Mr. Daark (7)
(Part 7 of 15) Unconvincing Lies, Unreasonable Plots, and an Unreal State.
7
Daark took no liberty to stretch the truth about Mr. Wyatt Emerson. The only similarity Wyatt had to his alleged ancestor was that they were both old men with wild thoughts spewing from their heads. Wyatt was on the edge of seventy years, and it showed. He had white hair that was always a little off colored due to weathering. His beard always had a trace of his last few meals, making it clear that his shower habits were irregular. He wore a Boston Red Sox cap as either a tribute to Emerson and Massachusetts, or as a cover for his male pattern baldness.
Daark had suspicions that the cap was nothing more than a souvenir, and that Wyatt wouldn’t be able to tell you a single thing about the Red Sox, but he left Wyatt and his baseball cap alone. There was no use in proving Wyatt a fool; real fools argue to no end, unsatisfied with any philosophy but their own. Wyatt had a limp in his step, but he refused a cane and chose to bellow endlessly about the trouble his knee was giving him.
So, Wyatt had a little pride about himself, but that did not make his company any less enjoyable than the company of simple folks. Daark liked to hear the rants whether he enjoyed them ironically or not. Anyone with a strong opinion could be entertaining so long as they didn’t make too much of an ass out of themselves. It reminded Daark of politicians, not any single politician in particular, but the ones that wanted to be heard. The ones that spoke out of turn during debates to do so.
Along the way to the farm, Jax kept his gaze outside the rental truck’s windows. The truck felt altogether necessary for the territory they’d gotten themselves into. They had no need for the power or size of a pickup truck; but in this state, you drove a truck, or you weren’t a man. Even the ladies had their Suburbans and SUVs. All this Midwest culture registered silently in the subconscious of Jax’s mind while he marveled at the scenery. The grass was greener, and the mesas were bigger out here, and Jax thought of how easy it was to forget nature’s beauty when you lived in the suburbs.
Upon arrival at the farm, Jax finally inhaled the sight of Austin Daark. He looked free in his clothing, taking and twisting the same advice he gave to Jax. He wore black jeans and a black dress shirt; both were as dark as the boogeyman himself. No more show of white suits to dissuade suspicion. Jax believed this was the largest display he would see of the boogeyman’s true self.
Jax wondered about the Daark family tree and if his ancestors even existed. It baffled Jax that there could be a family of boogeymen and boogeywomen, so it seemed easier to believe that Daark came from nothing, created the same way the universe had come into existence. Matter compacting and folding in on itself until it was malleable but sturdy. Why shouldn’t the boogeyman be shaped from ooze? He assumed that Daark lied about his past because his past suggested a startling image. Dead parents and dead grandparents. Where did these beings originate from, and where did their bodies go? The image of rapid decay came into mind. With it came the possibility that the Daark family spilt asexually into new beings like cells. Maybe the Daarks split into weak forms usually, but the creation of Austin Daark corrupted their bodies, decayed them, and killed them.
Stop, Jax told himself. Too much thinking isn’t healthy.
Jax stepped out of the pickup after Mr. Daark had already descended to ground level. Straightaway, he met Wyatt Emerson. Places like this farm were too quiet, and the lack of sound alerted anyone around to the arrival of vehicles. Wyatt stood there waiting for the truck to pull up and for them to get out, just as patiently as someone at the DMV. He took his hat off and held it close to his rounded stomach and looked around like something else was coming that he had to be ready for.
“Austin, what’s been keeping you? I could run this place blind, but that don’t mean I want to.”
Daark glanced around the same way Wyatt did, and Jax thought it was a sign of nerves. “It’s not going well.”
“It? The hell is it? I want specifics.”
“Property taxes,” Daark said. “Gramps didn’t give Uncle Sam his due, and we’re stuck with the bill.”
“How much does it cost?”
“I have no idea. They want to reevaluate the land. Then, they want to foot us with a bill. That’s what he’s here for.” Daark gestured to Jax. “He’s the most honest guy I know.”
Jax put a hand out to Wyatt and they shook on their names. “Aaron Jax.”
“Wyatt Emerson. I don’t get it. Your old man was honest. He would have paid up.”
“Not everyone supports the U-S-of-A,” Daark said, looking like he had a bad itch that he couldn’t scratch. “Taxation is theft and all that jazz. Well, either that, or he didn’t have the money. Right now, gramps is better dead than in jail.
“So, say we can’t get this money, Austin. What then?”
“They’ll take our land and auction it to someone with more money than us. No one gets to own nothin’ no more. We get to hold onto the government’s stuff so long as we give ‘em our money.”
Wyatt threw his hat down to the dirt. “Well fuck ‘em. They can come take it. We’ll hold the fort. Show ‘em our vineyard of wrath. It’ll be the Daark age, and they’ll have to kill us for what’s ours.”
Daark might have been amused by Wyatt’s passion if he’d not been lying about the whole thing. The truth might slip to the local news soon enough, and Daark and Jax would find themselves on the wrong side of Wyatt Emerson.
