WhiteSpace Season One (Episodes 1-6)

by Sean Platt

  When Emma was missing, Cassidy was a failure — not just as a temporary mother to Emma, but with everything in her life. Like always. Sarah was gone, and her sister’s absence served to reinforce a lifelong law: Sarah was good at everything, Cassidy at nothing.

  Sarah had died so suddenly, that it was difficult, if not altogether impossible, to properly mourn her passing. Cassidy had gone from the “fun aunt” who refused to grow up to full-time guardian in the ringing silence that sits in between one second and the next. Cassidy didn’t have so much as a minute to process or reflect. She felt like she’d done the right thing, stepping in to care for Emma, but had she really?

  Was it fair to her or Emma? Perhaps Emma was better off with Viv. Crazy as she was, she did raise two girls on her own. Or now that Jon knew the truth, perhaps Emma was better off with her father. That seemed like the option which made the most sense to Cassidy.

  But was it the right thing for Emma?

  Emma had been asleep in her hospital bed for a while. Yet, as much as Cassidy was looking forward to an empty house and cool sheets, she wasn’t quite ready to leave. She slouched in a surprisingly comfortable chair next to Emma’s hospital bed, stroking her hair as her niece quietly snored.

  Cassidy’s mind began sifting through an impossible number of what-ifs — from her own life, along with the many who, what, and wheres and whys that came from living life with Sarah.

  Cassidy had never known life without her sister. At one time, they’d been tighter than the threads of a rope. Even when they didn’t get along, they still had a bond which went deeper than temporary mood swings, rivalries, or any of the other shit that you go through with your siblings. They were, in some ways, like halves of a whole.

  Now, one half of Cassidy’s was gone forever.

  She’d never felt more alone, and was tangled in the thickest self-doubt of her life.

  Life was never easy when you were Sarah’s sister. Sarah was always so smart, and happy, and warm. She was easy to love, and even easier to be around. Sarah was a giver — of both her time and love. Whereas Cassidy always felt like a taker. And no matter how brightly Cassidy managed to shine, she was only a shadow beside her sister’s brilliance.

  Cassidy had spent her life comparing herself to her other, better half. She sometimes let the pain pool deep enough to wallow in, especially when her Addict was around and happy to help. Cassidy wished she believed in a God she could pray to help her through this.

  That was one other thing that Sarah had over her — faith.

  Lack of faith might have been the number one divider between Cassidy and her sister. Cassidy saw believing in God as only slightly less stupid than believing in Santa. The only difference was, you grew out of the Santa lie.

  In her weakest moments, Cassidy often wondered if Sarah’s unwavering faith was one of the things that made her light shine through Cassidy’s shadows.

  That last thought sent a sharp and sudden stabbing into the depths of her chest. She wondered how she would get through the night.

  Her addict reminded her.

  What are you waiting for, Cass? The bottle is full.

  FUCK.

  She looked at Emma, resting so peacefully, and wondered how on Earth she could possibly take care of the child. Once an addict, always an addict. And addicts couldn’t be trusted.

  That’s right. Why bloody your knuckles beating down a wall with an open door? Jon can take care of her.

  You should take care of yourself.

  Cassidy’s ears started to ring.

  FUCK.

  The engine of her self-loathing was starting to purr.

  Cassidy already knew exactly what she was going to do.

  After Viv arrived, she leaned across the hospital bed, kissed Emma on the forehead, then neatly readjusted her body, softly against the pillows. She thanked her mom for coming and then left the hospital, thinking about everything from Jon to her pills waiting.

  Even if Jon came to claim Emma tomorrow, no one could take their nine years together away. Cassidy would have their history forever. She knew her niece up and down and inside out. It would take Jon years to understand a fraction of her, let alone know how much she liked spaghetti tacos.

  Cassidy hit the bottom of the hill and turned left.

  Maybe Jon wouldn’t want to take her. A child isn’t exactly an easy accessory for someone wearing Jon’s particular brand of lifestyle. She asked herself for the millionth time what Sarah would have wanted, then reminded herself that her sister’s preference didn’t really matter at all. Not when there was reality to deal with.

