Slipping Between the Cracks

Greetings. Make yourself comfortable on the bed if you wish. Pardonmy standing by the window--what I must say now unnerves me, causing me topace. Shall I begin my story now? It tells of the horrors which have placedme here in this home for the insane. Horrors from which there appears to be no safe place for me or anyone. Your expression tells me you're eager. Do not worry, all will be told to you soon enough, I assure you.

There was a time everyone knew me as a learned man, successfulby most measures with a wife and two solid, healthy children. My small lawpractice in Mid-town Manhattan handled the estates of the deceased. Nothing quite as exciting or captivating as criminal law but the pay was much greater.Looking out my window even now, I remember that night so clearly in my mind, as though it were yesterday. They drug me to dull my senses andinflict countless sessions of therapy to help me cope with my "delusions",but nothing seems to take away the clarity of my memories of that evening,October 23rd, 1886.

It was crisp and cold, the chill of winter was laying it's heavyhand upon the city early this year and was sparing me no effort in trying to freeze me as I walked hurriedly through the streets. My work kept me at the office later then usual that evening, I had to finish preparing some papers for the estate of Miss Katarina Whitmore, a wealthy young woman whohad been strangled to death by her paramour, a young man of handsome good looks but unsavory reputation.

To make sure everything was in order for the morning, I had to spend an extra hour on the documents. The papers had to be delivered by the next afternoon to the parties concerned. An extra hour which surely would have brought the wrath of my wife upon my head. Would have, that was if I had returned home that evening.

What? Oh, I'm sorry for rambling. The stage must be set for the story, so to speak. Worry not, the meat of the story will come soon enough. Let me continue. On my way home late that evening, I would imagine that hour was not so obscenely late, perhaps a little after nine or perhaps just before ten. My watch had been giving me trouble as of late and could not be relied upon to make accurate time. Realizing it was not possible to walk the some twelve blocks to my home and make good time, I decided to hail a cab.

Waiting for a passing cab on that corner for perhaps five minutesor so, I noted the streets were curiously empty for that time of night. Especially strange considering that it was a Friday evening, a time when most young people would be out and about, enjoying the night life of the city. Still, empty it was, a fact which set me ill at ease. No matter considering the weather.

Then a soft noise came from behind me. It was a curious whimpering noise, one which I have not heard since that night but one which I would know if I had to hear it again. Perhaps I can offer a sound akin to it, if you wish to truly imagine such a noise. Think of the sound a child might make were it to suddenly be torn from it's mother and then witness her senseless murder. Excuse me, I see that my words are a bit shocking to you. Well, in truth, I used such words to shock you but that is indeed the best approximation I can offer for such a sound! The noise disturbed me greatly and I turned to find it's source, all the while fancying that it was a lost child or perhaps some poor kitten turned out by some cruel person. It had sounded like it was coming from the other side of the dilapidated garbage bin which sat inside of the alley, against the aging brick wall of the old tenement.

You might imagine it was a silly thing for a person to do, at such a time of night and especially in such surroundings. Perhaps you are right. Certainly, it is not wise when it could have easily been a mugger or some equally loathsome person who was attempting to prey upon a helpful stranger. Believe me, I thought this very thing myself but when the whimpering noise happened again, it tore at my heart and I could not ignore the sadness which was so painfully clear in the sound. It took just a moment before I turned down the dark, heavily shadowed alley to discover the source of the sound, all the while mentally berating myself for such a potentially stupid action. When I came around tothe other side of the garbage bin, there was a quivering form underneath a rather dirty looking quilt. The figure beneath the blanket was leaning up against the side of the garbage bin, wholly covered by the quilt.

Let me tell you, it was at this time I began to feel a vague sense of fear, one of a nebulous sort which seemed to lurk in the back of my mind to taunt me as I looked at the blanket. When the whimper came again, a little louder, I nearly cried out at the sound, so piteous and heart wrenching it was with the fear that it sounded. The sound moved me to reach out to pull away the blanket, tossing it to the damp concrete of the alley.

Please, give me a moment before I continue. This is a terrible memory for me, you know, the one they say caused my madness. They speculate what I stumbled upon was some hapless murder victim, but the truth is, no human being had any hand in it.

