The window of the cluttered bedsit shines out into the night like a tiny yellow beacon. A point of warmth and security when all else is wind, rain and chaos. Inside it holds all the clutter of the young couple who live there. A bookcase and desk piled high with papers and stuffed with dog-eared novels, two tattered red armchairs and a matching sofa. An ageing TV set battles to keep a picture, the reception battered by the weather outside and a coffee table lies buried beneath the detritus of youth.
A group of shadowy figures gather and mill on the set, the show is conspiratorial and black and white. The haven’s three occupants watch intently. A young couple hold each other and chuckle on the sofa while a friend occupies the far armchair sipping at a cheap bottle of sour wine and muttering.
Kimberly leans forwards to the table, pushing aside beer cans and old newspapers looking for a lighter. She finds one and leans back and raises the flame to the tip of a joint. She is young and her eyes are bright and full of life. Jason pulls her back to his arms on the sofa, he whispers something in her ear and she laughs.
“Oh my God! Did those guys just kill him?” Kimberly raises her hand slightly to her mouth.
“Yeah.”
“Why? Could they not just get some hair or something and copy him from that?”
“Suppose.” Replied Jason, “but this way they kill two birds with one stone. Now if they get their version of him in place by morning there’s no chance of anyone noticing or the real him turning up unexpectedly.”
In the armchair Louis leans forward his long, lank black hair hanging over his face. He flicks it back. He looks unhealthy, he has a week’s beard and his skin is tired. His eyes sit in dark sockets and his clothes are dirty and second hand. He begins rolling up for himself. He expects no offer of the other.
Kimberly glances away form the television in Louis’ direction. She passes the joint to Jason and rubs her arms as if cold. The TV show takes a twist and ends.
“What? What was all that about?” Kimberly sits forward abruptly. “Who were those two guys? It can’t just end there!”
“That first guy, I’m not sure who he was but the second guy was the guy who knew what they were doing.”
“I don’t think he did know. I mean I think it was all in his head, ‘cos he was blind he put together all these things he heard and felt but we never knew if we were seeing what he thought or what was happening.”
Louis finishes rolling and takes a deep gulp of wine straight from the bottle. He sits back in the chair. “Things will happen if you believe in them or not. That blind man had better vision than any of those other idiots.”
“Are you getting married to that?” She takes the joint from Jason and inhales deeply. “What if they could do that though?”
“Grow replacement people overnight. You’d never know who was real.”
“An identical being, they could teach it to think and act just like the original. Start on everyday people then when you’ve got it perfected you could do the President or Prime Minister.”
“Jesus! You people wouldn’t notice if they cloned your own mother never mind the PM!” Louis sniped, leaning forward to get an ashtray from the table.
“I’d clone the bank manager.” Kimberly chuckled.
“What about the landlord?”
“Jesus, definitely that bastard! Have Elvis instead. I’ve always thought it’d be cool to have Elvis living downstairs.”
“Yeah, but that’s because you’re a fucking fool!” Louis raises his wine to his lips once more glaring over at Kimberly and Jason.
“Break out the guitar, I’d reckon we’d have some pretty cool jams. Bet he’d be one hell of a party animal.” Smiled Jason.
“It’d have to be young Elvis, or maybe ’68 comeback Elvis. Would you be jealous?”
“I guess I may have to keep you tied to the bed then.”
“Yeah, and she’ll keep you wrapped around her little finger!”
“But he’d bust in, rescue me and whisk me away to be his queen in Graceland.” The couple turn and share a kiss. They are cut short by the telephone.
Jason stands from the sofa, giving a quizzical look to Kimberly who simply shrugs her reply. He walks to the cluttered desk and raises the receiver to his ear.
“Yeah!? Yes it is. Who’s this?” He lowers himself onto a small chair without clearing the heap of clothes occupying it. “Look there must be a mistake. No I don’t care! If this is a joke I can assure you it’s not funny! Yes I understand the severity but... No! You listen to me! Fuck imperative!”
Kimberly gets up and goes over to him laying a timid hand on his forearm. Louis looks round at them. The first thing to interest him all night.
“He fucking hung up! That bastard!”
“Who was it? What’s wrong?”
“He’s wrong, that’s what’s wrong. Fucking asshole!” Jason is slightly calmer now he puts a hand to Kimberly’s face.
She lays her own over it. “What is it? Please. You’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry, I just gotta go sort this out. It’s nothing. I won’t be long.”
