Sherry's Soda Fountain - pt. 2

The next day, in the predawn hours, I fed and watered the animals. Though it was springtime, I was glad to find the water buckets hadn't frozen in the night. The long winters seem to stick with you, even after every sign of winter's departure has been observed. We hadn't even had a frost in a month, yet still it made me happy when the handle on the old water spickett came up easily, without a banshee scream. So, one smile led to another and so on, and then I was smiling ear to ear thinking of... you guessed it, Margret.

On my walk back up the path from the barns to the house I wondered what color sweater she'd be wearing today. I put on my usual jeans and a plain t-shirt. Margret could wear anything she wanted, it didn't matter, I'd love her just the same. But, thinking about what she'd be wearing I suddenly had the fear. The fear that creeps into young boys hearts when, shall we say, smitten. The fear that she wouldn't like this old faded t-shirt. My newer shirts all had band names and pictures: Nirvana, Pearl Jam, even a Neil Young print. I had no idea what Margret liked, music, art, science... I hadn't the slightest clue.

My paralysis broke when the stair risers creaked. My mother was coming up to check on me. I looked at the clock, ten minutes, got to hurry. Then, I looked down at myself. Somehow I had stripped off all my clothes and stood in front of my open bedroom door, naked as the day I was born. And my mother was almost at the top of the stairs.

In a rush, I pulled my underwear and pants back on. A different kind of fear crept into me in those seconds. There's nothing more embarrassing in this whole world than for a young boy - such as I once was - to have his mother walk in and find said young man naked. Oh, the horror. I was pulling my t-shirt back on when my mother leaned against the door jam. I knew she was there. When you inhabit a room (or a cell, depending) for more than ten years, you become attuned to certain things. The sound of my mother leaning against the door frame was one of those things.

"You're running late," she said with a touch - just a slight touch - of disappointment.

My head and one arm popped out of their respective holes in my shirt at the same time. "I know mom, I'm sorry. I'll get there in time." And with that I dashed past her and down the stairs. I grabbed my back pack and practically walked right into my Converse low-tops.

I was running now. I could hear the squeal of the brakes on the bus - go screech, screech, screech - at the stop before mine.

-

I made it, you know. Might not be able to sit on my bottom to this very day, if I hadn't. Oh, Scruffy, leave off would you! I apologize. Some cats, most I think, are very independent, Scruffy on the other hand, has the heart of a lap dog. The kind of dogs that are happy to see you even after you've just gone to use the bathroom. But never mind her, I can put her outside if she gets to bothering you too much. And please, let me know if my smoking is a problem. Terrible habit, that, easy as pie to pick up, almost impossible to put down. Anyway, where was I...

-

Margret didn't ride my bus that year. The powers that be changed the bussing routes to try and save money or something. I was fine with that. As much as I longed to be in Margret's presence, when she was around the fear dug in deep. I was all crimson and a total dork in those bitter sweet times. The extra fifteen minute bus ride, in the morning, helped me collect myself.

And here we are at the school. A line of yellow busses, like bees awaiting their daily assignments, off loaded dozens of children. I hustled off and fell in line with the other students. We headed in to the cafeteria were we'd wait for the bell to ring.

When I pushed open the heavy metal door and walked into the bus-room everything seemed normal. It was loud, sure, the big cider block room echoed everything. The volume wasn't bad though, most spoke in hushed, half-asleep voices. Of course there were the jocks that got loud now and then, and the kids - a lot of the regulars at Sherry's - making silence seem loud.

Everything was normal, and see, there she was, in the corner reading a text book today. Margret sat in the corner by the windows. She sat alone in the mornings, very much reserved and preparing for the task of learning. The same beautiful girl would be hanging out and laughing with the gang at Sherry's, amazing.

No! She's going to be sitting with you later. Don't be a chicken, I thought to myself. I took a deep breath and did something different on this normal morning. Instead of sitting at the end of a table with kids that wouldn't say anything mean this early, I walked - still holding that deep breath, my chest all puffed out - up to the breakfast counter. I never did that, I never had the money. I got up that morning before my mom came to wake me, you see, and I got into the little stash of money I had. Twenty dollars went into my pocket before I went to school. Twenty dollars was plenty to get some breakfast and get Margret a float from Sherry's later. Plenty, of money.

If, if,  it worked out like that. But, naturally, it didn't. I should have guessed and bailed on the breakfast when I saw who was sitting at the tables where the line started. Rob wasn't my best friend in the whole world, not at all. He was one of them that got loud from time to time in the mornings, and he got loud this morning. Funny, now, looking back, Rob got loud just as I was getting close to him and his buddies. I should have bailed, but I didn't. Margret consumed all of my thought.

Rob stood up right in front of me. I had to look up and I did - most days, I studied my shoes - a menacing grin looked right back at me.

