The Contradiction of Solitude

by A. Meredith Walters

  My eyes went fuzzy and my gut clenched. Why did Layna have these?

  I kept flipping through and stopped when I came to another picture from a newspaper. This one was of a police sketch. Hand drawn and rudimentary but I knew it all too well.

  The nautical star.

  Points and lines exact. A copy of the one on my back. Of the one on Layna’s hip.

  Beside the drawing was the headline: On the hunt for The Nautical Killer.

  The Nautical Killer.

  “What are you doing?”

  I didn’t startle. I didn’t jump. I continued to riffle through the papers in the file I had found stuck in a bottom drawer in my girlfriend’s kitchen.

  Layna yanked the paper away from me and closed the folder. “Why are you snooping through my things?” She sounded flustered.

  Layna Whitaker was never flustered. But she was now.

  “What is all this? Why do you have all of these?” I yanked the folder out of her hands and dumped the dozens and dozens of printouts onto the counter, shuffling through them with my hands. I turned over pictures. Girls with sightless eyes staring up at me.

  “I don’t get it. Are you writing a book? Are you some sort of serial killer junkie? What the fuck is this?” I was yelling. I was getting worked up.

  I was getting angry.

  Layna licked her lips and stared at the girls. The pictures of dead women.

  The Nautical Killer.

  “Why do you have that star on your back?” she asked suddenly. I hadn’t been expecting that. She blindsided me.

  “What?” I asked. My chest ached. My head hurt.

  No…

  She pulled up her shirt and yanked down the waistband of her skirt, tracing her own star with her finger.

  “I know why I have mine. Why do you have yours? Tell me the truth, Elian Beyer.” Her soft voice was my unraveling.

  Falling.

  Falling.

  A.

  Part.

  “Why?” It was a broken word. Strangled. Torn.

  Why?

  Layna Whitaker, my obsessive focus, calmly stood there, her fingers tracing the lines of that hateful, horrible star. Impassive. Unmoving.

  Waiting for me to tell her my secrets.

  Secrets I had always kept.

  “My sister. Amelia,” I let out in slow, painful bits.

  Layna dropped her hand, her shirt once again covering the tattoo. “Your sister,” she repeated.

  Heartbeats in my ear. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t think.

  “I saw the star. Out the window. On his arm. She went with him. Away. Never came home.” Short, choppy sentences. Not making sense.

  What was I saying?

  Hide!

  Run away!

  Can’t handle this! Not now. Not here.

  Not with Layna.

  “Your sister went with him.” Layna stepped toward me, hands out stretched. Reaching for me. I backed away.

  “Who are you?” I asked. Knowing.

  Knowing.

  “I’m his daughter,” she whispered, half in pain, half in relief. Tinged in something else. Joy?

  “Daughter,” I repeated, my tongue thick and too big for my mouth. Lies, all lies. Nothing but lies.

  Layna continued to reach for me.

  Touch me…

  “I’m his daughter. Him.” She bent down and picked up a newspaper article that had fallen on the floor.

  The Nautical Killer.

  “You’re his daughter.” I shook my head. I was having a hard time understanding.

  Falling.

  Falling.

  A.

  Part.

  “I’m his blood.” Her eyes were full of tears. Red and wet, hanging on her lashes, refusing to fall. She wiped them away and they were gone. Never were.

  I mourned the loss of her tears. They were mine in a way that she never would be.

  Not now.

  Not now.

  I pushed past her and ran to the door. The devil behind me. The monster shouting my name.

  “Elian! Wait!” Panicked. Layna was panicked.

  I needed to leave.

  Too much.

  I had to go.

  “Elian!”

  I was gone.

  Ruined.

  Destroyed.

  I was the monster.

  Me.

  Sharp teeth and sharper claws.

  Forked tongue and serpent’s tail.

  His devil.

  His lie.

  I had chased him away.

  I knew the time was coming but I fought against it. I fought against the pull of the blood.

  “I should come out to see you,” Matt suggested later that night. He sounded scared. Worried.

  He should be.

  Right?

  He had called, as though instinctually knowing that I needed him to. He was there. My humanity.

  “No,” I said, ragged and harsh.

  No.

  “I can hear it, Lay, you’re not doing well.”

  Not doing well. That was an understatement. Elian had fled. Ran. Six hours ago, and I was finished.

  Plans ruined.

  Maybe I was fine with that.

  “I’m okay, Matt. Don’t come here. Ever,” I said, a clear warning. He was my voice on the phone. Not a presence in my reality. There not here. That was important.

  I scribbled words on the dry erase board. Silly words. Honest words.

  The truth is the ugly side no one wants to see.

  Matt didn’t say anything for a long time. “Why haven’t you ever tried to see me? Not once in all these years. I haven’t seen you since the day they took me away.”

  I knew the time would come when he’d ask. I could hear the betrayal. The sting of it was sharp.

  It was sweet and full of assurances.

  “It was better that way.” I didn’t want to talk about that. Not about my failings or his feelings. Not about our life before.

  What was the point?

  So we could cry and be assuaged from the chains of guilt?

