Madness

by Zac Brewer

  After hurrying to close and lock the window, I turned back to Duckie, my heart racing. He said, “I should call the cops.”

  “Duckie, no.” Derek had scared me, but I didn’t want him to go to jail. I could only imagine what his dad might do to him after that.

  “Then we have to call your parents.”

  I hesitated before speaking, and Duckie noticed. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  He sighed and dropped his arm to his side, phone still in hand. “So why don’t you seem keen on it? What part of what just transpired says not to call . . . I dunno . . . someone?”

  If I was honest, it was the part of me that still cared about Derek, the part of me that didn’t want to see him hurt. But I couldn’t say that. Not even to Duckie.

  “Brooke.” His tone was sharp. “I’ve been covering for you, lying for you ever since Derek stepped into the picture. I’m not doing that anymore. I think we’re well past the point of keeping a boyfriend secret from your parents now, don’t you? This has crossed over into serious stalker territory. If you don’t tell your parents what just happened, then I will.”

  I reached for his phone, but he moved his arm and I missed. “You wouldn’t! Duckie, please. I just . . . everything will be fine, okay? And if he acts like that again, I’ll tell my parents everything. Just not yet, okay?”

  There was a fire in his eyes—one I’d never seen before. “Give me one good reason.”

  All that was left was the truth. Tears welled in my eyes as I spoke the words, but I wasn’t completely certain whether they were out of concern for Derek or fear for myself. “Derek’s dad beats the shit out of him for no reason. I can’t even imagine what he’d do if the cops showed up on his doorstep or if my dad gave him a call. So just . . . please. Don’t.”

  A long, tense silence filled the room. Finally, with a sigh, Duckie plugged his phone into the charger on my desk and lay down on the makeshift bed on the floor. I crawled into bed with nothing more to say and no idea what to do.

  Reaching up, I switched the light off, bathing us in darkness. After a moment, Duckie had the final word.

  “I won’t lie for you again.”

  My heart ached. I couldn’t be sure about Duckie, but I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  For days, I struggled to find the right way to tell my parents about what had been going on. About the fact that I’d been sneaking around with a guy and asking Duckie to cover for me . . . to lie for me. They were going to be mad. At me. At Duckie. But more than that—the part that made it most excruciating to tell them about it—they were going to be hurt that I hadn’t told them in the first place.

  When I saw Derek at school on Monday, he was acting totally normal. A bit on the distant side, but normal. And when Duckie asked if I’d come clean to my parents, I told him I was trying to figure out the best time and way to explain the situation to them and that I was trying to find the right way to get Derek help. Duckie said the best way to do both of those things was just to come clean with my parents . . . but I wasn’t convinced that would help Derek at all. I promised I’d tell them by the next weekend, and, thankfully, Duckie believed me. After that, the week was pretty much back to business as usual.

  Stretching my right arm upward, I poked the thumbtack into the ceiling over my bed, hanging the crane I’d just folded with the others. My entire bedroom ceiling was covered with them. But that one was special. That one was just for me.

  Duckie was lying on my bed, his head on my pillow, looking up at the cranes with an expression I could only describe as wonderment. “Did you know you’ve folded a thousand paper cranes? I’ve been counting how many are up there as you’ve been hanging them.”

  Looking at my ceiling, I wondered how the count had gotten so high. “That’s a lot. I had no clue.”

  I batted gently at the one I’d just hung. The action reverberated through the entire collection. They were flying. Flying and free.

  Duckie sat up, smiling at me. “Y’know, I heard that in Japan, a thousand origami cranes is supposed to grant you a wish. So . . . what are you going to wish for?”

  The cranes flitted back and forth across my ceiling, and I wondered when the time would come to take them down. Eventually, I imagined. “I have no idea.”

  “There has to be something you want.”

  Biting my bottom lip for a moment, I thought back to Joy, the girl who’d taken her life while I was inpatient. I scanned the thousand cranes until I found the one with the bloody wing. Surrounding it, as if they were guarding it, were the several cranes I’d folded in the weeks after I’d returned home. “Right now, I just want to take these cranes down.”

