The Hallucigenia Project

by Darren Kasenkow

  “I hope you know you just made one hell of an enemy,” she said while staring out into the dark of the day.

  “Believe me,” John offered, “when it comes to making enemies, I’m what you’d call a natural.”

  The speed of the car began to slow as he turned off the freeway to navigate his way through heavily washed suburban streets. As the smell of soaking leaves swept into the interior he noticed from the corner of his eye a sense of recognition creeping into Jodie’s scowl, which was already beginning to soften as the valium dissolved into her blood stream. When he turned another corner there was no doubt she knew where they were headed, and now he couldn’t look at her as anything other than what she was, an innocent kid who had strayed too far into a world that wished only for her corruption and demise.

  Checking his mirrors one last time he turned into a tree lined street before twisting his way up a snaking driveway that brought them to a large, two storied home. With shaking hands he turned off the engine and enjoyed a moment of simply listening to the storm against the windows and the heavy breathing of his passenger. When he saw the front door to the house open he turned to Jodie with an exhausted hint of a smile that did little to hide his sadness.

  “Those people back there, they would’ve taken everything that’s beautiful to you, flushed it down the toilet and not even lose a wink of sleep. The only thing they’re good at is hiding the fact they’ve lost all hope for the world, and where they’re headed is the last place you wanna be. Now you can hate me all you want but this right here is a chance for you to keep some hope alive.”

  Before she had the chance to respond a middle aged lady with eyes burning in sorrow and joy pulled open the passenger door. For a moment Jodie remained still and unsure, but then reached up and wrapped her arms around her mother as the rain washed across their skin. The sound of their tears sent a rush of blood across the base of his neck.

  Beneath the cover of the porch John could just make out the client standing tall with arms held across his chest. When Chris Woodlock had reached out for his services he hadn’t been sure John was capable of delivering, and had agreed to the terms of the contract more out of desperation than any actual confidence. Still, John couldn’t help but feel little sense of victory in having proved him wrong.

  Leaving mother and daughter to somehow make peace beneath the dark and relentless clouds, John eased his now aching body out of the car and headed up the small marble steps onto the porch.

  “You might want to keep an eye on her for a while Chris. By the looks of things she hasn’t slept in days.”

  “Where did you find her?” His voice seemed under control, but only just.

  “Listen mate, there’s nothing good to come from questions like that.” John turned and watched as his wife began to guide their daughter to the house. “You’ve got a chance here to stop any more mistakes, but how you do that is your business.” It was hard to look him in the eyes, especially when he knew once the storm had passed and the blood had filtered the darkness would be calling her name again, begging for her return. “The important thing is to take the small victories when you can.”

  Jodie looked up through tired, bloodshot eyes at her father and couldn’t stop her bottom lip from trembling. Chris reached down and gently ran a finger along her cheek before she was ushered her through the front door, briefly turning to John to whisper her thanks.

  “You look as bad as she does,” Chris observed after watching them disappear into the warmth.

  “You’re right, I do.” Finally, standing on the porch with hair drenched and heart beating wildly, John allowed a brief escape of laughter. “It’s been a real hard couple of days, let me tell you.”

  “What you’ve done today, bringing our daughter back, I just don’t know what to say.”

  John sensed the tall guy was about to break down and didn’t want to be standing there when he did. Okay, time to get the hard part out of the way.

  “Nothing needs to be said Chris. You hired me to try to sort out your problem and I’m just glad things worked out the way they did. Now, I know this probably isn’t the best time, but about payment…”

  “Of course.” There was no mistaking the slight sting in his eyes. “I’ve got the bank details you emailed me. I’ll have the full payment transferred as soon as I walk in the door.”

  “That’s much appreciated Chris.” Why does asking for payment always seem so fucking awkward? “Remember when we spoke about damage extras?”

  “I guess.”

  “Yeah, um, I’m gonna need a little extra to cover my door window.”

  John figured that was as good a closer as any and marched back through the storm, making a point not to look back at the porch as he reversed his way out onto the road. He was tempted to pull over, to strip off his clothes and let the rain wash away the stench and stains that came from rubbing shoulders with absolute and pure scum. Instead though, he weaved the car towards the highway that would take him back to the central coast, where the disarray of his home lay in waiting.

  The two hour drive gave his thoughts plenty of opportunity to swirl and punish. Sure he might have managed to do a little good with his drug soaked rescue, but if he was hoping for some form of satisfaction to chip away at the emotional pain lining the inside of his stomach he was sadly disappointed. The undisputed fact was that the state of his affairs was in total fucking shambles. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he could remember a time when things weren’t broken and in pieces. Maybe, he thought, this was all there was now. Maybe all that was left to do was crawl through the proverbial mud and try to make things right for other people while he tossed and turned, anxiety welcoming him with each new dawn.

  The rain had begun to ease and the white capped ocean came into view as he exited the highway. Amongst the chaotic mess there was at least one small reason to want to get back home, and his name was Bobbie. Mercifully his thoughts turned to his small and trusted friend as he steered into the driveway, but they were quickly shut down at the sight of another car already parked by the back entrance. His fingers squeezed the wheel tight and the back of his throat became dry. This was the last damn thing he needed right now.