Laying there against the wall was a man or more appropriately, a form which once belonged to one who was a man. Like a picture out of some gross anatomical text, this human form of bone and sinew sat against the wall, quivering. It was as though someone had taken a man and flayed him alive, then tossed his body carelessly in to an alley to die.

The look of disbelief on your face says you do not believe me. That's okay. It is good that you should think I am mad like the others do.It will keep your mind whole and your thoughts sound, pray you neverbelieve in my sanity while I tell you the eyes looked at me with such apain and fear that I nearly fainted.

It's hands reached out to me, bony affairs covered with muscle andveins which still pumped blood through them! That was the most shockingpart, this man or thing was not bleeding at all. It was as if the top layerhad merely been stripped away or perhaps, rendered invisible for all to seethe workings underneath. Let me assure you though, while it did not appearto be causing him to bleed or collapse, his eyes expressed a pain like noman should ever know. The sight stunned me--so stunned that I couldnot move. After all, with such a sight before you, in my opinion you wouldbe hard pressed to move at all. The mesmerizing effect of the hideousvisage rooted me to the spot, unable to help the sad and terrible creature.

Give me another moment before I continue for believe it or not, itgets worse. Again your face expresses doubt, which is also good. I would beone to doubt the mind of any who could accept or imagine a more terriblething.Thank you for your kind consideration of me and your patience, patience I assure you which is about to be rewarded with the rest of myterrible story, for better or for worse.As I had mentioned, it's hands reached out for me, clutching at meas if seeking some respite from it's pain at my hands. I still had notmoved or made a ound since my initial cry, I was scarcely breathing, sohypnotized I was by the situation, that I could do little else but stare.As I seemed almost able to regain some of my facilities, the man, no bestdescribed as a creature now, the creature let loose another miserablesounding cry.

It was then, to my mounting horror, when I realized what washappening. The blood and muscles of it's body begin to fade away! Yes, yesI know it is impossible but it is true. I watched as the veins in the bodybegan to disappear slowly, taking all the muscle and the fat of the bodywith it, simply vanishing in to nothingness and laying bare the bone andorgans which they covered.The body seemed to spasm as it reacted to the gradual loss of it'smuscles and veins, growing still only when the last of the muscles hadcompletely disappeared from their bone anchors. By God believe me when Itell you that there has never been a more terrible sight a man's eyes couldwitness then that.

The lifeless orbs in the thing's head began to slowly slip out ofthe bonny eye sockets, held in place only by the thin optical nerve whichhad then quickly snapped, causing the eye to fall to the ground with adull, wet noise.That sudden movement seemed to break the gruesome and unsavoryspell which seemed to hold me enraptured, forcing me to watch a scene thatfilled me with revulsion to the very core of my being. I could no longercontain myself as I then turned and emptied my stomach on the floor of thealley, doubled over and lutching my stomach like a sick child while tearsunabashedly ran down my cheeks.

 Please, I beg another moment before I continue my story. Retellingit brings back such vivid memories, ones which make me cry for my loss ofinnocence. Do not look at me like that! You have no idea how innocent youare, regardless as to how jaded you might feel! Surely you think my tale isone born of madness and rightly so but do not think for a moment that itwould be any less terrible then spawned from reality!I am sorry, please forgive my outburst, these days have been sotrying for me. My mind wanders more and more away as I stare out my windowsometimes wholly slipping away until one of the orderlies comes to check onme and bring me my medication. Thank you again, I am a bit better now, yesI will continue. To continue, I could no longer contain my reaction to such a sceneand dropped back against the wall of the opposite building, giving in tothe instinctive need to feel something solid gainst my body. This simplething seemed to do much for my mental state. My anxiety diminished as thehardness of the building pushed my back, it was real and gave me a bit ofcourage to stand up fully again. Still, it was more than a minute before Icould do so.

