I stumbled backwards, and my foot went unexpectedly over the edge of the top stair. I tumbled back against a wall and bumped down a few steps on my ass.
“—I’ll cut your nuts off.”
Chapter 60
I wandered the streets, lost in a haze.
Dark recesses hid guilt.
Towering barriers blocked paths of reason.
Footsteps on the sidewalk relentlessly echoed my own, incapable of escaping the anguish of three women.
Muffled voices behind windows swore accusations.
“You betrayed Teresa, shut out Brenda, pushed all responsibility onto Sam.”
I would find myself at an intersection I had passed ten minutes before, not remembering how I got there, not knowing which direction to turn. Staring at sputtering neon lights for answers, splashing through dull puddles, I strayed block after block across the city.
I felt sorry for myself, found no enthusiasm for fatherhood in me. My mind tried to erase the stickiness I had felt on Sam’s thighs that first time—afterward, as we lay naked, talking and smoking.
I never even thought... of the possibility.
Confused, meandering, I followed my mind’s fluctuations rather than specific city landmarks. When I stood at the end of Monster Alley at four in the morning, it was the first moment in hours that made sense.
I always came to the alley seeking answers.
My senses sharpened, my mind focused. My romantic and relationship haze faded. I dropped to a crouch, staring into the maw of darkness, believing it hungered for my presence as much as I obsessed over its secrets. What was this place? Over there, something skittered. Was that a flash of light near the garbage cans? A slight murmuring weaved, barely perceptible, into my consciousness. The undercurrent became recognizable as two voices, the first sounding like a gargle, with gulping on each syllable. The other I made out despite the words being strung together rough and quick, almost running over one another.
“No reason to stay here.”
“She’s been here though.”
“South.”
“Looks like the hound’s got the trail.”
A thunderous belch rocked me back on my heels. Red streaks of light flickered up one wall of the alley, leaping from different areas of the graffiti formula. Startled, I slapped my back against the street side exterior of Santa Pigeon’s building.
The front entrance stood open.
A night of confusion now offered a chance of discovery. Eager to steer myself away from my problems with women, and anxious to seek information about the strange beings and anomalous happenings in my life, I leaped forward and pushed past the door into the hallway.
A hum, more organic than mechanical, reverberated through the air. Flickering veins of purple brilliance danced along the ceiling, up and down the stairwell with lightning-like tributaries snapping randomly. Nearly blinded by the flashing array of light, I managed to make out two indistinct figures darting up the stairs, tentacles of green sparks trailing behind them.
Adding to the commotion, the air at the end of the hall became a a cluster of hovering red specks. They smoldered and spit for a few seconds, then suddenly bloomed larger until the entire hall flared scarlet. A concussive boom shook through the building. When the loud shock settled and the light storm subsided, the hallway was still, the murals unblemished.
But there was another presence in the hall.
Her skin shone from within, luminescent. The scraggly-haired crone from the first floor apartment tilted her head back in laughter, a laugh that ridiculed everything I had ever been, every thought that I had ever had.
“Ha, ha, hee, hee, heeeeah.” Her shriek caused me to reel backwards, my breath gone, my mouth trying hard to find air. “Not quite like your sandbox playmate envisioned it to be. Ha, hee, hee, ha, ha. And you, acting so simple. Ha, ha, heeee.”
I gripped the door behind me and fumbled my way outside.
I ran—my soul, my mind, my essence, whatever—all screaming horror inside me. Nowhere was safe.
Shit, shit, gotta get out of here.
In a crazed panic, I sprinted through the pre-dawn streets, oblivious to my surroundings. Finally, exhausted, not a sensible thought in my head, I set myself down onto a rubble of broken cement. As the sun rose, I found myself looking out over the East River. Bellevue Hospital loomed to my left, half in shadow, half in light.
I sat for hours running the scene I had witnessed in the Monster Alley Mansion over and over in my mind. Logic spiraled away with each repetition. Dizzy turmoil replaced it.
The shadow shifted on the brick facade of Bellevue. The building’s presence itched at me. Detective Castillo had informed me Brenda was being evaluated there. Fucking while fighting for my life infiltrated the swirl of my thinking. It followed that neglect of Sam’s pregnancy and disregard of Teresa’s sensitivities soon became sucked into the dizzying whirlpool of shrieking hags and blood-splattered orgasms.
Got to find a way to move again, get away from the chaos inside my brain.
Not really cognizant of a plan, I grasped at a rod of rusty rebar to pull myself up, slipped on some loose rubble, fell, tore a hole in my jeans, and scraped my knee. Staggering over the jumble of concrete and cast-off lumber, searching for something—anything that made sense—I approached the hospital.
Maybe Steel hypnotized Brenda into attacking me... Maybe there’s instructions somewhere detailing how to unclog the horror my life has become...
The receptionist greeted me nervously. She glanced at a sheet of paper on her desk and asked if I had an appointment.
“No, I was wondering if I could visit someone.”
“The name of the patient?”
“Uh, Brenda something. I don’t know her last name. Skinny, black hair, brought in for evaluation a few weeks ago. She stabbed me, and I wanted her to tell me why.” I twisted my neck around to show my stitches and scabs.
