by David Beers
John laughed. “Hush. What did you ask me? Sorry, was kind of lost in my head for a minute.”
“I said what are you doing tonight?”
“I don’t have any plans.”
“Well, now you do. Let’s go get some food, and not at the dining hall.”
* * *
Cindy didn’t know what to think about The American, as she was coming to think of him.
He was cute, no doubt about that. She liked his smile when he decided to show it, and maybe that was part of the issue. He didn’t smile a lot. Cindy almost felt like an idiot in front of him, with all her smiling and joking, given the stark seriousness in him.
And yet, he had a playful side when she could bring it out.
She looked at her hair and face in the mirror. She thought she looked pretty, perhaps not beautiful, but pizza on a Tuesday didn’t call for beautiful. Cindy nodded, confirming what was in her head with the outside world.
She threw her keys in her purse and walked to her roommate’s bedroom.
“I’m heading out for dinner.”
“Cafeteria?”
“No, going to Gumby’s.”
“Ohhh, this a date?” Raquel said.
“I’m not sure. You know The American?”
“Him? He’s cute.”
“Yes, I kind of forced him into it, I think. But, either way, we’re going. I’ll probably be home in a couple of hours.”
“Probably?” Raquel asked, smiling.
“I’ll definitely be home,” Cindy said, a bold grin on her own face.
She left the apartment, beginning the half mile across campus to the pizzeria. She felt a few butterflies zooming around in her stomach, but for the most part, was calm. Despite the almost oddness The American portrayed, she felt comfortable around him. She felt at ease. Like he had a maturity to him that most boys in their class lacked. Perhaps that was only his seriousness, but either way … it felt comforting.
She made it to the pizza shop in about ten minutes. Gumby’s was always dark, no matter what time of the day you went, as if they wouldn’t buy brighter lightbulbs or turn them all on because they needed to save money. She stood just inside the door for a second, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. She heard pool balls clacking together from her right, though she focused on the tables in front of her.
Cindy saw him.
Three tables deep and to the right. A pinball machine sat about ten feet behind him.
John stood up when he saw her and offered a goofy little wave.
Cindy smiled and walked across the restaurant. “Sit down!” she said, with a smile. “We all know you Americans don’t have manners.”
He sat, smiling too, which she was glad for. He didn’t take her little jabs as insults, and they weren’t meant to be.
“Was it hard to find?” Cindy asked.
“No, easy peasy. I went ahead and ordered you a water; I don’t know what you drink.”
Cindy raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have an ID?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, God bless the Queen,” she said and then lowered her voice some. “A fake ID, John. You don’t have one?”
“No? You do?”
“Of course. I’m not a child.”
He laughed which made her smile grow larger.
“It’s only Tuesday,” he said. “You’re going to drink tonight?”
“This is why you started the war. You can’t handle your alcohol. We English can have a few drinks and not try to overthrow our gracious rulers.” Cindy started laughing, unable to help herself.
The waitress arrived with two waters. “Anything else?”
“I’ll take a Bass please,” Cindy said, reaching into her purse. She pulled out her ID.
The waitress glanced at the ID. “Alright,” she said and left.
“Are they always that rude?" John asked.
“Especially when Americans are around.” Cindy glanced to his glass. “Enjoy your water.”
“You’re out of your mind, you know that?”
“I’m just thirsty, that’s all.”
“Mmm-hmm,” John said. He looked down at his menu and the first awkward silence of the night began.
Cindy looked at her own menu, hating these little moments when she first went out with someone—almost dreaded them. The questions always started rising in her mind like missiles shot into space. Does he notice it? Is he bored? Does he want to leave? And on and on, for no reason except he quit speaking for just a second.
“What do you think about when these silences start?” she said.
He looked up, his face a question in itself.
“I mean, when you’re with someone and neither of you are talking. Do you start worrying?”
A slight, half grin. “Are you worrying?”
“No, I think you are,” she said, matching his grin.
“Oh yeah? That why you’re asking?”
“That’s the only reason I have to ask. I’m concerned about your well being.”
John looked at her, that same grin on his face, but she couldn’t read it. His eyes were lit, showing an energy that she hadn’t seen in class today, an excitement maybe. And so what if she couldn’t read what the smile said?
Excitement was enough for now.
* * *
John slept without any apparitions arriving to call his name.
It took him a while to find sleep, though, and not because he was thinking about Harry. He thought about Cindy, instead, and even when his mind tried to interject with images of Harry, he shoved them down.
He woke up the next morning, somewhat groggy, but still feeling light.
Because last night was the first date he’d been on—even if it wasn’t technically a date. Last night was the first time any girl had taken an interest in him; it’d taken so long John wondered if it would ever happen. Like he would live his whole life with only murders playing out in his mind, separating him from ever being able to connect with someone.
Yet last night, he did.
