Read Come Into Darkness Online
Authors: Daniel I. Russell
Come Into Darkness (20 page)
Mario turned in his seat and recognised the elevator doors, through which they had begun their journey hours before.
But did I?
Mario pinched his nose harder. The pain sharpened his focus.
Did any of this happen?
A lone figure stood in the light of the elevator. It stepped out, high-heeled shoes tapping a slow beat across the floor. Her raven-black suit accentuated her curves, and tied back hair revealed her sharp, porcelain features. A briefcase hung in her hand.
“So pleased to see you,” said Worth. “I trust everything is in order?”
“Kerry?” said Mario.
She seemed to ignore them, placing the case on the table and retrieving a chair. Joining them, she sat and clicked open the case.
“Kerry?” asked Mario again.
Flicking through a host of papers from her case, she glanced at him over the sheets.
“Let’s dispense with the fantasy now, Mario. It’s time for business. My name is Bethany Metus. Welcome to my building.”
18
Mario stared at her as she returned her attention to the papers. He laughed.
“Oh you have to be kidding me! This is too fucked up.” He picked up Worth’s glass. “How strong is this? I’m awake. I know I’m awake this time, but…but what the hell?”
“Be quiet,” she snapped. “I’m quite bored of your hysterics.” She whipped out a single sheet and scanned the contents, her blue eyes darting back and forth. “Worth, I believe this is your report. Good work, as always.”
“Thank you,” he said, greedily taking the paper from her and reading.
“How long have you been working here now?”
Worth’s eager study of the sheet halted, and his head dipped slightly. “Forever.”
“And we’re glad to have you on board,” said Metus, arranging her paperwork once more. “A machine is only as strong as its weakest part, Mr. Worth. Now, as for you, Mario…” She pulled a thick bundle of papers from the briefcase.
Mario slammed his fist on the table. The surface jerked, tumbling the empty champagne bottle. It rolled and bounced on the floor. Worth appeared to wince, while Metus merely watched him with an almost feline stare.
“Someone tell me
what the fuck
is going on,” he screamed. “I’ve been through hell, still have
fuck knows what
flowing through my veins and I’m stuck in a goddamn appraisal?”
He leapt from his seat and stalked away, heading for the exit. He heard a chair scrape and glanced back over his shoulder. Worth had stood, but Metus had grabbed his forearm.
“Wait,” she told the guide, voice cool and calm. “Don’t trouble yourself. He had to find out eventually. Maybe this way will bring it closer to home…seal the deal.”
Worth sat back, nodding.
Metus grinned. “This is going to be interesting…”
Mario looked on ahead, crossing the dance floor. The way out stood beyond. It felt like minutes since he’d last stepped through those doors.
But did I? No. Of course not!
his mind reeled.
This is it. I’m gone for good.
He slowed his steps. Something didn’t feel right.
I’m being watched. There’s someone else in here.
He stopped and searched the dark corners of the room. Did a figure stand in the shadows?
It’s the damn drug!
“Mar-io!”
No.
He stepped back, all his fight gone.
“Mar-io! That you, my boy?”
Into the light, glistening red worms coiled and meandered in the air. Mario stared, terror sealing his throat. He realised a choking wail. The disembodied worms, a few centres in diameter, slid further into view. Each ended in a blood-streaked finger, tipped with a dirty nail.
“Mar-io!”
He staggered back, all thoughts of the exit swept from his mind. Horror dominated his body, swelling his senses to appreciate the true grotesquery of the figure that emerged before him.
His father, fingers separated almost up to the elbows, waved. The sliced appendages curled in the air, splattering dark crimson on the floor. He smiled, skin translucent. Visible muscles squeezed and flexed in his cheeks. He stepped forwards, joints appearing tight.
Mario screamed and continued his retreat.
“Ah, Mr. Fulcinni,” said Worth. “So nice of you to join us once more.”
“Perhaps you’d sit with us,” said Metus, “to finalise matters.”
