Girl Desecrated 1984: Vampires, Asylums and Highlanders, page 18
I mumbled, “Long story.”
I shoved my fingers under the metal edge of the fridge. I could feel soft mounds of dust and something crunchy like an old cracker. Then my fingers banged a solid object that slid ahead of them.
“Oh,” I forced my hand under the rusty edge, the metal pushing the skin back on my knuckles.
“Waiting here…” Magda droned.
“Just a minute, I’ve almost got it.” My legs began to cramp, and I shifted to relieve them. “Hand me a comb.”
She handed me one of the knives we’d burned the hash on. “Great idea,” I said, sarcastically. “Haven’t you heard the toaster rule?”
Careful not to touch the knife to any of the wires in the back, I slid it under the fridge, hit something and heard a plastic rattle. A few more swipes with the knife, and the tape launched out to skitter across the kitchen floor followed by a number of dust balls and a lost paper clip.
“I got it!” Magda yelled.
We sat down opposite each other, the ghetto blaster on the short coffee table between us. It was past dark, almost time to go out to the bar. I wanted to listen to the tape before we left, not after we came home, not before going to sleep.
My heart was thudding as Magda placed the cassette in the door and shut it.
“Rewind?” She asked, her finger on the button.
Who knew what was up with the tape now that my dick-head landlord had “fixed” it.
“I have no idea.”
“I’m so sure.”
I gave her the finger.
“Okay, let’s just play it.”
She pushed down the button, it clicked, the tape wheels started turning, and static poured from the round black speakers.
I leaned forward, listening intently.
“Did you…” she started.
“Quiet!” I raised my hand.
“What are we listening for?” she went on.
I was listening for a name. The same name Patrick had used at the Homeward—Ebba. Only, all I could hear was static.
“Turn it over.”
She stopped the tape, ejected, and flipped it. Putting it back in, she pressed play.
A voice I immediately recognized came out of the speakers.
“These are delusions, Ra-chel, delusions caused by your fears. Fears of being alone and abandoned, fears your mother has planted deep within your psyche.”
It was Doctor Casbus speaking with his hesitant, two steps forward, one step back praying mantis rhythm. My face burned.
Magda turned and gave me a strange look.
The voice continued. “You operate on fear, but I can purge you of it. I can eradicate the need to be afraid. I can leech out the terror.”
“Who is that?” Magda asked, her eyebrows raised so high they wrinkled her forehead.
“It’s nothing, shut it off.”
“No way! Listen…”
“Look here….” The voice was compelling. “Look here and release your fear. Allow yourself to let go…”
“Did you let someone hypnotize you?”
I jumped up and tried to shut off the machine, but Magda leapt in front of me, all arms and legs, blocking my way.
We wrestled while she screeched with excitement. Then she tried her over-the-hip karate flip on me, but she failed. I held her back and stretched for the off button.
“Why doctor…” Adifferent voice lathered the speakers with Southern sugar. “It has been a dog’s age since you last called upon me.”
I pushed Magda hard to the side, and she fell onto the couch. Her leg kicked up and tripped me.
Casbus’ voice continued, “I am at your service.”
I went down, my hand poised to slam the stop button. My palm missed the ghetto blaster and slapped painfully against the coffee table.
“I trust, sir, you are keeping your word and keeping that woman under control?”
I scrambled up onto my knees, determined to end that Southern babbler if I had to rip the tape out with my teeth, but then the voice said, “Our mother,” and laughed, a sharp tinkling sound like pieces of glass striking a tiled floor.
“What is this?” Magda whispered from the couch.
“Shhhhhh.” I leaned closer to the ghetto blaster to catch every word.
“Shhe iss ssecure, Mistress.” Casbus’ voice had changed.
Magda snorted. “Mistress? Is this Elvira?”
“Shut the hell up, Magda!” I cranked the volume, but the static only got louder, and I could barely hear the conversation.
