Dazed In The Life

PUBLISHED BY:

Matthew Tripley

BEST SELLER BOUND:

Smashwords Edition

COPYRIGHT 2017 by Matthew Tripley

COVER ART:

Matthew Tripley

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owner of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To the reader,

Hello and welcome to my first novel, Dazed In The Life. For a number of years now, I have considered telling this story – and have only now brought it into fruition after numerous attempts to draft and write it. The original concept was to make it an underground movie – titled A Mall Story, back in my days of watching the movies of directors such as John Waters and David Lynch. Somehow, the project - one of many that I have started and abandoned over the years - never came about, and all that remains of it is what you are reading now.

All of the movies, their directors, music artists, their albums and songs mentioned in this story (too many to name) are existent and factual. Thank you for all of your visuals and audio that have inspired me over the years – especially to my idols, John Waters and Marilyn Manson. Your movies and music have contributed to telling this story – and without you, this project would have never come about.

All of this story’s characters and locations are entirely fictional. Most of the characters are loosely based upon people whom I have had contact with over the years – and I’d like to extend a special thanks to the following people (in no specific order): Colin Truscott, Jacob Sumpton, Kath McRae, Candy Rothemund, Phillipa Edwards, Mitchell Lavis, Michael West, Malcolm Turner, Jasmine Standing and my aunty Jennie Mitchell. Thank you for replying to my posts and inboxes on Facebook. You have inspired me in some way to write and produce this book.

And last but not least, an extra special thanks to my family – especially Pam, Phil, Geoff, Helen, Ben, Jesse, Chloe, Olivia, Lara, Rhys, Max, Lily, Heath, Mackenzie, Ivy and Indiana. Your love and support is what has kept me alive over the past three years. And a debt of gratitude to my grandmother, Toni Tripley – without whom I would SURELY be dead or worse by now. Thank you so much for all of your love, understanding, compassion and forgiveness.

For all of the aforementioned persons, this book is for you.

Matthew Tripley

TABLE OF CONTENTS

FRONT COVER

FRONT MATTER

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE – The Fog

CHAPTER 1 – The Downward Spiral

CHAPTER 2 – The Killing

CHAPTER 3 – The Twins Of Destiny

CHAPTER 4 – Dark Necessities

CHAPTER 5 – Family Guy

CHAPTER 6 – The Black Widow And The Good Son

CHAPTER 7 – Nightbreed

CHAPTER 8 – Dawn Of The Day Of The Living Dead

CHAPTER 9 – Money Train

CHAPTER 10 – Doctor Greenthumb

CHAPTER 11 – The Ring

CHAPTER 12 – Duel

CHAPTER 13 – A Mall Story

CHAPTER 14 – The Collector

CHAPTER 15 – Clerks

CHAPTER 16 – The Twins Of Evil

CHAPTER 17 – The Life Of Brian

CHAPTER 18 – Just Ace

CHAPTER 19 – Mallrats

CHAPTER 20 – Satan And Cigarettes

CHAPTER 21 – Multiple Maniacs

CHAPTER 22 – Doctor Robert

CHAPTER 23 – The Ring Two

CHAPTER 24 – Apocalypse Now

CHAPTER 25 – Eraserhead

CHAPTER 26 – 2016 Bonnie And Clyde

CHAPTER 27 – The Naked Lunch

CHAPTER 28 – Family Plot

CHAPTER 29 – Creeping Death

CHAPTER 30 – The End

CHAPTER 31 – The Dreamcatcher

EPILOGUE – Tomorrow Never Knows

THE END

PROLOGUE

THE FOG

David Hugh Waters – thirty-six years old with medium-fair skin, short blonde-brown hair, bottle-green eyes, a stocky physique and standing at five-foot-eleven tall, finished his large mug of coffee - which was a carefully calculated concentration of two parts Nescafe Blend 43, two parts Carte Noire Classic Velvety And Rich and one part Moccona Classic Dark Roast, and placed the empty light-blue drinking vessel into the bare and clean stainless-steel kitchen sink. It was a passion of his – experimenting with different brews and blends to come up with his own unique concoction – and he found that this, his latest combination, was a thoroughly satisfying drinking experience indeed. The strength of the Moccona Classic Dark Roast, coupled with the aroma of the Nescafe Blend 43 and the enriched taste of the Carte Noire Classic Velvety And Rich, had polished the outcome of the beverage - and now he was ready to take on the daily task of making his journey to work at Draxton Coal Mines, which was fifty kilometres south of his rural country hometown of Sine.

As David departed the front sliding glass door of his two-storey redbrick flat, the freezing cold chill of the early winter morning air – not unusual in the month of July – instantly hit him in the face, biting away unpleasantly at his cheeks as he quickly progressed to make his way to his bright-red 2010 model Mazda 6 in the undercover car park opposite the identical flat adjacent to his.

