He checked his watch and frowned when he realized that little more than a minute had past.
He rested an elbow on the leather-bound arm of his chair and cradled his head in his hand. This was accompanied by the bouncing of his right leg. The other unfortunate side effect of being stuck in one place for extended periods of time was that invariably the fidgeting would kick in. It had started slowly ten minutes prior. By now it had all but redlined.
Mindlessly Jared rubbed at his wrist before he checked his watch again. Little more than thirty seconds had elapsed since his previous check.
Fuck.
He looked around the room for a distraction and noted that his was the only sweatshirt in a sea of suits and ties, knowledge which did little to calm his already overdriven nerves. The First Bank of Boston was not the kind of place that one usually went to wearing jeans and a Sin City hoodie. The building itself commanded a certain level of decorum. Though its brick walls had survived two centuries and a Civil War, in the grand scheme of things an afternoon with Jared Sykes would do it no harm.
He lowered the volume on his iPod enough that he could listen for the echoes of hard soles on the polished marble floor, but the steps he heard were not headed in his direction. He sighed as he subconsciously increased the speed of his toe-tapping.
Frustrated, Jared pulled the buds from his ears, slid his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, and slouched low in his seat. He knew that he would most likely be wearing the headphones again within the next minute, and that he would probably spike the volume to an obnoxious level. He also didn’t care. His brain was telling him that he needed to shift, so shift he did.
He cast his head back and looked up at the sunlight shining through an ornate stained-glass window. It almost felt like being in church. Jared surmised that he wasn’t too far off in that thought.
A second set of footsteps caught his attention, but he didn’t crane his neck to look until he was sure they were getting closer.
Oh thank fucking God.
A slender man with a neatly trimmed goatee and salt and pepper hair approach him. He was dressed in a fitted charcoal suit with a pastel blue shirt, all of which was accented by a striking silver tie. In his hand he carried a rather thick keycard bound to an elastic coil.
Jared saw him and immediately straightened up in his seat.
“Mr. Sykes?” the slender figure asked him.
“Yeah?”
“Jeffrey Martin. Pleasure to meet you.” He extended a hand, an act which prompted Jared to practically leap from his chair. “I understand you’re here to see about the contents of a safe deposit box?”
“Uh, yeah. I am.”
Jeffrey offered a thin smile and nodded slightly. “If you could just follow me for a moment.” He gestured with his right hand to an office just off the main room. Once inside he took a seat behind a large oaken desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Jared reluctantly obliged. He was anxious to get what he had come for, and there was something about the building that made him uncomfortable enough as it was. Plus, he knew he was less apt to flail about nervously while on his feet.
“There’s just a few small formalities before we head to the safe,” Jeffrey continued, smiling again. “First thing: I trust you have your key with you?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it here somewhere.” Jared dug into his pockets, suddenly afraid that he’d been dumb enough to leave the key in its usual spot in his dresser. When at first he didn’t find it Jared cast a quick grin at Jeffrey that was more awkward than reassuring. “I know I brought it with me.”
He was seconds away from cursing when his fingers touched upon the cold metal buried deep in his left pocket.
“Yep, here it is,” he said, holding it up triumphantly before setting it down lightly on the desk.
“Wonderful. I’ll also need a photo ID, if you don’t mind.”
That Jared had ready.
“Here you go.” In his eagerness to hand it over, Jared lost his grip and accidentally flung his license the length of the desk. He winced as it bounced lightly off Jeffrey’s lapel. “Oh, uh, sorry about that. Guess I got a little carried away.”
“Don’t worry,” Jeffrey reassured with a wave. “It happens all the time.”
Jared was fairly convinced that no, it in fact did not happen all the time.
“I just need to make sure everything matches up, register your visit in the system, and then we’ll be on our way. This shouldn’t take too long.”
“Not a problem.”
Hurry the fuck up.
The waiting was starting to get to him. Jared was well aware of the policies and procedures that governed his visit. Under any other circumstances he might have been happy to know that whatever he kept in private box #481 were held in such high regard by the bank.
Not today though. Today he needed what was inside and he needed it now.
He could feel his leg start to shake again, so he quickly and forcibly planted a hand on his knee to prevent it.
After a few moments, Jeffrey looked up from the computer. “Okay. Let’s take you to it.”
They exited the office and crossed through the main room once more, this time heading to an unassuming door in the far corner of the building. At least once Jared had to stifle the urge to break into a full sprint.
“The viewing room is just around the corner.” Jeffrey gestured to a small, secluded room. “If you’d like to wait inside I’ll be by momentarily with your box.”
“Okay.”
Jared handled his third round of waiting with far less grace and dignity then he’d exhibited before. When he sat in the room’s lone chair almost immediately did his leg start bouncing. Being alone he cared little to try and stop it, and soon his nervously tapping heel was accompanied by the drumming of fingertips on the desk’s lacquered surface.
