by Holly Hood
“Nobody. Just a bad day.” I drop my purse on the table and settle into the couch. I could use a good talk—maybe even a good cry right now. “Out of everyone in the world, Ike has managed to make me feel a million times worse about myself.”
Sophie sits down. She’s intrigued. Thank god she hasn’t ever hung out with Ike again. I don’t think I could handle seeing the guy every day of my life.
“What do you mean? He’s a little slimy but I don’t think he is that bad.”
“There’s just something about him that I don’t like.” I explain the moment when he touched me and how it put me into a very dark place, and when I am done Sophie looks even more concerned.
“It could be nothing.” The way she starts chewing on her nails doesn’t sit well with me. “Or it could be something way worse than either one of us knows.”
“Sophie.” I sigh. “Why do you have to talk like that?”
“Did you forget my love of all things Dr. Phil?” She crosses her arms, prepared to analyse my mental health. “There was this episode the other day that really blew me away. This woman suffered years of horrible nightmares, and later found out that they weren’t nightmares at all. That her mind was subconsciously revealing the truth, that she was the victim of horrible things when she was younger.”
This doesn’t make me feel better. “Dr. Phil is an asshole.”
“Dr. Phil knows his shit. And you were in a bad accident years ago. Maybe you are trying to stifle your pain and for some reason its just now coming out.”
I don’t think that’s what it is. I shake my head standing up. “Stick to your day job. I am over my accident. I suppose next you’re going to tell me that sleeping with Jackson again was a cry for help.”
Sophie lights up. “If I had known, I might have. When did this happen? I thought you called it quits after he threw a fit right here in this apartment.”
“I had until we ran into each other,” I explain. “One thing led to another and I discovered that Jackson is able to turn off his feelings if he really wants to.”
Sophie shakes her head. “He’s only telling you that because he doesn’t want to let you go. It’s his last attempt at reeling you in. Believe me I have seen it before.”
She goes back to vacuuming and I go to my room, crawling under the covers. I take the book I have been reading off the nightstand and try to disconnect from the world but no luck.
I throw back the covers and drop to the floor, pulling out the box of journals Lee gave me. I open one up and start reading.
A couple hours later I have learned even more about my mother, like the fact that she was forever chasing the idea of romance. Yet at the same time afraid to catch it.
Or that she loved her father more than anyone else in the world.
And how much she wanted me and looked forward to being a mother. She wrote a list of all the things she hoped I accomplished and she even started saving money for me to go to college, until it was stolen from her house one night, in which she talked about for four whole pages.
She was a very emotional woman, she had a big heart for the ones she loved and she spoke her mind, I see it in every sentence that she chose to put on the paper.
I’m proud to know that she is my mother by the end of her first journal and I am glad that I finally had the courage to read them.
I shut the book and put it back into the box and something else catches my eye. A small scrap of paper. I pull it free and study it.
It’s a three digit number. 16, 7, 14.
I lift the books and find the other half of the paper, it’s not a scrap at all it’s a receipt. But it’s so faded the only thing I can see is the total and the letters ox.
I open one of the photo albums and tuck the paper in there next to a picture of my mother holding me. I guess the shock of having all of her things I never paid attention.
I touch the photograph of my mother holding me tightly on her lap. Her cheek pressed against mine. We are both staring at the camera with smiles on our faces.
I shut the book and shove the box away from me. I’ve had enough and I want to sleep.
I crawl into bed.
Twenty Five
My phone wakes me up. It’s a text from my brother.
Lilac asked me to send you this picture of her playing dress up. Love you.
Just looking at my niece, Lilac, in the red dress, I remember it all perfectly. This is not the way I want to wake up.
It’s Christmas.
I’m wearing a red dress.
I’m five years old and I am running up and down the staircase of an old house.
Up and down. Up and down.
All sorts of people are in the other room talking.
And there is a little boy at the top of the stairs. He’s wearing a blue shirt.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” he says back.
I walk halfway up the steps, afraid to go any further because I have always had a hard time making friends.
“Want to play?” he asks.
I nod and go the rest of the way up the stairs. And chase him down the hallway. He hangs over the railing, watching the party go on down below.
“Get down from there,” I warn him. “You’re going to fall and break something.”
We stare each other down and finally he does what I demand. He touches the red ribbon in my hair and takes off down the hallway, so I chase after him.
Only this time the door at the end of the hallway opens and both of us stop running.
The man in the doorway, he’s looking at me.
He drops down and smiles at me. I back away.
“Come on. Let’s go downstairs,” the boy tells me. I think he’s scared too.
“I got cartoons on in here,” he says. He stands back up and grabs my shoulder, whispering into my ear. “That’s a pretty dress.”
The brown hair boy leaves, and I watch him disappear down the staircase leaving me alone with that man.
“Come help me with something,” he tells me, coaxing me into the room. He grabs my wrist and I follow because I’m more scared of what will happen if I don’t.
