Surprise Endings

Knuckles rapping with purpose on the old wooden door sounded miles away in his hazy stupor.  Persistent pounding on the peeling paint invaded his fog-like trance stemming from a 3 day meth binge. He secretly hoped someone else strung out in the living room would address the piercing racket, but no one flinched from their catatonic states. Haggardly, he stood and rubbed his bloodshot eyes, scratched skin so itchy that it felt like ants were crawling all over him and yanked up his baggy pants that used to fit. Greasy hair was pasted to his forehead as he staggered towards the front door.

Heavy blankets nailed to walls covered the windows which provided air tight seals locking in the sweaty body odors. The cheap window coverings not only prevented neighbors with prying eyes from looking inside, but they added heavy darkness to their world of drug use. Stubbing a toe on a piece of lawn furniture serving as a sofa, he cursed as he approached the door. Ever so slightly, he parted the angled slats to peek through the grimy door window.

Oh shit, he said to himself as panic set in after glimpsing blue fabric and a badge, cops!

His overworked heart yet again started racing, but instead of meth, adrenaline now coursed through his veins.  Shit, shit, shit...my warrants!  Spinning around he looked at the carnage in the dank living room, fellow junkies contorted all over the furniture and floor. A fleeting thought went through his mind. Let's party? Aren't parties for celebration? What the fuck are we celebrating, our addictions? How stupid are we that we excuse our drug use by "partying?" And, what comes of it? Paranoia, nasty sexcapades involving unattractive people with bad breath, stinky feet and rotten teeth...

He bolts out the back door that swings hard and loudly bangs against the house.  He focuses on the backyard's perimeter 6 foot tall wooden fence.  If I can just get over the fence. With arms pumping over sprinting legs, he reaches the fence as commanding voices yell orders for him to stop. Over the fence and dashing across the next yard, he reaches another fence and goes over. Then another and another. He's out of breath, gasping for air to fill burning lungs. Shit, I'm out of shape! This was easy years ago... Hurling himself over another fence, he crashes through a lilac bush where broken branches scratch his tweaker skin, etching thin bloody lines on his arms and face. 

Fearing jail with the inevitably miserable detoxing, he pushes on with a heart feeling like it may explode on the next breath. Crossing a street and hopping more fences, he no longer hears voices chasing him. Suddenly he's on the bank of a canal and wills himself to run, but exhaustion restricts his pace to a fast walk. He still makes good time down the path as he creates more separation from his buddy's drug house. Suddenly screaming sirens from all directions are cutting through the hot summer air, and getting louder and louder.

Shit! 

He stops, scans and cocks his head to listen. Paranoia makes it feel like the sirens have laser beam accuracy with all having target lock on him. Darting glances for hiding spots are interrupted as a black and white police car is noticed racing down a nearby street. Sirens, one by one, go quiet.

Oh fuck, I'm surrounded!

Feeling pressure from all sides, he looks down and remembers an old black-and-white prison movie where escapees hid in water and weren't found. Sliding down the grassy embankment, he feels a stroke of luck being beside a weeping willow with droopy branches touching the canal's water.  Easing into the murky water, he crouches and allows the gentle current to silently push him under the leafy umbrella. 

Perfect! They won't find me down here. 

As his pounding heart calms, so does his breathing as he intently watches and listens. He leans into the gentle current and welcomes a weird type of comfort brought on by feeling the slight pressure against his body. Plus, the coolness of the water eliminates the desire to scratch his itchy skin. I hate my life... I hate my so-called friends... He knows right from wrong.  But, he endures a constant struggle with the methamphetamine demons who have deeply sunk their evil talons into his mind, body and soul.

With jerky head movements, he monitors the area through the leafy barricade when his eyes bulge.

No way!  Shit!

He squints and watches what looks like a black wolf nosing down the trail, huffing up the invisible scent he left behind. Dropping lower in the water, lips submerge as he focuses on absolute silence while breathing through his nose. The K9 steadily tracks closer and then he notices, attached by a long leash, the handler behind the K9. Suddenly, the dog darts down the embankment and splashes into the water.

FUCK!

