by Kenya Wright
Here we go.
Crusher parked in front of the house and the crumbling structure smiled at us.
I can’t believe I’m bring Mary Jane here.
Besides Aristotle’s time here, the place boasted a nasty history. It was originally built for a slave owner. By the time the paint dried, his slaves had revolted, killed his family, and fled. The Civil War came next. Many soldiers died during battles on the land. The next owner hung himself, after murdering his wife and three children. A group turned the place into a cute bed and breakfast. Some rare food disease hit the place. Authorities found all of the rotting bodies weeks later. Hurricanes hit Din City, but didn’t touch the house. No one fucked with the property anymore and it remained abandoned for years.
Then my stupid friend decided that this place symbolized a welcoming home.
“Maybe, you should consider somewhere in the city,” I offered to Aristotle.
Cracking sounded from the porch.
“You see that shit.” Aristotle gestured to the house. “You’re making my house mad.”
“Man, don’t say that shit.”
“For real. That’s why I love this place. It’s like the legends gave her breath.”
I took another pull from the blunt. “Man, I better not come here and find you fucking the house.”
Aristotle rubbed his hands and grinned. “Anything is possible with this place, my friend.”
Although we’d parked, no one had exited their car. Even Crusher had not left the limo to open my door.
Is everybody really waiting on me? Jesus, people. Get your shit together.
I turned to Mary Jane. “You stay with me the whole time. No, looking around the place. We get in and out. That’s it.”
“Okay.”
I opened the door and helped her out. The other guys followed, getting out of their cars and holding guns.
“Put the guns down!” I glared at them all. “What are you going to do, shoot the house?”
That shit wouldn’t work anyway. What am I talking about? This place isn’t haunted. The odds are just always fucked up here.
Holding Mary Jane’s hand, I waited for everyone to fall in behind me. Back in the day, Aristotle would come out to greet whoever came. In the past years, he stopped, always sitting in the same place in the center of his living room as if he never moved. Always stayed rooted at the core of the house.
“Come on.” I led us up the steps. Screeching came, but I was used to it. Others took out their guns and pointed to the ground. “Yo, calm the fuck down. You won’t need your guns here.”
On the porch, decaying wood squeaked under our feet. Today, the big door’s carving almost moved a little. People stabbed the other—mothers poking ice picks into their kid’s necks, men slicing the breasts off of women, and children gouging out each other’s eyes. I raised my hand to knock and the door creaked open. Mary Jane gasped at my side.
305 whispered, “Man. . .”
Thanks, house. You just had to show off, huh?
“Let’s go.” I fronted like it didn’t make me nervous. “Aristotle?”
A beautiful aroma wafted through the house—a lovely melting mixture of coconut and vanilla.
“It smells great in here,” Mary Jane whispered. “Is he a good cook?”
“Yeah, but don’t eat anything here.”
“Someone’s died from his food?”
“Of course, but not all of the time.” I led us down the long hallway that ended at the living room. “Aristotle?”
No lights were on. Towers of books littered the halls—all leather bound and wrinkled pages. When Aristotle read, he highlighted and bent the corners. Unlike a true bibliophile, he could care less for the book’s value. After he consumed what was inside, he tossed it to the side. The stacks rose to the ceiling and made the once wide hallway extremely narrow. Pages skittered past me as I walked. Dust clung to the ends.
When all the men entered, the door closed behind us. A few grunted. More took out their guns.
Thanks again, you fucking asshole house.
Mary Jane leaned into me. “Okay, so the creepy level has risen to high proportions.”
“It’s just a house.”
She frowned. “The front of this normal little house looked like a man smiling while he was killing someone.”
“According to Aristotle, that adds to the appeal.” I wanted to yell out his name again, but the shit was hopeless. If my friend sat anywhere, it would be in the damned living room. I hoped we wouldn’t find him there dead. “Do you know any good haunted house jokes?”
“Not any good ones,” Mary Jane said.
