CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN. Please be civil in the comment section.
I drove through diagonal sheets of rain, the windscreen wipers swishing up and down, the sky bruised blue and darkening. I couldn't relax; shoulders pulled forward, tensed back, stiff fingers on the wheel. The one time I hoped for traffic on crossed fingers and the roads were deserted. I saw one truck and a yawning driver and a couple entering a restaurant and not a whole lot else.
Keeping just under the speed limit, I arrived at the hospital in a little over fifteen minutes. A hunched figure was waiting at the entrance, rain spattering on his soaked hair, skinny arms quivering slightly. Even as I beeped at Irvin and reached over to open the passenger door for him, I wished I was anywhere else but here. I wanted to slam my foot on the accelerator and leave him in his bubble of misery. Just the thought of consoling him made me uncomfortable, his problems were too depressing-and even more so when I saw his puffy purple eye and split lip. Then I got mad at myself: I was so fúcking selfish, so self-absorbed and buried up my own ass. "Cole did this?"
"I deserved it," he muttered crossly, slamming the door.
"I'll walk you inside. Get you cleaned up." I motioned to the doors of the hospital.
"No."
"But-"
"I SAID, NO!"
"OK. Alright." I backed off and drove out of the hospital staff carpark. I turned the radio on to some late night talk show and kept the volume loud enough to fill the silence but low enough so we couldn't make out exactly what the host was saying.
After a while of aimless driving, he shifted and cleared his throat, getting ready to speak. I cared for Irvin, I really truly did but goddamn it, if he cried I'd tap his knee and mumble something incoherent. If I was brave enough, I'd rush out onto the road and keep running 'till I put enough distance between us. And then return when he was better. When he wasn't this mopey mess. "I was supposed to be there for her."
I waited for the rest, anxiously buzzing, waiting for the right moment to express how sorry I am and to offer up the rest of my sympathy.
"My uncle had gone back to his hotel room and she was old and weak and she needed my help. She had a fall. Smashed her head, bled on the tiles for hours. I got back and she was gone. I didn't even..." it was like he had been reading a script, he was a terrible actor, voice toneless and dull but now he struggled to keep up the façade and his voice shook. "I didn't even get to say-" a deep breath "goodbye, man. I couldn't tell her anything. She just stared at me."
"Christ. Irvin. I'm sorry. I-"
He shook his head. His eyes were set deep into his face and clear of any emotion, just seeing, a one way mirror and his face was relaxed in a way that was unsettling. Too forced. If he cried it would've been better but he continued on as if he was describing the weather. "It's weird. She would've been alive if ..." he gestured to his face. "Ah, man. Life is weird. You never realise how the actions of others affect you until shit like this happens. Am I making sense?"
"Yeah." I didn't know what else to say. I was going back on my hopes: Now I wished he wept because unaffected Irvin didn't seem ...right. "So, what's going to happen now?"
"The funeral. That shithead is going to arrange it at the mosque. And he wants me to go and live with his family in Iran."
"Wait. How does he know about...?"
"I called him. He was the one who drove us to the hospital."
"You shouldn't go. I highly doubt it'll be safe."
"I'd be dead as soon as I step foot on that soil. He'll bury me next to my mother. I'm a kafir with a white deadbeat dad. The whole village will come out to see me hang."
"Do you think it's wise to go to the funeral, then?"
"I wouldn't miss the funeral for the world." He turned his face away and stared out of the window. "Every relative will be coming. It's going to be a family reunion none of us will ever forget."
Something about the way he said that troubled me. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye and inhaled deeply. "Irvin, you do know that you can talk to me, right? Even if you don't want to talk, I will be here for you. If you want, I could come to the funeral with you."
"That won't be necessary. I appreciate it but I'm fine."
"You're fine?" Sceptical.
"Yes. I actually feel great."
"Oh." And that was all I could say.
***
The hallway smelt of disinfection. With the floor scrubbed clean, there was no evidence of today's earlier event. I hadn't heard about Charlie but I hoped he was alive so he could walk through the door and relive the shooting. Irvin went straight to the kitchen and put his head into the fridge. I thought he was getting ice for his face but he kicked the fridge door shut, chewing cold cuts.
I went upstairs to check on Daniel. Screechy psychedelic rock music slipped out from under his closed door. His taste in music was questionable. I knocked a couple of times but got no response so I walked in. Daniel and a girl I didn't know were sitting on the edge of the bed, tightening a belt around his upper arm. I knew I wouldn't like her. She had a shitty dyed job, eyes drowned in black eyeliner and obvious nipple piercings. "Who're you?" she challenged. She held a lit lighter under a spoon, dissolving water and heroin.
