Scarleton Series I : Before the Cult (6 page)

“Really? You
look a bit older than that.”

“Really? Thank
you.”

She moved out
of view and came back with a can of beer in her hand. “Where are
you from?”

“South
Africa.”

She gasped.
“Wow. Really? You not kidding?”

“I’m not
kidding. No need to tell me where you from I can already
guess.”

“How come?”

“American
accent is very telling.”

“Huh. What’s
your name? Is it difficult to pronounce.”

“I wish.”

“Huh?”

“I wish it was
hard to pronounce. I find most black men including me have the
name. Can you guess?”

“Is it
Jerome?”

I laughed. “No.
It is Sandy. And yours?”

“Joni.”

“I guess you
are a housewife.”

“What gave that
up?” she sarcastically replied. “What time is it there?”

I checked on
the right bottom corner of the screen. “2am.”

“That’s crazy.
Why you up at this time are you one of those pervs jiggling their
junk on this site? Lonely?” she light-heartedly said.

“No. I think
this is the third time I’m here and you the first person I have
talked to for this long. Others just awkwardly stare and skip me.
Got me a bit self-conscious.”

“Is that
so?”

“Yep.”

“Do you live
with your parents?”

“Yes and no.
I’m at uni.”

She nodded.
“So, uh, are you celebrating anything?”

I shook my
head, smiling.

“What’s the
matter?” she leaned forward into the camera.

“I couldn’t
sleep. I thought a drink would help me catch what little sleep I
can get.”

She nodded.
“Alright. Things aren’t that great?” She lifted her can of beer and
took sip.

I considered.
“Yes, there is something keepin’ me up.”

“You logged in
for counsel?”

“Perhaps. I
have no idea. I had one beer felt and like company.”

“What are the
chances that you would be matched with someone willing?” She
smiled.

“I don’t know.
One in twenty thousand?” I laughed. Then I looked down on my lap as
my countenance changed into something sombre and revealing of the
inner turmoil. “You are an honest looking woman maybe you can help
me figure something out.”

“Maybe I am.”
She smiled and took a large gulp of the beer.

“I have done
something really bad and now I realized it might have been all for
nothing. And if that is the case, I don’t think I could live with
the things I have done. I thought it was all for a good reason and
now it doesn’t look that way.”

Nodding she
glanced down then took a sip from the can. “Sounds really
serious.”

“It is. I don’t
know what to do. I don’t feel guilty. I am just worried of what
happen next and if there is a next for me.”

“Do you mind
being specific or is it something you can’t tell a stranger on the
internet about?

I stayed quiet
for a while. “No. I don’t think it is something I can tell anyone
just yet.”

She shrugged.
“Maybe you should see someone. It really helps.”

“What do you
mean?”

“A therapist.
Are there therapists in your area? If there aren’t find someone you
can talk to who won’t tell anybody, like a priest.” She took a
sip.

I nodded. “I’ll
think about it?” I downed what was left of my glass. I poured
myself another glass and raised it. “Thank you.”

She grinned.
“You’re welcome.”

I took a sip
and watched her, the veil of shame falling on my shoulders. She
reciprocated the thought filled silence with a gaze of her own. It
was the type of a pause in a conversation where minds retired to
their private rooms for miniature consultation before resuming.
There was a lot to be talked about, that did not mean I was without
worry. After sharing something of this magnitude the mood sours and
the flow of conversation is jarred which could led to the end of
the connection all together. The end of the connection would be a
hurtful thing, a form of rejection that I could not be able to
stand now. Joni might have been a
lifeling
stranger on the
internet but something about her was comforting and reassuring more
than the drink in my hand. I hang off the edge of a chasm and she
gave the only hand keeping me from falling, I dreaded what lay at
the bottom.

Joni cleared
her throat and flicked her hair, then let out a weary sigh.

“Are you gonna
skip me now?” I asked.

She shook her
head. “No. Why?”

“You
promise?”

She squinted.
“Sure, I will stay.”

