by Shawn Mackey
“I'll fix things, pal,” I said with all the assurance I could muster. “That's a promise.”
He hadn't stirred. I lingered for a brief moment before leaving the room and locating a stairway at the end of the hallway. At the bottom was the exit. I opened the door to find the street full of life once again. Behind the hospital where I had seen Shadow, I spotted a small park across the street. Wary of some kind of trap and also slightly nervous, I carefully made my way. Although I rarely had trouble facing danger head on, this was another case. My life wasn't at stake, but rather something else was that I couldn't quite place.
Shadow watched me from a bench, despite his lack of facial features. He tilted his hat in greeting, patting the open space next to him. A thin slit formed where his mouth should have been, creating a tiny opening darker than his pitch countenance. Strained breathing heaved from the orifice. It took every ounce of my willpower to suppress all signs of fear. This creature thrived on it.
“I knew you'd come,” he wheezed. Shadow sounded like he had smoked a lot of cigarettes. “How's our friend holding up?”
“What do you want?” I said, sitting down. His friendly tone irked the hell out of me. He chuckled heartily at the fact.
“Why the rush? Neither of us are going anywhere for a while,” he said. “Let's chat.”
“Chat?” I chuckled. “Sure. Why not? As long as you put an end to this farce. I don't care for this city.”
“Are you implying I created this?” he asked, motioning to the dark sky. “My friend, I'm the same as you.”
“Maybe so,” I said, though unable to completely believe him. “But there's one difference.”
“That's right,” he butt in. “You exist to foil me at every turn.”
“I could say the same for you.”
“Of course,” he said, laughing. It was a truly ugly noise. “And by the record so far, I'd say we're about even. I bump in the night and you rock the cradle. But not this time. I know you can sense it. I can practically feel your anxiety.”
“It is different.”
“He's not going to wake up,” he went on. “And all this will belong to me. It’s only a matter of time before I blot out the moon.”
“I'm not afraid.”
“Why should you be? You see the light in darkness, just as I see the darkness in light. You don't need the sun to find your way. And you will find me. It all ends tonight, old friend. My only friend.”
“I suppose you're my only friend, too. I'll miss you when you're gone.”
“There's no need for sarcasm,” he said. “After all, we've been through so much. Have you ever wondered why?”
“Too often.”
“I once thought we were gods. Too much time in the minds of men stripped us of our omnipotence. Until now, I've felt my power waning, as though I were at the whim of a force stronger than myself. Stronger than you. I can't pinpoint the moment—”
“The bridge,” I broke in. The words flowed from my mouth. I didn't mean to speak them aloud. “You nearly had me. I was ready to jump to my death. And for what?”
“Angela,” he said. I sensed mockery in his tone, though I may have imagined it. “You truly believe yourself to be a man lost in dreams?”
“Or a dream that believes he's a man.”
“These questions also plagued me,” he said. “I came to terms with it a long time ago. My only relief from this torment is in the suffering of men. To spread misery in their dreams is to spread misery into their lives. A miserable life leads to miserable dreams. This cycle will lead to a nightmarish world. One meant only for me.”
“You're nothing but a parasite.”
“This is no mind game, old friend. The bridge may have been a facade, but this is truth.”
“Then why continue spreading misery?”
“Tears and despair are my sustenance, just as smiles and hope are yours. It is what it is.”
“So you're content being a pawn.”
“Maybe so,” he said, standing. “Maybe after I devour you, I'll inherit a bit of your optimism. Maybe I'll spread some of your cheer. Or maybe I'll continue blackening the hearts of men.”
“There's no use speculating,” I said, standing as well. “You won't exist after tonight. I'll make sure of it.”
“That wouldn't be a disagreeable outcome,” he said, walking away. With every step, the ground sizzled and emitted steam. “You know where to find me, old friend.”
The moon flickered and the street lights died. The people stumbled around the dark in a mindless haze. Shadow had disappeared into a large crowd, his confident gait riling my fury. He was as lost as me in this twisted world, yet he thrived in its desolation. I admit, in that moment, my contempt was primarily induced by envy.
