THE CHANGE - CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

PART SIX - CHARLIE'S OLDEST FORGOTTEN FRIEND / DRENCHED IN RED

PART SIX

CHARLIE’S OLDEST FORGOTTEN FRIEND

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 18TH

LOS ANGELES, CA

TWENTY-ONE

And then, all at once, I was back at the Parasite – back in that shabby little room – with what felt like a full-blown tropical storm, pounding rain and thunder into my ears. It was loud: almost stunningly so, given the whimpering, ululating sounds of hookers feigning bliss in the rooms to either side.

I snapped out of my stupor by degrees, shaking my head as if that trick ever worked. Struggling hard to get my bearings. Desperately trying to reconnect with my sodden flesh and bones. It took far longer than it should for me to put a and b together.

The sound was coming from out of the bathroom.

It was the sound of the shower, turning on strong.

My fingers – numb – groped down toward the place where I laid down the gun. This involved my body moving. It wasn’t a thing my body liked. I was too drunk. I was so drunk that moving my arm felt like lifting a couch.

But now it was clear – there was someone in my shower – and the reality of that was like a big bite of tinfoil. I came fully awake like a galvanized emergency ward goner, jolting up beneath the paddles for another breath of life.

My fingers found the gun, still there, and wrapped themselves around it: trigger finger inserting itself by instinct, ready to squeeze upon command. In less than a second, I was up from the bed: wavering slightly, wasted bad, but psychically back in command.

Only then did I notice that my bed sheets were smothered in blood.