by David McGhee
Chapter 7: Where did my pants go!?
Josh awoke on a strange bed. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. All that was clear at the moment was that he had one hell of a hangover and that he was still, for all intense and purposes, still pretty drunk. He tried to move but it just caused him pain in his joints, plus an electric shock to his brain.
"GOD!" He shouted, pressing his hands over his eyes in hopes that the pressure would relieve some of the pain. He heard footsteps from outside the brown wooden door and within a second or so Malcolm barged in, wearing nothing but long Sesame Street boxers. He stood at the door and leaned on the frame, his grin showed all of his upper white teeth.
"How're we doing this fine morning?" Malcolm asked.
"OH DEAR GOD! KILL ME!" Josh said, not taking his hands off his eyes. Malcolm left the room for a minute and came back with the bag of stale fast food and a big value meal cup of water.
"Drink and eat these. You'll feel better." Malcolm said as he put the items on the nightstand beside the bed.
When it felt as if some of the pressure had subsided Josh threw off the comforter and reached for the water. After about three seconds of drinking it did he notice that he was only wearing his blue boxer briefs. He felt a wave of horror sweep through him and put the water cup back, then the comforter was hastily pulled back over his nearly naked self.
"What happened to my clothes!?" Josh screamed, looking straight at Malcolm.
"I didn't want you to sweat in your clothes dude." Malcolm said nonchalantly.
"Are you fucking gay or something!?" Josh continued.
Malcolm was taken aback by this prejudiced statement but kept his feelings to himself. "Listen, I'm a guy, you're a guy. You don't have anything that I don't have."
"But..." Josh was stumbling over his words, still very drunk. "What I have is MINE!"
Malcolm scoffed. "If I were gay I would of taken off your underwear and sucked you off while you were unconscious!" Josh thought about this for a second but couldn't think of any reasonable comeback. "Besides, they stunk. They are in the dryer now."
Josh felt a little stupid now. "Um... Thanks man." He could no longer look at Malcolm without feeling a tinge of guilt. He took back the water cup and drank as much as his small stomach would allow. Malcolm stood at the door for a little bit, then sat on his bed with Josh.
"You OK?" Malcolm asked with concern.
"Yeah, I'll be OK. This is why I don't like to drink!" Josh finished off the water and went straight for the stale French fries. Malcolm smiled and wanted nothing more than to pet Josh. He instead opted to pat him on the back.
"You just need to learn how to moderate."
Josh scowled. "You need to learn not to pour liquor down my throat the entire night."
"Yeah..." Malcolm laughed. "I suppose I AM an enabler." He ruffled Josh's blue hair and stood up. "I think things should be ready in about ten minutes. What do you have planned for the day?"
Josh thought for a moment. "I need to do some things."
"May I come?"
"No. I'd prefer to be alone. But I'll be free tonight, although I can't drink tonight because I have to fucking open in the morning."
Malcolm knew what this meant, he was going to get drugs. The thought made his intestines feel knotted and tight. He left the room and went into the kitchen to feed the kittens. No respectable person had showed their face and he was beginning to think that he'd forever be stuck with the five little felines. Thoughts of bringing all but Fido to the shelter was starting to hold water with him. The more he thought about it the more attractive it became. He killed humans, why was it so hard to know that some of these kittens wouldn't make it through the month long wait period before they were euthanized? Were they different than people, who had hopes and dreams and a fully functioning consciousness?
Yes.
Kittens didn't do anything that they didn't want to do. Kittens didn't hate life. Malcolm remembered driving down a back road one night and seeing a white lump on the road, moving sluggishly across it. He pulled over and took out a flash light to investigate. It had been a little white rabbit. Its backside had been smashed by a car and yet it was still trying to get its way off of the road. It didn't know that it was going to die, it just kept on living, trying to reach the other side and live like it had always done. Something about that idea made Malcolm tear up. He admired the will of animals. He broke its neck and made a little makeshift burial spot over on the side of the road where the soil was soft. It made him think about the people he himself killed. They normally just gave in. Why would humans be so easy to give up their most precious gift when a rabbit that's obviously going to be in pain and die anyways still keep going?
Malcolm looked back down into the box of kittens and sighed. Three were sleeping and the other two (Fido included) were trying to climb out of the box. It made him smile. He picked up Fido and held it like a baby, cradled in his arms. He went to the top cupboard above the stove and retrieved the bag of kitten food. He brought it over to the box and first put Fido back in, it resisted by trying to climb up Malcolm's arm. It didn't hurt but it was very cute. He put the bag on the floor so he could grab a hold of him with two hands. He put him back in the box and went back into the cupboards for a clean bowl. He put it in the box and filled it with the kitten food. Then he remembered that they'd probably like a drink as well. Living things had this weird habit of needing water. After he gave them a saucer of it he walked over to his futon and sat down.
