

**The City That Never Sleeps**

Sherry Wood

Copyright 2010 by Sherry Wood

Smashwords Edition

"Surrender, surrender, but don't give yourself away."

-Cheap Trick

Just Drive

"You worried about what we did?"

Part 1

Mother, Lucifer, Everyone

1 "He Does It For Them All"

Josh Devin, lead singer of the punk band The Dead Joneses, was releasing his demons on stage at the new L.A. venue Third Rail. His hot-blooded stare was sharp under tonight's Full Moon, and his vocals were top-notch as he gave it his all like this might be the last show, his last chance to leave an impression here on Earth.

He was just wrapping up a song called "Mother, Lucifer, Everyone."

"Sometimes he feels like he's the last person who cares...When the light goes off on the stairs...they all know he will take the descent, its where the hell everyone else went...He does it for them all...Mother, Lucifer, Everyone, Mother, Lucifer, Everyone..."

Josh looked over at his guitarist to blast the song to smithereens before he sang out the last few lines of the Nine Inch Nails-influenced song.

"Down there, there is nothing, Down there, there is a long lost pit, Down there, there is everyone And all their shit, and he takes the plunge, like everyone else has done...He does it for them all – Mother, Lucifer, Everyone...Mother, Lucifer, Everyone..."

The song slowly merged into the hit they were best known for, the one that really packed a punch, When'd You Stop Lovin' Me, Girl? The crowd fed on its energy, responding with various moshpits, crowd-surfing and underwear tossing. Pretty boy Birth served more as a clothing rack for bras than a bassist. He continued to look out at the crowd with a sexy snarl as girls pelted him with undergarments and, every so often, roses. He blinked a bit when a hook from a bra got him in the eye.

Josh Devin looked like Darby Crash, only cuter, with curly black hair and those brown bedroom eyes every girl went nuts over. He had tiny, pearly white teeth that were a little crooked. He was as captivating and intense as any band could want their lead singer to be. There was something dangerous about Josh that kept the guy fans interested and the girl fans a little scared. On stage, he was reckless, while off-stage he was very private.

He'd just cut himself open on stage and wore his own blood like war paint on his face (two blood red stripes under his eyes) and tight black leather pants that proved he was able to match any girl's (and some boys) fantasy about how endowed he was. His Plasmatics Butcher Baby shirt was slashed and torn, giving glimpses of his flesh through the rips. Everyone in the packed club either wanted Josh Devin or wanted to be Josh Devin. Or both.

"I have a better chance! Of being touched by the dead! Being groped by my dad!" Josh growled, "When'd you stop lovin' me girl?! I have a better chance! Of bein' kissed by a cop! Fucked by a dog! When'd you stop lovin' me GIRL!!!"

The drums crashed when they should, and Lyle raped the song with his amazing guitar riffs. Everything came together in brilliant chaos. Josh stalked the stage, walking from one end to the other as he stared out intensely at all the girls looking up at him, their tits jiggling as they jumped up and down, their hair in their sweaty, pretty little faces. He started jumping up and down too, shaking his head so his black hair flew around. It was more like an epileptic fit than a performance.

"SHE DON'T LOVE ME! SHE DON'T LOVE ME! SHE DON'T LOVE ME! SHE DON'T LOVE ME! SHE DON'T LOVE ME! SHE DON'T LOVE ME!" He screamed incessantly before taking his shirt off and handing it to a girl in the front row who ecstatically accepted. She had a sweet honey complexion, blonde hair, big tits and eyes that promised him a good time. All he gave her was a t-shirt but really – really he gave her the best moment of her life. That was power. His dick swelled a little from it. They stared intensely at each other as she took her shirt off. She wasn't wearing a bra, maybe she threw it at Birth already. All Josh saw for a few seconds were her magnificent tits.

"And I shouldn't care!" he continued to sing as he stared at her. "Cos I don't love ya either...I been here, been there...and I'm into neither!" The drums came back, the song had this great sound about it – magical and dark, like a castle collapsing into the sea.

"Born to fuck death! I'll love the person who sucks out my last breath! Oh, when'd I stop lovin' you girl! Ahhhhhhhh! SHE DON'T LOVE ME SHE DON'T LOVE ME SHE DON'T LOVE ME SHE DON'T LOVE ME..."

He ran over to the drums and faced Stokey for a bit as Stokey played like a machine, never showing any signs of tiring.

Then Josh started screaming again, the type of scream that proved his worth.

"WHEN'D YOU STOP!!! WHEN'D YOU STOP!!! OH...OH..." He held the microphone out to the crowd and they sang for him.

"WHEN'D YOU STOP LOVIN ME GIRL!" They shouted in perfect unison. He looked back at the girl he'd given his shirt to and touched himself. Then he paused from the song and produced a sinister grin.

"To all the girls out there, we fucking love you," he said as he walked over to Lyle and leaned against him for a minute. "And to all the guys..." he smiled sinisterly. "We'll be fucking your girlfriends later." His shameless pride was pretty shocking, even vulgar. "And it doesn't matter..." his smile sharpened. "You know why?" A glass bottle was thrown at him, missing his head by about an inch. Josh wasn't fazed in the slightest. He broke out in another alarming fit. "BECAUSE THEY DON'T FUCKING LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!" He jumped up and down and lost it again, shaking his long hair around, taken by the song he created. The place became utter anarchy. People started throwing more things – beer bottles, chairs, people...and Josh just fed off the carnage, screaming fast and loud.

"SHE DON'T LOVE YOU SHE DON'T LOVE ME I DON'T LOVE YOU I DON'T LOVE HER! SHE DON'T LOVE YOU SHE DON'T LOVE ME I DON'T LOVE YOU! I DON'T LOVE HER! ITS ALL HATE AND I LOVE THAT I LOVE IT I LOVE ME! ITS ALL HATE I HATE ME I HATE YOU I LOVE THAT! ITS ALL LOVE WHEN I HATE IT I LOVE IT LOVE TO HATE IT!" The song got faster and faster like a car going 100 miles per hour with nothing left to do but crash. He reached down and pulled the girl wearing his shirt out of the dangerous pit and they started kissing. It was everything she'd wanted, everything she'd dreamed of for so many nights. Their bodies pressed against one another, hands searching and groping in abusive fashion. Josh whispered something in her ear and she happily obliged, getting down on her knees and looking up at him with a worshipful gaze. She watched along with the rest of the crowd as he unzipped his jeans. A few seconds later he was peeing in her hair. It ran down her face to her neck. She had her mouth wide open...

2 "I Want My Life To Change, This Trip Has To Change Everything"

Jeremiah waited outside of Brooklyn diner Five-Seven-Nine where he was meeting friends for drinks before his gig at Galapagos. He lit up a smoke and wondered why Bushwick was so quiet for a Friday night. Usually there was at least a party somewhere, someone's stereo system booming so loud he could feel the song in his heart, a fight outside Party Expo, or an ambulance siren crying somewhere, or all of those things at once. But tonight, Brooklyn sounded turned off.

Well, in any case Jeremiah was still ready to leave for a while.

He sat on a bench, head resting against the rustic brick building of the restaurant. Jeremiah was a cute boy. He was just starting to come into himself at twenty years of age. He was working out. His smile was brighter and he carried himself with more confidence. Jeremiah had a wide flat nose and intense brown eyes. He sported a 7-inch purple Mohawk. He had a tattoo of a half-mermaid half-vampire on his arm that his brother convinced him to get when he was twelve.

He stood up and smiled when he saw Nathanial, his best friend, walking down the street. It took a lot of effort to stand out in New York, and Jeremiah and Nathanial did because they looked like gutter punks from the 1980s.

"Yo," Jeremiah caught Nathanial's hand and a loud slap occurred. They shared a brotherly hug before stepping away and each lighting cigarettes.

"How is it I'm the only black guy in this neighborhood now? Huh?" Jeremiah asked, blowing out a trail of thick smoke. Nathanial just started laughing.

"How the fuck is that? What happened?"

"I don't know dude," Nathanial had an innocent, childlike laugh no one expected from a guy with blue hair and tight leather pants. There was something endearing about him. He had a sparkle in his eye and an edge to him that could very well turn him into the rock star he dreamed of becoming.

"Fuck it," Nathanial said, unabashed, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He turned and yelled into the Brooklyn street, letting out a huge amount of aggression.

"FUCK THIS AND FUCK YOU!!!!!!!" He shouted, causing Jeremiah to fall over himself in abrupt laughter. This was the crazy side of Nathanial, the side that took some getting used to but once you did, you missed it when it didn't present itself.

Nathanial was jumping up and down, acting crazy.

"Fuck you!!!" He stomped his feet and threw his cigarette down on the sidewalk, stomping it out. "FUCK YOU MOM! FUCK YOU DAD!"

Jeremiah couldn't stop laughing. Nathanial suddenly turned around and threw playful punches at Jeremiah, pelting him in his stomach before Jeremiah put his arm around Nathanial and they wrestled like this for a while, getting a bit rough with one another as Jeremiah kept Nathanial in a headlock and turned around in circles.

"FUCK YOUUUU!!!" Nathanial continued to yell, his yelling reaching a cute giggle before he started coughing. "Fuck you dude..." he lost zest and they fell down on the sidewalk, carelessly blocking the way of subdued hipsters who had to step around them.

"FUCK YOU!!!!" Nathanial shouted at them as they walked on.

"Yo," Jeremiah was still laughing – laughing so hard his stomach hurt. "You okay?"

"I'M SO SICK OF THIS CITY!" Nathanial screamed up at the sky, lying on his back. "I'M SO SICK OF IT ALL!!!!!!!!"

"Yo...chill," Jeremiah chuckled. "We about to get out."

"You know how I got this fucking job? Do you know?" Nathanial said, all pent up. "I got this stupid fucking job at this fucking coffeehouse because the last guy who worked there's father died and my boss didn't want to wait for him to come back from the funeral. I HATE THIS COLD ASS CITY!"

"I know man," Jeremiah said, his voice gruff. "Can't wait to be out. Just out – you know?"

"Yeah." Nathanial had exhausted himself. He did that a lot – got real excited and then just lost all energy. But it wouldn't take him long to refuel. He was young and determined.

They lied there for a minute, that weird feeling of tiredness after a hard laugh taking over. Jeremiah practically fell asleep until Nathanial started screaming again.

"AHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Yo," Jeremiah chuckled,

The always annoyed, overworked bartender of Five-Seven-Nine poked his head out of the door and glared down at Nathanial and Jeremiah.

"You guys need to either come in or find another place to be pointless," he lectured.

"Um..." Nathanial lifted his head a few inches from the ground. "Sir, we're looking for Six-Eight-Ten, is that close by?"

Jeremiah laughed at Nathanial's foolishness. He couldn't recall a single day he'd hung out with Nathanial and not laughed to near tears.

"Get the fuck out of here or I'm calling the cops, I'm serious," the bartender scorned.

"Awwwwe man!" Nathanial jumped up and rushed over to him. "I'm normal, I swear, for a...human." Nathanial spoke in a strange cartoonish voice all of the sudden. "Wee'z agonna get beers, can we still get beers?" Nathanial stuck out his fat bottom lip and batted his eyes.

"Yes, but you have to behave, you're disrupting our patrons."

"Okay." Nathanial flashed a beaming smile at the bartender and turned to Jeremiah. In an instant, he went back to being that boyish character everyone loved.

"Hey man, you know what I did today?" He excitedly said to Jeremiah.

"Took some crazy drug?" Jeremiah joked.

"Yeah, but check this out..." Jeremiah chuckled and shook his head at Nathanial's antics as Nathanial brought out a thick folded square of paper from his back pocket.

"I printed out a map..." Nathanial handed it to Jeremiah as he repositioned his Wilco baseball cap on his head. Nathanial was amazingly cute – with sparkling green eyes and freckles all over his nose and cheeks. He was pale and usually wore eyeliner. Jeremiah considered himself straight but he experienced a few moments around Nathanial that made him question his sexuality.

"Jesus Christ, this thing is like the bible," Jeremiah said, unfolding the map.

"Look, look, look," Nathanial traced the lines he'd drawn to mark their travel with his finger.

"I marked all the places we should stop and check out along the way," Nathanial said. He never stopped smiling as he spoke of the trip. It was great to see Nathanial so happy and in love with life. It hadn't always been this way.

"That's cool, man," Jeremiah spoke. "But remember we only have six days."

"We'll plan it good – maybe we shouldn't take chicks with us," Nathanial responded. Jeremiah was a bit concerned for Nathanial. He was acting a bit off tonight, even for him.

"Okay man, let's get a drink because we have to be at Galapagos to set up soon."

Nathanial pulled the door open and a few people waiting for a table stared up at him. His energy made some nervous, and then there was his smell because Nathanial bathed every other week at best. He waved at the bartender that just accosted him before they headed downstairs to the basement lounge.

"You totally like driving that bartender insane," Jeremiah picked up on.

"I hate his fucking hair," Nathanial said loud enough for everyone in the basement lounge to hear. They too stared. They stared at Nathanial's tight pants, suspenders, Joan Jett shirt and filthy Wilco baseball cap.

"So did you look at the map?" he asked Jeremiah, sounding almost normal that time.

"Nah, not yet."

Nathanial was disappointed. He wanted Jeremiah to be excited about the map. Nathanial had practically studied it until his eyes bled.

They went over to a bench against the wall and sat down. Nathanial tried to unwind from a hectic day at the coffee shop. He was well aware at all the stares he was gathering as he bit his nails and stared back. Jeremiah set his haggard guitar case down and sat down next to Nathanial. People noticed them and that was all they cared about.

"We're playing tonight at Galapagos," Nathanial announced to the room before spitting out a fingernail he'd chewed off. "Ten sharp, motherfuckers."

Jeremiah stared at Nathanial, amazed. "Yo, you okay?"

"Fuckin ready to get out of this bullshit city," Nathanial rubbed his knees with his hands, anxious. "I got parts of the streets under my skin. I'm tired."

"Calm down, we need to get you a drink." Jeremiah rubbed Nathanial's back. Life had never been easy for Nathanial, or Jeremiah. Nathanial had ADD and was picked on in school for it until he dropped out, and was abused by his dad until he ran away. Jeremiah's story was not much happier. They met on the streets and both had hustled to get jobs and apartments since. Now they had a band, and things were going pretty good compared to how it used to be.

Jeremiah looked around for a bartender then looked back at Nathanial, who had a fresh cigarette between his lips.

"Yo, what are you doing? You know you can't smoke in here." Jeremiah took the cigarette from Nathanial's lips, totally forlorn now.

"Yo, you're bent," Jeremiah said. "You gotta calm down before this show." He watched as Nathanial rested his head against the back of the booth, his long legs spread a bit. He was as tense as Jeremiah had ever seen him. He stared at Nathanial's prominent adams apple, at his milky white skin.

"I want my life to change, this trip has to change everything."

"It will," Jeremiah assured.

"I'm just ready, you know? Tired of going to the same job every day, the same bars, printing out flyers, trying to get a buzz going. You can only try so long to get a buzz going before you have to be like, hey, its just not working, you know? Maybe I suck."

"Hey," Jeremiah alerted, upset Nathanial would ever say that. "You don't suck – we..." Jeremiah slapped his own chest. "We do not suck. Tonight's going to be amazing – we've been practicing our asses off."

"Oh shit," Nathanial leaned to the side and stared at his own ass. "Phew," he sighed, relaxed.

"Thought you were serious, dude," Nathanial said. Jeremiah covered his face with his hand and laughed a little.

"I'm so ready." Nathanial confessed. "I listened to The Very Sky Is A Threat again today. I just want it, you know?" Nathanial's fiery playfulness seemed to fizzle out as he stared at the table in front of them. Was it doubt feeling those great big green eyes of his? Jeremiah landed a supportive hand on Nathanial's shoulder.

"Hey, that's why we're doing this, man, you know? We're gonna go to L.A. and see the show and its gonna be amazing and then we'll pass the demo off to Josh. You and Josh are gonna get on, I just know," Jeremiah didn't have a doubt in the world about that, honest and truly. "I know that shit's for real," he said, his voice trailing off a bit.

"You don't think he's gonna laugh at us do you?" Nathanial worried.

"What? No man." Jeremiah said. "You're just as crazy as that fucker, crazier maybe."

The door next to them swung open and hot, steamy air escaped from the kitchen. The bartender looked down at them reluctantly.

"What can I get for you guys?" he asked, no love.

"Beer – two Heinekens," Nathanial strictly ordered. "And you should come to our show tonight," Nathanial went on, even though the bartender was already walking away. "Galapagos, ten o'clock."

Jeremiah giggled. "I can't believe you just invited him to our show – what the fuck is goin on with you today? That guy hates you."

"Hey man, when a guy like that hates you then you're doing something right. I can't stand his hair."

"You said that already, dude," Jeremiah pointed out.

"I know that pretentious motherfucker," Nathanial ranted. "Comes to the cafe every day and never tips – how can a bartender never tip? I bet if I kicked him in the stomach worms would shoot out his mouth."

Nathanial calmed down when he looked up and saw Clair coming down the wooden staircase. There was something about her that calmed him down. He'd known her longer than Jeremiah, longer than anyone in this city. She carefully made her way down the stairs, a bit too self-conscious as always.

"Clair," Nathanial called her name out. "Ladies and gentlemen..." he raised his voice so the whole room could hear, slapping one hand on his chest and stretching his other arm out in her direction. "Tonight's first guest got her start at Dark Coffee in the crappy neighborhood of Bushwick, but tonight we are very, very pleased to say she's come a long way and is now The Wrist Bands favorite groupie – folks, please give a huge welcome to CLAIR...BIRMINGHAM!"

"I hate you so much right now," Clair said as she sank into the leather bench, horrified. She covered her face with her hand.

"Oh come on, Clair, it was funnneee," Nathanial said. She reached into her Strand bookstore bag for the hat she always wore at work and put it on her face to shield herself from everyone staring at her.

"You didn't like my Jay Leno impression?" Nathanial sounded genuinely brokenhearted.

"I really hope that wasn't your Jay Leno," she said, trying not to laugh.

"What the fuck took you so long? You're late," Nathanial sulked. "Its not like you're one of those girls that gets all dolled up before they go out."

"Hey!"

"No, I just mean you don't need to, you're a tomboy and shit, I like that about you Clair. Hey – good news – that dickhead is bartending tonight so feel no need to leave a tip."

"I have to tip, always, you know that," she reminded him.

"Yo, your boy is ten times himself today," Jeremiah informed. Clair turned to observe Nathanial, who was attempting to wear his most innocent face. His sloppy curly blue hair, which was naturally blonde, was even unrulier than usual this evening.

"I wanna blow Galapagos apart," he said to no one in particular, for no apparent reason.

"You stoned?" Clair asked him.

"Noooo," Nathanial gave his drawn out answer. "Just excited! Aren't you excited? To be getting away from all the bullshit? Clair, you know how many people do what we're about to do like ever in their whole lives? Three. And they're sitting right here."

"Tragically beautiful, man," Jeremiah said, making a toast as they clanked their beer glasses together. Clair was very quiet. Clair appeared geeky at first glance – she dressed like a boy, with whatever girlish curves she had hidden under baggy clothes. She wore glasses and dyed her hair whatever color Nathanial dyed his. Sometimes Nathanial found that cute – how he'd dye his hair a certain color and the next day she'd arrive at the coffee shop with the exact same shade. Other times it totally annoyed him. She had very cute features – delicate soft skin, long eyelashes, pretty blue eyes, and zero confidence.

The bartender came by to check up on things.

"Can I get a Heineken?" Clair asked. The bartender nodded.

"I got you on that," Nathanial said to her, slapping her in the arm. She was a bit concerned about him. "It was the first beer I got her to drink," he explained what he meant.

"Oh, right..." Clair said.

"Remember that night?" he said, smiling brightly.

"I remember," Clair said. She remembered it very well – going to bar after bar, wondering how many beers it took to get Nathanial drunk – five? Nope. Ten? A little. Maybe. She remembered how he kept putting his arm around her and she thought she was going to get laid – if not that night then at some point, but it never happened. Apparently they were just buddies. They were still just buddies – three years and counting.

"I said..." Nathanial started to say, looking at Jeremiah, and then backtracked. "She said she never had a drink before and I said you need to try Heineken, it's the best beer."

"Heineken is not the best beer," Jeremiah quickly stated. "But okay." Nathanial's oddness was starting to tire Jeremiah.

"I gotta pee," Nathanial said, standing up and stepping over the table, nearly knocking a drink over. Jeremiah was quick to catch the glass and smooth things over. Clair watched Nathanial with great concern as he went into the bathroom. She leaned into Jeremiah.

"Is he okay?"

"I don't know, man," Jeremiah shook his head. "Think he's on something – think he's nervous about the show."

"What do you think it is? That he's on, I mean."

Jeremiah shrugged. "Hard to tell. We're talking about a kid that's been on his own since he was fourteen, been introduced to every drug available. You think he's just gonna stop taking that shit? If he ever gets famous, it'll be the other side of drugs – the better kind."

Clair had no idea what to say. She looked over when Nathanial came back out of the bathroom. The way his curly blue hair snuck out from under his hat would always make her smile. He was tragically beautiful, and even more lost. He sat down and guzzled down his beer. Clair watched him, almost too intrigued by how fast he could drink that to be concerned.

"Nathanial?" she requested his attention, making a funny face as she watched him closely.

"Um hmm..." he breathed into the glass but looked up at her with his eyes.

"Like seriously are you okay?"

He nodded as he put his glass down, making a crazy thud with it.

"I'm just ready Clair, I'm ready. I want the world to know I'm ready." He drummed his hands on his knees. "I wanna be the next Axl Rose. I wanna scare L.A."

"Well if you were there tonight, you would," Jeremiah commented. Jeremiah had this nice ease to his voice that even when he made a remark that was slightly crude, it sounded almost like a compliment.

"I can do it too," Nathanial said, raising his glass of beer to his mouth. The glass was almost empty. He talked into it so his voice sounded strange, like Darth Vader, when he said, "I got big balls."

Jeremiah started laughing.

"And confidence comes from my dick – cumfidence," Nathanial ended, sounding like a rapper. Jeremiah was speechless. He looked at Clair and they both burst out laughing simultaneously.

"Yo, let's get out of here, with your crazy ass," Jeremiah said, standing up.

"Wait, I'm not done with my beer yet," Clair informed. Then Nathanial got playfully hostile.

"Well you would be if you hadn't been late."

"I wasn't that late!" Clair argued back. "Chill out, good Christ!"

"You're not acting very excited, Clair." Nathanial went on. "I mean we're driving to L.A. tomorrow. We're starting a week long adventure together. This is the stuff Kerouac talked about."

"Kerouac?" Clair laughed, looking at Jeremiah in confusion. "Kerouac didn't talk about starting a punk band."

"He had punk spirit, he did what the fuck he wanted though. That's fucking punk rock. You know nothing, Clair, if you don't know that."

"I'm excited Nathanial." She wasn't very convincing.

"Okay," Nathanial said, put off by her behavior. "This is not how one acts the night before a road trip to L.A. to see the greatest punk band in the history of punk bands."

"Okay, now you're like really on one, I mean really, Nathanial? The greatest punk band in history? Better than Sex Pistols? Better than The Pixies?" She looked back at Nathanial.

"The Pixies were not punk," Jeremiah said in his casual voice. Clair's jaw dropped in reaction.

"Here we go again," Nathanial sighed, throwing his hands up and slapping his knees with them. He checked the time on his phone and killed his beer.

"Clair," he held her drink up to her face. "Drink this." She waved it away and scrunched up her face. When Nathanial stood up she tugged on his leather pants to get him to sit back down. She was always finding an excuse to touch him. It had been that way since the first day she met him three years ago. He stared down at her.

"Sit down for a minute," she pleaded. He was as restless as puppy tonight. He sat down, but didn't lean back.

"What?" he said. All he could think about was the open road, how many different smells he'd take in from here to California. Oh man. This was really going to happen, it was finally really going to happen. All the money they saved up, all the planning. All the talking. All he had to do was wait for the sun to come up. He would not sit down – he was feeling way too rambunctious, but he did keep his eyes on her when he stood back up to let her know she had his full attention.

"Look, Nathanial," Clair started whatever she was about to say. "It's just...I've been thinking...remember when I met you? How we helped each other out? Like two...kids that found each other in a dark tunnel. I mean I was standing over one...anyway, I wanted to go home but you said, 'No, Clair, stick it out,' at that bar we went to, remember? And then we helped each other, and now look? We have a place to live, we have full time jobs we hate – that's all anyone is striving for anymore in this country, and we have it."

Nathanial laughed out loud. He thought she was joking.

"Clair, what the fuck are you talking about?" he asked.

"I'm talking about...what if something goes wrong on this trip? What if we lose everything? I had a weird dream last night."

"Oh, you had a weird dream?" he was pissed, which surprised and upset Clair. He'd never been this mad at her before. "Well I have a dream too – of getting out of here and breathing fresh air – different air – and getting this demo out to someone who might actually care and be able to do something with it – of not just playing at the same stupid clubs every night for the same snooty hipsters but to get out there and just...have fun! I can't believe you're pissing all over this!"

"I'm sorry! I just don't..." she looked around the restaurant, as if someone could rescue her from the sudden upset she caused. "I just don't feel right about this."

"Yeah? Well I don't feel right about anything but this." He headed towards the stairs, adjusting his hat and looking back at them.

"Come on, J," he called for Jeremiah. He didn't give a shit about Clair right now.

3 "I Don't Know, I'm In A Weird Place"

Of course it was raining. It seemed to rain every time Marisa went out. Still, she wasn't going to let a little rain stop her from having fun. I mean how long had she had a crush on Nathanial? He was wild – he was different. The day could be as shitty as ever but if she ran into him, or even thought about him, he made her giggle. And of course he was cute, so there was that. There was no one like him on earth. His pale skin, all those freckles, those green eyes. That hysterical hair. Just his overall strangeness. He wasn't just different, (this was New York, almost everyone aspired to be different) Nathanial was special. How long did it take him to finally notice and invite her to something? About two months, two months of giving him that look at the coffee shop and thinking he understood it, two months of waking up in bed and pretending he was there and satisfying herself as best she could. But hey, maybe it would only take one night – tonight – to make up for those two months of being patient.

Then she was smiling in the rainstorm.

Marisa caught a glimpse of her reflection in a storefront window. She looked hot walking down the drenched street of N. 6th in her short black skirt, loose-fitting plain white t-shirt and 6-inch red high heels. It was a great outfit – not trying too hard, but definitely sexy.

The humidity plus the expensive hair product she used gave her fiery red hair an extra thick texture. Everyone stopped and stared at her as she made her way to the club. A model, they assumed she was. An extra for some video being shot in this trendy part of Brooklyn. Maybe a Nylon shoot.

"Hi," she said in her husky voice to the bouncer as she showed him her ID.

"Here for the band, doll face?" he responded, glancing at her ID.

"Yeah, I'm here for The Wrist Burns," she said, her voice extremely sultry. He smiled at her, taken back by her pale, dewy complexion and soft brown eyes. She had a sweet, shy smile, but there was also something daring about her.

"If I start a band will you come to my show?" the bouncer flirted.

"Of course I would," she assured. He smiled again, and he wasn't an easy fella to get a smile out of.

"Enjoy yourself now," he said before she went in.

She made her way down a long, dark trepid hallway in her challenging heels, eventually finding the bar and spotting Clair.

"Clair!" She called out, happy to be here and out of the rain. A part of Clair was very excited to see Marisa and the other part was jealous. Nathanial was going to have sex with her, it was just inevitable. Clair had to realize that Nathanial would never be anything more than a friend to her. They had too much to lose if they had sex. She had to accept that. Not even six days on the road without any distractions would change that...right?

She greeted Marisa with a hug. The intoxicating smells coming off Marisa were almost too much – a whiff of Chanel perfume, the cotton candy smell of her hair, the sugar cookie scent of her lipgloss. She smelled like a mountain of candy.

"You smell really good," Clair said aloud before she had time to reconsider. She blushed as Marisa waved the comment away.

"Oh stop! How was your day?" she asked Clair.

"Oh, you know. Work and then..." she took a deep breath. She wanted to mention the trip, but she also didn't want to think about it. Instead, she focused on Marisa – her wildly beautiful appearance.

"Those shoes are insane!" She pointed down at them.

"Right? No, actually I think I'm insane. I will be stumbling home for sure." Marisa was quiet for a minute. Then she leaned into Clair and whispered. "It's so fucking good to be out, where's Nathanial?"

"Getting ready backstage. We kind of had a...little fight," Clair admitted.

"Oh no! About what?" She looked at Clair, fully expecting all the details. Clair knew Marisa from the coffee shop. Marisa came in every single day at the same time, ordered the same drink and always tipped graciously. She was always so polite – or maybe she just did it to impress Nathanial, who was always too busy being his crazy self to not even notice.

"It's not a big deal," Clair brushed it off. "You want a drink?" she asked.

"Fuck yeah!" Clair giggled at Marisa's enthusiasm for alcohol.

"So how was your day?" Clair asked as they waited for the bartender to notice them.

Marisa rolled her eyes. "A disappointing lunch with a superficial friend, and then my ex sent me a pair of panties in the mail."

Clair passed her a crazy look. "What?! Your ex sends you gifts? I've dated losers that never gave me gifts when we were together."

"Yeah well, there's a reason he did it..." she sounded glum, but just for a second. She turned around with a fresh smile on her face and took a deep breath.

"He wants to get back together with me," she explained. "Every day I'm like, no. And the next day he's like, how about now? And I'm like, no, and the next day he'll text me Rimbaud poems – he fucking never read Rimbaud! He just goes online and finds them. I can't stand him. And he's still like 'how about now, now will you go out with me?' I want him to understand that I cannot date him unless he turns into someone else."

Clair laughed. "You're hysterical!"

Marisa gave the bartender a fresh, bright smile.

"Hey!" she said. "Can I get a Wolf's Tooth Ale?"

"I'll have one too," Clair said after he'd walked off, not even noticing Clair. "Did he hear me?" she asked Marisa.

"Not sure. So how was your day? Besides your little fight."

"I don't know...I'm in a weird place." Velvet Revolver's cover of Cheap Trick's Surrender came on and it was too loud to talk anymore.

"I...fucking...love...this...song," Marisa declared. "We have to dance!" Clair looked terrified.

"You know how rare it is when your favorite song comes on and you're near a dance floor?!" Marisa went on.

"Okay, but...I haven't got my beer yet," Clair tried to find an excuse. "And I prefer originals." Clair, don't be such a sour puss, that's what Nathanial would say. Clair could not dance, she always felt like she looked like one of the Peanuts Gang out there trying to find rhythm.

"We'll share this one!" Marisa shouted, holding her beer up triumphantly. "Come on!" she affectionately clamped her hand around Clair's and pulled her towards the dance floor. Marisa proved to be pretty strong. She must work out, Clair figured, as she was tossed into the middle of the dance floor. Yoga. Pilates. She's one of those. Marisa was vibrant like Nathanial. They were going to get along great. They would have sex for the rest of their lives and forget anyone else existed.

Marisa started to dance without caring who was watching while Clair was too self conscious to even move.

"Here, dear," Marisa said, placing the glass of beer in her hand. It was funny how motherly she was about doing it, like giving a child medicine. Clair guzzled it down while Marisa continued to dance. She could be in a video with those moves of hers. Clair wished she had bothered to put on a dress tonight or bothered to doll herself up in any way. Maybe then Nathanial would notice her. Maybe she was too predictable. It was hard to dance when you didn't feel sexy, which was why Marisa looked so damn good dancing right now. Clair looked down at her own clothes, dirtied by the coffee shop she worked at, and she had bruises from banging herself into the counter or the machine or whatever got in the way behind that cramped space she worked in.

Suddenly Marisa's hand reached out and grabbed Clair's wrist.

"Hey, you, dance. Be where you are!" Marisa shouted. Clair finished the beer and sat it down out of the way and decided to say fuck it. She was going to dance no matter how silly she looked.

"THERE YOU GO!" Marisa shouted as she fist pumped and started screaming along to the song.

"Whatever happened to all this season's losers of the year!  
Every time I got to thinking, where'd they disappear!" Marisa sang. Clair kind of knew the words, and sloppily mumbled along.

"When I woke up mom and dad were rollin' on the couch!" Clair caught on a bit – she knew that part. They were holding onto each others hands and jumping up and down like silly little girls. Clair got a little lost on the next line, laughing almost the entire time.

"Rolling...numbers...GOT MY KISS RECORDS OUT!!!"

4 "This Is Probably Not A Good Idea...But I'm Gonna Do It Anyway"

After the song the two went over to the bar for another round and sat down at a booth.

"Oh my god," Clair tried to catch her breath. "That was fun! You're fun!" Did Clair have what they called a girl-crush? It was starting to seem like it.

"God, man," Marisa said, dropping her head back against the booth. Her face glistened with pretty makeup and sweat. "The thing is – living in this city is so stressful that when you go out to have a good time you really want to have a good time."

"I know!" Clair completely agreed. "It could be dangerous." Marisa's eyes tightened as she stared off into the dark belly of the club.

"Its almost like you're...trying to escape forever...break through some...I don't know..."

"Make a prison escape?" Clair guessed.

"Yeah." Marisa laughed.

Clair considered inviting Marisa along on the road trip but knew Nathanial would have sex with her. She couldn't take that hurt.

"Yeah, so where are you from?" Clair asked.

"Chicago."

"Chicago?" Clair was surprised. "Chicago's cool. Why did you move to New York."

Marisa was still looking off into space. A small smile crawled across her mouth.

"Its funny – everyone said before I moved here, I should move here and then when I did they only said, why did you move there?"

"I just meant..."

"No, its okay," Marisa looked at Clair. She had a vibrant smile to go with her thoughtful expression. "I moved here for the same reasons everyone else does – achieve something big."

"Like what?"

"Modeling. There's just more opportunities here than Chicago."

"You could totally make it as a model," Clair gushed.

"Oh...well thanks." Marisa seemed doubtful.

"Jeremiah, Nathanial's bassist, was stopped a few weeks ago by this guy that was supposedly some agent, looking for models. You should talk to him!"

"Right...because I'm a tall black man...?"

They both laughed.

"Hey what time is it?" Marisa asked before biting her lip.

"Time for the show, let's go."

Clair and Marisa found spots near the front of the stage and waited as the band made sure everything was ready to go. Marisa couldn't take her eyes off Nathanial. Her heart sped up and stomped around in her chest like an impatient child.

She smiled adoringly at the sight of him. It took a certain person to pull off the leather pants look and he was certainly that person. He had on rugged black boots and a handkerchief tied around his wrist and a black t-shirt with the word STRUGGLE in red lettering across the chest. She wanted to share her relentless crush on him with Clair, but wasn't sure what the deal was between her and Nathanial.

"So what about your underwear your ex sent you?" Clair suddenly asked. What a strange question, Marisa almost laughed.

"What?"

"Did you toss them?" She looked at Marisa's amazing milky white skin.

"Oh no," Marisa smiled and took her time responding. "I kept them. It's not their fault who they're from," Marisa pointed out. "I'm a bit materialistic, I admit. At the end of the day, you know your favorite pair of shoes are not going to cheat on you. Anyway, the panties are red silk and from Victoria's Secret."

"Haha, just keep letting him send you stuff – nice stuff – you could even act like you're considering getting back together with him to see what he sends next! Once you collect enough Chanel and Dior, cut him entirely off."

"Cheers to that!" Marisa said. They clanked their glasses and looked back at the stage. Another guitar fart was released into the air. Nathanial was saying something to Jeremiah and Marisa wanted to know what it was. Why? It had nothing to do with her. It had something to do with the band probably, or some boyish joke, but she wanted to know it, she wanted to know everything he said and thought.

Clair grinned as she looked at Marisa.

"Do you have them on now?"

"You are fixated with my underwear!" Marisa called out. A strange looking guy with glasses standing a couple people down from them was watching them closely. They didn't notice him. Clair waited for her cheeks to cool because she was blushing so hard! What had come over her?