He shuts the door behind us. The room is dark. The only light is coming from the television. But those are not cartoons. I am sure of it.
He sits me on the bed. “Have you ever seen a gun before?”
I don’t answer him.
“I have one if you want to see it,” he offers. I don’t say anything.
“You’re very pretty you know that?” He touches my shoulder again, looking me over. “Just like your mother.”
My stomach hurts. All I can think about is how bad my stomach hurts.
He starts to unbutton his shirt and this scares me. And I start to cry.
“Don’t cry, that was a compliment,” he whispers.
I jump off the bed and run to the door, banging on it and pleading that someone will open it up and let me out. This is about to become my nightmare and I am only five and I know that.
I want to be afraid of what is under my bed, not this man.
I kick and scream and keep twisting the knob and finally the door opens and the little boy with brown hair is standing outside. He takes me by the hand and we run down the hallway and down the stairs.
And when we are safely at the bottom he tells me to wait for him, that he will be back. I do what he says because I am too afraid to do anything else.
After a few minutes, a gun goes off and the adults race up the stairs to find out what happened.
Someone picks me up and the last thing I see before I am swept away from all of the chaos is the little brown haired boy coming down the stairs covered in blood.
A man has him by the back of his shirt and he looks angry with him. And I can’t understand why because that man was trying to hurt me. They should be angry with that man.
He’s okay. I know it’s not his blood. I know he took care of that very scary monster that wanted to hurt me.
I gasp, shocked that I
remembered something so vividly. It doesn’t feel like a revelation, it feels like a burden that somehow resurfaced. I’m welcoming back an old friend. One I didn’t realize had left until just now.
A memory that puts fear in me, that houses a deep dark sadness in the pit of my stomach. I remember it and I wish it would just go away.
***
I come through the front door of my parents’ house. My mother is sitting on the couch reading one of her home and garden magazines. And my dad is sleeping in his recliner.
I sit down.
“Hey, honey.” She continues reading her magazine.
I’m in a fog.
“Everything alright?” she asks, setting her magazine in her lap when she sees that I am having a hard time pulling it together.
“I was wearing a red dress.” I explain.“It was Christmas. I was five. I don’t know where I was or why I was there. But this man took me into a bedroom and he tried to do things to me. And I remember it.” I breathe a sigh of relief that I got it out.
My dad sits up in his recliner, he pulls the handle and stares me down. “Savy.”
I shake my head. “That little boy shot that man. I remember it like it happened yesterday. He was covered in his blood. What happened to that man?”
Neither one of them are explaining themselves. And I just want to hear something to know that I am not crazy for thinking something so bad could have almost happened to me.
Was it the first time? Is there more of these horrific things just waiting under the surface to come out?
“He’s dead.” My mother assures me. “He was a very sick man, Savy and you don’t have to feel bad about any of this.”
“Why would I feel bad?” That man was trying to hurt me. “He was trying to hurt me. What kind of person does that to a little girl?”
“It was taken care of, I assure you,” my father tells me, standing up. He’s uncomfortable and I honestly can’t understand why.
“What about that little boy? What happened to him?” He killed someone and he couldn’t have been but a few years older than me, if that.
How could he live with himself after doing such a thing?
My mother releases a breath. “It was a family Christmas party.”
My father isn’t happy about what she is doing. “I don’t think she needs to hear this.”
“I let you go with some relatives. They assured me that you would be okay.” She touches her forehead, closing her eyes. She’s upset and I can tell regrets this as much as I do. “If I had ever thought something bad was going to happen to you, I wouldn’t have let you go.”
She looks at my father. “I would never have let her go.”
“When you came home you were inconsolable. You were shaking like a leaf and it took us an entire week to get you to sleep in your own bed again.” My father explains. “So we put away that red dress and any other reminder of that night so you could move past it. It was another couple months before you wanted anything red near you. You didn’t want to wear a dress because you were afraid that was the reason why it happened.”
I touch my chest, he’s exactly right.
“And when you were in the car accident and woke up, you were a different girl, a girl with no recollection of the horrible thing that happened to you. And I planned on keeping it that way,” he tells me. “It was my goal to never let you have to go through that again.”
I wish this made me feel better but I can’t breathe. I hate the thought that this ugly truth was resting inside my head waiting to resurface again.
“I need to get out here,” I tell them. My mom follows me to the door. She looks over her shoulder making sure my dad isn’t there.
“Honey, are you sure you’re alright to drive?”
“Where was I? Who was that boy, Mom?” I search her eyes. She’s hiding something.
“Your mother’s family, I tried to let them see you until we found out just what kind of people were lurking around at all times.” She smooths my hair down. “I don’t know who that boy was. I was just glad that he was there, I hate to think what would have happened if he wasn’t.”
I look past her; my father still isn’t there. And there is one very important thing I need to know. “Who was that man?”
She looks away for a moment and back at me. “Phillip Thorne.”
