Dancehall Divination II

After she left, I didn't know what to do with myself. I didn't have anything important going on that day, so I decided to walk to the record store for some new reggae albums. My apartment was a quick fifteen minute walk to the downtown area, so I got there in no time.

Inside a man, with a dark complexion and a deep red fade greeted me. I asked for the reggae, and he pointed me all the way to the back on the left. Picking up a Buju Banton record, I heard someone walking up behind me.

"Hey cuz, what's good?" A junkie, and a former regular of mine. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands wouldn't stay still. He needed a fix.

"Damn man, it's good to see you. Been a minute huh?" he laughed nervously.

"Listen, you got any weight on you? . . . I got money." The look in his eyes reminded me of a stray dog, staring hungrily, ribs exposed.

"Sorry mano, I don't sell that shit anymore." he laughed again.

"Come on cuz, let me just get a dime . . . anything." His fake smile was cracking up, and his face began to twich a little.

"I told you, I don't sell anymore. You're just gonna have to get your party somewhere else." With this, he dropped the smile and walked away shaking his head mumbling angrily. I made a mental note to be extra cautious on my way home, you can't trust a junkie.

After 15 or 20 minutes of pouring over the selection, I decided on three records to add to my collection: Aswad's 'Warrior Charge', Barrington Levy's 'Here I Come', and The Gladiators' 'Back To Roots'. At the checkout, I glanced around outside for any sign of the junkie.

"Do you mind if I use the back exit? I don't want the guy that was in here following me." I asked.

"Yeah man, no problem. Motherfucker comes in here everyday, never buyin' a got-damn thing. I wouldn't trust his ass neither." He said nodding.

I thanked him and after scanning the front of the store, moved to the back. He didn't seem to be anywhere out there, but still better safe than sorry. Outside I lit a smoke, leaning up against a dumpster and going through my new purchases. I use to date a girl who'd put on Barrington Levy, whenever she got high. I myself didn't smoke weed, and she seemed to like to do little else, so it never worked out. The music though, stayed with me.

Placing the records back in the bag, I heard someone approaching just around the side of the dumpster. I held my breath as the footsteps got closer. Just as they reached the edge of the dumpster they stopped. In an instant, he jumped forward, swing at me with a blade.

I put my hand up instinctively and it got cut across, spilling a dark red stream of blood to the pavement. I threw myself back and hit the brick of the building opposite with record store. The junkie swung again, but this time I caught his arm. Forcing him backwards, we struggled until as he slipped on the bag of records, we were thrown to the ground. With a gash across the palm, my left arm was losing strength. Blood flowed rapidly, now spilling into the junkie's face. A drop hit his eye, and I saw an opening. Letting go of my right arm I flew forward, smashing the crown of my skull into his nose. His arms moved quickly to his face as he squirmed, sobbing. I continued to beat at his face with both fists, until he stopped resisting. Scurrying to get up, I fell over backwards, out of breath covered in blood. With my head to the ground my eyes focus on the cigarette floating in a pool of red. Ringing, my phone startled me. I struggled to answer.

". . . Hello?"
"H-ey, how you doin' loveryboy?" It was Jonesy.
" . . . "
"Hey man, you there?"
"Somethin' just happened . . . Can you pick me up?" I asked gathering myself.
"Yeah . . . You alright? What the fuck happened?"
"You know Red's Record Shop?" he said he did.
"Meet me in the alley out back . . . park around the side." I felt dizzy, my heart beating in my throat.
"I'm on my way." Jonesy was a little crazy, but I knew I could always count on him.

I managed to get myself upright, and tearing a strip from my shirt, made a temporary bandage for my hand. Next, I leaned the lifeless body up next to the dumpster, out of sight. Jonesy got there around five minutes later.

"J-esus Christ, what the fuck happened?" he asked looking back and forth from the body to the puddles of blood.
"This junkie came at me with a knife . . . I think he figured I had some H on me." I said rubbing my eyes.
"Alright," he said, both palms out, "Is 'e dead?" I honestly wasn't sure.
"I don . . ."
"Doesn't matter, lets get 'em in the dumpster." he said pulling up his sleeves.
"You don't want anybody seein' this."