  What does Emma want or need?

  The question filled her with an aching nausea.

  Cassidy wanted to pull over, roll down the window, and throw up — evacuate the rising bile inside her.

  There are better ways to beat the pain.

  Six more minutes.

  Cassidy didn’t want to think about what Sarah would have wanted, and hated that she had to. Fuck Sarah. I did my part. I’ve been the good aunt. It’s time for me to live my life! She thought back to all the Fridays she’d come over to spend movie night with Emma and Sarah – pretty much any Friday when she wasn’t scheduled at Shipwrecked — then imagined how many of those times the girl had fallen asleep on her chest.

  She would scoop Emma into her arms, then carry her to the bedroom, each time wondering how much longer she’d be able to manage before her niece finally grew too heavy. She had carried her twice in the last week, and didn’t think her arms would make it another year.

  Cassidy imagined Jon scooping Emma in his strong arms, like she was nothing. Cassidy’s imagination lingered longer as she pictured Jon slipping Emma under her sheets, then pulling the covers up to her chin in her brand new bed — a big white four poster, with princess pinks and wintery whites. Hell, there was probably a stable of horses and ponies on the back of his property.

  Jon would cover Emma, kiss her on the cheek, then turn to Cassidy and smile.

  Ha! You and Jon Conway? That’s ripe with hi-larity. Even I can’t help you there.

  Her Addict was an asshole.

  But tonight belonged to the Addict.

  Cassidy pulled into the driveway of Viv’s house, opened the door, then ran up the stairs and into the bedroom, tapping two pills from bottle to palm just 30 seconds after killing the engine. She decided she didn’t feel like driving home.

  She looked at the ceiling, dropped the pair of pills into her mouth, then swallowed. It used to be one pill. Now it was two. Soon, she’d need three, four, and more to achieve the same feeling. That’s when things could get ugly.

  She told herself she’d stop before she needed three pills. If she could manage to do that, she’d be fine, thank you very much.

  Cassidy crawled into the bed, closed her eyes, and waited for the pills to work their magic.

  Her anxiety melted like snow under sun.

  The air in her lungs turned cotton candy warm beneath the blanket.

  Pain turned to pleasure; rolling waves in wake of nirvana.

  See, I told you.

  The ringing which had started in the hospital, was still in her ears just a few minutes before, but was quickly fading to a soft, relaxing hum.

  She wanted nothing.

  Her escape was nearly complete.

  This was exactly what she had been waiting for.

  Cassidy swam through ripples of silence.

  Her hands curled into fists, slowly but happily clapping beneath her chin as she lay in a closed apostrophe, diagonally across on the bed.

  She was deep in her nothing, seconds from drifting deeper, and then quickly into sleep, when her ringing phone killed the thundering quiet.

  FUCK!

  The screen said “Jon Conway.”

  Of course.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Cass,” he said, or slurred. “You home?”

  “You’re calling me, aren’t ya?”

  A second of silence, then, “Y
eah, but this is your cell, right?” Jon sounded genuinely confused.

  Cassidy laughed, then said, “Oh yeah, well, yeah.” Wow. Embarrassing. “Guess I wasn’t thinking. Yes, I’m home. I mean, I’m at Viv’s house. Not my place. Why? What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to talk.” Jon sounded off. “I’m outside right now. Mind if I come in?”

  “Give me a minute,” Cassidy said, not sure if she loved or hated the idea. “I’ll be right down.”

  Cassidy tossed the phone on her desktop, then went to the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. She had no idea whether she looked amazing or terrible since her brain seemed to be sending her both lies at once.

  Cassidy ran downstairs, hoping the entire way down that Jon wouldn’t be able to tell she was fucked up. Not just because he could one day use it against her in court, but because she genuinely didn’t want him to know what a triple A loser she was.

  Cassidy saw she had nothing to worry about the second she opened the door.

