Trying the Knot (33 page)

“Hey, what’re you doing walking around this
late at night all alone?” Nick reprimanded paternally. As she
summoned the energy to unleash the story of her messed up evening,
he wondered aloud, “You haven’t seen Kate tonight, have you?”

“No, why is she missing?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, but I
really need to talk to her, so it’s important I find her.”

“So, she’s only sort of missing? How did that
happen?”

“It’s a long story,” Nick said, and he walked
along with her, in order to see she made it home safely. “You are
going home, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Alexa said. They walked side by side,
and an occasional rustle of wind sent water droplets falling from
tree leaves. “Well, I hope nothing is too wrong, and you find
her.”

Nick said unconvincingly, “I’m sure things
will work out fine.”

They continued walking in awkward silence,
until their repeated attempts to speak at once digressed into a fit
of laughter.

“You go first,” Alexa said.

“No, you go,” Nick insisted.

“It wasn’t any big deal,” Alexa said laughing
a little, and she wondered what it was that had Nick so worried he
was combing the streets on foot for Kate in the middle of the
night.

“No, I want to hear what you have to
say.”

“It’s not Evangelica, is it? I mean, she’s
okay, isn’t she?”

“No, no, she’s fine. It’s not that at all,”
Nick said with sudden reassurance. He thrust his hands in his front
pockets and looked up at the stars, which were mostly choked out by
rain clouds.

“Tell me,” he began, “do you have many
friends?”

“I don’t know, not too many I guess,” Alexa
said. Defensive, she wondered the point of his inquiry. “Why? It’s
not like I’m out to win a popularity contests or anything.”

“It’s fine. I was popular in high school,”
Nick said casually. “But popularity isn’t the same as being
well-liked. Are you well-liked by the people you’re close to?”

“I guess so.”

With his thumb, he brushed gently under her
eye. “You’re bruised. Were you hit?”

“Something like that,” Alexa responded. Her
cheek still ached from the rock Jack pelted at her face.

“Make sure to put some ice on that. You’re
going to have a wicked black eye tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, okay.”

“You’re a pretty girl,” Nick observed, as a
matter of fact. “Have you ever wondered why it’s human nature to
lash out at what’s beautiful?”

“I’m not beautiful, not like Vange,” Alexa
said, suddenly self-conscious. She slowed her pace as they neared
her parent’s house. “I guess I never think about it much.”

“What do you think about then?”

“I don’t know, senior year, college,
Evangelica, my brother, Jack and all his problems,” Alexa rattled
off, and she added, “Why nothing seems to work out. Ever. Stuff
like that.”

“So, you’re big on plans?”

“I guess so.”

“You should try to go with the flow, it makes
life easier, trust me,” he said and stopped at the corner
streetlamp outside her parent’s home. “One day, you’ll be in your
mid-twenties and things won’t seem so weighted and heavy, and
you’ll realize there’s not much you can do except to live and let
live, you know?”

Alexa eyed him with concern as he became
increasingly lost in his thoughts. She whispered thanks, and she
leaned close to him and hugged him. She thought more than anything
in the world, what he needed was a hug, and she was happy to
provide it, but then she foolishly kissed him on the lips when he
released her from the embrace. Instinctively, Nick’s mouth opened
and accepted her tongue, but he stepped back as she moved closer to
him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, raising his hands.
“I’ve got to find Kate.”

“I’m s-sorry,” repeated Alexa, as she flushed
crimson. She felt incredibly stupid, and refused to look up at
him.

“It’s all right. It’s okay.”

“It’s just it’s been such a freaked-out
night, and everything’s so out of whack. You know, when everything
seems so real and alive – everything except yourself?” she asked.
She was afraid she was not making any sense. It was as if she had
lapsed into a kind of dream state, a transparent hologram.

“All too well, I know what that feels like,”
Nick said, and he held out his hand, which she held onto eagerly.
“Hey promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

“How do I manage to avoid that?”

“By saving yourself for someone truly
worthy.”

“I will, promise.”

He laughed, “Good.”

Nick wished to explain that cheapness was not
a thing to be embraced lightly as it resulted in a heavy film not
easily cleansed away. He knew only too well, and he had nearly
given up hope of ever ridding himself of it. Instead of issuing her
cryptic warnings, he gave her a pat on the shoulder and a peck on
the forehead. Then he wandered away into the night.

