by L. L. Soares
Charlie said nothing.
“I want us to get along, Charlie. I want us to trust one another. I knew you’d show up eventually.”
“You thought I wasn’t coming.”
“I knew it was very possible you were just late.”
“Look, I don’t give a fuck what you do. Call my mother. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“I think you’re wrong, Charlie. If it didn’t matter to you, you wouldn’t have come at all.”
Charlie said nothing. His head still down. Refusing to look Sam in the eyes.
Sam looked at his watch. “Time’s almost up. But this session hasn’t been wasted, Charlie. Do you know why?”
“No.”
“Because you came here. You made the effort. You showed me you want my
help.”
The boy said nothing.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about what happened today?” Sam asked.
Charlie continued to stare down at the floor. For a few minutes, they said nothing to each other. Sam watched him, waiting for the kid to say something. He could feel the tingling inside himself. The energy. He could feel the anger coming off the boy. It was the most intense energy he’d ever felt from another person before, and it didn’t seem to dissipate as quickly as the others, either. He sat there, letting it wash over him, feeling compelled to move closer, like a moth to a flame, but somehow he resisted.
When it was clear there was no getting through to him, Sam forced himself to look at his watch. He didn’t want the session to end, but he had to maintain some control.
“You have to go now, Charlie. I have another patient to see. But next time, try harder to get here on time. These sessions will only do you good if you’re here.”
Charlie finally looked up as he rose from his seat. Sam could see the swelling around his eye.
“I know you’re trying. Don’t give up on me yet, Charlie.”
“My knife,” Charlie said.
“Huh?”
“My knife,” he repeated. “You said you’d give it back to me if I came back here.”
“I did make that particular deal with you, didn’t I?”
Sam went to his desk and took the knife out of the top drawer where he’d put it. He handed it back to the Charlie.
“But I don’t want you ever bringing it back here again.”
The kid muttered something and went out to the lobby, leaving the door open. Sam sat in his chair, watching him go. Wanting so badly to call him back. To tell his other patient to leave. To give Charlie however much time he needed.
But he just watched as Charlie stood by Carla’s desk. She was telling him when his next appointment was. The boy took a card with the information and left, not looking back.
Sam looked over at the woman who was waiting.
“Mrs. Huston,” he said, looking into the woman’s eyes and trying his best to feign interest. “Please come right in.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It felt strange to be back in her apartment. It had only been two days since she’d left, but already it seemed alien to her. There was her bed, looking smaller than she’d realized. There was a blanket on the floor where Turney had slept his last nights.
“You lived here?” Jeremy asked, hovering near the doorway. “It seems too small for a mouse.”
“It’s all I could afford,” Colleen said, feeling a tinge of embarrassment. “It’s not like the cash was flowing in.”
“All the more reason to come with me. Get your stuff together and we’ll go.”
Looking at this place now, there was no way she wanted to stay here. And there
wasn’t anywhere else she could turn. Not to her mother, her sister. It would have hurt more to beg them to take her in. Jeremy was the best choice she had right now.
She got her suitcase out from under the bed. She started filling it with clothes from the closet, from the drawers of the old dresser, with its scratches and peeling paint.
Jeremy closed the door and leaned his back against it. “You know you’ll be much happier at my place.”
Which was true enough. If she could just get over the guilt she felt, relying on him like this. He was just a stranger after all. Sure, they’d talked a lot since she appeared at his place, and she really liked him. But how much did she know about him really? And how much did he know about her?
There were lots of things about her past that she wasn’t proud of.
“Can I help you at all?” he asked.
“There isn’t really very much to pack,” she told him. “All I really have is my
clothes, and the furniture is mine.”
“I can have someone put it in storage for you.”
She looked around. “You don’t have to do that,” she told him. But then she thought about the future. She couldn’t assume she’d stay with Jeremy forever. Something would probably go wrong eventually—it always did for her—and she might still need the furniture. “Oh, I guess I better keep it, just in case, but not the bed. I won’t be needing that old thing ever again.”
“I can have someone put that out in the trash.”
“That would be great.”
She went around, grabbing up little odds and ends. She went into the bathroom to get her stuff that was in there.
“Do you want me to get some of the boxes out of the car?” he asked her.
“I guess we could use a couple of them.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said. It was obvious he couldn’t wait to leave.
She threw a bunch of things on the bed. Then went over to the blanket where Turney had been sleeping. She didn’t think he’d left anything behind. It wasn’t like he had a lot to begin with. But she found his backpack on the floor, under the blanket. There were some odds and ends in there. An old Walkman with a piece of masking tape holding the battery compartment closed. Some old cassette tapes. It had been a long time since she’d seen any of those. An old sandwich wrapped in cellophane. Random things he’d picked up here and there. Nothing all that interesting...except for a diary.
She lifted it, opened it. But could not bring herself to read it.
These are the last worldly possessions Turney ever had, she thought. I can’t bring myself to just throw them away.
