Ferocity Summer (19 page)

The Next Day

B
y the time I woke up, Willow was already dressed and pacing around the cramped hotel room.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she said.

“You're up early,” I said.

“I've got a few errands to run. I'll be back later.”

“Give me ten minutes to get dressed.”

“It's better if you stay here, but I promise I won't be that long, and I was thinking about what you were saying, about going home. I've got someplace I've got to be tomorrow, and then we could head back if you really want to.”

“Willow, do you think maybe this isn't a good idea?”

“Relax. Chill. Enjoy the view. I'll be back in a few hours.”

The view was a parking lot full of beat-up cars. Occasionally some scruffy degenerate ventured across the blacktop. Other than that, there wasn't much to see. I resorted to daytime television, which was only a slight improvement. Willow's “few hours” turned out to mean most of the day. At about four in the afternoon, I began to worry about what I'd do if she didn't come back. Should I go to the authorities? Should I call Christian? Randy? Craig?

She was back by five, unscathed but looking horrible. She looked drained, like it took all the energy she had just to stay on her feet. She was sweaty. Her hair clung limply to her head.

I called Christian again that evening. I'd told Willow I was going to call my mother. I don't know if she knew I was lying. Probably she did. She didn't say anything.

I told him what I knew, which wasn't much. When I told him that Willow expected to be done with all her work by tomorrow, he got very serious.

“Are you going with her tomorrow?” he asked.

“I don't know,” I said.

“I need for you to stay clear. Things are going to get ugly tomorrow.”

“What does that mean?”

“The deal is going to be ambushed. People will get hurt.”

“So, then we shouldn't go? That's what you're saying?”

“Whether you're willing to accept it or not, Willow is very much involved in what's going on. She's no bit player in this drama.”

It took me a moment to take in what he was saying. A horn blared. A bus sped past me, trailing blue fumes. I already knew he had no interest in helping Willow, but for some reason what he said surprised me. I guess I saw him as the guy Merry made him out to be—the great rescuer. Maybe he was, but I hadn't realized he was so selective about who he rescued. I hated him, but I hated myself even more.

“I'm not setting up my best friend.”

“No one's setting anyone up, Priscilla. She's just going to do what she was planning to do all along. She's got her own part to play. You're not involved.”

“The fuck I'm not involved. She's my friend. I thought you weren't interested in small fish, anyway.”

“The amount of Ferocity that Willow has makes her something more than a small fish.”

Ferocity. The word made me dizzy. I thought of Randy's story about Danielle.

“I thought maybe you were a nice guy, that you really cared about me, that you wanted to help me, but now I know you're just an asshole.” I hung up the phone. I was shaking. A man who looked homeless came up to me and asked if I had money for the bus. I shook my head, then ran back upstairs to the room.

“We have to leave,” I said when I burst in through the door.

“I told you,” Willow said. “Tomorrow we'll take care of everything, and then we can go home.”

She had the television on and was watching an infomercial for some sort of exercise gadget. She watched it as if she was really interested. I walked over and planted myself in front of the television.

“No,” I said, “forget the whole thing. It's a mistake.”

“What's wrong with you?” Willow asked.

I wanted to tell her everything, but I couldn't, since I'd have to admit that I'd lied to her again. I didn't have the guts to do that. So I stood there while Willow stared as if she could see right through me to the television screen.

“So, how's your mom?” she asked.

“Fine,” I said. “Just fine. I'm going to go take a shower.”

It was a long shower, but not completely satisfying because the water only trickled out of the showerhead. By the time I got out, Willow was asleep on the bed and there was a new infomercial on for some sort of miracle cleaning solution. I snapped off the television and got into bed.

I lay on my back for a while staring up at the ceiling. My wet hair was in the path of the air conditioner. I felt cold. I pulled the dirty bedspread up over me. I meant to wake Willow up, but before I'd worked up the guts to do this, I fell asleep.

I was back on the boat, but instead of rain, it was snow falling on us, and I only had my bathing suit on. I was so cold that my hands shook as I took the helm. I was alone. Everyone else was asleep. I was trying to find my way back to shore but I couldn't see anything. It was a blizzard, and all I could see was snow. There were little miniature icebergs in the lake. I knew I had to steer around them because if I hit them, we would sink just like the Titanic.

I kept driving the boat, but it was getting harder and harder to steer. My hands were shaking and the wheel itself seemed to be freezing so that I could barely move it. I needed help. I knew I couldn't do it alone, but when I looked down to where Randy was, I saw Aaron and Raisin. Raisin was visibly pregnant and Aaron was holding a gun to her head.

