by Jade McCahon
“What’s going on?” I demanded, and I heard Cole cry out as the phone was snatched away from him. There was a loud hissing sound, followed by a low growl and some extremely creepy giggling. I had to hold the phone away from my ear to save my eardrum.
Cole was back. “See what I mean?” he asked.
“What the hell is she doing?”
“She’s not doing anything,” he answered. “Sara, I know I don’t know her very well, but I’m telling you right now…whatever this thing is…it isn’t her.”
He wasn’t making it up. There was complete horror in his voice, disbelief, helplessness. “I’ll be right there,” I said, and the phone shut off on me. “Shit!” I screamed. I remembered the extra battery Jamie had bought me and finally tore it open and switched the power supplies out. It was just faster than waiting for the thing to charge.
The short bleat of a siren made me look up into the rearview mirror.
A police car had just pulled up behind me.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I swore.
It could have been Roy or anyone. The bottom line was I could not let them get close enough to find Emmett in the backseat. I had made him a promise and I was not going to betray him. As I took deep, gulping breaths to calm myself, that decision tortured me, and to the deepest core of my soul I questioned it. I could demand to go with him, try to make sure he was safe, but then what about Jamie? The seconds ticked by while I agonized away, chewing my bottom lip as the door opened on the police car. Maybe I could explain things to Emmett later. At least it might mean he would live.
As I watched in the rearview mirror, the police officer climbed out of the cruiser. I saw his short reddish-blonde hair, the pointed nose, noted the unmistakable swagger and the empty gun holster. And I recognized Ead Sutter’s face.
Like I said, irony has a way of making me its bitch. Irony was standing behind me now, waiting in the shower as I bent over for the bar of soap.
Fresh out of his interrogation with Bonita’s attorney father, his own daddy scrambling to cover up for him, Ead was looking more cavalier than ever as he closed the car door and sauntered toward me. His tinted aviators couldn’t fully conceal the smack down Jon had put on him. I watched his tall thin form move closer to the back of my mother’s car, riveted in sick fascination to his hands, covered with black leather gloves. Maybe I could deal with him. Even after everything, maybe I could just play stupid and he’d let me go.
I like to think that fate, or God, or Tommy, or whatever good thing was watching over me that day gave me a little helpful kick in the ass right then. Because it was then that I saw the flash in my mind.
It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. It was like someone had taken their thoughts, their memories, and simply plucked them from their own brain and placed them into mine. I saw Ead's thin face, twisting in an expression of rage. His beady blue eyes were flaring, somehow furious and empty at the same time, watching the life drain from my body. The vision was so clear, so volatile, that this was happening to me. It blotted out all reality and replaced it with one that was horrifying and uncontrollable, like a silent movie on a broken reel. Paralyzed, I could only watch.
His hands, those gloves, squeezed and twisted against my neck. Squeezed until all the breath had been pushed out and my throat was crushed so violently it wouldn't allow more in, even after he let go. His howls of fury, of panic, rang in my ears as he tried to figure out what to do with my dead body when it slumped to the side. My necklace, a tiny gold cross given to me by my mother on my twelfth birthday, caught around the window handle and was plucked from my neck when he pulled me out of the passenger side of his car.
He’d been so angry that I’d rejected him. But no matter how much I’d told him no, he still took what he wanted and threw me away, discarded me like a piece of trash.
I watched my body being rolled into a tarp. Pushed into a hole. The smell of mildew, rot, decay…
I came out of the vision, clawing at my throat, gasping for air. The scent of mold was still in my nostrils. Only half a second had passed, and I could see in the rearview mirror that Ead was still walking toward the car.
Nothing like that had ever happened to me before, but I knew without question this time that it had been completely real.
Eadonthehiway.
He had murdered her. I’d seen it myself.
Fate had presented me my choices.
I chose to believe what I saw, what I felt, what I knew.
I chose to believe Jamie. I chose to believe Tommy.
I chose to believe Emmett.
I stomped the gas pedal, spewing gravel in Ead Sutter’s face. The car moved at such an incredibly slow pace, its gears shifting reluctantly. As soon I was moving at a normal speed again, I spotted Ead in the rearview mirror, only just then climbing back into his car. God help me, I thought. I was going to jail and to hell. And all in my mother’s Buick.
****
Eight O’Clock
I pulled into the parking lot of the church across the street from the asylum, yanking the sleeves of my jacket over my arms. I could smell rain in the air.
The daylight was piercingly bright and the lot was packed with the vehicles of onlookers, protesters, news reporters, and even rescue in case someone got hurt during the white trash hullabaloo. I wondered if Jamie’s EMT friend was here, too. Not that it would make a difference. I pulled into a space, praying none of the cops that lined one side of the street were getting a radio from Ead about a Buick that had just gone AWOL on him. Hopefully his plans with me were so nefarious they weren’t fit to be reported to dispatch.
I reached back and felt Emmett’s pulse again and it had gone weak, arrhythmic. It had been 17 minutes since the last shot of glucagon I’d given him. His face was ashen, his breathing so shallow I could no longer see the rise and fall of his chest. I climbed over the front seat into the back with him and tried to shake him awake once again. He murmured incoherently. I grabbed another vial and syringe and pulled his jacket to the side to stick him again in the upper arm. His skin was damp with a cold sweat.
