Darkside 1

by Aaron K Carter

  “Nor did Logan, they’ll be fine, now do you want to help him or not?” I ask, folding my arms. She’d better not be thinking of going and telling that I’m here. that wouldn’t do at all.

  “All right,” she pulls off her blouse as I bend to undress the other medic, “But you shouldn’t have done that, what got into you?”

  “They’ll be fine, I used to do it to my brothers all the time when I wanted a little peace and quiet,” yes, Card School of Asphyxiation has been in session for quite some time.

  “That’s horrible, Titus, you shouldn’t,” she says, still looking disgusted but not sure what to do.

  “Yeah, well, I probably shouldn’t do a lot of things,” like murder people. Oh well. naughty me.

  “Let’s just go find him,” she says, taking an ID badge and pushing past me to badge into the hospital.

  “Oh, don’t be cross,” I say, annoyed she’s so upset with me. and here I was hoping this would be an excellent chance to make a pass at her.

  “I shall be if I like that was wrong now those two will get in trouble,” she says, as we hurry down the hall, our heads down and out of view of the cameras. Good thing we all look rather alike with our matching crew cuts.

  “I’m already spending the night in the brig for something I didn’t do,” I say, self-righteously.

  “You completely did that!” she hisses. Oh, I was hoping she’d forgotten that.

  “All right, so I did, but I was in the brig last night for something I didn’t do, you should feel sorry for me,” you really ought to kiss me.

  “I shouldn’t, I think you want to end up in there, the way you act,” she says.

  “I’m used to it,” I mutter.

  “What?” she asks, turning.

  “Won’t you kiss me?” I ask, holding my arms open.

  “You’re mental,” she says, staring at me.

  “It was an honest request,” I say.

  “Not the request, that we’re breaking into a hospital to get our friend out and that’s when you decide to ask for a kiss,” she says, annoyed. but she hasn’t said she won’t.

  “So, to be clear, is that a no?” I ask, cocking my head pitifully.

  “Yes, to be clear, that is a no,” she says, shaking her head at me.

  “I really wish you would,” I say, following her down the hall.

  “Why?” she asks.

  “I think I’d enjoy it,” I say.

  “Oh, do you?” she scoffs.

  “Yes, yes I do, and I’d like to keep the option open for the rest of the day if you wouldn’t mind,” I say.

  “No, doesn’t bother me a bit, but I’m not kissing you,” she says. I love her for it.

  “Why? Because I smother people and hang flags upside down?” I ask, “Or because I’m a civilian and have never been to University?”

  “No,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “No to which one I said four things?” I ask, innocently.

  “No all four, that’s not why I won’t kiss you,” she says.

  “Why? I worship you,” I say, honestly.

  “Because of that because---,” she stops, “Because you’re beautiful---and different, and you’re not like anything else that walks this earth---you’re not real Titus.”

  “I’m very real,” I say, stepping closer to her.

  “No, I’m sure you’re not,” she says, shaking her head and continuing walking.

  “That is without substance or meaning, do define it for me. I can aspire to be anything in this world and do believe I can achieve anything. and I would very much like to be the man you would kiss,” I say.

  “Can we continue this conversation later?” she hisses, stopping short as a couple of nurses pass us, they barely glance our way, though of course we blend in and of course our conversation probably does too.

  “I’d be happy to at any time you’re free,” I say, “But as I’ll be in the brig tonight it might be better if we did it before then. Then I can focus all night on the suggestions you’ve given me.”

  “I’m not giving you suggestions,” she says, dismissively, not looking at me.

  “Then it’s going to be very hard to win your heart, I must say,” I inform her. she really doesn’t seem to get where I’m going with this. She could be more on board.

  “IDMT is right there, now do you want to get Logan out or not?” she asks.

  “I’d much rather kiss you,” I say.

  “We can’t always have what we want in life,” she says.

  “No, but I’ll always want you, for my whole life,” he says. I want to kiss him now more than ever. but I don’t. because Logan is in there and this is insane and he is insane.

