His father has a remote for the T.V, but somehow he doesn't think God sits in a Lazy Boy all day, drinking beer and smoking cheap cigarettes. Plus, if he knows so much, how come he can't find a job? And he really thinks God would shower more often than his old man. But of course he never said so, because the man doesn't have thunderbolts to hurl down at so-called evildoers - just big, ham sized fists.
They were just one big happy family; at least, the moments when Sam had felt closest to being happy were when they were together. But then just as quickly, something would happen to change that. It always did.
But that is all behind him, now. Literally. In the rear-view mirror, Sam sees his house, growing smaller and smaller.
He supposes he should feel a little more guilty about what he has done, stealing his dad's truck and everything. After all, it is the only way his father has of getting around. But it doesn't really matter - the old man will get it back soon enough. Sam can't wait to get rid of the thing, once its job is done.
It is old, speckled with rust. Sam guesses the truck had once been white, but it is more of a pale, gray color now. Makes him think of cancer. (I guess I should have thanked you for smoking a pack a day, Dad. After all that's about ten years less of your crap I'd have had to put up with.) To be honest, he has seen wrecks looking better than this truck. Besides, it has that same beer-and-cigarettes smell to it. It is as if his father's ghost is riding with him.
But it has done its job. Without a squeak, he pushed it down the driveway. The motor started on the first try, and now here he is.
A miracle. Sam has no other words to describe it.
He tries the radio. It doesn't work.
He keeps driving, the white line looping in his headlights. At this time of night, he is the only traveller. There are no stars tonight, or at least none can shine through the clouds, which have thickened to blanket the area, waiting to unleash their assault of rain and thunder. Then he comes into town, and there are lights again.
He pulls in front of the Bus Depot, and takes his bag off the passenger seat. After cleaning out his bank account, he has $1500 in his wallet. He wants to spend at most, fifty on the ticket.
Before he goes Sam can't resist looking to make sure he is alone, and giving the driver's side door a kick, to leave a dent for the old guy to remember him by. As he is about to leave another, the clouds open and change his mind.
Once inside, he stares at the names of all the places he could go.
Sam doesn't really know where he is going. All he has in mind, is somewhere with lots of beaches. Somewhere on the coast, with plenty of sun.
Somewhere away from his old man.
The man behind the counter gives him a strange look when he buys the ticket. For a moment, Sam thinks he might be one of his Dad's friends (strangely enough the old man still had some). But then the money is on the counter, and the fifty dollar note is exchanged for a one way ticket with FLORIDA stamped on it.
As he sits waiting for the bus, Sam notices the man greeting everybody with that same strange look. He sees there are people in the building who are worthy of it. Their appearance is a testament to the hard times on the town's streets these days, when this is the only roof that will offer protection from the gathering storm. Most of them Sam would know as regulars, if he came here often. If he came here often, he would notice one face less than usual.
That face. Twisted in an expression of fear and agony. White as that of the man, who opened the garbage container out back of the station tomorrow, would become. Sam doesn't know Kevin Daniels, and he'll never know the man's body had been found, sucked dry. Sam is leaving town tonight.
Sam does know, the girl who just came in looks strange. She is dressed all in black, and her skin is pale, even allowing for the effect of the flourescent lights in the station. Stranger still, she wears a pair of wraparound sunglasses. Sam finally excuses the girl's appearance, remembering the Goths that still lurk in the darker corners of town, and how they wear white make-up on their faces. She looks just like that. Make up. Has to be. Sam imagines only things living in caves somewhere would be that white naturally.
The sunglasses are harder to dismiss, but Sam asks himself if it really matters anyway. As the girl buys a ticket, he decides not. Yeah, maybe she actually enjoys crashing into things. Or perhaps that "Sunglasses at Night" song that dude released in the eighties has some special meaning for her... Who cares?
While he waits, Sam pages through a magazine he bought from the starey-eyed man, and is about halfway through when a voice over the P.A. system announces the arrival of the bus to Florida.
Taking his backpack, he steps out into the cold night air. Milky bluish exhaust streams out behind the bus, in much the same way as Sam's own breath. A look at his watch tells him it is ten o'clock.
After the driver checks his ticket, Sam is one of the first people on board. His seat is on the right hand side two rows from the back, next to a window.
Watching the flow of travellers into the vehicle, one pale face in particular stands out. She comes closer and closer, and finally sits down right next to Sam.
