Haven: PreSeries: Detox

 

The needle is sliding in to my vein when I hear Julia outside calling to ask to board.

“Not yet!” I push the liquid down, feeling the cold and then warm as it spreads down my arm. I clean everything up and hide it away, and then pull myself to my feet, brief dizziness and nausea but then it's all fine, a little quickly, but then I'm cutting things down, weaning myself off, right? Right.

I pick up a roll of cash from inside the half finished kitchen cabinet before walking out onto the deck.

I shade my eyes against the light and look down at her.

“Permission to come aboard, Boss?” she asks.

“Hmm? Oh, right...well, I was...I have shopping I need to do,” I can't help but sort of spit the rest out, “in town.”

“You're going into town?” She says, “Why?”

“I need groceries. Town has groceries.” I make my way down to the dock with an empty crate to carry things home with and find myself slightly unsteady but things are smoothing over, nicely. So, what town? I'm sure it'll be fine. Not like people haven't hated on me before.

“Really?” she says, sounding unexpectedly excited.

“Yes. Really...why?”

“No, that's good. Do you need help?”

“No,” I wave a hand at her, “It's fine...there's plenty to do on the Cape still.” I wave a hand back towards the boat now, turning slightly and then shading my eyes again, “there's sanding the...the cabinets, and putting the shelves in. Outside work needs to wait. Needs two of us.”

“You could need help carrying things back,” she says, tugging at the other side of the crate.

“It's fine.”

“It's empty right now,” she says, “You don't need to break anything. Then I'll have to do all the work by myself, and you'll have to pay me more. Really I'm looking out for your wallet.”

Cute company is good, anyway, right? And what's the worst can happen? People know she works with me on the boat already and we're not actually doing anything because I'm not about to get lynched, and she's right carrying things will be easier and then I'm not talking to myself. Let's not dampen this warm feeling by being an ass and making her disappointed.

“Sure, why not?”

“Awesome,” she says, grabbing the other side of the crate and giving it a slight tug, “Let's get on.”

For a while we walk side by side but once we get further into town she leads and I follow behind which is fine for the view. Every once in a while I realize she's pulling at the crate to get me to speed up when I hadn't noticed I'd slowed down but then it's that place where everything is still a bit shiny even though the cozy is settling in.

We chat a bit about paint colors and the outside work and the weather and how it might affect things, and conversation turns to school which is mostly just her grumbling about bitches and idiots, and a few teachers I vaguely remember.

“How did you get through school?” she asks.

“I mostly wasn't there,” I point out, “Don't advise it as the way to go about it.”

She laughs, “Seems like it must have been a lot more fun.”

“I had fun at school too,” I tell her.

“Oh? How?”

“Ah...well, you know you make fun when you can,” walked myself into that one...stupid mouth brain.

“No,” she said, “That sounded like there were details.”

I pinch my nose, what's.., “Well, I had a good business selling booze, if that counts...”

“Oh, so that one was true,” she says.

Probably shouldn't ask what else is going around by now. Probably have a prostitution ring.

“Yeah, that one is true...do I want to know what else they say about the terrible Crocker boy?”

She laughs and the chimes of it sparkle around my ears, “I'm sure you already know them all.”

“I've been away,” I point out, “That gives things plenty of time to...” that car is probably not changing colors.

“Duke?”

I turn back to her. What was I...right, “Plenty of time to mutate, especially at a school.”

“You just want to know how infamous you are,” she says.

“Perhaps.”

She lets go of her side of the crate so unexpectedly that it thunks to the ground and leaps over to punch me in the arm.

“What the Hell, Wench?” I demand. Crate now fully on the ground so I can rub my arm for effect, “How is that fair?”

“Who said anything about fair?” She picks her side of the crate back up again, “Times a-wasting, come on. Come on, Boss.” She rocks the crate from side to side, when I don't pick it up right away. My arm might be fine but looking down did my head for a moment, “Did—did I actually hurt you?”

“No,” I pick up the crate, “I'm fine.”

“Did you eat this morning?” she asks, “You've been kinda...” she wiggles her free hand sending trails out in front of her, “...here and there.”

Did I...?

“You have to think about it that long the answer is no,” she points out, “You need to eat.”

“We're on the way to the store, aren't we?”

“Yes, Mr. Snippy.”

“Right. Sorry.”

I take the crate entirely as we cross the street and we go back to dual as we round the corner and come to the parking lot of the store. Julia goes ahead a few paces and pulls a cart out of one of the gathering spots and brings it over. I stash the crate on the bottom of it and she wheels the thing inside the store. When we first go inside I can't see: everything is reflecting so much colors and the stale smell of bleach assaults me. I lean against the cart for a moment.

“Maybe we should get you a granola bar or something...” Julia says.

“I'll be fine until we get done. Won't take too long.”

She gives me a look, twisting her mouth around, “Fine.”

“I said I'm fine.”

“Alright.”

We start down the first aisle closest to the doors it's mostly newspapers and greeting cards which Julia scoots by pretty quickly going toward the back of the store where I can see a wall of fridges full of bottles.

“So,” she says, “What are we getting?”

I can't resist saying, “Food.”

“No,” she says, “Really? I thought we were here for tires.”

“Duke?” a guy's voice from behind us, “Duke Crocker?”

This could be good or bad, mostly, probably bad.

“Why don't you go grab veggies and bread and stuff?” I tell Julia, “I'll see what this is.”

“And fruit,” she says.

“Sure. Fine. Just...” I make a shooing motion and turn around to find where the voice came from.

Jeans, t-shirt, tall, brown hair...not helping in the least. Tense, slightly aggressive posture. Looks aggravated. Still not helping, “Duke?” he says again.

“Probably,” I answer, “Did you want something?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was shopping...” I wave a hand at the aisle, “Now we're apparently debating humanity's purpose? I don't know.”

He makes a scoffing noise.

“Hey—you were the one who called me over,” I point out.

“Right,” he says, “I'm sorry. I was just...surprised to see you.”

“Yeah, me too...shouldn't be, I suppose. I mean you do live here,” that's like a 98% chance of being right considering. I rest my arm on the shelf things were getting droopy.

“Yeah...” he says. He seems slightly less irritated, but it's not much, “Are you staying in town long?”

“I don't see where that's your business?”

He gives a slight snort at that, “Do you even see yourself? You better not have driven here—how high are you?”

“Okay,” I put my free hand up, “So, this catch up has been awesome. Let's not do it again soon. I have food to get. You might want to see if they have personalities—but that's probably a specialty store.” I give him a mock salute and turn, carefully, trying to bear in mind where exactly he still is in relation to me as I go looking for Julia, who...hasn't gotten very far.

“Thought I'd go slow,” she says, “You seem like you might need the cart to lean on.”

I go to wave my hand and go to say that I'm good, but no...not really, “You...may have a point.”

“Oh, good,” she says, “I thought you were going to be full of bullshit again.”

