♫ Building Castles in the Air.
By Jessica ( Creative Writing Workshop RPI)
A sad place in the rain; Black suits, hot coffee. Humid, dark sky. The refraction on my glasses made me turn to look at the people passing me. In a restaurant I’d never heard of flashes of reluctant white polo shirts and black dress pants whizz past- of young sons and daughters playing tag, not realizing what’s really going on, Or trying to avoid it. ‘Death is just a part of life’, so I’ve been told. But this time it felt different. The deaths of the aunts and uncles and grandmothers that I had never met, didn’t matter to me in the least. But I tried, I really tried to care. I felt horrible thinking of how so many people mourned over them, and I carried on so easy. But those were deaths far, far outside of where we lived. How should I have been able to tell a difference? This death was real. This death was tangible. It ate me up inside; made me count the days I had left with the kind of despair that the death brought me. The rain trickled down the window in careless streaks and lines. It gathered on the plastic roses outside. There was a fringe on the plastic on the edge of the petals where I could spot ants and sediment. But when I looked at it, I wasn’t seeing it. I could only see the death. I could barely see out of my eyes anymore. I only saw things through my mind. It had only been a few days. I couldn’t get my mind off it, the scene of the bridge where I had been not many days before. The scene of the water beneath, where we used to take the boat. That water was different now. That bridge was ruined now. It’s like the world is upside down. And raining. The whole world is raining.
Alec is gone. Alec is gone. Alec is gone. I couldn’t get the words out of my head. They played over and over like an old cassette tape that we used to listen to when we were kids.
I was all cried out. I wish I could cry now. Maybe make myself feel a little better- but I was done. All that was left was the emptiness in my stomach that made me want to burn that bridge down...
Suddenly I spotted a blur of gold, golden, like his hair, like in the fall. And with that came the green, the green plaid of that shirt that he hated but always wore. I sat, motionless, at the window. The only sounds I could hear were the ones I knew I was imagining. His voice, even. I thought to myself: ...“CAROLYNN!”
That got my attention.
Without a second of hesitation, I ran out into the rain, my shoes flipping off fast. The door slammed behind me and raindrops blurred my vision and made streaks on the lenses of my glasses. “ALEC?!” I screamed. “ALEC!!” I shrieked. But to no avail; He wasn’t there. ...I’m crazy. I thought to myself. Alec is gone. Alec is gone. Alec is... “DEAD.” I found myself shouting. “ALEC IS DEAD. ALEC IS DEAD!”, I was sobbing now. Saying it out loud hit me harder than thinking it. I tried to compose myself. Kneeling in the mud, ruining my dress. So what. I sat for a while...
“Carolynn?” he said.
My head jolted up. And there he was, crystal clear. .That worried me. I knew he was dead. I knew that. I was going insane. But I liked it. So I gave into the illusion. “...Is that you?” I mumbled.
“It’s me,” he snickered. His golden hair sopping wet in the rain, and his green plaid shirt hanging loose on his shoulders. Just like I thought. Just like I saw him last. –I threw my arms around him, covered him in mud. He didn’t mind, he never did. That’s who Alec was. He chuckled.
Silence filled the air around us, like a poison... “Why’d you do it?” I asked.
The gaseous silence came back. It lingered for a while this time. I didn’t let go of him. I don’t think I could have if I wanted to... “...Guilt. I guess...” he answered quietly. “Mama needed some money back home. For a hospital, and then some. When she needs money, it means I will too. You know that...” he loosened his hold on me. “...I stole. Stole a lot. Gave it to Mama and said I earned it... I can’t live with that sort of guilt. I can’t live with getting caught.”, he finished. I’d never heard him talk quite like that. First, because that was something I’d guess he’d never have to say. And second, he was too quiet. Much too quiet. His words were subdued and slurred, but not soft. They had a relentless twinge to them. I hated the sound of it. He hated the sound of it. I couldn’t say anything else; there was nothing to be said, even. He told me that I couldn’t tell anyone I saw him. They all had to believe he was dead. I was the only one allowed to know. My thoughts of insanity vanished. In my mind, I was listening to, without a doubt, to the living, breathing Alec Suhnford.
