by Brian Kirk
Angela closed her eyes. Her head felt heavy; she let it sway from side to side. Her mind wandered then returned without recording where it had been. The temperature continued to climb and her shirt clung to her chest. Dale’s hands felt slippery against her skin.
For a moment, she forgot who was behind her. She had to turn to refresh her memory. Her legs turned rubbery so she leaned against him, forcing him to carry her weight. Her face fell into the crook of his neck and she began to kiss it, running her tongue along its length, tasting his salty tang.
“Let’s get some air,” he said, turning Angela and pushing her back through the crowd. She wobbled, and he wrapped an arm around her to hold her steady, guiding her towards the back of the dance floor.
“Hold on, I just need to check on my friend.”
“She’s gone,” Dale said.
Angela scanned the bar. Stacy’s seat had been filled by someone else. She was nowhere to be found.
“Where’d she go?” Angela slurred.
“Come on. Maybe she went outside.” Dale walked Angela towards the exit.
The lot was quiet. The air outside was cool. A single streetlamp bathed the cars in a dull, sickly light. Moths careened against its yellow casing, casting erratic shadows across the cracked and pockmarked pavement. Angela laughed for no reason while Dale shuffled her along.
“Are you gonna fuck me?” Angela cupped Dale’s crotch. “Are you gonna ride me, cowboy?” She continued to snicker, then slurped back a string of saliva from the corner of her lips.
Dale stopped beside a dark-green Camaro with tinted windows and shiny chrome wheels. He fumbled in his pocket for his keys and then opened the passenger door. He reached in and pulled the seat forward, then grabbed Angela and pushed her into the back, where she landed and bumped her head against the far armrest. Dale followed her in, closed and locked the door.
Angela scooted herself onto her elbows, attempting a seductive stare. Her eyes were half-lidded; her lips looked raw. Her chest heaved as she stifled an emerging burp and tried to play it off by tossing her hair out of her eyes. When she did, her head banged against the side panel.
Dale looked down from above, grinning, massaging his cock through the fabric of his pants. He reached down and grabbed Angela’s panties from underneath her dress and pulled them off, lifting her legs in the air, driving her head into the corner of the car seat. He pushed the hem of her dress farther up her body until she was fully exposed. She closed her eyes and spread her legs in anticipation. It felt like she was sinking; she started to drift. The last thing she heard was the sound of Dale unzipping his pants.
Angela awoke to a honking horn and the sound of laughter.
“What’s up, egg roll? You need a lift?” A male voice, young.
She opened her eyes and the world spun around her. It stretched and swooned before assuming its proper form. Her head was buzzing, as from an electric charge, and her eyes felt like they’d been pickled in salt. Finally, she was able to focus on the face peering out from the car window. A young man with splotchy skin, wearing a mesh ball cap, its folded bill pulled low.
“Hey, girl. Come on, let’s party,” the man said. “The night’s still young.”
She was sitting on the pavement, her legs splayed out before her, leaning against a chain-link fence. “Fuck off,” she said, holding a hand up in a feeble attempt to hide her face.
“Fuck off? That’s not very ladylike. How about we fuck you, instead?” Laughter erupted from the car as it drove away, spraying loose gravel in its wake.
Squinting, Angela surveyed her surroundings. She was in the parking lot of a bar. It was nearly empty; just a few cars remained. The neon sign above the door was dark. The bar was closed. Angela vaguely remembered being there earlier. She had been drinking with Stacy. And then… She couldn’t remember.
Her purse was beside her. So was her underwear, crumpled in a ball. She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, then dialed Stacy. Stacy picked up on the third ring.
“Hey, cowgirl. Where are you?”
Angela groaned. “Back at the bar.” Her voice sounded deep and gravelly. “I don’t know what happened. I’m here, and I’m all alone.”
Stacy sighed. “Shit. Are you okay? Do you need a ride?”
“I don’t know. I mean—” Angela began to cry. She grabbed a handful of hair and pulled. “Can you come get me? I’m all alone.”
