In The Midnight Of His Heart
By AL BRUNO III
May 14, 1993
“What the Hell are you talking about?”
Things were going worse than John had anticipated. The subject of Victor's journals and grimmores had always been a sore point. Phil insisted that he'd destroyed his mentor’s library but John knew better, there were days when the old man reeked of rotting paper and mildew. Victor's library was still around, somewhere, the first hurdle was getting his friend to admit to it. John was on his feet pacing in front of the aquarium, “I need one of the books, the one with entries from 1931.”
Phil sat in a sturdy old recliner, his hands clenching and unclenching on the armrests. “Look retard I don't know how many times I have to tell you- there are no journals.”
“Yes there are. I need one of them for a few hours, just one.” his voice was calm and rational.
“I just need it.”
“You don't trust me?”
“It doesn't matter if I do or don't, there are no books.”
“Then why are you so angry?”
“Angry? I am fucking livid!”
John recoiled, his friend's breath positively reeked of cigarettes. How could Zara not notice? he wondered.
Speak of the devil Zara stormed in the room, she wore loose- fitting gray sweats and her feet were bare, “Phil-”
“What?” he snapped at her, “Aren't you supposed to trying to contact the astral plane or something?”
She ignored his bait with practiced ease, “It is twelve thirty, I ask you to be out of the house for this hour so I can meditate. Is that too much to ask?”
“Can't you wait until your dead before you become one with universe?”
“Mediation is how I deal with the stressful conditions I live under.” she turned and left the room before Phil could reply.
“Meditation, Ti-Chi and magic crystals!” he snorted, “She's worse now then she was when Victor was alive.”
“The book Phil...”
“I tell you, once their pussies dry up their minds go phbbbtttt! out the window.”
“Please Phil, I need the journal.”
“What is wrong with you?” Phil looked ready to break something, “There is no journal! And even if there was I wouldn't give it to you.”
Ah, the truth, or at least a shade of it. Using his cane John stood, he felt a slight giddiness and thought to himself he'd better be careful, his metabolism still wasn't back to normal. Of course, the fact that he hadn't been able to sleep after his breakfast with the man who was August Zabladowski didn’t help either. “Why wouldn't you give it to me?”
“Because for the last few months you've been acting like a grade-A nutcase!”
Standing face to face brought shreds of memory bubbling to the surface of John's mind. They'd been face to face like this almost a month ago, only then he'd been delirious, threatening murder and worse. “Don't you trust me?”
“There. Are. No. Fucking. Journals.” Phil poked him with his finger to emphasize each word.
“Then I have nothing left to say to you.” He left the Adorskil house, slamming the door behind him and made his way home, feeling more alone than ever.