A Coin for Charon

by Dallas Mullican

  “I tell myself this is it. I don’t deserve this treatment. I deserve something better. But the fear does worm back in. It’s so powerful.” Becca’s gaze locked on to Rachel. She needed an anchor, someone to compel a hidden reservoir of will and strength inside her.

  Rachel smiled and gave a playful wink. “You, more than anyone, know the first step is making a decision. The back and forth, fighting with yourself, is what drives you mad. Once you decide—really decide—much of the pressure disappears.”

  “You’re telling me the same things I have thought a thousand times. It helps to hear them from someone else. Confirmation, you know? I want to go through with it this time, but I don’t even know where I would go. He’ll find me and things will be worse,” Becca said, her voice broken, disheartened.

  “You can stay with me and Bill. Bill will love it. He enjoys debating psychobabble with you. And let Michael try bringing his sorry ass to my house. I’d like to see him try.”

  “How is it I have all these degrees, and you are a better therapist? Rach, you have no idea how much I value you. I’d be lost here without you. You’re like a second mother.”

  “Well, listen to Mom and leave the jerk.”

  “Thanks Rach. I love you.” Becca embraced Rachel.

  “I love you too, Doll. Now get home, pack a bag, and get over to my house. We’ll worry about the bulk of your things later.”

  “Okay.”

  On the drive home, her resolve waxed and waned. Envisioning Michael’s reaction sucked her confidence dry. Trapped. No less than Max Bannon with his cancer. A thousand meaningless banalities she espoused on a daily basis rang in her mind, make your life what you desire today, for tomorrow may be too late, nothing but drivel doled out to dull the fear, lessen the angst.

  She spent a lifetime in study, learning the workings of human psychology, and in the end it all boiled town to the luck of the draw. She taught people how to deceive themselves, nothing more. Max did not ask for his lot, and neither did she. They both found themselves confined by chance.

  Less than a one percent chance, a one in two-hundred shot, Max Bannon would develop his cancer. There was a better likelihood of being struck by lightning on a clear day. Yet, the odds no longer mattered for Max.

  Becca had married a monster. What were the odds of that? How many monsters existed, mingling in amongst normal people? Perhaps Max bore some fault for his condition—poor diet, tobacco, drug or alcohol abuse, bad genes. What about her? Did she overlook the signs, ignore the warnings, and allow Michael to deceive her? Maybe, but ignorance did not equate to fault, not for Max, and not for Becca. They were…victims. That remained the hardest part to stomach.

  Becca snapped back to reality as her house came into view. She pulled her Volvo into the driveway. Unease twisted in her gut as she looked for Michael’s car.

  Shit, he’s here. Time to pull up the big girl pants.

  She heard Michael’s voice raised in anger before entering the front door.

  “Listen asshole, you’re making a shitload of cash. Do you think you can move that shit without me? I want my cut or next time you’re on your own. I can make life very difficult for you…. No, not a threat. A promise. Fuck with me and see what happens,” he yelled into the phone, slamming his fist against the wall.

  He made Becca’s decision for her. If she stayed, tonight would get ugly. She could not stand another beating…would not stand another.

  She snuck past the den where Michael continued screaming into the telephone. Once in the bedroom, she grabbed her suitcase and threw in as much as it would hold. Taking one last look around the room, she couldn’t help but notice that virtually every item—every piece of furniture, every decoration—she had chosen and purchased with her money, same with the entire house. Michael’s paycheck always went toward some new toy he wanted, or seemed to evaporate into the ether.

  For a second, anger became more dominant than fear. This was her house, how dare he force her to leave. He should be the one leaving.

  The unfairness of the situation made her want to scream. Nonetheless, Becca, more than most, knew life was rarely just or fair, and if she must lose so much to rid herself of Michael, then so be it.

  Steeling herself with a deep breath, she tiptoed down the stairs. Each step seemed to scream out under her feet. Every breath exhaled sounded like a gale wind roaring through a canyon. She thought Michael would surely hear the thundering boom boom of her heart beating against her chest, or the rumble of the suitcase banging against her leg.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she paused. Standing only a few feet from the foyer, Becca went statue still and listened. Silence.

