Diary of a Daydreamer

Psychological Thriller, Take a journey throught the eyes of an addict who quickly delves deeper into the interwoven realms of reality and fiction. Dark Humour.

Some editing still required.

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4. Heads and Tail

I awaken to the familiar sound of my neighbour’s piece of shit car alarm. I open my eyes to find the morning light highlighting the total chaos of my apartment, nothing new there then. I try to sit up when a throbbing pain pierces my temple and flashbacks of the night before smash into my mind. I manage to drag myself out of the pool of my blood. Why didn’t the bastard finish me off? I pan across the apartment, nothing stolen; but then again there’s nothing to steal. The only new thing other than the rat being dead, is a black sports bag with a note resting on top, sitting on my coffee table.

 

The folded piece of paper has blood smudged on the top left corner. I reach forward and pick it up; my hand trembling with the anticipation of what’s to come. The partially dried blood creates a sticky adhesive as I slide my fingers along the edge before peeling it open. I move it into the beam of light from the window. The clear and concise words bring a shiver down my spine. It reads ‘no satisfaction’.

 

I pause before opening the bag then wrap the zip between my thumb and index finger. Every inch of my human instinct tells me not to open it. Human instinct goes out the window with Pandora’s Box in front of me. I slide the zip slowly along the bag, as I dread the horror that is surely to come. My clammy grip reluctant to move any further as fear grabs hold of my soul. I was right to be afraid.

 

I part the seams of the bag, revealing a blood stained hack saw and the head of the eighteen year old girl staring back at me. For once in my life I know what’s coming next. The sound of screaming sirens speed towards my flat and there’s no way I’m hanging around for obstinate enforcers of the law to put me away for a crime I didn’t commit. I snatch the open bag and run to the door. I sprint down each flight of stairs using the beaten up banister to fly round the corners. I finally escape out of the building but slip over on the icy pavement. Hair of the girl protrudes out of the bag as the head attempts to escape; I scramble it back in and clench the ridges tightly together. I lift myself up, stumbling onto some grit before being able to slide round the side of a building into safety; for now at least. I look back round the corner to see a variety of cop cars arriving at my apartment building. That was close, too close. I should actually be thankful for Karl and Sberg’s piece of shit car alarm saving my arse.

 

Right now I need to find Trixie; if anyone knows what the hell’s going on, she’ll know. I keep a low profile and go straight there. No stopping.

 

For the last few years, Trixie has helped me through thick and thin. I met her through a mutual friend. Our mutual friend fought with cancer over the years. Trixie and I would visit him at his home. We got closer and a friendship was born, but sadly a friendship was lost as our mutual friend passed away. His name was Sam.

 

I pound on her flimsy door but there’s no answer. Between my heavy boots and my shoulder, I manage to knock the door open and bash off one of its hinges. I lean the door carefully back against the frame. I dump the bag by the TV and go to Trixie’s stash from her burlesque-style cabinet. Opening the dresser, I find myself spoilt for choice; there’s K, Charlie, acid, shrooms, pills and pot. I go for the coke; knowing Trixie its high quality stuff. Sitting down on the sofa, I have two lines before going back for more.

 

I turn on the TV only to see society’s slanderous news stories being broadcast about all the same old death and destruction; even I don’t believe the world is as bad as the news makes out. I turn it to a music channel while I kick back and kill time.

 

Trixie gets back an hour later with a client. Fuelled by coke, I ‘persuade’ him to leave; he won’t be coming back. Trixie doesn’t say a word as she stands by the door taking off her faux-fur coat. She’s wearing babydoll lingerie like it’s a special occasion. She walks over, pulls out a ready rolled note from her cleavage and snorts a line off the table. Trixie’s not the sort of girl to hide her assets and she knows how to use them. My heart starts pounding so loud that she must be able to hear it - I can’t hear anything else. I tell myself it’s the coke. It’s her though. She knows it’s her. She has that effect on anyone that crosses her path. She has a body built in the form of Aphrodite and she could have anyone she ever desired. She’ll help anybody that comes to her in need; no questions asked. She’s an angel who deserves her wings, flying in the light of happiness, but she’s stuck here in the darkness with the rest of us.

