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Part XII: 1988- End of Innocence
Quinn panted as Fitz closed the door behind them, sealing the two in this cramped, dark, smelly bathroom…but it was a safe bathroom. And that was all that mattered.
"Oh man…" He gasped, hands on his knees. "Ohhhhhhh man, oh man, oh man…I…that was…oh man…" Even though he couldn't see Fitz, Quinn tried to show his gratitude. "Thanks, Fitz. That thing was gonna eat me…"
The sound of running liquid pattering on the floor distracted him. The scent of the stuff distracted him even more.
He glanced at where he thought Fitz was, secondhand embarrassment clear on his face (but not so clear in the dark).
"Oh, think nothing of it," said Fitz, "It was no…"
He realized he was urinating.
"Oh. Imagine that."
The cup had been dropped…into the toilet, likely, though it was hard to tell in the dark…when he'd heard Quinn cry out.
"Never mind," Fitz decided, "At least I know I did it."
And he wasn't about to let go of this door for anything.
***
"You pull back the curtains…"
Laura burst through the door into the stairwell and nearly tumbled down a flight, just barely managing to catch herself on the railing in time. She could hear pop music from one of the upper floors, like someone was having a party.
She tried to yell something out, to the effect of "Help me, you motherfuckers!", but it didn't sound very convincing in her current state.
The way she saw it, she could either drag herself up or half-tumble down. Down made the most sense, but there were definitely people up there. For all she knew, the entire hospital had gone on strike the second the lights went out.
Biting her lip to hold back a grunt of pain, she pulled herself upright on the landing's windowsill, peering down to the parking lot below. She got a look at herself reflected in the glass: face drawn and bloody, hair hanging lankly into her face.
Something was running up behind her.
"And the sun burns into your eyes…"
The beast lunged at her. Laura barely had time to turn around before she fell into and then out of the window, glass splintering around her. The air swallowed her scream. There was nothing in the world but the monster's yellow eyes, the jaw hanging open, claws digging into her shoulders…
Her grasping hand caught something, just in time.
"You watch a plane flying…"
Laura was hanging from the bottom of the fire escape landing, supported by her fingertips, the rest of her swaying limply in the air.
Squeezing her eyes shut in a desperate attempt to get to her senses, she appreciated she had at least managed to hang on while the monster couldn't.
A growl from close beneath.
"Across a clear blue sky…"
The beast was clinging to the side of the hospital, only a few feet beneath her, claws gauging into the bricks. It had eyes only for her, resuming its ascent, scaling the wall paw over paw, saliva dripping from its fangs.
"Oh, Jesus fuck…"
Laura kept climbing, forcing herself up against the railing of the landing, the rickety metal trellis shaking under her weight. She had just begun to lift one leg over the railing onto the landing proper when she felt something grab her by the leg, razor sharp claws digging into her flesh.
"This is the day your life will surely change…"
She wailed like a baby, pulling desperately against the monster's grip, feeling skin tear and blood spurt. She kicked back, feeling her foot connect with something hairy. The monster's grip slackened and she fell forward onto the fire escape stairs.
She ran up, limping now thanks to her hurt leg, grabbing wildly to the railing for purchase. The monster pursued her, its weight shaking the entire fire escape. Laura could hear groans of protest from the old metal. Every step it took shook the whole thing directly to its foundations.
She was bleeding, from her leg, from her arm, from she didn't know how many scrapes she'd picked up from broken glass. If she were more lucid, she might be able to be appreciably terrified by how high up she was, but now all she could really comprehend was how near the monster pursuing her was.
If she could just get higher, higher…
"This is the day when things fall into place…"
The fire escape shook again. Laura fell forward, feeling something catch on the hem of her gown.
The monster had the fabric in its teeth. It pulled back, she pulled forward. Fabric tore…
Something gave. With a horrible snapping noise, the fire escape came loose from the wall, falling to earth. There was a dispossessed, angry howl, receding into the night as the metal monster plunged down, taking its bestial burden with it.
And that was all it took.
"This is the day your life will surely change…"
Laura lifted herself up onto the roof, her gown torn to shreds, covered in blood from head to toe, weak and wounded but alive.
She lay back against the cold concrete surface, breathing raggedly up at the gleaming moon in the night sky, sobs turning into wild, hysterical, relieved laughter.
"This is the day your life will surely change…"
-Fitz and Laura
***
Dr. Galdamez vomited profusely into the bushes outside of the hospital, which had quickly become surrounded by EMTs and police following the mysterious murder on 4D. He had not felt this sick in years, decades even, perhaps not since the very decade he found himself in now.
Another bout of bile. He had long since stopped puking into his Devo hat, which had begun to overflow with the ghastly mush. His hands trembled as hot flashes overcame him. Gods curse him, Galdamez was close to fainting!
What a colossal failure. The mystical doctor knew this spell would be a risky one, sending these people back to the past...oh, but it was the only way to discover the truth of the evil that haunted them and all of Lakewood! And he was only supposed to guide! Not to interfere, lest the cast be broken and all of them be doomed!
"'Seven seekers shall go forth in bear witness...and only seven shall return...'" Galdamez repeated the specter's mantra from the séance again and again, as if it was the only thing that could keep him conscious. Seven seekers, cut down to six. With Jamie's passing, the others were in jeopardy of forever remaining in the past. He needed a seventh traveler, but who? Who could take the mantle as the Seeker of 1988's Truth and restore the integrity of the spell? Who?! WHO?!
***
The soothing melody of synthesizers and bass making love had made the train ride back to Lakewood bearable. As the humble town came into view through the window, it almost appeared to be...beautiful. Serene.
A deceptive song if she ever heard one.
"A thought that never changes/Remains a stupid lie/It's never been...quite the same..."
Or maybe not. Maybe Lakewood would become something different for her. Something...good.
Home.
"No hearing or breathing/No movement, no colors/Just silence."
Her fingers instinctively went to the scars on her wrists, just barely covered by her baggy coat. No...things would be different. She swore they would be. She had already given up too much, and she still had much more to do and much more to say...
"Rise and fall of shame/A search that shall remain..."
The train slowed to a stop. She picked up her ratty duffel bag, just barely jostling her Walkman, and headed for the exit.
"We asked you what you'd seen/You said you didn't care."
As she stepped onto the platform, she looked out to the horizon. The sky was painted a violet hue as the sun rose. A beautiful sight as it was welcome. She released a sigh of relief, a wide grin spreading across her face, comprising of equal parts of celebration and astonishment.
It was a new dawn in Lakewood. And Vicki March was going to make the most of it.
***
-Dr. Galdamez and Vicki
Pamela was awoken before dawn, by an insistent knocking at the door...persistent and stubborn, forcibly jarring her from already uneven sleep.
"Ugh..." she blinked blearily, the flowers on her wallpaper sluggishly coming into focus, and the glaring red digits on her bedside clock radio searing into her retinas as another knock sounded.
"Laura!" she cried, her voice hoarse and scratchy from disuse. She wouldn't expect a verbal response from the housekeeper at the best of times, but the lack of an aggressively slammed door and elephantine footsteps on the stairs suggested that Laura wasn't just being difficult...she wasn't here.
She hadn't been around when she came back either, but that had been so late in the night that Pam had figured of course she wouldn't be. Still, her shift would've started by now and, failing that, Kirk would no doubt be stampeding along to see to it.
Slowly, Pamela sat upright in bed, shaking her hair out of her face to look out at the predawn gloom outside the rain-splattered window, beyond which licks of red and white light strobed in a steady rhythm.
Sirens.
Another knock, so loud it seemed to fill the house. Pamela wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a prickle of goosebumps along the skin there.
In another moment, she'd thrown the coverlet aside and grabbed her robe: a silky, satiny confection still draped over the chair in the corner where Sam had thrown it only a few nights ago. Beneath it, her plush Eeyore looked at her with baleful eyes. Unthinkingly, she scratched it between the floppy ears like a puppy, aware of how chilly the house was in the dawning.
She set out down the stairs, the stale taste of iron in the back of her mouth. By now, she didn't expect anyone to pop out of a door and announce their presence. She was as alone in this house as she'd been when she'd gotten back last night.
Which begged the question of just who was at the door, wanting to be let in. She could make out shillouettes in the frosted glass: two men, uniformed, as if the flashing lights weren't clue enough.
Go faster, a snide voice urged her, Come on, hurry up.
But she didn't pick the pace. It was stupid, immature even, but she had this sense that if she took her time, she might rob some urgency from the situation.
Finally, with unsteady hands, she unbolted the door to reveal two policemen...sheriff's deputies. She knew them by sight, but not name, though even if she did know their names, they'd have fled her mind at once at the sight of them. Her guts twisted in her chest.
One of the deputies...young and pretty good looking. If she weren't so out of it, Pamela might be mortified to be caught in her pajamas, no makeup and her hair in a rat's nest in front of a blue-eyed dish like this. As it was though, she could only stand there, blinking vacantly.
"Pamela Murray?" the deputy asked, painstakingly gentle.
Mutely, Pam nodded, eventually choking out a labored, "Y-yes. Yes, that's me."
"Are your, uh..." he moistened his lips, "Are your parents home, ma'am?"
Her heart was in her mouth. She shook her head again, "They're in Europe. Until..."
Until Kirk's graduation, she was going to say, but couldn't get the words out. The deputy was taking his hat off, his hands sort of fidgeting as if he was unaccustomed to this sort of ceremony.
"No," she shook her head, "No, no..."
"I'm very sorry, ma'am, but your brother..."
Pam slammed the door in his face, unthinking. She could hear the deputy talking on the other side, placating and, to his credit, not calling for the battering ram. It all sounded like word soup to her, though. Her brother, Kirk, who she'd last seen so ornery and upset...
He was looking for me, she remembered: a cold, hard fact coalescing in her hollow chest like a lump of ice.
