Curse of the Potency

by Oliver Franks

  I chose to stand.

  “I know,” he said tensely. “Yes. I know that. This is the only way we could manage it, I’m afraid. Yes. Yes, Frank’s aware. He’s said they can stomach it, yes. For the time being anyway. Alright. Thanks.”

  He put the phone down with a thump and let out a deep sigh of frustration.

  “Sit down, Dave,” he said.

  “I’ll stand if that’s okay.”

  He sighed. “Alright.”

  He stood up to face me.

  “Happy now?”

  I was thinking he definitely looked like some sort of an animal with that plaster thing stuck on his face. An elephant maybe.

  “Do you know what?” I said. “I think I will sit.”

  And I sat down.

  He sat down too.

  “You really are a child, Dave, you know—”

  “Just get on with it,” I snapped. “You want me to stand again? Or just leave? I will, you know.”

  “Fine,” he said, letting out another big sigh. “So, er, Dave, I asked you to come here because we’ve got this meeting in an hour or so and—”

  “The company meeting?”

  “Yes. Exactly. Now, the purpose of this meeting is merely to update and reassure all staff members that everything is all fine and—”

  “Is it?”

  “What?”

  “All fine?”

  “Well, yes and no, Dave. I mean, in the sense that you are alive and the company is still standing, then yes. We weren’t ransacked or firebombed, and you’re safe and sound. But obviously we will take hits from this. There are going to be consequences for everyone—”

  “Alright, alright, just asking. No need to rehearse your little speech. Just tell me whatever it is you’ve got to tell me so I can be on my way. I’m hungry and want to get some lunch.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Well…”

  It was funny, actually; he was definitely skirting around whatever the uncomfortable issue was.

  “Blimey, Daryl, just spit it out.”

  He shook his head. “You know you have become very difficult to handle, Dave.”

  That made me laugh. “You’ve got that the wrong way round. I was too easy before.”

  “Alright.” He sighed again. “Well, whatever, but look, I asked you here because we’re having this meeting, and in the meeting I shall be the one talking and I don’t want you to ruin everything by giving the impression that we have a problem. As far as is possible, I want people to think things are normal on that score at least.”

  “I’m sorry, Daryl. You’re going to have to talk in plain English.”

  “I’m talking about us, Dave. You and me. I don’t want people thinking anything untoward has gone on between us. Specifically, I want no mention of our little… altercation. Do you get it?”

  By altercation I guess he meant me thwomping him on the snout.

  “Why shouldn’t I mention it?” I said.

  After all, I already had to Bill. And Christine surely had every idea.

  “Because I am asking you nicely,” he said.

  “But—”

  “And because if you do not, I shall quite simply terminate your contract and you will go to prison.”

  He was sounding very much like the demon headmaster. I nodded at him. That fog was clearing already.

  “You wouldn’t do that,” I said. “You need me.”

  “That may be so,” he said, shaking his head. “But if you choose to stay here, at Solar Ray, then you need to behave. And I am the CEO here. I am the boss. So whilst I don’t expect you to be my friend, a certain amount of respect is required. I will not ask anything too unreasonable of you, but you will do what I say, Dave. Is that clear? You will do what I say or you will—”

  “Go to prison,” I said, standing up to leave. “Gotcha.”

  *****

  I arrived at the meeting early, helping myself to coffee and biscuits and taking a seat at the far end of the still-empty conference table. I had decided it would be better to endure a sickening fifteen minutes or so of waiting as people trickled in rather than entering an already full room and having everyone look up at me awkwardly.

  As they came in, I received a series of meaningless nods and pained smiles, many hiding grins or frowns underneath.

  “Hi, Dave,” said Byron sheepishly when he arrived. “Are you alright now?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Good.” He nodded, obviously struggling to say anything useful and drawing plenty of unwanted attention in the effort.