“Yes. I’ll be right there.” There was a pause. Then, “Jesus, Angela. Why do you always do this?”
“I don’t know.” Angela grabbed her underwear and lurched to her feet. She brushed pebbles of gravel from the backside of her legs.
“No,” Stacy sighed. “You never do.”
Chapter Seventeen
Alex saw Eli walk through the restaurant entrance. He took a small sip of water and stood. “Here he is,” he said, looking at Rachel, then at Jerry. “You okay?” he asked his brother.
Jerry winked. “Better than ever.” It had been just over a week since Alex had administered the medicine, and Jerry was almost unrecognizable. His eyes were clear and focused. His clothes were clean, his hair trimmed and neatly combed. His face had filled out from the weight he had gained. And his wide smile reflected the charm that had been absent since adolescence. “Like a new man,” he said.
“More like your old self,” Rachel said, a smile brightening her face. She hadn’t been able to shed it since the procedure.
Alex caught Eli’s wandering eye and waved.
Eli nodded and started walking their way.
“I don’t mean to sound like a broken record, but—” Alex said quietly to the table.
“Don’t worry. We won’t say a word,” Jerry said.
Rachel pantomimed locking her lips and tossing the key.
Eli came up behind Rachel and squeezed her shoulders, then he turned and shook Alex’s hand. But his eyes were on Jerry the whole time. He stepped towards him with an outstretched hand. “Hi, Jerry,” he said. “It’s great to see you.”
Jerry hesitated. For a moment his eyes lost focus and he appeared confused. His mouth sagged open.
Alex and Rachel exchanged a concerned look.
Then Jerry smiled and took Eli’s hand. He pulled him into a hug. “Sorry, just messing with you. It’s great to see you too.” He released Eli and held him at arm’s length, gazing into his eyes. “Clearly, I think, for the first time.”
Eli turned and looked at Alex in wonder. “You weren’t kidding. His recovery is…” he searched his mind for the word, “…well, it’s encouraging, to say the least.”
“Oh pooh! It’s a miracle,” Rachel said.
Alex shot her a look.
She averted her eyes and took a long sip of water.
“Here, let’s sit down,” Alex said. They all took their seats around the circular table, Eli and Rachel sitting between Alex and Jerry. The waiter came, and they ordered drinks. Only Rachel ordered wine.
“So,” Eli said, addressing Jerry, “how are you feeling? I mean, you look fantastic.”
“That about sums up how I feel.” He motioned across the table towards Alex. “Thanks to my bookworm brother over here.”
They all laughed. Laughter had come easier for Alex these last few days. “Watch it, jock,” he said, and they laughed harder still.
The laughter subsided and the table became quiet. Eli’s smile switched off like a light. He turned to Alex and said, “So, how did you do it? From what you’ve said, and what I’m seeing, this is more than simply a suppression of symptoms. There’s been a complete transformation.”
Alex leaned forward and crossed his arms. His eyes fixated on an invisible spot in the center of the table. A crease of concentration formed between his brows. “It was the meds, Eli. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but…” he trailed off and shrugged, “…it came down to
prescribing Jerry the right medication.”
“Which was what? Put my prejudice against certain pharmaceuticals aside. If we can achieve these kinds of results, I’ll be happy to prescribe the same treatment to all our patients.”
Alex saw Rachel’s head turn towards him, and he resisted the urge to reciprocate the stare. The buzz of background conversation grew louder as he considered the safest response. The murmuring noise resembled the frenetic scramble of a psychotic mind.
“I’ll let you in on the secret,” Jerry said, and all eyes shifted towards him. “Although, I’m not sure if it’s available for public consumption.”
Alex pinched his lips and tried to silence Jerry with his eyes.
Jerry gave him a discreet wink, then flashed a smile at Eli. “It’s Rachel’s home cooking. A few days of good ole-fashioned comfort food from the kitchen of my sister-in-law will set any man straight.”