I heard a rustling behind me... “CAROLYNN??!”
Alec sprinted away.
“Carolynn!”, Georgia came into view. “Where the hell have you been? You turned this funeral into a d**n search party! And what have you done to your dress?? If you...Carolynn? Carr? I don’t need this. Listen to me; I’m the adult, here!”
I was still as stone. I couldn’t take my eyes off the spot in the forest where he ran. I played through it over and over again in my head like a VCR tape. “...I’m sorry, Georgia,”
“Enough with this ‘Georgia’ sh**, will you? When we come to see people you call me MOTHER. You pull that ’Georgia’ card again and you’ll pay for it. I’ll send ya back, got it?! Come on.”
This conversation had gone on too many times before. Too many. I knew it by heart, like a script almost. It was odd not to say my parts: Yes, Georgia. No, Georgia. Please don’t send me back, Georgia- Although I much preferred the last orphanage, Sill House I think it was called.
But just then, I couldn’t say anything. I was silent. Alec was alive, but he told me not to tell anyone. I couldn’t say anything at all, not at the funeral, anyways. I would slip.
Georgia flung me in the car, splattering mud that I knew I would be responsible to clean up; I listened to the car engine start, “vuushhvputputputt.” And slow down to a whir as we started to move...
We came up to the harbor.
It was beautiful,especially in the summer,when the water glistened where the sun hit the ripples in the water, and formed little sparkles of light on the surface. The boats stood tall and regal, over murky seaweed and clouds of mud, moving quick and leaving a trail of spasmodic splashes and bubbly white foam. The bridge hovered proudly up above, resonating a rustic aura around it...
But recently, it wasn’t so beautiful. It wreaked of fear and anguish. The way it mocked me, being the frame for the bleak scene I pictured. Alec holding tight to the thick, trusting wires on the outside of the bridge. I pictured the fall that he took. I pictured the water splashing up around him, with a pink tint of blood in the white crests from the splash he made...
No, I thought. Alec is alive. I tangled my fingers through my hair and smiled. Alec is alive.
I’d tried to convince myself into this kind of thinking before...but this time it worked...I raised my head to the bridge as we passed it. ...”Alec is alive.” I mumbled for the billionth time. And with that, the bridge was beautiful again.
bca
That night I was sitting in my bedroom, watching the stars, watching the clouds twist around each other like a sky ballet. The moon was full. Full like in movies- like in “Lady and The Tramp.”I almost waited for the accordion soundtrack. My fingers rested on my collar bone, and I felt the chain to my gold necklace that I borrowed from Georgia. Shoot. I thought to myself. I had to return it, fast. I tiptoed down the hall, up the two stairs, where the carpet was worn to a plastic-like film, and into Georgia’s bedroom. She said she went out, but I never knew what that meant. Once or twice before I was left alone overnight. Anything could happen with that woman, Anything. I slid into her bedroom, hoping to God she wasn’t home.
She was.
The light flicked on, “Carr? Is that you?”she groaned, “What’s that you have in your hand?”
Georgia was tired. Drunk, maybe I had a chance of making it out of there...What the heck. I thought. Georgia hadn’t layed a hand on me in months. “I borrowed your necklace for the funeral today, the one with the orchid charm.”
“What!?!” she said. Not drunk enough. I thought...
The script played out just like always, but with a few “I THOUGHT I SAID’s,” and an occasional “NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.” – and then a curtain rod. She saw that curtain rod that I was dreading she would see.
THWACK
It was times like these where I could close my eyes and watch the purplish blue colors twirl around behind my lids. I could stop listening, stop feeling. I could stop the world. But just then, I heard a scream: wasn’t mine. It was Georgia’s scream. My eyes shot open,but it was too late when they did. Georgia was running: out the door, down the hall, down the two worn steps, out the front door...
I sat for a moment. Wondering what was going on...wondering if I wanted to know what was going on. No, I decided, as I gently placed the golden orchid necklace on the dresser…
Then, a tapping noise. “ratickitaraticktatat.”
