Despair - An Unassuming Origin Story

Chapter 1 - Hello Monster

Part 1 - Hello Monster

December 16 2012, 20:08 - Carl's Pub

The night was warm and laced with a curious energy. Something in the air or something in the beer I was drinking, couldn't say, never paid it no mind. My mission, stupa drunk and I was just about to achieve my goal when she slides up next to me. You know the type, flirty, slutty and broke. Macy or Lacy, something short ending in a Y. I let her finish her bit and pay the service charge of one beer. Usually they move onto the next alcohol soaked sod but like I said..something in the air.

I make it clear to her that that's all she's getting out of me but she lingers. Eventually grown bored of her crooked smile and beer breath I take my leave but not before noticing that my cigarettes and change have Houdinied themselves off the bar counter. The look I give her snaps that crooked smile into a sneer. It wasn't me she protests, but, as always, I know better. A shouting match ensues and before I know it I'm being dragged out by the so-called security. A middle aged foreign national from somewhere in North Africa. Being a bit of a hard ass I give him words he gives some back and then the punches fly. Our tussle ends us up in an inky black alleyway, rife with the smell of urine. Heavy punches rain down on my head, it's all I can do to stay conscious. I feel myself fading, next stop, blackout. Just before it all goes dark for me I hear a guttural scream like nothing I’ve heard before and then, darkness.

My eyes open. In front of me stands a man, half a brick in his right hand. His hitting the bouncer on the head, drawing blood with every strike. I hear the bouncer's skull crushing as he slowly sags to the ground. The man turns to face me. The man, is me.

Seemingly out of nowhere I'm tackled by two policemen who really really love their jobs and before I can put a word in edgewise I'm heaved into the back of the police van.

I make bail and I'm out the next day. First things first, I need to drink last night away, I mean last night was a hallucination right?! So straight from Wynberg court I find the nearest pub and lo and behold who do I run into, Macy or Lacy, something short ending in a Y. She sees me and shifts uneasily in her seat, avoiding eye contact. Something different about her but I'm too distracted and too sober to care. I sit down next to her, she turns and smiles nervously, so you remember, she says, how can I forget, I say while getting the barman's attention. "He’s dead?" she asks, blowing smoke circles from the cheap cigarettes she's smoking."Not yet, comatose, Victoria Hospital." I think I notice a glint of disappointment, can't be sure.

I ask Macy what she's doing here but she avoids the question and quickly changes the subject by putting her hand on mine and apologizing to me for what happened. I nod in acceptance and as I do the memories of last night flood back in full HD.

The half a beer I drank comes spilling back out as I relive the blood and gore of the night before . Before the barman can say anything I put my hand up and start making my way out the door, as I leave Macy shuffles after me. I'm sure it’s to ask for a ride somewhere and I'm just about to shoo her off when she takes my hand and says "darker days are coming, decide."

I call her but she scurries down the busy Wynberg main road disappearing into the crowd. I'm going to need another drink..

Home, my mind reeling with questions. After a shower and some breakfast, half a bag three day old mushy and furry cheese and onion chips, I lay my head down in one bedroom separate entrance situated in the corner old Mr and Mrs Isaacs yard, a retired Muslim couple who needed a little extra income when I needed a little extra place to live. There's only so much a mother can take from a violent drug addicted son.

Sleep comes quickly, I'm launched into a dark, dank, musty cave. A gloomy light emanates from an unknown source, I hear leaves rustle and what sounds like a dog digging a hole. I know I'm dreaming but it never felt this real. I walk to where the light’s coming from and see an entrance to the cave. The night sky is royal blue with fine gray streaks as far as the eye can see. I look to where the noise is coming from and see a huge black dog, about as tall as an average man, fur covered in mist. It's pulling something out of the pale gray earth. It must be something bulky because the man sized dog is struggling. Suddenly it sees me! I freeze in panic but it simply snorts sand out of its nose and carries on pulling. After a short while the dog looks up at me again and then speaks to me as if speaking directly into my mind.

"WELCOME HOME!!" the words vibrate my soul asunder.

I'm back in my room, drenched in ice cold sweat, must've been the chips. A quick shower and I'm off to find some fresh trouble to get into.

It doesn't take me long.

Al, my best friend since Pac Man, has come to check if I made bail. He also just conned someone out of their hard earned cash so that we can celebrate my not being incarcerated, case pending. We’re on our way to the pub next to the pub I'm now banned from, my lumps and knobs still quite tender. No sooner do we get there than who slides up next to me? You guessed it, Macy. For a second there I thought you were mad at me she says smiling and then does something never seen before in any pub anywhere in the world, SHE buys ME a drink. She carries on, who's your friend? Al I say, can we get a moment alone? she asks. Al gives a sigh and side long look before lazily moving to a table.

I start, "what the hell is going on?!" I really wanted to be wringing her neck while asking this but I'm quickly running out of bars I'm allowed in. She lights a cigarette and I notice she's shaking like a leaf, and not just from alcohol withdrawal. "My name’s not Macy, it's June and your prayers have been answered.

Allow me to explain.

