Marin's Dale

2

Tyler was going to kill the one responsible for this when he met them and he was positive that the grimy bastard would be fucked. Audrey was sleeping now. She had been sleeping for a while now with some shallow breathing but she was gonna be fine, of course. Tyler would get the pills from his backpack cuz he had to have more there and then they'd be fine.

Barkly Mendbrook had grabbed a bus and was headed for the Well. They would meet through the well once Tyler got some more. Once he got more he'd give the girl what it was she needed and she'd get better. Everything was fine. They were going to be fine and Barkly was going to be fine and the whole world was going to be fine.

Tyler twitched. The twitching was the worst part and it never wanted to end. It wanted to turn into a full body convulsion that left you spitting and gripping your veiny fingers on the ground pleading for you to stay calm before your eyeballs burst from your sockets and your optic nerve severed like a torn leash.

But everything was going to be fine, all was fine. Now where the fuck was the shit?

Tyler stared at the empty inside of his backpack. There were some coins and a ripped mess of lined paper. There was nothing else.

Everything was going to be fine. Life was going to be fine, and fine, and this would be, and that, this, everything f—

Where the fuck was the shit?

Tyler turned to the sound of paper ruffling on the hallway floor. It was a bulletin about the upcoming dance. There must have been a breeze coming from somewhere. The lights were still on in the hall, flickering, and Tyler had heard noises streaming from opened classroom doors.  Tyler wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of the building and back to Audrey in the car.

He hadn't taken a single glance into a single room on his way to the locker. He didn't want to see if anybody was in here; he no longer cared. He couldn't save anybody; it was no longer feasible. He needed his shit now, because without his shit, they weren't going to make it.

He needed to find his shit.

The men's' bathroom door at the split of the hallway ahead was leaking a crimson fluid from beneath the Gaussian rippled glass.

Tyler knew that he had to get out of here. The option was clear: they had to go home now. He had to get the compound and down it. The tingling was getting worse—the acute withdrawal effects were getting worse. Tyler rubbed his fingers between his eyes. He needed to relax, first and foremost. And then he needed to ingest the C-Strait. It was a fitting name for his antidote, and he needed it.

Or the withdrawal would kill him.

               ###

You know how to defeat him. The move is yours

Eyes opened. The world swelled, alive; born anew.

You know what it is you want

A steering wheel. A dashboard. Windows, seats; a packed, crumby interior.

Do not let it slip away

The parking lot in front of the school was rife with unmanned vehicles. The flagpole at the center of a circular, manicured plot of grass stirred slightly in the breeze. Encased in a brick prism and displayed for all to see at the center of the circular lawn:

MARINS DALE SENIOR HIGH: A DIFFERENT DAY IS A DAY OF DIFFERENCE

Inside the vehicle, the keys were still in the ignition. The doors were left unlocked. The gear was in park.

All that was perfect.

Audrey moved to the driver's seat. She turned the keys. She adjusted the mirrors. She shifted to drive. And thinking nothing more of her boyfriend searching vainly inside the High School, she exited the parking lot.

The Well is waiting. Do not delay

Audrey smiled, and she spoke aloud, to the nobody in her car.

"I'm coming Father. I'm coming."

And then she tossed the coin bag of Tyler's 'jellybeans' out the window.

                   ###

The whiskey was finished at the foot of Paul Maier. He looked to the girl next to him, silent as a dead leaf. She was a cute little somethin though. She didn't have a glow to her cheeks like a lot of the younger girls, but she wasn't hard on the eyes either.

She was a young girl, but deep in spirit Paul wagered. She was a good one indeed and now she was the one that filled Paul's field of vision. Her eggshell eyes were nothing to fear. They were a small nick on a diamond. She was there and she probably didn't have problems with it. Paul doubted she would care in the slightest; it would probably even wake her up a bit.

She really did remind him of his daughter; that tender, radiant one that would get lost for hours in her own world, with her dainty legs crossed, and her finger twirling helplessly in her hazel hair, and those soft sensual lips, so gentle and ripening, and unsullied by the blatant realities of the larger world.

His daughter was a good girl, such a good girl. Paul had always been there for her. In times and the worst times... when she sprained her ankle ice skating. When she was young and used to run about the house like a little maniac, with those big eyes and endless smile; running and bumping into objects and laughing some more; always laughing, and full of life and energy. She lifted Paul's spirits and brought him homeward. 

But he was always there for her, wasn’t he? He really was.

To console her when she was hurting most; to celebrate when she was at her highest. And she was there for him. Daddy's little pookie. Daddy cared about his baby girl. Mommy cared about her too, of course, but only Daddy could bring her what she wanted. Only Daddy spent the night with her. In her Little Mermaid pajamas; her skin so smooth. Her soft touch.

Daddy's little pookie never needed to tell Mommy about their sleepovers. Their camping trips were special. Mommy had her play dates with her friends, and pookie and Daddy had their play dates with each other.

She was Daddy's little girl. And she filled him. As he filled her.

And now she was gone, moved far away. The accident had left her warped. She wasn’t the same, and Paul could do nothing about it.

Paul stared to the empty bottle at his feet. He eyed the little sweetie to his right. She had her tender little fingers splayed on her knees. Poor pookie. She needed somebody to comfort her. Her little face needed a protector from the horrors before them.

Paul stared into the gnawing black. The occasional passing tunnel light laced his face. For years Paul had dealt with the stressors of work and every other piece of life as best he could. He wasn't a perfect man, he wasn't a perfect husband—he wasn't the best at anything he did. But when it came to being a Daddy, Paul Maier could never be happier.