Alex’s laughter was strained, but it blended in with the others’. “Well then, Rachel,” Eli said. “Looks like we’ll need to find you a position in our kitchen.”
“Sure, we can talk terms later,” Rachel said. “But, I’ll need for people to sign a release form on pasta night. My arrabbiata can set off a fire alarm.”
Jerry made a sizzling sound, then gulped down his glass of water while fanning his face.
The waiter returned as their laughter faded, and they placed their food orders. For Alex, it was a welcome respite.
He was considering ways to redirect the conversation, when Eli spoke, “So, Jerry, I certainly hope you plan to rejoin the grounds crew at Sugar Hill. We’d love to have you back.”
Jerry leaned back and crossed his legs, clasping his hands around his right knee. “Well, you know I appreciate the offer, Dr. Alpert, but…” He uncrossed his legs and leaned his arms against the table, then sat back and crossed them once more, then leaned forward again. His face turned red and his eyes began to roam. “I mean, if you need me there, I guess I can, but—”
Alex straightened. “You okay, Jerry?”
Jerry stopped fidgeting. He pressed his palms flat against the table, as though suppressing his distress. His body slowly relaxed; his face lost its flush. “Yes. Yes, sorry, I’m fine. It’s just…well, I’m not sure how safe it would be for me to go back.” He attempted a smile and failed. His eyes showed fear. “I think I might have made an enemy on my way out.”
Eli frowned. “With who?”
“I’d rather not say.” Jerry took a drink of water and began crunching an ice cube. “Anyway, it’s history. I’d rather focus on the future.” He turned and looked at Eli.
There was something strange about his eyes. The pupils. One appeared more dilated than the other.
“It sure beats worrying about the past, wouldn’t you say?”
Eli leaned forward to get a better look into Jerry’s eyes, but was interrupted by table service. A staff of waiters had arrived with their plates.
“Who ordered sirloin?” The waiter was a young Vietnamese man. He was wearing grey kitchen rags that resembled army fatigues. He looked young. Too young to be working at a restaurant like this.
“Over here,” Eli said and raised his hand.
The server walked over. When he saw Eli his eyes narrowed, and his lips pulled back in a sneer. He circled behind Eli’s seat and bent over his shoulder, brushing against him as he placed the plate on top of the table. He lingered for a moment, then turned his head towards Eli. “Enjoy, sir,” he said into Eli’s ear, quietly, just barely as perceptible as a resonance of wind. His breath was overwhelming, however. It reeked of death.
Eli stiffened. He grabbed a fork and clenched it in his fist. “Thank you,” he said, shying away from the face that was far too close. He locked eyes with the server, just a couple of inches away from his own, and recalled with total clarity the night from the raid on the Vietcong encampment.
“No, sir. It is you whom I should thank.” The server’s eyes were still locked on Eli’s. His lips still pulled back in a knowing sneer. He reached into the pocket of his waistband and pulled something out. The table light caught the edge of a serrated blade.
Eli gasped and threw himself backwards, nearly toppling the chair. It screeched against the tiled floor. He was starting to turn and stand when the server reached out and removed Eli’s table knife, calmly setting the steak knife in its place.
“Whoa,” Alex said. “Everything okay, Eli?”
Eli was panting. The white-knuckled hand clutching the fork was trembling. He attempted to swallow, but the saliva caught in his throat.
“Sorry, sir,” the server said and began laughing, his lips stretching wider to reveal small, gleaming teeth. He grabbed the knife and pantomimed slicing meat. “For your steak, sir.” He pointed the blade at Eli and wagged it back and forth in the air, staring with eyes that Eli could never forget. Innocent eyes filled with a mixture of hatred, supplication and fear. “Don’t worry. It’s already dead.” He continued his stilted laughter while pleading through his haunted eyes, the others at the table joining in as though in on the joke. Then he returned the knife to the table and stood back so the other servers could deliver the remaining dinner plates.
Eli’s wide eyes remained pinned to the Vietnamese boy, as he scooted his chair back to the table. The young man Sergeant Wagner had forced him to kill.