“Well, what can we really do? Make the FBI’s most wanted list?”
“It’s war. This is the land you was born on. This is the land you will die on.”
Daark rolled his eyes. “Save your Steinbeck, Wyatt.”
“It’s fuckin’ ours, I tell you!”
Daark walked past Wyatt then, unfeeling to the touch of Wyatt’s next words. Jax followed suit awkwardly, like a dog.
“You don’t love the land,” Wyatt muttered to himself.
They kept on toward the large house that could shelter five people in their own separate rooms. The paint splintered and peeled in some places, and Jax understood a little more. The oil sale decision came with time, not spontaneously. They entered the house and let the screen door slam shut after them. They found themselves in a mudroom with a worn dirty carpet laid on the tile.
“Why does he think you’ve been away from here?” Jax asked with caution.
“He thinks part of it is to work for extra cash, and the other part is inquiry as to what we owe. Neither are true, yet Wyatt believes both because he thinks I’m the city boy, the one who has forgotten his roots.”
“It took time for you to turn to Pax Co.” Jax was intrigued, yet he couldn’t maintain consistent eye contact with Daark.
“You’ve been asking too many questions up here, Mr. Jax.” Daark tapped his own temple, implying Jax’s thoughts. “You want to know everything, but you’re afraid of what that entails. I will tell you this. I don’t care about the land. The land is a gateway for me. Beyond that, it is soil. It took time to realize this, yes. Perhaps Wyatt was the inspiration with his pitiful insults to my character. You saw the paint. How long do you think it takes paint to chip?”
Jax didn’t answer.
“Yeah,” Daark said, looking into Jax, “oil sat in my mind since before the farm was mine. You would do the same.”
Jax didn’t like this estimation. He believed in the strength of his own morals and little else, regardless of how strong his morals actually were. But he would do the same as Daark, wouldn’t he? His family amounted to an object, a possession. A toy to toss around as he pleased. Did he have good reason to only have one child? On Jax’s income alone, they could support three, but now it almost felt too late for another child. Jake Jax acted as a lesson. No problem he possessed with Taylor could be solved with a newborn. They acted with calculated risk: pills and condoms. No mistakes. Taylor knew it. He knew it.
Jax was hardly a father to the son he did have. He was there at home behind a wall. He put in no effort to avoid the “Cats and the Cradle” feeling with Jake. Work seemed more important. Eventually he would retire, and his son would put work above him. What was Jake doing this minute? Would Jax care enough to call home tonight, or would they have to call him first? Impotent, deadbeat, careless. Jax didn’t fear these words as much as Daark thought he did. No, he liked the idea of family. The idea of a white-noise home to go to after work. The touch of his wife. His son’s laughter. These were objects. The people were objects. His nothing and everything.
“We’re of Judas’s breed then,” Jax said
“That makes us sound like traitors,” Daark said. “There’s nothing to betray. You may sympathize with Wyatt right now, but he’s not family.”
Neither is my own family, Jax thought poignantly. What is family? Is it you? Or is family just myself: the only one I look after. I know you can hear my thoughts, motherf—
“You need only those that further you,” Daark said. “Everyone else is a luxury.”
Jax’s family was a luxury, or would it be better to call them a privilege? Privilege sounded nicer than the objectification luxury implied. Jax considered his family more of a privilege anyway. He understood Daark’s point, but a luxury was always pleasurable. His family (more often Taylor) started arguments that made life more complex than necessary.
What was happening to Jax? He hadn’t noticed. He no longer would have gotten upset at Daark for visiting his son’s room. He dissociated far too easily for someone that claimed to love his family. He really was a sort of traitor to his family. Jax didn’t have to try very hard to avoid troublesome thoughts. He told himself he was doing fine, and that was that.
“How are we going to last here for a week with Wyatt?” Jax asked.
“This is a courtesy trip. We stay the week to dissuade suspicions before the deal is final. He’ll make it uncomfortable from time to time, but I’m sure he’ll come around sooner or later.”
“Well, most anything seems better than this.”
“This is nothing. He’s passive aggressive now. Just wait till he’s regular aggressive.”
The screen door clapped shut, and Wyatt joined the group conversation.
“Wyatt,” Daark said, “would you show Mr. Jax here around the farm for his assessment?”
“I ain’t your butler, asshole.”
“Please?” Daark offered.
Wyatt patted Austin Daark’s shoulder. “There’s a good manner or two in ya still. Come on, bright-jeans, and take it easy on the place. It ain’t what it was.”
Mr. Daark smirked at the nickname. Jax’s blue jeans were brand new, and it took one look at them to see this fact. Even the cleanest jeans are usually faded by the wash cycle.
Jax made no comment towards this nickname and accepted it as part of his initiation to the Daark family. He supposed he could stand a nickname rather than some type of hazing activity. Wyatt led him out to the fields and took him on a long tour of the farm. There was nothing much to the farm besides the fields and the large barn, but Wyatt made sure to detail every little thing. When they finally returned to the house, Daark was on the couch watching TV, and they were still mid conversation.
