Purgatech: Adrian's Ghost-hunting Angst

Adrian Beck found himself behind the TV every Saturday morning, his favorite VHS in the tape player watching Ghostbusters. It had become a weekend tradition. His parents would be asleep, he would take the vacuum cleaners tube and nozzle, strapping it to his backpack with cello tape and a firm grip. Adrian would later be reprimanded for not adhering to his parent’s command of not using the vacuum’s equipment in this way but it was just another risk he was willing to take, acting along with the scenes, pretending to be the fourth ghostbuster and even, on occasion, adding his own dialogue fitting with the character’s own. Who you gonna call? This had always been Adrian's favorite part, “Ghostbusters,” He shouted along with the music, breaking from his character he constructed to play the part, childish glee filtering through every action. When tired, Adrian would sit and watch. Reciting nearly every word Bill Murray’s character spoke perfectly. Once completed, Adrian hopped up, pulling the backpack up over his shoulders and running outside. It was nine A.M and his parents would be up soon. They would no doubt have some weekend of fun planned for him and he knew that he would only have this time in his world a little longer, but this was this was the most exciting part. In his mind, Adrian saw himself alongside the Ghostbusters. He pictured the founders at the helm, himself the highest level he could attain apart from being right there alongside them and those who were under him. Others who had attained this level were silent members on the board of directors or whatever other party was leading the charge that day, giving the orders and direction to the lower levels. “You might have been in the field before but the spooks change.” Adrian shouted at the imaginary Mister Stone, who ordered a group of Ghostbusters to do his bidding, “You need to be out there with your men. You need to show them and teach them to do as you do, not as you say.” Adrian disappointedly walked off, through a fictional door and towards a tree that hung low baring lemons. The span from the imaginary Mister Stone to the tree, in his mind, covered the distance of a journey to his own personal space. The space between his home and his work. Tapping on the tree, as though entering access details, Adrian made mechanical noises with his mouth to signify that the world was opening to an underground lair. “Gentlemen,” Adrian spoke, turning away from the tree and walking towards where the ground would have opened, had this not been part of his imagination. “Sir. We need your help. A code three mesomorph has taken control of a small building in downtown Newark.” He played the scene out in his mind with the imaginary man coming out to meet him, speaking to him and handing him a briefcase and his pack. Adrian wasn’t sure why he chose Newark to be the setting of his imaginary organization. He had never been and had never intended to go. He was born in Los Angeles and had never left the state of California, again, he thought, why would he? “Will be done. Ready my personal vehicle. I will take it out for a spin today, I think.” Randomly jumbling words together that seemed to fit in the professional tone he wished to accomplish, he knew that it was all wrong. He thought for a moment and then changed the section of dialogue. The scene paused as he rethought and reworked his sentence. “It can be done. Get my vehicle ready. I won’t need a driver today.” Nailed it, he thought, the scene continues to play out now. Skipping ahead, Adrian never wanted to pretend to wait. What would the point of that be? There was no excitement in waiting as that was what he did in his normal day today. So seconds passed but the car was before him. The driver got out, keeping the door open for Adrian and he got in. “Thanks,” Adrian said, sliding a cool ten dollar bill into the man’s hand. “Wow. That’s a big tip.” The driver said and in Adrian’s mind, it was big. Huge in fact. He imagined himself driving the world’s most expensive sports cars but the value of a ten dollar note was what he understood. And so he ran down the street, pretending it was his car that was flying down the highway at great speeds. Newark needed him, just as much as he needed it right now. The ghost was waiting, after all. Then Adrian stopped. He knew that when he pictured the men and women in his mind, they were there. He could see the cut-outs from his imagination filling the modern world. This one seemed different. He did not physically construct the sickly looking, woman in his mind but there it stood. He was by no means superstitious so he did not think anything of it in that way. “Hello.” She said. The voice that spoke, again, was not one that he had given her. She was her own entity. “Hi,” Adrian replied, tipping an imaginary hat to her. “What’s that you got there?” She asked. “This is my ghostbuster.” Adrian lifted the vacuum components up to the old women. She smiled crookedly at the site of his ghostbuster. It scared Adrian, the wicked smile. She reminded him somewhat of a witch in movies or television shows. A long pointed nose, a wicked smile and terrifying glint in her eye. “Ghostbuster, ‘ey? Well, come and get me, boy.” Adrian groaned uncomfortably as the witch woman vanished. He turned around and ran. He ran back to the house, that’s where he would be safe. Yes. Then his dad could beat up the witch. His mom could douse her in water and she would fizzle pop and burn to her death. Getting back inside, his parents were still asleep. The house was eerily dark from the curtains and blinds that were drawn but Adrian was having none of