"No," Marisa answered about a minute later. A mischievous smile took over her face. "I'm not wearing any underwear."

"Oh," Clair responded in a goofy way, feeling nervous in a way she never had before.

"How do you feel about that?" Marisa teased.

"Oh...I don't know..." Clair said, before taking a huge gulp of her beer.

"So..." Clair desperately tried to change the subject. "So Nathanial is calling their first EP This is probably not a good idea but...I'm Gonna Do It Anyway."

"I like that," Marisa nodded, looking at Clair. Then the music took over.

Nathanial's chosen outfit for the night showed off his physique – tall with broad shoulders. He'd been working out some too with Jeremiah, and the results were starting to show. Then the fog machine nearly erased him as the song, which was very Joy Division, intensified.

"I wanna go with you," Nathanial sung in a husky, brooding voice. "I wanna take a walk..." a piercing guitar riff courtesy of Jeremiah bled through beautifully. "I want your hands behind your back now honey and no I don't wanna talk, don't wanna talk...I wanna feel... the wind blow, as we go, to nowhere special, just like yesterday, oh it keeps going doesn't it? The...nothingness..."

Drums thundered and the song was a sizzling doom affair. Marisa couldn't believe it. He sounded as good as he looked, but as playful as he was on a day-to-day basis, on stage he was completely austere. How could she have liked him anymore than she did five minutes ago? It wasn't fair. It was sweet torture.

"But this time...oh I'm making it work," Nathanial threatened as another powerful guitar riff met with thunderous drums. "Don't! Don't you turn your head back for one second little girl, in my sleep, I killed the dream, today's the end, I had the need, I knew you'd bleed, what else is new? Nothing...now don't try to scream...don't try and move...I wanna go with you, I wanna take a walk, I want your hands behind your back now honey and I don't wanna talk..."

Nathanial took a break. It was Jeremiah's turn to shine with a great guitar solo. The guitar was more like a chainsaw ripping apart the night to shine light on the one about to kill you. If everyone wasn't paying attention a minute ago, they were now. The crowd could have been bigger – but what mattered was that the forty or fifty people that were in the room watching were invested now. Marisa's eyes moved from Nathanial's treasured face to the word STRUGGLE on his shirt as he returned to the stage with brimming ferociousness.

"Now you're starting to shake! Mmmmm...you're starting to shiver..." his voice roared loudly and sounded a bit staticy. "I got you how I want you, and you get the point girl, you'll start to feel the fever, all weak inside, as you decide, not to think, and I'll...take your hand, for hell's sake, you want my hand on your back, you want my sick on your thigh, I'm the reason you breathe, the reason you'll want to die, oh I will touch you with my plan, oh my love, ain't it grand?" Another guitar riff spat out like liquid gold. "Don't turn your back now honey and don't try to understand, its your fault, now say bye to your friends, everything but the end, oh...sweet, sweet love, sweet, sweet..."

After a few minutes of silence post hoc fade out, the crowd cheered. Marisa was in a trance, captivated by Nathanial's dark weariness mixed with sexual tension and tenacity. He'd acceded her expectations.

"Oh my god," she said to Clair. "He's amazing."

There was no time to say anything else when the band flew into the next song. They'd been practicing so much and tonight was the pay off. No wonder Nathanial was so restless earlier – he had something great to show off. The next song kicked off with an incredibly catchy fast beat.

"One day I'll be the boy I set out to be...one day she'll set him free...Oh...I know, just-just-just got to give it a few more days, just-just-just got to see it her way...the girl's got a selfish need...the boy's got time to bleed...but it never works out no it never works out! The fear gets in the way, she can't find the words to say, and it never works out no it never works out! Just-just-just got to give it a few more days, just-just-just got to have it my way! Even though, this is what I said a year ago...and she screams when I don't touch her right, she forgets my hands are tied..." the song evolves into a catchy pop chorus. "She's the one with the rope! She's the one with formaldehyde! My jaw's gone numb, I feel dumb just like anyone, all the saints run and hide! And it never works out no it never works out no! The sun drifts behind the clouds, a storm rips up the beach, these are the lessons that I teach, so it never works out! No it never works out!" Nathanial took a break and the band showed off their talents.

"Their songs are really good," Marisa praised. "So catchy!" Marisa looked around and noticed how captivated everyone else was and realized that this was no ordinary boy she was falling in love with... Meanwhile Clair was conflicted. If she didn't have a chance with Nathanial now – she certainly wouldn't if he made it in L.A.

Nathanial continued singing. "I watch them touch her, watch them take away...the girl's got a selfish need...the boy's got time to bleed it never works out no it never works out NO! Fucking pretentious fucks and pretty little sluts oh it never works out! NO IT NEVER WORKS OUT IT NEVER WORKS OUT NO!"

He walked off for a second, his hostility overwhelming. He whispered something to Jeremiah and Jeremiah nodded as he adjusted the strings of his guitar. Nathanial came back to the center of the stage with what appeared to be newfound confidence.

"Okay Brooklyn, this is a new song called The City That Never Sleeps," he said. Marisa and Clair seemed to be competing at who could scream the loudest.

"Told you to meet me last night," his ominous voice flooded the room. "It was so late but you got on the train...anyway...Made sure to leave before you got there, I wanna get you prepared...no one here cares..." Jeremiah stalked the song, his guitar throwing shadows over the empty spaces. "I woke up today and nothing was right...Slowly I started to remember last night..." The catchy chorus made its way in. "Started a fight, stood someone up, Aint it sweet, yeah In the city that never sleeps...So did I make you cry? As the pretty traffic lights...hit the windshield in a cab that sent you back over the bridge, sent you back...oh at least I got you wet so now say thank you! For breaking you in, yeah You bet...In the city that never sleeps..." Nathanial went off to the corner of the stage and let Jeremiah take over. He had his Slash moment in the spotlight. Clair looked at Marisa, who saw no one else but Nathanial and kept watching him even though he'd slid away for the moment.

He came back and poured his heart out for the rest of the song.

"I wanted to be missed! You wanted to be kissed! Well...Oh aint it sweet, yeah...in The city that never sleeps...They say! If you can make it here you can make it anywhere! So now we don't need to be anywhere, where are you? In a cab goin back over the bridge, I'll call you when I have a day off, if I ever have a day off.. Hey, you look so tired, and a little scared, What a bunch of wolves can do to one little rabbit, you should find an exit soon, just go on back to Texas...JUST GO ON BACK TO TEXAS! Now...now, shush up, buck up, you saw a body, it happens all the time, I'll call you when I have a day off...girl...This ain't the city of dreams, Girl, It's the city that never sleeps, Girl..."

5 "To Find That Hot Little Sopranos Dancer"

Clair sought Nathanial out right after the show because she knew he'd be a sweaty mess and in a good mood and she loved hugging him when he was in that state.

"Nathanial," she smiled gloriously and held onto him so tight. He never knew how to react when she did that – when she pressed every part of her against every part of him.

He smiled innocently and looked down at her.

"Okay..." he petted her on her head. He seemed a bit drunk. It was hard for anyone to understand how he felt right after a show – the adrenaline rush combined with a strange vulnerability, the comments from strangers, the now what? feeling taking hold...

"You were amazing," Clair gushed.

"Thanks." He needed a drink, so he took her by the hand and cut through the crowd. He avoided the stares from people, not wanting to hear whatever they were about to say. He wanted a different scene – he wanted Los Angeles. He just wanted to get away from it all.

"Marisa's here," Clair said as they waited at the bar. He shoved her money away.

"I got drink tickets," he let her know. "Who is Marisa?"

Oh wow! He didn't even remember her! This made Clair ecstatic.

"The redhead that comes in the café every day..." she said. This seemed to register nothing, turn on no lights.

"She has big tits," she added.

"Oh! Right," he shook his head and smiled boyishly as he handed the bartender his tickets.

"Cool, she came?" he said, walking over to the booth where Jeremiah was stationed.

"Yup." Clair knew she would go unheard for the next five minutes or so as Jeremiah and Nathanial exchanged a cool celebratory handshake and discussed the show – how did it sound? The sound system here is still kinda shitty. Was it better than the last? Good crowd? Better than expected...

"Ain't no fucking joke," Jeremiah said as he held on tightly to Nathanial's hand, Clair figured that was his way of saying the show was brilliant. Nathanial sat down, looking pretty pleased. And tomorrow he was leaving for L.A.

"Okay, so I have the packing list..." Clair said as Marisa sat down. She wanted Nathanial to know that she was still going – that she still wanted to go.

"Fuck that," he said, quickly glancing at Marisa – whom he had no idea what to do with – then back to Clair. "What's more important is driving music."

"I've made a compilation CD," Clair also let him know.

"Ha! I forgot to say good driving music," he teased.

"Don't be a dick!" she hollered right before breaking out into a cackle when he tickled her. Marisa waited patiently for them to calm down, confident she'd be the one getting his attention soon.

"You were incredible tonight," Marisa told him, locking eyes with him.

"Thanks." He came off shy around her, staring at the table for a minute.

"So are you guys going somewhere?" Marisa politely inquired.

"Yeah," Nathanial tightened his sparkling green eyes when he looked up at her. This set loose an army of butterflies in her stomach and she got a little wet. "Los Angeles."

"Wow," Marisa's pretty smile widened. "Really?"

Nathanial smiled proudly. "Its been a goal – for a long ass time – to drive cross country – to...see the world, you know, like Jack Kerouac? But like throw punk into it, throw...The Dead Joneses into it," he spoke softly and yet very intensely. Clair had never heard him talk like that.

"The Dead Joneses?" Marisa sounded amazed. "I love The Dead

Joneses."

"How can you fucking not?!" Nathanial blurted. It was wonderful to see him so excited, to see that childlike quality ablaze.

"I mean..." he smiled, showing his strange but adorable teeth and spit made his tongue ring sparkle as he played with his trucker hat, twisting it to the side and then back again so it was straight. He looked around the room, trying to collect his thoughts.

"They like went back, right? And found everything great about rock and roll and threw it back in our faces!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, exactly." Marisa was not nearly as enthusiastic as Nathanial, for Nathanial's enthusiasm could not be matched.

"I mean fuck..." Nathanial went on.

"Here we go," Clair muttered, prepared to hear the same worshipful praise she heard every day when it came to Nathanial's obsession with Josh Devin.

"I mean what Josh went through as a child, and where he is now...its extraordinary," Nathanial pointed at the table. "He makes everyone else so boring – like everyone else might as well be dead, dude. It means so much to people like me...people that have just fought for every little thing they have – and are still fighting. It means so much to know someone had the balls to make it, dude."

Marisa stared at him, listening closely.

"He means a lot to you because he represents a part of you, a part of you that has struggled," Marisa said. It wasn't so much what Marisa said as the delicate way she presented it.

"Yes," Nathanial said, diligently, "He is also what I aspire to be. Oh man," Nathanial rolled his head around against the back of the booth. "I can't imagine – being, like, him? Having what he has? Respect?"

"Nathanial, you have respect," Clair said, wanting to be a part of the conversation.

"He means recognition," Jeremiah said. "We work really hard – and I think the world does owe you something when you work this hard."

"You should go," Nathanial said a few seconds later, looking at Marisa. She wasn't sure what he meant at first. "You should go with us."

Clair couldn't believe it – just like that?! You should go???

"Nathanial," she laughed, unnerved. "She can't just go to L.A. – we leave tomorrow morning, this is something someone has to plan months ahead for..."

"Are you happy here?" Nathanial asked Marisa. He felt like they had a lot in common – stuff they hadn't realized yet. It would be fun to take a stranger on the road.

"Well, I mean...some days I hate it. Doesn't everyone?"

"Yeah, I guess." Nathanial was grumpy. He wanted her to go, and he could pout like crazy when things didn't go his way. He wasn't going to give up on this one.

"Its not a big deal – I'm sure the opportunity to get in a van that's all set to go with really cool people and drive from New York to L.A. will present itself again soon."

"Nathanial!" Clair couldn't believe how he was behaving.

"Okay," Marisa grinned.

"Okay you'll go?" Nathanial yelped like a puppy.

"You're cute – no, I don't know...I mean yeah, I hate it here," she suddenly realized. "I hate it here. The other day I went to an interview and did very well – I did better than I'd done at any interview, I put forth every effort I had to impress those bitches, and a week later I get an email telling me that the position that was open was no longer open because the person they were going to replace decided to stay. How unfair is that? I mean I went out and got a whole new outfit for the interview! And yeah...now my ex is stalking me. Yeah, I want to go. I'll go."

"Well, there's plenty of room in the van. And you have all night to prepare," Nathanial said, smiling. "This is gonna be fun!" He looked at the others, who were not as gassed. A new road trip companion they hardly knew...?

"Yeah – so what's the plan exactly, have you mapped it all out?" Marisa asked.

"Oh god," Jeremiah covered his face. "Show her the map." Jeremiah shook his head for a moment, trying not to feel too overwhelmed – but Clair's facial expression spelled drama. Nathanial whipped out the brick-sized map and handed it to Marisa, smiling extravagantly.

"Wow...this is huge!" Marisa said.

"That's what she said!" Nathanial responded, causing Clair to roll her eyes. She gulped her beer and just tried to accept things. Maybe you could meet some hot dude in the next five minutes and invite him along, she thought, grinning bitterly.

"You okay there, Clair-o?" Nathanial asked, wrapping his arm around her and rubbing his knuckles against her head until she could break free. She scrunched up her face and pushed him away harder than she meant to.

"Wow," Marisa studied the map. Finally someone actually admired it. Nathanial was pleased. "What are all these lines?"

"Yeah, see," Nathanial slid out of the booth and knelt down next to her. He didn't care if he was in anyone's way.

"Everyone thinks its funny, but see look..." Marisa followed Nathanial's finger as he pointed out places he drew hearts around. "Those are the places I want to stop at – the ones with the hearts. The ones with the smiley faces are the ones I hope we have time to stop at."

"That's cute," Marisa said, smiling at him. He gazed up at her, those eyes of his sparkling. It was a moment that might have turned into a kiss if so many people weren't around, like the guy that just bumped into Nathanial and spilt beer down the back of his neck. But out there, on the road, he'd get some time with her...

The Sopranos theme song, Woke Up This Morning, blared from the speakers as a sexy girl danced on the little stage. She was scantily dressed and used a toy gun as a prop, aiming it at the crowd before sliding it up her thigh.

But you're, you're lookin good baby, I believe you're a-feeling fine, shame about it, born under a bad sign...

"So what's the plan, anyway?" Clair asked. "For tomorrow?"

"The plan, Clair, is to fuck life and make it my bitch," Nathanial responded. What was that? Why was he so crude with her? He was pretty sweet with Marisa just a minute ago.

"I meant where are we meeting?" Clair restated.

"I don't know – I need like five more beers. That's the immediate plan," he said, moody. "There is going to be a mandatory meeting between alcohol and my liver and then after that I don't know and then after that, I don't care."

"You are so bad," Marisa cooed, practically batting her eyes at him. "I could get us more beers," Marisa happily volunteered.

"I wanna dance," Clair said. "And you owe me a dance," she pointed at Marisa. There was no way she was going to let her sit here and bond anymore with Nathanial. Interpol's Obstacle 1 played very loud anyway, preventing conversation.

"Come on! I love this song!" Clair pulled Marisa up out of her seat. It was her time to have to dance. "This is like...a guilty pleasure of mine...this song," Clair confessed as she dragged Marisa away from Nathanial.

"Oh fuck guilty pleasures!" Marisa declared. She wasn't mad, she

was trying to get along with everyone, because that made it easier to get what she wanted. "Don't feel guilty about shit!" she went on.

Nathanial stayed behind since he wasn't much of a dancer.

"Not gonna join them?" Jeremiah asked.

"I can't dance," Nathanial said. Jeremiah kept a puzzled grin as he watched the girls.

"I'd go somewhere and learn very fast," Jeremiah said, nodding at them. Marisa was doing a sexy move that involved touching her breasts while Clair rubbed against her.

Nathanial looked back at Jeremiah, wildly amused. "This is going to be a hell of a road trip my friend!"

Jeremiah agreed, slowly giving himself over to the idea of taking a whole other human being along, another bundle of energy. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. They toasted to that. A few minutes later Jeremiah slid out of the booth.

"Where you goin?" Nathanial asked.

"To find that hot little Sopranos dancer," Jeremiah grinned. He was going to have some fun too. Nathanial watched as Jeremiah vanished. He'd get laid, Jeremiah usually had no problems in that area. Nathanial looked over at the dance floor for Marisa and Clair. After a minute he spotted them. Marisa almost tumbled but Clair saved her by grabbing her wrists and that was a moment that showed they'd be good friends, despite both wanting Nathanial. The girls laughed and went back to dancing.

Nathanial realized he was smiling. It was a faint smile that proved he was happy in the moment. He was happy with his life. It was quite astounding. He'd spent so many years miserable, crying, ever since he was kicked out of his house when he was just fourteen. Hey look atcha now, you live in New York, you're in a rock and roll band, you have great friends – you have a whole new family. You didn't give up. You didn't slip into the cracks of this hard, dirty city and disappear. Well how bout that?

He decided he should just go to the dance floor. Fuck it, none of these white people could dance, he thought, snickering at his own thoughts.

He made his way over to them when a guy just popped up out of nowhere. It was like he'd sprung up from the floor. He had mousy brown hair, a terrible receding hairline, and a puzzling grin. His glasses were big and smudged. He sort of reminded Nathanial of an older version of Corey Feldman's character in Stand By Me. He was the same guy who'd been starring at Marisa and Clair earlier.

"Man," the guy sounded out of breath, like he'd been running a great distance to find Nathanial. "You were great."

"Oh," Nathanial laughed. "Thanks."

"I mean you were awesome, not great, I meant awesome. You were awesome," the man seemed upset with his choice of words. "I'm Jimmy." Jimmy held his hand out and looked directly into Nathanial's eyes the whole time, not ever blinking. He had a laser beam of a stare. He seemed to be desperately searching for something, a good friend maybe.

"Nathanial," Nathanial said, not seeing the harm in shaking his hand. After all, he did come out in the rain to see his show. Jimmy's hand was sweaty and he had a limp hold. Nathanial took his hand back and wiped it on his jeans.

"You have great..." Jimmy threw his hands up in sudden angst, "What's the word I'm searching for...god! Its like my brain's just not working today, you know days like those?" he rolled his eyes around, desperately thinking. "Gosh...intensity!" he suddenly shouted, getting a little spit on Nathanial's face in the process as he pointed at Nathanial. "Stage presence...you're just great and I'm wondering how I have never heard of you?"

"It's a big city – lots of fish with guitars," Nathanial joked. Jimmy laughed very hard at that.

"And funny!" Jimmy complemented, abruptly. "I have always wanted to be a rock star," Jimmy revealed, nodding his head, overly emotional. "I have. Its not the kind of thing your parents support over the dinner table," he laughed. "Hey mom, hey dad, I wanna be a rock star when I grow up, is there anymore chicken salad?" Jimmy laughed nervously.

"Right. I understand." Nathanial spoke timidly, not sure what to make of Jimmy.

"Why do you think it is? Do you think they just think you're...you're not going to succeed or...what?"

"I don't know," Nathanial said. "They say we don't understand our parents until we become parents ourselves."

"They do? Who says that?" Jimmy seemed genuinely confused.

"Oh, I don't know, they as in people." Nathanial glanced at the girls. Clair had her arm around Marisa's back. They looked good together, happy. That was where Nathanial wanted to be, in the middle of that.

"Well I gave up," Jimmy went on, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "I did, I gave up on music, Nathanial, and honestly it felt like an abortion. I mean...guys can have abortions too, just not with babies."

A strange awkwardness occurred. Nathanial, probably for the first time in his life, had absolutely no response.

"Its sad..." Jimmy mourned, looking at the floor as he shook his head. "Its sad how I just gave up on myself...as though I'm already dead!" All of the sudden Jimmy laughed a little. "First we march through this world trying to pick up a worthy reason to and then we end up under dirt! Well, I for one have no answers."

"Listen, you realize that now right? That you're not dead? So you can just try again – buy a new guitar and write a new song," Nathanial wanted this odd meeting to end on a positive note and then he could just slip away.

"Boy, I like your gusto!" Jimmy said.

"Um, thanks."

"And that's why I had to find you, and thank you, because you did inspire me up there," he pointed with great passion towards the band room. "In this city?! Where no one gives a shit if you're shot right in front of them – you inspired me to do better. The city that never sleeps, huh? Am I the rabbit or the wolf?" Jimmy held his hands out, waiting for an answer.

"I..." Nathanial ran a hand through is greasy blue hair before fixing his hat back on his head. "I think there's a bit of rabbit and wolf in us all." He glanced back at the girls. "In any case I'm so glad I inspired you," Nathanial said. "Its not easy when you feel like the world's given up on you but that's when you have to come back and say hey, fuck you world!!!" Nathanial got his spirit back, pointing like the world was in front of him and he was cursing it out. "Fuck you cause I rock and you suck!!!"

Jimmy looked totally dismantled all of the sudden.

"I suck?" He sounded so defeated.

"No," Nathanial quickly retorted, trying not to laugh. He picked up on Jimmy's sensitivity right away. "I was saying the world sucked, like as if the world was in front of me – never mind, its stupid. You took it out of context or whatever. Listen, Jimmy, I'm so glad you came out and enjoyed the show. Thanks for the support." Nathanial wanted to dance. He'd never wanted to dance so bad in his life, but Jimmy spoke once again, giving a quick sidestep to block Nathanial from walking off.

"How do you do it?" Jimmy asked with great, breathless vigor. "It's just amazing – the songs sounded so great – you must work really – really hard, practice I m-mean."

"Yeah, we practice twice a week and it is hard..." Nathanial was doing his best to be nice.

"I know, I know. Its hard here no matter what you do. No one appreciates anything – it is never enough." Jimmy stared at Nathanial, waiting for him to respond. Nathanial looked around, hoping Jimmy wasn't alone and a friend would come looking for him.

"You are really...magnificent though, you glow, you have this light in you. Must people are dark. Most people's light has gone out or never burned at all."

"Listen, thank you," Nathanial responded with a proud smile that time. "You are really kind." He hoped this would be it. He really wanted to go dance. Almost three songs had played since he got up from the booth. Three! Jeremiah was probably getting laid right now, banging the hell out of that hot Sopranos dancer.

"Where are you from?" Jimmy asked, his interest in Nathanial had gone to new levels.

"Uh...Ohio."

"Oh, Ohio," Jimmy laughed. "If you say it backwards it almost sounds the same."

Nathanial gave an awkward nod.

"I get...things get so crazy here sometimes I can't rem-remember where I'm from," Jimmy stammered.

Nathanial laughed a little.

"Not all the time – some...sometimes I can't. I know where I'm from though. You know where I'm from?"

"Where?" Nathanial asked just because he felt he was supposed to.

"New York! Right here," Jimmy flashed a tight grin. "So maybe I want to forget, huh?" he reached out and gave Nathanial a playful punch in the chest. Maybe it was because it was so unexpected but it hurt a bit.

"Right, okay. Listen, I need to find my friends but thanks again. I appreciate your feedback."

"Hey, don't run off," Jimmy followed him. "I wanted to inquire about how to get a CD."

Nathanial was starting to wonder if Jimmy's enthusiasm was some kind of sarcastic joke.

"Okay, I have some at the booth." Nathanial pushed and shoved his way through the crowd until he got to the table, with Jimmy right behind him, so close he might as well have been the skin on Nathanial's back. He stared down at the name. This Is Probably A Bad Idea...But I'm Going To Do It Anyway.

"They're five bucks each," Nathanial said, his back to Jimmy.

"Oh I'd pay ten, twenty even," Jimmy hovered. "I especially liked that song where you mentioned formaldehyde."

"Yeah, okay." Nathanial turned around with his CD. Jimmy handed him a twenty and Nathanial turned to get his change. When he turned back around, Jimmy had vanished into the crowd.

6 "Let Him Go"

Late of the Pier's Space And The Woods was booming through the speakers as Nathanial finally found his spot between Marisa and Clair. Marisa slipped her hands over his shoulders, signifying she'd been waiting for him. She got very close to him. He stood with his back against her and faced Clair. Clair ran her hand along his cute face, down his warm neck, over his sharp adams apple. All of the sudden inhibitions were gone. Sometimes he made her feel like a vampire, she just wanted to dig in. The club was brimming with sinister energy and it seemed to crackle between the three of them. The booze and drugs had taken over everyone's systems and they were dancing stranger, and everyone's perception of those around them was different, and everyone would swear the song playing was booming from their own heart.

Marisa moved so Nathanial's cute little ass was against her crotch and she ran her hand under his shirt. Wow, he was so warm. Warm like a piece of candy left on a leather seat of a car in the summer. A hot-blooded, durable boy...

She turned him around, she couldn't wait any longer to kiss him. She grabbed him, felt him against her, and his tongue pushed against hers. They kissed long and hard, finally crushing all those long days of desperate fantasies with the real thing. Her hand slipped down to his belt buckle and she felt how hard he was, and big, impressively living up to two months of crazy fantasies.

"I want you," she breathed into his ear. She couldn't stand it, she'd never felt this longing before. Meanwhile Clair was trying to get some of his attention. Wow. He'd always fantasized about two girls at once but now that it was happening he could hardly keep up. And did he want to kiss his best friend?  
He turned around to face Clair. Her eyes were filled with need, expectations. His head spun with all sorts of thoughts. This redhead was ready to go and he didn't know her at all and could have so much fun with her, but Clair? Thankfully, Clair acted first, shimmying down his body and inhaling the smell of his crotch as his head fell back with Marisa's hand running through his hair. She'd put his Wilco hat on her. Normally he'd never let anyone wear it but right now he was too overrun with pleasure to give a damn. Clair's mouth and hands were touching his dick and Marisa's hands went down there too.

"Oh...shit..." Nathanial shut his eyes, getting lost in fingers...

"Hey," Marisa said to Clair when she came back up. "Let's take him somewhere," Marisa said. "Where we can have some real fun."

Don't pass out, Nathanial told himself, even though he'd never felt this level of euphoria in his life, not to mention he was pretty wasted.

They drunkenly pushed their way through the crowded club and made it into the bathroom where Marisa proved to be an aggressor. She pushed Nathanial against the wall and gave him a crazy kiss and pressed her hand against his flat stomach then up across his chest to his neck where she momentarily strangled him. Then she yanked his belt out of his jeans and handed it to Clair.

Marisa turned Nathanial to the side and looked at Clair.

"Wrap it around his neck," she instructed Clair, holding the belt out to her. Clair had never done anything like that before. The sex she had was mediocre at best.

"Do it, Clair," Nathanial begged. Clair, somewhat amiss, took the belt as Marisa took his shirt off. The smell coming off Nathanial's unwashed body was pretty crazy, but it didn't seem to bother Marisa and Clair actually expected worse.

Clair stood behind him, feeling like this was amateur S&M hour. How tight should she make the belt? She placed it around his neck and pulled on the worn leather ends as Marisa went down on him. Clair stared in astonishment as Marisa tried to get his huge cock in her mouth. So that's what you've been missing, that's what he won't fuck you with because you two are just friends, Clair surmised. For the next few seconds all Clair could do was obsess over the face Nathanial was making. He would squint as if in pain and then his eyes would open and flood with pleasure. His head fell back, and the process started all over again. Clair pulled tighter on the belt and he made a louder sigh, then it turned into a long moan and Marisa took him out of her mouth.

"Stop," she told Clair. "Let him go."

Clair removed the belt and Nathanial slid down against the wall and Marisa mounted him. His dick was as hard as it was going to get. In fact he looked very close to coming and she wanted him inside her before that happened. Marisa was the kind of girl who always had an agenda, Clair would come to realize, even when it seemed like she didn't.

He slid up inside her and she felt like her entire body was going to split in half. She kissed him hard until she had to stop and just breathe. Her face reddened and she pressed her warm cheek against his neck as she rode him. Clair watched, amazed at what she was seeing. The smell of sex painted the walls.

"Oh my god..." Marisa sighed, her head falling back. "Oh...JESUS!" Marisa's hand shot out and slapped the wall. It was almost too much...he was too much, but she kept going.

Clair meanwhile tried to find her role in all of this. She knelt behind Marisa and felt her softness – her supple breasts, her amazingly tender thighs. She'd never touched a girl other than herself until now. It was a very pleasant experience – soft, delicate...

She ran her hand over Marisa's bottom. Marisa moaned but who knew what it was in response to. The boy? The Girl? Both? Just for a second Clair touched Marisa's pussy, she felt Nathanial too. The experience racked her brain. The fact that Clair was touching Marisa excited Nathanial and he was about to reach climax. The feel of Marisa around him was insane and he tried to go on so she could come first. When Marisa got really loud Clair put her hand over Marisa's mouth.

"Oh shit!" Nathanial said, trying to hold on. He couldn't believe this was happening. This road trip was going to be fucking fantastic.

Marisa had an orgasm and fell off Nathanial just in time before he sprayed like a fountain. No more than three seconds later did the door open and happy, drunken hipsters stumbled in. They gawked at the scene of Nathanial sticky and naked and girls on their knees around his feet.

7 "You Mind If I Ride With You Guys?"

Clair was the first to exit the bathroom, feeling a bit overwhelmed by what just occurred. That was certainly eventful, what the hell was going to happen on the road if that just happened in a public restroom?

Meanwhile Nathanial was in the best mood over. He jumped out of the club and onto the sidewalk and basically attacked Jeremiah with a brotherly hug.

"Oh shit dude!" Nathanial said, "Where'd you go? Did you find that girl?"

"Nah, got some fucking amazing weed for the trip though."

"Yeah? SHIT! So rad." Nathanial was experiencing a second wind. Jeremiah though was a bit bummed he didn't get lucky and just wanted to get some sleep before the big day tomorrow.

"Yo, you hyped up again, huh?" he said to Nathanial, kind of weary.

"Just happy," he said. Marisa leaned in and kissed Nathanial on the cheek.

"Oh man, you remember that guy, that like talent...modeling agent guy that stopped us on the street the other day?" Jeremiah said.

"Uh..." Nathanial tried to think, but he couldn't think passed what just occurred in the bathroom. Why the heck would he want to?

"Anyway he came to the show man," Jeremiah said. "Fucking came right up to me and said I was great and gave me his card again."

"Yo, that's fucked up," Nathanial giggled. "He wants your ass."

"Yeah, kinda freaky," Jeremiah said. "Let's get out of here. It would be nice to be home before I have to get up."

"Fuck it, man, because tomorrow none of this will matter." Nathanial threw his arm around Jeremiah and they walked ahead of the girls. Clair tried to think of something to say until Marisa started laughing.

She passed Clair a nervous look. "See...I told you I wasn't wearing any underwear."

"Uh yeah," Clair looked away, a goofy grin on her face. She had no idea what to say.

"Look, I don't have to go on this trip." Marisa wasn't so sure it was a good idea. What was a good idea anymore?

"No, its cool. You're kind of part of the group now." They were quiet for a minute before they both busted out in laughter. The rain was starting to fall again. Only a few second passed before it turned into heavy sheets.

"Oh shit, I left my umbrella," Marisa said, looking back at the club.

"Well we can either spend more time in the rain going back for it or run to the car service place and wait under shelter," Clair said. They glanced at one another and decided simultaneously...

"RUN FOR SHELTER!" They held each other's hand and ran as fast as they could towards Bedford Avenue. Clair had no idea how Marisa could run in those shoes but they almost beat the boys to the steps that led down to the Northside Car Service where they waited for their car to show up.

"Five mentos," Nathanial said. Marisa stared out at the rain, hoping it would slack off soon.

"I can't believe I left my umbrella at the club," Marisa complained. Nathanial swatted Jeremiah on the arm.

"Yo, give me your vest."

Jeremiah's eyes widened. "What?"

"Your vest, dude, so she can cover herself up 'til the cab comes."

"You crazy? This is a hundred dollar vest," Jeremiah tugged on it. It was leather and encrusted with jewels and patches of his favorite bands. It was a very impressive vest and Clair didn't blame him for not wanting to give it up.

"Its getting wet anyway, jackass." Nathanial stared at Jeremiah for a minute and Jeremiah knew what was next. Nathanial playfully attacked him and Jeremiah was too tired for this type of horseplay.

"Okay, okay..." Jeremiah took the vest off and handed it to him. "Jerk..." he mumbled.

"Hey." A voice that was somewhat familiar to Nathanial snuck up on him. He looked up and saw Jimmy standing there at the top of the stairs. That goofy bad hair sticking up a bit. He gave a shy wave. Where'd he come from? It was just like before, he just suddenly appeared.

"Oh hey..." Nathanial was completely caught off guard.

"Are you guys getting a car?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah, we're going back to Bushwick," Nathanial replied.

"You mind if I ride with you guys?" Jimmy asked.

Clair and Marisa exchanged concerned looks.

"Um, no, I guess not." Nathanial just wanted to go home at this point and get out of the rain. He knew everyone else felt the same. Jimmy however didn't even seem to notice the rain – all he noticed was Nathanial.

"We can split the cost," Jimmy was quick to say. "It'll be cheaper."

"Not that much cheaper," Marisa mumbled. Jimmy kept his eyes on Nathanial as the car pulled along to the curb.

"Whatever, man, its cool," Nathanial decided.

They piled into the backseat, with Clair squished against the door, Marisa next to her, Nathanial beside Marisa and Jimmy next to Nathanial. Jeremiah took the front seat. As the night went on, he was getting grumpier and almost didn't care to know anyone he knew. Meanwhile the physical closeness between Nathanial and Jimmy was a bit much for total strangers.

Marisa had Jeremiah's soaking wet vest in her lap and it had a poignant odor to it. Did these boys ever bathe?

"I'll take that," Nathanial said, sweetly. He was acting like a boyfriend. He took the drenched vest away and noticed how wet her white t-shirt was and was starting to excited all over again.

"Thanks," Marisa gazed at him while Jimmy studied him the way someone might stare at a one-of-a-kind painting before deciding to buy it.

"So when's your next show?" Jimmy asked.

"Oh I don't know, going to L.A. tomorrow," Nathanial informed. "Well..." he broke out into an adorable smile, the kind that made every one fall in love with him. "We leave tomorrow, we won't be there until like...shit...six days." He pulled on his hat like he always did when he got overzealous. Jimmy suddenly looked down at Nathanial's hand. Nathanial had pale, thick fingers and his fingernails were nearly chewed off. They smelled like pussy. When a traffic light hit, Jimmy saw a tattoo of a mermaid eating a fish on Nathanial's right wrist. He'd gotten the tattoo shortly after he met Jeremiah in a hostel. He thought it would be cool if they both had mermaid tattoos.

"I'd like to go back to Wisconsin," Jimmy said, melancholy, still gazing at Nathanial's hand.

"Oh yeah?" Nathanial was getting sleepy now.

"Yes, my sister lives there – she has a great big...big farmhouse. I went there once b-but she hasn't invited me back but sometimes I'm like I should just go and surprise her, you know? Life is but a minute long really. We need to remember that, and make it the best minute possible."

Marisa caught Clair's eye again and mouthed the word "What?"

"Do you get along?" Nathanial asked, cutely curious. "With your sis?"

"Oh yes," Jimmy said, looking away and out of the window. "I'd love to go on a road trip – that's quite bantam of you."

"Bantam?" Nathanial stared at Jimmy, amused by the word. "What's bantam?"

"It means spirited, it also means aggressive cock – cock as in bird."

Clair gave Jimmy a crazy look before staring at Marisa again. The two tried hard not to laugh.

"Bantam...sounds like what you'd call Batman's booty," Nathanial said, and then everyone did laugh, even the cab driver.

"I have an idea!" Jimmy slapped his knees with his hands gloriously and leaned forward to bug the cab driver.

"Hey man, could you play this CD?" Jimmy held the CD out and looked at Nathanial.

"Which track is the Formaldehyde song?" he asked Nathanial.

