I’m tired and I know I should be working on my novel, but I just don’t feel like it. On Wednesday I cracked the halfway mark, a cool thirty thousand words, but it appears I have lost interest in the story and the characters. Somehow, I’ve lost the fun.
I hope that Chester didn’t suffer at the end. He wrote the lyrics that sustained me through my teens. He and Mike (and the other boys as well) were my life blood and, honestly, I don’t know if I would be alive now without them. This story is for them. And it is for you. Though not for any particular reason. Just because.
In other news, PASQUALE will be home in twenty minutes so that’s the last of my peaceful time for the day. I feel like talking to you but you’re not here anymore, so I will be quiet and I will write this thing. Just a little something that has been circling my mind for a few days.
It will have a fitting title. It will move back and forth in time. It will replace any therapy I should be having. It will reflect me. I wish I was Skye, but if I’m anything, I’m Declan.
Night Shift
Declan is good at lies. But night shift can make you crazy.
Sure, he’d had a lot of practice, but if he was being honest with himself he had found that he was good from the very start. Maybe it scared him. Maybe it excited him.
Declan is good at lies, and when you tell the lies enough times you start to believe them. But that never makes them true.
One lie that Declan tells — and he tells it to himself — is that the workplace coffee in the kitchen was not-so-bad and sometimes even drinkable. This, as was said, is a lie but it has never stopped him from drinking it.
Instant coffee of that kind is easy to make, and just as easily it will go cold and separate from the milk. It will oh-so-easily unmake itself. It will cool and separate.
Cool and separate. For some reason those words stuck in his mind. Coffee, milk. Cool and separate. Cool was a verb in that instance referring to the coffee as it cooled, but cool could also be an adjective. Separate was a verb as well. And an adjective. Declan wondered which combination suited his mind’s wanderings.
Cool and separate.
The coffee cools and separates from the milk. Declan loses heat and feels his parts pull away from each other. He knows what he saw last night couldn’t have been real — he knows it. He wonders why he still feels so sure that he had seen it. Cool and separate
***
Declan blinked. Someone was asking him something. It was Chaz.
Freight?
Freight.
FREIGHT?
“Dude, where are you today? Are you even listening to me?”
No, Declan thought. “Yes,” he said. “Sorry, it was the coffee.” Night shift can make you crazy.
Chaz wasn’t really mad. Chaz was never really mad. His question was almost a laugh. “You’re charging freight on the coffee?”
“No, dude. The coffee was cooling and separating.” Declan scrubbed his hands over his face and then pulled them away to see the ridiculous expression Chaz was sporting. “I know,” he continued, “it doesn’t make sense. Don’t bother trying your tiny brain at it. Freight is only on the orders for One Mile today.”
Chaz shrugged and appeared to give up.
Declan returned to his invoicing.
***
Marnie is in the shower when Declan gets home and he can’t help but breathe a tiny, quiet sigh of relief to himself.
Keys in the bowl. Next to that the letters, he reads them, discards the junk mail and marks the bills that need payments. These things are next to the nine-hindered dollar coffee machine that he never uses. A waste. No time for dwelling on that now though — Marnie is in the shower and he knows he has time to himself until she is done. He has to listen closely.
The laptop lid is a little dusty but it flips open with ease and a small glowing circle asks him to Login. Declan gave Marnie the password but he didn’t tell her there was another, hidden profile. That’s the one he logs into now. It takes only a second and the desktop pops up and it doesn’t have his Citirx shortcut or his work emails or the folder with all of his tax return records in it. The only things on the desktop screen is a link to Skype and a password protected folder. The folder is named Skye and the password, that he now types in, is baby23. Maybe he regrets the password.
It only takes a moment to load but Declan feels himself getting hard already. That’s because he knows what he will see when the photos flicker alive inside the folder. Her perfect moon of an ass. Her small breasts, nipples a reddish-pink, the scar just to the side of the left one. Her lacy yellow knickers. Her dark curly hair. The other, mottled scar, a burn, on on the ridge of her neck. The rest of her creamy skin.
