Ami-chan Writes

“I'm serious!” Nate says, from the other side of the oven that we're carrying across the deck.

“Less talk more shifting,” I counter, “We're going to have to angle it through the door if you ever want to eat something not flame broiled when you're hiding out here.”

“Now you're just trying to change the subject,” he puts his side of the appliance down, “I'm not budging until you answer me, and I'm the one in the doorway.”

“I will mow you down and you will feel it now.”

“You should be happy I outgrew my illness,” he says, with mock indignation. Yeah, just never leave Haven, “What?” he asks.

“Nothing. You wouldn't believe me.”

“Well, if it has anything to do with you not having a thing for Julia then I absolutely won't.”

“Nate, please. It doesn't matter.”

“Of course it matters,” he says, “because as I was saying before you rudely tried to shove me over board with the oven. She likes you too.”

“Eh. You can swim.”

“That's beside the point. That means you can do something about it and have, you know, an actual relationship instead of being a man whore.”

“Just pick up the oven before I ram you with it and you're never able to have children.”

“Is she coming down here today?” Nate asks, but he does, thankfully, pick up his side of the oven and start backing through the door into the rooms below deck.

“I don't know,” I tell him, though she does come down pretty much every day and she didn't say anything yesterday about having some awful family obligation with Eleanor so chances are.

“Uh-huh,” Nate says, “You know she is. She can't keep her eyes of the gypsy bad boy.”

“Stop it.”

He puts his hands up, thankfully having already set the oven down again so it doesn't drop on my feet or something.

“Seriously, Nate. I'm 19 now. You live with police. You know what that would mean. Even if she likes me.”

“Which she does,” he persists.

“And we hit it off,” he starts to say something else but I put my hand up, “but anything happened, even if someone saw us just kissing and that's the only thing that had ever happened her reputation is ruined and I'm lucky if I just get arrested for statutory rape and am not being lynched somewhere.”

“Well, then get the hell out of Haven.”

“That'd be nice.”

“Ursa's almost finished,” he points out, “Shit, if you didn't care so much about eating you could go now.”

I mime throwing something at him. He mimes ducking.

“I'm not the only one who likes eating,” I point out, “Next time you come fishing you'd be bitching if it took longer than a few minutes to get a fire going.”

“Permission to come aboard!” Julia calls from outside.

“Aah!” Nathan says, making a face.

“Don't even start.” I warn him, “I know where you live, Wuornos.”

I go out on deck and fold my arms on the railing, looking down at her, “You're late, wench,” I call down, “we might have to make you walk the plank.”

“Do you have a plank yet?” she asks.

“I'm sure we could put something together.”

She laughs, “Not without help.”

“I did work on boats before I hung out with you people,” I back away from the railing, “Get your butt on board.”

She jogs up the gangplank and on to the deck, “What's up for the day?” she asks.

“Well, we picked up the oven.”

“That was her game,” Nate remarks, “She didn't want to deal with that.”

“What? Being trapped in a truck with you two for an hour?” she laughs, “That can get a bit much, but no, unfortunately it was just Mom deciding that I couldn't go anywhere until I helped her change all the curtains in the house,” she shakes her head.

“--the hell?” I ask.

“Well, you see,” Nate says, “In regular houses, people have these things called curtains and they use them...”

I hit him in the arm, “I was meaning why spend all this time changing them.”

“Mom is crazy,” Julia shrugs, “So, you were saying about the oven?”

“Yeah. We need to sort out the wiring on the oven and make sure it's not going to short out anything when it's connected, and we need to hook up the extractor fan. Other than that it's the clear coat on the cabinets and table...”

“Super exciting,” Nate rolls his eyes.

“You were the ones who said you wanted to help me. I can do this stuff by myself, you know.”

“I'll help with the oven,” Julia says, “It'll be good to know how to wire things. Putting the radio on won't risk electrocution will it?”

“No. Just like in a regular house, I do know how those work,” I add for Nate's benefit, “The oven is on a different breaker and I didn't connect the stove one yet because I like living.”

“This place only has one bedroom, doesn't it?” Nate remarks, when he comes up with the varnish and stain.

“I wasn't exactly in the market for a luxury liner. If I deign to allow you to stay on board at some point you can sleep on the pull out, or just sleeping bag on the floor somewhere, unless,” I waggle my eyebrows at him, “you want to cuddle up in bed with me. I'll let you be the big spoon.”

He throws the paint can key in my direction but misses and it bounces off the cabinet behind me.

“Careful now, damages are coming out of your pay.”

“You're not paying me,” he counters.

“Oh, right,” I put my finger to my chin, “but then refresh my memory, who was it loaned you, what was it $3000? so you could get your truck? And is letting you pay it off in labor?”

“And who was it just said you could do this stuff by yourself?” he picks up the paint key.

“Oh, my God!” Julia says, “Do I have to bash your faces together?” 

Where? Wait...this is my bedroom. It's been a while since I've woken up in here. I definitely didn't get myself back here, and—damp hair—clean clothes. There's no way. I would be having to do that now that I'm awake and somewhat clear headed. How? Surely not Vince. I left him on the side of the road, didn't I?

I sit up, something stretches on my arm. I pull up the sleeve of the shirt on my left arm—bandages...

My head is pounding now. Nothing good especially if my arm starts itching again that will waste the bandages that whoever it was put on there.

I find the drawer under the edge of the bed and pull it out and find the supplies stashed there, and fix things between my toes given it was only my left arm cooperating this morning and that's the one bandaged now, and laying back on the bed for a moment reveling in the lightness pushing away the aches and the tremors that want to force their way through me, and those drums that like to bash their way through my sinuses at times like this.

I breathe in and out slowly a few times and find the spare gun in the night stand before opening the door to the bedroom and keeping that hand on the inside of the door frame as I look out. It's the Jennifer and her Dwight. She's sitting there reading a book. Dwight is standing near the main door back to outside he was glancing out of the window towards the docks now he looks back towards me. How did they...? What is...?

“What the hell? What is your game exactly? What are you after?” I ask them.

She calmly closes the book and turns to me, “Looking to buy your time and assistance for finding and traveling to a specific but currently unknown location. The whereabouts of this location being the information we need to track down via you and your contacts. Paying cash, as I said before.”

Seriously. Seriously? I...how after...?

She gives a slight smile, “Look, I know who you are and what goes on in this town, I may not look like a native but my family's been in Haven from the beginning to about 50 years ago when we went into hiding.” I suppose I shouldn't ask what family that is, probably safest for everyone, “I know about your recreational drug use, and I want to make it very clear that if you agree to assist us, you are to do or not-do whatever and however much you feel you need in order to be functional,” well that makes some things easier, “Also, the cafes were very good. There's a sandwich, fruit and some juice in the fridge for you.” Hm. That's...this is definitely some kind of odd discount grubbing technique. Going to have to come up with something.

I set the gun down on the dresser by the door and come out of the room closing the door firmly and then lean back on the door frame folding my arms and leveling her with as stern a look as I can, because I need a handle on what the hell is going on, “You and him brought me back to the boat and did all this?” I point at the bandaged arm, “If you're trying to--”

“I apologize for boarding without permission, but you were incoherent and bleeding. I want to hire you, Mr. Crocker, and I am willing to invest a bit of time and energy to make sure I get the best return for my money. You're not going to be able to assist me if you're passed out from blood loss or hunger.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I'm not exactly going to pass up food though I wonder what they might have done to it—though it seems counter productive to mess with the food of someone you want to hire badly enough to wait while I did Vince's work.

I go to the fridge. There's a wrapped sandwich, fruit cup and juice bottle still sealed. Okay, so nothing done. I set the things on the table and sit down at it, across from them and open the sandwich. Lunch meats, cheese. This is just...

“We can add a percentage to your fee for the inconvenience of us intruding on your boat and your privacy without permission,” she continues, “as I said you were incoherent and bleeding it seemed the best course of action at the time for your recovery.”

“We can get to that in fee negotiation,” I decide is the best way to go about that. The weirdness of all this is threatening to bring an edge back I don't want, “What exactly is this information you're looking for, that will help with estimates.”

She looks exasperated now, “We need to find a place that's...the only means of identifying it we have at the moment is that it's known as 'the Heart of Haven',” she sighs, apparently she thinks that's as cheesy sounding as I do, “It probably dates back to the times of the Mi'kmaq tribe and the founding of Haven, the whole God's Orphans bit.”

“So, you've checked around Tuwiuwok Bluff?”

She sighs.

“Alright. Well, there's at least one person I can think of to get in touch with, and other than that there's the historical society. They have some old maps and charts in their office. If they have anything older it's not so much out in the open. There's some stones that can be rattled,” maybe. It's been a bit since I've been here, will have to think of what negotiation or blackmail material I still have. Dave and his obsession with scrimshaw and other weird old things might really be the best bet to start with.

I lean back in the chair to get a fork from the drawer to spear fruit out of the cup with, “I can start making calls once I'm done with this.”

“Appreciated.”

Then we finalize rate for information gathering, and what they can set aside for possible bribery should it be needed. I have to field a call from the Russians which I take in the bed room, graciously telling them I can meet them near Maine given I have another client to meet there, and I can drop their things off on Little Tall, any time after the next day or so within two hours notice.

To show no trickery I come back out into the main cabin to make the phone calls that will hopefully start the information tracking for the Jennifer. First it's a call to the historical society who are closed already, so a voice mail message left with a slight accent change, a paper being done interest in the native tribes because who knows which one of them will call back in the morning. So, that's two reasons to leave the blue phone on, better make sure it's charging.

It's an okay time to call Dave though. He'll probably still be at the Herald offices and not anywhere near Vince so that's a good thing.

“Duke?” Dave asks, picking up, “Did I short you?”

“No, no,” not that I've actually counted yet I realize, “All that's fine. I'm calling because a client of mine is looking for information and I thought it might be up your alley.”

“Oh?” curiosity piqued.

“Yes. I've been asked to find out where something called 'The Heart of Haven' is so that I can take them there.”

“Why?”

“Oh, come on. You know better than that.”

He chuckles, “I'll see what I can dig out of the records.”

“It's something even older than you, so watch out. The client is thinking Mi'kmaq times and I know I've brought you things to do with them, so this is why I ask.”

“Hm,” he says, “So, how soon do you...they need this information?”

“As soon as possible. I'm sure I can see my way to sorting something out with you the next time you need something.”

“I would hope so.”

“I'll call you around lunch time tomorrow,” he hangs up.

The Jennifer and her Dwight seem to have been having a discussion about something while I was on the phone. When I put it down on the table she looks over at me.

“I was going to send Dwight out for sustenance,” she says, “and to find a place to stay. How do you feel about Chinese food?”

Not exactly hungry, but I have a feeling that is not the type of question that was, “It's not as good as Thai but Haven does not do Thai. Over the Way B&B is the better place to stay and is actually in town. If you say you heard about them from Gloria Verrano they'll give you a better deal. She...used to be the M.E.”

There's a flicker of something across Jennifer's face, but then she brushes the pleasant business manner back over, “Thanks for the tip. So, what would you want as far as Chinese goes?” she glances at Dwight, “Actually, where would you suggest?”

“Good Luck has really been the only place, unless something has changed in the last eight months. It's on...Lincoln. Pretty much everything is good, except the foo yung.”

She nods, “Okay, then.”

“Don't really care for foo yung anyway.” The Dwight—he speaks. Ah, shit...he was in the bathroom at the police department. That explains some things. Sort of. I rub an eye. Then remembering set an alarm on my phone to remind me to call Dave and check up on the Mi'kmaq thing wouldn't do to forget that.

“Anyway,” Jennifer says, “What do you care for, Mr. Crocker?”

“Duke is fine, Crocker even, Mister is...was...” Let's just not, “Just...anyway, chicken and broccoli.”

“Do you like dumplings or spring rolls?” she asks.

“I don't know that I would eat any. I had the sandwich and such not so long since.”

She has Dwight take down a list of things that seem more than six of us would need but then Dwight is pretty huge and sends him on his way with several bills from her purse.

And then there were two. Not awkward in the least. I excuse myself and go find a charger for the blue phone which also serves as chance for me to put the gun in the bedroom back away. There's another out in the main room if I need it, after all. Which reminds me...what happened to the clothes I was wearing before? There was a gun and two knives on me there, and the pack of cigarettes, even though they'd left my phone on the table.

I plug the phone in and set it on one of the counters in the kitchen and am about to ask about the jacket and such from earlier when she turns to me.

“I have a question...or proposition, perhaps is the better word,” she says.

“Oh?”

“I know that people in your line of work are typically...selective...about who they let get close to them, and it won't offend me in the slightest if you turn this down,” her expression has shifted greatly from the big boss lady to more personable, and now she's even being...cute? “You...greatly resemble a man I had a crush on in high school, someone I was never able to even kiss at the time,” what guy could that possibly have been? She has strange taste or she's just trying to butter me up. I have to wonder exactly where this is going. She looks down at her hands, “I'd...like to pretend, for a fee, that you're that man and that my feelings aren't unrequited.”

I sit back down at the table, “Really?”

She nods. Still looking nervous.

“So, you're looking for a full boyfriend experience here? Date, dinner—because you just ordered a week's worth of Chinese...”

She shakes her head, “No, just the...after date boyfriend experience, would be the term, I suppose.”

“And this is just for you, not the both of you?”

“The both?” she starts, “Oh, Dwight,” there's an odd laugh, “No. No. He's definitely not involved in this.”

I nod. Well, then, “It has been a few months since I've been tested for anything but last time I was I was clean; but there are other...”

She cuts me off, “I know there are certain precautions that need to be taken with you, but I've been on a birth control for the last year or so to specifically keep me from menstruating. I also know that as a side effect of your Trouble, you don't have anything to give me and wouldn't get anything even if I had it, but I've only been with a single partner, and he's clean.”

Wait...what? She seems very confident about that about my Trouble, but she also said her family line has been in Haven since the beginning. Just what family line are they? And no sickness, huh? They really can't kill us Crockers can they? At least not naturally. Lovely.

“Are you alright?” she asks, “I've offended you...”

I shake my head, “No. It's just someone else who knows more about my Trouble than I do. That's all.”

“Ah,” she has a sly, self-depreciating smile then, “It's just something I picked up with my Trouble.”

Well, then a birth control that stops the period is definitely a good thing. If it's real. But then if she's lying about that and there is blood—that would hurt her more than me. That down is nothing.

“What exactly is your Trouble?” rudeness, “If you don't mind my asking?”

“I see things that aren't visible to anyone else,” she says.

“I was doing that earlier,” it's out before I can stop it. In full bemused sarcastic tones.

She smiles though and with teasing tones of her own says, “Yes, but the things I see are actually there. They just can't be seen by anyone else.”

“Hm,” I consent.

“So...” she says, toying with her fingers again, “are you interested?”

An offer to be paid for my preferred style of sex. I would be foolish to turn this down, “I am.”

She seems extremely excited and relieved.

“Is there anything specific you're looking for?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“Positions? Activities?”

Her entire face flushes with a pink hue which is actually kind of adorable, “Oh,” she says, “Well, I'd...I'd hope that both of us would enjoy ourselves...um...” well, that's different, but then I can't think how long it's actually been since I've had sex with a woman, which high school me would have found very pathetic, probably, but let's not go any further with high school me, “...you know, until one of us falls asleep. It's been a while...” she continues.

Yeah. Really.

Earlier, well, even now, she comes across as someone who likes to be on top, but she's also really tired. They've clearly done a lot of traveling today. Gives me some ideas to work with, anyway. Gotta make sure she's satisfied. It may be a separate transaction but sexually frustrated client would not be good to work with on other things.

There's idle chit chat then which I find a little clunky. I'm not used to company any more. I do let her know I might have to side trip to Little Tall to drop off some things some time over the next couple of days, but it shouldn't interfere too much with what else is going on.

“Who knows?” she says, “Maybe the 'Heart of Haven' is out there,” but it's a half-hearted joke given Little Tall Island is a good forty-five minutes out at sea and not really the heart of anything. Then there's a tentative knock on the door which is her Dwight returning and the scent of Chinese food fills the cabin and I retrieve some little used plates from a cabinet in the kitchen and set them out, followed by silverware, and glasses.

“I pretty much only have water...” I tell them.

“I got a six pack of beer while I was out,” Dwight says, not that I really mix the mind altering substances, “and some pomegranate soda,” he sets a two-liter in the middle of the table. The Jennifer has been unpacking the box full of food and we sit around the table. She pours herself some of the pomegranate soda and offers it to me. I wonder if I pulled a face at the beer and made it obvious I wasn't going to have any of that. Dwight opens one though, and food is portioned out from it's stapled and sealed containers. Some noodle dish on the Dwight's plate. Something else with chicken on the Jennifer's.

After a little while she offers me something from the tin foil bowl of dumplings though I'm barely managing to eat the portion of chicken broccoli that I put on my plate.

“Well,” she says, “There'll be plenty of leftovers for tomorrow.”

There's more small talk about meaningless things, places visited. The Jennifer has been to Australia. I've never made it there, neither has the Dwight. He was in Afghanistan though, in the military, that explains the way he carries himself at times.

“You don't seem surprised,” he says.

“It's in the way you walk. You have to make effort not to, don't you?”

He nods after a moment and a look that passes between him and the Jennifer; but having someone ex-military with you coming into this town is definitely a smart choice. I'm always surprised that the place still gets tourists.

Soon enough things are being cleared away and Dwight's asking if he can store the remaining four beers in the fridge, “They're safe. Don't worry,” I tell him, and there's a variation of the look he got when I lit the cigarette this morning.

I take the plates to clean because if they're not done now they'll be growing legs in the sink a week from now, and the Jennifer takes Dwight off towards the door and talks to him in a low voice. I wonder how exactly she's explaining the arrangement that she and I have made what level of candor they have in their relationship. That's right, Lieutenant Dwight, I have hired the filthy junkie, who we hauled back here incoherent not four hours ago, for sexcapades for the night go off to the nice bed and breakfast and worry yourself not about me being murdered for the rest of the money that we have.

I put the dishes away.

“Alright,” Dwight is saying, “I guess I'll head out then,” he quirks a slight smile, “You kids have fun,” as he closes the door behind him the Jennifer has gone bright red. It's actually very cute. I cross the room towards her as she shakes her head, not in a dismissive way, more a clearing it way.

“How do you wa--?” I begin asking.

“Start with some kissing?” she asks, softly, reaching towards my head. I look down at her and our lips connect a couple of times and she begins to knot her fingers into my hair which sets a fire alight inside me. I deepen the kiss, pressing my tongue into her mouth, searching for her own. She returns this, catching my tongue with hers, touching and teasing and that combined with the fact her fingers are still at work in my hair and on the back of my head—my scalp, has definitely aroused everything below the belt.

I back her towards the bedroom door given she was so tired in appearance, no matter how much I could take her on the table it seems a potentially bad idea. As we move I reach my hands under her shirt and begin to lift it over her head. She releases my hair for just a moment to assist, so that her shirt comes off. Then practically rips my over-shirt off as we move into the bedroom itself before kissing again, and I lift her onto the bed.

She undoes her bra, as I unbutton her pants and pull them off and toss them towards the corner.

“Come here, baby,” she says, and grabs my hair again, pulling me down to kiss me deeply, practically reaching my tonsils with her tongue.

I have to pull off my pants, things are too tight. As she continues to manipulate my hair a groan escapes me and her panties follow her pants into the corner. She briefly releases her hold on my hair to pull off my t-shirt and I take hold of her legs so that I can slip my body between them and have my penis find it's way home between her folds, pushing deep within. She moans and gasps as I do, throwing her head back.

I keep hold of her legs as I thrust against her, and she grips the covers on the bed, pushing up here and there to deepen our connection. Her legs move to wrap around me pulling me further home and which leads to us both moaning at the same time and I can feel myself threatening to go, it's been so long that a woman and I...but she's not quite there yet. I find her clit with my hand and press it between my fingertips and then roll it a little and continue to massage it and she writhes, as much as she can with us still locked together, and damn is that...but it's good in the sense that we then wind up on the other side together.

She's drowsy satisfied when I pull apart and lounge down on the bed next to her. Boyfriend experience, right. I brush the hair away from her face and kiss her on the cheek.

She turns her face ever so slightly and kisses towards me catching my mouth with the faintest of whispers, “Mmmm, thank you, baby,” she says, a cute smile playing across her face, she starts to reach for me but her arm is too tired.

“I think you need sleep, and that's probably best with pillows, and you know, more on the bed.”

I pick her up and move her to the proper position.

“You'll stay?” she asks, softly.

“Just let me find the better blankets and I'll be back,” I assure her. It's only a partial lie. If she wants a sleeping companion she doesn't need one freaking out in the middle of the night and waking her up and she may have said that is all okay, but I doubt that talk of heroin is part of her idealized boyfriend experience...then again if I remind her of some high school boy she couldn't hook up with. Let's not get into speculations here. I find a pair of pants I can sleep in, and go to the closet for a thicker blanket which I cover her with and retrieve the packet of cigarettes, and my regular phone on the way back too.

She seemed to be dozing but when I drape the blanket over her she murmurs and reaches for my hair so I kiss her which she returns, sleepily, before her hand drops again which is fortunate for me, because the doing things with my hair would start things for me that she's not up to helping finish and directly after that whole experience rubbing it out will be so much less satisfying even if I could go again already. It's so much...

Let's just stop this train of thought.

I set the phone on the bedside table and plug it in to charge and turn on the certain play list that I use if I'm actually intent on when I'm going to sleep, soft, low, ambient music, nice and relaxing.

Then I find the panel in the bathroom and open it, get everything out and go to work soaking up any excess liquid into cigarettes again, after pulling what I need into the needle but with the overnight dosage there's only enough for one not three, then right side of the packet with it and upside down and set them on the bathroom counter.

I go with the right arm this time, keeping the rubber tie on until I get back to the bed, taking it off just before I lay down in the bed so that the rush won't begin until I'm laying down, as I do so the Jennifer shifts over in the bed and wraps an arm around me resting her head against me. I rearrange my position so that she her head settles against my chest and lean my head back into the pillows and float back into the music.

%%%%

A familiar dull ache is spreading from my head and down across my shoulders. I'm in an odd position and when I try to move and can't facts flow back into my brain: the arrangement with the Jennifer, the pretending, the sex and her falling asleep. She apparently stayed curled up against me overnight and so I'm trapped with her on me like a barnacle on the hull. She has a contented smile on her face in her sleep, which while sweet is just...why am I...comforting? to you strange woman?

I guess I can stay like this for a little while. Pay and all, right? Maybe she'll move.

It begins to feel like hours but straining my head and carefully pulling my phone over tells me it's only been about twenty five minutes and she still hasn't shifted position more than adjusting her head a little. I can't stay like this much longer though. My whole body is aching, and despite the blanket that's still over half of me I'm chilly, and the itch is starting. It's no good, it's no good, no baby, it's no good. I try not to laugh. I manage a slight smirk snicker which doesn't seem to affect her any and adjust position just a little. Have to get out before the twitching starts, makes it harder to shoot up, plus I might kick her and that will not help client relations.

I've almost got my arm out from underneath her when she stirs and sleepily reaches for my neck and kisses me, “Good morning, baby,” which makes me freeze before I realize what I'm doing. She blinks at me for a moment and then sits up completely and puts her hands over her face.

I take the opportunity to sit up and turn around and swing my aching legs off the bed and focus on not scratching my arms. She spent time bandaging me up yesterday we don't need to go through that again.

“Oh, God. I'm sorry!” she says. I can imagine that she's blushing again, “Do you need—I'll--” she scrambles out of the bed and goes towards the corner where her pants and panties were thrown and starts getting dressed, “My shirt's out there right?”

I nod.

“Okay, I'll—I'll be in the kitchen,” she grabs her pants and goes out of the bedroom door

She's...embarrassed...? Shit.  

I'm too fucking twitchy to deal with this shit right now. So, we'll fix that and then we'll go see what damage is going on in the kitchen. It's back to the stash in the bathroom and the mixing and drawing, doctoring a few more cigarettes and stashing them again. It feels strange this time as I press for a good spot and then tie off but that moment of worry is gone once the needle slides in, and the liquid is wending it's way into my veins. I pull the rubber tie off and lean my head back, breathing in and out slowly, and then pull myself up, and clean everything away. I grab the pack of cigarettes and go to the bedside table and grab my phone and put on a shirt before going out into the main room.

The Jennifer is out there dressed and...making coffee, the Venezuelan Dark that I ironically picked up in Britain.

She looks over when I open the door, “I have to apologize,” she says, “I...was...I didn't want to interfere with any...morning routine you...need to, that you have.”

That's what she was saying?

“And,” she continues. There's an and? Okay..., “I think I got a little too into the scenario maybe, I mean I took up half your bed all night, and your...there might have been some evening...routines that I screwed up too.”

“No...I was able to take care of things, and it was boyfriend experience, right? That involves sleeping over. You're rested, I hope, and everything was satisfactory? I was concerned earlier.”

“No...yes, I mean, yes, satis—more than,” she nods, “I just...I fell asleep I was worried that I hadn't—that you were left wanting,” she goes for the coffee pot a couple of times and stops.

I had started to reach for mugs but when she says that it shuts my brain down for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” she says, again.

“No, that's not. I mean, you're the client. It's your satisfaction,” though I can't help thinking about the table, “If you didn't get your money's worth then...”

“I was very satisfied,” she says, as my brain clicks back into gear and I open the cabinet and get the mugs down, “Why were you looking at the table?”

I'm so grateful to be high right now it means I'm not as embarrassed as I could have been, “Well, in the interest of...I don't know...” doesn't stop me from not forming sentences, “When things started last night my first impulse was the table...but you were so tired...”

“The table?” are her eyes sparkling?

“Yes,” I can't help but look at the table again, “There was just something about the hair...” I find myself admitting, “...drove me wild.”

She giggles, “So...” she says, “...how much would it take,” she runs a finger down the edge of the counter, walking closer to me, “for that to happen? 2/3 of yesterday?”

Do not refuse the odd lady's offer of more sex for money, that would be very stupid, “I think I can accept that.”

“You think?” she asks, brushing a hand by my ear.

“Well, isn't your Dwight coming back?”

“Not for at least two hours. If we run the same price. Do you think we could do something else as well?” She has both hands in my hair now though so it's hard to entirely concentrate.

“What—what did you have in mind?”

“It'll come to me,” she says, as she lifts her mouth up to mine to kiss me, knotting her hands so tightly into my hair.

