Darker Shades of Fear

(Installment 31)

 

Feeling claustrophobic like the walls are closing in

Bloodstains on my hands and I don't know where I've been

 

* * *

 

The sudden ‘thunk’ of a thick glass connecting with the counter snapped him out of his stupor.

“You okay?” Asked the familiar voice from behind the bar.

He shook himself back into the present.  He really had to stop doing that… it was happening more and more and he couldn’t say he liked it.  He couldn’t say he disliked it either.  He couldn’t help but feel nothing about the constant zoning out.  It was almost as if someone would randomly push ‘standby’ and he would go on running automatically.  It was getting to the point where he’d come to his senses and not remember a thing.  It hadn’t been a problem at first… it had been so rare and infrequent that he had barely noticed it.  People spaced out all the time.  It had gotten to the point, however, where he’d find himself in some random setting without a clue as to where he was or how he had gotten there. 

It was both disturbing and settling at the same time.  Kenny liked having control of himself but not of his memory.  Selective retention, or something like that.  Maybe short-term memory loss.  Perhaps narcolepsy.  He doubted the latter.  Sleep was unnecessary.

Maybe he had a case of adult ADD.  He really didn’t care.   He hoped it wasn’t terribly serious but also kind of wished it would be fatal.

“I’m fine.  Just zoned out a little.  And you?”

“Doing pretty well.  I managed to get some information on that name you gave me.  I couldn’t get very much, but I can get you someone who can.”

Kenny leaned in, eager to hear what the bartender had to say.  He’d almost forgotten about the whole thing.

“Apparently this guy was some just some runaway kid gone bad.  I don’t have too much detail, but word is that his name started showing up in a junk ring on the East Coast.  What kind of junk, I dunno,”

“Heroin.”  Kenny said absentmindedly.  How he knew, he had no idea.

“What?”

“Heroin.  He was heavy into heroin.  Coke too.”

“Anyway, he started out as just another junkie.  He disappeared for a while and then resurfaced as a dealer.  I don’t know if any of that helps.”

“It does.  A little.”

“There’s this guy.  Joey Pezziano.  He used to work with Salantino.  I guess there was some bad blood between your guy and his.  I figure maybe he knows something more, but I couldn’t get to him.”

Kenny nodded.  “It’s okay.  I can take it from here.”

“You sure?  This guy has a pretty bad temper.  And I know you and Salantino didn’t get along too well.”

He smiled.  “Now what on Earth would give you that idea?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He sighed.  “I still don’t understand you.”

“Well that makes two of us.”

“I got a bad feeling about this whole situation.”

“Relax.” He said cavalierly.

“I admire your attitude, but at the same time, I wanna smack you upside the head for it.”

He laughed.

“I mean it.  You’re life means nothing to you, you go around like nothing can touch you… and for some reason, nothing ever does.  I don’t understand how you can be like that.”

“A wise man once said ‘it’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything’.”

A short, thoughtful pause.

“You know, I hate it when you’re right.”

Kenny grinned.  “That’s life.”

“So it goes.”

He laughed in mild amusement, and then finished the drink that had started their conversation.  “So where can I find this Pezziano fellow?”

“He’s got a place somewhere two towns over.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“You’re not going to be careful so there’s no point in me telling you to.”

Kenny nodded with a smile.  “Finally figured that out.”

“Doesn’t mean I like the idea any more than I did the first time you walked outta here with that smart-ass attitude.”

“I am the thorn in your side.”

“You said it, kid.”

Kid.  He hadn’t heard the man call him that in a long time.  It was endearing, somehow, instead of irritating.  Perhaps it was because he understood why he was inclined to the nickname.  It wasn’t patronizing as he had first thought it.   He actually found that he didn’t mind it so much.  Actually, it sort-of amused him.

“Ah, sorry, I know you hate that.”

“Nah.  It’s okay.  You can call me ‘kid’ if you really want to.”

