Escort For The Witch. Veronika Grossman
pleasing: dark, thick, overgrown hair sticking out in different directions, a foggy gaze, a split lip, and, apparently, his nose had recently been quite badly bruised. “Goblin-like”
didn’t even begin to cover the shaggy monster standing before me.
“What are you doing here?” Eric whispered hoarsely.
“What am I doing here? You’re asking WHAT I’m doing here? I want to know why the hell you told your sister all that nonsense yesterday?!” I yelled, pacing back and forth.
“Oh…” was all the drunk youngster squeeze out and stared at me expectantly.
“Eric, I didn’t think you were such an idiot and… your lip is split!”
“Back off, Jack,” Eric mumbled and flopped back onto the bed. “But since you’re here, bring me some water.”
Instead of heading straight to the kitchen to help my friend with his hangover, I grabbed his hair again and turned his face towards me. Eric’s eyes showed confusion and bewilderment.
“Jack! Are you out of your mind? That hurts!,” he freed his hair from my grip and, fully back to his senses now, sat up on the bed.
“What do you want?”
“Grab your butt and take it to the bathroom. You have exactly twenty minutes to sober up,” I muttered through gritted teeth and walked to the window to open it.
My head spun slightly when a gust of cool air rushed into the room, dispelling the alcoholic stench that had permeated the walls for days.
Eric glared at me but, without a word, got up and shuffled to the bathroom, barely moving his legs. I watched his slouched figure and shook my head disapprovingly. Since our last meeting, the guy had noticeably deteriorated and now resembled a walking fishing hook. It’s incredible, I saw him not long ago, and I could swear he wasn’t that skinny. And just a few months ago, we went to the gym together to avoid resembling Mr. Cornell Senior’s anti-athletic figure… I thought and glanced at the wall where the old digital clock had always been. It wasn’t there anymore. Apparently, Eric got to it too and smashed it. Cursing quietly, I opened the window wider and left the room to go to the kitchen to find some aspirin for my unfortunate friend. In the kitchen, I accidentally glanced at an old alarm clock standing on the table. The hands on the scratched dial showed eleven-thirty, and there was no hint of the sun outside. What happened to the weather? A quiet, prolonged groan behind me interrupted my thoughts. I turned around quickly. It was Sabrina, and she looked unwell…
“Oh my,” she whispered, pressing her hand to her stomach.
Without thinking about the possible consequences, I rushed to her and grabbed her hand just above the elbow. She was burning with fever, sweat beads forming on her forehead. I reached for the phone hanging on the wall and was about to dial 911 when Sabrina pulled the receiver out of my grip.
“Where are you going to call?” she whispered anxiously.
“What a stupid question? You need a doctor,” I replied decisively, feeling Sabrina release my hand and forcing a feeble smile.
“No, Jack! What are you thinking? I’m fine. Probably just something I ate.
Really, everything's fine,” she said soothingly and hung up the phone.
Perhaps she felt a little better, but the wild glint in her eyes didn’t disappear. She looked away, and seemed paler to me. I followed her gaze but didn’t notice anything unusual. Everything was the same: the kitchen furniture in its place, the same old alarm clock that hadn’t been moved for years. Nothing that could terrify a person. Suddenly, Sabrina groaned again and once more brought her hand to her stomach.
“Jack, this is the first and last time I ask you to help me… get me a chair and…
and bring water, please,” she muttered. Trying not to curse, I carefully lifted her, carried to the living room. There I laid her on the couch.
“Wait a second,” I muttered and left to fetch some water. Once again, I scanned the kitchen but didn’t see anything that could have frightened her. I had no choice
but to return to the living room. Sabrina took a few sips from the glass and brushed the damp hair from her forehead.
“Some virus,” she murmured, tilting her head back and taking a few deep breaths.
“Yeah, a virus. Should I call a doctor or take you to the hospital?”
“Or maybe we should have lunch?” She smiled. And there was something in that smile that made my heart sink again.
“How did you wake up Eric?” Sabrina asked curiously, nodding towards the bathroom.
“You gotta have skills,” I replied, not without an air of mischief.
There was a deafening crash followed by a string of curses, coming from the depths of the house. Then the slam of the door, and finally, a loud yawn. Eric entered the living room almost steadily.
He looked much better, but still disheveled and clearly unaware of what was happening around him. I noticed a shallow cut on his left cheek. Naturally, Eric noticed it too.
“I shaved,” he grumbled, poking the cheek with a cotton swab.
“Clearly,” Sabrina retorted sharply, catching her brother’s attention.
Noticing Sabrina, Eric immediately rushed to her and sat down on the floor next her.
“Are you feeling bad again, Sabi?” he asked anxiously, breathing alcohol fumes into her face.
“You’ll definitely make me feel bad now!” Sabrina grimaced, lightly punched Eric’s shoulder, got up and left the room. Watching her leave, I turned back to the squatting figure on the floor, the hunched-over guy who clearly didn't want to continue the conversation started in his room.
“I think we have something to discuss,” I said softly, breaking the awkward pause.
Eric shot me an angry glance, then laboriously got up and, dramatically, trudged back to his alcohol-soaked den.
“Have you eaten, who called me yesterday?” he spoke first, ushering me into his room.
“Murphy”, I replied instantly, settling into the old, weathered armchair.
Eric only looked at me quizzingly.
“He said I hadn’t handled the job well, and grandpa would be very ashamed of me,” he lowered his head and sighed heavily. “He said you would have done much better than me.”
“I know, Sabrina already told me,” I declared, getting up from the chair. I walked to the window with a shuffling gait, and lit a cigarette.
Suddenly, Eric raised his head in horror, his eyes widening as he stared at me, clearly now beginning to recall the details of yesterday’s conversation with his sister.
“Damn! I didn’t…”
“No,” I interrupted, “but you have said enough to make her come to me for clarification. For which I want, at the very least, to knock you out.”
“Oh… bad times,” my sobering friend muttered guiltily, staring at me, awaiting my angry response.
“Yes, and I had to tell her about Flippy’s murder.”
“Oh! That's some shit… She definitely didn’t need to know that! But… Okay, what now?”
“I met with Mom today. They decided that now I’ll be doing ‘surveillance.’ ”
Eric glanced sidelong at me and chuckled loudly. Then he flopped heavily onto the bed and covered his face with his palms.
“I let everyone down,” he moaned after a moment.
“Not everyone. At least, not yet. Stop boozing. The sooner, the better. Otherwise, you'll lose not only your job but also your family. Sabrina is desperate. You've driven her to it,” I said, closely observing Eric's changing expression.
“I noticed she’s been acting strangely lately. But I don’t