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by: Tovah Ann Veats

Mike died. I'd loved him with all my heart, or at least with what was left of it. It was probably the worst thing that could've happened, since he was the only thing keeping me alive.

Before they could find him and take him away, I pulled the hundred dollars and the last of the heroin from his pocket, tugged off the thick army jacket and black toque, took the silver chain from around his neck, figuring I could sell it if I had to. The ring too, hanging from the chain. He never told me what it was, where it came from, why he never sold it, no matter how bad the withdrawal pains got, no matter how cold the winters were.

I dozed in my corner, rusty blade held in my loose fingers. I never really slept, not when Mike was gone. But now he wasn't coming back, and I didn't think I'd sleep again.

I dreamed. It was an old dream, one I hadn't had for a long time. There was a woman, standing by a murky pond. She had long hair, dark like mine, but streaked with grey. Her eyes glowed green in the dim light, but the rest of her face was indistinct, blurred as if a miniature fog bank floated about her head. She held her hand out to me, and I went towards it. I felt her cold skin against mine, and she was gone, a gossamer shadow and bone deep chill all that remained.

I woke. Jigger was there, too close for comfort. I gripped the blade harder, hoping he was only here for the heroin. With the money, I could get more. If he was here for something else, I'd have to kill him. He watched me from the far side of the room for a long time, silent and pale as a ghost. At last, he pulled out his gun, pointed the dark circle of the barrel at my head. "Drugs, and money."

"Fuck you."

He fired one shot. Concrete shards bit into my skin, I felt a warm trickle on my temple and cheek. I tossed him the heroin. "I spent the money."

He eyed me for a moment, and I knew I was dead. Then he snorted and walked away, gun dangling in his hand.

Air rushed out of me, a sigh of relief. The blade slipped from my hand, and I was too weak for a moment to pick it up again. I'd never really believed it when people said they saw their whole lives in the moments before they thought they would die, but now I know it's true. It reminded me of all the reasons, all the things I ran from.

***
I didn't know why I was calling her, but I was. Maybe it was Mike's death, but others I loved had died and I had not called her. I tried not to think about it as I dialed.

"Hello?"

Her voice, a voice I hadn't heard in years. I opened my mouth to speak, came out with only a hoarse squeak.

"Hello?" Annoyed now. "Who is this?"

"I, uh . . . ."

"Alright, I'm hanging up, you –"

"Ann, it's me."

Silence. I'd expected it.

"Janny?" Her voice soft, disbelieving. "Janny? Is that you?"

My voice fled. I grunted, hoped she would take it as a yes.

"Holy shit."

I hung up and ran back to my little corner. It had been a mistake.

***
"The money."

I stopped dead, frozen by the dark eye of Jigger's gun. "I told you, I spent it."

He fired, I felt a burst of pain in my arm. The blade dropped to the ground, I landed hard beside it. He crouched over me, the gun pressed to my forehead. "The money."

"M-my pocket."

His rough hand pawed around inside, found the money, thankfully not the chain or ring. He counted it, shoved it roughly into his own pocket. I thought I might vomit from the pain. From the corner of my eye I could see a small but widening pool of blood. He knelt, straddling me, pressed his free hand against the bullet wound. I whimpered, refused to let him hear me scream. The room spun around me. He slid the gun back into his belt, gripped the wrist of my good arm, pinned it above my head. I felt his other hand groping between my legs, then searching for my belt buckle. I struggled under him, but he was too heavy, too strong. Something cold and sharp, by my hand, made slippery by my blood. I gripped it, biting my lip with the pain, brought it up. It found something soft, and he stiffened over me. Blood, his blood, welled around the blade, painted my hand, ran onto my face and neck. He slumped against me, glassy eyes staring sightlessly, inches from my own.

I breathed. It seemed as if I hadn't done that for a long time. I released my grip on the knife, let my arm fall to the ground, limp. I struggled out from under him, scuttled to my corner. Everything tilted around me, I steadied myself on the wall. I stripped off my soaked shirt, gasping at the pain, used the cleanest bits as bandages, the rest to wipe off my face and neck, slipped into my other shirt, then into Mike's jacket. I staggered to Jigger, pulled the knife from his neck, wiped the blade on his back, took the money from his pocket, and ran.