Alec. Alec was at the window, standing, mud stained green plaid shirt. I threw the window open and he jumped in. I didn’t know what I was doing; I didn’t care. But there was a smug look on his face. The kind of look that you get when you’re trying to avoid any other look. One without emotion.
“What is it?” I said after a moment.
He turned, swiped some mud off his shirt. “She shouldn’t do that to you.”
I was quiet. “I know. But she’s gone now....”
“You’re welcome,” he said.
“…What?”
“Georgia saw me. She saw the dead kid…” he smirked. “Superstitious, isn’t she?”, he laughed. A hollow laugh that I didn’t know quite what to make of.
“You scared her?...to get her off me.” It wasn’t a question. I knew what he meant. It just didn’t make any sense. A voice in my head spoke. “It doesn’t have to make sense. You’re with Alec. You’re with Alec.”
He smiled again. “You’re welcome.”
There was silence. She didn’t have anything to say. What was there she could say?
“You haven’t told anyone, have you?” He asked with a tint of concern in his voice.
“No. I haven’t. I won’t, I promise.”
We spent the rest of the night remembering the times we had. Which was odd; it was something Alec had never done. I forgot about Georgia. Probably at a bar. Pff. Who knows. But he kept mentioning…monitoring almost: whether I had told anyone or not, that he was alive…
Sooner or later he left. Back out the window, I was falling asleep.
bca
The next morning, I scuffed into the kitchen, luckily, Georgia-less. And started to fix myself a bowl of ceral.
“Dling….ddddLING…” rang the phone. I picked up hastily. A hissing deep voice responded to my hello.
“Carolynn Husker?”
“Speaking.”
“Good morning Carolynn. This is Chief Barken, from our Point King Police Force? I’m sorry to hear about the loss of your friend,” he paused, expecting me to say something. I couldn’t, I would slip. Alec said not to tell. Barken continued:
“His mother, from Fishtail Creek, insisted we check out the scene a little more...I...I know this could be hard for you, but I was asked to question people who knew him best. His mother said you did...We tried asking Alec’s uncle, who works here at the station with us, but he refused. He didn’t seem at all flustered with any of it…Not at all...” he sank into a short daze. “…Did you notice any triggers for suicide, or any actions that could’ve led to the incident?”
I bit my lip. I vaguely remembered taking acting classes at the community center around that first month I stayed with Georgia, before that strange time when she got completely sick of having the responsibility of a parent, before she started to miss the nightlife. She gained it back, fast. The acting instructors from so long ago told us to speak like it was truth. Pretend it was straight from the heart, and become whoever you had to be. I took a deep breath. “No. I didn’t. He was his old self. It completely caught me off guard when he…you know...”
“You saw no warning sign at all? There had to be something. I hate to pry but it is a curious case.”
“No, I really didn’t. He laughed exactly the same way, even. Laughed even more than usual. Sir, it baffled me that he would do something like that. There have to be unexplained suicides, and this is just one of them. I’m sorry I can’t help… Have you found any evidence that I should know about?”
“You’ve been a fine help, Ms. Husker. But no, we haven’t found anything. Aside from a plastic bead, little girl-type bracelet. But I’m assuming that just washed up from the harbor. Unless Mr. Suhnford liked wearing little girl bracelets,” he snickered. It’s a good thing I hadn’t gotten this call a few days ago- when I thought Alec was dead. I would be in hysterics by now. This cop was not very subtle.
“Not that I know of, Mr.Barken.”I said- with a fake laugh, although I knew exactly which bracelet he meant. It was one that I made for Al when he had the chickenpocks. I was about 12. It was in the summertime, my first summer at Point King.
”Weell,”, said the deep hollow cold voice; shattering my memory. “Thank you for your time Ms.Husker. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. Have a good day, sir.”
“And you.” click
That was, in fact; the most torturous and artificial phone conversation I had ever taken part in.
I spent the day at the Dollar General.
