Lullabies For Suffering: Tales of Addiction Horror

by Mark Mathews (Ed)

  Something in Kelly burst, then. He roared back and started windmilling his arms, connecting with flesh more often than not.

  “Kelly!” His mother’s voice.

  Joy crying over him in the fields when he had his asthma attack. Joy sifting through garbage cans, looking for something to eat, the bone of her spine pressing too hard against her skin.

  “Kelly!”

  Hands pulled at him, but he was all rage and wiry young muscle.

  Joy counting out change so carefully. Disappearing into the night with a man while Kelly squeezed his eyes shut and pretended to be asleep, because it was easier for both of them that way. Returning with dead eyes and a heroin habit and scabbing needle marks and that cheap star pendant that she found so beautiful.

  “You did this,” he screamed. The only sound in the room was his voice, and it encompassed all. “You did this to her! You broke her, you ruined her, you destroyed your little girl and how could you? That isn’t what a father does!”

  Worn out, he finally stopped, panting, held back by hands dressed in mourning black. Blood ran from his face onto his new, tattered suit. Buck crouched on the floor, shielding his face with his hands. Kelly’s eyes roamed the room until they found his mother. Her face was white. Her hands shook.

  “Ma,” he said, and had to clear his throat. He spit blood onto the carpet. “Ma, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over—”

  “Find her, Kelly,” his mother said. She dug into her purse, came over, and pressed her wallet and car keys into his hand. “Don’t leave that little girl out there for one more second. You bring her home to us, do you understand?”

  Kelly nodded and pulled her into a quick hug. He ran upstairs, his long legs eating the steps, and grabbed the bundle of things he had squirreled away for Joy.

  “We won’t let him touch her,” his mother shouted after him. Kelly slammed the car into reverse and screamed out of the dirt driveway.

  He flew. He flew. He drove through the night, as fast as he dared, stopping only to gas up the car.

  “Ahem.” An attendant cleared his throat politely and nodded toward Kelly’s aching face. “Do you want some ice?”

  “Oh. No, thanks.” Kelly headed toward the bathroom and cleaned up the dried blood. He dabbed at his suit with paper towels and then washed his hands carefully. He ran his wet hands through his hair, trying to look presentable for his Joy.

  His nose was swollen and his face scuffed and cut from Buck’s rings, but his eyes burned with something dark and deep and full of resolve. This wasn’t the lost Kelly who usually looked back at him from gas station bathroom mirrors. His face had changed, the bones somehow shifting beneath his skin until he looked wolfish and whole. His thin shoulders had straightened themselves under the suit he had bought to honor his dead father. This Kelly didn’t need his Joy to watch over him while he slept. He would do the watching for both of them.

  “I’m coming,” he said aloud, and his chipped teeth looked sharp. He felt that he could dip his head down and pierce somebody’s jugular if it came to it.

  He almost hoped it came to it.

  He bought drinks and snacks with his mother’s credit card. He bought so many things that the clerk gave him four bags. He was going to shower Joy with treats, cheap gas station chocolates and caramel popcorn and all of the soda she could possibly handle. They were going to be ten years old again, stealing away in the dark to hide in the trees and eat Sweet Tarts and penny candies because they could buy a whole ten with a dime. They were going to stuff themselves with chips until they were sick, until Joy’s shriveled stomach nearly burst from the goodness, and she would curl up in the passenger side of the car under his mother’s quilt and sleep while he drove. He would drive and drive, under the sun and the stars, while she was safe and warm and protected and every bad memory would leak out the syringe holes in her arms. He would keep watch. He’d be the last one awake.

  “Think this will be enough for you?” the cashier asked wryly, eying the bags of snacks.

  Kelly’s face broke into a smile, and it felt deep. Genuine and natural. It spread and warmed his body from the face down.

  “Enough for a bit. I’ll be back soon. My girl and I will buy out the entire store.”

