Accomplice

by Valerie Sherrard

  Lynne is looking at a pair of pointy-toed high heels while Dori watches over her shoulder, shaking her head.

  “You want to have a good time or spend the evening limping around in pain?” Dori asks. “I’m telling you, you’ll die in those things.”

  The salesgirl moves in. “How long is your dress?” she asks.

  Lynne is answering her when my phone rings. The screen shows me an unfamiliar number. I answer.

  “Lexie?” It’s Devlin.

  “What?” I move away from Dori and Lynne, even though neither one is paying the least attention to me.

  “I need help, Lex.” His voice is thin, a wire pulled tight.

  “I helped you yesterday.”

  “I know, but it wasn’t very much.”

  A surge of fury pulses through me. I step out of the store, where my voice won’t carry to Lynne and Dori. “Yeah?” I say. “It wasn’t very much? It was everything I could get, and I ditched school to bring it to you.”

  “You said you’d get twenty, but you only brought half. So, you kind of owe me the rest.”

  I shake my head, wondering how he managed to get things so twisted. Twenty was what he’d asked for the day before. It wasn’t like I’d offered it. And now he was acting like I’d stiffed him.

  “I got what I could get,” I say. I can hardly keep myself from yelling. “And you have to stop calling me.”

  “Who else am I gonna call?”

  “I don’t’ know. Nobody. You’ve got to get help.”

  “That’s why I’m —”

  “No! That’s not why you called me.” I notice I’m drawing stares from people walking by. I take a deep breath and lower my voice. “You called to ask me for money — again, but I don’t have any money and anyway, I’m not helping you kill yourself anymore. I can’t take this.”

  “Listen,” his voice is frantic. Scared and frantic. “Just listen to me for one minute.”

  I know I should hang up. I tell myself it’s what I need to do. But I can’t, because what if he doesn’t have another quarter and can’t call back? What if he’s somewhere, alone and suffering, and he doesn’t even have anyone to talk to?

  “I’m hurting bad, Lexie. I just need something to get me through this and then everything will be different.”

  “What? What will be different?” I can hardly believe I’m giving him a chance to tell me more lies.

  “I’ll go to rehab.”

  “You’re lying. You say that every time we have this argument, and you never go.”

  “I mean it this time, I swear. I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

  I say nothing. Dev takes my silence as a sign that I’m weakening. But the truth is, a terrible feeling of tiredness has settled on me. I can’t find the energy to argue with him.

  “So, try to get twenty this time — more if you can.” His voice gets light and hopeful as he continues. “Hey — you know what? If I had fifty bucks I could get enough to wean myself down so I could handle rehab. That’s why I haven’t gone before — I was scared of how bad the withdrawal would be. But if I could ease off the stuff first —”

  Lies, lies, and more lies. His and mine — they’re all starting to run together.

  He’s still talking when I pull the phone away from my ear and press the power button.

  Chapter Seven

  That isn’t the end of it, of course. There are more phone calls over the days and weeks that follow. More than once I am on the verge of giving in, of going to him. At those times, it’s almost as if he can feel me weakening. He tells me I’m the only person in the world he really loves, the only one he can count on.

  “No one else understands me,” he sobs, his words blurred by the need and pain running through his body.

  Other times I am stronger. He senses this and his attack on my will changes.

  “Why do you hate me?” he sobs, when this seems the most likely way to pry open the door guarding my willpower. “You were the one person I thought still cared about me.”

  The self-pitying things he says rarely last long. He hasn’t the patience to work it through, and instead, erupts in anger. He offers to smash in my face, to defile my mother’s grave, to spread degrading stories about me. These threats are mindless words that force their way up from a howling ache for drugs.

  Sometimes threats are followed by contrition, but more often his voice grows ever darker, uglier. Then, the words dissolve into babbled bits that I am glad I cannot decipher.

  I learn that there is nothing he won’t say, no emotion he won’t use, no threat he won’t make, to get what his body craves.

  Often, his last-ditch effort is the one threat that truly scares me.

  “I can’t stand it,” he whimpers. “Honest, Lexie, I can’t take this. When I hang up, I’m going to kill myself.”

  But I hang on, somehow. I try to sound unmoved, even as my heart beats cold with fear.

  “You’re already killing yourself,” I say, “and I’m not helping you do it.”

  Slowly, it gets a little easier to say no, and even to hang up. The guilty feelings are still there, but at least I’m not feeding them with more things to feel bad about.

  * * *

  The school year comes to an end and I start a summer job at Subway. I’m a “sandwich artist.” Woo hoo! What a glam job. It’s been an eye-opener, let me tell you! Businessmen in expensive suits try to charm us into little freebies: an extra meatball, more cheese, double bacon. Worse are the fussy women with pinched faces. They’re never happy no matter how carefully you follow their neurotic instructions.

  “Oh, dear — the olives aren’t spread out very evenly, now, are they?”

  “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I should have realized how traumatizing it would be if one bite had more olive in it than another. Here, let me arrange them in a symmetrical pattern. The people waiting in line behind you won’t mind a bit.”

