White Dwarf | 10. The Rabbit Hole

I sat in the dim living room, lit only by the glow of 2001: A Space Odyssey playing on the VCR. I had taken so much LSD in the past months that it now only had the barest of effects on me. I watched the red glowing eye of the sentient computer HAL-9000. It hypnotized me. I could see consciousness in that eye—consciousness without conscience—like Ted, like my first stepfather, like Shafto. I caressed Sung, who was lying on the couch next to me, then looked deep into her pure blue eyes, which were slightly crossed in typical Siamese fashion.

“What’s in there? What makes her alive? A random collection of synaptic connections? Is the whole greater than the sum of the parts? Or is there really such a thing as a soul?”

My mother watched me, listening, no doubt wondering if I had slipped into madness. She knew I was on LSD, but she didn’t have any more of a clue what that meant than I knew what it was like to give birth. The expression on her face was one of confusion mixed with concern.

I put Sung down on the hardwood floor and she walked off toward my mother, chattering in her Siamese way. I called to her, mocking the way Shafto spoke to her, “SOAN!” I snapped my fingers a few times, “SOAN! COME HERE!” More finger snapping. She ignored me just as she ignored Shafto.

“I hate it when he does that,” my mother sighed. “He doesn’t even know how to talk to a cat.”

“Yeah. He talks to her like she’s a dog. I’d love to see her shred into him just once.”

I could sense there was much more about Shafto that my mother hated. I had gotten my mother high on pot for the first time in her life. That probably wouldn’t have happened had she been happily married. She also probably wouldn’t have started drinking so heavily if it hadn’t been for him. It had gotten to the point where the only happiness to be had in that house was when Shafto was gone—for my mother as well as me.

I saw the headlights of the maroon van careening swiftly down the old gravel road. A pang of nervousness shot through my stomach, causing it to knot. My muscles tensed. I got up from the couch and headed for my room.

“Darren, you don’t have to leave. This is your home too! You’re my son!”

Sung slipped under the couch, escaping Shafto in her own way. I smiled smugly to myself. Even a freakin’ cat understands what a piece of shit he is.

“The more I’m around him, the more I hate him… the more I hate myself. I can’t stay here.” With that, I quietly shuffled into my room and resumed reading Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity. As I read, I wondered how much energy would be released if I could force Shafto to undergo a nuclear reaction. With that blissful thought dancing through my mind like a fine ballet, I drifted to sleep, only to awake a few hours later in a cold sweat. It was late, but I knew Willie would still be up—no doubt watching a pornographic movie. The house was quiet, my mom having gone to work and Shafto dreaming fitfully of his tortures in an Army kitchen deep in the jungles of Vietnam.

I called Willie in need of more pot. It was selling at the station faster than I could buy it. My plan to become self-sufficient was working even better than I had dreamed. But dreams came in many forms and my desire for independence was starting to drift into the backdrop of my mind and morph into something else. Despite having all five—arguably six—of my senses obliterated by a half gallon of whiskey, I was still bewitched by that warm glow that flowed quietly throughout my bloodstream. For the past several weeks, all I could think about was going back to that place. Back to that rabbit hole where the truth was buried in a warm swirl of liquid bliss. I sat on the edge of my bed, having agreed to meet Willie in an hour. A mixture of joy and sadness came over me, ripping me in two. I had to get out. I had to find that blackness I had been searching for in every dark filthy unturned piece of rubble littering my soul.

Yet there was one thing I knew I would never be able to kill. Despite all the pot, all the acid, the angel dust, the opium, the valium and the methaqualone, it survived. Nothing would kill that goddamned conscience. It ate away at my heart. It stirred some small thread of emotion buried deep in my gut and I shed a tear—a tear for my mother. I knew the path I was taking. I knew it would change me. I knew she would lose her son. She loved me probably more than anyone ever had and I was going to kill her only child. I only hoped she could forgive me for breaking her heart. But then, it hadn’t been my decision to marry Shafto. Oh dear, sweet Shafto. Maybe he was better than me. If only I could live a life without the burden of conscience—the demon sitting on my shoulder criticizing my every decision.

