Dark Video

by Peter Church

  Another step, then a loud crack as Alistair raised the gun above his head, firing into the darkness, the sound quickly lost in the chaos of the elements. He lowered the gun, aimed it at Devon’s chest. “One more step and I swear…”

  The rock hung in the air above Devon, his eyes wide and wild, the manic grin unmoving. He advanced.

  “Shoot him, Alistair!” screamed Terri. “He’s crazy. Shoot him!”

  “Shoot me! Shoot me!”

  Alistair aimed and fired. Devon halted in his tracks, dropped one hand, held the rock above his head with the other.

  “Oh dear,” said Devon. “You missed. Take another shot. Aim carefully this time.”

  Alistair fired again. Devon didn’t flinch.

  “Not a very good shot, Alesandro,” Devon laughed, patting his body for bullet wounds. “Three more…”

  Alistair and Terri took a step backwards. One step closer to the edge. The gun sunk down to Alistair’s side, resigned. Devon had stitched him up.

  “And now?” laughed Devon. “Giving up?” Devon hurled the boulder sideways; it pitched and rolled over the edge, disappeared into the void below, lost in the sound of the roaring sea.

  “Devon,” said Alistair, voice barely audible. “Don’t do this.”

  “Isn’t this what you planned? You and that little bitch. Fuck, Alesandro. The first girl you’ve ever loved. Surprise! I read your little note. I knew she was going to be trouble,”

  You’re the first girl I have ever loved. He’d meant it. He could feel it now course through him as she clung to him in fear, emotion bursting from him. Anger? Fear? Or the realization that he might never fulfill that love?

  The moment of impact, as the cameras rolled.

  “Your faces!” Devon shouted. “Priceless! Let me guess what you’re thinking now, lover boy. If I placed the letter under the door then, yes, I read the other letter. A sorry little confession. For attention, the authorities. Who’re the fucking authorities? They never helped me.”

  Alistair felt a sudden fury overwhelm. He raised the gun again and fired the remaining blanks into the air, venting his rage. The sound vanished into the night, Devon laughing hysterically as Alistair tossed the impotent gun to the ground.

  “The look in your eyes, it’s beautiful…The anger, the helplessness. What’s going on? Why can’t you think straight? You think I’d give you a gun with live bullets? You’ve been taking too many pills, my friend. They’ve distorted your reality.” Devon’s voice dripped with glee. “And that, my stars, is the end of scene one.”

  Devon reached behind him, pulled out the second .38 Special from the back of his pants. He was calmer now, more subdued. “Now for scene two. Either of you ever seen someone shot before? A real shooting? Watched a bullet hit a body in slow motion? There’s no blood spurting. Not like the movies. You see nothing. But if you watch the face…I’m shot! People pay millions for that. I’m going to show you, Terri. This gun’s got real bullets. You can have the honor of watching me shoot your boyfriend. You can see the expression on his face.”

  Terri’s hand searched for Alistair’s as she clung to him.

  Devon released the gun barrel, popped out a bullet and held it up before them, then tossed it at their feet. “Take a look if you want, Terri. Picture the bullet ripping into Alistair’s flesh, tearing at his body…”

  “No!” Terri screamed. “Please don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt us.”

  “That’s more like it, girl. Bring out the drama. Now, Alesandro, you got any final wishes? Perhaps a confession—or regrets for your actions? Don’t worry, I’ll edit it.”

  Terri threw her arms around Alistair, her head buried into his chest. “We must get away,” she whispered.

  “There’s no way out. There are cliffs on both sides.”

  “Just jump then…”

  “What are you two whispering about?” Devon shouted. “Thinking up a good line? Thinking of an apology?”

  Alistair heard the voice of his father.

  Oh Allie…

  No, Dad. No. Don’t go so close to the edge.

  Nonsense, it’s fine!

  “Say something, Alistair! Say you’re sorry!” The glee from Devon’s interrogation had suddenly vanished, replaced with rage, sadness. “We could have been such a good team. I’ve watched you closely. I know you so well—I’ve loved you…”

  “Jesus, Devon.”

