Confiscated, Chapter 3


           Carla stayed in my house for a couple of days.  She must have gotten used to me by now and had nowhere better to be.  It was nice having her company, even if she bummed all my clothes.  She looked pretty cute with one of my big shirts on her.  It was so big on her that she wore it like a dress, no pants included in the attire.  She bundled up with some blankets on the couch, watching the news.  Nothing exciting on.  I haven’t seen anything about the Indian man we killed, which I find extremely odd.  I brought it up to Carla and she just shrugged.

            I feel my phone vibrate in my left pocket.  The caller ID says Mira.  They must have figured out I was out of jail.  I suppose it was my fault for failing to mention it, “Hey Mira, I was just going to call you and Jimmy to let you know that my bail was posted.” It wasn’t the biggest lie I’ve told, after all.

            Mira seemed utterly surprised, “Who posted bail for you?”

            “My best friend Bunny.”

            Mira’s confusion was noted in her voice, “Who the hell is Bunny?”

            “Bunny is Evelyn.  She and I go back a very long time ago.  I’ve known her longer than you or Jimmy.”  I wasn’t even sure if this was true or not, but I shouldn’t have to explain myself, “Anyways, she posted bail for me and she’s been helping me out recently.”

            Mira responded, “Dean, you’ve never mentioned her before.  Oh well. Say, do you want to meet me at the pier tonight? I know we haven’t talked in a while, it would be nice to catch up.”

            Why do I always have trouble saying no?  “Sure, I’ll be there around nine tonight.”

            I hear a gleeful squeal on the other end which caused me to take the phone away from my ear.  There’s no need to screech into the goddamn phone.  Carla must have heard it and laughed a little.  She said, “Dear lord, who is that?”

            “That would be my friend Mira.  She’s like a sister of mine.”  I haven’t told her about my acute memory loss problems.  No need to share every dark secret of mine.

            Carla gets up off her perch, “Well do you mind if I tag along?” 

            “Well why don’t you go back to your place and if you want to come back here? Just remember to bring some clothes.”  I never liked living with other people.  Sharing the same breathing room with another human being just seems distasteful.  Something was different about this woman.  She made me feel comfortable.  Like I could talk to her about anything and she wouldn’t get mad.  I’m sure I’m not more comfortable around her because she killed a man.  There is a calming aura radiating from her.  Something warm and inviting.  I hope she does come back later.  We exchange cell phone numbers and she gives me the biggest hug I’ve ever received.  She holds the embrace for longer than a friendly good-bye.  Could it possibly be that she has some sort of attraction to me that wasn’t built on shock?

            The entire time I am driving towards the pier, I keep replaying Carla and my time together.  I actually had fun.  If we continue on this path, I wonder where it will lead.  That strange woman’s voice creeps into my mind again, it sounds as clear as if she is in the passenger seat next to me.  This time without all the agony.  Good thing to, because I would have most likely crashed into a light pole or a parked car.

            The voice was playful, yet mischievous sounding, “Hey Dean. Whatcha doin?”

            “God, you scared me.  Who the hell are you?”

            “Now that’s not a very nice thing to say to me.  After all, we are inseparable.”

            What the fuck is she talking about, inseparable?  I’ve never met this girl in my life.  At least I don’t think I ever did.  Then again, she is talking inside my head.  Could she be some sort of witch or am I going crazy?  Those seem like the only two reasonable explanations.

            If she isn’t going to answer me, I’m just going to ignore her.  Her playful mood seems to get agitated real quick and she starts screaming, “You’ll fucking talk to me or I’ll crash this goddamn car!”

            I can see the pier in the distance, and I doubt this bitch can or would do anything despite her desperate attempts for attention.  Sharp pain erupts in my forehead to match my levels of ignorance.  I’m blinded by the pain and it shifts to my stomach.  Impact.  I’m flown forward at an uncomfortable pace.  I can’t feel my body and my mind is loosely aware of what just happened.

            I can hear the fleeting laughter of that unknown woman.  Its official, my life sucks.  Coughing, I push open the door and stumble out of my car.  My face hits cement, but it doesn’t hurt like the rest of my body.  Thank God for airbags.  I turn to see the wreckage of my car, driven straight into the side of a brick wall.  I need to get out of here.  I reach for my phone and call up Mira.

            “Mira, I need help.  I’m about a mile from the pier on Perry Drive and my car is totaled.  I can’t afford to be accosted by the police.”  There is hesitation on her end.  “I’m out on bail remember?”

            “Okay, okay. Sit tight I’ll come get you.”  Mira did not seem happy at all.

            I eventually make it to my feet and start walking towards the pier.  She’ll see me as she makes her way towards the wreck.  I walk for a quarter mile and realize my arm got cut.  I’m leaving a blood trail in my wake.  Several cars drive past, all too busy on their cell phones to pay attention to the limping man on the sidewalk.

            A taxi slowly drives up to me and I see Mira in the backseat.  She says impatiently, “Get in.”

            I hop into the taxi, next to Mira and she directs the taxi driver to some address I don’t recognize.  She did seem slightly glad to see me, “So Dean, why didn’t you call once you got out? You should have told us silly.”

            I apologized and I tell her all the things that have happened since I was in jail.  Obviously I left out the murder and how I met Carla. So I pretty much left out everything.  Now was not the time nor place to discuss that sort of business.  She tells me about her and Jimmy and how things are going between them.  They are two malicious peas in a pod, luckily able to find their life-long partner right out of high school.

