“Madness rides the star-wind... claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses”
- H. P Lovecraft
Zorie
The thing was...the thing was... I knew what happened next, and I’d recovered a little already. Resilience was my middle name.
I could drive. I could think, again. After a few miles I’d adjusted my clothes, pulled over and made myself respectable, enough. No one could tell I had no panties or bra, and the face wipes in my glove compartment helped clean up the mess.
Reuben had planted his command with the effectiveness of a concrete block landing. I was going home to chaos unless I could somehow, magically, rally my mind. Mister Black thought I could resist, with practice. I had zero time for practicing anything except maybe how to sink a knife into my stomach.
Blood. Knife sinking into my dress down there, the fabric being carried in by the knife point as the sharp metal pierced me.
Beeeep. I jerked at the sound and clunked into gear then drove off. I’d seen blood pouring down my lap, washing red over my legs and down to my ankles, the warmth of it...
Getting beeped at traffic lights while nightmare dreaming was my forte.
“Go home and die,” I mouthed, repeating his words. So slapstick, but it was likely going to turn true. The tendrils of his words were growing, sending dark into my light.
I didn’t want to die, but then again, I did. The cruel dichotomy.
Mister Black wouldn’t see me, not this time. He’d turn me away.
I wanted help. I needed it desperately. Grimm?
The park?
I weaved my way through the traffic, neared home, and managed to deviate to the park. Success.
He wasn’t there. Again. No one was anywhere when I needed them. After a half hour watching a guy tossing bread at the birds from the seat, he left and I sat on the sun-warmed metal slats. He’d been like some damn javelin thrower making parabolic arcs in the air with the bread chunks. The ducks didn’t mind and their antics had made me smile. Might be my last smile.
I was probably going down with this ship. Would hallucinations be next?
The bench was under me, a bag was in my hand, and the bag held the gun.
Fuck. Had I brought it to get rid of it?
My short term memory was going faster than last time.
“Damn.” I buried my face in my hands and sniffled to myself for a while, watching as tears plopped onto the dress Mister Black had bought me. The dress they’d had me take off in the car park. It was a pretty floral one.
The plastic bag, with the gun inside, rustled in my hand as I strode to the water’s edge. Crouching, I looked about. No one to my left or right and behind me were trees. I threw the bag far out into the little lake, watched it go splosh and raise a geyser.
Couldn’t shoot myself now and I might regret that. Knives were messy.
I went and sat back down again on the bench. Inscribed in the metal were some new letters.
WDYW
I frowned and tried to decipher the meaning. If Grimm had left that, they did have meaning. His last words to me came back quickly, maybe because he’d stressed them.
What do you want me to do?
Close enough? What do you want? WDYW. If this were him...
I wiped my eyes with the base of my thumb and began to scratch my own letters. Nothing too obvious would be best? Hell, I was a little far gone for niceties. But doing this anchored me. It felt as if I was achieving something. It was a step forward.
The key tip gouged away tiny curls of paint. This tangible act, the sounds of scratching, the feedback to my fingers and palm so they ached, even the duck that had waddled beneath the seat so it could look up at me, it all made me remember this world was real. There were others who could get hurt.
When finished, I contemplated my succinct message. A little obvious, a little mystery.
KILLeR
It would do. It would have to. If I could have done that myself, I would have. Killing Reuben would be so satisfying.
I sighed and tucked the keys into my palm.
Was I fucking kidding myself?
I’d been with him an hour before, had him inside me, and I’d been able to do nothing. I couldn’t recall the thought of retaliation even occurring to me.
Every step of the way back to the car, with the grass soft and springy under my bare feet, I wondered what the future held.
Would Grimm see the message or understand it, and if he did, did he have the guts and the resources to succeed? I was trying to drag an innocent man into this. Wrong, so very wrong. Yet I prayed he would do it, prayed he would kill.
If Reuben died, would I be freed?
Driving to the train station was what I should do next. The logical thing to do was to leave. Leave Sydney, I commanded myself, at least twenty times, before I turned the key in the ignition.
And then, I drove home.
My hands screwed into the steering wheel at every traffic stop. I wore a blister into one palm, but I still heard the gravel catching under the tires as I rolled the car into my driveway.
Blood. My future held blood. “Probably mine,” I muttered.