"Four," Nathanial said, his voice scratchy from singing. It turned Marisa on a great deal. She found his hand in the dark car. Nathanial slowly leaned into her until his head was resting on her shoulder. The pit of Marisa's belly warmed with happiness and she squeezed his hand tighter. The night became dark secrets and speeding blurs of light...

Jimmy was humming along to the song.

"I could totally imagine this on the radio – getting played all the time," Jimmy said. Nathanial nodded. Jimmy's enthusiasm – whether sincere or sarcastic – was starting to get tiring.

"So had you heard of the band before tonight?" Clair asked, sounding quite cavalier. She was sick with jealousy at the fact that Marisa and Nathanial were holding hands. She wanted sweetness like that in her life – with him. She would give anything, literally anything, to have Nathanial's head on her shoulder, to have him shield her from the rain, but she supposed people didn't treat their friends that way – just pretty strangers in six-inch heels.

"No, honestly, no," Jimmy answered. "I was just looking for a good time – a good time to make me forget about the bad ones. That is really, really hard to do because I've had a lot of bad ones, but this young man managed to do that."

"You're so weird," Clair muttered.

"Clair," Nathanial was surprised. "Don't be rude – this band needs all the fans it can get."

"Thank you," Jimmy said. "I appreciate that. I get pick-picked on a lot."

This saddened Nathanial a great deal. He noticed how Jimmy's stutter occurred when he was nervous.

"I used to get picked on too," Nathanial decided to share. "I have ADD. My dad made fun of me for it. He always said I was a disappointment – and then the kids at school were jackasses...its terrible when people make fun of other people, when people are just mean for no reason. I'm sorry you have gone through that, Jimmy."

Marisa looked like she was asleep but she was listening. Oh, how she adored Nathanial.

"See!" Jimmy brightened up. "I knew there was something about you I related to, I could tell." It was just like how Nathanial related to Josh, Nathanial realized. A traffic light stroked the cab and he saw his hand there wrapped up in Marisa's. Well so there were perfect endings to some days...

"We're here," the driver announced, abruptly cutting off Nathanial's singing when he ejected the CD.

Bushwick was dark and sinister at 4 am.

"Thanks for playing that for me, how much do we owe you?" Jimmy asked.

"Fifteen."

Everyone sleepily scrounged for money while Jimmy handed him a twenty.

"Thank you – have a great night, keep the change." Jimmy got out before anyone else and stood aside, only looking at Nathanial.

"Hey man," Nathanial walked over to give him some money but Jimmy quickly waved it away.

"No, no, its fine. Keep it for your trip." Jimmy produced a bright smile. "I want you to have the best time because tonight I had the best time because of you." When Jimmy tried enough, he could talk just fine, he didn't stutter. This made him proud in the same way an athlete was proud when they scored another medal.

"Besides," Jimmy looked around for a moment and shrugged. "My lovelife and social life may be shit for flies but financially – that I'm doing well in, so I like to help people out. Good night."

With that, Jimmy started to walk off. That was it? Nathanial was amazed. Jimmy was a nice guy. Maybe a little kooky, but harmless. Nathanial kept watching him as this realization grew. Then he thought about how back in the day when he was down on his luck he met Jeremiah and having a friend made all the difference.

Nathanial ran after Jimmy.

"Hey man?" Nathanial called out right before Jimmy turned the corner. "Listen, we're freakin' going to L.A., which means we'll pass right through Wisconsin. Why don't you come with us?"

Jimmy's eyes filled with fresh light. "Really?"

"Why not?" he turned and gestured at his friends. "We're set, I mean if you wanna just get out of this city for a while – I totally understand. You should just come with us." Nathanial gave Jimmy a slap on the arm. He touched him. Jimmy couldn't believe it.

"Well, okay, sure," Jimmy smiled.

"Cool, meet us at Dark Coffee tomorrow at nine am," Nathanial said, walking backwards back to his friends. "See you," he waved.

Jimmy nodded, pretty shocked by the invite.

"What was that?" Clair asked. "Seriously, tell me you didn't just invite him along!"

"I didn't just invite him along," Nathanial smirked, heading towards the end of the street. "Oh and by the way, I just invited him along."

"Nathanial – what?" Clair snapped, trying to keep up with him. "We don't know him."

"Hey," Marisa kindly interrupted, wanting to hug Nathanial before she parted.

"Gonna head home," she said.

"Oh, okay..." Nathanial sounded a bit aloof. He hugged her nice and tight and looked at Jeremiah when the hug ended. "He'll walk you home," Nathanial appointed Jeremiah. "Make sure she gets home safe, okay?"

"Yeah," Jeremiah would, but he was too grumpy to say anything else. Nathanial turned around to see Clair had already walked off.

8 "So How About Last Night?"

"I don't know," Clair said. It was very early in the morning and her head ached and if she moved too fast, she felt nauseous.

"Well you should check," Nathanial said, nagging her about the packing list. Make sure you have the mix tape and wine.

"I am...give me a minute." They sounded like a couple having an argument. They'd skipped all the fun stuff – romantic dinners, crazy sex, and jumped to the snippy stage. Fun. She tried to calm down, but her head continued to throb. Nathanial looked paler than ever. His body odor carried an even heavier funk today.

` "Oh my god, Nathanial, if you don't take a shower I swear to God..." She got a little nauseous when she became upset. Maybe she should just make herself throw up. The sun shined bright and it was destined to be a hot day, with temperatures already in the mid-80s at 8:30 am. She'd been planning this morning for a while, and feeling terrible certainly had never been part of the plan. Her body wanted to turn itself back over to bed but she wouldn't allow it. She just needed to go over the packing list and get a strong iced latte and she'd be fine.

"Bug spray?" Nathanial asked, still focused on the list, scratching his greasy hair and ignoring her request to shower.

"You need it for your hair?" she joked. He smiled but said nothing as he trudged into the kitchen. He started looking through the cupboards.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Looking for bug spray," Nathanial answered.

"In the kitchen cabinets??"

He looked back at her and shrugged, "The kitchen has bugs."

"Nathanial, you are gross," Clair said, looking over her packing list one more time. Nathanial flaunted a smile like he'd just been paid a compliment.

"So how about last night?" He was actually gloating. He came strutting over to her.

"Oh my god you think you're such a stud now huh? A stud that smells like death."

He stood next to her, towering over her, snickering. She pushed him away but couldn't help but laugh.

"NATHANIAL, GO! SHOWER! Seriously, you smell like horse dick."

Nathanial fell over laughing. The fit lasted almost five minutes. He was rolling on the floor like a kid. He was so amazingly obnoxious. His face got red and his stomach muscles hurt from it.

"Clair..." he said, still in a cackle, sitting on the floor with his hands out behind him. "That was so funny. Oh my god...oh my god," he gasped. "Horse dick." Then he looked very troubled all of the sudden. "Do I really smell that bad?"

"Nathanial, when was the last time you showered? Honestly."

He stood there, thinking.

"When did John Lennon die?"

"AHHH! GO!" she pushed him again, enjoying the physical contact, but her head was not. Nathanial actually turned and headed into the bathroom. Was he actually...? No, she couldn't believe it. She listened as the water turned on. She listened so hard she knew when the water flow was disrupted by his body. He was under the water now – it was beating off of his naked body. Oh god Clair, get a hold of yourself! But all she could do was think about last night, his body, his smooth skin, his warmth, the freckles on his chest, the honest smell of sex wafting off of him. She giggled. Okay, really? You need to go over the packing list – its 8:30!

She pulled it out and started going over it with a pen. Nathanial came out a few minutes later. She turned and stared at his clean, glistening skin. Water dripped from his hair to his shoulders. He was wearing a raggedy blue towel around his waist. He had that dirty Wilco hat back on already. That and his towel was his current ensemble. Clair kind of wanted to take a picture. She remembered the day they were scouting through stuff at a thrift store and he found that hat. You'd think he found gold from the way he reacted. Wilco was his third favorite band, right after The Dead Joneses and Sex Pistols.

"I'm's totally clean as a whistle but fill free to check me if you's want to," he said, playing around, taking on a southern accent midway through. How could he be so happy on just three hours of sleep?

"You are a silly boy, but at least you are a clean silly boy," Clair smiled. He bit his bottom lip but it didn't cap the goofy grin expanding across his face.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing at the packing list.

"Nothing," Clair said. "We should get go..." Nathanial snatched the list out of her hand and started reading it aloud.

"Bug spray, bathing suit, flip flops, David Bowie t..." he paused to look at her. "Like really? Like you'd forget that, Clair? Can you forget the skin on your back?" He went back to reading the list. "Espresso beans, notebook, mix cd, tampons!" he cackled. "Oh Clair," he played, looking into her duffle bag. "Did you remember your tampons?" He started rummaging through her things.

"Stop it!" she playfully punched him and he grabbed her and turned her around to face the duffel bag, keeping his strong arm around her neck. The aggression was turning her on. He put his hat on her head. It was wet, and smelled of shampoo. It felt good. It felt indestructible. She wanted to kiss him. She thought if she had a few more minutes in a better world they'd kiss and she would be all he needed.

"Let's go, Tampons," he said, taking his hat back before picking up her duffel bag and carrying it along with his to the door.

"You're so romantic, Nathanial," Clair joked. "I think that's really why I like you."

9 "This Guy Is Weird"

It was very humid as they made their way down the final block to Dark Coffee. They were a little late and Clair hoped Jimmy would give up and leave. A part of her hoped the same about Marisa.

"I still can't believe you invited that weird guy," she brought up. She couldn't help it.

"Clair, it's going to be a super great day – it has the chance of being one anyway – let's not start it off with a tiff." He looked back at her because she was still dragging a bit. Then he said, lastly, "I took a shower for you and everything."

He walked up the steps and entered the crowded café, overjoyed that he wasn't here to work but instead, here to meet his friends for a two-week adventure. He'd made this his goal since March and it was actually finally happening. He stuck to it and that felt great.

Nathanial was taller than anyone else in the café and his rugged cowboy boots making loud thuds against the hardwood floor attracted even more attention. He got behind Jeremiah and playfully wrapped his arm around Jeremiah's neck and kissed him on the cheek. That was Nathanial's usual greeting.

"Yo, budddd-dyyyy," Nathanial said, smiling. Jeremiah laughed.

"Yo." They hugged and gave each other brotherly pats on the back. "I didn't know you were here – I didn't smell you."

"This little munchkin made me take a shower," Nathanial pointed to Clair, taking the straw out of his mouth he'd been chewing on.

"She got you to take a shower?" Jeremiah said, impressed. "Then she should run for President."

"Where's the sassy little redhead?" Nathanial jumped to the next thing on his mind.

"She's not here yet," Jeremiah confirmed.

"When did you get here?" Nathanial asked him, looking around. He spotted Jimmy coming over to them from a table he'd been sitting at alone. Dread filled Clair's tummy.

"I was on time," Jeremiah stated.

"Hey guys," Jimmy said. He sounded like a shy teenager.

"Oh hey, Jimmy," Nathanial said. "How's it going?"

"Good." Jimmy looked at Clair, who avoided looking back at him at all costs. She stared at the floor so hard it took on a different pattern.

"Maybe Marisa changed her mind," Clair said. "She was pretty drunk last night."

Nathanial didn't want to accept that. He really wanted her to go.

"Let's get some coffee and give her a few more minutes," Jeremiah said.

"So fuckin stoked man," Nathanial said.

"Yeah, Mr. Clean? Oh hey, check it, I grabbed a new Drunk On Hope." Drunk On Hope was a daily local paper on the music scene in Williamsburg, named after a street called Hope. "They reviewed our show last night."

"Serious?" Nathanial stared at him, a bit nervous and a bit excited.

"What's it say?" Nathanial asked.

Jeremiah seemed a bit hesitant. "Well overall I think its good..."

"Give me that shit," Nathanial yanked the paper out of Jeremiah's hand. He flipped through to the live show reviews as they went over to a table. He read it aloud for everyone to hear.

"Last night New York band The Wrist Burns played at Galapagos. While I want so badly not to like this band based on the singer's silly '90s appearance (blue hair and Wilco hat – really?) I must admit that the band has a type of charm. His charisma last night was solid, though the Joy Division-inspired songs thing is getting a bit old. And yes "need" and "bleed" rhymes and its cool and dark and everything, but his song writing could use some help. Best moment of the night – the hard knocks life of living in New York song The City That Never Sleeps. The song bled pure, raw emotion into the stale hipster crowd of Galapagos."

"Nathanial," Clair sounded amazed. "That's actually a good review. That paper always trashes everyone."

"Clair?" Nathanial held the paper up like he was going to swat her with it. "The douche insulted my songwriting!"

Okay, he really was upset. That all changed though when he looked up and saw Marisa walk in. If people had a song that played for them when they made an entrance like this, hers would be something like Beautiful Girls by Van Halen or You Sexy Thing by Hot Chocolate.

Clair sensed something had changed in the room – a tidal wave of estrogen or something. She turned and stared at Marisa's white-as-porcelain skin complimented by that crazy red hair. She was wearing tiny white shorts and six-inch red platform shoes. She also sported a vintage Kansas tour t-shirt under a very feminine white blouse with pink lilies on it. This was it, she was going, Clair realized. It changed the whole dynamic of the trip.

Nathanial immediately went over to her, tossed the copy of Drunk On Hope into the trash and leaned against the counter and gave Marisa his brightest, most flirtatious smile.

"You made it," Nathanial said, smiling as he stood up to hug her.

"Yeah, thanks for waiting." She placed her red vintage suitcase, which perfectly matched her red shoes, on the floor before giving Nathanial a big hug. She felt amazing. He couldn't wait to be out there with her, at a campsite somewhere by the lake with a bottle of wine.

"You get enough sleep?" he asked as they went over to join everyone else.

"No but I'll be okay." She smiled at everyone. "I didn't have any of you guys's phone numbers so I couldn't text you," she said, apologetic.

"Oh man, I should have given you mine," Nathanial rubbed the back of his neck. He was so nervous around her. "Was so drunk last night...I'm glad you came." He put his arm around her again and turned her away from the group and walked her towards the counter. He lowered his voice when he spoke. "I have something special planned for you on this trip."

"Really?" Marisa couldn't believe it. This was actually happening.

"Yeah. Its gonna be rad. Let me get you coffee," he offered sweetly. His voice was still hoarse from the show. Clair stared at him, unable to hide the envy she was feeling from her face.

"So are they like boyfriend and girlfriend now?" Jeremiah asked. Clair just shrugged.

"Damn, yo," Jeremiah picked up his hat and put it on his head. "I don't want no drama on this trip." He watched as Jimmy got up to use the bathroom.

"Yeah," Clair agreed. "I mean it started out as just the three of us – now its five?"

"Whatever, Nathanial gets way too excited sometimes and doesn't think straight. We dump this guy off in Wisconsin and then hopefully everything will be cool. Let's just focus on the destination, Clair." Jeremiah stood up, finished his coffee and headed over to the trashcan with it. On their way out he put a supportive hand on Clair's shoulder.

"Just try and remember this is supposed to be fun," he told her.

"I'm trying," Clair muttered. She waved a goodbye to her fellow coworkers but couldn't shake the feeling that she might never see them again...and not for good reasons.

10 "Are You Serious?"

Josh felt tired. He usually felt hung over after a show but he never felt like this – tired all over. Tiredness in his bones. He was only twenty-seven, he shouldn't feel so weary yet. Then again, he lived life in the fast lane, doing more things in one night than the average person did in a lifetime – pouring bars of booze down his throat, screaming his lungs out, having sex with...oh, he didn't want to think about that. Too early.

He pulled himself out of bed and went downstairs. He loved the first floor of his house – how sunlight poured in from every direction. He kept it spacious – not too much furniture or too much of anything. He preferred space to clutter. He kept all of his guitars and treasured gifts from fans locked up in a room upstairs next to his bedroom. It was like a giant suitcase of his most prized possessions. If he should ever wake to a burning house, he'd grab as much as he could from that room and haul ass.

The crew had crashed here once again – Stokey on the couch, Birth in a lawn chair out by the pool, and Lyle...who knew where Lyle slept? Josh just knew he was here because Lyle had an endless crush on Josh and was always around. Josh was just grateful they were all still asleep. He very much appreciated the silence of morning as it was the only quiet time he ever got. He tried to get up extra early just to claim a little more.

He took out two soft white pieces of bread and dropped them on the cutting board. A nice breakfast would make it better, some OJ, lounging by the pool, then slowly he could readapt to this havoc of a rock star life. This was what you wanted, remember?

The fog began to lift from his brain, thanks to the Lavazza he was sipping. He popped an Aleve on his tongue. He supposed it was his fault his band crashed here all the time. He did have the best house of them all. It used to belong to rocker Glen Danzig, and before that Lucille Ball. Josh liked the fact that two people so amazingly different fell in love with the same house. It was in Cheviot Hills, a very quiet neighborhood conveniently close enough to everything – L.A.'s bustling nightlife, Fox Studios, Sony Studios – but also far enough away to have some privacy.

The house itself was simply precious. He loved its brick hardscape, water wheel in the front yard, gourmet kitchen and swimming pool (those were the things that sold him), and then there was the other stuff like the three bedrooms and two bathrooms and the immaculate sunroom. Oh, and the gazebo and tennis courts (yes the rock star played tennis). So yeah, he definitely had the best house. Josh supposed he shouldn't mind if the guys slept over – what did he need with three bedrooms? Still it was hilarious how they never even used them. Hardly anyone ever even ventured upstairs.

The kitchen was so airy and bright with natural light that poured in through the patio doors. He also had a full view of the awesome pool right from where he made his morning coffee. The kitchen was by far his favorite room of the house. There was also a separate little house a few yards away from the pool. It was teeny-tiny, but Josh loved it. Every so often, one of the guys used it to bang a groupie. It kind of grossed Josh out and he'd been meaning to fumigate the place. Oh well, he thought as he screwed the cap back on the asprin bottle. These were not bad problems...

He looked around the house. It seemed so normal and perfect. It was the kind of house one could raise a family in, or just gain some peace of mind. It was almost laughable that it belonged to a rock star, or, well, band, apparently. Fuck it, right now all he cared about was this morning's martini, which he'd personally named "Hair Of The Dog." It was basically a pina colada smoothie. Before Josh Devin was a rock star, he was a bartender. It had been a long hard road – the sexual abuse he suffered at the hands of a babysitter when he was nine, the fights he had with his mom when he became a teenager and blamed her for it, moving out at sixteen, living on the streets, swearing he'd never go back, getting a job, crashing with friends, paying friends back and getting his own apartment, finally seeing the wow-you-ARE-really-talented look in their eyes when he played his first gig at The Whiskey. All doubts were erased. Then suddenly he was on the cover of Rolling Stone and his mom was trying to get in touch with him, wanting money. Other family tried to get in touch with him too. "Josh! Josh, how you been man, Wow! Can't believe you made it!" He shut them all out just like they shut him out before he became famous. And now here you were in front of a thousand dollar EZ blender. He snickered for a minute as he gathered cold fresh pieces of fruit on the cutting board. He dumped it all along with some ice into the blender and pushed the button. The noise caused a vintage issue of Playboy to fly up from the couch. It must have been resting on Stokey's chest.

Stokey muttered something that came out in a word-jumble. "Where...mah..." He looked around the house, confused. Josh couldn't

help but mock him because he sounded like a baby.

"Bah wah, gah-gah-goo-goo?" Josh snarled as he lifted his morning cocktail to his lips, his black eyes wide and alert, his jet-black hair wet from a morning shower. Stokey wondered how someone who drank and screamed all the time could look so fresh-faced.

Stokey's hair had taken a turn for the worse. It was worse than Mickey Rourke's hair in The Wrestler. Stokey was the oldest member of the band at thirty-six, and had more than earned his right to sleep passed noon. He drummed for many bands around New York in his younger twenties, flying on the coattails of the '90s grunge era, before moving to L.A. where he kept playing and working odd jobs until he finally ran into Josh, who had what it took to make his band famous. There was something raw about him, and Stokey knew that even when it was rough in the beginning, their hard work was going to pay off. Birth was twenty-four, and seemed to be just as carefree before the band got famous as he was now. Lyle was twenty-one and cared more about what Josh was wearing than how much money the band was making. Josh was twenty-seven and...taking it day by day at this point. A part of him was very grounded, his Gemini twin, he supposed. His own better half. The other half was supposed to be unpredictable, dangerous, keep this thing exciting...

"Sorry, but when you crash on someone's couch, eventually you will be woken up by the sound of daily life," Josh reminded.

"Daily life..." Stokey muttered the words like he didn't know their meaning.

"What fucking time is it?" he asked, slowly detaching himself from the sofa, peeling off a magazine page stuck to his arm.

"One," Josh said.

"One? Its only one in the afternoon?" Stokey got up and trudged over towards the stairs. "Going back to bed – wake me up by six."

Josh smirked, shook his head and took two Hair Of The Dogs out to the pool. He looked at Birth who was lying in a lawn chair so still he might be sleeping. Then he moved that head of shaggy blonde hair around.

"Are you serious?" Birth laughed that gentle sexy laugh of his when he saw the cocktails. "No coffee? You're just goin for it, huh?"

"No, there's coffee," Josh said, relaxed. Birth had that effect on him. Josh watched as Birth looked over his shoulder at the kitchen, as if going for the coffee would be like climbing Mount Everest.

"Would you like me to go get you some coffee?" Josh asked, part bothered and part amused.

"Nah, its okay, I don't want to be fully awake yet, man." Birth stretched his arms and reached for the drink, taking a sip. "Holy shit!" he said.

"You like?" Josh asked.

"Uh, yeah." He continued to flaunt a silly grin as he placed the coffee back down on the plastic table next to him. "I dunno Josh, I think you make a better bartender than a singer."

Josh threw a towel at him. "Fuck off," he laughed. After a minute of trying to fight it off, Josh's eyes traveled up and down Birth's body, which was only covered with a tiny little towel around his waist.

"What happened to your clothes?" Josh laughed. Birth looked down at his own amazing slender body. Birth was perfect, the perfect pretty boy. With his blonde shag, cute little nose and big blue eyes he could be an Abercrombie model, but when they performed, his somewhat pristine appearance took on a punk look. He was the main reason so many girls flocked to their gigs. Josh attracted the dangerous, rebellious teenagers who dreamt of one day being just like him. Stokey? Well, it was the usual drummer thing with him. He never got the recognition he deserved. And then there was Lyle, their fragile, beautiful guitar player who confused girls who found him attractive because he came off as feminine, and guys didn't know what to think of him either. Here he was in a punk band with a singer who cut himself open on stage almost every night – physically or emotionally or both – and lurched about like a monster, and yet Lyle was this fragile thing, like a dandelion caught in Santa Ana wind. Josh was the wind...why did he like Josh?

Josh liked Birth.

"I don't know, man," Birth responded to Josh's inquiry about his clothes, mildly amused. He always seemed mildly amused by something, like someone was always whispering a funny joke in his ear. Josh loved that about him – Birth's constant rascally mood. Birth had perfect teeth. Just when one thought Birth couldn't be sexier, he smiled and all competition was erased. He had a gorgeous smile of pearly whites. L.A. was full of pretty boys – tanned, fit surfer dudes, pretty rocker boys, and of course the models/actors/whatever else they did for money. Yet Birth seemed to be ahead of them all – and he didn't so much as try.

"Maybe in the other little house," Birth said, his arm lazily dropping to point out that house he used to fuck in, the little fuck shack. That was the thing, Birth was straight – this was the other thing Josh struggled with on a daily basis.

"Hey, man," Birth said, sounding as though he was slowly coming alive from last night's drinking binge. "I gotta say...I found Stokey's hemorrhoid meds next to my toothbrush this morning, and that was disgustooooh." Birth laughed at himself. "He stays here too much, man, you should say something."

Josh stared at Birth in surprise, thinking he was joking because Stokey stayed here no more or no less than Birth or Lyle.

"Oh, and the fuck lamp is missing," Birth added, sounding quite distressed. The fuck lamp was this absurd thing they'd bought when they did a show in Vegas. It looked like a lava lamp and had a dildo stored inside it.

"Well, that's the kind of thing you don't want back if someone took it, I'm guessing."

"I know that," Birth said, rather cocky. "I just remember when we got it – things were different then – like, exciting. We were just startin out, you know?"

"Yeah."

They're still exciting...right? Josh looked at Birth. Was Birth burned out already? Was he going to go off and do some kind of crappy solo album? Was he going to get all douchy and John Mayor-ish on them?

Birth stood up and the towel simply fell from his jutted hips to the warm cement. He stood there as Josh stared at him, at his dick. What was astounding was how Birth didn't seem to care. What was going on here? Their eyes met before Josh looked back down at Birth's amazing cock. There it was, a copious slab of meat in the sunshine. Birth did not seem to mind Josh's gawking. He watched as Birth turned jumped into the pool, making an impressive splash.

A crush was a dangerous thing. If Josh acted on it, he knew it could ruin a lot of things, maybe even the band, the way that splash just ruined the stillness of the water. But what if...

11 "Everyone Starts Off As Strangers"

"Does anyone know why Josh Devin is so insane?" Nathanial started a conversation as they drove on. They'd been on the road for hours and were making good time. The sun was falling down in the sky, and they were just starting to make progress.

"No, Nathanial, why don't you educate us?" Clair said. She meant to sound funny but she sounded snide. Nathanial continued anyway.

"He was molested by a babysitter and a Lionel Richie song was playing when it happened, so anytime he hears that song, Hello by Lionel Richie, he freaking goes nuts. He has like fucking crazy fits." Everyone was quiet. "That was why earlier when you wanted to play your mix CD or whatever, I said I was in the mood for The Cure. Like...you will always relate a song to a certain memory, like if that song was playing when it happened or...you know what I mean?"

"Okay...I don't understand, you want me to molest you to The Cure?" Clair played.

Nathanial looked at Clair and laughed. "You're such a cunt."

A moment of silence passed.

"No, I get it, I mean...that's terrible about Josh." Clair agreed.

"So anyway, now can we play my mix tape?"

"Uh..." Nathanial teased. "Yeah sure." She dug it out and passed it to him.

"I freaking worked very hard on this," Clair informed, a bit defensive. "I put songs on there I knew everyone would like – well everyone I already knew."

"Clair, Jimmy has proven he has good taste in music, right, Jimmy?"

"I sure have, Nathanial, thank you." Jimmy was being audaciously polite. "I mean if it were up to me we'd listen to The Wrist Burns all the time."

Nathanial was very flattered. It was obvious in the way he laughed approvingly.

"Oh god, seriously?" Clair griped. "I mean I think they're great but I live with the guy, I hear it all the time. When he practices, when he plays the songs back on youtube. I hear it all the time – its like the air, its always around."

"Clair?" Nathanial said as he popped in the tape. "Are you sure you brought those tampons? Sounds like you'll be needing them soon."

"Hey!" Marisa said. "Everyone just chill out. Man, are we even in New Hampshire yet? And we're fighting like this?"

"Yeah dude," Jeremiah said. "Oh, by the way I did bring that pot."

"We need to figure this driving thing out," Nathanial stated. "Take turns – so I can get stoned."

"Yeah, I was thinking we could just stop somewhere and get some food – refuel. Make sure we have everything. Talk, bond, be happy," Jeremiah suggested. "Remember that this is supposed to be a good time."

"Yeah...sounds cool," Nathanial said. Loretta Young Silks by Sneaker Pimps came on Clair's mix CD, prompting Nathanial to pick on her.

"Where do you find this stuff? What the fuck is this?" he said.

"My ex-roommate, she was a lot older than me, was always into grunge bands. She was in a band back in the 90s called Pouty Soldier. You like Wilco," she added. "They're a 90s band."

"Not entirely," he said, his voice still hoarse.

"That's cool, I like that, Pouty Soldier," Marisa said.

"Okay, we need to set some rules," Nathanial said. "From now on, after Clair gets to torture us with her music, only the driver gets to pick the music, that will kind of make it fair since the driver has to be sober – give him some kind of therapy."

"Sounds fair," Jeremiah nodded.

"I think Jeremiah's already stoned, so he won't be driving next," Clair said.

"Jeremiah is always stoned. Fuck, Marisa do you even have your license?" Nathanial thought to ask.

"No..." Marisa atoned.

"Well Clair has hers," Nathanial said, at least.

"Why do I have the feeling that I'm going to get stuck being the responsible one here? There's no way I'm driving the whole time," Clair stated.

"Chill," Nathanial said. "No one said you had to drive the whole time. Besides no one wants that because of the rule – you'd be playing your weird ass music the whole time."

"I'll drive," Jimmy volunteered, reminding everyone that he was still in the car.

"That's okay," Clair shot the idea down.

"What?" Nathanial was being very combative now. "If he wants to drive let him drive. Fuck, Clair."

"But we don't know him."

"Oh my god," Nathanial laughed. "That's all you can say? Everyone starts off as strangers."

Clair was quiet for a whole minute and Nathanial got his hopes up that this subject had been retired.

"You invited him, dude," she said, her tone rather stabbing. "You invited him on a trip that was supposed to one be you, me and Jeremiah."

"Can't you just have fun, Clair?! At all, at any time in your life?" Nathanial had never snapped like that before, at least not at Clair. It scared her so much she wished she were a turtle so she'd have shell to draw back into. She couldn't believe it. Nathanial took note of her dismay.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But Jesus...you just complain...all the time. Life is to be explored, not solved."

"Don't touch me, I'm full of snakes," Jimmy suddenly blurted. No one said anything at first. Clair looked back over her shoulder at him and grimaced.

"Please," she begged. "Please if you really are insane, can you just get out of the van? Please?"

Jimmy looked at her with bright-eyed, unapologetic alertness.

"I was quoting Jack Kerouac," he said, quite debonair.

"Oh," Clair threw her hands up and turned around in her seat. "I guess that makes it okay," she quipped.

"I love Jack Kerouac," Nathanial said to Jimmy, looking in the mirror.

"Jack Kerouac was a nut, a homeless, creepy nut," Clair said.

"Clair!" Nathanial was so disturbed by her comment he had to laugh. "He was actually very romantic, he was a writer, like I said earlier, life is..."

"Writer's are nuts," Clair cut him off. "They think too much."

"Just go back to your cherry little girl mind then and don't think," Jimmy quipped.

"My...what?" Clair snapped, absolutely heated. Marisa grew more and more agitated, wrapped up in her own thoughts, her own uncertainty. What had she done? Quite her job, left her cat to a sitter she hardly knew, for this? For fighting? To sit in the back of a smelly van with a total stranger like Jimmy?

"What you're doing is very On The Road," Jimmy praised Nathanial.

"I know, right?" Nathanial smiled, showing his little white teeth. "Thank you. So where is that quote from?"

"We just missed the exit for food," Clair said.

"No we didn't," Nathanial said.

"Yeah we did," Marisa argued.

"Well I can turn around, no big deal," Nathanial said. He wanted to stay positive. Jeremiah was right – this was supposed to be a good time.

"That's right," Jimmy came in with bizarre positivity. "It doesn't matter what road you're on, you can always turn around."

"Did Kerouac say that too?" Clair snipped.

Jimmy was quiet as he stared her down. Everyone else stared out of their window. Nathanial kept his eyes on the road. But Jimmy never took his eyes off Clair.

12 "I See Someone In You"

The Dead Joneses were in their recording studio to work on a new song, I See Someone In You. They were waiting on Birth, who was supposed to be here a couple of hours ago.

"This is just fucked," Stokey said, who was so passed the point of angry he walked around like he was about to smash things up.

"We can put the vocals down, how about that?" Chris, their engineer, suggested.

"We need piano though," Josh said. "I'd like to at least get the piano stuff down."

"I can do that," Lyle said.

"Okay, yeah, Stokes you can go." Josh couldn't deal with his terrible energy, not when they were about to work on a song that was already very intense. It had to be right. He'd worked on a the song a lot, in his home, in his head. He really wanted Birth here for this.

Stokey was not pleased. First he wasted time here waiting around for Birth, and now he was dismissed as if he were a needless thing – a speck of dust. He flung his drumsticks down and marched out.

"He's pissed," Lyle sighed.

"And the sky is blue," Josh said muttered.

They went into the booth. When The Dead Joneses played, it was Josh and Lyle who connected to the music the most. They got lost in it. That translated to their fans, and their fans were able to get lost too. It all became magical.

The song started – or was supposed to start if they had the whole band here. Josh could hear it all in his head anyway, and started singing.

"I See Someone In You, I see someone in you, Someone I broke

A long time ago...So I'm gonna stay away so..." he paused, waiting through what was supposed to be the guitar part. "So I'm gonna stay away so, Not to ruin something perfect Again..." Lyle came in perfectly on the keyboard like they'd played this a hundred times already.

"We didn't start out as friends, We were immediate rain, Thieves in the night, We took the sky and we took the stars, We left nothing but dark, We thought it wouldn't be the same for us, I am now the one I don't trust...and I..." his voice softened, "I see someone in you, Someone I killed, A long time ago, So I'm gonna stay away so, So I'm gonna stay away...so, So I'm gonna stay away so!" Lyle took over, playing a beautiful keyboard part Josh had written. About a minute later, Josh started singing again.

"Heavy is the crown, That fell to the ground, And split it wide open And I fell Straight to hell, Baby I hurt you...it's the only thing I regret, I didn't deserve you and I had you yet...So...So I'm gonna stay away so So I'm gonna stay away so, So I'm gonna stay away so So I'm gonna stay away so You can have the best of me."

After a minute Josh looked at Lyle, who nodded in approval. He wanted to ask who the song was about, but declined.

"I think its gold," Lyle just said, smiling. I think you're gold, he was thinking.

13 "THAT"

Josh left the twinkling lights of L.A. behind him as he drove back to Cheviots. It was very quiet, and it felt strange after he'd just poured his heart out back there with that new song. It was like the world had no response to it, didn't care, never heard...

Lyle had stayed out. Was he meeting someone? Had he given up on Josh? How much longer are you gonna do this rock thing anyway? Where the hell was Birth? Why did it feel like it was all falling apart?

He wanted to stop thinking. He would go home and take something to help him sleep. It was weird to drive up to his house and have it empty. Usually it was full of voices – Lyle watching his favorite TV show, That 70s Show, and laughing at every single thing even though he'd seen the episode about twenty times, Birth talking about the crazy groupie he met at the show last night, and Stokey filling in the silences with his outrageous belching.

One might think the silence would be welcomed, but it freaked Josh out. It was quiet as a church on a Friday night. And they think you're so popular, and they think the world wants you, well it doesn't feel like that right now does it?

He went into the kitchen that, while luminous during the day, was strange and creepy at night. It was the pool light, the way it caught the water and made it dance against the wall. It was his paranoia of thinking someone was upstairs. As he went into the kitchen to get a drink he realized he had a right to be paranoid, with all the people coming and going here someone was bound to leave a door unlocked. And there were so many doors too.

Josh suddenly got involved with a fantasy of his. The hiss of the beer can opening was loud as a snake. He took it over to the couch and pretended he wasn't bothered by being all alone. He fantasized that him and Birth were on a tropical island alone together – away from everything. Why? Yeah, it was a bit cheesy, but everyone wanted to feel okay every now and then.

What? Josh started laughing at himself. What the hell is wrong with you?

He decided to go upstairs. The windows down here and the dancing water reflection was driving him mad. He walked upstairs and unlocked the room where he kept all of his guitars and precious gifts from fans. It was always a strange rush after a show of signing autographs, of seeing their sweaty faces and hope in their eyes. "You're great, Josh," "I wanna be just like, Josh." "Josh! Josh! Josh!"

He shut the door and walked down the hall to the bedroom. It was too damn quiet. Someone should be here. He collapsed on the bed and tried to think of a friend to call when the phone rang and caused him to jump so he nearly fell off the bed.

"Hello?" he answered. No one said a thing. This was what he feared – being alone and then getting a strange call like this, just like in the scary movies.

"Hello?" he tried to sound unbothered. He even sounded bored. The caller was still quiet. Then Josh heard heavy breathing.