“Try me.”
“Yeah,” 305 muttered. “That’s what we should do. Laugh and shit versus focusing and getting the fuck out of here.”
“Shut up.” I gestured to Mary Jane. “Go ahead.”
“What did one haunted house owner say to another?” she asked.
“Houses can’t talk,” I said, “but go ahead.”
“The haunted house over said to the other.” She rolled her eyes. “My mummy can beat up your mummy!”
Fuji laughed. Mo grinned. 305 shook his head and continued to hold his gun. Crusher just gazed at the books like he was walking in the library and considering what he would borrow.
“How many witches does it take to change a light bulb?” she asked.
No one said anything.
“One,” Mary Jane answered. “But she usually changes it into a cat.”
“Wow.” 305 made a show of putting his gun to his head. “I think Mary Jane’s sense of humor died. It’s okay, everybody. We’re good now. Something has already died on this trip.”
She flashed her middle finger. “Hey, it’s not like I went to humor college or anything.”
“Well, that’s for damned sure.” 305 bumped into a stack of books and targeted the damn pile with his gun.
The living room’s entrance appeared in front of us.
“Chill.” I grabbed the brass knob sculpted like the devil and twisted the double horns. “Aristotle?”
A dark voice sounded out. “Noah?”
Good. He’s alive.
“Yeah.” I stepped into the room that had once been a living area. Instead it was darkness and books. In his down time, Aristotle had formed a couch, love seat, and coffee table from novels and anthologies.
I spotted my friend. A prickling sensation made me freeze in place. In the center, he sat on a throne of spiritual texts. He looked like a structure himself—stiff and unyielding. His eyes remained open like windows, his mouth shut like a door. A house within a house.
Volumes covered the floor and every inch of the walls. I couldn’t even remember what the space had looked like before. Hadn’t there been a rug or something in the center? Didn’t he have a green leather couch at one time and an odd grandfather’s clock that chimed at the top of the hour? I had no idea where the house began and where the books ended.
I hadn’t been here in two years. How did all of this change so fast?
“What the fuck is that, Aristotle?” I pointed to the throne. “You’re really losing it, man.”
“Eh. It’s my seat of consciousness.” Aristotle formed an imaginary arch around the thing.
“I sit on this motherfucker naked.”
“Thank you for putting on clothes today.”
“Shit. Next time you come, I may have nothing on. I’m turning these fucking cell phones off. No electricity up in here.”
“What?”
“No computer, telephone, televisions. I’m done. When you come, just come. Don’t even call.”
“You want a hit of this.” I tried to hand him a joint I’d rolled in the limo on the way there.
“Naw, I don’t smoke or drink anymore. Look, man. It took me forever to put this throne together.” He slipped his fingers along some of the books. “I’ve got every translation of the bible. Qurans are over here. Torahs make up the legs. Egyptian Book of Dead is my seat. It cost a f
ortune to get four of them.”
I held my joint in mid-air. “The Egyptian what?”
“Buddhist Sutras are right here.” Ignoring me, he continued to point at books. “Bhagavad Gita. Upanishads. Vedas.”
“Are you intentionally speaking in another language?”
“Naw, man. These are books on how to live.”
“We already know how to live.”
“You know how to live by the streets. Din City is a computer that you’re logged into. You’re a robot for it. Once you get that, you won’t need me anymore.”
“Until then,” I took another hit, “I need your help.”
“Fine.” He grinned. “Let me sit on my throne.”
Today, Aristotle sat naked on that same throne. However, this time, those spiritual books appeared worn and torn. Long ago, his hair hung down to his back. Now I had no idea how long it was. I couldn’t see any of the ends. Some of his locs merged with the books. Whether they fell through the cracks somehow and got trapped or the strands just grew with the paper. The rest of his dreadlocks rose above his head, branched out like a tree, and stuck to the ceiling. I peered closer.