I lean my folded arms on the cart and follow her down the aisles as we—she loads things in depending on my yes or no.

“So, who was that guy?” she asks, eventually.

I shrug, “I don't know. Probably some jackass whose girlfriend or wannabe girlfriend I slept with when we were in school, certainly seemed pissed enough.”

She's giving me an eye at that.

“So, yes, that's another type of rumor that's true,” I add.

She laughs, “I sorta didn't doubt that one.”

Is that good or bad? “Oh, really?”

She turns away from a moment then, “Did you want to bother with actual lettuce? It'll probably go bad really fast.”

Yeah, let's just...skewer that with pitchforks, “No. You're right, probably safest not to. Can get plenty of canned for now, until I track down a better fridge connection.”

“You mean an actual fridge?”

“That is an actual fridge—just because it thinks refrigeration means Antarctica...I'm not going to argue with it right now, because that is better than surface of the sun.” and I don't actually know how to fix fridges because they are not that type of electrical or mechanical things...

We're almost at checkout, which is good...I massage my temples and reach in my pocket for the roll of money. I'm sure there's way more than we need, but I wasn't exactly thinking to count things out earlier...I should not have come down here, what was I thinking?

Some people coming in through the doors near the registers are murmuring something about a cop car outside, what is that about only being paranoid if they're not out to get you?

“Julia,” I say, as we're unloading things onto the conveyor belt, making sure I'm facing away from the cashier and towards her, “So, there might be a cop or two outside, and with my luck they're going to decide they need to “talk to me” about “something”.”

“Okay,” she says.

“So, I'm gonna give you the money after we pay, alright? And we can sort that out later.”

“Sure, Boss.”

I take the roll of money out of my pocket. I have no idea how much is in here. I don't remember counting it this morning and the numbers aren't making sense. The bagger starts loading things in the cart but Julia corrects him, “Into the crate, please. We have to walk,” then she takes the roll of money from me, unwraps a couple of bills and sticks the rest into the pocket of her jacket.

The bagger pulls the crate into top of the cart and starts putting things in there instead.

It's not long before we're wheeling the cart out of the store and sure enough: “Mr. Crocker, a word, please!” from the cop who is leaning, arms folded, against the front bumper of his vehicle. He has a partner who is standing by the side of the car, door open, leaning his arm on the roof of the vehicle. There's something about the tone of the guy's voice that stirs in the back of my mind but I can't place it right now because everything is too fuzzy for much thought other than what the hell I was thinking coming to the store this morning and bringing Julia with me?—anything could have happened and I wouldn't have been able to do shit.

“Yes, sir.” I walk over, keeping my hands by my sides, trying not to ball them up, but I know I'm fidgeting I can feel it. Don't say anything stupid.

“I suppose you're wondering why I called you over here.”

“Not really.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Well, I am the only Mr. Crocker in town now.” Great. Well done on the not saying anything stupid.

He just chuckles. Though the other cop is gripping the top of the door tightly.

“No, son. We got a report that you might have drugs on you. Do you have drugs on you?” I can feel his eyes boring into me.

“If I did would I say so?”

“I don't suppose you would but that would be mighty stupid. Do you have drugs on you?”

“No, sir. I have no drugs on me.” Because I'm not that stupid.

“Alright, well, I'm going to need--”

“I know the routine.” I go over to the car and put my hands on the hood and spread my legs and wait for the pat down. I hear the second cop move closer as the first checks me over, finding two knives (one in my boot), a half eaten pack of a gum, random change, a few bills and a couple of receipts that have been run through the washer and dried.

“No wallet or I.D, Mr. Crocker?”

“People seem to know who I am,” I shrug, “and I wasn't driving anywhere.”

“Well, that's a relief,” first cop says. He waves his partner away for a moment, “Turn around, kid.”

I almost say something but actually manage to stop myself. He could well have a kid my age and he seems like he's giving me a break. Do not need to piss him off and have him take me home and search the Cape. That would be bad. Do not need to piss him off.

“So, let's you and me be straight with each other right now.”

Do not laugh.

“You got a little bit of attitude going on, and I get that, but you also got some choices ahead of you. Answer me this and do me the courtesy of answering honestly like you did just before. Did you take drugs today?”

I just nod.

He shakes his head, “Well, that's a shame, and here you are running around with her too,” he nods his head towards Julia. Which is a thank you I needed that reminder, “I'd have thought you'd want to be better than your Daddy.”

“That's where I know you from!” That was a dumbass thing to say. I can't help but put my hand to my face at that point. Late nights letting him into the house because the parents were freaking out on each other, or him and other officers busting in because someone else in the complex called on their asses, or sit on the couch and chat to the officer while other ones go through looking for whatever days. He does have a son about my age, I remember him saying that at some point while trying to make distracting chit-chat, maybe you know him, he's got to be at your school. Maybe I do but I bet I don't talk to him because no.

“Yes,” is all he says, “I spent quite some time visiting with your father. Be a better man than him,” he pats me on the shoulder. Fuck me, how many times did I tell myself that, “I hope we don't have to chat again because repeats tend not to be as good.” He tells his partner he's going into the store to get something and then nods, “Miss Carr,” at Julia on his way by.

I walk slowly back over to her. Did I just...did that just happen? Or was that like the color changing car?

“Everything alright, Boss?” Julia asks, as we reconnect.

“Well, not under arrest so that's good.”

“True,” she says, “What was it about?”

I shrug, and reach for the crate, “Come on. Let's get on.”

She puts her hand on my arm, “Maybe we should just wheel it in the cart,” she says, “You get dizzy and weird again don't need you dropping the thing.”

I clamp down on the protest that starts to build. Coming down is making me slightly more logical and full of shame on top of the soon to be pounding head, “Okay, fine.”

“Good,” she says, “Because you get to push it.”

“Well, we can add Duke Crocker, grocery cart thief to my lengthy list of crimes.” I point out.

“Maybe we should call the cops back,” she says, as we get out of the parking lot and across the street, “It is officially stolen now.”

“Let's just get back.”

There's not much talking as we make our way back to the Cape I'm cycling through my own stupidity. Weaning off. Idiot. Going into town with Julia while high. Fucking idiot. She has every right to be pissed at me. We get back to the boat and push the cart up on board and after a few tries get the crate inside to unload.

“See?” Julia says, as we wind up sliding it across the floor into what will be the galley once it's fully finished, “What would you have done if I hadn't come along? There's no way you could have done this by yourself the state you're in!” her voice gets angrier the longer she talks.

She's right, which doesn't make it any easier.

“You can't keep saying you're fine...if you weren't feeling well you could have just given me a list and the money,” which she dumps out of her pocket onto the counter I'm leaning against, “and I could have gone by myself!”

“I was feeling fine when we left...” which isn't untrue. Everything was shiny and bright. Though now I'm starting to feel overly warm, and I imagine I'll be itchy soon enough if previous experience is anything to go by. She's sitting down against the wall on the other side and doesn't say anything for a moment, just hugs her knees.

