Nine, the Tale of Kevin Clearwater

by T. M. Frazier

  Everything slows down. Time. The air. The sound of cars passing. My own heartbeat.

  Her foot slipping. Her arms flailing wildly in the air, trying to grab onto something, but there’s nothing, only the night air.

  Her other foot lifting off the railing. The horror that spreads across her face when she realizes there’s no coming back from this.

  “Nooooo!” I shout, but it’s too late.

  She’s already falling.

  There’s nothing I can do.

  The faint sound of a splash below.

  It’s done.

  I don’t know how long I stand there, staring out at the darkness until I hear the commotion behind me.

  I turn to find several parked cars with people standing outside of them looking horrified. “I saw her jump,” a lady says.

  “The police and ambulance are on the way,” another voice.

  “She didn’t jump. HE pushed her. I saw it!” A rougher voice shouts. A dozen accusing glares and pointed fingers shoot my way.

  They think I fucking pushed her?

  Blue and red flashing lights and sirens pierce through the mob’s cries.

  A police officer jumps from his cruiser and heads straight for me. I’m trapped and injured.

  From the side of my eye, I see the gleaming eyes of the bird pendant.

  I climb back over to the other side of the railing and retrieve it, shoving it deep into my pocket. The officer blinds me with his flashlight from above. “Come on over here, son. You don’t want to do this.”

  “You’re right. You’ve saved me. Well, done,” I say with an added golf clap. I climb back over the railing and am immediately thrown down onto the pavement and cuffed.

  “Why are you arresting me?”

  “The people say they saw you push her.”

  “I didn’t fucking push her. She fell. Check the fucking cameras,” I say, looking up to the blinking red light above the bridge and hoping to fuck it caught what actually happened.

  “We will. Until then, you’re coming with us,” he says.

  I struggle from his grip as he pulls me upright and pushes me toward the car. “Why are you worried about me? You should be sending someone to search for her. See if she’s alive.”

  Please be alive. Please be alive.

  “I assure you that the Recovery Unit is already headed down there, kid.”

  “Recovery? What the fuck is recovery?” I ask.

  He shoves me inside the car and gets in, maneuvering through the parked cars before he answers. “This ain’t no search and rescue operation, boy. This is recovery. Dozen people each year jump from that bridge since the day construction was finished and even a few before. Wanna know how many regret that decision?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Don’t know. We can’t ask them.” His eyes meet mine in the rearview. “They’re all dead.”

  “I didn’t push her,” I say over the pain of hope being crushed like a garbage compactor on my heart.

  “Then, what did happen?”

  As much as I told myself I wasn’t up there to kill myself, the truth I’ve been ignoring since I wandered onto the bridge hits me and hits me hard.

  I was going to jump.

  I look up at the bridge, now in the distance, a million miles away.

  “She…she saved my life,” I say out loud.

  “Then, make the best of it, kid,” the cop says. “After you get out of jail.”

  Make the best of it.

  I have a second chance, and she doesn’t. And it’s only because she’d awakened something inside of me that was either dead or lying dormant.

  A will to live.

  I make a vow to myself. I’m not going to go through the motions of life anymore.

  I’m going to live enough for the both of us.

  Or die fuckin’ trying.

  Chapter Three

  KEVIN

  ONE YEAR LATER…

  I could live the rest of my life without remembering what the fuck happened to me while I was unconscious and being raped or molested, but the shitty thing about the human mind is that it almost never does what you want it to do. In fact, when you purposely beg it to suppress shit, it has a way of telling you to go fuck yourself while randomly showing you flashes of things you never wanted to see. Usually, it’s the most horrible shit at the most inconvenient time.

  For example, when you’re fucking a girl.

  Or, at least, when you’re trying to fuck a girl.

  Sex, of all motherfucking things, seems to be the one and only trigger for these memories to come charging through my brain. Every time I’m about to come, it fires off round after round of unwanted memory bullets into my fucking skull.

  Which is what it’s doing right now.