Kimberly looks up to his face. “Don’t be.” She is worried and scarred. Something had just burst into their quiet night together and it made the hairs on her back stand up. Silently, unmoving she watches him put on his jacket and gather the car keys.
He pauses at the door giving her a smile; nervously she bites down on her bottom lip. He leaves, head bowed in concentration. She looks silently around the room rubbing her arms again. She is afraid and can’t explain why.
“Do something useful with yourself. Make us a brew since you’re up!”
Kimberly stood on the same spot for seemed like a very long time. She didn’t want to move. Adverts play on the television as she moves back to the sofa. She sits down, she is wringing her hands without noticing.
Louis looks at the now empty wine bottle in his hand. “Fine then! I’ll just open another of these shall I?” He pauses for a second watching Kimberly. She does not realise. “Jesus!”
She can feel tears coming on though she does not understand why. “I might as well do the washing up then.” She moves around the sofa pausing at the desk on her way. There is a picture in an old pewter frame. She can’t remember seeing it before, of a family. They look happy and she raises a small smile.
The kitchen is a tight and crowded space. The lazy day they had been enjoying had produced a surprisingly large amount of washing up. “He won’t be long, he’ll probably be back before I’ve finished.”
“What are you crapping on about in there? Don’t worry about him. I bet it’s nothing. You know what a drama queen he can be sometimes.”
“Jesus! I remember what he was like when we were kids. Could never relax properly, always running around after someone or something.” Louis stopped to pick something from the front of his jumper. It is old and crusty but he enjoys picking it off, breaking away tiny pieces.
Kimberly is now busy. The sink is full of hot soapy water and the worktop covered with the dirty plates and pans she has gathered.
Louis drinks deeply from the bottle and glares at the television. A sports programme has started. “I’m having one of your cigarettes!” He shouts through to the kitchen. There is no reply.
He lights it and mutters through the smoke. “Fucking bitch! A little acknowledgement wouldn’t kill you!”
The bedsit looks strange now. It feels different, they can both feel it. It doesn’t feel as warm and safe anymore. The lights don’t seem as bright, the TV doesn’t seem as loud. Everything feels further apart, not so close and cosy. Somehow unnatural.
Kimberly is up to her arms in soapsuds and humming a tune to herself. She is trying to remember where she heard it. Louis squares himself in the doorway behind her. She says nothing just continues humming repeating her favourite part of the chorus.
“What shit’s that you’re humming? Where do you guys go out nowadays anyway?” He drinks deeply from the bottle, his gulps are getting longer and deeper. The concave bottom of the green glass facing the light for longer and longer.
He lets his eyes rest on her shiny shoulder length hair for a few seconds before looking her up and down as she removes a large pan from the bubbles. “I really don’t see why you find me so objectionable.”
“You and your little lover boy can kiss and cuddle all you want but it really wouldn’t kill you to hold a fucking conversation with me for once!” He drinks deeply again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“You just clam up when he’s not here. What? You’re worried about him? What are you two, joined at the hip? He’s just popped out that’s all.”
“There’s no reason to feel uncomfortable. You’re a beautiful piece of ass. We could party.” He drinks again and takes a step forward into the kitchen space.
Kimberly stops washing, her shoulders tense. Louis reaches out a hand for her shoulder. She gives a sharp intake of breath and flinches away. His fingers stop short.
“Fuck! Just speak to me then!” He drinks again, the bottle has almost been drained. He is beginning to sweat. “What’s the problem? You don’t know me for shit bitch!”
“Say something! Fucking say something bitch!” Kimberly starts crying, weeping at first but the tears begin to stream with ease.
“Jesus fucking Christ! You weak little whore! Scaring you am I? You fucking bitch!” Now he moves forward with the confidence he lacked before. His features are twisted pinched up, his eyes tiny black dots in his reddening face.
He drives his open palm between her shoulder blades, the force takes her completely by surprise. She squeals, more with shock than fright. Her body hits the counter knocking the wind from her. She slips losing her footing on the wet floor.
Kimberly looks up to face her attacker. She moves her mouth to speak but can not make any sound. Her eyes grow wide. Louis is raging, a stream of obscenities fly from his lips. Spittle drops from his mouth, he raises the bottle.
She begins to panic, scrabbling on the floor, trying to back peddle away but the kitchen units block her path. She is cornered. She begins to scream.
Louis lets the bottle swing with full force. It strikes her square on the side of the head and sends her sprawling across the floor. He follows.
