Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
ONE Gnawing of Teeth
TWO September 22, 2015
THREE September 27, 2015
FOUR September 23, 2015
FIVE July 15, 1997
SIX September 23, 2015
SEVEN September 24, 2015
EIGHT September 25, 2015
NINE September 26, 2015
TEN September 27, 2015
ELEVEN September 28, 2015
TWELVE July 25, 1997
THIRTEEN September 29, 2015
FOURTEEN September 30, 2015
FIFTEEN October 1, 2015
SIXTEEN October 2, 2015
SEVENTEEN October 3, 2015
EIGHTEEN Oct 5, 2015
NINETEEN October 6, 2015
TWENTY October 7, 2015
TWENTY-ONE October 8, 2015
TWENTY-TWO October 9, 2015
TWENTY-THREE October 11, 2015
TWENTY-FOUR October 12, 2015
TWENTY-FIVE October 14, 2015
TWENTY-SIX October 15, 2015
TWENTY-SEVEN October 17, 2015
TWENTY-EIGHT October 18, 2015
TWENTY-NINE October 19, 2015
THIRTY September 20, 1997
THIRTY-ONE October 19, 2015
THIRTY-TWO October 21, 2015
THIRTY-THREE October 22, 2015
THIRTY-FOUR October 27, 2015
THIRTY-FIVE October 29, 2015
Authors Note
Casper Valentine
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2019 by Ebb Tide Press
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Edited by Stephanie Parent
Cover design by David Banner
To all the people who’ve lost a loved one to drug or alcohol addiction.
ONE
Gnawing of Teeth
While she was in a drug-induced haze, Ruby was playing with Keith, rubbing his chin, watching him smile and coo, a stream of baby drool dangling from his puckered lips. When the drugs wore off, and her perception returned to the dark room, she smelled mildew and mold.
Immobilized, all she could do was pray the rats stayed away. Ruby knew they were there, she could hear the scratching, gnawing, and rustling. She could feel her bare feet against cold concrete and knew it was only a matter of time before the tiny but sharp teeth were feeding on her toes. Maybe they would only eat a few and spare the rest.
Ruby screamed until her throat was raw.
Between waves of fear and panic, she cried.
Finally, she would feel the pinch of the needle piercing her skin again, and the welcome sting as the poison entered her vein. She knew it would bring back the haze. Ruby wanted to stay there, but she had to fight her way out of the fog, and back to the cold dark room. It was those moments of lucidity that gave her a chance of survival.
TWO
September 22, 2015
EIGHT DAYS EARLIER
Boniva loved gear, and her type of gear wasn't a fresh hoody or some brand-new kicks. Gear was what she called speed, cocaine, Molly, ecstasy, or Adderall. Out of everything, cocaine was her favorite.
"Nate, get me some nose candy," Boniva was already cooing in a pathetic little voice. She was lying on the bed, a sheet covering all but one of her long legs and part of her pale backside.
Nate Randolph wasn't much for cocaine but wasn't opposed to a line or two, from time to time. Six months after joining the police force, he did his first bump, though his experience with drugs and alcohol began far earlier. He started drinking when he was twelve, steroids at eighteen, but no coke, until four years ago. He was just shy of his twenty-seventh birthday.
"I'll get you some damned nose candy. Just get dressed so we can get out of this shit-hole motel," Nate told Boniva as he tucked a black polo shirt into faded jeans.
Nate had a decent apartment on the lower west side of Cincinnati, but he only took Boniva to motels. He was afraid she'd get in one of her moods and start breaking stuff or run off with anything she could find of value.
Nate had known Boniva since they were thirteen. He’d met her where they grew up, in Highpoint, an area that got its name from its spot at the highest altitude in Hamilton County, just northeast of Cincinnati. It was home to low-income, predominately Caucasian families, and they were commonly referred to as white trash.
Nate and his half-sister, Ruby, were raised by their grandmother. Grandma did the best she could, and Nate didn't realize how dysfunctional his family was until around the age of twelve. That's when his best friend Jeff started asking questions.
"Hey Nate, where's your mom at?" he’d say, or, "Why does your grandma talk funny?"
Nate thought it was normal to have an alcoholic grandma, and a mother that never came around. His father, when not in jail, had a different girl in his bed every night. Nate didn't even question why his sister's skin was a different color than his own.
Boniva finally moaned and crawled out of bed. Meanwhile Nate used gel to spike up his dark hair, which was a bit too long. He dabbed on some cheap cologne while Boniva put on a little black dress and threw her blonde mop into a messy ponytail.
Now sober, Nate was thinking about bodily fluids soaked into bedsheets, and a shiver ran down his spine. Not wanting to linger in this rathole a minute longer, he grabbed Boniva’s hand and yanked her out of the room.
THREE
September 27, 2015
Ruby Randolph barely flinched when Mick stormed out of the house and slammed the front door, rattling the flimsy frame.
Confrontations and adversity were nothing new to Ruby. For two years, oxycodone, crushed and snorted, had wrecked her mind and body, slowly tearing apart her life, pill by pill. Now, for the last six months, she’d been clean, and for that, she had her half-brother Nate to thank—he paid for the best rehab facility in the state.
