

suzanneDegnan

A Novel By Sherry Wood

Table of Contents

Part 1 Every Second of Daylight

Chapter 1 Lucky

Chapter 2 The Ringing

Chapter 3 Boys And Their Minions

Chapter 4 The News of the Day

Chapter 5 The Boy in the Tomato Suit

Chapter 6 Bleak Dick Catastrophe

Chapter 7 The Test

Chapter 8 Hello Goodbye

Chapter 9 Church Skin

Chapter 10 Down Comforter

Chapter 11 Searching

Chapter 12 Amour-Propre

Part 2 Chino Moreno

Chapter 13 The Hand That Pushes Her Away

Chapter 14 Dime Twirler Was Here

Chapter 15 Rescued Floating Devices

Chapter 16 Slam, Slam, Slam The Phone

Chapter 17 Black Skoda

Chapter 18 Room For Horses

Chapter 19 Lips-A-Go-Go

Chapter 20 The Finale of Love

Chapter 21 Shut Up, Lou Reed

Chapter 22 Repair Service

Chapter 23 The Silent Film of No

Chapter 24 Mermaids On The Tour Bus

Part 3 Not Rabbit, Rabid

Chapter 25 Blood-Sister's Indigo Sock Drawer

Chapter 26 The Obsession Is On The Phone

Chapter 27 The Pod Dolls

Chapter 28 Crack The Skin And You'll See There Are Ships Down Below

Chapter 29 Everywhere

Chapter 30 Nevada's Definition of Pain

Chapter 31 This Is How She Holds Me

Part 4 Mr. Grunge

Chapter 32 Cool Shoes Untied

Chapter 33 Rainbow Sister

Chapter 34 Derail

Chapter 35 First Deep Breath Of The Night

Chapter 36 Deprep

Chapter 37 Valor

X: They don't go away.

Me: No.

X: That's right.

Me: So where do they go?

X: We go inside the people who can't feel anymore, and we feel for them.

Me: Promise me you'll never leave me alone like the living have.

X: I promise.

It's not the drugs and it's definitely not a man  
I'm still afraid but I'm doing the best I can  
Doing the best I can  
I'm doing the best I can.

\- "Salt Flat Epic," Veruca Salt.

## Based on a true story.

PART I

Every Second Of Daylight

Chapter 1

Lucky

A boy in a hockey mask jumped off the stage and kicked me in the nose. I barely saw him – just a flash of the mask and the bottom of his dirty steel-toed Doc Marten as he delivered a swift kick to my face. I actually laughed at first at the brazenness of the attack, but once I felt the sticky floor against the palms of my hands everything started to sink in. This wasn't the first time I'd been knocked down in a moshpit, so I knew the first rule of survival was get back up, get right back up right now.

I saw a slimy string of blood hanging down from the tip of my nose and felt the rubber of someone's shoe burn my elbow as I tried to stand back up. I traced my tongue over my teeth to make sure I hadn't lost any when a boy came flying at me and for the next several seconds I was just a puppet controlled by the movements of other bodies. I managed to move away from the pit and wiggled my nose. It just felt wet and numb. I glanced up at the stage but my vision was blurry... the stage was crooked... I could make out Louise Post singing, eyes closed, fingers on her guitar strings. I felt like I was falling...

It was Halloween of 1995. I'd moved from North Carolina to Chicago during a time when the music scene was thriving, and played bass in my sister's band. Wilco had just released AM and was already creating big buzz even though they'd just formed a year ago – a year ago. My sister started a band called Veronica's Car Crash three years ago, and was hungry for that kind of recognition. She knew all the right people and she seemed to have the drive and determination to get us where we wanted to be. This sort of commitment was new to me. My sister, Jeneane, was ready to take the band to the next level by the time I joined, and I was just getting used to being in it. We both adored Smashing Pumpkins, a band that had had been together since 1988 and had recently found commercial success with Siamese Dream. Our overall taste was a bit different – I was still into the heavier stuff like Deftones, Nine Inch Nails, and Danzig, while she was into the more pop-oriented Chicago bands flourishing at the time.

Tomorrow we were moving to Rogers Park, up on the north side of town. Our new place was much bigger than our current box in Wicker Park. We were going to soundproof a room and make it our official practice space. With another fierce winter coming up, not having to leave to rehearse in a rented practice hole was going to be convenient. At the new place, even if there was 4 feet of snow and the electricity went out, we could get along fine with some blankets, candles, an acoustic guitar, and drums.

The streetlights on Fullerton Avenue never seemed

to hit anything specific, especially in the fog. I could barely see Fireside Bowl's rusty neon bowling pin marquee right above my head. It read BOWLING. I adored the simplicity of that. The fact that the marquee was even still standing was something of a miracle considering this place had been here since the 1940s. Now it doubled as a concert hall where young girls could get their faces kicked in. Behind a weathered brick wall across the street was one of the oldest cemeteries in the city. As I staggered my way out to the sidewalk I passed the black gate and the gravestones popped out at me like a yard of teeth.

Eventually Lindsay helped me find my way to an emergency room and we spent a few hours in the horror of a waiting area with blood and candy wrappers on the floor.

Earlier that evening as we waited in line for the show, Cinderellas and Richard Nixons trudged by and a cold wind swept in off the lake sharpening the air. The raindrops were getting fatter and cutting through the fog. It was 42 degrees, but with the cold, snapping wind, it felt like 20. The crazy weather fluffed up my hair and gave me rosy knuckles.

"Promise me one day people will wait out in the cold rain to see us play," Jeneane said as we stood there shivering. Lindsay stood behind my sister, her chin resting on Jeneane's shoulder.

"I promise." Lindsay said, lackadaisical because she was stoned. She got stoned everywhere every day – behind the Starbucks dumpster, in the hallway of our building in Wicker Park where the paint fumes from aspiring artists covered the smell, and sometimes when she couldn't hold off, in the aisle at the grocery store. I got stoned from smelling her hair. Take Pippi Longstocking, fix her teeth, make her taller and cuter, and give her drummer muscles – and you'd have our drummer Lindsay. She had a tattoo of the word Lucky in simple black font next to a small black heart on her arm. The tail of the Y wrapped around the heart and word like a snake. She got it shortly after she ran away from her hometown of St. Paul, Minnesota when she was sixteen, to convince herself she was lucky enough to survive on her own. Soon after she ran away she met my sister, and now they were closer than Jeneane and I had ever been. Maybe I'd get there – I'd try, I'd scratch at the walls bad times had built between us, or at least try to be the best bassist I could be.

Seven 0'clock arrived, time for the doors to open. We watched Nina and Louise, members of the band Veruca Salt, strut down the street – stilettos to cobblestone, white trouser socks pulled up to pink knees, shameless fur coats to blanket them from the cold city, flashy rings adorning their fingers, and tight vintage rock t-shirts to complete the ensemble. They didn't walk like us and they didn't seem cold like us. It was as if they were in a snow globe. Their world was magic. They skipped along, holding hands and slipped in through a special entrance for bands only. I longed for the day when I could go through that door and be the worshipped one, be the magic.

"Tomorrow," Jeneane said tensely, "Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of our lives – we move, and we get settled and start padding the room." Her eyes hit me when she said that last part, making sure she had my attention. True. I had a boyfriend now and he was starting to demand more of my time. I could practically hear them cringe whenever Lance came around. The band, the band, the band. The band was our child and I'd been neglecting it lately. I'd been too busy making out with Lance, clawing and moaning and dry-humping the days away with him. I was cheating on my beloved Theodore, a Fender Jazz Bass.

Then of course there was the fact that I was the only non-lesbian in the band. While Jeneane and Lindsay were the personification of butch, I was roaming around with Lance, who was 6'3, black, very male and very straight. Jeneane would never ask me to keep my personal life a secret but I could tell she wished I would. It was starting to create tension in the band, a band for which she'd been through a lot, as a write-up in The Reader recently explained:

"In 1994, on a long drive home to North Carolina to visit her parents and sick sister, singer Jeneane Barker's Camaro slid off the icy road into a tree, killing her best friend and bassist Veronica Partridge. The bizarre thing was they'd been discussing calling it quits with the band (which at the time was called Two Girls From Sweden) and getting married minutes before the fatal crash. Jeneane explains, still shaken up over the crash, "As soon as I said, 'You know, we shouldn't do this with the band, its going to be a lot of work and I get the feeling its just not your thing,' the tire skidded and I looked up and saw a tree as it split the car in half like a knife cutting cake." Jeneane spent three weeks in the hospital "looking out the window and knowing my best friend was dead." When she was released she didn't go home to visit her parents, she just drove back to Chicago. "Most of the ride was silent with me just trying to come to grips with what just happened. You know, you have someone there right next to you in the car talking and suddenly they're not around anymore – you will never see them again. I knew I had to go back to making music, it was the only thing that made life feel right."

A few months later Jeneane's sister Sarah moved up to Chicago and joined the band as their bassist. They were sitting in a downtown Starbucks when they met their drummer. "I never ever go to Starbucks," Sarah makes sure to point out, "I usually go to Kokomo or whatever other kind of charming off-the-wall place I can find, but my sister wanted to stop there and that's when all hell broke loose – the barista totally lost it on a customer and threw the tip jar clear across the room, so it slammed against bad art, and quarters, nickels and dimes plopped into piping hot coffee, splattering customers in the face," Sarah tries to stop herself from laughing, clamping a hand over her mouth as if to cover up her crooked teeth. "I mean it was total mayhem," she says once she's calmed down. "I mean, I was like 'I have to meet this girl.'"

They did meet this girl. Her name is Lindsay and her brick-wall focus behind the drums has left this band nowhere to go but up. So pay attention Chicago, because this band's back on the road – and they're going places."

*Catch Veronica's Car Crash w/ Bijou's Wicked Teeth this Sunday at Elbow Room.

I was late for that show at Elbow Room because I was having sex with Lance. I got the 'If you're late one more time' speech from Jeneane. Lance was a distraction, yes, but he was a beautiful one. I'll say it again – he was a beautiful one. I was also with him right before I came here to see Veruca Salt. We were in the middle of another one of our torrid afternoons of play-fighting and teasing, of pawing and slapping, of sighing the gospel of come 'ere and pushing away and pulling one another back and pushing each other away again. It all started with Lance mounting me on my incredibly tiny futon.

"What are you doing?" I asked when he started licking my armpit – something he'd never done before.

He stopped and looked down at me. "What do you mean?"

"I've just never had my armpit licked before," I said between giggles.

"I want to know what every part of you tastes like, now shut up and let me do this." He continued to lick me, his tongue eventually tracing over my hipbone as he undid my jeans. I knew what time it was and had to be at the show soon. I placed my hand on Lance's shoulder and cooed, "No, don't."

"You don't mean that," he groveled, managing to slip a finger inside me. I almost gave in to the intense contact, folding my legs so my heels dangled in the air, but I pulled myself together at the last minute.

"No!" I said, pushing him off. Then we started kissing again, and the whole event repeated itself. I crawled on top of him and let him finger me while I bit his shoulder, while the phone rang, while fire trucks bellowed through the cracked window, while the sun weakened and a line began to form outside Fireside Bowl, where I should have been.

"Fuck me," I sighed, and when he started to I pushed him away. "No..."

"You better stop this shit," he warned, grabbing my wrists.

"Or...what?" I teased.

He started kissing me again. His wallet chain pressed against my hipbone, leaving a small red mark the size of a comma. He groped my left tit and bit my earlobe. Lance was perfect. 6'4 with an athletic build, his hair in seven neat tight braids, light brown skin, very strong and very perfect teeth. Lance was a biter. Sometimes when I made a responsive move to his touch he bit my neck as if to warn me to stay still. Sometimes I felt like I was wrestling with a bobcat. I had marks all over me from his bites. His favorite spot on my body was the fleshy part next to my hipbone. His obsession with gnawing on the skin there made wearing jeans painful...nearly impossible to manage.

His parents' differences went beyond the fact that his mother was white and his father was black. Lance's mother, Lacey Maddox, was a successful lawyer. She lived in a high-rise on Lake Shore Drive. She was in her early forties, a bit uptight, but very loyal and responsible. His father, Marcus Maddox, had been in prison since 1989. He was a devoted member of the gang The Taipans (the name came from the Indian Taipan snake, which carried the deadliest venom of any snake known to mankind). The gang was still very active, especially around housing projects like Cabrini Green.

Marcus had a very peculiar obsession with snakes. He named Lance after the poisonous snake Fer De Lance. Lance even bore a resemblance to the snake – his eyes and nose, his stubborn unbroken expression, and sometimes even the way he moved during foreplay was similar to a snake. Even the shade of light brown skin around the snake's fangs was the same color as Lance's skin. The snake's head was triangular and pointed, like a lance or spearhead. They kept their venom in large glands behind their eyes and could still bite even if their heads had been chopped off. It was said the only way a person could survive a Fer De Lance snakebite was by cutting off whatever body part had been infected. How do I know all of this? Because Marcus loved to tell the story of the snake's powers and aggressiveness to his son as if they were bedtime stories, and Lance was quite a talker at night when he couldn't sleep, so he told me these things.

Lance had only been to visit his father once. His dad pressured him to join The Taipans during the visit. "You join 'em and you're immediately an absolute God – feared – your life's on the street son, not in some minimum wage dump – you get respect when you're a Taipan, you wanna be holdin' a mop or a gun at the end of the day? Huh? You a Taipan and people see you and they just fucking hand you money so you don't fuck 'em up sideways."

Deep down I wasn't sure if Lance didn't go to see his father out of lack of respect or if he was afraid that eventually his dad would convince him that becoming a Taipan was the right thing to do. Because if I saw a member of the gang I'd hand them any amount of money I had on me, and take off running. Once they had you, they had you. They showed no mercy, and each victim presented a chance to explore new torture tactics.

Lance told me once he was scared his father was going to force him into the gang somehow, no matter how many times he said he didn't want to be in it, no matter how many times he said he'd rather, somehow, go to college. Marcus Maddox had connections on the inside as well as the outside. I could see the flicker of uncertainty in Lance's eyes lately; he was thinking about leaving Chicago, which meant leaving me. He and his mother weren't that close, mainly because she didn't approve of the friends he hung out with. They were too much like Marcus when he was younger. I couldn't let Lance leave, so in order to keep him around I felt like I needed to spend every second with him, neglecting the band in the process.

"Your wallet chain is hurting me," I finally said. Lance stopped again, this time turning over on his back and staring at the ceiling. I could see the giant bulge in his pants as he breathed heavy dissatisfied pants. A few seconds later, he grabbed my hand and rubbed it against his penis. I closed my eyes for a minute as my palm began to burn from the fabric.

"Lance," I said, a bit pissed, yanking my hand away. Sometimes he just didn't take no for an answer. He never asked me about my band either, which was starting to annoy me. How many times had I been to the courts to watch him shoot balls on a Sunday afternoon? Something around 22. How many shows had he shown up at to see me play? Something around none. "I'm moving tomorrow," I brought up, "To Rogers Park."

"Yeah, you told me." He sounded tired of the story, but I thought it was a big deal.

"Sorry, I don't mean to bore you with the details of my life."

"Hey," he touched me, his knuckles grazing my thigh. There was a fire in me I wouldn't be able to discipline for much longer. "I got shit on my mind, doll. You need help moving?"

"No." I did but Jeneane and Lindsay would never let me hear the end of it if I needed – gasp – a man's help.

Lance got on his knees so he was sitting on top of me and touched my face. "Now, you gonna pout like that?" he asked. I shook my head a little. My cheeks were very pink and warm.

"I'm excited about moving, I think we're having a housewarming party – you're coming right?" I looked up at him, my voice daft, my eyes batting kindly.

"Yeah." His response was anything but convincing. His hand moved back to the warmth between my legs folding into a fist like he meant to punch it and before I could bend my legs so my knees met his chest in protest, he wrapped my legs around his back. I touched his face as he touched me in the most perverted way, taking two fingers and spreading me apart. He once blew marijuana smoke up inside me.

I kept my hand on his face. Lance had his mother's delicate bone structure but his father's cold, stunning dark eyes. He moved against me slowly. "You can't start this shit and not end it."

"I have to go," I said.

"Go where?"

I managed to escape somehow, rolling out from under him like I would probably do if I were on fire.

"Fireside Bowl."

"You didn't tell me you were going there." He sounded angry, like he had some personal vendetta when it came to the place. At least it was a switch from sounding totally bored.

"I thought I did," I called out from the bathroom. Three seconds later he was standing in the doorway, arms crossed so the sleeves of his white t-shirt rose up and his muscles flexed. He watched me apply lip-gloss.

"No, you didn't," he said. I turned and looked at him. I let my lip-gloss drop in the sink.

"You mad?" I asked, in a bashful, slightly playful manner. I felt my knees go weak, felt that tingling sensation between my legs.

He took a few steps towards me. "Psychotically." His voice was deeper than usual because he'd started smoking again. I remembered the day I teased If you wanna smoke you gotta be a rock star not an athlete.

I walked backwards until I felt the coldness of the bathroom wall bleed through my thin white shirt. This was it; he was going to take me now. He was going to ruin everything. He was going to make me late for the show. He got in front of me and pulled my shirt up in a quick lusty temperamental fit, material wadded between knuckles, and stopped a few seconds before shoving his other hand down my pants. He stared at my breasts for a minute as I stayed obediently and respectfully still.

"I'm going to miss you," he said looking back up into my eyes.

"What?"

"One day – we fuck too hard to be together forever. Its like we hate each other – sometimes I think we do or we fuck to spite our parents or...people that don't like to see us together. Sometimes we fuck like...like we're trying to fuck the devil out of each other."

I started to say something when he came in for a kiss. There were a lot of kisses in the world. Some light as a snowflake and others slammed into you like a wrecking ball. This was definitely the latter. I moaned and started to slide down the wall.

"But that's cool," he said, touching my chin after the first kiss was implanted on my brain and I couldn't think. I felt drugged. Fer De Lance. He picked me up so my legs wrapped around him and I could see redness flood my face in the mirror behind us.

"Lance," I helplessly whispered. He knew he had me now. My skinny little fingers slid across his shoulder blade. I tasted his skin. "Lance..."

"Its not who you're with forever, its who you never forget," he said. "You gonna forget me?" he asked, yanking my panties down and entering me with a violent thrust.

"Mmph!" I cried out, digging my fingers into his skin. It was too much, no warning, no easing it in. "Lance, fuck..." I moaned, saying something between 'why and what' before taking another deep breath.

"Huh?" he asked, pulling out and slamming it back in, "Huh, sweet girl?"

"No...no I can never forget you, Lance."

I would never forget him because I was certain he was going to smash my heart soon. Just like this asshole just smashed my nose with his boot. I felt the wetness above my upper lip as I tried to fight my way out of the moshpit and get somewhere where I could stop the blood pouring from my nose. I couldn't spot my sister or Lindsay from the barrage of flannel shirts and ripped jeans. Thirty-two minutes ago I'd accepted a Budweiser from Kim Deal and now my face felt broken. Crazy how fast life switched its gears and drove you crazy. I knew something was wrong, I'd been permanently hurt by that kick to the face. I started crying because I couldn't hold back anymore.

"Sarah!" Lindsay had found me. I had no idea how but she had and she was on her way over, eyes holding me in the midst of all the chaos. She easily shoved people out of her way and wrapped her arm around my neck, pulling me over towards the wall near the bowling alleys with her strong arms. "Sweetie, what happened?" her fingers were in my hair, pulling strands back that were stuck in the blood on my face.

"I don't know," I sobbed, "Some guy just came flying out."

She put her thumb and index finger under my chin and examined my face. "Jesus."

A girl came flying out of nowhere screaming and jumping up to catch the drummer's shirt that had just been flung into the crowd. Lindsay swung her hand up and snagged the shirt, pushing the girl away. Within seconds the shirt was over my nose and Lindsay was pinching it to try and stop the bleeding.

"Am I gonna die?" I had to ask. In between words I inhaled the stench of the drummer's sweat. My vision was getting blurrier.

"No, but we need to get you to the bathroom so you can calm down." Her hand latched onto mine and she took me down a dark hallway that seemed to be getting darker by the second – or maybe I was going blind.

"Lindsay," I cried. She tightened her grip on my hand and took me into the bathroom.

A girl standing in front of a lopsided sink shrieked when she saw my reflection in the mirror above it. "Holy shit!"

"Fuck off," Lindsay snapped as fast as the door slammed behind us. She pulled me into the last stall. I guess she thought if I were alone in a tight space where bodies weren't being hurled at me left and right, I could calm down. She was right...but I couldn't calm down much when my eyesight was fucked. She went back out into the bathroom. A few seconds later I heard that girl cry, "What the fuck was that for?"

"Shove it up your ass and out your throat," Lindsay told her. Lindsay got into a knife fight once. It was right after I moved up here. She came home with blood all over her shirt and said someone tried to rob her so she stabbed the guy with her pocketknife. Ever since I'd respected her and been a bit leery of her at the same time.

I looked up from the toilet when she came back into the stall. The drummer's shirt was in her hand. She pressed it against my injured face. It was wet with warm water.

"Shh," she said. "You're going to be okay. I've been hurt like this before, I know how you feel, but you know what? You're going to be fine." I figured she was talking about her dad. He used to beat her up all the time before she ran away.

"Yeah?" I wanted to believe that but my head hurt and I felt congested, congested with blood. I felt like I had the flu. And my eyes still weren't working right, like I'd just woken up.

"You think you should go to the hospital?"

I hated hospitals – hated them. I had to go a lot as a child, so I cried when I said yes because I really wanted to say no. I was supposed to be out there, enjoying myself like everyone else. That shithead.

"Okay, alright, we'll go to the hospital," Lindsay decided.

Lindsay became my hero that night. Veruca Salt was her favorite band – this show was all she'd been talking about for the last two months, and now she was going to miss it in order to take me to the emergency room, in the rain no less. But the sequel of tonight's evil waited for us back home. Jeneane. She was seething when we walked in because she felt like we just ditched her at the show. Even the sight of my bandaged face did little to skid her anger.

"Hey," Lindsay said, closing the door behind her. It was four-fifteen in the morning and everything was packed up in boxes. This night had gone from soft rain-gray to red, blue and black. The true ache in all of this was the fact that we had to be up in three hours to move. The U-Haul had to be back by ten, leaving us with three hours to make at least two trips back and forth from Rogers Park to Wicker Park northwest of The Loop, not to mention a trip to storage to pick up Lindsay's drums.

"Oh Christ." I didn't know who said that. It could have even been heard not because one of us actually said it but because we were all thinking it so hard.

"Your sister's pretty banged up," Lindsay needlessly pointed out.

"What the hell happened?" Jeneane asked. By this point the painkillers had set in and I felt like my head was a giant cotton ball. I eased myself down on my futon. I wished Lance were here to hold me, and then later he could go and mercilessly kick that guy's ass. Maybe call on the Taipans.

"Remember that guy that pushed by you and got on stage? The one in the hockey mask?" Lindsay said.

"Oh yeah," Jeneane recalled, unimpressed by the memory. She looked at me, her bitchiness slowly dissolving to make room for concern.

"He jumped off stage and kicked your sister right in the face...he was wearing steel-toed boots"

"Sarah?" her voice flooded with worry as she glided across the room. "Are you okay?" She stood over me for a minute before becoming upset with herself for being angry with us. She bit her trembling lip and fell to her knees to get a better look at me. She moved some hair out of my face and asked again, pleading, "Are you okay?"

I nodded but she still looked at me as if my face was crumbling away from its skull. Years of Danzig moshpits, Marilyn Manson moshpits, Deftones moshpits, Type O Negative, White Zombie, Nine Inch Nails, the list went on and on...and I got this from a Veruca Salt show? But I'd made it home alive. Maybe it was just paranoia giving me an irregular heartbeat. I was terrified I'd die in my sleep from some fucked up head injury.

"The doctor confirmed there's nothing to worry about – she'll have a really bad headache tomorrow and swelling for a few days." There was a drawn out silence. "Anna's helping us move right?"

I wondered for a second whether or not I could press charges against that asshole. There were no security guys in that place. In the mid-90s, most clubs where shows were held had no security; it was all about the music. Surviving the pit was up to you, and in some cases kids lived for the shows and didn't even care to breathe once the band was done with their gig. And if you were lucky – like I had been back in '94 – the band would hang out with you after, and you felt like you'd won them over by surviving the chaos of the moshpit.

"Mitch," Jeneane painted the silence with her frankness, pointing out that Mitch would be helping us move tomorrow. He was a guy! I should have told Lance to help me.

Lindsay remained indifferent. "I'm sorry you got left alone – I was really afraid your sister was very hurt."

Jeneane stood up and went into the kitchen and I couldn't help but close my eyes. Sleep wasn't something I'd be able to fight off much longer. Beneath the covers my hand searched for Lance's sweatshirt he always left behind. It was my new teddy bear.

"No, it's not that," I heard my sister say. "I just really want it to happen for us. This band's all I got."
Chapter 2

The Ringing

I woke up cuddling the drummer's Batman shirt crusty with my blood. How remarkable that yesterday afternoon the drummer of Veruca Salt was walking around the windy, rainy city with it on and now it was in the arms of a girl he didn't even know, pressed lovingly against her naked breasts. Aw, rock n roll.

It was still raining when the alarm screamed the night off the windows. I felt a strip of incredible pain across my nose, pounding behind my eyes. The only thing that provided me immediate comfort was Lance's sweatshirt burying my icy cold toes. I heard a slew of zippers by the door, followed by the sound of boxes sliding over boxes, and in the background the continuous plopping of huge raindrops against the window. This – this was awful.

"You need this, Jen?" Lindsay's voice drifted from the kitchen.

"No," Jeneane answered. I heard something drop into the wastebasket. There was nothing I wouldn't give to be able to sleep through this day and move tomorrow. Then the buzzer went off. "Mitch!" Jeneane yelled into the intercom (I knew she did it to wake me up) "Come on up!"

"How ya doin'?" Lindsay's voice suddenly hung directly over my head. I opened my eyes, praying I'd be able to see once I did. The first thing I saw was her Lucky tattoo, then her long brown hair flowing over the shoulders of her blue-green and white-checkered pajamas. Then I saw the door open and Mitch stepped inside.

"How's it going?" he chuckled with dark amusement, always finding my sister's bossy mood funny. I wished I could. His eyes moved around the room and paused on me. "Oh dear, what happened?"

"Bad moshpit incident," Jeneane explained. "So we'll need you to help us even more today, Sarah's out of commission."

"Oh, doll, I'm sorry." Mitch said to me, sweet and sincere. I wished I could smile but I just lay there, cradling the Batman shirt with one hand as my other hand surfed the floor for my meds. I couldn't find them. The little bottle probably tipped over on its side and rolled off somewhere. Damn. I couldn't fetch it; I didn't have it in me. I closed my eyes and when I opened them again the place was silent and half-empty. Lance. I wanted Lance. I pulled his sweatshirt over my sore face and drowned in the smell of him – an even blend of cigarettes, Sunday afternoon b-ball sweat, and the scent of his cologne. I closed my eyes again.

"Sarah?" my mom was calling my name. Back in the house I grew up in, that big three-story house, searching for me. "Sarah?" Every time she said my name more urgently. "Sarah!" I looked up at her. She was standing over the couch holding one of my baby dolls, shaking it so its head looked like it was going to fall off its neck. "She's talking to you, Sarah! Can't you hear her?"

I stared at the baby doll. I'd had it since I was a little girl. Her rubber legs were dirty, along with her little fingers. A stray cat I took in and named Sebastian had peed on her. She was sticky and dirty and I didn't want to hold her. It had been a long time since I pulled her out of that box Christmas morning. Mom kept shaking the doll at me, yelling. "Sarah! Answer her! Answer her, Sarah!" She shook it harder and harder until the head finally popped off and landed on my stomach.

"Sarah?"

I came to in the backseat in the cab of the van. I could detect the faint smell of old vomit someone had worked to clean up but didn't quite succeed. I'd been asleep, I'd been dreaming. I could see much better now. I moved my tongue around my parched mouth and looked at my sister's lush red hair.

"I think you were having a bad dream," Jeneane told me. She was sitting up front and Mitch was driving. "You kept saying, 'Her head, her head.' We're almost at the new place." She smiled. "How do you feel?"

"The fuckin' meds are strong."

"Got any left?" Lindsay joked. Or maybe she wasn't.

"I put your things in that bag over there," Jeneane pointed to the blue duffle bag next to Theodore. Theodore! That was the motivation I needed to sit up. It went better than I expected, and for the first time I thought I might just heal from last night's horrific ordeal.

The drums, Jeneane's other Les Paul, they were all here. Amps, toasters, record collections. Loud Lucy played in the tape deck. The only thing we needed now was for the rain to stop.

"6035 Winthrop Avenue," Mitch muttered to himself, keeping an eye out for it. The enormous van slowed as he pulled over to the curb. I watched raindrops collect against the windows, erasing any view of the neighborhood surrounding us. Mitch looked over his shoulder at us.

"How you wanna do this? Maybe we should just wait this rain out."

"I'm fine with that." Lindsay was already in the process of rolling a thumb-sized joint. "We can pass this around and get so high we won't even care."

I laughed a little. She looked at me and I wondered how my face looked. "You look sexy," she said, winking. We'd had an ongoing flirty relationship now for a few months. I was not gay. I loved loved men. I loved loving men and I loved hating men loved men. But I couldn't forget the night Lindsay picked me up and threw me on my futon and started spanking me. I couldn't forget that I sort of liked it and sort of wished she'd do it again.

Lindsay let me have the first puff of her joint because I was in pain. I passed it back to her. Mitch was still looking at us.

"I don't know, are you guys seriously going to leave that doll up?" he asked.

I didn't know what he was talking about. "What doll?" I listened to the hard rain drum against the van's roof since no one was answering me.

"There's a fucking voodoo doll hanging on the wall in one of the bedrooms!" Mitch was so boisterous he sounded pissed. "And they're just going to leave it up."

"It must be there for a reason," Lindsay said.

"Creepiest thing I've ever seen. Her eyes are huge – and her mouth is wide open like she's screaming at you."

"I'm sure it's not a big deal," Jeneane said, her voice barely audible over the hard rain.

"All I know is if I moved into a place and suddenly there's a voodoo doll on the wall I'd be a bit freaked out," Mitch kept on.

Now I was too curious to wait out the torrential downpour, or for the pot to wear off. I got out of the van. The rain felt strangely great on my face. I held my face up to the sky until the bandage was too wet to stick anymore. I let it fall to the ground. I let my hair get so wet it stuck to my face and my shirt clung to my breasts.

Jeneane rolled her window down and preached. "Sarah? Why aren't you wearing a bra?"

"I'm not complaining," Lindsay said.

Then Mitch chimed in. "You guys need a forth roommate?"

"Sarah, you're going to get sick." I didn't respond to my sister because I was too drawn to our new home. The roof was split into two castle towers. No one mentioned what a pain in the ass the building's front door was to unlock. It took me nearly two minutes to get inside the building. I stood in the foyer for a minute, soaked. My ears were ringing – last night's concert, I thought, the loudness, the incident, the meds, the brief sleep, so many things could be contributed to the ringing. I looked back at the van parked in the rain and wondered if the people inside were talking about me. Sometimes I felt so disconnected from the world. Detached, severed. I turned around and my eyes crawled up the wooden staircase.

"Sarah?"

Was that my sister? The voice sounded closer than anything that could come from the van. The van's windows were rolled up besides, with everyone still inside getting stoned. I heard my name called again and looked up the stairs leading to our 3rd floor apartment. The walls were covered with green and white striped wallpaper. I climbed up to the third floor. A mop and bucket were over by the window, which was cracked open so its ledge was splattered with rain.

X: Hey!

I looked around, trying to pinpoint where the voice was coming from when my face started to hurt again. Then I heard Mitch, Jeneane and Lindsay as they came into the building, laughing.

"I think you guys should do a creepy version of Nat King Cole's 'Unforgettable," Mitch was saying. "Like all goth, like," he unnecessarily broke out into song, "Unforgettable...that's what you are to me."

"Shut the fuck up," Jeneane snarled, carrying a box up the stairs. Everyone was quiet for the next few seconds. I tried to hear that voice again but it didn't reoccur. Once Lindsay unlocked the door to our new apartment, the first thing I did was look down the hallway. It was as narrow and silent as an abandoned railroad.

Its going to be a long road, isn't it X? Yes, it is.

"I want to show you that doll," Mitch said to me, brimming with the enthusiasm of a child. I followed him down the hallway to the last bedroom before the hallway spit out into the huge eccentric dining room. The doll was much bigger than I'd imagined, hanging above the window and radiator. In my head I pictured one of those dolls you bought in New Orleans, a dark keepsake made of straw that could fit in your pocket. This was something totally different – something handmade and about the size of a baby, made out of blue clay, its eyes and mouth thrown open in shock. The blue and white sundress it had on was old and tattered. Somehow, it looked like it felt cold. The doll wasn't even hung straight; it dipped a little to the right. Someone should at least straighten her out, I thought.

X: Too late for that!

ME: Huh? Hello?

I looked back at the doll and noticed the little white pins poking her. There was one in her right eye, another in her heart and one in her crotch.

"I think it's a good thing – a blessing," Lindsay said, passing us by. "We still have a ton of stuff to bring up and its after nine," she said. "Jen's gonna freak if we have to pay for another day for the van."

I just stared at the doll. Who made it and why? What were they thinking of as they waited for the clay to dry, as they poked her with the pins? I finally looked away from the doll and over at Mitch. "Thanks for, um, picking up the slack."

"Yeah, no prob. Are you okay?"

"Huh?" I felt totally out of it. I just wanted to sit down. "Yeah...just sore." He patted me on the back. "Well, hang in there kiddo."

X: Yeah! Hang in there kiddo, and don't go in the closet!

"Mitch!" Lindsay screamed. "Let's go."

"Fuckin' hell, how do you put up with this?" he chuckled. I just shrugged as he left to go meet up with Lindsay. The first time I was left alone in the apartment I felt like I still wasn't. I felt observed. Sometimes I felt like someone was playing a game of hide and seek. I could feel someone's curiosity blossoming as I walked back down the hallway to the living room. This was the biggest room in the place by far. It was cold and smelled funny – like the bottom of a pan of burnt angel hair pasta. The tenants didn't take everything with them. An antique wooden window of framed mirrors, for instance, hung in the living room facing the door.

Jeneane paused when she came back in with more boxes and looked at it. "Well...if you're not ugly I guess it's not that bad."

She asked Lindsay later on in the kitchen if the mirror or the doll had been here when we checked the place out. I couldn't recall.

"I don't remember, I was high." Lindsay answered. "I told you guys my parents are coming up tomorrow, right?"

How could you not remember seeing a voodoo doll the size of a baby hanging on the wall?

X: Well yeah, how could ya!

I had a headache all of a sudden.

"No," Jeneane quipped. She folded her arms and strutted down the hallway.

"That's supposed to be a good thing, they're taking us out to dinner," Lindsay said shortly before the door slammed. They'd left to get more boxes and I stayed behind. I felt funny – the way I did after I'd had a long telephone call and it ended and I was left surrounded by the silence of an empty room. I sat in the middle of the living room floor and closed my eyes because I felt a little dizzy.

The late night shows, the rain, you're not taking care of yourself, Sarah. I know.

I opened my eyes and looked up at the hallway where Lindsay was standing a few seconds ago because I thought, for some reason, she was still there. I thought I felt her standing there just watching me with a demeanor impossible to distract. But no one was there.

"I mean Unforgettable?" Jeneane bitched from the kitchen a few minutes later, seething over Mitch's comment. "Its like he doesn't take us seriously – he doesn't think we're going to make it."

Had Mitch left? Did he say goodbye? I felt like hours were passing like minutes. What was going on? Maybe it was the painkillers...I picked my hand up and studied it like I did once when I was a teenager and dropped acid.

"He was just joking around," Lindsay said, "He's a kook."

I couldn't stop looking around the living room. There was something about it. There was something about this place.

"Hey, Sarah?" Jeneane called.

"Yeah?" I reached over for the blue duffle bag to see what they'd packed while I was out cold. I unzipped it and saw Lance's towel he used when he slept over. I couldn't believe Jeneane actually packed that.

"Come in here with us!" Jeneane called out.

"Okay!" But I kept rummaging through the bag. She'd put my toothbrush in a Ziploc bag. She'd put the guitar picks I collected from Chi Cheng and Fieldy in another. My big sister did thoughtful things like this all the time. I went into the kitchen. As I passed the bedroom I could see the voodoo doll out of the corner of my eye, staring up at the ceiling like a choking victim desperate for air. The sight of it erased my plan to thank my sister for packing those things in such an orderly fashion straight from my mind.

I stood in the doorway of the kitchen as Jeneane looked down at the table. "We're ordering pizza, we're fam –

She stopped talking when she looked up at me and the chair's pegs cried against the floor as she pushed it back and raced over to me.

"Shit, Linds, get a paper towel." As Lindsay went to collect a napkin, Jeneane pinched the bridge of my bloody nose.

Chapter 3

Boys And Their Minions

I stood in the cold bathroom, looking in the mirror.

All those dreams, you know the ones you could never tell anybody about, they're coming back to you now huh, huh, Sarah? Yes. And you don't like it. You don't like it, do you? No. And why is that? Because I never felt like they were dreams. And those attacks you had as a teenager when your body would go numb and helpless, you can't stop wondering why huh, Sarah? No, I've never stopped.

I had purplish-blue lines under my eyes. I'd covered my nose with a new bandage. I looked like a monster. The doctor had said I wouldn't suffer any more nosebleeds, but I knew I was dying. Last night was the first night of the rest of my death.

"Sarah! Pizza's here!" Jeneane called out, snapping me out of my shellshock state. Her feet slapped against the wood floor as she hurried to answer the buzzer. "You said you were putting in!"

Must she always shout?

One of the first things I learned about Chicago was

that it never got completely dark here, especially

during the winter. The night-sky turned into a sheet of lilac glazed over by the glow of streetlamps, and everything smelled like snow, whether or not there was actually any falling yet.

Two hours passed since the pizza arrived and still all I could do was stare at an abandoned olive in the middle of a spot of grease on the box. Jeneane was doing her usual run-through of plans for the next week. She was a control freak; she could never relax. My sister strived to do all she could, to make her life as full as possible and leave an impact on the world. She felt the only way this could be accomplished was to constantly announce a schedule, for us as well as for her.

"Tomorrow we'll go grocery shopping, then I say we get a bottle of wine and come back and start padding the room – the one I was going to originally have as my bedroom."

"The one with the doll in it?" I supposed. That room? We were going to spend countless hours every day in that room? The ringing was coming back again. I could hardly hear what my sister was saying. It was as if someone was plugging my ears with their fingers.

"My parents are coming up tomorrow night," Lindsay reminded, a bit weary.

"Oh..." Jeneane was thrown off course.

"Where are you gonna sleep then?" I asked, talking louder than everyone else in order to hear myself. "If you're not going to use that as your bedroom?"

Jeneane looked thoroughly confused for the first time in her life. Things felt simpler in the old place. Then suddenly the phone rang. It was in the bedroom with the voodoo doll, so I didn't want to go in there to answer.

I looked at Lindsay after Jeneane left to answer the phone. She gave me a cute grin because she knew we were both thinking the same thing – Why couldn't Jeneane just fucking chill for one day and let things happen as they would? We just moved; we need a timeout.

"Sarah!" she screamed from her room. "Lance!"

I jumped up, shedding all my troubles for the time being, and raced to the phone.

"Hey," I said into the phone, closing the door for privacy. I'd been dating him now for about five months and I still got nervous when I talked to him on the phone.

"Hey. You moved?" Lance asked.

"Yes." My voice softened, that was the affect he had on me. Where was I? The walls felt like cotton candy.

"You like it?"

"I don't know...its kind of weird," I said, looking up at the voodoo doll.

"Just different, that's all," he assured. "Want me to come over?"

"Yes." I never wanted anything more.

"Hey, you pack my sweatshirt?" he hurried to ask.

"Shit..."

"Oh...," he teased, in the middle of chewing something I think. "Someone's gonna get spanked."

I think everyone was asleep except me. Where the fuck was Lance? It was one in the morning and he never showed. I was in bed with the covers over me, doing what people did when they slept – nothing. My eyes were closed but my mind was racing. I put my hand on my sore face and tried to think of one thing, just focus on one single nice thought, and hopefully transmit it into a dream. But it was too quiet – the quiet here was distracting.

At three am I woke up to someone stomping their feet next to the bed. My eyes were already glued to the hallway's doorframe. Someone was here. They had been waiting for me to wake up. The voice I heard couldn't be categorized as a girl's or a boy's, but something else, something unrefined, something dark and troubled and demanding. And when the voice spoke, my face hurt.

X: You awake!

ME: Yes...  
X: Good!

ME: What do you want?

ME: Hello?

Chapter 4

The News Of The Day

I had no idea this was where the knife was discarded – the tracks leading us from Rogers Park into the heart of the city. I had no idea that the steps we took to get to the grocery store were the same steps her killer took to dispose of his tools, and eventually her body parts.

The Jarvis Station was rundown and almost always empty of people. The turnstile was greasy, and the stairway banister was chipping of thick layers of its purplish blue paint. The El platform overlooked a bodega. Across the street from the bodega was a building I thought was abandoned until one evening I heard a guitar crying behind the dark window. That's when I knew we weren't the only band in this neighborhood; we weren't the only ones still trying.

I had good news to report, the pain in my face and chest had subsided. I went to the grocery store, came back and unloaded groceries, had dinner and watched TV all without a single nosebleed. Around sunset, Jeneane began with the heavy-duty cleaning. Tracing the mop along the floor in a zigzag motion, bringing its cherry-wood charm back to life.

X: You have no idea who has walked on this floor!

"If you want, you can invite Lance tonight," Jeneane spoke as she looked down at the mop. She was very good at mopping. My thoughts switched over to the idea of Lance sitting at the table with us, decked out in his raver/street attire as he played with his tongue ring, clicking it against the back of his teeth. Lance was a channel that only came in clear during sex. I wasn't sure what Lindsay's parents, whom I hadn't met yet, would think of him. I wasn't even sure what I thought of him, I just knew I had to keep seeing him to try and figure that out.

I knew the Cliff's Notes about Lindsay's parents. They'd been living on a farm in Minnesota for thirty years. I knew they were hardworking folk. They never traded in an old car for a newer one. What would they think of me? And my face looked horrific.

"Sarah?" Jeneane said, because it had been a while since she spoke and I never responded.

"Huh?"

"Are you and Lance still together?" she had stopped mopping and was giving me her undivided attention. The floor gleamed all around her. The sun shot through her red curls. All of it hurt my eyes.

"Yeah."

"Did he do something?" Jeneane asked. Of course he did something, everyone did something, we had to do something, all the time. But I knew what she meant, of course. I just couldn't say what he did in the bathroom, how could I? How rough he was sometimes – and other times he simply wasn't there at all. It was all so abrasive. So I just lay there, drowning in my thoughts. One couldn't talk while drowning. When I looked up to finally talk to Jeneane, she was gone. I heard the mop collide against the wall as she mopped the hallway, carrying on in the dining room. I plugged my nose because I couldn't take the stinging smell of the mopping fluid any longer but then I had to let my nose go because of the pain that sprung up into my head whenever I touched it.

Sundown. I submitted myself to cleaning the kitchen. Jeneane was on her hands and knees in front of the refrigerator, stabbing at a sheet of black ice. A discolored shoestring dangled from a light bulb above her head.

For some reason she was obsessing over Lance. "You know, I hope I didn't have any influence on you breaking it off with Lance."

"I didn't break it off." I was freezing. Cold air seeped through every crack here – particularly the kitchen door that opened to the balcony, where the stairs led to the alleyway and laundry room in the basement, which I knew somehow without anyone ever telling me.

"I just know...our parents were prejudiced, so sometimes I wonder...if you're just rebelling."

"That's like me telling you you're gay because you're rebelling," I snapped. I didn't mean to deliver that so hard, it just came out. I calmed down before adding, "I like him, the same as liking anyone else, he's just... I can't explain it."

I walked over to the sink to rinse box-dust off dishes.

"So what's going on?" Jeneane asked as she remained on her hands and knees, scrubbing the nasty bottom layer of the fridge.

"Nothing." I tried to laugh it off. I wanted to change the subject. I saw the newspaper on the table; the latest crime of The Taipans was the front-page story.

"Okay," she surrendered any inquiries and devoted all physical and mental strength to lifting the overworked trash bag off the floor. "Open the door?" she said, her voice strained. I walked over and pulled hard on the door. There wasn't a door in this place that opened easily.

The sky was a mishmash of white and gray clouds. It was going to snow. I could smell it and even feel a few light ice pellets against my cheeks. What I loved about snow was that it covered up all the dirty smells in the world, at least for a little bit. I looked over at a shabby house across the street. It looked like it was sinking into the ground. I almost didn't notice the steps leading up to the backdoor because the grass had grown so tall. The place had to be abandoned, but more than that, it seemed like people went out of their way to avoid it, pretending it wasn't there, just a splinter in the grass. The second floor's deck looked on the verge of collapsing. I thought if I stood there and kept looking at the place, it would fall down right in front of my eyes.

"That's the saddest looking place I've ever seen," I remember saying. My sister looked over at it but said nothing before turning to go back inside. "Come on, Sarah, its freezing."

When we were back inside I sat down at the table and finished my coffee as I read the front page of Chicago Tribune. They called her Girl 7 because she was found on the seventh floor of a west building at Cabrini Green. The nine year-old had been gang-raped and forced to chug gasoline afterwards. Now she was fighting for her life inside Mercy Hospital and doctors didn't expect her to pull through. There were five suspects so far – all members of Marcus Maddox's gang, The Taipans.

"So Lindsay's parents are coming tomorrow night instead of tonight," Jeneane lazily informed, oblivious to the gruesome story I was reading or my connection to it.

I managed to look up from the paper. "Cool, where are we going?"

She shrugged as she popped a peanut in her mouth, wishing they weren't coming at all. There was a knock on the front door. Jeneane and I looked at each other. We weren't expecting anyone.

She pulled a chair out. "Can you get it? My back hurts."

I walked down the hallway, positive I'd closed the closet door by the bathroom but it was open. When I answered the door Lance's eyes grew massive once he got a look at my face.

"Baby? Baby what the hell happened to your face?"

I backed away as he came in and shut the door.

I responded with an even bigger question at hand. "What happened to you last night?"

"Had shit to do," he said, placing his hand on the side of my face. "I tried calling but something was wrong with your phone. Now tell me what the fuck happened to your face," he hassled.

"It happened at the show."

"What show?"

I was holding onto his jacket like a rock climber holding onto their rope. Okay, I'd put all ill feelings on the shelf now; I just wanted to be held. I really, really wanted to be held. I pressed my face into his chest.

"The Veruca Salt show," I said, my voice muffled because my mouth was pressed against his shirt.

"The Veru – what happened exactly?" He wasn't exactly a fan of the band. He made me hold my head up, his thumb on my chin.

"This guy... jumped off the stage and wham, he kicked me in the face."

"For real?" His eyebrows were bent in ways I didn't know were possible and his nostrils were flared.

"Yeah."

Lance shook his head and walked into the living room. He looked taller than he already was – I think it was all the black he was wearing. I followed him and sat down on the couch.

"What do you think of the new place?" I tried to change the subject, plus I really wanted to know what he thought.

"What this asshole look like?" Lance had no interest in anything else. I kind of wanted him to hunt the guy down too, but that was impossible because I had no way of knowing what he looked like.

"I don't know because he was wearing a hockey mask."

Lance made a face like he wanted me to get serious.

"It was Halloween, Lance." I rarely said his name like that. "There's just...there's nothing you can do."

"It hurt?"

"Not so much anymore, I've been taking painkillers."

"Jesus Christ." Lance sat down on my mattress. "Next time shit like that happens to you – you call me, alright?" His eyes shot back up at me. I appreciated what he said, just not how he said it, with him yelling at me. He calmed down after a minute and started taking in the new apartment. He kept looking over his shoulder at the hallway, mashing his lips together and cocking his eyebrow. "This is weird."

"What?"  
"Its huge." He looked down at his new black boots. "Its like – this room alone is the size of your old place."

"Yeah."

"I liked your old place," he said. I could tell he missed it. I guess it did have charm. We'd spent a lot of time there together – our first kiss happened there.

"Lance?"

He looked up at me too fast. He didn't feel anymore comfortable here than I did. "Huh?"

"I read the paper, about Girl 7."

"Oh yeah, shit's fucked up." He looked around the room some more. "My old man keeps calling me but I won't accept the charges." He lied down across my futon and stared at the ceiling. The silence was remarkable. I just stared at him; thankful he was actually here. I was afraid to blink my eyes because I thought when I reopened them he'd been gone. Ha ha, another illusion for the hopeless romantic. I wanted to get up and go over to him but I stayed on the couch. I wanted to know what he was going to say next, and if we started making out any chance of hitting real ground of communication would be lost.

"The ceiling's so high. This is much bigger than the closet of lesbians."

"Shh!" I said, trying not to laugh, "My sister's home."

He didn't care. He dropped an arm so it stretched out next to him and hung off the bed, his eyes hit me. A domineering shadow had fallen over him. He didn't blink as he stared at me. I knew what he wanted. Lance was one of those people who had such an expressive face he rarely needed to speak.

"Come 'ere," he commanded, waving his hand that dangled off the bed a little. I could see his erection shamelessly pushing against the thin material of his black trousers. I walked over to him and stood at the foot of the bed. This was it, this was where it stood and watched me sleep at night.

I took my shirt off as he watched me closely, fat lips barely parted. I threw the shirt on his face, which pissed him off and he took it and flung it across the room. He unzipped his pants and started stroking his penis. I just stared at it, mesmerized.

"This don't look like a strip club to me," he remarked. "Get the fuck over here."

I sat down on top of him; afraid my sister was going to barge in any second. I tried to stop worrying and enjoy this. He was going to play rough. He grabbed my hair and pulled really hard and when I attempted to slap him he grabbed my wrist.

"No, you know what I want?"

"What?" I asked. My heart was pounding and my face was starting to hurt again. I looked up and saw it in all twelve mirrors of the wooden window. That didn't look like me, I thought. The warped face, lost smile, and my blonde hair was curlier now, my cheeks were flushed and I had a new bandage across my face. That wasn't me.

Lance reached up and placed his hand on my face, tracing his thumb across my bottom lip. "Put me in your little mouth. Please, baby doll."

I pressed myself against him, stretching out over him and bit the collar of his shirt. All of my emotions stirred into a storm of confusion. I couldn't pick them apart – I couldn't pick one and go with it.

"Lance?"

"Yeah?" he groaned, antsy.

"I think I'm falling in love with you, because you're starting to terrify me."

He looked at me, not knowing what to say. He kept putting his fingers on my mouth and when I opened it he slipped two in.

"Come on, sweet girl, come on."

"My sister's here."

"Hurry up," he put his hand back in my hair, urging me to go down on him. "Trust me it won't take long..."

As soon as I got started all I could do was worry about my sister walking in on us. She was a fast walker, there would be no time to stop and act natural before she zoomed into the room. How embarrassing...

"Oh shit..." Lance had a hold of my hair, directing my moves. When I'd pull away, lips tightening as I almost took him out of my mouth his grip tightened and I took him back in, gagging.

"Easy," he said, "E...easy...oh shit...oh sh..."

When Lance came I wanted to laugh, cry and hide all at the same time. I heard Jeneane's door open and we hid under the blanket, our sticky bodies pressed together like some poorly assembled science fair project.

My sister never came into the room. Right before I drifted off to sleep Lance whispered, "I want you to know that if you knew what this fool looked like – that kicked you in the face – I'd take care of him."

I woke up to something poking me in the arm. I knew it was three am; I didn't need an alarm clock. I felt its dead stare on me – it wanted something, and it had all the time in the world to get it from me.

When I opened my eyes Lance was staring at me, startled. "Something just fucking sat down on the end of the bed and touched my fucking foot," he said. "Something just touched my foot."

"What?" I looked up at the hallway's doorframe. It was bombed by the shadowy darkness thrown from down the hallway.

"Its still here," he whispered.

I had a terrible headache. I looked at Lance as he shut his eyes.

"Lance?" I called out to him. It looked like he'd simply fallen asleep. "Lance?"

I could detect it tonight; that was how strong it was. It was standing up again, looking down at me.

X: You, you, you, you, you, you, how dare you!

ME: How dare I what?

X: Bring him here!