This place meant more to me than a dollar store. This place meant more to me than my own house did. I’d learned not to be fooled by the florescent lights inside, or the useless plastic little trinkets on the shelves. I’d learned to disregard the phony faces of the happy little kids on posters that advertised potato chips and soft drinks that didn’t need advertising. I could far too easily ignore the shiny wire baskets that lined the aisles ready to trip whoever dared take their path, and the pieces of something that covered the carpet. No one ever knew what. I could subconsciously imagine that the security cameras weren’t visible, and that there was no giant whirring machine that made the whole place smell metallic.
I used to strap on my old, yard sale special roller skates; and roll around behind that Dollar General; where the pavement was unusually smooth, and good for roller skating. If nothing else; it was away from home....I liked that. I was normally with Alec when I did this; as that was the way I did most things. But today, even without Alec…I wanted to remember. I wanted to think about the times we used to have.
So I buckled my skates just like usual, adjusted my glasses on my nose, and started to roll and glide over the smooth concrete. A rush of memories came back to me. This had been happening a lot lately.
In my mind’s eye appeared a sunny day in June, 5 years ago. Georgia was working her supermarket shift, I was thankful that I didn’t have to face her that day… I was roller skating, right here. And *clicksnapclack.*...*THUD* - And that was my first broken bone. Alec helped me up, and walked me down to Dr. Fredrick. He bandaged my arm with cotton white gauze, and slowly plastered over it, muttering to himself how I should be more careful, and how he wasn’t doing this again. All in all, it didn’t ruin my day, I recalled. I remembered how we went to see Al’s grandmother, a month or so before she died, now that you mention it; and eating some banana cream pie. It was a beautiful day and an even better night, that filled the sky with flashes of fireflies and bats.
Out of pure curiosity, I rolled over to the spot where that rock was, that I landed on when I hit my arm, those 5 years ago. There it was, the same place as it was when I broke my arm on it. But, I noticed a crack in the side. And some moss on the top...And a cigarette butt perched on the top. Has it been this long? I thought; as I scuttled into figure eights and circles...
Not much later that day, I decided to go to the bridge. Chief Barken said they were investigating there, I might as well see what they’re up to.
When I arrived, I spotted yellow caution tape and two police cars. This was excitement for Point King. I sat on the other side of the bridge, knowing the cops were too preoccupied to notice me, let alone bother to interrogate me. I wondered how Alec could pull off such a realistic scene. He really made it seem like he was dead. His bracelet washed up on shore, and the button from his jeans nearby it...
My eyes fell to Mrs.Suhnford. I hadn’t seen her in years. A few years ago, she had moved to Missouri, or somewhere near there, to get medical treatment- for some odd type of lung cancer that Alec hated to tell me about. Alec had lived with his grandfather since then, which left him mostly alone, as his grandfather was usually sleeping, or on some kind of fishing trip for weeks at a time. I sympathized with Alec for that.
Mrs. Suhnford was clutching a handkerchief so tightly that her knuckles were white; and her hair was frazzled so it looked like a new breed of poodle was sitting on her head. Poor woman. I thought. I wondered why Al couldn’t tell his mother...I guessed she would report it. There was no force in the world that could keep Mrs.Suhnford from being honest. That’s one thing I remembered about her. I sat for a while, realizing how odd it was that I was here.
He’s alive. Isn’t he? Why can’t I just tell them...Why am I the only one that can know? ……I remembered my thought when I first saw Alec; the time at the funeral. It came back to me. I’m insane.
Does an insane person know when they’re insane? ...I was worried.
bca
After hours of useless thinking, I pedaled home. My mind’s eye was watching for me again. I saw myself , age 15, riding on this same bike, down this same road. The time I found my cat, Monty. I wasn’t with Alec that day, that was the day he got mad at me. I can’t even remember why...but I remember I was hurt from it. I remember crying on this bike, on this road. Then I found Monty. That wasn’t one of my better days; but ever since then,Al’s been apologizing. I really missed him,now. Things were so much better when he was around; like an invisible sunshine or something. I much preferred having him with me, instead of hiding that he was alive. And wondering if I was dreaming him up or not...