Kimberly’s world is suddenly chaos. She remembers an enormous noise. Shapes and colours dance in the darkness before her eyes. Something hot is running down the side of her face.
She can hear someone bellowing. She opens her eyes and looks up. There is a shape standing over her. She tries to speak but she can not feel her mouth properly. The words don’t form.
The kitchen’s fluorescent light begins to flicker. Off, on, off, on. The flickers are getting faster and faster. The shape frenzied, caught in the strobe. It seems to be changing with each flicker.
Darkness.
The storm had finally broken as Jason pulled into the hospital’s car park. It had not been a good drive, his head hurt and he felt cold. He found a space, surprised at how busy the car park was at such a late hour.
He stepped out into the dull orange glow from the streetlights. The ground was wet and the night air cold but fresh. Quickly he pocketed the car keys and made his way the accident and emergency department.
The A&E department is busy and full of moans and complaints. A drunk calls out to a passing doctor. He ignores him. Jason goes to the nurse on the desk. Reiterating for her the phone call he received earlier. He wanted to make sure she knew how angry it had made him but his head hurt too much.
She points him in the direction of a nearby ward, looking at him with a concern in her eyes which does little to settle his temper. The fluorescent lights made Jason’s head throb harder. He spoke under his breath as he walked. “Must have been bad pot. Just get this over with as quick as possible and get out of here.”
He found the ward with ease. It was strangely still and quiet. All the lights were turned down. He shuffled along with his shoulders hunched, eyes fixed o the floor. He did not want to look at any of the shapes beneath the sheets.
Hospitals frightened him. Had done since he was a boy. He noticed the end bed. The curtain was half pulled around. A doctor and two students stood at the foot of the bed, they speak in hushed tones and keep consulting a chart.
A young nurse pulls back the curtain and goes to the bedside. There is a lot of machinery. Closer now Jason can clearly hear the bleep of heart monitors and the rasp of respirators. A drip and blood bag hangs from a frame.
Jason looks up straight into the eyes of a young boy. He has suffered a massive impact. His body is torn and broken, great purple marks cover his torso, signs of internal bleeding. Jason lets out a small yelp. It is involuntary. He steps back, his hand at his mouth.
The doctors move towards him, they are speaking but Jason never hears a word. One of them touches his shoulder. Jason shoves her to the ground, moving for the door. He just runs. He can feel it in every part of his being. Something is gravely wrong and he has to get away.
He crashes through a set of double doors into a long white corridor with a number of coloured stripes running down the centre of the hall. His mind is spinning and head throbbing. He sprints, breath coming in raggedy gasps, shoes squeaking on the plastic floor.
He sees the exit and bursts back into the cold night. He falls panting to his hands and knees. His eye catching his own reflection in a puddle. He is pale and drained, his lips are turning blue and he has red bruises appearing at his temples. His breathing slows. Bathed in the red light of the A&E sign behind him he vomits.
The light begins to flicker. Not enough to notice at first but gathering rapidly in speed and violence. Jason screams out. The pain in his head is becoming more and more intense. Pulses of red overcome him, the only thing in his world now. They seem to slow, getting into a rhythm.
Darkness.
Jason gasps, stumbling backwards. Where is he, it’s familiar, there’s a heavy smell in the air. A mix of heat and iron. He can feel something warm and sticky on his skin. On his shirt, arms, hands and face.
The room, he’s at home. When did he get here? What’s been happening? He searches his mind for answers. How did he get here? When did he leave? He can’t remember.
Looking down he notices he is holding something. A heavy green glass bottle. There is something matted, stuck on the side. Jason lifts it, examining curiously. It is as he does this, his eyes catch a shape on the ground. Just thorough the doorway, partially obscured. He moves forwards.
As his eyes fall upon the form his mind, heart and stomach lurch as one. He drops the bottle to the linoleum floor. It explodes with a force far more powerful than its short drop. Scattering tiny green jewels everywhere.
His mouth moves no words come. His brain reels but offers no explanation. His heart breaks.
He lifts his hands slowly to his face, turning them over in front of him. They are coated with blood, thick, red, drying and sticky. His clothes are stained and his face dotted with drops.
He moves towards the body. He wants to comfort it somehow, hold it and console it like the aftermath of a bad dream. His muscles halt halfway through the first step. It’s not a bad dream. There is no time and place for whispered words. It is not going to be okay.
