After You Died

by Dea Poirier

  I SIT ON the back porch burning mosquitoes with the end of my cigarette. I’ve been staring out at the orange trees for hours, waiting. Every once in a while, the moonlight will catch the dew heavy leaves, and it gives me a glimpse of the past. Each time, my heart skips a beat, then it aches, but I still can’t force myself to stop looking.

  “You get any sleep?” Sayid asks, stretching as he walks out the back door. He’s a few feet behind me, still in his pajamas, black sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt. His long curly black hair isn’t smoothed like usual, instead it’s tussled, like he’s had his head hanging out a car window.

  He startles me, he’s able to move silently, even on this old brittle porch. It gives away my secrets, but keeps his. Maybe that’s just how this place is.

  “Nah, haven’t tried though. Been out here since an hour after sunset.” I admit.

  “Do you ever sleep?” He asks in a way that makes me wonder if it’s a joke or not.

  “Not really.” Since Olivia died, I’ve had a hell of a time sleeping. Anytime I close my eyes I have the weirdest dreams. If they’re not nightmares about her, they’re about places I’ve never been, people I don’t recognize.

  “Let’s get going, need to get over to the crazy house before the sun comes up,” he jumps off the porch and waits for me to follow. I notice then his feet are bare, when he begins wiggling his toes against the grass.

  “Do we need to worry about guards?” I ask, looking toward the front office, where they sometimes congregate.

  “Nope, there haven’t been any guards on night watch for a while. And unless there’s another fire, don’t suppose there will be.” He smiles and shoves his hands in his pockets.

  I stand up and follow him while asking, “Another fire?”

  “A while ago, there was a fire at night that killed six students or so. If that happened again, I suppose they’d increase staff, they’d have to, but for now, my guess is, it’s cheaper to let us be at night. The only guards out here at night aren’t on duty. They’re here to beat someone, or rape someone.” Though his face is flat, stoic, the words chill me to the bone.

  We walk across the neatly manicured lawns, and though Sayid claims there are no guards, I can’t help but notice he routes our path away from the streetlights. We’re never within thirty feet of the white house, but I can still hear screams over the sound of an old rickety fan. They haunt the night. I walk on the side of Sayid that keeps me furthest from the white house. Maybe if he’s protected himself from ending up in there, he can protect me. He slows as we get close to the hospital.

  “The guards tend to hang out here during the day, so avoid it if you’re dodging work detail.” He points toward the area in front of the building where I saw the guards talking before meeting with Dr. Lennox the first time.

  Behind the building, lights scatter on the ground, broken by the bars on the windows. For a moment, a creeping feeling works up my spine.

  Someone is watching us.

  I pause for a moment, listening for footsteps, anything. It must have been my imagination. The only sounds are the trees rustling with a soft breeze, and Sayid’s breaths as he takes drags off his cigarette. He’s stopped at the first window, hugging the edge as he peers in.

  I move to the other side to see what he’s looking at. A naked, emaciated boy huddles in the corner. Though I can only see the side of his face, I can see how sharp his cheekbone is. His skin looks hollow, pale, like he’s been sick for a long time. He’s rocking, his head hitting the wall. Along his protruding spine are bruises, gashes, and scars long since healed. Each bone in his body pokes out so far, I could count them. He looks as brittle as a sheet resting over a sack of bones.

  The cement cell he’s held in is barren. There’s nothing but a bucket. He doesn’t get a blanket, bed, or by the looks of it, food. He starts to rock harder, slamming his head so hard against the wall we can hear it outside. Each hollow thud, makes my stomach lurch. When I notice the red pool growing, I turn away. I can’t watch this boy turn his head into a bloody pulp.

  “Isn’t there anything we can do?” I ask, keeping my voice to a whisper.

  He shakes his head, confirming my suspicions.

