Two Hundred Milligrams of Oh Crap

I was halfway down the stairs when I remembered how exhausted I was. I sighed and rubbed my eyes, smacked myself in the face a couple times, and set out walking down the street. Miss Dean was, predictably, peering out at me from her curtains, shaking her head in dismay. She was probably going to ransack my room as soon as I turned the corner, and renter's rights be damned. 

That was all right, because I had the book. It was stowed in the left inside pocket of my coat, a long trench coat I'd inherited from my grandfather. I'd always thought it was cool to have a WWII soldier's coat with the name McAllister on the lapel, and like most old military issue clothing it was warm, comfortable, and damn near indestructible. I got hit by a car wearing that coat once. Oh, it hurt plenty, but the coat wasn't even scuffed. 

Of course, between the coat, the fingerless black gloves, my undoubtedly-disheveled black hair, and the deep blue circles under my eyes, I probably looked like a fugitive. Or a homeless person. I would have preferred to straighten myself up a little, since I was going to see Beck, but I really couldn't make myself wait any longer.

It was the branding that did it, I think. Fueled by irritation, I marched stoically into the evening.

* * *

Beck worked at the pharmacy counter of a grocery store called Tommy's. Just "Tommy's". It wasn't a chain store, but the proprietor, Tom Mackerel, prided himself on the fact that his store was significantly larger and more profitable than both the Stop & Shop and the Geissler's Supermarket in the same city. He'd tell anyone who would listen the long and involved story of a young Tommy Mac, fighting his way to the top from his humble beginnings as a coke mule for the local Polish mob. I had no idea how much of his story was bullshit and I wasn't prepared to ask.

It was about half a mile from my apartment to the store, one of the reasons Beck had applied there, and took me about thirteen minutes to walk. (If you're shaking your head at that, go back and read the last chapter. Prick.) I got a couple of looks walking through the parking lot, since this was prime Soccer Mom shopping hours, but I was a man on a mission. Indignant glances would not stop me.

The automatic doors politely slid aside for me, and I shuffled down the closest aisle to the rear of the store, where the pharmacy counter was. Without breaking stride, or what passed for a stride, I snatched a box of snack crackers off the shelf and struggled to tear it open. I'd pay for it. I was too hungry to wait.

By the time I reached the counter and got in the oddly long line, I was shoveling Better Cheddars in my mouth with reckless abandon. They were salt-dusted, of course, and my throat felt as dry and ragged as well-used sandpaper, but I needed to put something in my stomach. I nearly finished the small box before I reached the front of the line.

And there she was, my Rebecka, facing away from the counter while she filled an order, gorgeous dark hair falling onto a spotless lab coat. She had to stand on tiptoe to reach a shelf, and the hem of her coat lifted enough that I could see she was wearing her favorite striped toe socks. My stomach lurched. 

She turned around, saw me, and sort of gasp-squeaked. I smirked. "I guess you didn't get my text."

"Tyler!" she hissed through her teeth, looking around for customers, "What in the world happened to you? I can't be... ugh. Hold on. I'll see if I can go on break." She vanished into a side room. I stood at the counter, finished my box of crackers, and carefully folded the top shut before placing it in the "Returns" box nearby. Just so I could talk to Beck, obviously.

She came out from a door in the wall nearby, looking furious. "You know I don't have my phone on while I'm working. You look terrible! What in God's name have you been doing?"

"Reading."

"What? Ah, never mind. Listen, I need to look through that box I brought you, I... oh God." Her expression of annoyance turned very rapidly into an expression of horror. "Reading. Reading... oh, f**k!"

"Whoa." This was new. I'd rarely heard her curse, and never so loudly.

"Tyler, I need you to be very, very honest with me right now." She took a deep breath. "Have you been looking at a small leather book with shiny letters on it?"

I looked at her face and thought about this night and I almost laughed out loud. Instead, I withdrew the book from my coat and held it up. "Did it look like this?"

"Damn it, Trick, put that away! Come here!" She grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the side door, looking around frantically. She pulled a card from her coat pocket, swiped it across a pad on the wall, and the door clicked open. 

