HARLAN

by David Whitman

The strange thing was that I actually felt guilty. Cops have a way of doing that to me. They always make me feel as if I've done something wrong. I have an innate fear of police officers. It must be an authority problem or something.

  I sat down curiously, wondering just what in the hell they thought I'd done. "Mr. Sexton, we would like to ask you a few brief questions then you can get back to class."

  I nodded as he continued. "When was the last time you saw Ross Morrissey, Mr. Sexton?"

  I thought about it. "I'm not sure, probably last Friday at school."

  "You didn't see him outside of school anytime this weekend?" Robins said, his eyes drilling into me.

  "No," I said, maybe a bit too snidely. "Ross and I aren't exactly what you would call friends. I don't keep tabs on where he is. What is this getting at?"

  "Where were you on Friday night?"

  "I was with my friends, Julian and Vlad, um, I mean Gary. We hung out at Lake Angel."

  The cop eyed me with a look that told me he had watched too many TV shows. "Were you with Vlad or Gary?"

  I smiled. "Both. Vlad is Gary, Gary Decker. Vlad is just a nickname Julian and I call him. What are you getting at? What happened to Ross."

  "Maybe you can tell us," the other cop, Base, said as he played with his thick mustache.

  "Is he dead?" I asked, genuinely shocked.

  "Is he?" Base asked, smiling menacingly. "He's been missing since Friday night. He was last seen parked near your address. Know anything about that?"

  "Listen. I hate Ross, I'm not even going to bother to deny that. But I would never kill him. I'm not that stupid. His life wouldn't be worth going to prison."

  They just nodded their heads as I answered some more redundant questions. I could tell they didn't believe me. They made me give them Vlad's phone number and address. They already knew Julian's name, of course. Julian must have tried to call me and tell me about all this shit last night, but I had gone to sleep early and slept straight through till morning. I didn't see him before school.

  By the time lunchtime rolled around, the whole school was of the opinion I had murdered Ross Morrissey.

  It all happened so quickly. I went from cult celebrity to suspected murderer in a matter of hours. If the whole entire football team wasn't after me before they sure were now. All day long I got dirty looks. Sam was the only person that offered me any support the whole day.

  When I got home, the house was empty, Suzanne having gone out with some friends. I practically ran to the phone.

  Julian's Dad answered. "Hello?"

  "Um, hi. Is Julian there, Mr. Morrissey?"

  "Harlan? Where is my son? The police seem to think that you have something to do with it."

  "I was with Julian on the night Ross disappeared, Mr. Morrissey. Ask him."

  I was getting really sick of this shit. Not that I would shed any tears if Ross ever came back, but I certainly didn't kill the bastard.

  I got uncomfortable as Julian's father started to choke up. "Listen, Harlan, if you have any idea where my son is, please tell the police. If you hear anything, anything at all, please call me."

  He hung up before I could answer. Shit! I wanted to talk to Julian. I was thinking about calling again when there was a knock at the door.

  Julian peered back at me through the peephole. I pulled the door open. "Julian!" I exclaimed, ushering him inside. "What the hell is going on? The whole goddamn town thinks I'm a murderer."

  Julian sat down on the couch, his face pale. He looked exhausted. "Yeah. I know. The police questioned me for hours this morning. My brother probably met some girl over in Farleyville. He's probably staying with her right now."

  "You don't think I have anything to do with it, do you, Julian?" I asked.

  "Harlan, don't be an ass. I hated my brother more than you did. I hated—" he paused nervously. "Why in the hell am I referring to Ross in the past tense?" He rubbed his eyes. "God, it's been a long night. My father is a nervous wreck. He's not even drinking. Let's start over. I hate my brother more than you do. Lots of people hate him."

  "Do you think that Peterson got him?"

  "Peterson?" He asked confusedly. "Oh, you still think he's the serial killer. No. Ross is too strong to be killed that way. Besides, the serial killer has only killed girls so far, why would he move to guys now?"

  As I stood there in shock, Julian suddenly burst into tears. I sat down on the couch and put my arm around him.

