Tweakerville

For my parents,

Thank you for the love and support.

For Sean,

Thank you for helping me dream this up.

For Angela,

Thank you for teaching me the tough lessons of life.

For Adam,

Thank you for your patience with me and this story and for helping me get it just right.

For Frank,

Thank you for your guidance and your time.



Chapter 1

Truly Something Beautiful

My friend, Danny is my voice of reason. He’s always telling me what things I should and shouldn’t do. No one else pays attention to him, but I hear what he says. I just rarely listen to him. My name is Gerald Fitzpatrick and you can call me Fitz. I’m eighteen years old and I live in Fuckknowswhereburg at the heart of some godforsaken Midwest state, Iowa or Wyoming. The name escapes me. I want to get high tonight so I call Danny. Danny and I’ve known each other for a long time. We grew up together, but were never friends until a couple summers back. I’m sitting in my kitchen and my father’s sleeping or something in the next room over. It’s a little after six in the evening and I really need to get out of my head for a minute. Danny’s more than down. He picks up the weed while I hit up an AM/PM for some gas. We meet back at my place and I tell him I’ll drive. Danny likes grass as much as me but it stopped tripping him out the way he liked so now he’s got himself into a variety of pharmaceuticals. I don’t want him driving on a Xanny binge at least not with me in the seat beside him. As much as he likes to tell me right from wrong, he sure makes a lot of bad decisions. Danny climbs in next to me and I fire up the Chrysler. It used to be my cousin’s.

We decide we want to see something interesting happen tonight while we’re balls deep in some Purple Mr. Nice that Danny picked up. It’s good weed, better than what I used to be able to get my hands on. I haven’t had to smoke any brickweed since Colorado legalized. My main connect is buddies with some dispensary grower so I’ve been pretty spoiled the last two years. Purple Mr. Nice isn’t my favorite, but I need to smoke an Indica tonight if we’re going to the Rat Cave. That’s where I wanna go, I tell Danny. There’s always something interesting happening at the Rat cave. Especially at night. I tell Danny as we’re driving to the cave about what happened there not but two nights ago. Some drunk hillbilly going on and on about this and that and getting more excited. He was reasonably tolerable until he started flashing his dagger around. That’s the kind of thing to take you right out of a Sativa trance. He started getting real aggressive around a group of spics that weren’t bothering no one. The hillbilly must have been pretty drunk because anyone with a pair of working eyes could see these spics weren’t your average Mexicans. All their black and blue markings that decorated their arms and necks and shoulders made their affiliation clear as day. The hillbilly must have thought they were some vaqueros or ranch hands or something because he kept calling them picker boys and w******s and a lot of other names. There were a lot of hicks there that night as well. Hicks and hillbillies are very different creatures and the distinction is an important one. Hicks listen to Johnny Cash, Hillbillies smoke meth and shoot road signs with shotguns. Hillbillies don’t smell right. You can smell a hillbilly a dozen yards downwind of you. They’re a lot more twisted than hicks. Two nights ago at the Rat cave when this particular hillbilly was getting rowdy, one of the hick boys thought he’d put an end to it. He put a hand on the hillbilly’s shoulder and the drunkard turned around and slashed the poor hick across his chest with his dagger. This is where the night got interesting. The hicks and the spics started talking to each other about the hillbilly. I heard one of the spics say Let’s whoop his a*s. The groups started getting excited and they started shouting as the idea got more and more talked about. I got two-by-four’s in my uncle’s truck, One of the hicks yelled. The lumber was promptly distributed and the angry conglomerate of gang members and country boys swarmed the hillbilly and beat him unconscious. It was a real spectacle. I’ve always believed, just as a general rule of thumb, that hicks and spics don’t mix, but there I sat as the drunken, angry bipartisan mob brutalized the hillbilly. I might have participated had I not been stuck in serious daze. Sativas always pull me out of what’s going on around me and make me into some sort of spectator or entranced observer. The hicks stripped the hillbilly of his jacket and boots and the kid who’d had his chest slashed took the dagger. One of the spics felt around his pants until he came up with his wallet. The spic whistled as he thumbed through the money. There must have been something like six hundred dollars in that hillbilly’s billfold. I remember watching that spic smile as he handed out the money to his friends and the hicks. That’s what the Rat cave is all about, I tell Danny as we draw nearer to our destination. Bringing different kinds of people together. Hicks and spics united against one crazy degenerate with a knife. Truly something beautiful.

I wouldn’t mind seeing something like that tonight, said Danny as he popped his third Xanny bar since we’d left my house.

Yeah, I said. Me neither.

We pull into the dirt lot outside of the Rat cave. Danny sees the sheriffs before I do. He gets frantic real quick and starts shoving all the pills and weed into the glove box.

We should probably go somewhere else, he says. I brake and throw it into reverse.

Yeah, I say. We get back on the road and he tells me to take a left.

Turn on to that road that goes by all the orchards, he says.

Out past the silos? I ask.

Yeah, he says. Out by the canyon.

But that's the boonies out there, man, I say. It's Tweakerville out there.

I guarantee there won't be no cops, he says. I turn on to the canyon road. After about ten miles the road turns to dirt. Houses get fewer and fewer and soon there aren’t any I can see for miles.

S**t, says Danny. I don’t think Verizon’s ever heard of this place. He holds his phone up for me to see. Same here, I nod. He puts his phone away. We pass a house off to the side of the road and see dim light coming from the windows. In front of the house are dozens of black trash bags bulging and spilling all over each other. After that it’s nothing but hills and fog. It’s too dark to see the canyon. Danny swallows another pill.

How many is that? I ask.

Five. He says. I shake my head.

Damn, I say. You might wanna slow down.

I think these are duds. He says. I don’t think they’re working. We drive about ten miles down the road.

Pull off here, says Danny. I slow down and pull into a big turn out next to the canyon. I shut off the car and everything goes dark.

This is perfect, I say.  Danny takes out another pill and starts grinding it into my dashboard with the prescription bottle.

If this doesn't work, I’m gonna tell that spic sonofabitch I want my money back. He leans forward and sniffs the yellow dust up into his head.

F*****g stupid, I say. We start blazing. Bowl after bowl we pack into Danny’s bong. It's amazing how much we can tolerate these days. Used to be that I’d take one rip and spend the next ten minutes hacking and wheezing and spitting. Now we pack brimmers and snap them through without as much as a cough afterword. I can tell that the Xannys are kicking in. Danny’s been slurring his speech and his head keeps rolling around like an infant’s. He should have stopped at three. Taking that fourth and fifth bar were bad ideas but railing the sixth was by far the worst notion Danny’s had in a good long while. He’s been telling me this story that I don’t care too much to listen to. He’s told me before and I didn’t like it then. Danny was sweet on a hick girl that went to school with us for a year and a half. Danny came to be pretty familiar with that girl and would always walk home with her after school. Danny said he knew that girl’s pa beat on her but there wasn’t anything he could do about it because her pa was drinking buddies with the sheriff. I hate hearing stories like that. No lady, no matter how intolerable, deserves to be beat on and any man that beats on a girl ought to be taken out back and shot in my opinion. I especially don’t like the story Danny’s telling because it seems to me like Danny had plenty of opportunity to do something about the matter but he didn’t. If it’d been my girl coming to school with a split lip, to me it wouldn’t matter who her daddy was or who he’s friends with; come hell or high water I’d insert myself into that sonofabitch’s life so fast he wouldn’t have time to blink. I’d get real involved, and that’s the way things should be in my opinion. Danny’s crying now. He’s got to the part of the story where his family had to pack up and leave the state and how she doesn’t write him no more letters. He says he has nightmares about seeing her face all beat to hell and how there’s not a damn thing he can do about it on account of being so far away. I shake my head. Lord knows what the hell I’d do if it were my girl getting beat on. Whatever I’d do I’m sure I’d get my point across. They’d probably have to institutionalize me again.

Chapter 2

Probably Just Rats

The weed is half used up and I’m tired of Danny’s story so I change the subject. I tell Danny a story my cousin liked to tell me. When my cousin lived in the desert, he and the other marines would have what they called ‘bug wars.’ They’d go out and search for whatever creatures they could find. The marines collected scorpions, spiders, centipedes, roaches, anything that could pinch, bite, or sting and deposited them into these big metal bins that they’d filled halfway with sand. The marines would place bets and arrange matches. One day my cousin found what he believed was a big worm. He thought he would throw his worm into one of the matches for fun. My cousin along with all the other marines were astounded when the worm started killing everything in its path. It would disappear beneath the sand and pounce on anything that came too close. My cousin and his friends threw as many scorpions and Jerusalem crickets as they could find into the bin with the worm just to watch the thing butcher these creatures to no end. One of the corpsman stopped by to watch and became enraged when he peered into the bin. My cousin’s worm was in actuality a baby puff adder, one of the deadliest snakes in the area. My cousin liked to tell that story because he said the bug wars were a lot like his war or maybe even life in general. Conflict is inevitable but the rules seem clear. It’s a good fight for the most part and everyone is sure of their bet and everything is business as usual, but then someone comes and drops a puff adder in the bin.

Headlights. I stop dead in the middle of explaining my cousin’s metaphor for life.

What’s a puffy adder look like anyhow? Danny asks. His eyes are barely open.

Hold on, Danny, I say. Someone’s coming up the road. We both stare out the back of the Chrysler as the headlights wind their way up the road in front of us.

Let's turn around and go back, says Danny.

Yeah, I say. As soon as I fire up the engine the headlights in front of us stop moving. I make the swiftest three-point turn I can and start driving back the way we came.  

Danny is getting nervous. The headlights belong to an old pickup. It looks like it's falling apart. The driver closed the distance between us pretty quick and that's what's got Danny feeling anxious. I'll admit I'm pretty uneasy too. I've been watching the guy in my rear view mirror and I can tell he's from around these parts. He keeps taking his hand off the wheel to scratch his face. His brights come on. I'm not sure what he wants me to do so I speed up a bit. He catches up quick and flashes his brights.

Maybe you should pull over, says Danny.

Like hell, I say. The driver lays into his horn, really hammers it. I look at him in my mirror. He looks like he's yelling but I'm not sure what. He's getting real close and now I'm more than nervous.

What the f**k does he want? Says Danny. The driver connects with the back end of the Chrysler. I clench the wheel and try not to swerve off the road. Danny is bone white. He rams us again and my heart starts pounding. I stare up at the rear view mirror wide eyed as the driver screams and pounds his horn. Danny starts fumbling with his phone.

F**k, he says. Still no goddamn signal. I can see up ahead the dim light from the last house we’d passed. I slam my foot down on the gas and lurch forward. I accelerate toward the house as fast as I can and as soon as I lose the pickup in my rear view mirror I turn of my lights. I slow down as I approach the house and turn off the road and pull around behind the massive heap of trash bags. I shut off the engine and hold my breath while Danny holds his. We watch the pickup pass by. I look over at Danny. His eyes are shut tight and drool is collecting at the corner of his mouth. He’s higher than f**k off those Xanny bars. I pat his shoulder and his eyes snap open wild.

I told you it’s Tweakerville out here, I say. F*****g hillbillies all methed out.

Let’s go home, Fitz. Danny shuts his eyes again. I sigh and unbuckle my seatbelt.

I gotta see how bad that f****r did my bumper for, I say. I step out of the Chrysler and walk around to the tail end. I use the light from my phone to inspect the damage. I hop back in the Chrysler and slam the door.

How bad? Danny asks.

Pretty bad, I say. He must have knocked something loose, there’s gas leaking everywhere.

F**k, says Danny. Well turn it on and see how much you got left. I turn the key and the engine just whimpers. I give it a few more good turns and still nothing happens.

We’re fucked, says Danny.

Yeah, I say. We’re gonna have to use that guy’s landline to call a tow. I gesture over to the house.

Jesus, says Danny. I’m not sure I like the sound of that.

Me neither, I say.

We see someone moving around as we walk to the house.

What’s he doing? Danny asks.

Looks like he’s washing some dishes, I say. Danny looks at his phone.

It’s almost two in the morning, says Danny. Who washes dishes at two in the morning?

Someone that smokes meth, Danny. We reach the door and pause to get our wits about us. There’s a NO SOLICITING sign nailed to the door. Through the window we can see a very tall and slender man with his back to us scrubbing furiously at a plate in his hand. His head is completely shaved. Danny looks at me and shakes his head. He’s six bars into a Xanny binge and he still knows this is a bad idea. I knock on the door. We watch as the man stops scrubbing and hesitates for a moment before setting the plate down. He grabs a hand cloth and begins frantically scrubbing the counter around the sink.

Just a minute, just a minute! We hear him call from inside the house. He disappears from view and a few seconds later the door opens. He stares at us and scratches his head. He looks very surprised.

Hey son, what you need so early in the mornin’? He asks. Danny and I exchange looks.

