“You believe that?”
“That’s my life in a sound bite.”
“How can you know?”
“I know, Alyssa. I’m not the best at talking about it, but trust me, I know.”
The waiter came around to ask if we wanted dessert.
“I’d like to go home,” Alyssa said.
I told him to bring the check. As he walked away, Alyssa took my hand again.
“Do you want to come home with me tonight?” she asked in a surprisingly direct tone.
“Yes,” I said honestly. “But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to do something I’ll regret. Something you’ll regret.”
“Who says we’d regret anything?”
I shook my head, my heart and gut feeling like someone was using them as a punching bag. “I think the wine agreed with you tonight,” I said.
“It’s not the wine talking.”
“Maybe it is, even just slightly.”
Her dark eyes looked at me, confused and almost frustrated. “We’re not kids, Jake. There are no rules any more.”
“We’re not in college. But there are still rules.”
She sighed. “I don’t get it. Why is it my timing with everything just sucks?”
I chuckled and looked at the beautiful woman across from me. “I think our timing is remarkable, believe it or not.”
Alyssa gently rubbed her shoulder, and I couldn’t help letting my eyes briefly drift over her. How many nights, how many times had I dreamt of being with her?
What are you doing, Jake?
I was doing the right thing. Saying no had never been my strong suit. But I knew this was the best thing tonight.
“Can I—will you be around for a while?” Alyssa asked. “Do you want to do something again? It doesn’t have to be anything formal.”
“I’ll be around. Next time I’ll pick the place, okay?”
She nodded and smiled and looked like the young girl I used to dream about as a student at Providence. I glanced into her gentle eyes and knew that I still loved her, that I had always loved her, and that sometimes, love was an impossible gift to give back.
NINETEEN
March 1994
FOR A SECOND JAKE THOUGHT he heard a tapping noise at the door and looked its way, trying to listen. But there was nothing.
The apartment was empty except for him. He sat on the couch that was ruined beyond recognition from spilled beer and food and cigarette ashes. It was a little after eleven on Saturday night, and Jake sat watching Chris Farley on Saturday Night Live and drinking a Bud Light. They were heading out again to meet up with the guys at Franklin’s apartment. All of them had been at Shaughnessy’s, but it had been packed with the same people and same music and same expensive weekend prices, so they’d left half an hour ago. Carnie dropped Jake off at the apartment to use the bathroom and said he’d go to the liquor store to pick up some stuff.
Jake thought of Shaughnessy’s. He couldn’t believe he’d seen Laila there. Part of him thought she was stalking him. He knew he shouldn’t have mouthed off at her the way he did, telling her to back off and to leave him alone and to stop acting like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. That last comment had really ticked her off, especially since the other guys had heard it and gotten a good chuckle out of it. At least it had worked—Laila left the bar right after that.
The knocking sounded again, harder, and Jake wondered why Carnie had brought the liquor up to the apartment with him. And where were his keys? Maybe his hands were full.
Jake passed the “wall of women” they had spent the last eight months putting up, featuring posters of various scantily-clad women in bathing suits and lingerie, all advertising beer. They usually got a free poster every time they went to the liquor store down the street. Jake often joked that he wanted to work in beer marketing. It would be the easiest job in the world.
He opened the door to ask, “Why are you knocking?” when he stopped in mid-sentence. A figure wearing a Chicago Bulls T-shirt and a leering smile stood in the hallway.
It was Brian Erwin.
“What the—”
A second figure behind the first rushed toward him and grabbed him by the shirt.
Jake jerked forward like the start of a roller coaster ride. He was instantly out of breath. Just as he tried to lift up his hand in front of his face, something hard hit his jaw below his right eye. For a moment, he couldn’t see and lost all sense of equilibrium. He fell, but before falling he felt another sharp pain in his back, wrenching him sideways so he landed on the floor of the hallway outside his apartment in an awkward sprawl.
He cried out, but something hard, surely a fist, landed on his mouth and cut his lip and muffled his cry. Even before he could realize he had been hit again, another blow landed on his face.
Jake was surprised to hear his own screams, violent and raw. “Stop!” he yelled, but the beating continued.
Something sharp cut into his side; at the same time a block pounded his face. He curled his right fist but felt a shock of pain there, remembering it was in a splint. He waved his left arm toward the blackness.
He heard a vicious curse whispered in his ear before that same ear was pummeled by something.
“God, stop it, please!” he cried.
Then he thought of Carnie and starting screaming for his roommate. “CARNIE!” he howled.
Something as hard as a brick, perhaps an elbow, launched into his gut. Jake exhaled and coughed and tried calling Carnie’s name again, but his voice was weaker.
Another fist waled down on his lip and partially against his nose.
“CARNIE!”
The shriek didn’t even sound like him.
Where is he?
Then came the worst blow of all. It landed on the back of his head, even as he lay curled up in a ball trying to protect his face with one hand and his broken hand by tucking it underneath his arm. This last blow wasn’t a punch but more like a kick from a boot or a cement block.
