Static Page 3

  Taking a deep breath, I turned the knob, opened the door and went in. After I pulled off my boots, I tossed them in the front closet then padded into the living room. Our cat, Duchess, a seal point Siamese, slunk across the hardwood floor toward me. She squeaked at me as she jumped onto the arm of the sofa so I could pet her. I ran my hand over her silky fur.

  "Where's mom, kitty?" I murmured to her.

  The cat just purred.

  Then I heard footsteps coming down the hall from the kitchen. "Salem?"

  "I'm in here."

  She came around the corner, her fierce green eyes flashing in her little pixie face. "Where the hell have you been? I called you like five times on your cell?"

  "I lost my cell."

  She stomped toward me, her bare feet smacking on the floor. "Where did you spend the night? I was worried to death. I just about called the cops."

  I could feel tears starting to well again, so instead of looking at my mom I continued to pet Duchess. She arched her back and rubbed against my hand, purring happily.

  "Salem, are you going to answer me?"

  Mom was just a foot away from me, but I didn't dare look up at her. I knew the tears would come then and I wasn't certain I would be able to stop them. But my mom had an emo radar. She knew when I was feeling down or angry or anything. It was probably because we were a lot alike. And she'd also been a rebellious teenage. So she knew all the tricks of the trade. By some of her stories, I believed she invented some of those tricks.

  She put her hand on my bent head. "Are you all right, baby?"

  I shook my head, and moved into the safety and sanctity of her arms. She was little like me, no more than five feet three, but I always felt safe when she hugged me. I buried my face into her neck, inhaling her familiar mango scent—it was her shampoo—and then let the tears fall.

  She rubbed a hand up and down my back which always soothed me. "What happened, love? Did you and Chloe have a fight?"

  Too choked up with tears, I couldn't speak. I just shook my head.

  "Did someone hurt you? You can tell me." I could hear the quiver in her voice. "Don't be afraid to tell me, whatever it is. I'm won't get mad, I promise."

  My mom was fierce that way.

  When I'd been in fourth grade, two older boys had been picking on me, calling me names, shoving me around at recess. At first I didn't tell my mom, thinking I could handle it or thinking it would only get worse if I did. After three months of it, I had to tell her, I couldn't keep it in any longer. She'd known something was up since I would often be in my room crying after school or I'd fake being ill so I didn't have to go to school.

  When I told her, she got this look on her face, the kind of look that told me she'd rip someone a new ass if she could. She marched down to the school, talked to the principal, and demanded the phone numbers of the two boys. At first they wouldn't give them to her, but she was persistent and maybe a bit aggressive. I remember one teacher referring to her as a pitbull.

  When she got the numbers she called the boys' parents and proceeded to rip them a new ass too. Needless to say it didn't take long for that shit to roll down hill and the boys stopped bugging me. I think everyone at school, especially the principal and the teachers, were scared of my mom after that. Or at least they looked at her with a mix of respect and fear.

  Because of that, I was hesitant to tell her what happened. I knew what she'd do. She wouldn't let this just go away. She wouldn't let me brush it under the bed to be forgotten. No, she'd go after Thane and Malice with a vengeance. Not only because they hurt me, or at least I think they did, but because she'd been in a band, she toured with other rockers and she despised those who preyed on the obsessions and fantasies of groupies.

  After one final hiccup, I lifted my head intent on telling her everything, or at least the parts I was certain of, when something inside me broke.

  Pain I'd never experienced before ripped through me. As if something, something large was trying to punch and kick its way out of my stomach. Gasping, I doubled over unable to stay upright.

  "Salem!" My mom grabbed my arm trying to keep me from falling on my face.

  I couldn't get my breath to tell her I was in pain, that something was wrong. Opening and closing my mouth like a guppy, I dug my fingers into her arms holding on for dear life. The abyss was coming for me. And it was dark and scary and full of agony and torture. I didn't want to fall down into it. I knew I'd lose my mind if I did.