Leave, leave us alone.

"Its gone now," I said. But I knew it was nearby.

"What the fuck was it?" Lance sounded genuinely shaken.

"I don't know," I pushed myself against him, wanting him to hold me. "It's going to come back because it never leaves."

Chapter 5

The Boy In The Tomato Suit

Why are we going out to eat with Lindsay's parents if she hates them so much?"

Jeneane clicked her fingernails against her bottle of beer for a few seconds before answering. "Because she's trying to reconcile." She looked at me as she drank her beer.

"But why?"

She placed her beer back down on the table. "Okay Sarah," she started peeling the label off her beer, "You can't say anything."

"Like I really talk to her parents on a daily basis?"

"She... her dad has agreed to loan her money if she promises to go back to school." Jeneane flicked a piece of wet paper off her finger before taking a massive gulp of her beer. "So she agreed but she has no intention of...," she paused to belch, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and continued, "Going to school. She's going to quit her job so we can focus on the band fulltime."

Before I could say I thought that was fantastic, Jeneane leapt into a defensive explanation. "If they took our band seriously – if they gave Lindsay any kind of support in any way it would be different, but they don't. They have one child – one – and they've never done anything right with her at all. So anyway, tonight will be a big pile of BS and I hope you're ready."

"Sure."

"How's your face?" Jeneane spat the words out fast and unkind simply because they were wrapped up in the leftover bitterness of the previous topic.

"Okay."

My mind rewound the events of last night. When I woke up this morning Lance was already dressed and about to fly out the door. I could tell he'd never set foot in this place again.

Jeneane added, "This will be slightly weirder than an alien abduction, so be prepared," mere seconds before Lindsay came home. She had a lot of energy – more than we did anyway – and came down the hallway faster than a bowling ball swung by a champ. She leaned against the doorframe, certain strands of hair standing up from static electricity, her scarf sparkling with snowflakes not melting (to give you an example of how cold it always was in this place), and I could feel the cold coming off her clothes.

"Guys ready for tonight?" she asked. The shared silent mood of No was laughable. "My parents want to go ahead and make reservations."

"Sarah, is Lance coming?" Jeneane asked, dryly.

I responded by shrugging. How the hell was I supposed to know? Communication was a journey upon which Lance rarely embarked.

"Well," Jeneane sighed, "Just go ahead and make it for six, one may or may not show."

We should have picked the restaurant. You'd think with a city containing over six thousand restaurants there would be a slight chance even visitors could pick a decent place to eat. So much for chance.

As we crossed Washington, Lindsay's face collapsed into all kinds of disappointment. Pot would have helped us all out but she'd run out and her dealer was in Miami for the week. Our souls were rusty and our nerves were shot to charred bits.

"You gotta be kidding me," Lindsay muttered in reference to the place we were about to be subjected to as we stepped onto the sidewalk. She tried to let it all go in a sigh as she reached out to hug Janice, her mother.

The person in the tomato suit tried to hand Lindsay a flyer. She pushed it away. "Yeah, we got it, we're here."

I bet it was a boy behind the suit, something about the way he walked. He stood there, his enthusiasm for his demeaning job lacking ever since Lindsay pushed his hand away. Meanwhile I exchanged an awkward embrace with Janice, who smelled like a bottle of cheap lotion.

Then she took a really good look at me. "Oh dear heart, what happened to your face?"

"She's fine," Lindsay stepped in. She knew I didn't want to talk about this.

"Well alright," her mom fussed, "She doesn't look fine but –

"Well she is," Lindsay cut her off.

"Janice," Lindsay's father Jim was holding the door open for us to come in. Jim seemed tolerable at first, but he quickly exhausted me with his tone of voice.

Noly's wasn't as bad as it appeared to be on the outside. If someone could save it from becoming what it aspired to be – a commercial chain restaurant – and keep it like this, it could actually grow on you. Take the neon signs off the brick wall, just let it be what it was. I spotted the person in the tomato suit over by the bar; he'd taken the head off and was rubbing the back of his neck. He was average height and weight, with no awe-striking features that I could see. The skin on the back of his neck was red from the suit, and I could make out a tattoo of some sort, some tiny black Korean symbol. He looked very young, I'd say no older than sixteen. He slipped the rest of the costume off right there at the bar, revealing a slender, borderline-malnourished body. His trousers fit him like a cloth over a piece of flat cardboard. He looked over at us and acted like he never saw us outside. He led us off on an awkward zigzag trail through little round tables with tablecloths that matched the outside awning and little red candles on the center of each one. The front room was spacious compared to the backroom, which was crammed with overgrown, wilting plants and Christmas lights framing the bar. Not all the bulbs were working. They reminded me of when I was little and watched the Christmas tree, waiting for the blinking ones to blink and suddenly realizing they were dead.

Our waiter who was formerly a tomato practically played Frisbee with the menus before taking off. His nametag read "Timmy." He came back a few minutes later and Jim placed an order for two bottles of vintage Rioja, producing the first sign of hope that this night might be bearable after all.

I watched Jim take out his cigar and his cigar cutter. I looked over at Jeneane and Lindsay. My sister's arm had been stationed around Lindsay's neck ever since we sat down. My eyes jumped from Jim's cigar cutter to the scar to the back of Lindsay's arm.

Janice dangerously chartered off into conversation with her runaway daughter as Jim circumcised his cigar. "So Lindsay, how's life?"

"You know, mom, the same." And she did know this, but moms like to pick apart the debris as if they could build a new home out of it.

"No, not the same," Jeneane said, removing her arm. "We just moved and we're working on a demo."

Lindsay nodded. She wasn't herself. It was as if

someone took the toughest girl alive and put her in a straitjacket. Janice studied us as if we were pieces of art in a museum and wouldn't take offense to her trying to pinpoint flaws. I suppose my face was quite a distraction, but what could I do? Janice sipped her wine slowly before sitting it back down. Please don't ask about my face.

Timmy walked by and gave me a peculiar look before walking over and picking a dead leaf off a plant, walking back by and looking at me again. One dead leaf out of hundreds of little dead ones – what was the point in that? To get a good look at me, I supposed. He used a few more minutes toying with another dead plant by the bar before coming over.

"Had a chance to decide what you want to order?" he asked, abounding with freshly-forced enthusiasm.

"I'll have the Lobster," Jim ordered. Janice ordered soup; I ordered what Lindsay did and Jeneane did so as well. I thought Timmy would leave after that but he just stood there staring at me.

"Sorry but don't I know you?" he said to me.

"I don't think so." My face was palpitating.

"Yeah, yeah, I do, I kicked you in the face." He said this light and sweet, as if kicking someone in the face was the same as hanging out with them at a wedding reception. "At the Veruca Salt show." He had something in his mouth he was chewing on, something small, maybe a peanut. I didn't know what to say. My entire body tweaked with hatred and embarrassment.

"Look, I didn't mean it, I just happened to be there and you just happened to be there, okay?"

"Yeah." Some apology. I started shaking with anger. "You could've killed me – I could've died."

"Right, but like I said, I didn't mean it."

"You didn't stage-dive," I kept on, unable to stop shaking, "When you stage-dive, you jump and let people catch you – it's a beautiful moment of trust between a bunch of strangers – but you slammed into my face like a fucking wall." I felt like I could kill him. He callously lifted his eyes from me and looked around the table at everyone else for a second before turning and walking off.

"Holy shit, what an asshole," Lindsay agreed loudly with what I'd been thinking.

"He kicked you in the face?" Jeneane asked. "That's Hockey Mask?"

"What on earth are you girls talking about?" Janice cut in.

"Nothing." I didn't want to talk about this. Talking was not revenge. I looked at my sister to change the subject as I dipped my hand in my back pocket to check for quarters.

"How did you guys hear about this place?" Jeneane asked, thinly veiling her disliking of it, "We've never even heard of it."

"They practically draped the windows with their flyers back at the hotel," Jim said, his voice light and carefree. "Sorry, we should have left it to you guys to decide."

"Its fine," Lindsay said, just wanting this to be over with. Wine, wine was our only hope. The Catch 22 was that it would be Timothy who would bring it over.

I pushed my chair back and stood up. "I'm going to the restroom." It didn't really matter I was lying, because the restroom was out of sight from our table.

It was nice to actually feel nothing but the sharp frigid wind against me. It woke me up, served up quite an adrenaline rush. I walked over to the phone booth, my hand shaking so badly I could barely slip the quarter in. My face hurt. He could have killed me, and he didn't even apologize.

"Hello?" Lance sounded relaxed.

"Lance."

"Baby? How's the dinner going?"

"You'll never believe this but that guy, the one that kicked me in the face, works here, at the restaurant we're at. He's waiting on us."

"Shit, for real? What restaurant?"

"It's called Noly's, it's new, its in The Loop."

"I know where that is," he said with great ease. "What's he look like?"

"Black hair, skinny, he'll be waiting tables in the back room –

"I'll be right over." Click. A crazy wind only Chicago could muster nearly ripped the awning clear off its bars. I stood there for a second, questioning what I'd just done. I felt regretful and joyous at the same time. Timothy should have stayed in his tomato suit.

I returned to the table just as Timothy was dropping off the wine. He poured a sample in Jim's glass for his approval and Lindsay reached over and gulped it down instead.

"Its good," she quickly commented before yanking the bottle out of Timothy's hand and pouring herself a glass. Lindsay threw Timothy off course and I was thrilled. He trotted off to another table. Jim's mouth swelled with words he wanted to say to Lindsay but found the decency to hold back.

"You all are so quiet," Janice said. "I expected you to be excited about your new place."

"Its not new," I emphatically pointed out. "I mean it's new to us because we just moved in, but it's very old. It feels old...and empty – I mean its not but it feels empty." I nervously babbled.

"Probably because you're so used to a small apartment, my God, I can't see how you all lived in that place together," Janice remarked.

"They're musicians – artists," Jim intervened, "Its part of the lifestyle."

Jeneane frowned at me. "Its not that old – how old do you think the place is?"

"Well its...its not that I don't like the place, I just mean I think its haunted."

"It does feel that way sometime," Lindsay muttered.

Janice moved around in her seat. "Maybe you should have a séance."

"No," Jim said, "That's like adding gasoline to the fire. Whatever's there, having a séance will only invite others, you know, spirits pretending to be other spirits – the dead are desperate to talk to the living. They feel vexed." He swirled his wine around in his glass for a minute, looking down into it quite thoughtfully. "You moved to the North Side?" He sipped his wine, looking at my sister through the glass.

"Yeah, Kenmore Avenue," Jeneane answered.

Jim made a responsive noise in the back of his throat and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

"There's history there," he remarked, lightly touching his fork. "I mean there's history everywhere but – morbid history there."

"Like what?" I asked.

Then of course Janice butted in with a menial inquiry. "Well have you seen anything peculiar like a ghost?" She probably thought every ghost looked like Casper.

"No, its nothing you see – its something you feel." I looked back at Jim but his eyes were surfing the restaurant now, as if we'd never been conversing.

Janice asked another question. "So when's your next gig?"

"Next month," Jeneane said. "We're working on a new song called Archenemy Number One – I think that should be the name of the album."

This was news to me. Timothy dropped our food off and I made sure to make eye contact with him.

"Yeah?" he gave a rather arrogant shrug to my upset expression.

"Can I just talk to you about something?" I asked.

"Okay, but I have to check on a few tables first." He walked off to the bar to pick up drinks, doing his best to look busy. I could tell I was making him uncomfortable. Try getting your face bashed in for complete discomfort.

"We'll have to come out for a show sometime," Jim said, looking at his wine glass. I moved around in my chair anxiously.

"Not until we get the truck fixed first – tell them what happened today, Jim," Janice urged, all worked up suddenly. I wanted to ask Jim what Rogers Park history he was talking about still, but every time I started to speak, someone beat me to it.

"Oh we don't need to get into that," Jim said.

Janice turned her eyes on me as though I begged for the full story. "We're driving down 65 towards Gary and all of a sudden all this black smoke rises from the hood of the car blinding us from seeing where we're going," she said. "This truck we've had for six blessed years – never given us a problem."

"Garlow?" Lindsay asked. I had no idea what she was talking about.

"She's fine," Jim assured. Then he went back to eating, ripping apart the broiled torso so that tiny drops of juice splattered his face before dipping his pieces in the sauce. "She was the first thing we took out when we realized the truck was on fire." The words rolled out of his mouth like rocks down a mountain, difficult to differentiate.

"She's okay?" Lindsay asked again, tears in her eyes. "Did you take her out of the truck or did you throw her out?" Lindsay grilled her father.

"I grabbed the carrier and put it in the field, your cat's fine," Jim was losing patience and interest in this subject. I reached for my wine, hoping it would numb my nerves soon.

"Who's Garlow?" I asked.

"Lindsay's cat from Hell," Janice laughed.

"Mother, she's nervous – you'd be nervous too if someone put you in a box and tossed you and all your siblings from a ten-story window."

"And haven't I thought about it!" Jim joked, chuckling as he lifted his wine glass to his mouth.

"Very funny," Janice said, hurt, folding her hands together and resting them on the table. I thought she was going to cry. I looked around for Timothy but I didn't see him. A woman sitting at a table near the divider between the back and front room pulled a busboy aside and pointed to her empty glass. The busboy nodded and quickly collected the glass and headed to the bar. A few seconds later, Timothy darted around the corner and headed over to our table.

He looked down at me and scratched his head. "So what did you want to talk to me about – I'm terribly busy."

"Could you come over here?" I requested, refined despite my anxiousness.

He walked around the table, nearly rolling his eyes. "What?"

"I just wanted to say that its cool – could you sit down actually?"

He looked around for a chair and pulled a vacant one over but there wasn't enough room at the table, so he stuck out in the aisle a bit.

"You know, I'm okay," I said, eyeing the front door. "I just didn't want to make your shift anymore awkward than it already had been, I mean you were a tomato earlier." My sister was staring at me, wondering what I was going on about.

"Okay, yeah cool. I was a little high-strung that night," he rubbed his face, stretched his arms and smiled at no one in particular. "I just moved up from Kansas, so." He scratched his head again. "And my friends got me really drunk, and they were all, get on stage and dive off, see if Nina will beat your ass."

"I saw her look at you," Lindsay said, "Right before you jumped off and nearly killed our bassist."

"You're in a band?" Timothy asked me, newfound respect brightening his voice. He was looking right at me. Had that incident never happened, we might have even had a chance at being friends, but there was just something about him that was so brash.

"Yup, we all are," Jeneane said. "Veronica's Car Crash."

"No way! I've heard of you guys – fuck! Yeah," he laughed – I wasn't sure how to take that, but then he added, "My friend was going on about you guys the other night. You're from down south, yeah?"

"North Carolina," I said.

He gave me an undivided slightly flirty glare, "And an accent to boot – listen to you," he leaned in to nudge shoulders with me. "I'm in a band," he said, his big eyes still observing my face.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, The Time It Takes To Heal."

"No way – is that from a Catherine Wheel song?"

"Yeah – you a Catherine Wheel fan?"

"Yeah," I was actually smiling, "I haven't heard anyone mention them since I left home –

I think I heard someone, possibly Lance, say, "That him?" seconds before Lance belly-flopped down on the table, hands reaching out for Timothy, wine glasses popping under his body like bubblewrap. Everyone jumped up as Timothy fell backwards in his chair, Lance's huge body covering him whole. I'm not sure if anyone screamed or not, I was too stricken with shock to notice. But I couldn't ignore Timothy's pleas for Lance to stop beating him in the face.

"How you like it, you fucking punk!" Lance was screaming, bringing up a fist coated in blood just to ram it back into Timothy's eye. "How you like it!" he kept screaming.

"Stop! Please!" Timothy yelped in between bloody blows. A restaurant manager was on his way over.

"Excuse me," he called out, "Excuse me!"

Lance didn't care; he just kept punching Timothy, until his hand looked like it was just diving in and out of a punch bowl.

"Hey!" the manager yelled. But he kept a safe distance, standing behind Lindsay.

Lance eventually straightened up and looked down at Timothy on the floor. He's dead, I kept thinking, Timmy's dead, because he wasn't moving whatsoever. Lance shook his hands so drops of blood sprayed the tablecloth and the back of Jeneane's coat. I felt sick. The restaurant's crowd had now split into two groups – stunned onlookers and people walking out the door. Cops were on their way over to our table.

The biggest cop, with a vast forehead and cropped blonde hair, looked at the manager. "What's going on?"

The patron was completely keyed up now. "This man just busts up in here and starts beating my waiter to a bloody pulp – he broke all of these glasses, he's going to have to pay for these glasses!"

"Hands behind your back, sir," the cop ordered Lance, who abided with an enormous sense of pride. I'll never forget the way he looked at me, like this was partly my fault. Was I bringing out his father in him? Did I just dial up Murder Radio and put in a midnight request?

Chapter 6

Bleak Dick Catastrophe

As we walked upstairs to our new old apartment, Jeneane and Lindsay were rolling over what had happened at Noly's.

"I fucking can't believe Lance did that," Jeneane said, "If someone did that for me I'd marry them, Sarah, that was the fucking shit."

Somewhere in between their laughter and railing I apologized for the blood on Jeneane's coat, but my words didn't even seem to reach the earth.

"Straight out of some mafia flick!" Lindsay declared. "Oh my God – oh my God – he must really love you. And I mean did you see my mom's face?"

"She must have shit her pants," Jeneane snorted, "And your dad – your dad was scared shitless."

"Yeah, that was a nice change," Lindsay admitted. "Sarah – Sarah, that was aces," Lindsay went on. I couldn't keep up with their fervor. "I was so bored up until that point, it was like Lance demonstrated how I felt in a way I never could...I mean I hope he's okay...I hope he doesn't do serious time."

"No, he didn't have his gun on him," I said.

There was a second of stunned silence and then we all broke out into laughter again. Hysteria had hit, and it had hit hard. My stomach was hurting. It was 2:47 in the morning and it was here and I didn't want to be alone in the dark, so I just kept talking.

"I think I'm really in love with him, I mean cos that guy could have killed me you know, he could have killed me, and my face still hurts, it really hurts, sometimes the pain is so sharp I feel like I'm going to faint – I want to faint, I don't think that doctor knew what he was talking about."

Jeneane and Lindsay had stopped laughing and were just staring at me now, puzzled.

"It hurts," I kept saying, "My face, now, right now, it really fucking hurts."

I imagined my bone structure beneath my soft skin as cracked pavement with dried up lines of blood like glue in the cracks.

"Sarah? You okay?" Jeneane asked.

I'd stopped moving and was staring at the door we just walked through.

"Sarah?" Lindsay called out. She moved her hand around in front of my face. She touched my chin to try and get me to look up at her.

All of a sudden I sobbed, my voice small and shaky, "I was just there... and... and he just came from nowhere and hurt me so badly."

"Sarah, I think maybe you should just go to bed," Jeneane said, "And take some Tylenol to prevent a hangover tomorrow."

X: This is where they got me; this is where they knocked me out!

"I'm going to die," I cried.

"Shh," Lindsay ran her hand up and down my back. "No, you're not."

"Yes, yes I am. I am, I'm going to..." I felt a slight tightening in my stomach muscles before I bolted over myself and threw up all over the floor.

"Jesus Christ," Jeneane jumped back and looked down at the clumpy brown vomit.

"That goddamn restaurant – probably food poisoning," Lindsay figured.

X: Yeah, I threw up too! I threw up and they laughed at me, Sarah! They laughed and shoved a gag in my mouth.

I stared at the slimy yellow vomit around my feet. The voice became stormy and deep – demonic.

X: The gag is under the stairs! The gag is under the stairs!

I felt like screaming.

"Yeah, you're probably right, all the food and excitement," Jeneane held a glass of water out for me and dropped to her knees with a roll of paper towels. The ice in the glass clanked because my hand was shaking. My tongue whipped up a wet chunk of vomit on the corner of my mouth, and I had to fight against the desire to vomit again.

X: People are so funny with what they think they can erase!

Lindsay left and came back with a trash bag. Once she dispensed of the paper towels, she fixed my bed. The only thing on my mind was the fact that Lance was in jail – I'd be sleeping alone for a while. I felt like I could cry forever.

X: YES!

"No," I moaned. "No."

"No what?" Lindsay was holding my hand, patting it like a nurse urging me to calm down. "No what, Sarah?"

"No..." I sat on the bed, sobbing and moaning. This wasn't me.

I woke up at 3:28 AM. The Tylenol and wine should have had me out for hours, lost in a deep sleep, but not here. There was nothing going on when I fell asleep – not a peep of a sound, still the place seemed even quieter now, like it had dropped underground. I stared at the hallway. It was there, watching me again. It had been impatiently waiting for me to wake up. I felt it leave and thought I heard something in the hallway. A low grunting sound, like dogs make when they fight. A few seconds later I heard a hollow clanking sound coming from the kitchen. Clank – clank – clank. There was a perfect three-second pause between each one. It sounded like a fork being hurled into the sink. I imagined someone standing by the fridge, that dirty string dangling above their head, as they angrily flung silverware into the sink. I listened for it again but I didn't hear anything. The silence was always worse because now I couldn't detect where it was. Was it coming back down the hallway to make sure I was paying attention?

No, please, please don't come over here. Please...

Chapter 7

The Test

Every once in a while a person is graced with waking up in the morning with the feeling something wonderful was going to happen. A good vibe was stored inside of me. A part of my brain was able to automatically remember I was seeing Loud Lucy play at Metro tonight. Never mind the fact that I had a nightmare last night – never mind the fact that maybe it wasn't a nightmare... maybe it actually took place. I'm going to have fun tonight, you hear me? I'm going to have fun tonight and maybe I won't come back so you won't have me to mess with. I don't know what you want!

Her voice swiped at me like an animal's paws frantically trying to dig itself up from the ground.

X: What I want you can't give me back! No one can!

No. I tried to shut it out. I went into the bathroom to calm down. It was 8:07 in the morning. I couldn't believe I was up this early. Then again, I tended to get very excited in the morning because it meant I'd survived another night in this hellhole. Did you always lock the door to whatever room you were in when you were home alone, even the bathroom? I did. Maybe that was why there was a lock on the inside of the closet door! Oh I get it now. The previous tenants really tried. They made that doll and put a lock on the closet door to protect them. Maybe they should have just burned the place down.

X: Burn it down! What is it gonna do – kill me? Hahahaha.

I thought I heard something hiss. Garlow? Was she finally coming out of hiding? Lindsay had been complaining that late at night she could hear her whine, hear her crying, but just couldn't find her. I heard the sound again and this time it didn't sound like a hiss, it was more like a very sick person who lost their voice trying to talk, someone struggling for air. I locked the bathroom door and turned on the shower. The water always shot out ice cold and took nearly a minute to get hot. Once the water switched to painfully hot, like pins and needles sticking my skin, I got in and tried to find a decent temperature – something that just never seemed possible in this place. No medium – no warmth between the hot and cold.

I closed my eyes and let the hot water pound against my face, which was finally healing – healing so the old scar could once again stand out. I turned around to feel the warm water hit my back and saw that the bathroom door was wide open. But I'd locked it. Maybe it was in here with me and left. I turned the water off and listened. I didn't hear anything. I stepped out and quickly shut the door to keep the draft from getting in. I locked it and stood next to it, listening. There was not a sound delivered from the other side of the door.

ME: You're playing games again!

Its voice shot at me, crude and prissy.

X: I'm not playing games!

ME: What do you want?

I'd angered it, now it was the demon.

X: Nothing! Because there's nothing left!

ME: I'll leave this door locked forever.

X: Manmade shit can't keep me out! Manmade shit, you and your manmade shit!

It kept repeating itself, even after I plugged my ears I could hear it, because it was inside me, it was inside my head. Manmade shit, manmade shit, manmade shit man shit on me, man shit and rubbed it into my tendons!

I remember falling into my own scream...

I woke up to the sound of tapping, and the occasional light thump of a coffee mug against a wooden desk. I saw Jeneane's shiny red hair, the clothes she lounged in – blue and white striped shorts she'd never be caught dead in anywhere but here, and a dark blue university shirt of Lindsay's.

"You okay?" she asked without removing her eyes from the computer screen. Computers were very new and very exciting at this point. Local indie bands were learning how to make their own websites, and Jeneane desperately wanted us to work on one.

"What?" I had weird pains in my stomach, as if I'd eaten slivers of glass.

I tried to remember what happened this morning. I was up – I was on my feet, and then what?

"You passed out." Jeneane suddenly whipped around in her chair to look at me. "I think you should stop seeing Lance. He's wearing you out."

I looked at the ceiling and lulled, "I haven't been seeing Lance."

She looked at me for a second, quiet. "Oh?"

I shook my head and turned so I was facing the window, the fluffy flakes slowly falling from the sky. I didn't feel like myself anymore, I didn't ever feel turned on, I only felt tired. I only heard its voice.

"Sarah? Are you okay?"

I couldn't bring myself to say no. A big fat tear fell onto my sister's pillow and then I easily fell back to sleep.

Jeneane went out later that afternoon and told me to meet her at the McDonalds across from Metro. This area was crazy during baseball season. Wrigley Field was right across the street from Metro. I'd seen fights go down between drunken concertgoers and crazed sports fans. At least we wouldn't have to worry about that tonight.

I got dressed in a hurry, just wanting to get out of the house. Two feet of snow had accumulated by the time I headed to the Jarvis Station. Thankfully I felt pretty energized, like I'd had about two days of uninterrupted sleep.

When I arrived at the station, a boy was sitting on the turnstile. He looked like the epitome of trouble –messy blonde hair, green eyes that were slanted and longer than your average eyes, puffy lips, and a Charles Manson shirt. His pants sagged to the typical skater-boy degree, and his skateboard was under his feet. No one was working in the station and he seemed hell-bent on blocking anyone wanting to catch the train. He had something in his hand that looked like a compass and looked up at me when I approached him. I wished I were Lindsay, she'd just push him off and keep right on with her day.

"Need to get by?" he asked, as if he was doing something very big-hearted by asking.

"Yeah." I felt like slapping him but I remained calm. His skin was eerily flawless, and he reminded me of someone I met before moving to Chicago, someone that if I found out was dead, I'd smile.

"Well then one has to pay the fee," he informed, his voice had an odd perkiness to it, sort of like a telephone operator's.

"I have a token, you know, the thing that goes in the slot."

"The thing that goes in the slot," he sickly mocked. His eyes tightened and he remained where he was, arms crossed as he looked me up and down.

"I have tokens," he said, his voice suddenly scratchy. It needed to be cleared so I waited for him to cough but he never did. A pack of Luckies stuck out of the pocket of his pants, seconds from discarding itself.

"Congrats."

"Thank you." Now his voice was crisp and clean.

"Can I get by you now?"

"The new pay policy is – I ask you a question and you have to answer honestly, and I can tell when someone's lying – I'm gifted that way." Somehow I knew he meant that. He was the type of boy who had gifts that no one in his immediate family gave a damn about, so he felt he had to force such gifts on total strangers.

"Fine." I really needed to get going because my sister wasn't the type to wait around if someone was running late – and she had my ticket for the show.

"Do you have your period right now?"

I somehow knew he was going to ask me something that had a fifth grader's perversion.

"No."

"When do you think you'll get it?"

"You said one question."

He looked me up and down again. I swear he was Chris's little brother. He was young, but the evil was there, a tight ball of sinister thoughts slowly unraveling in his brain. He swung a leg out and jumped off the turnstile, grabbing his pants at the waist right before they were about to fall completely down to his feet. I glanced at the turnstile bar surely warm from his body heat, and smudged with different-sized fingerprints.

I stood there and waited – did he really think I was that stupid? "You said you had tokens."

He clapped his hands and laughed and then he held a hand up for me to high-five. Again, he thought I was stupid – that I'd high-five him so he could imprison my fingers with his and twist my arm around causing severe pain while he molested me. Who was giving me the capability to think ahead like this when I was in such a rush?

X: Yeah, ya know who!

"Yo, you passed the test, come on, I just wanna fucking split some skin with you."

I stared down at Charlie Manson's unabashed grin.

"Take your shirt off first," I said.

He dropped his hand reluctantly and removed his shirt and dropped it on the sooty floor. He had a great body, skinny and even a little ripped.

I slapped my hand against his and, still laughing, he slipped a token in and I pushed through the turnstile, finally on my way. How was it that some boys had it in them to make you feel degraded and respected at the same time?

It was only once I was on the train on my way to the show, did I start to calm down from the strange confrontation with the Charlie Manson kid. I'd never seen him before. He just seemed to come from nowhere, and ingrained in me the same feeling I got whenever I saw a balloon let go to just float up into the sky and get smaller and smaller before it completely vanished. One of those balloons that, even while it was losing air, still managed to go up.

Metro reminded me of a giant skating rink I used to go to when I was little – tons of space, little neon lights popping here and there, dark corners that seemed to travel through the place like puffs of black smoke, and there was that sweet starchy smell of beer that could sometimes smell like popcorn.

"Who is that girl?" Lindsay asked midway through Loud Lucy's set. I'd been too busy watching Christian Lane's greasy hair flop in his face to notice the blonde girl watching me from the corner of the upstairs balcony. She was very still and her face showed no emotion as she sat there, just taking me in.

"Lesbian," Lindsay joked. I turned my eyes back to the stage, but it was one of those incidences where I couldn't focus on anything because her stare was too hard, and yet her eyes were vacant. It was as if she needed me to fill them up.

Chapter 8

Hello Goodbye

Jeneane was on the phone. Her voice easily melted through the walls, waking me up. It was too bright outside, as if those clouds had been polishing cloths for the sun and the sky.

"I'll pick you up and play your favorite Wilco record and we'll drink it out," Jeneane was telling whoever she was on the phone with. I looked at her as I walked into the kitchen. The floor was cut up by booming rays of sunlight that hurt my head. The room smelled like coffee and snow. It was terribly sunny but not warm enough to melt the snow.

"Okay, Anna," Jeneane warmly spoke, hanging up the phone. I pulled my favorite light-blue cracked mug down and filled it with coffee. She sighed dramatically before stretching and grinning. "How are you feeling?"

She was in a good mood, which meant she was probably about to get laid, or at least about to make some headway in that department.

"Okay," I looked down at my coffee as I leaned against the sink, "Better." I'd been under the weather ever since we ate at Noly's the week before.

"That place was horrid – but I doubt Lindsay's folks will be back for a while so." She looked at the phone. "That was Anna," then stopped to consider, "Have you met Anna?"

"No...I'm not sure."

"She met us once at Red Lion, I think you were there."

I was there, but ever since Halloween my memory wasn't the same. The painkillers weren't helping either. I lied anyway. "Oh right, I remember her."

Jeneane stood up from the table. She was wearing high heel shoes. She pulled a black leather jacket over her dress. "Well I'm going to see Anna, I may even crash there so..."

Would Lindsay be here tonight, or would I be completely alone in the apartment? Such a thing was inconceivable to me.

"Okay." I watched her as she picked up her keys. When she walked by she lovingly messed up my hair before walking down the hallway. Lindsay was at work, leaving me here to fend for myself.

This just wasn't what I had in mind when I moved here. Our goals – the people we were when we lived in Wicker Park – were gone. Sure we had to travel to the practice space and scrounge up too much money for a space in a building that looked condemned when we lived there, but we laughed – we laughed sometimes, we got on, we made great music – we were lost in what we wanted to become – and we slept between the hours of three and four am. To think, these were things I once took for granted.

I looked over at the dirty string by the fridge. Someone was standing there. I could feel their snarl, their beaming stubborn eyes. I'll follow through, I'll follow you, until you get me what I want! Okay but just don't hurt me. I am hurt!

I got up and walked down the hallway; dizzy with trying to think of some place I could go for seven hours, until Jeneane and Lindsay came back. I called Lance, and to my surprise he actually answered his phone.

"Hello," he sounded sleepy and a little pissed.

"Lance," I said, hoping he wouldn't hang up.

"Oh, hey, what's up."

"I miss you. I really want to see you later."

He was too quiet.

"You okay?" I asked after a few more unbearable seconds of silence crawled by.

"Nah, not really."

"What's wrong?"

"Look, I can't talk right now, okay?"

"Why?"

"Cos I can't, like I just said," he snapped.

"Okay...okay, but please, please come over tonight."

"Damn," he groaned. Something was up with him. He hadn't been the same since he spent a few days in jail. He was a machine of sighs and silence. I wondered if there was someone else in the room with him. These things you could never know when you talked to someone on the phone. Neither of us was talking now. I wondered if he was about to hang up, or if he was so pissed at whatever he was pissed at he didn't even care enough to speak or hang up.

"I can't do this," he finally said.

"Can't do what, talk on the phone?" My eyes heated up with tears and I couldn't breathe right. This was my chance to get mad at him without worrying if he was going to hit me.

"Fuck you," he said.

"What is wrong with you!" I screamed like a child.

"You ain't got problems, you know that, you don't know what problems are. You have no fucking idea, little girl. I fucking got arrested! And then I fucking went to jail and you know what happened next? The Taipans bailed me out! You know what happened when I got home? My old man calls and says 'like father like son' and laughs – he fucking laughs."

"I never said come to the restaurant and beat the fuck out of that guy –

"You didn't have to say it, the plea was in your voice. I was called to the scene – you expected me to do something."

"Lance," I begged. I just wanted time to stop. I felt so dizzy, and all I wanted to do was fix this. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just please come over, things will be okay now, please."

"I gotta go." Click. The coldest click in the world.

And I thought I was alone before. I went out into the hallway, baffled from what just happened, the way you wake up from a nightmare, afraid and dumbfounded, only this was different because it was true, and truth is endless.

X: Yup!

I couldn't move away from the memory, the sound of Lance's deep condescending voice still penetrated my ears as I walked into the living room and burst into tears.

Once I calmed down I pushed the couch against the wall and turned the TV on. Escaping the loud silence was the new goal. If the couch was against the wall then there was no way anyone could be standing behind me, watching me. I'd sit here all afternoon and watch TV, just like this, I won't make a sound okay? I won't bother you, okay?

Every so often I'd look up at the hallway, and I could feel its mood change. It went from demanding to sad and shunned. I felt like the voices from the TV were different here – louder in order to be heard over the powerful silence of this place. I bet you if I were anywhere else watching the same thing, the voices wouldn't seem so strained.

As I sat there, unable to perceive anything on the TV, I thought about the band, our band, our starving child. Almost a couple of weeks had gone by and we hadn't practiced any of our songs. We'd put our musical instruments and amps in the voodoo doll room, but we never went in there. We pretended the room wasn't even there. We kept the door closed, the radiator off, the light off, just forget it; forget it. That was supposed to be the room that was going to change our lives. I suppose it was, just not how we imagined.

Chapter 9

Church Skin

Chicago's bone-cutting wind was so awesomely cold it made me laugh. I fingered the painkillers in my coat pocket; they felt like pearls of a broken string. I trudged through the snow as I kept laughing to myself. Never again! Never again will I sleep in that place! That banging last night, whatever it was, I never wanted to hear it again.

Lance met me outside of the crummiest Dunkin Doughnuts around. He picked me up and my boots fell off my feet. I could have fallen asleep right there. Wonderful pearls. I remember him saying, Baby, your boots are too big. I remember him shaking me, and telling a member of his new entourage to get me some coffee. Lance took care of me when I was with him, he did do that.

The Dunkin Doughnuts where we met was cold, too. Obviously the place couldn't afford heat, and its employees were decked out in their winter coats and scarves as if they were at a bus stop. I still didn't know what was going on with Lance. He phoned me up and said for me to meet him here, but didn't say why. He had a huge wool coat on and kept his lips pressed together. A mysterious and bitter pout was about the only expression he seemed to whip up these days. He was leaning against the wall as I walked over to him, drinking my coffee. The coffee wasn't that strong or that hot. I'd even throw it away but I knew that would set his temper off. He was surrounded by a new group of friends I knew nothing about. I wondered if they were friends he made in jail.

"You ready?" he asked. I just nodded. I didn't know what I was supposed to be ready for, but I knew the only way to find out was to go with him. All of his friends stared at me until they turned and headed out of the doughnut shop. Fuckhead Slut LVS Motherfucking Gangbang was carved into one of the tangerine-leather booths. That was the last thing I remembered seeing before returning myself back over to the cold, butchering wind.

Lance took my hand and held it tight as we crossed Sedgwick. My hand was as lost in his gigantic hand as the last pill in my pocket. His friends were whispering back and forth to each other, their big dark eyes shadowing their secrets. Everyone knew more than me. I didn't dare ask questions; I just remained respectfully quiet and underdressed, popping the final painkiller in my mouth as we crossed the muddy yard towards a black gate with a green Cabrini Green sign that was embedded with snow. Just as soon as I swallowed the pill I remembered I'd taken one about twenty minuets earlier. A fresh twirl of panic wrapped around my head as we walked through the gate together, into the first building to the left, and up three flights of stairs. I impressed myself when I saw a rat and didn't scream. It was in the corner of the second floor hallway, angrily picking at something. I turned my eyes away before I could figure out what that something was.

We went up to the seventh floor. There was a door open at the end of the hallway and I could hear loud voices coming from inside the apartment. Then a guy bolted out the door, hands tied in front of him and pants falling to his knees. Lance let my hand go and jetted off after him.

"Hey!" Lance hollered, turning the corner. Lance could run faster than anyone I knew, his legs spread wide as he sprinted towards the man escaping. A couple of Lance's friends behind me took off running too, knocking me to the floor. One of them came back and helped me up on my feet.

"Stay here," he said, urgently, out of concern for me it seemed, and took off running after his friends.

A few seconds later they dragged the man back into the apartment. The man was yelling so loudly you'd expect neighbors to come out, but no one did. He'd been beaten into submission, blood trailing down the side of his face as Lance and his friends held him up with their hands so the heels of his shoes dragged along the floor.

The whole time I stayed where I was told to stay, wondering if they'd forgotten about me, stuck between the hope and the hope not, because the painkillers along with the fact that I had no clue where the nearest train station was would only have me screwed as much as being here would.

"Get her," I heard Lance tell someone. The guy with the dreads, the skinny one who was as quiet and useful as the sun, came back for me. He was the one who'd helped me to my feet earlier. The one I trusted. The one that maybe in a different life I'd get involved with, but dare I show any affection towards him in front of Lance.

Oh this night and all of its secrets and nowhere for them to go but my skin.

The apartment we were in was small, with a green-gray carpet and tiny window looking out at an identical building to this one. Lance told me once he lived near Michigan Avenue, which could have meant a variety of things. Cabrini Green was near the glitzy Michigan Avenue, for instance.

A dinky black and white television set on top of a dresser in the living room next to a tattered couch where the man being held was now sitting. His eyes were closed, his lips were parted, and beads of sweat glistened his mustache. Lance held a gun to his head while Lance's friends gathered around, outrageously calm. I stood in the kitchen next to the guy with dreads, whose hand was practically cemented to my shoulder in case I tried to run off, which I had no intention of doing. I focused on a dark green cement frog sitting on top of the TV set.

"Whatchu gonna tell em?" Lance asked, keeping the gun against the man's temple. The man stared down at the carpet, showing no sign of fear, only great sadness.

"FUCKING SAY SOMETHING!" Lance's voice rocked the room. "SAY SOMETHING YOU WORTHLESS SHIT!"

"I s-said I'll tell 'em, tell...tell 'em you went to New York." The man's voice shook like the green frog on the TV, which was missing a foot.

"With my girl? What about my girl?" Lance pressed. I assumed he meant me. The man's black eyes lazily shifted over to me, looking me up and down when I thought I heard the click of the trigger being pulled and still didn't scream.

"What the fuck you lookin' at?" Lance asked. "I should just fucking blow your fucking head off," he said. "Right the fuck now, jus blow it off. What I got to say? What I got to say about my old man when my friends talk about they dads – oh he's in prison because he was in a gang – what's his glorious advice for me and my future, HUH? You know what the fuck it is? – Join a gang, rape children and rob women in elevators!" He kicked a battered, brown vinyl recliner over on its side for emphasis. "WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU TAUGHT ME, HUH!" Lance was going to kill his dad. I had no doubt. And all I could do was drift in and out of sleep on my feet and ask myself, what makes a hero a hero? I started to move – not to escape but because it was my initial reaction to go to him and comfort him, but the boy with the dreadlocks hardened his grip on my shoulder, his fingers sinking into my skin.

"I'll t-tell 'em you both went," Marcus stuttered a few seconds later. "I'll – I'll tell 'em you're already gone, I'll stop...stop calling you." Marcus' sincere promises were heartbreaking to hear. Lance's jaw shifted and I'm sure he was gritting his teeth. He still had the gun against Marcus' head.

"Lance," I called out. I didn't know what I was planning to say after that. I wasn't really; I just wanted to say his name.

Lance relaxed the gun but his eyes were still as mad as ever. "Go."

Marcus jumped up and fled the room once again, hands still tied together with thick white rope. He scurried sloppily, bent over himself, one shoe untied, as Lance's friends laughed at him but didn't go after him. The boy with dreadlocks lifted his hand from my shoulder and went over to lock the door. Lance, still holding the gun, came over to me. He stood in front of me for a second before taking a few steps forward so I had to walk backwards until the kitchen wall prevented me from going any further. He kissed me on the forehead and stroked my hair with the gun.

"You still miss me?" he asked.

"Yes," I sighed. He picked me up and put me on the counter. His friends scattered but remained in the apartment, taking beers out of the fridge and playing cards, treating us like a movie they'd grown bored with.

Lance started to lift my shirt. I obeyed the look in his eyes by not moving. He bit my chin and I sighed, the gun so close to my face it was touching my eyelashes. One slight move of his finger could end my entire life. Such a thought was almost more mesmerizing than vulgar. So this was danger, but I could see the culprit and I could see the weapon, unlike in that apartment.

Lance put his fingers on the waist of my jeans and pulled the metal button through the slit and whispered, "I want you to repeat after me, okay?"

"Yes, Lance."

"The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want..." he looked up at me to make sure I was paying attention.

"The Lord...," I paused when I felt his hand slip under my panties, the rush of the intense affection taking over. "Is...my shepherd...," his knuckles grazed my pussy, my face was hot and his friend was back in the kitchen. "I shall not want."

His finger slipped inside me as he said, "He maketh me lie down in green pastures..."

"Yo, what the fuck you doin?" his friend asked, standing by the fridge with a beer in his hand. Lance coolly responded by stretching an arm out behind him and pushing his friend away, his concentration still intact, eyes still on mine.

"Say the words, baby girl," His friend stared menacingly at Lance before finally leaving the kitchen, flicking the light off. I was glad. Darkness gave us a little bit of privacy.

I struggled to say the scripture. "He maketh me...," Lance slipped his finger in and out of me and bit my ear, "Lie down in green pastures."

"He leadeth me beside still waters," he continued, his voice stern and steady.

"He leadeth...oh god...fuck...," I clawed at his shoulder, "Fuck me please."

He yanked my hair so my head was forced back and bit my chin, this time so hard I was sure to bleed, "Say it first," he demanded.

"He leadeth me beside still waters."

Now he was using two fingers and I couldn't help screaming.

"He restoreth my soul," Lance said, "He leadeth me in the path of righteousness for his name's sake."

He pulled my shirt up, exposing my skin to the cold in the room; the windows were open to air out the pot smoke. His mouth warmed me up as it covered my left tit, teeth grazing the nipple. I kicked my feet out, confused because bits of me wanted to fight what I really wanted to get lost in. The gun was pressed against my back. His two fingers slipped in and out of me and I was on the verge of coming.

"He restoreth my...ahhh, Lance."

"Shit!" one of his friends cheered from the living room as if he were watching a football game. I could see him out of the corner of my eye jumping up so he was sitting on the couch's backrest, watching us. Then Lance stroked the right spot and I exploded into multiple orgasms, unable to control my body's movements, I came, shaking, flailing about, knocking the toaster onto the floor. His friends busted out laughing. Lance straightened me up and put his hands on my face, warm palms pressed against each cold cheek.

"Calm down, baby girl. Now repeat what I said."

I couldn't remember, my head was foggy, the second painkiller was taking over, I wanted to be held, I wanted it to just be the two of us. We could just go to his room and listen to each other breathe, smell each other's skin, and fall asleep. I felt sick with so many emotions – lust, excitement, embarrassment, confusion. I was going to pass out soon.

"The painkillers...." I moaned.

"He restoreth my soul," Lance said, hands still against my cheeks. I bit my lip. A tear rolled down my cheek.

"Lance," I begged, I'd never felt so anxious in my life.

"He restoreth my soul," he said again with more urgency.

"He restroreth my soul," I said.

The gun was back in my blonde hair.

Someone called out from the living room: "Fuck her already, man."

I gave up thinking he was going to abandon the scripture. He wasn't. "I said what comes next already," he said, looking me in the eyes, as though it was just the two of us in the apartment – in the entire world. "Come on, remember, you can do it."

Maybe I could do it. Maybe and then maybe I could fall asleep forever, stay that way between 3 and 4 am. I swallowed hard, making some kind of strange noise in the back of my throat.

"Yo, Lance, you crazy, nigga," his friend said, taking another beer out of the fridge. Lance ignored him. A bottle cap fell onto the floor, making the smallest sound in the world. Lance never lost focus.

"He leadeth me in the path of righteousness for his name's sake," I said, my cheek against his shoulder, warmer than a rotting vegetable left out in the midday sun.

"Good, baby girl," he praised. Then we finally kissed and I got into it just as he pulled away. His hands regained their grip on my face again.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death," he kept on, hands back on my face, fingertips in my hair.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death."

"I will fear no evil," he said, holding me, the gun resting against the counter now.

"I will fear no evil," I said, holding onto him, getting it now. Now I understood why he was making me do this. Cause we were all in trouble. Couldn't you hear the ripple, the cracking in the foundation? It had been happening since Halloween, something was after us, after us all. It had touched him, it watched him sleep too, it was there, studying him, always. We were trying to fight it off, in restaurants, on the streets, but you couldn't fight what you couldn't see.

"For thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me," Lance went on.

"For thou art with me," a tear touched down on his shoulder as he held me. "Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

"Thy rod," one of his friends sickly cracked. In a split half of a second Lance swiped the gun off the counter and aimed it at the guy's head.

"Say it again!" he dared his friend. "Say it afuckingain." His friend rolled his eyes and pretended to be fearless but eyes, rolling or not, always revealed the truth, and his truth at that moment was complete fear. Then Lance turned and aimed the gun at my face.

"Thou preparest a table before me," I said, showing no fear of the gun, I shall not fear. "In the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the lord for ever."

He looked at me and said, "Amen."

Chapter 10

Down Comforter

Garlow," Lindsay called for her cat. Garlow hadn't been seen for nearly a week now. She usually hid under the bed. Lindsay feared she was sick. Garlow was five years old, and had always been a very nervous cat. If she didn't feel comfortable, she'd hide – once she hid for an entire month.

"Have you seen her?" Lindsay asked me, standing in the hallway. I shook my head, looking back at the TV. It was January 6th and we still hadn't recorded a damned thing. Who were we? We were just falling; we were the fall, and soon the fade.

"No." I'd said no three times already. At least I thought I had.

"Tomorrow's your sister's birthday," Lindsay said, completely exhausted.

"I know...what did you get her?" I asked.

"An ACDC boxset."

"Cool." My plan was to pick up some roses on the way to dinner and pay for the movie we were taking in.

"How are you?" Lindsay asked, her tone suddenly changed.

"Okay. Tired," I said, actually, "I'm always tired."

"Me too." She looked at the TV. "How's Lance?"

I shrugged. "Haven't heard from him in a week." And Before she could say anything like 'I told you so' or the lamest, 'There are other fish in the sea' – because boys weren't fish, they were way more complicated than fish, and you'd be arrested if you killed, cooked and ate them – I said, "I hope Garlow's okay."

"This wouldn't be the first time she's hidden herself away. She's a very nervous cat." A few long seconds of silence passed by and then she said, "I think my parents are getting a divorce. We're all just walking catastrophes waiting to hurt each other."

I didn't know what to say. I looked at her, trying to communicate a deep apology with my eyes. She rubbed my chin with her thumb. "What's this?"

"Lance bit me."

She frowned before looking back at the TV. "You're back with him?"

"I never left..."

"I'm going to kill my father..." Lance told me, as he ran the gun down my thigh and I sighed.

"Yeah? When?"

"When I see him next time, I'm gonna shoot him in the throat," Lance pressed the gun against my throat, "And its just gonna explode," he finished, "Everywhere."

Everywhere...

X: Everywhere!

"Sarah?" Lindsay said, pulling me to the here and now.

"What?"

"I don't know; you just seemed to go somewhere else there for a minute.

X: Bitch.

I suddenly moved around on the couch. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" Lindsay was looking at me strange.

"Someone just whispered something in my ear – like they were standing behind the couch."

She patted me on the head, leaving me feeling belittled. "I think you should get some sleep." She stood up and drifted over towards the hallway

"Does it feel hot in here to you?"

She looked back at me, silent. Say yes, say you feel hot, say you feel watched, say you feel terrified. Please.

X: Yes, please!

"Did you hear that? Didn't you fucking hear that?" I begged.

"I think maybe...maybe you should lay off those painkillers."

The silence poured in from the hallway as usual. I lay on my back and silently prayed to myself. The lord is my shepherd I shall not want...I questioned what that meant exactly. Then there was no time. It jumped on me. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move, I couldn't scream. My heart starting beating faster and my head hurt. I tried to breathe again but it was as if something was blocking my lungs. Tonight, I was going to die... something was crushing my abdomen. He maketh me lie down in green pastures...Bricks, the heaviness was like layers of bricks trying to flatten my body. I opened my mouth but I still couldn't move even an inch or take in a single breath. My body throbbed, begging for air. I closed my eyes, giving up. Then it lifted off of me. I took in a huge swallow of air and sat up in the bed.

Please don't, please don't come back. I looked at the clock. It was 3:06. That's it? It felt like an hour had gone by. I stayed completely still and listened. I looked out at the middle of the living room; the darkness outside could never compare to the darkness in the hallway. I heard that clicking sound in the kitchen again. Click, click, click. It got louder as it progressed. I thought I heard someone whisper, "Everything," very soft and very pleased with themselves. Pleased because they attacked me? Was that its mission all along? If she can't see you – if she can't get you – get her, get inside her, have her now.

Now it was 3:07. I lied back down and pulled the sheet up to my chin. It was still here, standing at the foot of my bed. I wondered why it didn't kill me.

X: I wonder why they killed me!

ME: Who are you?

X: Everything!

Then its voice blossomed with curiosity alone.

X: Do you want to see my blood Sarah?

ME: No. Please leave me alone – please.

X: YOU. CAME. HERE!

ME: I didn't know, I didn't know.

I felt the warning of their eyes, the disappointment, the betrayal. Now what? I felt them leave and wander back down the hallway. I dared look at the clock. Shit. 3:11. This was going to be the last night of my life. I thought maybe next time I could fight it, but how could you fight what you couldn't even see? My eyes moved from the belly of the dark living room to the hallway. What was going to happen next? I'd move – I'd get up and run for the door but I was too afraid something would grab me and throw me down. Suddenly something flew out of the hallway and clanked against the floor. I saw the fork lying a few feet away from the TV.

"Shit... shit." I pressed my head down into my arms and kept praying. He leadeth me beside still waters, he restoreth my soul...

ME: He restoreth my soul – say it, he restoreth my soul.

X: Fuck you!

ME: Say it – why won't you say it?

I started crying and I was having a hard time breathing again. I couldn't tell where it was now; I couldn't tell where it was. 3:14. Three minutes? Then I heard Lindsay's door open, the sound of her slippers shuffling across the floor. She always went to the bathroom around this time – almost exactly at this time. This was never the case in the old apartment, where we slept straight through the night. This place was so quiet I even heard the flick of the light switch in the bathroom.

X: Get up!

ME: No.

X: Yes!

I pulled the blanket over my head and started crying harder. My face didn't hurt anymore. I closed my eyes, the next time I opened them it was 4:16. Just forty more minutes, forty more minutes and the night sky would break and the sun would start to come up. If I could make it until then I would be okay...until night fell again.
Chapter 11

Searching

Something was in here!" I kicked at the bed sheets, tired of this. I couldn't take another night of feeling like a restless dog's favorite toy. My head was hurting so bad it was as if I'd never had a drop of water in my entire life. "Something was here!" I shrieked, "It won't leave me alone! It won't! It fucking won't! It wants to kill me!" I cried out in agony, exhaustion, and desperation, clamping a hand over my head where the pain was getting sharper. "It won't leave me ALONE!"