"Well, well, well, look at Mr. Money Bags here," he started laughing.

Worse than the fear of my mother seeing me naked, worse than the fear of Margret not liking my outfit, worse than anything the shame that filled me. I was scared, scared right down to the shoes I'd so often studied. I was ashamed of that fear, it was painful. But the laughter and the shame were only the beginning.

Sherry's Soda Fountain - pt. 1

Have a seat. Right over there, next to the bookcase. Don't mind the cat, she'll move. Yeah, see, there she goes. Smoke? No, no, of course not. I never figured you for a smoker. You don't have that look about you. You're looking good, by the way. Thank you for stopping by, I'm sure you're very busy. Heck, who isn't? Life can do that, get all tangled up in our plans. Playing tricks on us, yes, and not some lousy parlor tricks, no, real live tricks we don't even notice until later. Until we sit for a moment and... reflect, yes. Do you mind if I smoke? Yes, of course, it is my house but I like to be a gracious host. Well. If it doesn't bother you, I think I might have one. I'd also like to tell you a story, that is of course if you've got the time.

And my smoke doesn't get to you.

-

Walking down the street in town, passing the shops. The flags waved just enough in the subtle breeze to hold their own beauty; their own peace. To my left the sun made prisms on the plate glass windows of the store I happened to be passing: Sherry's Soda Fountain. I looked in, and there she sat. Margret, the prettiest girl in the whole school, the whole town. The whole world, I tell you, she was the prettiest thing in the whole world on the prettiest day. I believe that was real, to the young man walking down the sidewalk, Margret was exactly,  one hundred percent, the prettiest, most glorious thing in the whole world.

A smile lifted my face, and my cheeks grew hot. It was silly, she couldn't see me, she didn't know I was there. I looked up in the sun, I'd heard somewhere that would make you forget whatever it was you were thinking about. I looked back at the sidewalk in front of me and started walking through color changing spots floating around in my vision. Yet, I still saw Margret at the counter of the retro soda fountain.

She wore a pink sweater around her shoulders. At school, she fit in - better than most - and only her beauty set her apart from anyone else. At Sherry's Soda Fountain she stood out. She was different. Most of the patronage at Sherry's were the goth and punker kids. Mohawks, black eyeliner, leather jackets with studs, that was the norm at Sherry's. They didn't cause trouble there though. At school these kids stood out and spent a lot of time in the principal's office. Here, they were accepted - I guess - and they paid for what they got and they were polite, loud no doubt, but they were nice. They were just kids. And they accepted Margret.

Through the sun spots dancing around my eyes, I walked on by. I didn't have the nerve, I couldn't ruin such a beautiful day - you understand. I walked home in that perfect afternoon, with a perfect memory of a perfect girl, laughing and slapping her hand down on the counter. Long after the dancing colors faded from my sight, the butterflies continued their rounds in my stomach.

As I lay in bed after dinner, I promised myself tomorrow I'd go into Sherry's and talk to her. I promised, and I drifted to sleep with a smile on my face. A twelve year old boy in lovely bliss, because you see, tomorrow she'd talk to me. Tomorrow. I promised myself and went a step further, I promised on my Fender guitar. Tomorrow, she'd talk to me because I'd talk to her and the sun would shine and the flags would wave and the day would be warm. Today had been perfect, but tomorrow I'd improve perfection.

Harmon X - Reunion pt. 2

Harmon held his position on the edge of the rise, silhouetted by the gross ball settling behind the trees. The yellow hadn't gone completely out of the sky and he could still see half of the ugly sun but the cold winds tore away any shred of warmth it might have provided. And when they took they gave, the sound of howling in the distance danced on the air currents around him. The chill sunk deeper into his bones. Coyotes he guessed, like the one he saw carrying that odd chunk of meat. When he turned his head from the setting sun he scanned the woods around him and huddled  a little deeper into the sweat shirt he had tied around his waist.

He reached into the marsupial pouch sewn onto the front of the sweat shirt. Old Sowell High East, those were the good days, days when he and Amy could blow off school and she could look so beautiful and young in this very sweat shirt. Only, back then - and up until after his shower this morning - the pouch pocket on the front might've held a joint or a silly wisp of poetry as Harmon tried and tried to win her. Now his hand clenched around the ski mask tucked away there. His knuckles cracked.

In his right hip pocket, a roll of quarters weighted down that side of his waist band. An adjustable wrench, the kind with a heavy, fat, head, and a #2 screwdriver rested in each back pocket. Harmon was nervous. He had spent a lot of time on his truck and even more, it seemed, in the long, small hours of midnight, going over the things in his shop. He never got into tools for violence, but sometimes mechanic's tools were one in the same. He hoped it wouldn't go down like that, although a part of him, closely resembling the midnight hours of the night before, smiled a little bit at the thought of using the tools. Off the clock and slicked up with Hollywood revenge, they'd be. Not like that, please god.

