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“So, the truth,” I muttered thoughtfully, “Alright. Let’s just try to avoid throwing scenes, okay? The truth, well, the truth is that Eric and I flushed Flippy down the toilet.”
‘Oh, that’s something I shouldn’t have said ’, I thought, feeling Sabrina’s eyes widen in horror. She positively didn’t expect anything of the sort.
“Yes, we did it,” I couldn’t stop myself. It was all too funny giving her the details of the “unfortunate incident”. That had taken place in our childhood. “But don’t get mad, alright? I’m still driving. We didn’t realize what we were doing, we were seven years old, and saving the life of a goldfish seemed like a matter of honor back then. After some brief deliberation, we decided that at the end of the day, all sewage pipes must lead out into the ocean; sooner or later Flippy would be home. Yes, we were wrong. Who hasn’t made mistakes? What can I do about it now?” It was done, and we dreaded Sabrina finding out.
Then Grandpa came to our rescue and said he had released the fish into the river because the fish tank had been to small a home for it. Sabrina believed Grandpa and, after a while, stopped mourning and scolding us. Poor Flippy was forgotten.
And as a thank you to grandpa, Eric and I had behaved like the most diligent and obedient kids in the world for two whole days.
“Hey!” I exclaimed as Sabrina gave me a hefty slap on the back of my head.
“God, why are you so furious?!”
Seemingly offended by my words and the “truth” she had heard, she turned away with a look of indignation on her beautiful face, a righteous woman in grief.
I parked the car in front of old Venters’ house, cursing silently and vividly imagining how I would be giving Eric a proper walloping.
“Jack, I won’t just let this go,” Sabrina persisted.
“And what will you do? Torture me?” I asked angrily, as this conversation was really getting on my nerves now.
“That’s an idea,” Sabrina squinted. “They say sticking sharpened bamboo sticks under the fingernails is a very painful process,” she hissed, getting out of the car and slamming the door shut.
I rolled my eyes and buried my nose in the steering wheel. What am I going to do about her? She won’t just let it go, that’s a fact. No use denying it. Pulling up by the house, I feverishly recalled all the mischiefs Eric and I had done in hopes of bringing Sabrina to tears. All that mischief went straight to her heart. Poor Flippy came to my mind again. Damn it, Eric. I’ll kill him and not regret it, damn it!
I got out of the car and trudged towards the entrance door, feeling Sabrina’s gaze burning a huge hole in my back a few feet behind. Slowly, trying my best to keep myself in check, I turned to her and waved my hand in a stopping gesture. She was not to go in.
“What’s up?” I noticed her looks have significantly improved since this morning.
Miracles do happen, don’t they?
“I just wanted to say this is my favorite coat, so maybe you’ll switch your anger for mercy and stop staring at me so intensely with your loving eyes? You’ll burn a hole in my coat.” I tried to be charming and even made a charming grimace.
“Maybe I’ll treat you to something inside? Coffee? Poison? Rope?” Sabrina murmured.
“I wouldn’t…”
“Eric’s in his room,” she snapped and pushed past me into the house.
“I guess I shouldn’t count on coffee then?”
“And were you?” Sabrina raised her eyebrows in surprise before disappearing behind the door leading to her bedroom.
Well, it seems Sabrina may have been won over. Now it’s time to deal with Eric.
Chapter 5
Compromise
I stopped by the door, proudly bearing an old road sign “Stop”. Behind it, loud snoring could be heard, occasionally interrupted by agonizing groans. Well, at least he got some sleep. I hesitantly grabbed the handle and took a step into the unknown…The room was dimly lit. I looked around and grimaced. The curtains were drawn, the windows securely locked, preventing any fresh air from entering the room. There was little evidence of the madness Eric had wrought the previous night. Apparently, Sabrina had made an effort to tidy up. I noticed there was a photograph missing on the desk, the one with old man Alex, Eric, and myself. On closer inspection I noticed that the computer monitor was half shattered, and there was practically nothing left of the keyboard.
Eric lay sprawled across the bed, arms spread wide, snoring loudly. His half-naked, long, thin body tossed from side to side intermittently. Now and again he would grab his head, occasionally interrupting the snoring with a prolonged groan.
The scene made me boil on the inside, and I was hoping he was having nightmares at the very least.
