Trying the Knot

by Todd Erickson

  Jack’s wide eyes studied the spot where Alexa sunk beneath the deceptively calm surface. An annoying chirping echoed from every direction, and it drove him crazy with fear, as did a clatter that only stopped when he bit down on his tongue. The shock of pain following the bite reverberated throughout his body.

  Tristana rose slowly to her feet and joined him at the water’s edge. Her cigarette slipped from her fingers, and she said, “There’s no sign of her anywhere.”

  “We’ve got to save her,” Jack said, shaking.

  Tristana gave him an encouraging shove. “Go get her.”

  “I— I can’t swim.”

  “It’s not so deep.”

  “I’ll drown.”

  “Hardly.”

  “I flunked swimming lessons cause I couldn’t swim past sandbar to the second raft,” Jack said. He was unable to step deeper into the lake that lolled goading around his ankles.

  “Go get her. It’s not even deep.”

  “You go! Can’t you swim?”

  “Listen, you threw the rock. She’s your girlfriend.”

  “She’s only my cousin—

  “Yeah, yeah, save it for your shrink,” Tristana flared. “Rescue her, or she’ll drown.”

  “You save her, you stupid rich bitch!” he screamed near hysterics. Having panicked, Jack failed to move ever since the rock struck Alexa’s head. The rain droplets began to fall more frequently in rapid succession and with greater force. They were showered with a sense of urgency.

  Now knee deep in the water, Tristana helplessly backed away from him toward the shoreline. If she knew how to swim, then she would certainly rescue the perfect drowning specimen. Suddenly, she shoved Jack forcefully away from the shore deeper into the lake. Taken aback, she gaped openly at the lacerations on his chest and arms. With so many sporadically placed cuttings, it looked as if he’d mistaken himself for a Voodoo doll, pincushion, and the Thanksgiving turkey.

  Breathing as if he’d just completed a triathlon, Jack lunged and knocked Tristana backwards. Half in the water, she scurried away from him with her blood red mouth agape. Her hostile coal eyes glared at him hatefully, yet she was fearful of what violence he was capable of. She half expected him to start kicking her. Trembling, Jack was unsure what he was more afraid of – Alexa’s body washing up on shore or what Tristana would do if she ever rose out of the lake. He cringed, half expecting her to lunge for his throat and gouge out his eyes.

  But instead, Jack felt a hand wallop the back of his head, just like his mother used to surprise him whenever she caught him misbehaving.

  “I can’t believe it, you let me die!” Alexa screamed. Collecting her clothes, she turned away from Jack and said bitterly, “I hate you!”

  “What—

  “You just let me slide off the coast of nowhere and drown!” she yelled. Then she sprinted down the path leading through the shady woods, and Jack ran after her. His feet barely registered the pine needles stabbing into the bottom of his feet

  “You don’t understand,” he called after her.

  Furious, Alexa quickly froze and spun around. She clenched her jaw and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Seething, her breasts heaved with anger. Sopping wet, Tristana joined his side, and together they stood mute before Alexa. Feeling guilty, neither could look at her. Jack focused on the birch tree leaves overhead, and Tristana fiddled with the clothes she had absentmindedly plucked from the shore.

  “No, you don’t understand!” Alexa screamed.

  “What?!”

  “You let me die.”

  “Oh, put down the crack pipe,” Jack said. “You’re alive, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Oh, no, I’m dead. As far as you’re concerned, I’m washed out to sea. Dead! This changes everything – everything!” She took a deep breath and feigned calmness as she made her way to the awaiting Saab. Outside the car, she dressed and remained as silent as the corpse their inaction conspired for her to become.

  Sopping wet and altogether annoyed, Tristana thrust his tennis shoes into his gut. She ground her clove cigarette contemptuously into the dirt and followed Alexa out of the buggy pathway. She dropped his clothes and hoped the mosquitoes consumed him.

  It was now pouring as Jack had predicted. He stood trembling, cold and alone in only his boxers and T-shirt. He could hear Tristana trudging her way up the trail, and he could smell her exotic perfume trailing behind her. Thankful for the sudden downpour, the rain rendered his tears indistinguishable, and he ran until he caught up with her.

