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“Good times yesterday, yeah? Been a minute since we’ve gotten to dick around like that. Personally, I think we’ve waited far too long.” Laid atop silk as dark as a duskfallen ocean, Murdoc made himself comfortable on his bed. “Better late than never, I suppose.”
A lazy sneer washed onto his face while he rubbed up against sweat-wet sheets.
“Cat got your tongue? C’mon mate, the day’s still young. You talked plenty yesterday.” He whistled, low and appreciative.
“Ravishing, I tell you. I couldn’t focus on a word any of those interviewers were saying.” As he recounted the memory, a laugh rippled through Murdoc’s throat. “And then you go and tell Telekom that I pulled Ben Mendelsohn off. You got me good with that one, I’ll give ya that. Must’ve got you thinking though, aye? Got your hand down my pants quick enough, didn’t you? Nasty little minx.”
Murdoc rolled onto his stomach and groaned through the motion like the middle-aged man he was. He tucked his arms neatly beneath his bare chest, humming into his bedspread as he muttered, “You’re so good to me,” with reverence.
His next thought came after a breath. A simple: “Fetch me another drink, love?” Only for his question to be swallowed by the gaping jaws of silence.
“ ‘M talking to you,” he grumbled.
Prying an eye open, Murdoc was greeted with the empty other half of his bed. There was not one impression in the sheets nor stray blue hair caught on a pillow. It was as vacant as ever, and it had taken Murdoc half an hour of rambling to realize he’d been talking to nothing but air. Probably had something to do with the shrooms he’d taken earlier.
To some, this would be a sobering moment.
To Murdoc, it was just another Friday.
It was an easy mistake to make and his sticky right hand had done well to remind him why that was. Eh, same old, same old. Chances were it would happen again, so why bother fussing over it? As far as Murdoc was concerned, the only inconvenience here was that he now had to fetch his own booze.
Dreary and gothic enough to make any Sisters of Mercy fan fall to their knees, the inky colours of his room sucked off the sun and warmed itself on the streams of light that stained his floor and bedsheets. It seared his eyes as he turned onto his back, squinting in a half-assed attempt to spare himself from the golden shower that billowed through his ratty curtains. Sun-facing windows were all fun and games until the light started to bleach your leopard skin rug. Hard to come by, those.
Swerving his head to appraise the distance between himself and the door, his gaze passed over the factory painted eyes of his sex doll.
“Oh don’t look so jealous.”
He arched his hips upwards, shoving his dick back into his pants so he could zip up and wipe his cum-slick hand onto his jeans. All the while, Murdoc’s face split in two and widened a hair further than even that as he sneered and taunted the plastic monstrosity. If he didn’t know any better, he’d’ve sworn that the half-inflated thing was breathing. It shimmered and pulsed. Heaved as if it were alive. Cackling, Murdoc flopped back onto his bed.
Despite the ache in his dry throat, bliss kept his body anchored. He was sailing without course on a silken ship that bobbed and creaked with every shift of his body. A lone captain once again, adrift within the confines of his own mind and starved of his preferred flavour of release.
A fate worse than death, really.
And as he laid there—doing little more than blink and breathe—the door seemed to stretch itself further and further away. His vision tunneled as the distance grew. Avast, captain, and beware. For these waters were deeper than they seemed.
Through a vat of mental molasses, Murdoc dragged his lumbering body upwards. His head felt alight. Skin all tingly. He hunched forward to grab a sweater off the floor and lost himself in the feeling of wool catching on his callouses. The black stripes felt warm. Blue, a bit cooler. Or maybe he was taking the piss out of himself.
He laughed at the thought and slipped the sweater on. Let it hug his body and itch his skin. The feeling helped pull him down from the clouds and will himself forward, only to immediately bump into the single-seater sofa he kept by the door.
Like water pouring out of an unplugged tub, the rest of Murdoc’s straggling consciousness drained out of his bliss-sodden mind. He gripped the seat for balance. Dug his nails into lukewarm leather when his knee knocked something over. It rattled on the floor and Murdoc wasn’t all that surprised to realize it was his shotgun.
He couldn’t remember if he’d left it loaded the last time he’d fished it out from under his bed, but considering the lack of shotgun pellets in his ankles, it was safe to assume the latter. Must’ve been a good day, then.
With one lazy movement, he pulled the door open and kicked the gun out of his way. Let the cool, hallway air wake him up a bit and remind him where he was.
The stairs were to his left.
A familiar, shut door to his right.
He glanced at it—at the door. The one that led to 2D’s hole-in-the-wall bedroom. It was quiet, save for the muted sounds of bedsprings creaking. Sheets ruffling. Murdoc nearly let himself drift closer, but something deep within kept him buoyed.
That part of him that knew there was no point.
