Events of an Ordinary Life

The Warehouse

It was a mega warehouse located on the bank of the Hudson River, on the Jersey side. It was a busy site during its day where ships came and went, to and from foreign and exotic places across the Atlantic Ocean. By the time I got involved, the warehouse was a rundown massive building with twenty companies residing. The once bustling docks that faced Manhattan were now literally falling apart. During the day, the warehouse loomed against the New York Skyline reminding one of a large grey stain on a canvass. Most of the employees were out by 5 pm and those who worked past that time had to be escorted out by armed security.

The area surrounding the warehouse was not the best neighbourhood and the owners decided, after several muggings, rapes and discarded bodies found on the property, that a security system with armed guards was deemed appropriate.

I was working for a security agency that had provided a security strike force during a particularly violent strike and had kept the security going when it was over.

We weren’t cops; we were armed security officers, who were assigned to this area during a bad period of unrest during the strike and then extended for an unspecified time. There were four of us who were responsible for securing the vast property and building. It was there that people had been raped, robbed and murdered.

On the day of our being assigned, there was an incident concerning a body that we found in an old guard shack at the beginning of the long road that led to the main terminal. On that day, we met at the old shack waiting for our supervisor to arrive. The plan was to show a security presence to the local gangs who hung out in the area. We reported at 4:00 pm to start our 4 to 12 shift and waited for the supervisor to give us our briefing. It was a standard shack, large enough for two men and a small desk. There were four windows surrounding the structure.

The windows were dark grey with dirt, an accumulation of years of neglect.

I looked inside while we waited, and though it was difficult to see through the dirt, I saw a man sitting against the door. He was barefooted and bare – chested, wearing jeans and a blue skullcap.

I knocked on the window thinking it may be a homeless person, but there was no response. We tried the door, but it was locked from the inside. Two of us took hold of the doorknob and pulled. There was a loud cracking sound and the door swung open. I was the closest to the entrance, and as the door opened, the person inside fell against my legs. I noticed that the man’s chest was riddled with dozens of small puncture wounds. It looked like he had been stabbed many times with an ice pick.

He was quite dead. I stepped back and let him drop on his back. The police were notified and shooed us away so that they could process the scene.

We later learned that the body belonged to one, James Bowman.

Alias Jimmy Bobo.

Jimmy was wanted for rape, murder and drug trafficking. He had a list of pending felony charges and was said to dabble in Satanism.

Jimmie wasn’t a boy scout to say the least. As a matter of fact, he was rumoured to have killed three drug-dealing competitors at one party by luring each one to the back room of a dance club using local hookers. His method of murder was to walk in to the room as the victim waited for the hooker to arrive, then stab him multiple times in the chest with an ice pick.

It was a method that apparently was used on him. According to the cops, Jimmy was stabbed approximately a block from the guard shack. He had probably been left for dead but somehow was able to make it to the shack and lock himself in before he collapsed.

The security procedures for the time being were: two men on constant foot patrol and two posted at the guard shack.

The patrol officers would conduct perimeter and internal rounds on foot, with radio communication between them, Every two hours, the posted and the patrol guards would switch. Two days after Jimmy’s body was found, the guard shack was renovated and we began operating from it. I was partnered with a friend named John M------- who would eventually have a brilliant career in law enforcement. At the time, he was a paramedic as well as a security officer and we were, as we are today, close friends. It was our turn to go on foot patrol one cold Sunday afternoon. Our patrol route included internal rounds through the giant building.

Just before going on patrol, the four of us agreed that we would have to be on constant alert; this detail was a very dangerous assignment.

There was one bank of elevators in the middle of the building and two stairwells on each side of the elevators, that were serviceable, but there were at least a dozen stairwells that were closed off and unusable due to disrepair. We had to patrol these stairwells to keep out drug addicts who loved to get high and crash there. The only way in to the abandoned stairwells was from the roof. There was very little light inside and a sure sign that someone was trespassing was that they had to leave the roof door open for illumination.

When we patrolled these stairwells, we had to contact the guard house and radio our position and the location of the area for safety reasons.

The reply from the guard house always sounded loud and startling in the eerie silence.

During the first three months, we conducted aggressive patrols in those stairwells, and after having a few trespassers arrested, the word got around and unwanted visitors became few and far between.

On that particular day after finishing our rounds in the stairwells, we headed for the elevators. As we approached, we spotted two individuals standing near the wall between the elevator doors. One man had what looked like a rag or handkerchief wrapped around his left hand, and it was saturated with blood. The man’s skin was ashen, and he looked to be in shock. John approached the men and stated that he was a paramedic and asked to see his hand. John unwrapped the bloody cloth. The man had three missing fingers on his bloodied hand.