Magda stomped off to the kitchen, obviously offended.
The Southern voice, my ‘alter’ voice, continued. “And have you ensured, Doctor, that we are safe from vigilant action against our person?”
“Pleasse be ssatissfied that you are ssafe, Misstresss.”
I listened to the choppy sparks of static interference until I thought the recording was over. Then she spoke again.
“Come then.”
A strange sob.
“Come, get that which you need to continue serving me, faithful Casbus.”
A garbled cry burst through the static causing my muscles to tighten.
“What’s happening?” Magda was suddenly at my shoulder.
“Ahh!” I shrieked and fell to the side. “Magda!”
“It’s not my fault you’re such a bundle of nerves.”
I sat up from the floor and slammed the stop button.
“Who was that creepo?” She asked, standing with her hands on her hips, looking at me with a frown.
I pulled the tape out and flipped it over to look at both sides. It had to be the same tape. It was black, and the white letters were faded, but what the hell? Who had made this recording?
“I don’t…” I started to say, but I did know, and maybe it was time to confide in someone.
I let out a sigh and stood up.
“I think I know who it was.”
I dug deep for the courage to tell her.
Her nose wrinkled in disgust.
“Why do you hang out with such weirdos?”
I gently closed my mouth.
Magda stepped passed me and grabbed her canvas bag. “I’m going to get ready”.
She stomped off a second time, slamming the bathroom door behind her. I was stung, but I crushed it. Her judgement didn’t mean shit. Magda had just saved me from doing something really stupid, like confiding in a ‘friend’.
I put the tape back in the machine. Rewinding it, I pressed stop at the part I wanted to hear again. With a clack, I pushed the play button down.
“…iss ssecure.”
Stop. Rewind. The tack number scrolled backwards. 0067… 0054 Stop! I hit play again.
“…you are keeping your word? Are you keeping that woman under control?”
This was it. I listened, my body tense, my ears straining.
“Our mother,” the voice said, and then she laughed a cruel and cold laugh.
“Shhe iss ssecure, Mistress.”
Stop.
The recording chased the last of my high away. My mouth felt like it was growing shit hairs. I licked my lips and struggled to make sense of what I had heard. Why would Casbus have a conversation like that with my alternate personality? Is that what he did when I lost time? Join my split personality in a plot against my mother?
I thought about lying on his couch, trusting him. I thought about all the time on his couch during which I didn’t know what happened, because I couldn’t remember the session afterwards. Was that how he “leeched” my fears, by calling my split personality “Mistress”?
My stomach threatened to empty itself. I put my hands over my mouth.
I felt as if I were free falling off a cliff. I had to ground myself. Had to control my emotions. Everything was spinning away.
“What’s happening?” I whispered through my fingers.
I rocked forward, holding my face in my hands. I pushed his name out of my mind.
There were so many things that had happened over the last few days. I believed there were connections between events, but I wasn’t sure what the connections meant.
I had this feeling, like right before you twist one of those metal puzzles after trying to separate the two pieces for hours, and it all comes apart in your hands. I knew the answer was there, and in one twist, the right way, it would all become clear. If only I knew which way to turn the metal shapes.
I regretted smoking the hash. I regretted taking the pills. I needed to be sharp, alert, aware. This was all too much… things were…
My panic was coming hard and fast, my lungs pumping in response. Nausea roiled over me, my lashes flickered in a pre-seizure warning. I clawed at my throat as I wheezed for air.
“Whoa, whoa,” Magda had me by the arm. “Don’t go having a bad trip on me.”
She slapped my face.
At her strike, I instantly gained control and grabbed her wrist. My memories of Casbus slipped into the fog, where they belonged.
“Maybe we did too much,” she suggested and slowly twisted her wrist out of my grip.
“Here,” Magda took the cassette out of my hand. “Let’s just put this away for now.”
She dug up her purse, grabbed mine, and brought me my red high heels. “Put these on. You’ll feel better.”
