A DARKNESS PALE

PURE

…Husker was drinking alone, feeling profoundly sorry for himself, when Reba intervened…

Pure

Husker had known since that first night she was evil, but hadn’t guessed her true intent was total destruction. What was even more fucked up was he was loving it. It was doing what he’d been trying to get done, and the whole time he was telling her a story in his head. This one was true.

Did I ever tell you about the time my dad took me to get laid? Uh huh. Took me over to the poorest part of Gresham where the whores stroll. And I’m not talking about the whores you see in movies, or even the sleazy documentaries they used to have on Showtime, I’m talking about old ladies who look like a pack of smoked cigarettes, who look like beetles, and they all got this haunted glow to their eyes. Dad took me right up to this one who I swear was the oldest and ugliest of the lot. He laughed his ass off, taking nips from a pint of Jim Beam. Paid her fifty bucks and she took me this room in a garage. But I couldn’t. I tried cause I didn’t want her or my dad to make fun of me, but she made fun of me anyway. She said she personally knew my dad, that all the ladies did. She said he was crazy and they were all scared of him. Then she got mad at me, she was swearing at me...

When Husker woke up he knew he’d done it. No more chickenshit. No more bullshit.

He peeled himself off the carpet and got his bearings. The stove needed more burn pellets. When they first arrived Jacob had wanted to use all the junk as fuel but Husker knew that would queer the chimney. He knew things. He knew life. Jacob didn’t know shit about nothing. Husker delicately touched his burning face, sending icy shockwaves of pain around his skull.

But his head felt clear. Crystal clear. His heart felt strong. He felt strong.

“That was some ride, lass. That was some grand adventure.” His swollen tongue was stuck to the top of his mouth, though not in anyway that felt unpleasant. The words were coming out with a Scottish lilt, which somehow further proved to him the transformation was real. Husker looked around for Reba. He’d done her in but what the fuck had he done with her? He strolled over to Jacob’s dug out and knocked on the door. “Is the wee lassie tucked up in there with you?”

Neither were in there. That was logical. It wasn’t like Jacob was going to cozy up with a dead body. And the little twit was gone. Good riddance. His brain was clear but he wasn’t thinking clearly. He must still be drunk. He’d consumed a small ocean of Kooche last night. Of course he was still feeling the affects. What did he want to do? He knew he could literally do anything. He was a full on psychopath, completely out of the cage. He’d gotten over his fear. His true self was free. So what was his delight? There didn’t need to be a plan, just whatever tickled his fancy.

Some phone action. Some low calorie fraud for breakfast. He hit the list and called a lady from Beaverton. “I’m calling you about the death quake.” He delivered the rest of his song and dance.

She told him she loved his accent and wired four hundred dollars to his Western Union account. He was making more calls when he heard a voice. Not Jacob. A woman, something about S.A. Husker gently placed the phone on its cradle and tip toed into the kitchen. There would be two of them. He knew how shit worked.

He noticed Reba’s backpack. He must have hauled it in here. There must have been a reason for that. He still didn’t remember what he’d done with Reba, but he did recall how he’d gone through her backpack. She’d been trying to get to it and he wanted to know exactly she was after. He’d found the knife. He’d unwrapped it and what had he done with it? Put it back in the backpack.

He examined the knife in the light. Blood on the blade. Was this his blood? Or hers? Placing the knife in his bathrobe pocket, he thought, what’s next? Be quick. Those in charge own the time and they don’t waste it. All consequences could be acted upon as easily as all desires.

Waltzing into the living room, he said,  “Oh, hi. Was that you calling?. S.A., huh? And you want to do a mediation, or something? Well, this should be fun.”

An old lady with a buzz cut. She lifted a badge on lanyard around her neck. “I’m Irie Baglavitti. I’m a S.A. mediator. Are you the owner of this property?”

He looked and listened for her partner. Maybe they were outside, trying to get into the garage. “No, I’m just squatting. The name is Rod Connery.” He spied Reba, crumpled on the carpet.

“Do you know, is there a working phone here?”

He pointed to the phone, behind a pile of warped Domino pizza boxes.

“Ah. Can you please call 911 so that we can get an ambulance for the lady here.”

There was no partner. A partner would be assisting. He picked up the phone and ripped the cord out of the wall. He felt a rush of satisfaction.

Irie said, “That wasn’t helpful.”

“Maybe not to you.” 

“Good point. Does anyone else live here with you?”

“Yes, there’s a little fellow named Jacob. But we’re not close.”

“Is he here now?”

“No, I don’t believe so. He’s often out, farting around, doing things I’m not aware of.”

“Got it. I’m sorry to put any pressure on you but we’re going to have resolve this quickly because I need to get immediate help for the lady here.”

Husker grinned. He was the wolf. He let her see his teeth. “That reminds me of a story. Would you like to hear it?”

…Husker makes his choice, and everything gets fast…