go,’ said Roland.
Without another word, he climbed over Fisk’s fence and began crossing his field.
CHAPTER FOUR
I
Three lots north of the Yacht Club, at the top of the hill, there was a stand of trees shot through with bracken. In its centre lay the crumbling foundations of an old house. When it had stood, perhaps fifty years ago, it had not been large; the pitted limestone walls, now only knee-high, showed only four rooms. If there had been a cellar or basement, it had long since been filled in and no sign of it remained.
The driveway that led into the decayed homestead was mostly overgrown; only a careful exploration would reveal it. Because it was a place of antiquity, because it was a place where something had ended and nothing had risen in its place, Jennifer thought it perfect.
The trees and brush fashioned a grey-and-black barrier, like a thickly woven web, on all sides. Jennifer led the way into the clearing, Barb and Sandy behind her. No one spoke as they entered the ruins and sat down on the foundation walls.
Jennifer studied her two friends. Absently twisting the curls of her short brown hair, Barb kept her gaze fixed on the path that had brought her here, to this place. Jennifer glanced at her other friend. Expressionless, Sandy’s face was turned in the direction opposite Barb’s.
‘Did you bring it?’
Jennifer turned to Barb, met her uneasy gaze with a smile. ‘Of course,’ she answered. ‘Three hits, just like I said.’
Sandy stood up and looked around. ‘Is this the right kind of place, though?’ she asked.
‘It’s perfect,’ Jennifer replied, reaching into the breast pocket of her jean jacket. ‘There’s just us. No one knows we’re here. There couldn’t be any place better.’
‘I have to pee,’ Sandy said suddenly.
Barb’s laugh came as a shriek.
‘Over at that tree there, then,’ Jennifer suggested. The tree stood at the edge of the homestead’s foundation. It was an old ash that had probably been planted when the house was first built.
‘Is that stuff going to make us go crazy?’ Barb asked.
‘Maybe a little,’ Jennifer admitted. She looked down at the three small squares of gelatin in her hands. She had taken acid twice before, yet both times it had been indoors. This time, she knew, it would be different.
Sandy had returned from the tree and now stood in front of her. ‘So that’s acid, huh?’
‘Yep. Windowpane.’ She distributed the squares to her friends. ‘Cough drops,’ she laughed.
An indeterminate time later, Barb muttered, ‘I smell olives.’
‘The snake’s stopped moving,’ Sandy replied.
‘I hear flapping wings.’ Barb sat down on the ground and looked skyward. ‘Fluttering leaves.’
‘There are no leaves,’ Jennifer said. ‘Just little fists.’ Leaning back, she watched the currents of air moving back and forth, carrying scents and sounds attached to their threads like notes. I’m watching music. ‘Little fists pounding. Hear them.’ Suddenly she felt omniscient. She began to see visions not her own; she began to see with Barb’s eyes, Sandy’s eyes. ‘Early begun.’
‘Further spun.’ Barb smiled.
‘One day done,’ Sandy finished.
They sat in wondrous silence.
II
‘Me and Roland saw an eagle today,’ Lynk said, pausing to kick at a clump of mud.
I snorted. ‘There aren’t any eagles around here. Just hawks, and owls.’
‘How the fuck would you know?’ Lynk demanded hotly.
‘There just aren’t,’ I replied, at a loss at how to explain my certainty, but feeling stubborn anyway.
‘Pretty sure it was an eagle,’ Roland said slowly, frowning. ‘White head. Real big, gliding back and forth.’
I grunted. ‘Maybe it was heading north or something.’
The field was still muddy after yesterday’s rain. Heavy globules of mud clung to our boots as we walked. Up ahead stood Fisk’s farm. From our approach the three long rows of cages created a wall in front of the house itself. As we neared, an
Without another word, he climbed over Fisk’s fence and began crossing his field.
CHAPTER FOUR
I
Three lots north of the Yacht Club, at the top of the hill, there was a stand of trees shot through with bracken. In its centre lay the crumbling foundations of an old house. When it had stood, perhaps fifty years ago, it had not been large; the pitted limestone walls, now only knee-high, showed only four rooms. If there had been a cellar or basement, it had long since been filled in and no sign of it remained.
The driveway that led into the decayed homestead was mostly overgrown; only a careful exploration would reveal it. Because it was a place of antiquity, because it was a place where something had ended and nothing had risen in its place, Jennifer thought it perfect.
The trees and brush fashioned a grey-and-black barrier, like a thickly woven web, on all sides. Jennifer led the way into the clearing, Barb and Sandy behind her. No one spoke as they entered the ruins and sat down on the foundation walls.
Jennifer studied her two friends. Absently twisting the curls of her short brown hair, Barb kept her gaze fixed on the path that had brought her here, to this place. Jennifer glanced at her other friend. Expressionless, Sandy’s face was turned in the direction opposite Barb’s.
‘Did you bring it?’
Jennifer turned to Barb, met her uneasy gaze with a smile. ‘Of course,’ she answered. ‘Three hits, just like I said.’
Sandy stood up and looked around. ‘Is this the right kind of place, though?’ she asked.
‘It’s perfect,’ Jennifer replied, reaching into the breast pocket of her jean jacket. ‘There’s just us. No one knows we’re here. There couldn’t be any place better.’
‘I have to pee,’ Sandy said suddenly.
Barb’s laugh came as a shriek.
‘Over at that tree there, then,’ Jennifer suggested. The tree stood at the edge of the homestead’s foundation. It was an old ash that had probably been planted when the house was first built.
‘Is that stuff going to make us go crazy?’ Barb asked.
‘Maybe a little,’ Jennifer admitted. She looked down at the three small squares of gelatin in her hands. She had taken acid twice before, yet both times it had been indoors. This time, she knew, it would be different.
Sandy had returned from the tree and now stood in front of her. ‘So that’s acid, huh?’
‘Yep. Windowpane.’ She distributed the squares to her friends. ‘Cough drops,’ she laughed.
An indeterminate time later, Barb muttered, ‘I smell olives.’
‘The snake’s stopped moving,’ Sandy replied.
‘I hear flapping wings.’ Barb sat down on the ground and looked skyward. ‘Fluttering leaves.’
‘There are no leaves,’ Jennifer said. ‘Just little fists.’ Leaning back, she watched the currents of air moving back and forth, carrying scents and sounds attached to their threads like notes. I’m watching music. ‘Little fists pounding. Hear them.’ Suddenly she felt omniscient. She began to see visions not her own; she began to see with Barb’s eyes, Sandy’s eyes. ‘Early begun.’
‘Further spun.’ Barb smiled.
‘One day done,’ Sandy finished.
They sat in wondrous silence.
II
‘Me and Roland saw an eagle today,’ Lynk said, pausing to kick at a clump of mud.
I snorted. ‘There aren’t any eagles around here. Just hawks, and owls.’
‘How the fuck would you know?’ Lynk demanded hotly.
‘There just aren’t,’ I replied, at a loss at how to explain my certainty, but feeling stubborn anyway.
‘Pretty sure it was an eagle,’ Roland said slowly, frowning. ‘White head. Real big, gliding back and forth.’
I grunted. ‘Maybe it was heading north or something.’
The field was still muddy after yesterday’s rain. Heavy globules of mud clung to our boots as we walked. Up ahead stood Fisk’s farm. From our approach the three long rows of cages created a wall in front of the house itself. As we neared, an
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