Breaking Brooklyn
Scott Leopold
Copyright © 2012 Leopold Publishing
All rights reserved.
ISBN- 9781310263217
“These eyes will deceive you, they will destroy you, they will take from you, your innocents, your pride, and eventually your soul. These eyes do not see what you and I see. Behind these eyes, one only finds darkness. These are the eyes of a killer."
PROLOGUE
I walk into an empty house, the sound of my footsteps uneven. One is clear and hard, the other slightly muffled. My heart is broken into a million pieces. A rusty gas can dangles from my hand.
In the living room an old brass lamp spills a dim light across a pile of toys that have taken over the room. I move from room to room, slowly pouring gas over everything I see, each drop bringing back the painful memories of my life. I drench the couch, its faded roses running together in a puddle. I pour my hatred over the armchair and its ottoman. I nod in satisfaction as I move to the television resting on a stand in the corner. Gas splashes from the worn wood to the floor as a white colored ring forms on the plastic casing surrounding the TV. My distorted reflection appears on the dusty screen. Not giving it a second look, I continue.
Lurching down the hallway, I enter a room on my right. My eyes automatically fall on the bunk beds that line the back wall. I am overtaken with humiliation and grief. The pain I have suppressed for so long starts to make its way up my spine, determined to corrupt my brain. I slowly walk to the other side of the room and run my hand over the trophies that sit on the tall dresser adjacent to the bunk beds.
I think about my family while the fractured pieces of my heart beat rapidly. I soak the mattresses with gas, then stumble across the carpet to the door and look back. Anger and loathing crowd out reason as my mind takes one last snapshot of my old life.
Moving slowly down the hallway, I see a black lab with gray hair around her eyes. She cautiously steps toward me, her movements hesitant and unsettled. She looks up and whimpers, then walks down the tiny corridor as if she is looking for help.
I continue to a narrow door. I enter a long, shotgun-style bathroom lined in dingy-white subway tiles. Like a shadow, the black lab is at my side. Wild-eyed, she senses what is about to happen.
A huge window is ajar on the back wall. A breeze whispers through its opening. Crickets chirp as though this is like any other night. The hoots of night owls join the chorus from their nests in the trees outside.
The lab waits as I walk towards the window. Confused, she follows me, her tags jingling from her collar. Oh how that sound once brought me great pleasure. I stop to remember the beautiful family I once had. I then move on.
Exhausted, I slump on the toilet seat and admire the handgun I have removed from the back of my jeans. I cannot get the memory of what happened out of my head. The familiar jingle starts again. My friend comes to my aid. She walks up and gently licks my hand. She cries, begging for attention.
I slowly reach into my pocket and pull out a lighter. Hands as steady as a heart surgeon, I flick the cheap Bic lighter. I watch its delicious flame, hungry for something to touch. I make it wait. I can see the fire dancing in the reflection of the dog’s eyes. She howls more loudly, pleading me to stop.
The flame is starving, begging me to set the house on fire. I do. With a quick move, I let it begin to eat.
Fire slowly devours the wall. Out of the bathroom it works its depraved hunger towards the rest of the house. It ingests drywall and wood floors in its need to be full. I watch and smile as the flame follows the path of gasoline like a hungry demon taking its prey.
I get up and step in front of the mirror. I look at the reflection in front of me. I hate what I see. My skin is pale, my wiry hair long and unkempt. My sad eyes stare back at me. They are both empty and confident at the same time.
Suddenly, in a mad rage, I punch the mirror. Looking at myself through its broken pieces, I scream, “I HATE YOU!"
I punch the mirror again and again like a madman. My hands are dripping with blood. Abruptly, I stop and sit back down on the toilet. I pick up the pistol. I put its shaft into my mouth. I can feel its cold metal on my lips as I place my forefinger on the trigger. I sit frozen in this position, tears running down my face then onto the barrel of gun. I watch them roll slowly down to my trigger finger.
I remember my last conversation with Brooke as my stomach becoming an angry sea of remorse.
TEXT MESSAGES
Jack says:
May 31, 2015 at 10:47 am
I got the final divorce decree today.
Jack says:
May 31, 2015 at 11:47 am
Really, you won't even respond to my text!
Jack says:
May 31, 2015 at 11:48 am
How many guys are you fucking now! I hear you have become quite the slut!
Jack says:
May 31, 2015 at 11:50 am
What a good example you have become for our boys! I just hope you don't fuck them up like my mother did me.
Jack says:
May 31, 2015 at 11:51 am
I will never let that happen!
Reply
Brooke says:
May 31, 2015 at 11:55 am
Jack you're being extremely rude and immature right now. I've never had anyone talk to me like this before. Its disrespectful!
Reply
Jack says:
May 31, 2015 at 11:57 am
I will not allow my boys to have a whore for a mother!
Reply
Brooke says:
May 31, 2015 at 10:47 am
Jack, I'm not going to let you talk to me like this. My attorney has recommended that I file a restraining order on you. In fact, from here on out if you want to communicate with me you will need to contact him.
Reply
Jack says:
May 31, 2015 at 10:47 am
You're probably fucking him too! You used me Brooke. You hurt me!
