by J. R. Tate
I lean against the building, out of view. I push my luggage behind a nearby bush, certain that if he sees it, he’ll give me the third degree. I’m shocked at how soon he comes out. His brow is creased and he’s either frustrated or worried – I can’t tell.
“Lieutenant Gallagher.” His voice is stern as he folds his arms over his chest. “I’d like to say you leaving your tour early yesterday did you a favor, but it doesn’t appear so. Care to explain?”
Shit, I haven’t even thought up an excuse as to what happened. I could tell him the truth, but a lot of good that has done me so far. “I had a rough night. I don’t think I’ll be able to work today.”
He nods and lets out a sarcastic laugh. “No kidding! You still didn’t answer me. What in the hell happened?”
“There was someone in my house last night.” It wasn’t a lie. There really was. “I ended up having to go to the ER. I’m fine now and I hate to not come in.”
“I wouldn’t let you. Go home and get some rest, Gallagher. I don’t think you’re scheduled to come back for a few more days. Take advantage of that. I need you back in action. I need you healthy. I need you here mentally.”
“I’m fine mentally, Sir.”
He moves closer to me, so close that I can smell his aftershave. “Talking to dead little girls says otherwise, Lieutenant. Make it right and get back on the truck. We’ll be fine until then.” He pats me on the shoulder and walks back to the garage.
Of course some of the other guys are there, attempting to eavesdrop on the conversation. I nod toward them and head toward my father’s house. I’m still not sure how I’m going to handle that conversation, but I have a couple of blocks to contemplate how it’s going to go.
As I walk, I pull my light windbreaker around me. The breeze is cool and I can smell fall thick in the air. Leaves fall from the trees, giving a glimmer of the orange and yellow hue that blankets the city this time of year. I pass row house after row house. Some people are out on their stoops. Some people are taking walks down the sidewalk. And some aren’t very kind, making snide comments to or about me.
“You should be on that show, The Walking Dead.”
“You sure you didn’t escape from the hospital?”
I ignore them and move on, but something catches my eye near the alley. Damn it. I’m almost to my dad’s house. Though it’s daytime, the alley is dark from the tall buildings around it. Stopping, I squint to try and see it better. Taking a few steps forward, the voice stops me in midstep, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Don’t go in there, Lieutenant.”
It’s a whisper, but loud enough to hurt my ears. I swipe the sweat from my brow. Why the hell am I sweating? It’s like forty degrees out here. Moving forward again, the voice repeats its warning.
I get a little closer to the dumpster. Is there a homeless person there? Are they screwing with me like the people back on the stoop? Blinking, I try to clear my vision. My heart is beating so hard that I’m certain you could see it thumping against my chest.
Is that the same woman who slammed me against the mirror? I backtrack and she reaches her pale hand out. “Where you going?”
“You’re not real,” I say back. “Why are you here?”
“You thought I’d stay at your house?” She cocks her head to the side. Her dark blue veins are visible against her white skin. Her hair is stringy and oily and she has a gaping wound near her hairline on her forehead. “You’re in for a rude awakening, Lieutenant.”
“What do you mean?” Maybe I am crazy. I’m standing in a dirty alley trying to reason with this creepy image that could very well be something from my imagination.
“I don’t give a damn about your house. It is you I give a damn about. We need to finish what we started in your bathroom last night.” Her black eyes stare daggers at me and she is somehow getting closer to me without even walking. The toes of her shoes scrape against the asphalt.
At first I am frozen. I watch as she miraculously moves forward. She’s not floating, but she’s also not walking. She is literally on her tiptoes, sliding across the ground. I can’t believe what I’m seeing, but after a few seconds, my adrenaline kicks in and I run in the opposite direction. I’m not going to allow her to take hold of me again. It’s obvious her intention is to hurt me.
Lungs burning, body aching, head pounding, I sprint back out onto the sidewalk, avoiding all of the suspicious glances people are sending my way. I slow to a quick walk and look over my shoulder a few times. Of course she’s not there.