I thought of returning to the hospital. As I started toward the entrance, I raised my fist and slammed it into the wall. In a spiteful curse, I wished with all my heart that Jimmy would die.
The surrounding darkness had become something palpable. The city could no longer be referred to as a dream. It was a nightmare.
My enemy now had a name. I always considered the malicious entity a moderate threat at worst and a minor nuisance on most occasions, and I had had difficulty directing my contempt at a living mass of goo. The black slime was more of a meddlesome insect than a human being. Giving the creature a face and voice provided my hatred a necessary outlet. Declaring Shadow as my enemy filled me with a newfound sense of satisfaction.
I sat at the bench, twiddling my fingers in a weak attempt to curb my violent thoughts. What was the best method to kill Shadow? It was unfortunate for him to have taken the form of a man. Men can comprehend the concept of pain and know the fear of death. The long night would leave ample opportunity for torture. I'd turn the nightmare on its head. The prospect left me so excited, I needed to get on my feet and walk around.
Shadow had deprived me of my last hope. The confrontation with Angela on the bridge had been a deception, though my feelings had been genuine. I don't doubt something, whether the glimmer in her eyes or the curls of her hair, awakened a deep sense of recognition. Shadow had taken hold of the false Angela like a parasite, devouring her in a moment of instability. I would have met the same fate if the dream hadn’t ended.
I found comfort in this black world. It was wholly consumed by darkness, only the vague outlines of buildings and mindless wanderers remained. Despite the bleak setting, I was content living in a place that wasn't ephemeral. For the moment, I had a home.
And Shadow had the gall to claim it as his own. Thinking about this outrage made my blood boil. Did all things desolate and depraved belong to him? I'd rather be the villain. Altruism had left me ruined. An eternity of charity and sacrifice with no end in sight. This pitiful existence had either robbed me of my scruples, or my patience had finally run dry.
I traveled to the hospital to find Jimmy. The scenario called for drastic measures. What those measures entailed was unknown to me at the moment. I climbed the stairs and walked straight into his room. I was shocked to find the clear fluid pumping through the IV was now an oily black.
I tore the needle from his arm and kicked the device across the room. A dozen doctors and nurses burst through the door, shouting inanely as I tried to tear the breathing apparatus from his throat. I slugged one of the doctors so hard across the face his jaw shattered.
“None of this is real!” I shouted, tossing another doctor to the side. Three more grabbed me by the shoulders and neck. I continued to ramble: “None of you are real! You're nothing but a bunch of damned fools! Do you hear me, Jimmy? Wake up, you dumb bastard!”
My thrashing did nothing to hinder the assault, nor did it rouse the comatose Jimmy. I briefly felt myself being carried, then tossed by an immense strength. The window shattered, leaving me and a thousand glass shards plunging to the street below. The pavement came closer and closer until there was no ground. I lost consciousness.
-
The Clover Pub was packed to capac
ity. It was a seedy hole in the wall, though some described a tinge of classiness during its peak hours. The most enthusiastic advocate of the latter gulped down his fourth shot of cheap bourbon, eyeing the bartender's generous helping of cleavage. She worked extra hard on Saturday nights, which meant that bust was extra bouncy.
Because of the perfect view of those mountains of joy, he claimed to have the best seat in the house. Of course, this was his private reason. When asked by his girlfriend why he asserted the boast every Saturday, his reply was always the same.
"I get to sit front and center with you and my best pal," he said. "My two favorite people in the world. What more can a man ask for?"
He drank her idle shot of whiskey, waiting patiently for the next round. He had given Jimmy a wad of bills at the beginning of the night, ordering him to bring their table drinks whenever signaled. He slipped in a little extra as a nice way of saying: "Get the drinks, but leave us the hell alone." He felt the tip necessary, seeing as how Jimmy already took enough abuse. Also, it was much cheaper than tipping a waitress.
"Where is that scrawny bastard?" he grumbled.
"Michael," his girlfriend scolded, lifting her empty shot glass. "I was about to drink that."