“If you don't want me around just tell me to go away!” she snaps, and I realize that she's crying, shit, shit, “Don't lead me on and patronize me!”

That slaps me too, “No, that's not...” I want to go over there, but I realize as soon as I let go of the counter top that I'm too unsteady, “I don't want you to leave. Please don't. I just...”

She scrambles to her feet and is across the room before I realize it and hugging me which pushes us back against the counter. I can feel her tears soaking through my shirt. This is...I wrap my arms around her back and hold her there until she stops crying, moving one hand to the back of her head after a while, and resting my chin on the top of head. I don't...

“Why do you look so confused?” she says, after she pulls herself out of the hug and looks around for something to blow her nose with.

“What?”

“You had this super confused look on your face.”

“I...” I'm not sure how to explain it, “...words...?”

“I'm worried about you,” she says, “Is that weird somehow? I mean, seriously...you don't have to macho through whatever the hell is wrong with you.”

Right...because...my only response to that is to bring the heels of my hands up to my eyes.

“Of course you're being an idiot not eating properly, but...seeing you like that was scary.”

“I know, and I'm sorry...I shouldn't have...but I really did feel fine when we left, but...” I sigh, “I should have turned around or something...”

“Yes. You should,” she says, punching me in the shoulder.

I rub it. Fuck. Everything is starting to hurt. But no. No more. No more til much later. Cutting back. That's the deal. Do not go running for it.

“For right now we need to get this food put away and some of of it actually in to you.”

“Right...food is good.”

“Yes,” she nods, “It is,” she gives a slight laugh, “Why are you so confused?” then she pauses, puts a hand to her mouth, “Oh, my God...I didn't even...you're not used to people being worried about you...”

I can't really say anything in answer to that, but she's not wrong. It's more the thirst kicking in. My mouth and throat are so dry, “Juice?” I ask, hoarse.

She hands me one of the bottles, and then after I drink some starts passing me up packets and cans of food so I can put them in the cabinets. We might not have the shelves properly sorted but they at least have bases and it works to hold the small amount of food that we bought. It also works out well that way because I don't have to turn my head too much. The meats and other cold things are put in the overly enthusiastic refrigerator by which point I realize no work is going to get done today but Julia is more concerned about making sure that food gets in me for the time being. I hadn't really been paying attention to that, clearly. While I've been loading and rearranging the fridge so that it actually stays closed she's made up grilled cheese sandwiches, and is slicing an apple. She moves them to the bench table that also needs to be refinished and sets them down. I go over forcing myself to walk steadily and sit down. Then she brings over two cups of juice.

She watches me, turning half of her sandwich around on her plate. I pick mine up and take a bite and she's clearly relieved.

“It's good. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” she answers, starting to eat her own sandwich.

We eat in silence for a while but then she says:

“You think you'll actually be okay to work today, Boss?”

“Honestly, no,” I have to admit, “I'll give you today's wage and go lie down.”

“Good,” she says, “Otherwise I might have had to hit you.”

I have to laugh at that as I force down some of the apple by drinking some of the juice after it. Julia clears up the plates, washes them and brings the roll of money to me when she returns to the table.

“Are you just going to stare at in confusion again?” she jokes, “because I could really help myself to a pay raise if I was the dishonest type.”

“You're not though, but no things are a lot less blurry now.” I pull off the appropriate amount and hand it over.

“You are going to rest, right?” she confirms as she pockets the money.

“Yes. I promise.” As she leaves I can hear the shopping cart rattling off into the distance.

I gather up some of the plastic and paper bags and go into the bathroom to open the panel where the stash is before I chicken out or do something even more stupid like shoot up again because I'm really getting shaky and itchy about now and double check I really did use the last of what's under the kitchen sink this morning. I wrap everything in several of the paper bags, and tie them up in the plastic and then climb down from the boat proud of myself that I don't slip and fall into the water. Then I find the nearest dumpster which thankfully is only a little ways down across the street from the dock and bury the bag in there as deeply as I can.

“What are you doing, son?” the voice startles me and I turn around too quickly and would fall over if the cop from earlier didn't catch me.

“Is it illegal to throw things away now?” I ask.

“No,” he says, “No, it's not.” He lets go of my arm and I steady myself, “You alright to get back to wherever you're staying?”

“Yeah, it's just over there,” I wave in the general direction of the boat.

“Alright then,” he reaches into the front pocket of his shirt and hands me a small rectangle of cardboard, “If you need anything.”

“Uh, okay.” I leave him and make my way back to the Cape to actually follow through with the lying down.

 

&&&&

 

After a few hours of sleep I'm woken sweating and twitching, scratching, itching. Then there's bathroom troubles, and more sweating and some throwing up I strip and jump off the boat and into the water to cool off for a while and then after drying off which I wonder might be futile I examine my arms to see if I've done any major damage, thankfully I don't have much in the way of nails.

I decide to try toast, and after that stays down and I try sleep again. I realize after a while that sleep was a bad idea. It's just aches, and crawling need to go back to that stupid dumpster, when I'm not back in New Orleans with Jody before someone from the other half of the crew starts freaking out because of that thing with the inhuman screaming.

Alright, no sleep.

I wash myself off with a towel dampened from the sink. So, glad we got the plumbing hooked up early on. I dress in light clothing and I go find my guitar and sit out on the deck with my back against the cool of the rail. If I can keep distracted with focusing on playing and all the rest of it hopefully I can stave things off until this bout passes.

I'm still playing when Julia arrives in the morning, having worked my way through several genres, but by this point I'm not fumbling over notes any more because my fingers aren't cramping or full of lead and pain, “...From Mozambique to those Memphis nights, the Khyber pass to Vancouver's lights, Knock me down get back up again, You're in my blood I'm not a lonely man. There's no load I can't hold, Road so rough this I know, I'll be there when the lights comes in, Just tell 'em we're survivors. Life is a highway I want to ride it all night long. If you're going my way I want to drive it all night long. There was a distance between you and I a misunderstanding once but now we look it in the eye there ain't no load I can't hold road so rough this I now I'll be there when the light comes in just tell 'em we're survivors. Life is a highway I want to ride it all night long. If you're going my way I want to drive it all night long. Life is a highway I want to ride it all night long. If you're going my way I want to drive it all night long.”

I stop, realizing that I heard Julia but she didn't do her normal call for permission to come aboard. She's sitting on one of the crates nearby watching me.

“Sorry,” she says, “I would have asked but I didn't want to interrupt.”

“It's okay.”

“Seems like you're feeling better than yesterday,” she says.

“I'm doing pretty good,” I admit, “Hopefully everything's passed,” though if coming back from Monserrat is anything to go by and me practically crawling off the boat to find someone with a supply...because almost two days was all I could survive. Fuck. But no, that was just sailing and not really doing anything. I have work for distraction. Lots of work.

“Did you eat breakfast?”

