by Sierra Hill
“Sage is angry at life. At himself. At the universe. Not you, London. Never you.”
The corners of her mouth upturn into a small smile, full of grief and appreciation, as the gleam of the gates as they open in front of us catches my eye.
I take the truck out of Neutral and slowly drive down the long, curved driveway toward the gigantic house. A far cry from the trailer he grew up in.
Parking behind several cars – all expensive, high-end luxury models – I’m greeted with the first glimpse of a life that in a million years I never would have expected Sage Hendricks to be part of. Rich. Famous. Opulent.
It just didn’t fit with his childhood. Most days when we were kids, he wore tattered, dirty clothing and his hair and face were rarely washed.
Rounding the front of the truck, I open the door to assist London out of the passenger’s side. We step up the gray-stone steps to the front door and ring the bell.
From inside we can hear loud music pumping through speakers and the sound of laughter, singing, and people. Lots of people.
I bend my head so my lips are at London’s ear, squeezing her hand in mine as I say, “It’s showtime.”
The door opens and a half-naked girl, maybe nineteen or twenty at most, opens the door. She has a beer cup in one hand and she leans against the door with her hip jutted to the side, her midriff exposed between a bikini top and short cut-offs with the pockets visible from underneath the jeans material. She stumbles a little to the side, catching herself on the door before she falls over.
“Hey, you guys. Are you the ones with the coke?”
London gasps as I cough a chuff of surprise. London composes herself quickly, responding to the young girl’s question.
“Um no. We don’t have any coke with us, sorry. We’re here to see Sage.”
The girl gives a disinterested shrug of her bony shoulders and turns to walk away, leaving us standing in the doorway slightly amused. And a little worried.
“Okay then. Lead the way.” I extend my hand to allow London to head in first. Since she’s been here before, I assume she knows her way around the house.
A brief glance down the long, marbled corridor shows the back exit to the patio area and the area I assume is the pool. A few people meander around out there, drinks and cigarettes in hand. London grasps my hand and pulls me to the left and then to a large room with a couple of white and black couches and chairs, a big stone fireplace along the back wall, and the other walls decorated with gold and silver records.
It reminds me that while I was in Italy, Sage was nominated for and won Best New Artist of the Year through the Country Music Association, as well as Billboard Music. He even graced the cover of Rolling Stone two years ago.
I’d seen a copy of the magazine in the base commissary one day and had to do a double-take when I saw the headline and the picture. It read, “From Felon to Fame: Sage Hendricks Rises from the Ashes.”
It hadn’t looked like Sage at all, and I’d honestly not even recognized him when I first saw it – therefore, the reason for the double-take. His cheeks had appeared sunken and concaved, eyes lacked their usual brown effervesce, his dark olive skin a dull, paler hue. His entire facial structure and body looked emaciated.
And even now, as we emerge further into the room toward a group of people, my gaze skips completely over Sage, who sits on the couch, strumming a guitar, sandwiched in between two scantily-clad women who hang on him like he’s their savior. The only reason I know it’s him is because when he lifts his gaze first to London, a smile of recognition alights his face and eyes, and a sense of nostalgia swirls through me. He places the guitar down and stands on wobbly legs, opening his arms to give London a hug.
I stand a few feet behind her and observe – as if I’m not even in the room and just watching it through a TV screen – as he encloses her in his arms and then whispers something in her ear to make her laugh. It’s not a “ha-ha, that’s funny” kind of laugh, but a sad, humorless laugh.
Just as he begins to pull away, he lifts his gaze and his eyes land on me.
Everything I deserve and have avoided in the last ten years can be easily read in that wounded expression as Sage’s eyes flitter with recognition.
And then the words I absolutely deserve to hear are muttered from his intoxicated mouth.
“What the fuck is he doing here?”
My sentiments exactly.
Chapter 8
Ten Years Earlier
Sage’s bail bond was set at one-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars.
It could’ve been a lot higher, Geoff had said. As if that was going to make that type of money appear so Sage could be set free.
My parents and London’s parents each contributed a combined hundred thousand and through various donations through the local church community (who had never done anything to help him in the past, even though they knew he was living with a monster) ponied up the remainder.
It took over a week to collect all the donations and pay the bond company, so during that time, Sage remained in the county jail, right alongside drug dealers, child abusers, meth addicts and various other life-long criminals. London was sick and broken-hearted, and I was just numb to it all, barely eating or sleeping while I knew Sage was living through a hellish nightmare.
Thankfully, with a little coaxing, Sage agreed to allow me and London to visit during the visiting hours every day. It broke our hearts to see him trying to act strong and unscathed when deep inside we knew the truth behind the steely mask he wore.
He was broken. And not just his body.
The system was in place to supposedly protect children from the hands of monsters, not throw a young man, whose scar tissue was still raw from years of abuse, behind bars. Alone and without the people that loved him there to watch out for him.
The only decent aspect of being raised and living in a small community and county was that our jail wasn’t high tech like the state penitentiary, which enabled us to visit regularly with Sage in the small, but relatively open environment. The cinder-block walled room housed four different tables, with an armed prison guard at the only door in and out.
