Radio Waves of the Macabre [On Hiatus]

Chapter 27 - Decline (Part 1)

A real heap of bullshit; all of it was bullshit. David glanced up from his perch over the Haven's front register, hitting his head upon the overhang of the stairs as he did.

"Fuck," he muttered as once more his head throbbed. He'd had enough headaches for the week, and who in their right mind stuck a customer service register underneath a fucking stairway. Sure, in the past he'd found the whole arrangement somewhat charming, loving the whole organic, disheveled mess that was Acrylic Haven, but today he'd as soon burn the place to the ground as take even the mildest pleasure in its haphazard arrangement.

Mr. Ventura must have been high whenever he set up the store, David thought, rubbing at the back of his head.

"You okay?"

David looked up as Priscilla, Pri for short, shucked off her faded-denim jacket and grabbed up his tea, taking a long sip. She glided through the world as if she owned it, and the way most of the staff treated her, she may have been on to something. David, however, he didn't have the patience for Pri; not at the moment.

David snatched back his tea the second Pri set it down, and cocked an eye at her. "I'm fine. Just smacked my head a little."

"Not that," Pri said, wrinkling her nose. "You seem a bit crabby, today." At that, she ran a hand through her disheveled rainbow of hair tying it off into a pigtail. She only needed one as the other half of her head was shaved up to her side part. "Windy out, today," she continued. "You seen Noel or Evan around?"

She didn't even seem to care that'd she'd just casually accused him of being crabby. Of course she was right - David had been in an inexplicably foul mood for the past hour or more - but that didn't mean she could just say so. What ever happened to polite discourse?

"Evan's upstairs. Haven't seen Noel."

"K." Pri nodded and glided up the stairs, leaving David alone in his misery. "You look like shit, by the way," she called back, then vanished around the bend.

David rubbed at the bags under his eyes. She was right there, too. He'd barely slept for the past two nights, and it wasn't as if his last good night's sleep, that night at Erika's, had really been restful. The nightmares had persisted since then, whenever he could manage sleep that is; but more he found himself obsessing over the old man from the bar.

He'd been back since he finished those sketches. In fact he'd gone straight to Grady's as soon as he'd seen the man's image in his work, but the old man had not been there. Only Old Red, the ginger bartender, and a few of the hipsters had been in then, and he had no interest in talking with them.

He'd stayed what must have been five hours that first night, and the second his shift had ended the next day, he'd been back, again. When the clock struck six tonight, he'd be heading out from the Haven and back to Grady's as well. He had to find the old man. That was all that mattered; the only option towards understanding the dark obsession that had been eating away at him; devouring him.

David couldn't focus on anything else. Glazer had reached out (that entitled prick) a few times trying to follow up on the gallery exhibit (Who cares about some fast-food alleyway art gallery? Just more shit to shovel), but David hadn't bothered to ring him back. He hadn't had the time. No there had been more important matters to which to attend.

A bell sounded announcing the arrival of a customer, and David shook his musings aside, lifting his head in greeting. "Evening," he said. "Welcome to Acrylic Haven."

Just two and half hours, he thought, and I can be done with this shit.

"Hey, bud," came a familiar voice, quick and to the point, but laced with a jovial facade. "Good to see ya. Man, do I have a story tell."

David couldn't see him, not clearly; his vision had blurred, again, but he didn't need to see him to know with whom he was speaking.

"Hello, Conrad." David tried to keep the bitterness in his voice to a minimum. Conrad hadn't said anything to hint at an ulterior motive, and yet Conrad never swung by the Haven. Plus, the lightness in his voice truly seemed a facade. Underneath it a falsehood lingered. David could smell it, rank and undeniable.

"One moment, okay?" David pulled off his glasses and applied a drop to each eye, then quickly rubbed the water from each lid. Overall it wasn't as effective as going through the full routine, but it worked in a pinch.

He slid his glasses back on and Conrad slid into focus. Erika's friend waited, an exaggerated grin plastered to his face.

"What's up, Conrad?" David smiled back, hoping his own fake smile wasn't so readily apparent.

"Well, I was down at the Formosa, right? And you know that one waitress, you know the one with the curls, right?"

"Yeah... You know it's not even four in the afternoon, yet?" David knew he didn't have much room to speak considering the amount of time he'd spent at the bar over the past few days, but Conrad didn't know that, and fuck Conrad, anyway.

"Sure, but that's not the point. I was down there getting a drink with a friend --"

"-- anyone I know?" David interrupted. He'd been with Erika hadn't he? Why not? They'd been friends forever, and who was he fooling talking about the waitress with the curls (Curls like Erika's, that's what he means).

"Um... no. Look, who I was with isn't the point. I was doing a little coin trick. You balance two quarters on opposite sides of a glass and you can only use one hand to remove both quarters at once. It's a little bar game I do, and my friend is trying it and failing miserably, and so I reach in and I slowly pluck each quarter down to the sides of the glass and pinch them together towards the center, showing him how you do it and all, and you know, winning a free drink from him while I'm at it..."

Why won't he just shut up, David thought. Just shut his damn mouth and leave me alone. I don't need to hear his useless damn story, and who the hell does he think he's kidding? Showing him how you do it. Change the gender and suddenly poof, I won't know you were with Erika. Like I don't know you're madly in love with her, you backstabbing ass.

As his thoughts trailed darker and darker some distant part of David knew that he was jumping to conclusions, that it was altogether possible that Conrad just wanted to say hello, but that voice felt so distant and so faint. It rang out hollow, echoing as if over a great chasm; and even as it rang, another voice spoke louder, demanding his attention. That voice spoke only two words, over and over, so painfully loud, and so crystal clear.

(Kill him.)