(2014) Deep Inside

by Jack Parker

  But tonight was to have fun. It wasn't the time for him to stress himself out. He would relax and enjoy himself. He would go in and make new friends, socialize. That was the point of parties, right?

  "Parties, the perfect place to get laid." Damien pulled his bag off of his back and unzipped it. He took out a can of hairspray, shook it, and began to spray the back of his head vigorously. He then tossed it back into the bag, zipped it up, and swung it onto his back. "Ready?" Damien grinned.

  Weren't girls meant to be the ones who were vain?

  Jack nodded. "Yeah."

  Damien pulled down the handle of the large door and swung it open. They entered a wide, smoky corridor, the walls lined with a few teens, cigarettes placed deftly between their parted lips as they inhaled its intoxicating smoke.

  "Hey, Damien!" squealed one of the girls.

  She tossed her cigarette to the floor and crushed it beneath one of her stilettos. She made her way toward him and hugged him lightly. She was quite tall, Jack noticed, therefore the stilettos merely served in making her look gangly. She should have worn flats. She was clad in tight black jeans, her chocolate brown hair up in a high pony. Her hair was nice; he could tell she had spent time on it, but the outfit did nothing to accentuate her figure. She would have had to have a figure for it to be accentuated.

  "Jack, meet Carrie."

  "Hi!" she squealed. She had a lot of energy, he could tell. It was probably why she was so skinny.

  Jack held out his hand and she shook it enthusiastically.

  "Hi, I'm Jack Harlton."

  She smiled. "Carina Curtis, but everyone calls me Carrie."

  She seemed nice, nice enough to be a friend, though not girlfriend material.

  "Are they all down there?" Damien indicated the door further down the corridor.

  She rolled her eyes. "Like, duh. Where else do you reckon the music is coming from?"

  Damien decided to ignore her bitchy tone and instead made his way to the door, followed by Jack. He seemed to be following Damien around a lot lately. It was like he was his puppy or something. Hopefully it wouldn't last for too long. He would soon make new friends and be able to co-ordinate himself around without Damien's help. But until then, he was Damien's puppy.

  They entered the room, the sudden onslaught of music deafening them.

  "You'll get used to it!" shouted Damien. "Anyway, we're going upstairs –to the other room. That's where everyone else'll be."

  Jack nodded and followed Damien as he twisted through the thick crowd of sweaty teenagers dancing to the heavy blare of R&B and Rap playing in the background. The room was massive,the size of a hall; or maybe it was a hall –Jack was not sure. It was dimly lit, the ceiling lined with small lights dancing across its surface like stars twinkling beneath wavering moonlight. Jack could feel the constant collision of bodies as he attempted to weave his way through the thick crowd, accompanied by his continuous line of sorries. He was way too nice for his own good.

  Damien was on the other side of the hall by now, standing before a small lift. "Move it," he mouthed.

  Jack continued to push through the crowd and finally, after what seemed like aeons, he found himself stood beside Damien. They entered the lift and Jack allowed his eyes to run over the numbers as they lit up each time it rose to a new floor.

  "Was everyone down there from the Sector?"

  Damien shook his head. "Nah, most of them were Joe's friends. The party's not just for people in the Sector; it's for everyone in general."

  Jack nodded. "Cool."

  Here was his chance to meet new people. He had to make a good first impression; otherwise he would be stuck on his own forever. He was seventeen; he had to have at least the remote traces of a social life. He wasn't a loser. He wouldn't let his work get in the way of having fun.

  He would have fun. He would be normal. He was normal. There was not anything different about him. Not his skin color, not his thoughts, not his dreams, not his actions… not his past… The past was the past. It was over, forgotten, the pieces to an unfinished puzzle. The shards of glass in a shattered mirror, untouchable, only there to watch, but never to fix; left behind with all other remnants and a thick coating of condensation as it glinted beneath the sunlight, breaking the white light and splaying thin veins of spectrum over its empty surface.

  Damien was saying something else now, his voice echoing to the deepest corners of the small lift, the beating of a drum in a cave, the single scream echoing through to the farthest corners of the desert, stretching out to the oasis and rebounding like light bouncing off of a mirror's surface.

  The lift doors began to open, slowly. Smoke encompassed their lungs as they entered a dimly lit hall carpeted a rich maroon. It was quite crowded, though not as crowded as the one downstairs. A few sofas were lounged absently amongst its depths and various groups of teens stood in huddles talking animatedly above a lighter choice of music. Music above which ones voice could be heard.

  Jack scuffed the carpet with the sole of his trainer and cast his gaze over the many teens surrounding him. Every person was different, yet they all felt the same to him, looked the same to him. They all possessed the same foreign air. It was as if he was surrounded in a crowd with nowhere to go hundreds of faces pressing into him and names crossing over his head, never to be remembered. Choking him, cutting off his circulation, if only for a moment, before returning his oxygen in a rushed spurt of air leaving him coughing out the remnants. How could he expect to get to know all of these people? How was he meant to choose who to know and who not to know? Who was he meant to get close to? Who was he meant to begin with? To end with?

