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.

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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.