  Thanks to a compensation payout designed to cool the embers of what had been his career he’d managed to raise the deposit for the beach front property. It was just far enough from the city that he rarely had to worry about visitors disturbing the solitude that he craved more and more every day, but close enough that he could still waltz amongst the vices of the masses to keep the bills paid. The car in the driveway not only meant that his moment of solitude had just been corrupted, but also that a fresh wound was about to be torn back open and sprinkled with salt.

  With the front of the house facing the beach it was the back door that was the main entry, and as he stepped up to it he did all that he could to steady his breathing, water trickling down from his jacket and wind chilling the back of his neck. If it wasn’t for Bobbie he would have got straight back into the car and headed for the nearest motel with a cheap bottle of bourbon.

  He pushed open the door and felt a sickly surge in his stomach. Felicity was standing beneath the bright lights of the kitchen placing cooking utensils into a large cardboard box. The girl he had married just eighteen months ago looked up at his sudden appearance with mild surprise, wearing long dark hair tied back in a bun and a deep red dress that almost managed to hide the fact that she was seven months pregnant. Her natural beauty had, as much as John didn’t want to admit, become even more so with the new life growing inside of her.

  “I didn’t think that you’d be here,” Felicity said quietly.

  John looked to the floor where another two boxes sat taped up and ready to go. Wind brought the sound of crashing waves as he wondered what might be inside of them, and then realized he just didn’t care. Looking across the kitchen at the neutral expression of his wife he was crushed by the instinct that simmered to the surface, the instinct to walk across and bring her into
his arms as though the last few months had never happened. He knew the drugs had left his mind a tightly wound spring that was dangerously ready to erupt unrestrained, and so as he looked deep into her eyes he made the decision to simply keep his mouth shut. Besides, what the hell was there to say anyway?

  Choosing to ignore her he marched down the hallway to the front room where large windows revealed the blue of the ocean. Beneath the windows, curled up on a tattered purple blanket and surrounded with small toys, Bobbie lifted his head at the sound of his entry. He was adorned with long fur that was a blend of orange and gold and enormous blue eyes that were now almost totally blind. Unlike other cats he had only a small stub for a tail, and as John crouched down and greeted his best friend he was gifted with strange attempts at talking that became louder and louder as he scratched the area beneath his ears.

  He had found Bobbie at a shelter. He hadn’t wanted a pet, and certainly hadn’t wanted anything to do with a cat, but he’d been taken to the shelter pretty much against his will as a last ditched attempt as part of his therapy following the incident. He would’ve bailed on the whole thing except he wanted another script for the blue pills so figured he’d better toe the line.

  He remembered walking past the cages with feline eyes vying for his attention but doing his best to ignore them, until pausing at what appeared to be an empty slot with a tattered purple blanket. Empty, that was, until the blanket stirred slightly and from beneath the veil sad, blue eyes peered back. Instantly he’d recognised the look. It promised that hope was almost lost, and that any desire for a better moment had passed. Surprisingly he’d found himself asking about the bundle of fur hiding in the darkness, and was told little was known except he had been treated poorly, with his tail having been cut off by his pathetic owners and eyesight damaged from some kind of chemical spray. He was, they’d told him, scheduled for sleep the following day. The day of execution never came, and Bobbie found his tattered purple blanket removed from the cold steel cage to a warm place upon the carpet where fresh salt air might try and restore hope.

  Felicity appeared in the doorway and watched them both. “You know, I used to wish I was that damn cat. I used to think you’d be wanting to come home to me after being gone days on end on one of your damn jobs, but it didn’t take long to see I was wrong. That bloody cat is all you ended up caring about.”

  “That’s because he’s the only one who didn’t fuck me over,” John replied as steady as he could, refusing to look back at her.

  “Fuck you over? I stood by you through all of the crap you put us through. The late nights, the nightmares, you hitting the bottle and staring at the door with a fucking gun in your hand. Don’t even try to throw any of this on me.”

  Now he couldn’t help himself and turned with a simmering rage in his eyes. “I don’t need to throw a god damn thing. Not only do you have to go and fuck someone else, but you go and get pregnant with a guy I went to the fucking academy with? Don’t stand there and try for some kind of high horse. This cat here, the cat that you never even lifted a finger to look after, has done more for me than you ever did.”

  Except he knew that wasn’t totally true. Felicity had at least tried to understand the shit storm he had found himself in, had gently taken the gun from his hand on more than one occasion when he’d returned home convinced the door would be kicked in at any moment with a bullet aimed for his head. And yes, she’d been with him for his first few visits to the psychiatrist when the nightmares had become so bad he would thrash the blankets off of the bed. But the simple fact remained that she was standing there right now with a baby that wasn’t his growing inside of her, and there was just no room left to somehow forgive. The worst part, the truth that made him sick to his stomach, was the fact that a part of him still loved her. And god knows he wished he could grab a sharp knife and slice out that infected part of his heart.

