Part 9 (1/2)
Old Orchard Mall is only a block away from the hospital. She'll stop there and clear her head. Then she can face him.
She parks in the back of the lot at the end by Marshall Field's. No one is looking. She scoops up some powder with the long nail on her right pinky finger, sniffing it up. Her face numbs as she enters the store. The powder is entering her bloodstream: just a little bulletproofing to help her face the crowd. She pa.s.ses through the store and out into the mall.
And there he is.
Josh. Sitting on a bench in the middle of the mall, smiling sweetly. Angie appears, leaning down to kiss him. She wraps her lithe little arms around him.
His hand goes up under her dress.
They're both undressed, lying there as shoppers pa.s.s by.
His face is between her legs as she plays with his hair and rolls her head toward Sara, laughing softly to herself.
People stop all around the couple, staring intently. At Sara.
She puts her hands over her face as the crowd sneers. Tears drop to the concrete walkway. She tangles her fingers into her hair, tightening her fists.
Sara woke with both fists tangled into her hair.
The keys to the Benz glinted from their place in the filtered sunlight on top of her purse, so she really had gone to pick up the car. Had she gone to the mall at all? Had she actually seen Angie? Or Josh? They'd probably be home for break now. But she didn't remember braving the sun as she got out of the car at the mall ...
She reached for a Quaalude.
”...I THOUGHT THAT for just once in your life you could focus on something besides yourself, but it's obvious this party means nothing to you...”
Mummy's voice sounded half-angry, half-sad. Daddy was arguing, too, but he always sounded the same. Calm, like a robot. Sara scrunched tighter into her closet as they argued in the hallway outside her room. Maybe they would leave her alone if she hid long enough.
”You cried and whined about not having enough booze for this party,” Daddy said. ”So I drove to the liquor store. Remember that?”
If Sara sang for the party guests, Mummy would be angry, somehow. But Daddy might like it. He would like it if she did a good job. But Mummy was right. Sara would have all those people watching her, looking for mistakes. And Daddy would be disappointed with mistakes.
”How dare you blame me for another of your trips to the liquor store, you G.o.dd.a.m.ned wino!” Mummy said. ”I never said anything like that! I just wish I was one of your precious bottles so you'd pay me so much attention.”
The angry words appeared, suspended in that dark place where the tiny Sara had disappeared when Mummy had hurt her arm earlier that afternoon.
G.o.dam wine oh.
”See this?” Daddy asked, very calmly.
”It's the shopping list,” Daddy said. ”For liquor. In your handwriting. Can you find that little tidbit through all the neuroses? Or did those pills you pop finally take it all away?”
Sara cupped her throbbing elbow as her mother's voice trailed off. Her parents took their argument downstairs.
The little Sara was safe. Nothing could hurt her down there in that s.p.a.ce inside her head. There was no pain. Even Mummy's shouting and Daddy's cold, mean words couldn't hurt her there. If all of Sara could be there, she could fall off the roof of the house and not even care.
But right now the rest of Sara remembered the crunch her elbow had made. The memory and the throbbing made her tummy all tight and crampy.
They had pa.s.sed by this time. But this was the party night. They would get her later. She hugged her knees tighter with her good arm.
CHAPTER 6.
Cloistered From the Living SARA INHALED ANOTHER line. Alexander emerged from his room, back in his black s.h.i.+rt and jeans. He came and sat next to her without so much as a drink in his hand. On the TV, some man with a coffee-can-shaped head was being interviewed.
Yes, public perception is that there are more serial killers today than there have been in the past. But there have always been serial killers. It might be that current investigative technologies are helping us identify patterns and recognize them. It might also be that there are a greater number of so-called copycat killers. The modern media reaches everywhere and has tremendous influence- Alexander switched it off. ”Listen,” he said, ”I have to tell you this.”
She straightened and turned toward him.
He took a deep breath and let it out. ”You're going to have to start paying for your own c.o.ke,” he said. ”I just can't support two habits.”
Her face slackened. ”I don't have a habit,” she said. ”And besides, I gave you money for what I was doing already.”
He shook his head. ”You gave the group two paychecks' worth, which were about three hundred each. But that was weeks ago. And I covered what I could, all right? But I can't supply you with c.o.ke and pills all the time, especially the way you go through 'em.”
Her eyes widened and stung. ”The way I go through them? I think you'd better take a look at yourself, pal.”
He sighed. ”I didn't mind, okay? I still wouldn't mind if I could afford it. But you're doing half a gram a day ...”
”And anyway, that's not right. Weeks ago?”
”Well, yeah. It's November, right?”
”But that's ... oh. G.o.d, that's right.” She laughed to herself. ”I missed my own birthday.” She shook her head.
”Sara, I can't cover half a gram a day.”
She shrugged. ”So what's a half gram a day? That's not a habit. And that was six hundred dollars I gave. n.o.body else gave s.h.i.+t.”
”When we got a bunch to share, we all chipped in before we bought it. And anyway, we don't really do that anymore. We're pretty much all buying our own these days. It was too hard to keep track of who was using how much.” He paused to clear his throat, then continued. ”A half gram a day is fifty dollars a day. I can't pay for that. You have your own money, anyway. You're going to have to start paying your own way.”
She stood up. ”Oh, f.u.c.k off. What're you trying to pull? You're short on money and you want some from me.” She paced away, peering into the jars of bugs. ”Why can't you be man enough to just ask me for the money instead of coming up with some stupid story? There's no way I'm using fifty dollars a day. You do ten times what I do. Are you saying you do five hundred dollars worth of c.o.ke every day?”
”Maybe if you bought your own, you'd understand.”
She exhaled through her teeth, letting the air puff out her lips in a show of exasperation. ”Fine. I can't believe you're making such a big deal out of a few lines. But I'll buy some from you, if that's what you want. I cashed another paycheck the other day. How much can I buy, mister c.o.ke salesman?” She forced herself to take her hands from her hips and stop leaning toward him.
His utterly calm face looked like Mister Spock. ”It depends on how much you want to spend,” he said. ”The more you buy, the cheaper it gets.”
He stared at her.
She nodded her head quickly. Get on with it. Go ahead- it's the next step in the pattern. First you use me like I'm your toy, now you make me buy c.o.ke from you ...
”Most people just buy grams,” he said. ”I sell those for an even hundred. I'll give them to you for eighty apiece because, you know, we're together.”