HARLAN

by David Whitman

  "Touché, asshole," I said, trying not to laugh. He was always putting me in my place.

  Julian went on and told a few other anecdotes of the early life of Ross Morrissey. As I watched him speak, I realized that I truly loved him.

  Hold on to your friends, Dear Reader, because you don't get many good ones.

  The pizza arrived and we devoured it in ten minutes. I watched humorously as Julian dumped every condiment known to man over his slice.

  "Don't say a freaking word, Harlan," he ordered, dumping about two tablespoons of garlic salt onto his pizza. He followed that with about a pound of red pepper.

  And I didn't. I just sat there and listened with affection. Did you ever just sit and watch your friends? I mean really watch them? You realize so much about them. The way they move their hands around, the crooked smiles, and rapid eye movements. You can almost tell what a person is thinking when you look closely at their body language.

  That night, I realized it was going to be more than difficult to leave Julian in this world alone. It was going to be painful.

  Chapter 21:

  On the Road

  Not a lot happened in the last few months. In fact, so little that I hadn't even bothered writing in my journal since that night at the pizza parlor back in late January. I think I needed a break from it after all the trouble it caused me.

  It is now April and I'm watching the clock. Spring Break officially starts in fifteen minutes. The weather just started to warm up this week, the last few traces of snow nearly melted into nothingness.

  Ross Morrissey is still missing—leaving me to have no doubt whatsoever he is dead. Julian has slowly begun to accept that fact. In the last few weeks, he has seemed to revert back to his normal self. However, if they do find Ross Morrissey's body, I know he'll break down yet again.

  Two weeks ago Rawley's serial killer struck again. This time the victim was Brenda Reeds, a freshman I've never even met. The police said they actually have a lead to follow this time, and they expected an arrest within a few days. They wouldn't have said something like that if it weren't true, so I hoped to God they had caught the right person. The teens of Rawley High were beginning to become an endangered species.

  Sam and I are still over and will probably stay that way. Once I said hello to her in the hall, but she acted like she didn't hear me. That hurt like hell. She was still so beautiful to me I ached, and I was going to have to get used to the fact she wasn't going to be mine. Allison told Julian that she still cries sometimes over me. Sam and Suzanne also have become good friends. I guess Sam gets all of her "Harlan updates" right from Suzanne.

  Yes, I still live with Suzanne. And, no, we haven't reverted back to our sexual relationship, and never will. She has become more like a sister to me now that she's providing for me. We had a big blowout when Sam told her about the suicide situation, but I managed to convince her that I had changed my mind and no longer wanted to do it. Reluctantly, she believed me.

  For the most part, people have stopped giving me dirty looks in the hallway. Things have kind of reverted back to normal. About two weeks ago, I went on a date with a girl named Vanessa Milton. I sort of had fun, but she wasn't really my type at all. She was more interested in her brand name clothes and Chanel makeup than anything I had to say.

  Sam is also dating. I saw her once driving by with some guy who is much better looking than I ever could be. I think he goes to school in Farleyville. Seeing her with him was devastating. If I think about her kissing him it feels like someone has hit me in the stomach with a club.

  There was a commotion in the hallway, and my eyes were back on the clock. Someone was screaming—it sounded like an adult. It was over in a few minutes, and we were left to chatter amongst ourselves as to its source. Didn't matter to me, I just wanted to get the hell out of here.

  When the bell finally did ring, I quickly went to my locker and threw my schoolbooks inside, being careful not to forget my journal. We had a week and a half off for Spring, and it felt almost sinfully good. I met Vlad and Julian on the concourse.

  Vlad had reverted back into his black clothes phase, although he wasn't wearing any makeup. He had managed to grow a thin goatee that succeeded in making him live up to his name even more.

  "Harlan, I hate you!" Julian shouted, as I came within shouting distance.

  "What?" I asked studying his face. He looked like he had just found out his girlfriend was pregnant or something.

  We started walking towards the parking lot. "You mean you didn't hear?" Vlad asked. " They arrested—"

  "Peterson!" Julian shouted out. "They arrested Peterson! The rumor is it's for the murders!"

