A Pinstriped Finger's My Only Friend by Robert T. Jeschonek Page B
Authors: Robert T. Jeschonek
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together time."
"Our special time of you drugging me?" Judd yawns, then coughs, then yawns. He tries to get up from the bed but only falls back down on it.
By this time, the tranquilizer mist has worked its way through Judd's system, and I'm feeling pretty sleepy myself. I get seriously droopy, slouching at the first knuckle, then slumping at the second.
(So much...)
I start to drift off, then wake as Judd coughs all over me again. But it doesn't last.
(So much for staying...)
I try to force myself to stay conscious, but I can't do it. I try to jab Judd to keep him awake, but I don't have the strength.
(So much for staying up all night.)
"See you..." I drift off and have to jar myself awake. "See you on the other side, Judd."
He mumbles something that I can't make out, and then he's down for the count. I know I'm only seconds behind.
Still, I struggle to resist. Maybe, if one of us can stay awake, we can hold on to this place, which is weird but not a nightmare.
(So far, anyway.)
Maybe we can avoid waking up to some true hell on Earth, overrun by serial killer clowns or human bombs or flying sharks with acid saliva. Maybe we can stand our ground just long enough to figure out how to stop this insane cycle.
(There has to be a way, right? There must be an explanation and a solution.)
Maybe, if I can just stay alert...
But then I don't. And my last thought as the darkness rolls through me is a question.
What will the world be like when I wake up?
*****
Chapter 9
SEVEN HOURS AND SEVENTEEN MINUTES LATER:
"The posters are gone!" That's the first thing I notice when I come around the next morning.
(What does it mean ?)
"Just the sports ones." Judd sounds a little hoarse, like he's still half-asleep. "The girls and cars are still there."
(But why? But why?)
"But why? " I look around the bedroom to see what else is different, casting for clues to whatever weirdness is coming our way. And then I see it. "Look! Look at your dresser!"
Judd props himself up against the wall and turns to look where I say. "My trophies!" He's stunned. "They're all gone!"
(For a teenage jock, this is like a wrecking ball to the nuts.)
"Every last one of them!" says Judd.
I feel bad for him and try to gloss over it. "Maybe people don't get trophies in this world."
"Then shouldn't there be ribbons or medals or certificates or something?" His voice rises with confusion and bitterness.
"Not if the Judd who belongs here isn't an athlete." I tap his palm for emphasis. "You must have replaced him when you arrived."
Judd scowls. "He wouldn't be much of a Judd if he wasn't an athlete ."
I raise my own voice to punch through the fog. "Consider yourself lucky those are the only changes so far. At least we didn't wake up in a torture chamber or a den of giant scorpion-vultures or something."
That seems to get through to him. "That's true."
(Flash-of-pride time! Who's the voice of reason in the crazy zone, boys and ghouls? Can you say "the minor extremity?")
"So maybe this reality won't be so different." I look around but don't see any other major changes. "The door looks normal, doesn't it?"
Judd sees it and shrugs. "I guess so."
"Then maybe we've been through the worst of it..."
(...whatever "it" is...)
"...and we're on our way home." I try to sound upbeat.
"That'd be nice."
Just as he says it, there's a knock on the door. It's a heavy, hard knock that makes us both jump.
Judd sucks in a deep breath. "Well, I guess we're about to find out."
"Cross your fingers," I tell him.
(That's another of my favorite sayings for some reason!)
"Come in," says Judd.
The doorknob turns slowly. We both watch it like we're watching the last minute of the Superbowl, and the score's tied at fourth and goal.
For that brief moment, anything's possible. We could end up facing a raving maniac cyclops, a walking bundle of barbed wire and meat, a chain of gas-spewing puffballs...or who knows? Maybe a totally normal Mom and Dad.
(Or
"Our special time of you drugging me?" Judd yawns, then coughs, then yawns. He tries to get up from the bed but only falls back down on it.
By this time, the tranquilizer mist has worked its way through Judd's system, and I'm feeling pretty sleepy myself. I get seriously droopy, slouching at the first knuckle, then slumping at the second.
(So much...)
I start to drift off, then wake as Judd coughs all over me again. But it doesn't last.
(So much for staying...)
I try to force myself to stay conscious, but I can't do it. I try to jab Judd to keep him awake, but I don't have the strength.
(So much for staying up all night.)
"See you..." I drift off and have to jar myself awake. "See you on the other side, Judd."
He mumbles something that I can't make out, and then he's down for the count. I know I'm only seconds behind.
Still, I struggle to resist. Maybe, if one of us can stay awake, we can hold on to this place, which is weird but not a nightmare.
(So far, anyway.)
Maybe we can avoid waking up to some true hell on Earth, overrun by serial killer clowns or human bombs or flying sharks with acid saliva. Maybe we can stand our ground just long enough to figure out how to stop this insane cycle.
(There has to be a way, right? There must be an explanation and a solution.)
Maybe, if I can just stay alert...
But then I don't. And my last thought as the darkness rolls through me is a question.
What will the world be like when I wake up?
*****
Chapter 9
SEVEN HOURS AND SEVENTEEN MINUTES LATER:
"The posters are gone!" That's the first thing I notice when I come around the next morning.
(What does it mean ?)
"Just the sports ones." Judd sounds a little hoarse, like he's still half-asleep. "The girls and cars are still there."
(But why? But why?)
"But why? " I look around the bedroom to see what else is different, casting for clues to whatever weirdness is coming our way. And then I see it. "Look! Look at your dresser!"
Judd props himself up against the wall and turns to look where I say. "My trophies!" He's stunned. "They're all gone!"
(For a teenage jock, this is like a wrecking ball to the nuts.)
"Every last one of them!" says Judd.
I feel bad for him and try to gloss over it. "Maybe people don't get trophies in this world."
"Then shouldn't there be ribbons or medals or certificates or something?" His voice rises with confusion and bitterness.
"Not if the Judd who belongs here isn't an athlete." I tap his palm for emphasis. "You must have replaced him when you arrived."
Judd scowls. "He wouldn't be much of a Judd if he wasn't an athlete ."
I raise my own voice to punch through the fog. "Consider yourself lucky those are the only changes so far. At least we didn't wake up in a torture chamber or a den of giant scorpion-vultures or something."
That seems to get through to him. "That's true."
(Flash-of-pride time! Who's the voice of reason in the crazy zone, boys and ghouls? Can you say "the minor extremity?")
"So maybe this reality won't be so different." I look around but don't see any other major changes. "The door looks normal, doesn't it?"
Judd sees it and shrugs. "I guess so."
"Then maybe we've been through the worst of it..."
(...whatever "it" is...)
"...and we're on our way home." I try to sound upbeat.
"That'd be nice."
Just as he says it, there's a knock on the door. It's a heavy, hard knock that makes us both jump.
Judd sucks in a deep breath. "Well, I guess we're about to find out."
"Cross your fingers," I tell him.
(That's another of my favorite sayings for some reason!)
"Come in," says Judd.
The doorknob turns slowly. We both watch it like we're watching the last minute of the Superbowl, and the score's tied at fourth and goal.
For that brief moment, anything's possible. We could end up facing a raving maniac cyclops, a walking bundle of barbed wire and meat, a chain of gas-spewing puffballs...or who knows? Maybe a totally normal Mom and Dad.
(Or
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