“Paul,” I scoff. “Look at me. I sincerely doubt I’ll ever have children, unless they come up with some crazy way to create cyber kids, that I might look into down the line. So, how much?” I swing the diamond back and forth like a hypnotist. I’ll try anything if it gets me a high price.
Paul raises his hand and cradles his jaw, looking away from the stone for the first time. He withdraws his little calculator from under the counter and starts punching in numbers. I hold my breath and deposit the shining necklace into my palm, making a fist around it. I have to play this right, make him sweat a little.
“All right, darlin’, now I already told ya I won’t be able to offer you market value for that. I still got to sell it remember,” Paul says. I remain silent, trying my best to ignore the pounding in my head as my symptoms grow worse.
He’s going to rip you off, voices whisper in my ear.
Run while you can. Grab him by the neck and slam his head onto the counter until the blood flows red.
Red.
Red.
Red.
Take the money and get out, the voices whisper, chuckling and giggling with maniac glee.
I clear my throat and stick my finger as far as I can into my ear, hoping to drown the voices out a little. I give my head a firm shake. “So?”
Paul exhales loudly and flips the calculator around so I can see. With trepidation I lean forward and read the faded numbers on the screen. My gut twists as the amount stares back at me, laughing.
“Four hundred and fifty dollars? That’s the best you can do?” I gasp, closing my fist tighter. “A fine jewelry retailer would probably sell this for close to two grand.”
Paul shakes his head. “Like I said before, I can’t come close to market value. Now that’s my offer. You can take it or leave it, along with the rest of your junk,” he says, gesturing to my spilled bag.
“But, four hundred will hardly last me a week,” I whisper.
Paul shrugs and shakes his head. “Look, I like ya, darlin’, but I’ve got to look out for my own interests too. The beauty of my position is I don’t need this. You on the other hand…this $450, no matter how insignificant it might seem, probably means the difference between a world of good and a whole lot of bad for you.”
“So you’re taking advantage of me?” I growl, my eyes narrowing.
Hit him, rob him, kill him, the voices sing, their whispers sounding sweeter and sweeter.
Paul holds up his hands. “I’m just stating the facts. I’m a business owner, not a charity. Junkies come in here every day trying to pawn crap off on me to make their next high. Doesn’t mean I have to give them much, truthfully I don’t have to give them anything.”
“I’m not a junkie.” I hiss, rolling my neck in a slow circle.
Rob him, kill him.
“Whatever you say, darlin’.” Paul snickers. “All I know is what I see and I tell it as I see it. You want to do this deal or what? Believe it or not, I’ve got other customers to help.”
Kill him.
I clear my throat again and nod once.
“All right, let me get the paperwork and your money then.”
I wait, slipping the necklace back into my pocket. Paul’s a fool if he thinks he can rip me off like this. He punches in several numbers on the old cash register and the drawer pops open with a cheerful ping. He fills out the bottom of the form and gives me the pencil. “Just sign here, darlin’, and you can be on your way.”
I reach for the yellow pencil, the sharp graphite point glistening in the meager lighting. I lick my lips and my hand closes around the narrow wood, which is slippery in my sweaty palm.
Kill him.
I take a step closer to the counter and shift the pencil so I’m gripping it tighter, angling the point so it’s poking out the left side of my fist, poised to strike. Paul is looking down, reading the fine print of the document. He has no idea and will never have another idea after this. The voices continue to egg me on and the green crumpled bills within the cash register call to me.
Kill him!
Without another thought, I release my coiled arm, completing the high arc I’m envisioning in my mind.
Drive it deep, drive it hard, right into his temple, the voices command.
The pencil is about to pierce Paul’s red skin when he moves, straightening out his hunch. His temple is no longer perfectly aligned—now it’s his thick neck. My momentum is too strong. I grit my teeth as I plunge the pencil into the side of his neck, a heavy grunt escaping from my lips.
I step back in horror, leaving the pencil stuck in the wound as blood begins to gush out. Did I hit an artery?
