Serial Fiction: Part 4

14Apr09

It’s been a while, so lets see if we can get back into the story, scant as it is so far. Chuck is at an obvious low point here, and today we find him cold and alone, reflecting on what may have brought him here:

The Shifting Supercontinent: Part 4

Behind the Circle K, sitting on the curb, I can’t see the Gulf. The beers go as follows:

One—Karen behind the counter of Hawkins Market. Let this love never cease, peace. “Still Water” by The Four Tops plays overhead, and she brushes a stray hair from her forehead.

Two—We sit in the anonymous dark of the Rose Cinema, sharing a plastic water bottle of red wine. It’s a matinee revival showing of Saboteurs. We’re alone in the theater.

Three—A year later, I’m in the Hawkins parking lot. The floor-to-ceiling front window is smashed, glass everywhere. Blood from my cut palms, sticky and pooling around me. At some point, I pull the glass out and wrap them. Later I will find the cash in my backpack.

Four—I ran then, from the store to Karen’s mother’s house. Climbed the drainpipe, grated my palms, whispered through the open window. Karen is crying on the edge of her bed already. When she looks at me, the light catches the fist-sized bruise around her left eye.

Five—We take the cash, and her mother’s car, and we leave Dothan in the night. It falls away behind us like gums pulling away from a dead tooth.

Six—Long drive. Fighting. I think I’ll…

Tune in next time, when we catch up with Karen, and find out how she got that bruise.

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