Dark Star by Alexander Paul

Author:Alexander, Paul [Alexander, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Novels
Published: 2010-12-15T08:00:00+00:00

*****

Several times Monday, Doc tried to drag Deacon into a conversation. He resisted.

Deacon slipped into the service area and began an engine overhaul, something he had not done for a long time. Surely, sane people don’t hear voices, he pondered. Okay, Saturday, what happened? He began to make a mental list: Drank mimosas in the morning, tipsy not drunk, made love on the kitchen floor, and first time without condom. After that, it’s bits and pieces. I got sick, a kaleidoscope of people, music, dancing, blackness, and the voice in my head. He stopped. I have to write this all down.

A crazy person wouldn’t do that, he argued. A crazy person wouldn’t keep notes, would he? Crazy people babble and wave their arms, they don’t make sense, and they don’t make lists. He felt better. He was going to write it all down and organize his thoughts, just like a sane person.

He walked to Spencer’s Grill. The classic furnishings were a flashback to the fifties with stainless steel and well-worn wood. It was a comfortable place. He slid into the same booth in the back where Doc had first proposed their partnership.

Deacon’s stomach growled. It was early afternoon, and he had not eaten. He ordered a milkshake, half-chocolate, half-vanilla. From his shirt pocket, he took a small red spiral-bound notebook. Over the years, he had kept a precise record of every deal he had ever made, every sale, every trade, every motorcycle, and every customer.

He flipped to the first unmarked ruled page and printed, KNOWN FACTS, at the top. Beneath the title, he made a list of everything that had happened during the past year. It was painful, especially at first, but with ink spilling from the black pen, he painted a prosaic image of his recent life.

There were blank spots in the sequence of events. Those were the blackouts. For the first one, the first time that he was sure it had happened, he wrote, BLACKED OUT, in capital letters. Next to the words, he drew a straight horizontal line across the page, a symbol for lost memory. After he established the key, for subsequent entries he used only the line.

The final entries were the chain of events beginning on the previous weekend. The remaining traces of ice cream, in the bottom of the glass, were a thick warm liquid by the time he finished. He leaned back against the high flat back of the booth, closed his eyes, and stretched.

Details, or the lack of certain details, bothered him. How about when I was passed out? He gave himself a mental quiz. Star said I was alone. She said I was in the same place when she returned. Did I stay there? Was I capable of moving? Either way, what happened to my shirt?

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