“Overactive, sugared-up sprite.” That’s what Desade had once called him. Had anyone been witness to this private spectacle they might very well have agreed with her.
He was in the middle of tapping out what sounded like the drum solo to Rush’s “YYZ” when the door opened again.
“And here we are.” Jeffrey carried with him a long steel container, only slightly larger than a shoebox. He set it down on the table with the key side facing Jared.
“There is a buzzer outside the door,” he continued. “When you’re finished you can press that and I’ll be back to put everything away for you. Take as much time as you need.”
Jared’s key had already disengaged the lock by the time Jeffrey had finished.
“No need.” Jared looked up briefly over the lid of the now open box. “I just need, like, two minutes and we can put this back.”
“Oh. Very well then.” Jeffrey was visibly surprised. “In that case I’ll be just outside.”
Jared waited until he was alone in the room before he removed the contents of the darkened silver box and set a second metal container down on the table. This one was markedly smaller and was held shut by a combination lock.
“Alright then,” he whispered to himself.
He removed the watch from his left hand and rubbed at the small tattoo the band had kept hidden. It was nothing fancy, or extravagant; just a simple collection of letters and numbers.
VMMH-JAS024601
He let his eyes linger on it for a few moments before his fingers set about the task of entering the combination.
24 right. 6 left. 1 right.
The combination was one he had committed to memory two years ago. Reading the numbers from his wrist wasn’t as much to unlock the box as it was to remind him of why he was here, and what he was coming to get.
From inside the second box he retrieved a small, black journal that he pressed to his forehead with both hands. In the wake of his best friend’s death he hoped that it would bring him a small amount of comfort, and perhaps offer some reassurance that his life was not in the condition he feared.
Ultimately, the contents of the black journal offered him little comfort.
News of the passing of Mervin Humperdink was everywhere, omnipresent, inescapable. Any hope of watching television was out the window. The news seemed to be on every channel.
Later on Fox 25 news: A local man shot and killed in Cambridge, his killer still at large. How you can help, tonight at ten.
He couldn’t browse online without someone sending him an instant message about it. Even wrestling websites that had long ago forgotten about him seemed to be making mention of it.
Listening to local radio was out of the question.
Cambridge police are urging anyone with information regarding last Wednesday’s Central Square shooting to come forward. Up next Peter Gammons talks about what the winter meetings mean for Red Sox Nation.
His voicemail box had filled twice. It was all anyone seemed to want to talk about.
Jared, hey. It’s... It’s Justine. I’m so sorry. I just heard, and... I know we haven’t talked in a while, but if there’s anything you need please, please let me know.
It was too much for him to handle.
When he parked himself on the couch with a bottle of gin the hope was that it would take just enough of the edge off to get through the rest of the weekend unscathed. Maybe he would even be able to summon the courage to attend the wake, or the funeral. Maybe Arthur Humperdink, Mervin’s dad, wouldn’t take a swing at him this time.
Maybe…
“Uncle Jared!”
The fact that the door was unlocked and no one was answering didn’t phase young Emma Simon. She cast it open and bounded into the front hallway of Jared’s home.
Outside, her father, Gabriel, wasn’t even out of the car. Jamie was still only on the sidewalk when she heard a shrill cry from inside the house followed by her daughter running back to the car, faster than when she’d run in.
“Emma, honey, what’s wrong?” Jamie kneeled to cradle her frightened child. “What happened?!”
She pulled her daughter in closer, and the little girl’s trembling shook her. In between sobs, the folds of her heavy winter coat muted her daughter’s response.
“He’s dead!”
Jamie’s eyes widened, and her head snapped towards her husband. Gabe didn’t see it. He had already sprinted to the door.
His foot, wet from the snow, overshot the small throw rug just inside the hallway and hit the tile. He lost his balance, slipped, and was on his ass before he knew it.
“Son of a bitch!” he yelled, loud enough for his family to hear him outside.
Gabe quickly scrambled back to his feet. He could hear his wife shout something from the car, but his brain only registered it as noise. He steeled himself, preparing for the worst, and took stock of the scene around him.
A dozen or so tiny white pills dotted the carpet, the last occupants of the clear orange bottle that lay by the couch. The corner of the glass coffee table had been shattered, leaving a jagged, bloodstained edge. In the middle of all this, prone on the floor, Jared Sykes lay unconscious. He was breathing, albeit faintly, but it was enough to silence the fears Gabe had about walking in to find his friend dead on the floor.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Jared.” Gabe dropped to his knees. “What the fuck did you do?”