Our car broke down, I say. Can we borrow your phone? The man stares at us for a minute.

We don’t have a phone, he says. But Bill’s real good with cars. He can take a look at it when he gets back. He just stepped out for a while, should be back not too much longer now, why don’t you boys come in? Maybe it’s the drugs we’re on, but against our better judgement we nod and step inside.

We tell the man what happened and he shakes his head knowingly.

Yeah, he says. Some people out here sure are strange. The man leads us into a dining room and tells us to sit down and rest. Danny and I sit at the table. I look around the room. It’s clear the man is a hunter. Boar heads and antlers of elk and deer are all mounted on different spots on the walls. A couple of old duck guns are in a display case above the fireplace. Danny keeps checking his phone for service. Suppose since we’re up already I’ll fix us some breakfast, says the man. Danny and I look at each other and shrug. The man fries up a plate of bacon and ham and scrambles about a dozen eggs which he places in a large bowl on the center of the table. Help yourself, he says.

Thank you, I say as I scoop a ladleful of scrambled eggs onto my plate. The man sits down to join us.

I reckon you must be around votin’ age, then? The man is staring at me and shoving eggs in his mouth.

Yeah, I say. But we don’t really vote though.

Why the hell not? The man puts his fork down. You know people die so you can vote, right?

Yeah, I say. My cousin actually died last year. I would vote if I could but the state won’t let me. Danny here just doesn’t care for politics too much. The man nods his head.

Your cousin was in the army? The man asks.

No, I say. He was a Devil Dog. The man starts eating again.

Yeah, Bill’s brother was a marine, says the man. We all eat in silence for a few minutes. You know I seen on the news last night some folks back east were makin’ a fuss about some gays gettin’ married.

Yeah? I ask.

Yeah, they had signs and everythin’ and the police had to come. The man is staring down at his plate.

Doesn’t sound like breaking news, I say.

You know gays can get married legal now, says the man.

Yeah, I remember hearing something about that, I say.

I never thought in my lifetime the government would let gays get married legal.

Yeah, I say.

So what you think about it? The man asks.

About what? I wipe my mouth with my sleeve.

About the government lettin’ gays get married legal, says the man. You gotta have an opinion.

I don’t really think about it one way or the other, I say. I imagine gays must be pretty happy and I’ll bet all the wedding planners in the country are pretty happy for all the extra business.

It make you happy? The man asks.

I’m happy I live in a country that gets to worry about it. I scoop more eggs onto my plate. In some countries people have to worry about getting their heads chopped off or someone kidnapping their children and making them into soldiers. I guess I feel pretty fortunate to live in a country that gets to fuss over who can marry who and not have to worry about warlords and death squads and cholera. The man nods. Danny is eating with his eyes closed.

I suppose we are a pretty fortunate country, says the man.

Yeah, I say. You know what a kid from Ethiopia would say if you asked him his opinion about gay marriage?

What? Asks the man.

He’d ask you if you could give him some clean water to drink.

I think I see what you mean, says the man. He shovels more eggs on to his plate. Me and Bill were fixin’ to get hitched a few years back but it wasn’t legal yet. We’ve lived together so long now that gettin’ married wouldn’t really change anything.

Makes sense, I say. Danny isn’t eating anymore. It’s clear he’s on the wrong side of those Xannys now. Everything all right? The man asks.

Oh he’s just tired, I say. The hillbilly just stares at me.

You know I’m not too sure where Bill’s at, says the man. Why don’t you set up in the room down the hall and get some rest?

Yeah, I say. I think we both could use a nap.

Go along then, says the man. I think I’ll take me a nap also. When Bill gets here I’ll have him take a look at your vehicle. If it’s too broke we can give you a lift into town.

Yeah that’d be great, I say as I help Danny to his feet. We really appreciate the help. I walk Danny down the hall. I hold him up against the wall with one arm as I fumble with the door with my free hand. He can’t support the weight of his own head and he’s gone limp from the waist down. I struggle to get him on to the bed in the dark.

Well, Danny, I say. Looks like we’re going to be here for a while. Danny says something unintelligible and I nod as if I understand what he’s mumbling. I sit on the edge of the bed and listen to the noises coming from the kitchen. The man is washing dishes. I lay out across the foot of the bed as Danny starts snoring. I hear the sink shut off in the kitchen and then the light coming down the hall goes out. I hear a door close and figure the man must have gone to sleep. I check the time on my phone. It’s a little after three in the morning. There’s no sense in staying up any later so I shut my eyes and listen to Danny snore.

I snap awake some time later. I check the time. F**k. It’s only three-thirty. Danny isn’t snoring anymore.

Hey, Danny you awake? I whisper.

Yeah, says Danny.

Did you hear something? I ask.

I don’t know, says Danny. I just woke up.

Yeah, I say. I think I heard a noise. We both sit silent for a minute in the dark until we hear what woke us up.

Sounds like squeaking, I say.

Maybe they got rats, Fitz.

Yeah, I say. Maybe.  

Where you going? Asks Danny.

Gonna see what that noise is.

Fitz, it’s probably just rats, says Danny. I turn my phone’s flashlight on and make my way to the door. S**t, says Danny. Don’t leave me by myself. I open the door and wait for Danny to join me before going out in the hall. We step lightly and listen for the squeaking. I try not to get distracted by all the s**t this hillbilly’s got in his house. There’s a couple newspapers framed on the wall, but I don’t stop to read them. There’s a couple pushpins stuck into the drywall, but they’re not holding anything. Danny and I stop in our tracks.

Did you hear it? I ask.

Yeah, says Danny. Rats or mice, Fitz. Or you know what it could be is this house is so old it could just be the boards creaking. I change my direction and follow the sound of the squeaking. We walk through the living room and I try not to notice the pile of keys on the coffee table or the stack of passports beneath them. I’m still not quite sober enough to make heads or tails of anything. As we walk deeper into the house we hear a different noise. It’s not as loud as the squeaking, but it’s constant. It’s like a soft, clinking jingle, like the sound of loose change in someone’s pocket.

Look around for a hatch, Danny, I say.

No, I don’t think I should, says Danny. I turn around and shine my flashlight at him.

Danny, look around for a hatch. We hear the squeaking again. I trace the sound to the back of the room and stop at the foot of a white door. Danny hasn’t moved from where I left him. I reach out and try the door and cuss when it doesn’t budge. I walk back to the coffee table and grab a handful of the keys.

Come on, Fitz let’s just go back to the room, Danny whispers. I walk back to the white door and start testing the keys. Danny finally joins me. He moans as the fifth key sinks into the doorknob. It clicks as I turn it to the left. I open the door and squint at the dark. I take a step back as I realize the floor’s been torn out. From what I can tell I’m looking at some sort of basement, but there aren’t any stairs. It’s just a pitfall from the entrance of the white door. I shine my light down into the pit. I try my best to keep my composure as the dark shapes below me become more familiar in the light from my phone. There must be about fifteen of them, all chained together. It looks like they’ve all been shaved. They keep squirming around and making their restraints rattle. A couple of them look older but most of them look a lot younger than me. Danny doesn’t keep his cool.

F**k, he says. Fitz, what the f**k is that?

Keep your f*****g voice down Danny, I say. We gotta get out of here.

F**k, Fitz I don’t think I can go back through the kitchen, says Danny. His room is over there, I’m scared we’ll wake him up.

Yeah, I say. There’s gotta be a backdoor we can use. Look around.

Fitz, please just find it. I’m just gonna follow you, I don’t want to look around anymore. I shut the white door.

Fine, I say. But you gotta keep it together, being scared’s gonna get us both in trouble. Just breathe and be calm. Danny nods and I start looking for an exit. There’s a screen door on the other side of the room. I open it with hands as deft as I can make them and step through. Danny falls in step behind me. I’m pretty sure we’re in a garage but I don’t look around to make sure. The only thing I’m looking for is a way out of this house.

Fitz, says Danny. This button probably opens the garage door.

It’ll be too loud, I say.

What should we do? Danny asks. I scan the garage.

Well there aren’t any other doors so it looks like we’re gonna have to run like hell.

Jesus, says Danny.

You’re gonna hit that button and as soon as that door lifts up enough to crawl under, we’re booking it.

It’s damn near fifteen miles back to town, says Danny.

And we’ll run all fifteen unless you plan on getting anymore privy to whatever the hell is going on here.

What the hell is going on here? Says Danny.

I sure as f**k don’t want to find out, I say. Whatever it is, it’s not good.

Ok, says Danny. If you’re ready, I’ll hit it.

Hit it. Danny slams his hand on the button and the garage lights up. Chains above us start moving and the garage door starts sliding up. Danny and I dash across the garage and duck underneath the door. We start sprinting in the dark. I’m getting frantic trying to pinpoint exactly where the road is. I can see up ahead a barbed wire fence and beyond it, the heap of trash bags concealing the Chrysler. I hurtle the barbed wire and almost lose my footing on the landing. I hear a crash behind me and turn around to see Danny face down in the dirt. He must not have cleared the fence. I look past him back at the house. The lights are on and someone’s moving around inside. Danny starts crying out for me. His leg is twisted in a strange fashion and even in the dark I can see the white bone sticking through the leg of his jeans.

I’ll come back with help! I call as I turn and run for the road. Danny’s screaming now. I think to myself, Doesn’t that boy have any goddamn sense? I make it to the road and break into a steady sprint. I run until I can’t hear Danny screaming anymore.

...

My cousin once told me I was lucky on account of my dad marrying a spic girl. My cousin said hicks should have no trouble with spics and that it was a beautiful thing for one to marry the other. He said I should thank God for being mixed. He said it gave me more freedom. I could go where hicks go and they would tolerate me. Spics would leave me be too, although I looked a lot more like them when I was younger than I do now. Our town only has a couple high class types, but even the rich people would treat me better than most peckerwoods. I’m not too sure how lucky I am though. I think it’s been awful lonely just going around and being tolerated all the time. I think that’s what drove me crazy and got me holed up for a couple years and why the state won’t let me vote. The more I think about it, the more I realize my cousin wasn’t as smart as I’d always thought he was growing up. Now I think my cousin was just a hick. A hick with a thing for spic girls.

...

I’m not sure how long I’ve been running but my heart is leaping out of my chest and my legs feel like they might give out. I collapse to my knees and catch my breath while sweat runs down my neck and face. All these hills are making me pant like a damn dog. I pick myself up and run up the next one. I stop again at the top and gaze down in disbelief. It’s the truck that almost ran us off the road. I drop down to my stomach and hold my breath. I squint down the hill at the truck. It’s pulled off to the side of the road. Both its doors are wide open and its lights are on, but the hillbilly is nowhere in sight. I wait a few minutes but nothing happens. I rise to my feet and slowly make my way down the hill, creeping along the side of the road opposite the truck and staying as close to the tree line as I can. When the truck is directly across from me I crouch down and wait again. Still no sign of the hillbilly. I start to get angry. Maybe it’s the fact that this meth-addled bumpkin almost made me drive into a canyon, maybe it’s because I know Danny’s either dead or worse, but something burning flares up inside of me and I cross the street to the hillbilly’s truck. I climb up into the driver’s seat and start looking around for something sharp. The syringes on the floor aren’t sturdy enough. I open the glove box and find what I’m looking for. I turn the knife over in my hand before taking it out of its leather holster. There’s a shotgun resting on the back seat but I only glance at it long enough to see Bill Hickok scratched into the wooden stock. I slash the front and back left tires and that gives me some satisfaction. I carve TWEAKER into the side of the truck and grin. I put the knife in its holster and pocket the thing as I walk away from the old pickup. I know it should be enough. I know I should keep walking and not stop until I get to town. I know that hillbilly could come back at any minute and that I should put as much distance between me and that truck as possible. But it’s not enough. I turn around and walk back to the truck. I climb inside and grab the shotgun. It’s a Remington Model 31. I sling it over my shoulder and step out of the truck. My heart sinks and I realize the mistake I’ve made. Above me on top of the hill and outlined in the breaking dawn of the new day stands the hillbilly. I can’t see his face but I know it’s him. He’s holding a rifle in one hand and what I can only imagine is some kind of animal in the other. I take off for the trees and don’t look back. I can hear him hollering behind me up on the hill as I scramble through the thickening wilderness around me. The sound of the rifle cracks behind me and I can hear the projectile sail through the bushes and brambles a few feet to my left. I take cover behind a fallen tree. I lay down on my back and hug the shotgun to my chest.

    They’re gonna take me back, I say. They won’t let me out this time. The rifle rings out again, echoing through the canyon. I clench the shotgun and close my eyes.

    Please, oh God, don’t kill me, I say. Please, God don’t take me back!

Chapter 3
Two Years Ago

    Oh, s**t. It's happened again. My grandma's crying and my dad won't look at me. They're talking to some bureaucrat dressed up like a doctor. Now this government slob is staring at me with her lips all squeezed together and her face all pinched up like she's disappointed. Like I cheated on a test or something. I smile at her so that she won't see how disgusted I am. The pencil-pusher calls me over and I stand up and walk to my dad.

