Dead Man's Bluff

by Adriana Law

  She had sacrificed him for freedom.

  His rage finally subsided and he stilled, chest rising and falling with heavy uneven breaths as he assessed the damage of his fit of rage. A little self-preservation of his own was way overdue. Scooping his jacket up off the back of one of the chairs in the dining room he headed for the front door.

  There was only one place he’d ever felt at home.

  Only one place he’d ever found peace.

  Only one place he wanted to be.

  Boonville, Arkansas. ♠

  Drew plunked his duffel bag on the ground and turned gazing out over the yard. There it was… the barn shrouded by a blue, cloudless sky. Rocks grew to the size of boulders in the pit of his stomach and a sheen of sweat formed along his brows. It’d been two years, and it still looked the exact same as the day he’d left: gaping holes in the burned roof, charred jagged wood gutting out, curled up tin pulled loose from rot.

  Tink had loved the ranch. He’d loved that barn and working with the horses. He’d spent many nights alone in that barn dealing with his demons and he’d died in that barn, and Drew knew in his heart the old man wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. He’s tombstone reads, “Reunited with Mabel on Friday, July 13, 2012.”

  “You okay, sir?” The Cabby asked gazing up at Drew from the driver’s side window. The cabby draped an arm over the wheel his eyes following the same paths as Drew’s. “Looks like the owners had themselves a nice little fire. Hope nobody got hurt.”

  Drew swallowed hard retrieving his wallet from his back pocket. He handed the man the cab fare and heaved the strap of the duffle bag over a shoulder, climbing the steps to the front porch. “Anybody home?” He called out pushing open the door. Silence greeted him. Dropping the bag he headed for the kitchen.

  Griffin swung around by the kitchen sink whenever he heard Drew enter the room. He leaned lazily against the cabinets chugging down an entire glass of water.

  “Shit you’ve gotten a lot taller!” Drew remarked, grabbing a soda from the refrigerator.

  “Turning nineteen will do that to you,” Griff smirked.

  The soda hissed as Drew dropped down in a chair and chugged down half of the soda. It had been a long, tiring trip. “Where’s Birddog?” Drew asked his gaze traveling over the matured features of Griffins face. The guy had more stubble along his jaw than he did. When did that happen?

  “Her and Ms. Susan went to pick up a few things from the grocery store. They’re both going to have a conniption-fit when they see who has honored us with his presence.” Griffin was still smirking like a smartass. He asked Drew, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “About what?” Drew gave his empty can a spin on the table top.

  Griffin raised a brow.

  “Oh, you mean… am I going to ask about your sudden ability to communicate like the rest of us?”

  Griffin appeared the same as every other nineteen year old relaxing at home on a Sunday afternoon. He was wearing a long sleeve red T-shirt, the sleeves so long they almost swallowed his fingers, no shoes; one grey sock scratching the top of the other foot. He studied Drew as if he was waiting for more. “I take it you’re not shocked?”

  Drew shook his head. “I figured something was up all those times I saw you and Emma sneaking off to the lake for a swim. I didn’t think she was hanging out with you just to hear herself talk…can’t picture her being satisfied with that.”

  “You’re not going to hit me up for reasons why?”

  “Nope. I’m guessing you didn’t feel like talking to a bunch of strangers. It took us a little while to earn your trust, and it’ll take even longer for you to trust us enough to tell us the entire story.”

  Griffs eyes narrowed. “When did you get so smart?”

  Drew lunged out of his seat and playfully punched the guy in the stomach. “What the hell you talking about? I’ve always been smart.”

  “Maybe in your dreams!” Griffin clipped Drew’s shoulder with his knuckles. “Are you home for a visit or for good?”

  A lazy smile crept onto Drew’s face. “I’m thinking about fixing up the barn and buying back the horses.”

  Griffin bit down on his lips fighting hard not to laugh. “Do you even know how to swing a hammer?”

  “I’ll hire someone to do it.”

  Birdie and Ms. Susan squealed as soon as they entered the kitchen. Birdie settled the bags filling up her hands on the counter top and pulled Drew in for a hug. “You’re home,” she cooed, firmly patting him on the back. ♠

  Seven

  Mackenzie staggered up to his door. His head buzzed and his legs felt like they were pumping Jell-O instead of blood, wobbly underneath the weight of him. He only had to make it to the couch, and then he could pass out. The keys he was picking through clattered to the floor.

  Ah shit, bending over wasn’t going to go over too well with his stomach.

  A flat palm smacked against the door squealing down wood as he folded at the waist bumping the set of keys with deft fingers. He fed the keys into the lock and stumbled inside the dark entry, his only welcome the darkness and silence. “Damn it all to hell! Fuck ‘em all! Who needs the headaches?” Keys plunked down beside a crystal dish on the small table in the foyer. He shrugged out of his jacket and zigzagged his way over to the couch realizing he had way too much shit someone could run into. The comfort of the couch sucked his large frame into it and a smirk formed on his face. Triumph! He’d managed to make it home without needing to call his son and without ending up face down in gutter somewhere. He punched two enthusiastic fists in the air; one more victory for team Mackenzie!

