From The Dead

by John Herrick

  What a fool he was. This woman didn’t love him. And without her, he had nothing left.

  Jada continued to talk, but Jesse zoned out and retreated into himself.

  * * *

  Jada left her BMW with the valet at the front of the building. Together, she and Jesse walked through Heights’s lobby and into a large room filled with patrons. On occasion, the club rented its facilities to wedding parties as a reception site, with the ceremony held on the patio outside, which overlooked the valley and its scores of traffic.

  In one corner of the room, a light flashed behind a DJ, whose music throbbed throughout the venue and screamed into Jesse’s ears.

  Jada leaned over and shouted, “See anyone familiar?”

  Jesse scanned the room. He wanted no part of the crowd tonight but determined to mask it.

  When he failed to spot a celebrity presence, he shook his head.

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” Jada said. “Go get me a martini.”

  Despite its size, the room had a snug ambience. A series of semi-transparent curtains adorned the walls. Their fabric dropped down to serve as partitions between otherwise open, cozy chambers of white sofas, where small groups of patrons huddled. The furniture and curtains sat awash in overhead ivory light. At the center of the room sat a dance floor packed with people in motion, free at last from the chains of whatever job had pegged them down all week.

  Jesse made his way to the bar and ordered a martini for Jada and something strong for himself. When he considered the emotional sewage he’d waded through lately, he wondered if liquor might prove downright dangerous for him. But he didn’t care; his heart ached inside and he wanted the pain to go away.

  Dale headed toward the bar and leaned a few feet away from Jesse to place his own order.

  Jesse turned away. He couldn’t shake his suspicions about that guy and his manicured hands. Why did he sense that Dale had intruded into his world and usurped his privacy?

  That guy had a confidence that oozed from one who held the upper hand.

  That guy had to know something Jesse didn’t.

  Dale had yet to notice Jesse’s presence tonight. Maybe he’d already had a couple of drinks. Maybe he’d taken a hit on something beforehand.

  Jesse scurried away with the drinks and found Jada mingling with an assortment of model wannabes.

  Within an hour, the dancing deteriorated to a trashier degree. With no one impressive around, Jada acted as though she’d abandoned concern for her own image. Jesse and Jada laid their drinks on a table. They headed for the dance floor, where they ground together to the slow, eerie shrill of a Euro techno-pop singer. Overhead, the lights shifted to an enigmatic blue, reminiscent of a cold January twilight. With the help of his first drink and Jada’s carnal movement against him, Jesse abandoned himself to his own beguiling nirvana.

  * * *

  Several hours—and several drinks—later, Jesse felt the alcohol stir in his head while he struggled for dominance. Not quite drunk, he decided to lay off the liquor and step outside to absorb the one a.m. air. Around him, conversation whirred, but he couldn’t focus on it.

  Though lightheaded, his heart and soul remained heavy. As he glared up at an isolated, full moon, the distance overwhelmed him. He wanted to climb up there, to crawl into a crater and freeze.

  Where’s Jada? He’d lost track of her a while ago. And now, he couldn’t stand the loneliness that held him captive.

  Jesse headed indoors to examine the euphoric crowd but couldn’t locate her. He waded through clusters of people but found himself surrounded by strange faces.

  Next he moved toward the sofas along the perimeter, poked his head inside each partitioned section, but still his quest remained unsuccessful. One by one, he found each section occupied by groups in conversation or flirtation, their voices raised above the pulsations of music.

  When he reached the last sofa section, he couldn’t utter a word.

  All he could do was watch.

  Two sofas faced each other. A group of women huddled on one while they inspected the dance-floor crowd with expressions that rendered judgment.

  On the other sofa sat Jada.

  And Dale.

  They didn’t notice him, nor did they hear his approach amid the music. Jesse could see the back of Dale’s head; Jada faced Jesse, but her eyes remained shut. She had to be two hues shy of drunk by now.

  Jesse felt betrayed as he watched Dale deposit kisses along Jada’s cheeks and neckline.

