"Angst Nauseum"
By M Man
"... and please tell Eric I've got the Peabody case under control! Please tell him! Will you, Daria?"
Daria stared at her mother's barely-recognizable face through the institutional barred windows. Should she play along with Helen's delusions? What else could she do? The electroshock treatments had robbed her of any capacity for real thought.
"I'll tell him, Mom. Don't worry. I'll tell him."
"Thanks so much, Daria. And how's Quinn?"
Daria hesitated.
"Uh, she's OK ..." she said evasively.
"Good, Daria. And tell Jake not to worry. I'll be home soon."
Daria sighed.
"OK, Mom, I'll tell him. See you next week ..."
"NOOOOO!!! DON'T GOOOO!! DARIAAAAAA!!"
Daria watched sadly as white-suited men corraled Helen, injected her with something to calm her, and dragged her away.
Daria arrived home. The house was empty. Quinn and Sandi hadn't come home yet.
Daria turned on the computer and opened an email from Jake. Bad news. He was close to being kicked out of military school.
Jake had tried to make up for the income lost when Helen was institutionalized by taking two jobs, but a background check had revealed that he hadn't completed all his courses in his last semester at military school. Middleton College had threatened to withdraw his degree, which would result in his consultant's license being revoked, so he had to go back and try to finish his last semester. But according to the email, he had nearly reached the semester limit on demerits.
Daria sighed. Nothing seemed to have gone right since that awful day when Helen, reacting in shock at the jury verdict in the Peabody case, had leaped into the jury box and attacked the jurors. Two of them had died, and three others were permanently maimed. Helen had been found innocent by reason of insanity and confined to the Lawndale Institution for the Criminally Insane.
Daria had just finished high-school then and, of course, had to give up any thought of going to college. She had found that the best sort of job available with only a high-school degree was ... well, she'd rather not think about that now. At least her job was better than Quinn's and Sandi's, who she now heard returning home.
"Quinn, like, you wouldn't believe what this guy wanted me to do ..." Daria heard Sandi say as they walked in the door.
"Sandi, can't you leave that kind of stuff at work?" asked Quinn.
"Well, I can't just keep it bottled up inside ..." said Sandi.
She stopped as she saw Daria.
"Like, what are you doing home already?" asked Sandi.
"Look, Griffin, we didn't have to take you in, you know," said Daria.
"OK, OK, I was just wondering."
"Um, yeah, Daria, isn't it early for you?" asked Quinn.
"Quinn, I got my hours cut back again," said Daria. "I'm afraid they might lay me off."
"Oh, no! Daria, I don't know how we can ..."
"It's OK, Quinn. We'll find a way to manage. I stopped to see Mom on the way home from work."
"And ... ?"
"She's no better," said Daria.
"Like if she ever got better, they'd probably execute her for killing those jurors," said Quinn.
"Quinn, they can't retry her, and ... well, I don't think she's ever going to get better, Quinn."
"Whatever, Daria. Did you hear from Dad?"
"He might be home soon. He thinks he's going to get kicked out of military school."
Quinn just sighed.
Quinn and Sandi stretched out on the sofa and turned on the television. They were no longer able to afford cable, but they satisfied themselves with whatever was on.
Daria still wasn't used to seeing Quinn and her once-fashionable friend dressed in hot pants, tight t-shirts and heavy make-up. But then, they had both been kicked out of school for that big knockdown-dragout fight they'd had after Sandi teased Quinn about Helen's arrest. Without high school degrees or any real experience, they'd both turned to prostitution. They had renewed their friendship after the Griffins' house burned down, killing Sandi's parents and brothers. Quinn had invited Sandi to come live with them.
"Oh, like, Daria, have you seen Fluffy?" asked Sandi. Sandi and Fluffy had been the only survivors of the house fire.
"Not for days, Sandi," answered Daria.
Quinn and Sandi were still on the sofa, sound asleep, when Daria got up the next morning.
Daria heard the doorbell ring. Who could that be at this time of morning? Daria opened the door.
"Aunt Amy?" she said, in surprise.
"Daria, I've been driving since four o'clock this morning! I can't take it anymore!"
Amy came into the room and threw herself down in an easy chair.
"Um, can't take what?" asked Daria.
"Erin and Rita! You know they moved in with me?"
"No, I didn't know that ..."
"Oh, Erin left Brian again and Rita's latest boyfriend double-mortgaged her house, so she lost it. So I let them move in, and ..." Amy heaved a big sigh of exasperation.
"And what, Aunt Amy?"
"Dammit, Daria, Erin seduced my boyfriend! And gave him herpes! And he seduced Rita and gave her herpes. And of course he gave me herpes! Damn, it itches!"
"But, Aunt Amy, why didn't you kick them out? It's your place."
