Whew! They're getting longer and the plot's getting twistier! Y'all have read "Candice's Diary: Introduction" riiiight? Be sure to read them in order! What little sense they do make will be lost if you don't!

Here goes:

Chapter One
Sept.5/01

He held his hand to his head, to try to keep the room from tilting.
?What was I drinking last night?? He wondered, ?Why did does my head hurt so bad? No, I wasn?t drinking, only a couple of beers with dinner. Why the pounding skull??
He swung his feet over the side of the bed and surveyed his cluttered bedroom. Clothes, clean or dirty, lay on the floor or over the back of the chair. Books were piled here and there, some of the piles had fallen over. Newspapers and notepaper littered the floor. Everything seemed ok, it was the same mess that had been there all week. Still, things looked different somehow, like things had been picked up, examined and carefully put back down. Like things were the same in a deliberate way.
He shuffled to the bathroom to brush his teeth and shave. Then headed for the kitchen to find some coffee. He habitually reached for a cigarette, but there were none since he had quit smoking several years ago. Just an ashtray on the kitchen table to remind him of that. The coffee made, he sat at the table and looked out the window. It wasn?t even 10 am yet, but he already felt exhausted.

?What the hell was I dreaming about? Some kind of goddamn road sign, islands. Shit.? Then he remembered the second part of the dream, the part where he thought he?d woken up. He looked around, nervous, was he still dreaming now? Hard to say, it had happened before, although not for this length of time. He looked at his hands, a way some people use to confirm if they?re dreaming or not. But he?d seen his hands in the first dream, while he was looking at the sign. That wasn?t going to work. He looked out the window again, everything looked normal outside, one point in favour of being awake. He went to the front door, hitched up his bathrobe and opened it. There in the hallway lay the morning?s Spanish-language newspaper. His neighbour across the hall came out of his apartment. A portly fellow of mixed white & Mexican blood, he locked his door and turned to greet him.

?Good morning Mr. Wiebe! Oh, rough night last night?? He pronounced it wee-bee, which was close enough. Otherwise his English was excellent. ?You don?t look so well.?
?Mr. Santos, good morning. No, I think I got some kind of migraine or something, my head is busting. But not, you know, from the usual reasons.? He smiled as best he could. Mr. Santos was really Mr. Dexter, but had taken his mother?s maiden name a few years back. It was better for business if you looked Mexican and you had a Mexican sounding name. People asked fewer questions that way.
?Late start today? You?re usually out before the sun rises.?
?Oh, si,si. I came back to check up on Harvey. It might get hot today so I had to make sure his water was still cool, you know, so he doesn?t overheat. I must be going, I?m meeting a client.?
?Alright, good luck with that.? Why a fully-grown man, a middle aged man in fact, would keep a big lizard was beyond him. It wasn?t like it was a pet left over from a bad marriage. As far as he knew, Mr. Santos had never married. Perhaps that explained the lizard, something cold and emotionless to come home to every day.

He returned to the table and opened the paper. But his mind was wandering, and he wasn?t able to read Spanish unless he concentrated. What was he thinking about before? Weather he was awake, really awake or not. Hands? Done that. He had looked Mr. Santos right in the eyes, that was another sign of being awake. But his girlfriend had looked at him too. What was she doing in his dreams? He hadn?t seen her in, must be a year now. Hanna, why did he think she was Cree in his dream? He couldn?t remember why, only that he?d just known it.
?Shit.? He said out loud, and thought; ?This is going to bug me all day unless I figure it out.?
Writing! Of course! It was nearly impossible to write something down in a dream. And even if you could, it was like children?s writing, big, jerky letters wandering over the lines. He got out a pen and paper and tried to write down something he remembered from the dream. He found a pen by the telephone and on his newspaper he wrote: Candice.
?Well, at least I?m awake.? His writing was clear and neat. He?d always had good penmanship. ?But Candice?? He wondered, ?Who the hell is that?? He shook his head, too much thinking, he thought. Time to get out of there before he went buggy.

He dressed in his usual outfit, an old suit and an old-man?s hat. It fit his personality, since he often felt much older than he really was. The suit was nearly as old as he was, he had bought it in a second-hand store. He had several that looked very similar to it. It was like a costume, people could recognize him from a distance just by seeing his suit. And, since they were so used to seeing him dressed a certain way, it was like a disguise if he wore something else. He didn?t bother with a tie.