  He winked as he left. He held the door open for a striking brunette who was speaking to an Asian man with white sneakers. The man was gassing up an 18-wheeler.

  “Sure thing, Lu,” the woman called over her shoulder. She smiled her thanks at Kelly and the world was full of stars. It was going to be a day of magic. He could just feel it. He nodded at her companion by the gas pumps, and the man nodded back.

  See? Magic.

  He jumped into the driver’s seat and started on again. He sang with the radio. He sang his beating heart out.

  The city was as gray as it had ever been, but this time his heart leapt a little in his chest. Somewhere huddled on that cracked concrete was his Joy. He was so much later coming for her than he intended to be. He hoped she forgave him. He hoped she jumped into his arms and showered his face with kisses like she did when she was happy. He knew she would be happy.

  “I beat your dad up,” he would say, standing there in his scruffy, ruined-suit glory. “I beat him up in front of everybody after my father’s funeral. He’ll never touch you again. We won’t let him. Mom says to bring you home to live with us, now. We can help take care of her. She needs us, Joy. And we need you.”

  “Oh, Kel!” she’d exclaim, and her brown eyes would be the warmest things he had ever seen. “We’re all rescuing each other. We’re all keeping watch. It’s perfect. It couldn’t be better.”

  This is what love is. Spark and ashes and light. Ignition and desecration.

  He threw his backpack over his shoulder and hurried to their usual squatting spot, but she wasn’t there. No matter. He’d look elsewhere.

  She wasn’t behind the Chinese place, or the gas station, or window shopping at any of the fine stores. His Adam’s apple seemed bigger than usual and it was hard for him to swallow.

  He’d keep looking. He’d never stop looking.

  She wasn’t buried in the leaves or strung out in the park. He searched all of her favorite places and a few areas she swore she’d never go again. She wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  The sun yawned and cooed about it being a busy day. It slid cozily behind the horizon.

  No, no, no. It was so much harder to search in the dark. Kelly walked until he was snowed under by sheer despair. His footsteps were slow and heavy as he made his way to their usual spot.

  He huddled against the wall, waiting. The cement seemed harder than it had before, the night more chilled. Without Joy’s body warmth, he shivered and shook. Had she been this cold without him, without her Kel-Bear to keep her warm? He felt even more guilty, and he wasn’t sure that was even possible.

  Morning came, but no Joy. It was an utterly Joyless day.

  He didn’t find her the next day, either.

  Kelly’s heart didn’t fit in his chest quite right. It wasn’t made of muscle after all, but uncomfortable gears and springs. His lungs were too small, tucked incorrectly into his rib cage somewhere. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus, couldn’t think of anything except that he couldn’t find his Joy, couldn’t find his love. Had she left the city? Started staying in a different spot? Why didn’t she wait for him?

  Because he hadn’t come for her, that was why. Because life and death and everything in between stopped him. No, because he let it stop him. It was his watch and he blew it.

  He saw some shapes through the steam from the man holes. Heard voices. Voices he didn’t particularly like, but voices he recognized.

  He stood and approached them.

  “Hey,” he said. His voice sounded weedy, so he tried again. “Hey. It’s Kelly. Have you guys seen Joy?”

  Moon faces swung in his direction. Vacant eyes didn’t blink.

  “Joy,” he said impatiently. “Tiny. Blonde. She shoots up that junk with you
sometimes.”

  One of the figures spoke. “Kelly, man. Where have you been? Thought you got out of the city.”

  “My dad died. I’m back for Joy. Where is she?”

  His eyes roamed over them until he saw a girl in back. She was filthy, her hair matted and her skin covered in sores. She was wearing his favorite hoodie. It fell down halfway to her shins.

  His arms snaked to her, grabbing her by the collar.

  “Where did you get this?” he demanded. “It isn’t yours!”

  “Screw off,” she shouted, and clawed at his face. Kelly winced and grabbed at his smarting skin.

  “That…that’s Joy’s. I gave it to her before I left,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “How did you get it?”