I sped along the twisting highway at seventy miles per hour, passing cars on turns where I couldn’t see the oncoming traffic. Part of me hoped one would come around the turn and slam into me head-first, killing me instantly. Splattering the red goop in my head all over the road with nothing left to show for it but a few black hairs stuck in thick, crusty blood congealed on the pavement. Part of me wanted nothing more than to survive, survive forever—forever wasn’t even long enough to experience the ecstasy of morphine. If heaven was twice as good as any man of the cloth would tell you, it was still only half as good as the rapture of morphine. Getting that warm cloud of joy flowing through my blood meant more to me than my own life.

It took me ten minutes to make the twenty minute trip. I ignored the floodlights, which blasted on in response to my motion, and tuned out the snarling dogs trained to kill. I was shaking as I followed Willie inside and sat down next to him on the green vinyl sofa. A geyser of foam spewed out of the tears in the fabric.

“Dude, where’s your sister-in-law?”

Willie grinned slyly, “Ya like her, huh?”

I tried to hide just how much I really had liked her, “She’s kinda cute.”

“She’s workin’ at the hospital tonight.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“You shoulda talked to her, dude. I think she had the hots for ya.”

I suspected Willie was making fun of me, or at least exaggerating. There was no way a girl that cute would have the hots for me. Even someone as stupid as Shafto could have told him that. “So, ya got any more of that morphine by any chance? I wouldn’t mind buying some of that and another couple pounds of grass.”

Willie reached into the hidden crevices of his workspace and produced several vials, glass syringes and needles.

I watched carefully as Willie showed me how to use the implements of bliss. He took a vial of the clear liquid morphine and drew some up into a syringe.

“So, you get that from Samantha?”

Willie tapped the syringe, “Well, you didn’t hear that from me.” He carefully stuck the needle into a plump vein in my arm and drew up the plunger on the syringe. A cloud of blood mixed with the morphine. I hated needles; I hated seeing my own blood. But that sight had a warm pleasantness to it that was almost sexual.

Finally, the plunger was depressed and the mixture flowed into my vein.

“That’s how it’s done dude. You think you got it?”

My only response was a fading moan as I drifted away into a netherworld from which I hoped never to return. I could a feel an intense warmth flooding my body. Then euphoria. Did I overdose? Was I dead? Was this heaven? No. It was better than heaven ever could be. Shafto was as distant to me as the fires of Hell now. And suddenly, nothing in the universe seemed to matter more than that colorless liquid.

Once I revived enough to realize what was going on around me, I gave Willie the money for two more pounds of weed, plus 40mls of morphine. He gave me a new syringe and needle all my own. The drive home was much slower than the drive to Willie’s. I kept my speed below the posted minimum and found the only way I could see was to keep one eye closed. Even then, I believe I dipped in and out of consciousness several times.

Finally, I pulled into the driveway, careful to park my car off the circular gravel entranceway so as not to further inconvenience Shafto—my very existence was enough of a burden to him without me parking my car in such a way that he may have to turn his steering wheel a few inches to maneuver around it. I closed my car door quietly and tip-toed into my bedroom. I left the light off, lit a candle and turned on the computer, expecting to do some programming. I sat on the hardwood floor, looking up at the television I’d had to wire up as a computer monitor. The hundreds of lines of computer code scrambled in my brain. Within minutes, I was unconscious.

I awoke the next day, neglecting to take a shower or change clothes so I could make it to work on time and make a good impression on the new manager. Tardiness was out of the question. With the two pounds of marijuana shoved down the front of my pants and the vial of morphine warm in my pocket, I hurried out to my car. The vial almost seemed to be calling my name, begging me to follow it into Wonderland. Even after only two experiences with the substance, the siren call was insanely irresistible. I thought of the program I had been working on the day before—it was the only thing that I could think of to keep my mind off that soft sweet voice calling my name like some unimaginable angel drawing me into that warm light at the end of death’s tunnel.