  The news hit me different than I thought it would. Instead of feeling any sort of jubilation, I felt ill.

  "Are you serious?" I managed to mumble, feeling a little dizzy.

  "Yes, Harlan," Vlad said, getting into the back seat of Ross's Mustang. Not like Ross was using it.

  "Can you believe it," Julian said, as he closed the car door and turned the motor over. "You were right! We were in his house! Do you realize the shit he would have done to us if he had found us?"

  I didn't say anything. I put my sunglasses on and tried not to throw up.

  "The only thing I'm worried about now is Ross," Julian continued. "What if they find his body in the basement or something?"

  "We could have saved her, Julian," I said, my voice feeling dead.

  "Saved who, Harlan? What in the hell are you talking about?"

  "Janet Rowlands. Don't you remember? That night we crept into Peterson's house we saw a girl in his bed. It was her. Don't you remember that the next day they found her body? We could have saved her. She must have been drugged up or something—not sleeping."

  "Holy shit, you're right," Julian said, his face turning pale.

  "Stop the car," I wheezed, my stomach turning.

  "Why?"

  "Stop the fucking car!"

  When it came to a halt I jumped from the seat and vomited into the grass, ignoring the beeps of the passing cars full of teenagers from our school.

  We could have saved her. Oh My God.

  If I wasn't so afraid that I was being paranoid and had listened to my instincts, I could have saved Janet's life.

  Two hours later, we were all sitting in the shallow end of Suzanne's pool. Vlad dunked his head backwards and slicked his dark hair back. An hour earlier, the police had held a press conference and announced that Peterson was, in fact, the serial killer. They had all kinds of evidence linking him to the crime, from witnesses to actual DNA evidence. It was all so bizarre to me.

  "I need to get out of Rawley," I said, thinking maybe if I stared at the sun long enough it would blind me.

  "We all need to get out of Rawley," Vlad said, sitting up on the first step of the pool and kicking his feet gently through the water.

  "Well, let's go," Julian said, and we both turned to look at him because his voice was so uncharacteristically serious.

  "Where the hell we gonna go?" Vlad asked.

  "Who cares," I said, stepping from the pool and grabbing a towel. "I have about nine hundred dollars saved in my room. Do you guys have any?"

  Julian and Vlad both smiled. They were the freest smiles I had ever seen.

  We passed the county line of Rawley just as the sun went down. With all of our money pooled together we had over two thousand dollars. I left a note for Suzanne telling her we were going to go to the shore for the week without bothering to give her an explanation. She would worry, but she would get over it. It's not like she was my mother or something. I promised her that I would call her in a few days. Vlad's father wouldn't even notice he was missing, although I'm sure he noticed his pot stash was a little lower. Julian convinced his father he had planned this trip for months.

  Once out of Rawley, I felt an immediate sense of freedom. There is something about small towns that make me uncomfortable. I don't want to live in a town where everyone knows you by your first name. I
don't want to have to get into a conversation with the local grocer on how I'm doing in school. I don't want to be in the same town as my father. Most of all I don't want to be in the same town where Peterson killed all those high school girls.

  Within twenty minutes, we were on the Interstate with the world before us like some huge mountain that begged to be climbed. For a few minutes, none of us said anything. We were all too high on the feeling of independence.

  Vlad was the first to speak. "So where in the hell are we going?"

  Julian laughed while I rummaged through the pile of cassette tapes. "I don't have a clue. Any ideas, Harlan?"

  "Yep. The beach," I said, popping a Morphine cassette into the player, filling the car with the bass-like voice of Mark Sandman.

  Julian looked into the rearview mirror with a cocked smile. "Any objections, Vlad?"

  "You're kidding, right?" Vlad asked, putting his sunglasses on and laying down on the back seat. "Wake me up when we get there."

  The beach wasn't just a little hop to the southwest. It was going to take us days. Julian and I took turns driving throughout the day, switching whenever one of us got tired. Every thirty minutes or so I popped in a new music selection.