He reached across Jared’s chest, careful to avoid dipping his arm in the vomit that had collected on the Black Sheep’s shirt, and pried an empty gin bottle from his hand. He dug into his own pocket looking for his cell phone, but came up empty.
“Gabe?” Jamie had been quiet enough not to alert her husband when she crept to the front door. “Is he…?”
“No, he’s just stoned out of his fucking mind.” Gabe whipped his head around. “Is Emma…?!”
“She’s in the car.”
“Good.” A flash of anger hit him at the thought of what his daughter had seen, but he quickly suppressed it. He would deal with that feeling soon enough. “I don’t have my phone. I need you to call 911.”
“Oh God, do you think he…”
“Just call!” In the nine years they’d been married, Gabriel Simon could count on one hand the times he had barked at his wife. This was one of them.
Jamie nodded and stepped outside. Her husband quickly rose to his feet and dashed into the kitchen, coming back in short order with a dishtowel. He pressed it against the large gash in Jared’s left bicep, picking away a few shards of broken glass that lingered there.
“If you get out of this I’m going to kill you personally.”
He picked up a large chunk of broken glass and set it down on the table. Under the weight of his grip he could feel Jared start to move.
First his head began to bob, and then his fingers rose and fell. It was as if he was adrift on a slow-rolling ocean. For a moment it looked as though his eyes tried to open, but they formed little more than slits before slowly closing again. All of this Gabe could handle. Every little movement gave him a bit more hope that things weren’t as bad as he originally thought.
It was Jared’s hollow, almost ethereal giggling that made him uneasy.
“Jesus, man,” Gabe whispered.
He pulled another large piece of glass out of the rug and set it down on what remained of the coffee table. As he did so his hand brushed against the black journal that rested there. Curious, Gabe turned the book to get a better look.
...People here are generally nice. Most of them keep to themselves though. It’s funny, it’s like everyone is so afraid of what the rest of the group will think, even though we’re all more or less in here for the same reason. At some point someone thought we were each fucking nuts. You’d think that might make for a nice little ice breaker. “Hi, my name is Jared. What’s yours? Isn’t being crazy just fucking dandy?”
Or not...
“Gabe?”
“Huh?” Jamie’s voice pulled him away from the journal, which he quickly closed as though he expected to be scolded for reading it.
“There’s an ambulance on the way.” She stayed in the doorway, afraid to step inside the house. “And Emma’s still calming down in the car.”
“Good.”
“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”
Gabe just shook his head. “I have no idea.”
He'd waited until later in the day to go, making sure that the funeral party was long since gone and the grounds crew had enough time to fill in the plot with dirt. Though he went alone Jared still made sure to wear a suit, black and neatly pressed. Under any other circumstances he might look handsome, perhaps even dashing. Instead of flowers he carried with him a small action figure.
Chewbacca, sidekick to infamous smuggler Han Solo, was held tightly in Jared's sweaty palm. The character had always been one of Mervin's favorites, and was the source of a point of contention between the two friends. Mervin always argued that it was a travesty that Chewy never received a medal for the destruction of the Death Star. Jared figured that getting to hang out with Han Solo was reward enough for anyone.
As he drew closer to the grave, Jared wondered whether he’d been foolish enough to apply the same flawed logic to the relationship he had come here to honor. The thought made him squeeze the toy all the harder.
His pulse quickened. His breaths were shorter. For a moment he regretted making the decision to come alone. The unfortunate side effect of not wanting anyone to see an emotional outburst also meant that he had no shoulder to lean on.
He walked in slow motion, and with each step the color seemed to drain from the world. The sky, already a light shade of gray, grew darker and more dismal. The hues of the nearby trees bled into themselves, slowly oozing from the tips of the branches down the trunks and seeping outwards from the roots. Footsteps in the grass behind him turned to ash that scattered in the wind.
In contrast, the headstone was still a polished charcoal and the grave itself remained a deep, rain-soaked brown.
“I, umm, I'm sorry I missed everyone.” The words were laced with tears that he tried desperately to restrain, and when he spoke the wind stopped. The world grew quiet, not daring to interfere. “I thought... I was afraid that...”
Jared shook his head as he dabbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. A single nervous laugh tried to escape his lips, but he did his best to choke it back. In the sheen of the headstone he could almost see his own reflection.
“I don't know what to say.” His voice had cracked. “I just don't think 'I'm sorry' is enough, and everything else just seems... Fuck.”
He knelt forward, pressing his knee into the soft earth and caring little that he was getting himself dirty. Jared cleared a small space between two floral arrangements and sat the small, plastic Chewbacca in the area between them. He buried his hands in his face and let the tears flow freely. A drop escaped between his fingers and fell to the ground. It hit the earth below and exploded in a tiny flash.