The phone screeches through the silence. The ring, harsh and violent. Jason nearly screams, his heart is pounding hard enough to burst from his chest. The phone keeps going. He turns towards it slowly. His whole being is shaking.
He walks to the desk and sits in the small chair in front facing the phone. It still rings. He reaches up and past it to a quarter bottle of whisky on the side. He drinks deeply, the phone still rings. It is late, this is no casual caller. Tentatively he raises it from its cradle and to his ear.
“Wouldn’t that have been great baby? Having Elvis down stairs? Would you be jealous? Why? It wasn’t your fault, the lines fell to close. That’s all baby, too close.” The voice was familiar, feminine but distorted as though underwater.
“Were you jealous? Why? Could you smell him on me? Why? Did you think I could smell her on you? Did you think it was your fault? Do you really think you matter that much? You’re not even here! The lines fell too close! Why? Too close! Why?”
Jason lets the phone fall away from his grip, the voice is still speaking but he doesn’t hear it anymore. He raises the bottle again. His eye catches a small photograph in a frame on the desk. It brings back a strange memory he can not place. As he stare at it the glass cracks slowly, spider webbing across the image.
He lets out a roar, swiping the picture from the table with the back of his hand. Tears are now pouring down his face. His breaths coming in sharp, choking gasps. He raises his hand to his temple. The pain in his head is immense. Agonising.
He bolts for the door, swinging it open hard enough for the handle to dig deep into the wall and bounce it shut behind him. His feet clatter off down he rickety wooden staircase launching him out into the night.
It is dark outside, the road is wet and clouds are gathering in front of the moon, threatening another storm. A cul de sac of tall thin houses lies silent. Cars are parked up and down the street, many of them in what would be the home’s front gardens.
A man bursts from one on the front doors. He slams the door shut so hard it sound like a gunshot. Somewhere a dog begins barking. He moves towards one of the cars, his shoulders and chest are jerking wildly as he digs in his pocket for the keys.
He finds them, fumbles and drops them in the street. He scrambles his way into the car. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. The car’s lights come on, the engine guns and it lurches aggressively down the street.
Jason is speeding down the road, spray flying wildly in his wake and headlights bouncing in front of him. His face is pale and drained, his eyes are sunken in black sockets and his skin looks pallid and unrealistic beneath the streetlights.
There is something in the road ahead of him. A shape, a person, a boy. Jason tries to stop but it is no good. The car glides on the wet tarmac. The boy stands shoulders squared and chest out. Time is slowing down.
A light is generating behind him. The car is beginning to spin. The wheels aquaplaning on the road. Jason can now feel every breath, see every detail. A second lasts an age. He can see every detail of the scene. Every detail except the boy.
The front of the car touches the light. The back end begins to lift. Metal starts to crumple and grind. Jason is flung about. Contents of the car float around. Everything is weightless, gliding to oblivion.
The light begins to pulse in a slow rhythm. Light, boy, light Louis, light Kimberly, light, hospital bed, light, photograph.
Suddenly Jason is there no more. It is daylight he is in another car. It’s floating too. There are people inside, a young family. They raise their arms, protecting their heads as they float and bounce off the interior.
A door is ripped off, windows smash, four different voices scream and shout for help or salvation. He thinks he hears a woman praying. It’s getting darker. There is an enormous impact. A rush as big as gods. Water everywhere. Panic.
Only white.
Thunder rolls in the distant night. There is a flash. The rains are coming again. A single ancient lamppost stands guard outside a small churchyard. A sentinel light in the darkness.
The churchyard is filled with old graves. Worn by weather and time. Many are old fashioned crypts watched over by statues of angels.
There is an orange light flickering in the distance. There is another thunderclap, its explosion is mirrored by the distant candlelight’s leap into the air.
There is a shape on the curb. It’s head forced down and knees pulled up. It shakes and sobs. It does not understand. The first drops of rain begin to fall.
A hand reaches down, soft and gentle taking that of the sobbing shape. The shape lifts its head and looks up disbelieving.
The hand lifts him to his feet. The rain comes harder. It is a torrent, the heavens have opened.
The two people look at each other a moment, they smile a little. It is not a smile of happiness.
They begin to dance together in the rain. They are forehead to forehead, eyes tightly shut. They are crying.
Somewhere in the distance sirens can be heard. Blue dots blink by a dying distant fire in the road.
“The lines just fell too close.”
They are still crying.
They kiss.
Copyright 2001