  At first, he didn’t say anything. Then he said, “You do?”

  “Yeah. I do.” I smiled down at Duckie, whose eyes were tearing up. It felt good, being in this place in my life. It was hard to imagine that I’d been in Kingsdale not that long ago. “And I think we should take them down to Black River to let them go. Kinda say good-bye to the past. Y’know?”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea.” Duckie stood up beside me, admiring my work. “But how are we gonna carry a thousand origami cranes?”

  “We’ll stuff as many as we can inside my backpack. Even if we don’t get them all, it’s the symbolism that counts.”

  Duckie retrieved my backpack from beside my desk, and, ever so carefully, I began removing cranes from the ceiling—beginning with Joy’s. Soon my backpack was stuffed. My ceiling was still mostly covered. As we headed downstairs for the front door, my dad said, “Hey, you two. Where are you off to?”

  He and Mom were sitting in the living room. The news reporter on the TV was talking about a fire in the cemetery in the next town over. I swallowed hard before speaking. “We’re going to Black River.”

  Mom sat up straight. She and Dad exchanged looks of concern.

  “It’s okay, you guys. Really. I just think it’s time I put some stuff behind me.”

  After a long pause, Dad said, “Be home in time for dinner.”

  Mom looked like she didn’t know exactly what to say, so she said, “I’m making lemon chicken.”

  They were worried. And I supposed they had every right, every reason. I’d put them through hell. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. I promise.”

  We stepped outside, and Duckie grabbed my hand and started running for no apparent reason. After a moment, he let go, and we raced down the road, all the way to the park entrance. Duckie won. But only because he cheated by failing to announce that we were racing. Once we reached the bridge, Duckie said, “You never talk about that night.”

  One moment, I was standing on the bridge in broad daylight. The next, I was standing there alone, at night, ready to end my life. I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. The daylight returned—I was once more in the here and now. The other scene seemed like a bad dream to me. “You’re right. I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s embarrassing and awful to think about.” I slipped my backpack from my shoulders and unzipped it. The cranes inside sat up anxiously. They were ready to go, and I was ready to have them gone. I lifted them out in handfuls and tossed them into the water below. Each bunch flowed with the water, and soon my backpack was empty and the river contained a long line of origami cranes. They moved south, waving their tiny wings in a gesture of farewell. All but Joy’s crane. Hers was leading the way, I was certain.

  We watched them float away, and finally, Duckie reached over and took my hand in his. “Be honest. Do you ever still think about committing suicide?”

  “Sometimes, but only in flitting thoughts in really dark moments. And those are a rarity lately. You have nothing to worry about.” Before my attempt, I worried about Duckie a lot. What would he be like without a built-in audience and someone who really understood him? What would a sensitive guy like him do after losing his best friend? It was hard to think about.

  “I don’t want y
ou thinking that way. Not ever. You’re here. And I’m here. We’re sticking together, and you’re staying alive.” I swore I heard a crack in his voice. He turned back to the river and watched the cranes shrink in the distance. Then, very quietly, he said, “Because you’re my best friend and I love you too much to ever lose you.”

  My chest fluttered. Duckie and I never said the words. We’d only ever said I-L-Y.

  He gave my hand a squeeze, and I squeezed back. He stood wordlessly beside me for a long time. Choking up, I said, “I love you too, Duckie.”

  His eyes were shimmering when he glanced at me. We gave the cranes a final wave and left the river—and all that it stood for—behind. As we headed home, Duckie changed the subject to more comfortable territory. Who would win in a slap fight: Brendon Urie from Panic! At the Disco or Pete Wentz from Fall Out Boy? Duckie pointed out that Pete might put up a good fight, but Brendon would probably fight dirty and beat him to death with a guitar. Any guitar.

  It was hard to argue with that kind of logic.

