Fugue

A long time ago, I once heard that guilt is rooted in the actions of the past, perpetuated in the lack of action in the present, and delivered in the future as pain and suffering. Lately that quote’s been stuck in my mind for some reason. Even as I nurse my hangover on the cool lacquered surface of the bar’s counter I’m reciting the words to myself, but I can’t imagine what for.

If there’s anything for me to feel guilty about, it would be the decisions that led me to this bar. An old and decrepit joint, hot and humid, with sticky floors and the sour stench of piss filling the air. I don’t remember how I got here but I surmise that I wandered in after a bender.

The last thing I can remember was blacking out while driving through the Mojave on route to Nevada. Next thing I know, I’m being shaken awake by a man. He couldn't have been older than thirty-five yet his hair was greyed and his eyes carried a weathered look to them.

My head felt like it was being split in two and through the pain I managed to mumble out a “W-where am I.” To which the man responded, “The Inferno, my bar. I’m closin’ up and you need to go.”

That was days ago, and since then I’ve been spending my time at The Inferno and a nearby motel. For some reason, I haven’t felt the need to leave this town despite how small and dusty it is, and I use the term town loosely as there’s really only the motel and the bar. Every other place is either boarded up or falling apart. And I’ve met only a few people, of whom very few seem to stay for long. That being said, I manage to get along with those I meet including the bartender, Dante - kinda on the nose with that name though hehe.

Anyway, between the booze and sleep I’ve been doing a lot of self reflection - Dante tells me that this town’ll do that to you. He says that’s the reason why people don’t stick around - the town makes you figure things out, wise up, and move on. If that’s the case then why haven’t I figured anything out yet? I mean, there isn’t much for me to figure out. Granted, my life seems pretty sad but it wasn’t always like this.

I was happy once. I had a wife, a kid, a decent job - things were good. But as time went on… well… things stopped being so good. You see, my father was a drunk. Every night he’d come home pissed off his ass, stumbling and slurring insults at me and my mother. I hated it and I hated him. And though he never hit me, my mother wasn’t so lucky. I can still hear the dull thud of his fist striking her followed closely by her muffled sobs. The cops even showed up a few times, but dad was smart, he never hit her face.

Because of him, I did my best to stay away from the drink, but over time the call of the bottle got louder and louder. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore, and I succumbed despite my best efforts. Because of this, I lost my job and that’s when my family life started going south. The same curse that plagued my father, plagued me as well.

Unlike my father, however, I was more verbal than physical in my abuse. I would be quick to anger and my wife was the usual target. I became a real prick to them, and in the end I lost them both. I couldn’t really blame them for wanting me out of their lives, I’d be out of my own life too if I could… if that makes sense. But, I came to terms with what happened and, despite continuing my drinking habits, I managed to find a new job for myself. And even though I haven’t seen my wife and kid in some time, I think it’s better for them if I stay out of their lives. So far, things have been better this way.

I have my own life now, they have theirs.

“Need a little hair o’ the dog, eh Jack?”

“I’ll take a Jim Beam Dante.” I replied.

Dante pulled a whiskey glass from beneath the bar and placed it in front of me - it’s water stained and cloudy from years of use - and I watched him fill it halfway with the dark amber liquid. The warm, earthy aroma of the bourbon permeated my nose as I lifted the glass to my mouth, it was soothing. I downed it in a single gulp.

“Y’know, you’ve been coming to this old dive for a while now, and not that I don’t mind the company but, no one ever sticks around this town for too long. So I’m curious what your angle is.”

I shrugged. “I’m just waiting for the next job to come along I guess. One always finds its way to me.” Dante refills my glass.

“And what job is that?”

I take a small sip this time. “I’m a courier of sorts… Any package, any time.”

He eyes me queerly and buffs a few glasses.

“Sounds dangerous but, I don’t see why anyone would want to hire a drunk like you.”

I cracked a wry smile. “I’m not picky and I don’t ask questions.”

Dante chuckled.

“I guarantee you, someone is going to come through that door with a job to offer me.”

Just then, a tall man with crooked shoulders came swaggering through the bar entrance and took a seat next to me at the bar.

“Speak of the devil.” Said Dante, who immediately placed a glass of gin and tonic in front of the mysterious man.

Going off of Dante’s reaction, I’d reckon that this must be the man I’ve been waiting for.

The man lifted his glass to me, prompting me to toast. We downed our drinks at the same time.

