Dead Beginnings (Vol. 1)

by Apostol, Alex

  “I said I’m borrowing your truck tonight since you’re not gonna need it.”

  Buddy’s head slowly drifted to face forward again as he let out a phlegmy chuckle. He coughed and spat the yellow wad caught in his throat out into an empty can in his lap. “How do you know I don’t got a hot date?”

  “Because you haven’t had a hot date in ten years.”

  Something twitched inside Buddy’s face, causing his wrinkled eyes to squeeze together and his lips to purse for the briefest of moments. “Whose fault is that, ya li’l shit?” he mumbled under his breath.

  Lonnie’s muscles clenched tightly together as he straightened his back and sat rigid against the discolored, sagging couch. His fists clenched until he heard the metallic clanking of the can in his hand crumbling under the pressure. One long, slow, deep breath and he released the tension in him.

  He couldn’t lose control again.

  His breathing steadied and he felt his body slacken to rest against the smooshed couch cushion.

  Buddy’s eyes flickered back and forth between the TV and his son, the faintest hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his thin lips.

  Lonnie stood up, threw his head back to drink the can dry, and then tossed it into the pile on the floor with a hollow clink. “Good question, old man. Whose fault is it?”

  Buddy pretended he hadn’t heard him. There was no way he was sober enough to peel himself out of the oversized arm chair to teach a lesson.

  Lonnie shook his wide head as he stalked off to the door and slammed it behind him. Halfway to the truck parked in the torn up grass, he stopped. The keys jingled from his fingers as he turned his face up to the sun and let the warmth dissipate any lingering hatred he felt for the man claiming to be his father inside. Several times he’d demanded a paternity test only to get cracked across the face with an arthritic, but solid fist. Those memories passed through his mind and then flittered away on the rays of the sun.

  Deep breath in, exhale out.

  He couldn’t lose control again.

  He could not lose control again.

  III.

  Lonnie Lands hopped down from the old Ford and glared up at the apartment building the GPS on his phone had lead him to. The lower half was a mixture of light colored stones and the upper half a cream siding. It looked brand spanking new.

  The windows were massive, floor to ceiling he bet, and the landscaping was immaculate with large shrubs to hide all the air conditioning units and mature trees to provide the perfect amount of shade over each picnic table strategically placed around the grounds. The patios were small. That was the only negative thing Lonnie could come up with as he gawked with his neck craned upward. There was always a negative to everything.

  Dunes Ridge was nicer than any place Lonnie had ever lived, and that included the double wide trailer his father rented for the first five years of his life. It’d been practically brand new. Only one other tenant had lived in it before and there were no weird stains on the carpet—at least not at first. Buddy’s lack of respect for anything besides himself had turned their nicest home into a pit of beer cans, fast food wrappers, and cigarette butts. Everything Buddy touched turned to shit it seemed.

  Lonnie headed up the stairs to apartment 622 on the second floor. When he knocked a young woman opened the door, her youthful face temporarily wrinkled across her forehead and in the corner of her eyes. Lonnie took her in with a judgmental glower and came to the conclusion that his buddy, Ralph Sherman, could have done better. Back in the day he’d seen him pull way better tail than the girl in front of him. Amy was a thousand times prettier than the new Mrs. Sherman.

  “You must be Lonnie,” she said, her lips twitching upward in a contrived smile. In her arms was a curly blond-haired girl clinging close to her mother’s chest, sucking her thumb.

  Lonnie wasn’t good at guessing children’s ages, but she looked to still be under a year old, unless she was just small and anorexic-looking like her mother. Sally’s jutted cheek bones and thin arms and legs made Lonnie’s nose wrinkle ever so slightly as he eyed her.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” was all he said.

  Sally stepped aside and let him in. “Ralph’s in the bathroom. He’ll be out in a min.”