Mick's last words, "Screw you bitch, you're going to pay," were lodged in Ruby's head, as she watched baby Keith sleeping in his crib. His glowing face radiated a peaceful warmth, and it was the only comfort that kept Ruby from tipping over the edge. She was thankful Mick's tantrum didn't wake the boy.
With Mick out of the house, it was time for a drink, a strong one, half Smirnoff and half Mountain Dew. She hadn't given up all her vices.
Ruby was dealt some bad hands, and with all the struggles she’d overcome so far, she was far from frail, but dealing with Mick was bringing on new emotions. Anguish was turning to rage, and rage was transforming to hatred, for a man she once thought she loved.
After a few drinks, her nerves remained frazzled, and she thought a hot bath might soothe away some of the pain.
Ruby staggered into the tiny bathroom and ran the water. When the gushing faucet cut the silence, she slipped off her robe and studied herself in the mirror. She rubbed her long, skinny finger over the lines sprawled across her forehead and sighed. Not long ago, Ruby had a perfect complexion. Now, she was aging beyond her twenty-seven years. She frowned, knowing it was the drug use taking its toll. Her almond skin was blotchy; her long black hair was unkempt and starting to bud into fuzzy dreadlocks.
Ruby eased herself into the bathtub, lazily hiked a foot up on the edge, and closed her eyes. She leaned her head back, covered her face with a warm washcloth, and for a few moments, her mind drifted away from Mick's warning.
Ruby was thinking about
Nate and how he'd looked after her since they were children.
"Anyone harms my sister and they're getting punched right in the kisser," he'd say as a rowdy ten-year-old. "Anyone who messes with my sister is getting a beatdown," he'd threaten as an angst-riddled teen.
The hot water felt like a warm embrace, and the tension slowly left Ruby’s body.
Then, the serenity faded. The water was growing cold and her glass was empty. With a deep breath, she climbed out of the tub and blotted herself dry with a rough towel, while trying not to wobble from all the booze. When she put on her robe, she tumbled forward and used the sink to catch her balance, an act she'd performed many times.
Staggering toward the kitchen, her mind was set on a refill, but each step across the spinning floor was getting harder. Ruby wobbled to the couch, where she collapsed, closed her eyes and drifted into a deep sleep.
Hours later, Ruby bolted awake when she felt something wrap around her waist and grip her like a boa constrictor. It was a pair of thick arms grasping and pulling. For a moment, she felt stuck in a disorienting dream, until her wrist bent too far, and a jolt of pain, along with a shot of adrenaline, coursed through her.
Ruby's eyes were wide open as she was pulled from the couch. She grabbed a hairy arm and tried to break free, but she was too weak. "Let me go," she screamed, over and over.
As she was lifted and pulled upright, she kicked and clawed at her attacker. "Get off of me!" she yelled, digging her fingernails into leathery skin.
The Boa Man held her against his body, and Ruby could only see the brown jacket he was burying her head into. She put up a fight, grabbing at his face and neck, trying to claw herself free. During the struggle, she managed to snap a pendant dangling from the man's neck. She watched it drop to the carpet, her body held firmly by his squeezing muscles.
Boa Man pivoted around her torso and locked in a tight hold from behind, one hand pushing Ruby's head down while the other clenched around her arms and waist. As he pulled her out of the doorway, she kicked her foot out and tried to break an arm free, desperately reaching her fingertips toward the doorjamb.
They were outside and Ruby was exhausted. Through tears, she helplessly watched the weeds that grew in the cracks of her concrete sidewalk, while Boa Man dragged her away.
FOUR
September 23, 2015
Nate slapped on a pair of Oakley sunglasses when he took the on-ramp to I75 North. He stomped the gas pedal of his new Dodge Charger and gripped the steering wheel.
Boniva stared at a bulging vein running along his forearm, and the bicep stretching the sleeve of his polo. "I want to go to the Olive Garden," she said, over the rumble of the V8.
Sometimes her needy voice bothered Nate worse than picking up the phone and hearing a telemarketer on the other end. "I don't have time to take you to Olive Garden. I have to go check on Ruby."
"Jesus, Nate, your sister is what? Like, twenty-seven years old and you still have to check on her?"
"She makes bad decisions. You know how we were raised, no rules, nobody teaching us responsibility. Just look at yourself."
Boniva crossed her arms. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you need to do a bump before you can get out of bed, you've slept with every cop in Hamilton County, and you can't do a damned thing on your own."
Boniva turned her head to the window. "Screw you," she said, under her breath.
After a few moments of silence, Nate caved. "I'll take you to Olive Garden tomorrow."
"I love their breadsticks," Boniva said, changing her tone, like a bratty kid who just got her way.
"We'll go after my dad's funeral," he added.
"I can't believe you're going. What did he ever do for you?"
"He had his demons, that's for sure, but the last time I saw him he was different. I think he wanted to turn over a new leaf."
"Then why did he end up back in jail? Wasn't it for armed robbery?"
"He was the driver."
"He was a piece of shit is what he was," Boniva said.
"Well, he certainly was no saint, but he was still my dad."