    So how'd I do? I ask. The quack looks at my father.

    We'll get to that in a minute, she says. Now, I need you to be honest with me, Gerald.

    Mam, I always try to be honest, I say. Just like my dad taught me. My dad still won't look at me.

    Gerald, says the quack. Did you take the pills this morning?

    Yes, ma'am, I say. Took them with breakfast.

    What about yesterday? She has her arms crossed.

    No, I say. Not yesterday.

    Why not? She asks.

    Mam, I should really only be talking about this stuff with my doctor, I say.

    I am your doctor, Gerald, she says. What happened yesterday with the pills?

    I couldn't remember where I put them, I say.

    But you found them today? The quack hasn't blinked since she started talking to me.

    My grandma did actually, I say.

    Gerald, she says. It's crucial that you-

    Yeah I know, I say. Two a day every day.

    Without exception, she says.

    The screening, my dad says. What do we need to know? The quack glances over at me. I'm still smiling.

    It's really in everyone's best interest that he stay in our facility until we see some positive changes, she says. To continue this treatment, his ANC will be regularly monitored.

    The screening, says my dad. What about the screening? The pseudo physician hesitates for a second and then flips through the pages on her clipboard. She stops on one and scans the page before tapping the paper with her red-polish finger nail for my dad to see. My dad leans over and looks at the clipboard.

    Christ, he says. My dad grits his teeth and walks out of the office.

    Take him home, says the quack. You can check him in tomorrow morning.

...

    I'm sitting in the mess hall waiting for the food cart to come around. It's taken some time to get adjusted to this place but I've been here a week now and I think I'm getting a feel for how things operate. This girl and I've been sitting together and waiting to get fed for the last couple days. She's not right in the head but she's reasonably nice to sit and eat with. Danny came to visit yesterday and I tried to introduce her to him but she got funny about it. She asked if Danny was a ghost and told me she can talk to ghosts too. I told her Danny just looks like a ghost on account of him never getting any sun. The girl's not here today. Maybe she's not hungry. I look up from the table as a big, red-haired boy sits down across from me.

    I never seen you here, he says. My name's Chester.

    Nice to meet you, Chester, I'm Fitz, I say. I'm the fresh meat around here I guess.

    What you do? Chester asks. One of his eyes is staring right at me and the other seems to have a mind of its own.

    What do you mean? I say.

    Why you here? Chester asks. You kill somebody?

    Don’t wanna talk about it, I say.    

Why they put you here? Chester asks.

    Doctor says I get confused sometimes, I say. Says I get mixed up about what's what and what's not. Chester nods his head.

    I start a lot of fires, says Chester. I started a fire in my kitchen so they put me here.

    Fire's real pretty to look at, I say.

    Sure is, says Chester. You can make 'em a whole lotta different colors too.

    You know fire's the first thing people created, I say. Fire's the whole reason people rule the world. Used to be people would go around looking for dead animals to pick at and always hoping nothing would come around and eat them.

    Like coyotes? Chester's eyes are wide.

    Yeah, people were just like coyotes, I say. Everything we have today is thanks to the people thousands of years ago that first made fire. Cars, guns, television, courthouses, loony bins like the one we're in. None of these things could have happened if we never learned how to make fire.

    I like that, says Chester. I like hearin' you talk about fire.

...

    It hasn't been so bad here. They keep me fed pretty regular. I haven't seen my parents in a couple months and Danny stopped visiting when I quit flushing the pills these white coated frauds have been giving me down the toilet. Danny's mom overdosed on the same pills and it's a touchy subject for him so I can understand why he stopped talking to me. I'm not so lonely though, I've made a couple new friends in here. My friend, Chester who set his house on fire last year is the craziest b*****d I know but he's a hell of a chess player. Today is a special day. I got a letter this morning from the court telling me my request was approved. No longer am I here as an involuntary patient. I'm here by my own free will and now that I'm eighteen I can turn in my three-day letter and get one step closer to freedom. I've learned in my time here that the only way to win the game these bureaucrats love is to play by their rules. Take their drugs. Fill out the right paperwork. I'm on my way to my court-appointed quack for our bi-weekly bullshit fest. I'm excited to tell her the good news.

    Gerald, good morning, she says. I shut the door to her office behind me and walk over to her desk.

    Morning, I smile. I sit down in the chair in front of her desk.

    How are you doing, Gerald? She asks. I hold up the letter from the court for her to see.

    Very, good, Ma'am, I say. I hand her the letter. She reads it and looks over her glasses at me.

    Gerald, she says. You've been improving a lot. Do you think you'll be staying a little longer with us?

    I don't think that'd be fair to the people that really do need to be here, I say.

    That's a very confident answer, Gerald, she says.

    I'm very confident, ma'am.

    Well, Gerald, I can speak with someone that can get you the proper forms. You'll have to fill out-

    Three-day letter, I know, I say.  I talked to someone from the courthouse over the phone, he told me everything I have to do.

    Well, all right then, she says. Any changes since the last time we spoke? She asks.

    No, ma'am, I say.

    No nightmares?

    Nope.

    Any depression, thoughts of suicide?

    Nope.

    When was the last time you spoke to your friend?

    I don't talk to Danny. Haven't now for a while. She smiles at this. I know she doesn't care too much for Danny. She always said Danny gets me into trouble. I never told her it's really me that gets Danny into trouble.  

...

    I'm standing in front of the biggest fraud in the facility. He's studying me, hoping that I'll slip up and say something crazy. But I don't. It's a very tedious game of bureaucratic hopscotch we're playing and he's watching me hop around just waiting for an excuse to keep me here another six months. But I know exactly what things to say. The man from the court told me all the magic legal words I need to know, the things these government types like to hear. The fraud grins at me.

    Mr. Fitzpatrick, he says. I'm very impressed. I've never read such an eloquent letter from a boy your age.

    Public schools aren't so bad, I say.

    Are you ready to become a contributing member of society? He says.  Are you prepared to join the workforce and to become a taxpayer?

    Someone has to keep the lights on in this place, I grin.

    We’re not gonna see you in here again, I hope?

    Not a chance, I say.

    Well, sir, says the fraud. I’m gonna sign off on this. You got someone to take you home?

    Yeah, I say.

    I don’t bother saying goodbye to anyone, not even Chester. I gather up the things they let me keep here and make a beeline for the front desk. I scribble out a couple forms and tell the desk woman she has pretty hair. I open the doors to the front courtyard and breathe in the summer heat. Nothing but smooth sailing from here on out. Danny’s sitting under one of the apple trees. He smiles as I walk over to him.

    Fancy seeing you here, I say. Danny tosses me an apple.

    Heard you were getting out, says Danny. Thought you’d need some walking company. Long way to the bus stop from here. Danny frowns as I flick the chalky, white tablets I’d had in my breast pocket into the grass at our feet. We start walking. The hell was that, Fitz? Danny asks.

    Drugs, Danny, I say. And not the good kind.

    I thought you were using those pills, says Danny.

    I was, I say. But I didn’t take them this morning. No point. I’m out now and no one’s watching.

    Those drugs are dangerous, says Danny.

    Yeah, I say. I know it. I take a bite of the apple.

    You think they helped at all? Danny asks.

    Hard to say. I hand Danny the apple. I think if I ever did need them, I don’t know. Everything I’m seeing these days is really there. Everything I hear, everyone I talk to. All there.

    That’s good to hear, Fitz.

…

    I can hear that hillbilly hollering up on the road. I’m trying my best to keep from shaking but he’s really got me rattled now. He cracks off another shot. I clutch the shotgun and breathe deeply. I roll over on my stomach and rest the shotgun on the felled tree. I aim toward the road and wait. The sun coming up behind me is making strange shadows in the forest and everything looks dangerous. And then he comes. Like some nightmarish demon he stumbles out of the darkness and sways his head back and forth. He’s looking for me. I watch from my position behind the tree as he stumbles around, disoriented and twitching from the meth he’s been smoking. I watch as he breaches his rifle and thumbs another round into the chamber. He snaps the rifle shut and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. He’s walking toward a tree a few yards to my left. He inspects the tree and turns his back to me. I start sweating. He’s got his back to me now and I know this is my only chance to get out of this situation. I stand up and raise the shotgun.

    Don’t turn around, I call out. The hillbilly tenses up. I take a few paces toward him. He turns around. Don’t f*****g move, I say. Drop your rifle. The hillbilly looks from me to the shotgun.

    Thas mah gun, says the hillbilly.

    Not now it’s not, I say. Drop the rifle. The hillbilly smiles. He’s got a few good teeth but not many.

    You gon’ shoo’ me, boy? He says.

    Yeah, I’ll shoot you, I say.

    You gon’ shoo’ me with my gun?

    Yeah, if you don’t drop that rifle I will. I don’t give a f**k.

    Yer shakin’ like a leaf, boy.

    I forgot to take my medicine this morning’s all.

    I betchee didn’t even check if that gun’s loaded.

    I don’t need to check. If it weren’t, you'd've shot me already. I really am shaking now. I take a half step forward. A voice comes out of the woods behind me.

Fitz, we gotta get out of here.

Danny, is that you? I don’t dare turn around.

Yeah, Fitz. It’s me.

Danny, I don’t know what to do, this f****r won’t drop his gun.

Fitz, you need to shoot him, it’s the only way.

What are you talking about, Danny?

That guy back at the house, Fitz. I killed him. He was gonna kill me. I start breathing heavy. Danny’s voice gets closer. This one you’re aiming at is the same Bill that the guy at the house was talking about. You gotta finish the job and then we have to get out of here.

Who’s that yer talkin’ to, boy? There’s fear in the hillbilly’s eyes.

Shut up, I say. I’m trying to think. Danny puts his hand on my shoulder.

    It’s gonna be us or him, Fitz.

    Yer f****n’ crazy, boy.

    No, I say. You hillbillies are f*****g crazy.

    Pull the trigger, Fitz, Danny says. I do what he tells me. The shotgun kicks back into my shoulder and almost knocks me on my a*s. It takes a while for my ears to stop ringing and I still haven’t opened my eyes to see what I’ve done. I don’t want to see. I toss the shotgun aside and turn around to look for Danny. I don’t see him.

    Danny! I call. Danny doesn’t answer me. He must have run off already. There’s nothing left for me to do except try and catch up with him. I can see the road up ahead through the brambles. I breathe in deep and start running.

Chapter 4

Eight weeks later

I watch Danny as he unwraps his leg. He sure is resourceful when he has to be. We’ve been living like outlaws the last few weeks. Danny found an old motel that doesn’t look to have any people in it. Mold and all, it’s been a haven for us while we sit tight and recuperate. Danny, Boy Scout he is, set his broken leg with two halves of a broomstick and the shirt off his back. Apart from the bruising you can’t tell which leg was the broken one. I smile at Danny as he examines his medical artistry.

I’d do just about anything for some painkillers, he says.

Same as any other day of the week, I chuckle. Danny hobbles over to where I’m sitting.

I think I’ll be all right to set out tomorrow, Fitz. Danny and I’ve been getting a plan of action together while we waited on his leg to heal. Danny doesn't think we can go home, at least not for a while. There's two dead back in Tweakerville and the Chrysler is still parked outside a house full of God knows what. Danny doesn't think they'll buy our story, not with my history. They'll throw Danny in prison and stick me right back in the looney bin. We can't have that, Danny's not made for prison. We decided the best thing to do is get the Chrysler back and hightail it to Montana. Danny says there's enough open space there that they'll never find us, but I suspect he's itching to find that hick girl he'd been sweet on. I pick myself up and walk over to the food pile. Danny and I’ve had to do some collecting the last few weeks to stay alive. A little borrowing here and there, a little cultivating from the orchard down the road from us too. I grab a can of beans from the pile and work it open with the knife I took from Bill.

Tomorrow we’re gonna have to borrow some gas, says Danny.

Yeah, I say.

…

Danny’s savvier than he lets on. I’m watching with a grin as he looks all around real nervous before feeding the garden hose we found behind the motel into the gas tank of a black SUV we figured would have enough fuel for us to borrow a little. Danny sets down our means of collection at his feet. He fills the white bucket first and then the smaller things like the milk jugs we’d scrounged for in the motel dumpster and an empty handle of vodka. He doesn’t spill much and he only has to spit twice. Danny retrieves the hose and screws the SUV’s gas tank cap back into place.

Let’s get out of here, Fitz, he says. It takes us damn near an hour to lug our haul back to the motel. We gather the gas and what food we can into a shopping cart we’d commandeered a few days before and set out down the road.

Think it’ll be dark by the time we get there? Danny asks.

I know it will, I say. Up ahead we can see the pavement ending and the dirt road of Tweakerville taking its place. Danny, I say. Montana is a good distance away.

