Victor Charlie (part two)

Inspired perhaps by watching Across the Universe, I wanted to write something that took place in the sixties. This is a joint writing project between myself and my hubby Austin Cushing. The year is 1967. What is it about? Well, primarily it's a story about best friends, hippies, government conspiracies, and a whole lot of love..

It's a serial story, so we'll be posting it in installments. This is part two , you can read the first part here.

Having traveled in the van without benefit of laundry or decent washing facilities, Victor realized he smelled more than a little ripe as he knocked on his mother's door. The house hadn't changed - a generic frame structure, that had sagged progressively throughout his childhood. Much like the family inside it, just wearing out by degrees until one day they looked around and wondered how it had ever gotten that bad. Charlie'd come with him - more from a need to be away from his own house than anything.

The burger expedition had kept them out until well after midnight, and Mrs. Duncan had voiced her disapproval rather loudly. Though Victor'd been originally considering asking to crash at Charlie's, he thought it best to retreat, promising to come back in the morning for Charlie.

More like afternoon, by the time he woke up, but he'd found Charlie on the porch, waiting - watching the road with those wide haunted eyes that made Victor shiver. He still didn't know what had happened to make them that way, wasn't sure he'd ever know. Maybe he was better off not knowing.

A short drive across town they spent in relative silence, and here they were.

Victor's mother answered the door on the third knock. Her breath smelled of single malt and nicotine as she laughed. "Well, well... look what the cat drug in." She was still in her bathrobe and slippers, hair up in rollers.

Victor felt a faint tinge of the old embarrassment he always felt when inviting Charlie over to his house in childhood. "Hey mom, thought I'd come see you while we're in town..."

She laughed. "Did you? Well, that's nice. That's really nice. Come on in, boys, come in."

Victor lifted the bag of laundry from the porch, and motioned for Charlie to follow. "Hope you don't mind I brought my clothes..."

"Washer's still working, but you'll have to take them wet or hang them on the line," his mother said. As they came in, her eyes fell upon Charlie, and she took a good hard look. "What the hell happened to him?"

"Life," Victor said tersely.

Charlie nodded briefly to Victor's mother, not saying a word. People seemed to react like that when he was around nowadays, like he was more a ghost than a man -- and most of the time, Charlie was apt to agree with them.

 "If you want something to eat, you're out of luck, I didn't go shopping this week," Victor's mother said, her eyes still on Charlie.

"It's okay mom, I just really need to wash my clothes - maybe take a bath and shave," he said. He glanced towards Charlie to see if he'd be okay if he ducked into the utility room to drop his clothes in the washer.

Charlie settled into a chair, his eyes darting warily around the room. It hadn't changed a bit, and yet he couldn't help feeling on edge. So many crevices and cracks in which something unpleasant could be waiting. He knew nothing was there, and yet he couldn't let go of that feeling of quiet dread.

"I won't be long," Victor said to Charlie, then kissed his mother on the cheek before ducking out with his laundry.

"He wants money, doesn't he?" Mrs. De Santiago asked Charlie, shaking her head. "Only time that boy's ever kissed me was when he wanted money."

She reached up into the cabinet, and took out a half empty bottle of whiskey, and offered it towards Charlie. "You look like you need a little something, take the edge off."

"Told him I'd pay." Charlie didn't answer the second question, but did take the whiskey without complaint.

 "Mom, you getting Charlie drunk out there?" Victor asked, as he emerged and saw the whiskey.

He shook his head in disapproval.

"Oh, don't give me that - all you do out there in California is drink and smoke," his mother said, a hint of envy in her tone.

Victor came to rest in the chair next to Charlie's.

 "Not getting drunk," Charlie answered. "Too early." He did, however, have more than a sip of it before offering it to Victor.

Victor took a healthy swig, then passed the bottle to his mother. "You know, I hate to ask this..."

She sighed as she took the bottle. "How much, Victor?"