“Oh.” The woman pushed her glasses up the length of her nose. “Oh.” She froze, thinking hard, startled by my request. Finally she made a decision, pushed her chair back, and stood. “Please wait one moment. Doctor Furman may wish to speak with you.”
She stepped into an adjoining room and whispered to a woman who picked up a phone and spoke quietly into it. Moments later, an orderly appeared to escort me to the doctor’s office. He was the same aide who had been my caretaker during my sleep cure after I had confronted Steel at my art opening. I didn’t think he recognized me until he asked, “You sure look like one damn mess. You going to take another nap?”
“No, I wanted to talk to someone who tried to kill me.”
“Tried to kill you? What you want to talk with someone like that for?”
“Maybe it’ll help clear my head.”
He looked me up and down as he knocked on a metal door. “Yes sir, no doubt you’re having one rough day.”
At that moment, another orderly passed by us escorting a wild-eyed patient who became furious when he saw me. Struggling against the straightjacket he was wrapped in, he lunged his neck forward and snapped his teeth at me.
“You fucker, I’m tired of these reruns. You listen or it’s bones for the birds.”
As he was pulled around the corner and out of sight, he yelled, “Goddamn blind rookie, everyone gets trapped.”
Doctor Furman opened the door to his office. I was startled to see Detective Castillo sitting in a chair by the doctor’s desk.
Castillo frowned. “Interesting day to show up to visit your girlfriend, Parker.”
“What’s going on?”
Doctor Furman gestured wearily for Castillo to answer.
“Your friend Brenda escaped. One minute, in her cell. The next, out past five locked doors.”
“How?”
“We’re looking into that. Why are you here?”
“Somebody tries to kill you, you get bent out of shape. And you have questions. I wanted her to tell me why she chose to kill me.”
Doctor Furman answered, “She’s a very troubled young woman.”
Castillo quipped, “Still can’t get over someone trying to knife you while you were doing it with her?”
“So she’s gone? Running wild again?”
The detective leaned towards me and spoke seriously. “Look, Parker, you be careful out there. She’s got it in for you. We’ll be doing our best to apprehend her.”
Doctor Furman looked me over sympathetically, then handed me his business card. “You look like you need a good rest. If you need someone to talk to, call me. I can recommend some very qualified professionals.”
Monster Alley and it’s odd secretive voices, the screeching crone, purple and red lights, and sonic booms in the mansion kept replaying in my head. Their shock interrupted any attempts at productive thinking as I continued to wander the streets trying to place my life in order. I didn’t know how to clear things with Teresa, but I knew I had to talk to Sam again about the pregnancy and explain myself.
Finally, I found my street and started dragging myself up the stairs to the apartment just as Teresa appeared in the hall to lock up the side entrance to the store.
“Were you in bed with Sam again?”
“Do I look like I’ve been in bed with someone?”
“Well, last time you screwed around, you ended up in a hospital, so how should I know?”
When I got out of the shower, Teresa was eating spaghetti and a salad. I made myself a tuna fish sandwich and told her about my night and day. As I relayed the story, I realized I was fishing for sympathy from her.
She listened in silence, staring at me at times like she couldn’t believe I would even dare to talk to her.
When I told her about Bellevue, she interrupted me, declaring incredulously, “You went to see her today?”
“Yeah, I wanted to hear her explain why she tried to kill me.”
“She’s nuts.”
“Yeah, well, I thought maybe she did it because I...uh” I had talked myself into a trap.
Teresa glared. “Because you, what? What did you do to her? Oh never mind, I don’t want to hear the details.”
“No, it’s not like that. I... I knew Tweety before. Last winter, before I met you.”
“Go to hell, Deets. You have a nickname for her? Tweety? How adorable. And you knew her, like you mean you slept with her?”
“Yeah.”
“You fucked around on me with an old girlfriend?”
“Uh.”
Then nothing. Not another word as she pushed away her meal. She methodically dumped the food into the trash and took forever to clean her utensils as she kept pausing to stare out the window—at something she knew was coming.
“Teresa, we—”
I was cut short when she turned to face me. Her eyes were wounds. Her mouth, a slash of grief. Pain and betrayal warped the air between us. After she left the kitchen and closed the door to the bedroom, I heard a slow deep toll of a bell reverberate somewhere and saw the window glass shake slightly.
I felt damned. I stared at the tabletop, desperately trying to deny the ragged hole of emptiness my chest had become.
From outside the remnants of my fogged-over, exhausted brain, I made out the jangle and thump of music. Teresa was listening to Dylan—as he somehow made sense of beggars, how hard it is to care, judges on stilts, and shaking, aching lies. On the other side of the shut door, he managed to wrap his hallucinatory visions into a chorus about two people going different ways.
Weak from the splintered fever my life had become, trying to grasp onto something more reassuring than the torture of my own emotions, I reached out for a pencil and scratched kindergarten nightmares in my sketchbook—scary arms-spread stick figures, bare trees, shuttered, sunless houses with no dog on the lawn. It was the first time I had drawn in weeks. My muse spluttered. I began to fear I no longer even had the ability to express myself artistically. I was losing everything.
