Dents

[+] Sorcererz

On a particularly cold afternoon, I received a call from HMP Wormwood Scrubs.

It was Murdoc. Recently, he'd been given the opportunity to make a ten minute phone call to a person of his choice each day. He spoke with Noodle and Russel already. He hadn't asked for 2D or I until now.

When I held the receiver to my ear, I thought I could smell the musk of cheap toilet spray seeping through it. His rotten avocado complexion appeared vividly in my subconscious. I found it incredible that he was able to make himself present even when he was in a concrete cell miles away from us.

In honesty, I was slightly relieved to hear his familiar screeching. The band wasn't the same without him. Ace could only do so much to fill the void Murdoc's absence had created.

The townhouse remained in its constant state of disarray. We still hadn't even bothered to fix the hot water heater that had broken shortly after his arrest.

Despite that, he was so hard to look at that I didn't want to imagine his face any longer.

"Aye, Saoirse. How's the band gettin' on without its most important memba? Bettin' you lot've been missin' me like a kink in the neck, eh?"

"You've got that right," I responded.

"Well listen. I been fixin' to talk to ya. Want to fill you in on Ace 'n what you ought to expect while I'm stuck in this god-forsaken shitehole."

"Alright, Murdoc. Shoot."

"Riiiight," he droned, "Ace's a luvly fella, let me tell ya. Real underrated actor in 'is day. Think I told you before 'at we ran in a gang togetha years back."

Murdoc proceeded to ramble for approximately eight minutes straight without my input.

"Aye, you daft? I'm talkin' to you."

"No, sorry, I'm listening. Continue."

"Continue what? Christ."

His griping was followed by a muffled gurgle. I could almost hear the gritty sound of Murdoc's eyes rolling around in his skull.

"I asked you, how's faceache?"

I flopped onto the couch, kicking my feet up on the table. A pile of clutter stacked on top of it fell to the floor. It gradually blended with the rest of the junk lying about.

"He's alright. Well, I think. I'm a little worried about him."

There was a commotion on the other line. Murdoc covered the receiver with his palm. He hollered something akin to 'shut the bloody hell up.'

"Sorry 'bout that. You know how these inmates are, bloody savages, all riled up 'n pumpin' their testosterone or what have you."

I paused, wondering what exactly that was supposed to mean. I decided that Murdoc probably didn't understand what testosterone was.

"Riiiight," I mocked him, "So anyway, he's been acting weird. We think he might be possessed. We're taking him to see Russel's priest and he's been doing better."

Murdoc shrieked at the top of his lungs.

"I thought I told you to shut the bloody 'ell up!"

The line was silent for a few uncomfortable seconds. Murdoc mumbled something incoherent and said he had to go.

I assumed that whoever he'd told to shut up wasn't keen on the idea.

I set the phone down and started picking up the things I'd carelessly knocked off the table during the call. There were a few books on the occult, as well as a vinyl copy of Humanz with tattered edges. Beneath that was an assortment of crumbs and a sticky purple spot where some foreign liquid had spilled.