  Jon wasn’t just shitfaced, he was downright fuckered.

  “Hey, Cass,” he slurred.

  “You drove here?”

  He shook his head, then used his Jack Nicholson face to loudly, say, “Nope, I raced!”

  “Sssshhhh,” Cassidy said, pulling him into the house. She looked behind him and saw his car parked diagonally on the lawn. “You’re going to have to lower your volume like eight notches, unless you want to wake five of the six neighbors who can still hear.”

  She took another look at him and shook her head. “You’re definitely not driving anywhere else tonight. You can sleep in my room. I’ll sleep in my mom’s.”

  Jon stepped through the threshold and into the house, making it three long strides before collapsing on the couch and knocking over a tall water glass, which made more noise rolling across the table than it did landing and spilling onto the ancient carpet below.

  Jon looked down, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he said.

  “It’s fine, let’s go.”

  Cassidy held out her hand, pulled Jon to his feet from the couch, then led him up the stairs. When they got to her room, Cassidy started peeling the blankets from her mattress and making Jon a small but cozy bed at the foot. “You get the soft blankets and pillows and I get the mattress, cool?”

  Jon said, “Sure, if that’s what’s best for you. I’m the drunk guest. But I thought I was sleeping in here and you were going to sleep in Viv’s?”

  Cassidy’s head was swimming; she was 95 percent sure this was real and not a dream, but the 5 percent kept slapping her across the face with a dull thud.

  She shrugged. “I figured you wanted to talk, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. I’m inches from sleep, and was fading in and out when you called. I figure this way we can talk until one of us falls asleep. Cool?”

  Jon nodded, his eyes half open, and mouth in a half smile.

  “So,” she said, “what do I owe the pleasure of your company then, Popcorn?”

  Jon said, “Wasn’t sure where else to go, but I sure as shit didn’t want to head back to The Sands of Time.”

  “Room service too slow?”

  He laughed. “No. It’s perfect. Just like every other hotel. But I’ll have a million more hours in empty hotel rooms. I wasn’t in a hurry to spend any more tonight.”

  “Good news then,” Cassidy said.

  “What?”

  “You made it. No hotel room, at least not tonight. And you can count this as two days since it’s almost tomorrow, if it isn’t already.”

  Jon laughed. Cassidy dropped to her knees and started fluffing the pillows at the top of his makeshift bed. He crashed beside her.

  “I went to Warren’s.”

  “Ah,” Cassidy nodded. “That explains things a bit, or a lot. Were you shitfaced before you got there, or was your liquid adventure after you left?”

  Jon said, “I was diarrhea faced.”

  Cassidy lightly laughed, stopped fluffing, then dropped her pillow to the pillow. “Everything okay?”

  Jon shook his head but didn’t make words.

  “I’m so sorry,” Cassidy said. “Do you want to talk about it at all?”

  Jon kept shaking his head.

  “Okay,” Her voice went suddenly perky. She felt stoned out of her fucking mind. “What do you want to talk about then?” She stood.

  Jon pulled her back down to the floor, then said, “nothing,” and swallowed her lips.

  Cassidy pulled back, but only for a second so that she could later swear that she did, then shoved Jon against the floor and met his tongue, dart for dart.

  She started grinding her body against him. Jon finished mashing his mouth against hers, then quickly drifted to Cassidy’s neck, then her shoulders, then up and along the length of her arms.

  Cassidy moaned, letting her mind wander to her sister.

  What would she think?

  Sarah’s dead, she’d be happy for you.

  Cassidy ignored the screaming inside her and kissed Jon harder, her hands drifting down toward his belt buckle.

  Jon wasn’t wearing a belt, so Cassidy started unfastening the buttons on his fly instead.

  His hand slipped up the front of her shirt, his thumb hooking into the front of Cassidy’s bra, then followed the natural slope to the middle of her left breast. He cruised around the edge of her nipple as she moaned louder, then squealed.

  Cassidy pulled herself from Jon, then climbed onto the mattress, pulling him by the hand up behind her.

