Nirvana
By Genesis McClure
Joseph Blalock, Outside Seattle, Washington, April 16, 1991
At the edge of a worn-out driveway, on a tired country road, I watch her leaving with my head down and my arms limp.
Clank.
She has no idea how much it hurts to watch her go but I already tried to stop her.
I wasn't successful.
With a huff, I lay down in the wet grass and let the morning dew wash me into the day's despair.
If only she had stayed I could have been better.
I could have tried harder.
It would have been beautiful. Beautiful like that time when the sun sets in the mountains. Shades of every color washing the world in the last remnants of day. Everything softening into the quiet dark of the night just before the daywalkers sleep and the nightwalkers wake.
Far off, sirens bleed into the air.
A familiar call to let me know that I am not alone here.
- - -
Susan Supkowski, Seattle, Washington, April 16, 1991
The music has my feet moving like a live wire. I haven't ever heard something that called to me like it before.
“Iiiiii, I'm not the only one, Iiiiiiii…”
My head bangs as everyone slams into each other. Men, women, everything blurs in that place we call the pit.
The drums beat like fists against each other.
The guitar screams.
We jump.
We throw up our hands.
From behind two strangers bum rush me. Before I know what's happening I am in the air floating across the crowd.
A sea of bodies covered in sweat carry me through the air toward the stage. Just before I think I will make it up there, large hands grab and pull me down behind the barrier before shooting me out of the side.
I land with a thud but I am ready to get back in, looking for the boy I came here with.
A pinch from something on the ground but it doesn’t feel serious.
There is an outstretched hand.
It is dark so I can't exactly see that well.
I assume it is him.
He hasn't taken his eyes off me since we got here.
I reach out.
I want him close to me.
I want to tell him how much it means to have him bring me here but then everything goes dark.
- - -
Aiden Hopper, Seattle, Washington, April 16, 1991
I watch her banging, pushing, and flailing with glee.
Butterflies move like rockets every time she smiles at me.
It still doesn't feel real that someone as beautiful as her is here with someone as plain as me.
I've known her since elementary. We were in Ms. Bob's class together in the fourth grade. It was back before preps, jocks, punks, metal heads, and nerds started moving into our silos.
Back when I was just the new kid from the city in a town where everyone already had history with everyone else.
I was treated like a shiny object at first.
Ogled by kids who were told the city was dangerous and therefore I was probably dangerous.
Her constant smile was a boat in my sea of emotions back then.
We talked all the time.
Well, mostly she talked, but I always listened.
Eventually as we got older and boys started talking to girls in that way you do, her smile stopped looking at me.
She stopped talking to me about her weekend, what music she was listening to, or the thing she hoped to get for her birthday or Christmas.
It was like I didn't exist anymore.
It was like that for almost seven years.
The thing I said to get her here was honestly a joke.
We were in gym class playing dodgeball. I was being a goof like I always am.
Not paying attention.
When the ball hit me in the nuts I thought one of them exploded.
The ground hit me before I could even think.
When I looked up to her moist eyes and that scrunched up face with her soft hand held out to me, I nearly fainted.
“I'm sorry.”
I looked around confused. She was close enough that I could smell her strawberry lotion.
“I said I'm sorry, Aiden…Are you okay?”
“You remember my name?”
Her face turned red.
It spun to the left, throwing her straight brown hair flying like one of those paper hand fans from those late night action movies with the bad dubbing.
Droplets of sweat were flung across my face like a mini-rain shower.
“Gosh, dangit!”
She knelt down and started to wipe my face with her shirt but when she noticed I was getting a show and it was mostly just putting more sweat on my face she let out another, more guttural gosh dangit before stopping.
I couldn't stop myself from whistling.
“How about you just make this up to me by letting me take you to the Nirvana concert and I will make up for missing your birthday by buying you a bouquet of purple flowers.”
She sucked in a breath. I could barely make it out but I think she said, “You remembered my birthday?”
Then she said ok.
Her number was still the same as the one we talked on when we were kids.
This was the greatest night of my life until I saw him take her.
- - -
Susan Supkowski, Outside Seattle, Washington, April 16, 1991
I wake up with a chill.