*****
“Hark, what light through yonder window breaks.” I blinked blearily at the louvres and the aforementioned light scalding my eyes. Morning. Probably. Starting the day with Shakespeare had to be good? I rolled over groaning, finding I’d probably forgotten to shower last night since I was still dressed in shorts and top.
“Jesus.” My eyes hurt, my head hurt, even my wrists and hands ached.
Hangover.
Sitting on the edge of the bed I remembered drinking an entire bottle and a half of merlot last night. My plan, such a good one, had been that I couldn’t very well kill myself in public if I couldn’t walk.
It’d worked too. For one night. I was alive. No gun to play Russian roulette with either.
Would Grimm have found my message yet? How long could I hide in here and stay sane or fed? Water was not a problem, but I had a feeling my pantry had more cans of corn and tomatoes than anything solid and my fridge wasn’t going to be much better.
“Ah.” I held up a finger. I could order from the supermarket for home delivery. I’d not tried that before, but it was a great alternative to going outside. This command must wear off eventually.
I trotted from the stairs, past the pillow-strewn living room, to the kitchen.
I blinked, mouth opening. Across the counter top was a line of every knife I owned. Not a neat line though. Not at all. I’d stabbed the knives into the top and hacked holes before leaving them imbedded and sticking upright. This was why my hands hurt.
The tiptoe of evil down my spine raised goosebumps and my nipples.
If I did order the home delivery of groceries, I’d be wise not to carry a knife to the door. Killing myself in public – knifing myself in front of the delivery person would count as that.
As yet, I wasn’t courageous enough to advance further, but I was also no chicken.
With my back to the door frame, I slid to the floor and sat there watching the little army of knives, half afraid I’d go grab one.
“You won’t beat me, Reuben. You fucking won’t.” My voice was strained, but then all of me felt as if it had been pushed through a fine mesh. A hangover on top of artificially looming depression and hallucinations? Jackpot.
I wouldn’t move from here until I had this sorted. Even if my butt went numb.
He would not beat me.
This time I felt the craziness coming. The walls leaned over me. The knives were beneath my fingers. Hard things. Sharp things. I leaned my forehead on the end of one, on the handle end. For ages. It hurt and left a square dent in my forehead skin that I saw in the mirror of the blade of the cleaver.
“Don’t,” I told myself.
Leaning on the point end with my eye was worse. I flinched away, threw the knife, and watched it skid across the floor and beneath the fridge.
Seeing the fridge snapped me awake. All the knives were in place, stabbing the counter, except the one that had ventured under the fridge.
It couldn’t have been that long. Perhaps I should leave the kitchen for later, after all. I backed out the door, my heart thudding, thankful I’d caught myself in time.
The crunch under my shoes warned me a second before the sting arrived in my hand. Blood. It leaked from my fist where I had my fingers wrapped about the phone. The phone had been upstairs. I frowned and saw the shards of glass underfoot.
As I turned the monstrosity was revealed. Everything shatterable in the room had been broken. Glass fragments and twisted metal, splinters of timber, smashed china, it was everywhere.
I wasn’t going to survive in here.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
Get it over with, my demon voice whispered back. Go outside.
What a relief that would be. I couldn’t live like this.
The phone jangled. With slippery, red fingers, I fumbled to answer.
Text message. Reading it seemed far more important than trying to figure out what to do with my house, with me.
The message was from the university.
Professor Boad on behalf of the University Board, requests your attendance at an emergency meeting, at 4 pm today, to discuss your tenure. You are asked to bring evidence explaining what happened in the underground car park on the university grounds, as detailed below.
Times, date, and car park designation were all there.
The video evidence indicates you may have participated in activities that are contrary to the requirements of conduct for staff members.
Yesterday, I’d pushed away logic, refused to work out all the implications, but here they were, front and center. Reuben had meant this to happen.
It was obvious why he’d done this. He didn’t need me employed, just dead.
No mention of bringing a lawyer. If I’d been sane, I’d have arranged for one. If I’d been innocent, ditto. I was neither of those.
One fifteen PM already. I was hungry. How sane was that? I cried my way through eating a tub of yogurt, unsure if the taste was plain or fruit or goat’s turd. Did it matter? No.
Don’t go outside, hey? I went upstairs past my demolished living room and showered, dressed, and packed for the meeting.
Briefcase in hand, I walked down to the garage. What was in the briefcase? I hadn’t a clue. I’d forgotten and, knowing my past lapses of memory, maybe I shouldn’t look. It was probably full to the brim with severed fingers. Why had I thought that? Frightened of myself, I raised my hands, briefcase swinging from one. My heartrate ran amok.
