TMNT: We don't play the game
Chapter 16: Blood on the dancefloor carpet.
"Have you spoken to Ebony?"
"Yes! I just got offa' the phone with her, she said she hasn't seen him!"
"How about Weed? You been there?"
"No."
"Tell you what, I'm at work right now, I'll go down on my break, I get off in five."
"Okay-"
"Just stay at the apartment and calm down, he'll be fine."
"Okay." There was an awkward moment of silence from both ends of the phone, before Freddy took the liberty of hanging up. I threw the phone onto the couch. What to do with myself?
I'd never been very active during the day, except at school.
"Damn... I'm back on Monday." The time had slipped right through my fingers since Friday night, I didn't even know where it had gone, the days seemed to have blended together and
I probably didn't even get much sleep, I don't remember getting any. The sudden disappearance of Mark wasn't going to help either, I'd be up worrying about him, unless he was at Weed.
But I had been told to calm down. Relax. So that's what I would do.
I went into my room and laid on my bed, my God was it beautiful. By this time it was late afternoon, and the setting sun was creeping slowly into the alley outside my window, shining through my net curtains, casting a cosy orange glow over the room, it hit all the corners and for the first time in years, the golden highlights of the pale pink flowers on my walls actually shone, which I didn't think was possible anymore, I only ever saw a worn out mustard yellow in its place.
I looked over at the Guitar leaning against the wardrobe; there was a shameful layer of dust on it, I hadn't picked it up in years... and I called myself a musician. I tried to take interest in it, but... I don't know, I was never patient enough to spend time on something that took so much effort. Maybe one day I'd pick up that Guitar and strike a few chords.
Maybe relaxing was what I needed. I'd almost forgotten everything about this room; the mint green walls, the khaki yellow area rugs. I slipped my foot over the edge of the bed and pressed it against the carpet, it was so fuzzy, it tickled the sole of my foot, but in a fun snugly way. My mind started to wander absently as I swept my foot back and forth across the carpet. I wonder where he is. I rolled over onto my back and settled back into the pillows. Maybe he's at Weed, waiting for us. I tilted my head to look out of the window. Or for Jesse. A little smile spread across my lips and I watched grey clouds pass slowly by the half moon.
And at some point, I'm not sure when, but the sun went down.
And a short time after that, I fell asleep.
I was rudely awoken at some time in the morning by a shrieking at the front door of the apartment.
Loud though it may have been, the words were muffled and all I could make out were the syllables in each word. I groggily shuffled my way out of bed and slowly made my out into the hall, by this time the urgency in the muffled voice had risen, and the words were intelligible;
"ADRIENNE! OPEN THE FUCKING FOOR!!!" The voice rattled me.
"Mark?"
"YES! OPEN THE DOOR!" I grabbed the brass door handle and I was immediately knocked off of my feet by Mark busting his way through the door, dragging a body behind him.
"Mark-"
"I need a towel!"
"Mark, what going on-"
"GET ME A TOWEL!" I jumped at his voice and caught a whimper in my throat. I slid up the wall behind me and scrambled into the bathroom, returning to the living room with a towel, which he snatched from my hand and pressed to the body's stomach.
"Mark, what the hell is going on?!" He heaved a sigh at my question and took a glance beneath the towel at the wound on the body. It was a man, middle-aged, about thirty I'd say, he was bald but had a goatee, which had partially been ripped away from his face, leaving an open hairless wound on his chin. I could feel my hand trembling by my sides, and I could not for the life of me, take my eyes away from half mangled man on my carpet.
"He's a friend."
"Wonderful, but what I actually meant was; why is he here? And why does he look like that?"
"That's not very nice Addy, that's his face."
"Yeah, so why is it bleeding all over MY FREAKIN' CARPET?!" He looked up at me with a twisted emotion flooding his eyes, anger, grief, guilt and relief, he then looked back down to attend to the body. "No answer..." Not a question, a statement. I slid down calmly onto the couch and watched him dab the wound for a while, until the bleeding man came to, and started whispering to Mark words I couldn't make out from where I was sat. I move forward to sit resting my elbows on my knees and kept my eyes on the man, he glanced in my direction once or twice while whispering, and then mid-sentence, with no warning he stopped.
Breathing, that is.
Basically; this man was dead.
In my living room.
Okay.
