The Dark Place (13 page)

“You really think I gave a fuck about some little whore?” asked Cathy, eyes widening, a sinister smirk taking over her entire face. “Oink Oink!”

Karl thought of
Les Tricoteuses
, of Madame Defarge’s smirk of death. It chilled him to the bone.

“You … you’ve got to help … help them … please, Cathy …”

Suddenly, without warning, the entire scene began speeding right back up to normal. Karl felt his insides pulling tightly together. Something tangible began climbing into the back of his mind, switching his entire world off. Seconds later, he dissolved into a rolling sea of darkness, punctuated by flashes of white light. The darkness seemed endless. The floor opened up, swallowing him. The room went into hiding.

The last thing he saw was the figure of a man, standing beside Cathy, grinning.

“K
arl?”

“Huh?”

“Open your eyes, Karl,” said a man’s voice.

Somewhere in Karl’s head, a buzz saw was cutting through his skull as he slowly began opening his eyes. Bleached light stung like acid. He closed them quickly, shielding eyes with an arm.

“Shit!”

“Sorry,” replied the voice. “I keep forgetting about that. Let me dim myself down a tad. There. How’s that?”

Gingerly, Karl willed his reluctant lids open. He was in a room of some sort. All white, washed-out, lacking a focal point of colour for the eye to concentrate on. A stranger was looking in through the windows of Karl’s eyes. The stranger’s skin was almost fluorescent, eerily not unlike the room itself.

Momentarily disorientated, Karl blustered, “Where … where the hell am I?”

“Hell? I hope that was just a slip of the tongue, Karl,” replied the stranger, smiling slightly. “Don’t you remember? You puffing away like a kid behind the bicycle shed in school, before taking the needle? This
is my House – or it
was
.”

The room slowly began morphing into colours and shapes and smells – smells of incense and melting candles quickening the air.

“The old church …? Who … who
are
you? You’re not the one I saw standing beside Cathy.”

“You can’t guess who I am?”

“Not in the mood for guessing, friend. Just tell.”

“I’m Jesus, Karl.”

“Of course you are. You can tell me who’s going to win the Grand National, then?”

“I never encourage gambling, Karl.”

“Did Cathy tell you my name? Where is the man who was with her? Was that Bob Hannah?”

“Cathy and Bob?” Jesus laughed. “They are not on my team. Sin drips from every curve of Cathy’s seductive body. That’s not the first time Cathy’s done the old apple and needle trick. That goes way back to the Garden. And I mean
way
back.” The laugh became secretive.

“Who the hell
are
you?”

“You really shouldn’t use that imprecation in my presence. Good job I have a sense of humour, Karl. So don’t go listening to all those crazy followers of mine telling you different. I can’t stand those
born-again
Christians, void of all humour.”

For the first time, Karl noticed that the large crucifix dangling from the ceiling was now vacant of its lone occupant. Quickly he began scrutinising the man a bit more closely. Bearded and scraggy-looking, partially clothed in rags and wearing a filthy T-shirt stating:
I was an atheist until I realised I was God
. To Karl, there was a borderline familiarity about him, a sliding sense of recognition.

Attempting to stand, Karl suddenly felt his knees turning to rubber. “
Oh
…”

“Steady,” encouraged the soothing voice of Jesus.

Karl could feel burning bile bubble in his throat. Without warning, he collapsed to the ground, vomiting violently. His world began spinning and spinning. He hadn’t felt this sick in years. Wondered if he was dying – or simply dead?

“Oh God,” he moaned.

“Yes?”

“Don’t. Okay? Don’t be an annoying bastard,” said Karl feebly, trying to sound threatening, wiping sour spillage from his mouth. “I’m not in the mood for any of this shit.”

“Why?”

“Can’t you see? I’m stoned.”

“Where I come from, being stoned takes on an entirely different meaning. A lot more sinister.”

“Hilarious. A real Frank Carson. Just leave me alone …
oh
… my head …”

“Your features look tired and battered, Karl. What you really need is a
faith
lift. If you want, I can turn that frown upside down and make your soul all aglow,” replied Jesus. “Here, let me give you a hand up.”

Karl reached for the hand, immediately noticing the drilled wound. It appeared to be damp, the leakage slightly thick. Instinctively, he recoiled slightly.

