Part One Three Musketeers at Night

May 23, 2006

“What have I become?

My sweetest friend?”

I heard Johnny Cash’s version of the song on a special of him the other night. Personally, I know what I’ve become so that question answers itself; nothing. Whomever reads this would probably be thinking that I’m just some twenty-something know-it-all who thinks he has it so bad. Anyone who would think that obviously has no clue what I really think. I’ve never had it bad. In fact, my parents told me when I was eighteen to leave home and never come back, find an apartment and just live my life. On the first of every month there is two thousand dollars transferred into my personal banking account from my comforting creators. Since they are pretty well off it’s not obscene for to grant their only son such money to live. Both of them know I’m not able to work due to my problems and essentially they’ve given up on me however, the love they feel for me has faded to a dull moan and albeit all hope being abandoned I have not. They’d rather never speak to me again than know, on the back of their minds I might have frozen to death on the unforgiving curb of the train station.

I’ve thought about calling of course, thanking them for their courtesy but it felt more like phoning a major corporation and complimenting them on the quality of their product; they could give a rat’s ass. There would be pleasantries to no end, nods in the appropriate places and silence filled with inane chatter. We’d all skirt around the real issues and in the end the connection would not only be absolutely redundant, it would be depressing. In a sense it would be like conversing with yourself in a past life as that life no longer holds any meaning for you. The comfortable life I took for granted during youth is now as real as Hobbiton. Now, I’m simply Andy, needle freak and ailing junkie – pleased to meetcha’!.

My entire life has been cast aside like an empty pack of cigarettes and replaced with this thin existence called limbo. I’m not living or dead…I’m simply waiting to see what team decides to pick me and I’ve always been the last one picked. What I now have instead of a life is euphoria in its purest form. Life was good but this is nothing short of spectacular. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise because those are the ones who are really afraid to live.

Reality is that not everyone is apt to agree with me (my well off parents included) and plenty of the do-gooders out there that consider me absolute scum – a sponge of the everyman. Not that it’s wrong to have an opinion but until you’ve seen the world through my eyes you’ve no right to label me as the shit on the bottom of your shoe. Deep down I’m no different from you and I think that’s what makes you all so revolted by me. We’re not the same but we’re no different. We’ve all got our quirks and jerks, things that turn our chins a different way and we’re all keeping skeletons in our closets. Whether it’s your taste for hookers or alcohol or even those idiotic toy trains some people find so fascinating. We all have our escapes and personal methods of ventilation. Perhaps my means aren’t the cleanest or the most dignified but it’s mine all the same. You’ve no right to take it away from me.

A trickle of blood runs down my forearm and I can feel the tension inside loosening yet stiffening all at once. Soon I’m afraid I’ll be unable to continue this entry. This is some really good stuff this time. I’ll have to call this guy again.

To close off another chapter, here’s a few more quotes from songs I’ve forgotten.

“His eyes are tainted

Staggered his breath oh god he’s addicted

Addicted to death.

Oh No.”

“What a beautiful thing,

And death slides close to me,

Won’t grow old to be,

A junkie wino creep.”

All conscious thought began to float away from him; a feather in the winds of consciousness. Eventually the echoes of thoughts long passed faded to a barely audible drone in the winds and he was free of the prison that was his mind. Alcatraz must’ve been easier to escape. What he called ‘The Climax’ was on it’s way, he could tell by the way the light reflected of the pane window before him and the thin ripples that passed through his skin like shockwaves; the hairs on his arms stood at attention. Sleep washed over him in a dank blanket of space. Stars whirled around his face in a psychotic light show and their gravity pulled his arms towards the swirling emptiness taking shape beyond his comprehension. As his arms were gently pulled into the nothingness of space a faded silver mist spiraled around the tips of his fingers exciting the tiny follicles of tiny hairs growing on them, towards his knuckles and eventually enveloped his entire body in a tainted metallic aura.

To be around absolutely nothing, alone in the vastness of existence is a truly insationable feeling. Being truly alone is a gift the meek are not awarded and the strong have forever possessed. For a brief second a silky weight pressed against the colour of his eye yet he did not blink nor could he blink for he wasn’t sure he was even seeing with his own eyes any longer. Maybe this time his wish would be granted and he would never return to his shell and forever he would wander the universe as a ghost of his former self, perpetually marveling at the silent beauty of everything.

Surrounding him was a barely audible whine of a melody that sounded so eerily familiar yet he was unable to place a finger on what it was which, was often the case. An image of a thousand angels stuffed into a tiny cathedral and forced to bellow out the most serene piece of music passed before his eyes and suddenly he could make out the words but not understand them.

Slowly the melody dulled and the serenity of the voiced changed to that of a low moaning sound which seemed to envelop his body in an uncomforting numbness that wasn’t all abnormal with his methods of ventilation except this time there was a foreign undertone which he found unfeasible to lay a finger on. Much like all else he heard sounded vaguely recognizable but its source escaped him. Now that too was fading and he was left in silent darkness once again. The tiny follicles of hair on his fingers repeated their queer actions as the silver mist retreated several times faster than it arrived.