Sam holds out his hand and introduces himself. The girl looks at him for a second (at least, Sam thinks she does. All he sees is the unblinking black stare of those sunglasses) and shakes it.
"Linda," She replies. "Linda Reed."
"So, Linda. You going to Florida on vacation, or what?"
"I hear the nightlife is good over there. You?"
"I just want to get away from it all..."
"Heard that one before."
The conversation soon fades to silence, and Sam resumes his reading. Even though she is one of the better looking girls he's seen in a while, Linda just seems too weird. The less you know about some people the easier it is to like them. After finishing the magazine, he wishes he'd bought at least a couple of others. He pages through it again, re-reading the articles he found interesting, then there is nothing left to do but close his eyes, and let the remaining hours pass him by.
Pictures float through the blackness. A white face, turning slowly towards him. Linda smiling. Something about that smile is wrong. It takes Sam a moment to notice what it is. Her teeth. Sharp white teeth, exposed in what is not a smile, but a snarl. As that face comes closer, all Sam can look at is his own, reflected in those jet black lenses. The blackness that will soon enfold him...
He wakes now. The girl is exactly where she had been before. Doesn't Sam see the slightest hint of a smile on that face? Doesn't he?
Unable to sleep, he ends up just staring out the window. Apart from the lights of the occasional small town, there is nothing to see. Except for the phantom image of that face, reflected on the inside of the glass...
About an hour before dawn, the lights start to cluster together, and finally the bus reaches its destination.
After he leaves the terminal, Sam soon allows the sights and sounds of the city to cover over his memory of that strange girl with the white face...
Linda walks quickly and with purpose. Two blocks later, she comes to a parking garage. It is cool and damp inside, and the shadows are not growing thin like those out in the open. Soon it will be crawling with people, but it is hers alone for now.
On the far side of the building, where the shadows are deepest and she imagines even the noon sun can't penetrate, she sees what she came here for.
"Perfect." Her twin mouths from the dark mirror of the windscreen...
Michael sits on a park bench, looking for a vein. Looking for a place to strike. But even though the leather strap is as tight around his arm as he can get it, none will show anymore.
"Damn." Now, what others can see no longer matters to him. As far as he is concerned, there is only one world, and the only way to get there is through the eye of a needle. He hunts a little longer, and then he can wait no more, and jabs the hypo into his arm. He empties it.
Nothing happens. He hit the wrong place, and now it's all gone.
And with it, the last of his money. Now, what will he do to keep it flowing into him? Because he needs it. He needs it as much as he needs to see the sun each morning. To breathe the air. He was always an honest man, but now things will have to change. He will have to start taking to get what he wants.
And he sits here, because he remembers. He remembers his friends, who he saw going through this same drill, and end up in a box anywhere up to two months later. No way. He remembers what their families went through. He remembers seeing them, lying there, quiet, looking almost more asleep than murdered. He had promised himself he'd never make his family suffer like that. Never leave a hole for his brother to try and fill, and a matching hole in the cemetery.
But what will he do? If he lives, then he will have no choice. He will have to admit everything he has tried to believe in, every rule he has tried to make his brother follow in this place, so nobody decides to shoot him when he walks down the street, is a lie. He will be a part of what it is he hates so much here. The darkside. He tried for so long to stay away from there, but he will be unable to do it any longer. And when you step over that line, you come back from the other side in a coffin.
So, death is his only choice. One way or another, that is how it will end.
He looks up at the stars. Begs for another way out. But it seems God's back is turned on him tonight.
So he takes the gun out, from under his belt.
Points it at the top of his head, through his mouth.
As he is about to pull the trigger, there is the creak of leather, and he feels a hand on his shoulder. Behind him, there is a girl, dressed all in black. She seems to be more a silhouette, cut out of the starlight. A shadow, except for her face and hands, which shine almost like a china doll's. Flawless... Perfect.
"Give me the gun. Please... I'm not here to hurt you. I can help... I can help, but first just give me the gun. Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you... Just so you don't make the worst mistake of your life."
And Michael gives her the gun. Even though this is the first time he has seen this girl, some part of him trusts her like an old friend.
"That's right... Nice and easy... Good. Now see, I'm unloading the gun..."
She hooks it under the belt of her jeans... He watches her doing it, but it doesn't matter. Because she would never harm him. He knows this. Michael sees it in her eyes... In those beautiful eyes...
