Part 25 (2/2)

I finally kicked off the last of the offal, made it to Horace, and took a hit off his IV tube. Tasted like morphine.

”I think there may be an exit this way. I feel a breeze.”

”Mmmm. Morphine.”

”Harry, you moron, are you listening to me?”

”Yeah, yeah, breeze, exit, I'll be there in a minute.”

”Are you eating something?”

”I'm n.o.b eebing ebbyfib.”

The morphine went down easy, just like Aunt Emma, and soon all of my various aches and pains were replaced with a non-specific sense of well being. I tied a knot in the tube, pulled the bag off the IV stand, and then plodded off in the direction of Mayhem's insults.

I found the wall, and my hand touched something wet, sort of like a water balloon coated in baby oil. I squeezed it. It popped. Thank G.o.d for total darkness.

”Over here, McGlade. I think I found a door.”

I came up next to him and felt around.

”What gave it away?” I asked. ”The doork.n.o.b?”

”It's locked.”

”No s.h.i.+t.”

”It feels like one of those bathroom door locks. If we stick something small and thin in the hole, we can open it.”

I started to giggle. Some jokes don't even need to be said aloud.

”Feel around for a nail or something.”

”I'm on it,” I said. Then I sat down and stuck the morphine needle in my mouth.

”Harry? Harry, are you searching for something?”

”Mmmm-hmmm.”

Someone, probably Andrew, kicked me. I giggled. Then I felt a pair of hands s.n.a.t.c.h away my morphine bag.

”Dammit, McGlade, you're getting high!”

”Just taking the edge off. Do you see that bunny?”

I reached out to pat the bunny, and he did a funny little bunny dance.

”Okay, I think I can use this needle.”

”Don't bogart it. Save some for your buddy Harry.

I heard a metallic clicking sound, then the sound of a k.n.o.b turning, then the sound of a door opening, then the sound of two leprechauns having s.e.x.

”Grab her in her Lucky Charms,” I said to them.

They laughed, and gave me a big hug. So did the bunny. Then I bit my tongue really hard, just to see if I could feel anything. I couldn't. Life was swell.

”Here's a switch.”

A light went on in the room next to me, which scared away the leprechauns. I started to yell at Mayhem to turn the light off, and saw him walking up a flight of stairs. I followed him, because, after all, he had the morphine, and when we got to the top there was another door.

”I think this leads outside,” said someone, possibly me, possibly Andy, possibly the large walrus in the clown hat who I had named George.

I loved George.

Andrew opened the door, and standing there were two police officers, and I was 96% sure there weren't a hallucination.

”Thank G.o.d,” Andrew Mayhem said. ”We've been held prisoner in a house full of psychopaths who think they're vampires.”

”And there was a bunny,” I added.

Then the cop on the left grinned, and I felt very confused because it looked like he had really sharp fangs.

Stop.

When Harry and I agreed to relate the unpleasant tale of our unfortunate adventure together, we set some ground rules. First, and most important, was that I would not write in the same room as him. I think we can all agree that this was fair and just. If fewer people spent time in rooms with Harry McGlade, the world would be a much happier place.

Second, we agreed not to debate each other's contributions to the narrative. So though Harry's side of the story has certain...ah, lapses in accuracy, I let them go. He mostly got the big picture right, if not the details.

I was cool with this until I read his last section, where we suddenly have a completely fabricated conversation that makes me look like an insensitive idiot. I'm not going to lie to you, I've been an insensitive idiot on many an occasion, but when a guy is chained up in the bas.e.m.e.nt with his intestines slopping out onto the floor, even at my most insensitive and most idiotic I would not try to cheer him up with news that his wife is shacking up with a biker dude.

Correction #1: My neighbor's name was not Horace Folterkeller. It was Dan Smith.

Correction #2: I did not say ”You probably don't want to hear about the new man she brought home, then.” She did not bring home a new man. Dan's wife was absolutely devastated by the situation.

Correction #3: Dan didn't even have a daughter. He had a son who'd gone off to college.

Correction #4: In fact, not one word of that conversation is accurate. Mostly there was a lot of ”Dan! Dan! Can you hear me?” while I gently slapped his face and tried to get him to focus on me. He wasn't even able to speak except for a few incoherent words.

It was all very tragic. That McGlade felt the need to rewrite it into a not-particularly-convincing comedy routine says a lot about his moral character.

What Harry got right was that the b.u.mbling dips.h.i.+t did indeed take a hit of morphine. You probably thought he made that part up, too, because n.o.body would actually do something like that, but I a.s.sure you that he did. And, yes, you are right to weep over the state of humanity.

So, anyway, we walked up the stairs and saw the cops with fangs. At least Harry saw them. I didn't, because I'm a big stupid p.o.o.p head and I like to smell people's b.u.t.ts.

Chad,

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