Dark Places and Strange Faces

By Robert Rowell

A collection of weird tales with dark overtones. A contemporary tale of an encounter with a strange and beautiful woman who may not be exactly what she seems. A post-apocalyptic story in a desolate world of hardship and sorrow. A tale of fantasy set in a timeless world where a hidden society guards its secrets with invisible hands. A science fiction story of a mercenary unit that gets caught up in rescuing colonists from a fate worse than death. All of these await you in Dark Places and Strange Faces!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Rowell
• Release date: Sep 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463306765

Robert Rowell

Born in Fort Worth, Texas. Spent nearly two decades traveling and working at various art shows, music venues and renaissance festivals. Worked at various jobs before and after that; some of which include working in a print shop, research center, laying industrial flooring, carpentry, stage work as well as being an entertainer and part-time stunt man (the last part is sort of a joke). Been an artist all my life and became interested in writing back in the latter part of high school.

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Copyright 2019, Robert K. Rowell

All Rights Reserved

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This is a work of fiction. The events, names and characters are imaginary; characters are fictitious and not intended to represent living persons.

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The Bitter End

Robert K. Rowell

A lone siren sounds off in the distance, barely reaching the young man’s ears as he lay upon the sidewalk trying to hang onto consciousness. His body aches as he realizes that the upper half of his body is over the edge of the curb and hanging down into the gutter. The smell of stagnant water and filth mildly register to him as he gasps and labors for each breath. His mind whirls and his vision seems to fade in and out of focus as an ambulance approaches. The spinning, red and blue lights, coupled with the deafening sound of the siren make his thoughts whirl again as he wonders just what is going on, and how he came to be here. A man and a woman in uniform leap out of the ambulance when it comes to a stop. Weakly, the young man moves his head to see better, but he can hardly control his neck muscles. As his face turns toward them, he slips into a gray haze and blacks out for a few moments.

When he comes back to the present, the young man realizes he is no longer laying in the gutter. The man and woman in uniform have somehow gotten him upon a stretcher and are talking to him in urgent tones. His mind cannot seem to grasp exactly what they are saying, but they continue to connect straps to secure him to the stretcher he now lies upon.

Sir? comes a voice from the female, Sir? Can you hear me?

I…what? the young man croaks, Where...what is going on?

What is your name sir? she asks him.

Artemus, he croaks at her, feeling a tingling sensation as he begins to fade again, Artemus Templar...what’s yours?

She replied something, but he seemed to just fall asleep.

Artemus felt his mind fall into a not so distant memory from a few years back. One of when he had been in his first years of college; studying for his degree in Journalism. He stood in a room filled with cigarette and marijuana smoke so thick, it could almost be cut with a knife. Several young people stood about him laughing and drinking, many of them with raised fists chanting rhythmically.

CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!

Artemus Templar stood among the crowd holding a nearly full bottle of tequila. He glanced around the room fuzzily, already pretty messed up from the previous beers he had consumed; not to mention the amounts of pot he had smoked. With a silly grin he looked over at a young man that seemed just as caught up in the revelry of the room as the rest of the people that surrounded him.

Come on Arty! he cried out, Chug it down, man!

Arty grinned and belched as he lifted the bottle to his lips. He began to swallow the liquor, feeling the fire of it begin to warm his throat and stomach. The crowd about him began to chant faster and faster, prompting him to swallow the liquid fire at a more rapid pace. It seemed to take forever to drain the bottle, but when he did he tossed it aside in triumph; meanwhile the crowd about him cheered as if he had just saved the world. Arty looked about the room, still wearing his ridiculous grin; but then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell backward to the floor.

Sir? Mr. Templar? a voice brought him back from the dream of his past, this time, it was the man that spoke to him, Stay with us, Mr. Templar. You’re going to be fine, just stay with us.

Arty nodded his head weakly, but was having trouble keeping awake. His eyelids kept wanting to close, and as soon as they did, he would drift off into another dream-like memory.