"If you're going to Highpoint to see your sister, just drop me off at my uncle Boyd's."
Nate turned up the radio as he took the next exit. For the moment, he was enjoying Led Zeppelin's Kashmir, and hoping Boniva would stay quiet until he dropped her off.
•••
With Boniva out of his hair, Nate was looking forward to seeing his eighteen-month-old nephew, Keith. He pulled the black Charger into Ruby's driveway, the pavement cracked from years of wear. The whole lot looked abandoned, because Ruby's boyfriend Mick had only mowed the lawn once all summer. Overgrown branches were sticking out of shrubs like fingers, and the moldy white paint on Ruby's house was flaking away like dandruff.
Nate stepped out of the car, felt the cool breeze, and zipped up his leather jacket. It was still sunny, but the temperature was hovering in the low sixties.
As Nate strolled to the front door, he watched a toddler in the yard next door, playing in gravel, uncomfortably close to the road. The cheap screen door rattled when Nate knocked.
Ruby was at the door almost immediately. "I heard your loud-ass car. You're lucky it didn't wake up your nephew," she said as she pushed the door open and stepped outside, in her bare feet.
"It's good to see you too," Nate said.
"Sorry big brother, it's already been a shitty day," Ruby said and poked a cigarette between her lips.
"What's going on?" Nate asked.
Ruby lit up her Marlboro. "Same old shit—Mick staying drunk all the time."
"He here now?"
"The stupid ass is in the shed out back, trying to fix the lawn mower."
"Grass needed cut a long time ago. Don't any of your neighbors have one he could borrow?" Nate asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Ruby shook her head. "Don't talk to any of them. This place ain't like it was when we were kids," she said, exhaling the cigarette smoke from her lungs.
"On a day like this us and every other kid in the neighborhood would be out riding bikes." Nate looked at the toddler, who now had both hands full of gravel. "Does that little kid always play so close to the road by himself?"
Ruby shrugged. "First I've seen him." She opened the creaky screen door and mashed her cigarette out on the frame. "Come on in —as usual the place is a wreck."
Nate followed Ruby inside, stepping over toy cars and a racetrack. He glanced at the stained carpet and worn-out furniture, then turned his gaze to the forty-six-inch flat-screen TV. "That's new."
"Mick spent his whole damn disability check on it. Now, I have to work double shifts to keep the electric on."
Nate shook his head. "When are you going to get rid of that clown? You know you could do better."
Before Ruby could come up with an excuse Nate had his wallet out and was handing her two one-hundred-dollar bills. "Take this, for you and Keith. Buy some things you need, and maybe take him over to that waterpark in Sharonville."
Ruby crossed her arms. "Nate, I can't take your money."
Nate raised his voice. "Take the money!"
Ruby took the money as Nate frowned, spotting a syringe on the coffee table. "For God’s sake, Ruby, are you using again?"
"No Nate, that's one of Mick's insulin needles. He's diabetic."
Nate picked it up. "He just leaves them lying around? The baby's going to stick himself with the damn thing."
"I've told him not to leave them around like that."
"Jesus, Ruby!"
"I know, I know," she said as she rubbed her eyes. The dark circles told Nate she wasn't getting much sleep.
"You got something to wear to the funeral?" Nate asked.
Ruby looked away. "I don't think I'm going, Nate. I know he was our dad, but he was such a jerk."
"I get it. No need to explain to me. I don't even know why I'm going to the damn thing."
They heard the back door swing open and
Mick started yelling. "That damn son of a bitch ain't gonna start!"
Nate stepped around the corner to the kitchen. "Lower your voice before you wake up the baby." He held up the insulin syringe. "And what the hell is with this? You just leave 'em lying around so he can get stuck?"
Mick lowered his voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were here, Nate."
"How many times have I told you about the needles?" Ruby said, over Nate's shoulder.
"You watch your mouth, woman."
Nate took a step forward. "You watch how you talk to my sister, you prick."
"I'm sorry, Nate," Mick said as he wiped his greasy hands on the white tank top that pressed against his pudgy belly. He was bone thin but looked nine months pregnant.
"Well, you need to watch this stuff when they’re little," Nate said.
"That kid will be around a lot longer than me," Mick said, and a wide grin showed his ugly brown teeth.
"What's that mean?" Nate asked.
"I got diabetes and now the pancreatitis. I probably won't be around much longer."
"Well while you are around you better watch out around that baby and be good to my little sister."
"Yeah sure, Nate. You don't got to worry."
Nate rolled his eyes. "Why do I doubt that."
"You want a beer?" Mick offered.
"Or we got Kool-Aid," Ruby added.
Nate turned to his sister. "I have to go, Ruby. I'll come back next week and cut that grass for you."
Ruby hugged him. "Thanks, Natey."
•••
Every time Nate drove through Highpoint it unleashed a flood of childhood memories. He slowed down when he passed his cousin Cooper's old house. He smiled, as he remembered shooting blackbirds out of Cooper's bedroom window. He figured they were around fourteen at the time.
A few miles later, Nate drove past a now vacant lot where an old school bus was once converted into a makeshift home. Even at the young age of ten, seeing kids living in that bus made him appreciate what little his family had.
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