Uttuku

The Books of Darkness

by Robert N. Stephenson

Chapter 11

part 2 of 2

I stepped into the heat of the shower, some of my own sadness washing away. The guilt of pushing Steven to kill himself had lifted, though the rejection from my peers still held tight. I washed my hair, the feeling of scratching at my scalp distracting, the flow of hair through my fingers, liquid and smooth.

The black tiles, the black fittings, even the black soap did nothing to lift my spirits. How did she cope with blackness all the time? Once the conditioner, Swartzkopf, which did make me smile, was rinsed out, I turned off the shower and stepped out onto the mat. The over large towel made short work of drying myself. I would need to blow-dry my hair or it would develop an annoying wave at the ends.

“You’ll find a new toothbrush in the cabinet,” Sarina called through the door.

I looked at myself in the mirror, dark glass. Slight rings around my eyes and the early signs of crows’ feet. Without makeup I looked excessively pale, dull and lifeless. I needed to do my brows, I also needed to shave my pubic hair. I looked like the wild colonial girl. I thought about it. There was only one razor, and it felt off, sharing a razor for such private areas. I grabbed a black tooth brush from the cabinet.

Sarina adjusted my jacket and stepped back to admire me. She’d lent me a full black dress with full length sleeves, with lace gloves at the ends. We were pretty much the same size, though she was taller by a few centimetres, so there was no problem in wearing the offered black knee-high lace-up boots. The jacket was all lace. It looked handmade and very old.

“I’ll do your makeup as soon as I’m dressed.” Sarina gave me the once over, pleased with herself.

With all this black I didn’t think I needed too much makeup. Sarina dressed in a similar fashion, clearly indicating we were a couple, and insisted on doing my eyes and applying black lipstick. Looking the part only deepened my depressive leaning. I was now mimicking the darkness of my thoughts. Had I become my fears?

We traveled to North Adelaide, not the area I would have expected to go to a Goth party, all expensive houses. Home of the well-to-do. Sarina had booked us a black chauffeur car which fit with the image we both projected. The interior was also black, leather and trims. The driver was Sudanese.

“I had the hire-car company build this car for me.” Sarina patted my knee. “It was cheaper than trying to look after a car myself.”

“This black fetish, it’s a bit odd.” I didn’t want to upset her. It was getting to me.

“It’s not a fetish, it’s just who I am. You will never look at another black thing and not think of me.” She had a point.

The car stopped in Stanley street out front of a house that would have cost more than I earned in my whole career. The ritzy shopping district, Melbourne street, was the next street over. This was a real high-end party.

She paid the driver and we got out into the cold. The park across the road, filled with eucalyptus, was shrouded in mist, the air damp. The faint glow of street lights created ever shifting shapes between the trees. I thought I saw someone standing at the end of the street. A dark figure. But straining my eyes all I saw was a light post. Did Sarina see it? Paranoia. I’d have to talk to the shrink about that.

“I’ve got a key,” Sarina said as we walked up the front steps. She opened the door into darkness and silence.

“No one’s here.” I was glad to be out of the cold. At the end of a long hallway, both sides showing two doors, a back light, dull, low watt yellow became our destination.

“You’ll have fun.” Sarina took my hand, which I liked, and she led me towards the light. I had never heard of a quiet Goth party, and not one in such an expensive house.

The light showed another shorter hallway, at the end of which were five steps leading down to a black door. What is it with the black, I thought, surely some colour is allowed?

Down the steps Sarina inserted her key and opened the door into a wall of noise, loud noise. She quickly dragged me inside and slammed the door behind us. A basement Goth party. The place looked exactly like the Goth Club across town, except there were no tall standing tables, just couches and chairs. The difference here: no viewers, nobody who wasn’t a Goth. I felt immediately at home, less exposed to what I had endured at the club.

“I’ll get some wine,” Sarina yelled over screams of Marilyn Manson, a mainstay of the movement in Adelaide over the last couple of years.