  Once we reached my house, I told Duckie that I needed to be alone. At first, he looked really concerned. But then a lightbulb went on over his head, and he understood. I was ready to tell my parents everything. Well . . . almost everything. They didn’t need to know about me having sex or riding a motorcycle. Baby steps.

  After the Beast rumbled its way down the road, I went inside and found my parents where I’d left them. My chest tight, I said, “Hey, guys. I need to talk to you.” I spilled my guts for about a half hour, explaining that I’d been seeing Derek for several weeks. I told them about sneaking out, about lying and making Duckie lie for me. And then I told them about the night that Derek had come into my room without an invite and snuggled with me. I thought my dad was going to have a heart attack. The vein in his forehead popped out as I was talking. But he didn’t say anything. Neither did Mom. They just sat there and listened as quietly and as calmly as they could. When I eventually got to the night Duckie had almost called the police, my voice shook. “I know we should have called . . . someone. But I was worried—I’m still worried—about what will happen to Derek. His dad might hurt him . . . or he might hurt himself. So, I’m sorry. For all of it. But I couldn’t go on lying to you both. You deserve better than that.”

  There was a long, drawn-out silence. Then my parents both stood up. I was bracing for a lot of yelling and a severe punishment. Instead, they both hugged me tight. Tears coated my mom’s cheeks as she said, “We love you so much, Brooke. Thank you for telling us about all of that.”

  My dad kissed the top of my head. “We’re just glad you’re okay. And we’ll figure out a way to help that boy, don’t you worry about that.”

  For the rest of the day, we hung out in the living room together. Dad started to pull out the Monopoly board, but I opted for a game of Parcheesi instead. Afterward, we ate dinner and then watched The Breakfast Club. My parents, it turned out, weren’t there to judge me. They just wanted to help me.

  Just as Molly Ringwald was teaching the others how to put on lipstick with your cleavage, my phone buzzed, and I somehow knew who it was. With a deep breath, I looked at Derek’s text.

  I just keep doing stupid shit, don’t I? I’m sorry, Brooke. I understand you need your space. I’ll back off, if you want.

  After some consideration, I texted back. I’m sorry things are like this between us.

  Maybe they won’t always be. We’ll take some time off and then we can talk whenever you want to. He paused and then added, If you want to.

  I had to admit, I was a bit taken aback by his sensitivity and respect after the way he’d spoken to me over a week ago. The least I could do was to show him the same respect. Thank you, Derek.

  There was a long stretch of time before I saw those telling three dots on my phone’s screen. Could I see you one last time, just to apologize in person for the way I’ve been acting? I totally get it if you don’t want to.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and glanced back at Dad, who was dozing in his chair. Mom had already fallen asleep on the couch. Everything in my gut said to stay here, to not see Derek. But another part of me knew that depending on what my parents decided to do, this might be the last chance I had to see Derek before everything changed. I moved my thumbs over the keys quickly and hit send before I could change my mind. Okay. But just for a few minutes. Meet me at the corner by my house in a half hour?

  I felt bad for sneaking out again, but it would only be for a few minutes, and I owed Derek some closure. He’d had enough pain and betrayal in his life. I didn’t want to add to it any more than I had to. Dad started snoring, so I crept to the front door, leaving my sleeping parents behind.

  When I reached the corner, he was standing there, holding an open soda and looking sadder than I’d ever seen him. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” He looked me up and down, as if memorizing me. After a moment of awkward silence, he said, “You want the rest of this? I’m just not as thirsty as I thought I was.”

  I took the soda from him and said, “Thanks. I’m . . . I’m sorry. For all of this.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for. I was the one who messed things up between us.”

  As I thought of a response, I hid behind drinks of Derek’s soda. What did you say to someone whose heart you’d broken into a million pieces? Especially when you still loved them.

  I took another drink and said, “No one person is responsible for a relationship breaking up. It’s my fault too.”

  He nodded, quiet and subdued. “So, we’re really broken up, then?”

