My trouble doll and I sit alone, we sit in the silence of those who have been together for a long time. It is not a nice silence, it is a quiet spawned of unsolved arguments and unspoken bad feelings. I take my pipe from a nearby shelf and load the bowl.
"I had friends once you know." I say lighting my pipe and reclining in the seat, I watch the smoke drift from my mouth in thick fat curls. She is dressed in all white and sits across from me, her stare vacuous, a mirror in which she hopes to reflect what she likes about me to myself. She fails, I am looking to find something in her that I like, not find myself in her.
Of course, it seems that the more I live the more I just keep running into myself.
"I have a past you know." I continue. I know that even though her teeth are sharp that she will not go for my delicate pale throat right now, and it is in this knowledge of safety that I close my eyes and allow myself to relax.
"Not everyone has the privilege of having a past. I don't think that you are one of those who have a past." She stares at me emptily and does not reply. This causes a small amount of discomfort for me, but there is nothing I can do about it. The discomfort echoes and amplifies itself, I turn to my pipe for comfort, I look at its smooth white exterior.
The white meerschaum of my pipe carved into a beautiful apple shaped bowl. I can see that it is connected into the elaborate network of my associative conscious. Even tied around the stationary white bowl of my pipe I can see the millions of intangible strings of my memory, dreams, and awareness wrapping it up in the confusing world of myself.
"I remember with such vividness so many wonderful days. The nights I had spent with my friends back before I lived in hurt, the days I had spent lying in the sun listening to the music of the wind caress my bruised exterior." I sigh, more smoke leaves from my mouth floating into the atmosphere when I do so, Another part of me to be lost and never recovered again. "Do you have those type of memories dear?"
I know my asking of this question to the Trouble Doll is a crime, but it is a crime that was comfortable to commit. She grins at me, I can vividly see her ugly sharp teeth her eyes are no longer vacant like mirrors with no reflection. No, now I can see that her eyes are now inhabited by the vacancy of the void.
"I am sorry Trouble Doll Amy." I tell her, but despite my fear I feel no regret. "You are going to call the Jackal now aren't you?"
Trouble Doll Amy does not reply to me, I don't need her to I know the answer. Body language is a language that anyone can speak and I can see from the way that the Trouble Doll's erotically proportioned body leans back that she is confident that the Jackal will be here momentarily. The funny thing is that before when she was leaning forward I was leaning back, and now that she is leaning back I am leaning forward. It is almost as if I can see the short chord between us pulled taught.
"Don't worry, I will not try to flee." I tell Amy, the Trouble Doll, her two void eyes stare at me. This troubles me deeply, but I will not flee. The Jackal will always find someone once he has been called to them.
I sit there and smoke my pipe as I wait for the Jackal to come, I think about the time I had been in love. Imagine that, me in love? It had been as bitter as it had been sweet, but I miss it now, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss it.
As I am lost in thought a pool of inky darkness begins to spread out on the floor, it looks like a puddle of black mercury. The black pool rises up, taking on a human shape. At the top of the inky darkness a human face appears, a grim visage like the face of death. The Jackal has arrived.
The face looks like it is made of wax, the features are smooth and delicate. His eyes shine like twin diamonds planted deep above his high cheek bones. He is an albino abomination and he stares at me and appraises me with his cold gaze.
The cloak of shadows around him seems to solidify into his clothes, he is dressed in evening attire with a black suit jacket. He reaches into the pocket of his jacket with a long spider like hand and procures a silver case. He opens the case, lining the inside of it are a dozen small cigarillos. He takes one of the cigarillos and places it in his mouth.
"Do you mind if I join you in a smoking communion?" He says, his voice is amazingly commanding and does not seem to fit his delicate features. I shake my head, I am almost too stunned by his presence to speak.
The Jackal lights his cigarillo and puffs at it meditatively. "You know," He pauses and licks his ruby red lips, "the Native Americans used to send their prayers up in smoke, smoking communion has always been important."
The Jackal is standing in front of the Trouble Doll completely ignoring her presence. The Trouble Doll does not once look at the Jackal, instead it stares at me with it's twin void eye sockets. Right now I know that the world is indeed against me.
The Jackal leans against the wall, his lithe figure is that of a man who knows nothing but hunger.
"I have something you lost." He says.
There is a pause in the conversation, I cannot gather up the nerve to reply to him just yet. Eventually I manage to overcome my better judgement.
"Can I have it back?" I ask, my voice is timid and weak. I can feel a flush rising in my face from the intense anxiety I am feeling right now.