The sun had finally made its last effort of the day and Harmon saw headlights coming towards the building. He couldn't see who it was or what kind of car, with the building between him and the main access road back here. Just two cars, he counted at first and then the music started. Harmon heard only the heavy bass that seemed to shake the ground under his feet. As the last of the phlegm color faded out after the sun, he started seeing more headlights, it wasn't long before he lost count, somewhere around ten.

More and more headlights, my god, he thought, this is just too much. I had no idea. Along with the endless stream of headlights, Harmon saw the party strobes flashing out from the cracks in the old building's rear wall. He didn't get down on his knees and fold his hands or look up at the sky above him, he prayed nonetheless:

god,

grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

the courage to change the things I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference.

Just for today, just for right now

just for Amy.

Then he was coming around the side of the building, he didn't need to pretend to hike his pants as if he'd just been relieving himself. His pockets were heavy to the point of inconvenience. Harmon shuffled his way into the semi-single file line that led into the vibrating, flashing, shadowed belly of Darrel's design.

Menacing techno-hardcore bounced the occupants around, the strobe lights put everything in slow motion while the music moved along at blistering speed. I am seriously underdressed, Harmon thought as he made his way into the shadows. Everything around him looked hardly human: peircings he'd never dreamed of dangled from faces, makeup that would have made both David Bowie and Marilyn Manson proud caked the faces, masking them, the hair styles and colors blew his mind. He was expecting a nose ring or two, a mohawk here or there, maybe died blue or green or jet black. A swirl of dreadlocks flew past his face, his eyes caught it when the strobe was off and it seemed to glow. Some things change, some things didn't. He doubted Darrel would be out here on the floor. Darrel was an entrepreneur, he had a business to run.

If Harmon guessed right, the door near the back wall led to a back room of some kind. He made his way through the sea of people. Another girl spun past him and stopped, looked him straight in the eye, grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss. When his head came away a bitter taste filled his mouth, she was gone into the sea. He spat out the bitter taste. But it had been a long time since he'd had anything stronger than coffee. He hoped none of... whatever it was, got into his blood.

He made his way to the back of the 'club' without further incident. Moving through all those people was a feat by itself, add the strobe effect and blacklights and that heavy bass and ear splitting treble, Harmon felt like he was swimming upstream. He stumbled through the door, knocking would have been useless, polite, but useless. When the door shut the music stopped almost totally, he could still feel the bass in the floor but otherwise this room seemed like a different place, a backroom of a quiet little place.

"HARMON!!!" Darrel spoke as if the music roared in here as it did out there. "SO GLAD, SO GLAD YOU COULD MAKE IT!"

Harmon could hear Darrel's teeth chatter and grind between his outbursts. No strobe lights in here, no light at all really. A weird glow, like a muted shine from a full moon on a cloudless night, filled the middle of the room. Sneakers and stout black leather boots and knee high high-heels touched the edges of the pale light but Harmon could see no more than that. He felt like he and Darrel had the room to themselves.

"Okay, enough with the YELLING! HEEE, HEEE, HEEE!" he screeched and then the awful sound of grinding chattering teeth again. "No, seriously, everyone... sayhellotoHarmoneveryone, seriously." From what Harmon guessed were couches that wrapped around the edges of the dark room a series of limp hello's and more of that grinding, chattering. It felt now like it was coming from inside his own head, but he could see the feet where the light stopped and they were moving slightly. No, that terrible sound wasn't in his head - was it? - these drugged out kids were making that noise.

"Darrel listen, I need to ask you about Amy," Harmon tried to keep his voice level and calm as everything around him wasn't.

"Amy! Right, right, right. Have you seen her? She said, said, said, she'd be coming over. I know it's dark out there," Darrel's voice changed from the tweaked babble Harmon heard on the phone to something close to threatening, "but that's where I'd look, were I... you. HEEEE, HEEE, HEEE"

More screeching laughter, worse than the treble out there, and the teeth again. The feet around the room shuffled more.

Harmon came at the desk in the middle of the room, the one that Darrel sat behind. Big and made of expensive wood. An inlaid mirror placed where a desk top calendar would be, Harmon thought about just grabbing Darrel the way that girl had grabbed him. Instead of a kiss with a gift, Harmon saw himself putting Darrel's face into that mirror, destroying him. Everything else had been destroyed. "DON'T YOU THREATEN ME YOU SONOFABITCH, YOU START TALKING!" Harmon's fists came down on the wood top of the desk. His muscles tensed and his heart beat filled his ears.

