Level Zero by Dan McDowell (books that read to you TXT) 📕

“Don, I’ve never seen richer, more fertile soil, son. Look at these lush oak trees. The grass is vibrant. Every single spot I place my poles reflects astonishing amounts of energy. I have visions this property will be something beautiful once it’s developed. An area for people to come together at every phase of their existence. One day it will be yours. Promise me you’ll take care of it,” the man said.

“I promise, father. I feel it too,” he concurred, standing a mere 5’4, still dressed in his Sunday best.

He glimpsed the father strolling with his arms behind his back, keeping his hands clasped together, and trusting his legs to never fail him. It must have had something to do with his feet and its steady link with the ground below — that feeling of gravity forever pulling to make the person above prepare to be one with the earth it walked on.

Their rods met the spot where the depths of the earth screamed the loudest, and the father and son penetrated the soil with their shovels several minutes.

“I didn’t expect us to hit fresh water this soon. We aren’t that deep yet. Let’s keep going… I expected harder soil. Lay those boards on the edges, son.”

.     .     .     .     .

“Todd, come back to me. Where are you?” Julie was snapping her fingers at him, trying to get his attention.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Where were we? You didn’t hypnotize me, did you?”

“No. Tell me where you were.”

“I can’t recollect it, but it’s there. What’s wrong with me? Am I losing it?”

“I pushed you too far today. I’m sorry. Let’s regroup next week.”

“Sounds like a plan, pretty pe-can.”

“Say what?”

“Sorry, my… dull attempt at humor.”

“I like that smile,” she said. “Remember, stay in touch with yourself. Don’t be afraid to slow things down when it feels like everything is crashing down on you. That’s what hobbies are for. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks. How’s the situation with your husband? He ever make it back?”

She looked away from Todd and sighed.

“No, he didn’t. I’m trying to move on with my life. I can’t change what I can’t control.”

No, you can’t. So why are you trying to change me? All that education, dollars spent, and the best you can do is… tell me what I already know…

“I’ll send some positive thoughts his way,” Todd said. “Don’t give up hope.”

Her face soured. “Thanks. Have a good afternoon.”

Back to the grind… What account can I exploit today? They make it too easy to take advantage. I’m no savant, but no one pays attention to anything. Double dose ought to straighten me out.

Todd grabbed his bottle of lithium pills from the glove box and dropped two into his car temperature coffee.

Come on now! Pull it together.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

WAYNE WALLACE and his radio partner, Ramblin’ Ron, prepped to exit the WGBO studio upon concluding the evening’s episode.

“That was a good show tonight,” Ron said. “I like what you did with that whole fish out of water theme and the gags…”

“Want to go grab dinner together?” Wayne asked.

“That sounds good. Meet you at Bridgewater?”

Wayne collapsed to the floor and convulsed.

Ron lunged toward the studio floor. “Wayne? Wayne? Come back to me. Come back to me, man. You alright?”

Wayne’s eyes remained catatonic.

A terrifying memory rushed in front of him while he laid flat.

He stood in an old farmhouse as he entered a boy’s room. He studied it, before gravitating to some loose floorboards, and yanking them up.

“Get out of there, Joe. Right now!”

The young teenager’s little burrow was five feet deep. Knowing he acted out, the boy avoided his father. The man lurched to pull his son up.

“I have no words right now! None!”

Grabbing his son by the arm, he dragged the teenage boy across the floor, its splinters piercing his back as bruises formed from his tight grip. He scolded his son without mercy, “Your feet will never be quick to rush to evil again, boy. Never… I’ll slow you down for this. Why did you do that? Why did you do that, son? She was undeserving! What were you thinking, knucklehead?!”

He chugged ounces of his Old Tymer’s whiskey, slamming the glass bottle on the back of Joe’s knees.

“None of my children will serve anyone but God. None of you. You spawn of Satan! Turning that cat into a marionette… What were you thinking? S-I-N. Can you spell that? Huh? Huh?”

He got right into the boy’s face. “I didn’t think so, dummy.”

The liquor on his breath permeated the room.

He wiped his face and said, “I’ll beat you ‘til there’s nothin’ left, boy. Don’t you ever ‘mess nothin’ around like that ever again, you hear me…? You might as well be dead for this God-awful act.”

He pulled out the pistol he kept tucked in the back of his pants.

“Lay down on the ground, son, face down. I’m not going to allow any spawn of Satan. I’m not going to do that. You hear me, boy?”

He grabbed the revolver by the barrel, pistol-whipping his son behind the knees until they turned black and blue. The boy would never walk the same — his stuttering gait, forever scarred as a stark reminder for his misdeeds.

“There! Now we’re done. That’ll teach you a thing or two about respecting others the way God made you to.”

The man hurled his son into the corner of his bedroom as the entire house shook.

“Go back into your hole. Maybe Satan will yank you straight to hell where you belong! I’m not much for giving second chances, but, your hussy for a mother wants me to take you to Reverend Selsky. Maybe he can talk some sense into you. I sure as hellfire ain’t qualified.”

.     .     .     .     .

Wayne returned to his senses, realizing the memory was never his. Nothing was the same since his car accident the previous year. Though comatose a mere two weeks, he faced a slew of mental and emotional problems post recovery.

“You okay? What’s going on?” Ron