Dortmund Hibernate

by C. J. Sutton

  “And your sister?”

  Magnus went quiet. His sister was more of a challenge than any exam, a constant cloud in an ever-changing sky.

  “That bad, huh?”

  The roaring beast ascended a hill, and the buildings began to change from grey to brown, from prestigious to dilapidated, from proud to pleading.

  “Where are we?” asked Magnus, suddenly cautious. Fear didn’t register; that wasn’t possible when alongside Jasper, mounted on his steed. But the atmosphere thickened.

  “The slums, the decaying outskirts of the city; the realm that the rich, the healthy and the well-off turn a blind eye to. But many of the people here were once part of the city. Many had money, had health and were raised in happy homes. Drugs have a way of changing that, teasing a high that can only be achieved on the first dose.”

  Men slept beneath garbage bags, possessions limited to what could be reached at a moment’s notice, grime a make-up undesired, a camouflage against the rich. There were no smiles. Each face they passed had a constant frown, eyes down-set, the mind only on what they did not see. Graffiti covered the one-storey buildings, and where untouched brick was present the colour displayed no joy, no hope. Jasper began to slow down, and Magnus felt it for the first time; depression setting into his teenage bones as though a cloud of toxic smoke waited for new tenants. And he saw a woman on the footpath, a girl more like, no older than 21. Her cheeks were puffed, bruised and pounded with foundation; the attempt couldn’t cover what lay beneath. Her underwear was visible beneath a short, leather skirt, long legs covered in scratches and spotted blood. Little breasts found a way into the night, pushed against their will. The eyes…Magnus could not look away, and as she noticed his stare the woman waved him over.

  “I want to go home, Jasper.”

  His brother didn’t listen. He saw what was happening, but this was his lesson. The first lesson of the world away from school, having been deprived of street classes for three years.

  “Jasper…”

  She approached, trying to show off her body, eyes so full of mascara and eye liner to cover the scars.

  “This is what happens, Mag. Do you want Stacy to become this way? I knew this girl, she was a few years below me in school. First it was the influencers…and then the drugs…and then homelessness, offering services to anyone who would house or fulfil her drug needs.”

  As she reached out her hand, mere metres from the boys, the motorbike roared like a lion in the jungle. She flinched.

  “I don’t like to hurt people, brother. I don’t hurt good people. You may have heard stories, but I would never use or claim our family name. You’re going to make something of yourself, and one day you will have the power to save people from ending up in such horrible places. Or maybe…rescue them after years of struggle. The further I push into this life, the longer the shadow I cast. Your sister may have made many mistakes, but forcing me away while you finish your education and grow into a man was wise. Now that you’re of age, the decisions you make become yours, and only yours. I ask you though; never forget your brother. For when we work together, we can’t be stopped.”

  And they soon passed out of the neighbourhood, turning onto a winding path surrounded by trees that curved above and touched from either side to create a tunnel that seeped in rays of sunlight. The slums felt like a brief nightmare that was overridden by a heavenly dream, a path that erased what was broken and ravaged. Birds of small and medium size glided up and out of the leave-filled branches, absorbent in their freedom.

  Jasper and Magnus dragged the doctor’s belongings out of the hotel room, locking the door to ensure no tenant would discover the dead body stretched out on the bed with the TV still on. As Jasper tossed two bags down the stairs without a care for the noise, Magnus hesitated at the stairs jaunting in the other direction. Lee. Was she oblivious to the further chaos? The urge to say goodbye rose…and the stare of Jasper shut off the thought process.

  His face continued to bleed, and puff out. One eye was completely closed over. The split lip wouldn’t give up on its release. Coupled with the removal of the beard, and this man could’ve been anyone; Walter, Jasper, a pedestrian. He now wore Magnus’ clothes, choosing to remove the biker gear and stuff it into a bag. They didn’t have to hide the blood-link now, for the mangled face looked more suitable to a potato.

  “What’s with that look?” he asked, suspicious.

  “Just trying to remember if I grabbed everything.”

  Jasper nodded, satisfied, and stumbled down the stairs.

  “Hard to see,” he said, lifting the bags with ease and exiting the building. Magnus left his hotel room key on the floor.

