Bedlam

Bedlam          

         The people of Sarcee are bracing themselves for the sudden snap of winter that is surely coming. Fall is just a couple weeks that far west in the parries and instead of a steady gradual fall into winter it happens overnight. Fall one day cold bitter winter the next. Even with that gloom outlook on the weather people still flock to Frankie’s GoodTimes Bar and Grill for lunch. From 11 until 2:30 in the afternoon the kitchen staff is knee deep in orders well the waiters and waitress are struggling to get everything out. Located in the middle of downtown, right amidst tall sky scrappers and dozens of business Frankie’s is the place to eat. Even with good food and fair prices no one saw Frankie’s as the site of divine vision.

         Marcia a thirty something accountant is eating her salad when things get weird. Her lunch mate, Ron Smith another thirty something accountant, suddenly forgets about the food in front of him. His eyes are like big black diner plates. His pupils dilated so big he looks like a cartoon character. He is starting to sweat profusely, his baby blue dress shirt stained with comical pit stains. It’s enough to make Marcia stop eating.

“Are you ok Ron?” Feeling nervous incase he just sweats a lot naturally.

“Hmm, when are the fiddlers coming?” He responds, but not directly to Marcia but behind her.

“Fiddlers? What are you talking about Ron?” Marcia is feeling anxious, something is clearly wrong with Ron. Suddenly Ron is standing up and taking off his tie.

“Silly worms struggling to get nitrogen.” Before Marcia can even react Ron is muttering nonsense. Marcia’s heart starts to beat rapidly. At first she thinks it’s because she is scared by Ron. It starts to thump in her chest so heavily it feels like it might explode. Marcia starts to sweat and fills slimy under the bright light of Frankie’s. She forgets about Ron. She even forgets where she is. Without any recollection of being at Frankie’s Marcia is convinced she is in a cave, near the ocean because she feels so wet. It’s the only possible explanation. She feels something pulling in her stomach, she feels like a fish with a hook in it’s gut except it doesn’t hurt. She feels this invisible tug pull something out from inside of her. Only when the thing is out of her body and dangling in her face does she realize it’s her soul. Marcia is trapped in this ocean cave and her only company, her soul, has just left her. She is nothing now except for a barren husk. Neither her or Ron hear the blood curdling scream coming from the kitchen.

Danny McGregor is a twenty one year old appetizers cook for Frankie’s. Everyday he stands at one end of long assembly line like kitchen of Frankie’s and cooks the orders. His job mainly consists of taking pre-bagged portions of chicken wings, dry ribs, chicken fingers, french fries, and other fryer delights and dropping them in a deep fryer. For eight hours a day he watches as the blistering hot oil, 180 C to be exact, cooks raw meat in just a couple of minutes. It’s not unusual for Danny to throw an extra chicken finger into the oil and eat it himself. They cooks call it ‘tasting’. He’ll even usually dip it into an insert of ranch dip for flavor. Danny has just dropped a basket of chicken wings into the fryer when he starts to feel weird. He feels very hot. The kitchen is usually very hot to begin with but now it’s just sweltering. He can feel sweat collect and stain his small black cooks hat. He feels the need to say something to another cook on the line but the kitchen just looks weird. It’s tube like now and starting to move away like a subway car. Danny starts to wonder where he is and why it’s loud, he has completely forgotten he is at work. The sound of banging dishes and pans gets distorted between his ears and his brains and sounds like gun fire. He must be in a war and starts to panic looking all around this crazy tunnel for safety. Up ahead is a pool of water and Danny thinks he is thirsty so he crawls to the pool. Once he is there he realizes there is something shiny at the bottom, something safe. Danny plunges both of his hands into the pool not aware that he is actually in a kitchen and the pool is the deep fryer with the wings in it. The cook beside him starts to scream in horror when he withdraws his arms and reveals a ragged collection of burns and blood.

        In his own head Phil is a very important person. He is a partner in a advertising firm that with the boom of Sarcee has become the leading advertising agency in western Canada. Today’s lunch is an important one with clients looking to branch out of America and into the Canadian market. The account is worth millions. It couldn’t have been a more embarrassing time to get the runs, but Phil’s stomach wasn’t giving him much options. Now Phil is in the bathroom trying to work out his stomach before working out the deal. His heart starts to beat out of his chest and Phil is thinking about what he ate thinking it’s food poisoning. Then he is sweating and hopes none of the clients come in for a piss. In just a couple minutes, with his pants around his ankles and shit dripping down his leg Phil is panicking. He thinks the devil has come and taken his soul and locked him in a refrigerator. Ironically enough in his childhood Phil had decided to play in an empty refrigerator and got trapped for four hours.

         From the costumers to the restaurant staff everyone in Frankie’s was acting crazy. A fire breaks out in the kitchen (from a cook stripping naked and throwing his cook’s coat onto the grill) and even with the fire alarm blaring and sprinklers showering everything, dozens in Frankie’s don’t leave. They don’t even notice or are playing in the puddles. It’s Bedlam but instead of lunatics and freaks it’s men and women dressed in business suits. As the building starts to burn faster and faster, the flames bigger and bigger, police and firemen scramble in panic. They don’t understand why no one is leaving and struggle to get people out of harm and into safety. Paramedics instantly see signs of intoxication. Elevated heart beat, dilated pupils, profuse sweating, disorientation, lack of coordination, all the signs are there. By the time the evening reports will be on everyones television the police will say it was a mass drugging using a psychotropic drug. Eventually the police will gather dozens of drug tests from the inflicted, food and sauces salvaged from the intact cooler will be tested. All the toxicology scans will turn up negative and leave the people involved and the city itself, scratching their heads. For a small few in the right circles they will find an answer. An answer in the man claiming to a prophet, Kyle Brandish. He will tell them that God has chosen Sarcee as the new holy city, the city that will usher in the new age.