that. He pulled them open. Removed the components that set up his Ghostbuster and connected them back to the vacuum. Adrian Beck never watched Ghostbusters again. ~ ~ ~ Adrian was going on another one of his long tirades, as he often did sitting at the bar with a drink in his hand, Eliza Moffatt his girlfriend, at his side and the rest of his usual gang, until he saw among the crowd the face that had sent him through such fear years before. Among the crowd he saw the old witch standing, looking directly at him. Adrian hadn’t seen the witch since the day she first appeared, later assuming that it was just his hyperactive imagination and letting it go but today he saw it again. Unchanged from his youth. Perhaps, he considered, he was drunk and it was something from his subconscious coming out. Though this was different than his subconscious manifesting. What he saw here was the woman, her crooked smile and a long, almost rotten looking finger pointed directly to him. “Why’d you go so quiet?” Eliza asked, snapping Adrian out of his memory of when he had first encountered the witch. “I don’t know. Just got lost in a thought.” He spoke, turning to the crowd that was waiting for him to continue speaking. Adrian saw himself as an activist for something. Nothing in particular, but something. “Where was I?” Adrian asked. More himself than anyone else, “That’s right. I remember now. Twenty years ago I thought I had the world in my hands. I was finishing school and readying for the rest of my life. I went to a good university, studying business, I worked hard to get bursaries and good grades and I made it happen. School was just another institution that sucked the soul out of me. Trying to strip me of my imagination and bring me into the normal world. University was even worse. Hell, the thought I just lost myself to, was one about my childhood. I had such a vivid imagination I couldn’t even control all the characters I seemed to spew.” “What’s your point?” Martin asked. A colleague who worked at Sentinel Dynamics with Adrian, the pair had become good friends over the years they spent together. “My point is, corporate America doesn’t want what they ask for. They claim to want big imaginations to join teams of people and promise big paychecks and bonuses to those who can deliver high-quality work, with little to no complaints. They want free-thinkers but every thought and action must be rationalized. They want those who can work independently but keep you under their fat thumbs.” Adrian continued. This was a topic that had come up before but he never liked getting involved in the politics of it all. He had many opinions on the matter but he had no reason to join in on the conversation until those opinions could be backed by the truth. “Are you sure you should be talking about fat thumbs?” Martin teased, rubbing Adrian’s belly to shame him in jest. Adrian didn’t care about how he looked. He didn’t care about his weight. He knew that if he wanted to he could lose the weight but he didn’t want to. He was only slightly overweight, so he felt no shame in how he looked. “Aren’t you the one who’s been complaining about how you hate your job so much lately?” Adrian, when backed into these corners, took it seriously. There were little to no jokes on the matter. Not that he didn’t try and be funny when the conversation was on a lighter note but he treated this like he treated his business. Seriously. “That’s what I’m talking about. Greed, capitalism and shattering vibrant and youthful souls under years of oppression until there is nothing more for them than to fall into a career that they’re going to end up hating. When I was a kid I wanted to be a ghostbuster. You guys remember that movie? You should. It’s a classic. Now I’m not saying ghosts are real, I’m just saying that I believe that the world needs more people like the creators of Ghostbusters. The free thinkers of the world that give it a brightness we have all, long ago, lost.” Adrian finished his drink and the rest of the group went quiet. In their own ways, they all listened to his words and could agree with them. Adrian was right. Martin hated his job, finding that it brought crippling loneliness because he never had the time to find a woman. Jason Stern felt trapped in his marriage. He married young, learning from his mother and father that this is what you do. Get married, have children, work and die. Alyssa Stern believed the same, marrying Jason too young. She hated her life but found the comfort in the arms of Anthony Hollow, Jason’s friend from high school. Anthony, in turn, loved his life. He was the epitome of what Adrian spoke about. He was an author who made a fortune selling the rights to his most recent novel for screen adaptation. Anthony sat, watching the tirade and how those around him wallowed in the words that came from the soapbox king, Adrian, and snickered. “You can’t be serious? Life’s really not that bad.” Anthony’s snicker turning into a laugh. “Not all of us can be millionaires from an idea that strikes their mind. Hell, I’ve got an entire rant on that bullshit too. A whole bunch of unimaginative morons sit around reading those who still hold onto what we all knew as kids.” Adrian shook his head. Adrian’s laughter only growing louder. “I think we should go, babe.” Eliza squeezed Adrian’s hand, kissing him on the forehead in an it’s going to be okay way. “Yeah. I agree.” Adrian responded, getting up from his seat, “Guys, girl, it was nice to see you all again. I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy.” Adrian’s last greeting going out to Martin. Another night of fun, wasted by debates Adrian did not want to have.