No. The ends of his locs are actually inside of the ceiling. What the fuck?
I’d always thought Aristotle and the place had a weird relationship. But this had gone too far. My friend sat on that throne close to death. If the house lived, Aristotle served as the heart, and his locs were the veins that pumped blood through all areas. Long strands of kinky hair dangled from his underarms. His ribcage pushed out from his skin. His cheeks had sunken in. The nails on his fingers and toes had grown so long, they’d yellowed and curled over and over.
Jesus! I don’t think he’s gotten up from there? How does he eat? He must, if he’s still alive. What about when he goes to the bathroom? He couldn’t walk with those toe nails.
Now it was time to look at the impossible and consider the madness for a moment. Something evil lurked within the foundation. Maybe it had been here before the house was ever built, waited, and came around when humans stepped upon the land. Perhaps, all the death and blood triggered it to come here or possibly birthed the wickedness.
Bad things happened here, but what had come first? And could we get it to go back?
I whispered, “Aristotle?”
“Sit.” His eyes remained closed. He sat in the lotus position, shielding me from anymore nudity than I wanted. “All of you, sit.”
Mary Jane turned my way like I would have an answer to the craziness in front of me. I gestured for Fuji and Crusher to come to her side.
What the fuck am I going to do? I came here for help and I think he needs my help more.
I ordered the rest, “Everyone, go ahead and sit or at least stand back so everyone can get in here.”
With gaping mouths and widened eyes, my men gathered and slid themselves among the room of decaying books. Most didn’t even glance Aristotle’s way. Maybe, it was because of the nudity. Possibly, it dealt with the fact that his looking crazy and attached to this odd throne, scared the shit out of them.
It damned sure fucked me up.
“Aristotle?” That was all I could say. I’d actually forgotten why I came.
“Noah, do not fear what you see.” Aristotle opened his eyes. His voice sounded familiar, but the way he talked didn’t remind me of my old friend. He was someone else. “None of this is real, Noah. If you remember that, you will accomplish great things. Our thoughts are our reality.”
“You say none of this is real, but,” I sniffed at the funk radiating from him. “It smells real.”
“But none of this matters.”
“Aristotle, what’s going on with you?”
“Life is an illusion in our mind and yet, we always think we know what will happen next. We say to ourselves, ‘Blah Blah will happen on Friday or Monday, and when it doesn’t, we call it a bad day.’”
Why is he talking like this? Has he lost it that much?
Six feet apart from each other. I stepped forward. “When’s the last time you ate?”
My old friend continued, “Things don’t happen the way we hope and we get mad and depressed as if life is supposed to happen only one way. Our way.”
I couldn’t deal with this. Enough had already happened. Now the one person that I looked to for advice had lost his goddamned mind.
“Nothing is a straight line, Noah. Time is an ocean that is limitless. God is time. Love is time. People are only the mechanics of the clock, not the energy in the movement.”
“This is the guy you want to run Din City?” 305 muttered under his breath.
Aristotle turned to 305 and studied him for a long time. The moment went in slow motion and even I worried for my two friends. In his day, Aristotle killed fast and with no notice. I couldn’t beat him if he charged for 305. I’d still be fumbling with my gun.
But thankfully, Aristotle laughed. “Could I run the city from here? I think not.”
“Who else would run it?” I asked.
Aristotle directed all of his attention to me. Sadness lingered in his eyes, reminding me of my old friend. “I assume Domingo and Rasheed are dead now.”
“Yes, they are,” I admitted.
“And so, Butterfly killed them.” Aristotle scanned the room, finally taking in all of the people around him. His gaze touched every face. He blinked a few times, possibly remembering how he knew the person or jotting something down to put in a mental file later. When his attention reached Mary Jane, he stopped. “Yes, Butterfly killed them both. If not by her hand, by her plotting.”
I blocked his view of Mary Jane. “How did you know it was Butterfly?”
“She came here three months ago asking me for advice.”