"I know why you're going to kill yourself. It is because you have been programmed... By society, by your parents. You have been programmed to grow up and take over where your Dad leaves off, haven't you? Don't try to deny it. I know what you've been through. I'm not here to talk down to you and tell you just how you should act.
I know how hard it is to walk the tightrope... When you try to walk the line and there's darkness on every side... And there are voices in the shadows... Calling your name. And just because you step off that line... Just because you can't live up to the responsibilities they force upon you... Everything changes. Just because you can't be what they want you to be... They condemn you. But you don't want to go down that road, either... Do you? You think you can just give up like some brat kid playing checkers? You think you're going to get a second chance? Do you? Answer me..."
And he can't... Michael can't answer her. Can't bear to look into those eyes... Because they are like black glass. He can see himself in those eyes... See himself as he knows she sees him. And he knows it's true.
"Look at yourself. You disgust me. You are nothing... You are nothing and I've got news for you... There is nothing where you are going, either. You have become so weak, that the rest of your life is more than you can bear? Your life is heaven compared to where you're going, man... And you want to throw it all away?"
The tears come now. The tears come, because he knows it's absolutely true.
"It's all right... It's not your fault. None of it's your fault... "
She gently lifts his head, so they are eye to eye once more. Brushes the hair away from his forehead... Softly, like a baby's... Kisses him there. Now she puts her arms around him... Holds him close, whispers in his ear...
"They lied to you. Your parents lied to you... And they didn't even know they were doing it. Because they were programmed, like you were. Society programmed them. And you know who programmed society? You know why you're meant to walk that line?"
And he doesn't need to answer. Doesn't need to answer, because she already knows. Because she's the only one who understands.
"You get to heaven... You get to heaven. What a joke. I tried to make my parents happy... I tried to make them happy, even though I was going through hell. Even though I felt like a rat in a cage... Because you know what I was thinking? It's all worth it in the end. You play by their rules... Win their game... Get their prize."
Yes... She's the only one who understands. Not like his parents. Not like his teachers. Not like anybody. He doesn't have to hide now. She's there... She knows.
Now, she smiles. As if she can really read Michael's mind, and that smile is designed to answer every question floating in there, silence every voice inside his head. And then the illusion is gone, because he sees her teeth. But she doesn't stop smiling.
"I've been where you're going... You understand me? There's nothing there. I've seen... But I don't think you believe me, do you? Do you? Then why don't you see with your own eyes? Don't be afraid... You'll get what you wanted. And what a good trade... Your life, for nothing."
Everything changes. It is as though he has just opened his eyes, and seen what it is that has found him on this cold and lonely night. Michael tries to pull away, but her embrace is too tight... And he screams... But nobody hears him.
Those teeth at his throat. Inside him. At first the pain is all he can bear, but very soon the area around the bite becomes numb. And the numbness spreads, all through his body. Now the numbness enfolds him... And it is only her arms keeping him upright.
"How does it feel? Does it feel good, to feel the life draining from your body? Can't you just feel the pressures lifting off your shoulders? Doesn't it just feel so good to break free? No responsibilities... No cares... Nothing... Like a coma that lasts forever... Is that what you want?"
He feels everything, bleeding away. The colours... The light... The sound of her voice, bleeding away. There is no time, except for the slowing count of his heart. For hours? Days? Years? Michael is a prisoner here, as everything he knows fades to black... He was a prisoner all along, but now he's breaking free.
"Tell me... Is that what you want? Huh? Do you want to end your life, and spend eternity in a place that doesn't really exist? Why don't I help you make up your mind..."
She has his gun again. She is spinning the barrel... He hears it... Hears her cock the hammer... Feels the cold metal against his temple...
"I tricked you, Michael. There's one bullet left in here. You're going to have to think fast, my man. Do you want to live... Or do you want to die? I'll make your mind up, should I?"
Click...
"Tell me... Do you want to live?"
And then some voice asks a question. What happens when the count stops? What happens when it's all gone? And another voice echoes in his dying mind. 'I've been where you're going...' And Michael fears this answer more than he could ever fear the thing holding him.
The hammer is pulled back again...
Michael tries to form almost all that is left of his energy, into one word. 'Yes.' It is lost in the silence of this place, but she seems to understand.
She kisses him... Kisses him, as nobody in his life ever did. And now, scratches her tongue over the sharp point of one of those teeth. Michael tastes her blood...
And the world is fading no longer. With every mouthful... Every sweet drop that passes his lips, more light flows back into it. And compared to that other place, this night; the pale, ghostly moon; stars beyond his imagination; is paradise. So he drinks... He drinks, and as he leaves the darkness further and further behind him, he forgets about what else he left there. Finally, he must stop...
