Deamons

chapter 21 Nickel Bag part 4

Back in his bed he thinks this is miserable. He keeps checking the clock, so confused as to how much time is passing. He closes eyes and prays to God to forgive his sins and please make his life right. Starke craves the comfort of reading his Bible the proverbs can be an elixir to a worried mind. He is afraid of having the light on. He wants to appear to be sleeping when they come home.

Inside the Deamons scramble. "This is not the flood control you promised us! What is going on?" Envy questions. Addiction hushes him and looking over at Rejection who is more accustomed to being in control. Rejection just looks back at him then whispers, "This is your show. Take the stage." Frustrated Addiction tells the other deamons to go find their masks. The deamons hustle off leaving only Rejection and Addiction by the orbs of the eyes. "What is he doing?" Addiction asks. "He is trying to read his bible in the dark," Rejection answers. "Perfect," Addiction mouths.

Addiction slips down to the inner ear whispering. "Like a Rasta man the weed can bring you closer to God. All the profits heard God in an altered state. The weed can help you relax. Like Ghandi the weed will bring you a relaxed meditative state," Addiction whispers in the inner ear.

It takes. Oh, Starke wants that peace like a swami yogi. Some of the affects of the weed have worn off. He is not as worried when shoots up the steps to get another small sheet of aluminum foil. He rolls and bends the makeshift pipe. This time he makes the bowl big enough to smoke the rest of the weed. He opens the window and takes the biggest hit he can fighting the dry smoke and burn, choking down his urge to cough. He does this three times until it is gone.

He is back in his bed constantly checking the time on his alarm clock, every five minutes feels like an hour. He stares at the ceiling when headlights pass by out front checking the angle of the light to see if the car turns into the driveway. Its miserable. He closes his eyes trying to sleep. His mind races and he cannot rest. None of the images in his twilight rest makes sense. Bright colors like a laser show, followed by letters like the typeface in a book, followed by rock formation like on a hike. He opens his eyes again and thinks to go upstairs for another snack hoping that will settle his body when he sees headlights direction in out front.

He slips back in his bed closing his eyes tightly to pretend to be asleep. What if they look at his face? Can he hold an expression that looks unconscious if they look in at him? He turns his head. He can hear them walk in listening for any clue as to their mood. Their tone is even and not to loud. That is a good sign. He knows the difference in their footfalls. His mother is a heavy walker. She pounds into the floor when she is angry and rumbles it normally like distant thunder or close. Her rumbling steps head up toward the kitchen. His father's tack hammer footfalls go to their bedroom. Starke can relax now. Its feels good. The worry he carried melts away as he drifts off to other lands in his dreams.

The deamons want their time. They stand at the theater of the mind held back from storming in by Rejection and Addiction. Addiction has grown no longer looking like a child next to Rejection. "We want our time! Let's party!" the deamons cry out in their masks pushing to get in. "We must wait!" Rejection cries out. Then Starke wakes.

His father is shaking him. "Starke get up. We have a call to go on," Allan says. Then he walks out of the room. He did not even turn the light on and he was gone so quickly Starke thinks maybe he dreamt it and his mind is playing tricks on him. He looks at his clock. It has been only a half hour since he last looked before falling asleep. It must have been a dream. The last thing he needs is go upstairs in his dress clothes under the influence and get questioned. Then he hears the hearse turnover out front. Oh no, he panics. He needs to get dressed quickly now. He throws on his clothes and runs out barefoot holding his socks and shoes. He sits in the car and cannot remember how he got there. It is starting to rain as they go down the road. He watches a drop of water roll down the window fracturing passing light as it does. Then he realizes he has not put his shoes on and does so quickly. He hates this. It is so disorienting.

The house call is not far. It I closed community on an island not far from his high school. Old money. Wasps. The rumor is when you want to sell your house the community buys you out then resells to the right kind of people. It is Starke's first time out there. He expected all ten window front big houses or better. That is not the case though. There are mostly those but smaller ranchers as well. The security guard escorts them to the house and leaves. It's a beautiful od stone structure. His father goes in and Starke pulls the cot out of the back and his it waiting ready for when his father comes out.

The night is so still, peaceful. The air is crisp like every breath is all you ever need. For once the loss of conception of time on the pot is working for him. If only he could feel this peace all the time. Then looks down from the star and see his father staring at him with the same ugly look he always has for him.

The push the cot into the house then drop it just inside the front door. There is a family eating a chicken dinner in the adjacent dining room. Not a one of the four looks over for even a glance. Allan leads the way to a first-floor bedroom. Starke grabs the reeds stretcher and follows. It is a lady. She is gaunt and the skin grey and looks to be draped over her face. She has silk pajamas on and the room is nice but feels empty. They take her out to the stretcher and the family of four still do not even peek. Even when Allan says to them about their arrangement time tomorrow the man at the table just waves him off. Starke cannot tell if they are really acting that way or it is the drugs.