“I had toast...” I realize as I'm saying so that it was several hours ago.

“But?” she says.

“Well, that was before I started playing so it was a while ago.”

She stands up, “Well, then let's get something else in you before we start work. What's on the agenda for today, Boss?”

I look at the sky assessing cloud cover, “I think we should do the outside panels while the weather's good. I can hold them in place while you attach them at the top and then we can work our way around the base.” I follow her inside and put the guitar away while she looks through the cabinets in the kitchen for something to make.

In the end she decides to keep it fairly much like lunch the day before, grilled cheese sandwiches with the addition of tomatoes this time and she offers an apple but after regurgitating earlier I'm not sure I can face that, the sandwich wasn't as bad. Though I know I've kept the toast down. Anyway, sandwich, water, and I say that I'll keep the apple outside with us so I have a snack for later. She grabs an orange for herself and I joke that I'll knock a dollar off her wages.

Then we set to work. She helps me carry the new panels from the hold and break off the old weather worn ones which we'll throw on to the old boat, Ursa Minor, later. The “old” girl is serving as garbage scow now. Unfortunately not everything was compatible to be transferred off her onto the Cape, but I was able to get a good bit of money stripping those things and selling them off to other people locally. It takes about an hour to get one side of panels off and then I'm holding and Julia has climbed up on the roof and is using the power drill to screw the new panels into place and I can push through this. I can. It will be fine. She chats about stupid things her mother has been talking about, pressures she's under for things to do. Her mother wants her to go into medical programs of some sort and Julia has no interest. She stops mid sentence.

“What?” I ask.

“I almost asked what your parents pushed for you to do,” she says, and pulls a super apologetic cute face, “I'm sorry.”

“Don't,” I tell her, “Do, please continue screwing the panel in though before my arm goes to sleep.”

She does so, and we move on to the next one.

“So, what are you going to do once we get her all ship shape? Sail off into the sun set never to be seen again?”

“I could abduct you off into the sun set,” I'm only half-joking, but...I don't know that it would be the best of ideas.

She laughs, but it seems slightly wary, “I think that would be a little worse than pitchforks.”

“Probably, I don't need to find out if the coast guard secretly have machine canons.”

She laughs again, “Especially after all the work we're doing to the Cape here.”

We move on to the next panel. I'm started to feel over-heated, but we're doing a lot of heavy work, and it's warm. I can keep going. I stop and take a drink. Julia had the foresight to bring water out here. I offer it to her as well and she sets the bottle up on the top near where she is as I pick up the next panel and line it up being careful not to trap my fingers. My shoulders are aching, shit.

One more panel and the side is done other than the lower bits needing to be attached.

“How about I make us lunch?” Julia says, “and we can take a break once it's done.”

“That's a good way to get out of doing the lower panels,” I tell her.

“Oh, such hard work sitting down and drilling screws in,” she says.

“Oh, such hard work putting food together,” I retort.

“Well, if that's the case why weren't you doing it the past few what? Days? Weeks?” she pokes at my chest, “You're skin and bone...” she trails off, “Anyway, I will make food and then we will eat the food. Right?”

“Right,” I nod.

She hands me the drill and goes inside. I grab screws off the nearby crate sit down and start to work. I'm half way through the first panel when I realize my hands are starting to shake, the motion of the drill vibrating isn't helping things and I'm feeling dizzy again. I set the drill down next to me, are things starting up again? When I look around for the water I realize it's still on the roof where Julia left it when I try to stand up to get it though my legs don't want to support me. Damn it. I'm going to be terrifying Julia if I can't get over this by the time she comes back out.

Nope. The water is going to be staying up there because everything is all swirly and spinning. I'll just sit here for a moment with my back and head against the new panels, eyes closed, and my knees up resting my arms on them, at least nothing's itching right now. Breath slowly. Holy shit fuck everything hurts. I put my head down again. I hear the cabin door open and Julia's footsteps like gunshots.

“Duke?” she says, “You're shivering...”

I manage to make some sort of acknowledgment. She kneels down by me and moves to touch my head and I know I must flinch.

“You're burning up,” she says, “I can feel it before I even touch you...why didn't you come inside?”

I go to explain that my legs aren't working right and I'm too dizzy but I'm not sure how much of it actually comes out properly. Her face is all whorls in front of me and when she puts her hand on my shoulder it makes me hiss. I will not lash out. She does not mean to do that. It's not her fault. It's mine.

“Let's get you inside out of the sun—it's not helping.”

I do feel myself moving, but everything is a mess of aching and I just try to keep my eyes shut so I don't puke. It's shady though, and when I open my eyes despite everything still spinning around I realize that I'm back inside the cabin. Julia brings the pillows from the bed and puts them behind my head I'm propped up against the wall. She also brings a fresh bottle of water and makes me drink from it.

“You're too heavy for me to put in the Antarctic fridge,” she says, as I feel something sort of cool and wet sponging at my face and more water going into my mouth, “See—this is why you need to eat, got yourself the flu or something...”

Or something.

“Alright, new lunch plan—let's get some soup in you. Don't go anywhere,” she gives a half-laugh, and I can make out a wobbly jean colored shape ambling through the dark haze that is the Cape's interior when I follow the sound of her voice, “I remember that first aid kit of yours where the Hell did you put it when we moved stuff from the Ursa?”

“The bathroom.”

“What was that, Boss?”

“Bathroom,” I repeat. I lift my arm up and point. It feels like it takes ten minutes. Now, I'm really, doubly, triply, glad I got rid of everything. She's not going to find it. I'm not going to turn into some crazed zombie going after it.

“The bathroom?” she queries, “That makes some sort of sense.”

Creaking noises and banging.

I'm falling backwards underwater and trying to swim back up, choking and coughing.

Clicking, clicking. The walls are shifting sideways I'm afraid if I touch it my hand will melt through. Ticking, ticking. Rocking from side to side. Wetness.

Julia, again, rolling out of the blur, “Are you with me, Boss? Try and swallow this,” something is put to my lips hard and round I fight to open my mouth my head is tilted and there is cool water I feel like there is sizzling, things must go down and down, not up, not up, “I'd feel better if I could get you to a doctor, but I barely got you in here.”

“No, no, no doctor.”

She makes a grumbling noise, “Alright. Well, help me sit you up more and let's get some soup in you.”

I manage to push my arms against the deck so I can brace higher against the wall, and take a few spoonfuls. Chewing hurts too...kill me now. It feels like it's taking hours to eat this chicken? Vegetables and noodles? I think that's what she said it was but everything feels spiky in my mouth. The water helps, but I feel things slipping away again, and her voice is sounding slow mo and then things come back up. That brings some clarity though, unfortunately, but Julia had thought to find the mop bucket and is holding my hair back.

Once that's done she helps me lean back against the wall and pillows again and puts the rag on my head.

“I'm sorry,” I tell her.