I had been home for a while when Alec crawled through the window again, the one by the kitchen, this time. He scampered down the hall and into my room, his frosty blue eyes racing like he was in trouble. “What’s wrong?” I asked. Part of me thought that I should be a little more concerned how weird it was that he could climb in the window and I would have no problem with it whatsoever.
“Nothing, I just thought someone saw me. I don’t think they did,” he replied. He didn’t look so good. The mud stains on his shirt were still there, but faded, like someone took a sad attempt at washing them; and his jeans had tears in them that I didn’t notice before. He looked tired, and a little hungry. My imagination must have been running pretty wild for it to conjure up an entire scheme like that. It wouldn’t surprise me though. Since I’d been to the bridge, I had awoken to reality. And not for one second could I truly believe that this Alec was not hallucination. But I could pretend. I could pretend he was real.
We spent most of the night together, like last night. I told him about the memories I’d had that day, and how I kept remembering more and more. He apologized that he couldn’t be there; and, after I mentioned it: he apologized for being mad at me that day, two years ago. I knew he would. He was like that. There was something about him that I always loved that I couldn’t put my finger on. He was my best friend...more than a friend. But there was something that I couldn’t see clearly about him. Aside from his selflessness...and aside from his charm and his jokes that weren’t planned, but they sounded it. There was something that I loved about him, that I couldn’t describe.
I could never admit that I loved him like I did. He couldn’t admit that he loved me, either. But we both knew, through some secret code, or special language, perhaps; that we loved each other. If he were dead or alive that night, that was one thing that would....could. never change.
bca
The next morning, I was done. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I needed to know for sure if my sanity was safe; or already vanished, somewhere in Al’s arms...
I saw a glimpse of Georgia when I woke up. She was walking to work today- the supermarket she worked at was good walking distance. She expected me to go to school, but I had other plans in mind. I had found a psychiatric specialist just beyond the east side of town. Dr.Korden. I needed help and I knew it. I snatched Georgia’s health card, and a two hundred dollar bills. One, which Georgia kept in the back of her drawer and said she lost it, (I never told her I knew where it was), and the other I had from the summer that I worked with the big deli down the road. I was lucky I had those. I ran out to the car when Georgia left. It was an old station wagon. It was green, with a dent above the back right wheel. Fluffy dice hanging from the rearview mirror absorbed the nicotine, and an indent by the shift stick cradled ashes. A coffee stain hid under the coupon magazines that covered the passenger seat, along with a splat of mud on the inside of the door that was acquired after the funeral the other day, when I brought it in from my dress.
It was an hour or so before I got to Dr.Kordon. And by then I had rehearsed the conversation in my heads approximately fifteen times. The script-like effect reminded me of how I fought with Georgia. But any conversation besides that one was bound to be better. I knew how to ask Dr.Kordon for help, without giving Alec’s secret away. Whether it’s my imagination or not: I do not break promises.
The walls were barren in the corridors, which didn’t comfort me. The smell reminded me of the machine at the Dollar General, and one of the lights flickered like the fireflies that Alec and I would catch in the summer, I thought….
I shook my head, as if my thoughts would fall out my ears. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. That’s why I was here.
I was quickly directed to the waiting room, where mobiles of pastel fish hung from above me, and a border of yellow and purple stars danced on the perimeter of the ceiling. I was sitting by a window with purple curtains, patterned with swirls and stripes. The window across from me had no curtain like this, but it looked as if there was supposed to be one, as a curtain rod was leaning against the wall… I cringed. If Georgia were to find out I was here…
A grey haired, cheery looking woman guided me to Dr.Kordon’s office, asking me all sorts of questions like how I was, and how I liked the weather. There was something about this office that I didn’t trust; but I tried to ignore my intuition.
Dr.Kordon’s office was a light, purplish pinkish color, like they have in women’s bathrooms at fancy restaurants. There was a giant spider plant hanging from one corner, by a window that covered most of the back wall.
