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Part XII: 1988- End of Innocence
"I'm your big sister dork, it's what I do."
Sal said with a smile, before going back to eating her food .
And she meant it, she would be there for Jimmy as long as he needed no matter what. For Leo too.
Pamela was a harsh inquisitor. She refused to give Jason any ground, though she at least gingerly proffered a scrap of toilet tissue for him to clean some of the puke from his chin.
"W-we were looking for you," he croaked unimpressively, "All last night."
"We?" she repeated, "My brother? Sam?"
"All the guys. T-they were worried."
"Huh," she muttered, looking off into the middle distance, "I bet they were."
She wasn't going to tell him anything, Jason figured that much. Whatever had happened between her and Leo to lead to her disappearance...
Leo had confessed. She'd been beaten and violated and left for dead...
She even looked hurt: washed out, drained. Something had happened to her.
"Well, you all wasted your time," she said finally.
Which was such an infuriating comment that Jason almost lost his temper. Were they going to talk around it? Was he expected to just keep his mouth shut about what had happened in that boat, Leo's body stilling beneath the water...
"...what are you doing here?"
"What do you mean?"
"At our school."
"It's after class," she said shortly, "I'm not breaking any laws, am I? At least I'm in the right bathroom..."
"What, are you looking for Kirk?"
Her eyes flared; Jason may have been imagining it, but he thought her fingers tightened on the strap of her bookbag, "Why? So I could tell him off for breathing down my neck?"
"He was worried about you, he..."
He killed for you. Which was not the right thought for the moment. He felt his stomach convulse; he retched...
"No! Nope, none of that," she nudged him toward the toilet with her elbow, just in time for the next projectile, "Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you? You looking to drown in your own gunk?"
Wrong words. Shaking his head, he staggered out of the room.
"Hey! Jason! Fuck..."
She caught up with him on the stairs, running alongside him, "I'm not finished with you."
"Yes, you are."
"God, you sound even more of a wimp when you're trying to be pushy. How does that work?"
"I don't know, I guess I'm just a pushover," he darted across the athletic lobby, looking for a hasty means of escape. The basketball court had no other exits, the wrestling ring ditto...
"I need to know what happened last night! What was so fucking bad that the boys called the goddamn banners?"
"Ask Kirk," he threw open the doors to the indoor pool. The harsh stench of chlorine did his already roiling senses no favors and, worse insult, Pam wasn't deterred either.
"Kirk wouldn't tell me."
"Oh, but I would?" he whirled around, boat shoes squeaking on the concrete floor, "Stupid little pushover Jason would crack under any pressure, huh? Can't be expected t-to stand for anything, or do anything if it's too hard. He's easy a-and soft and nobody's got any frickin' reason to take him seriously because he sure won't..."
Something reached up from the pool and dragged him in. He didn't even have time to scream.
***
"Looking for more service hours, Paula?"
"Oh, I wish, Sister Alri, but no," Paula cleared her throat, shifting from foot to foot before the desk of the least scowly cowl of St. Mary's, "I was hoping you could give me some advice."
The young nun beamed, "Well, I'm full of that and with nobody to offload it on. What's crackalackin'?"
It was reassuring to hear an adult say "crackalackin'" in earnest. Paula briefly felt her fears might be silly, "Well, I'm conflicted about a friend of mine."
"You had a fight?"
"No," Paula shook her head, "I just think she's going through a kind of emotional crisis."
"You have a good sense for that, I noticed. The way you helped Eloise Fitch when she had her..." Alice-Marie lowered her voice as if to preserve the absent Eloise's modesty, "Baby trouble..."
"Oh, I just didn't want her to be embarrassed! This has been really hard for her, and dropping out and..." she shrugged, "I wanted her to have someone in her corner."
"Which is very compassionate. It's important for women to look out for each other, especially in vulnerable times. You were right to want to help Eloise..." her brows knit together, "Is this...friend someone else you want to help?"
"Yeah, but knowing her she isn't gonna be too interested in it. She's kind of...chilly. Especially when she's going through stuff."
Alice-Marie pursed her lips, "Something tells me I know who you're talking about."
"She thinks she's so strong, you know? And she is, in a lot of ways, but part of that makes her...push people away. But now..." she sighed, "I have a bad feeling she's gotten herself into some kinda trouble, and I know she's not gonna wanna talk."
"You want her to know she can confide in you, then?"
"Not just that!" Paula insisted, "I'm afraid if she doesn't have someone...positive to lean on, she'll..."
Alice-Marie considered, "Turn to...less productive outlets?"
"Is that bad to think?"
"Well, in my experience," Alice-Marie said after some thought, "Some people...especially young women who may feel...hurt or confused and with nowhere else to turn...they can very easily become self-destructive. And in those times, the thing they would most appreciate...but might not often get..."
She put a gentle hand over Paula's, smiling kindly, "Is a good, solid friend."
***
Something had him and didn't want to let him go. Jason was a good swimmer. He'd won prizes for it. But that stopped mattering now that there was something strong and tenacious gripping onto his leg, dragging him down to the bottom of the pool.
The surface hovered a short yet impossible distance away. Fluorescent lights danced on bright blue water, shimmering unnaturally. Jason tried kicking upward, but the thing that had him was strong and determined.
"This is helplessness," hissed a voice. He wanted to scream, but knew he couldn't, shouldn't. The wraith pinning him down had a face: pretty, almond-shaped eyes and a mane of dark hair like a shadowy halo. The rest of him...face and ragged clothes...was translucent, the color of dirty water, not the chemical blue of a school swimming pool.
"This is what it is to be held back, to struggle, to die alone. This is what you did to me."
Jason wanted to protest. He shook his head, eyes bulging from his skull, ears roaring from the pressure, yet somehow the thing that had been Leandro Lakotos could be heard loud and clear.
"You thought it was wrong? You wanted to stop it, tell the others to back off? This is what 'wanting' amounts to. This is the least you deserve. To die, alone and helpless and abandoned..."
"No!" the word escaped him like a shot, water entering his lungs, the chemical tang burning the lining of his throat. His vision was fading. Leo grinned, satisfied, melting into the murk.
Jason thrashed wildly, trying to summon the strength to kick himself back to the surface, but his limbs had turned into lead. And maybe...maybe he shouldn't resist. Maybe it was only fair.
The least you deserve...
***
The withdrawal was worse in the afternoon, for reasons Laura couldn't explain. Maybe it was because the baby slept during these hours, meaning there was less to distract herself with. Maybe the saturation of the high sun wore away on her resolve. Maybe she just didn't get enough sleep, and these hours were where that caught up to her.
She watched the cigarette guttering out in the ashtray, hearing the hollow ticking of the dinette clock on the wall. Eventually, she would have to pull her jacket on and get to work. Despite her late night and early morning, her presence would no doubt still be expected until and unless she was told otherwise.
Nobody had told Laura anything.
That meant Annie would have to be left in the care of the neighbors yet again. Laura expected one day she would come back to recollect her daughter only to be told "Oh, no, that just wouldn't do. She's better off here, yes, you know...until you can sort yourself out."
Laura couldn't remember the last time she'd ever been sorted.
There were heavy orangey-gray clouds massing on the horizon. Stormy weather. She'd have to get ahead of it. Sighing aggrievedly, Laura forced herself to stand and prepared for another ordeal.