  Soon, the entire Solar Ray staff were cramped into the boardroom—all the lab staff, the office staff, everyone. The chairs were filled around the long conference table, and those who could not sit stood. Even the weird American, Frank, was there, standing at the back of the room and towering over everyone. Although they weren’t looking at me directly, I could very well sense I was the centre of attention. Most of them I hardly knew anyway though, so I tried not to give too much of a toss. I just sat, still as a stone, Daryl’s threats about sending me to prison still ringing in my head. I was determined not to say a single word more than I had to. If I could get through this meeting, jump over this last hurdle, then that would be it for a while. I would be free to retire to the basement indefinitely, to disappear and be alone. It was hardly a bed of roses, but at least I’d have some time to chill and to breathe and to really think things through.

  “Good morning, everyone,” said Daryl, stepping in at 1:00 p.m. on the dot.

  There was a murmur of greetings. I also heard one or two people whispering about Daryl’s nose. I resisted the urge to smile.

  “Thank you all for coming to this special company meeting,” he continued. “I know you all have work to be getting on with, so I’ll try not to keep you too long. Right.” He did a little cough. “Many of you may have heard that there was a serious incident last Friday night, and you will have all noticed the police presence outside today and doubtless found things a little out of order in the labs and offices, things missing or possibly not where you left them. I just wanted to get all the facts clear and in the open and to update you with what is going to happen now. So as some of you are aware, on Friday evening we had a break-in.”

  Daryl explained about the break-in, doing a fairly good job of giving only the bare facts, though making it sound very dramatic through his use of words such as “serious espionage” and his reference to “a spy of Russian nationality.” That caused several sharp intakes of breath. Obviously, I did come off as something of a total nincompoop, but I could hardly blame Daryl for that. I sat hunched and red with shame, leaning on the table and locking my head in my hands. I could sense the gazes of everyone on me.

  “This spy spent at least an hour going through the labs,” continued Daryl, “gaining extensive access to our work.”

  “Jesus,” several people muttered.

  “I know it is a bit of a shock. But having thoroughly reviewed the damage, we don’t believe this will impact our business fundamentals. We can continue developing our product. Nothing this spy did can get in the way of that. In some ways, this kind of attention is the marker of how far we’ve come, how valuable our work is becoming. We’re going to change the world with what we’re doing, now more than ever. I believe that.”

  People were nodding.

  When he told the part about Bill and the judo moves, Bill, who was stood up leaning against the wall to one side, did a little bow, and someone let out a cheer.

  “Are you alright, Daryl?” a woman asked tentatively. “I mean, you look as though you’ve taken a bit of knock yourself.”

  “This?” Daryl pointed to his nose in surprise, as if there was nothing abnormal in the slightest about having a huge bandage stuck to your face. “Oh no, this has nothing to do with the break-in. It’s fine. I just, er, had a little accident in the kitchen, you know.”

  “Oh dear—”

  “What about the fire?” said an exasperated-sounding Frank.
“Are you going to tell them about the fire?”

  “Ah yes,” said Daryl. “Thank you, Frank. Yes, I was building up to that.”

  Daryl then took a moment to explain to everyone who Frank was. Basically a big cheese, an American big cheese, and this was obviously impressive to a room full of mostly stale British nerds. There was also this odd moment when Daryl referred to Omega as “one of our biggest investors” and Frank let out a snort of laughter.

  “So,” Daryl continued stoutly. “The fire. Yes.” He glanced down at me. “I’m sure many of you saw the news over the weekend. An extremely large fire and very nearby to here. Well, the police have been calling it a suspected terrorist attack, but I can tell you that it was in fact also linked to the events of Friday night.”

  There was a palpable sense of shock in the room, as if the spy hadn’t been enough.

  “You don’t need to worry about terrorists being involved or anything like that. However…” He sighed, looking uncomfortably at me. “Dave, er… Actually, perhaps you would like to explain?”

  Frank let out a sarcastic laugh. Everyone looked at me—frowned at me, actually. I gave Daryl a sharp look. Did he really want me talking? He nodded sombrely. Yes, he did, and I’d do what he wanted or else.

