by Alan Spencer
"God, it's really good to see you, man," Peyton kept saying. "I know you're skeptical of me. I would be too. You get into a weird car accident, and I tell you to leave your mashed up van behind to follow me to a place where our problems won't matter. It's ludicrous."
"It's still good to see you," Mark said, forming an honest smile. "Sorry I'm not acting like it."
Peyton extended a bag of teriyaki beef jerky to him. Mark didn't eat much back at the restaurant, so he was hungry. He accepted the bag and enjoyed the guilty pleasure.
"Don't worry about that," Peyton said. "So let's talk about something familiar."
They shared choice childhood memories. It was mostly about what they did while walking along the drainage ditches around their neighborhood. They would walk along the ditches after school and smoke cigarettes, drink beer, exchange nudie mags (the delicacy Peyton's dad bestowed upon his son when his father worked nights at the gas station), or walk to Cassie's house. They watched through her backyard fence for her to come out. She would hang out sometimes and shoot the shit. Cassie was cool. That changed when she started dating Duke Engelmann, the quarter back on the varsity football team. She was a freshman dating a popular senior quarterback. After that, it was more than easy for a young girl to forget her dorky loser friends.
Cassie was the kind of girl, when they still hung out, to take their nudie magazines and read the articles out loud. She would mockingly act out the smut stories, reading in a dumb blonde's voice as she took nips on fifths of rum. Only rum, because she hated everything else.
"You had the hots for her," Peyton said. "God-be-to-Jesus, she'd wear those cut-off acid-washed jeans and tank tops without a bra. I swear I had a novel's worth of masturbation material."
"No way either of us was getting near that action," Mark said. "Okay, I had the hots for her. I'll admit it. What's not to like about Cassie? We were kids, and she was a woman. No chance, man. No way."
Peyton kept shaking his head, imagining what could've been. "I would've fucked her. It would've been nostalgic sex. The kind you look back on and get hard all over again. The kind of body she had. I've romped with her a thousand times in my head. I've run her through nasty, as far as my dreams are concerned."
The truth, Mark had wanted to ask her out many times, but Cassie being two years older than him, it'd be a seventh grader asking out a ninth grader. It wasn't going to happen.
Mark hummed. "God, she was fantastic. I'd lift weights after school, trying to gain Cassie's attention. I even went as far as checking out library books on lifting weights and how to control you diet and get ripped. The first time I tried to drink raw eggs from a glass I threw up. Elizabeth, you didn't meet her, but I ended marrying this girl. She shelved books at the library, and she showed me the better books on health and fitness. She said I should talk to her mom who was a personal trainer. By chance, I saw Elizabeth and her mom running around the neighborhood in that awesome spandex outfit of hers, and I started to jog with them. I couldn't think how I got the balls to do that. I was a fearless young guy who would do anything to meet girls.
"So I ran with them every morning, and then after awhile, the mom takes herself out of the picture, and it's just me and Elizabeth. Then Elizabeth invites me on eight mile hikes, or she's having me swim the entire length of Greenwood Lake. Elizabeth kept pulling me by my wrists and having me dive headfirst into these wild expeditions. We were dating without "dating". She was different. She didn't want to hold hands in the hallways or any of that bullshit. She showed her affection after school."
Peyton hooted and whistled. "That's my boy! I knew you'd get laid someday. It's too bad I moved before I got to share a can of beer with you to celebrate. Cassie would've put out if she wasn't dating "Duke the Juke"."
"That's the dumbest nickname ever," Mark said. "So that quarterback dodged an entire defensive line and got one measly touchdown. Big deal. I'm sure he grew up to be a real winner. "Duke the Juke". What an asshole."
Peyton returned to the topic of Elizabeth. "So what happened to you guys?"
"Elizabeth died two years ago."
His friend's expression dropped. "Let me guess. Cancer."
"Yes, cancer."
"I'm so sorry."
They drove for another hour before Peyton said, "We'll be at the hotel by nightfall. We'll get to where we're going tomorrow. This will be so much fun. You just wait, man."
