Breaking Glass (15 page)

I looked down, not so sure if that was still true. “You’ve got to stop fucking around behind her back, Ryan. It’s not right.”

“I know.”

“Why do you do it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there’s something wrong with me.”

“Maybe there’s something wrong with all of us.”

Someone came over to Ryan and whispered in his ear. “Fuck,” he said. “She left. Walked out in those heels on Halloween night. We have to get her.”

“We?”

“I’m too pissed to walk a straight line, bro. I’m going to need your help.”

Neither of us had our driver’s licenses yet, so we got an older teammate with a license and a car to help us search for Susannah. It didn’t take long to find her, limping barefoot in the dark alongside the road, heels in her hands.

The car slowed to a halt. Ryan got out and ran up behind her. Susannah wailed and pushed him roughly. Ryan fell backward onto his rump, laughing like a fool. He yelled for me to help; idiot that I was, I got out of the car and went to his aid.

Together, we wrestled Susannah like a baby calf and got her in the car. Ryan wrapped her in his arms, and I held my breath as she melted into him. I looked away as they kissed sloppily, then I slumped into the front passenger seat of the car, wishing I was as drunk as they were.

Our friend drove Susannah and Ryan back to the Morgans’ place. On the way we passed the Durbans’ old frame house. The windows were dark, but the carpet of crosses was woven with miles of toilet paper.

Curled into Ryan’s embrace, Susannah pointed at it, and together they laughed so hard, they could barely catch their breath.

And I laughed with them.

Now

I can’t focus on what I’m supposed to be doing. Spidery fingers of pain shimmy from my hip to my spine. I fidget in the recliner and struggle to find a comfortable position, but nothing works.

I glance at the clock. Only three hours since I took the last three Vikes. Alarm bells are sounding in my head. The more I take, the more I seem to need.

But an army of pain is advancing up my back, as if one puny stump isn’t enough territory and it’s out to conquer my entire body. I take two more pills and wait for the warm waters to soothe the pain away.

Finally comfortable, I settle into the recliner, press the packet of hair and the ring to my chest, kick back, and watch the candles dance.

Time drifts. Silence murmurs. The edges of the room darken until there is only the flame glowing bright at its center. I smile. Susannah’s dancing there, waving her arms and legs around in a fugue state, like she did at the Senior Harvest Ball this past November. Her eyes sparkle as she gestures wildly for me to join her.

“Suze,” I mumble, my words slurring. The room ripples like windblown silk. “I don’t dance anymore.”

My lids droop closed and I laugh at the absurd thought of me dancing. I could do great pirouettes, I want to add, but it’s too much effort to say so.

You need to go deeper to find me, Jeremy
.

“Deeper,” I mutter through rubbery lips. A floating feeling tickles my extremities. I’m drifting out on warm ocean water, a raft at sea.

The room is a membrane. If I can break through the thin boundary that separates me from Susannah, I know I can get to her.

My breathing slows, each breath harder and harder to pull in. Sweat breaks out on my brow. I’m nailed to the chair, unable to move.

Susannah’s motioning to me, directing me toward her like a traffic cop. But the flame snuffs out. I’m plunged into darkness.

I try to move my lips. To open my eyes. I’m frozen. I’m cold. So cold.

The floor creaks. Voices. Someone shakes my shoulders. Hard.

Dad
, I say, but no sound comes out. My eyes flutter up into their sockets and stay there.
Dad, help
, I try to call out again. But it’s only a puff of breath.

I’m sinking into the chair. Sinking. The water is cold. And dark.

Shit.

I wanted to bring her back, I think as I fall—
I didn’t want to join her
.

Water sweeps by in iridescent shades of blue and green. I float over piles of debris—gutted cars, furniture, and broken china—until I’m drawn into an open expanse of white flowers dotting the craggy rock floor. Searching, I paddle on, the feel of two working legs pushing against the water indescribably wonderful.

I glance behind me and spot the silky thread that trails in my wake, tethering me to the surface like a scuba diver.

Jeremy. Here!

Susannah smiles up at me, the hair fanned out around her face like the sun’s rays. I reach for her hand. She clasps mine firmly. I pull her toward me, and holding hands, we swim upward, until we break the surface.

