Life Rage

by L. L. Soares

  While wiping herself, there was a knock at the door. She hesitated getting up. She didn’t get many visitors. Unless it was some former fuck-mate who was interested in a repeat performance, but even that didn’t happen very often, and never this early.

  Not ambitious enough to search for clean clothes, Colleen picked the sheet off the floor and wrapped herself up like the Bride of Frankenstein, her hair probably looking just as bad, and moved as if in slow motion toward the door. The knocking did not stop.

  She put the chain lock on. Not that it would protect her much. The door was old and thin and would probably shatter to bits if someone with any strength kicked it in. But it was like a symbol of security. The slightly rusted chain. And when it was in place, she opened the door a crack.

  “Yeah?”

  “Colleen?” asked a voice she recognized. “How you doing?”

  She closed the door, slid the chain off and opened it again.

  Turney slid inside and grinned at her as he moved toward the bed and sat down. “What’s up, girl?”

  Seeing him made her glide deeper into her melancholy mood. Another lost one. She hadn’t seen him in weeks, and had even considered that he might be dead. But here he was, like a ghost that refused to stay buried.

  They’d gone to high school together. While she had barely graduated, he’d dropped out the year before, and began his descent all the sooner. If she was a loser, then he was a hardcore loser. A junkie, who, despite a few attempts at getting clean, would probably die someday soon with a needle in his arm. Who wasn’t above selling his body to the lowest bidder. Turney still had a specter of his former personality. Enough to be sad and likable, and capable of bringing out whatever maternal instincts Colleen harbored.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” she asked him. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “Been around,” Turney said, smiling sheepishly. Shrugging his bony shoulders.

  She remembered when she’d first met him, in her freshman year. He was a class ahead of her. He seemed like just another normal kid, except he wore clothes that were too tight and was too shy to say much. Then, as the years went on, he loosened up and got involved with the druggie crowd. Burnouts was what everyone else called them. Since then, she’d learned he had horror stories of his own, and his self-medication seemed more than justified. But it was funny how she’d been witness to his metamorphosis. It made her feel all the more close to him.

  Even though he was a year older than her, he still looked like that scared, skinny high school kid. Even though they knew each other much more intimately now than they had back then, he still seemed shy a lot of the time. Some things didn’t change.

  “So what brings you here?” she asked. “Besides saying hi.”

  He looked around the room. “Hadn’t seen you in a bit. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m okay. Hanging on. Same as you.”

  Despite his skinniness, he looked healthier than the last time she’d seen him. He’d had a cold then that he wasn’t able to shake. She was sure that it would turn into pneumonia. Somehow, he’d gotten past it.

  “Can I stay here tonight?” he asked. “I hate to ask, but…”

  “Sure thing,” she told him. She thought about the one time they’d done it, or tried to. About a month or two after she’d been on her own. He’d come over and they got to talking about how miserable their lives were. They’d even cried on each other’s shoulders. It was kind of like what she thought it must be to go to college, stay in a dorm, and share all-night talks with new friends or a roommate. Except everything they had to say was miserable. After a good cry, they’d taken off their clothes and tried to do it. It had happened spontaneously. But he couldn’t get hard, and it was just one more addition to the misery pile. She’d done all she could to convince him it didn’t matter, and after a while, he seemed to handle it okay. Now that she looked back on it, his inability to perform was probably more due to junk sickness than anything else.

  “Sorry to impose,” he said, looking bashful. Like when he was a kid. “I’ll be gone in the morning.”

  “Stay as long as you need to,” Colleen said. “Nobody cares. It’s not like this is a luxury hotel or nothing. As long as I get the rent paid on time, they don’t care what the fuck I do.”

  Somehow, she’d been able to keep the rent payments up. And she’d been able to keep herself somewhat fed. It could have been worse. She was doing okay.

  “Thanks, Colleen,” Turney said.

  She sat down next to him. Put her arms around him. “No problem, kiddo.”

  For some reason, she was feeling sentimental. And she had so few friends left, that it was a relief to see him again. To see a familiar face that wouldn’t condemn her.

  They rocked back and forth on the bed. And then they fell back, and she held him down, and kissed his cheek now and then. He tensed in her embrace, but made no move to get away.

  She started crying before she even realized. And he eventually put his arms around her as well. And they got through it.

  * * *

  Sam woke in the middle of the night, shaking and breathing hard. He’d had one of his dreams again.

  He turned to look at Maggie, who was still asleep beside him.

  Well, if he’d made any noise, at least he hadn’t woken her. Not that it would have been the first time. The nightmares had been bothering him on and off for years now.

  It had been a while since the last one, though, and he’d hoped that maybe they were over, but no such luck. He tried to remember the events of this dream. He remembered seeing blood splashing against a wall, and there was a scraping sound he couldn’t place. And of course, someone was screaming. But it wasn’t clear where he was or what was happening.

  The nightmares weren’t always the same, but they were linked. They were all violent dreams. Something horrible was happening. And there was always the screaming. But it was never clear who was being harmed, and who was doing the harming.

