Mother's Milk

by Charles Atkins

  ‘Sssshh,’ Chase cooed into the phone. ‘It’s OK, Marky, I’m not mad at you, but I have to know everything. We need to know where those phones are, although … the damage may be done there. And I need you to make certain that Jerod does not get away. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes … I’ve got some super F … When can I see you?’

  ‘Soon. Call me when you’ve gotten everything out of him. We can hook up after.’

  ‘I miss you so much,’ Marky said, his voice calmer. ‘I’m so sorry I fucked up.’

  ‘It’s OK, baby.’

  There was a pause on the line. ‘I love you, Chase,’ Marky said. ‘Oh fuck no!’ he blurted and the connection went dead, as if he’d dropped the phone.

  Chase held the phone and waited. Seconds ticked and bad thoughts streamed into his brain. He glanced at the kitchen clock shaped like a sunburst, and watched the second hand go around one whole rotation. He pressed redial and waited for Marky to pick up. He glanced at his partially reconstructed orange, thinking of all the reasons why the line could have gone dead – low battery, lost connection … Marky fucking up. He hit redial again. This shit couldn’t keep happening.

  He had to get back to the conference. He felt his rage and wanted to punch something, or someone. ‘Stop … stop, get dressed, go back to the conference.’ He told himself that Marky had let his cell go dead. ‘Focus.’ He reminded himself that he needed to make sure that Barrett would meet him for dinner. That helped, and he retrieved his black briefs, and wondered what her body would feel like under his, how her breasts filled with milk would feel in his hands. He punched his arms through his shirt, needing some way to vent off the anger that made his cock tent against the cotton of his briefs as he pulled up his zipper.

  Fully dressed, he headed down the four flights of stairs and then pushed through the side-alley door, letting it slam hard behind him. ‘Fuck Marky! Fuck Janice!’

  He still had ten minutes, and as he walked his head was filled with a confusing mix of all the things that could go wrong, as well as some interesting new ideas. First was that Janice had grown cheap, stringing him along month to month, like he was one of her stupid little dogs. And he was taking way too many risks with the kids and the dope and the auctions; it was too hot, and just a matter of time before it would come crashing down. If they had the video of Carly, how long before someone traced her back to DFYS … to him? If Jerod had blabbed they’d know about the family and the kids selling dope in the dorms. Already they could have them under surveillance, setting traps … ‘Just focus,’ and he drafted a mental list of all the things and people that needed to change. Take care of Jerod, Janice, Marky … Things needed to change, it was time for the next rung of his ladder – in a few months he’d start medical school, the defining step toward becoming a surgeon. Problem was, he still didn’t have enough money – not by a long shot. There had been Dom, now there was Janice … and she was cheap, demanding, and old. It was time for someone new, someone who could help him up to the next level. It was time to clean house, and a phrase flashed through his mind – out with the old and in with the new.

  FOURTEEN

  Huddled in the back of Marky’s funky little van, Jerod knew he had to get away, that Marky would kill him, just like Bobby and Ashley. He pretended to nod out, the rubber tourniquet dangling from his upper arm, the needle rolling around the truck’s rubber mat, his T-shirt wet with the wasted dope. The voice had come back, almost as though it knew its existence was tied in with Jerod’s ability to save himself. ‘He’s going to kill you,’ it said. ‘He killed Ashley. He killed Bobby … He killed Carly. He’s going to kill you. He’s going to kill you.’

  He’d known it when Marky appeared in the busy emergency room dressed in surgical scrubs and lab coat. At first he’d not recognized the man who doled out dope on a weekly basis to all the kids selling in the dorms; his spiked blond hair was under a brown wig and he’d taken out his earrings and his nose ring. Jerod didn’t really know Marky, other than seeing him at the apartment where Bobby, Ashley, Carly, and the others crashed. His Sunday visits brought the whole house together, everyone there, wanting dope, cash, hoping for something extra.

  ‘I’m carrying,’ he whispered, taking Jerod’s metal clipboard from the end of his stretcher. ‘Do what I tell you and I’ll get you out of here. Get you all the dope you want. Make you feel good.’

