by J. M. Paul
I hate feeling stupid.
Milo was hanging on Carly, who couldn’t look happier, and he still seemed like he wasn’t feeling any pain.
“Hey, guys. We’re going to head back.” Bax jerked his head in my direction.
“Panocha. Drink a little too much and have to wimp out, huh?” Milo unwrapped himself from Carly to put his arm around Bax’s neck and play-punched him in the jaw.
Bax shook his head and pushed him away. Milo took several steps backward, tequila not making balance his friend, and he ran into a couple.
“Sorry, dude and dudette. It was his fault.” Milo pointed at Bax.
Bax raised his hand in apology. “Sorry.”
The couple smiled and kept walking.
“Are you okay, handling him?” Bax murmured to Carly so that Milo couldn’t hear.
Carly eyed the drunken Mexican with an overzealous smile and nodded. “We’ll be fine. I’ll work on getting him back to the hotel.”
Good luck with that.
“Okay. Text if you need anything.” Bax lifted his phone before he grabbed my hand and led me toward Duval Street.
We just passed Aqua Nightclub, a popular drag-show destination in Key West, when Bax bent to retrieve something from the sidewalk. When he straightened, he opened his hand, placed a penny in my palm, and then folded my fingers over the copper piece.
When we started walking again, I squeezed the chilly round disc until it was warm against my skin.
“Why do you always give me pennies?” I had thought the question many times but had never asked.
The lighting was low, but when we moved under another lit nightclub sign, I swore, I saw him blushing.
He shrugged. “My gram was big into pennies, and I guess it’s something I picked up—literally.” He didn’t say anything for another minute until I heard, “They make me think of her, and she was the best person I’ve ever known.”
My hand tightened around his. “When did she pass?” I knew she was gone—not only from his use of past tense, but also by the sad tone of his voice.
“Several years ago.”
The only sound between us was our footfalls, traffic on the busy street, and passersby. He didn’t speak again until we turned onto a quieter block, heading toward our hotel.
“Gram believed pennies were the building blocks to everything, and it upset her that they were so easily disregarded. Most people won’t glance twice at a penny on the ground, let alone retrieve it. She’d pick up every single one even if it was tails-up and give it to me. She’d always tell me, ‘They’re strong, and they hold their own when society has turned against them. There’s something to be learned in that, Peanut.’” He shook his head and grinned.
My heart flipped and then melted in my chest. His grandma had called him Peanut—the same nickname my mom and dad had always called me.
What are the odds?
“So, along the way, I guess I adopted her habit.” Bax glanced at me.
“Then, why do you give them to me?” I opened the hand holding the penny.
He didn’t say anything until we stopped in front of our hotel entrance, and then he faced me. “Ancient cultures believed metal could ward off evil. And…I thought you could use the shield.”
The warm wind blew between us and ruffled my hair. I watched him, words escaping me, as he reached up and pulled an errant strand from my lips.
“If they could ward off evil, then the idea developed that metal”—he pointed at the penny in my hand—“could bring good luck. And who doesn’t need a little good luck?”
I swallowed several times before I whispered, “Was that passed on from your gram as well?”
“She knew I’d need to ward off evil of my own and that I could use every cent of good luck I could get my hands on.”
He tried to play his statement off with a smile, but I wouldn’t have it. His words held conviction.
His arms flexed, and in the low light, I eyed his sleeves of dark tattoos.
Does he wear those as his shield now? What is he protecting himself from?
“Why did you—”
He pressed two fingers over my lips and shook his head. “Shh. Tonight’s about you. We’ll get to my demons some other time.”
We walked into the hotel and decided to sit by the pool. Outside, it was dark and humid, and the area was mostly vacated. Vacationers were more than likely either in town, enjoying a variety of entertainment, or passed out in their rooms from too much sun and drinking.
After we claimed a table, Bax excused himself. When he returned, he had two bottles of water and a bag of chips he’d purchased from the hotel’s convenience store. Once we were settled, the weight of expectation wrapped around us.