"Come on, Princess," she went to collect her daughter, "Let's leave you with some responsible adults."
Annie looked up at her, teething ring fashioned after a turquoise fish hanging from her lips.
"You should quit that habit," Laura muttered, collecting her in her arms, "If you don't kick 'em early, that's goodbye jack," she rubbed her nose against her, "Bye-bye, Annie. Geddit?"
Annie laughed. Laura felt her arms shaking, and held her all the closer.
"Sooner we get you out of here," she said at last, "The better."
***
Jason came back to life painfully and forcefully, his lungs burning as he hacked what must have been half the pool out over his front. Everything was still out of focus. He could see the bright saturation of the fluorescent lights overhead, the faint blue glow of the pool.
Some vague blond shape was hovering over him. He briefly, hysterically, thought of guardian angels.
"Fucking dipshit moron," Pamela panted, shattering the illusion, "Are you alive?"
She slapped him. Judging by the burning in his cheek, not for the first time.
She was dripping wet, kneeling over him on hands and knees, her hair hanging in almost pretty ropes around her face.
"Y-you dived in after me?"
"Yeah, dingus, because you tripped and fell. What, are you high or something?"
"Tripped?" he repeated, still struggling for breath. He turned to the pool a few inches away. It was, indeed, empty. No ghouls in sight.
"Hey?" Pam asked, "Hey, Murray? Jason!" she snapped her fingers in his face, "I'll hit you again."
"B-but I'm already revived," he said clumsily.
"That's not why I'd hit you," she narrowed her eyes, "Look, I just ruined a whole ensemble doing that."
"T-thank you," it hurt to speak, "I mean it. H-how do you know CPR?"
"Everyone knows CPR."
"No they don't. I had to take classes."
Pam looked off, gritting her teeth, "I saw it on an episode of Hill Street Blues, okay? Now...get up before someone shows up and we both embarrass ourselves."
It occurred to him that this was probably the only straight answer Pamela was going to give him.
"T-there are some towels in the locker room," he said at a loss, "To dry off."
"Fine," she said at last, "You can lend me one. I'll give it back," at his questioning glance, she elaborated, "If you think I'm gonna walk into that locker room with you...sorry."
"Oh. T-that's not what I meant..." he remembered, suddenly, Pam and Leo and everything they knew and didn't know about last night and was suddenly gripped by this terrible guilt, this feeling he needed to know...
"Pamela, I wasn't..."
"Are you gonna give me a towel or not?" she folded her arms, "I'm not above walking home like this."
So he got her a towel, asked no questions, and showered in silence until the water had gone frigid.
-Jason, Pamela, Paula, Alice-Marie, and Laura
The shrill screech of tires on asphalt sounded out as Kirk's Benz sped along the outskirts of Lakewood. He'd been driving for a while now. He didn't know how long. Hours speeding on almost abandoned roadways with music blasting on the radio. He had no destination. He had no plan.
Kirk just drove, fast and dangerous, with reckless abandon.
He could have left. Could have just skipped town, given himself time to think...
But Vicki would be back soon. That was all Kirk had to look forward to: seeing her again, talking to her, confiding...
No. Kirk wouldn't do that to her.
Tank was running on empty. He pulled in at a nearby station and slammed the door behind. Kirk, however, couldn't help but look back at that dent on the side of his otherwise immaculately kept car. His stomach turned, the sound of the impact of Leo's head getting thrown against the Benz echoing in his head...
"Hey, you okay, man?" The gas station attendant approached Kirk, snapping him out of his stupor.
Kirk couldn't muster words, other than what sounded like "Full tank on 2." He shoved some bills into the worker's hand, not caring if it was too much or not enough before retreating to the side of the small building to have a smoke and hopefully clear his head.
Maybe he should return to town, see how the other guys were doing. Kirk knew he told them they should never talk about last night again but he was starting to doubt he was strong enough to dwell in his own feelings. He supposed it made sense. Before last night, Kirk didn't realize what he was truly capable of. Maybe that meant he really didn't know himself at all.
His eyes returned to the dent in the door...
Kirk wasn't getting anything done here. Throwing his cigarette away, he marched right back into the Benz, ignoring the attendant's insistence that he paid too much or too little. Whatever it was, Kirk was already speeding out of the station and back to town, perhaps less directionless that he had been in the hours before.
"Nice of you to drive me back and everything," Paula said lightly as they pulled up in front of her place.
"Forget about it," Sam said flatly.
"Well, I'm just saying; if you don't watch out, you might be mistaken for a human being."
He must've had an alarming look on his face because Paula mellowed out at once, "Or I could just forget about it," she shouldered her bag, "Look, about Pam…"
"It's fine, Paula."
"Well, I'm just saying…"
"Just get out of the car, Paula."
She narrowed her eyes, "Fine. Thanks. Or screw you. Whatever makes you feel better," there was a soft shuffling noise, "Sam."
"What?" he snapped, turning to see her with her hand on the handle.
"The door."
"Oh," he disabled the lock, "right."
But now it was Paula's turn to idle. She bit her lip pensively, "My, um...my Mom and Dad are at Zardo's tonight. It's, um, it's comedy night."
"That's great."
"I mean if you want to, like, have a Coke or something," she was looking at her reflection in the window, or maybe Sam's reflection beyond her own. He tried not to look at her too directly.
"Why would I want to have a Coke?" he asked bluntly, "Or something?"
Paula exhaled deeply, looking heavenward, "Probably a better idea than whatever else you're planning to do."
"I'm fresh out of plans, Paulie."
She looked over her shoulder at him, "She's my friend, you know. Just..." but she faltered.
"Just what?"
But Paula didn't answer, just stepping out of the car and going on her way.
Sam didn't need to be clairvoyant to finish her sentence for her anyway.
Just don't hurt her.
***
Jimmy found the Lakotos house quiet and still, the front door hanging slightly open, swinging in and out in a gentle breeze, the hinges creaking in a chorus of metallic screeches.
He lifted himself off his bike, running at first, but slowing as he neared the door. If there were answers inside, he was in no rush to face them, no matter what he told himself.
"I have to tell you," Leo had panted breathlessly, barely bothering to pick himself up from the floor where he'd tumbled after scrambling in through Jimmy's window, "You can hate me all you want, but I have to tell you..."
"Hey," Jimmy grabbed him by the shoulders, "Tell me whatever the hell you need to, but I'm not hating you for it. You've got the wrong house."
***
Sam's mother was in the kitchen when he returned. She turned from the stove to lift her hand in a wave, "Oh, hello, dear. No practice today?"
He slowed halfway into the foyer, the door swinging shut behind him, "...no," and would've stormed on his progress if his Mom hadn't pressed on, sweet and suffocating as was her way.
"How was school?"
Sam paused, one hand on the stair railing. His mother's smiling, careworn face appeared filmy and gauzy beyond the veil of steam rising from the pot on the stove. Some sort of warmed up goulash tonight. She'd been experimenting in the kitchen on a lark, which Sam knew to mean she'd been reading those goddamn penny saver digests from the grocery store checkout line, trying to figure out how to stretch pennies between Dad's payday.
"Fine," he answered bluntly, and attempted again to resume his ascent.
