The Pull-Along Duck

I no longer care for the house you live in. The two-story brownstone stood prouder before, tucked away in the corner of a once-prominent cul-de-sac. The sun poured in through the grand windows and lit up spotless woodwork. Now cold air seeps through cracks between plywood sheets. My bare feet stick as I steady my weight on the living room floor.

It smells; sweat mingles with dust and decaying food. The need to find you burn deep, but a grunt by the fireplace startles me. Your mother rolls over on the floor, grasping for a syringe with a scrawny hand. She halts her quest to trace the edges of a purple bruise, contrasting an ashen complexion.

Tattoo Man behind her shifts, his large hand clamped around her hip. But my focus is on your mother. My feet stand between her and an easy escape from this world. I know she wants to. I can see her slipping away too.

She looks so much like you; hair splayed out on the floor like a blanket of fire. Her focus shifts from the syringe, to my feet. Lifting her head, she frowns. The red streaks in her empty eyes contrast deep brown irises. Can she see me? She never has before and doesn’t see you anymore either.

Her eyes close again, the quest for another hit interrupted. A low groan spills over cracked lips as the man descends over her. I try to pick up the syringe and help her transition, but my fingertips slip through it. Every day it’s the same. You float in a world beyond mine, and there is nothing I can do to bring you back — or help you pass through.

I snatch the red string to the pull-along duck and yank it with me. It was your — our — favourite toy, and its vibrant red wheels ran smoothly along the floor. Now it clatters.

Bearded Man argues with another stranger at the front door, faces drawn in contorted features, lips fast-moving. He spins around and stomps towards me. I press myself against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut, the duck tucked beneath the hem of my tattered blue dress.

Shifting through drawers in the kitchen, he searches for another small ball of tinfoil. I’ve tried to hide them before, but it’s no use; your mother has fallen for their lure. He holds one in his palm, grins, proud of this poison that’s infected our world. I don’t dare breathe until the chain slides back on and footfalls thunder up the stairs. The pull-along duck squeaks to a halt outside the kitchen door as I peer inside. Stacks of money rest in neat piles between dirty plates and mugs on the kitchen table. Beyond, the view of the countryside teases.

Do you remember when we held hands and danced through the tall grass? Your hair floated free in the wind, copper lit by the sunlight, the bridge of your nose painted with freckles. Your colours are different now; you blend in with the other girls in blue, purple and yellow hues, marring your beauty. Your hair is a dull flame long extinguished.

The pull-along duck thumps against each step as I ascend the paint-stained staircase. Each day, it’s harder to find you as Tattoo Man allocates the rooms. I still feel you, nearby. The desperation of the call spurs me on. The pull-along duck rattles behind but rounding the corner, my feet skid to a halt.

A door swings open. Dim sunlight filters through, and a man trots out. He tucks himself away and drags a hand through his grey-speckled hair. A court nod to Bearded Man watching in the corner follows. Money exchanges hands. My grasp on the cord tightens. If you didn’t love this toy so much, I’d wallop them both with it. But it’s no use; I know that.

The man shoves the door, and I dash across the floor. The duck bounces behind as we slip through the tight gap just before the lock turns. Do you remember how it was before the men arrived, before your mother’s fall, before pills turned into needles?

Dark red walls surround you as you lie on the bed; only a thin white sheet covers your body, shrouded in sweat, urine, and cheap cologne. You’re staring at the wall opposite, and I peer at the many cracks and dents, wondering which one you’re seeking comfort in today.

Even if your limbs are now long and slender, the bed is too big. Your body has taken the shape of a woman. Do you remember how we used to jump on your bed? We held hands, and our laughter filled the room. Now the grunts and groans upstairs drive me away from you.

I try to catch your gaze, but you don’t look at me anymore. You clench a full syringe but lack the courage to see it through.

I tell you our story, of how your dress once matched mine, how we fought over the duck, and fell asleep whispering in the dark. I lie next to you, noses pressed together again. Will you see me now or take my outstretched hand? Could we run through the grass again?

But your eyes are empty as before. Your body is an empty vessel. I shouldn’t miss you; this fog is better for you. Holding the duck close, I press my eyes shut and wait for the world to reset. These moments are all we have left—an eternity of searching for you, of waiting for your courage to push a bit more.

But something is different this time. The world doesn’t reset.

A noise down the hall, soft footfalls approaching on creaky floorboards. The lock slides across. I hold my breath as your mother slink inside. Her gaze eviscerates you and cuts into me. My heart picks up speed. She shouldn’t be able to see me, yet somehow she does.

For a moment, she merely stand there, swaying softly, deep in thought. Something’s hidden in her hand.

She looks down at you, perhaps seeing you for the first time. Will she carry you away in her arms and put an end to this? I want to scream and shout at your mother for failing you, for letting this evil separate our world.

But the fight drains from my body as she pushes a needle through your skin. Her eyes meet mine again. Is it loss or relief, hidden in the depth of her gaze? Is it mercy or vengeance? I find it’s neither, as tears roll down her cheeks.

The flicker of your innocence fuelling my existence starts to fade. The pull-along duck slips off the edge of the bed and smashes against the floor. Your mother tugs the sheet over us and slips out the door.