He told us that he had been operating a cloth-cutting machine when the accident happened. After John had questioned the individuals, we radioed one of the other guards to call 911. John advised the men to stay and wait there for the ambulance to arrive. We then headed for the company they worked for to investigate. It was a weekend and the two men were the only employees on that particular floor when the accident occurred. When we arrived on the third floor, we could see a large room filled with machines. John told me that he wanted to check to see if he could find the fingers.

After a short time, we found the fingers still in the machine. John picked up each finger and placed it in his hand cupping them and asking me to follow. We returned to the lobby passing the victim and his friend and assured them that the ambulance was on its way. John and I ran out of the lobby entrance and into a diner located across the street.

John shouted to the waitress behind the counter that he needed a plastic cup filled with ice.

It took several tries to get the obstinate waitress to assist, and by the third time asking her, she gave him a haughty look and said, I’m busy. Why do you need it this minute? Wait your turn; I have someone ahead of you.

This is why! John yelled opening his hand and showing her the fingers. The waitress as well as the woman, who was standing at the counter waiting to be served, screamed.

The whole diner panicked as John ran around the counter himself. By this time, the waitress had recovered enough to give us the plastic cup filled with ice.

John placed the fingers in the cup as the shocked patrons gasped in unison. We ran out the door and back to the building. By this time, the ambulance had arrived and was on its way up Montgomery Street and in the direction of the hospital.

John told me that there was a chance that the fingers could be reattached and we jumped into my car and rushed to the hospital with the fingers.

A few months later, the victim came to the guard shack. He introduced himself as Thomas Johnson and thanked John and I. Unfortunately, the surgeons had been unable to successfully reattach his fingers due to the fact that they were cut at an angle, but he insisted on buying us lunch for the way we helped him when he had the accident.

When he said this, I felt a bit guilty because I knew that I was in shock myself and just followed John around because I didn’t know what else to do. We both thanked Mr Johnson and accompanied him to the very diner that his fingers had visited three months before.

The Voices

Jamal Johnson didn’t start hearing the voices until he was seventeen years old. He remembered the very day, because it was on that day that he went to see a car that was for sale. He had just gotten his licence during summer vacation, but his dad had insisted on him driving with the family for a while before getting behind the wheel of his own car. Now it was time to look for his very own vehicle and he began searching the newspapers every day. His dad had told him two years before, that when it was time to buy, he would match whatever Jamal saved,. Jamal envied some of the seniors in his high school that owned cars and desperately wanted to be one of them. His mom had always dropped him off at school and Jamal thought it was high time to get himself there on his own.

Jamal had to admit that impressing girls was right up there as one of the main reasons. Heck, he thought it ‘was’ the main reason. Jamal had loved Cynthia Barton all his life, not counting the years before kindergarten, and she was the one he wanted to impress the most.

He and Cynthia had grown up together and were chums since they met, but lately, she had taken to dating the guys who had cars. Not that she was fickle, but he knew that girls felt that dating someone with wheels was better than dating a walker or a push-pedal biker.

Jamal saw some great used cars, but one in particular caught his fancy. The price was right, and he asked his dad if they could go and check it out. They made an appointment for the following day. Jamal couldn’t contain his excitement, as they pulled up to the used car lot. Jamal spotted the car immediately and he and his dad headed for it as soon as they parked. Jamal stood admiring the vehicle as his dad walked toward the office to speak to the salesman. As he walked around the car, he heard a man’s voice say, Don’t buy this car, son; it’s not the one you want. Jamal looked around, but there was no one there. Strange, he thought.

He opened the driver’s door and distinctly heard a woman’s voice say, This car is not for you, look around for another one. Jamal looked around again but saw no one there. Somebody’s playing a joke on me he thought and ignoring the voice, sat in the driver’s seat and closed the door.

If you buy this car, you’ll die! both voices screamed in his ears. He opened the door and jumped out almost falling to his knees.

He got to his feet quickly as his dad and the salesman walked out of the office. Jamal looked around shaken, but still he saw no one around him.

As his father and the salesmen approached, he said to his dad, I don’t think I like this one, let’s look around some more.

They looked at several other cars, but Jamal had lost his zeal, and he and his dad decided to look elsewhere.

Jamal felt a strange feeling of relief as they pulled away from the car lot and headed for home.

He couldn’t get the strange occurrence out of his mind. A few days later After school, he noticed the very same car parked at the curb. He knew it was the same car because there was a slight discoloration on the right front fender. He had noticed it at the used auto lot when he was checking it out.

As he approached the car, Johnny Pepper, one of his classmates passed him and opened the driver’s door. Hey, Jamal, how do you like my new ride? he asked.

Very nice, Johnny, he replied, wondering if he should warn Johnny. What would he say without sounding crazy?

Bob, Tom and Hefty, also classmates, joined him and piled in.

