Wake up in sleep

  I drove a blue Ford from Philadelphia and arrived in Richmond, Indiana at sunset. Along the Pennsylvania Turnpike and across Ohio, the annoying rain has been raining non-stop. As soon as I arrived at the hotel, I took a hot bath in the bathtub to relax my muscles and bones. I don’t know why I did this.
  ”What are you doing in Indiana, Mr. Gibbs?” The
  front desk was a cheerful young man. He has long golden hair, but one side is completely shaved, and the earrings have severely deformed the earlobe. About the hotel manager likes this dress.
  ”Passing by,” I replied, “Go west to see an old friend.”
  Of course this was a lie to him. I am going to California to meet a new friend-a netizen. She wrote to say that she was going to hold a grand party and said that I should come. It may be a whim, I decided to go.
  ”If you are hungry,” the young receptionist said, “There is an Irish bar on this road, maybe you want to go and see it.”
  ”I will definitely go.”
  I will definitely drink vodka in my room alone tonight. After drinking it until I fell asleep, I woke up the next day, worried that there was still a long way to go.
  He then asked, “One key or two?”
  I told him just one. As always, I travel alone.
  Someone once said: Keeping a diary helps keep a clear head, but I don’t know what to write.
  All right. Relax, buddy. I will tear these pages out of your diary, because you don’t need to record these things. Besides, you didn’t mention what actually happened.
  I followed you all the way from Philadelphia, you don’t know, do you? You insert your room card into the card slot and wait for the little green light to flash, and I will be there. I entered your room easily, just like my own room.
  You are sleeping now, and I am in full control of you and your belongings, even though they are very few. There are several changes of clothes and common washing supplies in your duffel bag, and any man can use these. Even the vodka you like to drink is very ordinary, just the wine people drink on the train. However, I hope you didn’t drink too much. Drinking too much is no fun. I can do anything to you now. Are you aware of it? You can only be at my mercy.
  You are lucky, because I am professional, I will choose the right time and place for everything.
  This reminds me… it’s time to tear up the diary.
  May 22
  I think I wrote yesterday diary ah. But I saw these jagged edges, and I must have torn off those pages. Maybe I drank more vodka in Richmond than I thought before I decided to throw them in the trash.
  The blue Ford car drove from Indiana to Joplin, Missouri today, covering nearly 600 miles. You can see some roadside park advertisements on the road, such as “the world’s largest wind chime” (in Casey, Illinois). If someone is with me, I might go and see. But I don’t want to be that kind of dull person, standing alone in a crowd, with hands in my pockets, looking up at a boring tourist attraction. Don’t read it, thank you.
  I wanted to spend the night in St. Louis, but it didn’t make much sense. I thought I should get to Glendale as soon as possible.
  But a strange thing happened on the way. I always feel that someone is following me. I saw a black SUV following me, about a quarter mile away. To see more clearly, I let go of the accelerator in one place, but the SUV also slowed down. The original distance is always maintained between the two cars.
  This may be my imagination. Or imagine that someone is paying attention to me.
  Everything about Joplin looks new. The night manager of the hotel told me that today is the fifth anniversary of a tornado that swept across the city, killing 160 people.
  ”There are so many pieces,” she described, “can be spread from Dallas to Los Angeles.”
  Or Glendale, I think.
  ”It was the day when she graduated from high school,” she continued with tears in her eyes, “people are still on the way, going to the graduation party.”
  Just then I realized that she might have lost a relative in the tornado. It feels bad, but I can’t ask who it is. I doubt if I can bear the psychological pressure after listening to the whole story.
  I checked into the room, drank vodka, and stayed here afterwards.
  Really a person who has accomplished nothing.
  You really shouldn’t drink so much, my friend. No more than two 4-ounce servings a night, this is the rule. See how big your wine jar is. I think you are going to pour yourself twice or three times as much wine.
  Regarding someone driving a “black SUV” following you…It’s not me anyway. (I travel lightly.)
  I thought you were only bored on the road and saw things that didn’t exist there.
  However, I must admit…I really like the part of your tornado. I am a big fan of destructive forces. I wish you could ask the lady at the front desk who she lost. These details should be interesting.
