The Wrong Side of Rock Bottom

by Jennifer Foor

  Steve has given me the ins and outs of being on the run, living the life of a criminal. The risks outweigh what it would be like to never know my child.

  While the pills keep me relaxed, my inner emotions still remain, battling to find reprieve from the constant tug of my heartstrings.

  I've waited the allotted time, arranged transportation, acquired the proper changes of identification to enable me to find work, and even packed enough necessities to get us through the next several weeks.

  The white business envelope is beginning to fray on the edges due to the fact that I’ve been firmly holding it in my sweaty calloused hands for nearly an hour. It’s my last paycheck, after failing a random drug test. I had no idea it was going to happen, and now I’m afraid if my probation officer gets winds of the news I’ll be sitting in a cell regretful for not taking serious actions sooner. It’s only a matter of time before the news reaches his desk.

  My old boss wouldn’t have cared. He would have taken into consideration how hard I work to keep us afloat, or maybe he’d be selfish and keep me around for his own job related reasons.

  I’ve had a hard time in general, mostly by my own bad judgments. Married at twenty-one, supporting a two year old with my mere salary. A struggling addict, who can’t seem to find anything positive to look forward to.

  I expected my termination to come a few days sooner, when I was so fucked up I could barely stand. That’s what the muscle relaxers do when I mix them with Xanax. Managers’ aren’t usually scheduled for night shift. If I’d given two shits about my job I probably would have left early to avoid the confrontation.

  I don’t contemplate. Instead I let the pills work their magic, taking me to a place of solace while I stocked shelves at my own pace.

  The rush isn’t for everyone. I don’t feel energetic, but more relaxed and uncaring.

  And caught. I was caught, accused and now proven guilty. There’s no going back, so I have to appreciate this final check in my hand and what I need to do with it.

  Normally I wouldn’t mind the heat during the summer, but it’s fall and I’m sick of feeling uncomfortable. I’m fully aware my nerves are shot to shit. It’s not every day that a man decides to break the law and go on the run from authorities.

  Disturbed in general, I look around at the people I’m in the company of on this public transportation route. I can’t bring my car with me this time. I don’t want my in-laws to become suspicious. It’s important because I need them to let their guard down.

  As much as citizens pay for bus fair, you’d think the city could afford to have air conditioning on public transportation. I’m bumping into the person seated next to me, an elderly woman smelling of powder, probably from every orifice. When the diesel engine accelerates, shifting the wind from the open windows, I get a whiff of a strong stench emanating from the person standing in front of me holding the upper railing for support. The burly, middle aged man must be about six foot seven, his armpits covered in dampness, beads of perspiration rolling down either side of his face. He’s coughing into an old soiled rag, while a plastic lunch container sits at his feet. It’s obvious he works outside, probably in some sort of construction occupation. His eyes barrel in on my envelope, causing me to fold it between my fingers and tuck it into the pocket of my ripped jeans. I’m paranoid. It happens whenever I’m high, but those were the last of my pills, and because of the importance of this plan, I need to be clean, prepared, and without fear.

  It’s extreme. I’m praying it won’t backfire and take away my chances of being in my daughter’s life forever. This isn’t what I want for her. She doesn’t deserve to live a life full of lies, but it’s the only way I can save her – us.

  It takes forty-five minutes to reach the outskirts of their security monitored neighborhood. When I say it’s monitored it’s more like some dude sitting in a booth waving as you drive through. I think the most action he’s ever seen is a cat getting into someone’s trash. At the least, he’s probably returned a loose dog to its owner. I believe his name is Sam, or maybe it’s Adam. I can’t recall exactly, not that it matters. As long as I can sneak through the neighborhood without being seen, he won’t suspect a familiar car leaving a little later.

  The plan is pretty basic, but this is my test run. I’m going to make sure I remember the code to the garage door, locate the spare key to the car they keep outside, and keep it with me for later use. While I’m there I’ll scope out nearby yards where I can watch them without being detected. Finally, I’ll figure out which room they’re keeping my daughter in, and a way to grab her without them knowing I’m in the home. Once I know it can be done the rest is easy.

  Steve will be waiting for us in a nearby shopping center parking lot. I know for a fact this town hasn’t implemented security cameras in this particular area, so they won’t see me ditching the family car for a ride from a friend. This will also provide us with a worry free escape from the state.

  Steve will drive us all the way to Richmond, about four to five hours away, where we’ll stay with his cousins for a couple days to lay low. His cousin Melissa runs a daycare, and has already said she’d keep Mila for me while I search for jobs, and even after I find one. It’s risky. I don’t know these people, but Steve ensures the plan is solid. He claims that rather than try to flee the country, to wait it out and blend in with society. My changed appearance will enable me to slip into my new identity. The only struggle for me will be the guilt that follows. It has nothing to do with my child’s grandparents. If it’s up to me, this will be the last time they lay eyes on her. It’s the guilt of knowing I had to do this in order for us to be together. In my heart I know I’m not the bad guy, but to everyone else I’ll be considered the devil. Steve keeps encouraging me to get into an immediate relationship to elude people from assuming I’m a single man raising a daughter. It’s an immediate red flag, or will be once I make my move.