End of part 1

Part 2 - History

Growing up with an alcoholic womanizing father wasn't easy. While there was no real physical abuse the emotional and verbal abuse was rife. I can't tell you how many times I came home to my father's clothes dumped into black bags lined up on the pavement in front of our house. I also can't tell you how many times my mother forgave his infidelity. My mother, after struggling for many years, eventually divorces my dad. I was fourteen at the time, too young to comprehend the emotional upheaval. This sparked my down spiral.

First my schooling turned to crap, mainly because instead of going to school I would meet with other miscreants at an older miscreants house to bunk.

Then I discovered drugs and it was beautiful. All the pain and confusion I obtained through my messed up growing up was numbed, be it short lived. Like most I started with marijuana and quickly moved to mandrax tablets, first introduced as a sleeping pill then later banned due to it being highly addictive. From there anything that would get me high or drunk would do. The next twelve years were a murky blur. In and out of holding cells, regularly being robbed or beaten up, hanging out in the ghettos, it's bound to happen. I quickly became the villain of my neighborhood, parents would use me as a cautionary tale, lock their doors when I walked past and look at me with pure disdain. I assumed the roll.

Eventually I hated myself as much as they hated me which only fueled my drug use and then I met her. Never before have I seen such beauty. She was coming out of a shop I was going into, our eyes met and for the first time in twelve years someone greeted me with a genuine, warm smile. I could not get enough. Nervous as hell I took a chance and asked for her name, Bronwyn. She was a church youth leader visiting a church in Lansdowne, my stomping grounds. We exchanged numbers and things took a romantic course. She wasn't stupid, knew I was on "the stuff", that's how she put it, and offered to help if I ever wanted out. I of course took the opportunity with both hands having the most beautiful reason in a dress to stop using. She got me into a Christian based rehab in Fish Hoek and three months later I was three months clean. Life was good. The months following were pure bliss. Movies under the covers, Saturday lunch dates, I was a brand new man.

Then, they took her from me.

June 13 2011 7:38pm she took her last breath. Hit and run on Plantation Road Ottery. The one witness, an eighty year old retired dressmaker, Edith, told the police that a truck with a company logo that looked like a spider web came barrelling down the road, climbed the curb, knocked and drove over her without stopping.

The body was unrecognizable and could only be identified by the bracelet I gave her.

Closed casket funeral. Never made it to the church, reminded me too much of her. Made the graveyard, stood a few meters off watching them lower my love into the ground. After everyone left I stood at the grave as if rooted into the ground. The grounds keeper eventually had to escort me out five hours later.

I have nothing left.

The danger with putting all your sobriety in one basket is if said basket gets run over by a truck all your sobriety gets run over as well.

I was on a mission to black out. Drew all my money, bought all the drugs and alcohol I could and went to find Al. Al's standing outside of his house deep in conversation, emphasis on CON, with some poor sucker about to lose his money. I'm in no mood to wait so I tell the victim to not believe anything this guy says as he still owes me from three months ago. Al grinds me a look but understanding where I'm at shrugs it off, walks over to me and slaps his long fingered hand on my right shoulder. That's about as much affection as we ever showed each other.

He shares his condolences and tells me he has prepared for tonight in case I wanted to turn to my old ways to numb the pain. He knew exactly what she meant to me.

Down my first whiskey and the tears come, none stop. Al is as awkward as I have ever seen him, shifting his weight, darting quick looks at me without actually looking at me.

Eventually he pipes up, you need drugs, I need her! I scream to him and as if being controlled by some unseen puppet master I lunge out at Al, it's all he can do to get away from me.

He leaves and I lock myself in my room gobbling handfuls of pills downing it with neat whiskey. Twenty minutes later I'm on the edge of consciousness hoping it's the beginnings of an overdose. I refuse to live this life without her.

As I'm fading away I curse God and scream out at His enemies for vengeance. "if any of you cruel gods are listening, take me and bring her back"

The next day I'm woken up by banging on my room door. It's my brother, Mark, are you alive?, he shouts, Al's here. As I'm getting up a concoction of rancid smells I can only describe as six months old rotten eggs wrapped in twelve months old rotten eggs bombard my olfactory senses. Jam packing your body with drugs and alcohol will do that to your innards.

I open the door and Al greets me with a cigarette and a smile. We ok? He asks, slapping his long fingers on my right shoulder. I give him an apologetic look and that's the end of that.

One day bleeds into the next as I try to suppress the suffocating pain. I lose my job a week after the funeral, truthfully I just didn't go back and didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore. A few months later my mom, Jean, has had just about enough of my stealing absolutely everything out of the house to turn into drug money so I'm out on my ass. Thankfully the Isaacs have a separate entrance available and my mom saw fit to pay my rent for three months. The rest is history.

End of Part 2

Part 3 - Tertiary learning

December 22nd 2012: Blue Chip pub and restaurant. (heart of the big days)

As I listen to June explain just what the hell is going on, the bar lady, Storme, snaps me out of concentration, "you here to stare into her eyes or are you here to drink?" She asks, nodding towards her tip jar. Storme is as pretty as she is rough. I once saw her drag three sloshed up drunk patrons from the bar to the pavement outside and they weren't going quietly.

Full disclosure, I was one of the three.

June continues, making my head swim with the unfamiliar but I grasp enough to understand.

My first reaction is “where’s the cameras?” Surely I'm being pranked but the look in June's eyes, mostly terror with a swirl of anger, quickly convinces me that there is at least some truth in what she is telling me.

