//Expect bad dreams.//
~*~
Someone skagged in Johnny’s braincage to over capacity, pressing against his eye sockets, till it spilled into his mouth. That or he was hungover. He gulped the first bottle next to his bed with his eyes closed. After two warm chugs, Johnny spewed urine all over his sheets. His pants were around his ankles. He didn’t bother to take his boots off.
At least this time Johnny didn’t remember the dreams.
Johnny had grown up thinking sex was a pretty awesome thing. He hadn’t had any in about twenty-seven years by now, but it’s not like he’d really dreamt about it. Everything changed after that dream two years ago when Tressie showed up in the rain and they had crumpets or something. The sex dreams made up for lost time in awful, frightening, ways. Ways that Johnny had buried a long time ago in the idea of childhood nightmare fuel.
Each morning for the last two years Johnny woke up feeling used in every sense of the term. His will to do much of anything sapped in a vortex of selling DeMo’s, buying drink, and barely noticing the complex shift through more new tenants than anyone could keep track.
No one stuck around. Not like in the old days that bred the legacy tenants like Lex, Terry and Thorn. People who have Dahng counter-extorted into cheap rent with no intention of growing up. Whenever Johnny lumped himself into that category, that was a drink.
Even Prez went legit. Working at a Roplaxive Pharmaceuticals satellite. At least Decker and Trip came back after moving away for a bit. Weirder than before. They went RoPhar too, but with spooks poking around 211 when they go off doing who knows what. Pretty crooked looking deal. Seeing a suit was another drink. Dahng yelling at the suit was two. If Dahng scares off clones, finish the bottle.
Johnny’s shower had dried vomit and tequila bottles in it. The bathroom mirror was smashed from a previous incident but the hole into the closet was possibly new. Johnny stripped himself and moved the bottles carefully into the sink, wincing at the volume of each glass clink.
Dressed, and no longer covered in—hopefully, his own—bodily fluids, Johnny found himself outside 211. He knocked on the door, alcohol laced sweat promising to undo his shower. Johnny looked at the orange sky behind him, flicking a glance towards the fourth floor. No axe murderer silhouetted against the opaque door glass. Another knock that hurt Johnny more than he cared to experience again. His sore knuckles and throbbing head were vindicated as Decker cracked the door. Johnny saw his bare upper arm and assumed Decker was naked. Finding Decker clothed would be more impressive.
“Yo, Decker. Is Trip around?”
“Yeah, he’s working right now. C’mon in,” Decker opened the door to reveal he was still wearing shorts, but his torso looked like it was being punished for something it didn’t do.
Johnny entered the sparse furnished apartment. A ring of server towers enclosed a cushy ergonomic chair in the center of the room. The HoloVision swam along the empty space in the living area. Decker’s eyes were a mish-mash of glowing orange over skag brown, rimmed in red and heavy black circles.
“You having trouble sleeping too?” Johnny said.
“Since I was a kid,” Decker led Johnny out of the common space to Trip’s room. “Gotten worse lately,” he fonzied open the door with a kick.
Inside, Trip inspected a dozen double helixes and alpha-numeric charts, floating in the air above his bed, while, tapping a stylus on a sheaf of smart paper. Without looking away from his work, “May I help you gentlemen? A word I use loosely for you two rogues.” Trip scribbled and flung a note off the smart paper to join the holodisplay, “What?”
Decker shrugged at Johnny. Johnny cleared his throat, “This feels kinda backwards, but can I get some of your hangover pills?” Trip raised an eyebrow, continuing to work. Johnny rubbed his temples with one hand, “I’ll pay you if you want.”
“Creds are a poor substitute for destroying a sample I only have a week to reconstruct from my beginning notes, but I accept,” Trip chewed the end of his stylus, “I recommend three, ten creds each. Decker can show you where they are.”
“C’mon, Johnny Marko. Let’s get you patched up,” Decker led Johnny away from Trip and to the bathroom.
Decker rifled through the vanity drawer and pulled a prescription bottle with the doctor crossed out on it. Decker checked inside and shook three into Johnny’s palm. Johnny dry swallowed and followed Decker into his room.
“Mind if I do the requisite Dealer/Buyer twenty minutes?”
“Something eating ya, Johnny?”
“I think so, but I don’t know what.”
“Not sure I follow. Mind if I smoke?”
“I mean I feel like something’s actually eating me.”
Decker cupped the lighter indoors when lighting his smoke. He sat on his bed in the middle of the room in silence and took a drag. Decker scanned Johnny’s face for a moment, “This has to do with your dreams, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
Decker tapped his foot and took another hit.
“Since a couple years ago, I’ve been having either fragged up nightmares—like apocalypse type stuff—or fragged up dreams about fragging.”
“Any deets from the latter?”
“Usually starts out okay enough. Then once we get going, whoever is there they go dark, and it’s like I’m being-”
“-Sucked into a black hole by the best orgasm ever?”
Johnny cocked his head, “I suppose that’s a pretty good description of it.”
“Have I even mention that I hav-had a brother?”
“I don’t think we’ve ever gotten that close. You still never saw me when I was in DeMolition Lab.”
