Muscle weakness numbness |

38 YO male. The moment of falling asleep, I get EITHER 1.) Brain tingle, a physical sensation of buzzing or tingling in my brain 2.) Jaw vibrates. Imperceptible to touch by hand, but my teeth will chatter, my whole mandible will shake and vibrate 3.) Hands and feet get tingly and numb
I realize these symptoms are close to anti depressant withdrawal, I have never been on anti depressants. I drank too much during lockdown, figured that was it, quit drinking entirely for about 6 months, zero improvement. In fact, it was better when I was drinking. PCP and GP have never heard of this, GP gave tranzodone 50mg which works almost all the time, but doesn’t address the underlying cause. Neurologist has never heard of these symptoms. Airrosti deep tissue massage by the doc there, who has never heard of these symptoms, provides 24 hour relief.
Other symptoms: minor muscle spasms while awake. Leg and arm, but also face (inside nose, under eye, lower lip). Near constant pressure directly behind forehead. Analgesic does not affect this.
Things tried: alcohol, nicotine, caffeine cessation. Neck and shoulder massages and stretches/strengthening. Complete removal of stress. MRI on Monday.
Please help. I live near Houston near the largest medical center in the world, and nobody has heard of or knows of anyone who has heard of these symptoms. I’m desperate.

What other conditions do you have that you think may be associated with cervical instability ? (either as a cause or a consequence).
When I started having cci symptoms (weak neck, balance issues, vertigo, nausea, dizziness, migraines-like episodes with aura, weak limbs, nystagmus, visual snow etc...) was around the same time that I started having temporo mandibular dysfunction (tmjd) symptoms : Ear and jaw pain, tightness in the jaw muscles, tinnitus, hyperacusis etc...
Im struggling with tmj symptoms again atm and my jaw position strangely seems to correlate with my neck weakness/bobble head feeling as well as cognitive issues. It is... strange.
I've also read that In some very rare cases, an autoimmune condition called myositis can substantially weaken the neck muscles here and here

What other conditions do you have that you think may be associated with cervical instability ? (either as a cause or a consequence).
When I started having cci symptoms (weak neck, balance issues, vertigo, nausea, dizziness, migraines-like episodes with aura, weak limbs, nystagmus, visual snow etc...) was around the same time that I started having temporo mandibular dysfunction (tmjd) symptoms : Ear and jaw pain, tightness in the jaw muscles, tinnitus, hyperacusis etc...
Im struggling with tmj symptoms again atm and my jaw position strangely seems to correlate with my neck weakness/bobble head feeling as well as cognitive issues. It is... strange.
I've also read that In some very rare cases, an autoimmune condition called myositis can substantially weaken the neck muscles here and here.

Hi all I’ll keep this as short as I can , just seeing is anyone in the Reddit can relate.
I was previously fit / healthy, went to the gym for 20 years. In 2021 I got really sick and had to stop training completely. I was in hospital for 6 months and lost a HUGE amount of muscle.
My posture completely changed, glutes, hammies, core and back turned off and went to mush. I got a pelvic tilt, lordosis, head came forward and the worst thing is my sternum actually went in like a mini Pectus. If I try to brace my core of feels like it’s trying to lift/push my chest back open, same if I do a wall angel, my mid back kills but it pushes my chest open.
I can breath properly now, I get palpitations when cleaning the car or in the middle of the night, I assume things are getting compressed or pulled out of position.
I have been back at the gym for 1 year now, it took 6 months just to feel like I was actually activating something.
I’ve paid a lot to so called professionals who were no help, I’ve started with a strength and conditioning trainer last week who really thinks the upper body issues and being cause by my weak glutes and inactive core. He feels correcting these should help with the top half of my body.
All I am asking is;
Has anyone had symptoms like me and ended up fixing everything ? I can barely do a dead bug without causing a palpitation.

Just about to get my first insertion next week and was told that since all of my hormones are quite low, it is recommended for me to get an estrogen pellet along with the testosterone pellet, and then take micronized progesterone since I have a uterus. I believe it will be oral or I can have the option for vaginal? I am post menopausal.
The symptoms I wish to improve are weakness, dryness (everywhere!), lowered libido, GSM/frequent UTIs, osteoporosis, muscle wasting, and middle of the night insomnia. The side effects I want to avoid are hair loss (I have long hair! and a child's wedding coming up), and weight gain (heard progesterone can do this). I am thin partly due to muscle loss but had some body composition changes where some of the muscle has been replaced by fat. Hoping T will reverse this and let me get back some minimal muscle and strength again.
I would love to hear more from women who have used pellets. I've loved the two recent reports but I think those were just T.

Hey guys 27M weakAss sigma male here
Something unexpected happened to me today. I'm just walking by the road minding my own business, suddenly some Strange thing catched my eye, some Alpha males kidnapping a girl, they are with sleeper build body full of muscles by seeing those guys I pissed my pants and just tried to sneak away from the scene. But the wings of angel in my heart stopped me from leaving the scene, somehow I made up my mind and with tiny bit of courage gathered by my sigma male personality, I stepped my way towards justice and pulled the girl away from those Alpha males but I can't understand why the girl beat the shit out of me. Later realised that they are shooting a reel for instagram.

Hi, I'm not sure where else to start with this. Several years ago I was told I have DeQuervains in my left hand (which also happens to be my dominant hand). Over time it's become unnoticeable and then come back with a vengeance. Recently I got into an accident and a series of other events in combination lead to a partial year in my left shoulder rotator cuff. This has made the issues with my hand significantly worse and now I can barely hold a pen or a fork and I have a constant sensation of weakness and tingling. I had a nerve conduction study done and they weren't able to find anything wrong with my nerves or my muscles. The situation makes me feel like I'm going crazy because the doctor says they see nothing wrong but I can barely use my dominant hand. He mentioned that it could be arthritis but didn't give me anything else to go off of. I'm 26 and I feel like I'm lost and that I'm gonna be stuck with this pain for the rest of my life. I don't really know what I'm asking. I guess I'm just asking for advice or other people's experiences.

My muscle’s have gone to crap, and they’re easily injured anymore. I estimate I’m about half as strong as I was originally, and that’s pitiful. Sleep is really the only time I don’t feel miserable, and I dread waking up to deal with another day, of weakness, dizzy feeling, anxiety, and breathlessness. No one should feel this bad and still be alive, it’s impossible. Either you get this bad and die, or you get better, but we don’t do either…..