“What's happening?” I demanded.

“This is Ferocity,” Aaron said.

Raisin said, “Don't worry about me. It's too late, but you're young. You've got time. You've got your whole life.”

Aaron said, “Don't screw up, or I'll shoot her.”

When I looked back up, I saw the boat in front of us. I couldn't turn the wheel at all. It was completely frozen. We were headed straight for it, and there was nothing I could do. I could clearly see Merry standing on the other boat. She stared at me calmly. She didn't look scared.

“I don't know what to do,” I said.

“You've got to take control,” she said.

“It's frozen,” I said. “I can't move it.”

Merry shook her head and her hairsprayed hair didn't budge. “You're a smart girl. You can figure it out.”

I turned back to where Aaron and Raisin had been, but they were gone. Christian stood there.

“I don't know what to do,” I repeated.

“Sometimes you can only save yourself,” he said. He held out his hand for me to take it.

When I looked back at Merry, she had become Willow. She stood on the other boat staring at me with tears streaming down her face.

“Well, this really sucks,” Willow said.

“There's no point in going down with a sinking ship,” Christian said.

I went to him and took his hand and the two of us jumped off the side of the speeding boat. The water was ice cold, but below the surface it was calm. I stayed down there, then kicked frantically to the surface.

“What about Willow?” I screamed. “Where's Willow? Willow! Willow! Willow!”

“I'm right here,” Willow said. “Chill out.”

“I'm freezing,” I said. I threw off the bedspread, which had been tangled around me, and sat up. Willow reached over and turned the air conditioner down.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I could feel my heart beating too rapidly. The events of the dream still seemed very real, as if they had just happened, and it took me a moment to think back over everything.

“I had a nightmare,” I said.

“You woke me up. You kept shouting my name.”

“I was back on the boat,” I said, “and the steering wheel froze. I couldn't turn it, and you were on the other boat and you were crying.” I knew there had been more to it. I could remember that Raisin and Aaron and Christian and Merry were all in it, but I wasn't able to piece it together at first.

“I have that nightmare all the time,” Willow said. She lay back down and I did too. We both lay on our backs staring at the ceiling. “It's always the same. I can't turn the wheel, or I turn it and nothing happens.”

“But you weren't driving the boat. I was.”

“We were both driving the goddamned boat, Scill, don't you remember?”

“I was the one who crashed it,” I said.

“No, it was both of us. I was driving and I couldn't see. You came up to help me. We crashed the boat together.”

Her words shocked me. I tried to remember the night I wished I could forget about forever. My memories were all twisted up with all of my nightmares. Had we really both been driving the boat? I remembered taking over for Willow, but had I really taken over? Or had I just joined her as we tried to figure out the controls and get the boat back to the marina? My memories were dim and hazy, but something about this felt right. The two of us had been standing there together, our hands on the wheel.

Willow was right. I couldn't believe I'd forgotten that. It changed everything, and it changed nothing.

“They could put us in prison, Scilla. Boom, just like that, bye-bye life.”

She sounded a little bit like the girl I used to know, the real Willow. I missed her so much. The occasional glimpses of her that slipped out were not enough. I was pretty sure we could make it through all this if we at least had each other.

“Even if we do go to jail, it won't be forever,” I said. “I mean, it was an accident. What did the lawyer tell you?”

“I never met with him.”

“I thought your father arranged—”

“He did. I didn't go. I didn't want to.”

“Did Randy go?”

“Sure, but, you know, he was comatose during the whole thing. He doesn't have anything to worry about. I just didn't want to talk to some lawyer about it. I don't even want to think about it, but I can't stop thinking about it. God, this sucks.”

I thought about my dream. More of it came back to me, and I could see Willow standing on the other boat, not even trying to do anything, not even trying to get out of the way, just letting the boat come right at her. She could have jumped. She could have jumped just like I did, but she didn't.

“Willow, you can't go tomorrow,” I said.

“I'm glad you've developed a conscience, but I'm afraid the plans have already been made.”

“I don't have a conscience,” I said. “I mean, you can't go because it's going to be a mess. There's going to be a bust. The cops know about it.”

“Shit,” Willow said. She was silent for a long time. “So, you're talking to him still. Your buddy.”

“I called him, but he knew before I even told him, Willow.”

“He's gonna save you from going to jail, isn't he? He's getting you out of this trial. That's what this is all about.”

“No,” I said. “I don't think so. I never really told him much, and I called him an asshole.”