Harold had never wanted to pitch in for cable and Malcolm saw no need in it as they had the internet. All he really cared about was the news anyways. This reminded him to check his email so he walked back into his room. To his surprise the door was closed. This meant that Josh had gotten out of bed, a good thing too because Malcolm was a little worried that he totally killed his system last night.
He knocked on the door a few times but got no answer. After the third time he let himself in. Josh was lying down with the covers drawn up over his shoulders and lightly snoring. The food on the nightstand was all but wrappers. He walked over to him and gently caressed his blue hair. Malcolm couldn't help but feel maternal in this moment. He wanted to protect him and keep him from being a danger to himself. Most of all he wanted to hold him. It was a need that he felt so badly that his heart felt like it was being squeezed, his still un-beating heart.
Malcolm decided to let him sleep a little more and grabbed his HP laptop from the top of his dresser. Josh stirred at the small amount of noise he was making by walking into the room.
"It should be done about now." Malcolm got up from where he was kneeling and smiled. "You want a beer?"
"I don't know..." Josh said. "I'm still a little drunk from last night."
"A little hair of the dog never hurt anyone.
Josh considered this. "Maybe just one."
"That's my man!" Malcolm left the room and went into the kitchen for Josh's brew. Along the way he picked up his from by the futon and finished it off. He procured the second can and brought it to Josh, who was lying down again but not asleep. Malcolm walked over to the side of the bed and put the cold beer can on Josh's face, making him jolt up.
"Dude!" He exclaimed. Malcolm just laughed and gave him the beer. Josh took it and cracked it open, making it hiss like a cat in the process. He took a long drink from it and wiped his mouth off with his free hand when he was done. He put it on the nightstand beside him and scratched his pubic area underneath the covers.
Malcolm told him that he was going to go check on his shirt, hoodie, and pants and went into the bathroom and into the little closet inside that held the washer and dryer. It had indeed finished and Malcolm took out the hot brown shirt and the other things. He wondered for a moment if he should fold them but figured they were just going to be put on in a minute anyways.
Malcolm brought the clothes back into the room and threw them on the bed. Josh grunted and first put on his shirt, then his hoodie. Malcolm stood a
t the doorway and stared at him while he did this, wishing he wasn't so homophobic. With a sigh he left the room as Josh was putting on pants and thought to himself that he should probably get dressed soon too. Parading around in boxers was a little awkward after ten in the morning. He waited for Josh to get ready before he himself getting dressed.
Once he had clothes on he went back into the living room to find Josh on his computer. Malcolm didn't object but he did wish that Josh would of asked first at least. He sat down next to him and peered over to what he was doing. Josh was in his Yahoo email box and checking his messages. Malcolm decided to give him a little privacy and walked back into the kitchen for another beer.
"Hey man!" Malcolm shouted from the kitchen.
"Yeah?" Josh replied.
"You want another beer?"
"Um..." Josh looked up from what he was doing. "I guess so." He went back to his thing while Malcolm got the refreshments. He came back into the living room and threw the beer can to Josh but he didn't see it in time and it hit him in his side before falling onto the futon and rolling to the floor.
"Damn dude!" Josh exclaimed, rubbing his side. Malcolm laughed and Josh grabbed the can from the ground and held it up to Malcolm. "This thing will explode if I open it." Malcolm took the can.
"Good point." Malcolm agreed and got him another one.
Once Josh was done he closed the laptop and put it to his side. Malcolm sat beside him and cracked open his beer, Josh followed suit.
"Do you need a ride home?" Malcolm asked.
"Nah. We're downtown anyways. I need to run some errands."
"Uh huh..." Malcolm took a long drink from his beer and burped. "I bet. You sure you don't need me to run you to your errands?" Malcolm stared at the blank TV screen in disgust.
"I'm sure. I just need to do these things alone. I like me time." Josh took a sip and decided to take another longer gulp. He then chugged the beer until it was gone and gave the can to Malcolm, who took it and brought it back into the kitchen to put in the recycling trash bin. It was nearly full and he needed to bring them down to the grocery store to exchange them for pennies or whatever miniscule amount they'd give him.
Malcolm looked back over at Josh, who was sitting and stretching back on the futon.
Josh left around twelve that afternoon. Before he did so he had another beer with Malcolm and a shot of whiskey. He was going through slight withdrawal so this helped a little. The day was cold and it was cutting through his shirt / hoodie combo. Luckily there was no wind. That's one thing people don't expect about Colorado when they go there, it can get pretty damn windy. Signs routinely fall over from the sheer force of the natural phenomenon.