“Not your fault,” she says, “Well, maybe a little. You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Yeah,” I pull at the rag and move it over my face some. I can taste some of the water on my lips. Then it flops down into my lap.

“I need to get medicine back in you,” she says, “You think you can get pills down again?”

That's what that was. I have no idea.

“Yeah, that's what I was afraid of,” she says. She must be rinsing out the bucket.

I'm such an ass.

Splashing. I can smell the stale, hot, water of the swamp as Gavin, Jody and I book away from the Trouble, dragging Gavin where we need to. Not stopping. Can't stop. Must regroup and get back to the car. Those noises...the fist in the face, the wall, the floor, “Did that hurt now? Are you going to whine about it? Damn right you're not going to whine about it! Get your ass up!”

“Duke,” I feel her hand on my chest, “You're safe—you're safe—it's okay,” she's got the cloth on my head, and then my cheeks, and then my neck. I can tell from the shifts in color that she's sitting facing me, “You're still burning up. Here,” she puts a water bottle to my lips and tips some in there. I hate how worried she sounds. I need to explain things but no words will come. My mouth just won't work. I'm barely getting the water down instead of spilling it out and down my front, but there's no more puking—don't jinx yourself. Don't.

I didn't think it was possible for my body to hurt more than it had an age ago out on the deck. I feel a hand on me again but this time there's no towel; it's just on my head, and then brushing through my hair. What? It feels so nice though. I don't...everything is too much. I can't keep hold. I feel the tears, they're not so much running as fleeing prison.

“I'm sorry!” the hand freezes in position, at the side of my head, “Am I—does it hurt?” Julia asks.

“Everything...hurts...” I tell her, it doesn't convey the proper level of things, my bones are burning, and my muscles might crack, and the laugh I try doesn't come out either, just more tears.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” I shake my head, too, hopefully anyway.

There's a scratching, scraping sound, and then I feel her putting a hand on my back, and pulling me over a little so that I'm leaning against her. She's so soft and I feel so heavy I might just fall through her and out of the bottom of the boat. For the time being though I seem to not be sinking, because she's holding me up somehow. She brushes the back of my head with one hand and it's ironing out some of the bugs in my brain, they pour out through my eyes, and I feel I might be howling but I can't tell so much of anything other than she's anchoring me to a place I need to stay. 

Haven: PreSeries: Detox, pt 2

 

 

BANG BANG BANG

Cop knock is not one you forgot. I bolt upright which sends my head spinning.

“It's okay,” Julia's voice.

“Police,” it comes out a hiss.

“Duke, it's fine,” Julia slips to the side and stands up, saying “hold on, hold on” in the direction of the door, “You're okay,” she whispers, “Just lay back.”

She goes to the door. I can't lay back I have to stumble my way to the bathroom again. Who put it so far away? It's like wading through mud but I make it in; but then after I'm done I can't face coming all the way back I stay sitting in the bathroom doorway because my legs might splinter if I try to walk more and I might need it again anyway.

I can hear voices outside. Julia talking with a man, the tone familiar from yesterday. Back and forth, a word here and there, “fever, flu, guys down with it, call,” crackling noises.

Fire on a beach, and people dancing. We celebrate the end of my servitude, but the sand is slipping and I'm falling through, and it screams and screams.

“Thank you!” Julia calls, dragging me back to the real world.

The door closes. She's carrying a heavy plastic bag and sets it down with a clatter on the table. I can feel everything heating up and melting again, and my legs are twitching.

“Why are you over there?” she asks.

I wave a hand towards the bathroom.

“Of course. We've got some liquid medicine now that should help...let's get you back over here.”

We manage to get me back over to the corner and the pillows I'm not sure how helpful I am, that feeling of sinking, heaviness, as though I'm going through into the hold is back, and oh, the aching—maybe my bones will just melt. There's that damp—she's wiping me down again, and water—water to drink. She fazes in and out between a dark night full of smoke, and chittering cicadas and stagnant water.

“Don't go anywhere, okay?”

In my brain I laugh, but nothing comes out. I hear her walking away, again. Bedroom? Bathroom? Then I'm being covered with a sheet. Bedroom, then. Bottle shaking, liquid. Liquid medicine.

“Here,” she says, “This should help with your stomach.”

It's sickly sweet. My mouth might stick together, then a little more water, and then something chalky and water again just a small amount.

I hear her slide down next to me, and she pulls my head against her shoulder and strokes my hair.

“You're gonna be okay,” she says, “The officer says his guys got through this in a five days or so.”

What officers got through this?

“Hell of a stomach flu, he said,” she continues.

“Hmm.”

“I'm going to have to go soon,” she says, “but I have something to give you now. Should help you sleep. I'll leave the bucket, water, some crackers...I'm sorry, I wish I could do more; but we both know what would happen if I tried to stay over. You're following me, right?”

I nod, carefully, “S'okay. You need...safe.”

“You need safe too,” she says, “but sleep is good for sickness, and this should knock you out enough you don't go wandering off the boat and drown.”

She gets up to start setting things out, but we need to settle before things go—before I get too gone again, “Julia--”

She turns, “What?”

I'm not sure where things got left yesterday, “Pay...you...”

I can't see her face, but her tread sounds angry. She comes over and crouches down by me, “I'm not doing this because I want your money, Duke. If I wanted it I'd just take it and you wouldn't be able to stop me. I let you pay me for working on the boat because you want to and because I want to leave Haven some day, but not for this. I'm doing this because you're my friend and I care about you. I'm not taking it and you can't make me.”

I don't...

She has her hand going through my hair again, “Come on. It's fine. You need to rest and feel better and I'll be back in the morning.” She stands up and I hear and then see her bringing over the things she said, then a bottle shaking and a small glass being filled with dark green liquid, “Drink up,” she says, “Now you're not allowed to die on me because I can't very well steal the Cape and go be a pirate queen if she's not fixed all the way, can I?”

A second glass of green and my head's spinning in a different way, and Julia slides me and the pillows down to deck level instead of propped up. She says something about my side, my eyes don't want to stay open. There are echoing thuds, and then silence.

 

&&&&

 

I float between myself and roof, myself and hold, the waves above and the swamp below. It's screams, echoing with Gavin's as his ankle snaps, with Jody's as she begs him to come on, to forget them, that we have to save ourselves, to get back to the car, that nothing and no one is any use to anyone dead, but my father has only been of use to us since he died, that's what my mother is telling the pinched up woman, the home is much better now, and she wants me back, took her so long to track down where I was and she's been beside herself and she's just so happy she found me, the lies pour out of her like sand and bury everyone in the room. The pinched lady's face slides off leaving just muscle beneath and that sickening scream-shriek once more. My mother picking up the piece of skin and starting to chew on it, offering it around like it's candy. She giggles and rolls across the table like a cat wanting a belly rub, behind me Jody is screaming, “For the love of Christ, Gavin, get UP!” and I run back to grab him and haul him to his feet while she cusses him every name under the sun. The ground is uneven and he's dead weight, hauling him is tricky, Jody grabs and pulls and we fall backwards, tumbling.

