Darkest Thoughts

by Gordon Brown

  New targets are found – in the park, in the mall. Trial and error as I’m dropped in as many places as they feel fit. Always figuring out the master plan. How to control me, direct me – make me work for them.

  I have no idea what people see when they look at me. There are no mirrors in my world. No dressing rooms. I am the white T-shirt and blue jean man with a beard and eyes that scare. People look away. I’ve lost weight. A lot. I can circle my upper arm with my forefinger and thumb. My hard-earned muscle is gone. I am wasting away. Deep down I know this is a one-way trip. Much more and there is no coming back.

  My teeth are loose and occasionally clumps of hair fall to the floor, and my head now feels smooth. Walking is hard. My feet blister with surprising ease. My skin splits at the slightest of contacts.

  Soon I’m moved around in a wheelchair. Soon I will die. I am a drug addict with no way back. I cannot stop, nor would they want me to. I am being primed for one last act. One major event. They won’t tell me what or when but it has to be soon.

  My body tells me this.

  Chapter 31

  ‘Craig?’

  I want the voice to stop. I want the needle to begin.

  ‘Craig?’

  The slap does little to penetrate the mist. My nerves are fried. Useless wires, dead to the touch.

  ‘Craig?’

  A needle. I’m happy.

  Then I’m not. No rush. No welcome high-voltage planet. Just awareness. Frightening awareness. Lights too bright. Sound too loud. The real world knocks hard and I don’t want it to come in.

  ‘No.’ It’s so long since I’ve used my voice that it sounds alien.

  ‘Craig. You need to come back to us.’ Lendl is standing over me. I’m Craig to him now. So nice.

  ‘No. Take me away.’

  ‘Give him another shot,’ he says.

  I try to pull away but there’s no strength in my arms.

  ‘Craig.’ A bullet in my ear. ‘Craig, are you with us?’

  ‘Yes. Please stop it.’

  ‘I can’t stop the real world, Craig. This is where most of us live all of the time. Time to wake up. No more Oz for you.’

  ‘Just one shot.’

  ‘Not going to happen.’

  I want to scream and shout. I want to vomit up the words that will make them obey but the old world is crowding out my senses – what’s left of them.

  ‘How long before we can get sense out of him?’ he asks someone.

  ‘Hard to tell. I’m amazed he’s still here.’ An unknown voice.

  ‘But he is and he’s primed.’

  ‘Yes, but much more and I think he’ll be history. Once more up the hill. Once more down and then he’s gone.’

  ‘I only need one more turn,’ says Lendl. ‘Craig, can you understand what I’m saying?’

  I nod but I’m not sure if this means yes or no.

  ‘We leave in twenty minutes. You’re about to meet two old and dear friends. Friends with a dreadful yesteryear that they share. Just do your stuff and we’re all home free. After that you can have as many shots of uppers and downers as you want.’

  I like the last bit.

  ‘But I need you to act normally for a little while. Best bib and tucker. Shave. The works. A suit. Five minutes on your feet and then it’ll all be over.’

  I am violated in this new world. Scrubbed and I bleed. Shaved and I bleed. New clothes and they cut me. The creases in the shirt staining red.

  I cry. I can do nothing but cry.

  Hands lift me. I’m dropped into a wheelchair. Strangers take me to a car. Black. Another SUV. My buttocks split as I sit on the leather. I leak fluid into my pants.

  A drive. Not long but full of pain. We stop at a ball of fire. Lights dance around doors and I’m spat from the car into the pit of hell. People around me stare but the suits rush me to the stairs and up. We plunge into a box overlooking a stage. Two chairs and a lectern sit in the centre.

  The theater fills. I wonder when the needle is coming. The sound of the crowd hurts my ears and they bleed. Silence as the lights dim. Two men walk onto the stage. Both are dressed in suits that try to hide their fat. Both men speak and both sound African. One black and one white.

  The crowd applauds at words that mean nothing to me. The men sit down. A third man walks on. He talks to each and they answer. Questions lead to questions and more applause.