  They didn’t speak. Behind them, the city raged and churned and vomited out sirens and whistles and cell phone chatter. But here in this alley, the human silence was so great that it was crushing. It spoke without words. It relayed agony to his great, big, broken, mechanical heart.

  “No,” Kelly said, and leaned heavily against the wall. “Don’t say it.”

  “Hate to tell you,” a boy said, “but she met up with a guy with kinks. Not anyone we’d seen around.”

  Kelly thought he was going to throw up. He doubled over, staring at the cement, his breathing coming faster and faster.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Tell me,” Kelly screamed.

  The boy was silent as he debated. Finally, he spoke.

  “He stabbed her, man. He left her out back. The city cleaned her up.”

  Cleaned her up. Disposed of his Joy. Just another nameless runaway who didn’t matter to anybody. Another junkie out prostituting herself on the street.

  “Maybe she was high and didn’t feel much,” the boy offered. Kelly squeezed his eyes closed. The thought of Joy bleeding out while her soul was so very far away…this almost made it hurt worse.

  Didn’t they know who she was? How special? Didn’t they know how her eyes shone with secrets and how her hair glittered in the sun? That her mother had been inspired by heaven itself when she decided to name her “Joy?”

  “When?” The word was a gut punch, a breath forced from his body.

  The girl in his hoodie shrugged, already disinterested and drifting away. “Two weeks ago? Maybe. Got anything to eat?”

  Kelly shook his head automatically and watched them as they wandered through the mist. They disappeared.

  He dropped his backpack to the ground and slumped beside it.

  He stared at the sky.

  There were no stars.

  Epilogue

  Kelly’s hair was carefully combed, but still refused to lie flat. It stuck up in wonder, curious, wanting to see everything around it. While Kelly bent over textbooks, his hair waved like plants in the sea. It was an antenna when he mopped the university buildings at night. It peered over his shoulder as he presented in class, and chicken-feathered behind him when he threw his clothes into the car and drove home to visit his mother every few months.

  “How’s it going, Ma?” he said, dropping his bag on the ground so he could hug his mother. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Oh, Kelly, it’s so good to have you home,” she exclaimed. “Look at you, all grown up and so handsome. You look more and more like your father every day.”

  He blushed. “You say that every time you see me.”

  “Because it’s true, sweetie. Do you have any clothes for me to wash?”

  “I’ll do it, Ma. Tell me what’s been going on since I was here last.”

  She would talk, and he would listen. He’d measure detergent and start the washer while she told him about the small parade they had, or the pumpkins growing in the patch, or how the library had just purchased two new stuffed chairs in a beautiful blue. He hung shelves and replaced lightbulbs while he told her about college and how his roommate called him “Hayseed” and only came up to his chest, but they were still inseparable.

  “Bring him home next time,” his mother said, and Kelly agreed. He knew his roommate would bloom under the love his mother would lavish on them. It would be a house of healing and goodness.

  Later, after his mother was sleeping, Kelly sat on his bed for a long time. He listened to the house settle and creak. He could name every sound. The pipes knocked softly and the air conditioner hummed. He realized he was listening for his father’s footsteps as he walked around, putting the house to sleep. Closing windows and locking doors. Flipping off lights and unplugging electronics. Kelly had done these things earlier in the evening, but it just wasn’t the same. He hadn’t realized his mother had heard his quiet footsteps and wept.

  He stood up and went downstairs. He slipped outside and closed the door carefully behind him.

  It was a warm Southern night, so different from his school back East. He’d grown to love the history and the biting cold, but knew that, deep down, he was a simple thing who wanted bare feet and magnolias.

  His footfalls were soft on the grass. He was careful not to disturb anything that ran or slithered. He was simply a shadow ghosting toward the trees.

  He’d driven by Joy’s house on the way home. Buck was in jail for some petty crime or another, and had a bit more time until release. The house had taken on that forlorn, waiting look of recently abandoned homes. Kelly’s chest had squeezed tight, but he drove on. That place had never really belonged to Joy anyway; she had simply slept there sometimes. It was nothing but a building held together with secrets and old nails.

