Hellbound: The Tally Man

by David McCaffrey

  Shame had been an emotion Obadiah had considered a violation of his own, self-designed social values. Yet he knew without question that it had been shame he had felt being with Eva and not guilt. There were no internal conflicts about whether or not he had violated his own values. He had none.

  Being with Eva was forcing him to wonder whether his own dark, narcissistic nature was his mind’s way of defending itself against shame, against everything he had done. Had one, pure moment of intimacy forced his arrogant, grandiose self to be broken down by the antithesis of another version of himself – a weak version? A human version? And, if so, who had been freed? An internalised Obadiah Stark who had hidden in shame ever since his father had first broken down his confidence? Or a man who had taken manipulation to the next level?

  “Morning, Obi.”

  Eva was stood behind him, her hands resting on his shoulders. He hadn’t even heard her come downstairs. Sidling around him and pulling out the chair next to him, her brow suddenly furrowed with concern as she looked at his face.

  “Are you ok? You look pale.”

  His arm still tingling, Obadiah abruptly ceased the massage and folded his arms across his chest, staring at the floor as though not seeing it. His focused stare was like that of a man lost in thought.

  “Do you believe that you can do something so terrible it can never be forgiven?” His gaze remained fixed as though on something in the distance. Or the past.

  “Obi, what’s the matter? What a bizarre question to ask first thing in the morning. What’s with the weirdness? You feeling okay?”

  “I feel fine,” Obadiah replied tersely, ignoring the pain he still felt in his head and on his back. “But tell me. Do you believe in second chances, regardless of what you might have done?”

  Eva placed her hands in her lap. “I don’t know really. You know I’m not a religious person. I guess we all have things we wish we’d never done, or would do over if we had the chance. Why? What’s happened?”

  Obadiah’s momentary silence promoted Eva to lean closer. He looked up at her, his eyes lacking the intensity he had projected only yesterday.

  “Who do you see when you look at me? Tell me honestly.”

  Eva laughed until she realised he was serious. “I see the man I fell in love with. Someone in pain. Someone who’s supported his family despite his health. Someone who overcame a terrible childhood to become a man who makes me very proud.”

  Obadiah remained expressionless. “Proud.” He let the word hang in the air for a moment, considering its dichotic nature given his past. “You know, some people can look at someone and see whatever they want to see, because they see whatever is in them. People are just mirrors.”

  “What have you been reading? I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

  “What if I told you I had a dream last night…dreamt I killed people, lots of people. I did it with a smile. And in my dream, it felt good. It felt…right. What do you think that says about me?”

  Eva touched Obadiah’s arm gently. “I think it means the tumour is causing you to have vivid nightmares. We were warned it could happen. It’s not real. We’ve had a rough few weeks granted, what with all that’s happened. But everything’s okay now.”

  Obadiah could hear the sincerity in her tone and allowed it to momentarily wash over him. He wanted to believe what she was saying. He tried to believe that last night could have actually been real and not some sort of game he was subconsciously playing with Eva. Obadiah desperately wanted to believe it.

  He scratched roughly at his shoulder, beginning to feel irritated. “You don’t understand what I’m trying to say.” Standing, Obadiah continued raking at his skin, the discomfort he could feel increasing.

  “Let me see that,” Eva responded, trying to shift the momentum of a conversation that was making her uneasy. She moved over to Obadiah, lifting his T-shirt and examining his shoulder blade as she gently caressed the area with her fingertips.

  “It’s red, but I can’t see anything.”

  Obadiah shrugged Eva away and moved towards the mirror in the hallway, raising his T-shirt back up as he walked. He turned sideways on, noting the fresh ink present to his surface dermis. Five new tallies, the surrounding tissue inflamed as though just applied, reflected back at Obadiah.

  “That’s impossible,” Obadiah muttered quietly as he turned towards Eva. “You don’t see that?”

  She stepped closer and examined his shoulder again. “See what? There’s nothing there.

  Obadiah examined his reflection again, touching the area to assure himself that it was real. “You can’t see a tattoo?”