Slowly Paul lifts an arm and touches the end of the eraser, feels the pencil. His eyes are wide. “Darlin’ wh-what?” he stutters. “What did you do?” Squeezing his eyes shut, Paul grips the bottom of the pencil and begins to pull the weapon from his neck. Panic sets in.
No, stop him! He’ll call the police!
I look for another crude weapon. My snow globe with the mama and baby polar bear winks back at me, sitting only a few inches away. I don’t stop, don’t pause to consider what I’m doing. All I hear are the voices yelling, screaming, demanding I pick up the globe and smash it into his skull.
I comply.
My palm wraps around the smooth top of the globe and time slows. I watch what happens next as if removed from my body. Paul is still staggering like a wounded animal trying to find its attacker through blurred vision. The pencil is out, the yellow wood now streaked with crimson. More blood stains Paul’s neck and his bloodshot brown eyes locate me.
Accusing.
Hurt.
Confused.
Lethal.
I move again, bringing the heavy snow globe high above and then down against Paul’s balding head.
I feel no emotion as the fragile glass explodes when it meets his skull, scattering tiny shards of glass everywhere as the thick water inside is released. The water pours out like a river breaking free of a dam. It mixes with the blood seeping from between Paul’s fingers, turning everything maroon.
The numerous glass pieces catch the morning sunlight as it streams in through the windows, throwing the dark scene inside the walls into sharp contrast. Paul’s eyes roll into the back of his head and eerie whites glare back at me. Then, inch by inch, he falls backward, his heavy weight pulling him down, down, down. Blood and water continue to mix.
All at once, time resumes. With a sharp crack Paul collapses against the wall, leaving a bright red streak on the yellowed walls as his bashed in head slides to the floor. I stand there for a moment, returning to my body as if I stretched a rubber band to its maximum, only to snap back into place.
Go, hurry! Get the cash and get out! the voices shout as I stare at the body in front of me.
Now my fingers are moving, reaching, scooping every single bill I can find. I crumple them into my pockets, oblivious to the little red dots coating my hand. I wipe the sweat off my face and spin, lunging for the door in three long strides. I push it open and trip on my own feet as I race into the frigid morning.
What have I done? What have I done! I scream in my mind, but my feet don’t slow. Paul’s small shop grows smaller and smaller behind me. I should go back. I need to call the police!
That would be a very bad idea, the voices hiss as the concrete begins crumbling away underneath my feet. We need to connect. You can’t stop now, they rasp. It takes all my concentration to avoid falling off the sidewalk into the massive black holes surrounding me.
I had to do it. He was going to cheat me, turn me away. We needed to kill him. Now we have what we need. The connection must continue.
I nod, agreeing with the voices, with myself. Of course, of course they’re right. Andy, me…we both need Paul’s money. I had to do it.
The sidewalk starts to rematerialize, patching itself back together under the soles of my shoes with each new step I take away from Paul’s, away from my sanity. My fierce run calms to a walk and I
exhale, releasing my breath in a large white cloud of vapor.
“I need to find an ATM first,” I say aloud, my voice weak. “There’s one right across from the apartment at the convenience store. Maybe I’ll even splurge and get a warm cup of tea. God knows I could use it.”
I walk for a few minutes more, content knowing I’ll be able to connect soon.
Suddenly I hear the police sirens screaming, tearing through the early morning.
No! How? Why? How did they find out so quickly?
My sneakers push off the sidewalk as I pump my arms faster. I’m still two blocks from my apartment.
Maybe I can hide down an alley for a while. The voices shout furiously in protest as I consider this thought.
I shake my head, desperate to be alone in my head again. I need to connect. I need to get home!
I pass the nearest alley, my heart hammering in my chest like I’m running a marathon rather than a few yards. My breathing rattles. I can’t keep this pace up for much longer.
The police sirens cry louder as they turn onto the same street as Paul’s shop, the same street I’m still fleeing from. I glance at the cars closest to me, alert for red and blue lights. They’re not coming at me, but from behind. I might have just a few more minutes.