Beneath him the ground began to tremble. It was startling enough that he pushed to his feet and stepped back, not even taking the time to brush away the soil from his knees. He watched in horror as flower petals liquefied and fell before him, pooling together in the indentation he'd left. Jared's first instinct was to run, and though he willed his legs to take him away he found his feet too heavy to lift.
It's not enough.
His eyes quickly scanned the cemetery, looking for the source of the voice he thought he'd heard. The hair on his neck stood on end and a shiver danced the length of his spine. The urge to run was stronger, but he was still unable to move.
It will never be enough.
It was louder now, and though he could attribute no source to it Jared was certain that someone was speaking to him.
He looked to the ground and recoiled in fear. Liquid, black and viscous, had risen up from the dirt and surrounded his legs. It seeped outward all around him, draining the color from anything it touched. Around him the world was slowly dying, the life being pulled from it and collecting at the base of his feet. In the center of the pool a figure emerged, glistening black. Only when it was fully formed did its features start to take shape.
Mervin Humperdink's own suit was immaculate, showing no trace of the ichorous fluid from which he had risen. Through the folds in his jacket a faint purple light shone, held back by pale, clasped hands ending in jagged talons. Dark, sunken eyes looked out from behind the lenses of thick glasses.
“You owe us much more than that.” Two voices spoke as one. Joining Mervin was a voice much higher and more playful, like a child.
The sound dropped Jared to a knee. He lowered a hand to steady himself, but when he tried to stand soon found that his hand was bound by the same substance that held his feet; the same substance that birthed an abberation masquerading as his best friend.
The creature laughed when it saw this, blood seeping from the corners of its mouth. Jared soon understood why. Its teeth had been replaced by thousands of needles, each one digging deep into its lips and gums, each one opening a new wound with every word and every laugh.
“No,” Jared pleaded, earning another laugh from the creature.
It leaned forward and craned its neck to get a better look at him. Thin and gaunt it looked enough like Mervin, though its features appeared stretched and distorted.
“And what if we decide to take what you owe us?” it taunted him. Blood flew from its lips, spattering across Jared's face. It was close enough know that he could feel its breath, hot and ripe with decay, on his skin. “Tell us, Jay. What will you do then?”
He cringed at the name. Only one person had ever called him that, and Andrew Sykes had died almost nineteen years ago. It was never a name that Mervin used.
It reached a hand towards him, allowing a little more light to escape from inside its jacket. A long, jagged finger was dragged slowly across Jared's face with just enough pressure to scratch. Jared recoiled, but this only served to please the creature.
“Do you think they will be able to help you, hmm?” The creature looked past him and grinned. A few of the needles pressed out between its lips. “They know you will abandon them, too, eventually. And when their time comes you will not be able to protect them, just as you were not able protect us.”
It turned Jared’s head in its emaciated fingers, forcing him to look at the collection of people gathered by a nearby tree.
Gabriel Simon. Jonathan Rhine. Thad Denver. Coral Avalon. Charley Crisp. “Cinder Burn”, David McBride. “Crash Domino”, Charlie Beckett. Amy Campbell. One by one they closed their eyes and shattered. The pieces of each fell to the ground, liquefied, and drained into the ground.
“Such a pity.” Slowly the creature turned Jared’s head back. They were now but inches apart.
It grinned again as it released him. The blood now poured from its mouth, falling onto its shirt and staining it a deep red. The creature straightened itself, clasped its hands together, and turned away.
“We think,” it hissed, casting a menacing glance back over its shoulder. “We think we shall have you now.”
Jared felt his body grow heavier. The liquid had begun to pull him into the ground. With his free hand he tried to fight against it, but it too was trapped. The last thing he saw before the earth swallowed him was a crack in the sky and a bright flash of light.
Jared tried to focus his eyes, but the world was blurry. As his senses started to boot up he began to take stock of his situation. He knew he was in a strange place, lying on an unfamiliar bed. He could hear the faint whizzing and beeping of machinery. Above him shone a single light that burned his already strained eyes. His first thought seemed rational, at least to him, given the details of his situation.
Aliens. Fuckers finally got me.
Jared heard laughing and this confused him. Thirty-one years of science fiction and never once could he remember an alien, at least not the kind that stole people away in the night, laughing about anything.
“Aliens?” an unseen voice asked. “Wow, you’re more screwed-up than I thought.”
Jared also didn’t remember vocalizing his thought.
He raised a hand to his face, but his arm responded slowly, unwilling to cooperate. He shielded his eyes with his hand and turned in the direction of the voice. In an uncomfortable wooden chair Gabriel Simon was shaking his head.
“Hi,” Gabe said sarcastically, offering a small wave. “And welcome back to the land of the living.”
“Huh?” It wasn’t as much a word as a grunt in the form of a question, but it was all that Jared could muster.