“Thank you. I
really need this.” I paused. “You know a lot of people would leave
me right about now. People can’t stand people being honest. You are
a good person. I mean why can’t people stand each other and be with
each other through such times?”

She grinned,
nodding. “Yeah. Very true.”

Then the screen
went blank, she had skipped me.

The smoke from
Macfearson’s cigarette filled the room. He reclined in his chair
and stared straight through the wooden floor while he flicked
cigarette ashes to the floor, not bothering with an ashtray. His
left leg tapped on the floor, trembling.

“What we do now
is just pull back and don’t do anything that can make us get caught
while we think through what just happened to us. There is no need
for us to be anxious as that could draw attention our way,”
Macxermillio said. “We must remember that the whole point of this
was to establish some sort of credibility. We may be disappointed
and taken aback by this but this scratches at least one method off
the list.”

“We are
fucked!” I said. “Now we dug ourselves so deep that we may never
get out. What if we get arrested and we never get a chance to
pursue home? The law will be on us. It is only a matter of time and
I don’t believe we are any close to getting out of here.”

Macfearson
shrugged. “There is still a possibility that we did not do it the
right way.” he flicked the cigarette butt to the floor and stepped
on it.

“Don’t you get
it?” I said. “We can’t kill any more people! This killing is the
problem, we can’t risk that shit anymore.”

“No, we just
have to do it right.” Macfearson shook his head, shifting to a more
upright posture. “Are you a little rattled after fleeting a few
lifelings
?” He scowled.

“I’m not guilty
over killing them. I’m not guilty at all. I’m saying you can’t dig
a hole deep enough to cover all this mess for long enough!” I
said.

“That
may
be the case,” Macxermillio said. “As far as I am
concerned there is no reason we should be edgy about that right
now. We should worry about the fact that these voices from the
calling are there to jeopardize us and stir us away from our
goal.”

“We are not
sure about that just yet,” said Macfearson. He lit another
cigarette. “Maybe we picked the wrong samples. I have been thinking
about this all night, tossing it in my head and I think we need to
sample a
deathling
.”

“Oh my fuck!” I
shouted.

“What?”

“You’re
bloodthirsty that is what you are. You are addicted to it as much
as you are to the self-harm. You can’t stand the possibility of
going on without hackin’ someone’s head off,” I said.

He flinched in
his chair. “Fuck off, you miserable dead freak! You have no idea
what this is about. These voices in our heads appeal to our brute
instinct as
deathlings
, if there is a way to uncover
ourselves is through them. Maybe with a bit more self-knowledge we
might do something right and head off to the fuckin’ crop.”

“Well I think
we have listened too much to our instincts. Don’t think it is
getting us anywhere quite frankly. We are still here, maybe even
right back where we started. The calling is just another system of
rejection like the atmosphere of this world that we are forcing
down our lungs. It is poison.”

“Mac, maybe we
should use this prick as a sample next,” he grunted. “You
fuck.”

“Calm down,”
Said Macxermillio. “The sampling was just one way of testing for
credibility. What we need to figure out is the alternative to
sampling.” He cleared his throat and slowly rubbed his hands
together, “There must be something.”

“Does it have
to be killing people?” I asked.

Macfearson
glared at me.

“No,”
Macxermillio answered.

I leered at
Macfearson, watching him for a reaction. “I think we should see
someone,” I said.

Macfearson
darkly grinned. “What?”

“I think one of
the ways to start fixing this is by getting an alternative
viewpoint. We are too close to this to see clearly. I think a
therapist would help weed out some garbage.” I offered.

Macfearson
jumped up and kicked his chair to the wall almost breaking it. “No
way!”

Macxermillio
watched as Macfearson ruffled his hair in frustration and punched
the closet multiple times. I cowered in my seat, cringing at the
thought of being battered by his fists.

“Pipe the fuck
down!” Maxcermillio bellowed. A tone and a choice of words foreign
to his repertoire, because of that it chugged Macfearson to a halt.
Macfearson got on his feet and authoritatively gestured for
Macfearson to sit down. “Sit the fuck down.”