In the real world the worn syringe had snuck its way from his indolent grasp and now lay nestled – rather comfortably – in the spine of the journal he’d been writing in over half an hour ago. A year or so ago – though to Andy it felt as if eons had passed since he came into possession of the object of his wayward affections, his life altered. During his cooked wanderings downtown, as was the thing to do after his parents discarded him, he came across a stationary story whose name escapes him even to this day. Gaining possession of the journal even seems to be a dream to him because as capricious as he is not an unapparent hand plucked the book from a shelf and casually slipped it into his coat pocket. He browsed for several more moments before exiting the shop oblivious to the fact he’d just committed a felony. An hour later when he’d placed the keys to his new apartment on the kitchen counter (beside the toaster, not the microwave) was when he’d discovered it. Nothing about it seemed unordinary to him – it looked to hold about three hundred pages and the hardcover of the book was being protective by a smooth leather casing which he decreed was a nice touch and was bound together by a gold coloured plate of metal which he assumed was fastened with magnets. When he opened it he discovered a new world or a way of life so to speak. Before his eyes lay hundreds of pages of empty space (which happened to be his favourite place in the entire universe) that was simply begging—jonesin’ to be filled with its drug of choice; ink. He cast his glance away from the open book and left to sleep; the day had tired him and his new possession would have to wait until a later day. It’s time would eventually come. And come it had. For the seven months following his first entry (psychotic rambling about how all the traffic lights in the world should always stay green and how the cat across the hall had it out for him) the pages became more and more filled. Initially it started off he would only write in it when he felt the need to get some things off his chest but as the entries piled up he felt more of a need to fill up those empty pages until it became something that was done at least once a day, even if he only jotted down a few scribbled slurs. These blank pages would not be denied their birthright. Nor would he.

A sucking sound overtook Andy’s world. Much the slimming stack of blank pages his mind had begun to wear thin and the malady began. In his own world universes began to spin around his face and the stars that were dancing their psychotic dance were too miniscule to see. All of it was nauseating but after so many trips even the worst tumbles seem elementary. For a moment he caught a glimpse of the face of his father in the dissipating light show and he recalled back to a lesson his father had taught him one winter day when his wish for a snow day was denied (it had only snowed an inch when half a foot had been forecasted). No sense in worrying about the negatives all the time Andy for you should always remain focus on the positive things in life. If all you think about is negative then it’s all you will see. It’s mind over matter son, mind over matter. His Da’ had said that on several occasions before and since but this was the time he’ll forever remember. It was the day he realized life without optimism would be impossible and happiness plainly unobtainable. Knowledge is power and with the divine knowledge that at the end of the day when all the chores are done and the doors are locked, you’re nothing more than a grain of sand on the apotheosis of all deserts. To many of us the mere thought of your unimportance is disheartening yet to Andy it was even more of a reason to go on. When nothing you do matters…what does it matter?

Miles away a slim line of a smile cut across his face.

Boring into his head like a carnivore the sucking sound grew to a sickening level before silencing completely. A momentary wash of tepid air wrapped around his body and it was in this moment he knew that once again it was all over, “sorry kid, better luck next time” he could almost hear the voices saying. Maybe he would have better luck next time and be stranded (hardly the word considering he wants to be stranded) in the extraneous. Retraction was never an easy thing to cope with and when the ear piercing wind chimes erupted he bit, no chomped, down on his bottom lip spilling blood onto his chin. Comparing the scintillating sensation that engulfs his being to the re-awakening to reality is like comparing black and white. Awakening was in such a deep contract to his momentary feeling of bliss that at times he’d simply break down with his hands in his face and pour out. No dubitably the afterglow was satisfying but compared to the climax it’s as thrilling as finding a dollar when you’re Donald Trump. Eventually the afterglow would fade until the know-it-all voice in his head told him he needed another fix.

There was a love/hate relationship with that voice.

Everything became nothing and until his eyes opened it was only pathos.

When literal vision cut into his mind’s eye the blurred syringe blockaded his entire frame of sight. Peering over the rough contours of the paper his face was pasted against he could see the digital clock stating it was ten to seven. Lloyd would be over soon for sure but he wasn’t sure what was going on with Darren as in recent weeks he’s been much more isolated than usual, in fact, Andy doubted if he’d even talk to him in the past week. Surrounded by silence he wiped the viscous drool that pooled around the corners of his mouth. From the nestling of the books spine he removed the worn syringe with his left hand negating to realize his right still grasped his blue ball point with stern determination. Getting to his feet with shaking legs wasn’t the easiest task he’d done all day but he managed just fine.

Feverishly he sat down on the old, plaid sofa his parents had bought him for his sixteenth birthday – now three years overdue for its appointment at the dump and his considerable ass groove was now pasted with duct tape – with ball point in hand and let out the deep groan of an old cynic. He squished his ass around on the gummy tape until he found his point of comfort and thought maybe it was time for a couch. “Whatever works, works.” He slurred and kicked his tingling legs on to the creaky coffee table.

On most nights the malady of the apartment failed to bother him and on more than a few occasions felt even the luxury of his parent’s model home in the suburbs couldn’t provide more comfort yet, on this night, there was a distractive pull in the air around him. Maybe it was the way the white-turned dingy yellow (yay nicotine) paint was beginning to peel off the walls that did it. Two years he’d laid holed up in this box never being sober enough to look twice at it (not that he was sober now by any stretch) but up until now it had been acceptable. In the back of his mind he placed a Post-It where he figured he’d see it with a note ‘find new apartment’ scrawled on it.

Gradually his thoughts drifted back towards his euphoria and the serene singing he’d experienced. Mere thought of the tune broke his skin into gooseflesh simultaneously exciting the blood. A few days later he would spend hours trying to recreate the same sensation in a time of need and would come up short. Why? Because, believe it or not it was better than all the heroin in the world. To him it was like a message that there is beauty in the world if you look hard enough for it. In essence, all his years of searching for that perfect place in the world might have finally come to its end. Whilst floating through the vision of the angelic choir a sensation arose he couldn’t resist; his niche. He’d finally found his niche. It was better than heroin in a queer and awful way.

Reflection on his experience was beginning to drone into incomprehensible sentences and he knew soon he would fall victim to sleep. All in all his experience was completely unlike anything he’d previously experienced on the needle. Everything including space and time was available to him. Every instinct in his ailing body commanded anything and everything was at his disposal and he was god of it all – although, what everything and anything was the variable.

Thoughts and images began to bounce around in his head like a pong machine on mescaline. One of his arms twitch involuntarily in a comical fashion that, if his buddies had been in attendance surely would cause them to shit their pants laughing as they often said as, it had actually happened on occasion. Peering through glazed eyes that were tearing profusely his feet began to imitate a spinning record. His head reeled flinging a glittering swatch of saliva through the innards of the dingy apartment.

