Darker Shades of Fear

Darker Shades of Fear

(Installment 13)

He wondered if Chicago had been like this.

Two days had passed and Kenny had barely moved. Occasionally he would make the strenuous effort to stagger into the bathroom, only to collapse back onto the bed a moment later. He found himself completely immobile and unmotivated. It wasn’t pain that he was plagued by; it was something comparable to exhaustion – except that he was wide awake.

Clear, slightly dazed blue eyes stared up at the ceiling, which he had thoroughly memorized the geography of. Every crack, every split, every chip in the paint could be traced and identified with his eyes closed. He knew that this was probably a sign that he should probably stop and do something, however unproductive because the odds were it would accomplish more than he was at present.

The dirty ceiling stared back, unwavering. He sighed and wondered how long this would last.

“However long you’ll let it.”

He groaned and arched his back upward, the action requiring the least amount of effort.

Not you again.

Thankfully, it was not what he feared. However, it was enough to motivate him to force himself to sit upright. His head spun slightly, dizzy from hunger and strain. He made his way to the bathroom, still staggering but with more resolve than his previous attempts. He gripped the sides of the cheap, chipping porcelain sink and steadied himself. He breathed heavily for a moment, composing himself with his head hanging down. Once his breathing had returned to normal, he slowly lifted his face until his eyes met directly with his reflection.

He almost didn’t recognize himself. His skin was considerably paler, not that he wasn’t pale by nature, however it was enough of a change to disturb him. Dark circles adorned the skin beneath his eyes, giving them a sunken, hollow appearance. His hands gripped the porcelain tighter, beginning to shake. He had become painfully aware of how hungry he was, the effects of three days without food finally registering. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a few moments. He relaxed his body and tried to focus on something other than his seemingly insatiable hunger. A sensation of vertigo later, his eyes came into focus and he caught sight of them in the mirror. He didn’t like the way they looked. There was something about them that he knew was wrong. They were dazed and considerably lighter in contrast with their usual bright, sky blue color. Out of his numerous physical inconsistencies at the moment, it was the shade of his eyes that disturbed him the most. He didn’t care why; he just knew that he needed to get himself out of the motel.

He had never been more thankful for fast food in his entire life, or what he could remember of it. He was seriously disappointed that McDonald’s had reverted back to the original recipe for the Big Mac’s special sauce, but beggars can’t be choosers and he was in no position to complain. The amount of food that he consumed could have easily killed anyone over forty with even the slightest heart condition. Kenny’s body was happy with whatever it was getting at the moment; his arteries happily resisted clogging as long as he was eating something. He wondered if they could have been too weak to clot. He shrugged and decided probably not as he finished off another order of fries. The cashiers looked at him strangely, but Kenny had probably paid off the franchise’s mortgage with what he’d spent on food (if it really qualified as food, that was) so he concluded that they were within reason.

He did start to feel better, both physically and mentally. His brain had already begun to function in more than three-word sentences and walking presented little difficulty.

He contemplated how he’d let himself fall into such a state. It was probably the world’s longest hangover that had done the job. (Of course, there is no record for the longest hangover; at least no one has submitted their attempt to achieve this feat since the production of the Guinness Book of World Records 2004 edition). He lit his first cigarette in three days and smiled as he sighed, exhaling the smoke from his lungs. He closed his eyes briefly as he sighed, feeling completely content and clear headed.

He was in no condition to hit the bar, had no desire to pursue Isabel and definitely would not consider returning to that God-forsaken motel. Maybe he would find a new one. Taking another drag on his cigarette, he decided not to worry. He began to walk, in no particular direction, in search of entertainment.

He was surprised to find himself in the middle-class section of wherever the hell he was. Usually, he ended up in the slums or back alley joints. He felt different today, probably the calmness of the post-hangover delirium. He wasn’t sure if “delirium” was the right word for it, “hallucination” seemed to describe it more fully. He shrugged, not really caring either way.

He stopped outside a Jazz club, and decided that this would be a very good way to waste his time.

