"Jerry, wake the fuck up!"
I beat him in the face with a pillow multiple times. I discard the pillow and shake him from the shoulders. He opens his eyes, bloodshot and unrested, and looks around the room, and then up at me.
"What the hell, man?"
"We have to go back," I am sweeping around the room, picking up my few clothes and grabbing my toiletries from the bathroom.
"Go where? Home?"
"Yes. Now. Please."
"But what about Frink? He wanted to meet—"
"Fuck Frink, man," my life is stricken with terrible alliterations, puns, and word associations. "Something's going on."
Jerry sits up.
"What do you mean, Kevin?" he is solemn, curious, and sincere.
I stop my mad dash around the hotel room.
"Listen, I don't know what's happening. But... everything you said before. I don't know. I'm anxious. I'm feeling like I'm on the cusp of a panic attack and it just won't crest. It feels like... like everything's coming to a head. I don't know. Sal's apartment building is on fire—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, is he okay? What about that lady he lives with?"
"Yes, well, no. I don't know. He's missing, dude. Mitch says he can't get in touch with him. Sara tried calling me... wait. Listen. You try and get into touch with Ted. Tell him to let himself in at my house and stay the night. If we have a refugee Sal needing a place to stay, I want someone there to let him. I'm going to try to call Sara back and see what the fuck's going on. I'm sure Mitch has talked to her."
And there, like two schmucks trying to plug a leaking dam with their fingers, we paced the room, listening to cell phones silent sans ominous, monotonous ringing. We each stand there for ten minutes, redialing and hoping to hear a living voice and no one picks up.
"Let me get my things," Jerry gets changed and gathers his belongings. His hair is messy and many dead curls fall over his face.
We are checked out of the hotel and on the road within fifteen minutes. The clerk asked if we wanted a refund, or if anything was wrong with the room, and I promised that there was nothing wrong with the room and that the free sample of soap in the bathroom which smelled of vanilla was wonderful.
We speed past Frink's house and not a single light is on.
I am, of course, continuously redialing the list of our friends. Borderline psychotic? Maybe. Annoying? Absolutely. Futile? As of yet, that too.
I do this for the duration of the ride home.
YOU ARE READING
Code Junkie
ParanormalneKevin is an unpleasant man who loses his job and finds it difficult to deal with other people. He has those he considers friends, but he mostly prefers to focus on code, alcohol, and cynicism. Then, Kevin begins to experience odd hallucinations. In...