  Tristana stopped outside the unlocked car and asked, “She always this volatile?”

  “I don’t even know what that word means.”

  “Crazy bonkers.”

  “She just wigs out, she’ll get over it,” Jack said, holding his clothes.

  “But will you?” Tristana asked. She gently helped him into his damp crumpled pants while standing in the rain. While Jack struggled to get dressed, she decided this strangely dejected and wounded specimen was not entirely unlike herself. “Hey, I need to get out of this wet dress, you want to go someplace and get naked?”

  He nodded, and said he knew the perfect place. Tristana took his hand and together they bravely approached the car. They found Alexa sulking in the cramped backseat. Hoping to lighten the mood, Tristana hummed a tune as they drove across a bridge over a dried up stream.

  “Hey, your only two friends in the world left this for you,” Alexa said as she handed Jack a soggy note. Tristana switched on the interior light, and Alexa read aloud, “You can run, but you can’t hide – The C-twins.”

  “Sounds like they really have it in for you,” Tristana said needlessly. “I don’t get it. If your prom date was driving, why do they blame you for her death?”

  Conspiratorial silence befell the younger duo until Tristana finally asked, “Where are we headed? Does anyone have the slightest clue?”

  Ashen with fear, Jack tossed the waterlogged note out the window, but it stuck to the other side of the glass like a bad omen.

  “Maybe we should just call it a night,” Alexa suggested.

  “No, we’re going to break into the old junior high,” Jack said.

  “Is that very smart?” Alexa asked cautiously.

  “You’re such a tight-ass,” Jack snarled menacingly. “You never want to do anything fun. Why don’t you leave for college tonight.”

  “I don’t feel like going to jail is all,” Alexa said, wishing she were still pretending to be dead. “I’m not interested in visiting your second home.”

  “Dudes, it’s foolproof. I worked there last summer,” Jack reassured. “I know how to get in and out.”

  The Saab passed two police cars parked on the side of the road. The vacant county vehicles inspired a maniacal grin to flash across Jack’s face, and he suggested they steal a police car.

  “Isn’t that Deputy Czerwinski?” Alexa asked. She peered out the window and inspected the situation at hand. “Someone should tell him his terrible twosome is on a bloodthirsty rampage.”

  “He’s probably screwing that Amazon police woman with the hairy moles on her face,” Jack speculated. Tristana’s Saab rolled to a stop, and they gaped in horror as a bare-assed policewoman exited the back door of the patrol car in order to relieve her bladder alongside the road. Having been a passenger in more than one police car, Jack suddenly was struck with an ingenious idea. He instructed them to sit tight, and he would return momentarily.

  Nervously, Tristana and Alexa watched out the rearview mirror as Jack made his way inconspicuously to the car where Czerwinski and his constable concubine were fornicating in the backseat. The policewoman crawled back into the car, careful to leave the backdoor ajar.

  Back inside the Saab, they waited with baited breath. Alexa asked, “What’s he doing?”

  “I don’t know, but I wish he’d hurry up,” Tristana said. Even as they watched him slam the backdoor shut and run toward them, they were unsure what had just happened.

 
“Drive drive drive,” Jack ordered.

  “Wonderful, now we’re going to have to flee from the police?” Alexa asked bemused.

  “They’re not going anywhere anytime soon,” Jack laughed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re trapped back there, there ain’t no door handles in the backseat,” Jack explained.

  Tristana shook her head. “This town is one excitement after another.”

  “They’re going to have to radio for help, and will have a lot of explaining to do,” Jack said proudly. “Hurry, let’s get inside the old junior high, so we can report them.”

  Alexa rattled off the directions for Tristana’s benefit, and the silver Saab zoomed in the direction of the massive building sitting vacant in a state of neglect and decay.

  chapter thirteen

  Resting on the hospital bed, Ben sat alongside Evangelica while holding onto her listless hand. Occasionally, he lifted her flaccid fingers to his mouth to gift them with affectionate kisses. He was shocked at how peaceful and delicate Vange appeared swaddled in the crisp white sheets. Her wavy auburn hair was matted straight, and her flawless face was scrubbed clean. Her ordinarily expressive, heart-shaped mouth was clamped shut and downturn. He ran the back of his fingers over her creamy smooth forearm and issued hushed words of endearing encouragement.

