Fook

by Brian Drinkwater

  Determined to protect his daughter, he pulled back the gun’s hammer, ready for whoever might appear as he took one last step to bring himself within arm’s reach of the door. The glass remained intact and glancing side to side he couldn’t see anyone in the area.

  “What is it Daddy?,” Abby nervously asked.

  Turning to his daughter, he saw Abby now standing in the open, beyond the protection of the counter.

  “Get back behind the counter,” he lightly scolded as he waived her back.

  Satisfied that his daughter was once again out of sight, his mind returned to the door, though this time his love of horror films joined in lending worry to his thoughts as he expected the previously clear door to now be filled with the large ominous figure of a man, or a creature or whatever the hell had made the loud noise. Tightening his grip on the gun, he reluctantly returned his gaze to the door, relieved to see the still empty pane of glass and deserted world beyond.

  Still unsure what could have caused the noise, he began searching his mind for possible, logical explanations as the thought of a bird came to mind. It could have flown into the window, he thought as he stepped even closer to the door, intending to look down at the sidewalk outside. As he leaned toward the glass, the shadowy outline of a man lying on the sidewalk came into view.

  “Daddy?” Abby called from behind the counter, worried that she could no longer see her father.

  “I’m okay sweetie,” Dustin assured the scared girl as he continued to look out at the mysterious man. He didn’t look big or all that intimidating, he thought. In fact, he looked hurt.

  Only half of the lights outside were currently working, reminding him of the forgotten task he’d promised Mr. Levrett he’d take care of earlier in the day but as the man shifted on the ground, a nearby light illuminated his familiar face. “What the hell?” Dustin gasped as he unlocked and opened the door to reveal the obnoxious young man from earlier in the day. “Are you alright?”

  Struggling to see through the severe swelling on the left side of his face, Derek stared up at the familiar clerk. “Help.”

  “I’ll call an ambulance,” Dustin started to stand.

  “No,” Derek stopped him, reaching up and grabbing his arm, either unaware of the gun in the clerk’s hand or just not caring. “Here.” With his other hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the scrap paper with Sarah’s address and held it up for Dustin to see.

  “What’s this?” Dustin asked, plucking the paper from Derek’s hand.

  “Need a ride,” Derek instructed.

  “You need a doctor,” Dustin suggested, trying to get to his feet again, though failing once more as the man’s surprisingly strong grip held him fast. “I’ll call you a cab then.”

  “No time.”

  Confused, Dustin looked at the paper again, noting the girl’s name at the top and the ‘See you there’ written at the bottom. “Listen, I’m sure she’ll understand if you’re late.”

  “No,” Derek insisted with his voice while pleading with his un-swollen eye.

  “Well, I’m not going to drive you. I’ve got my daughter and that’s all the way in the city,” he explained, immediately wishing that he’d left his daughter out of it.

  “My wallet,” Derek fumbled to reach his back pocket on which he was laying. Managing to wiggle it free he held it up to the confused store keeper. “Cash is yours.”

  Dustin just stared at the wallet for a moment, confused by the man’s persistence before finally taking it from his hand and peering inside. Three fifty dollar bills followed by a hundred and a couple of twenties greeted him as he peeled open the leather pouch. Looking up from the wallet full of cash he was greeted by a subtle nod from the injured man. Contemplating the offer, he looked back at the wallet and then toward his daughter who’d stepped out from behind the counter once again and stood watching her father while continuing to pull at poor Mr. Pickles worn stitching. Abby’s mother would be off her shift at the hospital soon and he knew he had to get her home but this was easy money. Looking back at the wallet and then at the man, Dustin decided. “1342 Belmont street is it?”

  Derek nodded.

  “Let me bring my car around,” he spoke as Derek released his grip and Dustin got to his feet, making his way to the back of the store as he emptied the contents of the wallet, plastic and all, into his pocket.

  *****

  Ding dong.

