Chapter 6.

The night that followed found Fox tossing in bed. The minutes dragged by, the images of Falco under the influence fermenting in his mind. The reality of Falco's problem sunk ever deeper, and the incidents at both bars haunted Fox's dreams and turned them into pulse-pounding nightmares.

A quarter past midnight, Fox jolted awake after such a nightmare; just hours before, Fox kept wondering how horrific Falco's hangover would become. In years past, Fox listened to his father tell him horror stories about alcohol addiction; every mention of the vomit, of the headaches, of the insufferable heartaches, and of the disease and death-all of it terrified him and, in the middle of that turbulent night, culminated in another nightmare.

Without warning, Fox started awake from the nightmare when Falco exploded from the guest room and charged to the bathroom. The toilet lids slammed open, and Falco began vomiting. The sound and the images that coursed through Fox's mind caused him to curl himself into a ball and try to block out the noise.

Lord…I hate this! I can't believe this is happening. Why did I ever get myself into this mess? My wife and son were forced out so they wouldn't have to deal with this. Why do I have to sacrifice for him? God, why won't You get through to him? And how could I have been so stupid not to see this?

His prayers turned into weary sighs as his racing heart slowed and his head felt light and woozy…

The next thing he knew, a golden ray of morning sun poked through his ivory-white curtains and tickled his whiskers. All was quiet except for a percolating coffee maker.

This is it, he said to himself. God, help me not to blow up at him. I'll just be nice, I won't push him, I won't nudge him…I'll just be like You. Whatever that means.

After a pause, he rose from his bed and trudged toward the living room, his heart beating like a jackhammer. When he entered the room, his heart plummeted at the sight of Falco slumped over with his head buried in his hands.

"I don't want any of your crap about what happened last night," Falco mumbled. "I don't want a lecture on why I shouldn't drink. I just need a ride back to my car."

"You're in no shape to drive, Falco."

"Then take me back to my apartment."

"I don't think so, bird. Not until we talk about what happened."

With a sigh, he tapped his fingers against his knee and leaned his head onto his folding arms. "No. I feel like someone beat my head with a sledgehammer."

Fox let out a sigh and took a seat on the ottoman. "I'm sorry…about your mom…your sisters."

Falco stared at his shoes. "I don't want your pity."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Yeah, tons you can do. My sisters are in Child Protective Services. My dad's on the loose, but the police are searching a city of 36 million for a bomber who just killed 40,000 people, so they don't really care about a psychopath who tried to bludgeon his wife to death."

Fox said nothing.

"Why don't you just admit it? You're here to fix me. That's what this was all about ever since your dad died. But I'm not interested in what God has done for you. As far as I'm concerned, he's a nice idea that you got suckered into all because Krystal didn't lose her kid."

Fox stayed silent. He knew it was a barb, but he didn't let on.

"You lost your dad to a wormhole; I get it. And you have my pity. But you got over it, and your life is great. So why don't you actually deal with something bad until you start to lecture me?"

Fox's jade eyes narrowed to slits. "First of all, I dragged you out of that bar and brought you back here instead of turning you over to the cops. Krystal and Marcus are at a friend's house having a long sleepover instead of hearing you puke your guts. Second, you've been finagling booze money from your ex-girlfriend, and she is pissed at you. Third, I'm still your friend, and I know you better than anyone else, so if I say something, you know it's going to matter."

Falco sighed. "What do you want from me? You want me to apologize? I'm sorry, but I don't do apologies real well. Those guys on the base deserved what they had coming. And you didn't like seeing me drunk last night—I get that. But until you start snubbing your nose at me, take a look in the mirror. You were a party animal back when you were normal—"

"Oh, don't give me that. I drank when I met you. I knew you were a partier, but you didn't start when you came to Corneria City. This goes back before we met."

Falco sighed again. "All right, all right. I met these really cool guys, and I wanted to be as cool as them."

Fox kept staring.

"All right…um, I was having a bad day, and I just snapped and I got hooked."

Still no answer.

With an angry grunt, Falco leaned back in the sofa. "Look, I don't know how I got started. I guess I just wanted to rebel a little. If you knew my father, you'd want to rebel, too."

"What did he do?"

Falco's eyes flicked back and forth. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Why not?"

"I just don't."

Fox shrugged. "What are you going to do now?"

"There's nothing I can do."

