After Hope Dies

by Lilly Haraden

Nicer part of town. The only part of town that’s nice, actually. Hugo pulls into the light of a tiny restaurant with leaves glowing in a yellow pall from the windows. It’s very pretty and kind of quaint. Il tratora. Since when did Stallwind get all fancy and shit? The two step off the bike and fold helmets into the compartment bay; the man feeds a lock chain through the front wheel and around the telegraph pole. Snapping the locks in place, he asks the child, ‘How do you know this place ‘ere?’

  Janelle, with hands behind her back, obviously proud, announces, ‘My big sister used to take me here sometimes. We haven’t been in a while, though.’

  Hugo grunts and gives her the once-over. She’s wearing a beautiful white dress tonight. A dress is a dress. She looks a bit like a black Shinobu; they might be the same. Maybe she bites too. Man asks, ‘You have a big sis?’

  ‘In the platonic sense of sister.’

  Hugo stands and brushes his hands on his trousers, saying, ‘I don’t think you can use the word platonic that way.’

  ‘She is my non-sister sister.’

  ‘From the club?’

  Mmm, Janelle says with her eyes, with the swish of her hips in a white dress all new and liquid. Hugo opens the door for her like a true gentleman and the two enter the warmth. The inside’s all bustle and familial glow. Couples and moms and dads sit huddled around little basket tables haloed in candlelight. Fair few whites here, Chinese too. Must be nice. The two are seated at the window booth by an Italian girl who couldn’t be much older than Hugo himself.

  ‘So what did you wan’ talk about?’

  Janelle wriggles comfortable in her seat while Hugo pours two glasses of water.

  ‘Thank you. It occurred to me that for so many people to have such a blasé response to the presence of the supernatural would, on my part, require some deep and fundamental misunderstanding on the nature of reality.’

  ‘You mind not talkin’ like you’re an academic?’

  ‘My voice, my rules.’ Janelle smiles and continues, ‘So what’s the situation we’re in – parallel realities, worlds within worlds, hidden layers of society. How does the supernatural fit in with us?’

  ‘Beats me. Sorry to say, but I ain’t no encyclopaedia supernatralis.’

  ‘Huh. So it’s unknown.’

  ‘Outside of me, you’re the first one I know who’s run into trouble.’

  ‘How did you meet your daemon, then? The one you sold your soul to?’

  Their waiter interrupts, they order pizza. Hmm. No, Hugo orders the gnocchi and Jan orders pizza. That lends an air of realism to the situation; they can get pizza anywhere.

  ‘Good choice,’ says the waitress with a note of honey. ‘You guys on a date?’

  Janelle laughs. ‘Big brother wanted to take me here.’

  Waitress gives the man a look – you’re a good soul, boy. As she tails back to the kitchen, Hugo leans to Janelle and murmurs, ‘Since when was I a part of your ever-expandin’ cast of big siblings?’

  ‘Since you saved my life. Now – tell me – daemon story.’

  Hugo straightens and nods. Right, right. ‘Did you know I used to have a brother? Technically still do – he didn’ die or nothin’.’

  Janelle frowns in concentration and blonde hair falls before her eyes. Correcting the strands, she replies, ‘Yes, I remember him vaguely. Very skinny man.’

  ‘He got the skinny gene. Well, he was busted for drug traffickin’ a while back, and this was after Dad lost use of his legs. Some sort of cancer. Don’t understand it very well. Anyway, we were really down on our luck and Momma couldn’t afford to keep us propped up with her job. Church helped, but everyone relies on the church for help. So I needed a way to make money that didn’t involve factory lines or drugs.’

  ‘Our stories sound almost the same, in terms of the desperate need for work. I became a prostitute. What were your options like?’

  Hugo shrugs, thinks, looks to the dark red and yellow symphony outside and says to the sleety street, ‘I don’t know what the male equivalent of prostitution is. Women can sell their bodies as a last resort; what can men do? Hard labour, I suppose. Army. Sell a kidney. But most of the super hard adult labour is automated cos it’s cheaper. Same for Army. Gay prostitution maybe? Drugs might be the best option. But I had another: I spent a lot of time playing video games and got real good at one in particular. Even joined a clan, but I needed an edge to stay afloat and keep pace with the International players.’