Start talking, Libby. You probably need this more than you know.
“When my family was killed, my parents’ best friends became my guardians.” I opened the bag of chips on the table and crunched on a few of the salty pieces. “I knew the Manors well because they were Jarrod and Joel’s parents, and I spent a lot of time at their house.” It was my second home until everything fell apart.
Bax’s eyes widened, and he tightly gripped the water bottle in his hand. I imagined his irritation was at the realization that Joel was related to my late boyfriend.
“Jarrod and Joel were identical twins, but they didn’t possess the bond most normal twins have. If anything, they were rivals.” I took a long drink of water to coat my dry throat. “Jarrod was happy, caring, considerate, and an all-around good person. I didn’t know Joel exceptionally well, but I knew he wasn’t good and was extremely jealous of his parents’ golden son. Whatever Jarrod had, Joel wanted. Including me.” I spun the bottle cap on the table. “Joel wasn’t overly persistent about his infatuation with me back then, but he would say things and make subtle advancements to gauge if I were interested—which, of course, I wasn’t. But he and Jarrod were twins, and in his mind, that basically made them the same person. So, what would it matter if I was with Jarrod or him?”
“Asshole.” Bax slammed his bottle of water on the table, causing me to jump. “Sorry.”
“Anyway, after I started living with the Manors, Joel became super attentive and nice. He was there for me, and he’d hold and coddle me during my breakdowns. He did a complete turnabout, and in my overwhelming grief, the distinction between Jarrod and Joel became hazy. My mind would escape reality and allow me to believe it was Jarrod comforting me, caring for me. It made it easier to bear my loss.” I lowered my head to gather courage to continue. “The shift in Joel’s demeanor didn’t last long. Soon, he started to show his true colors and would become angry out of nowhere. After Jarrod’s death, the Manors fought all the time and threatened divorce. Joel believed it was my fault. It became his mission to make me pay. He wanted me to be as miserable as he was.”
I started to weep at the memories of the not-so-distant past. No one should have to experience the type of torture I’d had to go through. I wasn’t sure I would ever speak about those moments with anyone, especially Bax. They were wrong, and I was a terrible, dirty person because of them. They made me unworthy of Bax’s attention and anything else he could possibly give me. My insides and outsides were soiled, broken, and contaminated, and Bax was bright and good, like my Jarrod. If Bax spent more time around me I would dull his glow and quite possibly squelch it for eternity.
I’m poison.
Suddenly, I felt filthy. I started aggressively rubbing at my skin. “I need to shower. I need to be clean. I can’t stand the smell of him on my skin.” I sobbed in hysterics.
“It’s okay, Libby. You’re okay,” Bax repeated until I calmed down slightly. “Come on, let’s get you back to your room, so you can bathe.”
Bax carefully helped me up from my chair and led the way back to our rooms, so I could scrub the shame from my body.
We had been on the I-10, heading west toward New Orleans, Louisiana, for hours. It was my turn to drive, and I was happy for the distraction.
After my ta
lk with Bax in Key West, Florida, I needed a reprieve from my thoughts and from his concerned stares. Even though he had seemed sober enough after his drinking binge with Milo, my hope of him being too drunk to remember our talk the next morning had been in vain. Bax didn’t say anything, but the looks he had been giving me over the last fifteen hours in the van spoke volumes.
In the distance, New Orleans glowed its welcome.
We had left Key West early in the morning and driven straight through, but an accident on I-75 North through Florida had delayed us by several hours. It was late. I was starving, and my stomach was upset from my continuous consumption of Mountain Dew to keep me awake. If my bladder didn’t get to extract the soda soon, I would have an embarrassing situation on my hands…legs…seat…whatever.
As I stayed to the left to take the US-90 Business exit, “Help I’m Alive” by Metric blasted through the speakers. It helped to drown out Milo’s snoring in the backseat, Carly’s cackling on her cell, Bax’s fingers thumping against the center console, and the dark thoughts circling my head since I’d discussed some of my past last night.