  “Not my first, but a love. You would never have known. Too oblivious, too self centered. All the little things I’ve done for you have had meaning…”

  Alistair wasn’t sure of what he was hearing. Devon’s voice had quietened, the wind stealing his words into the night. Could this be true? Was this final confirmation of his madness, of his fracture from reality? Perhaps he wasn’t here; this wasn’t happening to him, the ultimate bad dream.

  Dad, no please. You’re too close.

  Too close? I’m miles away!

  The cocking of the gun barrel snapped him back.

  “Surely you two want to know the script, what happens next? It’s the Dice Man. A roll of the dice to decide. Let’s see. One, I shoot Alistair while Terri watches. Two, I shoot Terri while Alistair watches. Three, I shoot you both simultaneously. Four, I crush your heads with this rock. Five, can’t think of anything…”

  Alistair shook his head.

  Concentrate, he implored, delving into his confused mind. Keep thinking.

  “Devon, we can work something out, speak to Carlos. We must let Terri go. I’ll buy back the video. No matter what the cost.”

  Devon laughed.

  “You’re a real operator, Alesandro. Now the chips are down, you negotiate. How about Five, I let you both go. It’s a one-in-six chance. Russian Roulette.”

  “You’re fucking insane, Devon.”

  “Such language. Not like you, Alesandro. You’ll be sorry you said that. No more negotiations, then. Six, I push you off the cliff.”

  Don’t step back. Dad! Please!

  Oh, oh. No!

  “Not the cliff!” screamed Alistair. “Please, Devon. Anything but the cliff.”

  Devon’s face lit up. Alistair touched Terri’s hand.

  “Of course,” Devon cried, his face lighting up. “You’re scared of heights, Alesandro. An incident in the past. Funny how our past haunts us, isn’t it? OK. Scrap the cliff. I’ll think of something.”

  “You’re crazy,” screamed Terri.

  “Crazy? I’ll show you crazy. Six, push both of you off.” Devon shook his head from side to side, spread his arms wide. “Can a crazy person weave such an intricate plot as this? Can he achieve what I’ve achieved in the last year? Do you know who put Johnny onto Mangle?”

  Mangle, Dark Video, thought Alistair. What was real?

  “Me!” Devon continued. “Because I’m fucking Mangle. Now, you didn’t know that, did you, Alesandro? I’ve been playing everyone! Carlos, Johnny, Richard, you…”

  The whipping wind dropped suddenly, a cloud shifted and a sliver of moon sliced through the darkness.

  “I am Mangle,” Devon repeated. “And soon I’ll be Dark Video.”

  “Carlos will get you,” Alistair said softly, trying to distract Devon, trying to keep the conversation going.

  Devon sneered. “Carlos is the shit on my shoes and I’m going to take him down.”

  “But no one knows where he lives…”

  “That’s what he thinks, too! But we found him. In Seattle. And when I’m done here, I’m going to pay him a visit and introduce him to my friend here.” Devon waved the gun in the air. “And then I’m going after his clients. A crusade, if you will.”

  “How much, Devon? How much is it worth, Dark Video?”

  “Money. You think I did it for the money?” Devon seemed to relax. “It doesn’t hurt though. Dollars! Five hundred for Grey Suit, fifty for Brain Drain, fifty or a hundred for this one. Maybe something extra from Terri’s private client?”

  Dad!

  You should have seen your face, Ali
stair! You should have seen the expression on your face when you thought I’d gone over. Alistair?

  “Devon. You can’t do this. I want to get off this cliff now.”

  The wind had returned, sand stinging their legs, Alistair and Terri braced against its force.

  Devon wiped his fringe from his face and checked his watch.

  “Four minutes and counting. A bestseller is less than five minutes long. Just enough tension….Otherwise the client’s interest wanes. They fast-forward.”

  “You’ll be caught, Devon. People know we’re here.”

  “Who cares?” He reached into his pocket and flashed an air ticket. “Cape Town to Seattle via London, leaving this morning. Then a hired car to Yarrow Point. I’ll be Dark Video in no time. I’ll have the list of every sick fucking person in the world.”

  “You’re the sick one!”

  Devon’s grin disappeared again. “I’m sick? Don’t antagonize me, Alesandro. There’s always the cliff. Let me tell you something. Sick is a man who burns a boy with a cigar, who films it, who shows it to his friends. The guy who runs Dark Video is sick. Dark Video’s clients are sick…”

  “But you want to take over from Carlos?”