"I just need like, a hundred bucks or so. Just enough to get me back to California," he said.

"A hundred bucks? I don't have that kind of money. Since your father died, I've been barely making it here. Not like anyone else is working..." She stared pointedly at Victor, as if to say 'a good son would have stayed and got a job', then took a long drink.

Victor shrunk down in his seat . "Fifty?"

 "I'll cover it," Charlie muttered, rubbing the side of his head. "Just forget it. Doesn't matter."

"Twenty's all I have anyhow," she said, then wandered off into the living room to get away from the begging.

"Fuck," Victor said. The old lady wasn't going to be any help at all. He turned to say something about the money to Charlie, then stopped and changed gears.

"Your head hurting?" he asked. "You okay?"

 "I'm fine, I'm fucking fine," Charlie muttered, partly to Victor and partly just to himself. There was just so much on his mind right now, and arguing over money wasn't going to make things better. It was meaningless.

"Sure," Charlie mumbled, closing his eyes. "Take your time."

"You want to wait here, or would you feel more comfortable in my old room? I don't think my mom put anything too weird in there - hey, she might even be growing some pot. It'd be like free samples. And you could lay down and rest some..."

He was really concerned about Charlie's headaches.

"Okay." Charlie got to his feet, and quietly padded off towards Victor's room. He glanced around warily as he went, as if not entirely convinced that the closet he passed was not going to open and unleash horrors, and quietly slipped into the room.

Victor ducked in with Charlie a moment to make sure there wasn't anything disturbing in there, and to see if he'd left any clothes behind that were salvageable.

His mother'd moved some stuff in there- the machine from her failed attempt at sewing, some boxes and his father's tie rack.

The posters were still on the walls though, and the bed still had sheets. They were even almost clean.

Victor dug into the dresser, and after a bit of searching came up with a semi-holey tee and a pair of bell bottoms with a poorly patched knee. "It'll do."

Charlie settled down on the bed, and almost immediately closed his eyes. "Never mentioned you sewed." It might have been an attempt at a joke.

Victor grinned. "Oh yeah. I make all my own dresses."

He headed for the door. "Won't be long, Charlie. You just rest a while, then I'll be back."

"Okay." And with that, Charlie lay motionless, and began to drift into sleep.

Victor ran water for a bath, stripped down and sunk into the warm water. He scrubbed away the dirt of the road, and felt like a new man.

He felt even better when he noticed his mother's ashtray behind the shampoo bottle. Resting there among the butts was a half-smoked joint.

"Groovy," he muttered, and dug around a bit more before finding her lighter in the soap dish. His mother had interesting bathing habits. He leaned back in the warm water, and lit up.

 Charlie was dressed in an army uniform that had once been crisp and clean and perfect. Right now, though, it hadn't been washed in weeks, and it smelled like mud and blood and oil. He was lying on his back, staring upwards at the sky.

Everything seemed eerily silent and still around him as he tried to focus. The skies were beautiful - more beautiful than he'd seen in a long time, and everything felt peaceful.

Then he looked to his left, where the air still smelled of fire and brimstone and death, and where the man in front of him had been standing a few moments ago. Bits and pieces of him were still there. Bits and pieces...

Charlie began to scream.

Victor had been drifting in a smoke filled haze when he heard the screaming. He jumped up out of the tub, grabbed a towel and hastily wrapped it around himself.

"Victor!" his mom yelled the moment he stepped out into the hallway "What the hell is going on?"

"Nothing mom, nothing," he said, trying to push past her to get to Charlie, who was screaming like he was being murdered in there.

"Is that my joint?"

"Christ on a cracker--" Victor took the joint out of his mouth and passed it to his mother, successfully distracting her enough that he could get on by and into the room.

He approached the bed cautiously, not sure Charlie was awake or asleep. "Charlie.. hey, Charlie.. it's me, man. It's okay.."

Charlie's eyes were wide open, the haunted look replaced with one of outright, if fading, terror. He didn't answer, just stared at Victor, shaking quietly.