But dwelling on such would help no one. Especially not Murdoc. Not when he was tripping and thirsty. So, he shut the door behind him and lumbered off to his left, blinked a couple times, then realized he was already midway down the stairs. The entire trip—of which he felt would’ve taken hours—had already passed him by.
He steadied himself on the wall beside him. His mind tried to fill in the blanks but refused to lapse backwards. Demanded forward motion.
A desire that he was more than happy to comply with.
To compensate for his unsteady footwork, Murdoc took the stairs one step at a time and focused his thoroughly baked attention onto his boots. He watched them crease and tried not to slip down the burnt maroon carpet that oozed out into the foyer like an exsanguinated corpse. He was managing pretty well too, but stopped his descent once he heard keys jingling off to his right.
Just as he’d begun to turn towards the sound, a white boot kicked the front door open. Smacked it into a wall as a stretch of colours chased after the motion like an oil spill. Murdoc smiled wide, leaning over the railing to call out, “Ahoy!” as Noodle walked in with arms full of clothing store bags.
She looked up at him. Just a passive glance of the eyes.
“Hello,” she replied in a level tone.
Murdoc bumbled down the rest of the stairs and nearly slid off the last two so he could intercept her in the middle of the foyer. He crowded her, looking at the bags.
“Whatcha got there?”
She sighed heavily, looking as if she didn’t want to deal with his antics but still had enough tact to not drop all pretenses and tell him to fuck off. “Nothing of note,” she remarked, but Murdoc knew better. He saw that twinkle in her eye.
“Oh c’mon, we both know that’s not true.”
With a pensive purse of her lips, she peered down at one of her bags; thinking so loud Murdoc could nearly hear it.
It didn’t take her long to come to a decision, and as she spared Murdoc a longer glance, he couldn’t help but perk up at the excitement—happiness—that cupped her eyes. Once she met his gaze, however, that spark died out. Smothered by the sight of his enlarged pupils.
“Not today.”
Without pause nor remorse, she carved a knife between them and removed herself from their conversation. Her technique had long since been perfected and all Murdoc could do was nod as she walked towards the stairs.
The shrooms made him all too aware of the speed in which her joy dulled. How it hardened into an impassive look that made his stomach churn. Before he could think better of it, a small, borderline desperate part of him spoke up and asked, “Are you hungry?” in a last-ditch effort to remedy her disappointment. He heard her stop walking and distracted himself by looking elsewhere. “I was thinking about ordering something.”
He waited. Listened for footsteps. Felt hopeful when she didn’t immediately walk away. And yet, he should’ve known by now not to get his hopes up.
“I ate at the mall,” she said, sparing no room for fluff as she strode the rest of the way upstairs.
Fair enough.
At least she didn’t flat-out deny him like she would when the band first reunited. Baby steps, yeah? Yeah. Murdoc scratched his neck and tried to remember what the hell he was doing down there anyway. Ah, yes. Booze. Silly him, getting distracted by the pit in his stomach rather than trying to patch it up with something spiced and sweet.
His bounty wasn’t far off, it sat waiting beneath a loose floorboard in the kitchen and ended up in his hands quick enough.
A fourth of it was gone before he’d even left the kitchen and he considered whether or not he should return to his room with such a prize. Not a good idea, he decided, since scaling those stairs wasn’t high on his list of things to do while tripping. Not unless he felt like crawling. Instead, he wandered further into the main floor, moving on autopilot as he navigated towards the living room.
He turned the same way he’d always turned, raised a hand to shove the door open like he always did, and was greeted with the basement.
“The fuck?”
Walking down a couple steps, Murdoc peered around the space, then backpedaled to confirm that, yes, he had in fact gone the right way.
He stood there, bewildered, but after a minute, he shook his head and laughed to himself. The Spirit House and its quirks were something he was still getting used to, and as long as he was blitzed out of his mind, he doubted he’d ever care enough to learn.
Which, of course, did little to help him.
Good thing he was high enough to not give a shit.
Murdoc slugged his drink back and ambled off in a random direction. At this point, he hardly cared about finding the living room, if anything, he‘d been spurred on by a child-like sense of curiosity. Where’d it gone? Would it be behind this door, or that? Around a corner perhaps?
One way to find out.
The house was as quiet as haunted houses tended to be—so, not at all. Every inch of the place creaked and groaned as he aimlessly stumbled about. Curtains fluttered without wind to push them. Spirits whispered behind him, coaxing him to turn around. And turn he did, but only once the whispers made way for an inquisitive meow.
“Ah, hello,” Murdoc said as Katsu walked around his legs.
He batted his tail against Murdoc’s shin then moseyed off in a direction. When Murdoc didn’t follow, he craned his small head around and stared.
“Are you sure you’d like to help me? Don’t know if your mum would approve.”
