Headlights(115)

Ghosts, holding me. I fight against them, try to fight, but I— I have to do it, I’m so hungry. So hungry, and I can’t … I have to … Oh god, I— Father Sky steps toward me, holding the knife in one hand and pulling a pair of pliers from his back pocket with the other. “Crude instruments,” he says. “But sometimes that’s just how you gotta skin the cat. Or whatever they say.”

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, hungry, so hungry, I—

Bite. Chew. Rip, tear, squeeze, lick, yes, oh god, I

Hate, hate myself, hate—

Hannah, I send into the other-place. Hannah, you can get out of this. You’re not stuck there, okay? You’re not— The ghosts push down on me. Sharp pain in my leg. I’m bleeding, a lot, I think. I fight. One of them shoves my shoulder down so hard I think it dislocated it. I struggle against the weight holding me down, the ghosts. I can’t move. It’s like I have no strength at all in my body.

Hate, hate, hungry, need, hate—

Hannah! I call to her.

Father Sky steps up to me and taps his fingers to my chin, then pulls it down, opening my jaw. I turn my head away, can do that much, but then one of the ghosts holds it in place. I can’t move, can’t do anything, as he opens my mouth again.

Cold, scared, what did I, oh. My god

Hannah, I call. Hey, you’re not trapped in this. You’re not— Fuck. How do I stop this? How do I get her out?

Father Sky brings the pliers to my face.

And I think—maybe. Maybe I can’t pull her out.

Unless I—

Hannah, help! I call. Like in the bathroom. Like before. You brought me back before, and I need your help now, okay? You can get out of this. I need you.

Even as I say it to her though, I can’t move. I can’t fight it. And he’s got my mouth open.

Hannah!

Father Sky pulls my tongue from my mouth with the pliers. I try to fight, I push with everything I have. I can’t. I’ve always been powerless to these ghosts. I’ve always— HANNAH!

But she can’t hear me. She’s too deep in it. Her pain, her shame. I feel it. I feel everything.

Father Sky tightens the pliers on the end of my tongue, stretches it out as far as he can, pain ripping through the back of my throat.

Hannah, I send through to that other-place.

Father Sky lifts the knife.

Hannah, I send. Whatever happens, I—

VOOM.

The pressure changes in the room. The air gets cold.

“Yes,” Father Sky breathes.

He lifts up the knife with his other hand and angles it down. He presses the tip into the back of my tongue. The knife is dull, but fuck, this is— Pain. Blood fills my mouth.

Black tendrils snake through the room.

The pressure.

VOOM.

“Annie’s Song.” John Denver’s singing it on the TV.

Chemical smell. The river in the park in Aspen. My mom. Rose.

Father Sky presses the knife down harder, more blood spilling, hot salt liquid filling my mouth. I let out something between a groan and a yell as he— The staticky, crackling sound. The oily, inky black crawling over the carpet, up the cabinet to the TV, over John Denver’s face. Up the walls of the room and spreading over the ceiling.

Father Sky breathes heavily as he slices down through the left edge of my tongue.

“You know,” he says. “I’ve always thought—”

There’s a loud crash. Glass and liquid rain down over me.

Father Sky pauses, lurches forward. Meets my eyes. Confusion crosses his face, then …

He stops cutting, releases my tongue. He turns around.

Hannah is there.

Hannah no longer in the corner on the floor. No longer stuck in the memory.

Hannah with her hand on the handle of my dad’s liquor bottle. I blink, fight through the haze and pain. The dark. The bottle now sticking out of Father Sky’s back. On his right side, just below his ribs. Blood pouring from the bottle like a tap. She lets it go, watches the blood.

I try to stay here. Fight the dark that’s pulling me.

Father Sky looks at Hannah and doesn’t move for a second. Time stretched and suspended as the black tendrils start their crawl down toward us from the ceiling.

VOOM.

Crackling, pressure, dark, and—

Father Sky swings the knife up toward her.

Toward Hannah.

I snap back to attention. Hannah,

Hannah—

Her eyes on me. The knife, arcing toward her stomach.

I—

I can’t speak. Can’t move. Blood filling my mouth and my throat, and my vision going dark, and— The black tendrils descend as the knife makes contact with her.

I scream.

Everything goes black.





7



Hannah. I reach for her, try to feel her in the other-space. But it’s thinner, our connection now. It’s …

Hannah!

I don’t hear her. I don’t feel her.

I can’t find her. I try to feel my body in the motel, but …

I’m not there.

I’m only in the other-place. Where is she? I’m only …

I’m out in a dark night.

I’m looking at the bright lights of the Happy Inn. Not from the road. Not in our world at all.