  Lonnie stopped short after only taking a few steps inside and scanned the white-walled apartment with narrowed eyes. Family portraits from the local JCPenney littered the walls, held snugly in place by frames with inspirational sayings painted on them. The room was a blended haze of beiges and creams, the decorative pillows the only hint of personality in the place, and that included the woman with her back to Lonnie in the kitchen. The soft carpet was freshly vacuumed, the lines revealing Sally’s routine pattern of compulsive cleaning. There were Better Home & Garden magazines strategically placed on the coffee table.

  “Jeez,” Lonnie exhaled with a sneer, both his hands rested on his hips.

  “Excuse me?” Sally asked from the kitchen where she mixed a bottle of formula.

  “Ralph really sold out, didn’t he?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Her brow was furrowed heavy over her almond-shaped, green eyes. When she turned to look at him her long, thin hair flowed over her shoulder and right into her daughter’s hands, who tugged hard. “Ouch!” Sally pulled her hair from the grip of the tiny baby’s fingers.

  Lonnie thought Sally’s hair was tacky. It was way too long, like most girls who wanted to rebel against the rigidity of military life once they were out, despite its scraggly quality. She was a natural brunette, but she had so many fat chunks of blond and red highlights running through it that it was hard to tell what was original on her. Amy’s hair was a beautiful chestnut brown. The only thing that ever lightened her hair were the natural rays of the hot summer sun from days spent out on the lake with Lonnie and their friends. He felt a twinge in his stomach as he realized he missed those day and he’d never have them again.

  “You do this place up like this yourself?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  Sally laid her daughter down in the infant swing in front of the large living room window and set it to rock gently. The little girl reached her hands out and took the bottle from her mother.

  “Yes, I did,” Ralph’s wife said with a smile that suggested immense pride.

  Lonnie scoffed again under his breath. “I can tell.”

  “OK, what’s your deal? If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

  “Just wonderin’ how you got Ralph to settle. You can’t be that good in bed.”

  Sally opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her face was scrunched together in disgust, animosity shooting out at Lonnie from her narrowed eyes. Before she could come up with something clever to say back, Ralph came into the room with a wide grin on his face.

  “Lonnie!” He gave his friend a one-armed hug and a slap on the back. “How’s it going?”

  “Can’t complain.” Lonnie ignored Sally completely even though she continued to glare at him. “You ready to go?”

  “One second. I’ll meet you outside,” Ralph said as he opened the coat closet by the front door and pulled out his camo printed work boots.

  Lonnie stepped out into the hallway to leave Ralph and Sally alone. Best case scenario, he would get an earful from Ralph once he came out. Worst case, his friend would stay home and Lonnie would be alone again. He could tell from looking at Sally that she was the type of girl who wouldn’t bat an eye at breaking up a friendship that dated back before she ever knew her husband. He waited by the door and listened in on his fate for the evening.

  “All right, I’m gonna go,” Ralph said, still smiling and oblivious. “I’ll probably be home late, but I’ll have my phone in case you need me.”

  “Hon, about Lonnie…” Sally wasn’t sure how to tell her husband what happened. She was worried he’d think she was causing an argument to get him to stay home because she secretly didn’t want him to go. That was only half the truth.

  “He’s great, isn�
�t he?” Ralph slammed his foot down into his boot.

  “Not really. He’s actually kind of an asshole.”

  Ralph stood up and looked at his wife, trying to decide whether she was mad at him or not for something his friend said. He knew Lonnie could be a tough pill to swallow sometimes, but he thought his old friend would have been on good behavior, at least in front of the family. “What’d he say?”

  “Just…things. I don’t think he likes me very much.” She turned around to wipe the counters down with a Lysol wipe. It was easier than looking her husband in the eyes while she tried to explain what a jerk his friend was to her without coming right out and saying it.

  Ralph had been good to Sally in the nine months since the baby was born. He always helped with her mother in the apartment downstairs when she couldn’t and watched the baby whenever she needed some time to herself—to shower or clean or whatever she needed to get done. He encouraged her to go out with friends even though she never felt comfortable leaving her baby and always declined. He’d barely gone out himself because he didn’t want to make her upset by leaving her home alone.

