Before: Harriet and Shea

Harriet

The street was dark, but that was okay. The darkness veiled her, made her feel safe.

Harriet Joyce fished in her purse for a lighter as she rolled a crooked joint between her lips. It was the last of her weed, but that would be remedied soon. She’d texted Shea that she was coming. Better Shea than Lyle. Apart from the companionship, Shea didn’t sell pills, and if that nagging voice in the back of her mind—perhaps the last shreds of innocence left in her—told her anything, it was that she should not take any more pills . . . at least for a while.

Harriet paused on the sidewalk just before the asphalt turned to the dirt of mountain trails around Winter Harbor, Washington. How did she get here? The here where she’d stolen sixty bucks from her dad as he lay in his puke beige recliner, passed out drunk for the third time this week. The here where her mother had left them when she was six, and her father had stopped being just a happy drunk and became a sad and occasionally mean one. The here where she had no friends at school, and where she was eighteen and alone doing whatever necessary to numb her way through her day. The here where she’d fucked Chester Winslow behind the gym for some Xanax on two separate occasions, or the here where every transaction with Lyle came with an implied blowjob.

She blinked away the thoughts along with some tears. It was okay. She was going to see Shea, buy some weed, maybe a little coke, and just hang out. Maybe she’d spend the night, and they’d cuddle each other’s sadness away in Shea’s trailer.

Harriet finally retrieved the lighter and held the flame to the joint with a shaking hand, shielding it from the elements. Harriet couldn’t wait for the rain to stop, not that that happened often in Washington. As the joint lit, the marijuana’s stale taste flooded through her lungs. The drug warmed her shoulders, slowly making its way down her arms, and Harriet could feel a tension she hadn’t been aware of release. Not pills, but something.

She looked back behind her toward her neighborhood then out into the blackness before her. It was the last official street in Winter Harbor, and Harriet stood directly under the final streetlight with a sign reading “PINE” on it. In the distance, she could barely make out the big bridge separating the town from denser foliage. Beyond that bridge was nothing more than trees, old trails, and Shea, all tucked in the darkness-shrouded Cascade Mountains.

Another pull from the joint, then a step, and into the shadows she went.


Shea

Austin Betty threw a handful of crumbled twenties at Shea as she worked a pull-over hoodie over her bare chest. “Shave better next time,” he said.

“I shaved my legs yesterday.”

“Not your legs, bitch.”

Shea swallowed a reply and gathered up the smashed bills. She could use the money. No sense in saying more on the subject. “I have someone else coming over here soon,” she said. “Just take your shit and go.”

Austin bared his teeth, spitting and mostly missing Shea’s sink. “Ungrateful,” he said. “I give you business and you kick me out? I’ll be able to drive to a dispensary here in a couple months and buy way better weed than the shit you sell.”

Shea motioned to Austin’s backpack and the treasures it concealed. “Try finding that stuff anywhere else.”

Austin zipped up his jeans and grabbed the pack. “It better be as good as you say. What’s it called again?”

“Khaos. With a K.”

Austin snorted a laugh. “Stupid name.”

“Ain’t my fault. But I promise, it’s good. It’s . . .” How could she describe it? It was hard to put into words the feeling of having everything you’ve ever wanted in your grasp, the feeling of being a god. It was also hard to explain just how Khaos could talk to you, how it made you so comfortable and safe with being alone with your thoughts.

Well, more or less alone.

A small voice laughed somewhere in the peripherals of Shea’s skull. She held back a shiver.

“It’s just good,” Shea said.

“It better be,” Austin said. “I’ll text you next time I need something,” he added as he went to leave. “God knows you’re not doing anything.”

“Great.”

With that, Austin flung the door open. A quiet yelp sounded from the other side, and Shea quickly shimmied on a pair of jeans and rushed to investigate. She locked eyes with Harriet, and despite her shame at having Harriet see Austin leaving her place after less than savory purposes, she smiled. Harriet always brought that out in her.

“Shoulda figured sluts hang out together,” said Austin, leering back and forth between the pair. “You pay her to be your friend or just a little side tongue?”

