Apocalypse at Harpers Lane

by Mackenzie Mazerolle

  "No, I don't think so. I think like Joe we're all trapped in some, script... I think we could use whatever method Jim had used to travel here, except we'll travel somewhere that's more, well, real..."

  "Joe, do you have any idea how crazy that all sounds?"

  "I do Goerge but look around you, this is all completely and utterly batshit/"

  Elize shuffles about, still sleeping while all the long Silga listened patiently.

  "I think we should keep this to ourselves... Wait and observe Joe, see if we can get more answers... This is just between us though, you understand? We won’t find anything if he's constantly in a state of alarm."

  "Ya I get ya... Silga might catch on though, she's already got a lot of questions she's, a little different."

  "Different, how?"

  "I don't know, less fearful maybe."

  "Well, that's not entirely bad... I don't think."

  "You don't know Silga as well as I do Joe, you came here from Freddy long after we found her sleeping at Victoria Park. My concern is since we've found her she seemed as though she had always been in some certain conflict with, demons within her. What if now she's lost that battle and what seemed to be an infinite amount of sadness turns into a rage?"

  "I think I'd rather be angry than sad."

  "Maybe, but where does joy fit in?"

  "Not far from greed... I think some people are born into this life to endure. You know, dealt a shitty hand and at the end of the day, the all they can do is react to defeat as best as they can. We all want joy, sure some deserve it more than others however those who must travel far within the corners of their mind to find it, those are the people who see it for the wonder it is. They don't ignore it, they appreciate it and mock those who take it so selfishly and think they can be happy all the time."

  "You have a funny view of enlightenment... I thought the whole point of self-actualization was to be happy as much as possible?"

  "That is impossible and ignorant. Those who know nothing but joy know nothing of joy at all. It's intangible to them for they are strangers to hardship. An aching soul is still a soul none the less, like being alive. Even the absence of something can determine its existence."

  "Did you learn this when you were in school?"

  "No actually, I rarely went... which is why I left. If ever I went back though, I think I'd take up philosophy. All we do is think, seems clever to call it a profession."

  "Seems clever to go to school."

  "Maybe, if I ever get out of this house."

  "Hey, Bush, got out, he's out there somewhere anyway... he might have escaped."

  "That's called wishful thinking, that much I know without going to school. But I'm sure one way or another he did leave this place. I'm just not sure that's how I wish to leave."

  "... Say, Joe, what do you think about all of what's been happening in terms of, ya know, life and death and all I mean, doesn't this mean there is life after death?"

  "I guess so but, I don't know if that makes it any better anymore I mean look at Jim. He's made it from beyond and I fear he's just been tossed into another fire... what if there was an afterlife, but it was just as fucked up as this place? Besides, I don't think our conception of 'God' is what we were raised to think... I don't think anyone realizes how sadistic the notion of fate really is."

  "You're not as optimistic as your usual self. I mean I get you, who would be but... I dunno man you're really bumming me out. Isn't there some sort of realm or heaven out there? Something brought on by light rather than all this, darkness?"

  "The more light you look for the more darkness you find... You're searching for a utopia, friend, and you're searching in the wrong place."

  "Alright, where ought I to look than, Joe?"

  "I imagine you'll have to create your own."

  "Like you did?"

  "No… nothing like I did."

  Chapter 5.5

  Jim's Fiction

  Those bastards, conspiring away as if I don't know they're conspiring! Those fools don't know what they're up against, no idea what I am capable of and most importantly the inspiration that follows me in my dreams... This muse, this character, I trust him with my sanity. He got me out of the pit, taught me the truth and now I know who the enemy is. All I gotta do is get rid of the minor foes, deplete their cause for this story and I'll have my creator all to myself.

  What a fool he is, of course, I want him to recognize me. I want nothing more than for him to know that which he thought he was master of has gained the upper edge. I am the master! I am the new God of this world!

  Jim had been writing in longhand as not to arouse any suspicion with the clacking from the keys of a keyboard. His objective was to meet with his associate, his forsaken muse. He would do so by inflaming his imagination with words finalizing his approach with slumber he knew would lead him to vivid dreams. It was in this realm that he could speak to his muse fluently, face to face. It wasn't long after he wrote his plans that he found sleep.

  Jim awoke standing up, staring straight forward into an empty abyss of white. There were no walls and seemed like there were no floors. There was no end to this room, Jim could see a dot in the distance and so would make for the single point of material which would become increasingly apparent was a man.

  As he approached he began to make out what he saw; a desk and a man upon it. This man was lanky and seemed to stretch across the entire desk, hugging the typewriter in front of him which held a page mid stretched from the machine. To his left was a stack of pages, to his right was a six-inch steel syringe.

  Jim approached the slumbering man, his head face down to the left revealing his long straggly hair which surrounded a bald spot in the middle. The man looked like he had lived a hard life, though the source of his hardship Jim could sense to be brought on by himself.

  "And you would be exactly right, Jim."

  Jim spun around in surprise to this clear voice which came from the same man, only he was standing tall and held a sturdy posture.

  "You hear it don't you? Inside your head? What if I told you it wasn't your own thoughts. What if I told you there was someone out there calling all the shots, for you and me."

