On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2
Chapter 39
The tiny brown mouse ran in circles around the piece of bread, around and around, scared to death of it. It sniffed at the treat, then hopped away, running circles again … even more manically. The concept of the bread and the threat of it made the creature nuts. Jed laughed in a gentle way, saying, "It's bread, you idiot. B-r-e-a-d. Bread. Eat the fuckin' thing. Come on."
"Give it up. If it had any guts, it wouldn't BE a mouse, it'd be a rat … a fat rat … with lots of wives and lots of babies all over … infesting an entire apartment building… yeah, and there'd be-"
"No more stories, okay?" Jedediah snapped, reaching across the table to grab up another slice of bread. He slathered some butter on it. Popped the thing into his mouth and ate it like he hadn't eaten in days. Phillip handed Jed a bottle of jam. Jed eyed him suspiciously, then took the jam … put it on more bread. Took an apple from his captor who'd been twirling it by its long stem. Chugged down a glass of milk, then sat back munching on the apple, carefully, slowly.
"Feel better now?" Phillip studied Jed, stared at him.
"Guess so." The mouse ran finally and Jed sighed, immediately returning to his watch over Phillip. "So what's with the good will?"
Phillip didn't answer, getting up instead to go work on the computer. Odd. The whole thing was … odd. Jed attempted to leave the table, but returned to his seat when he heard the cocking of Phillip's revolver. When he saw the black thing pointed at him.
"Stay put, boy." The taps of the keyboard picked up again, the gun comfortably at Phillip's side. Shoved under his thigh. Jed had hopes the gun would go off and blow off his balls. That would hold him down for a while. He folded his arms and lay his head on them. Wondered about his little mousy friend… wondered if he'd be coming back.
Jed had been left alone the entire night, handcuffed to some errant pipe along the wall, stuck, stuck, stuck. He'd cried some, feeling stupid. Hopeless. Mad. And he had to piss like a racehorse. Just as he was about to let go and mess himself, he had heard some shuffling around in a back room. And in minutes he found himself staring eye to eye at some ragamuffin kid with the lightest blue eyes and dirty blond hair sticking up all over the place. It was the boy whom Jed thought had … died. Yeah, he was fucked-up something good, black and blue on the parts that were visible but very much alive. The boy sort of poked at Jed, poked a finger at his chest.
"You his new one?" the kid asked.
Jed said, "No. He kidnapped me, the fucker."
"Hm."
"Who are you?"
"Name's Hoyt. You?"
"Jed."
"Hm." The boy ran his eyes all over Jed, Jed thinking incredulously that this kid was … jealous. "What happened to your hair?"
"Can you … undo these cuffs, man?"
"I don't know. What's up with all that green shit? You a punker or something?"
"'Punker'?"
"Yeah … into punk rock, you know." He wagged his hands above his head, miming a Mohawk cut.
Jed didn't feel like getting into this … now. "Can you undo the cuffs, man? I have to fucking pee. Bad. Please?"
"I don't know."
"Why the hell not? SHIT!"
"He'll kill me and you. You want that?"
"Well, he's not here now, is he?"
"No."
"Then fucking undo these!"
"Fine … whatever."
And so the boy undid the cuffs and Jed peed in the bathroom and was MUCH happier.
Then … all hell broke loose.
Jed hit the floor running and the boy fought him, dragged him down, and Jed couldn't believe the strength of the kid. Of course, he wasn't a 'kid' exactly, did end being seventeen or so, he just looked and acted young. Younger. Whatever. Jed's desperate effort to escape and Hoyt's effort to stop Jed got interrupted by a very drunk and a very angry Phillip Manning. Cursed them both out. Made sure Jed understood that he wasn't to cross him again by hitting him hard across the face. Jed got put back into the cuffs. The kid … Jed didn't know what happened to him. But he figured the kid was okay … he hoped. Mostly. He was pretty fucking useless.
Phillip nudged Jed, who popped up his head. "What?"
"Talk to me," he grumbled, sitting across from him.
"About what?"
"Anything you want."
