Taking Stock (27 page)
Authors: Scott Bartlett
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Humor & Satire, #Humorous, #Literary, #contemporary fiction, #american, #Dark Comedy, #General Humor, #Satire, #Literary Fiction, #Humor, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Psychological, #Romance, #Thrillers
I ask to speak with a nurse. She lets me into a private room and follows me in, closing the door behind her.
“What’s wrong, Sheldon?”
I close my eyes. Through my eyelids, the fluorescent light looks red.
I say, “I had a dream. I think—I think something terrible happened. Before I was admitted.”
“And what’s that?”
“I don’t know. I—”
“Yes?”
In my mind’s eye, I see streaks of blood on a windshield.
“Sheldon?”
My eyes are wide. My breath catches. I draw my knees close to my chest, and I stare into space.
I remember.
I remember saying “Holy fuck,” and Gilbert remaining completely silent.
I remember sitting in the Hummer for what seemed like forever, and finally, Gilbert opening his door and getting out. Stumbling as he did.
“Sheldon?” the nurse says. “Would you like to go to your room?”
I remember opening the passenger side door, my heart pounding with terror, my mind screaming
don’t look run away pretend it didn’t happen
.
I remember seeing the torn, motionless heap that, moments ago, was a boy, surely no older than 16. I remember earphones trailing from his ears, connected to nothing—his phone lying on the asphalt several meters away.
“Would you like me to call Sam?” the nurse says.
I remember hearing the car door close, and looking back, making eye contact with Gilbert through the blood-spattered windshield.
Him backing up, driving past the corpse, and disappearing around the next turn.
*
Sam is here. He says the police will have more questions for me once I’m released from the psych ward, and I’ll have to appear in court. I give a slight nod. I’m staring at the desk that’s next to the bed across from mine. My eyes feel dry.
A nurse comes in. “How’s he doing?” she asks Sam.
“Still pretty upset.”
She nods. “Would you like some Ativan, Sheldon?”
I look at her hands, clasped at her midsection.
“It’ll help with your anxiety,” she says. “We’ll only give you a small dose.”
One of her thumbs is rubbing the back of the other hand.
“Will I get you some?” she says.
I look at her chin.
“No,” I say. I want to say: I need to feel this—I deserve to.
But I don’t, because nothing is worth saying.
“What’s that?” she says. “I didn’t hear you, dear.”
“He said no, thanks,” Sam says.
“All right. Let me know if you need anything.”
She leaves.
Gilbert is gone. The police officer said they don’t know where he is.
I’m the only one left who knows about Eric, and no one will believe me, now.
“Would you like to go out into the garden, Sheldon?” Sam says.
I look out the window. It’s raining lightly.
“Okay,” I say.
We walk down the hall. Sam tries to push open the door, but it’s locked. He goes, and returns with a nurse. She sticks her key in the lock.
We go out and sit on the wet bench. We gaze through the chain-link fence at the busy road beyond.
I look up. A crow is perched on top of the fence. I think it stares back at me, but I can’t be sure.
Its head twitches. It caws, and flies away.
THE END
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Taking Stock
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Scott Bartlett was born 1987, in Newfoundland, Canada, where he currently lives.
Scott’s fiction has won several awards, including the H. R. (Bill) Percy Prize for
Royal Flush
, as well as the Percy Janes First Novel Award and the Lawrence Jackson Writers’ Award for
Taking Stock
.
His short fiction has received recognition as well. His story “
The Proletarian
” placed 2
nd
in Grain Magazine’s Canada-wide Short Grain competition, and “Author’s Note” was shortlisted for the 2014 Cuffer Prize.
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To anyone who has suffered from mental illness
My Mom read this book three times at various points during the revision process and provided valuable feedback on its development. So thank you to her, for that and for the endless support she’s given me since the day I decided to be a novelist, eleven years ago.
Thank you also to my Dad, who gave me feedback on an early draft and who has also been extremely supportive.
Thank you to my friend and fellow writer Matthew Daniels, who gave extensive feedback on an early draft as well as the second-to-last one. Matthew and I have been swapping feedback on each other’s work for years, an arrangement for which I am very grateful.
Thank you to the Newfoundland and Labrador Arts Council, who gave me a grant to write
Taking Stock
and who awarded it the Lawrence Jackson Writers’ Award. The NLAC’s logo can be found at the bottom of these acknowledgments.
Thank you to Samuel Thomas Martin, who provided very encouraging and helpful feedback as adjudicator for the Percy Janes First Novel Award.
Thank you to the Writers’ Alliance of Newfoundland and Labrador, for accepting me into their excellent Mentorship Program. Successful applicants are assigned a professional writer with years of experience, who then offers extensive comments on a manuscript over a five-month period. Thank you to Sara Tilley, who was my mentor. Her comments helped me view the manuscript from angles I hadn’t considered, and
Taking Stock
benefited tremendously from her careful scrutiny.
Thank you to Michael Winter, who provided feedback on the first chapter as Writer in Residence at Memorial University of Newfoundland.
Thank you to Lezlee Coombs, Danielle Tucker, and Raven Warren, who made editorial contributions on the first draft.
Thank you to my beta readers for helping me develop the final draft. They are Sandra Bos, Melanie Jensen, Agnes Mason, Andrew Mercer, Nicole Parsons, Kyle Rees, Eben Viljoen, Kimberly Walsh, and Sam Westcott.
Thank you to the many people I’ve connected with through my website, Twitter, and Facebook, who read my stories, write reviews, and help spread the word. I couldn’t do this without you.
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