  Another wave of searing pain ripped through me. I screamed. My body thrashed and writhed under the grip of the dark agony. Spots formed in my vision and the room was spinning making me dizzy. I was going to vomit. Maybe I could purge the violent lashes of pain out of me. There had to be a way to make it stop.

  "Mom," I groaned. "I'm dying."

  Murmuring to me, she helped me to lie on the sofa putting a pillow behind my head. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I pulled my knees up to my chest to try and cushion the tearing pain. It didn't help, and I could feel my gorge rising. Leaning over the side of the sofa I retched.

  "Oh god." I heard my mom say as she raced out of the room.

  I couldn't think past the pain. I couldn't see anything in front of me except dots of black and white. Everything was spinning out of control. And I couldn't hold on, there was nothing to grab. I was going to fly off.

  Mom came back with a bucket and a wet washcloth. She set the cool towel on my forehead. It gave me no reprieve. My head seemed like it was going to explode. I was hot and sweaty and every part of my body flashed harshly with pain.

  "Jesus, you're burning up."

  I wanted to hold my mom's hand. I wanted her to hold me, to make it better, to chase the pain away. Delirious, I reached for her. "Mom," I moaned. "Make it stop."

  I don't know if she held me or not. I stopped feeling anything outside my own body and dark agony. I couldn't see anything as well, except for a ball of black light spinning and spinning around in front of me making me sick. How can black light burn?

  It seemed like I was being sucked backwards into a long black tunnel. My stomach flipped over as if I was dropping fast, like riding a roller coaster. That light-headed feeling enveloped me. And I smiled. The pain had subsided and I felt as light as a feather, slowly floating down, down to the bottom.

  "Salem!"

  I heard her voice, but it seemed far off, as if she was calling me from somewhere high above. I wanted to tell her it was okay. That I was fine now, she didn't need to worry. I felt so good; I heard music in my head.

  "Breathe, baby! Oh God, please breathe!"

  Spinning, spinning, turning out of control. Sounds of whirring in my ears.

  "Don't leave me, baby!"

  Floating, floating, on a sea of air. A tinkling of crystal tears.

  "Don't die, Salem! God damn you, don't die!"

  I'm filled with nothing but static...

  Chapter 5

  Someone was humming. It was light and melodic—a song I should've recognized but didn't. Cool pressure on my forehead forced my eyes open.

  My mom smiled down at me, her hand stroking my face. "Hey sweetie."

  Blinking, I looked at her then beyond her to the room. White blinds were pulled up allowing bright sunshine to beam through an open window. I could hear birds chirping outside. The walls were white, as were the ceiling tiles. And the curtain separating my bed from the rest of the room was sunny yellow. I supposed it should've all been cheerful, but the fact that I was laying in a hospital room didn't make me feel all that cheerful. How the hell did I get here? All I remembered was crying in my mom's arms. Then after that it was pretty much a black hole.

  "Hey," I croaked. My mouth and throat were really dry as if all the moisture had been sucked out of my flesh.

  "Are you thirsty?"

  I nodded.

  She grabbed a plastic cup of water from the movable bedside table. It had a straw in it, and she bent it so I could sip from it without lifting my head. The cool liquid was like heave
n as it went down my parched throat. I took one more sip before she took it away and set it back onto the table.

  "Why...why am I here?"

  "You got sick, baby."

  I tried to sit up. My arms, back and neck were sore. They ached more than when I first woke up in the dumpster. Mom helped me edge up; she tucked a pillow behind my back.

  "How long have I been here?"

  She stopped fidgeting with my pillow, and really looked at me. It was then I noticed how red her eyes were and the dark smudges under them. It looked like she hadn't slept in a week.

  "About thirty-six hours."

  "What?!" I bolted forward, but my mom pushed me back, keeping me from jumping out of bed.

  "It's okay. You're going to be fine."

  "But—but...that's over a day? How is that possible?"

  She sat on the edge of my bed, her hand still on my arm. It was as if she couldn't stop touching me maybe to see if I was real. What had happened to give her that haunted look on her face?

  "The day you came home late? Something happened, and I had to call 911."