"It's okay," Victor repeated. "I'm here. It's okay."

He crossed the distance to the bed with care, not wanting to make any sudden movements. He sat on the edge of the bed, then reached for Charlie to put an arm around his shoulders. "I got you, man. It's alright..."

" ... sorry," Charlie finally managed, focusing on where he really was. "Nightmare."

"It's okay, you don't have to be sorry. You scream all you want, if you feel like you have to. It's not a problem," Victor assured him.

He squeezed Charlie's shoulder, and tugged him into a half-hug, unmindful of being wet at the moment.

Charlie took a few deep breaths, until he'd settled down again completely. All that was left to mark the event were those haunted, tired eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled again.

Victor considered getting that joint back from his mother, but figured she'd probably smoked it up by now.

"Hey, let me put my clothes on, okay? Then we'll go for a ride."

He didn't know where, but last night driving around had seemed to do Charlie some good.

"Hard to sleep," Charlie added, rubbing his head. "Sorry..." He got up to head outwards and for the outside, mumbling.

Victor dressed quickly, and followed Charlie.

"Hey, mom - put my clothes on the line for me, okay? I'll be back for them later..." he called as he headed out. As an afterthought, he called "Love you", but he wasn't sure she heard.

Worse came to worse, he'd have a mound of wet clothes and just spread them out around the back of the van.

Victor opened up the van, and looked to Charlie. "Let's just drive a while, okay? And if you want to talk, we'll talk. And if you don't, we don't have to."

"Okay," Charlie mumbled, settling into his seat and sinking his head into his hands again.

Victor started to drive with no particular destination in mind. He turned on the radio, tuned to the local station that he and Charlie'd listened to for years. Maybe the familiar voice of the DJ and some good music would do something to lift his spirits.

The song playing at the moment was one that'd been playing everywhere on the trip up.

The room was humming harder,
As the ceiling flew away.
When we called out for another drink,
The waiter brought a tray.

And so it was that later,
As the miller told his tale,
That her face at first just ghostly,
Turned a whiter shade of pale.

Charlie rode along in silence for a while, just staring out the window. Finally, he mumbled again, "Sorry. For everything."

"Hey, you don't have to be sorry," Victor said. "We're friends. You put up with so much shit from me back in the day, right? All the stupid shit I drug you into..."

He sighed, not knowing how to express this right. Words usually came pretty smoothlyfor him, but this situation had him all tied up in knots. "See... I love you man. You've been my best friend since third grade. It's not a burden hanging with you. I'm glad we're together again. I missed you like crazy... and it's not like, well. I mean, what happened to you - it's got to be some serious shit. So it's going to mess you up, right? I understand that..."

"Yeah." Charlie let out a sigh. "Fubar."

"Fubar?" Victor asked, unfamiliar with the expression.

"Military term. Fucked up beyond all recognition." Charlie chuckled a bit.

 "Nah, you're not that," Victor said.

"I recognize you. You're still Charlie. You're just Charlie in need of rest and some good times, that's all."

"Yeah." Charlie nodded a bit, one hand to his head. "Hard to rest, though."

"Well, maybe we could think of something to help with that," Victor said, pondering.

"Is the problem falling asleep too? Or is it once you're asleep, getting woken up?"

"Staying asleep," Charlie answered. "Hard to."

"Okay, hm.. here's the plan. We'll find a good place to park, and you can get comfy on the couch. Unless you want to go back to your folks place or my house or something. Anyhow, I'll watch over you while you sleep..."

Victor glanced over towards Charlie when they stopped at a red light. "And see, if you start twitching or freaking out, I'll just shake you a little. Not enough to wake you up, but enough to maybe knock the bad dream out of you. Or I'll say something, like 'hey, it's cool, man' and maybe you'll hear it in there, and go back to sleeping."

Okay." Charlie nodded a bit, seeming to accept that.