Deep in the black, these colors writhe; clash and merge, froth and ferment. They ooze and solidify, exhaling threads of gossamer intent. These threads seek hope. But they are in the black.
Deep in the black.
* * *
The first he knew was the smell. Familiar, yet unknown. It had been there before he’d begun to awake, and was there still; constant, unchanging. He knew this smell. It was…
Rufus opened his eyes, saw a ceiling, yellowed and cracking.
I know this place, he thought, though there was an undercurrent of confusion, unfamiliarity.
He was lying on a couch, lifted his head to look around.
“You’re back,” Mac smiled at him; Rufus jumped a little.
Mac was sitting on the coffee table, leaning forward to look at him, clearly concerned.
“I…” Rufus began, but his throat was dry. He pushed himself up, felt nausea wash at him. His face hurt.
“Take it easy,” Mac said quietly, “you’ve been out a while.”
“Water?”
“Sure.”
Mac stood and crossed the room, out back.
Slowly, Rufus swung up into a sitting position on the couch. He was in Mac’s living room; old furniture, the leather and sandalwood smell of him. The curtains were pulled closed, sunlight glowing behind them.
How long had he…
“Wait! How did I get here?!” he blurted out.
“Huh?” Mac shouted from the kitchen. A moment later, he looked around the doorframe. “You say something?”
Rufus stared at him.
“What the hell happened last night?”
Mac didn’t answer straight away, he just stared at Rufus. Eventually, he nodded.
“Breakfast first,” he said and turned back into the kitchen.
* * *
Still in fugue state, Rufus drank slowly from his coffee, letting it warm its path down and through his chest. Why he felt such a chill, he couldn’t say; the room was warmed both by sunlight streaming through the window, and the heat coming off the range and toaster.
A half-eaten slice on a plate before him.
Over the coffee cup, Mac stared at him.
“What?” Rufus asked.
“Some mighty fine scratches you’re wearing,” Mac nodded towards his face.
“Scratches?”
Rufus reached up towards his face, around towards his ears.
“It hurts a little but…”
Mac picked up a spoon, held it up to reflect Rufus’ face.
And, even though the improvised mirror distorted his face, Rufus couldn’t help but see the red streaks criss-crossing the skin around his ears.
“What the hell?”
“Looks like someone went to town on you good,” Mac said.
But that didn’t feel right. Somewhere down deep, Rufus knew that; felt it.
He looked down at his fingernails, saw dried blood there, crusting around the nails; under the nails.
“I think I did it?” he said, confused.
“You?”
“Right.”
“Why?”
“I…”
He paused. Tried to remember, but all he pulled up was blank.
“I don’t remember,” he finished, “I… How did I get here, anyway?”
Mac shrugged.
“Found you wandering,” he said, “brought you home.”
“Wandering?”
Mac nodded, sipped from his coffee.
“Sure, little earlier this morning,” he said, “don’t sleep too good these days. Walk it off sometimes. Town’s quiet in the small hours; none of them around.”
Rufus felt a little bump of something.
“Them?”
Mac didn’t seem to hear the question.
“You were walking back in this direction, coming home I guess. Thought I’d give you a helping hand. What happened last night?”
Rufus shook his head.
“I don’t remember.”
“You had a gig, right?”
“Right…” Rufus thought hard, “The Loaded Barrel. It was good, they were
surrounding her
a listening crowd.”
“No trouble?”
“No, not that I…”
“Remember, right. I got that,” Mac smiled, “but you didn’t get all torn up by the warm applause of the nice people at the Barrel. What happened after?”
followed
“I think… I think I took Danni home.”
“Danni?”
“From the record store, been getting to know her, cool kid. I think I walked her home because
they were surrounding her
it was late and I didn’t want her walking on her own.”
“She got nails?” Mac asked, smiling.
“I guess. She…” Rufus didn’t pick up on the joke straight away. “No! She didn’t do this.”
He picked up the spoon again, looked at the scratches as closely as he could.
“No. This wasn’t Danni. I did it.”
“So?” Mac nodded, reiterating his earlier questions.
“I don’t know. I really don’t. I
flashing red and blue
walked Danni home and then
black tendrils crawling across his face
I… I must have fallen asleep somewhere.”
“Asleep?”
“Right. I dreamed…”
Mac nodded.
“It was black. Dark, you know?”
Mac sat back slowly, concern creasing his face. When he spoke, he’d lost all the easy humour and care.
“Go on.”
“There was someone…”
Rufus’ hand lifted to the scratches on his face. He touched them gently, tracing their contours.
“And a sound like… He disappeared. The sound, it was… It was…”
Rufus shuddered, swallowed the words before he could speak them. When he looked at Mac, he saw his fear and confusion mirrored there.
“Are you okay, Mac?”
It took a long moment before the older man replied.
“How old is this girl?”
“Danni?”
“Yes. How old?”
Rufus shrugged.
“I don’t know, late teens, I guess? Seventeen?”
“Still young enough,” Mac said.
“Huh? Young enough for what?”
Mac slurped the rest of his coffee, stood and put the cup in the kitchen sink. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Rufus looked at the empty doorway.
“Mac!” he called. “Where are you going? What’s up?”
Mac shouted from another room.
“Get ready!”
Rufus stood, though he truthfully didn’t know why. He was about to head through the doorway when he heard the shower start running.
