When The Time Comes

chapter 10; Lib

The password works and I feel like I can breathe again. We start moving as soon as the light blinks green. I dash upstairs, leaving the boys to explore the ground floor. The safe is in his father's study. The room Mr. Miller liked to escape to when his wife was at home. And coincidentally, the room it all happened in. 

I remember Andrew mentioning, back when I came over for the first time, that changing security was a bitch. They'd changed it recently and it took more than one visit to have the passcode placed. I think I was mesmerized by everything that I never noticed how much of a baby he was.

 I push the door open and it catches me off guard at how small this room is in comparison to how I remembered it. Somehow, I must have imagined it being way, way bigger than this. The ebony desk gleams from the light entering through the hallway. I use the end of my sleeve to turn the lights on. There is an armchair to my right, next to the book case that carries all sorts of legal text books. The glass is clear, recently cleaned to the dot that I catch my reflection in it before I walk to the safe. I don't realize that I am shaking until it's time my fingers meet the keypad.

  Zero. Two. Twenty-three.

It clicks.

I bend down, resting on my knees because I'm slightly dizzy. The safe is open in front of me yet I can't get myself to act straight. Grab the money, Lib. And run. But I don't. I keep staring at it, my heart jittery and hands sweaty. This room holds more memory than I do. I think I hear a noise. It's a past version of screams. My screams. Flesh under my finger nails. I'm hunched over now, my belly swelling with rage and panic. I want to scream, it bubbles up my throat like rancid vomit but instead of spilling, it fizzes back down inside of me.

I want to scream. I want to pull my hair out. I turn away from the safe, facing the room that haunted my dreams more than any monster ever could. I didn't know places could become hold ghosts, not like this.

  I am unaware as time passes. I grab Mr. Miller's baseball bat from off the wall. Rotating it in my hand, the signatures of a third of the brave's team glimmer right before I raise it above my head.  Mr. Miller's bookcase is the first to go, spilling glass all over my shoes and his leather armchair like confetti. The frames hanging on the wall behind his desk go next. I swing them across the room. Fuck Andrew's dad. Fuck his mother and the demon they spawned together. 

 I drag the baseball bat behind me, trailing across the carpet and wooden floor. With my shoe, I push Andrew's door open. Navigating this house is like knowing my own body. 

  His room is three parts white and one part blue. If you didn't know him, you'd mistake this for his good taste. In no way does this room represent the person who inhabits it. I take my time to look around the room. 

On his desk there are scattered papers and files. Like his father, he has a wall dedicated to his achievements. I used to feel small in front of them. I always felt small with Andrew. Like I had a small life, small prospects... just small. I guess it was just another red flag I chose to ignore.

 With one swing, they all land on the rug. Another and the glass frames shatter. I still feel the heaviness of blame inside of me. Blaming myself. I wish I could beat it out of myself but I can't. It's stubborn like the fat around my thighs. It won't fucking leave. 

Behind me, I hear one of the boys call my name. I swing again, knocking everything off his shelf. When they don't break, I strike again.

 Omar runs into the room, his hand on the side of the door. There's slight panic in his eyes as he zeroes in on the bat in my hand.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asks in a partial whisper. 

 "The safe is open," I say loud enough for Ben behind him to hear me. Ben looks between us in confusion so I clarify. "In the next room."

Ben runs off but Omar is still staring at me.

 "What?" I push past him and follow after Ben.

"We came here to steal, not break all their shit," his voice trails after me. I ignore him and help Ben with the money. 

"Who the hell keeps this much cash in their house?" Ben comments, shoveling the notes into a bag.

"People who don't trust banks," I mumble, scooping the rest out into my ransack. Ben stands up with three bags full to the brim. 

"How much do you reckon this is?" he leads us out of the room. I avoid meeting Omar's accusing gaze.

"Doesn't matter. Time's up, let's get outta here," Omar says from behind us. 

We make it back to the car as quickly as humanly possible. Omar starts driving just before I can slam my door shut. When we make it to the express way, Ben audibly sighs in relief from the back seat.

 "Fuck," he screams. "I can't believe we just did that!"

I slide the bandana off my face, my cheeks sticky with sweat. "How much did we get?" 

Ben takes out the cash, sheepishly looking at me. "Counting this is going to take a while."

"Well, you better get started then," Omar looks at him through the mirror, briefly.

I watch the road ahead of us, the darkness settling around Omar's rickety old car. From my side, I can sense him glance over at me but I don't engage with him. He'll never understand. Neither of them would. We're not friends. This entire thing is insane, being here with them when none of us will be surviving longer than a month. So when Omar sighs and looks back at the road, I'm glad he didn't try to pretend that any of this is more than just three nobodies, trying to distract themselves from their eminent doom.

"Where are we going now?"

"I'm hungry. There's a burger king two minutes from here."

 "I would kill for a burger," Ben chimes in from behind.

When he pulls into the drive-thru, I unfasten my seatbelt. "I need to use the bathroom. I'll meet you guys out front."

"Wait, what do you want to order?"

"Fries," I say quickly, getting out of the car before Omar can reply.

I hear them drive away behind me and I walk inside. The smell of patties and hot buns is nauseating, hitting me in a swift whiff. When I walk inside, the first thing I see are pieces of toilet paper scattered across the floor. The shit colored tiles are chipped and stained with dirty shoeprints. Even my reflection looks murky, blotches of grime and dust obscuring my face and clothes.

It irks me to imagine the employees using this bathroom. There's barely any soap in the dispensers which sends my stomach churning once again. This shouldn't be allowed. This is disgusting. I step on some wet tissue which clings to the bottom of my shoe as I wave it around, trying to free myself. There it goes again. The bile in my throat.

 The tissue floats off and I look down at my arm that is throbbing. It hits me that I have a shard of glass lodged in my skin. I pull out with a sharp hiss, dropping it to the floor. Fuck.

 Blood trails down my thumb and on to the floor. I watch it for a moment, numbly before pulling out some hand towels to press over it. I watch myself in the grime covered mirror, nothing in my mind except the subtle buzzing from the overhead tube light. My vision glitches, momentarily. I can see his room. Again.

Not as clear as before but still, there.

I swallow. My throat regurgitating out a scratchy cough. Dry mouth. I blink. My eyes are dry as well. They hurt but only slightly. I guess I'm tired.

Soon enough, that'll be gone too. I'll get to sleep and never wake up again. I won't have to get up for work, driving before the sun peeks out. I won't have to smell Sadie's piss again. None of this will matter then. Not the glass in my arm or my dry eyes. 

I will be galaxies away from where I am right now, perhaps not even aware of my own consciousness. I don't know much about the after life to imagine it. But when I do try to picture life after death, I don't see much life at all. It's black. Wormhole black. Being spit from the mouth into a never ending cycle of darkness, each darker than the last.

That is probably what is waiting for me on the other side.

Maybe.