'Til Death Do Us Part (11 page)

“
Roll up your window,
”
Gary asked BT as he shivered.

M
ike
J
ournal
E
ntry 2

The sound of a small engine car racing past the house awoke me from m
y daze, that and the crazy, long-
haired bastard that was looking down at me.

“
Are you real?
”
h
e asked.

“
Where the fuck am I?
”
I asked as I was peering around the room that was covered from floor to ceiling and the ceiling itself in tin foil.

“
Hey...hey...hey!
”
h
e started.
“
I
’
m asking the hyperboles!
”

So I know my grasp of the English language is suspect at best, but even I knew that was an incorrect sentence.

“
Ask away,
”
I said weakly. I felt marginally better than I had when I fell into the house, but how much better
was still in question. If crazy-eyed, long-
haired
,
bearded man attacked right now with more than a plastic spoon I would be done for.

“
I
’
m asking the questions here,
”
h
e said
,
trying to establish his authority.

“
You said you were asking the hyperboles?
”

“
Why the fuck would I say that?
That makes absolutely no sense,
”
h
e said
,
scratching his head.
“
Why you here? Did they send you?
”

“
Can I get a drink first?
”
I asked, my throat felt like it was on fire, which I guess wasn
’
t
t
o
o
far removed from the truth.

“
I dance on my bed.
”

How do these people find me? It
’
s like I have a heavy dose of crazy attractant sprayed all over me.
“
That
’
s nice,
”
w
as all I could think to say in return.

“
Scotch okay? I don
’
t drink water since the government started putting fl
uoride in it. It makes you dumb,
”
h
e said
,
tapping his finger against his head.

“
So how much water did you drink before you realized
that?
”
I asked him.

Bearded M
an was already heading into the
kitchen;
I think he was muttering something about Kelly Clarkson. I could hear the rattle of glasses and then a few of them smashing.

“
You alright?
”
I asked as I tried to sit up.

“
Thought I saw bugs,
”
c
ame his reply.

“
What
’
s with the tin foil?
”

“
What tin foil?
”
h
e said as he came back into the room holding two large glasses filled to the top with an amber colored liquid I could only hope was scotch and not Pine-Sol.

“
Need some help?
”
h
e asked as he put the glasses down and extended his hand.

I was grateful for the help
,
but was afraid to touch him lest my burned flesh slough off in his grip.

“
Come on
,
man, I haven
’
t bitten anyone since that one time in the K-Mart parking lot
,
and I thought he was an alligator
,
”
h
e said
,
seeing my hesitation.

“I’m kind of burned bad, and I’m not sure if my skin will stay on.”

“
You
’
r
e
funny
,
man! You
’
re dirty as hell
,
I
’
ll give you that
,
but you ain
’
t burned. I mean I thought you were when you came in, but the more I looked at you the more convinced I was you were just a dirty bastard.
”

I looked down at my hands.
There
seemed to be some residual burn marks
,
but it was nothing like what
I
had been looking at when I was in the roadway.
I winced as
he grabbed my hand, still half-
convinced he would fall backwards with a fair portion of human material stuck in his grasp. My body popped and snapped as I stood, but I felt like a caterpillar shedding its old cocoon and becoming a butterfly. O
kay…
so that really isn
’
t a manly enough metaphor, let
’
s go with a snake shedding its old skin, that works much better and probably a lot closer to the truth considering what I was now. Half, half of what I am. I had to hold onto that other half with everything I had now.
I picked up my glass and took a large swallow, the liquid alternating between burning and soothing my throat.

“
How did the government know I was here?
”
Bearded M
an asked.

I gripped the edge of a small table as a serious case of vertigo swooned by me.
“
Whoa, cheap high,
”
I said
,
harkening back to a reference I had used since my youth whenever I got
light-
headed from rising too quickly.

“
There is nothing cheap about my high
s,
”
Bearded M
an said indignantly.

I thought I had crazy cornered, shit was I wrong.
“No one sent me, definitely not the government. I was trying to get away.”

“
From her?
”
h
e asked.

The swoon struck again, I tried not to let him see it.

T
hen he moved on.
“
I once ate a Snickers bar on a dare.
”

Who the hell doesn
’
t like Snickers bars?
I thought
,
and who would
‘
dare
’
someone to
eat
one
?

“
Can we start again?
”
I asked.

“
When did we finish?
”
h
e asked back.

How many gods have I pissed off?
I wailed internally.

“
My name is Michael Talbot,
”
I said as I extended my hand
,
thinking he would shake it
,
then tell me his name. He looked at my proffered hand like it was a claw.

“
No way
,
man
,
”
h
e said.

I understood not shaking hands;
he could be a fellow germaphobe.
But that didn
’
t make any sense considering that
he had just helped me to stand.

“
Okay,
”
I said
,
pulling my hand back in, unconsciously rubbing it against my side. Blue jean material fell way like dried s
and. I began to brush my legs. M
ore fried clothing fell to the ground.

“
Dude
,
you
’
re messing with my high man,
”
Bearded
Man
said as he backed up.

I stopped what I was doing
,
realizing that if I kept it up I would be naked in front of another man
real soon
. (Not that there
’
s anything wrong with that, it just isn
’
t my cup of tea.
O
kay
,
so tea doesn
’
t seem masculine enough, let
’
s go with lager, yeah it
’
s not my stein of lager, much better).

“
Are you melting?
”
h
e asked
,
still backing up.

“
Molting more like it.
”
I gulped down my apprehension as I began to ask him my next question.
“
Do you have any clothes I could borrow?
”
As it was
,
I had to wash store bought clothes twice before I would ever wear them
,
and now I was asking this unkempt stranger if I could borrow some of his stuff.

His eyes glazed for half a second then some lucidity popped in for a quick respite.
“
Sure I
’
ll be right back.
”

What the fuck?
I mouthed
. This guy was insane…
I was just hoping not
criminally
insane. I can deal with varying degrees
of insanity;
I
’
m a Talbot after all.

He came back a few moments later with a heavy woolen poncho
, w
hite socks with yellow stripes—
I hadn
’
t seen anything
like those since grade school—a
pair of pants that looked fashionable during the Nixon era
,
and some t
ightie-
whities.

I gladly accepted just about
everything except the underwear.
They
could have been brand new
,
but the mere fact that he had touched them
made them
soiled in my eyes. And these were far from Inspector Number 5
’
s hands
;
the elastic waistband was all stretched and worn out and there was a small hole in the seat.

“
I was going to toss those soon,
”
h
e said as he watched me looking at the underwear.

“
Well I
’
m glad you found it in your heart to hold onto them until you bequeathed them
to
me.
”

“
You
’
re welcome, want some french fries?
”

“
Thank you and yes.
”
What the hell else could I say? Who turns down french fries? Plus
,
I thought it would give me an opportunity to stash the underwear while he went into the other room to gather the mythical fried spuds.