I’d offer you a ride, Jamal, but I know your mommy picks you up every day after school, just like when you were in kindergarten. Everyone laughed.

For your information, asshole, I was about to buy that car a couple of days ago, but I decided to look for something better.

Sure, sure, Jamal, I’ll believe that when I see it. By the way, have you seen Cynthia? I told her I’d give her a ride home.

Jamal heard a man’s voice say, Whatever you do, don’t let her get in that car. Then a woman’s voice said, Tell them anything, but they must leave without her.

Jamal hesitated not knowing what to tell Johnny.

If she gets in this car, she’ll die, both voices screamed in his ears.

She told me she has detention, Jamal stammered.

Okay, Johnny said and floored the pedal.

The tires screeched as it shot down the street and disappeared around the corner. Just then, Cynthia came out and asked, Hey, where’s Johnny? He said he wanted me to check out his new car.

He just left, Jamal replied. Do you want a lift home?

The following day, Jamal heard the shocking news. Johnny and his friends were driving south on route 33, when his car, travelling at a tremendous rate of speed, went out of control, jumped a low divider and crashed head on into a semi. All occupants in the car were killed. It was later learned that manufacturer defect of the accelerator was the cause.

This fully freaked Jamal out. He jumped every time someone called his name. He expected to hear the two voices screaming in his ears.

He’d never told anyone about the voices. What would he say, without people thinking he was crazy?

After not hearing the voices for a while, Jamal calmed down and began feeling normal again. He eventually found the perfect car and was grateful for the silence of the voices when he bought it.

Years went by and Jamal finished high school, went to college and started his first job as a management trainee in a manufacturing firm. He never heard the voices again, and he put the whole experience behind him, telling himself that it was just a fluke. Cynthia broke his heart by choosing a distant university after high school, and Jamal lost touch with her.

Life went on predictably average for the next six years. He dated a few girls, but the relationships were never serious enough for marriage. He eventually made upper management of his company, the first African American to do so, and life went on the way he liked it, pleasantly ordinary. Then Cynthia re-entered his life.

He had boarded the train on his way to work one morning, and as he looked out of the window, he saw Cynthia get off an incoming train on the opposite track. She’s back, he thought excitedly and made plans to try and look her up after work.

When he arrived at his stop, Jamal headed across the street to the bagel shop, where he usually picked up his customary egg on a bagel and coffee.

As he crossed the street, he heard a man’s voice say, Don’t enter that building.

Then he heard a woman’s voice say, Keep away from the front door!

Jamal was so shocked to hear the voices again that he kept walking across the street.

If you keep walking, you’ll die, both voices screamed in his ears.

He suddenly stopped in the middle of the street. Luckily, there were no cars on the street and the light was green for him. Something made him look up and he saw as if in slow motion, a stone figure separate from the top of the building and plummet down toward the ground. It shattered in what seemed like a million pieces as it smashed down on the sidewalk right in front of the bagel shop door. Jamal was stunned; this was the third time the voices had intervened to save not only his life but also Cynthia’s.

But his old fears returned. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the voices to invade his life again.

After work, he decided to go to Cynthia’s family home and inquire about her whereabouts. He walked up to the house where he so frequently went to see her many years ago and rang the bell.

The door opened and there stood Cynthia, radiant as ever. They embraced.

After some small talk, Cynthia invited him in.

They talked for hours and Cynthia talked about the past six years concerning her absence from town. She said that a new job offer was in the works, and she was contemplating moving back to town. She’d had had a long-time relationship that had turned sour and thought a change would be good.

They made a date for dinner for the following evening. Jamal was elated but as soon as he pulled away from her house, he heard a man’s voice say, Don’t get involved with that woman.

Then a woman’s voice said, There are a lot of women out there that are better for you.

If you get involved with her, you’ll die, both voices screamed in his ears.

Jamal became angry at the voices. They were not going to run his life. Besides, he had avoided both accidents before by not proceeding with his actions.

Maybe it will be different with a relationship, he thought, Maybe I can find out where the danger lies and eliminate it.

That night, Jamal made a call to a P.I. friend and asked if he could do a little digging concerning Cynthia’s absence.

The results that came back were astonishing. It seemed that the relationship that Cynthia described as going sour was actually an extremely dangerous one. She met her former boyfriend Pete, right out of college, when she applied for her first job.

His father owned the company, and he worked there with his two sisters. Cynthia and Pete started dating and eventually moved in together, and, according to a college friend of Cynthia’s, that’s when the nightmare began. Living together, Cynthia saw an ugly side to Peter.

He would often lose his temper over minor things and for a while kept his outbursts to a minimum, but as time went on, they grew worse.

Arguments between them became more intense until one day he punched her on the side of her face, and when she fell, he began kicking her