“What’s … what’s wrong with your hand? It’s bleeding.”

“Stigmata,” responded Jesus, smiling a weird and wonderful smile. “You can’t pretend to ignore it, Karl. It demands your attention.”

“Of course,” replied Karl, sarcastically. “Have to get one, the next time I do party tricks for Naomi.”

From a click of Jesus’s fingers appeared lit cigarettes – two. Jesus eased one towards his mouth while offering the other to Karl.

“No thanks,” said Karl. “Trying to give them up.”

“Lead us not into temptation, eh?” said Jesus, smiling a wonderful, blindingly white smile that any ad man would die for.

“Something like that.”

Sucking gently on the cig, Jesus closed his eyes, seemingly taking in the taste.

“It’s been a
very
long time since I had one of these. I really needed that – bad.
Oops
. I guess I shouldn’t really be associating bad with me, should I?”

Karl said nothing, watching the cigarette slowly eat itself, disappearing in a crackling wisp of smoke like a lonely spectre.

“Take my hand, Karl,” commanded Jesus, his voice strong yet gentle. “Don’t be afraid. It won’t bite you.”

Stifling an impulse to ignore the request, Karl reached and reluctantly grabbed the extended hand.
Pow!
A tactile shudder, quickly followed by a surge of a thousand little jolts shooting through his nervous system began railing and rattling along his spine, before exiting his mouth and ears. He staggered, his feet feeling as if floating inches from the ground.

So real. Sooooo realllll. Surreallllllllllllll
.

“Easy, Karl. Don’t rush the rush. There’s no hurry. We have all eternity.”

“Who … who
are
you … really?” Hesitancy had now entered Karl’s voice. He quickly released his grip on the stranger’s strange hand.

“Really? I’ve already told you who I am: I Am the Great I Am.”

“That must be nice for you. You sound more like the Cat in the Hat. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to get going. It was nice meeting you, and all that.”

“I can help you, Karl. Always remember, Jesus saves.”

“Is that so? Where? The Bank of Ireland or Ulster Bank?”

“You really know how to turn the knife, Karl. You’re a bigger doubter than Thomas. We’ve a lot in common, you and I. We’ve both been crucified for one thing or another,” said Jesus, pulling his T-shirt up, turning and revealing an exposed back. It was horribly scarred with hundreds of deep cut lines, raw and damp as sliced bacon.

Karl involuntary grimaced at the scarred back. “Who the hell … who
done
that?”

“Everyone. Read between the
lines
, Karl. Don’t allow cynicism and guilt to cloud your judgement.”

“Guilt? What guilt?”

“Your mother.”

Karl could feel the blood draining from his face. His legs were rubberising again. “You keep my mother out of this.”

“You didn’t murder your mother, Karl. You didn’t facilitate it in any shape or form. You were barely nine years old. Don’t you understand that, after all these years?”

“You better stop talking like that, if you know what’s good for you.”

“You were hurt by her, as a child. You witnessed her having affairs with other men, while your father was at sea. You hated her because –”

“You’re a liar! I didn’t hate her! I never hated my mother. I loved her. She never had affairs!”

“You also blamed her for bringing the monster into your house. When she was murdered and you were attacked and left for dead by the same monster, you believed that your thoughts somehow played a part in that brutal slaying. That’s how unjustifiable guilt operates, sitting in a corner like a spider, weaving silently in the dark, making you doubt, questioning your conscience, your faith.”

“Liar! I don’t have any so-called faith. I stopped believing in God’s falsehood a long time ago. God’s all smoke and mirrors. I even spell his name in lower case when I’m typing.”

“Oh,
that
hurt, Karl,” replied Jesus, a small smile on his face. “
Believe
in me. I
can
help. Allow me to oil your rusted faith. Perhaps I should introduce you to Jude? Now
there’s
an optimist for you. He’s in charge of all lost and hopeless causes.”

“I don’t need
anyone’s
help. I’ll figure it all out. I always do.”

“It must be terrible, being so perfect. Next you’ll be trying to walk on water when you have all that Hennessy in you.”

“Leave me alone! I need no one! I’ve
no doubts
about that!” Karl squeezed his hands tight against his ears, but the voice still penetrated.