You have no idea how much pain you have caused me! I won't allow you to hurt my boys! I swear if they see the shit you're doing I will burn your fucking world down!!!!
Reply
Brooke says:
May 31, 2015 at 10:47 am
Do u not realize how emotionally crazy u sound right now? I'll pray for u Jack.
Reply
Jack says:
May 31, 2015 at 10:47 am
You need to pray for yourself!
Jack says:
May 31, 2015 at 10:50 am
Be very careful how far you push me Brooke!
Chapter One
“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”
~Edgar Allan Poe
Jack – Day 1
Let me explain how I have come to my current state of mind. This morning I woke abruptly, my hands balled into fists as I screamed at the gray ceiling tiles. I tried to move the rest of my body but couldn’t. Confused, I slowly rolled my head, examining what looked to be a hospital room. Next to the monitor that was taking my vitals, I caught sight of someone sitting in a chair. She was reading from a notebook.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“My name is Harleen. I was called in to help you. Can you tell me your name?”
I had to think for a minute before I could remember. Then it came to me.
“My name is… Jack.”
“Jack, do you know where you are right now?”
“No, I don’t.”
“You’re in the hospital,” Harleen replied.
My mind became a tsunami of clashing memories, one thrown against another. Brooke crying, then the words “I’m no longer in love with you.” Inside my head, the pain was trying to break its way out. I started to retch. Harl
een rang for a nurse, who quickly elevated my bed, which made me feel like I was being launched into space. She held a plastic pan under my mouth. I vomited, heaving until there was nothing but bile and blood.
Picking up the phone, the nurse spoke quietly to someone on the other end. She then injected a medicine into my IV before lowering my bed. Wetting a washcloth, Harleen wiped my face in an effort to soothe me. I was so anxious, jittery, in the midst of a full-blown panic attack.
That was, until the valium kicked in.
“What’s happening to me?” I asked.
Harleen pulled her chair around so I could see her face.
“Jack, do you remember what happened to you?”
“What are you talking about?” I replied.
The flashes of memories began again. This time more slowly. I am tied to a chair. A strange face appears then vanishes in into darkness. I hear Brooke scream!
Looking at Harleen, I began to cry like a desperate man trying to swim to shore, knowing he will never make it.
“Where is my family? Where is Brooke? Why isn’t anyone but you here?”
“Jack, I am sorry to have to tell you this, but you had a mental breakdown. When you got to the hospital and came back to consciousness you were in shock, unable to communicate, choking on your own vomit. You became extremely violent. They had to sedate you.”
“What do you mean? I don’t remember any of that!”
“Jack, something happened to you the night we found you that triggered this. Some things are so disturbing to us that our brain shuts off our ability to remember. In clinical terms, it is called Trauma Induced Dissociative Amnesia,” Harleen explained.
I felt like I’d been sucked into the universe. The pounding in my head was like asteroids colliding. While gazing at Harleen, the memories flew at me at the speed of light, one image of Brooke after another. I couldn't make it stop. At that moment my world had been consumed by a monster’s gaping maw, a black hole that chewed on me until I groaned. I was speechless, staring at the ceiling, not moving. I wanted to make the world spin back to the day before. The day I could remember.
“This doesn’t make any sense to me!” I shouted.
“Jack, when you got to the hospital you tried to commit suicide.”
“What! Why would I do that?”
“I don't know, that's what we're trying to figure out.”
I could feel the blood rush from my face. Harleen gently put her hand on my shoulder.
“Jack, it’s going to be alright, I’m here to help you work through this.”
I broke like a dam collapsing. Torrents of emotion poured through me. Grief began to wrack my body, growing inside of me until I could barely breathe. Harleen reached out and took my hand. I let her; the touch of human flesh was comforting.
With a warm smile, Harleen removed a notebook and pen from her briefcase. She handed them to me.
“Jack, I encourage you to write down any thoughts, feelings, or images you might have. Maybe start with what you remember about your family. Journaling is a powerful tool that connects us to people, places, and events in our life. The brain has a way of opening our minds through our hands, of letting our thoughts pour out onto the paper. Often we find out things about ourselves that we have repressed, demanded to be silent.”
Turning my head, I stared at the empty table near my bed.
“Jack, you need to rest. You were brought here without any personal belongings. Are there some things you would like?”
“Yes, I would like my family to be here with me.”
“I'm sorry Jack, but, they can't be here.”
“What do you mean they can't be here!?”
“Jack, you're sick. We need to focus on getting you better. We need to understand what triggered your breakdown.”
“But I need to see my family! I need them to be here with me!”
“Jack, you need to work with me. We need to understand what happened first. Then we can talk about your family.”
The valium was preventing me from protesting.
“Will you at least bring me a picture of them?” I asked.
“Sure, Jack, where can I find one?”
“There’s one on the dresser in my bedroom.”
Harleen’s comforting eyes landed on mine, which made me feel a little better.
“Of course Jack, I will get the picture. Now, get some sleep. We will talk in the morning.”
Harleen touched my arm endearingly. She gathered her things, tapped on the door, and left.
