Dark Passenger
It was a rude awakening, deafening as a train roared past. I sat up pressing my back against the cold wall and staring at the stale blood on my hands as the train flew past me. “I’ve done it..” I whispered in the dark tunnel. I began to slouch down again and felt the need to weep but there were no tears left to fall. I could smell the smoke, they’re dead and I didn’t feel regret, remorse, or even fulfilled. Killing is not new to me but that was in times of war, then I had purpose; to be a warrior, but now I feel empty. Seemingly void of all emotion I still felt something.. Not an emotion, but an urge or was it a thirst? Whatever it was; it is dark. I did not like it. I have to remember who I am... I began to ramble in a trance “I.. I am Trevor Morgan..” I started to talk louder “.. And!.. I am a murderer with no feeling!” I hushed to a whisper, “I need to get my-myself together.” It occurred to me that the train conductor may have called in the wreckage if he saw it; I have to move. I began to get up and drag my fatigued body to the tunnel exit that was ill lit by the moonlight.
The cold, dark sky was above and the early morning frost stung. I stumbled across the set of tracks and approached the cliff side and peered down at the destruction I had wrought only an hour or so before. There at the bottom of the Cliffside lie a car in ruins; the fire still burning. From a less civilized perspective it was the new found metal grave of my wretched wife and her not so secret lover. Above past the thin wilderness was the city skyline lit up like a beacon of civilization, a place I did not want to be at right now. Suddenly I got the overwhelming yearning to jump, one of my legs gave out and a patch of gravel dropped off the Cliffside and scattered falling and falling, I was still safely up top. I touched my face for confirmation that I was still alive, my skin was rough for it being only thirty-seven and very alive just like me. From behind me there were footsteps crunching on the gravel from inside the train tunnel, they seemed to walk a rhythm, not aggressive but calm.
“There is no going back now, friend.” A voice exclaimed from the darkness of the tunnel. The voice sounded confident and borderlining on wise.
I turned around bewildered “What- who are you!?”
“That is not important, what matters is you.” The mysterious stranger stepped of the shadows and into the moonlight. He was wearing a modern black business suit with an old-style twist; an old fedora that masked his identity with shade. It was a bit cliché given the circumstances.
“What are you a detective!? Because congratulations sarge you caught the murderer red-handed! Ha-ha!” I raised my blood stained hands comically. Humor and Dark Humor were the only ways I knew how to ease the gravity of the situation.
The man grinned, then cryptically he said, “No, quite the opposite actually, I am more like you rather than a member of a law enforcement agency.”
“Ah, a fellow murderer! What’s with the suit then? And the Hat?” I pressed sarcastically.
The man sighed, “Honestly it’s a personal preference and I’m how do you say? More incognito this way.” He seemed a bit irritated.
“Here? By a train tunnel through a mountain in the outskirts of a city you blend in with a suit? Right.. And I like to wear Hawaiian shirts to funerals!” I pointed out; shaking the oddness out the situation with humor.
The man chuckled, “Everyone’s got to be a comedian one way or another.” I let out an awkward laugh in response. There was short stare between us, all humor was lost. The man continued, “Do you believe in heaven and hell?” he asked in a by-the-way tone of voice.
I stood quietly and pondering. That question was one I often asked myself, in my childhood I wanted to believe some higher power would save my mother and I, we would pray together when my father was not home. But after he killed her in front of me and left I lost all hope. I still remember the last thing he said to me, “Don’t Become me.” In a way I have come him. Besides heaven and hell do exist; I know where I’m going so therefore I’m not looking forward to finding out about my afterlife. After that long pause I finally answered, “No but I believe there is something, not karma but just good and bad, or pure and evil, innocent and guilty have a purpose.”
“Fair enough. But what if they did exist? I’m not exactly a firm believer myself either,” the man retorted in a matter-of-fact tone. The man reached into his jacket; he pulled out a cigar and began to smoke it.
“What do you mean “what if?” if they did exist you and me are taking the expressway to hell anyways,” I said plainly. I was losing my nerve; he wasn’t cutting to the point.
The man began to approach the Cliffside next to me. “Maybe, maybe not,” he retorted nonchalantly. He was facing the edge and peered down at the wreckage. I turned to face the wreckage too, we stood a foot apart the smell of his cigar was unnaturally sweet. “You and I have an affliction, I like to call it a Dark Passenger.” The man pointed to the car down below “Much like the operator of vehicle drives; it is a force or an urge that drives us. We have no control over it, it’s thirst needs to be quenched. Otherwise it may cause us to swerve out of control and well.. crash.”
“What are you getting at? This is starting to sound really dark and depressing,” I said squinting at the thought.
“Don’t you see? We need to kill; it’s who we are, but the one thing we can do about it is choose who, somebody has to die,” The man said at an elevating pace.
“So what you just pick off some random person from the street or what?” I poked.
“No no, nothing that rash,” the man sighed. “Would you agree there are people in this world who do not deserve life?”he whispered as he huddled closer to me, he reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder; he was at a hush now, “and if heaven did exist do you think you could kill your way into it?”
His voice echoed in my mind for what seemed like eternity. After A long pause I whispered to myself, “I could have a purpose again.” He still heard.
“Exactly friend,” the man confirmed. The man puffed his cigar “Do you read? Shakespeare?”
“Yes, actually I enjoyed Hamlet,” I replied confused as to of it’s relevance I had not a clue.
The man grinned and asked, “Have you ever forgot a ticket and were turned away from an event?” It was a rhetorical question that also seemed of no relevance. He then blew some of the cigar smoke in my face.
Then it dawned on me, the sweet smell of his cigar was not tobacco or anything of the sort; it was rosemary. “Rosemary for remembrance,” I said. I started put it all together an urge to kill, yearning for heaven, kill for the permission to enter the gates, tickets and rosemary for remembering who you took out of this world to walk through those pearly white gates.
“There are others you know,” the man said cryptically, “we are not the only ones who carry out this dark but noble deed.” The man reached into his jacket and pulled out another cigar and a business card then handed them to me. “Your new life begins with purpose. Contact me when you are ready.” The man left sooner from the tunnel then he appeared. The business card had contact information and read “Nos mos purgo is universitas of malum.” Latin for “We will cleanse this world of evil.”