Alex was always a rambunctious sort. He would keep me around as a look-out whenever he would break into people’s homes or keep me in mind whenever he had an eight ball and everyone else had already ducked out of the club for the night. I am an addict, plain and simple. Alex is my dealer, but he was often inclined to hand off that beautiful white powder to me simply because I kept him company, and I would leave while coming down from a high without ever spending a red cent. Also, I was much less fidgety than most of his cliental; so, we’d often find each other on those black nights and shape out a few lines, speaking erratically about all the cool things we could have done with our lives. Really though, we were a couple of bug-eyed sweaty junkies smacking our lips to fantasy.
When I met up with Alex at his house, he said he had a job for me, I didn’t even question it. I went for it. I knew we’d ride our faces like skateboards into oblivion. God, I wanted it.
Alex was of wealthy stock and his home reflected that. He was a real well-to-do kid with all the new video games and a brand spanking new Charger in the driveway. His dad was an overly monied dentist and now that Alex was well out of high school and proving to be a royal fuck up, the dentist simply tossed money at his son and never asked where it went.
As I approached the U driveway with my hands stuffed into my hoodie and my eyes hidden behind massive aviators, I could see the curtains near the door shift; before I even had the chance to put my foot on the first step of the stairs of the front concrete porch, the door swung inward and Alex was rubbing his arms jittery, exclaiming, “It’s about fucking time you decided to show up.” He ushered me in and told me to take off my shoes. I did. He rushed me upstairs to his bedroom and locked the door behind us. The black light posters and lava lamps and stench made it feel like I’d entered another world totally opposite from the one on the other side of the door.
I settled on the bed and he lit a cigarette, his hair standing on end and his eyes rolling around wildly. Often it would be that I would sit and wait my turn with that shiny piece of broken mirror. He’d clack the straw against it and just as I was sure he was about to pass a line my way, he’d set the mirror on the dresser and I’d hang my head.
“This fucking guy,” said Alex, “This fucking guy stole from me, you understand? The gall of some people man, I fucking tell you. Doesn’t he know who I am? He knows. He fucking knows!”
I wanted him to stop talking. I shot him a dirty look, but he didn’t notice. Having the shades on did come in handy occasionally, didn’t they? I’m telling you, I really am, all I wanted to do that day was drugs. I never had any intention of murdering anyone. I’m no killer. I’m just a harmless junkie.
So, Alex continued talking about some sad sap that rolled up to his house and got a little baggie o’ boogie down. Every time Alex held up his hands to show the size of the hypothetical bag, it grew bigger and bigger. The injury swelled with every passing moment and as I listened, Alex grew further emboldened. He wanted to do something. I could feel it. Maybe swing the little pea shooter he kept under his bed in the guy’s face. Show him who’s boss. Something like that. Scare him a little. Remind him of exactly who he was messing with. That might be fun. With a little dope, of course. Hallelujah. Apparently, the man that had wronged Alex had gotten the drugs he wanted, but he’d peeled out of Alex’s driveway without ever paying.
“That sonofabitch!” Alex slapped his knee and passed the mirror. Finally! I took my turn and absently listened to the young man that could scarcely be called a friend. I nodded along. God, I would nod along forever if he didn’t notice I used that straw like a Shop-Vac. I pinched my nose and blinked rapidly. “We need to do something! We gotta’, we gotta’,” Alex was pumping his arms back and forth. He stopped then pivoted to looked at me. He snapped his fingers. “We gotta’ kill em’!”
I’d heard Alex talk like this a million times before and so my nodding head continued in its way. He rummaged beneath his bed and removed the wee pistol; I’m not sure what model. He cocked it, waving it around the room. I didn’t move. I wasn’t scared. This routine was normal. If he shot me, he shot me. I was in the mood to play a bit of fantasy myself, wanting to show how much of a hard-ass I was.
I stood and started flexing my muscles, pumping my fists. “Yes! You have never been so right about something in your entire life.” I grabbed him on the shoulder and shook him. I could feel the tendons beneath my fingers; they were taut, guitar string tight. “Let’s do it!” I was maniacal. I was ready for it. “Let’s show this kid who he’s been fucking with! I’m on board!” These words would serve to be the very worst I’ve spoken in my life.
*
Decked to the nines in black, we shimmied along the hedges in the moonlit night. This neighborhood was worse than Alex’s. What with the crummy infrastructure, untended lawns, graffiti. We moved quietly, cursing at every snapping branch, or shuffling of leaves. As we sidled up to the windowsill and peered in through the window, Alex shifted the gun into the back of his britches. My heart was pounding in my ears and the residue from the coke was beginning to leak down the back of my throat and it tasted like shit. It always did that to me. I spat and received a quick smack to my arm. I turned to look at Alex. He held his index finger up to his lips. I gave him the universal gesture that roughly translated to: fuck, I didn’t mean to do that.