Darrel made a tsssk tssssk sound by clicking his teeth together somehow and like a 'wave' at a ball game, the sound made its way around the room. He only knew these people by their feet, but his eyes were becoming more and more adjusted to the odd light in here.

He was grabbed  on either side and before he had time to react he was seated in a chair. The next moment, thick straps wound round his arms and shins, they cinched tight. Harmon looked to his left straight into the face of the man who manhandled him so easily into this helpless position.

The determination that had held him for so long - no more than forty-eight hours, really - broke. Everything inside him broke. If he had a bottle he wouldn't just gulp from it, he'd mainline the wonderful stuff. His past, his present, and his future shattered in that moment.

Staring back at him wasn't a man. A woman that seemed to be winking, but the eye that was closed didn't look like it'd be opening again anytime soon. The stitches there were tattered but they held, the other eye - or lack thereof - gaped at him. The lower eye lid lay against the high cheek bone, the upper lid flapped like a loose tooth. Horrible, these things were, but what got him wasn't the grotesque eyes. What got Harmon was the smile, the ripped lips, the chipped teeth, the smile he saw in his nightmare. Amy's smile stared him down, he gave in and tears came.

When tiny pieces of teeth bounced off his cheek as Amy chattered away - tsssk, tssssk - Harmon let go the rest of what was left of him. A scream of rage and sadness and regret rose out of him to such levels it rivaled the music on the other side of the door.

Eventually, his scream died in his throat. "Now, now, now that we're done with that sorry business," Darrel started up in the closest impression of a normal voice Darrel could attain. He sighed big and on the exhale he did that chattering thing again. "I've got someone I'd like you to meet. I had two, you know, but now you've gone and ruined that. Are you happy now, your precious Amy is right there by your side, whispering sweet nothings in your ear."

She was chattering her teeth apart in his ear, is what she was doing. Harmon stared as much hate as he could gather at Darrel. Darrel had done this, all this. Darrel was a monster. That's what Harmon thought.

"Yes, yes, yes. It's a lot to take in, but the roll of father is a difficult thing sometimes. Sometimes, I just have to throw these little shindigs and just get out of it. You know. I know you do, going to meetings, running from your demons, I know, I know." Darrel now sounded fatherly, between the chattering.

"Lindsey, could you bring him out?" Harmon saw Lindsey now, the light was getting brighter, or wider, or maybe it was pulsing. He could see some of the faces around him. These weren't drugged out kids, no, these kids wore the same outfit Amy did. Eyeless, they might have on different footwear but they all had the stitches, covering the emptiness behind. And now they all chattered away.

Harmon heard a door open and close back in the darkest part of the room. When he looked back from where the noise was coming, Amy walked away from his chair and he saw. He saw what Amy was missing on the back of her leg. He heard the coyotes' howls, somehow, and the chattering teeth and the bass from the speakers on the other side of the wall. And then he heard something else.

First, he heard the rising, excited chattering. Then, he heard the door close, back where it was too dark to see. Those few moments of before Lindsey came back in the room were a blessing for Harmon, those few moments when she was still in the darkness. And then she stepped into the light. He heard the clinking of chains and saw she held them in her right hand. His eyes glanced over at the left hand, when he saw what she held there, the rudimentary tools he'd brought - a fist pack of quarters, a wrench and a screwdriver - seemed silly. He felt an insane laughter start to bubble in his chest.

More shuffling chains. "Meet Adam, Harmon,"

Instead of laughter, Harmon vomited all over his front. He was now looking at something darker than the lightless corner of the room. The skin looked old and shriveled but the body it clothed looked young, grade school age. The rusty shackles sunk into Adam's wrist and ankle the way a tree looks after growing around a fence post. Pointy little, needle-like teeth peeked out of rotten gums and as they came together, small, black, ashy pieces of skin fluttered to the floor around Adam's feet. What Harmon took for total darkness in the back corner of the back room seemed now as bright as the sun, he looked into Adam's empty, forever deep eye sockets. He vomited again.

When the heaving subsided,  Harmon saw Lindsey, or the blade she held in her other hand, rather, coming at him. He whipped his head to the side and caught a brief glimpse of Amy. Not Amy, with stitches for eyes and open un-bleeding wounds, no, Amy as she was.

Her hair was tied back in a loose pony tail. Harmon knew a lot of girls didn't think that was a very 'done up' look, but he loved it. He could see her now with her hair pulled back off the that beautiful spot where the neck meets the shoulder, the little hollow place he liked to kiss whenever he could. He could see her wearing his Sowell High East sweat shirt, only it was new and the letters weren't faded. He could see her and she was beautiful.

He couldn't see Darrel, Adam, the eyeless around the room, or Lindsey. He couldn't see the hateful blade coming for his left eye. He couldn't hear the chattering teeth - constant now - or Darrel's screeching laughter. He could hear Amy, on a warm summer day back in '01.