I'd never felt so devoid of hope in my life. I choked back a sob as I pulled his sweatshirt back down over his pale stomach. Knowing there was an ambulance less than a block’s length away that I could not run to for help killed me inside, but I had promised. I would not let Emmett be handed off to his homicidal family.
Brad Sutter was, in fact, standing only a few feet from the EMT station. He was trying to fight his way through a crowd of protesters and state troopers, who had formed a disorganized human chain at the top of the hill. It was anybody’s guess what exactly was going on there.
With a string of expletives escaping my lips, I grabbed the Styrofoam cup full of soda I'd brought from the restaurant and a sharpie out of the console. I wrote “Drink Me” across it in huge letters, placing it in the cup holder nearest Emmett’s head. It had to be the first thing he saw, the first command he obeyed, when he awakened.
If he awakened.
Wiping my face again, I cautiously climbed out of the car, careful not to be seen. I popped the trunk, taking out a large quilt that was folded on top of the spare tire. Then I climbed back into the backseat and pulled the quilt over Emmett, covering his body completely. If Ead was following me, he'd surely look in the car for me first. I didn't want him to touch Emmett, to hurt him, ever again.
I paused, my hand resting against Emmett’s feverish, scruffy cheek. This might be the last time I ever saw him. He seemed so far away now, his face so calm and still. The anguish I felt was excruciating and strange, because I’d never known him, really known him, before now. Yet he’d leave such a hole in my heart if I returned and found him gone.
It was almost impossible to place the blanket over his face, that solemn gesture reserved most exclusively for the dead. I wiped away another tear. “I’m sorry, Emmett,” I whispered.
As I pulled away from him my arm brushed against a lump in his pocket. It was then that I
remembered the gun he carried. I reached into his jacket and pulled the gun out, jamming it into the waistband of my pants. I let my hand linger on his chest for one more long moment. His heartbeat had evened itself out again, growing slower and slower against his ribcage. His face was peaceful, sleeping his oblivion soundlessly. He wasn't going to need the gun anymore.
And what was I going to do with it, besides shoot myself in the leg? I grabbed my messenger bag and shoved the gun into the zippered side pouch instead.
The wrecking crew was scheduled to start the demolition at noon. I still had time, but not much. I closed the car door carefully, still very reluctant to leave Emmett alone, but it had to be done. I had to get inside the asylum before anyone could stop me. I had to find the evidence Emmett had told me about and get to Jamie. I had no clue how I was going to do it, or even where to begin, but I had to try. It was the only way.
Darting around the cars, slinking back and forth and crouch-crawling through the parking lot, I was able to get into the woods that ran alongside the building. Here I could make a run for it without being seen, or at least if I was I had enough of a head start that it wouldn’t matter.
The monstrous, decaying thing looked no less ominous in the light of day. I trudged over fallen branches, through the brambles and dead leaves of the woods. The closer I came to the yawning iron-framed doors, the more my head pounded and my heart revolted. I looked up at the tall, arched broken windows, the moldering concrete, the shards of paint curling toward the air like peeling skin. I could see the length of the back of the building and the overgrown grounds, once well-manicured and beautiful, now littered and overrun with weeds. Hours earlier this place had beckoned to me, and I had resisted. Now I was exactly where it wanted me, where I was supposed to be. The culmination of the entire night’s insanity was this. The last few dominoes were now poised to fall.
I was flooded with memories of the place as I walked. I could almost hear my brother's teasing voice as I scaled around the side where we always got in. There were people scattered here and there on the lawn but none of them paid any attention to me, and not even the cops had come this close. I headed toward a bush around the back of the building, an evergreen that concealed a window entrance. No one else knew about it or cared, but it was hard to believe no one noticed me. It seemed too easy. I crouched down to prepare for the awkward planking position I was going to have to contort myself into and heard a rustling sound right beside me that was distinctly human. Someone grabbed my arm and I whirled with a gasp, expecting to see Brad’s skeletal mug. Instead I was greeted by a huge familiar smile and liquid brown eyes.
Raymond.
“Don’t do that! Jesus! Why has everybody been doing that lately?!” I screamed.
Immediately his grin gave my distress a complete work-over and I relaxed against the cold cement of the shadowy hospital wall. I realized then how much he resembled his brother – the dark skin, bright-white teeth, the T-shirt that clung to his biceps like he was some sort of overdressed Speedo model. Both of them had such big hearts, full of affection and happiness. It was this that had drawn me so close to Raymond in the months following my brother’s death. The world could be collapsing around you and this guy…this guy was like a ray of sunlight in the hellish dark.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he laughed. “But the whole ninja thing…it wasn’t working.”
“What?” I said, looking around in alarm. “Did anyone else see me?”
“No, calm down.” He laughed again. “Just me.”
I blew out my breath. “Have you been inside yet?” I asked him. “Have you seen Jamie?”
“No, but I got a weird text from Cole a few minutes ago—”
I rolled my eyes. “Save it. I’ve got to get up to them as fast as I can.”
