The Rage Room Page 12

  But you know what? I also did what I did because you were so smug and stupid and selfish. You could have made me Bax’s godfather or invited me to your home but you never did. You never asked about me. It was always only about you.

  So now. Go to the balcony. I’m waiting for you. But before you go, know this—your perfect life is over. Celeste is evil.

  Best Fucking Wishes Forever Amen, Jazza

  I pocketed the letter. I eyed the beer. Oh shit, why the fuck not? I was parched. I cracked it and downed it in one long swallow. Thanks Jazza, good brew. I wiped my mouth and turned towards the balcony. My flash comm buzzed, and I jumped six feet high. It was Mother.

  All under control. Lavender air is restored. Celeste took a pill and is asleep. Kids are watching cartoons. When will you be home?

  Soon.

  When is soon? I’ve got a meeting tonight. HAVE to leave at midnight. Be here or be square.

  Be here or be square? Was I the only one losing it or was the rest of the world along for the ride?

  I took a deep breath and peered around the balcony door. There, true to his word, was Jazza. Hidden from the neighbour’s view, the bastard had gone classic Kurt Cobain style. A needle in his arm and a bullet to his brain. His head and face were all but pulverized. I rushed to the balcony railing and spewed the beer, retching until it hurt. Since when did Jazza do drugs? And a gun? I guess he wanted to make sure he died. He was unrecognizable, except for that huge body and lacy underwear.

  I leaned on the railing, trying to figure out what to do. Sexy Sadie rubbed against my leg, and I patted her absentmindedly.

  I thought about Ava. She was still alive, which was bad. She’d no doubt recover, and I’d be charged with double manslaughter. Plus Adwar was dead. Plus the evidence showed that I had stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars of company money from the PeachDiamondDelux Program, and who’d believe me when I claimed that Jazza had given the money to Ava? Plus Celeste was well and truly off the wagon and Mummy and Daddy were safely in Real Life Florida and I’d bet my bottom dollar, not that I had one left, that Daddy would be protected by his boys. Plus Nanny Flo was gone. And here I was, standing over Jazza’s cold body. I should have called the SSOs as soon as he messaged me, instead of acting like the selfish, sociopathic, psychopathic moron that I was. Oh, and I’d forgotten the big fat cherry on the sundae of my rotten life: I’d struck my wife in front of my son. Then there were the maxed-out credit cards although, given the rest of my life, who cared? I’d been counting on a big bonus when the program reached fruition, but instead I was facing bankruptcy.

  I went back into the apartment and looked at the horror of Jazza’s life. But was mine really any different? It was true that my surfaces were BleachBuddied and sanitized whereas his were shit-smeared and foul, but we were both losers. We’d had a lucky run, but our time was up. There was no rescue in sight. I’d have no choice but to turn myself in and face the music. But then something caught my eye. The spare bullets on the coffee table.

  I knew what I had to do. I grabbed the gun from the balcony floor. I was hardly a gun afficionado, but I recognized a silencer. Jazza had planned this carefully. I tried not to look at him but couldn’t help myself. The blood and bone made me want to throw up again. I had imagined blood would be brighter and thicker, like spilled ketchup, but it was dark and watery, which somehow made Jazza seem sad and vulnerable. His body was twisted to one side, and his Dalmatian-spotted towelling gown opened to reveal a sexy satin peach cami with feather edging and spaghetti straps cutting into his flesh.

  “Jazza,” I said softly. “What a couple of losers, you and me. This wasn’t your fault. None of it was. I’m sorry I was rude about you. I never said it, but you were right, I thought it. I thought I was better than you. I should have been a better friend.”

  I went back inside to look for the printer, but there were too many animals and I had to get out of there as soon as I could. I found a pad of paper instead and wrote a note of my own.

  Then I pocketed the gun and scratched Sadie’s head and she purred. “See you never, you hairless Sphynx cat freak,” I said, and I slipped out, locking the door and praying that no one would see me on the way down.

  I studied my reflection in the scabby elevator mirror. Who was that wretched soul? A man in a bind left with few choices.