Sage wasn’t even cuffed when he was led into the visitor room the first day we showed up to see him.
But he was wearing the god-awful red jumpsuit with his arm in a cast, a bright blue and purple bruise on his cheek and jaw nearly reaching his eye.
London was the first to speak, her voice a shaky quiver when he walked toward us.
“Oh my God, Sage. Are you okay? Are you in pain?”
Sage waved her concerned inquiry away with his arm that wasn’t in a cast, lifting it with a slight wince of pain that only I seemed to notice. We couldn’t hug or touch him, so we all sat down at the table, an uncomfortable moment passing by and between us.
“It’s fine. It’ll heal.”
“Hey.”
I had rehearsed what I was going to say to him the minute we sat down, but instead, all I could get out was the lame, generic greeting.
He nodded to us, pulling a loose cigarette from behind his ear, and placing it between his too-dry lips that looked cracked and a little swollen from the beating.
“Got a light?”
Both London and I snagged questionable looks at one another, confused by the question. Neither of us smoked. She shook her head and I glanced around the room to see if anyone else might have one. I noticed a man and a woman at the table next to us, both smoking, and decided they might be a good option.
Standing, I moved slower than I normally walked, and stood at their table.
“Excuse me, but could we bum a light?”
The guard from the corner of the room was at my side immediately, towering over me with his imposing figure. Although I was only eighteen, I was a tall guy at six-two, but this guy was NFL-massive, his body build, and size of his limbs thick as a tree trunk.
“Get back to your table. You’re to refrain from speaking with anyone else while in here otherwise, I will esc
ort you out. Got it?”
My body jerked at his loud and intimidating voice. I hung my head in apology.
“Uh, yes sir. Sorry. I was just…”
“I don’t give a fuck what you were doing. Go sit the fuck down.” A large finger poked me in the chest and I staggered back a little.
Swallowing hard, I turned and returned to the table where London and Sage looked on with wide-eyed, nervous expressions. London’s face showed fear, where Sage’s was more amusement than anything, his teeth clamping down on his bottom lip to keep from smiling.
“Well that’s not something I’ve ever seen happen before,” he mused, the cigarette dangling haphazardly from his mouth. “You’re not used to getting the smackdown from anyone.”
Realizing it was useless, Sage pulled the unlit cancer-stick from his lips and shoved it back behind his ear.
London leaned forward, her breasts pushing against the lip of the table, her voice quiet as a whisper. “Are they all like that? So hostile and mean?”
Sage’s eyes darted toward the guard, then to me and back on London. “Some are better than others. But it’s all relative. To keep the wild animals in here subdued, the zookeepers don’t put up with any shit. I’ve just tried to stay off their radar.”
He glanced away, but not before I saw the weary look in his eyes. The sadness and fear in them.
London’s eyes filled with tears, slowly cascading down her pretty face. I could tell Sage was trying hard to refrain from reaching over to catch them with his fingertips or move to comfort her. He steeled his composure and sat back against his chair, propping a foot over his knee. As if he didn’t notice or have a care in the world.
I cleared my throat, flipping through my rolodex of appropriate topics I could bring up in conversation. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I could or couldn’t say or ask Sage. How the hell do people do this?
I wanted to know about what happened. How it got to the point where he ended up killing his dad. What pushed him that far? London and I were still pretty unclear on the events that transpired that night, and no one had told us much more than the little Geoff originally divulged. We wanted to hear it directly from Sage. Needed to hear it from our friend.
“Can you talk about what happened?” My voice croaked like the question was trapped in my throat, clawing to get out.
When Sage’s eyes met mine for a brief second, I saw everything he’d kept hidden from us for far too long. The turmoil and pain that had built up over his lifetime. The abusive environment he was made to grow up in, the unfairness of it all. London and I were blessed to grow up in loving households and Sage got the short-end of the stick the moment he was born into this world and the parents that he was given. The cards he’d been dealt were shit.
While my family wasn’t perfect by any means, I always had a loving home. Although my dad had been strict because of his military background and was extremely hard on me, pushing and pressuring me to get straight A’s and be the MVP in football, baseball, and track, I still knew he only wanted the best for me.
Whereas Sage’s dad, Merle, was a fucking abusive asshole who only cared about where he’d score his next drink or fix. Merle was never a father or role model to Sage. He only proved that some men are not meant to be fathers and should never have procreated in the first place.
Sage realized his mistake the minute my discerning gaze met his and he glanced away, scanning the room as if looking for somewhere else he’d rather be. He rubbed a hand down his face.
“Attorney Geoff told me not say anything to anyone until the arraignment hearing.” He lifted a shoulder, his attention now centered on the scuffed table, his hand wiping away at invisible crumbs.
“But it’s us,” London argued softly, garnering a sympathetic smile from Sage. “You can’t say anything even to your best friends?”
He pursed his lips tightly and let out a long exhale. “I don’t know what to say. It was just like every other night in the last decade. The old man came home drunk or high, I don’t know which, looking for money to go score some more. When I got home from work, I found him ransacking my room, throwing shit around and yelling at me to give him some. He knew I’d been saving my money to leave and he wanted it, but I wasn’t stupid enough to hide it in my room. And I told him that, which he didn’t appreciate hearing. He called me an ungrateful worthless shit.”