I'll try and explain what took June three double whiskeys and two beers in one beer.

God is real. Heaven, angels, corrupted angels, demons, the devil, all real. They exist on a plane known as The Delusive World and with some backhanded dealings, a blood ritual or two and a shake of a fanged demon’s tail they can exist here too. Here, this world, the one we live in is referred to as The Incarnated World. These two worlds are inextricably linked in more ways than I understand but I do understand that the one strongly influences what happens on the other and vice versa.

Since Genesis, the book in the bible not the iconic eighties pop band, demons and angels and all manner of creatures from the Elusive have been living with us donning human form. For reference see the nephilim, Genesis 6:1-5. They have also had pretty much everything to do with everything catastrophic this world has ever seen. Both world wars, the jewish genocide, September Eleven and most natural disasters.

These terrible events were a result of some Elusive fugitive not wanting to be taken back to where they come from.

After World War Two God implemented the “good behavior” or “affability” law which allows our visitors to stay here as long as they don't break the rules of the accord

The angels now basically police the demons allowed to live here. It's a one strike system so when one messes up he gets his ass deported. Of course deporting a demon or corrupted angel is easier said than done. As aforementioned most of history's worst calamities were caused by a demon on the run. The same, supposedly powerful demon is responsible for both world wars and remains at large.

Massive loss of human life ties angels up in healing and other such work allowing the demon to make good his escape.

See how that works?

And now for the good part she says.

The last and by far the most powerful demon to be taken back to Deceptoria Uanarum Mundi or The Elusive World was Kimaris - The Ruler of Africa. A high ranking warrior demon with twenty legions under him. It’s still a mystery as to how he was captured as even without his legions he managed to obliterate a ward of archangels in the war of heaven.

None the less you have him and his legion to thank for your current state of disarray.

I notice a hint of a smile as June tells me the next part but who can tell with all that lipstick.

Purely by a sequence of random events, or so it seems, you have entered into a covenant with him, the details of which I'm not at liberty to discuss. This covenant is binding even beyond death. After all death is simply a safe passage from here to the Elusive.

I stop June there and ask, and just where do you fit in? You are my contract , she says.

End of part 3.

Part 4 - Cold Casing

June makes a quick flimsy as a banana peel excuse before dashing out of the bar and before I can ask her what she meant by me being her contract. Al comes slinking over already halfway into talking some poor sod out of his beer money. So what was that about he asks. I’m reluctant to tell him for about three seconds and because I only half believe the tripe that has just been hurled at me I proceed to tell Al.

As expected he laughs hysterically and then says something that changes my perspective completely. “Wait a minute, Bronwyn?”

The pieces of this cruel and unusual puzzle cascade my mind like a waterfall of glass shards. The day she was taken from me, the speeding truck with the spider’s web, my failed suicide… Could this all be real? Like really really real? I need more convincing. Time to find June.

Two weeks and no sign of June, everybody knows her but nobody knows where she is or at least they’re not saying. Next stop Lansdowne police station. Living like I do, on the wrong side of the law I quickly got to know the “staff”. A certain detective, Timothy van de Venter who I've had the misfortune of meeting more than a few times and who sort of has taken a liking to me, the fact that he has a coloured wife probably has something to do with it.

He is coming out of the police station as I come through the gate. “Nee jong, hiers nie werk nie” he says laughing, his unhealthily sized belly shaking as he laughs. “What are you doing here without your bracelet? He means handcuffs.

I ask if we can go somewhere private to talk so we head into his shared office. The female detective he shares his office with, Detective Morgan Marz, just about manages to dart a quick look at me before getting back to whatever she’s poring over. Detective de Venter gives her a sidelong look and then looks back at me as if to say, don’t ask, she’s a weird one. So what can I do you for you Mr. Campbell, here to lay a charge against yourself? De Venter says laughing. Laughing at his own jokes has always been a thing of his. “I’m looking for someone, name’s June, sometimes goes by Macy, Marz’s chair scrapes as if she wanted to get up but changed her mind. Venter gives her another sidelong look shaking his head. “She hangs at the Wetton Road pubs mostly, I think she lives around here somewhere,” and why are you looking for her, Venter asks. “She owes me money” I say, “I find that hard to believe, if you are honest with me I might consider helping you,” says the detective. I think about everything that has happened and come up with this well thought out gem, “she’s carrying my child”. Knowing that Venter has a kid I figured it would pull on his heart strings and I figured right. Venter gives me a long hard stare as if trying to stare the truth out of me and then scribbles something on a piece of paper. “Try here he says, and Bradley, congratulations. No belly laugh this time.

As I make my way out of the detective's office Marz rushes past me with an arm full of police files, nearly tripping as she does. The files start falling out under her arm and she scrambles to grab them causing a fountain of paper to spill out. Her colleagues show no sign of helping her collect her files, which is made clear by the snickering and muffled laughs. I bend down to help her pick them up and as I do she catches my eye and either has a spasm or asks me to meet her outside by cocking her head to the rear entrance. I’m only familiar with the rear entrance because that's where you have to report when you’ve been sentenced to community service.