  I’m not interested in dating, but know I have to do what’s necessary to secure my new life, even if it’s lying to someone in order to make it appear like we’re a loving family.

  The short walk through a thick patch of woods leads me onto their private road. I pass by their neighbor’s house, noticing a cable van sitting in the driveway. I'm nervous about seeing someone who might recognize me, so I keep my head facing the ground as I continue down the street.

  The cobblestone driveway is filled with three cars. They have company, which will ensure that they're occupied. Voices emanate from the rear outside patio. Following the taupe colored siding, I slip into the garage area and find the door half ajar. Standing for a minute to make sure it isn't occupied, I duck inside and scale my surroundings to search for the cabinet they keep spare keys in. I only know about all of this because I was with Etherly once when she broke in to grab some of her things. Her parents have no idea that I can access their home any time I want. It's an accidental advantage I have on my side.

  Just as I’m about to make a beeline back to the edge of the woods, I hear her voice and I stop dead in my tracks.

  “Can I play too?” It’s Mila, and she’s right on the other side of the wall from where I stand. I place my hand on it, closing my eyes and wishing I could rush in and take her into my arms. This is torture. I never deserved this kind of life. I didn’t ask to have everyone turn their backs on me. I didn’t deserve to have a criminal father, or a wife that couldn’t choose her family over her addiction.

  Balling my fists into my pockets, I fight to remain silent. My future is at stake; our future.

  The sound of the door to the house opening jolts me to life. I dart for a place to hide in order to keep from being discovered. Then I hear the sickening voice that will probably give me nightmares forever - my mother-in-law. “Honey, did you open the garage door?”

  “No!” I hear from within the house.

  “It’s acting up again. You better call the installers and get them over here. I don’t want critters getting inside of the house. Agnes said she f
ound a snapping turtle in hers last week.”

  I’ve met Agnes. She lives across the street from them. I could only wish something with rabies would be in this garage to infect this woman I despise. She fidgets through an outside freezer, and I watch as she pulls out a large package of steaks. I’m nestled in between storage boxes and Christmas décor, so there’s no way I’ll be seen. When she goes back into the house I slip out of the garage right before the door closes on top of me.

  Peering around, I exit the yard the same way I came in. This plan is going to work. I just need to seize the opportunity, and now it has to happen before the repair people can come and tell them nothing is wrong or suggest they change their code to get in. Then I’ll be screwed.

  Chapter 7

  After finally cashing my check, and emptying out the rest of my small savings account, I finish collecting items we’ll need from the storage compartment. It pains me to get rid of the family vehicle, but I’m going to need the cash if I want to start a new life without struggle for my daughter. I don’t worry about paying my last week’s rent at the flea bag motel. I’m certain I won’t be the first or last to bail or disappear. Hell, people have probably been murdered who lived there. In my short time living there I’ve seen drug deals and prostitution. It’s insane.

  I call and let Steve know I’m ready to make my move tonight, and he agrees to be my backup. Since the small town bus only runs during the day where we live, I have to change things around and let him pick me up. We cruise down a long dark highway, the remnants of the setting sun dissipating by the second.

  Steve looks and appears like an average Joe. He dresses nice, speaks educated, and even participates in random acts of kindness. I suppose that’s why he’s able to con so many people out of their money. It comes natural to him, where I’d feel like shit for the rest of my life.

  “You nervous?” He asks while we map our way to the rendezvous spot.

  “Not about the plan. I need to get my daughter as far away from these people as possible. I guess I’m just worrying that eventually we’ll get caught and I’ll lose her forever.”

  “Don’t fret, man. Those I.D.’s are legit. They’ll never suspect you’re anyone else. Oh,” he pauses and reaches in the glove compartment in front of me, pulling out a manila envelope. “So the guy I know that acquired your new identity threw in something special, because he owes me big time. Check it out.”

  I look inside and pull out two passports, and a new birth certificate for Mila. Opening the first, I see a picture of myself with the same name as the fake license.

  Ryan Michaels. Then the second, Willa Michaels.

  He continues. “I had him make a name that wasn’t far off from yours. Figured you could have friends call you Ry or something like that.”

  “Damn. How much do you want for these? They look as real as the Virginia State license.”

  “Nothing more than what you already paid me. I have kids, man. I can’t imagine losing what you have and then them too. That shit is fucked up. My wife would kick my ass if I left you high and dry. Besides, the guy I know works for the passport office. He makes them for a living. It’s totally real.”

  I’m grateful, especially after pawning my wedding rings for the extra cash.

  “What about background checks?”

  “It’s a clean name, but nothing you could apply for social security for. I can’t work miracles, man.”

  “Yeah, I know. This is plenty.”

  “My advice, move to a foreign country with no extradition. Be yourself. Do whatever you need to do.”