Yeah, says Danny.

What I mean is, there’s a lot of backcountry here we could hide out in.

I don’t think that’s all you mean, Fitz.

No, I say. It’s not. Danny stops pushing the cart.

So say what you mean, he says. I grab the cart and start pushing.

Come on, I say. We don’t have time to stand around.

Fitz, says Danny. If you got a better idea than Montana, go ahead and say so.

What’s the name of that girl, Danny?

What girl?

The one that moved away. Used to write you letters.

You know damn well what her name is, says Danny.

Where’s she live again? I ask.

So that’s what you mean, says Danny.

I got no opposition, Danny, I say. I’m glad you’ve finally got around to going after her.

I got family in Montana, Fitz. My uncle lives there.

Ok, Danny, I say.

What, you got something else on your mind?

No, I chuckle. I can just tell when you’re bullshitting me, Danny.

What you mean?

I mean how are we gonna stay with your uncle? Your family hates me. They say I’m a bad influence, Danny, you remember why they sent you to live here in the first place don’t you? Danny gets quiet for a while.

My uncle has a lot of property, he says. He doesn’t have to know you’re there.

And what about the girl? I ask.

What about her?

What are you gonna do when you find her?

Honest, Fitz, I haven't thought about it.

…

    The sun’s been gone awhile by the time we see the Chrysler. I’m not sure if the mound of trash bags has grown or shrunk. Danny can’t take his eyes off the house.

    Not our business, Danny, I say.

    You think they’re still down there?

    They’re dead if they are.

    I feel bad, Fitz.

    We can’t help them now, Danny, we gotta help ourselves. I push the cart up alongside the Chrysler. I pop the gas cap and start emptying the gas into the tank.

Hey, Fitz, stop what you're doing, says Danny. He rushes over to where I'm standing. Look, he says. I bend down to see what he's pointing at. A steady stream of gasoline is flowing out from somewhere in the Chrysler’s underbelly.

Well, s**t, I say. We can try to fix it ourselves. We’ll have to check that garage for tools.

F**k, Fitz, I don't think we should go in there.  Danny looks over his shoulder at the house. I pat his back.

If it’s too much, I say. You can stay here with the car and I’ll check for tools.

What about fingerprints?

What about them? Danny looks real nervous.

If you go poking around, you’ll get fingerprints everywhere, he says. It’ll make us look more guilty.

Danny we don’t have time to worry about that, I say. We already got fingerprints all over this place. We ate at the table, I’ll bet they’ll find DNA evidence. We slept in the bed, our hairs and skin fibers and s**t, they’re everywhere, Danny. That shotgun out in the woods up there has my fingerprints all over it and it’s lying right next to a dead hillbilly.

    Just be quick then.

I can hear Danny’s teeth chattering behind me as I walk up to the house. Something seems off as I get closer to the front door. I stop a few steps away, I can see it’s been smashed in. The wood around where the deadbolt should be is all splintered. I walk up to the door. There’s some scuffing near the bottom, boot marks maybe. I look behind me. Danny’s staring at me and not saying a word. I turn back and push the door open as quiet as I can. I reach out and trace the wall for a light switch. I find one and blink as the fluorescent bulbs above me flicker to life. The place looks like a car accident. I make my way through the debris and head for the basement door. Its hinges have nearly been ripped out of the wall. I peek through the open door into the black. I have no way of lighting the place up, my phone’s been dead for weeks and the light from the room behind me isn’t strong enough to make anything in the basement visible. I hold my breath and strain my ears in the unbreathable silence. Nothing breaks it. I gulp down the spit in my cheeks and continue my trek through what looks like a warzone. I stop at the garage door. The handle’s cold as ice. I twist and turn the thing and push my way into the garage. I throw the lights on and have a look around. It’s been torn apart like the rest of the house. Papers scattered over every inch of the concrete floor, toolbox overturned and spilling all over the place. The sliding door is up just like we left it and sounds and smells from the woods around the house fill the garage like a gas chamber. I have a look at the toolbox. I get down on my hands and knees and comb through the spillage. After a few minutes of sifting I give up. There's nothing useful here. I return to Danny empty handed.

Change of plans, I say.

We can't fix it? Danny seems worried.

We're going to have to gas up and haul a*s into town. That leak is slow, but it's steady. We’ll have to find a mechanic before the gas runs out.

What about the gun? Asks Danny.

What about it?

It’s like you said. Your fingerprints are all over it. We should go get it before we leave.

Yeah, I say. It’s not doing anyone any good just sitting out there in the woods. I sit in the driver’s seat of the Chrysler as Danny pours a couple of the milk jugs into the tank. He hops in the passenger side and I fire up the car. We drive until we see the pickup truck off to the side of the road. I pull up next to the thing and leave the Chrysler running. I make my way through the woods. I stop short of the stinking mound of what’s left of Bill. I try not to pay too much attention to him, he looks pretty picked over. I have to dig around for the shotgun, it’s been covered up with a few layers of fallen oak leaves and it’s still pretty dark out. My hand knows it when it comes across the cold, metal frame. It feels heavier than before. I rush the thing back to the Chrysler. The sun coming up to our right makes strange shadows from the trees.

It must be about six in the morning by the time we get into town. We’ve been running on fumes the last half hour. Danny keeps looking behind him at the shotgun resting on the back seat.

That was a good call, Danny, I say.

I don’t like looking at it, he says.

That needle’s been on Empty for a while now, we gotta find a place fast.

Take a left at that light, says Danny. There’s a garage at the end of the street.

The one that’s owned by all the spics?

Yeah, so what?

That place is a chop shop, Danny.

It’s the closest garage and we don’t have the fuel to get anywhere else.

Well let’s hope those spics don’t mind working for free.

You don’t think they’ll help us? Danny looks over at me.

I don’t think we can give them a choice. Danny looks over at the back seat.

You don’t think we’re going to use that, he says.

I already used it once. This chop shop isn’t going to be giving away free samples, Danny.

Let’s not get in more trouble than we’re already in.

You can stay in the car, Danny. I’ll handle it. I turn left and speed toward the garage. There’s not much activity on the outskirts of town, not this early in the morning. I swing the Chrysler off the street and into the lot behind the garage. There’s one lone spic carrying a box. He turns around pretty quick when he hears me coming. I throw the Chrysler into park and reach back for the shotgun. Danny’s closing his eyes and pressing his palm to the side of his head. I step out of the Chrysler and steady the shotgun at my hip. The mechanic bends and sets the box down at his feet.

Ingles? I ask. The mechanic frowns at me and raises his hands above his head. Ingles? I ask again. The mechanic shakes his head. I nod toward the Chrysler. Repara, I say. The spic shifts his eyes from me to the gun to the Chrysler. Mira, I say and tap my foot against the Chrysler’s underside. The spic hesitates for a moment before stepping toward the car and ducking his head to have a look at her belly. Rapidamente, I say. Por favor.

Chupa mi verga, he says.

I don’t know a lot of Spanish, I say. But what little I do know, I didn’t learn from no school. The spic is glaring at me. Repara, I say. Ahora.

It takes the mechanic much more than a comfortable amount of time to finish his work on the Chrysler. He keeps disappearing beneath the car and squirming out to grab more tools. I keep the gun on him the whole time, my eyes constantly darting to the streets. It’s still very early and only one car drives past us. Finally he rolls out from under the Chrysler. He rises to his feet and wipes his hands on his pants.

Danny, I call out. Come put some gas in the tank. The spic stares at me the whole time Danny steps out and pours the white bucket of fuel into the Chrysler. I squat down and check for leakage. Satisfied, I stand up and nod to the mechanic. Gracias, I say as I hop into the driver's seat. I rest the shotgun out the window as I pull away. I keep it on the mechanic until we turn the corner.

Was that necessary? Danny asks.

Of course it was, I say.

Chapter 5

Just Gasoline

    It’s two-hundred miles to Montana. I think giving Danny the captain’s seat for a while will be good for both of us. I could use a rest and Danny could use the distraction. The day’s been beautiful so far. I’ve had my window down the last few miles to keep from breathing in all the gas fumes. There’s no lid for the handle of vodka so I’ve got the thing between my legs with one hand over the top of it. The strip of highway we’re on looks the same ahead of us as it does behind us. The Red Pines on either side keep us safe from the sun above us. It’s nice having all this clean air to breath.

    Hey, look at that, says Danny. He points at a man walking next to the road up in front of us.

    This guy’s out in the middle of nowhere, I say. The man turns around when he hears us coming. He starts waving his hands above his head. There’s a sign around his neck. Slow down, I say.

    No way, says Danny. I look the man over. He looks like a vagrant with his tattered clothes and hair all matted. As we get closer I examine the sign he’s wearing.

    Look, I say. He’s going to Davenport. We have to drive through there anyway.

    We’ve already got enough trouble on our plate, says Danny.

    Who’s to say he’s not in a worse spot than us?

    What if he’s dangerous?

    We’re dangerous too. We pass the man and I get a real good look at his face. He doesn’t seem like he’s on anything. Pull over, I say. I grab the shotgun off the back seat and set it between my feet. Have him sit back there. Danny doesn’t say anything but slows down and pulls off to the side of the road a few yards in front of the man. Danny rolls down his window.

    Get in the back, he says. The man jogs over to the Chrysler.

    Sir, I can never repay you for this, he says as he climbs into the back of the car. Danny looks at the man in the rear view mirror and starts driving again.

    So, Davenport, says Danny. Big city. Lotta money to be made there?

    You must think I’m homeless, says the man. Let me explain who I am. Danny is quiet. My name is Rico Osito, the man smiles. That is my stage name of course. My real name is much more boring. Do not let the condition I’m in fool you. I had money and a whole lot of it. I had a big house too, almost lost that just like the money. Blackjack is worse than heroin and more expensive. I know how I look, but I’ve been walking and hitchhiking for days to reach Davenport. I lost my car in Memphis. Danny’s eyes are fixed on the road. I know I’m in a sorry state right now, but fortune waits for me in Davenport.

    You’re a musician? Danny asks.

    Actor, says Rico.

    Really? Danny looks up at the mirror. What films you been in?

    I’ve starred in hundreds of films, some beautiful, others tragic, but all of them brimming with passion.

    Anything I might have seen?

    Unlikely, says Rico. My career began and ended long before your time. We made films for lovers. Lovers and sinners alike. Danny nods his head.

    I think I’ve seen a couple of those before.

    I was out of the business for so long. I left my last penny in a back room of a pub somewhere in Tennessee.

    My father had a gambling problem, says Danny.

    It’s only a problem when you lose.

    It was a problem for me and my mother either way.

    The gambling doesn’t matter now, says Rico. They want me back. They’ve got a check waiting for me in Davenport. Enough to get me back on my feet.

    You must be excited, says Danny.

    There are no words, my friend. To be back again, to be wanted, needed again. God must have heard me praying in one of those Memphis bars. Danny glances over at me. You know that you are a handsome boy, says Rico.

I look better when I haven’t had to bathe with a motel sink and a garden hose for eight weeks, Danny laughs.

I can see there is passion deep inside you. Have you ever considered letting it out for others to see?

How old do you think I am? Danny asks.

Old enough to need money and young enough to make a lot of it in the business I’m from.

What do you think, Fitz? Danny shoots me a grin. Should I let people see my passion? I hear you don’t even have to wear a condom down in LA.

Who are you talking to? Asks Rico.

Oh, this is my friend, Fitz, says Danny. Rico chuckles.

That could be part of your act, he says.

Act? Danny looks at the man in the mirror.

The talking thing, says Rico. Whoever you’re talking to could be part of your character. There’s a lot of demand these days for innovation. We’re living in a new age of adult entertainment and there’s a demand for everything.

I don’t think Fitz would be interested in the types of acts you’re talking about, says Danny. Rico doesn’t say anything. Fitz is real traditional, doesn’t find that sort of business respectable.

Who is Fitz? Asks Rico.

Why you so curious about my friend all a sudden? You haven’t even asked me my name yet.

I think I’ll have you let me out here, says Rico.

Davenport’s still a ways off from here, says Danny.

That’s fine, says Rico. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.

We have to drive through Davenport anyway. It’s really not a problem, right, Fitz? Rico opens his door and topples out of the Chrysler. Danny slows to a halt and looks over his shoulder. Rico has picked himself up off the ground and is running back the way we came. He keeps looking back at the car.

The hell is his problem, I mutter.

I told you, Fitz, says Danny. It’s a bad idea picking up hitchhikers. You never know if they’re gonna be out of their f*****g minds or not.

Looks like you were right, I say. No more distractions from here to Montana, then.  

…

    The sun’s right above us when we get to the traffic stop. There’s an officer with a wide brimmed hat waving us forward. We pass a sign that reads Drug Inspection Checkpoint Prepare to Stop. I slide the shotgun underneath my seat. Danny rolls down his window.