  "Are you, him?"

  "I am. That is the Professor behind you, clearly not in control."

  "I see ... and you, you're talking about Joe? I've done exactly like you said, I got through. The aliens left and I'm inside the house... Tomorrow I'll take the girl out and be rid of her."

  "NOT Silga... I and the Professor have an agreement and I promised him his daughter back. And no, I'm not talking about Joe, though he plays an important part."

  "I know, I won't touch her… And what do you mean not Joe? Isn't he the writer, the one who created us?"

  "He created you, but he did not create me. I come from a higher order, a higher plane... This dimension holds the truth about our creator, the realm in wince I and your creator have come from."

  "What? Are you saying that not only am I not real, but Joe who created me isn't really himself?"

  "Exactly." Mr. Dystopia smiled, the paradox of the situation and limitations of his follower both amusing and comical. "And God knows if he's even real... I just know that is where I, we need to be."

  "You'll take me with you, right? You're not going to leave me here, are you... I can't take it anymore, I remember having something of a normal life before all this, but I just can't remember..."

  "That's because it was only a couple pages." My Dystopia began laughing wildly at this as if mocking an insect running through a maze trying to understand that he is even in a maze."

  "Who is he, the head writer? The one who created you and Joe..."

  "I cannot say his name or else he tears the script... He doesn't want us in his life. He wants only for us to suffer as caged animals in a zoo. Our captivity will bring him joy while universes plunder at his feet... We need Joe, his
mind is the true link. I have been created in a realm beyond even yours, and the professor is too weak. The only way I was able to contact you was because his daughter has been holding what little bit of his psyche remains in reality... He is very confused you see, trying to find a Zenith when all it became was a prison. His daughter may give us strength yet, but his connection will never carry us through to his dimension."

  "What do I need to do?"

  "Isolate her, isolate Joe. I need the Professor present in their world if I'm to get in long enough to manipulate the mechanics of their fun house. Once I'm inside I'll finish what I set out to do and this whole world will be consumed as I bring the plot to the doorsteps of the alpha creator... Can you do this?"

  "Anything you want, I just need to live... for real this time."

  "And you shall, just do my bidding, start with the girl; Elize."

  "What about Goerge? He doesn't trust me, and I don't think I can take him one on one..."

  "Bring Silga out, the Professor shall feel her presence and with it will awaken from this wasteful slumber... I'm losing him quickly, every day the connection fails so I need you to make haste. Go back now, deal with Elize and then get the rest of them out while I deal with Goerge. As strong as his will may be, I am stronger."

  "Alright, I'll do it."

  "One more thing…"

  Mr. Dystopia reaches towards the desk and grabs the syringe. He hands it to Jim, instructing him to use it on Joe soon as he has him beaten and alone. He was careful in instructing to make sure he was weak as they could not risk his will overtaking the dose. This would give him more control versus dominate his mind.

  And so Jim awoke an instant later. Everything was still dark though this meant nothing as to what time it really was. He looked at his clock; it read ten in the morning. Jim raised and went downstairs where he found the crew actively preparing barricades while preparing the last of their food which was a single box of instant macaroni. They were reluctant but eventually would share with Jim, followed by their last cigarette split amongst the five.

  Chapter Six

  SLIPSTREAMS, BLACK HOLES AND KILLER HOBOS

  “We’ll need supplies. I saw a hardware store just up Champlain Street, what say you me and Elize go check it out?”

  “Ya fucking right you will you slimy little bastard!” Silga abruptly cuts it. Goerge was too right about her new-found courage, now turning what was once fear into rage. This newer version of herself had come to trust her instincts as if reserves of experiences not physically realized had been acquired all the same.

  “Wow, now I don’t mean any harm sister, me and you can go if you’d like?”

  “The only place I’m aiming to go with you is out back to put you down… Start walking.”

  Joe looked at Goerge confusingly while they all entered a moment of awkwardness.

  “Please stop fighting… I’ll go; it’s not a big deal. Besides, you taught me how to defend myself, remember Silga?”

  “No actually Elize I don’t remember training you at all. If you want to die that’s your prerogative, I’m only here to advise you on better ways of going out, say killing daywalkers or going after that insane fuck out there.”

  “You mean your father?” Jim smiled. This smile was immediately met with Silva's fist as she shattered two of his front teeth. This prompted Joe’s reaction to direction;

  “Alright Goerge, get him out.”

  “You guys what are you doing? You can’t just toss him out, he’s not like the others… Are you Jim? We can’t treat another innocent being like this!”

  Jim spits some blood and breaks his concentration on his teeth which lay on the floor. “Yes, of course! This sweet sister speaks the truth, I am innocent I say! If you send me out there you may as well be killing me yourself.”

  “Just answer me this, Jim, please if you will…”

  “Of course, anything Joe, ask away!”

  “Where did you say you were from? And your last name, what was it?”

  “Like I said, Jim Patrick Welsh, from Canada but consummated across seas at a Davie Bowie concert.”

  “Ew, that’s so unhygienic!”

