Episode 19: Voices- Danger Abbey

Episode 19- Voices

Everything changes but stays the same.

The streets looked the same. The houses looked the same. Grant was changed.

It’s not time yet.

He drove by Carol’s house stalker slow praying for a glimpse of Smith and disappointedly saw his own reflection in the windows. Craning his head unsafely at the corner for a hint of light in the bathroom window or a shadowed figure behind the thin pulled drapes proved futile. They must have been out.

Listen to us.

He sped past the liquor store with the same bars on the windows, around the corner to view the back of the house from the bottom of the hill, past the gas station and still empty lot, past the 24 hour Mexican joint he always had to piss behind because there was no bathroom inside and again looped by Carol’s. He drove slower and watched the car’s headlights grow in the windows. Still no movement, he repeated the loop.

Private eyes (clap clap)
Are watching you
They see your every move.
Private eyes (clap clap)
Girrrrl.

Jenkins was highly entertained sans radio. Grant needed to concentrate; he needed to remove the voices. He drove to the bar.

Grant! Grant! You can’t do this without us. Park the car three blocks north.

He continued driving south.

You need to park north, wait thirteen minutes and start walking to her house.

Grant parked in front of Danger Abbey. “Jenk. You stay here. I’ll be right back. I’m locking you in and taking the keys. Take a nap or something.”

I’m all right
Don’t no body worry ‘bout me

Don’t leave him in the car.

Despite their frantic screams and scathing tones, Grant purposely shut them out. He could almost taste the beer he would consume to turn them off. He practiced the methods Dr. Jill was trying to teach him over the last months. A combination of her methods with his might muffle them more effectively. He imagined a small sealed box in a room full of grey metal filing cabinets. He removed the key from a necklace underneath his shirt and unlocked the box. He shook his head violently and slammed his hand to his ear pouring the voices into the trap. Slamming the lid, he shoved the box into the last cabinet and walked away.

“Where the FUCK have you been?!” Dennis yelled and high fived Grant. The usual suspects sat at the bar. Nothing had changed.

“Mental hospital. Three meals a day and all the paint I could throw, rent free.”

“You’re a dick and a horrible liar. Andy just bought rounds, you in?”

Andy’s generosity only surfaced when bad news was afoot; he was going to jail the following morning, and felt he needed to spend cash on something other than whores and the dog track. He needed to see smiles before lock-up; this wasn’t the first time.

“What did they get you for this time?” Grant was already slurring. The thought of alcohol made him jumpily excited. His breath quickened at the sight of his lost mistress.

“Bar fight. Third strike. St. Patrick’s Day night. Risk of flight. Fuck! What else rhymes with that?” Andy liked to write bad bar poetry. Some of his best work was chiseled into the wall next to the urinal.

“You’ll have plenty of time to rhyme in jail”, chimed Dennis, “since you didn’t make bail.”

“I’m not done till I yuke in a pail!”

“TO ANDY!” Glasses raised and clinks abounded, smiles painted every face and hugs and back slaps were on their way (along with a group rendition of “Don’t Stop Belivin’). Grant remembered his bar family fondly, and knew why he was here.

The first sweet sip coated his tongue and flowed easily into the next. His glass was magically empty.

Stop Grant! You need us.

He could barely hear something fuzzy far away. He sensed urgency, but channeled it into his next drink.

“Dennis, this is thirty-three dollars. I want as many beers as I can get while still tipping you. I’m not a math man. I trust you.”

Trust us, Grant. Stop.

He felt something tugging at the file cabinet. It rattled and shook, but he ignored the noises. Faint, feeble noises far, far away screamed mute.

“I’ve missed you, Buddy. Where have you been, really?”

“Carol destroyed, I mean, divorced me. Stomped my heart into dust. Met a new asshole. I haven’t seen my Sally in months. Have you ever had your soul decimated? Takes a while to come back from that.”

“Every day gets easier once it’s over. Time heals, man.”

“You’re the wisest bartender in town.”

“I’m the only one that will serve your certifiably crazy ass; if that makes me wise, so be it.”

He finished his second beer and tried to listen for the voices. Inaudibly muffled senseless words spat from the deep recesses of his brain.

G r a n t…. We…. Stop… where… house. Sally.

He couldn’t understand and didn’t care and easily pounded number three. This was going to be the best night ever in the history of ever. The best night in the history of history.

“To the best night ever in the history of History!”

Glasses rose again and screams abounded from the seven drunken regulars in the bar.

Grant was back.