Flicking his tail low against the carpet, Katsu wandered off and Murdoc caught up to him after a couple steps. Who was he to deny the feline’s help? Surely the tabby knew how to navigate this labyrinth better than anyone. Lo and behold, the displaced living room was behind a door he could’ve sworn he’d checked but must’ve been mistaken—presuming the house wasn’t pranking him again.
In the worse-for-ware space, Murdoc made himself at home on the peeling leather sofa sat square in the middle of it. He sunk into the seat and let Katsu curl up on his chest. “Well aren’t you clever,” Murdoc crooned as he scratched his nails behind the cat's ears. “Knew there had to’ve been something in it for you too.”
Katsu rumbled like a car that’d been left running while Murdoc’s free hand tapped away on his phone. He’d been talking out of his ass when he told Noodle he was planning on ordering, but his brain kept circling the idea like a vulture. Poked and nipped at grey matter every time his mind latched onto things that mattered infinitely less than döner kebabs.
After a brief scuffle with the food delivery app, he placed his order and continued to kill time on his phone; sinking further and further into the sofa as he drank and scrolled Twitter. The favoured pastime of any modern man.
People were talking about yesterday’s interview.
“ ‘Does anyone else feel bad for 2D? He’s still stuck with this guy…’ Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The hand petting Katsu snapped over to his phone. “ ‘Bold of you to assume he didn’t crawl back to me first XOXO’ And… Send tweet.”
Katsu headbutted his hand.
“Soz, mate. I’ll get back to it.”
Time dripped on like an IV. It toyed with Murdoc’s patience as he waited, watching the ceiling shift and churn while a spare, lazy hand skritched beneath Katsu’s chin. The motion weighed his eyes down, lulled him.
The sound of clinking bottles brought him back.
He jolted and felt around the floor beside him, thinking he might’ve knocked his rum over. Yet all his fingers could find was dusty cement no one had bothered to lay wood over—his rum still warming itself between his thigh and a sofa cushion. Though he patted his hand around him thoroughly, there was nothing on the floor; nothing that would’ve been clinking autonomously, at least. And as he combed the living room with a curious sweep of his eyes, he came across what looked like a leopard walking on its hind legs past the doorframe. As if the skin in his room had come alive.
Katsu leapt off his chest and trotted out of the room, following the animal around the corner while Murdoc sat frozen with his jaw slack.
He’d barely seen it—just caught a glimpse of leopard print blurring past the living room door—and yet the sight had started him enough to loosen his grip on reality. So he focused on the feeling of sofa leather. The clothes on his body. Greasy bangs on his forehead. Anything to keep himself tethered. Gotta make sure you’re in control, not the drugs. This wasn’t his maiden voyage into the psychedelic sea, and he knew not to dwell on anything that could spiral his trip out of control.
It wasn’t long before the doorbell finally rang, and Murdoc felt himself breathe a little easier as the sound tapered off. As far as he could tell, it’d taken way longer for his food to arrive than it should’ve—but what the hell did he know? According to his phone, it’d only been forty or so minutes. Head spinning, Murdoc peeled himself from his sofa and waited for his vision to level out before he shambled towards the door.
When he got there, a voice called out:
“Oh, hey.”
Murdoc’s eyes darted around everything and anything, scrambling to find the speaker until a hand landed on his shoulder and whirled his body around.
“You good?” Russel asked.
His eyes were blinding. Murdoc blinked a couple times to get rid of the sunspots and let his brain catch up. “I’m doing great, mate,” he said with a twitchy grin splitting his face. “Long time no see, I didn’t know you were back from Brooklyn.”
“Didn’t know you were back from London.”
“Ah, yeah. Yeah, got in some time last night.”
“2D too?”
“Duh.” Murdoc drawled, flicking his own forehead as if Russel had said something stupid. “Haven’t bumped into the twerp, have you?”
Russel looked tired—even more so than usual—and Murdoc’s half-meant ribbing just added more fuel to his exhausted flame. “Guess neither of you have left your rooms much,” came Russel’s reply, coated with mocking wit.
It egged Murdoc on. Stretched his smile a bit wider.
“Guess so.”
The unanswered door stood between them, and Russel glanced towards it before turning back to Murdoc’s erratic grin.
“You gonna get that?” he asked, pointing at the door.
“Pshh,” Murdoc waved his hand out, “it can wait.” He clogged up Russel’s personal space and snaked an arm around his shoulders. “Haven’t you missed me?”
“Not your stench, that’s for sure.”
“Good ladd.” Murdoc patted Russel’s chest.
As soon as he pulled away, Russel went quiet. Stayed that way for longer than Murdoc would’ve liked. Eventually, he nodded as if he’d figured something out. Nodded slow, slow too slow. Slugged through Murdoc’s brain and gummed up his engine. Itched under his skin.