Slowly, she slid down to the floor, shaking hand pressed over her mouth, expecting a sob to choke itself out of her lungs, but none came, even as her face heated up and her vision grew bleary, every inch of her anticipating, leaning in to tears.
There she went again...betraying herself.
***
"We'll be back a little late tonight, Paulie, remember."
"I remember your date night, Daddy," Paula assured him, getting on her tiptoes (she hadn't put her platforms on yet) to fix his tie, "You and Mom have fun, right?"
"Well, that's the hope. These reservations weren't easy to come by."
"Worse comes to worse, there's always the Jack in the Box."
Her father looked at her bemusedly, "...you have a good day, sweetheart."
Paula waved him off, leaning in the doorway as she watched the car vanish around the corner. Sighing, she closed the door and returned to the kitchen just in time to grab her Pop Tarts right out of the toaster without burning herself, a deft acrobatic gesture she was especially proud of herself for perfecting. She hummed lightly along to the radio as she took a tentative bite, quietly gouging the humidity of the day so she could determine whether she should scrunch her hair up or wear it down today.
"Lakewood K-L-A..." the heavily synthed-up vocals piped in through the radio as "Eternal Flame" came to a close. Paula softly sang along with the jingle: "News and weather for your daaaay..."
"Good morning, Lakewood! It is Tuesday, May 9, and it's gonna be one for the books!"
"Choice," Paula congratulated herself. Yesterday had been so gloomy, even without all the drama with Pam and Kirk. She frowned, contemplating calling the Devlin house to see what had come of all that mess. The right thing to do might be to wait until homeroom, but she wasn't sure she could handle arriving at her desk and realizing Pamela wasn't at the one next to her.
"Highs in the low 70s, and sunshine all through the day. Make the most of it, yeah?"
Paula hummed noncommittally, putting her cleared plate in the sink and deciding that, since she'd be coming home to an empty house tonight, there was no reason to get all pruny doing the dishes now.
"Got some breaking news for you this morning...an incident at Lakewood General Hospital, still under investigation..."
There was a thud from upstairs. Paula looked up, gripping the edge of the counter.
"...early reports from the hospital have it that an unknown assailant attacked the ICU, leaving two dead and one in critical con..."
Another thud, louder and heavier than the first. Paula, who had been willing to write off the first sound as just the house settling, felt her heart skip a beat.
"...no word yet on the identities of the victims, but eyewitness accounts suggest at least one was a patient at the hospital..."
Someone was definitely upstairs. Paula's first instinct was to switch off the radio so she could hear better, but on second thought, she left the dial undisturbed, instead grabbing the nearest blunt instrument she could get her hands on.
"Sheriff Vinson is expected to hold a press conference at 9:00 AM, but spox from the LSD..." brief, self-indulgent chuckle at the generation-old joke, "Have indicated the assailant is still at large and believed to be very dangerous. And now back to DJ Schwoz with the AM Rush..."
So it was that Paula ascended the stairs, armed with a mostly full box of strawberry Pop Tarts. The footstep-like sounds had stopped, to be replaced by a ragged, definitely human noise...
Breathing. From her room.
A series of frenzied, fevered thoughts ran rapidly through Paula's mind, faces flickering by as though in a kid's flipbook. She put her hand on the doorknob and noticed a shadow moving beyond.
That did it. With a frenzied squeal, Paula threw the door open and, eyes squeezed shut, swung her Pop Tarts with all the oomph she had in her.
"Argh! Jesus fucking Christ..." a hand grabbed her by the arm to stay her and Paula opened her eyes to see the crumbly breakfast pastries now scattered on the floor, the bedspread, and...
"Sam?" terror morphed into irritation and then concern at the look of him, "What happened to you?"
Her surly adversary's eyes lingered on Paula's arm and slowly withdrew his hand, though her skin was still stained with the blood clinging to his fingers.
"It's a long story..."
"It's blood!" Paula realized, seeing more on his arms, and bruises on his face, fresher than the one he'd gotten from Sal Foster at the mall that day.
"Yeah, I noticed that, thank you."
"What happened?" Paula demanded, "And what are you doing here? Climbing into my window, like..." she crossed to the still open window and saw, indeed, that he'd gotten blood on the sill.
"I need help."
"No duh," she replied automatically, looking down into the flowerbed to see that, yes, he'd made hell in the magnolias.
"...you wanna maybe give me some?" this was quieter and, for Sam, almost self-aware.
Paula gripped the windowsill and let out a sigh, looking heavenward, "Barf me out," before turning back to him, "You can stop bleeding on my bed, for starters."
***
The sun was just beginning to rise over the lacrosse field. People would probably be showing up for school soon. St. George boys, all kitted out in red and black. They'd be one short this morning, Jimmy figured.
He knew he should probably call it quits. Not go to his school...he didn't know if he could stand it, normalcy be damned. Then again, it probably would be more normal for him to skip school than the other way around.
He looked out at the field, the white lines on the turf, still sparkling with morning dew, and found himself thinking of Leo, sprawled out on the pitch after his beating, pulling himself up to the lowermost bleacher.
"I'm alright, really. You should..."
"See the other guy?" Jimmy finished for him, "I did. They looked pretty jolly."
The bloody lip quirked into a pained smile, "...you should go."
Jimmy had cocked an eyebrow, "Go where?"
"You must have someplace else to be," he looked Jimmy over, seeming to notice he wasn't wearing a uniform, "Don't you go here?"
"I go all over the place. It's one of my defects...or charms. Nah, I live off the taxpayer dollars of you St. George boys. Sorry about that."
"Not me..."
"What, your folks don't pay taxes?" but Jimmy got his meaning and smiled to show he did, "That why they were beating on you? No war but class war?"
"Probably, but the accent doesn't help."
"Oh, yeah, it's a kickass accent. They're probably mad jealous."
Leo laughed...and that was something, that he laughed at Jimmy's stupid, self-aggrandizing jokes. People didn't do that...not even Sal. She was too brutally honest.
"So where are you from?" he didn't bother to think that might be an inconvenient or tasteless question...that he probably got it a lot and it was rarely friendly. Leo smiled thinly, "Nowhere."
Jimmy shrugged, "Right. Shitty question. Sorry."
"No," he shook his head, "That's the answer. Like...culturally. I'm from nowhere...which also, sometimes, means everywhere."
Jimmy considered, smirking, "Lucky you."
The sun was breaking over the bleachers at the opposite end of the field, staining everything pale pink and gold. Jimmy wondered what would happen if he looked straight at it...if he'd go blind or something. Would be a pretty fucking stupid thing to do to yourself.
He looked anyway.
-Pamela, Deputy Kowalski, Paula, Sam, and Jimmy
Sal lit a cigarette, the early morning sun on her face as she blasted the tunes of her Walkman in her ears, it felt off, it all did. Her brother felt off, this town had a sideways look to it, everything.
She couldn't wait to get the hell out of dodge, leave everything and everyone behind. Be a traveler of the world like Leo had suggested she'd be so good at.
Jimmy turned slowly, dimly aware of someone else coming down the length of the bleachers. Not a St. George boy...or, well, a boy at all.
He met his sister's eyes for maybe a fraction of a second and hastily looked away, his stomach turning.
"No girls allowed, sis," he said bluntly, "Unless you spontaneously sprouted an extra chromosome over night."
For some reason, the thought brought an ugly, cruel laugh up his throat, hastily squashed.
"Or whatever. I don't know how it works," he wrinkled his nose up at the acrid smell of her cigarette, "I don't know much."
***
"Just sit down..." Paula said tiredly, shouldering the door open.
"Where?" Sam asked, pretty frickin' obstinately if you asked Paula's opinion. She gave him a look, "Where else?"
He followed her gaze to the toilet, "Jesus."
"Don't be a baby. It had a cozy!" she indicated the fluffy pink toilet seat cover (she same shade as the tiles, of course) with one hand.
"Look, this was a bad idea..."
"Well, duh!" she said again, opening the medicine cabinet, "It was a bad idea when you got covered in blood," she waited two seconds, "This is when you tell me how that happened."
"Don't push your luck."
"My luck?" she closed the cabinet as quickly as she'd opened it, causing the little bottles inside to rattle audibly on their shelves, "Yeah, totes, Sammy. This is just what I wanted to do this morning. Rummaging around Mom's Pepto for Bacetracin so you don't bleed to death..."
"What did you call me?" he protested.
"Let me see," she got down on one knee in front off him.
"See what?" he raised a preemptive hand to swat her away, which she caught in the wrist. For a moment, his eyes blazed dangerously and Paula felt a flicker...the barest flicker...of fear. This passed in due course: Sam made no motion as she lifted her other hand to get a look at the bloody line running down his neck.
"Looks bad," she observed.
"I know it's bad."
"Oh, well, if you know so much you know there's nothing I can do," she folded her arms, getting back to full height.
"What? What do you mean?"
"I mean, I can wash it out..." she grabbed a hand towel (pink, with flowery fringe) and dampened it in the sink, "So it doesn't infected."
"Yeah, but like...can't you bandage it up or something?"
"Pfft. Yeah, sure, put a Band-Aid on the Grand Canyon."
He lifted a hand toward the gash, as if to make sure it really was that wide. Tutting dismissively, Paula swatted his hand with the wet towel and began dabbing the wound with it.
"Ow! Fucking shit, Paula..."
"Stop whining!" she scolded, "God, how does Pammy even put up with..."
He gave her a look and, feeling bad for invoking her missing friend, Paula desisted. She thought about asking if there was any connection, if Pamela had anything to do with this. In the end, though, she managed only some practical advice, "You're gonna have to go to the hospital."
What little color was left drained from Sam's face, "No."
"Don't be stupid..."
"I'm not going to the fucking hospital. So if that's your biggest bit of advice, Paula, is to call the ambulance, than forget it," he began to stand up, "Sorry for wasting your time."