Conner sat listening to music while the history class droned on endlessly. What is the point of learning history? War never changes, right? It seemed tedious. What does history have to do with how powerful and cool a mech is, or how sweet it is to be a mech knight?
"When the darkness came from outside, only the humans knew what was happening. It was war, war from outside the peaceful galaxy. War that had started when the Milky Way first showed the twinkling signs of life. One insane intelligence, old as time, would not tolerate another living galaxy. Each must be consumed by its own weight, and only death may prevail.
Humans instinctively knew this, as the chosen ones, the T-Cells of the galaxy. When their alien friends started getting ravaged and marauded by the scouts of the Dark Beings, humans responded, retaliating with unbridled ferocity and driving the otherwise unstoppable enemies back into the darkness.
It was a frightening time, and it only got worse when the massive cloud of shade was identified as the locust fleet that had sailed for billions of years, the Silent Empty Eternal Darkness Sailors, as they called themselves. They were nothing but dormant hives, sleeping forever, ready to wake and kill and self-destruct, make the galaxy dead. They could have done so, but humans stood in their way, an unpredictable enemy, capable of war.
That is why human worlds were directly targeted by their commandos. Massive singular monsters of ungodly visage were deployed to human worlds, spawning armies of miniature satraps of the horrors, to pillage and assault human worlds, turning them into hellscapes of death and destruction. The alien friends of the humans did not sit entirely idle, they helped by selling powerful new weapons and armor to the humans who kept retaliating against the Dark Beings with ever more powerful and vengeful mech."
Conner perked up at the part about the mech. Various famous chassis flashed across the screen in cool paint and poses with alien worlds in their backdrop and accounting for their neatly colored camouflage plates. He paid attention to the famous battles, where humans had defeated the Dark Beings in honorable combat.
"Conner, do you know what made your clan's father and mother such great mech knights?" his teacher asked.
"They learned from their mistakes." Conner sighed.
"They learned from other people's mistakes. They studied all of our defeats, all the times the Dark Beings annihilated entire battalions or overwhelmed our defenses. It is a much heavier volume. We learn little from victory except that now the enemy will try to better themselves again. When they win, they use the same tactics again - that's when we win. We don't use the same tactics again, for they will be ready when we try. We conceptualize and learn their thoughts, through their actions. They do not understand us. It is our only advantage, for each progression of our tech is met by another evolution of their monsters. Someday we will not be able to make a stronger bullet to match their stronger armor. We must anticipate a limit to this war, and fight accordingly."
"I can only anticipate getting into a mech and fighting bugs!" Conner had said. His teacher had given him that look. Nobody else got that look. Conner got it everywhere. He thought back to those days, he'd really thought he'd see action, in a mech, fighting bugs.
The rest of his class went on to become mech knights. All of them had seen action. Of course, none of them were left alive, and few of their mech were salvaged. Except, Pharlie.
Her mech was the third in a row of ones hit by a single plasma beam of the enemy. While the first two were instantly blown to atomic dust, her mech was only knocked over and set on fire. The ejection seat in the cockpit had the one and a half seconds needed to egress the mech knight safely.
She'd spent some time in relieved-of-duty status on Maranda Beach before she insisted they give her something to do. They quickly evaluated her and decided she wasn't fit for duty in a mech. Something about 'shutting down the Berserker Program' and 'protocols preventing reinstating anyone who qualifies to pilot a Berserker Mech'. Not happening under Admiral Khaspa.
"How's getting into a mech and fighting bugs, Conner? Still anticipating it?" Pharlie asked her old classmate.
"You are under my command. Watch your tone, I run a cruel shift." Conner grumbled.
"Aye, Skipper." Pharlie cringed, realizing the bureaucrat Conner had no sense of humor anymore. She decided to make it her personal mission to work on that. Conner with no humor didn't sound fun.
That scene in the classroom was a long time ago, but it was with Conner like it just happened. He hated Pharlie, because she stood for his humiliation, and wanted to humiliate her, but then he hated himself for feeling that way. He resolved to leave her be because he didn't want to feed his own calloused resentments.
"We've got work to do. We are reassigned to military surplus salvage. This job just keeps getting better. I used to think I would somehow be tested on a battlefield to save the galaxy, but out here I just get tested by boredom. I don't even feel the shame of these janitorial jobs anymore, I'm numb to it." Conner said to Pharlie, the next time they spoke. Pharlie realized he was trying to be nice to her and asked him:
"You'd rather be dead, or be me?" She wondered.
"Yeah. You don't know what it is like flying around delivering stuff and counting crap. I hate it. I could've made an actual difference." Conner complained personally.
Pharlie smiled and said: "You'd have made no more difference than the rest of us did. You don't know what a victory against the bugs costs, do you? You think you just have to stand there bravely shooting back and if you die, oh well, otherwise it's all glory. It's never like that. It hurts, it hurts a lot, because you don't die. Everyone else does. And for what? We just play the same game again next weekend, and it never changes."
"That's war." Conner nodded. "What am I doing? I bring supplies to remote outposts. It's pointless."
"Not anymore, they reassigned us to go pick up supplies, remember?" Pharlie pointed out.
"Oh yeah - don't remind me, just when I though my life couldn't be more tedious or pointless." Conner fell silent, realizing he sounded weak and small, complaining so much. He wished he was stoic, but he had a chance to confide in Pharlie, and he had taken it. Pharlie said:
"You're right. But let's make the most of it." And she smiled, so Conner decided that letting someone know just how miserable he was wasn't entirely a bad thing. He just wished he could somehow just be good with it, without having to use drugs or somesuch. He really felt like his combat skills were going to waste, sitting on a ship for long years, asleep and going around picking up supplies. As Pharlie had pointed out, they weren't even delivering them anymore, new mission, go get all that stuff the aliens made over the centuries for the war effort.
Rhema loomed in the distance. "We are picking up artwork on this world. Are you kidding me? The manifest shows it is categorized as artwork. So this community of variety-hour aliens have compiled some kind of treasure trove of fine art. This is asinine." Pharlie offered.
"That's enough of that." Conner chastised her formally on the deck, but he was smiling as he said it. He loved having her there stating his real feelings. "The mission is to acquire this propaganda, it is deemed useful to the war effort."
The world was like melted orange-cream covered in brown fog, a desolate radiated landscape below testified to the destructive power of the Unknown. The same Dark Beings had taken shots from the darkness with precise aim and killed some of the older aliens, such as the Frendsikeel. Long ago the peaceful otter people had lived happily on Rhema, inviting trade via broadcast.
After meeting an assortment of artist-aliens wearing shimmering dark-colored robes and cowls, the human delegate collecting military surplus accepted the crates of fine art, packed for their shipping across the stars, trusted to nobody except the human military to safely transport it.
"Conner." A call came in from Supply Command Unk Gheldin, Conner's commander. "You just earned me a promotion. The patrons of Rhema have instituted a check as a downpayment on our services. It's enough to build an entire warship. These aliens are loaded and just became our daddy. You're doing good work out there, the war effort thanks you!"
"I'll be sure and handle with care." Conner saluted diligently.
The next world was Arienta, populated by what was left of aliens who looked like huge anthropomorphic tarantulas.
"We've perfected a drug that can induce Star Sleep in humans. They said it was not possible for such belligerent minds to Star Sleep, but our colony of volunteers have allowed us to test every kind of euphoria and pleasure-inducing drug we could on them. Most species wouldn't have such a supply of volunteers, but humans come from far and wide to live as our guests, accepting our hospitality for their entire lives, saying they don't ever want to leave." The high priestess of the Blue Light Watchers, Rhoxa Billi, explained the doped humans lounging around everywhere.
"They look like slackers, sir." Pharlie said loudly.
"That's enough of that." Conner admonished her, but was smiling, glad she said what he was thinking. He faced the high priestess formally and said:
"We'll take this drug, and thank you for your hard work." Conner waved his fingers in the spiritual way to show he knew the sacred gratitude of the Blue Light Watchers. He'd studied how to do it on the way over, practicing it for days until he was confident he could do it right.
The next stop was Basilik, an industrialized wasteland where the Sunder had hundreds of thousands of giant humanoid machines, in loincloths, working tirelessly to drag massive monolithic super metal beams across rollers, up ramps to assemble indestructible mech chassis to sell to the humans.
"Sir, we take shipments from here all the time. What are we here for?" Pharlie asked.
"Not a what, a whom." Conner said.
The casket of the revered Exalted Inquisitor Eshka Layenna was loaded on board, but it was not made by Sunder. No, it was tech from some other society, preserving her eternally in a state of dormancy, a kind of molecular stasis.
"We're taking her back to the ones who put her in there. They have a gift for us. She is our gift for them. The Sunder have agreed to this, in the name of the war effort."
The Desperado star sailed to the nearby Kriesene system where an old gravity cloud that looked like a planet had hundreds of planet-sized moons dancing around it like an insane ballroom.
"The shoals around their world will make this somewhat dangerous to traverse. We have a map, given to us by the Sunder, so we should be fine." Conner told Pharlie.
"Danger, eh? Kinda like it, don't you?" Pharlie teased.
"That's enough of that." Conner said without any real command in it, smiling.
The Skiesene had a moon-sized space station named Thoughtfulness where they conducted much of their trade with each other. They looked like dark-shelled nightmare creatures, some kind of H.R. Giger prophecy had remembered these creatures long before humans had met them.
Conner witnessed their massed warriors, in stasis, embroidered stole draped over them, crouched motionless atop pedestals with twenty-yard tall tapestries depicting their many victories in bloody combat. They sat there in a great hall in their various forms and armors, but always hideous monsters, reminding him of the Dark Beings vaguely, except devoid of insectoid features.
The Skiesene were delighted by the delivery of their goddess, Eshka Layenna. A time without bloodshed was declared, and the Skiesene offered a shipment of their finest warriors, in egg form.
The Skiesene Khan grinned with uncannily human-looking teeth, but in its grin was a sharpened beak that could pierce the solid dome that was their head, with no eyes or ears, at least not in one place, for they had sensory all over their bodies.
"Uh, thanks. We could always use some special, uh, special forces." Conner accepted the eggs, as he was under orders to do. They were preserved until called, using a key to deactivate the stasis they were in. Then they would serve the orders in their minds, to obey their human commanders.
"I hope they don't have to facehug us and chest burst us." Pharlie chuckled.
"That's enough of that." Conner told her, smiling.
The last stop was the world of the Beebee, aliens who looked like cats wearing incredibly fancy clothing.
"We've tailored new uniforms for the human armies. You'll like them." The Master of Design, top official of the Beebee, told Conner, purring as he went.
Conner put one hand on his elbow and one holding his chin, trying to keep a straight face, when he saw the uniforms.
"They are a little small, don't you think?" Conner looked at the feline models in the uniforms meant for human soldiers.
"And kinda derpy with all those frills and colors?" Pharlie offered further criticism.
The Master of Design seemed to think the uniforms were being complimented, anticipating no other response. It took a moment to sink in that the humans were mocking all their hard work.
"All of the specifications for armored clothing were met. These uniforms will preserve your body temperature in very extreme conditions and will slow ballistic projectiles so that they cannot penetrate the cloth, but instead have their kinetics splattered outward and also the colors shift to the mood of the wearer. You can make it camouflage if you like. We worried that human sizes made dispensing millions of these uniforms impractical compared to making an adjustable size. Try one on." The Master of Design was not offended, but stood his ground, his hair puffing up making him look sophisticated and official. His whiskers twitched handsomely at the end and he gave a prolonged blink.
"They still look silly, why so many frills?" Pharlie chuckled.
"That's enough of that." Conner sighed.
The humans were about to leave and board their ship when Conner spotted an ancient mech standing next to the star port.
"What's that?" he asked.
"The tomb of Drastic Conner Mcfarley, the mech knight who defended our world, surprising a lone scout of the Dark Beings and engaging it in single one-on-one combat, saving our world. Drastic Conner Mcfarley died in his mech during the battle. The scout retreated and left us unharmed." The Master of Design said.
"Why'd it leave?" Conner asked, but recalled what his clan father had done. He awaited the answer he knew:
"Drastic Conner Mcfarley disarmed it, but left its capacity to retreat intact. It is believed he deliberately used this measure of engagement, in order to ensure the enemy would not retaliate by bombarding our world. When one of them dies, the world they die on gets destroyed. He might have survived the battle if he'd just killed it when he had the chance. We know this. He sacrificed himself to save us."
"That's right." Conner nodded. He and Pharlie felt solemn, realizing how far their journey had taken them, all the way to where it had began for them. "We're him, and we won't let you down."

4days ULUL+1day for weak muscles or 4 DAYS full body?
I was doing 6 days per week pplxarnold , but that was a TRASH in terms of recovery, so I switched to 4 days per week but struggling how to split the workouts and which is better 4 days full body or 4 days ULUL ? And should I minimize my chest/ back workouts to only 4 ?