  ‘I’m guessing this is where the fortunes of young Hugo were turned around by the sudden appearance of a supernatural entity.’

  Hugo shakes his head. ‘Not quite. Para and I have been friends for a long while.’

  ‘Huh? Para?’

  Nods. ‘Yeah, she’s an old friend. I know you’re gonna want me to explain it, but I don’t think I can. Truth: I don’t fully understand her myself. Para was a friend of mine from elementary school but she died in an accident when we were in grade nine. But I still have contact with her, out by the lake…as I said, I don’t understand it. At all.’

  ‘Would you introduce me to her?’

  ‘No.’

  Janelle looks away and grips her shoulder. Hugo feels guilty and corrects, ‘One thing I’ve learned about spirits – they’re particular, like, attached to people and situations in a single kind of way. If I brought you along with me, I doubt she’d appear. Nothing personal. Just the nature of the unnatural.’

  ‘Right.’ Janelle sits silent for a moment and Hugo wonders if he’s upset her deeply, but the little creature makes a move. Hand going to the pocket of her dress, pulling out something silver and gold. She hands the piece of paper to Hugo: a card of weighty, substantial presence – quality in the fingers. Back is blank, front is the home to an army of Chinese.

  ‘Chinese, eh.’

  ‘Japanese?’

  Hugo presses, ‘It’s Chinese. Japanese has three alphabets and this card only has the Chinese characters. You should know that.’

  Jan brushes it away. ‘I should, but I don’t.’

  Hugo puts the card on the table between them and shrugs ‘so what’. Says, ‘What does this mean?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Where you get it?’

  ‘Two spirits gave it to me last night, without instruction. Two birds.’

  Hugo considers deeply for a moment. ‘Then you should hold on to it, keep it with you at all times and never let it from your sight. That way, when there’s a use for it, you’ll be ready.’

  Janelle doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer but the arrival of pizza changes the mood of any child, no matter their age. Janelle pockets the message. They eat – the gnocchi comes with a Napolitano sauce and black, pitted olives (*Italian chef hand-kiss motion*); it’s been a while since Hugo can remember eating out somewhere nice like this. He could get used to his status as big brother if it comes with these good perks. Maybe other perks to follow? Nononono. Shutup. Shut. Up.

  They’re outside now, full and happy. Hugo bends down to unlock the front wheel of his cycle, saying to the girl, ‘First date in years, pretty happy with how it went. We should do it another time.’

  ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ Janelle jokes, leaning forward with a cheeky smile growing.

  There comes a sound from nearby: a mixture of wrong. Like a big cat hissing, screaming, something deep growling. Clatter. It sets the grown man’s teeth on edge. He straightens immediately and tries to locate the source. Nearby, that alley? He turns to Janelle – she has her sights set on the same place.

  Something deeply wrong lurks. Hugo grabs the child by the hand and they scamper up the dark street, minutes away from Power-Down darkness. They find the lip of the alley and enter. Really, they should be fleeing. So what draws them closer is a special kind of insanity, and underpinned by pure feeling. Hugo and Janelle both know, internally, without instruction, that they are bound to step into the supernatural. And here they are. Alley: shit and piss on the nose, blood graffiti everywhere; t
iptoe in from the outside world, gentle creatures of day. Come in! Hugo feels the child grip his hand fierce – look, over there!

  Hugo sees where Janelle points. Two shadows fall under the cloud of light from a neon insect repellent buzzing on the wall. What is that? A girl dominating and low over the corpse of a human mound. Like a hyena over prey, her body on all fours and ready. This young girl with her back to them. Quick, she turns and stands wobbly like a drunk. An Asiatic face, black hair covering scared – horribly scared – eyes. School uniform all torn. Without warning, the girl spreads hand to wall, doubles over and vomits a sludge of grey lava like cake mix. The force of it wracks her chest. Splat on the alley floor. A halo of the grey stuff congeals around her mouth. What on earth is going on?

  Hugo raises his voice and calls, ‘Let us help you. We can—’

  No avail. The girl roars at them – actually roars, lion sharp – and the walls wobble like gazelle taking off, a school of fish breaking ranks and scattering. Reality shimmers. Resets. And the Chinese girl turns to the darkness, sprints away. Her machinegun footfall belies a fundamental wrong; nobody can move that fast. Not even Hugo. She is gone now. But the corpse remains. Hugo drags Janelle into the circle of insect light and kneels down in front of the body.

