Dark Side Darker

by Lucas T. Harmond

  She didn’t reply. Just began flicking through the multitude of crap that constituted as entertainment on cable Tv.

  “Karen?”

  She left the television on a old re-run of ‘The Incredible Hulk,’ only re-dubbed into German. Karen couldn’t speak German, hadn’t even ever attempted to learn. Josh had but had also failed the subject spectacularly—although he was pretty certain he could still remember how to say “Yes” and count all the way up to five.

  Josh didn’t really question why they were watching the “Hulk” in German, he had long ago become accustomed to her surreal logic.

  “What?” She snapped at him.

  “Are you alright?” He repeated softly.

  “Yeah, peachy.”

  Most of the time Karen was one of the most cheerful people he knew but occasionally she’d slip into slumps like this. She’d never say why, way too independent and self-contained and he wouldn’t push for it. Most people just constantly kept asking her what was wrong which just aggravated her more. Josh found it was better just to leave her to work her way through it and act as normal as he could. Still for a couple of days she would be about as cheerful as the black plague.

  “Do you want a coffee?”

  He nodded and rubbed his head. His body felt dead, unclean and his throat was incredibly sore. There was some vague memory of licking something off a car park floor. He shook his head in disbelief.

  “i need a coffee. Black.”

  Karen paused at the kitchen, looked back at him scowling.

  “What?” Josh asked after she failed to say anything.

  “You’re drinking too much again.”

  She moved into the kitchen and he heard the kettle click on.

  There really didn’t seem to be much he could say to that. He tried to think of something, then gave in and decided to take action on what he had been thinking about since he’d woken up.

  “Can I use your phone?”

  ‘Josh, why do you keep phoning me?’

  “What?”

  “I didn’t say anything.” Came the muffled reply from the kitchen.

  Josh’s fear tightened. He knew who’s voice he’d just heard and it was so vivid she could have been right next to him.

  “Who you going to phone anyway? Your little goth princess?” She spat out the words. Karen despised Sarah with a passion.

  Josh scowled at her and felt the first potent stab of emotion he’d felt for weeks.

  “Yes I’m going to call Sarah.”

  Karen shot him with a malicious sneer. “I don’t know why you bother. Don’t you think that if she was interested in you in any way other than friendship after all these years there would have been some vague sign?”

  Josh was silent for a second. “There was that one time...”

  “She was drunk!” Karen said like a gun shot.

  He resisted the urge to say something back. In truth he could have reduced her to tears, he’d known her for long enough to know exactly which buttons to press. He didn’t, though.

  Instead he swallowed his anger and as calmly as he could asked again. “So can I?”

  She sighed. “Phone who you want.”

  He dialed and waited for the sharp reply at the other end. He didn’t blame her, he knew his actions were becoming compulsive. He had phoned every day, usually more than once, since he had began to fear for his sanity and since his sleep had become erratic. What was worse was he didn’t really know why.

  He just had to.

  The phone kept ringing. He could hear Karen badly whistling one of the latest dance tunes in the kitchen, only she would occasionally slip into “I could have lied” and something that could have been an old Beatles hit. The ringing tone faded and he concentrated on the sound from the kitchen. He’d never understood how...

  “Hello. This had better not be Josh!”

  Silence for a few seconds then. “And if it is?”

  No reply other than a faint sigh. “Josh, stop phoning me. Well at least stop phoning me every damn second of the day and especially not so early in the morning.”

  His watch read eleven and he told her so.

  “No, I don’t mean now, but when you phoned me at six O clock the other morning and three before that, that was a bit... well, Jesus Josh why do you keep calling me!?”

  How could he tell her when he didn’t even know?

  “I,” it was hard to start. “I think something bad... is going to happen.” The last part was said only in a whisper and the phone was beginning to shake in his hand.