"I love you," she said. Harmon's world went black. Blackness, darkness, evil filled those spaces now. Harmon was gone, gone with Amy.

"I love you, too," Harmon replied. "Forever, baby."

The darkness seeped into his empty eye sockets now as crude stitches sewed their way across his lids.

Harmon IX - Reunion pt. 1

Friday afternoon, the skyline hadn't gotten any better in the last day. A sick grey/yellow coated the landscape around Harmon's little trailer. He sat there at the kitchen table, his left arm propped up and his legs crossed. He stared off into that slightly diseased looking sky, he didn't seem to blink. The smell of hot coffee filled the little kitchen nook. Harmon took down the coffee cup that said 'His' on the side in black stenciled letters, and poured himself a cup. He grabbed an ice cube - just one - out of the freezer first, Harmon didn't have the patience to outwait a steaming cup of coffee. He wanted to drink it now.

Another cup hung next to the one Harmon was using. It said 'Hers' in pink stenciled letters. A certain piercing pain cut through Harmon's determination when his cup clinked against 'Hers'. Despite the problems with the drugs and their rocky past, he loved her. Sometimes when their arguments got really heated he'd said things that he never meant, not even for one second. I'm outta here, he'd said one time, but he wasn't. He was never 'outta here'. He cherished Amy with the same passion high school sweethearts feel. They didn't wear rings, but that was a choice they'd made a long time ago. They didn't want to change things, or things to change them. Despite the arguments and the bad habits and all of it, it was all perfect.

Harmon sipped his coffee and stared around at the mess - and the open front door, he never got around to shutting that. He'd found that place, in his mind, that place of quiet, of certitude. He was in the eye of the storm and all he had to do was wait.

After leaving Scotty's - god he hoped he and Cindy would make it back to the world alive - Harmon stopped by the auto parts store. The shocks were going out again and he got an off road kit: beefed up bushings and tie rod ends and other replacements for the old standard suspension parts, along with the heavy-duty shocks. He'd spent the rest of Thursday, late into the night, even, replacing parts and checking over his truck. Friday morning's ugly sun greeted him along with the aches and pains. Muscles he didn't know he had were sending loud and clear signals. After a long hot shower - he failed to notice the few cracked tiles from Amy's mock shower the pervious morning - he felt a little better. While he was shaving he noticed the broken hair brush, but it escaped much notice, everything seemed to be broken now. Everything was a mess, even the god damn sunlight was screwed up.

Back to work now. The truck still needed a few things and final inspection. The few little things he'd left for this morning turned into a carnival for old Mr. Murphy. What could go wrong, did. But in the end he got everything straightened up and looking tiptop. He didn't want to snap a sway bar or something, going where he was going.

The Old Jensen Place had gained a weird underground popularity since Darrel set up shop. The little, single file, dirt path that Darrel and his buddies used all those years ago had turned into a double rutted driveway. Almost like Harmon's, minus the potholes. There's another thing that's screwed up, Darrel's little dark rave drug den thing had a better driveway than Harmon.

Harmon knew another way in. Back in the day Harmon liked to take his old truck out 4-wheeling. There was a trail that could take him up right behind the old building. He wouldn't even have to be on the road but for a minute. Harmon didn't want to be noticed really. Not until he knew how all this was going to go down. Part of him wanted to take Darrel and pull some Guantanamo interrogation on him, but he didn't want to do that, not really. He wanted to find Amy and get some answers. And he didn't want to hurt anyone. But he did, oh yes , he did want to hurt anyone, he wanted to hurt everyone. The pain inside him tried and tried to crack his determination but wouldn't let it. He had to stay focused.

Sipping his coffee looking out the front door, Harmon was blank. He didn't look at the clock on the stove, his wrist watch. His cell phone lay lifeless on the table in the living room. And then he was up and moving. Time to go, now. The truck roared to life with a hunger it hadn't shown in quite some time. Harmon was calm, though, he didn't spit gravel when he pulled down the driveway. He came to a complete stop before he turned left. Left, west, into the sinking nasty sun.

Counting his blessings, no one was coming when he made the turn off the road and into the brush. Harmon braced and said another thank you for shift on the fly four wheel drive. He hadn't been down here in a long time, it didn't look like anyone else had either.

The initial departure from the road jarred the truck and Harmon creased his brow. This was his only vehicle and with no idea what lay in the days to come he didn't want to blow anything. He needed this truck, but he forged ahead anyway, determined. He only had to pull the 4-wheel drive lever once. Apparently, if it rained a week ago, the bottom of this particular valley will still be a mud pit. While he was stopped, out of his passenger window something caught his eye. A coyote striding proudly through the growth that was even thicker on the sides of the trail Harmon took. A piece of meat hung from its jaws. His eyes were either playing tricks on him, or there were some hairless animals running around in these woods.

