NOTE: Chapter 1 and 12 will be written by Harold. All other chapters will feature a guest columnist. If you’d like to tackle Chapter 11, please email newnantimewithharold@gmail.com
written by Sean Thomas
Through the now clear rearview mirror, Lima looked. Lima allowed herself to stare at the emptiness behind her. Lima shook her head once more, trying to clear the last bit of fog that remained. She quickly backed out of the parking space, slamming on the brakes as she threw the car into drive. Stuck. She felt stuck. She looked back once more. The silhouette of a man in the distance caught her eye. It looked like Alan Jackson himself. Another figure passed, obscuring her view of the country legend.
Craig.
Or at least someone who looked like Craig, just stumbling around in front of the Alamo.
And then Santa.
Her father.
Her mother.
Her eighth grade History teacher.
Oscar Hiller.
Oscar Hiller? The same kid that spent more time in the principal’s office than in actual class.
Oscar “Killer” Hiller.
Or at least someone who looked like what Lima imagined Oscar would look like if he had grown up, pulled his life together, and made something of himself. Oscar Hiller, silhouetted by a soft glowing blue light. Everything behind her becoming a blue.
Tap, tap.
Lima slowly turned to look away from the rearview, the mirror, and her past. Lima looked to her left, but her memory still focused on Oscar. Killer Hiller.
She imagined Killer Hiller shouting her name, though only as a whisper.
“Lima…”
Tap, tap, tap.
“Lima…”
Tap, tap, tap, tap!
“LIMA!!!”
Lima stopped looking behind her. Her attention and focus moved rapidly to the figure in her window. Killer Hiller stood there in all his majestic glory. Hands on hips. Eyes covered by shades. A tag reading “Hiller” on his chest. A shield on a field of blue. Lima slowly rolled the window down.
“Killer?” she asked, both trying to confirm his identity, his intentions, and her own sanity.
“It’s Officer Hiller now.”
Lima blinked. The kind of blink that is designed to clear your vision, to clear your mind, and to reestablish that what you are seeing before you is actually real.
“Officer Hiller?” Lima’s vision became fully focused. She saw “Killer” now as Officer Hiller. A cop!
“Lima, you’ve made quite a mess.”
“I have?”
Officer Hiller looked down at Lima, letting his filler slowly pull his shades down just enough so that he was looking directly over them and into Lima’s very soul.
“Lima, we all know that the parade incident was the fault of the Uber driver, not yours.”
“You do?”
“We do.”
Lima tried to compose herself. She thought about the accident and realized that she was not the one at the wheel. It could not be blamed on her. She glanced around her mind for some sort of understanding to what was real. Craig? Tone Loc? Tony Stark? Was she really a spy? Was this
all in her head? Had her life in Nashville, the failed music career, the completely unsatisfying series of failed relationships she had caused her to manifest an alternate reality as Madame Legume in a pathetic attempt to make her feel more fulfilled that she actually was?
For the first time that she could recall, Lima allowed herself to smile in acknowledgement of how terrible her life actually was, but that everything she had gone through was all in her head. I mean, she would surely have to seek treatment at a mental health facility. Probably the kind with
bars on the windows. She could finally get help with all of the failed self-medication that she clearly knew she had been unconsciously doing. But at least the world made sense to her again in that moment. All she had to do was…
“However,…” she heard Officer Hiller say. “What we found in your bags left us with several questions. Why did you have a brick in there that was clearly taken from the Alan Jackson mural?”
Lima’s head shot back in the direction of her accuser.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“And why did you just try to kill Santa in the Alamo?”
In that moment, Lima realized that he was less asking and more demanding some explanation.
Snap, snap, snap.
Lima’s eyes snapped back into focus.
A woman in a well-fitted suit sat before her, one hand holding a pen that was tapping a well-worn notepad, and the other hand was mere inches from Lima’s face.
“Welcome back, Lima. I’m Detective Goings. Are you ready to start answering some questions?”
Lima glanced around the room, realizing that she was now in a police interrogation room. It was dark, but not too dark. Nothing stood out. There was a giant mirror and a single door as the only entry and exit point.
“Questions?”
“Yes, First things first, can you confirm your identify for us?”
“Am I being detained?”
Detective Goings looked straight through Lima, as if she did not understand the question.
“Yes, you are being detained for questioning.”
“Okay. Lima Lee. That is my name. I stole the a brick from the Alan Jackson mural because I need help. I attacked Santa because I have been living in my own fantasy world for the last several years. I convinced myself that I was a spy worked on a mission to cover for the fact that I am not a very talented singer-songwriter. I need help.”
Detective Goings dropped the pen and propped her head on his fingertips.
“That is very candid of you.”
“I need help!” Lima pleaded.
Darkness.
The sound of someone scrambling to their feet.
Clunk.
Bang.
Slam!!!
Crunch.
Thud.
Light.
The light from an insanely bright flashlight illuminating the room.
Blinded, Lima tried to focus. She say the detective face down on the table opposite her. Then,
she saw something else.
Nose.
Eyes.
Lips.
Tone.
Tone Loc!
“Lima!”
“Tone! What are you doing here.”
“You said you needed help,” he replied, with a bit of a tone in his voice.
“When?”
“Just now, to the detective.”
“But, but, but how did you get in here?”
“Ace.”
“Like a playing card?”
“Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.”
Lima shook her head, not really sure what to make of this.
“Like the old movie?”
Tone Loc stared down at Lima incredulously.
“No one know this, but Jim Carrey is as method an actor as they come. When I auditioned, I had to go to and graduate from he police academy, get a job as a cop, and live as a cop for three months. I learned the ins and outs of police stations, so it was very easy to break into this Podunk one. Also, watch it with the ‘old’ comments.”
As Lima looked into Tone’s eyes, it all became clear. She wasn’t crazy in believing she was a spy. She was just your regular Southern crazy. It all made sense in that it made no sense at all.
Her mind started to think back…
Snap, snap, snap.
“Girl, stop that. We gotta go!” Tone demanded.
They quickly moved towards the door.
Through the darkened halls, tone led Lima.
Out the back door and into his car.
Speeding off.
Lima relaxed for the first time since being home.
It didn’t last.
“I have some new information for you,” Tone said, interrupting her peace.
She glanced over and saw an envelope in Tone’s outstretched hand.
Lima grabbed it and opened it.
Inside were pictures.
Santa, at Walmart.
Santa, at the parade.
Santa, at Target.
Santa, hammered at a bar.
Santa, hitting a blunt.
Santa, getting out of his car.
Santa, entering his home.
Santa, sitting on his couch.
Santa, taking off his hat and beard.
Santa, unmasked, sitting on his couch.
Anthony Starkly sitting on his couch in a Santa costume.
“Tony Stark is Santa!” Lima exclaimed.
The music slowly turning up as they sped up down the road towards their inevitable destination.
“Cold coolin’ at a bar, and I’m lookin’ for some action…”
Newnan Time with Harold 