Oh baby, here comes the sound! I took a train out of New Orleans, and they shot me full of ephedrine. This is how we like to do it in the murder scene, can we settle up the score? If you were here, I'd never have a fear. So go on live your life, but I miss you more than I did yesterday. Your so far away. So c'mon show me how, 'cause I mean this more than words can ever say. Your Beautiful! Well I am a total wreck and almost every day. Like this firing squad or the mess you made. Well don't I look pretty walking down the street in this damn dress that I own? We are young and we don't care. Your dreams and your hopeless hair. We never wanted it to be this way. For all our lives, do you care at all?
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The rain fell violently on the windshield of the dark car, under Harry's control. The wipers flung the access water into the night. Harry could feel the old tires slip and give in the large puddles he was driving through. His mind was screaming for him to slow down, but he knew he had an angel watching over him. He was invincible, Harry laughed hysterically at the idea.
"I am bullet proof." He thought
Harry ran a steady hand through his messy hair. His finger tips running over the slight bump of a scar on the top of his head, the scar that held the bullet against his skull.
"Mr. Potter, we were unable to remove the bullet,"The old doctor stated in his bright white coat. He wasbalding and wrinkled, with bushy white eyebrows and all. Flipping incessantly through that blasted clipboard. "But we were able to save your life."
Flip. Flip. Flip.
"You might experience mild headaches, but those can be taken care of with any regular pain reliever."
Flip. Flip. Flip.
"You should be able to live a normal life."
Harry laughed as he swerved his large black car in front of a smaller sedan that wasn't going fast enough for him.
"Far from normal Doc,"Harry told the dashboard. "Far from normal." He ran his hand absentmindedly over the hilt of the gun on the seat beside him.
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The door was thick, the red paint pealing off in areas to expose the plain silver of the metal underneath. The door handle was large and bulky rusting in areas around the bolts and edges. The rain glistening off the old paint was giving it a new look. The "gateway" he thought of it. This was the fork in the road the turning point; this was his point of no return. If he knocked on this door he was solidifying the fates of many men, not only his own.
The loud sound of metal rang through the wet ally. Harry pounded and kept pounding until a familiar Irish accent floated distantly through the door.
"Oi,"The mans voice was obviously irritated. "Whosit?"
"Harry!" He screamed. He heard the locks slide, click and turn on the opposite side of the door. It opened slightly exposing one blue eye.
"Harry?" The hidden man spoke. "Harry Fucking Potter?" The Irish man opened the door and pulled his old friend into a warm embrace. When he released his friend, Harry took a step back.
"Seamus Fucking Finnaigan!" Harry said looking over his oldest friend. He hadn't changed much since their days at school; he only had more tattoos now.
"Peace" was on one side of his neck and a Celtic cross on the other. Many geilic and Celtic sayings littered his arms along with an assortment of guns, bullets and crosses. Harry knew there were more under the black tee-shirt he was wearing.
"You look good Finnagan." Harry said walking further in to the dusty room. Beer signs hungon the wooden walls, old chairs and couches lined the room. Dart boards and pool tables were scattered through out the room. Many people were there talking and drinking, but Harry didn't recognize any of them.
"You too Potter,"Seamus said guiding his friend to the back of the long warehouse like room. "For a dead man."
"But I am not!" Harry said menacingly.
"No, far from it." His tattooed friend said pushing Harry down into a dusty recliner. "What brings you round my way, eh, Potter?"
"Guns, knives, painkillers." Harry said pinching the base of his neck, as if it were going to stop the immense pain from traveling in to his shoulders.
"I think we can help." Seamus turned and motioned for a large muscular blond man to come to him. The bulky man nodded at the smaller mans words, then disappearing behind a blanket hanging from the pipe covered ceiling.
Seamus returned with a small vile that contained a clear liquid, and a thin syringe with a short needle at the end. He sat down next to Harry in another brown dusty armchair.
"After this you will feel much better, I promise." The tattooed man told him calmly, like a snake luring its prey to it, as he pulled the substance in to the cylinder of the syringe.
Harry's heart pounded as he watched, he had done some stupid things in his life, but to let a strange little tattooed Irishman inject him with something was a bit scary.What did he have to lose; everything that mattered to him was gone.
Harry slipped off his blazer and began to roll up his sleeve, before he stopped suddenly, his hand shaking around the cuff he had made. He had to know what was going in him.
"What ya gonna do to me Finnigan." He asked as he continued to roll up the left sleeve of his shirt.
"Oi, Potter, have I ever steered you wrong my boy?" Seamus quipped, and smiled at his friend.
Harry just shook his head as Seamus took hold of his forearm. Harry never did drugs; the only drug he had ever needed was Hermione. Nothing else, she was the high of all highs for him, nothing could compare to her.
Harry hissed as the needle broke the skin. Pinching, Pulling, Stinging. His whole arm felt warm like he had just dipped it into a warm tub full of water. Harry laughed quietly at the sensation. It was exhilarating and scary at the same time. Then like a stone was being dropped into a placid lake, the needle was gone and the warmth rippled through out his body. His headache quickly began to fade but he suddenly became overly aware of everything happening around him.
He could feel his blood pumping through his veins, the droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. The way a small Italian man with greasy black hair, which smelled like Swiss cheese and rancid meat, hit his cue ball on the wrong side, causing the nine balls to ricochet off of the two, knocking the eight ball into a corner pocket. He could even hear the wings of a fly as it landed on an open beer bottle.
"How ya feelin' mate." The short Irishman asked him. When he spoke Harry noticed every change in punctuation that comes out of his friend's mouth. To him it was like watching the last drop of syrup come out of the bottle on to a pancake in slow motion.
"Right as rain." Harry said laughing at his own words. "What did you give me?"
"Not to worry mate, just enjoy it." Seamus said smiling widely at his friend. Harry thought he looked similar to a heyina. "Now about these guns you wanted."
Everything seemed faraway, distant and quiet, like someone trying to whisper an important secret to you from a distance. Harry watched as the large man emerged from behind the blanket with a large green army bag slung over his shoulder.
Harry felt a light touch on his cheek. He turned to see who was touching him. Hermione stood behind him, a wide smile on her face. She was so beautiful. Harry wanted to reach up and grab her, kiss her and pull her close to him and never let her go.
His head began to spin the room swirling, spinning, blurring. The only thing that remained in focus was Hermione. She reached her hand out to him gently touching his cheek again.
"Good luck today." His voice was a false soar of happy, a sugary sweet, worthy of an Oscar or something.
"Thanks mate, but luck has nothing to do with it." Harry said looking at a completely different version of him in the mirror. A bit heavier with shorter hair and no ugly scar down his cheek. A happier version, a pre-bullet-in-the-head version.
He straightened the maroon tie that hung neatly from around his neck. He smiled, this was their day and nothing was going to change that.
"I guess things are finally looking up huh?" The false voice spoke again.
"I hope so." Harry said as he turned around to face his friend.
All he turned to was a rain slicked street, with the big green army bag now slung over his shoulder, and a little black case in his hand.
"Harry!" A voice called from the doorway back into the warehouse. Harry turned to see Seamus watching him as he left."Don't go too crazy Potter." The tattooed Irishman called looking at his friend with concern.
"I think it's a bit too late for that." Harry said as he turned again to shove the heavy duffle bag into the backseat of his large dark car.