Rage

by Ryan, Paul W.

  “I doubt the two of us will even be enough for her.”

  Jonathan felt himself cringe as the words left his mouth. Alice leaned forward and rested her arm on his shoulder reassuringly. She began to whisper into his ear until the drunk interrupted her.

  “Whoa, don’t get started without me!” The man laughed hoarsely to himself before slumping to one side as Jonathan banked the car into a hard right.

  “Don’t worry. We’re almost here now,” Alice said, as much to herself as him.

  The car dimmed its headlights as it pulled up to a large, old house and rolled up the stretch of driveway. They came to a gentle stop beside a midnight-black Porsche.

  “We’re here,” Alice smiled as she helped their newly-acquainted friend out of the car.

  “Whoa,” the man gasped as he knocked back the end of his beer and tossed it aside onto the neatly-trimmed lawn. “You guys must be loaded!”

  The man took in his surroundings in bewildered amusement as he struggled to place one foot in front of the other. Alice supported the full weight of his bloated, hairy body. Jonathan took his time, letting the other two walk on in front of him.

  “Now that’s a nice car!” His fat fingers smudged the black-tinted windows as he caressed the framework, drawing ugly, sweaty streaks across them. His belly rolled out from under his creased cheap shirt and folded in layers across the bonnet of the car as he leaned in closer to inspect it.

  “She sure is a beauty,” Jonathan replied, biting down on his lip to fight back the urge. He looked at his reflection in the tinted mirrors as he moved behind him. His fists tightened. The urge grew stronger with each pounding heartbeat.

  Just a few minutes longer.

  Alice journeyed over to the front door and knelt. She reached under the doormat, looking to retrieve the house key. She cursed aloud when she saw it was not there. A lone guardian gnome stood sentinel to her right. It held a wooden ‘Welcome home’ sign in its faded fingers. Upon its face, it had a look of wild amusement and a broad, mischievous smile. She ran her fingers along the gnome, inspecting every inch in the faint light the moon offered. She felt a slit and reached into the crevasse Jason had carved into the crotch of the unsuspecting gnome and pulled out the key for the front door.

  She shook her head at his twisted humour.

  It was all coming together . . .

  The sun had long descended and there was just the faint, ghostly light from the moon above. The golden orb long swallowed whole by the city’s ugly urban teeth. Jonathan closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, counting each breath in and then out. The silence soothed him and gave him that moment of solace he needed. He could hear the man vomiting now, traces of his previous meal splashing up against the tyres and against the glossy paintjob on Tony’s Porsche.

  “Eight, nine, ten . . .”

  The man finally straightened himself upward. Thick strands of vomit clung to his chin, splattered onto the folds of his neck and untucked shirt. He groaned out loud. Gradually, he began to stumble toward Alice, his eyes vacant and on the brim of surrendering to the drunken haze.

  She was not going to lose him that easy. Her eyes darted towards Jonathan, pencil-thin eyebrows pleading. He shook his head. Damn her and her ways.

  “Come on,” Jonathan rested his hand on the semi-conscious man’s shoulder. “I sure hope you're ready for this.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The inside of the house was deceptively enormous. The walls extended back as far as the eye could see. The ceiling was at a much higher level than what one would expect from looking outside. Jonathan felt along the walls for a light switch, but Alice shook her head. The smell of recently-polished flooring and bleach still clung in the air behind the soothing jasmine aromas that the house seemed to emanate as if on its own accord.

  “Follow me, boys,” Alice giggled from somewhere ahead in the deep shadows.

  “I don’t . . . I don’t feel so good,” the man garbled. “I think I should probably go home.”

  Perhaps you should, he thought. But where would be the fun in that?

  “Nonsense!” Jonathan said, throwing his arm over the drunk. “After coming all this way, you’d just turn around and go home? Imagine how upset my wife would be. You wouldn’t want to upset her now, would you?”

  The man did not answer. Alice called out for them again.

  “Trust me. This will be something you will never forget.”