The paper fountain scene subsides, Marz half runs out the front door and I slowly make my way in the same direction. To get to the back entrance you have to go out the front head round the corner and enter through a side road, if you are not allowed to walk freely through the police station of course. I step into the side road and almost get taken out by a VW Polo. It’s Marz. “Get in!” She says absolutely nothing for the first two minutes of the drive even after I asked her what’s this all about. We eventually end up at her house in Fairways, she clicks the remote for the gate to open and in we go.

She pulls the car to the back of the house where a dingy seperate entrance appears.

“Get out,” she says. I do as ordered, follow her into the separate entrance and good grief I am going to die here is my first impression. Books strewn everywhere, what seems to be a collage of storyboards, graphs, photos, yellowed, ripped out pages from books I have no idea what about stuck on every wall. The sink has also been used to make a fire at some point.

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The room's dusty smell was masking a rotten or decay odor but wasn’t entirely successful and I had just about had enough of it when Marz starts, “Why are you really looking for her, she can’t fall pregnant”

The statement peaks my interest two fold. For one Marz definitely knows a wealth about June and two, what happened to June that she can’t fall pregnant.

“Why don’t we try a little quid pro quo” I say, “a little give and take?” “You tell me why you are privy to intimate details of June and I’ll tell you why I’m really looking, deal?” My particular brand of cockiness twists Marz’s face into red hot scoul, her cheeks flushing up like two red peaches.

So quickly all I see is a blur and the next thing I’m up against the wall, her left hand around my throat, and what I can only assume is a gun to the side of my head and that’s when I see it. Complete and utter fear.

“Please, I’m sorry, I’ll tell you everything.” I just about managed to squeeze that out of my dam near crushed throat before she releases her grip.

The thing about dealing with people riddled with fear, paranoid people, is you need to get them into your confidence, make them feel like you know exactly what they are going through, like you too know real fear, that you are part of the club.

The last thing you want to do is have that person add you to their list of top ten most feared individuals because all too often that list turns into a top ten list of creatively murdered people.

As if waking up from a nightmare, Marz regains her composure, stoews her gun and pulls a chair out from under a stack of books for me to sit on. She gets one for herself and apologizes for the outburst. I accept the apology and we move on to me telling my story.

I start with the night I met June and get to the grievously violent, still haunting me, part when tears start welling up in her brown eyes. Next thing she disappears into what I hope is the bathroom because she throws up the past five meals she’s eaten.

She comes back into the room with her hand up as if to ward off any concern I might offer so I continue with my story and notice that she hasn’t so much as raised an eyebrow to all the wonderfully macabre weird things I’m telling her.

“Which brings us to here” I say, ending my debrief. “Where can I drop you?” she asks while trying to find her car keys. In protest I stay seated and say “quid pro quo?” while rubbing my neck where thick red finger sized marks now lay. Being as intuitive as I am, a life of crime teaches you how to expertly read the people you conning, I see the internal struggle she goes through trying to convince herself to trust me so I put on my puppy dog eyes and say “you’ll have to trust someone sometime.” She darts a quick dagger look in my direction before she relaxes her grip on herself and at least some of the tension is defused. I’m making progress.

Coffee? She asks rummaging through her kitchen cupboards. She eventually finds some, what used to be coffee, and two mugs. The taps in the kitchen must not work because she rinses the mugs and fills the kettle in the bathroom. Time for some quid pro quo. I start, “so, June?” She’s my sister, says Marz.

End of part 4.

Part 5 - June

It takes a few seconds of intense staring before Marz is comfortable carrying on. “I checked you out while you were busy with Venter. You’ve been a very busy man.” The devil makes work for idle hands I say. Marz cracks the faintest smile I’ve ever seen, I must be wearing her down. “Look, you know my story, you haven’t called the men in the white coats so there’s obviously at least some truth to what I just told you and you obviously know more about it than I do, so you can leave me to my own devices which will mean me getting the straight of this by any means necessary or you can educate me.

Marz concedes, “June was born June Mary Davids to Charley and Gloria Davids on the 5th of June 1984, the time of tear gas and caspers. She was supposed to arrive in May but was shy, that’s where her name comes from. Twins, a boy and a girl. Since before she could talk she had a flair for the dramatic, painting herself with mom's make up whenever she got a chance.

The nickname "meisie" which means girl in afrikaans and pronounced Masey was pretty much set in place the day they brought her home from the hospital.

Her brother was still born.

Parkwood was the small, ghetto, suburb we were born into, a place where everybody knows everybody and a child coming to knock on the door to lend a cup of rice and two pieces of chicken was considered normal. There was also crime and lots of it. This is what drove me to a career in law enforcement. Well that and what happened to June or rather what didn’t happen to her molester. Everything changed after that.

Our dad became an alcoholic, our parents got divorced, June eventually ran away and I went to live with my grandmother. Not able to comprehend or process the shattering of my family I became a rebellious teen which culminated in me being sent to a “school for troubled teens” or junior prison where I quickly learnt to defend myself, and others. I later learnt that it was the guilt for leaving my little sister alone in this cruel world that drove me to protect others.

A police woman gave a talk one career day and I was sold. From there I pretty much left school and walked straight into my police training. Few years later I made detective and was assigned to the Lansdowne Police Station. On my first day there, a kicking, screaming, swearing like a sailor lady is dragged through the station. June, I recognised her immediately.

