This is part 17 of Todd’s story.
—
images as the bodies burn
seen through my eyes
please don’t make me visualize your pain
images and the sounds of war
seen through my eyes
images of rape and gore
seen through my eyes
images of a shadowed world
please help my god
– Chiasm, “Images”
—
Todd brought his clunker to a stop on the gravel and crumbling concrete driveway in front of the loading dock. Sheila flung open the passenger door and stormed out of the car. Thunk deftly squirmed out of the back seat, with none of his usual grumblings or protests about small cars. Todd turned off the engine and pulled the parking brake. He slowly got out of the car, letting his gaze wander over the whole building. He closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath in through his nose. He could taste the power here, and it reminded him of burnt microwave popcorn.
A pebble went sailing straight for his head, and he brought his hand up just in time to catch it. “What the FUCK, Todd!” Sheila had a handful of gravel pebbles, and whipped another one at him. “Are you trying to prove some stupid point?!” Her eye makeup was running. She was crying and pissed as hell. “You knew this whole time, and you let me feel guilty for not telling you? You let me wallow in being a shitty girlfriend, and you knew all along?!” She limply threw the rest of the handful at him, and burst into wracking sobs.
“Sheila, what the hell are you talking about?” Todd’s confusion was plain on his face. Thunk was watching them both very carefully. Sheila turned around and stormed off, bawling, into the warehouse. Todd’s mouth hung open, as if he’d been slapped. Thunk kept his calculating look on Todd.
“Why did you bring us to this warehouse, Todd? The Carnival isn’t here. Of all the places in Chicago, why here?” Thunk took out a Helix cigar that he’d stolen from Ralph’s house, bit off the end, and spat it onto the gravel. He clamped it between his teeth and lit it, staring at Todd the whole time. Thunk seemed a lot older than he was.
“There’s something here that I need before we get to the Carnival.” With that, Todd spun around angrily and followed Sheila into the warehouse. He was no longer the only one who wasn’t entirely what he seemed. Thunk followed, wearing the same cheshire grin that he’d worn on the way to Ralph’s basement.
The evening sunlight lit the warehouse well, if not in the glittering magic that Sheila remembered from the morning after the party. Shadows were forming and deepening in the corners and beneath the rafters. Her tears stopped as memories of the party, closed to her until now, came flooding back. She slowly walked toward the warehouse proper. For a second, she was sure that she heard Todd’s footsteps behind her, but they’d stopped almost immediately after she had registered the noise.
Something crunched under her boots as she walked. It wasn’t gravel. She looked down, feeling like she was caught in a dream, and saw millions of shattered, tiny pieces of crystal. She followed her path forward with her eyes, and noticed that they covered the floor all the way to the center of the warehouse – right where she was headed. She shook her head and banished her fear. She would not go into this like some dumb blond. Fuck her mistake; now she had a score to settle.
Thunk entered the warehouse last, after giving Todd some time to wander around and get lost. The place hadn’t changed much in a year. There were more jars in the rafters, but that was to be expected. There was broken crystal all over the floor, but it didn’t seem to come from any of the jars. He squatted, inspecting the crystal pieces more closely. The pieces were too small and too numerous to try and piece them back together. Upon a closer look, Thunk could see tracks in the crystal. One set was small, light, and recent enough to be made by Sheila’s Hot Topic boots. The other two sets were older by a few days and much larger. The similar walking patterns implied that they had been of similar weight and height. Dr. Celestine and Mr. Weaver. It had to have been.
Panic rose in Thunk’s throat. The Man was not easily killed, but those two weren’t exactly normal, run-of-the-mill thugs. Not only that, but Dr. Celestine had bore an eerie resemblance to The Man. Fatter and older, sure, but almost the same. Thunk took off into the warehouse at a jog, his panic making him forget all about Todd’s missing tracks.
Sheila came upon the machine and stopped, gaping at how complicated and clockwork the whole thing seemed. Two jars rotated on small platforms, crossing each others’ paths often. There had been a third, but the jar looked as if it had been blown apart from the inside, and the platform no longer moved. An old journal sat there, and Sheila immediately thought of Old Ralph’s writing table. Still in jars were her work ID badge, still on its lanyard, and Thunk’s grandmother’s spoon collection. The whole machine conveyed a sense of broken symmetry.
Thunk came rushing up behind her, and skidded to a halt on the crushed crystal. He saw the machine, registered it, and looked around frantically for something else. “Sheila, they came here, those two assholes from the Carnival. Dr. Celestine and Mr. Weaver!” He kept looking around, searching for something.
“So?” Sheila scowled at Thunk, not liking how familiar with this place he seemed.
“He is merely concerned for my well-being, Sheila. To say that we are not friends is understating the animosity between the Doctor and myself.” The Symmetrical Man walked out of the office and toward them. Now, his sinister intent was unquestionable. Thunk heaved a sigh of relief. “Welcome to my home.”
—
Eine halbe Tasse Staubzucker Ein Viertel Teeloffel Salz Eine Messerspitze turkisches Haschisch Ein halbes Pfund Butter Ein Teeloffel Vanillenzucker Ein halbes Pfund Mehl Einhundertfunfzig Gramm gemahlene Nusse Ein wenig extra Staubzucker … und keine Eier.
– Tool, “Die Eier von Satan”