1
Friday morning we reconvened at my place. Each of us had retired to our homes on Thursday evening, still in awe. We would also have elected to rid ourselves of the thoughts that pervaded our minds. Through the night, I stared into the darkness until it was no longer dark anymore. I tossed and turned devoid of sleep and restless. My neck stiffened and baked with tension making it impossible to rest my head. They made being awake intolerable, constantly petrified by premonitions and an elevated state of alertness. My sheets soaked in sweat. Around 2 am I jumped out of bed to take a hot shower hoping it would calm me down. However, my shoulders remained as firm as steel, the anxiety worsened and the sweat found new pyjamas to soak. Cutting was not an option since it had the effect of making me alert, I couldn't also bet on the low possibility of adverse effects. As I jumped to my desk scratching, hyperventilating, fidgeting and trembling, my thoughts grew darker and the night seemed to be stretched to infinity just to torment me. I rushed to my window, climbed on the windowsill so my feet dangle outwards. My right-hand hand grabbing the frame, I looked down, so eager to jump and end it because I felt like I would implode if I endured a second of the confusion, the anxiety and the hurt. Tears blurred my sight, a teardrop fell from my left eye and I watched it drop into the darkness and out of my sight where a bed of daffodils and tulips waited. Tonight they will be drinking blood, I remember thinking. There was no fear or hesitation only the delight in having found the answer. Even if this was a temporary problem of sorts, all my mind knew and could think was that I wanted the feeling gone, and I wanted that now.
“Okay, I should count to three!” I whispered to myself.
“One, two - “ Then an idea shot through my brain, I should go out to a song...I should play a song.
I gazed at the computer sizing the effort it would take for me to get there and if it was worth the trouble at all. Then something shiny caught my eye past the computer on the bookshelf. It was the glass of beer I had never touched, then I remembered I still had three bottles of beer to myself packed away in the common fridge.
I should drink, that will help.
Then it dawned on me how stupid I almost became. The solution was right there and I had almost walked past it into death. The beer would at least carry me through to the morning and then I could be alive for the meeting I have with Macxermillio and Macfearson. I knew how useless they would be if I tried contacting them at this time and after what had just happened. As far as I knew they were soldiering through the night also, they wouldn’t be any help but daunting with their benighted states. Alcohol makes a duly friend.
We could figure something out. Macxermillio knows a ton of shit when he is better.
I journeyed through the silent corridors and passages to the ground floor and retrieved the three 750ml bottles of beer. They were extremely cold and I was surprised that no one had not helped themselves to them as people stealing stuff from the fridge was not a foreign story around here. When the first bottle went down I started to feel better. With a fat grin and a tipsy head, I started with the next bottle which went down smoothly and uplifted my mood. Suddenly I was in the mood of listening to some old tunes on my computer, something sombre and touching. Then I started craving some company which led to opening a few tabs on my internet browser logging on into multiple social networks. At that time, there was barely anyone worth talking to online. It got me wishing I had more international friends on a different time zone because the ones I had were no longer as active. Then I resorted to Chatroulette which was filled with perverts after perverts until I stumbled onto a kitchen view on my screen. First it appeared no one was in the kitchen and the laptop was left online. Then a brunette in her forties or so appeared into view, as if unaware of the display on the laptop. She wore blue jeans with a navy blue tank top. Curvy hips, petite breasts and lean torso. Daylight came in through the kitchen window. She went to the zinc poured herself a glass of water and turned to the laptop. At first she just watched, then approached and pressed a few buttons.
She smiled, leaning over the table into the screen and her tantalizing cleavage showing. “Hi there!” she said. “What you doin?”
“Hi, I’m just chillin’ having a couple of beers. Needed some company. You have a bottle of wine with you?”
“No. Why?”
“So we can drink.” I giggled.
“How old are you?” She squinted.
I shrugged. “I’m twenty.”
“Really? You look a bit older than that.”
“Really? Thank you.”
She moved out of view and came back with a can of beer in her hand. “Where are you from?”
“South Africa.”
She gasped. “Wow. Really? You not kidding?”
“I’m not kidding. No need to tell me where you from I can already guess.”
“How come?”
“American accent is very telling.”
“Huh. What’s your name? Is it difficult to pronounce.”
“I wish.”
“Huh?”