Jerry leaned towards Eli, pretending to whisper with a raised voice that could be heard by the entire table. “I appreciate the gesture, sir, but it’s not necessary.”
Eli arched his eyebrows as though creating a question mark.
“You don’t need to try quite so hard to make me feel comfortable.” Jerry put on the face of a schizophrenic shying from the shadows of imaginary men. He stopped and smiled. “That’s all behind me now.” He glanced at Alex. “I hope.”
“Right. Just a bit jumpy, I guess,” Eli said, still clutching the fork in his fist. “I haven’t been sleeping very well.” He loosened his grip and set the fork down on the table. He used his napkin to pat beads of sweat from his upper lip and chin. “So,” he said, his voice wavering ever so slightly, all the blood having drained from his face. “What were we talking about?”
“Nothing,” Jerry said. “Just the people from our past.” His gaze lingered on Eli. His pupils had returned to their normal size. “And the fact that they can’t hurt us anymore.”
Alex raised a glass to toast with. “To the future,” he said.
Eli’s water rippled as he raised his, and he cringed as the glasses clinked together. “To the future,” he forced himself to say before grabbing the knife and slicing into his steak, grimacing as the juices ran red.
Chapter Eighteen
It struck Eli the moment he turned off the lights. Panic. Thrusting him into a private world of faceless fear, a suffocating state of certainty that insanity was descending. Darkness came crashing down upon him like a coffin door, but his body was the crypt—a claustrophobic box in which he’d be buried forever. He turned the lamp back on, but it didn’t help. The enemy had arrived and it wasn’t deterred by light. The enemy resided within his mind.
Eli threw aside the sheets, clutching them in his hands as he writhed against the flash of searing fear. Breathe, he thought. Breathe, breathe, just breathe.
But his breath came in shallow gasps as his mind braced against the pending descent into insanity. Breathe, just breathe! He opened his eyes in hopes that the familiar setting of his room would soothe him. Instead, it all appeared foreign. Worthless artifacts collected while creating a life that had led him to this. I’ve made too many mistakes, he thought. They can never be undone. They are me. I am thee. His bowels loosened and he raced to the bathroom.
There, the tremors began, causing him to shake as though freezing. When he finished with the toilet he stumbled back to the bedroom and collapsed into his reading chair, pulling a throw blanket up over hi
s naked chest. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. But the ghosts lived in the darkness, and they were restless. Tonight, they had come to haunt.
Miranda’s face bloomed in his mind, filling the entire field of his inner eye. It was all that he could see. He threw open his eyes, and yet she remained, her image imprinted on the lenses within.
Ghosts are real. Eli groaned and swiped a damp hand across his sweaty face. They’re memories. And they stay with you for eternity. The thought made him dry heave.
The orderlies had her cornered, huddled against the wall of her room like a trapped animal. Eli was waiting behind, forcing himself to remain calm and allow her to be taken. “The stronger the medicine, the harsher its taste”, Dr. Francis was fond of saying, and he was standing just outside the doorway.
“Please don’t!” she screamed, but Eli blocked out her pleas, focusing his attention on the task at hand.
The orderlies yanked her to her feet, wrenching her arms behind her back and forcing her forward.
“No! Please! Please don’t!” she cried, her long, unkempt hair covering her face, eyes streaming tears, strings of saliva stretched wide.
In his mind’s eye she looked deranged. But she also just looked scared.
Eli visited with her afterwards. She was depleted, docile. Restful, actually. The therapy seemed to have worked. They were getting somewhere.
“How are you feeling?”
Her eyes fluttered, a smile flittered across her face. She stretched her arms overhead like a contented kitten and purred. “Tingly,” she said.
“Emotionally. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Hmmm. Well, I’ve been thinking about my sister. She’s younger. Just by a couple of years. Her name’s Susan, but we call her Suzie. She’s never had much luck with boys. She’s…not all that pretty. But she’s sweet. She’s my Sweet Little Suzie.”