Call Me Twice

Chapter 1: Everything is connected

Harper

It's ten o'clock on a Saturday. My eyes are burning and I'm more than ready to go home. I tug off my apron and stuff it into my locker, so glad my shift is over. I'm tired. And I'm sore. And I'm so damn broke.
I straighten up, fiddling with the locker above mine. Red soft lunch bag. Smells like moldy cheese and reusable ice packs. Out of the front pocket I fish a plastic bag full of pills. Score. I stuff them in my pocket and lock the locker rapidly. Shouldn't have the combination 1-2-3-4 if you didn't want me getting into it.
I shoulder my backpack and head for the door. The diner will stay open a couple more hours, but at least I get to go home.
"Hey, Miller."
"What?" I turn around, trying to paint my face with something like concern. I don't like bullies. Especially not when they're my boss. "What is it, Joe?"
"Have you been going through the lunch bags again?" He asks, taking a step forward. Big man, pot belly, poorly shaven, still thinks he can chat up the cute girls that come in for food not to be flirted with.
"Me? No, never," I say, hand curling on the plastic bag in my pocket.
"You know this place has cameras, and if I catch you going through the lockers again—,"
"You won't report it to the police if it was illegal to possess whatever was stolen," I say, raising an eyebrow.
He lunges for my shirt but I'm quicker. I spent half my youth avoiding such assaults I'm no fool. And he's old and started drinking hours ago. And I'm young and don't have long to live.
I duck past him and run for the door, banging out of it and into the deep, end of summer heat. I'm heading straight for my bike. It's not locked so I just tug it from the cage.
"IT'S OVER MILLER!!! YOU'RE FIRED!! AND I'M CALLING YOUR MOTHER—,"
"She knows I'm a thief," I mutter, as I bike away, not bothering to dignify him with a response. If he actually gets a hold of my mother she won't believe him over me anyway. Shame about the job though. Oh well.
I bike to the CVS, taking pains to lock my bike before I walk inside. Two packs of gummy bears. A Toblerone. And a jug of milk, box of cold medicine. I select one the sleek green boxes of medicine, wincing at the price. Not a lot to be done.
I walk up to the counter, harsh fluorescent lights bright in my eyes as the A/C blasts.
"You have to be twenty one to buy this," the girl at the counter pops her gum, looking at the shiny box of cold medicine disdainfully.
"So I can—I can hold a job and work ten hours straight to pay for it, but I can't buy it what—? What sense does that make? Why?" I ask.
"I don't know. It's just a rule. I didn't make it," she shrugs, unsympathetically.
"Well, my little brother is sick, so what am I supposed to do here? Let him get sicker or—die—or whatever because I'm old enough to have a gun or buy condoms but not fucking Zyrtec?" I ask, shaking my head, "I get—get you don't make the rules but I also don't get—why I can't have this?"
"Because you're not twenty one. You're like, sixteen. So you can't buy it," she says.
"Okay then," I nod, "I'll ah, I'll put it back."
"Okay," she says, as I gather up the items.
And I bolt.
She shouts, "HEY!" As I run out the door and back to my bike. I stuff the stolen items into my backpack and hop on, riding off into the dark. God I'm batting a thousand tonight. Whatever. At least I got what I came for.
I bike home, through the dark streets of Pine Hollow. This side of town half the street lights have burned out and nobody bothers to fix it. Doesn't matter. I'd know my way around this town blind. In madness, or the darkest of nights. I'd still know this town. I'd still find my way home.
I check over my shoulder, standing up on the peddles. But nobody is chasing. They're not bothering. They know who I am. My escape only does so much good tonight. But at least it frees me tonight.
I prop my bike by the collapsing wood porch and climb carefully up the steps. Front porch light is out, and I sort for my key in my pocket to let myself in.
The light over the sink is on, and I can smell left over pizza. Josie is coughing upstairs. I sigh.
I got money in tips tonight, and what I skimmed from the till. I find the flour jar behind the rack of spices, and stuff in the crumpled bills. There. Now we can pay the mortgage this month and my mom can fill up the truck. That's at least something. I'll have to find a new job. I can get the mower going. I should be able to start mowing lawns again.
