Bullshit.
New-age, cosmic thinking, mumbo-jumbo he could never wrap his head around. If people possessed such psionic powers, wouldn’t everyone win the lottery? Loved ones returned from the dead? Enemies smote by God’s justice.
More bullshit.
Chase passed under the restroom sign into the framed poster hallway, the egregious announcements of DJs and local bands that most of Dickinson’s customers never heard of or cared for, plastered with cheap sales tactics of “Limited Seating,” and “Two Nights Only.”
Again, bullshit.
A feverish swell filled his belly with anxiety and wonder. He thought of the nachos he didn’t touch and thanked his lucky stars that this wasn’t the place to blast open his bomb bay doors.
The sensation traveled below his belt and into his groin. Though Heather looked deliciously sexy in her deep cut, black shirt that made him want to have his way with her atop the pine table, indulging in the chants and cheers from the New York City Fire Marshal maximum capacity’s voyeuristic applause, he knew that wasn’t the case. He pushed the men’s room door open and strode to the center of the three vacant urinals. He tugged his semi-engorgement from his jeans and sighed within the moment of release. Pride slashed his grin when he looked down at his more than ample display.
Recollections of Tina, Misa, her friends, and Heather, gave him uncertainty if they were as impressed as he was. The stupid things men think about can be exhausting.
Gazing at his reflection in the clouded mirror, he splashed the cool water on his face. The cold soothed his burning eyes and sent chills down his spine. Maybe he had been coming down with something. The wonky weather had been like the Cyclone with its sudden jerks, turns and inclines, and his health was bound to give at some point. Loss of appetite, sleep, and stress over his next available call of employment blasted through his psyche like a freight train. A nod dipped his chin when he saw Heather hadn’t become the conductor of the Employment Express. Her tolerance was a virtue he couldn’t deny. But it was simply a matter of time before she would wrestle for the controls.
“You got this,” he told his reflection. It nodded back at him and he smiled.
Staring at his feet as he threw the restroom door open, he stumbled over his feet, slammed into the side rail and ricocheted into a woman standing on the other side.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Can’t seem to catch my bearings tonight,” he said.
“No need to apologize, darling.”
Breath halted in his chest as he gawked at the sublime redhead before him. Modestly clothed, despite her oversized, sheer olive blouse, faded denim jeans that looked like they poured onto her, and the patent-leather heels that shaped perfect calves, her appearance commanded desire and respect.
The lascivious impulse in his jeans made sense. Was it her presence, her scent, her pheromones? He didn’t know, but he sure as hell cared. Just like he never forgot how in the world she knew how he fantasized about making love to her in his solitude, even to this day.
No, not making love. That was wrong on every level.
Fucking. Unadulterated, raw, animalistic, brutal, feral. Biting into her nape and savoring the thick warmth of her life’s essence through his teeth as he bore down on her. Forcing her, raping her where she rejected and begged for his thick, come gushing cock.
“I was hoping I would see you again.”
“Hey, Grace,” he sputtered. “How’ve you… My girlfriend’s here,” he choked out.
Grace smirked. “I’m sure. You were never one to be alone.”
He examined her gaze as she glimpsed between his legs. He wanted to know—
“I was wondering if you had any consideration over our last conversation. I know it was a while ago, but patience has been a virtue that I never possessed.”
Possessed. The word bore its claws and dug deep into his mind. How? That’s just movie magic. Special effects. Bullshit.
“No,” he answered. Her eyebrows shifted. He considered the advertisements on the paneled wall before he looked back to her. He watched the frustration crease her forehead.
“Stupid and selfish. Have you ever considered what I want?” she growled.
His body shivered as he stepped back. Words he had only heard once before echoed in an identical tone and timber. Eyes as demanding and demeaning, emotion as cold and malicious.
Grace took Chase by his chin and leaned towards him.
“Hell hath no fury,” she said, withdrew and turned away.
“How,” was the only word he managed before she turned into the main room. She paused and scratched her nails along the jamb.