That was when the side of his head cracked off the coffee table and his body landed in a heap.

2

There was a chill in the air outside but Lloyd doubted highly it was provided from the dampness that engulfed the city after this morning’s rainstorm. Regardless a shiver surged through his body and his hands pulled into his sleeves like a turtle shell.
He could faintly see his breath in the flaming atmosphere as what remained of the sun was about to retire over the horizon for the night. I’m glad I remember to bring my toque, it’s fuckin’ frigid, he thought to himself and pulled a cigarette from his pocket through his protective sleeves. A puff of smoke escaped the flash of cinder and he discarded the match as well as the empty pack of smokes on the sidewalk.

Several cars raced by him clearly exploding through the speed limit. It could have very well been his imagination but he could have worn that one of the vehicles was being driven by a screaming teenager but he wasn’t screaming as many teenagers screamed to music or simply for the sake of being loud. He looked terrified. He dismissed it as the buzz he gained from the six pack he leveled before leaving fifteen minutes ago and continued walking.

Often he thought about his friends being as they were the only two people that mattered in his life anymore; Andy and Darren. It’s amazing a group of guys so different yet so alike could come together in this crazy world. Andy, of course was a smack head and Darren did every kind of drug under the horizon as long as it made him forget. Lloyd on the other hand was partial to the sauce and he sauced it up every night. One of the reasons his wife left him and took the kids. Of course, the abuse he put her through several drunken nights certainly didn’t help in that department. Every night he wished he could turn back the hands of time and retract all his past mistakes and love his family the way they were entitled to be but they called them wishes for a reason. Wishes were never granted. Not many people like him could find solace with people like Andy and Darren but nothing could feel more right.

Lloyd tried to see his children sleeping, Frannie being four and Michael being seven at the time, he found it impossible. All he was able to depict was blackness. He considered this for a moment and drew a pull from his cigarette. Jess had taken the kids five years ago and since the only glances he’d been allowed were the illegal ones at a distance from his car. The sentence was carried out by the Honourable ‘Judge Grudge’. Never in his life had he wanted to strangle somebody with a more psychotic rage. A man he hardly knew (nor cared for) took his kids away from him, leaving him with nothing but two hours every two weeks for visitation rights. During these periods Fran and Michael were entirely distant and only spoke up if they needed something out of their reach and when they got what they wanted they thanked him with a sneer of such contempt you’d never think it was a little child giving it. These visits only lasted for five months as during the eleventh visit his emotions took control and he got very drunk. When Jess came for the kids and seen his state she called Child Services and they assessed him unfit to care for children solo and during visitation periods he would be in a state facility under supervision. Lloyd knew this would piss the kids off even more so he declined and said he’d be better off alone. Those hours alone with his darlings were more agonizing than the entire break-up.

For years Lloyd would lie in bed with the ceiling spinning often vomiting into a little red bucket at the bedside cursing Jess’ name in drunken slurs for everything she had done to him. One night in the haze of toxins he realized that perhaps he’d done it all to to himself. Perhaps he had. When around Andy and Darren he’d often wonder what choices they made to end up where they were and if they had deserved it. Did Lloyd feel he deserved everything that has happened to him? He did until he wandered further down the path stopping at all the dives and slums getting so plastered at times he couldn’t even remember whose names he was cursing.

He tossed his cigarette on the sidewalk and when he stomped it out there was a loud crash from behind. Every instinct told him to run but the human mind was ever curious and in these days such sounds pumped the adrenaline and the thought of seeing disaster excited him. The line he ran was surprisingly straight and there was only one step where he almost keeled over. It was difficult to tell what the commotion was all about with the growing crowd around the scene but he could see a rising cloud of smoke and blue metal; a car crash.

The blue car was on it’s roof with the rear tires still spinning frantically trying to grip the pavement. Fluids leaked from the front end which had been smashed beyond all recognition. On the other side was a black SUV with a crumpled front end and the driver of it was leaning on the hood of the car, blood streaming from his nose but looked otherwise fine. Obviously the little mid-size car was no match for it. Exhaust still smoked from the muffler like a metallic cigarette which made him crave one. There was incoherent screaming pouring from the wreck but he could pick out there being two voices; a male a female. Sparks flew out from the under carriage and a puff of a flame appeared. The female voice let out an ear piercing scream and several people from the crowd covered their ears and then it fell unearthly silent.

It wasn’t until he was closer that he realized he recognized the car from somewhere in the back of his mind. Maybe it was Jess’ car and the kids were in the back seat and every part of his sorrow would be gone. A sick thought but many people are prone to them. Even sickening was the toothy and drunken grin which crossed his face.

“Somebody call an ambulance!” a woman screamed through the crown and Lloyd could see dozens of people with their cell phones primed to the number already.

Someone ran from a closing store with a fire extinguisher and vanquished the fire. If the gas tank had of blown not only would the people inside have been killed but some the onlookers as well. Thank goodness for small favours. Lloyd supposed the entire world wasn’t shit and seeing the way all these strangers seemed to work together despite their different in race and social class made him feel a brief twinge of hope. He moved to the left around the crowd to catch a better glimpse of the car and it was when he found himself behind a rotund gentleman he could recognize the driver. It was the car with screaming teenagers in it. The driver had to be no more than seventeen and was probably driving illegally. Blood covered half his face in a crimson mask and a large chunk of skin was missing from his right shoulder. His bloodied hand reach out of the wreck and someone from the crowd went to grab it.

“Don’t touch him!” the rotund gentleman in front of Lloyd yelled and ran up to the young man. The young man looked at him with startled surprise and anger.

“Man, if we don’t help this kid fast he could end up as dead everyone else in the car!”