  I gripped her hand hard pleading her to tell me what was really going on. "What happened?"

  "You stopped breathing. I couldn't revive you." Tears welled in her eyes and her grip on my hand tightened.

  My heart dropped into my stomach. "But I'm okay now, right?"

  She nodded, and the tears fell. Smiling, she wiped at them with the back of her hand. "Yeah, you're more than okay, baby."

  The yellow curtain rustled, then parted and my dad came through carrying a huge pink teddy bear. He nodded toward my mom. "Hey Lynn." Then he smiled when he saw me awake. "There's my girl." He bent down and kissed me on the forehead.

  He hadn't called me that since I was eight. Not since he got himself another daughter to call that–my half sister, Heather, whom I despised. I also hated his new wife, Ginger. Every time I came over, which used to be every other weekend until I got old enough that I chose not to—she'd critique my wardrobe, my hair, my grades, anything she could find to pick apart. And then she'd blame it all on my mom.

  He set the stuffed bear on one of the visitor chairs. "The doctor says you're fit as a fiddle. No brain damage to speak of."

  I gasped. "Brain damage? Why would I have brain damage?"

  My mom sighed. "Charlie." She glared at my dad.

  "What?" He put his hand up in defense. "What did I do?"

  "Why would I have brain damage, Mom?"

  She looked at me again, and patted my hand. "You weren't breathing for awhile, baby."

  "How long is awhile?"

  "Seven minutes."

  I tried to think back to any of my science courses. Did we learn about the brain? I couldn't remember. Science was not my best subject. "Is that bad?"

  "I guess brain cells start to die after five minutes," my dad said shrugging as if he was telling me something inconsequential like the weather.

  "The thing here is that you're okay." Mom squeezed my hand again. "Once the doctor sees you and asks you some questions, you can come home."

  I settled back into the plump pillow Mom put behind my back but I definitely didn't feel settled. I was in shock with what my parents had just told me. I had died. And been dead for at least seven minutes. Except I didn't remember any tunnel of white light. There were no angels singing to me, or hands of God coming to take me safely home. I remembered nothing that cool.

  Wait. That wasn't quite true.

  I did remember hearing some music...

  Hard, thrashing, rock n' roll type of music that left a tinny taste in my mouth. Or it could've been that I bit my cheek and I just now tasted the blood. There was a sore along my gum line that I kept tonguing.

  "I'm going to go talk to a nurse, baby. You rest."

  I looked at her with that ‘like what the hell else could I do lying stiff with sore aching muscles in a hospital bed' arch to my eyebrows. But I said, "Okay, Mom." I knew she was doing everything she could to make me feel better. It just wasn't working so well.

  I didn't feel better. I was scared and in pain and completely lost. I felt like one of those people who claimed to have been abducted by aliens—disoriented and having lost a bunch of time without being able to recollect anything that happened during the lapse. Something had been stolen from me and I would never get it back no matter what I did.

  My dad patted my leg through the blanket. "I'm going to go too. I just popped in to see how you were doing." He looked uncomfortable standing there looking at me, his hands fidgeting at his belt where his cell phone was clipped.

  I smiled at him, but what I really wanted to do was pop him one in the mouth. My dad hadn't been comfortable around me my whole life. He never had a clue what to do with me. My parents divorced when I was five and when I went to spend weekends with him he had no idea how to handle it. He didn't know what to do when I cried, or when I was scared. He'd just pat me on the head and hand me the remote of the TV or the game console of the Playstation he'd bought especially for my visits. Thankfully he knew how to cook, or I suspected I would've dined on MacDonalds and pizza takeout for all of my visiting weekends. I very well could've ended up a fat lonely kid.

  I stopped expecting much from him, so it didn't surprise me that he was leaving just as soon as he'd arrived. Being alone with me would be way too much for him to handle. I suspected he didn't like being alone much anyway. He'd married Ginger only a year after divorcing my mom.

  "Ginger and Heather send their love," he said to me before kissing me on the forehead.

  "Right. Thanks." I knew that was a bunch of bullshit. Ginger was probably right this moment praying to almighty God that I never woke up. Then she could have Dad all to herself and never have to share him again, especially his money.