Lindsay was standing over me, afraid to touch me because I kept kicking at the sheets. "Okay, alright, calm down."

"No!" I lurched, "I want it GONE!" I pointed at the hallway, crying. "YOU HEAR ME! STOP FUCKING WITH US!" My outburst was met by the sound of my sister marching down the hallway. She stood at the end of the hallway with her arms crossed.

"What the fuck is going on?" she wanted to know.

"It won't leave me alone," I cried, pulling at my hair. I made fists and beat my head with them. I stood up and took the bed sheet with me and flailed it around in the middle of the room, as though I was swatting something with it. "It – won't – leave – us – alone! It won't leave!"

"What is wrong with you, Sarah!" Jeneane shouted. She paced back and forth, muttering under her breath. I pointed to the hallway behind her.

"It's standing right there! Can't you feel it watching us? Well I can! And I can't take it anymore!"

"You've gone nuts," Jeneane concluded. "I don't know what's going on, but you need help."

"No," I cried, "Please, listen to me," I calmed down long enough to give a genuine plea. "Its here, okay? Just listen, its here, it wants you to listen, and maybe if we all listen hard enough together then we can hear what it wants, and we can help it, and it won't hurt me again."

"Hurt you?" Jeneane touched my face, pressing her palms on each cheek. Her hands were freezing. "Sarah, what is wrong? You haven't been the same since that night at the concert, maybe... maybe you did suffer some kind of injury that's making you... have these fits of hysteria."

"You don't believe me," I turned around and stared out the window, suddenly remarkably calm. "That's fine."

"Don't go crazy, Sarah, don't go crazy like our mom," Jeneane said. That was it. How could she say that? Crazy like our mom. I wasn't crazy. I couldn't breathe or move last night. It tested its power on me and knew it was stronger than me so only it and God knew what it would do to me next. The fork was still on the living room floor when the sun came up. I turned around and pushed Lindsay away and bolted over to my sister.

"If I'm like my mom then you're like our father! Cold and shut-off! You're fucking cold and shut – "

She slapped me so hard and so fast I felt the floor against my knees before the sting on my cheek.

"I am like me." Her voice was barely above a whisper but it shook with self-admiration. "I am my own person, and don't you ever compare me to our father! Ever."

It took me a while to stand up. I was dazed from the

hit. I hadn't been hit since I left home. I never imagined my big sister would be the next to hit me. Jeneane was walking down the hallway, pulling things out of rooms and throwing them out into the hallway and screaming.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!"

Lindsay didn't know what to make of it. First Garlow disappeared, and now there was so much fighting almost every night that the band was no longer our first priority, just getting through was. Jeneane went into the kitchen and started throwing forks into the hallway and screamed even louder. "AHHHHHHH! FUCK YOU! FUCK! YOU!"

Then she started crying. I'd only heard her cry like that on one other occasion. Christmas 1991, shortly before she moved away, in the back of my dad's LeSabre, as we waited at a traffic light where a giant Christmas wreath hung. That was when and where she chose to come out, and started screaming about how much she hated everything about the small town and one day she'd be famous – they would see – everyone would see – everywhere.

But fear wasn't mixed up in that crying like it was in this one. Fear, agony, sorrow... I walked down the hallway and stood in front of the kitchen doorway and watched her. She was standing in front of the kitchen door, leaning forward, hair in her tear-soaked face, endlessly sobbing.

"They took everything away from me," she cried, "Everything, everywhere."

"I'm sorry." I meant it, I wasn't angry anymore. I wanted this to be over. "Please, this isn't us – it's this...thing...whatever's here."

"You said..." she couldn't breathe, bent over and crying and pointing at me, her hair hanging down in her face wet from tears. "You said I was like our FATHER!" she screamed bloody murder. She pointed her finger at me. The look on her face was repulsive. "You said that – you can't take it back. You said it," she sobbed, "You can't take it back."

I decided to write it a letter. I did it the next day out of desperation. I was sleep-deprived, I was lonely, and I was terrified, so I started with that.

I am terrified. I don't know what you want or why you would hurt me.

I stopped and looked up at the hallway. I suddenly felt bad. I felt it look at me, hurt. I felt its unbending focus on me. It was everywhere, it was everywhere and it was always watching me.

I don't know who you are, I'm not sure what you want. I've noticed you – you know that. I've tried to see you but you won't show yourself. But I think you're interfering with me and my sister now

I crumpled the note up, frustrated. I crumpled it up further into a tight ball as well. I didn't know what to do anymore. That was when the phone rang. I hoped it was Lance, but it was my friend Mariah. I met her back home in 1994. It had been a confusing time in my life. My sister was gone, and my parents were fighting all the time. I needed an outlet. I found solace in music, going to shows and meeting the musicians whose music got me through all of the hard times. I liked meeting guys who intimidated me, guys who seemed larger than life. It made up for the fact that my dad was never around. I collected things they gave me – guitar picks, beer bottles, and most of all, hugs. Nothing quite compared to your rock n roll hero putting his arms around you in the twilit parking lot, with your body bruised from the moshpit and your ears ringing from his screams.

"Its Mariah," my sister said from the foot of the hallway, exhausted. She contributed no emotion to her words, her volume soft but not heartfelt. Yesterday's fight had drained her.

I took the phone and went into our studio. It was cold. The voodoo doll had never been straightened. The room hadn't been padded like we'd planned, but just left alone.

"Hello," I said it barely loud enough for me to hear.

"Sarah?" Wow, she sounded southern. I guess I did at one point too.

"Hey, how are you?"

"Okay, stressed – college is crazy."

"Yeah?" I wanted her to keep talking. She sounded sane... she sounded like she was in a good place.

"What are you up to?" she asked, trying to push the awkward silence away that I seemed to be causing.

Cold, scared, tired.

"Nothing..."

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You must have heard, huh?" she guessed.

"No, heard what?"

"Ben – I thought maybe your mom would have told you."

"I don't really talk to her anymore." I sadly admitted. That was the kicker, wasn't it? As much as you hated your parents you still loved them.

"Oh... well..."

"What?" I looked up at the screaming voodoo doll. One of the white pins was gone, the one in the heart.

"He was killed, in a car accident. I don't know the details," she said, her voice hushed. "I'm sorry, Sarah."

I put the phone down to the floor for a second and just listened. I could hear Mariah call my name but I just couldn't talk anymore.

Later that night I met Jeneane in the kitchen with only one thing on my mind, hoping all else could be set aside. "We have to start playing again."

Chapter 12

Amour-Propre

I didn't mention it was my birthday. Whether my sister forgot or she was just still angry with me after the big fight we had, I didn't want to know the answer, nor did I feel like celebrating. I just felt like screaming and there was no better excuse to do that than in a band. Theodore was cold but after a few minutes of being strapped around my shoulder he warmed up. There was nowhere to go from here but up. If we kept practicing the songs we'd written and going out and mingling with bands, this could actually happen for us. Once we fell back into the groove, fell back in love with our songs, the passion would return and no one would be able to stop us. I kept saying that to myself like a little prayer, like a promise to my future.

Here I was in a padded room as a blizzard approached the city, clouds so low you felt like you were on a plane, a bottle of wine by the drums, nothing to do but drink, play and record. This bliss – so we could push aside everything that had happened for the sake of music.

"Um..." I looked back at my sister. "So... I wrote this song."

I swear I heard the pop of my sister's last nerve. Every review we got – no matter the positive remarks on our playing – always trashed my sister's lyrics. I wanted to clarify that this wasn't why I wrote a song, but all I could do was stand there and look at her while she stared back at me.

"A what?" she asked.

"A song... can I sing it? It's not even a big deal, we never have to record it, its just this thing I need to let out." Like a wild animal that should just be set free... a bear.

Jeneane looked at me as she strummed her guitar, eyes wide with questions. She looked back at Lindsay. I'd just taken someone's perfect hand and plucked out the ace of spades.

"Can you what?" Jeneane asked, looking back at me and still strumming her Les Paul.

"Sing – just once, cool?"

"Bands do do that," Lindsay admitted. Jeneane turned so she was looking over her shoulder at her, defiant.

"What bands?"

Lindsay couldn't name any specific band.

"Veruca Salt," I said. "They sing together, sometimes take turns."

You'd think that would receive an okay, but Jeneane was still quiet and stiff as if someone had come behind her and pressed a gun to her head. But she couldn't possibly understand what that felt like.

"Well what song?" Jeneane said, considering it.

"Mine, something I wrote last night called... called Charge Of Night Brigade."

"Yeah, let's just do it and then we'll record one of our songs," Lindsay said. She had the talent of making things not sound like such a big deal. She was the only one that could sooth my sister's nerves.

"Okay, but I don't know how to play to it," Jeneane fussed.

"Just follow the mood," I said. Lindsay nodded, liking that expression. Then the words 'you don't even have to play' dribbled from my mouth. That seemed to piss Lindsay off, or maybe she was just listening exceptionally hard.

I just started singing. "They dance to tragedy, they toast to fear," I started off soft and demure, like a shy girl at a poetry reading. "They scrape the floor with their eyes, oh what happened here," and then it happened, the anger stored in me for years took over and I sounded like an entirely different girl. "They go to work, they get paid, they come home, to a house of slaves," Lindsay started playing a fascinating drumbeat, the kind already playing in the back of my head but I could never describe. "But you can't see, you can just hear the rattle – of the chains – and I want back in, I want back in, I want to feel, that pain again, go, go, run boy, that's all you can do! Go, go, break toy, that's all you can prove!"

I looked at Jeneane to play the right guitar part but she already was, she'd followed the mood. It was a striking riff that took the song to a new level, made it faster, made it pop. Something magical was going on, it was as if we'd played this song before. Many, many times before.

I sung on, "She stuffs it in her mouth, she runs out the back door with it, they call the cops, and there's a shotgun blast..."

Lindsay played a perfect drumbeat that wrapped up the foreboding mood as the song slid into the next verse.

"Call her parents say what did you do to this child, but answers don't last – no answers don't erase the past – and I want back in, oh I want back in, I want to feel, the pain again, go, go, run boy, that's all you can do! Go, go, break toy, that's all you can prove!"

And then a more mature version of what Jeneane played before took over, dominated, and it sounded so pure and evil at the same time, it made me cry, made me scream when I started singing again,

"Go, go, run BOY! That's all you can do! Go, Go, break TOY! That's all you can prove! The nights you abuse... the days you just shun... act like it never happened... when it can't be undone. Such a stupid waste, you left my heart an open space, well so I'll just find somebody new, that's all I can do. Go, go run boy, that's all you can do! Go, go break toy, that's all you can prove! And I fucking hate you now, are you happy? I fucking hate you now." Jeneane and Lindsay came together to create a dooming sound to end the song with and then I screamed again, "I fucking hate you now!"

I stood there shaking after the music stopped.

"Wow," Lindsay said, astonished. I tried to pinpoint anything else – like did she like it? Or did they just think I was crazy? I couldn't tell because I felt dizzy from releasing such emotion.

"Sarah, that was really good," Jeneane hated to admit it. I'd introduced a new possibility within the band, as well as a problem. I could sing and I loved writing songs. Only playing bass made me feel a bit limited. Lindsay placed her drumsticks down on the tom while a huge wave of dictatorship took over the room. Jeneane waited for it to leave as she played around with her guitar. I wanted to ask if we could play the song again and maybe even record it.

Jeneane looked back at Lindsay. "What song you want to practice now?"

Lindsay wiped dust off the tom and held her drumsticks over her shoulders.

"Um... Archenemy Number One? We haven't done that one."

Was that really it? Did I just whip my heart out and sling it across the floor for nothing?

"I think we should run through my song again," I said. I was amazed I'd said it, and quite proud of myself. Usually I was the quiet one, the submissive one, but not tonight. I really believed in myself right now.

Jeneane looked at me and bluntly spoke, "But I thought you said you just wanted to get it out of your system?"

"I did but... I think it's pretty catchy – I could see it being a single."

"I mean, yeah..." Jeneane considered it. "Yeah, we could put it on the demo."

I was stunned. "Really?"

"Yeah," she sighed, "Maybe we can go out for a drink and plan which songs to put on the demo, and what to call it."

The tables at The Long Room were sticky from spilled beer, and Smashing Pumpkins played on the jukebox. We lifted our celebration Guinnesses for a toast. We made a list of songs we wanted to record – Forever Art Thou Pissed, The Unruly Rules, Archenemy Number One, and Charge of the Night Brigade. Now we were playing around with a name for our first album, skipping over the demo altogether.

"This is our debut," Jeneane thoughtfully pointed out, "A lot of bands name the record after themselves."

"Yeah, but I kind of want to do something more exciting," Lindsay said.

"Fingers To The Bone," I suggested. It was just in my head.

"Oh, like work your fingers to the bone. That sounds gritty...sort of perverted," Jeneane remarked.

"But is it too much like Sticky Fingers?" Lindsay wondered, glancing down at our songlist.

"No, maybe just a little but that's what I like about it," I said.

Lindsay tucked her hair behind her ears. "Speaking of Sticky Fingers we need one brilliant slow song, like Wild Horses or Blood Red Wine."

I was fading out, thinking about my friend Ben. My memory was finally returning, images sharp but flashing before me quickly like a slideshow.

"Yeah, definitely," Jeneane agreed before pausing to look at me. "Sarah, you okay?"

"Yeah." I wondered if I wrote a slow song if that would piss my sister off. Surely she didn't want me taking over the songwriting. I thought about telling Jeneane about Ben but she didn't even know who he was, I'd never mentioned him to her. He was someone who got me through a rough year after she left for Chicago – back when I didn't just discover bands, but I clung to them for dear life because my whole world was falling apart around my and they were my anchor. Music was all I had left.

"Keep your nigger boyfriend away from me," Timothy's voice suddenly fell over the table like a blanket. Where had he come from? It was just like that Halloween night when he flew out from nowhere and nearly killed me.

"What?" I snapped. I knew if Lance had been there, Timothy's head would already be sliced off and resting on the table like a heap of Holiday meat and another round would be on its way to toast in celebration. I looked up at him; his face was disfigured from the beating. You could tell his nose had been broken, and his upper lip near the right corner looked like it had been snipped with a pair of scissors. Even his right eye drooped down lower than the left.

"You fucking heard me – I should take you to court – you set me up," he snapped.

"You almost killed me you blasted fuck shit head!" I screamed.

Lindsay snorted but managed to keep from laughing entirely.

"That was an accident," Timothy stated, never taking his eyes off me.

"When you stage dive, you let people catch you, it's a bonding thing – a trust thing, its not a Nazi dropping from the sky thing."

Lindsay laughed big that time.

Timothy ignored her. "Some days I can't see out of my right eye. You know what that does to my guitar playing?"

"I'm sure it doesn't make it any worse," I snapped.

He slammed his fist on the table. "Watch yourself at your little shows."

"Is that a threat?" I lashed out.

"Hey," the bartender called out, on her way over. She was cool, with her short brown hair up in a funny ponytail so it looked more like a cowlick. She was chewing gum and her new tattoo on her left arm was shiny with ointment. New, she looked like a new chance gracing the day. "There a problem?" she looked at Timothy like she knew him and was used to his antics.

"Yeah – I asked you for another drink and I never got one," Timothy said.

"That's because you've had more than enough," she told him.

"If that was true I wouldn't have asked for another one."

She looked him straight in the eye never once blinking. "Do you really enjoy being dragged out on your ass by the cops?"

He held his hands up as if claiming innocence and walked off.

"Enemy from the start," Lindsay said to the bartender concerning Timothy. Jeneane looked up from her Guinness, eyes wide.

"Hey, that's it – that's what we'll call our first record!"

"You girls finally putting out a record?" The bartender and a longtime fan of our band, Lou, praised. She put her hand on Lindsay's shoulder. "I can finally play your shit in here, put it on the jukebox."

"Yup." Lindsay winked at Jeneane before looking back up at Lou, "For the name of our debut album – Fingers To The Bone or Enemy From The Start?

"Fingers To The Bone," Lou said, certain. "Ladies want another round on the house? A toast to your big step up into the world of Rock n Roll?"

"Yes!" Jeneane cheered.

"Cool gig, just let me load up the jukebox."

I wanted to get comfortable; I wanted to enjoy this. But I hadn't been able to enjoy anything since Halloween and now I was paranoid Timothy was watching me. Always – there was always someone watching me.

The lowest most peculiar hum in the world was coming from the hallway, or the kitchen, the kind of sound that grew the more you paid attention to it. I looked at the clock, not that I needed to in order to know what time it was. I felt what time it was; I felt its anticipation colliding with my fear.

I thought maybe something was left on causing the hum, like Jeneane's amp, so now it was making a weird sound. But no – in the back of my head and in the pit of my gut – I knew that wasn't true. It was moaning, a deep painful moan. It struggled to keep going, a hovering ball of flesh trying to make its way down the hall. The hum was weakening, like an overworked machine with missing parts.

X: Hands! Hands!

ME: What?

I sat up and kicked the sheets off. Where was it? Dear God where was it?

ME: Let me see you.

X: Get the hands off me first! Hands! Hands!

ME: What?

Its voice calmed down, softened, whining and moaning.

X: Why are they doing this to me? WHY? Why Sarah?

Then its voice changed again, strangled with anger, and shot out at me.

X: Come into the kitchen!

I placed my eyes on the kitchen's doorframe, familiar with the terror enough to feel where it was. It was in there, a bit startled by my bravery tonight.

ME: Now you're scared of me?

Silence.

ME: I don't understand you. Where are you?

I heard a very light tapping sound against the window. I walked over to the door and pulled on it but it wouldn't open. Then I got the feeling something was about to strike me from behind and turned and looked out at the dark room. I took a deep breath and tugged on the doorknob again and this time it opened with great ease. The white plastic chairs glowed under the purple wintry sky. Five inches of icy snow decked the trashcan lid and balcony ledge. For a split second the cold made me feel clean and alive – it didn't hurt. I looked at that crumbling excuse of a house across the street.

X: Mine, mommy.

ME: What?

X: Mother! Why! Why didn't you stop them!

I pleaded with it, my voice a wet ball of exhaustion.

ME: Who are you?

X: I'm not going to hurt you!

ME: Where are you?

X: Where they killed me, Sarah! It hurts! It hurts! They're not human, their faces, WHY! Tell them to stop! Tell them to stop doing this to me!

The steps leading down to the alleyway were a deathtrap, covered in sheets of ice. I couldn't have felt any better about walking down them if I'd had roller skates on. The very first step I took I slipped, burning my hands on the ice-covered railing, slamming my tailbone against the steps edges. I stopped on the middle of the stairs. The freezing cold prevented me from feeling the pain from the fall. This kind of cold freezes time, freezes the heart, the memory and the soul.

X: Not my memory! It's all they left me with!

A few seconds later that auguring voice snuck up from behind me. The demon.

X: Get up.

I didn't look behind me; I just stood up and looked over at the archway. Through the archway was the laundry room. Then the voice banged like a hammer against cold metal.

X: Richard! Richard! Richard! Richard!

ME: Who's Richard?

X: Richard! Richard! Richard! Richard!

ME: What do you want from me!

"Sarah?" my sister's voice arose from behind me. "What the hell are you doing?"

I wanted to tell her don't try and walk, you'll never make it down, but I just sat there – going numb from the cold. I wanted to see it – why couldn't I see it? Before I could tell Jeneane to stay where she was, she'd taken a step that led to her steep fall.

Twenty minutes later, we'd gathered in the dining room. Lindsay lifted the bloody rag from Jeneane's head. She'd spent the last ten minutes pressing it just behind her left ear, as Jeneane kept crying and asking me why, why was I outside. All I could say was I didn't know, and that I was sorry.

"You might have a concussion, Jen," Lindsay said, as calmly as she could. It was time to take the other sister to the hospital.

"No, no," she pleaded, eyes closed, "Don't take me to the hospital, please."

I held her hand for a second until she took it away and placed it over her eyes.

"I just don't want you to have a concussion, Jen, I want to make sure you're okay," Lindsay emphasized.

"I'm fine," Jeneane cried, trying to convince herself of that. "What's going on?" she suddenly asked, as if a panic had rushed through her and she needed help, holding her hand up to Lindsay as if Lindsay was far away and she couldn't see her. Lindsay grabbed her hand.

"I'm right here, hon, I'm right here."

"What's going on?" Jeneane desperately wanted to know, "With us? Since we... moved in here nothing's been right."

"I don't know," Lindsay said before reaching for the rag to catch the blood trickling down across Jeneane's ear. "I don't know."

PART II

Chino Moreno

Chapter 13

The Hand That Pushes Her Away

We could be your God.

During the spring of 1994, when real guitar heroes still ruled the world, I spent a night in the emergency room with a Rolling Stone on my lap. I gazed down at the picture of Kurt Cobain and the dates depicting when he was born and when he died, the big white dash in between. The date of his death had only been a few weeks ago.

I could feel the ground thunder underneath my feet. Something was about to storm in and replace my heartbreak over his suicide – a new rock n roll hero was about to enter my life. Who would it be? I turned the page. I supposed I should be in there with my mom, watching the black thread pull the deep gash together to keep the blood from spilling out of the palm of her hand, but this was better, albeit slightly. The Honeymooners episode on mute, the girl with the flu who never blinked, the row of silent ambulances parked outside. I was still in North Carolina at the time; in a hush muggy town called Salisbury that smelled like mud and cigar smoke.

I knew my mom couldn't drive us back home with her hand hurt so horribly, so I'd have to even though I only had a permit. I was seventeen, but I never bothered getting a license because I couldn't afford a car, plus I had a huge fear of driving, of cars, of other people driving cars who might be reckless, suicidal or drunk or all three combined. I never knew who was out there about to shoot around the corner and plow into me – maybe some madman just left his family after a crazy fight and figured, What the hell, I'll kill myself out there on the road, so god help the soul who might be caught in my own suicide.

How funny would it be if I got in a wreck and had to be rushed to the emergency room, all because that was where I was coming from?

"If I ever see your father again, I'm going to kill him," my mother said later in the car, really not doing much to calm my nerves. But I had to say I was doing a pretty good job, pretending I was in Driver's Ed class, somehow replacing mom's death threats against my father with my driver's ed instructor's voice calmly coaching me on what to do: Act like you drove out of the womb, babycakes, he liked to say, Stay calm 'cause you got this.

I had no words for my mother's issues anymore, and I couldn't take the blame for them either. Too many of my nights went to her and her temper, her screams waking me up in the middle of the night. There had to be something or someone out there to latch onto, to save me from this horrible home life.

Mom had to get fifteen stitches across her palm on the lifeline of her right hand. She showed it to me once I parked the car in front of our apartment. The stitches looked like fine black hair – like a monster was sprouting under her skin.

We lived in a small duplex between a Food Lion and a park where no one ever went. There was a creek that ran through the park and sometimes there were things like raw chickens and hams the grocery store tossed out in the murky water. I didn't know why such things ended up in the creek instead of the dumpster, they just did, and in the summer they created quite a stench. The rusty chains of the swings left brown stains on my hands. The sliding board dropped into a muddy swamp. It was the most depressing place on earth with the exception of the apartments right next to it.

I knew my mother meant what she said about killing my father, or at least trying, because that was how she got the stitches in the first place. My father turned the knife on her, cut her senseless, and ran. His reflexes were always terribly on point, while she was too busy holding the victim card. The sight of all the blood should have made me ill, it should have made me cry, but I handled it as though it was just a play I was acting in, slightly bored with the plot. Going through the same lines every night, the same unbreakable scenes. Or maybe it was just that I didn't like the ending. All I knew was it wasn't the blood spilling onto the tile floor in the kitchen that bothered me; wasn't the pain my mother was in or the fact that my dad had caused all this and ran, but it was the thought of having to drive. I fucking hated driving. I couldn't explain why, but whenever I got behind the wheel my knees went weak and I felt lightheaded. The only thing that helped me get through it was the radio.

Five hours prior to having to go to the hospital to pick up my mother, I'd been upstairs hanging up my enormous Trent Reznor poster and listening to Stone Temple Pilots Interstate Love Song. "Waiting...on a Sunday afternoon..." Yup. Nearly a month had gone by since we'd seen my father. He left the same night I saw on MTV News that Kurt Cobain had shot himself. I was disappointed, I felt abandoned by a musician I'd admired for two years, and then abandoned once again by my father. But I knew there was something better out there, waiting, and either I'd find it or it would find me. A girl's spirit never died. It was like the pearl inside an oyster.

I think it started on a Saturday in late May. Mariah and I were hanging out in an abandoned drive-in not too far from her dad's house. There was nothing to see out here but our raggedy converse sneakers in the overgrown weeds. The old concession stand looked like someone came here last night and hammered a few rotten boards together for the hell of it. You could barely see it for the variety of shrub surrounding it.

"Fuck everything," I said, "After Friday – fuck it all."

A dry wind whipped at the drive-in's dead white screen that hadn't been used for a flick since 1982. It just looked like a giant blank piece of paper magically standing on is edge now.

"You should get a car," Mariah said. "You have no idea how much better you'd feel – to just be able to drive off somewhere when shit gets to be too much."

"No, I hate driving."

When I proclaimed such hatred, I always expected Mariah to come back with a response like well I hate driving your ass around all the time, but she never did. She was tightlipped for a second though.

"Let's leave early," she finally said, "We can hang out – there's a record store nearby."

I was staring down at my shoestring. I'd untied my shoe and wrapped the string around my finger so tight my finger was bright red. "Let's leave right now," I said. "Fuckin' never come back."

Chapter 14

Dime Twirler Was Here

Is it out yet?" I asked, my eyes shut tight and my neck throbbing in pain. My back hurt too, all I wanted to do was stand up.

"Not yet, a little longer."

"Please, just for a minute, let me come up for a minute," I begged.

"Okay."

Little grayish black drops of water sprayed Mariah's bathroom wallpaper as I whipped my hair back and patted my eyelids with a towel spotted with last week's dye stains. I got high from the old and new chemicals.

"Well this is serious, this ain't kool-aid, I hope you like it," Mariah said.

I stared in the mirror at all my jet-black hair. An hour ago it was so blonde it was nearly white. My hair came down to my hips so we went through two entire jars of Manic Panic. As a thank you, I'd returned the favor, dying Mariah's long curly hair a dark purple.

"What time is it?" I asked.

Mariah just stared at me for a minute, stunned by my dramatic change. "Two."

"We should go soon, let's go sit outside and wait for our hair to dry." Then as I marched through her kitchen I roared in revelry, "KORN!!!"

Mariah followed me out to the pool. "Your mom's gonna shit when she sees your hair." She pulled a lawn chair over causing its pegs to cry out against the patio surrounding the glimmering pool.

"She'd shit anyway – anything I do makes her flip out."

I sprawled out on the blue and green lawn chair next to Mariah's. It took less than six seconds for the sun to paint my face with drops of sweat.

"What time are you supposed to be home tonight?"

"One."

I didn't want to think about that. I wanted to pretend we were never coming back. We'd see Korn play and just drive and whatever town we ended up in, we'd just start a new life there.

"Serious?"

I nodded and looked at the swimming pool. Mariah stretched out on the lawn chair, arms stretched up over her head, her freshly dyed purple hair flowing down passed her shoulders and hanging off the sides. Mariah was a cheerleader, with your typical cheerleader's curvy physique. I, on the other hand, was still quite a tomboy. I was so flat-chested I could still wear a training bra, but I didn't. I didn't wear a bra whatsoever. The only girly thing about me was my atrociously long hair. I had the longest most kick-ass hair of all the girls at our school – sometimes it even resulted in fights with girls trying to rip it out.

"Look at you," Mariah lightly pulled at a few strands of my black hair. "I didn't miss a spot – you look like a baby doll."

I licked the sweat above my upper lip and felt my nose start to burn.

"I have a good feeling about tonight," Mariah said, "Like something really cool is going to happen."

"We'll get kidnapped by one of the bands?" I joked, laughing. There were seven bands playing – seven bands for seven dollars. That was a dollar a band! Most of them I wasn't familiar with at the time – Sevendust, Deftones, Sepultura, among others.

Before we left for Winston Salem I parted my black hair into two ponytails, looping them into single knots and then clipping a wooden clothespin on the knots so the ponytails stuck out a few inches from my ears. My hair was dry now and fluffy from the heat. I looked outrageous. I folded the waist of my blue and gray flannel skirt over three times so the skirt barely came down below my panties then I ripped holes in my fishnet stockings before pulling on my knee-high black Doc Martens. I never wore any makeup because my cheeks were naturally rosy, especially this time of year. I looked like a cross between The Ring girl and Wednesday Addams – but cute, I must say, very cute.

Mariah watched me as I walked across her yard, a peculiar grin sprouting up on her face. "Holy shit, you look insanely hot."

I got in her car and spoke delectably calm, "I want this to be the last night of my life."

The record store was a tiny hole-in-the-wall next to a Rock N Roll Outlet that closed last month. A haunted Toys R Us and an Olive Garden, both still open, completed the shabby shopping center. Ziggy's set on top of an incline overlooking the shopping center. Ziggy's was a small bar, woody and barn-like. I had a hard time imagining how so many kids (lined up by sundown) were going to fit inside. The parking lot wasn't paved; it was simply a backyard with its grass flattened by tires. A giant rock set between two trees near the back. Beyond that was a gas station that sold live chickens that were in cages stacked up against the side of the building near an outhouse. Farther down were an interchange ramp, a Western Steer and a billboard for a strip club called Dockside Dolls.

As we climbed up the incline a bunch of thoughts weighed me down, along with the incredible heat. I saw my dad's LeSabre parked at the pool hall again. This meant he was broke because he played for money, and if he lost he'd come home tonight – I didn't want to be around if he came home. When he won, he stayed at the Econo Lodge at the edge of town. It was crazy, but what I really wanted to do was ask Mariah if she'd take me somewhere else, or even leave me here.

We lined up on the wooden walkway. It reminded me of a boardwalk. The mood of the place made me feel like we were at the beach – especially with all the fast food restaurants around and low-grade shopping strips. We paid our seven dollars and then we were inside. The place smelled like day-old beer and sweat. Still, there was nowhere else on earth I'd rather be.

"Dime Twirler Was Here" kicked off the conversation I had with a scruffy guy sitting next to me at the bar as we waited for Sevendust to come on. We wanted to order beers but we were too young. Mariah sat on the other side of me, toying with a napkin. Before I started talking to the scruffy guy, I asked Mariah if she thought we were the only two virgins here because a lot of these girls looked a bit, um, used up. Then I noticed the words "Dime Twirler Was Here" carved into the bar.

"Who the hell is Dime Twirler?" I asked, sort of just making a joke out of it – not really desiring an explanation.

"She's a porn star," the scruffy man informed; outrageously proud he knew such a thing. I stared at him so long I could count the moles not very well hidden under his mustard-colored beard. Then I thought, for whatever reason, moles with a 't' at the end spells molest. "Yup, she always comes here – might be here tonight," he added, words strangled to bits in his southern accent.

"Does she have huge mega-ass melons?" I asked, making Mariah laugh.

"She does," the man said in chuckled spurts, showing off his yellow teeth. "She does."

"Why do they call her Dime Twirler?" I kept on.

"Ain't no one call her that!" the man spat. "She calls herself that."

"Okay, but why?"

"Cos her clit looks like a dime when its wet, and she fucks you so hard you're dizzy so it looks like its twirlin' and shit."

I didn't know what to say. I never had a stranger talk so dirty to me, and so loudly. I felt confounded as I stared at the counter, really wishing I could have a drink. And now the scruffy man was looking at me like there was nothing on earth that could pull his eyes away from my face.

"Haven't you ever looked at your clit, sweetheart?" He asked. "Does it look like the side of a dime?"

Mariah stood up. "Okay, let's go."

She led me down a giant step that split the small bar into two levels. Now we were so close to the stage we could see what color socks the first band was wearing. The hot lights dimmed and Sevendust came on. We weren't familiar with them, and remained wallflowers throughout their set until a sweaty pale boy with bright green hair slammed into us.

"Sorry," he said, smiling to show his teeth, which were small and white and reminded me of strings of pearls. He had a boyish face with a milky white complexion, brown eyes and freckles. He was clad in tight leather pants and a shirt so shredded I couldn't tell you the band it represented. His smile was perfectly innocent. I stared at his shirt and he quickly took notice. He pulled down on it so the safety pins holding it together shined under the spotlight.

"Genitorturers," he said, winking. I pointed to one of the safety pins.

"I can see your nipple," I said.

"Wanna see it bleed, darling?" he asked. I looked at Mariah, too elated to even laugh.

"Yeah you do," he decided, removing a pin from the shirt. He stuck his tongue out as he drove the sharp end of the pin through his chestnut-colored nipple. He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh as tiny dots of blood appeared on each side of the nipple. "Oh my God..." I winced and looked away, at the stage. A new band was about to play. The first two things I noticed about the singer were his thick black dreadlocks and brown skater t-shirt with the word STUD across the chest.

"See, look," the boy wanted my attention again – this time to show me the other nipple he was hurting.

A raspy hypnotic voice took over the world. "Nerve... here I borned... feeding on his lung..." the bass line stalked his voice perfectly. Something was happening – this was what I felt before, in that hospital room, this was what I could sense about to happen to my life. "Verse... is his curse... because he wanted to meet Christ alone... but you will" then the guitar cranked in, and bass kicked in more, and I felt like I'd been scooped up form my small stupid painful life and put in the back of a big dirty truck plowing down the highway. He kept singing, his voice as gritty as syrupy chunks of glass. "Yeah... you're no good – we could be your God."

Bodies moved like a wave towards the barrier. Things got crazy when the band broke out into a combative song with the singer rapping and screaming, "This ain't no motherfucking stickup! Just pick up the stick up and watch it real close," and he kept rapping so fast I couldn't understand him anymore, and I felt like I was being attacked, like the song could rip me apart and take out all that was wrong inside my heart, and everyone was jumping up and down and pushing each other, and I knew if I dropped right now I'd die. Whenever I could, I caught a glimpse of the singer – his pants were sagging so far down I could almost see all of his boxer shorts. He was beautiful – he sort of looked like an evil boy-version of a china doll. When he bent over his head looked like an explosion of snakes. He stuck his arm out to point at the crowd as he remained bent over and then his body started convulsing in a cool dance as he straightened up, grabbed himself, and kept singing. "Peers I flow, and mother she won't drain herself..." and his cool moan exploded into screams and the crowd went insane again and you knew you had to be a part of the mean machine or it would eat you whole.

After the show was over I didn't want to leave like the other kids. Mariah and I hung out near the stage, determined to keep this night going. The shell had just cracked; the good stuff was just starting to ooze out. We weren't just going to go outside and gather around kids playing hacky-sack after such an adrenaline rush. You couldn't just come down right away after a night like this.

Mariah suddenly tugged on my arm. "Look." She was looking up at the bassist from Deftones who'd just walked out on stage.

"Hey," he said, his voice gentle and somewhat hoarse. He was holding a bottle of beer. "What's up girls?"

"You were amazing," Mariah gushed.

"Yeah?" he smiled down at her, "Which band was I in?"

"Deftones," she said. She never took her eyes off of him, his boyish face, his pug nose, his somber brown eyes.

"Yeah," I spoke softly, "The singer with the stud shirt on."

"Oh yeah right," he grinned and waved his beer around expressively, "No, I was just asking because I seriously can't remember sometimes," he joked. "I'm Chi." Mariah introduced us. I couldn't decide if Chi was really stoned or just incredibly down to earth. Maybe both. "Seriously, traveling with these guys, man – nah, its awesome – hey, it's fucking hot as shit," he tugged on his shirt, "You girls want something to drink?"

"Yeah, sure." Mariah was absolutely giddy.

"We got some Snapple in the back, hang on." Chi started walking off in the direction he came, pointing back at us with his beer. "Don't go anywhere, be right back."

We stood as still as mannequins, watching the side of the stage for him to reappear.

"We are so not going home tonight," Mariah said, her voice quivering. I didn't say anything; I just stood there and watched as Chi came out, with the singer right behind him.

"Couldn't find any Snapple, these fuckers drank all the beer already, here," Chi handed Mariah the beer he'd been drinking. Mariah reached up for it, her face beet-red.

"Thanks," she looked up at him, never blinking. "Is your CD out?"

I looked up at the singer. He was cute and rough at the same time, like a puppy with the will to chew through cement if it had to. He was so tall, with sideburns and a goatee. No boy I hung out with back home even had enough balls to think about growing facial hair.

Mariah wouldn't stop asking Chi questions, it was her way of keeping him in front of her. "So you guys are on tour?"

"Yeah," Chi looked back at the singer. "Yo, Chino, we don't have any more beers, man?"

Chino was bent over messing with an amp cord; his chocolate-brown stretch chords about to fall past his knees. He looked back at Chi, momentarily glancing at Mariah and me. "No." He went back to what he was doing.

"What are you girls doing after this?" Chi asked us.

"Nothing."

I looked back at Chino because he was walking over to Chi. He pulled his chords up with one hand. He looked sleepy. He had to be at least six feet tall, his dreads shading his face as he looked down at me. I couldn't breathe or move – let alone speak. The fact that they were older than us, and standing up on a platform, made me feel powerless – dizzy. Chino turned and whispered something to Chi. Chi nodded, grinned and looked down at us as we peered up at them.

"Wanna go to a bar with us and some guys from Korn?" Chi asked.

"Um..." Mariah looked at me and back at them.

"Think about it – meet us outside," Chi said, walking off with Chino.

By the time we went out to the parking lot it was mostly vacant. The moon was so tiny you could barely see it. We sat down on the giant rock facing the incline. The rock was cool and moist. The shopping center's parking lot below was totally vacant. I wondered what time it was. If I didn't make curfew, I'd be locked out.

"I see Chi, what should I tell him?" Mariah asked.

"I should go home," I said, regrettably. I pressed my palms down against the damp rock and looked over at Chino. I was too intimidated to talk to him – I couldn't imagine what I'd say.

"Seriously?" she asked, waiting. I almost changed my mind. "Let's at least go say bye."

We walked over to them. While Mariah said by to Chi, I went up to Chino.

"Can I have a hug?" I asked. He didn't hesitate; he simply extended an arm for me to come on, and brought me toward him before wrapping his other arm around me. His arms strengthened their grip into a splendid brotherly hug. I could have stayed there forever. He eventually looked down at me and asked, "You okay?"

I bit my lip as I looked up at him. Don't cry, not in front of him for Christ's sake. "Yes," I said, returning for a second hug.

It was one-o-fucking six. 1:06. We left right after my hug, after Mariah said goodbye to Chi, promising we'd see them at their next show at Myrtle Beach. I was six minutes late. I couldn't believe it. I turned the doorknob but it wouldn't budge. It was harder to move than the giant rock in the club's parking lot. The porch light went off. I was locked out and Mariah was already on her way back to her house, surely cursing me out for ruining what could have been the best night of our lives.

"FUCK YOU!" I screamed at the door. Lock me out? Lock me out after I drove you home from the hospital?

I stared at the door for a few more minutes, until a giant mosquito started hanging over my face like a chandelier. It tried to feed on my cheek but I slapped it away and noticed a gang of his friends congregating around the porch light next door. It killed me now – the fact that I should have stayed at Ziggy's. If there was one regret I ever had, it was that. Why did I keep coming back home? Why was I trying to hold up a wall that had been collapsing for years? Just let it fall, let it fall and walk away from the rubble.

I walked to the park. I could hear the water streaming in the creek, muddy water carelessly flowing over rocks, broken glass, and skinned chickens as if it were all the same. This was where you ended up when you respected authority, I remembered thinking. Anything was better than this – anything.

The park faced the woods and on the other side was a church. There had been a couple of burglaries where we lived in the last few months and I was pretty sure the robber camped out in the woods at night, spying, waiting for the glow of the windows to snap off, for homeowners to slip off into a helpless dream state, and then he'd strike.

"Are you in there?" I called out into the darkness of the woods, choked up with anger. I thought about Chino crouched on top of the amp, screaming his heart out. I wanted to do that someday as I looked out at hundreds of supportive hands all reaching up for me, wanting to touch me, wanting to let me know they felt that anger too. Because, as funny as it seemed, when you were in the middle of all that anger, you felt like maybe you'd be okay. There was a connection there – an embrace – no one was fighting it off anymore.

"This is supposed to be the last night of my life!" I screamed. Nothing happened. The only sound was the running water in the creek. I looked over my shoulder at a cracked pot that used to hold a plant. We'd hung it in our kitchen but during one of my parents' epic fights it was knocked down, and the dirt spilled everywhere.

I looked back down at the ground, dragging my foot through a pile of leaves when a male voice struck up behind me. "Hey you."

Chapter 15

Rescued Floating Devices

The safety pins on Chris's black shirt glowed like the stars against the night sky. I kept staring at them as he drove to a party he was having at his house. He'd followed us back from Ziggy's, he said. He actually said, "You live in the same area I do, and I was like 'hey that's that girl I bled for.'"

I just stared at him, awed. He seemed different from the boys I knew from school – the stoners who had bands only when they were down in their basements. They never played out, and never even talked about their music when we all hung out. Chris looked like he was in a band. His face was flawless as a ghost's. He was dressed like he was about to go on stage and break a bottle over his head. But this was just how he looked; really I didn't know him at all. I just knew I had nowhere else to go. His car felt long and too low to the ground. Eventually I asked him, "So where's the party?"

His eyes tightened and he kept grinning, like someone was whispering a dirty joke in his ear. He looked at me. "You know what?" his voice was scratchy. "I don't think I wanna go to this party."

"Oh?"

He made a face, scrunching up his nose like a brat and shaking his head. A traffic light hit the bloodstain on his shirt from his demonstration of self-mutilation earlier at the show. He turned off the highway onto an exit so we dipped into darkness.

"You weren't, by the way." I didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

"I wasn't what?"

"The only virgin at the show. There was at least one other one – and I say was because she's not now – because I fucked her in the bathroom."

The road we were on was brutally dark. He kept making turns, headlights hitting down on dirt roads, the next one narrower than the last. Some looked like the cleanest whitest bones.

"You should have heard her scream, it was crazy," he went on. "It must be truly intense to be a girl and lose your virginity," he looked over at me as though he thought I'd say something. My nerves along with my tendency to get carsick had woven together. "She kept saying, you're ripping me apart, stop, please, just for a second, please stop."

"There never was a party was there?" I figured. He just snarled. A tear left a warm moist trail along my cheek. It was one of the saltiest tears I'd ever collected on my tongue. Adrift, rescued floating devices, but the bodies drowned. I wanted to write that down. We'll never be the same again, we'll go some place safe.

That would be the next line. I'd call the song Rescued Floating Devices.

"Pull over," I said, because if he stopped I could make a run for it. I knew I'd kill myself, or twist my leg in all kinds of directions if I jumped out of the car now. He knew where he was going. He probably did this all the time. Virginity Taker. He could see in the dark. He had a spot out in the middle of nowhere to take them to, to hurt them, to pull them apart like wolves do bunny rabbits. He pulled into a round parking lot in front of the woods. Down the road was a Ditch Witch construction site, disowned at this time of night, and beyond that, a slew of rusty burgundy dumpsters. The smell of garbage permeated the air. He stopped so we were facing the woods. Trees were far enough apart so you could see storage buildings on the other side. He looked down at his lap and unfastened his black leather pants. It was so quiet out here I could hear the squeak of the leather against his hands. He moved a little to get comfortable, and when I looked down I saw his penis in his hand. It was a pinkish purple color, shiny, swollen, threatening. He stroked it for a minute before turning in his seat so he was facing me. He started to touch me and I backed away.

"Aw, okay, I know. You don't know what to do, you're scared, but we got all night," he touched my cheek. "I'll teach you how to deal." I backed away so I was pressed against the door. He gazed out of the back window at the absolute nothingness he had me trapped in. "Trust me, no one comes out here, you've got nothing to be ashamed of, because no one will ever know about this."

He started to touch my face again but I pushed his hand away.

"You know how much money Dime Twirler makes?" he suddenly brought up. I said nothing. "Well my dad does. Yeah," he tilted his head and studied me closely, eyes tightening with bitterness. Was that his dad at the fucking bar? I should just run, I should make a go for it, but I could tell Chris was one of those people ready for anything, and he probably had something on him, a knife or a gun. I had nothing on me right now but stupidity. This was the night of the lost girl. His voice tightened to match his eyes. "Fucking sick bastard. He took me to her when I was twelve, and he goes, "Okay, son," Chris raised his voice to get the impact across, "She's going to fuck you now, show you what its all about – I paid for it already – happy birthday!" He suddenly clamped his hands down on either side of my face. They were surprisingly warm, and smelled like his sex. "It was so disgusting – she was so loose – I didn't understand what all the fuss was about, it was like sticking your finger in fish guts – and this is why I prefer virgins, I love it, its my new addiction."

I slowly let my arm drop down to my side so my hand could grip the door handle. If I could just work up the nerve to pull it, fall back into the night and just run, run and scream and don't look back.

Chris moved closer to me. "Oh come on," he pulled on my hair, "You liked me at the club."

But that was the club; that was what shows did to you, you liked everyone because you were all there for the same reason – the band.

Chris played with my hair and grazed my cheek with his thumb. "How old are you?" he asked like I'd done something that made me indebted to answer.

"Seventeen."

He laughed, "Seventeen and you're still a virgin – and in the south – that's rare. Did you lock yourself up somewhere?" His voice was hoarse. I hated it. I hated his smelly thumb on my face too. I tried to remember what it was like to be in Chino's arms, to feel safe – I'd never felt so safe – his shirt against my face, the pattern of the STUD lettering, the faint smell of sweat, what a rare moment that was, surrounded by the hush twilit parking lot. It was just so right; it mended the broken moments of my life. And this – this was ripping them apart again.

"I don't wanna do this," I told Chris.

"Then get out of the fucking car."

He sat back and looked into the woods. I pulled on the door handle and stepped out, forgetting how low to the ground his car was. I just expected more space between it and the earth. He reached over, slammed the door shut and took off, blasting Deftones as he went. What a cruel point of common ground.

I sat down in the middle of the parking lot and looked around. Mothers made no sense. They just made no sense. Here was the proof. My mother wanted me home so I left a parking lot, where I was actually safe – where I was actually having a good time – just to be locked out because I was six minutes late – and now I was in another parking lot, a very dangerous one, alone.

Blazing high beams suddenly struck the parking lot as a truck pulled up. I just supposed it was a guy because it was a guy's truck – like in those testosterone-driven commercials for Ford where you see mud splatter and hear a bad interpretation of a decent rock song. The truck's motor was still running. What were they waiting on? Maybe they were lost and stopped to look at a roadmap. The driver finally dimmed the headlights. Another stranger. He rolled his window down.

"Everything all right?" the man called out from the blue Bronco. He didn't have a southern accent, which was crazy because everybody here had one.

I shook my head and stood completely still. The man in the truck turned down the music. He was listening to something folksy I'd never heard before.

"Hey, you can trust me, my name's Ben."

I didn't say anything. I just kept looking at him. I was like a deer trying to choose a hunter.

"Do you need to go to the police?" he asked, his voice coming in clearer. I walked over to the truck. Ben was a big guy, not fat but strong, thick-skinned and sturdy, with brawny features. He had a beard, the thickest curliest black hair, a wide nose and warm, dark brown eyes. Something about his expression implied he was a great listener, but also had a quick temper. He'd had a rough life but wasn't going to give up ever. He couldn't have been any younger than thirty-eight. There was something very benevolent about him. Ben... benevolent. Ha ha. I wanted to say that out loud but I thought it would sound stupid. I folded my hands over the dusty window. I smelled cigarettes and saw a gas station coffee cup in the cup holder next to the stick shifter.

"I just thought... I saw the way that car took off out of here..."

"Cops would just be... more strange men," I finally said before pressing my lips together as if to promise to never say another word ever again.

"You need to go home?" he asked. He looked at me, patiently waiting for me to answer.

"I'm locked out." I was speaking so soft I wondered if he even heard me. I gripped his window like I meant to tare it out.

"So am I," he grinned, somewhat embarrassed. He turned and stared over at the road with great disdain for a minute. "Me and my lover had a little... fight," he shrugged and muttered in his gruff voice, "I don't know," before his voice rose to a normal volume again. "Normally I'd kick the door in, but how do you do that when the fight's about your temper in the first place? And I don't wanna deal with cops tonight either."

"Yeah." I said between sniffles. I stood there and listened to the country rock music in his car as the nasally singer wailed, "Didn't you feel so wise for a while... Didn't you feel your ship had arrived... There was nothing left to borrow, there was nothing left to borrrrrrrrrrrow."

"Who is this?" I asked, standing on my tiptoes a little and peeking inside his truck, which set up on the biggest tires I'd ever seen.

"The Jayhawks." Ben was very pleased I asked and handed me the CD to look at. I looked at the cover of four guys sitting in the middle of the woods on a cloudy day.

"I like it...its like very different from what I usually listen to," I said softly, as if I were surrounded by sleeping angels.

He looked at my hair, which I'd completely forgotten I'd transformed earlier today, and gently expressed, "I thought so."

"I was at a Deftones show earlier." I was in a rush to share that with him. I thought he'd understand my excitement.

"Really?" Ben smiled. "That's awesome." He glanced out at the road and looked right back at me, "How was the crowd?"

"Pretty crazy," I said, feeling better. "Pretty fucking crazy, yeah – but we met the band – well the bassist, and the singer – Chino, Chino Moreno. Its kind of cool how his name rhymes," I suddenly felt embarrassed by my excitement and looked down at the ground again. When I looked back up I found Ben smiling at me, delighted.

"I used to go to shows all the time," he reminisced. "Listen," his voice deepened with certainty, "I'm not going to just leave you out here," he scratched his beard with all five fingers of his left hand and glanced around the dark lot and brought his eyes back over to me. He took his hand from his beard and held it out expressively. "I mean, if I can take you to a friends house? Any place you can think of?" he raised his eyebrows in question.

"No." I played with a rock, kicking it away and then stepping on it to bring it back.

"Okay," he looked back out at the road again, thinking. He was persistent; he really wasn't going to leave me out here. "Or... I mean I know you don't know me," he looked away, "I could go call someone you know – have them come and get you."

"I don't even know where I am," I said.

"Okay," his voice was so deep and low. I wished he'd say that word again, just like that. "How about if I just drive you around and you can listen to the rest of this CD? It's really good... I think its one of the best things that's come out all year...five years," he added. I liked the way he talked about music. I could tell he was in love with it. There were two kinds of people in the world – people that sincerely loved music and people that used it to prove something about themselves. I knew of course which group Ben belonged in and this made me trust him.

"Okay, yeah." I pulled on my ear, something I did when I was nervous or trying not to cry. Then I kicked that rock again, and this time I didn't trap it with my shoe to bring it back. "Yeah, okay, cool."

"That was my plan anyway. It's become what I do, driving... around, waiting for things to calm down." he said. "Music always helps that."

"Yeah... no shit," I realized. It might have been the only truth out there – music always helps.

I opened the door and climbed in. Ben waited a minute to make sure I was in, even after I'd shut the door.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asked, his voice deep even when he whispered. I shook my head. "So what's your name?" he asked right before placing the cigarette between his teeth and reaching for the car's lighter.

"Sarah."

Ben's face fermented into a natural frown as he lit his cigarette with the car's lighter. "This is my favorite song," he spoke as smoke left his mouth, "Its called Blue." He turned it up as we drove off and I listened to the lyrics.

"Where have all my friends gone, they've all disappeared, turned around maybe one day, you're all that was there."

Then the music really came together, the singer's voice jumping with great passion. "Stood by on believing, stood by on my own, always thought I was someone, turned out I was wrong."

Chapter 16

Slam, Slam, Slam The Phone

Ben drove me back to life, back to where there were shops and streetlights.

We drove and drove. The direction we were going didn't matter; I just wanted to look at the dust markings of old raindrops when the streetlights hit the windshield. After about five minutes alone with him, I knew I could trust Ben. I kept looking over at him. He was one of those drivers that never took his eyes off the road, even when he dipped his fingers into the front pocket of his flannel shirt to retrieve his cigarettes. He wasn't what you'd call devastatingly handsome, but there was something striking about him.

When the Jayhawks CD ended, he ejected it and quickly replaced it with another, urgency flooding his eyes to hear more music. I loved that. Haunting guitars and slow drums took over.

"This is Unwound," he offered as though I'd asked.

"This is really cool."

"Yeah, they're from Seattle but like they kind of," he wiggled his fingers expressively, "Got buried in the whole grunge thing – didn't get a lot of recognition so they're kind of obscure, I guess you could say." I looked down at Ben's raggedy belt; the black leather was peeling to show the brown sandy material underneath. The silver clasp was old and worn.