"Hey!" she sprang to her feet, moving unthinkingly to block the bathroom door, "Where are you going?"
He looked at her like she'd gone stupid. Paula silently cursed boys and, aloud, pointed out, "You can't just ignore it, Sam. You're pretty cut up. It's gonna get infected, or you're gonna bleed out, or..."
"I'm not going to the hospital."
She bit her lip, looking him over, "Don't want anyone asking questions, huh?"
This was maybe a dangerous thing to ask, but it was hard to believe Sam had much heft in those meathooks of his, not in this state. He just stood there, kind of stupidly, staring vacantly. Paula decided he wasn't dumb enough to go on his own, but too proud to admit Paula was right.
Ugh.
"Come on," she sighed shortly.
"What?" but she was already grabbing her bag from the foot of her bed.
"There is a place we can fix you up."
"I told you. I'm not going to the goddamn hospi..."
"It's not the hospital, and my ass is grass if I get caught bringing you there, so you're gonna behave on the way and be super super thankful I'm such a nice girl."
He made a face like she'd just farted or something and Paula rolled her eyes, shouldering her purse, "Grab a towel from the closet. Mom'll kill me if I get blood on the backseat."
"The backseat?"
"Don't test me, Sam!"
-Jimmy, Paula, and Sam
"Ashes to ashes, funk to funky/We know Major Tom's a junkie/Strung up in heaven's high/Hitting an all-ti..."
The music cut out, inadvertently causing Vicki to stir from her sleep. The cab ride from the station had gone on for so long, and with her already running low on sleep, she should have known she'd lull off to her playlist.
She also should have known she'd run out of batteries for her Walkman but what was more forgivable, considering the nature of her...departure. Vicki didn't have much time to really pack.
As she shrugged off her headphones, a voice from the front seat caught her off-guard, "Finally. You're awake. Was talkin' to ya for God knows how long 'fore I realized you were in La La Land."
"Oh..." Vicki cleared her throat, guilty as her parents raised her to be in situations like this. "Sorry."
"Nah, nah," he dismissed her apology nonchalantly. "S'alright. You're better than most. I'm used to being told to shut up and drive." She caught a glimpse of his smirk in the rear-view mirror, a gold tooth that long lost its luster standing out to her. "You must not be from around here."
Vicki was tempted to keep her mouth shut and hold all details close to her chest, but this man didn't seem to be any kind of threat; definitely not the worst she'd encountered on her way back here. "I am, actually. Born and raised."
"Well, shit..." He caught himself, realizing who his audience was. "Pardon my French."
"Don't worry," she smiled back. "I've heard worse."
"So you are from around here, then. Heh!" The driver picked at his eye as he rounded another corner, starting to leave the more common small town for the upper class area Lakewood, entrenched in a sylvan fortress that was near impenetrable to the peasants who lived downtown. "You were on vacation then?"
Vicki wrinkled her nose, honestly finding the statement funny; she was at a "ski lodge" these last few weeks. That was what she told Kirk and all her friends. A glamorous lie that had done the trick. "I went on a brief getaway, yeah." She was technically still being honest, which impressed her. Vicki had grown adept at lying lately, so adept she knew how to simultaneously lie and tell the truth. She was a different person before her "getaway", that much was true.
"And you came back?" Another corner rounded, entering deeper into the upper crest of Lakewood; Vicki noticed just how bleak and overcast the sky looked over the trees up on the horizon. "Lakewood's a town you leave, if you're lucky enough. Nothin' worth comin' back for..."
"People," Vicki found herself interrupting, surprising both herself and the cabbie.
Quickly, he understood. "Ohhhhhhh..." Quietly, he snickered to himself. "That's what it is, nine times out of ten. Dumb love. Love that makes ya so dumb, it convinces ya you can't find it anywhere else. Especially dumb if you're young..."
"I've just got unfinished business," Vicki replied vaguely, leaving herself wondering if those were the right words.
"So do ghosts," the driver quipped. "Let them do all the haunting. You go live your own life. Go on adventures, go to college, go on dates, whatever--Lakewood ain't a town for the living. Not the actual living."
Vicki tilted her head, somewhat amused. "You act like you're a ghost yourself."
"Sometimes..." He trailed off, lost in thoughts Vicki could only guess. "All I'm saying is...there ain't much for young folk here. Go live your life somewhere else where it's worth living? Ya hear?"
She smiled warmly, now thinking of her own dreams. "Trust me. I plan on it." Vicki leaned her head against the car window dreamily, thinking about how hard she fought to get here, the things she had to say, the obstacles she had to overcome.
Things were finally falling into place. Lakewood would soon be a thing of the past for her.
***
But things were never that easy, were they? The parked police car in front of the Devlin house immediately filled her with uneasiness, as did the officer fiddling with his hat on the porch.
Vicki didn't leave much time for further niceties with the cab driver, quickly stuffing the rest of the money she had in his hand (likely giving him a generous tip, too, but she could care less about her already sparse financial situation right now), hearing a concerned "Thank you" from the cabbie. Maybe he would have stayed to see what the hell was going on but he seemed the type to steer away from any bad news he could, as he drove away and back to the streets to make his dime. He was wiser than Vicki in this respect.
She knew it wasn't smart to directly approach the cop having come this far but Vicki couldn't think smartly know. Her head was clouded with so many fears, the weight of the regrets she'd feel about the things she'd never said before it was too late...
"Hey!" Vicki called out to the cop on the porch, her brow furrowed in concern. "What's happening here? Is everything OK?" She scanned the windows for any sign of Kirk or Pam or their parents, unless they were still in Europe. Nothing. Not a sign of life, she could see from out here.
Maybe the driver was right. Lakewood wasn't a place you should return to. Not unless you were looking for trouble.
***
Officer Hamm couldn't stomach it, nor could he understand it. So much blood. Those...those weren't people in there. Not anymore. Whatever happened in that hospital room...he couldn't even imagine.
Officer Fallow approached Hamm, wheeling around cardboard ring. "Outta caution tape. Get some more from the squad car, will ya?"
Hamm was so green to the gills, face coated with sweat, he couldn't muster the will to answer him.
"Hey! Dougie!" Fallow snapped in his partner's face. "You with me?"
"Yeah, yeah. S'just..." Hamm whimpered, crying and feeling embarrassed about it. "It's so sad..."
"For the love of..." Fallow stopped himself from going into one of his usual tirades. "Yeah. I know. I'm sad, too. Sad that I'm doin' the all the work 'round here while you make like my wife listening to a Barry Manilow concert."
"I'm sorry, Rich, I'm sorry!" Hamm yelped defensively. "It's just...who could...what could..."
"I dunno, Dougie! But we ain't gonna be findin' out sitting here and twiddling our thumbs! Ka-peesh?"
Hamm didn't respond, his eyes widening and not even looking back Fallow.
"Hey, you listening to me?" Fallow prodded, getting impatient. "I said, 'ka-peesh'. Do you 'ka-peesh'?"
Hamm slowly raised his trembling hand, pointing over Fallow's shoulder in horror.
"Aw, for fuck's sake. Yeah, I know, it's not pretty back there. Inhumane and all that but once you're there for a while, the smell kinda..." He turned and followed Hamm's finger, causing him to shriek, "OH MY GOODNESS! FUCK!"
It was the girl's eye, or what was left of it, squashed to bits. There was a noticeable footprint on it.
"Ohhhhhh no! No, no, NO!" Fallow immediately checked his right boot, crying out louder. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"
Hamm, still scared shitless, stammered, "I-I tried to tell ya, I tried to tell ya..."
"There's bits stuck in there!" Fallow whined inconsolably. "The blood, I can wash off. But that's...that's...flesh! Like, tiny chunks! Like..." He paled a horrifying shade of white. "...evidence." Thinking quickly, he ordered Hamm, "Sweep that up that eye before the sheriff gets back. I gotta go to the bathroom and wash this out before it sets in."
"B-b-b-b-but..."
"Dougie, so help me God, if you don't listen to me, I'm cleanin' my boot off your face, do you hear me?"
That got him in line quickly enough as Hamm searched for the nearest mop to dispose of the girl's now-estranged, mushed eyeball.
In a hurry, Fallow hopped on one leg, so as not to let the offal press any further into the sole of his boot. He passed by the waiting room, where some of the other boys were still questioning the nurses, doctors, and administration, trying to make one sensical story outta bunch of nonsensical anecdotes with no success so far.
It was simple to Fallow. You let enough crack enter a neighborhood, of course crazy shit like this happens. Probably happened all the time in Chicago and New York. But no! His wife called him an apathetic brute for voting for Reagan twice! Because of course he was wrong! Why couldn't Rich Fallow be more understanding and kind like Jimmy Carter or Barry Manilow or the grocer at A&P who keeps eying her caboose?
Finally! The bathroom! There was still time to save his boot, yet! He just needed to open the door...
Locked? Oh, of fucking course. "Hey!" He banged on the door. "You finishing up in there!" No response. "Hello?" He'd have typically expected a flush of the toilet but still...nothing. "Come on!" He knocked on the door again. Still, nothing. "Son of..."
He spotted an elderly janitor out of the corner of his eye. "Hey! Jeeves! Open this up, will ya? I've got a situation over here!"
The janitor shrugged noncommittally. "If it's occupied, it's occupied. Can't do nothin' about it. There's a bathroom two floors down, though..."
"I gotta go now and whoever's in there ain't opening up. Now are you gonna do me a solid or do I need to flash my badge?"
The janitor sighed, complying as he fished for his keys. "Ol' Sparky finds himself under the boot again. Just my luck..."
"Yeah, yeah, story of my life. Open the door!"
"I'm doing it, I'm doing it..." As Ol' Sparky worked the key in the lock, he asked casually, "Now are you boys cleaning that mess over there or is that another thing I'll have to..."
