LOGAN
After they got home, Olivia sat by on the couch, yawning and listening to Blake and Andy talk about school and discuss when they were going to go back to their apartment. When she fell asleep, Logan motioned for Blake to come down the hall and talk to him.
"What?" asked Blake when Logan pulled him into his bedroom and shut the door.
"We have to do something."
"The last time you said we have to do something like that, me and you ended up getting shot at by Olivia's old house."
Logan gave him a humorless smile. "This is kind of the same thing."
He didn't want to put his brother in danger like this again, he didn't want to have a redo of what had almost happened, and he most certainly didn't want to tempt fate a second time. But he couldn't do this by himself, as the night before had shown him.
But Blake didn't shy away from whatever it was, and that made Logan's chest ache that his little brother would do just about anything if he asked him to. He didn't deserve him or his loyalty but for some reason, since they were little, Blake had always been his partner in crime and always would be.
Blake only sighed and asked, "Alright, what is it?"
"Will you come to that bar with me so I can see if I remember anything?"
"Why is that even a question?"
"Okay, well, what should we do about Andy?"
Blake shrugged. "I mean, if you really want to bring him-"
"No, I mean we can't leave him here."
"Why not?"
"Are you crazy?" Logan gestured towards Olivia's room. "Olivia's sleeping here!"
"So if she wakes up, she won't be freaked out that no one's around if at least Andy's there. That's a good thing."
Logan's lip curled in disgust. There was no way he would trust anyone with his sister. "I am not leaving Olivia here alone with some random college guy," he said in a hard voice.
Blake grimaced. "Why do you have to make him sound so pervy?" he complained.
"You're making me feel even grosser just thinking about this. Just tell him to go home. I'll drop you off tomorrow."
"Andy is not disgusting like that!" Blake protested. "And it's eight o'clock at night. We can't make him drive home this late."
At that, Logan felt slightly bad. Andy had brought a drunk Blake straight to the hospital - and Logan knew firsthand how hard it was to deal with a drunk Blake - and had calmed Olivia when no one else could, and he'd somehow managed to joke with Logan as if they were friends.
Then he remembered Milo Cortez, the boy who had pretended to be Olivia's friend for all the wrong reasons, and made himself say, "Andy is not a kid, he can handle himself. Tell him to go."
Blake tried every which way to convince Logan, and when he wouldn't agree, they got into a heated argument for his not trusting Andy, but Logan refused to give in. Eventually, Blake crossed his arms over his chest and said, "Fine. But only because I know how important this is to you. And I'm still not happy about this."
Logan rolled his eyes, opened the door, and gave Blake a shove towards the living room. "Just get out of here."
*****
"Which seat did you sit in when you came last night?"
Logan glanced around himself at the bar. It was one of those pubs that also had a diner, which was the only reason Blake, still being underaged at eighteen, had been allowed in. Background music played from a stereo in the corner, and the smell of stale cigarettes and some sort of citrusy drink wafted in from the front. Although it was dark inside, there were plenty of people milling around and dancing on this Saturday night.
His memory was a little fuzzy, but he thought he'd been sitting in one of the booths next to the window. He pointed his chin to an empty one that was a little to the right of the OPEN sign. "I think that one."
"Let's sit there."
They slid into the seats across from each other. When a waitress with fiery red hair and dozens of freckles all across her face came by with a notepad in her hand, Blake grinned his heart stopping smile and chatted her up until Logan grew tired and kicked him under the table.
Blake kicked him back, but he smiled at Claire, the waitress, and ran his finger down the menu. "I think me and my brother will have the cheese fries," he said.
"Be right back, Blake," she said, giving him a wink.
Logan sighed in relief when she left. His muscles were so tense from waiting for an attack that they were getting sore. He kept glancing towards the exit to make sure the door was still unblocked and open for him to drag Blake out if anything happened.
But Blake clearly did not share his thinking. Instead, he reached across the table and clung to his fingers. "Please order me something Logan. Look at all the cool drinks they have."
"These are normal drinks. And get your hands off me," Logan grumbled, yanking back and wiping his fingers against the table.
"So that's a yes?"
"They won't let me order a drink if I'm sitting here with you. You'll get carded and we'll have to leave."
"Aw, come on, Logan. You're legal. You can try, can't you?"
"Blake, we are here for a purpose. Stick to the plan. Stop thinking about alcohol for two seconds."
"Please, Logan," Blake begged. "You're my brother. I would do anything for you. I love you."
Blake looked at him so earnestly, so surely that for a moment, Logan forgot that his little brother was trying to bribe him. He forgot he was just trying to wheedle him into getting him something.
I love you.
His heart felt squeezed so hard in his chest at his brother's words that he could hardly breathe.
"Logan?"
Logan swallowed. He exhaled and jabbed his finger against Blake's chest.
"Don't move from this seat, don't order anything, don't talk to anyone while I am gone. I don't care if that girl or whoever comes by or you get carded. If you talk to anyone I will kill you. If you drink or eat anything, I will kill you. If you move from this table, I will kill you. I will kill you ten times. Got it?"