“You were out of it for a while, you know.” Gabe inched forward in his chair. “Scared the shit out of us. Out of all of us.”
Jared’s expression was one of confusion, but this came as little surprise to his only guest.
“You don’t remember, do you?” Gabe pressed.
“N-no?” The Black Sheep found speaking difficult. His throat hurt, his mouth was dry, and the taste of gin and stale vomit still lingered on his tongue.
“Can’t say I’m surprised. You were really out there. Like, really out there.”
Jared groggily rubbed at his eyes, and for the first time felt the dull ache in his right arm. He let his gaze drift first to the bandaged wound before letting his eyes wander listlessly about the room.
“How long have I been here?” He smacked his lips in disgust. The taste in his mouth was starting to make him nauseous.
“Including today? Three days.” Gabe let his eyes drop to the floor. “You missed the funeral.”
“Oh.” Jared exhaled a long sigh as he let his head fall back into the pillow. He turned away, facing the door. “Probably for the better. His family kinda hates me.”
“I overheard somebody asking for you.” Gabe shrugged. “No idea who, though.”
“Great.” The response from the bed was weak, and Jared still wasn’t making eye contact.
Gabe decided not to press that particular issue. He did however find it necessary to address the other elephant in the room.
“So seriously, Jared, what the fuck were you thinking?” His voice was harsher now and more stern. It was the same tone he used when his daughter Emma managed to get herself in trouble. “Were you trying to kill yourself, or did you just not care whether it happened?”
“I just...” The question had formed a lump in his throat. “I just wanted to shut it all off for a while.”
“Shut what off?”
“Me.”
“Oh, that makes a fuckload of sense.” Gabe’s small outburst temporarily attracted the attention of an orderly in the nearby corridor. He looked up from his cart briefly and then quickly pushed it away. Seeing this Gabe brought the volume down a bit. The intensity didn’t change though. “Except for that fact that now you’ve got more problems to deal with because of it. This shit doesn’t magically get washed away just because you try to drown it with alcohol, Jared.”
“I didn’t think it’d go as far as it did.”
“You have no idea how far it apparently did go.” Gabe’s expression was a blend of irritation and disappointment. “It was only this morning that you stopped trying to grab imaginary bugs out of the air. And let me tell you something. On a scale of one to creepy? Pretty fuckin’ creepy.”
Jared said nothing. Instead he raised his hands, again taking note of the throbbing in his left bicep, and pressed his palms into his eyes.
“Emma found you, you know. She came running out of the house crying because she thought you were dead.” Gabe was on his feet now, pacing. Much the same way Jared found it hard to look at Gabe, Gabe now found it equally hard to look at Jared. “She was hysterical that whole afternoon. Do you have any idea how much it scared her? Hell, even Jamie was terrified. She wouldn’t even come in the house.”
For a moment, the room was silent save for the occasional click of the IV unit.
“Okay, so don’t say anything then.” The anger that Gabe had been bottling for three days was starting to seep out. “Just fucking pretend that you’re not an irresponsible prick. My daughter, man. My goddamn daughter! You have no idea what the last few days have been like. I thought you were more mature than this, that you had a better handle on yourself, but wow was I wrong. I know it was an accident that she saw you, and I don’t care. I really expected more out of you.”
He paused to rub at his temple. “If she grows up and writes a book about this I am so going to kick your ass.”
“Fuck,” Jared sighed. He pulled his hands from his eyes and stared into the light above him. When he looked away tiny dots of purple and green danced across his field of vision. “Gabe, I...”
“I know.” Gabe leaned against the window. The cool of the glass helped to wick away the heat from his rising temper. “I mean, I always knew you were kind of fucked up, but this? This is way out there, Jared. Even for you.”
“You're not helping.”
“I don’t give a fuck. You need to hear this, and it needs to sink in. You know what the doctor's said?” Gabe continued unabated. “You dodged one hell of a bullet. You could have had a seizure, or your kidneys could have shut down, and there was something about liver failure in there too.” He pressed the side of his forehead against the glass and looked down into the parking lot below. “And did I mention the imaginary bugs?”
“Yeah.” Jared's voice trembled as he spoke.
“Then I'm mentioning them again, because that was seriously the weirdest thing I've ever seen. I'm going to have nightmares for a week.” Gabe pushed away from the window and walked back to his chair. “Whatever, I'm done with the lecture.”
“Thanks.”
“But seriously though, if you ever go all psychotic on me again I'm going to kill you. Just throwing that out there.”
“Good to know.”
Gabe pursed his lips and thought for a moment. He'd never admit how tough this was for him. The relationship he had with Jared was playfully argumentative; a holdover from adolescent strife and days when the two flat out hated each other. It was comfortable, familiar, and breaking it never felt natural to either man though it seemed to come easier to Jared than to Gabriel.