Josh was at Platte, which meant he had to take 15th down to the city, and then from the city to Civic Center Park, which was just on the outskirts of the 16th Street Mall. He checked his wallet and counted the cash he had from the tips the day before. He had almost forty dollars and figured that this could get him through two or so days.
As he started walking out of the condominium complex he realized that he didn't bring his bag or any of his works. This meant that he'd have to go get the shit and take a thirty minute bus ride down to his place. He wasn't sure if he could wait that long. He supposed he could always go buy a lighter, a coke can (you tear off the bottom part and use it to cook the heroin), and a fresh needle. All in all this wouldn't take too much out of the fund, but it was still a hassle. That and the fact that shooting up downtown is a very dangerous activity, he wasn't in the right frame of mind to do anything incognito. In fact he was a little drunk and did not trust his own judgment.
Officer Daniels was on his break at the downtown Starbucks down on 16th and California. He was a plain clothes officer (meaning he dressed in civilian clothing) and about six foot tall with blond hair and blue eyes, definitely of German descent. The newspaper that morning was a follow up on the crash that killed a young woman from Deer Trail on page four a few days ago and it held his interest longer than any recent article he could remember. The body had been horribly mangled and the car torn apart from the sheer force of the crash. The odd part was that it had crashed nearly half a mile from the highway, how did it get so torn up? The authorities were still looking into that one.
Daniels took a sip from his chai tea late and flipped to the book review section. The new Jeffery Deaver book had just come out and he was hoping for a review of it sometime that week. There was a write up about some sort of mother and daughter tear jerker, yet another book on Facebook, and a memoir about a drug addict gone clean. It reminded Daniels why he was in plain clothes to begin with. He was assigned to get the trust of the local junkies and dealers and go turncoat on them when he was given the go ahead. He had only been working the assignment for about a month and he was getting there. He had decided to grow a beard and change his clothes only twice a week. The facial hair was slow coming for the thirty year old man but it was getting there. The blue jacket that he wore since he started was starting to stain and smell from the sweat he poured out every day. His other clothing suffered the same fate. He did not wash his attire and kept them in a plastic bag when not in use as to preserve the integrity of the dirty clothes.
One thing that he did that no other policeman did in his department was mind his shoes. The difference between an undercover cop and a junkie always has to do with the shoes. Most plain clothes wore either their work shoes or something that cost more than twenty dollars. This was a mistake seeing as any junkie worth his weight can spot this out. No matter how well you've dressed for the part it always came down to the shoes. Daniels had on brown dress shoes that had the leather peeling from all directions. He had gotten them at the Arc Thrift store up east Colfax in Aurora for four dollars and fifty cents, on sale from nine.
It's amazing how the little things can blow your cover. The little things that can get you killed, although the dealers and junkies in this town were very passive and almost never carried weapons, you can never be too careful.
He had finished almost half of his drink when he got a text from his wife asking if she should even bother making him a plate of dinner tonight or was he going to be in the office filling out paper work. It had gotten to the point that the only communication these days have been either through such means or in bed after sex. The sad thing was that they didn't do it very often so it was an unreliable means of dialogue.
In college he had taken Sociology and she was in the bottom row on the far left. He can remember seeing her for the first time like it was yesterday. Samantha (or Sam if you were close) was just striking. Long brown hair pulled up in one of those oriental things that made it look like a ball in the back. Perfect, dark brown eyes that you got lost in if you ever had the chance to experience them, and mild tan skin that was so soft to the touch that you just wanted to embrace her naked for hours.
How did it go so wrong? Oh yeah, he became a police officer, a higher up police officer but still a police officer none the less. Long hours and in the line of fire, it just didn't sit well with their marriage. He had just recently been allocated to the narcotics bureau not even a year ago and he was already going up in the ranks. He had a knack for it. He had put in a request to work the field undercover three times until they finally gave him a shot. So far he's been part of the apprehension of nearly twelve Honduran drug dealers. It would be a success if when every time they caught one of the fuckers, another two didn't show up to take his place.
Daniel's left arm hurt and he rolled up the sleeve of his jacket to make sure the track marks he made that morning weren't becoming infected. Although he used a clean needle to shoot up room temperature water every time, there was always the risk of infection. If you're not careful it could turn into an abscess and grow so big that you couldn't get your arm through the sleeve of your shirt. They were a bitch to drain as well. Because of his past he did not need a doctor to do it, nor was he squeamish when it came to doing it. Since he had started he had only gotten one so far, and that one w
as intentional. It had left a large purple mark on the underside of Daniel's upper left arm. That coupled with the fresh and healing tract marks he made were sufficient evidence for anyone who doubted his validity.
One thing that was always bothersome was his eyes. They were bright blue and people could always tell if he was sober or not. When you do heroin or other opiates your pupils pin. He told people that he was constantly going through withdrawal and so far it had worked, but people are getting suspicious. He didn't know how much longer he'd last before his cover was blown.
