We Are All Completely Fine by Daryl Gregory

Author:Daryl Gregory [Gregory, Daryl]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Horror
ISBN: 9781616961718
Google: WTzPnQEACAAJ
Amazon: 1616961716
Publisher: Tachyon Publications
Published: 2014-06-25T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

At the next meeting we were all shocked by Martin’s appearance, in both senses of the word “appearance”: shocked at the bruises and bandages, and shocked that he had come to the group at all. He looked like a zombie from his video game: his face misshapen by the beating, still swollen in yellow and purple. One arm was in a cast from wrist to elbow, and the fingers themselves were wrapped, making it look like one of Stan’s stumps.

Jan had tried to tell him that he did not need to come to the meeting, and she’d understand if he wanted to drop out entirely. She would see him in solo therapy if that’s what he wanted. But no, Martin was determined to attend. He needed to see the others, and he needed to be seen.

“God damn, kid!” Stan said. “God damn!”

Martin put down his bulging backpack and took his seat next to Barbara. She touched his shoulder and said, “I’m so sorry. How are you holding up?”

He didn’t know how to answer that question. He was upright, so was that holding up? His body ached. His bones felt as shaky as Tinkertoys. Even under this blanket of Vicodin—he was still taking four a day—spikes of pain would shoot up his spine with no warning. When he turned his head too fast, his vision swam.

Oh, and the world without frames. It was so strange to see without filters—to see this group without protection. The only advantage was that he could almost forget that Greta was a monster.

“I also need to find a new place to crash,” Martin said.

“Why’s that?” Harrison asked.

“I got kicked out,” Martin said, which was not a lie. He kept the explanation vague, making it seem like a problem about money and roommates. Only Jan knew the whole story.

Stan, though, was still outraged on Martin’s behalf. “You can’t kick a man out of his home!”

“Where are you going to live?” Barbara asked.

“I’ll think of something,” he said.

Harrison said, “If you need some help—”

“From you?” Martin said.

Harrison started to say something, then seemed to think better of it. He glanced at Jan as if asking her permission to proceed. “Dr. Sayer told me that Martin was attacked right outside the bar where Greta and I were talking. We’d met there several times. After almost every meeting, actually.”

Stan raised his eyebrows.

“To talk,” Harrison said.

“Uh huh,” Stan said.

“I—we should have told the group. I apologize for that. If we’d been more open, then maybe—”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have stalked you,” Martin said.

“You really did that?” Barbara asked him.

“She left wakes,” Martin said. “Ripples in the air.”

“Really?” Stan said.

“Yup.”

Barbara said to Martin, “Do you want to talk about the attack?”

“No,” Martin said. He looked at Greta: straight on, from beneath eyelids puffy from the beating. “I want her to talk about it.”

“The cut was very small,” Greta said. “Maybe an inch long.”

Her voice was so quiet. Martin leaned forward, thinking, Finally.

“The razor was so sharp I didn’t feel it.”

Barbara made a noise, a tiny intake of breath, and Martin looked up.

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