This time, he was staring at a shabby, wooden door in a run-down apartment building. Off in the distance, he could hear the sound of sirens blaring as he walked up to the apartment and raised his hand to the door. His guts felt knotted up as he fought the fatigue in his trembling legs. He had walked a long way to reach this door, knowing that the cure for how he felt was just on the other side of it. His eyes are sunken in his face, and dark circles marked the fact that he had slept little lately. Artemus scratches at his neck and shifts from foot to foot as he impatiently waits for the door to be answered. From the other side of the door, he can hear the sounds of footsteps approaching. They stop and for a few moments nothing happens, but then he hears the deadbolt turn and the doorknob begins to move. The door opens to reveal a man with long hair standing there before him. He is wearing a dirty T-shirt and ratty, stained blue jeans. He gazes out at Artemus with a distinct look of indifference.

Well, well, the man croaks in a deep voice, Artemus, my old buddy, you look like a hundred miles of bad, Louisiana highway.

Yeah, I know, Arty replies, I just need something to pick me up a little, ya know? Think you can help me out?

Maybe, the man studied him a bit as he stepped back to allow Arty to enter, You got money this time? No more credit around here, man.

Yeah, Arty sighed and looked down at the ground, I got money. I had to resort to some sketchy stuff, but I got money.

Hey, no judgment here, man, the fellow smiled as he gestured inside the darkened apartment.

Arty slowly trudged inside, as he passed into the shadowy interior, he felt a tug at his mind.

His vision faded back in to show that he was inside the ambulance. The male EMT was bending over him doing something, while the female seemed to be talking to him in an urgent tone.

Mr. Templar! her voice called out to him, Wake up, please! I need you to stay awake and answer my questions. Can you do that?

Arty just nodded his head and stared at her. She was pretty, he thought to himself as he listened to her questions. She kept asking him what he had taken, what he may have had to drink, if he was on any medications; but he could not seem to focus enough to give any coherent answer. He just mumbled at her as he stared at her pretty face. Then his vision begins to fog up again as his eyelids became too heavy to hold open.

Smoke and fog seemed to swirl around him as he came to himself again in one of his memory-like dreams. He is now at a friend’s apartment, attending a celebration of the success of a new article that had been published. Arty had been invited because he had gone to school with this girl who had just graduated and gotten a good job at a local magazine. He was having trouble remembering her name, but she had always been nice to him during their time at college. The celebration of her article had turned into quite the party. Numerous people had showed up, and the booze was flowing; Arty was in the dining room next to the kitchen, surrounded by people dancing and drinking. The air was hazy from cigarettes and pot; copious amounts had been smoked during the evening.

Arty sat alone, staring down at the coffee table before him, miserably thinking of how he had gone to school with most of these people and they all seemed to have become moderately successful. While he had dropped out before the final semester and done much of nothing with his life. He had partied and squandered his time, and now he was sitting here, alone in a crowd. Lying upon the coffee table was a silver-colored platter that had several pill bottles and a small pile of white powder with several lines laid out next to a metal straw. Arty stared at the collection of drugs and wallowed in his self-pity of how his life had not turned out like he thought it should.

Sullenly, he sits forward and picked up the metal straw. Angrily, Arty snorts up two of the six lines laid out upon the platter. As he does this, the people around him continue to dance and laugh, drinking and smoking as they reveled with each other. Arty sits back on the couch and looks around the room with a lost-looking expression as the cocaine begins to numb his nose and face. The smoke in the room seems to thicken and swirl around him as he slowly closes his eyes and begins to hear a rushing sound in his ears. Darkness closed in and blotted out all of his awareness.

****

The sterile white walls of a hospital room came into view as he woke up. Looking around, he realizes that he is lying upon rumpled, white sheets with tubes running out of each of his arms. As he looks around the room, Arty notices that his Aunt Violet was there. Her eyes were red and filled with tears as she dabbed at her nose with some tissues. His hand starts to lift, but suddenly stops as he realizes that he is strapped to the bed. The door opens and a doctor enters the room, giving him a bland smile.

I’m glad to see you awake, Mr. Templar, he said in a firm, tenor voice, How are you feeling?

I...I’m not sure, Arty responded hesitantly, his mouth was dry and his tongue kept sticking to his teeth and cheeks, I’m very thirsty. Could I get some water?

His Aunt Violet stood up and got a cup from beside the small sink and filled it with crushed ice from a pitcher that sat nearby. She walked over to his bed and looked down at him with a weak smile of relief as she held the cup to his lips. Arty took some of the crushed ice into his mouth and let the cold crystals slide along his parched tongue and melt. The relief was almost as good as sex, he thought to himself as his dry mouth began to ease some.