I stared and counted my digits. My focus jumped from one to the next, to the next. I went back and looked again. Just to be certain. No lopped-off bits. No stumps.
Fuck. Thank god. They were all still there.
All the way, the long drive, I pondered.
What was I going to say to the board? I didn’t do it?
It seemed as if doing things that required thought kept me functioning. Driving seemed to work at keeping me levelled, though parking in the underground park scared the hell out of me. Walking to the elevator was an exercise in terror. I was still one amid a cold, deserted parking area. The echoes, the feel, the faint smells of petrol and oil down here, were so reminiscent. The cries and moans, the slaps and grunts came back to me. My palms and scalp prickled with sweat.
I was guilty, so guilty. This was my life, going down the drain, sifting through my fingers, and I had no defense.
They’d rustled up the board members fast.
The secretary nodded at me, with a deer-in-headlights look in her eyes. What must I look like? When I walked in there were five professors waiting, sitting on chairs, in a nice, neat line.
Firing squad time.
I knew I was merely going through the motions. An overhead TV was set up and I could see the security footage on pause.
“Afternoon, Miss Brown.” Professor Boad, his white beard looking regal, twitched his mouth and indicated the one unoccupied seat. “Please sit. I thought it best to show this footage first, so that we all know where we stand.”
I nodded and sat.
What was I wearing? I glanced down and saw jeans and a shirt. Not great, but good enough. At least my briefcase, where I’d perched it on the floor, wasn’t leaking blood.
“I apologize for the crudity in this film, Miss Brown.” He half smirked. “But we’ve identified one of the participants as you. The security footage in corridors prior to this, the guard on duty, and the keycard evidence all say you were present. Your car shows in the footage. If this isn’t you, we need proof. If it is you.” He stroked his beard and the two other men and two women nodded or looked stern, if red-faced. “It’s very likely we will need to terminate your tenure.”
I bet. I nodded. I didn’t think I could speak again without choking.
He pressed play and I sat there watching, my stomach churning, trying not to vomit.
The firing squad went much as expected.
They sacked me. I walked out, went down the elevator, and said goodbye to my past. I’d never get employment at a university again.
We won’t press criminal charges on any participants involved in this disgusting affair if you agree to dismissal without defending yourself in any way.
I should’ve protested that. What a chance to get Reuben up before a court. Public indecency? Probably. And I’d found I couldn’t. My tongue had seized up, like always.
My future was becoming darker and narrower, moment by moment.
I was in that compactor, garbage-disposal thing with Han Solo and Luke. The walls were closing in and I had no one to turn any of this off.
Reuben was right. Life wasn’t worth living. My chest hurt. Guess my heart had been beating too hard for too long.
My life flickered past in fits and starts where I awoke then forgot, then awoke...
Five forty three PM. Soon it would be night.
I tried still. I tried hard. But three nights later, I was on the roof of a tall building, swaying. Down past my legs was the edge where my bare toes wriggled. Past that was a lot of air and then the street below full of little people and lights and cars. Tiny cars. The briefcase sat on the edge, beside my foot.
This was public, wasn’t it? It would count.
The wind pushed me forward and I swayed some more, feeling giddy.
I shouldn’t be here. I knew that. There was a part of me screaming step back, way down deep inside.
I could step off or step back.
One way Reuben won, the other way, who did? Me? Would I ever lose this need to die that he’d implanted? I’d just be up here again tomorrow.
“Maybe.” I whispered that, and barely heard the word over the wind humming about my ears.
A whimper from behind made me turn to look. A shaggy, gray mongrel slinked across the flat rooftop and stood panting a yard away.
A dog.
A reminder of life beyond this darkness that had me.
I blinked, feeling a miniscule need swirl in – the beginning of a trail of cards, of string, of memories that led me to...
Lower myself and pick up the briefcase.
Life, even one extra second of life, drew me as much as death beckoned. I clicked open the case and was almost too late to grab the square of paper inside before it blew away. It was a photo, lying face downward.
I turned it over, slowly, and it fluttered, struggling to get away. Since I had this notion it was important, I pinned the photo between finger and thumb.
What was this? Somehow, even the first glimpse of color in the overhead light, gave me back a piece of me.