Murdoc’s voice cut in—“What’s up?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
Unconvinced, Murdoc leaned into him. “Surely there’s something. Tell me.”
“Guess I’m still surprised to see you,” Russel said as he leaned back, poking Murdoc’s chest and forcing him to stand upright.
“Why’s that?”
It was hard to tell, given his lack of pupils, but Murdoc was half-sure Russel rolled his eyes. “Nine times out of ten, Noodle and I ain’t seeing you for another week if you and 2D are traveling together. Wasn’t sure if I’d see you so soon.”
“Ah.” Realization wormed through Murdoc's veins and jammed up his heart. “Well, times change, yeah?” Something glimmered over Russel’s shoulder. Light creeping in through the cracks of a boarded up window? Or a spirit pouring out of Russel’s head? Murdoc’s eyes flickered towards it.
“They do,” Russel replied, raising an eyebrow and following Murdoc’s gaze. “When I called in, y'all seemed pretty tight.” Murdoc coughed out a laugh; Russel shoved his shoulder. “Guess I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“Oh, we had a grand ol’ time. But we’re still—uh—on the mend. As one may say.”
“Can’t say I’m all that shocked.”
Murdoc blinked and pursed his lips.
“Run that by me again?”
Russel crossed his arms, sighing as he laid Murdoc’s soul bare. “You’re hoping that everything between you two will go back to normal on its own, and I don’t think it will.”
“Not with that attitude, it won’t,” Murdoc said, gawking. “Listen, all he asked was that I give him space—and guess what? I’ve given him plenty. Given him everything, more like. What’s that? He doesn’t want to talk outside of the studio? Sure. He wants to sit on opposite ends of the plane? Fine by me. He’s just—” He did it again. Looked over Russel’s shoulder as he leant against the door. “The ladd’s still figuring himself out. Doing his little therapy or whatever. Doesn’t matter to me none. Not as long as he’s still in the band.”
“Murdoc.”
“Yes? Murdoc speaking.”
“Enough,” Russel groaned. “Just—Can you stop doing that?”
“Stop what?”
The doorbell rang again. It startled Murdoc. Made him turn towards the sound.
“Lookin’ over my shoulder like there’s something there.”
He swiveled back around. “Something’s over your shoulder?”
“No.”
Murdoc smirked.
“And if there was, we’d both be able to see it, yeah?”
“Quit trying to freak me out!”
“No, no it’s okay, mate. There’s nothing there.”
“Murdoc—”
For the third time that afternoon, the doorbell rang and Murdoc spun on his heel so he could grab, twist, and open the doorknob and sneer, “I requested no-contact delivery you numpty.”
But there was no one there, just his order bagged and cooling on their scuffed up welcome mat.
He could feel Russel staring at him.
“Seriously. Are you okay?
Not really, no. His neck felt hot. Chest too tight. He swallowed a lump in his throat and it felt all wrong. Like swallowing just wedged it deeper. He closed the door and turned to Russel a bit too quickly; threw a smile on his face for good measure and stared at him dead on with too-wide eyes.
“Oh, I’m in tip-top condition, Russy boy. Never been better, if you asked me—which, you did. So, I am.”
He didn’t look convinced. Quite the opposite, actually.
“Look, I’m way too tired to be chasing you around today. If you’re gonna keep running me in circles, I have to tap out. But if you actually want to talk—“ Murdoc felt too warm. His heart didn’t feel right. Was he sweating? He shoved a hand up his sweater to check. “—Are you even listening?”
“Huh?” Murdoc pulled his hand out of his shirt.
“Whatever, man.” Russel pushed him aside and opened the door so he could grab the food and finally bring it in. He held the bag out to Murdoc. “It’s gonna get cold.”
Murdoc’s flinch was on a two second delay. He leaned back, staring at the takeout bag as his vision pulsed. The thought of eating disgusted him. He shoved Russel’s hand away and staggered towards the hallway he’d come from.
“I’m not hungry.”
He left through the first door he came across.
Scared himself when he shut it too loud.
His hands were cold, so he rubbed them down and across his flushed face. Held his neck. The drugs made his blood too warm. A hand rushed under his shirt again and placed itself against his heart. Felt it flutter and stutter against his ribcage. Pumping too hard. Pressing in between bone and touching his fingertips—no, no pull out. Don’t focus on that. The hand cooled his chest. Tried to calm him down.
When he felt well enough, he looked up and around the narrow, windowless hallway he’d rushed into. It was dark, but not so much that he couldn’t see the way forward, and with nowhere to go but through, Murdoc began to walk.
