Dirty South Drug Wars

by Jae Hood

  “Uh, because Drew is still alive.”

  Tanner sighed. “The situation with Drew is complicated. Levi disappeared this summer. Davis will be out of the picture soon enough. And if Drew disappears, what do you think will happen? He’s a teenager—a kid. Maybe not a likable kid now, but he once was. People don’t remember the bad stuff when someone dies or disappears. They only remember the good. Drew’s disappearance will be splashed on the front page of every newspaper in the South. High school athlete, handsome guy, deceased father, leaving his poor mother behind. You know as well as I do who will be snooping around town.”

  Understanding dawned on me. “The FBI.”

  “Exactly. Sneaking around seems pretty shitty right now. How would you feel if I was locked up for life for the murder of Levi Bridges?” Tanner grinned. “You think they still allow conjugal visits?”

  “I don’t know.” I bit my lip, feigning innocence. “We shouldn’t take any chances. Maybe you should pull over and show me how much you missed me.”

  Tanner’s mischievous smirk drifted away, replaced with longing and the need to consume. He jerked the steering wheel without warning, his tires spitting up rocks before coming to a halt on the side of the road. And for the first time in weeks, I felt alive.

  Alive.

  *

  Chance was home from college for the weekend, and apparently anxious to visit my sister. He texted Tanner and asked if we could swing by their house and pick him up, allowing him to ride with us back to my house. I fought an internal battle for a moment but caved.

  The image of my sister’s thin, pained face buried underneath her comforter earlier this morning flashed through my mind. She only needed to know Chance still cared for her. Maybe it would be enough to pull her from the depression she’d slipped into.

  Chance was waiting for us on the front porch. He loped down the steps, giving me a careful grin as he slid into the backseat of the car.

  My own smile was stiff, although it shouldn’t have been. I couldn’t blame him for initially believing that Brodie hit Shelby. He’d known Drew a hell of a lot longer than he’d known any of us. And I couldn’t blame him for leaving town, for pursuing the dreams he’d held long before my sister sprang into his life.

  We turned on our old road and Chance ran his fingers through his hair. “You think she’ll be mad?”

  Those were the first words spoken since picking him up at their house. I said nothing because I was unsure of my sister’s reaction. Lucy was a loose cannon. Her emotions changed more often than her underwear.

  Tanner pulled in the drive and cut the engine. A strange sound filled the outside air, a song of old times, simpler times. A sense of foreboding hung around us, stifling and bitter. The three of us exchanged quick looks. I saw they felt it too, a sharp knife stabbing into the serenity of the heated night.

  I opened the door of the car with shaky hands, knowing in my heart something wasn’t right. There was a stillness to the air, penetrated only by the mournful sounds of a heartbroken singer. The song reverberated over the lake, echoing through the thick forest surrounding the still water. The sound was so haunting, so familiar, that I froze, listening to the lyrics of a lonesome bird and a midnight train.

  “Oh my God.” Voice trembling, my heart pleaded for the dreadful song to be silent.

  “What’s wrong?” Tanner asked.

  “That was my father’s song. He played it all the time before he passed away.”

  A haunting flash of a memory spun through my mind, twisting and turning, becoming something different from what I once remembered. It was the memory of my father sitting in his recliner, smoking a cigar and drinking long-aged whiskey as he listened to Hank on our old turntable. The record was scratchy from years of overuse, skipping and jumping with static scratching the edge of the singer’s voice. I never recognized my father’s sadness back then, but the memory was now fresh and violent in my mind. The memory displayed the perfect portrait of a disheartened man, staring woefully into the glowing embers of our fireplace.

  I sucked in a deep breath, willing myself from the car, feeling the heaviness of Tanner and Chance’s worried stares on me the entire time. “Lucy hates this song.”

  I landed on quivering legs before creeping across the pavement toward the house. The soft yellow glow of a lamp filled the living room, spilling out onto the deck, making the windows glow like the devil’s eyes against the dark veil of night. The outside speakers positioned on the deck continued to blare the soulful tune, sending shockwaves of dread through my veins.