  Startled awake by the unexpected, late night bell, Sarah sat up in bed as the fog of sleep faded away and her alarm clock lit room slowly came into focus.

  12:08, the clock read.

  Ding dong, the bell repeated.

  “Who the hell?” Sarah questioned, confused as she tossed back the covers and made her way to the bedroom door.

  Apparently her roommate Reyna had had the same confused response to the late night bell as they both opened their bedroom doors simultaneously, issuing each other the same confused stares.

  “Are you expecting anyone?” Sarah questioned.

  “No. Are you?” Reyna issued her own inquiry.

  “No,” Sarah answered as she opened her door all the way and stepped out into the hall.

  “You’re not going to answer it, are you?” Reyna questioned. “You don’t know who that is and I sure as hell don’t know who it is. How do you know it ain’t no rapist or creepy homeless guy wanting to saw off your feet and use them for bookends or something?”

  “Yes, it’s a well read, homeless scholar with a homicidal need to keep his books neatly arranged on his cardboard bookshelves,” Sarah smiled.

  “You just go ahead and laugh. We’ll see who’s laughing when you lose those pretty little feet of yours. I’m getting my pepper spray,” she declared before disappearing back into her room.

  Ding dong.

  Reyna did have a point, Sarah thought as she made her way along the short hall, exiting into the main area of the modest, two bedroom apartment with the kitchen and small eating area on her right, living room on her left and the beckoning door straight ahead. The only reason the two of them could afford a decent place and still pay tuition was the somewhat questionable neighborhood in which they resided.

  Approaching the door, Sarah leaned toward the peephole just as a noise startled her, causing her to turn and find Reyna standing at the end of the hall, pepper spray in one hand and butcher knife in the other.

  “Where’d you get the knife?” she questioned.

  “I keep it in my underwear drawer,” Reyna responded as if that answer sounded completely normal.

  Glancing over at the butcher block on the kitchen counter, Sarah noticed that the butcher knife was missing. “Is that?” she started to question as she looked at the knife and then back at the kitchen. “You keep that with your underwear? Gross.”

  “My drawers are clean. Answer the damn door.”

  Turning back to the door, Sarah leaned toward the peephole through which the guy from the restaurant earlier that day came into view, holding a white coat and swaying back and forth. “It’s that guy I told you about,” she whispered.

  “The one with the coat?” Reyna spoke back, disregarding the need to keep her voice down.

  “I think he’s drunk.”

  “Well you tell his drunk ass that he’s too late. You missed your class and aren’t interested. Some of us have class in the morning and need our beauty sleep. I gotta get some rest too.”

  Acknowledging her roommate’s typical, smart ass remark with a look of false offense, she returned her eye to the door as the man reached for the doorbell once again and in doing so, was illuminated by the light in the hall.

  Ding dong.

  “Jesus,” Sarah exclaimed as she caught a glimpse of the man’s cut and swollen face.

  “What!?” Reyna jumped, lifting the pepper spray and knife into the air in front of her, ready to attack as Sarah began disengaging the locks. “I know you ain’t letting him in.”

  Turning the last deadbolt, Sarah yanked open the
door.

  “Are you okay?” Derek addressed her excitedly, though seeming a bit disoriented as he appeared unable to maintain his balance.

  “What?” Sarah responded, unsure of the reason behind the question. “What happened?” she shifted the focus to his condition.

  “God damn!” Reyna exclaimed as she joined Sarah at the door, ready to blind and then stab the late night visitor but quickly lowered her weapons upon seeing that someone else had apparently beat her to the punch.

  “Is he here?” Derek continued the odd questioning.

  “Is who here?”

  “So you’re alone?”

  “Yeah, it’s just us,” Sarah answered.

  “Don’t forget about my boyfriend Terrance,” Reyna added her imaginary boyfriend.

  “Good,” Derek offered an impaired smile before succumbing to his injuries and passing out in Sarah’s arms.