    Afternoon, officer, says Danny. The pig in the ranger’s hat squats down to eye level with Danny. I can see Danny’s smile reflected in the cop’s Aviators.

How’s it goin,’ son? Where ya headed?

It’s going all right, officer, says Danny. I didn’t think you guys were allowed to wear those anymore. The pig smiles and takes off the Aviators.  

Where ya headed?

Ski trip, says Danny.

You mind if I take a look at your license? Danny and I both know it doesn’t feel right but with all the weed and pills we have in the glove box and the gun between my feet, polite compliance looks like our best option. Danny pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and starts picking around for his license. I can see he’s trying to keep his hands from shaking.

There you go, says Danny. He hands the piece of plastic to the cop. He looks it over and glances up to look around the inside of the car.

Well, Mr. Fitzpatrick, says the pig. You’re the first person I ever met with same middle name as my grandfather. He spelt it G-E-R-A-L-D-E though. Danny reaches out to take his license back. You goin’ skiin’ all by yourself then? The pig hands Danny his license.

Just me and my friend here, Danny points his thumb at me. The cop looks past Danny at where I’m sitting.

That’s not a good friend to have in the car with you, says the pig. Danny looks at me and then down at the handle of vodka in my lap.

Oh, there’s no booze in that, says Danny. It’s just got gasoline in it. In case we run out. You can smell it if you want.

I can smell it from here, says the pig. You got any more open containers in here?

Just some milk jugs in that bucket back there, says Danny. They got gas in them too.

It’s not safe to be drivin’ around with open containers fulla gasoline, says the cop as he puts his glasses back on. I’m not gonna write you up or anything, but give me that bottle and pour the other ones out. Danny nods and grabs the handle of vodka off my lap. He hands it to the officer and steps out of the Chrysler. The cop watches as Danny walks around and opens the door to the backseat. Danny empties as much of our gas reserve into the tank as he can. He leaves the rest in the white bucket and sets it at the officer’s feet.

Sorry about that, says Danny.

Drive careful now, son, says the cop. Danny hops back in the car and we pull away from the checkpoint.

Danny’s been quiet the last few miles. There’s not a cloud in the sky and not much else for me to look at outside. It’s all pretty bare along this stretch of highway.

What’s eating you? I ask. Danny doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

Nothing, says Danny.

We still have the hose, I say. We can always borrow more gas.

It’s not that, says Danny.

What’s the problem then?

There’s no problem, says Danny. It’s just this car.

What about it?

Just driving it, says Danny.

Takes you right back, doesn’t it, I say.

Yeah, says Danny.

Look, I say. We’re about to have a view of those Absarokas. We stay quiet as the mountains in front of us get bigger and the sun stays high as we pass through into Montana.

...

    Wake up, Danny, I say. He frowns and keeps his eyes closed. I put my hand on his shoulder and shake him awake.

    What time is it? Danny asks. We’re parked at a turn-out next to a road sign that tells not to do exactly what we’re doing. The sun just started coming up and the sky looks bloody. It’s bright enough to see the Absarokas.  

    We gotta get going, I say. We don’t need any more cops giving us s**t. Danny doesn’t seem too excited. Take a look at those mountains, Danny. We’re in God’s country now. Danny cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck. Why don’t I take over, I say.

    No, says Danny. I’ll drive.

    You remember how to get there?

    Yeah, says Danny. I remember. I recline my seat and fold my hands behind my head. These mountain highways always put me right to sleep. Danny fires up the Chrysler and pulls on to the road.

    You feeling all right, Danny?

    Yeah, he says. I was just having a dream and you took me out of it.

    Sorry about that, I say. It was a good one then?

    I’m not sure, says Danny.

    You were dreaming about that girl, I’ll bet.

    Yeah, says Danny. It’s been awhile since I had a dream about her. I always try to but I never can. Or if I do I can’t remember when I wake up. Danny’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes and zipping down the mountain highway at a steady speed.

    You ever think about it? I ask.

    Bout what, says Danny.

    What we did. I roll down my window to rest my arm.

    What you did, says Danny.

Well I had to do something, I say.

Do you ever regret it? Asks Danny.

Never, I say. Do you?

I guess not, says Danny. It’s just these last two years have been so long.

What do you think they’ll call you when we get back?

My uncle always calls me by my middle name, says Danny. I think if I see Faye she’ll call me Daniel.

Been waiting for that, I say.

For what?

For you to say her name. Danny doesn’t say anything until we get to the farm roads.

My uncle won’t let me stay with him if he knows I’m still talking to you, says Danny. He might not let me stay with him anyway. You can hideout up in the loft in the barn. I think you should take the gun and stash it up there too in case he looks in the car.

You’re not gonna let me freeze to death, I say.

I’ll come by after dark tonight with some food and blankets.

I think I’ll take the bong with me too, I say.

Fine, says Danny.

You want your pills?

No, says Danny. Toss them out.

You’re sure?

Yeah I don’t want them.

The place is bigger than I remember. Danny slows as he drives past his uncle’s house. The place could use some paint.

You used to hate coming here, I say.

Yeah, says Danny. Still do. We drive about a half mile down the dirt road to get to the barn. The thing looks haunted. Danny’s uncle stopped using it years ago after his last horse died.  

How long am I supposed to be shacked up in here? I ask.

Just until the smoke clears back home, says Danny. I’m gonna ask my uncle if things’ve gotten any better since I left.

Why’s it matter?

I wanna know if we can walk the streets here while the sun’s out.

I’m sure the smoke back home will clear long before the smoke here ever will.

It’s the same crime.

Different circumstances.

So I can’t be out in public in the daytime.

F**k yes you can. You already said you don’t regret it, and if you don’t regret it that means you’re not ashamed of it.

That’s not the point. We pull up alongside the old barn.

So what’s the point? I ask.

That f*****g sheriff, says Danny. If he’s still around he might be a problem.

That’s bullshit, I say. You were born here just like him. You got just as much right to be here as he does.

Yeah, says Danny. I was born here.

Chapter 6

In Deep

   

While I’m stuck in hiding out here in this rotting assemblage of plywood walls and tin roofing, Danny is getting the lay of the land from his uncle. Danny insists I stay as far away from the house as I can. It’s difficult to keep myself locked up like this, but Danny insists so I stay put. Having all this free time to myself has me thinking a lot. Thinking. It’s unavoidable when you’re by yourself with no one but the walls to talk to. And then you start remembering. I remember when Danny met Faye’s daddy for the first time. He’d just walked her home from school and Faye’s pa was cussing and yelling in the toolshed.

That’s just my dad, Faye said. He’s got some drink in him it sounds like so you should go. Danny didn’t know about her pa yet. Just that he liked to get drunk with the sheriff and go out in the hills to shoot guns and yell at nothing. Faye wasn’t at school the next day and when she did show up her cheek was all scraped and bruised. Her pa had thrown a bottle at her. I remember that’s when Danny and I started talking a lot. He’d tell me about Faye’s swollen eyes and how she wore long sleeves when her arms had bruises on them. I remember one night Danny was real upset because her pa had roughed her more up than usual.

You should go over there, I’d said.

I go over there every day after school, said Danny.

I mean you should go over there now.

Right now?

Yeah.

And do what?

Make sure Faye don’t come to school with bruises no more.

I’m not gonna do anything to get myself thrown in jail.

You know what’s worse than jail? I’d asked. Not doing something and then wishing you had after it’s too late for you to. That’s a prison you’ll never get out of.

I remember the day Faye’s arm got broke. She came to school in a sling and told everyone except Danny she’d had a skiing accident. That’s the day Danny decided he was gonna do something. That’s the day I killed Faye’s daddy. I remember Danny was pacing his room and swearing and crying. I remember Danny sweating as he walked the moonlit road to that sonofabitch’s house with his fists clenched and his heart rate flaring up with his temper. I remember Danny pounding on the door until Faye’s mother answered in her nightgown. Danny pushed her aside and started calling out for her husband. I remember Faye’s voice coming down the stairs asking her mother what the hell was going on and Danny finding the drunk b*****d in a stupor on the couch. I remember Danny standing over him unsure of what to do with his fists balled up and shaking. I remember the b*****d trying to stand, rage smoldering in his drunken eyes. His face was red from all the blood and liquor pumping through his veins. Danny didn't know what to do so I grabbed the Jack Daniels bottle off the coffee table. I remember the weight of it in my hand and the warmth of the glass from where the b*****d had been clutching it. I remember the sound of slamming it into his head. The bottle wouldn't break no matter how hard I drove it into that sonofabitch. Then there were sirens and lawyers and doctors and the move and examinations and the looney bin. Danny was real depressed after the move. I had to take the lead for a while. I did the talking and the driving. I sat in the looney bin for two years while Danny was somewhere else, I’m not sure where. These last few weeks have been different though. Ever since that s**t went down in the Tweakerville woods, Danny’s been the one making plans again. It seems like every mile closer to Montana we got, Danny got a little more comfortable in the driver’s seat. I never thought I’d see him like how he used to be until he had me toss those Xanny bars out.

…

    I’m barely awake when Danny opens the barn door. I didn’t hear the Chrysler so he must’ve walked here. I squint over the edge of the loft through the darkness as he walks to the ladder. He hoists himself up and I give him some room.

    What’s the verdict? I ask.

    He says I can stay with him for a few nights and then he’s gonna call my father.

    What he say about you going into town?

    Says it’s a bad idea.

    What are you gonna do about Faye?

    I don’t think I can see her. It’s been two years, she’s probably got a boyfriend.

    So what’s the plan?

    We can keep moving north. We can try to cross into Canada.

    Seems a little dramatic, Danny.

    Well I can’t go back home and I can’t stay here.

    Let’s be real, Danny. You came here for Faye and we’re not fleeing to Canada until you do what you set out to. And there's nothing more we can do tonight except finish off this weed. Danny can’t help but grin as I retrieve his bong from the back corner of the loft. Danny starts picking apart the sticky clumps and pinching the flakes into the bowl. It’s the best thing for him right now. We pass the thing back and forth and spout off memories. I tell Danny about the first time I ever fired a gun. I was seven and it was my cousin’s. Danny tells me about the first time he met Faye. He was standing on the basketball court at school. There were a million voices all around him but only one made him look over his shoulder. Faye was laughing with her friends. Danny knew life could be just like a fairytale if he had a girl like that.

…

The gunshots wake us up in the morning. Danny’s already on his feet and down the ladder by the time I open my eyes. I grab the shotgun and jump the ladder and chase after him.

    Where’s it coming from? I ask. Danny points down the road toward the house. Another percussion of gunfire cracks off in the distance. We start running toward the noise. Danny spots them first. I can see from here they’re spics. I can hear them shouting, big men, every one of them strapped too. We duck into the cover of some trees as we get closer. The house is a few dozen yards away. There’s sky blue Chevy Malibu that wasn’t there before and about seven Mexicans standing in a circle.

    What the f**k is going on? Says Danny. One of the spics fires a pistol at the center of the ground. A pair of cowboy boots kicks out from the circle of the gang and a red mist sprays up. Holy s**t, says Danny. We crouch down further in the bushes. We can see the cowboy boots are his uncle’s.

You know these fuckers? I say. Danny seems frantic. The spic that killed his uncle is barking orders in Spanish now and his comrades look excited. They shout and some of them fire shots in the air before they split off in different directions. One walks around the Chrysler and fires a shot into every tire. The leader stays put and whistles to himself. A big, shirtless spic with some sort of submachine gun is walking toward us, scanning his horizon with every step. There can't be more than two shots left in this thing, I say. Danny isn't talking. The man with no shirt is less than a stone’s throw away. Danny has to see Faye, even if it gets me locked up again. I wait until he’s close enough for me to hear him breath. I stand up from the cover of the brambles we’re squatting in and pump a storm of buckshot into his chest. It knocks him back some before he topples forward. I catch him and struggle to stand underneath his weight. I look past his wide eyes over his shoulder as his thick blood soaks through my shirt. The other spics have turned around to see what happened. I drop down to my knees and keep the dying man on top of me. I duck my head down behind his body and try to cover myself with as much of him as possible. It doesn't take long for the men to start firing at me. It's difficult to think clearly in heat like this. I can feel the dying spic’s machine gun pressing into my ribs. I shift the thing around his waist and fire blindly in the direction of the shooting. They cease fire and I fall back on to my a*s and scoot out from underneath the dead spic. I hook the strap of his gun with my foot and drag it along as I crawl backward. Danny follows my lead and we sink deeper into the bushes and trees. We rise to a crouch once we reach the darkest part of the tree line. I hand the shotgun to Danny. There’s just one shell left, I say. Danny nods. We watch as two of the spics approach their fallen soldier. They cuss in Spanish and look around. The leader is pacing back and forth and isn’t whistling anymore. The three other spics are slowly closing in on our position. I raise the machine gun and train the sight on the two spics standing over their partner. I squeeze the trigger and wrestle against the upkick to keep the thing steady. Each shot feels like an iron being driven into my eardrum. One of the men spasms and sprays a few shots from his weapon before toppling over. The second man collapses on top of him. I hit the ground as the three spics in the distance start firing in my direction. Danny does the same and we crawl through the brambles toward the back of his uncle’s house. We reach the house and back up against the wall while the shouts of the spics gets closer. I can see one in a red bandana walking through the trees we’d just crawled from. He sees me and I panic. I drop my chest down into the dirt as he starts yelling and pointing. He sends a few rounds my way but my aim’s better. The gun in my hands clicks empty and the bandana man drops his rifle and clutches his stomach on his way down. I'm really panicked now and Danny looks nervous. We can hear the rest of the death squad yelling back and forth from the other side of the house. I stand up and smash the butt of the machine gun through the nearest window.