The door opened, presenting a sight that left both Fallow and Ol' Sparky speechless: two young men, dead asleep, leaning on each other in a puddle of piss, with an empty urine sample cup rolled off to a nearby corner.
Despite their differences, the two men found themselves thinking the same thing: I need a new job.
-Vicki, Cabbie, Officers and Ol' Sparky
Officer Kowalski turned on his heel, nearly dropping his hat. At the sight of the young woman, he relaxed, but only just.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't comment on an active investigation," he looked the girl over, wondering quietly who she might be. The trouble with this case was that there were so many fragmented parts, all lying around a big metaphorical (though literal enough, in some cases) blast zone. Hard to tell where everyone fit in. The girl was the right age to be contemporaries with the Devlin kid...a girlfriend, maybe...
Or maybe not, Kowalski considered, recalling the testimony of the irascible charge nurse on Unit 4D:
"The girl? No, no. She wasn't a patient. Visitor. Our clerk was supposed to be doing the rota on that. That's not a nurse's job. That's the thing with this place. Always pilin' things on the nurses. It's not right, I tell you, it's wicked..."
"Ms. Sawyers, be that as it may...do you know who the girl was? That is, her relationship to the deceased?"
"Pfft. The man in Bed 3 heard that and all, and he couldn't tell you what year it is. Girl was that shouty boy's baby mama."
"...really?"
"Or whatever they're calling it now. And we thought that was the big drama of the day! This place, I'm telling you..."
So not a girlfriend, then. Or maybe...
"Vicki?" the door opened behind him. The girl on the threshold was an attractive blond in a light wrap. She looked past Kowalski as if he wasn't there, to the other girl. Her face was pink, stained by recent tears.
"You're back," she said softly, "What...what was..." she looked back and forth; Kowalski found himself wondering if she thought this girl had any idea what had happened, which she didn't...
Or shouldn't. Unless she did.
"What are you doing here?" she asked eventually, not looking away from the other girl.
***
Fitz's dreams were a mixed up muddle of bears, both gummy and flesh. It seemed no matter what he tried, he couldn't get away from them. There was always some sort of ursine creeper around the next corner: snoozing on the train tracks or bathing in the urine collection canister.
Would his dreams be forever tormented now, by the big, lumbering brutes? He supposed it was some small consolation that Quinn had seen the hair bear with his own eyes, so Fitz knew he wasn't totally bugging, to turn a phrase.
Oh, but what a gnarly night! Fitz almost wished he really was veggin'...
The creak of a door opening brought Fitz out of his dreams.
"Mmmmmm..." he moaned sleepily, feeling a firm, broad chest beneath his fingers, "Oh, my..."
He smiled pleasantly, turning his head from his muscled palette to blink wearily at the harsh fluorescent lighting through the newly-opened door, in which he could see a tall, imposing figure, a shadow against the light.
Joy turned to ashes in his mouth.
"IT'S HIM! IT'S HIM!" Fitz bellowed, as the world rapidly concretized around him, "HE'S PICKED THE LOCK! QUINN! QUINN!"
For, indeed, it was Quinn he'd been sleeping with and oh doy, but the rest of Fitz must've been clued into this before his head was.
"THE BEAR!" Fitz cried, bunching his soiled skirts about himself to better disguise his hella grand erection, "GET HIM!"
He picked up the urine cup (wet on the outside, if not the in) and hurled it at their aggressor.
-Kowalski, Pamela, and Fitz
Vicki froze when she saw Pamela open the door, looking frazzled but nonetheless a sight for sore eyes. It had felt like an eternity since they had seen each other and Vicki wanted nothing more than to catch up and laugh over a few sodas like old times.
But today didn't look like one of those days. Whatever was going on now didn't feel right, like some creeping specter haunting over the Devlin house. As if with Vicki, bad news followed or at least, she followed bad news. Lately, it seemed her and disaster never spent that much time apart.
"I..." She laughed sheepishly, finding herself lost for words given the circumstances. Vicki thought she'd have known what to say, considering what it took to get her here. But here she was, stammering like a schoolgirl on her first day of classes. "I'm back," was all Vicki mustered. "I'm back home." Her smile was short-lived, though, when she glanced at the officer yet and was reminded of the looming dread presiding over this reunion. "What's happening here?" She turned to Pamela. "Where's Kirk?"
***
With Fitz's ruckus, Quinn awoke as well, screaming, "S'A GORILLA!" He scrambled to get to his feet but immediately slipped in the urine, causing him to scamper in the stinking wetness.
The sample cup made contact with Fallow's eye, prompting him to release a slew of very creative profanities.
Ol' Sparky was surprisingly unfazed, simply commenting, "So it was occupied." Clicking his tongue, he returned gingerly to his previous station, muttering, "Waste o' my time, I tell you. Three more floors to mop, three more floors..."
Quinn had regained some awareness of his surroundings about five slips later, calming down enough and noticing the fuming officer holding his now injured eye. "Oh, man..."
"'Oh, man,' is right!" Fallow snapped, roaring, "Boss! We've got some new suspects!"
-Vicki, Quinn and Fallow
Pamela had gone very white. The brief flicker of hope that had crossed her features at the sight of Vicki dimmed.
"I thought..." she shook her head, "I thought you might've..."
"Maybe you'd like to have this conversation inside," Kowalski interjected.
"No!" the outburst was sudden and forceful. She put her hand to her mouth, "Whatever you have to tell me, you can tell me now. My brother...is he..." her lips began to form a word, her hand going to the dried tears on her face, "What has he done?" she asked this question with more confidence; the thought of him doing something more comfortable than something being done to him, "What happened? Just...just tell me...did..."
Kowalski shifted from foot to foot, awkwardly looking at Vicki as if for an appeal. Stupid of him to be bungling this so badly...the girl was already damned upset and she seemed already to know what he was here for anyway. Whether that was an indictment of his bedside manner or indication of some deeper knowledge, he wasn't sure he was a good enough cop to suss out at once.
"There was an incident," he said finally, "At Lakewood General last night."
"An incident," she repeated hollowly.
"Still under active investigation. But...we were hoping to find his..." he stoppered the words 'next of kin' before they could escape him, swapping at the last minute, "Family. To identify..."
"The body," Pamela finished for him, her voice cool and still, "You want me to identify a body."
Kowalski nodded solemnly, "I'm afraid so, ma'am."
She laughed: throwing her head back and pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, "I can't believe this," she cocked her head to the side, "Sure. Sure, I'll..." she lifted her hands up, "I'll look at the body," she took a step back, "Let me just get dressed. And then I'll...go wherever! And you can go on and do your job! Just wait..." she hesitated on the threshold, looking back toward Vicki, "You coming?"
Her voice showed the slightest hint of breaking anew.
***
"Quinn, don't be stupid!" Fitz protested, "It wasn't a gorilla, it was a bear and..." he blinked, turning back to the man in the doorway, "And he's neither."
A policeman! Not the debonair one with the flaxen hair who'd been kind to him at his bedside what felt like so long ago. This one looked hardly to be in a charitable mood.
"S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-suspects?" Fitz stammered the word out, "Suspects in what? We didn't do anything! I didn't do anything! Oh, well...except for this mess. But that's not my fault! Not really! I was trying, trying so to get it into the cup and by the time it wanted to come out, the bear wanted to come in, and well, how is one supposed to hold his meatus when doors need barricading?"
He broke off, breathing heavily, "Is it gone? The bear?"
-Pamela, Kowalski, and Fitz
Vicki felt her heart go into her stomach, a sickening weight burdening her shoulders, almost threatening her knees to buckle from underneath her. Suddenly, she felt light-headed, all manner of thoughts, regrets, doubts, and fears flooding her mind. There must have been some mistake; there had to have been. She and Kirk talked not long ago over the phone; what could have happened between then and now?
A shallow breath escaped her body as Vicki found herself becoming light-headed, her hands trembling anxiously as she brought them to her mouth. Vicki fought to get home for a lot of reasons, all of them to close wounds she'd realized she'd neglected for so long. There was still so much to talk about with Kirk, so much left unsaid...
Pamela brought her back to reality, as her call prompted Vicki to say in a ghost of a voice, "What?" Gathering her bearings, she nodded weakly, answering. "Yeah, I'll...I'll be in soon." She followed Pamela inside the mansion but not without sparing one final glance at the officer, reading the anguish on his face. "We'll be out soon," she assured him, unsure of why. Maybe it was the need to say something, anything. For what could have been said now, Vicki struggled to find the words.
***
Closing the door behind her, Vicki followed Pamela through the living room and up the stairs, practically chasing her down. "Pamela! Pam!" The distress in her voice was evident now, her grief and anxiety beginning to overshadow her confusion and shock. "Pam, please just slow down!" Vicki had never seen her best friend like this distraught, though she had known her to hide her emotions, shielding them behind a veneer of high self-esteem and confidence. But that disguise was only holding so strongly now, as it seemed Pamela was on the verge of breaking down on every defensive word she uttered and every step she took.
Vicki wanted answers but none of those were important now; she had to be there for Pamela. It was the least she could do for not being with her when it mattered most.
***
"The bear?" Fallow scoffed. "Yeah, Yogi's gone, pally. Your pic-a-nic baskets are in safe hands. You son of a..." Remembering the situation with his boot (with his luck, the eyeball had already set in), he growled, "Get up!"
"I'm goin', I'm goin'!" Quinn got to his feet, almost slipping again, humiliated as he'd ever been.
"C'mon, kid," Fallow took Quinn by the collar and then Fitz, dragging him to the nearby waiting room where Sheriff Vinson was.
"It is gone, though, right?" Quinn asked nervously, vividly recalling the nightmarish chase he endured yesterday. "Like, you killed it?"
"You want me to arrest you on dope charges? That what you want?"
"Hey, I'm not buggin'!" Quinn insisted. "That thing almost tore me to shreds! I could have been a dead man!"