He checked his cheap Criket phone and decided to make a move on. It was the start of the afternoon and he was just getting on. Two to five hours of mingling with the lowest of the low before he went back to the station to document his findings.
Today was going to be a good day, he thought as he drank the rest of his chai.
Today was going to be a good day.
Malcolm thought about trailing Josh but was still in the process of deciding. He had had two more beers since he left and was sitting on his futon watching Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind for the second time that week. It was a great movie. It's the only thing of Jim Carrey's that he gave a flying fuck about.
He wanted to lay down on the rickety old futon but again, like the shower head, he was too tall to accomplish this. Malcolm wished he was a little shorter. Back in the days when he was still human he got endless grief from everybody around him about his height. Nutrition and health wasn't the best back then so people were a little shorter than they are today, three hundred years later. Nowadays it was a virtue to be tall and skinny. How things have changed, he thought.
Life expectancy had also increased dramatically. Going from about forty years of age to nearly eighty, that's a hundred percent increase since then! Not that it matter for him. He was going to be stuck in the body of a twenty one year old forever.
All because he liked a boy.
My how things have changed.
Josh was walking into the park when he saw him. The little Honduran who called himself 'Dave' (an alias) was over by the grey brick wall down in the middle of the park. He must have seen him coming because he went further into the shadows and waited for him. The dealer was looking in all directions to make sure it was safe. Josh hadn't seen any police officers or anyone suspicious so things were looking up.
He wasn't even ten feet from him when Dave looked past him and became defensive. Josh heard his name being called and looked back to see Roger running toward him. He was tall and blond and very ratty looking. Josh wasn't too keen on him but he was good for a connect every now and then. The man came up to him panting and held out his hand for a low high five. Josh reciprocated and looked back to see that the dealer had started walking away from the two. Josh gave Roger a rueful stare and he just shrugged and smiled.
"I got a better one anyways." Roger said, out of breath.
Josh rolled his eyes. "I need it now though. I'm not going to wait almost thirty minutes to go meet a pager guy."
"No, no, no, no!" Roger said. "This one is downtown today. I saw him earlier but I didn't have any money. How much are you buying?"
Josh hesitated. You never told anyone how much you had on you. "A dime..."
Roger stood up and cracked his back. "He only has twenties."
"His stuff any good?"
"The best! You want him?"
Josh thought for a moment and looked back around to see that the dealer had left the park entirely. With a sigh he nodded. Roger smiled and took out his cheap Walmart cell phone. A few buttons was pressed and he was talking to somebody in clipped English, almost like he was trying to sound Spanish.
He closed his phone and grinned. "Come on buddy! He's down by Denver Health!"
Josh groaned. "You asshole!"
"Come on. His stuff is amazing!"
Josh did a three sixty turn around trying to see if there were any other options at his disposal. He saw no one and agreed to walk with Roger down to the park by the hospital.
"It better be." Josh said, putting his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "Or I'll kick your ass." This time he looked up at Roger and smiled. He returned it and they walked briskly up toward the other park that was fast becoming the new spot to score.
Josh had decided to wait and suffer through the withdrawal until he got home. That guy Roger was pushing fresh points (needles) onto him but he just didn't get a good vibe from that guy at all. He seemed to be a little too excited about doing drugs when Josh felt it was merely a way to make his reality more palatable. It had been almost six years since he had left his father and he was sure as hell very happy about that. The man was an abusive alcoholic when he was younger and his mother (who died of leukemia) was also an alcoholic and an incessant pill popper. Josh could remember the first time he tried out opiates.
I've got to break more bones, he thought at the time. The pain went away within days but the pills lasted a month. He learned early on to hide them from his mother when he got them seeing as once he stopped complaining about the wound or broken whatever she would take them away, presumably for her own use.
Josh thought of the contempt he had for the woman still to this day. Sure there was love thrown in the mix, but there was a lot of anger that he'd never get over.
He stood at his doorway and paused. Josh put his head on the door and punched it hard.
"Just a minute!" Bill yelled from behind the wood.
Josh groaned. "It's just me dude!" He went into his pocket and felt for the key. He never put his balloons in the key pocket because you were more likely to accidently pull them out with the keys and lose them. A harsh lesson he had learned over the course of his addiction.
As Josh opened the door he felt a blast of heat strike him all over. It was unbearable and Bill sat on the couch wearing only his boxers watching TV.
"What the hell!?" Josh asked. "Why is it so damn hot in here!?"
Bill looked at him confused, as if he didn't know what two plus two equaled. "Because it's cold out. Duh!"