  Then a suit leans towards me. The needle is back. My world returns to normal. I embrace the charge. I grab the charge.

  Chaos descends. The black man rises from the chair and leaps on the white man. They fall to the ground. A roar goes up from the audience. I don’t care. I just wrap my arms around the electricity running through my body. Sucking it in.

  Beneath me the theater begins to boil as fights break out. Violence and violence meet violence and violence. I’m a conductor in a world of pain. Directing the electricity. Sending it to the seats. Watching the people as they dance to my tune. Fists, legs, heads. Handbags, pens, hairbrushes. All weapons.

  I spray the electricity in larger waves. The noise becomes one of death. Voices way beyond the norm. Sounds that belong in a war, not downtown Tampa. People doing unto people the worst they can. A storm of hate rolling across the seats. There’s no hiding place in the hurricane. No one is untouched.

  I revel in my isolation as blood flows, blows fly and teeth bite. On the stage the black man has reduced the white man’s face to pulp. He has no intention of stopping.

  The guards – no doubt expected to intervene – have little interest in stopping the black man’s pumping fists. They’re too busy with each other. As the electricity burns bright one of them reaches out and snaps his colleague’s fingers with the ease of pulling a dead branch from a tree. He holds on to the hand, pops it into his mouth, bites down and starts chewing on the fingers.

  There’s movement from behind me. Panicked, quick movement. A needle is pressed home. I stop rising and fall back. Caught in the smooth hairless arms of the downer drug. I’m lifted from the chair and dragged down the stairs into the night. The door to the SUV is open. I’m flung inside.

  We take off, as the narcotic tells me all is right and nothing is wrong.

  ‘Fucking mess.’

  I don’t know the voice but it’s coming from the front passenger seat.

  ‘I thought he had this shit figured.’

  I can guess who he is.

  ‘Did you see what the hell was going on?’

  ‘The whole place went crazy. God knows how many are dead.’

  The words stop as the world moves sideways in an instant. The car spins and mounts the sidewalk. I’m flung against the door and bounce back, my head coming to rest on the seat.

  Warm evening air invades the car’s interior as the door is ripped open. A hand reaches around my leg and pulls. Even if I wanted to there’s nothing I can do to stop myself being hauled from the car.

  The suit next to me is trying to react but with a pop his face explodes. He bounces back, his head bursting into the car’s interior like a rotten firework. The hand keeps pulling. My skin rips.

  I bounce off the running-board and fall to the sidewalk.

  ‘Help me.’

  I recognize the voice but I’m in no position to help anyone. Arms cup under my armpits and I’m lifted. I try to place some weight on my legs but the drugs have softened my bones. I dangle.

  I see the SUV, hard against a shop window, a giant pane of glass crazed but not yet collapsed. Another car is welded to the side of the SUV. Nose in. Creating an L-shaped vehicle. The second vehicle is a pickup. Loaded into the back is a mud-splattered trail bike.

  The hands drag me to the back of the pickup and let me fall to the road. The tailgate drops above me before the bike is tugged across my line of vision. A second pop and there’s a scream. I see a gun in the hand of the man heaving the bike.

  He bounces the bike’s rear tire to the ground and guides the front tire down, inches from my head. Another pop from his
gun as the engine fires up.

  ‘Can you hold on?’ I still can’t see his face.

  Hands lift me to the bike and onto the back. The man struggles to keep the bike upright, holding me by the waist as he leaps on in front. I start to fall. He reaches round and pulls my arms around his waist. I try and snuggle in but I need his hand to keep me upright.

  ‘Shit, Craig. You need to help.’

  I realize that it’s Charlie and I grab his stomach. I don’t want to help. It’s not on my agenda. I live in the needle world and in that world people do the work. I do nothing.

  The bike leaps forward and I start to fall back. Hands whip round my arms to pull me tight. The driver lets go to change gear and grabs me after flexing the clutch. He does this three times, then he hits top gear. A set of lights flick red as we approach but he keeps on the speed and we zip through. Five blocks down he slows, taking a left – the engine moaning at the lack of gear change. If he lets me go I’ll be roadkill in seconds.

