An Innocent Man
Page 15
would happen.
Justin and I were towards the front of the plane, and therefore right at the back of the queue to throw ourselves out into the infinite, and our conversation became increasingly hysterical as more and more brave souls took the plunge. The last thing that Justin said to me before his turn came was something about wishing he had imbibed large quantities of drugs, then he winked at me and then he was gone.
Later that night, as the party progressed into the small hours, we found ourselves together again; for me the adrenalin rush still hadn’t subsided, and I found myself pushing him to see if he could really get hold of anything. Like a lover succumbing eventually to temptation, his resistance dissolved gradually and he admitted that, yes, he had ways and means of obtaining certain illicit substances, and if I swore, absolutely swore, to keep it to myself, he would furnish me with a small selection. I really should have asked him where he got them from, but it didn’t seem that important then… stupid me. It was a wild night and we’d both drunk an awful lot and we agreed that I would prove myself through a blood oath, which I carried out there and then using a cheese knife to draw a line down my left forearm, leaving a scar that I still have today. It didn’t bleed much, but Justin squeezed my arm and a few drops fell into his whisky glass, swirling and the disappearing into the liquid. The scar still itches from time to time, and always when I talk to him. It did again now as he answered his phone.
Hey, Sylvain, long time, how’s things?
I coughed and my voice seemed to come out gravelly, as if I’d smoked forty cigarettes the night before. Justin, yeah, good, how are you?
The conversation carried out inanely for a few minutes until I asked him if he had any product I could have, at which point he went very quiet, then he whispered Hold on, then there was a lot of shuffling and he was back on the line, whispering.
Sorry, my friend, my good lady, she doesn’t know about this. You having a party? …
What?
You having a party? That why you need the gear?
Erm, no, just, you know… (I trailed off).
Whatever, man. (He sounded hurt).
No, Justin, I promise I’m not having a party, I’m not not inviting you… Please, listen, I just need… I’ve just got some issues to deal with.
(He went silent) Oh, man, don’t do it. It’s a slippery slope…
(I really didn’t need my dope head friend lecturing me, but I endured it for a few minutes until he had satisfied his sense of decency, then he asked what I needed. When I told him LSD, he sighed). I’m sorry, Sylvain, can’t help you there. It’s just… not in demand any more. You know, things have moved on. The sixties chicks, they’re all dead and dying, and death really isn’t sexy.
The line went quiet, then… But… listen, I have got this… it’s not completely tested out, but it’s a synth… you know, a synthetic compound, similar effects but the long-term issues have been edited out. I think at least. Very hush hush. I haven’t tried it myself but….
(I interrupted him to say I’d have some). But I need it right now.
(Another pause). OK. Give me ten minutes. I’ll be there. Good excuse to get out of here.
The buzzer went as I was sitting at the kitchen counter drinking a double espresso. I have, or rather had, an app on my phone that let me see who was outside and buzz them in. Justin stood there, in just jeans and a tight fitting white t-shirt, making a point of not shivering in the cool air. I tapped the entry button and he disappeared inside, coming through my front door moments later.
Hey man, how… (he stopped talking and that’s when I realised that I hadn’t changed. Mistake number one and so basic)
(my best smile) … Justin. Good to see you!
You’re covered in blood?
You like it?
Erm?
Incredibly realistic, isn’t it?
Oh… oh bloody hell! Ha! Yes, you’re right it is, isn’t it? Wow, man, I was completely fooled. Thought you’d killed someone and you know…
Needed the drugs to calm myself down?
Well, yeah, I guess… But hey, man, it’s brilliant. Have to get myself one of those! Where did you get it from?
I… it was a present, actually.
Oh… well, remind me not to meet your friends!
Yeah! Good one! Listen, thanks for coming over…
Oh… oh… yeah, sure, no problem. Look (reaching into his back pocket) … I brought you a little of this. But be careful. (He plays with the clear plastic packet in his hands). It’s only experimental. It’s called… G6. I’ve never tried it. Just one tab at a time, all right? Don’t want you murdering anyone else!
