Chapter 6 (Roger)

I decide to stop for something to eat at a little roadside diner on my second morning straight of driving. I have a few dollars left over from my short-lived job at the gas station. Enough to get something cheap.

The whole place smells like bad coffee and soggy biscuits.

I sit down at the counter next to two men who look like they must be regulars. Greasy hair, shirts in shreds, bellies hanging over ancient-looking belts.

A waitress behind the counter smiles at me as she pulls a pan of biscuits out of the oven. They haven't risen properly. Her shirt is so low-cut that when she leans over, I can see everything.

Suddenly I'm not very hungry anymore, but I don't have the heart to leave.

"So," says one of the men beside me to his companion. "You hear about Vick?"

The other man grunts.

"What about him?"

"He got arrested."

The other man chuckles. It's not a nice sound.

"Again?" says the second man. "What the hell for?"

"Went around the neighborhood and stole all the baby Jesuses out of the nativity scenes."

The second man laughs even harder than that, spewing bits of hash browns all over the counter.

"Is that a word?" says the second man, after he's recovered from his sudden bout of laughter. "Jesuses?"

"Well what the hell else would it be?" snaps the first man. "Jesi?"

"I think it's Jesu," says the second man. "You know like the song?"

"God, you're so…superfluous sometimes!" says the first man.

The second man laughs again, coughing this time.

"I don't think that's the right word."

"Fuck you!"

I turn away from them and try to catch the waitress's attention. She comes over readily and grins at me, leaning forward almost intentionally so I can see down her shirt.

"What can I get you this morning?" she asks, too sweetly.

"Uh…you got anything for a couple of dollars?" I ask, suddenly realizing how ridiculous I sound.

She laughs, then smiles sympathetically at me.

"Not really…but I could give you some day-old biscuits."

I shrug. It doesn't really matter to me anymore.

A moment later she comes back with a plate bearing two of the saddest looking biscuits I've ever seen. I eat them quickly, trying not to taste. Not that there's much there to taste anyway.

"How much?" I ask the waitress, who's still staring at me.

She waves me away.

"Oh, keep it, keep it if it's all you've got."

She looks as though she's about to say something else, but just then the door opens, letting in a blast of frigid air. I turn and look instinctively.

A girl with dark curly hair and the rattiest looking coat I've ever seen stands there in the doorway, shivering. For a moment, my heart speeds up.

I turn and run out the door.

(Mimi)

Sometimes at night I wonder if I'm insane.

I lie awake and look at all the colored lights and everything just seems so…pointless.

I watch the people hurrying home from parties, or from delayed Christmas shopping, thick coats and huge bags in their arms.

Arguing. All of them. Arguing. Pushing. Shoving. Clawing at each other. Survival of the fittest.

Sometimes I don't even want to live anymore. But I'm too afraid to die.

Afraid of going on, afraid of giving up.

Every day is another 24 hours, 1,440 minutes, 86,400 seconds.

Sometimes at night I think I can hear a clock ticking. And then I wonder if this is all real, or if it's some bizarre dream I'm having. Or if it's someone else's bizarre dream. And I start wondering if I even exist at all, or if I'm maybe already dead. And if it matters.

And then The Man comes.

And I can't bear to think anymore.

(Roger)

It's dark when I make it back to the loft. All the lights are off in the building, and for a moment I'm afraid to go up. But I can't wait any longer. I get to the door and it's locked; I fumble for my key, can't find it. I knock, harder and harder as the seconds go by.

At last, Mark opens the door. He's so pale it's frightening.

"Roger!" Mark gasps.

He pulls me inside, closes the door, and double locks it.

"Mark," I gasp, "Mark, where—"

"Gone," says Mark, as though reading my mind. "She's gone."

"What?"

I grab him by the shoulders. I have to know.

"She—I got mad and she—"

"What, Mark!" I shout. "Tell me!"

Suddenly it's too hot. Much too hot. I feel like my head's going to explode.

"She left…ran away…I haven't…I haven't seen her in two weeks!"

Mark pulls away and takes a step back, looking at me like he thinks I'm going to hurt him.

Maybe I was, I realize, and hate myself for it.

"So…so then…we have to find her."

I turn and start for the door again, but Mark jumps in my way.

"Roger, my God! Stop for a minute."

He takes a deep breath, grabs me by the arm, and drags me over to the couch, forcing me to sit down.

"Where have you been?"

"It doesn't matter," I mutter, getting up again. "It's snowing. We have to find her. It's too cold out there."

"Roger!" Mark jumps in my path again. "You look like hell. You need to just get better. We've looked already. We've done all we can."

"Then I'll do better!"

I push him aside and run out the door.

Review please! Guess what's next, guys…