“How’s your morning?”
“Good, sir, I just thought I’d drop off these papers. More stuff from the archives about Mary and Shawn. Most of it is Shawn, but a few things about Mary.”
“Anything worth noting?”
“Well, I actually did a little side work on off hours last night. Just to see if we could make a strong connection.”
Hughes eyes him with a quizzical glance. Off-hour work is a sign of a young stud trying to make a name for himself. So he was a hard worker, just behind closed doors. That’s the kind of partner you want on a case like this. Someone who’s willing to slide off the books in order to get the job done.
“And what did you find?”
“Nothing too much, except for some rental history for Mary, using her full name since there are a lot of Mary’s out there, social, all that junk. Seems she’s lived in a few places. Maine, New Hampshire, Rhode Island. And then she moved out to California suddenly. Had an apartment with a roommate there. She wasn’t there for too long, though.”
Hughes perks up when Samson mentions California — the same state that Shawn has supposedly disappeared to.
“What’s the roommates name?”
“Oh, I have it here somewhere.”
Samson fumbles through the sheets he just laid on the table. He moves a stack like he’s cut a deck of cards and rushes through. Sheets after sheets, one done and onto the next. He finds what he’s looking for and smiles with unmatchable glee.
“Here you go.”
Hughes reads the paper and sees the roommate’s name.
Cassie.
California
Storm
The Uber comes. He gets inside the VW Bug and relaxes in the black seat. And then his phone rings.
The past won't let him go.
It's his phone again, buzzing against his leg. The name upon the screen makes him shiver. Brandon. A name he can't fathom. The rockstar from his childhood who left town on a whim, escaping reality for fantasy. The rarefied celebrity who still claims Lowell as his home even though he hasn't been back for a decade. A good friend Shawn contacted before he got here.
And now. All the progress drains away. The past catches up with him. A former life returns.
Don't answer it, Shawn. Don't do it.
His mind tugs at him, whispers not to answer. Answering the call opens one road. A curving path that snakes into the darkness of his former life. His dad could be listening on the other end, tracking Shawn down with fancy technologies. Law enforcement may be lurking in the shadows like wolves. Answering the call brings him into a life he left behind. It puts everything he's begun to build into trouble waters. All the time spent winning Cassie’s heart dismantled in a heartbeat. Waves of worry approach the shores of his mind. He has to make a decision. One more ring and the phone call is over. One more ring and he can forget his past.
The call grows dead. A bell chime notifies him that Brandon called. A second one moments later clarifies that he left a voicemail, too. Shawn sighs out all of his stresses, though a typhoon of them float within him. He rubs his hand against his palm. Brandon came back to California. Shawn knows he has to talk to him. One of best friends skis back into his life, so he can't just ride the chairlift away.
But the world Brandon brings with him scares Shawn half to death. It's not the world itself that bothers him, but all the potential, both gained and lost. On his own and in a big city surrounded by intelligent thinkers and philosophers, Shawn flourishes. He succeeds because there's no dark, nasty hand reaching to pull him into the darkness. He fights back. No longer languid from the beaten Lowell streets. He battles and works hard — two qualities that are rare in this world.
He tosses his phone to the floor. Just get rid of it and think about everything tomorrow.
For now he has Cassie. And that should be enough.
The phone doesn't leave him alone. It buzzes and shakes from the ground below. A name flows on the front screen. Brandon again, just trying to take the discussion happen. It won't. Or at least he doesn't want it to. The past buried under the fresh ground. No rising dead memories of the past to disturb the present. Unfair to the present. All time should be celebrated equally.
The buzzing only continues. The Uber driver inquires about the vibration. The pressure builds inside the car. So Shawn answers. He reminds himself before he says a word that he has to keep the conversation short and dry. Quickly explain that you have plans with a woman for the evening. That should save everything.
“Brandon. My man.”
