THE RETURN OF DAVY JONES
A teaser excerpt from the book The Split. A psycho-sexual serial killer with a Multiple Personality Disorder.
David got alerted at the bell ring
Hello, David, Davy said with a feigned smile.
Police siren was passing fast on Sunset Boulevard.
Davy? David froze, anguished, feeling a sudden nausea deep in the pit of his stomach as if he was on a boat ride in the Pacific Ocean. His words came out of a broken jaw. What you…? What you doing here? You can't come here. We agreed that you'd never come back.
I know, Davy said, with a forced grin that amplified his insomniac, puffy eyes and pale face. His homeless, long and dark blond hair tousled, crying for shampoo and water. Welcome to LA’s homeless population.
I'm baaack froom aaa lock upp! Davy announced theatrically and intentionally sounding like Jack Torrance in The Shining: Heeere's Johnny! Finally home, David. Finally, out of the oblivion and darkness and silence. It's nice to see you, too, David.
They looked at each other. Davy’s eyes grew wet...fake wet, of course. David knew that. Davy could cry on demand. He was a method actor. He was the Daniel Day Lewis of drama.
No, no, no, you can't come in here, David said with an ominous expression spreading across his face.
Don't look at me like I'm a fucking psyco, David, said Davy and tried to push in.
David pushed back. How did you find me?
I know how to use Facebook, Chuckled Davy.
Fuck, David thought. Never use your real name and address. Fuck! Fuck!
David tried to close the door but Davy pushed in.
You scored yourself a nice set up, Davy said, smirking. Then, he started surveying the luxurious room like an appraisal agent, but only mentally taking linear and angular measurement. Good job. LA’s been kind to you. Make the money, don't let it make you, you always said, right? And here you are. Money made.
I said you can't be here, David said. I don't think I stuttered.
Himm, nice furniture. Not a slave of IKEA nesting instinct.
Yeah, you got me. I love Milano’s contemporary design with traditional leather upholstery. Want me to fuckin go on with Milano Italian Furniture catalog or the environmentally friendly, 240 Watt UFO High Bay LED light fixtures...or you wanna tell me what the fuck you are doing here?
After being released from Atascadero last month, Davy went on. I had nowhere to go.
Atascadero? Asked David. You mean DSH, an all-male, maximum-security facility, forensic institution?
Very good memory, David, said Davy as a matter of fact. You remember us both there.
Another siren wailed outside.
Texas was out of the question. Too hot and I hate live music…and Tornadoes are a bitch. Plus, I don't trust a State that has been ruled by six nations. Spain, Mexico..fucking France! Are you kidding me?
Seriously? David cut off. A fucking history is the last thing I need right now. Why the fuck are you even here?
What could I do? Davy went on, adding to the drama. So, I rode the Greyhound in the direction of Los Angeles.
So you come to my house…?
With full expectations, Davy interrupted. You and I are together again. I didn't mean to upset you, but this is happening.
Oh, David said theatrically. Why would it be upsetting for me to see a mental patient in my house…
Former “Chemically Imbalanced'' is the Woke definition today, said Davy. You could be canceled for using the term “Mental”.
Then, both heard a sound of a vehicle approaching with its headlights seeping through the window.
It's Marla, said David. Shit, shit, she can't see you here.
Who’s Marla?
Shit, shit, David said nervously. She's my girlfriend. You have to leave. Davy walked backwards and slumped on the couch.
Get up! Get off the couch now!
After short, sharp clicks and sounds of the high-security dead-bolt, the door opened and MARLA Winger enters the hallway. She had shoulder length, side swept light brown hair and a round face with big, brown eyes like a character from Walt Disney animation.
Hey, she said with an animated voice.
Hi, replied David with a strained attempt to sound natural. You're early.
Yeah, she said. Yeah, the meeting ended early.
Ah, David said. You didn't call…
I messaged you, she said. Then she noticed Davy sprawled on the couch.
Oh, sor…, stammered David. Um, sorry , Marla, uh, this is Davy.
Marla forced a chuckle and extended her hand.
Hi, there.
Davy stood up and shook her hand.