  The sharp, internal pain resembled a fist to Jesse’s gut. His eyes began to water, but he forced the sensation into retreat.

  One final rejection. He had, at last, reached the bottom.

  He had given himself to her. Eleven years of his life—vanished.

  Jesse stumbled in his beeline toward the exit. He rushed through the lobby and out the front doors, where a pair of taxis idled on standby for drunken passengers who needed a ride home. He hopped into the first cab.

  “Where to?” asked the driver.

  Back to Sherman Oaks.

  Beyond that, Jesse didn’t have a clue.

  * * *

  Jesse stumbled into the ink blackness of his apartment and turned on a small lamp in the corner. The living room brightened to an oppressive dimness.

  He needed to think.

  No—on second thought, the last thing he needed was to think. He didn’t need more fucking silence.

  He turned on the stereo and let it blare whatever CD happened to be inside. From the speakers, The Goo Goo Dolls performed “Better Days.” How’s that for irony, thought Jesse.

  He sat on the sofa but couldn’t remain still. At this point, with his head numbed by alcohol, he felt overpowered by despair. He wanted to shout, but felt so weak and distant from the rest of humanity, he didn’t think he would be heard.

  He’d reached the point of giving up.

  And with nowhere to go.

  Head in his hands, he sobbed alone in the room’s semi-darkness. Agony, a one-inch blade, twisted in his heart. He sought forgiveness. He craved deliverance.

  Then he remembered: the painkillers.

  Energy drained, he wobbled toward the bathroom and fumbled through the medicine chest to retrieve Jada’s half bottle of painkillers. One snap of the lid and he peered down into the orange bottle, salivated at the dusty white tablets.

  Make the pain go away.

  Better days.

  The stereo’s vibration rattled the bathroom mirror as he shook the pills into the palm of his hand. Agitated by his shaking, sweaty hand, the pills rustled and left a powdery residue on the surface of his skin.

  Jesse’s face blushed with heat. He swallowed the pills in one clean sweep, and then slid along the wall to the bathroom floor beside the porcelain tub. There Jesse shut his eyes, bobbed his head—and waited for escape in the darkness of the bathroom.

  Several minutes passed before regret, which manifested through violent pains in his abdomen, settled in. Arms crossed over his chest, he cradled himself.

  The pain sharpened. Jesse rocked back and forth, not in comfort but in anguish, while he convulsed on the floor in terror. As he writhed in torture, he crouched low into fetal position. In a torrent, sodium-laden tears burst from his eyes and pattered on the floor.

  Defeated, his face streaked with tears of torment … of rejection … of a life that crept toward its final minutes, Jesse opened his mouth wide to scream but couldn’t locate his voice.

  Eden …

  Dad …

  Caitlyn …

  Now he had made the ultimate mistake, and he was terrified.

  Terrified and alone. With no way out.

  He couldn’t cry out. All he could do was mouth the words, and send a mental plea. The final words before his world went black.

  God, I’m sinking.

  Oh God, please help me.

  CHAPTER 20

  In the heat of the moment, she had opened her eyes halfway.

  Jesse wasn’
t around. He and Jada had gotten separated at some point tonight. He hadn’t been himself the last few weeks. And he still hadn’t admitted what the fuck swirled around in his head.

  She had pushed away from Dale and looked for Jesse throughout Heights. She’d searched the club from end to end. No sign of Jesse.

  Back and forth, she had retraced the room four times. Next she had checked the patio and the balcony outside. She hadn’t found him in the lobby, and the man who had walked out of the restroom had sworn no one else was in there.

  “Are you positive?”

  “Lady, it’s empty. Get sober. Maybe he left.”

  Had Jesse seen her with Dale?

  Jada had run out to the lobby and described Jesse to some employees, asked if they had seen him.

  The valet had spoken up. “Yeah, I saw the guy. Got into a cab a while ago. Real upset. Gotta be drunk, or at least close to it.”