“Carolynn, I presume?” He asked with a smile, a corny, practiced and prepared, teethy smile.
“Yes.” I mocked his smile for my own. “Dr.Kordon?”
“Nice to meet you,” he said gleefully. “You’ve been having some problems lately? Doubts, something or other?”
“Mostly.” I mumbled.
It took me at least 40 or so minutes to explain my entire story. (Without letting Alec’s secret out, of course), Down to the last “I couldn’t deal with...”, or “I tried everything.” The doctor lectured me on how the brain works, pointed to several anatomies and finished by handing me a prescription for a mild medication and a lifesaver mint. The grey haired woman wished me a good day as I smiled and walked out the door.
I was almost giddy with the good work I’d done, I was finally going to forget about Alec! I could go on with everything at a perfect pace. Without the blue eyed, golden haired little delusion that had plagued me since the day of his death.
Later that day, I popped in my first dose of medication; excited to regain my sanity.
bca
I never saw Alec again.
bca
The whole world was raining. I forgot about Alec, and I was happy, sure- but for one day or so. And then I returned to my state of depression, but without hallucinations. I missed Alec. I wanted him alive, or at least a whacky version of him that my mind created. The whole world was raining again. Monty brushed up against me and mewed, but I couldn’t respond. Everything was the same as that day, a few days after he died. I became invisible, like Alec’s shadow...wondering where my solidity went...
I spent six years like this. Each year, I got a little better.
Until the sixth year, I was sitting in my apartment in Fargo, North Dakota. Georgia’s smoking took a toll on her and put her in the hospital, and Alec was still nowhere to be found. My roommate, Brenda was out visiting with relatives for the week, so I kept the place dark and quiet. I liked things better like that. It was sometime in April when I was watching the news channel, eating a cheap TV dinner, just barely listening to what the newscaster said. I was a report myself, now, so in feeling amateurish and juvenile that watching the news bored me, I decided to listen to at least a story or two…
“Early Monday morning there was said to be a robbery at Concordia College in Moorhead, Minnesota from the account of the Board of Education. When police were informed, they took fingerprints of the staff and some recent visitors to Concordia. The case turned out to be false, as the missing account was a glitch in the computer system at the college, and all the money was later accounted for. But there was another case behind this false one, says Keith Vinnyer of the Fargo police force...” A new face appeared on the screen;
“We got the fingerprints of Professor Arnold Duken, art major, and matched them up with, not that of the school robbery, but that of a small bank robbery that took place in Point King, Massachusetts, in the late 1970’s.”
My heart skipped a beat.
It can’t be him. It can’t be him. It can’t be him. It can’t be him… It can’t be...”We found the fingerprints to be those of Alec Suhnford, of that small town.”
It’s him.
The original newscaster returned to the screen. “The man was arrested after trial, late yesterday night, and was sentenced to the standard two year prison term- due to identity theft, rather than robbery. He will be staying at Clay County Prison, at Moorhead, just outside of Fargo....”
I couldn’t breathe. Before I realized I was doing it, I was throwing on my jacket and running down the building’s stairs. In no time at all, I was on my shiny Shovelhead FXR motorcycle, (which I was very proud to have acquired), and off to the Clay County Prison. I’d never been so excited to go to a prison in my life. I’d been there before, once to interview a sheriff for some mundane crime that never got published.
The city lights swam into a blur around me as I sped down the road. I was still absorbing what I was doing. After a few long minutes of riding, I clarified two things, and echoed them to myself...
One. I was not, and never had been, insane.
Two. Alec was alive. He must have faked his death…he did a damn good job; but none the less, it was fake.
I became disoriented, thinking about how I was about to see him. Thinking how finally there would be no empty space in my heart, that turned inside out whenever I thought of him or heard his name.