  They were like random coins thrown into a purse, shaken and rattled until they mingled in with the rest, remaining undistinguishable until they were used, tried.

  Damien ran a hand through his hair and made his way across the room. Jack followed absently. You couldn't pick a coin unless you were given a selection first. Damien stopped behind a tall blonde Elonsican holding a beer as she talked to a Cadlian. The blonde was hot, there was no doubt about that, and her choice in clothes did well in showing that. Her hair was straightened and streaked with brown.

  Neither she nor the Cadlian had noticed them approach; they merely continued with their conversation. Damien snaked his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder. She jerked forward slightly from the shock, causing some of her beer to spill to the ground.

  "Damien, you fucking idiot, I know it's you, so get your fuckin' hands off of me."

  Damien smirked. "Hi to you too, babe."

  The girl rolled her eyes. "Didn't I say he was a sleaze ball, Kell? Tell him to get his fuckin' hands off of me before I kick him in the balls."

  Damien's grin widened. "Why don't you tell me yourself, babe?"

  The girl elbowed him in the stomach causing him to fall back and some more of her beer spill from the cup. She flicked back her hair and walked forward so that she was stood nearer to Kell. She turned around and fixed him with a glare.

  "Why don't you go harass Melan, Damien," she hissed.

  Damien grinned lopsidedly and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Don't take everything so seriously, Val. I was only saying to hi."

  The girl took a sip of her drink, still glaring. "Me and Kel came with Melan. She went to the toilet so she'll be out by now-" Val turned her attention to Jack "-Who's he?"

  Damien slumped an arm over Jack's shoulder. "This is Jack, Jack Harlton. He's the new head of our Sector."

  Jack wanted to hit him right there and then. Why did he always have to bring that in? It made him sound like some sort of snob, or someone to be afraid of.

  Val smiled at him. "Nice to meet you, Jack."

  She sounded genuinely polite –no sarcasm evident in her tone of voice.

  "Hi, Jack," added Kel.

  "Hi."

  Val turned her attention back to Damien. She was still smiling. "Damien…" she cooed.

  "Yeah, babe?"

&nbs
p; "Piss off."

  Jack wanted to laugh there and then. So he wasn't as popular as he likes to make out.

  Damien frowned. "Whatever. See you around, bitch."

  "Bye."

  Kel began to laugh. Jack had no idea what to do. Was he meant to follow Damien, or stay here with these two? He chose the latter. They were hot and, when it came to Damien, he didn't have those sorts of interests.

  "Why did you blow him off like that?"

  Damien was his friend. He had to at least pretend that he cared.

  Val shrugged. "Don't ask." She took another sip of her beer, then once again turned to Kel to resume their conversation.

  That had been the wrong question to ask. Now they were talking to each other again, which meant that there were no openings for him to make conversation. And now that Damien was gone and nowhere to be seen, he had no one to co-ordinate him around people. He really was a stranger lost in the crowd.

  Jack cast his gaze over the many teens scattered around the room. There had to be someone that he knew. He ran his eyes over the occupants, once, twice, then stopped, his eyes widening.

  Sitting on one of the sofas, a small glass perched in her hand, her head tilted to the side as she talked to some guy, was none other than Jessica Coles. Why was she here? Jack realized how stupid of a question it was as soon as it crossed his mind. Why wouldn't she be here? She was twenty-five and probably good friends with Joe, who was rich. That made sense. And she looked good, really good. Last time he had seen her –in the meeting- she had looked gorgeous, but a posh kind of gorgeous. This time she looked casual, yet sophisticated. Shoulder length white-blonde hair swung above bare shoulders. She was wearing a sleeveless black dress and three inch stilettos, her curves accentuated to their full potential.

  Jack ran a hand through his hair. Would it be better just to say "hi" or to leave it and find Damien? It would be awkward if he said "hi", he thought. It would probably look random, forced. He had only ever met her once. There was no evidence to say that he was on her good side yet. Anyway, what would come after the "hi"? He would end up looking desperate; she would read his actions like an examiner over a test, consult the mark book, tick him and assess the answers. He would be expected to say something more, and the words had to be right, calculated, thought out.

  He couldn't just say anything. He would have to catch her attention like a web, its sticky surface encasing the fly, trapping it, leaving it to wait, basking it in anticipation. But he wasn't in the mood. He should have gone to bed earlier the night before, or woken up later in the morning. He hadn't been to a late night party in ages. His job had always diminished all aspects of his social life, taking it over like an overprotective mother, a clingy girlfriend, a dominant wife.

  He had worked and worked and worked. Worked to fulfil his dreams; the dreams born from a half forgotten nightmare, a nightmare laced with the scars of reality. And now he was here. He was at the beginning. He had found the path, cut through the forest, followed the trail of pebbles and watched the signs leading to nowhere. He was at the beginning and the first step of many had been taken, the slabs echoed beneath his feet, the sun shone on his back and the shadowing trees withdrew allowing the light to seep through and the path to be lit.