  She knew it wouldn’t be like that forever. Eventually things would change. They had to. This was her chance to prove to Ralph and herself that she was OK with that change. She looked over the counter at her husband, her green eyes turned upward, her lips parted in defeated silence.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Ralph said. He walked over to Sally and put his hands gently on her shoulders. “He doesn’t know when he’s being a dick.” He smiled down at her and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be back later. Call me if you need me.”

  In the depths of Sally’s conscience she had hoped Ralph would cancel his night out with Lonnie and stay home with her. “Where are you guys going?” she asked with a feeble attempt to hide her growing bitterness.

  “He wants to go downtown or something, some club. I can’t remember the name. I’ll text it to you when I know.”

  “OK, love you,” she called after him. She couldn’t help wondering if he really would text her when he knew the name or if once he was out that door he would forget about her all together.

  “Love you too!”

  Lonnie scrambled away from the door and leaned against the opposite wall next to apartment 624 just as Ralph appeared.

  “Ready?” he asked as he placed a camo baseball hat over his unruly sandy hair.

  “Let’s do this!”

  Lonnie Lands clapped his hands together and let a widespread grin take over his entire face, crinkling the corners of his piercing blue eyes. He could already feel the pain of Amy fading away—her brilliant brown eyes that caught the glint of the sun when she smiled, her thick, beautiful hair that fell over her shoulders when she leaned forward and laughed with her entire body, her soft voice that whispered in his ear as her hand ran up his inner thigh.

  Dammit. There was no escaping her. Not while her lips were the last to touch his, her hands the last to tug his hair, her body the last warmth he felt from another human being.

  “So, we just going to chill at some bar, watch the game or something? Cubs versus Sox. Should be a good one.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Lonnie said as he hopped into his father’s truck. “You’re gonna be my wingman.”

  Ralph looked across the bench seat as the engine roared to life, his heavy brow furrowed.

  “Let’s get me some tonight!” Lonnie bellowed.

  “What about Amy, man?” Ralph shifted in his seat, but didn’t look any less confused. “Look, if you two had a fight or something, don’t go doing something you’ll regret later. You love each other, I know you do.” The look in Ralph’s doe eyes pleaded with Lonnie, not wanting to hear that the couple he’d idolized all throughout high school had finally parted ways.

  “Things change, brother.” Lonnie gripped the steering wheel as one last vision of Amy’s face flashed through his mind. “Things change.”

  IV.

  Lonnie Lands returned to consciousness with his face pressed down into a flat pillow. He groaned as he turned over. His entire body ached, his mouth felt like it was full of mothballs, and his hearing was muffled. His eyelids unclenched, allowing one eye to peek out at the annoyingly bright world around him.

  He reached over and patted next to him, feeling nothing but wrinkled sheets and a wadded up blanket. He was in his own bed, alone. The memories of the night before were locked away somewhere in the recesses of his still drunken mind.

  He sat up slowly and rubbed his face with both his hands. The sounds of someone throwing things outside his door reached his temporarily defective ears.

  He shook his head and winced when a wave of pain built up in his right temple, his cranium on the verge of explosion. As he squeezed his eyes shut he thought death would be a sweet release from the Hell he was stuck in. He slapped himself as hard as he could across the face. The sting across his cheek scattered the suicidal inklings in his brain until they were nowhere to be found.

  A crash echoed throughout the small house and penetrated the thin wooden door to Lonnie’s room. It didn’t startled him in the least. He was used to his father getting drunk at all hours of the day. Those benders usually ended in one of three ways—with Buddy passed out in his chair quietly, with a physical challenge from the old man over something stupid and trivial, or if his dad felt like his odds against Lonnie weren’t good but the alcoholic rage was burning too high to contain, Buddy would throw things around until sufficient damage was done to the shit hole they begrudgingly called home. With the sounds that penetrated Lonnie’s ears and went straight to his aching brain, he bet it was the latter of the three. The last thing he wanted to deal with hung over was a drunken asshole.

