Whirling World

by Drinkel, Dean M

  “Indeed.” Claude held out a hand. Vincent grasped it between the two of his.

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever really thanked you...not properly anyway. Your support, your friendship...”

  “It was always a pleasure, never a chore.”

  “From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

  Their handshake was warm and honest.

  Once they had broken free of each other’s grip, Vincent crossed the office. He seemed hot suddenly. He was sweating. He could have done with a shower but he knew there was no time, he would have to make do. He hesitated briefly at the metal double-doors and wasn’t entirely convinced he wanted to step over the threshold but when he felt Claude standing there behind him, he pulled them open with great gusto and into the corridor he went.

  As they walked they passed several people whom Vincent recognised (some vaguely, some more familiar). They would stand to one side, nod, smile, offer their hands if they felt appropriate. Vincent, with such a sense of pride, beamed in his own glory.

  “That sound!” he asked Claude as they headed towards the door at the far end of the corridor.

  “What?”

  “Singing...I can hear singing.”

  If there was a look of concern on Claude’s face, it was only fleeting and it was hidden well. “Now that you mention it...”

  “It’s one of my favourites...it’s actually in my will that it should be played at my funeral.”

  Again, Claude’s expression momentarily changed. “Let’s not get maudlin shall we?”

  “You are dead right. Yes.”

  Claude moved to the door, his fingers hovered over the handle. “If you like I can...”

  Vincent shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Then I wish you good luck.”

  “Thanks.” He pushed the door open and to a rapturous applause, he stepped through into the blinding light.

  ***

  It was freezing here.

  Wherever here was exactly.

  Snow had been falling for a while though it was lighter than before. The cold bit at his face, scratched at his eyes. He stood up, pulled the scarf tighter around his neck. The rocks weren’t slippery (which was a godsend). He looked at the soles of his boots, they had good grips on them – he didn’t think he was going to fall. Drowning in water was not going to be his fate. After all, he’d already been there, done that.

  He looked around for the singing and the applause. He could hear them but it wasn’t clear from where they were coming from. A fine mist blew around him, made his visibility poor – of that however, he wasn’t surprised.

  Behind him, the buildings crumbled. He stood and watched as they collapsed under their own weight and returned to the ground from where they had been once forged.

  Everything seemed so different, so altered – not when he was younger, not when he was virile, fit and healthy. When had he become so old? He breathed in and then squinted through the fog. He had been hoping to catch sight of the boats, perhaps leaving for the islands packed full of tourists or the fisherman over-laden with their spoils ready to sell at the harbour markets...but no, he was alone and...

  ...that was a joke wasn’t it? Alone? He hadn’t been alone for a while...not since...not since...

  ...he wondered whose head he was actually in – his own or Vincent’s? Was he actually in neither and gone straight to hell instead? He probably deserved that.

  There was a bench, he sat down, rubbed his hands together to try and get some warmth back into them. Had all this been worth it? It seemed such a good idea at the time but then...well, what happened happened and everything took a much different path. He hadn’t had long to master his own thoughts and okay, whilst he had tried to protect Vincent from much of what he had done, there was some stuff which inevitably had leaked through into his sub-conscious – there was nothing he could do about that.

  Well, there was nothing they could do about that.

  For now, Vincent believed he knew everything and it wasn’t for Thomas to contradict that. He suspected that the ruined buildings – which were once so bright, so shiny and pristine and were now not so – were some kind of physical representation of that. He thought so anyway.

  “Everything you did, you did out of love,” he heard himself saying and what would be the point in arguing?

  He took off his glove, curled his hand into a fist and then stretched his fingers. He heard his bones crack. Bones he no longer possessed.

  Someone stood behind him. They had appeared quickly. He would have to make sure his defences were better if they were to keep this up.

  “Thomas,” a voice whispered. He didn’t bother turning around.

  “I can smell your perfume,” he whispered. “This is the second time in one day you have spoken to me. We could almost be friends.”

  Carole moved before him, he motioned to her that yes, it was okay for her to join him. She shook her head when she did and said. “It’s been several months since we last spoke.”

  He frowned and shrugged. Just something else which didn’t surprise him.

  “Does he know you are here?”

  “No. You’ve aged. Sorry.”

  “I don’t quite understand it but I have.”

  “It suits you.”

  “How did you get in here?” he asked.

  “I didn’t. Not really...it’s something they dreamt up in the laboratory. I could explain it...”

  Thomas held up his hand to cut her off. “Don’t bother; you’re beginning to sound like Vincent.”

  “Yes, and we can’t have that can we?”

  “No.” He paused. “There was some singing. I’m not sure where it came from but it reminded me of when I first met him. I heard the song of his soul. Do you know how powerful that can be?”

  “Of course. You were both lucky.”

  “You almost sounded like you meant that.”

  “Perhaps I did. You were...good...together. Most of the time.”

  “Most of the time, yes, but look around you – do you think this is how I imagined everything would turn out?”

