Submitted by CornerCornea t3_z0gz2e in nosleep
I'm the invisible man, and the million dollar response is, "I can do whatever it is that I want." Except it doesn't work that way. It doesn't work that way because I know that if I get caught, they'll drag me in somewhere, and then forget about me. It sounds like a criminal's lucky break. But it isn't. Not when the doors are locked, and no one's passed by for hours. And it slowly starts to dawn, that if no one hears the screaming, and the screaming, and the screaming, then the screaming will stop.
How long does that take? About 2 and a half days, because even though I should, I don't regularly drink water. Won't hold out, for the three days of most people. Maybe not even for the 2. When was the last time I had water? I don't know. I don't remember.
I've forgotten.
I first noticed my invisibility about 2 years ago. I didn't think it was a big deal at the time, that I wasn't invited out with the boys on one of the trips. In fact, the only reason I even knew about it, was when they started posting pictures in our group chat. Of them in Vegas, without me. Back then I thought it was an honest mistake. But now I know better. Because something else happened a few weeks after the Vegas incident. My company forgot to invite me to the Christmas Party.
Who the hell needs an invitation?
We do apparently, when they stopped me at the door of the venue, and the securities ' guard forcibly told me that I wasn't on the list.
At first I didn't think it was a big deal. No company parties where I got to smooch up to my boss? Sign me up. No long boring meetings, or office politics? But I still get a check? Nice.
But no. That small bit of warmth can't numb the cold hard fingers at the other end. There's just not enough fight left. Not when my wife and kids slowly started forgetting about me. When I caught her kissing another man at a party. And she turns towards me and says, "Howard?" Looks to the man, "I'm sorry. I forgot I had a husband."
When the kids ran up, and son looks at me, then at his sister and hisses, "See. I told you we weren't adopted."
"Oh yeah," my daughter whispers, " I forgot."
It didn't get better from there. And I don't know how I let it get so bad. But it eventually got a lot worse when I figured out that if I don't stay within the same room as them. Then I would be forgotten right away.
I spent the whole night holding my wife's hand in my sleep when it first started happening too fast. Keeping my kids close over the weekend. But the weekdays came, and my plan was no longer feasible. I had to leave for work, buy groceries, pay bills, and come back to the locks on the doors, are changed. I'm locked out. And when I bang on the door. I see a light turn on upstairs, and a few minutes later the cops are on the front lawn. And I'm dragged out onto the hood of their car for reaching into my back pocket for my wallet, so that I can show them my driver's license. To prove. To them. That I live here.
Finally when one of them pays attention, and reads my address. The pair drag me to the front door and bang on it until my wife comes downstairs.
"Ma'am, do you recognize this man?"
She shakes her head.
"I'm your husband!"
One of the officers pull on the back of my cuffs. It shoots electric spikes up the back of my neck.
"It says that he lives here."
She takes the driver's license from him, reads it, flips it over, "Oh yeah. I forgot."
The next day when I come home. The driver's license didn't even matter. The officer completely forgot, the moment I handed it over. It fell out of his hands and onto the floor, and no matter what I tried, I couldn't get them to look for it on the ground. Couldn't convince them that I lived at this address. That those were my wife and kids inside. And couldn't provide the proof that was lost.
While at the precinct, I got the ear of the officer that was taking me into the interrogation room. He was young, and I was desperate. I grabbed a hold of his collar and was forced to tell him that, "I killed my wife and kids. I'll tell you where their bodies are buried so her mother has a place to grieve. Only if you write the number 13 on your hand!"
"What are you talking about?"
"I've committed a heinous crime. That could be the breakthrough your career needs. But I need you to write the number 13 on your hand."
"This isn't a joke?"
"Nope." I shook my head, my eyes must have been blaring, trying to sell it. "I killed my wife and kids."
The young officer repeated, "And you'll tell me where if I write something on my hand?"
I nodded, "Yup." I nodded. "The number 13."
He pulled out a pen and wrote it on his palm. Then turning it over, showing it to me. "Now tell me where their bodies are."
"Don't you want to get some forms? Or better yet. Record it?"
"R-right. Right," the officer chewed on the Rs as he headed out the door. The heavy, steel thing, closing behind him with a large metallic clunk.
I don't know how long I sat there, waiting. My breath in my chest until I had to breathe. Staring at that door, counting the seconds, minutes, until he should be back. But I must have been frozen in that position for almost an hour, before I realized that there wasn't going to be a part two.
A day goes by, and I can't get anyone's attention. I've stuck my face on the small window, yelling for help. That I wasn't supposed to be here. And all I got were smirks and middle fingers from all the cops passing by.