 

It's dark in the cabin. I'm all tangled up in a sheet and my pants and it takes a while with heavy limbs to unknot everything and get the pants on again; but the hazy snippets of dream...nightmare, it makes sense. Moving around makes the dizziness more, and my stomach is aching. I drink the water and nibble a few crackers, hoping that will help. I can't pull myself up to see what time it is...it must be night though but that's not saying much as I peer around. I remember Julia leaving but no idea when that was.

Everything is shaky and sore and horrible and I know, I know what I can do to fix it. I know.

I know.

But I can't. I can't.

Even though I know where it is. I can't go and get it. I won't. I won't.

All this hurt would be over. It gnaws through me how easy it would be. How easy to stop it...but I won't...I won't. I sip at the water some more with my shaking hands and try to see where that green liquid is in the blurry darkness. That will stop this crawling need too, won't it? Sleep and darkness instead of floating warmth but still it's closer and safer and I won't hate myself more. I can get through this. I will get through this. It's lying to me. I don't need it.

I don't care if it's right there.

Should have thrown it out to sea.

Probably fall off the dock trying to get there anyway. Said I would stay on the boat. Where is the green stuff? Avoiding the bucket, I knock a cup that I realize is the one that I was drinking the green stuff out of and lower myself down, there it is, the green. I eat a few more crackers before I pour more of the liquid out and drink it. Two cups, that's what I had before. Then I put it back and lean back down in the bed, feeling the odd tingly warmth and dizziness that I recognize from before.

It's more of the same dream wise. My parents collide with New Orleans, with Jody and Gavin, and now with the party as well as the job, and occasionally there are other bits and pieces: sex under the bleachers, the officer at the house, things the...whatever it was did, happening in town instead, at one point Mitch, the foster dude tries to garrote me with a guitar string before his face is lashed off by the fast movement of that thing's crazy long tongue.

“Duke? Boss? Hey—you're okay. Duke?” Julia. It's Julia. My eyes hurt as I try to open them and then I feel that cool cloth against my face and it becomes easier to do so, “Hey,” she says, “There you are. You think you can sit up? Drink something? You're overheating again—I'm sure you need fluids.”

I feel her arms under my arm pits and I carefully take hold to push up from the floor, and then lean against her. She moves pillows and then I lean back. Things behind her are sliding about again. I can see light from the bathroom door and it seems to be crawling towards her but it can't be. It can't. Nothing is coming for us.

“You okay?” she looks behind her, following my line of sight, “We're safe, Boss. It's alright,” she puts a hand on my hand. She feels so cold it burns me, “I'm sorry.”

“I-it's me,” I manage, after she gives me a drink, “Cold. Hot. I can't...”

“This thing's really got you good,” she says, putting a hand to my forehead, “You want to try some soup again? Officer Wuornos suggested peanut butter sandwiches. I think we have peanut butter. That'll be faster.”

I shrug, cursing the ache in my shoulders.

“Peanut butter it is,” she says, decisively, “You just gotta promise to stay on this plane of existence, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, “I'll try...” I can already feel my head drifting, focus not there, “talk, sing, something.”

“Oh, I don't sing...” she stammers, “You—you sing.”

“Too dry.”

“No...that's not...I mean you're the singer. You sing really...I—let's just talk about something—something else.”

My hand is stretching, “Yeah...talking...”

She comes back over, “Or maybe not needed. The sandwich is ready and you're still here.” She hands me a piece but I can't keep a grip on it and it falls onto the sheet. She picks it up and offers it towards me so I can take a bite. I feel my jaw cracking as I chew, but I manage to swallow it down, and then there's more water.

I'm shivery again. I pull my legs up carefully.

“Come on, Boss,” Julia says, “You need to eat more than two bites.” She offers me more water first, and then there's more sandwich, after I eat another section of sandwich she gives me more of the sickness medicine and something else to drink, slightly sweet.

It's another day of being in and out of places and times, hot and cold, aching and sore. Julia talks to me here and there but I can't keep track of our conversations. At one point clarity is forced by Julia because I was apparently scratching myself all over my chest and neck and she was freaking out.

Then at some point I'm jolted by her hand on me, “--oss? I really don't think you have anything to pick up.”

I stop. I'm half out from the covers and I'm not sure what she's talking about. I had. Shit. Was I saying something?

“Boss?” she says.

My head is pounding. What was I doing? Fuck—was I trying to go get something? My body is full of that burning ache. I probably was. Stupid asshole.

“I don't know,” I mutter.

“Come on,” she says, “Let's get you back in bed. If you're trying to go wandering maybe you can eat something?”

She gives me soup then, and more of the sweet drink, pain killers, stomach medicine. It has, at least, been a day without stomach problems of any sort that I'm aware of anyway. Please say she hasn't had to clean up a bunch of shit.

She leaves me with more of the same, two shots of the green stuff and promise to stay safe until tomorrow and not go walkabout, but full of the green I shouldn't be getting up. I really hope but they should have collected the trash by now. Please say they did.

&&&&

When I wake up it's just coming light. I'm sore, but I'm not burning hot or shivery, for once in a long while. I untangle myself from the sheet, and manage to stumble myself to the bathroom and turn the shower on. I have to sit to wash because I can't hold myself up long enough to stand on the slippery wet surface but it means I hopefully won't feel or smell like ass—as much.

I drag myself out of the shower and dry off as best I can, and get everything turned off and slowly get dressed in pants and a tank top, pick up a packet of crackers and a bottle of water, and cradling it against my chest with one arm make my way outside onto the deck which is easy enough because there are many things to brace against. I'm tired by the time I get there though. The sort of tired that would normally have taken an entire day working on the boat to achieve. I sit down on the box near the door and lean my head back against the wall. I'm not too shaky to hold things though. It's progress. Though it takes several attempts to get the cap off the water bottle so I can drink.

I sit for a while soaking in the fresh air and the rising sun and slowly chewing on crackers and just listening, trying to focus on the sounds and not my aching body. I can do this. I don't need it. I don't need the drug. I don't. I don't. I don't.

“Good to see you up and about, son.” I didn't hear him walking up to the deck. He's not on the boat itself, but he's standing on the edge of the gangplank hand on the rail. That police officer, again.

“Thank you?”

“May I?” he waves a hand towards the deck.

I nod. He steps aboard and sits on a box nearby, “How are you feeling?”

I pull my right hand away from where I was starting to scratch my neck, “Well, better than the past couple of days...” I muster, occupying my hand away from picking at myself by taking a drink.

“I imagine so,” he says.

“You brought Julia things and...told her it was stomach flu.”

“I did,” he nods.

“Why would you--?”

He gets an odd look, “She didn't know. You kept her away from that. I didn't think it appropriate to thrust it on her. She wants to help you. She can still do that.”

