Ami-chan Writes

“Hey, honey,” I feel a hand wending it's way down my lower chest towards my groin, and Brent's voice in my ear.

My head is muzzy and I'm slightly dizzy, “I had you sleep over?” I ask him, what was I thinking? Apparently that's out loud too though given his tone shift.

“You slept at my place,” he snips, “Like you have the past two nights. You're welcome,” he throws back covers and gets out of bed. Walking around to the other side while I try to work out where the hell dope might be here, and trying to remember something of the past two days so that I can make nice because he is my source and I...

Okay I was on the phone with him outside the Historical Society. Mighty need. I had money but he wanted sex because it's him. But fuck...the whole point was to forget that weirdness. I'm trying to remember the past two days, not the shit before. Fuck you, brain.

“Oh, wow,” Brent continues in those pissed off tones, “Was our 'partying' that terrible for you? Why don't you just take your shit and leave?”

“Fine,” I mutter, dragging myself to the edge of the bed, “I'll get dressed.”

While I'm finding clothes Brent is shoving things into the duffle with my other clothes, muttering to himself and throws a bag of supplies onto the bed at me going, “You're welcome,” again with that same inflection. Once I have pants and a tank top on I shoot up with it, and then finish getting dressed, throwing everything away in the trash can by his bed and lay back for a moment. The duffle gets dumped by my head, “I called you a cab,” Brent says.

When I look over at him he's wearing pajama shorts and a long silk house coat thing and has his arms folded. His posture is sulky with his arms folded but I can't make out his expression.

I push myself up into sitting position, “What is your--?”

“No,” he says, “No, don't you even.”

“What?”

“You come up here after how long? It was just going to be a 'smash and grab' but then you bring the things and you want to forget some bitch and spend some time and I was all 'hey this could be fun' and you brought some stuff I'm in to because I'm not about to do that shit, that's all you, but you brought booze, and I have booze, and you do you and we do other things, of course, but--” he's waving his hands around so much he might take off, “UGH. I can't with you right now. I shouldn't have even let you back in after so long.”

“I'm not going to come back from Europe just to get dope from you.”

“Right, and where did you get what you were on the other day? Talking about people being eaten by a Lighthouse and shit, and all this 'I love you, baby' just get in the cab when it arrives I don't...” he waves his hand.

“Whatever.”

“Whatever?” he kicks something, “You're going to whatever me now?”

I flop back down on the bed. I'm nowhere near high enough for his bullshit.

“Well take more then. You've got plenty. I'm not going to stiff you. I've got integrity on my deals. We may have something fucked up going on right now but a deal is still a deal. Just take it to the fucking bathroom. I've got phone calls to make. I'll tell you when the fucking cab gets here.”

 

I'm not sure how long it is later that I'm being loaded into a cab. I push the bag across the way and lean back against the seat. The cabbie says something I don't catch.

“Haven,” I hear Brent tell him, “You know the harbor down there? That's where.”

There's a back and forth for a moment and then Brent hands him money. I pull door the shut and he bangs his hands on the window twice as the cab pulls away.

I flip him off and then lean my head against the frame next to the window.

“Fuck you too, Duke!” he yells, flicking me off in return as the cab pulls away.

I'm feeling the movement of it vibrate it's way through my temples for a while before leaning back again.

 

“Come on! Out on the cab!” I can smell the salty air outside, and feel the breeze, but it's comfy, and I wave him away, “Duke—come on!” Strong arm and being drug to one side. I'm just able to grab the duffle, and then my ass hits the ground, “You brought that on yourself,” Wuornos mutters at me.

“They called you?”

“Cab, harbor, belligerent junkie, possibly called Duke. How could I resist?” he retorts.

I start to pick myself up. I realize he hasn't gone anywhere, “What?”

“Pay the man,” he says.

“He already got paid. Brent through money at him before we left Derry.”

“Is this true?”

The cab drives off.

“I should have known you'd keep track of money no matter how wasted you are,” Wuornos remarks.

I pull a face at him.

“I wondered where you were at,” he continues.

“You were worried about me?” I snark, “How sweet.”

“Well you disa—weren't getting into any trouble after the initial welcome back,” he says, “it's not like you.”

“Riiight,” I pick up the duffle, cautiously. I'm not going to ask him how long ago that was. Brent acted like it was just a couple of days since—since the lighthouse. Where's my phone? I don't see any Guard around so I can't have missed another lovely job. I'm not about to go searching through the bag for either of my phones in front of him though. That's all I need. Yeah that is totally a packet of talcum powder...yah.