  “Come on,” I say, tugging him across the hall to the IDMT doors.

  “Just a minute, still got a few on the juice, what seems to be wrong my pretties?” the good doctor taps at his tablet and barely glances up at us.

  “We’re here for our wingman,” I say, keeping well clear of him.

  “Come on in and tell me all about it,” he says.

  “We’re not taking any of your truth juice, Marrow,” I say, back around the corner of the room.

  “I’d love some,” Titus says, walking straight up to him.

  “Really, lovely, let’s get you on the juice, my boy---” the doctor pulls a syringe from his pocket and with frightening speed Titus grabs his hand twists it back, forcing the doctor to inject himself. In the mouth. In the tongue. Yes, it was very disgusting.

  “Well played,” I say, stepping over the doctor as Titus lowers him to the ground, rifling his coat for another syringe full to inject, this time into his neck.

  “Thank you, that should keep him out for a while,” Titus says, standing. “He got a good look at us, do you think he’ll tell the MTIs?”

  “I doubt it, he’s the one kidnapping and drugging people on a routine basis, I doubt if they believe him anymore,” I say, opening the door to the backroom. sure enough poor Logan is there, strapped to a gurney, with an IV of the awful stuff running to his arm. It doesn’t look like anybody’s done a thing for his neck either, poor thing.

  “Logan, we’re here to get you out,” I say, going over to start unstrapping him.

  “Chin up mate, this can’t be as bad as being strangled, eh? –what I’m trying to cheer him up!” Titus says, adding the last bit when I glare at him.

  “Who escorted him here?” I ask. We always have to have a wingman, “Wasn’t it one of the MTIs?”

  “Thorne? Lord, yes, I’ll go wake him up,” Titus says, rubbing his hands together.

  “No, let me,” I say, at the evil look on his face.

  “This man woke me up every day with strings of profanity and insults, for ten weeks---I’m gonna go wake him up,” Titus says, looking in the other patient rooms.

  “Okay, I’ll give you that,” I say. I didn’t know any better, then.

  I am spinning in the dark. This isn’t getting any better but it certainly isn’t getting any worse.

  And then it does.

  “Come and see---, the coming of the beast.”

  a haunting voice is almost singing.

  “They split the first seal, a white horse comes.”

  He’s come for me. to consume my soul.

  “see the writing on the wall---on the second seal the sword will steal the peace—”

  I can’t see I can’t feel but I writhe trying to getaway. To warn them. who casts away the antichrist? I don’t remember. I don’t remember how they escape from it, why? Why do I have to see it? To feel it?

  “ And lo the third seal splits, ‘a quart of wheat for a denarius, three quarts of barley for a denarius, and do not harm the oil and wine’ and the people sing—”

  I open my eyes and he’s there. the mark of the beast burns on his forehead. 666. His eyes burn with the light of the devil he comes from the other side.

  “And then I come with hell behind me, to kill with sword, with death, with----beasts---”

&
nbsp; his lips are so close to my ear I feel them tickling my skin.

  “Do not fear my coming, for I come to bring peace in death---the dragon waits for the child’s birth---”

  “Please, please let me go,” I whisper. His hands are on my head, massaging my scalp.

  “beg now, beg now,” the voice is still lilting, singing the awful words to me, “the beast comes from the sea, follow the beast.”

  “Please, why do I know it’s you? Please, why?” I struggle.

  “Water is the blood you know that now—beg now---beg now.”

  “Please let me go,” I say, “Just let me die.”

  “Fall to the fire, fall to the fire, fall to the fire.”

  “No just end this please dear god.”

  “He can’t hear you you’re already in the fire—the fire—the fire.”

  “I’m begging you to let me go why me? why do I see you?”

  “Water is blood—water is blood.”

  “Let me go,” I say.

  “Beg now---beg now.” hands, cold hands are still on my forehead.

  “Move the mountains to move the islands, run now, run now.”

  “I can’t move, please I can’t move,” I gasp.

  “Beg now, Beg now.”

  “Please, I am begging you please just end this let me die,” I cry.

