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November 13, 2001

Eyes Of Fire


     Journal of a Deadly Smile? Ah, yes. I remember it well. Any why not? I had, at first, dismissed it as a simple work of fiction. I underestimated. In fact, mistakes like that almost ended my life on several occasions.

     It all started when I moved from my hometown of Charleston, to the small town of Amberville. From my first breath of the crisp autumn air, I could tell this place was different. Being so used to the bustling life of the city, moving to a place like Amberville was like stepping back in time. In fact, as I stepped off the Greyhound bus to collect the rest of my luggage, I half expected a flock of people in my way, traversing up and down the sidewalk towards their daily destinations. Instead, I found a middle-aged man on a bench reading his newspaper. He waved at me, and I returned his greeting. It was quite a change, but a change I could grow quite accustomed to.

     Oh, forgive me, where are my manners? I haven't even introduced myself! My name is James Dunni. They say one of my distant ancestors was Frederick Dunni, but you've probably never heard of him. Forget I brought it up, it is not important now, anyway. Most people would describe me as being short, which runs in the family, but I'm only about a foot shorter than most men. At least I'm not fat, like my father, but I bet it's only because I work out so much, which makes me pretty quick on my feet. Aside from being vertically challenged, I have dark brown eyes, which are also inherited by most members of my family. Come to think of it, almost every trait of mine can be easily linked to another relative. The worst would have to be my antisocial attitude. I like to keep to myself, and avoid needless confrontations whenever possible. Given my current occupation, though, I really need to overcome this.

     How did I come to find myself in Amberville? Well, I was seeking employment in the field of law enforcement, and a peaceful place like this seemed to be the perfect fit for me. You see, after being shot at twice, and hit once in my left arm, it was only logical that I needed a bit less action. My arm's slightly crippled now, but it's still healing, and I can get along fine on my own. Now that you know a bit more about me, I should continue on with my story.

     I had only just moved into my new home…alone, as usual. It was a chilly night, but with only a hint of a winter scent; it would be a few weeks before any snow started falling. I remember getting a call before midnight about smoke coming from the north side of town, saying that I should go investigate. To this day, I'm still not sure who made the call. I threw on some clothes and ran outside (I hadn't acquired a car yet), and I could immediately see a dark haze a block away from where I was. It wasn't hard at all to pinpoint the source of the smoke. By the time I made it to my destination, the apartments were ablaze. There were no other officers at the scene, just me and a few firemen. They suggested that I try to comfort the victims while they fought the fire. That wasn't my job, but it didn't matter; I wouldn't be there for long.

     One person there suddenly caught my attention. I'm not sure why, but there was just something about him that I didn't like. I just couldn't put my finger on it. He seemed frightened, as he glared at the flames, which were hauntingly reflected in his eyes. Then I noticed he wasn't staring at the flames, but at a small gas container. I didn't have to think. Our eyes met and he darted down a side road. I was in hot pursuit...or at least I thought I was. As soon as I rounded the corner, he was gone without a trace. I spent an hour or so trying to follow him, but it was all in vein.

     I didn't sleep easy that night, and the next day didn't bring much good with it. By the time I woke up, it was 4 PM, and I was late for work. Oh, how I hate my job! I come to this town expecting a bit of peace, and I've already got a case of arson and a missing person on my hands! Oops! I'm getting ahead of myself here. Yes, that's right, a missing person. As soon as I got to the station, I heard the unexpected.

     "Have you seen Officer Redford, by any chance?" I heard the secretary ask. I was expecting something along the lines of "You're late," but this was quite different.

     "He must've left early," I heard another officer reply. "but he didn't tell me. Maybe he left a note."

     I went into Redford's office, but there was no note. Only a sheet of paper with a diagram sketched on it. I pocketed it and went about my new job, accepting the assumption that he "left early". I decided to leave early as well.

     On my way home, I cut through the park and found a man painting. "Hello there," he cried, and then, softer "I've been expecting you."

     I wasn't sure what to make of him. "Steve Sanchez, nice to meet you."

     He applied the final brush of paint to his canvas and set down his brush. "What do you think of it?" He turned the painting around so that I could see it. It was an image of a cabin in a forest, beautifully rendered as if he had been practicing for years. I thought back on the diagram officer Redmond drew and from what I could remember, it was a perfect match, only his was more detailed. I didn't see the connection at first, but I decided to ask him anyway.

     "Wh--what is this place?" I stammered. He glared at me, and spoke gruffly, as if he knew something I didn't (and he probably did).

     "You know...Don't act like you don't know." He eased his visual grip on me, and returned his eyes to his work. "It's just a painting. I've made it for you." He took the painting, turned around, and set it in my hands. "Please take it." And with that he walked off, his paints and brushes in hand. I figured it would be best to do as he asked, so I took it home with me. I made it back home safely, and quickly searched for a spot to place my new possession. Then things started getting a bit more strange.

     As I set the picture down on the table, I saw a little booklet of paper fall to the ground. Picking it up, I read "Deadly Smile" printed across the cover in dark pencil letters, with the name "Bill Morgan" underneath. Forgetting the painting, I sat down in an armchair and read the journal. What I read shocked me. This writing looked to be older than a day, yet it somehow predicted the "early leave" of Mr. Dan Redford with frightening accuracy. Although most of the story seemed to be fabricated lies, I could not ignore the real physical evidence: the burning of the apartments. I could assume that Mr. Sanchez had some strange part in this story, but I didn't care. I had already become a part of this, and I always finish what I start. I went to my bed with blurred thoughts of the places I would soon have to visit.