  Sayid is transfixed, I move wordlessly to the next window, hoping they can’t all be this bad. I almost miss the next room because there’s no light, like there was in the last room. I’m barley able to make out the boy inside. If it weren’t for the glow creeping under the door of his cell, I wouldn’t be able to see him at all.

  He’s sitting on the floor in dirty pajamas. His head shaven clean down to his scalp. Dark circles linger beneath his eyes. It looks like he hasn’t slept in days. I see the reflection of something in his hand, and on the floor in front of him. The crunch of glass cuts the silent night.

  The boy picks over the shards of a broken light bulb. A terrible crunching, the grinding of teeth against glass sets my jaw on edge. He chews piece after piece, devouring the light bulb. Each time he chews, the sound is so grating, it makes my teeth hurt. His fingers roll the metal diffuser over and over. He brings the sharp metal to the flesh of his forearm and slices, over and over.

  Footsteps draw my attention away. Sayid stands behind me. He places his arm on my shoulder, I’m guessing it’s supposed to be a comforting gesture. I don’t pull away.

  “Are they all like this?” I ask him, my voice as quiet as I can manage.

  He nods. “That’s why you need to be careful about what you say. If they think you’re too crazy, or dangerous, you end up here.” He pauses for a moment, and sighs. “And, I’d really rather you didn’t end up here.”

  Before I can ask why, I jump, wide eyed, when a bloody hand slaps against the window, inches from my face. His wild eyes search our faces. Nostrils flared, he exposes his red teeth, and glass shredded gums. I take a step back.

  “This is worse than the white house.” I say, still in shock.

  “No, here at least you control the pain, the torture you endure. In the end, killing yourself gives you some control over your fate. The white house, they torture you until you’re dead or they’re done.” His voice is flat.

  “How has everyone here not killed themselves already?” I ask, I can’t find a single redeeming thing about this place.

  “For some of us, this is as good as it gets. If that tells you anything. There are kids here who lived lives worse than this,” he points toward the barred windows. He speaks like that’s the kind of life he had. “This place is an escape for them.” The way he says them, he catches himself, I think he almost said ‘us’.

  After

  I’m still reeling from seeing the crazy house, so I follow Sayid aimlessly. Sayid works his way behind the hospital, toward the tree line behind the building. I’ve never been into this stretch of woods. I trust Sayid completely, but venturing into the unknown in the black of night still makes me anxious. A few feet into the woods, and the Spanish moss has eclipsed the moonlight completely.

  “Where are we going?” I ask after we’re so far in that I can’t see the lights of the school behind us.

  “There’s a drop point up here for my shipments. I’m going to need your help carrying them back,” he says, and smoke trails from his words. “Once or twice a week, depending on how fast product is moving, one of the guards brings in items from a list I give him. He drops them off in an old shed in the woods.”

  “How do you pay for them?” I ask. While I know they have some kind of arrangement, there has to be some money changing hands. Otherwise I don’t see why the guard would keep it up.

  “It depends. Any actual money I get, from kids like Becks, the guard gets half. Everything else, well...”

  I hold up my hand, “You don’t need to give me any more detail.” Though I have an idea what goes on, I don’t want details. If he doesn’t tell me what happens, it’s easier to pretend it doesn’t.

  Helping Sayid with his black-market business is the least I can do for all the stuff he gives me for free. I�
�ve offered to take his shifts in the laundry a thousand times, but he’s always told me no. His pace slows, and I catch up to him. We walk side by side, his arm brushes against me, and goose bumps rise on my arms.

  I look at him at him as the silence brews between us. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but I want to talk to him about something, anything.

  “Is it true that Gord asked the judge to be sent here?” The question tumbles out of me. It’s a rumor I heard weeks ago, one that’s probably not remotely true. But it’s the best conversation starter I have.

  He looks at me out of the corner of his eye with a tight-lipped smirk. Before he says anything, he offers me a cigarette, and I take it. “That’s true,” he finally says.

  “Why would anyone want to come here?” I ask. It seems crazy that anyone would choose to come to Dozier, that anyone would ask for this.