The four wheel drive caught and the truck continued on its path, climbing the other side of the valley. As soon as he reached the top of the rise, it dropped off again. His good old truck was essentially sledding down the wet hill side. He did his best to avoid the trees that grew here and there. His truck easily cut through the new trees, fortunately the big old trees didn't block this section on the hill.

Bouncing on its springs the truck came to rest at the bottom of the hill. He was now on the 'beach' of the river that ran past the back of the Old Jensen Place. Perfect, he checked all his gauges and everything looked fine. He looked over at the river and that was perfect too, it was running low this time of year. On the other side, Harmon spied a good brushy spot to park his truck.

He crossed over the river easily. Just past the halfway point a large rock stuck out of the water and Harmon prayed it wouldn't punch through his sidewall. He had a tire plug kit in the glove box, but sidewall injuries were death sentences. When he parked it behind the big growth of brush all four tires still held air, the engine wasn't overheating, and he had good oil pressure. Darkness was coming, Harmon looked up the steep hill that stopped at the top like it used to come to a point and some ancient god just cut it off. Once he got to the top of the steep climb he'd be on wide flat piece of ground, the place where stood the Old Jensen Place. The place where he'd start getting some answers. Please god, he prayed, please god, I need some answers, some sense. Nothing makes sense.

He started his climb in his good boots. The ones with the good tread, he'd need them, this hill was a killer.

*******************************************

Amy topped the steep rise as the sun was making its exit. The small slice of bone that peeked out of her heel, now looked no more serious than a hickey. Flies had started making homes in her open calve, her knees were completely barren of flesh. A half moon of naked, dried muscle and tendon showed on each of her palms. One eye hung open, the bottom lid - included: stitch style streamers! - lay loose against her cheek bone. The upper lid had the body language of a loose tooth just before it comes out, just wagging around in the empty socket behind.

The sides of her forearms were taking their punishment now as she did a version of the 'army crawl'. It wasn't far to the back to door she was aimed at, yet by the time she thumped her torn right forearm against it, the sick sun was setting. The light was failing.

Harmon VIII - Scotty's Place

Tweak fiend babble didn't wait for Harmon on the other side of 14A's heavy metal door. The apartment complex had seen better days. Now, all the doors were metal, complete with dead bolt, chain lock and that nifty little notch that complimented the one on the floor. The kind of notches that a metal rod fit nicely into, making the door virtually impossible to break down. Apartment 14A used to give him the sense of peaceful bliss, stoned bliss, perhaps, but peaceful at any rate. When he stepped out of the stair well and into the hallway his uneasy feeling grew. This place had really taken a dive.

After three short raps a pause and then one solitary knock on the door, Harmon heard coughing and movement on the other side of the door. The door opened as far as the chain would allow and a bloodshot, half-lidded eye stared out at him. The heavy aroma of pot and some other sweet smell like too much incense also greeted him through the small opening.

"Hey, um... Cindy, it's Harmon. You remember?" he tried speak as if everything was cool. Cindy and Scotty might not be running on high octane but paranoia doesn't discriminate.  "I don't know. I talked to Scotty just a few minutes ago. Said it'd be cool if I stopped by."

"Oh," Cindy yawned into her hand and then rubbed briefly at the eye peeking out the door. And then the door was closed. Harmon thought he heard the chain being undone on the other side, but that must have been his imagination because the door stayed closed and Harmon shifted from one foot to the other.

"Hey man," Scotty's voice surprised him. He had started wondering if he should just go. "Sorry bout Cindy. She didn't sleep too well last night." Hell, thought Harmon, they both look like they're sleeping right now. But some things didn't change.

"Mind if I come in?"

"No, suuure. Come on in, make yourself at home, dude." And Scotty went about moving things around to free up some sitting space. He did  all this in a sort of slow motion. My god, Harmon thought, this used to be normal, this used to be cool. He shook his head in wonder.

After what seemed like far too long, Scotty plopped down in his spot on the bigger couch. Harmon slowly lowered himself into the love seat cushion. The one that wasn't home to a myriad of odds and ends from mail and magazines to dishes and empty (maybe empty) pizza boxes and Chinese takeout cartons.

He took in the surroundings. Nothing had really changed. There was more stuff stacked everywhere, no doubt, and the things that were new and cool back then looked old and dusty and forgotten now. The lava lamp was still on the speaker flanking the left side of the T.V. and the bead doorway into the kitchen still hung where they put it up what, two, three years ago. A lot of the beads were missing. So was anything new. No new posters or tables or even ashtrays, the only new decoration in the apartment was the cluster of ugly bruises on the Scotty's arms.