“What did she want to know?”
“How to seduce a man. She didn’t say you, but it was obvious. Who else has she loved for all of this time?”
“And what did you say?” I asked.
Aristotle curled his cracked mouth into a wicked grin. “I told her that no powerful man can be seduced, unless he is isolated. Take away his family, friends, and support, and you’ll leave him lonely. That is when he will seek an escape and she must be that escape. I also told her that one could never isolate you. She denied the man was you again, but I warned her that if she really wants your love, she would have to change the very core of who she is. And so she left unhappy. If I’d had my phone, I would’ve given you a heads up, but you were always good with taming that tiger of a woman.” Finally, Aristotle was making sense. “She pitted Domingo and Rasheed against one another?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Tell me, Noah. Which one of them did you have to kill?”
“Guess,” I said, testing my friend’s mind.
Is that really you there? Can I leave you here like this and return to Din City?
Mary Jane chose that moment to leave Crusher and Fuji and stand by my side.
What is she thinking right now?
“Hmmm. It must’ve been Domingo. Rasheed always remained loyal.” Aristotle inhaled the air. “This woman smells good.”
I grabbed her hand and hoped she felt safe in this crazy situation. “She’s with me.”
“That I’m sure of.” Aristotle leaned to the side to peek at her some more. “And why have you come, Noah?”
“I can’t catch Butterfly. She started a war and I’m having a hard time finishing it without killing lots of people. Now she’s hiding and I can’t find her.”
“Noah doesn’t want to kill people?” Aristotle smiled. “You are different today.”
“You too.”
“We’ve both changed.”
I took another step closer to him. “But are you okay, my friend?”
Aristotle continued to study Mary Jane. “If Butterfly is hiding, it is within the past.”
“The past?”
“She lives in the past, while others look to the future or walk in the present. If you look to the past, you’ll find her hiding spots.”
I thought back to Vinese’s words.
“Your enemy sits in the shadows plotting your demise. You’ve allowed this for some time, ignoring the problem for too long. If only you can take off the blindfold from your own eyes, look in the past, and see the solution.”
That made sense. She’d already hid one brothel in Miller’s Plant. If I considered all of the places that we had memories, it wouldn’t be too many. In fact, I didn’t think I’d had anyone check Mercury Hotel, a place where we usually had sex. It was a broken down property in shambles that meth addicts wouldn’t even visit.
Would she go there?
“If I look to the past, I will probably find her?” I asked. “And then what?”
“Let her seduce you, but remember. She will not trust you, unless you give her the impression that you’re isolated.” He stared at Mary Jane. “You must play the part of an isolated man. Seek her with no weapons or any men around. You need to get close to Butterfly and she is no fool. You must really be alone, but do not fear. She will not kill you. Use her love against her. Let her tie your hands up, if she must. Make her think she’s safe to sit around you.”
Use her love for me against her and make me look like I’m in a weak position? That could work. She knows I could choke her, so she would never want to get to close to me, unless my hands were tied. She knows I have a team. I would have to gain her trust in a way that proves I wouldn’t hurt her.
I raised my eyebrows. “How would I kill her if my hands are tied, no weapons are around and nor my men?”
“Let her seduce you.” Aristotle grinned. “And then give her the kiss of death.”
Finally, Aristotle sounded like my old friend.
I laughed after he’d told me a sick story. “You’re a bad man, Aristotle.”
“Women are the hardest to kill. They never give up. They’ll fight to the end—clawing, scratching, screaming, kicking, and biting. They use every way possible to free themselves.” He opened a package, pulled out a new book, inhaled the fresh pages’ scent, and perused the cover. “That’s the only way you can truly kill a female. Give her the kiss of death. Seduce her. Get her nice and comfortable in the bedroom. And when she gets close, embrace her beautiful body, hold the blade in your mouth and slice her tongue. Some will choke on the blood. Others will try to claw out the pain and die from the loss.”
