THE DARKNESS WITHIN - PART FOUR

As you will know by now I am ex-Corporal Jonathan Palmer; sadly for me I shall very shortly become an ex-everything. It is a delight of human nature that even in the direst of circumstances a glimmer of humour can still shine through, hence my ability even now to make a joke about my impending demise. My certainty of that death is evidenced by, and indeed necessitated by, this confession, a confession that has grown somewhat in the telling.

The reason for my apparent verbosity is doubtless psychological. For one thing its end and my end are necessarily one and the same thing; once my confession is complete I will swap my pen for the pistol lying before me on the desk, next to the slowly emptying bottle of brandy. It will be a tight contest to see which is finished first, the alcohol or the alibi. It is that need for an alibi, an excuse for the terrible things I have done, a defence against the indefensible, which has added to the length of this outpouring.

In Stevenson’s “Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde”, a case not strange to me but all too familiar, the first person Jekyll told of his evil situation was Dr Lanyon, a man he described as “one of my oldest friends”. Upon witnessing the reverse transformation of Hyde back into Jekyll and listening for an hour to Jekyll’s explanation Lanyon’s soul was sickened:

“My life is shaken to its roots; sleep has left me; the deadliest terror sits by me at all hours of the day and night… As for the moral turpitude that man unveiled to me…I cannot, even in memory, dwell upon it without a start of horror.”

I pray that whosoever you are now reading this confession you will not be similarly affected. I pray also you may find a small measure of understanding.

It was the US military, led by Professor James Caleb, that turned me into a “Jekyll and Hyde” killer, a savage assassin hidden within a seemingly innocent person. This covert weapon was supposed to be used in time of war against the civilian population of our legalised adversary, instead I had been turned loose on so called subversive elements in my own country. Not only did I brutally murder the designated target and her family but I also slaughtered two further innocent families in order to throw up a smoke screen.

All this I did without knowing, each of my dual selves having no knowledge of the other. It was only unhappy coincidence followed by hypnosis followed by a heart to heart, or rather gun to head, conversation with Caleb, my commanding officer, that I learnt much of the truth. I make no apology for the fact Caleb did not survive our meeting; I am however mortified that the hypnotist, my long time friend Dr Sally Medway, also did not survive. Whilst in a hypnotic sleep I transformed into my secret evil self and committed my biggest sin, I savagely murdered my friend.

Tragically the killing continued unabated. In an attempt to silence me Caleb’s underlings unleashed a second of their assassins, the target me and my girlfriend Caroline. She and her parents were slain as was her brother, the latter, in all likelihood, mistaken for me. The FBI had arrested me for Caroline’s murder but I had an alibi; I was five hundred miles away putting a bullet in a certain Professor Caleb, not that I told Agent Walter Brown that last detail; a man needs some secrets after all.

Once again I needed answers. For starters, who were the men who sought to end my life? I knew I had two colleagues in the program but that was all. More importantly I needed to know one other thing; why had I signed up with Caleb? High and mighty talk of believing I was to murder enemy civilians cannot save my soul; regardless of their status they would have been innocent and the manner of their deaths horrendous. I would need to be hypnotised once more.

* * * * *

A cursory search on the internet led me to a rundown bar in a shoddy neighbourhood, the names of both as unimportant as the places themselves. In a space that could have comfortably housed over ten times as many twelve or thirteen drunken, dispirited wrecks sat at five battered, pock marked tables; a quintet of inhabited islands amongst an otherwise abandoned archipelago. The final member of the audience was standing somewhat shakily on the lamentable excuse of a stage hovering above the cigarette smog at one end of the darkened room. When I arrived the night’s star turn, “The Indomitable Ivan”, had just put his victim in a trance.

‘When I snap my fingers Darleen you will be…. a pole dancer!’

Ivan snapped his fingers, Darleen danced her dance, gyrating to a tune only she could hear. Laughter erupted amongst the audience accompanied by much backslapping from one of the tables; the denim jacket and fake leather handbag hanging on the one empty chair marking them out as Darleen’s companions. The laughter turned to sudden cheers and wolf whistles as the star of the show pulled her cotton summer dress up and over her head with a half-hearted flourish; Darleen liked to go commando and never, ever wore a bra.

‘That’s my girl you bastard!’ yelled one of the men on Darleen’s table. ‘I’m going to rip your fucking head off!’

Jumping up he knocked over the table, sending yet more beer to the alcohol stained floor. He lurched menacingly to the stage where Ivan stood in open mouthed fear, hastily clicking his fingers. Darleen stopped swaying and immediately started sobbing:

‘Oh my god, oh my god,’ she repeated before snatching up her discarded dress and bolting towards the ladies room’, the remaining punters hooting and hollering as her arse cheeks jiggled out of view.

‘Easy tiger,’ I warned, blocking the angry boyfriend’s route to the stage.

