Chapter 15

Concussed and poisoned—my injuries trapped me in a watercolor nightmare. A charcoal filter spread to my fingertips, and a blurry radiance took hold of everything else. Autumn's gold trimmings accentuated the orange and red splotches capping the dying forest. Green Hemlock and Spruce smudged the gaps. Looking up didn’t help the overload.

The sky wasn’t blue anymore; it wasn’t yellow either, not until I started walking and it turned into canary feathers. The grasshopper hums stung my eyes, sunlight tunneled into my ears, wind tickled my tastebuds, and my skin tasted every speck of sooty dust floating through the air.

Nothing worked right. The toxin switched everything as the thin line to my elbow became a snake that twisted up my arm to my shoulder. Lia took my hand. I didn’t know where we were going, and I didn’t care. I’d follow her anywhere.

Lia wrapped her soft fingers around my cracked palm and pulled me through a field of violet crowned grass that tickled my underarms. I grabbed a handful of the coarse tops and twisted them like twine, imagining myself on a tractor, holding a piece in my mouth like I was a farmer.

Rodent nests and thick patches of undergrowth tripped me several times, but Lia helped me up and giggled at the pieces clinging to my vest. I told her about everything, and when I finished, she held my head until I stopped crying like we were kids again. The grass turned to stone and then a narrow street. I had no idea where I was.

Red splinters and scattered boards lay throughout the road, and I made sure to avoid them. My body hurt enough already, and I didn’t want to add a nail in my foot. Lia and I avoided the debris and continued in silence until we reached a chilly intersection, shaded by the trees’ height.

Left or right, I couldn’t remember which direction, but an hour passed before I realized there were no electric wires along the side. No poles and no lines—only tree limbs stretching across the narrow strip of blacktop, creating a false roof of bright gaps and covered shades. The branches built a stained-glass ceiling of protection from the elements.

I had never been down a bike path before; it was prettier than I imagined and probably helped us avoid a town.

Eventually, the pavement turned gravelly, and we headed up an unpaved road. Each step was a burden, and my feet sunk into the crushed rock more than they should have. Dad had a pile of crushed blue and gray stones he used as filler for our driveway. He told mom that it’d be smooth once they blacktopped over it.

I cut myself in dad’s stone pile the same way I cut my hand when I fell on the road. Mom never got that polished surface dad promised, and neither did the street I walked on. The construction crews probably fled the mountains before they finished the job, making a liar out of the local politicians that campaigned on how pothole free the streets were.

On both sides, fuzzy pine trees lined the gritty drive and made me nauseous, much like the view from the backseat of a car going too fast. Indistinct blotches of green and brown clouded further as I hacked into my soul to remove the parasites.

The bugs formed cysts from my soul’s surface and slept inside. Each creature took four hours of butchery to eliminate. Thankfully, once I ripped them out, I had no problem kicking them from my body. But every slice was like carving out a chunk of flesh to remove a sliver. I needed a needle, and I only had a hatchet that rocked my body with each chop. That’s how unfocused the concussion mixed with the toxin made me.

I hadn’t figured out a way to filter the poison, and I didn’t dare try to heal my brain injury unless it became an emergency. Doctors required years of training with essence before they were comfortable messing inside a person’s head. I had a better chance of putting myself into a permanent coma than healing an injury there.

By the time I removed two of the essence creatures, Lia had faded. With each step I took in her direction, she turned a little fainter, disappearing bit by bit. No matter how hard I begged or how fast I ran, Lia refused to come back. She closed her eyes and smiled, just like mom did when she hugged us, then she vanished. Lia left me behind again, and I fell to the ground.

Every time she went away, the same questions crossed my mind. What did I do wrong? Why didn’t Lia stay?

Lia always guided me, and she always left me. She always left me when we arrived. This time, she dropped me off in front of a cheap inn, half wrecked with only the reception hall for check-ins and a sign frozen in time remaining. The Pinebrook Motel.

A throwback to some bygone era that campers and thrifty vacationers enjoyed. What remained of the single-story stop had cedar siding and faded white trim around the smashed windows. I dragged my feet across the ill-maintained parking lot and didn’t bother readying myself for a fight. If Lia brought me here, I was safe.