  As I listened to the music, I realized just how important it was to my life. Every song reminds you of a different time or happening. It's weird how music basically becomes a soundtrack for your life. For example, I had to take out the Elvis Costello tape because it reminded me too much of Sam. The Smiths reminded me of the gloomy days that I hid up in my room from my father. Dead Can Dance reminded me of my most suicidal moments. Tom Waits reminded me of the summer I spent totally obsessed with Suzanne. And I can't forget the funk music—every time I needed to chase away some seriously bad thoughts, I would throw some in. There is nothing like a wicked bass-line, and some heavy drum and horns, to drive all forms of bad spirits from the room. It's like music from Heaven. Some of the best times in my life have funk tunes for the soundtrack—and that's pretty damn funny for a skinny white boy. Not many guys my age know the words to "Thank You For Letting Me Be Mice Elf Again" by Sly and the Family Stone. I listen to funk music with complete sincerity—I love it.

  "Did you tell Suzanne where you were going?" Julian asked, seeming to pull Suzanne's name from a psychic void in my brain.

  "Well, I left her a note," I said, staring at the sun as it set. "How in the hell would I tell her where we were going when I didn't know myself?"

  "Are you still sleeping with her?" Julian asked in the way that only best friends can, with no embarrassment whatsoever.

  "Nope," I said removing the Nine Inch Nails tape and sticking in an older favorite: New Order. "We're not going to, either. We're beyond that. It would be like sleeping with my sister."

  "Would she sleep with you if you let her?"

  I looked over at him, studying his face for signs of a smile. He looked serious. "I don't know. Why?"

  "You're crazy if you don't do her. If I had the opportunity, I would pound her brains out every five fucking minutes. Suzanne is hot."

  "It would be too weird," I answered. "I still find her very attractive, but in some other odd way, I don't. After I fell in love with Sam, I no longer saw Suzanne in that way anymore."

  "Speaking of Sam," Julian asked, as I tensed up. "I saw her yesterday after school. I talked with her for a bit."

  I was curious but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "I'm happy for you."

  "She asked me how you were doing," he continued. "She seemed like she was going to start crying."

  I felt my gut clench up and I glared at him. "Did you have to tell me that detail? I'm trying to get over her. Telling me that shit only reawakens stuff. She's seeing someone now anyway."

  "I told her that you were doing okay. She still loves you, Harlan. I could tell."

  I looked up at the spectacular sunset and wished that I were elsewhere. Or staring at it with Sam. "Yeah, well, I love her too. But it doesn't matter."

  "Well, maybe—"

  "Maybe shit, Julian. In case you forgot, she broke up with me."

  "Yeah, and it's not like she didn't have a good reason, though."

  "Yes, she did have a good reason. I never said it was her fault, I just said she's the one who dumped me. I don't want to talk about this anymore, okay?"

  He started to open up his mouth again and I put my hand up in the air. There was a great moment of tension because he wanted so badly to add something.

  "Are you guys done yet?" Vlad asked from the backseat. He waited for a moment and neither Julian or I said a word. "Good, because the next exit has an inn we can stop at."

  The inn, or The Backdoor as it was called, was quite the seedy place. It was just a long one-story building with twenty or so rooms. Although I couldn't see much of the place in the dark, it seemed to be the kind of place you took a hooker (and maybe a few bottles of whiskey) to, or used to hide yourself away from the cops.

  Surprisingly, the man who ran the hotel hardly even glanced at us. He didn't even ask for identification. He just took our fifty bucks and went back to his tabloid newspaper.

  The room smelled of sweat and mildew. The wallpaper was peeling and cracking all over the room. There was one bed, covered with the stains of god-knows-what, and a small television set. We stood in the doorway, all of us coming to the realization we were going to have to stay in this sperm bank.

  "Freedom," Vlad purred, throwing his duffel bag of clothes on the bed. "You gotta love it."

  "A cum stained hotel room is not my idea of freedom, Vlad," I said.

  Julian sighed. "You better look under the bed. There might be a corpse under there or something."

