SO COLD
"Yolande..." Irvin said carefully, inclining away from her, feet firm on the ground, at an awkward slant. His disposition was calm, a soothing tone, like a teacher talking to a child on the verge of a tantrum. He held his hand out to her not as a demand but as a white flag. "Where is the gun?"
In the dim light with darkening evening skies behind her, she wasn't the wide-eyed, browned skin beauty I once thought she was. Now her cheeks were hallowed out, the shadows accentuating the sharp bone structure, her skin seemingly clinging to her skeleton. Her eyes seemed too large for her face, the gleam unnatural as her gaze darted to him and back to me. She was instability on high-heels. "I thought about it. I really did and it makes sense for us all to go together. The longer we wait here, the more we'll make Bryson wait. So, Shay can drive. Irvin can sit in the passenger seat. And I will direct us on where to go." She paused briefly. "Ivy's not expecting visitors. She'll probably throw a hissy fit. You know what she's like. Cuckoo-crazy." Her laughter was sad and rang out for a long drawn out moment until she closed her mouth, straightened her shoulders and looked at Irvin. "What?" She was defensive like we were bullies silently scorning her.
Well-intentioned, he regarded her with sympathy that could've been mistaken for pity. "He's dead. He died at the start of the year. It's the beginning of December. I can take you to see his grave if you want to but you need to understand that he's dead."
His reaffirmation rubbed her the wrong way. Her forehead creased. "You're wrong. Tell him, Shay. Tell him."
"Pass me the gun." I said, hand outstretched. "We'll go see him and prove Irvin wrong. Just...pass me the gun." My patience for her was a dry well.
She jerked back when Irvin darted forward. "STOP!" She was discomposed, her hair falling in front of her eyes. She pushed it back, holding the gun at Irvin, her expression angry, shoulders shaking with nerves. Her voice was hurt. "Why would you do that?!" Her voice echoed in the empty parking lot.
"Before you hurt yourself–" Irvin tried, never breaking eye contact, trying to tame a frightened wild cat.
"Hurt myself?! I have taken care of myself all my life." Her voice trembled slightly. "Why would you do that? We've been friends for years, Irvin. I would never hurt you. Or you, Shay." The gun swivelled to face me. "Get in the car." She was quiet. She gestured with the gun. "Now."
Irvin didn't move. His stance was predatory and it would only take a single gunshot, the wrong moment, a misjudgement of character for him to be gurgling blood on the ground with soon-to-be lifeless eyes.
"Irvin. C'mon." I insisted and unlocked the doors, walking to the driver's seat, and meeting his gaze mid-stride. "We're going to see Bryson."
It was a tense moment of waiting. The car door was yanked open and he hoisted himself inside, slamming the door shut. "She's fucking insane. Run her over. Repeatedly." He lost all manner of kindness, now harsh-featured and ill-tempered.
"That's Cole's gun. His prints. His bullets." I shoved the key in the ignition, the Shogun rumbled to life, the radio began playing an RnB song from the 90's, and heat was pushed out of the vents in wafts. "This is my mistake. I was inattentive. I'm sorry." I had been preoccupied with Yolande's tales of God and her reunions with a dead classmate. It was reckless. I knew from confessions and gossip late at night that she had been estranged from her parents, flitting from ex-boyfriend's to friends to drug dealer's'. Signs of psychosis had been obscured by intoxication and rolled joints. I would never have suspected that trauma would revealed her mental illness. She was emotionally unstable and whilst parts of her were familiar, there was still uncertainty and unease heavy in the air.
"It's fine – well, it's not, but we'll figure it out," Irvin said, failing to be reassuring, heavy brows lowered. He combed through his hair with his hands as he glanced behind at Yolande seating herself behind me. "So, where to, princess? You sure you don't want to take an Uber? I can pay for the fare."
"Out of here, go left towards the roundabout, and take the third exit," Yolande shuffled about in the backseat, getting comfortable. "This reminds me of old times. We had great fun together, didn't we?"
"Yeah, and we're about to make a whole lot more incredible memories," Irvin said sourly. "I'm giddy with excitement."
She frowned at him. "We need to do this together."
"I quit the suicidal emo act a year ago. Sorry to ruin the dinner party but I've lost my appetite for bleach."
The joke fell flat.
I rolled down my window as I stalled by the ticket machine, feeding a scrap of paper into the slit. The machine displayed the date and time the ticket was purchased and returned. I paid the fare and rolled my window up as the barriers rose upwards. Rain splattered on the windscreen as I drove out of the exit of the car park, and signalled left, allowing a driver to pass. I followed soon after, keeping distance from the driver's tail lights, along a short street leading to the roundabout, leaving behind commercial buildings and the shopping centre. Taking the third exit, I came across another roundabout soon after. "Which exit?" I slowed down slightly in case I needed to change lanes, meeting Yolande's gaze through the rear-view mirror.
