This Side Of Crazy
an excerpt

John couldn’t find the lid for the bottle of Jack; he left the whiskey open to the air, sat back against the hard chair back and ran his fingers through his hair. Hag got to him at the worst times. He looked at the phone, which sat silent on his desk and begged for it to ring so he could scream at her for worrying him.

She wasn’t calling.

He should have stayed with her instead of complaining about having to study photosynthesis, Krebs cycle, oxidation pathways and ATP. All time prick, she said. Even if she was laughing, he should have stayed. She wouldn’t be missing, then.

Bitch.

That wasn’t fair. Why was he thinking badly of her. He missed her. He resolved to find her and swallowed another gulp from the bottle.

No word to her parents. No word to Gordon. No word to him. They were all pissed at her, all worried about her, even her one foot in the grave father.

24 hours, the police said, they had to wait 24 hours. 72 hours ago. The police finally let him file the missing person’s report. Hair: brown, long. Eyes: brown, deep. Skin: fair, plain. Height: small, 5’1”. Weight: She’d kill him for saying, 120 he thought, maybe a little more, a little round at the belly but not fat. Definitely not fat. What was she wearing when he last saw her. Silly footy pajamas. She would not be caught dead out in that outfit. God, he hoped she wasn’t dead. Did she have mental or emotional problems? Her boyfriend just dumped her, and her uncle died of a heart attack two weeks before. She was perfectly sane for someone in that position, sane and lonely. Squirrels with teeth. John didn’t mention the squirrels to the police, or her whacking him. He didn’t want her to sound crazy to them. His relation to her? Friend. He signed the report. They filed it. 48 hours ago. She was an adult. Without a sign of foul play, there wasn’t much they could do.

In the meantime, John found Gordon.

“She’s playing games,” he said.

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“You know she likes to test. How fast will you come running? You don’t even get to bed her.” John socked Gordon in the nose, drawing blood. Gordon hung his head back to stop the blood. “Crap, John, I’m telling you, she’s testing.”

He punched Gordon because Gordon could have been right. “We have to look for her anyhow, in case.”

“I’m not getting sucked in again. Go home, John; in a few hours, she’ll call. She can’t go without calling.”

But she did. 48 hours later, John stared at the silent phone and swallowed more whiskey.

Bitch. There it was again, anger. He hated feeling angry with her. Why couldn’t Gordon go along, check out the pier, the alleys, the parks, the taverns with him?

John checked the pier, walked up and down the planks; it was late season, very few boats left in the water. Any smart boater had dry docked by now. The planks creaked under his feet. Yellowtail was still in the water and tethered at the far end of the pier; the 26 footer rolled in the waves. Nancy and Harvey were always the last to pull their boat. He yelled out. “Nance, Harv, you there?”

The boat was empty.

John checked all the alleys – Hag liked to collect found material – trash – for her art. No sign of her.

He checked the parks and finally, the two taverns they liked. Still nothing.

Joe behind the bar said what Gordon said. “She’s testing, mate. It’s Hag.”

John was too tired to hit him.

“Have one on the house.” He passed John a draft. “And go the fuck home. She’ll call.”

John took another drink of Jack, stumbled over to his bed, dropped onto the mattress and screamed, “Damn it, Hag. Call!”

Testing was one thing; it wasn’t like Hag to go three days without calling him, even if she was mad at him for not staying with her or rushing over to her.

Foul play messed with his head, images of Hag bleeding in the street, whimpering, calling to him, and him not answering, not falling for it. And Gordon cheering him on. John woke in a sweat to the sun coming through the window; he flinched, covering his eyes, and rolled onto his side. He gagged as he vomited over the side of the bed.

The phone rang then, and he leapt to his feet, stepping into his own mess. “God damn –“ He grabbed the receiver, “ Damn it, Hag, this better be you.”

“Sorry, John,”

“Gordon.” John cussed.

“She hasn’t called yet?” He actually sounded worried now, which made John’s stomach turn a little more.

“No. You still think she’s playing games?”

“She has a history.”

“I’m hanging up, Gordon.”

“Wait, John. I’m not sure, okay? Three days is a long time.”

“She could be dead.” Saying the words out loud, John dropped to the ground and tried not to cry.

“Look, I’ll come over; we’ll look around together, okay; check the usual places.”

“I’ve done that, over and over.”

“We’ll do it again, okay. I’m on my way.”

The line went dead, and John whipped the receiver to the ground. “Fat lot of good!”