What in the hell is going on? It’s true – I really thought that the ghosts I’ve been seeing wouldn’t follow me. That’s what happens in movies, right? It’s the house that’s haunted and when Rose kicked me out, I did fear that she would have to handle it, but in this case, it’s obviously not true. The creepy razor-toothed woman is following me. She was in the alley, plain as day. I’m never going to get rid of her. What is it going to take to get my life back?
I round the corner, finally making it to my dad’s street. The row houses are a little nicer this direction and there aren’t as many people out. I hesitate as I see his mailbox just a few feet away. I think about the night he started to hate me. The night that changed everything.
Memories flood me. I see my little brother on the stoop, covered in blood. Blinking, I try to fight it. I can’t think of this right now. I need to beg my father to let me in.
“Nathan, what are you doing here?”
His voice breaks my concentration and I see him standing on the top step, the screen door leaning on him. I haven’t seen him in a couple of years and he appears to have aged a great deal in that time.
Swallowing, I stay on the sidewalk. This is harder than I thought. “Dad, we need to talk.”
He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at me. It’s the same stare he gave me that night at the hospital. “Come in. I can only imagine what this is about.”
I follow him inside, and the step over the threshold gives me the same chills as I had in the alley. There are pictures of my brother on a shelf and none of me. I know that’s how it’s always been, but it still hurts to see. He sits at the kitchen table and pours himself a glass of tea but doesn’t offer me any.
“You look like shit, Nathan.”
I lick my lips and look around the room. He’s been alone in this house since my parents divorced, not long after my brother’s death. That was damn near almost thirty-five years ago.
“I need a place to stay.”
The room falls silent again and he takes a long drink. “You mean you’re not living a perfect life with Rose and that boy of yours? I can’t imagine what you’ve done now to fuck that up.” The sarcasm is thick and I fight hard not to get angry. One sarcastic remark back and I’m out on the street.
“We’ve hit a rough patch, but things will work out. We just need space.”
He points at my face. “She do that to you? She give you that black eye?”
“That’s another long story. Rose had nothing to do with it. I know you and I don’t have the best relationship. It’ll be like I’m not even here. I’ve been busy with work and things. I just…” I rake my hand through my hair. I hate asking for help, especially from someone who can’t stand breathing the same air as me. “I just need your help, Dad.”
He looks up at me, making eye contact for the first time. “Just like Sammy needed your help?”
Here it comes. It usually isn’t this quick to come up in conversation, but he’s straight and to the point. “I helped him, Dad. I called the ambulance. I held him in my arms. I was right there.”
“Where were you when he was in the street? Where were you when the car barreled right over him and kept on going? You should’ve been watching him!” He slams his hands down on the table, rattling the tea pitcher. It’s the same line of questioning he asks me every time I’m in his presence and I still am not used to it. I feel the tears well up in the corners of my eyes. It’s someth
ing I’ve never gotten over and something I rarely talk about with anyone, not even Rose.
I know my goal was to not fight with him. After all, I’m here in his kitchen because I need his help, but I can’t stand this. I can’t help but stand up for myself. “I was ten years old. He was eight. Where were you? Why would you and Ma leave us alone?” I’ve never asked him that, though I’ve always wanted to. “That’s a shit load of responsibility for a kid.” I glare at him and we both keep eye contact for several seconds before he breaks it.
Standing up, he looks out of the window above the sink. At least it got him to think, though I’m almost certain he won’t let me stay here now.
“It shouldn’t have been Sammy,” he mutters. What he really means is that it should have been me. He’s said that before. “Take this from someone who has been through it, Nathan. Fix your marriage. I haven’t seen your mother since she left that day and it still hurts just as bad now as it did when she walked out that front door.”
I shift my weight in the kitchen chair and it creaks beneath me. “I know, Dad. I haven’t seen her since then either.”
