Fall of Knight Novel Excerpt -- what a party

The next person I look for, of course, is Dee.  I walk up and down the river looking for her.  I don’t talk to anyone because I don’t know most of them, and the ones I do know I don’t want to talk to.  I walk again, almost all the way back to Ella’s house.  At this time, I am beginning to freak out.  What if she’s drowned?

I walk back toward the party, and much to my relief, I see her sitting by herself, pulled into nearly a fetal position in front of the fire as if she’s struggling to stay warm.  This isn’t a good sign.  When I look around, I see Roger with a few of his friends standing several feet outside the feeble light of the fire.  I’m sure he has consumed enough “good shit” to be warm enough.  I tuck away my knowledge of his presence at the wildest party I’ve ever been to – of course, it’s the only one I have EVER been to – and wonder how his baseball coach would react if I spilled what I know.  Assuming I survived.  I decide it will be a defensive tool only.  Surely, Roger and the other athletes undergo random drug tests at least occasionally.  It would be quite a revelation for the coach to find out what is really in Roger’s piss.

                I pause, contemplating whether I should tell Dee what Ella and I found in the cave.  I conclude that she needs to know, so I take a deep breath to steel myself.  How am I supposed to say this?  “Hey, Dee, I think our dead father’s body is in the cave where Ella and I went to make out.  By the way; how’s it going with Roger?”

                I sit down beside her, but before I can open my mouth, she says, “Where the fuck have you been?”

                I don’t answer her for a second as I recover from the wrath of her tone.  Then, I say, “Where the fuck have you been?” Tired and certainly pissed at being talked to like a dog, I say.  “I’m going home.”  Then, I get up and walk away.

                My common sense tells me I should stay with her and explain.  My anger tells me that she should go screw herself.  As often the case, common sense does not work well in a bipolar disordered, angst-ridden teen, who might have just found his dead father, supposedly safely buried in the ground lying with a shattered skull dead in a cave, under his girlfriend’s old house that her crazy father tried to burn down.  Needless to say, I am screwed up royally by the time I get home, and all the voices in my head are talking at once.  Don’t worry; voices don’t talk to me in the sense that I can hear them whispering in my ear telling me to worship Satan and kill kittens, but I hear voices – like parts of my personality or something – all talking in my head.  It’s like if you have ten televisions going on in the background.  I hear distinctive voices – or imagine them or create them (hell I don’t know) – but I’m not schizophrenic.  I think one of my shrinks would have told me by now if I’m schizophrenic.  I guess that doesn’t explain why I see my dad sometimes though, does it?  Shit, you know what just occurred to me.  Maybe I have been seeing my dad’s ghost.  Maybe his spirit is restless since he never got buried properly.

                My mom is still conked out completely when I go inside.  I don’t even have to tiptoe to get past her without waking her.  Dee will come home and pile up on the couch; she’ll give Mom the excuse that Mom was snoring or she, herself, just couldn’t get comfortable so she slept on the sofa.  I don’t know how anyone can sleep on that living room sofa.  It isn’t comfortable; in fact, the best way to describe it is deformed.  We picked it up one time when we were out looking at yard sales where, along with thrift shops and flea markets, Dee and I get a lot of our clothes.  The sign on the couch said, “Free to a good home.  Just ask.”  We talked the people into delivering it to our house where we used to live, and we buy some other junk from them that we don’t need and probably won’t use.  Everyone’s happy. 

                I lie down and try to go to sleep, but my head spins because of what I have taken or of what I have seen, I’m not sure which.  I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the night and can’t help thinking about the monster sucking down souls and spitting out bones.  Later, about an hour or so, I hear the front door open.  Then, I hear the creaking of the couch springs.  Princess Bitch or Dee is home.

                I contemplate going in there and talking to her, but I’m afraid of what I might say to her, and I have learned that in Dee’s case, when I am pissed at her, it’s always better to cool off a little before I try to talk to her.  Besides, it’s past 2 A.M. and I more interested in sleep at the moment.  I wiggle around in my bed until I am more comfortable, and now, that Dee is home, I do begin to feel a little sleepier.  When I am about to drift off to sleep, a sound drifts to me.  Dee crying so softly, I can barely hear her.  Then the great monster mouth swallows me down into darkness.