  Looking uncomfortable, Chelsea moved away and leaned against the window. The shadowy hospital room was deathly silent except for sporadic streams of coughs erupting from down the hall. The doctor had given explicit permission for them to camp out in Evangelica’s room for as long as they desired. Necessity sometimes dictated small town doctors act as a pop-psychologist, and Dr. Paull believed bending the rules at times could be equally beneficial to his patients as their caregivers. Moreover, he had thousands of dollars invested in a wedding, and the sound mental health of the bride and groom was required for it to unfold as planned. Evangelica had not received any visitors since noon except for Kate, and she was presently passed out in a room across the hall with Nick tending her bedside needs.

  Chelsea bit off a fingernail and watched Ben comfort an oblivious Evangelica. In between neurotic gnawing, she said, “This place is bogus” or “This place barfs me out.”

  “You’re right, it’s too quiet,” Ben agreed. “We should play music for her. All her favorite songs, like The Clarke Sisters or Ella Fitzgerald. Maybe then she would wake up.”

  “She likes all that old music, doesn’t she?”

  “Yeah, jazz and gospel. The blues. You should see her Etta James impression.” Ben smiled remembering. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, paused for a few guilt-plagued minutes and then began, “You know –

  “What, Ben? You can tell me.” She encouraged him to continue as she inched her way closer to the mechanical bed.

  He sighed. “Never mind.”

  “That’s not fair. Please, tell me.”

  “Well, Vange did call someone last night,” he said barely audible. “She called me.”

  Chelsea placed a hand on his shoulder and wrapped an arm around him. She rested her head on his shoulder and waited for what was to come next. Ben placed Evangelica’s hand on her own chest as if she suffered from a broken heart, and she was the only one dependable enough to fix it.

  “I—I’m sorry,” Chelsea said, holding onto him from behind.

  “I should be the one who’s sorry,” he said. “I guess I’m not a great friend. Maybe you’re right, Chels. Maybe I am an asshole.”

  Biting her lower lip, Chelsea toyed with his glossy black hair. She was unsure how to comfort him. He dug for the suicide note harbored in the recesses of his pocket. He intended to share it with her, but when he turned to face her, Chelsea asked flatly, “Ben, are you sleeping with my mother?”

  He quickly returned the note to his pocket and wondered what she could be thinking. Looking guiltily down at Vange’s angelic looking face, he said, “My bike’s still at the lounge, remember? You’d better take me there.”

  Chelsea suddenly felt utterly foolish and stepped away from him. She was lost for words. All she could think about was her dread for the day ahead of them, of pretending to be happy and festive when all she wanted to do was scream. She abruptly left the room, not as to enable Ben to say good-bye in private, but because she felt so horribly awkward. From the hallway, she watched him lean over the bed, take Evangelica’s hand into his own and softly kiss her unresponsive mouth. He paused there, breathing in her breaths until he grabbed the bed railing. She could tell by the way he was shaking he was crying, wiping his tears on her cheeks.

  He stayed there until he regained his composure. Before leaving her side, he whispered affectionately, “See you soon, okay?”

  Turning from the display of intimacy, Chelsea wiped away her own tears and noticed Nick sleeping in a chair in the room opposite Evangelica’s. Kate lay with her back to him, and her catatonic stare gave no indication of seeing Chelsea standing flustered in the hallway. Ben walked briskly past Chelsea, and she had to jog in order to catch up with him. Together they made their way out of the morose hospital. Ben intended to put as much distance as he could fathom between himself and his employer’s overly inquisitive daughter.

  Once outside in the rain saturated parking lot, they watched Thad’s rusted-out Datsun chug past as if hacking up its last mile. Ben could not help but wince as the car grounded to a halt, and Chelsea grimaced at the sight of the polluting fumes pouring from the exhaust.

  With his camera still hanging around his neck, Thad walked through the drizzle and joined them outside Chelsea’s classic Malibu. He said, “I thought I’d take a break from the newspaper and check on things.”

  “It’s kind of late to be working, don’t you think?” Chelsea asked.