“I wish it was hard to pronounce. I find most black men including me have the name. Can you guess?”
“Is it Jerome?”
I laughed. “No. It is Sandy. And yours?”
“Joni.”
“I guess you are a housewife.”
“What gave that up?” she sarcastically replied. “What time is it there?”
I checked on the right bottom corner of the screen. "2 am."
“That’s crazy. Why you up at this time are you one of those pervs jiggling their junk on this site? Lonely?” she light-heartedly said.
“No. I think this is the third time I’m here and you the first person I have talked to for this long. Others just awkwardly stare and skip me. Got me a bit self-conscious.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep.”
“Do you live with your parents?”
“Yes and no. I’m at uni.”
She nodded. “So, uh, are you celebrating anything?”
I shook my head, smiling.
“What’s the matter?” she leaned forward into the camera.
“I couldn’t sleep. I thought a drink would help me catch what little sleep I can get.”
She nodded. “Alright. Things aren't that great?" She lifted her can of beer and took a sip.
I considered. “Yes, there is something keepin’ me up.”
“You logged in for counsel?”
“Perhaps. I have no idea. I had one beer felt and like company.”
“What are the chances that you would be matched with someone willing?” She smiled.
“I don’t know. One in twenty thousand?” I laughed. Then I looked down on my lap as my countenance changed into something sombre and revealing of the inner turmoil. “You are an honest looking woman maybe you can help me figure something out.”
“Maybe I am.” She smiled and took a large gulp of the beer.
“I have done something really bad and now I realized it might have been all for nothing. And if that is the case, I don’t think I could live with the things I have done. I thought it was all for a good reason and now it doesn’t look that way.”
Nodding she glanced down then took a sip from the can. “Sounds really serious.”
“It is. I don’t know what to do. I don’t feel guilty. I am just worried of what happen next and if there is a next for me.”
“Do you mind being specific or is it something you can’t tell a stranger on the internet about?
I stayed quiet for a while. “No. I don’t think it is something I can tell anyone just yet.”
She shrugged. “Maybe you should see someone. It really helps.”
“What do you mean?”
“A therapist. Are there therapists in your area? If there aren’t find someone you can talk to who won’t tell anybody, like a priest.” She took a sip.
I nodded. “I’ll think about it?” I downed what was left of my glass. I poured myself another glass and raised it. “Thank you.”
She grinned. “You’re welcome.”
I took a sip and watched her, the veil of shame falling on my shoulders. She reciprocated the thought filled the silence with a gaze of her own. It was the type of a pause in a conversation where minds retired to their private rooms for miniature consultation before resuming. There was a lot to be talked about, that did not mean I was without worry. After sharing something of this magnitude the mood sours and the flow of conversation is jarred which could lead to the end of the connection altogether. The end of the connection would be a hurtful thing, a form of rejection that I could not be able to stand now. Joni might have been a lifeling stranger on the internet, but something about her was comforting and reassuring more than the drink in my hand. I hang off the edge of a chasm and she gave the only hand keeping me from falling, I dreaded what lay at the bottom.
Joni cleared her throat and flicked her hair, then let out a weary sigh.
“Are you gonna skip me now?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. Why?”
“You promise?”
She squinted. “Sure, I will stay.”
“Thank you. I really need this.” I paused. “You know a lot of people would leave me right about now. People can’t stand people being honest. You are a good person. I mean why can’t people stand each other and be with each other through such times?”
She grinned, nodding. “Yeah. Very true.”
Then the screen went blank, she had skipped me.
2
The smoke from Macfearson’s cigarette filled the room. He reclined in his chair and stared straight through the wooden floor while he flicked cigarette ashes to the floor, not bothering with an ashtray. His left leg tapped on the floor, trembling.
“What we do now is just pull back and don’t do anything that can make us get caught while we think through what just happened to us. There is no need for us to be anxious as that could draw attention our way,” Macxermillio said. "We must remember that the whole point of this was to establish some sort of credibility. We may be disappointed and taken aback by this, but this scratches at least one method off the list.”
“We are fucked!” I said. “Now we dug ourselves so deep that we may never get out. What if we get arrested and we never get a chance to pursue home? The law will be on us. It is only a matter of time and I don’t believe we are any close to getting out of here.”
Macfearson shrugged. "There is still a possibility that we did not do it the right way." He flicked the cigarette butt to the floor and stepped on it.