  “Alright.” I sighed, gazing at my fingers, squeezing them one by one. “It was me. Sort of. Me and that Russian lady. See, we went for a… a walk. And I had to stop for a wee. Caused a bit of damage with that. I wasn’t thinking straight, obviously. Had too much to drink. Way too much. And she was bonkers. Wanted me to show her what I could do. Anyway, long story short, she flicked a ciggie and it caught fire.”

  Yet more sharp breaths were taken around the room, followed by uncomfortable silence.

  “Hang on,” said Marcus. “You’re telling us that one drunken piss from you was enough to cause that huge blaze? Really?”

  “Yup.” I nodded at him.

  “But no…” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it. Surely not. Daryl?”

  “I am afraid so,” said Daryl. “We did know that his urine was flammable. Not this flammable, of course, but well, it seems that Dave’s consumption last Friday increased the potency and, well… increased the flammability too, somewhat.”

  “Increased it somewhat!” exclaimed Marcus. “The man’s a walking firebomb!”

  A din of chatter engulfed the room, everyone expressing their disbelief and wonder at the turn of events.

  “The key point is the police have been informed.” Daryl raised his voice, trying to regain control. “We had several high-ranking visitors yesterday and settled everything. More or less.” He glanced nervously at Frank. “So you can expect an announcement on the news shortly. They are going to be calling it an ‘industrial accident,’ and I’m sorry to say, Solar Ray will be named, though the details and all knowledge of Dave here will remain highly secret. You’ve all signed contracts on that, so I expect you all to maintain silence.”

  That shut everyone up.

  “If we’re to be named as responsible, that could be a very serious blow to our operations,” said Marcus.

  “Indeed you’re right, Marcus,” said Daryl. “But we should be okay, I believe. We can continue working here for the short term. The rest is under discussion. However, I should be upfront in telling everyone that I can’t rule out a move to other premises—”

  The chatter started up again.

  “Although that would not be for some time. And of course, we would take into account everyone’s home address and try to come up with a location that is manageable for people.”

  “Jesus, Daryl,” said Marcus. “You weren’t joking when you said you had news.”

  *****

  I was very pleased when that meeting came to an end. It was hellish trying to physically get out though, pushing past people who were all engaged in chit-chat, avoiding their looks as I did so.

  My status as a dangerous and total pariah was complete.

  Straight to the basement.

  “Bill,” I said after taking a piss and frantically pushing the red button several times. “A six-pack of beers please. And an extra-large meat supremo pizza with cheese crusts. Just get all the side dishes, yeah. The whole menu. I don’t care.”

  I sat on my bed, waiting anxiously for him to deliver these items. I looked up at those grainy windows, watched the feet of the “normal people” clippety-clopping past on the street above. I was breathing heavily. Scared, sort of, I realised, for I was stuck here and I was alone, misunderstood, feared and a laughing stock. And I had no idea what to do.

  I was nothing but a freakish food monster locked away in a basement.

  Chapter 19

  Over the coming weeks I had a recurring dream in which I turned into giant items of food. A giant cheeseburger. A giant can of Coke. A giant Mars bar. A giant six-pack of beer. All sorts of random edible things with arms and legs. Well, not really so random, actually. All the kinds of crap that I liked to eat.

  In these dreams there always came this scary moment when I would start to become aware of it, usually while I was out and about walking somewhere. People would start giving me looks or keeping their distance or coming up and trying to eat me. Then the fear would hit me, and I’d know I’d turned into some kind of a food—just knowing somehow, the way you do in dreams, but not knowing why.

  I’d rush home, obsessed with the idea of looking in a mirror, yet no matter how hard I searched, I never could find one, and it was so frustrating because I desperately wanted to see what I’d become. Part of me hoped I’d look and discover that in fact I hadn’t turned into anything, that it was all just paranoia, and I would just see ordinary old Dave. Another part of me knotted onto the idea that mirrors were in some way magical, that the act of looking in the mirror would somehow cause the food to simply melt away from my skin, as if it was an artificial coating burning under the flames of my gaze. Then I could go back to just being normal. People would leave me alone.