"Yeah, and I could have been in the Fortune 500 if I invested more of my stocks into computers but here I am, listening to you cry about King Kong chasing you for your lunch money. Sad shit, ain't it?" He practically threw the boys into the waiting area to sheriff to behold, likely with utter disgust sheerly by the smell. "Found these two cuddling in the bathroom down the hall. Say they were chased by a bear or gorilla or something like that. I dunno, I gotta take a piss." With that, Fallow left to finally pick the eye from the treads of his boot.
Quinn chuckled nervously, greeting the sheriff, "Morning, officer."
-Vicki, Fallow and Quinn
"No time for that!" Pamela declared, heading into her room and shutting the door firmly. Vicki looked much the same as she had when she'd left town: pretty and poised and just generally an all-around ra-ra member of petite female society. Pamela was surprised a retinue of rally girls hadn't followed her up to the door to throw her into the air.
She rifled through her closet, "Don't want to keep them waiting," she leaned into the last word, consciously evoking Kirk's habit of irregular emphasis. Her hand shook on the hanger as she shucked a blouse from it.
"Hope you didn't come all the way back on my account," she said experimentally, pulling her top on.
She'd been a real wreck at that payphone that night. It was a stupid thing to do...somehow, the number written in the margin of her Global notes had floated to the front of her mind faster than any other. There'd been no other thinking involved.
"I think I might've overreacted," she pushed a lock of hair over her shoulder.
***
"Why does everyone think we're on drugs?" Fitz demanded, "We're straight edge boys! From the womb to the tomb!"
He recalled the embarrassing incident with the candy salesman at the waterfront.
"Almost totally!"
He puttered along after the officer, shamefaced, aware of roving eyes on him. A passing aide muttered, "If they think I'm cleaning that up..." which was Fitz's first clue he was leaving his own road of yellow brick in his wake, courtesy of his soiled gown.
"We simply must be free of these cassocks!" he whispered to Quinn, "Officer! O, Officer..." he shifted his feet, "Please, sir, if we could be allowed some clean clothes. I am sure we shall feel ever so much better and..."
But here they were brought before the surly, stone-faced Sheriff Vinson. Fitz lowered his head, his knees knocking.
"The bathroom?" Vinson repeated, looking after Fallow like he wanted to call him back, but evidently deciding otherwise. His nostrils flared, "..smells like it."
"I apologize for my odor, Sheriff, sir," Fitz inclined his head, "It's my fault, for urinating on myself."
"...what, you didn't piss on each other?"
"Never, sir!"
"That was a joke," Vinson said flatly.
"Oh," he looked away.
"Look, you two can take a seat..."
"Not on these chairs, they're not!" barked a nurse walking by, "We don't got no Stanley Steamer money. Get real."
"Aren't you Bob Maddox's kid?" Vinson changed the subject, turning to Quinn.
"He knows us!" breathed Fitz.
-Pamela, Fitz, and Sheriff Vinson
Vicki remembered patches of Pamela's call; she wasn't expecting anyone to call her where she was. Even though Vicki was savvy enough to give Pamela a number to call before she left on her "trip" (it took a good deal of money to save up for a cell phone and a great deal of effort to keep it hidden after that), she wasn't expecting anyone would call, and would blindly assumed that she was having fun on the slopes with her parents.
She definitely wasn't expecting to hear best friend call, crying in cryptic and incoherent sobs. That should have been Vicki's first clue something was up. She remembered hanging up, concerned, telling herself that Pamela was just worked up over a fight with Kirk. It wouldn't have been the first time Vicki had to console Pam for something Kirk had done or said. Sometimes it was Kirk being insensitive, other times Pamela being hypersensitive--Vicki was more often than not the diplomat between the two.
But that night...something was different. Vicki couldn't lie; that was one of a few reasons she came back. Maybe she would have called ahead, told Pamela she'd be there soon and that everything would be OK...if her cell phone wasn't found out.
There was a lot at work trying to stop Vicki from getting home; thinking back on it, she realized how fortunate she was to have made it back, even if she was leaving one kind of chaos for another.
"I don't even know what to overreact to," Vicki entered the room at Pamela's heels, struggling to keep up with her. "What happened when I was gone?! Where are the others?! Is Kirk really..." She couldn't even finish the question, as if saying the words herself would make them a reality. She kept herself in the comforting shelter of denial, telling herself there was some mix-up and that Kirk would roll up in the drive way in his Benz, surprised and overjoyed to see Vicki once again.
"Pam, just slow. Down." Vicki placed her hand on her friend's shoulder, imploring, "You're going to drive yourself crazy if you don't."
***
Quinn, with muted embarrassment, lowered his head. "Yes, sir..." He replied in a low voice, resenting how his father and his great family entered every conversation.
Especially this one, as it only made him fear what his father would say to his tales of killer gorillas and the grody scent of urine that he was stuck with for the foreseeable future.
-Vicki and Quinn
"Crazy?" Pamela repeated, opening the door and going out past Vicki onto the landing, presentable as she could make herself at the moment, "Who's crazy? Besides these people, acting like I can tell them anything about..."
She stopped halfway down the stairs, her hand tightening on the railing, "He's not dead, Victoria, don't be stupid," it came out more harshly than she'd intended. She rarely ever used Vicki's full name. It still didn't feel real...that she was here.
She watched the dance of police lights across the polished floor.
"A lot," she said eventually, "A lot happened."
How strange...a few days ago, she'd seriously entertained bringing Vicki back home herself so she could see how badly she was being played in her absence. Things had gone from bad to worse in a second.
"I'll tell you on the way," she said finally, descending the stairs the rest of the way to the door and heading out to the patio, where Deputy Kowalski straightened up, surprised, "Ready to go?"
"As we'll ever be."
Kowalski looked bemusedly at Vicki as if he was going to question her presence, but evidently thought better of it, "Car's right here.'
***
"And that'll be..."
"Fitz!" Fitz yelped, maybe too high, "...Ulick Kasper Smith, sir."
"Right," Vinson looked some combination of relieved and irritated, "I've had your father on the phone all day acting like I'd misplaced you with the recycling. You'd be the missing patient from Bed 6"
"That's me, sir! Yes, and I am very sorry about that, really. I was in the bathroom, trying to urinate."
"Well...you succeeded."
"Too late, though," he sighed, "Is my father very aggro?"
"...well, you'll know that better than I," Vinson scratched the back of his neck, "I'd be more than happy to release you to him, and you, Mr. Maddox, to your folks..."
"Oh no!" Fitz gasped, already dreading his reunion with his father, who was bound to be angry as any bear or worse.
"...but first..."
"Oh good," he sighed.
"We'll have to go over some particulars."
"Oh no!"
"We've already got statements from everyone else who was on the floor last night and not half vegetable."
How Fitz wished for a brain contusion! He wasn't sure how he could represent himself without sounding madder than he must already.
"If you'd just say, in your own words, what happened to you last night."
-Pamela, Kowalski, Sheriff Vinson, and Fitz
"Yeah," Vicki answered the officer in a hollow voice, still struggling to be completely present as she was struggling to keep up. She couldn't tell if Pamela was stubbornly in denial or she genuinely had belief that Kirk was OK.
Stepping into the car but not without one last look at the gloomy Devlin mansion, Vicki chose to believe in the latter, even if that belief was wavering more and more with each passing second.
A lot had happened while Vicki was gone. So much that Vicki was starting to wonder just what it was she was coming back to.
***
"What happened?" Quinn guffawed, unable to believe his ears. "You mean you haven't caught it?!"
-Vicki and Quinn
Vinson blinked, "Haven't caught..."
"The bear! Haven't you been listening?" Fitz was beginning to understand why his father was always complaining about his tax dollars, if these were the public officials they were taking care of, "The great big bear that went rampaging through this place last night..."
"Alright, alright, settle down..." Vinson held a hand up, "To be clear..."
"As glass!"
"...you saw a bear last night?"
"Yes!" Fitz demanded, "Or...well, it may not have been a bear exact-ally."
"You don't say?"
"But it was big and hairy, with ginormous teeth as you've never seen! It was chasing Quinn! That's how we came to be in the lavatory together!"
Vinson made a face, then turned to Quinn, "And you can confirm that this...thing was chasing you? This...bear or..." he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Why don't you try to describe it?"
"Is bearish not enough?"
"Believe it or not, it isn't."
-Vinson and Fitz
"It coulda been a bear or gorilla--man, I don't know!" Quinn whined, fed up and exhausted. "It was big and hairy a-a-and covered with blood! So much blood! It had these claws, y'know? Chasin' me on all fours, its back hunched over..." He suddenly remembered a detail he'd neglected until then. "It was chasin' Kirk's maid lady, too! Oh crap, what am I saying? Of course, I'd be able to outrun it but that chick? Aw, man..." Slightly growing green at the thought of whatever monster that was killing that lady who, sure, was a total bitch and ignored all of his charming comments...but she didn't deserve to die. Let alone get eaten by that thing. Nobody deserved that.
"God, we gotta tell Kirk. Is he still here?" He asked Vinson, commenting on the side to Fitz, "He probably bounced right before all hell broke loose. Lucky son of a bitch..."
"Oh no!" Fitz gasped at the mention of Kirk's maid, "Not poor Lilith!" he rounded on Vinson, who had grayed to a shade somewhere between unmixed cement and cold oatmeal, "Is she alright? I can't believe it! A wild animal going on a killing rampage in a hospital, and we are treated like Mujahedeen! What is the matter with you people? Have you no shame? No sense of responsibility to your constituents?"
His underparts were beginning to chafe.
"No dignity?" Fitz squeaked, too frightened to ask for fresh clothes anew.
Vinson was still looking at Quinn dubiously, "So you saw this woman...Laura."
"Who the true blue is Laura?"
"...the maid lady."
"There's another one?"