  Jonathan nudged the man towards her seducing calls until they stepped out into the living room area, which was dimly lit by several candles positioned in an almost semi-circle pattern. Shadows fell in long relief against the floor and walls at unnatural, elongated angles.

  Alice seductively walked out from behind a dominant shadow in the far corner of the room. Her white dress flowed from her petite figure, accented by the ghostly moonlight like an angelic sail. Gingerly, she made her way toward him. She moaned gently into his ear. Her fingers pressed down against his chest, blood-red lips parted in silent ecstasy. As if by her magical touch, he came back to life. His hands moved awkwardly, eagerly sliding around the back of her hips. A flicker of annoyance spread across her face as she brushed the man's hands aside. Jonathan watched from behind a blanket of shadows with a look of contempt.

  “Why don’t you take your shirt off and get this party started?” She winked at the man and took a step back to watch him undress.

  He laughed excitably as he undone his belt. It whipped across his fat hips and then his trousers sank to his ankles. He stupidly grinned at Alice as though seeking her approval. Her eyes dimmed, lips pressing into a dagger-thin smile. He then struggled to get his half-buttoned shirt up over his head.

  That moment is all it usually takes. That moment of total false security and vulnerability. Like a rising crescendo before the explosive finish. That moment before climax. When you can no longer bite your lip in anticipation and must have it there and then . . . The moment his trousers hit the floor was like a shot from a gun.

  Each of us had our queue moments and respected each other’s methods. Maybe it was just the sleazy, drunken men who subjected women like her to their sexual advances that made her pulse quicken. This was her decision and ours to respect. The man never knew what hit him. Alice clubbed the man across the face so hard with a desk lamp that it broke in two. The man hit the floor with a painful thud.

  “Let the games begin!”

  Marcus leapt forward from the shadows, screeching like a hyena.

  “Fucking scum!” Alice stomped down unmercifully with her long, thin heels, digging deep gashes through the man’s shirt, staining it red. The man yelped in astonished pain. Marcus was the next to join in, darting forward and delivering a hard kick from his heavy military boots straight into the man’s sternum as he tried to push himself onto his feet. Marcus wasn’t a strong guy, but you could feel the strength and raw anger with each kick from his oversized and steel-capped boots. Jason laughed as the two descended on the poor drunk like a pair of savages in an orgy of violence. Jonathan motioned for the two to back away and waited for the drunk to pull himself to his feet uneasily.

  “What the fuck—?”

  The man had hardly finished the sentence when Jonathan slapped him hard across the cheek. The man staggered backward.

  “Thought you could fuck her, did you? You filthy fuck!” Jonathan grabbed the back of his head with both hands and rammed his knee into the man’s nose.

  Once. Twice. Thrice.

  “Jonathan!” I cut in. He snarled in my direction and stormed away as the man slumped into a bloody mess on the floor.

  I motioned for Tony to join in. He bowed deeply at my invitation.

  “Saw you out there admiring my car. She’s a real beaut, isn’t she?” Tony reached down and grasped the man by the throat, hoisting him back to his feet.

  “Cost me nearly a quarter million. You make that much money, you pathetic little drunk?”

  The man struggled to pry Tony’s massive hands off his n
eck, but it was like a kitten trying to fight off a giant.

  “I ought to make you go out there and lick your puke off, you stupid little fuck!” His voice fell like a guttural storm that threatened to blow out all the candles in the room in one fell swoop.

  Tony stared deep into the man’s eyes as they threatened to burst out of his head like two ripe pieces of fruit. The man’s face turned from red, to purple, and then to a dark blue before Tony finally tossed the man across the room like a child would to a disinterested toy. The man lay on the floor in the foetal position, trousers still down at his ankles, coughing and wheezing.

  Jason was only too eager to allow himself this opening. He pulled the man to his feet by the scruff of the back of his hair and slammed his face into the wall.

  “How you feeling, buddy?” Jason said. “Having fun yet?”