It's a lot easier to get these pants of mine off. I can just pull them down stepping my feet on the ends which leaves my hands free to undo hers, and remove them and her panties, as we continue with the almost fevered kissing, because—I really don't entirely know what it is about my head and hair that does that, but damn it's good, tongues fighting each other, teeth slightly nipping each other, breaking apart to nibble here and there at each others' throats, as I lift her up and kick one of the chairs over to set her on the table and lay her down. She lets go of my hair and rips my shirt off me and runs her hands down my back digging her fingers into me as push my penis inside her unable to stop the satisfied moan as the connection is made, and then she wrestles herself out of her own shirt and I lick my way up one breast back to her mouth as she knots her hands back into my hair and I grasp her shoulders to help pull her down as I thrust up and drive myself deeper hearing each little gasp as I do and her tugging at my hair and scratching my scalp each time. God damn, and then she pulls up on me slightly pressing against me and bouncing biting deeply into my shoulder and I speed up, thrusting harder and harder until she shudders against me and I can release. She rests back against the table and I lean on her. I'm about to pull free when she puts her hand on my chest.

“Wait,” she says, “Please. Do you think you can try something? If we're careful.”

“What did you have in mind?” The crazy Jennifer has me slightly, no, more than slightly intrigued.

Carefully she sits up against me, and kisses me again, sliding a little from side to side. I'm concerned I might dislodge, and brace her by putting one arm around her back, using the other for stability, but nothing seems to happen. She wraps her legs around my back and puts her hands on my shoulders and moves again from side to side.

“Okay,” she says, as though she was slightly worried it wouldn't work, “Now then,” she looks around us clearly surveying, “To the ground, please.”

This is going to be interesting, “The ground?”

“Well, the floor.”

“I was meaning, not a chair?” As I put the hand not balancing her on the table and carefully bend at the knees.

“If you want to fall over backwards...” she wriggles.

She has a good point and a damn good wriggling motion. I'm definitely coming back to life down there. I manage to lower myself enough to drop onto my ass, which makes her groan in such a way that I'm thoroughly ready to go. As I stretch my legs back out, she pushes my top half down by my shoulders, and begins her proper ride. I reach my hands up to take hold of each breast and she throws her head back with a satisfied moan. I almost expect a yee-haw, but instead she just speeds up the pace of her gyrations.

Holy fuck. This almost feels like robbery. I'm pushing up against her trying to keep up the rhythm as she grinds us both back to climax and then falls down on top of me and I lower my hips back to the ground.

After we separate and stand back up I pull my pants on and go to the coffee pot while she's finishing up putting her own clothes back on, shrugging on the over-shirt before I get there but not buttoning it. I pour the dark elixir she prepared into the two mugs that I got down before wondering how strong she made the brew and if she's one of those sorts that taints her coffee given I don't think I have anything on hand to do so with except her Dwight's beer.

“I'm not sure that I have any viable milk or any sugar at all,” I tell her passing along the mug I haven't sampled as she approaches.

“That's fine,” she says, “You have proper decent coffee it doesn't need to be doctored to make it drinkable.”

“Well, then,” it's a little too early for anything, but I check the blue phone anyway. No messages, and then pick up the cigarettes.

She follows me out onto the deck and sits down, but keeps several boxes of space between us, looking out over the town. I set the coffee down beside me so I can light up one of the laced ones the expenditure of so much energy making things shaky and then follow her line of sight which is drifting up the main drag towards the center of town.

“What time are we expecting your Dwight back?” I ask her.

“Oh,” she says, “around 8,” she takes a large mouthful of the coffee and seems to be inhaling the caffeine as well as swallowing it.

“Okay,” I nod, so there's at least an hour before the wall returns, and I doubt we'll hear anything from the historical society by then or Dave either. The Russians have been up for a while. If I haven't heard anything from them by now I likely won't today.

“I don't usually do breakfast this early, but if you do, don't feel you have to wait for us,” she says.

Breakfast...right...that is a thing, “Not generally hungry this early either,” I shrug, drinking more of my own coffee, “I'm surprised we didn't work up some of an appetite, but then it's kind of a...side effect...” I let that trail off, finishing up the cigarette.

She gives a slight laugh and looks away for a moment, “Yes, that was fun. More than, really,” she blushes, and looks down into her coffee cup. She toys with it, and it reminds me, a little, of my nerves when I first spoke with Vince, “I'd get you off like that anytime you wanted, without negotiations first, if I thought you'd let me...” the who what? It was really good and everything but...“but I know you wouldn't trust it, so I'll keep paying for it.”

Stop staring at her. I return to my own coffee which is almost finished.

Is this the strangest client you've ever had? I drain the coffee. This is...pretty weird that's for damn sure and I don't...

“I'd like to ask if I can borrow your shower,” she says, then and I turn back to her, “but before that,” she has a sort of minxish look on her face, “if you want another go, it would only take one word to talk to me into spending more money this morning.”

I'm sure I'm staring at her again. She's offering...this is great—but I—okay, why are you—hello, more money for more sex with the cute girl.

“Absolutely.”

She takes a sip of her coffee and looks at me over the top of the mug, “I think it's my turn to be on top again.”

“As you wish,” I tell her, “Bedroom?”

She gets a quirky smile, “Baby, I will do you wherever you want.”

I start to shake my head. She's the client, after all, it's supposed to be what she wants, but then she wants me to choose. I'm going to get myself trapped in a feedback loop if I'm not careful.

“I promise I won't stop until we're both done,” she continues, “I just don't particularly care where we do it...although we might get hit for public indecency if we do it on the deck. Maybe...depending on who gets the call.”

“Yeah. Wuornos just loves to come out for calls to the Ursa though that might make him hesitate.”

She laughs.

“But,” I continue, “the bedroom will be more comfortable and I can probably go longer.”

“Sold,” she says, standing up.

I lead the way back inside. Once we're in the bedroom she leans over and tugs on my hair to pull me down to kiss me and then pushes me towards the bed. I manage a few steps back and then my legs hit the bed itself and I fall backwards onto it, sideways and pull myself a little ways up. She's stripped herself naked again in very quick fashion and is as I start to go for my own clothes she's straddling me, hands on my chest, fingers on my nipples and then kissing me. Just gentle, as her fingers toy carefully, teasing my chest.

“Get up on the bed properly,” she says, moving her leg off me so she's at my side and scooting slightly so I can do so.

Once I am, she grabs hold of my pants and pulls them down, and takes hold of my cock in one hand and massages it slightly, before applying her mouth to it very briefly. I have to be imagining this as my brain overloads, and she's sliding herself on board in short order. Oh, God. It's a slow, bouncing, rhythm and there's a slight side to side shift along with the up and down, and I push up as she comes down to deepen our connection. She pulls her fingers, nails, down my sides and I move my hands from her hips, to squeeze her butt cheeks and then up to her breasts and she does that rolling her head back moan and picks up the pace.

Then all of a sudden she stops and pulls up and then drops herself down hard. Oh, damn. She does that again and I'm gone, and I know damn well she didn't finish.

“I'm sorry,” I tell her as she lays down on me, “That was just...” there are no words that can adequately describe that, “I can finger you, oral...or give me a couple of minutes?”

“Don't apologize,” she says, slipping off me and down to my side, “I did that on purpose.”

She definitely is a tiny crazy lady. I shake my head, leaning back towards the pillows.

“And I can wait,” she continues, “I get the feeling it won't take too long.”

Come on now, man, she's going to be asking for her money back if she keeps performing better than you. I roll on to my side, carefully, given it's my left arm that's going underneath me and gently run a finger down her side, and then back up circling one breast. She lets out a little gasp and presses her lips together and I lean down to kiss her again. She kisses back, there are those tongue flickers and some light nibbles with her teeth against my lips.

I break apart the kiss and almost go for her neck, but that's too...so working my way down to her breasts with my mouth it is hands reaching up caress her head the way she has mine, but she grabs hold of my hands instead and puts a finger into her mouth and begins sucking on it. She takes my finger into her mouth slowly and surely up and down. Oh, damn. She continues to suck on my finger and I can't help but look up at her, that wicked expression on her face.

Well, I'm definitely ready to go again.

I take the hand that she hasn't been sucking on and trail it down her body and then slip one finger, she lets out a little gasp, and then another, another gasp, and I run another running back and forth over her clit, which results in a few moans. I needn't have worried about her being ready either really it turns out.

I use that hand to guide myself back inside and she presses her hands against the wall to push down against me. I reach up to connect our hands, bracing on my knees for more thrust. She wraps her legs around my ass and pulls me closer in to her. It feels so damn good being in there, probably because it's been so damn long since I've been with a woman that has to—and oh God, she's driving me in further and I press further as she moans and pushes her hands against the wall more down and down, deeper and deeper.

She pulls my face towards hers and kisses me. I move faster as the kiss deepens in intensity and she once again begins to tangle her hands in my hair, breaking the kiss briefly, “Don't stop,” she breathes, gripping onto my back and digging her nails in to me and I resume thrusting increasing speed again until her grip tightens with a throaty groan and then releases and I follow soon after. 

%%%%

I pull my pants back on, slowly, as she lays on the bed breathing in slowly, one hand across her chest, the other on the bed.

“Wow,” is all she says for the moment, which I can understand.

I should probably put on actual pants, thinking about it, her Dwight will be here before long. I go to look through the dresser. There's the jacket sitting on top of it, along with all me things. How did I not notice? Right...this is me.

She's sitting up now, “I didn't know what else to do with your things. I'm not going to go rummaging around.”

“Appreciated,” I take the one knife to the desk where I keep it and seeing the journal still sitting there realize that I never put her name in it. Shit. I find a pen on the top of the desk and scribble on an envelope to check it works.

“Um...” she says, “About the shower...”

“Oh, right,” I flip through looking for the page that is being worked on and write in yesterday's date. All that was just yesterday, “Yeah, it's through there—wait, out of curiosity, who showered me?”

“...I did,” She looks a little flushed but not too much, “No, it's...I...You were...kinda ripe...” she says, “and it's close quarters and everything,” Ah, that's why she was flustered.

 “I can understand. I...tend to forget these things,” that was a, “Anyway...the shower is through there, like I said. I should show you how it works...no, you used it,” I shake my head, “obviously you worked it out. Sorry...” Finish the journal. Nicole Meadows. Some sort of plague thing. Guard orders. I drop the journal back on the desk.

“It's another imposition but do you have some clothes I could borrow? And maybe a washing machine? We sort of arrived on short notice with no time to pack so those are the only clothes I have.”

“Oh, wow...uh, yes. Sure. I imagine I have ripe clothes, too...” I can't help but laugh, “but shower first, can't really run more than one thing on the water.” I open one of the drawers, “There are...should be shorts in here, that might work better than my pants given height difference, and then shirts...you know where those are, I guess.”

She nods, “Alright then. I'll be out in a bit.”

“I'll be on the deck,” I switch to a pair of jeans, and change my shirt for a long sleeve cotton sweater and dump the other clothes with the ones under the jacket from yesterday and pick up the jacket itself, the gun and the other knife to take back into the main cabin and stash them where they're supposed to go.

I have to get the mugs from the deck before I can make more coffee and move the cigarettes to by the outside wall. There is the safety gun underneath this seat, of course, so I will be here once I've replenished the coffee. Soon I'm leaning against said wall with both phones by me, sipping on more coffee, book in my lap debating if I'm going to start reading it or not given I randomly picked up I Am Not Myself These Days, and it's 50/50 whether it'll actually be a distraction, are they more fucked up than me?—it is someone else's problems—but who am I to judge a drunk drag queen shacked up with a male prostitute who gets addicted to crack?

I've read the same section several times before I give up. The coffee is half drunk, and going cold. I light another cigarette and inhale deeply, zoning out, looking out across the bay and allowing the float. The door behind me makes me jump and my hand moves towards the gun as I turn before realizing it's the Jennifer. She's wearing one of my denim button up shirts and a pair of light shorts with drawstrings pulled so tightly they're hanging down to her knees.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” I answer.

“So, laundry...”

“Right. That.”

“Can I load your dirty stuff with mine, or do you want to do it? I found the machine between the bedroom and the kitchen.”

“No,” I pull myself up using the wall, “I'll do it...you dealt with enough of my dirty clothes.”

I follow her back inside, carefully placing my feet, and go through to the bedroom for the clothes, checking through pockets as I walk back and then dumping things in the machine.

“Hey,” she has a hand on my arm! “Sorry,” she says, “I say hey before and you didn't notice.”

I put a hand to my forehead, “Then I should...sorry,” I grab the detergent and finish setting the machine.

“I was gonna reheat some of the Chinese food for breakfast, you want anything?”

I'm supposed to be not passing out from hunger...right, “It's probably a good idea if I have a little something,” the washer starts to rumble, “There we go...half hour or so and it'll be washed. I...don't have a dryer though.”

“That's fine,” she goes to the fridge, and I go to the kitchen cabinet and open it, “You know, not passing out from hunger doesn't mean you should eat if it'll make you sick.”

“Hm?”

“I mean if you're not used to eating—if you want it now I'll heat it up or you can always wait a bit...we had concerns yesterday given Dwight heard you in the PD but you have kept yourself alive this long I trust you to know when eating is a bad thing.”

“I...” is she...what is going on right now? Bowls I was getting bowls. I get three down. I'm not sure if her Dwight will be coming to eat or not.

“I saw your arms, baby. This isn't a new thing for you.”

I shake my head, “Not by a long shot,” did that make it out of my mouth or not? I set the bowls down before I drop them.

There are shiny things lined up on the counter from the fridge and she closes it's door again and opens a drawer looking for silverware, “What?”

The light from the window is glittering around the dust that's circling her hair, and sparkles from all the things on the counter are reflecting off her, well, my clothing that's curving around her body as she moves about, doling things here and there. I lean against the counter, “Hm?”

“No, all I said was 'what?'” she says, turning to me with a fork still in one hand, “I didn't quite...but it's okay.”

“Feh, more heroin than blood at this point, that was the main thing, well-preserved, like Keith Richards, isn't that his name? Rolling Stones. Donate my body to science, but with the Troubles that's probably a bad, bad idea so Vince would probably want to incinerate me except that might get the whole town high, maybe mummification then...burial at sea like the...” I slap a hand over my mouth, stop talking, "Fuck," You are definitely babbling. Babbling is worse than not talking at all.

She has a smile on her face though as she's putting her food in to heat up.

“You know,” she says, “I'm gonna put your chicken and broccoli back in the fridge, and unless you're determined enough to find it and eat it cold, you can wait until you won't get mesmerized by the microwave or something, okay?” She does so, while her things are cooking.

Well, wasn't exactly hungry anyway so that's fair enough, “Point,” I lower my hand, with the other, as she stirs the food from the microwave and puts it back in for a little while.

“I kind of wish I could show you the Lightscape; you'd love it. I was lost in there for days when my Trouble first kicked in,” the smile is still there as she pulls the food back out.

“The...things that aren't there?” I wave my hand about.

She nods, stirring up the food again and pouring more coffee which is still warm in the pot and I hold the door open for her to go outside.

“Probably good you don't have anything in your system. See enough as it is sometimes.”

“Probably right,” she says, sitting down on one of the crates with the food. She looks towards the sea and scans back and forth a little towards town looking slightly frustrated and angry. Haven problems and cold coffee problems too, but that one's mine. Then she shakes her head, muttering and digs into the food she cooked.

I lean back against the wall again, and look where she looked. I wonder what exactly it is that she sees when she's looking at this “Lightscape” but it has to be really neat. Right now most of what I see is just swirling clouds moving with the breeze and when I look over the other way the large form of her Dwight walking towards us up the side of the docks. I stand up and walk to the other side of the boat and lean on the railing. Jennifer notices the movement and turns herself.

“Your Dwight,” I tell her, “Pretty sure no one else is built like that,” I wave my hand towards him.

She stares off for a moment and then focuses back on me, “No, that's Dwight, alright,” she stands up and joins me at the railing.

The Dwight stops at the gangplank and looks up at us. I can't make out his facial expression from up here, but after a moment I hear him, “Can I come up?”

“Sure!” I call.

Once he's up on the deck he looks between the Jennifer and me, “Looks like things are going alright,” he muses.

“Oh, this?” she pulls at the shirt, “Laundry. I was doing. I am doing. Lack of clothes and all.”

“Ah, right,” he nods.

“If you need to,” I tell him, “You can too,” he is rather large though. He's not that much taller than me, but he might be twice as wide, “though I don't know if I have much that would completely fit you,” I put a hand on his chest and he's very, “...woah, you are solid, aren't you?”

“If you want breakfast I can heat up some of the Chinese for you,” the Jennifer tells him pointing behind her to the crate.

“I ate in town,” he says. His shirt is really silky and I can feel his abs underneath strong and taut. He takes hold of my hand, “...is he..?” I pull it free, and examine his arm instead.

“High?” Jennifer asks, “Yeah.”

“That's gonna be okay?”

A silky hand closes over mine and pries the soft material out of it, “Waiting game right now, anyway,” the Jennifer's voice by my ear, “Pull up a crate. I'm gonna check on the laundry. Duke?”

“Yeah?” I turn to her. Her face is super close so I back up a little to make sure she doesn't have one eye any more.

“You have a line to hang the clothes on I take it? Where is it?”

“Oh, right...it's in that,” I wave a hand towards the box attached to the wall.

I sit down. The Dwight is sitting on a crate close to the gang plank slightly sideways so he can look out towards town and out towards sea just as easily.

I Spit On Your Grave starts playing from my cell phone jarring my attention. Someone from the Guard is calling. Probably not Vince himself, but you never know. I pick it up. If this is another Job. Meh, that's way too much reality crashing in. The Jennifer is halfway through hanging clothes on the line. I feel both her and the Dwight watching me as I pick up the phone and stand.

“What do you want?”

“Crocker...you're...” Gallagher the younger drew the short straw apparently.

“Who else would it be?”

“Well...” that trails off too.

“If there's a Job I'm happy to explain to Vince in explicit detail exactly where he can--”

“No,” he says, “No, nothing. I was just—he was—after yesterday...but you're...so I'm gonna go,” and he's gone. I rub the hand holding my cell phone across my forehead.

“Everything alright?” The Dwight's voice from across the deck.

The Jennifer has left the laundry line and moved slightly closer.

“Yeah,” I will not hurl my phone into the harbor. There are other numbers in there and reminders and things. I drop the phone back onto the crate instead and pick up the cigarette packet. You will be good and fuck it whatever. No, there's not that many left of either...I put the packet back in my pants pocket for the moment and just go lean on the rail and look out onto the water. Need to assess stock all round. Historical society might call soon and if not need to call them.

“...can I help in any way?” The Jennifer asks.

Did she just offer to help? I heard that right...I turn to her slightly.

“Is tiny Jennifer gonna have to choke a Vince?” she queries, sounding so very serious at first.

It's so absurd and yet also hilarious and I would love to see it. Her throwing herself across the desk and wrapping her fingers around his throat. I find myself laughing, gripping the railing tightly with my left hand and just laughing, and then sort of coughing a bit and wheezing as I slow the laugh down and regain my breath. I bash my chest a couple of times and hear.

“Good going if you kill our hired hand,” from the Dwight.

“It wouldn't be the best way to kill him in my arsenal that's for sure,” she retorts.

“I said I didn't want to know what you guys got up to.”

“And I didn't tell you!”

“Do I want to know?” I ask.

“See,” the Jennifer waves a hand in my direction and points a finger at the Dwight who had stood up and walked towards her, “not dead,” she shakes out a shirt and clips it to the laundry line.

“Alright, then,” the Dwight says, “and now that you're apparently not fascinated by my...shirt...what's on the agenda for the day?”

The Jennifer is clipping the last item to the line, “Don't look at me, I don't know his schedule. Also, I have reading to do.”

“I was asking him,” the Dwight says, “You weren't fondling my...shirt.”

“Historical society needs to get back in touch. If they don't in...” I go pick up my phone and check the time, “...about a half hour I'll call them again. I have to call back my other contact,” I set an alarm for that didn't I? I check, “around noon, to see what they dug up.”

“If anything,” the Dwight remarks.

“That dude is stubborn for a challenge like this, and I always keep some of his favorite things on hand. We can take some down in person if need be. He's also cheap. If he thinks he can get a discount out of me for next time he needs something...he's gonna try for it, especially when all he has to do is read,” but he's not his brother. At least I won't have to kill anyone for him.

“What about anything for other people?” the Jennifer asks, “You mentioned Little Tall last night.”

Okay, yes I did, “I haven't heard from them so far, and...” I can math, “...it's getting into evening with them...so chances are nothing doing today unless their middle man is being a shit again,” in which case they forfeit the cargo and I can do what I want with it. At this point I'm kinda hoping their middle man is being a shit. This is not fucking worth it any more, “I do need to double check stock on some trade goods I have,” and count Dave's money never did do that, “but that shouldn't take too long either,” in theory. Please say I've been rationing right...making a drug run right now would be awkward, “Let me get started on that. If the HS call I'll come back on deck.”

%%%%

Dave's money is all present and accounted for, as to be expected. I split it into three uneven piles. Half goes in the safe. Half of that goes in the stash under the bed and the other I put on my person for the day. Then I check the hold marking things on the red phone, verifying the Russians' shit just to make sure I didn't do something stupid, and then the other things I have in the small room.

Signal isn't so great down here, but there's no voice mail chimes either—those would still come through. I find a canvas bag and pull out a few things that might go down well at the historical society given they're the sort probably dig fancy wines, and a things I know sit well with Dave and his weird soda fetishes and a book of old time “post cards”.

I'm aching all across my shoulders and down my back by the time I pull myself back up to the main cabin though, and starting to feel chills. I set the bag down on the table and can't help thinking of all the fun that was had on there and what either the HS peoples or Dave would think knowing their bribes sat on top of that, and get myself a cub of water partly to drink and partly to test. Given part of it spills from shaky hands—well, I needed to check how much of that I had anyway. 

I pull the couch away from the wall and find the panel there. I never fully restocked in there it seems. There's just a packet of needles, which is useful...but no actual stash. I take the needles out though. Don't need to be going behind the couch while the clients are here. I fix the panel back and move the couch back into place, and then give myself a moment before going into the bedroom.

The under bed panel has a small packet left, enough for right now and one more, and I know there's some left in the bathroom, but fuck. I didn't think I'd used that much. I go in there to verify, and yeah, there it is...a couple of days—probably. How has it? I shouldn't ask myself where has it been going. I know where it's been going. I just...fuck.

I find the half carton of cigarettes, and get a packet out, after I cook and draw I soak the remaining cigarettes from the open packet so everything in there is laced. I should probably check my left arm, but I imagine I've taken long enough.

Need to call the Historical Society...haven't heard anything back after all, and it has to have been longer than a half hour.

I shoot between my toes and then put everything back into the bathroom stash except the two packets of cigarettes and my lighter and go back out on deck, trading the contents of my pockets around so that I have the cigarettes away and the blue phone out. Yeah, no calls, nothing going to voice mail even now the signal is back, not even from the Russians or anything from Dave.

Out on deck the Dwight is pacing back and forth and the Jennifer is sitting back in the spot she was before reading. He turns when the door opens looking relieved that something is finally happening.

“Any word?”

“No,” I tell him, “I was just going to call them back. May be easier just to go down there though,” stop you wearing a hole in the deck too.

“I'm up for that,” he says, “Where's your truck?” his expression shifts a little then, “...car?”

I probably give him a weird look much like the one he gave me about the beer, “I...don't...have one?”

He seems a little flustered for a moment.

“Where would I keep it?” I point out, “Boat's not that big.”

The Jennifer makes a noise then, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” the Dwight says, “We were talking about just going in to town to visit the Historical Society in person but...”

“...pretty sure your feet work. You got down here without—you guys don't seem to have a rental.”

“Yeah...but...” the Dwight starts.

She closes her book, “In person is good. If they have maps and charts, I'm going to need to see them myself.”

“Well, then,” I clap my hands together, “Sounds settled to me.”

The Dwight still looks nervous. The Jennifer less so.

She stands up, “Well, I need to put on my actual clothes,” she walks over to feel them, “They seem dry. Can I use your room?”

“Yeah.” I take the rest of the clothes down and given Dwight isn't following me right away I tell him it's okay to come back inside as I go in. He follows and closes the door behind him. I set the clothes down on the couch for the time being and try to remember where I put the back pack, as it'll be easier to carry the bribes into town in that. It's either in the bedroom or in the cupboard where my jacket is, so I check that first.

The Dwight hovers awkwardly by the door, “Anything I can do?”

“No.”

“Didn't think so. Not used to being...superfluous.”

“I'm sure there'll be something at some point.”

No back pack in there, but I bring my jacket out. The Dwight makes a noise which makes me turn to him, but then there is a shot gun in there.

“You're not bringing that?”

“Is there some reason I'd need to? Are we storming the Historical Society? I prefer to bribe people.”

“Good,” he says.

Oookay then. Maybe not so weird that a military guy is leery of guns, especially the idea of some junkie wielding a shotgun all willy nilly. The bedroom door opens and Jennifer comes back out dressed and ready, and I go back in the bedroom to find the back pack.

The clothes Jennifer borrowed are folded on the bed. I put them in the dresser and look around for my boots as well as the pack. I find the pack by the side of the desk, but the boots are nowhere. Well, the Jennifer will know where they are.

“What happened to my boots yesterday?” I ask the Jennifer when I come back into the room.

“They're in the corner,” she points.

I retrieve the boots and get things sorted with that, and then trade things into the back pack, leaving the wine wrapped in the canvas bag for protection and we head out. The Jennifer seems rather disconnected as we're walking and the Dwight keeps putting his hand on her now and then to keep her steady. She must be looking into her Lightscape again. Then we're at the Historical Society building and we go inside to a jingling bell. 

The main room is darkened by curtains on the windows and then lit by lights on the wall. There's a woman sorting some books back on to shelves on the wall on the right hand side and Dave is sitting at a table on the left. He was studying some maps intently but looks up when we walk in. He nods in our direction with an expression on the whole going oh you made that connection and realizing of course these are the clients wanting the information that I asked him for. 

“Can I help you?” the woman asks. 

“I think what we were looking for is out over here,” I tell her, and cross to where Dave is. The Dwight seems torn as to whether he should follow me or follow the Jennifer who is going over to the woman by the books. He opts for going more towards the Jennifer but not completely closing the distance.

“Duke,” Dave remarks, “There are some fascinating things in old maps.”

“I'm sure,” I say, “My clients were sure hoping so and I told them you were the best chance of information otherwise; so, what do you have?”

He gives a slight smile, “I've got quite a few things, but I'm not entirely sure what your clients need. Perhaps I should talk to them.”

“Is that how we are now?” I tell him, “Well, just watch yourself because I don't have to show you what's in the bag.”

“What's in the bag?” he asks.

“I don't have to show you. It all depends on how things go and if the client is satisfied,” though she did seem very satisfied this morning. Haven't gotten a 'wow' in a while, and not one like that anyway. That Norris kid, had apparently had horrible experiences with head, poor guy. Fuck if his mate didn't need a better dope dealer. I'm going to need to make a trip into Derry, aren't I? I doubt anyone has the same numbers any more if they're still in...

“Duke?” Dave says.

“Right,” I say, “You were showing me some things, weren't you?”

But we're interrupted by the Jennifer being lead over by the woman from the wall, Keegan, I think it is.

“Dave,” she says, “this is Jennifer Carver. Miss Carver, Dave Teagues. She's interested in the old legends about the origins of God's Orphans.”

