Annihilation Engine Seven, Part One

"That guy behind me, blue windbreaker, is he looking at me?"

"Nope,"

"Is he taking notes or anything. Does it look like he's listening?"

"No, he has a coffee. He's just standing over there," I tell her.

She glances over her shoulder for a hard second. When she turns back, she has that old, paranoid scowl. "He was taking notes. He stopped when I turned around," she says.

"He just has a coffee or something. He's probably waiting for a sandwich,"

She leans back in her chair and spins a coaster underneath her fingers on the table. She does that when she's pensive. Flip, flip, flip. Her hands look dirty; there must be a dozen kinds of shit caked into her cuticles. I already know the answer, but I ask the question anyway.

"So you're off your meds again?"

She glances up at me with her suspicious eyes like bitter slits. "I can't take them, Ed. It's not safe,"

This old thing again, this same old routine. She goes off, and the lizards are coming to get her again. She spends a few frantic weeks living in trash while I try to hunt her down and talk her back into her apartment.

"Laney, I know you're upset, but this is bad. You scare me when you're like this,"

"I know, but Ed..."

"And then we get you back home and clean you up..."

"Yeah, but Ed..."

"And you apologize to me. You say you're sorry and you promise..."

"Ed, something's wrong, please,"

"Laney, you keep telling me you're sorry. I get so scared driving all over town looking for you,"

"Ed, I don't think I can protect you anymore,"

"Laney, whenever you go off I pick up the newspaper every day expecting to find a picture of you all smashed up in a gutter,"

"I know. I'm sorry,"

Well, at least she's sorry right now. That means she doesn't think I'm working with the lizards. Every time she gets that far in her head, it makes things much worse. I'm the last soul on this earth that gives any kind of shit about her.

"Okay then, let's get you back home. Let's clean you up,"

"Ed," she's pinching her lips together, real tension. She's not going to come with me.

"Are you on anything? Did you go to Bean?" She knows a dealer downtown. I'm pretty sure she blows him for crank sometimes.

"Someone's been... Something's different with them," She's struggling to put her thoughts into words. Conversation starts to break down after a certain point, like she's trying to fit her square thoughts through her round mouth.

"Laney, let's get you back home safe,"

"Someone's leading them, Ed. You know what that means?"

"Please don't do this to me. Please," my words fall so useless out of my mouth. I just wish I could say something, do something, "Please. Please come with me, Laney,"

I hate how this always happens. I hate this. So goddamn pathetic.

"Someone's plugging in. Someone can drink it," she says. She's getting loud now. She gets like this, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. She's holding onto either side of the little cafe table like she might have to wrestle it away from me. Her elbows out, her knuckles white. Soon the little flecks of foamy spittle will form at the corners of her mouth.

Again, there's just nothing I can say here. There's nothing I can do. I just sit there while she stands up, kicking away her chair.

She's making some kind of angry growling. Her face is turning beet red. I can see the other coffee shop patrons shuffling away, wide-eyed. The barristas are probably calling the police.

"Are you hearing me? Someone made it down to the middle. All down to the center of the earth and drink. They've got a drink. ARE YOU LISTENING?" She's absolutely screaming at me, "THEY'VE GOT A KING!"

It's bad. It's always bad, but I'm still always looking for progress. I still keep hoping like an idiot. I try and finish my cappucino. I can't even look at her.

She takes a few wild swings at the bystanders. I should be stopping her, apologizing, holding her back. I should be explaining that my sister is not normally like this. I've got a whole speech down: chemical imbalance, not her fault, we're getting her real help this time, I'll pay for damages. I can't bring myself to speak a word of it.

"You fucking LIZARDS," she stomps around right in the middle of the cafe. People are streaming out of the place. There's one guy, must be a manager or something, trying to calm her down. I want to tell him not to bother, want to explain to him that there's nothing he could say. He doesn't know how far away she goes.

"YOU got drool... YOU DROOL DRINK," she's taking huge gulp-breaths, struggling for the words, "at the CENTER WITH THE... middle," she's even confusing herself.

And she's out the door. I don't even have to look, I can hear her canvas sneakers pumping away down the street. She's going full sprint, probably down the middle of the road.

Everyone in the cafe is staring at me. They're waiting for that speech. They want my explanation, my apologies, my promises. Fuck 'em, it's all lies. I get up and walk out. My jaw's all clenched up as I go through the door. I'm staring down at my feet. I feel like if I look up, then that'll be the exact moment I hear tires squeal and a big thunk. If I look up, I'll see my baby sister die.

God's waiting to kill her, waiting so that it happens while I'm watching. God is such a motherfucker.