Yesterday's News.

They're All Crazy Now!

   I felt her presence around the house the second I opened my eyes. Her phantom stroll oozed cascading essences which pricked my subconscious sense of smell. I love having her around.
  I threw the damp sheets aside and got out of the bed. My bed felt strange to me. Its loneliness disgusted me. I wanted out of its clutches and out of the damned room. I needed a shower. But I needed her more. I needed her cold reassurance and her bad coffee. Her tantalizing morbidity and darkened frown. Jesus! I'm really losing it.
  A fresh pot of coffee and her absence confused me. There was no evidence of the crimes we committed last night. Nothing in my kitchen besides her fading essence. Shame.
  I poured myself a cup of bitter coffee and walked towards the window, grimacing at the bad taste in my mouth and the upcoming visual slaughter awaiting me outside. It was still up there. Damn.

I came out of the shower a bit refreshed but my mind was still reeling. Frugal shadows of last night's alcohol blurred a few parts of my brain. But that damned thing outside was utterly blackening my last thinking cells like a fire pit. Its presence was as stern as my own guilt.
  It looked like early afternoon by the time I left the house. The sky above was overcast and extremely hurtful to my eyes. I struggled to find the sun; I couldn't keep my eyes open for more than a second while looking up. But I could feel it up there. Hovering. Following me.
  I walked past the pub and around the corner to the liquor store, across the street from Pete's place. How convenient. I bought a couple reds, nice ones, and a 750 of Macallan 15. I felt it my duty to wipe the brief smirk of contempt on the young cashier's face as she rung me up but I had better things to do.
  I walked back home without looking over my shoulder when I thought I saw Pete looking out the window of his place as I got out of the liquor store. He retreated swiftly, or at least someone did, away from the windows and behind the darkened blinds. I stood, rooted to the spot, shamelessly staring at his window from across the street. I was almost tempted to pay him a visit. Almost.

   -"What happened last night, Carrie?"
-"We drank. A lot. Nothing new there, right."
She never paused as she walked from the window and passed me towards the kitchen. "Good choices, Dave", I heard her said a few seconds before the soft pop. She brought me a glass of red and we continue the story. Last night's . "Pete'a acting strangely but don't be surprised". Surprised at what? , I thought. Surprised at his sudden and violent death? No, not that. Not now.
-"Are you ok, Dave?", she refilled my glass. "Don't let Pete's random whereabouts bother you like that. He's a grown man". True. Awfully true.
-"I saw him."
-"Where?."
-"At his house."
-"No, you didn't." She seemed so sure. So believable.
-"I did, Carrie. I did."
-"Ok. But what about that thing? Is it still outside? Still watching you?"
-"What don't you go out there and take a look, Carrie." I was furious now. The wine tasted flat and vinegary. Her presence overbearing.
-"Maybe I will. Or maybe I'll find Pete out there." Her a meek attempt at a joke wasn't funny. At all.
-"Let's go", I said standing up, "I'm done with this." She followed me out  on to the street. No sign of Pete. No sign of that fucking box either. This wasn't funny. Not of this was.

  Three days later, it was up there again. She still couldn't see it. Just as I could not see her fallen angel all those fucking days ago. Or was it a few weeks back? Fuck!
  I walked under grey skies once again. Quickly this time. The young cashier was smiling at me. A petite but pitifully clownish grin painted across her face. She kept her smile but couldn't hold my questioning stare. She was kind of cute. In a sort of icy way.
  -"You're here a lot", white teeth glistening.
  -"You too" was all I could say.
  -"True." she giggled a bit too loud, "See you soon. I hope." I was out the door in a flash.
  I avoided looking towards Pete's place as I almost ran home. I thought I heard someone calling me but I never looked back. The skin on the back of my neck tingling with dread. For no good reason.
  Carrie was in the shower when I got home. I heard her turn off the water as I sat the whiskey bottles on the kitchen counter. No wine this time. Only the hard stuff.
  The whiskey bottles were sweating  and I felt like my neck was too. She came upon the kitchen as I poured myself a glass of liquid lunch.
  -"You're fucking awful, Dave. That shit's gonna murder your liver."
  -"Cheers to that". I emptied the glass. The nice, woody taste of the whiskey warming my insides beautifully.
  -"You better save some for me."
  -"Oh don't worry, we got plenty."
  -"Pete was in", she said so smoothly.
  -"What?, I said a bit too loudly.
  -"He said he's been sleeping in at the pub the last couple of days. He's worse that you, Dave."
  -"Bullshit. The guys at the pub told me they haven't seen him in days." She approached me slowly as I poured some more whiskey in my empty glass. She took the glass out of my hand and sipped silently from it. The hard kick of the liquor corrugated her features in a gorgeous way.
  -"Yeah, he said something about those guys. He said they're all crazy now!"