Funhouse (30 page)

I asked him how many, and for what felt like hours, he didn’t speak, he simply looked at me, sucking his deformed jaw as he breathed. I waited, and eventually he answered.

“
A lot.”

He didn’t say anymore, and in truth, that was enough. Without saying another word, I stood and left. He didn’t try to stop me.  At that point, I didn’t care about anything other than making sure I changed what I was to become, no matter
what.

The
burden of knowledge made any sensible thoughts impossible, and I started to micro analyse every decision in my life, desperate to do something to avoid becoming Langton. The ironic thing is that now it has reached the point where I’m afraid to do anything but sit here in my shitty apartment with the curtains closed and think about everything that I have learned. I have also started to do certain things that I tell myself will rid the bad Juju brought on by the combination of Langton and my brain, which I’m pretty sure is sick now.

I convinced myself that I have to turn the light switch on and off fifty seven times before I enter or leave the room, or it will set me on my way to becoming like Langton. Or I have to take a step back for every five I take forwards, or, you guessed it, it will somehow set me on the first step towards becoming Langton. To only eat foods that are green or yellow, or it will… well you get the picture.

I had to kill the cat from the apartment next door because it walked from right to left across my window ledge instead of left to right. There was no pleasure in it, and I made sure I washed it thoroughly before I threw it out of the window into the street. (Cold tap on, cold off, hot on, hot off, cold on, Just to make sure I don’t catch the Juju)

It’s all gotten out of hand, and it’s now to the point when I’m too afraid to even leave the apartment. I know that if I touch the door handle, it will set off a microscopic chain of events that will lead to my future fifty years from now as that deformed, broken old murderer, and I don’t want that.

Everyone in my life has always called me a loser, they always said I would never amount to anything, and I’ll be damned if I’m about to prove them right.  

Langton had all of his fingernails I think.

I peeled three of mine off to make sure we weren’t the same.

If it rains I have to only walk backwards around the apartment until the sun comes out.

It sounds odd to you, I know, but it’s something I have to do.

One thing that is a worry, is that I ran out of food a couple of weeks ago, and my stomach almost continuously reminds me that I’m hungry, but I tell it to be quiet. If I eat the wrong thing, I could set things in motion that will lead me to you know where.

It’s a strange feeling, knowing that the door is unlocked but I’m still a prisoner, but the doorknob can only be turned right, as to turn it left would surely mean I would go out, and then anything could happen.

Butterfly effect? Try the Langton Effect! Ha!

If I have learned anything as I sit here and waste away, it’s that the human mind is far more powerful than people give it credit for. Take this situation for example.

I know I’m hungry.

I know I need food.

I know that if I go outside, I can get food.

But this stupid fucking brain of mine overrides all of that, and tells me that if I want to avoid becoming like Langton, then I have to stay where I am and not risk doing anything to set things in motion.

It’s funny, because I always wanted to know the future, about how things might pan out further down the line. I always believed that I would get on track, that I would put my life straight and make a difference. But all of that was before, and right now I would give anything to go back and never have to meet that crazy old bastard.

At least the isolation has given me time to think, and I’m pretty sure that now, at last, I finally get it.

Screwing around with light switches, killing cats and making sure I count the spots on the curtains before I go to sleep won’t stop me from becoming like him. Not really.

There is only one way to be sure, and I must be right because my brain, for once isn’t objecting.

The pistol in my hand is the last symbol of my gang days. Something which seems like it was not only another lifetime, but one lived by someone else. I always thought I would be scared of death, but after everything that I have been through, it has to be better than lying here on the floor, a pathetic, emaciated shell of a man who is afraid to do anything in case it sets in motion that chain of events that I’m desperate to avoid. My hands were surprisingly steady as I loaded the weapon, and its weight feels reassuring in my hand. (Now that I think about it, maybe Langton
was
missing a couple of fingernails). It’s almost over now anyway, and as I wedge that oily barrel up behind my front teeth, I wonder if when I pull the trigger, it will also mean that Langton would never have existed. I believe in science, they call that a paradox. I’ll leave these notes for whoever finds me. I want to be cremated, and for them to play The End by The Doors at my funeral. I might also ask another favour of whoever finds and reads these notes, and that is for them to head down to the homeless shelter on Maple, and look for a guy with brown hair, a cleft lip and grey eyes who wears a brown trench coat and answers to the name of Langton. I’m pretty sure you won’t find him, and I hope that’s true, because if he’s there then it either means I was wrong, or this suicide is about to fail.