"No, it's half my boyfriend's place. I'll have to institute legal proceedings to get him out. Helen can't do legal work any more from that insane-place or whatever she's in, can she?"
"I'm afraid not," said Daria.
"I thought they might let her practice her old profession as therapy or something. Oh, well, I guess I'll gave to call some other lawyer. What about that Eric she was always talking about?" asked Amy.
"Last I heard," said Daria, "he had cancer and only had a few months to live. He's probably dead by now."
"Damn! Daria, can I crash here?" asked Amy.
"Uh, sure, you use Mom and Dad's ..."
But Amy was already snoring.
Daria began to dress for work. She had to look good for work, but at least she got an employee discount on clothes. She had taken over Theresa's job at the Junior 5 section of Cashman's. Theresa had quit after deciding the Mall wasn't a safe place to work. It had, after all, been the second time she'd been raped in the parking lot leaving after working the night shift.
Daria sighed as she pulled on her fashionable slacks. She had worn skirts all her life, but she no longer could, because of the artificial leg.
She had been helping Jane assemble that large metal sculpture, and the whole thing had collapsed and fallen on them. One sharp piece of metal had severed Daria's right leg at the knee. She had gotten used to walking on the artificial leg, but Jane had never gotten over her guilt. Jane had gone to live with her Aunt Bernice in Middlebury, or so Daria had heard, and was now working in a sporting goods store, having given up art forever.
Daria wished she could re-connect with Jane, but her letters, emails and calls had not been returned. She thought she might try to talk to Trent again to see if he would act as an intermediary between them, but Jane and Trent were no longer close since Penny had dropped the bombshell that they weren't really brother and sister.
Daria looked sadly at the Landon's former house as she droved out of her neighborhood on the way to work. The terrorist attack a year ago had not only killed the President, but the first 150 successors to the presidency. The nation had gone a full day without a president until some bureaucrat decided that the 151st in line to the office was David Duke. President Duke had thrown all non-whites into concentration camps. The Landons had been rounded up quickly, as well as Quinn's friend Tiffany, among so many tens of millions of others. They had later come for Mr. DeMartino since President Duke had decided that "Eye-talians ain't really white people."
Daria turned on the car radio. It seems there had been a murder-suicide in a trailer park outside Lawndale, the result of a lovers' triangle. Daria grimaced as she heard the names of the victims: Charles Ruttheimer, Stacy Rowe, and Andrea Hecuba, who had killed the others with a butcher knife before slashing her own wrists.
She'd have to tell Quinn and Sandi about Stacy later, Daria thought.
Daria got, for a change, some good news at work. She was being transferred to the adult clothing section and being given more hours.
Unfortunately she had gotten on the bad side of her new supervisor immediately for arguing with a customer. The customer, Mrs. Johanssen, had insisted on trying on clothing several sizes too small. Daria had insisted that the overweight woman would rip the clothing by even trying to put it on.
So she went ahead and let Mrs. Johanssen try on the clothes, and sure enough they were ripped. Now Daria's supervisor was threatening to take the cost out of her paycheck.
What good were additional hours if they cost her money?
It was dark by the time Daria left the Mall. Ever mindful of what had happened to Theresa, Daria had her pepper spray in hand.
"Daria?" she heard a familiar voice say out of the darkness.
"Um, Tom? Is that you? What are you doing here?"
Tom stepped into the light. He was unshaven and looked like he hadn't changed clothes or bathed in over a week.
"Daria, you haven't answered my emails or anything ..."
"Tom! What's wrong with you? We broke up. Now leave me alone!"
"But, Daria, if you'd just listen ..."
"No, Tom! Now don't make me use this pepper spray on you. I will if I have to!"
Tom didn't move, but only watched sadly as Daria backed into her car and drove away.
Tom drove away, too, but in the opposite direction. What had gone wrong between him and Daria?, he wondered.
He found himself driving toward Outlook Point, a traditional makeout place for Lawndale teens. He had once been up there with Jane, but never with Daria, who refused to have anything to do with such a place.
He wasn't even sure why he was coming here. Nobody, after all, ever went to Outlook Point alone.
But, in the back of his mind, he really did know why he was here. He sped toward the row of parked cars full of hormone-driven teenagers. But instead of stopping his own car, he pressed the accelerator down to the floor, drove over the outlook, and plunged into a 500-foot drop.
Later that night, police would identify the car and the remains of one Thomas Angier Sloane, age 19, of Lawndale.
But in the dark of night, they failed to notice, underneath the car, the scattered fur and crushed bones that had once been Sandi's cat, Fluffy.
NOTES:
Much thanks to Firah for beta-reading several versions of this and for some very helpful comments.
Please e-mail (mman37x@cs.com) your reactions to this fanfic.
As always, fan-artists are strongly encouraged to draw pictures based on this fanfic.