The living room strewn with garbage, incense sticks, mottled furniture, and beer cans was framed by the window we looked through like a hanging picture. Could have been in a gallery if it weren’t so sad. There he was. That sad sap. The thief. He slept on the couch in the blue glow of the TV. We had no plan. I knew that. What were we going to do? Kill him? Surely not really. We’d stalk around his yard for a while and work ourselves into a tizzy, then we’d go back to Alex’s and smoke a bowl to end the night. It always helped to come down with a bit of THC. That sounded nice. Like a glass of warm milk or something.
But as I turned to look at Alex, he was gone and around the corner. I followed and peeked around the edge of the house. He was standing on the front porch. What a fucking mad lad he was, I’ll tell you that much. I tried waving him over with a giggle escaping me. Alex turned to look at me and gave me a look I’ll never forget. It was animalistic. It was hell coming from his eyes. I’d never seen that look before; I swear to god.
Then he knocked on the door sharply with his knuckles. An innumerable number of seconds passed, and no one answered. I started to call out to him. I wanted to leave now, but he was a determined soul to be sure. He lifted his hand into a ball and began banging the flat of his hand against the thick metal door. Every single time it struck the door, I could feel my stomach come further up the back of my throat. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to jump into his body telepathically and force him to walk back to the shadows, but I am no superhero.
He must have been knocking for a solid minute before someone answered. All I heard was the mumbling-tired voice of a man, “What the hell? Oh, it’s you.” I couldn’t see the young man, but I could hear the arrogance in his voice. Alex did not hesitate. He removed the pistol from the back of his pants, pointed it straight out in front of him, and I saw the flash of the light from the end of the barrel illuminate Alex’s wild face before I heard the shot. I almost pissed myself right there on the spot, I swear to god.
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Stuck between rushing up to the crime scene and running away, I couldn’t move. My feet were staked to the spot and just as I was working up the courage to bolt, Alex turned, sober, and pointed the gun in my direction. “Don’t even think about it.” He said. I stepped from the shadows with my hands up.
“C’mon, you know me. I wouldn’t leave you.” I heard my voice but couldn’t feel the words coming.
“That’s right. I do know you. And I know you wouldn’t take off without helping a friend.” He put the gun in the back band of his pants. “Now help me gather this sack o’ shit up.” He gestured to the feet of the man. I circumvented the porch and saw it. What a mess. “You get the head.” Said Alex. I grimaced and followed the order.
*
The car ride was quiet, so I tried fiddling with the nobs of the radio to fill the empty cool night air. “Quit fucking with my stereo.” Said Alex, swatting at my hand. I pulled my hand away and rolled the passenger window down, letting the wind bellow in and cool my sweating body.
He’s fucking insane. I’ll tell you that. I always thought Alex was a bratty guy that liked drugs, nothing more, nothing less. But he’s a fucking psycho and I saw it for the first time that night.
We drove way out into the woods and dug a shallow grave. As I wiped the sweat from my brow and tossed the shovel to the side, I fell onto my ass and took in great big heaving gasps for air. It’s hard to dig a grave. It’s even harder to dig a grave when you don’t have proper lighting, and I would hardly call the soft moon shafts coming in through the canopy ‘proper lighting’.
Alex popped the trunk of that pristine Charger and the interior light illuminated the hardening dead expression of the man. His face was frozen in one of pure surprise. Not terror exactly. It was like he was forever expressing, what are you gonna’ do? Shoot me? Yes, yes, we were apparently. It took a few moments of staring into the open trunk before I realized it was coated in a thick blue tarp. I hadn’t noticed it when we’d initially deposited the guy’s body. Holy shit. This was premeditated. Alex had planned this the entire time. There I was egging him on, and he was genuinely going to kill a man. I felt a pang of guilt as we rolled him into the hole; he made a sound like cord wood.
“Hard parts over.” Said Alex, tossing me a shovel. “Get to work if you don’t wanna’ spend the rest of your days in a six by eight.”
We spread the dirt over the hole and packed it down with our feet.
Sitting in the parking lot of the McDonald’s and slurping on a fountain Coca-Cola sure was a surreal moment, I’ll tell you that much. Alex was back to his normal self. He’d asked if I was hungry. I wasn’t. But a soda pop sounded good. He’d come back to me sitting in the car with a big brown bag and a tray of drinks. He ripped into chicken sandwich after chicken sandwich. “Something about killing a man!” He sighed over his sandwich, “It really gets your primal self revving or whatever. Starves me.” Starves your soul, I thought.
