Hide and Seek

Something sour started happening in my stomach, and it wanted out of

me. There was too much darkness. It was making me dizzy, the way you

feel after a night with too much beer and nothing to eat when you lie

down in bed and close your eyes and everything starts to move on you,

swirling, rolling like film badly sprocketed in a projector. I

couldn't understand it. Where was she? Incomprehension buckled half

my brain, and what was left was instinct, and instinct told me the

appropriate emotion was fear. I needed badly to sit down, to stop the

sudden sweating, the cold sweats that had come on with the urge to

vomit. Because if she was not here.

She was nowhere.

Not possible

There was a trick somewhere. Had to be. Remember Kim at the window?

Something fishy. Hoaxing the local kid.

Not nice, Casey. Cut it out. I will wet my drawers if you don't.

"Casey! Goddamn you, Casey! Get the fuck out here, right

NOW!"

You are roaring, son. Like a lunatic. And not a thing has come of it.

Nobody home. No results to your inquiry. Inefficacy. Failure.

"Please!"

You are whistling, so to speak, in the dark.

That part of my mind that was still working told me to get the others,

fast, that this was not for me alone anymore and no game. So I turned

for the stairs. And forgot the clutter.

I don't know what tripped me. A rake, maybe, a hoe--something with a

long wooden handle. But I went down like a sack of flour, flat down on

my chest, stomach and thighs, feet flying out behind me. I heard two

sounds simultaneously: the thunk of my forehead against concrete and

the woosh of air out of my lungs. Then a moment of pain and a slow

struggle with unconsciousness. At first strictly touch and go. Out of

one blackness into another. I fought it. It cost me a massive effort

of will just to sit up, another to check for damages.

There was a wet spot on my forehead high up near the hairline, chilly

in the cold draft across the floor. And that was all. I figured I'd

gotten off easy.