“You’re messing up your marriage just like you messed mine up. She couldn’t handle Sammy’s death. She always hated when I’d blame you. We’d fight for days because she stuck up for you, Nathan. She left because she grew to despise me for it all. And now here you are, kicked out of your own home for something I’m certain you did to Rose. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it, Son?”
I’m not even sure what to say to him. I don’t even know if I want to stay here now. I didn’t expect anything less from him, yet it still stings like he’s slapped me right in the face. Standing up, I go toward the front door, but he’s quick to follow me, placing his hand on it before I can open it.
“You’re free to stay here, Nathan. Just don’t expect me to be that hospitable. And I hope you’re true to your word when you say you won’t be here much.” He lets go of the door. “I’ve never been close to Rose, and I’ve never gotten to know my grandson, but whatever is going on, work it out for them, or you’re gonna end up just like me.”
I shake my head. “No, I think you’re wrong about that.” I start up the stairs, headed for my old bedroom. Looking over my shoulder, I say, “I will never hate my own flesh and blood. I will never blame Rusty for something he had no control over. And I sure as hell won’t leave him in charge of something that should’ve been my responsibility. So no, Dad, I will never end up just like you.”
“You’re halfway there already, Nathan.”
I ignore him and go into my room. It’s bare with a twin sized bed and a desk in the corner. He was quick to take all of my stuff down the day I moved out. Lying back on the bed, I feel the room spin beside me. I close my eyes and place one foot on the floor, fighting off the vertigo. Maybe I shouldn’t have left the hospital so suddenly, but I will not get institutionalized for something that isn’t happening to me.
I grab my phone and send Rose a text, informing her that I’ll be at my Dad’s, but just as I expect, she doesn’t respond. Tossing the phone on the nightstand, I feel my body relax into the mattress. Maybe I can catch a little sleep. Maybe it’s all one big nightmare and when I wake up, I’ll be next to Rose in my own bed, safe and sound, with a hell of a story to tell everyone.
Chapter Seven
When I finally wake up, I feel hung over. I grab my phone and am shocked when I see that it is seven AM the next day. I slept all afternoon and through the night? I don’t remember waking up once, and with my father not caring what I do, it’s likely that he didn’t even check on me. Sitting up, my head is swimming. I still feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, but I can’t continue to lie around and sleep all the time.
There are a few texts from Rose and even a missed call. Judging by what she said in the texts, she’s still not happy with me and I have no desire to call her back. Walking to the bathroom, I can’t believe what I see. Huge gash marks are on my forearms. They are deep enough that if I don’t clean them, they’re definitely going to get infected.
Sifting through the medicine cabinet, I’m glad to find a bottle of peroxide and some cotton balls. It stings as I apply it and I cringe as it bubbles around the wounds. What plagues me the most is how in the hell did this happen? How did I not feel it? I’m exhausted, but am I that tired that I’d sleep through someone doing this? I’m so freaked out that I’m a step away from calling Rose to help me get an appointment, but I can’t. I still don’t think that it would help me. I’ve got to figure this out and get to the bottom of it myself.
I take a shower, washing away the peroxide that hurts probably more than it should. The hot water is amazing and I close my burning eyes, savoring it for a few minutes. I’m stalling – I don’t want to go downstairs and deal with my father. Maybe he’s not home, but where else would he be? He’s retired and pretty much a recluse.
After my shower, I dig through the clothes that Rose packed for me. I’m glad there are a few long sleeved shirts – I don’t want to have to explain the gashes on my arms. My phone buzzes on the nightstand and it is Rose. This time I answer.
“Hey Rose.”
“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday.”
I lie back on the bed and somehow I still feel like I could sleep for another day. I don’t have the energy to fight with her. “I’ve been catching up on rest. Is something wrong? I figure I’d be the last person you’d wanna speak to since you kicked me out and all.”
“Well, you’re still the father of my kid. He’s worried sick about you.”