  Am I the victim in these dreams? he wondered. Or the perpetrator?

  There was always such a strong sense of dread when he woke up from them. He was so sure he was in danger.

  But they were only dreams.

  Maggie moved slightly beside him, and he thought she was waking up, but she didn’t.

  He put his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. He could feel his heartbeat slowing down. It wasn’t pounding in his ears anymore.

  It didn’t take long to get back to sleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Let’s get out of here,” Colleen said. “We need some air.”

  They had fallen asleep awhile in each other’s arms.

  Turney pulled away and sat up on the bed, silent. She could see the fear in his eyes.

  “What are you so afraid of?” Colleen asked him. “You’ve been out on your own for years now. Out on the streets. Why are you so afraid all of a sudden?”

  Turney shrugged.

  “Did something happen to you out there? Did someone hurt you?”

  He took a moment, as if in thought. Then shook his head. No.

  “Well, then, let’s get out of here. I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

  She went to the door. Opened it and looked back at him.

  He was still sitting on the bed like a lost puppy.

  “Come on,” she said. “There is no way I’m just staying here.”

  Turney hesitated, then got up and went past her, out into the hall. He stood there as she closed the door and locked it.

  She noticed that someone had replaced the bulb in the hallway. Every once in a while something actually gets fixed around here, she thought.

  She walked past Turney. He didn’t move.

  “Come on,” Colleen said. “It will do you a world of good.”

  He was just standing there, looking down at his shoes. Clearly, he would have been content to just stay in her room forever. Like a kind of sanctuary. But the thought of staying there remind
ed Colleen of a prison cell. Night had fallen, and she had to get out into the world. She had to move.

  She turned and looked at him. Really looked at him in the harsh light of the bare bulb that hung above them. While his face still looked as youthful as she remembered, when they were both back in school, there were wrinkles around his eyes now, faint markings on the cheeks, that gave away the fact that even Turney was getting older.

  “Well?” she asked. Her hands on her hips. “Are we going outside?”

  He hesitated.

  “I wish you’d open up to me,” Colleen said. “If I’m letting you stay here for free, that’s the least you could do in return. You could let me know what’s got you so spooked.”

  Instead of answering her, he moved away from the wall, and passed her, going down the stairs. She sighed and followed him.

  Outside, the air was crisp and invigorating after the staleness of the apartment. Colleen laughed and spun around in front of him, illuminated by an overhead street lamp. In the corner of her eye, she could see the grin on Turney’s face.

  “Isn’t it great to be alive?” she asked him. “If you really think about it?”

  “You’re not serious,” Turney said. “Who are you supposed to be? Fucking Mary Tyler Moore?”

  * * *

  Croix was back again. It was funny how the days almost blurred together.

  This time he seemed calmer. He was able to talk about incidents from the past that angered him. Random incidents that should have been long forgotten. People cutting him off in traffic and following them until he was able to get some kind of grip on himself and let them go. People who had bumped into him on the sidewalks and he had grabbed, and had been inches away from striking, before he’d been able to maintain some semblance of control. But he did not raise his voice. He did not rise up out of his seat this time.

  “Do these things still bother you?” Sam asked. “You do not seem particularly agitated today. You’re not losing your temper.”

  “I’m not, am I?” Croix asked, suddenly surprised, like it hadn’t even crossed his mind until that moment. “Yeah, I’m pretty calm today.”

  “One positive thing from these past incidents,” Sam said. “Is that you were able to gain control of the situation. You were able to prevent things from escalating further.”

  “I’m a civilized man,” Croix said. “I have a wife. Kids. A good job. I can’t let all that fall apart. I just can’t. But it’s been harder and harder to maintain control.”

  “Have you ever struck your wife, Richard? Your kids?”

  Croix lowered his head. The flesh of his face reddened. He did not answer.

  That told Sam all he needed to know. This was a man crying out for help. A man losing control of his life. He had already started to shatter the flimsy barriers he had been using all these years. Who knows? Perhaps the violence in his home had been going on for a long time now, and he’d never had the guts to talk about it. Even now, he wasn’t articulating it.

  “It’s okay, Richard,” Sam said. “That’s why you’re here. There is no way you can help yourself if you won’t admit your problems. The things that are tormenting you. And, as you know, everything said in here is completely confidential.”

  Actually, he should have reported any actual abuse, but Sam didn’t care about Richard Croix’s family. He only cared about the man himself, and the sessions.

  “The pills the doctors prescribed,” Croix said, still looking at the floor. “They didn’t solve anything. They just doped me up, made it hard to think.”

  “I know, Richard. That’s why I told you, I won’t be putting you on any medication. That’s not how I operate.”

  There was a soft sob. Croix was crying now. It was a sadness tinged with anger at himself. Self-loathing.

  Sam stood and went over to him. Standing before the seated man, he put his hands on Croix’s shoulders. There was complete silence in the room. Croix had even stopped his sobbing. Sam closed his eyes and emptied his mind. Croix did not move.