He’d been avoiding Russel lately. His reasoning? It was the easiest path available, so Murdoc took it. Stayed on it. Well, he had been diligent until this minor slip-up. He could blame it on the drugs all he wanted, but only a fool would deign to trick themselves, and Murdoc Niccals was no fool. He was a coward, though. A coward who didn’t like to tell anyone any truths of any kind. Whether they be about himself, the band, or who tops—he’d always found himself lying before he could remember what the truth was. Yet for as long as they’d known each other, Russel and those spirit-hazed eyes of his stared straight through him without fail.
Keeping Russel at an arms length was the best work-around Murdoc could figure out on short notice. It was easy, free, and kept him in control.
Brilliant, if he did say so himself.
The only troubling part was the balancing act it required. He couldn’t make what he was doing completely obvious. Then he'd be vulnerable to a confrontation, and that simply would not do. So they stayed friendly while they worked—jammed, joked, and slotted back into the timeworn rhythm they shared. Outside of that? Murdoc couldn’t remember the last time they sat down and had a proper chat.
Listen, he just couldn’t risk it. Russel always knew what to say to get him thinking—spark him to glance inward—and Murdoc was less than keen on dwelling on that plastic shitshow.
As much as he’d like to claim his ‘brilliant’ plan couldn’t backfire, he’d come across a teensy little issue recently. A hiccup, if you will. Said issue being that Russel and Noodle had begun to believe that he wanted to ignore everything that went down entirely. That he expected their lives to return to what they were before Demon Days took a turn for the worst and set them on this polluted trajectory. It seemed that such was the cost of his radio silence. They couldn’t read his mind, after all.
If that meant he had to live with the band thinking he was trying to sweep that plastic wasteland under a rug, then tough shit.
Because in all honesty, he was.
Just, not in the way that they thought. Why rewind time when you could just forgive and forget, yeah? Move forward? Skip a few chapters to get to the good bits? Anything but dwell, really.
He’d been trying, too—to move forward. Not to a point where the others would easily notice, no. But in his own way, he had. And he thought they knew him well enough that they’d pick up on that. Sure he still dipped a toe into a couple vices here and there, but there was a world of differences between psychedelics and amphetamines. They knew that. Understood.
So be it. He’d brought this upon himself and knew there was hardly a point in ruminating over it. He was chewing his own ear off at this point. Where was he even going with this? After a breath, he froze, wondering where he was going.
In a more literal sense.
He blinked and focused on the stretch of hallway ahead of him. It was long. Longer than any hallway in their home had any right to be. It had Murdoc half-convinced that he’d never started walking in the first place and simply confused himself. He would’ve been content to believe that too, if it wasn’t for the thick shadows that had completely swallowed where he’d just come from. He stared into the swirling darkness. Watched it ooze towards him while whines, cries, and pleads moaned behind him. A sound that reeked of steel, plastic, and rum. Though this time around, the whines weren’t melding with fists banging on metal.
Down where he’d been headed, Murdoc noticed a door a little ways away. It looked out of place in their home. Wasn’t dusty and cracking. Preserved, more like. He’d never seen anything like it—in this house, he meant. He turned around again. Stared at the looming darkness as it crawled ever closer. It nipped at his heels and Murdoc didn’t care to figure out if he was just overthinking it or not, so he hurried onward.
He reached the door as quick as his warbling legs could manage and turned the handle with haste. It led into a dim room.
2D’s room.
And there, writhing on a twin-sized bed was 2D, caught in a nightmare.
Murdoc was at a loss, blinking through his rampant confusion. He hadn’t even entered through the room's normal door. That one was further down the chicken-scratched, scrawl-covered wall to his right.
And behind him, the one he’d entered through had disappeared.
Damnable house.
There wasn’t much he could do besides attempt to sneak out. Funnily enough, Murdoc was used to this situation being reversed—but those nights in his Winnebago were nothing but memories now. What was it that he said earlier? Time’s change? Something like that. He did his cross-faded best to tiptoe through the small room, but its shitty plywood floor was creakier than his knees. And as soon as he chanced a glance towards 2D to ensure he was still thrashing against his bedsheets, Murdoc’s eyes locked with his own.
On the wall across from him, a poster—one larger than it had any right to be—of his own manic face was tapped up high and proud. It stared at him, and he stared back. His heart beat a ferocity he could feel in his neck. Could hear the throb in his ears. He wondered why 2D would still have such a thing—and hung up by his bed, no less.
The answer, as he’d soon realize, was rather simple; spelled out with the red and blue darts that had been thrown into it.
Any other answer would’ve been nothing but a foolish delusion. This made sense, Murdoc thought, and he let that sour-tinged wave of relief it carried urge him onward. He’d nearly made it out, too and would’ve gotten off scot-free if it wasn’t for the desk that 2D kept much too close to the door slamming into his hip.
Murdoc swore under his breath.
