ever notice. No one will wonder what that strange smell is as his body begins to decay.
I grab my box off the ground and then stoop and place the old man’s supplies on top of it.
My heart is hammering in my chest faster than I ever thought possible and every sound, every sight, every smell seems to be somehow amplified. It’s like all of my senses have kicked into overdrive and for the first time in my life I actually feel powerful. Invincible, even.
And these extra supplies? Well, they’ll make sure we have enough to see us through regardless of whether or not we dole them out wisely.
We’ll be just fine, us four.
I’ll make sure of that.
CHAPTER FOUR
I’m standing in the hallway of our building and it feels like every ounce of energy I’ve ever possessed has decided to take an extended hiatus. The muscles in my legs tremble like Jell-O and my arms are wracked with cramps from carrying the boxes; the small of my back feels like I’ve been whacked with a two-by-four and waves of darkness keep threatening to overtake me. I shake my head like a dog flinging off water and kick the door with the tip of my loafer.
“It’s me… open up. I’ve got the stuff.”
My voice sounds slurred and distant, like a drunkard speaking through the end of a long pipe.
Nothing but silence within the apartment, so I kick again. Harder this time.
“Damn it, open the door! This shit is heavy!”
I can hear faint footsteps on the other side, whispers so vague I can only make out sounds and not voices or distinct words. I kick again, this time so hard that pain flares through my toes as the tip of my shoe jars against the wood.
“Who’s there?”
Jane’s voice, sounding like a frightened little girl. Why the hell doesn’t she just use the peephole and see who the fuck is there? The stupid cunt.
I try to swallow my irritation, to keep it from showing in my voice and tone. It feels like a hard lump of gristle stuck in my throat and I close my eyes for a second to keep the hallway from wavering in and out of focus.
“Publisher’s Fucking Clearing House. Who the hell do you think it is? Open the damn door, Jane. I said this shit is heavy!”
So much for keeping my cool.
I hear the chain rattle and then the click of the deadbolt. The doorknob turns and the door swings open. She stands there for a moment with her hands on her hips, her lips thin and tight as she glares at me.
“There’s no need to get snappy.” she spits. “It could’ve been anyone. How was I supposed to know?”
Apparently she has no intention of moving out of the doorway, so I shoulder my way by her.
“
Staggering into the living room, I see Polly and Cody. They stand there watching me like I was the lead character in private drama playing out just for them. Jane slams the door shut and stomps across the room.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you! You didn’t have to
No one offers to help. No one makes a move at all. Except for Jane and she’s too busy pacing around the living room and wagging her finger while she prattles on and on about how she won’t tolerate domestic violence in any way shape or form. Please. All I did was let myself into my own home. Is it my fault that she wouldn’t get out of the way?
Fuck ’em. I made it this far on my own. I guess a few more steps to the kitchen won’t really matter.
Cody is standing by the coffee table and he’s looking at me like I’m some kind of trained monkey. One who might be dangerous or perhaps just mildly amusing. As I pass the worthless twit, he sniffs several times and wrinkles his nose as he begins fanning his hand in front of his face.
“My God, man, you smell like an outhouse.”
All the frustration of the morning bubbles over like an unattended kettle. I slam the boxes of supplies down onto the coffee table, throw them really, and there’s a sharp crack as the cheap wood gives out. The yin-yang design splinters into half a dozen pieces as coffee mugs and saucers crash to the ground.
“Well maybe next time, you’d like to go get the fuckin’ supplies! Maybe you’d like to waste half your day being told that if you step outside the precious yellow line you’ll end up with a damn bullet in your head! Son of bitch!”
I’m all up in his face, spraying spittle with each word and Cody’s trying to back away but I’ve got the lapels of his shirt in a vice-like grip. His eyes dart about the room and he winces with each word.
“
I feel hands pulling me backward, yanking me away as my name is repeated again and again; but as quickly as the anger flared up, it’s gone and I’m simply tired, scared, and frustrated beyond belief. I let his shirt slip through my fingers as the girls pull me away and then fall to my knees in the center of the floor.
“They would have shot me.”
My voice is small and weak now and the tears start streaming down my face. My body hitches with sobs and snot bubbles from my nose and I smell like piss and there’s an old man lying in a dumpster somewhere with the rats and maggots and trash. And all I can do is rock back and forth, repeating over and over:
I wake up on the couch with an afghan thrown across me and a bolster pillow beneath my head. Every muscle in my body is sore and I’ve got a headache that feels like there’s a cluster of fingertips pressing behind my left eye. It’s dark outside now and I can hear the others in the kitchen.
“Zax is not a word, Cody.”
“It is too, Jane. Check the dictionary. It’s a tool commonly used in slate roofing. It’s also a triple-letter score. Which, if I’m not mistaken puts me in the lead.”
“Hey there, sleepyhead.”
It’s Polly’s voice. She’s leaning in the doorway that leads down the hall, a half grin across her face.
“How you feeling?”
This evening she’s in jeans and a t-shirt that says
“Better.” I mumble as I sit up. “Sore.”
“You kind of freaked everyone out a bit earlier. At first Jane was pretty pissed, but when you started crying… well, none of us really knew what to do, you know?”
We look at each other from across the room and I pull the cover tightly around me as I take a slow breath through my nose. Polly takes a few steps and her voice drops to a near whisper.
“It was bad out there, wasn’t it?”
I nod silently.
“There was blood on your shirt when we started taking your clothes off for you. After you passed out. Or fell asleep. Or whatever that was.”
I close my eyes and can clearly see the box coming down on the back of the old man’s head.
“It wasn’t yours, was it?”
I shake my head slowly.
“You need to talk about it?”
I shake my head again.
“How ’bout coffee? Nothing fancy. Just straight-up old fashioned black coffee?”
I nod and she leans forward and kisses my forehead. She smells so clean and fresh, so lovely.
“I’ll be right back, okay? You just stay right here.”
Someone has cleaned up the mess I made. Hard to believe that the coffee table I shelled out so much for shattered so damn easily. I really liked that table, too. It’s a shame, really.