  I had to go home, but I wanted to wait until Mother was gone. I was counting on her to leave before midnight to go to her meeting. I flashed her to say that if I missed her, I’d be there minutes after she left. I just couldn’t face seeing her, and I think she understood because she flashed me back an okay—short, sweet, and to the point.

  I had a few hours to kill so I headed for a rage room, not my usual one but a sanctuary none the less. Oddly enough, I didn’t smash anything. I just lay on the floor and let the time pass.

  I knew Mother would have restored perfection. The kids would be bathed and fed and asleep, with every toy tidied away and every surface polished and shining. The Christmas tree lights would be twinkling and the carpet would be spotless, with track lines where the vacuum had cleared a path. There was so much beauty in the symmetry of vacuum patterns. There might even be carols playing, although no, Mother didn’t like noise. The anticipation of that beautiful quiet, the heavenly serenity of the cushions arranged just so, and the untrampled virgin carpet pile made my heart swell.

  I carried that image with me as I drove home and when I arrived, it was just as I had imagined. I checked on my family, and then I carried my sleeping boy downstairs to sit with me in the quiet of midnight.

  Everything was in place, gleaming in the soft lights of the Christmas tree.

  I looked around. If things could be like this all the time, life wouldn’t be so bad. Why couldn’t it be like this all the time? Because real life didn’t work that way. I’d tried and I’d failed. But I knew a way to capture this perfect moment forever. Celeste need never know the truth. And Daddy would never know because I’d pointed the finger at Jazza. Overwhelmed with guilt at his thievery and by how he’d betrayed such a good and loyal friend, Jazza had committed the most unspeakable of crimes. And if Ava lived, I’d find a way to visit her in the hospital and finish the job, tie up the loose ends.

  While I, devastated by the loss of my family, did the only thing I could: I ran from the horror of it all. Ran away. Who wouldn’t? Who would stay in that situation? No one.

  In the stillness of my perfect house, I felt as if I’d been waiting for this moment my entire life. I even felt a kind of joy, an exultation. Everything was going to be fine. Things were going to be neat and perfect forever.

  I lay Bax on the sofa and went upstairs. Celeste was snoring heavily, lying on her back. How she disgusted me. No more ice cream cones, ever. I leaned over her and caught a wave of her alcoholic stench. I took careful aim at the middle of her forehead and shot her neatly.

  Then I went to Sophie’s room. She sensed me and opened her eyes, mewling softly. I stroked her head.

  “I love you,” I said, “but this is for the best. Say nighty-night to Daddy now.”

  I covered her little face with a sunflower cushion and aimed the gun. Once it was over, I arranged the coverlette perfectly and folded her little hands on her chest.

  I went back down to the living room and before I could stop to reconsider, I held the gun to my precious boy’s head and I did what I had to do.

  “Daddy loves you more than anything in the whole world,” I whispered, tucking his favouite bunny into his armpit and pulling his special blankie over his head.

  And I finally felt peace.

  17. LEAVING DODGE

  QUIET FILLED THE HOUSE. The vulture in my chest released its talons and flew away, and I could breathe. I went upstairs and packed as much as I could. I took anything of value, which turned out to be less than I’d thought although Celeste’s jewellery filled a small tote bag and would see me
fed for while. I shoved energy bars, bottled water, and NutriSmoothies into a bag and quickly loaded the car, hoping that nosy bastard, Strawberry Merv, hadn’t seen me.

  It felt surreal, leaving the home of my dreams and knowing I’d never be able to return, but it also felt resolved. Sophie and Bax were sleeping peacefully, the house was shiny and clean, and the thought of never having to see Celeste again made me grin from ear to ear.

  I figured it was a good idea to ditch the car. There were no individually registered licence plates; cars were issued serial numbers by Mobile Production in the same way as toasters or microwaves, and fobs were issued for each vehicle. Because all personal data was loaded onto the dashboards via the CPs, theft was practically non-existent and registering ownership with The Vehicular Bureau was a protocol ignored by most. I just needed a fob and, with it, a new ride.