He tried calling out in between his coughing and moaning and the bitter taste of blood, but he couldn’t. His assailant knelt over him and gave him a profanity-laced warning. Jake could feel warm breath against his closed eyes.
Then an opened palm pounded his head back into the floor, and Jake fell into a sea of black.
TWENTY
June 2005
ON MY WAY TO THE MOTEL after dinner with Alyssa, a hundred regrets storming through my mind, I spotted Bruce walking on the side of the road. It was around ten at night.
I pulled into a parking lot and got out of the still-running rental car.
“Bruce!”
He looked at me with squinty eyes, then smiled and walked over. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“What are you doing?”
“I got bored watching TV, so I went out.”
“Where?”
“This dump about half a mile down the road.”
Bruce had a cigarette in one hand. His T-shirt that read “Office Space” was untucked.
“You could’ve come out with Alyssa and me.”
“So—how’d it go? You get a little?”
“Would you shut up? Get in the car.”
“I was enjoying my midnight stroll.”
“You’ll get arrested for public intoxication.”
In the car, it took seconds to smell Bruce’s combination of liquor and pot breath.
“Bruce—”
“Come on, Dad.”
“So is this going to be an everyday thing?”
“Such harassment. I was just minding my own business.”
I drove down the street, passing a more developed community.
“You remember driving around here? Completely bombed?” Bruce asked.
“It’s lucky none of us killed someone,” I said.
“Our guardian angels were working overtime.” He laughed.
“Did you get hold of Franklin?”
“That
jerk doesn’t want to talk to me. Or us. But Mike’s available. Tomorrow night.”
“Really?” I was surprised Bruce had taken any initiative.
“Yeah. He said to come down. Both of us. He’d love to have us over. Spend the night. Go out on the town.”
“You have his—”
“Yes. Anything else?”
“Have a mint.”
We pulled into the motel and parked close to our room. We were staying on the second floor, the door facing out. We could’ve gotten a better place, but this was close and fast and it worked for now.
I got out of the car and started walking toward the stairs. I turned around for a moment and saw Bruce, the door half-open, his body leaning toward the steering wheel. For a moment I thought about getting him, then I just sighed and kept walking up the stairs.
I’m not playing dad or guardian.
As I reached the top of the second floor and turned to head down to my room, I clipped the shoulder of a stocky man coming out of nowhere.
“Sorry, man,” I called out to the balding figure who said nothing and headed down the stairs.
I walked down the concrete hallway past identical doors and finally found ours. As I reached to get my key card—
It’s already open
—I realized that I didn’t need it. The door was ajar.
I stared at it for a moment, then poked it forward. A light over the sink in the bathroom was the only light in the room.
Flicking on the switch, I saw everything more clearly.
It was déjà vu of coming home to Bruce’s apartment. Except we didn’t have that much to pilfer through.
Both of our suitcases were opened, Bruce’s tossed over on the floor, with our clothes strewn about everywhere. My leather bag containing most of the info I had—a few pictures of Claire Jelen, names and addresses, nothing really too valuable—had been opened and ripped through.
I took in the scene for a moment, then ran back out to the balcony.
Bruce still remained sitting in the front of our car, his door open. The man who had passed by me in the hall, the only person around besides Bruce and me, was walking across the parking lot to a four-door sedan I hadn’t noticed before.
“Excuse me!” I shouted across the still of the night. “Hey, you!”
He finally turned around and stared at me, his face dark from the shadows. He didn’t say anything, didn’t stop and ask what was wrong. He looked at me for a brief moment, then kept going.
You did this, didn’t you?
I began to sprint down the hallway, toward the stairs and into the parking lot.
Lights moved as I tore after the Chevy that was backing up. I reached the tail end of the car and slammed both hands on the back to make sure it didn’t keep backing up. The driver shifted into drive and sped away.
For a second I wanted to chase it on foot, but realized that was stupid. I ran back to our rental car and climbed into the car like a NASCAR driver. In a couple of seconds I was shifting the car into reverse and telling Bruce to close his door.
“Huh—what the—?”
“Close the door!”
I neared the turn in the parking lot and could already see the Chevy turning right onto the main road. I jerked my rental car left toward the front of the hotel, knowing the year-old Mustang rental would overtake the poor Chevy in seconds. I didn’t have a plan and didn’t know what I was going to do once I overtook him. Maybe just get an idea of who was stalking us, what he looked like—
“Bruce!”
I slammed on the brakes but it was already too late. My unstable friend had been sitting up in his seat and had not taken the turn quite so well. He was sprawled on the pavement behind me.
I cursed without thought and got out of the car again, running back to where Bruce lay. He looked like a corpse, body not moving, head not turning.
For a second he lay still, not saying or breathing or doing anything. But he opened his eyes as I repeated his name.
“Somebody left the car door open,” he said with a smile.
“You okay?”
“My head hurts.”
