Here, In This Place: An Origin Tale

WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT

CONCLUSION

The late morning was quiet. In the afternoon things were diverted by a young man looking for his father who had dementia and had somehow gotten car keys and was driving around Lassador. They found the old man and the keys and returned both to the son who sat his father down and prepared him dinner while the old man shook his head and said, “I get so lost sometimes. I get so lost. I’m so glad you saved me.”

David started to feel good about the world, and that was when he looked at his phone.

Two messages, and he played the first one:

“Detective, thanks for the drinks. They really helped. I don’t know... Sometimes I get so down... Anyway I didn’t mean to bother you, and I didn’t think you’d be awake. Just… thanks a lot.

 

Cody, his voice living, but in the scratchy quality of answering messages. David was captivated by the last sounds of the living voice of someone who was gone. He played the message three times, glass eyed, before he moved on to the next message.

“Hey, Detective. It’s me again. Cody…”

Cody’s voice sounded high and plaintive.

“I just wanted to say thanks. And… it’s not nobody’s fault. I mean, it’s not anybody’s fault... And, you know… I don’t want folks to get mad... You know….”

There was a long stretch of scratchy silence.

“Goodbye now…” Cody said.

“Thanks.”

Dave stood up and went to Karney’s office. He played it for him.

“7:30,” Karney said. “He knew by 7:30. He knew when he was getting dressed.”

“He’s the one you should have given time off to,” David said.

“I didn’t know he was so bad off.”

“You know what?” David said.

“Huh?”

“If my phone had been on, if I’d answered it, and talked to him—”

“Naw, Dave, you can’t do that.”

“He’d be alive. Even when he said goodbye, if I’d answered and said, ‘No, man. Just make it through today…’”

“He had his brother. If he wanted to live he would have said something to him.”

“I could have stopped this. If not that family, at least I could have helped him.”

“Dave?”

“Yeah.”

“Please. Please, go home.”

He might as well. It was near the end of the day anyway.

He knew what Karney also wanted to add was: and delete the messages.  He didn’t. He drove all around town, playing them now and again. Lassador was so large, and he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for when he drove up and down Denning and through the townhouses of old Germantown. He drove through the Near Westside and the old mansions, and across the river to the Hills, around Saint Ignatius, and maybe he drove just so he didn’t have to go home. But at last, he did go home. He parked in front of the ltitle house on the little rise of hill like all the other houses and he knew the day should have been beautiful. The lights were on in Claire’s house, and he looked to the kitchen for a moment, but then let himself inside. He was a lonely person. He had become a lonely person. Mom had ended up being his whole life. There had been no time to make new friends, and the old ones had fallen away. He felt like he should do something about that, but was far too tired to be able to sit down and think about what. He was just far too… tired.

Somewhere along the line he ordered a pizza and showered. Eventually he went to bed on the sofa, in front of the TV. He knew he needed to cry. He was sure that would help. Some tears, some therapy, maybe going to church. He knew something needed to come in and break him, that he was fucked up right now, and everything he was doing was very temporary. But he also knew he didn’t have the time for that right now. At the moment it was extremely inconvenient to be broken.

Laying on the couch, he took out his phone and touched it.

“Detective, thanks for the drinks. They really helped. I don’t know... Sometimes I get so down... Anyway I didn’t mean to bother you, and I didn’t think you’d be awake. Just… thanks a lot.”

Like a weird lullaby he played the messages over and over again, until his finger was tired and he had exhausted himself with grief.

That night, David had the most bizarre dream that had come to him in a long time. It was strange in the quality of how real it seemed. He was coming down into his living room, cursing himself for not keeping a TV in his bedroom, and he was sitting down on the sofa and turning on the TV. He was naked because it was his house, and he could be naked and the reception was bad on the Late Show. He fiddled around with the TV till he found something that worked, and when he’d gotten clear reception, he rose to get a drink.

When he came back, the voice on the television was asking a disconsolate, but handsome man, “Is your failure to age startling your mortal friends and making it difficult to stay in one place very long?  Is your constantly youthful appearance making a rift with your lovers as they begin to grey?”

Earnestly, sadly, the goodlooking, dark haired man nodded.

“Well,” continued the TV voice, “from the makers of Nutra Negative and your favorite drink, Hemogoblin, comes, Garden of Eden’s Aging Cream.”

In the dream, David cocked his head and watched as the handsome young man, gleerfuly applied the white cream to his face rubbing it in and the announcer continued:

“Garden of Eden, used daily, gently increases wrinkles, loosens skin and greys hair to give that mortal appearance so many of us are trying to replicate.  Depending upon need use a little or use a lot.”

The young man looked—not ancient—but around forty-five now, or a gently worn fifty, and he ran a hand through his hair and grinned toothily. And what sharp teeth some of those were!

“Thanks to G of E, I’ve got my life back, and none of those awkward questions from friends, family and neighbors about why I haven’t aged a day! Thank you, G of E!”

“Garden of Eden Aging Cream,” the announcer continued, “Satisfaction or your money back. Guaranteed.”

“What the fuck?” David wondered. But he was tired, and he curled up on the couch, glad this oddness had taken over his thoughts for while. There was some old cowboy movie on, and he allowed it to play in the background while he drifted into or out of sleep, for in the dream he went back to sleep, and he had waken up two or three times, not entirely sure of what was real and what was not.

He woke up on his back with a dry mouth and a stiff neck, and he stood up, cracked his back, stretched and then marched upstairs to pee. He wasn’t going to work today, and for the first time he didn’t want to. He wondered what time it was. 7:30 ish, nearly 7:45, the same time Cody had killed himself yesterday. There would be a funeral.. He tried to keep his mind on this, but he was already going to the window. He opened it, and he saw that Claire was getting dressed with her curtain open, When she looked up he knew she was looking for him, had left the curtains open for him. He opened his further and Claire turned to him, opening up her blouse, pulling down her panties.

David knew what he looked like, long, tall, healthy, well enough endowed, and when she stripped for him, be began to touch himself. She pressed her fingers to that rose bud coming out of the dark hair between her thighs and while, expressionless, this woman masturbated, David stroked himself. The faster she went the faster he went, the harder he became. The first time he’d jacked off, around twelve or thirteen, he had surprised himself completely and this time was no different. He was rocketed off of his feet and shouted, glad the window was closed. He’d had little idea it was about to happen until he saw his semen spatter the window, felt his heart rate come down, began catching his breath, held his penis, stiff and sticky in his hand. Claire, seemingly gratified, closed the window and Dave stood, looking across to a shut curtain. Suddenly troubled and confused, he examined the semen, his semen all over this bedroom window, and wondering what the fuck was wrong with him.