"You gotta be kidding me."
Daniel was clenching his fist, his veins jutting out, and he told me to get out.
"Who the hell is she?"
"She's just a friend. Chill, Ebony."
Ebony glared at him. "She better 'just be a friend.'"
"Daniel. Are you really going to be doing this? You've got college starting tomorrow."
"This bitch acts like she's your mum."
"You look like you're fúcking twenty five. Why are you hanging around a sixteen year old?"
She jumped up, setting the lighter and spoon carefully down. "Who the fúck does this bitch-"
Daniel grabbed her wrist and pleaded to me. "Shay. Please leave."
I thought about it and then shut the door behind me. I called James. "I think you should get over here. Daniel is-"
"I'm with my son. Call Cole."
I called Cole. "Daniel is shooting up heroin. Irvin's grandma is dead. Could you come over?"
He promised to be at the flat in half an hour. I paced the landing for a couple of minutes to waste time and then walked down the stairs. Irvin was standing on a chair, still in the kitchen, reaching up to fiddle with the smoke alarm. "Need a smoke," he explained without a prompt from me, grunting, "it's pissing outside."
My phone rang in my pocket. I saw it was Jade and declined the call. "You want a drink instead of a smoke? I can go on a run." I didn't have any money so I don't know why I said that. Maybe I can run outside with my hands cupped and collect rain water.
"Nah." He got down and offered me a cigarette and then put it into his mouth when I shook my head. "You excited for college?"
"Not really. I don't know if I want to go."
"You might be in my class."
I tried carefully. "Wouldn't it make sense if you took a couple of days off? I'm sure the teachers would understand."
"Why would I do that?"
He really wasn't going to cut me any slack. He gave me a look; waiting for an explanation. I clicked my tongue. "Never mind." I checked the fridge for food and pulled out a gallon of milk and fixed myself a bowl of cereal. I finished eating and washed my bowl and still didn't know what to say to fill the silence.
Irvin rolled the cigarette between his fingers, blowing out grey smoke. "I heard from one of the guys you freaked out when Charlie got shot." He coughed, thumping his chest and continued. "What was that about?"
"It was the shock."
"Bullshit."
"What do you want me to say?"
"The truth. You see, I reckon it's got something to do with your old man. You know something about him that you're not telling me." He deliberated, changing as quickly as a flip of a coin, devil's tail shooting out of his ass. "Tell me and I'll start crying. Isn't that what you want me to do?"
It was a mean school ground bully taunt. I took a moment to figure out how I wanted to play this game. "Your grandma's dead and you're acting like you've lost your pet rock. Can you blame me for being worried?"
"I can always go outside and find another rock. It's not a big deal."
"But you can't go to some store and purchase another grandma," I stopped, realised how stupid the conversation was and made an irritated face, "what the hell are we talking about?"
He stared at me flatly. "Why won't you tell me what happened?"
I rubbed my eyes, drained of energy. "Fine. OK, this is going to sound fúcking weird. I used to have these weird dreams as a kid. Uh, I'd wake up in my bed and go running down the stairs, I don't know, but I was always excited for the postman and the dreams would always change when I open the front door: Sometimes I'd see my mother standing there or Seth in a Moses basket. Am I making sense?"
"Well...I expected weirder if I'm honest. Maybe you had a crush on your postman."
"No. No, I didn't-I'm not explaining well. Mum would have her neck severed, blood would be spitting out from her wound and she'd fall on top of me and I'd wake, the sheets drenched, screaming. Seth was a little baby in this lily white basket, curly hair and gurgling but when I'd reach to touch him, his eyeball would pop out of his socket and his eyes would be veiny, bleeding red and creepy big. It was absolutely terrifying. And then because I had a bed wetting problem almost every other night, Dad would make me take my sheets in the 4 a.m. cold and hand wash them in the back garden. I hated that. I fúcking hated it, I'd stand shivering in my knickers and he wouldn't let me back in until he was satisfied I cleaned the sheets well."
"That's-that's-your dad is a cúnt."
"Yeah, he is." I was sifting through memories, upset and angry. "The thing is he'd take the sheets from me and throw them in the washing machine afterwards. It was like sick night time entertainment for him. Anyway. I've been having these flashbacks all throughout today. And it makes no sense because I feel like I'd know if something like this happened in my childhood. I don't know if I'm making it up and filling in the blanks with a twisted story tale."
"Spill."