  The lack of sleep had made him tired, bored, more aware of everything around him: more touchy. He needed fresh air, it would clear his head, make him feel better. He had forgotten how crowded and stuffy a party could feel. There was a door on one side of the room and it was open, the area around it empty as dim moonlight seeped from it into the room. It must lead to the balcony, he thought. It would be the perfect way to get some fresh air and clear his head.

  He threaded his way through the crowd once again; a serpent slipping through the towering grass. He finally reached the door and stepped through, allowing the fresh air to encompass his lungs and tingle his nose.

  The floor was elegantly paved, moonlight dancing over it and sending patterns cascading over its surface. It was like a dance of light, the patterns all mingling, then breaking apart, only to come back together and sway lightly before mingling again and creating a never ending cycle.

  He looked up, only to notice that he was not the only one who was in need of fresh air.

  Her golden brown hair was down this time –the first time he had seen it down, and even though he could only see her from the back, he could tell that she looked hot.

  She was wearing a black jacket and a skirt, her feet clad in black stiletto heeled sandals. She was leaning against the edge of the balcony, her chin resting in her arms.

  He wanted to talk to her, but he didn't want to startle her. She looked so calm, so peaceful. He didn't want to break it, break the air coating them, basking them in a silent serenity and coveting them in peace beneath the wavering light of the full moon.

  It would be best if he went up to her first, let her be aware of his presence instead of shocking her and pulling her out of the haven of peace which she had surrounded herself with. He made his way towards her, his footsteps silent on the polished tiling of the balcony. She turned toward him and her eyes widened with recognition. She looked really pretty with her hair down, beautiful even.

  "It's a bit silly, don't you think, that they're letting off fireworks a few minutes before midnight," he commented, indicating a small spurt of colour as it appeared in the sky then slowly diminished. "They should leave it until it hits midnight. It makes it more special."

  He didn't expect her to say something back but she seemed more confident this time. Maybe she was getting used to him.

  "Everyone says that, but no one does it."

  Jack nodded. "Yeah."

  They stood there for a few moments, gazing out at the empty night, the sky cluttered with a few frosty stars, a few fireworks marring its perfect surface and cutting through the blanket, ripping the silk and tearing the mattress.

  He glanced at her. She looked prettier in the darkness; it accentuated her features, made her look ethereal.

  "Ten seconds until midnight, Jack. Time to make your wish for the New Year," she said lightly, her tone hushed, quiet. The faint hints of a smile quirked on the edge of her lips.

  He sure knew what his wish was going to be. Her eyes were closed. She looked cute. He closed his eyes and made a quick wish, then opened them once again. Her eyes were open now as she watched a firework shoot into the sky.

  It was midnight.

  Now was the perfect moment. She opened her mouth, about to say something, but was cut short by a voice in the distance.

  "Hey, Jack."

  They both turned abruptly as Damien entered the balcony.

  He grinned and made his ways towards them. Upon reaching the girl he slipped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder.

  "I'm glad you guys have met. Melan, this is Jack. And Jack, this is Melan, my girlfriend."

  CHAPTER 8

  Lia tightened the thick chord of rope secured around her waist, then pulled on the heavy glasses, squinting slightly as her vision faded to a dull red.

  "You can see infrared light, but be careful, you'll only be able to see the rays straight ahead," supplied Carmon.

  Lia nodded and wrinkled her forehead, the heavy weight of the glasses, leaving a dull throbbing upon the bridge of her nose. She pulled down her hat, tucking in a few stray strands of hair, then asked, "How long?"

  "We activate the recording as soon as you get in. It'll last exactly one hour. By then you should have retrieved the documents and be ready to pull up."

  She looked down, her eyes running over the large gap spread atop the wall. It reminded her of a pit, a bottomless pit just waiting for her to enter and never return. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her hands subconsciously straying over the leathery black chord.

  Here it goes.

  She gently eased herself into the gap, the gravity furiously beating against her as she entered its depths, pushing her down –choking her and cutting off her circulation
. She dangled in the air, her only support the thick chord wrapped around her waist and digging into her stomach. She felt like a spider, dangling from its web, surveying its surroundings from a vantage point. She probably looked like a spider, too, judging by her positioning.

  Her eyes scoured over the vast room, the colors dull and tinged a faint red. White light seeped in from the edges of her glasses, blurring her vision and causing her to squint slightly beneath the onslaught of color. She could see the rays clearly, thin red beams of light stretching from the corners and criss-crossing over the room's vast surface.

  She felt distanced from it all, as if she was watching a television screen –a television screen flickering on and off, and on and off. The remote rested in her hands, her palms straying over the hundreds of buttons, but she felt unwilling to press, satisfied in merely watching what was playing out before her, giving it no thought and allowing it to run its course. If she thought about it, she knew that she would panic. She knew that she would realize how dangerous it all was –everything was. And then she would be left unable to do anything.