I stood by the door, feeling a little awkward. Though my look fitted perfectly, I was sober and didn’t know how to act. The half-light cast the room full of pale faces into macabre shadows, black lips and what looked like empty eye sockets.

A bar stood in one corner of the room, a replica of the one at Goth Club; the small crowd around it parted for Sarina. A large woman: it was Beth, I knew her from parties I’d been to over the last few years. She stood there, serving, bedecked in silver jewelry. She poured two glasses of dark wine. No money changed hands.

As Sarina made her way back I watched the bar; the others patrons didn’t pay either. There would have been around fifty people in the room, it didn’t feel crowded, just comfortably occupied. A few girls jump-danced in a corner, thrash dancing I called it.

Sarina handed me the wine and taking my hand again, a definite show of ‘she’s with me’ and led me to a crowded sofa against the wall. The occupants vacated the three seater for us. Sarina must have substantial pull in the scene to get such a response from these people.

The blue haze of cigarette smoke, and its pervading stink dripped from the ceiling and clouded the subdued lighting. The music roared like a train in a tunnel, it invaded my thoughts, pressed against my mind. The screech, thump of bass and then the deep rhythms rattled against my chest.

I clinked glasses with Sarina, she said something I didn’t hear, then sipped the wine. A large plasma screen flashed to life on the wall opposite. An old black and white file flickered into motion. A Bela Lugosi film: Dracula. Sarina sat close to me as we watched the action without sound. The wailing of Manson seemed to fit with the film, capture the darker and more sinister emotions of the character.

I touched her hand, she turned her hand over and clutched mine, fingers entwined. We watched the film, sipping wine and holding hands. When I looked at her she was smiling, a happy face. During the film people came through the door, only none seemed to leave. They must have all had a key to the place, and knowing the culture, you would have to break their arms to get them to tell you where their secret club was. Sarina must have known this, otherwise she wouldn’t risk her own safety.

“I own a place like this in the city,” Sarina yelled into my ear.

I only knew one place, well a place that I would visit that is. Could it be the same?

“Well, one of my companies does.” She bit my ear, a fun gesture. Now I understood how she kept herself. Rich as well as being bloody old. I went to ask what the name of her club was.

Then I saw him.

“Steven!” I yelled, pointing my glass towards the figure standing by the door. Sarina gripped my hand tighter. Steven stared at me, his blue glow out of place amongst the shadows and black.

“Follow me,” his voice said in my head, the sound drowning out the music.

I turned to Sarina. She nodded, as if she’d heard and I should follow him. No one else noticed him, no eyes turned to the glow of the ghost. Steven stared but made no move towards me. Sarina gave my hand a shake. I looked into her face and she nodded again. She could hear him.

“Follow him where?” I yelled.

“The bridge by the Zoo. He waits.” Steven said as he turned to the door. He passed through and out of the club.

“I’m not walking across the park by myself.” I pleaded with Sarina, hoping she heard me. She waved over a man, more a boy who looked to be about twenty at a stretch. She stood, helped me up and all three of use headed for the exit. Steven had already vanished.

Standing on the other side of the door, the sound of the club shut out, Sarina explained to Jacko, that he had to accompany me across the park to the Zoo bridge. He was to stay with me at all times. Look out for me.

“He won’t hurt you,” Sarina said, giving me a hug. I wanted to believe her. I had a bad feeling in my gut, a feeling her embrace didn’t drive away. “Just find out what he wants. Jacko will bring you back here.” She pushed hair out of my face and cupped my cheeks in her hands. “Things are going to be okay. I have a feeling they need you and I doubt harm is their motive.”

“I hope not.” Sarina gave my hand one last squeeze before returning to the club.

Jacko led me out of the house. His heavy boots clumped on the footpath as we walked down to Melbourne street. Traffic was moderate for this time of night, and some of the restaurants were still trading. Jacko and I looked out of place walking down the fashionable shopping street. Me looking like a woman from an old horror flick, and him in his Ozzy T-shirt, ripped black jeans and multiple facial piercings, almost pure punk. His hair hung down his back, died black, blonde roots showing down the centre of his scalp.