Oh, Arty, his Aunt Violet said to him, I was so worried! We all were.

We? Arty asked in a puzzled tone.

Yes, Mr. Templar, the doctor spoke up again, his hazel eyes studying his patient closely, Do you remember anything at all?

No, Arty replied vacantly, Not really. I kept having weird dreams; well, not really dreams, but memories...of things that have happened to me when I was in school. Before that, I remember going to some party with some friends, but I couldn’t really tell you what took place. I vaguely remember lying in the street; and an ambulance...

Oh, Arty! his Aunt began to sob.

Yes, well, the doctor interrupted what was sure to be an emotional tirade, I need to inform you, Mr. Templar, that the EMT’s who brought you in almost lost you twice on the way to the hospital. Once you were transferred to us, we got you into the ER quickly. But, you went flat-line for just over four minutes on the table. It took some dedicated effort, but we got your heart beating again; you had a very close call.

Aunt Violet began to cry softly as she heard the words of the doctor. Arty just listened and wondered how he could have gotten so far down this terrible road. The Doctor then began to give him a rundown of what he needed to do to fully recover from this event. It was all things that Arty and Aunt Violet had heard before, since this was not his only visit to the ER. It just happened to be the first time that he had clinically died during the process. Arty and his Aunt listened patiently while the doctor recommended different rehabilitation options, coupled with somewhat stern looks as he told them that they had not involved the police this time. He did caution them that if it became a repeated thing, the hospital would have no choice but to call in law enforcement and psychiatric officials. Arty assured him that it would not be necessary, as he looked at his distraught Aunt and made them both a promise.

I will get help, he told them with a quivering voice, I can’t keep doing this, obviously.

Ms. Roth, the doctor turned to his Aunt, Are you taking responsibility for him at this point?

Yes, he’s coming home with me when he is released, she said as she wiped her nose, I’m going to hold him to that promise he just made.

Very good, the doctor nodded in a satisfied way, I will need to get you to sign some paperwork, and then I can see about getting him released.

It actually took until the next morning to wait upon the doctor to finish the release papers. Violet Roth had displayed her annoyance several times the evening before, and again this morning; but Arty kept reminding her that he was fortunate not to have the police or the shrinks involved. This would usually calm her temper somewhat. It was near ten in the morning before a nurse appeared with a wheel chair for him. He grudgingly got into it and allowed himself to be wheeled downstairs. The nurse tried to make conversation, but Arty didn’t feel much like talking. Aunt Violet went ahead to pull the car up front and pick him up. The nurse watched as Violet left ahead of them.

So, that is your Aunt? she asked, watching the older woman quickly walk to the elevator, She’s pretty, but doesn’t look old enough to be your Aunt. She must really take care of herself.

Yeah, she’s kind of a health nut, Arty admitted, glancing up at the young girl that pushed his wheel chair, Lots of my friends thinks she’s pretty, too. I guess she is at that; I never thought about it.

Probably best that you didn’t, the nurse smiled and winked, That would be kinda creepy.

Yeah, it would; wouldn’t it? he managed a slight chuckle.

As his Aunt pulled up to the curb in front of them, Arty began to realize that the young nurse was correct. Violet Roth was still a fairly young-looking, attractive lady. Her figure was a little plump here and there, but only enough to accentuate her curves. She was not really over-weight, or showing to be much past her mid thirties, despite the fact that she was fifty-five years old. Her fine features were framed by long, sandy brown hair that fell below her shoulders. She still looked good in her tight jeans and form fitting pink top. Arty had never really taken notice unless someone else pointed it out. As Violet got out and came over to help him to the car, she noticed the scrutiny of them both.

What? she asked him as he shakily got out of his chair.

Nothing, the nurse said a little too quickly.

I was just telling her, Arty came to her rescue, how fortunate I am to have such a kind and loving family. You’re beautiful, Aunt Vi.

Oh, how sweet! Violet smiled as she noticed the slight blush of the young nurse, Now get in the car, you silly thing! Thank you, nurse.