My eyes closed so tightly they hurt but my desire was not to openthem and witness the horror still laying in the alley just a few feet awayfrom me. It was then, I noticed the silence, even the winds seemed not tohave the voice to disturb the unnatural stillness which had descended uponme. These sign gave me hope that all was some terrible horrible hallucination brought on by stress. A vision having run its course wasfinished with me.Mustering all of the courage I could, my feet turned toward where theskeletal thing lay. It's not real, my inner voice said to me. Truly, opening my eyes, there was now nothing but human bonesthere, beginning to fall in upon themselves as they were being supported bynothing at all. It looked that even the cartilage which once held themtogether was gone away. Oh my, for me to let out such a piteous cry, onewhich caused pain throughout my own body was in itself unbelievable. Theshock hit me. My body slumped against the wall of the alley, facing thespot where the pile of bones lay. Only vaguely conscious of the worldaround me, I slid into a heap.How and why I stared at the bones for so long baffles me now. Some sick and perverted corner of my mind predicted the event which came to pass just a minute or two after I had imagined it in detail. There before me,the bones on the ground began to fade away from view slowly until there wasnothing left at all there but the quilt under which the thing... the manonce lay. My conscious memory kept what occurred next from me. Havingfainted from the stunningly horrible conclusion to such a wholly unnaturalprocess. A wild tale it is, true. Is it the insanity of a man whocraved some sort of attention? Perhaps, but I am not finished because the insidious nature of the situation does not end there, it simply grows moresubtle. Indulge me please and allow me to finish my tale, it needs to betold and unfortunately you are the only one chosen to hear it.

Upon awakening, I found myself in my bed with my worried wife sitting byme. My doctor, Edward Pierce, stood over me. "A policeman found you sitting in an alley this morning," he said"apparently suffering from shock and mumbling incoherently."

"How am I, Doctor?" I asked. "You have bruises on the back of your head."

He said. "That's the most likely cause of your situation. Probably slippedon the slick pavement and hit your head against the building."

My lack of eagerness to share or even remember the scene caused me tofight the memory. It already came back to me with rather painful clarity soI simply agreed with his prognosis, confirming that was what had happened.Edward, a well meaning but confident man seemed satisfied with thatsupposition and promptly left. After all, neither he nor anyone else hadany reason to believe that I might lie. Why would I? Why indeed...Excuse me a moment, I have a bit of an itch. Can you hand me thatsmall jar of balm there? Thank you very much, it soothes the itching a bit.The beds here are not well cleaned and sanitation for the patients is nextto none. Do get that look of outrage off of your face, you'll surely carenot by the end of this interview and it is a waste for you to thinkotherwise. It's not so bad and certainly better then being outside in theworld again.Thank you, just put this back over there. Where were we? Oh yes, Irecovered fully from my injuries, but my mind was much slower in recoveringfrom the trauma of the incident. It seemed to me, however, that time was myfriend because the memory of what had occurred was slowly beginning to growdimmer until it was nothing more then a vaguely unpleasant half remembereddream which occasionally came to me at night. My life began to growmore and more normal until it more or less resumed the same track it was onbefore that terrible evening. It was not until six months ago that thedream--the memory suddenly came back to me in a flash. Sitting at my deskin my office, I suddenly and vividly recalled the entire scene. A clientwas in my office with me, when I had a blacked out.

When at last my eyes opened, I experiencing a disquieting sensationof deja vu. The scene at my bedside was eerily identical to the one whichoccurred a few short months before, during my first fainting spell. DoctorEdward Pierce informed me he thought my condition was delayed traumareaction. He concluded that the original blow to my head had somehowdamaged one of the sensitive organs in my head. He felt the original injurywas the cause of this current fainting episode. He offered this with suchnow smug confidence. Smug because he was considered himself one of the bestdoctors in New York. He saw such a call was truly beneath his notability.He looked upon my illness as a symptom of weakness and my position suitablefor a doctor of less importance.

