THE WAY IT WENT DOWN: FAMILY

Anne calls from somewhere out past Inland Empire, and, of course, I have to go. Emily stares at me as I get the keys and put on my shoes.

"You don't have to," she says, but I can tell she doesn't mean it. Behind those eyes are other statements of fact and fiction. If I don't go, there's a whole other chain of events there. It's her damn sister, after all. Her twin. For some reason decided by those in charge, this is my responsibility.

Why?

Because Anne is a piece of fucking work, who's gone off the rails, that's why. And I'm the guy who grew up with a drunk. So...  

I drive twenty minutes and I'm in the middle of nowhere. I'm thinking about the last time I saw Anne. Thanksgiving and she was hammered out of her gourd. Kept trying to hold the baby while wobbling . She'd just been fired from the JPL that October after some sort of security issue. No one thought she would show up.     

Later, I found her in Isabelle's room crying in the dark.

"Anne, what's wrong?"

She didn't say anything, just left without saying anything to anyone.

I guess I was about to find out.

I roll up on Anne at a chainlink fence that matches the address she IM'd me and there she is. She's wearing an oversized flannel shirt, jeans, and sunglasses. She runs to the car. The sun is hanging just above the horizon. Soon, it'll be dark, and cold.

Another car skirts past the chain-link (not Anne's) and takes off towards Barstow.

What the hell is this.

"Mikey uh...thanks," and she throws a duffel bag in which clanks when it hits the passenger-side floor. Behind the shades, I see her eyes for a second, and they look guilty and guarded and...strange.

"What the hell Anne? Why are you out here?"

"Just take me back, okay?"

"Where's YOUR car?"

"Not now."

So we drive.  

"What's up with your eyes?" I finally ask.

She takes off her sunglasses and looks at me, and the car wobbles at 65 as I see the whites of her eyes are shot with deep red blotches.

"Is it bad?" she asks me.

What the fuck.

"Did you crash...?"

"No, I-" she puts the glasses back on.  

Suddenly, there's a coke-can popping noise, and Anne screams. Then another, louder. CLANK-CLUNK-CLANK. She's shrieking and then we're off-road and the car is slamming and chunking in the grass and desert and then we're stopped.

Anne is out with the bag instantly, weeping and mumbling things to herself. And then I'm out. And by the time I get back around the car to her, she's holding something and I smell something strong and she's shouting.

"Look. Look."

I look. On the side of my car on the open passenger door, I watch as a line a half a foot long bends itself into the metal with a CLANK. It looks like an invisible press squeezed that portion of the door into a perfect 90º L. This deforms the entire door. The window spiders into shattered glass. Then another clunk. They appear in a pattern, like math, and my mind—

But then I see the lit match.

The car explodes in flame.

Anne runs back shouting, "please let it be gone, please let it—"

I'm about to freak out on her when I hear the hollow pop from Anne. Her right wrist is wrong. Like the metal, it's been bent at a 90º angle in the wrong direction. She lets out a grunt and moan like someone tasked with some unsavory task, and collapses. She's now chanting to herself in some pain prayer.

In the open bag at her feet is lighter fluid, a sawed off shotgun, other things. Things are off the charts now. My head is pounding.

I almost grab Anne but she waves me off with the other hand. I can see she's struggling to keep her broken wrist—that it seems pulled towards her shoulder. Invisible forces tug at her flannel. I...just.

"Mikey, listen, we didn't get it. Don't touch me. No one can touch me. FUCK. Or my stuff. Call 442-919-0912 and tell them what happened. DO NOT CALL THE POLICE."

There's something in her voice. Or maybe it's the plastic burning. I don't know. I listen to her. I step up, and back.

"Go. Get out of here. Run. I'm sorry. Tell Em I love her. And Belle. I'm sorry."

Her shoulder suddenly folds with hollow pops and her screams are real and liquid.

I run.