It dropped from his hands to the floor as Mike raised his hands to the raw wound, instinctually clawing at the cavernous hole in his face, trying to tear the pain from his skull. His nails dragged and ripped at the skin of his cheeks, drawing white-hot lines down the mess of his features.
Mike clenched his mangled eyelids closed, desperately trying to dull the waves of stinging fire coursing through his head like red-hot needles, intensifying the agony yet unable to stop himself.
He could feel the last viscous remnants of his eyeball ooze through the sliced lids. He fell to his knees, howling, and with his one remaining eye streaming tears, he fought to look up at the monster that was spectator to his torture, and though he could no longer find words, he begged as best he could with his right eye to be spared from any more of this hell.
“Now the other,” she said.
***
Mike lay curled on the rug in a fetal position. What remained of his once sky-blue eyes was smeared between his fingers and the rough-hewn weave of the fabric he rested on. Shock had sent his mind on a journey into nothingness after the slow, torturous removal of his right eye, but the excursion into blessed oblivion was painfully short-lived.
As his mind fought to push through the mental fugue that had enveloped him amidst the suffering, he was dimly aware that he felt like he was crying, and he wondered if he could even shed tears anymore. Blackness, impenetrable and all-consuming, had followed Mike back from the depths of his psyche, and with it came the full atrocity of what this monstrous woman and her masters had inflicted upon him.
His world was infinite darkness. No more sunrises. No more morning hunts in the local woodland.
No more Rebecca...
He would never gaze upon his little girl’s smile again. Never see her eyes light up like the heavens every time he picked her up from her mothers’ home. He’d never scoop her into his arms again and tell her he loved her, and be able to see, in the depths of her pale green eyes, that she loved him back.
He lay on the wet, sticky rug, and wept.
But she’ll be alive. She’ll be alive. She’ll see all those sunsets for me. She’ll see all the worlds’ wonders that you were too damn stupid to pay any attention to. Rebecca will live a full and beautiful life, blissfully unaware of the horrors that rest just beneath the cold surface of her world. All she will see is beauty. The entire world in all its glory...
She’ll live.
She’ll live...
With his ruined face pressed against the brush of the rug, Mike found that even in hell, there was solace. He would live out his remaining years in this cold darkness, and would never utter a word of any of what had transpired to anyone. He’d allow his precious daughter to believe him insane, and he’d push through what time he had left, wrapped in the sanctuary of knowing she was safe from harm. It was a huge price to pay, but one any loving father would never back down from. He’d proven his worth as a man and a daddy, even if the world would never know of it. And that would be his sacrifice, his small but vital victory over an oppression that had torn his future from him with hideous ferocity.
“She’ll live,” he whispered into the darkness.
“Yes, Michael. About that...” the construct droned in her ever-so concise and pristine voice, letting the words hang in the air with cruel relish.
Mike slowly raised his head in the direction of her voice, the instinctual action of prey seeking to maintain a visual on the approaching predator. The implication in her tone tore through his soul like a razor-blade through a tendon.
“What?” he implored. “Tell me!”
“You see, Michael, it has, only now, been brought to my attention that there has been a slight indiscretion in the handling of your case. Your actions have proven noble indeed, and we truly are thankful for your co-operation with our literal. The operation went fantastically, and it really does appear you’ll survive this trauma to fight another day…with the proper medical attention, of course. Alas, it pains me to report that there is a problem with our agreement...”
“I – I don’t understand.”
“I’m sure you do not. You are without doubt a man of your word, and a man most willing to sacrifice himself for the ones he loves. It’s a rare trait, and one that makes men like you our most dangerous opponents. People such as you, Michael, inspire goodness in others. You would have gone on to do so yourself, had you been given the chance. Of that, we have no doubt.”
“I’m done! I’ll never breathe a word of this, I swear on her life!” he screamed.
The voice ignored him. “You see, Michael, it is a widely regarded belief among those in the higher echelons of our system that goodness, temerity and, to coin a phrase, ‘the will to be free’, are traits that are often passed down from father to son.”
Mikes heart jack-hammered in his chest.
“Or perhaps father to daughter...”
No!
“This is only theory, you understand. As yet, there is no substantial evidence of hereditary rebellion. But…why take the chance?”
“You can’t do this!” he screamed into the darkness.
“I understand your disappointment with our decision, but Rebecca is simply too great of a threat to us. In the future, with the possibility of inherent disapproval of the rules, she could perhaps rise to take arms against us. She would not be the first to have tried.”
Mike struggled to his feet, blindly searching for his cell-phone. Perhaps if he could call Rebecca…get through to her somehow…she could run, disappear someplace safe with her mother. It was a futile, pitiful endeavor, but it was all he had. Instead of reaching his phone, he found himself careening over the small wooden table sat before the television. Pain sliced through him with renewed vigor as his head collided hard with the wooden corner. His nose split open with a sickening crack.
He was utterly, pathetically helpless. Lost in the dark.
He roared in impotent rage into the perfect blackness that would be forever his reality. The darkness seemed to echo with his pathetic attempt at heroism.