"Oh, speaking of practice..." she called back, "Leave your jersey out. I didn't see it in the laundry and heaven knows it must stink to high heaven. Though maybe that helps scare the other team away?" she laughed lightly at her own joke, "Even so, my dear, those grass stains are so stubborn, and..."
"Jersey," he repeated, remembering suddenly.
"What was that, Sam?"
"Nothing," he cleared his throat, "I'll, uh, I'll find it. The jersey."
He stomped the rest of the way up the stairs, shutting himself in his room. The mirror on his door shook on its moorings, but he stilled it by leaning against it, "...fuck."
His fucking jersey...he'd ripped the thing to shreds, used the strips to bind Leo by the wrists. He hadn't even realized at the time it was his jersey. Destroyed now. He'd have to pay for a replacement.
The thought was almost funny. He felt a surge of abrupt, hysterical laughter escaping him, only to be choked out by the sudden pressure of taut nylon wrapped around his throat.
"Don't struggle," the voice whispered in his ear, "It's easier if you take it."
***
Jimmy crossed the threshold into the house, looking around for signs of life. The dishes on the table hadn't been cleared away from...dinner? Lunch? The clock on the wall was the only sound.
He moved down the little passage to Leo's room, taking a breath to steel himself before going in.
Everything looked much the same. Leo's bed was unmade, but that wasn't too unusual. Late afternoon shadows spread out across the warped wooden floor, over Leo's scuffed-up Docs and ill-assorted schoolbooks. Jimmy ran his hand along the maroon jacket of Leo's St. George's uniform, on its hanger on the closet door.
"You know, they're all a bunch of pack animals at heart," he'd said the day they met, after Jimmy had bailed him out of that fight on the lacrosse pitch, "No individuality to speak of."
"If that's true," Leo smiled, wincing at his swollen lip, "They shouldn't be going after someone in their colors," indicating his rumpled uniform.
"Eh, they aren't an evolved species. Colorblind, you know."
The boombox was sitting on the dresser, where they'd brought it back in a couple of days ago, when Jimmy's biggest problem was some random girl using him as a revenge ploy.
He shuffled through the tapes stacked up nearby, finding an empty case, corresponding to whatever was in the tape deck now: The Smiths.
One of the tracks on the list printed on the back of the case had been underlined in black marker: 'I Started Something I Couldn't Finish'.
Sal had mentioned dancing with Leo the other day...the day of the fight at the mall? When Jimmy had gone to cool off, maybe? He supposed the when didn't matter so much. Without thinking more of it, he switched on the boombox and tried putting himself into a memory he'd missed.
"The lanes were silent/There was nothing, no one, nothing around for miles..."
He could see Leo and his sister dancing here in this room, bare feet on the wooden floor. Sal was more liberated than Leo was, throwing her head back to laugh. Leo's hands on her shoulders, gentle, tentative. She would have to invite him nearer.
Things got weird, she said.
Jimmy understood weird.
"I doused our friendly venture/With a hard-faced, three-word gesture..."
He could see them drawing nearer, inexorably pulled by their own closeness. He could imagine one's lips brushing the others, one or the other pulling back, an apology or an admonition.
Neither of them, really, would want to pull away, but they would anyway.
Jimmy let go of the dresser, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in. There were gauges in the wood.
"I started something, I forced you to a zone/And you were clearly never meant to go..."
***
Struggle though Sam might, his attacker was stronger.
"Easy now, easy..." Leo whispered in his ear, grip not slackening on the garrote pulled around Sam's neck, "There's nothing to be afraid of, Sam. You're in good hands with me."
He tried to eke out a protest, a curse, a cry for help, even, God forbid, but no words escaped him. He could feel the mirror against his back, and Leo, somehow here and not here, as if reaching out through the glass to him.
"You want it, I think. All that stress..." Sam could feel hands on his back, moving beneath the waist of his pants; even now, though, there was something wound around his neck so he couldn't speak.
"What do you get in the end, being in control? Calling all the shots? What's so special about being in charge all the time..."
Sam let out a short, pained moan. The glass, somehow, had gotten in front of him. He could see himself, pressed smack against, gasping, soft and urgent. Leo's chin was pressed against his shoulder, his mouth worrying his ear.
"I was never in charge a day in my life. Powerless until the day you and your friends squeezed the life out of me. It's not so bad as you think."
He was pressed flat against the glass, so hard he could almost feel it splintering. Leo was smaller than him, slighter, there was no way...
"It is so, so freeing just to let go," hands grip him around the middle, fingers tensing over his nipples, "Let me show you."
***
A shadow fell across the doorway and Jimmy whirled around, nearly knocking the boombox off his perch as he did.
"I thought I heard someone," Mrs. Lakotos was in her robe, her hair hanging over her shoulder in a loose braid. Maybe they'd both been playing hooky today, "For a moment, I thought..."
"I'm sorry," Jimmy blurted, wary...afraid, even...of the end of the sentence.
She shook her head, "You owe me no apologies."
He faltered; it almost seemed as though she knew something, "Leo...did he ever come..."
"Not last night and not this morning," there was a deep heaviness in her voice, "And yet somehow it feels like my vigil is ended anyway."
"Mrs. Lakotos..." he said softly, "I saw him last night."
There was a silence. Mrs. Lakotos inhaled deeply, "Then I am sorry."
He broke down; he couldn't keep it back anymore, sobs he hadn't realized he'd been suppressing escaping him. Wordlessly, Mrs. L gathered him in her arms and let him cry against her.
He heard Leo again, last night, crying into his embrace.
"I'm not a bad person, Jim. You have to believe me. I'm not really bad. I don't want to be."
***
Sam screamed at the moment of release.
He was on the floor, back to his mirror, uniform shirt open, pants shucked. He felt sweat and more odious discharge sticking to him. No sign of Leo. No sign of anybody.
"You alright, dear?" his mother, calling from downstairs, "I thought I heard..."
"Fine!" he answered hoarsely, lifting his hands to his chest, where raw red gauges shone bright as open wounds, running down his chest like lovemarks or lashes. He touched them briefly, and shuddered as though he'd been scalded.
Something inside of him stirred.
"I'm fine."
-Sam, Paula, Jimmy, and Mrs. Lakotos
An endless cycle of trees and streetlights. The minutes flew by Kirk as he sped down the highway, back to Lakewood. Or was he really speeding? Even though the sights quickly fell behind him, Kirk felt as if time had slowed down. He was aimless, missed the exit for Lakewood and was stuck in limbo.
So there Kirk was, breaking 70 with no real destination or goal in mind. Just the events of last night playing over and over...
The thud of Leo's body against the dresser and the slam of the car trunk as they shoved him in there competed with the revving of the engine. So Kirk pushed the gas more, breaking 80...
"I raped her," echoed in his mind, Leo's sniveling, bleeding face looking up at him. "I raped her."
Kirk went faster, pushing past 90. There was roadwork ahead, patching up gap in the guard rail. It looked like some of the workers were signaling him to slow down but Kirk couldn't tell. His vision was beginning to blur.
He heard the splash of the water, Leo's desperate cries from underneath as he tried to resurface and break from Kirk's grasp...
Kirk cried out and broke through the roadwork into the opposite lanes, driving against traffic. Swerving left and right, he struggled to regain control of his senses as he dodged cars, trucks, and pickups. Suddenly, he was more alive than he was before, his fight-or-flight impulses kicking in and making it clear just what he was doing. With the intact guardrail to his right, Kirk was trapped against the grain, with no time to stop or make a U-turn.
