Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two) (29 page)

Yeah, me too, baby.

I start to shiver. Vikki gives me a
huge faux-fur coat. Halfway
into the smoke, Trev calls me—but from a number I don’t recognize.
“Blaze, how’s he doing?”

“
Critical.” I can’t bare anymore
words.

“And...uhm...the others?” I can hear the fear
in his voice.

“No idea. Where are you guys?”

“Do you mind if I don’t answer?”

“
No...(
ahem
)...sure. Look, Trev, whatever happens...I’m grateful. I
mean...if Deck doesn’t—”

“Blaze! He’s gonna make it, OK?”

“
Yeah, but, if he doesn’t, I’m grateful for
how you”—I fight the tears back—“how you had his back.”

“
I took it too far, Blaze. I saw red. I
saw—”

“No one can blame you.”

“
It was all heat of the moment, Blaze. I
just—”

“
Trev, it was
self defense
!”

“
Uhm, yeah, uhm—”

“That’s what I saw. And that’s what I’ll say
when I’m asked. How’s Skate?”

“
Th
—thanks, Blaze. Skate’s cool. He’s with me.”

“
Thank
you
,
Big Brother.”

He gives a deep laugh at that. “Damn it. I
really fucked this up.”

“
Trevor! Stop it now!
Dino Moretti
fucked it up!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Silence. “But me too. I also
fucked it up. I know it.”

“
Self defense. That’s what I saw.” But he
did take it far.
Very
far.

And I’m fucking grateful for it.
Because in a just world, those goons would’ve been executed at
dawn
!

“Call me when he wakes up.”

When
. Not
If
.
“Sure. I’ll do that. Tell Skate Vikki says hi.”

“Yo, bro, Vikki says hi.”

I hear Skate saying, “Put her on.”

I give the phone to Vikki. She puts on
her
Femme
Fatale
accent. She says,
“Skate, you are OK? ... Good. Good. We saw every
ss
ing. Was self defense. Is sure! ... OK. No
problem. Yes, I am
wiss
her.
...
Yes, we call when he
wake up. Look, Skate, we must meet sometime. After dis crazy thing
is over. Alone. ... Yes. ... I am sure. OK. Goodbye.”

I finish my smoke and stub it on
the
nearest wall. “You
ready to hook up with Skate?”

She grins. “He is...very strong!”

It does get a laugh out of me, and with
that, a mountain of relief hits me.

“
And,” she continues, “after such a crazy
thing, a person begins to wonder about what is important. And
begins to count the minutes. I think I like Skate. He seems to have
a good heart. And”—she grins—“a lot of
stamina
!”

More laughter on my part, and more
relief.

“
I just don’t want to waste any more time,”
she says. “This was
scary
tonight.”

I rub her back, but I don’t comment.
Because it
was
damn
scary.

Still is.

We walk into the hospital.

And we see Dino’s parents
there...

The mother
(bottle red-head with homemade curls) goes apeshit
on my ass. She tells me how Declan ruined the life of their
daughter and now wants to take away her son as well!

So, I go equally apeshit
—because she’s downright insulted my
intelligence with her idiocy! I tell her Dino Mo-fuckin-Retti just
came into the bar “wielding a
fucking
chain, you idiot! And then hit Declan on the head with
it!”

Vikki actually has to hold me back, much
like Skate held me back earlier.

“
Only because that
Cox
boy has been stirring things up with Gina—” Mrs.
Moretti’s accent is one hundred percent
Jersey Shore
. There aren’t any Gs in her present participles
and
things
comes out
as
tings
.
With
is
wit
.

“
HE FUCKING NEARLY BURNED DOWN MY
APARTMENT—”

“
Are you frickin
stoopid
! And what the
hell
is up wit yo hair?” Now her husband is holding
her
back by the elbows!

Chick-
fight comin up, biatch!

“
You and this Declan boy
—two of a kind. Look at all this
unholy
defacement
of
your bodies!” She waves a reprimanding hand at my tats. “And
this...
hair
! It’s
people like you who ruin the good people of the world!”
Da good people ohdah
woirrld
.

Vikki’s nails dig into me as I try and
headbutt this
chick!

Her husband (
a small round and balding man with a large gray
mustache) says, “Miranda, now let’s calm down here. We know Declan
has been helping Gina out at
Dymphna’s
.”

“Helping! Helping!? HE PUT HER THERE!”

Now I’m pissed.
“He didn’t fuckin put her there! She put herself
there! Declan didn’t thrust the damn drugs down her throat. He’s
never even done A!”

“
A! Oh you foolish kids and yo slang! It’s
LSD!”

OK, much of a muchness.
Aaaaaanyway!
“You know what?” I chill, and
Vikki, sensing it, lets me go. “I don’t have time for this shit.
The boy I love is in there—a hole in his head!—because your
son—”

“
Blaze.” It’s Vikki’s voice, gentle as
sunshine. “We are all very stressed.” She looks up at the
biatch
(who would do everybody a favor
by following her namesake and
shutting the fuck up
!) “Let’s just hope
both
these boys come out OK.”

“Yes,” agrees the father. “Miranda? Should we
go see how Dino’s doin?”

Miranda
The
Biatch
Moretti tugs her arms away, scoffs in my direction, and
struts off. The father puts a hand on my shoulder. It’s completely
disarming. At first, I twitch away. Then, when I realize he ain’t
about to slap me, I just stay there, rigid as hell. “Blaze, is
it?”

I nod, lips set. Teeth clenched.