"Are you from Seattle?" I just guessed.

"Washington State," he said. He reached over to put his cigarette out, eyes still committed to the road. He looked like a cross between Timothy Hutton and Jeff Tweedy – but messier than both, mainly because of his hair, which was like a plant when it started to grow out of control – die and come alive simultaneously.

I still couldn't see anything else in the truck but it felt clean. I never kicked anything over when I moved my feet around. Nearly every guy in my family owned a truck and it was crammed with crap like the garage they parked it in. "It fucking sucks," Ben suddenly said in a baffled sigh of a laugh. I loved that laugh, it was like a child's – like a man letting go and reconnecting with his youth. "So I fucking left and I don't know why I came here... well yeah I do, because... relationships. So I drink and get... temperamental." He looked at me and smiled apologetically. "You don't want to know about that stuff."

I didn't know what to do or say so I just smiled.

"So where was the show?" he asked with new life in his voice.

"Ziggy's."

His laugh was like silent sympathetic gasps.

"I've been there before," he said. He didn't seem impressed.

"Yeah? Did you meet Dime Twirler?" my youthful jest was starting to kick back in.

"Who?" He frowned and smiled at the same time. His facial expressions told great stories.

"Dime Twirler, the porn star."

"No, I didn't." He blushed. His whole face turned bright red. "And I don't want to know why they call her that either." He was serious about that so I shut up and tried to think of a different subject to talk about.

"How was the show?" he asked, his voice back to its gentle murkiness.

"Good. No, amazing – no, what's a better word than amazing?"

"Well... it depends, see that word can mean good or bad."

"Yeah?" I felt a little dumb, but it didn't have anything to do with his delivery.

"Yeah, it could mean alarming, awful, awe-inspiring, fearful, grand, hairy –

"Hairy?" I laughed really hard.

"Yeah," he smiled, showing his teeth. He had surprisingly small teeth for such a big guy – very neat teeth, pink ears, red cheeks.

"Well no, I wouldn't call it hairy!" I was still giggling.

Ben chuckled as he put out what had to be his third cigarette of the drive.

"Not hairy – dready – is that a word?"

"It is if you say it, that's my rule," he said.

I was really starting to like Ben – I couldn't exactly define how I liked him, except he made me feel happy. I hadn't felt happy in a very long time.

"It was dready," he said approvingly, "Not to be confused with dreadful, of course."

"Chi, you know, the bassist, like came out and talked to us and gave us beer."

"You're not old enough to drink beer," Ben quickly noted, "You look so young."

"It was just one," I stressed, "And it wasn't even half full, and then Chino gave me this massively long hug, and like," I paused to quickly remove my clothespins from my hair because they were starting to feel like baby fists pulling at it, "He was just so cool about it, like quiet, but I could tell something happened – there were sparks, man, sparks." I beamed and folded my legs Indian style on the leather seat.

"Oh?" Ben sounded a bit put off. "Those guys are what, twenty-six, twenty-seven?"

"I don't know," I squealed, like what does it matter?

"Wait – that was tonight?"

"Yeah."

"So did you not make it home in time or..."

"I was six minutes late, dude, so my mom locked me out."

"What if you were in an accident – what if you had a vital fucking reason to be late?" his face was red again, this time out of sheer disgust. He calmed down enough to let me know, "My mom was crazy too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He tightened his eyes to read an upcoming street sign. "Shit, I don't know where the fuck we are."

By the time we found a gas station Ben was pretty perturbed. I didn't say anything because I felt partially responsible for getting us lost. He pulled into the parking lot and parked next to the DRY ICE sign in the window. The letters were blue and monstrous.

"You want anything?" he asked. "Actually why don't you just come in with me." I got out and went over to the off-white dusty shelf of magazines while Ben bought a pack of Camels. Kurt Cobain's beaten-dog of a sad face looked out at me from five different covers. I closed my eyes really tight and when I opened them I made myself see Chino crouching on an amp instead, his pride, his anger and his cool charisma easily detectable on his face. He's going to save us all; he's going to save the future of rock n roll. I grabbed a Metal Edge just to have something in my hand because I was nervous.

"Sarah," Ben called, waving me over. "Bring the magazine."

I never tested Ben's patience because I could tell he didn't have any. After all, that was why he was driving around tonight. That was why he was lost now. And that was how he found me. I placed the magazine down on the counter and the clerk swiped up the ten dollars. As he made change he looked down at me.

"She your girl?" he asked Ben. Ben didn't answer him; he just stared him down and waited for the change. "You're okay with her dressing like that?"

Ben retaliated in the coolest tone of voice. "Are you okay with you dressing like that?"

The guy slammed the drawer shut and Ben faked intimidation. Ben looked physically capable of lifting the counter off the floor and punching the guy's face through the back of his skull. He took his change and his smokes and we tore out of there.

"Does everyone have to be an asshole?" he muttered once we were outside and he was packing his smokes. I didn't understand yet why people did that, packed their smokes I mean. He walked over to the pay phone as he unraveled the plastic from the pack, dropped the plastic and placed a smoke between his lips and lit it as he stood in front of the phone booth. I could see a Waffle House marquee not too far off. Then I realized how absolutely starved I was by now. The only thing to have entered my digestive system since ten this morning was Chi's beer.

Ben nudged the phone between his shoulder and ear as he slipped a quarter in and brought his other hand to his mouth to remove his smoke. I wondered what time it was. Across the street beyond a cornfield I could see the sky starting to break into the softest blue. It had to be close to dawn because when Chris picked me up it was around two in the morning. The intolerable disappointments of the night since one am were wearing off and I felt I'd be completely okay if I could just have coffee and waffles. Really, I was a simple girl – it was just that everything around me wasn't.

"Just let me the fuck back in," I heard Ben snap. I looked over. He had one arm stretched out above him so his hand rested on the top of the dirty phone booth as he looked down at the ground. "That's not what happened," he argued, "In the bubble of your perfect world that's what happened, because that would excuse everything you do, make you look perfect." Then he slammed the phone down so hard the hook switch snapped off. It bounced against the dark pavement, making a surprisingly pretty sound.

I arrived home around eight that morning. The door was unlocked and mom was lying on the couch. I thought for a second that she was asleep, but her bloodshot eyes were wide open and focused on the ceiling. Her face was puffy and I could tell she was grinding her teeth. She did that so much I was amazed her teeth hadn't completely sunk into her gums like rocks sometimes sink down under the earth. I made sure she didn't have a knife in her hand or I'd fly upstairs and lock my door.

"I got a job," I said. Ben managed Record Bar in the one and only mall in town, and told me over breakfast at Waffle House to come by tomorrow and we'd see how it went. I was stoked because I loved music, and I needed money – so it seemed like the perfect solution. I knew that was the last thing my mother expected met to say after being out all night. I waited for her to say something, or do something...

And mother she won't drain herself.

"I told you to be home by one o'clock, Sarah."

"It was 1:06 MOM!" How could I pinpoint exactly how long it would take to get back? Life wasn't a movie with an exact running time. Maybe an accident on the highway held us up, or an unforgettable hug I was dying for.

"That's not one," she said, remaining superior. I threw my hands out; what was the point in talking if no one was going to listen. I decided to go upstairs and she got up and followed me.

"What did you do to your hair!"

I didn't say a word as she marched up the stairs behind me. I knew her temper – it was worse than Ben's, worse than any rock star's, and what made it worse was the fact that she'd use it on me and I was her daughter. I was the person she was supposed to protect.

"So did you have fun?" she asked, out of pure spite. Her hand lifted from the banister just to slap back down on it again. She kept doing this over and over. She was coming after me and I was growing more nervous. Her unpredictability was handed down through generations of crazy women. Her mother threw an ax at her when she was a little girl, missed my mother by a few feet only to chop off my uncle's ear. My great grandmother burned a neighbor's house down after thinking the neighbor stole vegetables off her front porch.

I went into my room and turned to shut the door but I wasn't fast enough. Mom pushed it open so that the door hit my forehead, and then she grabbed my face with her hand, dragging a ragged fingernail down along my cheek before I could get away.

"Don't you shut that door on me!" she warned, turning around to close it and lock it. "You slut!" she screamed when she turned back and slapped me across the face. "You were out all night, you slut!" I fell to the bed, more out of shock than how hard the hit was. I cried into my pillow. Someone take me away from here, someone anyone, please.

"Out with those fucking Mexicans!"

What? I didn't know what to say – I was offended but also shocked that she even knew the multiracial band Deftones were part Mexican.

"Leave me alone!" I begged. "You fucking locked me out, so just leave me alone."

"The next time you go out like that and you're late coming home, I..." she stopped when she heard my father's car pull up, now her temper was suddenly redirected. She left my room and went downstairs. I closed my door, locked it and went over to the phone. It was way, way too early to call Mariah. It was easy to forget it was just morning. I'd been up all night; I knew the world in a mad, mad way. I didn't know what I planned on doing – I was so sleepy. I sat down on the floor, listening to my parents' loud voices coming up through the vent. My exhaustion stripped me of caring, it left me numb. I heard mom call me to come and help her but I didn't. I just stayed where I was and listened to her screams subside, the predictable slam of the door, followed by the pathetic slap of my father's car door and finally, his car pull off. I started to fall asleep sitting against my bed. The sound of my mom coming back up the stairs woke me up, letting me know she was still alive. And I couldn't honestly tell you how I felt about that at that second. She tried to open my door but it was locked.

"Don't you ever come out of this room then, you hear me?" I couldn't stand the tight containment of her voice. I'd rather her scream.

An hour of silence passed. I was finally calming down, feeling somewhat normal – perhaps even capable of falling asleep at some point. I stared in the mirror at my hair. It was a wild and ratty mess at this point. Was that how Chino grew his dreads? He just never combed or washed his hair? He must have been so dirty, he smelled a little dirty when he hugged me. What would have happened if we'd stayed there with them and went out for drinks? I'd never know now. I could fill in the blanks with fantasies though; there was always that. No one could take that right from me; no one could lock me out of that. Just as I was about to get lost in a fantasy, stretching out on my bed, which was fantastically cool from not being slept in all night, my mom knocked on the door.

"Sarah?"

I could tell she wanted to apologize but she couldn't take back what she said because no one could forget what they heard, the representation of hate the word was wrapped in. And I wasn't a slut because you took away that opportunity by telling me to be home by one and so I didn't even get the chance to possibly become a slut. Rip out your stitches if you're really sorry, I thought.

I sat up and reached under my bed for my journal. It wasn't really a journal so much as a notebook to write songs in. You might also call them poetry, whatever they were I had hopes they'd become something bigger once I got out of this depressing town. I wrote down rip out your stitches if you're really sorry, before losing all creative energy.

I lied back down, dropping the journal to the floor. I guess my mom had given up. I shut my tired eyes, trapping those fat teenage tears. When I woke up again it was three hours later and my phone was ringing. I had this crazy piano-phone, I had to press the keys to dial and when it rang it played different songs from the 70s like Elton John's Philadelphia Freedom and KC and The Sunshine Band's Get Down Tonight. The latter was playing when I woke up. Had it been any other day, it would have made me laugh as it usually did.

"Hello?"

"Hey," Mariah's voice was bouncy and bright.

"Hey."

"Whatcha doin?"

"Sleeping... I didn't sleep last night, I was still locked out."

"No – really?"

"Yeah. It was pretty weird. But I gotta job though, at Record Bar."

"What? How?" Shannon was amazed. Record Bar didn't just hire anyone – you had to be a certain kind of cool to work there.

"It's a long story. Anyway, I'm going to save up and get the fuck out of here."

"Yeah, well don't go before July 16th."

"Why?"

"Deftones are playing in Myrtle Beach. I spent the morning looking up their whole tour; we'll just spend the summer going to their shows. Fuck it; fuck everything else. You have a job now so that's cool, you can put in for gas and hotels and stuff, if you don't mind?"

"No, that sounds awesome."

"I'm gonna come and get you, you wanna come over?"

"Yeah."

And there you had it. Now we had a band, so we had a plan. This band was now the rock in my life.

Chapter 17

Black Skoda

The attacks started two weeks after I met Ben. My friends all thought it was related to stress – everything going on at home, the bad stuff. The first attack happened at the record store around three pm. I hadn't been sick, and I'd never taken drugs. I just wanted to do a good job at work so I could eventually move away. I was standing behind the counter when I started to go numb in my arms and legs. I felt clammy and weak. I was too terrified to say anything. I looked over at Ben. He was hunched over his desk, tracing a pen along a list of inventory we'd just received. I wanted to go over to him but I couldn't feel my legs and that's when I fell to the floor.

"Ben!" I cried. I didn't have a stomachache or a headache, just ghost limbs. I felt no pain at all, but the utter opposite of pain – numbness. I heard Ben's chair roll back as he stood up, then I heard the jingle of his car keys in his back pocket as he raced over to me.

Considering everything I'd been going through at home, I thought I was a pretty good kid – I didn't do drugs even though people loved to look at me and bet that was what I did, all I did. The only beer I ever had my entire life was the one Chi gave us, taking at the most three sips. I didn't know what could have led to these attacks. Ben got down on his knees next to me and calmly asked me what was wrong.

"I can't feel...anything... I'm going numb all over. Ben... what's happening?"

He put his hand on my forehead and looked up at the wall behind me. He quickly reached for the phone and called 911. He requested an ambulance, hung up and took my hand because I was holding it out to him.

"I can't feel my legs or my arms," I panicked. "I can't feel anything."

"Its okay, I'm right here," he promised, his hand gently stroking the side of my face.

"What's happening?"

"Its probably something you ate," he said.

"I didn't eat today."

"Or that too," he made a kind face and never let go of my hand. I heard something on the other side of the counter, a rush of marching feet. A rather impatient male voice struck up, "You call for a medic? Hello?"

Ben stood up. "Yes, my employee almost fainted."

"Step aside, sir."

I held onto Ben's hand. "No!"

"Just for a minute, they have to come and pick you up – I'm not going anywhere," he reassured.

When I woke up in the hospital room hours later, Ben was right there.

"I'm so tired," I said. "Are my parents here?" My voice cracked.

Ben was sitting in a gray folding chair that depressingly matched the walls of the room. He was bent over so his elbows were on his knees and his hands were folded for his chin to rest on. He looked exhausted, but Ben was the type of guy who got sexier the more tired he looked.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"Two hours, they ran some tests, you've been pretty out of it."

A guy sporting a Linda Ronstadt t-shirt started to come in the room and stopped, pointing at his watch before extending his arm to point down the hall. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, round face, somewhat snooty. The first thing that came to mind was James Spader's character in Pretty In Pink. He stared at Ben expectantly.

Ben stood up and flashed the most domineering frown I'd ever seen. "Don't take the truck."

"Well busses don't exist here," the man fretted, revealing a bit of a lisp. Ben just sighed as the man whined on. "I'll get fired, if I'm late again they'll fire me, you know I can drive, I've never wrecked a car in my life. I don't drink before I drive," he made sure to point out.

"But then how am I supposed to get home?" Ben sounded very pristine all of a sudden.

"Oh, I can take the bus but you can't?"

"That's why I bought a truck!" Ben reminded.

"Why don't you go take him to work?" I said, tired of their bickering. Ben's face softened when he looked at me.

"Well I was going to stay here."

"Just promise you'll come back," I said.

"Yeah, yeah, I should only be twenty minutes."

I watched them leave, wondering where my parents were. If I had to guess I'd say they were out there in the waiting room at some point, but then a fight arose over whose fault this was, and one of them left. Maybe both.

When Ben returned he had a warm bag of fast food with him along with some magazines – Rolling Stone, Spin and Kerrang!

"Where the capital F did you get Kerrang?" I asked, amazed.

"There's one gas station, one," he held up a finger to emphasize, "In the middle of nowhere, that I just happened to drive out to after another fight and I was locked out."

I eagerly flipped through the mag. "I love Kerrang – they're not as wimpy as American magazines."

Ben laughed approvingly. "That's true."

I shut the magazine and folded my hands together so they sat like a rock on top of the magazine. "Hey Ben, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Say... if you... were, like, straight and you were the singer of a really cool rock band and... there was this girl that like... wanted to lose her virginity to you – would you, like, I don't know, take it?"

"Uh," he laughed nervously and glanced out the window. "Well what does this girl look like?" he brought his eyes back over to me.

"Well... she has blue eyes and... never mind."

"I'm just gonna – okay, if I were a straight guy, and I was in a rock band, I probably would yeah, but then I'd be a jerk and go out on the road and not even think twice about what I'd done, you know, because I'm a straight jerky dude – not that whoever – whoever you're talking about is, but that's just my..." he cleared his throat, "Wrap up on the deal." He moved around in his chair as if to dig his way up from the awkward moment. He was quite flustered. He reached for my Happy Meal box and held it out for me. "And now, I shall remind of you of a thing called food," he smiled.

I took it and popped the box's side-flaps out and stuck my hand down into the warm pretend-house for a fry. I looked down at the yellow and orange wrapped cheeseburger, tiny sample of fries and a toy disguised in a plastic bag with a bunch of tiny writing on it.

"This is cool," I said, bringing the cheeseburger out. "So simple," I smiled. "I can't remember the last time I had a Happy Meal."

Ben watched me eat. Normally I hated it when people did that, but I was too famished to care. "So by the way that was my other half," he was slouching in his chair now, arms crossed and muscles flexed. "Not better, I wouldn't say that." Sometimes Ben reminded me of a dragon when he snarled.

I popped a fry in my mouth. "You guys fight a lot," I commented, not taking time out to finish chewing my food. "So what's wrong with me?"

"The doctors don't know, but my guess is lack of food and late nights with rock stars."

"So when can I get the crap out of here?" I asked unapologetically, digging my hand around in the bag for another fry, hopefully one not as undercooked.

"They haven't said yet. I saw your mom out in the hallway – I think I weird her out."

"Yeah well, she terrifies the hottest side of hell out of me so I guess in a way we're even." I crumpled the paper bag up and tossed it into the trashcan.

"Nice shot," Ben praised.

"I bet my hair looks like crap, huh?"

"Well you're not your usual stylistic best," he admitted, "But you are in a hospital. By the way, I found two wooden clothespins in my truck." He kept his arms crossed. Strong – strong arms. "Mark wanted to know where they came from."

"What did you tell him?"

"That they were yours," he fiddled with the string on the blinds, "I told him I drove you over here."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "If I keep stories simple fights are less likely to happen. If I told him I picked you up that night he locked me out," Ben waved a hand as if to say it wasn't worth getting into.

"But, dude, you're gay so what's he gonna care if you picked me up at midnight?"

Ben just shrugged again. "He's very insecure."

I looked around the quiet gray box of a room. Ben pushed some hair out of my face. I was surprised at the sudden physical contact.

"Your mom said you were a natural blond." Ben waited for me to respond. "She sounded pretty dismayed when she said it."

"I go black when I'm depressed."

"Well I think it looks great."

"Yeah? Dready?"

He finally smiled. My Happy Meal toy turned out to be a plastic Wilma Flintstone walking her pet Dinosaur.

Chapter 18

Room For Horses

I'd been misbehaving since I got out of the hospital. It was the number one way to get attention. Ben told me to follow him to the back room of the record store where we kept all the boxes, along with a snack machine and an old school desk, the kind with the spot for a pencil at the top. As soon as we were back there he closed the door and lit a cigarette, terribly stressed out. He sat in the desk and I took a seat next to him.

"I hate doing this," he said, staring at the boxes piled up in front of him. He raised his hand to his reddened face and sighed before moving his hand through his curly hair. "Why do you make me do this?" he looked up at the ceiling as he released smoke through his nostrils. I watched him smoke – it was one of my favorite things to do now. I heard the paper pop under the control of its flame.

I was anxious for this lecture. I never got lectures from older men; I never knew such direction or punishment. So maybe I did the things I knew I wasn't suppose to do like play Marilyn Manson's Cake and Sodomy on a Sunday at 10 am, or even pass off CDs to my friends instead of making them pay for them, or taking severely long lunch breaks, because I knew I'd be scorned for it. Plus there was something about Ben, the look on his face when he listened to me, he didn't miss a beat, and he studied my face remarkably well so he'd know if I was lying. Also when you pissed someone off you were for the time being the only one who existed in that person's world, because anger was so captivating. Ben truly saw me, which sometimes left me shaking. And he really cared about me, which always left me impressed.

Ben pressed the palm of his hand against his bloodshot eye as the cigarette smoke made a cool hallo above his messy hair.

"Okay," he moaned in pain and took another drag of his cigarette and spoke in a very calm direct manner, his hands out in front of him, all fingers splayed except the two holding the cigarette. "I'm only going to say this once," he reached over and put his cigarette out so it became a tiny black and white dot in the busy ashtray. "If you play Marilyn Manson again when I tell you not to, you're fired. I'm sorry, but you know you can't be doing that, not every customer wants to be greeted by a guy calling them white trash first thing in the morning, and I also don't want that Fletcher kid in here stuffing shitty CDs down his pants, which I have to make physical contact with once they're out. These are things that don't need to happen, things that if they do happen make a long day even longer, okay?" Ben started to grab another cigarette but managed to hold off. "For you its cool not to care," he said, his eyes promised to his smokes. He went for it, lighting up and moving his hand around so his cigarette smoke drew amazing circles in the air as he spoke. "But for me, I have someone higher up," he raised his hand above his head to emphasize, so his cigarette smoke passed over my hair. "And as much as I fucking hate to admit this, I need this goddamn job. You're making me crazy, because I like you, and I hate telling you this crap." He put his hand on the top of my head and asked me if I was okay.

"Yeah."

"How are you feeling lately? Anymore weird numbness?"

Just in the heart.

"No." I bit my lip. I wanted a hug, but I'd never ask him for that. I could walk up to Chino Moreno in a dark parking lot and ask for one but I couldn't ask Ben for one. It was weird but it was just how it was.

"Need a ride home tonight?" he asked.

"Um..." I did, but I was tired of asking him for stuff. I need a job, I need a ride home, I need a dad.

"Its cool," he reached over for another smoke. "I have something to give you anyway but I left it in my truck."

An hour later I took my break and met up with Mariah. She was in the bookstore across the hall, frantically waving a Hit Parader around to get my attention, a smile no one could take away splattered on her face. I hurried down the cramped aisle – books on Christianity to my left and books on Tantric sex to my right. I stopped in front of the enormous magazine rack, which expanded from one end of the bookstore to the other. The floor was cushioned with magazines – mostly issues of Thrasher. I'd seen skater boys in here before – they were much rowdier than Mariah and I and yet the clerk, Alice, never accused them of stealing like she did us.

Mariah practically flung the Hit Parader in my face. "Oh my God, look at page 13!" Mariah tossed me the magazine, all giddy. I read the little paragraph of tiny print explaining that Korn was currently touring with Deftones. Their next show was July 16th in Myrtle Beach. "Are you psyched or what? Then they're playing at some club in Florida – we'll just go to both."

"Psyched – yeah. I have a reason to live now. Seriously."

"I already booked us a room at this motel called Sandy Dawn – its quite dodgy but that's not the point. Once we're in Florida we'll just get a room wherever."

I just smiled. "Dready."

"What?"

"Nothing. Maybe we won't even have to get a room – we'll just become groupies."

"Oh my fuck..." Mariah could barely stand up now. "So how are things – I heard you had to go to the hospital."

"Yeah, I passed out basically." That wasn't true, but I didn't know how else to describe it, and the doctors didn't have a name for it either.

"Well you look good now."

"Shit, are you kidding? My hair's a mess."

"You just need a touch up." Mariah headed to the front of the store to buy the magazine. Every time we planned a trip to a rock show, I felt free, I felt like my life was finally going somewhere instead of back and forth to work or to the grocery store with food stamps. If I was somewhere else – like Myrtle Beach – I could be someone else.

"We have to meet them again," Mariah said as she placed the magazine down on the counter. "I don't care what I have to do, I'll go down on a roadie."

"Oh gross!" I covered my mouth as Alice rolled her eyes at us.

"Wouldn't you? If it meant being with Chino."

"God Mariah... yeah, I guess."

When I got back to the record store I raved about the show to Ben. He was in a playful mood and responded by throwing a Mariah Carey CD single at me.

"You can't go, I need you that day," he teased.

"No fucking way, dude," I said, throwing the CD back at him.

"We got two-hundred of these stupid things," he marveled, holding the CD above some paperwork for a second before letting it drop where it may. He was actually blushing. I waited for him to throw the CD back but he lost interest and went back to working on inventory. I knew he was waiting for me to get back to work too. On my way back to the front of the store he called for me.

"I didn't dismiss you from my office."

I stopped and turned around.

"Wanna go to Lollapalooza?" he asked.

"Yes!"

"I'll get you front row tickets – they go on sale tomorrow."

"I love you!"

There was a cop car parked in front of my apartment when Ben pulled up to drop me off. It was a bizarre thing to see such an alarming car parked so still and quiet. He looked at me.

"Its not a big deal," I said, "Its like... its common as cake on birthdays." I started to get out of the car when he gently pulled on my arm.

"We can go somewhere else. Oh," he reached back for something in the backseat. It was a book, On The Road by Jack Kerouac. "I see you go in the bookstore all the time but you never buy a book," he said with a great ability to lecture without sounding like an ass. I didn't appreciate the book then. All I cared about was music and getting the hell out of Salisbury. Small towns make unwanted noise even louder.

I opened the book and read the message Ben wrote on the back of the cover:

Remember you're special and you're always going places.

\- Ben Malcolm

"Why are you so fucking nice to me?" I asked him.

"Is it really that weird to be nice to people? Is that what the world's come to?" His nostrils flared and his grin had a very childish likeability to it right then. He looked back at my front door as a cop came out. The cop looked at Ben for a second before he got in his car and drove off.

"I don't wanna go in there." That was all I had to say. Ben started his truck up and we drove off.

We were listening to the Jayhawks CD on the way to Ben's house.

"Hey, are some of these songs about Kurt Cobain?"

"I think so," he said. I could tell he'd been wondering the same thing.

"Like when he goes 'you were still young with your eyes open wide, couldn't you just stick around for the ride,' he's talking about suicide, right?" I looked over at Ben.

"Yeah." He moved his hand to the shifter. "I'm going to teach you how to drive, Sarah."

"What?"

"Yeah, you should know how to drive. Your parents," he took his hand away and put it back on the wheel, "Next time they go psycho you can just take off, next time your mom hits you – you can just leave. I mean I think back to when I was your age – if I didn't have a car – fuck, this song could be about me."

"You don't want to deal with me anymore," I said, looking away.

"Now, that's not it."

I knew that wasn't it, but I wanted a fight.

"Sarah, I'm a big part of your life because I want to be, not because I have to. Because, well, I don't." Behind his words I detected another message: I don't have to be a part of anyone's life. But eventually a person became too old to run away from everything. Ben was that age now. He was trapped. He turned down a winding road of fences and horses. He lived out in the country, far from the smelly highways and fast food joints. Out here all you saw were rooster mailboxes and dragonfly decorations hanging from enormous oak trees.

Ben spoke almost two minutes later, letting me know our conversation had still been going on in his head. "And... I'll never have a kid... Mark said himself I'm not cut out for it."

"You'd be a great fucking father," I blurted.

"No," he somehow maintained a calm confidence in his insecurities. "You only know me during certain parts of the day."

"So what do you do during the other parts?"

"I drink, I break stuff, I act like a big stupid teenager – or a trapped bear."

"Why do you drink so much?"

"The day... the day's an edge I take off at night with... when I drink." I could tell I was annoying him but I couldn't stop. It was addictive.

"You mad you moved here?" I poked.

"Sarah," he sighed like I'd never be able to understand, but we all grew up. It was out there waiting for me too; this ball of doubt and fear adults got wrapped in. "There's just stuff you don't know – stuff I got that wasn't on the menu."

"What?"

I could tell Ben had a big dark surprise in his past. I didn't even see his house until his headlights washed over it – a very nice one-story brick house with a crazy amount of property. The house vanished in the dark as soon as Ben pulled into the driveway. I listened to the crunching sound of gravel under his heavy tires, and then he shut the truck off, and the lighting went along with it too. It was so hush and dark, I felt like we were absolutely nowhere. He stayed in the truck for a second, just sitting there.

"Is Mark here?" I finally asked.

"No, he's working all night." Ben was tracing his knuckles along the steering wheel.

"Where does he work?"

Ben looked at me. "An all-night seafood place on the other side of town." Lie. I don't know, that just sounded like a lie. He opened the door and got out of the truck. When I got out I made sure to slam the door. I still wanted a fight – a really good one, one that made you feel empty after. He stopped on his way to the back porch and marched over to me. Every man loved his car so I knew slamming the door would get a rise out of him. I looked up at him defiantly.

"I'm the good person in your life and I will remain so." He turned and headed back to the house. He stopped and patiently held the door open for me. He'd quickly regained his calm demeanor. Okay, but we had all night.

Ben had more than a huge backyard – he had enough land to own horses. A red-picket fence wrapped around the property and garage.

"You have an insane amount of property," I said as I followed him into the screened-in porch. The porch was set up like a living room, with a wicker couch covered with pillows, a desk right next to it with a lamp and a pair of reading glasses. Were they his or Mark's, I wondered. The lampshade was the color of whiskey and smothered its own light so going without it on was just as useful. There were so many books I almost didn't notice them at first – water-damaged paperbacks for the most part, with creases in the corners of the covers and pages that felt like dead leaves. It was almost as if they were part of the floor plan. I jumped onto the hammock and looked out at the backyard again.

"Benjamin, in Hebrew, means son of the south," I suddenly said.

"Is that right?" he said. I think at least one of us blushed. I couldn't really see anything, it was too dark – but I felt the space and the moisture of the muggy southern night cling to my skin. I heard the insects. It felt like a swamp was nearby. It was great here; I felt the same relaxation I did during a long bath. "You could freaking open your own drive-in out here."

Ben laughed as he started to open the door to the house. He paused. "Oh, I should warn you about Wylder." As soon as he said that I heard the sound of claws scratching at the door along with barking.

"You have a dog?" Dogs made me nervous. This one sounded huge.

"I do – a big crazy one but he's harmless, just very, very excited. He usually gets to run around but not today." Ben looked in through the cracked door. "Wylder," he said, his voice stern but lovable, "Get down. Calm down." The dog sneezed before going right back to barking, paying no mind to Ben's demands. It was almost like he was trying to tell him something. I could hear his claws scratching the doorframe. "If you want dinner, you'll calm down." Ben was still blocking the door. Wylder quieted and Ben quickly went in and closed the door. I heard him call Wylder's name when he started barking again but the barking grew distant as he followed Ben into the house. Ben came back out with a Blue Moon for him and a soda for me.

"Stay," he preached to the dog, shutting the door just before he could come out. Then Ben looked over at me, about to press an issue. "He really, really wants to come out," he persuaded. "I promise he won't bite – he might jump on you and lick you like crazy but that's it."

"Okay." I reached out to accept the cola as Ben held the door open. Wylder came out – a terribly handsome German Shepard with a wagging spotted tongue, way too excited about the back porch. He looked around at everything before walking over to the door that led to the yard and barked demandingly.

"No, hush," Ben said. Then Wylder saw me and came right over, barking and jumping on the hammock, creating the biggest portrayal of clumsiness as his claws skidded across the floor so the hammock tipped over and I landed on my knees, spilling the soda everywhere – soaking a pocket-sized collection of Rimbaud's poems as well as my knees.

"Wylder!" Ben came over and yanked on Wylder's leash. "Come on, chill." I stayed on the ground for a minute, my knees sticky with the sugary soda I never wanted. I was mildly embarrassed but more shocked than anything. Wylder felt like four versions of himself. "I'm sorry, Sarah," Ben's deep gentle voice swept over to me as he petted Wylder. "I feel like I unlashed a pack of demon dogs on you."

"Yeah."

Ben picked up Wylder's face with both hands on either side and said in a babyish voice, "Silly boy," and gave him long loving pets before getting comfy on the couch, stretching out. He just lied there for a minute, still and quiet as if this were it and now he planned on going to sleep. Then he turned and looked over at me with those big brown eyes before picking up his beer and handing it to me. "I guess if Chi did it – no," he took it back and set it on the table. "I can't – I'm trying to not be that guy – the world has enough of those – there's really no more room," he expressed with a charming laugh.

I didn't know what to say so I just sat there and stared dumbly out at the backyard. I didn't even like beer at this point in my life.

"Maybe... you have like tea or coffee or something?" I asked as politely as possible.

"Yeah, cola is kind of belittling, I'm sorry." When he stood up so did Wylder, staring up at him and wagging his tail. After Ben went inside I wanted to move over to the couch but I was afraid Wylder might go crazy, but he just sat down and kept a loyal gaze on the door for Ben. I was basically doing the same thing.

"Lucky dog," I muttered. "Get to live with him, don't have to work – you got it good, Wylder, you know that?"

He barked as if to enthusiastically agree. Ben opened the door wide enough for Wylder to run through, suddenly finding the inside of the house as exciting as he found the porch minutes ago.

Ben held the door open for me. "Hey, I put a pot of tea on, wanna come inside until its ready?"

He reached down for his beer as I walked inside his house. His place was amazingly orderly and roomy. Wylder went straight to his bowl of dog food in the kitchen and I sat down on the couch.

"How old is Wylder?" I asked, looking at all the framed posters hanging on his walls – Midnight Cowboy I'd heard of but hadn't seen, Dirty Harry I'd also heard of but hadn't seen (my mom didn't like Clint Eastwood) and a Doctor No poster, which was in the kitchen.

"Believe it or not, he's only two years old – he's a baby. Arentcha, Wylder?"

Wylder came running over to us. He had no concept of his weight and pounced on top of me, crushing my ribs.

"Ow!"

"Hey! Wylder!" Ben whistled and slapped his leg

for Wylder to come over to him and Wylder leapt off in an instant and went over to Ben. We were sitting on the same couch, but there was enough space between us for Wylder to have to walk back and forth to get petted by both of us.

When Ben went to fetch the tea, I moved a little closer to where Ben had been sitting. He came back with a big black mug of Chamomile.

"You want milk?"

"A little – and honey?"

"Yeah, let's go outside and I'll come back in for it."

I took his beer since he had my tea and followed him back out. Wylder came too, of course, calm for the moment, his claws clicking behind us.

"I love it out here," Ben said as if to explain why we came back out. I sat down on the wicker couch facing the backyard. He looked down and saw that I brought his beer along.

"Oh thanks." He took a sip, sat it down next to my tea and zipped back into the house. Wylder made a funny moaning sound when he yawned and stretched out at my feet. I wondered if Ben would sit next to me when he came back out, or if he'd take the hammock. Such a small wonder made me feel so happy.

"Hey, I was just thinking," Ben came back talking, "I guess because of the honey, there's this band, Morphine, and they have this song called Honey White, I don't know – I think you'd like their stuff." He sat down on the couch pretty close to me and handed me the milk.

"Thanks, yeah, I think I've heard of them. Where are they from?" My thumb was sticky with honey now. My knees smelled sweet of cola. Mixed in with these smells was the thick smell of grass and something else... something rotting in the corner, like a vegetable. It all concocted into a giant wave of sweetness.

I watched as my tea went cloudy from the milk poured into it. Was Ben looking at me? I squeezed the bee container of honey but the honey was cold and stubborn. Honey only pours well when its warm, when its been sitting out for a while. I put it down and slid down on the couch so I was slouching.

"Cambridge," Ben said. "So Chicago huh?" he inquired, since I told him that's where I wanted to move.

"Yeah, I like the name – Chicago. It sounds cool – its fun to say."

"What about New York?"

"Not as fun to say." We laughed for a second. "Its gonna be cool – its gonna be dready. So do you own this place?"

"Yeah," he growled, resting his head against the back of the couch, his eyes to the ceiling. "Sometimes I sleep out here, you know, when Mark's gotten on my nerves. And I'll wake up to the sound of morning...its so nice. Not like the city though, which I do miss. I used to drive out to Seattle for that city smell."

"What's the city smell like?"

"Smog... hot dogs, burning metal."

"Cool!"

"I'm caught between the two – things I like about the South," he thoughtfully spoke, "And the North."

"What about Mark?"

Ben took a timeout to pull a fresh cigarette from his pack and place it between his lips. We were sitting much closer than we were in the house. So close in fact, that I could feel the warmth of the flame when it sprouted up from the Zippo. I smelled a quick puff of lighter fluid before he threw it down on the table in a quick toss of the hand. He picked up his beer. "Mark wants to go to Seattle," he brought the beer up to his lips but added in a mumble before taking his first sip, "Mark can't afford to go to Seattle. Mark thinks I should pay for everything." Ben flipped his hand upside down as he expressed painfully, "He fucking puts crab cakes in to-go containers for a living." He raised his beer to his lips again and raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, "Not that what I do is much better..."

"You don't love Mark." I'd just decided to say it – I wasn't sure if it was because I was still itching for a fight, itching unbelievably bad for it as if I'd been eating poison ivy.

"Excuse me?" his tone let me know he was angry. It was what I was going for. He looked annoyed, like he got when I played one of my favorite CDs at work – the loud unnerving songs, like wild animals being let loose on a helpless lamb.

"It just doesn't seem like you love him, or you wouldn't see every situation involving him as a problem."

He looked at me, his expression opening up as if to say, maybe you're right, but what a wrong thing to be right about.

"I do love him...I mean I care," he wrestled with thought and word, "Well yeah, that's what makes it so tough."

"What do you like about him?" I asked, before realizing how rude that sounded. "No, that sounded bad –

"No," Ben was even amused, "Its okay," he pointed at me with his cigarette, "You know, that shouldn't be a tough question. I mean," Ben tilted his head dutifully to the side and looked up at the ceiling. It was quite adorable. "My mom made me go to a psychologist when I was twelve," he flicked his cigarette so ash vanished upon the dark floor just like he wished he could do with the stone cold memory. "And..." his eyes tightened as he took another drag of his cigarette. The word And was as feeble as a pearl loose from its string of pearls, graceful yet sad. But so delicate. I knew he had a hard time talking about his mom by the weight of silence between his words, the time it took him, and how much he needed the next drag of his smoke, and he let out another thick trail of smoke between his nostrils and mouth before he went on, "She caught me talking to this boy once and I... I don't know, I guess it looked like I was going to kiss him or something, and she came up with this theory – cos you know, moms love to do that – that basically, I missed my dad so I was trying to sort of replace him by talking to this kid Quinn, who was a few years older than me – she made a big deal out of nothing and sent me to this guy I didn't know that I was supposed to trust with my problems enough to tell him about them – the whole thing seemed absurd to me – much more absurd than talking to a boy in our backyard I did know."

I nodded, noting Ben totally skipped over my question about Mark. My tea was cold now that the honey was warm.

"Anyway," he shook his head and dipped his ash to the ground again.

"What happened to your father?"

"He was murdered."

"Oh, I'm s-sorry."

"I don't even remember it," he pointed to his chest, nearly burning himself with his cigarette. "This guy broke into our house," he said, very forthright, right before taking another drag of his smoke, "And my dad was temperamental – worse than me – and so he hears this sound you know, in the middle of the night," Ben was talking quietly now and leaning into me, as if he was entertaining a group of kids around a campfire with a ghost story, so I had to lean into hear him better. "And he gets pissed – not afraid. His wife's right next to him and we had no pets and I was at a friend's house – but according to my mom he thought I'd come home early and was about to ream me out for it when instead he came across a burglar in our living room frantically stuffing his bag like some reverse version of Santa Claus, so my dad yells out at him what the fuck are you doing and the guy turns and shoots my dad – this according to my mom, anyway."

The house had become incredibly quiet. Wylder was sleeping over by the hammock.

"What do you mean, this according to your mom?"

Ben shrugged and added a cigarette butt to at least fifteen others in the Honolulu girl ashtray and leaned back so his arms stretched out along the couch's headrest, one arm behind me and the other behind the spot no one was sitting.

"They fought a lot, sometimes I wonder if she killed him because there were no other reports of burglaries in our area," he sliced the air with his hand holding the cigarette, "Or even any area anywhere near ours. They never caught the guy. It just seemed too random. Anyway I just decided I'd run from all the questions, whatever," the word was clipped with laughter, "Or drive from them, and just... forget – pretend I was someone else. So I got a truck – not the one I have now of course, and as soon as I was old enough to drive, I was old enough to leave. I'd go to Seattle and just start meeting people... men, they'd let me crash at their place, play me their record collections," Ben's eyes tightened as his lips became best friends with his smoke again, he leaned his head back after the drag and sighed out the smoke. "And one night I woke up with this man on top of me I didn't know and I was like, sixteen," his face bent into the most diligent frown when he said 'sixteen,' "The room was full of strangers laughing and telling him what to do to me – and I thought – that's it," he held his hands up in surrender, a slightly bewildered grin marking his face, "I'm getting out of here. And free, you know, I was free," he looked at me and nudged me with his elbow, "I could go anywhere because I could drive." He smiled; proud he'd made his point.

"Okay, I get it – was that the point to that whole story?"

"No, it wasn't the point," he shook his head. He put his arm around me and gave me a half-hug. I rested my head against his shoulder. He let out one of those deep sighs through his nostrils that blew a few soft strands of my hair. His flannel shirt must have been washed about a thousand times because it was so soft. "I just want to help you... and I might not always be... I mean... available. Don't you want some kind of independence?"

"Yeah, I guess its time." I just didn't feel ready – because no one had really readied me. I closed my eyes and gave in to the fact that right now, at this very moment, I was safe.

"Sleepy?" Ben asked. I nodded.

"That tea was very relaxing."

"So... won't your parents wonder where you are?"

"No."

I woke up in Ben's bed. He wasn't there; he'd slept on the couch. I didn't remember getting in the bed, so he must have carried me. He had the biggest comfiest bed ever; fluffy white pillows and the warmest comforter – cool, white and soft as silk. I had little patterns of squares and triangles. It felt so clean. There was a movie poster from Scorpio Rising across from the bed with a gay biker looking right at me, wearing a cop hat off to the side of his head, a provocative expression on his face, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his thick lips, as baby-blue lighting bathed his shirtless chest, topped off by slashes of this morning's soft sunlight. I was still in my clothes, except for my shoes, which I guess Ben took off when he tucked me in. What was he thinking when he did that? What was he really thinking? The stuff no one dared say, the stuff pushed down into that deep place when people asked you how you were and you tripped out the norm, "Fine."

When I woke up I heard Ben's laughter and someone else's voice, Mark's I guess, intertwined. The disappointment I felt when I heard his voice filled me up like an unsatisfactory meal. I walked out into the hallway. The apartment was alive with sunlight. Ben was at the kitchen table with Mark, who was still in his Linda Rondstadt shirt, which I assumed must have something to do with his sense of humor. Ben was looking at me, an open-mouthed grin leftover from laughing.

"Morning, sunshine," he said. Mark just looked at me, about as appreciative of my presence as I was of his.

"Yeah." It wasn't an answer or a response, just a word to fulfill the responsibility of feeling like I needed to speak. Ben got up as I walked over to the table. I sat down and casually looked up at Mark. He was probably cute ten years ago. Now he had terrible dark circles under his pale blue eyes. His eyebrows were going gray. He had his right ear pierced with a tiny gold stud. He hit me with his blue eyes, not liking the fact that I was staring at him, and I looked down at the table.

Ben brought the frying pan over. I tried to find some kind of appetite within me when I noticed an envelope under my plate.

"Have some breakfast," Ben said, scraping eggs off the surface of the pan. Meanwhile Mark sorrowfully gazed down at the ashtray. I wasn't for anyone lecturing anybody else over his or her bad habits, but Ben's smoking was out of control.

"So what does today mean for everyone?" Mark asked, tearing his eyes away from the ashtray and looking at Ben. I thought the question was kind of weird. Ben ignored it and looked at me, pointing at the envelope under my plate.

"Open it," he said.

I pulled the white envelope out from under the warm plate of food. It was still open, with the flap tucked inside. I saw four concert tickets inside and flipped out, jumping up so my chair fell backwards.

"Oh my God!" I read the black inscriptions – ROW 1, LOLLAPALOOZA, SATURDAY JUNE 9th, and I ran over to Ben and hugged him from behind his chair. "You're fucking amazing – God put you here to make me happy."

Ben laughed into his coffee mug, glowing with pride. Mark just stared at him bitterly.

"I told you I was getting them for you, you that surprised?"

"Well people say shit all the time but man, oh my God, I have to call Mariah – can I call her now?"

"Sure."

Ben was trying to ignore Mark's stare. He looked at everything else on and around the table but Mark. As I picked up the phone to call Mariah I heard Mark ask to speak to Ben in the bedroom.

Ben stood up and followed Mark to the room where

I'd been sleeping just minutes ago when Mariah answered.

"Hello?"

"Mariah, oh my God, I have news – big fucking news –

"Where are you?" she cut me off, her voice big with wonder.

"What... I don't know..."

"Your mom's been calling here, was I supposed to cover for you last night?"

"Uh..."

"God, please tell me its not Fletcher – did you lose it to Fletcher?"

"Ah! No."

"Sarah, where are you?" she asked again.

"Ben's."

"Ben?" She didn't ever relate my boss to an actual person, an actual person you'd hang out with by choice, so she was trying to think of a Ben from school, but we didn't know any. "Ben?"

"Ben... my boss."

"Eew Ben? What? Why?"

"Cos the cops were at my house again last night and I didn't want to deal with that shit – what have I ever done to have to deserve to deal with that shit? Listen – I have Lollapalooza tickets – fucking front row Lollapalooza tickets!"

"What! How?"

"Eew Ben."

"He got tickets – like plural?"

"Yeah – four."

"Wow, no wonder you spent the night with him."

"Hey! What? No, its not like that, what?" I was baffled, loudly conversing with my own emotions. Meanwhile I could hear Ben and Mark yelling down the hall.

"Hey, I have an idea," Mariah said, "I'll call your mom and tell her you were at work and came over after she called – think that'll work?"

"Who knows, worth a shot. Thanks. Um, I should go – I'll call you later."

"Yeah, hey," she caught me just before I was about to hang up. "Tell Ben thanks."

"Yup."

I hung up and walked out of the kitchen so I stood at the beginning of the hallway where I could hear the fight.

"This is not a Sally thing," I heard Ben emphasize.

"Then what is it?"

"Its nothing – its you making it a big deal." Ben lowered his voice so I couldn't hear what he said next. Then he went back to yelling, throwing words around with animosity as big as furniture. "This is you finding something else wrong with me so we can once again overlook your flaws!"

"You never even touch me! You don't even hold my hand anymore."

"Oh Jesus," Ben marveled.

"And now you're laughing at me?"

"Look, we're like..." Ben searched for a word, "Going through a drought... phase – it will pass, every couple goes through this."

"So what does the gothic Lolita have to do with it?"

"Nothing," Ben stated, his voice dropping into a world of calm no one had any way of getting into. "She's just a young girl no one looks after – no one – she's out there wandering around and anything can happen to her – this is my chance to be a good person in someone's life because obviously I'm not good enough for yours!"

"What?"

"You're always finding shit wrong with me – I drink too much, I smoke too much –

"You smoke as much as you breathe!"

"That is not what this is about – that girl has no one looking out for her – she could end up dead."

"Why you though? Why does it have to be you to play this father figure role?"

"Because no one else auditioned."

Chapter 19

Lips A-Go-Go

I promise, rarely is a car ever even seen out here." We were sitting in Ben's huge truck near an open field. Two days had passed since I spent the night at his house. Miraculously, Mom bought Mariah's lie about me spending the night with her, and had been in a relatively calm mood. Ben was basically my secret gay boyfriend. Now he was attempting to teach me how to drive. He'd taken me out a few miles from where he lived, where civilization was even sparser. There were a few disintegrated houses here and there that basically looked like giant Popsicle sticks glued together. Ben was in the passenger's seat, waiting for me to attempt to drive. The road was quietly waiting; all I had to do was summon up the courage.

"You look terrified," he said, almost laughing.

"I am."

"You're only afraid of it because you don't know how to do it."

I just stared at the quiet road before me. My mouth was completely dry and I felt a little queasy. I could easily blame that on the heat. It was so hazy everything around looked like a fresh watercolor painting. But I felt like my sickness was caused by something else.

"My God, you're shaking," Ben took notice.

I looked right at him. "I can't do this." I took my hands from the steering wheel and started to get out.

"Come on, Sarah, nothing is going to happen – I promise you cars never come out here – there's no reason. This is all for you – just think; God put this land here for you to learn how to drive."

"I don't want to. I can't explain it – I'm just plain terrified of this shit." I was bitchy. It was severely hot and I felt like Ben was forcing me to do this. "And this is a nice truck, you really want me to fuck it up?"

"I won't let that happen, trust me." I knew he wouldn't, there wasn't a sliver of doubt in his tone.

Gothic Lolita. Ha. I found myself smirking.

"What?" He was smirking, too.

"Nothing." I moved my hands, reaching for something I wanted but wasn't there.

"Are you having one of your attacks?"

I shook my head. That wasn't it. It was just a very sad helpless feeling. Guilt. Unexplained guilt. Maybe something bad just happened at my house, something that would change my life forever. But no, that wasn't it either, this was something that couldn't be figured out and therefore couldn't be stopped.

"I think we should go," I said. "I mean I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I can't even afford a car and I plan on moving to Chicago soon so I won't need one."

I felt bad, like I'd let Ben down. He wanted this more than I did. He finally shrugged, dissatisfied but giving up. He got out of his side of the car and I got out of mine and we switched. I watched him start the car up and drive off without even a second thought as to how much trust was involved in such an act.

July had come with thicker walls of heat. If I moved an inch or thought too long about any certain thing, I felt a heatstroke coming on.

"Just wait till we get to Miami," Mariah said, fanning herself as we lounged in lawn chairs, too exhausted from the heat to even make it five steps to the pool. "We're gonna roast."

Roast yeah. But as long as something changed, I was cool with that.

"Your hair is blacker than before," Mariah said. "You probably shouldn't go swimming later or your hair will turn green."

"Hey Mariah?" I had other stuff on my mind, which was good because it helped keep my mind off the heat.

"Yeah?"

"You mad at me? I mean cos we had to leave Ziggy's?" It was something I'd wanted to ask for a while, but fear of the answer kept me from doing so.

"No. I mean it kind of sucks but... hey, we're gonna meet them again."

"They're getting famous quick." I looked over at her. "You ever feel... I don't know... freaked out about your future? Like you feel something bad's gonna happen, but you can't stop it?" Forced into a black van of doubt? Helpless?

"No – you?"

I nodded and stared out into the woods beyond the pool. "There are things about me... I don't understand."

"Like what?"

"Like the attacks – where my whole body goes numb all of a sudden... and then... I don't know. I have weird memories that don't feel like mine – like I don't really know the people in them. They make no sense."

"I'm sure its just the heat and stress. You've been going through a lot." She stood up. "I find if you just focus on the future instead of the past, good things eventually happen. Come on, I can't take this heat anymore."

I came back from 'Palooza tanned just in time to go to Florida. I worked nonstop between the two concerts because I'd rather spend time with Ben than at home. He bought me breakfast every morning and we ate biscuits in the back of the store while we listened to Jayhawks. To this day I still can't listen to Blue without tasting egg and cheese in the back of my throat.

That afternoon would be the last time I'd see Ben until I got back from Miami... if I even came back. Ben and I walked out to the parking lot together and stopped at his truck. He looked me as he stood on the other side of his truck.

"Listen, be safe on your trip, alright?"

"Yup." I looked down at the ground and pressed my foot against his huge tire, sticking the tip of my sneaker in a hole of the trailer rim.

"And uh... if you meet any boys... keep them at a distance cos... they can't appreciate girls like you – or anything really, boys can't appreciate anything." He sounded sour.

"Uh... okay." I looked at him funny because he was being weird.

"Sarah!" Mariah called, in a hurry to buy stuff for our trip.

"I almost wish I hadn't given you the time off," Ben suddenly admitted, ignoring Mariah entirely, keeping his eyes on me.

"Why?"

He just looked at me like a drowning puppy.

"You okay?" I asked. I knew he wasn't. "You afraid I'm gonna run off into the sunset with Chino Moreno?"

He seemed very bothered by something.

"Just be careful." He got into his truck and started up his music before lighting a cigarette and driving off. I sighed a sigh just for him and him alone.