Introduction
Someone reading this book may wonder what sort of audience is being targeted here. They may also be confused as to what the endgame is behind such a book. The aim of this book is to parallel the different religious & mystic traditions & connect them to the tropes that we find near death experiences propagate. They often are reconnecting us with what ancient texts have said but in the modern secular world where materialism is the norm we have become numb to the meanings & impact behind such text. These texts are often considered archaic & primitive. Unable to contribute much to the modern world they may only be useful in prayer chants.
Thus I aim here to revitalise the spirit of these traditions and connect them to what many call the modern day scriptures. The study of near death experiences, neuroscience, consciousness & other paranormal phenomena.
The endgame of the mystic is to connect, achieve union, knowledge and self growth. Thus by approaching all these texts and the various evolving thought that emerged from it, we can explore the parallels and connections that bridge the gap between traditions. The beauty of mysticism and perennial philosophy is the freedom it offers in interpretation.
This book doesn't focus on the question of whether scriptures are divinely inspired, man made tools written for sociological and political agendas or some sort of corrupted divinity. That discussion is a debate that will never end. Rather the focus here is on the possible wisdom & theological beliefs which parallel and mesh together well in forming a higher meaning & connection to the divine. Whether it be a higher power, an all pervading source or a metaphysical truth. You aren’t required to literally believe the divinity of these texts. A simple level of curiosity & intrigue is sufficient.
However one may contend that it is easy to parallel traditions when they are in harmony but when they differ they directly contradict rendering these connections meaningless and superficial. Therein lies the limitations of this book. Therefore the following concepts won’t be discussed in here. These are mainly :

Unverifiable supernatural claims such as ancient miracles for instance Moses parting the sea, Jesus walking on water, resurrecting etc. For someone expecting this book to be a source of evidence for a specific religion it unfortunately won’t be. However there are multiple correlations and connections and these may act as subtle signs of evidence for a specific faith or multiple of them.
Reconciling contradictions between belief systems and scriptures. For example whether the Divine is a trinity or a unity. Whether a certain sage was superior to another. For instance comparing the personality of Jesus with Muhammad, whether the Bible is morally perfect or not & a plethora of other beliefs that may not agree with one another. The book simply assumes they all are imperfect systems.
The scientific debate on whether NDEs are classified as hallucinations or genuine supernatural occurrences. Whilst an interesting topic in itself, it is out of the scope of this book with many other books discussing the science behind ndes. However when necessary nde claims will be contrasted with naturalistic explanations.

The primary focus is in following a don't throw the baby out with the bathwater approach. Some may also contend that this book follows a shopping cart style of cherrypicking from texts and discarding beliefs from texts one subjectively finds inappropriate. To this I would simply say that the approach here is one of finding the parallels that align well together and acknowledging when a belief doesn't align well. Not necessarily a pick and choose system. An approach I would call the rational mystic.
The rational mystic is one who is simply open to what may be beyond their senses. They may be mystically inclined, fascinated and open to the plethora of supernatural ideas. However they will not blindly believe any and all beliefs. They will discern using rational faculties what of mysticism is most compatible with reality, what the data or evidence shows & what is more probable than not. I believe people of all beliefs or no beliefs can fit this definition. Whether you identify by a religion, as spiritual but not religious, non religious, atheist, deist or agnostic. Thus a skeptic or believer may able to gain an appreciation for these belief systems.
This book dives into the verses and parallels of ancient texts such as the Old Testament, Gospels, Quran, Hadith, Bhagwad Gita, Dhammapada, Tao Te Ching & Gathas of Zoroaster. Other older parallels such as from Vedic India, Ancient Egypt, Greece & Mesopotamia may be referenced.
Alongside that are the testimonies of NDEs and how they may parallel or differ to these texts. This book also attempts to provide commentary on major philosophical themes & elaborate on various exegesis, mystical traditions such as Kaballah, Sufism, Advaita Vedanta, Neoplatonism & Chinese thought. Since mysticism is ultimately about experience it relevant and useful to enhance these discussions by contrasts to various scientific ideas, philosophy & pop culture.
NDE Filter Methodology
One of the problems with ndes is the fact that they are subjective experiences which we cannot objectively verify or replicate. This makes them a weaker form of evidence compared to empirical studies which can replicate the results. These present a challenge. An individual nde may therefore be subject to embellishment, fabrications & delusions. Therefore in picking our choice of NDEs here we can only look at ndes as a whole in terms of statistical patterns that form. This is the methodology used in NDE literature by various academics including neuroscientists & philosophers researching the phenomenon.
To elaborate we therefore will discard testimonies that appear embellished with fantastical details. These fantastical details may also be subjective from person to person. Calling an otherworldly journey fantastical is simply irony. However in following the certain patterns that appear cross culturally in ndes it is much easier to identify reports that are considered fantastical. The following tropes appear the most across multiple nde studies.

Out of Body Experience
Tunnel of Light
Meeting deceased relatives or unknown beings
Perceiving a highly luminous pervading light
Feelings of absolute peace, comfort & love
Arriving at an otherworldly place ie a meadow, garden etc.
Life Review
Border of no return
Pluralistic message about love & wisdom

There are of course other concepts that ndes reference which appear from time to time. These allow ndes to be flexible and not rigid experiences. After all no two nde experiences are the same. However using these motifs listed we can filter through unreliable ndes. These include

NDE reports that are highly coloured with religious fundamentalist tropes particularly tropes promoting an exclusivist attitude to religion.
NDEs that appear too detailed, fantastical & unrestricted appearing more like a science fiction or fantasy novel. For example nde claims of multiple lives on other planets or large scale prophecies & apocalyptic predictions & generally things that differ wildly from the core themes
NDEs that talk too much about one specific spiritual concept, portraying themselves as special, prophets or mediums turning their nde into a narcissistic or monetary agenda through spiritual coaching, multiple books etc.

Finally one may say that the chapters of this book attempt to hint at the veracity of a religion & this book is a subtle attempt to proselytize that faith. I will reiterate that this book isnt trying to prove any specific religion. There may be subtle signs from one faith that fit better with the nde phenomenon than others. The following theories I would say explain these subtle signs. I leave it up to the reader to decide what they feel is the best explanation.

Universal Divine Theory : This is the idea that prophets, mystics & sages from different cultures have been inspired through revelation from the same source & this explains the shared insights of a religion & ndes.
Mystic Wisdom Theory : This simply means that certain religious writers and founders were simply wise spiritual men, mystically inclined honing on their intuition & knowledge.
Intertextuality Theory : Each new religious founder simply built of older religious ideas assimilating it into their theologies.

Whilst these theories may suggest a subtle spark of corresponding truths, generally NDEs dont explicitly point to any religion. Some say its simply the case that a Christian will see Jesus, a Muslim will see Allah, A Jew sees Yahweh & a Hindu sees Krishna. This of course is not entirely true. The portion of ndes that claim to see Jesus form a minority & interestingly they too dont point at specific doctrines. NDE experiencers may simply describe a sentient light they perceive to be God. This being doesnt tell anybody that I am Yahweh or Allah. Experiencers will say that religious texts fall short of describing this being. It is beyond what people are taught in religion.
Those who are familiar with NDE reports and studies will know that NDEs tend to be very religion agnostic and at best subtly imply a religious correlation but rarely do we find massive amounts of nde reports cross culturally presenting exclusivist dogmas such as follow holy book x or you will burn, believe Jesus died for your sin or you will burn for eternity. When an nde does present this its seen as a red flag since this doesn't occur with the majority of other ndes. The most we have are subtle religious correlations. However NDEs do present us with certain philosophical dilemmas when it comes to religion.

If NDEs are vague about religion how are we to interpret these religions ? Are we to see them as man made socio-cultural constructs ? Are we to see them as inspired by God but limited to their time ? Are we to see them as partially divine partially man made scriptures ?
If NDEs prove that religions are man made we must ask what purpose the creator has behind the nde. If the creator has allowed man made cultures to negatively influence and control the world throughout history and has not intervened or communicated with humanity one must wonder what point there is in a nde being a message in the 21st century. So on one hand the NDE presents us with a deistic God who doesnt intervene and let false religions begin and on the other hand the God of the NDE seems very personal, involved in human lives, keeps tracks, feels love and joy for humans etc
If one, many or all religions are truly divinely inspired why do NDES never directly point to this ? NDEs seem more concerned in lessons but not in pointing people to a religion.

Some may ask what difference does it make that it doesnt point to a religion. if anything NDEs show us that God is far beyond the narrow confines of religions. It makes an immense difference when we factor the fact that religions have influenced entire cultures and civilisations in good and bad ways. Religions have been used to wage war, cause destruction, control the masses, brainwash, confuse and build fear into the human subconscious. And on the good side religions have given hope to the world that suffering isnt in vain, that life has meaning & that justice and ultimate happiness exists.
For alot of people the need to connect to the transcendental is insatiable and religion provides a whole structure of beliefs that one can organise themselves on. For some this is very restricting and enforces a cultural dogma on to everyone. They may prefer a shopping cart version of religion where they take whats good for them and discard what they disagree on. For others they prefer to deny all religious concepts as dogma and cultural beliefs. One could argue that humans need the cultural clothing of customs and traditions to keep their lives going, something which they can use to relate with to the divine. Not everyone can believe in an abstract deity that they cannot conceive of in the absence of symbols such as scriptures.
Religious texts provide at the very least a gateway to which one can relate through stories of heroes, morals and metaphors of the divine. Of course none of this leads us to whether said divine being has revealed these texts, whether they are inspired but corrupted by man or fully man made. These symbols act as aids in feeling like we have a piece of the divine soul with us thus giving comfort and hope. Thus whilst some have no need for religions, for the masses religions have immense value.
So why dont NDEs prove religion ?
There are no clear answers to this (unless somebody has an nde and asks whoever they speak with to tell them in specifics what religion is from God and whats not) all we can do is speculate. The ndes that do ask or do mention a scripture are so few that we cannot form any conclusion on this.