She hummed slightly, leaning forward between the seats, gaze sweeping across the wet roads. "Second."
"You sure?"
"Was that a guess or...? That'll take us on the motorway." Irvin said. "What's the address? I'll put it in Google maps."
"I know where it is," Yolande said in irritation.
Irvin and I shared a look. I stuck to the same lane, following her instructions. The radio changed to a song by Tamar Braxton. I made a noise of irritation. "I love this song. I don't want to associate bad memories to it. Change it."
"Is that really your concern right now?" Nevertheless, Irvin switched the radio off.
"Of course. It's not like we're in a life or death situation right now." I shot back at him. I reached for the aux cord, tossing it in his direction. "Plug it into your phone. Choose whatever."
"So we can ruin a favourite of mine?" He unlocked his phone, scrolling through the top of the UK charts on Spotify. "How about Nicki Minaj? She's trash."
"I love her."
"No-one asked for your opinion, Yolande."
"Why are you being so rude to me, Irvin?"
"Sorry. I'll remember my manners the next time you point a gun at me."
"I'm telling you, this is all part of God's plan. You need to listen to Him. He's with us right now and he's happy with us. This is his command."
"God really appointed you as a prophet to orchestrate a mass murder-suicide, huh? He really is like they say in the books."
"Can we save this religious talk for another day? It's giving me a migraine." I hunched forward in my seat, fingers stiff and tight on the wheel, peering as the windscreen wipers swished back and forth. The weather was worsening and I didn't want to be stuck on the motorway in the midst of it. I eased up on the accelerator, noticing a van attempting to overtake and leaving room for it to do so. "If I continue straight, we'll be on the M11 and the nearest U-turn ramp is more than a mile away. I'm not driving us out of town. I need you to be straight with us, Yolande. What's the address?"
"There's an exit in half a mile, keep to the left, we're about ten minutes away – if you hurry," she leaned back, heaving a sigh like she was tired. "There's be a petrol station and then it's a straight road and the second right you see."
She was right. Following the instructions, I saw the yellow sign and red pricing digits of a petrol station soon enough. Irvin pointed out a McDonald's. "Mind if we stop by for a milkshake?"
"Suck on your thumb."
He threw me a dirty look. "It would've taken you ten minutes out of your time..."
"Maybe another day when I don't have a gun pressed against the back of my seat." I smiled humourlessly at him, my mouth soon downturned.
The road stretched out ahead of me. It was awfully long. The further along we went, the shabbier and run-down the houses became. Poverty thrived in the squalors and alleyways where sleeping bags were side-by-side. The street was loud with drunken men and barking dogs in chains. "There's no way in hell I'm leaving my child here."
"Blink and the tires, the radio, and the seats will be gone," Irvin straightened up in his seat, shoulders stiff. "Is this where he lives?"
"With Ivy," Yolande nodded, tense and on edge, she gestured with the gun. "Here. Turn right here."
The street was quieter. Desolate. The flats were grim, dilapidated and shabby. I parked at the dead-end, rotating the steering wheel to face the Shogun towards the mouth of the street. The engine died, the radio following. Silence settled.
Irvin pressed down on the release button for his seatbelt. "Well," he opened his car door and looked out onto the street, inhaling deeply. "It smells of shit. What the – you parked in shit. You had one job, Shay. One fucking job." He jumped out, retching at the sight.
"Please tell me you're lying," I leaned across, in despair. "Did I really?"
"Get out."
"I can't leave my–"
She jammed the gun in my face. "Get out."
"OK. Damn," I slipped out, hurrying to Irvin's side to inspect the damage. "Oh, my fucking God. That's not dog shit."
Standing next to me, Irvin stared at the defecated mess. "Huh."
"Don't."
"Someone–"
"Irvin, I promise you, if you don't shut the fuck up I will beg Yolande to shoot you in the head."
"Someone really squatted down and smeared diarrhoea all across the wall. It's so runny and lumpy." He said in amazement. "And ...yellow."
"I really didn't ask for a detailed description."
He shrugged slightly. "I was being helpful."
I glanced up. The back door had been left open. Yolande was hurrying across the street, a handful doors down, disappearing into an open green door with the paint peeling. The flat didn't look inviting in the slightest. "She just used us as if we're a taxi service."
"I'm not going to file a complaint. We should leave, now's our chance." He grabbed my forearm.
"Without Cole's gun?" I asked him as if he was insane, digging my feet in. "He's not going to jail over my mistake."
"Date James. He can act like your dad. Or any of the other men to pacify your abandonment issues."
