Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
18 Weeks of Twoey - 99. Week Fifteen Monday, December 8, 2014: And Then There Were None
... NEC HOSTIS INIVRIAM MIHI INTVLIT, CVI IN TOTO NON REDDIDI
no enemy ever wronged me, whom I have not repaid in full
- LVCIVS CORNELIVS SVLLA
***
I woke up to the realization my casts finally were to come OFF today! I’d be back in school tomorrow!
After Tommy showered me and helped me shave – for the LAST time – I went downstairs to breakfast. Before he left for work, my father told me he’d be back in time to drive me to my 10:30 appointment. When the gang stopped by, I was all smiles.
“Pick me up tomorrow because I’ll be going to school with you guys.”
Everyone was happy with that, but none as much as me!
Sam said, “Finally, the gang will be back together at the lunch table.”
Gary was next. “Well, except for Twoey. Maybe you can lure him back.”
On that sobering note, they took off for school. I went upstairs to read, but took a quick look at chapter 5 and saw it was sorta long and I don’t like to read Demian too fast. I usually have to re-read sections, then think about what they say. So, hopefully, I would have some time this afternoon when I was back home. There wasn’t enough time to do much more than check over what I had written for Adv. Prep with Alex yesterday.
At a little after 10, Aunt Sarah called me back downstairs. My father was home from work to pick me up. When we arrived at the hospital, they first removed the hand cast and replaced it with some kind of hard plastic finger splint and wrapped the last two fingers together. I only need to unwrap them when I shower and wrap them back up. The doctor said it was healing nicely and by Christmas it will be done.
Then they cut off the leg cast and took me in for an X-ray. I guess the fibula was well on its way to being healed. The bone was knitting well. They fitted me into this hard boot thing that keeps the pressure off until it’s healed, which again will be by Christmas. I have to visit the hospital twice a week for some kind of exercise or therapy or whatever the hell it is they call it. They gave me this aluminum crutch that I could use if I walked very far. I could remove the boot and everything was shower resistant so Tommy loses his job ...haha.
The leg thingy sure felt better, but my hand was what really meant something. I could grip again. I never realized how much I used both hands! Now I could eat and shower and even hold Alex’s head without worrying I’d poke her eye out!
Dad dropped me off back home at about 1:00 and I went up to my room. Let me tell you, that stairway trip sure was easier with a knee that bends. I texted Alex and told her not to come over until about supper time today because I had some reading to catch up on. I spent the next few hours in chapter 5.
Well, well ...it seems Sinclair is discovering there is more to an individual than what makes him different from others. We each contain the whole world in us too: The good with the evil, the light with the dark. That got me considering Pastor Johnson. I know, I never figured I’d think of him again! But I used to view him as a hypocrite because he did things opposite of what he preached. Well, that certainly was true. But he did sort of embraced this combination of light and dark. And so did my birth giver!
Funny how I was thinking of them at that exact moment because there was a tap on the door. I was interrupted by Aunt Sarah. She came in and sat next to me on the bed and held my hand. I realized there was going to be some bad news.
“Your father was just on the phone. When he got back to work, there was a message to contact the State Police. He called to discover your mother is dead.”
I didn’t know what to say, except what I did say.
“What happened?”
“She and that pastor were found in his car. It was in the Hudson River by Waterford.”
“Do you mean it was under the water?”
“Yes.”
“Did they have an accident?”
“Your father didn’t say. Only that they had been there for nearly two weeks, since the day before Thanksgiving.”
“That’s pretty specific. How do they know?”
She smiled. “I asked your father the very same question. I guess the car’s computer knew.”
“Will there be a funeral?”
“We don’t know. Your father explained to the police that she had left him. He gave them her sister Nellie’s address and phone number.”
“Will I have to go if Aunt Nellie has a funeral?”
“No one will force you to do anything.”
“I have a favor to ask, Aunt Sarah.”
“What do you want, honey?”
“Tell my Dad too. I don’t want to hear one more word about her. Ever. For the rest of my life. Forever.”
“Yes, I can do that for you David.” Then she kissed me and went back downstairs.
Shit! Burch died on the same day.
VIXERE!