The construct’s voice pierced the darkness.
“This has been a public service announcement to help reaffirm your belief that ignorance is bliss. We value your support here at Prism TV. Thank you for your time and support, and goodbye.”
The rushing sound of television static filled his tumbling mind like endless white noise, but it could not compete with Michael Echol’s screams.
In the distance, a siren wailed, drawing ever closer.
***
It is 11pm on the fifteenth of June, 2066, and on Filamore Drive all the children are asleep under light summer bed-sheets while their parents relax together on well-loved sofas, wrapped in each other’s arms, supping their ice-cold beers and staring, vacant and adrift, into the cold digital luminance of their television screens.
I don’t mean to sound bitter, cold, or cruel, but I am, so that’s how it comes out – Bill Hicks
STRIPPERS
Have you ever been to Electric Ladyland? – Jimi Hendrix
“Bro, I’m not moving.”
“Come on, man! It’ll be a blast!”
Kris sighed. “I dunno, Lee, I’m pretty fucking stoned.”
Lee leaned toward Kris. Got right up in his grill.
It always pissed Kris off when people invaded on his space, especially when he was surfing on the wave of his high.
And this was one hell of a high.
He had no idea when Lee had gotten his hands on such prime grade grass, but it was knocking him to his knees and making him beg for buttermilk.
It’s not like this was his first rodeo.
No, sir. Not even goddam close.
Kris reckoned he could smoke it up with the ghost of the late, great Mr. Marley and still come out on top.
Marijuana wasn’t just a habit. It was a way of life. His very own way of keeping the grip of reality just that little bit further from arms reach. His way of keeping the wolves from the proverbial
fucking door.
His way to cut loose.
And right now, he was cutting very, very loose.
“Lee, I’m off my ass here. I’m in no mood to be pulling my shit together and heading to a fucking strip joint”
The words ‘strip joint’ slid off his tongue with a little more acidity than he’d hoped. He didn’t mean to be an asshole about it, but the simple universal truth was, Kris had no time for strip joints.
No time at all.
Never saw the point in them.
It’s not like he was paying for his pussy.
He wasn’t Tom Hardy. But he wasn’t a fucking cave troll, either.
And anyway, this was the modern age. He was getting laid regularly - his next door neighbor, Samantha, and her perpetually broken hearted desperation for companionship saw to that. Spurned ever onwards by the death of her husband in the dusty desolate sands of Iraq, she was never unwilling to spread those luscious legs and let him wet his whistle.
So why go to a bar and pay for something he could get so easily at home?
None of this mattered to his friend, Lee, though. He was riding the whirlwind on a heady concoction of low grade LSD and amphetamine, and Kris knew the bastard wouldn’t be listening to reason.
“So fucking what, man!?” his wiry, and wired, friend asked, his arms spread wide open to accentuate his perplexity.
“So…” Kris slurred, “I’d rather just sit here and play the X-box, that’s what.”
Lee’s shoulders slumped as Kris spoke. He looked like a fucking child who’d just been told he couldn’t have an ice cream on a warm summer’s day.
Bitch.
“Come ooooon,” Lee moaned. “It’ll be sweet!”
“What’s so sweet and appealing about a strip club, Lee? Jesus, bro. It’s not like you haven’t seen a set of tits before.”
“Kris…” Lee implored. His puppy dog routine may have worked on the cracked up bitches that slid, pussy first, across the streets of downtown L.A of an evening, but it sure as shit didn’t work on Kris.
They got paid, for one thing.
He took another drag on the joint, savoring the taste, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds.
This weed really was strong. Kris’ vision was blurring, and he worried he may be smoking too much. Not a concern that usually took root in his cerebrum, but there was a first time for everything.
Or so it seemed.
“Fuck off, Lee. I’m not going.” He muttered through a cloud of exhaled smoke. He watched it rise to the ceiling of the dingy apartment, doing his best to ignore his twitching, high-wire friend.
He passed the joint to Lee, hoping that it may be just the thing to settle the son of a bitch down.
It wasn’t.
Lee took a huge drag on the joint and, unfazed, continued his appeal unheeded.
“Listen, Kris…this place is different.”
“Really?” Kris’ tone was all mockery.
“Really. I got these tickets special. It’s an ‘invite only’ sort of deal.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, man. Fuck yeah! I got ‘em from the same fucking guy who hit me up with that there prime grade weed that’s got you grooving right now on cruise control.”
Kris perked up a little.
Just a little.
“Where did you get this shit, anyway? It’s kicking my ass.”
“Fucking A, it is! You know me, buddy…if there’s good shit going around, then I’m the man who’s gonna find it.”
Kris couldn’t argue with that.
Lee, surely taking Kris’ lack of rebuttal as a gesture to continue, continued.
“I’m like fucking Varys, man! I got birds everywhere!”
“What the fuck is a Varys?” Kris asked, completely lost.
“You know, that bald guy with no dick from Game of Thrones…Anyway, it doesn’t fucking matter who Varys is. What matters is that I get shit done. Remember that time I got us those high-end microdots, bro?”
