Bad Thoughts by Dave Zeltserman

almost fell out of bed as he jerked himself forward. After a minute he realized where he was.
           He was so cold. He couldn’t stop shaking, he couldn’t keep his teeth from rattling. Slowly he put a hand to his forehead. His skin was soaked with sweat.
           Goddammit, he swore to himself. He clenched down hard on his teeth to try to keep them from rattling. Goddammit. He looked over and saw with a small sense of relief that Susie was still sleeping. At least he didn’t wake her, at least he could be thankful for that.
           The last few weeks things had actually gotten better. He was starting to believe his therapist that this year was going to be different. But now it was starting just like it always did.
           Shannon crawled out of bed, trying to keep from waking his wife. He made his way out of the bedroom and to the kitchen. There, he put on some hot water for coffee and lit the first of many cigarettes. He tried to pull some comfort from them.
           He sat at the kitchen table, his head in his hands, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He had no idea what he dreamed about. The whispers, though, were still buzzing in his head, but he couldn’t make them out. Just like all the other years.  
 
    Chapter 7  
           February 6. Morning.
           “Enough! Stop it!”
           It was a pointless thing to say to himself. He knew he could yell it until he was blue in the face and it wouldn’t help any, it wouldn’t change that February tenth was only four days away. And as bad as it was now, Shannon knew it was going to get worse. A lot worse. Trying to psych himself out of it was about as useless as anything he’d ever tried in his life.
           He’d been lying in bed since nine last night making it over sixteen hours flat on his back. Every time he’d try to move he’d feel his strength drain out of him like blood from an open vein. Susie had left hours ago, her face hard and cold. She was too pissed to say a word to him. Maybe more scared than pissed because she knew what was coming or at least had a good idea of it. She didn’t know why, though. She had given up trying to find out why a long time ago, but as much as he’d promise her otherwise she knew it was going to be like all the other years.
           Shannon started to think about February tenth, and as he did a dull ache radiated through his body and inched its way through his legs and to the heels of his feet. He took a deep breath and forced his mind blank. Then he pictured a mountain brook among golden aspen trees. He held that image in his mind. It was a technique his therapist had been urging him to use. He slowed his breathing, concentrating on keeping the scene intact. It was difficult, though, and the picture changed as other images danced in and out, scurrying every which way and perverting the pristine landscape he had built. Then they took over, pushing themselves to the front and playing themselves out in all their glory. There was so much blood in them. Shannon squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head until the images dissolved into a blur of redness. As he lay in bed listening to the uneven rhythm of his heart he realized his breathing had sped up dramatically. Not quite the effect his therapist had promised.
           It was funny, but some days he actually thought he could beat it. That this year could be different. Then it would hit him how ridiculous the idea was and the realization of it would sap the strength out of him.
           He became aware of the phone ringing. The answering machine clicked on and then his partner, DiGrazia, his voice muffled with frustration, left an address in East Cambridge that Bill had better meet him at. That they had a homicide to investigate.
           Shannon thought about it for a long moment as he listened to a soft buzz running through the back of his head and then found the strength to push himself out of bed. He