“
I apologize for my wife’s behavior. I
won’t make excuses for it. There’s always been some degree of blame
toward Declan.” The man—Mr.
Moretti
—does
not
speak like a
rerun of
Jersey Shore
,
oddly enough—well, not entirely. “It hasn’t been easy on us. But
you’re right that Gina made her choices. And, ultimately, the
blame, if any, always falls on the parents. One day you kids will
understand that sentiment. And it’s a tough burden to bear.” He
takes his hand off my shoulder and pulls off his spectacles, cleans
them with a cloth from his pocket. “And, sometimes, laying into
someone is a method of releasing that burden—foolish though it may
be.

“I wish you all the best with Declan. I know
what it’s like to have someone you love in the hospital, wondering
if they come out of it. Is he awake now?”

I don’t at first realize he’s asked me a
question. Vikki pokes me sharply in my ribs and I spout out, “Uhm,
no, sir. He’s in a coma.”

He shakes his head somberly. “My goodness.
Boys! Always hot-headed. When he comes out of it...” When Mr.
Moretti says
When
, it’s not
said with any real conviction; it’s even said with a little tremor
of the lip. I know he means
If
.
“...tell him I appreciate what he’s been doing with Gina. I’m the
one who pushed for him to be allowed to see her. I think she’s
working through some dark clouds, and if it takes seeing an old
friend”—I know he means
lover
,
and I appreciate him avoiding the use of the word—“to get her back,
then that’s what needs to be done.”

“I’ll tell him, sir.”

“Donovan. The name’s Donovan.”

“OK.”

We stand silently for a few seconds. “Well
then. OK.” He nods at us politely, then he leaves. His wife’s long
gone, but I hear her bitching at him from around the corner about
what the hell was he doing “talking to her!?”

And, finally, in muffled
hush-tones
: “Miranda,
that’s
enough
!”

This is followed by what sounds
tremendously like the noise a puppy makes when someone stands on
its paw and grinds.

Vikki and I can’t help but snicker.

I fall asleep on Vikki’s lap on a bench
inside the hospital.
It’s a light sleep, because the bench is ass-uncomfortable.
But when I do fade, I dream. The dreams are all different, and yet,
somehow, all the same.

The first is of Declan, teeth bloody, face
bloody. Capillaries popping out of his skin. He smiles, and I feel
cold.

I wake with a start.

The second is of Xavier—slow motion: The
white room and white fedora. And the white of his teeth as he
smiles, followed by the slow movement of the black gun to his
temple. Smiling smiling
smiling
. Then the slow motion of the splatter of his head
exploding and tarnishing the white walls and white
carpet.

But Xavier is still smiling at me. His teeth
now red, and his fedora splattered with brown and black blood.

I wake with a
gasp
! And a cough! I almost fall off the
seat.

Vikki steadies me. “It was just a dream,
Blaze! Just a dream!”

I catch my breath. And I eventually sleep
again.

This dream is of Savva. And when I wake up
from that one (“OH GOD MOTHER
FUCK
!
SAVVA!”) I feel nauseas. So I decide not to sleep
anymore.

I sit up, and the nausea
won’
t leave me for half
an hour. Vikki puts her arm around me and rocks me
gently.

Then she starts singing, slowly, quietly,
dulcetly.

I don’t sleep, but hearing her voice makes me
feel like I’m sleeping. The first real sleep I’ve had all
night.

I shed a tear after the third verse. My
voice breaks into a few light gasps by the fourth. She puts her
hand on my cheek, sings louder, beautifully, peacefully; her voice
crystal clear.

She sings a song of love and friendship and
losing both but finding yourself.

Eventually (probably the seventh verse,
maybe), I’m waterfalling all over her breast. And she’s holding
me.

I hold her
in return. My new lifeline. And I want to tell her
how much she means to me. I want to ask her to please not leave me
alone. Because I’m scared.
So
scared.

It’s all too familiar.
Please don’t go.

But I don’t need to tell her any of this.
She stays. She stays all night. And she sings all night. She stays
through the morning. She gets Vlad to pick us up some breakfast and
stays with me through until the afternoon. We go to the bathroom
and wash under our arms and make jokes about how much we stink. We
spray water on our faces and complain about having no
moisturizer.

By one P.M., Dino’s awake. So are his two
goon friends. Alive. Alive and fucking well.

Biatch
walks past me on the bench with a contemptuous
smirk on her face.
See? See what God has done? He’s punishing YOUR MURDERING
BOYFRIEND!
Her face
tells me this is what she’s thinking.

Mr. Moretti (“Donovan”) takes a second to
place another hand on my shoulder. And this time, I put mine back
on his, because my strength is faltering. My body feels weakened by
my mind. He squeezes my shoulder tight. “He’ll make it through,
Blaze. Be strong.” He gives me his card. “Here. Call me anytime.
Even if it’s just to...talk.”

The undertones are coming through loud and
clear:
Because if he dies, you’re gonna need someone to talk
to
.

“
Thank—thank you, sir. I mean,
Donovan.”

He squeezes again, then leaves.

At one thirty P.M. Trev calls. I fill him
in. the cops have caught up with him and Skate, and let them go.
“Waiting to see if Dino and his cronies will press charges,” he
says. “Seems I also broke some dude’s tooth at the bar. He actually
came and saw me and shook my hand. Said he’s never been in a fight
his whole life and has decided to keep the damn tooth out as a ‘war
scar.’ Can you believe that shit? Any news on Deck?”

“
No.” I can’t tell him more. I just can’t.
It’s too hard to talk. It feels like I’m constantly hearing someone
grate their nails over a wet chalk board.

“OK. Fine. Look, we’re gonna come over.”

“That would be nice.”

Trev
hangs up.