He stood silently, leaning against the windowsill tracing raindrops as they dripped down the pane of tinted glass

Darker Shades of Fear

(Installment 10)

the district sleeps alone tonight

after the bars turn out their lights

and send the autos swerving into the loneliest evening

He stood silently, leaning against the windowsill tracing raindrops as they dripped down the pane of tinted glass. The rain had an effect that seemed to completely pacify him. He could stand like that for hours and remain completely complacent. This was one thing he could classify as truly beautiful. He’d not seen the rain in a long time and the sight outside his window brought an authentic smile to his lips. In his world where everything was deceitful and fake the rain offered something of recourse. It was simple and almost assured him that he might still have some small shred of humanity left within him, though he knew full well that this was a purely optimistic notion without any reasonable amount of substance. He sighed, the smile still resting on his face. Though he could not see it, the expression made him appear youthful, almost as if there was some life left in him.

He grabbed his coat and headed out into the empty streets. The rain pounded, but it failed to perturb him. He would be soaked to the bone by the time he returned, but he was fine with that.

The streets seemed to belong to the only man brave enough to walk them. No cars on the street, nobody on the sidewalks, just Kenny, his thoughts, and the sound of the rain. Truthfully, he preferred the sound of the rain to the company of his thoughts. That at least offered comfort whereas his thoughts only served to disturb his peace. He concentrated intensely on the relaxing sound in an attempt to block any thought or memory daring to interrupt his solace. It then occurred to him that the atmosphere was the only thing he could rely on. He could trust in it more than in himself… now he was starting to sound transcendental. He laughed to himself at the thought, shaking his head. He diverted his attention toward the scenery. Oh yes. He was most definitely a transcendentalist.

Across the street, two boys, presumably teenagers sprinted down the block calling after each other. Apparently they were seeking shelter of some kind. This caused a strange pang in Kenny’s chest and he wondered why.

He shrugged and ignored it as he continued on.

Time had no meaning to him, so he could not judge just how long he’d been wandering the streets before returning to the motel, but he could guess that it had been quite a while since the sky was considerably darker. Rain was still falling, and though Kenny would have loved nothing more than to stay outside, he knew any longer would risk his health. It didn’t matter all that much, but the thought of having a cold was an inconvenience. After all the shit he’d done, his immune system should have been shot by now, but he hadn’t been sick in years. He managed to contract a twenty-four hour head cold every now and then, but a box of Sudafed and a bottle of gin took care of it just fine. He wasn’t too sure that he should be mixing the two, but he figured that two of the small red caplets were too little a dose to cause any negative interactions with the alcohol. He also realized that this remedy was completely ludicrous.

He stepped into his room and turned on the shower. He stripped and wrapped a towel around his waist before heading down to the laundry room in the motel basement. He earned a few stares on his way down, but they only served to further amuse him. He threw his clothes in the dryer and set the appropriate time. With that, he returned to his room.

He’d retrieved his clothes and for the time being he laid on the uncomfortable mattress still in his towel, reading. He was running out of literature and knew that he would soon have to invest further into reading materials. He’d do that tomorrow, maybe. He was heading to the bar later on, unless he decided otherwise. Eh, at this point, he was content to lie on the bed and count the cracks in the ceiling. The closest description of his state was probably “mellow”, but more than anything he just felt “blah”. He set the book down and folded his hands behind his head. Sometimes he wondered how he’d become him.

As far as he was concerned, his birth had been when he woke up in a shitty motel in Chicago. He’d been a little more than crazy then, as if his behavior now did not fully warrant the title. There had to be a reason he remembered Chicago, but had a feeling that anything before it was best left in the past. There was always one thing that he had always found odd about what he remembered of Chicago. When he’d woken up, there was a gun on his nightstand. It was a pistol and looked almost new, but when he checked the ammunition he’d found there were only two shots left.

Two shots. It was strange. He’d always wondered why. He sold the gun, reluctantly so. He assumed that he must have had some nostalgic attachment to it for one deranged reason or another, but he had no use for it and needed money. He couldn’t remember an occasion on which he’d used a gun, either. There were so many more creative methods by which murder could be committed. And it wasn’t like murder was his only driving force. He had no driving force, other than his desire to get laid, but he doubted that counted since it was present in everyone. Perhaps a little more in himself, but he was not ashamed.