The dog flounders around in the water, front leg flailing with his neck craned upwards acting like a periscope. The dog thrashes into the leafy shield as he takes a big breath and goes under water. Toe nails rake his arm and he feels the pads on the bottom of the dog's feet push against his chest while holding his breath. The churning water stops and he realizes the K9 has pulled himself on the bank and under the tree. Slowly he rises to let his mouth break the surface to gasp another breath as the K9 pounces back into the water. He sinks and the dog splashes around some more when he hears a muffled voice. Miraculously, the dog crawls out of the water just in time as he rises for another breath.

Through water-clogged ears, he hears a scolding voice, "Find him!" The voice tapers off and he rises up like an alligator with eyes breaking the surface of the water.  Water glues foliage to his head as the current swirls green slime around his neck. He glances up and a wave of relief rushes through him. The handler, apparently thinking he is smarter than the dog, appears to be yanking on the leash and directing the K9 to work further downstream.

I did it!  I fucking did it!  Can you believe this shit?!

Still in the water, he begins to relax.  He remains concealed within the branches and covets his ingenuity and good fortune. Feeling smug, he can hear voices and, in the distance, he thinks he hears chatter over a police radio.  It doesn't matter, they won't find me, he tells himself with a snicker and sly smile, already scheming his next high.

Holy shit!

Celebration is short lived as he spies the black dog directly across from him on the opposing back.  He again drops deeper in the water and silently watches as his chin is gently slapped by little waves. The dog works closer and closer to the water's edge, weaving through cattails and reeds. His aching heart again races as the dog splashes into the water and heads straight towards him.  He goes under and holds his breath as he feels the K9's presence.  Legs bump him, toe nails snag in his shirt and briefly, dog feet touch and push off him.

Panic sets in as he starts to run out of air with the K9 right beside him. C'mon!  Just a little longer! He pinches his nose, hoping it will help him last just a few more seconds. C'mon!!!!  His chest begins to convulse as his lungs scream for relief. C'MON!  Just a few more....Ah fuck! 

Survival forces him to breach the surface, gasping for air, and time slows to a stand still.  As air rushes into his mouth, his eyes catch a flash of movement. Despite water blurred vision, he glimpses a cavern of darkness lined with pearly white teeth.  Striking hard and fast, his head is slammed back under water.  Choking on water, he coughs underwater immediately followed by the reflex of inhaling.  He thrashes around moments before death and feels jaws snapping onto his head.  Pointy teeth slide against bone, but then, he feels nothing.

Panic stricken, he thrusts up and out of the water and feels a heavy body slam into him.  The K9 takes a deep bite, crushing his left forearm while driving into him. The impact makes him step back against the current.

"Where the fuck did you come from?!" barks the handler wading across the canal.

Shock paralyzes him. There is no answer as his near death experience silences his lips.  A raw gash across his forehead gushes blood that is thinned from water streaming down from his hair. The K9 releases his vise-like bite on his forearm and, as he returns to reality, sounds are again heard. 

Police radio chatter...uniformed officers up on the bank giving orders for his water exit... a handler praising his K9...

Shockingly, he is treated like royalty as an ambulance whisks him away to a nearby hospital where emergency room technicians immediately treat his injuries. I can't believe this...I don't want to go to jail!

Later, he plops down on his wafer thin mattress rolled out on top of his steel bunk. Rubbing his temples, he is lost in deep thought while blankly staring at the cold concrete floor. Carefully, he slowly traces his fingers over the miniature railroad tracks stitched across his head.  He already shared his crazy-ass story to his cellmate and now regrets having said anything.

"Dude! That is so fucked up! You need a lawyer and sue those assholes! You know? Police brutality, excessive force with that dog shredding your head and jacking up your arm! That is so fucked up! Sue their ass!" his cellie rambles on.

He slowly raises his head to address his talkative roommate and briefly wonders if he'll have a glaring Frankenstein scar for the rest of his life.

"What are you talking about?" he challenges. "I gambled and lost... and you know what?" he trails off and pauses for a moment while tenderly touching his throbbing forearm. "That was a great K9!"