“There are too many answers to that question whilst your girlfriend wonders exactly how long you take in the bathroom. Or if you met someone she doesn’t know much about,” she said.
Chase stormed through the hallway and scanned the pub. No one and everyone matched her appearance. Clamped eyes denied the possibility of a cheap magician’s vanishing act as he stomped through the crowds, shoving patrons and grabbing women’s shoulders that bore the slightest hint of resemblance.
His head jerked in every direction in search of Grace but to no sight. A hand gripped Chase’s shoulder.
“Hey, buddy. You Okay? What took you so long,” Rick said. Eyes flickered in Chase’s head as what he hoped was fantasy dissolved into sensibility.
“What,” Chase said, his attention shifting in and out of truths. “Yeah, yeah. I’m… I think I am coming down with something,” he said and stepped past Rick.
Jackie and Heather pushed up and out from their seats and through the tables towards Rick and Chase. Heather put the back of her hand to Chase’s forehead and lilted away.
“You look—” Words halted as she noticed Chase’s crotch. She leaned towards his ear.
“What the hell were you doing, jerking off,” she whispered. Eyes rolled and his head flopped side to side as his body listed. Jackie grabbed Chase by the shoulders and propped him up. Heather regarded her two friends.
“Get him to the car. I’ll take care of the bill,” Jackie said.
“Where are we going?” Chase said as he shook his head.
“ER,” Heather answered. “You don’t look good.”
Chase yanked himself free from Jackie and straightened his jacket. “I’m not going to the fucking ER. I’m fine. Just… I just want to go home. I’m fine.”
VIII
Chase padded up the aisle as Heather stormed away. Parishioners, enrapt in devotion, turned their focus to the disturbance. One elderly woman, with genuinely blue hair that peeked out from under her finest Sunday wrap, scowled at Chase as he passed by. Her varicose laden, arthritic hands tightened in a mesh of ossified claws.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Heather, will you wait up?”
He huffed to a stop as he watched her whip the doors of the church wide open. Chase didn’t bother to turn to the priest, Father Ruben to witness his almost certain disdain. He cleared his throat and continued.
Stepping into the vestibule, he ignored the creak of the slowly closing door and scanned the sides. Heather stood in the corner, wiping her eyes.
“What’s going on? We’re in the middle of service and you just wig-out?”
Heather spun on her heels and grabbed Chase by his leather lapel.
“I didn’t just wig-out as you so smugly put it! I’m pissed at you Chase. Really pissed,” she said and stomped away. His arms flew to his sides as he watched her move like a lioness in a cage.
“Pissed at what? What the hell did I do?”
Heather slowed her pace but continued in silence.
She flopped onto the bench alongside the rack of pamphlets and flyers and ripped one out.
“Answer me. What? You’re going to sit here and read about teen pregnancy instead?”
A scowl tore across her face and she hurled the pamphlet at him. Without any aerodynamic, it nose-dived to the floor at his feet.
Chase folded his arms and shook his head. The rapid-fire tapping of her
rubber boot resounded in the small chamber. He stepped closer and knelt beside her. Heather shot up and walked away.
“Listen, babe. I can’t fix this if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” He took to his feet as his hands slipped into his pockets.
She whirled around and jabbed a finger into his chest. It felt as though the finger stabbed through his heart. No longer was he able to recall what he said or how it started. It was as if—
No. Don’t let that cunt back in, he thought.
The indignation wafted from his chest and caressed his face. He away from her and held the front door ajar. The early winter breeze cooled him instantly.
“Do you love me?” she said.
“You can’t be serious.”
“That’s your answer?”
Chase tilted his head back and exhaled. His mind swirled with the oily sheen of a clogged kitchen sink. Nothing was getting through to either one of them, and his patience was wearing thin. It had been weeks since Tony’s closed, his funds were running light, the visit from Detective Lynch had sent more questions through his mind than he wanted to think about. Linda had been dead and gone for not long enough, and the inquisitions made it seem like she was back, ready to crack him with that fucking telephone once more.