She put his diary in her suitcase and zipped it up. She knew that at some
point, when enough time had gone by, she’d be able to read it. To find out more about who Turney was. Who he had been. There was so much about him that she didn’t know.
She put his backpack on the bed. She’d bring that along, too. She knew she would rifle through it in more depth later. After all, there wasn’t anyone else he could have left it to. She’d use it to look for the clues of his all too brief life. But she needed some time to put his death behind her, to grieve, before she could even think of doing such a thing.
Jeremy returned with some folded boxes. He started opening them.
“This is about it,” she told him. “I told you it wasn’t very much.”
His eyes looked misty. She couldn’t tell if he was reacting to all this, if he felt bad for her, or if his eyes were simply watering. They seemed to do that a lot. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at them.
She started filling the boxes. The car waited for them downstairs.
“I spoke to your landlord,” he told her. “I paid up your rent. There’s nothing to keep you here.”
She nodded.
“I’ll make sure someone comes for the furniture,” he said, then paused. “Except for the bed, of course. I’ll make sure that’s disposed of.”
He grabbed a box and started going downstairs. She grabbed her suitcase. On the way out, she noticed the pink “Open All Night” sign on the wall. She considered leaving it behind, a symbol of her life before she’d met Jeremy, but she decided she couldn’t part with it. She knew it was silly, and she should just let them take it when they came to get the furniture, but she didn’t want to risk them forgetting it. She
wanted it with her.
She put down her suitcase and removed the sign from its hooks on the wall, and unplugged it. She wrapped the chord around it and put it under her arm. Then grabbed her suitcase handle with the other hand and started down the stairs to the waiting car.
It was still difficult to think of Turney as being dead. But he was never coming back to sleep on the floor or to beg her to let him stay just one more night. He was just a memory now.
How could anyone rip another person apart like that? The whole thing had been so unnatural, unearthly. Even now, she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a nightmare. Descending the stairs, she half-expected Turney to come running up, asking her where she was going. But she knew that wasn’t going to happen.
She found herself remembering his touch. The way they made love. She would much rather remember him that way than the way he died. She didn’t want to keep the images in her head of his being torn apart, his blood splattering across the sidewalk.
It was almost too much to bear. She felt slightly dizzy, almost lost her footing on the stairs. As she wavered, she leaned against the railing, and saw Jeremy coming up
toward her, putting his hand on her.
“Are you okay?” he asked her. “You looked like you were going to faint.”
“I’m okay,” she said, her voice sounding like an echo to her. “I just didn’t know it would be so tough coming back here. After what happened.”
“You don’t have to ever come back here again,” Jeremy said. “I’ll take care of you, now.”
Driving away, they passed the place where Turney had been killed. Colleen looked out the car window. All that was left of him was a chalk outline on the sidewalk, and probably some bloodstains. She wondered if there were other outlines for where his head landed, where his limbs were strewn about.
* * *
Maggie stretched out on the twin bed, wondering what convinced her it was okay to come to this place. Sam would kill her if he knew she had let a strange woman pick her up and bring her to a motel room. Then again, Sam probably wouldn’t care. He seemed to have very little interest in her life these days.
She was convinced she drank because she was unhappy, and that her unhappiness was in no small part caused by Sam’s indifference to her. To be honest to herself, she had to admit that the drinking was at least partly a final attempt to get Sam to notice her again.
But she had been thinking about a lot of things way too much lately, and this wasn’t exactly the time and place to be soul-searching.
“What are you thinking about?” Viv asked her.
“I want a drink,” Maggie said.
“Not now,” Viv said. “You don’t need that anymore. I’m here now.”
Maggie smiled. “I’ve never done anything like this before?”
“Come to a motel room?”
Maggie nodded.
“With a strange woman?”
“That’s the one.”
“Well, I hope I’m not all that strange, Maggie. Or else I would think you shouldn’t have come with me. Unless your judgment is clouded by the alcohol. In which case, I’m taking advantage of you.”
Maggie stared up into Viv’s eyes. They were violet and reminded her of Elizabeth Taylor’s.
“You have such beautiful eyes,” Maggie said.
“Thanks.”
“Please be gentle.”
Then she thought about what she said, and laughed.
Viv laughed, too.
“Why don’t you get out of those things, and we’ll push the twin beds together.”
“Can I have the bottle back?” Maggie asked.
“No, I’ll give it back to you later. I want you to be aware of what’s going on. Otherwise, you’ll be no use to me.”
“Okay,” Maggie said softly, and smiled again. Then she leaned up and kissed Viv’s lips. Maggie closed her eyes, like a schoolgirl. Viv kept her eyes open.
Their lips parted.
After a bit, Viv pulled away. “Get undressed,” she said. She got off the mattress and pushed the beds together. Maggie sat up and started pulling her clothes off.
She saw the bottle on the floor, at the foot of the bed, and almost reached down for it, but she resisted the urge.