Memories of the night before quickly dissipated with every honk! and agitated cry from the other drivers. Kirk couldn't process them all at once. He was just focused on trying to get to the side of the road, where it was safe...
SWOOSH!
He just barely missed a van, as he maneuvered to the middle lane, before he quickly had to readjust back to the right lane after...
SWOOSH!
...a luxury sedan almost crashed into him. Kirk merged back into the middle lane, hoping to cheat his way into the left...
SWOOOOOOOOOSH!
...a semi blocked the path, keeping Kirk trapped in his lane just as another sedan was heading his direction. Thinking quickly, Kirk merged back into the right lane, albeit sloppily, the side of his Benz skidding against the guard rail and sending sparks flying.
SWOOSH!
As that car passed, Kirk threw all caution to the wind. He was going to speed to the side of the road from here, but he had to beat the relentless incoming traffic first. With one desperate roar, he decisively turned his wheel to the left, narrowly missing an RV, almost running over a biker in the middle lane...
HONK! HONK!
Another semi in the right lane coming his way. This was going to be close, as Kirk turned the wheel...
SWOOOOOOOOOSH!
Kirk had made it to the side of the road by the skin of his teeth, panting from the adrenaline of it all. Pulling the car over to a stop, he tried to catch his breath. He only had so much time to count his lucky stars before cursing himself for doing something so brainless, so reckless. Why did he have this death wish?
Out of the blue, Kirk remembered Leo's body, falling into the depths of Wren Lake, and for whatever reason, never coming back up.
Fuck this. Kirk revved up the Benz and rejoined traffic, this time heading in the correction direction. He had to book it for any cops came onto the scene. Confident he missed the exit for Lakewood several near-crashes ago, Kirk went on his way back to town, still struggling to find any peace in his tormented mind.
All things considered: things could be worse. Monsignor Schiano might've confiscated his Walkman instead of his suspicious sweets.
"Whatcha gonna do when you get outta jail?/I'm gonna have some fun..."
The capital concern at the moment, as far as Fitz was concerned, was clearing his head from the frightful diversions of the last 24 hours and then some. He rollerbladed homeward from school, headphones on, no concern for the usual gaggle of older boys about the schoolyard calling out their usual salutations ("Cover your privates, boys! It's the Homo on Wheels!) which didn't bother him at all, no sir.
There were worse things than cruel words, after all.
"What do you consider fun?/Fun, natural fun..."
He hadn't seen Quinn since he'd been hauled off to the headmaster's after that fiasco of the debate. Now that he'd had time to think it over, it seemed clear enough what had provoked his friend's emotional outburst.
Last night, he'd been grounded, somewhat, by Quinn's firm resolve as things had escalated around them. He, alone, had appeared immune to the increasing temperature of the situation. Waiting on the lakeside with him as the boat became a mere speck on the horizon, it had been easy to tell himself that things were now in hand and surely everything would turn out alright.
Fitz didn't think he was such a narbo as all that, but he'd been wrong many times before.
"I'm in heaven/With my boyfriend, my laughing boyfriend..."
Well, what was there to do, really? He was only a fresher, after all, the youngest of their little group, and only included by dint of his friendship with Quinn, who had taken pity on him...for that's what it was, though Quinn would surely deny it at once...in the face of the upperclassmen's taunts and jeers.
Nobody had taken such pity on the Gypsy, though he'd surely faced his share of abuse. Not Quinn, certainly not Fitz.
"There's no beginning, and there is no end/Time isn't present in that dimension..."
But what could be done? Fitz had never made any...any move on someone's girlfriend. He'd never hurt anyone. He was fair sure he was utterly incapable of violence; he was much too squeamish for it.
Yes, he affirmed, as he rolled leisurely down the sidewalk. Pedestrians parted for him, some looking disapprovingly or tutting at his speed.
"He'll take my arm/When we're walking, rolling and rocking..."
This was about as dangerous as he ever got, feeling the world open before him, an open terrain free for him to explore. The wind in his hair...or, well, what hair wasn't helmeted. You couldn't afford to be a dip about safety. He could imagine he was in control as he was supposed to be. Scion of the most powerful family in Lakewood, he oughtn't need to worry about fitting in or sticking out against the rest of the pack.
And yet here he was: a pollywog of a creature, a sort of dandelion seed thrown against the fierce agitations of a merciless wind. Or, rather, a dandelion sprout...yes, that sounded more appropriate...throttled by hardier, homelier weeds.
Made one wish some snotnosed little tyke would wander along to pluck him, take him out of his misery at last.
"It's one time I'm glad I'm not a man/Feels like I'm dreaming, but I'm not sleeping..."
The pavement hissed under his wheels. The concrete here was rougher, more cracked. The shopfronts to either side of the street were marked with bright-colored graffiti, and tags in loopy letters barely approximating language. He must have veered off his usual course. He didn't recognize these digs at all.
The people he passed regarded him suspiciously from stoops and cars. A duragged man lounging on the hood of his car called out something to the effect of "Lookin' fresh, homeboy!" which might have been sarcasm, if he chose to accept it was.
Maybe it was. Fitz decided, for the moment, he would make his own reality.
"Why, thank you!" he called back, giving two thumbs'-up.
"I'm in heaven/With the maven of funk mutation/Raise expectations to a new intention..."
The durag man shook his head incredulous, but returned the gesture.
Good to know the world was still turning, drowned Gypsy boy be damned.
After all, terrible things happened every day. And they were terrible but, really, what were you going to do? Fitz had no ill-will for the Gypsy. He'd never done anything to him or vice versa. It was a wretched shame what had happened but, really, could it be said that he'd failed the poor booger?
"No one can sing/Quite like Smokey..."
There was nothing to do about it now. Sometimes things just worked out badly for people and you could do nothing but grit your teeth and bully on your own way. There was too much else to worry about in this life, in his life, to position his personal axis of success and failure on something an unfortunate-if-randy social outcast had, by all appearances brought utterly onto him...
Fitz became aware of wheels rolling close behind him. Fellow skaters! He could count on no fingers the number of times this had happened to him before because it never had. Perhaps he could lead a procession...and then bum some directions to a less sketch part of town, on the DL of course.
Fitz shook his hips a little bit, like a bird of paradise doing a mating dance, to indicate he was good to be followed.
For a change, ah, a blessed change!
"Wailin' and skankin' to Bob Marley/Reggae's expanding with Sly and Robbie..."
Twin shadows spread over the road to either side of him, slowly gaining. Big fellows, too, with broad shoulders and thick legs from the look of it. They were moving their hips in tandem with Fitz. Nice to see they had rhythm. In Fitz's experience, most people didn't.
Fitz experimented further, shimmying his legs together, doing a little pirouette on his skates, whirling around to get a look at his new comrades.
"Oopsy mama say the/Oopsy mama say the/Oopsy mama say the/Oopsy mama..."
Gummy bears! Gummy bears, big as men! One red and one yellow, strapped into contrasting colored skates and pads, pursuing him at a leisurely pace that nonetheless felt relentless.
He knew those bears too, by the little insignia on their right thighs: those were Smith's Sweeties bears, fresh from the plant's assembly line.
"What do you want?" he demanded, "How are you here?"
