WISHBONE II: ...Some Wishes Should Never Be Made

by Brooklyn Hudson

  Matt left Julien sleeping. He climbed the spiral staircase and lifted the latch. A gust of cold air rushed in and he stepped up into the roof peak. He looked out over the property and down at the ground.

  If you’re leaving, you’re doing it through the front door…and WITH Julien, he insisted.

  A hum erupted and Matt stared out at the tree line. He watched as a large plow truck came up onto the property from the road.

  YES!

  Another car followed, then three more police vehicles.

  Oh, hellz yesss! He danced around like he had just made a touchdown then bolted down the stairs, waking Julien with the rapid thunder of his footfalls against iron.

  “Jules! Julien! Wake up, Buddy. They’re here. The police are here.”

  Julien opened his eyes and Matt’s words registered. He looked to the door.

  “Jules, we’re getting you out of here,” Matt grabbed his arm. “Everything’s gonna be okay now.”

  “What did you do?” Julien whispered.

  “They’re here! I didn’t do anything. They just showed up.”

  Julien looked at him with a disenchanted smile. He slowly licked his lips and cleared his throat, “She is going to kill them. They’re probably already dead.”

  “No, Jules… They’re right there…a gazillion of them…like, right here…right outside!”

  “Matt, they were here…they are now gone…or they will be,” he said and closed his eyes again.

  Matt took a step back. He looked up the stairs and then to Julien.

  “What are you talking about?” Matt bolted up the iron spiral again.

  He came out onto the widow’s walk and looked out over the property once more. The plow sat parked and motionless at the top of the driveway. Halfway around the circle sat a procession of police vehicles, also parked and with no sign of movement.

  Matt held onto the ledge of the widow’s walk and hoisted a leg over, onto the roof. He balanced himself carefully and moved along the peak, waving his arms and calling to them.

  “Hey! Hey! Over here!” He tried to draw their attention, but the roof was slippery, making each movement a risk. He waved his arms again, “Hey! Look…over…here…” He tried to jump up and down, gripping the widow’s walk tight.

  Matt stood on the roof, staring out at the cars. Confused, he tried to walk further out onto the roof, to get a better view inside the vehicles, but it was too dark. Out of nowhere, a dog came running. It barked wildly on the ground, just below him. Matt glanced at the cars again, hoping the dog’s ruckus would set the police in motion, but nothing happened.

  Matt inched his way back to the widow’s walk and stepped in over the ledge. He looked at the cars again, to be sure. He could hear Sarah in the bedroom below, grunting and mumbling angrily. He turned to rush down and keep the girl away from Julien, but as he took a step, the latch door slammed shut before his eyes. He bent over, grabbing the handle and tugging, but the door felt like it was sealed with cement. He pulled, using all of his brute strength, but the door wouldn’t budge.

  Sarah held the magazine up for Julien.

  “What did you do, Sarah?” Julien whispered groggily, “Did you hurt them?”

  Sarah waved the magazine, bringing it closer for his inspection. Julien reached up and took it from her. He placed it down on the bed beside him, without looking at it.

  Sarah paced back and forth, wrenching her fingers and mumbling.

  “Please, Sarah, no one else needs to be hurt. Send Matt home to his children…make him forget, but please do not hurt him. I beg you…do this for me. Send him home to the city.”

  Sarah dove at Julien and dropped down beside the bed. She nodded vehemently.

  “You will do that for me?”

  Sarah nodded again.

  “Good girl,” he forced a smile and reached out, weak and shaking, he ran his hand over her hair and down the side of her face. “Send Matt home and send the police home. No more hurting people, okay? Everything will be okay now,” he vowed.

  Sarah nodded sullenly. She looked around then reached over him to grab the magazine. She flashed it before his closed eyes then grabbed the marble notebook. She shook him violently and Julien woke. On her knees beside him, she turned the pages and rambled at him in a frenzy.