“So what's with the thing on your hand?” Gabe nodded as he spoke, gesturing to the small tattoo on the inside of Jared's left wrist. “Never knew you had one of those.”
Instinctively Jared buried his arm under the blanket.
“I don't,” he said, doubtful that Gabe would buy the lie.
“Bullshit. I can see it.”
“I don't,” Jared said again, this time more forcefully.
Gabe threw up his hands. “Alright, fine. If you want to be all secretive and not tell me, then whatever. Just never figured you the type, is all. Not like I really care. Just making small talk so you don't freak the fuck out again. Jesus.”
“I, umm...” Jared cleared his throat and cautiously slid his hand back out from under the blanket. He exhaled a long sigh as he raised his arm just high enough for Gabe to see. “I got it a few years ago.”
“What's it of? What do the numbers mean?”
“It's a patient ID,” he said reluctantly. Under normal circumstances he'd have probably never told Gabe the story behind it, but seeing as he'd already been outed there was little point in trying to keep it hidden. “I, umm, I don't know if I ever told you but I spent some time in... There were a few months when...”
Including Gabe, only seven people knew of the tattoo's existence, and every time he'd had to tell the story behind it Jared balked when he got to the part about the time he spent in a mental hospital. People tended to think a certain way about him. He feared the knowledge of his self-imposed committal would only serve to bolster the notion that he was, in fact, quite out of his mind.
Jared snorted out a laugh and shook his head. “I got it when I was pretty low. I figured it'd help me never go to that place again.”
“Guess it didn't work the way you expected.”
“Guess not.”
“You're sure this is okay?”
“Yeah, I'm positive. She'll be totally fine with it.”
Gabe Simon stood on the sidewalk outside his house waiting for Jared to drag a moderately sized duffel bag from the back of his car. A good host would have offered to help.
About to shut the rear passenger's side door, Jared froze. “Wait, what do you mean 'will be'? You mean you haven't talked to her about it yet?”
The lingering animosity that Jamie Simon held for Jared Sykes was a thing of legend, only spoken about in whispers told by men too brave or too foolish to know better. Her anger could be traced back to a singular event, when in a drunken stupor she'd compromised her morality. As much as she hated him for it she hated herself more.
Gabe stepped back to the car, closing the door his friend had left ajar.
“I'm telling you, it's cool.” Gabe tried to be reassuring, but he could tell from the expression on Jared's face that his words weren't having the desired effect. “Besides, and don't take this the wrong way, but I really don't feel like now is the best time to let you back out in the wild.”
“I'll be fine, really,” Jared protested. “I don't need the twenty four-seven surveillance.”
“Yeah, and I'm the fucking King of Prussia.”
“And blueberries.”
“Just shut up and walk.”
As discretely as possible Gabe slid the cell phone from his pocket. His fingers went to work typing a text message that he hoped his wife would receive before the two men made it to the door and she found herself greeted with a surprise houseguest.
bringing j home. can he stay 4 a few? were outside. dont freak out!!!!1!
He slid the phone back into his pocket and prayed. There were three things in the world that scared Gabe Simon: snakes, drowning, and Jamie Simon. Given the choice he'd rather face a lake full of water moccasins than draw the ire of his wife. His heart ground to a halt when she opened the door.
She was smiling. He didn’t expect that.
“Hi, Jared,” she beamed, opening the door wide and gesturing him inside. “Come on in. How are you feeling?”
“I'm, you know, okay, I guess.” Jared, perhaps more than Gabe, had expected a different reaction upon entering the house. A moat of burning gasoline would not have been out of the question.
Jamie held her smile as Jared stepped past her.
“Oh, good,” Gabe whispered, making sure to keep his voice low. “So you got my...”
When she snapped her eyes back to her husband the smile was gone. Jamie's eyes were wide, her cheeks were flushed, and her mouth had grown small. Though he was twice her size and a trained fighter, Gabe cowered.
“We will talk about this later,” she snapped.
Water moccasins, Gabe thought. And maybe a few hundred vipers.
A day into Jared’s stay with the Simon family, Gabriel was still hearing it from his wife. Their most recent argument had taken place in the kitchen. Gabe had made the mistake of sneaking up on his wife while she was putting dishes away and suggesting that Jared join them on Christmas.
“Absolutely not,” Jamie said, forcefully closing a drawer to punctuate the statement.
“Come on, he’s not that bad. Emma would love it. He’s like a big kid, you know.”
“Emma?” Jamie spun on her heels and leaned against the countertop. She slowly pressed her palms against the cool granite surface and narrowed her gaze.
Gabe swallowed hard.
“Do I need to remind you again what our poor daughter saw?” she continued. “That is not the kind of thing I’m comfortable having in my house at all, let alone on Christmas.”