  It was easier this time. No resistance. Earlier, Croix had been less cooperative. But that was the same with all new patients. They had no idea what was happening, and weren’t sure how to react, much less how to make the process easier. But this time, Croix surrendered to him, and it happened much easier.

  There was still a lot of anger inside the man and Sam took a little more of it away this time. Unfortunately, the easier it got, the less satisfying it was as well.

  In truth, Sam did not even have to touch them to take something away. He could have done it from his seat, across from Croix. But there was something about the healing power of touch, a human element that added an extra sense of comfort to the process. It worked so well; Sam had adopted it as part of his technique.

  Croix’s head slowly swiveled on his thick neck, and he looked up into Sam’s face. He seemed slightly confused, but also relieved. His tears had stopped.

  “Is that better?” Sam asked, softly.

  Croix nodded, not wanting to break the silence with a reply.

  Sam removed his hands and went back to his seat. The air was charged around them, but it wasn’t as pronounced as the previous visit. It was more relaxed, comfortable. More like a heightening of the senses. There were no visible sparks.

  “Tell me more,” Sam said. “The healing works better if you talk. It makes the whole process more complete.”

  “It doesn’t happen all the time,” Croix said. He spoke like a man in a trance. “Just sometimes, when the anger gets too hard to hold inside. I get home, wanting so badly to relax, and they yammer at me. Their voices are like the squawking of birds. And I can’t hold in the anger anymore...”

  “And, either out of love or fear, they do not fight back.”

  “They just look at me with these sad eyes, afraid of what I can change into. Like I’m a monster they have no defense against. And I don’t want to see that look in their eyes anymore. I don’t want them to have to make excuses for their bruises anymore. I don’t want to be a source of fear in their lives.”

  Croix’s voice had no trace of anger in it. And he wasn’t crying. His voice was calm and level.

  “You won’t be a source of fear anymore,” Sam said. “I will teach you how to make the barriers stronger. How to have more control of yourself.”

  “I believe you,” Croix said softly, and it was probably the most truthful thing he had ever said in his life.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Colleen watched from the bar. Turney had gravitated to a tall blonde, and they were in a dark corner, kissing. She felt weird watching. There was a slight tinge of something like jealousy, but she had never thought of Turney in a romantic way. Not really. Even that night when they’d tried to make love. He was just a friend.

  As it was, she only saw him about once a month, sometimes less, when their paths crossed. And he was often so quiet and secretive. It was usually too much effort to get inside his head.

  And now, she was giving him a place to stay. They were up close and personal. Here she was, even watching him being intimate with another woman.

  “You want some popcorn?” the man beside her asked. “It might help you enjoy the show a little more.”

  Colleen turned, tried to smile. “I was just thinking about something.”

  “Thinking about that guy?” the man said. “I was hoping you’d think about me.”

  She looked into his eyes, tried to smile a little wider. “Well, I think that can be arranged.”

  She didn’t know his name. Didn’t want to know his name. Ever.

  “Let’s say we go somewhere else,” the man said. “Somewhere quieter.”

  Colleen looked down at her glass. “Let me just finish my drink.”

  “Sure thing,” the man said. He had dark hair that was going slightly gray at the temples. And a long face. He was dressed a little slicker than most of the men at the bar. Seemed a little cleaner. His smile told her he had caps, so he probably had money. But he came he
re, to this place, to get away from his life. From people who might know him. Colleen guessed that he probably led some kind of double life.

  The bar was pretty full. There were people at the tables and lots of people standing at the bar. It was beginning to be a popular place. She went to different places every night. Some of them were quiet and dark, but sometimes she needed a place like this. The human contact.

  She finished her whiskey sour and stubbed out what was left of her cigarette, and found herself looking in the corner for Turney, but he and the blonde weren’t there anymore.

  “You ready?” the man asked. His hand gently squeezing her arm.

  “Yeah, sure,” Colleen said. “Why don’t we go to my place? It isn’t very far from here.”

  * * *

  Sam felt as if he’d done a good day’s work on the way home. Another anguished soul would find peace, finally, thanks to him. It made the job worthwhile.

  The subway car opened, and he held back a minute before he entered the fray. So far, it had been a good commute, and he didn’t want to tempt fate. He let an old woman cut in front of him on the way out, thinking about the lady who had glared at him the day before, but feeling generous.

  Once he got out on the platform, a teenager behind him was in a rush and slammed into him from behind. In hindsight, the kid didn’t seem to have done it maliciously; he was just in a hurry and wasn’t watching what the fuck he was doing.

  But Sam whirled and grabbed the kid by the arm of his jacket. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Sam held him tight, jerked him forward, and raised his other fist, ready to do some extensive damage to the kid’s face.

  But he stopped himself.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw the bones of the kid’s face crushing in, spurting blood, as he struck him again and again.

  But in reality, he stopped the fist. Did not let it surge forward. Maintained control.

  “Hey, Mister,” the kid said, pleading. “I’m sorry.”