The bears didn't respond, only continuing on their pace.
"No! No, get away from me! Get away!"
He turned back around, increasing his pace. A car swerved wildly to avoid him. A woman on a bike screeched something uncomplimentary.
"Help!" Fitz bellowed, "Help, don't you see? They're after me, I say! After me! They won't rest 'till they've got me!"
"All the weekend/Boyfriend was missing/I surely miss him/The way he'd hold me in his warm arms..."
He couldn't say how he knew this, but he did. They wanted him. Why shouldn't they? He was, after all, their property. Once upon a time, such things as those bears had been made by Smiths, but enough generations had passed now, surely, that the Smiths belonged to their Sweeties, not the other way around.
They were here to take him. He couldn't get away. Trapped, helpless, bound more than ever now to the shackles of the family business, for surely if it ever got out what had happened at that lake last night, he'd have no recourse but his family and all its damned sugary shackles.
"We went insane when we took cocaine..."
Fitz wailed as the bears moved on to flank him. He was headed downhill now, into some sort of warehouse district near the water. The water! That's the ticket. Gummy bears were composed of sugar and syrup. They'd dissolve in water!
"Bite me, you bogus bears!" Fitz cackled, "I'll outwit you yet!"
"Who needs to think when your feet just go?/With a hiditihi, with a hipitiho/Who needs to think when your feet just go?"
He raced as fast as he could be carried. People called out curses and insults to him, but he paid them no mind. This was his future at stake, his entire life on the line. If he couldn't outrun the bears, he'd be a slave for life!
Fitz raced down an alley as a shortcut, executing a sharp turn that would've crippled a layman rollerblader. He ducked a barricade, looking over his shoulder, convinced the bears, not having spines, would be unable to pursue.
No bears.
"If you see him/Please remind him, unhappy boyfriend/Well, he's the genius of love..."
"Ha!" he cheered, throwing up twin V-for-victory salutes, in the manner of Richard Nixon, "Man over molasses, bears! Gumption over gummies! I have my freedom yet! I am innocent, I am vindicated, I am man! I am..."
Something cold and candied touched his arm.
"Oooooooooooh!"
The bears were behind him! Around him! They were inevitable, unavoidable, and they meant to absorb him...he could see it now. Fitz beat wildly at them with his hands, but to no avail. He could feel even now that he was being sucked into the candied prison, never to be released.
"He's got a greater depth of feeling/Well, he's the genius of love/He's so deep..."
-Fitz
"Easy...easy..." Kirk's hands couldn't stop trembling as he brought the cigarette to his mouth. Parked safely within the confines of the old scrapyard, he was safe from any cops as he looked over the damage to his Benz. His parents were gonna tear him a new one when they got back from Vienna...
...but that was the least of his concerns.
flick...flick...flick...
"Son of a bitch..." Kirk threw his defunct lighter to the ground. Out of fluid. Just his luck. He didn't know how else to calm down. He'd never been this shaken up over anything, this sick to his stomach. Usually, there was always Vicki to bring him down to earth and help him see reason...God, Kirk wished she was here.
Yet, at the same time, he was too ashamed to look at her. He didn't even feel like a person anymore. He didn't feel human. Just a mad dog. A killer.
That so bad? Kirk struggled to accept the fact in his heart. Do cops go to hell for killing scumbags? Or soldiers when they gun down the enemy? Why would you for getting rid of that slimy, degenerate rapist?
He clutched his stomach, close to puking. Kirk began to feel dizzy and light-headed, hot flashes coming over him. He steadied himself against his car, trying his best to stay on his feet. His vision continued to blur and refocus, blur and refocus, the Gypsy's drowned cries echoing through his head again and again...
"Kirk..."
The big man on campus tensed at the whisper. His eyes frantically searched for the source, but there was nobody to be found...
"Kirk..."
There it was again! "H-hello?" Kirk called out, trying but failing to hide his fear. "Who's there?"
"Kirrrrrrk..."
He didn't recognize it. He wasn't sure anybody could recognize it. It wasn't human but almost...ethereal...
"KIRK!"
From behind him. Kirk pivoted, almost crying out...but there was no one there. "Oh, fuck this..." He cracked opened his trunk and reached for what was inside, though the sight of the bent lacrosse stick made him freeze for a moment. Swallowing his fear, Kirk picked up and carried it as a weapon. "You wanna fuck with me?!" Kirk bellowed, his voice echoing throughout the scrapyard. "Do it to my face! Come on!"
Childish laughter echoed back, coming from a mountain of junk to his right.
Breathing raggedly, Kirk marched over there, following the laughter as it went on, without end.
It was coming from the summit of the pile of scrap, created after years of waste and neglect. So Kirk began to climb, struggling to find any steady footing but determined to find whoever this was, once and for all.
"You're so close...so...so...CLOSE!"
A broken television gave way under his right foot, causing Kirk to slide...but only slightly. He kept his grip. He wasn't going to fall. Not after all of this. Kirk Devlin doesn't give up.
The voice laughed more and more as Kirk climbed higher and higher, but he suffered through the mockery, reaching the summit to find...
"What the..." ...nobody. There was no one up here. Just a view of Lakewood from above, with the only thing really catching his attention being a small house, not too far from the southwest fence of the scrapyard.
The Lakotos House.
Suddenly, Kirk was out of his body, watching the events of last night play in that driveway, him and Sam dragging Leo out, throwing him against the Benz and binding him...
"No." Kirk shook his head. He didn't realize but tears were coming to his eyes. "No, that's it. I'm getting the fuck out of here..." Kirk turned to leave...
"NO!"
Kirk let out a gut-wrenching scream at the sight of Pamela, a ghostly pale and beaten nearly beyond recognition, wearing the torn remnants of a nightdress, standing before him. Her eyes were black pools, with no life to be seen in them. This wasn't her sister. Not as he knew her.
This was the undead.
He had no time to truly take in the sight, as she clasped her hands on his shoulders, her sharp skeletal-like nails digging into his flesh. With one a heave, she shoved Kirk down into the mountain of scrap, falling out of the light and into the darkness.
***
It didn't feel like Kirk was drowning. He was just floating, descending slowly into a stygian abyss, until he finally found his footing on...nothing. Kirk was just there, in the darkness. All alone.
Sobbing from behind him. Kirk turned to find it was Pamela. His sister. Not whatever that creature was. From what Kirk could see, she looked human. Alive.
And she was weeping, curled up in a fetal position, rocking back and forth. She still had the bruises across her body and wore the same tattered nightgown. This was Pamela, more hurt than Kirk had ever seen her.
Cautiously, he approached her, careful not to startle her. Kirk's lip trembled, struggling to find words. "Pam..." He mustered eventually, stepping closer. "Pam, it's me."
Pamela continued to sob, her face buried in her hands.
"It's Kirk." He got down to his knee slowly. "It's OK. I'm here."
The crying continued. His words bounced off her.
"Pam..." He moved to lift her face so he could truly look at her but he stopped himself, for whatever reason, whether it be cowardice or compassion. "Pam, I'm..." Kirk became choked up, tears flowing freely now. "I'm so sorry. I should have been there. I should have..."
Her weeping did not relent.
