The Solitude of Passion

by Addison Moore

  “Fuck, Lee,” Max pants with a laugh into my ear. “I’d die for you, you know that?”

  My eyes spring open in the dark as I try to steady my breathing.

  “Don’t die, Max. I couldn’t handle it.” The truth is, I’d rather die myself than lose Max, and seeing that I’ve lost just about everything else, it sounds a hell of a lot like a bad omen right about now. “Just love me, forever,” I whisper.

  “I’ll always love you forever.” He digs his fingers into the back of my hair, still holding me secure over his lap. “No matter what.”

  In the morning, as soon as Janice leaves to take the kids to school, I head back to bed. I watch Max lying there with the look of perfect peace on his face—not one note of despair in his slumber. Every now and again he reaches over and pulls me in.

  After what feels like hours of tossing and turning, I scoot out of bed. I need to assess the damage in the light of day with my own eyes.

  In the late afternoon, I head outside without bothering to shower. The stench of the charred landscape fills my lungs with the bittersweet warmth from the fire. Both our cars are covered in ash so thick I can write my name in it. The driveway, the lawn—they’re both buried beneath this hellish grey snow. All of Mono is suffering from the effects, coughing up pieces of Townsend and Shepherd, choking on them in and out of their sleep.

  I drive to Townsend first. It looks suspiciously normal until I crest the hill and catch the blackened fields, caustic as a slap in the face—so many memories, dreams, and dollars, up in smoke. Nothing but narcotic decimation as far as the eye can see—pitch and tar, final as death. I’m frozen, staring out at the carnage. So complete is the damage it looks as if someone laid a charcoal blanket over the area.

  It all feels surreal. I wonder if it’s all a dream, hope it is. I cruise over to Shepherd totally unaware of how I arrived.

  Same scene. Evening is quickly casting its pall on the soot-filled rows of once supple, fertile vines. Shepherd was the crown. We begged Townsend to be its shining jewel, but it could never forgive me for merging with the enemy. I flash my brights over the carnage as I spin in a circle to soak it all in. So much lost, so fast. Who could hate us this much?

  Then, without hesitation, I drive over to Hudson’s.

  Mitch

  No huge reception to greet us at the Bradley terminal this time, which doesn’t really surprise me. Colton has a shiny new ticket slapped on his windshield when we get back to the car for not renewing his registration. We don’t say much on the way home. Colt calls Mom, tells her we’re on our way, and I can hear the relief in her voice as if she were in the truck with us. He keeps it short, not wanting to let her in on all the fun details just yet. I fall asleep about halfway and enjoy a nice long nap until I feel a hard smack on my bad shoulder.

  I bolt up nauseous from the explosion of pain.

  “Smell that?” The whites of his eyes glint out the driver’s side, examining the landscape for clues.

  “Fire.” I roll down the window to get a better look. Smells like the whole damn town went up in smoke. Ashes blow into the cab of the truck, and we both start to hack as our lungs lock up from debris. Nothing but soot and darkness governs the world.

  “What do you think happened?” I ask.

  “Brushfire.”

  “No brush around here, genius,” I muse.

  “Unless.” His head rolls east.

  “Crap.” I close my eyes as Colt makes a beeline for Townsend.

  We hit the top of the ridge, and the air smells like an incinerator. I think I see it for what it is, but don’t run with the idea until I get out of the truck. I head down past the parking lot and jump into the dirt I grew up playing in, cultivating—inhaling—and the soles of my shoes give way to an unfamiliar crunch.

  There’s nothing but onyx ash as far as the eye can see. Every single row, trimmed of its beauty. The moon casts a harsh glow over the barren field that was once my family’s pride and joy—Lee’s. I crush the remainder of a burnt out vine with my heel, turn around, and find Colt’s face glossed with tears.

  “Looks like my bad luck precedes me,” the words press out of me the way only the truth can.

  We get back into the truck and don’t say a single word.