  Outside the morning air brushed past them like a fleeing horse, leaving an imprint of the need to hurry. Magnus wished for a coffee, swaying as though hungover for the eighth day straight. The streets remained deserted, the feeling stretched across Dortmund. Lonie sat in the driver’s seat, sunglasses on, chewing a matchstick.

  “Jesus, take your time up there, hope you washed your dick afterwards.”

  Both men ignored the jest, loading the backseat up with bags.

  “Fuck me, plan on staying here for a year did you?”

  Not wanting to listen to Lonie for an extended period of time, Magnus sat alongside the bags and clicked his seatbelt into the buckle, legs fidgeting. Jasper rode shotgun.

  “Hello beautiful,” said Lonie, shaking his head at the sight of Jasper’s mashed face. “Brotherly love, you can’t beat it. Everything dealt with, nothing to…bite us in the ass before we get shit done?”

  They exchanged words in whisper, Lonie’s foul grin assuming Magnus’ view. And they spoke of plans long organised, altered, perfected. No gaping holes could be left in this land.

  “Best you go attend to that then, and quick,” were the only words Magnus heard Lonie say. Jasper’s wounds had marked the inside of the car already. He left the four-wheel drive and re-entered the building. Magnus noted it was the first order Jasper had really taken since freedom.

  “Where’s he going? We scoured the room, nothing left.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Lonie, and he began to whistle a tune long lost in the annals of time, a score set to murder, a soundtrack set to kill, and Magnus felt loss in his stomach; not of bile, or of food, but of the little goodness found while stuck in this dark, shadowed hell so far from reality. The whistle turned to a hum, a mocking hum that tried to transfer the happenings of within the hotel to within the car. Magnus tried to exit, but the car was locked. A cage. A cell.

  “In less than ten minutes we’ll be out of this place, and you’ll have nothing left here, no desire to ever want to come back. That would be for the best, wouldn’t you say, doc?”

  Magnus unzipped a bag, searching for a possession strong enough to break the window. When his hand landed on a metal stationary case he tightened his grip. But the vehicle began moving once more, for Jasper was back. He dripped with blood. He panted, fatigued. And he leaned back, reclining his chair, hands more wet with crimson than skin, knuckles grazed, nose snapped, and in not an ounce of pain.

  “Jasper I swear, if you’ve fucking hurt her—”

  “Shut up,” said Lonie, pointing ahead, “there’s that fucking cop. Everyone ready?”

  Bad Cop stood with hands on hips, stationed a hundred metres forward from his spot at the border. The upturned car, dead cop and Brutus were no longer blocking the road out of Dortmund, cleared of any evidence. They passed Officer Blake first, who Lonie waved to, but he barely bothered to respond with a gesture, focused on directing two other cops in their attempt at making Dortmund death-free. Little did they know what rested in the back of the vehicle driving to the border, contraband rotting slowly. Lonie wound the window half down, the entire section covered in dirt from the off-road trek down the hill. Bad Cop, also wearing sunglasses and with gun in hand, raised himself on his toes to look inside the four-wheel drive. Lonie noticed the effort and wound the window down just an inch mo
re so that the top half of Bad Cop’s head was visible.

  “Rough night, huh? Lugged that big bald bastard into a truck, took three of us to move his carcass. What did you feed him in there?”

  For a moment, Magnus wondered if Lonie remembered he was still seen as ‘Carter the guard’ by this man. Of course he did. He’d been doing it for so long, switching identities was as easy as putting on his pants every morning and zipping up the fly.

  “Scraps, he was a freak of nature. Spent the whole damn time doing push-ups. How’s the clean up going?”

  Bad Cop responded, but he was surveying the rest of the car, noticing two upright bodies accompanying the criminal-cum-guard.

  “Took care of all the dead in the pub. Fuck me, whoever caused that massacre didn’t fuck around. The streets are clear, just need to get a few of the other inmate bodies. Not too fussed about heading up the hill myself, I’ll get Blake to check the ruins. Who have you got in here Carter?”

  As the question was being asked, Lonie twirled his finger so only Magnus could see the motion, asking him to roll down his window and reveal who sat silently behind door number one. With so much battling within, Magnus cared little for the cop and sighed.