Alexa watched him, wondering why it was he
seemed so melancholy, and she concluded his was positively the most
beautiful bruised soul she had ever caught a glimpse of.

The smell of cigarette butts and crusty
bodily excretions hung heavy in the air as the mammoth Oldsmobile
coasted along Portnorth’s vacant alleyways. Trying to forget how to
breathe, Jack pressed himself against the passenger door and let
his imagination run rampant with what horrible acts of sodomy had
transpired between old Uncle Carey Derry and his previous
delinquent passengers.

Derry Queen’s fleshy mouth quavered as he
sucked on his extra long cigarette. Except for liver spots
splattered across his hairline, Derry’s skin resembled an
undercooked donut.

The car swerved jarringly across the
rain-slicked pavement whenever the old lounge lizard’s eyes drifted
toward the delicate fawn perched beside him. His white, slip-on
dress shoes tapped against the floor mat to the beat of Judy
Garland’s forceful wails. Almost as forcefully, his bulging belly
threatened to burst through its burgundy polyester confines.

Unnerved by his driving companion’s look of
terror, Carey frowned and said, “Relax. You’re in safe hands.”

“Now there’s a visual I could live without,”
Jack snapped back.

“You got a dirty mind,” Carey laughed. “I
like that in a person.”

“You’re sick.”

“Flattery gets ‘em every time. Let me turn
you on.”

“Huh?”

Carey Derry encouraged Jack to open the
tattered briefcase, and he studied the young innocent’s reaction to
the overflowing gold mine of drugs and accompanying paraphernalia.
Various sizes of half filled Ziploc bags were strewn about inside
the briefcase, along with what appeared to be a toy, pearl handled
pistol.

“I don’t get high,” Jack said. Adamantly
revolted, he silently vowed if he ever made it out of the car
unscathed he would never again dabble in mind-altering
substances.

“Everybody got stoned in the old days,” Uncle
Carey said nostalgically. “It must be a real drag belonging to the
“Just Say No” generation.” He pulled a gold cigarette case from his
fake lambs wool vest pocket, and he asked, “Want a smoke, to calm
your troubled teenage nerves? Or don’t you do that either?”

“Okay, I’ll take one of your queen-sized
cancer sticks,” Jack said, and he let the old man’s gnarled hand
light the cigarette. Jack immediately began coughing, and he
gasped, “Ugh, menthol.”

Derry Queen pressed the automatic window
button, which descended, and Jack tossed out the offending
cigarette. The old man shook his head and lamented, “You’re holding
onto thousands of dollars of feel-good treats. I’ve got Quaaludes,
Ephedrine, cocaine, LSD, Peyote, angel dust, and pot and hash. I
even got some Ecstasy that all the English kids are doing at raves.
Have you ever been to an all-night rave-up?”

“No.”

“I have, in an old abandoned warehouse in
downtown Detroit where they play techno music all night long. I’ll
take you to one if you want – they can get pretty wild,” Derry
cautioned.

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s nice to explore new and different
things. It keeps the mind alive, the spirit young.” Derry was
contemplative for several minutes, and he steered the yacht-sized
automobile with ease around a sharp corner. He flicked his
lizard-like tongue over his fleshy mouth, and he said
pragmatically, “You know, it might not be a bad idea for you to
skip town for a while. I’ve been following your exploits in the
Police Beat and Court News columns in the Portnorth Porthole.”

“I don’t want to go nowhere.”

“Well, it’s kind of obvious that’s where
you’re headed,” Derry offered. “You’re headed the wrong way down a
one way street.”

Jack shifted uncomfortably and peered out at
the rainy blackness that loomed beyond the racing windshield
wipers. As the gigantic car sped past Main Street headed for the
highway, Jack imagined a brightly illuminated silo looming far off
into the distance beckoning them like a gussied-up beacon.

“Thanks for bailing me out of jail and all,
but you can just take me home.”

“I don’t think you’re getting the proper
supervision there that a boy needs,” Derry said. “For now, I think
you’ll be better off out at the farm. It’s a real groovy
place.”

“Whatever.”