Get inside quick, I say. Danny follows me through the shattered window into the dark house.

Move the couch to the door, says Danny. We push the leather couch across the hardwood and up against the front door.

Hand me that gun, I say. Danny nods and hands me the shotgun. Find something to swing or stab with, I say. Danny stays low and starts searching for a weapon. Someone outside starts throwing their weight against the front door. I take aim and blast a hole through it. The sound of smashing glass in the next room over makes my stomach churn. They’re coming in through the windows, I say. Danny comes up behind me with a wood axe. Up the stairs, Danny, I say. We can get the drop on them if we post up in your uncle’s room. Keep those lights off and it should be dark enough. Danny nods and we scramble up the stairs. Danny smashes the axe into the ceiling lights as we climb up to his uncle’s bedroom door. The last two spics down below us are stumbling around in the dark house and yelling at each other. My hand’s on the door knob when they see us from the foot of the stairs. I see Danny turn around and double over at the sound of a pistol crack in the next instant. The Mexicans start marching up the stairs. I throw the door open and grab the back of Danny’s shirt. He stands and lifts the axe above his head and hurls it at the spics. It catches one of them in the chest and sends him toppling backward. I drag Danny into the room with me and slam the door shut. I fumble around for the lock but there’s not enough time. The last spic throws himself at the door. I jam my shoulder into the thing to keep it from flying open. I grit my teeth and try my best to match the man’s strength. His gun goes off and a hole appears in the door inches from my head. F**k, I shout through my teeth. My strength is near spent up and the door opens a few inches more. I can see the spic trying to work his body through the open space. He manages to squeeze his gunhand through and I can just make out the cold steel in his gloved hand coming through from the other side. Help me, Danny, I say. Danny forces himself to his feet and throws his body into the door. The handgun thuds against the hardwood and the door slams shut. I grab the pistol up off the ground and press my face up to the bullet hole in the door in time to see the spic running down the stairs. Stay here, I say. Danny sinks to the floor and I try not to notice all the blood seeping from his gut. I open the door and rush downstairs after the sonofabitch. I follow the sound of his stumbling and swearing and catch him in the kitchen with one leg out the broken window. I take aim and fire. My hands are shaking and the first two rounds make holes in the wall next to the window he’s climbing through. The third lands between his shoulders and he falls out of the house. I step up to the broken window and stick my head out. He’s face down in the dirt and barely breathing. Danny comes hobbling down after me.

Fitz, he says.

In here, Danny.

Fitz, I’m shot. It’s in deep.

Come here, let me look at it. Danny staggers as he steps into the kitchen. He’s got his hand cupped to his side just below his ribs and the blood’s leaking from the cracks of his fingers. Get that shirt off, I say. I help him shed his blood-soaked shirt and I ball the thing up and press it to his wound. I check him over. Yeah, I say. It’s still in you. No exit wound. We gotta get you to a hospital, Danny.

No, he says. I gotta see Faye.

What the hell are you talking about, Danny?

Give me your belt.

    Don’t do anything stupid, Danny. I remove my belt and hand it over. Danny wraps it around his waist and cinches it down to fix the bloody shirt to his wound.

    Come on, he says. I follow him to the front door. I pull the couch aside and we step out into the daylight. Danny almost trips over the dead man at the foot of the entrance to the house. He walks over to the spic outside the kitchen window. Flip him over for me, says Danny. I do what he asks. Danny shakes his head. It’s him, he says. It’s the mechanic you held up.

    How the f**k did he find us out here?

    Must've put something on the Chrysler.

    We better find it and get rid of it. If they came all this way for a little stick up, there’s no way they’re letting this go. When they find out what happened here they’ll do a lot worse than kill us. Danny doesn’t say anything but makes his way over to the Chrysler. He drops to his knees and ducks down to inspect the car’s belly.

    Found it, he calls out. Some kind of tracker. F****r bolted it down. We’d need a drill to get it off. Just shoot it, Fitz. I do what he asks.

Chapter 7

No More Bleeding

    Search these guerreros for their car keys, says Danny. Leave the guns. I throw Danny a curious look. It’s bad enough we’re driving their car, he says. Who knows what crimes those guns are linked to. I nod and leave Danny wincing and bleeding by the Chrysler. I tuck the handgun into the back of my jeans. Danny has a point about taking the guns, but in times like these I always prefer to bring heat with me. I pat down the mechanic and come up with his keys. There’s about a dozen to choose from all suspended from a small silver chain with a little rubber model of an M1911 about the size of my thumb at the other end of it. One of the keys is engraved with the Chevy logo. It must belong to the Malibu. Danny insists on driving despite his injury. I climb into the passenger seat and Danny brings the Malibu to life. We start flying down the farm road into town. Danny doesn’t say much and looks dead focused on the road. I can tell he’s really feeling that lead in his stomach. We pass by the Tunnel. Our old stomping grounds. Every town has its designated sanctuary for drug users and late night party animals. The last two years it’s been the Rat Cave, but before the move we had the Tunnel. An out of commission concrete channel that hung over the old water reservoir, this was where we spent our summer nights. I remember the last time we ever went. We were only children. It was another late one at the Tunnel. We were in a big group because we were still in our junior high years and only some of us had enough balls to steal our parents’ cars. Those brave few became the midnight public transit for the town youths, an Underground Railroad to degeneracy for the local delinquents. There was a cracker gang at the front of the Tunnel. We squeezed past them, didn't look them in their eyes. Dragon chasers every one of them. We could tell by the lesions. A stout boy named Jimmy was running with us in those days. Jimmy had a f**k of a mouth on him even back then. A few brews deep down in the Tunnel and he was spouting off falsified retellings of his numerous exploits. It was this particular night about six years back that Jimmy could not shut the f**k up. He started socializing with the clamhands. They laughed at him, he was a child after all. It wasn't until he started making conversation with one of the cracker-Jills that Jimmy got into trouble. Jimmy was always less than hesitant to lay waste to his own dignity when he talked to girls and he made no exception for this cotton shooter in her early thirties. The clamhands didn’t take kindly to Jimmy’s overzealous flirtations with one of their Wendy’s.

    You should go find your friends, said one of the peckerwoods as he came up behind Jimmy and put a hand on his shoulder.

    I’m makin’ new ones, said Jimmy. Our group was already getting nervous. We were just a couple drunk thirteen year olds caught between a gaggle of dope-headed crackers and a forty foot drop down into the reservoir. We tried our best to get control of Jimmy but he’d made his mind up already to be a jackass and it was useless trying to shut him up. Jimmy said something stupid to the man that confronted him. I’m not sure what it was, but it made the other clamhands take notice. They all started mad-dogging Jimmy. We weren't sure what to do and when one of those cocksuckers pulled a nine out of the back of his trousers some of us started hollering. The tweak marched us back to the edge of the Tunnel mixing up a slur of curses and drug induced gibberish.

In the water, said the clamhand. He had his gun fixed on Jimmy. It was so dark that night we couldn’t even be sure there was water down below us. Half of us peered down at the empty black behind us, the others stood petrified and watched the pile of white trash fan out behind their leader with the gun pointed right at Jimmy. In the water, all a you’s, he said. You’ll catch a bullet if you don’t. None of us did anything, we were only children. No one was sure what was going to happen but none of us thought these jolly poppers would shoot at children. It felt like the world stopped spinning while we waited for that first pistol crack. We didn’t know that’s what we were waiting for but when that f****r took his gun off Jimmy and sent a round into our midst we lost all fear of jumping down into the reservoir. Jimmy was the first one over. He put his hands over his ears and turned around so fast the spit in his mouth shot out the side. He pushed his way past every one of us and nearly tripped over a little girl with pigtails and blood pumping out of her shoulder. There was a whole lot of screaming and shoving to get to the edge of the Tunnel. The children in the back left no option for second guessing for the children at the front. Panic moved the whole lot of us over the edge and down into the black.

...

Danny’s trying his hardest to keep his driving as far from reckless as he can. I can see the water welling up in his eyes and every now and again some fresh blood leaks out from underneath the belt and shirt around his stomach. We’re deep into town now. Danny does his best to pay attention to the stop signs and the speed bumps but I can tell he’s on his last legs. It’s just like the old days again. I can see he’ll run out of blood before he runs out of determination. Danny whips around a corner and slows way down. His eyes are wide. He drives down the street and stops in front of an old white house with fake rocks in the front yard. This must be the place. I can see Danny's smiling. He shuts off the engine and is out on his feet in a matter of seconds. He starts hobbling toward the house. I'll admit things are looking familiar. Danny’s rushing up the walkway now, almost tripping over himself to get to the door. He’s got his hand pressed to his side and the spots of blood he’s leaving on the ground don’t seem to be bothering him anymore. He stops at the door. He’s thinking twice.

    Come on, Danny, I say. He knocks three times and rings the bell just like he always used to. We don’t say anything as Danny sits and bleeds and I lean up against the wall and wait for Faye to answer the door. Danny looks like he might keel over at any moment, but she doesn’t give him time to. The door swings in and suddenly I remember everything. Angel’s hair is what Danny used to call it. I remember every contour of her face and every detail. I remember why Danny went crazy over this girl. You can’t look at Faye and not believe with every inch of your soul that the inspiration for every fairytale about a perfect woman has manifested as this little hick girl in front of you. I’m studying her like some sort of magnificent puzzle but she doesn’t see me. It’s Danny she’s looking at.

    Oh my God, she says.

    Faye, says Danny between heaves. I had to come. He can’t get much more out than that. Faye looks around and steps out on to the porch.

    Come inside, she says. Ma could get back any minute and you caint be here. She leads him into the house and I follow without a sound.

…

   

Faye takes him into the kitchen. She sits him down on the tiles and looks him over like she’s making sure it’s him.

What happened? She asks.

I had some trouble with some spics, says Danny through his teeth. He’s got his eyes shut tight from the pain.

Shot or stabbed? Asks Faye.

Shot, says Danny. I’m dying I just know it. I had to see you ‘fore I bled out. Faye runs her finger over Danny’s makeshift blood stopper.

Here? She asks.

Yeah, says Danny. Faye recoils at the sound of the pain in his voice.

You know what caliber? She asks.

No idea, says Danny. I think it punctured something, I can feel myself passing out. Faye, I had to see you before I died.

You got a plug in your gut, not cancer, says Faye. I’m gonna take it out of you and you’re gonna sleep in your car until after dark when Ma’s asleep. Then we can talk.  Faye stands up and starts opening the cabinets above us. She grabs a bottle of Absolut from its place with the other liquors and a pair of tongs from a pot filled with spatulas and wooden spoons. She sets the Absolut next to Danny. Start drinking this, she says. Danny complies. Faye sparks up one of the burners on the stovetop and sets the business end of the tongs in the open flame. Danny’s sucking back the vodka. Faye retrieves the bottle from him and switches the stove off. She pours the stuff over the red hot metal of the tongs. Hold this and don’t set it on the floor or nothing, she says. Danny takes the tongs in his hand. I’ll be right back. Faye disappears up the stairs for a few minutes. She comes back down with a little box in her hand.

The hell is that for? Danny asks.

Not for this, but it’ll work jest fine, says Faye. She takes the tongs back from Danny. Now let’s get this rag off you. She unbuckles the belt around Danny’s stomach and throws his bloody shirt over her shoulder. Blood starts leaking out of the hole in Danny’s side. Faye hands Danny one of the wooden spoons to bite down on. He puts the thing in his mouth and shuts his eyes. Faye pours the Absolut around his wound and Danny squirms a bit. She hands him the bottle and he spits the spoon out of his mouth and starts gulping down the booze again. Faye breathes in deep and starts working the tongs into Danny’s wound. He chokes on the vodka. Danny’s swearing now and Faye’s got her other hand on his shoulder keeping him steady. It seems like days before she pulls her hand back and lets the slug clink to the ground.

