Samuel Logan: The Cross. Part One
The blood-drenched moon tempts me from the heavens where it is lay upon a veil of silken cloud. I ride the winds of fate upon my silver triumph defying those demons of my life whom have thwarted my every footstep. I fly through the city streets the bike roaring its music towards Mount Olympus itself. The world itself becomes a blur of light covering the universe as I cut through the barrier of life and light the sound of “Otterley” by the Cocteau Twins smoothly playing into my skull. I ride consistently, looking into the darkest of alleys daring those spirits of my world to enter here and attack me until finally I reach my destination. I turn from the main streets and into a quiet dingy foul smelling street. Resting my bike I step from off it and look up towards the bar (if you can call it that). It in itself is nothing scary, sure the blackened bricks from soot and ash give a daunting look and the large foreboding oak door with a small ‘gangster slit’ within it makes the place a little intimidating but other than that, its general looks say its nothing special.
The name ‘The Cross’ is lit up in red lights though the first ‘s’ no longer works and flickers on and off. As I enter the club I look around, the furniture itself is exquisite the atmosphere of the room itself warm and friendly. I continue forward, the club is empty neither man nor woman is there, the dance floor has been deserted and I stand alone listening to the music playing softly in the background.
“You!” a voice calls out towards me, I stop dead in my tracks holding my own in the dimly lit club centre. I close my eyes and think of the past how he locked me within his steel box, enclosing me, hiding me from the world. I raise my hands and stroke my neck, I feel the burning of its steel once more, around my neck tightens up and once more my breathing is restricted I can no longer speak and slowly I can feel the pain return.
“Do you have a reason for being here?” once more it calls towards me yet still I cannot answer. It seems closer this time though, is he walking towards me? I have no way of knowing and so still I remain as the darkness fades and the lights are switched on. I close my eyes attempting to hide my fear, hide my darkness from this man.
He walks towards me slowly emerging from the darkness like a comic book hero would emerge from the flames. I bow my head and muster the first few words I have spoken in almost seven months. “Do not be afraid. I am not here to kill, merely to seek a friend…” the man, whoever he was stops dead within the light his pale completion makes him seem almost white within the room. His clothes tell his story, their creases showing the late hours that he works the bag under his eyes answering most men’s questions of him.
“Who do you seek?” he asks his own question bluntly, his heavy southern accent pushing out the words with utter contempt as to who I may be. I regain my confidence slowly first but I can feel the power returning to my veins, allowing me the breath again. I walk toward him my head bowed down deeply my fists curled ready for an attack if needed. “Who are you looking for?” still I do not answer his question merely look at him as though he should already know. I stand before him and speak my words, “I am Samuel. This is mine…” I speak of the club, I wish it for my own and as a man I have requested it.
“Well Mr… Logan, unless you happen to be ‘The Blue Coral’ which I highly doubt…” he knows my name. The expression upon my face seemingly changes in that instant, no man has spoken that name since the end but now another had spoken it and this by far had become his worst sin. I snarl at him and stare into his now frightened eyes and ask simply, “And if I were, The Blue Coral?” he shudders as I speak my own name, closing his eyes for a moment he seems to search for the right words, those which will leave him in little to no pain. “Then I would ask what he planned on doing about Caspian. Then… then I would give him the keys…” I extend my hand waiting for the keys, after a moment of his rummaging within his pockets they are dropped within my hand. I smile wickedly and nod my head in thanks, as I turn and begin to walk back the centre of my bar he calls out to me, I spin on my heel waiting for him to repeat his words, “What was that…?” I ask of him, merely waiting could have me here for too long, I wait for his reply. “I asked – What are you going to do about Caspian? – I mean, Lights Out came back… and, and you were booked…” I nod in acknowledgement and understanding.
“Were I my brother Mr…”
“Jones!”
“Yes, well. Were I my brother Mr. Jones. I would merely say that Caspian were not my problem. Yet you shall see…” I dismiss him with a wave of my hand, telling him to leave me be. Even now in my dreams I could see the lights fading, the end coming to a place of near perfection. Why it had gone I could not myself fathom, I did not understand the call of ownership even with the keys to this small place within my hands, I could not understand why any man would leave. Mr. Jones leaves quietly since my answer seemed nothing to him, had he persuaded me to talk a little longer I would have explained that Caspian didn’t matter, only I mattered any longer. My suffering was over because no longer would I care for them, I find a seat within the small bar and sit, resting my eyes I drift to sleep and once more, the dreams come…
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