The Accursed_A Dark Psychological Thriller Novel

by J. Koratzanis

  “You’re doing something,” Rick said as the plain as the walls cashier stopped at the table.

  “What can I get you,” she said. Her English satisfactory, her accent appalling.

  “Number four, I guess. Chase?” He shook his head. “That’s it. And a Coke.”

  The cashier walked away. Rick licked his lips as his eyes followed her delight away.

  “It’s complicated. I got a job that pays well. I just can’t really talk… describe it.”

  Rick leaned back and stretched his arms over the back of the hard, plyboard bench.

  “What? Now you’re connected?”

  “Me,” Chase said. “No, of course not. I might be a fucking Dego Wop, but I ain’t connected.

  “Then what is it? I’m your brother. Talk to me,” Rick said.

  “I can’t. Just, don’t worry about me. This isn’t something long term. In the meantime, just tell Heather I—”

  “I don’t want to know. Don’t say another thing. I’ll figure something out. To be honest with you, I don’t know how much longer she’s going to stick around. She told me what happened at Marge’s. She’s scared.”

  “I told you about Marge’s! Shit. Don’t go there. You know you’d do the same as me.”

  Rick nodded. He didn’t realize Chase read into his countenance.

  Fucking liar. You can’t trust him anymore.

  “Yes, I can,” Chase said. Rick’s brows shifted.

  “You can what?”

  Chase looked out the window and craned up at his apartment windows. “What can I do to fix it with her?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t,” Rick said and held up his hands. “But you got to do something. This isn’t going to end well.”

  PART THREE

  DARKNESS, MY FRIEND

  ANOTHER LIFE

  I

  Jessica and Robert listed sideways. They banged against the forward wall as the ambulance screeched to a halt. Peter rode the siren button with his thumb as he shouted a moment too late for his coworkers to hold on. The bounced back again.

  The Mercedes crashed into the rear of the ambulance. It accordioned between Peter’s bumper and the box truck behind it.

  “What the fuck,” Jessica said.

  Peter combed his fingers through his sandy hair and heaved.

  “We got to get through it,” Jessica yelled. “He’s dying!”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Peter said and followed the police car over the sidewalk.

  Bottles fell out from one cabinet as hoses and boxes drifted from another, pelting Robert and Jessica in a storm of sterilization. Robert deflected the mobile crash cart paddle as it flew towards Chase.

  “Watch where the fuck you’re going, Pete. We would like to make it to the hospital intact,” Robert said.

  “Hey, you said get through it. Make up your mind!”

  “Enough! Rob, you be quiet, Pete, get us there alive.” She gripped the IV line with one hand and put the syringe to the port with the other. Robert gripped her wrist.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I told you. He’s not going to make it at the rate we’re going.”

  II

  Moonlight cascaded lackadaisically through the slanted blinds as the ordinary hum of the Third Avenue waned into silence, save for the late-night drunks looking for one last fix from the Convenient-Mart corner deli. The ominous hush of the studio apartment reeked of stale scotch, nicotine, and regret. Every now and again, the cool breeze of late October blew through the opened window and cleared away the unyielding musk.

  His foot jerked and tottered the overloaded TV tray. The packed ashtray, empty cans and bottles, and half-eaten containers of Chinese food skittered about the already littered deck. Looking away, his unfocused gaze returned to the obnoxious screen of the muted television and waned further as a cigarette hung loosely between his fingers. The crawl at the bottom of the newscast, SUICIDE BY COP, didn’t reflect in his awareness as his eyes fixed on the flashing blue and red lights, the yellow police line and the correspondent who probably got her job from Playboy Bunny looks rather than journalistic prowess. The length of unsmoked ash arced and defied gravity above his hand. His middle finger flicked every now and again, but the burnt-out remains held firm.

  “Cock sucker!” he yelled as the final ember burned below the filter and roasted his knuckles. His boot hooked around the TV tray as he bolted up from the sofa. He swung around, and the tray hooked under his foot. He twirled about and smashed through the Ikea pressboard coffee table.