  At that point, Jada had decided to start with the apartment and work her way from there.

  “Get me my car.”

  * * *

  She discovered the apartment’s front door unlocked. When she burst into the living room, she noticed a single lamp lit in the corner. An odd buzz sounded in the air; with a glance across the room, she noted the stereo as its source—a CD had reached its end. The evidence suggested Jesse had to be there. But aside from the buzz, the apartment was noiseless.

  “Jesse?” she called out.

  No answer.

  She entered the bedroom and turned on the light, but he wasn’t in there. The bed hadn’t been ruffled. She peered around the room and found everything in its place. His wallet and keys hadn’t been returned to the dresser for the night. Nothing disturbed or touched since they had left earlier that evening.

  Her skin prickled with goose bumps, which tore their way up her arm.

  “Jesse?”

  The air dripped of his presence.

  Jada stopped and listened again. Nothing.

  She peered toward the dark bathroom, where the medicine cabinet appeared to be open. Its mirror surface glinted from the bedroom light. Jada darted to the bathroom and flipped the light switch.

  She screamed when she saw him.

  His face was ashen. His tear stains had formed a crisscrossed mess across his cheeks.

  “Jesse!”

  In a panic, she slapped him on the cheek, screamed at him.

  “What’s wrong?!”

  She lifted one of his eyelids, then jumped backward when she saw his eyes had rolled back toward the tops of their sockets.

  “Jesse! No! Jesse, come back! Jesse!”

  She ran back into the bedroom and yanked the phone from its cradle to dial 911.

  CHAPTER 21

  Their faces stoic, the paramedics rushed into position and prepared the defibrillator.

  They warned Jada in advance: This didn’t look promising.

  Paddles ready, one paramedic shouted.

  “Clear!”

  Her mouth covered with her hand, Jada stared as the electric current jolted Jesse’s body into a lurch. The sound of the heart monitor grew long and steady.

  “We’re losing him! Ready—clear!”

  Again Jesse’s body lurched.

  He could barely open his eyes; the light in the room appeared harsh through the slits as he squinted. His vision was blurry, but he heard two voices echo around him.

  Then Jesse drifted back into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER 22

  Exhausted, he awoke for the third time in this hospital room. Jesse had been awake for about five minutes now, but he had been in this room since yesterday. That he knew. The rest was fuzzy. He couldn’t recall much from the last few days, but he felt well rested. Besides this hospital room, his last memory involved himself crumpled on his bathroom floor.

  He felt relieved to be alive.

  As the physical effects and immediate regret of his suicide attempt settled in him that dark night, he didn’t think he would get a second chance. He was sure he had died that night.

  In spite of his willingness that night to end his life, today—after he’d survived the foolish mistake—he determined he would cling to his life no matter what.

  He didn’t know how, but his life would change. Amendments would begin. So would the apologies and restitutions toward the people he loved. Somehow. So help him God.

  Yes, he felt relieved to be alive.

  And unlike previous tears of sorrow, the tear that formed in the corner of his eye today was one of gratitude. Jesse was thankful for survival. The droplet fell without a sound.

  Jesse fingered the sheets, caught a glimpse of dusk in the crack between the window curtains. A plastic pitcher of water sat on the table beside the bed; a nurse had come and gone. Jesse put his hand on his chest and felt the gentle thumps of his heart. He sat up straighter in the bed, studied the sterile atmosphere, and listened to the silence.

  He heard nothing.

  This was what time sounded like.

  This was what it sounded like to be alive.

  With a quiet knock on the door, Jada poked her head in the room. Peace arose within him; a good-bye was forthcoming, which Jesse welcomed. If he could survive his recent tragedy, he could face life one day at a time.

  Jada took a seat beside the bed and stared at him for a full minute without a word. Then she spoke, her voice soft, almost in a whisper.

  “Look … I can’t do this anymore.”

  “I know,” he whispered back. “Neither can I.”