After being processed I grabbed her file with a bunch of others claiming that I wanted to familiarize myself with the local cases. Her file was by far the largest. Everything from vagrancy to breaking and entering and even arson. The false name she uses - Masey does not escape irony.

Her earliest mugshot, 4 December 2004, confirmed it was her. Light scar over her left eye about a centimeter long. I put it there. I had to see her so I made my way to the holding cells.

She’s pacing up and down the cell when I get there. Without introduction I ask her what she’s doing here. The glassy hard look I get sinks my heart into my stomach where a knot tightly twists, she doesn’t know me.

Too afraid to face my past I resolve to watch her from a distance, so to speak, I do what I can to make case dockets and evidence disappear and one time even “forget” to lock the cell gate. Her criminal career continues at a steady pace and she’s in and out of holding cells on suspicion of the aforementioned various crimes pretty much every few months. This has been my life, well, until the night I decided to back detective Venter up on a gruesome beating with “strange circumstances involving that Masey girl” I’m sure you remember, you are the accused after all.

I have never seen anything close to what I saw that night. If June was involved in this I had to find her, find out what she’s involved in so I made a quick excuse and left the scene. An hour later I spot June stumbling out of one of her drug den sugar houses, clutching a red, fake, snake skin purse under her arm. At first I think she’s having it out with someone inside the house I can’t see but then the heated conversation with this seemingly hidden person carries on as she walks down the road. I brush this off too as she’s obviously so far gone from the drugs and alcohol she’s arguing with someone only she can see.Turns out I was only half right. Only she could see who she was arguing with but it wasn’t a person. A person could not lift her up by her neck and pin her halfway up a light pole before POOFING her and itself into thin air.

Unable to reason with what I couldn’t explain, I turned to my one constant, the job.

Starting that very night I launched myself into an all out, everything concerning the unexplained investigation. Having an eidetic memory and suffering from insomnia for the past, well, my entire life, really came in handy and if I didn’t have trouble sleeping before all of this I definitely do now, I had no idea what was out there in the dark.

Within days I’ve compiled enough knowledge and books to..well write a book. So far, and with what you told me, I’m looking for a person or being of interest but don’t have the right tools, also I’m not working for the ideal organization to deal with something of this bat shit crazy magnitude.

If what you said is true we need to find an angel.”

“WE?” I start. “So we are a WE now?” My classic grin quickly disarms her dagger stares. “We need to find an angel” I end.

End of part 5.

Part 6 - Enoch

For the next few hours, well into the night, we pore over what the detective has gathered. First we need to separate the crazy from the stupid and then the absolutley nuts from the somewhat credible which was not an easy task.

Firstly most of these books were written by people long dead or under pseudonyms with no indication of what the author’s real name is and then there’s the fact that all of it was published in some foriegn country and translated to english. Our research gets us nowhere, there’s a few common themes, names, phrases we find but that’s about it.

“I need some fresh air, is there a shop we can take a walk to to get some smokes? I’m out” The detective lifts her eyes to look at me not hiding her annoyance. “Let’s go,” she says, grabbing her phone. We get to the shop as the Pakistani owner is closing up. “I just need a packet of cigarettes please” The shop owner sighs but goes behind the counter motioning me to the front of it. While giving the Pakistani grief for the over charging of his cigs I look to Marz for support but she’s disappeared from the shop stoop. I quickly pay too much for the Rothmans Mild Twenty and dart out. By the time I see her she’s walking towards the center of the park opposite the shop. It’s the middle of the night so it’s pitch black dark, “Marz! What the hell are you doing?!

I run after her still trying to get her attention and light up at the same time but to no avail, she continues walking to God knows where. I’m about five meters away from her when she stops. “Oh now you decide to hear me now when my shoes are..”

She’s suspended a meter or so off the ground, seemingly held there by nothing at all, the air around us shimmers and then it shows itself, clad in a pitch white suit including hat and tie and with superhero powers apparently as he has Marz contorted, suspended a meter off the ground while sitting on a ornate, high back chair.

“I apologize for the theatrics but I needed to get your attention in the right way, you can call me Enoch.”

By now you must be wondering if this is all real, let me assure you, it is. The two of you have been very busy with things you know less than nothing about but have kicked up just enough dust to get the attention of some very bad, very powerful and absolutely influential beings. They have plans for you which ends in eternal misery for the both of you, well for all you really but I, I’m here to offer a way out. All of what you've been through, your suffering, your pain, your unanswered questions, all of it can be gone in a flash BUT you’ll have to want it.”

He glances to his right and nods to something I can’t see as Marz drops to the ground unconscious. “I have to cut this short unfortunately, we’ll wrap this up soon”. He tips his hat and he's gone.

Still staring at the nothing where a man in white suit on a high back chair sat, I hear Marz groaning and just then remember she’s lying unconscious in the cold wet grass.

“Marz!” Her eyes slowly open, you better have some damn liquor in that kitchen cupboard of yours. No way I’m dealing with what just happened sober!