They laughed. They joked. They ribbed each other, and it all felt as natural as a sip of water.
Brushing his teeth, he almost felt elated. This was a part of life that he saw between his parents, and even a little bit with Alicia’s boyfriends, but saw it the way an orphan sees a family eating dinner at a restaurant. It looked great, but it also hurt—crushing the soul, some. He always walked away from it, forgetting it as life took over, but yet …
It never really left; he just grew numb to it.
The lightness in his mind carried into his step as he crossed the campus heading to his Wednesday classes. The school was different here, more like college than high school. He wouldn’t see Cindy all day, though she had given him her number—he planned on calling when classes finished.
John sat at his desk, this class having assigned seats. He pulled out his notebook and looked to the front where the teacher sat at his desk. He was maybe three minutes early, and people were walking in one after another.
John didn’t see the person sit down to his right, once again lost in his thoughts.
“What class is this?”
A chill started at the top of John’s neck and ran down his spine like a rat scurrying across a hardwood floor. He could almost hear it scraping over his back as goosebumps broke out across his skin.
John didn’t turn to his right. He looked straight ahead, just as before, but now his body was as rigid as steel. Every muscle nearly creaked with tension.
“Joooohhhnnnn,” the person said, his voice sing-songy, as if trying to carry a tune. “Trying to figure out what we’re learning today.”
John’s breath picked up speed and he felt his heart slamming against his chest.
“Don’t freak out, buddy. It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you or anything like that.”
The teacher stood five desks in front of John, speaking, but his words were the smallest murmur from the smallest person in the history of the world.
“Hey, John,” Harry said, no smile on his face. “I’m not going anywhere, so it’s best you stop freaking out whenever you see me.”
John shook his head, a slight movement, barely perceptible to anyone not paying attention. No, his mind said. No, he’s not here. Nothing is there, no matter what you see.
“Yeah, that’s what you think? I’m not here and you’re just hallucinating?” Harry shook his head, too, but his was a firm no. “Sorry, kid, but that’s not the case. I’m not a hallucination. No more than you are to everyone else around you, I suppose.”
John turned back to the front of the class, his eyes wide and sweat popping up across his body.
“Alright, I’ll let you get back to class, but I’m not done. Not by a long shot. We’re going to need to talk when I return.”
He listened as the large, bloated Harry stood from his desk, it sliding as his large body tried to escape its constraints. The desk’s legs scraped across the floor, and John’s eyes flashed to the rest of the room seeing if anyone else heard.
No one looked his way.
Harry’s fat, bluish hand tapped the corner of John’s desk as he walked by.
“Talk soon,” Harry said.
* * *
John sat through his classes like a zombie, at least to the outside world. He answered no questions and offered no contributions for the next six hours.
Inside though, things weren’t as dead as they appeared to the rest of the world. Inside, his mind blitzed with questions and frightening scenarios—what if you’re losing your mind? Someone will find out and they’re going to throw you in a cell, where it’ll just be you and that bloated dead thing sharing a room.
John didn’t call Cindy when class let out. He thought about it, but understood at a cellular level that any conversation he had with her right then would end their relationship—however new it was.
He didn’t go back to his dorm, either. He was too frightened, because in there he would be alone, and if Harry showed up—where could John go? He could try to get out the door, but what if Harry appeared standing in front of it? Where could he go then, out the window for a two floor drop?
John waited on a bench on the north part of campus. The weather was still warm and the lawn green, with pressure-washed pavement sidewalks crisscrossing the grass. Tall, old buildings lined the quad, creating a certain sense of regality to the whole area.
He didn’t wear a watch, so he didn’t know how long he sat for, only that he wasn’t leaving until that thing came back; he just didn’t want to be alone with nowhere to go, not with that destroyed eye staring at him.
But Harry showed. God bless him, he did.
John saw him walking from across the quad, exiting the old, historic English building and slowly crossing across both grass and sidewalks, making a straight line to him.
“Hey,” Harry said with hands in his pockets and no smile on his face.
“What is this?” John said, his back pressed firmly—almost intensely—against the bench.
“What is what?”
“You? Why am I seeing you? You’re not real. You’re dead.”
“I’m going to be honest, John, I’m not sure what real is anymore. Are you? Sure, I mean, not real.”
“Yes, I’m fucking sure. You’re dead. I watched you die and it’s impossible that you’re here. No one else sees you, no one else hears you. Just me.”
“Well, there’s something to that, I guess,” Harry said. He looked to the right, staring across the quad. “However, I’m still standing in front of you … you can see and hear me. So, something about me has to be real.”
“You know what the fuck I’m saying. Stop twisting words.”
Harry looked back to him. “All that matters is I’m here, John, and I’m not going anywhere. That’s what you need to understand, because you’re going to have to get control of yourself if you don’t want to end up in a straitjacket.”