“You quit?”
“In a sense.”
“Weak. Regardless, my brother died when I was a kid. I was eight, he was fifteen. When he died, I saw, something, over him. When I got older, I started seeing it in my sleep too. So I stopped sleeping.”
“That explains a lot about you.”
“Thanks?”
“So this thing, you know what it is?”
“Only thing that matches is an Incubus or Succubus.”
“And in reality world.”
“No, serious. I’ve had the net in my brain since I was sixteen,” Decker tapped the shaved spot of his head where his corporate sponsored graybox lay beneath. “After all that research, going to monsters made sense when nothing else did.”
Johnny scoffed, “So I’m being attacked by nightmare sex demons?”
“Maybe,” Decker blew smoke out his nose, “I don’t know. All I can say is, if you are, expect bad dreams.”
Johnny’s hangover had mostly dissipated but he felt like puking, “Expect bad dreams?”
Decker dropped his smoke into an empty beer bottle, “Well, yeah. I think it’s pretty clear you’re having them.”
“Yeah,” Johnny steadied himself with the door jamb. “You’re right. Look, I’m gonna get going.”
“Sure ‘nuff. When are you reupping? I need a stim celebration package for New Years,” Decker called after.
Johnny was already crossing the common space, “I’ll keep you posted.”
The unit next to Decker’s, that had been Spencer’s place, before Johnny lost track of other occupants, was empty. Laughter came from the piano bar downstairs. Johnny walked back out of Spencer’s or somebody’s open door and peeked over the rail.
Johnny rattled his way down the center steps. The Young Tart’s Social Club was in full effect; smoking, drinking wine, and laughing while playing cards. Thorn, Lex and Terry sat around a table with that cute girl with all the facial piercings. Johnny never bothered to learn her name.
“JohNNY,” Lex squeed, “hey there handsome, gonna join?”
“Who’s moving out?” Johnny thumbed towards unit 212.
“Fine, lovely day don’t ya think?” Lex went back to her wine, “Prick.”
“I think it was that glasses chick,” Piercing Girl discarded three, “you know, the one with the
cat?”
Thorn blew a cloud of smoke, “Who, Becky? No, she moved out like three weeks ago.” Thorn discarded a club from her flush, “Gimme one,” she took a drag and a diamond for a row of hearts. “Skag... Anyways she was in 214, stupid. She was like, acting all weird and stuff for the last couple days, then she was like,” Thorn stabbed the air with her finger, “*boop* gone.”
“No, I meant the other chick with glasses. You know,” Piercing Girl gestured with her half-full glass. “The one with the cat. She would like, sit on her couch all day with the door open. That chick.”
“Oooooooooooooooooooh,” Terry said and drew two replacement cards from the deck. “That chick? She was weird.”
“Says the lady with a collage of old cut up paperback book illustrations,” Johnny screwed his face at Terry.
Terry stuck her tongue out at Johnny, “Alright bitches, show ‘em.” The girls dropped their cards on the table. All but Piercing Girl groaned.
Johnny crossed his arms, “Anyone else find it weird that people are just moving in and vanishing?”
“I find it weird Melody’s a cheating cunt,” Lex said behind her wineglass.
“Language, Alexia,” Melody said, collecting a pile of loose smokes and pills for the round. Terry dealt more cards.
Lex’s mouth was agape in mock outrage, “You dare.”
Johnny walked away as The Young Tarts Social Club tittered like schoolgirls behind their hands.
“Bye bye Johnnycakes,” Thorn called after.
“What the frag ever, man.”
*
Johnny drank from a labelless soupcan. His hands idle in his lap, supporting the drink with tented fingers, ass ache from the barstool. //are you gonna buy something or get on a wagon// I have this one Johnny didn’t bother to look up //looking up might kill ya once in a while// sing~songy tone like a bird in the morning when all you want is to sleep in—
Johnny rolled over in bed, came to consciousness for a second and said to himself he was totally going to remember this moment.
Johnny was heading home from somewhere. He’d been out and the day held no new secrets. He took the spiral staircase instead of going up the stairwell like usual since it was so convenient-wait,
why didn’t Johnny use the stairwell?
-he was driving his car he totally had and the spiral staircase is like so just there and—
—Standing like a thing out of a dream. Hair wild and lightning flashing for backlight. //Marko, you lazy frag. I told you I couldn’t protect you anymore.//
Tressie.
I should have listened to my dreams for once in my life.
Whole lotta good that’s done me.
Johnny sulked.
//You do remember all those years ago, don’t you? Skag, they could be centuries by now.//
They’re not(am i still climbing these stairs)
//Now it’s too late.
They’ve fed too much from all of you.
You’re next up to move out, Johnny.
They’re gonna use you to break through.
Take hosts again. They’ve convinced the rest.//
You mean the Succu-
//-Shut your mouth child, not in The Dreaming. You know what I fought that stuck me here.
Don’t need to be callin’ attention to ourselves, ya know?//
(i am still climbing these stairs)Johnny nodded
//And that’s what’s gonna eat ya, Johnnylove.