Kris swept his long, greasy hair out of his eyes, wondering briefly when the last time was that he’d taken a shower.
He found he really didn’t give a shit.
“Yeah, I remember it well, dipshit. We done an overnight in the cells for our trouble.”
“That was some strong shit!”
It was true. The acid that Lee had procured that night had sent them both spiraling off into a celestial wonderland. Until the cops showed up, and arrested them both.
He’d had no idea they were butt naked and playing acoustic guitar on the freeway till the next morning.
Quite a night.
It was true that Lee got shit done.
Still…
“Come on, Lee. We can go tomorrow.”
“No we can’t, Kris! That’s just it. The guy who gave me these tickets…” Lee waved a pair of thin pink pieces of paper before Kris’ eyes. They were small, but featured an imprinted photograph of a comely blonde with razor-red lips and tits that could take down Tokyo. They read, in bold type – THE INFERNO. “He said it’s a one night deal. No second dates.”
Kris had to admit that, as small as the image was, seeing that hot gal’s pouty smile and fuck-me eyes, was getting his attention.
Fuck you, Libido!
Hating himself, he took the bait.
“So what’s the big fucking deal? Enlighten me?”
Grinning as though the battle was already won, Lee pounced onto the soft couch by his side. He leaned in close against Kris, the same way he always did when conspiring.
It usually meant trouble.
Kris had no doubts that, tonight, it meant just that.
Lee’s breath stank of stale beer and nicotine. His blue eyes burned with a speed-fuelled mania.
When he spoke, he was almost whispering.
Reverent.
“Thing is,” Lee crooned, “These girls…my guy says they’re different. He says it ain’t like your usual titty show. There are no silicone princesses here, and no teases.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s so. I trust this guy.”
“And why is that?”
Lee looked at Kris like he was mentally deficient.
He was starting to question whether he was or not, himself. After all, he was listening to this bullshit.
“Because he’s my guy…” Lee answered, as though that was all the answer required.
He passed Kris the joint and went on. “Apparently, this particular strip joint moves from town to town. They never settle in one place, and only perform one show each time. He says the girls are so beautiful they look like fucking angels, man. He says they, and I quote, ‘They bare their souls’…”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Lee wound his neck in, “How the fuck should I know, man. What am I, a fucking tour guide? The point is, these are no internet dollies or fake-bodied whores, Kris. This is Hollywood-level pussy we’re dealing with.”
Kris had to admit, he was getting interested. The buzz from the weed suddenly didn’t seem quite so debilitating.
Maybe he had some juice left in his balls, after all.
“And guess what?” Lee teased.
“Thrill me…”
“My guy says they let you touch ‘em.”
“Well how about that!” Kris mocked, sucking in a fresh draw of the rapidly shrinking blunt in his hand. “Girls that let you actually touch them! How fucking magical...”
Seeing the crestfallen look in Lee’s eyes, he immediately regretted saying it.
Lee had never been a hit with the ladies.
At a little over five foot tall, and with the musculature of Gollum on bad crack, his ever-boastful drug-buddy was, like most of the loudest and brashest to walk the world’s stage, something of an insecure wreck.
He’d never seen Lee with a girl.
Not walking with one. Not partying with one. And certainly not fucking one that he hadn’t paid for.
That was beside t
he point. The point was, he’d hurt his friend. And however much of a fuck-up Lee may be, he was a good guy at heart.
“I’m sorry, man.” He rested a hand that felt far too light on his friend’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“It’s cool…” Lee’s tone had changed. Only a little, but enough so that one who knew him well could tell he was upset.
Kris felt like a prize shithead.
Looks like I’m gonna do this thing.
God damn it.
The things I do for friendship.
“So…” he said, “You say they bare their souls?”
“That’s what my guy says.”
Kris reached forward for the ashtray. It was already half full. A warzone of ash and cigarette stubs and bogarted joints.
He stubbed out the latest addition, and turned to Lee.
Lee’s eyebrows had risen halfway up his forehead and looked like they might take off.
Fucker’s too damn adorable to let down.
“So…” he said. “Let’s go bare witness to these lady’s ‘souls’ already…”
It took a little over an hour of driving around the same streets of lower L.A before the found the venue. They’d cruised the streets from Montecito Heights all the way to Westlake. Kris, now feeling a lot more grounded after two quick cups of coffee, had followed Lee’s directions as best he could, and had been beginning to think the whole thing was a huge fucking joke being played on them both, when they’d finally found it.
No wonder they’d missed the place during the last two passes.
All they’re attention had been on the bars that lined the streets. The endless reams of neon-lit, sleaze-ridden dens of inequity that made up the city’s less-travelled streets looked inviting, there was no denying it, but none of the signs above any of the entrances read ‘The Inferno’.
It had been blind luck they’d found the place at all.
They’d been parked up by the side of a bar called ‘Little Slits’, all but giving up on the adventure.
Kris had just rolled up his window in a useless attempt to dissuade the endless procession of smacked-up hookers who kept propositioning them from the curb, when Lee gasped.
Consumed- The Complete Works Page 13