  As he laid there and stared at the ceiling, he tried to recall the events of the last several weeks. The drunken haze sprinkled with lucid moments bled together in a mire of lies and loss. The beating into submission when he told Mr. Bazzi he couldn’t work with him anymore, especially rang crystal clear.

  “Let me tell you something, kid, you do as you’re told. Nobody walks away from me and Mr. Raguzzio,” were Bazzi’s last words before his lunchbox fists pounded Chase into hamburger.

  The battering was nothing compared to the letter he received, or the look in her eyes.

  Fucking loser!

  He rolled over and pushed up to his knees. The fire erupted once more underneath the cracked, tectonic shell of his desires.

  Bit by chipped bit, he hurtled pieces of the table throughout the apartment. One tore through the leaned stack of paintings and sliced a gruesome gash across the Man in the Sewers chest. Another caught the blinds and shattered the window. And another skipped across the entertainment center, knocking over framed photos and comic book memorabilia.

  He stomped over to the dinette table, grunted and swiped his piled laundry, Wendy’s cups and cell phone to the floor. Eyes darted down at the device. He picked up the phone and throttled it in his hands.

  “Why? Why did you do this to me,” he screamed at the phone.

  Chase whirled around and hurled it towards the wall unit. He watched its slow-motion trajectory as it blasted through the photo Heather left him so long ago.

  “I hope it gets framed by the next time I’m here.”

  The glitter of shattered glass pierced his ears and sent a chill down his spine. Flittering shards tumbled earthwards, reflected glints from the moonlight, burning micro-stars into his corneas.

  He leaped over the debris field, scattered clothes, cigarette butts and crushed pressboard as he stumbled his way across. Ignoring the broken glass that sliced his palms and fingers, Chase clasped the frame with both hands.

  “Why, God? Why?” he yelled. He clutched the frame tighter against his chest as it slid into the flow of blood.

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t my fault!”

  Chase collapsed to his knees and slumped to the floor. He listened to the flat thump of a mop handle and a faint woman’s voice shrieking for him to knock it off. Whether it was here or Bensonhurst, as above, so below.

  “Please, help me,” he wept. Undigested scotch burned his throat and boiled the resentment in his heart.

  Chase grabbed a sliver of broken glass. It sliced his palm as he clutched. A swipe of the jagged edge ran across his bare forearm.

  Do what thou wilt.

  Miniscule droplets squeezed from his pores. “Fucking loser! Just do it! Do my fucking wilt,” he yelled.

  Glass returned to his arm as he thrust. Blood flowed greedily as he gawked. His hand shook as he dropped the blade. Chase gripped his forearm.

  His eyes clamped shut and his rapid-fire gasps made his head go light. His head dropped to the dingy floor, and his stubbly cheek adhered to it from dried booze and tears.

  “Fuck you. Fuck you,” he sniveled and clasped his arm.

  “I don’t wanna… Why won’t you just let me—”

  Chase rolled onto his back with his arms splayed. He gazed at the slivered arc of the moon and drifted away.

  III

  Startled by the annoying buzz of the phone vibrating across the wall unit, he awoke. Figh
ting the thunderstorm of a midnight hangover and debilitating confusion, Chase rolled to his knees and stood.

  Trampling over his broken life, he reached out to the phone. The obnoxiously bright screen dimmed as he palmed it with his bloodied hand.

  Rick 20m ago

  (18) Missed Calls and Voicemail

  Rick 7m ago

  haven’t heard from u. Why didn’t u tell me? Heather told me. Wants to know ur ok. I wanna know ur ok. Call me, lil brother

  He stared at the message for what seemed like hours. The message ruminated in his mind as words lost cohesive inflection and understanding.

  Chase Now

  I’m fine. Call you 2morrow. Luv you 2

  He exited out of his message box and scanned through his contacts. Locating the name, he thumbed the call button. The line went straight to voicemail.

  “Hey, Baz. It’s me. If you didn’t get anybody for that job, I’ll take care of it. Let me know.”