  She peeled the tee from her body, then unhooked her bra and tossed it on the floor. Jon had her right nipple, the one he’d missed earlier, warming beneath the heat of his hot mouth as Cassidy’s body made rainbows on the bed, rising and falling as Jon crossed her body with his lips, kissing every inch, like the million times he never had before.

  Cassidy let him kiss her, slowly enjoying her body. She was surprised how long Jon was able to draw out the foreplay, especially considering the alcohol soaking his blood.

  She slid his hand around his hard cock, and he moaned, “Oh, Sarah.”

  She cringed, but only for a moment. And then there was a second where she thought he might realize what he’d said. But then she felt his animal side take over, and she knew they were seconds from changing things between them forever. She nibbled on his ear and whispered permission.

  “It’s okay to think of Sarah when you fuck me,” she said.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 5 — Liz Heller

  Friday night…

  Liz lay in the darkness with the low whoosh of Aubrey’s fan on the baby monitor the only thing sparing her room from total silence.

  While she was glad to have Alex home safe and sound, she couldn’t help but worry what tomorrow would bring. She would be calling Chief Brady in the morning to let him know that Alex had returned home. Brady had insisted that he speak with Alex. But Liz had to wonder if “talking” was just a precursor to an arrest.

  In many ways, her son’s fate seemed tied to the fate of the boy Alex put into a coma. And given that Manny Ortega — the boy her husband had put into a coma — just died, Liz couldn’t help but worry.

  How many deaths would her family be held responsible for? And how could they ever stay on Hamilton Island? Where could they even go? It wasn’t like she was going to get an insurance payout from her husband’s suicide which she could use to pay off her mortgage and move far away. And they had maybe four months savings, at most, before she’d need to go back to work — assuming she could go back to the school. Even if they would take her back, she wasn’t sure she could go back without constantly worrying that someone would target her, or eventually her daughter, once she was in kindergarten.

  Liz closed her eyes and prayed that God would make everything okay.

  She also prayed that the private investigator, Brock Houser, would find something on Roger’s flash drive which would help her make sense of the senseless. Beneath the still in the room and the whoosh from the baby mon
itor, Liz slowly drifted to sleep.

  **

  Liz woke to the sound of Aubrey giggling, a sound which carried the same creepy feeling it had earlier in the week when she thought she’d heard a voice in her daughter’s room.

  Aubrey giggled again, but it was a wide-awake-sounding giggle, not something that made her laugh in her sleep.

  Liz opened her eyes and saw the time — 1:11 a.m. – for one second before the clock blinked on and off, along with the monitor.

  The power went off again, and then on.

  The clock blinked 12:00 a.m.

  Something in the back of Liz’s brain was drawn to the time, 1:11, but she was still too thick in her sleep to effectively connect the dots.

  “Da-da,” Aubrey said over the monitor.

  “Shh,” a voice whispered.

  Liz felt as if someone poured ice water over her entire body.

  She leaped from her bed, threw her door open, and ran into the hallway. She grabbed Aubrey’s doorknob, turned, and swung the door open.

  And there, standing in front of Aubrey’s crib, was Roger.

  Except, it wasn’t completely Roger. It was as if she were watching a ghosted image on a TV station which wasn’t really coming in, like something bleeding from one TV channel to another. She could see through him, to the window beyond, as if he were maybe 20 percent there — just enough to see.

  Roger was nude, his body pale, and his hair messy, as if he’d been awake for days. He turned to her, tilting his head sideways, as though surprised to see her there.

  “You can see me?” he said, his voice barely there, from behind a wall of what sounded like static.

  “Roger?” she whispered back and began to approach him, the hairs on her arm all standing on end.

  As she inched closer, Roger’s body flickered on and off like a bad TV signal.

  On-off. On-off. On-off. Then he was gone.

  Liz stared at the empty space where her husband had occupied the impossible. She waved her hand through, as if she’d feel something. And she did feel something — a cold chill which started at her hand and spread over her entire body.