Dark Corners - Twelve Tales of Terror (32 page)

It
was crib-death, apparently not an uncommon occurrence, though they
were later told that it typically happens within the first five
months. There was a funeral, and Harry carried his son’s small
white coffin by himself. For everyone else life went on, but for him
and Maggie it seemed to stop. They didn’t speak about it, but
it was always there. Harry came home one day to find that Maggie had
completely redecorated the baby’s room, which had remained
untouched since the funeral. He was furious and the ensuing argument
was highly charged, both of them crying openly as they took out their
frustration and sadness on each other. Over the course of the next
few months the pain did ease, and although it would never truly
leave, it became tolerable enough to allow life to continue. Harry
adjusted adequately, going back to work, but Maggie was a different
story. She was a mess, and refused to seek professional help of any
sort. She would spend days staring into space, weeping silently. Work
was out of the question, and her novel remained unfinished, even with
Harry encouraging her. Something within her had broken, something
Harry had hoped to mend but now realized was impossible.

Hey,
Harry. Heads up.

He
glanced toward the entrance of the bar. Right outside was the man his
wife had gone to meet. He was talking on his mobile phone and pacing
back and forth, the call seemingly an unwelcome intrusion. He watched
as his wife’s date ended the call and shoved the phone absently
into his jacket pocket. The man headed back inside but instead of
turning right to return to the bar, he turned left and went into the
rest room.

Looks
like he’s going for a piss, Harry.

“
Yeah,”
Harry muttered to himself.

He
didn’t remember crossing the street, or even entering the bar,
but now found himself outside the door to the rest room. His hand
drifted absently to his pocket containing the kitchen knife. He
glanced around, checking that Maggie couldn’t see him.

Remember,
you have to see for yourself. You have to catch her in the act.

Harry
took a deep breath and opened the door. He blinked as his eyes
adjusted to the harsh lighting. The smell of pine filled his nostrils
as he looked around the long L-shaped bathroom. Harry was surprised
to see Maggie’s date standing in the center of the room, once
again on his mobile phone. The two made eye contact, Maggie’s
mystery date tipping a nod in Harry’s direction as he continued
to listen to whoever was on the other end of the line. Ignoring the
gesture, Harry went into one of the stalls and closed the door behind
him. He had a headache, but strained to hear the whispered
conversation from the other side of the door. It sounded like the
mystery man had a wife or girlfriend, apparently grilling him on his
whereabouts.

“
I’m
sorry, baby, but I have to look after these clients...

“
This
could be a big case for me; it will be worth it in the end if Mr.
Mashima hires me...

“
I
don’t know when I’ll be home. I may stay in a hotel and
head home tomorrow morning...

“
Ok
baby... Ok, love you. Bye.”

He
had apparently convinced her that he was indeed with Mr. Mashima, and
not in a seedy Rio bar trying to screw Harry’s wife.

Let’s
bleed this motherfucker and get out of here!

His
shock at the directness of the thought turned to horror as he glanced
down to find the knife already in his hand. He couldn’t
remember taking it from his pocket. As he looked at himself in the
blade’s reflection, his features twisted and warped into those
of a stranger.

“
Oh
god, I’m losing my mind,” he whispered to himself. His
stomach tightened and he let out a stale burp that tasted of the
cheese sandwich he’d had for lunch.

You
ok there, big guy? Don’t you go losing it now. Just relax and
take it easy.

“
What
do you care?” Harry mumbled to himself under his breath. He
couldn’t take his eyes from the blade. He turned it slowly, his
reflection twisting and pulsing under the hash strip light above.

Hello?
Anyone home? I’m starting to worry about you, pal.

“
Fuck
you,” he said distantly as he put the knife back into his coat
pocket. He felt strange, like he was coming apart at the seams.
Closing his eyes, he counted backwards from ten in his head, a
technique he’d picked up in therapy to help with his anger
issues. It didn’t always work, but he had to try.

Ten

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

He
slowed his breathing and ignored the crescendo building in his head.
He was used to the headaches, but this was a particularly bad one.

Six.

Five.

He was
starting to feel more in control. More like the old Harry. But not
the old Harry from Atlanta, the one who had an easy smile and a huge
circle of friends, the one who took life in his stride.

Four.

Three.

No.
Because that Harry was gone. He was buried somewhere deep,
decomposing and festering with maggots. He was feeling more like the
Harry of a few hours ago; the angry, estranged and lonely man who had
tried his best and wound up in Rio-fucking-De-Janeiro for his
troubles. Home of the pimps, dwelling place of the teenage
prostitutes, murderers, gang bangers and drug dealers. Welcome to
your new life in Sunny Brazil! Murder capital of the world!

Two.

One.

That
Harry was a prick, sure enough. But make no
mistake, he was nothing like this new Harry—the twisted,
melt-faced Harry with rage bubbling under his skin. The Harry who
feels no connection with humanity anymore. No empathy towards others.
Who knows no limits.

He
opened his eyes, his thoughts now clear and concise, but he could
still feel the other Harry lurking in some dark corner of his mind
with his twisted smile. Harry opened the door. At first he thought he
was alone and that Maggie’s date had left, but then saw him in
the mirrors that ran the full length of the wall, pissing noisily
into a urinal. Harry went to the sink and started to wash his hands.

He
looked in the mirror but couldn’t make eye contact with his
reflection. He wasn’t sure which Harry would be staring back at
him. His temple pounded heavily and he could feel his heart racing.
Maggie’s date came over to the sink then and began to wash his
hands.