A book got knocked off the desk.
2D gasped and shot up in his bed.
A burst of adrenaline allowed Murdoc to open the door and slide into the hallway faster than he thought he’d be able to. Meanwhile 2D—disheveled and his shirtless—heaved quick gasps of air in and out. “Is that you, Murdoc?” he wheezed, squinting in hopes of making out the head peaking through his door.
Murdoc bit his tongue. Thought of what to say as he struggled to fend off his tripping brain's temptation not to lie.
“Your whining was getting on my nerves.”
“Oh.”
Watching him closely, Murdoc jabbed his tongue into his ear a little harder. “Nightmare?” he asked. 2D nodded. Ever the sadomasochist, he followed up. “What about?” And just as he’d expected him to, 2D fussed with his nails and turned away.
“Uh, I can’t really remember.”
He’d never been all that good a liar.
Another silence fell between them and 2D curled in on himself. “Do you… need something?”
“Hm? Nah.”
“Okay.” They stared at each other. Neither of them moving. 2D peeled the skin off his lips, chewed on it along with whatever more he had to say. “Are you high?”
Murdoc froze. Looked left, and then right. “Are you?” he questioned back.
Shrugging, 2D gave Murdoc a simple, passive look. His reply came a casual, “Yea,” and it cawed a fond laugh out of Murdoc. It tapered off once he realized 2D never joined in, just stared at him with a heavy gaze. Seeing 2D high was nothing new—far from it—but seeing him so drained of life and depressed made Murdoc more uncomfortable than he’d like to admit. Smelt like sea salt.
His heart had begun to race again. Head felt too full. Murdoc thwacked the doorframe with his fingers a couple times.
“I’ll leave ya to it.”
2D nodded and leaned back on his bed as if to lay down but stopped midway. Pitfall eyes peered at Murdoc through a curtain of bangs. There was an understanding there, in his stare. A hesitant one, but one nonetheless. Like he’d been struck by déjà vu. “It’s just ‘cause of the jet lag, ‘s all,” he said and Murdoc knew better than to believe him. That kind of reassurance never worked on him, he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t 2D.
“No better way to remedy a bout of jet lag than booking a new flight with Prescription Airways, eh?”
And there it was: a startled, almost guilty laugh. 2D kept a hand over his mouth and shook his head at Murdoc. “Piss off,” he said, holding back a smile.
Murdoc backed up a bit—gave the door room to close—and held 2D’s gaze once more as he whispered, “Good night,” despite the thin rays of afternoon sun cutting in through a boarded up window. He didn’t stick around to hear a reply. Instead, he closed the door gently as he could manage given how much his hands were shaking.
Seemed like he was back where he’d started.
Shit, but he’d left his booze down there.
Would it be worth it? To go grab it? Bit of a long way, he thought, looking towards the stairs, not expecting to lay his eyes on the back of a leopard's head. Murdoc’s heart leapt into his throat. Wood creaked beneath the animal's paws as it prowled. Hunted. Searched—for him? Murdoc panicked. Ducked into a nearby linen closet and watched it wide-eyed through a thin split in the wood.
Its search continued.
Checked a couple rooms—his room—returned to the stairs. He held his breath, watching it go down, down, down until its head dipped out of his line of sight and he took that as a sign to burst out of the closet. He made a break for his bedroom, ripped the door open, stepped in, and felt open air beneath his feet as he tripped down a flight of stairs.
Sprawled out on the main floor, Murdoc sits dazed and confused. His head spins as he looks up to the leopard—its shoulders raised with surprise. He’s laid before it, afraid and vulnerable and despite his panic, Murdoc manages to realize he’s using the wrong tense, so he smacked his face and swapped back.
As their shared surprise petered off, the leopard spared no extra breath before it ran. Ran fast and towards him. Murdoc scrambled to his feet and sprinted away.
The Spirit House was a far from ideal place to be chased in. It twisted and turned as if the Danielewski siblings themselves were out to get him. He bumbled through its crooked corridors and looping hallways only for the house to rearrange itself and spit him back out into the leopard's clutches again and again.
Drug-hazed adrenaline carried him far. He nearly tripped over something soft—heard a cat hiss. The leopard paused its pursuit to investigate. Catching the opportunity, he turned down a different passage, opened a door, and slammed into another door. Opened that one. Saw that it lead to another door that lead to another door which entered into a fourth one and a fifth and a sixth and a seventh and a—
Murdoc kicked a hole into the wall next to him.
“I will burn you down,” he hissed.
He could hear something running behind him and he didn’t have to turn to know who it was—what it was. Once more, he ripped the door in front of him open and rushed through only to trip and fall onto dusty concrete. With a slam, the door shut itself and sealed Murdoc off from his pursuer, leaving him in a cramped, unfinished brownstone. Murdoc wheezed and caught his breath on the floor, hacking enough tar to make him almost wish he’d never picked up that first cigarette.