Back in Dad’s study, it takes a second before I realize that something is not right—for one thing, I am standing on two legs. And I’m not wet.

Red and blue lights bleed through the shuttered blinds. Uniformed people swarm the recliner. I strain for a glimpse of what they’re so busy fussing over.

It’s me they’re gathered around, my face powder blue, lips deep indigo.

“Jeremy,” Susannah says. “This is my fault.”

I study her, perplexed. She’s here. In my room.

I pull her close. Inhale the scent of vanilla that clings to her hair and enfold her in my arms. “You wanted to come.”

“Not like this.”

The EMT workers fasten paddles to my chest and slam them against me with violent thrusts. I see my body jerk like bacon on a griddle. Zap.
Zap
.

Faint sensations zing through my chest. Susannah smiles warmly and releases my hand. We’re pulled apart as I’m sucked down the drain by a whirling torrent.

It’s so dark. And quiet. I can’t open my eyes. But I know she’s gone.

Someone lifts my eyelid and shines a spear of light into my cranium. Pain lances through every vein. I can’t scream. Warbling voices grind in my ears, marbles rattling in tin cans. Hands touch me. Press at me. Cold. They’re so cold.

I can’t swim any more—so I sink—this time like a stone.

I know by the smells where I am. I pry my eyes open a sliver. Dad sits beside me, hands covering his face.

Every inch of me radiates agony. My leg twitches. The stump bangs uselessly against the bedding. I gasp, my lips moving soundlessly.

Dad peels the hands from his face to reveal reddened eyes and a day’s growth of beard.

He leans closer. “Why, Jeremy?”

I let out a breath. Struggle to pull another one back in. It cuts like fingernails gouging into my lungs.

“I…it was an accident.”

Fuck. They’ve got me on suicide watch. They’re going to keep me in the hospital for four days to wean me off the poison and evaluate me after. I’m visited by Patrick Morgan’s recommended psychiatrist, Dr. Kopeck, who has long, dark red hair swept into a loose updo and wears glossy vampire-red lipstick. With her black framed glasses, she looks like a stripper in a doctor costume.

She sits crisply by my bedside, studying me and scribbling notes on a pad.

“What were you thinking when you took those pills, Jeremy? That you wanted to die?”

“N-no!” I shout through my chattering teeth. “I was th-thinking my f-fucking stump hurts!” Life’s become a duel between the writhing pain of the withdrawal, the burning fire in my stump, and getting this bitch out of my room.

“I see,” she says, and scribbles some more.

The second day, savage tremors rip through my body as the Vicodin reluctantly retreats.

“We’re almost through, Jeremy,” Dr. Kopeck says.

I’m strapped to the bed to keep me from falling off. I scream for hours on end that I didn’t want to die, but I think I’m dying now. It doesn’t help much.

On the third day, Chaz visits. Therapy has to be kept up, he instructs mildly, or the leg won’t fit into a prosthetic. Isn’t the pain worth the chance to walk again, he asks?

“Sure,” I grunt, and consider jamming the remains of my leg squarely between his rust-colored eyebrows.

Dad stays by my side the entire time, watching. Saying nothing.

That night, I’m sweaty, limp, and feeling like a discarded banana peel. The pain is constant, and I realize I’m going to have to make peace with it because it is here to stay.

Dr. Kopeck breezes in and addresses Dad. “Good evening. We’ve determined that your son’s overdose was likely an accident, Mr. Glass, and that his rehabilitative needs take precedence at this time. Tomorrow, he’ll be released. However.” She peers ominously over the rim of her glasses and speaks directly to me. She barely stops to take a breath. “Given the family predisposition to mental illness, you’ll be closely monitored, Jeremy, to safeguard against further substance abuse
as well as
to watch for suicidal indications. Have a good night.”

She pivots on her spiky pumps, ushering Dad out of the room.

I roll over onto my stomach to let the coolness of the sheets press against my bare chest.

I’m beginning to wish I’d stayed with Susannah.

It’s then I hear the curtains rustle. There’s a slight breeze. Something cool touches my back, slides up and down my spine. I roll onto my back. There’s no one there.

But I know she’s come.

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