  The man swung a wild punch in retaliation that connected with Jason’s jaw. Jason wiped away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and smiled.

  “I love it when they fight back.”

  His comment was accented by a hard swing that connected with the man’s temple. The blow sent him spiralling to the floor once again. Blood ran freely down the man’s face in crimson floods.

  “He’s not looking too good, Jason. Ease up on him,” I said, but Jason had a taste for blood.

  “Get up, you ugly fuck! Get up and hit me again!” Jason stomped down on the man’s hand with a sickening crunch.

  “Jason, come on! Lay off him,” I insisted, but he wasn’t listening.

  Instead, he kicked the man’s face. The man stopped moving.

  “Hit me again, you worthless fuck!”

  He raised his foot for another but Tony grasped him in a bear hug.

  “Let me go! Let me fucking go!” Jason yelled as Tony dragged him away, kicking and screaming, like an animal being shoved back into its cage.

  I walked over to the man and knelt before him to check his pulse. His face was coated with a thick layer of blood and snot. He was clearly unconscious. Thankfully I felt a slow but steady pulse.

  “Way to fucking ruin the fun, Jason!” Alice screamed at the bound animal and began swinging and clawing at his face.

  “Shut the fuck up, Alice!” Jason spat. Jonathan raced over towards Jason and started arguing in his face. Meanwhile, Tony struggled to keep him in his grip as he thrashed and kicked at everyone around him. The group all began yelling in one another’s faces, their rage at its peak. I looked over to my side and saw Marcus smiling to himself, still high from the experience.

  “Marcus, give me a hand, will you?”

  Marcus scurried over and twisted the man’s arms backward. I tied up the man’s arms and legs with a trail of rope and then gagged him so he was ready for transport.

  “Look, Jason. Pay double tonight or give them extra time on your next night, all right?” I interceded hoping to resolve this issue before it came to blows.

  I could sense the fire behind Jason’s eyes. Even his deep sunken beady eyes could not hide the fury buried inside.

  “Fine, I’ll pay up. Christ almighty . . .” Tony released him cautiously and took a step back to my side.

  “Thanks for letting me go, you fucking ape,” Jason mocked as he rotated his shoulders clockwise.

  He tossed a bundle of folded notes at me and pushed his way past Jonathan and Alice, who were slowly beginning to return to normality from the experience.

  “I’m taking a cab. Don’t wait up. I‘ll pick up the key off you tomorrow,” he called out as he made his way out the front door without looking back.

  FROM THE DIARY OF PETER CLAYTON

  That was how the Playdates generally went back in its early days. We didn’t really know what we were getting ourselves into. The goal wasn’t actually to knock them out. That’d just complicate things.

  The goal was to get some of that anger out that just could not be sedated no matter what we tried— and believe me, we tried everything that was out there. This was a last resort before we ran around on a goddamn killing spree. It was a drug, but I administered it as carefully as I could. I knew they were addicts. Hell, we all damn well were, and deep down we knew it. Aren’t we all addicts in our own fucked up little way?

  The payments, well, they weren’t really that necessary. Bribes sometimes for the victims to avoid any messy police charges. Plus a little extra for their hospital bills that nearly always followed. Usually, I just charged them as any drug dealer would— a guy needs to eat and pay the bills somehow.

  The experience was not entirely one sided. I like to think of it as a symbiotic relationship between the host and the virus, or if you will—the attacker and the victim. For us, it was a sweet release, a euphoric experience alike no other. The harmony of the cries of pain amidst the sound of knuckle meeting flesh, the hammering bass note of each boot, the screeching treble as each punch vibrates down your body.

  It was a beautiful symphony.

  The recipient got something that money cannot buy. They got to feel the rage of society as it lashed out against their turpitudes, against their depraved behaviour. It was them that had made this once beautiful city turn to shit. It was them who let our whole world turn to shit. Think of it as literally beating the sense into someone, much alike a mother hits a child when it has misbehaved to teach it not to do that again. We would stage these scenarios, to teach them morals and lessons.