"Okay, bye dude..."

"No!" A familiar voice pleaded.

"Birth?"

Birth was crying hard. It took him a minute to speak.

"Yes..."

"What's going on? Are you okay?"

"My fucking dad...you know how...how it is."

"Yeah...what happened?"

"He came like...he was following me at the grocery store – he stopped me and asked me for money."

Josh understood how Birth felt. It took about a year and a half for Josh's mom to stop calling him, giving him guilt trips for leaving home, and asking him for money. She never praised Josh, never told him he should follow his dreams of being a musician long before anyone cared about who he was or what he wanted. She never really told him anything. She just liked to drink. She liked to go out and party and pretend she wasn't getting older. She liked to leave him with the babysitter...

"Where are you?" Josh wanted to know.

There was no response. Josh was afraid he'd hung up. "Birth?"

"I'm sorry I didn't make practice," Birth finally spoke.

"Don't worry about that." It pissed Josh off that Birth was even concerned with that.

"Where are you?" Josh asked. "I'll come there."

Birth got very quiet, which worried Josh. He could be anywhere – on the edge of any place. About to jump.

"Birth," Josh spoke heartfelt.

"Don't...say...say anything, okay?" he whimpered.

"I won't...?" Josh was confused. "Tell me where you are, babe." The "babe" just slipped out.

"Devils Button, 928 Devils Button." Josh's mind raced. What was that? A beach house? Did Birth buy a beach house? If so, why was he keeping it a secret? And why in Devils Button? No one liked to go out there. It was a dark, depressing stretch of beach.

"Okay, I'll be right there." Josh hung up and hurriedly dressed. Devils Button was about two hours away from here. It was a very secluded beach where, about five years ago, three kids with a suicide pact shot themselves off of a pile of black rocks now referred to in grim fashion as The Black Rock. The bullets to their heads sent them right into the moody ocean. This caused people to think the beach was haunted. Before the incident, houses were being built along the unclaimed stretch of land, but after the incident the houses were abandoned before a lot of the construction was completed on them. No one went out there. Well, obviously someone did.

Supposedly if you were near The Black Rock around three in the morning you could hear gunshots or see three shadowy figures down by the ocean. Another weird thing about Devils Button was the sun never seemed to hit it. It was like an invisible shelter cast a shadow over the beach.

Josh's only theory on why Birth would want to live out there was to get away from everyone – it was a great hideout. But Josh would take the stalking paparazzi over that spooky beach any day.

Alas, he'd go where Birth was, even if it was Hell's version of a beach, especially if he knew Birth needed consoling. He left the creepy quiet of his home for the bizarre solitude of the muted Devils Button.

Josh only had one car. This seemed to be a big surprise to other rock stars who looked like they were running a dealership in their yards. Josh thought that was ridiculous. One man needed one car, but of course if that man was only going to have one car it had to be amazing. First, as far as Josh was concerned, it had to be black. Josh had taken Lyle with him to go find the car of his dreams. Lyle thought it was a date but it wasn't, Josh was just in a hurry and Birth was off with some groupie somewhere, trying to tactfully shoo her off. Josh usually woke up with a certain goal in mind and by day's end it was seen through. That morning he woke up wanting a new car. He also made it known that, unlike his house, this was not going to be a communal thing between the band.

"So what exactly are you looking for?" Lyle had asked. He didn't really mean the car, he meant in general.

"Something as close to Batman's car without it being Batman's car," Josh clearly stated. What he ended up with was in his opinion much better. When he saw it, he wanted to fuck it – that was how amazing the car was. He actually even got a bit of a chub.

"THAT," he pointed to the beautiful black Bugatti Veyron sports car. Lyle's jaw dropped. He didn't know such a car existed. It was a special edition developed in the Chinese Market. They were very rare. With its strange, exotic curves it looked like some kind of torturous spider about to attack. Oh, Josh thought, this has to be mine.

"Don't you think it would be better to fit in? Because of the paparazzi?" Lyle modestly suggested.

"Fuck that," Josh said, very annoyed Lyle would bring that up. "This is fucking genius! This is my life and this is the car I want!" He trumped. "Not too many things are perfect in this world, Lyle, but this motherfucking car is."

Lyle just stood there, wishing he was a Bugatti Veyron.

And the thing drove fast and smooth, making one feel like they were on a plane above the silly world and all its silly problems. The cool thing about going to Devils was that Josh could speed, therefore taking advantage of the car's gift.

This beautiful stretch of Malibu coast would soon be far behind him. What would the night bring? Once they got passed the grim mood Birth's father had caused – what then?

14 "I Don't Really Know Anything About You"

"I thought we were going to stop and eat? I can feel my ribs starting to poke through my skin," Marisa said.

"Okay," Nathanial chuckled, looking over at her. They'd changed spots because Jimmy was starting to creep her rout.

"That's just a bit dramatic," Nathanial had to say. He knew Marisa was high maintenance. Clair was a complainer. Which was worse?

Marisa could take his criticism well. She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed. There was an undeniable chemistry between the two of them and he wanted to plan some alone time with her so badly.

"So, you know how I grew up in Ohio right?" Nathanial said.

"Uh, no," she said. "I don't really know anything about you..." Then this goofy grin took over her face as she glanced down at his crotch.

"Well...I mean I know some things," she perversely added.

"Right," Nathanial laughed and blushed. "Well..."

"You told me that," Jimmy interrupted. "That you were from Ohio."

"Oh yeah, that's right, Jesus last night's a blur. Thanks, Jimmy, anyway, I know of some great places in Ohio to camp out at. That's a good place to take a break."

"We're not taking a break until we get to Ohio?" Clair said, of course in that negative tone of hers.

"Look at the map, Clair," Nathanial said, trying to mind his tone. He didn't want to make Clair even more upset. "I marked places I want to stop at, but as far as spending the night – yes, Ohio is a good spot for that. They have great campsites..." he glanced at Marisa. "Lakes...parks," he said, trailing off.

She smiled. "Sounds great," she stretched. "But we should eat first so we don't starve to death before all that happens."

"Oh you," he said, crushing. "So fucking dramatic...what am I getting myself into?" Marisa smiled before looking away, out of the window. Then she noticed Clair's hand dangling over her shoulder and the little note she was holding. Marisa tried to go unnoticed as she took it and read what it said:

JIMMY SMELLS LIKE DEAD FEET!!!!!!!!!

Marisa chuckled. She covered her nose like she'd sneezed and Jimmy gave Clair the stink eye. He looked frazzled and warranted. Marisa promised her eyes to the window once again, trying to keep her amusement tame. Nathanial glanced at her, wondering what was going on.

"Yo," Jeremiah said, "Exit coming up, take it, gotta be some food involved."

"Okay," Nathanial responded. Everyone involved themselves in private thoughts for the next five minutes as Nathanial turned off the highway and followed signs to a cozy restaurant up ahead. It was a cabin huddled in the woods. Its wooden sign swung a little in a hard wind with the name of the restaurant etched into it, JOE'S AND MARY'S. The gravel lot was surrounded by a wooden fence.

"What is this?" Clair of course disapproved.

"It's a restaurant, Clair," Nathanial flatly responded. "I'm tired of everyone saying they're starving."

"Okay Café Grumpy," Clair said before getting out of the van. Wow, it felt good to stretch. The noise of the city had long since dropped off and now they were here, nestled between trees. Everything felt unplugged. The trees were tall and bare. Clair couldn't stop staring at them. Next to the restaurant was a gas station and deli. The deli looked like it was trying to be hip, like it wanted to be pals with the bodegas in East Williamsburg.

Nathanial walked up the steps to the wooden porch and pulled the door open. There was a cowbell on the door, which made Nathanial cackle at obnoxiously.

"Oh my god! That's a cow bell!" he exclaimed. "I think we need more cowbell!" His Christopher Walken impression absolutely failed but it still drew a grin from Marisa.

A stunning little waitress approached them. She had long dark brown hair and brown eyes with a youthful sparkle. She was very petite and her face was such a gem it took Nathanial almost a minute to notice her giant tits. She was just so...

"Nathanial?" Clair said. "She asked where we wanted to sit."

"Up...in the restaurant..." he said, at a loss because she was so adorable.

"Okay," she smiled, and the dimple creased her cheek as she turned around and walked into the dark belly of the restaurant. Her tight black skirt hugged her nice supple bottom. Good god, Nathanial thought, this just wasn't right. No one should be this hot!

She led them to the booth in the back and Clair was glad to be stored away from all the other people in the restaurant. People who weren't New Yorkers tended to stare at New Yorkers.

"So my name is Tiffany," the cute waitress informed as they got situated in the booth. Clair definitely wanted to be stationed between the wall and Nathanial. She marked the spot with her eyes and looked like she'd stab them all with a fork if she didn't get to sit there.

"Welcome to Joe's and Mary's, a Mexican restaurant," Tiffany said.

"Mexican?" Jeremiah responded, amused. He sat next to Marisa, so Marisa and Clair sit facing one another and he and Nathanial the same. Jimmy took a spare seat and sat at the end of the table, obviously still feeling like the outsider.

"Joe's and Mary's? That doesn't sound Mexican," Jeremiah said.

"Well it is, dude," Nathanial said. "So deal with it."

"I just..." Jeremiah was about to defend himself but Tiffany quickly and professionally interrupted.

"The owners are not Mexican but the cooks are," she explained.

"Its fine," Nathanial said. "We don't care what it is, we're just hungry. We've been on the road for a while."

"Oh yeah? Where are you going?" Tiffany flashed a pristine smile. What was she? She looked Italian. Nathanial was so horny right now. "Up your skirt," he wanted to respond.

"Oh...Los Angeles."

Understandably, her jaw dropped and glimmering eyes widened.

"Los Angeles?"

"Yeah, we're in a band," he gestured to Jeremiah.

"Oh what kind of band?" she sounded a little shy then.

"Punk," Nathanial proudly answered.

"Well that is cool," she seemed to overwhelmed to say anything else. Jimmy meanwhile was devoting a thousand-yard stare to the table. Tiffany was standing next to him.

"It is very cool," Nathanial said. "We fucking can't wait to rock that little town."

Clair stared at him, confused. He was talking like he was already famous and on some worldwide tour.

"Where are you from?" Tiffany asked.

"New York," Nathanial said.

"Wow..." she stared at him for a minute, not knowing how to react to him.

"So Nathanial, this isn't an interview with MTV. We need to order food," Clair said.

Nathanial made sure to avoid looking at Clair and just ordered. "Can I just the steak burrito please?" he looked up at Tiffany from his menu. "And a Wolf's Tooth Ale."

"Of course," Tiffany said, demure. Nathanial wanted to unfold her, bend her back, open her up, become engulfed by her smell and taste her until his tongue numbed. He just couldn't get over her.

"I'll get the..." Jeremiah studied the menu and flipped it over. Clair rolled her eyes impatiently.

"He's too stoned," Clair said. "I know what I want – two steak tacos and a Heineken."

"Clair? You're driving next," Nathanial alerted.

"I can drive after one beer, Nathanial, fuck sake." Clair handed Tiffany her menu. Tiffany's eyes jumped around the group, wondering who was going to order next when she felt a hand on her ass. It ran up her left cheek and tried to go between her legs but she quickly stepped away. She was too stunned to speak. Jimmy put his hand back in his lap. During the groping, his expression never altered, his eyes remained on the table the whole time.

"That sounds good," Nathanial said, closing his menu, oblivious to what just occurred. Tiffany grabbed the menu. Nathanial hoped for another smile from her but she took off.

"Uh...I didn't get to order," Marisa said.

"I'll go tell her, what did you want?" Nathanial said.

"Avocado salad and a Wolf's Tooth Ale? Thanks, Nathanial," Marisa said. Clair stared at Marisa after Nathanial got up to chase down the waitress.

"You know why he wants to do that, right?" Clair said. "He thinks the waitress is hot."

"She is," Jimmy said. Clair rolled her eyes and sat back in the booth, repulsed.

"I think I just lost my appetite," she muttered.

15 "This Is Like Some Hitchcock Place"

Damn he was going fast. This shit should be in a rap video or something. Josh rolled down the windows and howled. A mad man. You're a madman.

"AHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" He cackled, looking out of the window for a minute at the beach. Then something attacked his car all of the sudden – covering the windshield completely and stealing his view of the road. He swerved, cursing this time instead of yelling joyously.

Thankfully there were no other cars out here so he managed to slam on the breaks without injuring anyone or anything.

Its just a tarp, relax. He sat there though, too afraid to get out of the car. Josh was a pretty tough guy, but he found himself suddenly scared. No one else was here, but he knew he was getting closer to The Black Rock. He felt a forebodingness creeping up and soon it would totally captivate just like this tarp. Oh calm down...where are your balls?

He got out quickly and ripped the tarp off the car, balled it up and tossed it aside where it would be out of the road. It was big enough that it had wrapped the car like a present. He figured it blew off one of the half-built houses that was never finished. He quickly looked around. He spotted the black sheet of an ocean on one side of him, and abandoned muddy lands on the other side where homes were supposed to have been built. Don't look too hard, you might see something you'd rather not.

He got in the car and slammed the door and took a second to breathe before taking off again. He wondered what his mom was doing right now. Why are thinking about that? You never think about that bitch. Yet his mind wanted to be there, between those wallpapered walls on Saturday nights when she was depressed because her guest spot on that soap opera never became anything permanent, and her husband left her for a younger prettier gal, and she couldn't handle anything but a bottle of beer, and she left him with that babysitter who used to take him into the bathroom and put his adolescent dick in her mouth...

Josh slapped the wheel with his hands, painfully frustrated all of the sudden. Don't think about that shit, why are you thinking about that shit?

He took a deep breath and fished out a Camel Red and put on some Ramones. This would hopefully take him out of his funk. Then it was back to speeding in the black Bugatti, off to Birth. He'd focus on Birth's pain for a while and hopefully forget about his own.

Surprisingly, 952 Devils Button had a lot of promise. It just needed someone who cared enough to come in and fix it up. The white paint was badly chipped and the boards on the porch felt loose. In fact Josh didn't want to spend too much time on them for fear they'd cave in.

He hoped the doorbell at least worked. Leave it to Birth to get the house pretty much right in front of The Black Rock. Josh was happy, though, to see the warm light coming from inside the house and to hear Birth's footsteps as they neared the door. He sounded in a hurry to answer...

They didn't even say hello before they hugged. Birth smelled like the beach, he felt warm and dirty. He couldn't believe how tight Birth was hugging him. He'd fantasized about this, but under better circumstances of course.

Kiss him, Josh thought, but he practiced restraint. Birth stepped back and Josh stared at him. His face was puffy from crying and his hair was adorably messy. Birth had this trick he could do, he could lick his nose with his tongue. It was something he did during an interview once with MTV. It was something Josh had never forgotten and still to this day made him smile.

"Jesus fuck," Josh said, still feeling a bit overwhelmed. "That was a long drive..." He looked around, took in the house. It was furnished and looked lived in. How long had Birth been staying here? Josh thought he only had that apartment in West Cove.

"How you doing?" Josh asked, focusing on that first.

"Unbelievable I guess would describe it..." Birth muttered as he trudged off into the kitchen, which was just a few steps away from the front door. There was a back door in the kitchen with a bare window that gave way to the inky darkness of Devils.

Josh followed Birth halfway into the kitchen. He just couldn't get over it. Everything was set up – he had appliances, dishes, everything.

"I just don't know...what makes people so evil. Like how do they start...when do they start becoming so evil?" Birth blabbed as he filled a glass with water. "Maybe a couple years ago something came along and sucked everyone's soul out while they were sleeping," he turned around and faced Josh. "I don't know, it just all feels different. Everyone seems different."

Josh frowned, not following Birth's disorderly thoughts.

"I moved out here and thought..." Birth shrugged. "I'd be scared but I'm not and the ironic thing is that's scary. The scary thing is nothing scares me anymore."

Josh felt like he didn't know this person, like he'd stepped into some sort of vortex. He was less creeped out back in Cheviots!

Birth turned and looked at Josh as he leaned against the kitchen counter, holding a carton of OJ. He was thinking the same of Josh as he reviewed his pale face, black eyes and black face. Sometimes Josh was handsome, and others he looked kind of like a spook – a cartoon character drawn by a nervous hand. When they were stripped of their usual nightlife and stage props and spotlights and loud guitar, they became pretty peculiar to one another.

"You want some juice?" Birth asked him.

"Uh, sure." Juice? Birth turned around and filled another glass.

"All I wanted was to be left alone, and he couldn't even do that. He had no problem not being around when I was a kid – oh but now? Now that I have fucking money?" Birth's hostility refilled his tone. "He follows me around a goddamn grocery store, I look up from getting a box of Rice Krispies and he's right fucking there, like are you kidding?"

"You could get a restraining order," Josh suggested, but he felt like it was lame. "Or just beat his ass."

"I just want him to go away," Birth said, wholeheartedly. "I don't owe him anything. Why can't you abort your parents? Why can't it be the other way around?"  
"I know. Come here," Josh held his arm out and Birth came over, but he was still tense. He only stayed there for a minute before walking out of the kitchen.

"Do you want to see the Sand Room?" he said.

Josh could barely keep up. The Sand Room?

"Sure."

They headed up the carpeted spiral staircase that rained down from the second floor and spilled out into the middle of the living room that included one of the biggest flatscreen TVs in the entire world. You could actually sit on top of the staircase and watch TV from there. You could sit out on the patio and watch it. The damn thing was that massive.

"So even though my dad has found out about this place and no one hangs out here but ghosts, please, please keep this a secret from the band, Josh Devin. I don't want Stokey knowing. I don't want his weird abusive fatherly side yelling at me for this. I might be young, but I'm a man and I make my own decisions."

"Okay, Birth Hiloff." Good lord, he was pent up! Birth was not what the fans thought he was, their perception of him was a bit off. They thought he came from a rich family because he looked pretty and clean-cut, but Birth grew up in a trailer park in Paradise Cove. It looked like the set of a John Waters film and had heartbroken tales of love on every corner like a John Hughes film. Meanwhile Lyle came from a pretty well-off family and when he made the decision to learn how to play guitar his family was supportive and bought him an expensive Les Paul and encouraged him nonstop. On top of that, he had one those cool uncles that took him around to shows and even taught him a few of his favorite Thin Lizzy and Creedence Clearwater Revival tunes.

Josh first met Birth in a restaurant one night. He overheard Birth talking about Rolling Stones and he used the word fuck a lot, and he looked cute and sleepy and kept tugging on the beanie he was wearing. He kept saying, "Where would we be without The Stones, dude? Where the fuck would we fucking be?" Then he said, "I'm gonna do it, fucking start a fucking band. I just gotta find the right fucking people and shit. I need fearlessness." I need fearlessness. That kept playing in Josh's head. What a wonderful thing to say.

Josh approached him and that was pretty much all it took. They just got along, from that second on.

"I won't say a thing to anyone," Josh promised as they turned down a very narrow, dim hallway. He wanted Birth to feel safe. He wanted Lyle to feel happy. He wanted Stokey to feel appreciated. He was constantly trying to make these things happen. Anyone who thought being in a rock band was just about having fun was terribly off the mark.

"So...is it haunted here? I mean have you seen ghosts?" Josh asked, trying not to sound nervous.

"Uh..." Birth's voice sounded hoarse as he went into a small room that still felt spacious, its roof was made of glass so you could see all the stars, and there were little white candles lit everywhere. The entire floor was sand – it was like a big sandbox.

"What the hell..." Josh laughed. "Birth, this is nuts."

"No," he said, quite frankly. "No, actually," he turned and said, with a funny grin on his face, "Its sand. Its amazing. Take your shoes off." He was starting to sound like his old self again, tickled pink by everything.

"This is the craziest house on the planet."

"Take your shoes off," Birth said, unyielding but giggly. There was something unique in the air, something more than just friendship. Something great and crazy was about to happen...

Josh pushed the heel down of one shoe with the other until he was barefoot. He kicked his shoes aside and looked at Birth with an amused frown.

"Take your socks off too, dude," Birth just said. Josh couldn't do anything at the moment but look at Birth, who was now sitting on the couch. He looked so beautiful in this candlelit room under the stars. How did Josh get so lucky? To be here. To be alive. The drive was worth it.

Josh removed his socks and walked over to the couch, surprised to find the sand warm like it was on the beach on a hot day.

"How is it this warm?" Josh inquired. Birth just laughed.

"The floor is heated, dude, so it feels just like the beach." They were quiet for a minute as Josh sat down next to him, leaving enough personal space between them.

"Yeah its...haunted," Birth finally answered Josh. I wake up sometimes and hear something downstairs. Like its creepy, at first I thought it was the house, because its on the verge of falling apart, but one time I started to go down there and check it out and I heard someone running, like, I distinctly heard someone running, dude, like running out of the house. I thought oh shit it's a burglar but then..." Birth licked his lips and looked at Josh. "I go outside and I see one...one of those kids I think, that shot themselves, like I see its figure just walk over to the rock and fade out."

"Shut up," Josh said, not believing him...or not wanting to.

"I'm serious, Josh..." Birth said, looking right at him. "Dead...serious..." then he wiggled his fingers in Josh's face and made ghost noises. "Woooo-ooooo."

"Stop it, dude," Josh slapped his hand away but Birth's goofing around persisted. They started wrestling around on the couch.

"You better stop it dude," Josh said, laughing the whole time. "You're going to freaking burn this place down with all these candles..."

Birth kept wrestling, managing to get on top of Josh and pin him down. Josh was quite surprised with how strong Birth was, and pleased. Josh had a submissive side, it turned out. Josh was hard and it was certainly no secret from Birth now. They stayed still, no longer fighting, just staring at one another, enamored.

"Why did you really want me to come out here?" Josh asked.

"Because...it's the only way I can get you alone. You think we can do this at your house? With damn Stokey and Lyle around? And everywhere we go we're followed."

"Is that why you bought this place?" Josh fought hard not to grin. But he did have a bit of an ego and... "Tell me that's why you bought this place."

"Yeah...I bought it so I could fuck you in it." Birth sounded appeasing, but Josh didn't care. He believed what he wanted to believe like anyone else.

A few more seconds passed before they kissed. Josh always pictured himself on top of Birth in his fantasies, but this was better. Birth smelled like the beach and tasted like orange juice. After a minute they stopped kissing and Birth sat up – clearly freaked out by what just happened.

"What are you thinking about?" Josh asked, sitting up. Birth laughed a little.

"I don't know, I'm wiped out." Birth rubbed his eyes with his hands.

"Yeah..." Josh said.

"I just don't know what to do," Birth said, desperately. Josh thought he meant them, what just happened.

"About..."

"My dad. Like can I really get a restraining order against my dad?"

"You're an adult now, Birth, you can do anything you want."

"That's scary, isn't it?" Birth said. Josh nodded.

"Its funny how they never seem to think about us growing up, you know? Our parents, they never think that the tables will turn and we'll be the ones in control and maybe they can be in our lives or maybe we can shut them out."

Josh stared at the flickering candle, then up at the twinkling stars. The only steady light was in Birth's amazing eyes. Then suddenly Josh felt something crawl over his foot and jumped up on the couch.

"WHAT WAS THAT WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!" Josh screamed and was acting like a scared little girl, which made Birth laugh uncontrollably for a straight minute.

"Seriously dude! Something was on my toe, seriously! It felt big."

"Seriously?" Birth mocked jokingly. "It was a crab. They get in with the sand every once in a while."

"You have crabs?!" Josh yelled. Birth kept laughing.

"Yes," Birth was on his knees now, gripping his stomach that was hurting because he was laughing so hard. He'd never seen Josh freak out like that, ever.

"You have crabs in your house! You have sand, crabs and ghosts in your house!" Josh squalled.

"Its okay man, sit down," Birth tugged on Josh's pant leg.

"Where'd it go?" Josh asked, looking around. Birth ran his hand through the sand and felt a prickly leg and pulled it up, still experiencing spurts of violent laughter.

"What are you doing?!" Josh screamed and jumped over the couch and ran down the hallway. Birth followed him halfway until he was laughing so hard he couldn't move. He dropped the wiggling crab and let it go its own way.

Josh had stopped running because he was sure he heard something downstairs.

"Okay," he walked back to the Sand Room, "I can't stay here – this is like some Hitchcock place."

"Josh, seriously," Birth tried to stop laughing and coerce him back to the couch. "You need to get stoned." Birth sat down and Josh lied down so his head was in Birth's lap.

"I think someone...I heard something downstairs."

Birth shook his head.

"Dude, you're freaking out," Birth giggled.

The only things that happened over the next few minutes were stars twinkling and Birth rolling a joint, tracing his pointy tongue across the rolling paper, and Josh realized something. This was all he needed in the entire world right now.

16 "Its Something"

"Hey," Nathanial tried to get Tiffany's attention in the crowded restaurant. She definitely looked overwhelmed.

"Oh hey," she said, managing to smile.

"Hey, sorry but my other friend wanted to add to the order – just an avocado salad."

"Okay, sure." Tiffany was still very uncomfortable over what Jimmy had done.

"You okay?" Nathanial asked. She thought about telling him that his friend groped her, but she didn't need anymore problems right now. Her boss was here and watching her every step. If she got another order wrong, she could lose her job.

"Yeah, its nothing," she said.

"Yeah well...its like the law that when a girl says 'its nothing' they mean 'its something.'"

She couldn't hold it in any longer. She looked up at him.

"Your friend, the one with the disgusting hair and glasses? Touched my ass."

"He...Jimmy?"

"I don't know your names," she said, rather coldly. "Listen, I know you're probably a nice guy, but I've had a very long fucking day of feeling like worthless trash and I'm about...ten minutes away from getting fired."

"Whoa, whoa," Nathanial almost touched her, just on the arm, but figured that would be unwelcomed at this point. "I'm sorry, my friend's a creep. I don't – he's not even my friend, we're just doing him a favor, giving him a lift to Wisconsin..."

"Yeah well," she started to turn away. "I feel like calling the police – he..." Tiffany fought back the tears. There was nothing worse than crying at work. She tried to see the garbage on the table, the dirty plates waiting to be cleared, but her tears made everything blurry. How desperately she wanted to run. She wanted to be far away from this place. These people. She managed to calm down.

"I think you should drop him off soon – he's a creep – and..." she looked up at Nathanial. She could see goodness in him. "There's something that looks like a bloodstain on his shirt," she added under her voice. She could feel her boss staring. And the people at the table were waiting for her to take stuff away and drop off the check. No appreciation ever, only more expectancy.

Nathanial stayed where he was as Tiffany walked off. He looked back at Jimmy, who'd gone back to staring at the table, seemingly unaware of anything around him.

Nathanial's skin stung with panic. What had he done? Who was this guy? Nathanial noticed Jimmy was wearing the same clothes he wore to the show at Galapagos. As he went back over to the table, he looked the clothes over and noticed a few spots of what looked like blood on the cuff of Jimmy's shirt.

Clair looked up at Nathanial.

"You get the salad?" she asked.

"Its coming." Nathanial sat down and stared at the table.

"You okay?" she asked. He just nodded and looked up at Tiffany as she came over with their drinks. He had to do something or say something. He felt it was his responsibility.

He watched as Tiffany carefully placed their drinks down. To have to wait on someone who did that, how degrading.

"Wait," Nathanial called out before Tiffany could walk off. The call was alarming and everyone looked at him. Nathanial turned a heated stare to Jimmy.

"Did you get a chance to grab her ass?" Nathanial confronted, disgusted. Jimmy looked stunned. But then he grinned.

"You know, like last time?" Nathanial added, so pissed off his legs were trembling.

"You did what?" Marisa gasped.

"I didn't do that," Jimmy nearly spat. "I didn't do anything like that," he said to Tiffany, just staring up at her shamelessly.

"You have a sick imagination – a whore's imagination," Jimmy went on. Tiffany was too upset to say anything. Jimmy got up and walked off.

"That's it," Clair said. "We're leaving – we're leaving him here."

Nathanial didn't know what to do. He watched as Tiffany ran off.

"I'm game," Jeremiah said.

"Nathanial?" Clair said. "Move, let's go before he comes back."

Nathanial realized she was right. He couldn't go back to Brooklyn and decide not to bring Jimmy along, but he could do this, he could leave him here.

They wasted no time looking back as they walked through the crowded restaurant to the front door. Nathanial had never felt this nervous, not before a show, not when he was homeless and had to spange on the streets of New York – never.

They hurried across the gravel lot and piled into the van. Nathanial started it up the very second everyone was in. His heart was pounding and his mouth was dry and he couldn't bring himself to look out of the window to see if Jimmy was coming over.

Part 2

Nothing But The Howling Wind And Fake Vampire Teeth

17 "I'll Go Get The Ice Bucket"

Josh and Birth were kissing again, slowly, like they were telling each other secrets with their tongues and teeth.

Their hands finally explored new territory. Every so often Josh broke out in giggles because he couldn't believe this was happening. Was Birth really making out with him instead of some skanky weird groupie?

"What's so funny, huh?" Birth sounded angry, maybe he was roleplaying. They both stopped when they heard glass shatter downstairs.

"What was that?" Josh freaked. He knew he heard something that time. All the fear that had slowly wilted away came back like a punch to the gut.

"Its...I dunno..." Birth realized someone was in his house. He'd heard little bumps in the night before but never anything like that. They looked at one another for a minute, unsure of what to do.

"Tell me you have a gun somewhere in this weird place," Josh hoped.

"Yeah." Birth tried to stay calm. Josh went from being afraid to strangely aroused to find out Birth had a gun. He tried to think straight – which was hard to do because he was so stoned and horny. Are we alive, or lost in some Christopher Pike novel?

He followed Birth down the hallway to the bedroom. The first thing Birth did was turn on the light. Then he quickly and quietly made his way over to a large cherry wood dresser and pulled open the top drawer. He pulled out a cute silver pistol and looked at Josh.

"Let's go."

All of the sudden they felt like vigilantes. They momentarily hovered over one another at the top of the stairs.

"We're not acting like rock stars right now, more like sorority sisters," Birth pointed out.

"Just go!" Josh hastily whispered. Birth started to go and Josh pulled him back. He was obviously scared gutless, practically biting on the shoulder of Birth's shirt.

"Okay...now go," he softly permitted. Josh's paranoia enveloped him as he followed Birth down the spiral stairs. What if someone was in his house in Cheviots and followed him out here? When they got their first taste of fame, after a video played on MTV and Fuse a lot, a guy who called himself "Bonzo Bombs" kept showing up after shows, hanging out by the tour bus. He would never say anything to Josh, would never ask for an autograph, he would just stand there and eerily stare and take pictures with his phone and then run off. He somehow found out where Josh lived and started sending him letters. They were always one sentence long, always beginning with the word "Wonder."

Wonder what you look like as a blonde – Bonzo Bombs.

Wonder what you look like bathed in blood – Bonzo Bombs.

The guy with curly black hair looking in the refrigerator certainly wasn't Bonzo Bombs. And if he was then he didn't have to stalk Josh – Josh would have gladly kept him company.

"Seth?!" Birth said, stunned, and happy as he jetted over to him.

"Man," Birth sounded completely euphoric. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey man," Seth turned around, a bottle of champagne in his hand. He was barefoot. His crazy thick black hair was a mess. Josh got a hold of himself and stopped gawking. You're the rock star.

"You know you really should lock your door," Seth pointed out. He spoke in a very calm, deep voice. He had a certain confidence about him that put everyone around him at ease. A confidence that almost made him seem like a hero.

"Was that you? Did you break something?" Birth asked.

"Oh yeah, a glass at the end of the counter." Seth casually glanced over at Josh.

"Oh...so this is not a secret anymore?" Seth asked, looking back at Birth.

"Huh? Oh no...you know Josh, Josh this is Seth."

Josh nodded but stayed where he was.

"I just didn't want to be alone," Birth explained. Oh? You just didn't want to be alone? Josh thought. A minute ago you wanted to be with me.

Birth looked down at the champagne bottle in Seth's hand.

"You brought champagne?"

"A housewarming gift," Seth said, showing off perfect white teeth when he smiled. He held up an excellent bottle of Krug. "May need to chill it for a bit though."

"So how do you know Birth?" Josh asked. He tried not to sound jealous but it wasn't working.

"We used to go to school together," Birth said. Oh. Josh quickly figured this out. Seth was probably one of those rich boys that had nothing to do with Birth then, but now – now since Birth was in a successful rock band, that had all changed.

"And..." Birth flashed one of his dopey smiles. "He is my drug dealer."

"And champagne dealer," Seth said in his deep voice. "This is a good place to do biz'ness," he went on. "Ain't nobody out here."

"Nope," Birth smiled. He scratched his head and looked around the kitchen. This was certainly awkward. Had Birth wanted Seth to show up all along and Josh was just kind of a substitute? Was that why he had this house out here all to himself?

"Man, I wish I had an ice bucket," Birth said.

"There's a store not too far up," Seth said.

"Open at this hour?" Birth asked.

"Its not that late," Seth informed.

Josh watched the way they communicated – not with the words they spoke but the looks they gave one another. They'd been fucking.

"I'll go get the ice bucket," Josh offered. Birth looked a little surprised. He of course wasn't going to go get the ice bucket. He didn't know where he was going. He was just going to get in his car and drive. What was out there on the road beyond Devils Button?

18 "Death Metal And Denny's"

"We can stop soon, I think," Clair said. She had to get out of the van soon, she needed to stretch. She was feeling a little carsick.

"I mean we've been driving for a while," she added when no one seemed to hear what she said. Nathanial had a look of absolute focus on his face. He was determined to drive as long as he could before stopping – just to make sure.

"What was that dream you had?" he asked, frowning and shifting the gear when he looked over at her. "Before the trip – you said you had a bad dream."

She did not want to think about that dream right now.

"It was...just a stupid dream."

"I just wanna know what it was about," he pressured.

"It was weird like all dreams...it just...first we were in a car and we were underwater, you, me and Jeremiah...but then all of the sudden we were in a cage." She was very quiet, like she might not finish. Then she finally said, "The car became a cage, and someone lifted us out of the water and water just gushed out of the cage, like, there was a lot of water, an abnormal amount, one of those dramatic dream things, anyway we were placed on top of this huge rock – or the cage was, and we were surrounded by these men, but they didn't have faces, they were just blank, featureless men. They stood all around, very still. I remember they all had on black boots. Then the alarm clock went off. It was just weird – it had me feeling weird the next day."

"Well...listen...I just wanna drive a bit more and then we'll stop," he said.

"So where are we?" Marisa asked.

"Ohio, babe," Nathanial said just before a big yawn. "Yeah, we'll figure out a campsite. We'll stay there tonight."

"Oh man," Marisa sat up, stretched. She felt so much better without creepy Jimmy staring at her. "I can't wait." She took her shirt off. All she was wearing beneath it was a little black bikini top. Jeremiah couldn't stop himself from looking over at her...at those. Her huge breasts definitely tested the string bikini's dexterity.

Jeremiah stared at the back of Nathanial's head, wishing he could see this. He would soon, he supposed.

"Yeah like a lake would be good," Jeremiah said, quite spritely all of the sudden. "Like now...or sooner."

"Huh?" Nathanial sounded a bit more cheerful even though he hadn't seen Marisa yet.

"I'm gonna take the next exit," Nathanial said. "We can get some food and then figure out where the nearest campsite is."

"Yo, put some music on," Jeremiah said. He could hardly wait to be out of the van, by a lake, staring up the sky, unchained from obligations. Nothing but the excitement of L.A. and The Dead Joneses show in the near future.

Nathanial put on his mix tape, which seemed to solidify this moment of reclamation. First some Rancid played, Time Bomb, followed by some Bob Mould then Mighty Might Bosstones and then The Dead Joneses, which led to some very frightening Norwegian metal band stuff, to which Jeremiah started banging his head to.

"THIS SHIT IS FUCKIN CRAZY DUDE!!!" Jeremiah praised.

"GORGOROTH DUDE!!!" Nathanial said, giving the devil sign with his hand as Jeremiah started headbanging even harder.