He walked down the steps of his apartment block, turned right on a whim and started down the street. What was there to do today? Anything important? He didn?t need to check his daybook, there was nothing to do this entire week. His next important appointment was next week, his doctor?s at 1 o?clock. He headed for the hill to the north, he hadn?t been walking that way in quite a while. Did he need to work? No, he had plenty of money. It was actually amazing that he hadn?t been drinking heavily last night, there was nothing else to do and he could certainly afford to. His last job had been messy, and had taken a couple of weeks to complete. But it had paid very well, Mr. Constanzi had been very pleased with the results of his work.
Perhaps he?d go down to the casino and make some more money? No, he didn?t feel like gambling, he didn?t have that ?lucky feeling? that meant he was going to win. He also didn?t feel like going down there and losing, giving some of it back. Besides, he was walking in the other direction now. He walked, hands in pockets, and thought about his dreams the night before.
Eventually, he noticed a street he didn?t remember and headed up the hill it lead to. He knew most of Monterrey quite well; it was essential when he was working. But this was a poorer part of town, not too often people he was looking for came to the poor districts. They usually had money, those people, and stayed in the tourist friendly areas. Despite being a white man, he didn?t look like a tourist. He had just the right amount of a suntan to show that he was a Monterrey native, that this was his adopted home. His spoken Spanish also showed him to be a local, he had that ?east coast? accent that only a true Mexican could detect.

As he crested the hill he saw something he was certain he?d never seen before. In fact, he?d never even heard someone mention it?s existence, which was truly unusual. Just when you think you know everything, he mused, there it is: something new. How far had he traveled? It was siesta time, he?d been wandering for hours. Since he usually walked quite quickly, he could be miles from his apartment. This was, he determined, at least it used to be the northern edge of the city. It hadn?t been made into suburbs for the wealthy because of it?s unfavourable terrain. The suburbs had bypassed it on either side, leaving it to squalor and poverty. From the hill he stood on he could see the entire area. Like a shallow bowl, this area had none of the things wealthy folks wanted, and several things they didn?t want. There was a factory spewing pollution on the seaward side, although you couldn?t see the ocean from any point here. He?d been to that factory before, but it must have been at night since he didn?t remember any of the surrounding neighbourhood. There were ramshackle houses and brick apartment blocks that leaned towards each other, just like every other poor area. Pantanta, he remembered, was the derogatory name for this neighbourhood. Even the poor didn?t want to live here, it was shunned. But the building that had captured his attention stood apart from all that. It was trying so hard to blend in and not be noticed that it stood out distinctly, if one managed to see it at all.

It was a huge building, three stories high, perhaps four, with what looked like a big concrete parking garage attached to it?s right-hand, or eastern side. But the large piece of land it was on was sunken into the side of the hill, with tall trees all around it. In fact, it was nearly hidden from any angle except the spot where he was standing now. Even one block over to the right and he?d have missed it. The hill was very steep to his left, and the narrow, rutted dirt road looked like it dead-ended once it passed the building. If someone didn?t know exactly where it was, it would be very difficult to find. Even the ?garage? was sheltered by boarded-up apartment blocks, nearly invisible.

How long did he stand and simply stare at this place? He had no idea. It was mesmerizing, hypnotic. He knew for a fact he?d never laid eyes on it before, yet it was so familiar. Hauntingly familiar, yet he knew nothing about it.

A man shuffled past him, breaking the spell. A wino, a drunk, probably just waking up from last night?s binge. He hailed the man in Spanish and asked him what that building was. The answer surprised him.
?What building?? the wino replied, in Spanish, ?We don?t talk about that. Leave me alone, leave me to God.?
This was new, a local who didn?t want to discuss his neighbourhood. But he knew how to encourage a conversation. He talked with the man, the name he gave was Juan, and convinced him to join him for lunch. Wasn?t he thirsty? Every drunk knew what that meant, and it was an invitation that was difficult to resist.
They walked back the way he had come, away from the Pantanta area, until they found a hole in the wall bar where the owners had already awakened from their siesta. Only six small tables in the place, and two more outside on the sidewalk. He ordered some food for Juan and himself, and requested biento Cervezas, bring us beer until you?re told to stop. He handed the man running the place $40 in US currency, making sure Juan noticed that there were more where that came from. The owner smiled brightly and hopped to it, paying customers were obviously not normal around here.