  At least, that’s what I wanted the Playdates to mean. Words carried no meaning— all that mattered was expression. The recipient, well, they got to experience that primal rage which is so absent from modern day society. These lessons we are all swiftly forgetting. Nowadays, it is just faceless anger from living in cruel times. Those lucky few—the Playdates—got to experience another emotion that few ever get to experience.

  The survival instinct: fight or flight. That is what has made us survive as a species for so long. Most importantly: we got to merge. People are too afraid to merge.

  These beatings were a wake-up call. It’s proven fact that most people take drastic action after a traumatic experience. Some call it lifesaving. Some their worst nightmares. Some may even write a book about it and call themselves a survivor . . .

  But in hindsight, we were not prophets or some crazy cult trying to educate the world of its sins.

  No.

  We were just a couple of pissed off middle-aged adults frustrated with the world and ourselves. We probably should have known better. Been smarter. When I say that we should have known better, I hope this does not become a misunderstood apology letter when I am gone, because it is not.

  Am I sorry for what we done? Not exactly.

  I’m only sorry it didn’t get to last longer.

  CHAPTER 6

  February 14th. I don't know why that date stuck with me as strongly as it did. It was my second week at our group anger management sessions and probably only the second or third time I’d hung out with Jason. It was part of my whole 'connecting' with people thing I'd tried out for a while.

  I don't know.

  All I knew back then was that it was time to get out of my old, reclusive self and try new things. Try venting my anger out in more healthy ways instead of trying to find peace at the end of a bottle or at the end of another wasted month of watching mind-numbing daytime television and lying awake staring into nothingness.

  It was a good idea, I suppose. However impractical and utterly fucking stupid it was.

  But anyway, Jason and I decided we were going to take a walk down to the beach to clear our heads a little bit. For once, the sun was out, and the farther I got away from the grime of the city, the happier I usually was. We walked and chatted for what felt like hours.

  “So, what's your story, Jason?” I asked while slowing my stride as the noise of the city began to fade behind us and the air finally became slightly tolerable. “What is it that you're not telling Sarah?”

  “Hell, I don't know. Always was a bitter guy. Always had problems with it. Got i
nto a lot of fights growing up. You know what it’s like living around here, and I suppose I was unlucky enough to grow up in one of the worst areas. Gotta be tough to survive, right?”

  I could tell there was something he was leaving out, so I pressed on.

  “I mean, you've got a nice apartment, good job—”

  Jason scoffed and stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Shit, man, I hate my job more than anything in this world. I just do it because, hell, what else is there for a hothead, fuck up like me out there? There's no way they'll keep me much longer anyway. They'll fire me the first chance they get.”

  “Then what would you do?”

  “If they fired me?”

  “Yeah.”

  He paused, although the words were forming long before he had acknowledged the thought.

  “I'd probably blow up the fucking place.”

  We both started laughing and continued along our way. We were not far from the pier when an old beggar came crawling out from some dark, filthy recess and stumbled into our path. He shook his crumpled-up tin can as it rattled what little dignity remained in the bottom of it.

  “God, I hate this shit,” Jason muttered. “How much would it cost to hit you?”

  “I'm sorry?”

  The man seemed taken aback by the question, but Jason was not about to back down, not yet anyway.

  “Got a problem with your listening, buddy? To hit you. How much?”

  “You'd hit an old man?” he stuttered.

  “You want money, you've got to earn it just like everyone else. So, how much?”

  The wino’s face stretched into a confused, lopsided grin.

  “How much you got?”

  Jason rummaged through his pockets and produced a crumpled-up twenty. He started waving it like a flag. The wino’s whiskey-soaked eyes grew larger. His stubby fingers clawed like an eager child for a piece of candy. Jason tossed the crumpled note like a live hand grenade. Before the note had even hit the floor, the wino was doubled over, clutching at his chest and wheezing on the ground.