The bell above the door chimed when I entered, and like an idiot, I stood and waited. Two years ago someone would have yelled from the back, “I’ll be right there,” and I would have replied something like, “Take your time,” for no reason. The employees would think I acted snarky when I meant they didn’t need to rush.

Beige linoleum flooring peeled at the edges of the wood-paneled walls. A ceiling fan dangled from its wires. The crack across the roof that split the room in two was the culprit. And behind a white laminate countertop stained yellow from the years of use sat two petrified bodies in rocking chairs.

An old man dressed in flannel strapped his hand to the wrist of a wrinkly woman wearing a pink floral dress—rings on their fingers and holes in their heads. Many people chose suicide as a way out. They claimed the breaches stole their lives, and through death, they took back what belonged to them. I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind.

The gun laid next to the man’s chair. I couldn’t imagine being the shooter. Killing the person you loved the most, then shooting yourself. “We’re not born to die.” I forgot where I heard that before. Life was precious. Even more so now. The large wooden cross on the far wall told me they understood that. The couple knew that and thought hell was the better option.

I dropped my belongings, placed the pistol in my empty holster, buttoned the man’s shirt to the top, and brushed the woman’s hair out of her face before I removed my helmet and kissed them both on the cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

The only words I had for them, and I was.

I walked past the desk down a narrow corridor leading to the back office. Linoleum transitioned to worn green carpet with pink flower accents, and creeping mildew from the popcorn ceiling reached halfway down the painted sheetrock. I tapped my helmet and leaned against the wall as I inched my way towards the end. Two rooms. An office to my left where the couple stored receipts and keys, and a room on my right that should have made me drop to my knees in thanks.

Inside, an ice machine well past its prime and an intact double vending machine with snacks and drinks filled the small space. But my stomach stopped talking to me, and it was hard to feel happy after the last few days.

Where were they when I fell into a starvation trap? Where were those machines holding so much food when I needed them? Fuck those machines and the candy inside.

I pulled my mace, slammed the ice machine, and threw it to the ground, stomping until my foot caved the sheet metal into the cooler. I pounded it with the flanged club until it tore a hole into the body and refused to break free. Once I finished it for good, I moved to the next monstrosity.

My fist landed on the plexiglass window of the vending machine, and I didn’t quit punching until I couldn’t feel my hand. I kicked it, slammed my shoulder into it, swung my helmet until the window popped from its frame, and I kicked it some more.

I didn’t stop until every part of my body ached, and I screamed. As loud as I could, I screamed, and I cursed at the bolted appliance. I cried and dug my fingers into my face, then ripped at my hair with my mangled fingers. Fuck this world and everyone in it. They should all die. We should all die.

I walked back to the entrance and dropped to the floor next to the reception desk, hiding my face behind my arms. There was no reason to hide. Nobody would see me. Nobody saw the snot connect to the drool from my mouth and the tears mixed with blood dripping on the floor. They didn’t see me bang my head into the desk over and over and over again.

Nobody would hear the hoarse wails that dragged on until I broke to catch my breath. They wouldn’t hear my coughs. Nobody cared about my dry heaving on the floor. They wouldn’t hear me begging, “Please. Please. Please.”

Nobody would see, and nobody would hear, because there was nobody to see, and there was nobody to hear. Anyone who loved me was gone. The owners realized everyone left. And I clung to the hope they’d come back for me. As long as I was good, they’d come back.

Why wouldn’t they come back? Why did they leave me? I wasn’t a bad person. So why did they go? I wasn’t a bad person. They shouldn’t have left. Damn them. Damn every single one of them but Lia. I wasn’t a bad person, so they had no excuses.

I slid down the desk until I laid on my side, tapping my head on the linoleum. Perhaps if I hit it enough, my brain would work again. Nobody would know anyway. I was alone. Alone and tired in a way sleep couldn’t cure.

Before I closed my eyes, I apologized to Lia. I apologized because I wanted to kill Mike and make him pay for what he did to her. But given the option, I’d rather go to sleep. I’d go to sleep, and I’d never wake up. Three bodies next to a reception desk.

I didn’t want to wake up.