A Series of Left Turns :: Chapter 18

Before I get to the door to exit the mall I have to forcibly stop my feet from moving.

I…

…I can’t confront Cartman like this.

I’m far too emotional right now to get any kind of desirable result.

I stare down at the bottle of haloperidol in my hand. I have to think. I have to have a clear mind when I do this.

After a moment or two I take the bottle of pills and slip them into my jacket pocket. And as my fingers brush against the gun wedged next to the bottle, an intense feeling of dread floods through my body.

I’m really in the thick of this, aren’t I? If what Liane said really is true… then I’ve been letting an unmedicated schizophrenic man walk freely around my house for the past week. With a loaded, high powered pistol on him at all times.

I squeeze the shopping bag in my hand even tighter.

…But… he hasn’t had lapses.

If Liane has been too afraid to give him medication ever since he grew taller than her or whatever, then I should have been around him long enough to see one of these lapses.

That is, unless what I consider normal Cartman behavior are his lapses.

Him suddenly wanting to fight me so much, his random bursts of energy or aggression, his general paranoia of not wanting to eat stuff from his house…

Shooting that guy in the head like it was nothing…

…Pointing a gun at me…

…But… he always had his reasons. …Or maybe they were just very convincing justifications – I mean I am talking about Cartman, the master of manipulation…

Fuck…

I don’t want this to be true…

The automatic doors of the mall entrance pull open, and the chilly outside air surrounds my body. The knot in my stomach tightens up as I search for Cartman in the walkway or the nearby benches.

What do I say to him…? How do I act…?

…

He’s not here.

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