Jed took a second or two. really needing to gather up some courage. Figure out a strategy. He had to buy time. Nothing came to him.
"Did you see … uh … Todd? You know, last night? You said he was out. Out of the hospital."
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"Usual places. I watched him a while. He hung out with this friend. A whore I know. They kicked it at some diner … hung out a while in the cold then when it got late - saw him leave with her. I split."
"You didn't talk to him?"
"Nope. Not time yet. He's not in that place … that place I like him to be."
Jedediah suddenly got shaky … nerves he figured. "What place is that?"
"You like to smoke Jeddy?"
"Smoke?"
"Yeah … pot, merry-joo-wana?"
"I don't know, no." He got more nervous, he couldn't afford to lose control of himself or get lazy … or lose any sense of awareness. "No," he said again.
Phillip shuffled amongst some stuff at the end of the table, pulling out a plastic bag of weed… pulled out a short silver pipe. Prepped it … and handed it to Jed.
"Smoke it."
"No … really, I don't want to do that shit."
"Smoke … it."
Jedediah shook his head and felt like he was going to cry … "I can't," he said.
"Maybe this'll help you." Phillip dragged out the revolver, cocked it, and put it to Jed's temple. "Smoke it."
"Okay," he whispered. He picked up the pipe, looked at Phillip's clamped mouth, and put it to his mouth … watched Phillip light the lighter. Shakily, Jedediah took a few hits … letting out the smoke …
"Oh come on, you can do better than that." Phillip lit up again … and Jed took a couple more hits, holding it in better. Phillip made him do more … and Jed realized right quick that there was much more than pot in there.
Phillip chuckled, "Yeah … that's good."
"Shhhhitttttt…" Jed eased back and watched Phillip saunter away … and soon heard the tap, tap, tapping of keys at the computer keyboard. He watched the tapping … watched the keys fly upwards into the air, the 'A,' the 'Q,' the 'Z'. The 'Z,' it was independent from the rest … it made off and zipped and zinged all over the room and came buzzing right in front of Jed's face. He reached for it and laughed lightly at its getting away from him.
"Z," Jed murmured, "is for Z … Zebra … for 'zzzzzzylaphone' … for … 'zzzinger.' Zing … zzzzzzing.'" He got stuck a while … zzzzoned out. Skated into a blackish place of non-feeling. Felt some kissing on him … some touching on him … but it didn't affect him much because he wasn't sure what anything was, where it all fit. See, that was the thing. Nothing fit right. His head seemed sort of under the table … and his feet … they seemed glued to the ceiling and his stomach well … that was somewhere in China … yeah, China … way far away … and who did his stomach see and embrace?
Summer … oh man, there you are!
"I love you, Summer," Jed sighed … sure those were her lips he felt somewhere about his belly-button. Sure … those were her hands he felt near his esophagus. Sure those were her hands pulling off his jeans and caressing him. He kissed those soft hands … he loved them. She was beautiful … she was somethin' worth crying over. She made him feel so good. Jesus, god, those hands felt good. Yeah, China had his stomach, his backside, his calves … but damn it, the ceiling had his fucking feet.
Zzzzzzing …
Chills stirred Todd from a heavy sleep and abdominal cramps shot him out of bed. The methadone had worn off and he was hurting big time. He walked the edges of the small place, trying not to think about solutions or Jed or anything, trying not to concentrate on how his body felt, how it was beginning to turn in on itself …
Brandy's apartment hadn't changed one bit, 'course not. She had the intricate spidery lace up again and had decorated the place with familiar-looking pretty things— a crystal angel, a botanical print in a wood frame, some porcelain child-figurines in various poses. He knocked a row of them over, one by one, watching them fall on their sides. How their faces looked skyward, looking at heaven, how one of them looked like Brandy. Todd quickly realized why they seemed familiar to him: Brandy either stole them from Viki or Viki had given them to her.
Distraction didn't work for long.
He stumbled into the bathroom and vomited the small amount of stuff in his stomach and a whole lot of bile. Looked into the mirror when he was done … and knew he was in serious trouble. Brandy stood in the doorway, "What you gonna do, baby?"