"I have this feeling. Déjà vu. When Charlie got shot, his blood was splattered all over my arms. And it's happened before, there was this woman and I know what she looks like, she's been screaming in my head all day. I sound fúcking mental but: The dreams made sense. I feel like I've lived through them before but forgot."
"Childhood trauma, repressing memories is a psychological defence mechanism. Dissociating disturbing memories from our consciousness-"
"Right, right," I hurried, if I stopped now I might swallow my tongue and never speak of it again, it was a burden, a secret I needed to tell. "I'm not too sure but I think it must've been my birthday. Maybe it was Christmas. Whatever it was, I was excited and I rushed to the front door. I was, what, nine, ten? Mum was killed when I was seven. I know why I was happy and it was because of her, because I was going to see her that I know for sure, so that doesn't make sense. Perhaps I was a suicidal kid and I woke up, intending to join her in heaven or wherever we go after death."
"Do you think whatever happened has anything to do with your mother's death? You saw something she did and she got killed later so you-"
"No," I cut across. "It was my house. This town. I don't remember much from living with Mum in the old house. I was running down the steps in my current house but I was a lot younger. And then there's this woman, I know what she looks like in my head. I don't know where she comes in but she's always there, screaming her head off, and bleeding."
Irvin snatched my hands, squeezing tightly. "Yo, maybe this is why you're always scratching your arms. I thought it was a nerves thing but maybe it's deeply rooted in your subconscious. And you're saying you were nine? What do kids believe at that age? Santa Claus, Fairy Godmother, Peter Pan. Kids write letters all the time. You could've been waiting for a letter from your Mum or writing one. I'm just filling in the cracks here, Shay, you don't need to give me that look. I'm assuming you stumbled across something you shouldn't have and I'm taking a guess it's tied in with your father."
I puffed out a breath. "It sounds insane."
"We should check it out."
"What?" Please don't say it.
"Your house. We'll go now."
I was saved from answering: Cole walked in the kitchen.
***
"Where's Daniel?" he didn't wait for an answer and walked back out of the room, and stomped up the stairs. Irvin and I exchanged looks: someone was pissed. We scrambled after him, pushing each other out of the way for the front row seat to the pissfest that was about to happen.
I wished I let Irvin go ahead of me: Ebony was giving Daniel head. He lay on the bed, completely zoned out, gormlessly gazing up at the ceiling with drooped eyes. He was naked and she only had her skirt on. Cole kicked the table and the radio smashed to the floor. "Get out." He ordered when the music shut off.
"You sound like a dog slobbering." Irvin said.
She wiped her mouth, glaring, "Who the f-"
Cole reached behind his back and pulled out a gun, firing. Everyone jumped, startled at the loud noise. Ebony screamed, curled up in ball, eyes screwed shut. "Those were blanks. You have ten seconds to leave before your luck runs out and I start shooting actual bullets."
She scrambled like a headless chicken, tucking her top under one arm, a shoe in a hand, phone in the other, and left. Ebony screeched FÚCK YOU and then the front door was smacked shut.
"You could've warned us," I fingered my ear, wiggling about. "I feel like I've gone deaf. My eardrums have exploded." My heart thrashed wildly in my chest, desperate for an escape.
"You'll live," Cole was checking up on Daniel, smacking his face. "Hey. Hey! This stupid bastard..." he swore again, angrily this time, and then pointed at Irvin. "Dress him and follow me downstairs afterwards."
Irvin looked at me, I shook my head quickly. "He's your best-friend."
He picked up a quilt and then laid it gently on him, skedaddling out of the room after me, and meeting me halfway down the stairs. He caught my arm. "We should go to your house."
I shrugged him off, "You should go see Cole." I don't know how long I was going to be able to evade him but I was going to take time and run with it.
***
I was waiting outside. The rain was coming down faster and harsher, cold pellets spitting against my skin and the wet rocky pavement. I was unsure of what Cole was talking to Irvin about but I hoped it was some sort of heart to heart. A bro-talk - as ridiculous as that sounds. Or whatever boys did. Cole was a caveman and Irvin refused to cry so I doubt it'd be much good but it'd be better than my attempts.
It was a short twenty minutes and Cole walked out of the house. I had been waiting in the Shogun but for the last couple of minutes paced the road, impatiently curious. "Cole!"
He waited, stopping by his car. I walked around and got in to the passenger seat. I didn't want to shout over the rain. "What is it?" he started up the car, putting the heat on high.
"What did you talk to Irvin about?"
"Business."
"What? I thought-but I told you about his grandma."
"I'm not his guidance councillor." Cole made an irritated noise. "He didn't want to say shit about it. I wasn't going to beg him to tell me. Is there anything else you want?"