“Let's just get you on your boat,” he says.

“I think I know how to--”

He grabs my arm, “You don't see you,” he says, “Haven P.D takes the safety of it's citizens very seriously. If I walk away and you fall in to the harbor and drown what kind of crap is the Chief going to give me?”

“Fine,” I mutter, moving the duffle to my outside arm and walking with him towards the Ursa's gangplank and then up onto her deck. My keys are in my pocket at least and I manage to unlock the door without too much difficulty and I stop before I push the door open because he's still there, “Okay. See, I'm fine. You can go.”

“Well check,” he says, “Gotta make sure you're safe on board.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“No. Do you--”

“I don't want to hear about the Chief again.”

“Well, then. Let me in.”

Fuck...did the Russians ever pick up their shit....? It's downstairs anyway. Well check doesn't mean the hold. I put the duffle down on the couch, and don't look at it. Did they ever call? If they called over the weekend...well, fuck them. They've left me hanging, how long? That's Russians though. Maybe I can find out how she did it and make the lighthouse eat them.

“Duke?” he asks, turning back from the middle of the kitchen, one hand resting on the table top. He probably wouldn't want it there if he knew.

“Nothing,” I shake my head.

“Didn't seem like nothing.”

“Well, you're nuts. I'm going to dump this in my room and piss is that okay with you?” I lift up the bag again and wave it at him.

“Okay,” he says, going towards the sink, and lifting up the tap to turn it on. Fucking weirdo.

 

 

I put the bag on my bed and dump it out to find everything so that I can stash things under the bed and in the bathroom given someone is traipsing around the rest of my boat. There's both phones in the mess too, and I put them on my dresser and toss my clothes in one corner, and dump my jacket on the bed.

Dope, needles, dope, needles, tie in the bathroom, along with a couple of caps I've used when mixing things, that have been rinsed out. It's a little easier in there, water source and all, and spare lighter.

I sit down by the side of the bed and rearrange things in there so I can put things away and have easy access given this is where I go in the morning half awake.

Fucking asshole, Brent. What the hell? But I was the one who went there knowing he probably wouldn't really understand, but where else? Can't go find a client in that frame of mind. Whose going to...? Well, there'd probably be some people willing to fuck me in that state but I needed dope anyway.

Hi, yes...there was just some weird...what...portal? Are you high? No. No, not nearly enough.

Fuck.

Supposed to be forgetting this shit. Fuck it. I make myself another dose, and soak up the rest in some cigarettes. I don't know if I already laced them. I don't remember, but whatever. I put the packet on the dresser. I can't shake the thing and it's annoying me. Why would she...? Why would she say that to me? Crazy lady. It meant...nothing. She was just nuts. Take the money and run that's all you had to do and that's what you did. That's what you did.

“Duke?”

Fuck. I didn't even notice him open the door and there he is like two feet from me.

“What?” I ask him, leaning against the dresser, keeping myself facing away from him, “Are you leaving? Please tell me you're leaving.”

“You...” he stops, for a moment, and sighs, taking a step back, “I don't care if you give me shit considering how your come back to town went but I was worried when you disappeared the past couple of days. I...know you can't like being back here, and then you were gone and the Ursa was still here that was...odd.”

I snort.

“But this whole week has been odd.”

“Even for Haven.”

“The Troubles are back. You better get used to it,” I release my tight hold on the dresser, but I don't think I manage to act casual enough about that so I turn around.

“They...are..? Are you...sure?” but he doesn't sound so hopeful about that.

“Believe me,” I tell him, “I know they're back.”

He looks like he wants to ask something, but then he changes his mind, and instead just sits back on the bed. Why are you not leaving? I slide down to the floor with my back against the dresser, dragging the pack of cigarettes with me.

“You didn't realize they're back?” I ask him, as I light up, “You're still all touchy feely?”

There's a long pause while he processes what I just asked him, “...yes.”

“You weren't sick. We've been through--”

“So, you're going to talk to me now?” he asks, leaning forward, “You hate me and you want me to leave and what the fuck am I doing here? But now, now—the me being sick as a kid is a Trouble bullshit? That you want to bring up,” he waves a hand in my direction and then slaps it on his knee and slaps it again with a weird expression on his face.

For a moment I can't breathe.