"I don't know. Maybe I better get some methadone … this is … not good."
"What they tell you?"
"I have to go in … but I made a mistake …"
"What mistake?"
"Shouldn't have bought that shit from Toby 'cause if I go to the clinic now and someone sees me… it isn't gonna look right. I wasn't thinking. I can't be doing both, yeah? All I thought was … gotta make it look good, gotta be who I was, you know?"
"Maybe you can get your Dr. Superman to meet you somewhere? You wanna call him? How about your Téa?"
He glanced at her a second, Téa's name felt like a knife in his gut.
Don't look, Delgado.
Todd shivered, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve. It had been a long night. He stayed with Brandy until she finished enough work to make a show of their return to their 'regular life.' He stood nearby, far enough not to hear her or see her but close enough to run to her if she screamed. For some reason, he grew afraid of that. Every john that went up to her, Todd thought of as the "enemy," more than before. He didn't know what changed. Maybe it was being off dope. All he knew was that being out there, straight, well, he had different feelings. And it was all bad.
He'd looked for Phillip in every face and made himself visible. Brandy tracked down Grayson … or rather, he tracked her down once she asked a few people after him. Nothing turned up … which made Todd madder than hell and scared him, too. He couldn't leave Sixteenth Street, he hoped for some clue about Jed … but the temperature had dropped fast.
Around two-thirty in the morning, an undercover cop in bum-clothes shuffled past him and Brandy … telling them to go on home. Telling Todd that Jedediah wasn't going to be turning up this way. That he'd do his kid no good if he died of exposure. Todd went with Brandy at that point. Cried like a baby once at her place … broken, really.
Sick … sick.
He sat on the couch again and Brandy got on her knees on the floor. Looked up at him. "You want me to love you, baby?" she asked, putting her hands on his legs. She started undoing his buttons … "It'll feel better, I promise you. Least for a little bit. Makes the dope-sick … go away for just a little bit."
He put a hands into her hair, holding the locks gently. "I don't know, Brandy … that lasts like what, five seconds, and then I'm sick again …"
"It's okay … then I'll do it again. You know this ain't nothing' to me."
"No … I can't …"
"Why not? You rather shoot up some dope? You jus' gonna be sick 'till we can figure something out."
He shrugged, feeling powerless, feeling swept along a wild river out of control, looking for Jedediah on the sides. What if he saw him? Would he be able to get out of the current? Or would he grab at Jed … get him in his arms, then drown with him, both getting pulled under the water?
He groaned as Brandy began to do her business … as she began to work at making him feel better … using her mouth and her hand to make it all just a little bit better … his mind drifting at that, drifting away from the immediacy of being sick … trying not to remember the last time someone had their mouth on him …
"How's that?" Téa's voice had an impatient edge to it because this was the second breakfast she tried on him from the hospital cafeteria.
"I can't stand eggs cooked that way," he grumbled, shoving the rolling table away. The cop peeked into the room and Todd flipped him off when the guy left.
"Idiot. Why does he look in here every time I say something?"
"Because you have that nasty tone … it carries."
He chuckled, "I guess so."
Téa folded her arms across her chest, "So what will it be, Grumpy Pants? Waffles? Pancakes?"
"It all sucks. Sit by me instead. Sit by the sickie. I'll try not to give you my pneumonia."
She laughed and he sort of smiled. Then he coughed and whimpered at the lingering pain, Téa looking on. "I'm sorry," she had said.
"You think my life's going to get any better?"
"I don't know, Todd. What do you think?"
"Are you going to be around?"
"Around here? Or around you?"
"Both."
The saddest expression fell over her features, Todd couldn't look at her. He knew he put her through the paces … he knew that. He knew he did things to make her angry, but he couldn't stop himself. Words would come out … and then he'd know he hurt her again. He'd then find himself buried deep in pain and it was like being at the bottom of an ocean. Yeah, that's what it felt like. He was some kind of bottom-feeder, seeing great ships above him floating with no particular destination … music and happiness and love … all above him … and the muffled sounds would sink downwards, giving him a taste. He'd get the gist of love, happiness, the idea of it, but not the real thing.