  The woodshed looked the same as it always had. It was a place of safety in the dark, beautiful in its familiarity. He thought of two small children curled up in the fragrant grass behind it, their heads close together as they shared crackers and terrors and nightmares.

  If Joy was anywhere, she was here. A girl that good inside had to get to heaven somehow, deserved that rest, but he knew she wouldn’t go without her Kelly. She would be the last one awake and stand watch over him until his old bones were tucked safely away in to the dirt.

  He stood for a long time, the sounds of the night piercing him through with their melancholy remembrances. He remembered Joy’s quiet tears threading through the frog song. His young, helpless anger at some school injustice evaporating as she held his hand. The night sounds were the soundtrack to his entire life. The honking horns and heavy bass of the city wasn’t music at all; It was simply noise.

  “Joy,” he said, and fireflies floated lazily away from him, riding his breath to the stars.

  He didn’t know what to say next. He couldn’t put anything that he felt into words.

  He wanted to tell her how he thought of her every day. That there was an enormous hole inside of him that he didn’t know how to fill. He wanted to tell her that he studied with an intensity that was almost frightening, driven by a demon he couldn’t name. He was doing college for both of them. He was going to make something of himself.

  He wanted to tell her that he’d stare every time he’d see a woman with blond hair, and even after all this time, his stomach would be a sinkhole when she would turn around.

  It was never Joy.

  He removed the necklace that he wore beneath his shirt. The clear points on the star had rubbed smooth with years of use, but it still shone. He held it in his hand for a long time.

  “I’ll make you proud of me,” he said, and hung the necklace on the thin branches of a tree. It rotated slowly, glimmering in the moonlight. The fireflies surrounded it, fading softly in and out.

  She was one more thing of beauty in his life. One more star.

  The universe was awash with them.

  About the Author

  Mercedes M. Yardley is a whimsical dark fantasist who wears poisonous flowers in her hair. She is the author of many diverse works, including Beautiful Sorrows, Pretty Little Dead Girls: A Novel of Murder and Whimsy, and the Stabby Award-winning Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu: A Tale of Atomic Love. She re
cently won the prestigious Bram Stoker Award for her realistic horror story Little Dead Red and was a Bram Stoker finalist for her short story "Loving You Darkly." Mercedes lives and creates in Las Vegas with her family and menagerie of battle-scarred, rescued animal familiars. She is represented by Italia Gandolfo of Gandolfo Helin and Fountain Literary Management.

  The Damage Done

  A Bonus Short Story

  by

  Mark Matthews

  The origin story of Jervis from

  Milk-Blood and All Smoke Rises

  Jervis Samsa lay awake in bed, twitching in and out of detox dreams. Poison sweat ran from his pores and dampened the sheets. He wanted to rip out his muscles that cramped in pain. The lifeblood was gone from his blood. No dope for a day, not since he got high with Tara. He lay there hoping she’d return with some cash but never did. Now he had nothing.

  Millions of tiny cramping cells fought for life in his body. He imagined them as desperate amoebas, squirming in frantic fear before they imploded to their death. Inside his legs the cells were butchering each other, sucking at each other’s marrow like cannibals. But the darkest of pain was in his back. He was sure that if he cut open a vertebra, black burning liquid would boil out of him.

  He opened his eyes and saw Tara’s favorite black hoodie crumpled up on the carpet. He traced the orange letters of “Slipknot” written in flames on the sleeve. He hadn’t seen Tara for days. She was gone.

  Probably got picked up by the cops for shoplifting or possession, he figured, and was spending the weekend in jail. She’d be just as bogue as he was, sick as all hell, wearing her orange smock and wishing she were dead, but forced to live, laying on a concrete floor or a plastic mattress. But Tara could handle herself, he figured, she was older and been using heroin much longer, nothing to worry about too much.