  He laid back down with his back to the wall. His face landed on something small, rough, and wrinkled. He propped himself up on one elbow and snatched up a crumbled bar napkin from his pillow. Scribbled across it in black ink was the name Rowan Brady with a phone number underneath.

  The flood gates opened and Lonnie began to remember the last half of his night out with Ralph Sherman, the beginning of the night lost forever, a black smudge on his memories. He remembered going to a pool hall with Ralph after the first bar they went to turned out to be a gay bar. The two were barely talking and when they did it was forced and awkward, mostly about the good old days of high school.

  Fed up with working so hard to rekindle their friendship, Lonnie invited some other guys to play a round of pool with them. One of those men was a construction worker in his early thirties named Rowan Brady. Lonnie remembered his train of thought as with a guy that good looking as my wingman, I’m bound to gather enough hot pussy to last me a lifetime. Obviously he’d been wrong.

  He squeezed the napkin in his hand until it was a crumpled mess.

  The door to his bedroom burst open and slammed against the wall, interrupting his self-loathing. Lonnie jumped and the bed springs squeaked under the pressure.

  “Get your shit and let’s go, boy!” Buddy Lands yelled. His eyes were wide with panic as his hands tugged at what thinning hair he had left.

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Get out of my room.”

  “Shit’s hit the fan! People are going crazy and we need to get out of here now!”

  Lonnie didn’t move from his bed. His narrow blue eyes scrutinized his father as he tried to figure out just how drunk he was.

  Buddy was frozen in the doorway as his chest heaved with deep, wheezing breaths. Aside from the messed up hair, there were no other familiar signs of drunken disarray—his shirt wasn’t stained, there was no alcohol on his chin, his eyes weren’t glassed over, he didn’t sway or lose his balance.

  There was something about the look in his eyes that made Lonnie reconsider. It was the same look he had when they found Loretta Lands in a bathtub full of her own blood, wrists slashed beyond repair. Buddy wasn’t drunk—he was terrified.

  “Where are we going? What’s happening?” Lonnie asked as he shot up
from the bed and snatched up his Army bag. Fortunately, he hadn’t taken the time to unpack.

  “It’s all over the news. People attackin’ each other, killin’ each other, eatin’ each other. It’s a goddamn fucking mess! We need to get to the Michigan cabin before we’re stuck here.” With that, Buddy Lands turned, walked away, and swiped his truck keys from the kitchen counter.

  Lonnie had to jog to reach the truck before Buddy took off without him. He’d never seen his father move so fast before. He snatched the keys from the frantic man’s hand and hopped into the driver’s side.

  Before Buddy could say anything, Lonnie said, “Get in and let’s go. I can get us there faster!”

  It was only a fraction of a second that Buddy Lands stood there, internally debating whether he should drag the boy out of the truck or ride along as a passenger. With a sigh he walked around the front end and climbed in.

  The rusty Ford came to a roaring start. Dirt and gravel kicked up behind it as it putted from the driveway and onto the road.

  “I just have to make a quick stop first.”

  “What the hell do you mean you have to make a stop? You better keep this truck movin’, boy, or so help me God—”

  “I have to go get Amy, you miserable son of a bitch!” Lonnie’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were pure white. His entire face had turned a deep shade of red and his blue eyes pierced through Buddy’s like sharpened icicles.

  “Thought you two were finito,” Buddy grumbled as the immediate panic died down in him. He steadied his shaky legs with his arthritic hands.

  “We are, but if things are as bat-shit crazy as you say they are, then that doesn’t matter. I don’t want her to get hurt or die just because we broke up.” Lonnie’s face returned to its naturally tanned pallor. He gave his hands two quick shakes before returning them to the wheel.