“
Hot
as hell today.”

Harry
grunted, unable to muster any words as he continued washing his own
hands. The water was scalding, but Harry didn’t care. He felt
detached from himself, like the hazy first few minutes after waking
from a particularly vivid dream. He was vaguely aware of the burning
sensation on his skin, but didn’t really feel anything.

“
Hey,
buddy, are you ok? You don’t look so good.”

The
man had turned towards Harry, looking at him with genuine concern.
Harry nodded.

“
I’m
fine...tough day is all.” He was surprised by how normal his
voice sounded. The man laughed, and continued to wash his hands.

“
I
hear that. Did you see the news tonight? Police found another body.
That’s seven in the last three weeks! Someone out there is on a
spree. Damn city is going to hell. Fuckin’ gangs if you ask
me.”

“
I
haven’t seen the news today,” Harry lied, not wanting to
make small talk with this man

“
Let
me tell you, pal, this last one was nasty. Some kid got his fuckin’
head cut off and displayed in the street for all to see. I hear they
found his dick in his mouth.”

Harry
glanced up at the man, then back at his raw burnt hands. The pain was
good; it kept the other Harry occupied.

“
It’s
kind of been the day from hell,” Harry said softly.

Maggie’s
date nodded sympathetically.

“
I
had quite a day myself. Hell, I’d buy you a beer, but I’m
with someone tonight.”

He
flashed a half smile, one that expressed more than words ever could.
It was a predatory smile. Harry nodded in response as he felt the
seams of his mind fray a little more. On autopilot, Harry heard
himself reply—

“
Three’s
a crowd. I get it.”

Harry
felt a chill as the man smiled, showing a mouth full of perfectly
shaped white teeth.

“
See,
I work away from home a lot, don’t get to see my girlfriend too
often… Got my needs, if you catch my drift.”

Harry
swallowed his rage, mustering all of his willpower to force a smile
of his own. It felt like a mask, hanging loosely over his real face.
He could now only faintly register the burning of the hot water on
his hands as he continued to scrub them.

“
How
about you? Got a wife or a girlfriend?”

“
Been
married fifteen years. Just found out we’re getting a divorce.
Like I said, it’s been a pretty shitty day.”

Maggie’s
date nodded, flashing a sympathetic look that made Harry want to tear
his eyes from his skull.

“
Damn
sorry to hear that, buddy. Really.”

Harry
said nothing, finally shutting off the hot water and drying his raw,
throbbing hands.

“
Why
the divorce, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He
somehow managed to keep his anger in check.

“
Adultery.
My wife has been fucking around behind my back.” Harry looked
him dead in the eye as he said this, pleased to see Maggie’s
date squirm a little then lower his gaze.

“
That’s
pretty shitty. I’m sorry to hear it… Don’t get me
wrong, I love my girl. I would do anything for her, but you know how
it is, right buddy?” He flashed that grin again. Harry imagined
ripping his throat out.

“
I
hear ya. So your date tonight... you just met?”

He
had to ask. He couldn’t help himself.

“
Not
exactly. A buddy of mine set me up. A few guys I know have had the
pleasure of her company. She’s a sure thing.” He grinned,
and began to dry his hands slowly.

“
I
mean, I’m a busy man, I don’t have time to waste on
someone who isn’t going to deliver. This way, I know I’m
in for some action –”

He
stopped speaking, the smile fading from his face.

“
Hey,
pal, are you ok...”

Harry
knew he was going to do it. He was going to kill this man right here
in this bathroom. He knew it with certainty.

He
reached towards his pocket, and at that very moment another patron
entered the restroom. Harry blinked and broke eye contact as Maggie’s
date finished washing his hands, completely unsuspecting.

“
Look
I gotta go. Don’t want to keep my date waiting.”

He
went to leave, and then paused at the door.

“
Hey
look. I may be able to help.” He reached into his suit pocket
and pulled out a business card, which he handed over to Harry.

“
I’m
a lawyer, I specialize in divorce cases. Give me a call if you need
representation. I’ll make sure you get everything you deserve.”

Not
if I give you what you deserve first, you sick fuck.

Harry
looked at the card, finally putting a name to the face. Mark Fife.

“
Thanks,
Mark. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Fife
grinned—a lawyer’s grin—and once again Harry felt
the urge to tear the man’s head from his shoulders.

“
No
sweat. I better go—my date will wonder where I am.”

Well
that went well, didn’t it?

“
Shut
up,” harry whispered. “I need to think.”

He
made his way outside and into the slightly cooler night air. It was
then that it dawned on him: he had nothing left. Nothing to lose.
Everything in his world was a sham, an illusion. The only thing he
had left was revenge; revenge on Fife, revenge on
her
.

He’d
given her everything he could, and she’d reduced him to this.
He was sick of giving. It was time he started taking.

IV

Fife
worked fast. Harry had been waiting across the street for no more
than half an hour, when the pair left the bar arm in arm. They
lingered outside, just another couple heading home after a quiet
drink or two. At least that’s how it would look to anyone who
passed them in the street. Maggie was leaning heavily on Fife. She
appeared drunk, but knowing her as he did, Harry knew she wasn’t
as loose as she was letting on. His heart sank as he watched them.
Fife whispered something in her ear and she responded with a laugh,
kissing him gently on the lips before the pair began to walk down the
street.

This
is it, Harry. Showtime.

“
Yeah,
showtime,” Harry mumbled, not caring who could hear him now. He
took a deep breath before crossing the street.