  I call Lee three times, but she won’t pick up, so Colt and I head over to the house. Max comes down fresh from the shower.

  “You’re back.” His face pales at the sight of me. “Where’s Lee?” he asks, zipping past us into the kitchen.

  “Her car’s not out front.” I glance over at Colt. “I tried calling, and she wouldn’t pick up.”

  “I just called her and nothing.” Max swallows hard. “I think I might know where she went. We’d better hope I’m wrong.”

  Max drives us over to Hudson’s. He fills our heads with what happened last night, the fire at Townsend, the fire at Shepherd. It’s like we’ve landed in some alternate universe, a bad dream that’s opened its jaws and swallowed us whole. I try to shake myself out of it—to wake up on the plane and have it be five years ago.

  Why the hell isn’t Lee picking up? What now? I look out the window into the deep, purple sky.

  What fucking now?

  Fourteen. I count fourteen once-upon-a-cars littering the entry, and that doesn’t include the ones cleverly camouflaging themselves among the weeds that sprout up like bushes. Looks like that whole landscaping thing never panned out for him. Funny, you’d think the haul Shepherd took in would afford him the luxury of having his home not look like a litter box. Nope. Just take and squander. It reminds me a little of my own brother. I look over at Colt. He’s scanning the vicinity, looking for signs of Lee, but there aren’t any—then I see it.

  “Her car,” I say, pointing at the carport near the back of the house. There’s another car tucked behind her, blocking her in. “You think if Lee was coming here she’d park there?”

  “Nope.” Max pulls in close to the front door, and we get out.

  The air is thick, still smells like acres of charbroiled vineyard. He gives a brisk knock, and we wait.

  A light goes on downstairs then a shadow appears on the other side of the murky glass before it swings open. Some guy in a cowboy hat invites us to step inside.

  Max brushes past him, “Lee?” His voice booms off the walls, echoes as if the house were devoid of any furnishings.

  Colt and I make our way in, and the door shuts rather abruptly behind us just before the lights go out.

  “Shit.” I hear Max hiss.

  A hard blow to my neck knocks me to the ground. Someone wrangles me out of my sling and ties my hands behind my back, and I scream out in pain.

  The familiar click of a gun reduces the room to silence.

  “Get up.” A voice wills us from the dark.

  We don’t argue. I’m hoping they’ll lead us to Lee, unharmed. Maybe we can ride the coattails of those miraculous escapes from the past few days and get out of here with our lives intact.

  The idiots brandishing weapons herd us outside toward the shed that Max and I bonded in while whittling down Hudson’s stash. They hogtie us together, back-to-back, and stuff a pile of kindle in the small space between us. When they’re done, one of the guys holds up a match and lights it mid-air. He pulls his lips into a crocodile smile. Then I see it—the glint of a familiar gold tooth.

  He blows the flame out and leaves the room.

  Max

  “He said he was in trouble.” I’ve been making excuses for Hudson the Horrible—the terrorist—for the last fifteen minutes while we struggle to break free. The scum he sold his soul to have taken over his home, his wife, the fields—God knows what they’ve done to Lee. I bet he’s hightailed it halfway to Vegas by now to cash his car in and lose what’s left. “How did we turn out so different?” I say it mostly to myself. I can’t really see Mitch or Colt unless I strain my neck, and then it’s too dark anyway.

  “I know what you mean.” I can feel the vibrations of Mitch’s voice crawl up my
spine.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Colton pipes up. “We’re exactly the same.”

  “You would die trying to be me,” Mitch shoots back.

  Colton skips a beat before refuting the idea. “You’re right. I almost died trying to be you, Crazy Mitch. I would never want to be you. Although, before the trip I thought you were a little boring.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I think you’re a bit of a bad ass, and I’m proud to call you my brother—that goes for you too, Max.”

  “Thanks.” I exhale. “Let’s get the hell out of this makeshift dungeon. We can hug it out later.” I try freeing my hands from the plastic ties they’ve tethered us with but it’s like they’re made of fucking steel.

