A DARKNESS PALE
SPIKES
…Husker failed in his attempt to commit murder… Reba began joining his nightly story telling sessions…
Spikes
Husker watched Trixie ski over to 73rd street.
The storm was fierce tonight. Apparently world wide, all the weather was getting equally intense. The experts were trying to sound confident when they said the world was experiencing a final blow out, after which the much hoped for stabilization would start.
Husker didn’t give a shit. A psychopath did his thing, rain or shine, wind or snow. The only thing he cared about was killing Trixie, and right now that meant keeping her in his line of sight while he frantically skied. The new plan was to take her by the derelict car lots. Over power her and knock her into the snow. He had found several steel spikes in one of his mother’s piles and honed the points into gleaming needles. Jam one into her eye and punch the other into her chest. Have it done in under thirty seconds.
In the cloud of negativity following the fail at her apartment, feeling like everything was falling apart and he was a complete loser, he’d somehow managed to turn a corner. He wasn’t sure exactly how it happened. Maybe it was because he was facing shit instead of running from it. Maybe it was the power gained from telling all those stories. Who knew. What mattered was he made some connections in his head and experienced a transformation from I’ll always be chickenshit to I don’t give up, and so what. So what if he’d spent all of his life being afraid. So what if he’d fucked up the kill. So what if Jacob was going to leave him all alone. So what. Tonight he wasn’t giving up. Tonight he’d manifest his true self. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t going to stop.
He’d take care of this bitch, and then next on the list was murdering Jacob’s bitch, Reba. She hung out with them every night now and her mission was to completely derailed his stories. And the fat bitch kept calling him Husky. That first night Husker had thought she’d made an honest mistake. He’d politely given her the correct way to say his name, the name his dad had given him. Didn’t do any good. The bitch was out of her mind. She was a wild animal. She told her own stories without asking permission, about being a gutter punk and living off the grid. She wouldn’t shut up. Trying to steal his juice.
Wait, where was he?
Streetlights cast green and pink stripes through the blue onslaught. Trixie was gone. They’d already passed the dealerships and he didn’t see her anywhere.
Husker screamed a loud FUCK. Reba had zinged him again, gotten him distracted and fucked this one up too.
So what. He could still get it done. He powered to the Racado, his quads and calves burning, melting inside his chaps, thinking about potential places to do her there. If that didn’t work then shit, he’d zap her at her building, do her on the stairs, whatever.
Her skis were on the community rack. She came over to him with her thermos and said, “Hey.”
Right into his personal space, looking directly at him. She was looking like she knew him.
“Hey,” Husker said, feeling trapped, feeling small.
“This might seem like a weird question but do you work at the plaza?”
His mind racing, he nodded. “Sure do. I’ve been doing work in the old movie theater. They’re doing renovations.”
She nodded sagely. “I thought so. I work there too. I think we have the same route. I always see you here. I’m Trixie.”
Husker said, “I live in the Castro.” That made no sense. Husker began to panic.
“They have primo mud here. Keeps me sane.”
“No doubt. I completely concur.”
“Well, okay. I guess I’ll be seeing you.”
“Sure.” He got out of the way so she could grab her skis. He watched her ski off. It was totally over. She’d looked at him like a human. She had a pretty voice. He’d been seen talking to her. He’d said dumb shit, because he wasn’t just a chicken shit, he was a dummy too. I completely concur. Husker stood under a tilted aluminon umbrella and let himself become consumed with shame and hate. Back to Reba. He still didn’t have the power to go at her directly. If he went after her directly Jacob would leave, for sure.
There was a phone booth, a plastic cage. Gripping the receiver and working the dial made him feel better. He wasn’t giving up. Reba told stories about her husband, Clay. She’d mentioned his name and Vitus Construction. Information delivered the number. He asked for Clay.
“Hey. This is Clay. Whoever this is you’ve got good timing cause I was just on my way out.”
“You don’t know me and I don’t know you, and all I wanted to tell you was your big fat fucking wife Reba is fucking this little dude named Jacob. He likes to hang out at the Three O tavern. I thought you should know because everyone’s laughing at you my friend.”
Clay laughed, a deep belly laugh.
“This is no joke,” Husker said.
“You’re right, friend.” Clay’s voice was loud and expansive. “You don’t know shit. Reba and I have an open marriage. Man, she can fuck whoever she wants. I don’t know this Jacob, but if I meet him I’ll fucking buy him a beer because she’s been so much less of a bitch recently, and that has to be why.” He paused. Husker was afraid he’d start laughing again. He did. “You know, I don’t know why you’re trying to rattle my cage but I suggest you get your head out of your ass because you’re a fucking moron.”
…Jacob meets Satan… Satan is confronted by his wife…