Hesitantly,
Macfearson picked up the chair and set it. He glared at
Macxermillio, this time with less intensity and contempt. “He
--”

“It sounds like
a fuckin’ good idea, alright?” Macxermillio said. He turned to me.
“Obviously we can’t tell anyone about the sampling we have to think
of an allegory of a sort. Great idea.” He shifted his attention to
Macfearson. “I know it may feel like we falling back, that we are
starting over but this is not the case .Believe me. You know, it is
just part of the process, burning old bridges to build new ones. At
least now we know a dozen things that don’t work and that is
progress. We are narrowing down and closing in. I think you are so
desperate for this to be right because you can’t handle putting
your faith in something else and have it belied again. I understand
that pain, we all feel it. But now, by doing this we are taking
another step, exposing ourselves to a different doctrine that may
very well dispel all this pain and suffering. I know, you wanna
leave this place as soon as possible, you can’t stand not doing
something pragmatic.” Then to us all, “I know we are hooked on
blood. This can help us with that urge and maybe distil a bit of
focus and clarity. Buy us some time before we fuck things up.”

Macfearson
spoke through his hardened mouth, “Where are these
therapists
?”

I leaned
forward. “The university provides free counselling for students.
Obviously you can’t use that service so I will go on our behalf and
share whatever knowledge I can get.”

His nose
flaring, Macfearson grimaced. “You will?”

“I will.”

“I don’t need
to tell you what I’m capable of.” Macfearson rose and marched out
of the room banging the door behind him.

Macxermillio
turned my way. “He has a hard time letting go and moving on. It’s
one of the reasons I took him with me. Keeps us from wandering”

We had to learn
about the crop, our home. Although we got the sense the place was
forbidden and we, although we hadn’t learnt our nature, would not
succeed in unravelling the mystery. Something was growing on those
fields and it was a call of destiny to uncover what it was. It felt
as if the whole meaning of our existence, if not existence itself
depended on it. There was completeness there. It has been a year
since we began taking on this ordeal as a trio. Before then things
were murky and bleak. We coming together was also in the foggiest
and hopeless of circumstances. I should make it clear that they
found me, on the mystical day amongst the woods of an unknown land.
Mystical because it is hard to pinpoint where and when in my
memory, nonetheless the detail is fair, even to one with a blurry
mind-eye it is simple to see.

I heard hoofs
at a gallop approaching. Apprehensive, I turned my head to its
direction. There was shouting and a faint cry of a man. Through the
fog, further amongst the trees and in sight, something silver shone
from the distance. Then the faint cry swayed back and forth from
panting to crying. A wretched man in muddy jeans and a white jersey
bolted into view. As he passed a trail of fear hung behind. He was
a man pushed to his limits, running from immediate peril. He was
clumsy, the mud slowed his heels and strained the bit of strength
that was left within him.

Then emerged ta
black horse and the rider. His velvet cloak , red in the inside and
black on the outside, fluttering behind him. Its collar spiked to
his ears, mingling with his long white hair. There was dirt and
stains on it like he had been fighting in a medieval battle. Focus
distorting his face like anguish, his eyes determined and sharp.
His right leather gloved hand at the reins as the left grasped a
long sword. As he manoeuvred his way amongst the trees and branches
the sword moved effortlessly and expertly like a part of his
hand.

At the verge of
my sight the man tripped. Slammed to the ground head first. His
face submerged in mud and grass. He turned to his side and then to
his back, spitting, wheezing and coughing. In a few seconds the
rider had caught on. With a tug he reeled his black monster to a
halt. Climbed off the saddle and strolled towards the man in his
heavy black boots. He hovered over him for a few moments disgust,
wrinkling his face with each second.

As the cold tip
lightly pressed against the man’s throat he whimpered. “Take a dope
it’s just a dip,” the rider said, clearly exasperated. His was
voice guttural.