When I did check on him, though, he was breathing okay. His eyes were open and glassy, his pulse was far too quick, but his breathing was okay. His skin was shiny white in some places, but dark red in others. I picked him up and put his arm around my shoulder. I started walking us toward the back door to Sully’s.
“No!” he mumbled. His head lolled against my shoulder.
“What?” I asked, “Kevin, you passed out. I’m going to take you back inside so that maybe Bud can—,” I started.
“No!” he said, and stumbled. It wasn’t until after I’d gotten a hold on him again that I realized he hadn’t stumbled; he’d struggled. He didn’t want to go back into Sully’s.
“You don’t want to go back in?” I asked.
“No,” he said. He mumbled something after that, but the only words I could make out were “me” and “home”.
“Kevin, you’re not doing so good, let me have Bud—,” I started again, moving for the door. He stumbled again and fell down. When I bent down next to him, the spotlight above the back door shone clearly into his eyes, making him look like he was staring at something very far away. He was trembling, and his eyes were starting to tear.
“No,” he said, and his shoulders started to move up and down. It took me a second to realize he was sobbing. His eyes were still huge in the light. He was mumbling and again I could make out “me” and “home”, but also “Andrew” and something about “bad shit”.
“Do you want me to take you home?” I asked. Still sobbing and mumbling, he nodded. “Did you drive?” I asked. Again, he nodded. I reached past his arm to rummage in his hip pocket. His keys were easy to find, but he kept mumbling “later” while my fingers were in his pocket. I slung his arm over my shoulder and stood him up again. On the key ring was the logo for a car company, faded and worn. There weren’t many cars in the parking lot that night; most of the men inside always rode together in trucks. It was fairly easy to find his Honda..
It’d been a very long time since I drove a stick shift, so I was rusty at first. Kevin was still crying and nearly curled around himself in the other seat. On the stereo, someone was singing about the badlands, and I had to turn it down; he’d been listening to it very loud. “Kevin,” I said, “Kevin.” His head moved a bit, more like someone who thought they heard something out in the yard than like someone answering a question from two foot away. “Kevin, I don’t know where you live,” I said. He wasn’t responding, just staring and then crying. I pulled the car over, slapped it down into neutral, and dug into his other pocket. He mumbled something about “later,” but I came out with his wallet.
The photo of him seemed too young to be the person sitting next to me. The expression was blank and had some sort of hope in it. Just below it read his name, Kevin Anderson O’Malley, and then an address. I recognized it as being not far from here. It wasn’t a nice sort of place back when we were growing up, though. I hoped that it had changed. I folded the wallet up and set it on the dash, put the car in gear and hoped.
The area was out near the railroad tracks. No town ever has nice places to live there. Usually, though, the rent is cheap, payable in cash only, and there’s no credit check to worry about. As I pulled the car up into the grouping of buildings, I wondered how he kept it from being stolen. There were no streetlights out this far. Just past the headlights of the car, I could see figures moving in the shadows. They seemed to scurry out of the way of the light just in time to keep from being seen. It seemed like some sort of magic ability.
The numbers on the doors ran downward until I found the one. I put the car in park, and then shut it off. I kept expecting someone to tap on the window, or some horrible face to come out of the darkness. It seemed like a horror movie about to come true. “Kevin,” I said. His head lolled over the seat toward me. The shaking had stopped some, and his eyelids didn’t seem skinned back from his eyes anymore.
I don’t know why I decided to do it, but somehow I knew, even before I shut the car off, that I’d be staying with him tonight. It took a few minutes of maneuvering to get him out of the seat, then close and lock the car doors. He seemed to realize what was happening, though, because he helped in little, unconscious ways. His body would shift closer to me, or he’d pivot on his tip toe when I needed. For a second, it was nice in a way that I still don’t know how to describe; two guys moving in one direction together. I unlocked his door and walked him just inside. The only light in the place was coming from a small door just down a murky hallway. It seemed like a bathroom light, maybe.
When I closed the door and flicked the light switch, nothing happened. He giggled under his breath and mumbled something like “oops.” I saw a couch about two foot in and walked him to it. I tried to move him slowly onto the cushions, but he slipped and fell. His head bounced a little on his neck as his flopped onto the couch. I walked back to the door and locked it. When I turned around, his head was on the arm of the couch, and his body only in one cushion of the two; it looked like he was about to snap his neck. I walked to him and moved him down some, his head sliding down onto a pillow. I let go of his legs and looked at him for a moment. His eyes were still open, but no longer so wide it hurt me to see. His breathing was still steady, though. His skin didn’t look so blotchy.
The floor was covered in piles and piles of books. He had two planks of wood anchored to the wall with books stacked on them. I don’t know how, but I knew he’d made them himself. They were full to toppling with books. A small table was in front of the couch, and off to the side of that was a larger table with two thin chairs. That table was the only place clear of books. On it was a cheap looking stereo, and a few legal pads that were filled with scrawled words.
“Mikey,” Kevin whispered. I looked over at him, and felt how still the room was. “So good. Always so good,” he mumbled. I could see he was trying to use the toe of one shoe to wiggle out of the heel of the other. He kept missing. I walked over to him and slid his feet out of his shoes. He immediately put his socks up on my lap, and I leaned back; the smell was strong. Thinking back on it now, though, I remember it wasn’t bad as I’d always expected another man’s feet would be, it was just strong.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Bunk shit from Andrew. Too quick. Always too quick. Bathtub shit,” he slurred, and kept mumbling things like that. I didn’t know exactly what he meant, but I got the gist; he’d taken something in the bathroom just before I’d spoken to him, and it had turned out to be a lot stronger than he’d expected it to be.
He put his hand on his forehead, palm down, then gave a huge sigh. “What?” I asked. He shook his head without saying anything. All of a sudden, he sat bolt upright, and tried to get up off the couch. Before I realized what he was doing, though, he had fallen. He was lying on the floor, twitching before I could scoot forward to stand up. “Kevin?” I asked.
I stood up as he managed to get to his hands and knees. I came around in front of him and reached for his hands just as his back arched and he groaned loudly. I stepped back. It was so powerful it didn’t seem to come from him. It was more like the house was being warped and twisted by the wind outside. He looked up at me and his eyes were somehow bigger than what they’d been, even before. They seemed to be begging me for something. “Are you—?” I started to ask, when his back arched once more, this time higher. I felt sure he’d broken something. I don’t know how, but at that moment I got a very clear picture of what was about to happen. I knew I didn’t have long.
I reached down, got him to his feet, and practically carried him down the hall. I just managed to get him in front of the toilet before the next spasm. The clang from the toilet lid was still ringing through the house as whatever he’d had for dinner came hurling out of his mouth. His back had arched so far this time that he seemed to leave the ground for a second. I stayed at the door, but I turned my back; if I watched any more, I’d likely wind up doing the same thing myself. The sounds were almost enough.