“You lost to children, Griffin. You’re slipping. If you can’t find a way to get your magic back, you will be useless to me. I’ll send you back to Neraka.” With a shake, he let go of Griffin and moved back to his side of the room and the piano they’d brought through magic into the cavern.
Griffin watched him for a moment, rubbing his head. He’d find the boy, and getting his magic back from him would be the least of what he did.
Dear You
Kim Fry
My name is Kim Fry, and I like dark and creepy things. My normal genres are horror and paranormal, so when I drew romance, I figured I would be bald by the end of it. However, I am always up for a challenge, so I tackled it enthusiastically. Of course, there's a little bit of dark in there, but you can't always write a story how you want to - they take on a mind of their own. I wanted the reader to be able to pick this up and fall headfirst into the story, so I hope it worked; and I hope you enjoy this piece as much as I dreaded initially - but eventually loved - writing it.
Dear You,
My therapist told me to write you a letter, so here I am, even though you’re never going to see this. Still, she thinks it will benefit me to express my feelings here. Personally, I don’t see where it will help, but I agreed so here we are.
I don’t really know where to start, so I guess I’ll just ramble. I remember the first time we met, which was hard to forget. It was in the Pike County Jail. Pike County is tiny, and the jail is kind of a joke. Just two holding cells in the sheriff’s station – and on that night, each one had an occupant.
I had never seen you before, and in a place as small as Pike, you know everyone. Yet there you sat, head hanging low with scraped knuckles and a bruised brow.
Similarly, I was not up to my best and brightest, the fuzzy feeling of intoxication dampening my mood. “Hey, stranger,” I said.
You didn’t even look at me – not that I can blame you. I mean, I was drunk and trying to spark a conversation. Just a few minutes later, I was hurling into a bucket Sheriff Halstead had the forethought to give me.
While I’m sure that wasn’t my best moment, you didn’t recoil from it. You simply asked, “You all right?” in a low voice, so quiet I wasn’t sure you spoke.
“Ugh, yeah,” came my graceful response just before I lost it to the bucket again. Not really a romantic first meeting, but not every story can be a fairy tale.
You made bail the next morning. Sheriff Halstead kept me a while and let me go without any charges, just a lecture and a disapproving look. He was pretty used to seeing my face, and the paperwork was probably more of a hassle than he felt worth it.
If I’m being completely honest, which the doc said I should, I didn’t think much about you after that. I figured you were a once over – stayed one night and then went on your way. I’m narrow-minded like that.
Then, two days later, I was at Samson’s Grocery and there you were, basket in hand and browsing like you’d lived there your whole life. But like I said, Pike is a small place and I knew right then that I had to know you.
“Hey,” I said.
You glanced up with a look of surprise. Maybe it was seeing me minus the bars and puke bucket that threw you for a loop. “Hi,” you said, same quiet voice like you were worried that if you spoke up, you might scare yourself off.
I still smile when I think about how timid you were. You carried yourself in a way that told everyone that you were closed off and unapproachable – which is probably the biggest reason I felt driven to get to know you.
“You in town long?”
You shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“What brought you here?”
You began walking, with me tagging along. You didn’t tell me off, and I wouldn’t say you were uncomfortable with me exactly. It was more like you were uncomfortable with yourself, like you were in someone else’s skin.
“My dad died and I inherited his property.”
“Mr. Mueller?”
You nodded, looking a little perplexed. I realized that you wondered how I knew who your father was, so I said he was the only one that had died in the last six months. “I didn’t realize he had any kids,” I added.
“That’s okay; it seems that neither did he.” A surprised look crossed your features. It was looking like I wasn’t the only one who vomited – yours were just with words instead of dinner. It brought a healthy laugh from me, and I swear you cracked a smile.
“Well, I’m not normally so bold, but if you need any help or anything, here’s my number.” I handed you my business card.
You examined it for a long moment. “I get the feeling as an advertising agent you’re entirely full of bold moves.” That was definitely an intentional sentence, and it had me laughing again.
“Maybe I am, but I’m serious. Give me a call if you need anything. We take care of our own around here.”
You nodded, and we parted ways. I would have offered my help even if you weren’t so attractive – that’s just the way things are in these parts. Helping each other is ingrained into us from birth.
Of course, people in big cities never understand that concept. They always think there’s a catch or expectation of a return favor. I guess we do ask for help in return but it’s never a requirement to help someone first.
I never expected to hear from you, of course. I expected to wait a few days and head out myself to check up on you. You seemed like the quiet type, like you planned to keep to yourself – maybe because even though you didn’t know him, you still grieved the loss. Maybe you were just the loner type. I never really figured it out.
Regardless, I did hear from you and much sooner than I’d expected. A day later, you called and left me a message I didn’t hear because, well, I’ve got problems.
I was drunk again, shocking I know – or maybe only shocking because it was early afternoon on a Tuesday. To be fair, I had my share of emotional problems.
