1: Seeing Voices
The copper coloured fluid swirled around in the glass and Markus stared at it with empty eyes before he lifted it to his dry lips and drowned it all. It burned in his throat and he still hadn’t got used to the strong taste. To some it was a fine drink, but to him it was just an escape. For three years now he had been consuming various alcoholic beverages to forget how good things once had been. He was still young, but he felt like and old man. He’d been through much; he’d been a hero, but now no one remembered him and that was what he was trying to forget the most.
He got up from the stuffy chair he was sitting in. Turning towards the large terrace facing south towards the desert, he started walking. His walk was that of a drunkard and before he reached the glass doors he had fallen to the floor because his legs just wouldn’t support him. And as he lay there on his hands and knees he got the feeling, through the fog of intoxication, that someone was watching him. A voice in his head told him to get up, to sober up, to stop running away. It had told him all that before, but he had had no reason to obey it. It had always been there, even back then, and he poured another glass of whiskey just in spite, because he knew that it had always been right.
He woke up with a terrible hangover, but then again, he did that a lot these days. He never seemed to get used to it though. He turned over in his bed and wondered how he had got there last night. He was tucked in all nice and cozy between the sheets, but he still had both his clothes and shoes on. All he remembered was that last whiskey he’d drowned after falling down. He had a vague memory of going outside for a while, but he couldn’t be sure of that. It might just as well have been a dream. Not that he had many of those nowadays, just those weird ones with the blackness and the voice. He always almost remembered what it said, and the dreams were always soothing, soft somehow, and when he woke up he felt less bad. Still, they were just dreams and what could they ever really do to help him? He just didn’t believe anything could anymore.
Really, really slowly, to keep the headache from blossoming into a full blown migraine, he sat up and put his feet on the messy floor. It didn’t work. The slightest movement made his head feel like it was filled with angry wasps, all trying to sting their way out. But he had to get to the bathroom, he had to get something to drink and water was usually the safest pick. Besides, it was much closer to the bathroom than to the kitchen. That was the downside with living in a huge house; nothing was really close, or at least not close enough when you had a killer hangover.
Again, very slowly, he rose to his feet. Again, it didn’t do him very much good. What didn’t make things any better was that he couldn’t walk straight. Somehow he had managed to still be a bit drunk from the night before. So he stumbled across the floor towards the open door that lead out into the hallway. The bathroom was two doors down, which wasn’t much on a regular day, but now that the pattern on the floor seemed to constantly want to attack him and the walls wouldn’t hold still even for a second, the walk down the hall took him forever.
The bathroom was white, blindingly so, even without the lights on. Whoever had decided to put a skylight in there was not Marcus’ friend right now. He squinted and when that didn’t help he closed his eyes as he drank the cool water flowing out of the tap. Admittedly he felt better after drinking, but the queasiness wouldn’t go away with the water. He sat down on the toilet and collapsed into quite an unorganised pile. His head was between his knees and the rest of his body felt like it was everywhere and even though he didn’t want to move, he figured a shower might be a good idea. He had a feeling it had been a while since the last time he had one. He just needed to sit down for a bit longer.
He almost felt awake when he later that day went out on the same balcony he suspected himself of having visited the night before. And indeed someone had been there during the night, but Markus still wasn’t sure it was him, because even though his empty whiskey bottle was standing there on the table and his sweater was hanging over the back of a chair he had no memory what so ever of being there. What confused him even more was that there were two glasses sitting on the table next to the bottle. Had he gone schizophrenic in his drunken frenzy or had he had a guest last night? One option seemed more unbelievable than the other. Who would have visited him? He didn’t have any friends left. They all hated him by now. And who in the world had been able to make him actually sit down and talk over a glass of whiskey in the state he was in last night? Because it looked like they had been sitting and he was pretty sure he had been one of the people doing the sitting. Of course there could have been two people that were not him sitting there on his balcony, drinking his whiskey and hanging his sweater over the backs of chairs, but he had a feeling that wasn’t the case.
He couldn’t for his life remember if he had even been on the balcony last night. He thought he had, but now he wasn’t sure anymore. His hazy memories were like dreams that kept slipping away just as you were about to get a grip of them. It was useless. He felt useless. What good was he if he couldn’t even remember last night, or even last week now that he thought about it. He couldn’t actually think of one good reason not to jump of the ledge of the balcony right now. He’d had at least a million thoughts like that before, really sincere ones, ones where he’d been in tears, standing on bridges in bad whether and ones where he’d been sitting calmly with a razor in his hand. To put it short, he was quite suicidal. But somehow he’d never gotten around to killing himself. There had always been something to do that just had to be done the minute he was about to pull the trigger so to speak. One last bottle of whiskey; one more beer; some other useless chick to bang and when he was feeling sentimental, one last sunset to watch.
Markus had a feeling tough, that someone, or something, put those thoughts there and made them seem more important than they really were, because in his hung over, confused and anxiety filled mind nothing was more important than finding a way for him to end himself. But there it was again! From the middle of nowhere came an impulse to clean up the balcony. It felt like the best idea he’d ever had and somehow he knew, really knew that if he just washed up those glasses and set the chairs right again everything would feel much better. He also knew that his feelings were cheating him, but he couldn’t make them go away. The only way to do that was to follow the urges and clean up. So he did, mumbling long strings of curses during the whole time, in three different languages just because he could. He’d always taken pride in learning other countries’ curse words before he went there. They had a tendency to turn out to be the most useful ones anyway.