The place looked pretty grim. Four walls, one window, and no door. Brilliant. Murdoc stumbled to his feet and tried to peer through the grimy window. It was dim out there, and his churning vision struggled to make anything out beyond the shoddy fire escape in front of him. There might’ve been some identical structures across the way, but he couldn’t be sure.
In layman’s terms: he had no idea where the fuck he was.
“Haw haw, very funny,” his voice echoed.
It was awfully quiet. Calm, too.
Made the hair on his neck stick up.
He tried to open the window. No luck. Combed the walls trying to figure out where he’d entered from. Nothing of the sort.
Tried to find anything that didn’t involve four brick walls closing in on him.
His breath slipped away when he looked up.
The roof was gone. Blown straight off. Scaffolding shot upwards into a web of shadow draped steel. Industrial lights shone and flickered—glimmered like a man-made galaxy—and good lord did the drugs make it feel real; as if he was squatting in some half-finished, shoebox apartment watching a clear night’s sky. The sight flushed the adrenaline out of his system. Coaxed him to lay down—lower himself until his back met the floor. He didn’t think twice about complying. Could already feel his mind begin to drift as darkness swallowed his peripherals right before his spine met concrete. If he succumbed to his senses and let go of all else, he could nearly convince himself he was laid out on a beach. Not that beach, no. The gravel and dust beneath him felt a lot closer to the real thing than microplastics and Styrofoam ever could.
Every time he cast that island from his mind, it found a way to grip ahold of his hands and reel itself back in. Adrift as he was, Murdoc was at his memory’s mercy as it latched onto steel fumes and starlit views. Reminded him of the nights he used to spend watching 2D watch the stars from the comfort of his office. An indulgence he only allowed himself on particularly dreadful nights when he felt enough compassion to spare 2D a moment alone and let him enjoy the quietude.
He’d done 2D a rare kindness, he was allowed to make sure such was appreciated by keeping watch.
Oh who was he kidding.
Murdoc had just been making sure he didn’t escape. Really, that was it. Nothing romantic about it. If you really wanted to slap a label onto it, it would probably start with a “D” and end with an “esperate”.
There’d be no album—no nothing—if 2D’d left. Just a pointless plastic island housed by none other than the world's most miserable man.
That wasn’t allowed to happen.
That wasn’t how the story was meant to go.
And now that that chapter had closed, where would this new one lead? He’d gotten 2D back, but for how long? He was still awaiting his answer.
The sky above him swirled. Blinked at him. Hard to tell when a star’s died out. Could still be alive, glimmering far off, or it could’ve died long ago, and we just haven’t gotten the memo yet. Murdoc had no way of knowing what the future held. The memories he shared with 2D—the warm ones that reminded him of better times—still shined, but perhaps that was all that remained. All that would ever be.
Something he could never touch again before that fleeting reminder caught up with the present and died out too.
Notes:
Thanks for reading.
So. Any thoughts? Oh, you thought it was dreadful? I know. Way to go and fuck my day forwards and back.
If I had my way around here, you know what I'd've done? Never leave that sodding bed. Because really, everything went to shit the second I got off that bed—and what did I get out of it? Some ‘Woe is me’ emotional crap when I could’ve been mucking about in my room, doing literally anything instead of ending up in Inland Empire of all things. Right twat, this one here.
Am I supposed to be writing this bit? I don’t think so, but then again, I don’t really care.
Parting through the muddled trip-hazed sea he’d fallen into, a voice—Noodle’s—rippled through and roused his mind. Called to him and dug a nail into his cheek. He knew he should wake up, but couldn’t resist the urge to turn off his mind, relax, and float downstream as he returned to his corporeal form.
An impatient huff met his silence.
He didn’t stir when Noodle grasped his ankles and raised his legs. Nor when she gave them an experimental tug. It was only when she began to drag his body and let his head scrape against concrete that he conceded.
“I’m up, I’m up,” he groaned, voice whiny and rough.
“Perfect,” she replied, “you can walk then.”
Murdoc rubbed his eyes while she dropped his legs. His head felt taxidermized. Like someone’d cut it off, stuffed it full of wood wool and wire, then sewed it back on. He peered at Noodle, squinting through the brainfog.
Stared at her.
Stared at her hard as she began to squirm—somewhat testy though more-so embarrassed—while he thought about and processed what he was seeing.
Then, he laughed.
“What the hell are y—?” He choked on his laughter when Noodle’s boot shoved his ribs. She looked a little miffed and it only made him laugh harder. He couldn’t help himself—Noodle was dressed in a short-short leopard print body suit. Cat ears and all. “Is that what you bought?” he asked once he calmed himself down.