Carver family, hm.

“Ah, really,” Dave stands up and makes a show of shaking hands, “Well, very pleased to meet you Miss Carver. I'll be happy to help. It's under control, Beverly. You can get back to what you were doing.”

“Mr. Teagues. A pleasure. I was able to locate Duke Crocker, as you can see.”

“Yes,” Dave says, nodding in my direction. I rest the back pack on the table, and pat it slightly with one hand, glancing over at the Dwight, and remembering Dave describing them as “the giant and the tiny woman” and trying not to laugh at that, “so I'm going to go out on a limb and guess these are the clients you were having me research for?”

I nod.

“That does make some things a bit easier then,” there's another slight chuckle, “So, you're looking for the Heart of Haven. May I ask why you want to go there?”

“As long as I don't have to answer,” the Jennifer says smoothly making Dave laugh, “Now, I've been doing some research of my own, and I think if we can locate where God's Orphans first appeared, that will help us narrow things down.”

“Very clever! I was thinking the same thing myself. Now, this legend,” he waves a hand over one of the papers on the table, “says they first settled in a place I think is here...” She moves around the table to look at whatever it is that he's pointing out. I look around the room. The Dwight and I catch each other's eye at one point he seems to be looking for something to find interesting. Dave is saying something about “this and that.” and the Jennifer is talking about directions and forest.

Fuck it. I'm going to be pacing worse than Dwight on the deck in a minute. I pick up the back pack to be safe with it and go outside taking one of the sealed pack of cigarettes out of my packet and unwrapping it and then tracking down my lighter, after a moment the Dwight emerges from the building as well. I imagine wanting to make sure I'm not running off. He gives me a nod, as I pull the lighter out of my inside pocket and set things going.

“I'm guessing you don't want one,” I tell him.

“I don't think you take my credit cards,” he says.

“I'm always open to other options of payment,” I point out.

“Also, I don't smoke.”

“Ah, well then,” I sit down and put the back pack beside me, leaning forward to stretch my back as I work on the cigarette, “You don't seem to sit much either.”

“Old habits.”

I snort, blowing smoke through my nostrils. Habits. Right, “I don't think we're going to get ambushed. Unless someone's trailing us that you didn't mention during rate negotiations in which case I'm adding an extra fee.”

“No one is trailing us.”

“Good.”

“Anyway. Maybe they're done,” Dwight says, though he doesn't really sound as though he believes it.

I stand up as he turns back towards the door and opens it. The Jennifer and Dave appear to have been rearranging the maps, all of them are oriented with North up now, but appear to be annoying her greatly. She's muttering at them, something about things not lining up right and there's more than a few choice curse words while Dave just watches like this is some of the post cards I have in the pack.

I look to Dwight to ask if this is normal behavior and if we should just leave them to it but he's got his lips pursed and is staring ahead, after a moment he takes a step inside the door and clears his throat.

After a moment the Jennifer looks over to where we are.

“Heeey, Jennifer,” the Dwight says, “Lunch? You give money? I bring food.”

She fumbles by her for her purse which Dwight takes as a sign to come back into the building and I follow. She's pulled a rather large bundle of notes out of her purse. That is a lot of money and it's been sitting on the boat this whole time. I remind myself that we've already negotiated for a good chunk of it. I don't need to be taking it.

She's handing some of it over to Dwight right now, “Wait,” she says, “What did I just give you?”

“A hundred,” he answers.

“I'm not that hungry. Give it back.”

She gives him two twenties instead.

“What do you want?” the Dwight asks.

“I...um...” she hesitates, “Something that's not going to get the maps dirty?”

“Fair enough,” he says, “I'm sure our...” he glances at me, “companion can help me find something suitable.”

“Sure,” I shrug.

“We'll be back soon,” the Dwight says, but the Jennifer already seems to be lost again.

Dave nods at us, reaching in his pocket for his own wallet and pulling out a twenty of his own, “Grab me something, please,” he says, “Text me where you wind up and I'll text you what I want,” he tells me, though it's Dwight he gives the money to and it all gets put in one of the ex-soldier's pockets and he follows me back outside.

“So,” he says, “What do you think would be best?”

I shrug, “Wraps might be least messy, held together, not greasy, no saucy meat explosions like burritos. Oh, right plus the taco place is kinda too far to walk.”

“Sounds good,” he says.

I stand for a moment trying to remember where things are and hoping nothing's changed in the past eight months.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Just making sure I remember where the place is from here.” Alright, it's this way. I set off.

I can feel the Dwight watching me as we walk as though and a few times it feels like he's going to say something but then he doesn't and instead looks around the streets.

“Sooo,” he eventually says, “How far away is this place?”

I shrug. I don't really remember times for walking places. It's usually in terms of cigarettes and that's not going to help him.

“Where are we going?”

That's not really going to help him either, but I guess he's wanting conversation and can't think of anything else to say, “The Kiwi. They do paninis, sandwiches, wraps and that type of thing,” I text Dave while I think about it, give him time to make up his old man mind while we're walking.

“How much do you know about the town?” Dwight asks, a few houses later.

I shrug, “Bits and pieces. Mostly what you learn in school. Founded by the Native Americans somehow and then the white settlers and intermingling...and then the urban legends, of course. Troubles come and go about every 27 years,”

“In Haven anyway,” he says.

“Very true,” I answer, “Very true, but they're here for two or three and then they go, until it starts again. Case in point, '81-'83 was a spectacle and now they're back,” and so am I. I lead him across a street and on to the next one, “I take it that has something to do with you guys' little quest?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah, sorry, breaking my don't question the clients' reasons rule, but there's just something...” I shake my head.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I'm just—don't worry about it,” I wave a hand in his direction. This is what happens when you spend all this time high: people remind you of dead people—long dead people. It's masochism.

“Okay,” he says, sounding both confused and bemused.

“We're almost there. You should probably just go in and order whatever. I'll wait outside.”

“You don't want anything?”

“I'm not their type of clientele.”

“That didn't answer the question,” he says.

My cell phone chimes, indicating Dave has answered the text with his order as I pull it out of my pocket the Dwight says, “Jennifer will tan my hide if I don't get you something.”

I look over at him, “What?”

He puts his hands up, “I've seen what she can do when she's angry. I do not want to make the tiny woman angry, and she's made it clear she wants you to have food. So, what do you want?”

The giant is afraid of the Jennifer. Disquieting.

“They have a good Thai Chicken wrap,” I consent.

“Alright, done,” he says, “That might be good for Jennifer too.”

“Dave wants something called the Tomato and Havarti Cheese sandwich.”

The Dwight nods, “Okay. I'll go in and order. If you insist on waiting outside just...stay where I can see you.”

“Fine.” 

He goes into the cafe and I stand outside and lean against a tree, lighting up one of the laced cigarettes while I'm waiting and go through the blue phone to see what contacts I have that are still active and still active dealers in this area. This is going to be an obnoxious amount of texting. I've got through about eight messages and the cigarette is done by the time Dwight emerges from the building, ready to leave and the only replies I've gotten are two error messages of “number no longer exists,” and one “what the hell is that sposed to mean? Who is this?” This is why we talk in code. I put the phone away and we start the walk back. 

The Dwight walks faster now that food has been achieved and seems to have good memory of the path we took and how to get back to the Historical Society Building. After a little while he slows down apologizing for moving faster than I can keep up. Man on a mission and blah-blah.

“I don't think she's timing you,” I point out, “Seems like she's less on this plane of reality than I am.”

“You might have a point there.”

“Maybe I should just jump on your back,” I tell him, “Seems like it wouldn't slow you down any.”

He gives me a sideways glance but doesn't actually say anything in answer to that. We continue on the walk mostly in silence except for a couple of chimes from my phone which I don't check.

As I hold the door to the Historical Society open for the Dwight I can't help but wonder what he would do if I smacked him on the ass but there's a distraction of the Jennifer cursing, “Son of a mother-fucking-bitch,” from inside the room and as I follow Dwight inside I see her slapping the book against her head over and over.

“Oh, we're at that stage,” the Dwight remarks as I close the door. The Keegan woman seems to have retreated out of the room. She's nowhere around at all.

I walk over to where Dave is at, “It's not so bad as all that--” he starts to say but then she gets up and starts banging her head against the wall.

The Dwight doesn't seem all that concerned though. He's set the bag of drinks down on one of the chairs and is rooting through the other one.

Jennifer lets out a frustrated growl and turns to us and the Dwight offers a bag of food in her direction, “Thai Chicken Wrap?” he says, simply.

“Yes, thank you,” she says, and comes over to take it and then sits down at the table a little bit away from the maps and things they have laid out on the table. 

The Dwight begins rooting through the rest of the bag as I sit down across from the Jennifer to check my phone messages. There turn out to be a couple of prospects but as much as I want to now is not the time to call people back. Dave accepts his sandwich, which is jingling because there's change in the bag and another bag is plopped down in front of me.

“Oh, good,” the Jennifer says, “You bought him food. I meant to tell you to do that but I was a bit busy.”

“See?” the Dwight tells me.

“Alright,” I consent, “Well, thank you.”

“There's an assortment of chips in the bag,” Dwight says, “and drinks over here. Bottled water, and some apple juice.”

Dave accepts an apple juice. I take a water, as I rip open the bag and check the wrap.

“Should I ask if that was good or bad cursing?” I ask the Jennifer, “I'm sure Dave is curious. His access to things in the back pack does hinge on the client's satisfaction after all. Though if she worked it out herself without your help are you really deserving?”

“Now, now,” Dave starts as I pick a few pieces of chicken and carrot out of the wrap and eat them, “It's not as if I've just been sitting here reading the funny pages.” 

Dwight actually sits down, but then he is about to tuck into a BLT. He opens a bag of chips as well, and a bottle of water, which he drinks a good third of.

“Found the Heart of Haven,” the Jennifer says around a mouthful of wrap.

The Dwight stops before actually taking a bite of his sandwich, “That's good, right?”

“And he did inadvertently lead me to figure out where it was,” she says of Dave, “Turns out I knew all along but I was over-thinking things,” she pauses for a moment, “It's complicated.”

“Or...” The Dwight says, finally eating.

“Does inadvertently count?” I ask. The blue phone on the table rings and vibrates, one of the dealer numbers calling, but again, not quite the right time. I swipe it to voice mail.

“It's the lighthouse,” The Jennifer continues, “It's so obvious, I don't know why I missed it.”

“Which lighthouse?”

The Jennifer is chewing on a big bite of wrap so she waves about for one of the maps which Dave carefully moves towards her and she points to thankfully not Beatty's lighthouse, I imagine that might make things awkward. Hi, Beatty, don't mind us, we just need to rifle through your things and look for something because of the God's Orphans, carry on.

She swallows and glances at Dave, “He would have found it for me eventually, I just happened to recognize it first.”

I suppose that counts, and keeping Dave on the good side is always, well, good.

“Well, it makes it easier that no one lives in that one,” my phone starts chiming again, same number. I swipe it to voice mail. Maybe business is slow for the guy, or he's been compromised and really wants to catch me.

“Lives?” she asks.

“Yeah, the harbor master lives in the other lighthouse.”

 “Oh,” she says.

The blue phone starts ringing again and I pick it up, “Okay, this dude is—and I do really need to sort out this merchandise so I'm just gonna,” I stand up and answer it, “Excuse me. Sorry. Yes?” I say into the phone.

“You want stuff but you ignore me,” I just know him as Brent asks.

“I was with a client about something else.” I start to walk.

“Uh-huh,” he says, “and cash?”

“If you really want me to pay the other way,” I get to the door, “but cash lasts longer,” I go outside.

“I don't want to get up there or send some one else up there and find out it's a bust.”

“I would send you a picture but you'd say I could have found that online.”

“Well, you could.”

“What do you want? With a newspaper or something like a ransom note. I can throw in extra. I told you how much I want. That would take a hell of a lot of sex.”

“Even from you.”

“I appreciate the compliment. Brent, seriously. I've been out of town, for a while, and I'm going to be stuck here for longer than I want. I have other people on the line. You called like a desperate house wife...do you want more than money?”

He doesn't say anything.

“I do have a client they've been here since yesterday, and I have a cargo dump but believe me I'll make the time.”

“Do you have a mighty need?” he asks.

Ugh. I lean the back of my head against the window of the building, “Yes,” I tell him, “I have a mighty need.”

“Good,” he says, “I'll text you a location. Get rid of the other hooks you have out.”

“Of course.” I go back inside, “I look forward to hearing from you.” I hang up the phone and put it in my pocket. The room is quiet, too quiet. They were talking when I closed the door behind me, I know they were, but now there's just this over hanging of silence broken only by chewing, but I've only taken two steps into the room when the Jennifer claps her hands together.

“Well,” she says, brightly cheerful compared to the cloudiness that was there just a moment before, “Ready to earn the rest of that money? Take a minute to eat while Dave puts the maps and charts away and then I think we're good to go.”

The giant is afraid of the tiny woman I remind myself and go and sit down where I was before and take a couple more pieces of chicken.

The Dwight is rustling his way through a bag of chips, “Business go alright?” he asks, but he seems cautious, like he's not entirely sure why he's asking.

“S'Fine,” I tell him, given I'm not sure why he gives a shit either, “It's not going to interfere with anything,” maybe that's why he asked.

“How fast can you get us to the lighthouse?” the Jennifer asks.

I look over at her, “We can take the Ursa won't take long at all.” No more walking. No way.

“Good,” she says, shoving the book in her purse like she's sheathing a sword to go into battle, “Let's go.”

What the fuck is going to happen at this lighthouse?

“Uh, Miss Carver...” I wonder if Dave thought the same thing as worried as he sounds.

“I believe your business is with him,” she all but snaps, indicating me, “Thank you for your assistance and your continued silence.”

What the hell does she have on Dave? I grab the pack though, because that's the reward he's looking for, and go to sort that stuff out so we can get on the water in case we get to that stuff that makes the Dwight nervous. Dave is appeased with a few of the old time post cards photograph type things I've managed to track down. The early mail order porn type stuff, and then there's some of the glass bottle soda, which I let him have three of. He knows there's more of it now, which is a good starting point for next time either of us needs something and has to negotiate.

Then it's back to the docks and off. Neither the Dwight nor the Jennifer is much for conversation with each other on the trip there. They sit, well, she sits and he stands, on the deck as I'm prepping and then piloting and stare off or occasionally at each other, clearly whatever this business is, it's now super serious. I can see I'm taking weapons with me when we make land, moreso than I would have any way. It's an easy does it pulling along side the causeway by the lighthouse just in case, and then dropping anchor and the Dwight helping me lay the gangplank across the rocks so there's the least amount of treacherous to walk on to get to the actual straight land.

The Jennifer stalks across like she's marching to war. I look around as we follow her the ten or so feet towards the lighthouse and try to listen...this there's nothing, makes me nervous. She did say “nothing like New Orleans, didn't she?” and those can't come back now.

“Is it there?” the Dwight asks her.

Is what there? Oh, this must be some of the Lightscape shit.

“No, but this is where it will be when I summon it,” she tells him.

Oh, summoning, that's even better, nothing can possibly go wrong with summoning things, have you not seen any movie ever? “Um...what exactly are you summoning?” I ask her, so glad that I bring weapons as a matter of course, lighting one of the non-laced cigarettes, don't need to be seeing things if I have to use those though.

“A door.”

Oh, yes, thank you for that helpful explanation. There are tons of doors everywhere, and if it is a door it's not so much that you're summoning one as what's on the other side or can come through it. Do not think about the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, Ray. Do not ask who is the keymaster.

“I'm sorry,” I hear as I'm looking around again, is that the Jennifer? Her voice sounds odd, and the Dwight looks grim too. She looks like she's about to cry. If she's going to get sacrificed then there's going to be a big problem. He might be a fucking wall, but I will find a way to take him down, “I'm sorry I can't stay. I wish I didn't have to leave you here, I really wish I didn't, but there's something really important you have to do, and you'll know when it's time,” right, important, like all those fucking Guard job—but, oh fuck, she is crying, “You'll see me again, baby, I promise,” this is this tiny crazy girlfriend/boyfriend thing again, it has to be, because there's nothing and no other anything.

She's looking up at me like she's expecting something, “Sure. Right,” I tell her because maybe she'll stop the nonsense.

“You'll see me again,” she says.

Of course. Repeat clients are one thing, but she's acting like this is some weird romantic fairy tale, that costs a hell of a lot extra.

“And when you do things will be better,” with what magic brush? “I know you don't believe me, and that's okay, but it's true,” and she's kissing me, that hand knotting in hair desperate kissing though her other hand is scrabbling something at me.

She folds my fingers over something and backs away, saying something about need and taking care of myself. Right.

“What is going on?” I demand, pointing at her for an answer, but that was money she apparently put in my hand—that is a lot of money, definitely more than they owe me. I put it in my pocket before she changes her mind.

“Goodbye, Duke,” she says, “I'm sorry. I love you.”

No. I feel like I'm going to throw up and everything is upside down for a moment as though I'm on a rubber band that got snapped, and a good half of my head is just shaking because no. No. No. Crazy lady. I am not getting sucked into that. People randomly look like people and I am not that high. That would take a hell of a lot...even for me.

I sit on the ground trying to regain my bearings. My head is ringing. How can the whole world snap like that? Why am I even asking this? This is Haven. I go for the laced cigarettes, there are still a couple of those left and then my blue phone. It wasn't so long since, and it's going to look desperate from my end now but fuck it, where's the number Brent called me from?  I somehow don't think he'll actually mind if I come crawling to where ever the hell he is and ask to crawl into a hole for a while especially if I do actually have money as well.

“Duke?” he queries.

“Yeah. I'm about to make land and I have your stuff. Do you want me to bring it up there or come and get it?”

“I'll come to you. Thank you. You haven't changed boats or anything?”

“Nah. They'll have to bury me in this one.”

He makes an odd noise, “I'll be there in a few.”

I hang up and begin the banking turn and slowing the speed so that I can coast up to the dock and then drop anchor before I begin dragging things out onto deck that are for Dave. A medium sized crate is the main thing, and there's a smaller box that's more fragile which I leave in its hidey hole for the time being.

As I'm pulling out the gangplank and lowering it the dock I see Dave walking up. He takes the end of the plank and pulls it down to the ground. I pull the crate towards the plank and then carry it down to him.

“Don't worry I have the rest.”

He nods as I set the crate down by his feet.

“Aren't you warm?” he asks, pulling at the sleeve of my shirt. I pull my arm back and adjust it down, the white fabric, “You're making me hot just looking at you.”

I shake my head, “You're just old.”

“Speaking of things that are old, Vince wants to see you as soon as possible.”

“Of course he does,” I mutter, “You want this in your car, I assume?”

Dave nods. I pick the crate back up and he leads me to the vehicle, “There were some people looking for you,” he says.

“They weren't Russian were they?”

He gives me a curious look, “No.”

“Alright then. Who?”

“A giant and a tiny woman,” he says, “Not from Haven but they sound fairly local,” he opens the trunk and I put the crate inside, “The other?” he asks.

I lead him up on deck, “Wait here,” I go back inside the cabin and retrieve the rectangular, white, cardboard box and my business phone, and bring the box on deck to Dave. He takes the box reverently and opens it moving aside layers of tissue paper to look at the contents. Then he closes everything back up and nods to me.

“Brilliant,” he says, “I'll be back in a moment,” he goes back down to the car and into the glove compartment and gets out an envelope as I'm checking messages, a short but pissy voice mail from the Russian client. I should be able to get hold of someone. Dave waves the hand with the envelope in it towards me and I walk down the gang plank to take it.

“Vince,” he says, “Won't want to be kept waiting.”

“Right,” I nod, dialing the number on my phone, “I look forward to doing business with you again.”

“Yes,” he says, “Probably next month. If it's possible.”

I'm about to ask why but someone has picked up on the other end so I just wave, walking back up on deck to count the money while greeting the client in their native tongue. Dave drives off but I see two people walking towards the docks and figure they must be the ones that Dave described as the giant and the tiny woman, because they can't not be. He is probably taller than me, and she is over a foot shorter than him. He moves military, protective, watching, everything screams danger.

I go back inside so that I can sort things out with the Russian and point out to him that his stupid fucking middle man didn't show up on time and that's why he doesn't have his damn stuff, that I was there more than an hour either side of the pick up time and that he needs to sort it or I'm more than happy to find another buyer. I tell him I'm in Canada at the moment given it's close enough, and that if he can sort something I can meet someone and pass things off. If not he's shit out of luck and can find someone else. He grumbles at me and tries to get to me by saying unsavory things about my mother but is thrown off when I inform him that if he could track her down she would probably do those things and quite cheaply too. He says he'll get back to me within the next two days. There's a reason I don't carry food products. I point out to him that there'll be a storage fee given I can't carry anything else while I've still got his shit on the boat, to see if he'll just quit and let me sell it on, but he doesn't. He hangs up.

I stash the phone and go to get changed. Vince called me in and all. Good chance there's a Job. Safest to go in with gear already much as I...anyway. Between that, the Russian and being back in Haven I'm brewing quite the headache, but I've been up for several hours already compared to the average morning and haven't found my wings yet so no wonder I'm feeling like shit.

I take off my shirt and cook things up in the bed room. My left arm is the most cooperative today though it takes a while to find a spot. I soak up the leftover into a few cigarettes that I put back on the right side of the packet before getting a fresh shirt, and going to the Crocker box for the journal which I leave out on the desk, two blades and I take the gun from the night stand, lock picks and gloves are the next thing, and two hair ties around my wrist.

I really hope I'm wrong and it's just some stupid check in. Some discussion about something I haven't thought of. Guard bull shit would be so welcome, for once.

Jacket, sunglasses, cigarettes and lighter on inside pocket, hair untucked from inside, then track down keys and find regular phone which is on the counter along with Dave's money envelope which I stash in the hidey hole I got his scrimshaw out of. I half expect there to be some annoyed messages from Vince or more likely some Guard flunky who got the short end, but no; the phone is clear.

The visitors have not come up on deck or knocked on the door in the mean time either. They're still on ground by the gang plank I realize as I lock the door and pull the sunglasses down against the brightened morning, breathing in the new calm before walking down the gangplank.

“Can I help you folks?” I ask them before I get to the actual dock, looking from one to the other. The big guy, broad, blond and bearded is actually looking slightly wary himself now, watching, but clearly isn't the one in charge either. He glances down at her and she takes a step forward.

She has dark hair, and slight form, cute. There's something...slightly familiar, but I can't place it, “Duke Crocker?” she queries in a way that says she already knows she's right.

“So I'm told,” I answer, lighting up. The guy looks a little—almost like he's never seen someone smoke before, “And you are?”

“You can call me 'Jennifer',” she says. Hm. One of those. Could be hassle. Could be profitable. Then she points to the wall standing next to her, “This is 'Dwight'. He answers to me.”

Dwight nods at me. I nod back.

“Alright, Jennifer,” I say, “Do you mind if we walk and talk? I have an appointment to get to.”

“That's fine,” she says, “I can do both.”

As I set off up the street she falls in next to me and Dwight behind like a big protective wall.

“Out of curiosity how did you come by my name? You're not local.”

“Jody recommended you,” she remarks.

“Really?” I query, considering that she and I haven't worked with each other since...

“This is nothing like New Orleans,” she continues. We're getting close to the Guard house, and I can feel my pocket vibrating with texts which I have a feeling are coming from someone inside, “I know you have contacts, and we're looking for some information.”

“Hm,” I consent.

“Depending on what comes back we might be looking to buy your time for some additional services. Cash, of course.”

“Cash is my preferred currency.” More vibrating from the phone in my pocket. I stub the cigarette out under my shoe and retrieve my phone, “Sorry about this.”

7, no 8 messages now.

“And for the initial information, of course,” she says.

“Of course,” I scroll through the messages quickly, “Much as I prefer talking about this sort of business. This other appointment has a real stick up his ass so I should go see him before he ruptures something. There are some pretty nice cafes and things around so why don't you and your Dwight go to one of them and I'll catch up with you after I see him.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she says, “We'll see you in a little while.”

%%%%

I cross the street and walk one building down to the Guard office. Side entrance, of course. Mike Gallagher is sitting at a desk with his feet up with an open book and a cell phone rested inside of it. He looks up when I come down the corridor. I slide my glasses up on top of my head and give him a sort of nod.

“Duke,” he says, “About time,” he leans over from where he's sitting and bats at the door behind him with the book, “Crocker's here!” he shouts.

“Send him in!” Vince yells back.

Gallagher turns and looks at me with the “I trust you understand what that means” look.

“I'm not stupid.” I retort.

“That's not what I was worried about,” Gallagher mutters.

I push open Vince's door. He's sitting at the desk and pulls his glasses down his nose as I walk in. He waves me to the chair in front and I sit down across from him.

“So, good of you to make it,” he says, with soft sarcasm.

I lean back in the chair and put my foot on my leg, “I haven't been back all that long,” I point out, “I had things to drop off and then possible clients to talk to forgive me for wanting to talk to them and try to find things out given they're not from Haven but sorta...well, she looked sorta...and you know, money.”

“Sorta?” he asks, “Was there an adjective there, perhaps?”

“Familiar, perhaps?” I wave a hand at him, “So, do I want to ask where the fire is?”

Vince pulls a folder from the basket on his side of the desk and drops it in front of me, “Probably not.”

I tap the folder so that it falls on to my leg and flip it open. A woman's picture clipped to one side on the top of a badly blown up copy of her driver's license which has two phone numbers written on it, house number and cell number.Nicole Meadows. 452 Beechdale Road.

She looks familiar too.

On the opposite side of the folder is clipped a sheaf of more official looking papers, medical records, I flip through them but I can't focus on the print very much other than some are from a hospital outside of Derry and some are from a hospital in New Hampshire.

“A...target?”

He nods, “Standard plus 25% given the situation.”

“Situation?”

“We need this done as soon as possible. You can see how many incidents there've been,” he points to the medical record side. When she and her husband were in New Hampshire on holiday she sent three people to the hospital. When she was at a business meeting in Derry last week six and one died. That's how we sorted out it was her and not...but we can't chance especially now.”

“...the Troubles are back?”

He nods, “The affect radius of her Troub...”

Well, on the upside I don't have to abduct her and take her somewhere out of town. I shouldn't laugh. I have to drop the folder on the table to cover my mouth.

“Are you listening to me?” he slams his fist on the table.

“Isn't it mostly just find the woman? Kill the woman?” I mutter, folding up her driver's license picture and putting it in the inside pocket of my jacket behind the cigarette packet, “Oh, and do it quietly because it saves us having to pay the Cleaner.”

Vince gives me a withering look, “Her Trouble causes sickness, violent convulsions. It appears to be triggered by stress, vacations, work...well co-workers are stressful for anyone but she's been on leave since the incident in Derry.”

“Being murdered perhaps?” I ask, “Well, I'll be sure to not announce myself like I was going to.”

