The Years After (Sister #5)

by Leanne Davis

  They were at another party, on another night when a guy with intensely dark eyes kept feeding her drinks, smiles and compliments and she was soon lulled into giggling and hanging all over him. He was huge. Nearly the opposite of Derek. She felt all tiny and cute with him. With Derek, they were equal. Partners. Together. She banished him because he was too short, wasn’t he? Any guy who was so small had to have short man’s complex. She snickered thinking of it, and of Derek standing next to this giant. The giant had no clue why she was laughing, but happily joined in with her, which made it even funnier to her. When he leaned down to kiss her, she let him. He had thin lips and stuck his tongue deeply into her mouth. It shocked her and her eyes widened to find his were closed. Not a good kiss; but nonetheless, a kiss. Another guy. Another night. She giggled at that thought too. She was trying to be like Kylie. She remembered how she used to worry about Kylie. What she failed to realize was how misogynistic her worry was. So what if Kylie liked sex? So what? A girl was allowed to like sex too. And not just with soul mates. It was okay to experiment. And although she wasn’t up for girls, she was also not ready to be put out to pasture, as if she were married at the age of eighteen. She misread Kylie’s behavior as acting out, and signs she needed help.

  Why couldn’t Kylie just enjoy being a player? And not be afraid to admit she liked sex? Why couldn’t she, Olivia, like sex? She had no hang-ups or traumas. She really liked how it felt, so why did she allow what she’d been taught all her life to cause such conflict? Because our prudish, Victorian society still persists. A girl is only allowed to like and enjoy it if she were in love, or married, or committed. One thing Olivia quickly learned was that was not true. As much as any guy got off from an easy hook-up, so could any girl. Maybe Kylie wasn’t acting out, but simply having fun, which Olivia planned to do now.

  After Olivia got over her initial unwillingness, she found out she liked it and thought it was rather liberating. She was always careful, of course, and didn’t intend to end up diseased or pregnant. But finally, she decided to act her age.

  The guy she hooked up with that night was aggressive. He lifted her up above his chest and let his erection push hard against her crotch. She gasped in his mouth at the unfamiliar, rough handling. But he didn’t listen. He just kept kissing and kneading her ass. She let his tongue explore her mouth while a little, tiny tickle of desire awoke her drunken body.

  She felt much weirder than usual and drunker than usual. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t sure. Her head started to spin and her limbs felt too heavy as she nearly went limp in the man’s arms. He smiled and muttered something that sounded like, “Good girl.” Why was she a good girl? What a ridiculous thing to say to her. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog, but it didn’t work. Nothing worked. She was slipping away from reality although her body was still moving.

  ****

  There were many moments in Derek’s life when he actually believed he was about to die. His fear was often more real than any physical pain. One time, his dad held a knife to his throat, being so high and out of his mind, and his father’s hands shook like a Parkinson’s patient, causing the knife to prick into his skin. There was another time when Derek tried to get a tweaker to leave their apartment after he screwed their mother who was passed out. She could have been dead for all Derek knew; and the skinny, dirty guy compressed Derek’s neck until he almost passed out from suffocation. There were many more unsavory memories, which was why he didn’t often care to remember them. Suffering from the overall feeling of fear, it permeated his consciousness and became the reason why he so often ran from everything. When it came to fight or flight, he always chose flight.

  That was until Quentrell called him and suggested, very kindly, that he come to an address on Sullivan Street. It wasn’t familiar to him. Derek hung up his cell, confused what the hell his twisted fuck of a brother wanted from him now. Another beating? Watching his gorillas work someone over? Could have been that. Sometimes, he watched Quentrell supervising a poor guy who tried to cheat or screw him getting their special brand of punishment. The expression on Quentrell’s face turned Derek’s stomach more than the thug who was actually doing the violence. Quentrell liked to watch people being tortured. He got off on wielding power over those who were weaker or more needy. Most of his dealers were addicts themselves, and the drug eventually got the better of them. They stole from Quentrell, usually in the form of drugs, not money, and wound up on the receiving end of Quentrell’s wrath. His crew did the dirty work through knives or beatings. Derek had witnessed it once, and it was enough to make him puke his guts out. He tried to disappear for several days, but his common sense returned along with the knowledge that if he left, Max would be at their mercy. Max was next up. Max was left out of the family business, but only if Derek was performing. Quentrell took over their lives the very day he dumped their father’s body, wherever that was. When Derek’s mom begged for a fix, Quentrell demanded Derek in exchange. “Sure, you can have him,” his mother agreed as she held Derek’s hand and dragged him over to Quentrell’s apartment. Shoving him at Quentrell, her last orders to Derek were to do “whatever big brother wanted.”

  That was his role and he never stopped performing it. Not even now. Today. When he was contemplating his own death. But he knew that was only a selfish means of escape. He could no more leave or die than he could run because Max was next up in the family legacy. The only thing that separated him from Quentrell was Derek hadn’t passed this legacy on to his little brother yet. He hadn’t demanded that his little brother’s life be sacrificed for Quentrell, and it was the only thing Derek had to measure his life against. It was the only thing decent he could do.