Alcoholics run in my family. Both of my parents were, as well as most of the extended family. My grandparents didn’t drink anymore, but I’d heard stories of their younger years and they sounded pretty wild.
Now, I’d never intended to jump on the bandwagon, and it wasn’t like there was some coming-of-age invitation into the life of binge-drinking and winding up a bumbling fool, though my cousin Nelson was doing a stretch for vehicular manslaughter and drinking while under the influence – that was a plea deal he took so they wouldn’t charge him with murder.
I never killed anyone, but after his arrest, I’d stopped being a total idiot and driving. Instead, I walked the two blocks from home. I always started out with good intentions. Okay, I’d tell myself. I’m just going for a walk. I’m not going to the bar; I’ll be strong.
And then my third drink in, I’d realize that I once again lied to myself when I left the house and vowed that next time, I’d just leave my money at home. But I never did.
Anyway – I did say I was going to ramble, right? So, you called, I missed it. By the time I realized it, I was too many in, but I stepped outside and called back.
“Hello?”
“You rang?”
“Yeah, I just….” Your voice trailed off.
“What?”
“I just wanted someone to come over when I went to the property. Someone that actually knew him.”
“Oh.” Then, when it dawned on me that you didn’t know him, I said, “Ohhh,” like a damned idiot.
“Yeah.”
“Well, uh, yeah,” I stammered. “I can, but can we go tomorrow? I’m uh, a little occupied today.” Occupied meaning drunk. I’m not sure if you knew that initially, though I’m sure I didn’t sound as sober as I was trying to.
“Sure, how’s 8 AM for you?”
Internally, I groaned. I was a contract employee, meaning I stayed up all hours, went to bed just before sunrise, and when I finally woke in the early afternoon, already needed a drink.
Still, I said yes and we said our goodbyes. I don’t even know why I a
greed. Maybe because I said I’d help and was too drunk to go when you first called. I did wonder why you’d been in town for a few days but hadn’t even gone to the house yet.
I made it home in time to pass out for several hours. I woke up with cotton mouth and a hangover, which was pretty par for the course. Sober time was the worst and I tried to limit how long I spent without alcohol fueling my system and helping to stifle my thoughts.
Unfortunately, I did my best work sober so I made a point to get as much work done during those hours. Work helped keep my mind off the things I tried to bury but never as much as liquor.
I’d hit rock bottom by choice and now fuelled by need. I completed my work and had a nightcap of half a fifth of whiskey and soda. The next morning, 7 AM woke me with a vengeful headache.
Sadly, I had shit to do – like meet you. I knew better than to drink before driving over to the Mueller place. I couldn’t walk there, so I used my shaking hands to pop open a bottle of Aspirin and swallow them with a drink of water.
I brushed my teeth and gazed at my own haunted expression. I looked more than a little worse for wear, but I didn’t much care that early in the day.
I remember getting dressed in jeans and a faded old tee-shirt then brewing coffee strong enough to wake the dead.
By 7:30, I was in my car headed to the Mueller property. I made it there by ten ‘til and was the first one there. I sat on the trunk of my car, sipping my coffee and watching the remainders of the sunrise fading away.
The time ticked away and I became jittery, impatient. I wondered if somehow you’d forgotten or decided not to come out. I began contemplating whether or not I should call you, but then I saw your car tearing up the old dirt road.
You were more than twenty minutes late, but I saw the panicked look on your face when you apologized. “I got lost.”
I nodded, hopping down off the back of the car. “I kind of figured. That or you were standing me up.”
You shook your head in earnest. “No, of course not. I took a wrong turn off the highway.”
I nodding, knowing that the unmarked roads were hard to navigate for out of towners. The county had made a million excuses and empty promises about putting up signs, but they never got around to it. Still haven’t, now that I think about it.
“Well, are you ready?” You held up a set of keys with a smile, but I could tell you took no pleasure in the task at hand.
“I’m ready if you are.”
“I never knew him so I guess I am.”
“Mr. Mueller kept to himself so you probably knew him as well as anyone did.”
“All I ever knew was his name.”
“Well, I guess we’ll both learn something today then.” I grinned despite my headache.
You just nodded as we climbed the steps. The outside was a little worse for wear. Mr. Mueller hadn’t done anything in the way of a yard in years so the weeds had taken over, and there were car parts and other junk items lying around.
With a deep breath, you unlocked the door and pushed it open, staring into the front entry like you expected a monster to come attack.
“What happened to his dogs?” I asked, remembering that he had several.
“His sister took them.”
“Oh.” I watched the range of emotions on your face. You were hurt and maybe a little betrayed and most definitely angry. Death had a strange effect on people, which I knew about firsthand.
Finally, you stepped across the threshold and I followed suit. I wasn’t sure what you expected for me to do, so I kept my mouth shut and simply did as you did. You wandered through each of the rooms without really touching anything. Sometimes, you’d open a cabinet or door but didn’t move items around.
The inside was fairly typical of homes that had been in the family for generations. Touches of floral patterns on rugs and curtains were probably from when Mr. Mueller’s mother lived there, but the place was otherwise sparse of decorations. It was clearly the home of a bachelor.
