Of Violence and Cliché

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Of Violence and Cliché Page 2

by Joudrey, M. C.


  “I’m going to like spending time with you, Willie.”

  I released my grip.

  “Do you know who I am?” I asked, my rage subsiding.

  “I do.” She looked at me laconically. Her eyes wandered back towards the car, which was now a red and yellow inferno. A rogue flame found the fuel line, and within seconds the vehicle exploded. In my blind fury and confusion, I had not distanced myself enough from the blast. I was thrown off my feet and hit the asphalt with a wicked force. Again, it was lights out.

  CHAPTER 3

  Maneki

  I woke in the hospital. Mine was the only bed in the room. A doctor and nurse were standing next to my bed, quietly talking to each other when the transformations happened; the doctor changed in front of me and became a grey-coloured bear and the nurse a white sheep. I blinked my eyes hard and they looked like normal people again. Maybe I wasn’t in a hospital after all.

  “Where am I?”

  They turned to face me and were both smiling. The doctor spoke.

  “You’re at St. Michael’s and you were in a car accident. Do you remember that?”

  “I remember.”

  “You’re very lucky to be alive. You’ve sustained quite a blow to the head. We’ve done a number of tests and so far everything looks fine. There were also a number of minor lacerations and some bruising, but you should recover with some rest.”

  “How long have I been out?”

  “Most of the day. You were brought in last night.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Nine pm. There’s a clock on the wall just over there.”

  “How long do I have to stay here?”

  “Another night, maybe two. We try to monitor accident cases closely, especially when there’s any head trauma. In the meantime, just push that button beside your bed if you need anything.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The doctor left the room and the nurse changed my empty saline pouch.

  “I’ll be right back with some water.”

  And then I was alone. I was tired and my head throbbed but I was in a lot less pain than I had expected. I suspect it wasn’t just saline I was getting through my IV.

  I had trouble keeping my eyes open. I tried to wait for my water. But the white veil was too much for me. I woke almost two hours later. There was a glass of water on the table beside me. I reached for it and took a drink, but it did nothing but add to the cotton film that had covered the roof of my mouth. I set the plastic cup back on the table.

  At the foot of my bed sat an orange tabby cat, looking at me with his tail playfully curling at one side. It was strange; I hadn’t felt him jump up onto my bed, nor did I even feel him sitting there. We stared at each other for a moment. The colours of his face remained sharp and the proportions accurate. This vision wasn’t due to the morphine. The fuzzy little quadruped was almost certainly real.

  “What’s your name, fur ball?”

  “Maneki, and don’t call me fur ball.”

  I recoiled in terror, pulling my feet up as close to me as possible, away from the creature. Maybe the morphine hadn’t fully run its course.

  “You know, there was a time when I was naive enough to think human reaction to something hardly fathomable wouldn’t get old. You know what I mean? I say boo, and your skeleton bursts from your skin or some such nonsense. Millennia have come and gone, and it’s safe to say it’s getting old.”

  “What are you?”

  “A cat. Wow, for once Lamia wasn’t lying. You really did hit your head.”

  “I must be going crazy.”

  I said it out loud like the words would smother the vibrant orange creature and the power of admission would just make it disappear. It didn’t.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “The whole ‘I’m going crazy’ bit, because you see and hear a talking cat. It belittles us both.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Okay, now that I can help you with.”

  I threw my hands up in the air.

  “I’m all ears!”

  “No you’re not. Why do humans always use exaggerated idioms?”

  I just stared blankly at the creature, not even hearing the question. I could feel a large group of words trapped in my throat like a wad of over-spooned baby food, but could not find a way to spit them up.

  “Never mind. Look pal, I’m here simply because you hit your head. If you listen closely I should be able to provide some insight on what’s going on here, get it?”

  I nodded. It’s what you do in situations like these. I fidgeted in my bed and sat upright as best I could, despite the pain. I did this partly to get a better look at the cat, but more importantly to gain a little distance from it.

  “I’m a Neko. Apparently it was a Japanese chick that was the first to see one of us a few thousand years ago. Hence the term Neko, which actually just means luck.”

  The cat looked at me inquisitively to see if its words were registering in any way. It made absolutely no sense at all, but I nodded halfheartedly, hoping he’d continue.

  “As I mentioned, my name is Maneki. It is a real pleasure to meet you, William.”

  “You know my name? The woman from last night knew me too.”

  “That was Lamia, she’s a daemon and a real piece of work. We know your name and most of your life’s history. What I can’t tell you is why this is happening to you. We aren’t given that information. There are very few people like you who can see us, and we are not quite sure why this is the case. It’s not like you’ve been chosen for some quest to save the world and even if that were true, the powers that be would never tell me so, let alone that wacko Lamia. What’s even rarer is when someone starts to see us later in life, like you can, due to a bump on the head.”

  I reached up and felt the bandages around my head.

  “That’s right bucko, you hit your head and that has caused your synapses to register certain things in different ways. This has happened only a handful of times before in thousands of years, to my recollection.”