We can’t see each other that way.//
Maybe that’s a good thing.
//Yeah. It probably is.//
Will it hurt?
//It’ll feel terribly great.//
I wanted to move out of this place anyway. Away from—Johnny looked upwards past Tressie’s tresses. The spiral staircase had straightened. At the end, gargoyle-perched atop the Bauhaus era styled architecture sat a brick turret. In its center was a door with an opaque panel of glass pulsing with soft light. Framed in the panel, moments at a time, a slim—void black—shadow shown. The pulsing light grew in steady beats to a pound. Brick crumbles from the turret sides. Beneath shimmers corrugated sheet metal siding. Johnny’s on his feet.
//You were a reactor core. Plug you in and we’d shine for days. Whatever happened to that Johnny?//
Wordless Johnny pushes past Tressie up wooden steps. //Gone Johnny gone.// The roof to Johnny’s left opens into a bruised sky setting in reverse. Each step keeps Johnny two steps away from the door. Traveling faster makes it worse. Taking stairs by twos and threes pushes the shack into the vanishing point. The lattice to the right that would have been there normally vanished somewhere. The sky found night forgetting to invite the earth. Johnny stood on rippling blackness with nothing but a horizon line and a dot that could once have been a doorway to a studio apartment. You know what? Frag this skag. I’m sick of this fraggin’ snakepit. Ya hear me? Come and fraggin’ get me, limprick.
No answer came.
*
Johnny felt like he’d been climbing stairs all night. He remembered waking up sometime during the night and felt there was a dream he was supposed to remember. Johnny opened his eyelids to slits.
Pre-dawn blue lit the courtyard in a soft haze. Johnny stood in the center of the third floor, leaning on the railing. He drug a palm over his face and knuckled sleep from his eyes. How did I get out here? He hawked a loogie into the center of the stage that must have been an above ground pool at some point. No one was awake. All replaced by a beautiful calm where one could dissect every moment of their life in introspective, zen-like, bliss. Johnny thought about the creds, both legit and crypto, and cash he had stashed away. A decent sum to move up north maybe. Check out the rest of the great megacity-state. Maybe move down to Antarctica, work with the terraforming teams. Frag even jumping on the Martian colony reboot, anywhere but here. Something to turn around his fragging life in this postadolescent stage.
Lex walked out of her apartment, leaving the door wide open. That in itself wasn’t that abnormal but that she was barely clothed, actually that wasn’t that abnormal either. She was obviously sleepwalking, eyes shut and feet shuffling.
Johnny caught something in the corner of his eye. If there was a light in that opaque glass it faded once Johnny had his gaze on it. Lex lurched herself up to the second floor by the spiral staircase. Johnny cut her off at the third.
“Lex, up-and-at-’em Lexie,” Johnny shook Lex as best he could to avoid brain damage. Wishing life was a twentieth century oldmedia flick so he could slap her back to consciousness. Unfortunately, concussion science had developed a lot in a hundred years, leaving Johnny to shout her name in her face.
“What the frag, leave me alone,” Lex pushed at Johnny, “I’m tired, geddoff me.”
“Lex, wake the frag up, what are you doing?”
Lex’s eyes barely registered another person, “Going to see someone.”
“Do you see me?”
“Of course I,” Lex’s eyes gained awareness, “Johnny, why are you in my,” Lex examined her surroundings and covered herself, “did I do this on purpose?”
“I can’t tell you for certain, but I don’t think you did,” Johnny looked across the courtyard lit by the breaking dawn light towards 211. “Go get dressed and meet me at Trip and Decker’s.”
“Uh, Ok. Weird much.”
“I think Decker can help explain away the weirdness. He’s done the research.”
“Nobody like, roofied me or anything, right?”
“You did that to yourself, but this is different. Kinda. Just get ready. Don’t wear anything you don’t want blood on.”
“What do you mean we dragged you out of bed?” Johnny scoffed, “You told me you never sleep.”
“But I almost did this time,” Decker rubbed swollen eyes. Lex, in Decker’s command chair, swiveled about in a circle of hardware, knocking over one of the server towers with a *THUD*. “Stop that,” Decker hissed. Lex planted her feet.
Door scraping against jamb sounded from the
hallway. Trip shuffled out of his bedroom into the common area. “Why are people in my home?” Trip fiddled with his robe belt, “Dammit Decker, this is why I was against moving back.”
“Lex was sleepwalking, and Johnny thinks I was right about evil lurking on the 4th floor,” Thorn was JumpedUp and wide eyed.
“Then why are you here?” Trip said through a yawn.
Johnny stepped forward, “Decker’s the only one who has experience with what’s up there. Besides me, I guess.”
Decker said, “Then why is Thorn here?”
“I was up. Thought it’d be fun.”
Trip sighed, “Well, I guess I’m up now. What’s going on?”
“I have a story to share.” Johnny cleared his throat, “So, like, twenty some odd years ago my girlfriend at the time used to live here. Our neighbor fell asleep jacked into the net and supposedly woke up possessed because of it. And being the religious type, she went to church about it.”
“Last resort of the weak,” Thorn scoffed.