  They both sat in the stillness.

  Then Jesse asked, “How am I alive right now? Did you find me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jada nodded. “Are you feeling better? I got so worried. Despite our recent arguments, if you hadn’t survived—” She cut herself short. They lingered longer, listened to each other’s breathing. Mutual, though unspoken, understanding seemed to emanate between them. Both seemed to realize their relationship had reached its end. And so Jesse didn’t find Jada’s next words surprising: “I’ve asked Dale to move in with me. We’ve been seeing each other for months.”

  To most bystanders, the remark would have sounded cruel. Jesse, however, didn’t even flinch. He didn’t know what his next step would be, but he made a solid decision: He wouldn’t live as a stranger anymore.

  “They weren’t going to release you,” Jada said. “They wanted to put you under psychiatric evaluation. But I explained to them you’d never shown irrational behavior before—that you’ve had a few rough weeks lately. Then I told them your mother died—that did the trick. So you shouldn’t have a problem getting out of here.”

  Jesse folded his hands in his lap, examined the plastic ID bracelet around his wrist.

  Jada reached out to place her hand on his arm, her tone gentle and, in a manner uncharacteristic for her, genuine. “You don’t belong here. Not in L.A.”

  She patted his arm and rose from her seat. When she opened the door, she looked back at him and spoke her final words.

  “Jesse, go home.”

  Then she walked out.

  Jesse stared straight ahead as her words soaked into him. He bit his lip.

  Home.

  Yeah, he wanted that.

  PART TWO

  FROM THE DEAD

  CHAPTER 23

  En route, Jesse had spent the second night in St. Louis, departed at seven in the morning, and continued eastbound on Interstate 70. Two hours ago, he’d caught Interstate 71 in Columbus, Ohio, and headed north. On the passenger seat, he’d kept his camera to document his journey with every pit stop along the way. With each photo, Jesse captured his emotions, symbolized by flawed landmarks like decrepit buildings of yesteryear and old, paint-chipped billboards.

  He had wasted little time leaving California. Jada wanted him out; she had given him cash—Dale’s cash, more likely—for Jesse’s half of the furniture and other apartment possessions. She wasn’t home when he left. He wrote her a note and depart
ed before the morning rush began. Would he miss his eleven-year hub? To his surprise, he couldn’t locate an inkling of sentiment toward Jada.

  That was two days ago. Now he neared the end of his three-day trek home, the longest leg of the trip.

  Jesse marveled at his circumstances. On his way to his hometown, yet he had lunged into the unknown. He had no idea how his family and friends would respond, or for that matter, what he would do once he arrived. He didn’t know anything. But unlike his life in L.A. where the unknown was a cultural norm for many, here in Ohio the lifestyle struck him as more predictable and constant.

  At this point, Jesse needed to clear his head. One advantage: He didn’t perceive a threat of lung cancer when he breathed the Midwestern air. No more dirty haze.

  At a bit past five p.m., traffic proved light on the freeway compared to what he’d grown used to. As he made his way along the interstate, he counted a mere two lanes on each side of the road: one for driving, one for passing. A far cry from the chaotic labyrinth of the 405 out west.

  The first difference he noted along the roads, besides the traffic reduction, was the expanse of greenery and the occasional farm house. Someone lived in each of these homes. These residents knew nothing of the inner workings of Hollywood. But these people had roots.

  It was so quiet here.

  And he could travel sixty miles per hour. When had he last experienced this during the work week?

  Why am I here?

  It was too late to turn around. Then again, he had no desire to backtrack. An invisible pull drew him northward. Perhaps he didn’t know what would come, but he had come home. He could sort the rest of it out later.

  He downed the last gulp of coffee.

  * * *

  After he turned off Highway 8, he followed Streetsboro Road until he reached Route 91. Here he hung a left—straight into the heart of Hudson, his hometown. Located between the cities of Cleveland and Akron, Jesse had always described Hudson as larger than a small town but smaller than a suburb.