FORTY-EIGHT
He’d heard about certain kinds of pot that could cause visions.
Laced with lysergic acid, or Mexican mushrooms, or some other hallucinatory shit.
So you saw stuff that wasn’t real. That seemed real enough, sure, but was kind of a figment of your imagination. And of the pot. Just stuff your mind cooked up.
Please . . .
He saw himself going up the stairs. In his Star Wars pj’s.
His eyes burning. His lungs aching.
He saw himself standing in front of his sister’s door. Right there. It’s shut tight. There’s a picture of Goldy scotch-taped to it.
He rips the picture to shreds.
He slams the door open.
Jenny screams.
“No, Ben! No! GET OUT!”
But Ben doesn’t get out. He doesn’t.
God help him, he doesn’t.
“PLEASE, Ben . . .
“Please, NO.
“PLEASE . . .”