Why are you running? Do you want to get caught? You’re sticking out. You’re not even in jogger’s clothes. My feet slow and a deep cough rakes my body. The frigid air catches me again, wrapping me in its icy fingers.
The piercing song of the sirens screams louder, getting closer and closer. There are more people on the sidewalk now than before I went into Paul’s store. Hopefully I can just blend right in, nothing more than another citizen going about my day.
I brush my fingers through my matted hair and pause, turning to study a nearby store window front. It takes me a minute to realize the store inside is closed, abandoned long ago with a large For Lease sign taped to the glass. A dusty mannequin with half its face cracked and missing stares back at me from the floor, its chipped lips showing the white paint beneath.
I want to turn away, close my eyes, do something to erase the creepy face, but two police cars have reached me, their sirens singing. The red and blue lights flash and reflect my terrified face back in the dirty glass.
Don’t move, don’t breathe. Just stay still and maybe they’ll keep going. I close my eyes, praying with everything I have. The sirens reach a crescendo, but I don’t turn around, enjoying the last few moments of freedom I have.
What are you doing? Don’t just stand there! Try to run, try to get away! Slowly I turn, preparing to flee as the black Chargers approach.
They shoot past me, the officers not even glancing in my direction.
“What?” I whisper, watching the taillights illuminate as the cops brake to get around a large city bus.
Pounding footsteps echo behind me and I look back. Two cops on foot are sprinting toward me, their eyes trained on me. I know I should run, fight, anything, but I’m frozen in place, my mouth gaping open like a dying fish.
“Dale and Spires responding to Twelfth and Willow,” one of the cops shouts into the walkie-talkie attached to his shirt as they rush past, treating me with as much regard as they would a trash can.
I watch, astounded as they run over to an unmarked car parked on the other side of the street. The car pulls into the gathering traffic, heading the same way as the other officers. I look around, feeling unsure. All the other commuters walk around me, oblivious to my guilt, my crime. My eyelids flicker as the sun peeks around the roof of a large building, blinding me.
I shield my eyes as the truth of my situation sinks in. I’m free. I’m off the hook. I can do whatever I want. I can connect!
I let out a whoop, startling a young woman walking by. I don’t apologize. Instead I turn in the direction of my apartment, fueled by a new carefree desire to get home, to deposit my money, to hold my copper baby again.
A few minutes later I reach the park and pass by the abandoned swings, fingering the crumpled bills in my pocket. Twelfth and Willow.
I stop, recalling the street names the cop shouted into his radio. That’s where my apartment is.
My palms begin to sweat as the dark tunnels swallow me. Do I go home? What if they’re waiting for me? What if it’s a trap? My Vertix, my baby! Tears sting my eyes. It’s been about an hour since I last connected and now, on top of the voices and images haunting me, the nausea has returned, gripping me with its steely fingers. I don’t have much longer until I lose it altogether. If I haven’t already.
Just go and check it out. I breathe deeply, trying to calm my fluttering nerves. If they’re outside the apartment, I’ll run. I’ll find some way to get connected.
I abandon the park and walk the remaining blocks to my apartment with hurried steps. Ten minutes later I round a corner and my home looks down at me through the slated metal railing, the brown brick untroubled. I lower my gaze and freeze.
The street is thick with curious onlookers, all talking and gesturing to something I can’t see. I dive into the mix, throwing elbows as I push my tiny body through. They’re angled away from my apartment. I exhale in relief. Something in the street. Is a prostitute getting arrested? A domestic dispute that spilled outside? If only I had my Vertix!
“Excuse me, I live here, move it!” I yell, but no one pays attention. At last I burst through the last cluster of spectators and exhale, free to walk again.
Several cop cars are parked in the street in a haphazard attempt to block the road. Satisfied that it’s nothing to do with me, I push by a few people to the metal stairs. Now that my errand is done and I have the cash in my pocket, I can quick grab my Vertix and double back to an ATM. A shiver of chills races down my spine as I begin the climb up the metal stairs, my body already anticipating the high.