  Julien could only trust that she would make good on what he asked of her. He lay there fading, not caring if the house burned down around them. He told himself what he desperately longed to hear…that Matt would be home that night and that Rachael was somewhere safe and happy. He thought of Jessica and assured himself, she had found peace in a better place. He drifted off, knowing they were all going to be okay.

  Sarah’s hand came down against his chest with a brutal blow. The pain brought him fully conscious in an instant. Before his eyes, he stared at the wishbone, dangling just inches away.

  “No Sarah, no more. You don’t need the bones and I don’t want to play anymore.”

  She narrowed her eyes and gripped the device where it attached to his thigh.

  “No, no, no! Please…no… Sarah…please, do not…”

  She shoved the wishbone toward him again.

  Julien could hear Matt beating and kicking at the door to the widow’s walk.

  Sarah put tension on the metal bracing and Julien felt a subtle shift of his fractured bones.

  “Okay, okay, I will do it. I will make the wish,” he vowed.

  Sarah reached out and took hold of the magazine placing it on Julien’s stomach before her. She looked at the photo of the girl and her dog escaping the yellow cab.

  Julien looked down at the magazine then back to Sarah. The photos in the notebook flashed through his mind and it all came clear.

  Maybe in another time or place…

  If things had been different…

  …Do not make the wish.

  Julien knocked the bone from her hand, “No, Sarah.”

  Sarah slowly stood up and backed away from the bed. She looked at him with desolation in her eyes.

  “Sarah, listen to me, please send Matt home. Send the police away. I will stay here with you. I will stay and never leave you…but here. This is where you belong and I will stay here, with you.”

  Sarah looked at the iron staircase. The sound of Matt kicking at the door reverberated through the roof above. The latch door swung open and Matt came tumbling down the spiral, catching the railing and stopping himself midway to the floor.

  Julien struggled to pull himself up against the headboard, “Sarah, no! Do not hurt him. Let him go. Send him home.”

  Matt awkwardly righted his bulky frame on the narrow stairs. He came down to the bottom and looked at Sarah and then to Julien.

  “The cops…I don’t know what’s…” He looked at the expression of utter terror in Julien’s eyes and stopped speaking. He glanced back at Sarah, who took a step toward him, a wishbone held out in her fingertips.

  “Look, I don’t know what’s going on in this hellhole, but there are a dozen cops out there and I’m taking him out of here, now.”

  Sarah took another slow step in his direction and shook the bone.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Matt moved away from her and went to Julien.

  Julien began to ramble, warning him about the bone, but Matt refused to hear any of it.

  “We’re getting out of here. I’m going out there and getting the cops. You sit tight and I’ll be right back.”

  “Matt…you…you do not understand,” Julien pleaded.

  “This is ridiculous,” Matt said and walked away. He paused beside Sarah then grabbed hold of her arm, “…and you’re coming with me.”

  As Matt began dragging her from the room Sarah shrieked and beat on him. Before he could drag her to the door, Julien began to cough then gag.

  Matt turned to look back and saw Julien’s body begin to seize.

  The bed trembled as Julien shook violently on the mattress. Matt let go of Sarah and rushed back to him. He didn’t know what to
do and tried to hold him down.

  “Do something,” he looked back at Sarah, “do something, for fuck sake!” Julien continued to spasm in his grip as the convulsions grew increasingly worse. “Julien, come on, man. Jules? Awe shit…” He turned to plead with Sarah again and found her directly beside him holding the wishbone for him to take.

  “Sarah…help him…please?”

  She shook the bone in the air, demanding he take hold of it.

  Julien’s eyes rolled back into his head. Matt panicked and shook him.

  “Julien? Julien, I’m here, Buddy. Don’t leave…don’t leave me, man.” Matt looked back to Sarah, still holding the bone.

  Julien’s body suddenly stopped moving. He fell completely still and silent. Matt stared down at him in shock. He shook him again.

