Dortmund Hibernate

by C. J. Sutton

  “What’s the hold up, doc?” said Lonie, following his line of sight.

  “Just remembering a good root,” he answered, smiling to defy true thought. It pleased the old man, who helped him onto the roof. The four separated, the night air clapping at their clothes, an all-encompassing view of the town beneath them so simplistic, yet so engrossing. Bad Cop’s boundary and the upturned sedan, Dortmund Zoo, Dortmund Pub…Dortmund Asylum…everything sat idly by, watching and waiting for someone to speak. And then out of the shadow stepped Jasper James, his beard rising in the breeze, his eyes fixed upon Magnus Paul as they conversed silently in equal freedom. No barrier to classify doctor and patient, for all stood as equals.

  Nowhere

  If you find yourself on the wrong side of a cage, be silent. Ranting and raving will only prove their point, Magnus.

  “What a fine evening it is,” said Jasper James, closing his eyes to allow other senses free reign of the rooftop; the feeling of height and the decline of the moon enough to blur sobriety. Matthew Chaos squeezed his hands into fists and charged towards a man blamed for his capture…and stopped as if a mime against an invisible wall.

  “The fuck is this, know what I’m saying? What tricks you playing at old man?”

  “What?” said Lonie, shrugging his shoulders and lighting a cigar, sitting on an open deck chair prepared earlier.

  “This ain’t Jasper James. He’s too short. He’s a skinny cracker. His eyes don’t fucking match. The Jasper James that caught me, this ain’t him…fuck you playing at? I should tear your throat out just for making me climb them carpet-ass steps to see this bullshit.”

  Jasper only waited, listening to each word and nodding at the completion of each sentence, a guidance counsellor waiting for his turn to speak.

  “I do apologise, Mr. Chaos. Lonie here has brainwashed you.”

  “Lonie? You blind, dumb-fuck? That’s Carter, damn guard he ain’t on your side, know what I’m saying? I mean you fuckers think I’m insane, but you’re a bunch of whack-ass motherfuckers.”

  “He’s Old Man Lonie,” said Magnus, entering the fray, “he swapped with Carter long before you arrived, stole the guard’s identity.”

  Lonie leaned back in his deck chair, proud of his feats, puffing out a cloud of smoke in memory of a mission spanning ten years.

  “Fuck off. You mean to tell me this old cracker was free for ten years yet stayed in that damn gutter…by choice?”

  “What can I say?” answered Lonie, standing now. “I’m a man of substance.”

  Two shots were fired from his pistol, causing Walter Perch to raise his in defence. Each bullet blew apart a kneecap, shattering bone and causing Chaos to transform into a cursing heap on the tin roof.

  “Put your gun down, Mr. Perch,” said Jasper, withdrawing his own weapon from the back of his pants and aiming it at the lead guard’s chest. He wore a pair of jeans two sizes too big, multiple rips in the thighs and on the shins. A black T-shirt covered his upper body, dangling limp with a leather vest atop to provide a rebirth into the biker he always was, emblem-less but enough to strike fear into anyone who knew his former life.

  Walter, primarily focused on Lonie, had his own gun ready to end the old man’s life. He did not back down.

  “You son of a bitch, Carter. You dirty, lying son of a bitch. I had you in my home. I let you lead the team when I wasn’t around. I put Shirley into your care…fucking Shirley, remember her?”

  Chaos was moaning, smashing his hands onto the tin roof in unison, but Walter continued.

  “You’ve killed her, you’ve killed Brian, you’ve killed a cop, you’ve killed innocent people who came to Dortmund to relax! If you think I’m going to let you escape this place and live your life the way you want it, you’re wrong.”

  Matthew Chaos, with no further use of lower limbs, clawed his way to Lonie inch by inch, elbow by elbow, spitting out vile and blood and hate. But Lonie laughed, leaning down on his haunches and cackling in the face of the man he once supervised, fed and kept alive.

  “Of all the cunts in that place, I hated you the most,” he said, still unable to stop laughing, which quickly turned into a wheezing cough. “You stunk, you beat the walls senseless and you didn’t even wipe your ass. I mean sick fucks are everywhere, but they wipe their own fucking ass.”