  Pressing forward, I grasped the cool doorknob in my hand, twisted it, and shoved the door open. The music belted intensely inside the house.

  I stumbled toward the stereo system, but a strange displacement of the floor caused me to pause. I moved my foot, bunching my brow in confusion. Then my face dropped in shock.

  Hair. Long, silky hair lay on the floor below me. It trailed across the worn carpet. Spindly strands traced a path to the stairway.

  It was my sister’s hair; it was her pride and joy. It was beautiful and shiny, lying in luscious, choppy chunks scattered across the floor.

  Chance choked out my sister’s name in a broken sob. He shoved past me and sprinted across the room.

  I stumbled to the side as Chance darted up the staircase. He disappeared upstairs, but it should have been me. It should have been me running to my sister’s aid, but I was a statue, my feet cemented to the floor. My throat tightened as though an invisible force were strangling me. A heavy weight pressed against my chest. The rush of blood through my ears pounded into my brain, but it wasn’t enough to smother my father’s song.

  The song ended and a horrific silence filled the air. It was the calmness I’d silently pleaded for, but the quiet was somehow worse than the echo of the song. It was broken by the sound of Chance’s scream. His voice was a sob, shattered and frantic, screaming Tanner’s name in desperation.

  Suddenly I was free, shedding my invisible restraints, releasing my iron-weighted feet from the shackles of fear, and forcing myself into the here and now. I shot across the living room with Tanner on my heels and dashed up the staircase.

  I took a sharp left and then a right, gripping the doorframe of my sister’s bedroom between my fingers, but she wasn’t there. The room was empty and familiar. The bed was unkempt. Hair products and massive amounts of makeup remained scattered across her white wicker vanity. The heart-shaped mirror mocked me by throwing my own frantic expression back in my face.

  Grunts and low curses penetrated the air, drifting from the room at the end of the hall.

  Not that room … not her room. Lucy never enters that room.

  Tanner heard it as well. He darted to the room, Christine’s bedroom, shoving the partly opened door completely open. It slammed against the wall with such force the floor trembled underneath my feet.

  My feet … they moved forward, my hands trailing along the rough-cut lumber walls. Splinters dug into my flesh as I rushed down the hallway, but I felt no pain.

  Cold, hard fear infiltrated my very core. I entered my mother’s bedroom and my heart stopped, then seized, sputtering in my chest.

  Chance was bent over a tiny wisp of a girl. She lay on the floor, wearing nothing but a blood-red, silk camisole and matching shorts. Her skin was pale and waxy, reminding me of a shiny little doll. Her lips were blushed a powder blue, the color of Nana’s hydrangea blooms in the summer. Blood trailed from her left arm, from the crook of her delicate little elbow. Her hair was short, spiky, chopped off in a horrific fashion, and feathered gently against her soft, angelic cheeks.

  Syringes. Used syringes lay at her side. A pair of Christine’s tan, sheer pantyhose was wrapped around her upper left arm. Tanner was frantically trying to remove it. He failed at first and then ripped it off, tearing and clawing at the fabric. A sickening ripping sound filled the air.

  The girl wasn’t my sister. The girl wasn’t my sister because my sister was an angel, a beautif
ul, misunderstood child, only a year younger than me. She was my twin heart. Except this girl, her heart no longer beat.

  “That’s not my sister,” I whispered.

  Tanner’s head shot up as he stared at me from where he was perched near the tiny girl. He was bent over her, his long, lithe fingers pressed against the pulse point of her wrist.

  Chance ignored my words. He was too busy pumping his clenched fists over the girl’s chest. His upper body rose and fell with such force I heard the distinct sound of cracking and crunching beneath his hands. My stomach lurched at the sound.

  “You’re breaking her ribs!” I screamed, darting forward and grasping his shoulders.

  Chance flung me aside and continued to pound against the girl’s chest. I hit the chest of drawers hard. A sharp stab of pain shot through my back. I stumbled forward again as Chance screamed at me to stay back.

  “He knows what he’s doing!” Tanner shouted, his face struggling to remain calm.