I slowly realized they were gone. Both the pig-fucker and the pig he fucked were gone from me and would never be able to sneak back. That made me remember the envelope I gave Sam. I wondered if he still had it. I checked the clock. It was already 3:30, so I removed the boot, slipped on some jeans and strapped the boot back on. I grabbed a coat and the crutch and slowly worked my way over to Sam’s house. It was different walking with this thing, but lots easier and certainly more flexible with my knee back in the action! But I’ve got to tell you, that leg is weak. Sitting around in a cast for weeks made it very weak. I wondered how long it would take for it to strengthen back to the way it used to be. His mother answered the door and sent me up to Sam’s room. I was certain sandwiches would follow.
Sam gave me a big smile and checked out my new boot.
“Hey, it’s good to see you mobile again!”
“Do you have the folder?”
“Folder?”
“The one I gave you before the assault.”
“No. It’s gone.”
“Tell me what you did with it.”
I could see his mind working. “I may have anonymously mailed it to your father.”
“Did you know what was in the envelope?”
“Yes. I opened it when you were in the ICU. I saw the four pictures.”
“You weren’t supposed to open that envelope.”
“Yes I was.”
“What?!”
At that very moment, Sam's mom walked in with milk and sandwiches. I was actually hungry. While I chewed on a sandwich and drank some milk, Sam rummaged around in his desk drawer and pulled out a little stick-um note and showed it to me. On it was one sentence.
You’ll know if you need to use this.
“I wrote those words down the minute you left my house, when you dropped off the manila folder.”
“Oh. I meant if I was dead.”
“Close enough. He tried to kill you.”
“Who? Burch?”
“No dummy, Johnson! Burch was just the bullet. Johnson fired the gun.”
“How can you jump to that conclusion?”
“Jesus David, he owned the youth club where you were beaten and then fled right after they rescued you!”
“He owned it?”
“You knew that! I told you.”
“No! You told me the same company that owned the church owned it. Why would you think the pastor did?”
“Because he was the guy behind everything.”
“Oh? Well then I guess it’s all over. He’s dead.
“What?”
“The State Police told my father he and that woman who used to live in my house were found in a car in the Hudson River. Underwater. They’ve been dead since around Thanksgiving.”
“Swimming with the fishes, huh?”
!!!POW!!!
Fish. Fucking fish! Everything was fish. My fish dreams; Uncle John’s Thanksgiving fish; Gary’s little ceremony over the fish; that woman and Johnson swimming with the fishes ... “see, it’s like a little fish and it likes to play with me ...see how it likes to play with me? See it get all excited because it’s playing with me? Aren’t you happy like your little fish to be playing with me? ...” Burch? My little fish?
Now the voices of Johnson and Burch and Coulton and The Witch were all yelling at me at once. They swirled around me and became indistinct tones like a siren, blotting out everything else. Their shrieking pierced my eardrums. I had to hold my hands to my ears. Stuff was spinning and whirling – flying by my squeezed-shut eyes like the debris sucked around a tornado.
Suddenly it felt like the ceiling crashed down on me. I fell into Sam, grasping him and holding him so I wouldn’t drown in all the fishes and water that was now flooding around me and then I don’t know what happened. It was like everything that had been building up during the period before the beating, and the death of her and him, a flashback of Burch playing with my ‘little fish,’ Gary’s VIXERE and it was now all causing a pressure to build up in my head and then the sharp pains hit my temples as the dam burst. I clutched at him, sobbing into his shoulder as my body was beginning to shake. He immediately hugged me tightly and yelled for his mom. He was holding me now. If Sam had let me go, I would have crashed to the floor.
His mother came into his room and ran right over to me, rubbing my back. They must have moved me to Sam’s bed because I was aware that I was there, but did not remember getting there. I know I was curled into a little ball. I only remember her rubbing my back as every part of my body was shaking. There must have been a minute I blacked out completely because Sam and his mom were in different places when I noticed them again. I wasn’t trembling as much. Slowly I got myself under control and stopped shaking. Then as fast as it hit me, it was gone. I got back up and noticed Sam’s shirt was all wet.