Numb, inside and out, I obeyed like an automaton. She counted out the bus fare.
Once we were sure I could stand, she gave me a brilliant smile. “Time to pahr-tay!”
I followed her out into the night, because I didn’t know what else to do.
CHAPTER 19: THE LION’S CROUCH
~
THE MINUTE THE BOUNCERS OPENED the doors to the King Eddie, the fast beat of hard rock shook the air inside of my lungs, dancing the band’s rhythm in my chest.
An angry looking bouncer in black gave us a nod, approving our slut-wear. I knew we looked hot when he waived the age check and the cover charge. The owner liked women like us. We were good for business.
The flashing lights and pounding music assaulted me when we entered the crowded bar. Helix was onstage rocking the joint with some seriously tight heavy metal. The dance floor was packed. Magda grabbed my hand and dragged me into the crowd, our bodies all jammed together, wriggling and leaping to the tune of “Rock You”. Magda was shouting out the lyrics at the top of her lungs, spelling out the chorus with the rest of the crowd. Then, she dropped her head and started head-banging the beat. I watched her hair whip under the flashing lights. I let go and let the music take me.
For hours, we danced and yelled, and I punched the air and the music became my incubator, a tight, rattling bubble of external stimuli.
A bead of sweat cut loose from my hairline, just as the lead singer jumped into the air and did the splits. The stage lights flashed, blinding me.
Suddenly, I had to get out of the crowd.
“I’m going for a drink!” I yelled at Magda, but she couldn’t hear a word. She couldn’t see me through her thrashing hair. She was really rockin’ out. I left her.
Getting through the crowd was a little tricky with my “no touchy the stuffy” policy, but it was made easier by the medicated mood I was coasting in. My height also gave me an advantage. I could see over most people’s heads, which helped me find openings through the frenzied dancers.
I was really enjoying myself, on this even keel between the pills, the hash, and several hard liquor shots, thanks to Magda and her generosity.
I broke out of the dance floor and into the cooler air. It was an instant relief. Then, my retreat was cut off by some guy who gyrated in front of me, trying to get me back into the dance area I’d just left. Leaning his lithe body back, he pushed his hips forward, and motioned me closer with his hands in some sort of limbo cha-cha move.
I brushed him away with a wave, but he still didn’t step aside, so I dropped the smile, and took a threatening step towards him. Dude was smart and cha-cha’d out of my path.
Ahead was the mass of bar goers I called the people watchers. They were wrapped in leather, jeans and zippered dresses in black and blue and cream, glittering with silver and gold, the plumage of the 80s, hard rock crowd. I blended right in with my long bare legs, provocative clothes, and wild, uncontrollable hair.
Behind the watchers, multi-coloured biker bandanas created a rainbow pattern along the dingy, concrete block wall. This was the tougher crowd. They didn’t dance. They watched too, but with a different intention—opportunity. Walking past them was like walking a gauntlet of threat. The men saw me as a potential conquest, and their women viewed me as competition. It wouldn’t take much to get into a confrontation, and I often had, just for the fun of it.
Tonight, though, I wasn’t seething with rage or angst, or looking for some sort of proof I was still attractive. I was just here, trying to stay suspended in the moment, with no thoughts of the past or the future. This was a new feeling for me, a new state of being I hadn’t been able to hold before, and I was grateful to be experiencing it. Perhaps this was the reward my mother’s nurse, Patrick, had been promising.
I moved into the hall that led to the washrooms. The music was quieter here, where the lounge lizards made deals, passing packages, and money back and forth.
“Hey baby, come have a smoke. One of the sleazier dealers held out a hand welcoming me to join his little group. A half-finished cigarette smoldered in his fingers.
“Get bent.” I clipped it up with my nails, pacified him with a promising wink and then, kept going.
I kept my eyes averted when I slipped past a group hunched in a tight circle, making illegal deals. I had enough trouble.