There's that withering look again, “Fine. Just get on then. Call in when everything's done and let me know...” he trails off.

I stand up, “Does Gallagher have the burners or do you?”

He looks at me, blankly.

“I'll check with Gallagher,” then something. I stop at the door, “You said something before I think...about how you knew it was her and not...? Is there anyone else I need to watch out for other than the husband?”

Vince hesitates.

“Vincent?”

“They have two children,” he says, finally.

“Oh, fuck you, Vince. Fuck you!”

“It's a school day!” I hear as I leave, flicking him off while the door slowly closes, it's on one of those time hinges so it can't be slammed, “They won't be at the house until after three!”

Gallagher doesn't say anything to me but his outstretched hand has a small flip phone in it which is chiming through it's start-up music. I snatch it and put it in my pants pocket.

“Always a pleasure!” Gallagher calls behind me as I open the side door and leave.

Yeah, fuck you too.

Ah, crap, I realize as I find myself one of the laced cigarettes, now I have to try and sort out which way the potential new clients went and—or the Jennifer could be right over there coming up the street towards me. I give her a half-wave after lighting up and stashing the fire away.

“That was good timing,” she remarks, “We found a cute little cafe up the—you look...displeased.”

“Eh, just...” I wave a hand towards the Guard building, “it's...pers…and being back in Haven. I'm always pissed when I'm back in Haven, but with the meeting their Job has to get bumped to the top of the pile,” I mime with my hands, “I understand if you need to find someone else.”

“It's not as urgent as all that. Perhaps we can discuss it later, after your current...errand?”

“Alright,” I nod, “that's mighty decent. I should be clear by...this afternoon,” damn well better be, and back out the other side, “We could meet around 3 or 4 back at the bo...” did I pack up all the Russian's shit? “I mean--”

“Captain Trip's and then we can adjourn to some place less public to discuss the finer details if it seems an agreement is going to be made?” she offers.

“Thank you. Yes,” I shake my head, “So, 3:30 at Trip's then?”

“Sounds good,” she extends her hand and I shake it. She seems hesitant for a moment, “are you okay?” she asks, quietly.

“Yeah. Yeah, it's fine,” it's weird, her touch. I extract my hand, “all good, why?”

“And there's nothing I can help you with?” there's something about her expression, obviously there's nothing she can do, and clearly she knows it, and her offering is weird and there's just...

“No. No,” I say, probably too hastily, but this morning just needs to be over with, “I've got to get going to my,” what did she say? “errand. I'll see you and your boyfriend later.”

I could swear I hear “not my boyfriend” as I cross the street.

%%%% 

It's another cigarette before I'm at the street where the house is. I walk down past it and up the other side. There's a car in the driveway and it's a fairly nice house with two floors and a garage. From the wall of the house across the street I take out the burner phone and the piece of paper and reluctantly hope that she's the sort that answers the phone for unknown numbers if she's home as I dial the land line.

The line rings for a while but then just when I'm zoning out staring at the branches of the trees in her yard swaying in the wind I hear, “Hello?”

And almost forget that I'm supposed to be pretending to be Indian, “Ah, yes,” I say in my best fake outsourced tech support, “Hello, madam, this is, uh, Steve, with Cardholder Services we noticed some strange activity on your credit card and wanted to check with you. You are...Nicole Meadows, yes?” I make sure to mispronounce it. I look at the house, it's hard to see through to the house and still stay mostly behind the tree.

“Uh...yes...” she says, but thankfully sounds suspicious, “Which credit card is this, did you say?”

“Yes, madam,” I pick the one that most people don't use, “this is your Discover card, yes?” If she does have it the odds of the random four digits I pick being the last four of her card are rare and I can randomly disconnect anyway. I know she's there now.

“I don't have a Discover card,” she hangs up.

Okay, so she's there. Now, I just have to get in there to her. I go back across the road towards the tree, taking the hair thing off my wrist and with a deep breath tying everything up out of the way and down my shirt for safe measure, and then putting the gloves on. I look through the tree branches and can't see sign of anyone on this side of the house, rather than jumping the wall I just slip up the driveway and around the side of the house. I can't hear anyone moving around, and thankfully no dog starts barking or anything like that. I do see a some kind of small animal, I'm assuming is a cat, jump down from the front window though.

I'm looking for a back door with the intent of picking the lock when I see a glass sliding door, and push it to see if there's a chance. It slides open and I have to shake my head, but then this is Haven people aren't so worried about burglaries.

I close the door slowly behind me and listen. I can hear someone moving about upstairs and the sound of a voice. Either she's talking to herself like a crazy person or she's on the phone with someone else.

An investigation of downstairs yields a bathroom with tub which gives me an unfortunate idea. I start running the water if it attracts her attention that's helpful. I walk back towards the stairs. Still talking but the voice does seem closer. I can make out snippets of complaint about being stuck at home and apparently 'Bren' doesn't get it and 'Bren' will never get it.

I find a knife in the kitchen and then find something fragile and knock it off the counter onto the tile floor in there.

“Oh, God damn it!” I hear, “I'm gonna let you go. Sarah's cat just knocked something over downstairs. I'll call you back later after I shower.”

Well, shit.

No, wait. She's coming downstairs. I move so that I'm standing to the side of the staircase, slipping the kitchen knife into the same strap as one of my other knives so I can grab her when she comes within reach. Hand over her mouth and nose and other arm wrapped around hers to keep her still until she goes limp. Her cell phone clattering to the floor.

“Sssh,” I whisper, “I'm really sorry,” I move my hand. I can still feel her breathing. I carry her to the bathroom. Fortunately she's in yoga pants and a tank top so it's going to be easy enough to do what needs to be done, and no stripping. That would be so wrong. I pull the kitchen knife back out of my pocket and transfer it to my left hand. She's balanced on one shoulder. The water is warm, to me and the tub will probably over flow some when I set her in it, but she's supposed to be suicidal so what's it matter.

I carefully lay her in the tub. My left arm tucked so that it's under both arm pits and across her chest, the other, knife still in hand. The water rouses her with a jolt and she struggles then but I have her gripped tightly against my chest.

“What are you doing? Let me go!”

“I can't. I'm sorry.”

Her hands claw at my arm but the jacket is thick. I grab the knife quickly with my right hand and take hold of one of hers holding it there and adjusting my position behind her.

“Let me go!”

I should have drugged her. Didn't think to check for things. Stupid of me. So many people have fancy prescriptions in their house. Would have made this easier. Doped up and slit wrists. Making doubly sure she died, very thorough suicide. Too late now. I manage to get the one wrist slit. It's a wobbly mess of a line, but whatever, and there's the rush and the headiness because there's blood all in the water and it's all over.

Keep calm. Keep calm.

Don't break her neck. The bath tub. Anything else in the room.

Her head is under the water and she's kicking at me before I realize exactly what I'm doing and pull her up. Original plan. Nose, mouth covered and neck against my body. Careful. Careful. Hold her hands, cut the other wrist. The rush shifts. The red swirling patterns in the water sparkling their way across the floor like so many sprites.

She's gone.

Have to get out of here.

Out.

Out.

The kitchen knife. I put it back in her hand, wrapping the fingers around it and letting it drop to the floor. Jingling bells.

Kick her phone as I'm walking through the house.

As I pick it up and see the picture on it.

Fuck. Her kids don't need to come home and find her.

I send a bunch of text messages to her husband with different beggings of please come home. I need you. Hopefully he can have his phone on at work or checks it soon and then slide it into the bathroom and then leave, sliding the glass door closed again.

I think I knock something else over; but fuck it too late now, and I go out the back gate and down that street instead back towards town, I hope. I don't remember what street this is. Hm, shit papers. I pull them out of my pocket and sit down. The ground hits hard, but it's very soft. It's so sparkly when I run it, but I can't feel it, oh right, gloves. I put them away. Burning papers, that's what I was doing. I get out the lighter and set them on fire in a little hole in the dirt that I made. It's warm and squooshy and I poke at it with my finger as I watch the little fireflies of white float up into the sky and blow at them here and there, making sure everything goes up in smoke.

Don't need dead lady's driver's license in my pocket or her phone number. I break apart the burner phone too and burn what of that I can. Burning the burner phone. That humors me for a while. Burning the burner phone. I bet Vince wouldn't find that funny. He'd just glare at me. Vince. VINCE. Need to call Vince.

I find my actual phone and mash Vince's face while pulling myself up on the fence after getting the pieces of cell phone that wouldn't burn back into my jacket pocket; bound to be a trash can somewhere. The street is super uneven. They really need to work on that. I keep my hand on the various fences as I go along. Vince finally answers the phone.

“What is it, Duke?”

“Your job is done, asshole.”

“What? I have company. I can't stay on the phone.”

“I said your job is done,” I stop walking and lean back against the fence, “You know your very urgent, super important job. It's done. You're clear. She committed suicide. Congratulations.”

“Oh,” he says, “Right. Well. Thank you.”

“Yeah. Sure. You're fucking welcome.” I put my phone away and start the walk again.

The second day in a row I'm being drug kicking out of sleep by someone banging on the cabin door yelling my name. I suppose I better get out there, but this time I'm at least grabbing cigarettes before I go to the door. It's not Wuornos though. I peer out of the door, cigarette in hand. It's Mike Gallagher.

He looks relieved.

“What do you want?” I demand.

“You are alive.”

“Yes,” I mutter, “Now, what do you want?”

“Vince asked me to come up here because you didn't check in...properly after yesterday.”

I snort.

“Well, you just called to say the job was done and then we didn't hear from you. He...” he at least looks apologetic, “...needs the report.”

“Really? What the fuck does it matter? The guy's dead. The Trouble is done. I'm not writing shit up for him.” I light my cigarette.

Mike gets this look I could swear it's a smile but what do I know?

“You could just tell me what happened and I'll turn things in.”

I sigh the smoke out. At least the aching will be going away soon, “Fine. What the fuck ever. If it'll get you gone and I can go back to sleep. Sit there.” I point to the crate by the door, and come out onto the deck and close the door behind me and sit across from him. He pulls his phone out of his pocket.

Now, then. Fuck. How to tell this, best leave certain people out of this, I suppose. I rub a hand down my face and take another drag of the cigarette. Mike shifts a little. He's looking out towards the town and then coughs a little probably afraid he's lost me.

“Okay,” I say, “So, yes—well, day before yesterday I heard this old high school “friend” of mine might have some sort of “connections” you know?”

“I can guess,” he says, dryly.

“So, I was figuring I could check it out yesterday. Extra sources are always good.”

Mike shakes his head. I give him an appropriate glare.

“If I could find out where he lived. So, I was making my way into town given I was actually up trying to think of how I could find this out when who should call?” I give him a look given he knows damn well who called. Of course all of this is complete bullshit. Given what actually happened is that I was woke up by Wuornos hammering on my door.

%%%%

“What the fuck?” I demanded as he's standing there on my deck for once not actually looking pissed with me but...nervous? Worried? Either way it's fucking weird. Though when I yank open the door he does stop banging and shouting mid, “Crocker!”

“Uh...yes...” he manages.

So, there's me glaring at him, and him with his fist in the air looking uncomfortable now.

“Yes?” I return, “I didn't ask for a wake up call so what the fuck do you want?”

“I...I need your help.”

“Sure you do. This is some really weird new police harassment—wait, where's Parker? You guys are usually attached at the hip.”

His expression darkens then.

“That's,” he sighs, “That's why I need your help.”

“I'm in no way going to fix some relationship trou—difficulties for you.”

Now he glares at me. This—this is more normal. This I can deal with.

“Duke, please,” he retorts.

My stomach freezes and knots itself up. This—this I can't fucking deal with. We stare at each other.

“Du--” he starts again.

“Don't,” I tell him, “Don't you--”

“She's been taken—and--”

“And what? How the--” Shit. Why am I even? I close my eyes for a moment. Fuck.

“Please I need your help to get her back.”

“I seem to recall you having an entire fucking police force.”

He sighs and looks at his feet, “Yes, but I doubt they could get anywhere near where I'm pretty—where she most likely is. Do you remember Nick Fletcher?”

It does sort of sound familiar. Wuornos pulls out his phone and messes around with it for a moment and turns it towards me. There's a picture on it but I can't make out the details. He is fine handing the phone over to me so I can get a better look though which is also fucking weird. Now I know who the guy is though.

“Yes,” I say, carefully, “I remember him.”

“We were looking into him, and she's been missing since yesterday. I'm—I'm hoping he's just got her somewhere and—and not...” Not dead. Right, “he's—well he's got connections to some drug people,” he's sounding more awkward, “which is why I hoped that you...might be able to track him in ways my “entire fucking police force” can't hope to.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, “Just because he knows drug people doesn't mean I automatically know where he is.”

“I know that,” Wuornos snaps, “but it'll be a lot easier for you to weasel your way into there and track him down.”

He does have a point. Some junkie trying to make a connection with a drug guy is a lot less suspicious. Fuck, I'm getting a worse headache than normal in a morning. Oh, and now I hear Spit on your grave from inside the boat.

“What's--?” Wuornos asks.

“It's a phone, genius.” I mutter, and go and get it, “What?” I demand though I somehow doubt it's actually Vince he hasn't spoken to me directly on the phone in ages, or in person really either and lo it's Mike.

“There's a job,” he says, at least sounding apologetic.

Of course there is. So now it's desperate Wuornos or kill some poor fucker.

“So, what's going on?” I ask him.

“Meet me at--” he starts.

“Just tell me. I'm sure it's urgent. It's always urgent.”

He sighs, “There's a Fletcher.”

“Nick Fletcher?” Well isn't that just...

“Yes,” Mike sounds slightly surprised.

“I went to school with him,” I explain, “You went to school with him,” I can't resist adding.

There's silence for a moment and then, “...well, he's been--”

“Just tell me where he is.”

Mike gives me the address and I hang up on him and turn the phone off. Wuornos is looking at me. I'm shaking my head at the phone.

“Should I ask who that was?” he asks.

“Do you really want to know?”

He shakes his head.

“What's important is I know where Nick Fletcher is,” I have to snort, “I'll just need a minute or five.”

“What?”

“To get my shit together so that you can drive me up there.”

“If you know where he is then just tell me--” he says.

“I can't,” I tell him, “and you know why. You'll get your Parker back. Isn't that what's important?”

I go back inside and get knives and my coat, put my boots on and check for a pack of cigarettes and lighter. I close the door and light up.

"You're not smoking in the truck," he tells me as soon as I turn around. 

“Fine,” I suck down the cigarette and drop it on the deck and grind it out under my boot, “Happy?” I ask exhaling the smoke.

“Fine,” he answers, “Where are we going?” 

%%%%

“So, your call was extremely helpful,” I tell Mike, having left out all of Wuornos' involvement, “Given you gave me Fletcher's address so I didn't have to try and wheedle it out of anyone so I could just get myself a taxi to the area.”

“The area?”

“I never have anything drop me off right in front of someone's property that's just ridiculous.”

“Right, of course. I wasn't sure if it'd be different though,” he says, typing on his phone.

“Well, it's not,” I snap, “I went went up the road slowly, walking my way back and forth as though I was more out of it. For some reason I know how to pull that off,” I tell him.

He gives me one of those looks. I flick the spent cigarette over the side of the boat and toy with the pack for a bit before setting it down between us.

“As it happens guy's property is kind of a farm, but I imagine you knew that even before everything was finished.”

He nods, “Yeah. We did.”

I nod too. Of course they did. Maybe they'd have told me that if I'd not hung up on him. Never know now, “He's out in the front screwing around with something and sees me stop to lean on his wall. He's all 'Duke? Duke Crocker?' and comes scurrying across the driveway. I'm all 'Wait...wait...I'll get it. Mi—no...' and I stop and think for a minute, putting my hand on his shoulder and searching his face and he's egging me on with his expression, but kinda wanting to fill me in too. 'Neh...no. Nick?' 'Yup,' he says all happy.” I shake my head, because that didn't last of course, “and he's all how he'd heard that Crocker was kinda into 'it' pretty deep, but it didn't look like I was into the stuff he was doing, just like that, but I mean whatever, and what brought me out this way? And I tell him I'm trying to get as far away from the PD as possible because they just let me out of the tank, and then he's like well, you know I don't have any smack connection that would open me up, I just have coke, and I'm like fuck? Really?” I shake my head, “The idiot drags me right on up to his barn to show off his stash. I mean, seriously? But he probably figured I wouldn't remember.”

Mike's just expression of mind-blown, and shakes his head. He's not typing at the moment, but it really doesn't need to be in there.

“So, he's babbling about what dealers do I know and I'm all I don't know if Beck or them will trust any random guy I bring to them they like to find people themselves, and as we get in the barn side I stumble towards some of the hanging tools hoping he'll try to catch me which he does and I can lean him into something so he'll cut himself and I can check, you know?”

Mike nods.

“And well, he scrapes himself and bleeds and I'm like, 'Shit, man, sorry,' and grab his hand, and the blood and yeah, the fucker's Troubled, and then he's all, 'what the fuck?' because of course my eyes light up like they do, and that's—well, that's when it all goes really freaking whacky because then there's shouting from the other side of the barn.”

“Oh?” Mike says.

“Yeah,” I pick up the pack of cigarettes again and tap it a few times until I'm satisfied and then take one out and put it in my mouth, “Yeah, this voice calling out 'Hey! Hey! Is someone else out there?' fucking Officer Detective whatever Parker.” I cup the cigarette to light it.

Mike whistles, “Really?”

“Yeah. Don't ask me what he was doing with her, but I guess. I mean the PD stumbles into Trouble shit all the time, so I don't know, but I was like '...what the hell, dude?' and he was just 'Fuck. Shit. Fuck.' and well, wouldn't you know, I guess he felt so guilty about that he just got these chains from the barn and hung himself and me being the junkie spazz I am just fled the scene because I don't want to be found in that mess.”

“Of course,” Mike says, typing again, “Is that all?”

“Well, I did almost get hit by Wuornos' truck on my way down the road. Guess he found out where his partner was, but I mean him trying to kill me or shit happens like once a week anyway, so that's nothing new.”

Mike shakes his head.

“Is that enough?” I lean back against the outside cabin wall, trying to scratch an annoying itch on my left forearm, “Will Vince be off both our asses now?”

“Come on, man,” Mike says, setting his phone down next to my cigarette packet, “We were concerned. You hung up without even asking what the guy's Trouble was.”

“I don't care,” I tell him.

Mike stares at me for a moment, “You...need to put it in the book.”

“Why?” I ask him, “You're writing all this shit down. You put it in the fucking book. You take the fucking book even. Why do I even need the damn thing?”

“I...” he trails off.

“Just go back to Vince,” I stand up, scooping up my cigarettes, “I need sleep.”

Mike stands up as I get to the cabin door, “I can't take the book,” he says, after a moment, “and you know why.”

“Whatever,” I open the door and start to go inside.

“Do you need anything?” he asks.

“I need you to go and leave me the fuck alone,” I close the door and lock it behind me.

%%%%

I gave Wuornos the address and climbed into the right side of his truck and stretched against the seat for a moment before closing the door. I didn't want to think about how long it was since I'd been in the front of the truck.

“Don't take me all the way there,” I told him, after a good few minutes of awkward silent driving other than the radio dropping in and out between two channels, “Drop me off at the middle of the next street down, and I'll walk up—see what's going on.”

“I need to--”

“You asked for my help. It's going to go down my way.”

“Thank y--” he starts.

“Don't.”

I can feel him looking over at me but I keep my eyes fixed on the road in front of us and the struggling shrubs in people's yards and the street parked cars here and there.

“But Duke--”

“Stop with that too. Please,” this time I do turn to him, “and don't fucking try to say you owe me or some shit. I happen to have to go this way too and you're driving me. There. You don't owe me shit because I'll happen to find your—Parker so it'll be even.”

“Fine,” he mutters.

The rest of the trip is blessedly silent until he stops the car and I start to climb out he reaches out for me and I pull my hand up.

“Fine,” he says, “Call me when you find her so I can come and sort things out.”

“Sure. Whatever,” I tell him, like I have his number, and get out. He'll realize that soon enough but hopefully he's smart enough not to risk anything by following me.

I walk up the road putting on a “drunken” type weave and stopping every now and then to look around as though I have no idea where I am, and rub at my neck or head. This is one of the few times I haven't actually tied my hair up for a job. Needs must. Feh.

“Duke?” I hear suddenly. There's a guy across in the yard of a house—farm house I see the barn behind and a cluster of trees and expanse of fields behind that. He's wiping hands off on pants where he's been messing around with soil strip that runs next to his paved walkway, and some sort of long handled tool clatters onto the paving stones as he walks towards me, “Duke Crocker?”

I turn and stop and lean against his wall and he closes the distance, “Wait,” I tell him, waving a hand which winds up on his shoulder and I peer at his face, “Wait—Mi,” as though I was going to say Mike or Mitch or something, and I lean back a bit and squint, “No, no, Ne,” like maybe Neil, and I can tell he wants to help me out but at the same time he's eager to see where this goes, “No...wait. Nick.”

“Yup,” he says and he's so fucking happy you'd think I just gave him a hundred bucks.

He pats the hand of mine that's on his shoulder, “How are you? Sit down. Sit down,” he sits on the wall facing towards the house and I sit facing towards the street, and he stabilizes me so I don't fall backwards. Okay, good sign for another idea I had, “I heard you were back around, and you were...” he trails off for a moment, “that you were pretty heavy into some things.”

“Eh,” I shrug, “People say what they say. They don't know me though.”

“Right,” he says, “Right, of course.”

“They don't know what's going on. They just...” I let it trail off and unfocus on a tree just behind him for a moment.

“Duke?” he asks.

I wait until he says my name again, “What?” If there's one thing I can do it's be high. I have enough practice. Though I don't need to pretend to be fucking itchy.

“What're you doing out this way anyway?”

“Oh,” I say, “Oh, well, stupid cops put me in the drunk tank and I wanted to get as far away from the PD as—as possible, so I was...I was just walking, you know? Getting some air...” I wave a hand around in front of me so I almost clonk him in the face. He dodges and laughs a little bit.

“You know by the looks of you I don't think I carry what you need,” he says, sounding a little upset about that, “You're on the smack train, aren't you?”

“Hm?” I ask him, as if I'm trying to make out innocent but completely failing.

“Oh, come on,” he says, “We're friends here, right? I want to be able to help you out, but I only have crack and coke back there,” he waves a hand towards the barn, “I'd love to be able to get my hands on some heroin though. Maybe you can hook me up with a contact?” he gives a nudge towards me, “I'd give you a much better deal than you're getting now, of course, and, you know, I don't think there's anyone dealing this local. It'd be a lot easier for you.”

I give him a hopeful look but then go to fearful, “Oh, I don't know,” I tell him, “I mean Beck,” because that's totally his name, “he likes to sound out his own people, and who is going to trust anyone I recommend to them? I'm just some--” I wave a hand, “and you—you're just full of—I just saw you again for the first time.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, “No, seriously,” he tugs at my sleeve, and helps me turn around, “Let me show you. Come to the barn. Come on,” he pulls at me again.

I stand up and follow him cautiously; but while the ground isn't frozen hard it's not slippery squelchy either which is something. He's also already moving now that I've stood.

“You can take a picture if you want. Show your contact I have this stuff and I'm trustworthy.”

“I don't know that's how it works...” I tell him, but it's not like it really matters.

He practically runs ahead of me into the main barn building. Is he taking his own shit? He seems to have way too much energy? Or it could just be who I'm used to being around.

Hm, right by the door here there are a bunch of hanging tools several of them look kinda sharp. Good. He's pulled a hay bale off of a stack and is waving his hand at what was underneath. I can see at least a dozen wrapped clear bundles of white powder. Oh, holy shit. And the way the bales are around it. There's got to be at least another layer if not two.

So, is this what the Siamese Twins were investigating and they stumbled upon a Trouble or were they looking into a Trouble and stumbled across a wannabe Drug Kingpin?

He moves back towards me given I haven't come any closer than by the doorway, “So, what do you think? You think your Beck guy would be cool with me?”

“I don't know,” I say, “Like I said he's kind of a closed...um...” I make to stumble backwards again towards the stuff hanging on the wall and he reaches to grab me I pull us into the stuff so that he jams into it and he curses a bit, “Oh, shit, man!” I say, “Shit!” and I grab him where he just got cut, “I'm sorry!”

“It's okay,” he says, “It's not your fault,” except it totally was, and there's that rush. Fucker's Troubled alright.

“Oh, what the fuck?!” he yells, “What the fuck is going on with you?!”

“Hey!” I hear what is most definitely Parker's voice calling out from the left of us as I grab for Fletcher before the strength burst goes away, gotta be careful not to break his arm, “Hey! Who's out there?! Is someone else out there?! Help me!”

“Is that that lady cop?” I ask him, softly, like I'm going holy shit what are you doing? Even though I'm clearly trying to take him down.

“What the fuck?” he struggles against my hold but there's no way. I cover his mouth.

“You didn't see anything. You didn't see anything,” I babble out, hopefully it's high-pitched enough and freaked out enough it sounds like him, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.” I grab the heavy chain that's nearby and drag him on the hay bales, “what am I going to do? Oh, fuck,” he's still struggling some as I wrap it round his neck by one end and throw the other over the rafter then kick one of the haybales down in front of him so he'll be swinging free once I let him go. Gotta break his neck first though. I grab his arm where he's still bleeding and there we go.

Done.

And swinging.

“Hello?” Parker calls, warily given all the noise has stopped, except the creaking of the chain.

I bolt out of the barn and over the wall, and down the street back towards Nathan's truck. He looks surprised to see me as I catch my breath next to his window for a moment and he rolls it down.

“Parker's in the barn,” I tell him, “Left hand side away from the hanging suicide guy. I just...” I put up my hands, “...he freaked out. I don't...” don't lose his face. Everything is really starting to...

“Why didn't you call me?” he asks.

“Like I have your number? Are you crazy? With your...” no, those aren't there. Those aren't there. Stop looking at them. Fuck.

“Duke?”

“I told you to...not...” I pat the window frame, “Just go get her, okay?”

“Get in the truck,” he says.

“I gotta--” I point.

“I'm not going to the barn until you get in the damn truck. If I have to carry you myself I--”

“Fine. Fine. Fine,” I mutter, “You are gonna be really mad when I throw up.”

“What was that?” he asks as I climb in the passenger side.

“Nothing. Just go with your green swirly clock.”

“The hell?” he asks, but the truck lurches into gear and he speeds off around the corner, everything swims and blurs, green and red with the bubbles around, and the truck frame is melting down the sides, and I feel the bounce as he goes over the driveway and around towards the barn.

Then he calls it in, “Witness claims to have heard Officer Parker shouting for help. Am investigating the location.”

The crackling static of the radio going on and off hurts my ears and I open the door to lean out given my stomach's started churning with the Nascar racing audition Wuornos was doing the two minutes up here.

“Stay here,” he tells me.