I don't know why but I fixed my gaze on his sodden jeaned knee. "Uh...yeah. I need money." OK, I knew why, it was because I was embarrassed.
He sounded amused. "Alright."
"Are you going to make me beg? I feel like you are."
"No. I'll make you work for it," I took a chance and glanced at him, he was smiling roguishly, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. "Here."
"I don't want to owe you."
"Take it. I'll collect later."
"Am I going to be the next Jess?"
"No," he closed his hand over mine, forcing me to accept the notes when I refused to, and lowered his voice slightly. "You'll be different."
"What does that mean?" I faltered, leaning back into the seat. "That sounds creepy. You're being creepy-"
He leaned across and opened the passenger door. "I have somewhere to be."
"I'm not going to give you a blowjob or have sex with you. Don't get your hopes up."
He snorted in disbelief, "Like hell. I have a hard time keeping you at bay. I'm not about to indulge in your sick fantasies."
"We'll see about that." I stilled immediately, regretting breathing, mortified. Before he could respond, and judging from his stunned look, he had a few choice words, I jumped out into the rain.
Fúck me and my big mouth.
***
It was 2 a.m., pitch black, piss-wet, and Irvin still had a grudge against me. "You owe me this." He was milking the cow: And making me pay. I should invest in a zipper for my mouth because it got me into really shitty situations. I returned to the house to find Irvin ticked off and demanding why I told Cole about his grandma. He 'trusted' me and I was being a 'shitty' friend to him, especially considering his situation.
I think my curiosity played a part in our plan. I couldn't entirely blame Irvin if this thing went lopsided. The gate was silent as we passed through. The overgrown front garden tickled our shoes, drooping flowers, flatten grass blades, slick red bricks. Irvin was ahead of me, through the front door, his first time in my house. We were like burglars, I was a tad reluctant. I felt like we were doing something wrong. On edge, I couldn't relax, feeling like Dad will pop out from the murky shadows any second now, pointing at us like we were thieves.
"Where do we look?" I asked.
"Where do you hide a body?" Irvin was enjoying himself.
"Come on, Detective. I thought you said you were going to be serious."
"Stop acting so spooked." He jostled me, resting his shovel against the wall, pulling on gardening gloves. "If you're so scared I can do it myself. But don't you want to find out if there's any truth to your flashbacks?"
"Half an hour." I bargained, desperate to know the truth but also feeling ridiculous, we were acting like we've watched one too many crime shows. There was no proof that anyone had ever died in my house even if it was by natural causes. But the woman in my dreams cursed me, and while I didn't believe in ghost, it felt like she was here, expectant, waiting, hopeful. The air was thrumming with excitement.
"We'll see how big the garden is first." Irvin was walking in the living room, turning on his head torch, and he asked me to place the flashlight on the windowsill to shine out on to the back garden. "I bet he's killed before. It's the only logical explanation to what happened to you yesterday."
"It could be I have an overactive imagination..."
He gave me a flat look and I grimaced: I didn't believe it myself. The memory was vivid, clear and colourful, movingly powerful. The feeling of déjà vu had not left me since Charlie's blood was on me. I was lured on by the anticipation of the scene and eagerness of Irvin (who acted like we were on some sort of twisted adventure) and at the same time, afraid. My stomach hurt. Ached. I was fúcking terrified.
The soil was soft and damp which I was thankful for. Rain drilled down onto our backs and necks. I dug the shovel into the ground, pressing down onto the blade, scooping and throwing over my shoulder. It was a matter of minutes before I was drenched in dirty, sticky sweat. The air was thick with the smell of mud.
I was murmuring quietly. "Please, please, please..." begging the heavens I'd find nothing. I'd snap my own neck and bury myself if I found anything but nature. I might just lose my mind if my worst fears became true. Ten minutes passed. My head was going into overdrive: I had no idea what to expect, my shovel to hit against a wooden coffin?
Twenty minutes passed. Irvin threw dirt my way unknowingly. Slowly I was beginning to realise how ridiculous this was. Yet I didn't stop.
Twenty seven minutes later and Irvin rested, leaning against the shovel, breathing hard. "Christ. This is taking too much effort. I'm kinda regretting it."
"We're digging into the centre of the Earth until we find a body."
Irvin paused. "Have you ever taken a science class?"
I threw down my shovel. "This is fúcking stupid-"
White light blinded us. Glass broke. Confused yells. And then: "POLICE! GET ON THE GROUND! GET ON THE GROUND!"
CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN. Please be civil in the comment section.