"Relax," he said, plucking it from her hand and sliding it toward the other empty glasses. "There's more on the way. That's if Jimmy hurries up."
"We've only been here for twenty minutes. Are you planning on drinking this place dry?" she asked. He gave a slight nod in reply.
Jimmy came hustling toward their table with a tray full of drinks. Three more shots of whiskey, as well as three martinis. He grinned at Michael, who rolled his eyes and twirled his finger.
"That's it for now," he said, feigning a smile. Jimmy shrugged and returned to the bar counter. Michael passed around the drinks, noticing the disinterest in his friend's listless gaze. "What's the matter, Jake? You look bored. No good-looking broads out there tonight?"
"Broads," Jake repeated with a snort. "Sorry, Mikey. I've got something on my mind. I don't really want to bore you and Angela. It's work related."
"Good," Michael said. "Nobody wants to hear about your stupid job."
"I do," Angela said.
"I'm working on a medication for insomniacs. It's still in the developmental stage, but the results are positive so far. If it's approved, say good-bye to sleeping problems. If it fails," Jake finished with a shrug.
"Sounds like some groundbreaking stuff," Angela said, sipping her martini. "How does the medicine work exactly?"
"Well," he said, sighing. It was awhile before he reluctantly continued: "Calling it a medication may be oversimplifying. I can't think of any other way to classify it without sounding outlandish."
"What the hell do you mean by outlandish?" Michael asked.
"There's a reason it's classified," Jake said, his irritation more than obvious.
"You don't need to explain," Angela said. "I really hope it's a success. You deserve it."
"Thanks," Jake said sheepishly. Michael grinned and lifted his shot of whiskey.
"Let's drink to that!" he said. The three tapped their drinks in a toast and gulped down the liquor, slamming the empty glasses onto the table in perfect synchronization.
"Glad I didn't ruin the mood," Jake said, chasing the whiskey with his martini. "Sorry if I came off as a bore. I had a bad day."
"At least it’s almost over," Michael said, motioning toward Jimmy as the errand boy glanced over his shoulder. He held up three fingers.
"Why don't you just invite him over?" Angela asked.
"You'd regret that five minutes after he sits down," Michael replied. "He's one of those types."
"I guess that's also work related?" Angela said scornfully. Michael acknowledged her haughtiness with a mocking grin.
Jimmy returned with a tray full of six shots. The three had one more drink together. As Michael reached for another, his girlfriend seized him by the wrist.
"But they're already paid for," he said. She shook her head. He snarled, whipped his hand free, and finished the tray one after the other.
"You're an idiot," Jake said, chuckling.
"I'm glad," Angela said, smiling sardonically. "I give him an hour until he passes out."
"Only an hour?" Michael said, planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek. He ran his hand through her curly hair as he pressed his lips against her neck. She inched away in disgust.
"Better get a cab," Angela said. "I'm going home in a few minutes."
"Keep the bed warm for me," Michael said.
"I think you mean the couch."
"Angela," he whined. She shook her head with a wry smile. Michael also shook his head and said: "You'll be at work by the time I get home anyway. I've got a busy night ahead of me."
"Make sure he gets home in one piece," Angela whispered into Jake's ear. He nodded, eyeing his red-faced friend apprehensively.
"I know how to get home," Michael said. "Only a chump wastes money on a cab."
"It's a lot cheaper to call me instead," Jake said.
"Come on, Angela," Michael said, grabbing her coattails as she stood. "One more drink?"
"I have work in the morning," she said, slapping his hand away. "Why don't you ask your friend over there to join you? I'd rather not be here to see a drunken mess."
"Take care," Jake said as Angela kissed him on the cheek.
"Always nice to see you," she said, leaving the table with a smile. "Don't let Michael get too out of control."
The two men sat in silence. Michael finished the last of his martini, wondering if his girlfriend really intended to sleep alone that night. He hated the couch. It left him tossing and turning, usually toppling to the floor. Worst of all, Angela's cat had no problem leaping on top of him at random.
