Ami-chan Writes

 

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.