  My head filled with the strangest fog. One minute I was holding the soda can in my hand, the next it was falling to the ground. Everything started to move in slow motion. I stepped toward Derek, but fell. “Something’s . . . something’s wrong.”

  The last thing I remembered was Derek catching me in his arms and telling me that everything was going to be just fine. Perfect, even.

  But as I was swallowed by darkness, my gut said that something was very, very wrong.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When I came to, it didn’t feel like waking up from a night’s sleep. It felt like what I imagined a hangover might feel like, or how my meds had made me feel until a few weeks ago, times ten. My head hurt like crazy, and I still felt like I was lost in a weird, hazy, sleepy fog. It felt like a dream, but I didn’t pinch myself to check. I had no idea how long I’d been out, but I was keenly aware that I was lying on a patch of grass. Nearby, I could hear water rushing. It was a river. Black River.

  I managed to turn my head to the left slightly and saw my bridge in the distance. I was farther down the riverbank, where the water got really deep and turbulent. White candles had been lit all around me, casting an eerie glow on the overhanging trees above. Just as fear and confusion began to shake me fully alert, Derek kissed my lips and said, “Oh good, you’re awake. I was waiting for you, so we could go together.”

  “Together? Where are we going?” I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn’t cooperate, and the pain in my head began throbbing. Suddenly it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen Derek drink from the can before he’d handed it to me. Had he drugged it? Drugged me? My body said yes.

  He stroked my cheek lovingly. His eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “Nobody knows. But we’ll go together. Like Romeo and Juliet. Like we wanted before anybody else got between us.”

  I looked at him, confused. Why were we at the river? What was going on? “What are you talking about?”

  “It’ll be easy. Like going to sleep. I’d never let you suffer.” Standing, he bent to scoop me into his arms.

  “Derek, what are you doing?” My voice sounded small and weak, the way that my body felt.

  “I can’t lose you. I won’t. We’re supposed to be together forever.” There were tears in his eyes as he looked at me. “And we will now.”

  “You need help. I want to help you. Where are you taking me?” He stepped to the edge of the bank, and my heart po
unded inside my chest. Drugged, I struggled uselessly. Flashbacks of the night of my attempt filled my mind, and I could see more clearly than ever now that that had been a terrible mistake. I didn’t want to die.

  Poised there, holding me tight, Derek said, “I love you, Brooke.”

  I shouted, “Derek, don’t! I—”

  He stepped forward, and my every nerve jumped in terror. He was going to kill me.

  We plunged into the water, and the cold of it shocked my muscles to life. I wrenched as hard as I could to free myself. And when I couldn’t, I pulled his hair, clawed his skin, anything I could do to manage to escape. I screamed for help, and Derek’s hand closed over my throat, squeezing me into silence. He put his lips to my ear and said, “I know you’re scared. It’ll all be over soon. And then we’ll always be together.”

  He placed a kiss on my temple and then plunged me into the water. I held my breath until my lungs ached, grabbing at his hands and trying to free myself, but it was useless. I saw bubbles leaving my mouth and nose, climbing to the surface. I felt dizzy, and warmer than I had before he’d plunged me into the water. I was dying. And Derek, the boy who I’d loved, was killing me.

  And I wanted to live. I couldn’t think of anything that I wanted more than that.

  Suddenly I knew what wish I wanted to make. I wished to go on living.

  Thinking fast, I let my body go limp and my eyes glaze over. After a moment—one that seemed to stretch on forever—Derek relaxed his grip on me and lifted my head from the water, clutching me to him. He seemed so calm as he bent down and kissed my cold lips. “I love you, Brooke. I’ll be with you soon.”

  Laying me against his chest, facing away from him, he kept his arms around me. I didn’t know where he’d gotten the knife, but I watched in silent horror as he plunged the blade into his left wrist. He pulled it toward him, slicing through skin, muscle, and vein. Blood poured out of him. Had it been daylight, I imagined the river would have turned red, if only for a moment. As he began cutting into his right wrist, he stumbled some, woozy from the blood loss.