“Eric,” I called out. Silence followed. Eric rolled over to one side and sighed loudly. I cursed under my breath and tried again.
“Eric!” Again, silence. Well, at least he stopped snoring.
I counted to ten, then leaned over and pulled Eric’s hair.
“What the hell?” came a muffled voice somewhere from the depths of the pillow.
“Sabi, is that you?” Eric asked, not even attempting to lift his head.
“No, not Sabi,” I snapped and froze, waiting for some response. For a couple of minutes, Eric showed no signs of life at all and remained completely motionless, trying to understand who had disturbed his sleep.
“Who?” he mumbled in astonishment.
I couldn’t hold back any longer. The anger that I had carefully contained within me finally burst out. I could most hear the deafening tolling of bells inside my
head. A little more and I would have lunged at Eric with my fists, just to remind him of my existence.
“Damn it! Eric! You don’t even recognize my voice anymore?! Come on, get yourself up and try to remember my name!”
Eric stiffened and slowly lifted his head. There was so much astonishment in his large blue eyes that I involuntarily wondered if my friend was suffering from a split personality disorder. Although, most likely, it was just an effect of prolonged drinking. He sat up on the bed and rubbed his eyes. Clearly, he couldn’t remember who I was. And the sight Eric presented was hardly aesthetically pleasing: dark, thick, overgrown hair sticking out in different directions, a foggy gaze, a split lip, and, apparently, his nose had recently been quite badly bruised. “Goblin-like”
didn’t even begin to cover the shaggy monster standing before me.
“What are you doing here?” Eric whispered hoarsely.
“What am I doing here? You’re asking WHAT I’m doing here? I want to know why the hell you told your sister all that nonsense yesterday?!” I yelled, pacing back and forth.
“Oh…” was all the drunk youngster squeeze out and stared at me expectantly.
“Eric, I didn’t think you were such an idiot and… your lip is split!”
“Back off, Jack,” Eric mumbled and flopped back onto the bed. “But since you’re here, bring me some water.”
Instead of heading straight to the kitchen to help my friend with his hangover, I grabbed his hair again and turned his face towards me. Eric’s eyes showed confusion and bewilderment.
“Jack! Are you out of your mind? That hurts!,” he freed his hair from my grip and, fully back to his senses now, sat up on the bed.
“What do you want?”
“Grab your butt and take it to the bathroom. You have exactly twenty minutes to sober up,” I muttered through gritted teeth and walked to the window to open it.
My head spun slightly when a gust of cool air rushed into the room, dispelling the alcoholic stench that had permeated the walls for days.
Eric glared at me but, without a word, got up and shuffled to the bathroom, barely moving his legs. I watched his slouched figure and shook my head disapprovingly. Since our last meeting, the guy had noticeably deteriorated and now resembled a walking fishing hook. It’s incredible, I saw him not long ago, and I could swear he wasn’t that skinny. And just a few months ago, we went to the gym together to avoid resembling Mr. Cornell Senior’s anti-athletic figure… I thought and glanced at the wall where the old digital clock had always been. It wasn’t there anymore. Apparently, Eric got to it too and smashed it. Cursing quietly, I opened the window wider and left the room to go to the kitchen to find some aspirin for my unfortunate friend. In the kitchen, I accidentally glanced at an old alarm clock standing on the table. The hands on the scratched dial showed eleven-thirty, and there was no hint of the sun outside. What happened to the weather? A quiet, prolonged groan behind me interrupted my thoughts. I turned around quickly. It was Sabrina, and she looked unwell…
“Oh my,” she whispered, pressing her hand to her stomach.
Without thinking about the possible consequences, I rushed to her and grabbed her hand just above the elbow. She was burning with fever, sweat beads forming on her forehead. I reached for the phone hanging on the wall and was about to dial 911 when Sabrina pulled the receiver out of my grip.
“Where are you going to call?” she whispered anxiously.
“What a stupid question? You need a doctor,” I replied decisively, feeling Sabrina release my hand and forcing a feeble smile.
“No, Jack! What are you thinking? I’m fine. Probably just something I ate.
Really, everything's fine,” she said soothingly and hung up the phone.