  Chance ceased his movements to pinch the girl’s nose and force air into her mouth.

  “He’s breaking her ribs; he’s crushing her chest.”

  Chance checked the girl’s pulse, his fingers pressing against her thin neck. His face was grim yet determined. Sweat pebbled on his forehead, soaking the collar of his shirt.

  “Let me take over. We can switch out,” Tanner said.

  Chance shook his head, resuming his position over her chest. “No, it’s gotta be me. I’m the one who’s supposed to save her. You call 911.”

  The pale girl’s body flopped limply against the floor with each compression from Chance’s hands. Tanner pulled his phone from his pocket and called for emergency assistance. His voice was muffled, drained from the air, smothered by my ragged breaths.

  My legs became weak like a wet rag. I sank to my knees on Christine’s bedroom floor, and I crawled to my sister’s side.

  My sister. The girl was my sister.

  “Sissy.” I sobbed, choking on my own words, my voice sounding strange, foreign to my ears. “Please wake up. Please, Sissy.”

  The girl said nothing. She continued to rest in an uncaring slumber, undisturbed as she jerked and quivered under Chance’s hands.

  I clasped her cold hand, rubbing it briskly to warm her flesh back to life. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I was supposed to protect you. Oh my God, this is my fault. This is all my fault.”

  Tears pricked my eyes before spilling over. Chance pressed his lips over my sister’s mouth, his shaggy hair brushing against her face. In that moment, another memory struck me, this one as vivid as the one of my father.

  I was nine and already a cynic, believing nothing of fairy tales and folklore. My sister was in her Disney Princess phase. She’d spin around the living room in her blue, red, and yellow faux-silk dress, singing along to the music flowing from the television. The garment was a dress meant to replicate that of Snow White, who my sister openly believed was her own true identity.

  Lucy’s favorite scene was the kissing scene, when the gallant prince would arrive on his trusty steed to awaken Snow White from her eternal rest with one rousing kiss.

  “That’s me, Sissy.” Lucy beamed, showing off a partially toothless grin.

  She pointed at the screen of the television where Snow White lay in her coffin. The handsome prince arrived, pressing his lips against hers, inevitably waking her from her slumber.

  I huffed, rolling my eyes as I struggled to find the correct piece of the puzzle I was working on. “You’re not Snow White.”

  “Yes I am,” she whispered. Her face transformed, void of emotion as she shuffled to the screen, pressing her fingers against the glowing glass. “I’m Snow White … and someday my prince will come, breathing life into me.”

  The memory brought more tears spilling over my cheeks. She was so innocent, believing herself a princess, dancing around our living room with her dainty giggles filling the air.

  The warm glow of the room was replaced with the rhythmic flashing of red lights from the window, pulling me from the memory.

  “They’re here,” Tanner spoke into the phone. “Thank you.”

  He ended the call with the 911 operator and shoved the cell back in his pocket. He begged Chance to let him assist with the CPR, but Chance continued to refuse. He was weary, but he covered it well, never letting up working frantically on saving my sister.

  I pressed myself into the corner of the bedroom, hitting the wall and slumping to the floor. I drew my knees to my chest, feeling weak and helpless in that moment, more so than I’d felt in my entire life.

  The paramedics arrived, dragging a stretcher behind them. One of them gently tugged Chance away from Lucy. The paramedic assumed Chance’s position while Chance stood pale and helpless nearby. The paramedics spouted off questions, removing objects I couldn’t identify from their smart black bags. Tanner and Chance struggled to answer. Tanner’s pleading face drew me from my solemn shell.

  “She’s seventeen,” I whispered. “She’s allergic to iodine. She’s not on any medication, but she does take Adderall and painkillers that aren’t hers sometimes and she smokes weed … a lot. A doctor once told my mother Lucy was manic depressive, but my mother refused to believe him. Those needles, they’re not hers. She’s not on the needle. She’d never do anything like that. She has no other medical conditions. She had surgery once. When she was five she broke her right arm after watching Mary Poppins. She climbed on top of the tool shed, opened an umbrella, and jumped. Lucy is always doing silly things like that. All she’s ever wanted to do is fly.”