"Well I'm shutting the fucking thing off. I'm not going in on a damn two hundred dollar heating bill!" Josh walked over by the entertainment center where the thermostat was on the manila colored wall. He turned it all the way down and shut off the heating switch. For a moment he considered turning on the air conditioning to fuck with Bill but thought better of it.
Bill scowled at him and got up to go to the kitchen. Josh went back by the door and took off his shoes. He had worn argyle socks today just because they were the only things clean that didn't have caked sweat on them. Walking was a big part of his life and he went through socks the way Tucker Max goes through hoes.
The vent by the door was still on and Josh put his covered foot on it to see if the air had gotten cooler. Once it touched down he immediately retracted from the sting of heat. It made him even more angry at Bill.
He just wanted to go to his room, shoot up, and trip on the patterns in the ceiling.
Then it hit him.
"Oh fuck!" Josh ran into his room and went for the screw driver. He undid the screws but the face plate was too hot to take off with his bare hands. He pulled his under sheet from the bed and used it as a shield against the flaming metal. He put it aside and used the same cloth to grab a hold of his brown cloth bag. It was just as hot, if not hotter than the face plate.
He dumped the contents on the ground and spread them apart to cool off. Then he realized that his door was unlocked and remedied that situation. Then he looked at his works and sighed.
He first checked his needle for any damage. It was malleable but the plunger still went up and down, producing air from the tip. Good. Then he checked his spoon, it was hot but it wasn't warped at all. The cotton for some reason felt moist but that wasn't a big deal. He then noticed that the bottle of water had buckled under the heat and the cap had come off. It was a good thing he didn't carry it in the bag but it did explain the Q-Tips. Then came the lighter. He picked it up, it was cooling off
but still pretty hot. He clicked the igniter and only saw a spark. Then he did it again, and again, and again to no result.
"Fuck me..." He said softly as he threw it onto his bed. Neither of his roommates smoked so he was out of luck there. He was too sick to go to any sort of convenience store to get another one. In cases like this you could always mix the heroin without heating it. It was something he didn't like to do because it took forever. He picked up the misshapened water bottle to see if there was any more hot liquid inside. There was a little so that meant he wouldn't be totally unaided in his efforts.
He took out one of two of the heroin balloons he wound up buying and opened one. He put the other one in the baggy and set it aside. The spoon was hot so the dope nearly melted onto it, a good thing. He then drew up what little water was left and squirted it into the spoon that lay on the floor, took out the plunger, and began to carefully stir it. It took nearly a minute and a half to get it all down but he did it.
A knock at his door startled him out of his automatic ritual.
"What?" He shouted.
"I'm going to the store. Do you want to come along or anything?" Bill asked.
Josh took off a piece of cotton from the Q-Tip and rolled it into a ball with his fingers. "Did you put some damn clothes on?" He asked as he placed the cotton into the spoon. He put the plunger back into the needle and stuck the tip into the cotton ball.
"Yes." Bill said sarcastically. "No shirt, no shoes, no service, right?"
"That doesn't include pants now does it?" Josh snapped back as he drew up the brown liquid.
Bill laughed. "Dude do you want to go or not?"
Josh thought for a second. He COULD use another lighter but there was another thing to consider as he undid his belt and made a tourniquet around his left arm. "How much have you had to drink tonight Bill?" He asked, already knowing the answer.
"Fuck man!" Bill pounded on the door. "I'm a fucking great driver and you know it!"
Josh found a vein and stuck it in. "I think I just want to stay in tonight." He said as he drew back the plunger, but nothing came up.
"Fuck!" Josh whispered aggressively and tried a little bit upward on the exposed vein.
"Fuck you man!" Bill pounded on the door two more times and then Josh could hear the thunk of his bare sweaty feet on the hardwood floor outside his door. He figured it was good riddance and pulled back on the plunger again. This time for a fraction of a second he saw nothing but air come up, but then as quickly as the disappointment set in, blood filled the syringe and mixed with the heroin. He depressed it and held the needle in the vein until he felt it.
The rush came two seconds later and nearly dropped him to his side. He knew what this meant. He possibly had overdosed. He was flashing in and out of consciousness. When he was awake for the few seconds that he wasn't in a narcotic oblivion he put his works back in the bag and put them between his mattresses. He had little time and figured that the blood would dry up in the needle if he didn't do anything about it. But when he looked at the clock it said that it was six-o' seven. Then he blinked. Or thought he blinked. Then the clock said six sixteen. Fuck! He didn't have time to clean the needle or put the face plate back.
He tried to stand but was too wobbly, he immediately fell down to his knees because he was so dizzy. It made a loud thud and his head shot up and toward the door. If any of his roommates were still there they'd surely come to investigate. He waited in between blinks but heard nothing.
Josh fell to his side on the hardwood floor and tried to remain conscious. He started thinking about good things he wanted to do if he got through this. Stuff like go to more shows, have more sex with Cindy, beat the shit out of Bill. But the next thing he knew it was all black.