Shit! he exclaimed out loud in response to this sudden change in temperature.

This noticeable transition from the slightly-heated atmosphere within his residence to the sub-zero climate that was now engulfing him provoked the man to brandish a Winfield red cigarette from his top left jacket pocket and light it up in an attempt to introduce some added bodily warmth to his person. Even inside his attire of an indigo Han Kjobenhaven beanie, black Puma Men’s Active Norway jacket, black SealSkinz Merino thermal gloves, black ThermaPLUS Men’s Thermal Long Johns pants and claret-coloured KingGee Flinders steel-capped boots, David still felt as if he was standing in the centre of a large blast freezer – not unlike one that could be found in the dispatch area of an abattoir. As he inhaled and exhaled a deep breath of his cigarette, he did not hesitate in unlocking his car – opening it with the simple press of a button on the black key fob in his right hand.

Quickly and hastily, he opened the driver’s side front door of his Mazda 6 and took a seat before closing the door just as swiftly – taking a moment to absorb the newfound degrees of warmth in the vehicle before putting the key into the ignition and turning it clockwise. As the inner displays under the dashboard lit up and the engine came to life from the front of the car, David took note of the time on the clock – which read 5:46am in bright orange digits.

Dammit, he said to himself. I’m running a bit late this morning. Gotta make up for lost time.

He turned on the heater and readjusted his driver’s seat appropriately to accommodate for his height – from his wife’s, Daria, five-foot-nine-tall setting that she had adjusted the day before for her trip to the Wallman’s supermarket in Sine – as well as repositioning the rear view and exterior mirrors to his satisfaction. Disabling the handbrake and putting the car into reverse, he slowly backed out of the undercover car park and, putting the car into drive, made his way gradually down the resin-bound gravel driveway past the three remaining flats in his block – single-storied, redbrick – driving out and into High Street, which is situated three blocks south of the train line in Sine.

The surrounding mist of the thick grey fog on the road this morning – not quite as common as the daily cold chill at this time of year - blanketed the road and surroundings as David drove past Sine Public School, which sits at the intersection of High and Pool Streets on the left. Opposite the school and to the right of the intersection coming from this direction, the imposing edifice of Sine’s redbrick Anglican Church was barely visible on its block behind its more easily perceived black cast-iron fencing – and in the distance through the fog ahead of him, another early starter could be seen on the road, their car lights beaming dimly through the haze from the other end of High Street as they too approached Pool Street to go to work.

As David turned left into Pool Street and approached the train line – which was currently unnoticeable through his windscreen - he changed Daria’s preferred FM radio station to his AM liking. The Mamas And The Papas’ classic song Monday Monday had just started playing – and as he continued to smoke what was left of his cigarette, David began to sing vibrantly to its lyrics:

"Oh, Monday morning – Monday morning couldn’t guarantee – that Monday evening you would still – be here with me…"

It seemed an appropriate track to be played on the radio on this day and at this time, being a Monday morning – and the song took David back to the days when he and Daria were a couple of young love-smitten teenagers, even though The Mamas And The Papas were before their time and more inclined to that of their parents. They, David and Daria, had grown up with the music of the eighties – such as Billy Idol, Blondie, Bon Jovi, David Bowie, Duran Duran and Michael Jackson - and yet the music of the sixties also appealed to them both, including Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, The Who, The Beatles, The Doors and The Rolling Stones. In fact, David and Daria also enjoyed earlier artists – those of the fifties like Bill Haley And His Comets, Buddy Holly, Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, Jerry Lee Lewis and Little Richard. All of the aforementioned artists – as well as a variation of other singers and bands from later decades in music - can be found in their extensive compact disc collection at home.

David passed over the train line and approached the traffic lights of the main street of Sine, Clarkson Street. He disposed of his cigarette butt into the ashtray to his left and continued to sing to The Mamas And The Papas:

"Oh, Monday morning – you gave me no warning of what was to be – oh, Monday, Monday – how could you leave and not take me."

After waiting at a red light for no more than thirty seconds, David turned right into Clarkson Street from Pool Street, and passed buildings such as The National Bank, Sine Newsagency – the only establishment in the street that was open at this hour of the morning – Craven’s Coffee House, Cunningham’s Real Estate and Sine Mornings’ newspaper centre. The faint brightness of the street lights overhead and to his left barely lit up the pavement, let alone the road – which was slightly slippery due to the thin layer of black ice strewn on the surface throughout it this morning. David, being a confident driver and used to these such conditions on the road, stuck to the speed limit of fifty kilometres an hour as he approached the highway and exited Sine.