Harriet’s eyes fell to the damp grass at her feet, and she murmured something in reply that Shea couldn’t make out. Shea’s heart tightened. Poor girl. Shea knew what ridicule like that was like. High school sucked.

The little voice in Shea’s head hissed . . . or maybe that was a laugh.

“Leave her alone, Austin. Just get out of here.”

“Whatever,” Austin said, shouldering his backpack. “And if this shit isn’t great, I’ll be back.”

“You’ll be back either way.”

Austin glared, nostrils growing. “Whatever,” he repeated. He turned, eyeing Harriet up and down as the Cascades light rain seemed to make her glow. Shea’s fists tightened. Before she could take a step to intervene, however, Austin spat again and headed off silently into the woods. The women watched him until he’d gone.

“Sorry about that,” Shea said, holding the door open for Harriet and welcoming her inside. “Want anything to drink? I think I have some vodka around here somewhere.”

Harriet shook her head. “No thanks. Maybe later.” She paused, then added, “I missed you.”

Shea grinned. “I missed you, too. Even if it was just the two weeks.” She embraced Harriet then, and Harriet held her back. They stayed like that for a time, rocking back and forth from heel to toe, simply content to be with someone who felt safe.

The voice in Shea purred.

“So, you need weed?” Shea asked eventually, finally breaking away from the hug.

“Yeah,” Harriet said. “Maybe some coke, too?” Her eyes fell to the floor when she asked for the cocaine, a poor attempt at hiding the shame on her face.

Shea nodded, favoring Harriet with a tired smile that Harriet returned in kind when she finally looked up. Shea saw so much of herself in the girl—the sadness and pain, most of all. The deadbeat dad was a similarity, as well, but at least Shea’s had had the decency to die with a needle in his arm and a bottle in his hand after her mother had been committed. Marcus Joyce had not provided Harriet with such a blessing. “Let me go get my stash,” Shea said before retreating to her bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

Walking over to her bed, she reached under it and undid the false floor concealing her goods. Withdrawing and unlocking the padlocked toolbox she kept everything in, Shea grabbed a gallon-sized bag of weed and an eight-ball of coke. Shea licked her lips at the thought even as her heart sank. Shea Kerry didn’t mind selling drugs, and most of the people she sold to were just faceless customers who’d occasionally kick her a little extra money to put it in somewhere. Harriet Joyce, however, was different.

Putting aside the fact that Shea saw so much of herself in the girl, Harriet was kind. She was quiet and reserved, but she was kind. In Shea’s experience, kindness like that was rare, at her age especially. Harriet hadn’t told her much of her experience there, but what she had divulged, especially pertaining to boys, made Shea’s stomach flip. The taunts, insults, and viewing her as nothing more than a set of holes… Shea remembered that. Christ, Shea was still living that.

The voice in her head laughed.

Shea went to close the toolbox, but the voice in her head screeched, sending needles down her arms. She’d just sold four to Austin. Couldn’t she just enjoy the evening with Harriet without trying to sell her on something else?

More noise, more wordless noise. Then another screech, this time sending daggers, not needles.

Shea cursed, pinching a patch of oily skin on her forehead. Then, without another thought, she threw the toolbox back open, grabbed a small vial, and finally locked and stowed her treasure.

The voice, pleased at last, fell silent as Shea returned to her guest.


Harriet

“How was the trek?” Shea asked, sitting beside Harriet. “Damp?”

Harriet nodded. “Washington always is.”

Shea nodded, although her attention had turned to a nearby bag of tobacco and some Zig Zag rolling papers. “You want one?” she asked as she began rolling a cigarette.

“Sure. Thanks.”

Harriet sat in strange fascination as Shea rolled two mostly-smooth cigarettes in what felt like seconds. Harriet wasn’t a big smoker, but she never really understood why someone wouldn’t just buy them pre-rolled. Shea had told her it made a difference in the flavor, but Harriet couldn’t taste it.

Lighting both cigarettes at once, Shea handed one to Harriet. “Here,” she said, blowing a lungful of spicy-smelling smoke to the side.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. So, weed? You said maybe some coke?”