Declan knows it won’t take him long to get there.
He listens closely for the shower.
***
“You want some dinner love?”
Declan hates that she calls him that. Love. Like it’s some kind of trap he just has to suffer. “I’ve already eaten, sorry. Actually I’m feeling a bit off. Might have been the chicken.”
“Oh,” she says, sounding worried. “Well, there are candles in the bathroom.”
Declan feels himself relax. “Thanks. And sorry.”
He knows she’s smiling in response to his supposed embarrassment. She doesn’t say anything further, let’s him be.
In the bathroom Declan cleans the cum off his penis with some tissue and then washes it awkwardly in the sink. He feels like he’s done this a million times and maybe he has. He cleans the sink with more soap and stares at himself in the mirror. Clean and separate.
Skye was anything but clear and separate. Skye was…
***
Skye.
She was intelligent, and that was only to start with. At the start her tattoos had made Declan feel intimidated, but her smell was so incredible and her banter so fluid that he soon forgot his nerves and rolled right into the conversation. Skye.
Skye. Just a girl at the traffic light who stepped off, and tripped, and dropped her bag, revealing — pens, pencils, notepads, a yellowing paperback, a box of tampons, a doobie in a zip lock bag, and a small plastic wolf figurine. That was all he could remember though he was sure there had probably been more. A girl with the most perfect ass and the widest eyes and the loveliest smell.
Skye.
Declan lost his mind. That was when he first started lying. Skye.
***
“I have to work early tonight.”
Marnie didn’t look up from her writing. “That sucks love. When do you think you’ll be done in the morning?”
“Maybe eleven.”
She did look up then. “But that’s what? A twelve hour shift?”
Declan waved her concern away. “I haven’t done one for a while so I don’t really mind. Plus I’ll get the OT. We can put it towards the mortgage payment.” He needed to fill his ears with angry music. He was tired of her voice.
“Okay love.” Love. She went back to her writing and Declan went to bed.
***
It’s an hour before he has to wake up when Marnie slips in beside him. Declan is awake and very aware that she doesn’t speak to him, doesn’t touch him, doesn’t acknowledge his existence. She thinks she’s being polite — not waking him, letting him sleep, leaving him be. He should be thankful but he isn’t.
He gives her a quarter hour to fall asleep and she does. He gently leaves the bed, careful not to disturb her, and has an early shower. It’s 9:44PM when he’s ready to leave and if he’s anything at all, he’s tired. That’s the thing about night shift. Even when you’re awake you’re not really awake. Everything is too bright and too loud and coffee doesn’t help and walking around the building doesn’t help and cocaine is too expensive and dangerous and scary and carbohydrates only make you more sleepy / sleepier?
There’s a plume of mist from his exhaust and then he’s moving. Out into the night. Towards Ainsley Tower. Ainsley Tower. He’s memorised the address and he’s sure now that his mind is lost. That his lies are known. That his secrets are no longer secrets.
Declan check’s his phone and there’s a message from her. Skye.
Far away?
He wonders if there’s excitement in her words.
Almost there he responds, thinking that there might be electricity in his blood.
Ainsley Tower isn’t upper class but it’s better than he expected — healthy monstera plants in huge terracotta pots either side a racing green canopy and a fairly tired and shabby looking doorman.
“Good evening sir,” he say with a curt nod.
“And to you. I’m here to see Skye Reed.”
“Of course sir, she is expecting you.”
Declan is surprised but keeps himself in check and brushes past the doorman and into the vaulted lobby. It is cavernous and smells of cut flowers and vanilla. Marble floor, an impressive chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and a feeling that you’d stepped into another dimension. It was almost as if someone had completely renovated the interior of a derelict without even considering the outside. It was like cutting into a rock-encrusted gem.
Another message. Here now?
