Michael Dibdin - Dark Specter

The white guys were another question. He might be able to figure out the back story on that one, or it might end up being one of those enigmas which infest police files like weevils in rice. There was one thing Lamont felt sure of. If he ever did find out, the truth would prove to be as disappointing as the solutions to those mysteries he had read aloud to his father.

Something stirred in his mind like dead leaves in a wind. Leaves of paper, torn pages, words.

My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?

He knew the words, the page, the book it had been ripped from, even the chapter and verse. Words ripped from a dying man. He knew the place too, the dull light and medicinal smells of the church hall where Bible Study was held. The rows of kids in their Sunday best, hating it in their different ways. He recalled the teacher trying to explain away that particular sentence, tying it back to some Old Testament reference and suggesting that Jesus was just reading from the script here, dutifully fulfilling all the prophecies about the Messiah. He’d never bought that, not for a moment. Of all the words in the New Testament, those were the ones that rang most true. There was no rhetoric about them, no smart phrasing, just the despairing shriek of a man suffering an atrocious torture as a result of beliefs which, he has just realized, may be absolutely meaningless.

What if he isn’t the Messiah? What if the whole thing was a delusion from day one, a scam of which he has been the principal victim? That’s the terrifying possibility which Jesus had just glimpsed for the first time, the focused beam of darkness which shone down from the cracked heavens and made him cry out.

Russ recalled his parents once discussing someone’s loss of faith in disapproving tones, as though the person had been caught reddicked at some No-Tell Motel. He’d thought they said “loss of face.” That’s what it sounded like, something tacky and socially embarrassing, not as bad as going over to Rome, but in the same general league. No one ever mentioned that first loss of faith, recorded right there in Matthew 27, verse 46.

It was those memories which were the hardest thing to reconcile with the knowledge which had come to him now, stretched on his own cross. This was not an instant of doubt, a brief crisis which made the ultimate victory all the more glorious, but an enduring certainty as barren and intolerable as his pain. If God permitted him to suffer like this, it could only be because his suffering was meaningless. It didn’t really exist. He didn’t really exist.

Everything he had ever been was a sham, a mock-up like the flat exteriors they built for movies, hollow within. A cry broke through his clenched lips. How could he accept that? How could anyone? Those childhood memories brimming with feeling, with a depth and substance his life had long since lost, a sacred authenticity, how could they be anything other than real? What did the word mean, if not that?

He had no problem with the idea that he was a phony now, that his life had become a sham and that the only reason his bluff had never been called was because other people were equally reluctant to play the truth game, having secrets of their own to hide. But he found it impossible to believe that he had always been tainted, from the very beginning. Yet how could it be otherwise? You didn’t become a specter. You either were or you weren’t. If the adult stood convicted, the child was guilty too.

His cry had brought the night nurse over. She checked the schedule hanging from the footrail of the bed, headed Patient #4663981: Identity Unknown . The next dose of medication was not due for another two hours, but an optional top-up of analgesic had been provided for and the patient was evidently in considerable distress, struggling against the bonds designed to protect his wounds and muttering something incomprehensible. The nurse tore open a syringe packet, filled it from the ampoule and slipped it under the bare skin of the man’s arm. Gradually the ravings diminished, fragmented, then ceased altogether.

The girl lay sprawled in the chair, naked under a pink cotton robe, legs splayed out. Her right hand stroked her exposed pubis, her left the channel changer. Even on cable, there wasn’t much to see this time of the morning. She must have been all around the circuit fifty times already in search of something that would hold her interest. She hadn’t found it yet, but anything was better than the idea of giving up and going to bed alone.

The sound of a car outside brought her to her feet. He’d said he would be taking the bus, but they’d stopped running hours ago. She pressed the mute button on the remote and went over to the window. Sure enough, a cab had drawn up outside the motel, its yellow roof bedazzled by the neon sign over the entrance. For a moment her heart lightened. Then a middle-aged couple emerged from the rear and lurched off toward one of the cabins at the far end of the court.

She wrapped the robe around her, shivering slightly despite the heat. She’d put it on for him, for when he got back. He’d given it to her the day before. Told her it was silk, which she didn’t think it was, but it had a nice satiny feel and the color looked good on her. And it was sweet of him to think of her like that when he was out buying a suit to wear to this job interview. She modeled it for him right away, with nothing on underneath, which was maybe kind of slutty. He’d sure liked it, though.

She lay down on the bed, rubbing herself and thinking about how he’d kissed her down there until she couldn’t stand it any more, and her clumsy fumbling with his belt and buttons, and breaking out his cramped cock and pulling him on top of her. They’d done it for almost two hours, first one way, then another, until he saw the time and said he had to get ready for his appointment. He’d wanted her on top then, straddling him and bending low so he could squeeze and suck on her titties as he came.

She rolled over and sat up, looking at the clock radio by the bedside. It was now almost three. He’d been gone over eight hours, and for each of the last five of those she’d had to throw out the story she’d been using to explain why he wasn’t back and dream up a new one. First she’d told herself the appointment had been delayed. Maybe there were a lot of applicants, although it seemed a kind of strange time to go for an interview. But Dale had said it was for the night shift, and you had to see the people on duty then.

Her next version was that he’d got the job, and had gone out to a bar to celebrate. Or he hadn’t got it, and was drowning his sorrows. After that, things started to get darker. The whole thing was a lie. There was no job. He’d gotten dressed up to go out on the town, maybe with another woman he had someplace. Or he was in trouble of some kind. The guy who’d phoned that morning had sounded like real bad news, hanging up in her face like that. Maybe Dale had been kiting checks, or the skip-tracers or the repo men were after him. Maybe that was why he’d come all the way out here from Seattle.

Her darkest hour had been the last, when it occurred to her that he’d just dumped her, period. He’d got what he wanted and walked, probably leaving her to pick up the tab. That would be straight out of the guy manual, she told herself bitterly. Dale had seemed different, but then they always did at first. The fact that he seemed kind of weak, like he needed to be validated the whole time, just made it more likely he’d choose the coward’s way out. Plus this scenario explained the one thing none of the others had, which is why he hadn’t called her.

It was the only possible explanation, she thought miserably, getting up and returning to her chair. He knew she had no way of getting in touch with him. He hadn’t told her where he was going, or even what kind of work it was. Said there was no point discussing it when he probably wouldn’t even get the job. The only thing she knew was that it was somewhere down in the south end of the city. That was why he might be late getting back, he’d said, because it was a long bus ride.