Blake put two fingers to his temple, grinning. "Sir. You have been understood completely."
"I'm serious."
Blake sighed. "Alright, alright. I won't move or talk to anyone."
Logan wearily left Blake at the table. At the counter, the bartender behind the counter gave him a once over. "ID?" she droned.
Logan pulled out his wallet and flipped it open for her. The bartender squinted before giving a slight nod. "What'll you have?"
"The bluest thing you have. Easy on the vodka."
She raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
"Is it that bad?"
"It's not for everyone."
Blake certainly wasn't everyone. "I'll take it," Logan said.
While the bartender mixed up whatever it was she had decided to get him, Logan glanced back at his table. Someone passed into his vision and for a moment, he couldn't see Blake.
He leaned to the right, throat constricting so fast he was sure he would have a panic attack right there when he regained sight of Blake's curly hair. The person in his line of vision moved away and he saw Blake with his phone pulled out, typing away on the screen.
He ground the heel of his palm into his eyes and tried to get a grip on himself. He couldn't afford to be this jumpy. He needed to focus.
When the bartender handed him the glass, Logan left a few bills on the counter and went back, the drink sloshing over his hand as people bumped into him. He set the drink down at his table and wiped the drops from his hand with a couple of brown napkins as Blake's eyes went huge.
"Logan, you are a god," he whispered, pulling the glass towards him. "What is this?"
"I have no idea. Don't drink it all at once."
But Blake paid him no need. He downed a quarter of the glass in one sip and Logan winced as Blake's face went red and he coughed a few times. "If you puke, I will not drive you home," he warned.
Blake cleared his throat and swiped the back of his hand across his lips. "Are you kidding? I would never vomit something so amazing. This is so much better than all that cheap beer and straight liquor they had at that party last week."
"Blake, you seriously need to ease off the alcohol when you go out."
Blake groaned. "I thought we were cool, Logan," he complained. "Don't be Elijah. That's very uncool."
"This is for your own good."
To Logan's surprise, Blake's face got more serious and he sighed. "I know, I know. I won't get drunk anymore. I've already made a disaster out of last night."
Before Logan could console him and tell him it wasn't his fault, Blake suddenly grinned. "Damn," he said. "Living with Olivia has really made you into a proper older brother with curfews and alcohol bans and all, hasn't it?"
Logan felt the blood drain from his face at the thought. He didn't really feel like he was doing anything right. He'd passed out on her last night after getting roofied and now he was back at the same bar, unable to remember what had happened. "Just shut up," he muttered.
"You know it's true."
"I will literally call someone here to card you right now if you don't be quiet."
Blake waved a flippant hand at him. "Alright, alright, no need to get all aggressive."
Logan watched the people around him while Blake thankfully heeded his warning and took measured sips of his drink. He didn't see anyone that he could say with conviction was there yesterday. The bartender wasn't the same, that was for sure, but other than that, he could remember no one.
"Wait, Logan, I know what you should do," Blake said suddenly, pushing his drink to the side, and that was when Logan knew he was serious. Blake dug through his jeans pockets and pulled out a tiny sketchpad the size of his hand. "Order a sprite."
"What the hell? The point of bringing you was to not repeat the same thing that happened last time!"
"You just need to recreate the scene. Isn't that supposed to bring back some memories?"
"I'm not doing that again. What if the bartender put something in it? I don't even know why I'm letting you drink that blue shit."
"Because you love me. Now either order a sprite or close your eyes and try to remember."
"This is so stupid," Logan said, but he closed his eyes as Blake asked.
"Okay. Imagine this," Blake began. "You've just ordered the sprite. You've brought it back to your table and you're sitting here, people watching. You take a sip and it's lemony and fizzy on your tongue."
Logan swallowed the bile rising in his throat whenever he thought of all the horrible things that could have happened while he was drugged. His clothes hadn't been out of place, and he wasn't bruised or sore anywhere that could hint that someone had touched him, but there was a horribly creepy feeling every time he tried to remember what happened that wouldn't go away.
But for Blake, he tried to concentrate.
Loud music played in the background. It wasn't the same as it had been the night before. He remembered the bartender had been a girl with purple hair and two ear piercings in her left ear. She'd handed him his drink without a second glance at him.
There had been a heavyset man with a chinstrap sitting in the booth next to him. He'd been drinking something brownish. Or maybe it had been clear? Logan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember.
"And now you feel kind of light headed," Blake said softly, his voice making its way into his imagination. "It's kinda harder to hear the music. You don't feel good so you try to stand up."
Logan imagined wobbling as he stood and he saw in his peripheral vision someone gently steady his arm. Gold bracelets lined a wrist.
"She had red nails," he said, his eyes still closed.
"Good," Blake encouraged. "So maybe she helped you get up from your seat and you were kind of woozy but you didn't really think she could do any harm. Actually, you felt kind of nice."
He remembered feeling dizzy and very warm and weirdly content. Logan tried turning his face to the side to see the girl with the golden bracelets, but her image kept alluding him.