After the food part of their lunch was done, and a couple of beers had loosened his tongue, Juan seemed more willing to speak. He wondered when the last time Juan had eaten a proper meal was. His teeth were bad, and his complexion marked with scars from pox and fights. His left hand seemed damaged, and he generally kept it out of sight. They were about the same age, he and Juan, but Juan looked on the outside as old as he felt on the inside.
?Tequila?? Juan asked him as the owner brought another round of beer.
?Dos? He replied to the owner, holding up two fingers, requesting doubles. ?For my friend.? He added with a smile.
Juan snapped both drinks down and chased them with his beer. Juan was looking more willing to talk, he decided, so he started with a general inquiry about why Pantanta was so looked down on.
?You saw it? Juan replied with a whisper. Apparently he didn?t want anyone to overhear him, even though they were not in the Pantanta neighbourhood anymore. ?It?s that place. The people there, they don?t want us talking about it. They ?encourage? us to keep it to ourselves, but everyone who lives close to it knows all about it, knows too much.?
?I saw the place, looked normal enough to me.?
?Only from the outside! They want to look normal, but inside, inside is different.?
?You?ve been inside? What?s different about it?? He said it like a challenge, and Juan rose to the bait.
?You don?t believe it? I believe it! I?ve never been inside, but I know, we all know.? Juan still spoke only on a whisper, leaning over the table so he could talk even quieter. Even though Juan had downed some ten drinks by now, he was a true alcoholic and could drink like a horse. Juan had only reached the border of drunkenness, the food helped delay the effect, he was drunk enough to talk, but sober enough to still make sense.
?That place is a place of evil, it?s cursed. You smile? You doubt it? Let me tell you, tell you in a way you?ll understand. Then you won?t smile, the smile will be wiped from your face!? This was not said as a threat, it sounded more like a warning. ?When they built that place, back in the 60?s, they made it a fortress! It has thick, reinforced walls, the doors are ringed with iron and steel. In the early 80?s they replaced all the windows with bullet-proof glass! As hard as they try to hide it, the Gringos Locos still found it, and they found a weakness in the armour.?
?Gringos Locos? Crazy Americans? Who are you talking about? There?s a lot of those around, no??
?They were the animal-lovers! They came from the big American cities to expose this place of evil. You see? what is your name? You never told me your name!? Juan looked frightened, like a rat who smelled a trap. He would lose him if he didn?t get him calmed down.
?Sean, my name is Sean Wiebe. I?m sorry if I didn?t formally introduce myself?? He made it sound like a question, like he had already told Juan his name, but Juan had forgotten. His trick worked, Juan calmed down and continued in his slurred, whispered Spanish.
?Yes, Sean, of course.? He drained another beer. ?They knew that evil things were happening, but no one from here was going to do anything, no one! Not the politicos, not the locals, no one. They were all kept quiet with money.? He rubbed his fingers together in dramatic fashion, starting to enjoy exposing these people to his new friend. ?But the animal-lovers found them anyhow, and they attacked! They climbed into the balcony on the north side, they broke in, before the bullet-proof glass was installed, and they had cameras, movie cameras! Cameras to take pictures and show the world what was happening!?
?So? What did they take pictures of? Humm??
?The animals that were inside! That building was a research laboratory, they had animals in there, big ones like ponies and cows. They had large reptiles and sheep and big fat fish in saltwater tanks. And they were doing terrible things to them! Experiments that were sick! The animal lovers plastered posters of the pictures they took all over Pantana, we all saw the pictures. The pictures showed us what we knew was happening inside there, we knew but we pretended to not know. Now we could pretend no longer. The company tightened the security, although it was already like a fortress. They put in the bullet-proof glass and hired many more guards. But it was too late, they were exposed and they knew it. After a year or two of trying, they gave up. They closed the lab and for years the building sat empty. Although the local people missed the hush-money they got, not one soul complained. We all just kept our mouths shut and prayed the company would never return.?

