drop the weapon and drop to your knees,” the officer instructed.

            This time, Nathan obeyed, letting the gun slip from his fingers, making a loud metallic bang as it hit the wood floors. He slowly got to his knees. From behind him, he heard the rushing of footsteps enter his apartment, and then a forceful push as his body fell onto the floor.

            “Cuff him,” one of the officers said.

            This alarmed Nathan, “Officer what are you doing? I killed in the means of protection. He was trying to break into my apartment.”

            The officer dropped to one knee, looking Nathan in the eye. “You didn’t kill an intruder, you killed the owner of the apartment.”

            “What? What are you talking about?”

            “And by the looks of things, you killed his entire family too.”

            Nathan was in uttered confusion at the mix up. He turned his head to his right and straight until the eyes of a dead Asian woman, bleeding from her head onto the area rug of the living room. Nathan screamed in shock at the dead body. He turned his head in front of him, and looked down the hallway towards the bedrooms. Outside of his two children’s rooms were the bodies of two young Japanese children, blood in their surrounding areas. Nathan screamed again.

            Two of the police officers pulled him up off of the ground to his feet. He turned his head rapidly, getting new glimpses of the apartment. Everything was different now than earlier. His last visual was that of the family portrait, no longer displaying his proud beautiful family, but the portrait of an Asian family, now slain. A woman, son and daughter, and a man, dressed properly for the photograph. The man he stared at in fear. In the photo was the man he killed at the door, it was his eyes that proved it to him.

            “Get him out of here,” the police officer said. They turned him around and started shoving him out of the door.

            All the while, he thought to himself, “What have I done?”

           

               

                 

Author's Note

First draft. I just want initial reactions like if its a good idea, worth working on, etc. I didn't know how to classify this story, so I put it under fiction. I would describe it though as an experiment/attempt at Psychological Fiction.

Reviews

[Drew Wade]

Hey, this is definitely a good idea, and worth continuing. the ending really was a surprise, and you summed it up all very well. One thing I would say, consider adding more earlier on in the story to set things up, to maybe give a subtle hint that he's not going to the right apartment, that the reader won't notice until the end, and then they will kick themselves. this was a very entertaining read. good job.