  “Hey, you mind?” Mitch quips. “It hurts when you do that.”

  “I wouldn’t have to do that if you honed in on your ‘bad ass’ superpowers and got us the fuck out of here.”

  “All right, all right,” Colt interjects. “Focus. Let’s use anger to our advantage.”

  “How are we going to do that?” I know I’m beat when Colt starts making sense. Anger is all I have to lean on at this point.

  “Think of Lee,” he says it like a command.

  “Lee doesn’t make me angry,” I say. “You’re making me angry.”

  “Go with it,” Colt grunts. “I slept with Lee.” He annunciates for my benefit. “Although, technically, you had the facts wrong. It was the week before your wedding, and yeah she was drunk, but I don’t think she was wasted—that girl wanted me in the worst way if you know what I mean. She really knows how to work it.”

  “All right I’m pissed.” I manage to stomp his foot and grind it into the ground until he lets out a satisfying yelp. “I’m going to flatten your balls as soon as we get out. You happy now?”

  “No,” he groans. “Happiness fits nowhere in the equation. I want you to take it a step further. Think of Lee again. Think of her in that house with that group of mangy primates, and what do you think they’re going to do to a beautiful woman like her?”

  A simultaneous snap goes off as Mitch and I break free from our plastic cuffs. It takes three more seconds for us to untangle ourselves from the mountain of rope. No sooner do we stand then the door swings open and a burnt breeze rushes in.

  “Where the hell you going? I got one more to add to the party.” Gold tooth pushes Hudson in. “I’m right outside”—he shakes his rifle at us—“ready and willing to blow your heads off.” He steps back out and bolts the shed, tapping the window with his impressive long carbine. I’ve got a million questions, but, for now, I just glare at my brother.

  28

  Rescue

  Lee

  “Isn’t this fun?” Candi bounces on her bottom sitting Indian style on the floor. Her enormous belly takes up the space between us like a shelf you could place an entire set of encyclopedias on.

  “We are locked in a closet.” I fold the cards in toward my chest in disbelief.

  “It’s a walk-in,” she annunciates each word. “And we’re playing games.” She waves a straight flush of spades in my face as if I should be grateful. The only thing I’d like to flush around here is Hudson for even entertaining the idea of entrapping me in a glorified laundry basket.

  Stupid, stupid me. I close my eyes and mull over how I got here. Looking for Hudson was incredibly stupid. Following Candi upstairs so she could show me her “maternity wedding gown” for a wedding that already happened, and to which I was never invited—again, stupid.

  “So that guy, you called him Duane?” I say it measured and her eyes sparkle when I mention his name. “He tried to kill my husband.” I try cluing her in on the gravity of the situation, to my own peril, I’m sure.

  “He did?” Her brows arch unnaturally like a pair of overgrown fishhooks. Candi is beautiful in a made up, pageant queen kind of way but dumb as a doorpost. “Which one?”

  I blink into my frustration. “Mitch.” His name bites through my chest.

  “No kidding?” She snaps her gum and rearranges her deck. “He likes doing stuff like that on the side.” She tilts her head and gazes at the ceiling as if deep in thought. “You know—I’m kinda like you in that respect.”

  “What respect?” Other than the boobs and the vagina, I doubt we have much in common.

  “Having two husbands and all. I’ve been with Duane six years. We’re on and off like you and Mitch.”

  My gut cinches. Mitch and I are not on and off. He was captured. Held prisoner. His fierce undying love brought him back to me, but something tells me this concept will transcend her single brain cell, so I don’t bother.

  “So which one do you think you’ll choose?” I ask. “You know, you can only have the one.” I wag my ring finger in the air.

  “True. But lucky for me, I get to choose whenever I feel like it. They don’t mind. It could be Hud one day, Duane the next. We’re gonna move in together like you guys.”

  Great. I’m a shining example in the worst way possible. Stella probably dreams of her wedding day, walking down the aisle with two men beaming back at her.