“Are you Jack Castle?” He said in a raspy tone.

“Who’s askin’?”

“About twenty-thousand dead presidents. Upfront.”

T-twenty thousand!? That’s more than I’ve ever been paid for any job. This must be some serious cargo this guy is running. I can’t even begin to imagine what could be worth paying twenty thousand to have ferried anywhere in this country.

I leaned in. “What, exactly, could be so damn important?”

The man reached into his jacket and pulled a small black book and dropped it on the counter in front of me. I was perplexed, a fucking book? What’s in this thing, the philosopher’s stone? I reached for the book, curious what could be written in it, but the man grabbed my wrist with a surprising amount of strength.

“The only rule is that you don’t open the book. If you do, the money will be forfeit,” He looked me deep in the eyes. “And we will know.”

I wrenched my wrist out of his grip. “Who’s we? Who the hell are you even?”

I looked to Dante for some kind of answer but he looked away.So I looked back to the man who eyed me like a predator.

“I was informed that you ‘take any job’ no questions asked.”

Shit… he has a point. I’m many things but a hypocrite isn’t one of them.

“You’re right. Okay, I’ll take the job.”

“Good, you’re to deliver this book,” Said the man as he places his finger firmly on the book. “To the crossroads at route 49 and 61 tomorrow by 1pm.”

I picked up the book and analyzed it. It’s black leather is pristine and supple but it carried a strange smell, like iron and soil. I could also tell that the pages are stained brown with age. So this book must be pretty old despite its well kept appearance.

“Route 49 and 61 - .” The man was gone. “Wha - did’e leave Dante?” I jumped off my barstool, stuffing the book in my back pocket, and hustled out the front entrance where I stumbled over a briefcase. I kneeled down and opened the case, and just as the man said, inside the case was a stack of hundreds. Twenty thousand exactly.

I looked around and there was no sign of the man. Not even so much as tire tracks. Did he just run off? It was bizarre but, the money is real so I didn’t question any further. I went back into the bar, paid for my drinks - and left a pretty hefty tip - and waved Dante off.

I stowed the briefcase in the back of my car, a pale green El Camino. I grabbed my map from my glove compartment and, judging by the distance, it’ll take about six hours to reach the crossroads. I pulled the book from my back pocket. ‘Will they really know if I open the book,’ I thought to myself.

In this line of work, ignorance is bliss as curiosity can be dangerous. With that in mind, I simply tossed the book in the passenger seat. “ Better safe than sorry.” I said to myself.

That quote rang through my head again followed by the sharp pang of a headache.

‘Guilt is rooted in the actions of the past, perpetuated in the lack of action in the present, and delivered in the future as pain and suffering.’

I guess the whiskey is already wearing off, so I decided to head back to the motel. I checked my watch, midday. The sun was high as I drove with my window down to cool myself, but all I got was arid desert heat. My attempts at finding a radio station were also unsuccessful. That’s another thing about this place, I haven’t been able to get any reception since I’ve got here. If it wasn’t for the number of books I had in my car, I probably would have gone insane.

As I was fiddling with my radio, a black Cadillac came barreling past me. That asshole had to be centimeters away from hitting me. The draft shook my vehicle and startled the hell out of me, nearly causing me to lose control. The guy had to be going at least double my speed and I’m hitting eighty. Goddamn, people really think they own these roads!

I pulled into the motel parking lot not too long later. It’s called El Paraiso, but I like to refer to it as El Motel Cucaracha for its resemblance to a roach motel. I parked just outside my room, room 102. I was just about to enter my room when I decided to turn around and grab the black book. I should keep this with me.

I guess today’ll be my last day here. I sat on the bed and opened the nightstand drawer. Inside is a silver tone snub nose Smith & Wesson. Every courier needs to be able to protect themselves. Luckily I’ve never had to use this thing because I dread the thought of taking another’s life. Even still, I never do a job without it.

I kicked off my shoes and laid back with a novel, Stephen King’s Cujo. Stephen King, a true master of horror. I’m happy I was able to get my hands on his latest work before I ended up here. It really helps pass the time. I began to drift and fall asleep.

I had a strange dream. I dreamt of a man in my window. He didn’t do anything, he just stood there… watching me and I watched him. That was until I was awakened by the sound of knocking. I checked my watch, it’s 6am.

At the door was the manager, a short asian man with a pair of rounded glasses. He immediately pointed to my car.

“There was someone going through your car.”