  “There’s an early morning deadline, and we’re swamped,” Thad said. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yup, my bike is still at the lounge,” Ben said regretfully. He was tempted to join Thad as he dreaded the ride with Chelsea.

  After giving Thad an unexpected hug, Chelsea opened her car door and informed him, “Kate and Nick are across the hall from Evangelica.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Kate or Vange?”

  “Both.”

  Chelsea ran her hands through her thick blond hair and worriedly shook her head. For the first time since early morning, her eyes reflected a doubtfulness suggesting perhaps it was no longer a good idea to tell Kate anything about Nick and Vange’s tryst. “Kate’s trying to sleep, and I can’t say I blame her. She’s upset.”

  “I thought she was having a nervous breakdown on the floor earlier,” Ben added.

  “She’s in an awful state,” Chelsea finished. The streetlight shone off her oily forehead, and she looked agitated.

  “What about Vange?”

  Chelsea shook her head and turned away speechless.

  Ben choked. “Things don’t look good at all. According to Dr. Paull, she’s in critical condition. She’s really weak, and if her heart stops again there’s not a lot they can do.”

  “Sounds bleak,” Thad said, and he asked how they were holding up. With sad wonderment, Chelsea entered her car. To prevent bursting into tears, she gave a little wave and chewed on her lower lip. Ben offered Thad a grim shrug of hopelessness, and then he climbed in next to the distraught driver. Chelsea started the car, and heavy raindrops sounded dull plops against the windshield.

  Thad unconsciously lit a cigarette, and for a few moments after they drove away he stood watching the sprinkling rain hit the pavement. When he entered the barren hospital, the nurse on duty glanced at her watch and gave him an approving nod, and he walked past. Once inside Evangelica’s intensive care room, Thad felt uneasy. All these concessions for breaking the rules were definitely not a good sign, and he assumed the worst. He inherently understood breaking the rules was an extension of things being out of the ordinary. Only extraordinary circumstances called for the abandonment of structure that accompanied rule
s and regulations, and the absence of rules served as a flashing red warning-sign in his brain.

  The digital clock above Vange’s bed read 10:15. Time was irrelevant, except the numbers were the same as her birthday, October 15th. Thad wondered if there was any significance to the coincidence. He sat on the edge of an old vinyl chair and rubbed his hand over his forehead until he worked up the nerve to tend his comatose friend.

  After several minutes of sitting there, he rose to his feet and stood at the foot of her bed. Spontaneously, he snapped a couple of pictures of Evangelica.

  “Oh, you’re here,” a hoarse voice penetrated the shadowy darkness. Blinded by the flash, Thad glanced over his shoulder and Nick came into focus in the doorway. Thad remained speechless because he could feel the searing animosity Nick aimed at him like a hot poker.

  “What’re you doing?” Nick asked. He joined Thad at the end of the bed. “Taking her picture? That’s so weird, Thad. What’s wrong with you?”

  Thad moved away from Nick, and he found himself boxed between Vange’s bed and the window. Too apprehensive to move, he faced the door and yearned to be free.

  “I was on my way out.”

  “But you just got here,” Nick pointed out.

  Time dragged while an ailing patient down the hall coughed without end. Nick moved opposite Thad with the door to his back. Bedridden Vange acted as a barrier between them. Without even glancing down at Vange, he nodded his head and said decidedly, “Chelsea’s right, you are too chicken shit.”

  Thad stared up at the ceiling and murmured under his breath, which Nick asked him to repeat louder. Widening his eyes, Thad pointed toward the door and said, “Just forget it.”

  “No, Thad, you forget it,” Nick whispered forcefully to his future cousin-in-law. Evangelica’s deep breathing filled the space between them, but neither acknowledged her unconscious presence. “You just forget any intention you might have of telling Kate about last night. What went on between Vange and I means nothing.”

  “I know—

  “No, I don’t think you do know. Thad, one last fling in the bushes doesn’t merit this,” Nick said, and he pointed downwards at his comatose, periodic one-night stand. “I’m not the one at fault here, so don’t think you’ve got to purge yourself of imaginary guilt by unloading everything onto Kate—