  I toss down the cards, trying to stave off tears, but I feel them coming up behind my lids, angry and violent like a prison riot. A knot swells in my throat, the size of a fist.

  “I love them both,” I whisper.

  “I know”—she reaches over and strokes my cheek—“and they love us.”

  “I’m pretty sure they don’t love you, Candi,” I say, gazing at a stray, black stiletto. “They locked you in a closet. You’re sitting on the floor, very, very pregnant. They didn’t give you food or water. Have they asked once if you need to use the bathroom?”

  A fire blooms in her eyes. “You’re right.” She struggles to rise before staggering to the door.

  Candi pounds against the wood with relentless baby-like tremors, and it doesn’t come across as that urgent or impressive. “Du-ane get your ass up here right this effing minute and let me out! She don’t need me to calm her anymore.”

  “Maybe you should try calling on your cell?” They took mine, but hers has been peering from her pocket the entire time. If she wasn’t with child I would have knocked her out hours ago.

  She presses into her phone feverishly and listens, but they don’t pick up.

  A sharp stench lights up my senses, and I crawl to the door. “You smell that?” It’s the distinct odor of smoke. I’ve been inhaling it for the last twenty-four hours. It’s tattooed inside my nostrils, but this is different, it’s fresh.

  “Smells like barbeque. Whole damn town’s been on fire—makes me crave some good old fashioned baby-back.”

  A puff of smoke curls from under the door and waves its necrotic finger.

  It gives away all its deadly secrets in one soft whisper.

  Mitch

  It feels like hours drone by, but, in reality, it’s been less than five minutes. Hudson fills our ears with stories of pool, football, poker debts, and, for once, I’m proud to have Colton—the Count of Clitoris—as my brother.

  “You fucked up real good this time.” Max bows his head.

  Here we are sitting around, waiting, anticipating anything and everything.

  The door cracks open, letting in a rush of cool night air. It takes the stench of four sweaty males out in a rush.

  A tall guy with a shirt pulled over his face, pokes in. “Time to go.”

  “They here?” Hudson glances up as if he’s caught off guard.

  “There’s a problem,” he gruffs through his T-shirt. “It’s time to make tracks.”

  Hudson moves to the door. “All right boys, change of plans.”

  “What plans?” Max growls at him.

  “Some of my old buddies are about to pay a visit.” Hudson sidesteps over to the talking T-shirt. “Told them I had all the money they needed. I’ll leave you jokers to tell them where to find it. Pay up boys”—he gives a wink— “your lives are at stake.”

  “Pay with what?” Max
barks.

  “With whatever it takes. Just thought it up, too. You can thank your old lady for dropping by. Playing the part of Candi ain’t easy, and who knew you’d stop by to play the part of me and my good friend Duane.”

  “Aren’t you glad,” it comes from me with an edge of grief because I see where this is leading, and I hope to God I’m wrong. “You want them to kill us, so you won’t have to look over your shoulder anymore.”

  “You always were the smart one, Mitch.” He winks. “Time to roll.” He steps out and turns around. “Thank Lee for heading to Townsend. We never did think to make it look like you set the fire yourselves. But it was Candi who thought we should send you to Shepherd. Never in a million years did I think you’d fall for it.”

  “Why’d you do it?” Max steadies his voice.

  “I would have died in prison, buddy. A life for a life.”

  “You couldn’t milk anymore money out of me. If you can’t get anything out of someone, you desert them just like you deserted Joshua. Let me refresh your memory. That’s your son.”

  Hudson spits in his brother’s face, full throttle, leaving curdled phlegm that webs between his nose and eyelashes.

  Hud and his buddy scuttle out and labor to secure the door shut. I’m already eyeing the small window near the ceiling as I listen to the sound of shouting followed by the roar of an engine.

  “They’re rushing Candi out.” Colt says, while peering out of a hole from the distal corner. “She’s puking—choking.”

  “Any sign of Lee?” I try to push him out of the way, but he won’t budge.