I sped to the gas station, managing to arrive ten minutes early. Daryl and Daryl was sitting at his usual post, with his usual blank stare. The man I saw in the manager’s seat was nothing short of a complete shock.

It was Toad!

I had known Toad for ages. He taught history at the high school before being fired for buying pot from a student. After that, he worked at the north station for Ted’s wife and would buy my cousin and me alcohol when his shift was over. Oh what incredible fortune this was! Had I any sense, I would have immediately taken up gambling—my luck was approaching astonishing proportions.

“Toad!”

“Hey Darren!”

“So, you’re gonna be managing the station now, huh?!”

Daryl and Daryl scowled. I could tell he was none too happy about being overlooked for the promotion—if one cared to use the term “promotion” so loosely.

“Oh yeah. I guess I paid my dues in the coffin.”

“That place fucking sucked, dude.”

Toad chuckled mischievously, “Yeah, I heard about the deal with the police.”

My face reddened, “I probably should have stayed home that day.”

Toad’s laugh was loud and rapturous, contrasting deeply with Daryl and Daryl’s morose glaze.

“Wow, dude. This is cool. I’m glad Lee picked you.”

“Well, thank you sir!”

I turned to Daryl and Daryl. There was a bonding moment to be had here and I doubted Toad wanted that retard stinking up the festivities any more than I did, “Hey, man, why don’t you go ahead and take off. I’m ready to start now. Go hang out with Cheryl or something.”

Daryl and Daryl counted his money angrily, tossed the wad on the desk and stormed out the door.

Toad looked at me and shook his head, “Yep. I have a feeling we’re going to be hiring for the day shift soon.”

“Good.”

I pulled out the brown paper bag full of weed and rolled a joint that rivaled one of Willie’s pseudo-cigarettes, “Let’s celebrate!”

“I’m with ya.”

Toad and I retired into the back room, taking turns hitting off the joint and watching for the few random customers straggling in. I chuckled to myself as I imagined them coming in to complain to Toad about the horrific goings-on during the night shift. I knew Toad would do whatever he could to pacify them, but Josh and I would never hear a word about it. The takeover was nearly complete. All that was left was to get rid of Daryl and Daryl and the gas station would officially be the drug capitol of Platte County. People would come from miles around to buy all manner of drugs. There would be no Ted with that stupid mole that was probably more intelligent than he was. There would be no having to appease idiotic customers with their outdated beliefs that businesses were no place for drug trafficking. There would be no more senseless firings.

There would only be Toad, Josh, me, pot, LSD and cute teenage girls who would do just about anything for drugs. There was nothing at all standing in my way now. I could smell freedom just around the corner. Freedom from Shafto and his black, murderous soul.

And then there was that warm clear liquid seducing me from my pocket. I could feel its warm tendrils wrapping themselves around my back, slowly slithering up my spine to gently caress my brain. I knew Toad well, but I wasn’t sure how he felt about morphine and needles. I didn’t want to bring it up in front of him. I thought about heading out to the women’s restroom and loading up. It would be the perfect cover. All the employees used the women’s restroom rather than stink up the office.

But I knew I would have to wait. There would be no way I could hide the effects of the morphine. The nausea, the nods, the slurred speech, the blurred vision, the warm wonderful itching.

I could see the sludge that I was becoming—the thing into which Shafto had turned me. All my life I had been fascinated by the idea of true love. A soul mate. A partner so perfect that I would feel complete for the first time in my life, as though we had been split apart somewhere in the heavens. Split apart so that we could be reunited on Earth after a long, cold, empty wait and then the world would be like an orchestra and life would be filled with music.

Then an empty song crept into my heart, with a slight melody of sadness.

I realized I had already found my soul mate. And her name was Morphine.