"Sometimes you go too far." I said in animosity, skin aflame with irritation. "You can leave. Take a taxi back. Or jog the fuck away. I don't care."
"It was a joke," Irvin complained, quick to follow in my shadow. His footsteps were heavy on the pavement. It wasn't too long before he paused a few feet away from the flat, scratching the back of his neck, contemplating his loyalty to me and the extent of his curiosity. "It smells of cat piss. I'm going to upchuck the burrito I ate. It's coming up in chunks."
"For God sake, man up."
The place was dingy with a low ceiling. The smell of damp and weed was evident in the narrow hallway. Black patches of mold had gathered in the corners and the wall was covered in green mold. Mildew spread on the edges of the cheap floorboard. It was infested with bacteria and cockroaches. Something ran over my foot and I shuddered, jerking back, hands tightening into fists, holding in a squeal.
"It's only a rat," Irvin pushed past me, a derisive tilt to his mouth. "Man up."
"Go to hell." Teeth clenched, I cringed at the thought of a fat rat scurrying across my skin, hurrying forward so I wasn't left behind with Splinter's forgotten cousin. There was a single doorway leading into a large open space. Kitchen appliances had been stolen from sockets. There was a single mattress and sunken in sofa. By the sofa on the floor were half eaten boxes of cereal, an almost empty packet of plain crackers and a large bottle of water. The window was boarded up. It was hard to see in the obscurity of the room. What wasn't difficult to pick up in the room was the lump on the sofa. It was distinguishable.
The air in the room felt grimy, like it was a layer of filth clinging to my skin. "What is that smell?" I pulled the front of my sweatshirt up over my nose, unable to place the rancid scent. It was stomach-churning.
Grey smoke spilled out of Yolande's mouth. The lighter fell out of her hand as she fell back against the springy mattress, in ecstasy with whatever she had just rolled up. The mattress was stained brown. It looked like old blood that had sunk into the material, embedded deep. She clasped the semiautomatic tightly in her hand.
"Something ...rotted," Irvin flared his nostrils, nauseated. His gaze never wavered from the lump under the covers on the sofa.
"Not rotted." I said. "Something rotting. Or someone."
"Get up, Yolande, get up!" Irvin strode over to where she was sprawled, aggressively kicking the side of the mattress. It squelched. He looked down in aversion at his footwear and swore under his breath. He yanked Yolande up by her armpits, fingers digging into her skin painfully. "Who the fuck is that?"
She blinked at him, following his line of direction and her eyes rolled back into her head.
"This isn't good," I held my phone up in the air, trying to find a signal. My stomach churned with fluttering wasps, all antsy for escape. I slid up the menu, accessing the torch app and tapping it to shine some light around the room. My skin crawled at the sight of insects slithering and sliding on top of the covers. Fat cockroaches scuttled and beetles skittled, click clacking, across the floor. Spiders draped long webs across the ceiling, dangling low. Flies caught in the webs. Moths fluttered towards me and I waved my hand, wafting them away. The room needed to be set on fire. There was no saving it.
I headed forth, stopping just short by the sofa and looked at Irvin. "Why haven't we left yet?"
His gaze flickered to the gun.
I reached a hand out to grasp the sheets. My fingers curled up at the thought of touching it. "I can't," I shook my head, darting away. "I need something to touch it."
"We know what it is."
"But we need to be certain."
"Why?"
"She was your ex-girlfriend. Our classmate."
"Who treated you like shit. She was a bully and a bitch. It's not like we can prepare a funeral for her anyway. She's dead. Your fingerprints will be on–"
I screamed. Irvin yelled, jerking backwards as the covers shifted. Somehow, I found myself in the hallway again, wide-eyed, chest heaving up and down. "OK, we need to go, now!"
"You don't need to be scared." Yolande furrowed her brow, blowing smoke upwards into her face which seemed to hang there, she leaned forward, rubbing her shoulder with her left hand from where Irvin had left imprints. "It's only Ivy and Bryson. We're all together again. Isn't that amazing?"
"Oh my god. Oh my god." I spun around on my heel, trying my hardest to hold down my dinner. I clasped a hand on my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut to rid myself of the image. "It was a rat. Did you see it? Why was it so big?" A shudder ran up my spine.
"Why are you afraid?" Yolande stood up on shaky knees, walking to the sofa. "Say hi." She tore back the sheets. I shot out of the flat, in desperate need of some fresh air. Irvin swore repeatedly, cursing the heavens. I could hear his voice from outside, ringing in my ear. I pressed my thumb and forefinger against my eyelids, pressing harshly as if that would dispel the sight of the rotting carcass with the bloated stomach, the yellowed tinted and floppy skin hanging off the framework, the missing chunks of hair from her scalp. But most of all, the half-naked parted legs, in position to deliver, a gaping blur of blackness.