"Okay..." Clair reached over and turned the music down. "I seriously don't feel right with that on."

"Clair! Don't piss on this! Its MY TURN TO PLAY MUSIC." Nathanial turned it back up. He took the exit and stared up at the iconic Denny's marquee as they grew nearer.

"Fuck yeah, death metal and Denny's motherfuckers!! Deal with it!" Jeremiah laughed and a minute later the sweet odor of marijuana filled the van.

"We gotta get baked first man," Jeremiah said, passing the joint to Marisa. She took it and took a hit and passed it to Clair. Nathanial parked the van and by the time the joint got to him he already had an amazing contact high.

"Ohio is all trees and grass," Clair said between coughs. Nathanial hit the joint hard. He was off driving duty now, and could finally relax after getting away from Jimmy.

"Nah, I think I saw a gas station back a few miles," Jeremiah quipped.

"I'm so glad I don't live here," Clair said, taking the joint from Marisa.

"Chicago's way cooler, it's a gem. I can't wait till we go through it – you'll see," Marisa said.

"Yo," Nathanial said, his voice tight. "I'm gonna kill this, that cool J?"

"Yeah, go 'head," Jeremiah said. The decrease in moxie was astounding.

"Dude..." Nathanial said, really feeling the effects of the pot now. "Where'd that shit from...where'd you get it from?"

"Grandma Darren." Grandma Darren was the nickname of a sketchy drug dealer in Bed-Stuy they'd met when they were homeless.

"He fuckin still gets the best shit man," Jeremiah added after a long drift of silence.

"Let's go in," Clair said, sliding the door open. Marisa was careful as she stepped out in her platform shoes. She pulled on a flannel and looked around. It was pretty desolate. She tried to catch up with Nathanial.

"So like what part of Indiana are we in?"

"Richmond." He glanced down at her, a mysterious grin crawled across his face. "You ready for your surprise?" he put his arm around her.

"You're going to give it to me here?"

"No, later, camping. When its dark – you'll see."

He opened the door for her and the cold air conditioning sent rapid relief after driving around in the heat all day.

"Oh man," Jeremiah sighed when he smelled the sweet stew of smells – pancakes, maple syrup, coffee, burgers.

"Think I'm gonna pass out," Nathanial said, wrapping his arms around Marisa. He smelled heavily of pot and that dirty hat smelled like gasoline. It pleased her so strangely. She loved being in his arms.

A waitress came over, and Clair was pretty sure Nathanial wasn't going to flirt with this one. Her name was Dorothy and she looked to be in her sixties. She had thick, frizzy bleached blonde hair kept up on top of her head by several overworked bobby pins. She didn't act like she wanted any clowning around, tossed the menus down at them as soon as they were seated and took their drink orders.

"Heineken," Nathanial said in no time.

"Oh man...who's driving next?" Clair wondered. "We're all st..." she looked up at Dorothy, who just gave her a taxing stare, waiting.

"We'll just chill here for a while," Nathanial mumbled.

"I'll have a Heineken too."

"Yeah," Jeremiah wanted the same. Dorothy eyed Marisa next, who was staring out at the van.

"Yo, Marisa," Nathanial called out to her.

"Hmm?" she turned and looked at him. She looked very forlorn.

"What would you like to drink?" he asked her.

"Oh um," she shook her head and stared back out of the window. "Heineken," she said, not taking her eyes off the window. Dorothy jotted that down, rolled her eyes and walked off.

"We're going to be so sick after this, dude," Jeremiah said, smiling silly. "Like fuck it, I'm goin for the Grand Slam."

"Be a man," Nathanial suddenly starting singing goofily, gazing down at the menu and drumming his hands against the booth. "Get the Grand Slam..."

"You guys..." Marisa slowly peeled her eyes away from the window. "Wasn't that van parked facing the highway?" she pointed to Jeremiah's van and looked at Nathanial. They all peered out at it and shrugged. Clair tried hard to remember.

Dorothy returned with their drinks and Nathanial sipped his beer while eyeing the van questionably.

"I don't know," he said, looking at Jeremiah. "Do you know?"

"Know what?"

"What she just said." Nathanial pointed to Marisa. Jeremiah was totally out of it.

"What did she just say?"

"I don't know," Nathanial said after a minute, sinking back down into a mental fog.

"You guys gonna eat?" Dorothy inquired. "I think you might need some food."

"Um, yeah." Marisa tried to focus on the menu but it was hard. She was sure they'd parked the van facing the highway and now it was facing the restaurant.

"I'll have the BLT and fries."

"Great," Dorothy said, happy they were making progress.

"Uhh..." Nathanial groaned as he stared at the menu. "Can I get like...an egg sandwich but with pancakes – like eggs between the pancakes, and bacon like on top? And a side of avocado."

"What the Christ, Nathanial?" Clair said.

"What?" he innocently looked up at her. "I'm freaking so hungry."

"Are you sure you didn't leave the van in the keys?" Marisa asked Nathanial. Nathanial started giggling. Dorothy was about to walk away and hand the table to someone else.

"Uh huh, I'm sure I didn't do that," Nathanial chuckled.

"Who else wants to order?" Dorothy interrupted.

"I'll get the...Moons Over My Hammy..." Clair looked up from the menu when Nathanial started laughing in spurting snorts.

"What?"

"Its just a funny thing to order," he said, all giggly.

"You're so immature," Clair snipped, handing her menu over to Dorothy.

"No dude, stoned," Nathanial corrected. "And my van's in my keys..." he laughed hard and started slapping the table and then Jeremiah joined in.

Clair looked up at Dorothy. "I'm sorry about them," she said. "Listen do you know of a place to camp nearby?"

"Oh, well there's a ton of places around here but if you're looking for the closest I'd suggest Tamra Lane, you familiar with this area at all?" she asked.

"No, we're on a long road trip and just want to camp for the night. It doesn't have to be anything too fancy."

"Well," Marisa jumped to interrupt. "It should be decent, I mean, with cabins, because we don't have tents or anything."

"Oh well I think Tamra has cabins, pretty sure they used to. You just gotta take Chester Boulevard to 77 to get to Tamra, ain't that far."

"The what?" Nathanial asked, his eyes slim slits of green.

"Chest," Dorothy said, her tone short. "To 77."

"Where are we?" he asked. "I thought...this was Ohio."

"You're in Indiana," she informed.

"Oh shit," he chuckled. "Okay."

Clair shook her head and opened her purse to find her phone. She rummaged through everything – hair brush, wallet, stupid feminine products, but couldn't find her phone.

"I don't know...where my phone is..."

"Maybe its in the van," Marisa said. "I have a pen, I'll just write it down." She looked up at Dorothy, hoping. "Can you repeat that please?"

"Sure, I got all night," Dorothy quipped. "Not like I gotta go to work or nothing. So you take Chester Boulevard to 77 to get to Tamra – you'll see signs. Now, you got to be able to see them – you got to be able to understand what they mean, think yall can handle that?"

"Yup." Nathanial was getting moody because of the pot and didn't like her attitude and was starving.

"Oh, can I get a burger and chilli fries and a Heineken please," Jeremiah ordered before she ran off.

19 "Monsters"

Full of food and very tired, they headed out to the van. No one mentioned how it had been originally parked. Nathanial patted himself down for his keys and when he didn't find them he looked back at the restaurant, perplexed.

"Uh..." he started to walk off, running his hand through his hair before looking back at the group. "I think I left my keys in there," he said. He ventured off back to Denny's while everyone else leaned against the van, waiting.

"Are you okay to drive?" Marisa asked Clair, rather compassionate.

"No...but yeah, yeah I can." She focused on Nathanial as he came back out. The look on his face was not comforting. He slipped his hands into his pockets as he neared them.

"Clair, do you have my keys?"

"The keys to the van?" she said.

"No, Clair, the keys to Gramercy Park! Yes the keys to the van."

"Fuck you – you don't have to be so mean, Nathanial. And no, why would I have them? You drove last." Clair was on the verge of tears.

"Hey," Jeremiah calmly spoke as he bent down and picked up Nathanial's keys. "They musta fallen out of your pocket. Let's go."

Nathanial took the keys from Jeremiah and slid the door open. He climbed in when he saw Clair walking away, back to the restaurant. Marisa went after her.

"He's never yelled at me like that," she sobbed. "He hates me – he fucking hates me."

"No he doesn't," Marisa tried to console her, placing her hand on her back. "He's just being a stupid boy. He's stoned and moody and tired – we all are. Its okay."

"Its not okay – nothing is going the way I thought it would. I've spent the last like three years of my life..." she wiped the tears from her face with the sleeve of her shirt, "Trying...hoping he'd like me – we moved in together, we work together – but he just never...he likes you, and its not your fault, you're just like...this freakin' supreme goddess of whatever, its not your fault. I'm so tired," she finalized. "Of New York – and now I'm tired of this. I want to be happy, I just..."

"You need a good night's sleep is all," Marisa cleared up. "Baby, let's go." She took Clair's hand and tugged until Clair reluctantly headed back to the van.

Nathanial sulked as Clair came over. His mouth was pregnant with an apology but he just couldn't let it out. Clair didn't care anymore. She needed to, somehow, accept the fact that things would never become anything more between them. Friendship, and that was it. She wanted to focus on getting them out of here, getting to the lake.

"Okay, so Chester..." Marisa helped without Clair having to ask. It was unfortunate that Marisa was nice, it was hard to hate her the way Clair wanted to.

"Its right here," Clair said as she approached the end of the street where the trees were thicker. She felt like she was in the south.

"Did she say turn right on Chester?" Clair looked at Marisa. Why did she feel so anxious?

"She didn't say," Nathanial said. "And she probably didn't know."

"Whatever, we'll try one road and then the other. Its all one road anyway, right? Didn't Jack Kerouac say something like that?"

Nathanial was quiet. Guilt gagged him. He knew he should apologize, but at the same time Clair was always so bitchy. Why? Hadn't they enjoyed the last three years (as much as struggling ones could in New York) together? He thought back to the day he met her. Life was nothing more than a choice. You choose to do what you wanted with it, the end. He would never understand what possessed him to go to Midtown the day he met her but he had and had made roughly three dollars in loose change spanging. Clair was walking down the sidewalk, obviously upset about something. He looked up at her as she was about to disappear down into the subway station.

"I don't accept tears, miss, just money," he said, trying to cheer her up. She looked down and expected to see the usual haggard bum, but instead she saw the cutest boy – and so young.

"Yeah? Well...I was just robbed." She was put off by his charm so she couldn't be as annoyed as she would have been. He looked at her, his dry lips parted. He slowly stood up and got this look in his eyes like he was about to go to war.

"Who robbed you?" He seemed ready to fight.

"These guys, don't worry about it. I was at my stupid job and had my bag on the counter and they swiped it."

"Monsters," he said. It was hard to tell by the passionate way he said that if he was being sincere. In any case, it was still adorable.

"Yeah...I don't even know if I have enough money for the train."

He held his old coffee cup he'd been collecting money in out to her, keeping this puppy dog look on his face.

"Its not much, hasn't been the most lucrative day – bad morning on Wall Street, the dow dropped and all..." he tugged on the front of his baseball cap. Then it wasn't Wilco, it was a St. Louise Farm Show.

Clair laughed a little. She didn't want to take his money though.

"I...its okay," she looked around. Person after person bumped into her like she wasn't human, like she was some kind of obstacle that would eventually fall over and never get back up.

"Well..." Nathanial looked sadly into his cup. "You could hang out with me if you want, I might get more – or we could go to another neighborhood..."

"I could just...go back to work and try and get a loan," she thought. "Yeah, I guess I'll do that."

She looked back at the herd of people along 34th Street. Sometimes she did just want to lie in the street and never get back up.

She returned to work and was able to get a hundred dollar advance. She went back to give some to Nathanial but he was gone. Her heart ached that night and she couldn't understand why. He's just another homeless boy in a city full of them. But he was so funny, and sweet. She thought about him all night, unable to sleep, unable to forget those big green saucer eyes looking up at her. At the time he had pink hair. Forget him, he's just a boy.

But the next day he was back in his usual spot and the gave him some money. He waved it away at first, and his mood seemed somewhat pugnacious.

"Okay, I'll take five," he reasoned. "But you have to meet me back here at five-fifteen sharp, cause that's when I saw you walking and crying yesterday, and you can't be crying this time. And then you have to let me buy you a drink with it."

And she agreed and that was that. He supposed he gave her the wrong idea. Maybe it was all the wrong idea.

"Live, travel, adventure, bless and don't be sorry," Nathanial finally spoke up. "Kerouac said that," he looked at Clair. He also said "The only truth is music."

Clair smiled a little.

"Oh cool," Marisa spoke up right when Nathanial was about to apologize. "77! We take that to the lake."

"Cool," Clair said, turning on 77.

20 "We Have The Right You Know"

Clair was actually enjoying driving. And she could listen to her music, she'd forgotten. She'd never had the chance to listen to the other side of her mix CD. Nathanial tried to figure out what the hell was playing on the CD. He hardly recognized it, some sappy 80s song.

"Clair?" he let his disgust be known in his tone. "What the hell are you doing to us right now?"

Marisa snorted at his comment.

"This is a great song, Nathanial. Air Supply? You don't know Air Supply?" She moved her head along to the love song as she began to sing.

"Here I am...the one that you love..." she began to sing. Marisa actually liked the tune too. Her dad used to play it in the afternoon, right as the sun started to set. It made her feel like a child again.

"Oh! We have the right you know – we have the right you know – Here I am! The one that you love! Askin for another day...understand! The one that you love – loves you in so many ways."

"Jeremiah?" Nathanial's dark, cunning tone cut through the sweet song. "You're still alive right? You haven't off'd yourself? Please don't leave me alone right now!"

Jeremiah laughed a little. "Don't worry dude, hey Clair, just saw a line for Tamra Lake."

"Sweet!" Clair was happy. Nathanial observed her and decided to leave her alone and let her enjoy something since there were so few things she did enjoy.

The campsite was pretty unsightly. It simply looked dismissed. The grass was overgrown and branches were growing out of the lake and twisting sticks surrounded it like barbed wire.

"Where the hell are the cabins?" Marisa asked.

"Right? Is this a joke?" Clair remarked.

"Hey, we have the van," Nathanial reminded. "Fuck I just wanna get out and stretch and scratch my balls and drink this damn wine."

Everyone laughed and climbed out of the van. At least the sky was pretty, with strokes of both dooming gray and pretty innocent blue.

"So what's the plan?" Clair asked, following Nathanial up towards the woods where a trail snaked through.

"Go to the lake..." He was hoping Clair wasn't about to complain again. Marisa pulled on Clair's arm so she'd slow down. The boys walked much faster, in the mood to explore.

"I don't like this place," Clair said.

"Me neither," Marisa looked down at her shoes. "I know I'm about to break an ankle."

"Yeah," Clair sympathized. "Did you bring any other shoes?"

"No..." Marisa looked at her. "Stupid, I know."

"I have an extra pair of flip flops. I can go get them. It's a shorter distance to the lake so you should just hang out with them."

"You sure?" Marisa asked.

"Yeah." Clair wasn't in a big hurry to go to the creepy lake anyway. She turned back and Marisa carefully finished the trail and sat down by the water. There was all sorts of trash in it – bottles, plastic bags, and the water around the edge was lardy.

She looked up at Nathanial as he took his shirt off and then his jeans. Her crush came back to knock her over like a wrecking ball.

He smiled, all giddy at the thought of swimming before he remembered he still had on one thing – his hat. He walked over to Marisa and placed it on her head.

"You're really going to go in that water? Your flesh is gonna fall off."

"Hey, don't start sounding like Clair now – after this you'll get your surprise."

"Oh will I?"

"Yeah," he grinned, walking backwards into the water. She laughed because he had an erection.

"Yo," Jeremiah's laugh was inspired by fear. "I'm gonna skip this," he told Nathanial. "That water is too gnarly."

"Whatever man," Nathanial waved his hand at Jeremiah. "Pussy."

"I'm gonna go get the wine," he said.

"Oh cool," Nathanial said before venturing out into the water.

"I'm not touching you after going in there," Marisa let him know. He turned and looked at her from where he stood, ankle-deep in the water.

"That's what you think," he warned. Then he came running over to her and she playfully screamed as he tackled her and pinned her to the ground. It was great. Finally.

"That's what you think," he whispered.

She gave into his aggressive hold, getting wet, moving around as much as she could.

She kissed him hungrily, like a starving child cradling a fresh piece of fruit, sucking out the flavors just in time to save her life. She felt his warmth in her hand, running her hand up and down his cock. Their kissing became very sweet and intrinsic. As Nathanial kissed her he ran his hands over her breasts and between her legs. "Ahh...Nathanial," she whispered. He took his time with her, slipping a finger in and barely pinching her vagina. Her body lifted in a sudden twitch.

"Mmm..."

"Nathanial..." she sighed. He ran his hand along her face and she got a faint scent of her own sex. He placed his hand over her mouth and she licked it and when he took it away, she tried to lift her head to bite his fingers.

"I wanna eat you up," she said.

"Me first," he responded, slowly moving down her body and placing his hands against her thighs to spread her legs. He took in her scent. She was eager. He put his hand in her hair, folded his hand in a fist and trapping a few red strands before he pushed his way inside her, invading her, causing her expression to change in an instant, her eyes shut tight, her mouth wide open.

"Yeah..." he said, enjoying the response he drew from her. She felt so amazing – so soft and wet. He went for another thrust, this one harder. He put his hand over her breast to feel her heart beat as it sped up.

"Oh...fuck..." he bit her neck and clamped his hand over her mouth again to catch the scream. He pressed inside her harder, trying to remain full, but he wanted to spill out inside her so badly. He kissed her hard, he wanted her to remember this long down the road when they got involved with other walking human damage, when the sex happened and then things fell apart when someone disappointed them – he wanted her to have this night to reminisce over, fall back on, and smile about.

He kept on, penetrating her, touching her face. She never thought it could be like this. A guy that wasn't just fucking to come.

"Marisa..." he whispered her name, he sounded so vulnerable it killed her. She grabbed his hair and bit him on the neck. "Do you live to die or do you die to live?" he asked.

"What..." she found it hard to breathe right now, his rhythm was perfect, the way he penetrated her, the way he never lost focus.

"Just tell me, which is it..." he begged.

"I die...to live," she managed to answer before wrapping her arm around his neck and experiencing the most amazing orgasm she'd ever been given.  
"Ahh!" Her body continued to tremble long after and he came and kissed her on the cheek.

22 "I'll Catch Up With You"

Marisa had dozed off after the sex. She woke up and looked around. It was pitch-black and eerie. She looked over at Nathanial who must have been one of those types that could sleep anywhere, under any circumstance.

"Hey?" she put her hand on his tummy. "Hey, babe?"

He opened his eyes and looked at the sky. A little panic took hold and he lifted his head and looked around. Where the hell was he?

"What..."

"We fell asleep." Marisa sat up and looked around.  
"Hey..." she said after a few minutes of desperate silence. "Clair was supposed to come back and she never did..." She focused on Nathanial for a minute. "You have leaves in your hair," she reached over and pulled a few out and stood up.

"You do too," he said. He was too spent to get up. Jeremiah never came back either, he suddenly realized. Maybe they went to sleep.

Marisa looked around. She felt like she'd fallen down some sinkhole. The nonstop current of sound had been halted. What was this place?

"Hey, I'm gonna go back to the van," she said.

He looked up at her. "Stay and stargaze with me?" he sweetly requested.

"Oh babe," she gave him a slight kick in the side. "My back hurts."

"Okay, I'll catch up with you," he promised.

"Okay."

It was much darker now, as Marisa descended down the narrow path in the woods. The path much trickier in her shoes. She made it halfway and stopped. Something had come over her, a paralyzing fear. Something wasn't right. She looked back at the lake and then at the van, the distance between both pretty much the same. She wanted to make sure Clair and Jeremiah were okay. She wanted to hear their voices. She wanted everyone to be laughing and talking about what they'd do once they got to L.A. She went a few feet and then it happened, the ground beneath her just seemed to give way and her entire foot turned on its side. She cried in pain. No one seemed to hear her.

She felt hot blood swell around her ankle. She took off her damned shoes and crawled the rest of the way to the van. The door was wide open. She paused before climbing in. She heard nothing at all. She didn't sense anyone in there. Maybe they were on their way back to the lake, but wouldn't she have passed them?

She hobbled into the van and huddled over in the corner. Tired, sore, she started to fall asleep when loud music snapped her out of it. It was that horrible Norwegian band Nathanial played earlier. It was deafening. She managed to stand and thought maybe the boys were playing a trick on her. She heard the door slam shut and saw Jimmy standing there. He had something in his hand. It was too dark to tell what it was. Before she could scream he reached out and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her head towards his crotch and slammed something hard against her head so she fell over on her side. Jimmy was crafty, he was careful not to kill her. He wanted her alive to play with in the same way a cat did a mouse.

She lied there, stunned, feeling the blood trickle down her face and wet her hair. She was starting to lose her vision. She reached out and tried to stand up but her ankle wouldn't cooperate and fell back, she wanted to reach for something to defend herself with but there was nothing but space and she stumbled about before falling to her knees. The music...she felt like she was drowning in its darkness.

"That's it," Jimmy said. "On your knees the way you always should be."

She heard him unzip his pants and smelled the terrible scent of his sex. It was suffocating. She felt dizzy, she started to pass out when he grabbed her by her hair and crammed his cock in her mouth. When she bit down on it he stepped away and slammed the hammer against her head. This time he meant for it to be fatal. He watched her slump down in the corner of the van, blood poured down her face. He raised the hammer and slammed it down on the center of her head and felt it sink.

23 "I'm The Wolf That Read How To Catch The Rabbit"

"MARISA?!" Nathanial called out as he walked along the path, sticks crunching beneath his feet, the wind howled. He stopped when he noticed something white on the ground. He picked up fake vampire teeth and stared at it for a minute when something heavy slammed down against the back of his head and he fell to the ground, blacking out.

Nathanial woke up sometime later on a dirty mattress. It was bare of sheets and had a huge stain in the middle. He tried hard to wake up but he'd been drugged. He realized his hands were tied behind his back. He was inside some grungy trailer with trash all over the floor.

He looked over and through his blurred vision, he could make out Jimmy sitting calmly in a chair, watching him with a serene look on his face. The right side of Nathanial's head throbbed and he couldn't remember how he got here. The last thing he could recall was being on the road. He remembered it being hot. He remembered hearing The Cure.

As Jimmy kept a placid stare on Nathanial, the lyrics of the song played in his head. Then he remembered dancing. His mind was working backwards...

He turned his head, thinking maybe the spot on the mattress on other side of his head smelled better. Nope. He had no idea what drug he had been given. He had no idea what was on this filthy rag that was crammed into his mouth.

"I'm the wolf that read How To Catch The Rabbit," Jimmy said. Nathanial blinked his eyes. There was blood in one. He turned his head again, facedown on the mattress. He started shaking his head. Panic set in and he couldn't stop shaking his head as he tried to scream.

"Oh shush," Jimmy said, walking over to him and running his hand through Nathanial's hair. Nathanial started crying when he saw the blood on Jimmy's fingers.

"Now I should have read the second book – it's a trilogy," Jimmy went on. "But I didn't, and now I'm not sure what to do with the rabbit."

Nathanial started crying into the mattress – they were terrible violent sobs of desperation.

Jimmy got on top of him and pulled his head up by his hair and took the gag out of his mouth.

"Say something, I want to hear you talk," Jimmy ordered.

"Where...are my friends? Clair..." Nathanial sobbed.

"They go wherever dogs go when they die!" Jimmy shouted before shoving the horrible cloth back into Nathanial's mouth, jabbing the roof of Nathanial's mouth with his fingers. "I'm tired of not getting what I want, I mean I'm tired of not being noticed!"

Nathanial was quiet, he felt like he was drowning in his own fear. This couldn't be happening. What was happening?

"What does the wolf do?" Jimmy asked, pressing down on Nathanial so Nathanial could feel Jimmy's erection against his ass. "Does he eat the rabbit?" Jimmy spoke in Nathanial's ear.

Nathanial found a bit of relief when Jimmy got off of him. Jimmy walked over to a plastic container of food on the floor by the chair. It was the food Marisa had gotten to-go from their last stop, of which Nathanial had absolutely no recollection.

"Are you hungry, lil' rabbit?" Jimmy asked. Nathanial stared down at the food. His face had a smudge of black from eyeliner he'd put on this morning, a morning that felt like it took place decades ago.

He shook his head. Whatever soiled the rag in his mouth was making him feel sick and weak. He watched as Jimmy took the sweaty lid off of the food and tossed it aside.

"You need to eat, sweetheart," Jimmy informed, running his fingers through Nathanial's hair. "Trust me, you'll need your energy for...to get through this night. I have a lot planned."

Nathanial kept shaking his head as Jimmy brought his hand up to Nathanial's mouth and pulled out the cloth. Nathanial watched as Jimmy ran the fork through the slop that was supposedly food. He noticed hair and blood-soaked bread. He also realized that little whitish clump setting on a piece of lettuce was skin. He felt sickness building up inside of him as Jimmy brought the fork up to Nathanial's mouth. He stared at the bloody hair hanging off the fork. The nausea in Nathanial's stomach made its way up to this throat.

"Come on," Jimmy urged. "I thought you liked Marisa?"

Hot vomit shot out of Nathanial's mouth when he was about to scream. Jimmy let out a pleased moan and took the gag and wiped the vomit with it, ran his tongue across it before cramming it back into Nathanial's mouth. Nathanial started twitching about and making angry sounds like a dog, trying to get out of Jimmy's hold as best he could.

"No, no, you don't, lil rabbit." Jimmy whacked Nathanial against the head again with the wine bottle. There was no need for Nathanial to be tied now. He was unconscious, but he wasn't dead. Jimmy checked for his heart beat, which still beat stubbornly. He was still warm. To Jimmy, he was still perfect.

"The rabbit sure looks tasty! What shall...the wolf do?" Jimmy wondered allowed. He spoke with great purpose, like an actor wanting to win his audience over.

"Does he toy with the rabbit, for the rabbit wants to escape? Oh what does he do? Well, what matters is what the Wolf wants to do. And the wolf is sick. Is it hunger that has made the wolf sick? No, food usually makes one sick, hunger makes one desperate. Why is the Wolf desperate? Because Rabbit made Wolf chase Rabbit when Rabbit was supposed to be Wolf's friend." The last few words fell from his mouth in everlasting darkness.

Jimmy was very still for a minute, almost as still as Nathanial. He ran his hand down the back of Nathanial's neck.

"Rabbit's still, what does that mean?" Jimmy wondered in a passionate whisper. Jimmy suddenly smacked Nathanial against the back of the head.

"WAKE UP Rabbit! WAKE UP! This isn't a game anymore – the game was the chase and the Wolf won. You know what the Wolf does now?" Jimmy waited, but Nathanial was despondent.

"The Wolf...celebrates," Jimmy stated passionately as he ran his hand down Nathanial's back. He reached around and unbuttoned Nathanial's jeans and tugged on them until they were down to Nathanial's knees. He sighed when he groped Nathanial's balls. The painful squeeze woke Nathanial up, forcing him back into the horror of his reality.

"You know what I hate, Nathanial? I hate vampire books. I hate vampires. I hate the idea of how if you have someone else...if you have a human's blood in you, you get better. How can that be? Humans are evil. You'd get sick."

When Nathanial considered fighting back or coming up with some plan, his head swirled and he felt another stream of vomit wanting to rise. He shook his head in violent protest, it was the only thing he could do.

"Shh," Jimmy told him. Nathanial shut his eyes tight when he felt two fingers stab his asshole. He shook his head at the pain and tears started streaming down his cheeks.

"I know," Jimmy said, as though he was trying to comfort him. "Hush now, hush..."

Jimmy slid his cock up Nathanial's ass. His head throbbed and sickness in him seemed to spread violently throughout him. He tried not to throw up because he would probably choke to death. He felt Jimmy rip him open wider.

"Oh..." Jimmy made a sound that purely acknowledged the pleasure he was getting from this. This made the next series of thrusts excruciating for Nathanial and he just wanted to die.

"And the Wolf says it loves every tear rolling down the Rabbit's face," Jimmy said as he pushed even more violently into Nathanial with the will to split him in half. "The Wolf says its like wine with dinner..."

Nathanial started making painful grunting sounds. It almost sounded like he was choking on his own sickness.

"Yes, yes, Wolf wants to dissolve in Rabbit, Wolf wants to disappear in Rabbit, Wolf wants to flood like the Death Sea into Rabbit..."

Nathanial's moans turned into choked up spurts and he felt Jimmy's fist bash down against Nathanial's spine. This was what Jimmy did when he came. Then Nathanial heard a hard thump because when Jimmy climaxed he fell off the bed. Nathanial was still at first, suffering. A cloud of demons inside him had burst and now the demons would dance there forever.

The drug, the exhaustion, kept Nathanial slipping in and out of consciousness. He tried to stay awake. He didn't want that happening all over again. He looked down at Jimmy. He saw the pool of blood expanding across Jimmy's stomach then he saw the fork had stabbed him there. Jimmy's eyes were open but the color was quickly evaporating from his face. Nathanial spent the next few minutes crying. He'd never cried this hard. He thought maybe, maybe if he cried hard enough he could cry out the dirty pain but no, no this wasn't going anywhere. He pummeled his body against the bed, wanting to be untied, wanting this disgusting thing out of him mouth. He started growling like an animal. He felt like in that instant he had the will to chew through wood. Get out, get out of here...

Nathanial rolled off the bed on top of Jimmy and in doing so, he pushed the knife in deeper. Then he shook his head around until the rag fell out of his mouth and he rolled off Jimmy. His heart raced in panic that Jimmy might have enough strength to grab him and hurt him again, but Jimmy remained very still. Nathanial looked around for something to aid him in getting his hands untied. Then that would be it. He'd finish Jimmy.

Nathanial crawled over to an old wooden table and lifted the leg with his fingers and started rubbing his wrists against it, loosening the handkerchief – his handkerchief, that Jimmy had tied him with. He went over to Jimmy and stood there for a minute, too emotional to do anything. Jimmy's eyes were closed.

"Are you fucking alive?" Nathanial asked. He waited a few seconds before screaming. "WAKE UP!!!" Then Nathanial jumped on top of Jimmy's chest and then he stomped on Jimmy's head before dropping to his knees and taking the fork out of his stomach and stabbing him in the face and neck with it. He turned and kicked through the trash all over the floor, screaming the whole time.

23 "Mommy, The Door Won't Open"

He stumbled out of the trailer. He didn't know where he was. He knew he was in the woods but had no idea what part of the country he was. He was just lost. He stumbled as he walked down the couple of steps from the trailer and fell to his knees. It was dawn. The sky was breaking into a light whitish yellow. Nathanial shielded his eyes from the brightness and his head slowly fell to the soft, cool ground. He thought he'd cry but he couldn't. You need to get out of here, just get out of here.

He managed to bring himself back to his feet and just started walking. His mind and the woods were the same – there was no sign of clearing. It was the same all over. The earth below his boots crunched sometimes, and other times it was soft and sank easily beneath him. When it crunched he pretended he was walking on Jimmy's bones. He saw the dangling feet above his head and knew it was Jeremiah and kept going for another few seconds before he stopped and leaned against the tree and a whole new batch of tears exploded from his eyes. He saw bluish blonde hair near a rock, a limp lifeless hand. Clair.

He felt so sore, and his eyes were swollen from crying. And something was wrong with his right eye, it had blood in it. He tried to focus on the windy sounds coming from the highway. When he came to it he just kept aimlessly walking, stumbling a bit. A car passed him by, flying and picking up leaves in its path. He started to hold his hand up for a ride even though it was far too late, and no one would pick him up once they saw his beaten face and dirty clothes.

He carried himself along the highway, facing oncoming traffic. He would find a restaurant somewhere, maybe he'd get lucky enough to slip into a bathroom and clean up without anyone noticing. His body ached with twisted, hot pain. He had blood on his hands and dried vomit on his chin and neck and Jimmy's semen in his hair.

He stood on the side of a highway looking down at a shopping center, his facial expression vacant. He spotted a Salvation Army. The parking lot was pretty empty, give or take a few shopping carts turned on their side. He made his way down the lot. He needed a change of clothing.

The thrift store had that used, lonely stench to it. A mountain of abandoned teddy bears were over in the corner. He spotted a white hoodie over them and grabbed it and quickly made his way to the back. The woman at the register couldn't be more oblivious to her own surroundings, making it easy for Nathanial to move along without being noticed. The endless racks of clothes kept him pretty hidden. He spotted a mirror. He saw that the left side of his face was completely swollen and his eye was enlarged and swollen shut. His hair was a mess. He started to lose it again, touching his hair and folding his arms around his chest, about to burst into tears again. His adorned hat was gone. He put his hands in his hair, touching the sides of his head very lightly, and started to sob a little. He felt dead.

He went into the bathroom. It was the most disgusting room, with a blue trash can that had shit smeared on the side and flies excitedly swarming around it. He turned the water on in the sink and violently scrubbed the blood and vomit off of him and put on the clothes he'd found – jeans, some gas station t-shirt with the number 76 on it and the slogan REV IT UP. He pulled the white hooded sweatshirt around him like a blanket and just started crying.

"Clair...Clair..." He missed her. He realized then how much he'd loved her.

There was a timid knock at the door but it made Nathanial jump back against the sink. He stared at the doorknob as it turned. It was him, it was Jimmy! Nathanial made a wheezing sound of fear and wanted to grab something to protect himself with but there was nothing.

"Mommy, the door won't open," he heard a child say.

"Because someone's in there," a woman responded. Nathanial waited a minute until he stopped trembling. He ran his hand over his face, feeling his ballooned eye. He wanted to give up, but he knew he couldn't stay here. He pulled the hood of the sweatshirt over his face so it shadowed his injuries and quickly walked out without so much as looking up from the floor.

24 "I Need To Be Electrified By Something"

A very funny looking man holding a briefcase was talking on a payphone outside of an I-Hop, a few miles down the road from the Salvation Army.

"Lopsky," he said into the phone, running out of patience. "Lopsky Hutchens." He turned to face the highway, his glasses were crooked because of the way he was holding the phone to his face.

"I'm on the list," he fussed, turning so he was facing the payphone again. The sun was bright, eager and warm and there was no cloud in the sky to offer solace.

"I know I am, I made a reservation!" he continued. He knelt down to open his briefcase, which was stuffed with papers. A wind came along and took half of them away.

"OH BEJESUS ME!" He panicked, let the phone hang on its on and went running after the papers down the highway.

"AH!" He screamed in frustration, only managing to rescue a few papers before walking back to the phone.

"Hello?! I made reser...LOPSKY! LOPSKY HUTCHENS!!!" Lopsky watched in desperation as his papers went all over the highway.

"NO!" Lopsky cried out, slammed the phone down and ran along the highway, trying to rescue the papers when he ran into Nathanial. He looked up at him and backed away when he saw his shadowed, swollen face. Then he noticed Nathanial had managed to save some of his papers.

"Oh..." Lopsky was relieved and terrified all at once. Nathanial, with his height and current bloodied state, looked the part of a zombie film.

"Thanks..." Lopsky mumbled as he stared down at the papers Nathanial had managed to retrieve. Then he looked up at Nathanial with wild appreciation.

"You saved the Gravett Report!" Lopsky hailed. He didn't even seem to notice Nathanial's contusions anymore.

"My god!" Lopsky broke out in laughter. "I was dead without this," he waved the paper around as he stared at Nathanial. "My goodness are...are you okay?"

Nathanial didn't speak right away. He looked passed Lopsky and down the highway.

"I..." Nathanial's mouth was dry. His head throbbed. "Was in...an accident."

"Let me take you to the hospital," Lopsky was about to reach out and touch Nathanial when Nathanial threw his hands up in defense.

"Okay," Lopsky backed away for a minute. He thought about just leaving, but Nathanial had done him a huge favor.

