by William Lobb
Frankie started to cry. He watched the tears run down this face that was not his own. He felt a pain deep inside, from where his soul would have been. He looked at the demon’s face in the mirror and the demon looked back, smiling. Frankie started to scream. He punched the mirror with both fists. He saw the blood run from his hands as he broke the mirror into a hundred pieces. He put his face in the sink. In the broken shards, he again saw that face, the face that was not his own. He began to vomit in the sink. Frankie screamed and cried and held himself up with his arms as he began to bellow and cry and scream, “FUCK YOU!!! Fuck you, you lying mother fucker! Okay, God, you’ve got me. Fucking do something. Fucking do anything. Fucking kill me or fucking save me. Prove to me once and for all that you are a fucking fraud and a fucking fairy tale. Fuck you!” He completely collapsed on the floor, landing in the shards of glass from the broken mirror and slipping and coming to rest in his own vomit. And the lights went out on Frankie.
Chapter Thirty-three:
The First Steps—Zara
Frankie woke up in a strange place. He was naked under the sheets and blankets. He felt clean. It was dark. He had no idea what day it was or what time it was. Everything still hurt, his head, his ribs. He didn’t have the urge to vomit. He reached up and felt his face; through his fingers, it felt like his own face. He tried to raise his head. Waves of dizziness washed over him. He heard a door open. It was Zara. She walked in and smiled that perfect smile. “You are alive?” Frankie only whispered, “I think so, maybe. Where am I? What day is it?”
Zara just said calmly, “You are at my place, my apartment. David and the boys from the bar called me and said you needed a place to stay. We stripped you down and cleaned you up. You look like Hell, by the way. It’s Tuesday. You’ve been asleep since early Monday morning. It’s Tuesday night. Heroin, huh? That was brilliant.” She brought Frankie some juice and asked if he wanted anything to eat.
The thought of food made him want to vomit. As he lay there, finally conscious, he started to shake. It was bad. He needed a drink. He also wanted to not ever drink again. He was unable to remember what brought him here, to this day, to this bed, but he knew this was the end. It had to be the end.
Zara came over and sat on the edge of the bed. She said, “You can stay here as long as you need. You are very sick. You can stay here until you heal. Drink this juice. If you want to get sober, I know some people who can help you. It’s all up to you.”
Frankie tried to raise his head and everything spun out of control. He tried to drink the juice. Zara held the glass. He decided to lay back down. Zara told him she’d be back in a little bit. He lay there in the twilight and thought of the face of the demon, of the night with the snakes. He thought about the carnival and the boss and Katrina and John Quarry and Sammy. He couldn’t tell what was real and what he’d imagined. He lay there, shaking and scared, and hoped the entire goddamn thing was a dream. He knew, sadly, that it was not.
This was the first time in months, or possibly a couple of years, that he hadn’t been drunk or getting drunk. His body felt strange. His mind was a blur. Suddenly, he felt something on his leg. He lifted the sheets. It was snakes. First, there were four or five, then six, ten. As they started to crawl up and over his entire body, he screamed and tore at the sheets and then at his own skin. Zara and a couple of the girls who worked for her heard this noise and came running into the room. Frankie lay there, naked and screaming, not even aware of anyone else in the room.
This was the beginning of the detox process. He’d experienced the delirium tremens before, just never quite like this. He heard voices and noises from somewhere other than this room, in his head. He saw Sammy’s face. Sammy climbed on his chest and started to beat him. As each blow landed on his face and chest, he heard Sammy scream, “Why did you kill me? I was your brother, your friend. You robbed me of my life. Now it’s my turn to do the same to you. I’ll kill you now,” and with that, Frankie felt he was dying. He felt his spirit begin to leave his body. He looked down on his naked carcass and saw the snakes still crawling up his legs, appearing out of nowhere, as if there was an invisible nest under the bed. He saw Sammy choking the last of his life from him. Then he felt harder slaps to his face.