“You known Sar long?” he asked as we took a side street towards the park.

“Couple of weeks.”

“She must think something special about you.” His high, girly voice didn’t fit his dark exterior.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a loner, that one. I’ve never seen her with anyone before.” They approached the park, a solitary tree stood as a looming giant to our left. The Zoo bridge, ablaze with light across the grass to our right. A ten-minute walk. The ornate steel work of the small bridge, painted green with gold and red highlights, looked like a toy at night.

I wished it was Sarina with me rather than the boy. If Orlando was what Sarina had told her, the lad wouldn’t stand a chance; neither would she, come to think of it. On the other side of the park, across a winding access road, was the river. After the recent rains it would be flowing fast. I didn’t like the idea of meeting near water.

“Who you meeting?” We neared the bridge. My feet were damp with dew.

“Someone you don’t want to know.” I kept anxiety out of my voice. “Just let me meet the man and you make sure he doesn’t do any funny stuff.”

“A sicko, is he?”

Adelaide was full of sickos and weird crimes, and most of them happened somewhere along the River Torrens. I didn’t like this one bit, even with a bodyguard. I could smell the Zoo as we crossed the road and to the path that ran along the river. The heavy animal smell; faecies and wet straw. Jacko took the lead towards the steps leading up to the bridge. Steven stepped from behind a bush.

“Hell, man!” Jacko yelled. “Don’t go creeping up like that.” He could see Steven.

“It’s okay, I know him.” I touched his arm.

“Under,” Steven said.

Jacko looked at me. I sighed, this was it. Steven walked down the path and out of sight under the bridge. The rushing water audible. I followed, and the boy-man followed me. It was dark, very dark. I could see the grassy bank illuminated on the other side of the underpass, but directly beneath was as thick as ink. Steven was gone. I made out the shape of someone standing close to one of the bridge’s spars.

The figure stepped forward. Jacko stepped in front of me, being protective of a pretty girl. The man stopped within arm’s reach of the boy. I could see the young man had taken a defensive stance, fist clenched. Then I froze. I couldn’t move. It felt as if every muscle in my body had seized.

The man reached forward with both hands and clasped Jacko’s head. The boy convulsed, shook and convulsed again. The man’s eyes shone like blue lights from beneath a wide brimmed hat. I wanted to run. Something held me. I tried to scream and couldn’t.

The man released Jacko. He stepped around the boy and with both hands pushed him down the bank and into the rushing water. I heard the splash then nothing more. He now approached me. I was next. I thought of Sarina. I thought about Steven and Samantha. The blue eyes stared.

“How much do you know about the book?”

The man must be Orlando. What ever held me in place released its grip and I stumbled forward. “You killed him!”

“The book. How much do you know?”

“What book?” I took a few paces back. If I made a break for the street above would I make it?

“The book. I do not have time for these games.”

I couldn’t escape the eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What book?” He couldn’t mean Steven’s, could he? That was fiction written from...

“You’ve seen it?”

“I...I...I....” Would I die if I said yes?

He moved closer, face hidden beneath the hat, eyes beaming like two LCD’s on a sound system. He was going to kill me, take my life light like he’d taken Jacko’s. In the distance I heard the ring of a bicycle bell. I turned, broke contact with the eyes. Coming towards us were two small white lights. A police bike patrol. I felt cold. I ran towards them. Orlando didn’t stop me.

“Help. Help me!” My voice a wail in the night.

Two police officers stopped in front of me, their helmet lights in my face.

“My friend,” I turned to the bridge. Orlando was gone. “My friend’s fallen in the river.”

They climbed off their bikes, both shining torches into the fast flowing water. I knew it was too late. His body would be far away.

“How long has he been in the water?” one officer asked.

“Only a few minutes. I can’t see him, I don’t know if he can swim.”

They radioed in and called for a rescue team and ambulance. I stood, shaking, shocked and disturbed. I’d never seen anyone killed before. I felt sick. Vomiting came next, then dizziness.

This link goes to the book website.