“I’m sure you’re not helping with the ideas of putting me in an insane asylum.”
She’s silent for a second and I can tell the comment got to her. “I never said that, Nathan. I just want you to talk to someone. There’s a difference.”
She’s sucking what little energy I have away. “Did you call just to tell me my son is worried about me?”
“You need to call him. See him. I don’t know. He won’t say much to me. He looks at me like I’m the one doing this to you.”
“I’ll call him. Tell him to keep his phone on.” I hang up, not giving her another chance to say anything. It’s killing me inside that we’ve gotten to this point, but with the way she looks at me and the way she doesn’t support me, I can’t be very talkative with her. It’s painful when you have to do that to the person you love most in this world.
I dial Rusty’s number and he answers almost immediately, as if he’s waiting by the phone. “Hey Dad.”
“Hey Rusty, your mom told me you’re pretty worried about me. Wanna talk?” My son is at the stage in his life where he thinks everything about his parent’s is annoying, so him wanting to talk means that Rose’s claims are legitimate.
“Dad, I don’t know what to think. You get put in the hospital, you leave, and now you’re not staying at the house. Mom is vague about things and I wish someone would just tell me why and how this is happening.”
I really wish I can tell my son why it was, but I don’t even know. The emotion in his voice is so thick that I feel myself choking up. “It’s a rough patch. I’m gonna get it all fixed.”
“Get what fixed? Can I see you? Can we do lunch or something?”
I realize that it is Saturday, and I’d love to have lunch with him, but would my appearance freak him out? Or would declining make him worry even more?
“Sure, Rusty. Let’s meet for lunch. There’s that Mexican place down the street from the house. Meet you there in like thirty minutes. Will that work?”
“Yeah, Dad. I’ll see you in a few.”
I fight my exhaustion and force myself out of the bed. The cuts on my arm sting against the fabric of my shirt. I walk down the stairs and my dad is in the living room watching TV. Pausing at the entryway, I give a slight nod at him, but he acts like I’m not even there. I’d love to make amends with him, but right now, my son is what is on my mind.
The fresh air feels good. It wakes me up a
nd I actually feel like I’m part of the human race. I’m a little early to the restaurant, mainly because I don’t want to be in the same house with my dad, but also because I’m anxious to see Rusty. I’ve only been kicked out for a day, but not getting to be around my family drives me crazy, especially with my son. I should be his role model, not someone he has to worry about.
He arrives shortly after and we grab a table out on the patio. Neither of us orders food, but the water feels so good against my parched throat. I can tell he’s observing me and it makes me feel uneasy.
“So, what are you worried about? What do you wanna talk about?”
“Mom is saying that you’re mentally ill. Is that true? Do you need help?”
I’m not sure if I’m mad at her for saying that, or if she cares, but regardless of her intentions, it’s clear that Rusty is very concerned about me, and that doesn’t sit well. “I’m fine, Rusty. I really am.”
“You don’t look it.”
“If you’re gonna sit here and lecture me about this like your mother does, I don’t have time Rusty. I wanted to meet you here to clear some stuff up and let you know that I’m fine and you don’t need to stress about it.”
“Dad, I’m not here to lecture you. I’m here to tell you that I believe you. I’m on your side.”
He hits me blindside, and for a second I have to make sure I heard him right. “What?”
“I believe these are ghosts or something supernatural. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”
I sit up in my chair, relieved that someone is finally on my side. “I’m glad to hear that. Have you, you know… Have you seen something?”
Rusty hesitates at first. “I’m not sure. I think I see or hear something, but then I wonder if it’s just my imagination playing into what is going on with you. I can’t tell.”
“Does your mother know?”
“No. I’m scared to tell her. I don’t want her thinking we both have something wrong. I don’t think she slept at all last night. I’m not on anyone’s side, Dad, but what would be the harm in talking to someone like she wants? I know you don’t need it, but if it meant coming home, why not do it to make amends?”