     At noon I awoke once again without an inkling of motivation to go to work. I had a different job today. I wasn't so much interested in Mr. Morgan than I was in finding our missing officer, but I'd most likely have to take care of both. Before I knew it, I was standing at the edge of town, looking upon what lay before me. This forest seemed to be a mixture of oak, maple, birch, and various evergreens. I had only just stepped onto the soft, brown blanket of pine needles when something in the leaves to my right startled me. A small, dark image darted past me, to the left, and scurried up a nearby trunk, lashing its tail as if it were ready to leap at me. I walked past, keeping my eye on the squirrel, underneath an old maple tree. I continued walking, crunching onto a large pile of leaves .

     It didn't look well worn, but the path I took seemed good enough for someone like me; someone who wasn't used to the boundaries outside the city. Groups of mushrooms dotted my path, and through the cracked openings in the naked treetops, I could see the sun slowly setting. It was warm out, but I could hear a breeze above me, and I knew it would be a bit colder soon. I continued walking, and eventually I came to a large tree on the left side of my path. I stopped for a moment and pulled out a freshly creased packed of paper, as I had taken the liberty of photocopying "Deadly Smile" before I left town. "I woke up under an oak tree," I read, as I glared up at a large, angry oak, "…they said I would only find death in my travels…"

     A swift breeze blew onto my chest, and I zipped up my coat. This would be a longer trip than I had expected. I placed the journal back in my pocket and sat down at the foot of the dead tree. Opening up my blue duffle bag, I produced half of the sandwich I had earlier prepared; as the old cliché goes, I had to conserve my sparse food for the greater journey ahead. It would be a cold one tonight, and it was too late to turn back, so I decided to call it a day. I can't say it was the most comfortable sleep I'd ever had, but it certainly was different for a city guy like myself. I swear I could feel the ground piercing my back as I dreamed. Rocks, acorns, pine cones, roots, and who-knows-what were sleeping peacefully underneath me, while in my mind, razor-sharp sheets of metal were piercing my flesh. "No!!!", I heard someone scream, and I looked up just in time to catch a steely glint of the blade coming down on me. What a way to wake up! I threw the dead branch off my chest and panted, watching as the squirrel, who had dislodged it, disappeared beyond my view.

     For the greater part of my trip, I used the diary as a map. I was making good time, because I could see the cabin by what I guessed was noon. What I dread to mention, though, is that I could also make out a blue car. The sun was no longer visible by the time I reached it, but I could tell who it belonged to. I shuddered as a round form began to take shape through the opened window. Now, I no longer paid attention to the old house, sitting only about 20 yards from where the car was parked. As I crept closer, I realized that the window had been forced open, and I noticed something protruding from what I now recognized as his face. It was the handle of a knife, the blade of which I could only assume was embedded deep within his right eye socket, for I couldn't look at such a sight for long without my stomach turning. His face silently screamed for help, while his remaining eye begged for mercy. I dared not to touch the door, covered in crusted blood, and I dashed to the other side of the car. Without checking the handle, I smashed open the window with my flashlight and grabbed the radio. It was still working.

     "Officer down! We need help, now! In the forest on the east side of town! Over!", or at least that's what I think I said. I was in such a panic that it probably came out as a high-pitched static full of air. No response. I dropped the radio and flashlight on the seat and turned around. Something heard me, and now I could hear it. A slight brush in the leaves...the wind could've caused it, but my heart rose. I swallowed it back down and hastily reached for my light. I drew back my hand in pain, twice as fast as it had gone in. A drop of blood fell to the ground as I stepped forward. I could see two orange, shimmering dots in front of me. Maybe it was my imagination, but I swear I could see Morgan again, staring at the flames, knowing deep inside that something was terribly wrong. I could sense that it wasn't me he was staring at...it felt more like he was looking through me. Suddenly a spasm of pain jolted through my left shoulder. The eyes began to circle around me, and as they faded away, my consciousness did as well.

     I found myself in bed in a bright, white room. My whole left arm ached, and my right hand was sore and bandaged. "He's awake! Oh, James! We were worried about you! Please say you'll stay with us for a while!" It was my mother speaking, and I was obviously back in Charleston. I'm not sure why she said, "He's awake!", because there was no one else in the room. I tried to move, but ended up moaning in agony instead, which must've sounded like a confirmation to my mom. "Oh, good! We've already had all your things moved back into your old apartment...we've missed you...not been the same...settle down...now about your new job...have a good rest!" was about all I caught before I fell asleep again.

     Wrapping things up a little bit, a few quick calls set me straight. My distress call had been received, but there were some communication troubles, so they sent some men over right away. By the time they had gotten there, I was almost gone. They found the knife that had killed Officer Redford, but it was jutting from the chest of Bill Morgan. Case closed. I was sent to the hospital, and by request of my parents, was transferred back to Charleston. I tried to tell someone about the journal, but neither it, nor the painting, could be found.

     A month later, back in my old apartment in Charleston, I found a piece of paper at the bottom of my clothes closet. Written and underlined on the creased page, I read, "Some things are better left unknown." I picked up the rest of the photocopied pages, and ever since, have decided to heed these words...


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