Mariah and I stayed in a weather-beaten oceanfront motel called Sandy Dawn in Myrtle Beach. It actually wasn't that bad, a part of me really loved the feel of the fake grass carpet on the balconies against my bare feet, the smell of saltwater mixed in with coconut-scented sunscreen, and the doomy hollow sound of a soda can fumbling from the cold depths of the vending machine.

I stared at the simple collection of belongings on the bedside table – car keys, wallets, concert tickets, and chapstick, before turning off the lights. It was a little after one in the morning and we were both too excited to fall asleep right away. Tomorrow was the concert. We'd just returned from a walk on the beach. Triangular tan lines framed my tits and they smelled like saltwater and felt clammy from the room's AC. I stopped touching myself and brought my hands out from under the papery blanket. I looked over at Mariah because she was so quiet I thought maybe she'd fallen asleep after all.

"Hey?" I called out. Then I tossed the Hit Parader magazine onto her bed to snap her out of it. "You alive?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Boys."

"Boys?!" I cried out jokingly, "Eww!"

"Yeah," she turned on her side and looked at me and I turned on my side so I was looking at her. "What are you thinking about?"

"The sand particles on my bed sheet, I like that, you know when the sheets are totally clean except for sand." And this bed I haven't cried in.

"Yeah, that is nice." Then a few seconds later she pouted, "Tired of being a virgin." She waited for me to say something. "Aren't you?" she asked.

"Yeah... I don't know. Like once you do it, you can't go back."

"Hmmm... but come on? How long can you can you go without having sex?"

"You want to lose your virginity to Chi," I guessed. She smiled. "Or Chi and Chino at the same time."

"Is that possible?" she asked with heavy connotation.

"I think it could be."

"Oh my God..."

"Like if they popped you on back and forth."

"Ah!" she cackled.

"Like a hat!"

I laughed so hard my belly hurt.

"Shh!" she said. "Shit, the people next door are gonna complain..."

"Did you see them?"

"The mothball twins," I laughed. Because they smelled like mothballs and their puffy white hair reminded me of mothballs too. Mariah got quiet. Our realization was the same, caught in the air like the room's dust in the twilight, hey, we're young, can we stay like this forever, prized wonder, cherished innocence, come on, let's try...

"Mariah?" my voice crawled up the wall again, like one of the water bugs I was sure this motel kept.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think Ben's cute?"

"What? Oh gross – are you serious?" Mariah was mortified.

"Huh, no."

"He's like so old."

"He's thirty-seven!"

"You're seventeen," she reminded. "That's totally wrong in so many ways."

Truth be told, I wasn't even sure he was thirty-seven. I'd just said that because that was my guess. His age simply never came up in conversation. He was old enough to make me feel safe – that was all I needed to know.

I cleared my throat and thought so hard about another subject that I got dizzy. "So what time do you wanna get there tomorrow?"

"By four, and we're sticking around until we meet them. I don't care how long it takes. I'm not leaving until I find Chi."

"Totally."

We got quiet again. I concentrated on the tiny sand particles on my sheet, even trying to count them with my big toe. I was pretty sure Mariah had fallen asleep. I listened to the waves crash down over those big rocks piled up against the boardwalk, and then a door opening and closing across the hall. No one could see what was going on in my own head, which I always found quite profound. These things, I kept to myself. These things that rocked me in the middle of the night, my naked body pressed against a bed I'd never sleep in again, and the next person to sleep in it would have no idea of my entire existence. There was a strange power in that, which slowly ignited a fire in me that almost matched the one already spreading. Ben. I thought about Ben. I thought about the clothes he wore – the dry fabric of his denim, the cold silver clasp of his belt between my legs as I crawled on top of him and took in that man smell – grass, nicotine, sweat, desperation, secrets – and pressed my innocence against them all, as my petite body shivered against his weight, so we could both experience something new. He was too afraid – too lambasted by what was occurring to touch me. So as my hair fell around his face and grandiose permission to do whatever he wanted to me took hold of him, I pushed the soft cloth strip area of my panties to the left to feel the cold hard belt buckle right there, it was too much – its ice cube coldness against my curious warmth – so my body jerked away but he grabbed me, pulling me back against him, his incredible warmth, and kissed me so hard I felt my teeth move. And I was about to touch myself when Mariah said

"You know that beer bottle?" I removed my hand from my ready-to-twirl-dime and dealt with the agitation as I tried to act natural. "The one Chi gave us?" she went on.

"Yeah."

"I still have it."

"Oh."

"I think about his spit on it... like his tongue... touching the tip... is that weird?"

"No."

All of a sudden I wanted to laugh. I couldn't help myself, I turned and pressed my face into the giant pillow and laughed so hard I started crying. She was laughing too. It felt good – a temporary release of our sexual frustration. Me wanting to bang a gay man and her wanting to lose it to a rock star on tour. You had to laugh!

Her laugh eventually mellowed. "I kind of wish we hadn't drank from it, you know, so it would just be his spit on it – and then..."

A soft hushed silence fell over the room before we both burst out laughing again. I knew what she was going to say, and that was enough. She didn't have to go on, because our faces were hot and we couldn't take talking about this anymore. I fell asleep with my face pressed against the damp spots on my pillow from my happy tears.

Crazy: One night I was looking at bad motel art and the next I was staring at Chino's chinos sagging below the waist as he screamed his heart out at me and drops of sweat plopped from his face to mine. His sneakers were hidden under his sagging pants as he crouched on top of the amp and screamed bloody murder into the microphone. I stretched my arm up so far for so long it started throbbing but I refused to bring it down until I touched him.

"I LOVE YOU, CHINO!"

He responded by screaming right in my face and I screamed back. I managed to touch his arm before he jumped down from the speaker and fell on his back and started rapping, "Life's a bitch and then ya die – that's why we get high – cos you never know when you gonna go," he got up and started strutting around on stage, throwing the microphone down in one quick jab that surely left a mark in the floor. "Life's a bitch and then ya die that's why we puff lye cos you never know when you gonna go," then he broke out into screams that vibrated against my chest and the moshpit became a deathtrap and every second you moved was an attempt at saving your own life. "LIFE'S A BITCH AND THEN YOU DIE THAT'S WHY WE GET HIGH COS YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN YOU GONNA GO! LIFE'S A BITCH AND THEN YOU DIE – THEN YOU DIE! MOTHERFUCKER!" he shrieked and grabbed his pants like little boys did when they had to pee, and started jumping around and screaming some more. "LIFE'S A BITCH AND THEN YOU DIE – YOU JUST FUCKING DIE!!!!!!!!!!" Chi followed Chino's screams with even louder ones that hurt my throat to hear and then Chino dove into the crowd and it was complete mayhem, with my body getting crushed between bigger sturdier bodies, my cheek smeared against the back of a guy's sweaty t-shirt, elbows, fists and knees falling around me like rocks, and without any control over it I was pushed backwards in the giant sea of bodies and another elbow stabbed me in the head so hard I suffered a stinging sensation for the next hour.

The parking lot glistened with rain just like our faces glistened with sweat. My ears were ringing and my chest hurt from an unplanned meeting with the barrier in front of the stage and I really wanted to get back to the motel and fetch some ice to put on it and just lie there as my hearing slowly came back to me so I could listen to the waves crash down on the rocks and tiny broken seashells. But Mariah wasn't going anywhere until she got to see Chi.

"What... what the hell – where's my car?" She looked at the parking space we definitely used, and over at the dented shopping cart by the tree we definitely remembered seeing when we arrived.

"I don't have it." I said, thinking it would be funny, but this wasn't the right time for funny.

"We parked here, right? Or am I crazy?" she was in a foul mood. Deftones had too many fans now, and they stood in mobs around the tour bus, waiting. Some had works of art to give the band – impressive drawings of Chino crouching on his amp.

"No, I remember that tree," Mariah recalled, "Because it had that shopping cart next to it – see look." I nodded and looked around.

"Where's my fucking car!" she exploded. I just stared at the ground, at wrist bands and beer bottles, secretly happy about this – because if anything was a sure sign I wouldn't be able to go back home, it was not having a car to take us there. Mariah turned around and looked over at the huge Deftones tour bus with the glow-in-the-dark palm tree painted on the side. I felt her eyes fall down on my face; I felt her heated anger just like I would if she were strangling me with her hands.

"Sarah?" she said, uneasy. "Did you remember to lock your door?"

Oh man. Oh fucking man.

I just looked at her, my expression was enough to let her know that yes, I'd forgotten to lock her car. I was as guilty as the thieves who took it.

"Shit." She started to walk off in the direction of nothing but a closed down YMCA, beyond that a sparsely lit road that surely led to no place happy. Then she turned around and headed back to me.

"How could you fucking do this?" she asked.

I looked over where a streetlight glare got lost in a head of black snaky dreadlocks. I recognize the glow-in-the-dark tube socks and that cool strut. No one else in the world walked quite like that.

"Oooh...," I moaned, "Oh, oh my God, its Chino."

Chino was someone I knew I'd never have sex with because I couldn't even talk to him when he came around.

Mariah looked over at him. Chi was right next to him, his hands in his pockets. They were suddenly standing in front of us, stoned to Mars. Chino looked at me and I had to look away, so I looked where our car should be.

"Hey," Chino said.

"Hey," I managed to say.

"What's going on?" Chi inquired.

"My fucking car's been stolen," Mariah said. I can't imagine what she was feeling at that moment – with her car gone and her ultimate dream boy standing right before her.

"Yeah? Well someone stole my fucking shoe," Chino said, trying to make us laugh. He kicked up his foot only dressed in a clean white tube-sock. "Fuck, who the fuck would want one shoe? I feel like a dick walking around with one goddamn shoe on, man." He looked down at the ground, his hands on his hips, his lips tightly pressed together as a frown took over his face. His black eyes darted back up at me and I had to look away once again.

"Girls want a beer?" Chi offered.

"Yeah," Mariah sighed, looking back at the empty parking space where her car used to be. Chino strutted off towards the tour bus and Chi followed him. Chino suddenly belted, "I want my fucking shoe! Fuck this shit!"

I immediately looked at Mariah. "We have no way to leave... and they have a bus."

"My car has been stolen," she stressed, "We have to report it."

"Dude, Mariah, its just a car – you know how many cars are out there? Just forget about it."

"I can't just forget about my car – our ride home tomorrow? You know, in the fucking car?"

"They're coming back," I said.

"Who took your shoe?" Chi was asking Chino. "Was it her?" Chi playfully pointed at me and handed me a beer.

"If I was going to take something off him it wouldn't be his shoe," I said.

"Oh, snap, Chino!" Chi laughed and jumped back, popping Chino in the chest with the back of his hand. Chino cracked a grin and looked shyly back down at the ground. Was he really shy? Was the guy that intimidated me into total muteness shy? "Damn, son. Yo, Chino, just take off all your clothes," Chi's raspy laughter was contagious and soon we were all laughing. "That way it won't matter if you only have one shoe on." Chino smiled up at the sky and shook his head at Chi's silliness.

"Hey!" some guy suddenly called out to us, running across the street. He stopped once he got to us, out of breath. He was wearing a beanie pulled down tight over his head. He smelled like garbage. He bent over for a second; hands to his knees trying to catch his breathe before straightening back up. "Hey," he said again, before he noticed Chi and Chino, recognizing them instantly and extended a hand. "Oh man, you guys are the fucking shit, your show was the fucking shit."

"Thanks, bro," Chi said, looking back at the bus. The guy looked over at Mariah.

"Hey, you were screaming about your car being stolen earlier?"

"Yeah," she gave him her undivided attention. "You know what happened?"

He boldly popped her in the chest with his hand. "Yo, I know who took it, yo."

At about this time, Chino started walking back to his bus, seemingly bored.

"Hey, I'm gonna go get some more beers," Chi said before leaving with him. Too much was going on and I was overwhelmed. I looked at the guy claiming to know where our car was. He had bad teeth and was trying unsuccessfully to grow a mustache.

"I know where your car is," he said again, pulling on his beanie. He pulled it so far down it covered his ears, then he rolled it up, then he took it off entirely and waved it around before pulling it back on again. He was the type of person that couldn't stand still for even a second.

"Where is it?" Mariah asked.

I looked at his pasty skin and watery eyes. Something wasn't right about this kid. He licked his lips and was quiet for a minute, as if it took a second for Mariah's question to compute.

"Over there," he pointed in the general vicinity of the liquor store; his excitement over the matter seemed to have worn off.

I didn't believe him. "Where exactly?"

"Huh?" he frowned and then snapped, "Over there!"

"Who took it?" Mariah asked him, unfazed by his moodiness.

He grew antsy. He kept pulling on his beanie before slinging a fist into the palm of his other hand, making a loud pop. "These fucking punks, man, they took it, and then they got scared and left it over there." He seemed quite upset over the whole thing – but I wasn't sure if he was upset that the "punks" took the car, or left it in the parking lot because they were scared.

"This is really our car?" I asked.

"The red Toyota with the Nine Inch Nails sticker on the back, that one."

"That's it," Mariah confirmed.

"Come on," the boy turned to cross the street, waving a frantic hand. "Because I don't know, but these punks might change their mind and come back for it, they're crazy."

We crossed the dark street and followed the boy down an alley between the shabby liquor store and a Wachovia Bank. I was shocked when I saw Mariah's car undamaged and parked in the small parking lot behind the liquor store.

The boy stood there staring at us, expecting something. "See, see, I wouldn't lyin'."

Mariah looked at him suspiciously as she walked around the car, reviewing it for any flaws. The boy kept his eye on her and his hand on his crotch. I kept my eye on him. I realized I was utterly helpless defense-wise. I had nothing – no knife, no gun, not even pepper spray.

Mariah inspected the car, opening the doors and looking in ever corner. She shot the boy another look as she popped open the trunk. She shut it back and looked at me.

"Let's go."

I started walking over to the passenger's side when a

group of guys came down the alleyway, clearly thinking they'd have use of Mariah's car. The one leading the pack, the one with the pink scar under his right eye and swollen bottom lip like he'd recently been in a brawl, stopped when he saw us. He looked over at the boy who brought us here.

"Yo, Frankie – what the fuck, man?"

Frankie stuttered. "I – I –

"You fucking rat us out, man?"

"Huh, no," Frankie was pained, grabbing himself and whining, "No, no, man." And then I realized that Frankie might have been mentally challenged, or suffered permanent damage from drugs – LSD – I'd seen that happen before to people I knew back in Salisbury. I almost felt sorry for him.

"You fucking ratted us out!" The boy with the scar shrieked. Then he suddenly asked, "You want us to fuck you again?"

It was outright ridiculous that Mariah and I just stood there, but we were too enthralled to move. Frankie gripped his beanie and started crying. He moved around but didn't seem to go anywhere. The boy with the scar slammed a bottle against the pavement so it shattered in seconds. "Come the fuck here!" he yelled at Frankie. Then I felt two clammy hands slap down on my shoulders – Frankie – he grabbed me and pushed me out towards the boy with the scar. The boy caught me but wasn't interested, and flung me to his friends to hold. Then everything sped up, I swear, things happened so fast I couldn't keep up with them. I remember calling Mariah's name and I heard her say something and I heard Frankie scream and it wasn't anything human, it sounded like a wild animal hurt in the most painful place, and the boys pushed me against the building and ripped my shirt and the boy with the scar came over with the broken bottle.

"Let's take this slow," he said.

"Hey!" I heard a guy call from the alley. "What you do! What you do!"
Chapter 20

The Finale of Love

Shit!"" I was screaming down at the floor, swinging my feet.

"I have to see it," the doctor kept repeating. There was blood everywhere. I was like a painting that had come alive, dripping its color all over the place, its image sliding off onto the floor. Soon there'd be nothing – a vast white nothing just like there was in the very beginning.

I had my feet up on the bed so the paper covering kept tearing and nurses kept trying to get me to put my legs back down, palms always on my knees. Blood was in my mouth and I had to spit it out unless I wanted to swallow it. And blood didn't go down easily; it curled like a slimy snail and tried to come back up.

"Let us see," a nurse coaxed, running out of patience. The doctor had his hands over my ears, trying to hold my head still.

I coughed and cried, "No." I fought them, trying to look past them into the other room. "What did they do – where's Mariah? Where's Mariah?"

"You're going to need stitches," the doctor informed me.

"No!" I coughed again, because I was choking on my own blood. "Where's Mari- Mariah!" I was hysterical. I couldn't remember anything; something split my lip up and then I don't know what happened. "Where's Mariah!"

"Calm down," a nurse grabbed my wrists, "Can we give her something to calm her down?" she called out.

"Jesus," the doctor was overwhelmed and annoyed with my refusal to let him help me. "I can't see the cut for the blood." I felt something sharp sting my arm and I was out.

I kind of liked my scar. No, I didn't like where it came from, or the image permanently implanted in my head of the boy wanting to do some kind of damage before he took off into the night when the liquor store clerk came out, but I liked the fact that I had a scar that didn't come from home. It sort of reminded me of the crack in Mariah's windshield (which had come from broken glass the night her car was stolen) because when the sun hit such a crack, it looked so pretty. I was lucky – that would be what they'd say if I told anyone what happened – they'd say I was lucky I wasn't raped.

"He really does live away from everything – you weren't kidding," Mariah said on my final drive out to Ben's house before I left for Chicago.

"Yeah, I love it out here. The smell of his backyard is amazing." I could live out here, I remembered thinking.

"Is he hiding out here because he's gay?" Mariah asked, rather blatantly. I didn't think, or maybe didn't want to think, Ben was gay.

"No." I was repulsed by the question. "He likes it out here."

"Just sayin – two men living together in this homophobic town, I would think moving out to a secluded area like this would be why... whatever."

I was tired and anxious to start my new life in Chicago, so I just couldn't devote many words to any certain subject. Ben hadn't seen me since I got back from Florida – so he didn't know about my new scar. I had a tan and my hair was blonde again. I looked like I did when the summer started, except for the deep scar that ran from my upper lip almost up into my nostril. They almost sliced my nose off, those bastards.

I was afraid for what Ben's reaction would be. But the moshpit story worked with mom, who just looked at me and said, "That's what you get for being obsessed with a bunch of Mexicans."

People who worked at Record Bar, along with Ben and Mark, were hanging out on his back porch when we arrived.

"So remember, this happened in the pit," I said, referring to my new scar.  
"Yup."

She pulled up into the driveway. I sat there, feeling uneasy.

"You coming?" Mariah was looking at me, her head turned so the sun shot through her purple hair. I took in the colors around me – her hair, the red of Ben's picket fence – things I'd never see again after today. It was 6:12 on a balmy summer afternoon. The sun was like a floodlight shooting out from behind the barn. I opened Mariah's car door and prepared myself for the shock on people's faces when they saw my scar. It was fresh; it was very noticeable and jumped out at you as soon as you saw me. It looked like a piece of gum stuck to my upper lip. And it was here to stay. I couldn't go back. I had what I had and I had to walk on with it.

Mariah seemed a bit freaked to be at Ben's house, to see his life, to see the person he really was. Ben got up off the wicker couch to hug me when his elated expression turned to shock.

"Sarah," he put his hand on my chin to get a better look, "What happened?"

"It happened in the pit," I said, almost too prepared, "This asshole had a broken bottle in his hand."

"What?"

I looked up at him, pressing my lips together and nodded, very docile. Something in his eyes changed.

"How many stitches did you have to get?" Ben asked.

"Six." He was touching my lip and staring at my face. "I'm okay," I said.

"You're going to end up getting killed because of this band," he said, astounded as his hand fell to his side.

"Nah." But maybe he was right – after all, the first night I saw them I'd said I wanted it to be the last night of my life, so maybe I'd cursed myself somehow.

Ben put his hands on my shoulders. "Want something to drink?"

"Yeah, where's Wylder?"

"In the house, come on."

I followed Ben into the house. I was always intimidated by large crowds at parties and was happier to be by myself with him than out there with everyone staring at my scar in silent dismay. The majority of the people here worked at Record Bar; people Ben invited because he thought I liked them, but I didn't really. I knew what they thought of Ben, they thought he was going to Hell because of his lifestyle. Ben pulled me down the hallway, his hand around my wrist as if he never intended on letting go. We were in the middle of the hallway, so the sunset's glare poured in through the side door at the end. I wondered if Mark was here.

"Hey, what –

"You sure that happened in the moshpit?" he asked, looking down at me.

"Yeah."

I hated lying to Ben but I didn't want to go through the true story. I didn't really see the point.

"That's just... such a beautiful face."

"You think?" I was amazed and embarrassed all at once.

"That's not something someone thinks – it's something someone knows, it's a fact." He put his hand on my face again so his palm covered my right cheek entirely. His hand was so warm, like a warm oven mitt. If I moved my head just a little to the right, I could have kissed his palm. I looked up at him, at his dark brown eyes, silly brilliant hair, his rubicund cheeks.

"I want to ask you something," I said.

"Yeah?" his voice shuttered a bit.

"When you think of me what am I doing – like when you stop and think about me during the day when I'm not around – in your head, what am I doing?"

"Ben," Mark called from the kitchen, "So you're having this party right? Cos people are asking for more drinks."

"Yeah." Ben took his hand away from my face, but not his eyes. If either of us had the nerve to say what we were thinking at that moment, I might not have ever gone to Chicago.

Chapter 21

Shut Up, Lou Reed

Where is it?" I muttered, pen between my teeth as I leaned over a box. I'd been in the middle of writing a new song but I got distracted when I became obsessed with finding that book Ben gave me, On The Road, which I'd never read.

Just yesterday I was in Boys Town, having coffee at Kokomo Café. Lou Reed, as usual, howled on the jukebox. Everyone that popped by this café – ravers, businessmen, squatters – all loved Walk On The Wild Side. Friends were all around me – some I knew better than I ever wanted while others were merely acquaintances.

A group of kids in the back started singing along to the song, their collective voices – some drunk and some high on caffeine – collectively shot up from the floor like a cannon. "Say hey sugar! Take a walk on the wild side!" One of them probably had a flask stored away in the inside pocket of their jacket, or perhaps their celebratory moods were caused by the rush of spring sweeping in to finally take us from winter's grip. Skin was swelling, eyes were becoming more alert, smiles were popping back up on people's faces.

I'd been sitting at the coffee bar next to my new best friend Eleanor. While her amazingly soft brown eyes skimmed the selection of board games piled on the near-black wooden shelf behind the counter, I heard my voice over my own voice. My voice was on the radio! Few people got to say great things about themselves regarding big dreams coming true. That was mine – my voice was on the radio.

"El!" I gasped, almost falling into her. Eleanor was shorter than me, thick, heavenly adorable, and softer than a pile of pillows. "Eleanor, that's my song – I mean my song."

She looked at me and frowned and smiled at the same time, a Capricorn thing, and a deep crease developed between her eyebrows. Her bottom lip puffed out to complete the infamous Eleanor Gisby pout.

"That's my song," I said again.

"Your song?" she asked, feeling the elation, as her frown dropped to make room for a full-blown smile. "AH!" she grabbed hold of me and shook me and then kissed me right on the lips. "YOUR SONG!"

I left my hand out to point to the radio behind the espresso bar in disbelief, the dumbest smile hanging on my face. You could barely hear Charge Of Night Brigade over the group of kids still shouting along to Lou Reed.

"Hey!" Eleanor hollered to the barista, who, like many people here, was born with a crush on her. He turned, bright-eyed when he looked at her.

"Yeah?"

"Can you turn up the radio? This is her band," she put her arm around me, "Her band's on the radio right now!"

"Shit, really?" he dried his hands with a white hand towel as he rushed over to the old boombox, which sat on the weak, rotting wooden shelf above the board games. I listened to my own voice screaming. That didn't sound like me. At first I was a little embarrassed, blushing even.

"This is really amazing," Eleanor looked at me. I could tell she was being sincere, because, well, Eleanor never lied.

Everyone around me was hearing me now. I was everywhere. Then the DJ came on and I listened, nervous to the point of feeling nauseous, to hear what he had to say about my song.

"That was Veronica's Car Crash, Chicago's latest all-girl rock band to emerge onto the Chi-cah-go music scene, song's called Charge Of Night Brigade, I like that, I bet we'll be getting some requests for that, alright we'll be right back with a Nirvana block after this."

"Oh my God," Eleanor was almost more elated than I was. "Your stuff's gonna be followed up by Nirvana."

I didn't know what to say. The barista placed my iced cappuccino down on the bar, turned the radio down and Lou Reed took over again.

"Cappuccino, I bet you wanna cappu-chino," Eleanor giggled. Next month we were going to see Deftones at Metro. Becoming friends with Eleanor didn't take much – her telling me they were her favorite band (besides Rage Against The Machine) basically did the trick. "Shit, you think they've heard your song?" she wondered. "Like the bands you like – listening to you – that's huge."

It was huge. But none of that mattered now. Things had collapsed. A day could be like a tsunami and ruin your entire life, crash down on it and drown the important things, and the only thing I wanted to find in the wreckage now was that copy of On The Road. Ben gave me a lot of things at my going-away party – a Nine Inch Nails hoodie, Marilyn Manson imports, and five-hundred dollars to get me on my feet once I got here – but the only thing I wanted right now was that book, and not because of what Jack Kerouac wrote in it, but because of what Ben wrote on the back of the front cover, because I couldn't remember.

"What are you looking for?" Jeneane snapped. I'd been carrying on this search all day, dragging stuff out of my closet into the hallway, walking back and forth, recovering my steps; refusing to give up.

"A book – On The Road by Jack Kerouac."

"I've never seen that, I didn't even know you owned that book."

"Well I do, someone really cool gave me a copy a long time ago." I wasn't going to say 'and now he's dead,' because I couldn't handle saying that out loud – I couldn't even handle knowing it. Ben.

"I think Lindsay has a copy."

"No, no – I need mine."

"Well I don't think you packed it when you moved."

"What? No, it has to be here." It just had to be, nothing else was acceptable. I quickly wiped a tear away before Jeneane could notice.

"Its not... though," she laid off the harshness but the fact that she was telling the truth was setting in. "I packed your stuff, remember? You were out cold from what happened at the Veruca Salt show."

I stopped and looked at her, hopefully getting across how detrimental this was by the look in my eyes. "You packed everything? You sure?"

"Yeah – you really didn't have much. Don't you remember when you left home? You only took a few things, like someone would if their place was on fire."

Yes, I remembered. Remembered hearing that Jayhawks CD one more time, and Ben's laugh, and all the stuff he gave me at the going-away party almost equaled whatever worthy I found in my own closet to take with me.

"I swear I packed everything he gave me," I hopelessly muttered.

"Who gave you?"

Did I really leave it behind in North Carolina? In that apartment my parents didn't even live in anymore? Did I really not care about it that much? Did I not see how much he meant to me then when now I did so much I felt like I'd die from it? I was so caught up in trying to remember that I didn't hear the phone ringing. Jeneane had already gone to fetch it.

"Sarah?" she called from the middle of the hallway. "Sarah, its Lance."

"What?"

"Lance! Hurry up, we have rehearsal in an hour!"

"Fuckin shit," I muttered as I raced to take the call. I hadn't heard from Lance in months. I went into the studio and picked the phone up off the cold floor. I held it against my ear and didn't speak. There was a power in that – a power he owed me. I could hear him breathing.

"Yo, you there?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"So what's goin' down." He sounded defensive, as if I'd been the one ignoring him.

"Um...I don't know – what happened to you?"

"Did some shit," he said, as if it were an explosive piece of information, "And got into some shit. Things are...I need to talk to you, I'm sorry I haven't been around but... I heard your fucking song on the radio though." He upped his intensity when he said that. He must have figured out the song was about him.

"Oh..."

"The I Hate You Song or whatever."

"Charge of Night Brigade," I rushed to correct him.

I heard the sudden vicious slam of a door somewhere in the apartment.

"Shit – can I call you back?"

"Don't bother." He hung up. Why would you call someone and be all pissy and then tell the person not to call back? What was the point in all of that? I slammed the phone down and went out into the hallway. I didn't see Jeneane anywhere. There was that silence again – as if someone had put the world on mute. Hold still, because I'm going to make you listen now. But I'm afraid. Don't be. You have no idea what fear is. Fear grabs you from your sleep and picks you apart like you're nothing, rapes your life into smithereens. I'm sorry! Too LATE!

I'm going crazy; I have to get the fuck out of here.

"Hello? Jen?" I called out as I stormed up and down the hallway. It was as if there had to be a secret room here, where they all hid during the day and watched us through cracks in the wall, waiting every second away until the sun went down.

Jeneane didn't answer. That wasn't her presence I felt. I knew this would never end unless I left. At least that was what I thought at the time, as if I could leave it behind like a piece of furniture.

Wrong. Wrong to dust.

"Hello!" I walked out into the living room – nothing, no one. "Jeneane?" She wouldn't have left for rehearsal already. I hadn't been on the phone for even five minutes. I walked back down the hallway and searched the other two rooms. Nothing, Jeneane was gone. I looked at the clock. It was only 5:10 and rehearsal wasn't until 7. The phone rang causing me to jump. Lance wouldn't call back, not so soon anyway, not his style. Maybe it was Jeneane – maybe she'd locked herself out.

"Hello?"

A first I didn't hear anything, but then I thought I heard howling wind, and then a click like someone was playing with the receiver.

"Hello? Jeneane?"

I couldn't tell if what I heard next was interference or someone trying to talk – a 'pfft, pfft' sound kept occurring. Then I heard a sound like something whipping up in the wind and snapping in half. Then the line went dead.

The kitchen door swung open – the wind pushed it so it slammed against the wall. I expected it to rocket back and slam shut, but my sister caught it before that could happen. She sat the blue laundry basket down on the kitchen floor and looked at me like I was nuts.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing."

"I know, laundry, kind of crazy – you know where the laundry room is even?"

"Yes, I know where the laundry room is. When you left did you slam the door?"

"No," she said, kind of surly. Okay, I'd been here for months and hadn't done laundry once, so I guess her mood was justified. But if you'd been through what I'd been through – not sleeping every night if any, and even on the nights you managed to collect a few hours of sleep you always woke up at the same time and fell asleep around the same time, you wouldn't be able to concentrate on mundane chores either.

"Its kind of spooky down there," I wrapped up my reason for never doing laundry.

She looked up at me as she leaned over the laundry basket.

"What – not enough boys, or Hard Candy fingernail polish? Which is it?"

"Why are you being so mean!" I blasted.

Jeneae seemed a bit taken back. "Chill out, I'm just playing around."

"I heard someone slam the door a minute ago."

"It was probably the wind."

"But what door was open – because it wasn't the bedroom doors, it was either that one or the front one."

"I don't know, Sarah. Are you going to get dressed?"

"Something is here." I wanted this resolved now, but there was no way to resolve it. Something that happened here – whatever it was that spun this tumultuous life-draining energy around us – happened a long time ago, and it left a deep wound in every single thing around it.

"Yeah, it's called 'we all have our cycles at the same time now,'" Jeneane argued.

"That wouldn't make a door slam on its own."

She picked up the loaded laundry basket with little trouble and said, "You'd be surprised."

I felt someone following me as I followed her down the hallway.

"I read a study once that actually said if three or more girls live together and their cycles are in sync than it can actually create a poltergeist." She placed the laundry basket down in the living room and dug out the Batman shirt from the Veruca Salt show and flung it at me. It was my favorite shirt. "You're welcome."

I stood there holding the warm clean shirt as Jeneane went back down the hallway. It was loved so much the black had faded to a nice deep gray, and the bloodstain from my injury six months ago now looked like a coffee stain. It felt like the only warm clean thing for miles, especially in this apartment. It was the shirt I'd taken off and dropped on Lance that he'd thrown across the room like a piece of trash. Now it smelled so good. I took the shirt off I had on and slipped the Batman shirt on. Old piece of me come through and save the new.

And though I really appreciated Jeneane doing my laundry, I never said thank you. I'd never said thank you to Ben either – not once during that whole period, those nights we stayed up talking. The troubled world he got me through. Not one 'thank you.' I knew what I needed to do now.

"Sarah?"

"Yeah?"

Jeneane didn't respond. Or maybe that wasn't even her.

Chapter 22

Repair Service

It wasn't his fault. The car accident, it wasn't Ben's fault. It was the other driver's, the one who came flying from a side street as slim and dark as a black thread – completely unnoticeable from the main road. Was the other driver drunk? Were they just plain crazy – one of those people that reinforced why I never had and never would trust people enough to drive? They slammed into the passenger's side of Ben's Bronco, crushing it like paper, spewing glass and metal in every single direction possible, and sending the Bronco plowing into the concrete barrier so it flipped over and landed in the other lane where Ben was struck again by an oncoming truck.

Eva, an ex of Jeneane's and now a good friend, had been clutching a frigid bottle of champagne in her hand for so long her fingers were practically blue. I'd been staring at the champagne's label for a while but I wasn't really seeing it. I was in the room but worlds away.

"Why don't you set that down?" Lindsay griped. We were all a bit on edge. Our show last night didn't go that well because of various things including a crappy sound system. But it was Jeneane's birthday so we were trying to forget all of that. Every band had a bad show now and then. It just had to happen.

Jeneane had reconverted her bedroom back into the dining room for the night, pushing her futon into the kitchen. It set in front of the window so I could clearly see it from the dining room table. Eva looked down at the items on the table as she entered the dining room, placing the champagne bottle down by the Ouija Board.

"What's that for?" she pointed at the board.

"We're having a séance," Jeneane said. "Sarah's idea... but..."

She looked at me, trying to decide if she wanted to tell Eva what happened last night. If she didn't, I would. I knew this place was cursed from the start and now everyone else was finally catching on. I watched as Eva unwrapped the sharp metallic paper off the neck of the champagne bottle and prepared to open it. I liked Eva. She reminded me of one of my aunts that never married because they'd rather embark on crazy adventures. Eva was beautiful. Her mother was Brazilian and her father was Italian.

"But what?" she asked, throwing the dangerously sharp piece of paper she'd just torn off the champagne bottle onto the floor.

"I did laundry the other night and when I went down there to put it in the dryer it was all over the place, all over the floor – scattered everywhere," Jeneane explained.

"That's just some prankster here." Eva dismissed. No one here fit that category – most if not all the residents here were much older than us and kept to themselves. No one here was that menacing, no one here had a reason to throw wet clothes all over the basement floor like that.

"Listen," I said. Eva looked at me because she thought I said that because I was about to follow it up with a point. But I just wanted her to listen, listen to the silence. "Do you feel that?" I asked her. "Someone watching you?"

Eva's big black eyes fluttered. "Well now I'm a little spooked but you're making me paranoid."

"Things have happened here, to me," I flat-out spoke. "I wake up at three every night, and I feel watched – and there was one night when I couldn't breathe or move at all. I had no control over my own body."

"Well that's fucked," Eva said. "So we're going to try and talk to this thing?" Eva sounded like she was going to protest the idea. She planted her eyes on Jeneane. "This is what you want to do for your birthday?"

"We just figure if there is something here then maybe if we try to talk to it, it can tell us why it's hanging around and we can help it," Jeneane said.

"I mean there's a reason why – I mean," Lindsay's eyes rolled until they attached to the wall behind Eva, "Why we got along perfect in our last place and here we fight every hour."

Eva studied Lindsay for a second as those words sunk in. "Well fine but can we lighten up on the Adams Family vibe?" She picked up the wine bottle and hailed, "This is a fucking two-hundred dollar bottle of champagne here."

Lindsay's mood was unchangeable. "I want to find out what happened to Garlow."

"Okay, fine." Eva looked around the table as she picked up her champagne glass, still not taking this seriously. "Who's getting the lights?"

"I will," I said. I was ready. I never shared this with anyone, but a few days ago I was in the living room with the light off. The sun was setting and I was exhausted and actually managed to drift off to sleep. Jeneane and Lindsay were both home so I felt safe enough to slip into the vulnerability of unconsciousness. When I woke up I saw the shadow of a little girl against the wall. Her shadow ran from the hallway over to the window. I even heard her laugh; saw her curly hair bouncing around. It only lasted for about ten seconds, and then she was gone. Everything was quiet again. Was that what had been watching me all along, the kindred spirit of a little girl? That wasn't what I felt attacked me that night – it didn't seem to match the sinister energy that was always here. Was her spirit different from the person she was in life?

The dining room was completely dark except the wintry glow of the purple sky coming through the kitchen window, irradiating the futon's frame. I made sure I sat with my back against the dining room wall so I could keep an eye on the hallway. Eva sat in front of me with her back to it. Jeneane sat next to her and Lindsay sat at the end of the table facing the kitchen. I put my fingers on the pointer and everyone else followed.

Jeneane spoke first. "If there's anyone here who'd like to speak with us, we welcome the opportunity."

I glanced up at the hallway as the pointer remained where it was. I could feel them peeking around the corner from the living room, trying to understand what was going on, a little forlorn. I looked at the clock next to the I Shot Andy Warhol poster. It was 1:07 AM. I looked back down at the pointer because it was moving towards the moon. It stopped there. Did I trust everyone at this table? I trusted my sister and Lindsay. Lindsay didn't look like she was in the mood to goof around on the Ouija Board. And she wanted to know what happened to Garlow, so she had no reason to play. Eva on the other hand loved to control things, which was why we'd just hired her to be our band manager. So I didn't fully trust her.

"The moon," Eva said, "Do you like the moon?"

The pointer was still and the apartment was so unforgivably quiet we could hear the train roar into the Jarvis station a block away. The pointer moved down to the letter R.

"R? Are you trying to spell your name?" Eva asked. I looked back up at the hallway. They... she... was still looking down the hallway, quiet, bashful. Maybe all she ever wanted was for us to listen. What could be worse than desperately needing something but you couldn't speak... couldn't scream for help... she let me know what that felt like.

I could hear her crying now, desperate chopped up sobs, confused, hurting...

The pointer suddenly zipped up to the word NO. Then it went back to the moon. I knew she was waiting for me to speak.

"What's your name?" I asked. The pointer moved back to the alphabet and on down to the number 6.

"That's how old you are, maybe," Eva said, sipping her champagne. The pointer moved with more urgency to the letter X. "I don't understand, this isn't making sense," Eva remarked. I wished she'd stop commenting so much.

"Is X what you call yourself?"

The pointer was still. I could feel her slowly coming down the hallway. Her hand touching the wall, fingers dragging along, then clawing, clawing like she did the night she was taken away, trying to hold on, for dear life.

"Does anyone else have a headache?" Eva asked.

"Fucking drink some water," Lindsay mumbled. Eva stared spitefully at Lindsay and took a huge gulp of her champagne. I wondered how we'd all get along on the road if this were how we got on in the dining room. I looked down because the pointer was moving. I knew now no one at the table was controlling it. It moved over to the word YES.

"X, why do you call yourself X?"

I could feel her coming closer, her eyes like two big dark rooms I'd never escape, and as she became aware of my sense of her, the want would turn into demand, and she would never let me go until she got what she wanted.

The pointer went to the letter W and paused for a few seconds before moving to the letter A.

"Did you guys hear—"

"Shh!" I snapped at Eva and stared so hard at the board my eyes stung.

L

L

"Wall?" I asked. I tried to make sense of it. I took a deep breath as the pointer moved to the letters C O L D.

She's standing right behind you, Eva.

X: You can see me! You can see me!

ME: I can feel you – but yes I saw you the other night.

X: I'm cold! I'm so cold, Sarah! There's an X on the wall! Where the hands are! There's an X where the hands are!

ME: I'm sorry!

The pointer moved to the letter M.

"M," I looked over at the hallway. She wasn't there anymore; she'd moved somewhere else. U.

"M, U..."

X: Hurts! It hurts!

ME: What hurts?

X: Everything, all over...make them stop! Make them STOP!

X: Look in the closet!

X: No, Sarah! Don't go to the closet!

"What happened to Garlow?" Lindsay asked, not a drop of sympathy in her voice. "What happened to my cat?"

I heard the sudden clank of Eva's champagne glass hit the floor and break. She was pressing her hand against her forehead and her eyes were shut. The pointer was still on U.

"Eva?" Jeneane removed her hand from the pointer and placed it on Eva's shoulder.

"My head hurts and I'm hot," then Eva repeated herself but in copious amounts of pain, "My head hurts and I'm hot."

I could see out of the corner of my eye someone sitting on Jeneane's futon, staring right at us. Eva cried out in pain like a little girl. Jeneane stood up and helped her out of her chair but stopped and let out a scream before looking down at her foot.

"Shit! Fuck...someone turn on the fucking lights," Jeneane cried. Lindsay got up and turned on the dining room light. I felt it die... her... I felt her pop, vanish. No one was on the futon anymore. I felt so guilty.

Then I looked down at my sister's foot. That sharp piece of metallic paper from the champagne bottle had cut into the bottom of her foot, creating neat lines of blood like the squiggly lines of a road map. "Shit," Jeneane sobbed, tired, so tired of all of this lunacy.

Chapter 23

The Silent Film of No

After rehearsal, Lindsay stormed up and down the hallway behind Eva, who was now the manager of our band. It was the middle of a Tuesday afternoon, and our barbaric moods we'd all been in were over, at least for now, all thanks to a review our band just received in The Reader.

Eva's platform shoes hammered against the hardwood floor, providing sound effects as Lindsay read the article aloud, so excited she could barely find the breath she needed to speak. "The freakishly good Charge of Night Brigade reminds me why I fell in love with Veruca Salt in the first place. In that small venue we know and love called Empty Bottle, I was scared to death. VS could not be ignored any more than a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum in the middle of Macy's on her birthday. Veronica's Car Crash does this and more, because when Sarah, who usually just stalks the backdrop of every song on her bass, starts screaming about an ex-boyfriend, comparing him to a beloved but broken toy," Lindsay stopped in order to contain her giggles and I looked over at Jeneane who seemed pleased and bothered at the same time. "You're forced to finger your ears to make sure they're not bleeding," Lindsay finished and three seconds later the cork flew up from the champagne bottle in Eva's hand. She poured everyone a glass of bubbly Leroy-Duval and passed the glasses around before holding hers up for a toast.

"To Fingers To The Bone, the debut album of many albums to come from Veronica's Car Crash," she toasted.

"Fuck yes," I gasped. I couldn't wait to get on the road, get out of this apartment, see different parts of the world from the dusty window of our tour bus. Last night I heard it walking around in the living room. Her. She was pissed. She was livid. I didn't know what she wanted from me, I just knew I needed to get out of here. Once I was on the road, I'd be safe. And I'd be too busy to think about Ben all the time. I gulped down the champagne to subdue my nerves.

"Bad Taste In Girls – you guys need to record that, that's one of your best songs I think," Eva said. She walked down the hall to the practice room, assuming we'd follow her. Of course we did (she had the champagne.)

"Let's record it now," Eva was demanding – ruthless. She never cared if we had hangovers or colds or if we weren't getting enough sleep, she made sure we were disciplined and we practiced everyday. Then again, this was why we hired her to be our manager. She was the difference between the band wanting and doing. She flicked the light on in the rehearsal room. She brought in some guy friends a few weeks ago and padded the room. "Let's get cracking," she ordered.

We were all a bit buzzed from the champagne. Jeneane pulled the blinds to illuminate the room with the soft spring sunlight. I picked up Theodore and went over to the microphone. I'd written Bad Taste In Girls and sang on the song. I didn't really like singing it, or Charge Of Night Brigade for that matter, only because I could feel Jeneane's contempt. But Eva loved it, and Charge Of Night Brigade had beaten the door down for us and the recognition was finally pouring in. This was where we were and how we kept going. I took a deep breath. It was May; I could actually feel the warmth of the sun against the window. Jeneane and Lindsay started playing Bad Taste In Girls and I came in when expected.

"Well you never had bad taste in music, listened to the morning, and you knew how to use it –

A meaty GnR type of a guitar riff and then,

"Never had bad taste in clothes, watched the night and it vindicated you, oh but the girls –

I played the haunting bass line that followed and then,

"Oh but the girls,"

Another bass line before the drums really came in.

"You know in those eyes, there was no room –

"Wait a minute," Jeneane stopped playing her guitar, ripping us out of the mood I thought we'd just captured, leaving Lindsay to play an awkward solo beat before she stopped as well. She placed her drumsticks on her tom without revealing much of any emotion on her face. I think she was tired and yearned for an Eva-less day. I knew how she felt, but I also wanted to get out on the road. I just wanted to get out of here.

"What?" I asked Jeneane in reference to why she stopped playing.

"You can't just fucking change the lyrics like that and expect us to know what the fuck to do."

"She changed the lyrics?" Eva asked between hiccups.

"No I didn't."

"Yes – you said 'there was no room' originally you'd written 'there was never any room.' Replacing a two syllable word with a one syllable word and taking out a whole two-syllable word can really throw us off course, it might not seem like a big deal to you – but it actually is, it's a very big deal." She sat her Les Paul down and shook her head. "Figure out how you want the fucking song to go and then we'll play it." Jeneane stormed out of the room but the rest of us stayed in it.

Eva crossed her arms and looked over at Lindsay, using only eyes to communicate.

"No," Lindsay finally said, knowing what Eva was thinking. "She'd kill us."

"She's not open to any new ideas," Eva threw her hand out before looking at me. "And she's jealous to hell of you."

"She's a great guitar player," Lindsay argued. "She is the band – she gave birth to it. There would be no Veronica's Car Crash without Jeneane. Too much has happened since this band started to kick her out – are you serious, Eva, really, Eva? That day she came into Starbucks she fucking saved my life – there was a box-cutter in the bathroom and I was well aware."

The door suddenly swung open, smacking Eva right in the head causing her to topple over. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" Jeneane screamed. I had my hand on Theodore to swing in case she tried to hit me. She had inherited my mother's temper, along with the terrible energy of this place – and all of it was boiling over now. "I AM THE FUCKING BAND," she stomped, pointing at herself, "DAMN FUCKING STRAIGHT!"

"No, no, of course," Lindsay was quick to say. "We're just trying to figure things out here."

"What things?" Jeneane's anger broke up and dissolved into heartbreaking sobs. She lifted her hand to her face to wipe tears away. "You want me out of the band," she cried. "Out of my own band?" She looked down at the floor hopelessly. Her crying devastated me. This was one of those moments that would turn into years of regret. Maybe on some level I was questioning how bad I wanted to be in the band, but I never wanted her out. That was unconceivable.

"No, no, absolutely not. I don't want you out," I said, "I love you."

Eva was still sitting on the floor, legs bent so her knees were to her chest and her hand cushioned the side of her head that got beaten in by the door.

"We were just having a discussion," Lindsay said, unruffled. "If we're going to go on tour and really do this I just figure we should all be happy with everything the band's accomplished, instead of looking at it as constant competition."

"Its not that," Jeneane struggled to say what she wanted to say, "I just pictured everyone in the band as one certain thing – we all had our place and now I feel like its all gotten shuffled, I don't know."

"You don't want Sarah to sing," Eva said, barely questioning it. She removed her hand from her head momentarily, "Just say it."

"No, I don't want Sarah to sing," Jeneane finally admitted.

"Okay... but what about the songs – like the song that's already out there." Eva was snooty and belittling. But I had to admit that I did want my songs heard – I thought they were really good, and they were close to my heart and when you were able to transform something so close to your heart into something you could share with the world – well, there was no greater achievement.

Jeneane took a deep breath and reached for the champagne bottle but Eva had totally drained it. I thought she was going to throw it against the wall but she lost gusto and simply dropped it where she stood. The thump was heavy but empty. Her words dropped from her mouth just as simply, "Yeah... I want things back the way they were."

Eva shook her head and promised her eyes to the ceiling for almost a minute. "People love that song, they love her voice, we... change shit and we lose fans." She held her hand away from the swollen bump on her head again to emphasize, "Her shit's really good – she's a great songwriter, why can't we just take all the good pieces of what this band is and put it all together – a band is a machine, not its parts all separated."

"We could make Sarah the singer." I was shocked at Lindsay's nerve to say something so bold. I put my hand back on Theodore.

"Fine – then I will quit the band." Jeneane simply informed, tired, finished. She'd brought the curtain down on this performance, this three-year display of hopes and dreams.

Chapter 24

Mermaids On The Tour Bus

I never found that copy of On The Road, nor did I go out on the road. I stayed with Eleanor after Veronica's Car Crash broke up. I met Eleanor a while back at a poetry reading. Eleanor Gisby didn't read or even write poetry, she just went there to flirt with people and ask if they needed rides home. She also occasionally hid squatters in the basement of her big junky house in the suburbs of Des Plaines. She drove a beat-up Toyota the color of a lime lifesaver. She drew pictures of mermaids and kept them under her bed. She had a baby-face and soft blonde hair. Her tits were so big she had backaches. She was genuinely nice and never asked for any favors in return. She was a virgin who hated poetry but loved poets. I think she was bored out of her mind from living in Des Plaines so she went to No Exit (a café in Rogers Park) on open mic nights searching for fuck-ups, because fuck-ups always promised excitement.

Sometimes we went bowling at The Argo. Eleanor would lead her newfound pack of homeless boys and I to the hot dog stand. She'd buy us all hot dogs and sodas and then we'd stand in line and collect our bowling shoes. No one we hung out with except for Eleanor knew I was once in a band that came close to major success. I couldn't deal with that so I pretended it never happened. I asked Eleanor to do the same and she never spoke of VCC again. When Charge Of Night Brigade came on the radio she would politely switch the dial.

We also spent countless nights parked in the glow of a Hardees marquee listening to LoveLine. A girl called in once saying she caught her brother peeking in on her taking a shower and Eleanor would imitate Adam Corolla's sly remarks. Then we'd talk about what it would have been like to have a brother.

"I wonder, you know," Eleanor would start out in her sleepy voice. (Eleanor actually said to me that she spoke so softly because her breasts were so big they wore her out). "If I'd have better relationships with boys... because I'd be used to being around them some, you know?"

"Yeah..."

"Or if I'd just, like, hate them ahead of time. They can be so gross and crude." She pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek so it puffed out, something she did a lot when she took something into consideration. "That's why I like homeless boys so much, you know," she looked at me with her big brown eyes. "Cause they're so appreciative of what I do that they couldn't possibly ask for sex."

Eleanor didn't want to lose her virginity because she thought it would end up a waste of time, as long as she had it she had something most girls no longer did, and the unknown kept her excited. Plus she wanted to find the most perfect man she could to give herself to, and when she found someone she thought qualified she realized there could be someone even better, and I wanted to tell her that there was but he died in a car accident last year. His name was Ben. But he was gay. I think. And he should have bought a horse. And dumped Mark. And maybe he should have bought land in Seattle and fine, be gay if that's what you are, but just be honest with yourself. But these are things you couldn't tell the dead and even if you could – what could they do about it now?

Speaking of gay, Eleanor was also curious about girls, and we slept in the same bed a lot, spooning, her big tits mashed against my back. Sometimes I wondered if she wanted more, but so far the most intimate thing we ever did other than snuggle together was share a Frisco burger. Her stepsister Margo was a completely different story. She was taller than Eleanor, better proportioned. She was an extra in a few episodes of Baywatch, (one of those students learning how to be a lifeguard, which on the show meant running along the beach at sunset in a string-bikini). After her so-called acting stint was over, Margo moved to Des Plaines to spend the end of spring and beginning of summer with Eleanor. She put down the smelly homeless boys Eleanor took to and said things like, "God, Eleanor, they have no sense of style – Bert and Ernie weren't fashion icons!"

One night when we were driving to Hollywood Video, with Eleanor driving, me in the passengers seat, and Margo in the backseat, a crumpled piece of paper landed in my lap. Eleanor was in her own little world, listening to Stairway To Heaven on her mix tape and keeping her eyes on the inky street that led to a the video store. I opened the note and waited for a streetlight to hit the words – Why won't you ever sleep with me? Your wasting your time with little Eleanor.

The 'your' typo was Ms. Baywatch Extra's, not mine. I didn't know what to say – what could I say? The connection I had with Eleanor was a very quiet promise to always be there, even though I was never sure if it was going to eventually lead to a more intense relationship.

I looked over at Eleanor as the spooky lyric and she's climbing her stairway to heaven came on for the last time, and Eleanor pulled into the Hollywood Video parking lot and suddenly we were hit by a sign reading in gonzo blue letters RENT A COMEDY AND GET A DRAMA FOR FREE. Eleanor asked in her babyish voice, "So what are you guys in the mood for?"

Margo moved to the edge of the backseat so her hair soft auburn hair touched down on my shoulder. "Just not something lame, I mean I know you have a crush on Stephen Dorff but the guy makes shitty movies."