Life twists a knife in Shawn’s back. Deep and to the bone, slicing flesh. This isn't a catch up. It's a call to arms, plea for help. He recognizes the tone.
“Shawn. I need help.”
Of course he does. Brandon always needs a helping hand. Rarely do their experiences together feature a moment of safety. The music star always teeters the edge, leaning closer to disaster and danger than safety and caution. Shawn takes a deep breath into the open air. The car swerves around a corner. He always falls over but holds his ground.
“What's up? Where are you?”
“Coming back to the city. I'm on the 405. I think they're hunting me.”
No Brandon. Your dad isn't a cop. There's no way they're chasing you. That just wouldn't add up. They’re chasing me.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah man. I can hear the sirens. They're totally onto me. Like, I don't even know how they could have found me this quick.”
“You sound paranoid. Why aren't you with the tour bus?”
“We got back earlier but I had to make a pit stop.”
“What kind of pit stop?”
“Seriously man. I can hear them. I really need your help.”
The thought of Cassie sitting alone at home, waiting for him to pick her up, crosses his mind and raises a rushing flood of tears close to his eyes. They'd have to break through his eyes to reveal themselves to the world. He holds back the stubborn tears and instead wipes away the image by counting to three. Away it goes, disappearing into the forgotten dreamscape of lost memories.
To help Brandon means sacrificing time. And time is all he really has that can help him find Cassie's heart. She's hungry. Starving. She will literally eat anything in sight right now to stay satiated. And yet his friend calls and wants help. A friend reaches out in a moment of need. A scary moment of need. This isn't a ride to the grocery store or a jump of a car. It's running away from hunters, whoever they may be. It's breaking away from a problem, escaping to a hide out.
It's a dangerous game. Dangerous and troublesome.
Cassie trusts him. For the moment at least. She expects him to return to her ready for dinner. But that's not going to happen. At least not in the way he expects. It's too impossible now if he's to help his friend.
The car floor sways beneath him. The man on the phone represents the past, a forgotten time that Shawn wants to rid his mind of. A clean memory wipe sounds good right now. Forget about all the people you knew and know and start over. Change your name and get that fresh start. Disappear into the California wilderness with a one true love and never return the stormy life of the past.
But he can't do that. Not yet anyway.
“How long will this take? I have dinner plans man.”
Brandon doesn't speak for a moment. Fuzzy static consumes the phone for a brief period.
“I can meet you wherever you are. I'm already on the move. Just need to ride together home so nothing crazy happens.”
“Yeah, okay, sounds good. I'm at a Starbucks downtown. Not too far from where you told me to stay at.”
Shawn requests for the Uber driver to pull over and end the ride. Sad to finish the drive so soon. It almost breaks Shawn to know he isn't going to be on time to pick up Cassie. All because he made a dumb decision to help out his friend, to take a glimpse back into the past. But for what purpose? What reason? Why couldn't he let the past die?
He has to call her. No question about that. She d
eserves to hear the truth from him about the night. Maybe she'll understand. Maybe if he spins it in the right way she'll understand and forgive him. Hopefully she still had a little bit of her cold pettiness. It'd be great to face that version of her.
Three dial tones make him think she's not going to answer. But then she does. Happy, cherry and uncertain. Where did he go? Where is he? How long until dinner?
“Hey so something kind of came up.”
“Okay. What?”
“My friend Brandon. Remember how I told you I came here and he helped me get set up? Gave me all the hot spots and stuff? Well he's back in town and needs me to pick him up from the airport.”
The first lie.
“Airport? Isn't he like in a band? Couldn't he just call his own taxi or take the band bus home?”
Improv time. Shoutout to those ad-libbing classes in high school. An elective worth taking, even though the benefit remains strictly tied to lying.
“Yeah he could easily but I felt bad that I put him in this spot and everything so I figured I'd help him out. You know?”
