“I’m never forgetting this, Landon,” I confessed. “I’ll never forget this. I can’t do it like you do. I can’t blank out the bad stuff and just move on from here.”
My breath hastened again. The realization clogged my airways.
“We need him back,” I choked. “He can’t be gone yet. I’ll take his place. I’ll do it.” I turned my fury to the Gods. “Take me instead. I want him back!”
I lurched away from Landon with an overwhelming belief that I could somehow shake Daryl back to life.
“No, Lucy,” Landon cried and pulled me away. “Listen. Look at me. Look at me! You won’t carry this alone. I’ll be here for you. I am so sorry tha
t I can’t take the pain away, but this is about becoming stronger. Becoming stronger without him to get in your way. You’re a fighter. This is what fighters do. We never asked for the circumstances we were given in life but we sure as hell can choose how we’re going to deal with them. You and I, we’ve always found answers to our problems. We always have.”
I thought back to the times we stood hand in hand, getting through the bullshit of our lives; Like when Landon was wrongfully accused of battery. Framed by a local gang-banger, he almost ended up in prison for five years. I took the fall, claiming self-defense and the cops bought it. Or there was a time when Landon couldn’t afford our school trip to Disneyland because his second foster mom drank the funds away. We worked our asses of mowing lawns in the neighborhood to pay for it. I remember to when my mom, high on her vices, had my neck tightly in her grip when she thought I’d raided her stash. Landon stood up to her by smashing her pipes and pouring her junkie filth down the sink… And he ended up taking a good left hook from Daryl for his trouble.
I didn’t want to think about Daryl right now… I didn’t want to think about all the ways he’d hurt us. I didn’t want to think about all the ways he’d hurt everyone.
“D’you hear me?”
“There might’ve been another way,” I said. “I should’ve found another way.”
Despite Landon’s optimism that everything would be okay with Daryl gone, I couldn’t accept it. I’d come to terms with the concept that Landon and I were cursed to live a life of suffering.
“No!” he snapped back and held me tightly by my shoulders. “There was no other way! You’re the one who went to Mac begging for help behind my back. Did you seriously think I wouldn’t get dragged into this? The things he did to you…The things he was going to do. That man would have ended you, and nobody would have blinked a damn eye. Not the school, not the cops. You were a prisoner with him, Luce. And when I said I’d kill to protect you, you knew I meant it.”
“I don’t blame you for any of it,” I responded numbly. “But I don’t want it. I fucked up. I fucked everything up!”
We stared at each other then I pulled Landon into me one last time to dig my bitten-raw fingernails into the muscles of his back. His warmth, even on that balmy night, was the nearest safe-haven I could find.
“Come with me… Please…”
“I can’t do that Lucy… You know that. I owe the debt to Mac, the club won’t let me patch out… If I go with you,we’re both going into the ground.”
“To hell with Mac, to hell with your fucking debt, and to hell with the goddamned club,” I cry, landing fits against Landon’s chest.
“I love you, Lucy… It’s not safe for you here. Get in the damn truck and don’t stop driving. Forget I ever fucking existed.”
“I can’t do that, Landon…”
“You have to.”
Chapter 1
Six Years Later
Six years almost to the day.
The visceral memories — the musty smell, the damp heat, Daryl’s pallor skin in the moonlight — I bury them with a palmful of prescribed meds I take every morning.
I click the cabinet door closed and lower my gaze to the sink instead of the mirror. I know what to expect to see in the reflection after an hour of sleep and I don’t want to be reminded of my exhaustion.
The beige and coral-colored pills form a small pile in my hand. I dry swallow them with well-rehearsed ease. Reminiscing on the burial of my father is the base state of my stream of consciousness, a song I hate playing on never-ending repeat. The pills help turn the volume down a little.
Time has allowed me to admit to eighteen-year-old Landon being wrong about the pain in my life ending that night. It didn’t. Then again, we were naïve and too hopeful for better circumstances. I don’t blame him for believing that ridding me of my father and of himself would solve all my problems. Still, through the wickedness and darkness my father brewed I rationalize that I’d rather have endured his wrath than have to deal with my present mental state. This guilt I carry is debilitating. I seek closure I’ll never find. I wander around in limbo, my present life just one big fat consequence.
I move from my bathroom into my tiny studio that looks out off the west cliff of Baddock National Park.
Northern California. The place I now called home… Through my back door, I see the morning blanketed with a dense marine layer that blocks my usual view of the ocean, or any other view beyond the redwoods in my backyard.
“Another day in paradise, hey handsome?” I say to my landlords’ overweight black cat, Babeen. I’ve come to accept he must enjoy my company to theirs considering how much time he spends here. I appreciate the companionship. Then again, maybe he just likes being fed.
