Falling

by Mark Z. Kammell

“I think you’ll remember her. She’s a freelance now. Please, John, promise me…” but she trails off and she’s gone, leaving me alone with my number and my escapes.

  ***

  “So…what a pleasant surprise.” She steps back and allows me to enter her substantial house. I glance round admiringly as we walk through a long hallway, white wood panelling adorned by seemingly abstract pictures, colours and flames that remind me of death.

  “Last time,” she starts, “last time we met, you departed very suddenly.”

  “Last time we met, I was someone different.”

  She raises her eyebrows, “so, what you’re telling me, you’re not John Paris anymore.”

  “I’m not sleeping” I say. “I can’t remember the last time I had a good nights sleep. I wake up in the middle of the night and I’m there, I’m just there, I can’t do anything except lie and wait and hope. Then I give up, then I get up, then I wander around the streets because I don’t know what else to do.”

  “And…?”

  “And when you don’t sleep, things start to change. Things get blurred around the edges. Something that was clear yesterday, it’s not clear today. It’s too hard to keep the image in your head, to know exactly what it is you mean, exactly what it is you want. I’m a simple guy, I want the same things that most other people want, except now they have started to go blurry, and I’m not sure I want them anymore. And I don’t understand this dark curtain than lies behind me, that has something behind it that changes the shapes that are in front of you, makes them somehow different.”

  “You don’t sound like John Paris.”

  “I’m not John Paris. I’m someone else who sees John Paris from behind the curtain.”

  “And you’re someone else, because you don’t sleep? Forgive me, but I’m struggling to understand this.”

  “No, I’m not saying that, not exactly. I used to be able to let go, and I can’t anymore. I used to be able to do what I want, and I can’t anymore. I used to be able to not care, and I can’t anymore. Not sleeping just sharpens it, and blurs it at the same time. It changes the focus.”

  “So,” she says slowly, shaking her head, “you’re here because? I thought you were after a merc, not a fucking social worker.”

  I laugh. “Sometimes I get desperate. I have always been used to having things under control. Even though I’ve not controlled things, it hasn’t mattered, what’s mattered is that I had this buffer, this thing that said it doesn’t really matter if someone dies, or something goes wrong, as long as of course it’s not me. I’ve been able to do what I want.”

  “Like I said…”

  “Last night I slept with Ruth.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Probably for the last time.”

  “Shame on you.”

  “I hadn’t slept all night. I lost control. I was lying in a bedroom, in my apartment I think, naked, and I was hitting the floor as hard as I could. I was so desperate, I didn’t know what to do, I hit the floor, I hit my face I hit my head until it started to bleed. She came into the room, she found me there somehow and she lifted me gently up and held me, lay with me for hours. I was actually crying, crying into her shoulder and lay with me and made it better.”

  “I’m sorry,” she sighs, “I don’t mean to appear rude, but why are you telling me this?”

  “I don’t remember anyone ever doing that for me before. I don’t remember that sort of kindness.”

  She gets up. “I’m getting a drink. If I have to listen to this bullshit I may as well get drunk.”

  I grab her wrist and prevent her from going. “I’m not asking for your understanding. I’m asking for your help. There’s someone, this man, in prison…”

  She sits down and nods, “Yeah, Stephen Carver, right? I don’t understand why you want him out but that’s your business. I can get him out, no problem.”

  “You understand…”

  “What?”

  “You understand why I can’t do it right?”

  “What, you mean seeing as you can’t be shot, you’re immune from prosecution and from what I am told you have superhuman strength? That’s what you mean, right. Well then, no, I don’t understand, I have no fucking idea, but then again John, you know what, so long as you pay me, I don’t really care either."

  Chapter 43

  I get a phone call. “It’s done.”

  “I feel sick when I eat” I reply.

  “A thank you would be nice” comes the sarcastic reply.

  “Thank you, Jane” I breath. “Any problems I should know about?”

  “Not getting him out,” she replies, “but he wants to talk to you.” Click. And she’s gone.

