Funhouse (6 page)

Doyle turned off the radio, and turned towards Terry. He was no longer
smiling.

             
Big T – the one that inhabited Terry and Doyle’s world was killed early the following morning. The world’s press went into overdrive, to Terry and Doyle, it was already old news.

             
“Thirteen hours, give or take.” Terry said as he sipped his umpteenth cup of coffee.             

“
What is?” Doyle asked, rubbing his stubble fluffed cheeks.

“
The time. Between it happening in their world and ours.”

Doyle nodded, and they sat in silence, watching the news of the Rapper’s death. Neither had slept, and although they had sat up all night discussing options, the reality was, that they were no further along than the night before. They had almost come to blows about how to proceed, the combination of stress, the unreality of the situation and their differing opinions making a potent fuel for their aggression. Doyle had wanted to ignore it, take their veiled warning for what it was and forget all about it, but Terry had wanted to explore further, and continue in his quest for answers. There was now a tense, if not awkward peace between them. Terry stood and stretched.

“I’m going to go home, grab a few hours’ sleep.”

“
Good idea, I might do the same.”

Terry nodded. “I’ll come back later, and we can try to come to some kind of compromise on what to do.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Terry hesitated and then left. Doyle put his feet up and lay on the couch. He didn’t expect sleep to come, he was too jittery, his brain too active. He closed his eyes anyway, as it helped with the coming headache.

He was asleep within minutes.

Terry
came back just after nine pm. He was excited and anxious, and sat at the kitchen table, opening the notepad he had brought with him and grinning at Doyle.

“
I went back out there.” He said, eyes glittering in excitement.

“
What the hell, I thought we were supposed to talk about this?”

“
I know, I know, but just listen. I went out there and took some measurements.”

Doyle’s anger dissipated, and he sat at the table.

“Go on.”

Terry spun the notebook around so Doyle could see his scrawled notes.

“The cold area is still there. It’s around ten feet square. It’s about seven degrees cooler than the normal air temperature. There is definitely something there.”

“
Yeah, but that still doesn’t help us with what to do about it.”

“
I had a thought about that too.” Terry said.

“
Go on.”

“
How about this? Let me take a few more measurements, record some video, hell even record the broadcast tonight. First thing tomorrow, we report it, anonymously of course, then sit back and let the publicity build. As soon as it’s common knowledge, we can present our evidence as the first to find it.”

It wasn’t ideal, but it was more of a compromise than Doyle had expected.

“One more night, then that’s it.”

“
Perfect. I brought my recording equipment. Let me set it up, make sure it’s receiving the broadcast, then we can head out there.”

“
Fine.” Doyle said standing up and going to one of the cupboards in the kitchen. “But just in case, I’m taking this.”

He came back and set the handgun on the table.

“What the hell are you doing with a gun?” Terry said, glaring at the weapon.

“
I got it for home protection, but I figured if nothing else, it will make me feel better to have it.”

“
I don’t see why you would need it, but whatever. Just be careful you don’t get spooked and start shooting the damn thing into the night.”

“
I won’t. I’m just being cautious.”

“
Some might say irrational.”

“
Some might say we shouldn’t be messing with something we don’t understand.” Doyle shot back.

Terry nodded, and scooped up his notepad.

“I’m going to go set the recording equipment up; then we can make a move. Okay?”

“
Fine. I’ll be ready.” Doyle said, as that horrible dull ache in his belly started to appear.

They were underway by ten fifteen. As before, they had the station tuned into the car stereo. Big T, he who had been shot and killed earlier that day in Doyle and Terry’s world and the evening before wherever DJ D was broadcasting from, was a guest on the show and was conducting his first live interview.

Terry looked excited; Doyle was horrified but kept his expression neutral. They arrived, and parked the car. As they had agreed, they wound down the windows and turned up the radio, so they could hear the broadcast as they investigated.  The conditions were the same as the night before, hot and dry and as they walked down the embankment, the feeling of dread in Doyle’s stomach increased as he looked both ways down the expanse of the tarmac where the car was parked. There was no sign of any traffic, which only increased the sense of isolation. Terry marched on, rounding the corner and taking out his notepad and digital thermometer, taking readings of the air. Doyle stood and waited, half watching for anything strange, half listening to the broadcast. He wondered why Terry wasn’t afraid, or at least concerned with the enormity of the situation. It wasn’t exactly a normal everyday occurrence, and yet he had taken it all in his stride. He watched his friend, crouched in the dirt taking his readings, and the thought crossed his mind that perhaps, this was all a big joke, and Terry was in on it.