  I’m with a girl. She’s a few years older than me and pretty enough. Her hips are curvy, and her tits are full and bouncy as she breathes deeply with desire and anticipation.

  She spreads her legs, opening herself to let me in. I sit back on my legs and freeze as my chest begins to tighten. Hard as concrete, I stare at her pussy, both wanting to be inside, and despising what I know will come when I do.

  She looks up at me and smiles, mistaking my hesitation for nerves. She reaches for my cock and pulls me by my dick. I fall on my forearms and hover above her. She strokes my shaft up and down. My body becomes impossibly hot. Not with desire. With fear. Sweat.

  Repulsion.

  I’m dizzy and trembling, but I want this.

  Get a fucking grip, Kevin.

  “Fuck me,” she whispers, and I cringe as the tip of my cock slips over the entrance to her soaked pussy. It feels good. So good, but it hurts all the same. My chest. My muscles. I’m locked in a war between body and mind, and all I want to do is stick a fucking knife through my ear. She groans with exaggerated pleasure. “Your cock is so huge.”

  Yeah, blessed with a huge cock and the inability to come without vomiting after. The universe’s idea of a sick fucking joke.

  Her words are meant as a seduction, but they feel like anything but. My stomach rolls, and I turn my face to the side, shutting my eyes as hard as I can while swallowing down the bile rising in my throat.

  You can do this, I tell myself. Don’t be a pussy. Just fucking do it. It’s normal. YOU are normal. Snap the fuck out of it. Push all thoughts out. Don’t let them in. Don’t let them…

  Too late.

  The resounding answer from the universe is an assault of the many different voices from my past.

  “Just do what I want, and I won’t hurt you. He just likes to watch,” a scratchy feminine voice warns.

  “I’ll pay you. Let me watch as you make yourself come,” a man’s eager voice snakes into my ears.

  “See, you came. I told you I’d make you feel good,” a deep baritone booms while I heave onto the carpet.

  “See? He’s out. We can do whatever the fuck we want. Take off his pants.”

  “Don’t clench up, boy. Or do. I like it when your asshole puckers. Makes it so tight for me,” a man’s deep voice rumbles in my ear from behind as he surges inside of me.

  That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. I’ve had enough. Of the memories. Of this. Of everything.

  The heat of the night air through the window does nothing to cool my hot body.

  And then, out of nowhere, I remember Poe and her sad eyes, and falling, falling, falling.

  Apparently, the horrible memories aren’t limited to sex.

  My throat dries, and I feel as if I’m choking on sand. I can’t catch my fucking breath.

  I leap off the bed and tug on my pants. I didn’t even come before I freaked out this time.

  This is a new low, even for me.

  “Where are you going?” she asks, but I don’t answer. I can’t.

  It isn’t until I’m in the courtyard of the shitty apartment I share with Pike that I rest my hands on my knees and can finally take a much-needed deep breath, the humidity opening my lungs until I’m calm enough to think strai
ght.

  “You okay?” Pike asks, stepping out into the courtyard. When the cops viewed the surveillance video and cleared me of any wrongdoing that night on the bridge, I was on my way out of the station just as they were dragging Pike in on some small narcotics charge. I’ve been crashing with him here in Logan’s Beach ever since he made bail.

  “I’m fine,” I answer, pushing off my knees to stand. I fish my smokes from the back pocket of my jeans.

  “What did you do to piss off that girl?” he asks, with a smile. “She didn’t seem happy.”

  “The usual, I guess,” I answer, trying to play it off with a shrug.

  My phone buzzes.

  It’s a text from Fred.

  Fred and Meryl are the closest thing I have to friends, besides Pike. Meryl is a grey-haired, proper-sounding, southern man who does something involving politics down in Miami. His boyfriend, Fred, who is at least a decade younger, does…well, Meryl.

  The text says to come over. They’ve got food on the grill. He asks me to pick up smokes on the way and bring some weed. I don’t hesitate. I need the distraction, and those two are good at providing it. Plus, they party harder than guys my age, and they can afford the better drugs and always have a decent supply on hand.