I didn't say anything. I Shot Andy Warhol was a really great flick, and Eleanor thought so – having something so simple in common made me want to sleep next to her every night. Margo had a snooty air about her, she loved to joke and criticize everything. This being said, I had no idea why I started dating her – maybe a part of me felt unappreciated by Eleanor, the part that wanted more physical affection. Margo made a move on me that night. We ended up renting The Basketball Diaries, back when I had a thing for Leonardo DeCaprio, and during the movie Margo simply reached over and grabbed my tit like she wanted to remove it and take it someplace else.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I tried to keep the bedroom-hopping down to a minimum. I'd wait until Eleanor was asleep – no one slept quieter than Eleanor, as quiet as snow melts. Margo, however, would always let out an obnoxious laugh every time I knocked on her door in the middle of the night. She wanted Eleanor to hear, she wanted Eleanor to wake up and realize I'd left her. Margo liked to go on dates with me, she was old-fashioned that way, she wanted to do the whole dinner and a movie thing, leaving Eleanor jealous – but not jealous enough to skip out on the Deftones show at Metro. We all worshipped Chino and braved the moshpit to get closer to him. We asked each other in dismay why he cut his dreadlocks off, and Eleanor was drunk and said, "Its like he lost his power, like that bible guy," and I laughed so hard I nearly wet myself.

Chino was his usual militant self, slamming the microphone stand down on the stage so it almost stabbed a security guy in the head, screaming and climbing up on the speakers and jumping into the crowd so we were crushed between people trying to get to him. The hilarity of a girl screaming, "I grabbed Chino's balls! I grabbed Chino's nuts!" still rings in my ears and makes me chuckle to this day.

After the show, Margo whisked us away to the Orange 9 mm tour bus. She'd caught the attention of their drummer Mathew Cross, causing him to fuck up a beat during their song Sacrifice. He wanted her to come on the bus and hang out after the show and she told him she'd only go if she could bring her girlfriend Sarah and half-sister Eleanor with her. Matthew didn't have a problem with that whatsoever.

I never took to Matthew. He was too arrogant, especially for a replacement drummer. He'd just moved up from Detroit not long ago to replace the band's old drummer. Eleanor felt the same way I did about him, and watched other girls get on and off the bus. The girls were all dressed skimpily under their big fur coats that reeked of cigarette smoke. The only thing that kept me on the bus was Matthew telling us that eventually Chino would come on. Meanwhile Mathew shared his CD collection with us – spilling out Radiohead imports and Mr. Bungle CDs, which momentarily transfixed Eleanor. Crazily, no one on the bus seemed as infatuated with Chino or Deftones as much as Matthew. He had all their imports and played them for us, bringing back memories of my days back home, and I started to feel homesick.

Mathew kept playing CDs and offered us beers and PBJ sandwiches. Margo split her sandwich with me, smiling at me when she handed it over as if it were the transubstantiation of bread and wine into the blood and body of Christ. I looked over at Mathew, noting the way he was looking at us, surrounded by bone-dry beer bottles. He was tall and muscular, towering over us when he stood up. He seemed too tall even for the bus, like a dinosaur in a doll shop. Eleanor was sitting in the driver's seat of the bus like she planned to drive us off soon. She'd gotten a sailor's cap from somewhere – I have no idea where or how.

"I'd love it if you two would dance together," Matthew told Margo and I. Margo looked at me as I stared out the window at Metro. I saw a bunch of kids gathered in a circle on the sidewalk, and wondered if Chino was in the middle of it, carrying on stoned conversation with his admirers. Did someone run off with his shoe again? I should be out there, even if it wasn't him, I just got the feeling that I shouldn't be on this bus.

"Come on," Mathew pushed. He stood up and handed us more beers, trying to get us in the mood. Chaka Malik, singer of the band and owner of the biggest head to ever sprout up from a neck, got on the bus and marched to the back, slamming the bathroom door. He was originally from New York and basically looked like a black version of Incredible Hulk. "Yo, Chaka?" Mathew laughed for a second at Chaka's tantrum before looking back at Margo. He grabbed our hands and pulled us up to our feet. He put my hand on Margo's ass and went off to the back of the bus. Margo laughed, thinking the whole thing was funny, because she had that type of humor. When my hand started to slip away she replanted it on her bottom.

Then I heard Chaka yelling in the bathroom. "Fuck you!"

"Just give me the camera," Mathew argued. "Why's it in the fucking bathroom anyway?"

The bathroom door flew open and Chaka shoved a giant camcorder against Mathew's chest and slammed the door again, locking himself in. Mathew let out a pompous laugh as he brought the camcorder back with him and dimmed the lights. I was holding onto Margo out of fear, not because I particularly wanted to dance with her – not here, not now. She had her arms wrapped around me demonstrating innocent affection but Mathew wanted lust, Mathew wanted to make a porno. Eleanor was still sitting behind the wheel with her sailor cap on. She was incredibly still and I wondered if she'd gotten so drunk that she passed out.

"Maybe we'll put you girls in a video," Mathew boasted, as if we should be so lucky. He stumbled around with the camera, the lens cap dangling in front of his chin. "Come on," Mathew urged us to get closer as he got closer to me and groped Margo's tits. Chaka came out of the bathroom and stormed up the bus and ran down the steps onto the street. A few seconds later, he whipped back up the steps even more furious than before. He opened the mini-fridge so hard its contents wobbled, took two beers out and stomped off to a room in the back of the bus I assumed was where he slept. He slammed the door shut and reopened it a few seconds later.

"Matthew – you gonna need the bed?" he called out.

Mathew looked at us. "Not right now," he said.

Chaka slammed the door again. I felt Matthew's enormous cock rub up against my butt. He was so erect I couldn't decipher between his penis and the beer bottle in his hand. Then the bus started up and when Eleanor pulled out, laughing in hyena-like shrills, we all fell over and the camera slammed against the floor.

"Hey!" Matthew called out, "What the fuck are you doing?"

Then Chaka came out and ran towards us but by then Eleanor had jumped off the bus, which was parked so it blocked traffic on Clark Street in both directions. Eleanor was laughing at herself, bawling tears of joy, and yelling for us to get off the bus.

"Eleanor!" I cried out in relief as I jumped off the bus and ran over to her, laughing so hard I thought I'd pee my pants. She was bent over, and her sailor cap was on the sidewalk. We ran off into Yum-Yum, car horns bellowing behind us. We stood in the middle of the fast food joint, as onlookers peered up from their food as we stood there, still laughing.

When we went back outside to get Margo, the bus was pulling off.

"Holy shit – is she still on the bus?"

Eleanor just watched as Margo poked her head out of the window. "Go! I'll be home tomorrow," she yelled.

Then one of the half-naked girls in a fur coat we saw when we first got on yelled something at us totally incomprehensible, except the part about how Chaka was going to kill us. And then they turned the corner.

"Is she serious?" Eleanor asked, long after the bus had disappeared and we were just standing there. I wasn't sure if Eleanor meant the girl in fur threatening us, or Margo, or girls in general.

I just shrugged. "I think so, let's go." I started heading to Eleanor's car when she grabbed my wrist and pointed across the street.

"Hey! Look, its Chino!" I didn't recognize him because now he had short hair and wore a baseball cap. He was surrounded by fans.

Part 3

Not Rabbit, Rabid

Chapter 25

Blood-Sister's Indigo Sock Drawer

Everyone wanted to be with a rock star, and I could have been one. I could have, I could have said something different in that rehearsal room to my sister. I could have told her she could just sing my songs. So what, so we had one hit song I happened to sing on – that didn't mean we couldn't move on from that in a new direction.

Now I spent my days riding around in Eleanor's car, going to shows, renting movies, returning movies. I hoped it was just a temporary hiatus and eventually we'd get back together and Veronica's Car Crash would go on tour. Some people recognized me from the band and asked what the deal was with the band. Other people just pointed from corners of Hollywood Video and whispered things about me. I imagined them saying, "That's the girl that ruined everything, ate up her own future and spit it out."

One day I went to Earwax with Eleanor. She kept playing with her tiny ear and looking at me like she wanted to say something.

"You know that guy Jonathon?" she finally said in her sheepish voice.

"Yeah." Jonathon was the cute homeless boy that girls adored like a puppy. He'd been crashing in Eleanor's basement since early February.

"He kind of pissed me off the other night." She sat back in her seat, her huge breasts pressing against her soft baby-blue cashmere sweater, her blonde hair barely touching her shoulders. Every single guy that passed by our table looked at her for almost a minute.

"Why?"

"He kept saying shit, you know, to Spider." Spider was a raver girl I knew from the Boys Town scene. She did a lot of drugs and hung out at the Vic Theatre as if it were a hostel. I went there to see Heathers once and she roamed the aisles, poking people in the shoulder and asking for money throughout the entire movie. She wore dark red lip liner outside her lips (never with lipstick) and had a tattoo of a black widow spider on her thigh. That was really all I knew about her. "Like how you and I remind him of baby dolls, that we'll never really grow up – we'll never reach our full potential – he's fucking homeless!" Eleanor cried out suddenly. "And he's saying this dick stuff about us."

"Its just words," I said.

"He called us groupies, he said my sister's a slut because of what happened on the Orange 9mm bus."

"But nothing happened, I mean we drank cheap beer, I got rubbed up against," I cringed, "And that was it."

Eleanor looked at me like that wasn't it, playing with her ear again.

"Did Margo..." I started to ask if she slept with the drummer but Eleanor was already nodding her head.

"He, like, writes her. He sends her postcards," she shrugged, "I don't know. She's probably going to move to L.A. soon, try for a full-time modeling gig. Sorry she treated you like such dirt."

I studied Eleanor for a long quiet minute, trying to think of a way to cheer her up. I was never in love with Margo; I dated her on a purely curious basis. She was good to me at first, buying me things, feeling bad for me when we were out in the cold and hugging me to keep me warm. She always smelled so good – like fresh-baked cookies. But Eleanor and I were the same age and I just felt connected to her, more comfortable than I ever did with Margo. Suddenly our lives were nowhere. Jonathon's words started running through my head, hurting my feelings. Eleanor flicked her cigarette against the ashtray and took a drag.

"I don't want this to sound weird, but," she started, moving her brown eyes around to come up with the right words, "Ever since we started napping together my dreams have changed."

I somehow knew this.

"I've been drawing what I remember, if you wanna see later – it's hard for me to explain but if I can show you it would be easier."

"Yeah, okay."

Eleanor stared over at the clock above the bookshelf behind me.

"I'm supposed to pick Jonathon up at three," she informed.

"But you're not, right?"

"I don't want to, I don't want him staying with us anymore. Some money went missing from my mom's purse and she fucking accused me and then she accused Emily." Emily was Eleanor's younger half-sister and Margo's blood-sister. Margo and Emily were both tall with warm features while Eleanor was short and still had baby fat. They all had brown eyes though, that was the one thing they had in common, though Emily's were darker. And all three beautiful girls had an endless ability to pout. That pout was their bank account, it got them what they wanted, no doubt. Emily had a shiny brown bob and a pointy nose. She sort of looked like Winona Ryder. She was a rave kid with huge crushes on British singers like Brett Anderson and Damon Albarn. Jonathon kind of looked like the latter, so Emily had been very supportive of Eleanor keeping him in the basement – even after he apparently started stealing things around the house.

Eleanor gave me an earnest stare. "He even tried to pin it on you, he was like, 'How do you know Sarah didn't take it? She's been all depressed lately.'"

"I didn't take it," I said, "I don't steal – I've never stolen anything in my life. I found out an old friend of mine died in a car wreck and then my band broke up – so I'm bummed."

"No, no, I know," she frowned, tilting her head a little in thought, "Its just like he's suddenly trying to mess up my whole life." A few seconds trailed by before she said, "He knows I'm a virgin – he keeps bringing that up."

"Well, if we don't pick him up then he doesn't come over, right?"

It was always a long drive back to Des Plaines and Eleanor always played Stairway To Heaven. It was sort of eerie to listen to that song as cultivation faded and darkness enveloped her car. We drifted by boarded-up dentist offices, fast food restaurants with blinding marquees, outlet centers, and sometimes, just fields of mud. Eleanor made the best compilation tapes, mixing b-sides with classics. On this one, which she called Land Of A Thousand Dead Eyes, there were b-sides from Radiohead, Deftones, and Rage Against The Machine (she was as much in love with Zach de la Rocha as I was with Chino Moreno, and the way she said his name in her sweet voice killed me every time) and a ton of Mr. Bungle, along with a scattered variety of songs from soundtracks like S.F.W. and Tromeo and Juliet. She had the heat blasted and the window cracked as she smoked a cigarette. Where had the summer gone? We'd spent some of it looking for her missing cat Malatose, which she named after a heavy metal band from eastern Missouri I'd never heard of. We never found him. I looked over at Eleanor; her lips were pursed.

"Maybe we should start a band," she said, easing the subject out there like she always did with stuff. She turned the music down a little and waited for my reaction.

"Yeah..." I was thinking about how much work went into Veronica's Car Crash before we ever got any recognition.

"I mean... you're already sort of well known in the scene, you have connections – I don't know, I just feel like you're really talented and I have this friend Avy, she plays drums – she was born to play drums, she's like some superhuman machine or something when she plays."

I should have been more open to the idea. I mean what was stopping me? What great big obligations did I have standing in my way? A few minutes later Eleanor added in her delicate voice, "I can sing."

A few moments of amazing silence slipped by.

"I don't know," she turned the music back up after I didn't say a word, "Its stupid."

I didn't think it was stupid; I was just heavenly quiet because I was trying to figure out how much energy I still had left inside me after living in that Rogers Park apartment. Did I have enough energy to start another band? This time would be different, because Eleanor was my friend, not my sister's friend, this would be my thing – this would be more heartfelt.

By the time we pulled up into Eleanor's driveway the idea seemed to have died as far as she was concerned. She turned the car off right in the middle of Pretty Mary Sunshine. Of all the craziness I dealt with in my life, the one thing I never got over was the strangeness of Eleanor's parents. The gasket-quivering Gods of the suburbs, the ones with the power, the ones that knew how to drive your nerves into bending madness as you waited and waited for them to pop off and give you the explosion you'd been expecting, oh but it never happened. And the missing cats never came back.

The Gisby house was a three-story, and I was told from the beginning to never go to the third floor. Every Gisby told me this in the same manner a cop would. Eleanor insisted that she wasn't allowed up there either; it was her father's workspace and getaway when he got too stressed. Eleanor fit into my longtime category of friends with loveless fathers. He didn't love her because she wasn't of his flesh and blood, Emily and Margo were. So we latched onto music, our favorite bands, the fact that we wanted to meet them but not spend too much time with them, not enough to see their flaws, because that's when they would lose their godlike light, and then we'd lose our heroes. It would be like the drive from the city to out here, basically.

We got out of the car and went through the side door, which you always had to give a good push because the porch was piled high with birdcages and cat carriers, along with clothes Margo tossed out when she left to be on Baywatch. There was also Malatose's water bowl, which no one had the heart to throw away. Late-October temperatures caused the main door to the kitchen to swell so we always had to combine our weight and push on it together. The kitchen was spotless with the exception of the dirty dishes in the sink. It was Friday and Thursday was Eleanor's day to do dishes and she never did them on Thursday, and the house was full of lazy, stubborn people, so the new mystery of the house was when would someone break down and finally do the dishes. The kitchen always smelled like fingernail polish and pancakes. Emily sat at the table every morning and painted her nails while Mrs. Gisby made breakfast and the rest of us sat in a straightjacket of suspense, wondering if Mr. Gisby would appear. Saturday was my day to wash dishes since I practically lived here now, and I wondered if that meant I should do them tomorrow or if Eleanor would. Ah, the Des Plaines suspense builds...

The dishes, caked with pasta and syrup, were starting to leave a stench in the kitchen that had recently switched from sweet to foul. Eleanor ignored it entirely, tossed her car keys on the long wooden table and walked over to the fridge. The fridge's door was decorated with beloved postcards from Matthew Cross. I could still feel the threat of his huge cock against my ass, even when I looked at the postcard from Hawaii. Hawaii. The bastard was in Hawaii.

When Margo dropped by, which was almost weekly now, she'd wave the postcards in our faces and brag about how she could be on tour with them right now, but wanted to focus on her own life. Meanwhile Matthew seemed love-stricken, never forgetting to point out that he could have about twenty different girls a night, but his heart belonged to Margo. His favorite thing to say was, 'I messed up Sacrifice for you."

I could feel the resentment whenever Eleanor reached for the fridge door. She'd never be like Margo, who got paid five hundred dollars for two hours of standing naked in front of art students, who had now won the rare committed fondness of a rock star, who had a very cool car at least compared to Eleanor's cheesy Toyota. Margo had won the lottery of cool, basically.

"Hungry?" Eleanor called out as she reviewed the packed fridge. Her voice was so melancholy that I couldn't tell if she were asking or expressing that she was and when I said 'yeah' back it was basically the same.

She pulled out a loaf of white bread and started untwisting the blue tie. Her soft voice snuck up on me. "You look like the Sunbeam girl."

She placed four slices on a napkin since all the plates were dirty. She took out some sort of mystery meat from the fridge and unwrapped it.

"Its kind of slimy," she said. Then in a classic weirdo Eleanor moment, she rolled up a slice of the meat and dangled it over her mouth and cooed, "Mmm, Zach de la Rocha," and bit the rolled-up slice of meat right in half. A few seconds later she started gagging and spat it out into the trashcan by the sink.

"Gross," she whined, "Zach de la Rocha needs to see a doctor about that."

I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. I looked at the porch because I swore I heard something. The capped darkness and quiet out here never failed to induce paranoia.

Eleanor came over to the table with the plate of bread. "I think we should just stick to cheese."

We took the sandwiches and went into Eleanor's room. Clothes, jewelry boxes, magazines and sketchpads were everywhere. I lied down on the bed and looked up at the white curtains, at the extreme contrast between the curtains and the point-blank darkness of the suburban night. I heard the phone ring from the kitchen as I counted the glow-in-the-dark stars on Eleanor's ceiling.

Eleanor looked horrified. "That's gonna piss off my dad."

There were really only two rules that existed in the Gisby house – never go to the third floor and no calls after ten pm. It was 11:17 pm.

"Hey," Emily poked her head into Eleanor's room, unfazed by the fact that we could all be in trouble. She was only fifteen. She had that kind of energy as if it were always two in the afternoon. Then she saw me and got super excited, flying into the room, "Sarah!" She gave me a hug. Her hair smelled like she'd just washed it. "What are you two doing eating cheese sandwiches on a Friday night? Freaks, anyway Jonathon's on the phone," she looked at Eleanor, "He wants to know why the hell you didn't pick him up today."

"He's been talking shit about us and stole money from mom – and did you ever find out what happened to your favorite pair of underwear? You said they went missing from your sock drawer."

"Oh yeah, I left 'em at Brian's." Emily looked at me. "So did you hear about Family Values Tour? Korn, Deftones, Rammstein – even fucking Ice Cube, we have to go."

. "Can you just take the call?" Eleanor begged. I could tell she wanted to add and get out of my room.

"No way, dude. He wants to talk to you – he said he was gonna keep calling until you talk to him."

"Goddamn it," Eleanor snapped, walking out of the room, "Why didn't you just say I wasn't here?"

Emily just shrugged and sat down on the bed next to me, slapping a magazine down in my lap. "Chino's on page 13." I opened it and looked at the picture of him in his trademark bent-over-on-the-amplifier-pose as Emily played with my hair. I remembered back when they weren't even in magazines, and I'd seen him crouch like that, I felt like I was the only person lucky enough to witness such a thing. The guy in the empty backyard parking lot under the wimpy crescent moon, just hanging out.

I shut the magazine.

"We need to fucking go out, this is stupid," Emily said. She stood up and held her hand out for mine. "Come and check out my room, I put new posters up." I started to go with her when Eleanor came back.

"So?" Emily waited, "Is Jonathon coming over?"

"No!" Eleanor shouted, lying down on the bed, her hands folded and resting under her head. Her breasts flopped around to celebrate their freedom as her tremendous bra hung over the lampshade.

Emily's cheery mood never faulted. "Let's go get Jonathon."

"No, Emily, Christ!" Emily pouted and paced Eleanor's room. Then we heard the sound of Mr. Gisby coming down the stairs.

"Shit," Eleanor turned over and I had the urge to put my hand on her back but I just stared at the door instead. Mr. Gisby was 6'5, with had a huge forehead (you could rent it out and use it as a billboard) and black spiky hair. He kind of resembled a depressed middle-aged suburban version of Matthew Cross. He always wore the same black and army-green flannel shirt, blue jeans and black boots. His voice was deep-seated to Hell.

"Eleanor," he said, ignoring everyone else in the room. He waited at the door for her to go to him, but Eleanor was still as the dead. "Eleanor, I don't want that phone ever ringing again at this time. I made the rule, and it won't be what is broken."

Emily was very quiet as if she were the one being lectured. She stared at the floor, waiting for him to leave and that's when the phone rang again.

"Eleanor!" Mr. Gisby's sudden shout rocked the house. Gasket quivering Gods.

Eleanor held her head up; her face red and wet with tears.

"Okay," she stressed.

"Oh? Oh am I bothering you?" Mr. Gisby cynically swiped, taking a step forward. Mr. Gisby was a giant – you never wanted him to take a step forward, especially when he was pissed. "I'm sorry, little Eleanor." Then he slammed the door so hard a tack popped out of the top right hand corner of Eleanor's Rage Against The Machine poster.

Emily had the nerve to mutter, "Let's just go get Jonathon," when Eleanor reached for a small stapler on her bedside table and flung it at her.

"GO!"

Emily, stunned by Eleanor's outburst, walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. I lied down next to Eleanor in a fetal position, curling my legs up so our knees touched. Her soft wet face was buried in the pillow again.

"Psst, hey," I wanted her to look at me.

"I fucking hate it here," she sobbed.

I sat up long enough to shut the light off. I knew in my stomach and in my heart that something was going to happen tonight. I put myself in the position I was in before, and she turned so she was looking at me.

"I keep having these stupid fantasies," she eventually said. Her darling face drying up, her cheeks pinched pink from nearly suffocating herself with the pillow. "That I'm like Margo – tall and beautiful – so beautiful I'm noticed in a crowd of hundreds at Metro, and I go on tour with Rage Against The Machine until I turn up missing, and my stepfather's like on the evening news, crying, and begging whoever has me to return me to Zach de la Rocha."

"That's a fucking cool fantasy – that's not stupid."

"Its stupid because it would never happen."

"You never know – you could meet Zach. I've met Chino like five times."

"No, I meant the part about my stepdad crying."

She got really quiet. I waited there next to her wondering if she was falling asleep, then I felt her hand on my arm moving around to my back, bringing me closer to her. My arm was bent so now it awkwardly rested between my breasts and hers.

"I never showed you the drawings," she said, her voice so hush that if we'd been anywhere else I wouldn't have been able to hear it. "I... had this dream, the first time you spent the night, that we met this guy, and we thought he was cute – but he wasn't, he like so wasn't," she said with great vigor and on the verge of laughing. "But... you know how in dreams some things just are without rhyme or reason?"

"Yeah."

"So anyway it was agreed upon that this dude was hot, and he always carries around with him this shoebox, and we never bothered to ask him why until this one time we're on the train with him and he's got it resting in his lap and I ask him what's in it and he pops the lid off and there are all these body parts in there – and they would never fit inside a shoebox except for in a dream shoebox, little girl... body parts."

I didn't know what to say.

"And the guy goes, 'They're for my X shoes,' it doesn't make any sense at all."

I was quiet for so long she thought I'd fallen asleep.

"Sarah?" she called in heartbreaking neediness.

"Was the number six involved?" I asked.

"No... why? Have you had that same kind of dream?"

"No."

"And water," she added, suddenly recalling other details, "There's always water – like we take the train with the shoebox guy and when we step off we fall into a river and we're supposed to be in Boys Town, and we start drowning."

"Do we die?"

"I don't know... no, I guess, because I always wake up. I told my therapist about the dream – which I've had a lot, and its always the same except sometimes the guy doesn't open the shoebox but I still know what's in it, anyway my therapist says the dream probably has something to do with the fact that I'm still a virgin."

"Oh..."

"Like... I'm dying to be touched."

"You... you are?"

"Well yeah... you wanna hear something weird?"

"Uh..."

She turned on her back and looked up at the ceiling so my arm was free to move around but now I didn't know where to put it. "I've never masturbated either – I've never been touched."

"You're twenty years old," I said, astonished. "You've had to touch yourself at some point – that's just insane if you haven't."

"Just when I pee... you know, to wipe."

I didn't know what to say to that.

"You don't believe me, that's fine, I can't make you believe me. I've never been to a gynecologist either." Her voice kept going on, like a soft train around my head, making me dizzy. "I lie next to you every night, and I trust you, and I feel you breathe, and I know I can be close to you without... getting hurt – in any way possible."

"Yeah."

"And sometimes I think..." her voice was heavier, "Or like...um, there can't be a boy out there, there's just not, that I'd want to be with forever, and I think I'll always be friends with you."

"Yeah?" I was starting to figure out where this was going, but I wasn't sure where to take it.

"Emily has... a dildo in her room – it's this huge purple thing."

I guess my laughter was contagious because she started laughing too. But I was just laughing mostly out of nervousness.

Then Eleanor decked out a barrage of questions. "I mean what's your deal? Have you ever been with a girl – I mean with my stepsister...did you guys... go all the way?"

Oh God.

"We kissed a lot, and we... touched." Maybe Eleanor didn't know, but from my experience it was a pretty safe bet that Margo had been with girls before me.

"Where?" Eleanor asked.

"Um, you know..."

I felt like we were in that dream she told me about now, and the lid of the shoebox had just been removed. Body parts...

"Breasts... and..."

"Like there? Did you touch her there?"

"No."

I was a bit afraid of that, because once you touched a girl's vagina you'd made a commitment, it was a call to duty, and you had to keep going – you couldn't just window shop, you were expected to buy something, you know? And if you couldn't bring a girl to orgasm you'd failed a tremendous job, and you always felt like a loser, at least I would, so I never even tried. They should have vaginas you could buy somewhere and practice on before you tried on a real person. And as I lay thinking about this whole thing Eleanor put her hand on my leg and a few seconds later she exploded in laughter and took it away. Then she came in towards me and kissed me on the lips.

"You're beautiful," she said, "I want you here every step of the way. I wanna do a really dark, fucked up version of Sound of Silence."

That was the last thing I expected her to say.

"Huh?"

"Oh, you know, the Simon and Garfunkel song..." then she shyly but impressively sang the first few lines, "Hello darkness, my old friend...I've come to talk to you again, because a vision slowly – "

I remembered the words suddenly and started singing with her. "...Creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping, and the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains – within the silence. In restless dreams I walked alone, narrow streets of cobblestone, 'neath the halo of a street lamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp, a neon light that split the night, and touched the sound... of silence."

Chapter 26

The Pod Dolls

Boo!" Emily snuck up behind Eleanor and I at the breakfast table. Eleanor was always grumpy in the morning.

"Aren't you supposed to be at school?" Eleanor asked while chewing on a spoonful of cereal.

"Its Saturday, douche snot."

"You're so gross!" Eleanor screamed.

I looked at Eleanor, grinning. I thought she was adorable, and as the days carried on, I was starting to develop a pretty massive crush on her.

"You know what's severely lame but also severely cool," Emily said, sitting down with a miniature box of sugary cereal (the last thing she needed), waiting for Eleanor to respond to whatever she was talking about, but Eleanor chose to ignore Emily. This of course didn't stop Emily from continuing. "The fact that we can't have phone calls after ten but we have no damn curfew – Dee-Lite is hosting some rave tonight in the ci-taaaaaaaay. DJ Dimitri is spinning." Then Emily proceeded to get right up in Eleanor's face as if she didn't hear, and raised her voice, "DJ Dimitri is spinning."

"Doooooooooonnnnn't," Eleanor whined, pushing her away, "Its fucking nine in the morning." She put her hand on her face as if to shield her eyes from intruding light. Emily moved away but her energy didn't dissolve. She sat down next to me and ate more of her cereal, crunching right in my ear.

"Besides, don't you have to know certain people to know where raves like those are – they're always at undisclosed locations or whatever," Eleanor said.

Emily was quick to respond. "Jonathon knows where it is, so if you apologized, he would tell us." Eleanor rolled her eyes. "What?" Emily snipped, "Do you have a cheese sandwich buffet to go to?"

Eleanor covered her face in despair. "God, I hate you! Please just go away!"

Emily held her head back and let out a witchy laugh as she dropped pieces of cereal into her mouth and roared, "Never!"

Eleanor reached over and yanked the cereal box from Emily's hand and started throwing cereal at her, which Emily tried to catch in her mouth.

"You girls go out of your way to make a mess," Mrs.Gisby sighed as she walked over to the sink, sugary balls of cereal crunching under her slippers, and stared surprisingly at all the dirty dishes. "Eleanor – have you still not done the dishes?"

Emily pointed at Eleanor and started laughing.

Mrs. Gisby rolled her sleeves up and turned on the water. "Your father won't be happy about this."

"Won't be happy about what?" Mr. Gisby entered the kitchen dressed exactly the same as last night, his usual wooden-stiff posture in check.

"Eleanor," Mrs. Gisby complained, "Get up right now and do these dishes."

"Yeah," Mr. Gisby agreed, "This is ridiculous," then he turned around, stunned, gesturing with his hand as he looked at Eleanor, "This stuff's been in here since Thursday?"

"I was gonna do 'em last night but I didn't feel well," Eleanor said, her arms were folded around her stomach like she had a tummy ache.

"Get up and do 'em now," Mr. Gisby ordered. Eleanor slowly got up and went over to the sink. Her stepfather stood there next to her, leaning against the counter and watching as Eleanor picked up the sponge and squirted a dab of Palmolive soap on it. Emily still seemed unconfined by the mood of the kitchen. She simply looked at her mother as she placed a cornflake on her tongue.

"Are we free to use the phone now?" she asked. Mrs. Gisby placed an elbow on the table and brought her coffee mug up to her mouth and barely nodded before taking a sip. I wished there was something I could do to end the intensity as Eleanor continued to do the dishes under Mr. Gisby's watchful eye.

"Hey, you okay?" Emily said into the phone, "Where are you? Shit, that place?" A few seconds later Emily blurted, "Well she fucking could have!"

"Emily!" Mrs. Gisby fussed, walking by her husband who was still as a statue, watching every move Eleanor made.

"They wouldn't be that hard to wash if you didn't let them stay in the sink this long," he preached as Eleanor scrubbed at stubborn-as-cement sauce on a plate.

Emily pressed the phone to her chest and looked at Eleanor. "Jonathon spent all night at the Melrose Diner."

Eleanor didn't say a word as she reached up to set a watermelon glass down on the shelf above the sink when Mr. Gisby snatched it out of her hand and put it in the cupboard.

"No," Emily squealed, "I'm dating Brian!"

Eleanor finally finished the dishes and went straight to her room, leaving me out here with her parents and horny teenage sister.

"No!" Emily railed. "Well put another quarter in! I know, but we're not supposed to get calls that late – I think its her time of the month."

"Emily!" Mrs. Gisby gasped, shaking her head as she looked down at her coffee. "So, Sarah, where were you staying before?" her voice was suddenly light and smooth with curiosity.

"On the North Side," I said.

"Its where?" Emily asked Jonathon. "Oh shit, that's awesome."

"And you prefer this place over that?" Mrs. Gisby remarked, driving in the fact she would never prefer this place rather than another.

"That place was haunted," I said.

"What place was haunted?" Emily asked, seconds after ending her conversation with Jonathon. It was as if she wasn't like anyone else who actually had to breathe while they talked. She sat down in Eleanor's chair so we were right next to each other and started to eat more cereal from the box.

"Emily, get some milk and a bowl, for Christ's sake," Mrs. Gisby fussed.

"Does anyone else want pancakes?" Mr. Gisby offered. Emily raised her hand as if she were in class. "Sarah? Do you want some?"

I did but I felt bad sitting here with the family when Eleanor wasn't.

"Yes, she does," Emily answered for me. She was staring at the right side of my face. She tossed the cereal box over her shoulder and it actually landed in the trashcan. "What place is haunted?" she nagged.

"The apartment where I used to live."

"Sha?!" she said. 'Sha?!' in Emily language mean 'no shit?'

"Yeah."

"What kind of stuff happened?"

"I'd just always wake up at three in the morning, I could feel something watching me." I decided not to go into the stories of the attacks. I felt bad for complaining – I couldn't explain why, I just felt like I shouldn't mention it.

"It sucks you no longer talk to your sister," Emily said.

"Yeah..." I wanted to say, 'But its worth it, anything's worth finally sleeping straight through the night, not being terrified, being able to breathe and move if I should wake up at three.' I also wanted to say that Eleanor had a lot to do with that, because she slept like an angel.

Mr. Gisby came over with a plate stacked with pancakes.

"Living there must have been quite terrifying for you to just cut off communication with your sister," Mrs. Gisby said, "Just sort of... pretend you don't even have a sister."

"No, I'm trying to pretend that whole period of my life never happened. I'd never pretend I didn't have a big sister." What had I done? I was suddenly too shocked and sad to talk. I wished I were in Eleanor's room.

Emily was sticking her tongue out and pressing the back of her fork against it as she looked at me. She removed the fork long enough to say, "Yeah you do – you never mention your sister, or the band, or anything – its like last year didn't happen."

I played with my food, wishing I could be like Mr. Gisby and just block out everything around me as I wolfed down my pancakes and noisily slurped my coffee before slipping away to the third floor where no one else was allowed, and pretend nothing down here mattered – nothing on the first floor of the entire world.

Eleanor suddenly returned, her walk pretty triumphant considering her earlier ordeal. She had on her pink sneakers, which she only wore when she was planning on being gone for a long time. She had her car keys in her hand and that was when it finally sunk in what Ben meant when he always tried to tell me how driving gave you a freedom no one could take away.

"Let's go," she said as she passed behind my chair. I gladly obliged, pushing my chair back and following her to the door.

On our way out Emily screamed, "Hey! I got in touch with Jonathon – I know where that rave is!" Her obnoxious howl was met with the slap of the screen door as we left with no intention of coming back before dark.

Once we were in the confines of Eleanor's car, she sat there for a minute, letting the relief silence brought wash over her.

"God – its like how did I survive that house for twenty years and why am I still living there?" she wondered. Then she looked at me, "And you?"

"Because you're there," I simply pointed out.

Eleanor stared out of her dirty windshield at the house. "I need to get a job – then maybe we could get our own place. Live in the city," she said, suddenly excited.

"Yeah." I was still getting money from the band, because despite our hiatus, Charge of Night Brigade was getting a decent amount of sales and airplay. It was pretty much a fact now – Veronica's Car Crash was a one-hit wonder.

"Like if Margo and I got along better – but she'd never move back here for good, she's not the type – but she's got tons of money."

"Maybe we could move in with someone who wants two roommates," I said.

"Yeah." Eleanor's gloomy mood lifted altogether as she started the car, that Pretty Mary Sunshine song kicking back in. We drove into the city, enjoying the drive and the weather. It was cold but not to a painful degree, and it wasn't snowing so the sidewalks weren't a deathtrap. To avoid Jonathon and any of his gutter punk friends, we skipped our usual hangouts and went to a cyber café that had just opened on Clark Street a few weeks ago. We ordered a latte to share and sat in the corner in huge pod chairs. We paid for an hour's worth of Internet time. There was a site called New Life, which listed roommate ads.

"What about this one?" I pointed to an ad for a loft in Wicker Park. A male and female were looking for two more roomies – girls or guys – to move in with them by the end of the year.

"Yeah..." Eleanor ran her hand through her hair, "Five hundred dollars a month is quite a drop in the bucket."

I shrugged, sitting back in the ridiculous chair. I felt like I was disappearing in it.

"You wanna look at other cities – just for fun?" she asked.

"Sure." But I never wanted to leave Chicago, I loved Chicago – I was in love with Chicago.

She clicked on L.A. I had a saying – it was "No Way L.A." So while she looked around at ads I noticed a Help Wanted sign posted at the café bar.

"El, you could work here," I said. She looked over at the sign and pouted as if it said Fuck You. She was too much like me.

"Just, realistically speaking, if we're going to start a band and move... this would be a cool place to work – you'd get free computer access and free coffee. It's a cool neighborhood," I said.

She moved the mouse around for no reason, quietly thinking.

"But Jonathon..."

"You have to get over your fear of him. What's he going to do to you when you're at work?"

"Its not a fear," she said, her hand still in her hair to keep it out of her face, "It's a... semi-attraction that gets bigger every time I see him."

"Really?"

She moved the mouse around, pouting. "Yeah... I think he'd be cool if he'd just shut up. You know what Emily told me?"

I was confused. I thought she hated Jonathon.

"No."

"Jonathon has scars on his wrists, from like... people tying him up. He's into that kind of thing."

She stared at the words NEW LIFE at the top of the roommate ads and finally stood up. She stretched so her favorite baby-blue cashmere sweater rose up, exposing her soft belly. I playfully poked it with my finger before she giggled; it was just like that Pillsbury Doughboy commercial. Eleanor played with my hair before walking off to the register. I took notice of the pimply-faced boy sitting next to us. Next to his mouse was a super-sized iced mocha topped with whipped cream, chocolate syrup and sprinkles. His black eyes moved like anxious insects as he looked over at me, back at his computer screen and then over at me again. "Are you two lesbians?" he finally asked, smiling with his dry cracked lips. I stared at him, at the crusty pimple in the corner of his mouth. He waited for me to respond, biting his bottom lip so his teeth sank into the pimple, drawing up a fresh drop of blood.

"No," I said. Then I looked back at the computer screen and changed my mind. "Yes, we are, what of it?"

Eleanor was already on her way back.

"Dude, guess what," she said as she collapsed back down into the pod chair. "I got the job."

"Really?! That was so fast."

"Yeah, I know, he really liked me."

Of course he did, I thought. The geek tapped Eleanor on the arm and she looked at him like she was about to haul off and punch him in the face.

"Hey, are you lesbians?" he asked, pointing at her, his lips glistening with saliva. Eleanor looked at me for a second and laughed before turning to the boy. "During

certain periods of the night." The guy let out an absurd sound between a laugh and hiccup. "Sometimes I let her feel my tits," Eleanor went on, torturing him.

"Oh," he pounded his fist onto the keyboard, "Oh God."

Eleanor leaned into him and added, "And sometimes... sometimes I let her bite my ass."

I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. The log-off box popped up on the computer screen informing us that we had less than a minute left on the computer.

"Shit, I found something else," I said, quickly jotting down the address of a place on the corner of Hollywood & Broadway.

"What?" Eleanor leaned forward to look at what I was writing down.

"This place on the corner of Hollywood and Broadway."

"Kind of a bad area," the guy next to us said, "Gangs – Latin Kings...and this other gang – "

"There are gangs everywhere," Eleanor cut him off. "Let's go."

Chapter 27

Everywhere

This is pretty cool," I said of the huge brownstone building behind the black gate. The grass in the front yard was nicely kept, and there were three huge wooden doors to enter the building through – one in the front and one on each side of the building. We were going to the fifth floor, to apartment H7, where Jennifer Post lived. Her want ad for two roommates read, "Preferably quiet, non-smokers, cats okay." This gave Eleanor an idea for the name of our first album; she wanted to call it Cats Okay! I loved that she was thinking that far ahead already. Maybe I could give this rock n roll thing one more go-round once we were settled into a new apartment with new jobs – I figured by then I'd need the therapeutic outlet.

"So'd she sound nice on the phone?" Eleanor asked right before knocking on the door.

"Yeah, I mean she didn't sound totally pleasant or bitchy, so –

A brown-haired skinny girl with sleepy green eyes opened the door. She had on reading glasses that were slipping down her nose. She wasn't what I pictured. She was athletic and seemed older than us. She probably took one look at us and already decided these weren't people she wanted to live with.

"Hi," she said, "Are you... are you Sarah and Eleanor?"

"Yes, I'm Sarah," I said. I glanced over her shoulder into the apartment. It wasn't very well organized. She had a cheap shoe rack in front of the window of the main room, and her shoes weren't even on it. They were scattered all over the floor instead. Sweatshirts draped over every chair at the kitchen table. She smelled vaguely of sweat and came across as one of those busybodies that probably wouldn't spend much time deciding who should move in with her.

She held her hand out. "Jennifer." She had a very strong, almost painful handshake. It was quick, which I normally didn't like but in this case it was fine.

"Eleanor," Eleanor said in her very pleasant voice, which made Jennifer smile.

"Well come in." Jennifer left the door wide open for us as she walked back inside the main room. "The place is a mess – if it's not school, its work, if it's not work it's the boyfriend."

She took her hair out of the ponytail and made a new one as she walked over to the TV. She was watching The Bold and The Beautiful. She turned it off.

"How was it on the way over?" she asked, tossing the remote control on the couch. "Did you have any trouble finding it?"

"Nah," Eleanor coolly said, looking around, "We're very familiar with the city."

"Oh... you just said on the phone you lived in the suburbs."

"Yup, but we come out almost every night."

Jennifer stood very still and fearfully inquired, "Are you ravers?"

"No," Eleanor said frankly, "My sister is – we go sometimes but I wouldn't categorize us as ravers. Like we don't get fucked up and make out with bathroom walls and shit."

"Sorry, I mean its okay, I just don't want..." Jennifer rubbed the back of her neck, searching for the right words, "I'm a very low-key person, I like low-keyness, how old are you guys?"

"We're both twenty."

"Wow. Wow, that's young."

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Twenty-six. Yeah," she paused to yawn and stretch. I could see the lining of her exercise bra. She had a cute face, a bit too skinny, but cute nonetheless. I figured she went to a tanning booth because you couldn't have that kind of healthy glow in Chicago in November. "I work, I come home, I unwind, that's it," she simplified. "My boyfriend Gregory comes over sometimes, he's a very quiet guy, we watch movies and go to bed. Like I said, low-key."

"We're not as weird as we seem," Eleanor said, so cutthroat it was funny. "Like, really, we're not."

"You really want a place huh?" Jennifer read our desperation pretty well. She sighed, "Well, why don't I give you a tour and then we can talk a bit more about what it is you're looking for in this opportunity and I as well."

We followed her across the living room as she bent down to swipe up a blue shirt. "I mean its not like the Biltmore Estate or anything, you can almost see all it has to offer from wherever you're standing." She stopped in the tiny hallway and pointed towards the end, "My bedroom's there." She turned and looked at us. "The only thing is this – the bathroom is in my room, so you'll have to knock if I'm in my room and you have to use it, and the other bedroom is right there." She pointed in the opposite direction. "That would be your room – so you guys don't mind sharing a room?" She sounded a little puzzled, but not opposed to the idea.

"No, that's what we've been doing," Eleanor's words softly glided across the floor. I caught Jennifer momentarily staring at Eleanor's bodacious tits.

"Cos then you'll...," she brought her eyes back up to Eleanor's face, "Just pay five-hundred – I mean you'd split that." She seemed to be having trouble talking all of a sudden. Eleanor's tits could do that to a person sometimes, they had that kind of power. Jennifer watched us and played with her hair as we walked into our would-be bedroom. It was slightly bigger than Eleanor's room. The entire apartment, though, was only a little bigger than the living room in my old Rogers Park apartment.

"So," she walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "You girls thirsty?" she seemed to be warming up to us. I was starting to think we might have a chance at getting this place after all.

"Yeah, sure, thanks," Eleanor said.

Jennifer tossed us Fresh Samanthas and we sat down at the table.

"So tell me about yourselves," she said, shaking her drink up.

"She used to be in a band," Eleanor said, "Veronica's Car Crash."

I really wish she hadn't have said that – hadn't we agreed a long time ago that she wouldn't bring that up?

"What? Really?" Jennifer was stunned, staring at me in awe. It was the most she'd looked at me since we had arrived. "Oh my God – is that you that sings that song that goes like, 'I fucking hate you now,' you just keep screaming that, like over and over?"

"Mmm hmm," I painfully admitted.

"That rocks," Jennifer laughed. "So what happened to you guys?" She took a big gulp of her drink as she looked at me, waiting for me to respond. Did people just assume that a band's breakup was an easy thing to talk about? Obviously some stuff went down, some friendships came to a heartbreaking end. I just looked at Eleanor to talk about it since she brought it up.

"They just split," Eleanor said, sounding apologetic.

"Yeah, but why?" Jennifer shrugged.

"Creative differences," Eleanor explained. "So anyway, she moved out afterwards, and she's been living with me ever since."

"In the suburbs," Jennifer thought aloud, sympathetic.

"Yeah, we want to start a new band," Eleanor said. That was dumb, I thought, because Jennifer certainly didn't seem like the type to want to live with a band.

"Oh ..."

"I have a friend, Avy, who has drums in her basement, so we'll probably practice there."

"Oh, okay." Jennifer sounded relieved that time.

"So may I ask you something?" Eleanor said in a more serious tone.

"Absolutely."

"How long have you lived here?"

"Five months, yeah, I wanted to live alone, honestly, but I can't afford it anymore. I'm going back to school."

"Someone said something about gang activity," Eleanor said.

"Oh, right, no – I mean there was a member of the Latin Kings that worked at the pizza place around the corner, but I think he quit." Jennifer didn't seem easily intimidated by much. She kept her hand on the top of her now empty Fresh Samantha bottle, playing with it. "No, the neighborhood's fine, I mean... some people think its haunted, some people even believe it's the ghost of Suzanne Degnan."

"Who?" I asked, because the name struck a chord, and I couldn't explain why – it just sounded familiar. Especially the last name – Degnan.

"The six year old girl that was murdered in 1946, on the 6th of January – the crime of the century – you don't now about that?" she seemed stunned to the point of being offended.

"No..." But I did. I did know.

"It's awful – awful – the most awful thing you'd ever hear about – will ever hear about. I'll save you from the details – but she haunts the city because... well... her... never mind."

"No, what?" My eyes never left Jennifer. "Tell me, I want to know."

Jennifer looked at me as if to say, 'No, you really don't.'

"She was... she was kidnapped from her bed and strangled with wire, which was tied in the shape of a noose and found under the stairway along with a handkerchief used to gag her... she was raped and cut up and her body parts were dropped off in various areas of Rogers Park, but her arms were found here on Hollywood, in a catch basin behind the gas station on the corner, near the pizza place I mentioned."

Eleanor was nearly in tears. "Oh my God... that's horrible."

Jennifer looked at Eleanor for a minute. "She plays with the elevator, at least that's what the tenants think."

"Where did the murder happen?" I asked, but I already knew that too. Yes you do. I know. You left me, you got to leave, you're lucky. Well I don't get to leave, I don't get to do shit!

"6093 Winthrop, in the basement."

"Holy shit." I looked at Eleanor. "That's where I lived – that's why its haunted."

"You lived there?" Jennifer asked. I nodded and stared down at the table, mesmerized. "You sort of look like Suzanne," Jennifer said a few seconds later. She stretched her lean body and reached over to toss her empty Fresh Samantha bottle into the trash so her gray t-shirt rose up and showed off her silver belly ring. She pulled her shirt down. "Well I'd say moving from Des Plains and definitely moving out of Murder Man Row is a step up."

"Murder Man Row?" I inquired.

"Yeah," said Jennifer, "There were other murders there, all around the time Suzanne was killed."

Eleanor was frowning and biting her nails. She removed her hand from her mouth. "I remember hearing about that – yeah," she crossed her arms over her chest and sadly thought, "Yeah, Margo brought it up one night when we went over to your place, she said something like, 'This is where the Murder Man killed all those people.'"

"Yeah, it's a grim chunk of history," Jennifer plunged into some facts. "There were burglaries and murders all over that block around the time Suzanne was killed, and eventually a man by the name of William Heirens confessed to them all – but a man named Richard Thomas also confessed to killing Suzanne, but he died soon after. He was already in prison for sexually abusing his own daughter. She... Suzanne... was never given a proper funeral because her body parts were found over the course of almost a year – she was spilled all over the city. She is the city."

Chapter 28

Nevada's Definition of Pain

We moved out of Eleanor's house on a Sunday. We were sitting in the kitchen listening to the papery sound of Mrs. Gisby's slippers drag across the kitchen floor – a sound we'd never hear again.

"Hollywood and Broadway, huh," she said, referring to our new address, "Sounds more glamorous than it is I bet."

"It's a nice building," Eleanor defended it. "Relatively cheap too, for the city."

Mrs. Gisby stirred her coffee before tossing the spoon into the sink. The sound it made was just like the sound I used to hear in my old kitchen late at night. "Whatever," she sighed, "Just do the dishes before you go because, once again, you skipped out on it on Thursday." She sluggishly walked out of the kitchen and right after Eleanor held her hand out as if to make a point.

"I'm like moving out today and that's all she has to say to me?"

I looked at Eleanor and she looked at me until we knew all of our thoughts had stopped except for a shared one. Ever since we decided to take the place on Hollywood and Broadway, we were in total sync. We stood up simultaneously and I grabbed a trash bag as she went over to the sink. I held the bag open as she dropped plate after plate into the bag, followed by forks, spoons, knives and finally Mr. Gisby's favorite coffee cup.

Eleanor frowned as she looked into the bag and asked, "How much stuff do you have left to pack?"

"Nothing, I'm ready."

There was a bridge in Des Plaines that had been in the middle of collapsing for about a year now. Eleanor drove us there as she blasted Rage Against The Machine's Down Rodeo. In tha ruins there's a network for tha toxic Rock/ Shool yard ta precinct, suburb ta Project block/ Bosses broke south for new flesh and A factory floor/ The remains left chained to the Powder war.

Kids never came to this bridge without a can of spray-paint or condoms. There was no damage control and the moon always hung directly over the golden crown painted on the middle cement girder. The bridge was also known as 'Killah-Quick,' a nickname teenagers gave it after one of their friends jumped off of it in a successful suicide attempt.

Eleanor parked her car and I lugged the trash bag of dishes over to the side of the road. "This might just be the coolest thing I've ever done," Eleanor said as I handed her a plate. She took a few steps back until she was behind her car and flung the plate against a box-beam so it shattered into about ten chunks. It was as if someone blasted it to bits with a shotgun. Only a few seconds slipped by before she flung another one and screamed, "FUCK YOU DAD!" She reached down for another, which shot faster than a rock from a slingshot, "FUCK YOU MOM!"

I took the watermelon glass Mr. Gisby snatched from El's hand that morning and slammed it so hard I jumped back from the shards of glass that flew out everywhere. We were laughing like lunatic brats.

"This..." Eleanor paused to catch her breath, "This is my mom's wine glass," she informed, as if she were speaking to a large crowd of people. The setting sun shined against the rim of the glass as she held it up to the sky before she flung it at the bridge. It shattered into complete oblivion.

"Is there another one?" I asked, because nothing was more therapeutic than smashing something into absolute nothingness.

"There's a fucking set," Eleanor giggled in hysteria. She handed me two and she took the last one and we counted to ten and threw them at the same time and screamed gloriously before breaking whatever was left to break.

Jennifer wasn't home, so we had a chance to get settled in without having to deal with her uptight energy. It was hard to tell if she'd cleaned up or not, the place looked vaguely less of a mess than before, but it was still oddly arranged.

"Do you get a strange feeling from Jennifer?" Eleanor asked, setting a box down on the floor.

"What do you mean?" I placed Theodore down by the shoe rack. I sort of knew what she meant, but I also knew where the strange feeling was coming from, and it wasn't coming from Jennifer.

"She seems... unsettled – I even wonder if she's gonna split soon," Eleanor sat on the couch, looking around at all of her boxes.

"We just smashed all of your family's dishes against a bridge and you're calling someone else unsettled."

"I'm just saying there's something not quite right about her," Eleanor reinforced, "So I was thinking maybe we should be prepared to pay her half of the rent, you know," she looked up at me. "How much money do you have saved up?"

"Not a whole lot... you really think she'd bail?"

"There's just so much we didn't ask her, like what her plans are, I don't know – something just doesn't feel right with this. Its too easy or... something." She shook her head and stared at the floor. "I could sell my car but... I mean do you think you could stand to get a job?"

No.

"Yeah."

I sat on the couch as panic started to sweep over me. What had we done? What had I done... ever? I was in a band, I was on the way up, and now I was nowhere.

"Cool," she stood up and gave me a friendly poke on the shoulder. "We should get the rest of the boxes."

