Dusk Harbor 1999

Spring Cleaning

Mason was sitting on the black couch catching his breath, as he tuned into the blaring heavy metal on the radio. His hands hung loose in his lap as he looked around at the aftermath of his destructive outrage. There were plastic cups smashed in half lying around, the TV was all static, the walls had a few holes from where his fist had gone through them, and the couch had a hundred stab wounds all in the cushions and back. The left front leg of the card table was bowed inward.

He bent over his knee and removed one of his black sneakers from his foot. Brought it closer to his face. Sniffed it's awful gag-inducing odor, and whipped it into the face of the TV. A crack travelled down the screen and the static went black. The sneaker somehow bounced off the screen and ended up on the stand beside it, tongue-side down.

I shoulda known something was wrong! I shoulda known! Stupid! Now my brother is missing and insane! I don't even know where to look, his pager fell off at the hospital. Who even did this to him?!

"Ugggghhh." He groaned.

He smacked himself in the face a couple of times to clear up his thoughts. Get some energy going. He hadn't slept all night and he wasn't going to sleep a wink until he knew where his brother was. A new shipment of anger and rage was dropped off somewhere in his veins, it travelled throughout his system until it finally reached his brain.

Mason stood up, walked over to the TV stand, picked up the blue plastic cup which held the coffee he'd made three hours ago and chugged what was left. It was all grit and swill but it did the job. He chucked the cup across the room so fast and far that it ricocheted off the back wall in the kitchen and clattered into the sink. A perfect shot. An impossible shot if he were to try it again.

His legs carried him onward to the kitchen, and he lifted the microwave off the counter, ripped the cord straight out of the wall, and then he went for the front door. Cradled the microwave on one arm while he cracked the door open. The lawn was already littered with bits of plastic and metal, and bags of frozen vegetables that he couldn't remember the origin of. The vegetables were a gift from someone, who that person was, he had no clue.

He held the door open with his hip and gripped the microwave in both hands. Hauled it up over his head, and sent it flying into the mailbox at the end of the driveway. Another tricky shot since the mailbox was a fair distance away and adjacent to the front door. It was all about the angle. He'd gotten the angle right.

As he was about to duck back inside a shiny black Mercedes rolled across the gravel into his driveway and parked there. It looked like a newer purchase. Didn't even have scuffs or mud on the bumper. The only person who could afford such a car that visited him was Jake. Mason rolled his eyes. Really, another new car? What is it, a sickness with you?

The doors opened, Mason could see the reflection of the shoddy pale blue shingles in the unblemished paint.

Olivia and Jake climbed out almost simultaneously, as if on cue. Despite it being fifty degrees and sunny she was wearing her long blue all-weather coat. It was unbuttoned so he could see the white blouse underneath. Her hair was pulled into a last-minute bun, with strands sticking out all over the place. She had dark circles under her eyes. 

Jake was a little fresher looking. Had his tan suede jacket draped over his shoulder, a green half-sleeve shirt, faded blue jeans. He looked like he was on a mission, the way he walked strong and confident towards the steps of the trailer. He looked to Olivia and paused to give her an impatient glare.

Olivia sneered at him and walked ahead. Gave Jake the same impatient glare in a mocking way.

"Slowpoke," she called out.

"Last-minute mess," Jake replied.

"What are you guys doing here?" Mason asked.

Jake glanced around at the trash and litter everywhere. Exchanged glances with Olivia.