The doors of the church crept open. Heather and Chase turned and watched the preteen altar boy peek through.
“What do you want,” Chase barked. The boy’s cheeks flushed.
“Sorry. Father Ruben wanted me to make sure everything was all right.”
Heather stepped over to the boy and held his cheek. "We’re fine. Just a little argument. Tell him we’re fine.”
The heavy door slammed as the boy rushed away. Heather turned back to Chase. He thanked the boy for diffusing the bomb. He hoped.
“Where do you see us in five years, Chase?”
His belly knotted from hearing his name. It wasn’t how it was said. One thing he had learned over the years is when someone refers to you by name, either they’re trying to remember it, or they have already turned off to any answer you would give.
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly. You don’t know,” she said.
He felt the heat rise again. His fingers danced, and his jaw clenched.
“What am I supposed to say? I don’t even see where I’m going to be tomorrow?”
Her eyes closed. “I know. And that’s a problem.”
“Why?”
“You really think you’re a loser. At least that’s—”
Feral eyes glazed, and fists balled up.
“Don’t you dare ever call me that! How would you like it if I called you a selfish bitch?”
The sting of palm to face reeled him back against the wall. Just like old times. Heather leaped over and wrapped her arms around him, kissing his face repeatedly.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean that. Please. My mother used to call me that all the time.”
“Yeah,” he huffed. “I know what it’s like. Listen, I’m sorry if you don’t like that I don’t know where I’m going. But getting on my case about it—”
Chase hushed as he heard the pipe organ blare an opening chord. It was the queue he needed. There were things, feelings, he couldn’t describe to himself, let alone Heather. She was good at pressing him. Pressing him to the point of humiliation. She never knew. It was enough for him to question himself. Retreat had become an old friend.
“I’m a fucking moron. I know what I want, but I don’t know how to get there. Apparently, I also curse in churches,” he said. Heather chuckled and tucked her chin into her shoulder.
“Well, don’t do that. And you’re not a fucking moron. You lack direction. I know that. I just hoped that maybe after six months of being together, you’d start to figure it out. Is there something I’m missing? Something you’re not telling me?”
He heard the voice of Maury Povich after reading the results of a lie detector test as he shook his head. Love, it seemed, was bigger than he imagined. The future, something so intangible and far away, was breathing down his neck, and destiny had left the building. Thank you for joining us today ladies and gentlemen. Tune in tomorrow as we watch Chase Romano fail at the discovery of the meaning of life. Fuck you very much.
His eyes flickered like an expiring light bulb.
“I love you. Just give me some time to figure it out,” he said.
“You’ve had twenty-plus years and six months to figure it out. The clock’s ticking.”
“I know,” he snapped. “I know,” he whispered.
Twenty-plus. How much is twenty-plus years in comparison to the future? Both here and after? What might remain of one’s life was one of those questions he never wanted to ask. After all, death is everywhere. It hides in the shadows, waiting for stupidity to strike. And when that doesn’t happen, when a man or a woman live their lives to their fullest potential, eating right, exercise, cautious actions— and a fucking boulder rolls off the mountain and crushes them during their early-morning jog. The Great Creator certainly has a sense of humor.
“Where do you see us in five years?” he said.
“To be honest, I have no idea. I was hoping you’d figure this out by now. You not knowing, makes me doubt it.”
The two stared at each other in silence. Neither flinched, neither breathed. It was a moment in time that had gone cold. A moment in time that would never be forgotten. Chase grinned and reached out his hand.
“You know what? You’re right,” he said as he tucked his hand back into his jeans pockets. Heather leaned away.
“Don’t placate me.”
Chase stepped up to Heather, took her chin in his fingers and raised her.
“I’m not placating you,” he whispered. “You’re right. Really. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it when I said we’re going nowhere fast. Next time I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
Heather scowled and stomped back towards her comfortable corner. Chase launched after her.
“That’s not what this is about, Chase.”