I pushed past the manager to see my car had indeed been gone through. All the doors had been opened, however nothing was missing. Then I thought about the money and quickly threw open my trunk. The case is still there with all of the money inside. Whoever did this had to have been looking for the book, but how did they know I have the book? This thing has some significance to someone it seems.

The Manager walked up to me. “I chased the guy off.”

“Did you see what he looked like?”

“Yeah, he was in a suit, black sunglasses, and drove off in a black Cadillac.”

Black Cadillac? It can’t be the one from yesterday, can it? I thanked the manager and informed him that nothing was taken so it’s alright. I returned to my room, holstered my revolver in my waistband, and grabbed the book before checking out and paying for my room.

From there I was speeding down the desert highway. Nothing but brown sand craggy rocks for miles. It should be a straight shot to the crossroads, I’ll get there with about an hour to spare at my current speed.

Things are going smooth, the roads are open, I’ll just cruise there. But then, I noticed the black vehicle coming up behind me through the desert haze. As it got closer, I could make out that it’s the same Cadillac from yesterday.

The car passes me at high speed and swerves to cut off the road further down. I stop a car’s length away from the glistening black vehicle.

Outsteps the driver, just as the manager described. He lit a cigarette and sauntered to my car and tapped the window - prompting me to roll it down.

I did so, against my best judgment, but only slightly. The man leaned on my car and gave me an inhuman smile. Inhuman because it seemed off somehow, like something trying to mimic a smile.

“Hi friend, I’m looking for somethin’. Y’see I had something stolen from me. It’s a little black book.” He said.

I shifted my weight a little as I became conscious of the book in my back pocket. “I don’t know nothin’ about a book, now get out of the damn road!” I tried to sound as intimidating as possible to get the guy to back off, but I knew he wouldn’t.

His smile fell and hush expression became lifeless.

“Give me the book” He said in a strange monotone voice.

I reached for my clutch, preparing to pull off when the man went feral. Punching through the window, frothing and gnashing, attempting to open the door. I burn rubber as I pull off, the tires screeching against the asphalt. The man couldn’t hold on and rolled away.

My heart is beating a mile a minute and I’m hitting the gas hard. I wanted to get as far as possible away. I only made it a few miles before I saw the Cadillac hauling ass to catch up to me.

“Crazy son of a bitch!” I yell as the driver is picking up speed.

The Driver slams into my back bumper which whips my head back and jerks my car forward. He then pulls next to me and begins ramming my side to drive me off the road. Broken glass scratches my face and a piece gets caught in my eye. I responded in kind and it became a fight for control. My el Camino couldn’t hold up against this beast of a Cadillac and the back of my car caught air.

Time slowed down as I was whipped back and forth inside the tumbling vehicle.

The car rolled to a stop upside down. I could feel blood running down my scalp and my vision was blurry - I’m concussed. I fumble for my seat belt’s latch and I fall onto my neck.

As I’m crawling out of the wreckage, the Driver grabs me, drags me out, and lifts me to my feet. I draw my revolver but the Driver disarms me. So, I spat in his face and elbowed him, causing us both to fall over.

The strike knocked off the Driver’s sunglasses, and what I saw next will haunt me. He… It… It had no eyelids… no pupils. Just two bloodshot white balls rolling around in it’s head. And though it had no pupils, I could tell that it was looking me dead in the eyes. The skin of it’s mouth became a gnarled black rictus grin with a row of sharp, shark like teeth.

I tried to go for my gun but the creature grabbed me just out of reach. It sunk its teeth into my shoulder. I’ve never experienced pain like this. I could make out the shape of each individual tooth as they plunged deep into the flesh of my trapezius. It feels like a red hot saw is carving a chunk out of my flesh. I start to scream and beat at the creature but it only sinks its teeth in deeper and I can feel my flesh separating.

I stab my thumb into its exposed eye and the creature reels back in pain, giving me the chance to grab the gun and put a bullet through that thing’s head. That seemed to put it down. The book, it’s not in my back pocket. The book laid open on the ground.

I limped over to retrieve it and saw what was written inside. It was a list of names. I had already lost grasp on the situation but this made me even more confused. Then I noticed three distinct names:

Robin Stewert

Janette Castle

Jackson Castle

The names of my wife, my daughter, and me.

The headaches came on hard this time and I began to tear up. I became awash with sadness and anger. What the fuck is this? Is this some kind of set up? I wanted, no, I needed answers.

