11. My Very First Time #3
It didn’t feel like that after Uncle Rodney.
The day my world flipped inside out. The houses, the people who lived in them.
His van, which only ran half the time, my dad giving him silent, tense rides to and from his meetings when it would break down.
I run my fingers along the banister as I head upstairs toward the home part of the house.
I’m only halfway up, my eyes glued to the banister, wondering if this is where she did it, when the harsh cut of a loudly whirring machine tells me I’m in the wrong place.
Dread pools in my belly each time I head downstairs; even so, this time is different.
I know the body on the metal table. I almost don’t go.
Maybe I can just head out to our spot and wait again.
Surely, he won’t stay gone for more than two days.
Mr. Bell’s voice comes from upstairs, the cord from the hall landline pulled taut into the living room, and that decides for me.
I’m off the upper staircase and down the basement steps before I can change it, before Mr. Bell can stop and order me home.
Before the pungent wall of chemicals hits me harder than it ever has before.
So strong that my throat burns. My pointer and thumb rub rapidly together as I scan the lounge room, sending a silent prayer that he’s in the supply closet in the back.
He’s not.
The clanking of more metal against metal makes me swallow hard as I knock lightly on the wide double doors. Once again, I almost leave…
I should’ve just left.
Another two knocks go either unheard over the whirring machine inside or flat ignored.
I choose to believe the former. An oddity of smells fills my nose as I drag a deep breath through my lungs, making my stomach curdle and my eyes water.
I push the doors open, just a crack. It’s enough to justify crossing a threshold I have never crossed before.
One I swore I never would. I just want to see my friend…
to make sure he’s okay. He’s safe. That he hasn’t forgotten me in the mess of all this. It’s a selfish thought, I know that.
I see him, just his back, but it’s enough.
A black plastic-looking apron is tied around his tapered waist. Suddenly, the smells don’t bother me as my throat clogs with emotion.
I hadn’t even realized how much I missed him as I let the doors swing shut behind me, stepping fully inside the sterile, pungent room.
“Gid—" My words cut off abruptly as he steps to the side. Allowing my eyes to settle on the nude, pale… mottled state of his mom's body. The body, her body… she looks wrong. Peaceful but not.
Did they do that to her? Did they do that to Uncle Rodney?
Gideon’s eyes widen for a second before turning curious, I suppose to see what I’ll do next.
Heat flushes my face as my mouth overfills with saliva, the first warning of the sick working up from my gut.
His hands are holding some long tweezer-tongs in her neck.
Some thick metal syringe hooked up and pressed into her like a pincushion.
The pump of discolored… fluid and the oddly full look to the veins in her pale neck is the final straw.
“Audrey, it’s just a body,” he offers in his deep, silky voice.
I vomit.
Gideon curses, rapidly looking between me and the opening in his mom's throat like he can’t decide which one requires his attention more. A weird sound leaves me as I back out, letting the large doors swing closed as I’m jerked around, Mr. Bell’s livid face staring down at me. “Did you see her?”
That question brings up a horrific volley of blood and marred flesh. Sweat beads my forehead as I twist out of his grip, barely making it to the trash can before I vomit again. My entire body is trembling so harshly that my teeth clack together between my spittle.
“Fuck,” he breathes. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him curse before, but he keeps going, each sounding more agitated than the next. “Fuck fuck fuck!” When his fist slams into the cabinet beside him, I jerk away, upsetting the trash can and my throw-up inside it.
The doors swing open again, and I want to run to Gideon.
I want to hug him and tell him I’m sorry.
That I’m here if he needs me. That I’m here for him, to see him, but I can’t lift my attention from his dad.
The state of him is worn, a little musky, and years older than he was days ago.
The oddly sharp, sterile scent of him I could never place finally connects in my brain.
Death. Gideon's dad has always smelled like death.
“Don’t touch her,” Gideon warns, something in his voice making a chill run down my spine.
I wipe my mouth on the back of my shaky hand.
Just as his dad turns to face him, running his hands through his messy hair, a pale and graying version of his son.
“I’m… I wouldn’t, son. I would never. Audrey just needs to go home.
” Mr. Bell’s eyes dip low as he takes an apprehensive step back.
One so subtle it could’ve been a mere shifting of his feet.
“I’m sorry, Audrey, I didn’t mean to frighten you. ”
My eyes flick down to Gideon’s thick, wet gloves stretched across his knuckles, the scalpel gripped in one of them.
The way he’s holding it so tightly, his veins are bulging in his arm.
God, did he use that on her? On his mom?
The thought has me scrambling to right the trash can, forcing out apologies around my retching.
“I’ll take her home.”
“No,” his dad barks, his voice shaky.
God, I feel horrible. That’s his wife. I barged in there like a petulant child and vomited at the sight of someone they loved.
Embarrassment and shame make my eyes well with tears as I wipe my mouth again, willing my stomach to settle.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Bell, Gideon. I really am.
I’m so freaking sorry. I just wanted to see you. ”
“I know Audrey. It’s fine.” Gideon’s voice is even… soft. And I believe him. I believe he’s fine. But how?
I see the truth again in his words when I meet his frigid blue eyes.
For the first time, I truly see what everyone else sees when they look at him.
The cold, inhuman detachment that creeps people out.
For the first time since I met him, as Mr. Bell shakily reassures me, his hand gently clasped to my elbow as he guides me up from the frigid basement, I think there’s something very… very wrong with Gideon.