  “Doctor, trust you to make it out alive,” he smiled, tapping the vehicle with his gun. “Anyone would think all this shit went down because of you.”

  Lonie grew nervous. He knew Bad Cop would soon turn attention to the man in the passenger seat. This was Jasper’s plan. The sun now ruled the sky, removing the reign of the moon. Cover of darkness was not an option; exactly the way Jasper desired.

  “Fuck,” muttered Bad Cop, turning his attention to Jasper.

  “Got him good, didn’t they? Poor old Walter, trying to be the hero all the time. Jasper unloaded on his face, but luckily we pushed the bastard into the fire, some Dortmund Fried Chicken right there.”

  Lonie kept talking, trying to wrestle all the attention away from Jasper’s seeping face. Bad Cop was transfixed, tilting his head to get a better view.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, looking from Lonie to Magnus, and back to Jasper. This was it. Lonie pulled the handgun from between his legs, flicking off the safety as he coughed.

  “Where do you boys think you’re off to? The town has received a raping, and you’re off on a road trip?”

  Magnus let out air, feeling faint.

  “We need to get out of Dortmund for a day or so. It was a rough night. Walter needs proper medical attention,” and in some quick thinking, noticing Bad Cop’s analysis of all the luggage, Lonie continued, “and I’m dropping the doc back off into the city. He isn’t needed here anymore, with…well, our workplace doesn’t exist. Might as well clock some annual leave. Reckon I’ll check out a few of those strip joints while I’m there, let off some steam.”

  “I dunno,” said Bad Cop, spitting, “I lost my partner to these pricks, there will be a full investigation and the three of you are witnesses. Is leaving the best idea?”

  Magnus could see Officer Blake approaching the vehicle from the side mirror, aware he was likely motioned over without them seeing. And then it came, the voice of Jasper, hoarse and altered.

  “Come over here,” he rasped. Bad Cop nodded, walking around the vehicle. Lonie shot Jasper a death stare, mouthing ‘What the fuck?’ and punching him in the arm. But this was Jasper’s way; he felt no sense of nervousness, or fear, or possibility that he would lose a duel with another man, be it physical, mental or otherwise. Back in the wild, his skills were utilised. He allowed the window to recede enough for Bad Cop to see his full face; but with the gore, the cop didn’t want a delicate look.

  “We saved this town from more deaths. We stopped the criminals from leaking out of Dortmund. No doctor here can fix my face. I don’t want the scars of Jasper on me forever. Your investigation can wait a few days. You don’t know what it’s like, to be trapped by such a man, such a mind. If I stay here, I’m just more proof of how incompetent we all were last night. How we couldn’t save some of our people from death.”

  Their eyes locked, ice blue on chocolate brown, deep in thought. Jasper’s were almost closed over completely, yet a glint of life broke through the slits. Bad Cop didn’t see Jasper. He didn’t remember his own words years ago, as a rookie. All he focused upon was the death of his comrade, slain by a beast of a man uncaged, and his likely demise had Walter not stepped in and distracted the attack. In that stare, he felt indebted to the guard, even though those eyes belonged to the most notorious criminal he had ever met in his life. Even though a different colour was displayed. Blake walked straight past the vehicle. Bad Cop smirked, thrusting his head towards the border.

  “Get out of here. Come see me when you’re back; the cleaning of this town will take longer than a few days, I suspect.”

  Old Man Lonie

  The sickness breeds new traits, Magnus. Imitation is one. They’ll put on the performance of a Hollywood actor, if seen before. They’ll even become you.

  No celebratory cheers were heard as the three men rumbled over the border, the dead cargo thumping side-to-side in the boot of the vehicle. Lonie had the audacity to stick his hand out of the sunroof and wave goodbye to Dortmund, finishing with a middle finger and spitting out of the window.

  “Fuck that place, I’m glad I’ll never set foot it that shithole again,” he said, cracking open a beer which had been hidden under the seat. The warmth didn’t faze the man, for the taste of freedom made piss seem sweet. Magnus watched through the rear view as the buildings of the town shrunk with the speed of the car, rising. A haze appeared to hover over the area, a protective shield shattered by the release of nine sick humans, two left alive and escaping closer towards a city of millions.