The décor consisted of dark shade of blue that contrasted with the silver lighting fixtures and tables with coordinating chairs. The group onstage was composed of two saxophonists, a pianist, bassist and guitarist. They had a calming, comforting sound that he found he liked very much. The saxophone almost reminded him of the poor man who’d stationed himself beneath Kenny’s window some time ago. He knew they were not one and the same, but decided that their musical influence had most likely come from the same place.

He missed the sound of the saxophone. It was undoubtedly his favorite instrument, hands down. He knew for a fact that he could not play it, even if his life were at stake, but admired those who could and did it well. It had such a smooth, continuous sound and something entirely unique about it.

There was only a small crowd, not enough people to really warrant the title but it would suffice anyway. He stood in the back of the room for a while, and then seated himself at the bar.

“Rum and coke.” He said.

The man behind the bar obliged and Kenny paid, with gratuitous tip. He took a sip of his drink, thankful that there was only a slight trace of the sweet alcohol. He rarely ordered drinks like this. He preferred hard liquor to social drinks, but tonight he found himself craving the latter. After recovering from the hangover, he doubted he would have the craving for either gin or whiskey for at least another two days. He spun the stool around so he was facing the entertainment. He felt strangely content, almost happy. Maybe it was because he was starting to forget the hangover and it had for the most part numbed his brain. All he cared to focus on was the beautiful sound of the saxophone solo and the sweet taste of the drink in his hand.

The melody flowed into what he recognized as Hotel California with a saxophone. It sounded surprisingly good. How he knew it was Hotel California was beyond him, but he hadn’t bothered to wonder. He found himself smiling, unconsciously tapping his finger against the glass in rhythm with the song.

He was unaware that someone had taken the seat beside him until he heard a feminine voice ask for a Pina Colada. He turned to see a striking short-haired brunette in a sleek, black, scoop-neck dress. Something possessed him to pay for her drink, against her wishes.

“I don’t let strangers pay for my drinks.” She said in a forceful tone.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“Why do you care?”

He sighed and extended a hand, “I’m Kenny.”

She eyed him hesitantly and after a moment she reluctantly shook it, looking at him as if to say, ‘Okay buddy, you’re freaking me out, here’.

He smiled and paid the man behind the counter for the woman’s drink.

“I said that I don’t let strangers pay for me.” She replied, reiterating her earlier conviction.

“You know my name,” He said, “you shook my hand. I’m not a stranger anymore.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it not finding the words.

He offered a small smile and turned again to face the stage.

Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light

My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim

I had to stop for the night

“…Thank you.”

He glanced over at the woman seated beside him. “It’s not a problem.”

She stared into her drink, contemplating something. “My name’s Katie.” She said at last.

“Nice to meet you, Katie.” He replied, offering a small, surprisingly genuine smile.

She exhaled with a smile, shaking her head.

“What?” He asked.

“This is so not me.”

His face asked for a further elaboration.

She looked at the ceiling, “I don’t let strange men I don’t know pay for me, or pick them up in bars.”

“You’re trying to pick me up?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No! That’s not what I meant, I meant – ah, forget it.”

“I see. I was just thought you might enjoy some company. I can leave, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“What would make you think that?”

“You’re here alone.”

She rolled her eyes, “Save it, I’ve heard them all.”

“So you have.” He replied, “Is it possible that maybe I just wanted someone to talk with, and you happened to sit down?”

She was stumped again. “I guess.”

“I can’t blame you, though.”

She cocked an eyebrow in question, “For what?”

“Being suspicious. I understand.”

She stared, trying to figure him. “Are you hitting on me or not?”

“No. Just making conversation.” He said, turning to face the source of the background music.

Welcome to the Hotel California

Such a lovely place

Such a lovely face

“Plenty of room at the Hotel California…any time of year, you can find it here…” He had unconsciously begun to sing along. He gazed at the few couples dancing on the floor in front of the stage, silhouetted by blue light. He stole a short glance at his companion who he realized was watching the same sight with a certain dismay. He sighed.

“You want to dance.” He said.

“With you?” She asked, surprised by the bluntness of the man beside her.

“If you want to.”

“What?” She asked, the same confused expression on her face.

“You want to dance,” He repeated, “It’s the way you watch them.”

She looked as if she were inwardly debating whether to run away screaming or take his offer seriously.

How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat

Some dance to remember, some dance to forget

“You’re so strange.”

