“Seriously, this is completely messed up!” Otto screamed at the sky in the empty skyline of the parking lot that no longer contained his vehicle. He managed to find his way around, mostly due to the small light he kept around his keychain. It was the first time he used it, and its brightness surprised him.
He'd made the mistake of going to the wrong lot before, but it was most definitely the Ionia street location. He was also certain he parked on the highest level, for the sole reason that this was the first time in his life he had to park all the way up. Reaching for the parking ticket in his pocket, he justified his intuition. Even if he was in the wrong spot, there would be some vehicles around, and he hadn't seen a soul during his entire walk downtown. The regular movement of traffic didn't exist, and he assumed in his common knowledge of the weekend scene there would be a few stragglers stumbling around. He also wondered why his cell phone didn’t work. He panned the light in every direction again, with the same effect of empty pavement over an empty city. He peered over the edge. The lot was only a few stories high but managed to give a decent view of the cityscape.
Otto sighed in relief when witnessed a large truck roll along one of the desolate roads, showing some semblance of life in the eerie city. Its engine deafeningly loud, the muffler being long gone, it proudly exclaimed its redneck nature. The vehicle stopped, paused for a moment, then turned into his parking lot. Otto could hear the grating engine as it ascended the lot he. Chilled with uncertainty, he wished for an empty city again.
The truck became visible as it rolled up to the top floor. As it headed in Otto’s direction, he shielded his eyes from the headlights shining right at him. In the blinding haze, he could vaguely see two occupants in the vehicle. The man had a frighteningly similar appearance to himself.
“Well! If it isn't my favorite twin!” The man said.
Otto stared at what was essentially his own reflection. He didn't biologically have a twin to his knowledge, but there was no doubt the stranger who stood before him was genetically the same. The Other Otto was exactly the same height, yet he stood up straighter, his tight short-sleeve shirt showing a firm, muscular frame. His face was confident and chiseled, in direct contrast to Otto's solemn demeanor.
Possibly more shocking was his female companion, whom Otto immediately recognized and gaped. Her long jet black hair, high-heel boots, thick lips etched themselves forever in his memory. Samantha Williams, old high school classmate, old high school crush, and a woman who had been dead for two years.
“Hey Otto!” Samantha called out.
“What the hell is going on?” Otto shouted. It wasn't a dream; his dreams were never like this, yet that stood the only sane option.
“Sorry that this is a little bit of a surprise to you and all. You've wanted to meet me face to face for a while, so I hope I meet with your expectations,” The Other Otto put his hand over Samantha’s waist, and Otto noticed the glimmer of a wedding ring on her finger.
“Sorry to break it to you, but you're dead Samantha. Who are you really?” Otto said.
The Other Otto asked, befuddled. “Huh?”
“You died with your drunken boyfriend a couple years ago. He drove you off a fucking bridge! I read it in the paper and went to your damn funeral! What's going on?”
“Well, I don't know where you went, but I've been with you since senior year of high school. Are you drunk? We just got married last summer! Seriously, are you okay? You think you’re being funny?” Samantha replied.
Maybe this is hell.
“I seriously have no clue what you are talking about. I don’t know who you are, but you’re not her. I don’t know who this person is who looks like me, but he’s not me!”
“Okay, then who are we?”
“You tell me!”
This has to be some sort of bizarre hallucination. I need to make sense of this.
The way The Double was so nonchalant about it all agitated Otto even more. He seemed to pity Otto, unsurprised by his reaction. Otto felt worse than if the twin showed smug superiority, unworthy of gloating over in defeat.
The Other Otto shrugged. “The night is very young, maybe you’ll figure things out better then. We'll be seeing each other!” The Other Otto exclaimed as the couple got back into the old truck and sped off, leaving Otto alone with his thoughts. A gust from the truck’s quick retreat swept a plastic bag across Otto's path to complete the effect.
“If it isn’t Zooterville, junior year of high school” Otto said to the void. “And I could have won.”
By a dilapidated wooden water tower on the outskirts of Otto's hometown was a field affectionately known to the students as Zooterville. It was a small meadow surrounded by Michigan forests with some backwoods houses in the motif. The area was also a popular destination for the local hunters. It was obvious enough for the high-schoolers to know where to go while out of the way enough that their outdoor underage drinking shenanigans would not attract the police. If in the off chance the police did show up, a quick unhampered scattering allowed most people to escape without getting a Minor in Possession. Otto wasn't a regular, though Samantha certainly was. Otto was a white-collar kid in a blue-collar town. Samantha was pure hick.