My car is totalled, but the Cadillac is still in working order and the keys are in the ignition. I’m deciding to see this thing through. I retrieved my money and a flask from my stash. I’ll need something to kill the pain. I down the entire thing of booze and throw the briefcase in the Cadillac. As I sit in the driver’s seat, I try the radio, and guess what? Still nothing.

I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open. The bleeding stopped but I’ve lost a lot of blood. At least this car is in a good enough working condition. I look at my blood covered reflection in the rearview mirror and start to laugh.

“I look like shit.” I said with a grin.

I am shit, I thought to myself. My life has always been shit, and look where it’s got me.

I started to think of my wife and daughter. How we would often go for drives all together. I was so happy then, I could never forgive myself for losing them.

I could see the crossroads coming up, and sitting there was a white Corvette.

I stopped the car a good few yards from the Corvette. I check my revolver, I still have five rounds. I stuff the gun in my waistband and get out of the car with the black book in hand.

I walk in the direction of the corvette, ready to finally meet the man I’m to deliver this book to. The Corvette’s door swings open and outsteps a man with long white hair in what I can best describe as black, cowboy-esque, attire. I stepped to him and dropped the book at his feet.

When the man bent over to pick it up, I placed the revolver against his head. His movements paused at the sound of the hammer being cocked back.

“You saw what was inside didn’t you.” Said the man as he picks up and dusts off the book.

“Who are you, and why are my family’ names in that book?” I grab the man by his collar and put the gun under his chin. “Why is my name in that book?”

“You should already know, Jack. Think.” He replied.

“I’m not in the mood for games, man!”

“Think! Guilt is rooted in the actions of the past, perpetuated in the lack of action in the present, and delivered in the future as pain and suffering.”

The headaches start again, this time worse than before. So much so, that I dropped the gun. So much pain and emotion flooded my mind.

“You’ve become so wrapped with guilt that you refuse to acknowledge it. You must remember.” He tells me.

I drop to my knees from the pain. “No! W-who are you?”

That day, I don’t want to remember, I can’t remember… I had just a little to drink… we were coming home from a party. No! It was to celebrate one year sober. No! I felt good enough to drive… On the way home I collided with another drunk driver. I was the only survivor of the crash. If I hadn’t drank I could have avoided him, I know it. It’s my fault that they’re gone.

The tears wouldn’t stop flowing.

“You refuse to acknowledge your guilt to such an extent that you have become delusional. Your wife and child did not leave you. You hide from the truth. ”

“Why are you doing this to me?” I plead.

The man kneels beside me and tells me. “Because, you are dead.”

“I-I’m… ”

“My name is Charon. Do you remember what Dante said to you? About this town, how it makes people figure things out and move on? Your soul is in limbo, my friend.”

I started to wrap my mind around what’s going on. I started to remember it all. I was going sober and things were looking up, so I decided to have just one drink, then one drink turned to two. But, I stopped myself, I was in control.

While driving, I thought I could feel a buzz coming on and figured me and my wife should switch places. That’s when I saw the headlights. I couldn’t react in time. I wasn’t drunk, I was still capable but I still felt responsible simply for having imbibed a drop of alcohol before getting behind the wheel.

I relapsed after that. It helped me escape the trauma, it helped me bury the pain and guilt so deep that I had forgotten it.

“It all makes sense now.” I said to myself. Me waking up in the bar, the fact that there are so few people in town, no radio signals, and my inability to leave. It all made sense, things were never what they seemed. “So what are you? Death?” I asked.

“ No, I’m more of a guide. Most souls find their way to the other side on their own. But your guilt keeps you from crossing over.”

“Why the job then?” I said.

“This is just my way of ferrying you to the other side.”

“What about that thing that attacked me?”

“A restless soul carrying a death ledger is like honey to hungry demons.”

I still had questions, but do the answers really matter anymore? If I’ve really died then… it’s all just over now. But, there is one thing I needed to know. “Will my family be there? On the other side.”

“Yes.”

“Will they forgive me?” I asked as a single tear rolled down my cheek.

“They never blamed you. Come now, it’s time to rest.”

Charon took my hand and a blinding white light overtook me. I could hear the voice of a little girl calling to me.

On May 18th, 1985, there was a head on collision at the crossroads of route 49 and 61 between a black Cadillac and a green El Camino. The occupant of the Cadillac sustained minor injuries. However, the occupant of the Camino (Jack Castle, age 42) died on impact. The coroner noted the apparent look of content on his face.