Harriet half-massaged, half-scratched the back of her neck. It’d been a week since her last line, and the thought of another made bugs crawl up her throat and into her brain. “Yeah,” she said. “But I only got sixty.”

Shea smiled, and Harriet relaxed. She’d often wondered if it was sad the closest thing she had to a friend was her drug dealer. But did it really matter? Shea was good to her, nice. That was more than she could say about anyone else. “That’s okay. Wanna do a few lines now? I can sell you a gram when you leave and put the rest toward weed?”

Harriet nodded, feeling the porous cracks on her lips with her tongue. “Okay.”

“All right,” Shea said, before wincing with a labored sigh.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Shea said. “Just a headache. But, hey, I also got this new thing, if you want to try it.”

“What is it?”

Shea shuffled her large baggie of weed to the side to reveal a small vial. Lifting it into the light, Shea twirled the vial, its deep-red contents reflecting like bloody rubies in the trailer’s waning light. “It’s a new psychedelic. I got it when I was in San Fran last week. Something from China, I think. The guy who sold it to me called it Khaos. With a K.”

“Khaos. What . . . what does it do?”

Shea’s lips curled as her eyes traced the slivers of red refracted light the vial spread about the trailer. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she whispered, almost to herself.

“Is it like acid?”

“Sort of. You . . . it’s hard to describe. But you feel powerful on it. Happy. A little like Molly, but without the comedown.”

A breath caught in Harriet’s throat. “How much?”

“I’ll give you a sample when you leave,” Shea said. “You might even consider popping it for the walk home. I know it’s kind of wet out there, but the rain might make for some crazy visuals. And this shit kicks in quick.”

“Can I see it?”

Shea handed her the vial, and Harriet inspected it herself. As she held it up to the light, she found herself even more entranced by the ethereal reds almost churning in the vial. A warmth came with it, too, a buzz in her fingertips that Harriet thought had to be a trick of the mind.

She brought it closer to her then, turning the vial over in her fingers, rolling it like Shea rolled cigarettes. A small black thing, like ink that didn’t spread but almost seemed to move, floated to the vial’s surface, and although Harriet felt some measure of fear pump through her similar to when Austin Betty had looked her up and down like prey, the sensation quickly subsided. “What’s in it?” she asked.

Shea bit her lip, struggling to meet Harriet’s eyes. “I’m not sure,” she said eventually. “But, come on, what’s in acid?”

Harriet chuckled. That was a good point. Hell if she knew what was in any drug that wasn’t weed or mushrooms. “I mean, if you’re just giving it to me . . . thanks. Really.”

“Of course, honey. Now, how about that vodka and a few lines of coke?”

Harriet beamed, carefully tucking the vial into one of her jean pockets. “Yes please.”

Shea grinned, reached for a mirror hidden on the side of the couch, and emptied some cocaine onto it. Harriet noticed she’d begun to salivate but paid it no mind. It was coke after all. The warm tingling in her fingers that she’d felt when she’d held the Khaos had moved to the hip where the vial was pocketed. Harriet paid that no mind either, only tying her hair back and readying herself for the night ahead.


Shea

Even as she bid Harriet a farewell, squeezing her tight and pecking her forehead before Harriet rose to leave, Shea felt bad about lying. But that voice had been so insistent, and Shea knew Harriet likely wouldn’t have taken it if she knew what it was made of.

The voice told her, in its own strange, wordless way, that she’d done the right thing and that Harriet would have a blissful experience. That helped Shea’s nerves some.

They’d spent maybe three hours together, drinking some vodka and Diet Coke, doing a few lines, smoking a few cigarettes, and sharing a blunt from Shea’s own stash. In between sips, snorts, and smoke, they’d laid together in one another’s arms. To say they were lovers wasn’t true, despite frequent occasions of holding one another in bed several hours at a time on nights when Harriet’s father was surely not going to wake up and notice his daughter had snuck out. They were alone and that made them close. Shea often wished she’d known Harriet when she’d been in high school, wished she was seven years younger or Harriet seven years older. It would’ve made things easier for both, having a friend like that in school.