"Listen," Lopsky turned around, giving it one last try. "You helped me so I'd like to help you, its only fair. You obviously need it. I have to make a presentation in the morning and without these papers I could not have done..."

"Where am I?" Nathanial asked.

"Ohio...Richmond to be precise." Lopsky was very puzzled. "I think you hit your head very hard...do you know who you are?"

"I don't care...I want...to...s-sleep."

"I'm on my way to a hotel," Lopsky said, managing to sound brave even though he was still a bit spooked.

"The Golden Key," Lopsky continued. "To be perfectly accurate it's a motel. Not that it matters. There's a pool, cable, its quite befitting actually. This town does not have many great options." Lopsky focused on getting his papers in a neat stack because Nathanial's silence was making him nervous. The wind was still his enemy. When Nathanial didn't speak, Lopsky looked up at him.

"Okay, I'm just going to be perfectly honest here, because the only way two people can make progress is by being honest with one another – are you a dangerous person? Because I want to help you out and give you a lift, I think there's room at The Golden Key, but...even though my life can be a bit daft I'm not ready to throw in the towel yet, you get my drift?"

"I just...want to sleep," Nathanial repeated in the same exact way as before.

"I'll give you a ride...I suppose..." Lopsky's voice dropped to dark levels of doubt. "I know karate – I'm just putting it out there. I broke my father's neck. He survived, but life is filled with unfortunate factualism. My point in this banter is – I know how to defend myself. I'm not sure what you story is, but I don't have the time to absorb it. I will however, offer you a ride to The Golden Key, its right down Route 40, if that is what you are requesting."

"I want to, yes," Nathanial said. Lopsky looked him over again, frowning.

"Very well then, follow me." Lopsky lead the way, still wondering if he was making a grave mistake. Nathanial followed Lopsky to a nice shiny blue car in the I-Hop parking lot.

"I just ended things with my wife," Lopsky decided to share as they were in his BMW. It was actually a nice car, just unloved. It smelled like a rental.

"Never calling her again," Lopsky swore. "I'd rather spend my life in Kansas getting hit by tornados then see her face again."

Nathanial was about to speak but a pain in his head prevented him from speaking, it spread like lightning through his swollen eye and down his jaw. He probably had a concussion, but he wasn't smelling anything odd, just the plain, boring car. Nathanial leaned forward and hid his face in his hands from the bright sun. Lopsky glanced over with concern.

"Oh...you're not going to be sick are you?" he asked.

"No...please just drive."

"Okay." Lopsky tried to stay calm. He had to talk, the silence in the company of a total banged up stranger made him nervous.

"I work for this company over in Indiana, I tell you it's the most boring thing ever, but I have a plan. Its very important to have a plan...what's yours...I'm sorry, I never got yoru name."

Nathanial was very quiet.

"Jonathon," he eventually said.

"Jonathon. Well, I'm moving to Chicago, Jonathon. I need to feel a city's energy seeping into me, you know? I need to be electrified by something! Do you like Bob Mould?" He looked over at Nathanial, who had his face in his hands again.

"I'm going to play some music now," Lopsky informed. He turned it on but not too loud so he could continue to talk.

"I have done the same thing for ten years. But once I turn in this report – the one you, my friend, saved," he gleamed. "IT'S DONZO!" Lopsky laughed nervously as he accelerated. He didn't usually speed, but good lord he just wanted to be in his room, make the calls he needed to make, and find out which papers he'd lost.

"I want to go out with them wanting me to stay," Lopsky continued. "I want them to say, look what Lopsky did, he saved our asses – how will we ever survive without him? I want them to cry in their stupid coffees, but they won't – they're dry as paper dolls." Lopsky paused, in case Nathanial had anything to say. He did not, he was still covering his face with his hands. "You know what I'm gonna do? After I turn in the Graffet Report?"

Nathanial was devastatingly quiet. He wondered if this guy ever stopped talking.

"Move to Chicago, start over. That's the great thing about life, Nathanial, it continuously gives you the opportunity to start over."

And the reasons, Nathanial thought.

32

The Golden Key looked like it had been around since the 70s. There were three little orange and blue buildings surrounding a pool. Palm trees were everywhere.

They got out of the car, Lopsky relieved to still be alive and in a hurry to find out if they'd gotten his reservations debacle straightened out.

"Well you're in luck, my friend," Lopsky pointed out the marquee. "Looks like there's still vacancy. I'll show you where to check in, lad, and then you're on your own."

Lopsky had a funny walk. If Nathanial was capable of laughing, he would have snickered. Lopsky walked like he was trying to keep something from falling out of his butt. He pulled the wooden door open that read OFFICE in big green letters. Nathanial was unnerved to find a few people sitting in the lobby. Eyes immediately turned on him.

Nathanial noticed a very pretty girl sitting on the couch with a sketchbook in her lap. She looked up at him and chewed on her pencil. She was sun-drenched and had freckles all over her face and long reddish brown hair. When she eyed him, he looked away immediately.

Lopsky rang the bell on the desk over and over until a skinny, haggard looking man approached it.

"Yes, what is it?" the man asked.

"Lopsky Hutchens," Lopsky intensely testified. "I called you earlier to make sure my reservation was set and you seemed to have a hard time comprehending anything at all – my words, the air around you, etcetera." Lopsky took a minute to straighten his glasses. "Also my friend here needs a room, he's recovering from an accident. He's on the mend and just needs some rest."

The man, Michael, glanced at Nathanial before looking back at Lopsky.

"You two are rooming together?"

"No, good heavens." Lopsky spent the next few seconds in a fluster over the thought. "I should already have a room!" Lopsky declared.

The pretty girl on the couch stared at Lopsky with endless amusement.

"I'll check the files," Michael listlessly informed, looking at his computer.

"Sam?" Michael called out. The pretty tanned girl looked up from her sketchbook.

"Yeah?" She sounded somewhat defiant. Nathanial glanced at her only for a second, because he needed to see something beautiful.

"My computer's frozen," Michael said, irritably punching buttons. Sam put her sketchbook down and walked over to the computer. Nathanial glanced down at what she'd been drawing – a house on fire, with flames erupting from the roof, and angels above it sitting on the sun.

"I keep telling you you need to get a new computer," she calmly lectured as she held down a button for almost a minute. Everyone motel owner should have a decent computer." Sam glanced up at Nathanial. He was by far the most interesting person she'd seen around here in months. Just as soon as she looked at him, he looked away. She figured out he wasn't interested in her whatsoever.

"Here it is," Sam pointed to the screen. "Lopsky Hutchens, room 7B."

Lopsky lifted his hand just to slap it on the counter. "Finally someone knows something – hurray!"

Sam turned around and held the key out and Lopsky snatched it from her hand and made his way up the stairs.

"Okay," Sam looked back at the screen. "So he can have 9B," Sam said, nodding at Nathanial.

"No," Michael immediately said. "That's having some repairs."

"No, its not," Sam shot back.

"Yes, Sam, it is," Michael assured.

"Since when?"

"Last night."

"You're lying!" Sam said. Just then Lopsky came down the stairs, all worked up again. He pushed Nathanial out of the way and rang the bell. Sam gave him a look.

"Uh, I'm right here..." she said.

"I spoke to someone on the phone and she said you guys had swivel action direct flow on your powerful jets but I just have a regular bathtub. Its not a whirlpool tub. Its just a tub, it just holds water!"

"We had them replaced," Sam informed. "They were too loud."

Lopsky let out a sharp laugh.

"Well you should tell people that when they make reservations and inquire about the accommodations!"

"Is that why 9B is under repair?" Sam asked Michael. "Because the tub's being replaced?"

Michael's mouth was full of words he didn't want to let out. He stared down at the desk.

"That one still has the old whirlpool tub," he finally said.

"Well I'll take that one, that's the one I was promised," Lopsky demanded.

"No," Michael sternly responded. Meanwhile Nathanial was getting more and more anxious. His face throbbed and his back hurt.

"Listen, buddy, I called and asked for that room and that was the room I was told I'd get! I'm having quite a rotten pickle of a day so just give me the room!"

"Are you okay with having the other room?" Sam asked Nathanial. Her voice was soft. It managed to keep Nathanial calm. He wouldn't look up at her but he gave a definite nod.

"Okay," Sam sighed, tired of this job. "So he can have 7B and Lopsky gets 9, there, its settled." Lopsky handed his key to Nathanial and took the other one before racing out of the office to his room and Nathanial quickly went to his.

Michael pulled Sam aside, displeased.

"I know I'm your father and we have our little tiffs but here I'm your boss and would like a little professionalism and respect."

"You don't know how to do anything," Sam simply said. "You never know what to do when the computer freezes, and you never inform people if a room is not available – also we should change the sign to No Vacancy," she said. "I'm sorry dad, but...I'm just trying to help." She walked back over to the couch where the sketchbook was and took a deep breath, the kind that filled her up to her toes. She stared in great dissatisfaction at what she'd been drawing. After a few seconds she turned to a fresh blank page and began sketching a boy in a white hoodie.

33

Nathanial hurried down the hallway, on the verge of a meltdown. All he wanted was to be alone, hidden away, for the rest of his life.

He slipped the keycard into the little slot. The click he heard was the most beautiful sound in the world. He opened the door and was greeted by cold air and a clean, almost nothingness smell. He dropped his bag and fell on the bed and let the tears come.

He rolled over on the bed, feeling emptied. He liked motel rooms because of their ability to erase human existence – to completely delete the presence of the last visitor. He wanted to do that to his soul. To his body. His mind.

He sat up, on the edge of the bed. Before the pain left on him was hard to spot as it spread all over him but now it was more revealing where his true injuries were. His head and his right testicle. He stood up and went over to the window. He saw Sam on the diving board, perfectly poised. Nathanial thought it wasn't possible for a person to be that still and completely inhabited by concentration. Suddenly she ran just a few steps to the edge and jumped way up and sliced the water open with her perfect body. It was magnificent and for a minute, it erased Nathanial's scowl.

He backed away and slowly made his way to the bathroom. How long would it take for his face to look normal again? He tried to touch it but it hurt too much. He sent a direct punch to the mirror, sending spiderweb-cracks up and down the glass. He looked at the neat lines of blood on his fist. It felt good to be the cause of his own pain – there was a unique power to it. You're in control now, you, you, YOU. He punched the mirror again, using the same fist. The cuts sparkled with tiny shard of glass in the skin, like it was encrusted with tiny little diamonds.

Nathanial placed his hands down on the sink, spreading his arms out, leaning forward. He stared at himself in the mirror for a minute before back off and pulling his shirt off. He turned to the side. His back was bruised and there was a massive lump on his head from where he was hit with the wine bottle and his hair was entangled with blood. Every so often tears wailed up in his eyes but he fought them back down, he wouldn't allow them out.

He turned the shower water on and let it run for a while, let steam build so it wrapped around him like a comforting hug from an old friend. The tears came...

He stepped in and felt the hot drops beat off his shoulders, his face, all over, but there was something stuck on him that would not wash off. It would always be there. It didn't go away when he punched the mirror either.

The hot water poured down his back and all over his aches. It poured down from his hair. A cut on the top of his head stung from it but eventually turned numb. He stared at blue hair dye and blood as it circled the drain. You know who you are. You know who you are?

After his shower he went back over to the sink. His knuckles stung from the fresh cuts and bled when he made a fist. Well fuck you too, he thought.

He turned around and stared at the shower, at the blue and red floor...the pain was defined now, throbbing and aching.

"Well what do you want from me?" Nathanial muttered, grinding his teeth as he walked across the room to the bed. He picked up the alarm clock and hurled it across the room so it slammed against the wall. His wet body dropped against the sheets. He desperately wanted sleep. He wanted sleep so bad he scared it away. Blood and water left rose-colored spots on the white sheets. The sound of splashing outside his window prevented him from finding his way into a nice deep sleep. It seemed to occur exactly every 20 seconds. Why was it so loud? It was like glass shattering!

He turned irritably, kicking the sheets and punching the pillow, just wanting to get lost in sleep. There was a wall one melted through and on the other side was sleep, was a land of dreams, or nightmares – well whatever was there Nathanial desperately wanted to slip over to it. But the damn splashing!!!

Sam was swimming. Nathanial watched her from the side of the building, peeking around as she pulled herself out of the pool and went back to the diving board. She had an amazing body that the dark pink almost red bikini flattered greatly. Her boobs bounced, her tummy was flat and tone. Her bottom was perfectly heart-shaped.

He watched her dive. It wasn't your typical motel pool dive for recreation sake. It was a freaking reverse in the tuck position. He marveled at her skills as she swam to the opposite end of the pool, cutting straight through the water with her slim figure. She got out and walked right back to the diving board. She was like a machine, emotionally cutoff from her surroundings. He wanted to be like that. She dove again, perhaps even better than the last time. After a minute his infatuation deceased and upset refilled him.

"Hey?" he called out to her, a bit hostile. When she didn't give him the time of day, he walked over to her. She continued to ignore him and walked over to the diving board. She distributed a great deal of determination. He stared at her body, she was so healthy, perfect. She stood on the diving board for a few seconds, poised, and then boom! Up the sky, her body a ball of tanned flesh before splashing back into the water.

"Hey!" he called out as she made her way back to the board again. She stopped and stared at him.

"Could you stop that?" He held his hand out expressively. "Stop diving."

She just stared at him, bewildered. Then she frowned.

"I can hear you," he pointed to the window of his room. "Every time you splash, I hear it. I can't sleep, all I wanna do is sleep."

"All I wanna do is swim," she said. She was a bit stubborn, this one, he realized.

"That's fine, you can swim – just don't dive."

"Ha! Yes, boss," she sarcastically swiped.

"I want to sleep – please!" he shouted loud enough to shake anyone up but Sam. She just seemed unshakable.

"I'd love to cater to your needs, but I need to practice tonight because last night I had to skip it, I went to see Black Label Society." She looked at him, waiting for that to generate some interest. "The band?"

"That's nice, I hope you find someone who cares."

"I want to be in the Olympics," she went on. "Not that you care about this – but if you want to be good at something you have to keep doing it. I would never stay here and put up with my dad if there wasn't a pool, so you wanting me to stop the only reason I'm here is an outrage."

"I want to sleep," he said again, this time just totally desperate.

"Its three in the afternoon," she pointed out.

"I don't care," he said, so sincere.

"Is there such a thing as Sleeping Olympics?"

"Oh I wish."

He started to walk off, this girl was going to do what she wanted and it just left him frustrated.

"What happened to you?" she called out. He turned and scowled at her. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and went back to his room. He heard a splash before he was even back inside the motel.

36

"She loves her diving," Michael said as Nathanial walked passed him to the stairs. Nathanial stopped halfway up the stairs and looked at Michael.

"She hurt herself once, real bad," Michael let him know. "Hit her head real hard on the bottom of a swimming pool and was in the hospital for weeks. Doesn't stop her though. Not my Sammy. She's always doing something – drawing, swimming, something..."

Nathanial figured he should say something but he just had nothing.

"Room okay?" Michael asked. Nathanial gave a slight nod before descending up the stairs. He tried once again for sleep, but he just couldn't slip out of his own reality.

36

Nathanial stared at the door, his face finding comfort on a cool spot on the pillow, when a note was slipped under his door. He waited until he heard soft footsteps outside his door fade away before he went to fetch it.

Hungry as hell, no more snack machine, can't take it, wanna go with me somewhere?

\- The Diver

Nathanial walked over to the trashcan and tossed the note in it and tried once again to fall asleep. And he did.

When he woke up, it was dark out and the sky was glittery with stars. He stared down at the pool. It was empty. It seemed a bit depressing without her there. Vapid.

He turned when he heard something by the door. Another freaking note. She's not going to give up.

He marched over to it. Curiosity would not allow him to toss it before viewing it. This time it was a drawing of Lopsky diving into the pool. It was such a hilarious sight it made Nathanial laugh, which made his back hurt. She slid another one under the door. This time it was a drawing of a man holding a gun to a chicken with a quote bubble above him: GIVE ME ALL YOUR EGGS BITCH!!!

He opened the door just a crack and looked down at her. Her eyes were a beautiful golden color he hadn't noticed before. She glanced up at him.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked. He still sounded so angry.

"I figure the next best thing to sleep is laughter. Did you laugh?"

He tried to fight off his smile. "Nope."

She waited a minute before she looked back up at him. She kind of reminded him of Natalie Wood.

"So now I'm very hungry," she said.

"You never got food?"

"No. I want you to come with me."

"Why? You don't know me. I'm a guy. I'm an asshole. I told you I just want to sleep."

"Well that doesn't seem to be working out for you." Her tone was combative when his was, and calm when his was calm. This drove him nuts.

"Okay...I guess I could eat," he gave up.

"I'm betting you could if you tried."

38

He found her in the lobby in a Nirvana shirt, shorts and converse sneakers with no socks. He told her he needed a minute to get ready. She thought he meant change clothes, but he just needed to sit around and prepare himself for the outside world.

"Your eye looks better," she said. He followed her out to the parking lot, which only had about three cars, one of them was Lopsky's.

"You think Lopsky enjoyed his bath?" Sam asked, amused.

"I don't want to think about that," Nathanial clarified. She laughed and looked over at him as she unlocked the driver side door. She got in and popped his lock up. Sam had a nice car. It was a black 2006 Mustang.

"Fasten your seatbelt," she said. He didn't really like taking orders, but she seemed to love giving them out. He reached back for the seatbelt and fastened it. She waited until he was safely tucked in and pulled out of the parking lot.

"So were you in some kind of accident?" she asked. He waited a minute to respond.

"Yes." She glanced over at him with a casual stare, nothing too intrusive. He nodded and tugged on his seatbelt, holding it away from his neck.

"So...sorry but your situation is suspicious – I mean...was anyone else hurt?"

"A tree," he said. He didn't want to talk. And damn it, everything led to talking. You had to talk if you went somewhere, you had to interact with someone at some point. He was getting a very bad headache.

"How do you feel about Chuck-E-Cheese?" Sam asked.

"You can't be serious," he said, a little life coming back to his tone.

"I'm not," she smirked. "I was just trying to get you to talk."

"I'm just starving."

"I know where we can go," she said. He liked her calmness and confidence. She turned off the road they were on. Her tone was soothing and promising of something good. She drove for about twenty more minutes when Nathanial saw half-pipes and ramps and a weathered sign that read SALT SKATE PARK.

"A skate park?" he looked at her. "I thought we were eating."

"We are dude. You'll really like this."

Nathanial was apprehensive. He watched as Sam got out of the car and walked around, looking in through his window.

"I used to come here when I was a kid, come on!" She turned and disappeared down a hill. Nathanial got out and tried to keep up. The park looked like a half-built monster of hope. There were a few kids skating, and another boy sleeping on a bench. Sam walked fast. Nathanial panned her for one of those athletic tomboy types.

She was headed to a taco stand called Sotanos. There were picnic tables set up that looked out at a basketball court.

"There used to be a pool here but it was drained once and never filled back up," Sam explained as she stood in front of the taco stand. "I hurt myself really bad in it," she shared, seeming somewhat grim for a minute. "So," she got over it. "What do you want? I'm buying," she said.

"You don't...have to do that but...I'll get a couple of tacos and...a quesadilla, chicken."

"Hungry boy," she said, smiling as she turned to the cashier to order.

"Let's go around back," she said after ordering. They headed around to the back of the stand to a picnic table. The slapping of boards against pavement was nonstop, but not that bothersome. Even though Nathanial could hear people skating, when he looked around he couldn't spot anyone.

"So do you skate?" Nathanial asked, listening to the long sliding sound of a skateboarder on the halfpipe.

"Used to, my dad hates it– he hates everything I do basically. He's afraid I'm going to hurt myself again." She shrugged. "You're going to get hurt," she said. "That's just part of life."

He stared at her for a minute. He felt like she'd shared a part of her, and he wanted to share something with her. He took out a piece of paper he'd scribbled something down on earlier. He pushed it over to her.

"Karate in a...kar?" she looked up at him puzzled.

"I want to start a band...or...something and call it that."

"You spelled car wrong."

"I did it on purpose," he said. "I...Lopsky...was talking about how he knew karate when he gave me a ride..."

"Oh." She smiled after a minute. "I like it." She reached over and wiped sour cream from the corner of her mouth and licked it off her finger.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Twenty...two." He sounded like he didn't know. "You?"

"Sixteen."

"Oops..."

"Why oops?"

"I don't know...that's young. I could get arrested."

"For eating tacos with a teenager?" she said, before taking a sip of her soda.

"Look, I do what I want," she said. "My dad...we have a strange relationship. My mom lives in Cali."

"Cali...California?" Nathanial asked.

"Yup." She wiped her mouth and held onto the napkin, observing him. "I'm going to see her next week, soon as I help my dad catch up on things at the motel." She lowered her voice and shook her head. "I'm so tired of working there." She waited a minute and then she asked. "You're welcome to come with me to California, or you could just hang out at The Golden Key forever."

"Are those my only options?" he said, almost smiling.

"Yup."

"Why can't we just leave tonight?" he said.

"We can," Sam answered, come to think.

The House In The Hamptons

This house I speak of  
No sound  
No static  
No cancer  
So  
I'm an unsolvable cell  
So  
I'm an unsolvable cell

-Shannon Wright, Father

"A house for the fireflies."

Part 1 More Of The Same

1

"Don't go outside," Detective Travis Warren told the young, yummy woman about to set out on her morning jog.

"There's a body," he further added. "In fact there are many bodies. Dead ones. Everywhere."

Sophie sat very still, observing her favorite actor in the entire world. His face – my god, that face! That blonde hair. That thick, manly mustache. That voice. Detective Travis Warren was played by Jonis Trayhen, and he was Sophie's first crush ever.

All of the sudden her mother entered the living room with her stupid Avon booklets, blocking the TV.

"MOM!" Sophie fussed. "Move, you're blocking it! I can't see."

Her mother just stared her down. "Calm down, Sophie."

"I will throw the remote at you, I swear!" Sophie was feeling quite irritable that day. She just wanted to be alone, but her mother never went anywhere. Anywhere. She was always in the house.

"Sophie," her mother chuckled, astounded. "You will go to your room with no more TV or supper if you keep that attitude up."

"I JUST WANT TO SEE THE TV!!!" Sophie hollered at the ceiling. There was a very simple solution to this – all her mother had to do was sit down, and she was just two steps away from the couch.

"Okay, that's it." Her mother snatched the remote up from the coffee table and clicked a button that made the whole picture go black. She took his voice away, she took his face away, all at once.

"Go to your room," her mother pointed down the hall. Like I don't know where my room is, Sophie thought.

"Don't you roll your eyes at me!" Her mother yelled. "I mean it, Sophie. Go. NOW."

"For the rest of the night?" Sophie picked her eyes up from the floor and looked at her mother, who she grew to detest more and more by the hour. It used to be by the day.

"Yes, until the sun comes up. Yes." Dorris sat down on the couch. When she was angry, her bottom lip puffed out.

"What about later, when the fireflies come out?" Sophie asked, before walking off.

"Stay in your room until the sun comes up or else."

2

Sophie could smell the steamy vegetables and steak coming down the hall from the kitchen. She was hungry, in fact she'd never felt so hungry in her life. Knowing that she would be deprived of a nice hot meal made it even worse.

She could hear her parents have polite conversation at the table, but in restricted tones. They didn't love each other anymore, but they'd devoted so much of their life to one another that Sophie figured they'd just stay together. Who else out there would want their wilting bodies and addled minds?

The talking stopped and a few minutes later Sophie heard footsteps approach her door.

Detective Travis Warren, that you? Have you come to find out why my life sucks so much? Sophie thought, making herself laugh for a very quick second before she moped over to the door. She looked up at her mother's long face.

"I changed my mind, you can eat. I can't be that cruel. But no TV."

"Firefly catching?" Sophie said, hopeful.

"Sophie..." Dorris sighed as she descended down the hall. "I guess so."

Sophie ran back into her room for her bug jar she kept on her bedside table. It smelled like them. It smelled like grass and the night summer air. She skipped down the hallway and kept the jar right next to her plate of spaghetti. There was barely enough room for the jar with all the clutter on the kitchen table. Her mother could never decide what she wanted to do for work. This week it was Avon, so her little Avon books and samples were all over the table. The tiny lipsticks melted in afternoon strokes of sunlight. Last week she tried sewing, and her kits were everywhere with unfinished patterns of little kids flying kites. Then there were the unpaid bills between the cookie jar and breadbox. Dad couldn't handle taking care of everything on his own anymore. He couldn't pay for everything. And nothing Dorris tried to do work-wise ever panned out. Then there was the disgusting rag stained with ketchup in the middle of all the mess. Dorris didn't clean either. What did she do? Constantly nag Sophie to stop watching TV and take up a new hobby. Sophie was already on the soccer team and when she wasn't busy with that she was taking swimming lessons at the Y. That and her schoolwork had kept her busy throughout the school year. Now that summer was here she was hoping to catch a break.

"I spoke to Leslie's mom today, Vanessa," Dorris began. Here it came...

"She's going to take lessons at that Dance Center in The Hamptons this summer."

"Great," Sophie said, blithely disinterested. Dorris kept her eyes on Sophie.

"Have you thought of what you want to do for the next three months?" Dorris pried as she broke a piece of garlic bread in half.

"Mom its Sunday. School just ended Friday. Can't I have a second to breathe? After spending a whole school year working hard? I can't just take a break?"

"You didn't do that well in school," she shot down. "B's mostly, and you even got a few C's. I don't wanna hear it. You're not spending the whole summer watching TV and collecting bugs, that's for sure. You'll get lazy. You'll get fat – like that book you've been reading."

"I haven't been reading it," Sophie said, matter-of-fact. The book Dorris was referring to was called Everyone I Know Got Fat. It was a how-to about preventing weight gain.

Sophie continued to butter her garlic bread, trying not to cry. Nothing will ever be good enough for her mother because her mother was disappointed in herself, in the way her own life had turned out. Sophie could never fix that.

"What have you been doing all day – besides watching that silly show."

"I like that show," Sophie said, in defense though a bit meek. "TV is pointless. The Devil invented television. TV makes people fat – it's the number one cause of weight gain. If you took the time to read that book, you'd know that." Dorris's voice was uppity. Sophie glanced over at her indolent father.

"Dad did you lock the shed in the carport?" she asked, her words sliding out of her mouth in one big rush. He kept reading the paper.

"Dad?" Sophie tried to pull his eyes up from the section he was reading.

"What?" he fussed.

"The carport? The shed, did you lock it?"

"No, no."

"Okay, can you leave it unlocked?" she asked. His eyes were already back in the paper.

"Yeah, yeah, yes," he grouched.

"Listen," Dorris tried to get Sophie's attention back. "I'm going to call Vanessa in the morning. She has that big house and all, I don't see why you wouldn't want to spend the summer in The Hamptons. Who wouldn't want to do that?"

"Me, mom. I would like to just rest for a month. Can't I just rest for a month?"

"And get fat? That what you want, Sophs?"

Sophie dropped her fork and sat there, sullen, her hand against her cheek.

"May I please be dismissed?" she asked.

"I would really like for you to consider going to The Hamptons. What if it turns out that you love dancing?" Dorris said.

"I don't like to dance," Sophie reminded. "I'm not a dancer. I was going to, at some point, focus on swimming."

"You already know how to swim!" Dorris said, overly excited. "I've seen you, you're great. Now its time to do something else. You might like it. You didn't like soccer this much until you tried it."

"That's not true," Sophie was careful not to yell but that was all she wanted to do.

"If I looked like I wasn't having fun its just because I was fully focused on perfecting my craft." But you wouldn't know anything about that, she heatedly thought.

"Sophie, that is great, that's what I love to hear you say. You would only be in The Hamptons for a month, and then you can come back and swim. Say you'll think about it."

Sophie knew her mother wasn't going to let this go. She wasn't going to be satisfied until Sophie's bags were packed and shipped off along with her to The Hamptons. She knew Dorris was embarrassed by her continuous state of bereavement and at least with Sophie in The Hamptons and her father off living his secret life, Dorris could be alone in her own despair.

"I will go to The Hamptons, may I be excused now?" Sophie kept her tone mellow. All she wanted was to be out in the summer night, surrounded by those pretty twinkling insects.

"Okay, great! I will call Vanessa and make the arrangements tomorrow."

Sophie nodded as she pushed her chair in. She glanced at her father, who hadn't looked up from his paper during the rest of the debacle.

3

For a minute he saw what they used to do in the kitchen, before it became a space where they tried to avoid one another while they quickly prepared something to eat. Phillipe used to fuck his wife there. He used to take her. She used to get so overwhelmed by him, by him touching her, by his voice. He would approach her from behind as she did the dishes, wrap his arms around her soft body, grope her, smell her skin, and she'd drop whatever thing was in her hand and turn around, pressing her body against his like she'd die if she didn't do it quickly enough. Then she'd spread her legs around him when he picked her up and placed her on the table and her head would fall back and he'd say sweet stuff like, "Are you having a good day beautiful?" And she'd sigh, "I am now," and he'd touch her and find her warm and wet and eager and he'd take her right there, unzipping his jeans and pushing up inside her in less than a minute while their kisses turned violent with urge, and it felt so great. It felt so spontaneous. And she'd get wetter and hold onto him and nothing else in the entire world mattered. They managed to completely snap away from all burdens. When he was done with her there, and done meant fucking her, turning her over and taking her from behind, getting on his knees and inspecting her all over, they'd retire to the bedroom upstairs and have sex again and again. He thought...he thought he'd kept her satisfied in every way a man could a woman.

But then the storm happened. Then the other man happened. Then nothing happened. Funny how endless nothing could be.

Phillipe stared up at the roof of his house in a woodsy area of The Hamptons. There was a very violent storm a few weeks ago and a tree had fallen and now there was a huge hole in the roof that allowed sunlight to pour down on a part of the house where they used to lounge in the afternoon and talk and read and just be happy in each other's companies.

Phillipe had no desire to patch up the hole.

4

At 8:55 pm Sophie stepped outside. It was so quiet and the moon was trying to present itself from under a passing cloud, turning the dark grey cloud a bruised blue.

Sophie stared at it for a minute before she noticed three fireflies lighting up over by the cherry tree. She slipped her shoes off and picked up the bug jar and ran over to them. Her father had just mowed the grass and the sweet smell of it was so vibrant, along with the honeysuckle, and barbeque a few doors down.

Sophie liked to walk barefoot, she liked to feel the ground beneath her feet. She just liked to feel something.

She heard her dad come out of the house and get in his car and leave. She heard her mother crying from the kitchen window. She took the lid off the jar and placed the glass jar down in the overgrown grass for a minute. A firefly was so close to her it was almost on her nose when it lit up. She laughed for a minute before capturing it in her hands.

"Come on, firefly buddy," she said, placing him in the jar. He plopped down and moved about in his restricted environment in confusion before he flew to the top of the jar, hoping to get out. His entrapment didn't prevent him from lighting up however.

She caught a few more so he'd have some friends before screwing the cap back on and carrying it over to the carport.

"Okay!" she shouted gloriously as she pulled the shed door open. "Waittaya see this!!!" she exclaimed. She put the jar down on

her father's work shelf. She had to be extra careful in here because it was crammed with rakes and shovels and gardening tools. There were things everywhere waiting to hurt her.

Sophie had built a house out of wood and construction paper for the fireflies. It was about the size of a dollhouse. She'd made little bars for the windows out of toothpicks. There was not enough space between the bars for them to escape, but plenty for them to breathe. She placed the jar under the wooden shelf where she'd made a flap for a door, and unscrewed the lid so the fireflies could fly up into house. She closed the little door and stood back and the smile on her face enlarged as the fireflies lit up.

She did a little celebration dance, her shoes slapping against the dirty carport. She was going to tell her mom tonight. She'd been waiting to tell her, waiting until there were enough fireflies inside the house to make it completely light up, and now there were!

"Mom!" Sophie called out as she flew across the yard, up the steps to the porch and into the kitchen. Her mother stood at the kitchen sink, finishing up dishes. Her mood terribly grim.

"What?" she groaned.

"You HAVE to come see this," Sophie alerted. "I made something – I want to share it with you. It will cheer you up!"

"Sophie, not now," she said, wiping her hands on the dish towel.

"Just come, real quick. It won't take long," Sophie insisted.

Her mother gave her a cold stare. "Your father left, did he say anything to you?"

"No," Sophie said. "Come!" she tugged on Dorris's hand. Dorris reluctantly followed her outside. She did not want to go beyond the back porch.

"Sophie I don't have on the proper shoes for this," she fussed.

"I don't have on ANY shoes!" Sophie shouted, pulling her mother along across the tall secretive grass to the oil-stained carport where worms had drowned in the oil and died. They were dried up now and felt like pieces of sticks.

"Wait till ya see," Sophie smiled, pulling on the screen door. Her mother stared at the glowing box on the shelf. It took her a minute to realize what it was, what those little yellow lights were that constantly flickered.

"It's a firefly house, mom!" Sophie proudly announced. She looked back at her mom. "I started it in June, I have about twenty living in it now!"

"Sophie, why would you do something like this?" Her mother sounded disgruntled.

"To give them a house to stay in – they're always looking for each other. They are. That's why they light up, mom, to show their friends where they are. Now – now they can all be together."

"Does your father know about this?" Dorris snapped.

"I don't know..."

Her mother studied the house closer. She noticed a few pages from her Avon booklets glued on the inside.

"What did you do...what did you use my books for!"

"Wallpaper..."

"Sophie, this is the dumbest thing you've ever done." Dorris yanked Sophie by the arm, pulling her back. The she picked the house up and smashed it to the ground.

"NOOOOOOOO! What are you doing?" Sophie tried to grab the house but it was already ruined, with one side of it smashed. Dorris held Sophie back and started stumping on pieces of the house, smashing the fireflies to death in the process.

"MOM NO!!!" Sophie's screams were bloodcurdling. "NOOO!!! WHY WOULD DO THAT, WHY!" Tears ran down Sophie's cheeks. A light in the neighbor's house turned on and someone peeked through the window.

"NO!!!" Sophie squawked. Dorris turned around and clamped her hand down around Sophie's wrist, pulling her towards the house. Sophie pulled her wrist away, breaking free. She looked down at the ruins of the firefly house. Her wrist hurt, but the most painful thing was to see what she'd been building now a mess. To see those little insects – some half dead but no longer able to fly – on the ground.

"I hate everything," she sobbed. "I do." She shook her head and continued to cry. She wiped her hand wet with tears on her dress. "I hate it...I hate everything...I HATE EVERYTHING!!!" She screamed so loud her throat hurt. "I HATE EVERYTHING!"

"Come inside this house, Sophie," her mom called from the porch, calculatingly. "Or you will be locked out."

Sophie was despondent. A few minutes later she pulled the shed door open and went inside. She pulled the screen door shut and stood as still as a statue, staring out at her mother. Her face was blank.

5

"You're leaving today," Dorris informed as she shoved some things into Sophie's duffle bag. Sophie stood there, staring at the things her mom was placing in the bag.

"Everything is set. You'll be taking the train to The Hamptons and Vanessa will pick you up." Dorris crammed a t-shirt into the bag and tried to zip it up but she'd put too much stuff in it. Sophie had no idea what kind of crap her mother had packed for her.

"Does your back hurt?" Dorris asked. When Sophie didn't answer, she went on. "I can't believe you spent the whole night in that shed. What is wrong with you? Seems like everything I do to try and raise you into a proper, well adjusted person has the opposite effect."

Sophie still did not speak. She'd spent the entire night in that shed, part of it standing and staring out at the house, wishing she could start fires with her eyes like Drew Barrymore in Firestarter. When that didn't work, she huddled over in a corner and managed to fall asleep.

"You should go or you'll miss the three o'clock train," Dorris informed.

Sophie stood by the door, looking at her mom and wondering why she was so mean. Then she tried to grasp good thoughts – Leslie had a pool, she had an amazing, huge TV to watch Detective Travis on. The house was enormous and secluded. It might be nice. It had to be better than this.