Exhausted, I smoked a joint and fell asleep on the couch.
“You goddamn... Why did you have to... goddamn... do this to us?”
I woke up in a panic, raising my arms to protect my face. Teresa, straddling me, was punching at my chest and shoulders, pounding me with her fists.
A solid hit knocked my chin to the side.
“Hold it, c’mon.” But I needed each smack—needed to suffer the pain I had inflicted on her.
She flailed, whacking the side of my head, slapping away my upraised hands. “Why did you have to ruin everything? Why didn’t you use a rubber? Why did you go to Lola and that creepy Brenda when you could’ve come to me?”
“We weren’t... We were always fighting.”
“You’re always screwing up. And now you’re messing around with that alley, seeing things again. You pay more attention to that crazy place than to me. You should have stayed at Bellevue and committed yourself. They could put you and that bitch in the same cell.” I blocked her raking fingernails with my forearm. “What are you going to do about the baby? Are you just going to leave Sam all alone? You’re just too much of a thoughtless jerk.”
An open handed palm slammed the side of my head. She rolled off me to the floor. Her head slumped, and her shoulders shook as she sat with her back against the couch and began to cry.
I reached my hand to touch her hair, but she flinched away before I could.
“Don’t.” She sniffled. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I hate you so much.”
“I’m sorry... I never meant...”
Dylan was intoning, drawing out his words—about not meaning any haaaarrrm. The moment felt as true and tortured as any Teresa and I had ever shared.
She spoke, precisely and tearless. “Leave in the morning. If I ever see you again, I’ll turn around and walk in the other direction.”
Teresa stood and strode determinedly back into the bedroom. She didn’t close the door, which spoke louder than if she had slammed it. Her decision was made, free and clear.
I packed most of my belongings that night. Teresa lay in bed, ignoring my movements.
And there was Dylan again, like some narrator of that horrible night, singing about coincidence and artists and crazy patterns and how the mangled mess Teresa and I had become together was all over.
I lugged a few frames and three drawings to the HooDoo Gallery in the morning, then with my duffel bag filled with clothes, colored pencils, and a sketchbook, stuck my thumb out and hit the highways to visit Ham in Rhode Island.
Chapter 61
As I sat on the wide shoulder of Route 95 in New London, waiting for my fourth ride of the day, I rummaged through a pile of papers I had scooped up from the apartment and mailbox on the way out. There had been one dreaded envelope I didn’t want to face, placing it aside again and again, preferring to stare at the passing scenery as I traveled east.
I found the photograph of Maureen, Lola, and Teresa, all looking radiant. Maureen with her brown eyes and hair, slightly cherubic. Lola, black hair cut pageboy style, her face glowing with psychedelic vividness. Teresa, blonde hair, curls, light freckles across her nose, head tilted questioningly with her joyful smile.
I miss you, Teresa. I don’t know how I’m...
Sighing, pushing heartbreak away for another time, I tucked the picture safely into my sketchbook and ripped open the disquieting envelope. Return address—Selective Service System. My mom’s handwriting on the envelope forwarded the letter to me from Yardley.
Delinquent. The war apparatus had declared me delinquent, ordering me to report for induction into the army in Philadelphia. The letter cited failure to notify my draft board of recent address changes and subsequent failure to report for a physical examination as stated in my draft notice as the
reasons for this action.
What draft notice?
I had never received any draft notice. True, I had forgotten to notify my local draft board when I moved in with Teresa. Now, the military had mandated me to report to the induction center closest to where I had originally registered. I reread the letter, trying to push down my panic and understand every detail.
They’re giving me seven days to report and… Where’s this letter been? Postmark’s old. What’s today? That means... Oh man, I would’ve been in the army for three days now. Bald head, learning to kill, expected to obey idiotic regulations. No way. They can just keep looking for me—address, on the road somewhere in Connecticut.
I heard someone yelling, “Deets. Hey, Deets. Over here.”
Cars flying by ripped and distorted the voice, but I recognized it, looked up in disbelief, and saw my dad standing on the other side of the highway, waving his arms at me. There he was, hundreds of miles from where I expected him to be, eight lanes of traffic between us. His incredible appearance gave rise to forgotten laughter, and I wanted to run over to what may have been an apparition, but the highway and a cement median with wire fencing prevented me.
“Stay where you are. I’ll pick you up.” He gestured with his arms in a circular motion, pointed to an overpass, then at me.
I signaled acknowledgement and my intention to wait for him.
We greeted each other with broad smiles as I climbed into the car.
“Where you headed, son?”
“I was going to Rhode Island to visit a friend.”
“Where? Providence? It’s not too far.”
“This is too much. Meeting out here.”
He chuckled like he bumped into family members hundreds of miles from home all the time. “I think I saw Steph and your mom hitching a few miles back.”
I laughed, thankful for the familiar refuge he provided. Our recent disagreements, no matter how serious, weren’t able to override the joyous welcome of this unforeseen reunion.
Mayhem (The Remarkable Adventures of Deets Parker Book 1) Page 31