  TWENTY-THREE

  3:00 am

  The alarm clock on the night stand beside him was the only source of distraction from the explosively violent sounds of regurgitation escaping from the master bathroom. For the third time in the last hour now, he’d been awakened by the violently discarded covers and the sounds of his wife frantically darting for the toilet. The first time he’d immediately followed her, confused and unsure of the problem before having the door slammed in his face and being told, between the sounds of the chunky liquid discharge, that she didn’t want him to see her like that and that she was okay and he should go back to bed. He’d done as he was told and ten minutes later, with teeth freshly brushed, Tabitha had returned to bed.

  The next round he’d known better than to follow, though he had still climbed out of bed just in case, like a typical woman, she’d changed her mind and now wanted him to witness the vile display. Again she’d slammed the door shut but not before issuing a don’t move an inch glare through the dimly lit room. Again, he’d done what he was told and again, ten minutes later the room was filled with the scent of peppermint.

  This time he didn’t even bother to get up. He knew better. This time he’d simply pulled the covers back up and rolled over to face the bright red digits of the time keeper to his left. The sounds from the other room were equally as loud this time, however had taken on more of a dry, hacking quality. The shellfish, which had been rejected earlier, had obviously run out, leaving nothing but the thin bile at the pit of her stomach to make the sudden, northerly journey.

  Typically possessing a strong stomach, he was surprised to find himself also starting to wretch with each dry heave, leading him to contemplate just what he’d do if he himself needed the services of the occupied, porcelain god. He very well couldn’t just burst through the door and shove his sick wife to the side. One, he’d feel horrible afterwards and two, when she was done puking all over the floor, she’d probably kick his ass.

  Scanning the room, he quickly eyed the large, potted ficus beside the dresser and decided that, if needed, he’d fertilize the tree. Lucky for the tree however, the wretch inducing sounds began to die down and he managed to regain control of his own regurgitative reflexes. The welcome lull, followed by the familiar sound of running water signaled the end of what would hopefully be his wife’s final bout with dinner.

  “Never again,” Tabitha announced in a strained voice as she appeared in the bathroom doorway, turning off the light and making her way back to bed.

  “Are you okay?” Richard questioned as he rolled over to face his returning wife.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I get the Pescatore all the time,” Tabitha moaned as she slid back under the covers, laying her head on her husband’s shoulder while making it a point to keep her mouth and potentially offensive breath aimed safely away from him.

  “Maybe Georgio’s got a bad batch of mussels this time.”

  “You didn’t get sick.”

  “That’s because this time I was cheap and only got the Fettuccine Alfredo,” Richard pointed out as he rubbed his wife’s back.

  “You’re always cheap,” Tabitha rebutted, turning her head to flash a smile before regretting the movement and returning to the crook between his shoulder and chest.

  “Eighteen dollars is too much for a mediocre, eight ounce steak and noodles,” he offered up his usual complaint when the topic of Georgio’s came up in conversation. It was Tabitha’s favorite restaurant and for that fact alone he didn’t mind going; however, it didn’t mean that he was about to drop a pretty penny on something he could easily prepare at home. It killed him to pay even eleven dollars for a bowl of noodles and sauce but at least it was a cheaper option and the salad and breadsticks easily offset the inflated price. “I’d much rather have—,” he continued.

  “—a ribeye on the grill at home,” Tabitha completed the more than familiar rant.

  “Well I would,” Richard pouted.

  “Can we drop the food talk for a while?” Tabitha requested as her stomach let out an audible protests. “I have a particularly important meeting in the morning and it probably wouldn’t go over well if I upchucked all over Mr. Branson during my pitch.”

  “What are you pitching? Because if it’s an ad for Pepto, that might just work,” Richard grinned, proud of himself.

  “Stop grinning. It wasn’t that funny,” Tabitha guessed at the broad smile likely occupying her husband’s face. “It’s for some new cleaning product called Fabrix. If you ask me it’s just some cheap Resolve or Woolite ripoff but it’s a new client and we could definitely use some of those right now.”