  Chapter 44

  I don’t go out anymore, in the evenings, in the night. The blurriness has got closer, every night, it takes more of my vision, it’s closing in, and it becomes harder and harder to distinguish what’s real. I stopped going out about a week ago, or maybe a month, when I found myself, as usual, in a bar. I didn’t remember a lot of what had happened, maybe I had slept, who knows, I’m not sure, but I saw what was around me.

  “So I suppose I should say thank you.”

  “Look, Stephen, it was a tough situation.”

  “Yeah, good point, that’s true, it was tough. Tough for me, at least. I don’t recall you having to fend off the prisoners, the guards, everyone coming at you from all directions.”

  I shake my head. “I did what I could, I got you out, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, that’s true, I guess, you got me out. You didn’t stop me going in, did you, even though you walked away. I saw you, you know. I saw you in the corridor as you were leaving. You didn’t even look round, you didn’t even say anything or do anything.”

  “Stephen,” I lean forward, “Stephen, listen, I got you out as quickly as I could. They told me there was nothing I could do, but I found a way, I got you out, listen, I could have left you, but I got you out, didn’t I. Stephen,” I touch his shoulder, “I am really sorry, but I…”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah” he says dismissively, “you got me out. Where are we, anyway?”

  I look around. “I’ve no idea, I thought you brought me here.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You brought me here, right, we travelled in your car, didn’t we? I don’t know why we didn’t stay in my apartment.”

  “I didn’t bring you here, we met here, remember? I came in that door, and you had just, well, you had just. You know, I don’t know, you need to get control of your super powers. Are you all right?”

  Things suddenly feel wrong, I am sweating and I have to wipe my brow.

  “You’ve gone very pale,” say Stephen.

  “I don’t know” I mutter, “I’m tired, I haven’t been sleeping, I can’t..."

  “You can’t what” asks Stephen, as it suddenly goes very cold.

  I’m shaking my head, “Why are we here?”

  Stephen looks around, hugging himself against the cold. “I just wanted you to hear what I had to say, John. I just wanted you to understand. Why is it so cold?”

  “Understand what?”

  “Did you kill all these people?” he asks. Silently we both survey the room, the bloody mess around us. “I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.

  “But maybe you did?”

  I sigh. “Yes, maybe I did. I don’t remember what happened before you started talking. Things have just got so… blurred.”

  Stephen comes over to sit next to me on the cracked wooden bench. He’s leaning into me for warmth, though I don’t think he realises it. “Look, “ he says, “I am grateful. I understand it was difficult. But we need to carry on now, you can’t just let it go. If anything, you must realise what a bastard Simon is now, mustn’t you. But Jane told me… she told me you’d speak to me once, then that was it. Why, John? We had a deal, we had a deal to pay back those people who betrayed us.”

  “It’s just too hard” I reply. “Whatever I do, it just seems to go
wrong. And everything has become so blurred. Why is it so cold?”

  “This may help” says another voice and without warning he’s there, standing between us.

  Detective Martin Noals hands me a glass, something warm and dark inside, and I sip gratefully and I feel something rising within me.

  “What are you doing here” asks Stephen. Martin glances at him then looks into me, and smiles. “Ask him” he says, but I can just stare silently, as I feel cold, then warm, almost uncontrollably, I don’t know what I drank but suddenly it’s like I can’t breathe, it’s like my insides are on fire and I reach out to Stephen, but he pushes himself back away from me, his eyes widening, as Martin laughs.

  “You’re dying, my friend” he whispers.

  “No I’m not,” I reply hoarsely as I force myself to get up and walk over to him. I can feel my body healing, I can feel the fire subsiding as I lay my arms on his shoulders. “I don’t blame you” I say.

  He’s shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “No, of course you don’t,” says Stephen, “but you see, the thing is, he can’t die.”

  Martin doesn’t say anything, he pushes me down onto the bench and sits next to me. We are all just sitting there, in silence, for a while, amongst the blood and the stench of the bodies. Gently I put my arm around Martin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry” I say. He doesn’t reply, but I can hear the soft noise of him sobbing, he leans into me and closes his eyes.

  “It’s not fair, right?” nods Stephen glumly.

  Through sniffs and sobs, Martin starts to talk. “You deserve this,” he says, “you destroyed my life. Why, why is it so unfair?”

