Smashed (9 page)

When the phone rang at six thirty, I jumped off the couch. Maybe Stan had finally picked up my message.

“Katie.” There was no mistaking Alec’s voice. “Katie? It’s Alec.”

“I know who it is.”

“Listen, I heard you need a ride tonight. I can give you one.”

Megan and Alec had been friends for a long time; they’d talked.

“No, thanks.”

“Come on, Katie. I’m sorry about what happened after the other party, okay? Things definitely got out of hand.” His tone was sweet, conciliatory. “What do you say?”

What I said was nothing. I knew only one thing: I wanted to go to that party.

“Let me give you a lift. Let me make up to you for last time. I was a jerk, okay? And Megan told me you need a ride. I know you want to go.”

He sounded truly sorry. The image of him lifting my bike into his truck during the hailstorm flashed through my mind. I supposed that had been his way of trying to make it up to me, too.

“Okay,” I said at last. “But this isn’t—I mean . . . we’re just
friends
, Alec.”

“I’ll pick you up at eight.”

*     *     *

It started like every other party I’d been to at Haley Pond, cars and pickup trucks pulled in close to the small beach where Stan and some other guys had built a bonfire, despite the heat. The flames curled upward, casting an eerie, flickering light on the nearby trees. I hopped out of Alec’s old BMW as soon as it stopped and ditched him, beer in hand, searching the crowd for my friends.

“Kay—tee!” Stan’s voice echoed across the pond. “Come on in—the water’s
great
!”

All I could make out were the shadows of four or five heads bobbing in the water. I flipped off my sandals and waded in up to my thighs, then stopped, scanning the pond for Stan. A sturdy figure emerged, making its way toward me. “Come on in. It feels
awe
some.”

“This is it for me tonight, Stan. I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

“No suit required, darlin’.”

“
Stan
.”

“Kidding!” he called back. “I’ll be out in a few. Don’t go too far.” He dove back into the shallow water and disappeared.

“Katie. Try this.” His voice was behind me.

I turned and took a cup from Alec’s extended hand.

“That’s excellent,” I said. He knew my weakness; it was a margarita. It tasted like the one he’d made me at his house the night of the Bethel party.

“There’s plenty in the car when you’re ready for a refill.” He took the empty beer bottle from my other hand and walked away through the shallow water, back toward the fire where I’d spotted Cheryl, Megan, and some other field hockey players when I’d first arrived.

I watched Alec toss my beer bottle into a garbage bag and wander into the crowd.
Maybe hitching a ride with him was no big deal after all,
I thought, and headed toward my friends.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

*     *     *

“People get crazy when the moon’s full,” my mother always said, though I’d never really believed her. “They say commitments up to the state hospital double. From what I’ve seen coming through the emergency room, it wouldn’t surprise me. It happens every month,” she said.

Later, long after it was over, I would swear to myself that the moon had been full that night. I’d swear I watched it rise
over Haley Pond, a pale lantern in the sky, guiding my trips to Alec’s car, which was parked far from the light of the dying bonfire.

Could it have made me crazy, too?

Could I just plead the moon?

Temporary insanity.
Full moon
insanity.

I do remember this: rumbling gray clouds moving in around midnight, shifting the dead heat that had been sitting on us for days, bringing in rain that broke through the thick, stifling air. That same rain had driven me back into Alec’s car, seeking shelter from the downpour on the beach. And Alec had been right behind me. He climbed in, slammed the door shut, and shook his head like a cat, sending sharp pellets of water spewing off his hair and around the interior. We were soaked.

“Give me the keys,” I said.

His charm, I’d noticed, had disappeared about an hour earlier, when he’d pushed me up against a car, tried to kiss me for the
second
time, and I’d again had to explain the concept of
just friends.
The message wasn’t getting through. Alec’s auditory skills were selective: He heard only what he wanted to hear.

I’d made a beeline for the driver’s side for a reason, and I was relieved when Alec pulled the keys from his pocket and tossed them onto my lap. I switched on the ignition and cranked the AC, flipping the fans to high. Our breath mixed with the cool air pumping from the vents. Foggy windows sealed us off from the scene outside the car. I could hear voices, drunken yells, engines starting, the thump of what sounded like someone slipping in
the mud and hitting the ground near our front tire, and then swearing. A shriek of laughter.