“You sure?  I don’t wanna be offending you or anything.”

“Please.  It’s kinda nice to know that someone in the world actually regards you with some degree of concern.”

“I keep telling you, you could have such a better life.”

Kenny wondered if this was karma paying him back for all the listen to me you had better stop fooling around and playing video games and do your schoolwork and stop wasting your potential, young man, or you’ll never get anywhere in life talks he had missed out on as a child.  Either way, it amused him.

“I know.  I know.  New town, new life, new career.  Got ya.”

A smile and a sigh.  “You’re never gonna learn, are you?”

“Probably not.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“Among my good traits.”

The bartender laughed.  “It’s good to see you like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know things were pretty rough for you, but you were starting to scare me.  Acting really strange, even for you.”

“Yeah… well, you know how it goes.”

Truthfully, Kenny had no idea how it went or what it was.  His reply just seemed the most logical response to the other’s statement.

“Look, I’m not an idiot, Kenny.”

What?  Where had that come from?  “What?”

“I see what you did to your arm.  You’ve got to be blind not to notice it.  Those cuts look pretty recent to me.  I know you’re not the type to get help or want it, but that’s not the way to deal with shit.”

Kenny was completely bewildered.  What the hell was he talking about?  What cuts?  He didn’t have anything on his –

‘What the fuck…?’

He looked at the aforementioned appendage and with no small degree of shock noticed exactly what the bartender had been talking about.  There had always been scars.  He’d known that, acknowledged them, perhaps lied to himself about their origins, but they were scars which meant they were over and done with and no longer mattered.  But this… this was something he was completely unprepared for.  Three surface lacerations noticeably adorned his forearm, there was no intention of suicide but it was obvious they had been deep enough to inflict pain.

He just stared at his arm in shock and disbelief.

‘How the fuck did this happen?!’

‘When… how…I…”

‘Did I do this…?’

…Do you really want to know?

“I… I have no idea where these came from.” He said in all sincerity.  There was a tightness in his chest, along with the abrupt sensation of his stomach dropping without warning.  It wasn’t so much a feeling of freefalling… more like his stomach rolling slowly downward at its own leisurely pace so he could feel every second of its uncomfortable descent.

He knew instantly why his hands were shaking.  He knew what this dizzying sensation behind his eyes was.

Fear.

For the first time, he was actually scared of something.

“Kenny… you can tell me if you did it, I’m not gonna judge you. I just don’t wanna see you kill yourself.”

“I’m not… I wasn’t… I honestly don’t remember doing this.  I don’t think I did it.  I… maybe I was… don’t worry, I’m not gonna kill myself.  There’s no point in suicide.  I just… I have no idea how the hell these happened!”

From the man’s panic, the bartender was inclined to believe him.  “Kid, I know you don’t wanna hear it, but I think that’s serious business.”

“No fucking kidding!”

The bartender was silent.

“Maybe they were an accident… but I… no, they’re too deep.  But I never did this!”

“Maybe you just don’t remember… you said you don’t remember a lot of things.” He ventured cautiously.

“But shit like this I think I would!  I always remember the bad things!  Fuck!”

“First thing, I think you should calm down.”

“Put yourself in my position.  How fucking calm would you be?!”

“…Point taken.  But it’s only going to get worse unless you start breathing and try to relax!”

Kenny grudgingly accepted the advice and closed his eyes, concentrating on steadying himself.  This was too fucked up a situation even for him to fathom.

‘Do you know how this happened?’

Yes.

‘Tell me.’

…

‘Don’t play games with me!  Just fucking tell me what happened to my arm!’

Not here.  Not now.  He’s right.  You need to get a grip and control yourself before I can tell you anything.

“I think I’m gonna go.”

“Are you sure you’re all right…?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.  I’ll be fine once I get home.  I think I just… I really need to lie down.  Badly.”  Spinning.  He blinked a few times and the world seemed to slow down.

“Okay….”

