the Marbury Lens (2010) by Smith Andrew

Author:Smith, Andrew [Andrew, Smith,]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends
Published: 2011-01-14T19:08:12.093000+00:00

Thirty-Seven

“Open the fucking door, Jack!”

My hands jerk out, palms forward, ready to hit something.

A dream where I’m falling, trying to catch myself.

Fuck you, Jack.

My eyes focus. I’m sitting on the toilet.

Sweating. Everything is wet.

Oh yeah.

The door. I open it.

I’m sick as shit. I need to throw up.

Conner is standing above me. He’s saying something.

“What the fuck are you doing, Jack?”

I say, “Huh?”

He’s in his underwear.

Remember.

It’s because we were asleep.

He’s in his underwear and he’s holding those purple glasses in his hands.

He’s putting them on. I try to get my head down, twist around onto my knees so I can puke into the toilet.

I’m puking but I’m watching Conner’s bare feet on the floor beside me.

He’s just standing there.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Don’t leave, Con.

Please don’t do it.

The bathroom door is open.

I picture that devil, slick with the bile and blood of his friend, a rope of guts twisted around his neck.

The nun and the man, staring up at nothing with relaxed, blank eyes.

I had to lie to the kid.

I had to.

I look up.

Conner has the fucking glasses on.

Fuck you, Jack.

“Con?” I raised myself up from the toilet and nearly fell into him.

“Con? Don’t do this, man. Please.”

Conner stood, motionless, his arms down at his sides, breathing so hard, like he was about to explode, or he’d been drowning. My hands shook when I reached out and pulled the glasses away from him. I didn’t look at them, folded them blindly, and dumbly groped around the floor with my foot to find where I’d dropped the sock I used to hide them.

Conner had his eyes open, but I could tell that he wasn’t really seeing me. He gripped the edge of the counter when he began tipping toward the sink. I pushed past him and wedged the glasses down inside the sleeve of my pack’s frame. Conner wouldn’t find them again, I thought.

I wouldn’t let him.

“Con? Con?” I went back to the bathroom.

The water was running. Conner was bent over the sink with his head under the faucet.

“Conner!”

He raised his head up, dripping cold water everywhere. His eyes looked like ground hamburger meat.

“Jack?”

I could see he wasn’t all there yet. Then he said, “What the—” and fell to his knees, catching himself on the toilet.

“I need to sit down, Jack. I need to sit down.”

Then Conner threw up, too.

I was terrified, imagining the worst of what my friend might have seen; what he might know.

Okay, think, Jack. Think.

This time it wasn’t Seth who brought you back here, it was Conner. And I must have done the same thing to Conner, too. How long was he in Marbury? A day? A month? Maybe just a flash.

Fuck!

Think!

He couldn’t have been among those devils in the mountain ambush. If he was, he wouldn’t be able to see anything. That’s why Henry can’t use the glasses anymore. You could be dead there, and not dead here. That’s why I saw those people on the train to Heathrow.

That’s why I saw Henry Hewitt’s head nailed to a fucking wall, but I drank beer with him the other night.

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