  Oh my god…

  ‘W-What’s wrong with him, Hugo?’

  Hugo stares. Tries to make sense of it all. How can this be? How can this man lay in a pool of black – not blood, but something else? A face all white and moonlit in Voldemort tones. Arms strong and dark. Two fierce drill-piece holes in the left shoulder. He’s not breathing…

  Janelle whimpers, ‘Was she a vampire? What was she sucking from this man’s body?’

  It’s almost laughable, really:

  A melanin-drinking Vampire.

  Hebephilia

  Hiding the body is out of the question, but there’s also the particulars of this crime to consider. If they call the police, no doubt CCTV footage will be swept up and analysed, showing two creatures responding to a feral noise (inaudible on screen). Two blackass fools walk into the alley and suddenly the cops have a corpse on their hands. Case shut. Alternatively, they could wait for a couple of hours before dropping a call into 911…same problem with the footage, though…

  Hugo brings Janelle into his mass, trying to shield the sight of the body. Quickly now: what to do, what to do, what to –

  ‘H-Hugo, something’s happening. Look.’

  He sees but does not believe. Something very strange indeed. A fuzz of decay hugs the body tight like digital distortion on a bad stream where the audio continues and the video clips, repairs. Very Matrix. A trickle of animation touches the corpse and for a brief moment Hugo sees arms and legs flailing around as if in memory of neural action once taken, maybe in the brief moments before ‘death’. The neon blue insect light cuts out. Darkness. Flicks back on.

  And the corpse is gone.

  Janelle whispers, ‘Hugo, I’m scared, let’s go.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah we’re out, come on.’

  They escape. Hugo feels gravity monsters at his back reaching out for him, trying to latch on, but by the time he and Janelle are back on street level only uneasiness remains. At least there’s no evidence now. Well, someone might have seen a big guy taking a young girl into an alleyway and returning minutes later looking flushed and – oh fuck. Oh fuck…

  Over on that lamppost, just there, see it, Hugo? That little black beetle underneath the cap, watching you, recording you…

  Not exactly the ending to the night he’d hoped for. One final look over the shoulder, back into darkness. Any glimpse of that strange girl? No, not a thing.

  Calm down, boy. It’s all good. You’re alive at least. Just get out of there.

  By the motorcycle, as Hugo bends to undo the chain in a hurry, Janelle comes in beside him and murmurs, ‘I know that girl.’

  ‘You do?’

  Hugo stuffs the chain into the compartment bay and hands Janelle her sheet helmet. She takes it and pops the hinges like a pro, explaining, ‘I saw that girl have an argument with her older sister. This was at school yesterday.’

  ‘One piece of advice: stay the hell clear of that girl, unless you want the black sucked right outta you.’

  They don’t talk much on the way home. Nerves suck dry the conversation. One continuous drive: no breaking, no traffic lights, no traffic.

  Hugo doesn’t think about the drained corpse. Instead he wonders. This seems like a series of events that could only happen with Janelle around. As if she were the magnet for all the world’s troubles. Or, rather, a lens. Everything real, and everything supernatural, comes into focus when she’s around. And yet, when she’s around, his mind goes out of focus…

  He’s not thinking about the supernatural any more. Instead, he moves to another equally strange entity:

  What goes on in this little girl’s life? What series of events have led her to this point in time, here on his cycle with her arms wrapped around his waist like a little macaque on its mumma? She is truly unknown – sport at school, dancing in the mirror, computer games, television, books, stars, dreams, likes, hates, works, is. All of these are questions and not details. For Hugo, she is entirely unknown and thus she is a fantasised other. To fetishise someone on the basis of who they appear to be rather than who they are is a grave sin. In the realm of dark thought, Hugo knows that his image of Janelle is breaking apart each time the girl opens her mouth and reveals something about who she is. Pretty Janelle in tights and school uniform and twirling behind the eyelids is a bastardisation. The longer he spends in real Janelle’s company, the further and further away he glides from his picture of who she is.