With a deep sigh, Carey Derry pulled the car
over to the side of the road near the entrance of Portnorth’s
Everlasting Peace Cemetery. Sliding closer to his trembling
passenger, Uncle Carey placed his hand on his shoulder and said
flatly, “Listen here, you little shit. We have a connection of
sorts. When I do nice things for you, don’t get the wrong idea.
It’s not because I want anything from you, or even like you, but
it’s out of obligation.” The old man massaged Jack’s shoulder
roughly and breathed his hot stale breath onto Jack’s cheek.

Jack reached for the door handle only to
discover it was missing, like in the back seat of a police car.

“You have no idea, but your mother was my
goddaughter.”

Just as Jack imagined Scary Carey Derry Queen
was about to make the big plunge for the shriveled prize between
his legs, he screamed, “All the more reason you should get your
hands off of me, you creepy old pervert!”

Jack nimbly clambered over the sweaty man
while groping for the door handle on the driver’s side.

“What the hell is wrong with you, kid?” Carey
Derry called out. He wrapped his hairy arms around Jack’s waist and
pulled him close. As Jack fumbled for the door, he felt his knee
grind into the old man’s crotch. His free hand dislodged the car
from gear, and the big yellow Oldsmobile slowly rolled backwards.
As the door flung open, Jack dove onto the wet asphalt and stumbled
to his feet. He scurried, fast and furious, away from the moving
car, which sank trunk first toward a soggy ditch.

“Jacky, Jacky, don’t run away,” the old man
cried out to the empty darkness, but Jack continued to run from the
glare of the headlights illuminating ominous tombstones that sat
spread out on the other side of the wrought iron fence. Jack gasped
for breath as he trudged toward the cemetery entrance. While
jogging, his eyes stung with sweat and salty tears streamed down
his flushed cheeks.

Propelling him onward was a faded, crumpled
Polaroid snapshot of his mother. In the distance, his mind’s eye
vision of Kaye Hesse awaited with outstretched arms. He had only
known one other loving set of arms so comforting, and they belonged
to Evangelica. Now she also threatened to slip away.

His feet collided dully against slippery
gravel, and the rain pelted his face like needles. Realizing he had
nowhere to run, Jack slowed down to an unhurried pace as he found
himself in the cemetery. His jaw clenched defiantly, he stood firm
against the darkness. Ahead, automobile lights illuminated the
surrounding tombstones like rays of hope. Flooded with a feeling of
regret, he succumbed to despair when he recognized the nearing
headlights. As the lights beamed brighter, he became riddled with
an unbridled fear.

The approaching monster truck charged
dangerously fast toward Jack as his tired feet carried him onto a
two track road that wound around tombstones taller than a grown
man. There was no escape. The wild honking pursued him unmercifully
over slippery stones and pooling mud puddles.

“Hey, Jerkoff Hesse,” one of the Czerwinski
twins hollered out the window.

“Want a ride, Jackass?”

The truck sped past him, and then it spun
wildly around to face him. Caught like an inevitable road kill in
the glare of headlights, he stood stupefied. As the truck revved
its engine, he fled the bright lights by dodging behind a towering
tombstone. As he surveyed the darkness, he understood there was no
earthly way to flee the footsteps that charged after him sounding
with bloodlust.

Running and gasping for breath, Jack tripped
over a freshly dug grave and fell to the ground. He ate a mouthful
of mud and remained sprawled face down in the dirt.

Behind him, two sets of identical footsteps
charged closer and threatening. Before long, he felt the full
weight of the Czrewinski twins as their knees bore down against his
backside, and he was thrust deeper into the soggy wet earth. Unable
to see, Jack’s face was shoved into the mud, and he struggled to
breathe. The only thing he could hear for miles was cracking of his
own ribs and the twisted cackles emitting from the identical spawns
of Satan.

It was not until he heard the popping sounds
of firecrackers that the blows stopped, and he felt himself
slipping into semi-unconsciousness.

In the top floor of the Portnorth Porthole
building, the illustrious editor sat Indian style with a mirrored
tray resting on his bare knees. Across from him, Tristana inhaled
her clove cigarette and reached out to lift the tray upwards, so as
to allow him easier access to the white powder lines he had
carefully arranged with an overdrawn credit card.