            She talks my ear off until the taxi driver boots us out of the cab at Mira’s location.  We were just south of the 5th Street Bridge which is riddled with homeless people and junkies.  A place where criminal activity has a safe-haven.  There are cops here from time to time, but they are just as dirty as the homeless people.

            It’s a miserable place and the stench is rotten.  There is no AC in any of the tents, so it is just shy of habitable.  Mira pulls me aside from earshot, “I have a secret to tell you.”

            Curiosity wrecks my mind as to what this great secret could be.  I start to wonder off, thinking about the craziest secrets she could possibly have.  Does she have a dick? That would make Jimmy gay and Mira a tranny? That would be a well-kept secret.  Or could it be that her and Jimmy got hitched without telling me? That would be insulting because I should have been their best man.  My mind began to think of something dark and serious. What if she was or knew who turned me in to the police? My daydreaming stops when she interrupts my concentration, slightly annoyed at me not vocalizing my guesses.  “I’m dead.  I’m not physically here anymore.”

            What the fuck was she talking about? She’s right in front of me and she doesn’t look like any zombie.  She continues after seeing my confusion and disbelief, “Yes, I’m dead.  You killed me about a week ago with that gun that Carla used to kill that convenient store clerk.  I know you noticed that several bullets were missing in your gun before you went to aide Carla.  I know this because I’m not real, I’m just in your head.  Look around.  No one else can see me.  You called the taxi yourself and wanted to come here because you needed a fix.”

            My head feels like its free-falling from a plane.  This must be a dream.  My feet and my hands start to go numb and I begin to shake uncontrollably.  She may be right, maybe this is all in my head.  I really need a fix.  Mira hands me a tray with several lines on it as if she read my mind.  I gladly take the poison and I spiral to the floor.  I get cold and I feel Mira’s warmth laying on top of my unmoving body.  She feels so real.  Darkness closes in.

           I dream in this drug-induced trance.  Faces.  So many faces that have twisted smiles all gawking at me.  They whisper secrets to each other so I am unable to hear. They seem to be talking about me, or it could just be my paranoia.  Eventually their internal talk ceases and their attention is fully directed towards me.  Their eyes glare in disgust and pity.  The faces open their mouths and the loudest noise erupts from their lips.  The pain is ungodly.  My body vibrates.

            I wake covered in filthy rags in a cubby hole.  Probably a homeless person’s.  I check my pockets and my phone and wallet are still intact, which I am grateful for. My phone has three missed calls and a voice-mail from Carla.  She’s also sent several texts checking in on me.  I pull up the voice-mail and she sounds terrified and scared.  She says that she is in my house and that it feels like pure evil in there and that she is scared and wishes I would come home.  This was all last night apparently.  I wonder if she is still at my place.  My body is aching and sore all over.  I must have came down hard last night.  My memory was foggy, but I remember that Mira was with me.  Several bums are huddled up around a burning trash can to get warm.  I need to get out of here before they realize I’m alone here.  I walk away from the group unnoticed and I come across several raggedy bikes.  I look around again to make sure no one is watching and I take the closest one that is unlocked.  I pretend that it is mine and slowly drift away as to not cause suspicion. 

            Once I reach the main road, I remember everything that Mira told me last night.  Was that a dream, a hallucination or was it really the truth? And if it were true how do I prove it?  Now that I think about it, it would seem that Carla overheard Mira over the phone when Mira screamed, so that must mean it was not true, I think.  The only way to be sure is to see Mira again.  I try calling her, but her phone gives me the disconnected notice.  Strange.  I call Carla back to check up on her but her phone is off.  Well, its too early in the afternoon to worry about this shit. A hot shower seems in order.   Time to go home.

            I’m peddling to get home as soon as possible.  I feel like shit. I smell like shit. I need to shit.  Nothing beats a hangover on a hot sunny day.  Multitudes of cars pass me aggressively.  I’m in the bike lane but they seem to inch closer and closer to my bike.  Rushes of colors from the paint on the cars coagulate into an abstract sunset.  I may be dehydrated so I pull off into a side street to find some shade.  Once my vision starts coming back to me I notice that I am in a neighborhood off the main street. The sign next to me says “Oak Grove St.”  Looks to be a middle-class safe haven not too far from downtown.  Most of these houses have hoses on the sides of their house that isn’t in a fenced area. So I quietly locate the hose near the first house and turn on the hose very slightly.  Too much water pressure and the people inside may notice.  I could drown in this water, it tastes so good.  Much better than the tap water from the faucet at my place.   I soak my head and the back of my neck.  Pure bliss.  I recover my bike and make a clean breakaway.  Hopefully they won’t notice a few extra cents on their water bill.


            I make it to my home in one piece and I see Carla on the couch.  Lulled to sleep in the middle of the afternoon by the unthoughtful sitcom no doubt.  Wonder if she worried about me or wondered where I was last night.  Did she even care?  Why would she care?  Maybe she is just as homeless as I felt last night.  Nothing beats a hot shower though.  I like the water burning on my skin so it’s almost uncomfortable.  

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allets's picture


of a junkie, I can see dead people. Motif, people I've killed come back. Unique notion. A stroll through delusion and loved the "memory loss" problem. Great description. The buy and "line" will go over non-addicted heads like mine though.


Unless he is uin Hell, already dead, I have to know where this leads. Encore. Another chapter please. ~allets~