“I know.”

She sighed and placed her drink on the counter. “Okay.”

Kenny just stood up and gave a small smile and followed her onto the space reserved for dancing. They stood in the far corner and he took one of her hands and rested the other on her waist. She awkwardly brought her free hand to his shoulder and followed his lead.

He was rather coordinated. She hadn’t expected that. She thought it was going to be an awkward stumble or some kind of sexual advance.

And still those voices are calling from far away,

Wake you up in the middle of the night

Just to hear them say...

“Welcome to the Hotel California…” he sang almost silently. “Such a lovely place,”

“Such a lovely place,” She echoed with a smile.

A small grin graced his lips. “Such a lovely face,”

“Living it up at the Hotel California,”

“What a nice surprise,”

“Bring your alibis…” Kenny sang as he fell silent.

Mirrors on the ceiling,

The pink champagne on ice

And she said 'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device'

His eyes roamed, glancing at the inhabitants of the room. All this time he thought that he had gotten away from his hell. This was a new section of town, these people were better dressed. He was dancing with a beautiful woman, neither of them considering sex following this dance. He knew what he had felt before. The reason he had paid for her drink and remained so at ease was because he had been hopeful.

And in the master's chambers,

They gathered for the feast

They stab it with their steely knives,

But they just can't kill the beast

“…Kenny? Are you okay?”

He stood still and looked at her. He noticed that she had a few freckles on her nose. Her brown eyes sparkled in the blue light. Her shoes were sensible. She lived in the real world. She held a job, probably a good one.

Last thing I remember, I was

Running for the door

I had to find the passage back

To the place I was before

She could be his ticket out.

'Relax,' said the night man,

We are programmed to receive

You can check out any time you like,

But you can never leave

“I’m sorry.” He said, dismayed.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

He struggled to find the words. “… I can’t stay.”

“Well… okay. Um, can I call you sometime?”

He sighed, “You’d be better off if you didn’t.”

She appeared confused. “So you just buy me a drink and ask me to dance and then walk away?”

“Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

She shrugged her shoulders, her arms hanging down limply at her sides. She shook her head with one of those you’re-such-an-asshole-I-can’t-believe-you-would-do-this-to-me looks on her face.

“You’re such an asshole. I can’t believe you would do this to me.”

“Believe me, Katie; I’m doing this for you.” He replied.

Her expression changed from disbelief to confusion, and then softened as she recognized the pain behind his eyes. He wasn’t leading her on or blowing her off, he was genuinely serious.

“I have to go.” He said, studying the floor intently. In the lighting, he looked almost like a disillusioned child.

This image sparked sympathy in his companion. She didn’t know why she felt sympathy for someone she had known for less than twenty minutes, but on impulse she reached out and put her hand to his chin and lifted his head until his eyes were again at the same level as hers. He gazed back at her, confused and desperate – as if he were barely hanging on.

“…You know, it’s okay… whatever it is. I mean, I don’t care. I won’t ask.”

His eyes darkened in sadness and he sighed and put on the best smile he could conjure. “Thank you. You’re an amazing woman, Katie.” He replied, “I hope you never meet anyone like me, ever again.”

With that he turned and stalked out of the club, his head hung in either despair or sadness, as he stepped outside and back onto the streets.

There comes a point when all illusions die, and you are left with only the harsh reality of the truth. The safety net snaps beneath you and you plummet deep, deep down into the desert of the real with a forceful SMACK as you shatter against it on impact. One is stripped of ignorance and must look at the world from the perspective of untinted shades. That time had now come.

He rarely gave thought to his life. His daily routine was composed of selfish impulses, leaving him still unsatisfied. He knew this and still remained a slave to it. He was prisoner of his vices, which were many. Really, who was he? In the grand scheme of life, the universe, and everything, what significance did he prove?

Absolutely none.

That wasn’t what bothered him, though. It was that he could never have the opportunity to change that. Even if he wanted to, he remained undeserving of it. His life was full of physical comfort and gluttonous pleasure, but he was damned to it. He was his own prison. He could get out of town or even the entire country and still not have left at all.

The empty motel room seemed to mock him. He threw himself dejectedly down on the bed and watched television all night, but it wasn’t plugged in.