He opened his eyes and he saw Zara slapping him and beating him hard screaming, “Wake up! You’re hallucinating!” Frankie woke up and had no idea who Zara was, or where he was, or who he was. He began to thrash violently in the bed. He foamed around his mouth. Zara called to one of the girls and told her to run down to the leather bar and bring back David.
About fifteen minutes later, the young hooker and David came scrambling through the door. They met Zara and two of the other girls in the bedroom where Frankie was now passed out. David sat on the bed next to him. He took his pulse on his neck. His skin felt cold. He said, “I’ve heard of people dying from alcohol withdrawal; you couple this with the pills and the heroin and he could be in trouble. I think we had better call an ambulance.”
Zara sighed, “At least he’s calm now. The screaming and thrashing around were pretty frightening.” David left the bedroom and called the hospital. It was only minutes before the attendants arrived at the door. Zara didn’t like the attention it brought to her business. It was New Orleans, but still her business was somewhat illegal and “frowned upon.”
Zara was always amused by that. The ones who did the most frowning would not be happy at all if they ever learned that their husbands spent a lot of their time, time that could not be accounted for otherwise, at her establishment. To Zara, she provided a service; she and her girls did the dirty work, so that many of the wives of New Orleans were free to pursue more pleasurable, less taxing pastimes. Her house was well-known and highly regarded. She had an instant attraction to Frankie, but she did not like all this noise and attention one bit. Zara and her girls liked to hide in plain sight, living just under the sweep of the radar. They minded their own business and no one elses.
As the attendants carried Frankie’s practically lifeless body down the stairs and into the ambulance waiting in the narrow street, Zara, her girls, David, and his friends all stood in the foyer of the dimly lit apartment. It was clean and attractive and decorated in a style that was unique, challenging, and comforting at the same time. Wicker chairs and dim lights with glowing candles and incense that was burned for a purpose. The walls were many different colors, all dark. The colors were blues and greens and browns, earth tones. Zara was an enigma: a good Christian girl, a pagan, a white witch, a woman of the earth; grounded and strong.
When a person spoke to her, they had the sense they were being given a lesson they needed to pay attention to. She always left them with the sense that they only understood a small part of what she was trying to impart. People always felt they needed to go back for more and they always knew they would. She filled them with a sense of completeness, yet still craving. No matter how perfect it felt to be near her, at the same time people felt the hollowness, the void that would follow and make their hearts ache when they left. A man nor woman ever wanted to leave her, as if the moment they met her, they had found home. Her presence was something to absorb and be warmed by.
Frankie fell in love with Zara the second his eyes met hers. It was her spirit, her vibe. She possessed an energy that nourished people and always left them wanting more, needing to go back to her so they could understand what she was trying to tell them and be fed again. Although you may never fully understand, the desire to return to her and just be in her presence was measurable.
Her entire apartment had a unique scent. Not necessarily good or bad, just strange, different; it was sage. Zara explained then she burned it daily to ward off evil and negative energy. She never claimed to anyone that she was a witch, but it was quite apparent to anyone that she was, if not a witch, then a mystic and not someone to be ever taken lightly. People got the sense that they dare not ever lie to Zara or discount her or treat her as anythi
ng less than an equal. People always had the sense with her that they were living in a very special world and if they were allowed into her world, it was an honor and a privilege and not one they wanted to lose; it was something to cultivate and cherish, knowing that her friendship was a gift not shared with everyone. She was special and being her friend made others feel special. She was the kind of woman who changed people the day they met her, and always for the good. She was, if nothing else, a pure spirit. She was simply magic.
The ambulance rolled on down the street, taking Frankie to the local Baptist hospital, Ochsner Baptist Medical Center; the irony of Frankie in a Baptist hospital was not lost on anyone.