“No. I'm fine,” he snorts, “Were you actually worried?” It's a parrot-back, but I deserve it. I don't have anything to throw at him. Not being able to feel anything...that's not enough for Vince to want me to kill someone over is it? That's not a dangerous Trouble. That's not giving people deadly plagues or irradiating towns. Now you're just being a paranoid junkie.

A paranoid junkie with a cop staring at him. Remember that.

I shake my head at him blowing out smoke, “Fuck you.”

“You're not my type,” he replies, “Am I yours?”

“You're about as whiny as my last,” I tell him, “he does give me cab fare.”

“That's still riding in the back of a vehicle though.”

“Careful,” I tell him, “You say things like that and you're talking yourself into things. Though if your Trouble comes back on anyway you go it's probably not going to matter much. You should have fun while it lasts,” I pull the last of the cigarette and stub it out on my shoe.

“Duke...” he says.

“Don't say I didn't warn you then,” I say, “Does Hannah still live around here?”

“Have you gone from hating me to trying to get me laid?” he asks, sliding off the bed to sit closer to me, “What did you put in those cigarettes?”

“Someone should not get fucked over by this town. Maybe if you get with someone cool your Trouble won't turn back on,” I flick the butt over his head to the other side of the room.

“You trying to set your boat on fire?” he asks, “If she sinks you can't leave.”

I laugh, “Leave? The Troubles are back. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Really?” he cocks his head to one side, “I would have thought that would have been the perfect time for you to bail,” he sighs, “That's kinda what I thought you'd done...” he shakes his head, “shit. If we're going to do this I need beer or something.”

“Beer? Aren't you on duty Officer Wuornos?”

“Who is going to believe you if you tell, junkie?” he shakes his head again, “I didn't expect you to have any in your fridge.” 

“What?”

“There's Budweiser in your fridge,” he stands up, “It'll do.” 

No, I took...no, like Brent would drink that. I took him wine like Dave sometimes buys locally. I'd thought about it. I was just going to throw that out if it was still here and I hadn't imagined the whole thing after all. I guess I didn't. 

He comes back with the remains of the six pack of bottles and sets it down next to him popping the cap off one and taking a swig, “It's not yours?” he's very hopeful. 

I shake my head, “No. It was...the Dwight's.” 

“Who are they? Or shouldn't I ask?” 

I shrug, lighting another cigarette, “I'm not even sure, and it was just one really...” I hold the cigarette in my mouth as I hold my hands apart demonstrating how broad he is..was? …is? “...not exactly body guard brick wall guy. Really solid too.” 

He gives me a querying look and then a don't want to know head shake, but there's some thoughtfulness that follows in his posture and he drinks away some tenseness that creeps in. 

“What's wrong with you now?” I ask him. 

“Nothing,” he takes another drink, “Just like I said. It's been an odd few days. Are you gonna tell me where you were?” 

“I was visiting a 'friend' in Derry.” 

“Brent?” 

“The great detective rides again,” I mock toast him with my cigarette, “Though I think that bridge is burned now.” 

“At least he still gave you cab fare?” 

“Are you making jokes?” I ask him, “How much of that have you had?” shit, am I getting him contact high? That's going to be some explaining. 

He looks at the bottle which is only half empty, “Should I ask what happened?” 

“Probably not. Stupid outsider drama. Focusing on the wrong things,” I take a long drag, remembering before he started drinking and I had a nice long snort because it was faster than prepping a needle and I didn't have any cigarettes laced either, and we moved onto other things again. The freak out about what she said instead of the...freaking lighthouse, because, of course not from Haven so how could I expect him to get it? Stupid. Stupid. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” I can't look at him for a moment though, because if he isn't even up on himself having a Trouble will he get it either? But he is willing to accept that the Troubles could be back. He's afraid about it even, even if he's not...but that could just be fear. I mean, not being able to feel anything. That's got to be terrifying, “I went up there to—because of what happened when they—and I should have known that he wouldn't get it, because how could he? You start talking about weird portals, and thrumming things...and how the world went sideways and people kinda...suck-popped out of—well, the world and...” none of the hand gestures I'm making good possibly be helping my explanation at all but they happen anyway, “...and what he picks up on is that the weird crazy lady told me she loved me when she gave me the money I paid him for dope with because I was a rambling idiot and I am again...aren't I?” he's staring at me. Fuck, “She was apologizing to me, Nate. What the fuck is with that? Why would she do that?” 