“Don’t you get it?” I said. “We can’t kill any more people! This killing is the problem, we can’t risk that shit anymore.”
“No, we just have to do it right.” Macfearson shook his head, shifting to a more upright posture. “Are you a little rattled after fleeting a few lifelings?” He scowled.
“I’m not guilty over killing them. I’m not guilty at all. I’m saying you can’t dig a hole deep enough to cover all this mess for long enough!” I said.
“That may be the case,” Macxermillio said. “As far as I am concerned there is no reason we should be edgy about that right now. We should worry about the fact that these voices from the calling are there to jeopardize us and stir us away from our goal.”
“We are not sure about that just yet,” said Macfearson. He lit another cigarette. “Maybe we picked the wrong samples. I have been thinking about this all night, tossing it in my head and I think we need to sample a deathling.”
“Oh my fuck!” I shouted.
“What?”
“You’re bloodthirsty that is what you are. You are addicted to it as much as you are to the self-harm. You can’t stand the possibility of going on without hackin’ someone’s head off,” I said.
He flinched in his chair. “Fuck off, you miserable dead freak! You have no idea what this is about. These voices in our heads appeal to our brute instinct as deathlings, if there is a way to uncover ourselves is through them. Maybe with a bit more self-knowledge we might do something right and head off to the fuckin’ crop.”
"Well, I think we have listened too much to our instincts. Don't think it is getting us anywhere quite frankly. We are still here, maybe even right back where we started. The calling is just another system of rejection like the atmosphere of this world that we are forcing down our lungs. It is poison."
“Mac, maybe we should use this prick as a sample next,” he grunted. “You fuck.”
“Calm down,” Said Macxermillio. “The sampling was just one way of testing for credibility. What we need to figure out is the alternative to sampling.” He cleared his throat and slowly rubbed his hands together, “There must be something.”
“Does it have to be killing people?” I asked.
Macfearson glared at me.
“No,” Macxermillio answered.
I leered at Macfearson, watching him for a reaction. “I think we should see someone,” I said.
Macfearson darkly grinned. “What?”
“I think one of the ways to start fixing this is by getting an alternative viewpoint. We are too close to this to see clearly. I think a therapist would help weed out some garbage.” I offered.
Macfearson jumped up and kicked his chair to the wall almost breaking it. “No way!”
Macxermillio watched as Macfearson ruffled his hair in frustration and punched the closet multiple times. I cowered in my seat, cringing at the thought of being battered by his fists.
“Pipe the fuck down!” Maxcermillio bellowed. A tone and a choice of words foreign to his repertoire, because of that it chugged Macfearson to a halt. Macfearson got on his feet and authoritatively gestured for Macfearson to sit down. “Sit the fuck down.”
Hesitantly, Macfearson picked up the chair and set it. He glared at Macxermillio, this time with less intensity and contempt. “He --”
“It sounds like a fuckin’ good idea, alright?” Macxermillio said. He turned to me. “Obviously we can’t tell anyone about the sampling we have to think of an allegory of a sort. Great idea.” He shifted his attention to Macfearson. "I know it may feel like we falling back, that we are starting over, but this is not the case .Believe me. You know, it is just part of the process, burning old bridges to build new ones. At least now we know a dozen things that don’t work and that is progress. We are narrowing down and closing in. I think you are so desperate for this to be right because you can’t handle putting your faith in something else and have it belied again. I understand that pain, we all feel it. But now, by doing this we are taking another step, exposing ourselves to a different doctrine that may very well dispel all this pain and suffering. I know, you wanna leave this place as soon as possible, you can’t stand not doing something pragmatic.” Then to us all, “I know we are hooked on blood. This can help us with that urge and maybe distil a bit of focus and clarity. Buy us some time before we fuck things up.”
Macfearson spoke through his hardened mouth, “Where are these therapists?”
I leaned forward. “The university provides free counselling for students. Obviously you can’t use that service so I will go on our behalf and share whatever knowledge I can get.”
His nose flaring, Macfearson grimaced. “You will?”
“I will.”
“I don’t need to tell you what I’m capable of.” Macfearson rose and marched out of the room banging the door behind him.
Macxermillio turned my way. “He has a hard time letting go and moving on. It’s one of the reasons I took him with me. Keeps us from wandering.”