Willow laughed. “You and your unflinching honesty.”

I laughed too and things almost felt all right. Almost.

August 12

I
woke up to a hot and sticky Florida morning. I peeled the sheet off my body, not wanting to think about who or what it had touched in the past. The air conditioner sent out a feeble stream of cool air. I remembered Willow turning it down, and then gradually remembered my nightmare and the conversation that had followed it.

I got out of bed and walked across the ugly carpeting to the door. Willow was in the bathroom—I could hear the shower running. I wanted to get out of the stinky room and take a nice big breath of fresh air. I wanted to step outside and feel a cooling breeze on my still-damp hair and sticky skin, but when I opened the door, I stepped into an enormous oven. The air was oppressively hot. It hit me with a punch that made it that much harder to take a big breath.

When I did, I tasted woodsmoke. Smoke from the wildfires burning all over the Southeast hung over the city. The sun was dimmed and the air was thick. What must it have been like to live in one of those towns that Sherman and his men burned to the ground? What would it have been like to see your whole world go up in smoke?

“You're not going to wear that to the beach, are you?” Willow asked. She joined me on the balcony. She had on a bikini with a pair of shorts. I was wearing the boxer shorts and tank top I'd slept in.

“The beach?” I asked.

“Did you really think we'd come all the way down here and not go?”

“But what about … ?” I let my voice trail off.

“I thought you said it wasn't a good idea. Do you want to go to the beach or not?”

“I'll get changed,” I said. I almost didn't recognize the light and airy feeling in my chest. It was relief and happiness, maybe even a touch of elation. Everything was going to be all right.

I began to change into my bathing suit. I had the bottoms halfway up my legs when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and froze. The brown swimsuit accented my pale skin in the dim light of the bathroom. I remembered the last time I'd worn this suit. I'd packed for the trip in a hurry, throwing whatever I could find into a big duffel bag; I was a little surprised I hadn't burned the damn suit, but I also knew I'd done no such thing.

I reached blindly into the duffel bag for my other bathing suit, but I already knew I'd left it in South Carolina. I could see it hanging over the bar in the hotel bathroom. In a panic, I upended the bag and dumped all my clothes out onto the dirty bathroom floor. I was sweating. My heart was racing. I spread out the clothes, combing through them for some sign of an alternate bathing suit, but I only had the one.

In my head, it was last summer. I sat with a wool blanket wrapped around me, watching a dead body get carted away in an ambulance. Then suddenly I was back on the boat, only it was like it had been in my dream with Raisin and Aaron. Raisin was pregnant but wearing a two-piece bathing suit, her round brown belly hanging over the bottom of her suit. It seemed like the most beautiful thing in the world, and as I sat on the bathroom floor surrounded by my clothes, I cried because Raisin was too beautiful for me to bear.

Willow pounded on the door.

“Are you jerking off or getting stoned?” she asked. “If it's the latter, you better share.”

“Just getting dressed,” I said as I shoved everything back into the bag.

I stood up and looked at the bathing suit in the mirror. I could tell Willow I didn't have a suit, that we'd have to stop at some store so I could buy one, but it seemed pointless. I had a perfectly good bathing suit. There was nothing wrong with it. It was ridiculous to think that I couldn't wear it just because the last time I did, my life turned to shit. The outcome of that day had nothing to do with my bathing suit.

I threw a shirt and some shorts on and stepped out of the bathroom. Willow eyed me suspiciously but said nothing.

When we got into the car, Willow cranked the air conditioner up to full blast and it felt, deceptively, like we were in another world. The air was cool and breezy. The smell of the fires was drowned out by the smell of strawberry air freshener. Willow and I were safe and secure, tucked away in our own little mobile habitat.

“We'll hit the beach today, get to bed early, and head out tomorrow morning before dawn,” Willow said. “We can drive straight through if we take turns at the wheel.”

“All right,” I said. I didn't ask what the sudden hurry was to get back home.

She didn't mention the drugs that we both knew were in the trunk of the car. I wondered how she'd work that out. What would Craig do to her when he found out she'd let him down? Maybe he would be relieved that she hadn't gotten caught in the bust. Maybe. There seemed to be so many complications, so many loose strings, that Willow's plan to get home as soon as possible didn't even touch on. What about her father and the fact that she'd taken his car? How was she going to work that out? What about the trial? I just wanted to be free, but I didn't know how to obtain this freedom.