He woke up in a strange room. He was wearing a hospital gown, and his hands and feet were restrained. Frankie began to scream as he felt the snakes crawling up his legs again. God, he was sick of snakes. A nurse came in the room, followed by an orderly. They tried to calm him, but her words just made him more crazed. Frankie was cold, in a strange place surrounded by people hed never met; the snakes were still coming in waves up his legs and the voices in his head were getting louder and more violent.
He heard someone say “Thorazine”, and he felt a pinch in his arm. They kept Frankie sedated for a few days, when he came back to consciousness he was on a dose of lithium. It seemed to help with the hallucinations. It had been over a week since the night at the leather bar when he’d seen the demon in the mirror. This has been the longest he’d gone without alcohol or Seconal in his blood in possibly ten years.
The nurse was kind and polite and all business. She came in one morning and commented again that he really needed to try to eat some solid food. Frankie was unable to even think about food yet. He apologized.
The nurse came in later and removed his restraints. She didn’t say much about it; she turned and said, “Enjoy a little freedom,” and left. She came in later that afternoon and brought him some pills that he took without any question. He really didn’t care. He thought about Zara; he was sad and embarrassed. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to face her again. For the first time in a long time, maybe in forever, he cared what someone thought about him and his actions.
Frankie’s thought process was very fragmented, foggy at best. He was not able to trust his own thoughts. He was scared of the snakes and still heard the voices. He still saw the demon. He didn’t know it at the time, but the demon would be with him for a very long time. The line between reality and hallucination was gone.
When the sun was setting, he would sit alone in his room and let the stark, cold reality sink in. He’d been arrogant and careless with his sanity. He sat there, watching the shadows of the day grow longer. These days not drunk were long; every minute dragged on into another identical moment. Everything felt gray, cold, and dead. He felt dead. The lengthening shadows simply meant that another day in this place, this no place, was ending. Frankie did not want to be fucked up any more; he did not want to be here. He couldn’t yet remember much of the past year. It was like a movie with huge chunks missing. He had a headache all the time. He hadn’t vomited in days, but he still felt like he wanted to all the time. He wanted to go home, but home was broken too. He had a sad realization he may have broken everything.
When the night nurse came in with a dinner tray, he asked her if tomorrow he could call home. She said she would stay and help him. She was kind to him. She became his favorite nurse. She asked Frankie if he wanted to try some solid food. He said he would try. She left him alone. He took a few bites and he pushed the plate away. It was some mix of chicken and rice and gravy. The nurse came back and was happy to see he’d tried. She told him he was getting stronger. A new doctor wanted to meet him tomorrow. Frankie looked her in the eye and said, “What kind of doctor?”
The nurse replied, “A psychiatrist.” Then they both sat there for a long time.
Frankie started to tell the nurse about Zara. As the words left his lips, he realized how sad and pathetic he sounded. He’d only met this woman once. She saw him get his ass kicked, but she did come and look for him. She was a mystery. He had to get healthy if for no other reason than to see her again. Frankie looked at the nurse and smiled, “A shrink, huh? That should be fun. I can save him a lot of time. I’m pretty sure I’m fucking crazy.”
The nurse smiled and laughed, “I’m pretty sure you’re right.”
The night nurse stopped in early, just as her shift was ending. She offered to help him call home. He suddenly didn’t want to. He couldn’t think of anything to say. He apologized to her and asked when she would be back. He felt like she was his friend. She said he’d make the call when he was ready. He had a lot of work to do in the meantime. She said she’d be off tonight and back on Thursday. She’d see him then. She reminded Frankie about the meeting with the psychiatrist. She smiled and said, “Try not to act too crazy,” as she walked out the door.
About 10:00 a.m., another nurse came in the room and said it was time to go talk to the new doctor. He walked down the hallway, wearing two hospital gowns, one to cover the front, and one to cover the back. Frankie decided that he really wanted to get some clothes. He walked into the small office and sat down. The doctor, whose name was Soraya, was pretty and polite. She spoke to Frankie about treatment programs, rehab facilities, insurance, and finally, AA and NA. Frankie bristled at the letters “AA.” He told the lady he had it all under control. He just drank a little too much, did a few too many drugs, but he was sure he could quite simply stop. He wasn’t an addict.
