Upstairs, Anna and I were each having trouble thinking happy thoughts ourselves. She had hidden the bag of coke in a drawer in one of her end tables and we were both hoping that Frank was ok. We got our answer pretty quickly.
Frank pounded on the door to Anna’s bedroom and didn’t bother waiting for us to get up to open the door. He burst in with angry purpose.
“Where the fuck is it? Anna you better give it to me right now! That shit is mine!”
Anna stood up and tried to get in between Frank and the drugs. He pushed her out of his way, not even in the direction of the bed either; he smashed her straight into her dresser knocking make-up, perfume and jewelry all over the floor. Anna grabbed her side in pain and fell to the floor crying. Frank rummaged around the room with blazing speed. He pulled the end table’s drawer all the way out and poured its contents onto the floor. Grabbing his prize he swiftly turned around and left the room.
He slammed the door and I jumped into action.
“Anna hunny, are you ok? Oh my God! That was…awful. I mean. I’ve never seen him act like that before. Jesus Christ!”
She was unable to speak becauseshe was so upset. She cried and cried while I sat with her and rubbed her back. I didn’t know what else to do.
* * *
Frank was outside again and blasting rails of coke up his nose every couple of minutes. He was way high, and doing off the wall, crazy shit. He seemed to be happy though. He was bouncing from group to group, interjecting his opinion about whatever the current topic might have been. In between groups he was yelling cliché, college party garbage like “Woo! Party!” and “I’m so high! Yeah!”
To everyone else, he seemed to be back to normal, really high, but otherwise normal.
* * *
An old, white Dodge pick-up truck rolled to a stop with the headlights off behind some bushes just off of Frank’s parents’s property and a beat-up, disgruntled Bill limped out of the driver side. He held a pistol in his right hand and he nursed his sore right side with his left hand. He was wheezing and he was seeing everything in shades of red.
The fury that filled his blood with adrenaline had also made him almost numb to his obvious breathing issues. He was single minded and headed straight for Jon.
As he was working his way through the crowd, people were noticing his condition and backing away from him, because he looked like a zombie. His skin was a pale gray, there were purple, swollen bruises and dried rivulets of blood texturing his face, he was limping and moaning and talking to himself, all the while, he was cradling his right side and panting like a dog.
He saw Jon through the crowd and lifted the gun, or he attempted to lift the gun but didn’t make it very far.
Before he could get his arm raised past his navel he collapsed, by now he was gasping for air and he curled into the fetal position. He dropped the gun and clasped his chest. Ten other people were standing around him, watching in awe as he struggled to draw precious oxygen into his failing lungs.
* * *
This next series of events is one I would sooner not tell because I am ashamed, to this day, of my behavior.
Anna and I were hanging out in her bedroom again. She was still upset about what had happened with her brother, and I was trying to comfort her. There was a knock on the bedroom door and I told Anna to lie down, I would get rid of whoever it was and that I’d be right back.