It wasn't until three hours later that Peyton would talk to him again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mark had fallen asleep in the passenger seat during those three hours of silence. He was dreaming of holding Elizabeth in a field, the two of them nuzzled and naked together over a blanket. Night covered them up from sight. The field was a mid-point rendezvous between their houses. She brought an envelope for him to stuff the used condom in, a habit of hers not to leave any evidence behind. He joked to her, "What lucky lady do I mail this to?"
They had the best sex out in that field. Daring. Unbridled. This was their junior year in high school. Life was beginning to take shape outside of high school. Elizabeth started asking that one special question. The one that mattered. "Are you going to marry me one day?" But in this dream, she didn't ask him that question. Instead, Elizabeth said this to him: "You're going to fully commit yourself to them. Death isn't for you, Mark. There's something much better, and it's just ahead. Trust Peyton. He's a true friend."
The dream ended. Mark woke up in the passenger seat of the truck. He jerked up in his seat as if thrown from the dream.
Peyton restrained him back in his chair. "Whoa. Settle down. You're awake, man. We're almost to that hotel I was telling you about. Breathe. Breathe."
It was pitch black outside. Mark couldn't see anything except for the occasional set of headlights that passed them on the other side of the road. He had no clue where they'd been driving, or why they were headed. They could be in the armpit of the earth for all Mark knew.
"Where did you say we're going again?"
Peyton was a profile next to him. His face was all black except for the glow of the cherry from his cigarette. "A hotel. You'll see."
The hotel. Oh, okay. That's where we're going. The ho-tel. Good thing I asked.
Mark wondered if Peyton wasn't a murderer driving him out to a secluded spot to kill him. Peyton would simply kick him down into a hole and bury him deep. Thinking this way, Mark remembered the game they used to play as children when hide-and-seek got too boring.
Mark couldn't help himself. "If I killed you, I'd shove a shovel up your ass."
The comment brought out the boisterous, foul-mouthed, dirty-minded friend back to life. Peyton was in hysterics, saying, "I'd wrap your dick around barbed-wire, and you'd die from shock."
"I'd take that barbed-wire and turn it into a noose, then I'd wrap it around your neck, and I'd tie it to the bumper of the short bus and drag your ass to Mexico."
"I'd dislodge that shovel you stuck up my ass earlier, turn it into a jackhammer, and pound your brains out of your skull until your brains came out of your eyes and ears and nose like head shit."
"What the hell is head shit?"
"No, you stopped the game!"
"I'm sorry, but come on. You said head shit. That's fucking funny. Head. Shit."
It was feeling like old times again. They were both laughing like maniacs having a wild time. Mark said, "It really is good to see you, man. Fuck it. I'm going to have a good time."
"That's more like it. Now what would you have done if we didn't run into each other?"
"I would've cried over my smashed van, and, and I would've, I honestly have no idea."
"So don't worry about all that stuff. We're going to get to where we're supposed to go, and I'm going to drive you there."
It was twelve more miles before they reached "The Lazy Inn". The inn had twelve rooms. The parking lot was empty except for one beat-up truck, what Mark guessed to belong to the worker inside. The lodging itself was poorly shingled, the rows unaligned as if
the walls were trying to shrug themselves off like a caterpillar from its cocoon. The parking lot was loose gravel and no marked parking spaces. The front desk's lights were off, and the closed sign hung in the glass door.
"Well, what do we do now?"
"That's Cassie's truck we're looking at. She's been here for awhile waiting for us to show up."
"Really?" The lamp in front of Room 5 flickered on. "She's really in there?"
"Don't be nervous. She's cool."
"It's been so long," Mark said. "I'm like forty. I used to be in awesome shape, and now I'm ten pounds underweight. I look like a man who's dying from..."
Peyton seized his arm so hard it would bruise later. "Don't ever say that word again. Never. It's not a part of our lives anymore."
Mark was frightened by the man's menacing eyes. The glare in them could cut glass. Then Peyton snapped out of the moment and wore a cheery expression again.
