Figments of Fear (A Dark Fantasy Horror): The Edge of Reflection 2

by Carver Pike

  No one argued. The plan sounded like a good one. Gabe looked at each of them and was surprised that it had never occurred to him the sacrifice that each of them was making to help him stop his image from killing his ex-fiancé.

  “I’m really sorry you guys are going through all this,” he said.

  Everyone was silent. Gabe knew they weren’t thrilled about the journey and didn’t expect any of them to voice excitement about it. Their silence was deafening and it really sunk in.

  They were only doing this because the Soothsayer had promised them that Gabe was something special. Something he was sure he was not.

  “Look,” he said. “You’ve gotten me this far and I’m sure it can’t be much farther. Why don’t you head back and I’ll go the rest of the way alone.”

  “Oh no, you won’t,” Lisa practically shouted at him.

  “Get the fuck outta here,” Dozier said.

  “Where the hell do you expect us to go?” Sergio asked. “I’m sure those fish things back there would understand that this was all a mistake and just let us pass right through.”

  Language stood with her hands in her pockets staring down at the ground.

  “Okay, look. Let me climb to the top of this hill. If I don’t see anything, we’ll stay here and rest,” Gabe suggested.

  It’s amazing how a short rest can do wonders. Gabe climbed to the top of the hill with a lot less aching from his legs and feet. He climbed and climbed, with no real hopes at all, sure that he’d get to the top and see what he’d seen at the top of every other hill - more hills.

  This time he was in for a surprise. Not only was there a city set way off in the distance, but there were lights. Electricity wasn’t easy to come by on the dark side, but there, shimmering in the night sky, was a lit up city.

  The Slums of York.

  Nearly every other building had electricity. He called out to the others, but didn’t move, afraid that if he even rubbed his eyes the lights would go out and the city would be gone. When his friends reached him, they were all in awe. Even Language, who’d appeared in the Slums of York, looked surprised.

  “Do you think they have hot baths?” Lisa asked.

  “I don’t suppose they’d have TV, or cold beer,” Dozier added.

  The group walked on with a little more pep in their step. They had something to look forward to now. None of them knew where they were headed, but the idea that they may be able to find a hot meal and running water was enough to keep them going.

  The land surrounding the city was as dead as any other. There were no farmers on the outskirts trying to make a living off corn and wheat. The farmers of the dark side were wise enough to know that they needed to farm far out in the countryside and ship their trades into the city.

  Cities meant that many people would be squished in together and when a lot of crazy people gather, madness was bound to happen, and madness was bad for business. Therefore, the land around the city remained dark, ashen, and barren.

  Gabe half expected to find a sign at some point that would welcome them to the Slums of York, but of course, there was none. He laughed at the thought of someone having to march out to the sign on a day-to-day basis to change the population number.

  Hey folks, welcome to the Slums of York, population 85,000…84,000…uh…okay now 80,000. From what he’d seen in Darkar, he was sure that the murder rate in a city the size of the York had to be astronomical.

  The Slums of York wasn’t surrounded by water the way Manhattan was on the other side of the mirror. If water had ever surrounded the Slums, it had dried up long ago. Gabe and the others walked right up to the ass end of an old warehouse and circled around it to emerge from an alleyway out into the city streets.

  The streets were similar to Darkar in the way that large oil drums with fiery flames spouting from the tops lined them. Shadows danced on the brick walls since most of the buildings were without exterior lighting.

  Gabe glanced up at the night sky and saw that random buildings around them were equipped with electricity. Light shone through many of the office and apartment windows, but the exterior was dark. Apparently, they’d decided not to waste their electricity on the streets.

  The Slums of York was much more organized than the streets of Darkar. There had been no system, no method to the madness in there. People ran amuck, doing whatever they pleased, mostly dangerous deeds. In the Slums, Gabe felt tension but at least it seemed that most people moved with a purpose.

  Vendors lined the streets, sitting behind makeshift wooden selling stands. A woman off to the right of them claimed to be a psychic. Tarot cards were fanned out in front of her and next to her table was a parrot sitting on a perch. The woman’s eyes were closed, but she was awake. She called out to them, begging them to visit her and see what their futures had to offer.

  A man wearing a wool cap and missing several teeth sold knives. Blades of all shapes and sizes covered his wooden table. Behind him, hanging on the brick wall of a building, was a torn up old dartboard. The man called out to Gabe.

  “Hey, yo! Do some mighty nice stickin’ tonight, ya?”

  The man spun around and threw a small dagger at the dartboard. It slammed into the bull’s eye.

  “Yeah, yo! Mighty nice stickin’. Slit lots a throats for ya!”

  Gabe waved the man off and kept walking. Dozier kept an eye on the shady vendor as they walked away. But he only mumbled something and moved on to his next potential customer.

