by Peter Ackers
***
I knocked and waited. Despite the daylight, the hallway light was on and I saw a shape step into it now. The door swung open.
“You need a quick swallow, cock?” said the shape as it stepped out onto the step.
The man in the doorway was young, maybe early twenties, like me. But he was taller by a few inches, maybe 6’ 2”, and showed well-built tattooed arms in a grey tank-top, which was stained yellow in spots by sweat. Just like me, Surfer-dude was suffering after a night without sleep, food or water, judging by his unkempt look. He looked like death warmed up.
This time he had a bottle of water with him, unopened. I snatched it from him and stepped back, ready in case he tried something. And I didn't yet open the bottle, although I had already beaten down that devil in me that told me not to eat or drink. I checked the lid for puncture holes, but found none. Nothing had been injected into this bottle. I spun the lid. I booted the lid away. I drank heartily, until I spat a mouthful out and coughed until my eyes glistened (they couldn't quite shed tears, because I was too dehydrated). Surfer-dude just watched me until I'd finished my sorry act, then:
"Too airy, eh?"
Fizzy, you cunt, not airy. My nostrils burned, my stomach shifted like a house in an earthquake. Never drink sparkling water that fast, I inscribed into my boot-up memory. I hoped it would be the first thing I became aware of when I woke each morning.
Woke! I needed sleep. Now my guts were throbbing, my head joining it.
"That is fucking quick," Surfer-dude said to me, with his head turned to one side. Side? I looked through lenses now as clear as frosted glass. Everything hurt. I imagine this is the agony experienced by starving people who try to eat, to force food down a restricted throat and into a constricted stomach.
Now I saw another shape beside Surfer-dude: Nymph-girl. So, not talking to me at all. I remembered something that Dino, from the CB airwaves, had said…Like psirens at sea, calling to sailors. Always get their man in the end and sink in those claws… I feared she would have found me wherever I had gone/hidden.
I dropped into a squat because my head was light. They looked at me as if they had expected this, yet somehow I knew that the water I'd drank was no more sinister than water, so this wasn't poisoning. I guess this was just shock. These were the last guys I had expected to see here, this morning, because it had seemed like many weeks ago that I had sat in a pub with them, drowning my sorrows.
"Come on in, now," Nymph-girl said as she stepped out of the doorway and reached for me. She yanked me to my feet with surprising strength and steadied me while I swayed. "You want to see her, you have to walk, because you're too heavy to carry. Here, put this in your pocket." She waved my own wallet in front of me and I took it on the second snatch. The money was all gone, obviously.
"You didn't bring my luggage, too, did you?" I croaked.
Surfer-dude came out to help Nymph-girl. They took an arm each, slung them over their shoulders, and carried me as one might a drunken friend. I was careful not to let my hands bang against them, and to make sure they didn't bring their feet down on mine. Surfer-dude said, "No, cock, we didn't, but we dry-cleaned everything for you. Everything." They both laughed. Yeah, I guessed that meant they'd torched the cottage.
They led me through into the living room, laid me on a kissing chair. My girl's dad had bought it when we first got together (not me and her dad, of course!). The living room was a mix of old and modern, with at least one potted plant for every electrical item. It looked like some old granny's abode a month after her college student grandson had moved in.
"Wait here, and I'll check on her. No, no, don't eat anything. Water alone's bad enough for your system."
I had been reaching for a bowl of orange menthol chews with fruit poking out of it, but I stopped. I was very hungry, but I suddenly had a reason for the pain jabbing all over my body. Water, somehow. I shouldn't eat or drink.