“Mac?” he called.
“You’re taking me to her,” Mac shouted over the rushing water. “Get ready!”
* * *
Downtown ebbed and flowed; people walking here, driving there. Nothing untoward, nothing to break its spell.
Yet still Rufus was uneasy. He walked by Mac’s side; the older man silent for now, enjoying the mid-morning sunshine.
Rufus looked over his shoulder for the
distorted deputy
umpteenth time since they’d left The Lucky Dawn. Still nothing there, nothing to take his attention, to give cause to these stirrings in his stomach, the fluttering moth-wings of anxiety.
“What are you looking for?” Mac asked.
Rufus looked at him.
“Huh?”
Mac chuckled slightly.
“Seems to me, when you don’t remember much of the night before,” he said, “the rear-view ain’t gonna be much help.”
“I know, I just…”
“Want to know what’s going on?”
“I guess.”
They paused at a crossing to let a pick-up pass.
“Don’t we all,” Mac sighed, “don’t we all.”
Rufus hardly heard him though. His gaze followed the pick-up as it drove away from them.
The driver had been wearing mirror shades, and Rufus knew the pick-up.
“Don’t think you can change anything here,” he whispered.
“Huh?” Mac turned to look at him, but Rufus was lost in memory.
You’re wasting your time.
“I…” Rufus began, but lost track of the thought.
“Come on,” Mac said, leading Rufus across the street.
Ahead, Tunes offered its musical cloud to the day.
“That where she works?” Mac asked.
“Huh?” Rufus came back to the moment. “Oh, Danni… Yeah, that’s it.”
“Well, come on then,” Mac laughed in his best can-do energy, “day’s a-wasting, and we’ve got some people to save.”
Rufus stopped dead, and it was a few seconds before Mac realized. He stopped and turned to look back.
“What did you say?” Rufus asked.
“When?”
“Just then? You said we’ve got people to save.”
You’re wasting your time.
He expected Mac to act all demure, to refute the question, to say he hadn’t said that all. Instead, he just shrugged.
“Well, don’t we?”
* * *
But when they got to Tunes, Danni wasn’t there.
“Didn’t show this morning,” Howard said, drinking from his coffee cup.
“She call?” Rufus asked.
Howard shook his head, drank deep.
“No,” he said, “but she wouldn’t normally. We have a… pretty open deal here, she comes in and helps out when she feels like it. So no, I don’t worry about it too much.”
“Keep yourself to yourself,” Rufus said, feel unexpected anger rising within.
Howard picked up on the signs.
“Easy, my friend,” he said, putting his coffee down on the counter, “what’s up?”
I don’t know, Rufus thought, I don’t remember.
“You got any early Aerosmith?” Mac called from the back of the store, “Toys In The Attic maybe, or Get Your Wings?”
Howard looked past Rufus to where Mac was shuffling through the vinyl.
“Nope, not at the moment anyway,” he said, “want me to put out some feelers?”
Mac looked over his shoulder.
“Nah, I was just asking.”
He went back to looking at the LPs.
Rufus breathed deep, calmed himself down.
“Look,” he said to Howard, “I’m worried about Danni. Something happened
to her last night
last night and…”
The memory flared like a lightning flash, all dazzling lights and incandescent energy: they were crouched in the doorway to a clothes shop.
Were we hiding? he thought.
Unconscious, his hand rose to his cheeks, touched the tender, raw wounds around his ears.
Howard stared at him, transfixed by the sight of his fingers, by the scratches.
“Someone followed us home,” Rufus said.
“Followed you?” Howard spoke as from a trance.
“Yes,” Rufus came back to the moment, “at least I think so.”
“How did…” Howard began, nodding at the scratches.
Rufus shook his head: I don’t know.
Mac approached the counter.
“So she’s not here?” he asked.
Howard shook his head; either in negation or to clear the fugue he’d entered.
“No.”
“Then we’ll be moving along,” Mac said, placing a hand on Rufus’ elbow.
“Huh?” Rufus said.
“We have other places to be,” Mac applied pressure and directed Rufus towards the door to the street. “Say goodbye to the nice gentleman.”
“Uh… Yeah. Later, Howard.”
Howard picked up his coffee, took a deep slug.
“Sure,” he said, “later.”
Mac opened the door, pushed Rufus out into the sunlight.
“Want me to chase that Aerosmith?” Howard called after them.
Mac paused in the act of stepping out into the street. He looked back over his shoulder.
“Nah,” he smiled, “long after my time.”
He stepped out into the sunshine and let the door close behind him.
And found Rufus ready for the confrontation.
“What was that all about?”
“What?” Mac shrugged.
“In there,” Rufus continued, “with Howard. He…”
“Listen. You gotta learn to watch,” Mac said, face hardening, “they’re easy to spot, most of the time. But you gotta learn to watch.”
“Watch,” Rufus was confused, “watch who? What?”
“His tattoos,” Mac said, “he’s hiding something.”
Rufus looked back towards Tunes.
“Howard?”
“Right,” Mac nodded and then jerked his head away from Tunes. “Not here, let’s walk.”
And he moved past Rufus, away from Tunes, deeper into the town.
RUFUS – A NOVEL is a novel-in-progress by Vincent Tuckwood, a Brit author living and working in Waterford, Connecticut, USA. Read more by Vincent Tuckwood.