  Chase dropped the phone to the entertainment center and turned away. He then kissed Heather’s photo and stuffed it into his jeans pocket. A slight grin curled his lips.

  “I’ll win you back,” he whimpered as he squatted on the floor and drew his knees to his chest until slumber finally overcame him.

  IV

  Considering the solitary fifty-dollar bill in his wallet, Chase wondered how soon his next paycheck might present itself since Mr. Baz hadn’t returned his call, nor had he obtained an honest means of financial gain in the interim. When the four to five calls a day from the landlord stopped, his gut screamed what his mind battled to silence.

  He no longer wondered where things went wrong. He accepted it, embraced it as unyielding fate. In his eyes, he had lived behind the veil of darkness. In his mind, he heard the familiar laughter of failure. In his heart, he felt the infernal pain of loneliness.

  He removed the faded federal note and placed it on the damp swabbed counter.

  “Put it back. I got it tonight,” Rick said, nudging Chase’s hand with the back of his.

  He forced a smile and tucked the Grant away.

  No band and no DJ, Dickinson’s buzzed with a mild excitement, much to Chase’s pleasure. Busier than a Sunday but quieter than a Friday, the silent TVs lit up the room in pictures of sitcom reruns, late-night talk shows, and local cable news.

  He staved a chuckle when the mind-numbing hits of the 80’s droned on in the background, almost unnoticed except for the close syncopation of When Doves Cry with the anchor woman’s report of a deadly apartment fire in Bensonhurst.

  Feeling the beginning prickle of heat run down the back of his arms, he slipped off his leather jacket and hung it on the chair back.

  He watched from the corner of his eye, the barmaid preparing drinks for other patrons, all the while, shooting sly glances at him.

  The corner of his lips curled as his stomach knotted. He shook his head and turned back to Rick.

  “Dude, did you see her? She was checking you out,” Rick whispered. Chase snarled.

  “I’m good. No need to look for trouble. Trouble always finds me, right?”

  Rick shrugged and motioned to the barmaid, who he watched bite her lip as she strolled over, not taking her gaze from Chase.

  “Don’t be an asshole. She’s yours for the taking,” he whispered again and jammed an elbow into Chase’s side.

  “What can I do you for?” she said as she leaned over the bar and rested her hand on one hip.

  “Come again?” Rick said.

  “Not yet. What do you want to drink?”

  “Oh, I’ll take a Trooper.”

  He nudged Chase again.

  “Sure, sounds good. Same,” he said.

  “Hey, my eyes are up here,” she smiled

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Even looking in my direction,” she interrupted. “I know. You should pay a little more attention. Never know what you might miss,” she concluded and skipped away.

  Rick glared at Chase, his eyes broad and inquisitive.

  “What?” Chase snapped. Rick shook his head and regarded the barmaid as she poured a pair if pints.

  “You really got to turn this around. I can’t stand seeing you like this. A girl like that’s trying to get your attention and you blow her off? Come on!”

  She placed two coasters in front of the duo before she set down the beer.

  “You’re right, you’re right.” Chase turned back to her.

  “I’m sorry, I’m Chase. What’s your name?” he said.

  She leaned forward in her arms and forced her breast outwards.

  “You really want to know or is this damage control?”

  Chase couldn’t help but gawk at her full display.

  “Hey! Didn’t I say my eyes were up here?”

  “I thought you were trying to show me something!” Chase laughed.

  He caught the side of his head as a strange miasma washed through. Thinking she might believe something was wrong with him, he eased back in his seat before she took him by the chin and pulled herself closer.

  “Glance and look away. That how you’re supposed to check them out.”

  Chase spotted her bosom and scanned the room, focusing on nothing and smiling.

  “That’s better,” she winked. “My name’s Stacy.”

  “T,” Chase said.

  Her eyebrows shifted. Chase remained silent and grinned. A sound or word diverted her attention, and she scanned the far side of the tavern.

  “I’ll be back. The girls at the end have been bitching for better service.”

  Stacy turned away and swept her fingers across the bar and Chase’s hand. Chase pounded his beer and blasted the empty glass down.

  “Okay, I’m ready to go.”