He was heavier than he looked, and after a little doing, we got him inside.

"You think anybody seen or heard anythin'?" Jonesy asked motion towards Red's.
"No . . . the music's on pretty loud in there."
"Good, grab the knife and the bag . . . get that fuckin' cigarette too."
"Christ, your shirt's a fuckin' mess. Take mine, put yours in the bag. Let's try and not draw too much attention on the way outta here alright?" he said handing me his shirt.

Luckily, not too many people were out with this humidity, no one was in sight as we moved to the car.

"You got peroxide an' shit at your place?" Jonesy asked.
"Yeah . . . some I think."

We drove the rest of the way in silence.

---------------------

Inside I threw the bloody clothes and bags into a garbage bag and went about cleaning and bandaging the wound. The apartment seemed extra quiet and heavy, as if the place was holding it's breath. I brought the fan out of my bedroom before taking a seat.

"Alright bro, I think it should be fine now," he said wiping the sweat from his forehead.
"The police never fuss too much over a dead junkie, and if he's alive nobody'd ever believe his ass anyways." I didn't know what to say and just nodded instead.
"Want a drink?" I asked.
"I'll take a beer if you got one."
Coming back with the drinks, I saw that Jonesy was just finishing up a call. After handing him his beer, I drank half of mine in one sip.

"So-o, Esther tells me you showed her a pretty good time," he said grinning.
" . . . I probably just murdered somebody, and you're talking about my date with your sister."
He waved his free hand quickly, trying to down the rest of his drink.
"No no no, that was self-defense. Plus, you don't even know if the fuckin' guys dead," he raised his bottle to me "Let the past lay to rest".
I couldn't help but laugh. Crazy ass Jonesy. He went to the fridge for two more beers.
"So? Go ahead and tell me I was right," grinning ear to ear.
"Alright 'mano, you was right. I had a good time." He held out his hands.
"That's it? You had a good time?"
"What else do you want me to say man?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. My head felt cloudy.
"Well, aside from the fact that you two are like fuckin' soul mates, are you interested?"
I lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly.
"Listen man, last night was really the first time I actually met Esther. This is the kind of situation that can make us enemies in the blink of an eye. I'm gonna be real careful about this, get to know her and let her really get to know me before I make any decisions."
"Didn't I already say that I trusted you with her bro? I know you're not the type to disrespect her or treat her bad. Even if in the end it didn't work out, me and you would still be brothers," he said clapping a hand on my shoulder "Alright?"
"Alright man." I showed him out and put on the Aswad record. It was two thirty in the afternoon.

I sprawled myself out on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The paint was cracked and bubbled, directly over me. Must be water damage, I figured, but how long had it been like that? Trying to remember where I'd put the landlord's number, exhaustion took me by surprise and before I knew it, I was asleep.

A sharp noise woke me. The phone was ringing. I wanted to ignore it, but couldn't.
"Hello?" My voice sounded far away.
" . . . " They made no reply, but I picked up background noise.
" . . . Is anybody there?" I was getting irritated. The clock read 2:59. I'd slept 30 minutes.
"Listen, I don't have time for games, so-"
"Are you OK?" It was Esther, she sounded worried.
"Yeah, what do you mean?" I asked carefully, "Is everything alright?"
" . . . Yeah . . . Can I come over?" Damn it Jonesy, I thought, why'd you have to tell her what happened?
"Alright, you can stop by." She seemed pretty worked up, I couldn't say no.
"I'll be there soon-" she said quickly, before hanging up.