  I parked outside a dive bar to stake out the perfect victim. Two hours later, a bunch of giddy middle-aged women pulled up in three different vehicles. They parked alongside one another and began to shout about all the fun they were going to have. I followed them inside, and it didn’t take long for them to get more than a little tipsy and tottle off to the washroom together and one woman left her purse on the table. I immediately swiped it and left the bar.

  Mission successful. I transferred my bags and logged onto the woman’s car as an anonymous guest, thanking my lucky stars that her security was so lax. I’d scored well—the bubble was a deluxe model. I trashed everything I could on the dashboard hard drive apart from the driveable essentials, and I blocked the woman’s home control and tracking app.

  Next up, I needed to change my appearance. I picked up a pair of lightly tinted sunglasses, a baseball cap, and supplies from an all-night convenience store, then I stopped to shave my head in a cheap by-the-hour motel. Next on the list was cashing in on Celeste’s jewellery, so I ventured to the outskirts of Blowflyland where pawnbrokers worked all hours and asked no questions. Who knew I was so resourceful? Take note, Mother, I had everything under control.

  And thus began my life as a fugitive, living in my stolen car and thinking I’d let the dust settle before I took a stab at what came next.

  It took a long time for the SSOs to piece the whole thing together. At first their pieces were like the mismatched leftovers of a SparkleExchange puzzle: some seemed to fit, others didn’t at all. I followed their progress on my CP avidly as though I was watching a series on Jazza’s favourite serial killer channel, EchoSerialFree. Crime had been another of Jazza’s and my fascinations, and we had the complete range of Safety Services apps as well as a bunch of dark channel streams.

  Jazza and his apartment caused more furor than the murder of my family. That such a den of filth and illegality could exist within such an innocuous building had the whole city in an uproar. An extermination task force was set up to find Jazza’s furbaby dealer, and Anti-Nature Guards were given carte blanche to enter anyone’s home at any time to check for illegal cargo. Jazza’s animals were ruthlessly deleted. That wasn’t on me. Jazza had killed himself and left them to the mercy of the world. Then there was my dead family and me, gone. And of course, Adwar and Ava and the money. So much disaster, a clusterfuck the authorities had to untangle and solve.

  Then Ava died, thank god. And, thanks to Jazza’s revised suicide note explaining how I had been set up from one end to the other, the SSOs did a forensic investigation of the accounts and they saw that the funds had been transferred into Jazza’s bank account before making their way into an account under my name, which Jazza had set up and operated. Although Ava, had she lived, would no doubt still have insisted I’d known about it and was complicit, I could counter that authorizing money transfers was an act of trust and stupidity, not thievery. After all, I didn’t end up with any of the money, did I?

  But the money was the least of my worries. The SSOs didn’t buy into Jazza killing my family. They said the timeline didn’t fit, that Jazza had died hours before Celeste and the kids. My fingerprints were all over Jazza’s place, but in my defence, we were work colleagues and friends, so of course I’d visited him. And while the SSOs claimed I took Jazza’s gun and killed my family, there wasn’t a single shred of evidence to prove it. Daddy told the SSOs that it made sense to him that I had fled the scene. I was obviously traumatized by everything I’d been through. Daddy said I didn’t have the gumption to kill a fly.

  They found my car, but no one remembered seeing me at the bar and there was no trace of me after I stole the woman’s station bubble.

  But the SSOs insisted I had killed my family, and they said they’d prove it.

  And I had no idea what on earth to do next.

  BOOK II

  CHASING THE PAST TO CATCH THE PRESENT

  18. ON THE RUN

  SHANE’S THE NAME I’M GOING BY NOW. I learned via EchoSerialFree that you need to keep your name as close to your own as possible, so when people start saying “Hey Sh…,” and you turn to answer, it makes sense. So, Shane Bailey’s the new and shiny me. No more Sharps Barkley.

  I keep my head shaved too. It’s tougher than you’d think to successfully shave the back of your skull. I rubbed my head without thinking, and Knox winked at me.

  Yep, it didn’t take long for life on the run to find me back in the bar near the rage room, the same one Norman had taken me to all those years back. I had thought my life was such a mess then, but I’d had no idea. A lifetime had passed. So much had gone so horribly wrong.

