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John Carpenter's

 

BLAIR'S PSYCHOSIS

by Jeffroi


It had been a while since the dark figure of MacReady had left Blair alone to the confines of the cabin. He sat for a short period, looking beyond the physical binds with a partially demented and psychotic expression. The morphine had now taken its full effect. Slowly, his fear and anxiety of Clark and the other crew members, dissipated. He sat quietly in the chair awaiting. He was all alone now, more than any other time in his life.

"Nothing to do... nothing to do," he repeated to himself, bringing his weathered old hands up to his forehead, and massaging his temples for some sort of relief. His eyes found the walls, noticing their uncanny featureless attitude. But it was too dark to see anything, and the horrific silence was beginning to settle in. The cold wisps of the snow outside had become backdrop to the theater of Blair's wandering drug induced thoughts. The warm filth in full circulation of his veins began to take control of his reality.

"Where am I, how did I end up here?"

It seemed like an eternity before Blair realized the twofold nature of his question. But the answers couldn't come. In the corner laid a ten foot piece of rope that quickly drew his attention. He contemplated the notion of suicide, and what an easy way it was to end it all. He was hopeless, jailed and drugged. If the "thing" was coming for him, it would have selected the ideal moment to do so. But, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Outside the cabin, a struggle for survival was transpiring, but inside himself, the drug was performing its own assimilation. It was taking him over. He could literally sense his endorphins being corrupted as the drug attached itself to his cerebral receptors. A shift in his seat confirmed his motor skills had severely depreciated, but he didn't want to think of it anymore, he didn't want to think at all. He wanted to get out. Pressed down by what seemed like a thousand tons, his eyelids succumbed to the fictitiously magnified gravity, and shut closed. The cold wooden table in front of him recoiled, as his head struck hard. Blair fell deeply into the abyss of sleep.

Thump-Thump... Thump-Thump...

"Smiley abhors zero. Smiley is a vector space."

Blair raised his head in a fever, and with a brief twitch, realized that he was youthful again. Through his mind's eye he was attending one of the first mathematics courses he was required to complete for medical school. But somehow the ambience was not inviting, and he felt uncomfortable being there. There were students all around him, attentive to the figure at the front of the room that was lecturing. Like robots, their heads would lift up and down in harmony, jotting down as much as they could in spiral notebooks. The professor began to scribble more equations on the blackboard, but before he could read any of it out, as though it possessed an entity to solve all his problems, the image was gone.

His head started again.

(Pulmonary Wegener's Granulomatosis...)

It wants us...nobody understands. It wants to be us. It took the lives of all the Norwegian crew members, and now us. And then... I should've killed them all, while I had the chance. Logic dictated my actions, to place all other life forms above mine and others, my whole life has been devoted to this philosophy. Innocent people will always fall in a crusade. Cause and effect... I should've killed them all. "Trust in the Lord"... what was that MacReady had said, trust in the Lord... put your trust in yourself MacReady, for when it's all over, we only experience our own self.

Thump-Thump... Thump-Thump...

His beta signs fluctuated sporadically to alpha and gamma sleep patterns. Terrifying images of the past began to storm through his internal vision. He began reliving the horrible details of patients he had lost in the emergency room, one in particular. A man who was involved in a domestic dispute with a crazed and drunken lunatic, ended up being stabbed with a fork in his upper lip, that pierced straight through and into his gums. He recalled the inordinate amount of blood that had gushed out in unrestrainable jets, soaking his gown. He further experienced how his professional conduct, despite the obvious horror of the situation and the nurse who couldn't stomach the sight, had always remained intact. The man died within minutes on the operating table after having lost too much blood. Blair remained unshaken, seemingly inhuman.

It had to be Clark, it had to be...

Traveling the upward helical spiral of memory, from all his residency years and training, operations and diagnostics gone wrong, to the Norwegian dog, Clark and the blood tests, the synaptic voyage came to a crushing halt on a specific afternoon, after performing his first angioplasty back in the city. Leaning against a fence, a young and vibrant Blair awaited the train home. A confident aura encompassed his physically exhausted frame, due to having saved a middle-aged man from almost certain death. The process entailed over nine hours of surgery, leaving him tired, but proud. Three school boys, all of about ten years old, stood near him chucking rocks at the dividing fence that separated the tracks. Every second or so, a sharp 'clack' echoed through the air as a rock struck the steel of the fence, sending painful vibrations to everyone's ears that stood nearby. He wanted to go over and scream at the kids for being disrespectful little ruffians, but his energy was depleted.

Thump-Thump... Thump-Thump...

(...Intracranial Hematomas)

Before long, a well suited woman approached the young vigilantes, and through a quick persuasive dialogue, she was able to make them stop without even raising her voice. Blair wanted to approach her, to commend her on her actions, but the train was approaching. It was only about five meters away, when the man next to him, like something out of a dark comic strip, plunged off the platform into the front of the oncoming train. Upon impact, the man's head blew open like a rancid pumpkin thrown against a wet sidewalk. All the commuters went into emotional shock, crying, yelling and shouting, as the blood covered everything in sight, while skull fragments went flying like shrapnel. The screams were so agonizingly painful for Blair, he had to cover his ears. All he could remember was the sound of the crowd... an overwhelming chorus of hysteria... blackness.

Thump-Thump... Thump-Thump... Thump-Thump...

(...Intracranial Hematomas)

Before long, a well suited woman approached the young vigilantes, and through a quick persuasive dialogue, she was able to make them stop without even raising her voice. Blair wanted to approach her, to commend her on her actions, but the train was approaching. It was only about five meters away, when the man next to him, like something out of a dark comic strip, plunged off the platform into the front of the oncoming train. Upon impact, the man's head blew open like a rancid pumpkin thrown against a wet sidewalk. All the commuters went into emotional shock, crying, yelling and shouting, as the blood covered everything in sight, while skull fragments went flying like shrapnel. The screams were so agonizingly painful for Blair, he had to cover his ears. All he could remember was the sound of the crowd... an overwhelming chorus of hysteria... blackness.

Thump-Thump... Thump-Thump... Thump-Thump... Thump-Thump...

Clark, is it Clark... The chameleon strikes in the dark.

The door was ajar.

Pain shot through his heart. The morphine had worn off, or so it seemed. His body immediately went into convulsions. His nerves cut through with cindery pain, as though they were set on fire, but he couldn't scream out. His toes curled up in reflex, with such strength they tore a hole in his boots. All his muscles contracted beyond a realm of physical hurt that was thought to exist, while his jaw bit down with such force that it severed his tongue. Blood poured out of his mouth as he tried to tear open his eyes, but darkness prevailed. He couldn't see anything, just the recurring image of that man and the train... flesh... he couldn't save him.

Thump-Thump...

His thoughts quickly turned to the corpse brought back from the Norwegian camp, with the foul smell still right under his nose. He hated that "thing," whatever it was and wherever it came from. It represented an exponentially devouring and tenebrous virus. Mankind, amiss this sort of existence, was just another node in the universal food chain. Grass in a cow field. A mad-cow field.

Unfolding like a Kerr metric, space and time coalesced into a perturbed biology being swallowed by a black hole. Quivering and fighting... cells upon cells upon cellular wars. His heart was slowing in a quietus thump, and the relenting anguish was beginning to subside. The transient effect wore off. The deterministic chaos went away for a brief moment. He saw a portrait of a boy, who he barely recognized as himself.

An organism that imitates, and imitates perfectly.

Thump-Thump... Thump-Thump...

He was hungry now.


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