Pasha Malla - The Withdrawal Method

I SPENT THE NEXT day going around telling my friends about Kaede's idea — our idea, I suppose. At first they just raised their eyebrows and laughed, but when they realized that the invitation was serious they were quick to sign up. Lisa and Colin were a bit more reticent; there was almost something sympathetic in the way they agreed to come.

"Are you sure this is something you want to do, Pauly?" Lisa said.

"Sure as sure. Just go nuts. Like bulls in a china shop. It'll be fun."

Colin shook his head. His folks had been friends with mine; I wondered if he was thinking about what they'd make of the store smashed to bits. But then he just smacked me on the back and said, "Well, Dave'll be happy. At least a paperweight won't fight back."

Eight people confirmed, all old friends. A hundred and sixty bucks isn't exactly a fortune, but it was a lot more than I'd make trying to sell the stuff. And everyone seemed to be genuinely excited — both for themselves and for me.

Until the big day a week later, Kaede and I spent every night together; if she could work her security patrol so it swung past the store, she would, hanging out until she thought the CanAm folks might wonder where she'd got to. She had the day before the big smash-up off work, so I surprised her with an impromptu trip to Marineland. Nearby was the warehouse space where I kept everything the other souvenir shops had passed along to me, so we decided to go by there as well.

We parked on the main road about halfway between the two places and hit the warehouse first. The place was like an airplane hangar, full of junk. Kaede poked around taking photos, kneeling to snap the boxes full of knick-knacks, getting up close to shoot the postcard racks and shelving units teeming with relics of a place that no longer existed.

"After we get through everything you've got in the shop, we'll restock it with this stuff."

"For who?"

But she just raised the camera to her face and took my picture.

Then we walked back past the car and on to Marineland, where we hopped the wall by the front gate. It was another chilly, grey day, and the few trees that still sprouted from the cement walkways were leafless and lonely-looking. I took Kaede down to the old killer whale tank, where we crossed over to the stage and sat, dangling our legs above the empty pool. Everywhere the blue paint was flaking, the muck of rotten leaves clinging to the corners in brown clots.

"So what did this used to be like?" she asked, shooting the tank with the flash on, then off.

"I used to come here every summer with my parents. The whales were the best, the way they splashed around, how it looked like they were smiling. We always sat up close on purpose, because the orcas would do these backwards flops that'd spray up into the crowd. Then we'd walk around, get cotton candy or something, and dry off in the sun."

Kaede pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her purse and put them down between us, took one for herself and lit up. After a few drags, she took the cigarette out of her mouth, leaned in, and kissed me on the cheek. "Paul, this is going to be so good. You feeling okay?"

I nodded at her cigarette. "You smoke the way my mom used to, like every drag is the first one you've ever taken in your life."

"Shut up!"

I faltered for a second, looking at her face — the incredulous expression in her eyes, faking hurt — and then went in. Her mouth parted and I felt her tongue. Then she was at my neck, I was at hers, our hands were everywhere. After a while I started laughing. "Man, this is the sort of shit I used to do in high school: sneak into abandoned parks and make out."

"Is it good?"

"Yeah," I said, leaning into her. "It's good."

ON THE WALK back to the car, I took Kaede's hand, swung it happily. The sun had started setting, but there was no sunset — no colours, no light. The clouds just started shifting to darker shades of grey and the world under them began to fade in their shadows.

We reached the gate and, holding her camera, I helped boost Kaede up. She straddled the top of the wall and then dropped down, out of sight, on the other side. While I was draping the camera around my neck I heard her call out, "Paul! Paul, there's someone over here."

I thought instantly of that dark shape in the street our first night together, rising from the ground like something feral. "Hold on," I said. My hands were shaking as I scaled the wall. "Kaede, where is it? Kaede?"

"It's in the trees. There — there, I saw it move again."

Perched on the top of the wall, I looked down at Kaede, standing there at the bottom. Across the parking lot were the woods, the evergreens thick and dark, the maples and birches bare with their empty branches clawing in the wind at the darkening sky.

I scanned the trees. "Where is it?"

"It was there," Kaede said, pointing. "I saw it move between the trees. I think it's watching us. Who is it, Paul?"

I dropped down from the top of the wall. My knees had turned to jelly and I crumpled on landing, turning my ankle. "Fuck," I said, wincing when I stood. "Come on, let's go."

With Kaede supporting me, we made our way toward the car parked around the bend. Both of us kept our eyes on the line of trees on the far side of the road. I couldn't see anything. "Are you sure there was someone in there?"

"Yeah, of course I'm sure. There was someone watching me."

Then the car was in view, up on the soft shoulder where we'd left it. My ankle was killing me; I moved stilt-legged on it at a trot while Kaede hoisted up my weak side. "If there was something in the woods, it's gone. We probably scared it off."

Kaede just kept scanning the trees. "It was small," she said, "like a kid."

We got to the car and, leaning against the door, I struggled with the keys. I was so focused that I almost didn't notice what someone had scratched into the paint on the hood, the letters two feet high. My stomach did a backflip. I slammed my fist into the windshield.

"What?" Kaede said, but then saw where I was looking. "Oh, Jesus. Who would do that?"

Shaking, I opened the door and got in. Kaede hopped across to the other side. The word had been written facing inward, so I had to read it from the driver's seat. I hit the power-locks, then sat breathing behind the steering wheel. "Okay," I said, and started the engine.

Just as we were pulling away there was movement up ahead in the woods. With all the streetlights out it was hard to tell, but it looked like something was coming thrashing toward the road through the trees.

"There!" called Kaede, pointing through the windshield.

Then it was out of the woods, a small shape scampering along the gravel shoulder. A kid. In a panic, I pressed down on the accelerator and laid on the horn. But the kid kept coming, and instead of fleeing back into the woods it burst onto the road, hands up as though to stop the car. I honked and sped up, the motor roaring.

"What are you doing?" Kaede screamed.

At the last second I tried to veer out of the way, the tires screeching as I cranked the wheel, but it was too late. The fender hit the kid at the waist, flinging him up onto the hood. He smashed against the windshield and, as I slammed the brakes, rolled back down into the street. At the moment of impact my headlights shone right into the kid's face: he was maybe ten years old, the eyes not so much wide in terror as they were with something enraged, something desperate.

I STOOD OUTSIDE the hospital with Kaede, watching her smoke. It was close to three in the morning, but I felt almost unnaturally alert. Kaede, meanwhile, had withdrawn. She wouldn't look at me. Every time I tried to touch her she shrugged my hand away. And as soon as each cigarette was done, she lit another — now on to her second pack of the evening.