  “Jules? Julien!” he demanded angrily to no avail.

  Matt leaned down and listened to Julien’s chest. He slowly raised himself up. The color drained from Matt’s face as he stood beside the bed looking down at Julien’s lifeless body.

  Sarah stepped in closer and pointed down at Julien then shook the bone at Matt again.

  Matt backed away, bumping up against the windows. He slid to the ground in shock, sitting on the floor and staring at the body of his closest friend.

  Sarah walked over and stood looking down at Matt.

  Slowly, his eyes rose to meet hers and she crouched down at his side.

  Matt stared at her with tears in his eyes and at a loss for words.

  Sarah put a delicate hand on his shoulder then pointed to Julien in the bed. She held the bone up to Matt again.

  Matt, confused and desperate, reached out and took hold of the bone.

  Sarah closed her eyes and Matt did the same.

  He felt her tug on the bone and he opened his eyes and pulled.

  The world moved in slow motion around him. He watched the bone fracture in his grasp.

  Tink!

  The smaller side between his fingers, as their hands drifted apart.

  EPILOGUE

  Matt shut down his computer, while balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear.

  “Lil, an hour tops. Give the kids their dinner and I’ll be home, right after a couple drinks.”

  “Really Matt, you come home reeking of booze and it upsets the boys,” she groaned.

  “It doesn’t upset the boys, it upsets you. Now, c’mon, Lil, do we really need to have this discussion every Friday? Julien’s waiting for me out there and it’s snowing again.”

  Snow fell upon Manhattan, large flakes like down feathers, blanketing New York City. The rush-hour foot traffic turned the sidewalk into watery, gray slush, beneath the stampede of furrow-browed pedestrians. It was just before six p.m. and Julien had no plans for the evening. He thought about calling the girl from the art gallery, but after their second and last date, he was already seeing signs of a clinginess in her, which he didn’t want to foster. He had two tickets to Rock of Ages on Broadway, given to him by a client, for Saturday night.

  Go alone…

  You are better off.

  Julien could be found listening to anything from Sinatra to blues; more of an old school, rock n’ roll, kind of guy, who believed he was born in the wrong era. For work, Julien wore pricey suits, impeccably tailored with a retro flair. On weekends, he was the polar opposite of his work persona, preferring to spend his days in white t-shirts and jeans, his black leather motorcycle jacket, broken down to a soft, buttery texture, from decades of wear—one of only two vestiges from his youth in France. Julien cultivated the two styles with precision. A modern day combination of Bobby Darrin and James Dean, complete with a serious chain-smoking habit and an antique Zippo, which was given to him by his grandmother, as a going away present on the day he left for America. It was his most prized possession—the second and last vestige from his youth in France, and had previously belonged to his grandfather.

  He removed a pack of non-filtered Lucky Strike cigarettes from his black, full-length coat, taking time to tuck his scarf back in, before lighting himself a smoke. He took a long drag and leaned back against one of many leafless saplings, lining New York City’s, Madison Avenue. Looking up, he squinted past the falling snowflakes to admire the enormous glass building where he worked for more than a decade. Day in and day out, returning to the same address as head of Creative; an ad-man with potential to soon make partner at one of the largest, most prestigious, advertising agencies worldwide. He loved his job.

  At first, Julien’s accent held him back, making it difficult to break into the industry, but his creativity and organic talent for ad copy prevailed and soon he was rising up the ranks. The work was rarely boring and creating slogans, jingles and ad campaigns for shampoo, deodorant, and spaghetti sauce, had afforded him a relatively lavish life-style in, what he considered to be, the greatest city in the world.

  He glanced up and spotted a girl passing through the crowd. Hardly past her teens; she girl hummed to herself as she moved along the sidewalk with a bounce to her step. Their eyes locked, and with an angelic shyness, she tucked her chin, concealing her face behind tendrils of long, auburn hair. Her lips spread into a coy smile and she blushed then turned away. He watched her mingle in with a cluster of passersby; he thought he could still hear her humming as she moved into the distance.

