Radio Waves of the Macabre [On Hiatus]

Chapter 19 - Flashes in the Dark (Part 1)

David's head didn't throb. It shook, winds rippling and seas pitching as a full gale heaved at his insides and tore at his skull. He clamped his eyes shut, the pulsing tremors of his hangover pounding right behind them.

Shit. How much did you drink last night?

He tried to remember but the whole evening hid from him, a blur of memory that bordered on complete blackout. Something sloshed uncomfortably in his gut and David swallowed forcing down the rank aftertaste of the previous night's debauchery.

A moment passed, his head still swirling in an alcohol-induced twister as he fought to hold down the contents of his stomach, then David slowly opened one eye.

His vision blurred, his eyelids crusted and swollen with the previous evening's oils. He'd need to take a compress to that and clean off the lids before he'd be able to see clearly, yet from the blur that he could make out, he wasn't home.
He rubbed at his eyes and tried again.

A soft violet sheet clung to him and, shifting, he could see the pastel green blur of a pillow. The headboard behind that loomed over him, blurry and white.

Yeah, this wasn't his bed.

"Erika?" he asked, and regretted it immediately as his gut rebelled and he found himself once more fighting to keep down the previous evening's alcohol.

Someone grunted beside him. It had to be Erika.

Still laying down, he fumbled on the nightstand searching for his glasses but couldn't find them. He turned his head and squinted hoping he could clear his vision just enough for the glasses to come into focus, then, finding no luck, sat up to give it a proper go.

That's when he lost the battle with his stomach.

David shot to his feet and straight back towards the master bath, picking his way through the blurry bedroom as best as he could. His feet tangled in a pile of clothes on Erika's side of the bed, pitching him forward, but he caught himself at the last moment, his hand clasping upon the door jamb. Never stopping, he hurled himself to the floor of the master bath and heaved into the toilet.

His throat burned and his gut spasmed as he vomited forth the liquid contents of his stomach. With each jolt he regretted more and more the night before, and yet he still couldn't remember what exactly had happened. Briefly he found himself in a reprieve, his elbow resting on the cold lip of the toilet bowl, while he cupped his head in his hands.
He couldn't remember coming over. The whole evening hid from him, and as he struggled to penetrate the lost time, a vision coalesced of Glazer sipping his tea at the diner.

"Well, here's the deal," Glazer started. "There's a little gallery there."

David's head throbbed and another spasm seized over him, sending him curled over the bowl once more spewing nothing more than clear liquid.

"David?"

Erika called to him from the bedroom, her voice hammering at his head.

"Yes?"