From The Inside

Later that day Darius Noler had told no one about LaMont Brisden's ill-fortune. That is to say, no one except the executive board at Vertex. Somebody at least would have to know why his sudden absenteeism had surged. Although, LaMont probably couldn't hear him at the time because he was still under the affects of a strong dose of surgical anesthesia, Darius had promised to deliver that advertising project as scheduled. Then, also he vowed to take care of the tape that he found, and would throw in a grand statement for him at the office.

LaMont had suffered an ugly contusion; which, was stitched and wrapped in white bandages, two broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a closed blackened eye. At one point he had fluttered the uninjured eye. A sure sign of life, though tallied as an involuntary reaction toward some silently painful reflex. He remained unconscious the entire time.

Darius wasn't one to enjoy seeing another suffer or bedridden, therefore, his visit had been cut short by an urge to breathe fresh air. He hated artificial air. And hospital air was to him as close as it came. It always smelled of sanitized linens, utensils, plastics, and medicines. Even the gift shop possessed an alien sort of smell. This he discovered after havin' been exposed to the bountifully assorted little room for almost forty minutes trying to select an appropriate sentiment for his seriously wonded friend. Finally, he went with an autumn-like flower arrangement and a handsome card; the kind with the mean little funny words inscribed on it, and a crazy characterization on the face. Even now the recollection of it brought a timid smile across his own dull expression. He thought it ironic, but greeting cards seemed to serve two purposes all in one. To enlighten the person giving it away, and to uplift the spirit of the dear person on the receiving end. How remarkable. He fostered the phenomenon close and endearing.

Idly he sat in his new den with that wretched video tape in hand, and something other than hospitals clustering his mind. Strangely, it was guilt cuasing him to feel coldhearted and shrewd for still wanting to spend his weedend out of town with a woman having fun while his freind of four years lay sick under the doctors care. But none of this was his fault, he pondered and wished somehow for LaMont to understand. Then, that's where the confusing part took form. Wasn't this woman; Alyssa, the one who should understand? Their plans for Lewiston, Maine would definitely have to go on hold. Injured friends came way before pleasure.

Then he remembered the medical report. Yes. His condition was serious. But, nonetheless, he would make it through the night and many more to come. The big question was whether he'd sustain any permanent damage. No one would know for certain until the patient fully regained consciousness.

Darius wanted to be near. At least 'til that had happened. Therefore, it was settled; his mind was made. He decided to give Alyssa Crantion a call in an hour or so. She was probably wondering when to expect to hear from him anyway. He had started to phone from the hospital waiting room; but, it never seemed appropriate. At the moment he needed to sort some things out.

He lifted the cartridge to eye level as though to view it's contents without the proper equipment. Then, at last he leaped to his feet and moved towards the console which housed a forty inch screen TV, and video recorder. Quickly he set things up and grabbed the remote.

Oh, what he would give to hear whatever those men around that table was saying. But, whomever had made the tape, done so without audio. Their lips definitely moved to some sort of dialogue. Still, to view it was like watching a mime. His ambition was to get what he could out of it, and as soon as possible. Suddenly, he recalled something LaMont Brisden told him the night before. An anonymous letter. Implementations of conspiracy. How could this be happening? And where does it all begin?

He continued to dwell at the past, and came out with yet another puzzling hitch. Back at the townhouse and even amongst the trashed-up furniture, there wasn't a scrap of paper that resembled this so-called letter, not even where he had discovered the VCR. Obviously it was missing. Taken by the culprits responsible for the turmoil at present. Nothing made sense. No. Nothing whatsoever.

He had almost given up and about to eject the tape when he gasped onto an idea.

A speech expert just might be able to place some words to those silently moving lips. But who could he trust? Somebody that'll do the job without many questions. Somebody that wasn't likely to talk to the wrong people. The police registered last on his list. And the executives at Vertex ranged next to that. There was no one. Darius Noler conceded and felt himself release a long and heavy sigh. This was going to take some careful scrutiny. He wasn't about to lead them on to him. They were obvioulsy quite dangerous.

A grave while had expired and Darius found it highly cumbersome and lethargic to just sit there and allow his mind to mull over the problem at large. All sorts of evil conclusions came to life in his head. Many of which he dreaded to even imagine them to ever take form in the real world. He troubled with that for an endless amount of time.

After surfacing from his foremost thoughts, he learned that he had also been entertaining little passages of what it would be like to share the thrills of Lewiston, Maine with the woman he grew to desire. Once those thoughts took over, the rest appeared to be a less hindering triviality. He knew that this weekend couldn't have approached at a more timely revelation.  LaMont would understand. He convinced himself of it and mentally soared over his weekend plans.