Kirk looked Pamela over, becoming even more distraught as she did not respond. "Please, Pam. Look at me. Speak to me. I know we always fight and argue a-and bicker but..." He winced, stifling a sob of his own. "...just come back to me. To us. I just want to know you're OK."
Still, Pamela wept and wept.
"Please!" Kirk begged, his voice echoing throughout the abyss. "Please, Pam! I'm sorry! Do you hear me?! I'm sorry!"
"That's not enough."
Suddenly, Kirk was dragged from behind by unseen forces, pulling him away from his broken sister. "Pam!" He cried out as she grew smaller and smaller in the distance, eventually fading away into the darkness. "Pam, please!!!"
"It is too late for you."
The voice was different from before, yet equally inhuman. It was devilish. Demonic, even. In fact, it sounded like...like Leo.
But it wasn't just Leo he heard. No, it was the culmination of voices, dozens of voices, speaking in unison, rasping in hoarse, tortured tones.
Kirk tried to break free but it was a futile effort. He was helpless, dragged against his will, just as he and Sam had done to Leo, eventually throwing him against the Benz...
***
CRASH! THUD!
Kirk was in the light again, propelled from out of the mountain of junk and right into the door of his Benz...exactly where Leo's body had made the dent. Breathing frantically and his heart racing a mile a minute, Kirk looked all over himself, hoping he had just passed out, that it was all a wretched nightmare...
His shoulders. Scratched the from ghostly apparition's nails. Kirk paled in horror, his breath slowing, and everything becoming quiet as he struggled to understand what he had just suffered.
And then...the voice returned.
"run"
Kirk jumped to his feet, immediately ducking into his car and turning on the ignition. He had to get as far away from his as possible. He had to get home. Now!
***
He drove the Benz at breakneck speed out of the scrapyard and into the modest streets of Lakewood, paying no mind to the streetlights, stop signs and people imploring him to slow down. Kirk was weeping freely now, that damned voice ringing in his head again and again.
"run
"run
"run
"run
"run
"run
"run"
"Leave me alone!" Kirk cried out, but it was to no avail.
"run
"run
"run
"run
"run
"run
"run"
"STOP! STOP IT!!!" Kirk honked the horn again and again, trying desperately to drown it out. Still, it whispered.
"run
"run
"run
"run
"run
"run
"run"
Kirk released a primal roar, pressing the gas harder, the Benz going faster and faster...
THUD!
The whispers came to a stop. Kirk slammed the brake, bringing the Benz to a stop and nearly crashing it into his house. He had made it home...but he wasn't alone.
"Fuck..." Kirk muttered in a panic, turning off the engine and hectically leaving the car. "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck..." He ran back to where he made the collision, where the pained groans were coming from. "Oh, God..." Kirk found his victim, writhing on his driveway in pain. ""What have I done?"
He ran into the house, racing to call for help, as the prone form of Laura was splayed outside, hurt and falling into unconsciousness.
***
Fitz woke up to two inquisitors hovering over his bed: a doctor, sterile and white, and a sheriff's deputy, earthy and white.
"Whazzeen?" he asked blearily.
"He doped up?" asked the deputy to the doctor, who shook his head, "Just delirious," and then, in a more pronounced voice, "Mr. Smith? Fitz?"
"At's me."
"Yes, hello. Do you know where you are?"
"Oh..." Fitz looked around, "Unfair question. I was sleep," but he was able to use context clues to get some good headway on this inquiry: the white walls, the dull fluorescent lighting, and the fact that his clothes had been removed and replaced with a hideously-patterned smock, "Hospital. This is."
"Yes, you're in Lakewood General Hospital."
"Ah," he nodded slowly, "I am live, then?"
"Moron boy, don't answer their questions!"
"Father!"
Pieter Everard Eisenhardt Smith stormed in, bushy mustache bristling in agitation, "Gentlemen, I don't know what kind of pinko dog and pony show you're running here, but you're not questioning my boy without a lawyer present."
"Mr. Smith," the deputy cleared his throat, "This isn't an interroga..."
"I heard a question! There was a question mark implied by the end of that sentence. That, in this country and most other countries that use our alphabet, means a question is being asked. Boy, have you gone stupid? I am sorry. I was forgetting. Have you gone stupider?"
"I am afraid not, sir."
"He needs an attorney," PEE Smith continued in a thunderous basso that could not be contested, "I will happily provide one."
"Sir, your son isn't under suspicion..."
"Then why is the law here, hm, deputy? If my son simply had an episode of silliness in the street, it seems to me your presence here is redundant and, frankly, a waste of my taxpayer dollars."
"Sir, your son was found thrashing in the street, kicking a garbage can. A few more inches and he would've fallen onto the train tracks."
"No! No! No garbage train this!" Fitz interjected, "The bears there were! The bears!"
"Boy, what kind of faggot nonsense are you talking about?" his father didn't seem convinced.
"There were bears! Chasing me! I swear it! Big and absorbent. They wanted me!"
"Boy, shut up!"
"Believe me not! Believe me not!"
"Damn such," PEE Smith turned to the deputy, "He's barking."
"Mr. Smith," said the doctor, "I wonder if you could answer me a few questions about your son's medical history?"
PEE Smith made a series of disapproving noises, but eventually consented to a brusque inquiry, mostly out of Fitz's hearing. The deputy looked at him sympathetically and winked.
"Oh my!" Fitz gasped despite himself, as all things now were despite himself.
"Fitz, I wonder if you wouldn't mind taking a test," said the doctor, returning from his conference.
"And you'd better as hell pass if you know what's good for you!" his father cut in, "You want your mother to die?"
"I don't think not!"
"Very good," the doctor continued, going to a little tray against the wall to retrieve a clear plastic cup with measurements on the side, "All you have to do is fill this up."
"With where?" Fitz asked.
"With Tropicana," said his father, "You idiot, maybe you are on drugs, and your mother will die, and I'll kill ya for it, I will. You think I can't have another son at my age? I can! Believe you me, the equipment works for it."
"Drugs? No drugs! I don't..." Fitz struggled to articulate his point, "The bears! The gummy bears!"
"Is that what you kids are into now? When I was a kid, they dropped acid like honest degenerates. You sicken me, boy. I am sick!"
"You just have to urinate in this cup, Fitz," said the doctor.
Fitz stared at the cup, "...urinate?"
"For a test."
"And if you fail," his father repeated, "You will die. I will do it. In front of this deputy, I will, and what will he do? He'll clap."
The deputy shook his head, Fitz's one ally.
"Thank you!" Fitz reached to clasp the deputy's hands. He stepped back, shaking his head, another ship doomed to pass in the night.
"There's a special toilet down the hall," said the doctor, "You can use that one."
"But what about the gummy bears?"
"Sick!" exclaimed his father, "Hung up on a fix now, in the hospital, with the po-leece and you're own father, if that's what I damn am, and I'm not proud of it, I'm not."
"Come with me," the doctor offered a hand, "I'll show you."
So it was that Fitz plodded down the hospital corridor, led along by a doctor, holding in his other hand a little cup to be used for his own urine.
Just before they reached the designated door, they passed an entry into a little waiting room, in which Fitz saw familiar faces sitting about.
"Friends!" he exclaimed, "Friends! I need to urinate! I need to urinate!"
"Come on now, Fitz, they don't need to hear that."
"But I must! I must!"
***
"What the fuck is even going on in this place?" Sam demanded, turning from Fitz's receding figure to the rest of the group.