DREAM
I am sitting next to my mother, who is signing a pile of consent forms in a doctor’s office. A nurse walks out of the back room and calls for my mother.
“Cindy, we are ready for you sweetheart.”
My mother gets up and grabs my hand.
“Sugar, you might want to leave him in the lobby.”
“He’s fine!” My mother demands.
“I am not sure that’s a good idea,” the Nurse challenges.
“Don’t tell me what’s good for my son!”
Conceding defeat, the nurse escorts us into an examining room.
“You have been here before, Cindy. You know the routine,” the nurse explains.
My mother sits me down in a chair in the corner of the room, then hands me my favorite Dr. Seuss book.
“Sit here and read while I talk to the doctor,” she tells me.
My mother removes her clothes and puts on a medical gown. sShe walks over to the examining table and puts her feet into a set of metal stirrups.
I start to laugh. I tell her she looks funny.
“Be quiet, goddam it!” she barks at me.
“Sorry,” I say as I go back to reading my book.
The door opens and the doctor walks into the room, flanked by two nurses in traditional white uniforms. The doctor says good morning and my mother returns the greeting. Then the nurses began to prepare her for the procedure.
“I don’t want this baby! Get this thing out of me! I don't want to make the same mistake twice!” my mother yells.
Looking at a picture of Sam-I-Am, who was holding a plate of green eggs and ham, I hear the hate in her voice.
I see the doctor holding what looks like a vacuum hose that is literally sucking the life out of her.
“Ahhhhhhh! Get this thing out of me! I hate you. I hate you! Get out of me!” my mother screams.
Startled, I get out of my chair. I get closer. I see a head coming out of her womb. Horrified, I step back when I see the baby’s face. It was mine!
When I woke my mind wouldn’t stop racing. I was completely alone, just myself and my thoughts. Bound to my room, I couldn’t escape them. I don’t know why my dream made me think about Brooke. Maybe it’s because she and my mother are the two people who have hurt me the most in life. Yet I couldn’t stop loving them. I kept thinking about how messed up things with Brooke had become as I stared at the discolored cracks in the concrete floor.
Each memory of her was a rift that was part of an even bigger fracture of time. Before I knew it, I was lost in a labyrinth of painful experiences, trying desperately to escape.
Suddenly, the thought of her with another man invaded my mind. I could envision them in our bed, the place where my children once slept with us. Sadness crowded out my anger.
How did we get to this place? I thought.
Our relationship wasn't always bad. Some of my best memories in life were with Brooke. Like the secret hand signal we would give each other when we wanted to say I love you. We would curl our index finger between our nose and upper lip, then gently swipe it downward towards our chin until it met our thumb. There could be a thousand people around us and not one person would know that we were secretly telling each other I love you.
Brooke
CHAPTER TWO
““So heavy is the chain of wedlock that it needs two to carry it, and sometimes three.”
~Alexandre Dumas
Facebook Message from Tyler Ward 5/28/201
4 at 9:02 am:
Hey Brooke,
It was awesome seeing you at the Alpha Kappa Psi reunion last night! What a blast! I'm feeling it today big time :-( how are you feeling?
Facebook Message from Brooklyn Page Napier 5/28/2014 at 9:05 am:
I'm feeling it today too! Do you remember Matt talking about starting a sexual revolution?! WTF! I guess some things never change :-)
Facebook Message from Tyler Ward 5/28/2014 at 9:08 am:
OMG! Matt was so drunk! What are u doing today?
Facebook Message from Brooklyn Page Napier 5/28/2014 at 1:57 pm:
I need to meet my dad for dinner, but I’m so sick I can’t get out of bed. Ugh!!!
Facebook Message from Tyler Ward 5/28/2014 at 2:01 pm:
I know, it’s 2 in the afternoon and I haven’t gotten out of bed yet!
Facebook Message from Tyler Ward 5/28/2014 at 8:18 pm:
How was dinner with your dad?
Facebook Message from Brooklyn Page Napier 5/28/2014 at 8:22 pm:
I didn’t make it :-( I’m too hungover.
Facebook Message from Tyler Ward 5/28/2014 at 8:30 pm:
That sucks! I just took a sleeping pill and I’m about to go night night LOL I’ll talk to you in the morning :-)
Facebook Message from Brooklyn Page Napier 5/28/2014 at 8:32 pm:
Goodnight :-)
Facebook Message from Tyler Ward 5/29/2014 at 7:45 am:
Good morning! Have you ever heard the song "Do You Wish It Was Me" by Jason Aldean? I can't get it out of my head.
Facebook Message from Brooklyn Page Napier 5/29/2014 at 7:49 am:
Yes, I love that song!
Facebook Message from Tyler Ward 5/29/2014 at 7:52 am:
Does it remind you of me?
Facebook Message from Brooklyn Page Napier 5/29/2014 at 8:01 am:
Maybe :-)
Facebook Message from Tyler Ward 5/29/2014 at 8:04 am:
Not pursuing you in college was one of my biggest mistakes.
Facebook Message from Brooklyn Page Napier 5/29/2014 at 8:07 am:
Well, that was a long time ago and I was a much different person then.
Breaking Brooklyn Page 1