Suddenly, a crackling black and white film began playing, flickering ghostly on the far wall.

“What … what are you doing?”

“Thought you might like to watch an old silent movie with me, for old time’s sake.”

Creepy piano keys began playing
Stormy Weather
. The hairs on Karl’s neck began to prickle.

The screen came suddenly to life with bursts of interrogating flashes dancing on the darkness of the ceiling, revealing a large country kitchen of some sort. A man, sitting at a table. Karl could only see his back, but it sent shivers down his spine. The man was staring down along the dark paradise of a gun’s barrel, pressed tight against his head. The gun was held by a stocky gunman of brawny beef, a skin-peeling smirk pencilling his
leering face.

Lightning was flashing through windows. Everything was in monochrome except a pool of blood oozing from a girl’s body on the floor. The blood was the reddest red Karl had ever seen. It resembled Superman’s cape. Another gunman stood over the body, throwing his head back with laughter, like a hyena on two legs.

“What the …?” Karl attempted to kick his brain into gear, but everything was in slow motion.

The hyena was now semi-naked, its hairy penis stiff while mounting the body. Saliva began pooling round the hyena’s mouth.

The gunman at the table was talking but no words were forming. He placed the gun tighter against the man’s head, and slowly pulled back the hammer. He grinned.

Weirdly, parts of the tabletop splintered outwards, leaving a newly formed deadeye in the centre of the table. The gunman’s head suddenly jerked back violently, his chin immediately developing a tiny cavity, not unlike Kirk Douglas’s famous dimple. A track-line of smooth blood inked from the cavity, causing a miniature bib of dark red to form on his chest. He didn’t move. He didn’t utter a single word. His eyes resembled glass.

A thumb of lazy smoke oozed from the table’s deadeye.

The man at the table now stood, pointing his concealed weapon at the hyena on the floor, firing twice, killing it.

“Turn that damn thing off!” screamed Karl. “Turn it off!”

The screen suddenly evaporated.

“You had no qualms about killing Bulldog. Or Detective Cairns,” stated Jesus.

“They … they deserved it. Bulldog and Cairns both murdered … many people … murdered Jenny Lewis … her mother. I was … I was only … was … defending myself …”

“Yes, I know you were. But it tasted real good when you shot them, didn’t it?”

“They were thugs … bullies, picking … always picking on the weak.” Karl cupped his hands against his ears. He wanted this accusing voice to stop tormenting him. “They murdered … anyone standing in their murderous way.”

“All very true,” acknowledged Jesus. “But you brought yourself down to their level, Karl, didn’t you? You love scratching at the outer skin of Darkness. The relief is tremendous. Isn’t it?”

“Leave me alone!” His hands squeezed tighter. His skull felt ready to explode. “You’re not real!”

“If you don’t believe in me, I can’t help you.” Jesus reached out his bloody hands. “Ask and you shall receive, Karl. I can help.”

“Don’t touch me with your creepy hands! I don’t need you!” Karl’s head began spinning. “Don’t need you. Don’t … need you … need you …”

“Okay. If that’s your final word?” said Jesus, glancing towards the heavens. “Let’s give a round of applause to Karl for his stubborn unbelief. Let’s give him Jericho!”

Despite the annoying voice penetrating his head, Karl could detect other sounds, ripping and scratching sounds, sounds like ribs violently expanding, tearing through their encasements. Without warning, the walls of the old church began crumbling. The naked cherubs immediately flew to the safety of the ceiling. The large crucifix dangling from the ceiling began melting at an incredible pace, pooling on to the floor in a Daliesque bloody puddle before shaping into a question mark.

From Jesus’s wounds, blood came flooding out in a great deluge.

The colour red was everywhere. Wine. Blood. Candles. Eyes. Karl needed to escape, get away from all the madness. He tried staggering out, just as he heard the sound from above. A part of the ceiling caught him, smack dead centre in the forehead.

Everything suddenly became dark as concrete rained down from the heavens, and immediately all hell broke loose.

K
arl staggered down Hill Street, feeling like a drunk as he headed homewards. He slipped twice on the cobblestones underfoot, cursing their giant-knuckle unevenness, before finally reaching the door of his office.