Ahead, a couple of smiling gents saw me coming. They kindly held open the men’s door.
After taking a deep drag on the smoke, I flicked it at their legs, laughing when they danced away from the sparks. Then, I slipped into the women’s restroom.
The hall between the door and the washroom stalls was soothing to me, for the painted concrete blocks created a silent, dark tunnel. And then three steps later, I was in the open area, standing under the oversized iridescent bulbs dangling from the ceiling on ten-foot black cords. Their light barely touched the twisted washroom stalls, where it was lapped up by the gun-metal grey paint.
I exhaled the last of the smoke from deep in my lungs, creating a cloud between me and a movement against the far wall.
I walked to the far side of the stalls, interested.
A male biker in jeans and a black leather vest was shoving a woman up against the cold bricks. Their hands gripped and pulled at each other’s clothing with an urgency that showed their disregard for public decency. His jeans were slipping, leaving his ass crack exposed. His biker belt was undone, and it hung like a decapitated snake on his hips, flipping and flopping with the movements of his thrusts. Her arms wrapped around his back. I watched her slender fingers delve deep into the black hairs that created a V over his tailbone.
I questioned whether I was seeing reality or just a vision brought on by the return of my ‘crazy’. Then sound synced up with their movements, her moans rising as their hips picked up the beat of his grunts. His white buttocks tightened and dimpled as he rammed against her, hard, causing her head to bounce off the wall.
I was drawn forward by a desire to join them. Join them, and then separate them, and then corrupt them.
These were not my dark suggestions running hot thrills down into my belly. These thoughts belonged to the part of me who spoke to Casbus as if he were a servant.
I held steady and judged them for intruding on the washroom.
But maybe I was the intruder. After all, I was the one who would soon be bent over for a grunting landlord.
I hesitated and the deviant thoughts slipped over me like slick oil, blackening my soul.
I quietly slunk forward until I was a foot away. The woman’s eyes opened. Her pupils widened in shock, as they gradually focused on me.
Her fingers fluttered at the ends of her hands like falling birds.
I took another step closer. Now I could smell them.
She screeched, tugged on his vest in a new way. She slapped at him with her feeble hands, and I wanted to slap him, too.
He ignored the woman he was screwing. Too caught up in his crescendo of lust, he kept driving with vigor, lifting her up above his shoulder where she had to meet my hungry gaze.
My mouth started to water.
“Stop, stop!” she was hitting his shoulder now.
Heat licked the back of my eyeballs, and I sneered.
I struck the heel of my hand against the base of his bandana. She cried out, twisting her head to the side to avoid impact. His forehead nailed the concrete bricks with a hollow sound.
He jerked his body around, spinning away from the woman, leaving her standing exposed. Her breasts nestled like oversized, glistening lychee fruit in her open shirt. He was glistening too, wet and hard and pointing at me like a dowsing stick.
“She was watching us!” the woman screeched, her voice in the octave range that made me hostile.
“Cool it,” he snarled at his woman.
Shoving himself into his pants, he advanced on me.
Instead of the southern accent I expected, a growl reverberated behind my words.
“No. You cool it, douche,” I warned, holding my ground.
The muscles in my face moved of their own accord, my skin tightening here, and loosening there, as if under a sculptor’s press.
The biker halted in mid stride. His eyebrows rose, his mouth dropped open as if the ligaments in his jaw had been cut. Alarm slicked his face with a sheen of sweat.
His woman cried out and covered her face with her hands.
I basked in their fear, welcoming it into my universe as the rousing ambiance it was. Then, I stepped forward, growling and contorting as I approached.
He threw up his hands to fend me off and quickly backed up until the wall stopped him.
“I’m outta here,” he said to the woman, never taking his eyes from mine. He slid along the bricks, his hand clutching blindly for the door.
I watched his movements with pleasure, enjoying the jittering of his knees which seemed to lock up when he needed them most.
As the door swung closed, I swung my lowered head to the woman.
