Chapter 14

Gerald knocked on the door, a case of Budweiser in his left hand. Even though Wilson hadn’t sounded angry at him, he thought he’d be better off not showing up empty handed. The door opened and Gerald saw Wilson, hair shorter and slightly heavier than the last time he’d seen him, step around it. Wilson stared at him a minute before grinning and grabbing him in one of those drunken straight guy hugs.

   “Good to fuckin’ see you, man.” Wilson pulled him in the door, pushing it shut behind him. “Damn good to see you.”

   “I know. You, too.”

   “What’s this?” Wilson said, pointing and taking the case of beer. “Peace offering?”

   And there it was.

   “Well, uh . . .” Gerald began, no idea how to address their ignored friendship. Wilson grinned again and laughed.

   “I’m just fucking with you. Here,” he said, tearing open the case and pulling out a can for each of them, “Mi casa es blah blah blah. Grab a seat and let’s get drinking.”

   Gerald smiled and did just that, knowing it was exactly what he needed.

Two hours and a few beers later, Wilson sat back and ran his hands through his hair. “Holy shit, man. You’re not making this shit up, are you?”

   Gerald shook his head. “Wish I was. I’ve been flipping out. I wouldn’t trade seeing her again for anything, but . . . I don’t even know if that really happened. Don’t even know if any of it really happened.”

   “What about the guy getting hit by the truck? That would’ve been on the news or something. Shit like that doesn’t happen without everybody hearing about it.”

   “I don’t know if that happened here, or if somehow he followed me to the other reality.” Gerald still felt stupid referring to another reality.

   “What about the truck? Didn’t you say you’d seen it here?” Wilson seemed to be taking everything in stride much more easily than Gerald had expected.

   “At first I thought it was either-or, but now I’m not so sure, like maybe there isn’t a definite division between the two,” Gerald said, lighting a cigarette. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”

   Wilson lit a cigarette of his own and stood up. “Gotta hit the head, man. Be right back.” Gerald laughed and nodded. He’d be making a trip to the bathroom soon, himself. Gerald stood, wanting to finish his cigarette outside. He realized the irony of wanting fresh air while smoking, but didn’t care. Apathy was getting to be a common feeling for him.

   Three steps from the couch, Gerald’s head began to spin. He stopped, trying to remember how much he’d had to drink. He knew the cool outside air would help the wooziness, but he wasn’t sure if he could make it to the door. He turned to go back to the couch, stumbled, and collapsed. Crawling, he made it back to the couch, climbed onto it, and passed out.

“Wake up!”

   Gerald’s eyes snapped open to a face only inches from his own. His vision cleared, and he expected to see Wilson, but instead, it was Mr. Holman.

   “What the f—” Gerald stopped abruptly as he noticed he wasn’t on Wilson’s couch, or even in the apartment. Instead he was lying in a field of dirt. The sun was up, but for some reason there was a campfire burning nearby. He knew he should be getting used to this by now, but growing accustomed to such reality shifts was a frightening prospect. Who knew how long he’d have to adjust.

   Gerald rolled onto his back and yelled, unable to take the idea of this going on the rest of his life. He stood, sober, and turned to Mr. Holman.

   “I can’t take this shit anymore. Tell me what the fuck is going on, or I’ll eat a fucking bullet.”

   Mr. Holman raised an eyebrow, holding Gerald’s stare. “Threatening suicide? I wouldn’t have expected that from you, Gerald.”

   “Oh, fuck you,” Gerald said. “Why didn’t you just stay dead?”

   “Who says I’m not?”

   “More of the cryptic shit. Wonderful.” Gerald grimaced. He turned from Mr. Holman, patting his pockets, looking for a cigarette. Mr. Holman tapped his shoulder, holding a pack to Gerald, who promptly snatched it from the outstretched hand. By the time Gerald had one in his mouth, Mr. Holman was offering him a lighter. Gerald took it, though more reluctantly than the cigarettes. He lit the cigarette, dragged deeply, and exhaled, sighing.

   “Why is this happening?” he asked again.

   “You know I can’t tell you. But I think you know.”

   “No. I don’t. If I knew, I’d do something about it. Something to stop this shit.”

   “Would you?”

   “What, do you think I’m enjoying this?”

   “What have you ever enjoyed?”

   Gerald started to shout, but something about the question froze him. He closed his mouth and looked off, really considering what he had enjoyed. He shut his eyes, breathed deeply, and whispered a name, the name that had tormented him these last several years. Hr. Holman stepped closer and placed his hand on Gerald’s shoulder.

   Still staring away, Gerald said, “So what am I supposed to do?” He raised his cigarette, taking a final drag before flipping it away.

   “I’m not here to tell you what to do. That is your choice.” Gerald turned to Mr. Holman, but he was gone. He looked at the fire, watched the orange flame fade to green, then purple. As the flame then shifted to black, he faded right along with it.

“Hey, Gerald, wake up, man.”

   Gerald snapped awake, entirely conscious and sober. “What the—” he started, but was cut off, almost choking on his tongue. It felt swollen, inflamed as if infected. He clutched his throat, unable to think of anything else to do.

   “Oh, fuck, man, you’re choking,” Wilson said. Gerald shook his head, mouthed “water” and continued trying to pry his throat open. Wilson ran to the kitchen, filled a glass halfway, and ran back to Gerald, almost shoving it into his mouth. As soon as the water hit his tongue, the swelling subsided, and he could breathe again.

   “Jesus Christ,” he said, coughing. Gerald tried to stand, almost fell, and settled for doubling over with his hands on his knees. “How long was I out? What happened?”

   Wilson looked at him, confused despite the story Gerald had told him earlier. “Out? I don’t know, man. I went to take a piss, came back and saw you on the floor. Couldn’t have been more than a minute or two.”

   Gerald stared at him in disbelief. A minute or two? “I think I was in the other reality again. Sometimes I can remember things. Like now, I remember Mr. Holman.”

   “Oh shit, the guy who got hit by the truck?”

   “Yeah. I’m pretty sure it’s always him that I see.”

   “Like in Pet Sematary. The doc can’t save that college kid that got hit, and he keeps coming back to help them.” Great. Of all the books in the world for his life to mirror, it was hard to think of a worse one than Pet Sematary.

   “If I start burying shit in the backyard, you should get really worried.” Gerald was surprised he had a sense of humor about this. Wilson stared at him for another second or two, then burst out laughing.

   “Fuck man, this shit’s nuts. No way I could hold it together as well as you.”

   “Hold it together? Are you kidding? I haven’t been to work in I don’t know how long. I’ve spent almost every moment I can remember drunk or in some fucking alternate reality. I wake up in the field behind my house, then walk home to find beer cans shot up all over the place. A guy chased me down the street with scissors and got hit by a truck, and his body was disintegrated. Disintegrated, like it’s fucking Star Trek or something.”

   “If it was Star Trek it would be disruptors. Or phasers.” Wilson held a straight face for a minute, then cracked up again. “Come on, man. You gotta lighten up about this. Just go with the flow, know what I mean?”

   “Go with the flow?”

   “Fuck yeah. Can’t do shit about it, so why get all shitty?”

   Gerald started to argue, then realized he had nothing to say in rebuttal. Can’t do shit about it, why get all shitty? Go with the flow. Under the circumstances, he couldn’t think of anything better to do.

   “You’re right,” he said, and sat back down on the couch. “Maybe that’s been the problem the whole time. I need to quit doing whatever it is I’m doing, and just go with the flow.”

   “Fuck yeah,” Wilson said, holding out a beer. Gerald smiled and shook his head.

   “No thanks. I think that’s about the last thing I need right now.”