At first I only see specks of yellow, little markers that track blood splatter. But then I see him, Andy, in the last place I would ever want to imagine. His skin is white and a small trickle of dried blood has long since stopped flowing from between his lips.
His blue eyes are still open, their brightness gone, empty, staring, worse than before. He is nothing but a cold corpse, a stiff mannequin with a look of pain forever sculpted into his handsome face. A feral scream rips from my throat.
My vision blurs as tears blind my sight and for a moment, my dead brother disappears into a blur of colors and I can pretend and imagine that I’m staring at nothing more than trash blowing down the street. But the moment has to come, must come for me to see him again and the pain stabs through my chest all over again.
Screams and wails of agony continue to pour out of me and I feel the rough hands of the officers trying to haul me to my feet. I thrash against them, trying to break free of their hold, needing to stay here with Andy. I look back at him.
He’s alive! I saw his mouth move! He’s breathing, he’s trying to breathe! “Please, help him! Help him, he’s still alive!” I scream. “Please, please, he’s breathing, his mouth is opening!”
The officers halt their handling of me to investigate my claim, but no movement meets their gaze. They see a dead kid.
“Why aren’t you helping him? Help him! Somebody help him!” I kick at the officers holding me. “Please, help him!” I look back, and this time, my eyes play tricks on me.
Instead of lying flat, he’s now leaning on his elbow, his smile a dark crimson with blood flowing fresh and fast down his chin. He opens his lips to sing and black moths pour forth from his throat and flap toward me. I try to shield my face from their papery wings and velvet bodies, but the cops have my arms secured behind me.
“No, no, no, Andy, please stop doing this! Just stop it!” I shriek, but when I glance back, Andy is still singing his sickening melody and tapping his hand against the side of his temple as his blue, blue eyes bore into me.
It’s then that I realize I’m hallucinating. I’ve been disconnected from the Vertix for so long. My Vertix is still lodged in the back of Andy’s neck. How can I get it back? The thought wanders through my mind innocently enough, but the guilt that follows behind is enough to make me want to vomit—or perhaps that’s another side effect of the withdrawal.
“Get her out of here!” a voice yells, and I am being hauled to my feet and dragged toward a new cop car.
“Andy!” I cry. “Andy!” Black moths, crimson blood, bright blue eyes assail me once more and I feel my legs buckle and give out from beneath me, sending both me and the cop back down to the pavement.
“Jesus Christ,” he swears. “Just calm down, miss. Calm down.”
The cop secures his hold, hoists me off the damp road and pulls me the remaining steps. My chest is heaving and I’m crying Andy’s name incoherently, asking him to stop staring at me, but it’s no use, his bright blue eyes don’t close.
“Killed him, killed him,” I whisper.
The cop ignores me.
I want him to agree, to shout back and say look what you’ve done. Instead he remains silent as he tosses me in the backseat of the car and locks the door, turning back to where the other officers are trying to contain arriving reporters.
“I killed him,” I whisper a little louder. No one hears, and no one disagrees.
Andy is dead.
They told me he was killed on impact. He stepped into the street and nothing. He was dead before his body crumpled to the ground. They brought him to the morgue, not even bothering to stop at the emergency room.
There was nothing they could do.
I stumble around like a blind person inside my apartment, feeling for the light switch on the wall before realizing the lights are already on. I glance down and sigh. My coat is covered in vomit. The cops didn’t think anything of it. They must have assumed it was grief. I wonder if vomiting is a normal part of the grieving process. It is for me. My body is betraying me, holding my ability to function hostage until I connect again.
“Oh, hey, Maggie,” Sarah greets, her voice stiff.
I glance up, surprised to see my ex-friend in the kitchen, opening drawers and cupboards in a frantic search.
“Sarah? What are you doing here?” I whisper, a side effect of all my screams.
“I came over to look for my grandmother’s necklace. After I got settled with Jake, I realized it wasn’t with the rest of my stuff so I wanted to take another look around,” Sarah says, turning to look at me. “You haven’t seen it have you?” Her gray eyes are unblinking.