Otto showed up at 9:30PM as the burning summer sun was setting. The humidity was atrocious, and already mosquitos and horseflies were in a rampage, taking full advantage of the recent rain. Someone built massive bonfire, quickly killing the conspicuous location of the place. The crowd was too drunk to care. Samantha was standing amongst the two dozen, cheap beer in hand, watching with a condescending grin at one of her classmates dancing around the fire in his underwear.
Another girl spotted Otto and exclaimed “Holy crap, it's Otto!”
Carl, a rough guy who could already sport a beard exclaimed. “What the fuck? Give that guy a beer!” Apart from his aggressive personality, he was actually one of the few people who treated Otto with some respect.
“Nah, I'm good, just scoping the place.”
Several in the shit-faced crowd rolled their eyes or sneered. He was there a few minutes and they already saw him as a party kill.
Yeah, well I'm above this stupidity.
“Drink a damn beer!” Someone shouted.
Then why am I here?
Otto stepped closer to the bonfire, putting his hands up to refuse a cup of beer the students handed off to him. Eventually they gave up and ignored Otto. Carl walked up and patted Otto on the back. “I'm glad you came buddy. Ya gotta lighten up a little though.”
Otto made a glance at Samantha, which turned into a full stare. Samantha caught him in the act, rolled her eyes and started talking some more at her girlfriends. Carl sighed.
“Hopeless. You know that, right? Well, if that's why you came you might and well go for it.”
“That's not why I came.”
“I hope it wasn't to be a buzz kill.”
“Ok, I'll take one of those damn beers,” Otto responded.
But I never did talk to her. I forgot all about the stupid crush until I learned she was dating my classmate Frank at the start of the next school year. Asshole. Truthfully, did I really care for her, or was it a petty jealousy that he could do what I couldn't? I was better read, better educated, and I actually TRIED yet was constantly beaten by these drunken morons! Got another girlfriend, more mature, and did nothing to help me get my mind off her. Why did she have to die in such a stupid way? Why did I attend her funeral, thinking she could be still alive if I showed some guts? We were night and day, and it WAS NOT MY FAULT!
What point was there to refined taste? Am I just an elitist prick, standing in the back of the crowd, hiding from the people who know what it means to live and aren't afraid to do it? Was I that pathetic? Dad certainly thought so. A backwards hillbilly knowing more about this world than an educated graduate. That's a laugh.
Enough of this. Damn, I miss Carl. Was I above keeping my friendship with one of the few people who actually liked me, for whatever reason? Maybe I should call him. I’d love to hear his take on this.
Otto leaned upon the railing of the parking structure, taking a deep sigh as he snapped out of his thoughts. He turned his flashlight back on and gazed out into the forlorn city again. The cityscape remained unlit, and creepy as hell.
Maybe I should lie down here until the morning. I know this isn’t real, so why feed my hallucinations? I've had lucid dreams before where I felt I was in control, usually right before I wake up. Still, this is too slow paced to really be a dream. Am I ever bored in a dream?
A faint red outline below interrupted Otto's thoughts. Walking down the street was more life, a skinny man dressed in bright red. He was too far away to make out many details. The man in red stopped for a moment to survey his surroundings, missing Otto peering down. Curiosity and terror struck Otto as he analyzed the man striding along the street, a faint glimmer of light following him.
Otto debated calling out to him, but instinct arrested him, these irregular events strumming his nerves. Something was not right about the strange man. It certainly didn’t look like he belonged here.
The man quickly faded into the distance, Otto now left with the two options of sitting alone and confused the rest of the night or having an opportunity to figure out what was going on from this insidious man. Desperation made the choice an easy one. Otto bolted down the stairs in pursuit, descended down to ground level and dashed onto the moonless route on the Avenue. His prey already three blocks away and in a brisk stride, Otto had to jog to catch up with him. The pursued man emanated a glow bright enough to see the immediate vicinity of his surroundings. Otto turned off his flashlight. Running, especially Otto's flat-footed kind, would yield attention. He got up to speed anyways. The man made a left turn, never bothering to consider someone trailing him. Otto ran to the corner and peered in the direction he turned. The man was within a block now and Otto could see his features better.
The attire was something out of the Victorian era, with a frock coat and formal pants and shoes, with a strange, outlandish crimson color begging for attention along with a glimmer of metal hanging over the side of his hip. He advanced to the outskirts of the city. The pursuit led him to the older housing developments from the turn of the century. Their ornate foundations contrasted with modern suburbia, and had an aesthetic appeal to the tenants that didn't mind the lack of good insulation that made summers incredibly humid and winters numbing cold. Trailing the lanky man, Otto wondered himself what time it really was, and whether this night would end.