  “Ahh,” said Lonie, burping after three swigs of beer, “take a load off.”

  He handed Jasper a beer, but he declined. Magnus took him up on the offer, knowing the seven-hour drive would pass by quicker with an alcoholic buzz. The skyline offered little else other than house-height trees and browning shrubbery, no birds in this land, no roadkill splattered on the heated path from Dortmund; what wildlife would grace such a place?

  Up ahead and to the right, not more than three hundred metres away, Magnus noticed a lake surrounded by curved green plants and depressed trees arching for a drink. For a second it reminded him of a mirage seen by thirsty desert dwellers seeking a sip before dehydration claims life. But as he gulped down warm beer, the men in the vehicle need not worry about water.

  “That’s where I did it,” said Lonie. Jasper projected no response or insight, strangely quiet since leaving Dortmund. “That’s where I killed your cabbie.”

  No crime scene was present, no yellow tape or sign of mourning. To kill out here with the cover of darkness was cold, cunning and planned. Magnus knew Lonie’s voice would dominate the ride. He prayed for the radio, or to hear his brother talk, for the man he saved stared ahead at nothing but road, stretching deep into the horizon and beyond. Magnus wished they could speak, alone. What was Jasper plotting?

  Tiredness suddenly grabbed Magnus by the skull and throttled, his need for sleep causing instant relief, the empty beer can falling to the space beneath his feet and releasing its final drops.

  The man lifted his head as the cell doors clicked open for the first time in what felt like a year. No yard time here. No meals served on a table. No courtesy clean. The Asylum was undergoing great change as outside forces condemned its existence, and as a new inmate stumbled into the same cell, opportunity arose.

  “Left the keys to the free cell at the station. Be a chum and try not to kill the old man while we wait for them to return; or even better, just fight to the death and rid the world of at least one cunt.”

  The cop, a rookie, locked the door and walked away, leaving the two chained men at either side of a toilet.

  “Who the fuck are you?” asked the old man, spitting.

  “Jasper James.”

  “Bullshit,” came the response, another spit.
>
  “Now why would I do that? We have about three minutes before that cop comes back in here, so shut up and listen.”

  Lonie stared at the mouth moving rapidly beneath the beard. This man was not broken. Hope glistened in his eyes, something Dortmund Asylum could remove in a matter of minutes.

  “You’re not listening, old man. I need you to listen. Do you want to be free?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why, why do you want to be free?”

  “They think I’m some sick old man, they want to lock me up and hide away all I’ve done, but I see things dance on the very floor you stand on. I smell rotting meat, and feel tiny bees sting my arms and legs. This keeps getting worse. Does society help me? No, they throw me in here. Am I dangerous? You bet your ass. But this place…is wrong.”

  Jasper nodded, sympathetic, and Lonie was drawn to this skinny man in chains. Footsteps echoed towards them.

  “The old guard, you’re going to draw him in and steal his identity.”

  Lonie stared at Jasper, shaking his head.

  “You’re mad.”

  Jasper swivelled his head, as if to agree.

  “He’ll just tell them who he is, who I am…”

  “Wrong. The cops were talking and they only know about me. They don’t know your name, your face, nothing. You’re just a crazy old bastard wasting away in a cell. Old man guard comes in, mangle him in ways that don’t allow him to appear sane. The cops only drop off; that rookie coming in was rare, he’ll get blasted for that and won’t be allowed up the hill again.”

  Every word came out so fast. Lonie grinned: “I guess once I’m out, traded with the guard, you’ll want me to release you? What makes you think I’ll come back?”

  Jasper moved closer, hurrying speech.

  “No, not right away. We need to wait for the right moment so neither of us are hunted like dogs on escape. But when it comes, you’ll know. Be a guard for a while, enjoy the freedom, make some money and take the spoils of a quiet town. When we’re free, I’ll take you to the big city. I have ways to grab attention. I can make the world know our names and recognise the failure of society. And the demons won’t dance anymore. The bees won’t sting, the smells will vanish. You and I, we’ll teach them all a lesson. I promise you; Dortmund offers no other escape.”