He’d already planned on visiting the millionaire’s wife sometime over the weekend. A guaranteed good time for absolutely free. Suddenly, Chicago was the furthest thing from his thoughts.

The bar was crowded by the time he’d decided to go. He didn’t mind the crowds; it made blending in much easier. Plus, he had the habit of observing people for amusement. He shot the man in his customary seat a look of pure death. The man who physically could have overpowered Kenny stood and disappeared into the throng quickly, taking his drink with him.

He smiled, satisfied and reclaimed his spot. He really didn’t care where he sat; it was just fun to make people squirm. The two words, “sadistic” “bastard” came to mind, but only encouraged a grin. He’d never been more certain that he was truly the scum of the Earth.

His thoughts were interrupted by the clank of a glass being placed in front of him.

He looked up at the bartender and took his wallet out.

The bartender waved his hand, “No. You drink for free.”

“No, I pay like everybody else.” He said, placing a twenty on the bar.

The bartender sighed, “Tonight you drink for free.” Kenny’s expressions suggested that he was not pleased with this decision either. “Please? I owe you. Let me do this and we’ll call it even.”

Kenny sighed and pocketed the bill. He took the glass and downed half. “Sounds like a deal.”

The bartender smiled. “Thanks. You know, most people would jump at the offer, and with what you pay I could afford to keep this place going for a year.”

Kenny’s half open eyes and impatient expression read, what are you trying to tell me?

“I just don’t know why you’d turn it down. I figured you would at least want a decent cut of the winnings.”

He finished the glass, “Not all rich men wear suits.” He replied.

The bartender grew exasperated. This customer’s behavior just kept confusing him. “By the way,” he said, “I got that piano you mentioned. It’s in the back if you want.”

Kenny would have protested, but found himself rather pleased.

He stood in the far corner of the room, just watching. The man in the flannel shirt at the bar had lost his job, Kenny concluded. He was having marriage issues and his wife had probably threatened to leave enough times to be serious. He didn’t have any kids, but probably had a case of undiagnosed depression. His wife would probably leave tonight. He looked like the type of man that would have a gun, one of those big hunting rifles you keep on the mantle. He’d probably blow his brains out sometime in the early morning.

The man across the room was most definitely having an affair. The woman he was with didn’t know he was married. The guy probably had three kids, all girls most likely. Things weren’t going to work out with his wife.

The woman drinking a Bud talking with a man who was most likely an out-of-work actor was a lesbian, he guessed. She’d been kicked out of her house and most likely disowned. The actor was gay as well, but he hadn’t come out yet.

He’d be willing to bet on any of these supposed situations. None of them noticed how much they gave away about themselves. The subtle, slight hints they gave just by gesturing. The way they carried themselves, the vibe they gave off, all of it was an integral part of who they were. Perhaps this was what made Kenny as good as he was at poker. He picked up on these things that others discarded as meaning absolutely nothing. It wasn’t telepathy or psychic powers or any of that spectral crap. Just observation. Mostly, he did this to amuse himself. Reading people was fun. Watching them give away personal secrets with a simple glance or gesture made for a good time… or at the very least, it gave Kenny something to do.

He wondered if he gave anything away. He doubted it. At most, he gave away his indifference, impatience, and sex drive. It was hard to give away things you didn’t remember. His secrets were safe, because they weren’t really secrets. The whole world knew about them, or at least anyone who read the front page of the local newspaper. Plus, secrets tend to involve guilt or regret, neither of which he had. He took a final drag on his cigarette and flicked it to the floor and ground it out with his shoe. Hands in his pockets, he walked off in search of the back room and the piano.

He found it, right where the bartender had told him. It was a nice, sturdy, middle-aged piano, absolutely nothing like the grand instrument he’d played in the mansion. He tried out a few chords and found it perfectly in tune. That was a good thing because he wasn’t sure if he knew how to tune a piano. There was the possibility that he might, but decided that it was a very improbable possibility.

He let his mind wander and gave his hands the freedom to explore the black and white piano keys. What they produced was a slow, almost somber melody. It was purely improvisational, but sounded as if it had been carefully written and religiously practiced. Kenny had no knowledge of music theory, or even what notes he was playing. All he knew for certain was that there were eighty-eight keys on a piano and when you touched them, they made sounds varying in pitch. He guessed he must have learned to play somewhere, but felt no particular desire to know where or when. Instead he let the music wash over him.