“Alec”, I said under my breath as I turned down Relling Street. I could say it, and there was no heartache this time. “ALEC SUHNFORD.” I said louder.
bca
I arrived at the prison within the hour, and burst in the door to the sheriff’s office. I was later led into the visiting area, where we sat at long, paper white tables; a strip of plexi-glass splitting them vertically. A small opening was formed every few feet by three sides of cut plexi glass and the surface of the table. Florescent lights beamed down on the people there, like a sickening relative of sunshine. I sat down in a metal school chair on the visitor side, and positioned myself in line with the rectangular opening. I was going to see Alec. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it.
And there he was. The kid who had been “dead” for more than six years now. The kid I spent more than two hundred dollars to get medication for dreaming about him. The kid who was my complete refuge from the world. Whom I loved more than anything.
He sat down and rubbed his eyes, looked up at me. He paused. “Carolynn?”
“Alec.”, I smiled.
Tears formed in his eyes, and red streaks framed the blue irises with bloodshot aggravation. He beamed and snatched my hand.
“I missed you,” I whispered, through a shaky, relieved laugh.
“I bet I missed you more.” I said happily.
There was a pause. That silence that I’d forgot all about.
“You faked your death.”, I said abruptly; breaking the silence.
“I know.”
“You never said that.”
“I didn’t? I didn’t think I’d have to.” Alec said quizzically.
“Never mind.” I smiled. It didn’t matter. Nothing in the world mattered, now. It was like the years before me never happened, and the years ahead of me didn’t exist. It was like this jail was a distant memory; it didn’t feel like I was here. My greatest, and only concern, was that I was with him. My heart was beating faster than it had since the last time I saw Alec like this.
The love that we had been harboring and hiding all these years boiled to the surface, and made my skin crawl with warmth. Like when I would come in from the snow in the winter, and wrap up in all the blankets I could find, and sit next to the radiator. I felt the kind of sudden happiness that you get when you expect nothing to happen at all, and you end up with something so completely magnificent and extraordinary that you lose your breath just thinking of it.
Al told me about the guilt that he had those many years ago, and explained to me why, and how, he did what he did. “It was a long, tedious process”, he explained. “My grandfather completely understood what I was doing, and even though he didn’t agree with it, he helped me out. He said I had to except the consequences, is all. He’s long dead, now, but I’m sure that this is what he was referring to.” he said, gesturing to the blank, sad walls of the jail. “The easy part was the funeral. My grandfather and I told the people that my ‘identical twin’ needed a coffin, so we could get realistic measurements. I was surprised it worked, but sure as hell it did. Then once we carted the coffin around, people didn’t ask. My uncle works at the Point King station, so he told the other cops that he had taken care of the body. I left some fake evidence there, that helped too…”
“Your bracelet.” I murmured.
“Yeah. The rest was just moving away. And I used some of the money I stole to do that. I was probably overreacting.”
“You were,” I said defiantly. He didn’t know what he put me through.
“Thanks, Carr.” He said sarcastically, as he broke into a smile. That chased my tense feeling away fast. That’s one of the reasons I loved him. I laughed and nodded sweetly.
“VISITING HOURS END IN FOUURRR MINUTESS!” boomed the sheriff from a door off the side of the room.
“Before you go”, Alec said. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
“Yes?” I asked eagerly.
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Husker,” he said. My heart sank. I thought he was going to say it that time...so the secret love language we had wouldn’t be so secret anymore.
“Thanks,” I smiled, “You’re the greatest friend I’ve ever had, too.” ...Better than nothing. I thought. I’d rather have him tell me that, than be dead. Which was coincidentally the other option.
bca
The next day I got a letter.:
Dear Carolynn,
Our physicians regret to inform you that patient Georgia Husker has recently deceased, and will be removed from our records. The patient’s last room was 33A, in intensive respiratory care: if you would care to collect her belongings. If Georgia’s belongings are not retrieved, they will be confiscated and disposed of. We appreciate your efforts in supporting us, and your loved one; and we are sorry for your loss.
If you have any questions or comments please contact us at: (701-341-8987) ext. 241, to speak to a respiratory care specialist.
Sincerely,
Your Friends at Dakota Clinic.