The simplest answer is that all religions are man made for good or bad intentions but this would of course lead us to the philosophical deist dilemma.
Perhaps the NDEs message focuses on the lessons and ideals itself and sees scriptures and religions as redundant (even if there is a divine hand behind some) After all these are mainly symbols and cannot compare to a direct mystical experience (something fundamentalists struggle with)
Perhaps an attempt to promote any specific faith would lead to an assumption that the nde message is about exclusivist salvation and leading to the worship of scriptures/religions (something fundamentalists struggle with)
Perhaps this proves that religions are limited to their century and context and that we should only look to them for the universal timeless message they offer not the specifics. After all all major scriptures teach the core values that NDEs have revitalised ie love, mercy, kindness etc

Do NDEs support materialism or not ?
While the aim of this book isnt to debate the afterlife or brain hypothesis, I will say that at the time of this being written, my view on ndes is to say that I consider them a plausible source of evidence towards consciousness surviving death & the afterlife existing. This view of mine may change in time towards either side. The following are some reasons I would argue for them being plausible.
1 Veridical NDEs : Numerous NDES report out of body experiences including witnessing of events in an environment when this should not be possible. More than 100+ veridical cases have been documented. Not to mention veridical cases from across different countries which further strengthens the case. We would have to be radically skeptical to consider all of these testimonies fabricated.
2 Lucid narrative : NDERS experience a highly lucid narrative that usually doesn't end in the middle or chaotically unlike dreams or hallucinations. Their ndes tend to be structured with a beginning, middle and end where they are either told, know or are sucked back into the body. This is quite a strange experience compared to delirium, delusions, hallucinations etc.
3 Deceased Relatives : Most NDES claim to see deceased relatives rather than alive people supporting the afterlife hypothesis. We should expect a mixed cocktail of alive & deceased people appearing in ndes if this was a case of dreams or hallucinations. The population that do claim to see a mixed group of alive and deceased is quite a small proportion of total ndes.
4 Intuitive Reality : NDERS are very convinced that they are in a hyper real reality that makes this world seem black and white, like a dream/illusion as some would say. They are intuitively convinced they are in something real the way we might be talking in person, as opposed to it being just a dream. In one study its believed that nders brain recollect their nde as if it's a real world memory.
5 ESP claims : NDERS may perceive no time at all, may experience a life review such that they can feel the feelings of others and recall memories long forgotten. They may feel like they intuitively know things without needing to learn. Some may report greater vision and detail than waking life, ability to hear thoughts, instantaneously appear, be in two places at once or pass through solid walls.
5 Religious Expectations : NDES often may contradict the beliefs of many Christians, Atheists and Muslims who have varying beliefs about the afterlife. Some may be surprised to experience the things they see & are particularly surprised at the ESP abilities as these are not predicted by religions. Particularly interesting are religious conservative ndes with more exclusivist beliefs who are surprised and end up becoming more pluralist and liberal.
6 Clinical Death Scenario : The best NDE studies focus on scenarios whereby the person undergoes cardiac arrest and thus clinical death. At this time a person has no heartbeat, no breathing, dilated pupils, no light reflex, no gag reflex and EEG reading of little to no brain activity. This is consistent with unconsciousness as no blood and oxygen can fully reach the brain. Furthermore the fact that most undergoing clinical death dont report any experiences means NDEs are odd occurrences & consciousness should not occur.
7 Transformation : NDERS often are transformed in their beliefs with less to no fear of death, detachment from the material, more interest in altruism and spirituality and are impacted by their NDE for decades, remembering it far more than a hallucination or dream. They see it as the most important experience of their life.
8 Double edged sword : The fact that not everyone has an nde may support the idea of nde being more than brain activity. After all if the nde simply was some evolutionary dying mechanism we would expect everybody to have one. This point could also support naturalistic hypothesis (See below)
However there is still uncertainty regarding the nde phenomenon and further data, & studies are required to build a case that is greater than just plausible. These are some opposing reasons to consider doubt in them valid
1 Embellishment : NDEs are unverifiable and therefore we cannot verify which ndes are authentic or which ndes are embellished over time with the nders own thoughts, interpretations or exaggerations. This makes it easier for fabrications and frauds to claim an nde experience.
2 Brain Activity : Since NDES happen during clinical death or unconscious states where a persons brain can be returned to living we cannot be sure that there isnt some deeper brain activity that causes an nde. We also cant be sure than an nde isnt happening in the window where cerebral blood flow hasnt ceased or in the window where CPR leads back to cerebral blood flow. EEG machines also have certain limitations such that they cannot detect deeper brain regions due to the skulls electrical resistance. EEG spikes may occur due to muscle twitches & electrical noise which can often make it harder to differentiate whether this is due to the NDE or not.
3 Cultural/Religious Contradictions : If we keep an open mind, its entirely possible that a Western nde could see Jesus, an Indian nde see Buddha or an Indian nde see Jesus & a Western nde see Buddha. It seems this can be reconciled by the idea that ndes are customized to fit what comforts people subconsciously. Japanese NDEs for example see a bridge/river symbolizing journey to another world, Westerners a portal/tunnel. Westerners relate best to Jesus, Easterners to other figures. However some ndes provide conflicting metaphysical views. This can be an issue with some ndes if nde 1 says they were told to keep reincarnating until they reach nirvana, nde 2 says something more fitting to abrahamic faith. nde 3 says hell doesnt exist and nde 4 says they saw hell realms.
4 Double edged Sword : This point can be argued for ndes (See above) but also against ndes. Only a small percentage 10-20% of those under cardiac arrest are said to have experienced an nde. This point leaves questions as to why aren't all people experiencing an nde. Should we not expect a larger proportion say more than half of people to experience an nde ? If there is a realm beyond the material should we not expect every person to experience an nde. A low proportion may mean that the nde is some sort of brain anomaly. We only have speculations as to why all dont get an nde.
5 Future Science : Current materialistic explanations may be inadequate to explain ndes but this doesnt mean that future understanding of the brain may not yield a new theory/explanation that explains it away. Thus it remains a potential argument.
All of these points are worthy discussions on their own and can be found in various other valuable books. The above points are simply a valuable framework by which the reader may be able to take away what they value out of this book. Everything written is simply my own research into the subject & I always advise people to take it with a grain of salt unless it makes rational sense to you & appeals to your intuition.
Diving into the depths
Spirituality & mysticism can be thought of as two sides of the same coin with philosophy the ring that runs the circumference of the coin. While spirituality deals with the human aspects such as soul, spirit, ego, morality & purpose, mysticism deals with the divine aspects of things such as essences, attributes, metaphors, realities, realms, entities, space, time, substances etc. We aim to dive into the following themes in this book.
The Divine Source : Everything relevant to defining the higher power & source of existence including essences & attributes.

Consciousness & Spirit : Everything relevant to the nature of consciousness, qualia, perceptions, the spirit & soul.
Reality : Everything relevant to the nature of perception, illusion, concepts, space, time, substances, modes, forms & realities.
Spirituality & Purpose : Everything relevant to the nature of human meaning, objectives, purpose & suffering.
Morality : Everything relevant to values, ideals, ethics & morals.
Knowledge & Truth : Everything relevant to the nature of seeking truth, seeking knowledge & attaining wisdom. These include concepts such as beliefs, truths, axioms, speculations, nature of inspirations & revelations.
Awakening & Dark night of Soul : Everything relevant to the nature of materialism, spiritual awakening, seeking inner peace, anxieties, depression, remorse, angst & layers of the psyche.
Divine Sorrow : Everything relevant to the nature of the eschatological souls corruption, redemption, purification, punishment, divine justice & mercy including modes & forms.
Divine Bliss : Everything relevant to the nature of the souls destiny, ultimate peace, happiness, bliss & divine love including modes & forms.