  “This place had things that he didn’t have at home. Food for one.”

  Guilt pools inside me. I shouldn’t have brought it up.

  “He made the best choice he could based on the options he had. He went before the judge, and he asked to be sent here. No judge is going to argue that. You want to go to Dozier, you get a one way ticket. For him, this is better than any life he could have on the outside.” There’s an edge to his voice.

  “Is that why you’re here again?” I don’t want to pry, but I really need to understand why he’d come back here. Why anyone would, really.

  He sighs, then seems to consider telling me. His eyes narrow. I guess while he’s the go-to-guy for anything you could want here, he’s not used to handing out information as freely as cigarettes.

  “The only homes I’ve had are those the state gave me. I’ve managed to hit the abusive foster home jackpot. At least here, I’ve never been held down in the middle of the night and raped by an old drunk asshole. I’ve never been beaten because I was so hungry, I ate toothpaste. I’ve never had someone hold my face to a stove burner for fun.” He looks off, into the trees. It takes a long time before he looks at me again.

  “I’m sorry.” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say.

  “I don’t tell anyone because I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. So don’t you dare pity me.” It sounds forced, but I can tell he means it. “And don’t you dare tell any of them.”

  I won’t share his secrets. But I think he knows that already. It’s only fair, he’s kept mine.

  I grab his arm to stop him. He turns, but doesn’t quite meet my eyes. I consider brushing his cheek to see what his face feels like. But I don’t. I know I shouldn’t. Instead I swallow my feelings and grip his arm. “I won’t tell anyone,” I say, even though I know I don’t need to.

  He looks at me with a kind smile. “I know you won’t.” He steps closer to me, and for a second, I swear I can see the longing in his eyes mirroring my own. The distance between us narrows. Anticipation traps my breath in my throat, and my heart bursts into a gallop. My fingers twitch, wanting to touch him, to feel his palm against mine. Deep in the forest, something moves. It’s loud enough to break up whatever was brewing between us.

  Stop being stupid. It was nothing. He doesn’t think about you like that.

  “We better get moving,” I say as I take a step away from him.

  Sayid sighs, and nods.

  “While we’re out here, we might run into the guard I’ve been working with,” Sayid says as he scans the trees.

  “Is it going to be a problem that I’m out here with you?”

  “Nah,” he says as he lights a new cigarette. “I’ve told him that there are a few people who help me from time to time.”

  Jealousy burns inside me. Who else is helping him?

  Ahead of us, I can make out the sharp lines of a building. A small shack, it looks barely big enough for both of us to fit inside. It’s so small, I’m not sure what Dozier could possibly use it for. Sayid digs around the base of it, and in a few seconds he finds a key. He opens the door, and peeks inside.

  “Love it when a plan comes together perfectly,” he purrs. He tosses out three large duffle bags, two of which clink when they hit the ground.

  “This is just for a week?” I ask as I survey the bags.

  “This will probably be a two-shipment-week, actually,” he says as he slings one bag over each of his shoulders.

  I grab the other bag and follow him. The bag is heavy, it sloshes as I walk. “Is this all booze?” I ask. With my luck some of those bottles broke and I’m going to reek by the time we get back to Madison.

  “Nah, they wrap each of the bottles in a playboy. Usually keeps them from breaking, and we don’t waste any of the space.”

  “Inventive. Who thought to do that?”

  “That was my idea,” he beams.

  By the time we get back to the laundry, my back aches. I fling the bag onto one of the large tables that should normally be used for folding. But tonight, these tables are for sorting contraband. I help Sayid sort through everything, I stack all the bottles together, arrange the playboys, and stack the cartons of cigarettes into a neat tower. I’m desperate to find a letter, something from my sister. But there’s nothing. Once we’re done, he starts to squirrel all the goods away.

  “This really all goes in a week?” I ask as I watch him move around the room hiding everything.

  “Those playboys will all be gone tomorrow.” A laugh slips out as he says it.