The broadcast was interrupted mid song, which got Doyle’s attention.

We interrupt this broadcast to bring you, our fans, news. We are sad to report that one of our loyal listeners, Doyle
Reynolds, aged just thirty seven, passed away today.

Cold rolled down Doyle’s spine, as he turned towards the car.

It seems he got too close to something he didn’t understand, and he paid the price with his life. Rest in peace Doyle, this one goes out to you.

The Door’s track ‘The End’ filled the airwaves, and Doyle turned towards Terry.

“
Holy shit, did you hear...?”

Terry was gone.

Doyle glared into the darkness, and without thinking about it pulled out the gun from his jacket and flicked off the safety.

“
Hey, come on, this isn’t funny. Stop screwing around.”

He walked towards the cold spot, his eyes wide as he tried to see where his friend might be hiding. Confusion, anger and fear raced through him as he stared into the dark. He couldn’t move, rooted to the spot by fear. The song finished, and once again, DJ D filled the airwaves.

That was Mr Mojo Risin’
himself, Jim Morrison, who will be joining us live next week to perform a few of his classics and maybe a new song or two. Next up is…

Doyle pushed it aside, trying to ignore it and will himself to move. He took a single step, such a small thing feeling like a huge achievement.

“
Damn it, Terry where the hell are you?” He screamed into the night, listening to the sound of his voice echo.

You know where he is.

The voice in his head startled him, as it had been dormant for a long time. He knew it was a bad sign that he was hearing it again, and so tried to ignore it. But it wouldn’t be silent.

Don’t think you can ignore me. I’m here to help.

“Go away.” He whispered.

You know why I’m here. You know what’s happening to you, don’t you?
             

“
I won’t listen to you, you aren’t real.”

None of this is real. That’s the point.
Whispered the voice in his head.

Doyle stared at the cold spot, then at the car. The broadcast was silent, the air filled with the static hiss of dead air.

“I don’t understand.” Doyle whispered, letting his gun arm fall to his side.

You are sick again. Remember? Like before.

He could remember snatches. A hospital bed. Medication. Therapy.

“
I’m okay now, they said so....”

You never heard of a relapse?

“Terry, I need help buddy.” Doyle shouted into the night, trying to ignore the voice emanating from the centre of his brain.

Terry isn’t here.

“He is. I know he is.”

Terry’s dead. Remember?

“It’s not true, he’s here,” Doyle screamed, falling to his knees.

No, he’s dead. Dead because of you.

“It wasn’t my fault.” Doyle whispered.

It was your fault. You were the one who fucked his wife, remember?

“It wasn’t like that, we were in love…”

And when he found out, he went apeshit. Come on, help me out here. This is all buried somewhere in this head of yours.

“I can’t remember, it’s not true.”

You remember, you just had it all repressed by the shrinks. You lost it buddy. Lost it big time.

“But why?”

Because he killed her. Terry killed his wife because of you, then he came out here, and killed himself.

“But the radio, the broadcast…”

It’s in here, just like I am. The radio station, Terry helping you out, all a fantasy, all a failed attempt by this brain of yours to untangle the cables in here and put itself right.

“
No, it can’t be.”

Really, let’s take a look at it. What was Terry’s wife called?

“She was called Dianne.”

But that wasn’t what he called her was it? Can you remember?

“Dee, everyone called her Dee.”

As in DJ D. coincidence? I doubt it. And the playlist, all dead artists, true, but also your own personal favourites.

“They played new songs, songs that shouldn’t exist.”

They didn’t. They played songs you wish had been created. It was never real. You told yourself it broadcasted from here because you know this is where Terry came to end it all after you fucked his life up.

“I don’t remember…” he wailed, openly crying.

You are broken, Doyle. I think you are going to be spending the rest of your life in the hospital, best place for you, really
.

“
I won’t do it, I won’t go back there.” He shouted, pounding his fist on the ground.

You don’t have a choice, a man who can’t separate reality and fantasy isn’t safe to roam the streets. I’m sorry it had to be me who told you, but somebody had to.

“No, I refuse to go back there. Not again.”

He put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. His world exploded into a haze of white light and pain as the side of his face sheared away. He lay there on the ground, his blood soaking into sand as his ears rang. He waited for death, and was relieved when his vision
faded.