  Eva stifled a smile. “Tattoo? Obi, you don’t have one and you certainly don’t have one on your shoulder. Why, have you been keeping secrets from me?” Her tone was playful, but Obadiah’s expression remained serious.

  “I must be going fucking crazy.” Obadiah pulled his T-shirt back down and moved back towards the table, placing his hands on its surface and bending over whilst taking a deep breath. Eva was beside him, stroking his head.

  “Oh, Obi. Maybe we should see someone about…”

  “I don’t want to fucking see anyone,” Obadiah interrupted, slapping her hand away. “I don’t need catharsis, I need answers.”

  “Answers for what? Obi, please listen to me. You need help. The last few weeks you have to admit you’ve been feeling a bit low. And what with Ellie nearly being killed a few weeks ago…it’s a lot of stress, especially when you’re not one hundred percent.”

  Obadiah frowned. “What do you mean a few weeks ago? That was yesterday,” Obadiah responded firmly.

  Eva shook her head sadly. “No, Obi. It was two weeks ago.”

  “No, it can’t have been. It was yesterday…” His mind struggling to process what he was being told, Obadiah straightened up defiantly.

  “No, it wasn’t. I think you need help. You’re getting worse.” The fear in Eva’s voice was clear.

  Obadiah couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How could two weeks have passed and him not know.

  What the hell…?

  Obadiah began quickly trying to grasp what this picture that had been slowly emerging since his execution could mean. With no frame of reference of death to compare to, he could only assume that this is what it was like. But the reappearance of his tally… that had significance. In life, it had been his paradigm, his hierarchy leading towards self-actualisation. In death, it must mean something else entirely. He just didn’t yet know what it was or the purpose it now served.

  Eva looked at him searchingly. “Obi, I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  The anger he had momentarily forgotten whilst with Eva last night suddenly boiled up in him. He bolted up the stairs and quickly changed his clothes, all the time considering whether Eva was the constant that influenced everything that happened to him. She must be important in this whole situation. Therefore, the only way to know for sure was for her to die. If everything started again, he would have his answer. If not, he would be no worse off.

  To hell with the afterlife and conforming. If I go to Hell, so be it. Better to reign there than serve whoever’s fucking with me here.

  As he walked down the stairs back into the kitchen, even Obadiah was surprised at the vivid nature of his violent desires. Where last night Eva had represented a portent of redemption, something he had never imagined possible, now she was a focal point for his fury. He found himself imagining hurling her across the floor and beating her with his bare hands until her face splintered, her flesh burst and blood spat from her ruined mouth. Obadiah could almost hear her cries of anguish and he couldn’t help but smile.

  Eva had moved into the living room when Obadiah grabbed her by the hair and threw her behind him, her body skidding across the laminate flooring. She looked up in horror as he reach down and pulled her back up, his large hand wrapped across her chin.

  “You know, you almost had me there. For a moment you had me believing I could
be someone else…someone better. Fuck, I actually woke up thinking that I’d had an epiphany. But this whole situation, you lying to me…it just won’t do Aoife.”

  Eva’s tears ran over Obadiah’s hand as she spoke, her voice trembling. “Obi, I’ve never lied to you. I love you. Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m doing this because it’s who I am.” As he spoke he seemed to freeze for a moment, his voice momentarily laced with actually sadness. “I was a monster who dreamed he was a man and loved it. But now the dream is over, and the monster is awake.”

  Shaking his head, his face taking on a blank expression, Obadiah shoved Eva around by her shoulder towards the kitchen table, her body smashing into a chair. Stumbling to regain her footing as he marched towards her she looked at him in shock, unable to process what was happening.

  “Obadiah, listen to me. You’re not well. This isn’t you… please.”