“Don’t you think you’re maybe being a little unreasonable? I mean, it’s not like I’m suddenly over all that. Believe me, I owe him a punch in the mouth or six. But for fuck’s sake, Jamie, his best friend just died.”
“First of all, watch your language. After everything that Emma’s seen already the last thing I need is her picking up some colorful new vocabulary.” She jabbed a finger at her husband. Gabe inched back a step. “And yes, I know all about what happened. I was at the funeral. So were you. You know who wasn’t?”
“Come on, Jamie…”
“No, Gabe.” She yanked open the silverware drawer and unceremoniously dumped in a load of freshly cleaned spoons. “If this meant that much to him then he’d have found a way to deal with it that didn’t involve killing his brain cells, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have found a way to knock himself out for three days. And I doubt he’s been to the cemetery yet.”
“He just got out of the hospital!”
“You could have stopped on the way here. You could have gone out this morning.”
“Look, it’s not exactly something I really want to force, or even bring up. The guy is…” Gabe looked around for signs of his daughter, and then leaned close to his wife and whispered. “The guy is fucked up, Jamie. He already tried to push the big red button once. I don’t want to do something that might make him think trying it again is a really awesome idea.”
“The big red… what?”
“You know, like in cartoons? There’s always the big red self-destruct button, with some glass dome over it and a sign that says ‘Do not push’, or whatever. And everybody always tries to push it, because the temptation is right there. I don’t want to put that temptation there.”
“You’re an idiot, sometimes. You know that?”
Gabe placed a hand on the counter, pulling it back wet. He mindlessly wiped it on his shirt. At this Jamie rolled her eyes.
“I just don’t see why you’re so worked up about this,” Gabe continued, now rubbing his palms together. He wasn’t sure what he’d put his hand in, though he was fairly certain it wasn’t water. “I mean I know you two don’t get along, but…”
“This has nothing to do with that!” she fired back, watching him recoil. “This is about having a man who OD’ed and almost died in the house with our daughter. You know, the same little girl who saw him passed out on the floor. I don’t want that influence around my kids. I don’t need that influence around my kids. I won’t have that influence around my kids.”
“But…” He stepped forward, palms up, but his wife had already made up her mind.
Jamie gave her hands a quick wash. She dried them on a nearby towel that she then tossed lightly onto the counter.
“Gabriel Dean Simon.” She used his full name. Full names meant business. “Absolutely not. And the sooner he goes home the happier I’ll be.”
Jared had never really spent much time in the Simon house. Invites were few and far between. This visit marked the first time he’d seen their basement, finished and furnished to act as a second, more relaxed family room. He’d been sleeping on the couch down there so as not to get in anyone’s way upstairs. It worked out well. There was a full bathroom, which meant that the only time he needed to invade Gabe or Jamie’s living space was when he got hungry, which fortunately wasn’t terribly often.
He was lying on the couch flipping channels when the door creaked open and tiny feet bounded down the stairs. Jared sat up just in time to be almost trampled over by an overexcited little Emma.
“Hi!” She smiled wide, revealing a gap where one of her baby teeth had fallen out.
“Hey, kid.” Jared’s own smile was weak. He wasn’t really happy, but he’d spent the better part of his adult life mastering the art of smiling on cue. Still, something about faking it for a child made him feel a little uneasy.
“I drew this for you!”
Her tiny hands held a sheet of yellow construction paper with a crayon drawing of Santa Claus and his reindeer. They were flying over a house that seemed ill equipped to support the family of giant stickmen who apparently lived there. Jared held it gently in his hands, afraid to wrinkle it even a little.
“You did?”
“Mmhmm.” She plopped down on the couch next to him, still smiling. “So you won’t be sad anymore.”
“Oh.”
“Daddy says that you’re sad. Sometimes when I’m sad I cry.” She had started to swing her legs back and forth over the edge of the couch. “Sometimes I cry when I’m scared, too. Are you scared?”
“I…” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, a little bit.”
“You shouldn’t be scared. My daddy will protect you.”
She smiled again, wider this time. In spite of himself Jared couldn’t help but laugh a little. Tears had welled at the corners of his eyes just as they had every day since Mervin had died.
“I don’t know if he can help with this one, kiddo.”
“Yeah-huh. You know why? ‘Cause he’s big, and strong.”
Jared started to shake a little. His laughing was making it harder and harder to keep the rest of his emotions at bay.
“You know what else?” she asked him. “Sometimes I cry when Mommy and Daddy get mad at me. Is somebody mad at you?”
“I think so.” He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. “I think a lot of people are mad at me, Em’. I know I’m mad at me. I’m, like, really mad at me.”
“Why?”
“It’s… it’s kinda complicated. I’m not sure if you’d understand. Someone I cared about got hurt, and I didn’t know how to handle it, so I made a big mistake.”