  Okay, those are the things you’d like to say, but never do. Not if you want to hang on to your fabulous career as a sandwich artist. And I did. After years of sharing one ancient computer with everyone in the house, my mind was made up. I was going to get a laptop of my own — something sleek and fast.

  It takes no time to realize that saving money is harder than I expected. For one thing, working actually costs money! Shoes that are still comfortable after you’ve been on your feet for eight hours. Bus fare and lunches at work and clips so your hair won’t look totally lame tied back. These things add up.

  And what’s the point of working if you don’t have a little extra spending money? Oops. Did I say “extra”? That was a mistake. The first thing Dad and Andrea did when I got a job was sit me down and tell me they were proud of me. Oh, and that now that I was working I shouldn’t expect any more handouts for movies and make-up and a whole long list of things I was now responsible for buying myself.

  It’s a wonder I don’t go in the hole! If I’d still been giving in to Devlin, I would for sure. But he was getting the message, at last. Or so I thought.

  The calls have almost stopped, but it’s still not completely over. There’s one horrible scene where he shows up at my house. The worst part is — Oscar is there.

  It’s Saturday evening and we’ve just been hanging out, listening to the new Roman Dane CD and talking idly about renting a movie. Dad and Andrea are gone to a party — something to do with her job, so you can just imagine how lame it is. Lynne is staying at a friend’s place, but Barb is home, which means I can’t go anywhere.

  Then there’s this knock at the door. It starts out loud and gets louder: Bang! Bang! BANG! Barb comes running down the hall from her room and throws herself onto the couch beside me. Her face is wide and scared.

  “Lexie, someone’s banging on the door,” she says. “It’s really loud
.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. But I don’t go to answer it. I’m glad Oscar is here, already on his way. “Look through the peephole to see who it is first,” I tell him.

  There’s more banging. I hear Oscar mutter something, but I’m not quite sure what it is. Then he’s back, standing there looking at me.

  “It’s Devlin Mather,” he says. He shakes his head. “He looks bad. What do you want me to tell him?”

  I’m instantly afraid, like something cold has just grabbed me. “I’ll go talk to him,” I say. “Can you stay here with Barb so she won’t be nervous?”

  “Yeah, but are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  I wave away his concern and head for the door. When I get there, I open it and step outside. I nearly push Devlin over because I’m in a panic to shut the door behind me. I don’t know what he might say. If he brings up something about me taking him money — well, you can imagine what Oscar would think if he heard that.

  As Devlin straightens back up I can hardly believe that it’s him. He’s looked worse every time I’ve seen him, but now the downhill slide has been fast and horrible. His face is blotched with sores and his eyes are like black holes in their sockets. Dirty clothes hang from his frame — once athletic, now thin and trembling.

  I’m flooded with sympathy and disgust at the same time.

  “Dev,” I say, gently — kindly. My hand starts to stray toward his arm, but it doesn’t get there. I can’t bring myself to touch him.

  “I need some money,” he says. He leans in to speak and his breath is horrible. It’s like he’s rotting from the inside out.

  I shake my head. “I can’t,” I say.

  “You can’t? You mean you won’t!” He takes hold of my arm, squeezing it in anger. “You used to care about me.”

  “I still care about you,” I say. I wonder if there’s any truth left in the words.

  “Yeah? That’s why you stopped helping me?” His face is ugly with anger. “Do you know what I’ve had to do since you turned your back on me? The things I’ve had to do?”

  He looks away for a few seconds but his eyes return to me. “Disgusting things, Lexie,” he says. He covers his face with shaking hands. “But now, look at me. The cars don’t even slow down.”

  A wave of nausea washes over me. I want to tell him I’ll give him some money — just so he’ll leave. But I know if I do, he’ll be back, again and again.

  “I’m sorry, Devlin,” I say, forcing the words out. “I can’t help you. You need to go to a rehab —”

  His hand darts out and takes hold of my arm a second time. The grip is tight and it hurts.

  “I want that ring back,” he says.

  I stare at him.

  “The ring I bought for your birthday. I want it back.”

  I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing. He wants me to return a ring he gave me as a gift when we were dating. It’s pretty — my birthstone set in a flower — and I really like it. For a second, I consider offering to give him whatever bit of money he’ll get when he sells it. But somehow, I know that if I do that, he’ll find a reason to come back for it again.

  “Okay,” I tell him. “You can have the ring.” I look him straight in the eye, wanting him to see the contempt I feel. “Is there anything else you gave me that you want back?”

  He gives it a second or two of thought. “No, that’s it,” he says, “just give me the ring.” He wipes his mouth, leaving a trail of wet on the back of his hand.

  I tell him to wait there. But I don’t trust him to stay outside. I lock the door behind me when I go in. “I’ll just be a sec,” I call out to Oscar as I hurry down the hall to the bedroom I share with Lynne.

  The ring is in my jewellery box. I grab it and go back to the door. This time I don’t step outside.