Long story short, I am 29 years old. I have been involved in sports all my life, from a young age until I was 21-22, when I dropped out after five years of American football and became a couch potato. Seriously, I didn’t even walk until I turned 27. At that point, I had a serious talk with myself and decided to get back to the gym for real. I looked like crap, felt like crap, and lived like crap, so I decided to finally change it. Being a sports person, I knew that progress was going to be extremely slow, but I was determined to do it right.
When I went back to the gym, I felt extremely weak and could barely lift anything. I was doing bench presses with just the bar and two 5 kg weights, and I couldn't handle it. Four months in, with 4-5 workouts per week and a full-body split, I saw progress. I dedicated myself to learning from both science-based and non-science-based lifting. I studied a lot and came to understand my body and how to build muscle and strength, as I cared about both.
After the first four months, I made a personal oath to do five workouts per week, not drink alcohol, and stop smoking for a year. I did it, and let me tell you, progress was booming. I kept educating myself and learning more and more. After two years of working out, I grew bigger and extremely strong.
Now, I am here to ask the community of intermediate to advanced lifters for advice, as I have seriously hit plateaus on almost every exercise and lost about 15% of my strength on most lifts. My biggest strength is my lateral raise, doing 56 kg x 10 reps (28 kg per dumbbell). My deadlift max is 200 kg (with relatively poor form, but it was my goal since I started). My bench press max is around 140 kg (with a machine, not a barbell, as I simply can't stand it). My leg press max is around 280 kg x 8 reps.
I evolved my workout split to fit my personal goals and understanding of my body. I do a mixture of strength training (especially as the first exercise of every workout) and then focus on hypertrophy. Do not try to convince me that strength and hypertrophy do not work together, as I have personally tested doing them separately and found little to no difference, except probably at my current level of hitting plateaus where I need to concentrate on one or the other.
I eat really healthily, with a weekly cheat meal of a large pizza. Generally, I lift until past failure, as I feel like a wimp if I do not. I know it's not the best to always go to failure, and I am pretty sure I have hit overtraining.
This is my workout split, custom-made by me for me:
Monday at 18:30 (Chest Shoulders Triceps): https://hevy.com/routine/3mZfrbYvrA2 Tuesday at 18:30 (Heavy Back Biceps): https://hevy.com/routine/GZG1YxFKaox Thursday at 18:30 (Legs): https://hevy.com/routine/7liUupnSW92 Friday at 18:30 (Shoulders Chest Triceps): https://hevy.com/routine/EyFM3HfW92U Saturday at 11:30 (Light Back Biceps ): https://hevy.com/routine/20SMCUPGu7k
This is me playing around with 60 kg lateral raises (for fun, don't judge the form as it's not "perfect"): https://www.instagram.com/p/C30oxyXIa4x/
I don't consider myself the most aesthetic or the biggest dude, but it's been 2 years since I started, and I’m really happy with my progress. Feel free to browse through my Instagram for physique updates.
My question is simple: what do you fellow lifters recommend I do after losing power and strength? Keep in mind that I am also cutting extremely slowly, at about 1-2 kg per month.

Hi. I am a 24 year old female who has become a shell of herself and i’m fighting like hell to be okay again. I started experiencing severe pain in my back and slowly has gone to my shoulders and neck. My leg goes numb when I drive. I am on gabapentin 300 mg 3x a day and I am scared of this drug but it’s the only thing that helps. After further research on other symptoms I am having that I do not feel comfortable sharing I am convinced it is lyme disease. My mental health is on the floor. I have been to a psychiatrist since I was 12 years old and have been able to handle my anxiety and depression symptoms up until December of last year. I went through a really traumatic breakup and my family said they thought the medication I was on was making me act like a zombie because i was so out of it so i just quit taking everything. but prior to my health decline i thought i was doing fine on it. I was on Latuda.
From January to around the end of february or beginning of March I was acting like myself again but I was getting weaker and sicker. By April, physically my body has Deteriorated to the point where it’s hard for me to walk. I have seen a rheumatologist and just completed a nerve conduction study. By this time I was and still am a nervous wreck. Panic attacks every day for absolutely no reason and my chest feels heavy. I cannot find a new psychiatrist so I have left my mental health symptoms in the hands of my PCP and I don’t think she’s understanding the severity of this.
Since I don’t have a diagnosis yet I feel like everyone is looking at me like a drug seeker. She placed me on seroquil about a month ago and I don’t know what it’s done besides make me gain over 7lbs, sleep, and cry a lot and be angry, maybe it’s just making me have a clearer mind and i’ve realized I am angry that no one is taking me seriously and my life has changed completely and I have been grieving who I once was. I don’t think an antipsychotic is what I need since I have been told before that I am not Bipolar. Either way, I just want something for anxiety and panic attacks. Has anyone experienced anything like this while taking both gab and seroquil? I want off the gab but i am afraid that once I get off of it I won’t be able to walk again, i feel weak and like my entire back is vibrating and my insides are being electrocuted. I am so scared.
I know how some people can be so let me just say this. I hate being high or under the influence of anything. I can’t even take THC or CBD because feeling like i’m not in control of my body scares me. I don’t even drink except maybe 2 glasses of wine with an alcohol volume of 5% and that is like maybe 1 time every few months. I am just genuinely scared of who I am becoming. Any advice on how to overcome this fear will be greatly appreciated.

Today was my 8th EMG. I showed the muscles where I had fascics and weakness. All was clean/normal. Also clinical. 10 neurologists cleared me of ALS already - clinically and then 8 emgs that were normal. I have still my doubts after reading about some cases, where especially young people have clean emgs for years and then turning dirty. I was tested in all possible muscles in the past 3 years but after every EMG I try to think what if in the other muscle or other side something would be shown. The neurologist that performed the EMG today just stick the needle in my muscle and immediately shrug his head and said no MND. No other neurologist did this. After that he was sticking the needle for a minute into the muscle and then I needed to flex with the muscle. But the whole EMg was like 15 minutes maybe.. what if he has performed it wrong? I see many here doing it for an hour or more. At the end he said it is just BFS and that I can be assured it is not als considering my age (24), duration of symptoms (2 years and a half), clinical exams and emg. I am still worried because I still have all my symptoms.. perceived weakness (like I can’t hold my phone for more than 10 minutes or sometimes even at eating my hand feels weak when using the fork or knife), bad cramping in the same spot (hurts a lot and feels like the muscle is getting tight), being sore and exhausted all the time like I have run a marathon, tremor in muscle activity, fascics (to mention that they were not even seen on my EMG, although I have them all the time?!). Besides that I have also trouble swallowing (saliva only, no food and liquids), feeling that my voice is nasal (although my parents and friends don’t seem to notice a difference), trouble getting air when speaking (like some words just can’t be pronounced well but the speech is not slurred.. just missing air when speaking and it makes it harder to speak then). So I thought even about a bulbar onset because actually no bulbar muscle was tested in my EMGS ever (I was told no clinical points towards it and that bulbar in my case would be absurdly to even consider) but I was also told that if it was bulbar and I had problems in my limbs (which I have), the EMG would show it anyway. What is now my thinking about everything is just the fact that I feel so alone in this. Nobody believes me anymore or how much I struggle. It is hard to accept to live like this forever and even the fear of a terminal disease being a possibility makes me unmotivated to do just anything in life anymore. What advice can you give me? And what are your thoughts on my situation? Thanks so much to the community for sticking together and sharing the stories. I hope and pray for the best of all of us.

So I’ve had this problem since I was 16 (I’m 20 now). During sixth form, many people would think that I was staring at them even when I was focused on myself. This problem completely ruined my life, as so many people thought I was a weirdo and certain people would constantly talk about me behind my back. This problem is one of the reasons why I cannot work or be around other people. I finished school in 2022, but since then have barely left the house.
I spoke about this problem with my optician and he said that I have some muscle weakness in my eyes, which is probably why people think I’m staring at them. He didn’t say I have exotropia, but I’m guessing I do since it would explain why everyone thinks I’m staring at them.
The majority of the time, my eyes look normal when looking in the mirror, but sometimes I do see my eyes shifting slightly. Also, in the past year, I do find my eyes ‘going out of focus’ when I’m using my laptop.
So does anyone else with exotropia have this problem with people thinking that you’re staring at them? Have you been able to treat it by doing vision therapy exercises or getting surgery? I don’t think my exotropia is severe enough to get surgery so in the future I’ll see about getting vision therapy.

Recently I’ve been experiencing numbness, weakness and tingling in my entire arms and feet. I thought maybe it was related to a neck/posture issue, but now it’s in my feet too. I got my levels tested in December and b12 was 450, but yesterday it was 388. I went on a non-dairy diet for about a month recently, that could have been it. I also have Hashimotos. My vitamin d level is 34.
I know 388 isn’t that low, but I’m wondering if some people are especially sensitive to lower levels?

Just to let it out off my chest. Yesterday I suddenly feel a weakness on my legs. Like yung parang biumigay nalang bigla and natumba ako. Nahirapan akong tumayo so for like 30minutes max naka upo lang ako sa may pinto namin hanggang sa pinilit kong gumapang and pumunta sa upuan talaga namin. Akala ko muscle pain lang after workout and all since I’ve been doing cardio/aerobics workout at home. Pero iba sya kase hanggang ngayon nahihirapan padin ako. Nasusubukan kong tumayo but with difficulties and naglalakad ng dahan dahan to stretch it out.
Pero realization ko bigla na what if ganto nako? Baka malumpo ako, and napaisip ako sino mag aalaga sakin? Yung mga kapatid ko may sari sarili nang pamilya at buhay. I don’t want to be a burden with my family so di ko alam gagawin ko. I kept on thinking about sa possible scenarios pero sa mga gantong oras talaga mapapaisip ka ng matindi.
Ayun lang muna thank you for reading.

