Murder and Musicals

Chapter Eighteen: What's in the @%$king box?!

He lightly pushed on the side of Luke's head to push him onto the ground. He didn't want to use his hands for anything- If he'd learned anything from crime movies, it's that police could find fingerprints on anything. There was an inhaler, Drake had realized, resting on the ground next to Luke. It must've fallen out during the coughing. He used the bottom of his sleeve to wrap around the inhaler and move it a few dozen feet away. He was already crafting the story in his head. We were racing and he just fell to the ground, he thought. I didn't know he had asthma. That part was technically true; he hadn't known about Luke's asthma until he already stabbed him. There was a band-aid that Drake always kept in his backpack just in case, which he thought could be a sort-of cover-up for a certain amount of time. 

This was the point in the dream where he would hear distant sirens, which didn't actually happen in real life. He hadn't heard sirens. The dream would end after the Drake in the dream turned towards the direction of the sirens. Drake would wake up with his mind running in all directions, just like it had been during the murder. 

Trent himself had nightmares about Luke. Ever since Drake described to him what his dream in the movie theater was like, he would think about Luke if he were undead. He pictured him as a part of the Zombieland cast, or some monster from Hellraiser. Sometimes he would have to call Drake late at night after he awoke from a dream, and they would compare. 

Luke was like the dead third wheel that would never go away. The worst part was that they couldn't even do anything about it.

Drake hated conversations about his mental health with his friends. They cared about his well-being, but he was too stubborn to think he actually needed help for any mental illness.

"Drake, honestly," Michael would start, "if you're seeing things and hallucinating and stuff, I think you should see a therapist. At least someone-"

"No," Drake always replied, "I'm not going to a therapist. They may have a confidentiality rule, but they tell people when you're a danger to society."

"But you're not."

"But I was a danger to someone else. They would have to tell the police. Also, what the hell would I tell them? 'Can you please give me drugs so I don't see the murder victim that I killed? Thanks.'" 

Anyone who was with them would sigh. Ryan would ask, "I'm sure your parents would prefer you to see a psychiatrist. What did you tell them?"

Trent took this question after hesitation, "We told them almost everything. Except they think he blacked out and 'lost time'," He looked to Drake, "You may have to fake multiple personality disorder to get out of this with your parents."

Drake nodded, "Trust me, I know. I've even thought about it."

"What about the knife?"

"My mom is trying to convince my aunt to keep it at her house or throw it away. At this point, my family and friends are all in on this murder."

"Woo," Isaiah muttered, definitely laying on the chair. He never did sit straight.

There was a break in the conversation.

Isaiah chimed, "Don't you want to be better though? I doubt you want to see the 'ghastly Luke' you see sometimes."

Charles, definitely eating a bag of chips whilst talking, said, "Or, since we got Isaiah as a law consultant thingamajig, we could get someone who's into psychology stuff."

Trent brought up, "He still wouldn't be able to get medication for anything. Like, I know some stuff is treatable, and none of that stuff is over the counter, it's all prescription."