Focus
From Summoner
Glenn Dunn was dreaming of the future, until a cold shiver struck his neck.
“Your last name is Dunn. Glenn Ryan Dunn. The feeling against the back of your head is cold metal. That metal is part of a gun, a .45 caliber pistol.” Glenn’s heart began to race. His mind started to build the scene, develop his surroundings.
“Focus.” The voice was neutral, but forceful. “Do not consider the room. Do not consider the gray concrete or your mid-size sedan. Do not think about what my features might be; they are irrelevant. There is a gun pressed against the back of your head, and I am talking to you. Say it.” A hammer clicked back. Why do they wait to do that in the movies? The intimidation factor, Glenn guessed. It made no sense in reality. Regardless, the hammer struck his other thoughts, and the gun became the center of his attention. The gun and the voice.
“There…there is a gun pressed against…there is a gun against the back of my head. Why are you doing-“ The barrel jabbed him, just between the shoulder blades, then the chilling metal returned to its rest against the bare nape, comfortable above his shirt collar. Firm. Glenn’s voice caught, but his fear pushed the words on. “You…you’re talking to me, and you have a gun.” He paused. “Please don’t kill me.”
Silence. A moment passed. The clinging heat of the parking garage couldn’t reach Glenn’s neck. The voice reached far deeper. “Good. You’re here. Committed. So am I.” A puff of breath and the scent of acrid smoke followed. He’s a smoker, Glenn thought, which explained the hint of gravel in the voice’s killer calm. Who was he? What did he want to say? What did the gun look like? His vision blurred and started to swim. “Focus!’ A hand shoved him against the side of his car, and the motes of dust on the roof became his universe. He smelled bird shit. He felt the gun. He felt an arm braced against his back. “If you think about anything other than my voice and this gun, I will have to kill you. I don’t have a choice. You do. Say it!” A hint of panic. Fear?
“If I think about anything else, you’re go-gonna kill me…I’m sorry. I have the choice. I have the choice to make you not kill me! Why?” Glenn’s heart was raging in his chest. Every part of him wanted to flee, to break away, but the grip was strong. The gun was an anchor.
“Because you are a threat to me, more than I am a threat to you, Glenn. Glenn Ryan Dunn. Graduate of the University of Chicago, with a Bachelors in accounting. Currently employed at Rich-Dunnahay, sorting through individual client accounts for small businesses. You have no children, no wife, no significant other. Your mother died when you were seven, your father has not spoken to you since you left a potentially lucrative education path in…” The flipping of a page, close to his ear. A notepad in the braced arm? The gun pressed painfully against Glenn’s neck, and he found his focus again. “Law. Tell me, Mr. Dunn, what makes you interesting?”
“Wh-what? I mean, I’m not-“ Light exploded behind Glenn’s eyes, and pain soon followed. He’d been slammed against the car.
“You ARE interesting, Mr. Dunn. I need to know what makes you interesting. Your grades, above average. High school and college athletic ability, above average. Current salary, above average. Appearance, above average. However, nothing exceptional. I am not subjectively interested in men, but there are millions of heads of brown hair just as straight as yours. Twice as many sets of blue eyes the same color, thousands the exact same hue. Your family history is common. Your ancestry is muddled. Your interests are banal. What…makes you interesting, Mr. Dunn. After what has happened to you, there is something, or else it wouldn’t have happened.” Another puff of smoke slid into Glenn’s lungs.
“Nothing! I swear! Nothing ever’s interesting, I mean, c’mon, I sort numbers all day! I hated sports. I hated law school. I don’t really CARE about anything, so please just let me go! I like my car. I like my apartment. I like the lady that says hi to me every morning on the walk to the parking garage. But none of it matters, not KILL ME matters!” Glenn was afraid. He couldn’t see her face anymore. He’d been so happy a moment before, but now there was the gun. The questions. The pain. He couldn’t imagine anything else. He couldn’t see her face.
“Nothing, that is, until you saw something last night, on the 27th of March.” A flip of a notebook page. “Afterwards, you single-handedly stopped the mugging of the lady that says “Hello, honey” to you every morning as you leave your apartment complex at approximately 6:37 AM each morning. And after that, you were happy, even singing throughout your work day. On your way home, you once again did something interesting. You convinced someone against suicide, quoting Scripture that your history gives no evidence of you having learned.” Glenn closed his eyes. Everything was so confusing then. Gravity was on a break. He felt vital. Nothing made sense. He could almost see her face, see the light around her head-
The pain was immediate and sharp. He nearly vomited. Instead, he screamed deep in his throat. His nose was broken. His blood smeared against the hood of his own car, and the pain knifed into his thoughts. The pain was real. The gun was real. The man who hurt him was real. Her face was gone. “Mr. Dunn, I warned you. I will not warn you again.” His attacker sounded calm, but the edge behind his voice was tensed. He was ready to kill Glenn. He was afraid…afraid of Glenn. Afraid of her face, of the feelings around it.
Glenn wanted to fall over, wanted to touch his face. He was already crying, but his arms just wouldn’t move. His legs refused to buckle. He spoke, and his voice was muffled and hoarse. “I don’t know what you want…just let me go! I didn’t hurt anyone!”
The man sighed. He was frustrated, something else as well. The pain made it hard to think. The gun made it harder. “Mr. Dunn, I am going to give you a warning, and you are going to remember it.” The words stuck like a brand in Glenn’s attention. Even the pain gave way to that calm neutral tone, lined with an electric taste of fear. “The world we live in is rational. The world we live in has cause, and it has effect. It has evidence, and it has process. Our world is not interpreted. Our world is not imagined. What we do not touch, do not feel, do not remember, it is not part of our existence. It is something else entirely. What you have experienced is one interpretation of an infinite confusion, and it does not love you. It knows no truth, in Scripture or otherwise, Christian or otherwise, human or otherwise.” The voice came closer, tense against the back of his neck. His attacker’s breath warmed the cool gunmetal. “I don’t want to kill you, Mr. Dunn, but something is happening, and you are my entry point. I am going to watch. I am going to study. And when I am done, I am going to remove the interpretation, replace it with fact.” Anger? The attacker was angry. And something else, Glenn thought.
“I…I don’t want to go back to how it-“
The roof of his car fell away, and then it dove closer. There was pain. There was light. There was darkness. Glenn did not dream. He did not drift. Instead, the words chased him into shadow.