It is dark and humid wherever I am.
The smell reminds me of the inside of a cave but the smooth stone against my hand tells me that definitely isn't where I am.
I feel around as much as I can to orient myself.
A chain like the kind my neighbor ties his dog to, to keep him from running away is wrapped around my neck.
I try like hell to get it off me but it is held there by a padlock.
Most of my fingernails are already broken from the frequent dodgeball in gym class but it feels like my thumbnail might just be the right size.
Crack.
“Gosh, freaking, dangit.”
My voice echoes in the dark.
I hear something stir nearby.
“That show you put on at the concert was great.”
The voice is low and older.
It sounds like someone trying to copy Darth Vader but it isn't low enough.
“Stop it, Aiden. This isn't funny.”
A red light flicks on and a large man wearing a hockey mask and oil-stained brown coveralls is standing there.
That isn't Aiden.
- - -
Aiden Hopper, Outside Seattle, Washington, April 16, 1991
I have never taken so many risks in my life to follow this bastard.
When I saw him take her out of the emergency exit I thought for sure that an alarm would go off.
Nothing.
When we ran through red lights and stop signs at least 40 miles over the speed limit for over half an hour, I thought for sure at least one cop would stop us.
Nothing.
When he lost me in the cornfield I thought this was over.
He seemed to know the streets too well, like he was used to doing this.
I needed to get to a pay phone to call the police. We definitely passed one on the way but when on the way there, I spot it.
A red Firebird with half a field of corn stuck in the front grille just sitting quiet in front of that one-story rambler.
I find a little nook close enough to run to but far enough not to be seen right away, then I park.
From the trunk I grab a tire iron.
The way around the house is littered with junk of all kinds. Half my time moving up to the windows is spent quietly moving things that would crunch under my feet and alert anyone around to my presence.
Inside, the house looks empty.
I check each window twice.
In some of the places where I moved the junk there were giant metal clawed teeth that looked like they would take my arm off if I wasn't careful.
The rust told me they had been there for a long time but there was something off about the color and the way they smelled. I couldn't stop picturing someone trying to run from this place and getting one of their legs caught in one of those things.
I made a mental note of where they were and where I moved a couple before trying the door with that tire iron held tight.
It opened way too easy.
Even though I stepped carefully I might as well have just screamed to let the bastard know I am here. The wood creaked and cracked under my foot.
- - -
Susan Supkowski, Outside Seattle, Washington, April 16, 1991
I was about to scream for help as soon as I heard the wood creak somewhere above us but I just happened to see the way he shifted his arms into a crossed position and moved his face forward like it was all he wanted to hear.
There is no way for me to know why this man chose me but if my screams are going to help him, I am not going to do it.
I don't plan to be some damsel in distress.
Now that the red light is on I look for anything nearby I could use.
He is still watching me though so I try to be careful about it.
He moves fast just when I see something.
His hand is raised like a hammer.
The floor continues to creak above us.
“Please, don't.”
I tried not to say it loud but the movement stopped the second I opened my gosh dang mouth.
He didn't hit me.
He actually took a few steps back.
- - -
Aiden Hopper, Outside Seattle, Washington, April 16, 1991
I heard it.
I know I did but I don't know exactly where.
Somewhere nearby?
All I want to do is go running around here like a wild man flipping over beds, yanking drawers out and kicking down every door I come across but then I remember those metal teeth and it hits me.
Shit.
I have to stay cautious.
There is no way he doesn't know I am here.
So then he has to be waiting for something to happen before he strikes.
Did he plan that?
For what reason?
What would have happened if I went running like crazy through here?
Even slower and more intentionally I put my weight on the floorboards and listen to the way they creak and crack underfoot.
I feel the precarious way I balance on top of them.
Then I realize it.
Bumps roll up my back.
Some boards don't just creak, they crack and dip.
From where I stand I realize the way back is where it dips the most. If I put my full weight on any of them I will most likely fall through.
I look for the closest way out.
Then I see a wire connected like a release to the nearby window. All the others within my sight too.
I don't like the look of the thing the wire is connected to.
