The Alternative

October 7, 1972
Blue Sage apartment complex
3:00 AM

Disassociation.

Richard Marks had seen that before. A good five years prior he had known a man by the name of Robert Timoney. Timoney had been brilliant, so to speak. And he had believed himself to be Jack the Ripper. He had killed two streetwalkers in the same infamous style.

Juniper Cunnie was not delusional. There were no evident schemes of grandeur in her mind.

Marks glanced up at the tape recorder he kept. He hadn't yet listened to the audio from the interview. He didn't want to.

For many a reason... Perhaps the uselessness. "It isn't useless, dumbass," he muttered, standing to fill his glass with something alcoholic, "You're getting payed, aren't you?"

The tape suddenly buzzed. Rewinding itself on the table, right under that dim little lamp it spun and there- it clicked. Mr Marks froze where he stood as the tape started off- on its own -about half way through.

It cracked and hummed loudly, too loudly. There wasn't anything to be heard. Nothing- nothing until Juniper Cunnie spoke. She laughed, "God, you wouldn't believe the food here!" She said in her quiet little tone. He had found it strange that she might be so cheery whilst strapped to a bed and questioned by a stranger.

But as he made that observation through the recording, the tape only burned. A long, moaning static in place of his voice up until June was heard again, "What else can you be, sir? I don't like being here, I just have to be."

One unbearably obnoxious burst of that violent static, as he had tried to speak. Richard Marks was still frozen on the threshold between his kitchen and the little table.

He knew what would come next. He didn't know how, but he knew. What Juniper was to say next was this: "They think I'm crazy- maybe I am if I can laugh while I'm like this... But maybe they're wrong. Y'know? Like, maybe they're the crazy ones. What if I'm the only sane one here."

Yes... He knew what she was saying. But he hated it. And he hated what was to come next.

There was a barely withheld wince over his features and Marks jumped at the next volley of groaning. But he was shocked then. What he recalled Miss Cunnie saying was, "Yeah, that'd be a laugh..."

But that didn't come through. Nothing came through, for a moment, not even the static.

Not until... The noise blared, the machine exerting itself to wild, screaming noise. The glass dropped from his hand and Richard Marks yanked himself back, falling to the old linoleum as he went. The machine only served to cackle and scream but three words, "Real FUCKING funny-"

And it stopped. The sound cut off and there was utter silence in the room again.