The man walked to an old mansion, complete with a rusted fence on the outskirts, the tips of which were plenty sharp enough to make entry over them unwise, a moot point, as the gate opened without effort. It was massive, three times larger than the already impressive homes surrounding it. The inside lit up as he approached, affording a pleasant view of the living area through the window where a lamp fixture stood, emanating a rosy light. The Victorian man entered, Otto slinking close behind. His prey did not close the door all the way to Otto's relief. Otto stopped for a moment, waited until everything quieted, then gave a deep breath and entered.
Otto saw inside what he least expected... an old familiarity. He recognized the living room with the beige lamp that his mom hated so much sitting prominently in the corner. There were a couple conspicuous hunting trophies of deer and elk lining the fireplace, the first things to go when his parents got divorced. He remembered being seven when he first understood the drama unfolding.
I don't need this.
“I'm telling you it’s completely safe,” He heard someone say, immediately knowing it as his father’s voice. It reverberated through the room like they were present there in the emptiness.
“I'm telling you that it's not. Firearms are dangerous! He's too young,” His mom responded. She always had a sullen tone that stood in stark contrast to his dad's aggressive nature.
“It's perfectly legal.”
“I don't care what that law says. It's wrong. He's not like you. He's bookish, he's intellectual.”
“And we all know what you mean by intellectual. He can impress people in parties but not have the common sense to do anything useful? He would like it if you quit coddling him and encourage him to learn something useful! Your violin lessons won’t get him anywhere unless he’s one of the best in the world, and the instructors have already said he has no chance of that happening!”
“So he can get in fights all through childhood like you did? So he can get injured all the time?”
“Yes!”
“What good is that?”
“It'll stop him from turning into a fucking pussy! Because you're trying to keep him that way.”
The argument was too common, especially as the marriage neared the end. They separated a short time after that conversation. It should have been earlier. When they met she had almost graduated from the University of Michigan with a Sociology degree and a big head on her shoulders. His dad went to trade school, soon afterwards starting up as a journeyman electrician. Otto wasn't sure if it was pride on both sides that brought them together, as even when they were dating they seemed to want to justify their varied lifestyles, and from what his relatives implied, fought a lot. His mom was impressed by the ruggedness of Frank but appalled by the lack of care for what she considered culture. Frank was more interested in proving her thoughts on cultured people were nonsense. Still, their backgrounds didn't make them walking stereotypes for the two ways of life, the relationship made them that way. Otto became the proving ground to which one was right, and the divorce court gave the mother the final say in granting near-full custody.
The voices dissipated and the room's lighting dimmed. Otto got his bearings again and crept forward to the kitchen area, knowing he was a trespasser the entire time, even if the arrangements were his own home. He had no idea where the other had gone off to, and was considering whether the man was an illusion. The rest of the rooms were unique with nothing that Otto’s memories could unlock. He wondered if the resemblance in the first room was his imagination. He crept around the kitchen, barely able to see in the darkness and stubbed his toe on a cabinet as stepped ahead. Cursing, he spun around contemplating leaving when again he heard voices. It was a male and female voice again, but this time not his parents.
“I do like your sense of style,” he said.
“Figured this was your thing,” she replied.
They didn't sound like owners of the house, maybe people trapped in the same skewed plane he was. The conversation was coming from above. Otto searched around for a stairway, sneaking forward, opening a few doors searching for the stairs, freezing after every creak emanating from his steps around the kitchen.
“Certainly an old place, don't make them like these anymore,” The male voice said.
“Still some in place for your more archaic tastes,” the woman replied.
“It's called good taste, and it never goes out of style,” the man responded.
Otto found the stairs, and a quick test of pressure found them not nearly as creaky as the doors and floor. He peered ahead and noticed a strange purplish glow emanating from the upper level. Gothic paintings decorated the walls; some showing serene meadows while others the gory details of battles and tortures. Whoever owned this house had strange taste.
“And what is on the menu tonight?” He asked. Otto froze.
“Not much,” she replied. “Wasn't worth the effort. His friends were quite passionate, but only have battle wounds for the trouble. At the end, it was the lowly accountant who attacked his own guardian! Goes without saying there's not much they can do then. Never stops them though,” Otto heard the sounds of tearing and ripping flesh in disbelief.
That can’t be what’s happening. It couldn’t be flesh. What does tearing flesh even sound like? My head is imagining things again!
“I do have more interesting news.”
“Oh?”
“The Last Man is here.”
“So I finally get to meet him!” He exclaimed. There was more tearing and a low groan coming from another source. “One person I’m very interested in meeting. I hope he’s as interesting as I imagine him.”
The ripping and the cracking, followed repeatedly by the same low moan led Otto to the only sane conclusion of the insane options. Their food was still alive. Otto shot downstairs and ran, not caring where, just away from those two monsters and whatever part of hell entrapped him.