"Why don't you stop drinking?"

"Oh, God—"

"And don't give me, 'It's not that bad, and you're not my mother.' "

"Would you stop jumping down my throat, McCloud? For a Christian, you're sounding like a complete asshole."

"Well, six years ago you told me off, and it got through to me. I figured you wouldn't want anything else. So why don't you stop?"

There was a pause. Falco opened his hands and shrugged. "I don't need to."

"You don't think it crosses the line when you take out a loan from your ex-girlfriend and you spend it on booze? Or when you don't even wait to get off the base so you can get smashed and destroy a common room? You don't think it crosses the line when you hide your pain and run when we try to help you, like your friends are supposed to?"

Falco rolled his eyes. "Look, McCloud, you and Krys are Christians, and that's fine. But we live in the real world, where survival puts other people in harm's way. It's a brutal world, and Christianity hasn't made it much better."

"Falco, you just got dishonorably discharged. You're on the run from the police. You finagled booze money from your ex-girlfriend, and you're telling me this is how you survive? Do you hear yourself?!"

Falco geared up to reply, but instead cried out and clutched his temples. A throbbing pulse shot through his head and caused his stomach to quiver in acidic pain. "Pipe down, McCloud. You're not helping me."

"Falco, you don't understand. Come on, Falco, listen to me!" Fox shook him by the shoulders. "Look at me! How can it possibly help you when all it does is make you numb? When you come out of it, the problems are still there for you to face—and they're worse, because you kept putting them off."

"Shut up, McCloud."

"And what about those kids you taught—that field trip to the base?"

"Shut up!"

"Remember what you said? 'When you waste your money on alcohol, you throw away your life.' That was what you told those kids."

"SHUT UP ALREADY!" Falco's eyes met Fox's. Tears dribbled down Falco's face. "I know! All right?! What do you WANT from me?! A confession? All right, you want a confession? Here's my confession: Hi, my name is Falco Lombardi, and I'm a stupid-ass hypocrite! OK?! Are you satisfied?"

Fox was silent.

"I tried kicking it, McCloud. I really tried. Those kids…I couldn't live with myself if they knew I…and I couldn't live with myself if I just went out and got drunk. I tried to stop. But—"

Fox nodded, but Falco buried his head in his hands. Pain pulsed through his temples, and his stomach churned. "Oh, God…" Falco sobbed, tears dripping between his fingers. Fox wanted to reach out and pat him on the shoulder, but then he remembered the phone call from Katt…how Falco had asked for a loan.

Falco lifted his head, showing his miserable face. "When Katt broke up with me, it got harder to stay sober. OK? And now my mom's dead, all those people in Oberon are dead, and…I can't deal with this."

Fox swallowed and looked Falco in the eye. "But you were sober for a year."

"No...I had a couple beers every Friday. That was it. I figured I could burn those carbs and no one would know I was drinking."

Fox nodded. "And then it got out of control."

Falco's contorted face smoothed and left a deep frown behind. "I blew it, OK? I gave in. But all this shit I'm dealing with is making it harder to get out. So why don't you cut me some slack?"

"Because you went on overtime just telling the kids how bad it is to be involved in alcohol. You told them because of your experiences—and my compliments to you, Falco; you did it very well. I should have known it was from your experiences. Now think about your own experiences."

Falco groaned as Fox continued, "You know what happens. People lose their jobs. People lose their families. People get violent. You lost your job. You lost your girlfriend. Your friends are losing sleep over you, and this whole suicide message that you've been playing to yourself is nothing but a damned lie!"

Falco raised his head from his hands and peered straight at Fox's unflinching stare.

"I've made up my mind, McCloud." He shook his head and rose from his seat. "I'm done."

Fox grabbed his arm, but Falco wriggled from his grasp and continued toward the door. He wrapped his fingers around the brass doorknob and jerked it with all his might. He cried out in pain without warning. He felt himself being pulled away.

In the twitch of a bloodshot eye, he spun around and hurled a tensed hand into Fox's belly. Falco's left leg landed in the back of Fox's legs, sending Fox crashing to the floor. He snatched Fox's keys into hand and dashed out the open door, holding his throbbing head.

The door slammed shut with a thick noise. Fox rose from the floor and groaned in pain. As he grabbed his stomach, several words came to mind.

I never should have taught him that move.