He was still playing when the bartender opened the door. Kenny did not acknowledge the noise or the other person in the room because he was not aware of either. His hands had not left the keys for any longer than the measure’s rest allowed. All he was conscious of was the beautiful, sad sound engulfing the room. It stirred something inside him. Under normal circumstances he would have purged this rising emotion and settled content with apathy, but for some reason he felt it necessary to let it be and continue. It was strange to feel any kind of emotion for a lengthened period of time. He would later conclude that he didn’t like it, but for the moment he allowed the notes to embellish these feeling and express them through the intricate melody.

“…Hey, Kenny…”

Kenny opened his eyes and silence filled the room. He looked toward the speaker and saw the bartender. Must be time to go.

“It’s, uh, three in the morning. You’ve been here since eleven.”

Kenny looked shocked. He had been playing the piano for four full hours. He was now aware of the pain in his fingers and wrists, noting that they would probably swell.

“I’d let you stay, but I have to lock up.”

“Okay.”

“That was fucking brilliant.”

Kenny smiled. “Thanks.”

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” He asked in a proud, fatherly manner.

Kenny rolled his eyes. “Just the tip of the iceberg.”

The man shook his head. “You could have a record deal, you know.”

Kenny laughed aloud.

“I’m serious! You have talent.” He retorted, resisting the impulse to call the pianist ‘kid’.

Kenny appeared almost downhearted. “No.”

He sighed, exasperated. “Don’t waste it. You could make something for yourself! Get out of this shit town! Earn a living doing what you love! You owe it to yourself.”

A laugh escaped Kenny as almost a sigh. “I don’t deserve a future.” He said, matter-of-factly.

“That’s bullshit.”

“No. It’s the truth.” He replied genuinely.

The bartender sensed something in Kenny’s manner than disturbed him, “Look, kid,” he paused to correct himself, “Kenny. Look, Kenny. Whatever happened, happened. You can change things for yourself.”

If only he knew. If he had any idea of the horrible, terrible things he had done. He was sinner destined to the innermost circle of Hell. The hurt he’d purposely inflicted on others and smiled as he did so, the sadistic pleasure he found in watching other human beings suffer, of torturing himself and enjoying the pain he brought on intentionally… no. He had no right to a future. He was just a man. A dirty, perverted, disgusting man who served the purpose of making sure that there was still evil in the world, as if there had not been enough already. Oh yes, he had fought with monsters. And Nietzsche had been right. He had become one.

“Trust me,” He said, standing from the piano bench, “I’m right on this one.”

The bartender could sense in Kenny that he meant it. In that moment, he felt a great deal of pity for the disheveled blond man.

It had been a huge fucking mistake to allow the emotions to stir within him. He just had to play the fucking piano. He couldn’t blame an inanimate object for his stupidity. It was his fault. He’d allowed himself to feel this way. He tried desperately to purge this feeling from him, this horrible sensation in his stomach. Regret, failure, emptiness… it culminated into one solid, heavy block.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to kill something. The thought that he had just posed the hypothetical scenario of killing something in order to rid himself of this feeling only served to make him sicker. He didn’t need this. He had been totally content with himself earlier in the day, so why now were things different? It had to have been his conversation with the bartender. It felt so familiar to him, and now he knew that he must have had a similar one in the past… before Chicago.

Before Chicago was a bad time, so bad that he had literally forgotten it. He knew that there was a reason he could not remember Before Chicago and had no desire to. Every time he did, shit like this would happen. He wanted to light a cigarette, but had the premonition that he was going to vomit soon, and didn’t want to waste his last smoke.

His guess had been right, and he paused on the street and gripped the side of a building to steady himself as he threw up. In total, he threw up four times. He stood there, breathing heavily against the cool, damp building for somewhere around five minutes but for Kenny, it might as well have been eternity. After enough time, he was able to walk and did so.

He lit his cigarette to get the taste out of his mouth. He dragged deeply, thoroughly enjoying the calming effect the nicotine had on him. He walked slowly the few block to his motel, pausing only to get himself a copy of the day’s paper.

Sure enough, one of the inside stories was about the man he’d seen in the bar. He’d shot himself in the head with his own hunting gun after his wife left him. Kenny shrugged.

He was right.