  “It’s Fred,” I tell Pike. “You wanna come with?”

  “Got a meeting with a new supplier. I’ll text you when I’m done and see where you’re at.” He raises an eyebrow. “You sure you’re okay, brother?”

  “Yeah, man.”

  Pike gives me a slap on the back and heads out.

  Fred and Meryl’s contemporary, modern home is completely out of place amongst the many rows of small dilapidated shacks. As I always do, I let myself in without knocking. They wouldn’t hear me anyway. They’re always out on the back deck, smokin’, drinking’, or eatin’. Which is probably the only three things we have in common, but it’s enough. They’re good guys, and I could use a distraction right about now.

  From the kitchen, I see the steam from the hot tub outside rising past the window. I push open the sliders and step out onto the deck, rummaging through the shopping bag from the Quick Stop. I don’t have to look up to know they’re in the hot tub, the sound of the bubbles and the smell of the chlorine has already given that away.

  “Pops,” I say, because that’s what I call Meryl. I pull the pack of smokes from the bag, “they didn’t have the kind you wanted. But they had this other brand with the state of Florida on it. It’s slim pickings in the stores in this po-dunk town, so you’ll have to deal with the cigarettes I could find. Fred, do you guys have any...” I trail off when I look up to see that Fred and Meryl are, in fact, in the hot tub as predicted, but they aren’t alone. Two strangers are in there with them. A very hot brunette woman in her twenties with bright red lips and there is a guy next to her, but I can’t make out his face through the steam.

  I don’t notice the uniformed police officer until he steps up onto the deck and clears his throat.

  “Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Hey kid,” the officer calls to me. My head snaps to his.

  “Fuck,” I hear Fred mutter.

  The officer puffs out his chest. “You been here all day?”

  “Fuck,” the guy I don’t know echoes Fred.

  I glance to Fred for a quick second, hoping I can read his eyes, and I hope the look he’s giving me right now is go with it because that’s what I do.

  “Yeah, sure have,” I answer, hoping that it was the right answer. I play it off cool and light a smoke.

  “Those two been here all day?” he asks, looking like he’s already won whatever game he’s playing. He points to the two strangers in the hot tub, and I must be seeing things because I swear that the guy looks a lot like the picture of my brother, but it’s not possible, so I shake off the thought.

  “Uh, yeah, man. It’s been a party up in here,” I respond with a laugh. I hold up my cigarette. “I just made a smoke run.”

  The officer raises his eyebrows in suspicion. “Tell me. If they’ve been here all day, then what are their names?”

  I smile and tap on my head with my open palm, trying to delay my words. I glance back over at the guy in the hot tub. I can see his face perfectly now as the breeze blows the steam away, and I’m about to gasp or collapse, but I gotta keep my shit together. It’s him. Holy fucking shit. It’s him. My brother is in that fucking hot tub right now.

  Breathe. Breathe.

  “Ah, man. I didn’t catch the girl’s name. First time I met her was tonight, and we had a lot of beers.”

  Great, Kevin. You just admitted that you’ve been underage drinking to a fucking cop. Hope he doesn’t ask for my ID. Get it the fuck together.

  I turn to the girl and continue, “Sorry, I’m not real good with names.”

  She offers me an understanding smile for the error I never made.

  “Alright then. What’s his name?” The officer asks, standing above the guy on the deck.

  Fred sits straight in the hot tub, and Meryl looks like he’s about to say something.

  I scratch my head and yawn, pretending like I’m bored with this shit when my heart is actually racing. I want this to be over and now. Because I have so many questions. “Oh him?” I ask. “That’s Preppy, but don’t fucking ask me what his real name is because I don’t fucking know.” Yes, I do. “Everyone just calls him Preppy or Prep. Is this some sort of weird test?” I take a seat at the patio table. “Am I on a hidden camera show?” I look under the table as if I’m checking for cameras. By the time I lift my head, the officer is gone. The back gate slams shut.

