feeling her numbed lips move against the cloth. She raised her head. The whole side of her face felt numb, as though the blood had been drained from it.
Pushing the dry tangle of her hair away from her eyes, she fumbled her other hand toward the noise. The pillow fell off the bedside table, and the phone's ring shrieked louder.
She managed to get it to her ear.
"Yeah?" Her tongue felt like some alien creature that had taken up residence in her mouth, a space too small for it. Mumbling: "What d'ya want?"
"Lindy, it's me… it's Mike…"
The words, the voice, jolted her into full consciousness. As if the chemicals in her blood and brain had evaporated, replaced by adrenaline. She sat upright on the bed, drawing her legs underneath her, clutching the phone, the most valuable thing in the world, with both hands.
"Mike-" Her brain raced ahead; it took a second for her own words to catch up. "Where are you? How did you-"
His voice, an unsteady whisper but his voice, cut her short. "Never mind… we can talk about that later… when you get here. First… you've got to help me." For a few seconds, she heard nothing but his breathing, dragging and rough. Then he spoke again: "I'm going to need some stuff…"
***
Doot had had to stay in the phone booth, his butt sticking out past the folded-up door, to keep the guy standing so he could go on talking. Some of the things the guy said, to whomever was on the other end of the line, made sense-it sounded like doctor stuff, things the guy needed to try to take care of himself-and other things he couldn't figure out at all. That part didn't sound too good.
"All right…" The man's voice had dwindled down to a whisper, a breath. "Just hurry…" The phone fell from his hand and dangled at the end of its cord.
He draped the man's arm over his shoulder and carried him out of the booth to the motorbike. The guy looked even worse than before. Maybe he really was dying.
The bruised face lifted toward his. "Let's go back…" The lips barely moved. "Just gotta wait…"
They'd have to do the whole bungee cord routine again. Doot pulled the cord out of the back pocket of his jeans and looped it underneath the denim jacket, the man's weight sagging against the elastic. He got him straddling the bike's passenger seat, then climbed on and hooked the cord around his own chest.
The bike sputtered to life. Its headlight swept across the empty reach of the parking lot as Doot swung the machine back out onto the road.
***
She flew through the apartment, grabbing things and running back to the bedroom to stuff them into the suitcase.
Some of the things were easy to find, even in the apartment's trashed-out state. Things that were legal, that had never had to be hidden. Mike's doctor stuff, antibiotics and simple shit like that. She threw them in on top of the clothes, both his and hers, that she'd snatched out of the dresser drawers.
Other stuff… She stood for a moment beside the bed, eyes closed, gathering her breath. Then she swiftly knelt down and tugged at the carpet underneath the bed frame. The deep pile's backing had been slit; the point of a triangle peeled back in her hand. From the hiding place cut in the floorboards, she took out a small cardboard box, its flaps held down by a rubber band around it. She straightened up and threw the box into the suitcase. The rubber band snapped, and an assortment of hypodermics and glass vials and orange-capped plastic containers, their contents rattling, spilled out.
She stood up and slammed the case's lid shut, snapping the locks into place.
With the suitcase in one hand and her coat draped over the other, she couldn't manage to pull the apartment's front door shut behind her.
"Fuck it."
She left the door open and headed for the stairs. Through
Pushing the dry tangle of her hair away from her eyes, she fumbled her other hand toward the noise. The pillow fell off the bedside table, and the phone's ring shrieked louder.
She managed to get it to her ear.
"Yeah?" Her tongue felt like some alien creature that had taken up residence in her mouth, a space too small for it. Mumbling: "What d'ya want?"
"Lindy, it's me… it's Mike…"
The words, the voice, jolted her into full consciousness. As if the chemicals in her blood and brain had evaporated, replaced by adrenaline. She sat upright on the bed, drawing her legs underneath her, clutching the phone, the most valuable thing in the world, with both hands.
"Mike-" Her brain raced ahead; it took a second for her own words to catch up. "Where are you? How did you-"
His voice, an unsteady whisper but his voice, cut her short. "Never mind… we can talk about that later… when you get here. First… you've got to help me." For a few seconds, she heard nothing but his breathing, dragging and rough. Then he spoke again: "I'm going to need some stuff…"
***
Doot had had to stay in the phone booth, his butt sticking out past the folded-up door, to keep the guy standing so he could go on talking. Some of the things the guy said, to whomever was on the other end of the line, made sense-it sounded like doctor stuff, things the guy needed to try to take care of himself-and other things he couldn't figure out at all. That part didn't sound too good.
"All right…" The man's voice had dwindled down to a whisper, a breath. "Just hurry…" The phone fell from his hand and dangled at the end of its cord.
He draped the man's arm over his shoulder and carried him out of the booth to the motorbike. The guy looked even worse than before. Maybe he really was dying.
The bruised face lifted toward his. "Let's go back…" The lips barely moved. "Just gotta wait…"
They'd have to do the whole bungee cord routine again. Doot pulled the cord out of the back pocket of his jeans and looped it underneath the denim jacket, the man's weight sagging against the elastic. He got him straddling the bike's passenger seat, then climbed on and hooked the cord around his own chest.
The bike sputtered to life. Its headlight swept across the empty reach of the parking lot as Doot swung the machine back out onto the road.
***
She flew through the apartment, grabbing things and running back to the bedroom to stuff them into the suitcase.
Some of the things were easy to find, even in the apartment's trashed-out state. Things that were legal, that had never had to be hidden. Mike's doctor stuff, antibiotics and simple shit like that. She threw them in on top of the clothes, both his and hers, that she'd snatched out of the dresser drawers.
Other stuff… She stood for a moment beside the bed, eyes closed, gathering her breath. Then she swiftly knelt down and tugged at the carpet underneath the bed frame. The deep pile's backing had been slit; the point of a triangle peeled back in her hand. From the hiding place cut in the floorboards, she took out a small cardboard box, its flaps held down by a rubber band around it. She straightened up and threw the box into the suitcase. The rubber band snapped, and an assortment of hypodermics and glass vials and orange-capped plastic containers, their contents rattling, spilled out.
She stood up and slammed the case's lid shut, snapping the locks into place.
With the suitcase in one hand and her coat draped over the other, she couldn't manage to pull the apartment's front door shut behind her.
"Fuck it."
She left the door open and headed for the stairs. Through
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