  They walked down the center of the street. A trashy prostitute dressed in a tiny, pink-feathered skirt and a black mesh top that showed her braless breasts underneath approached them. Her hair stood high above her head like an 80’s rock star.

  “Hey!” she called to them. “Any of you want some ass? Or some head?”

  She reached out and touched Lisa’s arm, smiling flirtatiously.

  “How about you, sweetheart?”

  Lisa jerked her arm away, and Gabe slid in front of her to get the hooker’s attention.

  “Hey, you don’t have any idea where we could see an opera show around here, do you?” he asked.

  The hooker stood with her hands on her hips, eyeing him up and down. She chewed on gum and let it smack once or twice.

  “Fuck off,” she said as she spun on her heels and marched away.

  Gabe backed away, surprised at her sudden flash of anger.

  “Apparently that hoochie don’t like opera,” Dozier said.

  “Y’all ain’t from around here,” came a strange, deep voice with a bit of a lisp.

  They turned around to see a tall black man clutching a purse and waiting for them to respond. He was in his mid-thirties, dressed in drag, with long, straight bleached blond hair, a bright red skirt, and a leopard spotted top. Purple high heels finished off the outlandish outfit and matched his makeup and long purple eyelashes perfectly.

  “No, we’re not,” Gabe admitted.

  Here’s some advice. You don’t ask one of the Alley Thirteen girls how to find the opera house,” he advised them.

  Dozier seemed to be enthralled by the strange man standing in front of him. He laughed, shook his head, and stared down at the ground. “I’ll be damned,” was all he could get out.

  “Why not?” Sergio asked, keeping up the conversation.

  “Whoring’s a business just like any other, baby. Those chicks don’t dig competition,” the drag queen answered.

  “You’re not one of the Alley Thirteen girls, are you?” Gabe asked.

  He straightened right up and suddenly looked as manly as a drag queen could look. His face changed to a pissed off scowl.

  “Do I look like a girl to you?” he asked.

  Gabe was confused. Was he missing something?

  “I…uh…I’m sorry. I…”

  The drag queen suddenly laughed aloud.

  “I’m just fuckin’ with you, darlin’. No, I don’t run with those whores. I run my own operation. The name’s Haylay.”

  He slapped his own back
side.

  “Not just anybody can get some of this,” he added.

  “Do you know how to get to the opera house?” Gabe asked.

  “For seventy-five royce I’ll take you there myself,” he replied.

  Sergio pulled the money out of his pocket and handed it to Haylay.

  “Hmm, shoulda said a hundred. Follow me.”

  He walked down the street with Gabe and the others in tow. They passed several other vendors. One man had the rear doors of his van open and was selling firearms out of it. Gabe was amazed at how everyone in the Slums seemed to be tamed enough to own a business, even if it was a street-side, seemingly illegal business.

  Then again, nothing was illegal on the dark side.

  Ahead of them, on the right, was a Rastafarian man smoking marijuana from a pipe. He had several bags of it in different sizes sitting on his sales counter. A separate bag full of a red, brick-colored powder sat on a scale.

  “What’s the red stuff?” Gabe asked Sergio.

  “Coraline. Hardcore. Coral. All names to describe the shit that has everybody whacked out in Darkar,” Sergio said.

  “You sniff it?”

  “Sniff it. Shoot it, whatever. It’ll fuck you up, bro. Stay away from it,” Sergio informed him.

  “That sumbitch who hanged you up in the street, Goody Bones, he gives that shit to his goons to keep ‘em all psychotic and ready to fight,” Dozier added.

  “They have no choice. If they wanna stay high, they better back up their supplier. Goody Bones runs shit over there,” Sergio said.

  “I wouldn’t have taken him for a business man,” Gabe replied.

  “I got injected with Coral when I first crossed through the mirror. Somebody on the street jabbed me with a needle. It’s bad. Real bad. Had me seein’ crazy shit,” Sergio said.

  They passed a dark alley where a crowd was gathered around two women who were fighting with razor wire. One was naked from the waist up and her chest was sliced pretty bad. The women circled around each other, grinning like crazed animals. Lisa looked into the alley.

  “Don’t look. You might get invited in. Stay out of the alleys. They’re not safe,” Haylay warned her.

  They reached the end of the street, turned left and walked through an old destroyed park, with burnt patches of grass and a broken cement fountain at its center. Lisa frowned at the fountain and Gabe had a feeling she was imagining parks on the other side. He had to wonder if this one had ever been pretty, with flowers and birds all around. Somehow he doubted that was ever the case.

  “Walk quickly,” Haylay warned them. “The three sisters are known to come here looking for souls.”

  On the opposite end of the park sat a large building with concrete pillars at its front. It looked like a large city library or a smaller version of the White House. Parked motorcycles lined the front curb and empty alcohol bottles rolled around on the sidewalk. Wide steps led up to the front door. An oil drum spouting flames was on each side of the staircase.