“If it’s so horrible, then I’ll return it.”
“ ‘Horrible’? Come off it, you know I love it.”
She shrugged, looking pleased.
“I just wanted to hear you say it.”
Murdoc gave her calf a playful slap.
Now that his head felt a little clearer, he took a moment to stand up and brace himself against a wall once his legs started to wobble. Noodle reached a hand out to help him but stopped herself midway.
“Don’t look so worried.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.” Murdoc glanced around the room he’d been tripping in and thought to ask, “Er… Where are we?” when Noodle pushed open a cyan coloured door he knew damn well wasn't there earlier.
“The warehouse.”
“We do have one of those, don’t we?” Murdoc said, snapping his fingers.
“You need to leave your room more.”
A laugh barked out of Murdoc’s chest as he followed Noodle out into the warehouse’s expanse. He did his best not to slip down the fire escape while he talked. “Yeah, I’d do that if there wasn’t a ninety-nine percent chance of me ending up Christ knows where every time I open a door.”
“I think it reflects your state of mind,” she pondered. “It’s kind to me.”
“Don’t think I asked, love.”
Noodle smiled and rolled her eyes.
They were quiet for the rest of their stroll towards the elevator. Had everything and nothing to say to each other as they crammed themselves into the antique elevator.
“I just needed to sort some things out.”
Stood by the floor selection buttons, Noodle glanced at Murdoc from over her shoulder. “And you need to be high for that?” she asked, chiding him.
“Yes.”
A rare truth.
Noodle nodded—jabbed her finger into the ‘Ground Floor’ button—and Murdoc lurched as the elevator thrusted its way up the shaft. They didn’t speak for most of their trip. Let the sound of a worn out motor fill in the gaps as it worked overtime to hoist them upwards.
“It makes more sense,” Murdoc said, breaking the silence.
“What does?”
“You’ve been high before. You know what I mean.”
He expected to catch her off-guard. To make her freeze up like a teenager caught rummaging through their parents’ not-so-hidden stash. It was easy to forget how much she’d grown, but she did well to remind him when she replied with: “Does it really make more sense, or does it make you too high to know any better?”
Murdoc threw his hands up. “One of life’s greatest mysteries.”
They were nearly at the top, now, and Noodle kept her eyes on the door as she said, “Russel came to me worried. We’ve been looking for you.” The elevator spat them out into the living room. “Let me go get him—”
“No, no need for that,” Murdoc cut in, bumbling after her.
She looked at him. Surveyed him.
“He cares. Does that scare you?”
Murdoc scoffed. “Nothing scares me.”
“It makes you run, though,” she pried.
“Who said I’m running from him?”
Half-frustrated, half-endeared, Noodle crossed her arms. “When you run, you flail like Anna Faris,” she teased.
Atta girl.
“You’re a good kid,” Murdoc said, laughing as he patted her shoulder. Though he wondered how much truth she’d hidden in that joke.
“I haven’t been a kid in a long time,” she replied in a soft voice.
“Right.”
A silence washed over them. Comfortable. Not like before. Noodle prowled further into the living room, circling a takeout bag that’d been sat on their coffee table.
“You ordered extra.”
“Did I?” Murdoc replied all coy with a faux-clueless lilt, and when Noodle offered him a cheeky grin, he didn’t hesitate to return it. “Well, help yourself,” he continued. “I need to hit the sack. If I’m not up in eighteen hours, you know what to do.” He flicked his wrist to wave her ‘goodbye’ and veered off towards the stairs.
He was real and truly exhausted. Sucked dry and drained of the desire to exist anywhere other than his bed.
As luck would have it, he couldn’t sign off just yet.
Standing midway down the stairs with a well-loved cardigan crossed against his chest was 2D. He was slouched against the railing as if he’d rather still be in bed but had been intrigued by the commotion enough to eavesdrop.
They stared at each other.
“Hello,” 2D said.
“Hello,” came Murdoc’s reply as he hugged the wall, walking up the stairs and giving 2D a wide berth.
Cordial.
See, Murdoc could play nice.
And he was content to keep his distance—to pass 2D by without another word—but Murdoc could only get so far before he felt something tug on his sleeve. The urge to turn was fierce. He smothered it. Tilted his head just enough to see 2D out of the corner of his eye instead.
There he stood. Disheveled, spaced-out, and perfect as always.
2D rubbed a finger against Murdoc’s wrist.
“Just give me some more time, yeah?”
His voice was quiet and strained. Like he’d fought so hard to get the words out that they’d shredded his throat in the process. And while they may’ve made his heart leap, Murdoc kept his face as indifferent as he could while still juggling his high.
“I’m not getting any younger,” he mumbled.
And 2D held onto his hand with a sad smile.