I was so close to death, that the smallest chunk of life was as juicy, exuberant, and fertile as a slice of orange. Bite down on this, said the photo.
Pelagia.
This was a picture of Mister Black’s dog, Pelagia. With the sight of her, standing there in the bright sunshine of Greece, all shaggy-haired and panting, and smiling in that dumbass doggy way, hope came rushing back. There was a little crack in the monstrous wall created by Reuben and I’d found it somehow.
I clung to that notion with all of the worn-down faculties of my recently disintegrated mind.
I didn’t know the why or the facts or the mechanism, but I’d found a crack.
Sobbing, clutching the photo, I lowered myself and sat down with my back to the concrete parapet.
Hesitantly, the dog crept closer. Specks of rain pattered on my hands and the photo where I held it up to the light.
This, Pelagia, was possible. Life was.
I needed to stop being a stupid, complacent bitch.
I could do this again, I could live. I bit down on my lip and felt the pain, tasted the blood, and I was happy.
Wagging its tail, the dog nudged at my hand.
“Hello,” I croaked then I patted her. “How did you get up here?”
She sat on her haunches soaking up the pats I continued to give her, staying with me despite the strengthening rain. I tucked the photo away. I remembered leaving the door propped open when I’d come up here, as if afraid I wouldn’t be able to open it again and leave. Even then, it seemed I’d hoped I might not jump.
Something in me wanted life.
I focused on that, I curled imaginary fingers around that concept and I did not let it go.
I would keep this new need for life. It was a seed from which I could grow my future.
“You seem well fed and you’re very, very friendly. You must have an owner,” I told the dog. “Maybe you should go home before you get too wet?”
After a few licks at my hand, she trotted off toward the door.
I didn’t need her anymore, but I was so thankful. If she’d not been here, would I have remembered the briefcase? Had Mister Black planted the photo on me somehow? I tried hard and caught glimpses in my mind of me removing the photo from his wallet as I took the money.
My doing. I wanted it to be mine, not some creepy instruction of his.
I needed this to be my action, not anyone else’s. I remembered sitting in his hotel room staring at the photo of Pelagia like she was some sort a key.
Had my instinctive fascination with that photo made this possible? I dearly hoped so.
The picture had led me down my memories, like a trail of dominoes falling – one, then the other then the next.
What Reuben had inflicted on me would never go away completely but I could climb above it and survive. Water ran down my face but I was smiling.
The rain petered out and I stayed there, only sitting on the edge. With my legs dangling, I was admiring the view and marveling at being alive, when a new exultant feeling crept upon me. The feeling was to do with Reuben. I explored it as carefully as one would probe the raw socket where a bad tooth used to be.
Nothing was there.
Reuben...
Was gone...
From this world.
He was dead. Doornail dead. Dead parrot dead. I was making internal jokes about a once alive human being and I didn’t care one jot.
I knew I was right with the surety of someone who’d been away, journeying far from their country, descending the steps of their plane, then stomping their feet on the tarmac and knowing they were home.
“I’m free!” I screamed that one, and waved my arms wildly while grinning. Who cared who knew I was crazy? Dancing in the moonlight might come next.
I’d possessed an awareness of him and it had waned suddenly. I hadn’t been aware of my awareness until it vanished. So strange. Yet the asshole was terminated. By whom? Grimm?
Another tendril of awareness sneaked inside me and I looked down. Reuben’s death had perhaps awoken a new sense? Another mesmer seemed close.
Only this one didn’t instill fear in me. There was a longing.
Was Mister Black down there in the street?
I drew up my legs and swung to the side. Longing? I shut my eyes. Yes, it was true. Didn’t make any difference. I was free of one of them and I wasn’t about to let this other one make me his weapon.
If his death wasn’t an innocent accident, I needed an alibi. I waited for a safe moment and knocked the briefcase off the parapet. People noticed.
When they came for me, it wasn’t difficult to summon back some of the sadness I’d so recently shed. I had to take care, in fact, that I didn’t let it overwhelm me again. Standing on the edge and acting suicidal for them wasn’t all act. My life would forever be a minefield.
When I stepped down into a woman’s arms, my heart was thudding.
They took me away and I found I was grateful for the drugs to stave off depression. I made sure to keep the photo close.
For the moment, this was my key to sanity. I guess they saw that because they let me keep it under my pillow and in my pocket – anywhere I went in that ward for crazy people.