blurring_the_edges_32_like_edgar_allen_poe birdmad Well, Alex, this is a spot to be in. Let's recap shall we? You've already bought your plane ticket, you and your mom are going to Texas to visit your brother Andrew and his family. First things first, get out of this hole. ************************** The evening started out simply enough. Conduct a little business, arrange to move a little merchandise, have a couple of drinks with Marisol and MeeKrob while he's in town. Tonight, after the uneasy sensation you got from the last couple of nights, you took a little more valium than was really prudent. You let Zoe drive out to Henry's after everything was over as you are merely scraping the edges of coherence and consciousness. It is like the time you had your wisdom teeth out and the oral surgeon gave you intravenous valium. Even though you are technically conscious, you have no real awareness or capacity to act. The night moves in brief flashes, you have the distinct impression of seeing Zoe display a level of concern for you that you never would have expected. You wonder if it's because she actually cares or if it's because she just doesn't want to have to explain the dead guy with a bloodstream full of pharmaceuticals. Slipping into darkness again in the cold evening of early December, you come to very briefly at Henry's place, slumped in the easy chair. Vague recollection of Billy talking followed by unclear commotion. The effectiveness of all the chemicals in your blood is beginning to overlap and the result is that your vital signs have dropped precipitously. Hey, cool. You are as close to being dead as you can be without actually dying. Without Rich from Tucson down here to tell them otherwise, they think your toast. Brief interlude of Zoe, sounding mildly annoyed. Well, Alex, that answers your question. The next time you have a flash of awareness, you have to assume by the dark and cramped surroundings and by the rumbling and bumping noises that you are in the trunk of Henry's Continental. You have been here before, courtesy of a long-ago pistol-whipping. The sensation of cold metal against your face tells you something you don't really care to consider. Oh shit, they think you're dead and they mean to bury you somewhere. Well this is just brilliant. Between the moments you spend in near complete oblivion, you realize you have no earthly idea where you are going. Being confined in here, you can't see anything and have no sense of direction. (God knows, for getting yourself into this, it's easy enough just to say you have no sense.) Umm, Alex, not to be the killjoy in all of this, but shouldn't you be panicking or something? Oh wait, who can forget that for all your efforts to convince anyone who asks that you are okay, you are still pining away for Elena. Grow a fucking brain, she made her choice and you weren't it. The sooner you wash your hands of that little sneak and forget her, the better off you'll be. (Not that anyone who knows the truth seems to be able to convince you of that.) Think about it, dipshit. You were always the last thing on her mind whenever you even managed to be on her mind in the first place? Is she really worth the slow suicide? God knows there were enough subtle hints dropped your way that you should have known you had no chance in hell. You are entirely too dense for your own good. Really, for all of your presumed intelligence, you really aren't very bright. They don't make a bus anywhere near short enough to accommodate you, Alex. At some point, you start to become more consistently aware. You have reached the other side of part of this, but for some reason you still can't move. It's just like that movie "The_Serpent_and_the_Rainbow" and you are one of the zombies. The cold metal next to your face turns out to be one of a pair of shovels, the other one smacks off of your shin as the trunk is opened. In the distance, a coyote howls. You have no idea how long you've been under nor how much longer this will last. Even though you are dressed warmly, you are aware that your entire body is very, very cold. You want to curl up to try and preserve what body heat you might have left, but you can't. Sound of digging and cursing in the near distance. Suddenly, gracelessly, you can feel Henry and Billy grabbing you from the back of the trunk. Henry nearly dislocates both of your shoulders with his clumsiness and you are almost afraid that Billy is going to break your ankles with the force of his grip. Jesus, what a fucking pair of idiots. Billy should be trying to move your upper body and Henry should have your legs. If you could, you'd tell them. All of a sudden, you can feel them swinging you, awkwardly. Once, then a second time, and then a third before you fall briefly into the cold sandy dirt. It makes sense in its own perverse sort of way. Again, who wants to explain a dead guy or a near-dead guy with a bunch of questionable shit in his system in a house or car full of various kinds of drugs and cash to the cops or the paramedics? You might want to sleep through this part... As you lay there feeling both the chill of your body and the soil, you feel the pattering sensation of loose dirt beginning to fall on you as Henry and Billy struggle to cover you over and get on their way. ************************* When you were able to start moving again, you realized