  “You stupid fool. Haven’t you worked it out yet? I’ve been making videos to fund my crusade. The irony is glorious: Dark Video’s clients are paying for their own deaths. Two gone so far—their mistake to sign with Mangle as well. And when I own Dark Video, I’ll have all the names. No one will be safe.”

  “It’s not true,” said Terri, her voice strong. “You’re continuing the cycle. You’re doing to others what has been done to you.”

  Devon’s smile returned. “Isn’t that the scripture? Do unto others… No matter. I’ve come to enjoy seeing my own expression on the face of others. Their moment of terror is my moment shared. The man who burnt me with a cigar and showed the world; he is everywhere. I’ll find him. I’ll find them all.”

  “Devon. Let us help you,” pleaded Terri.

  “Let us? Us? You’re a couple now? But you can’t help yourselves. It could’ve been different, Alesandro. It could’ve been…”

  “Please don’t hurt us,” she continued.

  “Alesandro, you and I had something…”

  “You disgust me!” Alistair shouted.

  “Please, Devon, please!” Terri begged.

  “Oh. I like that. I like pleading. You don’t need a script in this business. It’s perfect. I disgust you? Alistair, you’re so brave…” Devon paused, closed his eyes. “You had everything. Now you’ll find out what it feels like to be the burned boy.”

  “No, please. Not the cliff, Devon, please.” Alistair fell down on his knees.

  “Get up. For god’s sake, Alistair, get up,” said Terri, pulling at his arm. She looked down at him; his blue eyes were clear and sparkling.

  “Shut the fuck up!” shouted Devon. He raised the gun, took a step forward.

  “You’re disgusting, Devon! You’re insane, you killed your own lover, you’re a murderer.” Alistair scrambled back a pace, looked nervously behind him, clutching Terri’s arm.

  Devon stopped, laughed out aloud. “Brilliant. You’ve given me the title of the video: Fear of Heights. Keep going!”

  “No, Devon. Not the cliff!”

  “Please, Devon. He’s pulling me,” Terri screamed. “Not the cliff! He’s terrified of heights.”

  “Keep going!” Devon gestured with the gun. “Keep going. I love it!”

  How did you know where it was, Dad? How did you know without looking? If you’d missed it by a meter, you would have been over the edge.”

  Easy, son. You line up the cairn of stones with the beacon. The center is the ledge.

  “No!” screamed Alistair. The silhouette of the beacon threw a diagonal line toward the cairn.

  “Beautiful! Beautiful! This is fear, this is Hollywood. Farewell, lovers.” Devon banged on his chest.

  Alistair and Terri reached the edge of the precipice.

  “Go! Jump!”

  They stepped back, tottered, and fell backwards.

  The wind whipping over the edge of the cliff roared with a life of its own, pummeling them in the darkness. Below them, the sea raged, thundering against the rocks. Terri and Alistair sat holding each other tightly, not wanting to let go, never wanting to let go.

  Then a scream nearby, wild and incoherent, and an object plummeted over the sandy ledge, flailing into the night, the terror in their ears for an instant—before the sound was lost in the wind.

  “What was that?” Terri whispered.

  “Shhh!”

  They heard a high pitched whistle, a sea shanty. “What can we do with a drunken sailor? What can we do with a drunken sailor…”

  Terri and Alistair pressed flush against the cliff. Alistair’s thoughts swam with images of the raging sea below. Would he look over the edge?

  “Eh, Carlos?”

  The voice crackled over the line: “Yes.”

  “It’s the Chestwound here, man.”

  Warnabrother had to shout into the cellphone to be heard above the buffeting wind.

  “Samuel. Not the best time to be calling…” He’d just watched the wife hightailing it out the drive, baby in tow. Turned out she didn’t have the fortitude of the first wife. First time she’d taken a fist and she was running off to her folks. “This better be good.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll ’preciate this call.”

  “Where are you anyway? What’s that noise?”

  “It’s the sea, man. And the wind. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you but it’s fucking Wuthering Heights here. I been sweeping up.”