  “Worship me,” his cold hands are on my head, his lips pressed against my cheek.

  “Yes,” I whisper, “Just let me go.”

  “Had your fun?” I ask, opening the door to find Titus untying Thorne, who is lying on a gurney twitching and sobbing.

  “No, he’s too high on the stuff,” Titus says, disappointedly, “Pull the IV from his arm, will you? he lashed out and wouldn’t let me do it.”

  “Poor thing, Dr. Marrow is really losing it,” I say.

  “As opposed to when? When he just drugged people up occasionally?” I ask, dryly, rubbing my forehead with the back of my hand to make sure the blood is all off of it. a little blood from my own finger, the most easily removed paint in the world. A little saliva and it’s done, rubbed off, nothing to show the mark was ever there.

  “Yeah,” Tom says, shrugging a little, as she helps me hoist Thorne into a sitting position. “It’s all right, sir, we’ve got you out.”

  “Yes, you’re well now,” I say, patting him on the back as he shivers and shakes, tears leaking from his eyes.

  “Here, I’ll get you a drink of water,” Tom goes over to the sink and fills up a cup. “Logan isn’t half as bad, I left him to have a drink and get his legs back, then we’ll get them both out of here.”

  “As it is we’ll probably have to carry him a bit,” I say, putting one of Thorne’s arms over my shoulder. “Sir, we’re going to leave here now, I think that’d be best, eh?”

  “Yes,” he says, his head lolling still, “We should leave.”

  “We will soon,” Tom says, handing him a cup of water.

  “What---what are you doing here? Card?” Thorne leans away from me, his eyes unable to focus on my face.

  “Yes, I was worried about you,” I say.

  “We know Dr. Marrow gets a little carried away with his truth juice,” Tom says, holding the cup up to his lips because he’s not holding it himself.

  “Yes---yes---you’re not supposed to be here,” he looks at us oddly.

  “We left PT, thought you two could use a hand and as I’m already spending the night in the brig, it didn’t seem to matter,” I say, “Let’s try to stand, all right?”

  “Yes, thank you---both,” I say, I can feel my legs again, much better. I stand. The card is standing next to me, innocently. The burning mark on his forehead is gone. vanished. the truth juice. I’ve been hallucinating that’s all. That’s all, I was reading the book last night, and now this---of course, I was only hallucinating. He’s a sixteen-year-old boy. But hell follows him. hell follows him.

  Chapter 10

  I feel my foot land directly beneath a bent root seconds before my ankle hits it, pulling me to the ground. In my defense, it wasn’t the fall that knocked me senseless, it was the oxygen tank on my back, lurching forward and hitting my head. That knocked me completely senseless. In the Space Forces defense, I’m sure our MTIs had lots better things to do than to notice that one of their cadets had fallen face-first on the ground and suffered a terrible knock on the back of the head. In fact, I’m sure their jobs are so busy and they have so many things to think about, they just stepped right over little old me lying bleeding in the path. And I know for a fact that they had to have stepped over me because I’m the fastest runner and I was at the front and yes I was running on the right path we’ve run the same path every other day at this place I think I know where I’m going. Yes, that should mean I knew where the root was but I’m happy to admit I’m not perfect. Nor are the eighteen odd people, ten of whom were MTIs who ran past me. and I’m sure there’s a special place in hell for them.

  But as it was, nobody apparently noticed me fall because I wake up, face down, blood in my mouth from biting my tongue, and alone. I roll over, only to roll onto the aforementioned oxygen tank, and grimace. My head is pounding. And I’m dizzy.

  “Hey,” Ian is leaning against the offending tree, arms folded. “You doing okay?”

  “Do I look okay?” I ask, sitting up a little, rubbing my head, “I must’ve hit it harder than I thought, huh?”

  “Yeah, you got it pretty good,” he says, brushing his red bangs out of his eyes, “Mum’s worried about you.”

  “She’s gonna worry about me more tonight,” I say, “I’m in the brig---for something I didn’t even do.”

  “Yeah, I heard. Ginny will tell her you’re okay,” he says.