Kenny moved slowly, carefully, through the crowd and out the door.

 

When Kenny finally came to grips with the situation, he found himself lying on his cheap hotel mattress.  When had he gotten in?  How much time had elapsed between when he had left the bar and when he’d arrived here? 

It was that nameless sensation that continued to occur.  He had likened it to something like standby in the past but this was something else entirely.  This was more like… more like…

‘Tell me.’

You already know.

‘Well it seems I’ve forgotten.  Enlighten me again, will you?’

Look out your window.  Tell me how long it’s been since you were at the bar.

Kenny shot an irritated glance out the window and found to his surprise it was already full daylight.

‘Christ… when did that happen?  And what the fuck is happening to me?!’

It’s been two days since you came home from the bar.  You don’t remember anything.

Two days.

Forty-eight hours.

‘That’s impossible.’

You know it.  Call it whatever you want, A Momentary Lapse of Reason for all I care.  It doesn’t matter.  You’re losing whatever grip you had on yourself.  No, let me rephrase that.  You’ve already lost it.  You have no idea.

‘How much time have I lost?’

In total?

He nodded.

…A month, maybe more.

His head spun.  One word came to mind:

‘No.’

You know there’s no other possible explanation.  Those random flashes you can barely remember… those have been filed away in your unconscious with all those other memories you so conveniently erase.  The ones that aren’t long enough to be flashbacks, so short they look like subliminal messages in a movie.  That’s you in all of them.  Hate to say I told you so.

‘… That… that’s just not possible…’

Sure it is.  People go crazy all the time.

‘I’m NOT crazy.’

Kenny, you’re not exactly the poster boy for sanity.

‘I haven’t met one yet.’

How long has it been since you’ve read a newspaper?

‘… Since what’s-his-name…the guy… he…’

You really have lost it.  Look under your bed.

Much to his nausea, he discovered a small collection of newspapers.  ‘I don’t keep them.’

 I know.

“I don’t understand.” He said, skimming the headlines and inside stories.

Keep skimming.  There’s bound to be a trigger somewhere.

 

Missing Son of Police Chief Found Dead

The body of Blake Hutch, runaway son of Police Chief Edward Hutch was discovered yesterday in a condemned building just inside town.  Police received an anonymous call from a nearby payphone expressing concern about the building and suspicion regarding the activities going on inside.  Blake died from a drug overdose at 4:30 AM in Saint Vincent’s Hospital.

Police have been searching for the boy since his disappearance seven years ago.  Edward refused to comment on his son or rumors surrounding the boy’s lifestyle.  Funeral arrangements will be held in…

 

‘… No.  I didn’t.  That wasn’t me.’

Of course it was.

‘I… there was no reason!  I didn’t have a reason!  He never did anything to me… accept annoy me to an ungodly extent.  I’ve never killed anyone for being annoying!’

First time for everything, I guess.

‘So what did I do?  Just go out and decide that I wanted to kill someone?!’

It sighed.  You realize you’re asking a non-corporeal voice in your head to recount the murder of someone you don’t remember committing?

‘Check.  Got it.’

Okay good.  God this is fucked up.  I digress.  Anyway, you were running around in your delirious state and whatnot, and ran into him again.

‘So what?  I decided to take him home and kill him?’

Essentially.

‘Well, what about these?  Christ, how many people have I…’

Eight.  Only three made it into the newspaper.  Doesn’t matter who they were, though.

‘How can you say that?!  Of course it fucking matters!’

They were all basically the same person.

‘What?’

You know what I’m talking about.  You saw him in them, and you hated it.  You dreamed you were killing him through each one of those drugged up runaway dope-fiends.

Drugged up runaway dope-fiends.

“Clark.”

Bingo.  I told you once before, it all goes back to him.