"You saw her being chased by this..."
"Bear," Fitz whispered helpfully.
"This creature. And you ran the other way?"
Fitz puckered his lips, not liking the sheriff's tone. He looked at Quinn, "Well I would've done the same!"
"I bet you would."
-Fitz and Vinson
Sal took a long drag from her cigarette as should looked up at her brother, an expression like something foul smelling came across her senses on her face.
"Jeez Jimmy, you aren't smelling the roses this morning are you?" She asked as she started up the bleacher steps.
She sat next to her brother as she offered him a drag of her smoke, looking out towards the track and field. He hadn't really seemed himself for a while, even more so now.
"You gonna tell me what's up with you?"
Jimmy eyed the cigarette dubiously, but figured he wasn't kidding himself and accepted the cig from Sal, taking a hit.
"I'm supposed to be the bad influence," he said huskily, exhaling as he handed her the smoke back. He was probably going to catch hell, showing up to homeroom...or, at this rate, first period...stinking like smoke. Wouldn't be the first time, yet this was the first he'd ever dreaded the prospect.
"Leo's gone," he said finally, scratching at his shirtsleeves, as if to take them to bits, "You probably noticed."
-Jimmy
Sal's eyes watched her brother closely as she took the cigarette back, he was picking, he only ever did that when his nerves were shot to hell. "Yeah, I noticed. Figured he was being held captive or something by his mom cause he coughed in front of her or something." She said taking another drag, rubbing her nose with the side of her hand. "You know how overprotective that woman is."
A scratchy, humorless laugh scraped against the sides of his throat. He almost met Sal's face, "He's not."
Mrs. L's arms around him as he cried, her solemn quiet...her resignation.
Tell her, a little voice scratched to life in the back of his head, Go on. You told the old lady. You told...
"What're you looking for me for anyway?" he asked hoarsely, "Giving me a taste of my own medicine?"
It felt like so long ago that he'd trekked up to the Devlin house at the water's edge to save Sal from herself. Or so he'd convinced himself...his sister didn't need any saving. Neither did he, then, that night.
"Don't bother," he said finally, curtly, hatefully.
-Jimmy
"Uh, duh-doy!" Quinn scoffed at Vinson's judgmental question. "Of course I did! I'm not equipped to handle that…that thing! Gimme a break!" Shaking his head and growing impatient, he tried to walk past Vinson. "Now where the hell is Kirk? He's gonna wanna know that his maid mighta gotten wasted by an escaped zoo animal or whatever the hell it is…"
-Quinn
Vinson's increasing irritation softened into something like pity. He looked about the waiting room, lips pressed into a thin line.
"You boys might want to take a seat..."
"Aht!" a nurse popped her head into the room, looking warningly at Fitz.
"I wasn't going to!" Fitz whined, "But, if I may, ma'am, and with all due respect, have a pair of fresh underclothes..."
She was already gone.
"Hanes is preferred, but Fruit of the Loom is fine!"
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," Vinson continued determinedly, "There were casualties last night."
"Casualties?" Fitz repeated, "The bear did get Lilith?"
"Laura, the maid, is fine," he paused before amending, somewhat reluctantly, "Alive. But we arrived on this scene to find two bodies in 4D-12," he paused, as if to judge whether the room meant something to them. But Fitz, who had been halfway to heaven between his encounter with the gummy bears and his dressing down by his father, registered no recollection.
"We're still working to identify the victims, but we can pretty clearly confirm a young woman..."
"Not Lil-aura?"
"Not Lil-aura," Vinson moistened his lips, "And a young man. Now, nobody seems to have filled out a visitor's form for the room, but we're making inquiries and, since your friend Kirk was known to be on this floor yesterday evening..."
Fitz giggled.
The sheriff blinked, "Excuse me, son?"
"I'm sorry!" he lifted one hand to his mouth, "Totes apologies, but..." he laughed again, an unbidden, gleeful squeal bursting from his gut, "You can't be for serious?" another laugh, "You can't be implying that Kirk...Kirk...oh, it's too much, Sheriff! You are ridick, I tell you! Ridick!"
"Son..."
"Are you hearing this, Quinn?" Fitz turned to Quinn, and he must've looked quite alarming, his eyes bright like stars and his face flushed with mirth, all his teeth bared, like a howling animal, "Are you hearing it???" a long, bellowing guffaw escaped him, "Kirk! Dead! As if! As..." tears fell into his laughing mouth as he braced himself against Quinn, thinking of the toilet, of the lights, of Kirk, of the bears, of the figures in the boat on the water...four going in and three coming back.
"...if."
***
"You've gotta be shitting me."
"Don't be gross," Paula cut the engine, looking out the driver's side window at the black tile gables of St. Mary's Home for Wayward Girls.
Sam wasn't relenting, however, gripping the back of Paula's seat for purchase as he hissed, "You brought me to the convent?"
"Spit in my ear, why don't you? Like I haven't gotten enough of you up in my business this morning."
"That's disgusting."
"You're disgusting!" Paula snapped, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel, eyeing Sam in the rearview mirror, "And what did I tell you about the towel?"
"It's covering the wound!"
"Covered like Madonna in church. You've got blood all over the place!"
"Because I'm bleeding!"
"Bleed less!"
"Keep it up, I'll run out before you stop for breath."
"Do you want my help or not?" Paula challenged.
Sam glowered. His face had gotten quite pale...he was losing a lot of blood, but Paula didn't think drawing attention to the fact would be any good for either of them.
"Look, this is the best place..."
"To bury me?"
"Dripwad, you know the cemetery's behind the church."
"So what are you bringing me to the fucking nuns for?"
"Language!"
"Right, yeah, maybe one of of your mummy bitch friends can wash my mouth out with soap?"
"Classy," she unlocked the car, "For your information, Sam, the nuns run a free clinic out of the basement. I help out there after school."
She stepped out onto the narrow walkway leading up to the tiny east entrance of the complex. Sam furtively stepped out behind her, clumsily shifting his weight so that the towel (now closer to magenta than powderpuff on the pink scale) was still pressed, however feebly, against his wound. Paula quietly reminded herself that the neck was where the jugular vein was, but decided if that's where Sam had been hurt, he'd already be dead, so it was fine.
"So it's like...your job?" Sam asked haltingly.
"Oh, I don't get paid," said Paula automatically, hurrying up the walk and looking rapidly around her to make sure they were alone on the grounds, "It's for service hours. You know. Don't you Prep boys have to do it too?"
"Sports are exempt." she caught him smirking smugly in the glass panel of the side door which, mercifully, was unlocked.
"Natch," she muttered, opening the door and stepping over the threshold
The vestibule was musty and underlit as always, stinking of incense. Sam followed her inside, immediately grimacing at the atmosphere, "Shit...somebody die or something?"
"No, it's always like this."
There was music playing up the short flight of carpeted stairs to the left: a bunch of ladies dolorously chanting in Latin.
"Fuck, man," Sam muttered.
"It's just their morning prayers. They do different ones at sunset. It's kinda nice, once you get used to it," she indicated the second set of steps to their right, going down, "Good thing is, they'll all be in one place for a while," and she started down.
"Didn't take you for the type," Sam said, so quietly at first that Paula worried he was going loopy from the blood loss.
"What type?" she asked, to humor him.
Judging by the smug sardonic overtone, Sam wasn't so fargone yet, "Good Catholic girl."
She gripped the railing with one hand, pursing her lips without turning around, "Why?"
"For fuck's sake, Paula..."
"No, no," she turned to face him, "Since you wanted to say it, Sam, go ahead...keep talking. It's good for staying alive."
"Keep looking at me like that and I'm not so sure."
"Because you all talk about it, right?" Paula went back up a step, "All you guys hanging out in the locker room, talking about what a big bimbo slut I am, right? That I'm so easy?"
Sam blinked, "What?"
"Oh, great job. They should call the Dynasty people, you can be Krystal's next purse dog..."
"Who the fuck is 'Krystal'..."
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Not about Dynasty, about me being easy, which I'm not, which doesn't matter because you and the other jack-holes get around and say shit about what an easy lay I am..."
"That isn't..."
"Which none of you would know by the way, because I have not and I would never..." she jabbed her finger in his face, "But everyone wants a story, and bitchy bimbo Burke is such a perfect fit..."
"What does this even have to do with any..."
"I would never!" Paula interrupted, "And, not that it really matters, and it shouldn't matter, because it never matters with guys, nobody ever asks guys this stuff, but I'm a vir..."
Sam put his hand over her mouth. Paula let out an indignant squeal and attempted to bite his blood-stained fingers, but the urgency in his eyes indicated he wasn't (just) tired of her lip.
Someone was talking at the bottom of the stairs.
"She asked for me?" the familiar voice, soft and worried, "No, no...yes, we're friends. I'm just...taken aback, is all. This is so terrible. I heard the story on the news this morning, but I wouldn't have...I mean, you don't usually think, when you hear a story like that, that you know any..." a sigh, "I will be right there. Which unit did you say? 3B? Right. Thank you so much for calling. Yes, you too."
Paula flung Sam's hand from her as the phone in the next room clicked down onto its receiver. She stared daggers at him and he lifted one hand in the air as if to protest his lack of options. From her vantage point, Paula could see the door at the bottom of the stairs, leading into the clinic proper. Through the frosted glass pane, Paula could see the silhouette of a habited woman getting to her feet.
"Shit," Sam cursed.
Paula pinched him on the arm to shut him up. He let out a muffled expletive, dropping the towel from his neck.
"Sam!" she mouthed.
Footsteps approaching the door. Sam turned on his heel and began to dash up the stairs, which Paula thought was the stupidest possible thing. She grabbed him by the waist of his jeans to pull him back and he had to grab onto the opposite railing to steady himself. He looked at her, eyes wide in silent affront, as if to demand if she had any better ideas.
As it happened...