  (I tried to find her before, but a man took her shift. I think her shift is over.)
  Anyway…you and I must concentrate. We are in a group. In Glendale, big things await us.
  So tear up… your diary, and tear up… mine.
  May 23
  I just sit down and write a diary, found I did the same thing – torn diary yesterday. Why should I do this? Did I get drunk, read the diary again, and then think I revealed too much?
  I assure myself that I will not do the same thing tonight. I really think this diary helps me a bit.
  In the storm near Tulsa, I drove 520 miles in a blue Ford to a small town called Central City in Texas. The central city was once an oil town, because rusty derricks were scattered on this land.
  Of course, I chose a motel that is being renovated. There is dust everywhere. God knows what poisonous filth I inhaled. However, the room has a discount of 15 dollars, which is not bad.
  Apart from listening to the sound of hammers and saws, and starting to seriously doubt my own mind, I can’t do anything here. I really don’t know what kind of demon forced me to jump into the car and drive 2,770 miles from Philadelphia to California? Sometimes when I do things, I don’t understand why I do it.
  So I drink and hope to stay in a better environment tomorrow.
  You really need to drink less, man. This seriously hampered our mission. Because when you drink, it’s me who gets drunk.

  I want to pour vodka into the sewer, but we need it. You may also buy a large bottle in another place.
  I want to beat you up and try to cheer you up, but that might be counterproductive.
  I just walked out into the cold night in Texas. It’s… nothing. The building noise you mentioned stopped at night. But I don’t like quiet. I am a city person, I like noisy and lively. Such emptiness can really make people feel lonely.
  I walked to the blue Ford car and opened the trunk to see if the cooler was still there. Of course, this is put together with other imitations-charcoal basin, charcoal and various picnic props. everything’s ready.
  Then I went back to my room and wrote this diary.
  I am as sad as you. I hate this feeling. I think I’d better lie on the bed and close my eyes.
  Of course, I want to tear up all this, but maybe I’ll leave
  that to get you thinking.
  May 24
  eager to end this trip. I drove 749 miles in a blue Ford until Kingman, an ancient town on Route 66 in Arizona, with dozens of motels, but I really don’t understand why there are so many hotels. I picked one randomly, hoping to take a hot bath.
  The guy with a runny nose at the front desk asked me where I was going, because obviously I won’t stay here for long. No one will.
  ”Los Angeles.” I said, I didn’t want to talk to him too much. This is my own business.
  He wrinkled his fat nose. “Los Angeles? Don’t you know the traffic conditions there? Why are you going there?”
  ”Where are you from?”
  ”Here.”
  ”So it’s you.”
  He didn’t like that, or didn’t like me. Ok. I don’t like him very much either.
  In the room, I turned on the cable TV and saw a news report about the murder in Richmond, Indiana, which happened where I had just been three days ago. A young blond man who works in an Irish bar in town and part-time in a nearby motel.
  It certainly won’t be like this…
  will it?
  In such a violent world, I actually met such a murdered victim…I don’t even want to think about it.
  I drank more vodka, wrote something about the murder, although I once again destroyed the diary before me – in addition to a warning his mysterious note:
  Do not drink too much
  I must have been drinking when he is not very meticulous.
  I ignored this warning.
  Because this is a violent world.
  Now you make me angry.
  I often drink groggy. But here, I am so drunk!
  You should not do this. The rules and restrictions on your drinking are for a special reason!
  Alcohol is the trigger. Two 4-ounce servings, no more or less. You open the diary and read the quote on the back cover:
  ”The two hearts are one. Two—ha, ha, ha—two—ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha—two—Jesus , Christ-ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha-two Jesus…”
  Soon after, I woke up.
  You have been arranged! Who said you have a choice?
  Listen, you are just a fake identity, a cover-up story, a mask. I am the real murderer. Remember this!
  We have an important mission in Glendale tomorrow, and I won’t let you mess up.
  Therefore, I poured the wine in the bottle, leaving only 8 ounces.
  Give you clear instructions:
  Do not exceed two cups. The kind lady in Glendale didn’t want to associate with a drunkard.
  [Next page]
  Oh-what happened to the kid who was murdered in Richmond? I saw nothing online. Are you so boring to start writing novels with this thing?