  A bouncer stood guard in front of the door. He wore a bulletproof vest, shoulder, and kneepads and stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest, daring anyone to try to enter without his say so.

  Two men walked down the street in front of the building with their arms over each other’s shoulders, each using the other to keep balanced. They took turns sniffing from a vial that hung around one of the men’s neck. They spotted Haylay and held the vial out to him.

  “Hey, you wanna come with us, ho?” one of them asked.

  Without hesitating, Haylay squatted down, picked up an empty liquor bottle, and pitched it right at the man. The bottle whistled as it flipped through the air and smashed against the man’s forehead.

  He fell to the ground where his friend laughed at him, took the vial and walked on. Gabe and Lisa looked at each other with disbelief.

  “Wow,” Gabe said.

  “You gotta stick up for yourself. Cain’t let no Coralhead fuck wit you, baby,” Haylay informed them all.

  They started to cross the street to the library building when Haylay put out both of his hands to stop them.

  “That’s the opera house,” he said.

  “It’s huge,” Lisa replied.

  Haylay lowered his hands so that they could step into the street. He didn’t follow them. Lisa noticed and turned around to check on him.

  “Aren’t you coming with us?” Lisa asked.

  “I’m not part of your gang, sweetie. Just the tour guide,” he said.

  “What’ll it take to get you to tag along for the night?” Gabe asked.

  “Forget about it,” Haylay insisted. “I’ve got work to do. I cain’t just be cavortin’ around town with you kids all night.”

  “You know the area, and the dangers. We could really use your help,” Gabe added.

  Haylay bit his lip and considered. Finally, he rolled his eyes. “I don’t come cheap,” he said.

  “How much?” Gabe asked.

  “Five hundred royce.”

  “She…he... yer outta yer mind,” Conductor announced.

  “Half now, half later?” Gabe asked.

  Haylay nodded.

  “Deal,” he said.

  Chapter 6 – The Opera House

  Dozier watched as Haylay sashayed past Gabe and led the way up the stairs and towards the bouncer at the front door of the opera house. Gabe suggested they wait at the bottom of the stairs and let Haylay do the talking. When the bouncer started laughing, Haylay turned around and flung his wrist at them.

  “Well hell, I ain’t got all day,” he called out.

  The bottom floor of the opera house was similar to an old Wild West saloon. A bar lined the whole right side of the building. Two bartenders moved back and forth quickly, both wearing aprons. The male was weasely looking, with crooked and cracked glasses and a visor on his head. His hair sprouted out the sides of the visor.

  The female’s apron covered her front, but from the back it was clear that she only wore black vinyl shorts, way too small, making them look more like panties. Above the waist she had on a black leather vest with her cleavage and six-pack abs showing through its opened up middle. The laces tying it partially closed threatened to break free at any moment.

  Card tables were set up across the main floor. Men and women talked and gambled as they drank. Prostitutes walked the floor, frequently visiting the tables. They were dressed in a mixed jumble of outdated rags, deemed sexy at some point in time. Clothes used for whoring over the decades were altered to be sexy enough for this day and age.

  One woman wore a silk kimono like an old Japanese Geisha, but she was blonde and wore a cowboy hat. Another wore an old milkmaid’s dress. Old west brothel attire decorated most of the other hookers.

  In the far corner next to the stairs was a small three-piece band. A man with his hair in pigtails sang a weird mixture of country and reggae. No one seemed to be interested in dancing.

  Two large, bald, bearded bikers controlled the entry at the front door. Haylay led them past the bouncer easily, but the bikers would take a little more convincing. He entered through the door with the others right behind him. Right away one of the door guards stopped him.

  “What’s your business here, tranny?” the guard asked.

  “The correct term is lady, and I’m off duty tonight. Just showin’ some friends around,” Haylay answered.

  He leaned in close and whispered into the guard’s ear. “Chill out and I won’t tell anybody who you come to for pleasure. Doctor patient confidentiality.”

  The door guard grinned and winked at him.

  “Bring in your friends. Just don’t cause any trouble.”

  ***

  Dozier turned in all directions, his head spinning from his surroundings. Like a kid who’d been handed a fistful of cash and let loose in a toy store, he looked all around him, mouth agape, taking in all the place had to offer.

  He’d spent a lot of his life in bars and seeing the party-like atmosphere brought him a sense
of comfort. It was the first time he felt at home among the dark side images. They didn’t even seem to notice him or his buddies. They were all too busy with their own wrongdoings, like sniffing Coral and downing shots of piss-colored liquid.

  It was the bar that brought back memories, some good, but most bad. After all, it had been a bar that had led him to the dark side in the first place.

  He’d been an alcoholic for quite a while in Kentucky. He started drinking with his football buddies in high school and never stopped. He married his high school sweetheart, Becky, and did a decent job of being a decent man, or so he thought.