With that came a pang of guilt, a shot of relief, and a finale of horrid realization; that I didn’t care.
bca
I couldn’t stop thinking about him…I found myself sitting with Alec again. I was staring into his ice blue eyes, I really couldn’t help it lately. He was different now than he was before. He grew structure into his nose and his cheek bones, that made his features look chiseled and sleek. He had a small sunburn that made a strip over the bridge of his nose, and under his eyes. His hair wasn’t the same shade as gold, he had dyed it a strange, unnatural chocolate brown while he was “Professor Duken”, but he was still the same childhood friend and love of mine. The security cameras all around seemed to disappear when he laughed; the jail walls disappeared when he smiled. He held my hand through the unforgiving plastic opening, his thumb caressing my forefinger. We sat there for a long while, recalling old memories, making plans for what we would do when he was out of the big house. I’d never felt better in my life, I don’t think.
And then a clatter, every head in the room turned to where the sound was. There was a man, pale skinned, black eyes, big boots. I’d heard someone call him Jeremy...Jeremiah, something like that. He was noticeably French, but the name didn’t fit. So maybe I had it wrong. I didn’t know what was going on, or what made the clatter. Nobody saw what was going on. I guess that’s what being a criminal is about. But I saw he had a gun. His flaring eyes and shaking hands held it, arms extended, to the line of jailers and visitors. He screamed something that sounded like “JE VEUX QUE MON PÈRE! PÈRE EST MORT.” And tightened his grip on his weapon, tears streaming down his cheeks. He was crazy.
And then he fired.
BANG…BANG.
BANGBANGBANG.
Cops shouted and tried to pin him down, bodies fell to the floor. Screams resonated against the walls. I gripped Alec’s hand with all my might. I heard a scream, and I was shocked to find that it was mine. The shots got louder, closer. But I heard Alec over the shots. “Carr! Run! What the hell are you doing?” his voice was muffled by the plexi glass wall.
“I can’t. I don’t want to.” I knew for sure that he couldn’t get out of there, and that Jeremiah, Jeremy, was going to kill him. No doubt. I couldn’t go any longer without Alec. If he went, I had to. The seconds became hours, until his lips formed around the quiet words I’d been waiting to hear for twelve years now.
“I love you Carolynn Husker.”
The Plexiglas broke between us, shot by Jeremy. Probably planned by an angel. Pieces of it fell and flung, one cut my cheek, another cut Alec’s hand. But I couldn’t feel the pain, I couldn’t hear the gunshots, or the screaming, or the sirens outside. I could only hear a sad, pathetic version of my heartbeat. Alec pulled me over the counter where the broken plastic was scattered and held me close. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Alec.”
And those words, I’d been waiting to say, for those same twelve years.
I basked in the warmth of his embrace, and my stomach didn’t feel so empty and churning anymore. There was pure bliss...
Time sped back up to reality. The shots were closer. Closest. I dug my head into Alec’s shoulder, ignoring my fear, or trying to, at least. I was trembling. Alec was too, so I could feel it less. And then...
BANG.
bca
(Fargo Times,April 11th,1983) :
A shooting occurred at Clay County Jail yesterday afternoon, April 10th 1983. Fourteen individuals were killed, three were seriously injured.
The killer, by the name of Jerome Moreau, was armed with an American Derringer flintlock pistol, and diagnosed with schizotypy weeks before the day of the incident. Witnesses say, before he shot, he shouted: “JE VEUX QUE MON PÈRE! PÈRE EST MORT.”, meaning:” I WANT MY FATHER- FATHER IS DEAD.”, but this particular detail has not been confirmed.
Deputy Ornelle tells our ‘Fargo Times’ about the incident. “It was a sad thing to see so many innocent people killed. One man who had been inhabiting the jail …[mentioned to me beforehand] how he hadn’t seen his kids in years. He was scheduled to …[get out of jail] a few weeks from now.”, Ornelle recalls. “What really pulled my heartstrings was a couple of young people who were visiting, the young girl was in his arms, and one shot was fired right through ‘em both.”He said. “It doesn’t say nothin’ good for our Cass County reputation.”
…
.The End.