  “Perfect. First you throw up on him, then you clean him up with his own product. Get it all on tape and you’ve pitched the idea and shot the commercial all at once,” Richard’s grin grew.

  “Maybe it wasn’t dinner but instead your horrible sense of humor that made me sick,” Tabitha joked with her own broad smile.

  “No, I’m pretty sure it was the rotten mussels.”

  And with that, the covers flew, the door slammed and he was once again left to stare at the trembling ficus.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Hey! Ya made it!,” Tyler exclaimed as he answered the door to find Derek standing on the other side.

  “Aw shit, they invited you?” Derek feigned disgust while turning to walk away.

  “Ha ha. Very funny asshole. This is my house.”

  “Technically it’s your parents' house and frankly, I’m surprised they still let a prick like you live here,” Derek stopped his retreat.

  “The old man keeps telling me next year, college or not, I’m out. Now get inside,” Tyler backed out of the way as Derek stepped inside.

  The house was filled with the same familiar faces that filled the halls of Cannon High every day, only now they seemed noticeably happier, having exchanged their burdensome books for Solo cups filled with liquid escape.

  “I actually don’t know what I’m going to do,” Tyler continued as they made their way into the busy living room, the noise of the over occupied space causing him to add to the growing roar with each word he spoke. “I didn’t apply yet so I’m probably screwed already but that’s probably a good thing. I might just take a year off or take a few classes at the community college until I figure out what the fuck I’m gonna do with myself. Hey, you wanna drink?”

  “Sure,” Derek reluctantly accepted the offer, his plan of using the search for a drink to escape Tyler’s typical rambling now ruined.

  Scanning the room of bobbing heads, Tyler spotted an unattended red cup on a nearby table and quickly claiming it, handed it to Derek.

  Derek just stared at the already half finished beer and the trace of red lipstick lingering on the cup’s white rim.

  “So, I guess you don’t have that problem?”

  “Huh,” Derek asked, confused by the vague question.

  “College I mean,” Tyler clarified.

  “Oh,” Derek responded. He didn’t like to talk about where he was going. Though he enjoyed a very social existence he didn’t really like to talk much
about himself, especially when it might be construed as bragging.

  “So, M.I.T. huh?” Tyler pushed the subject.

  “Yeah, it’s not a big deal.”

  “Not a big deal?”

  “Hey!” a girl’s voice suddenly erupted from the crowd; likely the drink’s rightful owner.

  “I’m just going for electrical engineering. I’m not going to be a rocket scientist or astrophysicist or anything exciting like that. Besides, I barely got in,” Derek continued his modesty.

  “It doesn’t matter how you got in, just that you got in,” Tyler finished his sentence with a slight stammer in his voice.

  “Clearly the drinking started early,” Derek thought as he realized now that he was never going to escape.

  “Isn’t that Jason kid going to M.I.T. too?” Tyler asked, before downing the rest of his beer and tossing the empty cup into the crowd.

  Derek watched as the red projectile sailed across the room, striking a red lipped girl in the forehead and drawing another familiar, “hey!”.

  “He’s such a tool,” Tyler laughed. “I don’t know why you hang out with him.”

  “Jason’s a good guy. Sure he’s a bit uptight and nerdy but he’s a good guy.”

  “A bit?! That guy's the king of the nerds. I mean the guy’s going to M.I.T..”

  Derek just stared at his obviously inebriated acquaintance.

  “I need another drink,” Tyler changed subjects, obviously unaware of his previous statement. “You want another?”

  “No, I’m good,” Derek raised his untouched drink with a grin, hoping that his friend’s alcoholic quest might free him from his company long enough to disappear into the crowd.

  “Saw you empty handed,” Brendan Silva suddenly emerged from the crowd with two new drinks, one of which he handed to Tyler.

  “Asshole,” Derek thought as he greeted the new arrival with a smile.