This Is How I Disappear

How did that happen? I ask my brain frantically.

It must’ve been on the ground, and you dragged him over it, my brain deduces.

You’re saying I did this? I growl, but the horror and guilt start filling me.

Well, obviously not on purpose, but…yeah, it looks like it, my brain tells me unsympathetically.

I move his hands away to see the damage. I can’t tell how deep the shard is, but it would have been dirty out here. What if it gets infected? What if he looses too much blood? What if…? I can’t say the last one, but my brain comes to the rescue. What if he dies? it proffers helpfully. No, he won’t die, I declare fiercely. I won’t let him.

I decide the first thing to do is put his pants on. There is nothing alluring about touching him this time. All I feel is dread. The sirens wail on the other side of the building, where no doubt armed cops are getting out. What do I do? If I try to escape with him, he might die. If I turn him in, the cops will get him fixed up…but he’ll also be in jail.

Try to ask him, my brain supplies.

I touch his face softly. “Gerard?” I ask tentatively. No reply.

Slap him, my brain directs.

I’m not gonna slap him! I cry. He’s injured!

It’s bad if he goes to sleep, my brain insists. He might never wake up.

At this piece of information, I slap him across the face hard. He groans a little, eyelids fluttering. “Gerard!” I hiss urgently, petting the spot where I hit him.

“Nn-mm,” he grumbles.

“Gerard, the cops are here,” I whisper. “But you’re hurt bad. What do I do?”

He coughs a little. “’S fine,” he mumbles, lifting his hand a bit as if to wave off my concern.

He’s out of it. “No, it’s not fine,” I say slowly. “You have a shard of glass in your side, and the cops are about to break into your apartment and find us.”

He shakes his head. “There’s sirens,” he says, and I blink at him.

“Yes,” I agree.

“There wouldn’t be sirens,” he explains.

“What?”

“I’m a murdering kidnapper, Frank,” he expounds. “If they were here for me, they wouldn’t have sirens or lights. They’d want to sneak up on me, so I couldn’t get away.”

“But they already know your name,” I say, “and they know you know they know it. How would stealth help?”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “you lost me with all the ‘knows’.”

I roll my eyes. “What should I do?” I ask.

“Find some painkillers,” he groans.

I don’t move. “How? Where?”

He grumbles something unintelligible.

“What?”

“I said,” he repeats slowly, “Go left.”

“Uh, okay,” I say, slipping the backpack on and trying to help up Gerard. He hisses in pain. “Sorry,” I apologize, wincing every time he moans.

“Take this out,” he orders, leaning against the building.

“I don’t know if that’s a good—” I start.

“Take it out!” he hisses. “I can’t walk with it in my side!”

“Okay,” I say, swallowing. “Try not to yell.” I gently wrap my hand around the bloody piece of glass that’s still visible. Gerard sucks in a breath, but wheezes it out again when the breath moves the glass. “On three,” I tell him. “One!” I yank out the glass, and Gerard slides down the wall, whimpering through his clenched jaw.

The shard is short, half the length of my pinky, and I sigh in relief. It’s not harmless, but it’s not as bad as I’d feared. I kneel by Gerard. “Can you walk?” I ask him softly. He nods, but doesn’t open his eyes.

The sirens stop all of a sudden, and I can hear the landlady screaming, “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I never seen that before in my life! I’m not a drug dealer!” I peak around the corner of the building to see a stout, middle-aged woman being escorted to a police car in handcuffs.

Returning to Gerard, I comment, “Well, that’s interesting.”

“Not really,” he replies in a strangled voice.

I raise my eyebrows. “You knew?” I ask.

“Oh yeah,” he says, feigning casualty. “I called it in.”

“What?!” I explode. “Why? When?”

“This morning, before you woke up,” he tells me. “What’s the problem?”

“You called cops to your apartment?”

“They didn’t come for me,” he insists.

“But…why?” I cry, perplexed. Crazy people don’t always make sense, my brain placates me.

“She was a drug dealer,” Gerard states simply. “She was doing something illegal.”

“Yeah, and you’re a goddamn murderer!” I retort. “Don’t you think you should get some perspective?”

“No, see,” Gerard chuckles, “I left my name.”

“You what?” I squeak in disbelief.

“Yeah, so now that they know my name, they’ll see that I made this call,” he responds proudly.

Words can’t express my utter confusion. I stare blankly at him.

He sighs, like I’m an idiot. “So, I’m giving them a clue they won’t know what to do with,” he says. “Don’t you just love messing with cops?”

“Your brother’s a cop,” I remind him.

“Yeah!” he agrees, grinning like a madman. “I love messing with him!”

I think his logic is flawed, but I’m not quite sure, I tell my brain.

Pretty sure it’s flawed, my brain replies, sounding bored.

“You’re insane,” I inform him.

“Thank you,” he replies, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out.

Oh my god. I can’t help laughing.

“Okay,” he says, motioning me over, “I put sunglasses in the bag.”

“It’s not sunny,” I state the obvious.

He rolls his eyes, pulling out two pairs of sunglasses. “It’s so no one recognizes us, stupid.” He puts one pair on my face, his fingers brushing my cheeks, before putting his own pair on.

Is it weird that my heart swelled when he called me stupid?

Yes, my brain replies.

Shut up.