“Hell of a stomach flu,” I snort, and it makes my whole chest hurt.

“You're doing good. Your Daddy never got shot of what had him in it's grip—wasn't that strong.”

I can feel it welling up inside of me and threatening to burst out. I'm not...I have to put a hand to my face to hide. I feel the weight shift as he moves to sit next to me on the box.

“You're doing good.” I hear again.

I lean my head back against the wall, “If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

I shake my head. Fuck. Dizzy, how do I keep doing that? “I told myself I wasn't going to be like them, you know? I stopped...starting fights at least, and being...” I can't put all the words together, “but then I just...I went and got on this stuff.”

“That's what you did,” he says, lighting a cigarette, “but now you're fixing it and everything will be better. You got away from the people you know, right? The people you were getting the stuff from?”

“That bridge is pretty burned. I did...after I got the new boat...safe place they don't know.”

“Good,” he pats my knee, “Sorry. But that was very smart.”

I snort, “That was just me not wanting someone to track me down and shoot me while I was incapacitated.”

“Which is smart.”

“I thought I could wean off and cut down though—that was stupid.”

“Again, you're fixing things, son. I know you probably feel like crap that got run over by a steam roller right now and that's not gonna be helping your mood.”

“Yeah...” I'm getting twitchy again.

“But you'll get through this and it'll be the best thing you've ever done in your life. Just hold to that, and that you're not alone. You haven't kicked Julia overboard, have you?”

“No,” I shake my head, “I'm surprised she hasn't run away...”

“I doubt very much she would do that,” he says, “She's a good girl and a good friend.”

“Hm,” I nod. It's true. It's just so confusing.

“Speaking of which, she's coming up the way, and I should get to my actual job. It was just good to see you up and about when I drove by this morning.” He stands up, taking a drag on the cigarette until it's almost down to the filter.

“You know those things are addictive,” I tell him.

“So I hear,” he answers, “but it's that or the nerves, and certain consequences...” he shakes his head, “Lesser evils.”

Julia appears part way up the gangplank, “Good to see you, Boss,” she says, “Permission to come aboard?”

“Granted,” I wave with the hand holding the bottle.

“I was just heading out,” the cop says, “Good to see you again, Miss Carr,” he puts a hand on her shoulder as she steps on to the deck and he walks back on to the gangplank and pats a couple of times before disappearing back down to the dock.

“You're looking pretty good,” she says, “compared to the past few days.”

I lean forward a little resting my elbows on my knees, “Yeah. Thanks—for sticking around. I can't...” I spread my hands apart and look up at her, “I don't...”

“You're welcome,” she says, crouching down by me and looking into my face, “You haven't had a lot of this, huh?”

I have to scoff, “You know how town is about a Crocker...anyone else I've known has been employers or clients,” my voice is getting less scratchy, “Co-workers here and there. It's...” I shrug, “We mostly don't stick around each other...like after New—anyway, thank you. That was the point.”

“And you already said it. You've eaten?” she nods towards the crackers.

“Yes.” I look at the packet, “I'm not sure...how many were in here, but I've eaten...some...” don't scratch. Don't scratch. Do not scratch. I run my hands through my hair instead.

“I can make you something else...or we can wait a little while—not push it?”

“I think that's best...”

She nods, “Okay, then. Well, I'll go get the stomach medicine and the painkillers, and maybe you can direct me on work to do. I think the lower parts of the panels still need to be screwed in?”

I nod, “Yeah...I only got two? Maybe three screws in before...well, you know.”

“Alright then. I'll bring the drill and things out with me too. You stay put.”

I lean back against the wall again and do some more slow breathing in and out, in and out, push it away. I have to stay focused. Here. She needs instructions. Not that hard to screw in boards though. Also don't really want to be drifting back to New Orleans or childhood.

“Ready to work, Boss.” Julia sets the drill and tackle box I keep the assorted screws and nails in down on the floor and brings the bottles of medicine over for me to take dosages, “Alright, Boss, where do I start?”

“It helps if you have the drill plugged in. Unless we have a ghost downstairs drilling holes in things the bit should still be the screwdriver.”

“It is.”

“Good,” I shift myself off the box so that I'm sitting on the deck itself facing sideways to where I was and can get a better angle for what she's doing.

“Need a pillow?” she asks.

“No. I'm good.”

She gives me a suspicious eye, “You didn't hear the pain noises you just made.”

“That was getting down to the floor. My legs are...stiff. Well, most of me is sort of stiff and sore still. That has nothing to do with a pillow.”

“Fine. It's your back, Boss.”

“I'm not ninety I'm just...sick, and you have work to do.” I wave my hand towards the wall by her.

“Yes, Boss.”

“You remember which screws we were using?”

She opens the tackle box and looks through it for a moment and then pulls out a screw, when she holds it up I can't differentiate it very well from the background so I wave for her to hand it over.

“Good,” I say. I can't entirely trust that I had things lined up correctly the other day, “The screws should be in the center of each panel if...I put them in wonky the other day you'll have to draw those out and re align them. You...also need to make sure,” I can feel my head starting to go a bit again and close my eyes for a moment, “that the screws go in flush.”

“I remember.”

“Okay, sorry.” I massage either side of my head and then lean back again, “Have to then.”

The sound of the drill running the screws into the wood is not the greatest for my head, but it needs to be done, and it for a little while it keeps me more aware of the world because my it feels like it's vibrating through my jaw and into my sinuses, and all the way down my optic nerve. I can remember how I used to feel so calm and wonderful, how nothing could touch me, all the darkness washed away and now this just aching, spike-filled, agonizing...NO. Just no. My ears feel like when you listen to a shell for the ocean.

“Doing okay, Boss?”

When I look over at her I realize I'm partly curled up and one hand is wrapped around the back of my neck gripping tightly. There is a kink there but I don't know that I was conscious of it, really.

“I've been better. Just—ta—how are we doing?”

“Only a couple more,” she says.

“Okay.” I look at it assessing the way everything is lining up.

She starts on the drilling again, “What do you need me to do after this?”

“I think it'll be best if you put screws along the middle of the panels, too. Save against buckling. Then we can talk about the galley.”

“Whatever you say, Boss.”

As soon as we fall silent I find the drill vibration pushing me. I wonder if my brain is just trying to find a way away from the aches and pains that don't seem to be being touched any by the painkillers that I took, “Talk to me, please?” I ask her, “Helps keep my mind of things...unless—unless you're going to drill through your hand if you do.”

“I won't hurt myself,” she pauses for a moment, though, drill turned off, “I just...do you have a particular music...area you play from when you're um...guitaring?” she starts drilling screws in again.

“Guitaring?” I laugh, slightly.

“I...guitar playing, singing...it kinda mushed together,” I can make out the cute pinkish hue her cheeks are turning.

