Without Reason

I can feel my own fear in the air. I am so afraid.

I do not know why I am here. I do not know why I am trapped in this darkness. Someone is moving nearby!

He says, “There is a light switch by your fingers. Turn it on.”

There is a strange eagerness in his voice. I remain still.

He says, “Come now, you can’t like being in the dark.”

I say, “T-That’s true.”

I think I know what this is! Yesterday morning my brother Ted read to me from the newspaper. I can remember it very well because he read it very clearly.

He is right here—less than six feet away from me—the murderer!

He says, “You’re very quiet. Please turn on the light.”

I shake my head viciously and then remember he cannot see me in the darkness. “N-no, I’m fine.” Before he can say anything, I continue, “Why am I here? Are you going to kill me?”

He does not say anything for a few seconds. “Turn on the light, dear child.”

“No,” I whisper, “I will not.”

I can hear his muscles tense; I can feel the air tighten with electricity. My God! I am toying with a murderer!

He says, “Tell me why not.”

The tone in his voice—oddly calm for his angry demeanor, reminds me suddenly of my brother. He must be sitting at home now, wondering why I have not gotten back from school yet. Soon he will call the teacher, and when he finds out I left he will go looking for me. He will walk and walk but he will never know that I took the bus today. I usually walk home with Glenda and Potter, who go to P.S 231, but I was so sick of hearing them talk about how pretty the leaves are this time of year that I had to take the bus. It brings me within a few blocks of my house, and that was when he got me.

I had let go of the cold railing, touching the cement with my squeaky shoes. I reached out for the bench nearby, but my glasses fell off and I leaned down to find them. That was when he grabbed me. He wrapped a hand across my mouth and just tossed me into the van. I do not think anybody saw it. I know it was a van because of the way it sounded. He made me lie down on the floor and then he tied my hands up with tape. He did not say anything at all. I could not even scream; I was so terrified.

We drove for maybe forty minutes, but I do not know how far we went. He may have doubled back to throw my senses off. Then we parked somewhere and he pulled me out. I could hear leaves crunching underneath my feet. We went up a few steps (I stumbled a bit) and then he pulled me inside.

I think I am in a basement because he carried me down some stairs (He must be wearing boots or something because it was very noisy). He pulled the tape off my hands and then walked away. I touched the walls; they are stone.

He repeats, shaking me of my thoughts, “Why won’t you turn on the lights?”

“I—I—”

It suddenly occurs to me that he does not know! He cannot possibly suspect the truth about me. My thoughts quicken. I need to use this.

I say, “I like the dark.”

I can almost taste the discord in the air. He says, “Do they know, then?”

I say, “Know about what?”

“Know about what I do. Have they told it in the papers?”

I reply, trying to show courage in my voice. “I don’t know anything about what you do. All I know is that you’ve kidnapped me and taken me somewhere and won’t stop asking me to turn on some silly little light. Why don’t you tell me what you do?”

There is a very long, unnatural pause. I hear him shuffle in the dark.

He spoke. “You are a brave little one. I wonder why you are not afraid of the dark.”

I wonder how he cannot sense my fear. He is not correct in saying I do not fear the dark.

He goes on. “What is your name, girl?”

I see no reason to lie. “Jane. My name is Jane—”

“That’s enough. I don’t need last names. Listen to me, Jane. Do you really know what light and dark is, and the power they hold over us; do you?”

Of course I do. I know more than anybody. “Yes I do.”

“Are you sure Jane? I don’t think you understand at all. You see, the light is everything to us. When we are little it saves us from the monsters. When we grow older, it continues the tradition. Alone in a dark room, what will someone do? They will light a match or flip a switch, so that the light will chase away the darkness and save them. Go ahead, Jane, turn on the light and save yourself.”

But that eagerness in his voice betrays him yet again. I said, “No sir, I won’t. What is your name, now that we’re asking questions?”

His breath breaks its pattern; he is confused by my attitude. “You are strange! But I suppose an answer is sufficient. My name is Paul, my dear, and that is enough of a name for you to know, thank you.” I hear him take a step and suddenly realize he is directly behind me, breathing upon my neck. I turn around quickly and fall backwards, tripping over something and falling onto the floor. I stand up again quickly. Paul laughs. “You see, this is the magic of the darkness! It clouds our vision and brings upon us all the monsters of our nightmares. Darkness is the evil we all fear and despise; the darkness of death.”

“S-So?” I croak out. “What does that have to do with—with me, and—and you?”

“Oh dear, it has everything to do with it. For I’m here to show you that life does not only end in darkness but also in light, and that is perhaps the worst death of all.”