  He must have passed out, because the next time he opened his eye there was a man standing before him, and not just any man, it was Clyde the owner of the bar he’d frequented when he was in his twenties.

  Clyde was wearing a black denim button up that puckered along the ridge of his fat belly, occasionally one could get a glimpse of wiry hair through the cracks between each button. A Bolo Tie was strung around his thick neck: a leather lanyard with silver tips and a silver buckle. Sometimes he wore a cowboy hat to hide his balding head, but in the vision, or nightmare, he was holding the hat. His double chin swung above the snug tie as he whistled through his teeth, “Fine mess you’ve gotten yourself in, Mack. I always told your evil dealings would be like a bad stench that finally caught up with you. I never could quite figure it out: you were either one confused socially inept man or hell bent on ending up alone.”

  Mackenzie swayed a fraction and snarled, “Don’t tell you’ve given up bartending to play “The Ghost of Christmas Past”?

  “Hey, if you pay attention…you might finally learn what you’ve been doing wrong all these years.”

  Mackenzie snorted, his head bobbing around on his shoulders.

  “Well, are you ready?”

  “It all depends… exactly where am I going?”

  “To the biggest mistake you’ve ever made of course.”

  “Is it okay if I sit right here for the show? Don’t think I’m up to strolling down memory lane in my inebriated state.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  There was suddenly the sound of sobbing echoing off the tall ceilings of the apartment: a female crying mixed with a small child’s over by the front door. Mackenzie’s swung his head in that direction seeing a much younger version of himself: tall, dark and dangerous. His stomach dropped and his jaw started grinding.

  “You promised he wouldn’t be here when I came to get my things, John! You swore!” His first wife Clarissa sniffed. Her hands clutched at the small boy clinging to her left leg.

  “And who am I supposed to leave him with? He doesn’t have a mother anymore.”

  “He has a mother… I’m his mother,” she hissed. She kneeled in front the small boy rubbing her hands along his thin arms, pasting a fake smile on her face. “Shh, it’s okay, don’t cry, Drew. Daddy and I had a little disagreement, that’s all.”

  Mackenzie added, “M
ommy’s leaving us for her new lover, son.” His fingers dug into Drew’s boney shoulder as he peeled the five year old off his mother’s leg and directed him towards the bedroom.

  Drew glanced back at his mother one last time sucking in air with each sniffle, before he was propelled inside the room. His father’s large hands slid under his arm pits as he lifted him, tossing him up on the bed. “Here, read a book.” A book from the nearby dresser landed on the motorcycle bedspread Clarissa had purchased to go with the dusty blue wall color.

  Decorating Drew’s room—one of the last sane things the woman ever did.

  The five year old version of Drew blinked, confusion bunching his brows. “I don’t know how to read yet.”

  “Then just look at the pictures or take a nap.” Mackenzie unbuckled his belt buckle. The leather made a ‘swish’ sound as he jerked it from the waist of his pants. “You see this belt? You take one step out of this room without my permission to do so and I’ll turn you backside blood red…do you understand?”

  Drew nodded.

  Clarissa took a couple of steps back as Mackenzie stalked furiously towards her. She fought for courage as she muttered, “The lover remark was uncalled for…you didn’t have to tell him that! He’s just a child!”

  Mackenzie’s hand sprung out grabbing the length of her hair, forcibly angling her head back so he could sneer down at her, while he forced her to look him in the eyes. “I walked in on my wife screwing another man! Do you have any idea how much that crippled me? Drew would do well to realize what kind of woman his mother is now instead of later!”

  “If you’d only calm down... I love you, John. Don’t do this, don’t shut down of me,” she pleaded, wincing as his gripped on her hair tightened, yanking and tugging.

  “You were the only woman I wanted. I gave up everything to cater to your ass! You’re the only woman I ever envisioned carrying my child!” He spit on her face, foamy bubbles of salvia sliding down her right cheek. His expression turned to stone. “You make me sick! I think I deserve a fucking explanation… a reason you trashed our entire marriage and your son!”

  His hand released her hair only to clamp around her wrist, his fingers turning white from the pressure. With his other hand he shoved the sleeve of her shirt up past the elbow, already knowing needle marks would be visible. “You’re using again! You traded a fucking fix for sex, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU? YOU FUCKING WHORE!”

  “Shh, John, Drew can hear…” She choked out, sobbing hysterical. “Please, don’t do this! I’m sorry! I just need a little help… the drugs… I just can’t function without them!”

  “Get your shit and get out!” He yelled thrusting her away from him like a piece of stinking garbage.

  She pleaded with him, “What about my son? Can I at least visit him? Don’t force me out of his life… he needs me.”

  “He doesn’t need you.” He laughed out. “You heard what the judge said. No contact! You’re no good for anybody! Everyone knows that! Just look at you! One day I’ll find a woman worthy of my love and devotion and she’ll fill the role of wife… and mother.”

  Her expression turned to steel. “Yes, you may, but you’ll only manage to tear her down until she is nothing worth keeping around. One day Drew will see you for what you truly are and he’ll despise you… you reap what you sow.”

