The Estranged

by JG Koratzanis

  Kelsey tore the paper wrapper of the pills with her teeth and allowed them to fall into her mouth. The tepid water chased the pain relievers down her throat and she hummed.

  “I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed as she bumped into a man behind her as she whirled around. His eyes narrowed, his grin stretched across his face and exposed immaculately white teeth. His faded, gray hoodie hung loosely about his frame as he stepped closer to her. She judged him to be slightly younger than him, though his eyes appeared to have experienced more than the average grandparent.

  “No need to be sorry, Kelsey. No harm, no foul,” he said.

  Kelsey took a step back and leaned against the stack of newspapers. She squinted as she tried to place the acquaintance.

  “Do I know you?” she said. His jaw crept downward as his grin expanded into a menacing smile. He reeked of dollar-store cologne and—

  Rot? She wondered. There was an unpleasant odor wafting from him that she couldn’t quite make out. Bile shot up to the back of her mouth, and she swallowed hard.

  “No, I’m afraid you don’t. But I’m sure you would like to,” he said. Kelsey turned aside and stepped away.

  “Yeah, I really don’t think so. Later, loser,” she said. She cursed her hobbled shoe as she ambled away.

  Needles shot through her wrist and halted her in her tracks. Fire wrested her bicep and into her shoulder as she twisted around. The foul smell of rot filled her nostrils as she inhaled deeply the fetid breath of the young man. His eyes were wide, dilated. An unyielding gravity sucked Kelsey into his abyss. His grip, but not his stare, relented as she yanked free.

  “Get the fuck off me, asshole. Who the fuck do you think you are?” she shouted. Those looking for the exits or the next train paid no attention to the commotion. The screech of steel wheels against the tracks signaled the next arrival.

  Fucking New York, she thought. Everyone and everything considered only themselves. Like the hands of time; they cared for no one.

  “Me? I’m Doug. I’m friends with Heather,” he said. She squared off to him. A growl passed her lips as she contested Douglas.

  “Listen here, you little shit. She told me about you. You’re not Heather’s friend. You’re that Mister Fucking Creepy that no one wants to be friends with. You stay the hell away from her, and from me. Got it?”

  Douglas didn’t flinch. He didn’t seem to breathe. He merely continued to smile his twisted smile, and stink that awful stench of—

  Death.

  Kelsey put her finger on it. Douglas reeked of death. Real death. A bead of sweat rambled down her temple.

  “Fuck you, creep. I’m out of here,” she said.

  Kelsey shoved Douglas and kicked off her shoes. Better to step on a stranger’s expectorant than sprain an ankle. She hoped.

  “Hey! Did you see that?” an elderly man said and pointed his arthritic mitt at Kelsey.

  “You can’t do that. It’s not lady-like. Officer!”

  Kelsey shoved through the droves towards the exit. She made no progress as Douglas appeared to sidestep every obstacle.

  “Please, let me through,” she huffed. Scowled and scornful faces met her request with ignorant disconnection. Peering above the crowds, she spotted a police officer descending the stairwell. A final bypass and she rushed to him.

  “Officer! Please! I need your help,” she gasped. He halted her by the shoulders.

  “What’s going on, miss? Are you all right?”

  She collapsed her hands to her knees and caught her breath. Douglas’ stink lingered about her.

  “This guy— he was. He attacked me,” she said.

  “What guy?” the officer said. Instinctively, his hand gripped his firearm still in its holster as his neck craned about in search of the assailant.

  “Douglas. His name is Douglas,” she started. “He’s wearing a hoodie. And he fucking smells like shit.”

  “Can you point him out to me?”

  Kelsey turned and scanned the dissipating mobs. The amplified ding of the closing doors of the subway resounded throughout the station.

  “He’s— he’s— He’s fucking gone,” she exclaimed.

  “Are you sure? Did you see him get on the train?” the officer said.

  Kelsey scowled. “Of course not! I was trying to get to you!”

  “I’m sorry, miss, but don’t yell at me. I’m just trying to help.”