  She waited, pressed to the wall, and prayed he was still on the phone. Michael might turn the corner at any second. If he caught her now, in his present mood…. A sound from behind made her jump, her pulse breaking the sound barrier. Nothing, it was nothing.

  “That’s more like it,” Michael said. “We’re doing good business. People love their drugs, no need to screw it up with infighting. Have I ever let you down? Hell no. You keep your end and I’ll keep mine. So, when’s the next drop?”

  Christ, her heart could not take much more of this. Becca crept to the front door and cracked it open; the joints groaned. She held her breath, hands trembling.

  Steps? Is he coming this way? No, thank God above.

  Michael had not heard her drive up, too busy yelling. Now however, he might hear her leaving. Desperate, she remembered a similar getaway from one of those cop dramas. She put the key into the ignition, placed the gear into neutral, and let the car roll. It inched backward as she guided the steering wheel, walking along just inside the driver’s side door. As the grade of the driveway increased, the car picked up speed.

  No longer able to keep pace, the car’s momentum jerked her hand from the wheel and knocked her to the pavement. Becca watched in horror from her backside as the Volvo raced into the street. If it collided with the street lamp, the commotion would give her away. Michael would be furious.

  Luck, for once, was with her. The Volvo came to a halt as it bumped into the far curb. No harm done…whew. Becca picked herself up and jogged to the car, slipping in and pulling the door closed without a sound. She drew a hand down her face, waiting for the panic to fade. Seconds later, she rolled the tension from her shoulders, and drove away.

  Rachel lived on the other side of town, a twenty-minute drive at best. Becca allowed herself, for the first time, to consider that this would work after all. Michael would not hound her at work: too risky for him with so many people around. He might cause a scene at Rachel’s, but Rachel and Bill would not tolerate it.

  Almost there, almost free.

  The red and blue lights flashing in her review mirror brought her back to reality.

  Oh, shit.

  Becca fixated on them like a deer at an oncoming truck. Dare she run? Her brief spark of independence died. She had no choice but to pull over. Terror clutched her heart, bile rose into her throat as she gripped the steering wheel so tightly a stinging sensation ran through her palms and fingers. She stared into the night, floating in a haze.

  A tap tap on the window made her jump. The butt of a flashlight rapped the glass a third time, and then turned its glare into her eyes. Pressing the lever, she lowered the window to keep him from bashing it in.

  “Going somewhere, my love,” said Michael, still dressed in his blue police uniform.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you. Your conversation sounded heated, thought I’d take a little drive and give you some privacy.” Becca prayed he could not hear the fear in her voice.

  “Very thoughtful of you.” His sneer radiated pure venom.

  He shined the light into the back seat—on her suitcase. His eyes narrowed, hard and mean.

  “Packing heavy for a little drive.”

  “Michael…I….”

  “Shut up. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to turn this car around and drive right bac
k home. Then you’ll call that nosy bitch friend of yours—you were headed to Rachel’s right? You’ll tell her you changed your mind, everything’s fine. Then…then my sweet loving wife, you and I are going to have a long talk about loyalty and commitment. Remember? Until death do us part.”

  CHAPTER

  9

  Max leaned back in the chair and tried not to look at the IV tubes piercing his arms. A bag hung above his head, containing a substance that looked like piss, and might be, for all he knew. The yellow liquid dripped from the bag in large teardrops, a slow journey taking it through the plastic tubes and into his waiting veins.

  The bleeps and clicks of monitors made his skin crawl. Or was the chemo already affecting him?

  Max felt another panic attack coming on. He might vomit on himself, or maybe pass out. He needed to get out of the chair, out of the hospital, and into the open air. Only once before could he remember feeling so frightened…so trapped.