“No problem,” I'm trying to get my phone to turn back on anyway, “Go do your daring rescue,” I think he's already gone. Some message thing starts beeping at me but I ignore it and just hit the call “Uncle Asshole” button, of course it's Mike that answers and not Vince as expected.

“Duke?” he asks, “Are you okay?”

“The job's done,” I tell him. Fuck, I can feel things starting to come up now. I pull myself up to standing so I can lean over.

“Uh...okay...what happen--?”

“It's done. Fletcher's dead.” I hang up and drop the phone, and lean against the truck and scrape as much of my hair back as I can to hold behind my neck before the puking attempt starts. Mostly I just wind up with a burning throat and spitting a few bits out onto the grass. I sit back against the step on the side of the truck entrance and lean my back against the side of the seat for the moment. My head is spinning now and my mouth tastes real crappy. I should still have some cigarettes somewhere. I scrabble around to find them in an inside pocket of my coat. I don't remember how many laced ones I have left though I didn't exactly get to prep anything this morning with all this fucking drama.

A small gust of wind blows through as I'm trying to light up which is just perfect. I set my hand with the lighter down for the time being. The waving trees gives me distraction though watching things sway through and the clouds blending with the branches and buds.

“Crocker?” Parker asks, suddenly and I blink at her. She's standing with a hand leaning on the side of the truck next to me, looking down, “You found me?”

“He did,” Wuornos answers from the other side of the truck, “He's the reason you're out here now.”

“Thank you,” she says, reaching a hand towards mine and patting it.

I just stare at her. This is just getting weird now. What does she expect from me?

I pull myself to my feet and move to the side, “Have your spot,” I tell her. There's no wind now I can light the cigarette, hopefully. My hands are getting jittery.

“We'll take you wherever it is you need to go,” Wuornos says, as I pace back and forth a bit and then go lean against the back of the truck bed.

“I can make my way back,” I tell him, “I told you we're even.”

“What's that--?” Parker starts.

“Don't worry about it,” Wuornos cuts her off, quickly, “I'm not leaving you,” he says. It takes me a moment to realize that he's talking to me and not Parker.

“Why?” I ask, “We're done,” I take another drag of the cigarette, grateful I can feel somethings easing up a bit, but I'm still shaky. If I call a cab I should--

“Stop being stubborn,” he snaps, “Just get in the back of the damn truck. I'll throw you out near the harbor. No one has to know.”

I'm about to say something else when he cuts in again.

“I will taze you. Do you really want that right now?”

“Fine,” I climb in the back of the truck and sit down after stubbing out the cigarette. Parker gets in the front.

Wuornos is verifying something on the radio with the police department and I scrub the sides of my head trying to ignore the hash noises of the radio. When the radio stops and I look up Parker has turned around in the front seat and is looking at me.

“I know I said that,” Wuornos is saying to her, “but I know I also told you it would be pointless,” he turns to me, “buckle in.”

“Seriously?”

“You're not in cuffs you can do it yourself,” he says.

“That's not—”

He just fixes me with a serious look until I snap the strap into place and fold my arms and meet his gaze, “Okay?” I demand.

“Yes. Thank you,” he answers and puts the truck into gear and backs out onto the road. There are other cops around now I see. They're moving in and out of the barn and there are flashes of photos being taken which pull me into fireworks.

I lean back against the seat and close my eyes. It's more normal being in this part of the truck, the lulling motion, the limited view of the outside world. Parker's hair is glowing against the top of the seat in front and flickering with red, orange and green. I can hear them talking but it's so much Charlie Brown, and I try to let it wash by and just focus on the movement of the truck as it rolls along and lean my head against the side. I float on flickering colors and follow the trails and listen to them babbling along the occasional word makes it through here and there but I don't pay any real attention until the truck stops moving and the rolling becomes just a dull vibration.

I open my eyes just slightly. Parker is mostly out of the front seat.

“Stay there,” Nathan tells me, pointing in my direction, “I'm just dropping her off here, as it was on the way and taking you to the docks now.”

I lean forward slightly, as much as the belt will allow before digging into my neck and burning, and there's the red brick wall of the police station. Is the town going to crumble now that Wuornos is driving away from the department with me still in the truck and Parker not?

I lean back scratching the belt away from my skin and close my eyes thwup-thwup thwup-thwup cobblish streets, not a flat tire.

“We are going to the docks, right?” I ask him after a moment where it seems like things are taking too long. We're apparently stuck in a weird amount of traffic.

“Yes,” he says, stiffly, “We're going to the docks.”

“This isn't--”

“This isn't anything.”

“I'm not gonna--”

“I'm taking you to the docks, Duke, okay?” he turns around for a moment and then turns back and it's quiet.

“Okay, I just don't want to wake up strapped to some cot at Gloria's.”

“I said I was taking you to the docks,” he mutters, as we start to move again.

“Fine. Okay,” I tell him, leaning back and shifting about trying to get comfortable, “I think you'd understand why I might not trust bei--”

“Why—what now?” he asks, like he didn't call his Dad to help kidnap me before, “I'm sorry,” he turns back to look at me again, “You don't trust me is that what you're going to--” and then he stops and turns back to face the road once more and just waves one hand at me.

“Yes,” I tell him, “I don't trust you.”

He makes a noise but doesn't actually say anything for the moment, drumming his fingers across the top of the steering wheel and resting the other arm against the edge of the truck window so his hand is somewhere against his face. It's getting too bright. I shift around trying to block the angle of the windows and move my hand to block the sun from my eyes as well as pulling my hair more over my face trying not to aggravate my itchy head, because it's just this one spot in the right side in the middle there so if I ignore it—and the fucking—Nate's still drumming his--

“Duke!” his face his leaning over the back of the seat.

“You're gonna crash the damn truck,” I tell him.

“We're stopped,” he says. He leans back a little, nodding towards the window, “We're at the docks. If you really want to stay in my truck now I'm going to be very confused given everything else you were--”

I push at the door and he opens it with some smarmy ass look on his face and grabs my elbow as I come out of the truck. I miss when I try to push him out off me. Fuck. The ground isn't quite where I thought it was, but I don't hit it because Wuornos does have a hold of me.

“See the boats?” Wuornos says.

I look about but everything the way I think he's pointing is blurry, but it's blurry blues and bluish-greys with splashes of color, and I can hear keening gulls and smell salt and something sort of fishy so I have to admit we're here.

“Hrm,” I tell him.

“What was that?” he asks as I push up from him to be more upright, “Where are we?”

“The docks,” I tell him.

“You're welcome.”

“I am breaking one thing I said though,” he says.

I knew it.

“I'm not throwing you out here,” he says with this tone that's very similar to the one he had when he offered to taze me, “I want to make sure you get to the Ursa. Don't need you dropping your keys in the water or something. You might drown trying to get them back and I'm sure as hell not diving in for them.”

I am not going to say thank you even though I cannot tell the difference between any of the boats around here right now. I just make a grumbly noise and grudgingly allow him to help me along the harbor side. I reach into my pants pocket to find my keys. Wuornos, I guess, hearing them jingling holds his hand out to take them as we turn suggesting we've reached the slip where the Ursa is. I reluctantly hand them over and he leads me up the boat ramp on to the deck. I feel like a landlubber because as we make it on board everything starts spinning even worse and I'm being held over the side rail all of a sudden as I try to puke but there's nothing more to come up than there was earlier so it doesn't happen.

“How about you stay there for right now?” he says, “I'll get the door unlocked.”

“Whatever,” fucking boat getting revenge on me now. Great.

“Come on,” he says.

“What?” He's got his hand on my arm again, “The door's open.”

“Already?”

“Just come on.”

I give up and brace myself against him and we cross to the cabin door and inside. Once through the door he stops looking around.

“It's fine now,” I tell him, pulling away to lean against the kitchen counter, “...thank you.”

He makes a sigh noise but the way the shadows are moving I think he's nodding, “If you say so. I'll—okay, fine.” There's a clattering thud of my keys landing on the counter, “Thanks, again,” he says.

“I told you--”

“I know, but thanks anyway, for Parker,” and he leaves.  

I don't know how much later it is because after I washed Evi off me I ashamedly broke my wean myself off rule and found one of remaining stashes on the boat and shot the world away to the tune of the thunder, but anyway, a thunk and splash is what rouses me. My first thought, of course, is Evi throwing things at the window.

I can picture her on the dock, disheveled, wet, doing her best to look like a lost puppy. She'll have made sure not to bring any of her things, pouting at me, pleading to get back up into the state room and my pants.

I can vaguely hear a voice through the wind and rain, but not loud. I unlock the door and it slams louder than I intend it to against the cabin wall, given the wind, but the effect is good and dramatic. I stalk to the railing.

“Evi—if that's you so--!” but when I look down it's definitely not Evi.

A shorter white woman with a taller man, who either has a really close shave or is completely bald. He's not Caucasian but that's all I can really tell from this distance. She has brown or black hair given it's plastered to her head from the rain. I can't make out the eyes from here, but the shape and form. It really does look like Julia. Her hair is shorter than I remember but then mine is probably longer than she does, anyway.

“Julia?”

“Yes, Boss!” she calls, “I'm sorry to wake you up? But I saw the light.”

I did leave half of them on when I passed out, true.

“and,” she continues, “I wouldn't forgive myself if when I saw the old girl I just walked on by.”

There's some talk between her and the guy and she laughs. I realize how much I've missed that sound, and then I'm hit by shame because she's the one who helped me get clean last time. If she does know that she did she didn't say anything before I last saw her. Now here I am using again. I doubt Garland would have told her.

“Boss meet new Boss Man,” she says, introducing the man next to her, “I have clearance to spend some time catching up, that is, if I have permission to come aboard.”

I push the gangway back out to the dock and make an exaggerated bow, “Please do come aboard.” I lean against the railing next to the gate of the gangplank and hope that I'm not to wonky.

“See you in a bit,” she says to her boss, and climbs up, and then helps pull the gangway back up.

I hit her with the cheesy, “Of all the places in all the world. Did not expect to find you here.”

She laughs, “I must admit any time I've gone through other ports I've kept an eye out for you two.” She waves back to her 'Boss Man' whose name I'm apparently not going to get as he walks down the harbor, “so, problems?”

“Well, if you see either an irritated black woman with curly dark hair or one that is trying to put on the I'm a poor pathetic put upon badly done to waif act out there watch yourself.”

“Going to need slightly more to go on.”

“I'm sure I have pictures somewhere. Or who knows might have not given her back all her fake passports.”

Julia laughs, “Still on those 'perfectly legal' jobs, I see,” she said as she followed him into the state room.

“Man's gotta make money. What else would you expect?”

“That's true.”

She looks around the helm and then the state room cabin and the galley which I now realize in my wish for oblivion I didn't clean up at all from Evi's tantrums.

“Do I want to know what happened?”

“The woman I was talking about. Messy break up. It was very recent.”

She picks up a passport that's on the counter and flips through it. Ah, shit. Well now she'll know what Evi looks like at least, but I am getting a horrified and skeptical look all at once.

“Evelyn Crocker?”

“Just for a job. Her actual name is Evidence Ryan.”

“Evidence?” Now Julia is just amused.

I flop onto the couch, and then realize I should actually clean up. Fuck, “Yeah, that should have been a sign really.”

“Are you okay, Duke?” she sits down on the other side of me, dropping the passport on the table in front of us.

“Yeah,” though now I'm feeling more awkward. What's she seeing? “...it was a thing that shouldn't have been...hence the--” I wave towards the kitchen, and being dishonest at this point. I should just say what's going on and let her make her own decision.

“You just...” she looks away for a moment. She's stilted herself, “You're reminding me of right around that time you got that awful stomach flu.”

Well, fuck.

“Could you be coming down with something?”

I can't help the sardonic laugh that escapes, because it's coming down but that joke is going nowhere fast. Honesty before you chicken out, bastard, “That...wasn't...stomach flu.” Besides, she's been out in the world now, who knows how much she knows now she's away from her bitch of a sheltering Mom.

“Wait--” she says, leaning closer, a variety of expressions I'm too foggy to interpret cross her face, “Are you telling me you had those moments of acting crabby, distant and snotty because you were high?”

Okay, so now, does she know exactly how and what?

It's a bit of a weight off but not all of it when I say yes to that. I wait for her to yell at me and tell me how much I disgust her and then storm out.

That doesn't happen.

She is clearly thinking some things through though. I

I'm still waiting for her to just leave and I'm about to stand up when she leans over and puts her hand on my knee, “so you really think my ass is attractive?”

Now I'm confused. I can't remember much of what happened back then but I know I've thought that for a long time so I can imagine blabbing it out in my heroin fever with Julia there in the room, and all the time I'd spent keeping that bottled up because if she knew—given everything. She'd be so grossed out. Or her Mom would really put a clamp on her hanging out with the town black sheep. She's waiting for your answer, idiot.

“Not...not just your ass.”

Crap, now she looks really flustered. If the drug admission didn't scare her off maybe this one will. She seems to have about six different sentences that collide and die on her lips, and I want to kiss them off her face, but this is not the time at all.

“We should have a talk about all the things we should have when we were teenagers.”

“Okay.” Now I'm both intrigued and slightly scared but I don't know what to say.

“Don't be nervous,” she says, and pats my leg before reaching for my hand.

“Okay.” Is all I can muster again. I'm not sure if I'm getting warm because of her or other things.

“Boss, I had a crush on you for the longest time. I never said anything because I thought you would think I was a stupid little girl. You—well, you were off with all these other older—well, older than me—girls and women, and I didn't want to get laughed off your boat. Besides if my Mom ever found out that I had a crush on you she would bar me from leaving the house.”

“If she ever found out I had the hots for you she would have roused the town with pitchforks and a hanging rope--”

Julia laughs but then says soberly, “You're probably right. It might be best we didn't find out until now.”

“Am I actually hallucinating?” I ask her. I have been weaning myself off. At least I intend to. I'm trying. Right? How much did I take after the shower. This could actually be fucking Evi, right? I never told her about Julia though. Subject change is good.

“I'm here, Boss. Maybe more talk when you're a bit more...” she hesitates then, “clear headed? I don't want to get into your...business, but given--”

“No. That is what...” I move my hand from hers, “there's a whole.”

“I did think I saw a bunch of smashed syringes so--”

“I am,” I shake my head, “if you mean trying to clean up again. Yes. That's a whole part of the blow up and a lot of explanation that I just...”

“It's okay,” she says, “I'm proud of you.”

Don't cry. I feel my hand being squeezed again.

“How can we get you to rights?”

“I don't want to take you away from whatever it is that you're—why are you? How are you even in Africa? Eleanor Carr—letting you leave Haven.”

“She thinks I'm with Doctors without Borders,” Julia says drily.

“You're not with Doctors without Borders?” she's smart enough to be surely.

“No,” she says, “but there's time for that later. We need to get you settled first.”

“Well, you have whatever you're doing.” I point out, “and I--”

“Are you trying to push me away? After the conversation we just had about all the other things?” Julia says, “Boss.” She reaches for me harder as I was trying to get up, “Duke. I helped you not even knowing what was going on. If you think finding out is going to make me turn away what kind of person do you think I am?”

There's that old embarrassment, shame and guilt again. I really don't know what to say because she is right.

“It's not so much you.” I point out.

“You deserve the help, and besides now that we're done with the weather witch I have some free time I can probably, definitely, use.”

“Weather...”

She makes a face, “Oh the Troubles—did—did you not know? They happen outside of Haven all the the time just not so much—just--”

Images of people's heads being yanked off by that vile tongue stream across my mind.

My throat is just not. I know I'm swallowing a lot.

“Duke?”

“No...I know...” I manage, pulling myself up and making my way back to the galley to try and find some sort of liquid.

It takes a moment to realize Julia is there helping me.

“I'm not going to ask you to explain right now,” she says, “whatever that was has you shook, but I do think it will be good for you to talk about it--”

I look down at the glass and my feet and then slightly up at Julia's face, “You're probably right.”

“Of course I am,” she says, with that quirked up smile, but then there's a sigh, “I'm sure there's something I need to dig out somewhere anyway, but that's for after.”

“During might be a good distraction.”

“How about we'll see?” She says, “At least if I know what this actually is I might be able to prepare better,” she says, “I'm sure there's other tools I can get hold of that will help you better than just ibuprofen and pepto bismol.”

“I suppose so. I just—and it's hero--”

“Heroin?” she asks, and then adds, “what is it?”

Because my expression had to have changed despite my best efforts because acknowledging the root of my addiction brought the memory of what is lurking in the bowels of the ship smacking me in the chin.

Stupid.

“Slight wrinkle.”

“Okay?”

“I may also have several kilos of it in the hold which are supposed to be off the coast of Portugal soon.”

“Slight wrinkle?” Julia demands, “That's more a divot the size of the Grand Canyon. I thought running drugs was--” the catch there is like a plane engine chewing up a bird.

“It's a big part of why Evi and my relationship,” I make the kapow sign, “there's a bunch more sordid details. Safe to say if I'm not out there the divot will become the Marianas Trench.”

I slide down to the floor leaving my cup on the counter. Thinking is not becoming the best either right now. It needs to not.

“Not a good tangle.” Julia says.

“No. Kicking the bitch out was a start. Don't know if it was the right one but it's done now and so there.” I lean my head back. Do I have anything in here? “I'm still stuck with the cartel though.”

“Harder to break up with.” Julia adds.

“Decidedly.” Fuck. If she wasn't right here I could go to the bedroom.

No.

Quitting. There's still—is there still some in the state room? I think I got rid of that. Fuck you're a mess—had that shit everywhere. Are they even going to be happy to deal without Evi?

“You doing okay?” she crouches down.

“Fine.”

She looks stung. That must have been sharp.

No. You're not okay, “No. I'm—sorry.”

“Okay,” she sighs, drawing herself to her feet, “Let's figure nothing is really going to get sorted today. I have to sort things out with the other Boss Man anyway.” She offers me a hand and then waves it at me in an order fashion telling me to get to my feet when I don't immediately do so, “I can't actually just sail off into the sunset with the old girl.”

“Pitchforks?”

“Not with The Guard. I'll explain later.” She adds because who the fuck are The Guard? and the way she says them all Capital Letters and Important, “but if they thought you'd actually dare kidnap me they might worry more about you than me.”

I have to laugh at that but my hair is starting the hurt.

“Promise me you won't take matters into your own hands on any front.” She says, “Take what you need so you can get through the night and have a functioning brain tomorrow.”

“Do you still have your key?”

There's a moment of hesitation that crosses her face, where she looks down and away, “Uh, yes.” she says, quietly.

“Okay. I can't leave the gangplank down. In case of Evi.”

“Don't worry, Boss. I know how to get on board. As long as I'm invited.”

“You are invited.”

Always.

I must fall asleep because I wake up, achy and sore, but I can pull myself to my feet and back to the cockpit.

No, apparently I can't.

It fucking hurts. It feels like my legs are tearing themselves apart as I try to stand and my arms are going to pull out of their sockets when I reach for the counter tops to pull up with. Fuck, fuck, holy fuck. But I can't chicken out of it this time. I threw the shit overboard. I'm pretty sure I got all of it. I did, didn't I? There isn't any in the bathroom, or behind the...? No.

No. Fuck.

I roll carefully on to my side.

Come on. Don't be a fucking wimp.

There's that shrieking almost laughing scream. Makes my ears ring. Vibrating through my teeth and skull. I want to run but I'm also fixed to the ground, and in front of me his face—his skin almost melts away as the tentacle? Fleshy pink tentacle disappears out of view and he falls down screaming a different scream.

Everything's vibrating and he's chasing, tongue lashing...and growly rumble from all around. Creaking, light shifts. No—wait...

I turn, careful. Light shift. Shadowy shapes.

“No, he's here...” I know the voice, “Do you smell that?”

“He's sick...” I know her voice too.

I try to move, but I'm still tearing and snapping myself into pieces. Fuck. I'm going to cry. It hurts so much.

“Duke?” she asks, crouching down by me. I feel a hand reaching to my head, and flinch away it hurts, but the connection is made at the same time, “You're burning up.”

“I'll rinse this out,” he says, “You...”

“Yeah,” she says, “I'll find a way to cool him off,” she rubs my forehead again. Her hand feels so cool. I want to lean into it, but I...I shouldn't, “Stay,” she says to me, and I can just make out her blurry form as she goes towards the sink.

I don't see him. Him. Nathan. Nathan, you idiot. Nathan came with her. I try to shift around, especially when I hear Nathan's tread angry stalking towards me where I'm lying on the floor where Julia lowered me after feeling my forehead.

Nathan crouches down, “What is this?” he demands, shoving something close to my face.

Is there still something here? Can I take the pain away? No. I don't—I screw my eyes shut for a moment, and open them again. It's just a bag with three needles and a plastic tie. I must have left it out when I threw the dope over board. I did kinda just do that and then pilot for a bit and then crash out in bed before I changed my mind and tried to dive for it or some stupid shit.

“Duke?” he says, again.

I can barely make out his face, but I know his mouth's gotta be in that thin line and his knuckles are probably white gripping the bag so tightly.

“Nathan?” Julia says, softly and I feel her kneeling close to me and putting her hand on my shoulder, urging me to move closer, but I can't.

“I fucked up,” I tell them, forcing my mouth to work, “I fucked up, but I threw it away. I threw it over board. I swear. I swear it's gone. It's gone. I swear,” Red hot lines are searing their way down my face as Nathan shoves me up towards Julia and she puts something cool and wet over my face and carefully wraps an arm around my shoulder.

I hear footsteps and then, a door open and close again after a small burst of sea air.

Julia moves the towel to the back of my neck, “You seem like you have a pretty high fever, Boss. What did you do to yourself?”

“Something stupid.”

“Don't say that.”

“You saw what he had, didn't you?” I move away from her as best I can.

“Duke,” she says, “I don't care what he had. I care that you're sick. Come here and let me help you. You have a fever. Do you have any ibuprofen or anything?”

I shake my head, but that was a dumb shit thing to do because I start to feel sick again, and then it's retching.

She moves quickly around in front of me though, “Shit. He didn't bring back the bucket.”

She just holds my hair as it goes on to the floor. Fortunately there wasn't much left in me and she mops it up with the towel, and then goes and rinses it out in the sink and goes into the bathroom. I lay down on the floor again.

“We should probably get you out of your shirt. It'll help you cool off,” she points out coming back with the bucket, “and get some water in you at least. You don't need to be puking bile if that happens again.”

“I guess,” I mumble to the floor.

“You're dripping with sweat,” she says, crouching down next to me, “and you're wearing a long sleeve shirt. I don't care how thin the material is it's still not helping, especially if you have a tank or something underneath like you usually do...”

The door opens again and Nathan comes back in, “How is it going?” he asks. I'm not sure which of us he's talking to.

“He threw up,” Julia says, “I'm trying to get him to take his shirt off to help with the fever...” she sits down next to me, “because he says he doesn't have any meds or anything on board.”

“Idiot,” Nathan remarks.

“I know,” I tell him, “I shouldn't have...”

“No,” he says, crouching in front of me, “but you did.”

“I tried before,” I tell him, “I did—but it didn't work,” that's not the right way to put it. It's not like trying to fix an engine or something, “I didn't work. I gave up. It hurt too much. I fucked up,” I'm picking at the deck but I can't stop, “I just...”

“What is it?” he asks.
“What?”

“What are we dealing with genius? So we know how to help better.”

Fuck. Fuck. But I have to. I need to admit it. It'll help or some shit, right? My name's Duke and I'm a dope fiend. Hello, Duke.

Julia pulls my hand away from the deck and holds it.

“Heroin,” I tell them.

I hear more than see Nathan rock back on his heels and then stand up, “I'll be in the cockpit,” he says, “the sooner we get back to Haven the better. Do your best to keep him comfortable.”

“No shit,” Julia answers, “You think you can make it to the bedroom?” she asks me, “or maybe take a cool shower?” there's an odd tone there, “I can't believe you don't have painkillers,” she tuts at me, “We need to fix that.”

“Hmph,” I tell her, as we hear the rattling sound of Nathan drawing up the anchor.

“Come on,” she says, “Let's get you to the bed. Much comfier than the floor, and then we'll get this damn shirt off you.”

It takes a little bit of maneuvering but we get me turned around and then up on my feet, and shuffle through to the bedroom and flopped down onto the bed on my back. Then she's yanking on my shirt. Normally this would be the beginning of a great fantasy but right now I want to sink through the keel and to the bottom of the sea. I can feel us moving off now. It seems slow, but I don't remember when Nate last piloted her. He's probably getting a feel for the controls.

“Duke Crocker,” she scolds, sounding scarily like her mother and I relent pushing up as best I can on to my forearms and then up some more. I will not puke. Not like there's anything left to puke. For a moment there's a creepy thing in shadow behind her, but I know it's not there. It's not there.

We get my shirt off. It takes a little bit more...finagling, but she's right. It's damp, stuck to me, once it's off I'm shivering for a moment, and then I'm hot again as soon as she grabs a blanket. Stupid fever. Stupid me.

“Stop saying that,” she says, sitting down next to me. I've curled up against the back wall on top of the pillows.

“What?”

“You're not stupid,” she says.

“Got myself in this mess,” I counter, “That was pretty fucking stupid.”

“Why?” she asks, leaning against the wall herself but facing ahead, she glances over at me, “Why did you do it?” there's anger in her voice, confusion maybe? I'm not sure, “I doubt you just woke up one morning and said 'hey, I think I'll try heroin', so why...?” her voice almost cracks through me at the end and I'm sorta glad she's turned away from me.

I have to snort then because she's right, I didn't just go find someone and be like 'give me a sample of that my good man I'm bored with coffee'. I just...how do I fucking explain December without sounding like I've gone off the deep end or like I wasn't already on something?

“Fine...” she mutters, sounding both angry and disappointed.

“No,” I tell her, “It just...his face--” I can hear the words in my head but I don't know if I'm saying the words at all, that weird sound as it wrapped around his face and then his face wasn't there any more, and it was just, and the eyes pulling out...and him falling down, and the thing it's screeching noise, and the screaming laugh, and it just...disappearing and reappearing, “You know they say the Troubles are gone right, but they're not. They're not gone. They're just gone in Haven, and this—this was in New Orleans, and it just—it kept. I keep seeing it, but it's not there,” I realize she's holding me, and she's stroking my head, “went out a few times after trying for distraction and to forget the shit that happened, like maybe it wasn't a thing. Maybe it wasn't—and you know, hey, still alive, and it was a stupid good,” I snort again, “good...” because that's not even, “and you just,” fuck I shouldn't think about it. I don't have any. I don't need any. I don't need any. I don't. I don't. Fuck.

“Stop! STOP!” she's grabbing my head and I realize I was banging it against the wall, but then I'm pulled against her chest instead, and held there.

She's—I—what? I'm about to pull back but she's shaking--? And the sound?

Fuck. Idiot. She's crying. You made her cry. Asshole.

“I'm sorry,” I try to say I don't want to pull away for several reasons.

“I'm worried for you,” she says, through everything.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't hurt yourself, please.”