  It was a dream, okay, so I wasn’t really thinking straight.

  These dreams were ridiculous and unsettling, always ending in abject frustration. I’d always find myself waking up from them in the same way: sprawled on my bed, hardly able to move, and actually finding the idea that I’d just had such a dream quite funny to think about. At least, that’s what I would try to tell myself. I would force myself up, roll off the bed, breathe in the sweaty smell of my basement, and amble over to my silvery-green pee bin.

  “Another day, another contribution,” I’d mutter to myself.

  But things wouldn’t be quite right. The piss bin would dissolve in the hit of my toxic emerald urine, and I’d get a sudden fright. The mega-dega-whatsit material is no longer able to resist my wee, I’d think. My wee’s gone supernova! The floor would crack at its touch, an ominous, bubbling, living green goo slowly seeping up from underground, sliming itself all over my dirty clothes and possessions that lay scattered across the floor.

  I’d rush into the bathroom and splash water over my face.

  Then, looking in the mirror, I’d get a rude awakening, for looking back at me would be—

  And that’s when I’d really wake up, that last part being just an annoying and terrifying epilogue. Of course, there’d be variations on it. Maybe the pan wouldn’t dissolve. Maybe it would turn into a cloud of purple smoke, rising up to settle on the ceiling. Or maybe I’d find myself unable to walk at all. I’d simply crawl to the bathroom, where somehow I’d be able to heave myself up before catching an awful glimpse of—

  Each time I would end up seeing something in the mirror, yet only for the minutest of instants, far too quickly for me to actually process the image. Even though it was right there before me, I’d still miss it, never have a clue what it was. Too terrifying to handle, I guess. It was never me looking back—always something monstrous, freaky, unnatural, and something food-related.

  Anyway, that’s when I’d always wake up, at that moment, seeing myself yet not seeing myself at all. />
  Just unable to cope.

  *****

  It was full-blown winter by now, rain often lashing the icy roads outside, not to mention a nasty chilliness creeping over everything in my basement. Christmas was approaching; the TV would never let me forget that. I couldn’t bear to think of Christmas, how depressing it would be to spend it alone in the basement, so I focussed on all the other shit I had to consider in the ruined wreck that was my life. I certainly had plenty to chew over and that’s without even considering the constant stream of junk food I gorged on daily.

  Firstly, I had to accept that I was a prisoner. Nothing more, nothing less.

  The reality hit home the day I properly tested it out. I walked up the stairs to the lobby, opened the front door into the cold winter air and started to casually stroll out, only for two policemen to place rough hands on me and shove me back inside.

  “Inside, you. You’re not allowed out, and you know it.”

  “But I just want to get some fresh air.”

  “You can go out the back, and you know that too.”

  Yes, of course. “The back.” I did have a right to a certain amount of natural light and outdoors, though this was just a tiny patio surrounded by grimy high walls where people went for quick smokes—dirty and wet and scattered with cigarette butts and all sorts of trash. In fact, since those fags I’d shared with Julia, I had taken to smoking again. It calmed me down and gave me something to do. So those were the only moments I got any glimpse of sky—exhaling that tarry mist from my lungs, directing it straight upwards.

  Grim.

  Many a time I contemplated pissing on those walls, bringing destruction, escaping, but I wasn’t quite ready to burn the place down, go nuclear on the situation. Not yet anyway, though the idea did haunt me, for it was impossible to forget that I was the toxic urinator, the peer of destruction. If worst came to worst, I could always wee my way to freedom. Who could stop me? I’d seen what had happened to that square. I was a fire hazard now. I had the power of nuclear-pee flames, weird sorts of bluish-green flames with a rather rancid smell. Drop a spark to my toxic wee and the world would burn.