  “I hope I don’t get the pleasure of meeting more of your kind.”

  “Actually, we are very few. We’re not always cats, but usually a creature that has a naturally good rapport with people and are numerous and common, like squirrels or crows. We get assigned to a person and we’re with them for the rest of their life, be it a long one or a short one. I don’t know why, I just know I am supposed to provide you with ongoing information and stay close in order to help in some way. Truth is I don’t really bring luck. I just do my best to be helpful.”

  The cat tilted his head to one side, trying to discern the expression on my face. It licked one of its forepaws and then continued to yammer on.

  “The last guy I was assigned to was a serial killer. You might imagine it was an exciting assignment. He wasn’t much for conversation, though.”

  The cat looked out absently into the hallway.

  “You can’t ask me direct questions about the things you’re going to see.” Maneki was waiting for me to say something. I didn’t though.

  “If you do ask me direct questions about what’s really out there, well, I can’t answer them, nor can I speak about them ever again. It’s natural to want to ask, as humans are curious to a fault. But you can’t. You have to wait for me to tell you about it and you can’t ask me to elaborate on the things I’ve told you either.”

  “Seems stupid.”

  “Joke if you want to. These are the hard and fast rules.” All this talk about rules jogged my memory to what the strange woman had said to me when I was trapped in the car.

  “The half-naked woman, Lamia, she refused to help me last night.”

  I was about to formulate a question, but stopped myself before I did.

  “Well done, William. You have learned your first and most valuable lesson in this new game of ours. You may talk idly about the things you want to know but if you
phrase it in the form of a question, well, no point in being repetitive. However, you can ask me questions about unrelated or seemingly unrelated topics.” I nodded, trying to absorb the crazy details.

  “Unfortunately, Lamia is mostly an enigma to me. I do know she is the only one of her kind and she can help you in ways that I can’t, if she will help you at all.”

  The cat began to stretch his two front legs out in front of himself.

  “These late nights are killing me.”

  My head was throbbing. I remembered how the nurse and doctor had looked like animals when I had first come around. I chuckled out loud at the complete absurdity and the apparent state of my sanity.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Sorry, I was just thinking about how when I woke up tonight the nurse looked like a sheep and the doctor like a bear. I could see their animal mouths moving as they talked.”

  The cat looked at me solidly.

  “What colour were they?”

  The smile left my face.

  “The bear, I mean the doctor was grey and the nurse was white.”

  The cat looked down at his paws.

  “You’ve seen their Forms. This is rare, especially for unnatural viewers such as you. Humans don’t usually start to see Forms for many months, sometimes even years. Every human being has a Form; it is the true nature of their soul. Each Form appears as white, black, or grey. White Forms are souls that are intact, honest and pure. Their intentions are without malice and their morals are secure. Black Forms are corrupt and are the antithesis of white Forms. Greys are complicated and are either mostly pure or mostly corrupt and seldom equal on both accounts. Sadly, grey souls are turned black more often than not.”

  “Can a black Form ever become white again?”

  “William, we went over this. If you ask me a direct question I can never answer it.”

  “Not ever?”

  “No, not ever.”

  The cat yawned, curled up and closed its eyes at the foot of my bed.

  “Get some sleep, William.”

  I was aghast at the futility of my situation. I lay there thinking and watching the sleeping cat. The doctor came down the hallway and into the room. He checked the machines behind me.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired. My head hurts.”

  “Get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  The doctor turned and started to leave the room. I looked down at the cat that was in a deep sleep at my feet.

  “Oh doctor, that cat isn’t mine.”

  The doctor scanned the room, and then he looked at me with a very concerned and furrowed brow.

  “What cat?”

  CHAPTER 4

  1997 – The Louse

  If I looked a little foolish it was because I was wearing a foolish smile. In real life, no man sports a smile when he’s outnumbered. It’s only in the movies that the hero smiles as he’s about to get his ass kicked.

  I had met Loudon the Louse two nights ago in a bar. He was a small fish in a big pond of crooks. Still, he was connected to some true fellas and I figured if I landed some kind of gig with him I could work my way up, just like the swine on Bay Street.

  Loudon had invited me to a meeting, which turned out to be a street fight where I was outnumbered two to one. That’s why they call him the Louse. That’s also why I was sporting the smile I was, whereas other guys would be emptying their bowels into their Calvins. I’m a fighter and a good one, but these guys didn’t know it yet. My smile unsettled them.

  “Boy must be retarded or something, just stands there smiling. You ever see something like this before, Reggie?”

  “Never, man, never. Kid must be retarded.”

  “You retarded our something, kid? I mean, you know what this is, right? You know where you are? This isn’t the schoolyard; you’re in some serious shit here. Ain’t that right, Reggie?”

  “Serious shit!”

  “We gonna hand you your balls, boy.”

  “Juan, show him your toy, maybe that’ll clean the smile off his face.”