He’d stolen so much of Kenny’s life, and now it seemed he was taking what little Kenny had left.  He wasn’t there physically, but he was always part of everything.  Like some kind of parasite.  He remembered the sound of sharp steel gliding effortlessly in and out of flesh with a little squelching sound… oh how he wished it could’ve been him, really been him oh how sweet it would have been.

Wait.

‘Where the hell did that come from?!’

No no no no nononono.  This isn’t real this isn’t happening this isn’t fucking real get a grip, Kenny, pull yourself together oh God when did it get so cold in this room am I shivering… I’m never cold, never oh something’s gone wrong terribly wrong I’m not in control anymore, am I?

   Control is an illusion, Kenny.

No I can do this, I can… I can I can I can I can’t oh there’s no way I can Jesus Christ I can’t.

You’re always a slave to some form of control.  30,000 feet in the air, behind the wheel, or crossing the street, you still have NO authority over your circumstances.

This is different, this is my MIND damnit there has to be something I can do some way I can get things to go back to the way they were

When?  Things have always been like this.  It never used to bother you.  So why now?

It was a valid question; one that Kenny himself could not answer.

This is your life.  This is what you are.  This is what you do.

He was cold.  Unresponsive.

Kenny?

Still nothing.

What’s wrong?

‘I don’t want to be this anymore.’

  Why?  What do you want to be?

‘Anybody.’

You really want to disappear into existence?  Become just another nameless face masquerading in a suit and tie sitting in a gray cubicle for the rest of your life?  

No answer.

You have a gift, Kenny.  A gift most people would die for.  You can do anything you want.  Anything.  You can do what people only dream about.

‘You don’t usually sound like this.’

Sound like what?  … I was just telling you to get some help.  Get out of this, like the bartender always tells you, and get a real life.

Confused.  ‘No.  No, you didn’t.  You told me I had a gift.’

What?  Kenny?!  Hello?  Are you listening to me?!

‘Yes.’

You’re changing my words.  You’re hearing my voice tell you things that you want to hear… you can’t do this, Kenny of course you can don’t pay any attention to that what the hell is going on it’s a gift Kenny and you should use it you should get out of here and check yourself into help you need to find him you know it’s all because of him you need to find him no you need HELP this isn’t normal of course it’s not because you’re not normal you’re special he gave you this and you owe it to return the favor do yourself a favor and stay away from this get out no Kenny you’re not in far enough let it become you you did it before, before this stupid voice started talking I’m here to help you no it’s not it’s trying to misguide you to lead you off the path, my boy, it’s –

They continued to argue, but Kenny had tuned them out.  All he heard in his mind was blessed static and white noise.

‘I can’t feel anything.’

Numb.  Completely and totally void of all feeling.

He reached into the bedside table drawer and emerged with knife, caked with dried blood.

‘It’s not shiny anymore.  I like the way the red looks when it’s shiny.’

Jagged lines.  Red lines.  Dripping.

‘Oh no.  I made a mess.  But I did it for you.  You have to know it was for you.  Everything I’ve ever done was for you.’  Not his voice.

White noise and static faded into darkness.

 

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he was aware of was the headache.  The second thing was the dizziness.  Had he been drinking?  He’d just gotten back from the bar, and he’d only had one shot…

No.  The bar had been two days ago.

Right.

Best not to think about that.

Why was he in so much pain?  He tried to sit up, but for some reason, his arm burned.  His arm.  Right.  Had the ordeal with the bartender just been a dream?  But why did it feel sore?  Maybe he’d slept on it wrong.

He didn’t want to know.

That same surge of panic that had risen at the bar now resurfaced tenfold.  He couldn’t remember how to breathe.  His arm was covered with blood.

He stumbled to the bathroom and held the injured limb underneath the water, washing away the brownish-red with cheap motel soap.

He surveyed the damage, and wished he’d never cleaned it.  In his arm, written in violent red, he’d carved one word.

C L A R K

 

 

 

 

 

 

©Danielle Lovallo, 2005

Lyrics © Megadeath, “Sweating Bullets”