  Jerod was in agony, whatever the doctor at Croton had given him had thrown him into unbearable torment. The mention of dope was all he needed to hear; it would make everything better. The pain, the nausea, the chills, the knowledge that life like this wasn’t worth living and that death might be better. That doctor had given him something to make him dope sick, and suddenly here was Marky with dope. He was being tricked, he needed dope, but that’s not what made him play along.

  ‘Hurry,’ Marky whispered, closing the curtain on the emergency-room cubicle, ‘lie back.’ And he handed Jerod jeans, T-shirt, and running shoes. ‘The doctor wants you to go for an ultrasound,’ he said in a louder voice, ‘thinks it could be your gallbladder or maybe kidney stones.’

  Jerod had thought to say no, to scream for help; he didn’t. He knew that going with Marky could mean death, but that didn’t matter as he stripped off his brown Croton pajamas and pulled on the new clothes, it was her … Carly. If he had any hope of knowing where she was, of maybe saving her, Marky was the only connection. He wondered if Marky had made that video, and how good it would feel to punch him out.

  ‘Lie down and look sick,’ Marky said, and he threw a sheet over him and pulled back the curtain.

  Seated outside was a young Croton guard working away at his monster Sudoku puzzle. He looked up as Marky pushed the gurney through the opening.

  ‘We’ll be back in about fifteen,’ Marky said, ‘the doctor wants an ultrasound of his abdomen.’

  ‘I should go with you,’ the guard said, not getting up.

  Jerod shivered, and not needing to fake things, started to retch. ‘I’m going to puke,’ he said.

  Marky grabbed the pink plastic basin and stuck it under Jerod’s chin. ‘Turn to the side if you vomit,’ and then to the guard, ‘Your choice, but I don’t think this one’s going anywhere.’

  ‘I think you’re right, fifteen you said?’

  ‘Could be half an hour depending if there’s anyone ahead of us.’

  ‘I’ll be here,’ he responded and resumed his puzzle.

  Jerod said nothing as Marky wheeled him toward the elevators, and pressed the up button. On the second floor, he pushed the gurney out and wheeled him toward a deserted stretch of offices. ‘Get up,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

  Jerod followed Marky, on achy rubbery legs. The pain was intense, deep in his hips, knees, and ankles. He heaved again but all that came up was bile and spit. Marky took him to the far end of the corridor. ‘I’ll get you a fix as soon as we’re in my car.’ And then they headed down a stairwell, and out a side entrance to the visitors’ parking lot. It was after 2 A.M. and the lot was mostly deserted and dimly lit.

  Marky’s truck was parked well away from overhead lights. Jerod thought it was a strange car, a boxy mini-truck, red with black trim, like something in old movies. The seats in the back had been pulled up and were fixed to the ceiling by hooks and the floor was a rubber mat. ‘There’s a couple bags in that box back there, help yourself … then we talk, but wait till we’re out of here.’

  Marky shed the lab coat and put a leather jacket over his scrubs and then zipped it up, and put the vehicle into motion.

  Jerod wondered if this was how it would end as he opened the metal cookie tin, saw three bags of dope, a clean syringe, tourniquet, spoon, matches, and a candle shaped like a cartoon character. ‘What do you need to know?’ he asked, hoping that just maybe Marky had some reason to keep him alive.

  ‘A few things.’ He stopped at the booth, handed the attendant his slip, and paid the five bucks.

  Jerod thought to shout out, to get free from
Marky. He glanced at the dope and the silly candle like the ones a lot of the kids liked when they were cooking up a fix. He couldn’t remember the name of the cartoon, he’d seen snippets on TV with a character shaped like a yellow sponge who lived underwater.

  ‘OK,’ Marky said, as he turned up the road and away from the hospital, ‘start by telling me what you did with the cell phones you found on Bobby.’

  Jerod shot the bag of dope, and then a second, and tried to answer the questions. ‘The cell phones were with my stuff,’ he said, thinking about that video with Carly. ‘Where’s Carly?’ he asked. The pain in his joints melted away, a feeling of being OK, of everything being all right, shot from his arm, to his belly, and hushed the voice, just a whisper now, ‘He’s going to kill you. He killed them all. He’s going to kill you.’

  ‘I don’t know where she went,’ Marky said, as he drove down I-684. ‘Just gone.’