Perhaps she felt a little better, but the wild glint in her eyes didn’t disappear. She looked away, and seemed paler to me. I followed her gaze but didn’t notice anything unusual. Everything was the same: the kitchen furniture in its place, the same old alarm clock that hadn’t been moved for years. Nothing that could terrify a person. Suddenly, Sabrina groaned again and once more brought her hand to her stomach.
“Jack, this is the first and last time I ask you to help me… get me a chair and…
and bring water, please,” she muttered. Trying not to curse, I carefully lifted her, carried to the living room. There I laid her on the couch.
“Wait a second,” I muttered and left to fetch some water. Once again, I scanned the kitchen but didn’t see anything that could have frightened her. I had no choice
but to return to the living room. Sabrina took a few sips from the glass and brushed the damp hair from her forehead.
“Some virus,” she murmured, tilting her head back and taking a few deep breaths.
“Yeah, a virus. Should I call a doctor or take you to the hospital?”
“Or maybe we should have lunch?” She smiled. And there was something in that smile that made my heart sink again.
“How did you wake up Eric?” Sabrina asked curiously, nodding towards the bathroom.
“You gotta have skills,” I replied, not without an air of mischief.
There was a deafening crash followed by a string of curses, coming from the depths of the house. Then the slam of the door, and finally, a loud yawn. Eric entered the living room almost steadily.
He looked much better, but still disheveled and clearly unaware of what was happening around him. I noticed a shallow cut on his left cheek. Naturally, Eric noticed it too.
“I shaved,” he grumbled, poking the cheek with a cotton swab.
“Clearly,” Sabrina retorted sharply, catching her brother’s attention.
Noticing Sabrina, Eric immediately rushed to her and sat down on the floor next her.
“Are you feeling bad again, Sabi?” he asked anxiously, breathing alcohol fumes into her face.
“You’ll definitely make me feel bad now!” Sabrina grimaced, lightly punched Eric’s shoulder, got up and left the room. Watching her leave, I turned back to the squatting figure on the floor, the hunched-over guy who clearly didn't want to continue the conversation started in his room.
“I think we have something to discuss,” I said softly, breaking the awkward pause.
Eric shot me an angry glance, then laboriously got up and, dramatically, trudged back to his alcohol-soaked den.
“Have you eaten, who called me yesterday?” he spoke first, ushering me into his room.
“Murphy”, I replied instantly, settling into the old, weathered armchair.
Eric only looked at me quizzingly.
“He said I hadn’t handled the job well, and grandpa would be very ashamed of me,” he lowered his head and sighed heavily. “He said you would have done much better than me.”
“I know, Sabrina already told me,” I declared, getting up from the chair. I walked to the window with a shuffling gait, and lit a cigarette.
Suddenly, Eric raised his head in horror, his eyes widening as he stared at me, clearly now beginning to recall the details of yesterday’s conversation with his sister.
“Damn! I didn’t…”
“No,” I interrupted, “but you have said enough to make her come to me for clarification. For which I want, at the very least, to knock you out.”
“Oh… bad times,” my sobering friend muttered guiltily, staring at me, awaiting my angry response.
“Yes, and I had to tell her about Flippy’s murder.”
“Oh! That's some shit… She definitely didn’t need to know that! But… Okay, what now?”
“I met with Mom today. They decided that now I’ll be doing ‘surveillance.’ ”
Eric glanced sidelong at me and chuckled loudly. Then he flopped heavily onto the bed and covered his face with his palms.
“I let everyone down,” he moaned after a moment.
“Not everyone. At least, not yet. Stop boozing. The sooner, the better. Otherwise, you'll lose not only your job but also your family. Sabrina is desperate. You've driven her to it,” I said, closely observing Eric's changing expression.
“I noticed she’s been acting strangely lately. But I don’t think it’s because of me.
She often looks somewhere, as if at someone… And I also feel that we’re not alone here,” he fell silent.
A hangover is not the best time for a serious conversation. And I genuinely pitied him. Deep down. Somewhere very deep. At the very bottom. Although, what am I talking about? My soul is bottomless…
“Eric, let’s try to find a compromise? We both know I won’t be able to keep an eye on her outside of university.”
Eric nodded in agreement and lazily scratched his scalp.
“So, here’s the deal: I’ll ask to have you appointed as my assistant, but on one condition.”
“What’s that?” Eric looked at me hopefully.
“You quit drinking and keep your mouth shut tight.”
“Agreed,” my friend replied without hesitation.