  Another turn. Another, and we hit the interstate, roaring up the on-ramp. Four junctions later we’re off and into a small town. A couple of rows of shops flicker by. Charlie forces the bike down a small road. Open fields ride beside us. A small wood drifts into view. We take a dirt track into the trees and out the other side.

  The field beyond is barren. At the edge sits a trailer. At one time it was someone’s pride and joy, now it’s slumped at an angle – silver aluminum faded to gunmetal grey.

  The man parks the bike behind the trailer and lifts me off. He carries me to the trailer door and fumbles for keys. Once inside he drops me on a foam-covered bench seat.

  I look up as Charlie leaves me on my own.

  Chapter 32

  I don’t sleep. I don’t think I can without my ‘out’ drug. The trailer is dark. I hear movement outside and the door opens. I try to smile as Charlie walks in. ‘Craig, you’re a mess.’

  I need some more liquid in my veins. Up, down or out – I don’t care. ‘You killed my wife.’

  ‘No I didn’t.’

  I want to argue but I also want drugs. ‘Got any of the stuff?’

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘You know. Needles. Drugs.’

  ‘Ain’t none of that shit in here.’

  ‘Need it.’

  ‘I’m sure you do.’

  ‘Can’t do without.’

  ‘You’ll have to.’

  Cold turkey is a phrase that means nothing to me. Words from a novel or a TV show. ‘Can’t.’

  ‘Sorry, you have no choice. Not unless you want me to take you back to your hosts?’

  I don’t and I do. ‘Something?’

  ‘I can give you Coca-Cola, food, a blanket and sympathy. How much shit have they been pumping into you?’

  ‘It’s not shit.’

  ‘Coke?’ He fetches a can and I drain it in three gulps. ‘Again.’ He hits me again and I need a third before I can talk. ‘Charlie, what happened?’

  ‘You tell me. Last I know I was running my bar and then whack, and I’m being bundled into a car and driven across most of the USA.’

  ‘Not to you. To me?’

  He sits on the bench seat opposite. ‘I’ve no idea. I’m not even sure what you are. Other than bad news.’

  ‘How did you escape?’

  ‘Carelessness. After the thing with Sharon I was taken to a new block. I’m not sure they knew what to do with me. I asked for fresh air and they assigned someone to watch me. One day they let me walk round the compound on my own. Then they stopped accompanying me. The pound was chain link and razor wire but I’ve been there before and it didn’t take much to use the metal on the bed to make a cutter. Once I had that I just picked my time and one night I never came back.’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  Charlie sits back. ‘I knew where you were. Same place they had me. I just sat it out. Took a while. I had nearly given in when you appeared. Once you hit the theater I waited. Chaos rolled out. Then you. I knew they were taking you back so I took a chance.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  I slump to one side. The craving for the drugs is building. I have no idea how bad it will get but it doesn’t feel good. Normally I’m gone by now.

  Charlie takes a blanket from an overhead cover and places it on me. It smells of damp and dirt.

  ‘Please.’

  He ignores me.

  I curl up into a ball.

  Chapter 33

  I’m bathed in sweat. My trousers are slick with urine and something else. Charlie is gone. Cans of Coke stand in a line and are backed up by large bags of chips. I’m shivering despite the warmth inside the trailer. I have a single thought. Needle world. It is all I can focus on. I try to stand up but my legs won’t carry any weight. I stuff the blanket into my mouth and bite down hard.

  I have no breath to scream. I have no way to move. I want a needle in a way that my heart needs blood. I’ll die without the drugs.

  A large packet of own-brand headache pills stands next to the Coke cans. I pick it up to discover only four pills sitting in the box. I eat them all. Crunching and chewing with the few teeth I have left.

  I curl up tight as a wave of shivering flows through me. Ice cold one moment – burning hot the next. My stomach churns and a blowtorch is lit. I vomit and the painkillers mix with the small puddle of yellow fluid as it drips from my bed.