“You sure you don’t want to stay the night?” Shea asked.

Harriet smiled, her eyes a little bloodshot, a little tired. “That sounds nice. Really nice. But . . . it’s Thursday. Or I guess, it’s Friday, now. I should wake up in my own bed and go to school.”

“Yeah, I guess. You’re almost done, anyway.”

“Yeah.”

“All right then,” Shea said, standing along with Harriet. “Maybe you can come over this weekend?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Me too,” Shea said.

The pair shared another long embrace before eventually parting with the lingering heat of one another’s bodies left as a fading memory. Harriet turned to the door, before pausing and withdrawing the Khaos from her pocket. “Almost forgot,” she said, uncorking the vial and tossing it back in a single, quick swig.

The voice cooed something calming yet horrible in Shea’s skull.

“I’ll text you later or tomorrow and let you know how it was,” Harriet said.

“Okay.” Another pause, another hug, and then Harriet departed into the damp evening.

Shea closed the door after watching Harriet fade into the night. Shea hoped she’d enjoy it. Harriet, of all people, deserved a little enjoyment.

The voice in Shea’s head was now still and silent after its short bout of excitement when Harriet had taken the Khaos, and for that, Shea was mostly happy. Mostly because as she turned back to her empty trailer that contained only reminders of the night—a mostly-clean mirror, a few discarded cigarette butts, two still-sticky but empty glasses of Diet Coke and vodka, the discarded rubber stopper from Harriet’s vial of Khaos, and a used condom drooping over the side of her trashcan because Austin Betty couldn’t be bothered to insure his accuracy—Shea found herself completely alone. She told herself it wasn’t so bad. That was true enough to placate and convince her that a few bong hits, another shot, and another cigarette would be an appropriate end to her evening. At least the voice was gone.

Thankfully, it had no reply to that.


Harriet

Harriet tucked the weed and coke in her purse and tried to forget how that vial had looked: red like blood with something else, something dark and ashy and squirming like it was alive. It matched the sensation in her belly.

The Khaos had tasted sweet, not overwhelmingly, but enough and with only the faintest linger of copper on the back end. She’d expected sour or at least bitter, but what flavor that lingered had dissipated within seconds. Harriet had almost wished she had more.

Drugs secure and thoughts on Khaos fresh in her head, Harriet strode through the empty clearing housing Shea’s trailer and onto the darkened trail through the forest, light rain still shimmering down from above. Harriet always hated making the hike, especially in the dark. She knew her way well enough and the path was clear, but not having much light in the woods was always haunting. She’d taken out her phone, using the screen as a makeshift flashlight, and although it wasn’t a fancy smartphone like a lot of the kids at school had, the tiny beacon of light it offered was enough.

She still shivered, but she couldn’t keep a small grin from her lips. Seeing Shea usually did that, and Harriet hadn’t quite realized how much she’d missed her until she’d seen her. What’s more, despite how desperate for a fix she’d been, she hadn’t texted Lyle. A blowjob and pills were bad enough in their own rights, and adding Lyle into the mix was enough to make her feel so filthy. No, she might’ve picked up the phone a few times during the weeks Shea was away, but she had to count her little victories while she could. That was cause for celebration. That was—

“The hell was that?” she asked under her breath, pivoting and shining her small light into the woods off the path. Nothing was there, of course. The fleeting shadow had probably just been in her mind. Just nerves. It’s fine, a voice somewhere in her said.

Harriet kept walking, pace quickening and her eyes darting from side to side. Nothing had been there . . . right? She must have just seen something, a hallucination…

She paused and laughed. A hallucination. What else could it have been? Shea had said Khaos worked quickly, but Jesus Christ, that quickly? Harriet laughed a little more, the same small voice laughing right along with her.

“It’s just a trip. Everything’s fine,” she said, and as she said it, she felt it. Fine. Peace. Her pace slowed back down, and she found she was beginning to enjoy the misty weather. Really enjoy it. If Khaos could make her enjoy the rain… Shea was right. Good stuff.