"No of course not." The Jackal sighs. "I was in an accident many years ago," He says quietly, I have to lean in closer to him to hear him speak. "The accident made me what I am. My parents were into the pharmaceutical business, I took great joy in sampling their new and exotic drugs as if I were dining at a buffet." He stops momentarily to smooth out the wrinkles in his suit jacket.
"I was still a kid then, my father had constructed a new type of drug. The drug was electric blue and tasted really sweet, it made me really numb. I would take this electric blue miracle drug and spend days on end spinning around the room in a circle. When I was numb I couldn't feel the pain of the world, I couldn't notice the acuteness of my suffering.
When I was electric blue I couldn't feel how the other kids made fun of me for my introversion. When I was electric blue I couldn't feel how the other kids made fun of me for my soft skin and ruby red lips."
The Jackal looks at me, and then looks at Trouble Doll Amy, Trouble Doll Amy however does not stop looking at me. He rubs his index finger across his lips which are indeed ruby red. I find the the smooth red exterior of the Jackal's lips to be mildly fascinating, I can quite literally see my reflection in them.
The Jackal is holding his right hand down and twirling his finger, I don't think he notices that I see him do this. I can tell what he is doing twirling his finger like that. He is wrapping up the threads of my life around his finger, he is connecting me to him, interweaving my life into his. I do not want him to do this to me, it scares me. I can feel the complex network of my life being pulled even more taut, like a complex cat's cradle on the fingers of God.
"Well one day my parents decided that I didn't need any more electric blue." The Jackal says continuing his story, he is still wrapping the chords of my life around my finger. "They said I was having too much fun being high all the time. Well this caused me to be upset for a while, my parents had always indulged me."
The Jackal pauses and licks his lips; he even briefly stops stealing my life from me. Then he starts twirling his finger again and begins speaking.
"It was a full two days before I settled on the decision to kill them. They were making love when I killed them. How funny is that? Sex and death, the two main aspects of life at once.
I think my father was climaxing as I shot him with his own gun that he kept by the cash register. Two guns going off at once how ironic is that?"
I can feel the threads of my life get disconnected from my pipe as it drops from my mouth. Trouble Doll Amy looks at me, her upsetting grin widens to freakish proportions.
"I shot my mother next, there was no sadism involved, it was a quick shot to the head. What type of man would make his own mother suffer? After I killed my parents I took my father's keys and went to the room where he cooked up the electric blue. In there I helped myself to five full syringes of electric blue, needless to say that was a lethal overdose and after a few minutes of rolling around in exquisite agony I died."
I shudder when I think of this, not of the Jackal's lethal overdose, no that does not cause me to shudder. No, the fact that I am having communion with a dead man causes me to shudder. The thought that a dead man rules the world scares me shitless. Because you see the Jackal does rule the world, he slinks in the shadows stealing all that is good and pure from joy, he steals lovers' romance and replaces it with fighting, he steals children's' innocence and replaces it with vice.
"You're a monster." I tell the Jackal, it takes all of the courage in me to do so, but somehow I manage those three words.
The Jackal ignores me and continues his story.
"When I was dead I saw past human standards, I saw past what humanity thinks is pleasure, I saw that it is pure life energy that causes us to feel good. Then the mighty predatory god approached me, a deity of every type of claw and tooth imaginable, do you know what he said to me? He told me that I could steal it, undiluted joy. He told me in a voice of every type of growl and hiss that there was a whole world of pleasure for me to take.
And then I woke up from the dead, my body was bleached white as bone, but my lips stayed red like the color of blood."
I feel all of the strings of my life disconnect from my body, they are all on the Jackal's finger now. All of my memories, all of my passions, all coiled around the index finger of the Jackal.
"I have every right to what you are selfishly hoarding!" The Jackal screams at me, spittle flies from his mouth as he does so. "The god of the predators gave me what is yours, and now I fucking have it you bastard!" His rage is terrifying, even more terrifying than the icy cool demeanor he had previously worn.
The Jackal approaches me, I am glued to my seat in horror. He places his finely manicured finger in front of my face and I can see all of my life curled around it like fishing wire, a faint echo of all of my life emits from it. And then he places his finger in his mouth and sucks my life off of it with his delicate lips.
"Now you are just like everyone else." He says, and leaves, fading into the shadows of my Trouble Doll Amy.
Trouble Doll Amy gets up from her seat and then walks over to me and straddles me. She moans slightly and kisses me on the forehead with her lips that are almost as beautiful as the Jackal's.
"Don't worry sweet heart." She says, this is the first time she has spoken all night. "Being numb isn't all that bad."
And then we fuck passionlessly in the cold night. Drained, and used I am no longer alone.