I shake my head. “No.”
Sarah exhales, still pulling open drawers and looking through the years of junk collected within. “Oh, I ran into Charlie downstairs and he told me some guy got hit by a car this morning. Did you know him?”
My throat swells and I open my mouth to try and draw a breath. A choking sound gargles in the back of my throat instead. “Andy,” I whisper. I sit down at the table, withdrawing the little copper Vertix from my vomit-crusted pocket.
“Oh, Andy knew him?” Sarah asks. “Where is he?”
“He’s dead,” I say quietly, activating my long-dormant Vertix.
Once the police had determined I was Andy’s kin, I’d received all of the items he had on him at the time of his death. It wasn’t much: a stick of gum, a rubber band around his wrist, and the Vertix. The Vertix is the only object I care about, the others I had dropped on the ground outside the station. Staring at the sleek body, I notice new spots on the shell. It takes me a minute to realize it’s Andy’s blood.
“What? Maggie, what do you mean? Andy was the guy that got hit by that truck?” Sarah gasps. “Why? What the hell were you guys doing?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t with him. I thought he’d be fine,” I reply, shrugging off my dirty coat and closing my eyes. I put my head in my hands and breathe in and out of my nose, trying to remain upright as the dizziness makes my equilibrium slosh around inside my skull.
“What do you mean you thought he’d be fine, Maggie? Why wasn’t he okay?” Sarah asks, her voice turning shrill.
I shrug and watch as the tiny sensors slip out from the bottom of the device. “I don’t know, when I woke up he was all twitchy and attacked me. I gave him my Vertix to calm him down and when I came back…” I let my words trail off. My head hurts.
“What the hell, Maggie? Are you serious right now?! Andy is dead! If he was acting strange why in the world did you leave him alone, especially with a Vertix?” Sarah shouts. Her words bite like a snake. I don’t answer, keeping my gaze fixed on the device, waiting to place it on the back of my neck. I don’t want to connect while she’s here. She’ll ruin it.
“But even if you did, it wouldn’t matter would it? You knew he was messed up, but you left him anyway. No doubt to go pawn something else off. And then…you just come back here, connect, and pretend as if it didn’t happen? You need to go see him, call your parents, do anything that doesn’t involve that stupid machine!” Sarah shrieks.
I can hear the tears in her voice. I know she’s desperate to get my attention or some kind of reaction out of me, but I don’t look away from the Vertix. That’s all I can focus on. All I want to focus on. I can’t handle her words.
“I can’t believe you,” Sarah whispers. She grabs her coat and vanishes out the door, the sound of her crying echoing back to me.
My brother is dead. It’s my fault and that’s all there is to it. Once I connect, I’ll feel better. I’ll be more prepared to deal with my emotions, but not right now. Right now I need to let my mind go blank and then I’ll be okay.
• • • • •
I sit at the kitchen table for a few minutes or a few hours. I have no idea, lost as I disappear inside the marvelous world of social media and apps cocooning around my brain.
It doesn’t last long enough. Andy must have used a high-performance app and drained the funds
to below the minimum. I wish it would love me enough to keep working for free.
Technology is a smart whore, giving herself to me over and over again, making me feel the best I ever have, as long as I can afford it. Once that last dollar is gone, so is the affection and love, and now I’m staring at the cold machine like a puppy begging for scraps, hoping it will chime back to life for just a few more seconds. It doesn’t. Like I said, she’s a whore, with only her agenda to look after.
Frustrated, I push back in my chair and my eyes twitch at the sound of wood scraping forcefully against the tile. The crumpled bills inside my pocket cry out for attention. I haven’t made it to the ATM yet, and the thought of trudging out into the howling wind makes me shiver.
Here I am with no connection, no roommate, and no brother. It’s only me and my traitorous body, preparing for the perfect moment to unleash a nightmare of itching skin and vomiting. With a groan, I pass by the fridge, hunger the furthest thing from my mind. Without thinking about it, my hand falls to my waist and my hip bones bang against my palm like sharp cliffs along a jagged coastline. I should eat, but I feel sick.