"She's like you, Mark. She's nervous and giddy with butterflies. We're old friends. It's nothing to be scared over. You'll get over it before you knew there was something to worry about to begin with. Just get in there. She really wants to see you."
Inside room 5, Mark would soon be reunited with an old friend.
CHAPTER SIX
The hotel room stank of moldy carpet and stale cigarette smoke. The yellowed walls made Mark think the room's heater was kicking out nicotine. It was hard to view the rest of the room. The tiny lamp on the table by the window was the only fixture shedding any light at all. There was no television in the room, only two twin sized beds draped by an ugly floral pattern that looked like hideous embroidered potpourri. Cassie was sitting in the chair by the window. She was half in shadow with her legs up on the table. She was smoking a cigarette, adding to the air's tar count. From Mark's vantage, she was merely a smoking shadow.
"Mark Tripdick." Saying it sexy and scratchy. "My old friend from high school."
"Cassie Stewart. Long time no see. From where I stand, you can see me, but from where I stand, I can't see you."
"You don't look so good." Cassie owned that brazen honesty that comes only with decades of friendship. "But neither do I."
She stayed in the dark. Cassie stuck her hand out as if halting him. "Don't come any closer. You're not ready to see me."
"Why wouldn't I be ready to see you?"
"Because I'm not the way you remember me."
Mark laughed at this. "We're all older. We all look different. I'm almost fifty for God's sake. And I've been sick with cancer."
Peyton nudged him hard in the ribs. "Remember what I said. Don't mention your sickness ever again."
Ever again?
Then it hit him. They were all suffering from some form of cancer. His was pancreatic, Peyton's was lung cancer, and Cassie's was yet to be disclosed. Before he could apologize, Cassie wrapped herself around him, giving him a close-knit hug.
"You're here, Mark, so please, please don't go. It's strange at first. Peyton came out of nowhere one day and told me things that absolutely made no sense. I was afraid of him. I actually wanted to call the police because I thought he was one of those old friend stalker types from high school. But what he did for me, he'll do for you too, Mark. I'm so much better now once I committed myself."
Once she ended the hug, Mark got a good look at her. Cassie was a mess. Her once lemon blonde hair were now locks of gray split-ends. Her hair had lost its zest to live. It was a burnt ash color. She was gaunt from sickness. Her lips were as pale as her pallid flesh. Eel flesh. Under her eyes were as gray as cold slabs of veil meat. Glancing at Peyton with his bad smoker's skin, they were both sickly. Everybody was sickly in the room.
So why did she say she was better now?
Clearly she wasn't.
Cassie read his face. "You don't trust us. I get that, Mark, but you're coming with us, because that's what is best for you. I'm not letting you get away from me again. We have a lot of time to make up for."
"Whoa, wait. Hold on." Mark did his best not to overreact to their strange talk. "Ever since you popped out of nowhere, Peyton—and it's been great seeing you guys, and everything—but what is it you two are going on about? No more circular talk, or I go. I'll leave right now."
Peyton and Cassie suddenly seemed very tired. They acted as one and laid out on their own twin sized beds. They were steps from death by appearance.
Empathy overcame Mark's initial anger.
"Hey, I'm sorry, guys." Mark sat down at the table near the window. He stared at the half bottle of Culley's Island rum on the tabletop and smiled. "Up to your old ways, Cassie?"
Cassie smiled.
She was indeed up to her old ways.
Mark enjoyed a taste of the bottle, swished it in his mouth, swallowed it, and tried to relax. "Then tell me what you can about where you're taking me. You have my full attention. I can't make any promises about how I'll feel about it. But I'll hear you out with an open mind."
They explained nothing.
Instead, Cassie sauntered over to the table and retrieved the rum bottle and cradled it against the pot of her stomach. She returned to her bed with the bottle, reached under the sheets, and revealed a skin magazine called 18 and Ready.
"Look at thaaaat," Peyton clapped. The depleted man got his recharge in two seconds. "She's going to read one of those erotic stories."
You're kidding me.
I came all this way for this shit?