That is a sobering thought, and I need to end this now before I allow myself to think about it too much.

Load the gun, unload the gun, load the gun, unload the gun, load the gun, unload the gun, load the gun, unload the gun.

Load the gun.

             
T
he man restrained to the table was slender, his features sharp as he watched his captors with cold defiance. The windowless room was colder still, stainless steel walls lined with a host of control panels displaying thousands of calculations per second. The machines were connected to the man’s arms and chest, monitoring and feeding information to the plethora of scientists in attendance.

             
One such scientist approached the restrained man, watching him as he stood poised with his pen and clipboard.

“
Subject 27431 is under restraint and appears calm. Please state your name for the official record.”

The restrained man sneered at his captor, and then flashed a wide grin.

“You know well enough my name.”

The scientist looked over his shoulder, and his superior nodded from behind the seven inch bulletproof glass. The scientist turned back to the subject and spoke loudly enough for the overhead audio recorder to pick up clearly.

“The subject’s name is Edwyn Greer. Caucasian male, five feet eight inches tall, one hundred and twenty pounds. Life age is unknown. Estimated body age thirty to forty years. Subject has been with host for approximately two hundred years, and fusion is at ninety seven point three percent. As per the United Governments’ Agreement, Mr Greer is to undergo the Longborough Removal Procedure in order to stand trial for his crimes to humanity.”

The scientist approached the restrained man, and looked at him as one might look at an animal which he found slightly amusing.

“Do you have anything to add, Mr Greer?”

Greer was silent, and stared in defiance at the scientist.

“For the official record, the subject has declined to comment. With the authorisation of Sir Jonathan Longborough, Dr. Alfred Moran and the Signed Warrant of the United Governments, with the grace of God I am about to begin the first ever Longborough Removal, on this day which will go down in history. September 4
th
, 2022.”

The scientist walked to one of the control panels, and set his clipboard down. He took a deep breath, and flicked his eyes to his watching superiors.

“With the panel’s permission and the permission of the governments and leaders of the world watching live, I will begin the procedure.”

The scientist waited, as his superiors behind the bulletproof screen awaited the confirmation of the World’s Governments, who were watching via linkup from their various countries. A full minute passed in silence, and then the scientists superior and inventor of the procedure, Sir Jonathan Longborough turned to the window and flicked on the intercom.

“Authority granted. Proceed with the procedure.”

The scientist nodded, and then took a deep breath.

“May God be with us.” He said, and activated the system.

The huge, intricate machine suspended above the restrained man whirled into life, its multiple arms designed for the most intricate of surgical work. Greer struggled against his restraints, but was unable to move as the mask was lowered over his face and the highly potent anaesthetic was pumped into his lungs. He began to lose consciousness as the titanic machine above his head readied to operate. Perhaps sensing the danger, the parasite which was bonded to him tried to force its host to stay awake, but it was no good, and Edwyn Greer was unconscious before the first cut was
made.             

He
awoke in a brightly lit room, and was almost immediately aware of the pain deep in his stomach, followed by the tight, maddening itch of the scar which extended down the full length of his rib cage. His senses were overwhelmed, and he leaned over the side of the bed and vomited a huge gout of blood.

“
Just relax, don’t try to fight it.”

The voice came from a large speaker high in the wall of the windowless room. Before he could examine it further, another wave of nausea swept through him, and he vomited again, adding to the already ejected puddle of claret by his bedside.

“Help me.” He moaned, unable to deal with the sensory overload. “What have you done to me?” He shouted as he wiped the blood from his chin. He tried to stand, but the room began to spin, his sense of balance deceiving him as to which way was up or down. He fell from the bed, landing hard on the floor and losing consciousness.              

The
second time he awoke, he was a little less overwhelmed. It seemed that someone had cleaned up the mess he had made, and he was more aware of his surroundings, and the fact that he was now tied to the bed which he had fallen out of before. His chest and stomach still hurt, and his head throbbed with a painful migraine. He looked around the room, trying to piece together where he was.

White walls, no furniture aside from the bed which he was tied to. In the corner was a security camera which was trained on the bed and below that a round speaker embedded in the wall.

His head felt like a lead weight, and he let it fall back to the single pillow as he closed his eyes. The door opened, and a man walked in. Greer recognised him as one of the scientists who had been watching from behind the window. He was carrying a folding chair, which he set up at the foot of the bed. He sat down and folded his hands over his lap.

“
Good morning Mr Greer. My name is Jonathan Longborough.”

Greer said nothing, and closed his eyes as he tried to ignore the pain which raged through his body.