She said, “You know, the first step in this process of healing is to be honest with yourself and admit there’s a problem.”
Frankie said, “And if I had a problem, I’d tell you. I don’t. I used to drink a little too much; I’m back in control now.”
She asked, “So then, what is your plan? Are you ready to leave?”
Frankie said, “Yes, I’ve learned my lesson. I’ve got it under control now. I’ll cut down”
The woman answered, “Why don’t we cut the crap here? I’m a doctor. I have access to your records. Do you know what liver enzymes are? Yours are through the roof; you may be in the early stages of cirrhosis. I think you’ll be dead in under a year unless you stop.”
Frankie got a little more aggressive and said, “I told you, I’m fine. I’m sober now. I’ve got it under control.”
With that, she picked up a copy of the AA Blue Book and asked him if he’d ever seen this book. Of course, he never had. Then she pointed to the door on her office and said, “Do you see that doorknob over there? Until the day you admit that doorknob is more in control of your life than you’ve ever been, we’re both wasting our time here.” She grabbed the AA book, threw it at Frankie and said, “Get the hell out of my office and go back to your fantasy.”
Frankie walked down the hallway, somewhat confused. He went back to his room and the nurse brought him his medicine. He asked when he would be getting out. She wasn’t sure but the doctor would be in later and he could find out then. About five minutes later the doctor came in and said he was going to be cutting him off the meds and he could go in a few days, probably by Friday. Did he want to consider a rehab facility? Frankie just laughed. He said, “No, I’ll be fine.”
On Thursday morning, the psychiatrist stopped by to talk. David had also come by to see him, but they missed each other. David left Frankie some clean clothes, his wallet, keys he got from Zara, and a note to call when he needed a ride.
When the doctor arrived, Frankie was dressed in clean shorts and a t-shirt. Soraya sat down on his bed, and Frankie sat in a chair. The doctor wanted to talk, but Frankie was bored. She asked him about his childhood.
Frankie replied, “It was fucked up, a total fucking mess. What does that have to do with anything? We all grew up fearing the Russians and with the ex-military uncles who called us pussies because we were scared to death to go to Vietnam. My father died at some point in there and I spent most of
my life alone or with my grandma or hiding out up on my uncle’s farm. My uncle was a hard ass, working-class guy. He didn’t take any shit, and had no time for laziness.
“The farm was home. We had cows and chickens. It was peaceful there. My uncle would work me to death in the summer and we’d drink iced coffee underneath this huge bean tree in the shade. We’d eat fresh eggs every day and huge dinners every night. I slept in a feather bed. It was a good life. We’d cut hay in the summer, around early July. Work your ass off. My uncle would work us even through thunderstorms. If you got scared he called you a pussy. I got snake-bit one time, by a big fucking copperhead. He had to run me to the hospital that time. I think that day scared him. I know it scared me. He bought me some comic books on the way home. Crazy bastard, he liked pizza a lot. He had this wall in the barn covered with pictures of naked women. I loved that wall. I spent a lot of time alone in that barn. I loved that farm. My uncle is dead now; I have not been back to the farm for years, so that’s gone now. I think everything is gone now.
“I was close to my grandfather, but he died under some strange circumstances. Some say he was a witch, a warlock; I’m not sure. He died and they say he still walks the earth back home, and that he’s a ghost.
“My grandma will turn a hundred this year. She’s tough, but she loves me. She can still kick my ass.
“I killed my best friend, Sammy. I killed another guy named John Quarry.
“I lived with that psycho bitch that killed people up and down the East Coast.
“Oh, did I leave out that I was a major drug runner and I’m still on the run from the mob? There were a few other details I left out. Oh yeah, I’m constantly haunted by this malevolent ghost named Landry, who recently kicked my ass, broke some ribs, and left me to die in the middle of some snake-shaking, goddamn ritual.