Chapter 32
June 2004
The lamp was shattered and there were holes in the wall. Stan had begun cleaning up after the fight, the numbness allowing him to do so, but it didn’t take long for his grief to set in. Now, as he sat on the floor, leaning heavily against the wall, he wondered where it all went wrong. He loved Leslie. He still did. How could she have done this?
He remembered when they first met back in college, when she was Leslie Boggs instead of Cromwell. She had been at a party with her boyfriend and the guy found joy in humiliating a freshman. The freshman reminded Stan of Jake, so he stepped in and put the boyfriend in his place. Leslie approached him the next day. She took his breath away.
She tried to seduce him but he held out and tried to build a relationship first, and it worked. It didn’t take long for him to fall in love, and it was just as Jake said it would be. Her voice was seductive enough without the advances, but he did eventually lose his virginity to her. She was the first person to make him completely forget his grief over what had happened to Jake. She became his world. So what went wrong?
He had left Sara’s house to see if Leslie was ready to talk yet. He was upset, however, to find the green car still parked out front and the door still locked, so he opened a side window and climbed through. He heard a noise coming from the bedroom and was shocked by the sight of Leslie having sex with a college boy. Sara was right.
The boy came at him first and Stan’s memory went blurry from there. He remembered Leslie cursing at him for breaking into his own home. He fought the boy, and then the other guy showed up, nearly naked himself. The thought of what Leslie had been doing over the past day disgusted him, and he took his frustration out on those who had invaded his home. He did well enough, but when Leslie and the other girl attacked him, he refused to fight back. Leslie left with them in a panic and he simply watched her go. He didn’t know what else to do.
He had thrown away several dozen beer bottles and wondered if the drinking had altered Leslie’s behavior. He knew better, but there was still that small chance that the woman he loved was still in there. He was devastated, however, to find white powder dusting the coffee table. He wondered whether Leslie had begun using cocaine or if it was one of her guests. It didn’t matter anymore. He took another sip of the bottle held loosely in his bloodied hand. He wasn’t an alcoholic. He knew when to stop. He wouldn’t allow himself to reach that point, but he just needed something. There were more bottles in the fridge that needed to be thrown out; but, for now, he just needed to grieve.
“Leslie,” he said as he hunched over, the tears running free.
The lamp was shattered, and it was she who had broken it over his shoulder. She hit him with it when he pinned her new boyfriend to the ground and started beating him. The other boy was dazed on the other side of the room and Stan had all but won the fight, but then she attacked him and he lost all ambition to fight back. He was fighting for her honor, though he didn’t know why. This sick game had obviously been going on for a while.
He needed to see Sara. He needed to talk to someone. Pain shot through his back when he put weight on his arm. He needed to get his shoulder checked out.
Stan stumbled around the house, tripping over a pile of books that had fallen from a shelf. He picked them up, pausing lastly on the signed copy of Ellis’ book, but then put it on the shelf with the others. He liked Ellis, despite what Sara seemed to think. Ellis had been smitten with Sara but promised to back off, and he made good on that promise. Stan respected him for that. If worse came to worst and Jake passed away, Ellis would make a good replacement, but not until then.
There was a knock at the front door. A quick peek through a side window revealed Arthur Harris.
“Are you in there, Stan? Hello? We need to talk. Open up.”
Someone must have called about the fight, but then why did it take Arthur so long to get there? Stan was about to open the door when he remembered the beer bottle still in his hand. He looked back and more bottles were scattered about and cocaine still dusted the coffee table. Arthur knew Stan gave up drinking, but this still looked bad. It would all come out in the wash after he was tested, but he wasn’t up for that right now, so he chose to quietly back away from the door. It was still locked, as Leslie and her friends had retreated out back, so he headed that way as well. He told himself that he would explain things later, but he was really just putting it off. Deep inside, he still loved Leslie. Revealing what she had done would hurt what little reputation she had left, and he didn’t want that.
He snuck through the alley and jogged down the road at alley’s end. He needed to talk to someone, and Arthur wasn’t the best option just yet. Sara was his closest friend; but, as was often the case, he wished Jake were here. Jake always had a way of making him feel better; too bad he was strapped to a bed with no chance of recovery. The thought weighed on Stan’s mind, the same as it had for seven long years, and his stomach turned. A guilty conscience never truly goes away.
Cicada Song Page 33
