Friday, December 27, 2013

Insanity goes deeper than the soul. At least that's what 27 year old Jeremy Pearce is beginning to experience. He sees the devil; a devil who is hell-bent on bringing down the apocalypse. Will Jeremy be able to save the world before it's too late?
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Here's an excerpt: 

 “How’re doing Jeremy,” he asks, me but I know he doesn’t really need an answer.

“I’m fine,” I reply in the same monotone.
“Dr. Schmidt, your previous therapist, showed me your file.”
I say nothing.
I know the question is coming.
It’s in his head.
He’s been looking at my file. So the question has to be right there on the tip of his tongue right about now, waiting to be spoken. But he keeps up the ‘act professionally’ charade, makes it feel like he sees this kind of thing all the time, but in reality he’s having a little fun with it. I’m the story he’s going to tell at a bar after making my name anonymous. I’m the case study that’s going to become dinner conversation when he takes some rich bitch out next week. He’s going to do it to make himself look well-balanced, prove how normal he is in a world full of weirdoes. In short, he’s going to look ‘normal’ at my expense.
“Jeremy Pearce,” he starts reading from his notes. “Twenty-eight. History of drug abuse. Second time being institutionalized. Says here you managed to break out of here the last time?”
“Must be true if it’s in the file.”
He smiles. That I am-such-a-great-person-for-giving-you-the-time-of-day smile. “Would you like to tell me exactly what it is that Dr. Schmidt was treating you for?”
“You read my file.”
“I just want to hear it. In your words.”
He wants to hear it. A real story to tell at his friend’s bachelor party:  So this guy comes in the other night and he thinks the world’s going to end. My file isn’t amusement enough.
So I give him what he needs. “I see the Devil.”
I let the words stay out there for a bit, I want him to get his money’s worth. I want to make sure all his years of study and research, and decades of pretending to know what he’s doing don’t go to waste. “When you say devil—?”
“I mean the Devil doc,” I say. “King of Hades. Biblical Evil Guy. He’s here and he’s real.”
I know how hard he must be trying to hold back that laughter, but he’s had so much more practice than any of the other people I’ve told this. “Okay Jeremy,” he says. “So why does the Devil appear to you?”
“He says he wants me to do something,” I tell him. “Says he needs my help.”
“Help? Doing what?”
I pause. This has to be dramatic. One day he may even end up writing a book about it. A book that explains to the world the true heroic nature of his work, how he is the beacon of sanity and intellect on this bizarre planet of madness and how much he cares.  
I look straight into his brown eyes, hoping he sees the glimmer of tears in mine. “Because,” I stammer. “He wants to bring down the apocalypse.”