I rubbed the wet sleeve of my T-shirt across my face and looked over at Alec. He had the tequila bottle to his lips, head back. We’d ditched the margarita mix hours ago. He swallowed and handed the bottle to me. I slid the driver’s seat back as far as I could to stretch out my legs, then lifted the bottle to my mouth. The taste gagged me, but I liked the burning path it made down my throat and the explosion of warmth in my belly.

“Jesus, Martini. You drink like a dying man in the desert. Save some of that for me, will ya?”

I pulled the bottle from my lips and handed it to Alec without looking at him. It was his, after all. He’d just offered to share. He wanted something in return for his generosity—he’d made that clear—but that wasn’t my problem. We were in his car, but I was in the driver’s seat. I was feeling invincible in the tequila high, like nothing could touch me.

Outside the car, sounds were dying down. Only a few engines hummed and the rain splattered on the windshield and the roof of the car—big drops of water hammering an uneven tune. I shut off the fan and rubbed my fingers across the glass to see who was left. I saw Stanfield’s green pickup truck and the headlights of a second car I didn’t recognize. Most everyone had disappeared, headed for home. Fluorescent green numbers on the dashboard clock beamed out the time: 1:29.

Alec dropped the tequila bottle on the car floor. The rain had started to let up, and I opened the window to get some fresh
air. I was starting to feel queasy and tired, depressed. The party was over and the high feeling was slipping away. I gazed into the darkness outside the car and pretended not to notice when Alec put his hand on my bare leg.

The keys jingled and the car engine died. I turned my head toward Alec.

“We don’t want to run out of gas,” he said. He squeezed my leg slightly and circled his torso in front of me, moving in for another kiss. His breath carried the musty stench of the beer he’d been drinking earlier.

“Excuse me,” I said, pushing him away. The car door swung open and I stumbled out onto the uneven ground next to the car.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Our headlights were off and the sky was black. Clouds hid the moon and stars from view. My whole body felt heavy, like I was moving in slow motion. I was drunker than I wanted to be, but it was too late to take that back.

I veered into the woods, tripping on the root of a tall pine tree, then walked farther until I could barely make out the car back in the clearing. Wet pine needles dug into my flesh as I sank down to my bare knees. Palms down in front to steady myself, I gagged, my body convulsing forward. Bitter liquid filled my mouth and I spit it out quickly, just in time for the next wave of nausea to rock me again.
Shit.
I hated puking more than anything. Drinking on an empty stomach was always a mistake. I spit again and again, trying to get the taste out of my mouth,
then sat still, hunched over and breathing carefully, hoping it was over.

Hands fixed on a slender tree trunk, I managed to pull myself up. I brushed off the needles stuck to my knees and made my way back to the car, groping for trees in the dark to keep myself from falling.

The rain had stopped, but fog had risen off the pond next to the clearing and it was hard to see. The car was running again, and Alec was outside leaning against it, his arms folded in front of his chest.

“Did you boot, Martini?” He was slurring slightly. “I thought you could drink like an Irishman. You disappoint me.” He handed me the tequila bottle. “Here, there’s a little left. Mouthwash.”

I ignored his words and grabbed the bottle, rinsed my mouth with what was left of the alcohol, then spit it out before reaching for the driver’s side door.

“Hey.” He put his hand on my shoulder and spun me around. “What are you doing?”

“I’m wet, I . . .” My tongue felt thick in my mouth. Suddenly I was so tired. Alec looked pissed off. And for the first time, it hit me that we were all alone at Haley Pond. Everyone had gone.

His arms were around me before I could stop him, his tongue pressing into my mouth. I pushed my arms against him and tried to twist my face away from his, but he followed my moves with his own. When he finally pulled his mouth off of mine, it was when
he
was ready. I had to get myself together and get out of there.

“Let’s get in the car,” he said, reaching for the back door handle.