  “Officer. Officer!”

  Kelsey and the police officer turned and calculated the elderly man, homeless from Kelsey’s guess. He dragged a threadbare and stained comforter along his slogging footfalls. That and too many layers of mismatched clothing wrapped his probably emaciated frame, smelled almost as rancid as Douglas. Almost.

  “This woman attacked that young man! Pushed him, she did. You need to arrest her. There’s laws against that sort of thing,” he mumbled through his toothless maw. The officer turned to Kelsey.

  “Is this true, miss?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, yes, I shoved him. But that’s because he grabbed me. I thought he was going to hurt me.”

  “Arrest that woman! I’m doing my civic duty! I should get an award,” the old man said.

  “Shut the fuck up. You didn’t see the whole thing,” Kelsey said.

  “I sees everything down here, missy. Believe you me! I see everything. And what I saw was you attack this young man for no reason. Officer,” he continued, “I think you should give me ten bucks for my services. I help you, you help me.”

  The officer turned away from the hobo. “Can you identify the assailant?”

  Kelsey nodded, lips pursed tight.

  “If you want to press charges, I’ll take you down to the station to fill out a report. You weren’t hurt, right?” he said. “So, if you wanted a copy of the subway security footage, it’s going to wind up costing you through an attorney. Maybe just go home, get some rest and think about what you want to do in the morning,” he shrugged.

  Eyes rolled in Kelsey’s gaze as she stomped away from the police officer and the derelict.

  Fucking New York.

  III

  The illuminating rays of moonlight cascaded through the Industry City apartment, casting glows and shadows against the non-color furniture and aged brick walls. Cinching her terry robe, Heather stumbled her way into the bathroom, slit her eyes against the blinding highway lights along the Gowanus that flooded through the sheer curtained windows.

  Her head snapped back when she bumped into the jamb faster than her limp hand could reach out to guard against. She teetered, grasped the doorknob, and eased it closed. The slip of the sliding latch flittered her attention. She wobbled to the toilet and raised the seat cover.

  Drawing her robe up around her waist, she flopped down on the cold plastic. Waiting in her slumbering eternity for relief, she reached into the pocket of the robe and slipped out her cell phone. Her eyes barely registered the time reading something past ten o’clock before she welcomed the blissful stream from below.

  “Holy shit,” she murmured. “When did I pass out?” Nothing more than two, three glasses of wine, she drew a blank.

  She rested the phone on her bare legs as she reached for a wad of toilet paper. The friction against flesh echoed in the floor to ceiling tiled tomb.

  She remained seated and thumbed through her phone. Not finding anything new in her social media applications, she unwittingly scrolled through her address book. Whether controlled by guilt or drowsy curiosity, she pressed the phone icon. The other line rang three times before it connected.

  “Um, hi— It’s me,” she whispered.

  “Hello?

  “I’m alright. I just— I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  Realization opened her eyes wide.

  “Me, I’m good. Got a real job, finally.”

  Bullshit.

  “You there?” she said.

  “Oh, Okay. Sounded like you hung up or something. You alone?”

  One side of her lip snarled, and she
closed her eyes. Her head shook side to side.

  “So, what’ve you been up to?

  “Yeah, I’m sure.

  “No, really. I believe you.

  “Listen, I know it’s been a while.

  “I was wondering—”

  Don’t say it.

  “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get together for some coffee or something.”

  A smile crept across her lips and she hummed.

  “Um, I’m not sure right now. I’ll call you tomorrow or something and we’ll figure out a day.

  “Down boy. It’s a friendly get together. That’s all,” she masked her laugh in her whispers.

  “You take care of yourself.

  “It was good hearing your voice.

  “Okay, Okay, have a good night. Bye.”

  Her jaw dropped as she stared at the phone in disbelief.

  Butterflies fluttered in her belly as she listened to his voice once again in her head.