Though, since he "died" … the gist of love and happiness seemed to be … okay. Seemed less a tease to him and more of a promise … he felt it. And instead of being at the dead-bottom of the ocean … he believed he was sort of … half-way … or maybe three-quarters of the way down. Yeah, that was it. Three-quarters of the way down.
Téa had leaned over and kissed him on the lips. The kiss has caught him off-guard and he jerked back. She ignored his reaction.
"You make me crazy, amor, but I see you trying. I'm glad for that. One day at a time, you know? Don't worry about tomorrow. Just think on today. Think on being sober TODAY … let yourself feel loved … TODAY."
She didn't kiss him again though. He didn't blame her. She thought she'd overstepped because he had flinched. But it was just because he hadn't expected her to do that. It made him cry.
She offered an, "Oh hey, it's okay, it's just breakfast."
She never made promises. She wasn't stupid. He tried to get them, he'd try to play on the margin: for every day I'm sober, you stay two days. How's that? What about money? For every day I'm sober, you pay me a hundred dollars. How's that?
He made her laugh, even then. And he made her lie down next to him … and then the night would roll around and the pneumonia would start kicking his ass … and then he'd get bitchy and moody and then he'd say hurtful things and Téa would smile a tidy, "Hell with this, hell with you, I don't need it."
She'd leave …
But then she'd be there in the morning, trying to get him to eat something … to remember that he would be able to get through this new day. Telling him if it wasn't her trying to help him, he'd have Viki … and if it wasn't Viki, he'd have Tim or some other medical devotee … but above all, he had himself. He had to remember, she told him, that he'd never be alone because he had himself …
He kinda figured that he loved her … that this was in fact love. He loved her being angry at him, he loved her loving him in spite of it all. He loved that she hated herself for loving him … he did. He liked that he could relate to her on that base level. A shared self-hatred.
"I hate that I'm here right now. I should be somewhere else with a real life," she spat one night.
He had smiled, "Welcome to the club."
"Bastard."
"You're beautiful."
"Shut up," she had smiled back at him.
Of course, Viki blew it all out of the water by letting him in on this little problem with Jedediah, a problem that didn't allow him to stay in the hospital. Nope… couldn't do it. Not even for Téa… not for that love that floated above him. Not with Jed in the hands of Satan. No way, no how.
His decision to leave, his taking advantage of all the holes in the system that allowed him to walk away from the hospital, from jail … it wrecked her, he knew. He knew, too … something even she didn't know…
...that he had pissed away his last chance to be someone worth ONE moment of her thoughts.
Brandy slid back up next to Todd as he lay his head back. Asked, "Did it help?"
"For about ten seconds." He rubbed himself, touched himself. She made him too sensitive.
"It didn't do nothin'?"
He didn't answer … looking away. Too many memories popped in his head like popcorn, pop, pop, pop … heard the noise of a popping engine in the air above him, the ratta-tat-tat of machine guns blazing, the sound of triumphant blasts blackening the sky and hiding the red of the Red Baron's plane. Without heroin … all those problems came creeping back, exploding in his head.
"Baby? You okay?"
"We gotta look for Jed … for Phillip. I'll go to the clinic … or … maybe I'll call Tim …" He breathed too hard, having a time of it keeping sane, wishing for a moment he could be listening to Tim's logic, his encouragement.
He rubbed his face, hit his forehead with his closed fists. He then felt Brandy stroking him again and his body ate it up even though he didn't want it anymore. He knew tears were being forced out and rolling down his cheek thanks to heroin pain and the increasing push towards another orgasm.
"Fuck," he groaned as she worked. He grabbed her hand and made her do it faster, harder… and he shuddered with an out-of-his-control high when he heard her cry out because he'd hurt her. Old fucking history. So he grabbed her hair with his other hand, pulling hard, making her cry out again.
And that made him come.