  “Shaving your head’s new to you, right?” Knox said, and my face went white with panic. How did he know? I stammered something, and he laughed.

  “Super pale, man,” he said. “And you missed a spot.” He pointed to the back of his head, above his ear, and I reached up. He was right.

  Knox gestured for me to grab a bar stool and I hauled myself up. A widescreen blasted The 24/7 News Shack, an ambulance chasing streaming channel that pub crawlers loved. They were addicted to its neverending loop of trending deals and city crime updates. Oh shit. There was me, weeks later, still a featured headline, with a picture of my smiling former pretty boy self. I rubbed my head. Wished I’d worn a baseball cap. But what with the glasses, the shaved head, and the beard, I looked so different. It was okay. No one would recognize me. Oh god. There were pictures of my family. Little Bax looking pensive, Sophie smiling sweetly, and a glam shot of Celeste at her retouched, high-cheekboned best. I flinched and turned away, watching Knox chat up the bartender, Shasta. He nodded eagerly and scooted over to me. He couldn’t sit still; the guy was a bouncing stringbean of static-carpet energy.

  “She’ll see me later,” he said. “I feel like a kid about to pop my cherry! Look at her, man, wow! I tell you, I love this girl!”

  I watched Shasta mixing drinks and smiling at the world. Something about her seemed familiar.

  All of a sudden, I was exhausted. I didn’t want to be there with Knox and the wall-sized screen and the crowd of drinkers who had boring, happy, normal lives. I wanted to be in my car where I could sleep and escape. I’d no idea life could be this relentlessly demanding.

  “Gotta go,” I said, jumping off the stool. Knox lost his smile.

  “Ah, stay a while, buddy.” He looked at the clock on the widescreen. “It’s hours before she gets off. Stay and talk a while.”

  All he wanted was a patsy to talk at. I shook my head.

  “See you tomorrow? I’ll be here later tomorrow night. And if not here, then the pub up the street. Come find me.”

  I agreed, with no intention of ever seeing the guy again.

  I drove to an underpass, parked, and then climbed into my sleeping bag. As scheduled, the late-night rain began to fall and at first, the sound was comforting on the roof of my bubble, but then it made me think of Baxter and how he was so afraid of the rain. Make it stop, Daddy, make it stop, he cried, burrowing into me like a soft furry animal, smelling of baby powder a
nd his own pureness. I hugged him and told him he was safe. Daddy would keep him safe from everyone, from everything. Then Daddy turned out to be the worst monster of all.

  19. ALONE

  I WOKE IN MY CAR, GAGGING LIKE A CAT trying to hawk up a furball. I couldn’t breathe; the back of my throat was superglued tight. I reached for a drink of water next to my bed, and instead I flung my hand hard against the window. I scrambled around for my bottle of water and chugged it down. I had been dreaming of Celeste and her kiss-shaped big bed and her trolley of toys, and how in that moment I’d felt such triumph over Ava. I’d felt like my whole life lay before me, a race to be won, with cheering crowds and cameras to catch my slo-mo joy as I crossed the finish line to claim my happy-ever-after.

  The rain had stopped. I kicked off my sleeping bag and ran my fingers over my prickly scalp. I missed my hair. I missed so many things.

  I buried my head in my arms and I cried. I finally cried for everything I’d done. I cried for the loss of Baxter and my dear beloved sweet Sophie. My chubby, smiling girl, always so happy, with a big smile on her face for Dada. And my boy, Bax, a worrier just like me. Born to worry and to fear everything. I cried for the man I’d hoped to be. I was nothing but a homeless loser, covered in dirt and crying for all the mistakes I’d made. I was worth less than a Blowfly. I had been right. I knew I would end up in the dirt, and now I had.

  And then I knew where I could go. I could go home, to Mother’s. She’d let me in. She’d help me. She had to.

  20. VISITING MOTHER

  I ARRIVED AT MOTHER’S HOUSE, but I couldn’t face her. I parked a few blocks from the house and scooched down in the seat with the baseball cap pulled low on my head. I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate. I’d considered going to a drive-thru and grabbing something from DinnaBoi or a VendaRipple dispenser, but the thought of food made me feel even worse.