Now on the highway and travelling at eighty kilometres an hour, David continued to sing to the tunes being broadcast on the radio – the song now having changed to The Bangles’ Manic Monday:

"Six o’clock already, I was just in the middle of a dream – I was kissin’ Valentino by a crystal blue Italian stream - but I can’t be late ‘cause then I guess I just won’t get paid – these are the days when you wish your bed was already made…"

Not that David had to worry about his bed not being made – a task that his wife took up on a daily basis when she woke up much later than he. He enjoyed his life, despite the early start on machinery at the mines – a Monday to Friday of 6:30am to 3:30pm at Draxton with the very infrequent call-in on a Saturday morning, which he saw as an occasional obligation to his boss and good friend, Wazza. Otherwise, the weekends were spent catching up with and going out with Daria and their children, fifteen-year-old Troy and twelve-year-old Desdemona – the latter of which he would spoil and embellish like she was his princess. Despite a stable and compatible relationship with his son, David and Desdemona were the apples of each other’s eyes – and their time together was special, precious and like magic.

As David approached the small country town of Abbalin at 6am, the Monday morning tunes were paused for that hour’s news broadcast. A series of four news stories – two of which were centred around newfound road accidents on the highway recently – were told inside of the four minutes before advertisements and the radio edit of New Order’s Blue Monday began to play. David, proud and confident enough that it would not happen to him, progressed through Abbalin at the fifty kilometre an hour speed limit – past the oncoming traffic, which had progressed slightly since he had left Sine earlier. David sang to the lyrics as he progressed through the fog and out of Abbalin:

"How does it feel – to treat me like you do? – when you’ve laid your hands upon me – and told me who you are. I thought I was mistaken – I thought I heard your words – tell me how do I feel – tell me now, how do I feel?"

David had just one more town to pass through before he arrived at his destination – Marvelvale, which was no more further away from him now than the distance travelled from Sine to Abbalin; roughly twelve to thirteen kilometres. After that, Draxton Coal Mines was a simple fifteen-minute drive past and outside of Marvelvale. David was confident enough that he would be at work within twenty-five minutes to a half-hour from now – and at the mines just in time to start work at 6:30am. What he did not count on was what lay ahead of him on the road in the upcoming minutes between Abbalin and Marvelvale.

In the opposite direction, leaving Marvelvale and bound for the Wallman’s supermarket in Sine, was a large produce-and-grocery truck of the company – whose driver was suffering from the severe repercussions of not having enough sleep and being at the wheel for far too long in between rest breaks. Now that his personal supply of speed had well and truly been snorted up and his thermostat had long since been exhausted of its coffee, he had only what was left of his enhanced state and overriding fatigue to take him through to his destination two towns over. The unfortunate results of this saw him occasionally drifting onto the wrong side of the road as he quickly made his way to Sine while surpassing the speed limit.

Still travelling at eighty kilometres an hour on the highway – in a one hundred kilometre an hour zone but giving himself a speed gap courtesy of the road conditions - David proudly made his way towards Marvelvale and the crest ahead, passing and ignoring the large red billboard sign to his left that stipulated DON’T DIE FOR A DEADLINE in large white font – a reminder that had recently been implemented by the RTA. The song on the radio had changed to that of The Boomtown Rats’ I Don’t Like Mondays, and David was once again singing to the chorus of its lyrics:

"Oh, oh, oh, tell me why – I don’t like Mondays – tell me why – I don’t like Mondays – tell me why – I don’t like Mondays – I want to shoot the whole day down."

Coming down the opposite side of the crest, David continued to drive with pride at eighty kilometres an hour. The fog had finally cleared up enough so that he could make out the truck coming in the opposite direction – the only obstacle between them now being a very sharp and awkward turn in the road, where motor vehicle accidents had happened many times in the past. Even though the road had been resurfaced recently, the bend was still considered dangerous to traffic – and to be taken with extreme caution. It was at this point that David decided to slow his car down, about two hundred metres before the turn – decelerating to seventy kilometres an hour. While keeping his concentration on the road ahead, he imagined coming home after a hard day’s work to one of Daria’s prized meals and his favourite of hers – a large homemade lasagne. The thought of it made him salivate slightly. But as soon as he made the turn up ahead, he realized too late that something was wrong.

The Wallman’s truck, still surpassing the speed limit, had drifted quickly again onto the wrong side of the road. Unfortunately, David had no time or chance to properly react and avert the situation – and the front of his Mazda 6 crashed suddenly into the front of the prime mover, exploding into an untold number of pieces and fragments that littered the road with glass and metal. His airbag could not save him. David was crushed immediately on impact – and died before an ambulance could make it to the scene.

The truck driver – forty-six years old with olive skin, a receding hairline with minimal grey hair, russet-brown eyes, stocky and standing at five-foot-nine tall – was in shock and, suddenly awake from the severe impact of the crash, slowly came to what had happened as he exited the prime mover. Shaking and timid as The Boomtown Rats continued to play from his radio in the cab, he approached what little was left of the red Mazda 6 to find David - dead, mutilated and bleeding inside the remains of the open driver’s seat area of the car. When the police arrived a short time later, the driver was taken in for questioning and subsequently arrested – and for the rest of his days, the accident played with his mind and haunted him.