Soon was an understatement; she got there around three minutes after hanging up.
"Hey, you got here quick." I said closing the door behind her.
"I was already on my way when I called." she explained looking me up and down from all angles, before reaching for my hand. She took it in hers, studying the wound carefully.
"I don't know what Jonesy told you, but there's no reason to get upset, I'm fine really."
"Jonesy . . .?" The way she said it made me question whether or not I said the right name.
"Yeah . . . he's the only one who knows what happened. No one else could've told you about it." Was she lying for him? I wondered.
"I . . . haven't talked to him since this morning." she stared off into the distance
"I just had this . . . feeling that something happened to you."
"Pretty strong for feminine intuition." I said skeptically.
"I . . . I just get these feelings sometimes, when someone I know is in trouble. Honestly, I'm not making this up." she looked wore out and a little hurt.
"Hey, I believe you. It's just been a rough day. I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first, but I do now, really."
"Let me see your hand."

Esther led me to the bathroom to re-clean and dress the wound, while I explained to her what happened(most of it anyways). Looking up to the clock, she said she was late for an appointment. After apologizing and quickly gathering her things, she was out the door. I thought about pinching myself to see if I was in a dream, but the pain in my hand did more than enough to suffice.

Making my way back to the couch, I noticed a white business card lying face down on the sofa. It must've fallen out of Esther's purse. I took a seat and turned it over.

Nguyen
(330) 783-****
431 _______ St. B1
Youngstown, Oh *****

Nguyen? There was no title or description. It's location was in a rundown area, just outside downtown. Most of the buildings were vacant, aside from a few smalltime law and business offices. I considered calling, but immediately felt guilty for getting into someone else's business. I placed the card on the coffee table, stretching back out on the sofa. Sleep had little trouble finding me again.

Some kind of crackling noise made it's way to my ears, but I was too tired to open my eyes. The strange noise reminded me of a branch being slowly bent, just before breaking point. Laying there trying to ignore it, something hit my face, startling me. Warm and wet, my eyes slowly focused on red fingers. I glanced upward at the bubbled section of the ceiling above. It swelled and shrank as if it were alive, blood seeping from the cracks as the ceilings wound pressed outward. I was frozen in my place. Blood began to drip more rapidly as the creaking noise and pressure escalated.

Pushing and pulsing, through paint, wood and insulation, blood streamed down as I fought to wipe it away. The noise grew closer and the ceiling cracked rapidly, until all at once it gave out. A corpse fell on top of me, bringing with it gallons of blood, and broken pieces of ceiling. It's the junkie. I struggled to throw him off me, to get up from the couch, but the body was impossibly heavy and my lower half had gone numb. His head on my chest, I stared into his broken face in terror. Beneath all the blood I could make out pale purple flesh; his body was starting to rot. Face gaunt and sunken, the area around his nose was almost completely inverted. The eyes were open but upturned, bulging pale gray masses, bloodshot and wet.

I saw the muscles in his face begin to twitch at odd intervals, and slowly his eyes moved down until they were locked on mine. Eyes dead and unblinking, he opened his mouth to a horrible grin, spilling thick dark blood onto my chest. I couldn't breathe and my heart felt like it would explode. Strange choking noises came from his throat as he shifted his head.

"El pasado no miente," he said in a sickening tone, blood gurgling in his throat, never dropping his wide grin. His teeth clamped so tight, I could hear them grinding. Sweat poured from my skin, mixing with the blood and running into my eyes, but I couldn't blink. I was paralyzed with fear. Suddenly, a piercing, high-pitched shriek, like audio feedback magnified tenfold, rang out. The noise sounded like it was coming from inside my own skull, splitting it apart. A terrible pressure formed inside my head, causing crippling pain, and I felt the heat of the blood running from my ears and eyes. My vision blurred as the noise grew louder, but the image of the corpse's grin never left my field of view.

I leaped from the couch, knocking over the coffee table and falling backwards over it, swinging my arms and legs desperately. I looked up to the ceiling. No blood. I shot glances in every direction, until I was sure that it was just a dream. I was drenched in sweat and my left hand was clenched into a tight fist, the bandage red with blood. I laid there for a few minutes to catch my breath, before making my way to the kitchen for the bottle of whiskey.