“I didn't me--”

“But you were,” she says, squeezing me tightly against her and shifting her position on the bed. She has her back against the wall I realize. I'm still warm. She's warm. She's comfy. I should m—I'm just gonna stay still. The boat's moving around enough. I can feel her hand caressing the back of my head as I lay against her and try to listen just to her chest instead of my own heart racing against itself.

That's collision. I sit up—well, I try to I'm being held—then I remember—and she's still here?

“Julia?”

“Why are you so confused?” she asks, carefully letting go, and holding her arms out at ready as I pull away.

“You're still—what did we hit?”

“Nathan's docking—we're docking at Haven harbor,” she says, “and what did you mean 'you're still?' I'm still what?”

“Aren't you going to get in trouble?” I should go help Nathan, does he know where things are? I start towards the side of the bed but everything is so much jello.

“What are you trying to do?” Julia is there to catch me, “and it's not like I'm missing school...”

“That's not what I meant,” I tell her, “and...” she takes the hand I was trying to point to the door with.

“And?” she asks, though she is helping me stand up.

“Help Nathan,” I tell her.

“Help Nathan...” she's staring as though I just told her I was going to sprout wings, though my stomach is starting to grumble at me, but that's a whole other--“Duke—no, that's not...”

“What's not?” Thankfully we're close to the bathroom because it's not puke, and, thankfully again, urgency gets my feet working, and I manage to get inside and slam the door behind me before anything explodes.

“This is why I'm not leaving you alone to go help Nathan!” Julia calls through the door, “and you're obviously not going to be able to help him.”

I don't say anything because I'm too busy silently praying to something I don't believe in that my intestines stay in my body. There's a jolt I recognize as the anchor hitting sea bed and I just try to focus on the boat's motion as it settles into the lull of being in one spot and not what's going on with me. Thankfully it stops after a little while longer. I have to wait while the tank refills from the mid experience flush and I can make out Julia and Nathan talking but not exactly what's being said, and cautiously mop myself up and wash and flush again, and pull myself back together.

There's nothing in here, Crocker.

You're just gonna have to suck it up and power on through.

Another however many lovely days of this bullshit. That wasn't so bad, right? Maybe an hour of soreness...yeah...that can't be...I can't be that lucky.

“You coming out?” Nathan wraps on the door, “Because I will break it down and make sure you weren't lying about the drugs...again.”

I pull open the door, “There's nothing in here.”

“You don't sound to happy about that,” he remarks.

“Well, I don't feel to great right now,” I retort, “Feel free to check, again. I'm sure you did earlier.”

“I'm sure you've got hiding places I don't know about.”

He has a point, but they are empty and the whole point of having hiding places he doesn't know about is so he doesn't know about them and doesn't go telling his father and therefore the whole police force. He's staring me down though.

“There's nothing here,” I sigh, “If there was I would have—okay, there's probably a 75% chance I would have taken it, okay?”

“So, there's a 25% chance there's something here?” he says, “Is that what you're saying?”

“No,” I put my hands up towards him, “There's nothing here. I swear.”

“You swear?” he shakes his head, “Like you swore in December?” there's sarcasm there, “because that was obviously a bunch of crap.”

Fuck. December...

“Look--” I start, but I'm not sure what to say on that, because...things.

Nate leans against the wall, “Yes?” he says.

I sigh. My head's starting to throb, “So...I wasn't drunk.”

“Yeah,” he says, “We established that; but there was something and you convinced me. I believed you because how did you put it? 'Why would you do that to me?' was that it? You weren't going to lie to me. You weren't going to do that.”

“What can I say?” I tell him, “I've already said I was an idiot, and I fucked up. I was high.”

“It was heroin then?” he asks.

I nod, “It's only been heroin since it started then. I mean I've smoked pot. You know there's been pot, but that's pot.”

He makes a disgruntled noise but then reluctantly nods. He probably realizes I've sold that pot to people...right? I shouldn't make any assumptions at this point.

“When did it start?”

“What?”

“The heroin,” he says, moving one hand near my head, “When did it start?”

I have to think. Why is he making me think?

“Duke...” he has warning tone.

“It's not like I keep a diary,” I snap, “but maybe two weeks before I came back? I don't know...”

He runs his hands around his head, and exhales slowly, and then turns away for a moment and then turns back, “Alright then.”

I lean against the wall and then slide down it to sit, standing is a pain. Nathan sits on the edge of the bed facing me, “You know it's April, right? You missed her birthday.”

“I know. That's what--”

“That hurt her.”

I have to swallow then. It's not like...I thought she might have been angry or annoyed but...

“Tell me you at least brought her a present,” he says, “Getting clean is not an acceptable birthday gift. That's something you should have done before now anyway.”

“Fuck, Nate.”

“Don't 'Fuck, Nate' me. You have to make it up to her.”

I scrub my head, “I mean to, and I do have something for her. Really, I do. It was that—realizing what time it was—when it was, I mean...”

He leans forward, and I look over at him. He's searching my face for lies.

“...it's suddenly the end of March—and all these people, and no way to get back in time, and I'm just like fuck what am I doing? I swore I'd never...”

He leans back again that grimace on his face. I'm starting to feel cold. What did she do with my shirt?

“You're an idiot,” he says.
“I know. I said that.”

“What even got you into--?” he starts, “If this was to get in bed with some--”

“I'm not that much of an idiot,” I throw a shoe that's sitting nearby at him. It bounces off his calf and he cusses at me while rubbing the front of his leg and looking around to see where the missile went. Bet he wishes the Troubles were still active right now.

“How am I supposed to know?” he demands, “Feels like I know nothing about you any more right now.”

I lean back against the wall again.

“Well?” he asks.

“I feel like you'll say I'm lying.”

“How are you going to know unless you actually say?”

“I ran some—I ran something to New Orleans for Dad, right? Around the end of last year...”

“If you say so,” he replies, “I just know you went down there. Don't ask, don't tell.”

“Right,” Don't start scratching. I sit on my hands, but that's not comfortable so I stop, “Places the Ursa can get to that the Cape can't and so...anyway...that's how I was down there and things...went...”

“So, you had a bad job?” Nate is sarcastic because this is an equally stupid reason to become a junkie, not that the other reason was exactly great. Nothing is great. I just...

“You weren't there!” I snap at him, “and it wasn't—you didn't...and that wasn't—the guy brought. It wasn't even there at first.”

“What wasn't?” he asks.

Then there's a knock and Julia also says, “Knock, knock!” and Nate tells her that things are relatively safe, and she comes in the room closing the door behind her even though there's no one else on the boat, “You made it out of the bathroom,” she remarks.

“Yeah,” I muster, “I'm alive.”

“And confessing his sins...” Nathan says.

I shake my head.

Nathan almost manages a smile, “Getting into everything should help though, right? Aren't you supposed to tell your stories and make amends and things?”

“Are you gonna be my 12-steps now?” I mutter at him. I do need to find my fucking shirt though. It's getting cold in here.

“We're gonna be whichever steps you need,” Nathan retorts, “You told me you were coming back here. You said you fucked up and you threw it away. You're not going to get through this by yourself--”

Julia clears her throat from the other side of the room where she's opened my dresser, “I have to go to HPD in two hours to pick up some things Gloria said would help,” she says.

“What are you looking for?” Nathan asks me.

“My shirt, from yesterday.”

“Here,” Julia says, “A clean shirt. The other one is not good,” she points somewhere, and Nathan picks it up off the floor and then drops it again.

“Yes. You are not wearing that in my truck.”

“Where am I going in your truck?”

“Well, I'm not leaving you alone when I take Julia to get whatever it is she's getting from Gloria—” Julia tosses something else in the direction of the bed, “Here, you should probably put on fresh pants too, Boss. I'll turn around,” she faces the corner, “in case Nate needs to help you were kinda unsteady earlier, and you don't need to drive me.”

“But--” Nathan protests, offering me the pants. Which—she's right it probably is a good idea. I undo the pants and start to shrug them down where I'm still sitting on the ground. He bends down and yanks them by the bottom and pulls them off the rest of the way and then drops the clean pair on me.

“No, buts Nathan,” she says as I start pulling on the clean pair, “It'll be a lot less suspicious if I just bike on over to the morgue by myself like I do when I visit Mom all the—well, you know some of the time. No one needs to know it's not her I'm seeing. You can stay with Duke and make sure he doesn't get any stupid, crazy ideas that he'll regret later.”

I reluctantly let Nathan help me stand so I can pull the pants on the rest of the way. He hasn't said anything to Julia's comment, and remains quiet as I take off the tank top and put on the clean shirt.

I realize after a moment Julia's turned around when she starts up again, “Gloria said this would take a few days, at least, and that we...should keep him company. I'm thinking study sleepover at your house.”

At...Nate's...house?

At... “What--? No! Your house?” I point at him, and thankfully remain upright, “With your father?”

“Where else?” Nathan asks.

Fuck. I...can't go 'home', who knows what fucking drugs Carolina has there...and...

“My dad will scowl and maybe yell,” he continues, “Your dad will beat you.”

“...and my mom will skin you with a cheese grater,” Julia adds, “even if you weren't about to be...really sick.”

Fuck, but...I realize after a moment I've wrapped my arms around myself because I feel even colder, and I don't know that has anything to do with my body being super annoyed with the heroin that I should have taken by now. I don't even know if the Cape's in dock because I wasn't the one who moored us. If Dad's here it's not going to be too long before he knows I'm back in town and then he's going to come looking for me...they're right, we can't stay here. What was I—oh, right I wasn't thinking.

“So...” Julia continues, “I'm going to go pack for a few days before going over to HPD and my excuse will be telling Mom I'm going to stay at your place and study,” she taps her hand on the top of my dresser, “We should probably pack you a bag, too, Boss.”

“Right...” I walk towards her a bit but I...fuck, we're actually doing this...I sit down on the edge of the bed. Why did I come back here? I could have just gone some place else and avoided this whole situation. Dealt with this and they wouldn't have ever had to know. She's going to be there? How? It's not summer break? No, Nate said it was April. Fuck. Is it Spring Break? Way to go, Crocker.

I lean forward and scrub my scalp.

“Boss?” Julia asks, from near my left side, “I somehow don't think you have a suitcase, so you got a bag somewhere?”

“Right...um...it's...it'll be in the cubby over there...” I point to the small cabinet built into the wall.

Nathan opens the door and pulls the bag out, and then looks at the mess of various things in the cabinet and the bag pockets some of which are half open and with things half stuffed inside, “So, this...was a go bag?”

I sigh, “Yes, but it had stuff in it and there was...it was...but it went overboard.”

“Okay,” Nathan says, putting the bag down on the bed.

“That's good,” Julia says. She reaches towards me but then puts her hand down.

Good, right. Tell that to my itching shoulders. I lean forward and hold the back of my neck for a moment. I can hear someone rumbling around with things and clothes shoving them in the bag, and someone else goes in the bathroom and gathers things in there.

I need to get the thing I told Nate I had but Julia's right in here, and it's...shit...no, it's under the bed, in the cubby there.

Nathan gives a rundown of everything that he's put in the bag and sure, whatever.

“Okay, then,” he says.

“The motorboat!” Julia says, suddenly, “It needs to go back!”

“I'll take it,” Nathan says.
Julia hesitates for a moment.

“Who's going to say anything to your Mom?” he continues, “I'm sure not.”

She nods reluctantly. Not that I can really blame her not wanting to be stuck here by herself with me. Maybe I should go with Nathan but I don't think being in a motorboat would do me much good, and I don't need to be retching or shitting over something they've rented. Nathan pats his pockets for a moment produces a key and heads for the door, “I'll be back soon,” he says.

Julia follows him to the door, “Well, Boss. We better clean out your fridge. Don't want anything growing legs before you get back.”

“Yeah. Whatever,” I push myself off the bed and towards the door, as Nathan goes through the main cabin and out onto the deck.

Julia pokes my shoulder, “Get some fluids into you, too, considering you've been sweating so much I could wring your shirt out.”

“Right,” I follow her into the main cabin myself, and she has me sit at the table while she investigates the cabinets and the fridge and sets a glass of juice down hard on the table in front of me.

“Here,” she says, “Drink.”

I take a couple of sips of it, “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” she replies, and then asks if I have any trash bags, for a while it's just sorting through what can be taken and what should be thrown away, out of the cabinets, and putting the first in a wooden transport crate and the others in the trash along with the bag of needles which Nathan apparently left on the counter.

As she goes back to the fridge I hear quietly, “I missed you.”

I swallow, toying with the glass for a while because I can't form the words, “I'm sorry I wasn't here,” for your birthday doesn't make it out but surely she realizes...

“You missed seeing me in a dress,” there is some teasing tone there, so I guess she does realize, “Now you'll have to wait until my next birthday to see it.”

Not completely destroyed things, maybe? “A dress...”

“Well, it was my sixteen,” she points out. Right. Shit, “Mom insisted. I didn't like it very much. Too frilly.” Right her sixteen. Nate's eighteenth back in December. You're just on a roll Duke Crocker.

“Ah,” I push the glass away across the table because I'm playing around with it so much I'm probably going to tip it over or break it or something, “...just fucking up everyone's birthdays.”

“It's probably better you didn't seem me in that stupid dress,” she grumbles.

“It was that bad?”

I actually catch sight of her then and her cheeks are very red from blushing. Shit. I find myself grabbing the glass again.

“We don't have to talk about it any more,” I swirl the juice around in the bottom of the glass and keep my eyes on it.

Neither of us says anything for a while, though she doesn't seem to be doing anything with the food in the fridge either, “....why didn't you come back?” she asks.

Fuck. I promised and everything. Talking about Nathan's gathering and we were joking around but then it was a “no, seriously.” “I am being serious.” and then I go and do this shit. Stop looking at your crotch and confess your shittiness—how you were too wasted to realize what day it was.

“I meant to...but I didn't know when it was...” No, that makes it sound—I shift around and lean forward on the table pushing the glass out of the way again, “I mean I know when your—it's March 22^nd,” I add, quickly, “but I—fuck, I lost track of things,” I snort because it's so fucking stupid and one of the many reasons I said I'd never do something like this, all the times of Carolina not knowing her what's up or down, “and—and...”

“It's okay,” she says, softly. It's not though, it's really not, “as long as you wanted to,” she's actually looking at me now, and she has a smile like she's not sure things are quite right, but she really, really wants them to be. I do too, but I've fucked a lot of shit up, and I just...I want to get things back to right, but I just...I've pretty much screwed up everything and Nate's right. I need to make it up to her.

“I did,” I tell her, “I...did,” should I say, should I give things now? I don't...I can at least, “I brought you something.”

She smiles again, cautiously, “When you give it to me, can we pretend that it's still my birthday?”

“Sure,” I tell her. Two birthdays, maybe Nate won't have to shoot me now.

I don't know if her smile could actually get wider at this point. I might actually be smiling too.

“You should drink some more of that, Boss,” she teases, pointing to the glass that's still half full of juice, “Sounded like you were turning inside out earlier.”

No shit, or well, all the shit, really, “...felt like it too.”

“Well, hopefully that doesn't happen again,” she says.

I hear someone outside on the deck, which is hopefully Nate coming back and not my father showing up or something, “Yeah, that'd be good.”

The cabin door opens and it is indeed the junior Wuornos, “Mission accomplished,” he says, “How about here?”

“For the most part,” Julia answers as I take another drink, “but you're back so I'll run...” she makes apologetic look, “things will go over better with Mom if I make sure all the chores are done and there's food on the go before I disappear, aside from packing things up to head out.”

Nathan nods, “I can understand that. We'll head over to my place once we're sure things are sorted out here, so we'll see you over there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she replies.

I lean my head on the table.

“Finish the juice, Boss,” she warns as she goes out of the door trash bag in hand.

I sit up and take a few more sips while Nathan checks the kitchen and then looks at the counter where the bag was.

“Julia threw it away,” I tell him.

He nods, “Alright then. Lets get your bag.”

“I need to get something first.”

He looks at me face full of questions.

“The gift I got for Julia,” I remind him, “I told you I brought her something. I didn't want to ask you to pack it while she was right there.”

“Oh,” he says, “Where is it?”
“In my room.”

“Okay,” he says, “Where?”

I have to grumble at that, because it is going to mean showing one of the hiding places but it's not like it's all of them, “I'll show you.”

The juice has helped some because I'm a bit more steady, as I move by him and back into the bedroom, but things are spinning again by the time I bend down to the far side of the bed closest to the bathroom and slide the panel across towards the bottom of the bed and I sit down on the floor. Nathan leans over the top of the bed and opens the cabinet the panel has revealed and I point to the box inside which he pulls out.

“This is pretty solid,” he says, bringing it around on to the bed, “Did you bring her a gold brick?”

“That would be smaller and heavier,” I point out, “or a lot heavier for that size.”

“I'm not going to ask,” he shifts around on the bed and puts the box in my bag between layers of clothes, and zips it back up, “Anything else? You need the bathroom before we head out because I'd like the truck to stay clean and everything...”

“I'm good.”

“Are you sure?”

“If it turns out I'm wrong I'll clean it up.”

Nathan gives me a look, “Sure, I can see you being in shape to clean it up.”

“Well, then I'll wash your damn truck from top to bottom once I am. What do you want me to say?”

“I don't want you to--” he stops, hand in mid air, “Just get your ass to my truck, alright? Where are the keys to lock up the boat?” he picks up the bag and slings it over his shoulder despite my trying to take it from him. I get the keys from the top of the dresser, and he picks up the crate in the kitchen on the way out as well, and we lock up, and head carefully down to his truck a little slower than I would like but I don't fall in the drink so there's that. He puts my things into the back seat of the truck and then I go to climb in but stop and look around instead.

“What?” Nathan demands.

“She's not here.”

“Wha—oh, the Cape. Sorry, I didn't think to tell you. No, she's not, but the harbor master told me she's due back tomorrow, so...”

I get in the truck, “Fine. Okay. I admit it. You're right. Let's get going.”

Him being due back tomorrow means he could be back any time in the next six to seventy two hours. Depending on what he actually went off to do, or if he ran into anyone Troubled while he was off doing it. Not like I can ask Nathan what he went off to do, and I'm not calling Carolina either—on the off chance she was paying attention to where he was going and not just planning the celebration that he'd be gone. Of course there's no telling if they've even paid the phone bill while I've been gone it's not like I was calling home.

Nathan doesn't say anything as we're driving the terrible familiar streets of town, and I lean one elbow on the window frame and try not to chew on my hand, because things are starting to get itchy and I don't know how much I might chew. At least I'm keeping to my promise because my stomach is behaving. I really hope Garland's on duty today. Please.

His truck isn't there when we pull up much relief. Nathan grabs the things and we go into the familiar green house. He puts things down on the table and starts putting the food away, setting my bag to the side.

“I figure we'll hide you upstairs for the time being. Julia usually stays in the adjoining room to mine when she has study stay overs.”

“Hide me? You're going to lie to your father? I'm impressed Wuornos.”

“Stop it,” he says.

“And Eleanor lets Julia stay over here? What store are you registered at?” I know it sounds bitter but I can't help it, but the probably going to be Chief of Police one day's son who is probably going to be Chief of Police one day himself is a much more appropriate match for the budding morgue attendants daughter than me. She must be beside herself that they get along so well.

“You know it's not like that.”

I do. I do, “That doesn't mean she doesn't have visions of sugar plum wedding dresses dancing in her head.”

“I'm not the one who has avoided asking her out for the past how long?”

“Pitch forks and lynch mobs?” I retort, leaning against the table, which was a stupid idea because my nose starts running, fortunately there's paper towels on a spindle right there which I grab and blow my nose, “Especially now. I mean...”

“You do see how much running off she's not done?” he remarks, “She's out there getting medicine to help you get through cleaning up right now. Stop being an idi—more of an idiot,” he acts like he's going to throw a mango at my head but then puts it on the counter in the fruit bowl.

“Woah. Hey, is that squeezy yet?” I tell him, “I didn't check it today for obvious reasons.”

“What?” he says, confused.

I blow my nose again, “Can you squeeze it? If you can and it's slightly squishy it needs to go in the fridge.”

He puts it in the fridge.

“And it needs to get eaten soon.”

“Okay. Okay,” he says, testing the other two and putting them in the fridge too.

“He's not going to notice all the new food and get suspicious? Where the hell do you get mangoes in Haven?”

“You could have just given them to me,” he points out, “You do do that sort of thing. Alright, let's get you upstairs. You want to take a shower, maybe?”

“That is probably a good idea before I get too off again.”

“That is why I asked. I'll get you a towel.”

Nate had given me a towel and a different tank top and pajama pants rather than the jeans he'd helped me into earlier to change into for once I was done with the shower. Once I'm actually ready and dressed in those I feel self-conscious about it given my arms are fucked up in places and find where I'd dumped the shirt Julia had given me on the boat and put that on over the top and trying not to fall into the shelf over the toilet. The steamed up air is making everything dizzy.

I open the door and let things air out and carefully pick up everything else and then try to remember do towels get left in the bathroom or taken into the room? How long has it been since I've actually stayed over here? I can hear Julia and Nathan talking across the way which answers the question of if she's actually back or not and I make my way over there.

“Seriously,” Julia is saying, putting shirts into a drawer, “My algebra could actually use some work.”

“Only you,” Nathan says, with teasing tone, and then turns when I come in the room, “He lives.”

“That's not going to get old,” I tell him.

“Well, you were in there for almost an hour. There had been talk of breaking the door down, except we knew you hadn't passed out under the water because that did turn off.”

Julia looks away for a moment, refolding the t-shirt she's holding and putting it in the dresser drawer.

“Sit down,” she tells me when she turns back, “before you fall over,” she points to the bed, and I swallow the protest and follow her instructions because I'm not feeling so great, and I don't want to prove her right and actually face plant into the carpet. I knot my hands into the blanket on that I'm sitting on because I'm not going to start scratching. I'm not.

I'm. Not.

Though I realize when Nate's looking at me that I'm kicking my feet back and forth a lot too.

“So...” I ask them, “what did Gloria give you? A mallet to knock me unconscious with?”

“She was tempted,” Julia smiles, “but no, there's some over the counter things like painkillers and imodium,” that sounds awesome, the less I'm in the bathroom losing my intestines or puking out my guts the better, “but the main thing was these,” she produces two prescription bottles out of a paper bag and shakes them carefully and then looks at the bottles themselves, “naltrexone and clonidine, she said they're good for detox and apparently better than methadone as far as time goes because she said only about four or five days. Okay, so one of both of them now, and one of this one later on,” she holds up one of the bottles again. There's already a glass of water on the dresser I realize and she starts opening the bottles. Nate goes to the bag and roots through it for other things.

Yeah, this is happening.

No backing out now.

But this is good. This is good. I don't need to be worshiping the needle and this shit needs to be out of my system.

“And it's just sweating it out, right?” I tell them.

“Apparently,” Julia says, “but we'll be here.”

“Right,” I nod. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It'll be fine.

Nathan makes me move closer to the top of the bed so that it'll be easier when things start to kick in.

“What about Julia?”

“Don't worry about me,” she says, handing me the pills and the glass of water.

I take them trying not to appear too reluctant given these are strange tablets but I've been injecting myself with other things so I have no say, really. Seriously. These come from a much more reputable source when you think about it. Then it's a couple of Imodium and we agree to hold off on the painkillers until I start to need it given right now I'm just trying to ignore itchiness but not really hurting.

“But earlier--” Nate points out.

“Yeah, well, that was...there were other reasons for that...” I admit, “I took more than I usually did so there was just a bigger crash. I was—it was,” I shake my head, “I don't know, maybe part of me thought it would be easier to get home? Junkie logic is not, because I mostly just passed out, but it was after that I tore through the boat throwing everything out because I realized that weaning off wasn't going to work, so...there's that?”

Nate pats me on the head and I bat his hand away. There's silence for a bit after that.

“Yeah, that was stupid,” Nathan says, eventually, as Julia rearranges bottles and things in the top dresser drawer, “How are you feeling?” he asks after a little while more.

“Like a tiger in the zoo?” I reply, “You're kinda hovering and watching me waiting for me to do something and all.”

“Well,” Nathan leans against the wall, “Do you want to talk about anything while you're still awake? We never finished talking about the job in New Orleans...”

“I...don't know if that's a good idea,” Julia's still in the room after all. I don't say it but I know I look towards her because our eyes meet. I don't want to get into all that shit and possibly freak her out I vaguely remember her crying and hugging me yesterday? Earlier?

“Well,” Julia says, coming a few steps away from the dresser and closer to me, “You sort of told me some things on the way here—but it was freaky and jumbled.”

Shit. Shit.

“So,” she continues, “if it could be less freaky and jumbled and more with explaining that might be good, especially with, you know, less of you trying to concuss yourself.”

There is some small satisfaction in Nate's shocked expression at that, “So, not just a 'job going bad'.” he says.

Julia looks like she's going to say something but then just shakes her head at him.

“No, asshole,” I say to him, because seriously, what the fuck? “I was telling you that on the boat but stopped because, well, I didn't know I'd already fucking--” I wave at Julia instead of going into all that again, “It didn't go bad. It exploded in a shit storm of freaky ass mutilation and death.” Fuck, did my voice just catch? Hold it together, Crocker.

Julia's sitting next to me, suddenly, and I'm being hugged. I'm being hugged. Do not cry. Do not cry, damn it, but Julia is hugging me and no one is telling me I'm lying, or was hallucinating right now, and fuck. It's so warm and comfortable.

I realize when Nate speaks that he's pulled a chair over and is facing me but leaning on the back of it with his hands, “What happened?” he says, crisply.

Skip over all the bullshit with the pick up and all that, “What it comes down to is the final hand off. The Ursa can get down closer to the bayou than the Cape could, so I'd picked up three guys along with the 'order' and gone down to the place. We walked it to the actual meeting point, and there's the collector and his guy...” stop fucking shaking. I can feel Julia's grip on me tightening, “But the—he—it wasn't anywhere at first, and then just was. I don't know if he was dude's security who turned on him or if he was there for someone else to take stuff, but we were in the bluster about money bit, 'Are you sure it's all there?' 'Do you want to count it?' 'There's a crowbar if you want to check' etc, and then there was this...this...” I don't know what I think gesturing with my hands is going to do to explain that screeching...skittering, “...noise and this it wasn't exactly a tentacle but it was...it,” I move my hand across, “out of nothing and around his—his head.”

“Whose head?” Nathan asks, cautiously.

“The guy we were dealing with. Guy whose order we were filling.”

“Okay,” Nathan nods.

“But I mean—he doesn't matter so much any more the thing came off his face and well, his face was—he had no ski—no skin on it any more and then it flipped again, just fwap-scre--” I stop myself from trying to make the noise, “and his eyes, they were on it—the tentacle—whatever, and that's when we saw it, the sort of person, but it was all shimmery and weird, and then it was over there, before he even hit the crate as he fell over, and then it just—gun fire, and the thing. I shouldn't say thing, there's a person under there—it's a Trouble, but it just...ripping people to pieces, and skin coming off them, someone's whole arm at one point. I just—it was...it was a fucked up mess. I couldn't...”