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

The pain was the worst thing`Dominick Mason had ever known…and he knew what it felt like to die. It felt like his brain was in a blender, being chopped to liquid for a Jeffery Dahmer smoothie and though it seemed melodramatic, he imagined he could feel himself losing brain cells by the minute. The sun, Merrick told him, would not burn him, but it would decay him faster, so sleep or rest during the day. With the sick, throbbing agony in the center of his brain, however, that was impossible. He spent most of the day curled up on his side, hugging his knees, and moaning. He had flashbacks to dying in his apartment, and that made things even worse. The room became too small, too close, the air too stale. His heart, filled with the blood of last night’s meal, pounded in his chest, and he went from slightly chilly to hot and feverish as blood was forced through his circulatory system. It mixed with the embalming fluid and left him feeling full and constipated. He didn’t want to get up, but he also didn’t want to go on lying there. He was the definition of miserable.
Before long, the pain became too great and he got up to pace, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and gritting his teeth. Merrick, who slept very little if at all, sat in his chair and watched, trying his best to talk him through it. “It’ll be over soon,” Merrick said. “The pain receptors in your brain are the first to go. When they burn out, you won’t feel anything.”
“When?” Dom asked, his voice raising with the tide of pain.
“A couple days?”
“A couple days???”
“The pain will lessen gradually,” Merrick said, “this is the worst of it.”
Dom believed that this was, indeed, the worst of it, but he doubted it would lessen gradually. For the rest of the day, the pain got worse and worse until every light blinded him, every sound turned his stomach, and the smell of anything made his gorge rise. The cloying smell of the embalming fluid, the light but unmistakable odor of dead flesh, and the scent of stale blood sitting in decomposing stomachs made him want to vomit, but he was afraid to. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of blood rushing from his mouth and splattering the floor. He still possessed enough of his facilities, he believed, to go insane.
Pain has a way of darkening one’s mood, and by the time the sun began to set, Dom was in the most sour mood possible. Even Merrick’s calm, fatherly voice was beginning to get on his nerves. When he took the oath to him the day before (or was it the day before that?), he turned his faith and trust over to Merrick entirely. He was finally accepted, included, finally had the love and fellowship that, in the pit of his soul, he had always wanted. Merrick understood him, Merrick was kind to him.
But deep down, Dom realized that he didn’t fully trust him. He said that his brain didn’t rot because he was “lucky.” That sounded like some bullshit to Dom. Why wasn’t Joe a blithering idiot too? Was he lucky as well? Did lightning strike in the same place twice? In life, people had done nothing but hurt and lie to Dom. Why would death be any different? He thought back to the strange liquid that always seemed to leak from Merrick’s nose, and Joe’s. He thought it was embalming fluid, but it never leaked from his own nose, or from anyone else’s. He tried to tell himself that it was far too soon to judge, but once he began to doubt something, his mind raced away. He felt a twinge of guilt, as Merrick had done absolutely nothing to deserve his doubt, but goddamn it, his head was on fire and he wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.
Just after sundown, the music began as Club Vlad opened for the night. It throbbed in the center of Dom’s head and made him want to claw his eyes out. When it became too much for him, he slipped away and stumbled into the sultry summer night. He came out in the alley running behind the club, clutching his head and breathing through bared teeth. He staggered, bumped into a metal trash can, and roared at the top of his lungs, as if he could purge himself of the pain by screaming.. His voice echoed and came back to him, making the pain worse.
Merrick was lying. He knew it. People always lied to him. His brain was rotting and PEOPLE WERE LYING! Flashing with anger, he slammed his fist into the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant. He barely felt anything so he did it again and again until his hand was lumpy and shaking. He sat heavily on the ground and pressed his hands to his head. It felt like maggots were burrowing into his brain, and he was suddenly terrified that they really were. He needed to stop this awful pain, but how?
An idea came to him.
The funeral home.
Maybe there was something there.
He was on his feet and lumbering there before the thought had even finished reverberating through his mind. It was a long shot, but he was desperate. On the way there, he stuck to the shadows, staying out of the light cast by the streetlamps and avoiding people. When he passed them, he kept his head down. When he reached the funeral home, he went to the back door where he and Jessie had gone the other day. He tried it, and it opened.
Inside, he bounced off the walls like a pinball, knocking over an end table and tearing at the flesh of his head, pulling it away in long, gray strips. He panted like a wild animal, his body a raging tempest of emotions. It was reaching a crescendo, he thought, his brain was about to go supernova. The world dimmed, things got really echoy. The young man he’d picked the embalming fluid up from was there, looking scared.
Flashing, Dom grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, knocking a painting of a flowery field to the carpet. Everything seemed to go in slow mo. “How does Merrick keep his brain from rotting?” Dom heard himself demanding from far away. “How does he keep the pain away?”
The man trembled. “I-I-”
Dom slammed him again. “Tell me or I’ll make you like me.”
“No!” the man wailed. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes wet with fear.
“How?”
“He-He uses a solution,” the man stammered. “Some kind of special thing. It preserves his brain. That’s all I know.”
An idea occurred to Dom.
Holding the man by the back of his neck, Dom dragged him into the embalming room and pushed him against the table. His head felt like it was swelling. Hot, screaming, getting ready to explode. He looked around, found the embalming machine, and grabbed the hose. There was a sharp tip on it so that you could jam it into a body. He held it in his hand, hesitating for just a moment before pressing it to his temple. The man watched in horror as Dom slowly shoved the tip into his head. It tore his flesh, broke through his skull, and sank into his brain. He felt no pain, only pressure, but cried out anyway. His eyes rolled up into his head and a shudder went through his body.
“Turn it on!” he yelled.
“That’s not what he -”
“TURN IT ON!”
Starting, the man turned the machine on. Cold embalming fluid squirted directly into Dom’s brain. Almost at once, the pain began to ebb away, replaced only by a fuzzy sense of numbness. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, looking for all the world like an addict taking a hit of his favorite substance after a long and trying day. Fluid leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes and dripped down the back of his throat.
The man waited for a long time, then turned the machine off.
The pain was gone.
At least for now.
“Tell me again,” Dom said.
The man did. Merrick used a special preserving agent to keep his brain intact. Joe, the man suspected, got it as well. So Merrick had lied to him.
Dom felt betrayed.
And angry.
Leaving the man (Dom realized that he didn’t even know his name), he walked back to Club Vlad, his hands fisted in his pockets. All his life, he had been hurt, lied to, and ignored. All his life, people had done wrong to him. And all those years, he just took it.
He resolved not to be so accepting in death.
At last, he was going to stop being a sniveling little bitch and stand up for himself.
When he reached Club Vlad, he slammed through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he called out Merrick’s name. The old man was sitting in his chair, being attended to by Jessie and Matt. He looked startled when Dom came in. “You lied to me,” Dom said, stalking over to his benefactor.
“What are you talking about?” Merrick asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You lied to me!” Dom screamed. He bent over and got so close to Merrick’s face that he could have kissed him. “You told me there was no way to save my brain, but that’s not true. You’re pumping your head full of shit and letting the rest of us rot.”
A dark shadow flickered across Merrick’s face. “Watch your tone when you talk to me,” he said. His voice was low, menacing.
“Fuck you,” Dom said. “I should k -”
Suddenly, Dom was being grabbed from behind and yanked back, an arm around his neck. He cried out in alarm as Joe swung him around and slammed him face first into the wall. He heard his nose crunch, felt his teeth shatter. Next, Joe wrestled him to the glitter-sprinkled floor and wedged his knee between his shoulder blades.
Merrick watched with a sneer of disgust, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He wheeled himself over, Jessie holding his IV stand steady and following behind. “Listen, you son of a bitch,” Merrick said, “you’re lucky to be a part of this family.”
Cold fear filled the pit of Dom’s stomach, yet he wouldn’t back down, couldn’t back down. He had lived his entire life like a mouse in a burrow, he wasn’t about to live his entire death the same way.
“Fuck your family,” he said defiantly. “And fuck you.”
Merrick’s face darkened and he sat back in his chair. He looked at Jessie and nodded. She went away and came back a moment later holding something in her hand. Dom’s eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A wooden stake, one end honed to a razor point.
Why they had one of those lying around, Dom didn’t know; it’d be like Superman keeping a piece of kryptonite on the mantle over the fireplace. Merrick directed Max and Matt to hold Dom’s arms down/ Joe pivoted, kneeling on his head now so that Dom’s back was exposed. Dom’s heart slammed with terror and tremors raced through his body.
“Is this what you want, Dominick?” Merrick asked. “To die? To truly die?”
Dom swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to live, to love, to have a family one day. He wanted a happy, normal life, the life TV and social media had been promising him since he was a little boy.
But all of that went out the window the night he died in his little apartment. There was no life anymore, just a grotesque parody of life. What was there for him other than death? Clinging desperately onto life for decades like Merrick? Stuffing himself full of embalming fluid and moth balls? Grinding for one more minute just so he could sit hooked up to a machine?
Dom spoke.
“What?” Merrick asked, not having heard.
Dom licked his lips. “Just fucking do it.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Expectation hung in the air. Finally, breaking the tension, Merrick nodded to Jessie. Kneeling down, she brought the stake up, and Dom closed his eyes.
This was it.
He braced himself for death.
Jessie brought the stake down just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Her head whipped back, embalming fluid, skull fragments, and gray, sickly pieces of brain showering from the back of her head. She flopped back and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
A woman cop, her black uniform in stark contrast to the burning white light, stood in the doorway to the hall, her gun drawn. Everyone did, indeed, freeze, more out of surprise than respect for authority. They all looked at her, their dead mouths agape, resembling children who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Everyone on the ground!” she barked.
No one knew what to do. They hadn’t expected to be raided by the police so had not prepared. She jerked her gun and everyone instinctively flinched. “On the ground!” she repeated. To Max: “You too, bone boy.”