That’s my name, don’t wear it out.
“That’s not what I meant. You know that,” he said. “Can you just accept that my mouth moves before my brain has a chance to catch up?”
Slowly she turned. Her eyes glazed as the corners of her lips curled upwards. Those magical, oceanic eyes that begged for him to dive into, took in all of him as he wiped away the tear that clung to her eyelids.
“Help me figure it out. Help me see in me what you see. This relationship is a two-way street, right?” he said. His smile beamed, and he began to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” she scoffed.
“This. This is our first argument. In a church. I knew this would happen eventually. Just didn’t think it would’ve been here.”
IX
“What the hell, Chase? I asked you explicitly not to go there,” Heather said. Chase placed the paintbrush on the ledge of the easel and looked out the window. This was a conversation he was not ready to have, especially a few days away from his birthday, but it was something that couldn’t remain hidden.
“You promised me you wouldn’t go back there. Not after what you told me about—”
“I had to. I need to make money somehow,” Chase interrupted. That excuse led to spirited debates just short of arguments, but he stuck by his word. Fast-food cook or dishwasher were jobs he was embarrassed to hold, though he admired the fortitude of teenagers and migrant workers for their hard work and dedication to those professions. Maybe not so much the teens. They were a dime a dozen at the burger drive-thru, and they knew it. Whether it was for weed money or an overbearing parent teaching their kid a lesson, they didn’t have much choice.
“And please don’t tell me to work at fucking McDonald’s. I’m twenty-five. You know what kind of loser I’d look like with those Goddamned arches on my shirt?”
Heather rolled her eyes. “You’re not a loser. I wish you’d stop saying you are. And you’d be better off by at least having some sort
of job.”
And there it is. She said it. She finally fucking said it. Was it his fault he lost his job at Tony’s? Was it his fault he had no aspirations to go to college? Was it his fault he was half deaf in one ear and failed the physical exams on every City job he applied for?
No. It wasn’t his mother-fucking, Goddamned fault, fuck you very much.
“I had to go there. I didn’t have a fucking choice, Heather,” he snapped up and stepped towards the window. He swiped his pack of cigarettes from the window sill.
“What else am I going to do,” he said as he drew from the pack with his teeth. Heather stomped over to him, took the cigarette from his mouth, and put it to hers. He lit it for her and took another for himself. Heather slid the window open and exhaled a thick cloud.
“I get it. I get it. You want to be a professional artist. But why there? You forgot you told me that you think she wants you?”
Chase sat on the sill and rested his arms on his thighs as he slumped.
“It’s different—”
“Different how?”
Chase looked up at her. “There was somebody else there. He’s really interested in what I can do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean,” Heather said. Chase shrugged.
“It sounded like whenever he wants something, he’ll just let me know and I take care of it.” He stared at the floor between his feet, cocked his head, and scratched at a crimson stain on the worn floorboards.
“How the hell did I get paint here,” he said.
Heather silently considered Chase as he examined the dried flakes under his nail. A final pull of the cigarette, she tossed it out the window. Chase didn’t look at her as she walked across the small flat. The sound of her jingling keys hanging from her purse fell flat in his ears as he smashed his cigarette under his boot.
“I’m heading to Beatrice’s. She said she wanted to go to the Rockaways to the beach. I want to get some sun before it gets dark. Meet me there if you want,” Heather said and stepped out the door. Chase remained focused on the extinguished butt.
“Yeah. Love you too,” he muttered.
X
The blacked-out Harley eased off Second Avenue towards the Industry City Apartments under the brilliant piercing blades of sunlight before the onset of dusk. The reflection from the Hudson Bay sparkled like glitter on a child’s school project, silvery, shimmering and overdone, and he thanked himself for the sunglasses he pocketed from Arnipoor’s II Liquor store. He didn’t necessarily steal them. He took them into what he called protective custody, so nobody else would boost them. In the end, he did Sanjeev, the owner, a favor.
The Accursed_A Dark Psychological Thriller Novel Page 14
