Conflagration

XIV

Bill found his way back to the cabin by feel. The woods seemed even darker than they had the night before and the entire scene once again took on a phantastic quality. The objects he passed appeared to have a translucent consistency as if they were some kind of architecture from his subconscious. His heart was still racing from the pickup he'd made with Sam and this blended with his anticipation of another night with Meadow. It was the best drug he'd ever experience. The best he ever would.

She was waiting for him on the front porch backlit by the lamps that shone through the open front door. He couldn't see her face in the darkness but he knew she was smiling. He smiled too. He walked with deliberate footsteps, half expecting the Sheriff and a handful of his deputies to pop out of bushes and mow him down like some band of desperados in an old western. Sam had consistently tormented him about Meadow being the Sheriff's granddaughter but aside from the ribbing Bill figured that he probably wouldn't be too fond of him sleeping with her, particularly in one of his houses. In one of his beds.

But these thoughts bled out of him in an instant when she wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed him like it was the first time all over again. The night passed around them and the outer workings of the world continued without notice. Like precious art placed before the blind.

Sam spent an hour or so in a chair next to his fridge. He drank cans of beer until his head was numb and when thoughts of the Reverend had dulled to near silence he grabbed his keys and left. He drove a red Pontiac Grand Am that he avoided using as often as he could in fear that some day soon it would simply quit. He stashed the bag of crystal on top of the back seat but when he turned the ignition he saw it sitting in the rear view and thought better. He sat for a moment as the engine idled and then stuffed the bag into his jeans. The rocks dug into his thigh as he hauled off, one eye closed to keep the asphalt in front of him from blurring.

The front door at Boots's house was half open and he could hear music being played from an old boombox resting on the kitchen table. One of the speakers was dented and every few minutes the CD inside would skip for a moment and then resume.

A few women hovered in the kitchen. Red and purple scabs up the insides of their arms. Most of the people standing around were familiar to him. Neighbors, schoolmates, customers. Boots was in the back smoking out of a bowl. He exhaled and saw him through the haze. The girl to his left was slumped over the side of the couch just as she'd been two days before. It was like she had never moved.

Boots rose. "Alright Sam. You want somethin to drink."

"I'll take a beer."

Boots hollered up to the women swaying amongst themselves in the kitchen. "Y'all see any beer left over there?"

It took a long time for them to answer. One eventually turned and shook her head.

"Ah hell. Might be some comin soon. You wanna hit?" He handed over the bowl and passed a lighter that had been resting on the coffee table. Sam lit it and inhaled deeply. What followed was a sour taste that was foreign to any skunk weed he'd ever come across. He held it out in front of him to see if there was anything else sprinkled into the bowl but it was too charred to tell. A minute later Boots repacked it and the two made their way back over to the couch.

By the time Bryce and Crystal came walking through the door the room was beginning to shake. Sam turned and saw that Boots had left. He stood up slowly and closed his eyes until the urge to vomit had passed. When he opened them Bryce was standing in front of him offering a beer.

"Want one?" He asked.

"Where'd you find them?"

"Ran out and grabbed a few cases. This damn fool was about to throw a party with half a six pack."

Sam smiled and took it. After a few minutes he cornered one of the unopened cases and brought it back to the couch with him. Not that he was planning on drinking a whole hell of a lot more. He realized quickly that he'd smoked too much and would have to ride out the spinning sensation in his head the way a fisherman would ride out a gale in deep waters. He spent the next hour or so watching faces as they floated around him. A few said hello to him and he simply nodded as he took another sip. Just after midnight he realized that he could no longer keep down what was coming up and he stumbled his way into the bathroom.

The smell of ammonia and insecticide was overwhelming. He closed the door and fell to his knees in front of the toilet, waiting for the final summons to start the purge. He found his answer when he moved the shower curtain over and saw what was caked onto the surface of the tub. Dried vomit sat nearly fossilized. White patches of mold had grown onto whatever solid contents were mixed within. Sam turned and unleashed a bile of his own. Once. Twice. Three times. When he was finished he laid his sweating forehead onto the toilet seat and cried. Visions of the Reverend were still there, even when he closed his eyes.

"There ain't no way you're gunna find that money," he whispered into the bowl. "You might think there is. But there ain't."

How much time he spent there he did not know. There were loud knocks against the plywood door. People yelling. Vicious sounds. He stayed until they went away. When he was able to raise himself to his feet he staggered back out. Boots was smoking again from the bowl. He turned and exhaled in Sam's face who smelled it and thought that he was going to be sick again.

"You alright?"

Sam staggered without responding. Boots repeated himself.

"I'm alright."

"Why don't you lie on down for a bit."

Bryce and Crystal filed between them before Sam had a chance to answer. They beckoned Boots to follow them into the bedroom. Sam still felt unsure on his feet and leaned against the wall for support. He could see the three of them hovering around the nightstand beside the bed. Bryce was carrying some sort of duffle bag and was busy fitting it inside the space under the same hatch door he'd seen Boots fiddle with two days before.

Sam's eyelids became heavy. He fought to keep them open but was losing ground. Boots walked back out of the room with the others and slapped his hand against Sam's chest.

"Go flop down on that mattress. This ain't no damn place to fall asleep."

"I don't need to lie down." But he was already being led into the bedroom that contained the hidden latch. His shins caught the edge of the frame and he fell forward. The mattress was bare and he could smell something musty. Outside he the CD skipped again and the room continued to spin clockwise until he began to wonder if he was facing the ceiling or the floor.

Muddled voices. The flushing of the toilet. He listened as these sounds came and went and fell asleep in the bed, wondering how many days he had left. How many before the end.