A silver Cadillac suddenly swerved into my lane, cutting me off. I had to slam on the brakes and swerve to the left, so I wouldn’t smash into him. We were lucky no one had been in the lane next to us.
“You stupid jackhole!” I blared the horn and gave him several choice fingers in my head.
My parents would have at least been proud that I hadn’t said what I wanted to say and that I hadn’t flashed the hand signals I wanted to flash.
I will take victories where they are given.
“Either cuss the right way, or stop altogether. Your made-up versions sound ridiculous,” Milo growled over the throbbing music. “And turn this shit off. It would hurt my head even if I wasn’t hungover.”
“Why don’t you go back into your tequila-induced coma? I like you better that way.” In my head, I also showed him my favorite finger.
Bax slightly turned the music down, and I shot him a glare. Hopefully, the jackhole’s taillights in front of us were bright enough for Bax to see my glower.
When we had climbed into the van this morning, Milo had passed out, only to be heard from when he had to pee, was hungry or thirsty, snoring, or barfing into a bag. Thank goodness his throwing up had ceased several hours ago. Needless to say, I was ready to escape this prison on four wheels.
After an eternity—at least it seemed that way when my bladder felt like it was about to burst—we found our way to our hotel. It was an old, rickety, only-clean-on-the-surface type of joint that had probably seen many shady actions happen. But, as long as it had working bathrooms, hot water, and a bed without bugs, I wouldn’t care where I laid my head that night.
“I’m starving.” Carly lugged her suitcase up the sidewalk as I stuck the key card in the hotel room lock.
“I saw a bar around the corner if you guys want to grab a quick bite?” Bax said from the door next to ours.
I nodded because hunger would be my next priority after I dealt with my angry bladder. As it stood, I was trying not to hold myself and do the pee-pee dance.
Fifteen minutes later, we walked into the bar and ordered hamburgers and a round of water. All of us sat, mute, staring into space, as we waited for our food. We were too tired to make any type of conversation. Even Milo, the guy who never shut up and had slept for hours in the van, had nothing to say and yawned constantly.
When our food arrived, we fought over the ketchup and then vigorously dug into our sustenance. We were anxious to get back to the hotel to catch some shut-eye.
“Hey, miss? Can we have our bill, please?” Bax asked the waitress.
“Oh, it’s been taken care of.” The waitress started to walk away.
“What do you mean, it’s been taken care of?” I asked before she got too far.
“The guy at the bar paid it.” She turned and pointed. Then, her hand dropped, and she looked around the establishment. “Huh, he must have left already. He said he wanted to help out some college kids who didn’t seem to have much money.” She shrugged. “Anyway, you’re all set.”
I turned to look in the direction she’d pointed even though she’d said the person had left. The pub was mostly empty, due to the late hour, but I saw one stool pushed back, as if it had recently been vacated. It was in a darkened corner at the far side of the bar. I started to turn around until my eyes caught the pile of wadded up bills on the counter.
My heart raced, and my hands started to shake.
Joel always crumpled the bills he would leave the waitstaff. I hated the habit because I thought it was rude, but it was his thing.
I turned toward the door. Then, without thinking, I jumped up and ran outside to look up and down the desolate street.
“Libby?” Bax questioned from behind me. “What’s going on?”
I shook off my bad thoughts. My mind had definitely been going into overdrive the last couple of days because I was used to being hunted. I needed to relax. Many people crumpled their bills.
There was no way Joel would have followed me way out here. And he couldn’t possibly know where I was or where we were going. Our travel plans had only been discussed among the foursome on the trip. Joel hadn’t even texted me recently. That was a step in the right direction. Maybe he was giving up—at least, for now. And maybe it was past time I enjoyed my reprieve.
“Yes. I just…it’s nothing. I’m overtired, and I need sleep.” Moving my head from side to side, I tried to release the tension in my shoulders.