My mind is in control, and my mind wants to connect, wants the rush I enjoyed minutes ago. For that I need to deposit more money. It’s as though I’m stuck on an endless merry-go-round with a broken horse, unable to rise up and gallop with the others without the Vertix. Instead, I’m forced to sit on the revolving base, just getting dizzier and dizzier.
I stumble into the hallway, vomiting all over the hardwood floor. Grasping the doorframe to Sarah’s room, another wave of nausea grips me and foul liquid pours from my mouth like a fountain.
My throat gags as it spews up stale stomach bile. At last the heaving stops and shame floods over me as I take stock of the hallway. Watery puke is everywhere and has even splashed up the baseboards, decorating the lower half of the wall.
The stench is overwhelming and makes me feel sick all over again. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t live my life pawning and connecting over and over again. I need something big. I need my bonus.
It’s as if a light bulb has illuminated in my mind. Why haven’t I received it yet? It’s mid-January. Maybe it came in the mail and I just missed it. I abandon the vomit-soaked hallway and race back into the kitchen, my queasiness forgotten.
An overflowing basket holding all of my recent mail sits by the front door. I rip through it. Past due, missed payments, water shut off warnings. No, no, no! None of these are them! I take a step back and press my fingertips to my temple. It couldn’t have been directly deposited, could it? I would have noticed if two thousand dollars showed up. You need to go there. Figure out what the hell is going on.
I leave the numerous envelopes scattered on the floor and grab my coat, checking that the Vertix is still secure on the back of my neck. First, I’ll find an ATM and deposit what little funds I have and then Red Leaf will have hell to pay.
• • • • •
Twenty minutes later I step out of the golden elevator and breeze into the polished corridors of Red Leaf Literary. Feelings of pride, success, and hope wash over me, but they’re quickly extinguished. I don’t work here anymore. All those sweet dreams are gone, with so many other things.
I duck my head, afraid of getting noticed and tossed out before I reach Robins. Lucky for me, all the agents and interns are busy in their cubicles, likely following up with the flood of new queries after the New Year.
Hollywood Undead fills my mind, screaming and singing as Serenade picks it as a perfect match for my rising anxiety.
We are young; we have heart, born in this world as it all falls apart. We are strong; we don’t belong, born in this world as it all falls apart.
I follow the twisting gray cubicles to the center of the large space. Rounding the final corner, I collide with a solid object and bounce back.
“Ouch,” I wheeze, rubbing the spot on my forehead where an elbow smacked me.
“Oh geez, sorry about that,” a familiar voice apologizes. “Are you okay?”
I shouldn’t look, I should just keep walking, but the warm tenor of his voice pulls my eyes upward like a magnet. Jeremy is staring at me with concern in his warm blue eyes which turns to apprehension as he takes in my dirty, disheveled appearance.
“You good?” he asks again, reshuffling his papers. “Maggie—is that you?”
“I’m good, thanks,” I whisper, moving around him and ignoring his last question. I have things to do and none of them include listening to Jeremy swoon about his sweet, non-wired girlfriend.
Robins is standing behind her desk, scratching something down on one of the numerous papers flooding the surface. I don’t knock; I might lose my nerve if I hesitate.
Robins doesn’t look up. “Yes, can I help you?”
I let the door close behind me, plunge my hands into my coat pockets and stare at her. The lead singer of the Punk/Rap band screams in my mind, threatening to split my skull, but the noise feels good as it vibrates through my body.
“I’m here to collect my bonus,” I say. She isn’t looking at me. I will not be nervous.
“Bonus? Those were sent out at the beginning of last month,” Robins says.
“Well then I need another check because I never received mine,” I say, feeling anger wrap around my brain. Just look at me.
At last Robins sets aside her pen and plants her palms flat on the surface of the table, fixing me with a pointed stare over her white-rimmed glasses. “Well I apologize if there was a hiccup in the delivery but…” she trails off and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Margaret?”