“Don’t do anything or you might kill this boy. If you pull the wrong way you could break a bone, sever a nerve or even cause the rest of the car to fall on top of him. Do you really want that on your conscience? That your impatience caused this boy who could very well have been saved by professionals to die?”

The young man backed off and the rotund gentleman bent down and said something too low for Lloyd to hear to the bloodied boy. The young man scratched his head in a gesture that seemed too comical for the dire situation. Someone from the crowd roared that an ambulance and fire and crews were on their way. There was a murmur of applause from the gathering of strangers.

When the rotund man turned towards Lloyd again his face was pallid and his eyes empty as if someone had told him the gravest news. Lloyd couldn’t help but ask what the boy had said if he’d said anything at all. “He told me it was the man eaters that did this. They stormed his house in the outskirts of the city and attacked his family.” Lloyd swallowed and reached into his pants pocket for his smoked and remembered being fresh out. He asked the rotund man if he smoked and the rotund man offered him one and even lit it to boot.

“Is that all he said?” Lloyd asked after skirting around the question as he enjoyed the first drags of smoke.

The rotund man was quite for a moment before commenting. “No, he said something else. He said that it didn’t stop there. What do you suppose he was trying to say?”

Lloyd simply shook his head and continued to stare and the bleeding boy and listened as the bellowing screams turned from jumbled words to incoherent moaning. He couldn’t take anymore, thanked the man for the cigarette and bid him good evening. The man returned the thanks with a nod but never took his eyes off the accident. Several minutes later when he was blocks away he could hear the ambulance arrive and the people begin to leave. He wondered if the boy would survive and how he would take knowing that his family is most likely dead. How would he go on living after this? It made Lloyd want to drink but then again, almost everything did.

3

Lloyd took the stairs up to third floor of the apartment building that his friend Andy lived in as he always did. Andy asked him one day why he was so intent on taking the stairs when he said the elevator would be quicker and easier, Lloyd lent him a smile and said ‘ever been to the movies kid? The elevators always fall’. And Andy had laughed just as he always had. It was probably most of the reason that him and Andy had become such good friends since that fateful evening two years ago. Andy made him remember that not everyone in the world was shit regardless of the image they projected and you could find solace in the strangest places.

He opened the door on the third floor and stepped out into the hallway. The apartment building was the Hollywood stereotype for where a junkie would live; the walls were a dull and faded green which lent the impression of grime covering the walls, the navy blue carpet was worn and missing fabric in patches and it was dimly lit with flickering lights. There was always a lingering smell throughout the building, one of cooking beef in a greasy frying pan that made him want to gag but luckily Andy wasn’t cheap in the incense department and much like the fire extinguishers at the scene of the accident, thank goodness for small favours.

Andy’s Apartment was number 316 and, if the numbers were stolen (not entire uncommon considering the neighbourhood) you could always still recognize it by the bottle cap sized hole about waist high from the time he’d one drunken night tripped on his untied shoelaces and cracked his elbow through the door. Lloyd paused in front of the door for a moment and raised his hand to knock but paused for a moment and looked back over his shoulder. He could’ve sworn something was looking at him but he shrugged it off. He knocked once and waited a moment.

No answer.

Andy was a smack head so not answering the door immediately wasn’t surprising but after the third knock a sweat broke on his brow. He placed his ear firmly against the wooden door and even stilled his breathing to help ear any sort of noise. But there was nothing. He tried to the knob and when it didn’t turn he assumed Andy had left to go somewhere but when he tried the knob again the door popped open.

Slowly the door swung open revealing a bit of the apartment at a time. First it was the wall on the left of the door, then it reveal the short hallways leading towards the bedroom and bathroom, the small but perfectly fine kitchen and finally the living area to the right of the door. Nothing seemed out of place and he sure didn’t see Andy anywhere.

“Andy?” he asked and waited for answer but all the replied was the stillness of the room.

Outside a dog parked furiously at something and he took a few steps forward. “Andy? You here?” he said louder this time. Yet, still there was nothing. Andy was especially picky about security and keeping his door locked because he usually always had some stuff in this place.

When he stepped a few more steps forward he could see the outstretched hand sticking out from behind the couch with its palm towards the ceiling as if waiting for a high five. Lloyd ran towards him shouting his name but Andy hadn’t stirred. There was blood on the carpet but it looked as though whatever happened was just a step above painful but quite a ways from damaging. From what he can gather he was standing or possibly sitting on the couch and he fainted and cracked his head off the corner of the coffee table. He grimaced when he imagined what the pain must’ve felt like. Fortunately for Andy it was a good chance if he was baked the pain would be minimal at most. With the swiftness of a sober man he dropped to his knees and turned him over. The right side of Andy’s brow was splattered with cadmium and he could see the cut just underneath the hair line. It wasn’t very deep but it was about an inch long and would probably require stitches to heal properly. He shook his shoulders and slapped his face a few times before Andy’s eyes managed to peel open. Lloyd was greeted with a distant look that reminded him so much of the way his children would look at him during those days and he wanted to pulverize Andy.

“L-Lloyd man…how the fuck did you get in this place?” he said and his lips formed a sliver of a smile but it was a painful smile then he continue talking, not even waiting for an answer. “What the hell happened? It feels like someone clocked me over the head with a pipe or something.”

“Just don’t try and sit up right away. From what I can tell you took yourself a little tumble and smashed your forehead off the coffee table. Looks like you got off lucky my friend.”

Andy touched a finger to the location of the numbing pain and brought the fingers over his eyes – blood. “You call this lucky asshole?” There was no anger in his voice.

“You’re damn right. I’m going to grab you some ice from the freezer and myself a beer. That is if there is any”

“There might be some at the bottom. Darren probably left a couple here when he stopped by here the other night on the worst bender I’ve ever seen him on. I didn’t want him to leave at all.” He paused and winced in pain. “I was afraid he might do something completely stupid like get himself killed or worse, kill himself.”

