Dividing Earth: A Novel of Dark Fantasy by Troy Stoops

pleasantly.
    The drumstick was digging into her side. She slid it from her sweats, laid it on the passenger seat, and grabbed hold of the gear shift, rubbed her palm over the ball, on which an idiot’s guide to a manual transmission was printed in white grooves. Slipping the stick from first, she left it in the center of the console a second, recognizing from the grid that this was neutral. The car teetered on its wheel base. “Okay, okay, here we—“ and she released the brake. The Toyota rolled back. Instead of lightly pressing the gas, in her fright she stomped it down. The engine raced, the car spun back in a wide arc, and she screeched in operatic spasms.
    She missed a late model Porsche by inches. The Toyota only stopped because as the car lurched and lunged her foot slipped fell off the gas and onto the brake by fortuitous accident. The car gurgled, belched and died.
    That’s when Grady knocked on the driver side window.
    Mary screamed, jumping half out of her seat. Moon and starlight flashed off the windshield.
    “Roll it down!” yelled Grady, smacking her palm on the glass.
    Mary grabbed the lever and turned it, half expecting Grady’s hands to come shoving through the opening like a set of claws. Instead, Grady tossed her arms over the down window, resting her chin on them. “What’cha doing?” she asked, as if Mary were sneaking off to a party without her.
    “I’m so sorry, Grady, I was—“
    “You okay?”
    Mary hesitated. “I need to see him.”
    “He got what he deserved.”
    “He was wrong. But so were we.”
    Grady’s eyes clouded over. She stared past Mary.
    Mary touched her. “Don’t go.”
    “Why?”
    “I need you to drive.”
    Grady’s lips slid up, revealing her gap teeth. It was a strange smile. It was a great smile. “Yeah, you were fixing to wreck my pile, weren’t you?” she said, opening the door. “Bitch. Move over.”
    * * * * *
    The hospital was half-lit. A few floors were completely black, their windows reflecting moon. The only lighted entrance was the Emergency wing. Three orderlies smoked under a broad awning.
    Grady parked, asked, “You coming?”
    Mary glanced down at her purple pajamas. She really hadn’t thought this one through. Moments later, she caught up with Grady, who was a few feet from engaging the orderlies. “Uh, how are we gonna get in at this hour?”
    Grady flashed that maverick grin, her eyes lit up, and Mary knew it had already happened.
    A heavy-set woman noticed them first. “May I help you?” she asked.
    Grady didn’t even glance at her. Instead she sped past, colliding with a large man behind her. She grabbed him in a bear hug. “Quinten!” she yelled, pulled back, her hands on his massive arms. “How are you?”
    “Uh, fine,” he said, looking confused.
    “Come on!” said Grady, linking her arm in his, leading him toward the electric doors at the end of a brightly lit walkway.
    Mary followed, giving the woman a shrug.
    Grady continued strolling with Quinten once they were inside. Past two sets of swinging doors, the hall past the ER was eerily silent. She instinctively lowered her voice. “Quint, my boyfriend is here. I haven’t seen him since . . . since—” and she choked back a fabulously phony sob.
    “Randall?”
    Grady nodded.
    Quinten shook his head, sighed, and said, “Fourth floor, Room 412.”
    “Thanks, Quint,” said Grady, leaning up to kiss his cheek.
    Quinten lifted a finger. “I didn’t send you. You’re on your own.” Quinten shoved past Mary. His steps echoed a moment, then vanished. The strangely distant sounds made by a slow night on the ER found them in bursts.
    Grady shot past the elevators opened the door to the stairwell. “Going up?”
    “Why the stairs?”
    “Shut up and follow,” Grady said with a laugh, taking the stairs two at a time, and Mary struggled in pursuit, her steps tapping opposite Grady’s. She felt half-dead by the time she found her friend grinning by the door marked: 4.