  I walked over and turned on the TV. For a moment I thought I was looking at an old television show, then I realized that it was just a black and white television.

  Julian walked over and sat down on the bed next to me. "Wow. John Stamos' well plumed mullet looks so much better in black and white, doesn't it?"

  I smiled and flipped the television back off. Vlad went into the bathroom and I heard the shower running a few moments later.

  "God, this feels really good," Julian said and lay back on the bed. "I'm so drunk with the idea of being out of Rawley I don't mind the fact my head is probably resting on cum-stained sheets. Go figure."

  I looked down at the top of the bed and wished he wouldn't have brought Rawley up. I was still feeling kind of down over the fact we hadn't saved Janet Rowlands. We were in Peterson's house right next to her. He probably had her drugged up, maybe even tied up, something we didn't notice in the darkness of the room. If we had just investigated a little further we could have saved her life.

  "We could have saved her," I said aloud.

  Julian inhaled deeply. "Why did you have to go there again. I feel guilty too. I guess we just have to accept the fact that we didn't. Getting all upset about it now isn't going to bring her back. What really weirds me out about this whole thing is the fact you were right. You knew that Peterson was the serial killer."

  "Yes, I did know. But I was so caught up in our little Hardy Boys fantasy I didn't let myself believe it could really be true. It feels so bad to know we could have saved her and didn't. Yeah, you can say we didn't know, but I did know. I knew with all my heart that Peterson was the serial killer, so why didn't I just assume the girl was a victim? I was still calling Peterson the serial killer even after we went to his house."

  "You're a strange one," Julian said, rubbing his eyes. "You care more about these dead teens than you do about yourself. How do you feel right now, Harlan?"

  I glanced over at him. "How the hell do you think I feel? I feel like shit. I feel like tearing Peterson up."

  "Good," he cut me off. "Now, how the hell do you think I'm going to feel after you're gone? How do you think any of your friends are going to feel?"

  The bastard.

  "You know, Julian, you're really beginning to piss me the hell off. You better back off with this shit already
."

  Julian shook his head and smiled. "Um, no, Harlan. That's not the way it's going to work. I'm your friend. I love you—it's as simple as that. Near the beginning of the year I didn't bother you because I figured you would change your mind. But now as the day draws nearer, I'm starting to worry and this insanity is beginning to piss me off. When you lost Samantha I got scared. You didn't even fight to get her back."

  I tried to say something, but it just came out a big long sigh. I'm beginning to realize just how screwed up I really am. I'm starting to alienate all of my friends. I think if Suzanne really believed I was going to kill myself then she too would go batshit on me. I pulled a book out of my backpack and went to the corner of the room to sulk a little bit.

  Julian, seeing I wasn't going to say anything else, turned back to the television and zoned out. I felt like shit. Julian was always such a good friend to me and he deserved so much better.

  Feeling my eyes watching him, Julian looks over at me. "What the hell you staring at?"

  "You," I answer, and offer my best smile.

  Julian throws a pillow at me and shrieks. "Why are you so goddamn hard to stay mad at? All you have to do is fucking smile! I hate you!"

  I throw the pillow back. "Thanks, Julian."

  "Thanks for what?"

  "Thanks for being here for me. You're a good friend."

  "You're making me feel like I'm in a fucking Hallmark commercial, you bitch." He got up from the bed and grabbed my paperback of Philip K. Dick's A Scanner Darkly. It was the fifth time I'd read it.

  "More of this shit? I can't get into this science fiction. Isn't this that guy that wrote that Palmer Eldritch book? The one you loaned me early last summer? That was pretty good. Made me feel all paranoid and shit. How in the hell can you read this shit all the time? That book left me seriously messed up."

  "I don't know," I said, wondering the same thing myself. "I guess I like the way paranoid feels, that's all."

  "Paranoid is the way to be," Vlad said, walking into the room. He had his long hair slicked back and was wearing a pair of boxers. He was so skinny his ribs protruded. "William S. Burroughs said that being paranoid was knowing all the facts."