  “She’s still going to worry---she thinks she doesn’t know how to talk to me,” I say, pushing myself into a sitting position painfully. “She thinks she’s losing me.”

  “Is she?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

  “No! I only did this for the money, and the fun---I think it would be neat to be a spaceman,” I say, looking up at the sky. The stars are hiding from me. “And we need the money. It’s only the three of us now.”

  “Yeah, don’t remind me,” he says, a bit annoyed, picking up a stick and wandering a little with it.

  “Okay,” I say, shrugging.

  “It’s only the two of them now, with you gone,” he says.

  “No. I didn’t walk out---” I say, angrily, rising to my feet.

  “Neither did I!” he says, holding up his hands innocently, “Dad is the only one who walked out.”

  “I know,” I say, taking a deep breath to steady myself, “I know. You would have stayed if you could have. and I am staying. I’m taking care of them.”

  “They want you there, they don’t want money,” he says.

  “Look who knows everything now huh? I’m trying,” I feel myself crying, “I hate it here, and I want to be home, more than anything---but Ginny needs to go to school, a good school, and mum shouldn’t have to work till 11 at night, and I’m the only one who’s there.”

  “Come here,” he says, wrapping his strong arms around my shoulders, “Come on, hey, I know you are.”

  “I’m there,” I whisper, sobbing.

  “I’m sorry, look, I don’t want to fight, we don’t see each other anymore,” he says, releasing me from the hug and clapping me on the shoulders. “You don’t talk to me anymore.”

  “I do talk to you,” I say, wiping my face with my arm.

  “No, you don’t, you don’t come to talk to me, I miss you,” he says.

  “I couldn’t keep drinking like that,” I say, “It wasn’t good for me, I felt so sick when I woke up, and mum---she was really worried. I was turning into somebody I’m not.”

  “You couldn’t do that Quentin, you have what other men lack, a truly good heart,” he says, tapping my chest, “You only wanted to visit me.”

  “I know---I know, but they didn’t understand that. I was fourteen years old Ian---fou
rteen and I was coming home drinking a bottle of whiskey every night. God knows what I said, what I did. I don’t know why mum didn’t throw me out, she should have, but I promised her it would stop, and it did—I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” I say.

  “So, you traded me for her, for all this,” he says.

  “You’re dead,” I say, harshly.

  “Six months sober, look who’s so strong, now, eh? Didn’t you smell it on that MTI last night, didn’t it make you—thirsty?” he asks.

  “No, it made me sick to think that that was ever me,” I spit. I hate it now, hate the sight of, the very smell of alcohol, where it took me, what it made me. but that doesn’t stop me from wanting it. the bitter taste in my mouth and the knowledge, that soon, in just a few more burning shots everything will go away. Let all of it melt away into the fire.

  “You’re lying, you miss me you know,” he says, laughing, “I saw you with that girl earlier, she was trying to flirt with you.”

  “Yeah, I know, I’m not blind,” I scoff.

  “Why didn’t you let her? Have a little fun,” he says.

  “I don’t know, I just---I just didn’t feel like it,” I say.

  “Afraid you’ll end up like Ginny’s father? A miserable drunk who gets so pissed one night he can’t even find his way home?” he asks.

  “No, I’ll never be like that I’ll never get married I’ll---” I realize I’m confirming exactly what he’s saying.

  He smiles, “I’ve always known you better than you know you.”

  “No, no you don’t, you don’t know anything about me,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Yes, I do, I am you,” he says, stepping forward, taking me by the shoulders, “Come on, listen to me, live a little. Go kiss that, girl, huh? Take her to a bar, have a drink. You’d be amazed how much easier that makes it—”

  “I don’t want it easy, I don’t want it,” I don’t want her hands or her flesh or her plump lips, most certainly not sweetened with beer, in my clumsy arms. I look down at my hands. Big and clumsy, I’m too tall for my age. I look like a man that’s how I used to get the booze.

  “You’re just a lost little boy, aren’t you?” he asks, putting a hand on my cheek, “You’re still just a little boy.”