Lloyd laughed a hoarse laugh and found himself coughing by the end of it. He walked into the kitchen. “A bender eh? What was it all about this time? Get stuck in some traffic for a few minutes or stub his toe? That guy always finds something to bitch about and makes it seem so horrible.”

“Aimee dumped him.” There was an audible click in his throat.

The freezer door stood open while Lloyd rushed back into the living room to look at his buddy face to face. “You gotta be joking with me right? Tell me you’re joking!” But Andy simply looked at him and said nothing. The look said what words hadn’t. Lloyd looked down at his feet and said, “Shit. Do you know why?”

Andy shook his head. Lloyd opened his mouth to say something but felt it would be better if he hadn’t. Afterall, it was a hot reply itching to escape his throat. There were far too many times where he felt Darren could use a good slap in the face for his bitching and the things he says but he’d always refrained for Andy’s sake. There were times where he liked being around Darren but there weren’t many. He turned back into the kitchen and grabbed three ice cubes from the tray, two remaining buds from the back of the fridge and the only clean rag from the drawer wrapped it around them.

“Why do you think Aimee dumped him, Lloyd? They seemed perfectly happy to me most of the time. A great couple actually.”

Lloyd shook his head and stepped back out into the living room. Should he give Andy a version of what he’d just choked back? Or should he simply toss out a little white lie and go on with their peachy little lives? He stood there looking at Andy for a moment, beers in one hand and the rag in the other. No, not right lobbed the rag to him. “Here you go, put it on your head it’ll keep the swelling down.”

Without a hitch he did as bid and winced when the ice cubes connected with the hot wound. Fortunately he hadn’t repeated his question and simply sat silent, dabbing at the gash on his head. Some blood spilled on the rag but the bleeding had stopped.

There was a pishhh sound followed by a plink and the beer cap was on the creaky coffee table and the first swallows went down with pride. As always the first sip led to the second and eventually to the bottom of the bottle. The empty bottle was placed on the coffee table.

“You know, I think I read somewhere, in Newsweek or Time or one of those big publications that drinking too much too fast can rupture the kidneys causing internal hemorrhaging.”

Lloyd looked at him with intense fascination that in Andy’s state – battered and baked – that he was even able to put together such an intricate sentence.

“I think it’s definitely something to think about every time you crack open a new case, ol’ buddy.”

“You don’t even read magazines.”

“I know.”

“Look Andy, you can call you me your buddy, you can call me an asshole or a prick or a pole-sucking mother fucker or, if you so feel the need to do, you can call me your daddy but that’s only on Tuesday when I’m feeling generous.” Lloyd winked at Andy and he returned the gesture with warm-hearted laughter. “But, if there is one thing I’m not, it’s old.”

Andy reached his free hand up and Lloyd took it and hoisted him up to his feet so they were standing face to face. “Sure man, whatever you want. If you don’t want to be old I’ll hold myself back when the urge comes.”

“Glad we’re in agreement.”

“I just want to be clear with one thing,” Andy said and place his hand on Lloyd’s shoulder. “You have to make me a promise and it’s a promise that is bound on everything you’ve ever lived for. Strong as oak, ya know?”

Lloyd nodded and waited. When Andy hadn’t spoken back up he took it upon himself to get the train rolling. “And…that promise would be?”

“That if I ever feel the need to call you daddy you put a fucking bullet in my head.”

Both of them erupted in a roar of laughter which would no doubt irritate the neighbours if they were normal neighbours. Lloyd slapped his knee and Andy fell back bottom down on the floor holding his ribs with tears streaming down his face.

“I think we’ve got a deal on that one.” He choked back through a fit of giggles. The booze was definitely starting to work into his system now. There was an audible crack in his back as he once again helped his friend to his feet and he let out a droning groan. Andy looked up at him with cunning eyes that seemed to glisten in the soft light. Immediately it was obvious what the expression intended but what happened was unstoppable. Andy grabbed the worn green took from his head with cat-like swiftness and flung it across the room. It landed in the shoddy blue recliner he picked up from a junk pile several months ago.

“You might not be over the hill yet ol’ buddy but you’re sure going pretty damn bald!”

Lloyd’s palms had immediately covered the ever-growing pallid circle of flesh on the top of his heads as if trying to protect it. Blind surprise was written all over his face. Andy giggled and inside Lloyd screamed out in frustration and shock. Andy and Darren could never understand how it feels to start losing the hair you loved so much at the tender age of twenty eight, years shy of when most people get their first grays. Behind his thick rimmed glasses his eyes watered and he caressed what was left of his black hair. Lately it had become a habit to do this with a hope it might come back. “Asshole.”

It never hit Andy how vain he might have been about his losing his hair but him and Darren couldn’t help but rag on him about it because it was just so easy. They don’t mean to hurt his feelings because it’s all just for shits and giggles. Just the kind of things guys do to each other to pass the time. He watched him plod towards the shoddy recliner muttering what were probably curses under his breath and pluck the toque from the armrest with the foam sticking out the front. “I try Lloyd my man. Boy do I try.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Look, if I hit a nerve I sure didn’t mean it. All I was doing was fucking around man, you know me.”

“Yeah, not a serious bone in your body, I know. Life’s all a big joke to you.”

Andy said nothing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“No, don’t worry about it.” He replied and sniffled. “I suppose I did deserve it. After all, I started it.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it is all.”

There they sat in silence for several minutes. Neither of them said anything yet attempted to break the uncomfortable silence. All the phrases rush up their throat were held safely behind their teeth. Lloyd finished half of the second beer and sat staring down at his army green toque which he’d neglected to put back on. Outside the wind was beginning to pick up and with the sun fully set it was impossible to see the approaching storm clouds preparing to unleash their cargo. Horns honked furiously and sirens rushed past the apartments windows casting a flashing atmosphere of crimson and indigo around them. Silence was something not easily broken, especially for those short on words. But it would have to eventually be broken.

