Songs of a Dead Dreamer and Grimscribe Read Free Page A

atmospherically in the room, tainting the serenity of the house. Until then their home had been an insular haven beyond the contamination of the prison, an imposing structure outside the town limits. Now its psychic imposition transcended the limits of physical distance. Inner distance constricted, and David sensed the massive prison walls shadowing the cozy neighborhood outside.
    â€œDo you know why I was late tonight?” he asked his wife.
    â€œNo, why?”
    â€œBecause I had an overlong chat with a fellow who hasn’t got a name yet.”
    â€œThe one you told me about who won’t tell anyone where he’s from or what his real name is?”
    â€œThat’s him. He’s the standout example of the pernicious monstrosity of that place. A real beauty, that guy. One for the books. Absolute madness paired with a sharp cunning. Because of his cute little name game, he was classified as unsuitable for the general prison population and thus we in the psychiatric section ended up with him. According to him, though, he has plenty of names, no less than a thousand, none of which he’s condescended to speak in anyone’s presence. It’s hard to imagine that he has a name like everyone else. And we’re stuck with him, no name and all.”
    â€œDo you call him that, ‘no name’?”
    â€œMaybe we should, but no, we don’t.”
    â€œSo what do you call him, then?”
    â€œWell, he was convicted as John Doe, and since then everyone refers to him as that. They’ve yet to uncover any official documentation on him. It’s as if he just dropped out of nowhere. His fingerprints don’t match any record of previous convictions. He was picked up in a stolen car parked in front of an elementary school. An observant neighbor reported him as a suspicious character frequently seen in the area. Everyone was on the alert, I guess, after the first few disappearances from the school, and the police were watching him just as he was walking a new victim to his car. That’s when they made the arrest. But his version of the story is a little different. He says he was fully aware of his pursuers and expected, even wanted, to be caught, convicted, and put in a penitentiary.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhy? Who knows? When you ask a psychopath to explain himself, it only becomes more confusing. And John Doe is chaos itself.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” asked Leslie. Her husband emitted a short burst of laughter and then fell silent, as if scouring his mind for the right words.
    â€œOkay, here’s a little scene from an interview I had with him today. I asked him if he knew why he was in prison.”
    â€œâ€˜For frolicking,’ he said.
    â€œâ€˜What does that mean?’ I asked.
    â€œHis reply was: ‘Mean, mean, mean. You’re a meany, that’s what you are.’
    â€œThat childish ranting somehow sounded to me as if he were mimicking his victims. I’d really had enough right then but foolishly continued the interview.
    â€œâ€˜Do you know why you can’t leave here?’ I calmly asked with a poor variant of my original inquiry.
    â€œâ€˜Who says I can’t? I’ll just go when I want to. But I don’t want to go yet.’
    â€œâ€˜Why not?’ I naturally questioned.
    â€œâ€˜I just got here,’ he said. ‘Thought I’d take a holiday. Frolicking the way I do can be exhausting sometimes. I want to be in with all the others. Quite a rousing atmosphere, I expect. When can I go with them, when can I?’
    â€œCan you believe that? It would be cruel, though, to put him in general population, not to say he doesn’t deserve such cruelty. The average inmate doesn’t look favorably on Doe’s kind of crime. They see it as reflecting badly on them, being that they’re just your garden variety armed robbers, murderers, and whatnot. Everyone needs to feel they’re better than