  I stick my head into the bench seat. Driving my skull hard against the wood that lies beneath the foam. Wanting pain that will distract from the pain.

  The door opens. Charlie walks in. I see his nose wrinkle. A young woman and young man trail in after him. They seem less bothered by the smell. Both are fresh-faced and vaguely familiar. The girl has short red hair and a set of diamond-white teeth. The boy is no more than twenty. Curly hair and the same teeth as his partner. They could be the Osmonds’ grandkids.

  They get to work on me. I’m stripped and cleaned with a bowl of water and a collection of damp cloths. My wounds are bandaged. I’m given pills to swallow. The sick feeling falls away. The girl makes broth on the trailer ring and they force-feed it into me. Five glucose tablets are dessert.

  ‘What did they have you on, man?’ asks the boy.

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Not good. It’s hard to help when you don’t know what you’ve been into.’

  Not good when they take it away either.

  ‘You look as bad as I’ve seen and I’ve seen plenty,’ says the girl.

  Great.

  ‘Take these.’

  I swallow more pills and the world starts to dull.

  *

  Days start to crawl away. Twenty-four hours – each hour full of too many minutes – each minute full of too many seconds and each second lasting a week.

  The girl and boy appear twice a day, but they don’t chat much. Charlie thinks I might not die. So does the boy. The girl is not so sure. I’m with the girl.

  ‘Do you do much of this sort of thing?’ I ask them both one day.

  The girl and the boy are called Tina and Gary. Stage names.

  ‘More than we would like to. We work in a rehab clinic in Laguna Beach. You’re quite the privileged one getting house calls.’

  Long way for a house call. ‘Charlie must pay well.’

  A smile. ‘Not really his style, paying.’

  ‘You’re doing this for free?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  You have to love someone who’ll clean up your shit for free.

  Broth, pills – then solid food. The pills to dull the craving. But the craving is strong. The solid food helps. I can’t remember the last time I had any.

  *

  ‘I want to get up.’ It’s been a few days since I asked about the pay.

  ‘On you go,’ says Tina. This time she’s alone.

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Just like that.’

  ‘I could run away.’

  ‘Who cares?’

  Nice.

  I swing my legs ont
o the trailer floor. I don’t recognize them as my own. Stick-thin and white as chalk. They don’t look like they could support a balloon. I press down. Tina catches my arm as I push up. My emaciated body is less of a burden than I thought. My legs hold. Then the world spins. I fall back before I faint.

  ‘Still feel like hitting the road?’

  Funny ha ha she is.

  *

  By the end of the week I’m on my feet and able to go to the toilet for myself. Which makes Tina and Gary happier. Charlie has been noticeable by his absence.

  ‘Where’s Charlie?’ I ask Tina. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. Shoes on. Dressed. Ready to take some air.

  ‘He calls but he doesn’t say from where.’

  ‘Tell me again why you’re doing this?’

  ‘We love the job.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘You asked.’

  ‘I need some air.’

  I step out into the evening and the cool air feels like it has just leaked from heaven. I draw in a deep one and cough myself into a sitting position on the stairs that lead to the trailer door. The trees sit close by, the leaves fighting their last round against nature. Winter is nearly here. I miss not having an autumn but that’s LA for you. Then I remember I’m not in LA and that brings back Lorraine.

  ‘Can I have a mirror?’ I shout.

  Tina comes out of the trailer, rooting around in her purse. ‘Are you ready for this?’

  ‘Just give me the thing.’

  She hands me a compact. I flick it open.

  The man in the mirror is not me. My face has no substance. My cheeks look like they should meet on the inside. My eyes are sunk so deep that a baseball cap won’t be needed to keep the sun out of them. Wafer-thin parchment paper has replaced my skin – all the color of weak tea. A few tufts of white hair cling to the cratered moon that is my head. I was thinning before I met the suits but at least I could still style my hair for a night out. Now I’d be better with Pledge.

  ‘Not exactly your strong handsome type,’ I say.

  Tina smiles. There’s something familiar in the smile.