Fiddleback 2

by Jeff Vrolyks

  * * *

  On Saturday morning Timothy woke up earlier than usual, butterflies in his stomach. He took a shower, shaved, did up his hair just right (had taken the head dressing off last night), put on his best outfit, and killed a little time watching TV before heading out. The news was boring, which was a good thing. Nothing new on the SacTown Slayer. Hopefully he’d get caught soon, if for no other reason than having a curfew was pretty lousy.

  On the drive to Millie’s he considered all the ways to greet Mae, things to say to her in the way of petty conversation. He had been seated at a booth with her twice now, so he didn’t see why today wouldn’t make a third. Last week was a little odd, being that he stormed out of there when Trent began making accusations at his friend Eddie, but he didn’t think Mae would hold a grudge. He’d apologize for it—he made a mental note.

  As he entered the diner, he wondered if Trent would be here today. He never had before (with the exception of last week) so he didn’t think he would. In fact, he only came when Mae texted him news of Eddie. He was in the clear, he thought.

  Susan asked how he was doing today, and Timothy said just great. As he took his seat in the booth, Susan noticed the back of his head, the centipede of a stitched scar crawling on it.

  “Ooo, honey,” she said worriedly. “What happened?”

  For a second Timothy didn’t know what she was talking about. He touched at the back of his head and grinned shyly at her. “Just fell. It’s nothing. Coffee would be fantastic, thanks. Oh, and could you do me a favor?”

  “You bet.”

  “When Mae comes, which should be any second, could you sit her with me? If she allows it?”

  “Which one was she?”

  “Blue eyes with an amber ring around them. Beautiful girl.”

  “That’s right. Sure thing, sweetheart. Denise will be by for your order shortly.”

  “No Martha?”

  “She’s taken the day off.”

  Timothy rapped his fingers on the table, stared blindly out the window. In his mind’s eye he saw Eddie come ripping across the parking lot with a green duffle bag slung over his shoulder, smoking a cigarette. Such a short time he had with Eddie. It’s such an unfortunate thing. He hoped the best for his friend, wherever life might take him. He was a good, honest guy. He deserved the best. It’s just too bad he and his grandparents couldn’t make him happy enough to stay. To each their own.

  “Well hello there, you,” a girl said affably and slid onto the bench seat opposite Timothy.

  How could he miss her arrival! Boy did she look amazing today, more than usual if that was possible. A cute little light-blue cardigan sweater, black skirt, brown hair gleaming wet even though it was dry.

  “Mae! I’m g-glad you came!”

  She didn’t respond to him. She didn’t need to. Her sweet smile said more than words ever could.

  “How are you d-doing?”

  “Pretty darned good, Timothy, considering the week I had.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yep. I’d rather not bog you down with my issues, but I’m doing good, thanks for asking.”

  Timothy noticed she had a band aid over the top of her right hand.

  “I had an int-interesting week, too.” He turned his head to show her his stitches. “Twelve stitches. Fell off a ladder.”

  “Aww, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He pointed at her band aid. “What happened?”

  She peeled it off and put it in her pocket. “Don’t need that anymore. It was for an I-V.”

  “I-V? What did you need that for?”

  “Eh, nothing.”

  He frowned. “Couldn’t you tell me? Please?”

  She considered it for a moment, studied him, curious to his intentions. Was he just being polite or was he sincerely wanting to hear her story?

  “I was in the hospital,” she said.

  “Really? What for?”

  “It’s a little embarrassing to admit.”

  “Please tell me. Please, Mae?”

  “I took too much of something. Luckily my boyfriend found me and got me to the hospital or I wouldn’t be here having breakfast with you.”

  Denise stopped by the table and greeted them. On this rare occasion Timothy was a little ill-mannered with his waitress, waved her away. She walked away glancing back over her shoulder with a disapproving frown.

  “Took too much of what? Caffeine or something?”

  “I wish. Don’t think less of me, please, but it was a drug.”

  “Oh,” Timothy said softly, his surprise showing in his expression.

  Mae didn’t like that expression. He was jumping to conclusions, thinking she was a druggie. “I don’t do drugs, Timothy. It’s just… well,” she looked away and said, “I can’t believe I’m telling a near-stranger this.” She resumed eye-contact with Timothy. “I feel comfortable talking to you, though.”

  “Good. I w-want you to.”

  “Maybe you won’t believe it, because I can hardly believe it myself. I swallowed a bunch of a drug called GHB. Heard of it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s used to party with, but also used as a date-rape drug.”

  “Date rape?”

  “Yeah. Because when you take it you oftentimes get amnesia, temporary amnesia. You black out.”

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “I wish I knew. I don’t remember taking it. I don’t remember any of that day at all. I woke up in a hospital. Trent told me what happened. I wouldn’t believe him if the evidence didn’t support what he said. I swallowed a full vial of it, enough to kill me two or three times over. Like I said, luckily Trent got to me in time.”

  “Where were you, home?”

  “No, I don’t keep drugs at home, I don’t do them, like I said. I was at Trent’s when I took it. He came home and found me on the floor. It’s the damnedest thing. I just can’t believe I’d do it. I’d never take GHB. And what was I thinking taking a whole vial!”