  “Here,” I say, thrusting the ring toward Devlin. “But this is it. If you ever come back here, I’ll call the police.”

  His teeth clench as he snatches the ring from my hand. He turns to go without a word, his movements jittery as he hits the sidewalk.

  I try to convince myself that this is finally the end.

  -

  Chapter Eight

  It’s almost a month before I see Devlin again. Even so, the thought of him haunts me. I relive our last meeting over and over, wondering if I could have handled it differently.

  To my relief, it didn’t cause any problems with Oscar. Maybe that was because I was honest, for a change. When Oscar asked me what Devlin had wanted, I’d been on the verge of telling him yet another lie. It had been a surprise, then, when the truth came out of my mouth. Not the whole truth — just the truth about the ring.

  “That’s too bad,” is all Oscar said. “I hope he gets straightened out.”

  Dori is a lot more inquisitive when I tell her about the whole thing the next day.

  “No way,” she says.

  “It’s true.”

  “Well, I know that. I mean, I know you’re not making any of this up.” She finishes applying polish to her nails and waves her hands about to speed up the drying. “It’s just so hard to believe that Devlin would do something like that. I used to be a bit jealous of you, because he seemed so awesome.”

  “It’s not him anymore,” I say. “It’s the addiction.”

  Dori gives me a long, steady look. One eyebrow goes up. “You guys broke up over this, right?”

  “Yeah.” I try not to think about the break-up. It still sits with me, the humiliation of seeing how easily I lost when I told him it was me or the drugs.

  “So, what would happen if he got off it?” Dori asks.

  “What do you mean ‘what would happen?’”

  “Would you go back out with him?”

  “I’m going out with Oscar,” I point out.

  Dori rolls her eyes. “Like I don’t know that,” she says. She blows on her nails and then touches one with a fingertip ever so gently. “But what if Dev was clean again, and you had to pick. Would you stay with Oscar or go back to Devlin?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. An image of Devlin, before drugs, flashes through my mind. It makes me want to cry, so I push it away. “I really loved Devlin, but a lot of bad things have happened. My feelings have changed — I don’t think it could ever be the same again.”

  “How do you feel about Oscar?”

  “I really don’t know. He’s a totally great guy and everything, but it’s kind of strange. It’s like I’m on the outside watching sometimes, like it’s someone else going out with him, not me.” I search for the words to make it clearer, but all I can come up with is, “I’d never want to hurt him.”

  “I bet it’s hard for you to get close to Oscar because of what happened to Devlin,” Dori says.

  “Maybe.”

  She shrugs. “’Course, I’m no shrink,” she adds.

  “You know what — I already kind of suspected that,” I laugh, “on account of the fact that you’re still in grade eleven.”

  She swats at me for teasing her and then, thankfully, the conversation moves on. It stays in my head, though. I find myself wondering about it more and more.

  What if Devlin did get clean? What if he went back to being the guy he used to be? Is that even possible?

  I know he’s been through a lot in the time he’s been on the street. I fight them, but awful images push through sometimes. Devlin, putting himself at the mercy of men who use minors. I want to cry when I think of it. How does it feel to him, when he’s clutching those few dollars for heroin? And, what other horrors has he been through? I try not to let myself think of what else he might have been willing to do for drug money.

  How could he ever be the same, sweet Devlin I once knew? I know there’s hope. There’s always hope no matter how bleak things seem. I just d
on’t know how much of him is left under that pale and sickly skin.

  Guilt nags at me over the next while. I’m spending too much time thinking about Devlin. The disgust I felt at his last visit has faded. So many of the things I’ve been through and felt since the beginning have drifted off.

  I can chart Devlin’s whole journey to where he is today. It’s a map of emotions, a road I never expected to walk. And I put us on it.

  There was the beginning. The unease — just a hint of worry. I remember how he laughed that off. I remember his exact words.

  “Whaddya think — I’m going to turn into some kind of junkie?”

  I don’t think I believed that could really happen — not then. The idea was impossible, at first. It didn’t take very long, though. Was it months … or only weeks? I can’t recall. I just know it happened so fast.

  Worry became fear. Real fear. The kind that grips you and leaves you feeling cold and helpless. And anger. There was a lot of that, during those early days, before he was on the street. There were tears and pleading — the desperate kind where you cry and beg on your knees with your heart breaking.

  None of it mattered.

  None of it made the slightest difference.

  In the beginning he lied. A lot. He hid things. He stopped being sweet and kind. Things disappeared when he was around. The one thing he never did was stop.

  And now, when he’s reached such a low place, I’ve forgiven him all of it. Somewhere inside, I know that he had to go down this far, if there was even a chance for him to come back up.

  I’m tormented and exhausted. It’s an effort to go through every day trying to act normal.

  I realize, at last, that I’m waiting for something.

  And then it happens.

  Chapter Nine

  It’s Devlin’s mother who calls to tell me. Seeing the familiar number on the phone and hearing her voice freezes me in place. I can barely breathe for the fear squeezing my chest.