“Mr Greer, it would be in your interest to listen to what I have to say. I will only say it once.”

Greer opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at his visitor.

He was an older man, perhaps in his sixties. His skin was smooth and unlined, and his head bald. He wore a goatee beard which was white apart from a few stubborn black flecks, and he watched Greer with blue eyes which although were serious, were not unkind. There was a palpable air of authority about him, a magnetism which even intrigued Greer enough to listen to what he has to say.

“
I’m in pain.” Greer said, unable to get used to a feeling that had been absent for so long.

“
Of course you are. Your pain receptors have been dormant for so long, that it's to be expected for you to feel so…delicate. You are actually through the worst, if it helps. We had you under heavy sedation to help you to deal with it, but unfortunately, part of the rehabilitation process is in dealing with the senses that you had forgotten.”

“
What have you done to me, I feel…empty.”

“
And rightly so. We have cured you, Mr Greer.”

“
Cured me of what?”

Longborough smiled, and although Greer had a suspicion of what was to come, he couldn’t help but ask anyway.

“It’s gone, isn’t it? You took it.”

“
Yes Mr Greer. You are no longer a host.”

“
Then what am I?"

“
You are human again, Mr Greer, just as nature intended.”

“
That’s impossible. It cannot be done.”

“
It’s already done. The things that you think of as pain are just normal, human senses. You feel as we feel. Hot, cold, taste, touch. All are restored and will, I suspect, take some getting used to.”

“
You took it from me; you took it without my permission.” Greer hissed.

“
No. We cured you Mr Greer. For two hundred years you have been plagued, but rest assured, Thanks to my staff here at Longborough Industries, you are a vampire no more.”

For
the next week, Edwyn Greer learned how to become human again. He was forced to rediscover the taste of foods, and the indignity of performing bodily functions in order to purge the re-introduced products from his system. He received no visitors in that week following his brief conversation with Longborough, and was never allowed out of the room which was more of a prison cell than a place conductive to a recovery.

It was on the eighth day when Longborough returned, this time accompanied by two other men who hid their eyes behind dark sunglasses, even though the room was lit only by a single overhead strip light, and was actually quite gloomy.

“Mr Greer, I trust you are feeling better?”

Greer didn’t answer; instead he sat on the edge of his bed and stared at Longborough and his two companions.

“I see you aren’t in the mood to chat, so I will make this brief.”

Longborough motioned to one of the men who were with him, and like a dog obeying its master, the man removed a thick folder of papers from his briefcase and tossed them on the bed. Greer glanced at them, and then turned his eyes to Longborough.

“What’s this?”

“
A legal summons. You are to appear in court for your crimes.”

“
Really, and what kind of court will hear a case against a former vampire?”

Longborough smiled, and folded his arms.

“Because of you, and, more specifically my technique, a lot has changed in the world. Rest assured, you
will
be tried, and you
will
be convicted.”

“
You seem so certain.” Greer said with a smile. “Why bother with a trial at all?”

“
We can’t all be a law to ourselves Mr Greer. In the civilised world, there are rules to be followed.”

“
I get the impression you think that I would be better off beheaded, or hung.”

“
Either would be a suitable outcome, Mr Greer.”

“
Then let me ask you why?”

“
Why what, Mr Greer?”

“
Why did you even bother to separate me from my vampire, when you wish me dead anyway?”

Longborough smiled, and checked his watch.

“Why do people climb mountains, or try to break records? Because they can Mr Greer, and besides that, I needed to prove my technique worked. I am responsible for the greatest invention the world has ever seen. Years from now, the Longborough technique will be mentioned in the same breath as Thomas Edison’s light bulb, or Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone. You were a necessary part of it, unfortunately.”

Greer snorted, and smiled without humour.

“Then perhaps, since I am the first, it should be called the Greer-Longborough technique. No?”

Longborough frowned, and shook his head.

“I think not. The reward for the hard work is mine alone to reap. You might be wise to consider pleading guilty, and save the world a very long and very expensive legal battle.”

“
Perhaps I will, or perhaps I will yet live long enough to see you dead, Mr Longborough.”

“
Please.” Longborough snorted. “Your days of eliciting fear are over. You are just a man; a weak thing who I suspect has even now begun to forget the extent of the power he once held.”

Greer smiled, and Longborough squirmed where he stood.

“A few weeks ago, if you had spoken to me in such a manner, I would have been feeding you your own entrails by now.” Greer slid his eyes from Longborough to the two men flanking him.