  A few weeks after Max turned ten, he and his friend Tony took a hike into the woods behind his house. A frequent venture, it remained one of the few escapes for the boys to escape parents’ prying eyes. Strange they had never come upon the cave before—more a giant hole dug out beneath the stump of a fallen tree. It looked deep, diving down and turning in before snaking beneath a rock overhang. The temptation to explore proved too much to resist for the adventurous boys.

  Max climbed down first, discovering the burrow deeper than it appeared from above. He gazed up from a good ten feet below. By the squeamish expression on Tony’s face, Max knew he was having second thoughts.

  “Chicken-shit coward,” Max yelled. “Fine, baby, I’ll go by myself.”

  Max crawled fifty feet or so through the muck before reaching another opening—a cave proper. He stood surrounded by stone walls covered in droplets of moisture that trailed down, wetting the ground under his feet to thick mud.

  “Max,” called Tony. “You okay? You need to come back up now.”

  Let him sweat, thought Max, refusing to reply. He felt along the rock, finding sturdy roots thrust downward from the trees above, their jagged edges hanging like stalactites from the roof. Max basked in the discovery of a new world, a subterranean domain just for him. Tony yelled incessantly now, he would alarm Max’s parents if he kept it up at that volume.

  Fine. Max got onto his hands and knees, set to reenter the tunnel, when he heard a crash echo from the distant end. The earth around him shook, spraying debris into his hair.

  “Max,” called Tony. “The stump fell into the hole. I don’t think you can get out. Max, can you hear me?”

  The cave, which seemed a fantasy land moments ago, now drew in around him like a coffin. Max had seen his great uncle in a coffin once. He had imagined how it must feel in that little bed with the lid closed tight, six feet of dirt dumped on top.

  The fear started in his legs, knees wobbling, feet sliding in the mud. His chest tightened, he couldn’t breathe. The stump might have cut off the air—he might suffocate. Fear escalated into terror, and in seconds, Max went from courageous explorer to sobbing child.

  Tony must have heard his cries. “I’m going to get your dad, hang on.”

  Max’s father arrived in minutes and tried to remove the stump, but it stuck fast, too heavy. He tried digging around it, but needed to return to the house and retrieve a shovel and an axe. Two hours buried beneath the earth. For ten-year-old Max, it seemed an eternity.

  He felt the same suffocating feeling now, lost in a deep, dark cave with no way out. The chemicals burned as they slithered through his veins. Max dug his fingernails into the armrests. A frightened child crouching in the dark surrounded by rock and mud…who could free him this time? He wanted to pray, but no one ever listened.

  Following his first round of chemotherapy, Max desired nothing so much as simply being home alone where he could throw up or pass out without embarrassment. The doctor instructed him not to drive, but he did not have the money to waste on a taxi, and no buses ran so far out of the city. He took it slow, already feeling weak and a little lightheaded.

  Max had barely stepped through the door before the nausea hit like a tornado. His world spun round and round. Max wanted to die. They said that sometimes the cure was worse than the sickness. They were right. Sadly, this might not even be a cure, but just another layer of shit on a shitty life.

  His head pounded again, his skin clammy and cold. Sitting with his forehead resting against the coolness of the toilet bowl, Max knew he could not do this, not alone. He fumbled through his pocket and retrieved his phone.

  “Hello,” said a woman’s voice.

  “Laura, is Maggie there?”

  Laura, Maggie’s older sister, huffed and said, “Oh, it’s you. Maggie can’t come to the phone right now, Max. I’ll tell her you called.…”

  “It’s ok, I’ll take it,” said Maggie in the background. After a bit of rustling noise, she spoke into the phone with a mechanical voice. “Hello, Max. What do you need?”

  Not a good start, he already regretted making the call. “I wanted to check on the boys,” he said, his voice carrying fatigue and depression.

  If Maggie noticed, she made no comment. “Oh, they’re doing great. Playing with their cousins, running around like wild Indians.”

  “Good…that’s good. Uh, how are you?”

  An exasperated intake of breath came from the other end. “I’m fine, Max.”

  “I…I miss you. I didn’t realize all I was losing until you were no longer here.”