  Suddenly self-conscious, he ran a gloved hand through his nearly black hair and brushed away the accumulating snow. He was nearly due for a trim—like clockwork, the third Thursday of every month.

  The redhead turned back and looked at Julien who was still watching her. She grinned and turned back around in the direction she travelled, continuing on her way. He was used to the attention of women, though he never understood it.

  Julien extinguished his cigarette, grinding it into the snow with the tip of his polished Italian leather shoe then glancing at his watch.

  Where is Matt?

  What is taking so long?

  The cold evening air was beginning to get the best of him. He shifted to face the lobby doors, impatiently awaiting his co-worker.

  Matt appeared beside him.

  “Hey, give me one of those,” Matt grabbed for Julien’s cigarette pack just as a hulk of a man knocked into him.

  Never stopping to acknowledge the assault, nor apologize, the man lumbered away.

  Julien’s first reaction was to go after him, but he disappeared into the crowd too quickly.

  Matt shook his head, “Fucking asshole!” he blurted.

  “You’re okay. Forget about it.” Julien brushed off Matt’s shoulder, lit his co-worker’s cigarette then snapped his Zippo shut with a flick of his wrist, before returning it to his pocket.

  Matt’s husky frame placed Julien about a half-foot shorter than his six-foot-four. He had the perpetual look of an awkward teenage football player, complete with a blotchy complexion. His curly, light-brown, fall where it may, hair, was more than a tad too shaggy for Madison Avenue. With his cheap suits, scuffed shoes and a sleeveless, denim jacket, worn over a gray hoodie, it was as if Matt had a neon sign floating above his head, flashing the words; I don’t fit in here. For all of his idiosyncrasies, Matt was one of the most creative ad men on Julien’s team—when he wasn’t playing video games on his iPhone.

  Julien did not make friends easily and usually avoided gatherings, unless they were work related. Over time, Matt managed to break him down, relentlessly following him around the office and inviting him to various outings and events. With the exception of an occasional date, Matt was the only person Julien spent time with outside of work. Regardless of the time they spent together, Julien kept his conversations with Matt relatively innocuous. Matt, on the other hand, was an open book, wearing his emotions on his sleeve and including Julien in his every thought and each miniscule detail of his life.

  “What were you doing? What took you so long?” Julien asked as he led them down the crowded walk.

  “Phil,” Matt referred to one of the partners at the
agency, “he stopped me on the way out; about the pretzel ad thing. I think I might be getting that raise after all.” He beamed proudly.

  “Yeah? Good for you,” Julien suppressed a grin.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Matt asked then bumped into him on purpose.

  Perhaps for his French accent, once again, Julien’s intent was misconstrued.

  “It means…good…for…you,” Julien reiterated more slowly.

  He found Matt’s paranoia both amusing and endearing. After all, he already knew Matt was getting the raise. Julien had gone to Phil himself, letting their boss know how indispensable Matt had become to his team and suggesting a pay increase was overdue.

  They rounded the corner and entered their usual Friday night spot. The door to Brennan’s Pub opened and AC/DC’s, Back in Black, spilled loudly into the street.

  As always, the bar was packed. Matt spotted three women getting up from a pedestal table. He reached between them and slapped a hand down on top, staking his claim. Startled, one of the girls shot him a disgruntled glare. Matt smiled at her, bouncing his eyebrows a few times for effect.

  “Why don’t you stay and have a drink with us?” he suggested to the repulsed blonde.

  The girl’s lip curled and Julien thought she might empty the last of her drink in Matt’s face. He stepped between them.

  “Please, forgive my rude friend,” he worked the accent and looked deep into the girl’s eyes.

  Her expression relaxed in an instant.

  Julien continued, “We can buy you and your friends a drink, no?”