  We had to avoid the past. We had to deal with our present. Plan for our future.

  My memories weren’t for sharing. Not with Matt.

  “I was twelve, Lay. I had lost everything. I hated you.”

  “I know.”

  “I still hate you.”

  “I know.”

  “I hate him more.”

  “I hate him too.”

  “But you love him, right?” Matt sounded small. A lot like the little boy he had once been. The little boy who was never been given the entirety of his father’s attention or affection.

  Not like me.

  Lucky, lucky, Daddy’s girl.

  “Yes, I love him.” I sounded defensive. I hadn’t meant to be.

  Defensive. Offensive. Bitter. Proud.

  “I don’t. I just hate him.”

  “Then hate him.” He didn’t need my permission to feel how he did.

  “Why don’t you? How can you not? After everything he did?” Matt sounded confused. Bewildered. His emotions a tangled mess mirroring mine. The same but so different.

  “I don’t know. I just can’t.” I tried to speak louder but couldn’t.

  The truth was easier in whispers.

  “He always loved you best. If he was able to love anything, it was you.” Matt spoke as though it were a curse. It was. My curse. My beautiful cursed blessing.

  I didn’t say anything. There was no need. No one would ever understand the relationship I had with my wonderful, horrible father.

  The Nautical Killer.

  “You feel it, don’t you? The parts of him that live inside us?” Matt asked hatefully.

  “Not inside you, Matt. Never.”

  “Yes, inside me too.”

  “No, Matt. Not you. That kind of darkness will never belong to you.”

  “If it’s not inside me, it’s not inside you either. You’re not him. You never will be. I don’t care how much he love
d you. I don’t care that we are here because of him. Nature versus nurture, right? And Mom wasn’t a monster.” He was trying to convince himself. Was he succeeding?

  “Mom was a monster,” I countered.

  The worst kind of monster.

  Matt didn’t argue. How could he possibly defend the woman that had killed herself and abandoned her children? Taken the coward’s way out? She was able to sleep while we tossed and turned.

  She had left us to bear the brunt of this alone because of her inability to see the ugly truth in the man she married.

  She was just as evil, just as wicked, as the killer that had shared her bed.

  I hated them both.

  But only one still owned pieces of my inconceivable love.

  “Do you ever think about going to see him?” Matt asked, and that was one answer I could answer easily and without hesitation.

  “No. Never.”

  It had been three days since Elian had left my house. After he had told me the things I already knew.

  About his sister.

  About Amelia.

  She is where it all began for him.

  She was the reason for his mask.

  She would be the reason for breaking it.

  I needed to talk to him. He was avoiding me. I wasn’t entirely sure where he was. I had a moment of fear that he had left. Without saying a word.

  I had seen the look in his eyes when I told him the truth about who I was. The truth I hadn’t planned on him ever finding out.

  I was stupid.

  Leaving the folder in the drawer like that. But Elian wasn’t something I had been able to plan.

  He slid into my life and made himself comfortable. He had turned things on their head and I was trying to find my footing.

  Topsy turvy, dizzy and sick. I couldn’t see ahead but the behind me was clear.

  I’m so sorry, baby, baby girl. My Layna. Pick up the pieces and carry them home.

  Words like ice picks. They hurt. They burned.

  Make it right, Layna. Make it better.

  What could I do?

  I went by the custom shop thinking I could at least find him there.

  I walked in, and Margie looked up from her perch behind the counter.

  Margie, Margie, Margie, your hate will get you nowhere.

  “Get out,” she snarled. As if her words could make me fear her. As if her threat carried any sort of weight.

  “I’m looking for Elian.” I walked towards the back of the shop where the door to the studio was.

  “He’s not here,” Margie said. So much venom. So much animosity.

  I frowned.

  “He’s not?”

  “Like you didn’t already know. He blows off everything for you. His friends. His job. You’re a fucking soul sucker, you know that?”

  A soul sucker.

  Maybe…

  “Where is he?” I asked, not bothering to respond to Margie’s character assessment.

  “Why don’t you tell me? George would like to know. Elian never called in. He never goes MIA like this. What did you do to him?” she accused. Spite and ire.

  What did I do to him?

  What did he do to me?

  I looked around at the guitars on the wall, easily picking out those made by Elian’s careful hand.

  “Okay. Thank you,” I said, ever polite.

  “Fuck off,” Margie responded.

  He was avoiding me. He was avoiding everything. I hadn’t expected any of this.

  I needed to find him.

  To talk to him.

  I drove out to Half Moon Quarry. The sky was overcast and looked like rain. I could smell the incoming weather, the moisture clinging to my skin.

  The quarry was silent. No birds or animals in sight. The water was calm, unmoving. Not a ripple on the surface to indicate anything lived in those cool, deceptive depths.

  I climbed the stairs and knocked on the door.

  Not a sound came from within.

  I could see Elian’s car parked in its usual spot. I turned and looked back toward the beach, scanning. Scanning.

  I knocked again. He could be asleep.

  Without waiting, I pushed the door open and went inside.

  Cluttered and dusty, Elian had been neglecting his housekeeping duties.