My stomach croaks emptily as it digests my medicine. Babeen mews.
“Yeah, yeah. Alright, we should eat something.”
I crack open a can of tuna for Babeen and try ease my own grumbles with a banana. It isn’t long before he’s finished and makes his way to the couch… I’ve barely taken my first bite as I follow him.
“Mind scooting over?” Babeen lazily lifts his yellow eyes to me then returns to staring out the window. “Someone’s touchy today. What’s up little buddy?”
I sidle in beside his big furry mass that takes up half of the sofa while attempting to swallow a few more bites of banana. Babeen mews again and narrows his eyes.
“Well, it is my sofa technically, y’know?” He sits up, stretches, then clumsily climbs over to sit upon my lap.
“Oh, now you want some love, huh?”
I can’t explain how helpful it is to have another presence in the house, even of the feline variety. I consider Babeen somewhat of a confidant in the matters of my life. I tell him almost everything — my boy problems to my work frustration to my deepest hopes and desires — but I still don’t mention that night… Not even to a cat.
While we rest in silence, the sound of his purring lulls me. My eyes grow heavy with the warmth of Babeen’s weight and I drift to sleep.
An abrupt creak.
I jolt violently to the sound of my front door opening. My palm presses to my heart. Babeen leaps from me, scattering away through the back door.
“It’s only me.” I spin to stare wide-eyed at the figure in the doorway. It’s Billie, my landlord slash best friend…
Of the people in my life, this amazing woman would serve as the best soundboard for my woes but I’ve already built our relationship on an unstable foundation of mistruths. The town of Baddock know me as Lucy, but I’m far from the Lucy I’ve tricked them into thinking I am. I did it to protect myself. I long to tell Billie the whole story, especially when she warms me up with a few glasses of red. I wish I could tell her that I live in a state of paranoia. About how I still wait for the police to show up on my doorstep. I want to tell her about my recurring nightmares and that I can’t sleep longer than three hours a night. I want to tell her that I’m alone in this world. I want to tell her that I’m not who she thinks I am….
And I want to tell her how hard every day is that goes by without Landon in it.
But Landon doesn’t exist in New Lucy’s world.
“Everything okay? You look like you saw a ghost.”
“I was just having a little nap,” I say.
Billie rests the back of her hand to my forehead. “Aw, honey. What’s goin’ on? You feelin’ okay? You do look a little pale.”
I suck my teeth. My truths that I keep bottled up in me have reached a critical mass when someone pries. The secrets that I used to keep so easily are batting at their cages.
“I’ve been having a hard time sleeping.”
“Night terrors again?”
“Mm-hmm. Sleep paralysis. I lay there wanting to scream but…I can’t. And I can’t move and…yeah, I’m exhausted.”
“You sure you wanna work today then?”
“Yeah, ‘course.”
Billie takes one of my coats from a hook and rests it aroun
d my shoulders.
“We’ll get you better.” She squeezes me in for a hug. “Do you remember anything specific about them though? I mean, I used to be into studying the meaning of dreams and all that. I read a lot o’ books on them.” Her heavily make-up’ed face beams. Any chance Billie gets to relay her pseudo-spiritual wisdom on me is a chance she’ll take.
I smile to her. “They’re silly, B. I’m sure they mean nothing. Probably hormones or whatever messing with my mind.”
Billie sashays over to the corner of my studio that is aptly also my makeshift artist studio. The walls are littered with inspirational drawings, my own chicken-scratch sketches and paintings, and various nature-sourced relics I’ve collected from the forest floor during my hikes like pine cones, desert flowers and rodent skulls.
Billie’s fingers float over the curves of my latest oil piece that sits on my easel.
“Lucy Rivers, you talented girl, you,” she says, turning to me with eyebrows raised. “This is incredible. Dark, definitely, but incredible.”
“It’s nowhere near finished but thank you.”
“It looks stunning, baby girl.” She cups my face in her over-accessorized hands. “Though, gotta say your nightmares and producing…this? Well, I’m thinking there’s a past life of yours embedded in this one. Our bodies do that, you know? They’ve done research.”
“Oh, really?” I give a puckered smile to humor her.
“Really, really. They say trauma and fears from past lives lock into our DNA and stay with us.”
“They do, do they?”
“Look it up on your Google. Our ancestors imprinted us with their pain. Isn’t that incredible?”
“Sounds shitty to me, to be honest. Can’t that pain just die with them? And, besides, the painting doesn’t mean anything. I’m just…Drawn to darker tones right now. It’s seasonal.”