  Jerod knew that Marky had to be lying. ‘Where could she have gone? Who took that video of her?’

  ‘What the fuck you talking about?’ Marky said.

  ‘There was a video on Bobby’s phone of Carly.’ Jerod started to cry. ‘She was naked and somebody had done something to her.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t care,’ he said. ‘Just another strawberry, either she’ll turn up or she won’t. Maybe she was making pornos. Maybe she had something going with Bobby.’

  ‘You know something,’ Jerod pressed, not about to take the bait. ‘You know where she is.’

  ‘Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. Tell me what I need to know and maybe I’ll tell you something about her … What did you tell that lady shrink? What did you tell her about the kids and the dope?’

  ‘Nothing. She doesn’t know anything,’ he said, wondering how Marky even knew about Dr. Conyors. What have I done? She’d been good to him, had tried to help more than once. ‘He’s going to kill her,’ the voice said, adding her to the growing list.

  ‘Does she have the cell phones?’ Marky asked.

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t think so,’ Jerod lied; wanting the questions to move away from Dr. Conyors. He’d assumed that Marky was taking him back to the city, but after half an hour’s drive he turned off 684 onto 84 heading west into Jersey or Pennsylvania.

  Wanting the questions to end, Jerod reached for the third and last bag of dope. He cooked it up in the back of the truck, doing everything exaggerated and loud so that Marky would know what he was doing. He tied on the tourniquet and slapped his arm, raising the good vein in the crook of his elbow. He pressed down on the plunger, desperately wanting the dope, but instead letting the needle filled with the milky liquid dribble down his arm and into the fabric of his T-shirt.

  He yawned and leaned back against the truck wall; through the window he glimpsed the first pink and purple lights in the sky. He closed his eyes, and tried to steady his breath, the voice getting louder, taking on a rhythm, ‘He’s going to kill you. He killed Bobby. He killed Ashley. He killed Carly. He’ll kill Dr. Conyors.’

  Hours passed and exhaustion overtook him. He fell into a half-drugged sleep and when he awoke daylight streamed through the truck’s skylight and dark-tinted windows.

  He heard Marky swear, and then the vehicle left the highway. He felt it slow and then come to a stop. He cracked his lids and saw they’d come to a gas station.

  ‘You awake?’ Marky whispered.

  Jerod kept still.

  ‘You awake?’ And Marky got out of the truck.

  Jerod couldn’t tell how long he’d been asleep, and chanced a look through the van’s back windows. They were at a busy truck stop with eighteen-wheelers; a diner and a fast-food burger place. He got up slow and looked around. Marky had locked the doors, but there was a latch on the tailgate. Trying to make no sound, he pulled at the release. It clicked open with a crisp metallic twang, the top flew up and revealed a second latch.

  He heard Marky. ‘Oh fuck, no!’

  Jerod grabbed the latch and pulled. He pushed the tailgate down and stumbled out the back. His sneakers landed hard on the asphalt; the sun burned his eyes.

  Marky grabbed at the back of his T-shirt— ‘Get back in there!’

  Jerod twisted free and ran. At first he thought his feet would give out, but he spotted the restaurant in the distance and bolted with Marky close behind. The voice in his head screamed, and so did he, ‘Help me! Somebody help me!’ He ran into the restaurant, still screaming. And then he stopped, his gut knotted, barely able to catch his breath, his muscles cramping from withdrawal. He looked back and saw Marky, just outside the door, his van still at the pumps with the back open.

  A middle-aged waitress in a baby-blue uniform with a plaid apron and matching cap came over to him. ‘Honey, what seems to be the trouble?’

  He shivered; gooseflesh popped on his arms. He made eye contact with Marky, standing just outside the restaurant, and saw fury and fear.

  ‘You look sick,’ the waitress said. ‘You sit right here.’ She led him to a just-emptied booth at the counter next to the cash register. He didn’t take his eyes off Marky.

  The waitress followed his gaze. ‘Friend of yours?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ He felt in his pockets and realized that the jeans he was wearing weren’t his. He had none of his stuff. ‘I need to make a call,’ he said. ‘I have no money. I don’t have anything.’