“You sure—”
“Lo que la cogida, amigos? You just going to leave us in there?” Milo said as he walked outside with Carly.
I turned toward them. “No. Sorry. I…I need to get to bed. I’m exhausted.”
“We all are.” Carly yawned.
“Then, to bed, we shall go.” Milo walked toward the hotel.
It was approaching evening, and we were currently sneaking through a hole in a barbed-wire fence along the main thoroughfare of Michoud Boulevard, right next to the faded Six Flags sign that read, Closed, although a few letters were now missing from other storms or simply time. This had once been a bustling place of activity in New Orleans, but now, it was an abandoned amusement park being overrun by nature.
We had met a few photographers on Bourbon Street while in line to get beignets, and they’d told us about this location and how to obtain access without getting caught. It was supposedly heavily secured and monitored, but we hadn’t seen the likes of any patrol while parking our van in a derelict neighborhood down the street.
It had been well over a decade since Hurricane Katrina ravaged New Orleans, yet the effects could be seen everywhere. There were countless run-down neighborhoods with deserted houses and washed out graffiti on buildings, stating messages like Help. The city was rebuilding. It had come a long way, but it still had a long ways to go.
Weeds and grass sprouted in the vast, empty parking lot as Mother Nature tried to reclaim what had once been hers. As we crept along the broken pavement, keeping a watchful eye for authority, toward the heavily vandalized ticket booth and entrance to the park, I saw indications of the flooding. The iron gate was severely rusted up to a height of about four feet from when the park had been submerged in water for over a month.
When we entered through a toppled section of the gate, it felt like a real ghost town. It was similar to Elkmont Campground but eerier. It was almost as if I could hear children excitedly screaming, laughing, and begging for more cotton candy and tickets to play games along with the roar of the rides, and see the flashing lights. The park had only been open for two and a half seasons, but it was now in mourning of the lost years it could have offered enjoyment.
As we walked down the desolate main street, I could almost feel the park’s anger, and I could sympathize. I’d had sixteen wonderful years of life before my dilapidating hurricane hit. And, unlike New Orleans that was working hard to rebuild itself, I was like the Six Flags amusement
park that was slated for teardown. As I looked around at the ruined buildings, cracked pavement, and streets littered with trash and debris, I thought maybe it would be best to demolish what I once had been, to stop trying to rebuild on the old foundation, and to start over again. Chasing old dreams and what used to be was sometimes like a dog chasing its tail—useless.
Carly wanted to head back to the neglected roller coasters, and I wanted to dig around the rundown restaurants and stores, looking for the less obvious profound photographs.
We decided to break off into two groups, figuring we could get the pictures we wanted and attract less attention if there were fewer of us together. Everyone promised to text or call if we ran into trouble or spotted police or something else of concern.
Milo and Carly headed for the back of the park while Bax and I slowly made our way through the front shops, offices, and concession stands.
The sun was starting to set, and while Bax ventured into some building, I kept walking and turned into a square. At the end, surrounded by buildings, was a large clown face resting on its side; it must have fallen from the top of a ride. It pulled at the demented portion of my brain that was broken and damaged. I wished I could discard. The clown was colorful, once trying to portray happiness and good times but was now disturbing. The paint had started to chip and peel from the clown’s face, and I found myself lost and mesmerized by the object as I took different angles of the figure.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” I heard a deep voice behind me.
I dropped my camera, letting it swing around my neck, and I stood from my crouched position. When I pivoted, my stomach twisted as I found myself face-to-face with two thug-like guys. They wore trucker hats, all-black clothing, large gold necklaces with charms, and obnoxious diamond earrings. They each had greasy dark hair with slimy grins sparkling with gold-capped teeth.
“Uh, h-hey.” I cataloged my surroundings, searching for possible escape routes tucked in the shadows. I had let myself become too involved with my work, and I hadn’t been listening or paying attention to what was happening around me.