  Ignoring Eva’s pleas, he grabbed her by the arm and picked her from the floor. “Obadiah,” she begged despite his hold on her arm and now neck. “Please, I know this isn’t you. You’re getting worse. Please, listen to me. I love you….we love you, Ellie and me. You’re not yourself…”

  His hand gripped her face, covering her mouth. Obadiah’s face darkened. “STOP IT,” he screamed at her, instantly ashamed at his loss of control. Never before had he allowed emotion to overtake him in such an aggressive manner. The pain in his head had intensified, as though molten metal was being poured into his skull, oozing across the ménages and reservoirs of his brain. He wanted to tear of his skin and scratch at his skull.

  “This is all a lie, a fuckin’ lie. This isn’t real, none of it. A wife, a child, a fuckin’ happy home life. This isn’t me. People like me don’t get second chances. I don’t know what this is, but I know what it isn’t. This isn’t redemption. This is punishment. This couldn’t be a more perfect vision of Hell if I had imagined it myself.”

  Eva, still restrained by Obadiah, gently touched his arm and moved his hand, not frightened by the darkness now present in his eyes. “Obi, we’re your family. We want to help you. Please, let us help you.”

  Obadiah looked intently into Eva’s eyes. “Aren’t you afraid?”

  She replied softly, her hand rising to gently stroke his face. “Only for your soul, Obi.”

  His face, previously etched with rage, softened slightly. His once fiery eyes began to lose their intensity, their arrogance as the words he had heard moments before he died hit him like a punch to the face. He felt his anger dissipating as though being sucked into a black hole, in its place a growing mortal sense of apathy for all he had done in his life. Obadiah realised if he were to carry out his intended act of wanton violence, any spark of humanity he had felt last night would retreat into obscurity, taking all hope with it. The realisation that he could lose the memory of what he had experienced with Eva and Ellie, even if it only constituted a microcosm of human emotion, crashed over him like a tidal wave, crushing all the remaining hatred he felt in this moment.

  He knew he shouldn’t be thinking of Eva. She shouldn’t be having this effect on him. Obadiah wasn’t sure what he was doing. He felt stunned, unnerved. Surely she could sense his true being, his power. Yet she didn’t run from him, or fear him. He realised he was becoming blind to his true feelings. She was masking them, making it so he couldn’t set them free. She was threatening to him, but not physically.

  An alien, crumpling feeling swept over him, forcing him to fall to his knees. His whole body shook as the intense fear of what was happening to him became a crushing realisation.

  He stared up at Eva, his face one of wretched despondency. His eyes no longer seemed filled with hatred, their natural green seemingly searing away the dark. It was almost as though an idealised version of his soul were trying to shine through.

  “Help me,” Obadiah pleaded. “Please help me.”

  ‘Of two equivalent theories or explanations, all other things being equal, the simpler one is to be preferred.’

  William of Occam

  Chapter Thirteen

  September 30th

  07:03

  Denny Street, Tralee (Trá Lí)

  County Kerry, Ireland

  THE mere use of the word ‘conspiracy’ can set off an internal alarm bell causing people, educated or otherwise, to shield their minds in order to avoid the kind of dissonance and unpleasantness such a word generates. After all, the whole purpose to a conspiracy is to challenge our concepts and beliefs of how the world operates.

  A conspiracy can alter the very course of history in the most destructive way, or plant doubt in the most incisive and rational mind. The driving force behind a conspiracy can be seen as either one individual with powers appearing to rival Satan himself, or a clandestine corporation, shrouded in mystery with an almost preternatural ability to manipulate the truth around them.

  Whatever the motivation, the fact of the matter is that the very notion of a conspiracy acts like an event horizon, pulling in everything and everyone around it. Once inside, it will attempt to alter ones very thought processes, only the most ignorant of educated people would dismiss the evidence a conspiracy presents out of hand.