 

It all started when her parents sold her to the devil for a lousy shot at fame. In 1989, three year old Trixie was being babysat by an overly enthusiastic fourteen year old girl who dreamed of getting pregnant as soon as possible. Unbeknown to Trixie or her babysitter, Trixie’s mom and dad were heading to LA after being promised fame and fortune all because Trixie's dad looked a bit like Roger Moore. Who knew Roger would lighten his load as Timothy Dalton became the new bond. They found themselves stuck in LA without the fame and fortune that was promised to them, so they found work in sales instead. Dad sold drugs as Mom sold herself.

 

With so sign of Trixie’s parents, it didn’t take long for the babysitter to realise that motherhood at fourteen was more than a little hard to cope with and found that drugs made coping with the situation a hell of a lot easier. She soon got into trouble owing money she didn’t have, to the imposing figure of Joey Malone. Joey Malone decided on a unique deal with the babysitter and took Trixie off her hands. He had seen this as an opportunity to finally get the child he was never able to have.

 

Trixie had a good life, Joey treated her like a princess and she had a great education, both in and out of school. She had dozens of friends scattered throughout the neighbourhood and no enemies; no-one at the time was brave enough to face the consequences from Joey. Trixie had a fantastic childhood with a family that truly cared for her. She cherishes those days.

 

At the age of fifteen Trixie’s life changed once again. It was a blistering hot Friday in the middle of the summer holidays and Joey had organised to spend the day treating fifteen year old Trixie. They went off to the park and talked about school, friends and the future under the big oak tree that they loved. The familiar sound of the Ice-Cream van echoed across the park and Joey strolled over from the shade that protected them and reached to his wallet for a bank note. Trixie wanted a Calypso and Joey always went for a ‘99’ with a flake. She stayed sitting under the oak tree as she saw Joey handing over the money to the vendor only to be gunned down as he did it.

 

The police got involved and confiscated everything Joey owned. This was a deep drugs feud that Joey was in the centre of and Trixie could tell that the police reckoned he got what he deserved. There was talk of Trixie going into foster care but Trixie opted for the streets, earning money any way she could. It didn’t take long for her to grab the attention of the cities notorious underworld. Most girls would be destroyed by the life she’s had; she’s thrived.

 

“You here on business or pleasure, baby?” She says as she stands in front of me with a hand on her hip.

 

“Ain’t they the same thing with you Trix?”

 

“You’ve cost me a client, broken my door down and taken my coke, and then you make jokes?!”

 

I hold the joint in her direction; she angrily snatches it. The moment she inhales all rage and resentment leaves her. Conversation begins and I get Trixie up-to-date with all my latest endeavours, hoping she could shine some light on the matter. Most people would be troubled by what I tell her but not Trixie. She lights up a cigarette, walks over to the bag. She opens it, lifts out the head by the hair, takes a good look, and scans inside the bag, before putting the head back and turning to me.

 

“Don’t know the skull but I knew your neighbour Jakob, he was quite the customer.”

 

“Jakob?”

 

“You call him Karl...”

 

She goes on to tell me everything she knows, how she heard that Martin aka Sberg, had been sleeping with Chief Superintendent Savage’s wife. I remember the name on the police badge I found earlier, causing a piece of the puzzle to fall into place. Trix tells me that he’s got too much power and he’s not afraid to use it, never for good though, only for his own benefit. She tells me that the world would be a much better place if someone got rid of him. She tells me how he uses the law to get whatever he wants. Generally what he wants is money, but this time he wanted revenge.

 

I feel comforted by the answers that I have received but I still have seemingly ceaseless questions running through my already saturated head. Curiosity killed the cat and it seems I’m on a mission of discovery.

 

 

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