  Despite the movement, Jasper remained fixed on Walter, Walter remained fixed on Lonie and Magnus remained unable to divert his attention from Jasper, a jagged triangle with multiple points of potential death. No cars moved below. No people screamed or called for help. No children pulled at shirt sleeves to ask why monsters stalked Dortmund. For the monsters were up here, all except one.

  Jasper said to Magnus, as if reading his mind, “Lonie tried to brainwash some of them so they’d come after me, to make this night a little quicker; couldn’t make it too obvious for the doctors and guards though, so we only pushed the matter most on Chaos and Greyson. The latter was too brittle to make his whereabouts known on release…and you, Mr. Chaos, you’re too damn unpredictable. I needed you to want me dead. And here you are, all curses and anger, exactly how we wanted you…minus the ability to walk.”

  Chaos reached out with such a speed that Lonie lost balance, one of his ankles grappled. But he didn’t hesitate. Lonie used his free foot to kick Chaos in the face with an unexpected force that caused his steel-capped boot to cave-in the left side of the man’s face. Lonie shook the boot, trying desperately to remove the chunks of cartilage.

  “Want me to shoot it off?” mocked Jasper.

  “No, no, I’ve got it, one…more…kick,” said Lonie, finally freeing a pink wad, which soared onto the tin roof like jelly, nestling in a groove and sliding slowly down the slope. Magnus gagged. Walter dropped his handgun and raised his hand to his face, overcome with all before him.

  “For a second there I thought I’d have to walk around with that dull prick attached to me for the rest of my life. Not a life worth living, I’d say.”

  “You would know, fucking prick,” replied Walter, all hope drowned out of his exterior, the once so cautious and dependable guard of Dortmund Asylum now using insults and bullets to respond.

  “Hey, I may have released them, but I spent years doing everything you asked; cleaning shit, risking my neck, listening to crap. Not my fault you can’t tell the difference between a murderer and a guard when its two inches from your cock.”

  Magnus waited for Walter to fire back…but nothing. The blame clung to the guard, a friend fearing loneliness, a haunted soul unable to detach and fend for itself.

  “All this,” said Magnus, noticing both men had lowered their weapons, “had to happen for you to escape? All these people had to die?”

  “Of course,” said Jasper, as though Magnus’ understanding meant the world to him. “If I escaped alone, I’d be hunted for the rest of my life. If I escaped with Lonie or anyone else, same deal. But having all nine of us out here diverted the attention to those beating their chests, searching for loves, trying to kill. It also provides us with the perfect chance to go unnoticed. Everyone knows Carter here, the old guard up at Dortmund Asylum. Nobody would question him leaving after this night is dealt with. And then there’s me…and I mean, shave me down and I’d look no different to either of you two. Put me in the doc’s clothes or the guard’s attire, cover up my tattoos and slap a hat on my head and call me Magnus or Walter.”

  “Won’t work,” said Walter, approaching the biker. “The cops will only move if the nine are down. If you think they’ll let cars go by with any of the nine still active, you’re wrong.”

  It was at this interval that Walter cursed himself for not telling Bad Cop or Blake about the Carter-Lonie situation. Magnus thought the same.

  “Oh Mr. Perch, I have you there. When we’re done with Reaper, you’re going to call it in. You’ll tell your friends the nine are dead, and off we go on our merry way…no loose ends though, we can’t risk squealers now, can we? Ten years in a cell gives you so much t
ime to think, to plan, to wonder about all the possibilities and how they can work to your favour. Tonight ran smoother than I ever could have imagined. Simmonds walked right into a snake’s mouth. Donnie practically begged for a bullet. Astrid went straight for Magnus. Brutus continued being loud and stupid, killing off that pesky guard before a cop saw fit to eradicate him. Chaos and Greyson wanted to rip my head off, just as expected. And fake Lonie barely needed to be touched to die. I almost wouldn’t be surprised if Reaper walked up the stairs and joined us right here, such has been my luck.”