  Karen watched him, leaning back against the kitchen door frame. He had his back to her and she watched how bad he was shaking. Josh was beginning to act really strange. very nervous all the time, distracted and some of the things he was saying... Worse was that he didn’t seem to realise what he was saying was strange at all. Not quirky like usual but deeply strange. It hurt her to see him like this.

  “Something, what?” Sarah was asking, clear concern in her voice now. “Josh, I can’t hear you. Is something wrong? you keep phoning all the time, but you aren’t saying anything. If you need to talk just tell me. Rufus says your acting strange as well.”

  Josh laughed then instantly regretted it. “I didn’t think, oh fuck, like it matters. Listen I’m fine but all I want to know is if you are? Nothing, strange, is happening, nothing er, bad?”

  She laughed but the sound was nervous. “No, I’m fine apart from all the early wake up calls.” Her sarcasm had an unusually soft ring to it. “Listen to me Josh, if you...”

  “No I’m fine. Bye.” He hung up so suddenly it surprised him.

  “You’re not, are you!” Karen stood behind him with a mug of coffee.

  Josh hung his head shaking it slowly. “Maybe not.” Then looked up at her. “You never knew me when... Actually I’m not going to tell you.”

  She sat next to him. “You can.”

  “Oh, I could, but I’m not going to. I’m not going to do that to you. I’ve already whined to too many people.”

  She opened her mouth, he lightly put his finger over her face to bridge the gap.

  “No.” Softly and with a genuine smile. He regretted doing it and felt uncomfortable by the contact.

  Brilliant blue eyes stared at him with a mixture of anger, pity and confusion.

  She pulled his arm away, aggressively. “Josh, sometimes you’re your own victim, but I think you know that. Actually, I think you like it.”

  THE PROVERBIAL FAN

  THE WALL SMACKED the back of Harper’s skull. Again. “You’re a little faggot. What are ya’ boy?”

  Harper looked into the ugly face that leered at him; making any smart comment would have been ill advised. “I’m a little faggot.” He said from a bloody mouth and without much commitment.

  Two men stood on either side of him, laughing. The large one stood in front of him pinning him to the wall, the street-scarred face uncomfortably close to his. He vaguely recognised them all, thought the main guy’s name was something like veeJay, and he knew his reputation. The only thing he didn’t know was what he’d done.

  VeeJay—if that was his name—smiled. Shaved, bald skull, gold in both ears, gold chain round his thick neck. He casually pressed his hand to Harper’s face, then pushed his head into the wall. Another dull impact that sent pain echoing through his brain.

  “Fuck!” Harper groaned as the world swayed.

  “Hurts don’t it?” said an Asian, dressed entirely in white Adidas sports wear. His mouth was a knife wound sneer and his eyes were malicious and sharp.

  “You see,” said veeJay, bringing his face right into Harper’s. “I ain’t even trying yet. So imagine what I could do.”

  “I don’t want to, mate.” Harper regretted the comment instantly.

  A fist exploded into his belly and he doubled over, breath knocked out of his frame, paralysed. Then like a puppet he was slammed right back up against the wall so he was again facing his assailant. He coughed, spluttered and shot a
pleading glance towards his friend Steve, who had been standing motionless and looking helpless since the three men had first grabbed Harper and dragged him down the nearest alley.

  Steve shook his head. The man wearing a bandana next to him smiled. “He ain’t gonna’ help ya’ bumba-clat.”

  In truth the guy had been born and raised in the same city as Harper, as had his parents, and he was no more a Rastafarian than Harper was. ‘Trying’ to be part of a culture which had been denied to him by being born in the wrong continent. The image was all fake but Harper was in too much pain to really find any humour in that.

  Harper wanted to look away from the face, wild with fury, that spat words at him. “Now you listen to me, boy. I want you to imagine what I might do, what I could do! What I’m gonna’ do, bitch! Jat, pass me the blade.”

  Harper’s eyes helplessly flicked over to the ‘Rasta’ and felt indescribable terror as each inch of steel was slowly drawn out of his leather coat’s sleeve. About eight. Eight too many. The vicious smile on his face increased, he span the blade round effortlessly, a neat little trick. He turned his attention to Steve.