"He had some kinda...panic attack?" Jason turned to Quinn, "Right?"
"Oh, sure, yeah, a panic attack..." Sam nodded, rubbing his hands together, "Makes sense. Everyone's just real panicky today."
"I mean..." Jason began, "It does make sense."
He looked, almost guiltily, to Kirk who, alone of the four of them, was on his feet.
-Fitz, Sam, and Jason
Quinn shrugged, just as clueless as the rest of them. "Yeah. Must be something goin' around. Y'know..." He gestured broadly, trying to be intelligent. "...like AIDS."
Kirk wasn't in tune with his friends' bickering and theorizing. His eyes were still fixed on the hospital room Laura was in, with Jamie by her side. She had only just become conscious again since...he made contact with her. He was tempted to go in there and see if everything was alright, though he doubted Laura wanted to see him. Hell, if he even knew her slightly, she'd be getting a lawyer on speed dial to sue the pants off his family.
At least that'd be a sign of things going back to normal.
"Three days," Kirk muttered to no one in particular. "Three days and everything goes to shit. Janey, Fitz, Laura, Pame..." He stopped himself, feeling a sickness similar to what he felt at the scrapyard creep up within him. "How the fuck did things go so bad?"
-Quinn and Kirk
"You really have to ask?" Jason prompted bitterly.
Sam gave him a look, "And what's that mean, huh, Murray?"
"Oh, like you want me to say it here?" he spread his arms, "I'm just saying, what happened last night..."
"...is something you should shut your fucking mouth about."
"Look, man, I'm just saying, something really weird is going on here and..."
"And what?"
Jason looked away, a pink flush creeping into his cheeks, "I...I saw him. Today."
-Jason and Sam
Quinn tensed, looking up at Jason. "Saw who?" His eyes widened as he quickly put the pieces together. "You don't mean..."
Jason nodded, "It was, uh...after I saw Pam," he flinched preemptively, accurately anticipating Sam's outburst.
"Pam?" he got to his feet, "You saw..."
"There wasn't much mystery about it!" Jason couldn't keep the tetch out of his voice, "She went to school, that's what she told me, and then she...I dunno, snuck into our school. I saw her after class."
"Why?"
"We...ran into each other," he wasn't about to talk about puking in the girls' bathroom. Things hadn't gotten bleak enough for that level of honesty yet, he hoped.
"How is she? What did she..."
"She didn't say anything. She kept grilling me, though, about what we were doing last night," he shrugged, turning to Kirk, "I didn't know what to say and then...well, then I fell into the pool. And I saw him."
-Jason and Sam
Kirk turned on his heel the instant Jason mentioned his sister. If he had truly been himself, he'd take Jason by the collar and find out more, why his friend hadn't said something earlier, how she was doing...
...but Kirk didn't have the will for that. Not anymore.
"So," he was still angry, though he tried to remain calm. "What you're telling me is that not only did you see my sister and you're only mentioning this now...but you saw him, too? Like a ghost?"
"It isn't too crazy," Quinn butted in, immediately feeling all eyes fall on him. "The ghosts, I mean. I saw some ghosts today. At the, uh...debate." He scratched his head awkwardly, regretting trying to put in his input. "I mean, my pops is alive but there can be ghosts of live people, right?"
Kirk quickly recalled the gaunt figure of his sister, lurching over him in the junkyard, and thrusting him into the abyss. "Yeah. I guess so."
-Kirk and Quinn
"Well, who was I supposed to tell, anyway?" Jason snapped despite himself, "Fitz left, Quinn was being suspended, Sam wasted no time beating it, and you weren't even around!"
He broke off, realizing he'd been raising his voice. A pair of nurses walking in the passage outside gave them a cursory look as they passed. Jason tensed, thinking he should apologize, that maybe he should've tried harder anyway to get their attention, or at least Kirk's attention, about Pam...
"You can't see a ghost of a live person, Maddox," said Sam, "Then it's not a ghost. You were just tripping, like Smith was."
"Oh, and was I tripping?" asked Jason, "When I saw him holding me down under the water and..."
"Shut up..."
"And talking to me, acting like I killed him myself..."
"Shut up!" Sam said again, taking a few steps away, "Just...just shut up about it."
Jason narrowed his eyes, "You saw him too," not a question.
Sam didn't answer, but they didn't really need him to at this point.
-Jason and Sam
The hospital was quieter than quiet. A near ghost-town as it dawned upon all of them that something was up.
"No..." Quinn got to his feet and began to anxiously pace back and forth. "No, no, no, no, no, this is not happening!"
"When I hit Laura..." Kirk spoke in a faraway voice. "...he was speaking to me. I heard him."
"No!" Quinn shouted in desperate anger. "You didn't hear anything, you didn't see anything, and I..." Flashes of Harry Quigley, beaten and battered after Quinn's assault on him. "...I'm just out of my gourd, alright? We all are."
-Quinn and Kirk
"Oh, and that's supposed to be any better?" asked Jason, "We're all going crazy because we killed..."
"Shut the fuck up, man!" Sam went for Jason, pushing him against the wall, jostling a framed landscape. He turned to Quinn, "And you shut up too. Jesus Christ," he let go of Jason, "And so what? We're all haunted b-by ghosts or by our guilty goddamn consciences and so fucking what?"
"What do you mean so what?" Jason asked incredulously.
"There's not much we can do about it now, can we? What happened happened. It wasn't fun for anybody, it wasn't some fucking good time, but we did what we had to do and it's done and it's over..."
"What if it isn't?" Jason prompted.
-Jason and Sam
"There is something we can do."
All heads turned to Kirk, who spoke with a resolute solemnity that none of the boys had ever heard him speak with.
"Oh, yeah?" Quinn got in his face, trying to appear macho but only succeeding to look more scared. "And what's that?"
Kirk glared at him, his eyes communicating a range of emotions from regret to resignation.
It didn't take Quinn long to get the picture. "Oh, no..." He felt like he was going to hurl, steadying himself against the wall.
-Kirk and Quinn
Sam turned slowly to Kirk, "You're not serious? Kirk, do I have to remind you what we're talking about here?"
-Sam
"What happened to the 'pact of silence', huh?" Quinn barked. "Not even a day passes and you're having second thoughts? What the fuck, bro?"
"What other choice do we have?" Kirk hissed, still intent on keeping his voice down. "We just let this shit eat at our consciences while we're being haunted or whatever the hell's going on right now? People are getting hurt now," he pointed Laura's room from afar. "Because we're going nuts over what we did last night."
"What 'we' did last night?" Quinn scoffed. "It was your idea!"
"Well, maybe..." Kirk almost exploded but stopped himself after a nurse shot him a glare from across the way. "...well, maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe...we took it too far. And whether you like it or not, we all had a part in this." He did a double-take before leaning into the group and whispering, "The deputy's here. We can make our case to him..."
-Quinn and Kirk
"We're not making a case to anybody!" said Sam, "Think for a second!"
He looked around at the others: Jason still hanging back, determinedly silent now, eyes flicking across the rest of them, Quinn loud but ultimately ineffectual, and Kirk, big and domineering, calling the shots like always.
Normally, Sam would've been just fine playing second fiddle. Not now.