I am confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Jane, when you grow up you depend on the light to save you from everything. But that is simply not true! To die in the light would be the greatest betrayal of all. The light would be both your murderer and your messiah.”

I understand now! He means to kill me—he wants me to flip the switch so he can see and then he will do it. But he doesn’t know about me, and what I am like. He does not know my secret.

I return, “You may be correct about that.”

He says again, eagerly, “Aren’t you afraid, Jane? You’re trapped in a small dark room with a man who is going to kill you. You can feel him around you, but you can’t see him. You feel his breath in your face, and you become so panicked that you revert to the primitive instincts you possessed as a child. You begin to feel that if you turn the light on, all the monsters will be banished and you will be safe again.”

I cannot say anything. My tongue is completely caught in my teeth because he understands me. He understands me more than my brother or my father ever could. He understood me more than any doctor ever has. He understood me and he does not realize it.

He hears my silence. “Tell me, Jane, do you believe in God? Do not lie to me.”

“No.” I answered him truthfully.

He seems taken aback. “No? Maybe we have something in common. Why don’t you believe in Him?”

I recite the words from memory, the ones I had thought about so many times since they took the bandages off. “Everything is supposed to happen because of God. But that’s not right. If He was real, then things would all work for the greater good. Everything would happen for a reason.” Just saying it brought me back.

I was playing in a vacant lot when it happened. Glenda and Potter had left me about twenty minutes ago and I was alone, but that was fine. I liked playing by myself in that lot behind the café. I had my bright red Tonka Truck, and my nice pink Polly Pocket. I remember them very clearly. It was starting to get late, so I started home.

I knew I was not supposed to go through the alley—but it was so much faster than going around! I could get home in only ten minutes instead of fifteen, and that made a world of difference to an eight-year old.

But as I got out there, I could hear yells coming from inside the jewelry store. I walked over, curious to see what was going on. Suddenly the back door opened and a man wearing a sock on his head rushed out, carrying a full paper bag in one hand, and a can in the other. Behind him, a smaller man came with a gun, holding it out at the jewelry store and yelling at them. The first man was heading right for me!

I saw a car sitting beside me and sat behind it, near the front, waiting for them to run away. Then the first man came around.

I wonder what he thought about when he did it. He must have been panicking because he was only seventeen and this was his first robbery. Maybe he already used the last of his cocaine, and I looked like a big strong man ready to attack him. I guess it does not matter. He pushed that button down on the can. My wide open eyes (Ted tells me they are grey) saw whatever was inside. It was my last sight.

I do not remember anything after it began to burn. I rolled away, crying and shaking. They did not find me for a couple of hours. By then it was too late. The damage was done.

The dark does not scare me anymore. People do.

He seems to think about my reflections on God. “I think you are wise beyond your years, my dear Jane. But I’ve asked you quite a lot of questions; do you have any for me? Or perchance you would like to turn on the light now?”

I say hurriedly, and without much thought, “Why do you do this?”

I hear him click his tongue in his mouth. “The other girl asked that too, before she died. Poor thing, she wasn’t as smart as you were. She flipped the switch first chance she got. But why? The word ‘why’ means absolutely nothing today. Perhaps it never did. Why do people die? Why are we here? There are just no answers adequate enough to answer one of those questions.”

“Coward,” I whisper. “You asked me why I don’t believe in God, and I answered. You’re lying to me. I can tell.”

Now his voice is low and deadly. “Little girl, when you spoke of God you spoke of reason. You said that everything does not happen for a reason. You are exactly correct. Nothing happens for a reason. I don’t kill for any reason whatsoever. It gives me neither pleasure nor pain. There is no logic behind what I do.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Ah-ah, my dear, you’re wrong, and that is the real kicker of it. I am completely and entirely sane. I know exactly what I’m doing and I don’t mind doing it. There is no why in this case. I can kill without remorse, so I do.”

The true horror of this begins to descend upon my mind. Oh God! He has an advantage as great as mine or perhaps greater!

He continues. “Let me tell you some things about me. I am a professor in Maine. I have a wife named Beverly, but I married more for the status than for any love. I grew up in Colorado, and I did things just like you. My parents were good to me; they’re dead now. My brother Fenton works in Pennsylvania and my sister Tanya in Florida. I’m your typical American!”

I have seen the horror films, where a killer slashes at teenagers from behind a mask; that is the supernatural killer. I have seen the evening news, where insane mental patients go on murderous rampages; that is the real, but comfortably crazy killer. But this...to face a perfectly normal person who is capable of committing these atrocities...it is more horrifying than anything I have ever experienced.