There, she says. All done. It’s only nine millimeter. Blood starts flowing pretty quick from the hole. Danny puts his hand to his side to stop the bleeding. Don’t, says Faye. Your hand’s dirty. She opens up the little box she’d brought from upstairs and strips the crammer from its packaging. These fuckers are pretty good at soaking up blood, she says. And the best part about ‘em’s they’re sterile. Danny grinds his teeth as she fits the ladystick into his open wound. We’ll change it out with a new one tomorrow, says Faye. Danny cringes as he rises to his feet. Faye helps him up, his legs are wobbling some. My mother has some tramadol in her bathroom, let me get you some, says Faye.

No, says Danny. Not necessary. Faye hands him his bloody shirt.

Get some rest, Daniel, she says.

Faye, Danny moves his hands to her shoulders. She shies from his touch and begins to cover up the traces of her impromptu surgery.

Get some rest, Daniel, she says again. Danny stands in silence for a moment before moving toward the door.

Thanks for fixing me up, he says.

Danny sinks down into the driver's seat of the Malibu.

You might want to park somewhere else, I tell him. You don’t wanna run into her Ma.

Just give me a minute to catch my breath.

You lost a lot of blood, you feeling lightheaded?

No, says Danny. That’s not what I mean.

What, seeing Faye again’s got you short on breath, is that what you’re about to tell me?

She’s prettier than I remember.

Jesus, Danny. Start the car and find somewhere else to park. Danny twists the cluster of keys dangling from the ignition. He parks a few houses away and falls back in his seat again. She got that plug out of you, and that’s a good thing, I say. But shoving that girly rag in there’s not gonna leave you very mobile. Thing falls outta you and you’re gonna start bleeding again. It’s gonna take too long to heal that way.

What do you want me to do then? Danny’s staring down at his stomach.

First I want you to recline that seat back as far as it’ll go. Hopefully gravity will help keep too much blood from spilling outchyou. Danny leans back as much as he can. Now this might hurt about as much as getting shot in the first place but it’ll be over quick and then you won’t have to worry about the thing no more.

F**k, Fitz, what’re you talking about?

You see that cigarette lighter?

Yes.

You’re gonna pull that thing out of its socket and then you’re gonna take out that rag. Now that cigarette lighter looks like it’s gonna be a perfect fit for that hole in your gut and you’re gonna match them up and hold it there until you smell yourself cooking.

Fitz, I don’t think I can do that.

I’m not gonna tell you it won’t hurt like hell, but you got enough booze in you to help a little.

Oh, god, says Danny. He’s got his eyes shut tight.

Maybe you should’ve let her give you those painkillers, I chuckle.

Alright, says Danny. I’d better just do it now while I got the booze in me. Danny pulls the bloody stick out by its little string. He yanks the cigarette lighter out of its home and grimaces at the hot metal before he shoves it down into his belly. Danny screams F**k a few times and start banging his other hand against the window. He’s got the lady stick in his fist still and he’s just about squeezed it dry.

Get around the edges, I tell him. His hand’s starting to shake. I help him keep it steady. The Malibu stinks of burnt flesh and hair. Danny drops the cigarette lighter to the floor of the car and balls up his fists bone white. He’s got his eyes shut again and he’s breathing pretty heavy. I take a look at his work. No more bleeding, I say.

Fitz, it f****n hurts, says Danny.

You can sleep it off.

…

    The sun’s been down for hours when I wake Danny up. I don’t give him any time to grumble about the pain he’s in.

    Come on, Danny, let’s go, I say. Danny cusses to himself and stumbles out into the street. We walk back to the house with our heads on a swivel. It’s not likely we’ll cross paths with that sheriff in this neighborhood, but there’s no sense in letting our guard down. We walk around to the back of the house and Danny stares up at Faye’s bedroom window. He cups his hands around his mouth and whistles. We stand and shiver in the cold for a few seconds until Faye comes to the window. She moves the curtains aside and lifts up the glass.

    I’ll come down to you, she says. Danny grins as she steps over the ledge and suspends herself before shimmying her way to the drain pipe. She slides down the thing and jumps off about halfway. She stands up and dusts off her nightgown.

    Show-off, says Danny. Let’s see you get back up that way.

    Why’d you go and do that? Faye points at the burn on Danny’s side. That scar won’t ever go away.

    Would’ve scarred either way, says Danny. He keeps smiling and Faye gets quiet for a moment.

    Daniel, she says. I don’t want to be out here too long, alright? Danny stops grinning.

    Alright, he says. Let’s get down to it, when are we leaving?

    What are you talking about, Daniel?

    I can’t go back home, Faye. Things are in bad shape over there. I came here to find you.

    Danny I caint go nowhere. I have to stay with Ma. She’s getting sicker and she caint work so much.

    We can send her money, says Danny. Every month we can send her money in the mail.

    You’re not thinking this through. I caint go with you, even if Ma warn’t sick I couldn’t.

    What do you mean?

    You’re not well, Daniel. You haven't been yourself since your mother died. Danny gets quiet. It was in the paper what she died from, Daniel. She was like you, wasn’t she?

    Look, Faye, I know I act foolish sometimes or don’t do things the proper way, but it’s just because I’m crazy about you.

    Daniel, you’re just crazy. You’re not right up here, Faye touches the back of her hand to Danny’s head.

    That’s just not true, says Danny. I get a little mixed up from time to time but I still know right from wrong. I still know I love you more than the world.

    You caint stop getting into trouble. I know you might not mean to be, but you’re dangerous to be around, I mean what have you gotten yourself into this time?

    It wasn’t my fault, says Danny. This tweaker nearly killed me. Things just got out of hand. Faye just shakes her head.

If you love me, truly, you’ll let me stay here and take care of my Ma. And you won’t come around no more.

    I can get better, says Danny. They were giving me medicine, they said it was helping. I can get more.

    This needs to be the last time I see you, Daniel.

    Just give me some time, I’ll get better I promise.

    It’s been two years, Daniel. You don’t need time, you need help. And I have to help my Ma. Danny tries to say something but she cuts him off. I have to go, she says. Don’t be here in the morning, ok? Danny doesn’t say anything. His eyes are blank and he’s got his jaw set to keep it from shaking. He looks like he’s just been shot again. Faye walks around to the front of her house and lets herself in.

    What do you want to do now? I ask. Danny starts walking back to the car.

    I gotta find some medicine.

Chapter 8

Lone Oak

Now that's what I like to hear, I say. I fall into step behind Danny as he marches himself to the Malibu. What's your plan? He throws the door open and jumps into the driver's seat.

Find a drug store, pick up my prescription.

They're not just gonna give it to you, Danny.

Yeah, he says. I know.

Nothing’s open this late, Danny. We’ll wait till morning. I take the gun out of my jeans and hand it to Danny. He doesn't look at me, but tucks it into his waistband. He leans back in his seat and shuts his eyes. Sleep doesn't come so easy for me. I'm thinking about my cousin’s Chrysler and how we left it at the farm with a handful of dead gangbangers and Danny's uncle. I'm thinking about what Faye said and if she's right about Danny. The trouble we’re in is getting worse instead of better and I can't tell how much of the blame should fall on me and how much Danny's responsible for. I want to believe we’re in this thing together, fifty-fifty, but I'm not so sure that'd be fair to Danny. Or maybe I'm wrong and it's really Danny that gets me into trouble instead of the other way around. Either way, sleep isn’t coming so easy right now. My mind goes off in circles. I wonder if I’ll ever get out of Montana again. I can’t help but start remembering. I remember the first time I met Danny. We were a lot younger then. There were woods outside his old house. Danny liked playing in those woods. Those pines. He liked walking barefoot on all the fallen needles. There were cougars out in those woods. Danny knew it too, that’s why his folks never let him go far enough in those woods that they couldn’t see him from the house. His mother would sit in the kitchen and watch him play and run outside and call his name if he got too far away. She would sit for hours. Danny stopped playing in the woods for a while after his mother overdosed. Stayed in his room mostly, but I think he heard me that sunny Spring morning. Danny hadn’t been into the woods for weeks. It was different this time somehow. He didn’t play any games or look for stones, he was just walking. I think it was because his mother wasn’t there watching and running outside to call his name that he just kept walking. Danny found me deep in those pines. I was throwing rocks at some turkey vultures that were picking apart a dog. I remember I wanted to see if it belonged to someone one or if it was just some coyote. I got up closer and could see it was a red fox. I kept those vultures off him anyway. Danny came up behind me to see what was going on. I haven’t seen too many of those before, he’d told me.

Yeah, me neither, I’d said.

You live around here? He asked me.

I think I’d rather live here in the woods.

I live around here, said Danny. He was real turned around that day. I helped him get back to his house.

…

Alright, Danny let's get going. He comes to and grabs his side in pain. Sun’s coming up, Danny we better get moving.

S**t, Fitz, he says. I haven’t eaten in a couple days now.

We can’t get distracted, Danny.

I can’t take my medicine on an empty stomach anyway.

Well, Marcy’s Donuts hands out day old stuff out their back door to bums.

I don’t look homeless.

You look like someone put jeans on a caveman, Danny.

Guess it’s been awhile since I had a haircut.

Put that thing in gear and let’s get some food in you. Danny pulls away from the curb. He flips us around and starts driving back the way we came. I don’t look at Faye’s house as we pass by. There’s no way I’ll tell Danny, but she’s a lost cause. Pretty on the outside. I didn’t remember until last night, but I always thought Danny could do better.

The donut shop is in the heart of this little hick town, right across from an old gas station diner. Danny parks and we stretch our legs for a bit before we walk over to Marcy’s. We go around to the back where some old man leaning up on the building is twiddling a pack of coffin nails in his leathery, black hands. He doesn’t look too happy to see us.

You open yet? Danny asks.

Since fo’ this mornin,’ says the man.

Look, I’m not some beggar, says Danny. I’ve been on the road for days and I don’t have any money. The man removes one of his cigarettes and sets it in his lips.

You look familiar, son. Why you look familiar?

I used to live here, says Danny. Couple years ago.  

I think I remember seein’ you in the paper.

You might’ve, says Danny. Look, sir I’m in a hurry and I could really use some water and something to eat if you got it.

You’re in a hurry, now. The old man lights his cigarette.

Yes, says Danny.

Why don’t you slow down then?

I can’t, says Danny.

Sure you can. Takin’ your time and doin’ things the right way’s betta in the long haul. You rush around and do things carless, you’ll getch yoself in all sorts a trouble.

I’m in all sorts of trouble already, says Danny. If I slow down it’s gonna catch up to me.

There some fritters coolin’ in the back there. Get yoself some and get goin.’

Appreciate it, says Danny.

Son, whatever trouble you in jes remember it ain't as bad as it seems.

Nothing's ever as bad as it seems except when it's a whole lot worse, I say. We fill our stomachs and hop back in the Malibu. There’s a pharmacy not too far from here. Danny knows how to get there. I watch him while he grips the wheel in both hands and locks his eyes to the road. He pulls the gun out of his pants as the place comes into view.

I don’t think I can do it, he says. I think I’ll just wait in the car.

Keep it running then, I say. I take the handgun and tuck it back in my jeans. Danny parks as close to the street as he can. I shouldn’t be longer than ten minutes.

You wanna cover your face with something?

Danny, they’re gonna know who it is anyway. I take a breath and tell myself this is the last hard thing I do for Danny. As soon as we have those pills we’re getting the hell out of Montana. It’s early enough that the pharmacy is pretty empty. I make my way to the drug dealer behind the counter. She looks like a librarian.

Excuse me, ma’am, I say. My friend’s a little funny in the head, I need some medicine for him but don’t have any money. The lady’s smiling at me from behind her glasses, but she looks like she doesn’t want to be. I pull the gun out of my pants and rest it on the counter. Her smile goes away pretty quick. Clozaril, ma’am. One-hundred milligram tablets. I need a year’s supply or two.

I’m not sure we even carry that, the lady’s voice shakes a bit.

He used to get it from a store just like this one, I say. He needs it bad, ma’am. This little heifer across town won’t tolerate him without it.

It’s not in our system, we’re not certified to carry that medication, I’m sorry, the lady looks worried.

You’re shitting me, I say. You sure you spelled it right? The lady turns her computer monitor to face me. You know any other pharmacies around here? The lady doesn’t answer me and just stares like I grew a second head or something. Alright, well thanks anyways, I say. I bury the gun back in my pants and walk back out to Danny. He looks real paranoid as I sit down in the Malibu.

Get the f**k outta here, I say. Cops are probably on their way. Danny speeds off down the road. He doesn’t say anything. He can tell it was a bust. I’m sorry, I say. You know you shouldn’t let her get to you. You know just as well as me the trouble we’re in is not our fault. What happened that night out at the canyon, it wouldn't've made a difference if you’d had your medication or not.

    What if I got things confused? Danny keeps staring straight ahead.

    No, Danny. What happened with those tweakers out in those woods was fucked. We saw what we saw. We did what we had to do. Danny turns off the main road.

    Faye’s right you know, he says.

    Where you taking us, Danny?