A long pause followed while both looked at each other.
“You’re just a part of my mind,” John said. “I can make you go away.”
“No, you can’t. Or else you would have. You’re sitting on a park bench right now, and from the looks of anyone walking by, you’re just staring into space—not even speaking. What are you really doing, though, John? You’re having a conversation with your dead best friend.”
Harry walked to the bench and John nearly jumped to the other end trying to get away.
“Calm down, man. Just calm down. I want to talk to you, not argue. We’re not adversaries here and I’m not going to hurt you. Truth be told, I didn’t ask to be here, and more, I’m not one hundred percent sure what I am. Am I me, Harry, or am I something your mind’s created? Who knows, and if you want some more truth, I don’t care that much. I’m here and there are things we have to do.” Harry looked over to John, that single large pupil seeming to hold all the universe’s secrets. “And you know what those things are, don’t you?”
John did. At his core, he knew since the moment Harry arrived in his room. The thoughts, the desire that he felt hadn’t died—but merely been masked by the newness of this world.
But he couldn’t mask it forever.
He couldn’t run, not to another country or another life.
That’s what Harry meant. What John saw now with this fat, dead thing in front of him.
“Yes,” Harry said. “Think whatever you want about me, but you understand the truth. You see it fine.”
* * *
Days passed.
Harry came and went on a whim, and John couldn’t figure out any of it. He felt like he should be able to control Harry, to make him disappear whenever he wanted, but he was powerless—absolutely so. Sometimes Harry showed up just to shoot the shit and other times to turn the screws about what he wanted.
John didn’t understand it, but as the days moved on, he accepted it.
And, truthfully, Harry wasn’t that bad.
In certain ways, he was kind of nice to be around. He had a sense of humor, if darker than before he went out into the ocean. He wanted John to talk, to think about all those horrendous things. Ripping flesh. Screaming vocal chords. Blood. He encouraged it, and at least a part of John craved it.
“You’ve got a real opportunity here,” Harry said.
“You’re insane,” John responded. He might think some of those things, but he wasn’t nearly at the place Harry wanted him at.
“No, no, just think about it for a minute. You’re in another country, John. Why do you think your mom sent you here?” Harry raised his eyebrows comically. “It wasn’t because she wanted less money to retire on or that the education is so much better in England. You kind of have a free hall pass to do whatever you want. Who’s going to know?”
“Harry, just because I’m in England, it doesn’t make murder legal.”
“Well, not legal perhaps, but easier?”
John stood up from the bench and paced in front of it. He still didn’t like meeting Harry in private, or rather, in enclosed spaces. He actually asked Harry not to come to his room anymore, and so far, Harry acquiesced.
“How’s it easier?” he said, looking down at his feet as he walked.
“No one knows you here. If someone disappears, perhaps someone not noticed by you or the community—no one is going to suspect you.” Harry followed John with his eyes, his head moving slowly left and right. “You’re like a ghost here, just some kid from America finishing up high school. Think about how many murderers already live in this city—they’re going to pin whatever happens on one of them.”
John stopped walking and looked at Harry.
He would ask this question many times in the future, perhaps eve
ry time Harry showed up, but this was the first. “And what about me? What happens to me, Harry, if I do this? I don’t know if there’s a God. I don’t know if there’s an afterlife. But how do I go on living after I’ve killed someone.”
Harry didn’t answer at first. He looked down at his feet, black Nikes with the white check mark along the sides. “Well, John, you already know how, right? I mean, look at me.”
* * *
“Hey, honey,” Lori said.
“Hey!” John said and the excitement in his voice nearly made her melt.
“What are you up to?” she said, a smile coming through in her voice.
“I was just about to head to lunch. Finished up third period.”
Lori looked at the clock on the kitchen counter. Six in the morning. She still hadn’t gotten used to the time difference between the two countries.
“I’m having my first cup of coffee,” she said.
“Americans are so lazy.”
Lori laughed into the phone. “You’re a turncoat now, huh? Taking on the nationality of your current living arrangements?”
“Get in where you fit in, Mom.”
Lori took a sip of her coffee. “How are things over there?” She wasn’t sure what she meant, whether she was talking about class or about … the other—but she felt good simply hearing her son’s voice.
“They’re good,” he said, but she heard a slight change in his voice. Still happy, but the enthusiasm died a little. “As we say in London, the marks I’m getting are good so far, A’s.”
“Well that’s to be expected. If you don’t want your father to hurt you, of course.” As she said the words, she recognized the morbidity in them and hoped John wouldn’t. “Anything else going on?”
A pause, one that felt entirely too long.
“Do you ever think about Harry, Mom?”
Lori looked at the clock again. Had only a minute gone by? Somehow she felt like she'd been speaking for at least ten.
“Mom?”
How was she supposed to answer the question?
“No, honey. I haven’t in a long time.”