***
"Ah, Miss Pryor. Good to see you back in the land of the living."

I squinted through the blinding light at the roundish blur speaking to me. I blinked, and the blur resolved into a smiling nurse, one hand on an I.V., the other holding a chart. I blinked again, but said nothing.

"I'll just go get the doctor and your sister." She set the chart down and bustled from the room.

I closed my eyes, vague recollections of Ann's house in the rain, her shocked face, first at the fact I was alive, then at the fact I was close to death. Dreams of the woman by the pool, her cold, clammy skin and shining green eyes. I shuddered at the thought of her, though in the past I had always felt comforted.

The doctor came in, spoke to me and Ann, who stood by the door, looking apprehensive, as if I might disappear if she took her eyes off me. Ann nodded occasionally. I lay motionless in a pain-edged haze, drifting on the fringe of unconsciousness.

"Janny?" A warm hand in mine, squeezing tight. I opened my eyes. She looked little different than I remembered her. Her face was more careworn, her hair longer. Her eyes held unasked questions, ones I knew I could not, or would not, answer. "How do you feel?"

I pulled my hand from Ann's grip. "When can I get out of here?" My voice sounded rough, unfamiliar.

"Dr. Thornton says I can take you home in a day or so, after they're sure you're stable. I –"

". . . don't want to."

She frowned. "What?"

I licked my lips, wished she would pour me some water from the plastic green pitcher. "I said, I don't want to go home with you."

"But –"

"No."

She sighed, exasperated, flashing eyes angry. "At least until you're stronger. Then you can run off again, back to wherever you crawled out from."

My eyes narrowed at the stinging words. Her eyes softened, guilt replacing the anger. "Oh, Janny, I'm sorry, I . . . ."

I closed my eyes and burrowed down into the lumpy pillows.

***
We sat in her darkened living room, not talking. Her eyes were two sunken pits in the flickering candlelight. Lightening flashed outside, bathing everything in instant white light that faded as quickly as it had appeared. I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders, wincing at the pain it caused, wishing the power would come back on so we could have some heat. Withdrawal, a few days old now, clawed at my insides, pounded at my brain. As soon as I was strong enough to get out of here, I would –

"Are you alright? Do you need anything?"

It was the third time in half and hour she had asked me that. I grunted and shook my head. She gave me a look, the same look mothers give to stubborn children. I returned the look with a glare of my own. "You don't have to do this, you know."

Ann uncurled from her chair, leaning forward as if doing so would help her words penetrate my skull. "Janny, you were shot in the arm. You lost a lot of blood. You wouldn't last a night out there, not in your condition."

I pulled the blanket tighter, sulking because I knew she was right. "What do you know about it?" Petulant to the last.

She shook her head, silent for a long moment. "What happened to you?"

"Mom died, that's what." I closed my mouth quickly; I had not intended to say that.

She stared at me for a long time, and I stared back, daring her to say anything. She pursed her lips and sat back. "That wasn't your fault. And Dad –"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Janny, it's been ten years. It was an accident, a bloody dear. There was nothing you could do. And what Dad did, that –"

I sat forward, anger overriding the pain. "I was driving, Ann. I killed her. Dad had every right to blame me, it was my fault! You don't know what that's like, so don't tell me ‘it's been ten years'. I know exactly how long it's been."

Ann opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again with an audible snap. I pulled my legs up beneath the blanket and stared sightlessly out the window. We sat in silence, listening to the raging of the storm, watching as the candles burned from slender pillars to drip-encrusted stubs. Old memories vied for attention in my mind, and I struggled to shove them all back into their dark little corner. I felt a tear run down my cheek, scrubbed it away with the back of my hand. Anger seethed inside me, fueled by the pain in my arm, the tumbling memories, the yearning for a hit, just one little –

"Do you remember, when we were kids, mom had to put t-shirts with our names on us, ‘cause we looked so much alike. We used to change them and confuse grandma whenever she came over, but grandpa could always tell."

I studied her for a moment, wondering where that had come from, feeling my anger begin to ebb with her words. She eyed me with a nostalgic grin, and I smiled in spite of myself. "And when Mrs. Hooper called us Jannyann in seventh grade. I hated that."

Ann snorted a laugh. "Me too. I mean, I had pink hair, and yours was black. It wasn't that hard to tell us apart."