  He cried for a few moments as I waited for him to speak. "I miss him, can you believe that? I actually miss him. I'm so afraid he's dead, Harlan. He didn't always used to be such an asshole. We were never apart when we were younger. He used to beat up anybody who used to mess with me. It was only in the last three years that we grew apart. I used to worship everything about him." He stopped and tried to rub away some of his tears. "I'm so afraid he's dead, Harlan. Do you think he's dead?"

  "I don't know, Julian," I said honestly. "It's only been like three days, he can still show up. It's not like it's been months or something."

  Chapter 19:

  A loss

  It hasn't stopped snowing for two weeks. Ross still hasn't turned up, leaving me to think that maybe he really is dead after all. The cops have questioned me about the whole thing five separate times. Once they even hooked me up to a polygraph machine, which I promptly passed. That threw them for a loop. Since then, I haven't heard from them.

  Julian has his moments. He loved his brother way more than he realized. Or maybe he just mourns what might have been. Sometimes he acts like he always does, but there are some days where he retreats into himself, speaking to no one. He hasn't spoken to Allison in about five days.

  I'm so numb I can barely write this. Today my world fell apart again, fragile as it is. It started with a phone call from Samantha.

  "How could you do this to me, Harlan," Samantha's voice crawled into my ear, filling me with unease. She was crying.

  "What, Samantha? What?"

  "What are you doing this May, Harlan?"

  It hit me like a punch. This was one topic that I had intended to never talk to her about. "I don't know what Vlad told you, Sam, but—"

  "Shut up, Harlan!" She screeched into my ear, causing me to wince and move the phone back a little. "Vlad didn't tell me anything!" She broke down and began to sob into the phone.

  Dread dripped over me and I suddenly began to sweat. The journal. I had accidentally left my journal over at her house.

  For a moment, I was actually angry. "You read it, Sam?" I said, not bothering to hide my irritation. It was my own personal diary and she had no right.

  "Yes, Harlan, I read it," she sobbed into my ear. "I read every word. How could you do this to me? How could you let me fall in love with you?"

  I paused for a moment, trying to think my way out of this nightmare. "Sam, I started writing that journal before I met you. I don't plan on doing it anymore."

  "Oh, really!" she screeched into my ear. I heard her rustling through the pages. "Page 222. 'I wasn't afraid of the fact that I was going to kill myself. I was afraid that I still wanted to.' Just what the hell does that mean, Harlan? That was only a few days ago. Just—" She started crying so hard now that she couldn't speak.

  "Just what in the hell do you want me to do, Sam!" I exploded into the phone. "I'm trying here, despite what you may think! You have no idea what it's like to be me!"

  She stopped crying. "Harlan I just read your entire journal. I think I have a pretty good idea of how you feel." Her voice lowered into a tone that I had never heard come from her. "You are such a fucking idiot. You can't see that you are just a human being like the rest of us. We all have to put up with bullshit, it doesn't mean we even have to fucking think of suicide. We are over, Harlan. I will not let you drag me down with you. You are the most selfish person I have ever met. You would destroy the people you love simply to help yourself. I know you love me, Harlan. I love you too." Her voice wavered here, but she managed to bring herself under
control. "But I can't do this. I'm not as strong as I'd like to be. If you can't see that your life is worth living simply by reading your own journal, it's hopeless. I will put your journal into Suzanne's mailbox by tonight. I'm also telling her what you plan to do. Don't call me. I love you, Harlan. But, I hate you for what you did to me. I hate you for what you are going to do to all of us."

  Before she hung up the phone I heard her wail in anguish. It was the sound of such pain that I was sickened to my core to be the cause of it.

  Fucking Boom.

  Chapter 20:

  Hold on to your friends.

  No matter how hard I try—I can't stop the sound of Sam's final wail of pain in my ear. It reverberates violently, playing through my head like some broken record.

  She put the journal in the mailbox just as she promised. Inside the journal was the black and white photo of me crucified against the locker. She probably couldn't bear to look at it. The picture rang so true.