Harmon sighed, Scotty didn't seem to notice. He was too busy preparing an oversized bong. Harmon sighed again. He was here to ask questions about Amy. If Scotty had heard from her, or about her lately. Anything really, some direction. It was Thursday afternoon and the hours between now and Friday night were going to be difficult for Harmon. He needed something to do, a goal, activity.

More coughing from Scotty as he exhaled a cloud that looked like it could produce rain. Harmon tried to be polite waving the smoke out of his face.

"Sorry man," Scotty managed between coughs. "Here you go dude. Rude of me, there's still a green hit-"

"No, that's okay, buddy. Not why I came by," Harmon said. He took a deep breath - god that smell was strong - and held it before going on. "I wanted to ask you about Amy."

"Whoa, dude, I don't know what you're thinking I never did nothin' with her." Scotty seemed not to care if Cindy heard that Scotty had singled out Amy - other girls, sure, but not Amy. Cindy had disappeared, Harmon only saw her when she half opened the door for him.

"You got the wrong idea, Scotty. Something really bad happened to her and I'm just trying to see if she was hanging around anyone that's... way out there. You know?"

"I don't know," Scotty looked deep in thought. He raised a finger, "I got it!"

Harmon gave a thanks to whoever was looking down on this blue and green globe.

"CINDY!" Scotty belted out across the small apartment.

"Don't yeeellllll at me, jerk," Cindy came stumbling back into the living room from somewhere deeper in the dusty clutter of a home. A thin strip of red skin ran around her bicep, like an indian burn an inch wide all the way around. She plopped down on the couch next to Scotty.

"I'm sorry, baby. You know I love you, I won't ever yell at you again. Okay baby." For some reason Scotty was giving her the puppy dog face that men give their women when they've really done it this time. Harmon thought he felt goose bumps stand up on his arms a little bit. "Harmon just wants to know about... What was it you were asking?"

"Amy, Scotty. What's Amy been up to?" his voice was getting firmer, he was getting a little impatient with this.

Cindy's eyes rolled in her head a little and then they stopped on Harmon's. He looked directly back into them, he could testify in court that she had fake glass eyes. Then she crunched up and laid her head down in Scotty's lap. Behind all the blankness in her eyes, something was there. She was going to say something about Amy, but now she just looked up at Scotty's face. "I love you baby," she said.

"Come on, baby, tell Harmon about Amy." Something was up. Harmon didn't want to be here from the time he left the coffee shop, but he could stand it if it'd give him some direction, at least for a little while.

"Uhhh.... She's been hanging with Darrel and my sister alot." It looked like she was having trouble getting her bottom jaw back up to the rest of her face, her words had a weird slur to them. And then, to Scotty, "Come on, baby, let's go take a nap." She raised her hand up, in attempt to place it on Scotty's face, and Harmon saw the ugly cluster of bruises there. My god, they're shooting up now. Great, walking dead junkies. Harmon didn't know then how close he was to the truth. Not junkies, not walking dead junkies, but if Harmon was honest with himself, he knew somewhere, in some locked up part of his mind that Amy was dead. And Amy wasn't at home anymore.

Scotty and Cindy got off the couch like they were twice their age and shuffled into the depths of the small apartment, into the shadows to 'take a nap'.

"Hey, Scotty! That it man, all you got for me?"

"Tell him not to yell, my head hurts. Tell him not to yell Scotty."

"Keep it down Harmon," Scotty frowned a little. "Try Darrel or Lindsey. I don't know man."

And they were gone. Not just from Harmon's view, Scotty and Cindy were gone. Past the point of no return. Or almost. They did indeed take a nap, intravenously induced. They took a nap that lasted forever.

Harmon didn't know their 'nap' would be their last. Perhaps that's good. Nothing much he could've done for them and he didn't need the guilt. Because there would be guilt if he knew they O.D.'d just minutes after he left, probably before he got down the stair well. More 'what if's' to add to the growing pile.

*****************************************

Amy's body sustained much damage as she trudged through the untamed woods between their little pine grove and the old building that lay about twelve miles away from that fence row with the nasty rusty barb wire. Twelve miles of woods and although she didn't feel anything, ripped muscles and torn tendons, not to mention the chunk of calve muscle the rabid coyote took out for a snack, impaired her ability to stand erect. On ripped open knees and palms Amy's body made its way towards the setting sun. Towards that old building.

She had to get there by Friday. The blackness swirling inside the dead brain tissue in Amy's head said it was so. And so it was.