  “Listen, my friend,” says Stephen, “he’s destroyed a lot of people’s lives. You should just be grateful he said sorry to you. Most people he did it just because he could.”

  “It’s not like that…” I start, and then I stop, because I know it is like that.

  “You have to claim it back, John, you can set this right. It’s not too late, for you, for me.”

  “I know that”, I’m saying, “I know that. I need to stop this, I need to do something different, but Stephen, I’ve been trying, I really have. Look, I rescued you, didn’t I, I never would have done that before. And look, I’m going to…”

  “What are you going to do… for me?” it’s Martin who speaks, his voice still choked with sobs, his tears frozen to his cheeks. “I thought…, I thought, the one thing, the only thing. The one thing I could do was to pay you back, that was it. Now look at me, just look at me, what do I have left? I’m out of the force, my wife has left me, my kids don’t want to know me. We’re losing the house, the car, I’ve lost my computer and my phone. I don’t have anywhere to stay, anywhere to live, and it’s all your fault!” he cries, his sobs louder than ever. “What are you going to do for me?”

  “The man has a point” nods Stephen, “it is all your fault. What are you going to do for him?”

  “I could make you invincible” I shrug, “that may be a start”

  Martin stops sniffing and looks at me. “You could do that?”

  “No problem” I reply, shaking my head, “I’ve got everything set up.”

  “And what… will it mean?”

  “Well, er…” I start, “you’d be, er… very strong.”

  “Would it get me back in the police?”

  “Well, erm, not, well, necessarily, but…”

  “Ah, stop it Martin” shouts Stephen, “it’s a great idea. I know, let’s get out of this hellhole and go and have a drink to celebrate!”

  Martin sighs. “I haven’t got any money.”

  “Yeah, but John has, he’s loaded.”

  ***

  “Look” Stephen’s saying, “you still need to get him. He’s using you, I mean think, think what you could do with your powers, you could be anything, and yet all you do is allow him to feed from you. You were so keen, you really wanted to destroy him, don’t you remember.”

  “The thing is” I drink deep from my glass, “the thing is, well things have got…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, things have got blurred, right. The outer edges don’t look like the inside.”

  “Yes, yes, that’s right! It’s like, it’s like…”

  “What the fuck are you talking about” asks Martin. He’s on his fourth drink, I don’t know, I’ve lost track of what they’re ordering, but he’s looking rough. The dour, defeated face has gone and now there’s something almost wild about his features, his looks, his expression.

  “It doesn’t matter” I say.

  “Oh, but it does!” says Stephen. “This man” he says to Martin, putting his arms around me, “this man is a genius, a prototype, something special, he really is. He’s invincible to bullets, he has superhuman strength, he is rich beyond your wildest dreams, he has slept with scores of beautiful women, and his car… oh, you should see his car.”

  “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen my car for a while” I muse.

  “And yet!” shouts Stephen, loudly enough that some people around us turn, curiously to watch, “and yet, he still holds himself hostage to his, what shall I say, his boss, his friend? No, I don’t think so, his, well, his captor, I guess is the best way to put it, he still does whatever he’s told by him, when, you know what? He could just rip his heart out, if he wanted to. That is, if Simon had a heart, which, despite his name, I consider to be very unlikely.”

  “You could do so much” sighs Martin, shaking his head. “You could end the war.”

  “I thought the war had already ended?” I say. Martin nods, but Stephen stares at me then starts laughing. “That’s great, isn’t it! You don’t even know that the war has started again, do you? Bands of mercenaries destabilising the disputed regions and causing severe international tensions? You didn’t know that, you really didn’t did you?”

  “Oh fuck” I say under my breath.

  But Stephen’s laughing harder, and Martin starts to join in, and then I think, “what the hell” and take a huge drink, and start laughing too. We are all laughing, so much, there are tears on our cheeks and people are staring. “You see” says Simon during laughs, “you’ve got a real excuse to kill him now, haven’t you!”

  “But first!” shouts Martin, “first I want to have my special powers! You promised me!”