  It may not have been as lucky, but it was almost as convenient. For as Jasper spoke, an orange light exploded into view on top of the hill. Dortmund Asylum began to burn, to say goodbye to the horrors seen and the weight felt. Magnus, Walter and Lonie were transfixed by the glowing flame, which faced the back of Jasper James. When he saw their faces, and followed their sight, he too became an audience to the burning building.

  “Ah, there he is.”

  Our World

  Anyone who does not believe in monsters is a liar. I see them on the news, nightly. Many simply hide within another’s skin, Magnus.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” cursed Magnus, as one part of the handcuff enclosed upon his wrist and the other clicked against a metal ring protruding from the roof. He yanked and pulled but the cuff only tightened.

  “No point you coming up there. Three of us, three guns, three trained shots. You’re a doctor. Keep this spot warm, you’re more important to all of this than you know,” said Jasper, winking. “Wouldn’t want a burning bit of Dortmund breaking your bones now, would we? By the way…” he said, lowering his voice, “how was Astrid? My little homecoming treat for you.”

  “We better get up there, Jasper. I can’t imagine he’ll hang around once the building is down.”

  Lonie broke their lingering stare, with Magnus shaking his head to remove the recurring imagery. Walter, slouched and without his general cautious and anticipatory lean, grimaced apologetically at Magnus. His self-blame threatened to overtake his body, to remove all that made the guard so respected and proud. With the dual ten ratings on either side, Walter was in no state to track down The Reaper. But Jasper wasn’t stupid; a man alone is haunted, but a pair of men are capable of anything.

  As the trio neared the exit, hope fluttered in Magnus’ chest, for he still held his trump card, a small metallic piece resting against his leg within his pocket. But as if the key glowed when remembered, Jasper remained aware of the gift he’d set upon his doctor not so long ago.

  “I’ll be taking that,” he said, reaching into the wrong pocket and pulling out material. He felt around in the next pocket, sighing in relief, and took away the one trinket capable of releasing Magnus from the cuffs.

  “I’m sick of being tied up,” spat Magnus through gritted teeth, but Jasper simply shrugged it off. And away they went, off the tin roof and into the hotel where Lee continued to breathe and Astrid’s heart no longer pumped. Into the hotel where Magnus heard the secret of Lonie, and avoided the secret of the taxi driver. And he wished to never step foot inside the building again. The stars mocked him, the moon their leader, another helpless state but this time a sky etched full of viewers. With nothing else to do but wait for a result on the hill, Magnus slipped back into a previous day, into a previous life…

  The repeated knock on the door startled the room into silence; they were here. Marlon, perked up like a Rastafarian meerkat, struggled to keep his limbs from fidgeting despite the regular toke of weed. Magnus and his brother sat on the edge of the circular room, absorbing the scene before them; men in ill-fitting clothing surrounded by a myriad of drugs in all shapes and sizes, waiting for Magnus’ brother’s friends to enter and make a deal. He wondered if the boy who answered the door would manage to be so calm and rude to this contingent. A tap on the shoulder from his brother reminded him of the presence of his family; his sister seated alongside Marlon, the dreadlocked loser who’d locked him in a car, and his older brother, the person who once said about a drug deal that, “You’ve got to show balls the moment it starts, because this isn’t the exchanging of cash for a car. Drugs have a different code. Money for a substance is simple enough, but there’s an understanding behind the transaction; you’re both ballsy enough to enter an illegal deal. For if you shirk the courage and shiver in your boots, the other party almost feels obliged to rip you off and take everything, giving nothing. They see you as someone not fit to live in that world.”

  “I hope your kid greets them nicely.”

  In walked six, led by a man of authority with sunglasses on. The squad fanned out, blocking off exits and crossing their arms, silent.

  “Welcome,” squeaked Marlon, taken aback by what he had agreed to. Magnus’ brother sided next to the leader, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

  “Drugs. Put everything in this bag. Now.”

  The voice couldn’t be more intimidating if the man was Arnold Schwarzenegger holding a mini-gun. He tossed a black satchel at Marlon.