  I couldn't explain why I wanted to kill myself. The odd thing is I don't always want to kill myself. As a matter of fact, most of the time I feel fine. It comes and goes in moods. I'm not stupid enough to kill myself on a mood. The truth of the matter was, I was actually leaning more towards not doing it. Lately, I had learned to feel happy despite the depression. I've learned to live with it. And I think I've grown up a little bit in the last few months.

  Sometimes, though, it becomes unbearable. I don't write in the journal when I feel like that, so you only get a certain view of my life. There were times this year where the depression was so deep that I felt like I was already dead. Like I wasn't even here.

  Maybe I should explain to you what it feels like.

  When the pain does come, it's unbearable. It's hard to describe. You feel weak and repulsive, like you want to disappear. Most people feel the need to cheer me up when I feel like this, but the truth is it's hopeless. I actually feel better when left alone. At that moment, the touch of a human being is like an uncomfortable shock. Sometimes it can go on for days. Sometimes only hours.

  Call me weak, but I can't live my life like that. I wouldn't want to.

  I can't function knowing that I can break down at any moment. Medication certainly isn't the answer, for me, anyway. That's only masking the problem, not getting rid of it.

  I realize this is the first time in the whole journal that I have examined my feelings regarding my suicide—or even really wrote about it. It's almost as if I was hiding from it. Here I start a journal to understand my feelings and I spend the entire thing not talking about them.

  I guess I'm going to have to deal with things as they come. I'm still to numb to feel the real pain of the loss of Sam. I have a feeling that it's only going to get worse as the days go on.

  Julian sits in front of me, staring out Suzanne's front window as I write this. It has now been three weeks since Ross disappeared and still nothing. He's been acting weird ever since, but I guess it's not weird, actually. Ross is his brother after all, despite being the world's biggest asshole.

  I have my own problems to deal with, anyway, so I'm really not too much help to him. I see Sam everyday in class and I have to put up with the fact that I don't exist to her. I've tried to understand her reasoning on breaking up with me, and for the most part I can see her point of view. I know she lost her father to cancer just a few years ago, and is still haunted by his death. It would be hard for her to have to go through a heavy loss again.

  She sure laid a heavy guilt trip on me. Every day for the last few weeks, I have tortured myself with her final words. She's right, I am selfish. What right did I have not to tell her what I was planning to do? I think it's because I knew deep in my heart she would immediately leave me if I told her. Also, there is my general confusion on whether or not I will actually do it. God, I'm rambling now! I'm all over the place here!

  I'll tell you what, Dear Reader; I'm going to put my thoughts on Samantha to the side for a bit. I don't think I'm ready to deal with them yet, not in an honest way, anyway.

  Julian is still staring out the window, watching a sea of snowflakes crash into the glass. Probably sensing that I'm watching him, he looks up. "I miss him, Harlan."

  I looked back at him uncomfortably. "I know, Julian."

  "He's dead, I know it," he said, staring back out the window. It was beginning to snow a little harder. "I can sense it."

  "Please, Julian," I said, pulling a chair closer to the window. "You don't really believe that do you? You can't sense if someone is dead. That only happens in movies and novels."

  He shook his head. "No, he's dead, I know it."

  I sighed. This was an argument I wasn't going to bother to try and win. How can you argue when someone is totally irrational?

  It was time for a new change of scenery. "What do you say we head out of here?"

  Julian looked over from the window. "And go where? Haven't you noticed how bad the snow is outside? If we took Fat Ethel we'd get stuck in an instant."

  I got up and grabbed my coat. "Let's go get something to eat. How about pizza? Rodano's should be open, they live right above the restaurant."

  Julian got up reluctantly. "Okay."

  Ice cold air blasted into us as we left the warmth of Suzanne's house. Large snowflakes whipped wildly around us. I could see the flickering of the television light from my mother's house. I hoped she was happy.

  I picked up a clump of snow, rolled it into a snowball and tossed it at Julian. When he looked up, I saw a ghost of a smile, reminding me of the Julian I had come to love.