Viv stood before her, smiling, and did a little striptease act. It took Maggie’s mind off the bottle.
She removed her panties and lay back in the bed, watching Viv.
Viv removed the last of her clothes and then crawled beside Maggie, kissing her again.
And then things progressed from there.
* * *
Maggie had the bottle in her hand again. She handed it to Viv.
“You want any?”
Viv hesitated, then took it from her and took a gulp of vodka. She handed the bottle back to Maggie.
While they’d made love, Viv had come close to unlocking the place inside
Maggie, the part that set her free. But she resisted, because there was something about Maggie that made her want to keep her around a little bit longer. Viv couldn’t bring herself to make this their one and only time together.
If she hadn’t finished off Richard Croix so recently, she wouldn’t have had much of a choice in the matter. The part of her that unlocked people would have done its thing without her consent, and that was that. But since she’d been satiated recently, there was the ability to resist the need. For today, anyway.
It was a lot like eating. And she was full enough to keep satisfied for now.
This time with Maggie had been one of the more intimate experiences she’d had
in a while. And it had a happy ending. A welcome change to the fucks she’d had with people who weren’t alive anymore. It felt good to get really close to someone, to feel really human. It wasn’t something she got to enjoy very often.
There was a time when she’d wanted this kind of intimacy with Jeremy. She’d been tempted lots of times, but she’d vowed never to let it get that far. Never allow him to get that close. She couldn’t risk losing him.
She almost felt like making a similar vow about Maggie. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it this time. Something about Maggie told Viv that it was hopeless. Maybe the way she kept holding onto that liquor bottle.
Maggie was drifting off to sleep. If anything, it might do her some good. At least she couldn’t drink while she was sleeping. Viv took the bottle away from her, gently, and screwed the top back on. Maggie murmured softly and snuggled up on the bed.
Viv stretched out beside her and held her close, trying hard not to feel the pain emanating from her. Trying not to let the pain touch her too deeply and force her to do something she wasn’t ready to do yet.
* * *
All the way home, Sam found himself thinking about Charlie. There was something different about this kid. He’d never seen someone who was so much like a raw nerve. Charlie took offense at everything and everything made him uncomfortable and combative. It was amazing they’d been able to hold organized sessions at all. The whole time they sat in his office, Sam had the idea this kid wanted to lash out at him, knock him off his chair. Take him down a peg or two.
Charlie was more cautious now. Their first visit showed him that Sam wouldn’t be a pushover. That there would be resistance. And while that did not make Charlie back down in attitude, it made him less likely to act out physically, on impulse. Then again, he might be completely unpredictable. The moment when Sam assumed he was calm might be the exact moment Charlie had waited to strike.
Sam found the whole dynamic intriguing.
Would it make any sense to introduce Charlie to one of his group sessions? Probably not. The kid barely trusted him; there’s no telling how he’d react around a bunch of strangers. Although being around strangers might rile Charlie up, make his anger flare up and come to the surface so Sam could feed off it. But no, he couldn’t rush things and he couldn’t risk things getting out of control so soon. He had to take this slowly. He had to have patience. Besides, the groups were u
sually for people whose anger levels had diminished. People who had made some progress. And Charlie wasn’t even close to that point yet. Sam thought of what it would feel like to have a whole room full of Charlies and the amount of tingling and adrenaline he would feel then. It excited and scared him.
Just the thought of the way Charlie affected him, scared him. Usually other people’s anger was something he absorbed in short bursts. Intense sensations. But it never lasted long. He’d absorb, and they’d relax. But with Charlie it was different. Not only was the anger coming off him stronger, it lasted longer. And even now, thinking about it, Sam wanted more.
He tried to convince himself that it was a mutual process, that he gave as much as he took. He healed people who couldn’t manage their rage, and in return they filled a hunger inside him. The perfect synergistic relationship. But down deep, he knew. Their healing wasn’t important to him. It was simply the reason why they kept coming back, their only hope of overcoming the anger that enslaved them. But at the same time, the more he healed them, the less they had to offer. The less satisfying their interactions became.
But he had to make a living, and as long as they came back, this whole thing worked, and he’d be damned if he examined it too closely.
Sam remembered being a child, small for his age and often bullied. Except the bullying never lasted much more than a day or two. Then the bullies would lose interest, grow lethargic. Whatever fueled their taunts and jabs got leeched out of them. Sam knew early on that it was he who did these things. Other kids weren’t so lucky. They were taunted mercilessly, day in and day out. But not him. Nobody stayed angry around him, and nobody stayed interested in tormenting him, for very long.
Even then, the more disoriented they felt around him, the better he felt inside. The ability became stronger over time, but that was just the beginning. The first stirrings. He felt a strangeness inside himself. A tingling that he could neither fathom nor explain. His young mind didn’t have the knowledge to investigate the matter, and he wouldn’t have bothered if it had.