Her silence spells it out for him and he can read it loud and clear. She doesn't believe him. How could she believe him? His lie really didn't make any sense when you took a second to think about the logic. Shawn had left this morning without his own car. He had to take an Uber almost everywhere. There'd be no reason for his friend to call him for the airport either. Brandon plays in a famous rock band and would surely have a way to get home.
Oh well. You’re in the deep end now. Might as well keep swimming.
“So no dinner?”
“Not yet at least. This really shouldn't take that long. I think I can get done with him by seven, maybe seven-thirty at the latest.”
In truth, Brandon won't be an easy friend to get rid of. He never has been. Even if Shawn completes his end of the bargain and assists him in this random entire mess, some sort of party or long night waits for him in the future.
“Well, you seem like you might want to go out afterward or something? I'm sorry Shawn I just don't want to be the girl who gets all protective and doesn't let her man enjoy his life. I really don't.”
He believes her and yet doesn't trust her words. There's a good chance that what she says is true, but the same probability exists that she is lying right back to him. A lie for a lie. Even Stevens and fair is square.
“Okay so do you want to maybe talk tomorrow?”
“Sure I guess. I mean, we can try to make plans.”
“I definitely say we do. I really wanna keep this all going as long as possible. I really do enjoy spending time with you. And I know I'm not the typical guy you usually go for or anything like that. But I'm trying my best to be that man for you.”
He saves it. Right at the end he catches the ball at the warning track. He hears her awe and can even make out the sound of her moist lips stretching from ear to ear. She may not be happy because of what happened tonight but she seems to be looking forward to the fire. Demons exist and that we all have problems for the work we do. Not every decision can be positive for all parties. Sometimes you have to make a sacrifice for the other person. No matter how much it hurts you to give up a part of yourself, you receive a slice of someone else in return. And that slice is worth it. It glows with radiance and beauty.
They bid each other adieu. They make plans to eat breakfast at the diner. That oh so faithful diner where it all began.
Nerves flood his stomach again when his mind drifts back to the problem he's about to face. Brandon is nearly here and he is going to wreck havoc on Shawn. The past will arrive with a devilish grin and a ghostly paleness, a shade much darker and yet still evil in essence.
He waits and waits for Brandon. The haunting ghost from the past has resurfaced.
Just a few more minutes here and then you can move onto better things.
Better things exist if you're willing to find them.
A New Friend
A faint blue-gray sunset paints the sky, a bulbous splash of orange hidden behind the hills. Brandon finally emerges as the dark settles in upon the Hollywood hills. Those Hollywood handsome good looks. A chiseled and cleanly-shaven chin. Gorgeous gleaming blue eyes that spark amid the night. A modern James Dean. His hair curls in just the right way where it’s less of a mess and more of a mosaic of perfectly crafted curls. Just total rockstar beauty. He isn't alone. A short and stout Hispanic man, dressed in a sand-dusted black hoodie and a worn out fishing cap, hobbles next to him. The two talk back and forth, spewing words at an uncatchable speed. It’s clear they know each other, but Shawn doesn’t know how much. They could have met mere minutes ago for all he knew.
The two inch closer and so Shawn shuffles his clothes dry of whatever dust or made up products flew onto them. He sighs heavy and paces around in a circle. Annoyance boils his blood. His friend was supposed to be here at least thirty minutes ago, an hour if you account of traffic, too. But Brandon took closer to the two hours mark. Brandon’s head rises when he’s closer to Shawn and the two exchange that oh so cliche bro-nod.
Brandon takes it all a step further and rushes in for a hug. It’s only when their bodies connect that Shawn senses the true nature of their relationship — that they are family. They’ve been through it all starting when they were but youngsters, little tykes who did their best to take on the grim and broken world that Lowell had presented them. Brandon’s life turned out to be a little bit better in the long run, finding fame and success as the lead singer of a band. Brandon reached The Dream. You can’t pass that up.