He texts back quickly. Yes. Downstairs. You never told me you live in heaven…?
There’s no response but a DING to the right alerts Declan to an elevator and then to his right, there’s a voice.
“You’re fine to go up, sir. Ms Reed is expecting you.” It’s a receptionist he hadn’t noticed behind a marble desk that he hadn’t noticed.
“Uh, thank you. What floor is she on?”
“The top, sir. Twenty three.”
Ironic thought Declan. He nodded and stepped into the elevator and indeed there was a Level 23 and he pressed the button and the doors closed in front of him.
His stomach fell out of him as he rose and rose towards Level 23. It was a shorter ride than he had expected.
“Hi.” Skye was waiting for him and she a smile on her face that only turned him on more.
Declan stepped out of the elevator and Skye pressed a kiss to the edge of his mouth. I’m already wet she whispered in his ear, and that pushed Declan right up to an edge he hadn’t seen coming.
He fell.
And he fell.
Her lips were against his and her hips were so neatly aligned — everything was becoming so close and warm. Everything was growing and growing and growing —
STOP
***
Declan was in her apartment and it was cold, but the fireplace was lit and the down lights were glowing amber and everything was as it had been at the start.
He started to fall. To really fall.
***
In the bed she moved gracefully, as if she had done this a million times, and maybe she had. Shirt off. Shimmying out of her jeans. Pushing her hair aside. Playing with her knickers as if they didn’t want her to take them off.
Declan knew he didn’t have the upper hand but he had his cock and he couldn’t help but think that it was what she wanted. He almost asked her but —
STOP
He fell.
***
Chaz was talking and Declan resurfaced in a place that caught him by surprise.
“Dude, how many times do I have to cover for you?”
Declan wasn’t sure what he meant. “Sorry?”
“If you’re going to zone out, at least chalk it up to drugs or a lack of sleep. Don’t just sit there saying fucking nothing.”
Night shift can make you crazy.
Declan didn’t have an answer. All he had was —
The Edge.
***
And that was it — Skye edged him for an hour. She worshipped him, wrapped around him as if she owned him. And when he came, Declan knew that it truly was la petite mort. The one he had been waiting for. The one that was his undoing. The one that broke him apart. The cool and separate. Cool and separate. The LA PETITE MORT. The one the was loud enough to echo in his ears.
The Edge.
Night shift can make you crazy.
***
Invoicing remained. Freight had to be charged. But the outside world was drowned out and Declan started to feel like it didn’t exist. What had he seen. What was it?
He knew, of course. He just didn’t want to admit it.
Skye.
SKYE.
Skye.
It had been her. Walking alone, along the side of the road. Hair, dirty and tangled, clothes lank. She hadn’t looked at him; she had just stared out at nothing. She continued to walk as he drove past.
Night shift can make you crazy.
And the lies culminated. Marnie was calling.
“Where are you?”
Declan felt his heart all jungle drums in his chest. “At work. What’s up? Is something wrong?”
Her pause and sigh were unsettling. “There’s a man here, from the police. He’s asking about a girl. A young girl named Skye. Skye Reed. He wants to know when you’ll be home.”
Declan dissolved into nothing. “It’s okay love.” Love. “I won’t be long. Tell him I’m on my way.”
***
It wasn’t a lie. Declan was on his way but he was going to make a detour. He was going to check on the the place in the woods that he had committed to memory.
The Place.
Which was a lot like The Edge.
The Edge and the Place. They weren’t the same but they were similar.
Night shift can make you crazy.
Declan felt himself falling. Declan felt himself going crazy.
***
The place was empty. Declan smiled as his panic took a hold of him. It was a smile of insanity and it persisted.
He had dug for at least an hour and found nothing. He knew this was the right spot. He had narked it. He had been sure to make a mark. A small, red tinged lilly pilly planted in the ground right where he had buried her.
Declan was careful to keep the plant intact as he dug. But she was gone. Skye was gone.