I’m not sure I appreciated Justin’s humour but at least congratulated myself on my quick wits. I managed to shove Justin out of my apartment after he had had two espressos and a bottle of ice cold lager and the first thing I did was pull off my t-shirt and jeans and put something else on.
I dropped the offending articles on the white floor of my kitchen, next to the brilliant white island, telling myself that I would clean them up later. I made myself another coffee and sat drinking it slowly, turning the packet around in my hands. It contained two small, white tablets, each with the number 6 stamped into the centre. Takes about an hour and a half to kick in, Justin had said, or so he thought. Still being finalised but he had obtained these lab samples, and he was totally sure that they were safe. I opened the bag and let one drop onto the counter, and held it between my thumb and forefinger. An hour and a half. I looked at the clock. 10:14.
Take the pill now, work out what the hell’s going on, get into work for the afternoon. I tapped a quick text to my assistant saying I wasn’t feeling great and would be in that afternoon, then checked my email one last time for a hopeful reply from Anna (there was none), then popped the pill in my mouth and swallowed it with the rest of my espresso. My phone pinged. It was James, my assistant.
No problem, hope you feel better. X wanted to see you this morning, told him you’d get back to him ASAP. May be worth calling him if you feel up to it, he seemed a little stressed. James. X.
It had caused much gossip when I chose a man as my personal assistant and even more when he sent texts that ended in an X. I have never seen a letter that causes so much anguish and hope. Why only two x’s, why not three? Why did she put an x there, was it a mistake? Why a small X, not a big one? And so on. And then of course there’s the gender game. I mean, it’s fine for women to put x’s on texts to men, that seems to signify nothing more than friendship, if they want it to, or much more, of course, if they don’t. And same sex x’ing is absolutely fine for women, but for men it’s a complete minefield. If a man x’s a woman then it’s almost certainly sexist, and if a man x’s a man then he’s 100% gay. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the issue here is not James’ sexuality, it is just the assumption and the broader issue of how men find their place in a post-feminist world. I think James, to be honest, is just trying to be provocative, with his camp manners, lullaby voice and choice of clothes. He’s young, he’ll learn and he’ll have to decide what to do when he becomes defined by his actions, but for the moment he can walk the line and see what happens. I saw a picture of his girlfriend once, falling out of his wallet as he was paying for a couple of coffees for us. It was one of those pictures of them, together, pretty intimate. He scooped it up quickly, stuffing it into the back of his wallet as he went completely red. He looked up at me with a desperate face, but me, coward that I am, just winked and smiled.
That, I think, is when he started putting X’s at the end of his texts to me, and the fact that I feel uncomfortable about it and refuse to reciprocate only proves his gender superiority. And so, despite myself, I smiled at his text and didn’t deign to reply. 10:25. I pulled myself off the kitchen stool, my head felt light and my legs unusually heavy. I made my way, slightly unsteadily, to my lab – too much coffee, maybe, and not enough sleep. The edges of my vision started to blur as if I was looking through plastic sheeting. It took
me a little while to set up the headgear – I connected it to the current, checked the settings and adjusted the voltage to maximum (approximately 10,000 volts) and the time period to short. I set the timer to switch it on at 11:45.
I think there must have been something wrong with the equipment because it kept slipping out of my hands as I tried to test it, as if it had gained a life of its own. I checked my watch… 11:35… almost time. With some difficulty, given its slippery status, I got the headset positioned over my skull and sat, giving myself a couple of minutes to compose myself. The sun streamed in from the large crack in the front of the apartment, and I made a mental note to get it fixed - it would probably need more than Polyfilla. My phone pinged a message; strange, I must have turned the volume up to max and then some, because its noise pierced the air and shook my head. It also did something strange to the headset, because it felt suddenly tighter, as if it had been shocked into gripping my skull as tight as possible for fear of being blown away by the noise. The pain made my eyes fill with water as I lifted the phone to my face to see what the cause had been; the little green window showed me that I had received a message.
Mark didn’t come home this morning. Not answering his phone. Am worried. Call me ASAP. L.
What was this message? Who was L? I had a feeling that I knew, and that this