I pull the milk from my backpack and put it in the fridge. I count the leftovers. Good thing I ate at work tonight. I put the milk on the fourth shelf then close the door. The candy I leave in my bag, but I pull out the cough medicine.
I mount the stairs two at a time, carefully. A light still glows in Josie's room, across from mine.
"Hey," I knock on the door.
"Harper!" Josie sits up in bed, coughing, a comic book lays open in his lap.
"Here, I got you the stuff," I say, sitting down at the foot of the bed on the stained spider man sheets.
"I told mom I could go to school tomorrow," he coughs.
"Maybe, if that cough gets better," I say, ripping open the shiny green box and getting him one pill, "Swallow that, you can have one more in the morning, okay?"
"Okay, my throat hurts. And I don't like that spray," he mumbles.
"Well you'll feel better with a good night of sleep," I say, pushing his hair out of his face with one hand. A shade lighter blonde than I, and we look little alike either though his coke bottle glasses certainly don't aid that. "Okay? If you're not up to school it's fine."
"Okay," he mumbles, lying back.
"And get to bed soon," I say, standing up, "All right?"
"Will you be here? I don't like the dark."
"The dark can't get you," I say, smiling a little, "Get some sleep, Josie."
"But are you gonna leave?"
"I'm never really gone."
I go across the hall to my room, closing and locking the door. I sigh. Long damn night.
I walk over to sit by the bed, tugging the baggy of pills out of my pocket. Five, mostly unidentifiable tablets. I tip the bag open and pour them all into my hand, finding a bottle of water on the floor by my bed, as I toss the pills into my mouth. Guess we'll see what they do.
Sink into oblivion?
Or absolute torture?
Every spin of the wheel is different. And I'll do anything for a change from this. Reality. Reality is, the worst. I have school tomorrow. The tenth grade. A special form of torture where you're trapped with hundreds of other people who don't know who they are or how to become the men they're supposed to be. I hate every minute of it. Just existing isn't so great either.
But sometimes things make it better. I crumple up the plastic bag and toss it in the trash. If I'm lucky I'll just sink into nothingness till morning. If I'm unlucky, well, there's a million ways I could be unlucky. But just one way to get it right.
I pick up the phone by my bed, and dial the familiar number. I wait one ring then immediately hang up and call again. This time I wait two rings then hang up. The third time, I let it ring four times. And on the fourth ring, of course, she answers.
"What are you still doing up?" Lia answers, sounding like she's whispering.
"Talking to you," I feel myself smile, as I lie down by the side of the bed.
"Do you want to go swimming tomorrow night? My parents are out of town."
"It's October."
"Since when do you make good decisions?"
"I mean," never.
"You ready for chem tomorrow?"
"Yeah, yeah," I am not.
"If Josie's better do you want to go to the fair this weekend? My mom got a bunch of extra tickets?"
"No. I mean yes I want to— no we're not gonna. I have to go to the deadbeat's house this weekend. Visitation, bullshit," I say, cradling the plastic receiver against my head. I'm tired all of a sudden.
"I thought you weren't doing that anymore?"
"I wasn't, seems he's forgiven me for calling his wife a whore, and stealing some bonds," I say.
"Harper Miller you said you didn't do that."
"I know. I lie all the time it's a part of my unique charm," I say, innocently.
"What did you do?"
"Stole the shit and sold it and every week or so I stuff a couple of extra hundred in the jar so my mom can pay the mortgage and buy us, you know, food. It's not a bad system. I'm emotionally attached to it at this point."
"Harper."
"Don't say my name like that."
"Say it like what then?"
"Like anything else," I say, tipping my head back, "Look I don't feel so good. Keep looking pretty in the morning, all right beautiful?"
"Harper, why don't you feel good?"
"Remember, if you call back, call me twice," I say. That's our unique system to ensure parents don't answer for us.
I hang up, barely able to find the mount on my night stand. Then I sink to the floor. My bones feel like jelly. And the whole room seems to be spinning. Well. Seems I'm not gonna get lucky tonight. Never was going to, was I? Boys like me we never win.
I feel my whole body shaking. I crawl over to the radio and turn it on so that if I start moaning then Josie won't hear it. He needs to sleep. The door is locked but that hasn't strictly stopped my mother before.