  “And?” This had better be good, thought Carlos as he ran a hand down his bare chest. Goddamned ingrown hairs everywhere.

  “Your boy, with the polo neck—I been following him. He led me to the golden boy, you know? And I must say the little golden girl, in person, she’s very tidy too. If she weren’t so pale…”

  “The news, Samuel, the news.”

  “So anyway. As I see it. Polo neck boy is all set to do the sweeping himself. He’s got a gun. And he’s got the goldies backed against the cliff, right. Then he starts to give ’em a little confession.”

  “Confession?” Carlos looked at himself in the full length mirror. Thousands on laser already and the fucking hair was everywhere.

  “Yeah. Turns out he’s the sick motherfucker that’s been taking out our clients. If you know what I mean.”

  “Go on…”

  “And then he says…” Warnabrother broke into a dry laugh. “He’s freaking Mangle and he’s gonna get on a plane to Seattle and come see you personally, like. You know. As in, see you.”

  “My, my…” Carlos wiggled his limp member in his hand. He checked himself again in the mirror, felt the organ move. I like the hair, he told himself.

  “So here’s the funny bit. After he’s seen goldies over the hill and into the sea, he steps forward to like admire his handiwork. I see my window of opportunity and I grab him from behind. PUSH. SHOVE. Oops, over you go, polo neck boy.”

  “So there are three cracked eggs, I take it.” Carlos felt himself growing, slipped his hand down.

  “Right. But you shoulda seen his surprise. It was beautiful, man. I spun him around, let him work it out for a second. If I coulda taken a picture of his face, I tell you.”

  “Good work, Samuel. And the bodies?”

  “Man, you gotta see this place. Down below there’s a pool more wicked than a witch’s cauldron. It’s a fucking blender down there.”

  “I like it. I like it.” Carlos increased the tempo.

  “And here’s for the very good part…”

  “There’s more?”

  “You betcha. And this part’s so good, you’re gonna want to put me on that Caribbean cruise with ten of them pretty girls I been telling you about.”

  “I can’t wait.” Carlos had a rhythm going.

  “The little beauty, polo neck boy, he filme
d the whole fucking thing! Fear of Heights!”

  “Beautiful. Bring it to me when you return. I’ve got to go.”

  The call cut off. Carlos looked down. He didn’t need that bitch anyway.

  Terri shivered on the ledge. Alistair pulled her head against his chest, rocking her.

  “Shhh.”

  Above their heads, the whistling started up again, before disappearing into the wind. “Shave his belly with a rusty razor, shave his belly with a rusty razor…”

  THE VOYEUR

  John Morgan checked through his diary. Two board meetings, a golf day, a day trip to Durban, family dinner, lunch with colleagues. A busy week ahead—as per usual.

  He pushed his chair back and rubbed his hand across his face, surveying his office domain: plush leather chairs, dark mahogany bookcase, thick oak door, closed, heavy burgundy drapes, drawn.

  The flickering screen on his computer monitor showed a young girl naked in a forest; she was trying to retrieve her shorts from the branch of a tree. Morgan licked his lips, looked away, and closed his eyes. He’d watched the clip a hundred times. Her beautiful, anguished face was imprinted in his desire; perfect little body, taut ass as she strained on her tiptoes. He wondered who she was, where she was from. She could be on the other side of the world, for all he knew, or the girl next door—Carlos never gave away his operational details, no matter how much he pried. But he had promised him a keepsake, a piece of her clothing for his collection.

  Beyond the room he could hear music filtering down the corridor—Glenda playing music in the living room. Her eyes would no doubt be closed, lips moving slowly with the words, lost in another world, years gone by, little children’s voices tinkling, clinging onto the hem of her skirt. His precious Glenda.

  He reached down to open a drawer, extracted a Cuban cigar from a wooden box. Clipped and lit, he sucked quickly to ignite the draw. His eye had caught an overturned photo frame in the drawer. He lifted it out, placed it on the desk: a color picture of him with Alistair, no older than eight, side by side; a contrast between the dark tanned features of the father and the golden sunshine hue of the only son. Alistair would be arriving soon from Cape Town, a welcome last-minute visit. Something important to discuss with him in person. Cloak and dagger stuff clearly…