“Did you land on it?” I asked him.
“I think I had too many Long Islands.”
Helping him up, I realized he was fine. Well, maybe not fine. Fine wasn’t a word I would use when talking about Bruce. But he wasn’t hurt.
Not for now.
After spending a few minutes picking up our clothes and putting them back in our suitcases, I sat on the edge of my bed, still wired and antsy. Bruce had collapsed onto his bed, but he wasn’t officially asleep. His eyes cracked open and looked at me for a moment.
“Alec didn’t do this,” he said in slurred words.
“That wasn’t Alec. But who else would be following us?”
“You believe in ghosts?”
I stared at him and shook my head.
I shouldn’t be here.
“No,” I said.
“Maybe you should.”
“Maybe you should get some sleep.”
“You can’t fight the undead.” Bruce’s eyes looked big and he seemed freaked out.
“I think someone’s seen a few too many horror flicks.”
“They come back to haunt you. I know. I’m telling you, Jake, I know.”
His eyes closed again, and a wave of sleep took him, at least for a few moments. Bruce actually looked peaceful, and I envied him for the moment.
For the first time since deciding to try and find Alec, I was worried. I don’t know if I’d say I was scared. Maybe it was just bewilderment. And the fact that I was wiping away eleven years in just a matter of days. Bruce, Alyssa, Kirby, Shane—it was all too much in too little time.
Was the intruder who had been through our stuff—was he looking for something in particular? Was he snooping for someone—for Alec, maybe? Or for Mr. Jelen? And was he dangerous? Was I crazy for chasing after him?
Would I get myself hurt?
It wouldn’t be the first time.
I thought back to that night. I didn’t think about it often, but every now and then I remembered. The fight that started a chain of events in motion.
More like a beating.
I still didn’t know where that chain of events would lead. Part of me no longer wanted to know.
But I would finally have to find out.
TWENTY-ONE
March 1994
JAKE COULD STILL FEEL the blows hitting his face, striking his body. But for the few seconds or minutes after crumpling to the hallway floor, moaning and spitting up the blood in his mouth, he saw nothing but darkness.
Then, from far away, a muffled voice at his side.
“okay just wait here I’m going to call just hold on—”
And he thought it was Carnie and he wanted to ask what took him so long but he couldn’t work his mouth. He coughed hard and felt his stomach muscles tighten and something soft and gooey came up in his mouth. He spit but didn’t know what he was spitting out.
Someone helped him sit up, and a wave of painful blackness covered him like a blanket.
The lights came back on as Jake sat at the table and heard commotion around him.
… know who did this to him
… out at a bar
… keep him up because he’s got a concussion
… looks awful
In his hand was a warm rag that he just looked at.
“Wipe your face—it’s all bloody.”
He looked at his side and saw Franklin. Where had he come from?
“Don’t talk, Jake. It’s okay. We’re going to take you to the hospital.”
And all he could think was I don’t need a hospital. I’m fine.
He went to stand up, but somehow the floor and his legs all moved away from him. He heard several voices call to him as he crumpled to the carpet and blacked out again.
“You need to stay put.”
Jake saw Brian’s face for a second and jerked, then realized he was just rega
ining his sight. The blurriness faded to something concrete, and he noticed a man all in black with a badge on his shirt and a revolver at his side.
“I don’t—didn’t nothing—it was somebod—”
His mouth was uttering the same gibberish that turned around in his head. He wanted to say he didn’t do anything, that he was not guilty. But his tongue rolled out words that made no sense.
His head was killing him.
“It’s okay—don’t talk now,” the cop said. “Have a little more of that.”
He sipped something fizzy through a straw. Staring around, he could see quite the party in his apartment. Carnie, Franklin, and Bruce stood by the wall of posters talking to another policeman. They looked as though someone had died. Others moved back and forth—Mike was there, Shane was on the phone.
Where were they half an hour ago?
The door opened, and a figure walked in toward the living room.
Alec roared a curse as he came by Jake’s side. “Ah, man, you look awful.”
“Thanks,” Jake said.
“Who did this to you? Do they know? Do you guys know? Look at him.”
“Brian,” Jake said, finally remembering, finally getting hold of his tongue.
Alec kept venting his anger. The cop told him to calm down.
“Who did this?” the policeman asked for clarification.
“Brian Erwin,” Jake said.
“He’s some sports god who goes to our school.”
“Providence?”
Alec nodded.
“Someone from Providence did this to him? You sure?”
“I’m positive,” Jake said, his voice hoarse.
“Okay,” the cop said.
Alec began threatening Brian, vowing to get him.
“Look, just sit over there—” the cop began.
“He got his face pounded in!”
“—and shut up. Okay?”
Jake recounted everything that happened. Not that he knew much. He was dragged out of his apartment and beaten to a pulp. By Brian and a friend, someone he didn’t know. He thought his name was Chad. Big guy with blond hair.
What’d I do? Jake wondered for the first time.
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