  The waitress looked around at her mostly full tables. She shook her head, and pulled out her cell. ‘Use mine,’ she said, ‘and I’ll get you something to eat when I get a chance.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He watched as Marky turned from the restaurant and stormed back to his van, slamming the tailgate and overhead doors closed.

  ‘What’s your name, honey?’ she asked.

  ‘Jerod,’ he said, feeling a ray of hope as Marky drove off. He just wished he could see where he’d gone. Did he get on the highway or was he just waiting, waiting for him to leave?

  ‘Well, Jerod, I’m Lois,’ she said. ‘You call your mother or some relative to come and get you and I’ll bring you some … pie?’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, and tears started to flow.

  ‘Oh, honey,’ she laid a hand gently on his back. ‘There’s no reason to cry, everyone has a bad day, just make your call, eat some apple pie, and things will look a whole lot better, you’ll see.’

  FIFTEEN

  Walking back to the conference from the subway, Barrett tried to hang on to her half-hour at home with Max – an island of peace in the middle of her day.

  Her thoughts were short-circuited by her cell.

  ‘Dr. Conyors.’ Marla’s wispy voice. ‘I hate to interrupt you, but a call just came that I thought you’d want to know about.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It was Jerod Blank. He sounds like he’s in trouble; he said he needs to speak to you.’

  ‘Did he leave a number?’ she asked, feeling a rush of anxiety as she put her shoulder bag down on a bus-stop bench.

  ‘Yes, but he said it was a borrowed phone and he didn’t know how long he’d be there.’

  Barrett grabbed a pen and yellow legal pad from out of the bag, and scribbled down the number. ‘How long ago did he call?’

  ‘I just got off the phone with him. I told him I’d call you right away. I hope that was OK.’

  ‘It’s fine. If he calls again, ask him where he is. Tell him I’ll send someone right out to get him. Or tell him to call 911 and have the police pick him up. I got to go … and Marla, please stay by the phone, I might need you to help out with this.’ She hung up and immediately dialed the number. It rang three times before a woman with a Jersey accent picked up. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, this is Dr. Barrett Conyors, I was given this number for a young man named Jerod Blank.’

  ‘Kind of cute, big head of funny hair, and in some kind of trouble?’ the voice replied.

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Just ran out of here … and I do mean ran,’ the woman said. ‘Didn’
t even stay for his pie, which is surprising ’cause he looked kind of green around the edges.’

  ‘Where are you?’ Barrett asked.

  ‘Bella’s Diner. It’s off 84 in Port Jervis.’

  ‘That’s about an hour out of Manhattan?’

  ‘Just about.’

  ‘Did you see which way he went?’

  ‘Hard to say, I was getting him something to eat, turned my back, he was gone, and my phone was on the table. At least he didn’t take it.’

  Barrett wished he had, at least that way she could have talked him into staying safe someplace till she could come for him, or have someone pick him up.

  ‘I could tell he was in some kind of trouble,’ the woman offered. ‘There was a young man, medium build, brown hair, stood outside, seemed real upset and stormed off in one of those little two-tone Hondas everyone’s driving.’

  Switching into Hobbs mode, she asked for the details. ‘What color was it?’

  ‘Kind of a red wine with black trim.’

  ‘And the man?’

  ‘Young, early twenties, and the funny thing is I thought his hair might be a wig, kind of lopsided. Wore dark wrap-around glasses, looked like money. I just assumed they were friends who’d had some kind of fight. It’s not that, is it?’

  ‘No, and if Jerod comes back call the cops and tell them he just escaped from a New York forensic hospital. He hasn’t done anything bad, but they need to take him into custody and keep him safe. Is there anything else you can think of that might help me find him?’

  There was a pause. ‘I couldn’t say for certain, this is a busy place and all, and there’s a lot of ways out of here, but he said that he didn’t have any money, so I bet he hitched a ride with one of the truckers.’

  ‘Which means he could be anywhere.’

  ‘Sorry I can’t be more help; if I think of anything or he comes back I’ll be sure to do as you say.’

  Barrett thanked the woman, got her name, and hung up. She pulled up Hobbs’s cell number and pressed. She gave him the update, while trying to fight down a growing sense of frustration.