[RiddleRose]: 298.Gold Dust - NaNoWriMo '07.Chapter six

Chapter six.

Neil came and picked him up in a taxi. They drove back to his house, Wren clutching his head, and Neil making semi preoccupied but undoubtedly sympathetic noises. Sometimes the noises sounded like abbreviated yawns, and sometimes they were more like grunts, but Wren definitely knew that they were trying their hardest to be soothing. Neil just wasn't a particularly soothing person. He tended to turn on heavy metal and rock out at his typewriter when he was sick. Somehow, Wren thought that heavy bass wasn't going to help his head much.

But once he got to Neil's apartment, collapsed shivering on his enormous bed, and lay wrapped in blankets, sipping a mug of hot cocoa, he felt better. Maybe it was just the feeling of being taken care of. It made him feel better automatically. Even if Neil was a somewhat haphazard caretaker, if Wren made it clear that something was wrong, Neil would try his level best to make it better.

Neil was clicking away at his typewriter, deep in an inspiration. Occasionally he would growl, pound the table, take swigs of coffee, or yell, rip the paper out of the typewriter and throw it crumpled onto the floor. Sometimes he would pause, for long moments, apparently deliberating about what to say next. Occasionally there would be triumphant crows of glee, as something went right, and every now and then he would actually get up and dance around.

It was almost like a dance, or some sort of performance art anyway. Wren enjoyed watching it for a while. Then it got a little boring, except for the infrequent explosions of curse words, which came at seemingly random intervals. Usually this was followed by Neil beginning to yell at one of his characters, and often he would crumple up that sheet of paper.

To Wren, it seemed like at least half of the sheets of paper that got typed ended up in little piles on the floor. However, there was also small box next to Neil which was steadily filling up with neat stacks of paper. It was slow going, but it was definitely happening.

After about five hours, Wren's headache began to rapidly disappear. It had been slowly getting less and less severe, but now it began to just disappear completely. Soon after that he began to feel much less cold, and after about another hour, he was hungry again. Really hungry. He phoned for pizza and pad thai, and had it delivered to the apartment. Neil ate at the typewriter, absentmindedly apologizing for being a bad host.

Wren was completely used to it of course, and they had a brief mock insult exchange, where Wren denounced Neil as a terrible person, in fact, a cad and a bounder. Neil, in return, pretended to throw Wren out of the house. They both laughed and Neil went back to writing, while Wren scrounged for something to read.

He found a copy of Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut, but couldn't get into it. He found a copy of Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk, and liked it, but didn't want to read something so thought-provoking. He found a fluffy fantasy novel hidden in one of the secret compartments of the bed, and began to read. It turned out to be a printed and professionally bound version of a fanfiction, co written by two college girls. It was illustrated, and it was about Harry Potter's dad, and his friends, when they were in school.

Just right. Wren settled down to read. He thought it was funny, and that the ideas were creative. He was an avid reader of the Harry Potter series himself, although a slightly closeted one, and he appreciated the fact that the precursors of events in the actual series appeared in realistic forms in this. He also enjoyed the illustrations, and particularly the notes that got exchanged. They reminded him very strongly of the notes that he and Neil used to pass all the time when they were in high school. 

Both of them had been in honors classes, and had been good at science, so in science classes they tended to be a little bored. They would have note contests, which would sometimes escalate to full out wars, which continued from day to day, and were not at all confined to class. It had been incredibly fun, and had taken up many a boring class period.

It was a long fanfiction. The actual book, which Neil must have had made specially, was as thick as the fourth Harry Potter book. The writing was pretty good too, so he couldn't finish it all that night. At some point, he fell asleep with his head on the page.

Wren woke about ten hours later, to find Neil still sound asleep. Sometime during the night the inspiration must have worn off, and he must have taken away the book Wren had been reading. It was on the table next to the bed. The floor was clear of paper, Neil must have done his traditional thing and burned them at midnight, or whenever he did it. Wren didn't actually know.

There was a note from Neil tacked to the bathroom door. It said, “If you wake me up, your screams shall be heard until the end of time. You have been warned.” Wren grinned. Neil must have been writing something with torture in it or something. 

He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, (he kept a spare toothbrush at Neil's place, and Neil kept one at his), and shaved. He looked a bit the worse for wear, but he felt fine. It must have been some sort of twenty four hour bug or something. Wren decided to go through Neil's things for a while, just to pass the time.

First he made himself some tea. Wren liked tea, and he knew that if he made coffee, Neil would wake up, become a coffee zombie, and kill him in the battle that would inevitably ensue, as they both tried to fight for the coffee. Neil had studied karate, and was a second degree black belt. Wren didn't stand a chance.

After he had enjoyed the tea, Wren went around the apartment tapping the walls. He would not put it past Neil to have a few secret compartments somewhere in there. Neil was good at making secret compartments, and he enjoyed them a great deal. It probably had something to do with being a writer.

