Crank Series: Crank Part 19

Somewhere between the transvest.i.te who slept with his (her?) mother's boyfriend and the perky blond (transvest.i.te?) evening weathergirl.

Everything shut down, cerebral ghost town.

I.

fell into sleep.

Deep, dream-free sleep.

Woke to Pounding

on the door, insistent vibration, building noise.

Bree? You there?

Late-day sun filtered through cracks in the blinds.

It's me. Open up.

Late-day? How long had I slept? Only hours?

I need to talk to you.

Twenty hours, as it turned out. I tried to open my eyes.

Please, Bree?

Adam's tone forced me into the moment.

"Hang on."

Something happened.

My mouth tasted like dead speed, dying beer, and foreboding.

There was an accident

Coming

Jumped up, dashed for mouthwash, forgetting the uncertainty of legs, unused for twenty hours, but spurred to confront the fear in his voice, and something more, something too like guilt.

Oh G.o.d, who was in the mirror? Not Bree, not Kristina, but some evil incarnation glaring back at me, a horrid red-eyed crone, materialized as if from darkest dementia, nightmares to come, hibernating inside of me.

I Filled the Sink

with cold water, dunked my whole head under, counted to ten, came up, repeated the process.

Came up again and she had retreated, still close, I suspected, but far enough to let me go to the door.

His Demon Showed in His Eyes

He stumbled in, tumbled against me, clutching like a scared little boy, in need of his mama's grace.

She's hurt real bad.

Who?

Lince.

What?

Fell (or jumped) off the balcony.

When?

Yesterday.

Where?

Right outside.

I didn't dare ask why.

Instead, I let him cry.

He Told Me Why Anyway

She came home from the bowling alley, went looking for me.

Found me.

Here, with you.

Heard us inside, talking, laughing.

Looked in the window, watched us kissing, watched my hands, running all up an' down you.

When your dad came home, she waited for me to come outside.

Said she wanted to talk.

But she wanted more than that.

She wanted to erase you from my heart.

Never could, Bree.

Never could.

And that's what I told her.

The monster rose up hard then, hard in her eyes, She looked like an animal, crazy mad, diseased.

Spit in every word, she swore she'd get back at you, at me.

Next thing I knew, she was on the sidewalk below, still, except for the blood running red from her head.

They say it was an accident, she tripped, or leaned over too far.

Crankin', they said, and she was.

Oh, yes, she was.

That's what I wanna believe.

Maybe someday I can.

But right now I think something different.

I never saw it coming.

Never thought she would.

I would have stopped her.

Could I have stopped her?

My Brain Somersaulted

My heart picked up speed, my stomach threatened to 86 guilt, drowning in bile.

Oh, G.o.d. I'm sorry.

Hold me.

I wrapped him tight, hair dripping cool around the stiffness of his shoulders.

Not your fault.

Whose, then?

The answer, hanging over my head like a stubborn black cloud, seemed obvious.

Mine.

Don't say that I pictured Guinivere, golden-eyed wildcat, crumpled against the sad, cracked cement.

Whose then?

Plenty of blame to go around.