If Willow was as troubled as I was, she refused to let it show. She cranked up the stereo. Davies Pauliny's song “Ferocity” was on and Willow shouted out the chorus, badly off-key. “Ferocity, Ferocity, shed your grace on me! Ferocity, Ferocity, we'll be forever happy!”

I sang along with her. The louder we sang, the harder it was to hear the problems that lurked just beneath the surface. By the end of the song, we were straining our vocal chords, but our sphere of protection was complete. We could neither hear, nor feel, nor smell the real world. We were safe in our own version of reality and I wanted to stay there forever. But it didn't last more than five minutes.

The Davies Pauliny song ended and another song came on. I can't remember what it was or who it was by. I know that I'm supposed to, but all I can remember is the Davies Pauliny one. We were cruising through a city intersection at a cool thirty-five miles per hour. It was a big intersection with several lanes flooding into it from all directions. It would have been fine if everyone had stayed where they were supposed to. A green car was trying to make a left turn, and either thought he had the right of way or just didn't see the minivan that was coming right toward him. The minivan swerved to avoid the green car and headed straight toward us.

“Shit!” Willow screamed.

“Look out!” I yelled.

Willow jerked the wheel quickly and our car spun out of control. I saw another car, the woman behind the wheel looking completely panicked, heading straight toward us. I shut my eyes. The momentum of our turn was halted first by one car—boom! We began to rebound in the other direction and hit another car—the minivan—boom! When I had the courage to open my eyes, all I could see were cars in no particular order, some smashed, others fine, in a calm black asphalt sea.

I looked over at Willow. She just shook her head as if she was trying to make the whole mess disappear.

“Are you okay?” I asked. My voice was a whisper.

“I think so,” she said. “You?”

I nodded, even though she wasn't looking at me. Suddenly a man appeared at my window.

“Are you all right?” he asked. I was surprised I could hear him so well, and then realized that there was no glass in the window. It was gone. I unbuckled my seat belt, pushed open the door as it groaned in protest, and stepped out. Glass fell off me as I stood. It landed with a tinkling sound on the street.

Willow stepped out of the car as well and stared in horror at the damage. The car looked battered. It had been hit from every direction. Willow began to hyperventilate. It was one thing to steal/borrow your father's car. It was an entirely different thing to steal/borrow your father's car and then completely destroy it.

A skinny woman in stretchy knit shorts and a stained T-shirt walking by on the sidewalk shouted, in a cigarette-scarred voice, “Is everyone okay?” Amazingly everyone was more or less okay. A bunch of dazed people stood in the middle of the intersection surrounded by some severely twisted metal. “Well, you
had
nice cars!” the woman added.

“He's going to kill me,” Willow said. “I killed the car.”

“It can be fixed,” I said, but as I looked at it, I wondered if that was true. The car was barely recognizable. The front end was completely distorted. The sides were battered. The trunk no longer looked like a trunk. It had flown open and I could see the inside, where Willow had carefully packed the miracle drug into innocent-looking luggage.

When I saw the lights and heard the sirens, I realized that we had bigger problems than just a wrecked car. We had a trunkload of illegal drugs, and the cops were on the way.

I looked at Willow. She looked at me. We both looked at the open trunk. We could grab the stuff and dump it somewhere, but that was ridiculous. There was too much of it, and the cops were already here. Maybe we could grab her father's paperwork from the car and take off, but where would we go? It would be easy enough for them to trace the car back to us, and even if we claimed it was stolen, there were plenty of eyewitnesses who had seen us step out of it after the crash.

Willow walked over to the trunk while the cops rounded up witnesses and the paramedics took care of the various scrapes and bruises of the victims. I didn't know what she was doing there until I heard the crackling noise. When I looked at her, I saw a tongue of orange flame leaping from the trunk. She was burning the evidence. We both walked over to where one of the police officers was taking down names and reviewing insurance cards, aware that at some point the gas tank would catch and things would get ugly.

We were not that lucky. Fire trucks were already on the scene, and one of the firemen, eager for work, spotted the flames coming from our trunk. They doused the car with foam, and the fire was extinguished before it had been able to do much damage.

“You came out of that car there?” asked one of the paramedics.

Neither of us really wanted to answer that question, but we both nodded.

“I'm gonna take you down to the hospital,” he said. “Your car suffered the worst of it. I want them to make sure you're okay.”

We both refused to get on the stretcher, although the paramedic insisted we could have a concussion or even some fractured bones that we were too dazed to feel. I got the impression that this was his first day, but I didn't say anything to this effect. I didn't say anything at all.

Our bubble had burst and we'd been thrown back into the real world. It was not a nice place to be.