  “You’re right!” I agree, and I get up off my stool and stand up, then I realise I can’t stand and so I fall over. I pull myself up and sit, cross legged on the dark floor of the bar. “You’re right” I continue, “let’s go, let’s go right now and make you invincible. Then you can take over the world, can’t you.”

  “Yes” he says, and he gets up off his stool and falls over, pulling himself up and sitting beside me, “yes, and then I can take control of this godforsaken world and put it to rights!”

  “And” says Stephen, who doesn’t fall over, but sits down next to us in a show of solidarity, “then we can all go and live happily ever after. Except for me of course,” he adds, “because I’m already dead.”

  “Really?” asks Martin, fascinated, swinging to him and inadvertently throwing his drink over me. “You look very well for it.”

  “Really” acknowledges Stephen, “just look into my eyes.”

  “Excuse me” says a deep, gruff voice, “but you can’t sit there.”

  We all look up at the towering figure of a barman standing over us. He stares at me and says, “Hey, you? I recognise you! Didn’t you kill my brother?”

  “Oh no,” I sigh.

  “Time to go” says Stephen.

  ***

  It’s very, very dark in the laboratory.

  ***

  "Kill him" whispers Stephen. "Kill him" whispers Martin. "See you in another life" they both say, together, before they're gone.

  ***

  “So you’re serious” Simon looks deep into my eyes in his challenging, disconcerting way. “You’re serious, if I understand.”

  “You betrayed me aga
in” I reply.

  “Betrayed you how exactly? Look around you.”

  Everyone is quiet. Everyone is staring at me. People are clear and sharp in silhouette.

  “You’ve controlled me all the time, Simon. All the time. Everything was always fuzzy, hard to see and hard to understand, but I get it now. You used me, you exploited me and you destroyed people…”

  “Whoa, whoa, my friend, stop there” Simon is actually smiling.

  Ruth gets up suddenly and leaves, she brushes past me and touches my arm with her hand, it gives me a little warmth. The clients, one by one, like lambs, stand and follow, shuffling in their strange way until the last of them has gone, until it’s just Simon and me in that vast boardroom.

  “Look at me” he says, quietly. “You and I can argue for a long time as to whether I used you or not, whether I fed you happy pills to dull your self awareness, or whether you took them because you didn’t want to face up to it. It doesn’t matter, John, it really doesn’t. I don’t know what happened to you, why you are starting to question, but let me just ask you, what is it that you actually want?”

  Silently, I regard him. I know what I want.

  “Is it world peace, John? Because whatever you do, whatever we do, you won’t find it here. Are you worried about the little kiddies? About them not having enough to eat, or not knowing who their parents are? All right, we’ll give lots of money to the little kiddies. You do it, you set up a little kiddie fund and we’ll take care of it, there, done, OK? Because let’s face it, all you care about, all anyone really cares about, is what sort of house you live in and what sort of car you drive. And last I remembered, you’re doing pretty well on both. When you really boil it down, John, that’s all it’s about, that’s all anyone wants, to live in a bigger house and drive a bigger car. And when you help those little kiddies, that’s all they’ll want, they’ll want to kick you out of your house and steal your car, because it’s nicer than theirs, and the fact that you helped them, the fact that you’ve poured your cash into getting them out of their orphanages and poverty stricken villages and broken homes, you know what, it counts for nothing. Look at your mate, Stephen Carver, former detective, the guy you went to such lengths to break out of jail. Yes, of course I know about that,” he smiles, looking at the surprised look on my face.

  “What’s happened to him, then, where’s he been since, you haven’t seen him, have you? No of course not, because he’s back, trying to extort money from me again. You know why, don’t you? No, “ he laughs, “you probably don’t, you were probably too busy soaking up your freedom to notice. You look, you study the video footage when he walked back into your apartment, afterwards, you can see the greed crawl onto him, eat up his face, when he remembered where you live compared to his little shitty hidey hole. Even him, your comrade in arms, though to be honest it was so obvious I can’t believe even you fell for it. This is the hierarchy of needs, written for the modern generation. Forget self actualisation. No one’s interested, no one cares really, if you get down to it. No, the hierarchy nowadays, it’s just got four steps. First, food, then shelter, then money, then power. And to be honest, almost everyone stops at three. And what’s wrong with that?”