that you must not be buried very deeply. Your breathing, as shallow as it was, was never constricted by the weight of the dirt piled on you. Still medicated beyond the ability to panic, you began to twitch your fingers, as you gain a little more movement, you began to dig your way out and realize you were only under a couple of feet. Ha! Won't they be surprised. Sitting up out of the hole when movement finally comes back to you, you hold your head in your hands for a minute. Your stomach aches from hunger and your throat feels raw and sore from thirst and your mouth, tongue and teeth are coated with the feel and taste of dirt. Though it hurts, you manage to laugh when you stand up, weakly. You can see the Continental's tire-tracks in the loose, dry soil in the pale grey light of the first hour or so before dawn. You walk, staggering a little bit, realizing that you must look like a complete fright all dressed in black and covered with dirt. Following the tracks and then the brief run of dirt road for about two miles in the cold, you arrive at the what you recognize by one of the road signs as US 89, the Beeline Highway. From camping trips you took as a kid up to Woods Canyon Lake out by Payson, you figure that you must be about halfway between Phoenix and Prescott. It's definitely too far to walk, and from here, you can't see the lights of any rest-stops. The road is long and silent, but you remember that all the ski-areas further north opened this weekend and you have a pretty good chance of hitching a ride with an early-bird trying to get home before the traffic rush from either Sunrise or taking the scenic route down from SnowBowl hits in the afternoon. Regaining your bearings by the way the light is beginning to rise, you walk south along the roadside, stopping every few minutes to see if there's any traffic. The beauty of the high desert and the land just below the forest line is lost on you as you are still so thirsty it quite literally hurts. A car comes up from the south and you wave at it as frantically as you can, but the driver is going so fast that he or she probably never even noticed you in the half-light or was too afraid to consider stopping. After an unmeasured eternity, you see a pickup truck coming down around the bend of the road from the north and again you start to wave frantically. This time, you're in luck. A guy in what appears to be some sort of white workshirt with his name embroidered on above the pocket pulls up. "What the hell happened to you man, do you need a doctor?" Say yes, it's a safe bet to assume you need a doctor. "I'm alright. I could use a ride back into Phoenix if you're headed that way though?" Idiot. Get. Yourself. A. Doctor!!! "Really, no offense kid, but you look like shit, how'd you end up out here?" "Fraternity prank," you tell him without even pausing to consider the answer you were going to give him. "Really?" "Yeah," you continue, feeding the lie, "I'm guessing by the state i'm in that it must have been a hell of a party last night." "Hop in the back, kid, you'll fuck up my interior if you get in looking like that." Without asking, you help yourself to a styrofoam cup of water from the cooler tethered in the back with you. You swallow the first gulp of water not bothering to rinse the particles of sand or film of dust out of your mouth. By the tools, and parts in the bins and containers around you, you gather that the man is likely some sort of handyman or electrician. Just up into the place where the Beeline enters the northern part of Scottsdale, the man pulls into a service station and asks you where you want to be dropped. You direct him to the apartment complex on Sixteenth Street over by Thomas. He turns out to be amenable to this as it is on his way since he is headed as far southwest as the town of Buckeye to do one more job before he can call it a week and take some time off. When he gets you to the apartment which you have a for just a little while longer, you pat your pockets and come up with a twenty dollar bill which you hand him. He tries to refuse it at first, but you persuade him to accept it a display of your gratitude. The truck drives out of the lot and is gone. Walking into the apartment complex, you realize that Henry and Billy were either too stupid, stoned or lazy to rifle through your pockets. You find your keys and walk through the door stripping out of your clothes as soon as it is shut behind you. Going to the mini-fridge, you grab a beer and walk over to the bathroom where you run the tub to try and soak the dirt off of you. When you step out of the tub after a good hour or so, you feel clean and more alive again. You still have not eaten though and as morning begins to approach afternoon, you are ravenously hungry. Walking out of the bathroom, you hear the door and grab the emergency .25 out of the drawer by the sink and make your way carefully out to the living room. It is Zoe. Seeing you, she does a brief double take and then faints. Leaving her there on the floor as you go next door to the Burger King, you can't help but laugh a little bit. It's a cold laugh, one with a little bit of meanness embedded in it. She's still out when you get back, and as soon as she comes to, you tell her to get out. In that moment, you feel oddly powerful. 030504 ... mos . 060116 what's it to you? who go blather from