  There was an annoyance at first, Then heartache. That was abundantly clear. Afterward, an innocence which she hadn’t heard in longer than she could remember, filled his words. And it warmed her heart. The icy fingernails of doubt clawed through her mind when another resonance of his speech coursed through her. There was an unnatural wheeze in his breath. Not from lack of sleep or too many cigarettes. More of an affliction. Heather nearly dropped the phone when a rap at the door startled her.

  “Hey, sweetie. You Okay in there?”

  “I’m fine,” she yelped. “I’m fine. I just needed to pee,” she recomposed herself.

  “Are you talking to someone in there?”

  Heather shook her head and slipped the phone back into her pocket.

  The phone rang in her pocket.

  “What’s going on in there?”

  “Nothing,” she said as she fumbled for the device. She read the name and accepted it. She placed her hand over the microphone as she called out.

  “I have to take this. Give me a minute. Kels?”

  Heather listened for the diminishing footfalls that didn’t squeak the living room floor.

  “What’s up, Kelsey?

  “Wait, slow down. Are you Okay?

  “Who? What? You’re kidding!

  “What did you— What do you mean he said he was my friend? Holy shit.

  “Did you go to the cops?”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “Figures. You sure you’re Okay? I’ll be right over.”

  She nodded, huffed and stepped towards the door again.

  “Alright. Call me if anything happens. I’m so sorry.

  “Love you, sweetie. Try to get some sleep. Night.”

  Her hand dropped and slipped the phone back into her pocket. She closed her eyes, breathed deep and said a silent prayer. The latch on the bathroom door rattled as she unhooked it. A smile strained across her face as she reached up and caressed his stubbly cheek.

  “You know what, Shawn? You’re cute when you’re jealous,” she said, looking everywhere except his gaze. She pulled him in close and kissed him. He held her by the back of her head and pressed deeper. His semi-flaccid member pressed between her legs.

  “I know,” he said. “But my turn for the late-night bathroom break. Ready for round two?”

  Her smile faded as he stepped past her.

  CHAPTER 7

  HIRED GUN

  I

  She refused to tell anyone that she was meeting with him. The only ones that might have been receptive to the idea would have been Rick and Jackie. Rick more so. Heather wasn’t quite sure she understood why she wanted to meet. Did she believe her questions might finally be answered? No. That sort of thing only happens in the movies. This was real, true-grit life, and no Hollywood director was wrapping up production of their latest tragic romance for her.

  Arriving earlier than he did, she sat at the table beside the window at the far end of the Java Joint. The familiar flutter of butterflies and the ear to ear grin washed away the hour, four minutes and thirty-seven seconds anxiety, and filled her with youthful innocence when he unknowingly stepped passed her along the sidewalk. Her smile wilted when he walked through the door. The butterflies dissolved inside the hollow pang of her belly when his smile, though loving and sincere, failed to mask the darkness within. She tried not to stare at the circles under his eyes, the haggard solemnity of his cheeks or the nose which was a bit more crooked than the last time she saw him.

  Yeah. I punched him in the face. A lot. You should’ve seen it. His nose popped like a fuckin’ strawberry!

  “Hi,” he said. They floundered at a poor attempt at an embrace and chuckled.

  “Come, sit. You look—” she paused. “Good.”

  “Thanks. As do you, as always.” He looked away and jammed his hands into his pockets as he sat.

  Elusive, was the only word she could put on the first twenty minutes of their rendezvous. The words behind of a little bit of this and a little touch of that telegraphed more than his answers. It sounded like the end of their lives together all over again. Her gaze shifted around the room, possibly looking for a sign of where to steer the conversation before it completely went off the rails.

  “Did you get a full-time job yet?” she said. In the back of her mind, she heard the first set of wheels clang off the track.

  “Yeah, I work,” he said coldly.

  A knot wrested her stomach. She heard that familiar echo of the strawberry again. What did she hope to achieve? Did Heather really believe this would have gone any other way?

  Bullshit.

  “What? I do! What the fuck,” he snapped. His narrowed gaze made her hands tremble. Emotions rushed through her in waves, and she didn’t swim below the surface. A last-ditch effort to find him in his sea of madness. Anger, meet angrier. Better yet she thought, pain, meet torture. He wouldn’t back down.