One solid thought ran through Sophie's emotional state like a black thread – she was never, ever, ever coming back here. Ever again.

Sophie stuck to the script for now. She went to the Long Island Railroad Station, which was almost as big as an airport. She had two-hundred dollars for the whole month, collected from monthly allowances and a little bit of spending money her father gave her. Two-hundred dollars had about a fifty dollar value in New York. She splurged on a bracelet at a cute little jewelry stand at the station anyway. It was blue pearls and seashells. It was twenty-five dollars but fit perfectly. It was pretty and new and it made her feel hopeful...it even made her feel like a new person for about five minutes in a dragging old world.

Her back hurt from having spent half the night standing in that shed, but she carried on. Anger had turned into adrenaline. Anger had turned into determination. And she was never, ever going back home again.

As the train made its way from Montauk to The Hamptons, the scenery didn't really change that much. Maybe the houses were nicer, the grass was greener. The mood was sunnier. Sophie was only fifteen. She wondered how many people ran away at her age. She'd read a lot about kids running away and ending up in bad situations but she thought those books were written purposely to keep kids from running away, even if their home life was worse.

When she arrived at The Hamptons stop, she stood up and grabbed her bag and a feeling of independence took over and woke her up a bit. She could do anything she wanted – she didn't have to spend the next two months at Leslie's. She could go off somewhere if she wanted to.

Sophie saw Leslie's mom, Vanessa, standing by her red convertible. She was blonde with very curly hair. She was a bit chunky. She was an older, fat version of Leslie. She wore a silk blue tank top with brown cargo shorts and croc wedges. She acted like this ensemble was a good idea.

"Sophie!" Vanessa waved her hand around frantically and the sun glared against her tennis bracelet. Sophie forced a smile as she walked over to her.

"Hey Vanessa," Sophie said. She wondered what all her mother had told her.

"Hey dear." Vanessa threw her arm around Sophie and kissed her on the cheek. The fat of her underarm jiggled. She smelled like deodorant and cheap lotion.

"Well we're glad to have you," Vanessa said. Sophie looked inside Vanessa's red Toyota Solara convertible. It looked like a Barbie car. It was so shiny it reflected the trees around it.

"Leslie didn't come?" Sophie asked.

"No, no, couldn't get her away from the pool. Did you know we had a pool?" Vanessa liked to brag.

"Yup." Sophie tugged on the door handle but it was flaming hot and stung her hand.

"Okay hon," Leslie said as she got in the car and reached over and opened Sophie's door from the inside.

"Thank you," Sophie said, feeling extremely awkward.

Vanessa was quiet for a minute as she drove away from the station and down one woodsy road then another.

"Listen, I don't want you to feel like you're putting us out," Vanessa suddenly spoke. "Your mom called and said she thought this would be a good experience for you."

"That's all she said?" Sophie asked, frank. She didn't want any secrets suddenly coming out over the dinner table. How embarrassing.

"Hon, you're fifteen. I gave my mother plenty of trouble when I was fifteen. Lord knows that probably more than anything." Sophie hoped Vanessa would further explain but she didn't give anymore details.

"What all did you pack?" she changed the subject. "You know we have a pool right?" Vanessa bragged.

"Yes," Sophie just said. "I just packed, you know, stuff."

Vanessa gave out a laugh that sounded insulting. Sophie looked at her, trying to refrain from giving one of her mean looks her mom always chastised her for.

"What?"  
"You're just so vague, Sophie. Okay..." she sounded like she was about to make a dark confession. "Your mother and I did discuss that this morning. She said you were keeping..." Vanessa moved her cigarette around, trying to find the proper words. "Some kind of project in the shed?"

"A house for the fireflies."

"Uh huh," Vanessa said like she was about to draw some conclusion – like the house was the problem. This angered Sophie to an unimaginable level. There must be someone out there who would understand why she wanted to keep them in their own house. They looked so lost out there, they lit up because they were constantly searching for something – a home to be with other fireflies.

"I was doing something amazing and mother destroyed it."

"Sophie, you were keeping a box of insects in the shed. That's just...I mean I'm not going to classify it as insane but...its definitely odd."

Sophie was very quiet, like she'd swallowed her tongue.

"So," Vanessa took a deep breath. "Let's move on shall we? I mean what do I have to worry about? I don't have a shed. Now I have to pick up some things for the boys, so we will be stopping at Tanger."

"At where?" All hope for life to get better had dissolved from Sophie's tone.

"Tanger Shopping Center. I'm surprised you've never heard about it, its Leslie's favorite place on earth."

Apparently Vanessa thought Sophie and Leslie talked all the time. They'd barely spoken at all this year. Once Leslie's father got a new job and they moved into a rich house and went to different schools, their friendship had come to an abrupt end.

"What boys?" Sophie asked.

"Oh Vanessa didn't tell you? Her cousins are down. Well you know their dad had a heart attack, Uncle Charles? So they're all down." Vanessa's hand left the wheel to wave around for a minute before slapping back down on it. "All six."

"Six boys?" Sophie asked, terrified. She didn't like boys. They were loud and messy and never cared what they said or who it effected. Detective Travis was the one exception, though he was more a man.

"Yup," Vanessa had an irritating cackle. "Good thing we have a house big enough for everyone. And tonight I think we're just gonna have a cookout or something. I have to hit the grocery store tomorrow. I can only imagine the grocery bill for all these...oh never mind," she sighed. "What is life without a lot of people around, right?"

Sophie had nothing to say. She sat there and went numb with fear. What had she gotten herself into? Or, what did her mother force her into?

6

Sophie spotted a Barnes N Noble.

"I wanna go buy a book," she alerted Vanessa. She had no interest in these fuddy duddy boutiques Vanessa wanted to go to. And a new book could keep her occupied for the next few weeks. All she needed was a quiet corner and a great story to lose herself in.

"Oh, well fine. That reminds me, I'm supposed to get a magazine called Trasher for the boys – some skate mess."

"I think you mean Thrasher," Sophie said.

"Yes, here's some money," Vanessa placed a twenty dollar bill in Sophie's hand. "Keep the change and meet me in there." She pointed to a shop for animal clothing. Did they have a dog? Sophie couldn't remember.

She walked into the cold, silence of Barnes N Noble. It was sad how empty it was. No one liked to read much anymore. There was a grumpy looking woman over by the gifts at the checkout line and a few men at the magazine stand but that was about it.

You need a good mystery. Sophie ventured over to the fiction section. The silence in this corner was even more enrapturing. She picked a book about a mysterious drowning at a lake and went over to the checkout line. She felt a sudden, sharp pain spread through her vagina, followed by another. Oh man, her period. She hadn't been keeping track with everything that was going on. That explained her refusal to leave the shed the other night, the madness that had swept over her.

"Next!" The cashier hollered. Sophie approached the register and put the book down. Her back ached and her stomach felt bloated. She paid for the book and rushed off to the bathroom. That was when she saw him. She would remember this always. The way he came out of the mens room, the way he walked, the way he tried so hard to look nonchalant that his expression came off as cute and puppy-doggish. His blonde hair was a bit unruly, and long, just passed his ears. He had a mustache. He was tall and very thin. He hurriedly rushed passed her. He'd wiped his hands on a paper towel and placed it in the trash bin on his way out. That was her first sighting of Phillipe Turner. She felt a good amount of blood rush out of her before she could get to the stall and pull her panties down.

Once she cleaned up and was ready to go she couldn't find Vanessa. But she saw him again over by a tree. He looked right at her before climbing up into his truck and driving off. Who was he? She couldn't help noting how much he looked like Detective Travis Warren.

"Sophie!" Vanessa called out. Her frizzy blonde hair was collapsing from the bun she kept it in and she was sweaty.

"There you are. Did you get the magazine?"

Sophie shook her head. "I forgot."

"Well I don't have time, I need to get to the wine store before it closes. Come along," she called as she went over to her sports car.

7

Sophie was quiet in the car. She didn't feel well and only wanted to reach their destination and climb into bed. It had been a long day, and last night still caused Sophie a lot of grief. She wouldn't be going swimming like she'd planned, but perhaps that was for the best. It sounded like there would be a ton of people in the pool anyway.

"Where's the house again?" Sophie asked, trying not to sound impatient but they'd been driving so long that she felt like she'd gotten off at the wrong train station.

"Oh, bout five more minutes or so. We moved, you know that right? Into a much bigger house."

"Yes." Sophie was tired of Vanessa's bragging. Vanessa glanced down at Sophie's Barnes N Noble bag.

"I think its so cute you still read," Vanessa said. "I can't get Leslie to read a thing except for those silly teenager magazines. Ha, Justin Bieber. If he's on the cover of anything she goes insane – mama you have to go the store right away and pick this up! I need to let you know that you will be hearing a lot of his music this summer."

When Sophie fed back nothing but dead silence Vanessa glanced at her worriedly.

"You like Justin Bieber?"

"No."

"Well what kind of music do you like?" Vanessa asked, making it sound as though there was no other kind of music.

"Everything else." Sophie didn't feel like talking. She placed a hand on her tummy and looked out at all the trees. She couldn't wait until fall, when things calmed down and everything changed colors and nights could be warm and cozy instead of stagnant and unbearable.

"Well here we are," Vanessa informed, just when Sophie was considering throwing herself out of the car.

Vanessa turned down a quiet, deserted street to a huge black gate where she stopped to punch in a code. The gates gave way to a pleasant drive between overgrown trees to the huge four-story house. The pool was surrounded by a large wooden fence. As soon as Sophie got out of the car she heard sounds coming from it, splashing, laughing and Justin Bieber music in the background.

"I need to use the bathroom," Sophie said as their dog came running up to her and then ran off just as restlessly.

"Roadie!" Vanessa called the dog over. "I got you a sweater."

Roadie was a baby Rottweiler. He seemed housebroken enough but that type of dog still frightened Sophie, especially when he tried to sniff her crotch.

"I need to use the bathroom," Sophie repeated, trying to stay calm.

"Okay, come on..." Vanessa looked over by the pool. "Leslie!! We're here!"

8

"Well follow me, I'll show you where everything is," Vanessa told Sophie. The front door was wide open. The house was dark and cold and smelled nice. Natural light gushed in through the huge windows in the kitchen and the back and front doors.

There was a boy who looked about twelve with freckles and shaggy blonde hair sitting at the kitchen counter. He seemed perfectly comfortable in his own dirty skin. He was eating potato chips and his face was shiny with grease. Bags of Ruffles were all over the place, paper plates and other necessities to feed six boys, two girls and any guests they would be having.

"Stewart, please tell The Tornado I forgot his Trasher magazine. I will be going back out tomorrow," Vanessa informed.

Stewart laughed and yelled, "THRASHER!" obnoxiously, with his mouth still full. Sophie started to follow Vanessa up the stairs when Vanessa stopped.

"Oh, dear, you need to take your shoes off at the door," Vanessa informed. She sounded very distraught that Sophie hadn't done this. Sophie went back and put her shoes next to all the grungy sneakers. The room was vacant except for the shoes, a coat rack and ballerina dress strewn on a huge wicker chair.

"You're lucky. The boys are staying on the third floor where I am. You and Leslie are on the second," Vanessa let Sophie know as they climbed the stairs. Finally, Sophie thought, I'll be alone soon.

"Wow, I'm tired," Vanessa sighed. "I got up at seven this morning."

"Thanks for picking me up," Sophie remembered her manners. She couldn't wait to be in her room alone with her book.

"Oh its no problem, I would have had to go out anyway. When you're a woman there's always something to do. If there is nothing else you bet your butt there are some dirty dishes in the sink." She turned to face Sophie when she stopped at the last door on the right. Sun pounded a little window next to it.

"This is a brand new house. Isn't it lovely?" Vanessa waited for Sophie to rain her with compliments.

"Yes," Sophie said. "Its so much bigger and prettier than your last house, and you have a pool." Sophie wondered if Vanessa could detect the sarcasm in her voice.

"We like to keep it this way," Vanessa said, seeming like she thought Sophie was being sincere. "Nice – clean," she said. "No bugs. No dirt tracked into the house. And I'd like for you to hang your swimsuit up on the fence to dry – don't bring a wet swimsuit into the house," she precisely ordered.

"Okay...I won't be swimming this afternoon anyway, I just want to lie down. My tummy hurts."

"Okay. Letting these boys stay here – I feel like a bulldozer is about to slam into the house." She laughed. "All I'm saying is, I'm sure you're neat...just always remember we want it to always look perfect."

"Okay. Vanessa, I'm sorry, I really have to pee." Sophie could not hold the screams in any longer. She felt the anger stew inside her. She was going to burst soon.

"Oh of course!" Vanessa threw her hands up and turned around and opened the door. "Feel free to make yourself at home. Everyone's out by the pool and supper will be at seven." Vanessa smiled once she said all of that. "Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks." Sophie waited, thinking this was it, Vanessa was finally going to go away. But she lingered.

"So why aren't you going to go swimming?"

"I...have my period," Sophie decided to share.

"Oh, well that's nothing to be ashamed of! I've gone on vacations to the beach before with mine. And The Tornado pees in the pool all the time. You should go swimming!"

"Okay," Sophie responded flatly.

"Okay," Vanessa smiled nervously. "See you at the pool."

"Yes." Sophie was ten seconds away from slamming the door in Vanessa's face but she finally turned and headed towards the stairs.

Sophie went over and lied down in her bed and let out the stream of tears she'd been holding back since this morning. No one really wanted her around. They only wanted to feel comfortable with their lives again. Her mother managed to get rid of her after destroying the firefly house and now Vanessa was clearly uncomfortable having her here, and just as demanding and overbearing as her own mother. And Leslie hadn't bothered saying hello to her yet. So much blood and tears ran from her she thought she'd be a shell of herself before long.

9

Sophie woke up a couple of hours later to screaming coming from downstairs. She recognized Leslie's voice. She was hysterical. Sophie fought her way out of her groggy state to try and figure out what she was screaming about.

"I FUCKING HATE HIM!" Leslie screamed. "HE THREW IT INTO THE POOL!" The high-pitched yelling was unnerving. Sophie walked out into the hallway to listen.

"I know," Vanessa responded, much calmer than her daughter. "He broke the TV too. Gotta get that fixed," Vanessa responded. She didn't sound all that upset.

The TV?! Sophie ran down the stairs. She saw Leslie standing in the living room, hugging herself with her arms wrapped around her chest. She was taller than Sophie remembered, and very tanned and blonde and pretty.

Leslie tried to get her emotions under control long enough to give Sophie a formal greeting.

"Hey Sophie," her voice was low and beat. "When did you get here?"

"Hours ago," Vanessa said, aggravated. "I told you that."

"No you didn't," Leslie snapped.

"Oh my god, how I go unheard in this house." Vanessa walked into the kitchen, shaking her head.

"Mom, Brandon is going to ruin everything!" Leslie grew angry again. She looked at Sophie. "He threw my stereo into the pool! Yesterday he knocked the TV over playing football in the house."

"Is Brandon The Tornado?" Sophie wondered.

"Yes," Vanessa said. "No need to explain why now I guess. Sophie get dressed, we're going out to dinner – I need to get out of this house."

"I'm not going," Leslie said, insubordinate.

"Yes you are, everyone is. Get dressed," Vanessa demanded. Sophie did not want to go anywhere with these people.

"Come on," Leslie said to her. "I'll show you around."

10

Leslie took Sophie out by the pool, which was bigger than Sophie expected. The water looked clean and inviting.

"This is the pool," Leslie said, bored. She trudged over to a lawn chair surrounded by magazines and Perrier bottles.

"It was my favorite place before my cousins got here," Leslie continued. A cute but hateful looking boy suddenly appeared. He managed slipped through the fence without anyone noticing. He glared at the girls as he made his way to the diving board.

"Don't look at us," Leslie warned, though managing to be comely instead of hostile. "And you're buying me a new stereo."

He gave a little condescending laugh before diving into the pool, rupturing the still water and getting the girls wet. Leslie scowled at him as he swam to the shallow end.

"So this is my new house," she sighed. "I was uprooted from my school for it. My dad is never, ever around. He works all the time and my mom invites the world over so she doesn't feel lonely. Then, because she has so many people over to take care of, she busies herself with housework and grocery shopping so she feels needed. She creates these...situations," Leslie placed some baby blonde hair behind her little ear, "So she feels like people need her around. Its pathetic. I smoke now, do you smoke?"

Sophie shook her head and watched The Tornado do impressive laps like an Olympic swimmer. Everyone's good at something, she guessed. So what are you good at, Sophie?

"I'm sorry I haven't been in touch," Leslie said, turning her pretty brown eyes on Sophie. Sophie had forgotten how nice and honest Leslie was. Money hadn't changed that. A new, prestigious school had not either. She spook in a calm tone and didn't sugarcoat anything at all. She was respectful and yet totally honest all the time.

"I've just been trying to come to terms with stuff," Leslie added.

"Yeah," Sophie understood. "Me too. I hate my mom."

"I heard what she did, with your house. That's messed up."

"Yeah."

"I'd like to put Brandon in a house and smash it with him inside."

"How long is he going to be here?" Sophie wondered. She had another question, a much more important one, that she was working up to.

"Oh, I don't know. No one wants him back," Leslie sighed. "He's like that kid in that movie The Omen. No one wanted that kid." Leslie stared out at the pool for another minute, inhaling on her cigarette and taking a few inches off the paper.

"People have kids, I think, because they get bored with themselves," Leslie said, thoughtfully. "Everyone says life is short – I don't think so. You just get bored."

Sophie glanced up at Brandon. His penis was sticking out of his shorts.

"Then they have kids and they realize they've taken on too much," Leslie went on. "They think...they think they're going to have some kid that's going to be better than them, and better the world in the process, and then when that doesn't happen, you know what they do?" Leslie waited a second. The Tornado dived back into the water. "They ship them off to a..." Sophie joined in on the last part. "House in the Hamptons..."

11

Sophie managed to make her way upstairs without anyone seeing her. Vanessa was on the phone and the boys were hovering over a bag of chips like vultures tearing flesh from a dead body.

"Yes, that's right," Vannessa said over the phone. "A reservation for ten people. Trust me, I don't envy you." Vanessa laughed like a witch. "Okay, wonderful! We'll see you then!"

Sophie was almost all the way up the stairs when Vanessa caught her.

"Sophs! You have a dress to wear? Its kind of a fancy restaurant. Did you pack a dress?"

Sophie turned and looked down at Vanessa. At that moment she didn't want to be on any particular floor of any particular house.

"Do you know when the TV will be fixed?" Sophie just asked. Vanessa seemed put off by the question.

"Oh I don't know," she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. A dishcloth hung from it. "I have to talk to Bill first."

"Bill?"

"My husband...?" she sounded offended that Sophie didn't know that. The truth was Leslie spoke of her father almost as much as Sophie spoke of hers.

"Oh right, sorry, I don't feel very well. Do you think it will be fixed by Sunday?"

"Good heavens no," Vanessa said. "I don't even know if it can be fixed. We have to have it picked up by the...place where we got it from. Good lord, Sophie, its on my long list to do. You have a pool. There's a tennis court up the street, not to mention you'll be taking dance classes soon. You won't even have time for television."

"Mom, all she did was ask a question," Leslie fussed as she walked back outside.

"Please, everyone get dressed – if you want to eat," Vanessa finalized.

There wasn't much to Sophie's guest room. It was like a hotel room – just a bed, a bedside table and a windowseat. She sat on the windowseat and watched Leslie play with the dog. Leslie was more outgoing than Sophie. She didn't let things weigh her down.

Sophie went over to her duffel bag. She unzipped it and pulled out a bunch of sweaters. Sweaters? In the summer? Dorris must have done it just to be cruel. There was however a black dress at the bottom of it all, that Sophie wore once to a family dinner. She put it on and stood in front of the mirror, wishing she had Leslie's curves to fill it out. Disgusted, she took it off and threw it on the floor and curled up on the bed in nothing but her underwear.

12

"I really don't want to go," Sophie told Leslie an hour later when Leslie came knocking on her door. Sophie had a nice nap, and just wanted to go back to sleep, or maybe lounge by the pool and read her new book. Or maybe...just go.

Leslie stared back at Sophie, heartbroken.

"I'll be the only one there with all those hooligans and mom..."

"Your dad's not going?"

"Yeah, right," she bitterly laughed. "Okay," she gave up. She stood up and grabbed her purse. Leslie looked amazing in her dress because she had the body for it, she'd filled out. She'd blossomed. Sophie glared at her, jealous, before turning and looking out of the window.

"Want me to bring you back some food?" Leslie generously offered.

"No, its okay. I'll probably be asleep by then," Sophie said. "But thanks."

"K, see ya." Leslie walked out of the room and a few minutes later Sophie heard voices outside as everyone got into the big family van. She couldn't believe it – she was finally alone. She wasted no time grabbing her backpack. The idea of staying here – of even being here when they returned, was too much. She simply couldn't do it.

She walked the long stretch to the huge black gates. This was it – she didn't know the code to get back in. There really was no turning back. But this way everyone got what they wanted – for her to be gone.

She didn't want to go east back towards Montauk, back towards home, so she went the other way. It was nothing but woods. The road was very narrow and winding. Every so often she'd pass a house but the houses here, because they were all surrounded by trees, had been ruined by that tragic storm and their owners seemed to have picked up and left.

She glanced up at the sky as a damning wind whipped up. Was another storm coming? Would it be as strong as the last one, the one that knocked down houses? Storms and mothers, she thought. There was a teddy bear in the street. A stray dog stopped and sniffed it before going on its lonely, limping way. Had a family taken off from the rubble the storm left and abandoned that dog? She watched the dog run off into the woods and started to follow it when she saw a woman running out of the woods, towards the street. Sophie stopped and backed away until she was hiding behind a tree. She watched the woman slip and fall down the hill that spilled out into the street. She would have gotten hit by a car but the man chasing her pulled her back up the hill and into the woods. It was the same man Sophie saw earlier at Barnes N Noble, the Detective Travis Warren lookalike.

She watched as the woman struggled to break free but the man spun her around and punched her in the mouth. The woman fell down and the man grabbed a huge branch and held it over the woman's face.

"No!" The woman screamed as the man slammed it into her face. Sophie heard something crack and thought it was a stick under her foot but she hadn't moved. She realized whatever cracked was in the woman's face. The woman was no longer moving, no longer struggling or crying, but the man assaulting her stood over her like he still wanted to fight. Sophie stared at the woman's white sneakers and blue uniform. She must have been a nurse.

The shock that had taken hold of Sophie finally left and she turned to run.

"HEY!" The man called out, running after her. Sophie let out a little cry when she felt him right behind her. He grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her along so the collar burned against her neck. She helplessly writhed about until he stopped pulling her up the hill towards the woods and yanked her up to her feet by her arm. He rested his arms at his sides but the madness in his eyes did not subside. She was too scared to move, let along run.

"How long have you been standing here?" he demanded. She couldn't speak, she didn't have it in her. This was the same man, same messy long blonde hair and mustache. He'd looked right at her from his truck earlier.

"What'd you see?" he grimaced. "How long have you been here?" She stared at him, trying to guess his age. Thirty-something? He was cute, but in that moment his anger made him ugly.

"Please..." she said. "I was just going for a walk, I didn't see anything."

"You're lying," he said, certain.

"Please," she shook her head. Her hands were trembling terribly. "Please, I didn't...I didn't." He held his hand out to her and grabbed her by the arm once again.

"Come on," he said.

"No..." she started to argue when he raised the branch he was still holding like he was going to hit her.

"Okay! Okay I'll go! I'll go." She tried not to stare at the blood smeared on the branch. He gripped her wrist tighter and pulled her up towards the little white house in the woods. The ground, with its slippery branches, seemed to want to pull her back down but his brute strength kept hold of her.

They stopped at the woman lying in the woods. She hadn't moved at all. She must have been dead. Her eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the darkening sky.

"Go," he ordered, pointing towards the house. Sophie could hardly breathe. Was this it? Was he going to kill her too? Was fifteen years all she got? She felt blood gush out of her. She felt very weak and thirsty. She couldn't run if she wanted to, and she wasn't about to test him.

Sophie glanced back down at the woman. The side of her head was smashed in and there was blood all over the front of her shirt and on her leg.

The man picked the knife up lying on the ground and held it up in front of Sophie's face. She stared at the bloodied blade, wide-eyed and frozen with fear. He dropped the branch, figuring the knife was enough. Sophie's heart pounded and her mouth ran so dry her tongue felt like sandpaper.

"You want this in you?" he coldly whispered, holding the knife up. "Or do you want to keep going?"

"Keep...going..."

"Good girl." He gave her a slight shove on the shoulder and she continued to walk. The house was a mess, at least from the outside. Half of the roof had caved in and a tarp had lazily been applied, not even covering the entire gap. Various black garbage bags covered blown out windows. Leaves and branches had collapsed on the truck in the driveway. There was an open trash bag with broken paper plates in it and a few dresses and other womens clothing strewn about in the yard.

"What are you doing?!" He snapped. Sophie had stopped walking. She felt sick.

"You can't listen, huh?" he said, dragging her along. "My wife couldn't listen either. The whore." He gave Sophie another shove until she was inside the house.

The house was surprisingly clean and quiet. The hardwood floor shined like it had been recently polished – or maybe rained on because of the big hole in the roof. The stream of sunlight across the floor vanished when he slammed the door.

"Come on," he grabbed her again and took her to the very middle of the room. He held the knife to her neck. He could easily drag it across her neck and just get it over with. She felt the blade nick her neck. Neither of them made a sound.

"Why aren't you begging me not to do it?" he wondered.

"I'm just so...so scared..." her voice shook as proof. The house was dark and smelled of rain and meat. It felt lonely.

"Yeah well...why were you snooping around?" he asked. When she didn't answer he pressed his fingers into her back and gave her a little shove as if to push the words out but they didn't come.

He was so much taller than her and her face was against his stomach and she inhaled his scent. Fading cologne, grass, sweat...blood...a day that had died in the worst way against his body.

"Huh?" he pressed the blade closer to her neck. He had black eyes. They looked like holes in his face.

"I wasn't...snooping...I was walking..." she stared up at him. His face was tense. He seemed seconds away from dragging the blade across her neck. She searched for words that would save her life.

"Please don't kill me...please." She shut her eyes and prepared herself.

"Finish your sentence," he gave his demands precisely. "You were walking and then what, hmm?" His voice was deep and he talked fast and assertive. She opened her eyes and found him staring down at her. Nothing else mattered but what she did and said. She actually had someone's attention finally. She found a strange comfort in this.

"I saw her...running."

"So you did see it," he said, almost smirking. "Well..." he reached back into his pocket and took out the dirty, worn handkerchief. "You won't be seeing anything else again."

She stood perfectly still as he got behind her and brought the handkerchief to her face. She shut her eyes and felt it press tightly against her face as he tied a secure knot behind her head. Then he gripped her arm and took her along. She had no idea what was going to happen next. Her heart stumped around, wanting answers.

He pushed her down and she felt the straw structure of a chair beneath her. The legs were old and wooden and stiff. She felt his knife against her throat again.

"That's my knife," he said. "Move or scream and it goes into your neck. I will not hesitate." There was a lot of promise in his voice. She made a slight sound just to let him know she understood and stayed very, very still. If she moved at all it was because her heart was beating so hard it shook her whole body.

He brought her hands behind the chair and she felt a splintery rope wrap around her wrists. He tied them so tight together she could feel her pulse thump between her wrists. Next he tied her ankles to the chairs legs, wrapping the rope several times around her legs. He went upstairs and came back down with a roll of duct tape, ripped a piece off and placed it over her mouth. A few seconds later she heard him walk away, the floor creaking beneath his feet.

13

She didn't know what time it was but it seemed late. She figured it was night because she heard crickets. Her arms ached from being restrained and she was terribly thirsty and was getting a slight headache. She'd heard sounds all night – him coming in and out of the house, walking around. He never said a word to her the whole time.

Then his footsteps grew nearer and her body tensed. What was he going to do? What had he been thinking all night? Did he have something in his hand? He pulled the handkerchief down from her eyes. He had a gun now. He'd retired the knife. He pressed the gun against her face, its solid cool make felt very distinct against her cheek. Then he just stared at her for a minute, placing his hand on her knee.

"I'm gonna make you some dinner, and I'm gonna feed you while I hold a gun to your head, if you scream, I'll shoot you. If you don't scream...I won't shoot you," he shrugged. He always seemed on the verge of smiling, like he was getting a certain thrill out of all of this.

Sophie looked at him with fearful eyes. She stared at his blonde mustache so long she noticed a few grey hairs in it. He stood up. His tall, lean body cast a shadow over hers. The crickets seemed louder. She wondered if the sliding glass doors to the patio were open...

"Okay?" he waited for her to nod. He put his shoe up on her knee like he was about to kick her over.

"Nod if you understand."

She quickly nodded and her hair got in her face and she wanted to move it away but couldn't. She looked up at him hoping he'd do it for her. She tried to plead with her eyes but he didn't seem to understand. He was actually very good looking. She shut her eyes for a second. Her head was pounding. She gave another nod.

He let the handkerchief dangle around her as he went into the kitchen. The house was one big open space, at least on the first floor. The handkerchief smelled like sweat and grass, like him. He must have kept it in his back pocket all the time. She could feel her pounding heart in her eyes. She thought it was going to make her eyes explode.

His kitchen was very clean, and the house seemed bare. He had everything in its proper place. All the utensils were stored away – knives in a separate drawer from forks and spoons. He had two cookbooks lined on the counter next to a healthy plant. Everything was spotless. Every appliance looked brand new. Pots and pans hung over the bar. He was the mess. His head. His heart.

She watched him place a cutting board down on the kitchen counter. Then he turned and took an eight inch chef's knife and started cutting up peppers and then chicken. He looked up at Sophie.

"Are you a vegetarian?" he checked.

She shook her head and he continued cutting. He cut very clean and fast. She watched him wash the knife right after he was done, putting it back in the drawer. His arms were nice and lean, his veins were close to the surface.

"I'm making a chicken salad," he said. It was like he could read her mind because she wondered what he was making.

Her eyes widened as he walked over to her with the food. He walked fast as he came over, like he might walk right through her. He placed the bowl down on a table next to her and kicked a vacant chair out of the way and sat on the back of the couch. She watched the way his shirt sagged against his thin body, and his jeans were very flattering. He crossed his arms and stared for a minute before he leaned forward and she took in all the features of his face again.

"Don't be so tense. I'm just taking your tape off." He stopped though, dropping his hand. Why'd he stop? He was quietly observing her. He stood up and looked down at the salad. He put his hands on his hips. What was he about to do? What was he thinking? He could do anything to her he wanted.

He knelt down in front of her. The expression he made caused him to look about ten years older. It was sad and sinuous.

"Its this simple," he let her know, moving his hand around. He had nice hands, kind of slim for a man's.

"If my wife had been good and done what she was supposed to, she'd be alive right now. And I don't know where you're supposed to be right now, but if you'd just stayed there then this wouldn't be happening either, okay?"

She quickly nodded. His hands suddenly landed on her shoulders and she shut her eyes, terrified.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Hey? Open your eyes." He pulled on her shoulders a little, like he might shake her. She opened her eyes and noticed a scar on the corner of his right eye. He started to remove the tape again.

"Are you going to scream?" he checked before pulling it away. She shook her head vigorously.

"Because if you scream I'm fine – you're the one that will be dead. I will kill you – do you understand?" He spoke calm and assuring. "There's plenty of room out in those woods to bury another body – a little one like yours, especially."

She shut her eyes and felt blood find its way to her thigh because the tampon was too soiled to soak anymore up. She felt his hand caress her cheek.

"This was not part of my plan," he assured her. "You must understand that. I don't go around killing people for fun – that bitch, you have no idea, you just saw what I did. You don't know what she did."

She wanted him to know she understood. She nodded several times. He stared at her auburn hair, at her pretty little eyes. Every time she nodded more hair fell into her face. Her heart was pounding and her throat ached. He picked up the gun and pointed it at her throat.

"I'll shoot right here," he said. "And everything will come up out of your mouth or you'll choke on it. I don't know. I've never shot anyone there."

"Mmph!" was all she could say to let him know she understood.

He moved the gun up her face to the corner of her eye and pressed it there and dragged it back so it stretched her skin.

"She deserved it," he said, his voice very mellow. "She did," he touched her hair with his other hand. Sophie nodded again and shut her eyes. He fixed her hair behind her ear and his fingers drizzled down her neck so it sort of tickled. If he pulled the trigger he'd blow her brains out. No, he'd blow her eye out and then her brains.

She couldn't help but make a little sound as he gently pulled the tape off her face. She was just too scared not to make a sound. She rolled her head around because her neck was stiff. She looked extremely excited when he picked up the glass of water. She hadn't even asked herself if it was drugged, she was too thirsty to care. She parted her lips as he put the glass up to them and swallowed the water. Some ran down her chin and he wiped it with the handkerchief around her neck.

"I don't..." she started to speak and he slapped his hand over her mouth and pressed his other hand behind her head. She moaned because the pressure he applied made her head hurt.

"I don't...want...you to talk. I can break your face," he bragged. "I can smash it between my hands – that's how strong I am and how weak you are...but I really don't want to hurt you. I don't want you talking. I don't want you making a fucking sound."

She was dead scared. She sat there, very still. He slowly removed his hand away from the back of her head and picked the gun up and pressed it against her cheek before taking his other hand away from her mouth.

His skin left a salty taste on her lips. She licked her lips as he just stared at her. He didn't know what to make of her. She certainly wasn't part of the plan.

She didn't scream. She didn't make a sound. It was like he'd pushed all the sounds she was capable of making way back down inside her, he'd shut them off.

"You're a good girl," he realized, running his hand down the side of her head, over her hair. "I know this. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all. Kind of like me when I met my wife," he chuckled. Sophie wanted more water but was very careful not to speak. His smell drifted over her again. He must do a lot of yardwork, she thought. Maybe at some point he was a good man, but he'd slowly unraveled and now she was here for the epic finale of his madness.

He picked the glass of water up and she took another sip. He looked at her the whole time, not blinking. He placed the water down and stabbed a chunk of lettuce with it, then some cheese and chicken. He held it up to her mouth and she opened and he slid it in carefully. If he were a psycho, he could have jabbed her mouth with the fork, stabbed the roof of her mouth, stabbed at her teeth. He could have shot her by now. What was he waiting for?

Her body was very receptive and appreciative of the food. She felt an almost cold sensation in her tummy from the water and then the fresh juicy lettuce. Happiness swarmed in her belly over the nourishment. Everything tasted very fresh – the tomatoes, the peppers, and whatever kind of fancy cheese he used. For the next few minutes all that occurred was him feeding her. She hadn't had anything to eat all day – everyone had been too busy with their own problems. He was the first to feed her.

"I used to cook for my wife," he reminisced. "All the time. Not sure if she was fucking that jerk then or not." He dropped the fork, getting angry all over again. He ran his hand over his face, making it red.

He got up and walked into the kitchen, hands on his hips. He looked over at Sophie.

"I know you're innocent, I know that. That's how we all start out but that's not how anything ends."

14

He left her in the chair all night, a fresh piece of tape on her mouth. At some point she dozed off but then she woke back up when she felt something against her foot. She couldn't see because of the handkerchief but felt it rubbing against her leg. A cold sweat of terror moistened her whole body. She felt its tiny teeth dig into her leg and couldn't help but try and scream. The patio door was open, and something had come in from the woods! She struggled to move around in the chair but all that did was cause the rope to rub against her skin. She had to pee so bad that she wouldn't be able to hold it in much longer – maybe three or four minutes tops.

Whatever was by her foot had ran off. She listened for any sound at all, trying to detect where the creature might be. After a few minutes her mind began to wonder about other things. What did he do with his wife's body? Had rats come along to feast on it? Had one of them strayed and made its way into the house. Was that what was by her foot a minute ago? She was consumed by fear. It fit around her tight. It made her sick. It made her tears red hot.

