Bad Will Hunting

by Heather Wardell

  The same one I tried, which has been deleted.

  The urge to throw something through their window and go in to trash the place lights me up. They so deserve it. They do.

  Is this why I came here? To punish them?

  I stare at their front window, then shut my eyes and make myself turn away. I can’t do that. And not just because there are too many people around.

  Feeling useless and miserable and even more alone than usual, I start trudging along the street again then see a hotel with a rooftop bar that I’ve always wanted to go to but have never tried.

  It’s not revenge, but maybe a nice glass of red wine will help. A nice glass or ten.

  I go into the hotel and press the elevator’s up button, then stand watching and trying to calm myself as the elevator slowly comes down to meet me. When it’s at the third floor, a group of giggling women comes rushing up, chattering away about the club they’re going to after they freshen up. Then the elevator arrives and they all pile in.

  Leaving no space for me.

  They don’t even notice, and somehow that makes it so much worse. I called for the stupid thing and they took it and I mean so little to everyone that they don’t even notice. And of course, if they did notice they wouldn’t care.

  I turn around, blazing with fury, and stalk out, only to have some idiot on the sidewalk slam hard into me with his suitcase.

  “Watch it!”

  “You watch it, bitch,” he snaps back, and goes into the hotel without slowing down.

  That is it. That is just it. I am not letting the world walk on me another second. I storm down the sidewalk toward Videvideoo, keeping my rage front and center to keep me moving. All this talk of letting things go. Never again. You have to hold your line, you have to, or the world tears you apart. And I won’t let it do it to me again. I’m all alone and I have to take care of myself and I will. I will.

  Though I’m furious, I’m also not stupid, and the busy sidewalk in front of Videvideoo means I can’t shatter their window like I want to.

  But I can go through the empty alley behind their building, and I can find myself standing all alone at their back door.

  And I can find out that they were stupid enough to put a key in the world’s most obvious fake rock by the door.

  I stand, holding the key to its keyhole, and for an instant an image of Sam’s face, exhausted from dealing with me, flashes into my mind. He’d hate what I’m about to do. Is it possible he’s--

  As bad as everyone else, since he too pushed me away?

  My anger turns the key and my pain pulls open the door, and I walk with my only two friends into the darkened office and close the door behind us.

  What now? Destroy the place? Steal everything? Then it hits me that perhaps I can somehow find the money they should have paid me. They do owe me that. If I find it, that’ll be only fair.

  I creep from desk to desk, searching through the mess of papers for anything that might relate to me. I pocket a twenty I find on one desk, and empty the change dish from another, but I keep count as I go. I won’t take more than they owe me. I’m not a thief.

  The memo on top of the fourth desk, describing how they’ll keep the site running until the last second to ‘maximize revenue and minimize communication issues’, fuels my anger again as I realize they did everything on purpose. They used me. And then tossed me aside.

  I grab a few bucks from a desk drawer, then a deep voice behind me shouts, “Freeze!”

  I spin around, tossing aside the last money as my hands fly into the air.

  Two cops stand at attention before the now-open door, but I don’t see their faces. I only see their guns.

  Pointed at me.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “You have the right to remain silent,” the taller cop says, cuffing my shaking hands behind my back. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. I understand, all right. I understand how badly I’ve screwed up.

  “You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning,” he goes on, as his shorter partner pats me down. I shut my eyes, trying not to scream at his touch. “If you can’t afford one, one will be appointed for you if you wish. Do you understand?”

  I nod because I’m afraid I’m going to throw up.

  “Do you understand?”

  His voice is more forceful, and it terrifies me even more, but I make myself say, “Yes.”

  “Okay. And since you understand your rights, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?”

  “I... no.”

  The cops exchange glances. I don’t know if I’ve made things better or worse for myself but I have no idea what I should and shouldn’t say so waiting for a lawyer seems like a far better idea. The only good idea I’ve had today.

  “Fine,” the tall one says, and guides me by my handcuffs through the alley and up to the street. I can feel everyone staring at me, all the nice law-abiding citizens out for a nice evening of shopping and restaurants and living their usual lives, and I want to cover my face with my hands but of course I can’t so I hang my head.

  “Watch yourself,” the cop says, placing a hand atop my head to ease me into the backseat of his car. He snaps the seatbelt closed around my hips since I can’t use my hands, and I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to cry. I never thought this would happen. I didn’t think at all. And what happens now?

  We drive in silence to the detention center, where a woman with the coldest blue eyes I’ve ever seen gets my name and address and then searches me. She takes the money I collected at Videvideoo, and my wallet and phone and keys, and most horribly she also takes my fish necklace, which I haven’t been able to make myself take off even though I’ve lost Sam.

  At this I burst into tears, but she doesn’t so much as blink. She finishes filling out her paperwork and gives me a little ticket to claim my things “later”. I don’t know what later means, and I’m scared to ask.

  She deposits me in a holding cell with about fifteen other women, who all look like they could kill me without even thinking about it. I drop onto a bench, the cell door shuts, and as the full horror of my situation sweeps over me I look around frantically for a garbage can or a toilet before I throw up. The first isn’t there, of course, and the second is already in use, and that sight pushes me over the edge and I barf all down my front.