“Okay. I’ll lead the way. I know exactly where they are.”
“Alright…” This was no time to balk at his help, I quickly decided.
There was no turning back now. I held the bush out of the way as he wriggled his body through the window, then slid through the tiny hole myself and felt broken glass snag my sweater. Wonderful. I’d gained some weight since last time I was here.
Raymond’s strong hands took hold of my waist and set me down carefully on the cement floor. My sneakers crunched over broken glass and the stench of mildew filled my nose. The basement was dark and cold and I reached out and clasped his arm, in spite of myself. I didn’t want to need him right now, but I was too scared to let go.
A highly allegorical realization? Or something much more literal? I blinked when Raymond flicked on a flashlight, and cursed when I remembered that this room’s broken-window entrance was most avoided by everyone else because this was the goddamned morgue.
It was very easy for my hand to revert to old habits and close around Raymond’s. It felt familiar and safe. But at that moment I discovered I did not have the misery, the pain I thought I would. That anguish from knowing he had left me was gone, and I marveled at my own emotional strength. Over the course of the night, with all the things I’d seen and done, the need for him to make me feel like everything would be alright simply wasn’t there. I loved him, but I could go on without him. It was a revelation I never expected to have, especially not so soon.
Raymond’s flashlight swept the room, stopping briefly on my face and then swinging back to the grimy walls. “Are you okay?” he asked, and as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see his brow creased in worry as he stared at me.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Come on. We have to hurry.” I dragged him behind me in the blackness, feeling my way along the slimy, gritty tiling, following the small yellow circle from the flashlight. There was a long row of open square holes off to the right, where long ago, dead bodies had been stored in metal drawers. I wanted to go past those gaping wooden holes as quickly as possible, but Raymond pulled me to a stop.
“Wait,” he said softly. “We need to talk.”
No. Not here. Not now. He clearly did not understand the urgency of the situation. “Raymond—”
“I know you didn’t deserve what I did to you. And it’s my fault. Not yours. I was just…I was really confused.”
“Please, Raymond...” I wanted to know the truth, needed to know. In fact, I was pretty sure I already did know. But there’d been so many revelations in the last few hours I was doubtful I could process it. I didn’t know if hearing him admit he was in love with Bonita Taylor would finally destroy me completely or set me free. I broke away from him, scampering forward despite the black abyss in front of me. I hit the heavy oak door that led to the rest of the basement and pushed it open. It groaned under the pressure. “Let’s just go to Jamie and we can talk about this later,” I called back to him. “I promise. We will sit down, and we will—”
“Sara, I’m gay.”
For a second his words just rang in the dank air, refusing to enter my brain. An odd sensation spread over my body, not unlike being zapped with electricity. Then suddenly, a peal of laughter burst out of me that I didn’t know was coming and therefore could not hold back. Was he joking? I replayed the words again in my mind but this was not a joke. That settled it; I really just could not read people at all. How could I have missed this? Weren’t there signs, signals? How long had he known this?
As I stood there, my giggles bouncing off the cement walls, Raymond started to laugh too. We cackled out of pure relief, for our own reasons. It was idiotic. In this gloomy basement, where the walls oozed with decay and there were reminders of death all around us, we were both shrieking with laughter. Eventually it tapered off, and our echoes died down, and we just stared at each other.
I cleared my throat. It was stupid, but I still had to ask. That’s how much I had disillusioned myself. “So this means you’re not in love with Bonita?”
“What?” Raymond seemed completely shocked that I would come to this conclusion. “Am I—what? No. I am not. What the hell would make you think that?”
Now I fel
t silly. But it was a light kind of silly, something I could easily forgive myself for. “She’s been at your house for like a week straight. She’s been staying with you.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve seen her, Raymond. Everyone has.”
“Aww, jeez. I’m sorry.” He came toward me and reached for me, and I hesitated. But I was okay. I let him embrace me. He squeezed me against his hard chest and I hugged him tightly, reveling in his warm familiarity. Four years came back to me then, good times and bad, but honestly mostly good. I let the memories wash over me without questioning or judging them. Snuggling on the couch, watching movies together…staring down at the Grand Canyon where he’d told me he loved me for the first time. And yes, sex. Maybe not as much as there should have been, but it had still happened. I had never gotten the impression that anything was strange or false about any of it, because it wasn’t. I loved him, and he loved me. I remembered that. And I did not suffer. I was going to be alright.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whimpered against his neck.
“I didn’t understand it all. I had to sort it out. It wasn’t an easy realization for me. And I haven’t told anyone else yet. I thought you deserved to know first.” He hugged me tighter. “But I am not in love with Bonita.” He laughed. “I promise you that.” We started to walk, his arm over my shoulders. There was little sinister power in this basement with him here; it was just a shadowy, mildewed pit.
“So what was she—?”
“She’s with Jon, Sara. She’s…” He seemed reluctant to finish the sentence. Probably because of my brother. “They’ve been together for a few months. I just found out.”
Understanding exploded in my brain. “Why didn’t I see it before?” I mumbled.
“You only see what you want to see, I guess.” Raymond was matter-of-fact as he gauged my reaction.