Most rooms had a buildup of dust. The only two that didn’t were the kitchen and master bedroom. Even the old television set in the living room was coated with grime.
“What did he do for a living?” I asked.
You glanced at me in surprise. “He didn’t. He got injured when he worked for the railroad and had been living off a settlement he’d received.”
“Wow, some settlement.”
“Well, it wasn’t a ton of money but judging by this place, he wasn’t much into material things.”
I nodded. “He was always pretty frugal from what I saw. I bet he had a nice garage, though.”
You looked at me with a frown.
“He fixed people’s cars and ranch equipment.”
“Well, let’s go look.”
We went out the kitchen door to the back where the garage was, but none of the keys worked to open the side door.
“Maybe they’ll work on the actual garage doors,” I said.
Your expression showed the fact that you were unfamiliar with how some garage doors didn’t have electric openers.
I had to laugh. You were from a place that was so much bigger than this – we tended to be more interested in function ability versus upgrading. If it wasn’t broke, we didn’t fix it. If we didn’t need it, we didn’t buy it.
Luckily, the keys worked on the levered handles at the front of the garage, and you pushed the door up. Inside was a 1937 Chevrolet Master Deluxe with slick black paint and shining chrome.
“Wow, now I see where all his money went,” you said.
I shook my head. “No, he’s owned this as far back as I can remember; he didn’t drive it often, though.”
“What did he drive?”
“He had a pickup, which is better if you’ve got parts to pick up or have to go on a lot of dirt roads. The rainy season turns them into one big mud puddle and good luck getting anywhere without four-wheel drive.”
You seemed to consider it for a long time but then we moved on. Going back to the house, you began a more in-depth inventory, sifting through drawers and asking questions. We found so many flashlights we could have lit the whole place if the power went out.
You eventually went out to your SUV to get boxes, which I followed to help. You stopped, eying me with an unreadable expression on your face. “You don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to.”
I nodded. “Do you want me to go?”
You hesitated and shook your head.
“You look like you could use the help. Besides, I’m hoping you’ll tell me the story behind how you got all banged up.”
The bruises on your face had begun to heal, ranging from purple to that sickly green color. You smiled but made it clear it was a sore spot. “Got into a little fight. Rather not talk about it.”
I nodded. “Fair enough, but I’m still here to help unless you tell me off.”
But you didn’t. We began sorting through your father’s belongings, laughing and talking as we did. Before we realized it, it was nearly four in the afternoon. I knew because my hands were shaking and I could barely hide it. Or not at all, considering you noticed.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, but maybe we should break for dinner.”
I had been so distracted by you that I hadn’t thought about a drink all day, save for the occasional hand wobble. But now that I did, it was back full force.
You nodded. “Do you want to go someplace to eat?”
“What, dinner with you? I thought you’d never ask!” I said it theatrically, my hand over my heart like I was going to die of shock.
You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Where’s good to eat?”
I pulled my keys out and motioned for you to follow. “I know a place or two. I’ll drive so you don’t get us lost.”
“Want to take the Chevy?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been dreaming of driving that thing for years!”
We settled into the car and drove in silence. I realized
about halfway there that if I drove, I couldn’t drink – and I really needed a drink. I was beginning to feel really sick, like I might vomit. Not that you hadn’t already witnessed me doing that. Maybe food would help.
“So, tell me, what do you do for a living?” I asked, trying to avoid my budding panic.
“I’m a writer,” you said grudgingly. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of it but like you were bracing for a certain reaction you’d grown to expect.
“Do you love what you do?”
“Oh, I love it and hate it about a million times a day,” you said with a laugh.
“I can understand that.”
You kept glancing at me, trying to hide what you were doing. I pretended not to notice at first, but I couldn’t take it after a while. “What on earth are you looking at?” I glanced at your sheepish expression.
“Sorry, I was just admiring how good you look despite us spending all day coated in dust.”
My heart began an uncomfortable beat within my chest, and I nodded, a hard swallow following. “I don’t know how to respond to that without sounding like a total idiot.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible, for you to sound like an idiot.”
I laughed then. I mean, I could see you were flirting with me, but it was painfully clear that you knew too little about me. “You do know I’ve got bad habits, don’t you?”
You shrugged. “Don’t we all?”
“Yeah, but some more than others.” I pulled into the parking lot at Turing Bar and Grill and found a place to pull into. There were only three restaurants in the area, and this was my favorite, not that I’d been there in months. When you’re on a nearly liquid diet, you don’t really think about food – or you eat a lot of bar food.
We sat in silence for a moment, neither of us moving to get out just yet. “Thank you,” you said in that soft-spoken way.
“You’re welcome. For what?” I always did have a glorious way of sticking my foot in my mouth.
“For being there for me. You don’t know me but you’ve been more supportive than anyone I do know.”
I nodded, and I could tell there was more to the story.
Author's Torment Page 6
