Those who walk in Darkness

“They are like the ghost of past present and future except they are all present. They are never ceasing, didn’t you read that? Your situation whatever you have done – and please do not tell me, I do not wish to be involved - you millennials simply disgust me. Whatever you have done, you must atone for your sins or your life will only continue to get worse from here on out.

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You can try to drink yourself into a coma if you like, there they will be, waiting for you with open jaws. So it’s up to you Latimer, what do you want to do? Atone for your crimes, to the proper authorities of course. Or continue to drink and snort yourself into the arms of death? And even then there is no real guarantee you can even escape in that realm. If the rumors are true, they are waiting for you wherever you go, your soul will pay for all eternity for what you, in your Earthly form, have done.”

ONE 1

I fucked up. I fucked up real bad this time. I knew Moby and Seth should not have allowed me to walk out that door as drunk as I was. Wasn’t it their job to look after me? I mean, who is the celebrity in this trio anyway? Seth was literally hired as my road manager, yet the task somehow fell on my shoulders, as if I were paying for his company. The nerve.

Whelp, it’s too late now. I fucked up. What is this red shit on my shirt? Who is that woman sprawled across the hood of my Lexus, covered in the same red shit? I don’t know what the hell happened. The last thing I remember doing is fucking this woman now laying here motionless on the hood of my car - fucking up my custom paint job.

I think she wanted me to choke her? That’s it, I sort of remember that. The choking, her yelling, “Hit me damn it! All you Hollywood types are pussies! Hit me!” Yes I remember her taunting me, egging me on as I complied. The more she nagged, in that high pitched shrilled nasally tone, the tighter, I choked her. The closer she pulled me to her, the harder I hit her. It was BDSM with a stranger in a dark clearing in the mountains of Beverly Crest.

Random as hell but not uncommon; not for me anyway.

It was not unheard of for me to hook up with random women, and men on occasion, so to be caught with my pants down in a clearing humping like a wild beast would just be another one of my crazy campfire stories. But this time was different. This time I was standing there with blood on my shirt. Blood everywhere.

Panic set in. I called Moby and Seth. They would know what to do.

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I maintained my position crouched in the shadows behind the shrubbery as Moby’s car pulled into the clearing. By the time he and Seth arrived I had already disturbed the scene, dragging Lola’s – wait, is her name Lola? I honestly don’t remember, but yes, let’s go with Lola - body from the clearing and into a shallow ditch. We were in hiding.

The two fumbled out of the car, still high from our earlier festivities. When I was certain it was them, I revealed my position. Moby, startled, spun around with his gun cocked.

“Whoa there,” he exclaimed, instantly bringing down his guard when I stepped into the light. “Now Latimer, you should know better than to sneak up on an armed man.”

“I thought we discussed this Moby,” Seth interjected. “The last thing we need is to be pulled over carrying a concealed weapon.”

Moby rolled his eyes at Seth and sauntered to me. He pulled out his wallet and thumbed through his belongings.

“Driver’s License, MasterCard, AMEX, Black Card,” he paused and glanced back at Seth. “That’s something you’ll never know about Seth. Oh, and by the way, a black card is not a card with my face on it Seth. With yo’ racist Jew ass.”

“You know what? Fuck you Moby, we didn’t come out here for this shit. And besides, you are the one with the arrest warrants. If it weren’t for Daddy War bucks you would be imbedded into the walls of the state prison!”

“I know,” Moby said, walking menacingly up to Seth. “And I’m not afraid to go back either.”

I jumped in between the two as Seth puffed up his chest and Moby clinched his fist. These two are constantly squabbling over some petty garbage that started the day Seth caught his ex-girlfriend, now Moby’s son’s mother, in Moby’s bed. It was a harsh lesson to learn that not only was the woman you were planning to ask to marry you sleeping with your best friend but that she was also pregnant with his child.

So much for best friends.

I’m certain the only reason why these two are still tolerant of each other is because of their connection to me. If there was one thing we all had in common it was that we know how to follow the money and the power. We were drunk on it. Hollywood does that to you.

“I don’t know what drugs you guys are on tonight but take it down a notch okay? I’m the one that needed help remember?” I said, pushing them in opposite directions. “You two need to cool off. I’m the one that’s in trouble.”

The two adversaries backed away from each other, each to their own corner of the clearing. We reconvened in the middle.

“So explain to me again what happened love,” Moby said. He was back to using his fake British accent again. Seth and I deduced several months ago when Moby returned from a one year stint in London that he picked it up from some euro-trash groupie and decided to keep the accent. Now he sounds like a combination of a London-ite from Brooklyn – a horrible mash up. Luckily, he only brought it out when under stress. Well, actually, if you look at it that way, it was a bit unlucky due to the situation at hand.

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​“Well…She…” I stuttered.

​“C’mon man, spit it out!” Moby said. “I don’t have all night for this nonsense!”

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​“Well, I met her at Guy Trenton’s place. After the party,” I began.

​“I thought you were going straight home Latimer,” Moby taunted. “See, if you had just stayed there with us just a little while longer, maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

​He was right…but fame is a fickle mistress, and at the time, I would do anything to have her.

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​Earlier that evening Moby, Seth and I received a last minute invite to a Golden Globes Awards after party at a big time Hollywood producer’s house named Guy Trenton. Trenton was a 60 year old former beatnik who probably stopped maturing somewhere around 27. ....to be continued