“I...couldn't tell you,” he says, edging slightly closer. I can hear the box of beer scraping across the cabin floor until it's sorta wedged between us. 

“Who apologizes for giving someone money?” 

“Someone weird,” he says, “but apparently generous.” 

I snort, “Thanks for the great insight.” 

“You're welcome,” he drains the bottle and puts it back in the box with it's full partners, “but a lighthouse portal?” 

“Yeah, kinda portal thing. She called it a door. Not really any door I've ever seen, but well...” 

“Haven,” he says.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“No wonder you said you knew the Troubles were back.”

“Yeah,” I nod. That's the reason. Sure.

He's staring at me.

“What?” I ask him.

“That's not the reason?”

“I'm not getting into that with you,” I tell him, “It's best you don't know.”

He's staring but it's more a quiet look now, “I know there's stuff that goes on with Vince Teagues and the Guard and everything...” he says, “...there was that whole mess before...with—with,” he swallows and doesn't finish the sentence he just pops open another beer but then stares at it for a while and doesn't actually drink from it. Hm, right, when he and Chief, because we were supposed to go fishing and—that was when he first found out, for sure anyway, that I was using.

I shake my head, but I know I'm sorta smirking because it's just so fucked up. His Dad has to know what Simon used to do...does that mean he knows the “Crocker thing”?

“Duke...” he says again, “...we seem to be in this weird place right now where we're...talking about things, and I don't want to screw it up because it's the first time in forever...”

I can't help making a grumbly noise at him because this means he's going to be going on about truth, justice and the American way any minute and expecting me to vent whatever made me smirk.

“Seriously though,” he says, “You have a boat. You didn't just come back for...whatever you were doing that I won't ask about and are turning around again like you've done so many times? You can't just make it like that?”

“If I could I would...” I turn the cigarette pack around in my hands against my leg. I probably shouldn't smoke another one right now but this conversation is so not good for maintaining a high.

“You're going to let someone stop you doing something? That doesn't seem like you.”

“What do you know?”

“I remember you broke your wrist to get out of handcuffs in the back of Chief's car...” he says, “and broke out of rehab...” the last part is more of a mutter and he takes another drink of beer.

I lean my head back against the dresser because that was the stuff he stopped himself saying before and now he's mad, again. I pull another cigarette out, ignoring the look he's giving me but then he swallows.

“Why are you letting Vince push you around? I...” then he stops, “...wait,” he sits forward, close enough to me that I back up a bit.

“Why...are you looking at me like that?”

“That—that whole thing in Derry?” 

“What whole thing in Derry?” I slide to the side a bit for good measure.

“Dad was really pissed at Vince when we found you, after...after, anyway, but before rehab. Did—did you think that was the only way you were going to get away from him? What the hell is..?”

“Just don't Nate.”

“No,” I pull my knee out of the way when he tries to put his hand on it, “Duke, come on. If Vince is...I don't even know, surely we can do something. You could have come to me—to Da—Chief—Dad...grah...really...I mean...”

“What? What do you mean?” I light the cigarette, cupping it in my hand.

He sighs, “That's not...”

“I wasn't trying to be helpful.”

“No shit,” he sighs, “but really...100%. Why do you feel like you—not owe, but have to be here because Vince says? I realize even when you've been gone you've come back to do stuff for him no matter where you've been...”

Why do you get smart now? This was much easier when I was sure you didn't give a shit.

“...Crockers work for the Guard...” maybe that's a safe way to put it.

“So, your Dad...”

“...to start out with, but then he went kinda off the rails. Well, he was always kinda off the rails, but he went more off the rails...he just...” I put down the cigarette packet so I don't crush it in my hand.

“I remember things you would say,” he says, putting the half drunk beer in the box, “and well, the way you would—things that would happen—have happened to you sometimes.”

“Mrrr...”

“Bruised ribs?” he asks, “Your--”

“You don't have to--”

“I was going to say the trips out of state,” he says, “though the first time you went after you came back...” he shakes his head.

“What?”

“You were so banged up Ju--” he stops for a moment, “Julia and I thought he'd tried to kill you.”

Fuck it, “Well, not far wrong,” I snort, “Except he's not going to kill the heir whose Trouble he just activated. He was...he was just pissed I wouldn't use it,” Nathan might be looking a little green, “hm, you don't know about the Crocker Trouble?”

“I...I've heard some things about Crockers,” he says, “but I thought that was just because Simon...is a psycho and the town is well rid of him, but I...”