‘Get outta my way dickhead,’ he stormed. ‘Or I’ll kill you too.’

‘I don’t think so,’ I said calmly, felling him with one vicious shot of my hand to the side of the neck.

‘There a back way out of here Ivan?’ I asked the terrified entertainer. ‘If so I suggest we take it.’

Moments later we were in my car, hightailing towards more seemly environs.

‘What about my car?’ squeaked Ivan. ‘That cost me ninety bucks.’

‘How would you like to buy a hundred ninety buck cars, plus a grand thrown in on top?’

Ivan struggled momentarily with the maths. ‘You mean ten thousand dollars? What have I got to do?’

‘You just need to put me in a trance then leave me alone until I call you. Can you do that?’

‘Sure I can. Why do you want to?’

‘There’s some things I need to remember,’ I explained simply. ‘Are you in?’

‘You saved my life man, course I’m in. You did say ten grand right?’

Later that afternoon, barely an hour before dusk, I was sat in a chair in the isolated farmhouse I had leased following my release by the FBI.

‘When the sun sets you will awaken, you will remember everything, you will remember…..’ As Ivan spoke the memory of Sally’s last words hit me in the stomach like the thrust of a knife.

Once I was under Ivan, as per my instructions, left the farmhouse, climbed into my car and headed back to town, a safe thirteen miles away, to await my phone call. Alone in my trance images and memories flooded into my mind.

*****

I was once again in the now familiar bare concrete room of Caleb’s research headquarters.

‘So gentleman,’ said Caleb himself, starting his address is his favourite manner. ‘It’s time we got to know each other. I as you know am Professor James Caleb, and you three eager volunteers are Corporals Jonathan Palmer & Eric Davies and Staff Sergeant Olivero, Olly sorry, Sanchez. I am here because the military recognise a great mind and a great idea when they see one. But why are you here? Corporal Palmer, what made you sign up to this great work?’

I had the answer to my first question; I knew the identities of the men tasked with killing me. I was about to get the answer to my second question; why was I there?

The scene shifted, I was no longer in the cool interior of a US military facility. Instead I stood in a dry and dusty street in the searing heat of the Iraqi sun. Around me were the fellow members of my squad, men I would die for, men who would die for me. For weeks we had fought alongside each other, battling for control of this area. Eventually we’d succeeded, all of us coming through unscathed. The fighting over it was time for a little “Hearts and Minds”.

It seemed to be working. We drove into the square at the centre of the village each day, always at the same time, always the same crowd of villagers to meet us. There were hugs and handshakes, smiles and salutations. We brought food and water to the parents, we brought sweets and soda to their children. One sixteen year old girl, Farrah, was always particularly keen to see us, as were we to see her.

In my hypnotic sleep this scene played out much the same as usual, except this time something was different; Farrah was not there. Looking around we saw her off to one side of the crowd, cowed and weeping.

‘What is it Farrah,’ asked Tricky.

‘I cannot say,’ she replied in her broken but passable English.

‘Come on sweetheart,’ said Basher. ‘You can tell us.’

‘My brothers…my brothers raped me’, she stammered. ‘They’re back at the house laughing about it.’

To a man the squad tore off to mete out some justice of their own, Farrah strangely leading the way.

‘Stand down men,’ I ordered, but my command was ignored. Doubtless Sergeant O’Reilly would have reined them in but as fate would have it he was laid up that day. As the next in the food chain I was “acting up”; unfortunately so were the men.

‘Fucking idiots!’ I yelled at their fast disappearing backs. Resigned to whatever might unfold I set off after them.

Just as I turned a blind corner several automatic weapons barked viciously somewhere ahead of me, spitting out death. The squad didn’t stand a chance; they were cut down as they ran. Overlooked and too late to be of any help I dodged into a doorway, ready to witness the final act of this tragedy. I looked for Farrah; she was approaching one of the gunmen, her brother, one of the alleged rapists. Fearing what would happen I nonetheless continued to watch. When they were less than a yard apart they smiled simultaneously, Farrah falling into his now outstretched arms. They embraced for a moment then Farrah stood back, her brother’s weapon in her hand. Still smiling she calmly emptied the clip into my men, the dead and the dying alike.

From that moment on I saw no distinction between civilians and soldiers, they were all the enemy, all were ripe for the slaughter. What is more, I would get my revenge...

I awoke from my trance with a shout, my oath of vengeance still forming on my lips. The sun had set, the room was in darkness. I stood up from the chair and staggered across to the light switch, the sound of broken glass under my feet heartbreakingly familiar. As with Sally’s office the room in which I stood had been destroyed; furniture overturned, windows smashed, objects large and small hurled everywhere. I made a cursory tour of the rest of the house, all the rooms were the same; under hypnosis the monster living within me had once more broken loose and rampaged through the building.

The time had come to put him, it, away…permanently.

TO BE CONTINUED…..