  “Elian!” I called out.

  Silence.

  Solitude.

  I felt cold inside.

  I moved from room to room and couldn’t find him. Climbing the creaking steps I peered into the darkened bedroom and found the bed, unmade. It was hard to tell whether he had slept in it recently. The tubs holding his clothes were overturned. Shirts and pants in haphazard piles.

  “Elian,” I murmured knowing he wouldn’t hear me.

  I walked into the bathroom, noting a brown bottle upended in the sink, stray pills sticking to the enamel. I picked it up and saw Elian’s name.

  Risperdal.

  I stared hard.

  I had no idea.

  How could I not have known?

  How had this important piece of information slipped by me?

  I dropped the empty bottle back in the sink. It made a loud clatter, and I closed the door as I left the bathroom.

  Leaving the house, I looked again along the bank of the quarry.

  He was here.

  Somewhere.

  There…

  Sitting on the edge of the water, his head bowed low.

  Alone.

  Alone.

  I walked towards him. Unsure. So unsure.

  Elian was suddenly unpredictable.

  “Elian,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear me.

  He didn’t respond. He didn’t lift his head. The cigarette smoked lazily between his fingers.

  The silent, silent waters calm and steady.

  The slight breeze ruffling leaves already fallen to their deaths on the ground.

  I sat down beside him, pebbles biting through fabric. Embedding into skin.

  “I can’t look at you,” Elian said, his voice rough and bleeding.

  “Then don’t.”

  “I don’t want to hear your voice.”

  “Then I won’t speak.”

  Elian covered his face with his hands, a low keening sound muffled by his palms.

  “I hate you.”

  Sharp, hurtful words. Mutilated. Wrecked.

  What could I say?

  “I love you,” he continued. Barely hearing him, his begrudging sentiment lost in his fingers.

  I didn’t speak. I had told him that I wouldn’t.

  Elian dropped his hands. The quarry had all of his attention. Those tranquil, untouched waters gave him something he needed.

  “I love you,” he repeated as though daring me to say it back.

  “I love you, Lay. My perfect star. My little girl. I love you more than any other thing.”

  I wouldn’t say it back.

  I couldn’t.

  Love was poison. It killed you slowly.

  It ripped Elian a part.

  “But I can’t look in your eyes and see anything but the monster.” Damaged. Over.

  Never.

  “I don’t want to be the monster, Elian.” I promised, I swore.

  Declarations that were so very true.

  For now.

  Right now they were so, so true.

  “The star,” Elian said, numb, unfeeling. No love. No hate. Nothing.

  “I told you why I got it.” I was getting frustrated.

  Explanations were a waste of time. Unnecessary.

  “That was a lie.” He seemed so certain.

  What was the point in arguing?

  One lie. So many lies.

  “He took one life but gave me another. How can I reconcile myself to that? That the devil who murdered my sister is responsible for you?”

  I said nothing.

  “What sort of twisted, fucked up universe brought you into my life?” he screamed at a sky that wouldn’t answer.

&n
bsp; Silence.

  Solitude.

  It gave him nothing and everything.

  “I’m not him,” I said, echoing Matt’s words. His mantra meant to keep me sane. Together.

  Elian ran trembling hands through his hair.

  “You’re not him. I know that.”

  Relief sweet and pure flooded through me.

  Disappointment stabbed just as viciously.

  “Don’t leave,” I whispered, holding on to him selfishly. Knowing what I now knew about the man beside me, I shouldn’t push it. I should back away. Let him find his way on his own.

  The pills down the drain.

  Those pills…down the drain.

  I watched him closely wondering how I had missed it.

  His mask was effective. It hid more than I had realized.

  Even from me.

  “I don’t want to,” Elian cried. Shattered.

  I got to my feet and walked back to my car.

  Leaving him.

  Alone.

  With his ghosts.

  With my ghosts.

  With everything that haunted the both of us.

  I thought we were going to get ice cream. But we drove. And drove. And drove.

  The roads were slick with rain, the night endless and forever.

  Waylon Jennings sang softly and he crooned along. A deep, strong voice that I loved more than anything.

  “Where are we going, Daddy?” I asked from the backseat. I was getting tired. I thought we were just going for ice cream.

  We had been driving for so long.

  “We’re finding a star, Lay. Just for you.”

  I smiled and looked out the window. My daddy was finding me a star. I was a lucky, lucky girl.

  I had the best Daddy in the whole wide world.

  I read through the stories I had written down in my notebook.

  In a fit of anger I ripped out one of the pages and balled it up in my fist.

  Throw it away!

  Deep breaths. In and out.

  I slowly unclenched my fingers and laid the paper on the table. Smoothing it out. Delicately. Tenderly.

  I tucked it back where it belonged and turned to blank lines. I needed safe words.

  Feelings I had never before experienced flowed free.

  Shallow waters

  Silent nights

  I lost you somewhere

  Along the pebbled paths

  And forgotten streams.

  Don’t speak

  Eyes closed

  Mouths shut

  Tongues tied

  I lost you

  Among the empty forests

  And abandoned rooms.

  I looked and looked