He dropped me off at my place and I took the steps to my apartment. I bathed for the first time in days and on my way through the kitchen, I thought about going through the stash I kept in the cookie jar atop the fridge but didn’t feel like it. I sat on the couch and fell to sleep.
*
When I woke up and looked at the clock, it was still dark. After checking my phone, I saw I’d slept an entire day away and it was night again. Like I said, it’s hard to dig a grave. I reached over to the coffee table to withdraw a roach from the ashtray. Maybe I could sleep the next day away as well. That’d be nice. Just then, I received a series of texts from Alex:
Are you fucking with me?
Dude, are you outside?
I swear to god, if you’re fucking with me, I will take you out. You know I’ll do it.
Me: What are you talking about?
Alex: There’s someone outside. One sec.
Me: Everything alright?
Alex: Yeah. Just some asshole knocking on the door.
I checked the time. It was just past midnight. Who the hell could be knocking on his door at this hour? You know what? I couldn’t care less. Fuck that psycho. I put my phone on silent and tossed it on the table. Eyeing the roach in the ashtray, I opted to turn on the TV and watch informercials instead. Those smiling ladies talking about jewelry made me forget my worries for a while and I kept my eye on the screen as I went to the kitchen area of my apartment and poured myself a bowl of Cookie Crisps. As I went back to the couch, I saw my phone had a few new notifications, but I refused to check them. I ate the cereal and stretched out on the couch after placing the bowl on the coffee table.
I wanted more sleep. Like Alex needed food, I needed sleep. I wanted to forget it; no more chest beating and coke bloat for me, thank you. Alex could play his little games and leave me be. What would he do? Shoot me? I chuckled to myself, but this was quickly followed by a genuine creeping suspicion. No. I have too much on him. I would write a note and leave it somewhere in the apartment. Just on the off chance I went missing any time soon, the authorities could read it and know it was probably Alex. I guess that doesn’t matter anymore.
*
I awoke and checked my phone again. Still dark out. It was around two in the morning. I had over thirty messages from Alex and at least ten missed calls. What the hell? I ran through the messages. Some of his messages included:
Dude. Don’t fuck around. Are you outside!?
You’re freaking me out. You better answer.
Okay. Maybe it’s not you.
Got him. I scared him away, I think. Pick up!
Don’t answer your door.
He’s not fucking dead!
Why isn’t he fucking dead?
The last one sent a chill up my spine:
Coming over. Answer your door.
“What the fuck?” I asked the empty room. A knock came on my apartment door and I jumped, dropping my phone to the floor with a clatter. I swallowed dryly. “Hello?” I whispered then coughed. “Hello?” I asked louder.
A man’s voice answered. “Yes. Open.”
“What?”
“Here. For. You.”
“Alex?” It wasn’t Alex. I knew that. I really did.
“So. Cold. So. Alone. Open.”
I was frozen to the couch. “Why?”
“Why. Open. Dirt. Is. Cold. Help.”
“No.”
“Please. Help.”
It was at this moment that I could feel hot tears rolling down my face. A whimper escaped me. “Why?”
“Cold. Help.”
“No.” I softly hushed. “Please.”
“Yes. Please.” Said the voice.
I crossed the room on bobbing knees, and I could feel my entire body grow cold from the anticipation. The peephole was right fucking there. I leaned in, feeling the cool touch of the door, and pressed my face against the peephole.
There he was.
Bullet hole just above his left eye oozing with dark red blood. Worms squirming their little fat bodies from the man-made orifice. I gagged and held my wrist up to my nose. I could smell him through the door. He was just standing there in the dull yellow hallway. Blank eyes. The most unsettling part was that he had his arms outstretched in a rigid T-pose. His nose twitched. I think he was smelling me right back.
His lips parted unnaturally, as though he weren’t sure how to speak. “Help. Please. Cold.”
I reached for the nob, dead bolt, and sliding chain, making sure they were locked. They were. I backed away from the door and sat on the couch, lifting my phone from the floor. I could still hear him from the other side of the door.
“Answer. Your. Door. Please.” He said.
I dialed Alex’s phone and waited and waited and waited. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing. I scrolled through the messages he’d sent me. He’d been stalked. Had Alex been killed? Was he dead? I don’t know. What am I to do?
I sit here on the couch with a butcher knife, watching the door. I have a knife and it makes me feel a little safer, but Alex had a gun. The door doesn’t rattle in its frame, but the man on the other side doesn’t stop talking.
Cold.
Help.
Coming.
Answer.
Your.
Door.