Bile slithered up my throat, determined to empty out my stomach. Rain splattered down on my face, harsh and heavy. I wiped my face roughly, staring at the Shogun at the end of the street, wondering if I could take Irvin and step on the gas and never return, to leave this place as nothing but a horrific nightmare. How had the evening turn out to be so gruesome?
My phone vibrated. I glanced at it, wiping the rain from my eyes. It had two bars. Signal. Finally. There was a missed call from Cole followed by a text message.
Where are you?
I had to return for the wretched gun.
Irvin stood at the entrance of the room. I slowed to a stop beside him, glancing in, unwilling to look anywhere near the sofa. Yolande was back to the mattress, gun in hand, smoking. "Join me, Irvin. It'll be like old times. We can all drink and get drunk and celebrate. It's what Bryson wants. Don't stare at me like that, Irvin. Don't act like you're too good for me now. You were all over me earlier. Shay. Tell him, Shay. I know you're like me, Shay. You understand, don't you? I didn't think it was possible either. But it is. It's happened. God has gifted us all. Shay?"
"You're right," I slipped past Irvin, eyes firmly fixed on her. I crouched beside her, the stench of blood wafting up towards me. My gaze dropped to the mattress. I had a sudden flashing image of Ivy screaming for help, face flushed, legs parted, and Yolande urging her to push harder, hands bloody as she shoved her fingers inside of her, gripping and tearing, stealing the stillborn from her, umbilical cord cut by a jagged knife as Ivy sobbed, her wail stilling the heavens momentarily. I shook my head slightly, meeting Yolande's curious gaze once more, trying to smile. "We should celebrate. It'll be like we're in college again. Have you got any drinks?"
She fumbled to the food area, pulling out a bottle of half-empty cheap whisky from a plastic bag. As she did so, she knocked over a box of cereal, Rice Krispies scattered out across the rotted floorboard. "Just you and me," her lips were wet as she unscrewed the bottle, tilting it to her mouth. She swallowed loudly, pushing the bottle in my hands.
I looked at the rim. My jaw tensed. I raised the bottle to my mouth, tongue pressing against the opening so not as to get a drop in my mouth, and exaggerated swallowing. I encouraged Yolande to drink more. It wasn't long until she loosened up and she drank freely. And it wasn't long until I could no longer look her in the eye, too ashamed. She was so desperate for that momentarily happiness she had found in college, so needy for the friends who had left. Her eyes were pools of anguish and as the last drop hit her tongue, her eyes burned red. I took the gun from her. She didn't put up a fight. It slipped from her hold.
I held it out for Irvin to take it. I pulled my sweatshirt up over my head, pulling the sleeves from my arms slowly.
"I'm glad you're my friend, I'm glad I met you and Bryson and Irvin," Yolande grasped my hands in hers, intoxicated and crying. "I never had anyone before I came to college. My parents didn't want me. I had no-one. We've had so much fun, haven't we, Shay? I close my eyes and it feels like I'm back there again and no-one is hurt. We're all happy. Everything is OK. Bryson is OK. We're – Bryson." Her eyes flew open, fear expressed on her face. She scrabbled to stand. She pleaded with me, begging with me to check on Bryson, that Bryson was no longer breathing as I held her down, pressing the sweatshirt against her mouth and nose forcefully. She struggled, thrashing, her screams muffled. My teeth clenched together, turning away from her wide brown eyes, fixed on the back of the sofa.
It was a long while before her struggles ceased.
Irvin's hands were painful on my forearms as he hoisted me up. It felt like he was bruising my skin. "It's done," he murmured, voice low. I wept.
***
The drive home was silent. Irvin was behind the wheel. When he parked near the front door at the top of the driveway, I slipped out of the Shogun. My gaze rested on the vehicles in front of the house. Cole's men were here. I wasn't in the mood for a nightcap and entertaining guests. "Come in," I turned back slightly at Irvin who lingered.
He hesitated, keys clutched in his hands. "I'm not welcomed."
"I'm inviting you in," I said and left the front door open.
Svetlana was walking out of the kitchen, her forehead creased as she took in our appearances. "What the hell happened to you guys?"
The door to the living room opened and loud voices spilled out. Cole had a half-drunk bourbon glass in his hand, mouth tilted upwards at something someone had said. His expression froze as his gaze met mine. Simultaneously, I watched his gaze raise as the hairs on the back of my neck stood. Chills skittered up my spine. I spun, semiautomatic in my hand, guns cocking behind me, all aimed at the stranger with his gun pointed at the back of Irvin's head.
***
im tryna get my readers for this story badck. it took me over seven hours to write this mf long ass chapter. if there are mistakes just gloss over them pretend theyre not there