“How was Darren doing?”

“Hold on a second. You look like a man who could sure use a cigarette.” He held out a cigarette to Lloyd and he accepted it and popped it into the corner of his mouth.

“That and a blowjob from a five hundred dollar hooker but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

Andy lit his smoke and offered his lighter. Lloyd shook it off and used his Zippo. “Thanks.”

“Anytime O…sorry, buddy. I almost forgot about the whole ‘you can call me daddy’ bit.. Any who, as you can imagine Darren was completely out of his head. Hammered out of his tree spending half the time he was over mumbling phrases I couldn’t make out. I kept asking him what was wrong and he would just reply with that mumbling. It seemed he was doing everything under the moon that night. He told me he spent the evening smoking rock with a few other friends of his and spent the rest of the night getting booted from bar after bar after he kept trying to pick fights with people and I mean bad people. It was as if he was trying his damnedest to get himself killed. It wasn’t until before he left around three in the morning he told me that Aimee dumped him and he wasn’t sure if he could handle it. I haven’t heard from him since. I tried calling him all day yesterday and couldn’t even get his machine.” He took a pull from his smoke and exhaled it slowly with a contemplative look on his face. “I managed to talk to Aimee though.”

“What’d she have to say?”

“She told me she couldn’t deal with his woe is me bullshit anymore. In the beginning she said it was magic but the past couple of months it was if the man she fell in love with just up and vanished. Poof.” He flipped opened his closed fist to emphasize. “We both know she wasn’t an innocent girl and lived on the wild side but she said it was Darren who managed to get her feet to touch ground. Then it all turned to shit. He started sneaking out of their place, not calling when he was being late, coming home out of his head. It didn’t stop there though. She said that when she approached him about his recent tendencies to vanish he hit her several times in a drunken stupor. He told her that if she tried to leave him whatever happened after was on her head.”

“Jesus Christ! He fucking hit her? That mother fucker!” Lloyd screamed and pounded both of his fists down on the coffee table. “Son of a bitch! I’m gonna beat the-”

“No you won’t. We won’t do nothing except try and keep him as calm as possible right now. If he shows up tonight which I have a feeling he just might we’ll try and take his mind off things. In other words, we’ll be his friends.”

Lloyd didn’t like the idea of simply letting this guy sit in this apartment tonight fucked out of his tree babbling about how fucked up his life got when he was the one who fucked it all out of control. For starters you never, ever hit a woman no matter what they’ve done to you. If anyone in their group has ever had a right to hit a woman it was him for what Jessie has done to him over the past few years, stripping his former life away from him piece by piece and even that was no excuse. Could he keep his cool tonight around Darren if he showed? No, he didn’t think he could but he would try for Andy’s sake. Always for Andy.

“Fine.” He butted out his smoke. “I’m outta smokes and I need some beer. You need anything while I’m gone? A chocolate bar or a soda?”

Andy waved him on.

A gunshot rang out in the distance followed by a several more dogs joining in the furious barking.

Lloyd left the apartment in an extremely foul mood hoping to god that Darren wouldn’t show up tonight or he’d have to bite his tongue so hard it bleeds.

4

Moment after Lloyd had left the apartment Andy spotted his stolen journal from the corner of his right eye. It was on the desk in the far corner of the living room placidly and seeming lonely somehow. Perhaps he could solve its problem. More and more the pull of those empty pages pushed and shoved their way into his mind on a daily basis.

“I thought I put you away, down in the bottom of the middle drawer under all the bank statements I’ve saved.” He walked over towards the desk equipped with a fifteen watt lamp that hardly worked for shit. The red leather cover actually had gold script – nothing he’d noticed previously – in the bottom left corner written in cursive with elongated letters that seemed to smile in the light. No arguing that it probably was smiling, it’s pusher was nearly an arms reach away. Along the spine of the book was his trusty ball point pen, one his father gave him when he started high school. It too was gold but it had dulled over the years and did not smile. “Now, how did you get out of the drawer? Mhm? I know Lloyd didn’t pull you out because he doesn’t even know you exist, no one does. You’re my little secret.”

He studied the journal as if he’d never seen it before and ran his fingers across the smooth surface along the top, down the spine on the left and completed the course by running them over the words ‘Your Thoughts’ in that pretty gold cursive. My thoughts. No one else’s and that’s the way it will stay.

With a lover’s touch he flipped open the front cover revealing a blank page that separated the world from his thoughts. A line of defense such as that would be easy to break but it was better than nothing. He picked up the pages of the book between his thumb and forefinger and flipped through the pages until he found the last one he’d worked on. Half way up the page on the left was his half cursive, half printing scrawl. Using his right hand he grasped his father’s gift and wrote May 23, 2006 (2) an inch under his last entry and placed the pen back where he found it.

From the top drawer he pulled a small plastic sack filled with a brownish white powder, a spoon, a butane torch lighter and a syringe in plastic wrap. First he opened the syringe, tossed it’s wrapper on the desk and pushed the plunger vertical forcing the air out the needle. Next he placed the spoon in front of him and the sack of heroin beside it. He pulled his hands into his stomach quickly and gasped when a police siren erupted outside. Simple paranoia is all it was. Shaking off the scare he dipped the spoon into the sack and brought out some of the powder making sure to scrap off what was stuck on the bottom with the side of the bag. Again he turned when he heard voices outside his apartment door and listened intently with gaping eyes on door 316 until he heard them enter the elevator and ended. Finally he was able to get back to the task at hand (sometimes it’s annoying how paranoid he gets when preparing the meal) and he stuck the flame of the torch under the spoon. Minutes later it was a partially transparent clear liquid. Dinner’s all cooked up now all that had to be done was eat it. Andy pulled the plunger of the syringe and the liquid filled up half of it. Using the fingernail on his forefinger he tapped it twice.