“But, no, not really,” I try to think of something specific, “mostly rock, I guess. You walked up on Eddie Cochrane the other day. I think I played some R.E.M, Bon Jovi, Pearl Jam...Cranberries, before you got here. Mitch was obsessed with The Beatles so that's mostly what I learned starting out that wasn't the boring scales, strumming and things. Other things too, but that's...what I...anyway...”

There's a quirky smile tugging at her, but she just puts a handful of screws in her pocket and stands up to work on the middle portion asking, “Mitch?”

“Oh, right. When I was in foster care. He taught me to play.”

“Do you want to talk about him?”

I shift my position slightly. It's a better topic than others might be, “It's fine.”

“So,” she says, starting on the screws, “was he a foster...brother?”

“No. Foster...'father',” I make the air quotes, because Mitch.

“Were there any other foster kids with you?”

I shake my head. Dizziness causes me to shift position again, “No. No others. Mitch and Magda apparently only wanted one at a time.”

She works her way through an entire board before asking me something else, “How—how old were you?” she turns to me, “How long were you there?”

“It was right after my Dad died. I was...almost eight. They had me...just over two years.”

She gets through a board and a half this time before she asks me the next questions, “Were you happy?”

I have to think about that for a little while. It was such a confusing time from Simon and Carolina and the tiny apartment to the big open house and M&M, even more so than now, and my muddled brain doesn't help the recall. I wind up shrugging, “It was weird. I never really got used to it, They seemed kind of...off to me, like pod people, way too happy and sunny and...I don't know,” I snort, sarcastic, “maybe they were just normal.”

She shakes her head, “The supposed normal's not really that great—I mean everyone's just trying to be what they think everyone else is, you know?”

“I suppose so.”

She's on the last couple of screws, “So, after I finish this and then what's next on the agenda, Boss?”

“The galley needs to be finished up. Shelves, sanding and finishing on the cabinets and the table. If you're up for it.”

“Of course. Though I could do with something to eat first. How about you?”

I nod, carefully, “I can try and eat.”

She screws the last one in, disconnects the drill and closes up the tackle box. She walks over and opens the door taking the tools through with her. I pull myself up braced against the crate—it's like I'm pulling myself up the side of a rock face. I lean in the opposite direction to hold myself against the door frame leading into the cabins as my legs are wobbling, stiff and there's that moment where they feel like they might snap from how sore they are. I do not need heroin. I do not need heroin. I will be fine. I can keep going. I'm sure I fail any attempt to not show pain—there's just no means.

Julia comes back to the door and grabs hold of me as I start to slip, “Duke—woah!” She wedges herself against the door and pushes me to the side slightly so we can readjust our position, “Don't push yourself you've been half dead for two days.”

All I can retort to that is to grumble noise as I brace against her to hobble into the room and slide back down into the invalid spot against the wall on top of the pillows. Everything is adjusted so that the pillows are more behind my back and then she feels my forehead with the back of her hand, “So,” I say, “Am I dying?”

“I doubt it—but you're a little warm. Nowhere near as bad as yesterday though,” she stands back up, “I'll get soup on and once you've eaten some you can have some more painkillers that should help with the feverishness too in case it's not just from sitting outside so long.”

I nod. She sets to opening the cabinets and looking through the cans, things swooshing around and clinking together slightly. I will not drift off. I will not remember that light and floating warm feeling. I do not need it no matter how much I want it, “Talk more?” I ask her.

“Where's the best place you've traveled so far?” she asks, selecting two cans and pulling them down. She goes and looks for bowls and then gets out a saucepan.

“You want me to pick a favorite something?” I ask her, “That's not really something I'm good at with things.”

“So pick one of your favorites?” she shakes her head at me as she's pouring soup out and scraping the cans.

“When I was in Bermuda I went scuba diving. I took a tour where you go over shipwrecks. That was pretty amazing. The old boats, imagining their stories, the water there is so clear, the creatures down there. I found some decent night life...”

“Better than New Orleans? You talked about how amazing the party was there...” Oh, yes that party, that's a wonderful thing to think about now, because that first time...if it was the other things that I'd already taken, or just because it was the first time with the heroin. It was so much better than any other.

“New Orleans was about...fifty, fifty. There were some great things, and there were some really fuc—shitty things too. I just haven't talked about them.” I shake my head.

“If you need to talk about it you can, but if you don't want to I won't push,” she says, stirring the pot.

The messy side of New Orleans is the last thing she needs to hear about. That thing with it's screeching and it's tongue ripping the skin off people and the broken ankles and Jody hitting it with the car as the job went horribly wrong but we survived which brought celebration. I shake my head, “Not worth dredging up again...”

“Alright,” she nods, “Anything else good happen in Bermuda?”

We eat and chat. I tell her about one of the other people on the scuba tour who while trying to take pictures got buzzed by a barracuda and had the most unfortunately hilarious freak out.

As she starts working on the kitchen I track backwards to when I severed ties with the...drug group, which I leave out, of course, but I tell her about the open air market in Montserrat and the night clubs, the mountains and the volcano and the view from the observatory. I remember then that the volcano erupted a week or two ago...which is horrifying to think about. I wonder if it's still going on. Julia volunteers to check the news. A television on the boat would be worthless, but I should get a new radio soon, music would have been a good distraction to have during this. Hindsight.

At least today I can pay Julia for her time because there has been some work done.

I wake up to Julia crouched by me gently calling my name and with her hand on my shoulder. She has an apologetic look on her face, “I have to head out. You were asleep, so I finished sanding the shelves and the doors and edges, and then sanded and wiped down the table and benches. I wasn't sure which stain you had in mind though given there are two in the hold so I left that.” I didn't realize I'd nodded off.

“Oh, right...lighter one, but...but tomorrow...hopefully I can work.”

“Let's play that by ear, Boss. Seems best,” she looks around, “You've been pretty mobile. Want to go to your actual bed? Probably much more comfortable.”

“I would hope so,” I manage a laugh, “and that—that would be good.” I start to pull myself up on the wall and she offers her arm as a brace, and we walk slowly through. I hate how slow movement is, but this will be over soon I repeat to myself. During conversation she told me what day it was, surely this must be about halfway over, and the delirium has stopped. I don't recall really any dreams there was just talking and then nothing and then talking again. I pull away from her and flop-sit on the bed. She goes back into the other room and comes back with the green liquid, and a glass of water, the painkillers and the crackers, which she sets next to the bed. At least in here I have a clock so I will know how much time has passed, right now it's about 5:30 in the afternoon.

“You need to get paid for today,” I point out as she's pouring out the NyQuil, “You actually did work.”

“We can sort it out tomorrow,” she says.

“Julia,” I tell her, “Bring me the money.”

“Yes, Boss,” she disappears back into the other room, “I need to go get your pillows anyway.”

I lift my legs into the bed and prop up against the wall. She comes back in and puts the pillows behind my head and hands me the roll of money. I count it out, making sure it's only the standard amount and hand it over.

“I'll be back in the morning,” she says, after I've drunk the medicine, “Good night, Boss.”