Malcolm stood outside Josh's window and stared at him between the blinds with disbelief. He felt scared and went into the back to see if any of his roommates cars were in the little lot. They weren't which meant that Bill drove to the store drunk. He didn't care about him, he'd take him out soon if Bill didn't do it to himself first. He walked back around and tested the front door lock. It was shut tight. He pulled out Sarah's debit card from his pocket and slid it between the crack where the latch was, hoping that the dead bolt hadn't been thought of. After he jimmied it between the lock and door it came open. He ran toward Josh's room and did the same thing to his door.
Josh was lying on his side on the floor, a little blue but still had some color in him. Malcolm walked over to where he lay and squatted. He picked up his right arm and held it at the wrist. He could feel a heartbeat. It was slow but not dangerously slow.
If he could sweat he'd be wiping it off his brow.
Malcolm decided to put him in his bed and lifted Josh off the floor. He laid him on the exposed mattress and bent down to get the cover he'd pulled off. He put it over him and went for his works bag. He knew he should really dispose of the fucking thing but he thought better of it, it would be too suspicious. The face plate of the vent lay by the gaping hole, he put the cloth bag in it and screwed it back on. From the look of Josh's face and the fact that he dropped the thing when he first held it meant that the air had been hot. It was nothing but neutral air coming out of it now, the fan cooling down.
Malcolm stood up and looked at the man he wanted so desperately to be friends with, maybe more, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it. He went to the bed and put his long fingers through Josh's blue hair. The roots were starting to show a bit of blond and he thought to himself that maybe he could surprise him with more hair dye. The only thing is though he didn't know what brand he used. The wrong one could ruin the color he already had.
Against his better judgment, he walked out of the room and locked the door. He saw a Jack Daniels bottle on the coffee table and thought about taking a swig. But he knew that any alcoholic worth his salt would notice such a decrease in volume. He could always get one on the way home.
He immediately resented Bill for leaving Josh there to overdose. Even though he didn't know he was using drugs, he still would of investigated, he hoped, if he had heard the loud crash Josh had made when he fell.
Malcolm balled his fists so tight that he could feel his nails puncturing his palms. He was angry. His canines started to come out and he could smell the sour metallic scent of Josh's blood from the other side of his door. He resisted hurting him but thought of a better target. It was a long shot but he decided it would be worth it if he could get to him in time.
There was a King Soopers grocery store not even a mile from the house.
Bill staggered back to his car and fumbled for his keys, nearly dropping the six pack of Coke a Cola in the process.
"Fuck!" He slurred. He had taken three more shots before he left the house and he was feeling it hardcore right that moment. He had to get home soon.
Finally he got the key in and turned it, but when he went to open the door it was locked. He must of turned it the wrong way he thought. He did it again but in reverse but heard the lock coming off. Even in his drunken state he knew that he had locked it when he left the car. Did he not do it and imagined he did? He turned the key the other way again and opened the door. He got in.
He sat down and put the colas in the passenger side seat. Bill had to collect himself. The car was starting to spin. It was a straight line down the road and there was little traffic where he was going, still though, he was worried. He decided against his better judgment and put the keys in the ignition.
"You're not going to endanger lives by driving as shit faced as you are, are you?" A voice said from behind. Bill wasn't sure if he imagined it or it if it was real. Before he could turn around to investigate two hands wrapped around his neck and he was pulled into the back seat. He was pinned to the cushion but couldn't get a good look at his assailant. The car interior was still spinning but he could sort of make the man out. He looked familiar but he couldn't pin point him. The hands grew tighter and the man was yelling at him, he wasn't sure what he was saying but he reached into his
pocket and took out his wallet, throwing it at the man.
"Please!" Bill choked. "Don't kill me!"
"You're doing a pretty good job of it yourself!" Malcolm said sternly, his face not even an inch from Bill's. Bill could feel Malcolm's cold breath on his face. Why was it so cold?
"Please!" Bill pleaded again. The hands around his neck loosened and soon Bill could breathe again, he took in a long one and filled his lungs with painful, stinging fresh air. His vision began to come back to him and he saw who it was. It was Josh's friend, Macom or Todd, or something like that. His first thought was that this must be an elaborate prank that he and Josh were pulling on him, until he saw the man reach for a huge fucking knife.
"We're going to go driving, just you and me."
Bill coughed. "Are you like punking me?"