“Alright, time to do this.” He said to the empty apartment. “Time to take one step further to solving everything and step back from everything else.”

After prepping the vein in his forearm he stuck the needle in, closed his eyes and pushed the plunger down until everything had been injected into his system. Everyone looks down upon his habits but he could never understand why. There isn’t a single feeling the world that can beat this one. It’s perfect.

A voice spoke in his voice and it was the one he’d dubbed as the voice of the journal. Don’t mistake the idea of it, there’s no voice that actually talks to him but it’s more of a ringing in his ears that surges thoughts and images through his head. The call of those empty pages pulled him like a magnet pulls a nickel. There was no escaping it. With the ballpoint in head he began to scribble down his thoughts.

May 23, 2006 (2)

How is it that we can even live with each other peacefully? How can we manage to co-exist without reaching for each others throats? It’s something I can’t understand and never could. I don’t think there is a greater mystery in the world beyond that. Take Lloyd for example. How is it that he can come here day after day wasting his life just to fulfill whatever promise of debt he feels he owes me. I told him there was no reason to follow me on that night and no reason to stop by the following day. Lloyd being Lloyd refused to listen. Why is he here when he should be out making something of himself? It’s my fault he’s where he is but I can’t blame myself. I did what anyone else would’ve done in that situation. I rose to the occasion and managed to push him out of the way in time. Sometimes I wish he’d just leave me be because seeing him like this destroys me.

That my friends is why we cannot live together in harmony. We’re selfish. The only reason I want Lloyd to stop coming around is because I can’t stand seeing him on his downward spiral. I’m certainly not better off but he could be. Yet he squanders his life here, in this shitty apartment night after night and for what? A stone cold junkie who’s grown tired of life.

Darren is going to show up later tonight and I can’t explain it, call it intuition but all I can feel about tonight is pain and he’ll be the cause of it. Something is going to go down tonight and I don’t think I can stop it and in many ways I don’t think I can care. Lloyd is worrying me. That spark in his eye when I mentioned that Darren hit Aimee I did not care for one bit. If the two of them get into it there could very well be bloodshed and a call to the morgue. But what can I do except sit here and see if how it all unfolds?

He paused writing when the phone on the wall beside the kitchen shattered the silence. It was difficult but he managed to stagger towards the sound. It caught on the receiver on his first attempt but came free the second. “Hello?”

“I’m sorry.” The sobbing voice said on the other line said before it went dead. The dial tone blared in Andy’s ears before he dropped it and walked backwards into the kitchen wall.

“What are you sorry about Darren? What did you do?” He hung up the phone and turned back towards the table. Queasy is what he felt. Sick. That abysmal feeling clung to his innards. What hasn’t he done?

5

This city, like most cities was teeming with half a million people who didn’t know each others names, the people who owned the shops around their houses or the name of the man in blue behind the wheel of a cruiser. People went place to place driving their cars and chatting away on their cells phones as they walked the streets appearing to have interesting and exciting lives filled with interesting characters but the problem is that none of them do. All of them wake up in similar fashion and go to bed in similar fashion. Nothing separates them from each other except for the thoughts in their heads. On a street that ran along downtown there was a man who’s thoughts focused mainly around all the people walking around him as he hung up the phone. The whites of their eyes wide when they seen him and he knew the look better than his own face. It was the look of being lost and looking for someone to blame and he was sick of being that someone. No longer will they fuck with his life. Now, he will do the fucking.

Casually he strolled – well, staggered is more apropos – along the darkening streets of downtown equipped with stainless steel flask and the switch blade he’d always carried with him because you never know. Vision transcended from a blurred reality to a thin darkness and with each spot of sight he’d be further up the street than the last. A swoon was cast over him and the nearby bus shelter was as good a spot as any for a drunk ponder silly questions and forget serious situations. From inside his coat he removed the flask and knocked back a strong swig. It bit the back of throat in a way most would wave off a second but he took his with zeal.

Every attempt to mull his thoughts away on silly questions was futile. Every attempt to mull his thoughts away on anything remotely pleasant was slapped away with images of Aimee and her tenderness. It made him want to die. She was gone and it was the only thing he could really think off. To every thought there was an inaudible thought below it infected with the love that had left him. No longer was Aimee with him to put her frail arms around him and plant soft kisses on his neck as she often did. Darren’s free hand began to run through his long brown hair stroking the scalp delicately. For an instant he could smell her perfume and feel her breath on his skin and when he moved in closer the cold glass of the bus shelter was far to much to take. A shocked yelp escaped his lungs and pounded repeatedly on the glass, pushing his moist face against the clear surface. Warm tears streaked down the cold glass behind chocked cries. He staggered out of the bus shelter not sure of what to do or where to go.

Strangers walked around him unbeknownst of the pain and torment that was surging through his veins and in that moment he hated them all for being so heartless. Why couldn’t there ever be anyone for him to count on in this cruel and inarticulate world? Why did everything have to be out of his grasp when he needed them the most? Piss on you. He thought through a tangled smile. A man in a baseball cap looked him and it was a look he knew very well. He’d seen it every day as far back as he could remember and it always made him feel as if he should be behind a glass case. Darren returned a grimace and the man the baseball cap quickly turned his head and looked away. Yeah, you’d better hurry away you piece of shit. I’ll piss on you and your entire family until their hair is yellow.

Another swig of the flask might relax his nerves a bit. Yes, it just might. Again the bittersweet concoction inside the flask bit his throat in a pleasant way and warmed him inside in a way that not even Aimee had been able to accomplish. Alcohol was mankind’s cure for everything and he loved it.