I nod. “I’ll see you later.” I kiss her goodbye and go down the stairs.
There’s only one person I want to talk to right now. And I dial him.
“Hey,” Jackson says. “I thought you forgot about me.”
I don’t have time for his flirting. “Phillip Thorne. I need you to find out who he is.”
“Okay, what for?”
“It doesn’t matter. I just want you to tell me who he is.”
It only takes him a few minutes to give me an answer. “Phillip Thorne was a member of the 8th sin. He had two children. And he died over a decade ago. Wrapsheet as long as both of my arms.”
“Was it a homicide?”
“Says here ruled a suicide.” Jackson tells me. “Funny thing is, it says the cops were never notified. The family was raided months later and police found evidence to support a death at the house. When questioned about it, the owner reported that Phillip was holed up at her place for weeks and had taken his own life. With no body, it looked like there wasn’t much anyone could do, so they closed the case. The guy never turned up.”
“Who were his children?” My heart sinks.
“One daughter, Romy Thorne and one son Issac Thorne. They both were with their mother until she died of an apparent drug overdose a month after their father died. After that, they seem to fall off the face of the earth. Until Issac’s criminal history started to kick in at the age of fifteen. I got nothing on Romy, she’s never showed up again on anybody’s radar.”
“What do you think that means?”
“She probably got the hell away from her family and went on to live a respectable life.” He sighs. “Now do you want to fill me in on why you want to know about this guy?”
“I will later.” I thank him for the help and end the call.
There is one more person I need to talk to.
***
I knock on Nash’s door. I know it’s a long shot that he is going to be home but I have to try.
One of the young guys that was there the first time I came here opens the door. He looks me over cautiously before he says anything.
“Savy, right?”
I nod. “Yeah and you’re…”
“Fuzz.” He makes a face. “I know, weird name. It’s the shaved head.” He touches his head and smirks. “What can I do for you?”
“I was looking for Nash. I really need to talk to him about something.”
Fuzz scratches at the back of his neck, growing uncomfortable. He steps outside and shuts the door. “I wish I could help. But the last time you set foot here two of our top boys got pepper sprayed and Nash beat the shit out of them. You really shouldn’t be here right now.”
I only see two bikes in the driveway. “Do you know where he is?”
Fuzz shakes his head. “No, I don’t. But you’re better off leaving Nash alone. He’s in a lot of shit right now over that property.”
I nod. At least he’s being nice about it all. “Well, I’m sorry about the pepper spray for what it’s worth. I was only trying to protect Nash.”
I start down the stairs. He has to be somewhere.
“Hey.” Fuzz comes down the steps. He looks down the street before giving me more of a response. “Usually when he’s laying low, he’s also getting wasted. Try the bars close by, he’s bound to be at one of them.”
“What about a phone number?” That would be the easiest way to get a hold of him.
Fuzz shakes his head. “Most of the time he doesn’t have a phone on him. You’re better off just looking, sweetheart.”
Twenty six
I looked everywhere I could think to look for Nash and I had no luck.
; And I finally realize that me driving all across town is going to get me no closer to him.
I shut my car door and follow the path up to our apartment. I just want the day to be over with.
I hit the buttons on the elevator, impatiently waiting for it to open so I can go back to bed. The door opens and I am just about to get on when I stop because right there in the elevator is the person I was looking for—Nash.
“Oh my god. You don’t know how amazing it is to see you right now,” I say, my mouth explodes with the first thing I am thinking.
He doesn’t look too amused. “I was hoping you’d be home.”
I slip inside the elevator and hit the button for my floor. “I am now.”
We ride the elevator in silence until it makes it to my floor.
I fish my keys from my purse and go for the door. I look over my shoulder before I let myself in. I don’t know if Sophie is home and if I am going to have the chance to say what I need to say in the next few minutes.
My emotions are on a rollercoaster and I am waiting for them to take a turn and for it all to go someplace else. “There was a few things I wanted to talk to you about,” I tell him unlocking the door. “But first, I want to make sure you’re okay. I stopped at your house and Fuzz told me you were hiding out or something.”
He makes a face and takes a seat on one of the bar stools. “After you pepper sprayed half my crew, I couldn’t just walk back into my house and sleep sound at night.”
I open the refrigerator and take out two cokes. “If they are your crew, why do you have to worry about them retaliating?”
“Just because we’re on the same side doesn’t mean they won’t hesitate to beat the shit out of me.” He raises an eyebrow, cracking open his coke. “And like I said. You pepper sprayed them.”
I shake my head. “I know. Believe me I haven’t forgot what happened that night.” Or the kiss we shared that has made a permanent home in my memory.
“When do you think you can go back there?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, sitting his coke down on the counter and looks at me.
“I hope you can. I know your dad is there.” I look at him and shrug.
He shrugs back, pressing his fist against the side of his face he stares me down. “I thought you had it out for my father? Now you’re concerned about whether or not I get to see him?”