  Felicity stared down with a slow shake of her head. “You know what? You’re right John. I did make a huge mistake. But the truth is things were broken beyond repair, and I’m not going to stand here and try to pretend I wish I could go back in time because I don’t. The man I married, the man I fell in love with, he was long gone before this all happened. I reached out, really I did, but you didn’t want my help. You just wanted that cat and your fucking pills.”

  “Well me and this cat would feel a hell of a lot better if you just finish what you’re doing and get the hell out. I haven’t got the energy for another fight.”

  “That’s why things are the way they are John, you didn’t want to fight to get things back on track.” Felicity sighed heavily and wiped at the tears that she hoped he couldn’t see. “We could have had something great, you know that? I just hope you can find a way to get rid of those demons, otherwise they’re never going to stop haunting you.”

  “Look,” he said with a sudden softness, “it’s been a rough couple of days and I’m running on empty. There’s no point in firing shots at each other. Pack whatever things you want, but just leave the microwave.”

  “I hope you can find peace somehow, I really do.”

  Felicity made her way back to the kitchen leaving John with the only form of life he truly cared for anymore. Sure he still loved Felicity, but it was a broken love, a seared into his bones emotion that he no longer wanted.

  With a gentle motion he picked up Bobbie’s food bowl and headed for the laundry before returning with a fresh meal for his poor sighted friend. Now that the latest job was over maybe he could shut the world out for a week or so, maybe find a spot next to Bobbie and simply stare at the walls and try to block out the memories that insisted on cutting the inside of his head like a serrated knife through stale bread. In fact, that would be the perfect plan, and suddenly content with the decision just made he quietly listened until the sounds from the kitchen fell away. Seconds later he heard her car reversing up the driveway, and then there was only the rain falling upon the roof. Now he had his kitchen back.

  The toaster they’d been given on their wedding day was gone but at least she’d left the kettle. Still, it wasn’t a coffee that he was thinking about though. He moved to the end of the kitchen bench where, sitting beside a basket of long spoiled apples, was a freshly opened bottle of valium. A hand written note lay beneath it.

  I don’t expect you to ever forgive me. Maybe I don’t deserve it anyway. But please John, please at least promise me this. Stop taking these damn things before you wind up killing yourself. Regardless of what you think, I still care for you.

  John stared at the piece of paper, read it through a couple of times and then tore it into little pieces that swirled and danced their way to the tiled floor. He reached up into the cupboard and grabbed what was left of the bottle of scotch, rattled out six blue tablets and brought the stinging liquid to his lips. There was little chance he could kill the demons, but he sure as hell could shut them up for a while.

  Knowing his body would begin to shut down soon he staggered to the bathroom, tore away his filthy clothes and jumped into the shower with the water as hot as he could stand it. His nerves were in a state of total fracture and there was no way to shake the image of his wife standing in the doorway with another man’s baby taunting him from beneath the dress. Not now. He didn’t want to think about any of that right now. He just wanted to let the water drain away the film of street grime that was invading every pore.

  Once out of the shower he wrapped a towel around his waist, turned the heating on and collapsed onto the sofa with bottle in hand. Slowly and carefully Bobbie left the comfort of his blanket and pulled himself up with tired legs, purring loudly as he turned twice and curled up on John’s chest as he swigged at the scotch.

  “Sorry I was away for a few days,” he half whispered. “If it makes you feel any better now we can afford to get you the fancy stuff. I’ll throw the cheap shit out.”

  With a heavy arm he managed one more tilt of the bottle then reached out and placed it on the coffee table. He knew he was caug
ht in the middle of a no win situation. Laying there on the verge of sleep he was unable to rid his thoughts of the woman who had destroyed him, while lying in wait at the gates of sleep demons were ready to play with him like a lion toying with a bleeding animal. All he could do was steady his breathing and hope the six pills would suspend him between the two, thoughtless and dreamless. But as his eyes closed and body seemed to melt into the leather, the visions began to stir.

  Chapter 2

  The nightmares were endless, horrific moments that didn’t make sense assaulting the inner workings of his mind and dragging him across grotesque voids that sucked at what was left of his sanity. So much so that, when a relentless and loud knocking finally pulled him from the chemical and exhaustion induced slumber, a scream erupted from his throat as his eyes burst open.

  For a second he didn’t know what was happening. Bobbie was still on his chest and the heat in the room was oppressive. Every muscle in his body ached. What day was it? How long was I asleep? The knocking continued, and finally John found reality rushing back. Someone was at the front door, and nobody he knew used the front door.

  Still wearing only a towel he ran to the bathroom where his gun sat amongst soiled clothes. Weapon in hand he edged his way to the front entrance and peered through the thin pane of glass beside the door. A tall man with silver hair stood looking out over the ocean, hands on hips. It was nobody John recognized. A quick check of his watch showed that it wasn’t even nine in the morning yet. Well, he figured, if it was a hit they probably wouldn’t have bothered knocking.

  With the gun held firm in his hand he opened the door and saw that the storm had passed. Beams of sunlight managed to break through the dispersing clouds. The man with the silver hair turned and offered a small smile.

  “John Richter isn’t it?”