Shawn never found The Dream. It just wasn’t in the stars. Shawn had been told once before he had been born with Mercury retrograde, whatever that means. The person in his high school who shared that information with him added that such an event meant that he was to live his life backwards. Spinning an entirely different direction than the rest of the world. None of that makes any sense all these years later, but it is a notation, a little factoid, that Shawn isn’t quick to forget.
The night is calm and warm. A summer evening without too much influence from the recently passed spring or the sure-to-come fall and autumn. The two boys release, and yes when they are together they see each other as those youthful boys from decades ago, and smile at the sight of one another. Shawn forgets about Cassie, forgets about Mary, forgets about the family. He is back in elementary school, playing out in the streets in the dog days of summer, hoping that the world will treat him right, even though he knows, quite surely now, that such an event just isn’t the case.
The world is a lot colder than summer nights make it out to be.
“Well, well, you look like garbage,” Brandon says, only it comes out more like “gaahhbig.” That Masshole accident is loud and proud. “Haven’t seen you this beat up since Rocky smacked you with the, ah, shovel.”
Shawn smirks. The reverie of the winter evening ripples back into his mind. A night as cold as Alaskan summers. Their friend Rocky invited them over to shovel snow. The story writes itself. A snowball fight ensues between the trio, tossing about puffy white balls until the physicality begins. Soon Shawn and Rocky are fighting for real, and Rocky ends the fight by dinging Shawn on the head. The wound doesn’t affect him too badly — he did suffer a concussion and barely remembers of the Raiders/Buccaneers Super Bowl game, but the thin pink scar atop his eyebrow serves as a reminder to always play safe — unless you’re with friends.
“And you, look at you,” Shawn says, a half-hearted finger point at his friend. “You look like some rich kid who got a record deal.”
“That’s because I did.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Shawn replies, smirking from ear to ear. “How was the tour?”
Brandon lights up a cigarette. Camel Crush. He waves off the question and instead relaxes his hand in front of the short and stout Hispanic man.
“Shawn, meet Hugo. Hugo, Shawn.”
The two shake hands.
“Hugo’s been with me tonight since I pulled my car over
at the lot. He manages the lot and he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t skipping town.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Hugo speaks up. Not perfect English, but strong enough that he sounds intimidating. There’s no way you’re going to get one over on him. Not in a million years. “Your buddy here is really in some kind of trouble. I didn’t expect such a famous guy to be so, how you say, sketchy. Yeah, so, we put his car in my lot and you can all come and get it when the time is clear. Your buddy paid me. So. Don’t worry about that.”
He says all this with a calm demeanor, not in the way most criminals or nefarious individuals do. He says it as though it’s fact and totally normal. Nothing is wrong with the world. This reality he surrounds himself in is just that — reality. And isn’t the case for everyone? Find yourself in a world based on your own reality. The reality others present to you is just what they view it to be. Your reality is your own. Your reality is the one you choose to live in.
Good for Hugo. He has found peace, while so many others remain hopeless and lost in the trek to find it.
Hugo requests a ride back to his lot. He explains that Brandon made him believe the walk wasn’t going to be as long or strenuous as it actually was. The trio wait for an Uber — Shawn really can’t believe how much money he has spent on the ride sharing service in the past week. It’s a mini-SUV, all black with the giant white U sticker plastered on the front. Brandon, Shawn and Hugo ride the vehicle through LA. Brandon moans at everything he sees. He’s seen this dog and pony show before. It’s all an act, Los Angeles. Celebrities musing around in their short miniskirt and tight sundresses, sunglasses as big as their faces, Starbucks coffees dangling in their hands. It’s all the same. People try to normalize it, but the stars, The Dream, are too high to reach. Even for the successful ones.
Shawn knows the world, too, but he is less concerned about it. He cares about Cassie still, and she is from this city. This city is hers just like his is Lowell. He can’t get mad at the city for bringing such a beautiful and divine creature into his life. The city brought him his potential love, a potential soulmate. He couldn’t fathom the idea of hating it.
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