  “Is it always so...grey?”

  “I don’t think so – but the more he begins to remember the colour begins to drain away. I can’t control everything...it’s so damned difficult.”

  She rested a hand on his, gave it a gentle squeeze. “He talks all the time about the shadow, the shadow that stops him remembering.”

  “Yes. His light...it will penetrate eventually.”

  “Which is why I am here.”

  Thomas coughed. They both watched as the vapour from his breath dissipated around them.

  Carole continued. “We may have found a way of solving this once and for all. You might not like what I am going to say...but there is a way.”

  “Tell me, I’m all ears.”

  “Then close your eyes for a second.”

  So he did and then when he was told to open them he saw that he wasn’t by the sea anymore. He was in a small room. He was surrounded by men and women in white coats. He recognised Carole but not any of the others.

  “Okay, so this is what we are going to do,” she said.

  ***

  He prayed he knew what he was doing. The dreams, the nightmares were increasing. A feeling of dread all the time. Impending doom. He still wasn’t sleeping. He was drinking too much. Not eating. He was fucking around. The thoughts were literally killing him and that was a truism – he had contemplated ending it all only to chicken out at the last minute. He needed to know what was wrong with him. He needed the truth. Thomas wasn’t any help of course – he stayed quiet when questioned. Carole, when asked, played dumb. There was only one other viable option left for him – he’d pay someone else to do it!

  And tonight they apparently had some information for him.

  It was agreed they’d meet in a club. Clubbing certainly wasn’t his thing and he didn’t think it ever really had been.
The music was loud and pumping. The darkness was peppered with flashing lights of varying colours and brightness. He knew he could disappear if he wanted too, well that was probably a slight exaggeration but at least he was able to block out his thoughts...something that he had become quite adept too of late.

  The older, rugged man, sat opposite him. He didn’t look out of place here. His shaved head, his stubbled goatee. The tight suit, bulging muscles. He thought about the man’s cock in his throat and his dick deep in the man’s ass and who would cum first...he shook his head.

  No. He was here to do business.

  He sipped his vodka (when had he started drinking that for God’s sake? He hadn’t been able to stand the stuff in the past).

  The muscle-mary (who hadn’t introduced himself properly, hadn’t shaken hands or offered any kind of pleasantries) leant forward.

  “Can we hurry up? I would like this to be over as soon as possible.” He looked around him. “I abhor these...people.”

  Vincent frowned. “I don’t understand. Aren’t you one of them? Do you abhor yourself?”

  Muscle-mary scratched his crotch. Vincent looked. He was right: it wasn’t just his muscles which bulged.

  “Of course I fucking do, but not for the reasons you are suggesting.” The man said that with such viciousness that Vincent turned instinctively away, embarrassed, but then as he held up his hands as if in mock surrender he added: “I’m not here to pick a fight.”

  “I agree,” Vincent shrugged. “Let’s get down to it.”

  “That would be appreciated.”

  “You brought what I requested?”

  “We never renege on a deal. We asked for so much because of the red tape we had to cut through.”

  “You want more? I’ve got...”

  “No, no...it was fine. What I don’t get though is th....” His words were lost as a massive cheer went up from the dancing idiots as some popular song was played. Muscle-mary leant in his suit jacket, took out a small black pouch, played with the drawstring and laid it down on the table.

  “And what is that?”

  “Open it.”

  “On the phone I said: no games.”

  “This isn’t a game. What you are looking for is in there.”

  “I’ve paid...”

  “...open it,” he repeated.

  Vincent picked up the pouch, undid the string, tipped the contents into the palm of his hand. “What the fuck is this?”

  “A key, obviously.”

  “I’m not blind but...”

  “...the train station – ironic hey? Well, there is a lost luggage office. You will find some lockers. That key fits locker number twelve. Inside there is a black holdall - that is where the answers to all your questions are.” With that, he stood up, pressed down his suit. He then touched the side of Vincent’s head. “Perhaps though the answers you need are somewhere else entirely.” He smiled and left.

  Vincent turned the key over in his hand several times before then downing the vodka – should he stay and fuck or...no, he could do that later and he’d make sure that Thomas witnessed every sweaty second of it.

  ***

  He’d paced backwards and forwards outside the station for half an hour or so before finally summoning up the courage and entering.

  He walked past the main ticket office, the toilets, across the main floor, past the Tabac and there, tucked away in the corner he saw a glass door. He pushed it open and stepped inside.

  Muscle-mary had been correct: there were banks and banks of lockers. The key, still in his hand, burned into his flesh. Such trepidation. He found number twelve. He put the key inside, paused briefly and turned it clockwise, pulled the door open. He felt around inside, thought for a moment that he had been tricked but then, right at the back was a small manila envelope.

  Making sure he was alone, he ripped open the envelope.

  A photograph. One solitary photograph.