?So that?s it? It used to be a place they experimented on animals? That?s it??
?Isn?t that enough?? Juan looked at him in disbelief. ?Aren?t you satisfied with that answer? Doesn?t it answer your question??
?No it doesn?t, that was a long time ago. There?s something else, there?s more to it. You said that the building was empty for years? But that suggests that it isn?t empty now. Did the company return??
Juan looked around. The owner was keeping his distance, there was no one else in the place. Sean guessed that the owner was turning them away. Like a rat in a trap, Juan looked for a way to escape, but there was none. Like a rat, he simply gave up resisting, he just accepted his fate. If he had been floating in the ocean, Juan would have drowned at that moment. The only thing there was to drown in here was alcohol, so Juan had another beer and continued.
?Someone else came and moved into the building, about 10, 12 years ago. One day, there they were! No one saw them coming in, they might have been there for months before we noticed them. They are quiet, very quiet. Once we found out, once the neighbourhood knew they were there, only then did they start using the front doors. And they visited us, oh so quietly, and told us to stay quiet. We didn?t ask why. There are guards, armed Gringos hidden in some buildings that are around it. Cameras. They keep to themselves, and we leave them alone. But for a while, my brother worked for them.? Juan?s whisper had faded to the threshold of hearing. ?He worked inside! He cleaned the floors. He saw things, and before he died he told me the things he saw! What they did to the animals, this was worse, God in Heaven, Mary protect us all! They were doing new things, they were doing these things to children!?
?Children! That?s impossible!? But Sean found himself whispering too. ?Not even the most corrupt Politico would allow that! Not even the most heartless chief of police would let that happen. Someone would tell, someone would expose them. For 10 years? It cannot be.?
?But it is! They work for the Yankees, for the government or the military, my brother had no idea, but he saw men and women in uniforms. Uniforms with lots of brass.? He gestured to his shoulder, he meant high-ranking officers Sean decided. ?And there was a tunnel, it came from below, from higher up the hill, perhaps the other side. That?s how they got in without us seeing them. And they still had some animals, but the animals weren?t what they are there to experiment on. They have children, white children, they didn?t speak Spanish. They were quiet, they were very afraid.?
Juan stopped talking. It was obvious to Sean that this was all he would say on the matter, it was everything he knew. As terrible as it sounded, experimenting on children, it still wasn?t enough to explain this man?s fear, the whole neighbourhood?s silence. There was more to it, something else was at work. Repeated questions drew no further information out of Juan, who was now getting really drunk. Sean decided on one last question to try to make sense of things.

?Your brother? How did he die??
?Suicide, his soul will be banished to hell forever!? Juan was now in tears, the man was severely intoxicated.
?You mean they killed him? Made it look like murder??
?No! Suicide, I saw it with my own eyes! I can never forget, no matter how hard I try. He awoke one night, and walked out of his house. He had a nice house, he let me stay with him, our family comes from far to the south. He walked out and I followed him. I asked him ?Carlos, where are you going?? and all he said was ?You shouldn?t have talked about that Carlos.? Then he went to the railroad tracks, there was a train, I was so afraid! I tried to stop him but he threw me to the ground, like I was a doll! He stood in front of the train, I saw his eyes, they were already dead.?
Juan was sobbing now, he was a real mess. It was getting dark outside, but still no other patrons had come in. Sean placed $100 into Juan?s pocket, and left the crying man face down on the table, still sobbing. Sean gave the owner another $40, and instructed him to help get Juan home safely. The owner nodded, so Sean gave him another $20 and headed out the door.

He looked around in the growing darkness, wondering what to do next. A woman came out of the bar, she must be the owner?s wife, Sean guessed, she must have been working in the kitchen.
?Sir, sir!? She said. ?I was listening, forgive me! But I couldn?t help it.? Her Spanish was poor, her accent strange. Mayan, he speculated, or from Central America.
?That?s OK, I forgive you.?
?There?s something else, something my mother told me, our family used to live over the hill.? She gestured in the direction of Pantanta, as if she couldn?t bear to even say the name. ?She told me of the time before, before the animal company came.?
?What? What did she tell you??
?That before the company came, there was another building there. They tore down the old building, but the land itself bears the curse! It?s a place of the Devil, to fight the demons, a place for forgotten souls!?
?What are you saying, I don?t understand you.?
?Before, that place, it was an asylum for the insane.?

She turned and fled back into the bar. Although there were other people walking along the street in the warm twilight, he felt cold and very much alone.



------------------
No will but thy will
No law but the laws you make

Self-proclaimed "LairPet"...Wierder than the average cat!
Captain TMI!...Resident Feline Expert! >^..^<