  After he pushed through the curtain, my mom glanced at me. "I won't be long." She followed him through and I could hear them arguing all the way out the door.

  "What's the matter with you, Charlie?"

  "Hey, I told it how it is. Salem's a big girl. She can handle it."

  "How would you know how Salem is? You haven't seen her in like three months."

  As their voices trailed off, I nestled into the pillow and pulled the wool blanket up to my chin. My eyes were heavy but the last thing I wanted to do was go back to sleep. I'd slept long enough for my liking. But I couldn't deny I was still tired.

  Yawning I glanced around the room looking for something to entertain me. There was no TV, I guess Mom couldn't afford that luxury, but I noticed a few of my books on a table in the corner and my Nintendo DS. If I could just reach them. Scooting to the side to the bed, I reached out with my arm to try and grab something, but every movement I made sent a new ripple of pain through me. Defeated, I settled back into the pillow just as a chill took hold of me.

  I glanced at the window to the sunlight streaming in thinking maybe the weather had changed. It hadn't. Usually the bright sunshine made me feel warm and happy but instead a feeling of despair washed over me. Out of my peripheral a dark shadow crept across the floor, as if the sun was blocked by craggy looking clouds. But every time I turned my head I couldn't see the shape straight on. It disappeared into vapor. But it was there. I knew it was there.

  An ominous feeling settled over me. Something bad was going to happen. The hairs on the back of my neck stirred. I couldn't shake the cold creeping sensation trailing up and down my back like spider's legs. A violent shiver racked my body and I tried to pull the blanket tighter.

  I had a sense that dying had been the least of my worries. And that something worse was going to happen to me.

  I watched the curtain hoping my mom would return, certain her presence would chase the menacing sensation away. But after ten minutes the curtain didn't part and I really had to use the bathroom.

  Shucking the blankets off, I swung my legs around and set my feet onto the cold tiled floor. I sat for moment to gather my strength, then stood. My legs were a bit wobbly. Grabbing my buddy the
IV pole, I pushed through the curtain and shuffled past the other bed—thankfully unoccupied at the moment—to the little bathroom in the corner of the room.

  A cloying antiseptic smell hit my nose when I entered. I'd always hated that odor. It reminded me of the times I came to visit my grandpa before he died. It was supposed to be a clean sterile smell but it reminded me of death and decay. Probably not the response they were going for.

  I quickly used the facilities, finding an amazing amount of relief in that one small thing, and then went to wash my hands. The water was cool and refreshing on my skin, and I bent low to splash some on my face careful of the IV stuck in the back of my hand. Maybe I could wash some of this fatigue and discomfort away.

  Eyes closed, I reached blindly for the brown paper towels. Grabbing a few sheets I dabbed at my face, drying it as good as I could with the flimsy paper. I looked down to toss it in the trash can when something dotting the brown sheet caught my eye. I stared at the thick black substance stuck to the paper. Then I glanced up at the mirror over the sink.

  I screamed.

  My eyes were black like ink. Thick tarry tears streaked my cheeks. Shaking, I reached up and touched the dark lines with the tip of my finger. It was sticky like syrup as it transferred to my finger. Running the water scalding hot I rinsed it from my skin. I watched as it made a creepy black swirl going down the drain.

  Leaning close to the mirror, I stared at my coaled eyes. What the hell was wrong with me? Was it black blood coming out of my brain? When I looked deeply I saw that the iris and white part of my eye were now the same color as my pupil. And the thick substance draining from the sides were like tears, except I wasn't crying.

  Heart racing and hands trembling I tried to make meaning out of what I was seeing. But how could I? It made no sense. There couldn't possibly be a medical reason for this. People's eyes just didn't turn jet black.

  Turning the water on more, I dunked my head into the sink trying to get right under the spray from the tap. I kept my eyes open hoping to wash away the dark stain, hoping that my eyes would return to their original color. The doctor would never let me leave the hospital if I magically had solid black orbs rolling around in my head.