King of the Woods, or Trivial Pursuit

Part 42 - Cage

The candles and daffodil petals had been removed from Ray's bedroom, but the tarp and the dome-shaped object it had covered—a bird cage—lay on the floor. The cage's occupant had escaped or been paroled; its silver bars imprisoned only a black feather.

Audubon looked out the window, singing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye, four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie. The nursery rhyme always made Ray think of weed. Her voice tinkled like a music box, and she balanced on one leg, halfway between a ballerina and a crane, appearing delicate and graceful and harmless.

Ray frowned. At least coral snakes and poisonous berries give you a warning.

"Ah, the dainty dish awakes." Audubon turned to face him; her mascara was runny, but he doubted that she had been crying for him. "About before—" she glanced at his chest "—I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" He looked beneath the blanket that had been pulled up to his neck. His torso showed no injury, stitches or scarring, but his ribs ached and his stomach churned.

"Temper, temper, Audubon." She slapped the back of her hand. It wasn't bloody; nothing in the room was.

He sat up in bed. "I thought I was dead. It hurt like it was real."

"It's still real, and of course it hurt. I had to break your ribs to make room."

For what? He glanced at the silver bird cage.

"A contingency," she said, covering the cage with the tarp. "You'll thank me later."

Ray shook his head. "I'll thank you for torturing me? You crushed my heart. Literally!"

Audubon frowned. "I apologized for that. It's rude to keep bringing it up."

"You aren't even taunting me, are you? You really believe I'm being rude."

"Well—"

"Who are you people? Aliens? Demons?"

"We are the elephant that lives inside the snake that you mistake for a hat." Audubon sat at the foot of his bed.

Ray tilted his head.

"You haven't read 'Le Petit Prince?' That's a shame, but I can rephrase: We are toes under blankets. If you move your toe, the blanket moves. Few men see blankets, so you should feel special. Fewer still see the toes. But if someone pinches the blanket, the toes feel it, and the pincher may get a kick." Audubon gave Ray a pinch.

He thought better of kicking her. "Men can hurt folk without knowing you exist."

"You treat us like we don't. So it's the same for me." Audubon picked up her birdcage and climbed out of his window. "Get some sleep, killer. It's going to be a long day."

--

Sunlight filtered through Ray's window, waking him for the third time that morning. He staggered into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and rinsed his mouth. "No more shrooms for you, mister," he said to the mirror.

His haggard reflection did not argue. It had been a terrible trip, and neither of them remembered how he'd gotten home last night.

He groped for a towel and found one caked with dried blood. Audubon had washed up after surgery, which meant the surgery really happened, which meant there was something inside him. He scrubbed his fingers. "Fuck my life."

Something clattered in his kitchen. Ray had not had a roommate since college. He crept into the hallway—it was only long enough to accommodate a tiny closet on one side and a washer/dryer on the other. A pair of Fuji apples rested on the carpeted floor; someone had upended his fruit bowl.