  Nobody cares. Nobody even seems to notice. I sit there in my own mess, wet and stinking and hating myself so much I can hardly breathe.

  What the hell have I done? I’m going to have an arrest record. If I’m lucky that’s all I’ll have. Am I going to be fined? Am I going to jail? I have no idea. The only thing I know for sure is it’s all my fault. What I’ve done is such an insane over-reaction that I can’t get my head around it. How did I get from being angry at Videvideoo, which was justified, to breaking into their office, which so wasn’t? I’m a criminal.

  No wonder Sam couldn’t deal with me any more. I can’t deal with myself either.

  When I get out, if I get out, I’m going to end it. No more Ashley, ever.

  My stomach lurches again. I can’t. I can’t kill myself. Even though I probably should. Brett would never have wanted that.

  But he wouldn’t want to know me the way I am now either. We used to joke about pranks, and he loved my ‘posting the principal’s number’ one, but he would never have agreed with the vicious revenge I take now.

  How did I get from there to here?

  My thoughts spin like drunken dancers from one self-hating thing to another, and after what feels like a week a voice says, “Overton?”

  I look up, startled. “Me?”

  The cop looks at her paperwork. “Ashley Overton. You?”

  I nod, not sure if I want her picking me or not. What’s happening?

  She unlocks the door, while another cop stands watching with his hand on his holstered gun, and I leap to my feet an
d hurry out of the awful cell.

  She and her partner lead me away, and I try several times to find the words to ask what’s happening and fail every time. I’m too scared to. I’ve lost all control here. Not that I’ve had much control in my life ever.

  Something about that thought surprises me, but before I can process it we turn a corner and I see the person I most and least want to see.

  Sam draws back, looking horrified, and I imagine how terrible I must look to him. Look, and smell, and be.

  “Wednesday February 10th,” the first cop says to Sam, in a tone like she’s reminding him of something. “Three o’clock. Got it?”

  Sam nods and says quietly, “Thank you, officer.”

  The cop gives a nod in return and the two of them walk away leaving me with Sam. My eyes fill up and I hang my head because I can’t look at him.

  “Are you okay?”

  His urgency, his clear worry, only makes me feel worse. “How did you know?”

  “Hugh saw you being... well, he saw you. And he called me. Thought I’d want to know.”

  I can’t tell from his voice whether he did want to know, and I’m shocked that Hugh, who heard me screaming about him, would bother to try to help me when he saw me being arrested. Is everyone on the planet a better person than me?

  “Oh,” I mumble, because I can’t think of anything else to say.

  “I’ll take you home,” he says quietly. “Let’s get your stuff.”

  I can’t look at him as we go to the counter. I don’t put his necklace back on, because I can’t bear the idea of him taking it off me if he doesn’t want me to have it any more, but I see him notice it as I tuck it carefully away in my pocket and wonder what he thinks.

  “Ready?”

  I nod. His voice isn’t giving me any clues. I can’t ask. I turn with him and we head toward the door, but the arrival of a short chubby guy with wild curly hair and a silly-looking little beard blocks our path. I look away, because I know I look disgusting, but he steps toward me and says, “Ashley! My God, I’m so sorry.”

  I turn to him, confused, then realize I’ve seen his picture before. On Videvideoo’s site. “Jimmy?”

  He nods. “Come with me, let’s get this sorted out.”

  Sam looks at me, his eyebrows raised, but I’ve got nothing to tell him, so we follow Jimmy back to the reception desk where he proceeds to inform the cop that he had given me permission to go into the office to pick up the money he owed me but had forgotten to turn off the silent alarm system.

  The cop turns to me. “You had permission.”

  I nod, not sure I should lie but figuring this is my best path out of this nightmare.

  “And you didn’t tell us that because...”

  I have no idea what to say, but Jimmy laughs. It sounds forced. “I had a bad experience with cops once and I told her never to say a word. My fault. Anyhow, I don’t want to press charges, obviously, since she didn’t do anything wrong. You can fix this, right?”

  The cop nods, looking annoyed, and goes to find my paperwork. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he finishes checking Jimmy’s ID and does whatever else he needs to do and says, “Off you go.”

  “And no court on the 10th?” Sam says.

  He shakes his head. “She’s free.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, but I’m not sure to whom I’m speaking.

  Jimmy heads outside, and Sam and I follow him in silence. Once we’re well away from the detention center, he says, “Okay. Look. Do that again and I’ll bury you.” He digs in his pocket as he speaks then pulls out a few bills. I recognize them as hundreds when he holds them out to me. “But here. You deserve it. And for what it’s worth I’m sorry. I didn’t want us shutting down like that. My partners, though...”

  I take the money then just stare at him. I can’t find any words.

  He nods. “Okay. Bye.”

  And he’s gone, leaving me alone with Sam.

  After a few long moments of horrible silence, I say, “You don’t have to take me home. I stink. I’ll take a taxi or something.”