  “Don’t do this, please.”

  “What? I just wanted you to know.…”

  “It’s only the moment, the right now of it, Max. We haven’t gotten along in years—even before this. You know that. The kids are happy now. All the fighting really affected them, it drove me crazy, and it couldn’t have been a picnic for you either.”

  “No, but things got so hard. Anyone would get frustrated. Families work things out. It can’t always be easy.”

  “It was never easy for us. We married too young and too stupid to know what it all meant, or what it would take. Maybe we wanted independence from our folks, or really did think we were in love, even if we didn’t have a clue what love required. I don’t know…but it wasn’t enough.”

  Max sighed and stared at the muted television. The insects on the screen crawled along the underside of a tree limb, clinging to the bark. It amazed him they didn’t fall. A program about the mating habits of the praying mantis. Max clicked the set off.

  “I’ve done nothing but think about how I can fix things. Maybe there’s still time.” His voice came off haggard, lacking any conviction.

  “You can’t fix it. There’s nothing left to fix. I’ve thought about nothing else as well.” Maggie paused, and Max knew what came next. “I won’t be coming back. We made the kids miserable, and each other. They deserve better. We deserve better.”

  “They deserve better than me, you mean.”

  “Oh no, Max. I would never come between you and your sons. They need their father.”

  Max went silent, his voice flying with hope. For the best really, that this moment of weakness had not brought them back. A moment of weakness, nothing more. Max still did not want them around to see what he knew fast approached him. He simply needed to hear a voice. A little human contact to let him know he was not already dead. A moment of weakness.

  “Hey, why don’t you come and take the boys to the park. There’s a nice one a few blocks up the street from here.”

  His throat tightened. “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  Max cleaned himself up and tried to look presentable. The fatigue still weighed on his body, but the worst of the effects had calmed. With his head clearer, he felt better about driving. When he arrived at Laura’s house, Maggie answered the door. He had forgotten her beauty, how her smile made his knees weak.

  Don’t know what you’ve go
t until it’s gone.

  Hardships and frustrations had clouded his view of her. So self-obsessed with how things affected him, he lost sight of her. Now he viewed her clearly through the eyes of regret.

  “You feeling okay?” she asked. “You look pale.”

  “I’m okay, touch of a cold. I won’t get too close to the boys.”

  “If they didn’t catch it from their cousins, I doubt they’ll get anything from you. None of them ever wash their hands.” Maggie turned and called into the house. “Cody, Austin. Your dad’s here.” She waited a few seconds. “They’re coming…I think.”

  The two boys came shuffling down the hall, appearing displeased. “Do we have to?” asked Cody. “I want to stay and play with the puppies.” Ten years old and already bigger than Max had been at fourteen. A diet seemed in order, cut out the fast food, but Max no longer possessed the right to mandate one.

  “Cody, it’s your dad.” Maggie admonished her son, aware of the effect his words might have on Max. At least she granted him that modicum of concern.

  “It’s okay if they don’t want to go.” Max could not completely mask his hurt.

  “No, they want to. Really. You know how hard it is to compete with puppies. They don’t even know I exist with puppies, a trampoline, and two cousins to play with.

  “I did a flip on the trampoline,” said Austin, proudly. Since turning six, he had become a brazen daredevil.

  “You did? That’s great,” said Max.

  “I can show you. You wanna see?”

  Already Max felt like an intruder in someone else’s life. “Maybe later. Let’s go to the park for a bit first.”

  As they walked down the sidewalk toward the park, Max began to feel dizzy. The world changed hues. For a second, he thought the sun had dipped behind the clouds, but a gray overcast sky hid the sun today. The world did not tint darker; the clouds shifted from red, to bluish, and then orange. Max braced, hands on his knees.

  The boys ran ahead, pushing each other, and squealing away at a full sprint. Max worried he might not be up to the task of watching them. It hit him what a liability he was becoming. What if he fainted and one of them got hurt? He could never forgive himself, and neither would Maggie. So many concerns raced through his mind.