Above him the traffic light changed from green to yellow and eventually to red. On a drunken whim he decided to sprint across the street instead of waiting for the next green light. Fortunately for Darren traffic wasn’t congested and he tripped on his untied shoelace. He tried his hardest to remain balanced but gravity overcame him. Had traffic been busier he’d most likely have been run down a driver in the outside lane. The cement scraped above his left eye and a trickle of blood ran down his face. Various people around him laughed heartily at his misfortune and someone from across the street made sure to scream how much of an idiot he was. Typical people who simply don’t understand what it’s like and the more typicals he came across the more he loathed them. However, he managed to pick himself up and cross the intersection as the light had just turned green.

Not a spectacular way to start the night. Darren thought. He turned and looked back the way he’d come wiping blood on the sleeve of his jacket. At the back of his mind he hoped that he wouldn’t run into a cop who’d throw him in the drunk tank for the night. No, I couldn’t have that. It would destroy my night. Over time acting sober had become easier than being sober and the only white flags about him was the sordid stench of alcohol wafting from him. Cars sped through his vision in an incoherent blur that caused the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and the corners of his mouth to go numb.

Darren put his hand in front of his mouth and exhaled into it and sniffed it. Good, my breath absolutely reeks of whiskey. I hope the smell is radiating off me because its far better than the smell of that skank.

On his right he passed the store Lloyd happened to be in buying smokes and beer. Coming out from the store was a young couple walking arm and arm, both displaying white grins. Grief washed over him like a waterfall and he desperately needed a drink. The girl even looked a bit like Aimee and with the wind was able to deduce she even wore a similar scent. He compensated with another swig from his flask which was nearly as light as it would get. Sad but true.

A police car speed up the street beside him with its sirens blaring and lights flashing. Up ahead there appeared to be some kind of accident and the crowd seemed unusually small. However the cop drove right past and turned a hard right on the following block. There was an ambulance parked along the side of the street with an EMT leaning against the side having a cigarette. In front of him lay three body bags and trails of blood leading towards them. Several onlookers apparently either refused to leave until all the commotion concluded or they were new to the scene. One of them was a rather rotund man wearing a black sweater and blue jeans. A cigarette was in the corner of his mouth and he stepped around the body bags and began to chat with the EMT. A middle-aged woman had dropped her shopping bags at the site of the accident and appeared to be enthralled by the destruction. An older gentleman was looking at the damage done to his Cadillac while he was yelling at someone on the phone.

The accident looked pretty fresh to him. As he got closer he a police officer stepped around the far side of the ambulance and he could see there was a cruiser there all along. It was time for him to put up or shut up with his acting abilities and not allow the cop to catch a whiff of him. There was a good bet he wouldn’t care with everything that was on his plate but he decided to keep a good distance all the same.

Catching sight of the man in uniform the guy who owned the Cadillac raced over to where the rotund man and the EMT were talking before the officer could. “What the fuck is going to happen with my car? This stupid punk of a kid came barreling through that intersection and drove straight towards me!” From the phone a voice crackled and he put it back to his ear. “Yeah, I know. I’m talking to a cop right now. Yeah, I’ll make sure to ask him that as well. Of course I’ve got my proof of insurance with me!” Cadillac lowered the phone again and told the cop to hurry up and write this report down because he was on his way to catch a plane and then went back the phone.

“Hey buddy. If you want something to be done about your precious car and your valuable time then shove that goddamn phone up your ass.” The rotund man quipped. “You see what’s behind me? Three goddamn body bags and a nearly dead teenager that was just taken away in an ambulance.”

“You don’t think I know that? That damn kid smashed my car!”

“Go wait by your car sir.” The officer instructed. “We’ll need to resolve any disputes in an orderly manner but your smashed car is the last thing I’m worried about. As this gentleman just said we’ve got body bags and going form what this man has told us it was a homicide of some kind.”

“But my car!”

“Fuck your car.” The rotund man said behind a minute smile.

Displeased with the results Cadillac went back to his car kicking at the ground like a kid whose mother called to come in for the night.

Darren could hear everything clearly and for the time being wasn’t just sober, he actually felt sober. There was a set of stairs leading to an apartment building he sat on and listening to the unfolding situation in ardor.

“Can you tell me again what the boy said to you?”

“It was a bit difficult to make out but I’m almost definite he said that man eaters stormed the house and attacked his family and he said he lived on the outskirts. Actually, even through all the trauma and shocked he tried to apologize to me for causing the accident before he passed out cold from the pain.”

“Is that all he said to you? Nothing else?”

The rotund man considered this for a moment before replying. “I do believe he said that ‘it didn’t stop there.’ I had no clue what he was talking about so I dismissed as just jargon. I read somewhere that while in periods of trauma it’s not uncommon for us to speak random thoughts.”

The police officer nodded and jotted down a few notes on a small pad of paper and then placed the pad into the breast pocket of his uniform. His glance found Cadillac still flipping on the telephone and shook his head. “If only everyone I had to talk to was as co-operative as you.”

“Don’t we all.” The rotund man mused and offered the office a cigarette from his pack.

“Thanks but I’m trying to quit. Using the patch but I tell ya, it’s hell.”

“So I’ve heard. But I figured why bother? We’re all going to die anyways so I may as well keep on smoking like a chimney.”

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

“Officer, before you go I was wondering, what would you say was the cause of death?”

“We won’t know until we get back from the coroner which probably won’t be until the wee hours of the morning. Why?”

“Oh, the bodies looked rather tattered so I was just curious.”

“Thanks for your help, it could help to catch the fuckers who did this. We’ve got officers en route to the address we found on one of the victim’s licenses.”

After the officer left to deal with Cadillac there was a window of oppourtunity to walk past the scene without receiving too much attention from the officer of the law he snuck away past the ever diminishing group of people. Around a blind corner he drew the last suckle of booze from his flask and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. The accident had shook him out from the destructive trance and at last he was able to think easier. What he set out tonight to do still needed to be done. A malicious smirk appeared on his face.

“Aimee, you’ll always be mine. Whether you want to be or not.”

While the officer dealt with Cadillac and the EMT waited for the coroner to remove the bodies Darren wandered in search for blood.