Later she buttoned his jeans and wiped the perspiration off his face. He shivered and smoothed his t-shirt because underneath, his chest hurt. His heart hurt.
"I don't feel so hot."
"Okay … I'll do it again-"
"Forget about it, Brandy, just... fuckin' stop. That doesn't do a goddamn thing except make my life WORSE."
"I just heard that—"
"I said, shut the fuck up! Shit!"
She moved away from him and he glanced over at her, big brown eyes staring back at him. She asked for it, she asked for this … shit. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and he could see the remnants of semen there on her palm. He kept staring at it and she reached for him, "It's okay, baby … I told you, I'm sorry … I didn't—"
He grabbed a chunk of her hair, bringing her close to him, "Go away. Go … away." Pushed her so hard, she fell onto the floor, fell on her hip and she left him at that, fussing in the kitchenette. Not a tear on her face … not a curse flying his way, nothing.
God, he hated himself.
"I'm sorry," he grumbled.
He sniffed, and dug out the bag of heroin he had in his pocket. Tossed it on the coffee table. Stared at it a while … held his stomach with his hand. He didn't have to feel this sick. He only needed a little … just enough to carry him outside so he could attract Phillip, so he could do something. Get that bastard to come out and play … but … being clean, it wouldn't work.
No … it just … wouldn't work.
Brandy put a fresh needle onto the table along with some cotton … a cap and cup of water. She then dropped a latex cord across Todd's lap.
"You need help, baby?"
"No," he said, "I can do it myself."
The people shot him strange looks as he sort of eased along on the sidewalk, his eyes moving from face to face. His lips felt funny and he rubbed them with his fingers. He lost Brandy someplace. He stared at the ground as it slid past him, as it rolled beneath his shuffling, scraping feet.
Felt great … good … not sick, sick as he'd been, nope, no more sickness. The noise of the street got a little too much and he pulled over, yeah, pulled over like a car would pull over, parked on the doorway of a tenement. He parked and kicked on the emergency brake and had to sit a while. Clicked his boots together and laughed at the Oz concept … click to go home, click … click three times… or is that knock three times … and would a balloon come floating downwards to pick him up? Wonder how far Kansas is?
Home … home on the range … home …
"Well, well … if it isn't the best little whore in all of Llanview."
Todd heard a voice spilling down onto him and he wiped it off … glanced upwards, wondered if the Wizard was here to pick him up. "Where's your balloon?" he muttered.
"Oh yeah … look at you, man, you are so fucked-up. Didn't last too long, that … sobriety thing."
Somewhere a voice of common sense screamed loud and Todd forced himself to get a good long look at just who was calling him a whore, at who knew all his dark and dirty secrets … at who used them so precisely against him. A shiny set of earrings blinded him though. That was some short, short hair.
"You can call me, Rock, and I'll call you Pretty Boy. You and I know each other real good."
"Oh yeah," Todd said, biting on his knuckle … trying to get some of that anger stirred up, trying to rile himself out of this high. He felt himself being jerked to his feet.
"Hey," Phillip asked, "Look at this, look what I have."
He pulled out a Polaroid … "You know this boy? Huh?"
He flashed it at Todd who tried to follow it but couldn't so he grabbed it. Stared at the kid lying across the floor. Two boys kinda intertwined. One boy had his eyes sort of closed but his face was clear as a bell …
Ohhhhh … what's this a picture of?
Todd raised his eyes, Phillip grinning wildly, "What's the matter, Pretty Boy? Don't like what you see? Or does it give you a hard-on like it does, me?"
Todd grabbed onto Phillip who laughed at his weak efforts, "Where is he, mother-fucker?"
"This is funny. Am I supposed to be scared of you?"
"If you hurt him, I will kill you … I will kill you dead."
"That's redundant."
Rock … or Phillip as he'd been born, kissed Todd smack on the lips, his tongue sliding all over. Todd pulled back hard, too stoned to really be disgusted, too scared for Jedediah. Was he too late? Had the torture begun?
"Time to go home, Pretty Boy. Let's party."
To be continued …