On his way back from the kitchen sink he passed a mirror and saw something that made him go back and look again. It wasn’t his own ghostly image that had startled him, he was used to that by now. No, it was something else. He thought he’d seen someone else in the mirror, a man. A man in a black cape with long black hair and piercing eyes. He had to go back and look. Not very surprisingly though, there was no one there when he looked a second time, but just as he started walking away he thought he saw something again. He stopped and watched the mirror closely. He knew there was no one in the room, but that didn’t necessarily keep them from being in the mirror. He’d seen enough strange things in his days as a hero to know that stranger things had happened. And sure enough, slowly a shadow appeared in the corner of the mirror, as if it was coming from some place just outside the frame, as if it was not really a part of the reflection. Then it took shape.
It took the shape of the man he thought he’d seen as he passed by the mirror the first time. Then it came towards him, out of the mirror, those piercing eyes looking at him like they could see straight into his pitiful soul, and they probably could too, he thought as he passed out from hangover and fear. He didn’t even feel his head hit the marble floor with a very disturbing clicking sound.
He woke up again, feeling confused and scared, not quite knowing where he was. His head hurt and he was feeling a bit queasy, but he was warm and otherwise very comfortable. He was lying on the couch in the downstairs living room, his head propped up on a pillow and a blanket neatly tucked around him. He was really confused now. He didn’t really remember what had happened earlier, it was almost as if he’d been drunk and had a black out. But he knew he hadn’t been drunk. It was something else. Something he couldn’t put his finger on, it was on the tip of his tongue, but all he could get out was a hesitant stutter.
He tried to sit up, but his head hurt to much. He did however manage to see the figure sitting in the stuffy chair on the other side of the coffee table and almost fainted again.
“Who.. who are you,” was all he managed to squeeze out.
“I guess you could say I am your conscience,” replied the figure in a clam, deep voice that sounded oddly familiar. Where had he heard it before, and why the hell was that voice so comforting?
“Who are you?” Markus’ voice was filled with disbelief and wonder as he repeated his question, almost as if he hadn’t heard the reply.
“You may call me Uriel.” The figure nodded sort of approvingly. Markus had not yet seen his face though. “For that is my name.”
What was this? Once he had collected his thoughts Markus decided to become angry. He was scared and offended at the same time. What was this person doing in his house? He didn’t want visitors and he certainly didn’t want smug ones. Coming through his mirrors uninvited, just sitting there, studying him. It hadn’t occurred to him yet to think it strange that his dark visitor had come though the mirror. And then it did.
“What were you doing in my mirror? Where do you come from,” he demanded with as much force as he could muster. Through the shadows hiding the face of his dark visitor he could discern a smile. Was he entertained by Markus’ helplessness? It occurred to him then that he really was helpless. This person, this ghost, or whatever it was, could easily kill him right there and then if it wanted to. He could be dead within the hour and in spite of all the times he’d wished he was dead and buried, it scared him. The prospect of death by a choice that wasn’t his own to make made his skin crawl with anxiety.
“Let’s just say it’s the mode of transport I prefer for the time being,” the intruder replied. His face was still shrouded in shadows, and apart from the eyes, Markus couldn’t make out any of its features. They looked intelligent and kind, but there was something in there, something else, something… Markus couldn’t focus. His head was spinning again and he had to lie back against the pillow and close his eyes.
“Your head took quite a blow when you fell, you should lie down for a while, but it’s probably best if you don’t go to sleep.” Uriel sighed. “If my brother was he he could mend you.” Markus thought that was a strange thing to say, but he didn’t comment.
“Who are you,” he asked again.
“My brother, or one of them, lives in a forest to the far north. It’s surrounded by mountains so high that not even the most daring bird could fly over them. There is only one path through these mountains and neither man nor animal has survived the whole journey. Some have tried, but the road is lined with their blood. Either they fall, caught by the forceful winds, or they freeze to death trying to ride the winds out in cracks and crevices.” There was a pause.
“How did your brother get in then,” Markus asked smugly.
“Oh, he’s been there since before time, I do believe he took the back door.” Uriel sighed again.
“So if there’s a back door, what’s the point in having impenetrable walls?”
“There’s always a back door, but I’m afraid this one’s been sealed shut.” Markus was confused. This was clearly some kind of word game, but what was the goal? Why were they even playing? It was getting on his nerves, he wanted to know what was going on.
“Wait,” he exclaimed. “Why are you telling me this? Why aren’t you answering my question? Who are you?” He was steadily working himself into a more and more agitated state. “Tell me who you are and what you’re doing in my house! What the fuck do you want with me?!”
“Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.” The dark figure sounded like he was talking more to himself than to Markus. He was gazing off into the distance. Then he turned back to Markus. “You must be very tired, maybe we should continue this at a later time.” Markus wanted to object, and he tried very hard to do so, but it was as if the little energy he possessed had been drained from him. His eyelids were feeling heavy and there was noting he could do to stop his eyes from closing. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep that seemed godsend. His body became heavy and there was peace in his mind for the first time in a long while.
When he woke up the intruder was gone and so was all his whiskey.
[...] Seeing Voices [...]