  He climbed into his car and went to the location Quentrell named. It was a dull, blank building with sad, seedy apartments. He climbed the steps past the weather-beaten, splintered doors where loud banging and sporadic swearing could be heard from inside the apartments. On the fourth floor, he knocked on the specified apartment. It was silent, but footsteps soon reached his hearing and stopped as he swung open the door.

  His brother stood there. Alone.

  He had never met with his brother alone before. Quentrell swept his hand to invite Derek inside. Derek entered, his heart beating louder and harder. His hands clenched as he wished he had decided to carry a weapon. Now it really seemed like a good idea.

  “What is this?”

  Quentrell’s smile was slow and sinister. He finally replied with great drama and said, “This? Why this is your reeducation.”

  The hairs on Derek’s arms rose. He sensed something wasn’t right. This was way more off than usual. The new location. The fact that Quentrell was alone. It felt like something much bigger was happening. He forced his lungs to inhale, and reminded himself he had to keep breathing. He had to keep his wits clear. Perhaps, he didn’t actually want to die. Now faced with it, and the almost certain knowledge that Quentrell was playing for a deadly end, he didn’t want to die. Not without trying to escape first. Or trying to save Max, and maybe even saving himself. He’d been wallowing in his own stagnating stew since banishing Olivia from his life, but maybe he and Max could simply disappear. Together. Vanish. Maybe he could finally do something right.

  But that wouldn’t happen if he died. What would Max do? For the first time, it wasn’t just lip service. His chest grew wider as adrenaline began to trickle throughout his body parts. No! He wasn’t doing this! He refused to die in some rotten stinkhole over drugs that he never wanted to sell for money that he never got to enjoy. Quentrell took it all.

  Quentrell confiscated all of his life and his choices, and he’d done nothing about it. He practically let Quentrell rule and ruin his life.

  “My reeducation into what? What more could you do to me? I’m your bitch, your criminal, your bank and your cash cow. There isn’t much more you can squeeze out of me.”

  “Oh, but there is. See, I know what’s going on. I think you’ve decided to grow a late-in-life conscience.
Fuck you, Derek. No one leaves me. Not unless I say. I own you. And it’s time you remembered that. And learn what happens to those who forget it. You have until Monday to report back to work. Be there. And this is just a warning. You won’t survive the next encounter with me.”

  Quentrell walked out the door. Derek didn’t react for a full second. What the hell was that? The silence seemed too thick and heavy. What was this place? Why didn’t he feel he was alone? Fright again started to percolate through his blood system. Run. Leave. Get the fuck out. Go get Max. RUN.

  But something made him step into the darkened bedroom. Something made him look. He expected… what? Another of Quentrell’s dead dealers in there? Bleeding out over the bed as an illustration of what awaited Derek? He had it mapped out in his brain, right down to the last detail. He knew as he flipped the light with shaking hands what he’d find.

  Instead it was a thousand times worse. Until the day he died, he’d never forget it.

  Olivia.

  She lay on the bare, dirty mattress. She was naked. Her long hair was strung around her in gnarled hunks. Makeup was plastered on her face. And her eyes were closed.

  Everything stopped. His pulse. His heart. His brain. He could not move. He could not believe what lay before him. He was petrified. So afraid to step forward. To feel her cold skin. To know she was dead or raped, and he’d done it to her. Tears coursed down his face. His breathing hurt, deep in his chest and his head spun into dizzying depths.

  Olivia.

  “Olivia! Olivia!” He screamed at her as he rushed forward before grabbing her arm. A pulse. He shook her hard, but it was like moving a puppet. Fuck. There was a pulse. Nothing else mattered. He fell to his knees beside her and checked her body out, but found nothing. No wounds. No bruises. She was completely unconscious and her breathing was shallow and faint. What had Quentrell done to her? His panic overtook his brain, which wasn’t working right. His fingers shook as he tried to grapple with his phone and call the police for an ambulance. Now. He was nearly hysterical on the phone.

  Overdose. His entire body stilled. He must’ve given her an overdose. Derek’s reeducation was overdosing Olivia! There was dirty bedding on the floor, which he grabbed to wrap her in as he waited while climbing onto the bed beside her.

  Tony. He had to call Tony. He had to tell Tony what he’d done to his daughter. He had to make sure Tony was there.

  He shook so hard, he could not dial. But he managed eventually.

  “Derek? This is a surprise.”

  “They hurt her. You have to get to the hospital. Now!” he burst out without any thought or articulation as to what he should have said.

  Tony’s tone immediately sharpened. “Who hurt who? What the fuck are you talking about, kid?”

  “Olivia. They overdosed her. I called the police. They’re coming. She’s breathing, but they overdosed her. But—”

  “We’re coming. Now. On what? What did they overdose her on?” There was shuffling and moving as he yelled at Gretchen. They were at home together. Good. They’d come for Olivia. She needed them so much. Because she had to live. She had to be okay. She completely had to be just fine. Otherwise… no, he would not even contemplate the alternative. No. Never. Life without Olivia would surely result in him walking into oncoming traffic, or shooting his father’s gun into his mouth.

