If Roosters Crowed Every Time Someone Died

Interlude I

The days, weeks, or months after the accident were too confusing to remember chronologically. One night I was sitting at the couch, reading a book, a cup of tea in the floor. I was finishing the last paragraph of that chapter, when there was a knock at the door.

Let them wait, I had to finish the chapter first.

But the door knocker was impatient, as they knocked again, this time more insistent.

I am two sentences away, just wait a little bit more.

What could two sentences mean? Merely ten seconds, maybe.

As I reached the period, I really couldn't catch a grasp of what I had just read. The pounding at the door was deafening.

I stood up, the book still in my hand, and walked to the door. When I grabbed the keys, the pounding stopped. The person on the other side now expecting me. I put the key in the hole and unlocked the door. There was no need to open it, since they opened for me.

On the other side, in the doorway, stood a clown. The clown. His ropes half-cut, his hands bloody, and a Swiss army knife between his fingers. He raised his hand slowly, and then plunged the blade towards me.

"NO!" I screamed.

Silence.

I gasped for air; deep breaths didn't seem enough. Matt moved besides me.

"Lana? Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes." I gulped. "I am now."

He curled himself towards me. "Was that nightmare again?"

"The same one." I sighed, feeling calmer now. Matt stroked my back slowly. "He always comes to my house, as if I was next on his list."

"You're not. You're with me now." He planted a soft kiss on my lips.

"What if he came here?"]

"He won't. This house is safe."

"But what if —

"Stop it. Calm down, you know that's ridiculous. How could he know you're here?"

"He could."

"Think again."

"I'm sorry." He was right, there was no way that he just knew that I was spending the nights at Matt's.

"It's okay. You're stressed."

"I know. It's just that... everything has been difficult since then."

"You should see a therapist."

"Yes. I should."

From that night on, I had returned to my house. It didn't matter if I was alone or if Matt was with me, the nightmare returned every night.

He won't come this night.

I was determined not to let him. I gulped down another sip of coffee as I stared out the window, the phone in my hand, 911 dialed on the keypad, ready to be called.

The hours passed, and no one came.

I woke up with the thud of my phone hitting the floor. The sunrays caressed my face softly. I had fallen asleep on the chair, again. I grabbed my phone and checked the time. 08:24am. Saturday.

I raised from the chair, pain spreading throughout my sore muscles. I grabbed the keys from my desk and the coat from the hanger.

Outside was cold enough to make me shiver and wake me up. I hugged my body and began walking. After one hour, I found what I was looking for: A Parmacity.

"Do you have some pills for muscle pain?" I asked the pharmacist. She stared at me through her round glasses.

"We do." She left.

I tapped my fingers on the counter, waiting for her to come back.

"This one is $17." A box of ibuprofen appeared before my eyes. I looked at her in silence. I hadn't heard when she came back. She stared at me first, then at my fingers, still tapping on the counter.

"It won't work." She told me.

"Excuse me?"

"Why do you have muscle pain?"

"I have been sleeping on a chair." She nodded, understanding more than what her wrinkled face showed.

"This one will only calm your muscle pain. But that's not your main problem, is it?"

I said no with my head.

"Can you sleep well?"

"Yes."

I thought about the coffee, the chair, the sun on my face, the nightmares.

"I mean, no."

She raised her grey eyebrows.

"Should have started there." She left again. "This one is faster, $8, and this one has less side effects, $14,20."

I bought both.

"Are you sure you will be able to dance two more days a week?" The secretary asked me.

"Of course, I have to make some sacrifices if I want to improve." I lied to her with a smile plastered on my face.

"No." I pushed him away. "I'm tired."

He sighed and put his shirt back on. He sat at the edge of the bed.

"That's because you are all day doing something. You study in the morning, you dance in the evenings, and sometimes you work at night."

"I know... I can't help it. I get easily bored." I lied.

"You know that's not the main reason." He brushed his hair with one hand. "Did you see a therapist as I told you?"

Silence.

"You didn't."

"I can sleep just well." Thanks to the pills and to all the things I did during the day.

He sighed again. "I wanted to... you know... spend the night with you because I have to go on a trip for some weeks. But it seems that you don't want this. You don't want us."

That wasn't true.

"I'm sorry." I apologized, not wanting to start a fight. I approached him and hugged him from behind. "You know I love you, don't you?" I planted a kiss on his cheek.

"I know." He held my hands in his.

We stayed like that. I felt my eyes heavier with every second that passed.

He stood up, startling me.

"Where are you going?"

"Home, I have to prepare my luggage."

What happened with spending the night?

"When do you leave?"

He leaned down and kissed me, maybe for too many seconds.

"Tell me." I pulled away.

"Tomorrow."

"Have a nice trip."

And so, he left, and left me feeling empty, guilty. Why wasn't I able to fix my life? When would I return to normal?