“Yeah...”

“Where do you suppose he is? I mean he's never tried to come crowing back, but it was all but proved what he did to...” he goes for the beer again and drains it, “...bastard.”

Oh, he did it alright.

“Sorry,” he says, looking over at me, “but she was my friend too, and...well, I mean you know he beat you before he left, didn't he? Sorry,” he says again.

“No, I know, and I mean...I...it's just,” I wind up hissing, “I know he did it and--”

“And you didn't—but how—there wasn't enough evi--”

“He bragged to me,” I shake my head, fourteen years ago but it's just so...clear, despite the bedroom getting fuzzy now, “after you dropped me off...”

“Duke?”

He's gotten closer again, what the fuck ever, “What?”

“You were just staring...” he waves a hand over somewhere in the corner.

“Sorry,” but I've smoked how much since...what were we, “I got drunk on his favorite vodka, and he kicked my ass about it but he also bragged about what—what,” I don't have enough to stop him from grabbing my hand which I was apparently flailing around, “he'd done to her but I was too drunk to beat him and I crawled out of the house.”

“And then...he ran?”

I shake my head, “No...I waited in his truck until I figured he celebrated his ass,” there's a slight touch on my knee and I jolt.

“Celebrated his ass?”

“What?”

“You lost your sentence.”

Fuck, “Right. I knew he was going to celebrate his ass into almost oblivion...what was I ever able to prove against him before? But then he and I finished our discussion but...I had a sledgehammer this time, and he didn't make it.”

“Good.”

I was...not expecting that. Fuck, how long have I been crying? But is—is Nate wiping his face too? He puts his head down to his knees for a moment. 

“No,” he says, “Really. You're right. He'd have probably--”

No, because the Guard. Oh, fuck am I laughing like a crazy person?

“What?” he says, “What?”

“No, the Guard. They showed up the next day on Vince's orders to do him in. If I'd just...or if I'd...but I'd already...”

“Sentences?” he says.

“What?”

“Never mind,” he says, “You don't have to. I think I get what Vince did,” he's still wiping his face, “he's got Simon on you aside...”

I nod but, “aside?”

“What?”

“You were saying something else?”

“No,” he says, “You're hearing things. Shit...” it goes dark in front of my face for a moment and then light again, “...I feel like you should sleep this off but I really don't want to leave you by yourself either.”

“You're drunk,” I tell him. What's this giving a shit thing happening now?

“A bit, yes, but not as drunk as you are high,” he is trying to tug me up but I don't want to move and don't work with him, “Come on,” he says, “you have a somewhat comfy bed over here.”

“Shut up.”

“How much is in you?”

“The what now?” I am on my feet, mostly, leaning back against the dresser more than him, and he's to my side, like he's doing some weird blurry dance.

“I'm not going to search the boat, or throw you in jail...or anywhere else,” he adds, “but how much have you taken today...? recently?”

“Why?” why is he asking this all of a sudden if he doesn't..?

“It's an important thing to know right now. Come on, Duke, please.”

“Fine,” man, this...when I woke up...in the bathroom...got back here...was that all?

“Duke?” a hand waves in front of my face.

“Three...three...shots,” I've counted on my fingers but it still doesn't look right.

“And it's in the cigarettes, right?”

“Yeah,” how many of those have I smoked...there was when we were...

I almost hit him when he puts his hand on my shoulder, “Hey—was this full? The pack?” the blurry red mass passes by my face, “Okay,” he says, “How many were in here, before you got home? Was it full?”

“No...not full, two?” two yesterday...was that?

“Okay,” he's got it open I realize.

“That's not...”

“I'm just counting,” he pushes my hand away, “Come on. You're laying down. Over here.”

“No, I'm...” but I realize that I'm moving anyway, “...stop it. Weren't you supposed to be leaving?”

“I know you think you're saying things to me right now, but you're really not. Which is more proof that I'm right.”

“Stop it,” I say as clearly as I can, but I swear he's just laughing, and he pulls my sweater off, and I'm already on the top of the bed, “Are you trying to..?” I can't finish the thought though because just, no.

“I know there was a question there...” he sounds frustrated, “I'm just gonna guess...I figure it'll stop you from overheating if that's a thing that might...I'm winging it here from what happened before and I mean...why am I even talking?” he's messing with my arms and I pull away, “Just go to sleep, idiot, and please don't freak out when I'm still here later on.”