“Hello, Ms. Robins,” I reply, withdrawing my hands from my pockets.
“What…what are you doing here?” Robins asks, taking a step away from her desk.
“Like I said, I never received my bonus.”
Ms. Robins shakes her head, her perfumed hair hardly stirring from its perfect style. “But, my dear…you don’t work here anymore,” she says, crossing her arms.
“Yes, I realize that, but I should still get reimbursed for all the hard work I put in while I was still here,” I answer, not backing down.
“I’m sorry, Margaret.” Ms. Robins sighs. “But when you were fired, you forfeited all rights to bonuses and extra compensation. You received your final paycheck and unless you’ve found another job, I assume you’ve been collecting unemployment. I don’t have anything else to give you.”
I take a few steps forward, the fierce drums pounding in my mind. I grip the edge of her desk, small dark brown dots still sprinkled across the back of my hands. “Please, there must be something, anything with my name on it,” I plead, shaking my head to try and focus on Robins. It’s a little hard while the guitarist jumps up and down in the corner. “Please,” I try again.
“Margaret,” Robins says, her soft voice gone. “You were let go from Red Leaf several weeks ago. I realize that you’ve been having some difficulties, but they’re not my problem. This isn’t a homeless shelter; this is a professional publishing house. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to prepare for a meeting.” She looks back down at her papers, reaching past another band member to make another note.
She’s blowing you off, a voice in my mind whispers. She has your money. She just doesn’t want to give it away. I try to push the words away but the argument makes sense. I did work here; I deserve something to show for it.
All of a sudden I realize the Vertix is quiet, the emo band no longer screaming in my head. I deposited the funds but forgot the wireless battery.
My thoughts swirl and fog. I can’t focus, can’t concentrate on what I was about to say next. Andy. Yes, something about Andy…and money.
I try for sympathy. “Ms. Robins, please. My….my family isn’t doing very well and I’d really appreciate—” I begin but my former boss cuts me off.
“Yes, the story was relayed to me an hour ago.” Robins nods, gesturing to her iJewel. “Your brother is dead.”
I swallow the lump in
my throat and maintain eye contact with her. Hard as I try to keep the image away, it comes, darkening the room like a thundercloud. Andy, dead, lying motionless in a puddle of crimson blood, staring back at me, blankly. He is dead, gone, encased in a metal locker in a dark room that reeks of embalming fluid and last breaths.
Andy’s dead. What I don’t understand is why Robins smiled when she told me. “Yes,” I whisper. “He was dealing with some…” I trail off.
“Dealing with an addiction? Was he suffering from the same affliction you are?” Robins asks. “The police said they didn’t find any illegal substances in his blood, but he did have a Vertix strapped to his neck. You’re his sister. Why did you leave him alone? Was he so miserable with you that he just walked into traffic? Smiled as the truck wiped whatever useless thought wasn’t going through his head away?”
“What did you say?” I gasp. How could she have known that information? How did she know I left him?
Robins shakes her head and bends down to collect her fanned out papers into a single stack. “I said I am very sorry for your loss but there’s nothing I can do to help you now,” she says.
“No, that’s not what you said,” I yell, pointing at her.
She’s a snake, a spy. She knows what you’ve done. She’s going to tell everyone. She’s laughing at you, a swell of voices chant. I can hear their sharp teeth biting, clicking together like chattering skulls.
When I look back at Robins, she’s sporting an evil smile, waiting for me to lose it. I blink again and her expression looks confused, worried.
What’s happening? Which one is real? I clutch my hands to my head and dig my nails into the soft skin covering my scalp. The voices scream as the room flickers before me, sending my mind reeling.
Kill her! Kill her before she tells! they yell.
“It’s your fault he’s dead. You killed him and you’re not going to get away with it,” Robins whispers with a malicious smirk. “You killed him…murderer.” My eyes shift back and forth and Robins’ smile flashes again, like a demon. “You killed him.”
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