[Sodium_noir] Hell is Other People

[Liz Oleksyn]

> SInclair Party
> Verandah
> Jack, Christine
> Piss Artists
> 
> Christine subsides to the verandah steps, head in
> her hands, eyes  
> clenched shut. Several moments pass. Then, Christine
> opens her eyes,  
> stares out at the floodlit gardens, her expression
> bemused.
> 
> "Y'know . . . " she says, " . . . fresh air actually
> *does* help."  
> She turns her face toward Jack  - carefully, like
> someone afraid  
> their head may fall off and roll away. "See, I get
> these . . .  
> visions. Past, sometimes future. That old lady? I
> thought I was  
> getting some kind of flashback but . . . "
> 
> Christine breaks off and her eyes widen suddenly.
> "But I wasn't," she  
> says, her voice rising excitedly. "I actually *have*
> seen her before.  
> I mean, in real life! Shit! Her and her Village
> People reject  
> chauffeur! Outside St Bridget's. Her name is Evelyn
> or Eve . . .   
> Carrington? Something like that. With Father Bellamy
> - she's the  
> eccentric parishioner . . .oh man!" Christine begins
> to laugh, her  
> relief palpable. "Oh, thank God! The dizzyness?
> Hallelujah! That was  
> the just the booze!"
> 
> She scrambles to her feet - unwisely, stumbles a
> little and grabs at  
> the handrail beside the steps. She spends a minute
> steadying herself  
> finally looking directly at Jack, grinning self
> deprecatingly. "As a  
> skunk!" she states. "Honestly. I can hold my liquor.
> I just may need  
> to hold it while sitting on that bench thing over
> there. For a little  
> while." She holds out one hand to Jack and as she
> sees his injured  
> hand, her face fills with contrition. "I'm so sorry
> about mauling you  
> just then. Seems like such a lot happened tonight
> already - I forgot  
> about you being  . . . y'know. Death's door? I
> didn't even ask how  
> you're doing. Forgive me?"
> 
> Christine makes it to the upholstered ornamental
> seat on the  
> verandah, sits down cautiously, smiles an invitation
> to Jack. "Maybe  
> we could both do with a little sobering up time.
> Chat, maybe? I think  
> Aurora's okay for a minute or two. And she knows
> where to find us."  
> Christine lays one hand on the seat's carved arm
> rest, stares out at  
> the magnificent night-lit  gardens. There is a
> fountain/water-feature  
> effort dominating the foreground. Looks like it may
> have been  
> imported from goddamn Versailles.  How the rich
> live, thinks  
> Christine. Mara's world. The one she was born into,
> anyway. The booze  
> is obviously working it's lovely anaesthesia, she
> reflects. Thinking  
> about Mara doesn't hurt or make her crazy at the
> moment. She glances  
> at Jack. The night gives his face an unfathomable
> quality, veils his  
> expression. Christine smiles faintly.
> 
> "So how *are* you doing, Mr. Mystery?" she asks.
> "Any closer to  
> working out who you really are or what happens
> next?"
> 
Jack is, officially speaking, at the pliable stage of
drunkenness.  He nods appreciatively at everything
Christine says, widens his eyes and nods at the
appropriate times and generally finds every bit of
conversation utterly fascinating.  He allows himself
to be led to the veranda bench, nods politely at the
ornate water feature and, more or less, is in a state
of inebriated bliss. 

The last question is unexpected and, for several
moments, it doesn’t really sink in that Christine has
asked him anything.

“Hum?  How am I doing? Ah...”  Jack stretches his arm
out the length along the back of the chaise, though
not in some feeble attempt to put it around
Christine’s shoulders (was he thinking along those
lines?).  “I’m doin’ okay, thank you very much.  Not
feeling any pain, that’s for fuckin’ sure.  Oh, ‘cept
for my hand, but that’s okay now.”  He looks at
Christine with sincerity fairly oozing from his pale
blue eyes.  “Really.  Right as rain.”

He leans back, considering the ill effect the sound of
flowing water is having on his bladder.  “Who am I?  I
have no clue.  Not supposed to remember.  And this
guy?” Jack clutches at the lapel of his suit jacket. 
“Don’t know that either.  Some dead guy.  My name
isn’t Jack.  Not really.  Made it up.  Well, Akril’s
guys didn’t know much English, but they always thought
I was clueless, so they said I didn’t know jackshit. 
Hah fucking hah.  That’s where my name came from.”

Jack snickers, but it’s clear the subject isn’t all
that funny.  “And my last name... got it off a
mailbox.  No shit.”   He takes a pack of cigarettes
out of his jacket pocket, placing one between his lips
before offering one to Christine.  After lighting it,
Jack takes a very deep draw, letting the smoke curl
out of his nostrils.  “What happens next.  Hmmm. 
Don’t know.  We get drunk.  Or drunker.  I’m making
this up as I go, darling.”

He wrinkles up his nose.  “Christ, does it really
matter?  Whoever had this body, he ain’t around
anymore.  And, what I am in here...”  Jack thumps a
finger solidly into his chest.  “Don’t know.  Only one
who knows is Akril and he’s toast.  So... fuck it
anyway.”

(tag!)


 
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