Mario’s father seemed to ignore them, following Mario with a zombie lurch. He held out a mangled hand, and the fingers moved like an anemone, all skeletal support destroyed.
“Mario,” he wheezed. “You still…you still feel the same…?”
Mario wailed, nearly tripping as the dance floor met carpet.
“I assure you, Mr. Fulcinni, your son has changed,” said Metus. “Appearances can be deceiving. He has developed since you met with him. Why don’t you allow the young man a moment to catch his breath? Must be a shock for him to see you in the…” She cleared her throat. “In the flesh.”
His father beamed and stopped his shambling walk. His fingers twitched.
“Worth,” she continued. “Show Mario back to his seat. We have business to take care of.”
The guide nodded and vacated the table. He strode to Mario’s side and gently pulled him backwards. “Come on now, sir,” he spoke softly into his ear. “Let’s not make a show of ourselves, eh?”
Legs trembling, Mario collapsed back into his chair. He still stared at his father, who loitered at the edge of the dance floor like a mangled spectre.
“Now, Mr. Fulcinni Senior” said Metus, flicking through yet more papers from her briefcase. “Welcome again. You seem a little different today.” Her lip curled up in a small smirk.
“Yes,” said Mario’s father, voice light and dry as a summer wind. “This was…how you say…outta my hands?”
Worth chuckled. “Very good, sir.”
Mario slumped down in his seat, his energy sapped. His head lolled to the side, and he looked at his father, unblinking. “I…killed…you,” he moaned.
His father smirked. “You think?”
Metus picked a sheet from her bundle, placed it on the table and slid it before Mario.
“Hmm,” she pondered. “I was sure you must have known, but all through your tour of the house, you never mentioned it. Here it is. Confirmation.”
Mario glanced at the paper.
Certificate of death?
“This…” he studied it closer. “This…has to be a fake. It says that…I mean…”
“Yes,” said Metus. “Your father died five years ago.”
The seal appeared genuine, but those could be faked.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
Metus replaced the certificate. “I didn’t expect you to. When God handed out brains, you got cock. Worth, explain. I don’t have time for this.”
Mario’s father fidgeted, his elongated fingers still dripping blood. His intent stare inspired waves of gooseflesh along Mario’s arms and back, and his scrotum seemed to shrivel, like it wanted to crawl up into his body. His father’s look was…forlorn? His cheeks were wet, eyes glistening.
What the hell is this?
Worth coughed for Mario’s attention. “Here at Metus House, we offer a very special service, Mr. Fulcinni. In this world, the dead are truly forgotten. Last wishes go unheard, legacies tend to fade.” He sniffed. “Here, we give the dead a voice. In this case, your father. And might I say, what a remarkable man he is.”
His father bowed slightly and resumed his fascination with Mario.
The actor shivered.
“He’s seen the man you’ve become. It’s a father’s prerogative to worry about his son, and to offer guidance and support. So he came to us, and we brought you. It’s good to see we’ve made somewhat of an improvement…”
His father smiled. “Yesss…Mario. It make me happy to see this.” He stepped closer, placing a foot on the carpet.
Mario bolted from his seat and pushed away from the table.
“You came back for the girl,” Worth continued, “which showed remarkable selflessness. How many years has it been since you thought of someone other than yourself?”
“Many,” said his father. “Since he was a boy.”
Mario staggered back from the table. Metus watched him with a quiet curiosity.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Mario, looking back and forth at the trio. “And you, stay away from me!”
His father held up his arms in mock surrender, but the squirming tendrils of flesh still curled with silent menace.
“But the main reason you are here,” said Worth, “is a matter of ratification. You’ve been quite adamant about your father throughout the night, stating that there was some…abuse in the past?”
Mario nodded, still slowly retreating, like any sudden movement would cause his father to pounce.
Metus sniggered. “After all this…you know, I think he believes it himself. Used it as an excuse for his failure for far too long…”
“This might be your last chance at redemption,” said Worth. He smiled, looking more like a kindly grandfather than the monster Mario believed. “Please, sir. Allow the dead to rest. Confess.”