“I’m sorry. I was suddenly overwhelmed for a minute, recalling stuff. I’m OK now. Sam, take that look off your face.”
His mom didn’t look convinced.
“Are you sure you’re alright, honey? Are you seeing a counselor for what you’ve been through?”
“No. I’m fine now. Stuff just ganged up on me is all.”
“David, you have to see someone. It’s a must! I can’t believe the doctor didn’t prescribe it! Please talk to your father and tell him what happened.”
“OK. I will.”
She still didn’t seem convinced, but she left us alone. I turned to Sam.
“Something just hit me hard Sam. I’ve been through a lot of shit lately and a lot of emotional crap too. You have been the only friend who understands. And you always stick by me. Gary calls me his best friend, but we’re not really friends at all. We're more like brothers. But YOU are a friend. I just accused you, my friend, of doing exactly what I asked you to do. I guess I’m the shitty friend.”
“No you’re not. Don’t be ridiculous. I never think of you as anyone but the guy who’s always got my best interest at heart. You even maneuvered me and Deena together, trying to do it without our noticing the puppet-master behind the scenes.”
“Did it work?”
“Getting Deena and me together? Yes! Without us noticing? NO! She’s one smart lady.”
“I was afraid if either of you knew that, I'd be in for serious crap.”
He really laughed at that. Then he broke the news to me that the Coultons moved out a few days ago. Danny’s house is empty again.
Sam kept pressing me to tell my father and get back into therapy. To change the subject, I told Sam I was going to go to Syracuse, maybe Saturday, to get Mike's input on the Twoey situation.
“After all, he’s known him a lot longer than any of us. Maybe he’ll have a different point of view. I need to apologize to him anyway and Alex and I will probably do some Christmas shopping.” Sam agreed it was a good plan.
Before I left, he grabbed my hands. “See someone, David. I’m serious. You need to see someone.”
“Maybe I’ll go back to Dr. Keating. He already knows a lot about me.”
“You know I’m going to check up on that. So don’t make me have to sic Deena on you.” But he was smiling. “Wait a minute!”
Sam threw on his coat and walked me home. I kept telling him he didn’t need to, but he didn’t think I should be alone right then. Thank Zeus he didn’t come in and tell everyone what had happened. As it was, when I went inside, Alex was there and both she and Tommy yelled at me.
“Where were you?”
I chuckled and told them I took a walk and ended up at Sam’s. After dinner Alex helped me upstairs – I can really do it fine by myself, but I let her help me – and we sat on my bed. I showed her Demian.
“See, I really did need some time to read, but I also needed some exercise. That’s why I took the walk.”
She showed me what I missed today and we worked on our different homework together. Making out is a lot better without wearing all that plaster. But we only did it for a few minutes before she left. Alex and I have a warmth between us. But something is missing. There is a little spark, like I used to get with Twoey, that I don’t get with Alex. Again, my mind went to how comfortable Twoey and I were with each other. When I first met Alex, I thought we were comfortable and could talk about anything. It was what made her so attractive to me. But these feelings of comparison between her and Twoey were beginning to invade my thoughts more regularly. I couldn’t prevent those feelings from happening. The trouble is, Twoey wins every time. This was starting to tear me apart. How could I go through life remembering that magic I had once experienced? Would I never experience it again?
Later that night I bit the bullet and called Twoey before calling Alex, but it went to VM. He must be talking to Erik. I just hung up. I didn’t want to leave him a message. Next, Alex and I talked for 45 minutes. I asked her if she would go shopping in Syracuse with me Saturday. She was all excited about that. I was just settling in and enjoying the ability to pull my covers over me when my phone chirped. It was Twoey.
“Hi.”
“You called?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I got my casts off. I found out my mother is dead. I had a breakdown at Sam’s house.”
“What?! How are you feeling now?”
“I’m OK now. But at Sam’s, I got shooting pains in my head for the first time in my life. I think it was when my mind sort of went into overload about everything. I shouldn’t have bothered you, but I really wanted to hear your voice. You know, to help calm me down. You always had that effect on me.”
“Anytime, Angel.”
“Well, I’ll let you go now. Sweet dreams.”
“Night.” He disconnected right away.
Did I detect a little sob?
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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