The events of the accident were broadcast on the local news that evening on television – a minute long visual and audio summary that confirmed that one David Hugh Waters of Sine was the latest sad statistic of occurring motor vehicle accidents on country roads. Four days later, his funeral was held on the outskirts of Sine at McGrath Cemetery – and his body was cremated in accordance to his wife’s wishes. All that remained of David from there on in was a plaque installed into the cemetery – primarily detailing his name, birthdate and date of death – his ashes, which were transferred into a small custom-made statue of his stature, and the many photographs of him at home taken by and with his wife, children and other family members. Daria took it upon herself to use some of these photographs and, in addition to the statue containing David’s ashes and a print-out of the proceedings of the man’s funeral, erected a small shrine in the back right corner of the family’s living room – a reminder that he was gone but never forgotten.

David’s departure was a great upset for the Waters household – and from then on, it was never the same again.

CHAPTER 1

THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL

Desdemona Lisa Waters is not your standard, typical, nor average teenage girl of the early twenty-first century. At sixteen years of age, she serves as a walking and talking reminder of uncontrollable juvenile delinquency and ongoing rebellion that has succumbed to the loss of innocence. She is pale-skinned with straight long golden-blonde hair, ice-blue eyes, a slim physique and stands at five-foot-eight tall. With a vitriolic vocabulary and a malicious attitude about her, Desdemona is determined to get whatever she wants by ANY means necessary - regardless of how hard that she must persevere in order to do so, and even in the face of gratuitous sex and violence. Like Pinhead, the cenobite protagonist of Clive Barker’s horror film franchise Hellraiser, Desdemona is known in various circles of people as a demon to some and an angel to others - depending on who happens to mention or bring her up during conversation. Most conversers opt for the better of the two evils and label her The Demon, out of spite for her ravenous reputation with drugs and other substances - particularly in her hometown of Sine, which is commonly referred to by its residents as the drug-riddled and ridden Sin City.

For the past four years now, Desdemona has lived a life of chaos, malice and debauchery - which has steadily increased and worsened since the demise of her father, David. Up until then, David had been Desdemona’s idol and best friend - the very bane of her living, breathing and existence. For as long as she could remember - from her early childhood up until her pre-pubescent years, the pair had bounced off each other and been inseparable, which was evidently obvious regarding the amount of time and energy that the pair would spend and put into each other. As if she was his only child, David would constantly shower his daughter with gifts and treat her endlessly. This lavish life of love and luxury was suddenly and sadly cut short for Desdemona a few months after her twelfth birthday when David had his car accident on that savage and remorseless July winter morning in 2012. From then on, Desdemona was a reckless wreckage on two legs - and before too much longer, she became rabid with ruthlessness.

At this tender age of twelve, Desdemona began to drink alcohol - sneakily at first, before her actions became far more common and less discreet to her mother. She would take small nips out of the rum, vodka and whiskey bottles in Daria’s liquor cabinet and mix them with whatever sodas were available in the fridge at home. She found that the drink would ease the pain and suffering associated with the loss of her father - and whenever the thought of him surfaced in her mind and lingered, Desdemona would cunningly relieve herself accordingly with the booze. Over time, it became apparent to Desdemona’s mother that more and more alcohol was being taken and consumed without her knowledge and consent. She began to lock her liquor cabinet in an attempt to prevent her daughter from drinking. But this did not stop Desdemona, who was now becoming more and more dependent on the drink as time passed. Every time that Daria sealed the doors of her liquor cabinet, Desdemona would bypass or brake the lock on them in some way or somehow - taking what she wanted when she wanted it.

Daria eventually gave up on protecting her liquor cabinet, and sought to hide any alcohol that she brought home methodically inside her bedroom – in various places including her wardrobe, drawers and even under her bed. But even still, this did not stop Desdemona from drinking. She would go through her mother’s bedroom looking for alcohol when Daria was not home or looking – stripping every possible whereabouts that any bottle or other container could be stashed before rearranging these locations as best as she had found them. When this approach was finally compromised, Desdemona tried to steal money from her mother’s purse and handbag in order to get other people and strangers to obtain her alcohol. These acts of thievery were seldom and few but nevertheless, Daria was now convinced that her daughter was out of control. The privacy and sanctuary that she once had and sought inside her home was now being breached and violated to no end.

Aside from home and at school, Desdemona’s performance had also taken a turn for the worst. Up until David’s passing on, she had always been a bright and attentive student - with a potential and mind that would have served her well as she progressed in her education. Instead, her grades declined and her rapport with the school dissolved as the student