Cassie played up the part of reader, as she always did when they were teenagers. She even reached in her pocket and smeared lipstick across her lips. The color was a fire engine red. Mark admitted only to himself he was more than half-interested in hearing Cassie read a dirty story.
"Nobody ever paid any attention to Mrs. Codstock, the librarian, who shelved books and kept to herself. If the men of Hadwick would've known her body was a budding flower underneath those layers of plain clothing, she would've been in the lewdest thoughts of every man in town..."
Peyton was watching her with keen interest. His eyes ogled her glossy lips and the magazine cover back and forth. Cassie couldn't prevent the smile from spreading across her face. She was beaming. She couldn't keep her legs still. She kept criss-crossing them, then re-crossing them, as if fighting the urge to have sex. Reading the trashy story was getting her excited.
Mark felt so out of place.
"...Mrs. Codstock would sneak glances at the romance section of the library, and on those particularly slow days, her fingers had a way of roaming under her dress and between her legs as she read through the pulpy pages of erotic trash..."
"This is getting me so hot." Peyton was rocking his head ever so slightly to an unknown beat, sitting up with his back against the wooden headboard. "Hey, I'm not shy about my feelings," then giving Mark an eyeful, "like some people."
Mark couldn't help but think bad things. Maybe Peyton was the one who arranged for the wreck to happen? Mark barely remembered the wreck. His confused moment at the hospital up to this moment made no logical sense. And if Peyton and Cassie were playing a game with him, how did they perpetrate it?
All of it was so impossible.
"...Brian was only twenty-two, a virgin. He was searching for books for his Chemistry classes at the community college when he caught Mrs. Codstock fingering herself. She was so close to an orgasm, but she knew only one thing could finish her off this time..."
"This is so racy." Peyton was fanning himself with his hand. "I'm sweatin' over here. I'm a hot pepper dipped in cayenne sauce."
Mark sank to the floor on all fours succumbing to a sudden moment of weakness and anxiety. He clutched his abdominals. They swelled with ache. His insides were burning. His muscles clenched. His body was a cramp. It was the exact agony he experienced behind the wheel before his wreck. His muscles tensed and tensed until it was so sharp, he forced himself to his feet, raced to the bathroom, and threw up into the toilet. So weak now, he slipped onto the white tiles that were so pleasingly cold and closed his eyes.
Mark had been moved to the bathtub without him being awake to know it. He was also naked. The water was cold, but it still felt hot under his skin. The cold was soothing against his fever. Cassie was sitting on the floor beside the tub on her knees. She was wringing out a washcloth and dabbing the pearls of sweat beading on Mark's forehead.
Cassie noticed he was awake.
"It's okay. Shhhhh. I'm here to make you feel better." She winked at him. Half her eyelashes were missing, and one eyelid was closed as if it weighed too much for the eye to keep open. "You've pictured me naked in your head a billion times in high school. Consider this payback. I get to see you naked now."
She kissed the top of his head. "I mean that in the best way possible, Mark. I like you a lot. I didn't see a lot of things in you when I should've back in high school. Elizabeth was a lucky woman. I'm sorry to hear she's not with us any longer."
Mark opened his mouth when she pressed two fingers against his lips. "No more about that topic. I know how you feel about her. I know how you feel about me sitting in here while you're in your birthday suit. You'll feel so much better when we take you to where we're going. I promise you."
Both of his friends weren't acting like normal people. There was no mistaking their questionable mental condition. Mark had heard of a group psychosis before, but the two didn't fall into that category. They believed in something, and whatever that something was, they were using it to avoid a harsher truth.
They're afraid of death. Maybe they think if we're together, we won't die. Something religious will happen. God, I don't know what's making them act so funny.
"You'll commit yourself like we did." Cassie dabbed the wet towel across his chest, wrung it out, and then dipped it back into the water. "I was confused like you. I know you've got questions. You think we're crazy. It is crazy. But it's beautiful too. Crazy and beautiful. Like life should be. Be grateful you have understanding friends who are patient with you, Mark. Who else would do this for you, despite the way you're been behaving so far?"