Since then, it has become painfully obvious little lies must be told toothers and we must tell ourselves the same lies to keep ourselves sane. Thedoctor offered me some pills of the latest fashion, boldly claiming theywould go some ways in repairing the damage which had been caused to mybrain. They would, he said, have me up and about in just a few short days.Perhaps his claim was true for I never had another fainting spell sincethen. In two days the spell was gone, just as the doctor had foretold. Not at myformer abilities, however, and constant assistance was required from mywife. She being the only other person in the house since our children weregrown and had long since left us for lives of their own. She helped feed meand clothe me, so strong was her devotion to me. Within a week, I was ableto do all these things myself, determinably returning to my work awaitingme at my office. For the two months after my last fainting spell,strange things began to occur around me. They were little things, like mynow extremely small circle of friends infrequent visits and then finallyentirely ceasing to call upon me. When I asked my closest friend, JacobDawe about it, he confessed that the matter slipped his mind. This mightnot have worried me for he was the forgetful sort, but he seemed so ill atease around me. Other things too, became apparent. New clients beganmissing their appointments with me and my older clients too seemed tolagging in the time with which they dealt with me, all claiming lapses inmemory and begging my pardon.Odd little things, yes but nothing terribly frightening. It wasthe end of that second month, true fear began to grip me like a vise. Itwas a Monday morning when I went to my office building. The doorman stoppedme and, asked my business there, so that he might announce me. This was theusual manner he would accord any of my clients. My annoyance with him wassevere.

"Who do you think I am?" I asked him and he didn't recognized me. Heapologized profusely but I saw his puzzlement as if something troubled himso he checked the register for my name. After doing so he announced that Iwas not on his list. Perhaps he said I should speak to the landlord aboutgetting my name added to it. He jokingly added that new owners names weresometimes neglected in their placement on the list.His joking comments did nothing to still the rapidly growing senseof unease which filled me as I walked away from the building, in a sort ofdaze. Deciding that illness had altered my appearance somehow, I decided togo to the offices of Edward Pierce. His secretary informed me he was busy,but I could make an appointment. Seeing no other choice I agreed. Sheinstructed me to fill out the form for new patients. Obviously she didn'tknow me so I just left.

By the look on your face, I can see that you're still skeptical. Did youdo as I said? Did you check for my records in the city hall? Do you evenremember my name? Of course you don't--I didn't think you did. Sometimes Iforget it myself. Look inside your book, it is written in there. Ah yes,Franklin Bailey, it feels good to say and hear my own name. I can see byyour expression that you're worried. Why? That maybe there is some truth tomy tale? You didn't find anything on me, you don't have to respond. If  I can't find it, why should you have any better luck?

This part of the story is the most painful part of the wholeordeal. I spent the rest of the day wandering about the city and thenfinally returned home. When I arrived, she was there. When she answered thedoor and I saw her face, I knew all was lost. Can you imagine, what it islike to have a woman who you have loved and lived with for some twenty-fiveyears treat you like a complete stranger? To see a look of cautioussuspicion in eyes which once held a loving, familiar gaze? I wanted tospeak to her, I wanted to tell her who I was. I wanted so desperately toscream out to her how much I needed her but there was nothing to be done.With a heavy heart, I left her to live the rest of her life. It is a painwhich tears at my heart even now, as I try to remember her face. This too,I have found is slipping away from me.

In the month I've been here, perhaps it's been two, time has lost allmeaning to me. They put people like me away in places like this. Beinghomeless wasn't the worst part of what happened to me, I wandered about thecity until the authorities put me here. Surely, I am probably better offhere.

Don't pity me! I see it in your eyes. You still think I'm crazy, which isfine, for your sake you best continue to think so. You see, Franklin Baileyis slipping away, fading from memory. Day by day, his memories simplydisappear. The orderlies come by with less frequency, as they too areforgetting about me. You also will forget about me, in time, but your bookwill remember if you keep it safe. The saddest thing is, that even that too will eventually be gone in time.

No! Don't say a word to me, there is nothing you can say which will easemy pain, whether you think its cause is real or not. I suppose though, itdoesn't really matter because you will forget this and I will be whollygone. The itching, I lied, it's not the dirt but the tingling feeling whichI know is the sign of my own fading away. I will most assuredly be gonebefore the sun rises tomorrow.

You should probably leave now, I am tired and they say that I need myrest. I do not care what you think of me, honestly, but before you go letme say one last thing. Whenever someone forgets your name or misses anappointment with you, are they simply being absent-minded or are you tooslipping through the cracks?

Brian Gatti

Email: Brian Gatti

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