  I’m still in shock. Little Mila has been renamed Willa. It’s close enough to not confuse her. If I start using the name now, she’ll catch on fast and maybe even forget about the original.

  “I’ll never be able to repay you for this.”

  “One day I might call you and ask you to hide millions of stolen bonds…” his voice trails. “I’m screwing with you. It’s not a big deal. Just promise wherever you end up you’ll keep that little girl safe.”

  “Yeah, I can guarantee that.”

  “Make sure you stick to the plan, Rogan. Find a nice lady who loves kids. Don’t feel shitty about it either. Hook up with her. Make her fall for you and the kid.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to find a chick with a daughter and a job, and manage to lie about who I am?”

  “Tinder. It’s a website. Check it out. It’s probably good if you have a social media account, just keep your photos to a minimum and none of Mila. Do side shots of your face, in case the FBI runs recognition.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “Been around the block a time or two.” He snarls. “Let’s just say I think this world is a sham. If you want something you have to find a way to snatch it up. Be smart, buddy. Don’t stay in Richmond long. Find someone, get married, and get the hell out of the country.”

  “Yeah, leaving won’t be a problem. It’s the money.”

  “That’s why you’ll be in Richmond. Blend in. Act normal. Make a backstory and stick to it. We’ve discussed all of this in lengths already. You can do this. Look at your little girl and remember it’s all for her. The system failed you. You’re not a criminal. You’re just a man who wants what’s best for his daughter. I think you’re a saint for doing this, otherwise I wouldn’t be involved.”

  “I won’t ever say you helped me.”

  “Yeah, I’d deny it anyway.”

  We both laugh. “If this plan works, if I’m able to start over somewhere new, what do I tell Mila when she’s old enough to ask?”

  “You have time to think of that. Hopefully, by then, your in-law problem will be gone and your daughter will be old enough to make her own decisions.”

  “True.” My hands are shaking profusely. I fist them together, closing my eyes and wishing I had a pill to take the edge off. It’s proof I still need a little help when it comes to be able to handle my addiction. For now, I have more important things preventing me from worrying about my health.

  When his vehicle comes to a stop in the parking lot of a closed establishment, I take a few deep breaths. “I guess it’s now or never.”

  “I’m going to head to the bar across the street. I’ll leave the car unlocked in case you get back before me, but I shouldn’t be long.”

  “Mila usually goes to bed in about a half hour. By the time I get to the house, make my way inside and drive back here it will probably be an hour or more. It’s all good.”

  Then Steve hands me something from underneath his seat. It’s a gun, and I’m in shock.

  “What the hell, dude?”

  “Take it,” he orders. “Just in case.”

  “I don’t need that.”

  “Rogan, this is your daughter. Do whatever you have to do to keep her safe.”

  I sigh and take the weapon into my still shaking hands. I’m not sure how to use it, but tuck it in my back waist band anyway.

  We say our goodbyes, all while knowing this could go terribly wrong. For all I know my father-in-law owns a gun and sits waiting for me to attempt to take his granddaughter. She’s worth the risk. I’ll do whatever it takes to save her from them; from a life I can’t bear to let her live.

  It starts to rain as I’m trekking through the thick brush and trees to make it discreetly into the community. Coming in through the neighbor’s property, I skirt across a patch of grass until I arrive on the garage side of the large colonial style home. The neighborhood is quiet and dark, with only a few garage lights left on. The sound of crickets and frogs, mixed with a light rain help disguise my intrusion through the yard. My back drags against the garage, reminding me there’s a gun there, just in case.

  I’ve never been so nervous, but it’s not like me to break the law. Sure, I pop pills for amusement, but I’ve never stolen or harmed someone before. Adrenaline courses through my veins, making me almost feel high as I watch the front windows for signs that the two adults have retreated to their room. Knowing them
like I unfortunately do, I’m aware they take a nightcap to bed. Etherly used to mock her mother for taking late night baths and leaving half a glass of gin and tonic on the edge of her soaking tub. She used to sneak in and drink the rest when she was a teenager. For the sake of everything I’m working toward, I hope they still follow that same regimen.

  Minutes turn into an hour, while I stand in the gentle rain shower, waiting for the opportunity to have my daughter in my arms again. My heartbeat hasn’t slowed, nor do I think it will anytime soon. This plan is preposterous. If I think any of this is going to work I’m fooling myself. I could be putting my child in harm’s way.

  I’m worrying about everything.

  What if the police are watching?

  What if they’ve anticipated I would do this?

  Will they shoot me in front of her?

  Should I forget about it?

  No.

  I can’t.

  I won’t.

  I feel like it takes forever, but the above bedroom light finally turns to darkness. The rain has finally stopped, making the chirping of nature even louder, giving me sound to prevent them from hearing the garage door, even if they have their windows open. Once inside, I keep the door cracked and enter in through the laundry room that leads into the kitchen. Just as I suspected, it’s quiet. Following the long hall that leads to the stairwell, I tiptoe inch by inch, listening for any signs of movement.