  “Everything…that’s not the deal, we keep the weed and some of the liquid. Your friend here—”

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  Magnus’ sister wasn’t privy to the happenings of the room. Her eyes were distant, limbs of led, sweat the only exterior. Marlon tried to lift her, and the Paul brothers didn’t take kindly to the gesture.

  “Touch her again and I’ll rip your throat out in one go,” said Magnus’ brother, getting ready to launch. But the leader squeezed his shoulder, and the threat backed down.

  “You bring an underage girl into your home, fill her up with drugs, lock her kid brother in your car and treat her like shit in front of her siblings? Any other day, and I might have paid for the removal of all of this,” he said, moving a hand across the contraband, “yet after seeing what happens here, I can’t part with my money to a hobo.”

  The leader’s words took impact, causing the inhabitants to sprint to an exit…but they were blocked in…and soon were pinned to the ground. Magnus watched only his sister, hoping no stray attack hit her unconscious body. Magnus’ brother approached Marlon, grabbed him by the throat and slammed him hard against the wall: “I gave you a chance, even after you fucked my sister and scared my brother. You see that kid there,” he said, pointing to Magnus, “I’d do anything to keep him safe. You put that in jeopardy, so you don’t get a happy ending.”

  The smashes of head against dry wall were quick, four simultaneous thumps that cracked foundations.

  “We’ll spare the rest of you tonight,” said the leader, motioning for Magnus’ brother to drop Marlon, who sobbed and bled and cried for help, “but if you come near the Pauls again, or anyone else I know for that matter, we’ll torch this place and make sure you’re all in it. Now, I’ll tell you one more time: PUT THE FUCKING DRUGS IN THE FUCKING BAG!”

  Like bees beneath their queen the men packed every visible substance into a range of zip-lock bags, which were then placed slowly into the black satchel as though a bomb threatened to explode within. Magnus ran to his sister and tried to help her onto her feet; they gave way.

  “I’ve got it, bud,” said his brother, lifting her onto his shoulders. “Come on, let’s go.”

  He followed his siblings through the hallway, noticing the security-child rocking back and forth in a corner, crying, talking to himself in a language unknown. Two steps from the exit, and Magnus felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “You okay, kid?” asked the leader, kneeling to be on Magnus’ level. His eyes were calm, despite the scene behind his leather jacket.

  “I’m fine. I hope my sister is alright. Thank you, mister.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just look after them, because folks like Marlon aren’t rare in this world.”

  “Well, would you look at what we have here,” said a hoarse voice, the vision falling back into the past. Magnus saw the culprit and prayed for anyone else; the cop from Lee’s bedroom stood with a half grin beneath his manicured bea
rd, blood covering his uniform, shaking his head in disbelief. Magnus half expected his cock to be hanging out, such was the vivid imprint left on the doctor’s mind.

  “We heard stomping on the roof, expected some crazy fuck to be throttling a child or something. Turns out it’s the damn psychologist.”

  “We?”

  And from behind the cop stepped Shirley, only she was a poor-quality copy of the guard, a part locked in a dark section of the mind now released because of the torment. The part of the brain hidden for withdrawal.

  “Shirley, I can’t believe it’s you,” said Magnus, forgetting the cuffs for a moment and falling back. “How did you escape Chaos?”

  The name sent a physical scare through the woman, a reaction reserved for flight, as the height of the building became a possible exit from all the inmate had inflicted. The cop sensed this and snatched at her arm so roughly a new bruise would form at her wrist.

  “Stay still, would you?” he growled, “I chased off that nigger right when he was in the middle of sodomising this broad. You’d think I’d get a thank you, but only this blank gaze like she’s lost her mind into another dimension. Fuck.”

  Magnus nodded, but tugged at the restraints to remind the cop he was unable to leave the roof.

  “Right. Here,” he said, handing across a small key not dissimilar to the master key, “we need to find that nigger and the others.”

  “No need,” said Magnus, opening the lock and feeling his forearm, rubbing life and blood back into the limb. “Chaos is over there.”

  Shirley didn’t have a shell, but her head receded lower into her body. His death didn’t cure her fear. Magnus noticed horrible seeping wounds on her cheeks.