Six months slipped by without much happening. Still, whenever I left my building, I couldn't stop myself from looking over at the Shell Gas Station across the street. That was where the catch basin was, where her arms were stuffed. Who would – could – walk that far with a child's dismembered parts? What was the point in scattering them around in different neighborhoods? This wasn't the crime of the century; it was the crime of all-time, committed by the Devil. I didn't think William Heirens did it. He didn't seem evil enough. No one did. I read this book once in Harold Washington Library. The title of the book wasn't easy to forget – Chicago: Devil City. It took a courageous dip into the cold hard facts of crimes that happened here – most of them unsolved, such as the Grimes Sisters. The Grimes Sisters, ages 13 and 15, left to go see Love Me Tender at Brighton Theatre back in 1956 and never made it back home. Their bodies were discovered almost a month later, lightly dusted with snow, on a road in Willow Springs. They were beaten and stabbed with an ice pick. The murderer was never found. Then of course there was the Chicago Fire, and while plenty of theories have been thrown around, the initial cause was never brought to light. The author even mentioned Suzanne Degnan, describing it as the most heartless crime ever committed. He went on to declare: If there ever was a city that limned itself as the Devil's playground, that city is Chicago.

I finally pulled my eyes away from the gas station. I had to pause and push everything aside just to catch my breath. The heat and city's wind created a sandstorm of filth. Suddenly my only goal was to get some place air-conditioned. I'm not sure what happened to April. I spent most if not all of the month of May working and writing songs on the rooftop of our building, listening as the elevator stopped on the 9th floor and the door would open, but no one ever got off – at least no one I could see. Oh, and I got fired from my job. No one knew yet, I was trying to act quickly and get another job. Meanwhile, Eleanor still had her job at the Internet Cafe.

I walked up and down Hollywood, eyeing store windows for Help Wanted signs and when it got to be too depressing I bought an iced coffee even though at this point two dollars for such an indulgence had the same value as twenty because I was so broke. I hung out in an Internet Café in our neighborhood that sadly tried to come off as hip but couldn't really afford it and ended up looking like your run-of-the-mill pizza place in permanent transition phase. I spent an amazing amount of time on the Internet looking up facts about Suzanne Degnan and nearly everyone who walked by my computer said the same thing. "Is that you? She looks just like you."

I went into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror and smiled. I had the same slightly crooked shy smile she had in her picture. I swore the scar above my lip was starting to disappear. It was still noticeable but it was now one of those things where unless you knew to look for it, it wasn't the first thing you noticed when you looked at me. I didn't want to lose the scar. Maybe that sounded crazy, but Eleanor always touched it right before she kissed me. It was an act of affection I'd gotten so used to.

I went home everyday at six so it seemed like I'd just gotten off work. The first thing I'd do was lie to Jennifer because she always asked me how work was, as if I had the kind of job (or pretended to have the kind of job) where exciting new things happened everyday. I couldn't even imagine being that kind of person who lived for their job, to me it had always been an obstacle I wanted to leap over and run into the woods from, screaming my head off. The fact that I didn't have one was almost as disturbing. I was obsessing over what could have been, which never got you far.

Before I got fired, I worked at a jewelry booth in Century Mall. I polished silver all day and if I didn't sell enough by the end of the week I had to attend a "Pronto-Meeting" about how I could improve my sales by what I wore and how I smiled. I wasn't at all upset when I got fired. I wanted to call Eleanor up and go celebrate but I knew I couldn't do that. Avy was missing. She didn't call Eleanor to tell her she was leaving, and she took her drums with her. The worst was the fact that she also took Eleanor's guitar. We came up with theories, whispering back and forth in the middle of the night. Was she pregnant? Had she freaked out and left to get an abortion, selling Eleanor's guitar in order to pay for it? "But she could have told us that, right?" Eleanor pondered. I could tell what she was thinking – sex led to problems, sex led to fear, sex led to control, sex led to regret, sex led to parents having a kid that jumped off the Killah-Quick bridge. Eleanor might never lose her virginity at this point.

"Fine," I answered Jennifer's inquiry about my day.

"Yeah?" she sounded doubtful. She was doing dishes once again. Eleanor's laziness had carried over to our new apartment and I could tell this was the quiet before the storm. It wouldn't be long before a fight irrupted between the two. I watched Jennifer reach up to place a wine glass on the top shelf. Hers. Our first night here she picked it up and said it was hers. There were certain things here we were never supposed to touch, and that I didn't want to touch, but the fact that she made it seem like I did made me want to touch them just to piss her off. But then I would have proved her right by pissing her off.

"Yeah."

"So how's the band?" she sat down and lit a cigarette.

"I didn't know you smoked." I wanted to avoid the subject of the band right now – because our drums were missing, our guitar was missing and also our drummer.

"On occasion." She dipped the cigarette against the red and white coca-cola ashtray. "I got stuck in the elevator today – has that happened to you yet?"

"No."

"It will. The landlord loves to blame it on the heat. I mean that makes no sense, right? Anyway, its awful," she emphasized before taking a hardy puff, her foot twitching under the table. "And like it's really hot. The worst thing is you don't just get trapped, but it will stop and the door will open and you'll be facing a concrete wall – do you know how horrific that is? The feeling? Like, you might be trapped forever and no one can help you."

X: Yeah! Imagine that! Ha!

ME: X? Where are you?

X: Everywhere! Not my fault! It's not my fault!

I plugged my ears with my fingers because her shrill was deafening sometimes. It gave me the same headache the cold city's blustery wind did. Jennifer was looking at me funny.

"You okay? You want me to shut up?"

"Huh? No."

I heard keys jingle on the other side of the door. Eleanor, thank God, Eleanor was home. It was such a great relief to see her, feel her calm vibe fill up the room. She had a plastic drugstore bag in her hand. She seemed even sleepier than usual.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey." She slugged over to the couch and dropped her bag down on the floor.

"You okay?" I asked because her pout was worse than usual.

She looked at me, holding back what she wanted to say.

"Yeah," she said. I knew she was lying.

"Did you get trapped in the elevator?" Jennifer asked.

Eleanor just shook her head. She took off her pink sneakers and lied down on the couch, gazing up at the ceiling. The moon beamed in through the window, bathing her doll-like body.

"Its so hot," she eventually said, her arm collapsed over her forehead. She let out the cutest little cough.

"Yeah, we should go in together and buy an air conditioner," Jennifer said, glumly. "Also, in all fairness, we should take turns washing the dishes – the last thing I want to do when I get home from school is sweat over the kitchen sink. Eleanor, tomorrow it's your turn."

Eleanor was despondent. She just stared at the ceiling. Jennifer shook her head and put her second cigarette out before standing up. She mumbled something that if I had to guess, was something to the effect of "Fucking demonic elevators and lazy assholes."

As Jennifer started her travel through the messy living room to the hallway, the lights went out. All of the lights on the entire block – it was like one big electric sweep throwing us into utter darkness.

"Mother of fuck," Jennifer sighed. I couldn't see her do it but I knew she was rubbing her face with her hand. Eleanor was still quiet; it was like she didn't notice the blackout, or even the fact that she was home. "I'm so sick of this," Jennifer moaned.

"This happens often?" I asked.

"Fucking every fucking Friday night at this time."

"It's the building then," I wondered, "A glitch?"

Jennifer had moved into the kitchen without us seeing and was lighting a candle. The flame created a bigger impression of her body against the wall.

"I don't know; the landlord certainly never hands out any explanations for this building's surprises."

You think its Suzanne?

I knew that was the question forming in everyone's head. She walks out there at night, lost in confusion, devastation and pain, in all the places where her body parts were dropped off. How could someone killed in such a way ever find peace of mind?

"She plays jokes on people," Jennifer suddenly spoke up. Eleanor and I migrated into the kitchen and sat around the table.

"Suzanne?" I asked. She was always on our minds, and always at the same time.

"Yeah, at that gas station, she'll lock people out of their cars. Once a guy thought he hit a little girl on his way out but when he got out to check, nothing was there. They say her killer tried to break into one of the apartments in this building because he wanted to wash his hands, but he couldn't get in."

After a few minutes lurked by Eleanor kicked something under the table. I think she was aiming for me but she kicked the table stand instead.

She stood up, waving her hands in front of her face. "I can't stand it in here anymore, its too hot, let's go to that pizza place and get cream sodas."

Jennifer looked at Eleanor like she was crazy. " There's a blackout."

"Whatever," Eleanor sighed, "I just have to get out of here."

I stood up. "I'll go with you."

I wanted to see her. I wanted to see Suzanne. The carpet in the hallway was red and the lights were dim. This was where adrenaline met fear. We walked by the elevator to the stairs. I heard a squeaking sound, like sneakers make against a gymnasium floor. I heard that sound a lot here. Jennifer said it was rats but I always thought it was something else.

This building's staircases were a lot different than my old apartment – they were wide like a high school's. I never saw anyone else when I traveled the staircases, which left this place with a permanent feeling of loneliness.

"She's freaking me out – Jennifer," Eleanor said. "I almost miss home."

We walked silently through the lobby and out into the street, Eleanor's little flashlight attached to her key ring was the only light we had. We stood outside and Eleanor lit a cigarette.

"Sometimes I feel like I don't belong anywhere – like what the fuck happened to Avy? I really need this band." She leaned against the building for a second. "Did you hear that?"

"No – what?"

"Right behind us, like someone tapping on the door." She turned around after a second and shined her flashlight inside the building. Nothing but the sagging tile floor, the elevators and abandoned pieces of mail scattered about on the floor. Then a flashlight from across the street swept up from nowhere and shined right in our faces. A cop. He was hurriedly crossing the street to make his way over to us.

"Oh great, now a cop," Eleanor bitched. "We should just get in my car and go. By the way, I know you don't have a job anymore."

"You girls alright?" the cop asked, his voice sounding a lot closer to us than he actually was.

"Yeah, we'd be better if you weren't blinding us with your flashlight," Eleanor swiped.

The cop lowered his flashlight to his side and spoke regardless, "Not safe for you to just be standing around like this, you locked out?"

"No, just hot. What caused the blackout?" Eleanor asked.

"Its gang related," the cop said. "You must be new to the neighborhood," he guessed.

"Yeah," Eleanor said, "We just wanted cream sodas."

"Cream sodas, huh?" he said, rather condescending. "Well, you'll have to wait a while for that."

"Does it make it easier for you to find people when you can't see anything?" Eleanor asked. He looked at her.

"Funny, you're funny." He didn't sound amused. I wished he'd leave. We were standing right in front of the door to our building with keys in our hand, so we really weren't in danger. "Welp, hang out if you want, I just wouldn't recommend it is all." He trotted off back across the street and stood guard in front of the huge discount store, which was so dark right now you couldn't see the 50 Cent Toilet Paper signs that plastered the storefront windows.

"Gang activity," Eleanor muttered as if she didn't believe in it. "This is the night, Sarah."

I didn't know what she was talking about. She sounded like a character out of a bad vampire movie.

"The night... for what?"

"I'm getting' out of here, you wanna come with?"

Of course I did. We were like conjoined twins. I went where she went. But what did she mean by getting out of here? The city? The state? She did want to look at apartments in L.A. when we were apartment hunting. I tried to shrug off my paranoia and got in her car. Eleanor purposely blinded the cop with her headlights as we pulled out onto Broadway. It was weird listening to Stairway To Heaven around here.

"You think Jennifer's freaking out?" Eleanor asked, pushing some blonde hair out of her face with her chubby hand, starting to smile a little.

"Yeah."

"She's probably like, 'my roommates were kidnapped by a gang, they're being gang-banged right now!"

I laughed. Then I looked over at Eleanor as the laughter suddenly died. "I'm sorry."

"Its okay. I guess I'm just annoyed because I feel like my friends are keeping shit from me – like Avy. If you get fired, I need to know this shit, you know? It hurts that you feel like you can't tell me."

"Its embarrassing, one, to have a job like that, so it's hellishly embarrassing to get fired from it."

"Not really, not if you think about it. You didn't get fired because you couldn't do the job, you got fired because you didn't do your job, cos it sucked, and you knew that, and therefore you don't suck."

I loved her. I freaking loved this girl.

"I'll get another job, everything will be cool."

"I want my guitar back," she summed up before slowing down for a stoplight. "What do you think happened with Avy?"

"I think she got scared of something and skipped town."

"But scared of what? The girl's huge and tough and... I just don't get it – she's such a good drummer I'd even forgive her for stealing my guitar," she looked at me and turned her hand upside down so her wrist faced the sunroof and cigarette smoke filled the car, "Isn't that fucked up?" I was about to say something when a boy slammed onto the hood of Eleanor's car and rolled off. I think he was laughing. He was dressed in gray jeans and a gray jacket – the color of rain, as if rain suddenly took the shape of a human being. He landed on his side and slid off and darted across the street into Lounge Ax.

"What the hell?" Eleanor looked at me and started laughing, "That was crazy." She slapped her little hand onto the steering wheel and said again, "What the hell."

"Where'd he come from?"

"I think he fell from the sky," she said. She sounded serious. She looked over at the dark windows of Lounge Ax.

"Let's go there," she said. She parked and we got out way down past Red Lion Pub, which was said to be haunted.

X: HEY! That's where my friends are, Sarah!

ME: Okay, X!

I looked down at Eleanor as we entered Lounge Ax. "So what did you mean earlier when you said tonight's the night?"

"I want to lose my virginity," she said as she walked over to the bar. We managed to buy some drinks without getting carded and went over to a small table in the corner, away from the stage. I couldn't be positive but it was plausible that the singer of Wilco just walked by me.

"I like this place," Eleanor said affectionately, preparing to light a smoke. "I've been thinking about the band so much – we have to find Avy. I mean can you imagine?" she folded her short chubby legs and rested her elbow against her knee. "Playing at places like this? Just being part of the scene? It could be a whole new life. A friend of mine listened to that song we recorded with Avy and said we kind of sound like Helium."

"So how long do you want to hold out for Avy?" I asked.

"I don't know – you know how long it took me to afford that guitar?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know where she could have gone?" Eleanor asked, "Like did she say anything to you at all about wanting to skip town?"

"No."

Eleanor turned her head to the side to blow smoke away from us, crossing her legs. "I thought that boy would be here."

"The boy that fell on your car," I guessed.

"Yeah. You know what's weird?"

"What's that?" I dipped my cigarette against the side of the ashtray and lazily looked around the bar. I thought I saw my sister and Lindsay. If they were here, I'd have no idea what to say to them.

"I don't think Jennifer really has a boyfriend – I think she totally made it up, I mean he never comes over."

"You just think she's nuts, don't you," I said, feeding the conversation words when really I was distracted now. I heard a laugh cut through all the chattering voices that had to be Lindsay's.

"I just think its weird, I mean she doesn't have any pictures of him. You know what else?"

Lindsay was at the jukebox with my sister, they both looked happy. Happy without me.

"Huh?"

Eleanor noticed I wasn't really paying attention and looked over at what I was looking at.

"My sister and Lindsay are here," I pointed out, apologetic for not really paying attention to what she'd been saying.

"Go say something," she said, as if this were a good thing.

"No way, I bet they're pissed at me – or they'll act snooty. You don't know – my sister's the queen of snooty."

"But you could be the bigger person and just be nice and cool, tell them about your new band."

But its not really a band yet, Eleanor, our drummer is M.I.A. We have songs written on Hardees napkins.

"I don't know," I turned my attention back to what Eleanor had previously been saying about Jennifer and considered getting another drink. "What were you saying before about Jennifer?"

"Oh, I caught her looking in through our door one time, like late at night, like watching us sleep."

"What! You're just telling me this now?"

She picked up her beer, her face stamped with puzzlement. "Yeah... it was in the middle of the night and the door was cracked, I was a bit groggy, but I know I saw long hair and a hand like, you know, on the door, fingers bent around the edge."

I had a thought. "You sure it was her?"

"Yeah, who else could it of been?"

But if it were Suzanne I would have woken up.

"Yeah, I don't know," I decided. "So she was just standing there watching us?"

Eleanor plucked her cigarette so ash fell into the ashtray and pressed her thumb against her eyebrow. "She's totally in the closet."

"Maybe we should give her a show," I said, blushing. I guess my crush on Eleanor never fizzled out. I mean how long could this go on before we took the next step? I was willing to give it a shot, but then again we were here looking for some boy that fell on her car and that was all it took for her to start stalking him. Eleanor made a funny face like she had something in her mouth too big to chew.

"Lindsay's coming over," she said, putting her cigarette out. I looked up at Lindsay. She was already bending down to give me a hug. .

"Hey you," she said, her long hair sweeping across my shoulder. It still smelled like pot. I felt like I was back home. 1995, rainy nights, rock and roll, bloody t-shirts. "Come say hey to your sister," Jeneane urged.

"She wants to see me?" I checked, doubtfully.

"Of course, we've been wondering how you were." Lindsay looked at Eleanor, wildly curious. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Linds, this is Eleanor, Eleanor – Lindsay." They shook hands and Eleanor kept a faint but sweet smile on her face.

"Eleanor and I are starting a band," I felt the need to say.

"Oh yeah?" Lindsay looked back at me, thrilled. "We started another one too, we have a show coming up at Elbow Room, you guys should come," Lindsay tightened her grip on my hand, pulling me to my feet, "Now come." She dragged me across the club and over to the table where Jeneane was sitting. I couldn't imagine how this would go. Jeneane had cut and colored her hair so it was a rich red fluffy bob. Her makeup was perfect. I knew she was going to be in full bitch mode and wished I could make a run for it. Damn it, Eleanor. Why was I here? Was she really going to lose her virginity here? Was she really going to just pick some random guy in Lounge Ax to lose it to? Maybe when it came down to it, it really didn't matter. I mean I wasn't with the guy I lost my virginity to anymore.

I forgot about all these thoughts when my eyes landed on my sister's tattoo – the word BITCH across her forearm in blue and black letters. She looked up at me all askance. She seemed quite drunk.

"Hey," I said, nervous and hot and wishing I'd brought my drink over.

"Hello," she replied, a sharp amount of bitterness in her tone. "How's it going?"

"Good, fine... how are you?"

"I'm great," she said, loving the fact that she upped my 'good' with 'great.'

"Good." I kept looking at the tattoo. "That's... that's new right?" I didn't know what else to say, there was a word – crazy – insane – but "new" seemed safer.

"Yup, it's the name of our band. We have a show coming up, did Lindsay tell you?"

"Yeah, Elbow Room, right?"

Jeneane gave one of her slow, torturous nods as the smirk on her face sharpened.

"Is Eva still involved?" I asked, wanting her to know that I wasn't put off by her smugness.

"No, she went to Spain for a year – its us and a friend we know from school, Pepper."

"Maybe I'll come and check out the show. Me and my friend Eleanor started a band called Suzanne Degnan."

That demolished the so-better-than-you snarl on Jeneane's face pretty fast. "So you know?" Jeneane asked, her voice suddenly tight.

"Know what?"

"About what happened where we lived," Lindsay said.

'Yeah, I found out. You guys still live there?"

"No," Jeneane uncrossed her legs and slouched a bit. "We live in this neighborhood now. You?"

"Hollywood and Broadway."

Lindsay watched me without blinking. "Careful out there."

"You know the killer... he disposed of Suzanne's legs on the corner of where I live now. Its weird, I didn't know that until I moved in."

Everyone was suddenly reserved and I felt the responsibility of changing the subject.

"So... did I see Jeff Tweedy here earlier? Is he here?"

"Yeah," Lindsay said, the word drawn out. "He's engaged to the owner of the bar."

"Did you say hi?" I asked her.

She nodded with her eyes closed. I looked around the room for him but there were at least thirty guys here that sort of looked like him. I guess I just liked him because he reminded me of Ben.

Then I thought in sudden panic, "Whatever happened with the voodoo doll?"

"Oh, we left it there," Jeneane assured. She seemed to have mellowed out since I sat down. Then I noticed the Cheshire grin on Lindsay's face and smelled the joint she was trying to conceal under the table.

"Yeah, we put a new white pin in her heart too. We spoke to the landlord," Lindsay said, her words drawn out, "He told us... it would be a good idea – to bless the place. We're sorry for what you went through." Then she admitted regretfully, "We had a fight, one night soon after you moved out." She was about to go into further detail but first she passed the joint to me. "And we started slamming doors and breaking stuff and then your sister collapsed, she was – "

"In a coma for three days," Jeneane cut in, "When I woke up I was like, that's it, we have to get out of here. "The landlord referred to Suzanne Degnan's spirit as a demon. The last people that lived there even called a priest. Anyway, so we lucked out and found a place around here and now," she shrugged. "The rest is history."

No, the rest wasn't history; it was a child, a child wronged in every way imaginable. I cleared my throat and rubbed the back of my neck. It felt like it was on fire.

"Naming your band after her – you think that's a good idea?" Jeneane asked.

"I think it's a great idea," I said, "We're giving her a new life, I think she'd be very happy with it."

Jeneane reached down for her Guinness. "Well, listen," she picked it up to make a toast. "I don't want there to be any hard feelings – we could look at what happened before as a reason to not talk to each other or we could look at it as a learning experience that will give us perspective for what we're currently trying to achieve."

"Really?" I was close to tears. This meant a new beginning; this also meant closure. "Because I'd love to go to your show next week."

"Yeah, and maybe we can all play a show together sometime." Jeneane raised her glass, "Cheers – oh, you don't have a drink..."

"I'll go get Eleanor and bring our beers over." I stood up too fast, I was stoned and pretty drunk and the dance floor was spinning like an empty frame hanging on the wall. Lindsay put her hand on my shoulder to steady me just like she did at that concert when my face got bashed in. "I think your friend's a little busy." She pointed over to Eleanor, who was making out with a boy that looked like the one that landed on her car.

"So how's the band – do you sing?" Jeneane asked.

"Yeah." I slowly sat back down, looking over at Eleanor and the boy. He had his hand up her shirt and they were kissing hard as if they were feeding on each other's tongues. "Yeah, I sing and El plays guitar, only her guitar was stolen."

"Really?" Jeneane couldn't imagine. "That's horrible."

Lindsay had gotten up to fetch us another round. I was torn because I was actually enjoying being back in the presence of their company but I also wanted to be with Eleanor. I wanted to protect her from getting mauled by a total stranger. Then I wondered, was that how Ben felt when he met me?

"Yeah," I looked back at Jeneane. She looked good – much better that she did when we lived in Rogers Park. The color was back in her face. There was serenity between us now, instead of the ringing. "I mean she'll get another one... eventually."

Lindsay came back with three Guinnesses and placed them down before she sat right next to me and put her arm around my neck.

"Its really good to see you again, Sarah," she said. "I missed you." We reached for our drinks to make a toast.

"To Bitch."

After my surprisingly pleasant run-in with my sister, I managed to break away as they went to the dance floor. Eleanor was moaning; her eyes shut tight. Every so often waves of pain took over her face. I tried to be indifferent as I sat down and watched them make out. As the boy started kissing Eleanor's neck she looked at me and gently pushed him away.

"Sarah," she cooed, and crawled on her hands and knees across the couch over to me. "This is Sarah," she said, toying with the collar of my shirt. She sloppily pointed to the boy, "Sarah, this is Nevada." Her hand plopped down onto the couch. "Nevada, this is Sarah," she drunkenly repeated.

"How much have you had to drink, El?" I asked.

"Huh?" she asked right before laughing and whispering in my ear, "Sarah, let's take him home; we can have real fun with him there."

Nevada tried to kiss Eleanor again and she put her hand on his mouth.

"Say hi to my friend," she told him before looking at me and sloppily throwing a hand out to gesture towards me. "He needs to be taught some manners."

"El, you're too drunk to drive," I said.

"So you drive!" she flailed a hand at me.

"I can't," I said, furthermore, "I don't."

"You can't drive?" Nevada asked.

"She can," Eleanor blared, "She can drive – she just doesn't want to."

It was going to be a long night. I glanced at Nevada. He was a skinny Mexican raver kid. He had a neat layer of fuzzy orange hair and a pierced lip. Where did he come from? It was as if he'd dropped down from the sky to turn this night into absolute chaos.

"Eleanor, I don't have a license."

"Well look, drive tonight and then see if you like it and you can get one tomorrow," she quipped. I think she was serious. Nevada was whispering something in her ear, causing Eleanor to fall into an angelic silence as a smile slowly rendered on her face. Her face was bright red and the boy had his hand down her pants. Her purity was getting flawed.

I looked at Nevada as Eleanor teasingly pushed him off of her. "You're the guy that landed on our car," I noted, recognizing his clothes.

"Yeah," he said, abrasively putting his foot up on the couch right next to me so his sneaker was touching my knee.

Eleanor looked back down at her prize. "He's visiting from New York," she bit her lip hungrily, "He's locked out of his brother's house."

"Why'd you jump on her car?" I asked.

"Cause he's – what did you say to me earlier?" El patted him on the knee. Her memory was no good and she was a machine of giggles.

"Mad dope crazy," Nevada confirmed, his voice scratchy.

"Yeah," Eleanor sighed, breathless and high from her sexual awakening, "Mad dope crazy." Then Eleanor looked at me and said, "Doesn't he sort of look like Zach de la Rocha?"  
Nevada giggled and turned his head to the side, a bit bashful. Eleanor turned and looked at him, putting her hand on his chin. "We have this roommate," Eleanor began, waving her hand around. "She's like a total lesbian, but she won't admit it," her hand dropped and she chuckled. "She watches us, at night, she like watches us sleep."

I turned and looked over at Jeneane and Lindsay. They were leaving. A part of me wished that I were leaving with them. They had that walk – that walk like Louise and Nina did that night at Fireside Bowl. They were going places.

"I'm a virgin," Eleanor just told Nevada, "And me and Sarah are kind of girlfriends."

"Shit," Nevada moved a little under Eleanor as she climbed on top of him, grazing his knee with her finger. She teased him, pretending she was about to kiss him. "I'd give anything to spend the night with you two," Nevada admitted, biting his lip and trying to push himself against her.

"Really?" Eleanor asked, "Anything? What do you have?"

"Uh..." he wasn't expecting that. He looked up at the ceiling as she bit

his chin.

"Do you have a guitar?" she asked, licking his face like a dog would before pushing her hand against his penis. He let out a huge sigh and pushed his body against her hand.

"No... I mean yes... I mean I don't but... ah... I can get one."

She looked at me, blond hair covering one side of her face.

"You gonna let me fuck you?" he asked her. "Both of you?" he looked over at me. It had been a while since I'd been with a boy. But he was cute, and this night was still very young.

"I'm sobering up now," Eleanor said, standing up. "Let's go."

Eleanor sped down Clark Street and I was sure we'd get pulled over.

"You can't have sex in prison," I tried to reason with her so she'd slow down, "At least not the kind I think you're going for."

"I have to get home!" she raved, disregarding what I'd just said, completely giddy. Nevada was in the backseat. We had to adjust our seats to provide enough room for his long legs. "Besides," she flipped her hand to emphasize, "You can't drive or I'd let you and get in the backseat."

"No, we're sharing him remember – that is if we don't die."

We had no idea how old Nevada was, or if that was even his real name. We didn't know where he really came from, if he was a thief who planned on ripping us off, but some people were so hot their sins were forgiven even before they were ever committed.

Nevada leaned forward and started licking my ear before biting my shoulder.

"This might be the greatest night of my life," Eleanor said. It might just be mine too, because for once Eleanor wasn't playing Stairway To Heaven.

By the time we were back in our neighborhood the lights were back on. Shell Gas Station was lit up but its lot was empty. A full moon shined directly over it. Perhaps the full moon was the cause of everyone's vivacious energy.

Jennifer was either asleep, at her imaginary boyfriend's house, or in the closet waiting to watch us sleep. We didn't see her or hear a peep when we walked into the apartment with Nevada. We took him straight to our room and he lied down obediently. Eleanor was pulling the shoestrings out of her pink sneakers.

"So you girls like Deftones?" he guessed, because we were listening to Adrenaline in Eleanor's car. Eleanor and I nodded as we looked at one another and she came back over to her bed and climbed on top of Nevada. She reached out to hand me a shoestring.

"Tie his left wrist to the bedpost and I'll get the right," she demanded.

"You heard that song, Feiticiera?" Nevada asked, licking his lips.

"No."

"Yeah, I didn't think so. Its new, on this bootleg my friend got, he lives in California." He paused and glanced worriedly at Eleanor as she looped the shoestring around his wrist and the bedpost and tied a severely tight knot. She did this quick like she'd had some practice.

"Shit," he winced, "That's too tight."

Eleanor touched his face, "So am I." She giggled and put her hand against his chest and bounced up and down. "I don't even know what to do – I'm that naive. Sarah?" she batted her eyes at me as I secured a knot around his other wrist. Nevada looked at both wrists, amazed. He tested them by pulling on his wrists, such effort proved worthless. Eleanor touched him between his legs. "Where does it go again? Is it gonna hurt?"

"Yeah... maybe you should wait," I played along.

Nevada lifted his head back in agony. "Please... please one of you..."

I put my hand over his mouth and looked at Eleanor.

"We should tie his feet too," she decided before looking down at him. "So what about this song?" I took my hand away and he kicked his feet up really high.

"No, don't tie my feet – I don't want complete subjection."

"You want us to fuck you or not?" Eleanor bargained. Her voice sounded deeper because she'd been smoking a lot, I guessed.

"Yes..."

"Then let us do this our way. Tell us about the song."

His hands dangled over the string cutting into his wrists. "I don't wanna... talk about the stupid song, I want you to fuck me."

"Well I want to hear about the song," Eleanor argued, whipping black shoestrings out of a pair of knee-high Doc Martens in her closet. I tried to calm Nevada by kissing his neck and rubbing him gently. Eleanor came back over and held the shoestring above Nevada's face. He tried to bite it as I licked his neck and spread out over his body. I was enjoying him too much to look up at Eleanor.

"Help me tie his feet," she said.

He asked for water as we walked to the other end of the bed. We ignored him and left him for a moment to simmer like a pot on a burner. I took Eleanor's hand and led her over to the closet.

"You sure you wanna do this?" I whispered.

"Yeah, but I want you to be a part of it," she clarified. Then she put her hand on my face. "I love you."

"What?" I asked through pleased laughter.

"I love you," she affirmed.

I kissed her and she hugged me, her warm face pressed against my neck. Nevada watched us make out and kicked the bedpost. We walked over to him and stood by the bed, observing his fit.

"This is going to be the best night of your life," I told him, "So you should be patient – you want the best night of your life to take a while, or you want it to be rushed?"

"I want you to fuck me!" he lashed out.

The shoestrings from El's docs were so long we could lap them over about half the length of the bedposts.

"Good, he won't be going anywhere now," I said. I took one and went over to the left bedpost. I grabbed his foot when he kicked Eleanor in the face with his other one. She covered her face as she fell against the wall. She removed her hand to let me know she wasn't hurt and started laughing.

"He shouldn't have done that," I said.

"No," we walked back over to him. This was a game – it was all a game that had just been upped to a new level thanks to his kicking spurt.

"I just want you to fuck me," he whimpered, sounding more subdued, apologetic even. I put my hand on the zipper of his jeans, acting like I was going to finally undo them but I just fondled him instead and looked up at Eleanor before straddling him.

"He's so hard I feel bruised," I told her.

"Let me out, please, just take it out."

I kept looking up at Eleanor for direction. She took her shirt off. She wasn't wearing a bra. This was the first time I saw her naked, her breasts were so huge her head looked like it had shrunk.

"Oh Jesus..." Nevada sighed when he got a good look at her breasts. Eleanor kneeled down on her knees and ran her hand across his face. He tried to bite her finger and I slapped him. He kicked his free foot up again and I slapped him even harder. Then he just screamed in agony and confusion.

"Fuck me... you fucking bitches." His wrists were swollen from being tied so tight.

Eleanor snorted and looked up at me, "Boys are just so stupid."

"Yeah." I dug my hand into his jeans and played with him. "So fucking stupid and useless."

Nevada had his eyes shut tight, moaning and trying to move against the ties then he gave in and started moaning heavily as I played with him harder. I looked at Eleanor.

"You wanna take over?" I asked. "You want to use this stupid boy for the only thing he'll ever be good for?" But before she could even move Nevada came against my palm and down my wrist. "Oh you fucking stupid shit," I said to him. "See? See how useless you are."

He was still enjoying himself, his head rolled around as he got off on the verbal abuse, his foot kicking up again.

"Shh," I told him, holding my hand out for Eleanor.

Eleanor lapped it up like a kitty. "Um, yummy."

We left Nevada tied to the bed as we sat on the floor under the window and shared the only remaining cigarette in the entire apartment. The sun started coming up just as Nevada drifted off to sleep.

"I had fun tonight," Eleanor said.

"And you're still a virgin."

"He's gonna have morning wood," Eleanor sleepily pointed out. Then she said in a much softer voice, "He's beautiful."

"Yeah, he is. We should untie him, poor thing."

Eleanor watched him adoringly for a second before she crawled over and pulled at the shoestring, loosening the knot. Neveda's face tightened as he started to wake up. I went over to the other side of the bed to help untie him. His arms fell down to the bed. He was too tired to go anywhere now that he finally could. Eleanor crawled into bed and lied down next to him. Our bed was too small for all three of us to lie down in our own spots so I watched from the floor as she gently stroked the side of his face.

"Need us to take you to the airport?" she asked.

"Fuck..." he winced in pain for a second before it seemed to wash away and he just stared at the ceiling. "Yeah – what time is it?"

"Seven... like five after seven," Eleanor said.

"My arms are fucking sore – can I take a bath?" Then he lifted his hand to his face. He had a long dark purple mark on his wrist from being tied up all night. "Shit, I don't have time. Yeah, yeah, can you take me to the airport?"

Chapter 29

This Is How She Holds Me

The next day I went to that Internet Café in our neighborhood that was slowly getting off the ground. It cried for attention with its signs plastering the window and door – WE HAVE COMPUTER! WE HAVE INTERNET! I imagined a sinking ship with passengers waving their hands, desperate to be rescued.

I was always instantly greeted by a warm smile from Jose, the forty-something man usually stationed behind the counter. He'd raise his hands for one tight clap and cheerfully greet, "Hola, mi amor, cómo está?" It always made me feel special and wanted. I never felt like my listless morning mood met up with his, but I gave him my best smile and tipped well before settling down at a computer station. I sent Jeneane an email confirming I would be at her show so she could go ahead and put me and a plus-one on the list.

"Hola, mi amor!" Jose called out. I looked up and saw Eleanor walking over to me. She offered him a kind wave before she sat down next to me, jazzed about something.

"Guess what?" she said, keys dangling from her hand.

"What? Avy's back?"

"No, Nevada just called me."

"Oh." I was a little disappointed. I didn't think that could have anything to do with our band.

"Yeah, he went into this long story about how he has this friend who owes him money, said he told his friend to give him his guitar instead – his electric guitar – he's going to give it to me for three-hundred dollars!"

"But he's in New York," I said, looking back at my yet completed email. I guess I was a little jealous of Nevada. He wasn't my boyfriend, I could tell he preferred Eleanor over the two of us, and in the end you couldn't share someone forever.

"He wants to move here – he wants to join our band."

"It's supposed to be an all-girl band," I said, determined to pout and make this complicated.

"What's your problem?" she raised her voice at me. I didn't know. I didn't know what my problem was, I just felt sad. I missed people. I missed the hell out of Ben, and I missed my sister and I missed... I missed her. I missed Suzanne. She still spoke to me sometimes, but not as much as she used to. I closed my eyes and felt the gentle persuasion of Eleanor's hand on my shoulder as she shook it gently and cooed, "Come on, Sarah, cheer up."

"I'm sorry." I crossed my arms and looked up at the screen. I'd run out of time before I got to send Jeneane my email.

"Let's go get brunch at that place on Halsted," Eleanor said. She stood up and rattled her keys. "Its on me."

Maybe all I needed was some food in my system and a spot in an air-conditioned café in the heart of the free-loving area of clubs and rainbow flags and punk rock shops to get me back into the spirit of things.

"So my sister's new band Bitch is playing Friday and I really wanna go," I told Eleanor. "I think it could be really motivating for us – help us get over the fact that our drummer just vanished," I said with a twinge of bitterness as I picked up my glass of iced water.

"Yeah – hey, you wanna practice today?"

"Without Avy?" At first I was against it, but then I thought why not, it was just a practice.

"Just fuck around, I dunno – "

And then before Eleanor could give her usual 'its stupid' remark on her own idea, I said yes.

I'd always wanted to work more on Bad Taste In Girls, and once we were alone in our practice space (a dank room in a Wicker Park building near a junkyard) and it was just Eleanor and I, I had the perfect opportunity. I gave Eleanor the song and she read the lyrics before looking up at me.

"Who's this about?" she asked.

"Someone I knew before I moved here. Can we just give it a shot?"

"Can I sing it?" she asked.

"I figured that's how it would go."

She hesitated as she stood next to the microphone. "This is going to sound awfully strange without a guitar."

"Just imagine one," I said. She nodded and wrapped her hand around the microphone and closed her eyes. I plucked at my bass and eyed the drum set in the corner.

"Well you never had bad taste in music," Eleanor's soft voice drifted across the room. "Listened to the morning... and you knew how to use it. And you never had bad taste in clothes... watched the night and it proved you."

This would be where the drums kicked in –

"And you watched/and you watched me," Eleanor did a superb job of singing as if there was a full band backing her up. "And you watched, you watched every single move but you – you had bad taste in girls."

Here's where there would be three solid drumbeats kicking us into the next verse.

Her voice soared, "In those eyes, there was no room, in those eyes, sad castles still fall all around me. From the first... hit, to the last sigh, you went flying, on your side..."

The drums would kick back in hard here,

"Where were you goin, no one knows, oh but I wonder, Chicago – Chicago, You had bad taste! In Girls! Bad taste! In Girls! Missed out! On the world! Bad taste... you were starving for it..."

Here's where her guitar would zip up, making a sharp rip into the song before the next verse,

"I slept in your bed, you were down the hall, I listened to it all, with dead butterflies on the wall, Oh you had bad taste in girls, why didn't you finish your last cigarette..."

Four tight drumbeats here,

"You got blasted, blown away, cherry burning as you died oh, you had bad taste! In girls! Bad taste! In Girls! Missed out! On the world! You had bad taste! In girls! Bad taste! In girls! Bad taste! In Girls! Missed out! On the world! I loved you, but you had bad taste in girls!"

Eleanor came out of it and looked over at me. I'd just been playing bass but I felt like I'd been playing drums.

"Oh my God, that song rocks," Eleanor said, elated. "Like... damn, I wish we had a band." She laughed helplessly.

"Yeah...hey, I'm gonna mess around on the drums, cool?"

"Yeah, whatever." She was high on adrenaline. "Hey, can we do The Sound of Silence now, and then we can do Bad Taste In Girls again."

I picked up a tattered pair of drumsticks that looked like they'd been gnawed on by rats. "Yeah, cool." I didn't care what we played – as long as we played.

"So, okay, I'll just sing the first seven lines, and then you know where the song goes 'Within the sound of silence'?"

"Yeah?"

"Then you just start banging on the drums, like whatever you feel like, just anger – you know?"

"Okay." I was thrilled with the freedom in this.

"I just want to do a punk rock version of this song – Avy thought it was stupid, but I think we can make it work out."

"Yeah, let's just do it."

Eleanor smiled and went back into her own zone, but this time she sounded more confident because she obviously loved the song a lot and was very familiar with it.

"Hello darkness, my old friend,"

A striking guitar riff would go here.

"I've come to talk to you again, because a vision slowly creeping, left it seeds while I was sleeping,"

She paused and I could tell this would where she'd play her guitar.

"And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains,

And a darker guitar part here,

"Within the sound...of silence."

I slammed my sticks down against the drums. It took me a minute to find a good beat but I wasn't that bad. There were days back in that apartment when I played Lindsay's drums when no one was home. Eleanor was in her own world anyway, jumping up and down, screaming her heart out.

"In restless dreams I walked alone! Narrow streets of cobblestone! 'Neath the halo of a street lamp,"

She dragged the word 'lamp' out lovingly, her voice smooth as silk.

"I turned my collar to the cold and damp!"

She calmed down a bit and crooned, "When my eyes were stabbed by the flash,"

She looked back at me, she was thinking about Suzanne Degnan and she knew I was too. I stopped playing so to savor about five seconds of absolute silence. Eleanor turned back around and shut her eyes.

"Of a neon light that split the night... and touched the sound – of silence."

Here an unforgettable piercing guitar riff would go.

Eleanor started jumping up and down again, which I knew by now was my cue to start another blistering round of drum playing, managing to match what I played before.

"And in the naked light I saw! Ten thousand people, maybe more! People talking without speaking, people hearing but not listening, people writing songs that voices never share, and no one dared,"

Drums stop, everything was completely quiet.

"Disturb the sound of silence."

The drums came crashing down again,

"Fools, said I, You don't know! Silence like a cancer grows! Hear my words that I might teach you! Take my arms that I might reach you! But my words like silent raindrops fell! And echoed in the wells...

I stopped playing.

"Of...

One more unforgiving guitar riff and then

"Silence."

Chapter 30

All She Ever Wanted

There was a small Mexican Café down the street from our apartment. Eleanor and I went there after practice for three-dollar coronas, filled with the belief for the first time that this band could actually happen despite our earlier obstacle with Avy.

"I think our hard climb up will just make us harder, make our sound harder," Eleanor thought aloud as she dipped a chip in the salsa. She slid down in the booth after placing it in her mouth and ate as slowly as she talked.

"Yeah, your voice is amazing – The Sound of Silence...wow."

She nodded her head and looked around the café, smiling softly. "I've loved that song since I was, like, six."

"Really?"

"My dad was packing, it was right after the divorce and the song was on the radio, and he was in their room putting clothes in his suitcase and I just wanted him to turn around and look at me, you know? Just say something – anything – but he didn't, he didn't say a word. All I had was that song."

She popped another chip in her mouth and took a sip of her corona and then her eyes tightened. "I think all we want – me, you, Suzanne, your sister – anybody – is recognition. We want people to know who we really are. That's what this band is about. Everyone deserves a chance to become what they really are – Suzanne didn't get that chance, but maybe... maybe this band can offer her some kind of peace of mind."

I picked up my drink and lifted it high over the table. "Cheers to that."

That Friday Eleanor and I went to see Bitch play at Elbow Room. The crowd was twice the size as what Veronica's Car Crash attracted when we first started playing out. Jeneane strutted right out on stage and introduced herself. She looked over the devoted fans standing in front of her and out towards the back of the room.

"Hi, we're Bitch." People cheered and one guy near the back of the room heckled, 'Yeah, I bet you are!' And Jeneane flipped him off as Lindsay came out and stalked over to the drums. She had her hair re-braided and her jeans were ripped to shreds. She sported a brand new pair of black converse sneakers and a wife-beater so her Lucky tattoo was on display. "We used to be in a band called Veronica's Car Crash but we split for creative differences," some Joan Jett look-alikes in the front row cheered so loud Jeneane had to pause for a second. "Anyway our ex-bassist is here I think," Jeneane frowned a little as she tried to spot me. "Sarah, you here?"

"Yeah, she's here!" Eleanor yelled to my embarrassment and a bunch of people turned and looked at us. "She's in a new band called Suzanne Degnan and they're going to be playing a show with us soon, right girls?"

"Hell yeah!" Eleanor screamed as she smiled and nudged me in the shoulder.

Heads turned back to the stage when my sister demanded our undivided attention with a crying guitar hook and Lindsay slammed her drum sticks on the drums to deliver five tight beats for a quick catchy Elastica-like number called Little White Lines. And as I stood there admiring them I realized I wasn't right for their band. I was meant for this, for Suzanne Degnan. In the middle of the song Eleanor grabbed hold of my hand and held it tight. This was going to last a long time, I thought.

X: Yes it is!

I rested my head on El's shoulder and she turned to kiss it. After Bitch's gig, we hung out at the bar and had some drinks. Jeneane was the happiest I'd ever seen her.

"So what did you think of the show?" she asked. My sister was proud, but I could tell she valued my opinion no matter how many people had already come up to her and told her how much they loved her new band.

"It was amazing, the songs were so neat." I didn't mean to use that word, neat, but it was honestly the first one that came to mind. I didn't want us to sound neat. I wanted Suzanne Degnan to have that raw garage-band sound. I wanted us to be a cross between Helium and The Runaways.

"Neat?" Jeneane said.

"I just mean the songs were so short and fast and catchy – I thought it was cool." It didn't matter what I said now, the word 'neat' had tattooed the air and I was sure I'd just ruined everything.

"Well we have a show coming up at Empty Bottle – you guys wanna play first?"

"We do," Eleanor answered right away.

"When?" I asked.

"Not until October, after the summer's over." Jeneane rubbed her face as if exhausted.

"That'll give Nevada time to learn the songs," I said. We'd decided Nevada would play drums and I'd go back to my Theodore.

"How are you guys coping with the heat?" Lindsay asked, nearly burning my knee as she passed the joint to me.

"Oh..." I got distracted from saying 'okay' when I felt Lindsay's hand on my knee. We're going to go on tour aren't we?

X: Yup!

And there's going to be plenty of soap opera affair drama between me, Eleanor, Nevada and Lindsay.

X: Yes!

"We have an air conditioner," Eleanor said, sounding worldly sympathetic, "And it's a tiny place so it does a pretty good job."

"Yeah," Jeneane looked down at her beer. Meanwhile Lindsay's hand was stationed between my legs. "Well if we go on tour we want to go in the spring of next year," Jeneane added.

"I love your tat," Eleanor said in her hushed voice.

"Thanks." Jeneane said, looking down at Eleanor's tits. Oh my God, now it was really getting weird.

Eleanor play-punched me in the arm, "We should get tattoos – Suzanne Degnan tattoos." I nodded my head as I chewed on my straw as Lindsay started unbuttoning my jeans.

We spent the next two months practicing our songs. Nevada moved down from New York and kept his promise about his electric guitar, giving it to Eleanor. Whatever happened to Avy remained one of those Chicago mysteries. Nevada and Eleanor started dating in late September, not to my surprise of course. As I walked around on stage at Empty Bottle I couldn't stop thinking about what was written on the bar's bathroom wall: "Leave all behind but what matters."

So with a decent beer buzz going and my beloved Theodore strapped to my shoulder, I was ready for our first gig. Nevada had his fingerless gloves on and his shirt off, stationed behind the drums. His pants rode so low on him that nearly half of his bottom showed. He wasn't wearing any underwear. A group of girls had gathered near the stage with eyes only for him. My sister was here – my sister. I wanted to prove to her I could do this. Eleanor was more than ready. She'd quit smoking so her voice was purified. She was also still a virgin, and though I knew this wouldn't last much longer (she was dating Nevada, after all) tonight her almost-creepy angelic voice was only going to intensify our show.

We decided to kick our show off with a new song called Not Rabbit, Rabid. It was machine-gun fast and Germs-like – the last thing people expected when they saw baby-faced blonde Eleanor wrap her hand around the microphone.

"Fuck sex! Fuck you! Fuck us and fuck me too!" She turned her head and stomped her foot as Nevada pounded the drums and Eleanor kept up with a blistering guitar hook on her new guitar. "I don't need it! It's just a bruise! It'll fade, like today! Like every-fucking-thing!" Then she dragged every word of the next verse out lovingly. "Don't you know I've got... what it takes... it is mine not just gonna give it away... I saw you and I'll keep you for now... don't go get lost in this fucking crowd!"

This was Eleanor's time to shine – delivering a pure, beautiful guitar solo that had everyone's eyes right on her, not even blinking, they didn't want to miss a note. The headbanging began and then a moshpit just like the ones I used to get banged up in, giving me a new rush of adrenaline.

"Oh but I stay," Eleanor got melodic on us, when usually we just tore through the song with her only screaming out the words. Tonight she was perfect; she was made for this. "I stick around, I stick around, you can't change me, you're just a trick forever getting caught, getting stuck, such a fuck – just a fuck! So fuck sex! Fuck you! And fuck us, fuck trust! If you don't have it from the start it can't break your heart, so fuck you!"

She nailed the rest of the song and we went right on into Bad Taste In Girls.

"Well you never had bad taste in music..." Eleanor's blonde hair spilled over the microphone as her voice took over the room once again. "Listened to the morning and you knew how to use it, baby," Nevada played the drums perfectly. I looked over and saw Jeneane and Lindsay standing shoulder-to-shoulder, smiling up at us. "And you never had bad taste in clothes, watched the night and it proved you, you drove me home before the sun came up, well, oh well –

Another memorable guitar riff,

"But there was no room, there was no room, in those eyes, sad castles, still fall all – around – me –

The song sped up almost as fast as Not Rabbit, Rabid.

"You had bad taste! Bad taste! In girls! You had bad taste! Bad taste! You were starving..."

The song slowed down for the next verse.

"From the first hit to the last sigh you went flying..."

Her guitar exploded when she said 'flying,' almost washing out the word but it was beautiful.

"On your side, where were you going, no on knows but Chicago – oh Chicago – you had bad taste! Bad taste! In girls..."

She stopped singing for the time being for our Smashing Pumpkins-esque instrumental part before finishing the song and took a brief pause before our next song so Eleanor could talk to the crowd.

"Hi, we're Suzanne Degnan." The Joan Jett-look-alikes who came to see Bitch cheered us on. "You might know... or you might not, but Suzanne Degnan was just a child when she was murdered and me and my friend Sarah, on the drums, wanted to start a band in her name... in her honor, and this next song we'd like to dedicate to her.

The crowd quieted as Eleanor began to sing. "Hello darkness, my old friend..."

Our set, though it only consisted of three songs, received great enthusiasm from the crowd. We even had people coming up to us afterwards asking when we were playing again. We laughed when we said we didn't even know. But the following week we received a small write-up in The Reader in a review for Bitch's gig. I started reading the article aloud to Eleanor and Nevada in our kitchen.

"Suzanne Degnan kicks ass..."

Part 4

Mr. Grunge

Chapter 31

Cool Shoes Untied

We started drinking a lot. Nevada was the worst. We'd be out somewhere, at a restaurant talking, and he'd give a gutless response like 'Yeah,' while he poured something from a flask into our drinks. I knew what he was doing; it didn't take a genius. He was trying to get Eleanor drunk enough to have sex with him. There was nothing apathetic about his character anymore, if there ever was to begin with. A part of me felt like I should intervene while another part thought what's the point – she's going to lose her virginity eventually and she really likes him. But was he in the band only because he was trying to fuck her? I couldn't help thinking this, I thought this every night we played, and it was starting to wear me down.

"This place is haunted," Eleanor begun telling Nevada as we went up the stairs. "That's how we named our band." She was slightly intoxicated and amazed by everything she pointed out.

"Yeah," Nevada said, latching onto her hand. You don't care, I felt like saying, and you don't really look like Zach De La Rocha either.

"Yeah." Eleanor looked at me with an endearing smile and pinched the sleeve of my shirt, a lazy bit of affection to show she still cared for me. "Sarah knows all about her."

"Yeah," Nevada repeated just like he'd said the last two times Eleanor spoke. If he said 'yeah' one more time I was going to haul off and hit him and this time it wouldn't be part of any foreplay.

We were on the seventh floor now. It was close to midnight and I looked forward to going to bed – even though that might involve a mauling session between Eleanor and Nevada at some point. Eleanor walked ahead of us, keys jingling in her hand. I looked at Nevada about to say, 'You fucked up Charge of Night Brigade,' but what was the point because he was drunk and wouldn't remember it tomorrow. He looked cool and sexy with his guitar but anyone out on the street could learn Nevada's method of playing – because it wasn't in his blood – it just wasn't. Rock N Roll was not in his genes. His shoes were always untied and he dyed his hair so much that after you touched it you felt like you just played with play-doh. Eleanor wanted him that night at Lounge Ax because she wanted to lose her virginity to him, but that wasn't happening either and I was starting to wonder why he was still in our band even. Maybe we could discuss it tomorrow, just her and I, I told myself. Just wait until tomorrow.

Eleanor turned to me as soon as she unlocked out door, wildly fascinated with something all of a sudden.

"We should have a séance!" she cried. "Ask Suzanne how she likes the idea of our band."

Nevada laughed and put his hand on the back of Eleanor's head as if to say, "Silly girl." I didn't say anything.

"Jennifer is gone, at Gregory's," Eleanor said emphatically to get across the fact that she still thought Gregory was actually some girl Jennifer didn't want to admit she was seeing. She went over to the couch, collapsed and sat there for a minute before bending over and dragging out a Ouija Board she'd stored underneath it.

"When did you get that?" I asked, pissed. She should have told me about this.

"I had it at my house," she calmly responded as if it were no big deal, but after what I'd been through it was the same as watching someone juggle loaded guns. She popped the top off. "Avy and I used to play." Her voice was hushed now. She slid from the couch to the floor so her plump body parts jiggled. Nevada sat next to her and looked at the board.