The first one to react was Joe. He sprang at her like a big, undead frog. She brought the gun around and fired, but he was already crashing into her. The shot went wild and struck the IV bag next to Merrick; he ducked and let out a sound of fear. The others rushed her, and Dom got quickly to his feet. Jessie lay on the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream and her bony fingers frantically examining the ragged hole in the center of her forehead. For a moment, he was frozen; everything was happening too fast. Then, when Merrick saw him and cried, “Stop him!, he came alive. Jessie tried to grab at his leg, but he kicked her hand away and stomped on it like it was a giant spider. On the other side of the room, Matt, Joe, and Max had forced the cop to the ground. Perhaps excited by all the action, perhaps just hungry, they began to tear her apart. She howled in pain, and the last thing Dom saw before he fled was her open, blood-filled mouth. Her eyes were filled with pain…with terror.
After that, Dom ran.
***
When the interloper was dead, Merrick directed Joe and Matt to dispose of the body. “Get rid of it,” he said wearily and rubbed his temples, “make sure it isn’t found.”
They rolled her into a carpet from the office, and the way her feet stuck out may have been comical under other circumstances.
Goddamn it, this was bad. Merrick’s entire philosophy rested on avoiding detection. He had done well in that regard. Whereas other vampires had attacked their villages and gotten themselves dug from the ground and staked, he had made it four decades. He never shat where he ate, and there is no bigger turd than killing a cop. They might dawdle on all the boys who’d gone missing - taken because their blood was stronger and more robust than the blood of girls - but they would not take a cop dying lightly at all.
Merrick owned various businesses around the country. He and the others would simply move on. Tomorrow night, they would disappear into the night. They had done it before and they would likely do it again. Once things were settled at their new base of operations, he would have Joe killed for all the trouble he’d caused.
And Dom?
Let him go.
The little rat wouldn’t last a month on his own.
“Jessie?”
Jessie sat against the wall, gazing into space.
“Jessi…start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
She didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. The shot had all but lobotomized her.
Damn it.
Joe backed the van up to the back door of Club Vlad, and then helped Matt carry the carpet-rolled body down the stairs. They loaded it in and closed the back doors. Together, they drove around looking for a place to dump it. Merrick wanted it to go unfound, but Joe doubted there was anywhere isolated enough in the city. On a whim, he drove to Washington Park, a vast expanse of green trees and shadows. There was a large pond there. It seemed the best option. They were leaving tomorrow anyway, so did it really matter?
Joe backed the van to a railing overlooking the dark water and put it in park. He and Matt got out, fetched the body, and carried it to the railing. They lifted and heaved it over. It splashed. Thus, they rid themselves of Vanessa Rodregiez.
***
Bruce sat anxiously up in his easy chair and waited for his cell to ring.
Parked in front of the TV by warm lamplight, a beer wedged between his legs, he’d been watching the 11’o’clock news when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was Vanessa. “Hey,” she said, “I think I found our body?”
“Which one?” Bruce asked and took a drink. “We have a lot of those these days.”
“Dominick Mason.”
Bruce sat forward in his chair. “Dead Dom? Where?”
“He just came out of a funeral home, ironically enough.”
“That sounds about right,” Bruce said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m following him east on Central.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” Bruce asked.
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
Bruce sat the phone aside and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At some point, he fell asleep sitting up, his head lulled to one side and his mouth open. He snorted himself awake, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He checked his phone and was perturbed to see that it was past 2am.
Vanessa hadn’t called.
He dialed her number and let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. Sighing, he ended the call, then waited a few minutes and called again.
Still no answer.
It was possible she had forgotten. Maybe the guy turned out to not be Dead Dom after all. She followed some random guy around, realized it, and that was that. Hell, she was probably too embarrassed to call and tell him about it.
Something told him that wasn’t right, however.
There was something else going on here.
Something…darker.
Just before 3am, his phone rang. He snatched it off the end table next to the chair and answered it. It was Burt, the night sargent. “Rodriguez is missing,” he said simply.
Bruce’s heart sank. “Missing?”
“Yeah, she hasn’t checked in for hours and she isn’t answering calls.”
“I’m on my way,”
Bruce tore through the house, pulling on his uniform, socks, and shoes in less time than it took a Daytona 500 pit crew to service a car. In ten minutes he was speeding down 787, the Albany skyline rising in the distance. As he hurried to the station, he thought back to his last conversation with Vanessa. She’d found Dom the Dead Man, the “corpse” who’d scared Ed Harris out of a 20 year career. Despite all their talk about vampires and the living dead, Bruce didn’t believe it, not really. Even so, he was sure that Dominick Mason had done something to Vanessa.
He checked in at the station before doing anything else. They had triangulated Vanessa’s last known location via cell towers. Cops were already out searching the streets for her. Bruce went out as well, intending to start from her last known position and work his way east on Central. The closest funeral home was Tebbutt and Frederick on Central. There was also Lasak & Gigliotti on North Allen Street. Bruce didn’t know which one Vanessa had seen Dom come out of, so he checked both.
Both were deserted at this hour.
Undeterred, Bruce drove up and down Central Ave. At one point, he noticed a shape in an alleyway that looked human. He hit the brakes, jumped out, and pointed his gun at it. “Freeze!”
An old wino stepped out of the darkness. “Alright, you got me,” he said, hands up. “I started COVID. It was an accident, I swear.”
Bruce sighed and put his gun away.
For two more hours, Bruce searched the streets of Albany for Vanessa. At 4am, he spotted a squad car abandoned in the rear parking lot of an abandoned gas station on lower Lark Street. He called it in and the desk sergeant confirmed that it was the one Vanessa had signed out that night.
Still there was no sign of Vanessa herself.
Just after dawn, as the city came alive and CDTA buses began lumbering up and down the streets, Bruce got a call on his cell. “A jogger found a body in Washington Park.”
Bruce was in his personal car. He had no bubble light, no siren. Even so, he sped through the streets like he did, blowing through red lights and stop signs with little care to himself or anyone else. When he got to Washington Park, he found an army cops by the pond, the scene cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and jumped out without even turning off the engine.
The body was rolled up in a carpet and lying on the bank. Two beat cops unrolled it at Bruce’s direction. “We should wait for -” one of them started, but Bruce cut him off.
“Do it.”
They compiled, and at the carpet’s center, like a rotten cream filling, was the body of Vanessa Rodregiuez. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes wide and staring. Her throat had been mangled and ripped away, her head nearly severed. Even in the black and red mess, Bruce could make out the teeth marks and puncture wounds. They may have looked like something else to anyone else who saw them, but he knew, in that moment, what they were dealing with.
A sharp pang of horror sliced through him, and his knees went weak.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the beat cops drew.
Bruce fell to, rather than knelt on, one knee. He bent over the body, a mixture of horror and grief welling his throat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her in death, but he stayed his hand. Instead, he visually examined the body. She had bruises on her face, defensive wounds on her hands, and her gun was gone. Whoever had attacked her, she put up a fight.
Something glinted on her pants.
“What’s that?” one of the cops asked.
“I dunno,” the other replied, “but it’s all over the carpet.”
Indeed, there were glinty little specks all over it, winking like mocking eyes. Nice work, eh? We really fucked her up, didn’t we? Wink wink.
“It looks like…”
The other cop cut him off. “Glitter.”
Bruce flashed back to his visit to Club Vlad the other day.
There had been glitter everywhere.
Bruce stood up.
He had work to do.
***
Instead of going back to the station to start his shift, Bruce went to Lowes. There, he bought a mallet, a gas can, and a dozen sticks of wood. An employee in a blue vest used a machine to sharpen them to a wicked point and he took his purchases to the car. Next, he drove over to the Mobil station and filled the gas can. He was so hellbent on revenge that he sprang for premium, the good stuff. No expense shall be spared.
His final stop was at a Catholic church. He filled a canteen with holy water from the marble font by the door, then swiped a crucifix from the wall. He stopped by the station, went inside, and grabbed a black duffle bag with POLICE written across the front in yellow. He opened the gun cabinet in his office, took out a shotgun, and loaded it with shells. He grabbed a handful from the box and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just finishing up when Bertha came in. “There you are,” she spat, “I’ve waited long enough for you to do something. I demand -”
Bruce shoved the duffle bag into her arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’re going to get your granddaughter,” Bruice lied. Kind of.
Bertha’s demeanor changed. “Good. It’s about time. I was starting to think you were a complete incompetent.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Outside, he plucked the bag out of Bertha’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and Bertha sat in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Club Vlad,” Bruce said and started the engine.
“I want all of them arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said.
She barked orders the entire way there. Bruce was so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard her. The image of Vanessa’s ruined throat and terror-twisted face haunted him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back and forced himself to calm down.
I’ll cry when I’m done killing, he thought.
A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of Club Vlad. It was a hot and sunny day and the place seemed even more ominous because of it. The windows were black, the front cast in perpetual shadows by the old marquee from when it used to be a theater. The place was surely closed, but Bruce could hear music still playing from inside, some techno dance bullshit. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”
Getting out, he slung the dufflebag over his shoulder and carried the shotgun, the canteen full of holy water clasped to his belt. Bertha carried the gas can, looking confused. “Why do we need this?” she asked.
“We’re burning the place down.”
Bertha blinked in surprise…then an evil grin carved across her face. “That’ll show the bastards.”
Unlike last time, the door was locked. Bruce used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, being careful not to cut himself. This was the point of no return. What he had in mind would probably get him kicked off the force or even thrown in jail - and we all know how tough jail can be for a former barnaclehead. The memory of Vanessa’s contorted face pushed him on, however.
He’d suffer any consequences he needed to just so long as he got the sons of bitches who did this to her.
Inside, the club was cool and cave-like. Strobe lights flashed, on and off, black and white, dazzling Bruce’s eyes. The bartender was at his station, cleaning up from the night before. When he saw Bruce and Bertha come in, he started. Bruce pointed the shotgun at him. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded.
