It was Tuesday evening and Greg had still not
returned from his sojourn to London. Karen had
not returned from Dominic's flat since Saturday
morning. Marlon was invisible as usual. Howard
imagined Marlon to be an oval-spectacled, wild-haired
genius hammering away at a keyboard amidst a
village of computers, basking in a green silicon
glow.
Gallie spent an hour or two on the phone before
slumping unhappily on the sofa to stare distantly
at hyperactive television programs. To Howard's
delight she accepted his nervously mumbled proposal
that they get out of the house. She miserably
stubbed out a cigarette into one of the overburdened
ashtrays and moped upstairs to get changed.
They stepped through the front door into the
night-drenched street. Perched on the doorstep
was a huge black cat.
'Moggie Macabre!' cried Gallie.
Moggie Macabre wasn't merely black in the sense
of a colour. Moggie Macabre was black in that
it seemed to embody a sinister absence: Moggie
Macabre was a shadow in darkness; Moggie Macabre
was a void in the fabric of the Universe. Two
fluorescent yellow orbs glared angrily at Howard,
counterpointing the blackness of the creature's
fur. Howard stared back uneasily at the menacing
cat. Then his mind returned its processing resources
to the intractable matter of trying to impress
Gallie.
The night was both cloudless and moonless.
There was a distinct bite to the air, but the
air was fresh and somehow the chill was not
unpleasant. His spirits were so high that he
was mentally associating the cold with excited
joy.
They walked in silence down Napoleon Terrace,
along the Chillington Road. Eventually they
turned into an alleyway towards Donovan Hall.
High stone walls made Howard feel claustrophobic.
Low white streetlights lit the alley, shining
as coldly as the night itself. Between the lights
they walked through long stretches of darkness.
With unease, Howard tried to amaze Gallie with
conversation about astronomy but she seemed
distracted.
A tall figure stepped into the light ahead of
them. They slowed their gait until they stopped
in front of him, not daring to pass. He stood
still, his hands placed firmly on his hips.
Howard moved to the left. The tall dark figure
mirrored his shift.
'Erm, excuse me,' mumbled Howard, tentatively.
The tall man was silhouetted in front of a lamppost.
Looking upwards, Howard's eyes slowly discerned
features of the shadowed angular face and the
cold, narrowed eyes. The shoulder-length, white
hair seemed to stream from his head like lightening.
Howard's uncertainty dissolved into terror.
He knew this man. He knew him! Under his breath
he uttered a single word.
Drijk.
'Y
ou.' Drijk pointed accusingly, his
long index finger aimed like a dagger, inches
before Howard's widened eyes. Howard observed
that the fingernail was sharpened to a point.
He was barely able to acknowledge this waking
nightmare.
'You dared insult me,' seethed Howard's aggressor
in his low, ominous voice. 'Every fuck in Redater
knows you insulted me!'
Howard felt his insides churn. He recalled
making a joke about Drijk's strange white hair
in the Students Union bar. He had hoped to
impress Gallie. Then he remembered Drijk's glare
and how Greg had cheerfully told him that Drijk
was a psychopath. Howard groaned. If only
he could stretch out his hand and snatch his
words out of the stream of history. His feared
that his joke, his stupid, trivial, throwaway
joke, was about to be answered - with pain,
injury or worse.
Howard's mind furiously calculated his options
of escape. His instinct to avoid harm was even
more primal than sex yet even at this time of
danger, he considered Gallie. Fleeing would
be to abandon her to her fate. Fleeing would
definitely compromise any image of chivalry
he might possess in her eyes. Fleeing would
burden him with guilt and the shame. Fleeing
- and this was the overarching point - would
not even save him. He was unfit and Drijk looked
sinewy and athletic. Rumour had it that Drijk
was an expert at martial arts. Drijk could not
be outpaced. There was no escape.
His second instinct was to attempt to diffuse
the situation. Diplomacy was his only option.
'Drijk, I would never say a word against you.'
Howard heard his own voice judder and stammer
pathetically.
'Don't insult my intelligence you fucking loser.
Time to learn the hard way not to fuck with
me!'
The words were spoken in such a cold, disengaged
voice that Howard felt paralysed with anxiety.
Tears of self-pity formed in his eyes. Adrenaline
swamped his bloodstream. Drijk narrowed his
eyes, cracked his knuckles and moved his sinewy
limbs in sinister, flowing movements. Howard
felt like a mouse finding itself face to face
with a hooded cobra.
'My enemies,' said Drijk in a voice tightened
with disgust, 'wanted so much from their lives.
But now they've no lives left.'
The air was suddenly split with an eardrum-ripping
cacophony. Howard felt a blow to his face and
landed heavily against the wall. He sank to
the ground, his forearms over his head, and
curled himself up. Noise screamed in his head.
With eyes shut tight, he awaited the blows to
smash him. Time lost meaning and space its definition.
In a slowed temporal consciousness he only seemed
to edge from one infinitesimal instant to the
next.
The noise stopped. A high-pitched tone echoed
in his head, which he knew came from within.
Over it he discerned Gallie's voice but he couldn't
understand her. He felt liquid pour from his
mouth. It tasted metallic. His left side of
his jaw and his gums throbbed. He spat. He brushed
his tongue against the lacerated inside of his
cheek.
Dazed, he gasped for air. Staggering along the
Chillington Road, he was vaguely conscious of
being guided by Gallie. Light-helmed cars passed
unconsciously by. He steadfastly refused to
take the advice of Gallie to call for an ambulance.
His face hurt. His teeth hurt. An ache throbbed
in his right knee. Yet he felt supernaturally
strong as the adrenaline tightened its grip
on his metabolism. He turned towards the tall
rocky wall that flanked the pavement. He felt
so invincible that he felt as though if he were
to kick the wall then the wall would yield.
He kicked the wall. He winced and cursed. Now
his
foot hurt.
In the house Gallie dabbed the blood from his
face and helped to stem the flow of blood from
his knee. She lamented that his bloodstained
clothes were ruined.
'What about
me, for fucks sake?'
'Ohhhhhh, You'll mend! But what about your poor
clothes?'
Gallie nursed him with great tenderness. He
didn't respond to her intimacy. He was scared.
He was scared of what Drijk would have done
to him if Gallie hadn't triggered her rape alarm.
He was even more fearful of what Drijk had in
store for him in the future. The more Gallie
tried to get close to him, the more he pushed
her away.
'Fuck!' he screamed.
Gallie backed away from him and then left him
alone.
He seized an ashtray and hurled it against the
wall. It shattered, spraying a cloud of ash
and tab ends across the room. A black patch
scarred the wall. He felt humiliated. He felt
angry. He felt sick with fear. His head hurt.
His
mind hurt.
 | | | | |
| From: |
isolani | Subject: | 2002-03-26 17:06:12 |
| | | | |
| From: |
Knoeier | Subject: | 2002-04-20 09:52:17 |
| | | | |
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