Mario turned on his heel and sprinted away from the table.
Laurie, clothes sodden and empty eye sockets pouring with blood, blocked his way. She whipped a hand up and pointed at him. “Confess!”
“No!” he screamed, changing direction and stumbling aside.
She strode after him, and from the corner of his eye, he noticed his father too had joined the pursuit.
“Confess,” they said in unison.
Breath ragged, Mario darted away and almost ran into the body on the floor. It raised a blackened head and lifted its charcoal hand.
“Confess.”
Leaping over the burned old man, Mario weaved through the bloated, blue corpse of the girl in the cardigan, who reached for him, speaking through rotting lips.
“Confess!”
He heard Metus bark an order, and Worth yelled.
“He was afraid of the dark! You knew this. He never touched you, he just didn’t want to sleep on his own! You went to the police. You pressed charges and ruined his life!” The guide stalked after him, teeth gritted and fists tight. “He ended his life penniless and alone because you took everything in damages. Yet he still loves you enough to bring you here. You should be honoured.”
Mario whimpered and dashed onto the dance floor. He sought out the exit on the far side.
“Confess!” Worth bellowed. “Return your love and clear his name in death!”
Mario pounded into the door, and it swung open, revealing the empty pavement. The rain had stopped. Streetlights held the dark at bay. He chanced a glance behind.
Something grabbed his arm.
“I’m not afraid of the dark anymore, my boy,” said his father, grinning from around the door. “The darkness is everything now.”
Mario screamed and yanked his arm free. He dove out through the door, feet slapping the wet pavement. His mind raced, and lungs burned.
“This is your last chance!” Worth called after him. “Confess, or condemn yourself, sir!”
Never
, thought Mario as he hurtled down the street.
“So be it,” said Worth. But you will learn…” He sighed. “Eventually.”
Gasping, Mario ran across the road. A car horn blared at him, followed by a scream of brakes on the slick tarmac. Mario stumbled onto his knees, and held out his hands. Blinded by the sudden headlights, he squinted and cowered.
The car slammed to a stop a few feet from him.
“What the fuck?” shouted a gruff voice.
Mario jumped up and raced around the side of the white sedan. Ignoring the protest from the driver, he snatched at the rear door handle, pulled it open and collapsed inside.
“Go!” he screamed.
The driver muttered something and sped off. Mario hoped he’d seen the figures chasing him and decided to get the hell out of here.
The door slammed shut.
Mario sat up and pressed his face against the window. His breath condensed on the cold glass. The dull, grey street whipped by.
The car bounced.
“Roads are a state in this part of the town. Council should do something about it. Bloody disgrace!”
Mario blinked, pulled from his memory.
Rain poured down, drumming on the car roof.
“Get all sorts in the back of this cab,” said the driver. “Every job imaginable. We all need to get around, don’t we? Had that woman, what’s her name, that singer? You know the one. Always pissed and in the papers. Had her in here last week. Threw up on the seat, but it’s been cleaned since. What is it you do then? If you don’t mind me asking?”
Mario rubbed his hands together to generate some warmth. He wished the driver would run his heater as much as his mouth.
“Excuse me?”
“What do you do?”
“Oh, I’m a p…” Marion cleared his throat. “I’m an actor.”
The driver chuckled and glanced into his rear-view mirror.
“Actor, eh? Been in anything I’d have seen? You know, movies and the whatnot?”
“Maybe,” said Mario, bored. He’d avoided the subject so far. “How much farther?”
“Funny you should ask that.” The driver brought the cab to a stomach-lurching stop. “Here we are. Metus House.”
About the Author
Daniel I. Russell has been featured in publications such as
The Zombie Feed
from Apex,
Pseudopod
and
Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine #43
. He was nominated for two Tin Duck Awards in 2011 for best novel (
Samhane
, from Stygian Publications) and best short story. His books
Critique
and
The Collector
are soon to be released by Dark Continents Publications. Daniel lives in Western Australia with his partner and three children.
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