White Wedding starts playing on the radio. I want to lose my virginity while listening to this song. For irony reasons. Probably to Lia although I'm not that choosy. Yes I am. I'll marry that girl if I live long enough. Somebody ought to, she's fucking gorgeous. And I think it ought to be me. I don't have a lot in this world but at least somehow I've got her.
I roll over as I choke, it feels my neck is constricting. And lights flash in front of my eyes. I feel like I can't breath. It's been forever and I can't breath. The music is pounding in my head, over and over again. But it doesn't matter. Even though the song should have ended by now. There's every possibly I won't be alive when the record stops. Record. Record player is down in the living room play jazz and my mother will dance with me to it. And she'll smile and won't look at me and see my father's looks haunting my face.
And I still can breath. My skin is crawling as though a thousand flies are eating my flesh. I want to scream but I'm still not getting any air.
I'll admit I've had better ideas than whatever led me to lying here in abject torture.
But the thing is this is still better than being sober. It's always better. Nothing like being completely away. Some day I'll just drift off into this and never come back. And it may be heaven or it may be hell. But at least it won't be the present.
I feel my body convulsing. Lights keep flashing black blue, purple, red and then bright yellow boring into the back of my skull as my brain seems to set on fire. I clutch my head screaming. But I can't make a sound when my throat is slowly being choked. And I can't scream. I can't scream but I want to.
Tears run down my face I feel that as well as the endless patter of insects on my skin. I can't move. I can't move.
A shape is looming over me. A ghostly, demonic shape. Laughing as long claws slide down my skin cutting me open. Yellow eyes leaning closer and closer at the monster cackles.
"Soon, now."
"Soon."
"Soon."
It's laughing and chanting soon, its hand resting on my face. I can't move as my room spins around me. Focus on a point. Focus on a point and watch the world go by. I stare at a spot in the wall, where I punched it because I was high. I didn't bother to fix it. It didn't matter it's just my room. Just a dent in the drywall. But I focus on it as the demon buries it's face in my chest and starts sucking out my lungs. That's actually fine they weren't doing any good were they.
"HARPER!!!"
Oh good my mother's involved now. Or my imagination of her is. Dreaming or waking I do not know for I cannot move and I long since lost the ability to breath.
She's screaming and kneeling next to me but of course I can't move. My body is like rubber and I'm trapped in it. The demon looks up at her laughs, my intestines dripping from its mouth as it feasts on my ripped open chest cavity.
My mother is shaking my shoulders she can move me, but of course I can't move.
And the demon pushes her aside and goes back to work, straddling me and working its way up my neck. My body is in searing pain but of course I can't move or do anything to help myself. Is this the best of all possible universes? Really? I mean I suppose, but I was hoping for better.
And I can feel arms lifting my rubber body. The demon cackles and goes to lie on a bed. I'm being lifted onto a gurney. Goddamn it.
Nobody needed to call an ambulance do they not know how much these fucking things cost? Christ, we could lobotomize me for cheaper. I should bring that up to someone if I ever regain the ability to breath or move.
Needles going in my arms but I'm rubber and filled with pain. I'm like a ballon but there's nothing in me but a swarm of bees. Just sting after sting of severe pain. And they're putting a mask over my face. I push it off. Oh I can move my hands again? That's new. Nope just thought I could it was still there. The demon is one of the paramedics now sucking the meat off my leg till it's nothing but bone.
And they put another mask on my face and I can see them stripping off my clothes to tape leads to my chest. And vomit bubbles in my mouth and fills the mask but again I can't move. The lights flash and suddenly the pounding of the sirens replaces the sound of the music.
"WE'RE LOSING HIM—,"
And then I black out completely.

I come to in triage.
"Oh no. I lived," I mumble, trying to rub my face with one hand. The lights are way too bright for my pounding headache. The demon is gone. But my mother is not so one out of two isn't bad. "Oh, hi," I say, looking over at her.
"Hey," she says, gripping my arm, she looks, well not as bad I feel that would be awful she'd have to be dead or actively on fire for that to be true. But pretty close. She's still in her work clothes. She works at the truck stop. And her hair is poorly tied back and her eyes are red from crying.
"Is Josie okay? He needed to sleep. What numb nuts called an ambulance?" I mumble.