  Sam sighs. “Ashley. Please. My car’s over here.”

  “Okay,” I say softly. “Thanks.”

  He doesn’t acknowledge this, but once we’re driving toward my place he says quietly, “I do really like you, you know.”

  The words are great, but the dead defeated way he says them isn’t. “I like you too,” I whisper. “So much. And I’m so sorry.”

  “Please, please get yourself some help. Okay? You’re a great person but this... I can’t do this. At all.”

  I hang my head. “I know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Get help to find out,” he says. “Fix things. You need way more help than I can give you.”

  I bite my lip, knowing he’s right, but a little flare of anger snaps through me anyhow and makes me say, “You said you’d do whatever it takes.”

  He sighs. “I know. And I want to. I don’t want to leave you, Ashley. Not the real you. The one I think is in there. No, I know she’s in there. But this vengeful one, this criminal one? I can’t handle her. I’m working so hard not to let what Eric and Miranda did ruin my life, and I do get the desire for revenge, but you broke the law tonight and I can’t cope with that. I just can’t.” He sighs again. “I really liked you, but...”

  He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t need to. We drive the rest of the way in silence, and when he stops in front of my building I open the door and start to get out then turn back. “Thank you.” I take a breath to go on but an unexpected sob hits me instead. “Thank you for not leaving me there. Thank you for caring enough to help me. I’m so sorry, Sam.”

  He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them with the saddest expression I’ve ever seen.

  “Bye,” I whisper, and walk away.

  In my apartment, I throw out my disgusting clothes and take the hottest shower I can. It reminds me of scalding myself the day we left the island, and of the fierce rage I felt then. Part of me wants to feel it again right now, to direct it at Sam for giving up on me, but most of me is terrified of that rage rising in me again. It drove me to be a criminal, to lose my friends, to lose Sam.

  There has to be an alternative to it.

  I stand in the shower, crying and trying desperately to find one, until the water runs cold.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I want to sleep all day, but of course I’m not granted that break from the mess I’ve made of my life. Instead, I’m wide awake as the sun rises, and since I can’t get back to sleep I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom, where I stand staring into my eyes in the mirror.

  “What are you going to do, Ashley?” I say out loud. “You’ve got nothing. No job, no friends, no boyfriend.” The thought of Sam makes my heart hurt. He looked so miserable last night, and I hate that I caused that. “Angry Ashley. Stupid Ashley. He had to leave you. You made him go.”

  A sob rips from me, surprising me and scaring me with how much it hurts, and I turn away because I can’t stand the sight of myself any more.

  Still in my pajamas, I take care of Silver because it’s not her fault I’m a nightmare then collapse on the couch among the printouts of the phone book. They’re all I’ve got now.

  I sit up straighter. They are all I’ve got. Things started going wrong right when I met Will. I was off the island and heading home, and with time it would all have worked out. I’d have gotten myself together. But Will showed up, and screwed everything up, and if I just find him I’ll get back to where I should have been. I don’t even need to punish him, I don’t think. I just need to know why. What made him abandon me like that? Once I know I’ll be able to figure things out.

  It’s only eight in the morning, so it’s probably too early to start calling, but I don’t care. I have to do something, anything, to fix my life.

  The first person I call doesn’t answer, the second swears at me and hangs up, and the third swears at me then asks me if I kn
ow what time it is and tells me that if he does know my Will Smith he’ll tell him never to talk to me again before hanging up. Though his anger shakes me, and makes me wonder if I’ve sounded that furious and insane, I make myself go on to the fourth number.

  When a woman answers, I give my now-polished speech. “Hi, sorry to bother you, but back in November I was on a plane from Vegas to Portland with a Will Smith and I’m wondering if by chance you know him.”

  Same old speech. But not the same old response. “Mid-thirties, tall, brown hair, green eyes? Could talk the hind leg off a donkey?”

  “Um, yes,” I say, my heart racing so fast I can hardly breathe. “That sounds about right. I guess you know him?”

  “Gave birth to him,” she says, chuckling, “so I should. Did you want to leave him a message?”

  This doesn’t seem right. “He lives with you?” Why would a lawyer live with his mother? “Maybe I don’t have the right one.”

  “Did he say ‘good stuff’ a lot?”

  I think back. “Yeah, actually, he did. But I thought... um, what does he do for a living?”

  “Other than sponging off his poor mother? He works at a liquor store. Occasionally. Why, what did he tell you?”

  I remember the little vodka and rum bottles in his bag. Swiped from work? “Lawyer,” I say quietly, realizing there’s no part of Will that’s real.

  She bursts out laughing. “His dad was a lawyer, God rest his soul. But no, not Will. Honey, I’ll give him a message if you want, but honestly? You sound like a good smart girl, and I think you can do better.”

  I’m shocked she’d say this about her own son, and of course I want to leave a message, but as I try to think of one I realize I’ve got nothing to say to him. There’s no point. I clear my throat. “Yeah, you’re right. Thank you. Please don’t tell him I called. Sorry to bother you.”

  “What did you want him for, honey?” I can hear curiosity rising in her. “Does he owe you money or something?”