Every step cranked the dial on his anxiety as if he were peddling the machine that produced it. He stepped through the doorway into the stale air of the dim smoke filled room. Woody and a young woman were both laughing at a laptop, their faces bright with the soft blue glow of the screen. Hey, Hatchet fired a shaking finger at him, come with me.
Now.
Woody removed himself from his conversation and emerged in the parking lot, confronted with Marcus' tension riddled face. Hatchet exploded. The younger man giggled, denying everything but Marcus wouldn’t hear it. Hatchet told him he knew all about his shenanigans at the health science lab. Hatchet called him a faggot and immediately regretted the angry sound of it erupting from his lips. Shaken, Woody tried to retreat to the alley but Hatchet pursued him through the spring rain refracting the morning light to a higher level of intensity and color.
Once they were standing among the dumpsters and filth, all of it growing damp and releasing a rich dreggy stench, Hatchet sighed in relief as the wake of his rant fingered the edges of his senses. Woody radiated fear, shivering in the mist, the threat of flight in his eyes and limbs. This kid’s not setting me up. He would’ve caved by now. Hatchet lowered his eyes in regret then lowered his head in exhaustion. He had no clue he had invested this amount of energy in the potentiality of his crime. He felt compelled to make a conciliatory connection. He needed to mend the rift like a welded pipe or a broken bone.
Why would you even offer to help me, Woody? Hatchet asked him, finally raising his eyes. You don’t need the money; you don’t really seem to have a beef of any sort against the church aside from a mild case of atheism; why would you offer to help me if you were just gonna lie to me? unless you’re setting me up, Woody, are you setting me up, Woody?
Hatchet mustered his institutional smile. You can trust me, Woody.
No, no, I’m not setting you up; I promise you, Hatchet.
Woody’s eyes fluttered. His cheeks bloomed pink and the tears began to flow. He admitted to lying and he admitted to having a borderline obsession with Hatchet as well as admitting to originally being serious about the crime but as the consequences of failure became clear, he developed a deathly fear of Hatchet going through with the robbery. He was deathly afraid of Brody Lassiter. And, he stammered, it’s not entirely true that I don’t need the money. Woody’s next confession wasn’t a great surprise but the depth to which the young man’s cocaine habit had bound him did appear more severe than Hatchet would’ve considered. Woody told him he had failed to quit many times. It would be impossible to kick his habit without help but the rehab costs rivaled the cost of the drug and he was still so frightened of somebody getting hurt, anybody. He was working himself into a fit.
Listen to me, Woody. Hatchet reached out and grabbed the young man’s arm. This thing is possible. But we have to be in it for the right reasons, man. Hatchet thumbed his phone a moment then shoved a picture of Olivia in his face. Here’s my reason, Woody, I’ll lose her if... I’ll lose her and I’ll lose my mind, Woody. Hatchet gave his arm a shake. You need to get off this shit; I’m serious and this will be how we do it but for fuck sake, you have to tell me everything.
Now.
Woody removed himself from his conversation and emerged in the parking lot, confronted with Marcus' tension riddled face. Hatchet exploded. The younger man giggled, denying everything but Marcus wouldn’t hear it. Hatchet told him he knew all about his shenanigans at the health science lab. Hatchet called him a faggot and immediately regretted the angry sound of it erupting from his lips. Shaken, Woody tried to retreat to the alley but Hatchet pursued him through the spring rain refracting the morning light to a higher level of intensity and color.
Once they were standing among the dumpsters and filth, all of it growing damp and releasing a rich dreggy stench, Hatchet sighed in relief as the wake of his rant fingered the edges of his senses. Woody radiated fear, shivering in the mist, the threat of flight in his eyes and limbs. This kid’s not setting me up. He would’ve caved by now. Hatchet lowered his eyes in regret then lowered his head in exhaustion. He had no clue he had invested this amount of energy in the potentiality of his crime. He felt compelled to make a conciliatory connection. He needed to mend the rift like a welded pipe or a broken bone.
Why would you even offer to help me, Woody? Hatchet asked him, finally raising his eyes. You don’t need the money; you don’t really seem to have a beef of any sort against the church aside from a mild case of atheism; why would you offer to help me if you were just gonna lie to me? unless you’re setting me up, Woody, are you setting me up, Woody?
Hatchet mustered his institutional smile. You can trust me, Woody.
No, no, I’m not setting you up; I promise you, Hatchet.
Woody’s eyes fluttered. His cheeks bloomed pink and the tears began to flow. He admitted to lying and he admitted to having a borderline obsession with Hatchet as well as admitting to originally being serious about the crime but as the consequences of failure became clear, he developed a deathly fear of Hatchet going through with the robbery. He was deathly afraid of Brody Lassiter. And, he stammered, it’s not entirely true that I don’t need the money. Woody’s next confession wasn’t a great surprise but the depth to which the young man’s cocaine habit had bound him did appear more severe than Hatchet would’ve considered. Woody told him he had failed to quit many times. It would be impossible to kick his habit without help but the rehab costs rivaled the cost of the drug and he was still so frightened of somebody getting hurt, anybody. He was working himself into a fit.
Listen to me, Woody. Hatchet reached out and grabbed the young man’s arm. This thing is possible. But we have to be in it for the right reasons, man. Hatchet thumbed his phone a moment then shoved a picture of Olivia in his face. Here’s my reason, Woody, I’ll lose her if... I’ll lose her and I’ll lose my mind, Woody. Hatchet gave his arm a shake. You need to get off this shit; I’m serious and this will be how we do it but for fuck sake, you have to tell me everything.
Edit 11.9.2018