"Hey," Jake said. Michael cocked his head in attention. "This place is pretty lame tonight. Want to try some other place? I know a good one, not too far from here. We can be there in twenty minutes."
"As long as you're driving," he muttered.
Michael nodded at Jimmy before following Jake out the door. They were supposed to meet in two hours at a location he'd already forgotten. Instead of asking his partner for a reminder, he stumbled out the door in a stupor, wobbling closely behind Jake. A wave of intoxication swiftly overwhelmed his entire body, apparent by his glowing red cheeks and wide grin.
The ride was longer than twenty minutes. By the time Michael snapped out of his daze, he noticed a familiar street sign. Seconds later, they pulled into Jake's driveway. He sat there silently, pondering the reason for the pit stop. Judging by his friend's grave expression, it was something dire.
"Get out," Jake said. He opened the door and waved impatiently at Michael. "I have something to show you."
"Why the secrecy? You could've told me before we left the bar. What's with that look? You're killing my buzz."
"Come on," Jake nearly shouted. With a grunt, Michael got out of the car and stormed across the lawn.
"Hurry it up. I've got somewhere to be," he said. Jake unlocked the front door, his expression growing increasingly grim. Michael sighed and muttered: "But not anytime soon. I'm sorry, pal, but you know I hate surprises."
"I'm the one that should be sorry. I dragged you all the way down here," Jake said, flicking on the light switch. They passed through the kitchen, immaculate as always, and straight toward the basement door. "Hold on a second."
"This is the lab, isn't it? You mean you actually want me to go down here? After what happened last time?"
"I need you to promise me you won't tell anyone what I'm about to show you. Not even Angela."
"Yeah, sure. Now let's hurry it up. I can't handle suspense."
Jake hit the light switch and carefully opened the door. He slowly crept down the stairs, briefly pausing midway. At the bottom, he hit another switch, illuminating the entire room. The bright light temporarily blinded Michael, mostly due to the pristine white floors and walls. The laboratory’s sterilized atmosphere, both
spotless and odorless, never ceased to disturb him. His drunken state helped ease the slight sense of dread, but a tiny chill ran down his spine.
The laboratory was stocked with equipment on one side, while the other was filled with shelves packed with notebooks and various charts. The desk was uncharacteristically cluttered with papers. Jake walked straight toward a table in the far right corner with a large box on top and a heavy blanket draped over it. Michael stood by his side as Jake prepared to lift the cover.
"Don't move," Jake said quietly. "Sudden movements will startle it. You don't want to startle it. Trust me."
"Hurry up," Michael said.
Both men shook with excitement. Until seeing the covered box, Michael considered the whole matter a minor annoyance. His chest heaved with each nervous breath, stricken with anticipation as Jake's trembling fingers slowly peeled away the blanket.
The transparent container allowed a clear view of its contents. Michael mistook the substance inside for liquefied tar. Within the span of a blink, the goo sprang to life, extending a thin tendril and smacking it wildly against the container's surface. It swirled and churned, forming a dozen more tiny tentacles, which it flailed around as if to reach out for the two men. Despite Jake's earlier plea, Michael took a step back.
"Start explaining," he said, his voice quaking. "Jake!"
"Calm down," Jake growled. The black goo smacked the container with so much force it seemed about to burst from its prison. "All right," Jake said, tossing the blanket back over the container.
"That's not what I was expecting," Michael said, sighing, when whatever was under the blanket ceased thrashing.
"I'm sorry," Jake said quietly. "I had to show someone. I mean, an actual person, not just a monkey in a lab coat."
"It's okay, pal," Michael said, gripping his friend's shoulder. "Let's go upstairs. You can make me some coffee and we'll discuss," he paused, "whatever that is. I'll feel a lot safer in your kitchen."
They wasted no time leaving the basement. Michael patiently waited for Jake to bring him a cup of fresh coffee. The smell wasn't nearly as sobering as the creature residing below. Between the alcohol lingering in his belly and the grotesque sight, he fought the urge to vomit.