The Dark Place Read Online Free PDF Page B

killing him, making his eyes feel sandpapery each time he blinked out sweat. Thankfully, despite the heat, his haemorrhoids weren’t arsing about.
    Quickly cutting across Victoria Street and into Custom HouseSquare, he spotted a parcel of homeless people shadowed outside an old derelict church, not too far from the impressive Italian Renaissance-style Custom House building. The homeless all looked skinny, lined up against the church walls like pencils in some cheap stationery shop before suddenly disappearing inside out of sight.
    “What an existence,” muttered Karl.
    The abysmal conditions of the homeless in his hometown never failed to shock Karl. He had always believed that their growth had been cultivated by an obscene dichotomy where, a few streets away on the Waterfront, the affluent helped to fill the coffers of corrupt, greasy politicians and city councillors, backing their plans to make the homeless invisible with the help of thugs in and out of uniform.
    To Karl, the old church seemed to be swelling in the heat, casting shadows further down the street. Long gone were its begging tongues and burning candles, but somehow it still infused his atheistically inclined imagination with agonising angels, their alabaster faces all majestically attuned to a vivid tapestry of concrete heaven.
    “Hello? Anyone in?” he asked loudly, tentatively poking his head in through the large, ornate door of the church. “Hello? Anyone –”
    “Get yer big fucking head out of our house!” screamed an intimidating voice, making Karl step backwards quickly.
    A bear of a man appeared from the mouth of the door, his massive face covered by a forest of unruly beard, eyes flat as flint. What skin could be seen was jaundice yellow – matching his sporadic teeth. A bruise as big as an infant’s fist lamp-posted his forehead. The man was wearing history clothes – someone else’s history – with a wine bottle protruding from his pants like a pickpocket’s arm.
    “I … I was wondering if I could ask a few questions?” asked Karl. “It’s about a young girl who’s been missing –”
    “Want to dirty my skin with bruises, punk?” asked the homeless man, motoring unsteadily towards Karl. “Ye better kill me – cuz I’m coming for ye! See?
See?
Whaddya hear, whaddya
sssayyyyy?
” Like lightning, the man produced something long and shiny from his coat pocket.
    “Let’s not do anything silly, or hasty, friend,” urged Karl, tracking the man’s eyes, simultaneously watching for any sudden movementfrom his hand.
    The man growled a howl not unlike a wounded animal. He appeared to be preparing to leap with the weapon in his hand. Karl readied himself.
    “Leave that man alone, John-Jack,” said the voice of another homeless man, suddenly emerging from the doorway of the building. “What’s this stranger done to offend you?” The man had dozens of tiny metal hoops implanted in his ears and some in his nose. His grey hair was a long, ropey ponytail.
    “He’s poking his big nose in, uninvited to our home, that’s what he’s done. Probably trying to steal our grub, Michael,” stated John-Jack, tightening his grip on the item in his hand. “How would he like any of us poking our heads into his kitchen without permission?”
    Karl flashed his palms up, saying, “You’re one hundred per cent correct, John-Jack. My apologies for that. To be honest, I couldn’t see any other way of alerting someone to my presence.”
    “Okay, John-Jack? See? The man apologised. Now, go back in and finish your dinner.”
    Slowly, John-Jack eased back towards the entrance, but not before sticking out his tongue at Karl. The tongue was carpeted in baked bean sauce and sores.
    “He’s harmless,” explained Michael, as John-Jack disappeared out of view. “Just a bit paranoid. One of the risk factors of being homeless.”
    “I wouldn’t call brandishing a knife harmless.”
    “Knife? Oh … you mean this?” replied Michael, producing the