He whispers, “You are beginning to see it, then.”

Perhaps all people have this essence in them! Perhaps all people are capable of murdering each other in this way! The news media often makes it seem that every killer is insane with some illness that makes him behave the way he does, but what if...Oh God what if there are just people out there like Paul! What then?

In my panic, I yell, “Oh God! There is nothing wrong with you!”

He laughs a painfully normal laugh. “Yes, you do see. You understand that nothing has to have a reason, and neither do my actions.” I feel Paul’s breath upon me as he leans in. “Now turn on the light, Jane.”

“No! NO!” I shriek and push him away, falling onto the floor. This time I do not stand. I can’t. This evil is too much for me!

He is silent for a long time after that, as I cry. Finally I stand. I feel burned hollow.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe things just don’t have a reason. Maybe we’re all just...just victims of...of fate. Maybe I’m here now for no other reason than...than that I’m here.”

“Exactly,” Paul whispers. “Jane, you have been in the dark for too long. Let it go. Go to your savior, light.”

I am crying again. Suddenly it does not seem like that bad of an option, death. I reach up, and then change my mind.

“Now you’re the one that doesn’t understand,” I whisper. “I’m here...because of fate. We both agreed on that. Why did fate bring me here? Because I will never leave the darkness. It’s always dark for me.” I can tell Paul does not get it. “I’M BLIND, DAMMIT!”

I can hear him backing away roughly in shock. “No...no...that can’t be...I...”

“YES!” I screamed at him. “YES IT’S TRUE! I can’t see you or anything else! Why is that huh? IS THERE A REASON I’M BLIND? TELL ME THAT, PAUL!”

He is the one afraid now, falling backwards.

“I might as well turn on your light, because no matter what I’ll die in the dark, get it?! The light has already betrayed me once, and it can’t do it again! GET IT?!”

Paul is scrambling backwards and now my fury overrides my paralyzing fear. I chase after him. I hear him scrambling to unlock the door to the basement and I jump on his back. I feel for his fingertips—there it is! In his right hand he holds a knife, sharp to the touch. It cuts my palm when I grab its edge. I pull it from him and take three steps backwards.

“Well Paul,” I whispered. “I’ve got the knife now. Is there a reason for that?”

He is shaking—I can feel the vibrations in the floor. “There-There aren’t any reasons for anything. We-We already covered that.”

I look in the general direction of his voice and without a word flick the light switch.

To me, there is no change, but Paul is blinded by it. I raise the knife and grope around in front of me, feeling it bite into something soft. Paul screams. I pull the knife back and step away.

He is on the floor and breathing heavily. One arm twitches, nails scratching the floor. Something is dripping on the concrete.

Paul croaks, “W-Why is this happening?”

I say, silently crying to myself, “Ask Him if he’s there.”

My captor’s breathing becomes more and more labored, and I stand before him, making sure he can see me as he dies. Paul was the most wicked of humanity and yet the most noble. Paul was a lowly murderer and sadist, but he was also a husband and a professor. He was the most normal of human beings, and yet he was the most evil. I feel no regret or remorse in killing him.

When they later asked me why I did it, I did not know how to reply. Did I do it because he kidnapped me? Did I do it because he enlightened me? Did I do it because of what he was? Or did I do it because it was fate that he should die before he could claim more unwary victims? Perhaps there isn’t a reason. There is just an action.

When they searched the building where I was they found that he had video taped our entire conversation. I am glad he taped it. I do not think they would have believed my story if he had not taped it. For most of the tape you can hear just the voices. It is only at the end, when I boldly flipped the light switch, did they see what had happened. It is ironic, and somewhat fitting. Perhaps it is fate.

The tape clearly absolved me of any blame and I was not charged of murdering Paul. They looked him up. He really is a professor and he does have a wife named Beverly. She is very angry at me right now. She was talking on the radio once, and she said that Paul was a perfectly normal person who could never do what he did. But she never listened to the tape. See, she is right, Paul was a perfectly normal murderer, and that is why I had to kill him.

On my roof at night, I sometimes look up into a starless sky and wonder if there is a God, or if it is fate that guides us. I still think it is the latter.

I think about the word ‘blind,’ and how it is an oxymoron in itself. For in that crypt beneath the building, my blindness saved me. But when Paul himself was blinded, it destroyed him. And it does not matter which of us had died, or for whatever reason, because life still would have continued on. Perhaps it was God’s Will that I survived...or perhaps it was fate.