Malcolm did not answer but instead climbed into the driver's seat. He started the ignition and gently pressed on the gas, moving the car out of the parking lot. Bill was scared but he was also pissed off at whatever this guy was trying to do to him. He got up and put his hands around Malcolm's throat but it was like grabbing granite. Malcolm laughed and stopped the car. He turned around and said to Bill "You want to do this the hard way? Ok." and plunged the big kitchen knife into Bill's small intestines. Bill let out a hysteric yelp and immediately clutched the wounded area with his hands. Malcolm pulled out the knife and to Bill's shock, there wasn't that much blood. There was some but not the amount you'd expect. He began crying in pain and doubled over onto the back seat floor.
Malcolm turned back around and scoffed. "You can live up to twelve hours with intestinal damage you big baby." He put the bloody knife next to the Cokes and started up the car again. Wherever they were going, it wasn't home and Bill knew this. He started thinking about his family, his only sister Marcia. She was going to be nineteen this year and a sophomore in college. She was going to be a geologist. He wanted to be with her right now.
He wanted to be with his mother, cradled in her arms while she told him that everything was going to be alright.
He wanted to be fishing on some lake out on the Pacific Ocean, where he and his father took vacation two years ago.
His tears stung his eyes. "Please don't kill me..." He moaned, trying to put more force into his voice but the pain wouldn't allow it.
"I just might." Malcolm said, he must of turned left because Bill could feel the car turning. "But first I want you to answer some questions for me."
"Please!" Bill cried.
"That's not what I asked now is it?" Malcolm hit the breaks and flung Bill into the walls of the seats, twisting his body in the process. The pain sent him into hysterics.
"Shut up!" Malcolm shouted back to him as he continued driving.
Bill could no longer think of the nice things in his life. The sensation of his guts leaking into himself was so unbearable that it blocked out all other conscious thought. He tried though. He knew that if he closed his eyes then he may not wake up.
"I want to live, please!" Bill choked out.
Malcolm's tempter was rising with everything that came out of the drunk's mouth. "If you wanted to live then why are you an alcoholic?"
Bill was now gasping for air. "I need help!" he said. "Please, I need help!"
"Help for the alcoholism or for your Nancy little stab wound?"
"Both! Please!"
"You'll live, for now." Malcolm laughed maliciously. "If you wanted help stopping then why didn't you get it in the first place?"
"No insurance."
"Why didn't you try to get financial aid then?"
Bill clutched his abdomen and cried out again. Malcolm one more hit the breaks, smashing Bill back into the seats.
Bill coughed. "I never knew of it!"
"You would of if you looked hard enough. I don't think you want to quit. I think that you are going to go through life like this and die of cirrhosis at the ripe old age of thirty. I simply cannot let you do that." Malcolm reached into his pocket with his free hand and took out a half pint of whiskey. He undid the cap with his teeth and turned around for a second to pour it all over Bill's face. Some of it landed on his knife wound and it made him shout out from the intense burning sensation. "I really don't need to do this you know." Malcolm said. "You probably have enough blood alcohol to choke a moose right now. But it's a precautionary measure I feel."
In between his wails of pain Bill cried "Precautionary for what!?"
Malcolm reached back and pulled Bill by the arm and onto the passenger side seat, sitting his chest on the coke cans. He cried more and all Malcolm could do was think that this guy will shut up soon enough; it was all he could do without breaking the fucker's spine into three pieces.
Bill tried to raise himself with his arms but he fell back down from the effort. He tried again and pulled himself somewhat into the seat. He did not look at Malcolm as he sat up. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead. The last thing he saw as he looked out the windshield was his car smashing into a tree at seventy miles an hour.
You do not dream when you overdose. You don't always die either. If you're lucky you just pass out, hopefully with your breathing intact. One of the things Josh had found out from his first overdose a few years back from the bastard doctor who gave him narcan (the antidote to opiates) is that the shit slows your breathing down to dangerous levels. When you don't breathe at all is when you die. At the time Josh would have rather went out in oblivion than to be found out. His dirty little secret exposed. He wasn't on his father's insurance anymore so he wouldn't know about it at least. But his last roommate had found him. After he found out Josh was OK he kicked him out and severed all ties with the guy.
Josh thought about this as he lay in bed. How did he get there? Sometimes you do things you don't remember when this happens. He wasn't sure he was happy to be alive but he was glad that at least he hadn't blown his cover.
His first thought was whether or not his stash had been compromised. He rolled over, still weak from the overdose, and looked down toward his floor to see where he had put his stuff. It wasn't there. A shot of ice cold blood went straight up his spine and he sat up. He fought to keep his eyes open but kept them so long enough to look around the room. He saw that the faceplate to the heating vent had been screwed back on. The only thing that was bothersome was that the screw driver sat beside it on the bright brown wooden flooring.
He lay back down and hugged his pillow. He then cried. He knew that he had wasted a high on overdosing like he did. He wasn't really mad about that though, he was mad that he would soon have to take another shot or he'll be sick. Another damn shot.
Another fucking shot...