  Take now, for instance. Outside her home. Jan pops off and folds the helmet down to a sheet, stuffs it away like she’s been doing this for years. She has been, of course. Maybe. Hugo takes off his own helmet and Janelle stands there sweetly by the silent cycle, hand and wrist connected before her groin, swaying side to side just a little bit in the breeze of Power-Down night.

  ‘In spite of the vampire, I had a really nice dinner with you. Trouble seems to follow us around, hey.’

  ‘I’ll protect you if you protect me.’

  ‘Do…do you think that girl will come after us?’

  Hugo shakes his head. ‘Doubt it. How can she know where we live? She’s just a schoolkid like you.’

  Janelle nods, satisfied. She moves forward. Seconds split and atoms vibrate; time slows. Janelle plants a little kiss on the man’s cheek. A whiff of something sweet but undefined, skin tingling. Girl waves and walks to the door, skipsonging through the grass and stones until she’s locked away behind a muslin security mesh. Hugo watches every step and every moment, cataloguing the bounce and trajectory. Treasures: ruby seconds and hours of sapphire. What is that smell…

  Home now, to a room filled with him. Was it pineapple? A computer begging. Come here, sit down, relax, burp a little, get very comfortable. Forget the night. You’re safe now. Hand on the mouse. Cursor lingering over the Osu icon.

  And the pain begins. Immediate and all too familiar; Hugo sinks back in his chair and cradles his burning arm in his lap. Lip-biting, wind-through-teeth pain.

  ‘Ok, ok, no Osu, I won’ play!’

  And the pain is gone.

  So the trigger is indeed Osu. Hugo inspects his arm but finds no signature lightning, no sluicing flesh. Just a bite of pain to remind him and reward him for recognising the source.

  Boy stretches out his arm, tests the right fingers one by one and, once satisfied everything is in working condition, makes a plan. He needs to see Para straight away. Skipping out on practise isn’t so much of an issue, but this was a night he had hoped to play for tips. Although…he could always leverage a night off to his advantage in the form of sympathy tips. That thought brings a gush of pain to his fingers – seems like whatever is breaking and resetting his hand five million times per second doesn’t like the idea of rorting people’s sympathy.

&nb
sp; Hugo rubs his eyes slow. Maybe Para can wait ’til tomorrow. Which leaves not many options aside from hours of K-On!! and maybe an early night’s rest. Pornography would suffice, although the motions required to play a high-speed game of Osu are in fact quite similar to masturbation…how would his arm take it?

  The pain says maybe if the price is right.

  Its only 9PM. K-On!! it is, then.

  It’s only 12:30AM. Pornography it is, then. Blinds down, door locked, let’s go. Nothing is arousing.

  “I’m eighteen, mister.”

  “I’m seventeen, three hundred and sixty-four days, mister.”

  “I’m sixteen, mister.”

  “I’m fifteen, three hundred and sixty-four days, mister.”

  “I’m just a drawing, I don’t have an age.”

  Nothing is arousing. The problem is one of consequence behind the action. Cameras have to be turned off at some point. In the aftermath, women and men must separate and wash and clean themselves up, psych up in the bathroom – you can do this, you can do this – and complete the softcore shoot before things get heated again. How are you today, Misty 18F from Florida? Are you paying the bills, refusing the coke, checking yourself regularly, making sure you’re legal to work this week, surviving off the private stream stuff?

  What about the murky world of amateur, hey? Hugo doesn’t really find much solace in not knowing who is on the other side of the camera. Voyeuristic couple, exhibitionist woman, trafficked sex slave? Which is why Hugo turns to cartoon pornography. That, and he loves anime. Who wouldn’t want to mix two things they like? And the laws of consequences do not apply to drawings. No health checks, no reality beyond the camera veil, no hurt or pain. Very ethical, until you reach the point where you look at the anime girls and consider quietly to yourself ‘gosh, they actually look kind of young’…like this schoolgirl at the beach, lifting her skirt to reveal a pink vibrator lodged up her vagina. Lewd written in her eyes and lust engraved fresh in the rose of cheeks and a tongue poking out all cheeky…

  Fuck this. Hugo shuts down his computer with a half-chub deflating sadly in his boxers. Brush the teeth, strip naked and slip into shorts. Bed now, night night.