"You know what happens when you go up and 'make your case'? Nobody's looking for the Gypsy now, but once you say something they're gonna dredge that lake like they're looking for the fucking Titanic, and they're gonna find that body and, because you already fuckin' confessed, they won't need to have an investigation. And you..." he pointed at Quinn, "You've got a lawyer Daddy. He can field an army of lawyer buddies out of his back pocket. You, Murray," he moved on to Jason, who winced, "Your folks have got money, you'll be fine. Forget about you," he turned next to Kirk, "You held the bastard down until he stopped moving, but Mommy and Daddy will look after you just the way they always have. It might be a little uncomfortable, might hurt your college chances, but it's not like you were gonna do anything but work at your Dad's fucking bank anyway, so it doesn't matter in the end, does it?"
He stepped back, "But me? My Dad's not gonna up and net a 50 grand tip at the hardware store. You can forget about a fancy lawyer, you can forget about my stupid lacrosse scholarship, you can forget about my whole goddamn life. So sorry about it...but you're not throwing my ass under the bus just so you can feel better about yourself."
-Sam and Jason
"It isn't about feeling better about myself!" Kirk lashed back, beating at his chest. "For God's sake, can't you get it through your head that there might be something bigger at play than just us?"
Quinn had retreated into silence along with Jason, timidly watching Kirk approach Sam with a furor he'd never seen in the big dog before.
"I can tolerate your poverty pity party. Definitely much more than the other guys on the team or at the school, for that matter," he jabbed Sam's chest with his finger. "But not today. I'm sorry, Sam. You're either with me on this or you're not. Either way, I'm doing what's right."
-Kirk and Quinn
"Something bigger," Sam repeated derisively, "You're tall, Devlin, but you don't have that much skin to save."
He looked around at the others, "Of course you're all good with this. Don't know why I'm surprised. Like you have more than a brain cell between you to think for yourselves. But when this all backfires...and it will..." he shrugged, "Don't come for me."
Jason cocked an eyebrow, "Where are you going? Sam!"
But Sam ignored him, charging over the threshold and out of sight. Jason followed as far as the doorway before catching himself, turning back to Kirk, "Should we go after him?" before realizing he was, in fact, deferring to Kirk like he couldn't think for himself.
Still, he stayed to hear his opinion anyway.
-Sam and Jason
Kirk watched with disdain as his best friend walked away with him. "Leave him. He'll come back."
"Yeah, well I won't." Quinn began his own march out of there. "You do what you want, Devlin. But I'm actually gonna look out for my friends. Maybe we can get Fitz's opinion on this. He's got a stake in this, too." And so he was gone, too, just leaving Kirk and Jason.
Things were quiet for a while, just the two of them standing there.
"Was she OK?" Kirk spoke up. "When you saw her. Was she hurt?"
-Kirk and Quinn
Jason gave a start at being addressed, but he cleared his throat, "She, uh, she looked okay. I mean...not hurt. That I could see."
Which was true as he'd been able to make out at the time.
"She gave me CPR," he added involuntarily, "When, uh...when I fell into the pool or...whatever happened. She dived in and pulled me out and gave me CPR. She..." he averted his eyes, his face suddenly quite hot, "She saved me."
-Jason
"She did, huh?" Kirk managed a weak smile. "You think she's home now?" He hoped she was. He hoped to see her again and talk about what happened. He hoped she was alright and to apologize for being such a jerk before.
Enough hoping. Kirk would.
"I'm going to check in on Laura, make sure everything's alright with her before I..." Kirk felt it didn't need to be said. "I'll see ya on the flip, Jason."
***
Quinn rapped a few knocks on the bathroom door. "Yo, Fitz? You cool in there?"
-Kirk and Quinn
Urinating had never been this harsh.
Fitz had been brought to a tiny bathroom, illuminated by a singular flickering lightbulb, to complete his evacuation. It was nothing at all like the kind of bathroom he was used to, with grimy blue tiles scuffed with black and gray. The dim light offered a view of the room's three primary features, which Fitz had spent a good time examining.
First, was the toilet: an old-fashioned make, with a low tank. The bathroom was so small that there was barely room to stand between the toilet and the opposite wall. Indeed, it was possible to walk right into the toilet from the doorway, as Fitz's sore shin had learned upon his entry to this place.
Second was the sink. It was a sad little thing, a basin crudely affixed to the wall opposite the door, half of it positioned so it was over the toilet bowl. Markings on the wall suggested there had once been a mirror over the sink, but it was long gone. Fitz had no way of looking at himself, except to peer into the toilet.
(And oh the shame! The shame!)
Third, and most fascinating, was a sign over the toilet, preserved behind a grungy plastic screen. Fitz had read it so often now that he could recite it as easily as the Pledge of Allegiance.
"One," he repeated now, "Wash hands, paying particular attention to fingernails."
He had scrubbed and scrubbed, but there was no soap to be had, and precious water from the sink tap, and nowhere to dry his hands except his gown, so now he was damp and soggy.
"Two, position the sample cup for easy collection."
The sample cup was the plastic container the doctor had given him. This, of course, meant that the toilet was redundant, and he needn't worry about it, so he didn't. Instead, Fitz had devised what he thought was a clever solution: with one hand, he positioned the cup just above the toilet bowl. With the other, he adhered to the next instruction:
"Three: Firmly grasp the urinary meatus."
It had taken Fitz some minutes of critical thinking and a little prayer and some tears to devise what a urinary meatus was. Thankfully, he eventually realized this meant Penis, and of course the rest seemed pretty plain.
So here he stood, one hand on the cup and the other on his meatus, waiting for such time as he could fulfill...
"Four: Fill the sample cup to at least the bottom measurement."
But alas! The sensation had not come upon him. He'd even kept the sink running, the anemic trickle providing a monotonous soundtrack to his humiliation. What a useless lout he was, that he couldn't even urinate on command! His father was bound to disown him now. Fitz couldn't blame him. If he had a son who couldn't urinate into a cup...
A knock at the door!
"Quinn!" Fitz croaked, "Oh, I am fine! Fine. I am concentrating on my urinary meatus."
-Fitz
"Oh." Quinn tried to process what the hell Fitz was talking about. "That's, uh....that's tubular." He paused. "How long you been in there?"
"I don't know!" Fitz answered, "30, 45 minutes."
This was so embarrassing! Perhaps he could transform his weakness into perceived strength via weaponized obliviousness.
"I'm one of the fastest urinators in my family!" he added, he hoped quite confidently, "This is nothing!"
-Fitz
Damn, they must be giving him a lot of morphine.
"Well, uh...I'm not arguing that. Don't get it twisted." Quinn was tempted to tell Fitz what Kirk was considering, but there were better ways to do it than through the locked bathroom door. "Look, I...I just wanted to let you know that...I'm here if you need anything. You know that, right? I got your back." He wanted to say more, about how scared he was, how alone he felt after last night and everything that went down afterwards. It was turning out that Quinn had less and less people to talk to, but he knew Fitz could always be one of them.
Quinn kept this all to himself. "Like, if you need something to help you...go, I could get something. I think they got vending machines down the hall..."
"Sunny-D!" Fitz declared, the eureka moment descending on him as if from on high, "That never fails to get me going! Oh, thank you, Quinn, thank you, you're the best friend I ever had! I must repay you the favor someday. And I will! I will!"
-Fitz