"Do you see her face?"
"I - don't know."
"Does she have a small nose?"
"No, it's just normal." That for certain he could tell.
He resisted the urge to open his eyes when he heard Blake's pencil begin to scritch-scratch across his paper. He tried to keep up with Blake's questions - did she have a wide forehead, did she have a dimpled chin, did she have any tattoos- but her face kept slipping from him.
"Did she have a piercing? Anywhere on her face?"
Logan clenched his hands. When Blake said piercing, a hazy flash of something flew past. He tried to bring it back. "I think he had an earring?" he said tentatively.
"He? I thought we were drawing a girl."
Logan opened his eyes, exhausted. He gently rubbed his temples. "There was some guy," he said wearily.
"Well, was it a guy or a girl? Or were they neither or both?"
He hated this gap in his memory, he hated that he had no idea who had touched him while he was high on some street drug. A guy or a girl, an old person or a young person, staff or a customer - it was just one black blank. It felt disgusting. It felt like red ants were crawling up every nerve in his body. Anxiety bubbled up in his throat. "Shit, I don't know," he breathed, his voice wavering.
But Blake didn't freak out. He calmly flipped a page in his sketch pad. "It's okay," he said in a calm, patient voice. "That's fine. Let's just draw the guy version of whoever then. You said he had an earring, right?"
After a grueling fifteen minutes, Blake had a rough picture of the man that Logan found he remembered more clearly than the woman. Logan couldn't remember when he'd seen the man, he didn't even know if he was important or just some random face that snagged his attention, but he felt immensely better that there was a roughly constructed face, at least something that he could hold onto from that night.
The man was still young, probably Logan's age or a little order. He had high cheekbones, black hair gelled up into a small quiff, and deep set, hooded eyes. Blake had wanted to draw him smiling as he usually did when he drew people, but Logan remembered that there had been quite a few creases in between his eyebrows and in his forehead. He had definitely not been smiling.
When Claire came back to their table with the fries that they ordered, Blake gently tapped her on the arm. "Hey, Claire, does this guy look familiar to you?" he asked, sliding the paper in her direction.
Claire pushed ringlets of red curls behind her ear and inspected the picture. "Why, is he in trouble?" She raised her eyebrows at Blake. "This isn't a drug bust or something?"
"No, I like to draw things. People, mostly. I'm doing a college class in drawing and we do quick sketches and I just drew one of a guy I remembered seeing last night."
"You're not the police, are you?"
Logan sighed. "Our brother's in jail so we're not really friends with the police," he said just so she would answer Blake's question.
Claire's eyebrows went up another inch. "Oh. Well, in that case, um - he kind of looks like this guy who comes here sometimes."
Logan sat up straight in his chair as Blake asked, "Do you know his name?"
"Mark. Or Mike. I'm not sure, he pays in cash and doesn't really talk much. Do you - need something from him?"
"No, we're good. Thanks for the fries, Claire," Blake said, giving her a brilliant smile.
She smiled back at him, her cheeks tinting pink. "Let me know if you need anything else."
Logan took Blake's drawing pencil and wrote Mike/Mark on the back of the page. Blake pulled the basket of fries towards him, and a slip of paper slid out from underneath it with hastily scrawled numbers in blue ink. Logan rolled his eyes. "Could you have flirted with her any less?" he said, holding the paper between two fingers, pulling it back out of Blake's reach when he reached for it.
"What's it to you? I told you that you could get a girl too if you smiled a little."
Logan shrugged. "I seriously thought you liked Andy enough to not flirt with everyone else."
Blake glared at him and snatched the slip of paper from him. "I don't like Andy!"
"Why else would you not tell him that Malena was Elijah's old girlfriend?"
"I don't know, it was just weird," Blake retorted. "And why'd you have to bring her up in the first place? That was so uncalled for."
"I was telling the truth! And why are you being all weird? It's not like you're in middle school and you have to pretend it's gross to crush on someone."
"Why don't you just make yourself useful and ask someone around here about this Mike guy? Stop interrogating me. Let me eat my fries in peace."
"I'm not going to leave you here. And stop hogging them, I want some."
It turned out that the bartender was even more clueless than Claire, and no one else knew who the guy was. Logan kept glancing towards the door, waiting for the mystery man to come in, but he never did.
Blake tried to help him remember again, recreating the whole scene, even going so far as to ask for a sprite from Claire, but it was no use. Logan couldn't remember anything else but those red nails and golden bracelets and the man Blake drew.
Any thoughts on our mystery girl/man?
Also, I don't know if anyone remembers when I smashed my finger back in November and the doctors had to pull out the nail but - it FINALLY reached the end of the nailbed last week! My finger is still very scarred and more purple than my other fingers and it'll probably be shaped a little weird for the rest of my life but honestly considering what the poor thing's been through I'm happy.
Now that you know more information than you ever wanted to about my hand, the next update will be SUNDAY :)
For next time: so I think I have replot the ending of this again but I'm pretty sure right now it's something to do with Olivia and Angel