As Josh lay in the fetal position sobbing, he did not see the red and blue lights outside. Neither did Garrick, who was passed out on the couch. He came to when there was a loud knock at the door. At first he thought he was hearing things until it happened again. This time louder and with more frequency.
"Police! Open up!" The officer said from behind the front door.
Garrick immediately checked his pockets to see if he had any pot on him. He couldn't remember, but he didn't. When he felt he was clear he got up and rushed to the door, hesitating to open it in fear that he would be arrested.
"Open up! Police!" The officer said again then knocked harder. "I see lights on! Open up!"
Garrick felt he had no choice but to obey orders just like his military father had taught him. His bastard father, the man without emotion or empathy. The man who took away his childhood. He imagined him on the other side and opened the door, fully expecting him to be right there.
The officer's face was grim. There was another one beside him, taller and black, his face an exact replica of the firsts. Garrick gulped hard and closed his eyes.
"Hello officers." He said a little too quickly.
"Hello son." The white shorter officer said. The tall black one took off his hat and stepped forward.
"Can we come in?" The black officer said softly.
"JOSH!" Garrick yelled. "JOSH GET OUT HERE!" There was no answer from his room. Shit! He thought.
The white one asked again. "May we come in sir?" Garrick nodded and stepped aside, letting the two men into his house, the house he would no doubt lose in a few minutes if in fact he did anything at all. He was very drunk and could feel his bladder expand and contract.
"What's this about?" Garrick asked in his best sober voice.
"I'm afraid we have bad news." The tall black officer said.
"Am I in trouble?" Garrick said quickly and immediately regretted it.
"No. You aren't."
"Does a Bill Mathews live here?" The white one asked.
Garrick felt a wave of relief wash over him. It was then that Josh stepped out of his door, groggy and angry that he had to get out of bed.
"Hey man," Garrick laughed. "Bill's in trouble!"
Josh took one look at the officers and immediately froze. He tried to play it off with Garrick. "DUI? I told him not to go to the store!" He put his hands to his side and looked downward, trying to avert eye contact because his eyes were pinned badly and they would give him away in an instant.
"No." The black officer said. "I'm sorry to tell you that he's been in an accident."
Josh went cold and numb. Despite his best efforts he looked up and into the white officer's eyes. "Accident?"
"Yes."
Garrick could do nothing but mouth the word 'accident' over and over. He had to sit down and did so, on the couch near where he stood.
"He ran into a tree. Totaled the car." The white one said seriously.
Garrick felt sick. He stared down at his bare feet and kept his eyes there. "Is... Is he OK?"
"He's dead."
"Oh my God..." Josh whimpered. He turned around and ran into his room, locking it as he did so. Garrick got up to get him but the white officer waved for him to sit back down. He had never hated Josh more than at this moment.
The three of them were silent for a moment. It felt like it was hours before the tall black cop spoke. "I know this is hard. But we cannot find any family. His cell phone was damaged and we couldn't get any numbers. All that survived was his ID which led us here. It was a shot in the dark but we're glad we found you."
"Accident..." Garrick needed a drink. Despite his better judgment he took Bill's Jack Daniels bottle and took a long hard drink. He only stopped because he had to catch his breath. Then he put the bottle to his lips again. The black officer pushed it down and took it from him. He did not object.
"We need you sober now." He said.
"Why?" The shock was wearing off and Garrick felt tears welling up in his eyes.
"We need somebody to come downtown and identify the body. Although it's going to be pretty hard I'll say, considering the condition it's in."
"Shit..."
“Was your roommate high?” The taller one asked.
Josh couldn't move. He just lay on his bed motionless for the longest time before he started weeping silently to himself. There had been knocks at his door and commands to come out but he simply ignored them. He had never known anyone who'd died before and it sent him into shivers. Resuming his earlier fetal position he almost had it in him to suck his thumb, as he did when he was young. It took many years to break him of the habit and the urge was almost as strong as his to do the last balloon of heroin at the moment.
He heard the voices stop from the other side of his room and the front door close. Josh wiped the tears from his eyes and went to the living room. He looked back for a moment at the faceplate of the heating vent and once again wondered how and when he put it back on. Josh let it pass and stepped out his door.
The Jack Daniels bottle was nearly empty. Almost one fourth full, he almost wanted to preserve it as it was in Bill's honor but he took the last of it anyways. It was always bad to mix heroin and alcohol because they are both respiratory depressants. It could be lethal but at the moment he didn't care. When he finished the bottle he carried it to his room and sat it beside his bed, where he intended it to stay for a long time.
"You fucking drunk..." Josh told himself. He lay back down on his bed and pulled up the covers, not bothering to take his clothes off.
"You fucking drunk..." He kept repeating himself as he cried himself to sleep.