As this new blood flows through him, Michael feels as if every cell... Every part of his being... Is on fire. Riding the crest of a wave of pain, he closes his eyes. It consumes him, burns until it is almost more than his mind can bear... And then it ends. It ends, and there is nothing to replace it.
He stays there, eyes closed for a time. How long, he doesn't know- there is no heartbeat to judge by now. Nothing but silence, and numbness.
"Hey- don't go to sleep on me. Stand up, open your eyes..."
He opens his eyes for a second, and closes them again. As the white ghosts of the stars and the moon dance on his eyelids, there is laughter in his ear. This time, Michael opens them slowly... Slowly... Letting them adjust.
"Things are different now... You're not the same as you were before. This is as close to sunlight as we may have. But we can see where any normal man would be blind. What would amaze them, we can take for granted.
Okay... Now why don't you stand up?"
"Who are you?" Michael asks when he is eye to eye with her again.
"That depends. You know the most important thing in this world is?"
Michael doesn't answer.
"It's finding a way to trap your victims. And how do you think I do it?
I make myself exactly what they're looking for. It worked on you, didn't it? That's what you asked for, isn't it... A way to carry on? My identity changes, as what they need changes.
I've had many names, but you can call me Linda."
"You lied to me? If you thought I was a victim... Just another victim... Why didn't you let me die, Linda? Why am I here?"
"No... I'd never lie to you. I only tried to be everything you wanted. Didn't you love me? Didn't you want me? I didn't lie to you, and I'm not lying now. You don't go anywhere else. This is it. They lied to you, Michael... They told you to walk down the wrong path... But that doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters. There is eternal life after death... I gave it to you.
You didn't want to grow up to be your father, and now you won't have to. Because you'll never have to grow up... Ever. This is where you belong. You can do whatever you want, Michael. They can't stop you. Nobody can stop you. Life is like a drug to us...
But you've got to earn it. You know how?"
He shrugs. "You tell me."
"It's simple. You spent all your life, looking for a reason to be here. A reason to stay alive... But you never found one, did you?
Now, that's the first thing you learn- we are here to ease the pain of life. Like this gun would..."
Almost before Michael realizes, Linda has whipped the revolver from under her belt, and he is staring into the black eye of oblivion.
She smiles, and even as the scream is rising from Michael's throat, pulls the trigger.
Click... Click... Click... Click... Click...
"If it was loaded. I guess I did lie to you a little, after all...
But anyway, we take life- and sometimes we give it back."
She looks up at the sky for a while, and then while Michael is still thinking of something to say, fixes him with those black eyes.
"Of course, we could stand here and talk for a couple of hours - If we want to die - but the sun's going to come up soon. Follow me."
Linda has turned and started walking away so abruptly, he has no time to question. Michael follows her through a park that is very different now. He feels like he doesn't really belong in this place, everything so strange and yet familiar in some way.
Part of it is the colours. The shapes of the objects he sees are just the same, clearly defined as they ever were in daylight. The colours, however... They have been mostly washed away. Only faint traces, like watercolour, remain amongst the greys and the blacks.
She leads him back the way he came what seems like an age, a lifetime ago.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see when we get there."
As they near the road, a black shape on the curb grows in size and detail, until he recognizes it as a Chevy van. Drawing closer, the heavily tinted windows are almost indistinguishable from the body of the vehicle itself.
"Wait there..." Linda says as she walks around to the driver's side and opens the door. Getting in, she leans across and unlocks Michael's.
The first thing he notices getting inside a is crucifix hanging inverted from the rearview mirror. As he swings the door shut, she presses play on the tapedeck in the middle of the dash.
"I hope you listen to Warlock. This is my favourite album..." Linda says with a smile. It does nothing to scare him this time.
A turn of the key and a woman's voice, with a rough german edge to it, fills the cab.
"All we are... All we are, we are. We are all, all we need..."
Then these words are echoed by a crowd of men's voices, like a war chant... The drum starts, beating like a giant's footsteps... Then the lead guitar screams into this gathering storm of sound...
Then the big block V-8 makes its presence felt, awakening with a growl that builds to a roar before Linda drops the clutch. Tires scream for purchase before the van leaps foward, leaving a haze of burnt rubber in its wake. The needle swings between high and low revs as Linda smoothly changes gears...