I hope Andy is passed out so I don’t have to take care of him. An image of my brother fast asleep on the couch fills my mind.
My breathing is labored by the time I reach my door. A few more seconds and I can get rid of these annoying visions.
I slide my key in the lock before noticing the door is ajar. “Huh, didn’t I shut this?” I say aloud, trying to remember. The wind gathers around me, making the door bounce against the frame. “Andy?” I call, stepping across the threshold. God I hope he’s calmed down by now. I sling my coat over the wooden chair. “I’m home, you better be done connecting. I need it, okay?” I hear my voice echo down the hallway, but it’s met with silence.
Awesome, maybe he really did fall asleep.
I enter the living room, expecting to find Andy sprawled out on the couch with drool hanging out of his mouth. The couch is empty. I wrinkle my brow and search the few other places he could be.
Maybe he’s in the bathroom or sleeping in my room. Out on the deck?
I check everywhere and still, no Andy.
As I slide the glass door to the deck shut, the red and blue police lights illuminate the dark room behind me and my stomach flips. The apartment is empty, the door unlocked and open, and my Vertix is gone. A foreboding sense of dread grows heavy and multiplies in my stomach.
Does Andy have something to do with the cop cars down there?
I force myself to walk out the front door and down the stairwell, gripping the slippery metal railing to keep from falling. Even at the snail’s pace I’m going I’m not sure my footing will remain true. In my head, horrible images begin to take form, but I push them away before they can materialize.
He’s fine, Andy’s fine. He probably just went out to grab something to eat. He’s hanging out at the drugstore. It does nothing to ease the panic bubbling inside my chest.
I’m only a few steps away from the first police cruiser where two uniformed officers are talking to one another. The buzzing in my head is too loud for me to understand what they’re saying.
I have to know. I walk past a temporary barrier to the cops and interrupt. “What? What happened here?” I ask, feeling as though I’m hearing
myself speak from miles away. Please let Andy be safe, please let him be okay.
One of the cops turns to stare at me with an exasperated look on his face, like he’s been asked the same question a dozen times already. The other one ignores me and takes a sip from his paper mug.
“There’s nothing to see here, miss. Please move it along so the paramedics can get through,” the officer grunts, motioning me away.
“What happened?” I say again.
“Look, miss. I told ya to get out of here, all right?”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me,” I say, feeling tears start to pool in my eyes.
“All right, miss, onto the sidewalk. Come on now,” the cop instructs, his stern voice signaling he’s had enough.
He tries to guide me out of the street, but I shrug out of his grasp and step out of his reach. “What happened, what happened, what happened?” I shriek. No matter how many times I try to tell myself that Andy’s okay, I know he’s not. Something terrible has happened to him. “What happened? What happened?” I scream louder, drawing looks from the crowd.
The cop throws up his hands, then points to the center of the circle the cars have created. “Some kid walked into the middle of the street, right in front of a truck, okay? Are you happy now?”
“Who? Who is it? Who walked into the street? Why was he in the street?” I cry, already knowing the answers.
“Miss, you have to stay back. Get back on the sidewalk now or I will detain you,” the other officer says. “Do you understand?”
“Why was he in the street?” I gasp, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth. “I have to see him!” I make a dash to push through the officers, but they grab my arms and hold me back. Hot coffee spills down my arm as I knock the cup out of the cop’s hand. “No! You have to let me see him! Andy! Andy! Please answer me!” I wail. Hot tears cascade down my skin to mix with the rain drops already dotting the pavement. “Andy, no please!” Sobs rack my body, and now everyone is looking at me. “Andy!” I scream as loudly as I can.
“Get on the ground, get down now,” numerous officers bark.
Through my hysteria I feel myself slammed to the pavement, held by multiple officers. I feel cold metal touch my wrists and thrash, only managing to turn my head. I’m now looking underneath the nearest cruiser. I can see into the center of the perimeter they taped off.
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