  May 25
  in Kingman wake up, pack up the car. Only 330 miles left. It’s about to end.
  Instead of having breakfast, I drank the vodka left in the bottle. I want to buy another bottle from the Walgreens chain on the roadside.
  I know everything about you, “murderer”.
  (Why do you think I drink a lot?)
  Actually, I have known you for a while, but I don’t have everything about you. Sometimes I am unconscious, and for a long time, I doubt my own mind. But thanks to a diary (a bit sloppy-but I guess it’s just because you were drunk, old man) that you left at the bottom of the recycling bin, I have a lot of stories to tell.
  The quote at the front of this diary and the gulping of alcohol remind me of you, right? It’s really interesting.
  Let’s find some more wine, then drive and see what happens.
  By the way, what is your name? My name is Keenan Gibbs.
  You bastard!
  I don’t even know where to start.
  First of all, Mr. Keenan Gibbs, I will not tell you my name. This is confidential.
  Second… I just woke up on the roadside in the Arizona desert, our blue Ford parked in the ditch by the roadside, and I was exhausted.
  The only way I can talk to you is through this diary, so I tell you clearly:
  You may not realize this, but we are symbiotic. This means that we cannot exist without each other. You want to cut my throat, well, “man”…you are also cutting your own throat.
  Suicide does not stop what is about to happen in Glendale. The success or failure of this matter is at stake. She will speak at the party and I will go with my weapon. We have to pass the security checkpoint because “Kenan Gibbs” is an important supporter of that party. In fact, the congresswoman personally sent you an invitation.
  You are going to participate in a fundraiser, drink two glasses of martini, and pretend to be a law-abiding citizen. I will suddenly appear and be with you.
  We will get away with luck, because this is what we are good at.
  If we are unsuccessful, then use a backup plan. But they will bring us in and then take care of both of us.
  You don’t want this, do you, “buddy”?
  Okay, I’m going back to sleep.
  I need you to cooperate with this plan. Be awake and drive.
  Let us finish this thing.
  You are right, Mr. Confidential. I don’t want to cut my throat.
  But you are wrong about one thing, man. Neither of us can escape this. Because when the Glendale incident is over, you will report to the CIA, or to where we first came from, no matter where it came from…
  then they will deal with me.
  I know I’m using it to cover people’s ears. A fictitious work is given a short life. When all this is over, it seems like I never existed.
  This doesn’t sound fun at all.
  So this is what I have been doing, man, because you are too focused on the task and haven’t figured it out. I murdered all the way during our cross-country trip. Killed the kid in Indiana with weird earrings, Joplin’s widow, a few construction workers in downtown, and the fat man with a runny nose in Kingman.
  I hid their bodies-just not well.
  I also left a lot of forensic evidence and made sure that all the surveillance cameras can take pictures of the blue Ford.
  see it? I have been busy. All the diaries you ruin are just lullabys to distract you. I am sad, me poor, and lonely.
  I’m really surprised that the police haven’t come to arrest us yet, but I think the wheel of justice does turn very slowly.
  It’s ok. I can get it right away.
  Here’s what will happen next:
  I will drive a mile to the California border, where there is a checkpoint for the Department of Agriculture. You know, this is to ensure that no one smuggles pests against their fruits or pets.
  They will ask me if I am transporting something similar and I have to open the trunk.
  I’ll tell them, “Check the reefer.”
  (That’s why we drove all the way, right? Because you can’t sneak biochemical weapons on the plane.)
  By then, I’ve already drank a lot of vodka and watched The introduction to the front of the magazine. If I calculate the time accurately, you are about to wake up and you are still drunk and need a lot of explanation.
  I guess they will arrest you, and then the whole thing will be exposed like a snowball from here.
  You can wait for a while.
  However, you will fall asleep sooner or later. Then I will wake up.
  They will take the diary and archive it as evidence. Last time I verified that there was no vodka in the prison.
  Maybe those cunning behind-the-scenes masters will follow me. But I think it will take time. This is what I am good at.
  To you, good brother. Cheers. It is really fun to travel with you along the way. I look forward to three meals a day and life in a small cell, and never drive this damn car again.