The bartender hesitated, then reached for something under the bar.
The shotgun kicked in Bruce’s hands, and the bartender flew back, turning as he crashed into the barback. Bottles, glasses, and mugs crashed to the floor along with the bartender. Bruce racked the gun, and the shell flew out. He moved low and fast now, expecting to be swarmed by vampires, living thugs who worked for vampires, or vampire thugs who worked for themselves.
Though the shot had been like thunder, no one came.
Bruce had no idea where to go, but he imagined that vampires were naturally gravitate to the lowest part of the building. Was there a basement? Shit, he should have looked up the building plans at city hall. Damn, this is what happens when you go off half-cocked. He searched around a bit, opening doors and sweeping the rooms beyond with the shotgun. He found no basement, only stairs leading up. “Stay close,” he said to Bertha.
In the lead, Bruce crept up the stairs, the flashlight on the shotgun providing a cone of clean, white light. At the top of the stairs, he went right, and came to an office and a store room. Backtracking, and bumping into a bungling Bertha, he went into the next room. It was large and open with a vaulted ceiling, almost like a ballroom. Here the same strobe lights throbbed on and off, making him dizzy. Was this to dazzle prospective vampire hunters?
Either way, this was the place. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some curled up on their sides and others in the classic vampire pose: Flat on their backs with their hands laced over their chests. In the center, like the sun to the planets, Merrick Garvis lay slumped back in his wheelchair, his neck exposed for any potential assassin to come and cut. Not that it would kill him. At least Bruce didn’t think it would.
“They’re all dead,” Bertha whispered. She looked around and gasped. “There’s Jessie.”
Jessie lay on her back, her hands folded on her chest. She had a ragged bullet hole in the center of her forehead. “Oh, God,” Bertha wavered, “someone shot her.”
He hoped it was Vanessa. And he hoped it fucking hurt.
Looking around, Bruce couldn’t find Dominick Mason. Was he the one who killed Vanessa? Was it a group effort? He wanted the little son of a bitch bad, but it looked like he’d have to go on without him. They didn’t have much time.
Unshouldering the duffle bag, he knelt down and rummaged around. “Start splashing that gas on the bodies,” he said.
“But -”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
There must have been a harder edge in his voice than normal, because Bertha jumped and did as she was told. She upended the can and began to splash gasoline onto the sleeping forms, the smell of it acrid and strong.
Taking out a stake and the mallet, Bruce went over to Merrick and knelt down. He gripped the stake in one hand and placed it firmly against Merrick’s chest. He brought the mallet up and hesitated, the gravity of what he was doing finally reaching him. What if he was wrong? What if -
Merrick’s head whipped up and their eyes locked.
Too late.
Bruce brought the mallet down as hard as he could. The stake drove deep into Merrick’s heart, and the vampire let out a howling screech that rang through the chamber like the cry of a banshee. His bony fingers clawed at the stake and his head whipped from side to side, his back arching and his robe coming open. In the quick strobe pattern, Bruce was shocked to see that his body was little more than a wood frame, chicken wire, and cotton balls. His blacked heart was hidden behind a screen of mesh that the stake had easily torn through. It throbbed, seemingly in time with the strobe lights, and Merrick let out another wail.
Bertha screamed, and Bruce jumped to his feet.
The vampires, drawn by their master’s cries of distress, were rising to their feet. Two, four, six of them, pale and ethereal like ghosts in a gothic mansion. They came toward Merrick, and Bruice fell back a step. The old man had gone still and lay slumped to one side, his eyes open and his mouth slack, embalming fluid leaking from the corner of his lips. Jessie bent over him and touched his face. Though she moved like a zombie, with no human emotion, Bruce was crazily sure that it was a touch of tenderness and love. Merrick didn’t stir.
He was dead.
Jessie looked at him. Yellow liquid leaked from her eyes like tears. Instead of attacking him, she turned on her grandmother and slammed her against the wall. Bertha screamed and dropped the can. It landed on its side, its contents sloshing out onto the floor. A man that resembled the pictures Bruce had seen of Joe Rossi only deader rushed him, slamming into him and knocking the shotgun aside. It hit the floor and skidded away. Joe grabbed Bruce around the throat and squeezed. Still the lights flashed, off and on, off and on. The walls thrummed with the mechanized beat of dance music, pierced only by Bertha’s screams as Jessie ripped out her throat.
Joe leaned in, his fangs wicked and glowing in the light. Bruce clawed at the monster’s face, tearing away strips of dead flesh. Joe turned his head to the side, and Bruce kneed him in the groin. Even dead, getting kicked in the balls hurt like hell, apparently. Joe’s grip loosened and Bruce was able to shove him off. Bruce unclasped the canteen and frantically screwed the cap off as Joe recovered. Joe sprang at him again, and Bruce splashed him in the face.
A sound like sizzling meat filled the air, and Joe screamed at the top of his lungs. He pressed his hands to his face and danced around the room, his skin liquifying and oozing between his fingers. The others were coming now, led by a terrible skeletal thing. Bruce scooped the shotgun off the floor, brought it around, and fired. The blast hit the thing dead center, tearing it literally in half. The top half flew back, an all too human look of surprise on its face, and the bottom half fell over with a wet thud. Another vampire came at, and Bruce slammed it across the face with the butt of the gun. He heard its jaw crack, saw teeth flying.
Bertha lay dead on the floor, Jessie bent over her. The smell of Bertha’s blood attracted the others, who seemed to forget about Bruce, Merrick, and everything else. Joe was on his knees, wailing in pain, and the skeletal thing was pulling itself toward Bertha. A feeding frenzy broke out as vampires fought to get a piece of her the way piglets might fight over their mother’s teat. Bruce watched in a mixture of horror and fascination, but recovered himself. He grabbed the gas can from the floor and dumped the rest of its contents on Merrick’s body, the feeding vampires’ backs, and the floor, using the last of it to make a little trail to the door. He tossed the can aside, bent down, and stuck a match.
A huge, fiery whump filled the room, and fire streaked along the trail. The vampires all went up in a huge ball of flames, and fire shot up Merrick’s body, catching his robe, his hair, and the wooden frame that had kept him semi upright for God knows how long. Letting out inhuman screams, the vampires broke from Bertha’s corpse. One stumbled around, bounced off the wall, and fell; another toddled toward Bruce before falling to its knees. The half skeleton kept drinking from Bertha’s neck even as it burned.
The heat was enormous, baking. Bruce backed away, and the last thing he saw before smoke obscured his vision was Merrick Garvis.
He was literally melting.
***
Dominick Mason tried to go home, but he no longer had a home. All of his worldly possessions sat on the sidewalk in front of his building, discarded coldly as easily. His key didn’t work in his door and there was a FOR RENT sign on it. Why would it be any other way? He was dead. Sooner or later, everyone forgets you when you’re dead, and all the things you held so dear wind up in the trash. It was a hard pill to swallow, but most people aren’t around to see it after they die.
He was.
From his building, he walked east toward Washington Park. In the distance, thick, black smoke billowed into the air, and sirens rose. He barely noticed and wouldn’t have cared even if he did. No more rubbernecking for him. That was for the living.
The pain that had plagued him so the previous day came back, only less this time. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was getting harder to think. Not that he cared, really. What was there to think about anyway? How he had no one to mourn or miss him? How he died and not one single person, except for maybe his mother, cared, or even noticed? How he had done nothing with his life? Even to the women he’d slept with, what was he? Just another dating app hookup. They probably didn’t even remember his name.
Merrick had been right about one thing. Death was easy. It was life that was hard…life that hurt.
With that in mind, Dominick made his way to Washington Park. It was a vast and deep place with many small caves and thickets. Kids played on the playground, their cries of laughter scenting the still air. It had grown cloudy and began to rain. Still, smoke poured into the sky in the direction of Club Vlad. Dom didn’t wish ill on Merrick and the others, didn’t hope it was them burning. He didn’t care anymore. Not about them, not about anyone. For better or worse (and he would argue it was worse), his life was over. His time came days ago, he just missed the boat.
Picking out an isolated little area, Dom sat against a tree with his legs splayed out in front of him. He titled his head back and closed his eyes. Yes, thinking was hard now. His mind felt sluggish, cold. He was thirsty…so, so thirsty, but he ignored it.
Slowly, the bugs found him. Flies buzzed around him and laid their eggs in his skin. Beetles scuttled over him, followed by worms.
Next, it was the birds. They ate out his eyes and nibbled at his blue, bloated skin.
The animals came last.
Their appetites were bigger.
And they left little remaining of poor, outcast Dominick Mason.
***
That night, Bruce sat alone in his little trailer, a bottle of whiskey wedged between his legs and unshed tears in his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the darkened TV set and took long swallows from the bottle. He planned to drink until he forgot or passed out, whichever came first. He tried to not think about Vanessa, but in his addled state, he couldn’t control himself, and began to cry. When that storm passed, like the others before it, he chugged from the bottle.
As distant church bells clanged the hour - midnight - a feeble knock came at the door. Bruce took another drink and it came again. Getting up, he stumbled, nearly fell, and gripped the bottle tightly. He didn’t want to lose one precious drop.
Again, the knock.
“I’m coming,” Bruce slurred. He staggered to the door and fought with the lock. He was dizzy and seeing double.
When he got it, he opened the door.
The bottle dropped from his hand and clanked onto the floor.
Vanessa, clad in a puke green hospital gown, stood on the step, her hands pressed to her chest and a look of anguish on her milk white face. Her head tilted to one side, the wounds on her neck cleaned but open, gaping. Her dark eyes shone with tears. “I’m dead,” she said.
Breaking down in tears, she collapsed against him and they sank to the floor. She was cold and smelled. Bruce wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest anyway. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said drunkenly. “Hey, it’s alright.
“I’m dead,” she repeated, and her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Bruce held her close, trying to warm her icy skin. He didn’t know what to say, so he cried with her.
“You’re safe now,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”
“I want blood,” she said and sobbed harder, “I want to hurt people.”
“Shhh,” Bruce said again. “It’s okay.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a utility knife. He flicked the blade across his wrist and searing pain shot up his arm. “Here,” he said and offered her his blood, “drink this.”
He did this without care and without thought. She needed him, and one barnaclehead always backs up another.
Vanessa hesitated, looking from his face to the oozing blood, unsure.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Vanessa brought his wrist to her mouth.
And began to drink.

Muscle weakness numbness

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