She giggled, and bounced up to her feet. Standing on the cushions of the couch she was taller than him, and he was completely taken aback when she leaned in to hug him.
“I’m not mad at you,” she said.
The floodgates opened and his tears flowed without restraint.
“Emma, honey?” came a voice from the stairs.
The two figures on the couch looked up to see Jamie Simon standing on the carpeted basement steps holding a basket of laundry. Jared had no idea how long she’d been there, or if she’d been listening at all, but he figured she’d heard enough.
“Hey, Jamie.”
“Mom, I made a picture for Jared.”
“Awesome, baby.” She descended the rest of the stairs and set the laundry basket down on the floor. “Em’, can you go play upstairs for a few minutes so your ‘uncle’ and I can talk?”
“Okay.” Emma hopped off the couch and sprinted to the steps. Before climbing the first she turned to Jared and offered a little wave. “Bye,” she whispered.
Jamie waited until her daughter was gone before she stepped over to the couch. Jared quickly rose to his feet and slid his hands into his pockets.
“Great kid,” he blurted before Jamie could speak. “Really, you guys did an awesome job. You should be proud.”
“Jared…”
“So, yeah,” he continued, this time cutting her off. “I’ve been meaning to tell you how much it means that you guys let me stay here and all. I really appreciate it, and I know you didn’t have to, especially since, well, you know.”
Again Jamie opened her mouth to speak. Again Jared beat her to the punch.
“But don’t worry, because I decided that I’m going to head home today, so I’ll be out of your hair. Just gonna get my stuff together and then I figure I’ll see if Darren or someone can come pick me up. No idea where my car is.”
“Jared.” Jamie raised both hands in an attempt to get his attention, or at least break his train of thought before he started rambling out of control. “Don’t feel like you have to go. I know these things take time.”
“I just don’t wanna be a problem.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“But I feel like I’m imposing, and I know with Christmas coming up that it’s got to be crazy for you. I know I was a train wreck when I was Em’s age, though I figure she’s probably more mature than I was. Hell, she probably still is.”
“Jared, really, it’s not a problem. You’re not imposing at all.”
“Jamie.” He cocked his head to the side and sighed. “It’s… Look, I heard you and Gabe arguing.” He waved a hand towards the ceiling. “Thin walls.”
He watched as a surge of embarrassment painted her face an interesting shade of red.
“Oh,” was all she could say.
“I get it, I do.” He shrugged and then scratched at the back of his neck. “I’m not proud of what happened, and it kills me to know that you guys had to find me like that. I know you and I probably aren’t even going to get along, and I totally get why, I just… I don’t want to cause any more problems than I already have, you know?”
“But…”
“Jamie, it’s cool. Trust me.” He smiled. This one was not forced. “It is what it is. I’m not going to pretend that it doesn’t suck a little, but this is your house, your family, and I don’t want to do anything that might screw it up.”
“I’m sorry that you heard all that, Jared. Really, I am.”
“Seriously, don’t stress it.” She stepped past her and put a foot on the bottom step. “And if Gabe asks, just tell him I was incorrigible – have I ever used that word before? – or that I wouldn’t listen to reason. He’ll probably believe either.”
“Will you be okay?” There was a look of genuine concern on her face. It surprised him a little.
Jared shrugged. “No idea.”
Jared stood in the doorway to his living room surveying the damage. The coffee table was broken. There were large chunks of glass on the floor and what remained of the tabletop. A few pills still dotted the carpet like tiny landmines. Near the couch rested a clear orange bottle, similar to the kind he’d thrown at Mervin in this very room only a few weeks prior. He’d used it to make a point during their fight, and then used it to try and forget that fight ever took place.
The bloodstains on the rug had time to dry and set. There would be no getting those out. Perhaps he might have better luck with what looked like a few drops of vomit, now days old. Either way he wasn’t in any hurry to touch it.
At least his journal was still here.
He unzipped his hoodie and threw it to a nearby chair. It bounced off the armrest and tumbled in a heap to the floor. Jared thought about picking it up, and then decided against it.
He stepped to the couch, careful to avoid stepping in anything unsavory or on any of the debris that littered his floor. There’d be a time for cleaning, but this wasn’t it. He fell into the couch and buried his face in a pillow, sighing. For a moment the thought of holding it there until his air ran out seemed frighteningly appealing.
From inside his pocket he pulled out a folded construction paper drawing, and cast the pillow aside long enough to look at it before folding it again and sliding it between the pages of his journal. He hoped it would make him smile; maybe lighten his spirits even if only for a few seconds. He wished it would spark something in his imagination, a tangent that would send his mind off in a new, happier direction. He hoped it would help him forget.
It did nothing, nothing at all.