Free A Life Transparent by Todd Keisling Page A

a job that stifles you. You slave toward empty goals making empty promises to yourself and your wife.”
    “Mister, I don’t need your insults.”
    “These are not insults, Mr. Candle, these are truths. If you find them insulting, I implore you to consider why that might be.”
    Donovan choked back a bitter reply.
    “The transparency afflicting you is what I refer to as the ‘flickering.’ It is the result of your supersaturation with mediocrity.”
    “What?” The exasperation in his own voice startled him. “Listen, asshole, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of this bullsh—”
    “Mr. Candle, if you interrupt me again, I will see to it that your wife’s non-vital organs are separated from her body.” His voice darkened, tinged with electronic resonance that made the phone hiss. “We will start with her ovaries.”
    Donovan fought back tears. His mounting frustration broke and withered under the man’s threat.
    “Do I have your undivided attention now, Mr. Candle?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. Your life is saturated with mediocrity. As a result, you are flickering out. You are experiencing odd things, seeing things that should not be, your vision reduced to shades of gray.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Indeed. You are seeing the world behind the world, a place I call the Monochrome. This is where you will end up, should you fail to cure your banality.”
    His head spun. The strange man’s words tumbled through his mind as he tried to process everything. Monochrome? A world behind the world? The words sounded ridiculous when spoken aloud, and Donovan would have discounted them as the ramblings of a mad man had he not experienced things exactly as Dullington described them.
    But there was something else, something far worse than his own absurd affliction. Donna was gone, and Dullington was behind it. That was all Donovan needed to make him forget himself. It was all about Donna now, flickering be damned.
    “Are you still with me, Mr. Candle?”
    “I am.”
    “You may speak. I am eager to hear your response.” Aleister Dullington’s voice was cold, proper. Professional.
    “What have you done with my wife?” The words numbed his lips.
    “Mrs. Candle is well.”
    “Answer my question.” His temper rose, but he tried his best to keep it under control. To ignite Dullington’s own fuse, which he suspected was quite short, would be a grave error—not just for Donna, but for himself.
    “Your ire is encouraging.” The upward pitch in Dullington’s voice gave Donovan the image of a smile on an otherwise expressionless face. He couldn’t fathom how someone could smile in such a situation, but then again, this man hardly seemed normal.
    “I like a good show, Mr. Candle, and you seem like a man with the potential to deliver. For this reason alone, I offer you an opportunity to redeem yourself.” He paused. Static filled the line for a moment, then subsided. “Forgive me. You asked a question, and I will answer. Your wife is bound ankle and wrist. A bag covers her head. Before you ask, Mr. Candle, no. No one has had their way with her—yet.”
    Donovan clenched his teeth at that last detail. Thinking of Donna in such a predicament made his helplessness in the matter even more unbearable. He pictured her smiling face instead.
    “Go on,” he said.
    “As to where she is, I am afraid I cannot tell you right now. All you need to know is that she is safe, and as comfortable as her situation allows.”
    “Why are you doing this to her?” His throat clicked when he swallowed, and he fought against the nausea stirring in his stomach.
    Dullington went on, ignoring Donovan’s question. “I am a reaper of boredom, Mr. Candle, I feed on it. It is my sustenance, and the Monochrome—the world behind your world—is
my
realm. The flickering brings you here.”
    Donovan thought of the visions, the white creatures lurking in the gray haze. Was this what he had to look forward to? Was this “Monochrome” his final