He did find one, but it was filled with stacks of manila folders, and a few bottles of Gold Dust. Wren guessed that this was Neil's private stash, and left everything as it was. He went around the walls one more time, before starting on the floor. 

He discovered no less than five secret compartments. They were all in very uncomfortable places, under the bed, under the desk, in the center of the floor, covered by a rug, in a corner, hidden by the small couch, and only accessible through the cupboard under the bathroom sink. Wren was able to get the one under the bed open pretty easily. It contained manila folders, which he did not touch. Neil didn't want people to read his writing, and however stupid this seemed to Wren, he would respect his friend's wishes.

He couldn't open the one under the bathroom sink, no matter how he tried. It just wouldn't open. Wren suspected that there was a tiny lock that he just couldn't see because of the bad light. There were also two bigger locks, only one of which Neil was able to easily open. He gave up on that one. It wasn't worth it.

The ones in the corner and under the rug were very small. One was empty, and the other only had a couple of fat manila folders in it.

The one under the desk was double locked, and Wren had to improvise a couple of lock picks to get it open, because he had no idea where the keys would be. Probably somewhere completely wacky, like down Neil's pants, or something similar. Somewhere that no one would ever in their life think to look.

This one was much larger, and contained several Tupperware containers full of Dust, and a lot more manila folders. Wren was beginning to be very impressed by the amount of folders that Neil had. He knew Neil kept his finished manuscripts in these, and he guessed that each folder contained one completed manuscript, since they were all different sizes. He had so far seen at least thirty folders.

There was also a small, leather bound book in the very farthest corner of the compartment. Wren managed to get it out by bending his arm at an uncomfortable angle. It turned out to be a diary. Wren hesitated. This went beyond the simple country farm that was curiosity, and entered the palace that was snooping. But in the end he was just too curious as to why Neil would keep a diary of all things, when he wrote so much anyway, that he had to look.

He flipped through briefly first, finding that Neil was about three quarters of the way through. The first entry was about two years ago. It simply said that senior year was fun, life was pretty boring, and his writing was progressing well. He mentioned briefly the food fight he and Wren had gotten into the day before, reminiscing for an entire paragraph over his brilliant use of a bowl of whipped cream. Wren grinned at the memory.

The next entry was much later, and went like this: “Have discovered something interesting. Will continue to investigate. Could be profitable.”

Soon after that there was an entry that said, “Eureka! Perfect money-making scheme! Invent incredibly addictive drug, sell it! Will tell Wren. He can deal it, he's street wise. Bonus, since I just invented it, it's not even illegal. Although we'll have to be very very careful anyway. It's very pretty. I shall call it Gold Dust. That is what it looks like after all. I make it by burning the rejected paper from my typewriter in ethanol. For some reason, instead of ash, I get this powder. It's incredibly fine, and absolutely beautiful.”

After that the entries were pretty regular, about one a month, and they mostly just detailed the rise in sales of the Dust, its popularity, and how much he was making. However, about halfway through the diary, the entries became much more frequent, and began talking about Neil himself. He was worried, he thought he was going crazy. “It may be just the booze. Wren is always telling me to cut back. But I seriously think I may be going crazy. I hope I don't start gibbering or something.”

And later, “Yep, definitely insane. Thoroughly, completely, barking mad. Fuck. I think I hide it pretty well. But fuck.”

Then they got more frequent, and more personal still. “Ack. Ack ack ack ack. Suddenly I am doubting myself. Why am I not attracted to girls? I just realized, with this new story I've been writing. What's up with that? I mean... am I gay? I'm not attracted to Wren like that. Thank god, if there is one. But I'm not attracted to girls either. I mean... ack. I'm not sure if I want to be gay. Maybe I'll just call it 'questioning' for now. That sounds good.”

“Well... less and less questioning. Okay. So probably gay. But not definitely! Maybe. Probably. Maybe. Grrr.”

“Gay and fucking insane. What an amazing combination. Insane, gay, gay, insane. Ack. I am the most messed up person ever. Except that my life is not so bad. Just my brain and my hormones. Although maybe 'messed up' isn't the right way to put it. Well, my brain is definitely totally fucked up. But maybe my hormones are just... unexpected. I like that. Unexpected.”

“I just realized. I'll probably have to tell Wren about this at some point. I mean, he is my best friend. But what if he's homophobic or something? I don't think he is, but we've never really discussed it. I guess I'm worried because he might think I'm trying to tell him I'm in love with him or something. That would be bad. He's definitely not gay, and he'd probably get a bit weird if he thought I liked him like that. Plus, it's not true. I guess he's not my type. Whatever my type is. Phew! Note to self: find out what your type is.”

And the last entry, written, apparently, just before Wren had called yesterday. “Have made up my mind to tell Wren. Am a little nervous. I'm crazy, I just discovered I'm gay, and now I'm coming out to my best, (and maybe only) friend. Ack. Phone's wringing. Later: that was him. He's sick. Perfect opportunity to tell him. Will do so. Ack. Wish me luck self. Good luck.”