  Rick choked on his first sip.

  “We just got here! Relax. Looks like things are turning around already.” Chase stood from his seat and scanned the room.

  “Stop.

  “She’s not here, Chase.”

  “Who?”

  Rick’s head cocked sideways. “Really?”

  “I know, I know. I just—”

  “What?”

  “I wasn’t ready for this tonight. I only wanted to hang out. The walls in my apartment feel like they’ve been closing in on me. I can’t stay there anymore.”

  Rick looked away and sipped his beer.

  “Yes, you can. Why do you think the phone calls stopped?”

  Chase froze. His eyes flickered, and his jaw clenched.

  “How did you know—”

  “I signed for the damn place, remember? He called. I took care of it. For now,” Rick said as he pulled Chase back to his seat. Chase wrapped his arms around Rick before he could see his eyes glaze over.

  “Stop it. You’re my brother. I can’t watch you throw your life away,” Rick smiled. “Now, get off me. Stacy’s coming back.”

  Chase jumped back and wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands.

  “Thanks, Rick,” he sniffled.

  “You know how you can thank me? Get me another—”

  “Trooper? This round’s on me, Chase,” Stacy said.

  Chase examined Stacy. She didn’t flinch. Chase blinked.

  “Hey buddy, I’ll be right back,” Rick said and slid off his stool. He leaned in close to Chase.

  “What do you do when you fall off a horse?”

  Chase leaned in closer. “Shoot the fucking thing as it runs away.”

  Rick shook his head and walked away as Chase turned back to Stacy who hadn’t moved from her place.

  “Tell me a little bit about yourself, Chase.”

  Lost for words, he scratched the back of his head.

  What could he say? That his life had sputtered to a halt within the last year? That the last two months, he had barely the will to open his eyes? That he became adept at destroying the lives around him? About the scars on his forearm and any good person would run away if they were to see them? The realization dawned, and he placed his hand on his ar
m.

  “Dark and silent. Alright. What do you want to know about me?” she said and combed her dainty fingers through her straight blonde locks and revealed the sensitive part of her neck.

  Stacy plucked a cherry from the garnish rack and brought it to her lips. Chase watched her tongue roll in delicate circles around the blood-red fruit before she sucked it in.

  “Not much of a talker, huh. Okay. Next question. What kind of car are you driving me home in,” she said and bit into the cherry.

  Chase tasted the sweet fruit in the air.

  “Motorcycle,” he finally answered. “When do you get off?” Chase said and leaned forward as he felt a rush of blood leave his rationale and plummet between his legs.

  “When you make me,” Stacy whispered.

  His cheeks brightened.

  Out of your league, loser.

  Fuck you. I’m not a loser.

  Really?

  His head twitched. Stacy waited in silence for a response as Chase’s focus drifted away.

  V

  Rick walked back to his stool and slapped Chase on the back. “What’s going on, cowboy?”

  Stacy whipped her dirty blonde hair over her shoulder and ambled away. “I get off by midnight,” she said.

  Rick glared at Chase as she concluded.

  “But I clock out at eleven.”

  Stacy halted at the far end of the bar and tended to the disgruntled patrons, though her gaze focused on Chase.

  “What did I miss? I was gone for like, a second,” Rick said through his increasing excitement.

  “Nothing. She needs a ride home. Told her I had the bike.”

  Rick reached deep into his pocket and pulled out his keys.

  “Here. I’ll take the bike. You’re not losing this one,” Rick said loud enough for Stacy to catch. She winked and uttered a thank you.

  Chase flipped between the two of them and grimaced.

  “You have to be fucking kidding me. You know her?”

  Rick’s smile broadcast what he refused to say.

  “I’m out of here. I don’t need pity-pussy.”

  Chase arose and donned his jacket. He shrugged off Rick as he reached for his wallet.

  “Come on, stop it,” Rick said and pulled Chase in close. “It’s not pity-pussy. She’s a lot like you. She’s getting over a bad break-up and asked if I knew anybody I could hook her up with. Told her about you, and now, here we are.”