Back at the Marz cave the detective takes a quick shower while I ransack the place for some alcohol. I eventually find some and knock back a triple while Marz gets all the grass out of her hair. She hasn't said a word since our little adventure. "I need time, you need to leave, I'll get you an Uber'' she says. "So we are not going to discuss the episode of The Twilight Zone we were just in?" I say before getting shoved out of the door. "You're going to have to talk about this some time and I'm the only one who'll believe you when you do!" I protest at the closed door then hear the click of the door lock.

I'm not going to sleep tonight, I wonder if Al's still up..hmm.

Back in Lansdowne things are typical. Ladies of the night selling their wares, three hooded characters briskly walking in the Hanover Park direction excitedly discussing how they came across their ill gotten gains for the night's drugs. I recognize the one, "Aly!" his head drops. What?! I'm in the middle of something, Al shouts from across the road. I shout back, "The bars buzzing, come on!" A few quick exchanges of hands and Al's next to me. You look like you've seen a ghost, he says. "I think I did, let's hit the pub, I need it in the worst way, so….what have you been up to?”

End of part 6.

Part 7 - Black Dog

Back at the pub I mull it over for a second before deciding to tell Al about the day's events. It takes me only a short time to convince Al that everything I’m telling him is real and true. Years of doing dirty deeds together has fostered an incredibly strong bond between us. I feel like we felt walking out of the KC movie house after watching the Matrix for the first time, unreal, says Al. That’s pretty much been my life since all this crap started I say. So what’s next? asks Al. Well first we drink so I can get some kinda rest tonight and then tomorrow we get ourselves arrested.

On hearing this Al spits out a gulp of beer all over the bar already raising his left hand while motioning to the bar rag in apology to Storme. Storme throws the rag smack on Al’s face, I laugh for what feels like the first time in days. Storme must’ve noticed the intensity in our conversation because she cops us a whiskey each with a quick wink.

I explain that we need Marz and getting arrested will get her attention. She either doesn’t know or does know and is not telling me what she knows and I have to do something drastic to let her know how serious I am about getting answers and finding June. Al slowly nods confirming his allegiance to me and the situation. After all the seriousness we forget about it for a while, reminisce, get tipsy, piss Storme off two or three more times and head home. I hit the sack fully clothed, sleep comes quick...I’m back.

Like a Netflix movie I paused, “the dream” picks up exactly where it left off. The man sized dog is sitting looking intently at me and whatever it pulled out of that hole is wrapped up in a sackcloth behind it, writhing. I’ll try and describe what happens next as best I can. This is a dream after all.

I feel the dog asking me a series of questions, it’s head tilted slightly to the left, hundreds of them. They gently bombard my mind but not so much in words this time but sequences of emotional variants, feelings. Like when a homeless street child asks you for money, makes you feel guilty about the R25 cup of coffee you’re sipping and just generally feel bad about the super selfish person you’ve become just by looking at you...until you reach the next traffic light and out of sight out of mind right?

I understand the questions or at least feel I do but I don't know how to answer. Abruptly it;s goes dead silent. The dog’s looks intensifies, smoldering, white hot. It;s washing my mind with fire, burning it in brilliant crystal white heat and then, “MY NAME IS QIQIRN! You can call me Q-bone. Your world and mine are colliding with egregious consequences. We need to put a stop to it or your world will suffer a fate worse than death. Over and over and over again” Out of nowhere a vicious and unrelenting wind whisks up an instant sand storm. Q-bone’s saying something but I can hardly make it out, “you have to find her there before you find her here! Find the girl! Find the...” is the last I hear before I’m back on my bed.

It takes me a few seconds to realize what the crustiness on my face is all about, nose bleed. My pillow’s covered in blood and my head hurts substantially more than usual. That clearly was no dream or no ordinary dream. Was he talking about June? What did he mean by find her here and then there? Is all of this really happening or was I slipped some acid? One things for sure, that damn detective’s time’s up. I’m owed some goddam answers!

A quick breakfast and I’m out. Need to find Al and then lady law. Al’s still busy with his morning coffee and what looks like what used to be bread before it was scorched black and smeared with Melrose cheese spread. Jail time he says between chews. Gimme a minute to put some clothes on. Al disappears into his room while his mom, Mrs. Coockson, strolls into the kitchen. A tiny, frail woman who has been through way too much and every line on her face says as much. Sadly I contributed to some of that suffering. Hi how’s your mom, asks Mrs. C. “I’m sure she’s fine, haven’t been around there in a while, give my regards when you see her, she says, “will do Mrs Cookson” I say as we walk out of the door. We stand at Al’s front gate, Al’s putting his jacket on, unlit cigarette in mouth. So what are we doing? He asks, getting arrested I say. He lights the cigarette, picks up a brick and is just about to throw it through the neighbors window when I grab his arm, the brick falls on his toe, hilarious. What the hell are you doing?! I shout. Trying to get us arrested he says hopping around on one foot and you owe me for this!

When I eventually stop laughing I explain to him that there might be a better way. “Something you could’ve told me BEFORE I BROKE MY FOOT”. He's exaggerating of course.

I told him that first we might try going to talk to her like normal, upstanding, law abiding citizens of South Africa, by appointment maybe and if that doesn’t work, stake out the police station until she shows up.

We get to the police station and it’s business as usual. Cops laughing, phones ringing, two guys we know from Hanover Park being dragged in, hands in cuffs, just another Lansdowne day.