  Goerge approached Jim, Jim staggered but was relieved to see he was to welcome a high five rather a fist. It was quiet and quick as Goerge returned to exactly where he was standing.

  “Well, actually it was in the parking lot, in a car…”

  “High five revoked!” Goerge exclaimed.

  “You all are gonna die. This I know more certain than the certainty of my own mortality but equally as certain as I am that my end won’t be with you fools. I’m leaving, you can have the house and you can have each other.”

  “Wait, for Silga what’s the problem? You’ve been acting so alpha dog lately and it isn’t you. I agree, there’s something crooked about this guy/”

  “Thanks, Goerge…”

  “Shut the hell up Jim! Silga, keep listening and don’t leave. We need you here!”

  “Jim’s right, we need you. We need your alpha dogness… but we cannot become like them, we cannot become a mindless rage ruled by some sadistic force. That’s all we are if we kill this man on no basis but the look of him or if he resembles a character from…”

  “What’s that? A character from where?”

  “Goerge!”

  “Jim!”

  “What?”

  “He’s running off!”

  It was immediately realized by the crew that Jim had blatantly darted for the door which was past the porch behind him. The abruptness caught them by surprise, just enough to get on the porch and towards the outside door.

  “Get him!” Silga shouts. The first to act was Elize as she rushed towards him with Goerge and Joe behind. Jim realized he didn’t have time to break the barricade and so rushed forward and again caught the crew by surprise as if some unflinching faith was behind him. He punched Elize down, tackled Goerge into the wall. Now face to face with Joe he laughs, field goal kicking the v between his legs as if an arrow aiming the direction of the blow. It was Jim’s shin that contacted Joe’s testicles. He laughed some more at the sight of his creators' pain. He could see Silga coming, a battle he didn’t want to start, and so Jim lunged out the broken porch window and into the corpse-filled snow bank. It was to Jim’s surprise that Silga also wielded a sort of unflinching faith, an all-consuming hatred for her stepfather who seemingly awake or dreaming, dead or alive was hell-bent on torturing her life. She seemed to fall onto him from Hades itself as if such a place came from above.

  “Enough, enough, enough!” Silga screamed as she pummeled Jim’s face into the guts and the ice. “I know you’re his god damn puppet, I can feel his presence! Why won’t he stop? Why won’t he leave me alone? Why won’t you die!”

  Finally, the brutality was cut short by Jim’s laughter which grew like wildfire. “You silly girl you, how can I die if I have never lived? I will be back; I will be brought back just as sure the pen will meet paper someday soon.”

  “What insanity do you speak you worthless maggot!”

  “Ah-hah-hah ha, you have no idea who my ‘master’ is. And it’s not your worthless father, Professor Is/”

  A brick was found from under the porch. Many other things were stored there, but the weight and durability of the brick led to quick results when it came to silencing Jim once and for all.

  “Keep his name for the grave, dick. “

  Behind her, Goerge stood in disgust of the mess of corpses. Far beyond he could see once again, the daywalkers approached.

  “They’re coming! Get in Silga!”

  “You go inside!” And with that, she was off with nothing but a two by four and a brick. The brick was quickly tossed at the first stalky looking skull. The next one got a pummeling just like Jim, more came and more died. Inside they all agreed she had completely lost it.

  “Joe they’re coming, get Elize… Joe?
”

  “Looking inside Goerge could see Joe held by Beatle, a familiar homeless he recognized. They called him Beatle for he always sang a Beatles tune when he saw Goerge or his familiars walking downtown. Joe was held by the throat and so could not speak.

  “Beatle what the hell are you doing? That’s Joe or Ringo… You know?”

  “Elenoooooooor! ELENOOOOOOR!”

  “Jesus calm down Beatle, what the hells the matter with you?”

  “AHHHHHHHHH!!!” Beatles scream seemed to never end as he let go of Joe, punched him to the ground and charged Goerge who as well would grab an available two by four which was used in the barricade. It, however, carried a rusty spike which led out as if always meant to be a dagger. Goerge spoke; “God bless Beatle” and with that ended his torment.

  “Thanks, Goerge thought I was a goner there.”

  “Ya well, I need your sorry ass alive helping my sorry ass stay alive. Let’s go get Silga.”

  And so, they did. Silga could be seen in the adjacent parking lot, covered in blood and surrounded by bodies. She felt hopeless now, now more energy to carry out violence, no more violence to fuel the injustice she felt at the hand she did not choose which was her life. Whether it was back in Serbia or in the ‘free world’, she would always be bound to one madman or another.

  “So does not need to be your destiny, my dear.”

  Silga looked up, at her astonishment to her real father. He was alive and glowing as if he’d never seen a day of anguish in his life.

  “My dear, my sweet Silga, what is it that you fear?”

  “Father… This man, I don’t even know him and he wishes to control my life… And what he did to mother. He ridiculed her, put her on those pills! And for what? All so he could have his own family to keep him company as opposed to all his filthy god damn experiments!”

  “Yes, they really are marvelous, aren’t they?”

  Before Silga’s eyes, her real father deteriorated into the foul pretender she detested... Professor Isaacs D. Charles stood before her, smiling that cynics smile he had only recently mastered.