“Stop,” I hear Julia's voice near my ear, almost a whisper, choked and wet, “Stop,” her arms squeeze me tightly, “please don't...”

I put my head down, and take a deep breath.

“...you're here,” she tells me, “...you're safe.”

and fuck I can't hold it back any longer. I'm crying. I think Julia might be crying too. She's rocking me against her, and one hand is around my head for a moment I think, but things are sort of blurry. I almost think I hear Nathan curse.

“Duke...I'm sorry, I...” it makes it's way to me through the noise of that thing, and I try to let him know it's okay, because how the fuck was he supposed to really know. I don't know if he even believes they're going on or were going on before. It's not like—but that fucking thing, and it's noise, and the peeling, it's not like bananas or anything, or even an orange, I don't know what it's like, really. I don't want to see it, but I'm quitting, I can't, I can't have it. I can't. I can't.

Someone's holding my hands, “It's okay,” Julia murmurs with a deeper echo, “You're safe.”

Where am I? This isn't the...boat...nothing's rocking for one, but it's also too bright in the darkishness and the mattress is weird. The more I blink the less real it looks, especially when a hand appears near me offering me a glass of something, and then Julia's voice follows it, “How are you feeling?”

My arms are awkward as I try to push myself into a sitting position, and Nathan appears on the other side to help me, which I reluctantly accept. Then I can make out things wrapped around my arms given my over shirt has been taken off.

Julia's face looks apologetic as she helps me with the juice, “You were scratching yourself all up. You hadn't done any damage to your arms but we didn't want to take the chance...” she looks away for a second, “especially after you scratched your face,” she makes a motion near my eye and I put my hand up, feeling the scrape there.

“I don't...” remember really what was going on. Maybe that's a good thing.

“Trimmed your nails too,” Nathan says, “In case you start that again,” though his tone is on the please don't, “I'm sorry I was giving you crap about the job thing.”

“You didn't know.”

“I know,” he says, as I realize that I'm smelling pizza in the room, “but I should have known that you would have had to go through something rough, more than, to...” he trails off, looking towards the wall.

“Boss?” Julia changes the subject, “How are you feeling?”

I stretch a little, assessing things more, “...sore. A little bit hungry.”

“Well, we have pizza,” Nathan says, relieved for the topic shift.

“Home made,” Julia puts in, “The first has hamburger and bacon, and then there's white and veggie.”

Nathan goes and puts pieces of each on a plate, and brings it back. The meat does look good but just smelling it turns over my stomach not that there's anything in there to purge. He sits down on the opposite side of the bed from Julia and offers me the veggie pizza and eats the meat piece himself.

“It's good,” I tell them, “Thanks. Nice work.”

“Nate did most of it,” Julia says, “I was on chopping duty and pre-cooked the meat, but he did the dough and all of the things...”

“You're going to make someone a good wife someday, Nate.” I tease.

Julia makes a strange noise then and hands Nathan the juice, and says she needs the restroom, and walks over there. I look at Nate, “Was that..?”

Nathan purses his lips for a moment and shakes his head, “I don't...and don't try to get out of what you just said,” he makes like he's going to throw the last piece of pizza at me.

“If you do that you're going to have to do laundry,” I point out, “and that's not going to disprove my point if you can do it well.”

Nathan makes a grumbling noise and then shakes his head, “Fairly sure you can do laundry too.”

“That was necessity,” I counter, pressing against my chest when I burp, worried something might try to escape but it thankfully doesn't, “Simon considers that women's work and Carolina's...” a crack whore, “rarely in a good state to do it. She'd probably put crack in with the—no, that'd be a waste of crack. She'd probably put salt in, and then try to cook with the detergent.”

Nathan looks uncomfortable. Yeah, probably shouldn't be talking about drugs and my junkie mother right now even if it is a different kind. Yeah, junkie mother you swore you weren't gonna turn out like. Well, that's why this is happening, right?

Speaking of parents.

“How exactly are you going to keep your Dad in the dark about me being here?” I ask him, as Julia opens the bathroom door and comes back into the room. She looks...unhappy? That's not quite right. Her eyes are wider than normal, and maybe a little pale. Maybe shouldn't have been talking about those things.

“You stay in the room,” Nathan says, “and if he comes upstairs and this way you hide in the bathtub. We'll help you move if you're too out of it.”

“There's a pillow and sleeping bag in there,” Julia waves a hand that way.

Pillow and sleeping-- “You're not sleeping in the bath tub, are you?” I ask Julia.

“No!” she exclaims, “We're just storing it there during the day to make sure Garland doesn't see it. I'm going to sleep on the floor,” she's got that stubborn tilt to her chin that she got when she was working on the plug for the oven when we were installing it on the Ursa and it was refusing to cooperate, but I can't take, well it's not exactly her bed, but still.

“You can't be in the sleeping bag,” I protest, “You should have the bed I can be on the floor. I imagine a good portion of the time I won't be comfortable anyway...” I find myself trailing off because she's glaring at me. A lot. I'm so glad she doesn't have anything sharp or that screwdriver she was threatening Nathan with that one time.

“I...but...” I didn't think that glare could get any deeper, apparently it can, “thank you?”

She nods at me. I can almost hear her saying, “Damn straight.”

I wonder if I actually breathe that say of relief or if it stays inside. I think Nate might explode from holding in laughter.

“Besides,” she says, “It's the closest Mom will let me get to camping.”

I find myself laughing slightly me and shaking my head. She is one strange fun size wench.

“I'm worried about you, Boss,” she says, quietly.

Well, my stomach's doing pretty well, and I'm not...oh, right, friends do that, and she...well, she might be, don't think about that, “It'll be fine!” I tell her, cheerfully.

“It better be, or I'll hit you!” she retorts.

“I'll hold him in place for you,” Nate remarks.

I'm really not sure what I can say to that, because I've—I'm pushing, and she maybe realizes that, but this concern is...weird. Dad would just...yeah. This time I don't have anything to say, so I close my mouth again.

“...more juice?” she asks me.

“Sure, okay,” that seems like a safe thing to do.

She sits back down next to me, and picks up the glass again offering it to me, and I take a drink. I wonder what time it is but at the same time I don't want to ask might make me too anxious for dope. It's getting later in the evening, definitely. It's darker outside, but there are streetlights coming on. Nathan goes behind him and turns a desk lamp on but not the overhead in the room.

Why did I start thinking about it in the first place?

Fuck.

I lean my head back against the wall, and I see Julia move towards me hand outstretched but she leans back a little when I don't start banging my head.

Instead she takes my hand, “Doing okay, Boss?”

I give her a so-so motion with my other hand because I don't really trust myself to say anything that isn't going to come out horribly whiny at the moment because while I'm thankfully only a little bit achy, the itches are coming in really bad, and I can't start clawing at myself no matter how much I want to, probably a good thing they bandaged me up.

“Is there anything that will help--” she bites her lip, and I give a sarcastic laugh which I manage to stop because she probably realizes just as I know that heroin is the first thing that is right there that will stop it all dead, “help...distract you?”

There are no bugs. There are no bugs. I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. Fuck, I'm not cutting the circulation off in her hand am I? She'd say, right?

“Is there anything I can do?”

Is that Nate pacing? It's not like Julia can be pacing and sitting here holding your hand genius.

“I don't know,” I tell her, slowly. They already know you're a junkie idiot you may as well just say what's going on, “I feel like there are things inside my skin...” well, now that's out there. If they're going to pitch you out—well, that would be a fucking asshole thing to do, wouldn't it? Is it getting cold too? Shit. I pull my knees up under the blanket. I am I'm cold. She leans forward and puts her free hand on my forehead.

“Well, cold we can do something about?” she looks at Nathan.

“Yeah, that's easy enough. There are spare blankets in the closet out there,” and he disappears out of the door.

“Well, hey,” I muster, “at least shivering is distracting me from itching.”

Julia laughs slightly, as Nate comes back with a blanket and another comforter. I wind up on my side curled up in a sort of cocoon. Maybe if I'm warm enough I won't ache, oh, but hey there are pills for that. Though there seems something wrong about taking pills to counter being addicted to something.

I'm too hot. The evening is too hot, and sticky. Bugs chittering, in the undergrowth as we lug the boxes along to the meeting spot. I can feel my heart climbing it's way up into my throat though, because I know something's going to go wrong. It does every exchange. It's just a matter of time.

We set the cargo down, and he gets up from where he was sitting, flanked by his muscle. It's here somewhere. I know it is. Waiting.

I can't breathe. It's too hot. Wrapped up all over, hands, legs, everything pinned, sticky. I can't move either. I can't.

“Boss—Duke--” she wasn't there. The voice is far away, muffled. My head is covered too. If I move too much my skin will peel off too. There are other words through—but I can't hear them. Then things are getting a bit clearer, and I think that's a window?

“Julia?”

“Guess you stopped being freezing?” she asks, and there's a thwump and another and a hand. She fades away again. No. That's not where I want to be, “Hey—hey,” I hear from the other side, “don't start that again. Come here,” there's a shift, and things tilt.

It's not the bayou then. We're in a bay near here, laying on the deck looking up at the sky. She puts a hand up in an L shape around a cloud, “You've never thought about flying in a plane?”

“I have a boat right here. I know how it works. I know how to get places.”

“What about a car?”

“I'm learning that. You'll learn that too. I can teach you the ins and outs of the Ursa if you want.”

“There are places you can go in a plane though that you can't go in a boat.”

“There are places you can go in a boat that you can't go in a plane,” I point out.

“Is this just going to go round in circles?” she says, rolling over so she's laying on her stomach, watching me.

“We're anchored,” I answer, “We're going to stay in one spot.”

“That's not what I meant, Duke Crocker,” she pokes me in the shoulder, “and you know it.”

“Do I?”

“Yes!” She goes to poke me again, but I grab her and we wind up rolling around, jabbing and tickling at each other until we collide with a collection of tarp covered boxes and—well, it's a good thing Nathan's not around.

There's something on me. I can feel it on top of the blanket when I wake up. There's just one blanket and I'm face up, and the thing—it's an arm. There's an arm—please tell me it's attached to somethi—you're in a bed, genius.

Right. Bed. Nathan's house.

My brain starts to actually work, slowly. I'd been cold, there were lots of blankets. Now, there aren't. Whose arm is that though?

Trying to move to work that out proves to be the worst mistake of my life. Though the hoarse sound of pain it causes to escape my mouth gives me the answer I was looking for.

“Duke?” Julia sits up, managing to move her hand off me without putting any weight on me for which I'm eternally grateful considering I'm cursing everything that ever was. Fuck, I thought I was sore the other day on the boat, when even was that? Was that just yesterday? Shit. I want to curl up but that hurts, but stretching out hurts, but moving hurts, “Duke?” she moves again, so she's by my face, “What do you--?” she stops, again, and looks away for a moment, “What do we have here that will help? Is it your stomach?”

“No,” I force out, “Every--”

“Everything? Okay,” she scrambles off the bed and towards the dresser, reappearing with a handful of pills and a glass of water, which she sets down for a moment and we wrangle me up into a sitting position, “painkillers,” she says, when I look at her skeptically, “though you do need to take some of the clonidine, probably...should wait until after you can eat though.”

I sigh. This is probably why people give up on this shit.

“Is there anything I can do to help until that kicks in?”

Don't get pissy about how long that's going to take. That's not her fault. You did this to yourself, “distraction?”

“Well, I doubt you're in any state to play gin with me, so...and you...I could...” following her train of thought is not, “do you want to hear about things that happened in town since Nate's party?”

“Sure.” Why not?

She puts pillows up against the wall and I lean against them and she sits next to me, turned slightly off the edge of the bed so that she's looking over at me.

“So...” she says, tutting for a moment like she's not sure where to start, “there was kind of a brawl at the Rust Bucket on Christmas...” she says, “and about six people wound up getting arrested. I'm not sure exactly who...I think one of the McShaws might have been there...” and she goes on about a few other people who were arrested. Seems like Mom's managed to get in it again. She apologizes about that but it's nothing new and it's not like Julia has anything to do with the bullshit Carolina gets up to. That's all on her. She goes on about things at school, matches against Derry, pranks and mascots, graffitti on banners or something. There's something about a new teacher when Nate knocks and opens the door at Julia's okay. He eyes us on the bed. He's already dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and Julia and I are in pajamas. I wonder what time it is.

“How's everyone feeling?” he asks, though it's directed at me.

“Pain's going away,” I say.

“That's good,” he says, “I was wondering about breakfast things?”

“It'd be good if Duke ate so that he can take the next round of pills,” Julia says, standing up. I am not able to prevent myself from groaning in complaint. Julia turns to me, “You can not take them,” she points out, “but what were you just feeling like an hour-ish ago? I imagine it'll be like that or worse...so that's entirely up to you.”

Stupid people and their stupid logic.

“Fine,” I mutter.

“Fine,” Julia's is louder, then she turns to Nathan, “though Gloria had suggested toast and peanut butter for him might be a good idea. You do still like peanut butter?” she asks. I nod, “Easy on the stomach,” she says, almost to herself, “Maybe just make one slice? I'll stay here with him and then when you come back I'll get dressed and go make something...is--”

“Dad's not here at the moment,” he clarifies, “I'll be back with toast. Shouldn't take too long,” and the door closes again.

She turns back to me, “It would probably be best to wash off before you put clean clothes on. Um...do you think you can stand to take a shower?”

Sure, that shouldn't be too hard, right? Though I can tell as soon as I shift and put my feet forward on to the actual floor that maybe I was a little wrong but I'm not going to stop now. Have to push through. She hovers carefully nearby as I stand myself up as straight as I can and make the way towards the door. It's not very far. I've been across this room before. Twice, maybe? Of course it was years ago, but suddenly everything is falling further away, but I'm pretty sure I'm standing still—pretty sure. Though Julia's hands on my elbow and back make me question that again.

“Okay--” she says, when we've made it to the actual bathroom door, “Maybe a shower's not such a good idea...”

“I'm he--”

“No,” she says, “I mean standing is the thing...not the getting clean or were you--”

I nod, “Okay. No. I was meaning I'm here,” I wave a hand, “at the bathroom.”

“Yeah,” she says, opening the door, “Yeah, I'll just, um...” she hesitates, toying with an ear and pushing the door open, before going for my arm again even though I could brace on the doors. Then I sit down on the toilet.

“Okay,” she says, turning on the taps, “I've got you into the bathroom I'll...go get Nathan,” she hesitates in the doorway.

I'm about to tell her it's okay. She can leave me to go downstairs I'm not going anywhere but I wouldn't trust me.

Thankfully just then Nathan knocks and opens the door to the main room and sets a plate down on the counter, “Everything okay?” he asks.

Julia explains what's happening and I hear him telling her it's okay, to get herself something to eat and he'll keep an eye on me and then he's inside the room and closing the door, with a towel in hand.

“Alright,” he says as though he's going to say something and then he sets the towel down and goes and checks the taps, and then he hesitates again, “Do...you...need help getting undressed?”

“I want to say I should be fine,” I tell him.

“But?”

“But I almost fell over walking across the room...so I'm not sure I can stand up to get my pants off, or get into the damn tub.”

He nods, “Well, I helped you at the boat. I'll help you now.”

I bite my lip. I do not deserve this. He goes and checks the water again, mixing it around with his hand, and I take my shirt off and toss it into the corner not being sure what to do with it and then carefully pull myself to standing using the counter around the sink. Nathan is there quickly and it's that elbow hold again.

“I'll keep you upright. You get off the pants,” he says, “and then we'll get you in the bath.”

“Right...” I make sure I don't nod in case I make it worse but I do make sure I say thank you because this whole situation is so fucked up but I've only myself to blame.

Soon enough I'm carefully stepping into the tub while Nate has himself behind me and an arm under my right pit and holding me around the front so that he can lower me into the tub and I can sit, then he pulls the shower curtain along so that I have some semblance of privacy but stays in the room I hear him sitting down with his back against the side of the tub.

“There should be soap and a loofah sponge thing in there,” he says, “can you reach it?”

I look around, and there it is hanging around the taps of the shower, and the soap is on a shelf thing up there.

“Not as such.”

Nathan mutters something and stands up, and then realizes he still hasn't turned the taps off anyway. So, he gets the things, turns the taps off and pulls the front of the curtain slightly aside to hand me the things. I have to admit the bath is more than nice. The aches that the pills haven't touched are easing up and my head feels less sludge filled.

“So,” he says, after a moment of him sitting back down, “Julia was where this morning exactly?”

I just—but right—her arm was over me when I woke up this morning. She'd gotten in bed with me...over the top of the blankets but still but—she was probably just making sure I didn't go anywhere, right?

“She was on top of the covers. What ideas are you even--?”

“Do I have to get out a hose?” he asks.

“Oh, shut up,” I soap up the sponge loofah thing and start to wash my legs, carefully, “and even if she was interested I'm too sore for anything anyway.”

“And nothing can happen,” Nathan says.

I make grumbly noises at him, “You're on at me that she likes me and then you're on at me that nothing can happen. Make up your mind.”

He doesn't say anything to that at first. I'm about to ask him to clarify when he says, “You haven't heard her mother's rules.”

“It's not as if she was in the bed. She was on the bed I'm 90% sure. She was probably just make sure I didn't try to leave.”

“I swear for a horny Crocker you spend a lot of time convincing yourself this girl doesn't want to touch you.”

I slide down in the tub so that I'm mostly under the water. Even if she had had a crush on me I've probably shot that in the foot...though she is helping right now, and she hasn't run off, but I just...I can't imagine that she would. I mean maybe she's okay staying friends but...and I think we're okay about the whole birthday thing. Ugh. I lean my head backwards and am about to slide the last few inches but then there's voice from the other side.

“How's the twitchiness?” Nathan asks.

“What?”

“You've been pretty twitchy on and off. How do you feel?”

“Pretty good, right now. The water's helping.”

“Hey, if you get sore and twitchy again later maybe you can ask Julia to massage your legs?”

Really, Nate? Really... “You do realize how awkward that could get?” I ask him, “Why are you doing this to me? I thought you were my friend.”

“I'm her friend too,” he mutters.

“I'm not saying you're not,” I tell him.

“It's not just about you,” he says, “Things going on, I mean. I know we're getting you clean, but...” he trails off, “Never mind. I don't know words,” he stands up, “Are you clean?”

“Enough.”

“Alright then,” he pulls the plug and I hear him sit down on the toilet for a little while. I pull my feet up as the water drains some and try not to shiver, and brace on the side of the bath. He pulls the shower curtain back slightly and is standing there with a towel and hands ready to help me climb back out. I sit on the side of the bath to dry myself off, and Nathan goes into the bedroom to find clothes for me and then helps me get into my pants again, and leaves me for a moment as I put my shirt on to go check and see where Julia is at. Apparently she's in the bedroom because I hear them exchanging a few words with each other, and then Nate comes back in and guides me out of the room. It's a little easier for me to walk given the bath has soothed my legs quite a bit but he doesn't trust me without him being close by and it's probably a good idea, much as I hate to admit it.

Julia's made the bed, I see, as Nate releases me to sit down on top of it, and there's a pitcher of juice on the dresser. She's sitting on the floor with a textbook, well, not on the floor, I realize. There's a bundle of things underneath her, which I'm guessing is the folded remains of her pseudo-bed, the blankets and sleeping bag.

Nathan goes to the dresser and retrieves the plate of toast and pours me a glass of juice and hands me the plate, and then sits next to me holding the juice in his hand. Julia gives me a slight smile over the top of her book but goes back to studying. I manage half the piece of toast before I start to feel sick, and Julia goes to the drawer where the medicines are and starts figuring out things to hand out for me to take.

After a little while longer talk turns to what we're going to do for the day. Sitting around upstairs is going to get tedious and is likely to lead to tension, but walking around town is not really an option. Garland's going to be gone until the evening though so we have run of the house provided we're careful. So, we wind up downstairs in the family room with a movie on the TV, and Nathan and Julia on either side of me on the couch in case I get “droopy”. I don't know if this is better or worse than if she was massaging my legs or not. She's right there. I could reach for her hand.

Some older cartoon thing has been put on, about a mouse who is sort of like Sherlock Holmes or something. I'm not entirely following it very well, but there was something about not real people probably being easier to stomach and less likely to cause flashbacks, but I keep zoning out and skipping back into things and not really knowing where things are and not wanting to ask. There's some big burly mob boss rat guy who laughs a lot, and is generally pissed off at everyone and a dachshund who is like their car or something.

Then Nathan's hand is on my shoulder and I realize he's waking Julia up too. Both of us were asleep?

“Come on,” he says, “Let's get the lanky one back upstairs before Dad gets home.”

“Is the movie over?” Julia asks, sleepily.

“It has been for a while,” Nathan teases, “but you guys were just so cute...”

She bolts up to standing like her ass is on fire and turns around in a circle for a moment. I have to ask her if she farted. It's a good way to keep my mind elsewhere. She scowls at me.

“Alright,” Nathan says, “I'll get him upstairs. Why don't you see what there is for food? I'm sure there's leftover pizza. Maybe we can add something to it?”

“Sure,” she says, shooting me a look before disappearing through the kitchen door.

Nathan pushes me towards the handrail, “Really?” he mutters at me.

“She's the one who shot away from me like I was a poisonous snake,” I tell him.

“She--” Nathan starts and then stops, “That's--” we start to climb the stairs, “Okay, look—you know what, never mind. You're being ridiculous and you can just dig that hole. I'm not even gonna, right now.”

We walk the rest of the way up in silence and he pushes open the bedroom door and directs me back to the bed until I point out I need the bathroom. He stands outside the door while I go, still in silence. So, this is great. I'm back on, but not in, the bed, when Julia comes in with several pieces of pizza, chips, juice and a bowl of chopped up fruit. I can smell from here some of the mango we brought from the Ursa.

I eat half a piece of pizza and take the pills I'm supposed to take while there's some talk about the movie and what both Julia and I missed while I eat some of the mango, and have some more juice.

“You sure you've never seen it before?” Nathan asks.

“Really?” I ask him, “You think that's the kind of movie that's going to be in Simon Crocker's house?”

“I didn't mean like that,” he says, “You could have gone to see it.”

I wind up laughing a little at that, “No, mijo we don't go to see movies. There's nothing to be gotten from that. Though, we did sometimes get kids movies from the various give poor kids toys places she drug me round too. That wasn't one of them.”

“Let's talk about something else,” Julia says, as Nathan glances at his watch.

“We'd get the inspirational bullshit, about how life gets better. You just have to try your hardest and do your best,” I pump my fist in the air, though my arm feels sorta heavy, “and then Simon would use them for target practice.”

“Maybe we can play a card game or something later?” she says, “What games do you know?”

“Don't we have too many people for gin?” I ask her, “Isn't that what you said earlier?”

She thinks for a moment, “I didn't say we had—oh, well, three is—but we could play regular rummy if you're up to it, but I was thinking of games that didn't require so much strategizing in case you got...” I lose the rest of her sentence, which probably proves the point, “ord games might be better,” she's looking at Nathan.

“I can check downstairs,” he says.

“You maybe want to get into the bed?” Julia asks me, “You look like you're about to fall over, Boss.”

“Maybe I should then...” I move up the bed and almost slide off the slippery comforter.

Julia mostly catches me, though one knee hits the floor, “Up,” she says, as I carefully pull up on the bedside cabinet, and she shifts the bed coverings down so I can get back in, “I set some laundry things going...” she amends, “When the—when Nath—when Sargent Wuornos was at work. I'll have to see if Nathan can sneak them up here. I forgot about it with falling asleep,” she looks embarrassed.

Asleep...she fell asleep, too. Right...crap, “Did I? Did I keep you awake?”

She takes a moment before saying, “...not...on purpose,” as she pulls the blankets back up where I can reach them.

I can't look at her then, because obviously I did but she's trying to not blame me, but it is my fault, so she should just, “...okay. Sorry.”

“You were having a nightmare,” she continues, quietly, getting closer and then stopping as though something might bite her, “It's not your fault. I'm not just going to lie there and ignore you.”

Is that what...? Simon yelling at me to shut the fuck up is more, and maybe there were a couple of occasions with Carolina, was she trying to be comforting? I just remember mumbled slurriness and a hand sort of shoving me back into bed and covering me with blankets and patting me. Yes, because now is the time to think about this compared to—Julia knows more about what normal is supposed to be like, and she's fiddling with the edge of the blanket. You've been quiet too long and that has to be you that's sliding sideways. Julia is much more upright.

“Woah, hey,” she guides me down to the pillow and being more flat on the bed.

“Thanks,” I tell her.

“Well,” she gives a slight laugh, “You're already in the bed. You did the hard work there.”

“No, I mean for disrupting your sleep to deal with me.”

“And I'll do it again,” did she just kiss my forehead? She's really close, leaning over, hugging may as well be, messing with sheets and pillows, “If that's what you need.”

I hear murmurings outside and I want to see what's going on but my eyes don't want to open. I shift around moving the covers so that my ears are clearer. Who else would it be but Nate and Julia? There's something about boards or shooting? I'm not sure. Come on...I need to get up.

“Oh, you are awake,” Julia's voice, and then no, Nate's hands helping me into a more sitting position.

Now my eyes are agreeing to open and I see Julia's digging around for something in a drawer and then she says she'll be right back and goes into the bathroom.

“How're you feeling?” Nathan asks. I make what apparently passes for a verbal shrug he says and then goes, “That good?”

“It's been worse,” I point out.

He gets me water which is appreciated. I didn't realize how thirsty I was until I was having to make conversation, “Do you want to go back to sleep?” he asks, “Or were you up for doing something until the time that the rest of us normally turn in?”

I give an actual shrug then, “Distractions are good, I guess. Better than just sitting here given I imagine downstairs is full of your Dad.”

“Yeah, that's for sure,” he says.

Julia comes out of the bathroom in pajamas. Stay good. Stay good, “Board game, then?” she asks.

“Okay?” I'm not entirely sure what that means but I don't want to say so. It sounds familiar. Like I should know.

Nathan disappears out of the door for a moment and returns with a flat box and then I remember Carolina yelling in Spanish and accusing people of cheating because she hadn't put the right things in the tiny envelope. It's easier to read instructions when you're sober. The game was free though.

“Oh, right, like Clue.”

“Well, this is Chutes and Ladders,” he says, “but yeah. We figured it wouldn't be so taxing on the brain,” he bonks me gently on the head with the box.

“Gee, thanks,” I tell him.

Julia pulls over the chair that Nathan was sitting on yesterday so they can set the board up on it, “I'm going to be the spiral shell,” she declares, and hands Nathan a small black button. I pull myself up into a better sitting position, “Which leaves this piece for you,” she hands me a small pebble with a shell glued to it, “The wheat penny is Garland's,” she explains in hushed tones, “unless you have something you'd like to put in to use for you.”

“No, it's fine,” I hand it back to her, “put me at start.”

“It fits you, really,” Nate says, teasing, “You're stubborn as a rock.”