  “Holy fuck,” Fred exclaims, “That was fucking great!”

  “Why was he so afraid of you?” The girl asks Meryl. Obviously, referring to whatever went on before I came out here.

  Meryl takes a drag of his smoke and smiles. “Because I’m the fucking state attorney!” Everyone except me bursts out into a fit of laughter. I already knew he was the state attorney. It’s not news. What is news is Preppy, who I look over to and realize he’s the only other person not laughing. He looks as confused as I feel as the others in the hot tub cheers and clink their wine glasses.

  “Our newest accomplice here is Kevin,” Fred says, introducing me.

  “How do you know my name?” Preppy asks. He’s looking at me like he’s searching for recognition he can’t and won’t be able to find.

  I take a slow drag off my cigarette and realize that anything I tell him is going to sound bizarre as fuck so I go with the truth. “I just know it,” I say with a shrug, still trying to act casual and cool when inside I’m about to fucking explode. All eyes turn to me, and the girl gasps like she’s seeing what Preppy can’t. I look him in the eyes for the very first time. Something I never thought I’d get the chance to do. “Maybe, it’s on the account of you being my brother and all.”

  Preppy stiffens.

  Meryl and Fred freeze with their wine glasses on their lips.

  Preppy scrunches his nose and I don’t blame him. I’d be confused as fuck if I were him. I’m confused, and I’m the one who just got here. “There’s no fucking way you can be my brother. I don’t even know who my old man is.”

  “Neither the fuck do I,” I reply. “But you know that cunt of a mother you got?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  I stub out my smoke in the ashtray. “Well, it’s the same cunt of a mother I got.”

  “I think we should go inside and let these boys talk,” Meryl says. He gets out of the hot tub and grabs another bottle of wine from the cooler. He wraps a towel around his waist and hands one to Meryl who does the same. He grabs a third and holds it up to the girl. “You coming, gorgeous? I’ve been dying to show someone besides this old fuddy-duddy the new kitchen renovation.”

  She looks to Preppy who nods, then takes the towel and steps out. It’s only now I realize that I’m staring because the chick has a banging body. Her long black hair is wet and clinging to the curve of her tit
s. She sweeps it over her shoulder.

  Fred and Meryl go inside. The girl is about to follow when Preppy reaches out and grabs her arm. “Kevin, this is my wife, Andrea.”

  “You can call me Dre,” she says with a big, genuine smile. She turns to Preppy and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Take your time. I’ll be right inside.”

  He watches her as she slides the door shut and joins Fred in the kitchen. Meryl hands her a wine glass and the three of them start chatting and laughing like old friends. The way Preppy is watching her is possessive. “I love that woman,” he says out loud.

  “I mean, aren’t you supposed to love your wife?” I ask. Which is why I’ll never marry. I’m not capable of love. I’m barely capable of friendship, which only consists of two gay dudes and Pike.

  Preppy doesn’t answer. He’s too busy watching Dre, and when she laughs at something Meryl says, Preppy smiles right along with her. Which brings me to one of my questions. “How do you guys know Fred and Meryl?”

  “Really?” he asks, turning back to me. “That’s what you want to lead with?”

  He stands out of the hot tub, and I toss him a towel. He quickly dries himself off and wraps it around his waist. He picks up a discarded dress shirt from the ground and pulls it over his head before taking the seat beside me at the patio table.

  “Figured it would be a start,” I say, lighting another smoke.

  “Well, brother from possibly the same mother, we don’t know Fred and Meryl. We were being chased by a cop after we allegedly egged the convenience store due to the little bitch that works there being a waste of human life.”

  “So, you didn’t egg the convenience store?” I ask.

  Preppy purses his lips. “No, we totally did, I just forgot what allegedly meant for a second.” He takes another drag.

  “I have so many questions,” I say.

  “Me, too. So, let’s just do quick questions and answers for now. We will get to all the details later. That way we can get as many things out of the way as possible, and I won’t be too distracted to perform my husbandly duties when I get home. Deal?”