A few hours into my incarceration, I resorted to peeing in the trash bin. I had emptied it out as best I could first, because I knew there was a real chance that it would be my last source of liquid before I died.
And it would have all turned on its head, if another guy didn't happen to be getting booked, and was assigned to room 13 for interrogations.
The officer who opened the door was surprised to see the room already being occupied. He couldn't make head or tails about why I had been left unattended. And so after patrolling me around the station for half a day, he determined that no one knew why I had been arrested, and it was way past my rights to keep me detained. So I am let go.
And by the time I'm able to find my way home on foot, I had been gone for more than 3 days.
I come home and see Kevin through the window, wearing my slippers, drinking out of my mug in the kitchen, kissing my wife.
I ball up my fists, prepared to unleash all of this rage that has been building inside of me.
Except when I barge in through the front door, the kids think I'm an intruder, and start walloping me with their baseball bats. I'm screaming at them to stop. That I'm their dad, and that I live here. But neither of them believe me. They keep swinging for the fences, as Kevin jumps in and joins too.
After they're done pummeling me, they throw me outside in the winter night.
The cops are called, I can see their lights. I scramble the yard to find my license. But it doesn't matter. The moment that I hand it over, they forget all about it. It falls out of the cop's hands, lands on the lawn, and I am taken to the back of their squad car because I can't identify my address.
We start driving, and driving, but then the vehicle starts to slow down. The officers began to seem more relaxed. Their shoulders droop a bit and the tension they exude begins to ebb.
"What'd you think about what the Captain said?"
"I dunno. It might be good for us."
"Yeah."
Silence.
"Hey, you ever eat there?"
"No, can't say that I have."
​
"I have."
​
"Holy shit," one of them says as they turn around.
"What the hell are you doing back there," the officer driving shouts at me.
"I'm here for a ride along, did you forget?"
The two look at each other, and for a second I'm afraid they won't buy it, but then the pair start laughing. "Did we?"
"Shit."
And laughing.
As they stop out front the police station, letting me out on my feet, and freeing me from my cuffs.
I didn't know what to say. Thank you? That didn't seem appropriate so we stood there for a second, staring at each other. Then his face started changing, it went from looking sheepish and perhaps apologetic, to anger.
"Why are you all up in my face?"
His partner turns to me, "Do we have a problem?"
I shook my head, "No man, I was just thinking-"
He's close enough to breathe on me, "Get off the road before I cite you for loitering." His entire demeanor having changed.
I was starting to get angry, frustrated at all the crap that has been happening, "You're the ones who forgot about me!"
The cop was livid by now, "I don't know who you are. I've never seen you in my entire life," his voice raising with each syllable. He reaches for his gun.
I back away slowly. Apologizing.
He follows.
But when I get to about 8 or so feet away from their squad car. The officer holsters his weapon. Looks around as if confused. And then looks at me, and slowly nods, "Can I help you," as if he's never seen me before.
That's when I realized, people were forgetting me sooner and sooner.
I took advantage of that, for awhile.
Whose life that just went to shit wouldn't?
At first I thought that money would be the most important thing, that was until I realized that I could just get into someone's car and drive off. Or go live in someone's mansion: slip into another room for a second, they would forget all about the intruder, and I could go back to sharing their space with none of the work.
And even though I started enjoying this part. I knew something was wrong when a guy was angry with me because he had caught me helping myself to some things in the safe. But by the time I could defend myself, he had already forgotten about me.
It wasn't slowing down.
Soon people couldn't last 20 words before they forgot about me. Then 19. 18.
Twelve.
The other day I was crossing the street, and I almost got ran over. I know the guy saw me because we made eye contact. But all I did was blink, and he forgot to press the brakes.
I tumbled over his hood and laid near the gutter for awhile. Coming in and out of consciousness. Until I was well enough to get myself up. I think I had a concussion because I don't know why I bothered sitting at the hospital, waiting to be seen.
When I eventually left, I started noticing something odd. Stranger than before.
People on the street started bumping into me.
I had to get out of the way, after twice nearly being trampled on.
It wasn't until I made it back to the mansion I had been squatting at, that I realized that something was really different now. The guy whose house it was, saw me and started waltzing over. Except as he got closer, I noticed his gazed changed to something behind me, so I got out of the way and let him pass.
And it were as if I wasn't even there.
​
I had finally completely disappeared.
​
Since then I've done some awful things with it. Things that I'm not proud of. And on the off chance that this works. That people are able to remember me, if I set it in stone; writing. Then I don't want to suddenly be liable for those things that may have happened. I doubt it though. But even Achilles was immortalized faster by the pen than his sword.
So I guess it's worth a shot.
Because this morning I woke up and looked into the mirror and almost said, "Hello".