  “Come on, Clarissa, quoting the bible, don’t you think that’s a little hypocritical considering your list of sins. You need someone to blame… take a good look in the mirror, sweetheart.”

  (Present)This memory was too much! Mackenzie didn’t need or want to see anymore. Clyde could take his little walk-down-memory-lane and shove it up his hairy tight ass. “Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing if you caught your wife cheating? I don’t recall this as the worst mistake I ever made… It was the day I finally received some clarification.”

  Clyde clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Ah, but you’re forgetting you’re the one that persuaded Clarissa into doing drugs in the first place.”

  “No one forces you into doing something. She made her decision.”

  “Yes, you’re right, but she was happy being a mother and a wife… it was you that encouraged her to hire babysitters, so you two could ‘mingle’, rubbing elbows with the wealthy. You were the one who told her drugs were perfectly acceptable for recreational purposes…” He settled his hat on his head. “You wouldn’t let it go, Mack. You know how persistent you are. She loved you. She would have done anything you asked her to. You’re forgetting I knew Clarissa before her dark period. There wasn’t a sweeter woman...”

  “Okay! Enough! She’s the one who decided to become addicted to the stuff. I had my shit under control! I still do!”

  “Do you?” Clyde cocked his head, “Mack, that’s not the

  some people are more vulnerable than others.”

  “So, Ghost of Christmas Past… Are we done yet?

  “Not quite. Do you remember where your son was when you finally bothered yourself with searching for him?”

  One of Mackenzie’s brows shot up. “Is this a trick question?”

  “I wish it was… do you remember what he looked like huddled on the floor of that closet?”

  “Of course I remember, you smartass! I was the only one there! I did the best I could, Dammit! I’m sure you’ve done some things you’re not too proud of in your lifetime or do you categorize yourself as a saint?”

  “This isn’t about me…it’s about you. I’ll have to answer for my sins one day… right now, focus on Drew hiding, scared and alone.”

  “Is she gone?” Drew asked as a crack in the door lit the dark corner he’d found refuge in.

  “Yes.”

  “When will she be back?” he sniffed.

  “She won’t. Your mother is never coming back, son, you might as well accept it.”

  “Why? Did I do something to make her mad?”

  “No. She’s a whore. We don’t have room in our life for whores. We’re better off without her if she’s not going to love us like we deserve to be loved, don’t you agree?”

  Drew’s chin jutted out, trembling. He didn’t answer; only cast his brown eyes at the floor showing between his crossed legs.

  “Dammit, she doesn’t deserve your tears, so stop crying…stop it this instant! Look at me, NO. MORE. CRYING! Do I need to get the belt?”

  Drew flinched, murmuring, “No, sir.”

  Mackenzie held out a hand to his son. “Then, come on; let’s start our new life without her.”

  Drew didn’t know much, but he knew enough, he knew about heaven and hell and that there was a difference in the two. He eyed the hand extend down to him as if it were Satan’s hand luring him over to the wrong side.

  (Present) Mackenzie woke the next morning face down in the sofa. He groaned lifting his head, a head that felt like it weighed two hundred pounds. He glanced down at his wrinkled dress shirt that had pulled free from his tailor dress slacks. One of his arms hung off the side of the couch, his long fingers still curled around the neck of a bottle of Grey Goose. His eyes slammed shut against the sunlight, his face going back into a crack in the cushions.

  What a fucking nightmare!

  Mack. No one had called him that in years.

  After it became obvious he was eventually going to have to move, he pushed up into a sitting position and ran both hands through his messy hair. He didn’t need a mirror to know what he looked like: he could smell the stench coming off him and taste the thick paste coating his tongue. He brought his wrist up close to his eyes to see what time his watch had. Skin several shades lighter than the rest of him showed where his watch used to be. “Somebody stole my damn Rolex!”

  His head thumped against the back of the couch and he sighed staring up at the ceiling. Then it hit him, he started searching his rumpled pockets to see what else the bastards stole off of him. He slid out his silver money clip (empty) and his cell phone.

  He scooped up the cell and scrolled through his c
ontacts, his finger hovering over one contact in particular—the one he usually felt the urge to call several times a day. The urge had never been this strong. Pressing deeper into the couch he leaned to where he had sight of a clock hanging on a wall. 10:30 AM.

  What the hell, it was a phone call, nothing more! He hit send.

  “Hello?”

  Her voice had always excited him, his heart responded. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t speak past the sudden dryness.

  “Jonathan?” Lillian whispered making his name sound like a forbidden pleasure.

  “You held onto my number? That’s a shocker,” his voice was deep and masculine with a hint of teasing.

  She didn’t reply for the longest time. He thought she’d hung up until he heard her sigh. “What is it you need?”

  “You.”

  “I’m hanging up now,” she threatened.

  “Wait! Do you ever wish you would have chosen me over Stratford?”

  “Never.”

  He chuckled, “You were always brutally honest. It’s a shame… You know… you’re the only woman I think I could have ever been happy with, Lilly. God knows I’ve tried many.” He chuckled. “Can’t seem to find a wife that fits my lifestyle.”