  Only cowards talk like this and we all know the world is full of cowards. Some like to chirp when they fight. They think it gives them an edge, puts a little fear in their opponent. Sometimes that’s true, if your opponent is just some guy who has never fought a real fight before. I knew my stupid smile was getting to them and the less I said the more they showed their weaknesses. The best fighters were always those who used basic psychology as an opener and followed through with their knuckles.

  Juan took out a six-inch folding knife with serrated teeth on the backside of the steel; a mean little instrument that he bent open to lock the blade into place. It didn’t change anything. Reggie was still my target. In a bold move, I advanced first and watched Juan step back a little. I expected this; he was the smarter of the two and let Reggie open. They might have had a chance if they came at me together, but people don’t think like that. Their egos make them think only of themselves. They want to win alone or stay safe alone.

  Reggie moved a bit better than I had initially anticipated. I caught a glimmer of his Form, a black fox. He reverted instantly back and almost connected with an admirable right cross, but his posture and positioning were poor, which left me a wide-open window to his Adam’s apple. I made good with a wrecking ball blow that finished him.

  It was just Juan and I now. His Form was boldly revealed to me as a black raccoon. I moved to him, which startled him only slightly. He couldn’t run, because he knew what the end result of that would be with Loudon, so he put the blade out in front of him for protection. I’ve seen a handful of knife fights and Juan wouldn’t fare well. He held the knife too tightly, which slows your timing if you need to shift the grip position on the handle. He also had extended his arm out in front of him, until his elbow was locked. He had no room left to thrust the blade and all I had to do was be a little creative with my footwork. I got past his knife hand and put a fist in his gut. He doubled over, bringing his arms and the knife in close to his chest. I kicked the blade out of his hand, and sent a pile driver fist into the back of his neck. I felt his vertebrae break beneath his skin with a muted cracking sound. A barely audible noise escaped Juan’s throat and he was dead before he met the dirt.

  I went over and scooped up the knife lying amongst some gravel, and made my way towards Loudon. I would have my revenge.

  “Be at the Cottonmouth Pool Hall on College tomorrow at noon.”

  The confidence in his voice abruptly halted my advance. I looked down at my chest and a glowing red dot hovered over my sternum like a common housefly. The louse had come prepared. This was an interview, and I got the job.

  The Louse drove away and I stood in silence, dumbfounded. I had been outsmarted and it was only by virtue of luck and skill that I had come out ahead. This wasn’t like Bay Street at all—you didn’t risk getting fired or losing your pride, you risked losing your life, or worse.

  A strange sound came from behind me and I turned quickly, holding the knife out in front of me. What I saw before me shook me to the very core of my being. I dropped the knife and took two slow steps backwards. It was the only time I ever backed away in my life.

  In front of me was a creature that stood like a human but looked animalistic, wolfish almost. Its eyes were cavernous yet penetrating and it made a rasping sound that quickened my blood. It was standing over Juan’s dead body, which had reverted to its raccoon Form.

  The creature looked up like it was inspecting me and then down at Juan. The creature’s hideous mouth opened wide and it began to inhale the very essence of Juan’s Form, swallowing it like fresh oxygen to the lungs. When it had absorbed all of Juan’s Form, it looked back down at the empty shell that was once his humanity.

  A guttural sound came from behind the creature and then a muffled curse. A wino was lying against the wall of the alley, drinking from his bottle. I had looked away only momentarily and then back at the creature. It had turned into a
raccoon Form, similar to Juan’s former existence, and was well on its way towards the drunk. I caught a glimpse of the drunk’s Form, a grey hound dog. The raccoon approached the man as he took a swig from his bottle, and bit him in the arm.

  “Fuckin’ brazen ‘coons! Damn things is everywhere in this city.” He threw an empty bottle at the animal but missed. The creature scurried behind a dumpster.

  I looked at the drunk and his Form had turned from grey to black.

  “That’s what they do.”

  I looked down and Maneki was circling my feet.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You’re getting better at your questions. You know why I’m here.” I’ll never get used to it; it will always be strange when that cat smiles at me.

  “Yeah well, you learn quick when you want to know about something crazy, like what I just witnessed.”

  “Right, about that. You just saw your first Shrikun.” Maneki looked up at me and waited. He was stalling to see if I’d ask the obvious question, which would stop him from ever being able to tell me what a Shrikun, or whatever he called it, was. Then I’d have to try to get it out of Lamia, and that was almost always a fruitless endeavour.

  “Good lad.”

  I smiled.

  “Shrikun appear when someone dies or is about to die. They are collectors, takers of human Forms. They can actually only take black Forms. Once a Shrikun takes a Form, they can transform into whatever Form they have acquired. You saw a black raccoon die and the Shrikun took the Form for its own use.”

  “Ugh, there is no end to this crap, Maneki.”

  The orange tabby looked at me, stone-faced.

  “No, not until you die anyway.”

  “What about me, why can’t I see my own Form?”

  “I can’t answer that. Not now or ever.”

  “Damn!”

  “You know better than to do that.”

  “I know, I know. These goddamn rules!”

  I took a deep breath and ran my hands through my hair. I cursed again under my breath and then made eye contact with the cat.

  “Stop cursing, William.”

 

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