  "Hungry?" I asked.

  "Actually, yes," He answered, brushing in vain at the snow on his coat. "I haven't eaten since yesterday morning. I'm getting like you."

  "How's your father doing?" I asked, enjoying the peace of the neighborhood.

  The streets were totally empty. I've always loved the world just after a large snowfall—it totally comes to a standstill and feels safe.

  "Not good at all," he answered, his face dropping immediately. I promptly told myself not to remind him of Ross again after this question. "Ross was his pride and joy. The football playing superstar. Since my mom left my dad, he hardened himself, never showing emotion to anyone. He's been crying all week over Ross."

  I tried to imagine Ralph Morrissey crying and couldn't. He was your typical macho man, the kind of guy who wouldn't acknowledge pain if he was dying in front of your eyes. "That's got to be something to see."

  "It is," Julian said, looking down at the ground absently. "It makes me so uncomfortable. The only time I've ever seen him even choked up was when Augustus McCrae died in the movie Lonesome Dove. He didn't even cry when Mom left."

  "I cried when Augustus died too." I said. I stuck out my tongue to catch some of the dirty snow on my tongue. It tasted salty. "That was sad as hell."

  "Shut up," he said, laughing. "You never even saw the movie. You probably don't even know it's a western."

  "I saw it, I swear to God. I read the book, too. It's that scene with Robert Duvall and Tommy Lee Jones. Gus knows he's gonna die if he doesn't get his leg amputated, but he refuses. He feels that he couldn't live a life like that. When he dies Tommy Lee takes his body back to Texas to bury it." I smirked. "Besides, no one would name a character Augustus McCrae outside of a western, fool."

  Julian looked at me in amazement. "Holy shit, you did see it! Is there any movie you haven't seen? That movie is like six hours."

  "Not really. I haven't had much of a life. Everything I know I've either seen it in a movie or read in a book."

  Julian was looking at me strangely, an odd smile on his face.

  "What?" I said, pushing at him.

  "I'm not going to let you do it," he said, the odd smile never leaving his face. "I'll lock you up if I have to, but you aren't doing it."

  "Will you now?" I asked, returning his smile. "You really think you can stop me?"

  "Yes. I will stop you."

  "Well, you can try," I said, wondering why I f
elt so good. I guess it felt comfortable to have someone really care about you. The world seemed a brighter place with people like Julian in it.

  Rodano's Pizza was actually crowded when we arrived. It appeared that we weren't the only geniuses in Rawley that had decided to walk to the pizza parlor. There were a lot of people from school as well.

  When we stepped through the door everyone from our school stopped talking and looked at us. The eyes weren't friendly. Apparently, they still thought I was responsible for Ross's disappearance. Leave it to me to go from folk hero to villain overnight. We walked over to the only empty table and sat down.

  Carl Meaney, an asshole football jock, was giving me a dirty look, so I stared him down until he glanced away. After a few minutes, people began to forget that we were even there. We ordered a large pie with onions.

  "My brother wasn't always an asshole, you know," Julian said, sipping his soda. "When I was younger, I wanted to be him. I copied everything he did. I even tried to burp like him."

  "You were such a bright child," I added, pouring sugar into my tea and stirring it gently.

  He laughed, which was a good thing. "Piss off. What I was saying was my brother used to be good to me. Whenever someone would pick on me, Ross was the first one to jump to my defense. These last couple years, he just turned into a different person. I think when my mom left us he took it personally. Like it was his fault."

  I stared down another moron before I spoke. "Did you ever hear from your mother?"

  "Yeah, last June she sent us a postcard from New Orleans of all places. Ross wouldn't even look at the post card. The post card didn't really say anything, except 'I love you Jules and Ross's. She didn't even mention my father. I guess you can't blame her for leaving. My father is a really hard person to live with."

  I took a sip of the tea. It wasn't sweet enough, but oh well. It was really strange thinking of Ross as a real person. "It's cowardly, her leaving."

  "Oh, and it's not cowardly committing suicide at the age of sixteen?"