Harriet rolled her shoulders, and they popped in satisfaction. She breathed deeply, some of the misty vapor cooling her throat and lungs from the marijuana and tobacco earlier. It felt as though she was breathing in starlight, as though she was beginning to taste the very essence of the universe and all the sweetly supple fruits it might bear to one who had the mind to receive them, and… wow. Harriet shook her head. Shea wasn’t kidding. This stuff kicked in fast. This stuff was really good.

Harriet’s smile grew. Everything seemed brighter, and to her profound amazement, she found she no longer needed her cell phone to navigate in the near-total dark. She could see fine, white outlines of trees against a shadowy backdrop, and every step she took was a performance, a ballet for any woodland critters watching her, a symphony of movement through what should have been staggering. How had she never tried this before? How had she never heard of it?

She paused when she got to the bridge. Harriet wasn’t one for heights, never had been, but now as she looked down the impressive ravine, a good one-hundred-and-fifty-foot drop, she couldn’t have felt any calmer. How could she have ever been afraid of such a thing? Below, the water rushed and crashed against rocks, and although Harriet, even with Khaos, could barely make out more than a few bits of surf, the sounds built in her. Harriet’s heart fluttered. The voice building in her crooned.

She shook her head. Although she could barely feel the cold anymore, the rapidly shrinking rational part of her mind and the growing intensity of that voice told her to press on, to get back home, because it was cold, cold enough to catch something like pneumonia. She almost laughed at the thought, her stifled giggles spewing vapor into the air that reminded her of comets. Maybe, given her father’s lack of money and healthcare, pneumonia would serve as a death sentence. At least death would mean she wouldn’t have to finish high school, wouldn’t have to hear her name veiled by cruel laughter and words like “slut.” No. Death wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to her. There were much worse things in the—

More movement. “Goddamnit,” Harriet said under her breath. “Get out of your head. It’s just a trip. Everything is okay. Nothing’s going to hurt you. It’s just the drugs. Just the—”

She could feel eyes upon her, behind her. Harriet shivered, not from the cold, not from withdrawals, and not from the Khaos’s mounting pleasure. She considered, for a moment, that Austin Betty had lingered at Shea’s trailer and waited for her to leave, but would Austin be so subtle as to stalk her like this? That didn’t seem his style, though Harriet had to admit, she didn’t know him very well.

“Don’t look,” she told herself. “Nothing’s there. Just keep walking.” At her command, her legs began to move, faster and faster. “Don’t look,” she kept repeating. “Don’t look.”

But, of course, she wanted to look, and every step she took, the intensity of the stare from whatever it was grew, boring into her like burning metal teeth. The voice told her to do it. It knew how bad she wanted it.

Harriet listened hard behind her, some movement that might justify her fear, but none came, no sounds mingled with the water coming from above, the water churning down below, or her own breathing. “Don’t look. Don’t look!” Her commands could only do so much, and as her heart quaked, a sensation she’d grown accustomed to the handful of times she’d done a few too many lines and/or pills, she knew she needed to look. To show herself she’d just started along a bad trip and needed to wake from it.

She stopped and clenched her fists, her knuckles popping. She squeezed her eyes shut, and with a half-exhale, half-cry, she spun around threw them back open, ready to meet the animal or person or whatever awaited her.

Nothing.

Harriet’s body slumped, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than a bed to appear behind her, something that she might fall back on, relax, and cackle to herself about how paranoid she could be on hallucinogens. She settled for merely the cackle, before turning back to go back home.

But there it stood. Harriet’s jaw dropped, and despite all the endorphins running through her brain, she’d never felt such horror in her life. She wondered if she could die of fright, or if that was just an expression. The voice in her swooned, singing some ballad she didn’t recognize, and it was growing louder, wracking her body.

The thing was black, and had there been any light behind her, Harriet might have mistaken it for her elongated shadow. It almost looked like the tiny squirming thing in the Khaos, but less alive. It was big, too. At least seven feet, but maybe taller, Harriet couldn’t tell, but as she craned her neck up to look at what must be its face, she met only two perfect, white circles, light seeping through them like tiny gateways to a different, brighter world.