  What was it? What caused this? Contrary to his lifestyle, he didn’t hang around the users he supplied. But what was it? OxyContin? That was his main staple, and the biggest narcotic he supplied since it was in the most demand. It had to be. Quentrell’s perfect, fucked-up justice.

  Tony hung up at some point, and Derek heard loud sirens before the clatter of boots came tromping up the stairs and a loud rapping on the door announced the fire department. He rushed to throw it open and let the paramedics in as they fired questions at him in calm, authoritative voices that almost made him think they knew what they were doing. Firemen and paramedics filled the stinkhole. Three men and two women, who were equivalent to super-heroes straight out of comic strip to Derek. No one had ever come in so fast to help him until now, when he felt more scared than any other time in his life. Nothing like it had ever happened to him. Olivia’s vitals were taken and they put her on pure oxygen before he could gasp out his disjointed story. A cop walked in as he spoke. Always the enemy. He avoided cops like mosquitoes avoid Deet. But not this time. He told them what he knew, which was shit. He told them who his brother was, how he’d been lured there and how little he knew of the place, but felt sure about what was done to Olivia. In the process, they took Olivia out on the stretcher, all the while hurrying, but their obvious confidence gave his aching heart some faith that they had gotten to her in time and could save her. They would do what he could never do for her.

  He hung back as the questions seemed to shoot from all directions. What should he say? He didn’t know. He couldn’t even recall what he’d already said. He fully expected handcuffs to be thrown on his wrists, and in a way, he was ready for them. Finally, he could stop running. From all of it. The lies and cheating and hurting and wanting to die. He could just stop being a monster.

  But they didn’t do that. Instead, they offered him a ride to the hospital. Turned out, he had no drugs on him and no one had ever heard of his name. At least, that he knew of. He just went by Derek on the streets. That’s all he ever responded to. Few people knew what his full name was. He didn’t think anyone knew that Quentrell was really Quentrell Salazar either. He was one-named to the rest of the world. Part of what kept Derek safe all those years was his scarce knowledge about Quentrell, which was just enough to keep him alive.

  In a chaotic, fuzzy sequence of moments, he ended up in the ER, waiting on Olivia. He barely registered driving himself there. Once inside, he waited in a faceless waiting room and stared at the white vinyl floor tiles without seeing them. Unfeeling, and still in denial. No this could not have actually happened. He did not nearly kill Olivia.

  But he had. At least, he had nearly gotten her killed. Directly or indirectly made no difference to Derek. He never dreamed, not even for a second, that Quentrell would ever go after her, but especially not now, since they weren’t together. He had no warning that could happen.

  Noises entered his brain with the strange, tunnel-like affect that made him feel like he was underwater and couldn’t surface to breathe. Then he saw Tony and Gretchen Lindstrom rushing past him and down the hallway. They were totally oblivious he was there. His stomach contracted and the contents of his insides nearly heaved out of his mouth.

  He sprang to his feet and followed them. He knew he did not deserve to, but was unable to stop himself. He just had to make sure she was okay.

  They were talking to a man in scrubs and nodding. Their heads were all bent down as they listened intently with stricken expressions. Then Gretchen seemed to wilt before falling against Tony. Derek saw her smiling in a soft, kind of breathless way. God. Damn. Olivia had to be okay. No other way she’d be smiling. Derek backed up and fell onto a bench. They were in a long, busy corridor where hospital staff passed as well as patients and their families. He leaned forward, breathing deeply as he held his face to his hands and nearly bent over to lean on his knees. She was alive. That’s all that echoed through his head.

  Except that didn’t mean she wasn’t permanently damaged. His head shot up. Rape. What if they raped her?

  Gretchen spotted him first and instantly, her eyes flashed and hardened. She pointed her finger towards him as her voice lifted above the crowd and din of movement. “You! Get the fuck out here, you murderous, little shit! You almost killed her!”

  He sprang to his feet when she came rushing forward. Several people turned towards them. A doctor looked ready to go after Gretchen, in order to protect Derek. Tony came up after her, his long strides easily outdistancing hers. He grabbed Gretchen around the waist and pulled her back before saying something into her ear. His expression was intense as he talked for several long moments. Her body sagged
into his and tears fell from her eyes. She suddenly grabbed Tony’s shirt and began bunching it in her hands. She nodded to whatever he said. He rested his chin on her head and finally, with infinite gentleness, he eased her away from him. She glared hard at Derek before turning to follow the doctor they were talking to. Tony stepped towards him. Derek waited. Ready and willing to let Tony hurt him. Instead, Tony motioned for him to follow him. He took a step and it hurt so much he felt arthritic.

  Tony stopped down another small corridor where there was no traffic, only a couple of vending machines and restrooms at the other end.

  “She’s going to be okay. They’re treating her with Narcan. Which has all kinds of its own wonderful side affects. But her condition was bad enough they felt it was necessary to give to her. You called the paramedics?”

  Derek nodded, falling back against the wall as his legs gave out.

  “You might have saved her life.”

  Derek didn’t respond.