We stood just inside the door, in a bland, ammonia-smelling hallway lined with OSHA posters. Beck looked at me like I was a dangerous animal. "Listen, Tyler, I can't tell you why, but you need to give me that book, and then you need to go home and be very quiet for about a week."

"Hey, it was in my Ex Box. It's mine."

"No, it's not. I made a mistake. I didn't know I needed it until after I'd left it with you, and now... ugh. You know what? It doesn't matter why. It's mine and I need it."

This was almost like flirting, except she was legitimately frazzled. I felt kind of bad. "I really think it's mine, though." I held the book in my hands, close to my body. She looked at it desperately, then seemed to notice my gloves. 

"Why are you wearing gloves? It's warm out."

"Yeah, about that. A funny thing happened. See, I'm flipping through this book of yours," I began, watching her face go even more pale, "And this particular line really left an impression." I pulled off my right glove, careful to grip the book in my left hand, and Beck screamed at the sight of my brand. I could see her horrified face reflected in my skin, and that bothered me even more.

"You READ it? How?!"

"So you know what this is!"

"Yes, I know what it is, but you shouldn't!" She sounded positively frantic. "You should never have opened it!"

"Why?!"

She sighed heavily. "Because it was meant for me!!"

* * *

She gave me her car keys and told me to get some sleep in the parking lot, and she'd explain everything when her shift was over. I shambled out to the lot, earning a glare from Tommy himself, and managed to send Buck a text message telling him I wouldn't be returning to work tonight. I was asleep in the passenger seat before he replied.

Half a second later, someone was rapping on the window, startling me out of what I hoped had been a rejuvenating nap. I wiped the foggy window and saw Beck frowning at me, and opened the locks on the car. She walked around the front and got in the driver's seat, not looking at me, but clearly trying to spot the book. 

I sighed and reached into my coat, pulling out the book. "Thanks for letting me use the car."

"Of course, Tyler. I care about you, a lot. You know that."

I didn't know how to respond. Luckily, my mouth rarely needs input from my brain. "That doesn't really gel with our conversation this morning."

"We're not talking about this."

"Then you're not laying a hand on 'your' book."

She glared at me for about ten seconds. "I broke up with you for a variety of reasons and all of them were good. In fact all of them were a good enough reason by themselves. I had a whole f*****g party mix of perfectly good reasons to ditch you months ago, and I waited this long because I CARE ABOUT YOU! Don't you get that?" She was red and breathing hard, actually looking at me now instead of the book. I was rocked by what she'd told me, and when she made a grab for my book I very nearly lost it.

"D****t, Tyler!"

"Tell me what this book is. And why it's done this to my hand. And why it makes me teleport to my apartment."

"Oh God, you used it?"

"And why you're supposed to have it, but you gave it to me. And why I can read it."

"No, no, no... I can't believe this, this isn't happening..."

"And why couldn't we talk this morning? Maybe work things out."

She stopped moaning and looked at me levelly. "I swear to every God there is, if you're doing this because you think it'll get me back, I'm going to kill you."

"Kill me? Seriously?"

"I'll make it slow."

"See, this is what I love about you, you're so witty."

"THIS ISN'T A F*****G JOKE!" She screamed, leaning towards me, a feral gleam in her lovely brown eyes. "This is bigger than you and me-"

Tap, tap, tap.

She stopped, and I bit back my reply, and we both looked at the driver's side window, where a hand reached out of the darkness to rap on the window. 

A hand with a reflective silver glyph on the back, shining in the moonlight.

*

Reviews

[UponATyme]

I really like the ending, it gave me that "OMG WHAT'S HAPPENING?" feeling. I would find a way to blend that second *** break. It kind of sounds like that was meant to be the ending...and then you decided to add more. It's a pretty simple thing to do, though, just add a line or two and it's like it was never there!

[Vanessa]

This was a good chapter! Made much more coherent after I read the previous chapter that I forgot to read like a fool. You need to keep writing though, like now, because I'm so curious as to who is knocking on the window! I think in this and the last chapter you did a really good job of letting us get to know Trick better through his actions, his room, etc.. I really like this character.