His hand was shaking so badly he found it difficult to work the key into the door. All about, night shadows were quickly coming undone. Soon it would be dawn.

“Come on, you bastard. Get in,” he hissed, glancing to his left and then to his right, the key seemingly getting bigger and fatter, becoming more awkward to hold.

Thankfully, the narrow street was empty – as far as he could detect – but the feeling of eyes watching him never left as the key finally hit home.

Inside the darkened hallway, he leaned against the door and held his breath.

Footsteps? Someone walking; nearing?

Thump thump thump
went his heart.

The hallway seemed to be getting darker, swaying like a boat on unfriendly waters. Vertigo was kicking in. He feared being on the verge of a blackout.

Breathe, for fuck sake! Your bastarding imagination’s interfering with reason
.

He quickly breathed, allowing air to fill burning lungs, until it chased everything from his head.

“Easy … easy …” The dizziness began easing.

Steadying, he entered the bathroom, gently locking the door before hitting the light switch.

“
Fuck the night
…” Clothing bloody and tattered.

Hesitantly, he consulted the wall mirror, directly to his left.

“
Shit!
” The face looking back at him was a stranger; a bloody,
ashen-faced
stranger, puckered skin covered in blood. He looked lost, like a mourner at the wrong funeral.

Quickly turning on the water tap, cupping hands beneath the faucet, Karl began channelling the water into his mouth. Finished, he squeezed some toothpaste from a tube on to his index finger, rubbing the gooey contents hard against his teeth.

Discarding his bloody clothing, he stepped out of their puddle and into the shower, its cold-water propulsion jolting him into alertness.

“Karl? Is that you?” asked Naomi’s muffled voice, close to the door.

Shit!
“Yes … yes, love …”

“Why’s the door locked?”

He could hear her pushing against the door, fiddling with the handle.

Think!
“I … I just took a terrible shit. It stank all the way to Bangor.”

“Too much information, thank you,” returned Naomi’s disgusted voice. “It’s almost five in the morning. Where’ve you been?”

“To … to the been place.”

“I’m not in the mood for your sarcasm, Karl. Why the shower at this time of the morning?”

“I …”
Think, for fuck sake!
“I … slipped and fell against a skip, over beside Saint Anne’s Cathedral. Some silly bastard left it filled with planks of wood and broken glass sticking out. Almost broke my bloody neck. Busted my face, a bit …”

“Oh my God, Karl! Are you okay?”

“Yes … just a few bloody scratches and on-coming bruises. I’ll feel a lot better when I sip that Hennessy you’ve got waiting for me in the bedroom,” he replied, desperately trying to make his voice sound jolly
and calm.

“Want me to come in and scrub your back?”

Karl quickly glanced at the pile of bloody clothes. “Er … I’m … I’m almost finished. In a few minutes, you can scrub my front, in bed.”

Naomi giggled. “Okay, but don’t be long.”

“Only a few more minutes.”

He listened to her walk away before bending over and vomiting into the shower’s enclosure. It was a full-bodied vomit, shaking most of the upper body, face instantly contorting in pain.

It was a good ten minutes later before he felt confident enough to stand, and step out of the shower’s enclosure.

Checking his naked body, he looked for major cuts. Nothing. A few scratches, but not enough to warrant the blood-covered clothing on the ground.

Where the hell did all the blood come from?
Suddenly, a foggy flashback of weirdness. A man pretending to be Jesus, laughing as he self-inflicted knife wounds to his wrists, claiming to be able to bring the house down – literally.

“Headcase,” mumbled Karl, less than confident.

Cathy’s smirking face suddenly appeared at the mirror. He quickly wiped it away with the foggy condensation.

Balling the clothes, he quickly deposited them in a large black garbage bag from underneath the sink and stealthily made his way downstairs, stepping out into the cold street, naked. He glanced left and right before dumping the clothes in a bin huddled together with others for the morning collection.

Without warning, a mangy cat jumped from its filthy hideout, scaring the shit clean out of him.

“
Bastard!
” he hissed.

Closing the door quietly behind him, he tiptoed up the stairs towards the bedroom. Inside, Naomi was sound asleep, his glass of Hennessy parked beside the table lamp.

He swallowed the lovely liquid expertly with one gulp, dreading what the next few hours would bring.