  “I h-hope you didn’t t-take it to… you know…”

  “Kill myself? That’s what everyone thinks. Nobody takes that much without doing it for a reason: namely, to kill themselves. But I’d never do such a thing. Especially for no reason. But anyway, I’m fine now.” She smiled brightly at him.

  “Thank God you are.”

  “Trent was in a car accident the night I overdosed. When it rains it pours, I guess. He was riding with a friend, who crashed his car. Trent broke his nose, his ankle, some other minor injuries.”

  “Oh wow, sorry to hear that.”

  “You shouldn’t be. Trent was pretty rotten to you last week.”

  “Yeah but I can understand w-why. I don’t know the whole mess that it came from, but you and Trent should know that you d-don’t have to worry about Eddie anymore.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He left. Gone. Just p-packed his things and took off without telling anyone, no note or anything. He took my grandparent’s Buick, too. They aren’t r-reporting it stolen though, since it’s a clunker. Even though he b-bailed on us, they still wish him the best, and if the car will help him out, then all the b-better.”

  “I’m glad he’s gone. Hopefully he leaves me alone. It was Eddie who’s been calling and texting me, from what Trent learned.” Her brow drew in as she looked away, a frown that wasn’t in the least bit unbecoming; not to Timothy it wasn’t. Soliloquizing: “It’s just so damned odd that he could have known about Breuer. The things he said, how could he have known?” After meditating briefly, she said, “Oh well.” She returned her gaze to Timothy and grinned at him. “Your grandparents sound like nice people.”

  “Oh they are. Very nice. I know you have a b-boyfriend and all, but d-do you think that maybe we c-could hang out sometimes? As f-friends?”

  She bit her lip, restrained a smile. “The more nervous you get, the more you stutter, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he said abashedly. “You sh-should have heard me call this girl Nichole the other day.
She th-thinks it’s cute, though.”

  “It is cute. That’s cool, congrats on calling a girl; I hope it works out for you, I sincerely do. Yeah we can hang out, sure. As long as you understand that my heart belongs to Trent, and we’ll only ever be friends. If you’re okay with that, then sure.”

  “That would be just great, Mae. That would be just perfect.”

  Epilogue

  Arabella could see Michael at the register, she’d need to hurry. She went through the door of the Buick and went to take hold of the jade idol: it went through her hand. She shook her head at herself. She manifested inside the Buick, took a hold of the idol, opened the car door and got out, closed it behind her. She strode to the sidewalk, then headed in the direction of the Stoddard farm, several miles away. Down the road she threw a glance over her shoulder and saw the Buick pull up to the street. She increased her pace, cutting sharp left and out of sight of Michael. He’d notice his treasure was gone soon enough, if he hadn’t already.

  She ran through a field, into an alley and continued on the dark alleyway. Not the place you want to be if you’re a pretty little thing all of eight (in appearance, at least). If someone should affront her, she’d simply have to vanish, have to drop the idol. That wouldn’t happen if she could help it.

  She made all the right turns, caught the attention of a person or two walking the streets, and eventually turned onto a scarcely traveled road, and from there it was a straight shot to the Stoddard’s.

  At the farm she walked toward the olive grove between the garage and barn. There was a man hanging from an avocado tree. West of him she saw a boy hanging. It was the boy that she walked to.

  She stopped just a foot before him, looked into his lifeless eyes. His body swayed with a distant breeze, decades distant, rotating by degrees. He faced her now, almost seemed to look into her eyes.

  “Long time no see, Otis.” It was intended to be lighthearted but came out sounding offensive, if only to herself. “Sorry. I miss you.”

  She dropped to her knees and scrabbled at the dirt, slowly making a hole. It was four inches deep and six inches long when she dropped the idol in it, replaced the dirt, patted it for good measure. She stood up and stared at the empty air below an olive tree.

  Arabella disappeared.

  JV

  If you enjoyed this story, the author recommends Behind the Horned Mask, and The Great Gray Superhighway. You can contact him at jeffvrolyks@gmail.com, where he eagerly awaits your comments or a friendly hello, and vows to email you back a worthy response the same day!—yes, as a new and independent writer he is desperate for your attention and groveling isn’t beneath him. Visiting southern California??? Invite him to Starbucks where you will generously purchase him a steaming cup of bean and listen to him rant about his passion for writing and comment on your nice sweater (Have you lost weight? Even though I’ve never seen you before, it sure looks like you have!). The only thing he loves more than writing novels is discussing them!

  About the author:

  Jeff Vrolyks lives in Simi Valley, California. He is a new writer, in that he recently discovered a passion for writing and has been pumping out stories since. He was in the Air Force for a four year stint (aircraft crew-chief), worked in the beer beverage industry, automotive industry, and in the oil fields on drilling rigs. In his mid-thirties, he fully expects to enjoy several more jobs in different fields. His turn ons include thunderstorms in the forest, rainy sunsets at the beach, and glowing reviews from you. His turn offs include driving in Los Angeles, working-out in an over-crowded gym he has no business being in, and receiving scathing reviews from people intolerant of foul language and violence.

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