We drifted into silence again, lost in our own memories. I refused to acknowledge the thoughts jeering and waving for attention in their corner. The anger bubbled just below the surface, but I kept the lid firmly in place.

"Who's chain is it?"

My head snapped around, startled by the suddenness of her words. "What?"

"The chain. They wanted to take it at the hospital, I think they thought you stole it, but I told them it was yours."

I pressed my hand to my chest, felt the lump of the ring on the chain there. "Mike's. He, uh . . . he never told me where he got it or why he kept it."

"Did you love him?"

I looked up at her, clutching the ring now in a white-knuckled hand. I felt a tear trickle down my cheek, then another. "Yes. He . . . ."

She said nothing, and I could see the sympathy written on her face. It was a look I had not seen for a long time. I smiled a little. "Thank you. For saying that, at the hospital."

Ann smiled and sighed, eyes now sad. "Listen, Janny, stay here, okay? Get clean and –"

The lid exploded and my anger boiled out. "No."

She closed her eyes for a long moment, motionless, not even breathing. When she opened them again, her face was stony, emotionless. She picked up a guttering candle and, without a word, went upstairs.

I rose, lightheaded for a moment, then made my way to the kitchen. Some small part of my mind told me I was being irrational, I had no reason to be angry at Ann, she was just trying to help, but I ignored it. If I couldn't have drugs, then there must be some alcohol around here somewh–

I grabbed the cellphone from Ann's purse and dialed a number from memory. He picked up after three rings. "Wes, I need a delivery. Your finest, I've got the cash."

He was silent for a moment, obviously deciding if I was serious or not. "Where at?" I gave him the address. "Ah, I be not far. Ten minutes, yeah?"

"Don't knock, I'll be watching." I set down the phone and rummaged in Ann's purse. Seventy. That, and my hundred, still in the jacket pocket, would get me enough for now. I grinned in anticipation and sat back on the couch, watching intently for the glare of headlights in the rain-streaked window.

***
"Janny? Are you all ri– Jesus, what – Oh my God. . . . Yeah, yeah, hi. My sister, I think she overdosed. Heroin, maybe."

Her voice echoed in my head, as if she were speaking from the far end of a long tunnel. I wondered why she didn't come closer, so I could hear her better. I tried to open my eyes, to see if I could find her, but my eyelids seemed too heavy to open. I tried to speak, but my mouth refused to form words, only pitiful sounds. A nugget of alarm nudged itself into my mind, but was soon driven out by the darkness.

***
She was there, in my dream, the woman with the green eyes. Her face was still obscured. I took her hand, already looking around for the faint remnant of her shadow, but she remained solid. I looked at the cold, pale hand in mine, then up at her cloudy face. I sensed a smile. Come.

She led me into the pool. Its waters were icy, and yet I felt no fear. It was as if I belonged in the cold, inky depths, belonged there with her.

I lay on a bed of seaweed and she sat beside me, looking down at me with her glowing twin emeralds. My breath came slowly, loud in my ears. I began to wonder how that was possible, then she raised her hand to brush away the cloud, and all thought fled from my mind.

"M-mom?"

She smiled and twisted away into the murky water. I cried out, tried to follow, but was held back by a hand on my chest. My hand.

"She is gone." I looked up into my own eyes, my green eyes, green like hers. I watched a smile spread on my lips, watched my hand reach out to caress my cheek. "She loves you. Do not follow, or that love will be for naught." The smiled faded, to be replaced by sadness. I disappeared from view, melting into the darkness around me. I reached out, but felt only the icy embrace of the pool.

***
"Ah, Miss Pryor. Good to see you back in the land of the living."

I squinted through the blinding light at a familiar roundish blur. I blinked, and the blur resolved into the smiling nurse, sitting in a chair, looking over a chart. I blinked again, a sad smile playing about my lips.

"I'll just go get the doctor and your sister." She stood and bustled from the room, taking the chart with her.

I closed my eyes, saw clear images of my mother and myself, separate, and yet together, beside a cool, clear pool. I raised my hand in farewell, and she did the same, smiling. I let my hand drop, turned and walked from the pool.

I opened my eyes. Ann took my hand, squeezed it tight. I smiled up at her and squeezed back.