The blushing young girl turned the wheel chair around with a hasty wave and returned to the hospital. Arty settled into the seat of the car and let out a long sigh as he watched his Aunt walk back around the car and glance after the nurse in curiosity. He decided if she asked he would not tell her that the girl found her attractive; for fear of embarrassing his Aunt. She got in and started the engine, giving him a curious glance before putting the car into gear.

What was all of that? Violet asked him.

Nothing really, he told her, The nurse paid you a compliment, and it got me to thinking that I never really appreciate you properly.

Awww, she wrinkled her nose with a grin, So sweet! So, it had nothing to do with the fact that she kept staring at my ass?

Aunt Vi! Arty exclaimed suddenly, his eyes going wide.

Oh, settle down, she assured him, It’s not the first time I’ve been ogled by a girl. It is the twenty-first century, after all.

I may die of mortification, Arty muttered as he put his hand over his face.

Violet Roth just started laughing.

As their car slowly made its way out of the hospital parking lot, a lone woman stood on the curb and watched as they drove past. She was tall and slender, with long, dark hair that hung straight down to her waist. She looked to be African-American, but with a light-hued skin tone that was like a deep tan. Her black eyes followed the station wagon as it pulled out onto the main street, and followed their progress until they slipped from view. She remained there for several moments longer, before she turned and walked away down the street.

Violet Roth fussed over her nephew as soon as she got him inside her house. She made him sit down in the recliner in the living room and turned on the TV for him. Then she went about making him a meal that was large enough for three people. During this frenetic activity, she kept up a barrage of small talk that was peppered with occasional questions. ‘Arty’ as she called him, kept making small, innocuous answers. His mind really wasn’t on the conversation, however, but instead he kept wondering about all the strange, dream-like memories he had experienced before waking up in the hospital. He remembered each of the events now, but was surprised to find that even consciously thinking about them, he did not have the sense of vivid realism that had accompanied those dream-like visions. He figured it was just the copious amounts of drugs and alcohol he had once again consumed. He had done that far too many times in the past. He knew if he didn’t change his behavior, he would not be on this earth for much longer. Even though he was only in his late twenties, he could pass for being in his mid thirties, or even almost forty. The party life had put some miles on his features. He was still a handsome young man, but he was too thin for his height; and the dark circles under his eyes had not gone away for several months, due to his being constantly drunk or high on something. Now, as he relaxed in his Aunt’s living room, he realized that he just felt bone-weary tired, and he knew he needed to get some help. Besides, he did make a promise to Aunt Vi as well as the doctor who didn’t call the police on him.

You scared me nearly to death with this latest escapade, Violet said as she handed him a plate of food and then settled on the couch to watch him eat, Arty, you’ve really got to stop this. I want you to eat that and then get some rest. I’m going to find out where the best rehabilitation center is, and when I do find one, I want you to fulfill your promise.

She gave him a steady gaze as he looked down at the massive plate of food on his lap. He smiled weakly as he looked at it and then glanced up at her.

I can’t possibly eat all of this, he told her sincerely.

She looked down at the plate, finally realizing just how much food she had piled upon it. Putting a delicate hand to her own mouth, she giggled slightly.

I guess not, she chuckled, Don’t worry, I’ll help you eat it. I still want you to get help.

I know, Arty said quietly, I will.

****

Within the week, Arty had managed to get the color back in his face and even lost the dark circles under his eyes. Violet had made him eat healthy meals while he stayed with her, and also made sure he didn’t stay up too late or lay in bed too long. Arty had helped her with things around her house as he got stronger, and even done some phone calls to find a possible rehabilitation group to join. He had every intention of keeping his promise to his Aunt. Finally, however, he decided that he needed to go back to his own place and get it tidied up. Violet had some misgivings, but put on a brave face and drove him back to his apartment that afternoon.

As he looked around his apartment, Arty began to see the dismal existence he had been living. His furnishings were few, and they all were things he had picked up off the side of the street, or found at some dismal, little thrift store for next to nothing. He looked at the dingy, beige-colored chair in the middle of the room; feeling slightly disgusted that he had never noticed just how dilapidated it was. The upholstery was shredded in several places, and he could see food stains here and there, that he had never properly cleaned up. His TV was a wide, flat screen that looked fairly new, but the chest of drawers that it sat atop was from the 1960’s, and the veneer was peeling off the sides of it. He had a table over by the kitchen, which sat