I walk to the desk and say I’m here for my appointment with Detective Marz. The female officer, Chrishaner De Wee, according to the name tag, picks up the phone and tells us to have a seat. Unfortunately for us Marz doesn’t come out of the office, our old friend Detective van de Venter does. We should’ve just gotten ourselves arrested.

Venter, his classic giddy grin glowing motions us into his office. Al asks what the hell I’m getting him into, I start looking for a way out of the pig pen. Once in the office Venter closes the door behind us. He's never done that before.. So, Venter starts, you boys are looking for Marz hey, so are we. My forehead is instantly covered in sweat, heat rising. I need to count my words here. I’m just the friend Al pipes up, you guys don’t need me here do you? Stay where you are Mr. Cookson, says Venter without shifting his gaze from me. I’ve never seen him so serious. “Detective marz is missing and the description of the last person she’s been seen with is a lot like you, now you are here looking for her.

So a young colored man, like all the other suspects in all your open cases I say with a certain amount of cockiness.

I’ll be paying for that sooner than later.

My comment turns the serious Venter into the never seen before angry Venter. This is as serious as it gets, says Venter, your jokes aren’t getting you out of this one funny man lest we forget about your pending assault with grievous bodily harm case. I can hold you for forty eight hours as a person of interest so tell me everything you know or it’s prison food for supper!

Obviously I can’t tell the red faced Venter what happened but I have to tell him something and soon, his patience has all but run out. Time to turn on that signature charm.

“Sorry detective, I’m nursing a hangover. You guys do great, thankless work, please forgive me.” The redness in his face slowly fades as he continues his cross examination. “That’s fine, we are all on edge here with one of us missing. Even if it is the department nut. So, why are you looking for Marz?” I need to choose my words carefully here.”She’s helping me find June. “You mean Macy?” I nod yes. “She’s a regular customer of ours but hasn’t been around in a while. Why would a detective be helping you find her, do we work for you now?” I could say something snarky here like, YES PUBLIC SERVANT but that will only serve to aggravate the situation and as it stands my facade is already starting to crumble so I go full Hollywood on this punk bitch dicktective. With tears welling up I proceed. “As you already know, detective, the girl your colleague is helping me track down is pregnant with my offspring.

There’s a brief moment of deafening silence. I can’t see Al’s face but he's clearly having a very hard time trying to stifle his laugh. He breaks the silence quickly getting up and walking out holding up a cigarette in his right hand. I see his shoulders shaking as the laughter he can’t contain anymore starts seeping out.

The detective, shaking his head, doesn’t try to stop him and pipes up, “you, a father, now that’s a scary thought.”

That insulting statement gives me the upper hand in this verbal cage match. With the most angry face I can muster I glare at him and say, “I thought you were different but you are not. You're just another racist, judging, white prick that thinks nothing of coloured folk and this conversation is over!” I get up to storm towards the door, he grabs my right arm, his all mine. I’m sorry he says. That was meant to be a joke but it was a bad joke. Please, let's see how we can help each other. Final score Me 1 - SAPS 0.

End of part 7

Part 8 - Finding Marz

Obviously I can’t tell the detective everything, they’ll lock me up in Valkenberg mental hospital so I give him as little as I can without raising suspicion. I tell him that I was with her, that we were at her place because I’m pretty sure he knows that already. I tell him I was in a state, worrying about my unborn child so she took me to her place to calm down and to put together what we know about June in the aim of figuring out where she is. Then it was his turn.

“We were at her place, we couldn’t get in because the landlord, die fokken tief, wanted to see a warrant before he let any of us on the property. We’ll have the warrant by tomorrow. The landlord did tell us that she hasn’t been home since she left with a young man that looks a lot like you according to his description and you just confirmed it. The fact that you are here either means you honestly have nothing to do with her disappearance or you do and you’re trying to find what we know. Look, I think you are being honest but you must understand that as the last person to be seen with her you are a person of interest so don’t leave Cape Town.

We went through her desk and cases she's currently working on.

None of them stand out except for this one, he hands me the folder. Ricardo Gabriel, long time merchant with affiliation to the Americans gang of Hanover Park.

He is the only one we are concerned about but confronting him could blow the five year case that we’ve been building against him.”

This is my opportunity to steer things away from the strange so I chime in. “Ricardo, aka Kai, I know who he is, everyone does. He had a lawyer who used to get his guys off killed right. In his home in front of his family a few months ago, Hassan was the lawyer's name I think.” Dis reg says Venter. Where does he fit into the picture?”

I see Venter struggling with answering me but eventually he gives it up.

“Marz has made quite a bit of headway, she’s managed to convince one of his holders to feed her information in exchange for witness protection once we lock him up for a thousand years or death. Whichever comes first. Katie Eye. So named because she was left blind in her left eye from a childhood frisbee accident is the informant. Marz has had UC training so she goes there from time to time as Rochelle or Rochie. I’m telling you this in confidence and with the knowledge that if it comes out we’ll know it’s you and if you sell out one of us you don’t get arrested, you just disappear. You get me?”

Venter leans forward as he asks with a glare so sharp it damn near splits my head open. “I get you copper and you should know by now that snitching has never been a part of me.” I glare back with a stone hard glare of my own as I state my loyalty. “Well thanks for everything detective I’ll be on my way. I develope a rash if I stay here too long.”