  In the bottom right corner was the time / date of when it was taken – it matched the time / date of the moments just before the crash. There was a live feed on the train which probably unbeknownst to the passengers – and for matters of their safety of course – was fed back to headquarters.

  Slowly his eyes scanned upwards: Thomas, by the window. Smiling, laughing, perhaps with the person next to him.

  Who was this cunt then, who was it that Thomas was fucking?

  Vincent’s eyes moved right and took in the rest of the photograph.

  ***

  “Thomas. Are you there? Thomas, we need to speak. Don’t fuck me about. I know you can hear me goddamnit. THOMAS!”

  ***

  “Vincent – for goodness sake, do you know what time it is?”

  “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

  “What is so important that it couldn’t have waited until the morning?”

  “Carole, I need to speak to you now.”

  “Fine, give me a second to go into the other room.” She was with someone. He heard a door close. “What’s going on Vincent, it’s the middle of the night?”

  “I am going to ask you something and you have to be honest.”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “Okay. I’m tired. What...”

  “The day Thomas died?”

  “What of it?”

  Was that panic in her voice? Perhaps – but it could have been nothing more than because she was right, it was late, she was probably half asleep – he had to find out though.

  “Who was he with?”

  “Vincent I....”

  “Carole, who was he with?”

  She paused.

  “I believe you are hiding something from me Carole?”

  She suddenly sounded alert. “Where are you Vincent? Are you at home? Give me half an hour, I’ll get dressed and come to you. We can have coffee and we can talk...”

  “NO! I’m talking to you now! I need you to tell me who was with Thomas when he died. I’ve seen a photograph and...”

  His words were drowned out by her sudden burst into tears. “Oh fuck. Vincent, I...I...I’m sor...”

  He cut off the line.

  He didn’t need her to hear it.

  He already knew the truth – he didn’t need her confirmation. She could go fuck herself, the cunting bitch.

  ***

  Vincent rushed into his apartment. Had he closed the door behind him? He didn’t care. He went to the kitchen and from the drawer, took out the sharpest knife he could find. He ran into the bathroom.

  “What are you doing Vincent?” Thomas asked.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “That’s quite ironic, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know what game you are playing but it’s going to end and end now.”

  “Game? How am I playing any game? Isn’t that a little impossible for me?”

  Vincent stared at himself in the mirror – he looked past himself, past his reflection into the eyes of Thomas. “I don’t how you did it but somehow you did. I know you were fucking someone else, I know you were with someone else on that train but it wasn’t me.”

  “I’ve tried to protect you from the truth but you wouldn’t leave it alone.”

  “I have no recollection of being on that train. A crash which killed everyone in that carriage. Everyone. It was all over the tv, the newspapers...”

  Vincent waited for a response but none was forthcoming so he continued. “So they all lied as well?”

  “No,” Thomas replied. “They didn’t lie. It was exactly as they said.”

  Vincent laughed. “But, I’m still here aren’t I?”

  He put the tip of the blade to his temple.

  “What are you going to do Vincent? Don’t be rash...”

  “I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of your bullshit. I loved you so much but...well...all love has to die sometime doesn’t it?”

>   “You have to listen...”

  “I’m done with all this. Goodbye Thomas.”

  Mentally, Vincent began a countdown from ten. The knife dug into his skin.

  Nine.

  Eight.

  Someone banging on the door.

  Six.

  Banging became pounding.

  Four.

  Three.

  A crash as the wood splintered. Voices could be heard.

  One!

  “Please Vincent, don....”

  He rammed the blade right into his head. He shouted. He screamed. He shoved it in as far as possible, almost to the hilt.

  After the first layer of skin had been penetrated he ceased to feel anything – which was probably due to most of the flesh underneath being made from a polymer based compound...keep going...the chip...the chip in his skull...or the adrenalin, the shock, the...

  ...yeah? The chip...where the hell was it? He searched, he prodded, he poked, but he couldn’t find it.

  He wiped away the blood which poured from the wound and dripped down the side of his face. Mixing there with the tears. He dropped the knife into the sink and using both hands he took a deep breath and widened the wound.

  Nothing.

  He inserted a finger. Felt...no, definitely not there. But hang on...what was...he looked in the mirror as he began to pull something out from the side of his head...

  “...I urge you to stop Vincent before you do your unit irreparable damage.”

  He turned. Carole and several men, all with extremely concerned looks on their faces stood there.

  Vincent looked at the transparent wires which now protruded from the wound.

  “Toto, I don’t think we are in Kansas anymore,” he whispered.

  ***

  That light. That fucking light. So bright and blinding. In the root of his eyes. He went to put his hands up to block it out but he couldn’t move...no, that was an exaggeration wasn’t it? He could move slightly though he was tied at the wrists...a quick check of his other limbs suggested that the same was true of his ankles.

  “Consciousness has been regained,” a voice stated. Metallic.

  He tried to move his head but that too was firmly secured in place.

  “Please...bright...” he croaked.