  God damn him! He won’t back down!

  Heather closed her eyes and breathed. When she opened, she considered him once more. And it killed her. She pulled two, crumpled ten-dollar bills from her purse and tossed it to the table.

  “Unless you tell me—” she started and hushed herself. Shaking her head, she refused to continue what would have been a revisit of that day all those months ago. How long had it been, she didn’t know anymore, nor care. There were no answers then. And there was no hope now.

  You stupid, stupid girl.

  “Take your money. I got this,” he said. Heather put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. She watched him lean over and remove his wallet from his back pocket. There was a rickety thrum in his movements. Almost elderly. Broken. She studied his fingers, arthritic in appearance, in an attempt to hide his wallet. She recoiled.

  “Holy shit, Chase! How much do you have?” Throughout his modest, and short-lived employments, never had he held onto that much at once.

  “I told you, I work!”

  She fell back into her seat and splayed her hands out. He didn’t consider her nor her pain.

  “Damn it, Chase! What do you do for this?”

  Heather wanted to smack herself for asking. A quiet voice within begged him not to answer. He only looked down at his chafed and discolored hands.

  “It’s not my fault,” he muttered. “I don’t have a choice!”

  “Fuck you, Chase! I’m tired of that same old excuse! Fucking damn you! You always have a choice! How many times have I told you that?” Heather trembled, grabbed her purse and slung her jacket over her arm.

  “I’m done, Chase. I’m done! I can’t do this anymore! I refuse to do this!”

  She stomped off and didn’t hold back the pain from pouring from her eyes.

  “Heather, wait,” he called out. The thunder of Timberland boots rattled her teeth. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist. She yanked away and stomped her foot.

  “I’m so stupid! What made me think you were going to change? I—” The words seized beneath the lump in her throat.

  “Heather, please. I can explain.”

&n
bsp; She spun around, looked him dead in the eyes as she wiped hers. Silence overcame the room when he didn’t utter a sound. Heather watched the apology through his gaze. She nodded.

  Stepping up to him, she caressed his cheek and turned his head. When she closed her eyes, the tears that clung broke free as she kissed him on the side of his nose.

  Old habits.

  “Goodbye, Chase.”

  He seized her wrist again as she turned away.

  “Ow! Chase! You’re hurting me!”

  It was hard to detect, but the heartache in his bloodshot eyes screamed louder than his anger.

  “Heather. Don’t leave me. Not again.”

  A finger stabbed him in the chest. He winced.

  “We’re done, Chase. Don’t make it worse. And don’t you ever hurt me again!”

  Sorrow exited his gaze. It was replaced by something Heather had never witnessed him direct to her before. She trembled.

  “I’m not going to let you do this to me. Just calm the fuck down and let’s talk,” he said. She tasted the venom in his words.

  “If you don’t let me leave right now, I swear to fucking Christ I’ll call the Goddamned cops on you. Don’t make me do this.”

  Chase chuckled. “Fine. Go.”

  Heather shoved past Chase and stormed towards the exit.

  “By the way,” he said. “You could’ve called the cops. I would’ve been let out before Jimmy Fallon.”

  Hatred, sorrow, and fear broke free from her eyelids and streamed down her cheeks as she bolted out the door.

  II

  Mother Nature wept with Heather as she ambled down the sidewalk towards the subway station. He watched from across the street as she halted, stomped and punched her fists at her sides. He smiled when a shriek of— desperation, defiance, jetted from her lungs. It reminded him of the neighbor’s cat when he tossed it from the seven-story rooftop in Queens to see if they really landed on all fours.

  Nope. Not that one. Nor the next.

  Douglas never had much satisfaction from his childhood experiments. Trial and error seemed pointless.

  “Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat,” his older brother, Daniel, regurgitated from time to time. No matter how many times Daniel Baggio read his bind-split copy of The Art of War, not a single lesson made it through his thick, Sicilian and Irish head. Not one.