“It’s just a trip,” Harriet whispered, backing away. “Just a trip.” But was it? She’d never seen anything like it before, never anything so real, so tangible. Or was that just her mind? “Everything’s okay,” she told herself, taking a few more steps back. “Just a trip. Shea wouldn’t have given you something if it was actually dangerous. It’s just a drug. Just a trip.” The voice cackled and told her that was a lie.

The thing tilted its head back as though to look at the overcast night sky, but as it did, a crease appeared where its eyes had been. It stretched back more, craning itself to the darkened heavens, and the crease expanded, a widening maw. Drool, great bubbles of it, sopped out, cascading down the shadow’s front, pooling on the bridge like rainwater. Harriet could see a tongue now, dark red like blood, and impossibly long, squirm from the thing’s jaw, and as its mouth grew in scope, dull, white shapes began to take form, teeth that looked more like polished boulders. And then it sighed as though it lamented, a mournful final breath.

Harriet tried to scream, to yell out and call for help, but her efforts to cry led to little more than a few glorified squeaks. The worst was she still felt some measure of joy, of contented excitement at the thing in front of her, like the shadow was the most glorious thing she could have ever laid eyes on, its very being extracting all of the pollution and horror and dark from the planet into itself. Maybe that was just the voice.

Suddenly, Harriet’s purse began to feel heavy, and it slid off her shoulder onto the bridge. She took more steps back, her rational brain fighting against the Khaos, telling her whatever was in front of her was nothing good, that she needed to run. But the voice told her it was okay.

The thing crept toward her, glided really, but never faster than she moved, always keeping a constant distance. Too close for rational Harriet, too far for the Khaos. Another step, and somewhere far away, Harriet could hear the sound of roaring water. Where was she? Where was the water coming from? Another step. The shadow sighed again, this time its tongue writhed through the air toward her, reaching for her as saliva dribbled down and off it. Another step. Her lower back pressed against the bridge’s concrete guard. Right. The bridge. She was at the bridge.

The shadow inched closer now, two feet away. Harriet could smell the thing’s breath—rank but sweet like almost-bad fruit—as its tongue floated in the air inches above her head. A foot away now. What was she going to do? What could she do? She pressed against the guard harder now, fearing she might be smothered between it and the shadow, and her upper body extended itself out over the ravine’s emptiness. She could feel the light wind blowing her long hair and the light rain run down her cleavage as the thing pressed against her. Real. Tangible.

Harriet could feel warmth on her face now, and it took her a minute to discern if it was her tears or the shadow’s drool. Both. The two liquids fused together on her cheeks, and as the Khaos began to overwhelm her, Harriet was certain she’d never experienced a better warmth. It was safe, comforting, loving, and as the shadow’s tongue began to caress her, Harriet knew this was the peak of her existence, the most perfect moment of her life. In that instant, she was the most desirable being on the planet. In that instant, there was no drunken father, no absent mother, no cocaine to the point she couldn’t feel her face, no fucking Chester Winslow behind the gym to get a fix or on her knees for Lyle McFadden’s pills, no one pointing at her in the halls when she lost her virginity at thirteen, no God, no pain, no terror. There was only Harriet and her self-acceptance and the shadow. She allowed her legs to become lighter, her head to become heavier, and her hands that had braced her against the concrete guard to relax.

Then she let go.

She tumbled then, falling through the air, as the sound of the water became louder, a roaring welcome as the wind whipped past her face and hair.

In her final moments, Harriet looked back to the bridge, to thank the shadow for whatever it had done, for whatever peace it had given her, but it was not there. Harriet wondered if it ever had been. Maybe it didn’t matter.

The voice was gone, too, and that, at least, was a measure of relief. It had been a little too hungry. Cold. But perhaps that didn’t matter either. Nothing would soon.

Then she sighed, lamenting almost every choice she’d made until that one, her final one. She looked back to the river, the Khaos outlining the rocks that awaited her and grew before her eyes as she approached, white lines against a blackened world. Harriet smiled then and closed her eyes. She took a final breath, and then it was over.

Next Chapter: The Death of One Joe Betty