Night

by Casey Christie

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Night was falling. Down, down, down, the world was tilted. No longer flat. He was off balance, drowsy and drunk. He looked at his hands and they were red. Red paint, NO, blood. Blood of the dead, blood of his dead. He now stood rigid. Aandag, attention! He saluted the scorched man. The dead man. Good afternoon sir, that’s a nice tyre you are wearing today. Falling, again, down, down, down, he killed and killed. But only to protect, my lord, only to protect. He saw the dead whore in the bathroom, the dead drug dealer on the bed. Headless. Headless dealer, a pill for your headache perhaps. Breakfast sir? Would you like some food. Hunger, pain. Falling, down, down, down. On a bridge. Looking down. AK47 in hand. Suspect holding weapon in his hand. In his other hand the head of a woman, a young woman, who was she? Who was he, Night strained and looked closer, focusing his mind. The girl was black and white, the man was purple and blue. Golden eyes. I must kill the man he is holding the woman hostage I must kill him. Night raised his weapon and took aim. The iron sights found their target – the head of the suspect. Goodbye! Night pulled the trigger. Good bye evil man. But bad man waved back, smiling, laughing he waved back at the helpless police officer. Fear, panic, fear, panic, helplessness, impotence. I am impotent! Sweat, panic, fear, scream, heartbeat. Wetness, soaked, wet, a lion upon my head. Begone beast I am useless so take me now, I am no use, impotent policeman, not worthy. The beast came closer, its jaws opened wide ready to devour the black and white Night. Foul smelling beast!

  Wetness and slobber across Night’s face woke him suddenly. The stench of Wamba’s meat blemished teeth, tongue and breath greeted Night as he sat up in bed. His loyal buddy stood over him breathing deeply, looking confused and worried, his gigantic lungs working overtime to support the magnificent animal.

  “Ah shit…. well that sucked, I thought I was over the ‘impotent dream’, anyway thanks buddy. You woke me. I was having a really shit dream...and I’m starving.” Night rubbed his eyes and swung his legs out of bed putting his feet on the floor. Happy to feel solid ground beneath him once more. He picked up his shirt which lay nearby on the side table next to him and used it to wipe away the sweat that stuck to his body like a second inhuman skin. “But how did you get in?” Night’s heart missed a beat and he immediately looked over at his fiancée. “Thank God she is okay, she could sleep through an air raid.”

  His heart slowed and he took a deep breath through his nose.

  “But Wamba my boy, how did you get in?” Night reached down into his shoe which lay below and next to him and produced his Heckler and Koch 9 Mily. He double checked it was battle ready and stood up to walk out of the room.

  “Come boy! Let’s have a look at what’s going on. COME!” Night used the urgent but controlled tone he knew got Wamba aggressive and alert. Wamba responded immediately, his ears pinned back against his immense head, his muscles defined and ready for action. Night looked at the heavy-duty animal.

  “You make one helluva partner bud!”

  Night cleared the first room, locking the doors behind him as he cleared the quarters, methodically working his way from the inside of the house, bedrooms first and then out. He was in the main bedroom where Lisa’s parents were sleeping. Night peered in, his Surefire tactical torch illuminated the area. All was clear. Night turned to leave, Wamba by his side.

  “Mike, is that you, what’s happening?” said Lisa’s father.

  “Nothing pops. I am just making sure everything is okay. You didn’t hear any strange noises did you?”

  “No Mike, nothing, are you sure everything is okay?”

  “Yes, now go back to sleep and have pleasant dreams. I am just making sure everything is okay. And I am going to lock your door, but only for a moment while I make sure everything is kosher. When you hear me unlock it again you can fall back to sleep and rest peacefully. Okay?”

  “Okay Mike, okay” said the kind and good man.

  Night cleared the rest of the house until he came to the doors that led to the garden of the property. They were wide open. Then he remembered. In his hurry to get into bed with Lisa he had forgotten to shut the door. A big mistake in South Africa, an error that can quite easily cost you your life.

  “Idiot!” Night admonished himself as best he could. “Bloody stupid idiot!...”

  Night saw his loyal Boerboel looking up at him inquisitively as if to say “Is everything okay now?” Well at least that’s what Night thought he was thinking.

  “Yeah, I think so my boy. At least you were awake and on guard hey. Come let’s lock up here, grab some chow and put the alarm on and get some sleep – tomorrow is going to be a big day! And for the rest of the night you can sleep with us in our room.”

  Wamba usually slept indoors in the kitchen on his own mat. It was a lot safer that way as dog poisoning in South Africa is relatively common. Night had seen more than two dozen cases of dogs being killed by robbers in Johannesburg. They would lace food with a South African pesticide called Aldicarb and throw it over the wall for the dogs to eat at night and then jump over and raid the residence, now free from protective and noise making hounds. The criminals called the toxin “Two-Step” because it takes just two steps and the dog, usually a very loved pet, is dead.

  The police Sergeant had taken precautions to guard against his faithful friend from being murdered by training him to only take food by hand from himself or Lisa or directly from his food bowl that always stayed inside. But you could never be too careful. Night cleared the rest of the property including the garden and perimeter wall, locked up the gates and put the alarm on. He unlocked Lisa’s parents’ room and let them know everything was okay, shared a midnight snack of left over cold boerewors with his loyal friend and went back to sleep. Wamba at his side on the floor, slobbering on his hand.

  A few hours later and Night woke up from his light sleep. He was lying on his back. Lisa’s gentle face was on his chest along with her left arm. Wamba had fallen asleep with his giant head on his hand against the floor. Night carefully removed the limb, he couldn’t feel it though, it too had gone to sleep under the weight of the big head. Night lifted his arm and shook it awake.

  “What are you doing?” said Lisa softly while yawning.

  “Wamba fell asleep on my arm. Feels numb, I’m just trying to wake it up is all.”

  “Did you sleep well baby?”

  “Nah, I had another one of those policeman’s dreams, you know where my firearm won’t fire, mixed in with some other nonsense…”

  “Ah I’m sorry my baby, why didn’t you wake me I would have looked after you.”

  “I know you would have girl but our Wamba here woke me first. With his bone smelling breath! It was pretty cool actually, he became part of the dream. You know what I mean, and then I woke up and he had his massive tongue all over my face.”

  “Good baby boy my Wamba!” Lisa said while leaning over Night and giving the dog a type of noogie on the head. The large beast opened his eyes and let out a large yawn, stood up, stretched and sauntered out of the room as if he owned the place. Night was surprised to see the former pit fighter use his paw to release the handle of the door and walk out.

  “What the! Since when has he been doing that Lis!” .

  “Since I taught him to do it! A few months ago. You know Michael it’s never too late to teach an old warrior new tricks you know” she said with a naughty smile and a wink, and to Night’s delight she disappeared beneath the covers...

  Night used to regularly have the “Impotent Dream” as he called it when he was a rookie and never yet been in a contact situation with the enemy. After discussing it with his friends and colleagues he found it was pretty common amongst policemen. They all had similar dreams about their weapons misfiring –until they had successfully engaged the enemy with their guns in a real life situation that is. Night was sure a psychologist somewhere had documented the phenomenon. But neither he nor any of his mates were ever going to disclose something as personal as dreams to a head shrink.