Paula vaulted over the railing on her side, dropping the short distance to the tiled floor of the basement landing and ran for the curtained alcove nestled in the corner between the bottom of the stairs and the old grandfather clock. She heard Sam bitch in sotto tones, but male pride must have spurred him on for he was soon ducking in beside her, though he recoiled almost at once.
"Shit!"
"Shush!"
"Fuckin' sword..."
"They're not real..." Paula ran her finger along one of the faux-gold plated blades, "I don't think."
The little alcove was home to a statue of Our Lady of Sorrows, her heart pierced by seven shining swords, which extended a good long way, leaving very little room for quiet prayer. Paula's petite build allowed her to nestle fairly comfortably between two swords, but Sam was much more awkward, pressing himself back to the point that the statue wobbled on its pedestal. Paula gasped, grabbing onto him. For a few moments they stood in the shadows, separated by a single fake (?) sword, listening as the clinic door opened and the nun who Paula was pretty certain was her favorite teacher approached the stairs.
Something wet and tacky dripped onto Paula's bare shoulder. Blood. She looked up at Sam, meeting his eyes. He must've realized what had caught her attention because his hand went to his exposed neck and what little color remained in his face drained from it.
He'd dropped the bloody towel on the stairs.
For a few moments, they stood there in silence, controlling their breathing, listening to the creaking of the stairs as Alice-Marie ascended. Paula tried to gauge some sort of attitude...haste, obviously. She'd sounded concerned on the phone. Dimly, she recalled the news report she'd heard on the radio this morning, about some sort of violence at the hospital...
The noise faded. In the distance, she could hear the exterior door open and shut. Alice-Marie was gone. Paula let out a sigh of relief, "Talk about 'too close'."
Sam threw the curtain aside and hurried to the ugly red lump of fabric lying in the shadow of the stairs, "Who was that chick?"
"That was Sister Alice-Marie, FYI. She's cool."
"Yeah, I bet she'd be ice cold finding us bumping uglies with Holy Mother of Target Practice over there."
"Ha-ha," she picked the towel up between two fingers, "Totally burning this later. No way those stains are washing out," she paused, looking up the steps, "Where do you think she's going?"
"Does it matter? She's gone, we have time before she gets back..."
"Well, just that she sounded pretty worried and I heard this thing on the news this morning..."
"Paula," he interrupted, "You brought me here to fix me up, right?"
She bit her lip, surveying him coolly, "Don't tempt me different," and nodded to the clinic entrance, "Haul ass."
-Vinson, Fitz, Paula, Sam, and Alice-Marie
The blood drained from Quinn's face as Vinson spoke, revealing detail after detail, as the truth slowly became clear to him.
"No…" Quinn said in a ghost of a voice, barely audible as he shook his head, unable to look Vinson back in the eye. "No…you're…you're wrong…you're…"
Fitz's hysteric wailing overpowered Quinn's voice, as if his friend was trying to blare out the news with his own voice, laughing in the face of the messenger with bad news. Perhaps in that regard, Fitz was stronger than Quinn, being able to muster the energy to rebel against the truth like that. But Quinn, too exhausted from last night, too horrified by what he had seen, too shaken by what they had done just a few nights ago…he couldn't pretend. Not anymore.
He buried his face in his hands, shielding his tears from the others. In the back of his head, Quinn could hear his father reprimanding him, telling him to man up and get a hold of himself. These things happened; people died. Pick yourself up and get over it.
But Kirk was different. Kirk was his friend, the guy he looked up to—the guy they all looked up to. The leader of the pack. The big dog. With him gone, struck down by…whatever that was…it just didn't translate.
Feeling Fitz's body against his, Quinn didn't know what else to do but wrap his arm around Fitz and hold him close, desperately clinging to a time Quinn was beginning to realize he never appreciated. A time when he, Fitz, Kirk, Sam and Jason could just goof off and be kids. A time Quinn thought would last forever and now was suddenly over before he knew it.
His tears were no longer hidden but that didn't matter now because he was in mourning, not just of Kirk, but of a life he had not realized had passed him by.
A figure watched from the distance, peeking from behind a stairwell door; an odd silhouette but well-hidden in the chaos of the investigation.
Morosely, Dr. Galdamez, clad in his Devo hat (cleansed from the vomit he had unleashed into it the night prior), lamented, "This truly is the End of Innocence."
Suddenly, a premonition came over him. A strange presence was entering the hospital lobby; indeed, the cosmic reverberations were ringing in his head, as if they were trying to drag him down the stairs. What was the meaning of this siren call? What could be calling to him now?
Oh no…a bleak possibility came across his mind. Was it his time to pay? Was this the one bridge too far? Galdamez had already played too closely with fate enacting this attempt to find the deeper truth of Lakewood but now…
The reverberations continued. Whether he liked it or not, Galdamez had to heed them, for it was his duty, if not to the cosmos but to the other travelers spread across time. Their lives were at stake as well. And the mess that he had enabled the now late Jamie Teague to create had to be attended to, in one way or another.
So without further ado, Galdamez closed the stairwell door, giving one final peek to the mourning boys before retreating down the stairs.
The trip to the hospital passed in a tense, pregnant silence.
Pregnant...Pamela banished the word from her mind as soon as it occurred. More than once since the browbeaten, if good sported, Deputy Kowalski had started them off, she'd wondered whether she should tell Vicki everything, about Kirk, about Janey or Audrey or whatever her name was...
About the pregnancy test.
It would be the right thing to do. Yet, at the same time, it felt like such a stupid thing to even be thinking about, with the hospital ahead of them and who knew what waiting there.
Lakewood General towered over them, a big granite block against a featureless gray sky. A section adjacent to the entrance had been cordoned off to the public, with a podium set up, as if for a press conference.
"Sheriff's due to speak in a minute," Kowalski said shortly, cutting the engine.
"You want to say what he's speaking about?" Pamela asked, not expecting an answer. The cop let out a short sigh, "Come on. I'll take you in through the ER. You don't need the crowds."
She could hear the hiss and bang of flashbulbs from here...a queue of reporters all assembled around the podium, chattering excitedly. Kowalski fixed his hat on his head and put a pair of aviator glasses on. He hadn't come to the door with them, perhaps imagining that the sight of those baby blues would be more likely to ease her mind.
Pamela tasted bile on the back of her tongue, disgusted with herself and with today and with a guilty flash of wanting despite everything else. He was offering her his hand now, to help her out of the car...a nice, strong countryboy hand. Maybe he'd grown up on a farm. She imagined it would be warm and firm, comforting for a few moments.
She got out on her own accord. The shades made it hard to tell what he thought of that...and, to be fair, Pamela didn't know what she thought either...but he kept his hand out for Vicki to take.
"Ma'am?"
The word faded into the back of Pam's thoughts. Her gaze had been arrested, not by the press gaggle, but by an irregular shadow cast over the parking lot...a huge metal grille, hanging loosely off the side of the hospital, swaying precariously in the light spring breeze.
The fire escape, knocked nearly off its moorings.
-Pamela and Kowalski
The drive over had been quiet, likely because neither of them knew what to say. Vicki surely didn't, as she was still trying to comprehend what she was coming back to. A part of her tried to accept the news but it felt impossible, a feeling nagging at her to believe it when she sees it and another fearing that she wouldn't want to see it. And worse yet, she didn't want to see what it would do to Pamela.
Vicki followed Pamela out of the car and was met with the same sight of the detached fire escape. "What the hell…" She mouthed but tried to hide her shock, holding firmly the belief that she would have to stay strong for her best friend, which stupidly meant putting on a brave face against the inconceivable.
In some ways, things hadn't changed since before Vicki left Lakewood.
"C'mon," she urged Pamela, gently grabbing her forearm. "This way." Vicki began to follow Kowalski to the ER, the fracas of the reporters' mingling and flash photography blaring from the other side of the hospital.
Vicki's gentle urging prodded Pamela back to her senses. She tore her gaze away from the ominous destruction, allowing Kowalski to lead her on in through the Emergency Room entrance. The creaking of the unhinged fire escape seemed to follow her inside, rattling around inside her skull like an irate insect.
They passed clods of people, most of whom Pam assumed had nothing to do with whatever had happened here last night. Patients and nurses and orderlies. A janitor walked past, trundling a cart piled high with dirty linen. She glimpsed mottled pink splotches on a scrap of thin white fabric and turned away, feeling her stomach turn inside out.
Kowalski must already be known to the staff. He nodded familiarly at one or two people as they passed, presumably making some sort of allowance for Pam and Vicki. She could feel curious eyes on her and endeavored not to meet them, dreading the thought of what she would find there.
There was a short respite after Kowalski called the elevator in which they hovered awkwardly in the vestibule. The deputy looked at her with a small smile. He had laugh lines around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes.
She pressed her knuckles against her mouth to suppress a gag.
"It's just one flight," Kowalski told them after they'd gotten into the elevator, pressing the button for the basement. The car gave a little lurch as it descended, and Pamela found herself gripping the stainless steel railing encircling the car. She looked nervously at Vicki...it was hard to believe she was here. Maybe that's why this was all having such trouble sinking in...that she'd somehow summoned her from out of oblivion, just when she really needed her.
She ought to ask her something...a few things. She needed to make sure of why she'd come back, what she thought, how she felt...
She had to figure out what the hell was going...
The doors slid aside with a sharp ding. A blast of cold, dry air hit Pamela in the face.
"Right through here," said Kowalski, starting down the narrow passage, lit from above by frosty blue flourescents. Everywhere, a quiet electric hum vibrated, beneath the floor and behind the walls.
They passed nobody until they came to the morgue, where a scrubbed-up attendant nodded Kowalski through, only to look lingeringly at Pam and Vicki. Kowalski cleared his throat, "Miss Devlin is here to identify our John Doe."