  “Maybe yo’ battyboy should go take a walk.”

  Steve looked at the knife, then at Harper. “Listen mate, I’m sorry...” The words trailed off like a death sentence. Steve took one last look at them all and then without turning back quickly hurried away.

  Harper felt rage screaming through him as he went. Then he was alone. No, he was far from alone.

  The blade seemed to change hands in slow motion and then it was held in front of his face. The ice sun traced white light along its length.

  Harper buckled. “What do you fucking want?!?” The words were a blend of fury and hysteria.

  “You see this?”

  How the fuck could he see anything else?

  The flat of the steel was pushed up against his face, obscuring his vision. Harper breathed in, deep, his whole frame shaking.

  “I cut up bigger fish, fucker. Much bigger. But you, you gonna’ scream louder. I could just start ripping this shit up all over your face.”

  “Please don’t.” Harper gasped and felt a tiny spurt of urine escape into his pants. Somehow, he controlled the rest.

  “Thing is, you already got the kind of face that only a mama’ could love.”

  “Probably not even his bitch mother loves this fucker,” someone said from behind. It didn’t matter which one. The only thing in the world right now was the demon-eyed thug’s face and the serrated steel that was held pushing against the flesh of his cheek.

  “You not big enough for this. Now what the fuck is it that you pushing around. Some kind of real trippy acid?”

  “I don’t know what it is!!” Harper blurted out, relieved he finally could tell them what they wanted.

  The blade twitched slightly, just broke the skin, a fine trickle of blood.

  “Really!!!” Harper almost screamed. “It does stuff to your head. Like a trip but much more... more real. Fuck mate, I really don’t know what the fuck it is! I’m just selling it.”

  The man smiled and there was a gleam in his eye, “Yeah? Okay, I want to believe you but the knife thinks you lying. How about you tell us where your suppliers be?”

  “I will mate, I will! I don’t owe those freaks nothing. Just pull the fuckin’ knife off.”

  The main man considered it for a second, then without a word passed the knife back behind him.

  “Go on!”

  “They’re pretty fucking weird. I think they’re immigrants or something. Croatians or Russians or something. They’ve all got weird names, like Malok or some shit. I can’t even say their leader’s name!”

  “How many? Where?” The thug grunted.

  “Get a piece of paper and I’ll write down the flat address.” Came his sneered reply.

  “SEE YOU AT THE MALL, MAN...”

  THERE WAS A PLANET BURGER SHAKE doing just that in Josh’s hand. Cautiously he put it down, grabbed his trembling hand with the other to calm it and checked no one had noticed. Fact was, he was wearing black trousers, a plain black T-shirt, had a couple of Celtic silver rings on, worn away heavy combat boots and long, greasy and now unwashed dark brown hair, so most of the food court had been glaring at him and making the occasional hushed comment to their tables already. Kept staring at him, god damn it! Every day of his life! Maybe it was paranoia, but it didn’t seem that way. Not to him, but he supposed that was the point.

  It didn’t matter he was shaking violently and his eyes flicked around erratically. He would have been a freak even if he’d sat smiling and discussing the weakness’ of the England defence line. Normally it didn’t bother him, but right now he was paranoid as fuck and all he really wanted to do was sit unnoticed. Fat chance!

  “Queer!”

  He blew the young punk in sports gear a kiss and the four of them, all about ten and more simple than Simon, huddled off glaring at him.

  “Gay!” One, a black kid, shouted at him.

  Josh considered yelling back “nigger” or “coon,” but felt the finer points of the rebuff would be missed and instead he’d just be branded a racist.

  He again looked towards the toilet and checked his watch. He wished Rufus would return. He’d gone into the toilets to sell some pills to a couple of kids who’d come over to their table about five minutes ago.