“What does that say about you button with nothing to button?”

“...so what does the shell say about me?” Julia asks. There's that challenging tone to her voice. One wrong word and someone's getting cut.

“You like pointy things?” I offer, hopefully.

She considers this for a moment. Nate watches as though this might be my last moments on this plane of existence though I somehow doubt Julia would leave him on his own to clean up my body. There's a moment of wondering just how much damage she could do as she mimes stabbing at both of us with the tiny pointed spiral shell and then she says, “Okay, Boss! Spin to see who goes first--”

Except then there's some...bickering over whether it's actually the oldest, or the youngest, or the prettiest, or the person whose house it is, or the oldest but do they mean oldest or who is mature? Because then—(no shut up or Garland will come up here!) the one who starts the game isn't going to be any—you know we'll just spin the dial (how it's supposed to be anyway!) and whoever gets the highest score will be the one who goes first.

Julia sits there shaking her head as I spin, and then Nathan does and she's still shaking her head as she takes her spin and wins, given she has a three, to Nate's two and my whopping one.

“I think it's rigged,” I tell Nathan, “It's your game. It's rigged.”

“If it was my game and I rigged it I would have won, surely,” he says.

“Well, not right away,” I tell him, “You don't win straight off. That arouses too much suspicion. It has to lead up to winning over the course of a few rounds, be all subtle.”

“I'll take that into consideration,” he says.

I can't quite tell if Julia is laughing or not as she moves her piece and then passes the spinner to Nathan for him to take his turn. Much as I hate to admit it I'm glad it's a simple game because every once in a while everything on the board becomes one blur of –

It's the all round body ache that wakes me.

It's mostly dark in the room. No sign of board game or Nate or Julia for that matter. I don't remember the game actually ending. I sit up and look around. Maybe if I just get a little bit—a dumb idea, worst fucking stupid—but it'll make things easier because this is fucking painful and—look, sixty fucking ibuprofen or one tiny, tiny little hit?

I'm out of the bed and trying to go across the room but my legs don't want to work right and if I bash into something I might wake up Julia whose probably on the floor—where is she anyway? The bathroom? The light's not on...I crouch down, and what the fuck am I doing anyway?

I lean against the side of the bed, sitting. I'm supposed to be getting clean, not sneaking out somewhere...okay, deep breath and get back in bed.

Get back in bed, Crocker.

Get. Back. In. Bed.

Get. Back.

And yet I'm crawling across the floor again. The door is this way, and...shit what—idiot! There's a questioning, murmuring mumble from the huddled bundle I just bashed into that was curled up in front the door in the mostly dark.

“Sorry,” I say, “Sorry,” Tell her you got lost trying to find the bathroom...that's twenty feet away at most? Right...

“Duke?” She rolls over a little, “Duke...what's going on?”

“I...was...wanted to leave,” I admit, sitting up and pulling my legs towards my chest. It's getting cold again and my shoulders hurt.

“You gotta stay, Boss,” she says, moving around in the sleeping bag. It makes her look sort of like a worm, “Gotta stay.”

I nod against my knees. Fuck, what am I doing? I can't explain this to her? She crawls closer to me and I lean over on to the floor trying to ignore the voice that's still yelling at me to ignore her and leap for the door, and down the stairs because what the fuck does she know? It won't take much, and I know it's right. It won't take much. Just losing any shred of respect for me that she and Nate have left.

Ugh.

“It's okay, Boss.”

“No, it's not,” God fucking damn it, am I crying again?

She pulls me into a hug, arms out of the sleeping bag, “It will be. We'll get you through this. Okay?”

Sure. Sure.

“Okay?”

I nod against her and feel her brushing my head with one hand, “Okay,” I answer, as I hear the sleeping bag unzipping.

“Okay. Good. I'm going to get you some pain pills and you're going to take some and I'm not going to hear any arguments about this because you're already miserable and I don't think either of us wants that to get any worse.”

I nod.

“Good,” she says, getting up. I hear things rattling about and then water running in the bathroom, and then she's crouching down next to me. I pull myself up, carefully. She doesn't have anything with her which is—I thought she was getting pills, “Come on, Boss,” she says, “Let's get you back to bed, and then you can take things and get all toasty.”

Whatever, so long as I stop hurting. I let her help me stand up, and we go the few feet to the bed and I sit down in the hole I made throwing the covers about. She hands me the pills to take and holds the glass for me to drink from and makes sure I've swallowed them, and then I lay down. The bed is really cold still, but we have plenty of blankets, something I know from the previous day, and she brings me several of them and then sits down next to me, pulling the desk chair over and brushing hair back away from my face so it's not sticking to me and I'm not eating it.

“Thanks.”

“Well, it wouldn't do for us to get you clean and you to choke to death on your own hair,” she points out.

“Yeah,” I manage a slight laugh, but it hurts, but no and at least I'm not as cold.

“It will be okay,” she tells me, leaning down close. She reaches through the blankets to take one of my hands with the one of hers that's not been brushing my hair free of my face. Then I could—this time I really could swear she kisses me on the forehead, “the pills will kick in soon and you can get some more sleep.”

“Good,” I admit, “I am tired.”

“I'm sure...” brush, “but it'll be fine.”

“I'm sorry I woke you.”

“No,” she says, “That was good. It's better that than you break your neck going downstairs, or worse wake Garland.”

“Right.”

“Now, come on, Boss. Just close your eyes.”  

 

Uggggggh. Why didn't I leave last night? Oh, right. I was an idiot and talked myself out of it, and got back in bed. Fuck. I need to...I fail at being quiet untangling myself from the mountain of blankets and crap that are around me on the bed.

“Boss?” Julia. Shit, “Where are you going? You need the bathroom? I can get Nate to help you seem sore--”

No shit I'm sore. You didn't let me go anywhere.

I'm tempted to flop back down but then I'll just have to sit back up again.

“No. I don't need to bathroom,” I turn around on the bed.

“Okay, then,” she says, from the chair by the desk, “What do you need?”

“To go downstairs...” That should be safe, right? Fuck, is Garland still here?

“Why?” she asks.

God damn it. Why am I getting the twelfth degree? “Because I want to go downstairs! Is that a crime now?”

“No,” she says, with this infuriating tone, “It's just...” okay...decide what you're going to say then. I shift myself around some more, “...there's nothing for you downstairs that can't be brought upstairs.”

That is so not the point. I run my hands through my hair. Okay, you'll make a better argument if you can fucking stand up without falling over. Come on. I turn slightly and push up off the bed, and then okay, standing, and Julia's looking at me like now what?

“Okay, so...not downstairs,” I tell her putting my hands up and thankfully staying up right, “I need to go, okay?” Not okay, I can tell by her face.

“Oh, you want to leave?” her tone is not good, “You want to leave and find some heroin that you'll buy with...what?” I won't need much I can snag five bucks—ten easy. That's no problem, what is is the no longer happy, approaching furious tiny girl stalking across the room towards me, “And then you'll get high somewhere and Nate will have to call his dad to find you before Simon turns you into roadkill and I'll be grounded from every seeing you again—is that what you want?”

I fall back to sitting on the bed, “You don't understand—it'll just be...”

“And that's assuming you don't fall down the stairs and break your neck and leave me and Nate with options of calling his Dad--”

“Now you're just being crazy!”

“You're in no position to be calling anyone crazy,” she retorts arms folded, “Seriously, you want to leave us with the options of calling his Dad and my Mom and explaining why you were here, or trying to sneak your corpse out--

“You don't want me to break my neck—you help me downstairs--”

“--and back onto your boat and setting it to sail off into the sunset knowing that unless we also started a fire our fingerprints and hair and shit is going to be all over the scene and we could go to jail for killing you. Is that what you want?”

I shake my head, “No, seriously—help me downstairs, no falling, no one murders anyone and that's and I just—five dollars that's all I have to--”

“No!” she says, “Yes, I don't want you to break your neck, but you're going to KEEP YOUR ASS IN THAT BED that's how it's not going to happen because if you try to leave this room, Duke Crocker! You WILL find out how hard I can hit you with a chemistry book!” she shoves my shoulders and for half a moment I'm going to push back but I just—I can't—this is Julia, maybe I can--

“...I just need a little bit--” I plead, “It'll just—just to cut through--”

But it doesn't. She pushes me harder on to the bed, “Hang me for mutiny later, Boss, but you're not leaving until you come back to your senses even if I have sit on you for—I don't even know,” and pins my lower body with hers by sitting on my thighs.

Seriously?

Nate opens the door about then, as I'm debating how best to get her off me given the way she's pinning my legs I can't entirely roll, and when I try to move her with my arms she neatly deflects me with her own.

“You don't understand,” and now it's really fucking hurting. She might as well be sandpaper and spikes which sucks because I don't know how many dreams I've had that are, well, 50% like this anyway, much less percent once Nate actually opens the door.

“What's going on?” he asks, “I heard the yelling I was...going to offer help, but...now I'm just...confused.”

“Get her off me,” I plead.

He looks at Julia instead.

“He's being irrational. I think it's time for his medicine.”

“Isn't it...” Nate comes into the room and looks around at the clock on one of the dressers, “...not due yet?”

“I think there's some wiggle room,” Julia says, “it's only a little over 30 minutes.”

“You really think--” he starts, looking from her to me and back again as I was trying again to get away from her and she deflects me.

“Why don't you tell him how unreasonable I'm being, Boss?” she says, suddenly sounding weirdly cheerful.

“Please, let go of me. Let me up,” I beg her, hoping that with Nate here she might actually do it, or he might convince her that rather than this medicine bullshit she should just do that.

“Whyyyyy?” she draws it out.

“Because it hurts...” I point out. Freaking sand paper.

“It wouldn't hurt if you stopped struggling.”

It wouldn't hurt if you'd let me do what I need to do, “That's not what I'm talking about,” I tell her, keeping my teeth gritted, “It hurt before...and you still wouldn't let me out of here.”

“You're a witness, Nate. Duke doesn't want to be in bed with a girl!” she turns slightly, “But then again, I don't count,” she mutters.

“Yeah,” Nate cuts in, “I think we can push things ahead,” he goes over to the dresser and starts rustling through the things in there.

“Fuck you,” I tell him, “Fuck you both.”

“Are you sure about that, Boss?” Julia asks.

I'm not walking in to that. I just try to lift up. She's really strong. She shifts her position on me and it's like grating the pants against my legs.

“Just stop--” I tell her.

“If you still hate me when this is all over call me a mutineer and make me walk the plank,” she tells me.

“I don't want that shit.”

“Well, that's all you're getting. You're not leaving.”

Suddenly Nathan is hauling me up into sitting position, “I will force these pills down your throat if I have to,” he waves a fist in my face, as Julia shifts further up my body and grabs my hands and holds them crossed on my body, “Stop being a whiny bitch! You can beat this, Crocker!”

I open my mouth and he puts the pills in and follows it with a glass of water from somewhere and waits until I swallow and then lowers me back.

“Let's just talk about something,” Julia says, “Distraction. Until things kick in and you feel better.”

Right, that's gonna help me right now, “About what exactly?”

“You usually have some great stories about things you've done while you've been away...” Nathan says, as Julia once again stops me from moving but I don't want to think about anywhere I've been lately. I want to be away.

“Anywhere I've been lately I've been high,” I snap, “That's not what I need to be thinking about, is it?”

“Fine!” Julia snaps, “You don't have to talk. You're just going to lay there and shut up while we do some actual studying, given I do actually need to do that while I'm here.”

Whatever. I shove myself down into the pillows and will not think about the fact that she's sitting right there around my crotch, but about the fact that everything hurts.

“You're still willing to help, right, Nathan?” she asks him.

“Of course,” he says, of course. Eye roll.

“Then my Chemistry text book and notes are over there,” she shifts slightly and points to the sleeping bag bundled up by the opposing dresser. He goes over like an obedient little golden retriever and gets the things and then pulls the chair further down the bed so he can sit level with Julia and they can talk over their stupid school work. I can't move my hands to block them out because she still has hold. Nathan is holding the book and flipping through pages and talking about things.

This is all such bullshit. At least I don't have to look at them.

Assholes keeping me here. Stopping me from—shit--what was I trying to do? It hits me after a while. I realize because I'm facing the digital clock and the numbers keep blurring in and out that I'm the idiot. Idiot. Idiot. I'm the asshole. I am. They're doing what I asked them to do.

Saving me from being a fuck up. More of a fuck up. How did I wind up with friends like this?

And Julia—there is a Julia sitting on my junk. Shit. Think about what an asshole you've been and how pissed she must be at you. Listen to the confusing as fuck talk. Don't think about the tiny hot chick on you. That's the wrong thing to—you're an asshole—what shit were you saying to them earlier? You fucking asshole. They're trying to stop you screwing yourself up and you're cussing them out and acting like they're the terrible people.

“Yeah, that's right,” Nathan is telling Julia, “It would be H-C-L and N-C-3-O-2.”

“It would?”

“Yes,” he says, “Trust yourself with these things. That's five in a row now I think it's safe to say you've gotten this section.”

“Woohoo!” she says, “Stupid equation balancing.”

There seems to be a lull so I plunge into it before I can chicken out, “I'm sorry,” I tell them possibly a little too loudly, “I was being a dick, an asshole and you were just,” and Julia has released my hands and shifted around and is hugging me, which is a relief because it means she's not sitting on my groin directly as things were starting to get twitchy there and I would have had something else to apologize for in a few moments. You were being an asshole. Think about that. Think about her weird uncles at the paper place, and Simon, thinking about Simon, that's decidedly not sexy.

“It's okay,” she says.

“No, it's not,” I tell her over her shoulder before she lets me go, “You guys are trying to help me and I was--”

“If getting off drugs were easy it wouldn't be an addiction,” Nathan says.

Julia sits back on the bed and I roll onto my side, facing the wall, in case anything does become incriminating, “I guess,” is all I can really say to that one and Nathan snorts in response to that. It sounds like there's some sort of exchange going on between the two of them and then Nate excuses himself downstairs to make everyone something to eat.

Julia is sitting at the bottom of the bed by my feet, “I don't have to walk the plank, do I?”

I turn carefully so I can see her, “No, I-thank you for your persistent valor and your...um—unending ...determination in the face of...compromised? Boss.”

She waves a hand at me, “I would have kept that up even if you somehow did get downstairs and I'd had to knock you out and drag you back to my house and keep you bound and gagged in the basement so Mom didn't see you,” she says, defiantly.

I'm not sure there's anything I can say to that right now given the idea is more than a little arousing and that's the opposite of what I'm trying to do.

“Of course that would have been a lot less comfortable for you.”

“Yeah, this is true,” mrgl, and oh, man why is that so—think about something else. I should give her her present soon, maybe? Double as belated birthday and sorry you've been having to put up with me being an asshole. Not going to try and grab it right now though she doesn't need to see... I can ask Nate to get it for me when he comes back in don't have to move then and show her that I'm so excited—in case she's...hopefully I can calm things down by then.

Nathan comes in the room with some plates and bowls of food. I'm not sure what's in the bowls but it looks to be some sandwiches on the plates.

He looks between us for a moment, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Julia says, “I was just making sure I wasn't going to have to walk the plank.”

I carefully shift myself around into somewhat of a sitting position, adjusting the comforter in my lap at the same time, as Nathan sets things down on the dresser, “Hey, um...you remember that...thing we put in my bag, the...from my trip?” I ask Nate.

“Sure...” he says, and goes to wherever they'd stashed my bag and brings it over to where I am setting it on the bed by the pillow. There's another series of looks between him and Julia and then he goes, “You know I'm not really hungry at the moment so I'll just go...check that we've got enough stuff for dinner and maybe run to the store,” he gives a sort of salute with two fingers and disappears out the door.

Julia turns to me. She looks excited but at the same time it seems like she might be more nervous than me which is a little strange. We'd talked about pretending it was still her birthday...should I have given Nate money for cake is that what was going on there? Get the box, idiot. I unzip the bag and find it which isn't too hard considering a lot of the clothes and things have been taken out of the bag. It's a brown cardboard box given I don't exactly keep wrapping paper on the boat and didn't have time to buy any, and the guy who sorted this out for me has written his name and address on the bottom should I ever be back his way and want something else and then put the box in my lap as I turn around.

She's looking at me expectantly and there's a moment of jump for both of us when the bag falls onto the floor.

Deep breath, “So, um...Happy Birthday belatedly...from Jamaica...” I offer her the box, “I didn't exactly get to wrap--”

“That's okay,” she says, taking it, gingerly and feeling the weight, “Jamaica?”

I nod, “That's where I was—where I had it made.”

“Made?” she fumbles with the flaps a little and then gets it open, and is presented with several layers of tissue paper, “Tissue paper?” she says, with a laugh, “Just what I always wanted.”

“It can be very useful sometimes in fire starting,” I tell her as she opens the layers of tissue paper and finds the carving inside. The little gasp she lets out as she lifts it out of the box gives me relief because it sounds like a positive gasp, and she turns the falcon around in her hands, taking in it's pose, wings spread landing on the branch perch that is also carved from the piece of wood. The falcon's chest is carved hollow in a sort of knot work with another falcon inside.

She turns it around in her hands again, “I love it,” she says, running her hand up the length of one wing, “thank you,” she puts it back in the box and gently puts the tissue paper back over it, shifting up on the bed closer to me and putting the box down in my lap. Suddenly she's leaning up and over the top of the box so that our faces are level. I'm about to ask what but then she's kissed me and my brain has shorted out for a moment, and the only thing I can really tell other than that my cheeks are reddening is that she just kissed me—but why...?

She's—was that just a thank you kiss? Have I been ignoring—I mean...is Nate right? But I'm a stupid junkie asshole...

Oh, crap she's staring—how long has she been looking at me?

She seems like she might be blushing though. Relationship things are so much easier when you don't give a crap, “...I wanted my first kiss to be with you...on my sixteenth birthday.”

Wait...what? Is that why she asked...? So that's...

“...it's okay if you don't think of me like that,” she's staring at the wall.

So, wait...think of, “You..? Me..?” get out actual words can you. I carefully reach towards her hand, even though I've just been, “even...?” is all I actually get out though.

She nods, and takes my hand. No. I'm still out cold from the pills they gave me before, that has to be what all this is. It's good though. I have a chance to not be a total asshole, right?

“So...it's probably better you weren't there and Mom didn't witness this.”

Considering I can feel what's going on in my crotch area right now. That's definitely true, though there's blankets and present on top of there still so there's that, “Yeah, I'd have probably been kicked out of your house or castrated or...both...considering...” I tsch myself, let's not get into that, “but...I've had a...” man, how do I...? even explain... “had a...thing for you...”

She startles up to stare at me, “But I'm--”

“What?” I ask when she stops her sentence just as suddenly as it started.

She doesn't explain though instead she just plants her mouth on mine again and starts to kiss. Okay, no, this feels like there's really lips on mine, and the stirring below. Yeah, this isn't a dream, I put one hand on the back of her head and tilt hers slightly so that the angle is better and gently tease her mouth open with my tongue, and then show her how things can go from there. She follows my lead, and our tongues tease each other back and forth, hands tangling in each others hair. Somewhere in the exploration she moves the present box behind her and we close the distance a little, but I'm trying to behave and keep my hands from roving too far.

I'm not sure how long it's been but then there's a cough and knock at the door and Nathan's there looking kinda smug—more than kinda smug really.  

“Shut it,” I tell him when he comes in the room with that grin. Julia turns round slightly curled up, chewing on one of her fingers, and maybe grinning a little I can't see her face, but I feel it.

“I'm not saying anything,” he replies, “I'm just glad I didn't come back to World War 3 again. That's it entirely.”

“Sure it is,” Julia says.

“Why don't you check the things I got downstairs?” Nathan asks her, “I'll make sure Duke's sorted out with the bathroom before we eat—I have a feeling he needs to go,” he gives me a look.

I can't meet his look for a minute, but obviously he saw what was going on.

“That's okay,” Julia says, “I need it too but I'll just go downstairs in the “public” one, and then stop by the kitchen,” she hops up, and then gently picks up the box of falcon and moves it to the dresser by her things and sets it down before going downstairs.

Nathan pushes the door shut and just gives me a look.

I don't say anything for a moment.

“Well?” he says, arms folded.

“Fine,” I say, “You were right. I'm sorry.”

“You are sorry, for many reasons,” he says, “I'm just—please tell me you can actually get yourself across the room right now. I'd rather not...”

“I should be okay.”

“Good.”

I'm glad too, really. It's weird enough that he knows for sure what I'm doing in the bathroom right now instead of just odd jokes and posturing that have happened here and there, but damn it I'm fit to explode between everything but things are evened out enough with symptoms and body right now I can actually balance to stand up in the shower so that solves many problems.

Julia is back before I'm out of the bathroom. I can hear her talking with Nathan, and there's a moment of disbelief before I open the door, that this whole thing was just nothing; but there she is giving me a different sort of smile, and there's the box not in my bag, but on the dresser, and there's Nathan still looking smug and shaking his head at the both of us.

When I sit back down on the bed, Julia jumps up next to me and nestles her head against my shoulder. There's a hesitant look for a moment from Nathan but then he just shakes his head and laughs.

“What?” Julia says.

“Nothing,” he replies, “You're just cute together.”

Julia sticks her tongue out at him, “You okay with this?” I realize she's looking up at me.

“Oh...yeah,” I nod, “I mean I don't want to go parade in front of your Mom if it's actually going to get you disowned but I'm happy to know that you actually...” I run out of words to explain the rest of that, she's blushing though it's cute. I boop her nose.

“Not disowned,” she explains, “Probably grounded until I'm eighteen though.”

“I'm not sure if that's better or worse.”

“Worse. If I was disowned Garland would take me in and I could still see you,” she says.

“Right...”

This loud, dramatic mournful sound escapes from her, “Damn it. I'm a girl!”

I wind up laughing, “...I'm not sure how to take that...”

“I swore I'd never go all soft and mushy over any guy, like my brain was made of chocolate and it melted,” she looks at me furious but not furious, “This is your fault, Boss.”

“My fault?” I ask, innocently, looking at Nate for help; but Nathan just puts his hands up like please leave me out of this I'd like to just leave altogether really but I live here. He's also eating so there's that too.

“Yeah...” she toys with the hand of mine that she's holding on to, “you weren't supposed to actually like me.”

“Oh...” I laugh a little at that considering the many, many conversations that Nathan and I have had over the past year or more, “...well, Nate knows how I thought you couldn't possibly...”

“Why would I?” she asks.

I snort at that. Really? I'm sure my man whore skankness is all over the school. How many STDs do I supposedly have now? And what she just said about Eleanor...

“That doesn't stop any of the other girls.”

Ah, right....the other girls who I don't give a shit about, explaining that is really going to make things better there, “...that's not...” how to get that out without...

“I know it's just sex,” she says, which makes me slightly more curious in the fact that she's still interested in me considering Eleanor, “I don't know that they all know that, though.”

“There's been a couple of...but--” I pause because that's a wait...what? With people she's been dealing with at school and how? What have they been—? But at the same time the more important thing is that I'm getting things straightened out with her about anything that could possibly be going on with the two of us, “...well, that's not what I was hoping for...with you...so...” damn it, words are so much easier when you're practically conning someone into sleeping with you, “...and with all that other I wasn't sure you'd be up for...”

Her eyes are suddenly huge, “Really?!?” she says, her voice squeaky, “You want more?”  

Nathan coughs while I'm trying to come up with ways to put it in words again. It's so difficult for me because I want to explain it properly with no way for confusion but I've never said anything like that before. So, the interruption is both welcome and not.

“You guys should eat,” he says, pointing to the food by us.

Julia picks up one of the bowls and mashes at whatever is in it with a fork and then offers me some, shaking it carefully in front of my mouth so that nothing falls off. I take a bite. There's ham and pasta with a thick cheesy sauce, and there's a breadcrumb topping. It's got more flavor to it than just plain mac and cheese though.

I have to put a hand up to my mouth and catch some of the cheese sauce that dribbles down, “It's good,” I tell her once I'm able to talk.

“You like it?” she asks, there's some sort of thing coming I can tell by the glint in her eye.

“Yes.”

“Good. I made it. Does that mean I'll make a good wife?”

It's a good thing my mouth is empty. I might have choked.

Nathan laughs, “You brought that on yourself, really.”

I would throw something at him but there's nothing really appropriate nearby.

“Well,” she wiggles the fork at me offering another bite.

“I wouldn--” I get out before she shoves more food in my mouth.

“I won't torture you,” she says, “Well, not any more...right now.”

“Thanks, I think,” I tell her after I swallow the mouthful, “Maybe I can just feed myself?”

She shakes her head, “I don't know if I can trust you with a fork,” she says but she has a teasing tone, “you might try to stab us and run.”

“I don't think that's going to happen.”

“You don't think,” she points out.

“You don't want to be fed food by the girl you've been--” Nathan starts but I shoot him a look.

Julia sets the fork down at that though, “What was that about?”

“I don't want him to rub in how long he's been...” I sigh, “how long he's been saying things were...a thing, and I've been saying they weren't.”

“How long?” she asks, looking between the two of us.

I let out a breath, given it's been long enough it's going to be hard to sort out in my brain.

“Let's just say it was before he could sail off anywhere in the Ursa,” Nathan says.

Julia lets it go but she does then offer me another bite of the casserole which I take. I point out that she should take some herself which she does, and for a little while it's just alternate forkfuls of food and Nathan finishing his own food and then cleaning things up while Julia gets me another round of medicine and then sits down with me on the bed.

“Come on,” she says, “I'll lay up here next to you and you can rest on me.”

“Is that okay?”

“Nathan's not going to say anything to my Mom. Are you?” She pulls herself up on the bed into the position she talked about.

I pull myself around and follow her but don't rest on her yet, “I think if I could never talk to your Mom it would be a good idea.”

“Well, if you really want more like you said earlier that can't happen,” she takes my hand and sort of rocks it back and forth, “You never me answered me about that...”

“Words about things...aren't easy for me.”

“Things?” she says, with a slight edge.

“See? Already screwing things up,” I purse my lips, “but...I do—I do want to be with you,” I squeeze her hand, “I just—I figured with things now especially...and I mean I wasn't sure—I always told Nate that there'd be pitchforks and things.”

She gives a slight laugh, “That is a possibility, and I mean...there is that age difference for one...and you are—well, that Crocker boy.”

“Yes, the evil Crocker boy...” with the Troubled-murdering family.

“What was that look about?” she asks.

“I...was just thinking about Simon.”

“Don't worry about him right now,” she says, putting her hand to my chin, “and if you're going off thinking about the drugs thing, don't either. You're cleaning up. We're helping you. It'll be in the past soon. It...it was just a hiccup. Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is what you do to fix it.”

How are you so...I can feel tears again.

“Duke...” she puts her hand on my cheek now, and then kisses the spot above my nose between my eyes, and brings my head down to rest against her chest, “...it's okay.”

“I know,” I tell her, “I haven't felt like it will be before.”  

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