As I leave Venter shouts Indigo Court and the penny drops. He knows I'm well known in H Park and will have no problem popping in at Katey’s in Indigo Court to ask some unassuming questions regarding Marz aka Rochie which is exactly what he hopes I’m going to do. After that I’ll be picked up on some bullshit and brought in for “questioning”. Ok dicktective, I’ll play your game. Next stop H Park.

I’m out of the police station looking for Al. There he is on the corner. Al!, I shout, we’re off to the jungle. The jungle is what H Park is referred to as because that place is dangerous as hell.

Al gives me a five second stare before slowly dragging himself to me. What the hell are we going there for? I hate that place, Al says, “I need to speak to Katey Eye she..” Al has stopped in his tracks like he's somehow been instantly cemented into the pavement.

Allow me to explain.

Katey has a daughter, Gina. Gina is a homely girl with no front teeth. Gina usually serves the “customers”. Years ago Al and myself used to purchase our...party favors from Katey and so were often served by Gina. One night being short on cash for our...party favors Al decided I should flirt with Gina to help with that situation as Gina seemed to like your boy. Which I did and we were successful. The flirting involved however was quickly forgotten by me but not by Gina who has all but put a hit out on me for my deception. Gina will never forget.

Now to persuade Al.

“Come on man, that was years ago, I’m sure she's happily married by now. Besides we were young and ignorant then, now we’re just ignorant.” That gets a chuckle out of Al and we’re on our way. Did I mention how good I am at manipulation?

Not much has changed at Katey’s bottom floor flat unit. The rusted, black painted gate still hung off the one top hinge, the cracked up cemented out front yard still strewn with random dirt, the same blue, broken down Toyota Cressida still parked against the right side wall with the same gray tarp over the roof and the same empty pot plant pots still line the left wall. Well empty besides the sand and some kids toys, Mc Donald’s happy meal toys by the looks of it.

As I raise my hand to knock on the door it opens abruptly. “Gina!” I’m slightly thrown off as I had not figured what I’m going to say to her but things work out..

“You’re a mom!” Gina’s toothless smile has been replaced with sparkly gold fronts and she’s holding a baby on her left arm. The fact that she’s smiling concerns me greatly. I’ve only ever seen her smile once, the night of my deception, this can go either way.

Come in, the cops are busy, she says.

The lounge has had some changes, still smells the same though. Somewhere between curry and stew. Katey still sits in her favorite chair, opposite the front door. Chair has been reupholstered along with the rest of the red and brown paisley lounge suite. The beige, fake wood TV unit still stands, be it lopsided, and decorated with coffee stains, TV’s new but the red and brown paisley matching carpet is not. There’s also a rug rat in a cot that really really needs its nose wiped.

Katey stares at us with her one good eye for about a minute before, “Hi waar stiek julle uit?” Which directly translates to “and just where the hell have you two been?”

I smile and get the ball rolling.

“Hi katey, I see your family has grown.” Gina chimes in, “well I couldn’t wait for you anymore.” She says that laughingly which is also completely uncharacteristic of her also she speaks english now and is quite good at it. so I ask her about the change.

Gina - “I found God and a husband and have been blessed with two beautifull boys. I’m not part of the family business anymore but the family business continues. We have to live here to look after ma (Katey). Broetjie (her younger brother’s nickname, real name Cuben) serves the customers now so you can speak to him, Cuben! Customers!”

Gina hails her brother before I can tell her that we’re not here for that but Al is already digging through his pockets scratching cash together. Before Cuben gets to the lounge I matter of factly ask Gina.

“So, have you seen the detective lately?” The tension in the room rises so quickly it feels like the temperature has dropped sixteen degrees. Cuben appears from the kitchen, Katey raises her right hand to stop him while Gina locks the door behind us.

I feel Al looking at me more than I see him looking at me, I know that look well, it’s the look of JUST WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU GOTTEN US INTO THIS TIME look.

Katey motions for us to sit down on the couch while in the same motion sends Cuben back to wherever he came from. Gina gathers her kids before disappearing into the passage that leads to the bedrooms.

Katey lights a cigarette, “are the two of you trap boys?” Her thick, wheezing voice sounding more intimidating than usual. Trap boys are informants, regular street guys (like me) working for the police undercover as regular guys (like me).

Al’s eyes widen as he begins his protest against this but I stop him with a hand to the shoulder. I need to speak here.

There are two ways I can go here. Number one, get mad at the audacity of being accused of being an informant but that might escalate the situation in a way that can get both me and Al killed or two method acting! I choose the latter and dove in.

With tears welling up I start, “I don't know what to do anymore, Marz was the only cop willing to help me. There’s a girl pregnant with my child, she’s gone missing and Marz is helping me find her. Well she was before she went missing as well.”

Katey’s stares at me as if she can see directly into my mind, “How did you know to come here, you must know about me and that makes me nervous” says Katey. “In all the years I’ve been doing this I’ve never been nervous.” her thick, wheezy voice notes a threatening tone, something I’ve never heard in all my years coming here. Katey’s not convinced. I hear the gate squeaking open and what sounds like at least five guys hastily making their way to the door.

We’re not walking out of here.

End of part 8

End of chapter 1