She heard him coming down the stairs. She didn't know what time it was. She could try and figure it out – it was getting late when she left Leslie's. The sun was almost down completely when he took her. That had to have been several hours ago.

He tugged the handkerchief down with his finger. He was in a loose fitting grey shirt and a clean pair of jeans that smelled like they'd just been pulled from the dryer. He was barefoot. She studied his feet. They were nice. He clipped his toenails. He had nice, clean soft looking feet.

He went into the living room and turned the TV on. He sat on the couch so she could see the back of his head. She wanted so badly to sit on the soft couch, to relax, to sit in a natural position. She would be good. She would tell him if she were allowed to talk.

All of the sudden he glanced back at her like she'd done something he disapproved of. He came over and ripped the tape off. It hurt and she wondered if she'd lost skin. She just looked up at him, but she didn't speak or scream.

"I still have the gun," he picked it up and waved it around so she could see it. "See?"

She nodded.

"What do you like to watch?" he suddenly asked. What? Did that mean she could speak?

She couldn't even think of what she watched at first.

"More...Of The Same."

"That's not on," he irritably informed. He watched it? He sounded very familiar with it.

"Um...Six Feet Under," she announced her second favorite TV program. She cringed at it though because of the present circumstances.

"I like that too." He went back over to the couch and turned the TV on. HBO had been running reruns of the Six Feet Under but Dorris never let her watch it.

He turned and looked at her. Every time he did that, her heart dropped. He could go from relaxed to hot-tempered in seconds and whatever mood he was in was easily reflected in those black cutting eyes of his.

"Can you see?" he wanted to know. She nodded. She was afraid to complain. Afraid to talk. He suddenly shot up from the couch and came over and picked up the entire chair with her in it and placed it down next to the couch so she had a clear view of the TV.

"I'll get you a snack," he said. He came back into the living room with cookies and milk for her and a beer for himself.

"There was an animal in here earlier," she softly spoke. He snickered as he brought the beer bottle up to his mouth. He stopped before he took a sip, holding it a few inches from his mustache.

"But I killed her, remember?" he chuckled before drinking his beer. Her mouth opened to speak but she didn't know what to say. She looked at the cookies she couldn't eat because she was still restrained.

"You're never gonna let me go are you?" she asked. She actually sounded like she was hoping he'd say no.

"I can't...no." He studied her, her sadness.

"What are you...going to do with me?"

"I don't know," he said. "Do you have any suggestions?" He seemed on the verge of laughter. He was crazy, she thought. But how crazy?

She shook her head.

"If you untie me and let me sit on the couch I'll be good, I swear. I won't try to run off. You are a man with a gun, clearly you have power over me. Just let me sit there...please?"  
"What are you doing, huh?" he said, he sounded upset. "You're being sweet – you're not going outside. I'm not going to let you go out and play. I'm not going to untie you. What the hell is wrong with you?" He got up and walked over to her. Her body wanted to run, it didn't seem to understand that she couldn't take it anywhere.

"You're lucky you can still breathe is what you are. You're lucky you're not some...useless corpse covered in blood. Everybody wants something, and most times, something they don't deserve. So just shut your mouth, you hear me? Or the tape goes back on." He stared her down. She looked at the cookies. Then she finally nodded.

"You want a cookie?" he asked. She looked up at him dotingly.

"I have to use the bathroom," she let him know.

"You want to sit on the couch or you want to use the bathroom – which is it?"

"Both..." She tried not to cry. He sneered and looked back down at the couch. Then he reached over for a cookie. He knelt down in front of her and pushed the gun into her cheek so she could feel it press against her teeth. Every time he did such a thing she got a clear vision in her head of what it would be like if he pulled the trigger. This time, teeth would go everywhere. Or would they blow back down into her throat? After a minute he removed the gun and hung his head.

"I'll do what you want me to," she quietly spoke. "I'll sit here and be quiet. I'm sorry." She stared at the veins in his arms, at his dirty-blonde hair, at the mustache hairs that ran down over his top lip.

"My wife...the woman you saw me kill? She cheated on me. She used to sit right here," he looked over at the spot on the couch where he'd been, pointing at it with the gun.

"Right next to me," he went on, his voice so profound. "And everything was fine. Normal. Quiet. Sunday afternoon type of shit, you know? Dinner, TV, bed. Normal." He moved to reach over for a cookie. He broke it in half and held it up to her face.

"Open," he told her. She parted her lips and he pushed the piece of cookie into her mouth. It was soft and chewy. The food he gave her was always delicious.

"But you know what wasn't normal?" he asked. He said the word 'normal' with enormous detest.

Sophie shook her head and he held the gun to his own head.

"The shit up here, the shit in her head, she was crazy. She got a job at this...place," he rubbed his fingertips together to rid of crumbs and reached back for the other half. She opened her mouth without him having to tell her and he shoved it in. He studied her mouth as he wiped her saliva off onto his jeans. "Some stupid job working at some call center. The kind of lousy job people with no proper education get." He stood up, still looking down at her. "Ae? When you're young and stupid you like other young and stupid people, I guess. Anyway, I guess she liked some guy that worked there, at her stupid job, some chump, and...when the storm hit she didn't want to stay here, too much damage. Oh, the roof leaks," he mocked her. "I thought she was staying with her sister." He paused. Then his voice darkened. "Hey, guess what? She wasn't staying with her sister." He went back and sat on the couch. He was exceptionally quiet for the next few minutes, just watching TV.

"This is the best episode," Sophie said. "The first one, when the father dies, and...everyone is fucked up but...not really because he died, just cause...they're like lost, like, just in general. And then like...how someone dies at the beginning of every episode – do you think that was a way for us to see that the problems that followed, with the characters, were just like...trivial?"

He placed his dark eyes on her and remained quiet for almost a minute.

"You think a lot for a...how old are you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes a bit.

"Fifteen," she said, her throat tightening.

He looked back at the TV, perplexed. He'd thought she was older.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "You think a lot for fifteen." His voice got deeper and hush at the same time. He studied the TV.

"Do you think I'm fat?" she asked. "Mom would never let me eat cookies because she says they make you fat. Or watch TV."

"You're not fat," he simply said, sounding bored with the question. He didn't take his eyes off the TV.  
"Yeah..." he said after a minute. "It kind of helps them discover who they really are – death, when it happens, is a chain snapping in half. Other people around us have to die to remind us we don't have as much time as we think we do."

He scratched his head and was about to ask her something. She couldn't wait.

"So you think everything but death is trivial?" he asked, looking over at her.

"Oh...I mean..."

"Well," he suddenly laughed. "What the fuck do you now, huh? You're just a child. Just a baby girl."

"I'm fifteen," she argued. She was surprised that she had the gall to raise her voice at him.

"That's nothing. Raindrops."

"Life just gets...harder and more...painful, right?" she guessed.

"No, people do." He frowned and stared down at the coffee table. "And yeah...I guess...they make life harder or...life makes...look I dunno. I dunno." He sounded like he was getting angry all over again. "I do know that when my dad died I felt free," he explained. "And when my wife..." he smiled. "They both treated me like I didn't matter. They treated me like shit. Nothing was ever enough. Nothing. All the work I do..." he shook his head, disgusted. "Like shit..." his voice trailed off. He looked around the house.

"No one I know has died yet," Sophie shared.

"Yes they have," he said. He reached for the remote and turned the TV off. Sophie found it hard to breathe again. She watched as he came over to her. His hands were resting at his sides. She looked at the gun he was holding. Her eyes traveled up his legs. She thought about Brandon. She thought about his penis. She wondered what this man's penis looked like.

"What's your name?" she asked him.

"It doesn't matter. Nothing will matter tomorrow. The sky, the ground, won't be no different to you my little angel. I didn't know you were only fifteen," he said. He seemed torn. He seemed upset, as if she should have told him.

"What am I supposed to do with that?" he said, angering. "WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT HUH!" He picked the chair up next to him and threw it clear across the room. Sophie shut her eyes and started crying. She tried to move but the knots were tight as ever. They hadn't slacked at all.

"Please don't kill me, please." She stared down at the floor. "I'll do anything – I don't wanna die yet."

"Then what am I supposed to do with you? What am I supposed to do...someone's gonna come and look for you."

"No..." A tear rolled down her cheek and across her lip. She couldn't wipe it away so she licked it instead. She felt a little urine trickle out of her and warm her leg. Urine and blood...

"They won't. They don't care. The only person that cares where I am right now...is you."

He watched her closely as she lifted her eyes and looked up at him.

"Let me be your companion," she gently requested. "I'll do whatever you want."

"Stop saying that, stop it." He aimed the gun at her. "I don't need companions. I've never even had a dog. Yeah, yeah..." he waved his hand around. "What are we gonna do? Play Barbie?"

"I don't play Barbie," she said tiredly. Then she hung her head. The smell of urine was taking over the room. He looked down and saw the darker pattern on her jeans where she'd wet herself. She started crying, ashamed. He knelt down and reached for the roll of duct tape and pulled another piece away. She started crying harder as he placed it over her mouth, his fingers pressing into her face. Then he grabbed the handkerchief and covered her eyes with it.

"Phillipe," he said. "My name is Phillipe Turner." He stood up and backed away from her. He couldn't stand the smell of her anymore, the smell of urine, how desperate she looked. He turned and went upstairs.

She spent the next few minutes listening to him up there pacing around. He came back down and got behind her and untied the rope.

"I don't want you to move until I say move. Understand?"

She nodded evermore as she felt the rope loosen from her legs. She slid down the chair a little, her arms moving upward but still tied. He stopped. Why'd he stop?

He came around and knelt down in front of her, the gun in his hand. He quietly observed her.

"It's a shame..." he said. "You would have turned out to be a very pretty young woman I bet."

She observed him in the same intense way he did her. He stood up so her eyes were at level with his waist.

"Okay," he placed his fingers on the tape on her mouth and yanked it off. "You have five minutes to clean yourself up – and by that I mean five minutes from the time you leave this chair. If you're not back in this chair in five minutes then I'm just gonna shoot you. It needs to be done anyway."

He got behind her and untied her hands. He was still hesitant. Who knew what she'd do? His wife said she loved him. His wife promised she'd be good. His wife said till death do us part. Well...it did do them part.

He laughed at that thought. Sophie didn't know what the laugh meant, but as soon as she felt the rope drop from her blistered skin she quickly moved her arms and he grabbed them, holding them in a solid grip behind her and she felt a pain spread through her shoulder but she did her best to keep the scream in.

"I said...don't move, now didn't I?" he lectured, pulling on her wrists so the pain worsened.

"I'm sorry," she panted. "I just want to rub my sore skin. Please? Please...can I have some ice or something?" She was embarrassed by her state. She never knew what humiliation was until she sat there, smelling the way she did and feeling the way she did. "Just take an ice cube and run it across my face and wrists if I can't do it."

"Listen, you just asked to go to the bathroom so we're going to the bathroom. You can run some cold water on your face but remember you have five minutes. Now...let's...go."

She stood up and felt the stickiness between her thighs. Her sadness and fear was starting to change into anger. How could he treat her like this? She looked up at him when he noticed blood on her pants and blood in the chair.

"Do you have any lotion?" she asked him. "For my skin...where its irritated?"

"You're a fucking priss, you know that? And no. My cunt wife does, but I don't want you smelling like her. The way you smell now is better than smelling like that filthy cunt."

She looked down at the floor. His tone was so abrasive she felt beaten up.

"You now have three minutes – you won't even make it up the stairs at this rate."

"Why? What's going to happen in three minutes that won't happen in ten? You've already fucked up."

He grabbed her and shoved her against the back of the couch and put the gun against her face. He wasn't aiming it at her, just pressing its side to her cheek like he always did, so if he shot he'd shoot a hole in the ceiling, only there was no ceiling because they were standing under the part of the roof that had collapsed. She couldn't take it anymore. The rage rushed up from her guts and right out of her mouth.

"THEN SHOOT ME THEN!" She screamed. "GO AHEAD AND SHOOT ME!" He took the gun away from her face and stood back. He hadn't expected her to yell like that. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't kill her. He didn't know what to do. He barely understood what he'd already done.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She didn't know anymore how to behave. "I need to get something from my bag first," she spoke, defeated.

"Get what you need then and let's go," he said, winded. "I'm following you up there. There is no window in there – so you can't escape. Besides its upstairs." He waved the gun around, hastily directing her.

"I keep telling you I'm not going to try to escape." She could hardly speak up now. Her throat hurt from yelling. "There's nowhere I want to go."

"Okay, let's go." He waved the gun in the direction of her purse. When she didn't move fast enough he pushed so hard she hit the table where her things were.

"Your five minutes are up," he informed. What did that mean?

"Please," was all she could muster.

"You have five more minutes – this time I'm not giving you anymore."

She grabbed her backpack and he yanked it from her hand and put it back down on the table.

"Take out what you need," he said. He moved the gun around in her hair like he was combing it with it. She felt it against her head, then against her ear. She slipped her hand down into the backpack and shuffled around until she found a tampon. He pressed the gun harder against her head. Embarrassed, she slipped the tampon into her back pocket.

"Okay...I'm ready," she said.

15

While she was permitted bathroom time, she stared at the bath, longing to bathe. Her irritated skin was starting to feel a bit better, but a long hot bath would do wonders.

"Hey?" he called out impatiently, knocking. "What's going on in there?"

"Nothing." She pulled her jeans up and looked in the mirror. She looked bad. There were little spots of blood around her mouth and the rest of her skin there was red and blotchy. Her hair was lifeless and greasy. She barely recognized the girl looking back at her.

He started knocking again, louder.

"I will come in there," he warned.

"No, I'm coming," she alerted, opening the door.

"Back downstairs," he ordered. She wanted to ask to take a bath, but decided to follow his orders and wait, maybe an hour, then she'd ask. They were heading back to the couch when he called for her.

"Hey," he called out, reaching for her arm. "We're going to the kitchen first."

"Okay." Once he saw she was following him at her own free will, he rested his hands at his sides.

"Your place is very clean," Sophie complimented.

"That's no thanks to my wife, trust me." He put the jar of cookies near the cutting board and washed the dishes in the sink.

"That slob would leave stuff out – just out – food everywhere, her hair was – is – still everywhere. You can kill someone but it takes a while to disperse of their entire existence."

"My parents are slobs," she said. "There's always shit on the table. My mom...she decided she was going to try and be an Avon representative."

He chuckled. She watched the way the overhead light hit one side of his face, leaving the other side untouched, in the dark.

"Yeah, they both seem so lost...I thought when you got older you figured things out."

"Not how it works, sweetheart," he said, his back still to her.

"I can't stand them," she suddenly realized. Her body shook with hate when she said it. "My dad's never there and my mom..." she started shaking her head. "I get...tired of doing things...she's always making me do things." she realized.

"Yeah," he muttered, understanding. "I get tired of doing things too."

He turned around and leaned against the counter, his arms spread out so his hands were on the counter.

"Parents are funny species. They think because they created you – because they had sex – they get to tell you what to do, pick your clothes out, they own you. Its quite creepy, the whole concept." He grew quiet for a minute. He looked down at the floor and then back up at her. She hadn't moved at all from the spot on the other side of the counter, like she was waiting for an order.

"So you really don't think they'll come looking for you – your parents?"

Sophie shook her head, positive.

"Why would they want to find me when they sent me away?"

He laughed a little like he understood and looked back down at the floor. She tensed up when he detached himself from the counter and walked over to her. He put his warm hands on either side of her face, lifting it so she looked up at him.

"Okay...enough talking. You have to be quiet. You can't talk. I never really wanted you to, I never wanted to know what you sounded like or how you thought. I know you now, you understand me? And I didn't want to know you. Before you were just a body I had to keep warm until..." he looked around the house, out the patio doors into the woods. "I figured something out."

"I'm sorry," she said again. She just didn't want him to get mad at her. She liked how he was always right there, telling her what to do and what not to do. She'd gotten used to his authoritative ways.

He stared at her, frowning thoughtfully. He pressed his thumb over her lips then he ran his hand through her hair, moving it back behind her ear.

"I can't keep you...alive," he said. She started crying. "For one thing, you don't listen. I just said I didn't want you talking and what do you do? You keep talking."

"Just tie me up. We'll just sit here. You sit there on the couch and I'll sit in the chair and we'll just be...quiet. And together."

The sudden pounding on the front door made Sophie jump and took Phillipe's eyes away from her. He stared at the door for a second and then back down at Sophie. He put his finger to his lips for her to be quiet. She nodded and didn't make a sound.

The pounding was unnerving. This wasn't the type of person that was going to just give up and go away. They were here for a reason and it didn't seem to be a good one. Sophie stared at Phillipe – who was supposed to be in control and have a plan but he just stared at the door, aloof.

"Its him," he said. "He's looking for her..."

Who? Him who? Then Sophie guessed it was the man Phillipe's wife had an affair with. Phillipe stared at the floor, thinking, remembering...he took a deep breath when another round of pounding occurred, just when they thought the unwanted visitor had left. Phillipe snapped out of it and took Sophie by her arm over to the chair. She didn't know why he was bothering tying her to the chair and neither did he, it was just the only thing he knew to do at that moment. She was much easier to control than the unknown visitor, than the pounding.

The knocking ceased, but the presence of the unwanted visitor was still felt. He suddenly looked up at Sophie and they just stared at one another. It was a look of mutual dependency.

"I'm going to go out there," he told her.

"Be careful," she said. He looked at her. He didn't know why, but he took the tape and ripped a piece off. She winced, not wanting to go through this again. He pressed the piece of tape over her chapped lips and picked up his gun and went outside.

Sophie listened hard for any slight sound but she didn't hear anything at all. Even the crickets were silent. A few seconds later she heard a heavy thud and footsteps coming to the house. Please let it be Phillipe.

She was relieved to see his dirty blonde hair and gaunt figure. But something was different. He was acting different. He didn't say anything as he came over to her.

She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes as he stood in front of her. Please don't leave me like this all night again.

"No kind of look you give me is going to do any good, understand?" He raised the gun and aimed it at her head. If he got her right there in the forehead she'd fall back and die right then. It would be clean and painless.

"I don't trust looks, I don't trust words. I don't trust anything...well I trust guns," he said. "Guns don't lie. They shoot you? Then that means they shoot you." He tried, but he just couldn't do it. He turned and kicked the back of the couch so hard he hurt his toe.

"FUCK!!!!" He screamed and fell down on the floor. He jabbed her in the knee with the gun. Just do it, just do it, shoot her, bury her and get out of here.

She shut her eyes, thinking this was it. He was going to shoot her. But the knee? That would be a very painful and slow way to bleed...

He removed it, stood up and ran his hand through his hair.

"I'm going to bed. This is it, sweetheart. Tomorrow...I have to do it."

16

He didn't apply the handkerchief neatly and Sophie could see splinters of light the next morning. She could hear birds sing. She could hear his footsteps above her. The world moved without her.

She heard him coming down the stairs. He came over to her and pulled her handkerchief down with a slight, effortless tug, avoiding scratching her. He left the tape on for now. She was angry he'd left her this way. Her body hurt like she'd been beaten. And she had to pee again.

He, on the other hand, looked very fresh-faced. It was setting in that he was a handsome guy despite his malnourished appearance, despite the fact that he'd been depressed. He certainly smelled like he'd showered. He was wearing new clothes and had gotten a great night sleep.

"I'll make you toast, I don't have a lot of time, gotta run some errands." He sounded happy today. Supposed that's what happened when one got a nice night's sleep in a comfy bed, she bitterly thought.

He popped two pieces of wheat bread into the toaster and started making coffee. Sophie loved coffee. Her heart beat excitedly at the aroma of it.

She watched him put the cutting board on the counter and place the toast on it.

"Butter?" he asked, looking over at her. Sophie nodded. "Jelly?" She nodded again. He smeared just the right amount of butter on it while it was hot enough to melt it, then he cleaned the knife and added jelly. He dropped it on a small plate, washed the knife and poured a glass of juice.

He came over to her and pulled the tape back. He didn't take his time. He just yanked it off and noticed how red her skin was.

She winced, she couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Everything hurts," she sobbed.

"Shh. It'll be over soon," he promised. He got up and went back into the kitchen and wetted a dishcloth. He picked up his coffee and came back to her, walking so fast and carelessly a little hot coffee spilt over his thumb. He didn't so much as wince. He knelt down in front of him and gently pressed the rag to her face as she started to sob.

"Don't cry," he fussed. "That's not gonna help."

"It hurts...everything hurts, its just sore."

He dropped the cloth and hid his face in his hands. "Listen, I don't know what to do okay? I don't know what to do. What do you want?"

He reached for the toast, tearing off a piece.

"Here, eat." He waited for her to open her mouth and he pushed the food in impatiently. She thought about chopping down on his fingers. She wondered what he'd do to her. She reframed from doing this and just ate, all she could really think about was how badly she wanted to press that cold jelly jar against her skin to soothe it.

"Can I have some coffee?" she asked.

"Coffee? You're going to be tied to a chair all day – you really want to have caffeine in your blood when you can't move?" he glanced down at the coffee on his thumb and held it up to her. She just stared at him, not sure how to respond. He wiped the coffee on his jeans.

"Take me with you to run errands," she said next.

"Uh yeah, because I'm sure you've been reported missing and then you'll be seen with me. I thought you were smarter than that?"

"I told you no one is looking for me – no one cares. I don't even care."

"You care, I can see it in your eyes every time I point the gun at you." He had another piece of toast in his hand, waiting for her to open.

"Open your mouth," he instructed. She noticed how his tone calmed but remained firm when he gave her simple orders. She opened her mouth wide enough for another piece of toast.

"I'd like to brush my teeth," she said after chewing.

"Would you now?" he taunted. "Dink your juice." He held the glass up to her lips and poured it down her throat until she started coughing, almost choking.

He got very annoyed and hurled the glass across the room. He stood up and paced around the room as she continued to cough.

"Listen," he placed his hand on the back of her neck. "Breathe, calm down and breathe."

She tried desperately but no air was getting into her lungs.

"Stay calm," he said. "You'll be okay." She listened to what he said. He picked up the rag and pressed it against her forehead. She didn't know why he did this. It was something her mother would do when she was much younger and had a fever. Soon she was breathing okay again.

"Okay?" he checked.

"Yes."

"Good." He sounded relieved. He dropped the rag and walked into the kitchen. His boots made loud thumps against the floor.

"I'll be out for a couple of hours. I'm getting you a present."

A present? Was he serious?

"What are you getting me?" she asked, a little scared.

"Not telling. You'll see when I get back."

"How long will you be gone?" she asked, before he could put a new piece of tape over her mouth.

"Not long."

She stared up at him. He noticed how she looked at him different now, there was some sort of attachment there. For him as well.

"Promise?" she asked.

"I promise. Tonight we'll get pizza...if you continue to be good."

"I'll be good..." her eyes got teary when he ripped off a piece of tape. "Please, you don't have to do that, please, I won't make a sound."

"I know you won't," he informed, placing the tape over her cold, moist face. He stared at her, made sure it stuck. This strip of tape was even bigger than the last, so long it nearly went to her ears. He played with her hair for a minute, like he was prepping her for a picture.

"Okay," he stood up and took the dishes into the kitchen and washed them. He made sure every single thing was back in its place before he picked up his keys and headed to the door.

"Be back in an hour," he said, twirling his keys around.

An hour. She knew how slowly it would go by. She was tired of thinking. There wasn't anything else to do. Where was he going? What if he lied? What if he was never coming back here? What if she had to stay like this forever?

Sophie's head snapped up when the phone rang. It was the first time it had rang since she'd been held captive. It sounded extremely loud and imperative in the silent house. It rang five times and silenced. Then whoever it was called right back. Was it him? Had something happened and he was trying to get in touch with her? It rang another five times and stopped. It did not ring again.

Sophie's mind went back to last night. Who had knocked on the door? She wondered if this morning's "errand" had anything to do with it.

17

He returned an hour later just like he said he would. She looked longingly at the warm sunshine that poured in and smelled the cooling air outside forewarning fall before he shut the door. He had some bags of groceries with him. She watched as he slipped his hand in the paper bag and brought out vegetables, a fresh head of lettuce, and a six pack of beer. The veins in his arms became more defined as he pulled the groceries out and placed them on the counter. He took a beer, flipped the metal cap off and came over to her.

"Just like I left you," he said, pleased. He took a sip of beer and sat the bottle down on the table next to her. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, and that cologne she noticed yesterday was more potent today. She stared down at the mysterious shiny black plastic bag and wondered what was inside it.

"Do you want to see what I got you?" he asked, making direct eye contact with her for just a second. She nodded and he picked up the bag.

"I was thinking since you have that book you've been wanting to read, I could read to you later." Put a new story in her head before you send her off to permanent darkness.

She nodded. She would like that, but she would really like to know what was in the little glossy black bag. Something new? Something pretty?

"I stopped at Black Soap..." he glanced up at her, hesitant. "The sex shop..." he looked down into the bag and shook his head when she got scared. "Its not what you think. Its just so I don't have to use the tape anymore." He brought out a ball gag. The ball was red and shiny and a little smaller than an apple. The black leather straps attached so it fastened like a belt in the back of her head. He put his hand to her face to pull the tape back. She shut her eyes and prepared herself.

"You want me to do it fast? Or slow?" He knew she couldn't answer him. It didn't matter at this point. She hung her head in desperation and just shook it. She shut her eyes and felt the tear as he ripped it off. There was a shiny spot on her chin where she'd lost some skin. He picked up the rag he'd used earlier and went into the kitchen to wet it. He pressed it against her face, moved her hair back and held up the ball gag.

"Open your mouth," he said, quite softly, almost like he was apologizing. She did as he was told but it wouldn't fit.

"Can you open any wider?"

She shook her head but tried. He forced it in, her teeth scraping against the rubber. He got behind her and fastened the straps.

"I took a long drive up to Montauk – you know where that is?"

She nodded.

"At the end...on the tip. Anyway," he sighed, coming around so he was in front of her, his hand barely touching her shoulder as he did so. "I think I know what I'm going to do with you but..." he knelt down and put a hand on her knee. "I have to make some calls first."

What calls? She felt sick. She hated how the ball tasted, and some of her hair was caught in the buckle and hurt when she moved her head. She wanted to bathe. She couldn't speak now – she couldn't do anything. She stared up at him, hoping the things she was pining for would register. He couldn't leave her like this again, all day like this.

"I told you," he said as he headed to the stairs. "Looks like that won't get you anything."

Then what would? She hung her head and tried to relax, she tried to get her mind to tell her body to relax instead of protesting by sending waves of pain down her back and shoulders. There's nothing you can do so just stop, stop hurting.

18

For a few minutes he was quiet. Then she could hear him moving around upstairs. At first she only heard light footsteps but then she heard quite a few thuds. It sounded like maybe he'd fallen down. Then it sounded like something heavy was being dragged across the floor. After that, silence elapsed for an hour.

He came down at last. It had felt like an entire day had gone by even though that wasn't the case. He came skipping down the stairs, experiencing another burst of energy. He stood in front of her, calmly observing her with his hand against his cheek.

"I think you're small enough for...what I need to do," he decided.

Of course she wanted to know what he meant by that, her body rocked with fear and anxiety. He stared at her for a moment before coming over to her and picking up the gun. Her body tensed as he pressed it to her temple and dragged it along her face to her neck. She would fit in the trunk. He just had to take his records out.

"Don't be scared of the darkness..." he said. "Before I..." he paused, looking down at his gun. "Do this...I want to tell you a story. Something that happened to me when I was little that called for bravery – I was brave," he clearly stated. "I was in the dark for a long time and sometimes...when you're in the dark for that long, the darkness becomes...something else."

He stood up and backed away. He kept staring at his gun. Then he rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.

He got behind her and unfastened the ball gag. She was so glad when it dropped from her mouth and rolled across the floor. She moved her jaw around, stretched her mouth around and tried to make it feel normal again. Drool hung in strings from her lips. She couldn't wipe it away. He untied her arms and legs and pulled her up.

"We're going to go try something upstairs," he let her know. "You are very small," he said in an afterthought, looking down at her.

"May I please take a bath?" she asked in the sweetest voice she could muster.

"All you do is want things," he said, tiredly. "I was out all day...trying to come up with a plan for you and now you want something else. You were the one fucking creeping around outside and saw what you did! You think I wanted this, huh? To contend with?"

"I think you do," she said, breathlessly because she was scared of the consequence of her words and yet was unable to stop them from spurting out of her mouth. "I don't think you want to be alone just like me – or you would have already killed me."

"I haven't killed you yet because I've been trying to come up with a plan," he let her know, his tone was very cold that time.

"Have you?" she asked, endearingly.

"I have...a few ideas. That is why we're going upstairs, but now you want to bathe."

"It is my last request – please. Whatever you decide to do after that I will coincide with. Please, I just feel so dirty...so tired."

"I also feel tired," he said. Not that anyone cares, or has ever cared." He stood there, very still.

"I like the way a gun feels," he said. "It feels so impermeable...so..." he pressed the side of the gun against her neck.

"See what I mean?" Madness flashed in his eyes. It was as noticeable as a traffic light at night.

"Yes..."

"You will get your bath and then...whatever you get after that is up to me. How tall are you?"

"Five...three?"

"Okay. That will work. Now..." he pushed her along so she neared the stairs. "Your amount of time this time is half an hour – that means exactly thirty minutes, understand? Not thirty-five and not forty."

"Yes sir," she abided. She thought it was finalized. She started up the stairs when he pulled her back down. He made her feel so small, the way he grabbed her and pushed her against the wall.

"Hey," he said, his elbow was against the wall, the gun in his hand. His other hand was pulling at her hair so she was cornered and couldn't escape.

"I want you to listen to what I'm about to say, little girl. I...don't...need...a...living...soul. People lie and they hurt others. That's what they do. You were just going to get older and turn into an asshole too. I know you're thinking, no, no I would not turn into an asshole but its almost...like you can't help it. Something bad would have happened to you," he assured. "Some boy would have broken your heart, found a nice, sweet piece of you and would have rotted it." He softened his voice and stopped toying with her hair.

"It just...is how it all...evolves, we start off as tiny little innocent babies and then we die and our flesh leaves out bones. It's the same...for everyone." he finished. Then he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards the stairs.

19

She took off her dirty clothes and let them fall to the floor wherever they may please.

There was a full length mirror in his bathroom. She stared at her underdeveloped body. She had so much left, so much growing to do, so many days to fill. She didn't even know who she was yet. She ran her hand over her delicate skin before looking over her shoulder at the door. He was standing on the other side with the gun, making sure she didn't go anywhere. To him, all that mattered was that she was here, that she stayed put. And he stayed put. How could such a disturbing situation feel so venerating?

She turned back around and looked into the mirror. Sometimes what you want will never be understood.

"Hey?" he called out. "What are you doing in there? You're supposed to be taking a bath."

"I am!" she reached out for the knob and turned the water on, afraid he'd come in here. He'd advised her to not lock the door and checked only by opening it a crack. She didn't want him to see her naked, he'd laugh at her boyish figure.

She looked at the picture tucked into the corner of the mirror. It looked a few years old. It was taken on the beach. He had her arms around his wife. They both looked happy. In that picture, one could never hurt the other. Their skin was reddened by the sun. Were they happy or just drunk? Were they happy or just capable, on that day, of pushing their troubles aside? Time is constant but in pictures...

She took the picture down and looked at the back. Written up in the corner was Florida, 2009. She put the picture back where it was.

She sat on the edge of the tub and stared at the door as she surfed her hand through the warm water. She looked around the bathroom. She wondered how much stuff was his and how much belonged to his wife. Had the towels been cleaned since she used them?

A NO PLACE LIKE HOME sign hung next to the bathroom mirror. What was in the medicine cabinet, she wondered. She opened it – expensive bubble bath, nice lotions, floss, and a toothbrush that had never been opened, perhaps for a guest. She took it out and brushed her teeth madly for about five minutes. She knew she'd already spent at least ten minutes of her permitted time. When she was done brushing her teeth she looked up at the container of shimmer and sparkle cinnamon scented bath soak. That sounded so nice, so relaxing. She imagined filling her warm bath with it. She'd probably feel hit with a horse tranquilizer. But he didn't want her smelling like his wife so she respectfully closed the medicine cabinet and turned herself over to the bath. It was still incredibly comforting even without the bath soak.

She sank down underneath the water, plugging her nose as her hair grew heavy with water. She came back up, feeling amazingly replenished already, but she couldn't stop thinking about that deliciously smelling bath soak. Just a little scoop wouldn't hurt, he wouldn't even be able to smell it on her.

She got out and stepped on the towel and opened the medicine cabinet. She took just a dab with her finger. It was waxy but dissolved quickly in the tub and smelled yummy.

"You have ten minutes," Phillipe informed from the hallway.

"Okay," she said. She dipped her head under the water one more time so the shampoo washed out. She could stay in here for the rest of the day, let the sun slip under a cloud and take the rest of the world with it. She didn't like taking baths at home because everything was always dirty, everything always felt chaotic. Her mother never cleaned. Her dad certainly didn't. Phillipe did – everything in his house was spotless.

"Hey," he started knocking, his patience thinning.

"Getting out!" she called out. "Drying off." She quickly stood up and put her foot on the floor, missing the towel. Her heel slipped and her legs went flying out until her toe slammed into the toilet and her head banged hard against the edge of the tub. For a minute she was so stunned by her fall that she was numb to any injury inflicted. Then her head started to throb and an unbelievable pain shot up through her toe, drawing out a long desperate howl that quickly turned into a cry for help.

"Sophie?" he called out, having heard the terrible fall. The door flew open when she didn't respond and there was no time to cover herself up. There she was naked and wet. He saw blood on the edge of the tub and quickly ran over to her, yanking a towel off the hook to drop on her before he cradled her in her arms.

You're dying...

She felt so small, much smaller than she looked. Oh god, she's just a child. You kidnapped a child. But as time went on, you could not let her go. It had been too long. And she was right – you did want a companion.

"Its okay," he said, he put his hand on her face to move her wet hair out of it. She tried to see, but her vision was blurry. Nothing in the bathroom had a certain shape to it anymore.

"Hey?" he called out to her, because it seemed she was about to pass out. "How many fingers am I holding up?" He held up two in front of her face. She tried to see.

"I don't...I don't..."

"Okay..." He moved his leg so his foot was flat against the floor. "We're going to try and stand up now."

She shook her head. She wanted to stay there.

"No, baby, come on." He helped her up. There was blood on his chin from her head. He picked her up in his arms and carried her out to the hallway.

20

If night proved anything, it was that the entire world just seemed to not care where they were. No one was knocking on the door tonight. No one was calling on the phone.

Sophie woke up to the sound of strange voices and looked up at him. She'd fallen asleep in his lap. He hadn't tied her up. Her hair was still wet. It had to be between 8 and 9 pm because Six Feet Under was on.

"How you doin?" he looked down at her. She was exhausted. Her body was sore and her head throbbed. She couldn't feel her hurt toe anymore, so at least that didn't hurt.

"So...so tired." She could hardly keep her eyes open. The deep sleep she'd been in prior did not want to let her go, and she certainly didn't mind. She noticed two little bottles of pills on the coffee table in front of them. He reached out for one.

"These are painkillers. You should take a couple more of these and then you'll just...sleep. I'll take some too. We can both just sleep."

Were they really painkillers? She didn't care, as long as it took the pain away. Even though she was free to do it, out of habit she opened her mouth and let him put the pills on her tongue.

"You're going to slip into the softest sleep now, a sleep softer than you...a sleep softer than silence," he said.

She made herself comfortable again, with her head in his lap. Phillipe pressed his hand down on her forehead to keep her still. She felt his other arm move, probably to drink water and down those pills.

She slowly turned her gaze away from the TV and over to the window. Then she saw it – a little yellow light flashing. It grew closer and closer to her face. A firefly. She smiled just a little before drifting back to sleep. The voices on the TV started to fade out, even though the TV was still on. The world was still on. A universal energy still hummed. Good people did good things, bad people did bad things, and they just slept on the couch. In the quiet house in The Hamptons.

The End.