  Pity shone in the paramedic’s eyes. I turned my head, wanting none of his pity and none of the scene before me.

  Tanner abandoned Chance, who stood nearby running his fingers through his hair, his face ashen. Tanner approached me. He stooped down and murmured comforting words in my ear. He lifted me to my feet, pulling me into his arms. He stroked my hair and I buried my face in the crook of his neck and silently sobbed.

  They placed my sister’s limp body on a stretcher. I looked at her one last time before they took her away. Her small face was still peaceful. Some sort of device protruded from her mouth. The paramedics continued CPR all the way down the bumpy staircase. Their mumbled words of “suicide attempt” and “meth overdose” filtered through the stiff, hot air. They carried her outside, two of them climbing in the back with her forlorn frame while the other slammed the doors behind them. I could still see her face glowing beneath the lights in the back of the ambulance as it pulled away, disappearing into the night.

  That was the night my sister’s heart stopped not once, but twice. She died twice that night.

  Chapter 21

  My secrets, my carefully guarded secrets, no longer existed.

  Tanner and I arrived at the emergency room within minutes of the ambulance. He held my hand as we waited for word, any word, of Lucy’s condition. My body trembled in his arms, my face crumbled with tears, and all the while he sat diligently by my side, smoothing my hair, whispering comforting words in my ear.

  Chance was a mess, pacing around the ER, cussing below his breath, blaming himself for leaving for college and not listening to Lucy. It didn’t take long for me to understand he knew—Chance freaking knew Lucy would die. She’d told him one of her weird predictions of her impending death.

  I wanted to hate Chance for not warning me, for not telling me about the things she saw, but my bitter words never came. Instead, the two halves of my brain argued with one another. One half argued that Lucy was insane, and she’d done this to herself. She’d made Chance believe the things she saw as she’d done to us countless times. The other half of my brain argued that Lucy was rarely wrong concerning the things she saw, and if her overdose was something she’d planned all along, it was a well-delivered, precise plan that I doubted my sister had the patience for.

  Word got around fast in small towns, and it was only a matter of minutes before the Monroe clan arrived at Birchwood Medical Center’s emerg
ency room. Amos came in first, his forehead drooped with concern, until he saw me tucked into Tanner’s side sitting in the waiting room.

  Amos towered over us, nostrils flaring. “Ruby Red Monroe, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Tanner stood proud and tall, much taller than my uncle who eased back a step or two. The sight of him skulking away would have been comical, if not for the situation at hand.

  “Don’t you dare raise your voice to her,” Tanner said. “Don’t you ever talk to her like that again.”

  Amos peered around him, ignoring my infuriated boyfriend’s words. “What’s the meaning of this? Why are you here with this boy? With this Montgomery?”

  I drew my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs, hugging them against my body. “Like you don’t know. Just who exactly are you putting on an act for, Amos? Your brothers? The staff and patients listening in? Because you and I both know you’ve known about my relationship with Tanner for a while now.”

  I gestured around the room as I spoke, pointing at our various family members who’d filed into the emergency room, their faces lined with worry. Amos took deep breaths, his hands clenched in hard knots at his sides.

  I spotted Josie in my periphery, still wearing her cheerleading uniform. The sparkling makeup she’d worn earlier in the night shone dimly under the fluorescent lights. Her hair bow hung limply from her ponytail. She nodded and held her head high, glaring down her nose at our uncle.

  Heart trembling in my chest, I stood, holding my head just as high. “I’ve been seeing Tanner for months now. What are you going to do about it? Shoot me?” With one finger pointed in my uncle’s reddening face, I grabbed the attention of nurses, doctors, friends, and family. “Hey, everyone, I’m dating Tanner Montgomery. If you find me dead, you’ll know who to blame.”

  Tanner found my free hand, grasping it in his. I’d reached my boiling point, my temper flaring, spitting, and bursting through the carefully sewn seams of my not-so-secret life, exposing Tanner and myself for what we were: the children of enemies who were very much in love with one another, and had been even longer than either one of us truly realized.