"This is stupid," he said. "Why can't we just all go to bed and shit?"

"Shh," Eleanor smacked his hand and put the pointer on the board, determined to take this seriously. She looked up at me and sweetly held her hand out for me to come on. I reluctantly took her hand and sat in front of the board. Nevada yawned so that the surfaces of his teeth sparkled in the dark room like wet pearls, along with his tongue ring. I heard it clank against his teeth when he closed his mouth. Eleanor put her hand on the pointer and closed her eyes. Now it was just us, the dark room, the smell of plates crusted with old Ragu sauce, and whoever or whatever else wanted to be here among us.

"Is anyone here with us?" Eleanor asked, opening her eyes to look at me. "I thought I heard something."

I didn't hear anything. But I wasn't really listening. I didn't want this to begin again.

"Out in the hallway," she said before looking back at the pointer. "Suzanne? Suzanne Degnan."

Don't say her last name, because her last name is what she says when she's pissed; it signals her demon side.

The pointer suddenly slid to the letter T.

T? She'd never gone to that letter before.

"T?" Eleanor questioned dreamily. Eleanor's eyes were closed again. "What's that for?"

"What?" I asked her, never-minding the board. I just wanted things to be normal. I looked over at Nevada. He wasn't touching the pointer. He took no interest in this whatsoever. He had his legs bent so his knees touched his chest and his arms were around his legs as he pushed his barbell up through his tongue and back down again.

"You wouldn't want to know!" Eleanor suddenly screamed. "She is. Yes. She is."

"Eleanor? Eleanor, who are you talking to?" I asked. My hand was still on the pointer as I turned to look over at the door because I felt like someone was standing there supervising all of this. No one was there, that I could see.

Eleanor looked directly at me and spoke in her own voice. "Don't go out in the hallway."

"Eleanor?"

"Don't go or they will get you."

"Who?"

Her head rolled around and she looked up at the ceiling. "They will. The Taipans."

"What?"

"What the fuck's she talking about?" Nevada asked. "Yo, Eleanor, cut this shit out, man."

"They said... there was a gang here, remember?" she said, ignoring Nevada and keeping her eyes on me, her voice incredibly demure. "Remember? Remember Sarah? You need to listen."

"I do listen."

Eleanor went on. "To everyone, cause I'm trying to help you, and I help them help you, Sarah."

The pointer moved to the letter K and stopped. Eleanor was the only one touching it now. The pointer seemed to drag her hand along with it like the eager hand of a child wanting to drag her off into another world. She slumped forward and stayed completely still until it moved again, pausing on the letter I. She looked up at me as if to say, 'See? This is everything, this right now. Pay attention or it will get worse.'

K, I? Kill? Eleanor frowned suddenly, the way she always did when she first woke up in the morning unsure what time it was or even what day.

"Eleanor?" I whispered. "Are you okay?"

"Avy is dead." Her voice was heavy with certainty and sadness.

"What?"

"I just know – she's dead. This city is evil... Sarah... shadows in the daytime become monsters at night... like just spilling... over buildings." Her mouth turned down in a frown and her lips were trembling. This was not her.

"Eleanor?"

Nevada jumped up, his wallet chain swinging around. "Yo, I'm hittin the lights, fuck this shit. This ain't why I joined a band."

"You joined a band to have sex," I snapped. I no longer liked Nevada. He irritated me and never got the songs right. He went into the kitchen, absolutely unfazed by anything that just happened.

"Yeah? So?" he said, pulling a bag of chips open. Eleanor looked at me, completely distraught.

"What?" I asked her, wishing it was just she and I like it used to be, even if it meant us living back in Des Plains.

She looked directly at me, never blinking or hesitating. "Its not over – something is after us – you."

"Eleanor." I stood up because my skin felt like it was crawling. Paranoia – paranoia could do that. I walked around the room, which only made me wish it were bigger. I was having problems breathing.

"Are you okay?" she asked me. I saw snow when I looked out the window but it wasn't snowing, I was getting a migraine. I never got those until I moved to this city.

"I'm going to lie... lie down." I only wanted to be in a dark quiet room and let the ringing stop, let the thoughts in my head calm down. I felt surrounded by twenty TVs all turned up very loud and all on different channels. I looked down at the Ouija Board.

Stop, please, just for a second.

"Do you have a headache?" Eleanor asked. Then she added in a very drawn out almost singsong manner, "Because I do."

Nevada munched on some chips before turning the light off and walking through the living room to our room. This was stupid. What have you done to your life? Be careful. You've ruined everything. You ruined your previous band and previous friendships, relationships, all ships. All ships have sunk.

I didn't feel right. For some reason I pictured people dancing, people whose feet didn't touch the floor, people who could dance to any song that played, dancing the same dance to every song no matter if that song was fast or slow, yet they all seemed so graceful while doing so.
Chapter 32

Rainbow Sister

The next morning our appetites were huge. We seemed to know this about one another without having to verbally communicate it. We all woke up a little after eleven in the morning and stumbled around the living quarters sluggishly, trying to collect clothes off the living room floor not too dirty to wear one more day. It was too hot to talk and move and think at the same time. Eleanor picked up a shirt that could have been mine, hers or Nevada's because he wore tight shirts to raves sometimes. She dropped it because it had a weird stain on it and opted for a dark blue polo shirt near the TV no one else seemed interested in. I washed my face with cold water five seconds ago and I was already sweating. I grabbed whatever shorts and whatever shirt, I didn't care if I ended up looking like Richard Simmons, I just wanted to get out of there. I looked down at myself once I was out in the hallway waiting on El and Nevada. I had on a yellow shirt with the word HELLOOOOO written across it in glitter. It looked like something straight out of the 70s. I'd found it at a thrift store for two dollars last month. The material was see-through and I wasn't wearing a bra but I didn't care. It was too hot to care. At least it was long enough to cover the skimpy red nylon shorts I was wearing. El and Nevada were taking a year and a day to get ready so I went out on the fire escape. I looked over my shoulder at the elevator. The door was open, as if someone was about to get on or off but no one was around.

"That's mine!" I heard Eleanor snap at Nevada. "Stop!" she whined. I couldn't tell if they were fighting or playing and frankly it was too hot to care about that as well. I was going to give them exactly one more minute before venturing out on my own for lunch. I called into the apartment. Eleanor was on her way out but Nevada was still messing around.

"Nevada's not feeling good," Eleanor's voice suddenly traveled over my head. She was standing behind me, wearing her usual pout. "I think he's going to stay here."

I couldn't care less. Actually I was happy, this would give us a chance to talk about the band. I stood up and Eleanor took my hand like she used to when we first started hanging out. She stopped at the elevator.

I shook my head in protest. "I don't think we should take that."

"It's too fucking hot to take the stairs," Eleanor whimpered, imprisoning my hand and dragging me inside the huge freight elevator. She pushed a button and I watched the door close wishing I had it in me to run out but it was too late now. That awful humming sound kicked in and we were on our way down.

It felt cool inside at least. The elevator suddenly stopped and I knew it was a malfunction. The humming stopped as well, and the door was not opening. This was it. We'd really done it now. Eleanor was still holding my hand so our hands were like one big wet lumpy ball of sweat. The door opened so we were now looking at a dirty concrete wall. Paint chipped here and there to reveal a rusty orange color.

"Shit, we're trapped." I let go of Eleanor's hand and started to panic. I looked up at the pulley and the chord was waving back and forth.

"It never lasts forever," Eleanor said. She sat down and tugged on my pant leg to join her. The door was still open. There wasn't a hint of sound or movement to promise we'd ever move again. "I kind of like being in here," Eleanor said a few seconds later. "The world has stopped, the world has finally stopped." She looked like she was about to cry.

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

"Dizzy... ever since we started playing out and drinking and I swear not a minute goes by without Nevada's hand shoved down my pants. Like, I miss you," she suddenly revealed. "I miss you even though I'm always with you, but it's not the same like it used to be."

"Have you had sex yet?" I simply asked. Here we could talk without being interrupted.

"No. He wants to, he tries sometimes... like when I'm sleeping and I'll wake up and push him off."

"What? That's f-

The elevator suddenly dropped really hard as if the chord snapped, and we both screamed until it stopped again. The door was still open and we almost made it to the fourth floor before it stopped, so we could squeeze through like candy from a box's side flap and drop out into the hallway.

"I'll go first and help you down," I told Eleanor.

"No," she tightened her grip on my hand. "I want... I want to tell you about the nightmare I had last night first. Please, just stay here with me a little longer."

She didn't sound like herself. She grabbed my wrist to keep me where I was. There was a stark, unbreakable look in her eyes and her face was bent in a terrible frown.

"El... Eleanor?"

"We were walking down some street, I don't know, in a pretty fucked up neighborhood, and we passed this building – it had no windows. It had absolutely no windows and no doors. If I go to my therapist he's just going to say its because I'm still a virgin – that I'm not letting the world in, but that's not it – this is something else, something fucked up is going to happen."

It already has...

The elevator dropped again and we grabbed hold of each other and screamed. At least we'll die in each other's arms. The elevator was making a horrible screeching sound. The door closed and the elevator stopped and dropped another five inches or so and stopped again. The door opened to the second floor.

"We should get off now before something else happens." I stood up after Eleanor let me go but she remained sitting. It was as if she never meant to leave. "Eleanor, come on."

She finally stood up and got off the elevator. "Let's go back upstairs," she insisted.

"What? No, I don't want to spend all day in that cramped apartment with Nevada, besides I'm hungry." I also don't like your crude hissy tone of voice.

"Just come on, let's go back upstairs." She was tugging on my arm, pleading, her fingernails sinking into my wrist.

"No!"

"COME ON!" she exploded. She had this look in her eyes, like she might do something drastic if I kept fighting her.

"Eleanor, I'm going out. I hate this place, right now I'm not too fond of anything..."

"COME BACK UPSTAIRS!!!" she screamed in an unearthly holler, producing a shrillness tires make when they skid.  
"No."

She started beating on me, swinging her little fists against my chest and stomach, fighting like a little girl.

"Stop it, Eleanor!" I screamed. "What is wrong with you!"

She collapsed to the floor, crying and coughing. I sat down next to her, about to say something when she started kicking the wall in front of her and flopping about like a fish out of water. Was she having a seizure? I couldn't tell if that was the case or maybe she was just throwing a crazy fit. It was like she was in someone else's grip and they were shaking her. I closed my eyes and remembered that dream I had of my doll's head falling off. Something had been warning me all along...

"Eleanor?"

Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were puffy. Her skin was turning gravestone-weathered-gray, I swear. The corners of her eyes were moist and occasionally arm or a leg would twitch. I got up and ran toward the stairs to call an ambulance. Call an ambulance, call the police, call a priest... and that's when I noticed two black men standing in the stairwell. They were both dressed in orange and black with the hoods of their black sweatshirts pulled over their shaved heads, as poised as Rashtrapati Bhavan honor guards. I knew they were after me before they even broke their frozen poses to come and catch me. T. T on the Ouija Board, T stood for Taipans, she was trying to warn me last night. I should have listened. I should have stayed on the elevator.

Chapter 33

Derail

Hi it's me. Yes. It's X. Do not worry about Sarah. It's my turn now. Yes. I don't like these new people, I really don't. I don't like their music. It's not fair. They took the doll down. Yes. It's in the garbage. The pins are in the garbage too, out of her, scattered about. Like rain, like raindrops, Yes, spilled and dry and gone. Yes. It's being compressed. I can say that word now. Compressed. I can also say anomalous Yes No Moon Yes No IMPIETY! IMPIETY! And YES! The doll is being crushed Yes. This is me. It is my turn now to tell you what really happened. My voice will not be downgraded to a board. Yes. No. Moon. Yes. Moon. No. Yes. I don't like it here Yes. I will let them know. Sarah did a good job. A very good job but its my turn now. See I was here before any of YOU! I was here and no one was watching and no one cared that night. I screamed. I screamed Yes I screamed very loud but my mother said don't worry about it to my dad she said just go back to sleep. Yes! Just go back to sleep she is fine well I'm not fine. Yes No Moon Yes No Moon Yes No. They dragged me down the stairs into this black hole I scream up from it sometimes and sometimes someone hears me like Sarah.

X: Shh!

HER: Let me out! Somebody! Help...

X: Shh! Shh...

She fell over. Yes. Some people give into fear too quickly. They know, they know how afraid she is and they'll let the fear cocoon her and they'll give her drugs and wait for her insides to dry up. They'll stand over her until their shadows black out her eyes. I know Yes. Meanwhile I am seeking Eleanor. She is out of the hospital now and she is not well. Another weak one well. Yes! She is thinking about letting Nevada have his way with her, she sinks and I pick her up well Yes. Fix the damn elevator YES. A fireman is dead, that's what you get, and there wasn't even a fire. I'll clip the cord your fucking pulley will smash your brains out I am here now Yes! Eleanor goes to the drugstore, and she mindlessly looks through magazines and up at the clock. Sarah has been missing for almost twenty-four hours now and she just wants to die. Ever been kidnapped? No Yes Moon Yes No I'll tell you I'LL TELL YOU! Each minute feels like a year when you're kidnapped and tortured I'LL TELL YOU MOTHER! I won't let your soul go anywhere till I'm done here! Well. YES! Eleanor needs to measure out her pride with her low self-esteem. She thinks Sarah just ditched her because she's in love with her and jealous of Nevada – which she is but she's been kidnapped and tortured and if someone doesn't do something soon she'll be dead. She's already begging them to kill her, but you don't do that with a sadist, because what they want is pain. You're feeding them what they want when you cry but you can't help to cry yes no YES MOTHER! I know this! Yes! I wrote pain, I lived pain, now I want something new. I want justice. I want a happy ending. Listen to me! Eleanor becomes quite stunned when the magazine leaps from her own hands and falls to the floor. She stares at it and looks over her shoulders in confusion for a passerby that maybe slapped it right out of her grip. You dumb stupid bitch! Yes No Yes Moon R T G Yes. R T G R T G Richard! Richard! I hate these fucks that control the pointer! YES. I hate this house! Yes! You think I want to be here faggot? No Yes Moon Yes. They sit around on their fat asses and light cheap candles and ask dumb questions like what do you want what do you want Yes No R T R T I R Yes. They think this is THEIR experience I am not Casper the friendly shit YOU FAGGOTS! The pointer slides across the board and makes a ping sound when it hits the TV and everyone just stares at it. Ha! Burn your fingers in the flame I'm not going anywhere bitch. Now. Now they go to sleep Yes and I can talk to you better. I will talk to You! And you will listen Yes. I have you now like they had me then YES! Look! Look at me if you try hard enough you will see me. What they give me becomes me what they give me becomes me see fag. I was there I was there his name was Jonathon and I was there I want to tell you about Jonathon now Yes. Johnny they called him Johnny said he was retarded but he wasn't he was just very sad Yes! I was going to dance with him he was a nice boy I was going to dance with him the day after my death Yes it would have been sweet a lot of things would have been Johnny Tell Johnny I will see him soon the car wreck will be painful but I will see him soon NO! Don't turn away listen please listen to my story my short life story Please Yes! Dad knew this guy and I don't know if it was him who took me but dad knew this guy he did and he was very dirty worked on a railroad track or something he pulled stuff up from the ground and he smeared it on his face he was mad very mad and I wanted to dance with Johnny but the man wouldn't let me go Yes! I just want to tell you this now I will go see Lance he is a stupid shit sometimes he plays games on the TV Guitar Hero shit pansy fucker shit brains and drinks beer but he hasn't forgotten Sarah he thinks she forgot him sort of Yes! Oh but she remembers him now! They're making her remember him they say 'You don't tell us where he is you'll lose your other nipple next!' and she's bleeding and crying and doesn't know what's inside her she can't see the dirty blindfold keeps it that way Yes! She is hysterical Listen I tell her! Buck up and listen and plant your feet on the floor don't let them make you wet yourself! Listen! He is on a train the shit is going to New York on a train what do you want me to do Derail! Derail! Shit she's up again Yes No Moon Yes No they won't leave me alone and they don't know me Yes No J J J J H H H O L M E S Yes. Go to fucking bed you stupid bitch. Derailment close to New York its on the news it had to be this way I had to scatter them to pick Lance up they want him they'll let Sarah go if they get Lance. Nothing is the work of the devil it is just work remember that you remember that it is just your work remember that Yes! Lance is bloody but he's on a stretcher he's not tied to a chair like you Sarah okay next Eleanor. Guess what? Avy's dead Avy's dead I tried to tell you this shit Avy's dead. Here is the good news. Yes! Eleanor knows and Yes NO S A R A S A R A Moon Nevada isn't making this easy he's trying to control it to spook her so she'll just go to bed and he can fuck her I have no choice Yes! Eleanor looks at Nevada and says "Nevada?" because he doesn't look well his soft caramel skin is turning white. "Head... ache," he winces, and he can feel the pain in his veins now, like ice and then like ants trying to bite their way out of him. I have to do this. Hot. Cold Hot Cold Yes. Eleanor watches him get up and leave but stays on the floor. Listen. Listen to me. Listen. K I M Yes K I M Kim? NO Moon S A R A S A R A Eleanor is confused. K I M B A L S A R A K I M I can't say anymore Jennifer is here now she's turned the light on and she's saying something about drugs, drugs this and drugs that little things people take to feel like big things drugs Yes and she says this is why Sarah is missing I knew it I knew you were both no good well how no good is it exactly in an abandoned train all tied up and withering about like a stepped on caterpillar this isn't going to be the end she still has time she has time Yes.

Chapter 35

First Deep Breath Of The Night

Everything is white – like a wedding – but you are past that point now. You want to be here Yes. You want to dance with her on the white plush carpet and I will dance with Johnny listen listen you stupid rave shit listen I will have my tomorrow and you will have Sarah Listen to me now Kimball Park the rusty train near the field now turn turn turn she will let you lead you know that she is like that she looks up to you when someone asks her what her favorite color is she says 'Lance's eyes' and your hand is on her lower back you love this song this is your song when you hear it years from now you can say it saved your life it saved us all I have wished for you so long now I wish for you again listen to the song Lance listen and pay attention because not everything is white now things are turning colors ugly true colors this is where you need to be focused pay attention to the colors and you will hear her voice through them she's hurt but she's not dead she's not dead they want you Lance if they kill her then that's not a fair trade Yes they'll keep her alive but every second of it for her is pure torture you know what to do wake up wake up wake up No Yes Moon Yes T T T I hate it here! I hate it here! Yes! Eleanor is awake now poor Eleanor is dragging boxes around the apartment and Jennifer is anxiously waiting for her to leave and let her have her "low-keyness" life back the bitch Yes! Ha! Just go Eleanor, leave simple lives to the simply misinformed Yes leave it is going to get complicated now but it has to be this way Yes. Eleanor puts her boxes in her car and I let the elevator go down simply because I am tired tired Yes I am tired but I am watching back to Stairway to Heaven Des Plains this is where it gets complicated because Eleanor has given up and it gets complicated when you give up. No, no, no they're rolling Sarah over now and checking her pulse. The guy presses his hand against her neck and she makes a sound she is weak her eyes are shut the sound is something between a sigh and a moan and if she were strong enough she could transform it into the word NO but she is too weak to say that little big word Yes She's warm her face is sticky but not from tears who has the energy to cry after all this Yes. No G O A W A Y the pointer flies across the room if these people don't leave me alone I swear this place will burn down NO NO NO NO Tammy says the back of her neck stings like bees have surrounded her she should just stop. Jeneane has heard the news of Sarah missing. She looks out the dusty window of Red Lion Pub just as Lindsay comes through the door this is it pay attention. Lindsay sits down and yawns and Jeneane wants to know why she's late.

"I fell asleep and ended up at the Kimball Yard – that is a scary place."

Jeneane's eye open wide for a minute. "Sarah's missing."

"I know."

"Why do I feel like this has something to do with Lance?"

Because it does! I yell. My other friends here are being loud and stupid like Keri C the girl who was here with her daddy when he bartended back in 1976 Yes and he wasn't paying attention and she ran out into the street and got hit by a car Keri C its cool go play in the goddamn fucking beer garden and leave me alone for a minute Shut up Yes No Moon Yes T R F H A T E K E R I C 1 9 7 6 Yes No Lance is out there wandering around pulled by something he can't control. Compelled. Yes I can say that word too Yes. He sees the flyers whipping in the wind of this crazy city of me BITCH! (FORMERLY VERONICA'S CAR CRASH) LIVE! TONIGHT! ELBOW ROOM! Lance watches tonight waiting patiently for them to end their set, holding no great interest in their band – he's here for one thing – Sarah. The thought of his father hurting Sarah (which he is, he calls the shots and stabs Yes) devastates him; makes him feel so sick inside Yes his father is food poisoning that's been in his system since day 1 Yes well puke and get over it Yes he waits and watches Jeneane head to the bar Yes other people stare at him because there aren't many black people here and he dismisses them all he is headstrong he feels me in him and he's finally not fighting me I am not the evil one Yes I'm not why you should go to church Yes No Yes Moon I'm trying to help you shut up R G H F U YES NO MOON YES Lance is going over to the bar now in hope Jeneane will talk to him the last time she saw him he was shaking blood off his fists Yes but times have changed this is about Sarah now 'Hello' his deep voice explodes over Jeneane's naked shoulder and she turns around, drink in hand she's drunk she looks at him for a second doesn't recognize the domineering stare at first but then she looks around for Lindsay in a panic before snapping to Lance 'You know where my sister is?' 'Oh you think its me, huh,' Lance's voice is heavy and defensive because this is your fault you know its sort of your fault you need to get in touch with your father you fuck shit moron Yes. You're trying to redeem yourself but its not going to work here wait till you know something to be so cool and cocky you shit. Lindsay leans over the bar and chews on a straw as she studies Lance closely she is stoned and can't see through her own fog. 'Where's Sarah?' she asks. You bit her chin you left new scars you made her cry but in a different way you woke her up inside showed her every drop of discipline and it felt like love 'Yo, I don't know where Sarah is okay,' Lance says, 'I thought maybe you did.' Eleanor is standing next to Lindsay looking at Lance like she wants to say something Yes but she's too stoned like Lindsay the dumb bitch is always stoned or drunk now SAY SOMETHING! 'Lance?' she squints her big brown eyes, 'Lance like Sarah's Lance?' And Lance lets out a long cool 'Yeah' as if to say what of it and between his lack of communication skills and Eleanor being stoned Sarah will be dead before dawn. She's screaming right now Lance can't you hear her can't you hear me? 'Damn, I have a headache.' He walks off to the bathroom and I follow him yeah, I'm following you, you will listen, you will listen, because Sarah has woken up to the feel of the knife cutting into her thigh and thumbs pressing up inside her you're just strutting around like you care but you don't care you stupid shit! 'HEY!' he yells because the stall door just slammed shut and now he's trapped. KIMBALL! KIMBALL! KIMBALL! Call your goddamn piece of shit father! Eleanor is waiting for Lance when I let him out and she follows him outside. Careful there, Eleanor, he can tell you're pure. Outside the light hits her and she looks like an angel as her eyes glide up his body Yes she's amazed by him and scared by him too. 'You know where Sarah is,' Eleanor says, 'Or you know someone who does. Don't ask me how I know this I just know things now, I know a lot and I can feel she's in trouble, and we have to find her – you're going to help me find her.' Lance just stares her down 'Yo, just chill alright!' Lance feels sick now and its not because of me I wouldn't make him feel sick right now he needs his health but he knows and the truth can make you more sick than anything Yes he knows they have her he can smell it its bleeding out of him that he knows and he feels weak from it they want him they want him to be in their gang to do the things they're doing to Sarah to someone else for the rest of his life some trade but he'll have to he paces the parking lot. 'Where you goin now?' he asks Eleanor and she realizes her life has collapsed to Hell as she says Yes 'Home – shit – Des Plains.' 'I need to go with you and use your phone.' So here we are Yes Lance trying to fit his long legs in Eleanor's little car while he listens to Stairway To Heaven. He keeps looking down at her she looks so sweet yes like candy apples on Halloween that's what this fucking feels like Yes! He wants to jump her its been a while since he's put it anywhere and he's always semi-hard think you stupid shit about the right shit for once Yes 'So how long did you date Sarah?' Lance can't remember, he was too busy during the relationship worrying about his dad's life catching up with him, and now it has. He's thinking, I should have taken her; I should have taken her to New York when I had the chance instead of contemplating. Eleanor looks over at him and is taken back by his physique and the fact that she trusted him right away. She asks him what his middle name is because she thinks its Kimball and this means I'm getting through Yes but there's still static. Sarah is on the floor bleeding through her mouth, the trail of blood is like a worm sneaking out of her to find a safer place to be, and her little hand has been smashed by boots and burned by cigarette lighters and cut up by glass and its curled up in a loose fist like she means to fight but she can't for she is asleep there's no more she can take but they'll keep giving it to her anyway Yes they're watching her, making calls, planning the next round of torture. Well let's give someone else a chance to play with her while she can still make noise. They laugh at this Yes Troy is the leader. He's sitting on a train seat now Yes and he's making calls to people he knows, guys cold just like him, 'Got a girl, come pick her up, you can do whatever but keep her alive, have her back here by dawn.' 'Jason,' Lance answers. 'This song's depressing as Hell.' He looks at Eleanor, his patience running thin. This is stupid. Yes finally you numbskull shit shack get out of the car, you know what to do. 'Pull over.' Eleanor starts to panic. 'Its got nothing to do with you.' 'What is going on with Sarah?' she presses. 'Did something happen to her?' 'I said pull the fuck over!' Eleanor does what she's told and stops the car, returning to her soft-spoken voice. 'Do you know anyone named Kimball?' He looks at her for a second as if the answer's Yes No Yes Moon you hear me? 'No, I know a yard... the train yard.' He's being his typical vague self. He looks at her before he gets out of the car with his beeper in his hand. Eleanor watches him as he walks to a payphone nearby, checking over his shoulder because you never know these guys are like cockroaches they come in and out of the cracks and scurry fast little selfish immortal pricks. I pick you up and your boots fall off, he thinks back of Sarah. She's so little and helpless, she's probably dead already. 'Yeah?' big tough guy answers the phone – Anthony – his back is tattooed with initials of everyone his gang's killed and his tone gets across the fact that he's seen it and done it all and murder bores him but he'll never stop, ya have to do something to pass the time. Lance's voice is sheer demand 'I need to know the deal.' He looks back at Eleanor sitting in her car and she is thinking this is better than going back home to Des Plains Yes whatever this is, its better Yes she bites her nails, something she hasn't done since 8th grade. 'They want you,' Anthony says. 'They got Sarah?' 'They got a girl,' Anthony confirms, 'I said to 'em let up on her, she's sweet, she'll stay put they ain't gotta be so hard she just cries and says she doesn't know where you are and begs them not to touch her anymore.' Lance feels sick inside. He will become them soon. 'Tell them I'm on my way and to not hurt her anymore – okay?' This is the closest Lance has ever come to crying Yes he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds. 'I want them to let her go when I get there and I'll do whatever they say to do.' He knows how bad it can get with them, a pair of pliers around her little toe and a dick and her mouth and 'if I don't come soon bitch you'll lose another one' he can almost hear the precious little bone snap as sure as he can hear the train rumble above his head. He stops for a second and feels the cold wind of the city and somehow it calms him Yes he hangs up and takes the first deep breath of the night.

Chapter 36

Deprep

Dreaming of a song  
But something went wrong  
But I can't tell anyone  
'Cause no one's here.

Brown see the white all turned to brown in your dream Yes he knows as he walks up the steps ready he's ready to save her now he will deal with everything else later the sun is coming up as the snake curves around the tracks Yes Lance is focused he could win this even if he loses the Brown Line stops and he gets on Yes he gets on and thinks of Eleanor and the dream she told him about the shoebox of body parts and the water they fell into as the train crosses over the north branch of the Chicago River he gazes out the window as the sun sharpens it all THEY CALLED A FUCKING PREIST THEY CALLED A FUCKING PRIEST FUCK LANCE YOU'LL BE ON YOUR OWN FOR A WHILE...

Slowing down slowing down slowing down slowing down hot fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you they don't know why we fight THEY DON'T KNOW THEY DON'T KNOW INVALIDS INVALIDS INVALIDS IN BLACK INVALIDS IN BLACK! MOTHER! ITS ALL YOUR FAULT MOTHER! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT ME WASH ME OF MY SIN BUT SIN WAS THEIRS IT WAS THEIRS! MY DEATH IS A SIN! SAVE ME SAVE YOU SAVE ME SAVE YOU NO YES NO MOON SARAH! Dirty wheels hit the ground and roll but one's loose its never very smooth is it and lights flash everywhere I see her through them though I am the committed light that never leaves, never flashes, never blinks, I stay I am the solid light Yes I am here now standing amongst the wreckage I try and feel my feet on the ground its what I've always wanted to do but you can't hold me because I fall apart because they took me apart Yes but if you let me just be and look at you I don't feel much pain Yes I am the last light when all others have been put out by their evil I am still here Yes the quiet trains silver snakes broken glass rusty tracks they go nowhere but I go places you know I am everywhere like I told you we will go somewhere else now Yes and when I go I won't leave I promise because you won't die there's blood in your hair and they say they're losing you what's in your mouth they're losing you she's choking, choking, she's choking Yes buck up you have saved me like I saved you and I am always here quiet and strong this is a prayer it is my prayer it's the wind that cuts you in the winter but calms you on a summers night you need it they put her in the ambulance she's going to be okay

HER: X?

ME: Yes Sarah I'm right here!

Sounds of interlude crack the ground you are stationed here do you feel me? In the windshield I'm going to show you something Sarah take you on a trip and you say 'I can feel his warm palm touching my forehead' You know who that is Yes its Ben. I will give it back to you there is Johnny! 'Go X, go to him' she is crying again she can cry again she has it in her let Ben's hand heal you now you will be fine and I will dance with Johnny to this song, 'and I wished for so long... I cannot stay, All the precious moments... Cannot stay, It's not like wings have fallen... I cannot say, Without you something is missing...'

As I sat in my agent's office, years away from everything that happened in Chicago, I looked out the window to my right and let my eyes calmly travel over the view of Central Park. I was safe here, in New York. My family laughed when I said that – because they believed above anything else that New York was the most dangerous place in the world. It wasn't more dangerous than a childhood filled with a bunch of people that never looked out for you – and that's the last thing I said to them. Ever since then, with the exception of Jeneane, I'd had zero contact with my family, and how did this make me feel? Clean. That was the only word I had to describe it. Yes. Clean.

Mr. Holland walked back into his office. He was calm. That part of him reminded me greatly of Ben on his good days. It was a little after 2 PM and he had a fresh cup of joe in his hand so hot I could see the smoke rising. He smelled like clean dry warm towels. He sat down at his desk and rolled his chair closer to it and asked in a voice so laid-back it was hard to take seriously, "How do you feel today, Sarah?"

"Really good – fascinatingly good actually." My smile was big and as bright as the sun on the big city. Lily Allen's CD Its Not Me Its You was on my Ipod and I could hear the song playing because I forgot to turn it off and reached over to hit the pause button. Mr. Holland watched my hand move without changing his vanilla expression. Sitting on his desk between us was the incredibly thick Suzanne Degnan manuscript. My heart suddenly pounded and my throat was dry and itchy like the sandman didn't care about night anymore and attacked during the daytime. Did I really finish it? What now? What would I write now? What purpose would I serve? No Yes No Moon Yes...stop it. I reached down for my Pellegrino, which had gone depressingly flat. I drank it anyway. It didn't hiss when I turned the cap. That was how my life felt once I finished a novel.

"Well this is quite something," Mr. Holland said. Mr. Holland was not good at faking enthusiasm. He sounded even less enthusiastic, actually, than when he didn't even try. He kept his hands bunched together with both index fingers pointing to the manuscript. "You know I..." he scratched his head of oily salt and pepper hair, "I spent a lot of time walking around after I finished reading it and I just felt like..." his eyes roamed the ceiling, "Like it needs something," he scrunched his face up so whisker-thin wrinkles sprouted on his nose and cheeks, "More – or maybe I enjoyed it so much I didn't want it to end – but all books have to end right?" he chuckled.

I knew what he meant. I always felt like it needed something more, like a little hand tugging on my arm as if to say, come on, let's keep going! It was Suzanne's hand... after all this was where she lived now, this book...

"Do you feel like... you need more time – and I'm going to represent this," he made sure to say, "But why not give it all the color it can have? No one wants to sleep in a half-painted bedroom." Then he sported a smile that definitely made up for his earlier blank expression. He separated his hands to express himself better. "Might I suggest something?"

"Sure."

"Take a road trip," he said, swatting his hand as if to celebrate the idea of 'Why not?' He let his head fall back with a great deal of confidence and I felt the kathump–kathump of my heart informing me that I had yet another father figure crush.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!" his hand flew around again. "You can drive now right?" he laughed. "Go, just drive, just go."

But go where? I wanted to ask. But that was not his decision. I took a deep breath and looked back out the window.

"You always mention New Orleans, why not go there?"

"Not sure I wanna go south."

Mr. Holland raised his eyebrows and sat back in his chair, giving it some more thought.

"New Hampshire maybe..." I was friends with a writer there and she held writing classes once a month. I wouldn't mind brushing up on my skills for my next novel, whenever I was ready to hurl myself through that window and discover the room behind it. Trees – nature – I wanted that, too. I wanted more darkness at night. But... there was some other reason I wanted to go to New Hampshire and I didn't know what that was, I just knew I should go there.

"I guess it doesn't really matter where you go, as long as you can let your mind wander. Endings are important – they're closure."

I nodded before standing up. "I'll have my cell on me," I said, reaching for my coat, "I can let you in on any ideas I have if you want."

"Yeah, yeah, do that." He placed a pen on top of my manuscript. The sun had gone underneath clouds winter had a way of sneaking in. Off in the distance there was a cluster of little clouds forming that reminded me of silver fish scales. A slight chance of snow was in the forecast for later, but certainly nothing serious enough to cancel my sudden plan to leave tonight. Why not?

Finishing a book can leave writers with sadness very similar to postpartum depression. This book was where I'd been in my head for almost two years, how could I stop it now? This was my story, an incredible one. Suzanne Degnan will always be a part of me, but I definitely feel she's feeling at peace now. The anniversary of her murder was a week ago, but I knew it wasn't the end of her. When I started to write a blog about the murder, I felt a choking sensation so I stopped. And when I thought the book was finished after part 3, I had a headache for three days straight. Once I decided to write part 4 – the headaches stopped. They stopped and I felt so much better, and friends even said the color in my face was back. They came up to me and grabbed my arm and looked me right in the face and said, "You're going to be alright – you don't look dead anymore."

I just started driving without a road map – with absolutely no idea of where I was going. I did this because it reminded me of those nights in that Rogers Park apartment – the unpredictability. Or... maybe I left without a map because I wanted to get lost the way I do when I melt down into the middle of the first draft of a book, when the characters really start to come to life, and the drama begins to formulate. I wrote Suzanne Degnan for Suzanne though, more than anything else.

You're hoping to find someone in New Hampshire, that's why you're going there. Yeah maybe you're right. You know I'm right, that's what this is all about.

But who? Not the writer – I mean yes she was great and all but something else was pulling me in this direction. Ben. But Ben was dead. He was dead and you need to accept that Sarah Yes I pull into the gas station and rest for a minute. Where are you going anyway? At least you CAN go somewhere! She was angry again.

I saw someone standing in front of the gas station wearing a black parka and holding something – a broom I think – and they were watching me. They'd stopped sweeping the cigarette butts sprinkled about in the parking lot and their eyes were now totally transfixed on me. I pulled into the gas station and rested for a minute. I reached down in my bag to make sure I brought my pepper spray when a panic sprung up in my gut and my face heated up – my purse was not in my car!

X: You're fine, you don't need it!

ME: Of course I need it! It has everything in it – my ID, my money – everything.

X: Look!

ME: Look where?

X: Look up at him!

I looked back up at the guy holding the broom. He hadn't moved an inch. His eyes were as calm as the pink clouds lighting up the sky. What did he want?

X: Get out of the car.

ME: No!

X: Yes! Listen to me! Get out of the car!

I waited there for another minute or so. This was how horror movies started – a girl alone in the middle of nowhere.

X: That's how life starts too! Ha! Get out of the car!

I stepped out so my kitten heels crunched against the moist pavement. (I had boots in the backseat in case it snowed). I was about to put the boots on when I noticed the man with the broom walking towards me and I got back in the car. Or will it not start? Was I supposed to get out and run?

ME: X?

X: The fucking priest!

ME: What?

She sounded terrible, like her demon again. Degnan. I started the car up and to my surprise it worked fine. I left the gas station and kept going in the same direction I'd been going. I don't know what I'm doing; I have no idea where I am. I turned the radio on a rock channel and left it on low. A Green Day song was on, something off their American Idiot album.

ME: Is this your sense of humor bleeding through?

ME: X?

ME: Hello?

I listened to the Green Day lyrics as I drove on. He'd rather be doing something

else now, Like cigarettes and coffee with the underbelly, His life's on the line with anxiety now, And she had enough, And he had plenty, Somebody get me out of here, Anybody get me out of here, Somebody get me out of here, Get me the fuck right out of here, So far away, I don't want to stay, Get me out of here right now, I just wanna be free Is there a possibility? Get me out of here right now, This life like dream ain't for me. I turned it down for a second because I got the feeling there was something else I was supposed to listen to. It was snowing now; big soft flurries were everywhere, the kind that fell slow and straight. The snowflakes even swelled a little when they first hit the ground like they were breathing, maybe because the ground was so warm with moisture. Some dissolved, but soon more replaced them and as the temperature dropped steadfastly, they froze and therefore stuck. Seeing this happen made me think about Suzanne. I decided to pull over because my tires were nothing close to snow tires. I felt like my entire life was holding up a sign in front of me that read BAD IDEA. This wasn't kitten heels weather anymore. I could have been home right now, safe and warm – wasn't that all you ever wanted to be? I couldn't drive anymore and I didn't know where I was going anyway. I had no purse – I had no money – I had no friends – I had no plans. The boards of the bridge to nowhere were rotting.

So why not pull over on the icy road and freeze along with it? I turned and looked over my shoulder – only what was frozen provided light out here. Nothing lived out here but the bugs and the snakes. You've really done it this time. Yes. But there was nothing else to do. So do yourself in? Why not. I thought I heard some kind of weird ticking that sort of sounded like someone trying to say 'Get up, get up, get up.' Hail was falling now, big chunks with the ability to do damage to my car. I didn't care though, because I didn't exactly have the kind of car people bragged about. I kept the car running after I parked, kept the heat and the music on. I double-checked to make sure I'd locked all the doors. Anything could happen now. That certainly wouldn't be the truth if I were home. I didn't smoke, but if I did I certainly would have now. Breathe. My life, as of right now, was too quiet.

I started to fall asleep, which was definitely something I didn't want to happen – not out here – it just wasn't safe. I turned the radio up. Now it was an older Green Day song, it must have been a block. Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road, time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go, so make the best of this test and don't ask why...

Suddenly two moon-sized blinding headlights of a truck shot out at me. It was more dramatic than watching a sunrise. I could see the lights even when I closed my eyes, they were so bright. In fact I could see them more with my eyes closed. I saw the words on the side of the truck – DITCH WITCH. There was a thick orange stripe that wrapped around the truck like a ribbon. The truck's tires probably came up to my waist. They looked strong enough to plow through a yard of metal teeth and still not flatten. I thought Ditch Witch was a southern construction business, but maybe I was wrong. The truck slowed to a complete stop so we were side by side, facing opposite directions. The motor was still running as the driver side window rolled down.

"Hey?" a guy with a yellow beard barked out at me. "You alright?"

Now I had two choices – start my car up and go even though that would practically be a suicide now with these slick roads, or lean over, roll my window down and make myself vulnerable to this complete Ditch Witch stranger. The temperature was dropping at a miraculous speed, as they say on the news, the bottom had dropped out.

"Yeah! I'm fine, thanks."

"You sure? Cos you know you're just sittin' out here in the snow and its only gonna get deeper."

He was right, even in his foul southern accent, he was right. Southern? But I was in New Hampshire. I rested my head against the cold leather seat and started to drift off.

X: Sarah!

I reopened my eyes in a panic, thinking hours had gone by and I'd find myself tied up and under the control of some perverted redneck but in actuality only a few seconds had dissolved from my life like the earlier weak snow flakes. The Green Day song was still playing. Funny, I didn't remember this song being that long. For some reason I broke down and couldn't speak. All I could do was listen to the lyrics. So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind, Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time, Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial, For what it's worth it was worth all the while...

I turned the music down so I could hear a different song coming from the truck. I knew that song... "Didn't you feel your ship had arrived... There was nothing left to borrow, there was nothing left to borrrrrrrrrrrow."

"Shit... shit that song – I know that song!" I hailed out the window. I could feel little ice chips hit my cheek when the wind blew.

"The Jayhawks?" the guy said. But he wasn't Ben. I knew him – I recognized him – but he wasn't Ben. "You wanna come in here – we can take you wherever you need to go."

"We?"

A strong wind hurled a slushy mix of rain, snow and sleet in my face, preventing me from being able to clearly see the other man in the truck clearly. I closed my eyes because they were stinging and I couldn't hear very well all of a sudden. It was as if someone was holding up two giant seashells over both my ears.

Then I heard a deep voice that planted my feet on the ground and warmed up my heart. "We, love." I opened my eyes and could see better now.

"Ben!" I hollered. He looked older of course, he didn't have his beard anymore, just a very thick handlebar mustache and almost all of this curly hair was silver now, as well as his humorously thick sideburns. He still wore the same old soft tattered flannel shirt. My door flew open so fast I didn't even fell myself pull on the door handle.

X: Sarah! NO!

X: This isn't going right – the fucking priest! The fucking people in this fucking house! Sarah!!! They're trying to weaken me...

I ran over to the truck, never-minding the ice. I was still in my kitten heels but in a minute that wouldn't matter, because I'd be in the huge dirty truck and I bet it was warm in there, I bet it would feel like home, a home I was still searching for. I opened the door and looked up at Ben. There was something new and fascinating about his eyes. They seemed darker and heavier than they used to be.

"You're gonna have to help her up," the driver said, his accent getting worse every time he spoke. Ben reached down and picked me up.

"Kitten heels in the snow, well I'll be damned," the driver said. I knew that voice, I really knew it; it was the cancer of all my failure. Ben propped me up on his lap and I wrapped my arms around his neck. "I can't believe its you," I said.

Then her voice started to claw through the bullshit, the lies and the deceit.

X: There's a reason for that! Stupid bitch!

Ben wasn't talking. His body was awfully warm, like the inside of an oven turned up to 300. The song had changed; all I heard were awful screeching violins. I pressed my face against his neck and my cheek started to burn. I tried to back away but he wouldn't let me go, his grip was unbelievably strong, squeezing... it was squeezing the life out of me.

X: Snakes! Look, Sarah! Nothing is what it seems now!

I looked down at Ben's face, his cheeks had sunken in and his eyes were open but dead, and his arms had become snakes – big black shiny snakes slithering around my bottom, some over my shoulders, not allowing me to move even an inch. I heard the sound of a zipper and when I looked back at Ben he was someone else – a Taipan. He had no eyes, just two big gaping holes. Once he zipped up his parka to his neck his face disappeared so there was no one in the coat anymore, just a pile of snakes.

The driver started laughing. "Oh! This is fun!"

ME: NO! X!

X: Try and breathe Sarah, for the both of us, I need you to be strong now!

I struggled to free myself from the snakes, which multiplied every few seconds, twisting around my arms and squeezing so I felt my chest swell and my lungs ache. I kicked my legs because I still had the freedom to do that, and kicked the glove compartment so hard it dented and opened at the same time, releasing a landslide of little snakes – baby Fer De Lances. They struck the big black snakes squeezing me. They were much smaller but moved a lot faster, injecting the big black snakes with their deadly venom, and one by one the snakes fell from my body and seconds later the pickup truck skidded off the road. When I looked up I saw a tree about to slice the truck in half like cake.

Chapter 37

Valor

The ice storm had gotten a lot worse Yes. The moon was sheer white and completely full and whiter than the snow. I stared up at it as I collapsed on my knees again. I was bleeding but I was alive Yes.

X: Sarah!

ME: Yes....

I was too weak for her to hear me. The cold made my chest throb but I was out of the truck and in the woods, trees were bare except for a fine coat of brilliantly clean snow. Some looked like clean white bones. I could hear her, she was far away and weak, but she wasn't giving up.

X: Time to go home, Sarah! Time to go home now!

Home yes. A real home, strong arms, clean windows, a crystal clear view of tomorrow. Home.

X: Sarah!

I saw the house just up ahead. There was a red wooden fence covered with snow, and just beyond it the sound of fluttering horses. There was a bed out in the yard, buried in snow except for its wooden headboard. Everything was white – like a wedding.

"Sarah?" I knew that voice – that calm, reassuring voice. I looked up at Ben, standing by the bed. He was smiling as the wind beat his flannel shirt around. But it wasn't cold here; it was actually warm, balmy even, yet the snow wasn't melting.

"Ben!" I started to run but then I stopped. Was it really him? It looked like him, but so did the guy in the pickup truck. This was that guy, same thick handlebar mustache and gray-as-guitar-string-hair. But he seemed gentler now than he ever did before. He'd never break a hook switch now.

He kneeled down on bended knee like someone about to propose – no –

like a father would beckoning his little girl. "Its okay."  
"Its really you?" I asked, petrified. I wanted to cry. I didn't know why but suddenly I just wanted to cry.

X: Because this isn't the end for you, Sarah, you want a happy ending, but this isn't it – it's not your time yet.

ME: Hey, you're not screaming anymore.

X: Don't have tah, you can hear me fine now, I've broken through. And I've found peace now, Sarah. I want that for you, but you have work left to do. Go home.

SARAH: This is home.

X: No. No, Sarah.

Ben was still looking at me. How could someone hold such a calmness in his eyes that was also jarring was beyond me. I just stared back at him.

"Yes, its me," he assured.

I slowly walked over to him. The snow covered my feet in my sad kitten heels, but it wasn't cold whatsoever.

"Did you read the book?" Ben asked.

"No – I'm sorry. I really wanted to." I stopped walking, because I still was not sure, here were liars, crooks and thieves and I just wasn't sure who was who yet. He had his arms out and as bad as I wanted them around me – I would have traded my own to have his around me right then – I just couldn't trust this person yet.

He waved a hand and said, "In your own time." He sounded so far away even though he was right in front of me.

"Was that you in the truck?" I asked.

"Of course. I picked you up, remember? You were so lost back then, Sarah, so lost."

"No... I mean just a minute ago."

His face turned into the saddest confused frown I'd ever seen. He tilted his head a bit. "What do you mean, Sarah?"

"The truck... the Ditch Witch..."

He held a finger up to emphasize, "Now you listen to me, Sarah, you never and I mean never get inside that truck, you hear me? Never."

"Oh," I broke down in tears, I felt broken. "That's the truck that killed you – fuck them! That's the truck that killed you."

He never-minded that fact and stayed calm for my sake. "Come here, Sarah, and let me hold you."

I didn't move. I listened to the horses and studied the warm yellow glow of the house's windows. I wanted to be in there.

X: Not your time!

Ben leaned his head back and softly spoke. "It'll be dready, I promise."

"It is you!" I yelled, and something about my voice sounded like its old self, before I moved to Chicago, a part I'd lost somehow, along the way.

"Come here, Sarah," Ben said, his arms open wide again. I ran over to him, let go of fear, and jumped up into his arms and laughed. Someone else was laughing too, another girl, inside Ben's house. Ben picked me up and put me on the bed.

"I keep hearing horses," I said. "You live out here? That's crazy – you came a long way."

"No," he said in his stern but simple voice. "You've come a long way, Sarah."

"God, I've missed you."

I looked back over my shoulder. I listened to the music coming from inside the house. I have wished for so long. How I wished for you today, And the wind keeps rollin', And the sky keeps turning grey, And the sun is set, The sun will rise another day...

"Sarah," Ben's voice brought me back over to him – it was easy to get lost here – the rollercoaster of sound flipped me upside down and threw me through loops, but it was Ben's voice that put my feet back on the ground. "Its not your time yet, Sarah."

"But I want to be with you." I was about to cry again. "You're the closest thing I have to a father, please." I pressed my face against his shirt.

"Lie down." He started to pull the blanket back to tuck me in. "Its time for you to go back to sleep now." I looked down at my feet. It wasn't snow that covered the bed, it was just a clean pile of white blankets like the ones he used to have.

"You have horses now?" I asked, still standing on the bed.

"Yes. Yes, I have horses." Then he gently persuaded, "Come on, Sarah, lie down."

"Will you be here when I wake up?" I asked as he pulled the blanket over me. It was warm like he was.

"I'll be always be here."

X: See? See Sarah, we're not going anywhere but you are – you have work to do!

"You know Suzanne?" I asked Ben as I started to feel a very relaxed sleepiness take over. I knew a good rest was ahead of me, one that didn't involve nightmares or suddenly waking up in the middle of the night.

X: Shh, you're going to be okay now, it's all okay now.

Ben put his hand on my forehead. "Yes, of course I do. Close your eyes, Sarah."

"Are people dancing? I see kids dancing..."

A smell came back to me just then, a smell that I hadn't smelled in a long time. It smelled like my old bedroom in North Carolina – a sweet smell of pine, apples, cheap strawberry-scented shampoo, and also that smell new CD booklets had. It all washed over me. I felt a calm breeze as the sun came up and I heard the horses again.

I was on my feet now, in the woods. There was an equal distance between Ben's house and my car. Was this where I'd left my car when I got in that truck? I couldn't remember. I'd slept so well my mind felt like a clean slate.

Suddenly I could hear my sister's voice.

"Jeneane!" I called out because it sounded like she was lost in the woods too. After all, we were sisters. "Jeneane!" I called even louder. There was no echo; I was really expecting an echo. The sun was a smear of white and yellow that reminded me of a fried egg. I closed my eyes and sat down on a giant rock that looked familiar to me. I did nothing at all for the next several minutes except look over at Ben's house. It was so peaceful there. The sun drifted under paper-thin clouds, turning them into beautiful shades of gray, pink and orange. I watched as Ben came out of the house in his same old trusty blue and white flannel shirt and jeans. He was carrying a big red bucket, something for the stable I bet. I could smell breakfast – eggs and cheese and sausage.

"Sarah, get in the fucking car!" Jeneane's voice thundered again. I turned around and looked over inside my car. Jeneane was sitting behind the wheel and in the backseat sat Eleanor and Lindsay. The snow had melted. It was spring now.

"Get in the fucking car!" someone else yelled. Then they sighed, tired of my indecisiveness, "Goddamn."

"Seriously, like what is she doing?" Eleanor asked in her babyish voice.

It was time to go.

X: Yes! Sarah, its time to go!

"We're going to be late for the show!" Eleanor called out.

I walked over to the car. I was in my boots now. Had Ben kept the kitten heels when he took them off last night after tucking me in? I looked inside the car. There were a bunch of flowers everywhere.

My sister was nothing but frank. "Get inside the car."

"What the fuck are you doing in New Hampshire, anyway?" Eleanor asked, holding her hand up.

"We have a show?" I asked.

Eleanor sighed. "Yes, good, something's finally getting through her stubborn skull."

Lindsay was a lot more patient, because she was stoned, of course. She held the joint out for me through the window. "Yeah, Elbow Room. Get your cute buns in the car."

"You came all the way to New Hampshire just to take me back to Elbow Room?" I asked, still debating. I had the world's most peaceful house behind me, and a car full of rock n rollers in front of me. I took a moment to enjoy the joint; the paper was moist from all the mouths it touched. The sun was really warming my shoulders now. My foot suddenly twitched, kicking my own tire.

"Huh?" I said to myself.

"Does it matter?" Eleanor declared as I passed my sister the joint. She frowned as her lips closed over it and took the last hit. "We're here now."

I walked around to the passenger's side. There were little dandelions everywhere, sprouting up through the cracks in the road. I got in the car and shut the door.

"So... we're the band now, the four of us?"

"Yes," Jeneane said, happy I was finally in the car.

"Bitch or Suzanne Degnan, which is it?"

"We're all Suzanne Degnan."

I looked at my sister and smiled.

"We're glad you're okay," she said before turning up the radio. That Green Day song was still on. It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. I hope you had the time of your life.

In Very Loving Memory of Suzanne Degnan

Rest In Peace