Sage laughed sardonically with a roll of his eyes as London hiccupped a soft cry. I cursed.
“I was trying to stop him, pulling at his arms to get him out of the room when he turned on me and hit me in the face. It wasn’t more than a slap, but I turned to protect myself, covering my face with my bent arm. That’s when he turned the tables on me, and he picked up a bat and slugged me in the ribs, and then connected with my wrist, as well.” Sage pointed to his middle and his casted arm, indicating his broken body parts.
“Mother fucker.” I spat. “If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill the asshole.”
Sage snorted, but then winced in pain. “I fell to the floor and before he could hit me again, I grabbed his legs and yanked him off balance. When he fell, his head hit the corner of my bureau. That was that. He hit it at just the right angle and he died. Fuck, my dad was an ugly bastard on the best of days, but the look on his face as he laid there dying in front of me, with blood pouring out of his skull, was pure evil. It still gives me nightmares. Knowing that bastard, he’ll probably haunt me the rest of my life. I’ll never get rid of the fucker.”
He laughed mockingly but it was plain to see how much it bothered him. The memories, I’m sure, would live on in his head forever.
“Remember when we saw that movie, Unfaithful? It was just like that. Fucking creepy. The dude just laid there, staring up at me with wide-opened eyes. I think he took a piece of my fucking soul.” He shivered.
London gasped loudly and dipped her chin to her chest, as if in prayer. But I knew she wasn’t praying for the soul of Merle Hendricks. That cock sucking bastard deserved to rot in hell.
“Jesus, man. I don’t wish death on anyone, but I hope he died painfully.”
“Yeah, no doubt.”
“What happened then?” London asked, knowing there’s still more to the story after all the shit went down.
Sage rubbed his chin, the dark stubble beginning to grow in from the last few days without a shave. I assumed the prisoners don’t get razors.
He leaned forward, pressing his chin into the heel of his unbroken hand and palm. “I got up, checked for a pulse and then called 911. Waited for them to arrive and then was arrested. Probably right around the same time you were being crowned prom king. Ironic, right?”
I scoff angrily, uncertain where the hostility came from. “Yeah, real fucking hilarious, man. Why the hell didn’t you call us? Text us? We had no fucking clue what happened and had to fucking hear about your arrest from kids at school.”
London rested a hand on my thigh and I shook my head indignantly. Sage’s response just proved that deep down, despite all the shit he dealt with growing up and throughout his childhood, he had the biggest heart of anyone else I knew, with the exception of London.
Sage closed his eyes, a smile formed across his mouth.
“I didn’t want to ruin your night together.”
Chapter 9
Present Day
Sage’s eyes fill with something I don’t recognize, but they turn dark as a barrel of rye whiskey as he glares at me, seething with hatred.
I deserve to be hated by him.
I deserted him when he needed me the most.
I called him vile names. I turned my back on the best friend I’d ever had in my life.
London returns to my side and grabs my hand, pulling me into her so she’s tucked into my side as we stand in front of a crowd of people we’ve never seen before and probably will never see again. Part of me wants to bail and say, “fuck it, this isn’t worth it.”
But then again, that’s what the coward in me would do. I need to face him l
ike a man and let him take a swing at me if that will make Sage feel better.
I know it would make me feel a hell of a lot better.
“Sage, can we all go somewhere to talk?”London begs. I know she doesn’t want witnesses around when she says what she has to say to him.
Sage’s eyes leave mine briefly and land on London, his expression softening just slightly, but only for a moment. A sneer begins to form across his mouth and a jeering scoff leaves his throat.
“Fuck, no. Not with him,” he nudges his chin toward me, his nose scrunched as if he smells sour milk. “He’s not welcome here. Only you, London. And right now, I’m not even sure I want you around. You’re both ruining my chill vibes.”
I can’t help the vitriol remark that comes out of my mouth.
“Oh, you mean your coke high?”
His eyes narrow into a death glare and then he smiles, shaking his head.
“Forever the Golden Boy. Perfect in every way. Somethings never change.”
He bends down to pick up the discarded guitar, motioning with a flick of his wrist to the girls to follow him and then they walk down the hall and up the stairs.
The chicks laugh and giggle, moving in front of Sage as they begin to ascend the stairs, their hips swaying for attention. Sage stops halfway up, returning his attention to me and London, as we stare after them. London’s eyes are misty with unshed tears and the hurt bleeds from her body so visibly that I can practically feel it.
My gut churns with guilt and anger. I didn’t expect a warm or receptive welcome, but I didn’t think he’d turn his back on London. For someone who had once expressed his undying love for this woman, he certainly has changed his tune.
His voice is icy-cold. As cold as the marble floors our feet stand on.
“I expect you to be gone by the time I’m up tomorrow. You’re good at leaving, anyhow, aren’t you?”
The comment is aimed at both of us when the blame should be focused on me. Not London. She’s never left his side to my knowledge and has been there every step of the way.