"ME YOU COMPLETE MORON," she shakes my shoulders, "What the hell Harper???"
"Whom? I don't know where I am? Who are you?" I ask.
"Harper, we talked about this. You said you were clean," she says, her voice dangerous.
"I am—-clean. I have no idea what happened, I am very disoriented right now. I'm one of the least problematic people on the planet I don't really see why you're upset with me—,"
"Harper. Give me one good reason right now not to call your father."
"I can explain," I say, holding up my hands.
"Oh please do. Because from what I hear, you were caught stealing at work so you got fired, then you robbed a CVS, and came home and OD'd?" She asks, folding her arms.
"I don't need to explain as it happens you have the full story," I say, lying back down arm over my eyes, "Except the OD'd part, no, no idea what happened there. It was a bad trip anyway you should feel bad for me. Cards are in order, possibly balloons."
"Harper."
"Seriously though, I don't know. The other two things—yeah not my finest moments though robbed is kinda dramatic I just sort of took the meds I needed 'cause they wouldn't sell them to me 'cause I'm sixteen. At work someone gave me a couple of Tylenol given last night I'm assuming it wasn't Tylenol but eh I don't work there anymore what time is it? I have a math test," I say, sitting up.
"It's five am."
"Oh shit, wake me up in three hours," I flop back down.
"They pumped your stomach. Are you trying to go for a record here or something? You said you didn't need to go back to that counselor—,"
"I don't! I don't know what happened, honestly, I do swear this wasn't me, I swear," I sigh.
"Give me one good reason I should believe that," she says, tears in her eyes.
"I'm your son and you love me?" I cock my head.
"I do love you, Harper. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you kill yourself," she says, touching my face.
"Seriously though, as a pact between us, let's agree nobody is calling ambulances again to the house— what is it three grand? That's ridiculous I'm sick of hanging up on debt collectors. I have a whole Venn diagram on why next time you find me having a minor medical event in the privacy of my room you should take me out back and shoot me directly between the eyes," I say, tapping my forehead.
"Is that why you do this? You're stressed all the time—about money?" She's crying.
"I didn't do this. Mom, look. Josie can tell you. I—all right stole—the stuff from CVS on my way home and there's candy in the backpack I was going to take to school. I went and said good night to Josie and calmly gave him his cough stuff, then phone records will show I called Lia and we talked about me going over on Friday. Is this the behavior of a dangerous addict? What kind of complete psychopath tucks his baby brother in with strict instructions, puts away his tips for the night in a jar containing currently two grand, and then goes upstairs and takes—,"
"Ecstasy and Fentanyl?" She provides.
"Wow, no wonder it was a bad trip. All right yeah anybody in his halfway right mind, like I clearly was, as my brother and girlfriend can attest, would have at least separated those two," not palmed them all at the same time just to see what would happen. Not my finest hour. In my defense I kind of thought it was all E, I wouldn't have taken the downer if I'd known.
"You're batting a thousand here Harper—really? You OD, you said you were clean why do you expect anyone to believe this wasn't your fault? After you get fired? And rob the store?"
"Not my finest hour I'll admit," I'm sure I'll have many worse.
"Do you want your dad to get full custody? Is that what you want?"
"I need you to believe he doesn't want me either."
"Harper," she sighs, putting her hands to my face.
"You have to believe me," I sigh, "I'm not using. Again. I've been turning in all my wages—,"
"I thought having a job would you some—you know what you can mow lawns if you want but that's it. You need to rest, and enjoy yourself we can't—I can't lose you. And you're going back to that therapist I don't care if this was an accident or not, okay? We'll make it all okay," she says, petting my hair.
"It's fine, I'm not using. I don't want to use," I say, taking her hand, "I promise. I'm not leaving you."
She kisses my forehead, hugging me.
"Seriously can we go home so I can sleep for like three hours? I do have a math test," I sigh.
"Yeah, I'll tell them you think someone slipped you something," she says, petting my hair, "Please tell me that's true?"
"It is. I promise," I smile a little.
"Okay," she says, smiling a little, "I'm only mad at you because I can't lose you. I can't—I can't lose you. And I don't know how to get you back."
"This wasn't my fault. I promise. I swear to you. There is nothing wrong," I say, holding both her hands.