You got a lighter?

Yeah.

Can I see it?

What you need it for?

Gonna get myself out of all this trouble. Danny’s taking us out into the hills. These windy backroads always make me drowsy. Danny pulls off underneath a lone oak. He sets the Malibu in park and shuts the engine off.

You know, Faye didn’t see how we handled those fuckers back at the farm. We couldn’t have survived that without a level head.

Doesn’t matter, says Danny. I got nothing back home for me and there’s nothing for me here. Faye was my last reason to get out of all this and now I got no reason.

Let’s just keep moving, Danny.

This trouble’s gonna follow me wherever I go, and even if I get away I’ll just make more trouble wherever I am. It’s just like she said. I’m not right up here, and I’m dangerous to be around.

It’s your call, Danny.

Let me see that light. I hand him the little red Bic and he steps out of the car. Hand me my shirt, he says. I toss him the bloody rag. Danny walks around to the side of the car. I listen as he unscrews the gas cap and dips his shirt down into the tank. He fixes it so half the rag is hanging out and the other half’s still set down in the gas He lights the shirt soaked in gas and blood and comes back and sits down in the Malibu again.

No coming back from this, Danny.

Yeah, he says. I know it. All the silence in the world seems to gather in the car with us. Something catches my eye in the rearview mirror, but I don’t have time to figure out what exactly. The violence of the explosion smacks me into the window and through it. I can feel blood rushing out of one of my ears. All around me I’m surrounded by flame. I’m hanging out the broken window of the Malibu. My legs aren’t listening to me and I feel myself burning all over. I feverishly grab around the side of the car, blind from the blood in my eyes and drag myself out of the fiery wreckage. I choke on all the smoke that’s forcing itself into my lungs. I flip around in the dirt and beat at the flames covering my body. I use my arms to drag myself away from the car. I blink the blood from my eyes and look around wild. The oak tree has caught fire and the sky above me has turned black with smoke. My vision starts going fuzzy. I must be bleeding heavy from somewhere because I can feel myself fading into that dark place you go when you got nothing left in you. I start crawling to the road, coughing the smoke and blood from my lungs. I can see just well enough to make out what I’d noticed in the rearview mirror. It’s a car coming toward us. I look back at the Malibu. Danny’s gone. He’s burned up with the fire and left me alone again. I look back at the approaching headlights. My heart sinks. It’s a cruiser. They haven’t put their siren on, not even their lights. The cruiser slows down and pulls up next to me. SHERIFF is painted on the side in bold white letters. The pig opens his door and looks over the top of his vehicle at me. There’s no point in even trying to stand. He walks over to me without ever breaking eye contact. The metal fireball behind me does its best to get his attention but the pig never shifts his gaze. He takes the Stetson off his head and fans the smoke away from his face.

Daniel Fitzpatrick, he says. Been waiting for you to get your sorry a*s back here. I spit the blood from my mouth. I’ve been following you since you got into town. The sheriff gestures over to the burning car. You’re going to hell, son but it’s gonna be me that sends you there.

You think I’m afraid, I wheeze, of some hick-town sheriff? The pig laughs and fits his head back into the Stetson.

I knew you were stupid after you killed John, he says. In his own house for fucksake. But to come back? You didn’t grow any brains the last two years?

Killing that sonofabitch was the smartest thing I ever did. I’d do it again if I could.

For what, says the pig. That dumb little w***e daughter he had? You know you’re crazier than your mother was, and she was out of her f****n’ mind.

You’d be crazy not to kill me, I say. You’d be out of your mind if you didn’t shoot me right now. The sheriff laughs.

I think I’m having too much fun watching you bleed out, he says. I can feel something pressing into my lower back. I shift my weight to one side and reach my hand back to feel around for the handgun. The sheriff walks over to me. I cry out as his boot splits my ribs. He straddles my broken, bleeding body and grabs me by the hair. He yanks me up close enough for him to speak directly into my ear. I watched you cheat the needle once, but now I’m gonna watch you die. Like you should have. No one’s coming for you out here. Not for a long time. Not before the vultures pick your eyes out and the worms start eatin’ you. I free the handgun from my jeans and catch the sheriff underneath his chin with the barrel. He grabs my arm and I pull the trigger. The sheriff springs back from the sound. I can barely keep the gun up and my hand’s shaking fierce. I pull the trigger again but the gun clicks empty. Panic starts welling up inside me and I struggle to keep myself from going to that dark place. I focus every ounce of my will into my arms and legs to get them moving the right way. It’s not much, but it’s enough to get me on my feet. My vision’s going dark. I hear the sheriff cussing and staggering behind me. I’m not sure what, but something in me clears things up some and gets me running. I propel myself forward away from the road and the sheriff and into the hills.

Chapter 9

Wild Dog

I’ve been running for hours. I’m not sure where I’m going, I keep forgetting with all this panic I’m in and all the blood coming out of me. I can hardly think straight and at times I forget what it is I’m running from. But then a gun sounds off somewhere behind me and I remember. That sheriff, I knew he’d be trouble. Part of me expected something like this would happen, but Danny couldn’t help himself and just had to come back. That sheriff won’t stop until he’s sure I’m dead. I can’t slow down, not until I get to wherever it is I’m going. I think about Danny and watching him drive into town with a fresh bullet wound. It was his love for that girl that kept him moving forward, just like everything he’d done. She was his only friend really, other than me. I got my own reasons to keep running. Not dying in Montana’s one of the better ones. I can feel my body giving up. I clear my head of all the danger I’m in, all the panic. I imagine the ocean and what it must be like to see it in person. I paint a picture in my mind and keep running. I’m a lot older in the picture. Everything that’s happened here today happened a lifetime ago in this picture. I’m sprawled out on a beach somewhere, baked in every sense of the word. The heat coming down from the sun is thick and it feels like a blanket’s been laid out on top of me. The waves sound like applause. There’s a woman sitting next to me. I can’t imagine what she looks like so I picture myself laying on my stomach in the sand with my eyes shut and she’s just playing with my hair. I imagine it’s a woman I love, maybe someone that I’m married to. She’s looking out at the water and talking about the sailboats. She wishes we could have one. Sure we can. We can have a sailboat. We can tour the length of the coast. We can go anywhere we like, really. That’s all the reason I need to keep running. The hills are getting smaller and the tall grass I’ve been tearing through starts thinning out and I can hear what it is I’ve been running toward. It’s a river, lot less water than what I remember but still glassy and blue. I start running alongside the slithering water, opposite its current. The sheriff probably won’t expect me to go upstream. If anything he’d expect I crossed the thing and just kept going. I run a few miles more until I find a lull in the stream, a calm spot just deep enough to sit in. I kick off my shoes and shed my bloody clothes. Something in my jeans clinks against the rocks on the ground, but I don’t bother investigating. I set myself down in the river and recline against the soft current. I watch the blood and filth wash off of my body and float away, making a ribbon of dark red that splits the river in two. I shut my eyes and think about the night Danny had me drive us out to the boonies. I wonder what would have happened to us if Bill had caught us or if we’d stayed at that tweaker’s house. I think about that night I left Danny behind and running through the hills until the sun came up. I think about finding that tweaker’s truck. I look over at my jeans. I remember shoving Bill’s knife into my pocket. Fear shoots through me as I notice the figure a few yards downstream. The sheriff is kneeling down and looking at something in the river. He hasn’t seen me yet, but if it’s my blood he’s looking at in the water it won’t be long before he realizes where to look next. Every piece of me down to my teeth and fingernails wants to see what tomorrow looks like so I crawl out of the river and grab my jeans. I dig around and clutch the knife. I rise slowly and edge my way back into the grass. I lie down and keep my eyes on the sheriff. He stands up and wipes his hand on his shirt. He sees my clothes piled up on the riverbank and starts walking. I watch him pull his gun out, six shooter, and eject the empty shells. He thumbs in six more and spins the cylinder before slapping it shut.

Playing a little hide and seek, are we son? The sheriff’s eyes sweep the area as he steps slowly toward the pile of clothes. Come on out so I can read you your last rights. My heart becomes a furious metronome as he gets closer. He squats down over my clothes. His back is to me and I can’t take any chances. I stand and run for him as fast as my legs will let me. His head whips around when he hears me coming. He raises his gunhand as I dive into him and sink Bill’s knife into his chest. His gun brays and my arm flies backward. All kinds of pain screech up and down from my bicep and into my shoulder and down into my fingers. He shoots again, but nowhere near me. His strength leaves him before he can pull the trigger a third time. He falls backward onto my clothes and starts mumbling something. I can’t make out what exactly and everything starts going black again. I drift off into that dark place with the sound of the river rushing along in tandem with the wind blowing through the hills behind me.

...

I come alive like a wild dog. My eyes burn underneath the solid white light coming down on top of me.

Mr. Fitzpatrick, says a voice. The glow of the room I’m in cools down some and I can see more clearly. I look around for the voice and find a tiny man with curly brown hair sitting in a chair beside the bed I'm lying in. Mr. Fitzpatrick, be very still, says the man. Three of your ribs are broken, one is fractured pretty severely. You’ve been comatose for three days, most likely from the head trauma.

You’re my doctor then? I’m startled by the frailty of my voice.

Lawyer, says the man.

I don’t have a lawyer.

I’ll be representing you. The lawyer stands and sets a piece of paper with a dozen or so bullet points stretching down to the bottom. There’s a few more on the back, says the lawyer. The charge of murder has been dropped, fortunately.

Murder?

The charge against you for the murder of Sheriff Bucklin.

Oh, the sheriff. The lawyer looks at me funny.

Yes, he says. The charge was dropped upon examination of the chest-mounted camera he was wearing revealed you were acting in self-defense. However, having that gun in your possession is a serious felony, one of many on that list.

Horseshit, I say. I’m going back to sleep.

Your court date has yet to be determined, you’ll need to undergo a psychiatric examination. I’ve been in touch with your father, you’re aware you have a legal obligation to take the medication you’ve been prescribed?

I thought it was my choice to just say no to drugs.

Yes, normally, but your history of violence and the nature of your condition while unmedicated are grounds enough for-

Kendra’s Law, I’m familiar. A man from the courthouse told me all about it over the phone a year ago.

You’ll most likely have a private hearing. I’ll be there and it’ll be with a judge you’re familiar with. Our best defense is to claim insanity.

I’m not sure I can sell the whole insane thing. Never been a good actor.

The most important thing for you to worry about right now is recovery. You’re going to be here for a few days and then you’ll be transferred to the Waubonsie Mental Health Center where you’ll stay until your hearing. I get quiet. All of sudden I feel very tired. I look over at the open door as this little ditz in nurse costume comes click-clacking into the room.

It’s nice to see you’re awake, Daniel, she says.

You can just call me Fitz, ma’am. The woman smiles and nods.

You have a friend here to see you. I’ll go let them know you’re awake, she says before clutching her clipboard to her chest and walking back out into the hall.

Well, Mr. Fitzpatrick, says the lawyer. I look forward to your recovery, and I wish you the best. He shakes my hand and leaves me to myself. I sit back in my bed and shut my eyes. I listen to the sounds of the hospital and all the beeps from the machines I’m hooked up to. I listen to the sound of footsteps of someone small coming down the hall and stopping outside my door. A voice floats into the room.

Hello, Danny.

The end

   

                                                                                                                                           

Reviews

[Taylor]

I'll admit. This is a test. Reviewing such a long piece is quite a commitment and I'm wondering whether you reciprocate in kind. For me, that's the essence of writerscafe, yet fairly often the favor of a review is not returned. So that's the challenge. In the friendliest way, I'll see if you take it. Now on to your work. I think you're certainly one of the most talented writers I've seen on this site. Although I guessed midway that Fritz and Danny were the same person with multiple personalities, I think that only built the suspense. I especially liked the voice of Fritz, only wonder whether striking a different voice for Danny might be effective--maybe not, just a thought. For me, the piece moved along with the right balance between dialogue and scene setting details. Excellent job. Let me know when you post more. In the interim, I'd appreciate your review of one of my longer pieces. Hope this doesn't seem too forward. I just am tired of reviewing others work for the first time and receiving no response. Many thanks.

[Suhd]

I really like your style of story-telling. This story reminds me a little about my past.

[Coyote Poetry]

A very long read. Better to break-up in chapters. I liked the introduction. Made me want to read the story. I like the feel of real life and the strong characters. Thank you for sharing the amazing story.
Coyote

[Sarah Wilson]

Wow so captivating! I love this! I think I know what the twists will be and I'm loving reading to find out if I'm right! You have an excellent talent!

[PhDang]

I find this story to be an enjoyable read! This sounds more of like a movie when I read this, which works perfectly, seeing how the narrative is from the main character. I find the character dialogues to be at time quite humorous, which brings depth and realism to the story. Even if some readers can relate or not, it's always great to have a surreal character; aka drugged up kids. Good work of progress so far.