Just after I see it I hear a stifled scream. That is definitely somewhere below me.
I want to run so bad I have to bite my tongue until there is blood to stop me.
Why didn’t I just go call the damn cops?
Someone is trying to kill me.
They took her to make it happen and if I die she probably isn't far behind.
That means I have to live.
I have to find a way.
- - -
Susan Supkowski, Outside Seattle, Washington, April 16, 1991
My possible salvation isn’t that far away from me. It is covered just enough to look like it fell in a corner and was forgotten.
That guy in the hockey mask is completely distracted. He is staring upward in anticipation like any moment now manna will fall from heaven.
When I am sure I have inched close enough I stretch out my hand slowly behind me.
I make sure I don't take my eyes off him as I go.
It feels a little too easy but I don’t care.
A chance is a chance.
When my fingers wrap around the handle it is cold as ice.
I ignore it.
I pull carefully but it's like there is something holding on to it from the shadows.
That makes me anxious but I tamp it down and pull a little harder.
It still doesn't budge much.
It makes a scraping noise the little bit it does move.
He notices it and looks down at me.
I can't help but let out a yelp before covering my mouth with one hand and pulling as hard as I can with the other.
A knife might not keep me alive but it will at least give me a fighting chance.
I pull the handle free with a loud scratch that turns into a series of clicks.
I realize much too late that the thing that looked like a butcher knife was put there on purpose.
There is no blade, only a useless metal wire.
- - -
Joseph Blalock, Outside Seattle, Washington, April 16, 1991
I move quickly to the spot just below where I reinforced a small section of floorboards.
The wood comes crashing down all around me just like I knew it would.
The strange thing about people is how easy it is to make them believe there is hope when there never was any.
A car you thought you lost in the chase just shows up on your way to the nearest pay phone.
A perimeter with plenty of places to hide and a small nook not too far away to park your car.
An unlocked door to make it just easy enough to get inside to “help” you ignore the creaking wood.
I clap for the young man writhing around on the ground groaning as he holds onto a leg that most likely broke in the fall.
He must have left the door wide open upstairs because I feel a slight breeze from above.
Was this kid born in a barn?
Pulling out the only real knife down here from behind my back makes my stomach tingle and my pulse quicken.
It all worked out so well.
Having him get this far is so much more satisfying than finding him trapped outside in a contraption made for animals or falling through the floor in a panic before the other one pulls the trigger on their “savior.”
“Time to die, children.”
They both stop to look at me with eyes wet, bodies shaking, and faces scrunched together.
No time to delay.
I kneel down.
I notice a moment too late that his leg is fine and he brought something with him.
Crunch.
My head is spinning.
The knife is dropped.
The hits don't stop until everything goes dark.
This isn't the first time it's happened.
Sometimes I am not good enough.
I wake up just in time to give chase.
She barely slips through my fingers when I make it to the stairs leading out of the storm door.
She took the knife that fell and stabs me with it as I emerge from the basement.
It hurts but she didn't hit any vital points.
He tries to hit me with what I can see now is a tire iron. That one was blocked by the shield I brought up with me.
The axe sinks into the leg he faked being broken.
Serves him right.
“Aiden!”
He throws her a pair of keys with a yellowed rabbit foot on them.
She catches them.
“Run, Sue! Just run and get the police!”
She follows his orders and moves fast.
I am right behind her with the knife she stuck me with still lodged in my shoulder. The axe takes as many swipes as I can while we move.
It hurts but pulling the knife out here is a bad idea.
The run toward the Firebird isn't long. I keep waiting for her to hit one of the bear traps but they aren't where they are supposed to be.
She gets in the car and nearly hits me on the way out.
Clank.
I drop the axe.
With a huff, I lay down in the wet grass and let the morning dew wash me into the day's despair.
The sirens get closer and closer.
I throw the broken mask into one of the piles of rubble nearby.
The kid screams for help when the ambulance and the deputy pull into the yard.
They ignore him and help me instead.
Thankfully, when you're the Chief of police they don't question your integrity. Even if you are the one killing people.
END OF STORY
Holy wow, that ENDING!!! DUDE!!!
You had my attention with the title & Seattle....