  As Sir Arthur Conan Doyle said; Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

  * * *

  Joe threw his bag on the desk, yawned and dropped into the chair, flicking the power button on the computer. His mind still reeled following yesterday’s meeting with Sabitch. The warden couldn’t have been more obvious he was hiding something than if he had been Rupert Murdoch being questioned about phone tapping. That meeting and the one that had occurred a few nights earlier with Peter Stamford had cemented the feeling he had been trying to shake. The feeling that something was being covered up about the night Obadiah Stark died. Recalling all the conversations he had had with the relatives of Obadiah’s victims and now prison officials, Joe realised they contained too many deflections, too many subtle micro-expressions to be just nerves or apprehension regarding the subject matter. Lies were being told about Obadiah Stark. Joe just didn’t know why. Yet.

  He had left Absolom last night energized, experiencing the buzz a reporter gets when he knows he is on the cusp of something revelatory and, in this case, potentially volatile. When he had arrived back home, he’d put in a request with one of his former contacts at the port authority for a list of all boats leaving and arriving at the island the night Obadiah was executed. Joe didn’t know what he was expecting to find, but it had felt as though being aware of Obadiah’s final journey would provide him with a piece of the puzzle he was missing.

  That same buzz had ultimately prompted him to ring Victoria and rearrange their meeting. After a few pleasantries, she had agreed to meet him at O’Shea’s. Joe had figured it was safer to pick someplace that catered for both drinkers and those simply desiring a quiet meal.

  Tapping in his password, Joe opened up his emails and immediately noticed his request to the port authority had been actioned. He had received a file from the harbor master at Dunquin (Dún Chaoin), west of Dingle where all boats departed and arrived when visiting Absolom.

  Double clicking on the attachment, Joe read something appearing to be straightforward and unexciting. Two boats made the journey to and from the prison on a daily basis, both generally only carrying provisions and staff. All the journey’s tended to take no more than an hour and a half, give or take a few minutes, with an extra, third boat, the Absol, sailing only when it had a prisoner to transport. On the night in question, Obadiah’s body.

  Three boats had left for Absolom the day of the execution; the Aperion J29 at 05:02, Absol 17 at 18:06 and Vasel 45876 at 19:03. The document stated the Aperion and Vasel were the two main boats carrying shift staff to work, the Aperion retuning back at Dunquin at 06:48 and the Vasel at 20:24. But it was the time of return for the Absol that piqued Joe’s curiosity.

  The e-mail stated the Absol had returned to Dunquin at 22:19 -
a four hour time difference. Joe swiveled round in his chair as he contemplated the information. The journeys of both the Aperion and the Vasel had a travel time of around an hour and a half in total. If the Absol was the boat sent to transport Obadiah’s body back to the mainland, why had it taken over four hours to return?

  Joe chewed thoughtfully on his pen, suddenly springing forward in his chair and picking up the phone. He flipped open his notepad and found the number for the harbor at Dunquin. It rang twice before he heard a rough brogue.

  “Dunquin Harbor.”

  “Hello. Sorry to bother you. My name’s Joe O’Connell. I work for The Daily Éire. I’m doing a follow up piece on the Stark execution. I need a small section on the port authority and yourselves, something emphasising the role you play in the transport of staff to and from the island, movement of prisoners etc, and I was wondering if you had any comments I could use.”

  There was a slight pause. “Okay. What would ya like to know?”

  “Any comments, anecdotes, anything at all about what you do would be really good. For example, the night of the Stark execution. Big media event, many of the world’s media at Absolom. The whole world watching. Did everything go smoothly? Any hiccups, problems, delays of any kind?”

  Joe heard papers rustling, before the voice returned. “Well, transporting over your lot was a pain in the arse, I can tell ya that. Crammed in like sardines, they were. ‘Corse, we had all the prison staff travellin’ over for their shifts, so ya can imagine it was a little cozy. But, there were no real problems to speak of. Fars I know, everything went like clockwork.”

  “And after the execution, the transportation of Stark’s body. No problems there?”

  “No, the Absol left here, picked up his black hearted soul and brought him back here. That’s what I was told anyway.”

  “Told?” Joe quizzed. “You weren’t there?”

  “Well, I was here for the shift boat leaving, but an hour or so later, I was relieved. So, I picked up my stuff and went home. Nice to have an early night for once.” He ended with a chuckle.