“…calculations, but I don’t think you’ll go bankrupt,” Jax said. “If you pay your taxes steadily over time, there shouldn’t be too much to worry over.”
Daark stood up to join them. “Well, I should hope not. I’d like to see my own children on this land.”
Wyatt laughed. “A bachelor like you? You’ll be lucky to make one, let alone have one. Besides, the last renovation you made to this place was the TV.”
“Money doesn’t come from thin air.”
“You think you’re working harder than me?” Wyatt asked. “Well, it must be nice to sleep in.”
“Oh, leave it be, would you? ‘My heart’s not in the land,’” he mocked. “That’s all you ever hint at or say. This land belongs to the Daark family, not the Emersons. You work for me. Get that through your head.”
“I work for the land. There’s no man I will work for, ‘less he comes from God.”
Daark walked away without a response. He didn’t care about the argument. He left a cold feeling in the room, and Jax dared not follow him upstairs. Jax turned towards Wyatt in one swift motion when there was nothing left to see of Mr. Daark walking up the stairs.
Jax growled, “What is your problem here?”
Wyatt Emerson smirked then let the smile fade from his old face. “I ain’t stupid. He knows it too. Trying to come around with his tricks ‘bout taxes and city jobs, but I know better. I’ve got nothing against you, Mr. Jax, but you ain’t gonna be able to buy this land. I’ll be sure of that.”
Jax was taken aback. “I’m not here to buy your land.”
“No? Well maybe you ain’t. I’d expect if you were, you’d pitch my own land as the dirtiest shithole you ever did see. You would live in a third-world country before you live here and all that. What are you here for, Mr. Jax?”
“I’m an accountant,” Jax said.
“For who?”
“Mr. Daark.”
“Austin ain’t a company. Who do you work for?”
Jax hesitated, knowing he couldn’t tell the truth here.
“It’s oil, isn’t it?” Wyatt asked, and his eyes had a penetrative force in their stare.
Daark spoke up behind them. “I’m making dinner.”
Neither Jax nor Wyatt heard him walk down the stairs, and Jax thought he might have teleported.
“Now wait a minute. You’re a guest. I haven’t forgotten my manners. I’ll cook.”
“I insist,” Daark said gently, and something seemed to change within Wyatt. Anyone could see it visually. His muscles relaxed and his face softened.
“Well, I suppose if you insist.”
Daark glided into the kitchen, and Jax thought Wyatt might press more, but he didn’t. Wyatt seemed to go soft. The older gentleman took a seat on the couch and ignored Jax entirely. This puzzled Jax, and he went to the kitchen to inquire further into Mr. Daark’s unusual power of influence.
“You pacified him,” Jax began and his phone vibrated audibly in his pocket.
“You should get that,” Daark said, setting a medium pot mostly full of chicken broth onto the stove.
“I want to know how or why Wyatt went from stark mad to watching TV like a toddler.”
“If she has to call twice, she’ll be mad. Wouldn’t you like to hear her be happy for once?” Daark spoke in an ingenuine tone as if he were not speaking to Jax at all.
“Jax took the phone out of his pocket. “You’re doing this too, aren’t you? You want to redirect me. Unless… you want me to ignore her?”
“Jesus Christ,” Daark said in an exhausted but calm manner, and he took the phone from Jax’s hand and answered it. “Hello, Mr. Jax’s phone, Austin speaking. He’s just right here.”
Jax took the phone back. His voice became false-happy, a fake persona. “Hey, honey!”
“Jax,” she said. “I have great news. You know that haircut place off of Academy?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, they liked me so much that I got a follow-up interview!”
“That’s great!” he tried to match her tone of voice.
“How’s the trip going?”
“Pretty good, I’ve got to get back to it, though. You know how it is,” he said, hoping she’d take his lie.
“Okay. You’ll call back later, won’t you?”
He wanted to say no because he didn’t believe he would. Of course, he had to call back; there is no vacation from your spouse.
“Of course. I’ll talk to you later. Bye!”
“Bye!”
Jax turned his focus back to Daark. “You’re doing this,” he accused. “All of it.”
“Jax, you’re going paranoid.”
“No matter what I say, it’s just what you want. I saw what you did in there. There’s no free will here, and if there is, it’s just to convince me that I’m doing what you want because it’s what I supposedly want to do.”
“I’m not controlling you, Jax. I don’t like to do what I did with Wyatt. It’s unnatural and boring. More than that, it’s hard. It’s not something I can do at the snap of my fingers. Everyone’s brain has to fulfill their own set of logic, even if their rules don’t make any sense. Either way, it doesn’t matter; you’re my anchor. Controlling you ruins that premise.”
Jax raised an eyebrow. “Anchor?”
“Did you think I wanted you because of that staring contest? You’re a good moral barrier, Jax. You want nothing.”
Jax said nothing, and Daark didn’t say anything more on the subject, so they left it alone.