***
It was perfect. She rode him like a pro but it was more than that — there was something in the air that made him sizzle with excitement and even when it was over his dick throbbed with anticipation.
After sex she rolled over and slept. It was immediate and heavy. She snored like a fucking tug boat. He wanted to stay but didn’t. The doorman smiled widely at him as he left.
Declan felt strange and the fog was thick as he walked out into the black night, away from Ainsley Tower. Her name stuck on his tongue. Skye.
***
He called Marnie as he got back into the car, dirt on his hands and under his fingernails.
“I’m sorry, I got waylaid at work. Everything okay?”
She sounded fine. “Yeah, the guy left. The police officer. He said he had a lot of other people to talk to and he would come back. Did you work with her or something?”
“Work with who?” Declan was good at lies.
“The girl, remember? Skye or something.”
“Oh, right. No, I mean, I think she came in once or twice to do some temp work but I could be wrong.” Then something else. “Chaz mentions something about her today. Maybe the police spoke to him as well.”
“Oh, well. Oh…” he could hear the tension drop immediately out of her voice. “Oh, well. I don’t know. From what the policeman said she’s missing but you know how these things go. People run off. People disappear all the time. You know how it is.” It wasn’t a question but Declan knew Marnie wanted him to reassure her.
He played his part. “Yeah, she probably just did a runner on her husband or whatever. Don’t worry about it love. I’ll go in to the station tomorrow and give a statement. You know, just whatever they need from me.”
“Yeah. Yep, that sounds good.” Marnie sounded relieved and it put Declan’s worry at rest, it let him breath again. Night shift can make you crazy.
“Okay baby, I’ll see you when I get home.”
***
Thee road was dark and long, as most roads are when you know that you’re in trouble. The road went on forever. After a while Declan started to think that it wasn’t real. That the road was something pretend, something that didn’t exist. Still, he kept driving. Eventually he came to what he knew he had always been coming to.
Skye stood in the middle of the road. She didn’t gesture at him, she didn’t make a sign or a sound, she stood as she was, dripping water and caked here and there in mud. She started to speak words that he couldn’t hear. She was saying something, and then she was screaming.
Skye was screaming.
Skye was screaming.
***
She doesn’t follow him, which Declan finds strange, and so by the time he gets home he’s so used to looking back over his shoulder that his neck it tinged with a slight pain.
Inside the house there is no hint that he was in trouble. Skye isn’t there. Skye is supposed to be dead, and maybe she is. But at least she isn’t there. “Any leftovers?” he asks as he walks through the front door and hangs his coat in the entry way.
Marnie sounds surprised at first. “Oh. Uh, yes…there’s beef cheek and veg in a bowl. But you’ll have to microwave it. Sorry, I wasn’t sure when you’d get home.”
There’s something in her voice, something confident that Declan hasn’t heard before. He wonders if they might have sex tonight. The thought excites him.
Her feet are the first thing he sees as he enters the kitchen. They are motionless and dirty.
Marnie is wearing a pretty, tight fitting dress and humming as she stirs something in a sizzling pan on the hob. Marnie is not dirty. She is pristine and humming. It is Gloomy Sunday playing on the radio.
Declan steps further into the kitchen and the shudder in his body becomes more pronounced. It turns into an almost-convulsion. Declan holds himself back and doesn’t retch.
A pair of dark purple shorts that are cut off just below the curve in her thigh, and an oversized grey T-shirt. Perhaps that is the custom among girls her age. Declan isn’t sure. Marnie hums and stirs what she is still cooking on the hob. It smells good.
Night shift can make you crazy.
Marnie stirs and Declan feels the blood drain from his body. Skye was perfect. Skye is covered in dirt. Sky wears what she did when she died. She is cut up into pieces. Skye is missing a lot of her skin and meat.
Sky is wearing what she did when he killed her. Dark purple shorts and a grey shirt.
Skye is meat.
Now. Skye is dead on his kitchen floor.
Skye.