Pamela's breath caught in her lungs. She could see her tepid breaths eddying in the cool air, to mix with the dusty haze illuminated by the unreliable lights. Over the attendant's shoulder, she could see the outline of a covered shape on a stretcher.
"Miss March, could you..." Kowalski turned to Vicki, "Would you mind waiting here in the hall?"
Pamela looked at Vicki, her composure wavering. She had a brief, hysterical thought of insisting she be allowed to come in with her, but that would be wrong, it would be irresponsible, it would be weak, it...
She bit her lip, averting her eyes, which found themselves inexorably drawn back to that white shape in the next room.
-Pamela and Kowalski
The descent into the basement was slow and ominous, the elevator creaking as it slowly halted to a stop. Vicki shuddered as the elevator door opened and they were blasted with a cold wind. Futilely, she zipped up her jacket and braced herself as she walked with Pamela, following Kowalski step by step. The sight of her own breath did nothing to assuage the anxieties creeping into her mind, the thrum of her heartbeat getting faster and faster as she realized she was this much closer to having to acknowledge a reality she could never have envisioned before today. The echoing of their shoes on the tile floor only added to this fear, the sound only competing with the humming of the freezers surrounding them.
And suddenly…they stopped. It was poorly lit by flickering fluorescent lights but the room was easy enough to make out. One attendant clad in scrubs, one stretcher…and one body atop it, cloaked in white. Vicki released a shaky exhale at the sight, finding it harder to breathe as her heartbeat sped up and her arms quivered more, unable to hold their nerves. A tsunami of memories suddenly overcame her: the laughter, the arguments, those few quiet moments she cherished so much. Those memories begot others, not just with Kirk but with the others. Her and Paula doing volunteer work at the shelter…teaching Fitz how to roller-blade at the rink with Quinn…listening to Jason gush about his feelings in a way he couldn't do to the guys…Sam calling her the "Yoko" of the group while he did her the courtesy of teaching her to play pool…
…and then there was Pamela. Countless nights where they would just sit and talk. Pamela more than Vicki—Vicki didn't have much to say…that's not true. She did but wasn't sure how to, not then. But Vicki was content listening, finding that was when she felt like she was doing the most good. When she was worth anything at all, really.
Maybe she was too quiet, leaving too much unsaid, allowing regrets to fester and fester until suddenly, Vicki's childhood was over. She was gone under the cover of a bad lie, one she didn't know how much longer she could cling on to. For all that fighting to get back home, to get back to the way things were before, Vicki only now began to realize it was never possible to return. She'd gone through so much, to hell and back…it had changed her. And with what she knew about herself now, having been forced to confront the harsh realities that brought these changes on…there was no way Vicki could go back. And she was foolish to think otherwise, especially with one more cruel truth waiting for her and Pamela both beyond that threshold…
"Miss March…"
Kowalski's timid but kindly voice brought her back from the warm nostalgia of the past to the cold and oppressive present. Remembering she had to stay strong for Pamela above else, she collected her thoughts and faced Kowalski.
"Would you mind waiting here in the hall?"
Briefly, Vicki exchanged eye contact with Pamela and immediately recognized a vulnerability she'd seen on many of those long nights. Pamela would try to dismiss it at first and play it off, as if to prove she could handle the strain of whatever was bothering her. But she needed help.
And while a lot had changed since those nights, Vicki was still Pamela's friend. She couldn't let her endure this alone.
"Actually…" Vicki spoke up, not caring whether Kowalski was issuing a command or a request. "…I think I should go, too. Please…" Silently, she glanced at Pamela, hoping Kowalski would empathize.
Pamela turned back to Vicki, surprised as her offer. A protest began to crawl up her throat, but it came out as little more than an anemic whimper. Kowalski sighed, turning back to the attendant, who blinked balefully, "There are regulations..."
"I know there are regulations," said Kowalski tiredly, "And these are circumstances. The parents aren't around and..."
The attendant shrugged, stepping aside and saying something to the effect of, "Hey, man, I only work here," which Pam felt he ought to be kicked in the nuts for, but she wasn't feeling up to the exercise and neither of the others seemed likely to take up the cause.
Inside, the morgue was eerily dark, lit only by a pair of skinny fluorescent bulbs suspended from either end of the ceiling. The attendant was saying something, probably stuff she was supposed to be paying attention to, certainly stuff about the two shapes under their white shrouds, sticking out of open cabinets in the wall. In the wonky lighting, they could almost be sandwiches in crisp wrapping from the deli counter.
The thought, morbid and grotesque and weirdly funny, nearly drew a feeble laugh out of her.
There was no blood on the shroud, not like the scraps of white in that cart that'd pushed past her. It had to be a false comfort, and yet here she was, comforted.
The last she'd seen of Kirk, that morning...two days ago now, but it felt like longer...ordering her to tag along with Janey to the mall. Pick up some new clothes. The maternity section, all those gaudy little baby carriages on that revolving stand, Janey's blank, perpetually inscrutable expression, that air like she was always just barely comprehending and thought you ought to be chucked in jail for expecting better.
Leo, and then Sam, the sound of a tearing sleeve...
She remembered everything, and couldn't recall a word Kirk had said to her that morning, before. Ordering her out, to take care of the mess he'd stepped into and insisted he hadn't made.
It was like Kirk, businesslike and brash, master of all he could survey. It wasn't the sort of quality that should win friends, but he was different, or at least enough people thought so. Pamela couldn't very well get away with bossing people around like that...not for lack of trying, but then she'd never tried to shake the mantel of 'tetched up bitch' that clung to her because of it.
"Miss Devlin? Ma'am?" a hand on her shoulder, "Pamela?"
Kowalski, urging her to attention...she must've zoned out. The attendant had been speaking, and was looking at her now with a surly exasperation she'd expect from someone who poked dead people for a living.
Kowalski, however, had a certain bearing, looking at her. His eyes were bright, a different type of blue in the murky teal miasma that was the rest of this room, this basement. Again, she felt bad for thinking him handsome at a time like this, and again she wanted him to touch her harder, put a hand in her hair. She wanted to melt against him and let him handle things.
"I know your game," Sam had told her once, at the end of the pier, coming from the boathouse with a case of beers that hadn't been completely blithered by Quinn and his sniffer dog groupies.
"I don't like games," she'd told him, clinking the neck of the bottle to his.
"That's the first rule," he'd explained, taking a swig. He was still wearing his lacrosse jersey...there must've been a game that day. It was a victory party, maybe. There were always parties at the lake, so many things to celebrate that you couldn't keep track. She could see the muscles of his collarbone, his chest beneath the collar. That close, she could almost feel his heart beating, still racing from the game, not at all tempered by booze.
"You do that thing where you act like fucking Princess Diana, all classy and above it all like your shit don't stink..." a short scoff, his eyes roving along her, "You're better than all of us and you don't need anybody..."
"If this is supposed to get me hot and bothered, Sam, I hate to break it to you..."
"And you keep playing that up, and it chases away all the drips and the wads and the geezers and the goons..." he leaned in, beer on his breath and sweat on his brow and Pam's bottle glinting in his eyes, "Until the only ones left are the ones who can play along."
She ran her tongue along her teeth, "Sounds like a lot of work."
"You don't fool me," she could see him, outlined and urgent against the black nylon of his shorts, "At the end of the day, you want to be taken care of, like every other girl in this fake fuckhole of a town."
She met his eyes, "What? Boys don't want to be taken care of?'
As it happened, most of them didn't.
The attendant had his hand on the shroud now. It occurred to Pamela that she was holding everyone up, and Kowalski's hand on her shoulder, Vicki right there beside her, enduring all of this though she really shouldn't have to, ought to be enough.
She didn't need taking care of that badly, or things were much worse than she'd ever thought.
"Yes," she nodded, "Come on. Do it."
The attendant looked at her with some affront, as if to concede he hadn't been holding anyone up. Pamela didn't look at him again, though, bracing herself as the shroud was lifted. Unthinkingly, her hand found Vicki's.
She didn't know what she expected, and she'd imagined a litany of things, increasingly grotesque and ridiculous and wretched and, due to her spiraling grandeur, impossible to believe. It had begun to feel possible that it was all a mistake. That the sheet would be lifted and there would be someone else there. That she may yet see Kirk again, for the last time, today or tomorrow or next week or 50 years from now, and it would be easier to remember when she had to, when there was nowhere else to see him but her memories.
Kirk was there on the slab. It was him and wasn't him, all at once. He seemed shrunken, reduced. That stupid saying you found in old books, that someone looked 'smaller in death'...Pamela hadn't thought so before. Her grandmother had seemed as tiny in her casket as she had in life.
But Kirk had been huge...a personality, animated and larger than life. She'd always felt dwarfed by him, and at times she got the idea he knew that, that it inflated that weird paternalistic sense of responsibility he had for her.
He was smaller than her now. And it was this, somehow, not the yawning dark chasms in his neck, that drew her attention. The scars that must have killed him, cleaned now and no doubt pored over by cops and doctors for hours before this, didn't feel significant enough. They had killed him, sure. Someone had cut him open and he'd bled to death, or worse. She thought she could see sinewy tears, frayed like cords of rope, that must be where muscles had been torn.
It was supposed to matter. She couldn't make it feel like it did.
Someone was saying something...the attendant, Kowalski...she could make out the upward lilt of a question. She didn't look away from the body's waxy face, that square jaw which so many girls thought was so handsome, like Superman or something, now forever fixed shut, like some big marble block.
She touched his cheek...someone let out a cry of warning, but nobody made any move to stop her. He was cold, waxy...unreal, the way anything that dies becomes unreal, peripheral. It did nothing to prove or disprove anything. Her heart clenched in her chest...there was new growth on his cheek, and he was always so particular about his shave.
He must've been distracted, these last few days.
"It's him," she said finally, a little defeated whisper on her lips, "That's Kirk."
-Pamela and Kowalski