  He felt incredibly exposed. The food court, as it was called, was basically a large seating area surrounded by a collection of stores selling various world cuisine. He and Rufus had settled on the traditional cuisine of America, the Planet Burger rat and testicle burger.

  The court, as it were, was located on the fourth floor of the city’s only shopping mall and each floor was basically just a circular platform with shop fronts leading on to it. At the centre was just a wide open space with only a glass and metal construction for the lift and a circular fountain that cascaded from the roof to a collection of ungrateful plastic ferns. From where he sat now—a three-seater table next to the glass balcony wall—he could see too much. The multitude of people scared him, travelling ant-like up the overlapping escalators, droning like consumerist zombies around the levels, scurrying about the tiled floor of the complex so far beneath him.

  Josh felt like he was being watched, could almost sense every time one of those ants looked at him and wondered why he didn’t want to add to the welfare of the hive.

  He shuddered and looked up. Three floors above, there was a level with no stores, just the doorways into the car parks they fronted. No one was up there or at least no one he could see but he kept looking up, somehow drawn to it.

  Josh’s thoughts were swaying violently towards the Him vs. The World category.

  Another shiver and he looked at his watch. Karen was ten minutes late and Rufus was still doing his sideline. Part time Club worker, part time Art student, full time petty dealer.

  The two kids sauntered out, smiling and laughing to each other. Rufus would probably appear a minute or so later, to “kill any suspicion.” Like anyone actually gave a fuck.

  Rufus emerged smiling, the fact he was dressed entirely in white sent a shiver blasting up Josh’s spine but he couldn’t explain why.

  ‘Sweet fucking Jesus!’

  The voice was like a gunshot between his ears, he didn’t bother to look ’round. He already knew no one had spoken the words he had just heard. He’d accepted that he was definitely hearing voices, there was no doubt anymore and it was getting worse, more frequent. In fact he had very little doubt that he was going completely out of his mind this time. What really scared him was that he knew his sanity was slipping again, but knowing that gave him no power to actually do anything about it. He kept trying to work out why it was happening but there was no reason. The words from an old Boom Town Rats song flashed through his mind. Time and time again he’d try to trace it back to its beginnings. He had been happy about everything. He’d moved away from home so all that shit was history, his courses had been going well, h
e’d actually sold a few paintings at an exhibition and he’d been having no problems with his friends. There was only one more thing that would have made his existence perfect and even Sarah’s complete lack of interest hadn’t concerned him greatly. Suddenly, bang, his head exploded and all he could trace it back to was that fucking painting. That fucking painting!!!

  Rufus slumped down into the chair next to him, picked up Josh’s shake and took a long sip from the straw.

  “Man I could have charged those little kids anything, man! I think I just took two months worth of candy money and they thanked me, man. Actually thanked me!”

  Josh just fired it out. “Rufus, I need you to get me a gun!”

  The smile died on his friend’s face and he just stared for a moment. Then a rare spark of anger shot into his eyes.

  “The fuck you just say?”

  “I said...”

  “Oh, I know what you said. What the hell is wrong with you, Josh?”

  Josh submitted under his friend’s glare and stared down at his feet, before speaking again.

  “I just figured that you must know...”

  Rufus laughed in disbelief. “Man I could get you a gun, I know people, not the sort of people I like knowing, but still—What I can’t believe is that you think I’m the kind of guy who’d do that shit and to my best fucking friend! My best friend, who I think may be going crazy.”

  Josh looked round embarrassed, just wanting to shrink into nothing. No one was looking. Despite his rage, Rufus was reasonably quiet. It was more a harsh growl or whisper but the look in his eyes was intense.

  Suddenly it died away. “Why man? Why the fuck do you want a gun?” His voice dropped down to a concerned whisper.

  Josh blurted it out again. Certain safety blocks seemed to have been removed from his mind.

  “I’m scared.” His voice sounded like a child. “I... I don’t feel safe. Like, er, like someone’s watching me. All the time, even now and...” He paused, deciding not to tell Rufus about the voices.