“Let’s go back to my house, dry off, hang out where it’s comfortable.” My words tripped together in a hurry to get out. Alec eyed me with suspicion. Staying calm was the only thing that would get me out of this. I fixed my eyes on his. “What do you say? You know how my mom is. She won’t care—she won’t be there. She’s working tonight.” I tried to smile.

Alec stared down at me for a moment without blinking. “Getting comfortable sounds good.”

“Great,” I said. “It’s a mud pit here. Mind if I drive?” I got in the driver’s side again without waiting for his reply. I was starting to feel better just knowing in fifteen minutes I’d be home and in my own bed, with Alec and this night far behind me. I’d figure out a way to get rid of him once we got to my house.

Another wave of nausea hit me as I wiped my hand across the foggy windshield. “Any beers left back there?”

Alec reached behind the seat, pulled out a brown bottle, and handed it to me. I twisted off the top and took a sip, just enough to get the lingering taste of bile out of my mouth. I took a few gulps and handed it back to Alec. “You can finish it.”

He killed it and tossed the bottle out the window as our wheels spun on the dirt and we took off into the night.

It is a dream with no end—a deep, painful sleep.

There is nothing outside it, nothing beyond it. It is all there is in the world: darkness.

Struggling to get out of the black, I will my eyelids to open. All they do is flutter and snap shut. It hurts too hard to try.

A quick vision—a dream beyond the darkness: my body on pavement, at the base of a brick wall. There I am now, lying flat—so still, so far away. How can I be here and there? And where is here? My memory is in pieces: a jigsaw puzzle broken and scattered across the floor. There is no gathering up the pieces or fitting them together.

For an instant, my eyes open. A thin ridge of pink light spreads across a night sky. Morning.

Then everything is gone.

*     *     *

A pale morning sun lights the scene. In front of me, a dashboard, a steering wheel. A large pine tree fixed against a car’s hood.
The tree trunk has jammed in the metal and folded it up like an accordion. Part of the windshield is broken; shattered crystal spreads outward like a spider’s web.

My shirt is bloody, my shoulder wet. Fresh red liquid oozes out from under layers of dark blood that have already dried. I don’t connect it to me. It is like a picture on television when you first click it on and you don’t know what the program is or what’s going on.

Nothing is real. I can’t touch it, can’t feel it.

I sleep.

*     *     *

A jolt of fear wakes me.

The car is sunk deep in the trees. Alec’s car. And I am in it.

An image of Haley Pond flashes by. Then more images—but they are quick snapshots, not a story: Alec kissing me. Puking on my knees in the woods. Rain.

The memories explode then; the fragments burst into place. The party, the tequila, driving away from the pond. My pulse begins to race. My head pounds. I am seeing it—really seeing it—for the first time. We are in the woods, the car rammed into a tree trunk—totaled, wrecked, destroyed. Branches, leaves, twigs, and bushes are shoved up against the side windows. My shoulder is badly cut, and a sharp pain in my breast jabs with every breath. Carefully, I move my hand to touch it. Have I been stabbed by a piece of broken glass? But there is nothing there; the wound in my chest is inside.

Then I see him.

Alec, in the passenger seat next to me.

His eyes are closed, his jaw slack. Dried blood covers his mouth and chin like cracked paint. For the first time, I realize that he is there, and that he could be dead.

And if he is, I have killed him.

I shake Alec’s shoulder hard, but he doesn’t respond. The pain in my chest screams. The sound of my own breath, heavy, labored, fills the car. Even the slightest move I make feels like a knife thrust between my ribs.

“Alec. Alec, wake up!”

I put my hand on his head. He is hot. That means he can’t be dead, right? Dead people are cold. Rigor mortis sets in. I pick up his hand and move his fingers. He isn’t stiff. He is alive, I can tell, but his face and head are bleeding.

I call his name again. I have to do something. Where is his cell phone? Does he have it? I can’t remember. A thick tangle of brush and branches have swallowed his side of the car and poked in his window, but my side looks clear. I push with my left elbow. Miraculously, the door opens.

“Katieisatyou?” His voice is soft and low and his words tumble together. He sounds younger, like a little kid. Like my brother when he was three years old.

“Alec?” I whisper. “Are you okay?”