Harmon VII

She ambled her way through the pine grove. She, her, it, not Amy, not anymore. Whatever she, her, it had become, only resembled Amy. Her face was a wreck, dark dry blood made lines all the way from the crude stitches down her face and neck, stopping at the neckline of her shirt. She had an odd jaundiced color to her flesh and her forehead was flattened just above her brow. The skin there had something like the peeling of a sunburn and severely dehydrated skin combined. The cracked lips stayed pulled back in a teeth displaying grin, chipped and broken as they were. Her jaws stayed locked together the whole time, occasionally chattering lightly together but with nothing like the force they came together with in front of the bathroom mirror. And her poor feet were being torn to shreds. The ground and undergrowth changed drastically just past the edge of the pine trees.

Pine needles are high in acidity, allowing almost nothing to grow beneath the trees on which they grow. Her improving motor skills - one-foot-in-front-of-the-other - navigated the barren terrain easily. But then there was a fence and beyond it, the natural flora and fauna of the mid-south. She had no worries for the copperheads, rattle snakes, and the deadly brown recluse spider - she had no worries at all, really - but the rusted barbwire in the overgrown fence row took a toll on the exposed parts of her arms, legs and feet. Her feet and calves took the worst of it. Her left heel dragged across a spike in the barbwire as she fell to the ground on the other side of the fence. The wound didn't bleed and the dark cosmos behind her empty eye sockets, the darkness that pulled her battered shell of a body, across the fence didn't care that the bone peeked out with every step she took. The darkness there just wanted her to keep coming. To keep going regardless the cost to the body itself. The darkness almost smiled at the hurts, the damage Amy's body took. After all, Amy deserved this and then the blackness, the darkness really did smile.

***************************

The cup of coffee - black, no sugar, Harmon liked his drinks straight - cast a different shadow than the shot glass and whisky bottle on a different table. Harmon was, perhaps, just as familiar with this table as he was with the one in his kitchen. He and Abe had spent many hours, many cups of coffee, at this table in this coffee house. They never ate anything from the small selection of homemade doughnuts and pastries. "A full belly makes for lazy work," Abe would say. "And Step work ain't lazy work. It's life saving work." But Harmon wasn't here to do Step work or discuss his 'program', he was here to try and find some clear thinking, some rational thought.

Darrel was tweaked and unavailable until Friday - oh, that damn Jensen's Place - and he had no idea where Amy was. They lived out of town and in her shape - hell, Harmon thought she was dead and then she apparently got up and left the house - he didn't think she'd make it that far. Harmon didn't know tracking in the woods, but he did have some knowledge of tracking through the slums.

"More coffee, dear? I've got a new pot brewing," she offered a pleasant smile. Pleasant in the way two people that know each other smile in greeting. Sandy served Harmon and Abe coffee nine out of every ten times they came here. She did know them and her pleasant smile was genuine, if tinted with a touch of worry.

"No thanks, Sandy,"  he stared into his nearly empty cup.

"Where's Abe? Don't reckon I've ever seen you here without 'im."

"Had to take his wife up to the big city. Hospital there got better doctors and stuff."

Sandy's tint of a touch of worry grew on her face. "Well... okay. If you're okay, I'm going to grab a smoke real quick. If you need anything, Harmon, just holler for me. I'll take care of you."

But by the time she finished her smoke out back and checked back on Harmon, he was gone. An empty cup of coffee held down a five at an empty table. Aside from being some of the friendliest guys Sandy waited on, they tipped good, too.

Back in the truck with the ugly light of the day coming in through the windows Harmon dialed Scotty's number. Harmon and Amy used to hang with Scotty back before Harmon dropped all the 'recreational activities' and Amy started going to Darrel most of the time.

smoke two joints in the morning, smoke two joints at night...

Bradley Nowell sang in his ear. He waited for Scotty to pick up. That was Scotty, alright; sublime, mellow, sedated. A high school extra-curricular that Scotty didn't drop, smoking pot. Only, the last time he and Amy were over at Scotty's 'sedated' seemed a mild word for the atmosphere in the one bedroom apartment Scotty and Cindy shared.

... and two in time of war.

"Helloooo," he sounded half asleep, maybe two thirds.

"Hey buddy, it's Harmon. What's going on?" he tried to take all the worry and stress from his voice. Just an old friend calling another.

"Noooothin', What's..." Scotty released the breath he was holding and followed with a series of coughs and gags.

"Hey man, my batteries gonna die. Mind if I come over? You know, catch up and stuff. Been awhile," Harmon tried to speak over the revolt Scotty's lungs were waging.

"No way, dude. Come on by, still in this shit hole. But yeaaahhh, come on by."
Harmon flipped the phone closed and pulled out of the coffee shop's parking lot. He headed toward Scotty's, Scotty didn't make him nervous like Darrel did. Scotty was twisted on stuff, but nothing like Darrel. Darrel was nuts, Scotty just embodied his ring back thingy. Harmon didn't have to meet him at The Old Jensen Place, and he wouldn't have to sit through a thousand words a minute of spun out, tweak fiend babble.