  “And, I didn’t see any letters. Still nothing from Eden? No letters?” I ask. Not knowing where she is, how she is, it’s getting to me. There’s a constant nagging in the back of my mind, waiting, wondering why she isn’t answering me.

  “No, I’m sorry.”

  His body is close, too close. And I hate that I want him closer. He bounces his shoulder against mine, and smiles at me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shrug. “Nothing,” I lie.

  “You sure? You know you can talk to me,” he offers.

  I know I can talk to Sayid about pretty much anything, anything but this. Anything but the feelings stirring inside me. He ignites something inside me that’s frustrating, overwhelming, and wonderful all at the same time. But every look, every whisper, every thought I have about Sayid, it’s a betrayal.

  Sayid takes a step closer to me. He’s so close, I can see the flecks of gold in his deep brown eyes. His eyelashes are so long, they nearly get tangled in his eyebrows. I wet my lips, and breathe deep to settle my racing heart. There’s a long pause, a heavy silence brews between us. His breath mingles with mine as a smile parts his lips. My heart pounds so loud, I’m sure he can hear it. And all I want is for him to close the gap between us, because I’ll never be brave enough.

  The front door of the laundry creaks open. My heart hammers when the young guard saunters in, but when Sayid smiles at the guard, it diffuses my fear. I take a step back, and come to my senses.

  “Everything there?” The guard asks.

  “Sure is,” Sayid says as he takes a step closer to the guard. “Let’s go outside for a minute.”

  A smile curves the guard’s lips.

  Sayid grabs the guard’s arm and intertwines it with his own. They walk out the front door together. Jealousy claws at the back of my mind. My head throbs as I watch the door. I wish it was my arm wrapped around his, that he looked at me the same way.

  Stop it. You’re being stupid.

  I keep my steps quiet as I walk to the open door. They stand a few feet away. Sayid is pressed against the guard, his mouth near the guard’s neck. I swallow hard and look away when his hand moves to the guard’s waist.

  The only thing to keep me occupied, to keep my mind of the growing anger, is sorting the remaining merchandise. As I sort through the magazines, I slap each one down.

  How could I have been so stupid? I thought he saw me the same way. I must have been imagining it.

  By the time Sayid returns, at least fifteen minutes later, I feel like the biggest idiot in the world. Part of me knows he’s just doi
ng it for trade. But the louder, angry, bitter part of me thinks he’s doing it for the fun, for the thrill. Sayid says nothing, and instead stashes the contraband around the laundry. While he does that, I walk outside for some air.

  I light a cigarette as I try to unwind the anger that’s bound itself around me. By the time Sayid comes out, I light another, and take a slow drag. He’s so close, his arm rests against mine. His skin is slick with sweat. I feel his eyes lingering on me. All I want is to move away.

  “Ready to head back to Madison?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I say as I flick my cigarette to the ground.

  Sayid turns toward me, appraising me. His eyebrows draw together. “Everything alright?”

  “Yep,” I say, a little too quickly.

  He cocks his head to the side, “Come on, spill it.”

  “Let’s go. There’s nothing wrong.” My words are rushed as I push off from the wall. The last thing I want to do is to bring up my jealousy. Nothing has happened between us, I have no right to be jealous. I have no right to question anything he does, or doesn’t do with anyone else.

  Sayid grabs my arm. “Asher,” he says.

  “Sayid?”

  “Is this about the guard?”

  “Nope,” I say as I avoid looking at him.

  Sayid steps closer, forcing me to look at him. “Are you judging me? Or are you jealous?”

  I shake my head. “Neither. You’re just doing what you’ve got to do, right?” My question is a little too pointed.

  He nods. “Yes, it’s just an exchange. It’s not the same as…” he looks down. “It’s not the same as how I feel about you.”

  I want to focus on the words, how nice it is to hear him finally say them, to know that it wasn’t all in my head. But my mind has the image of him and the guard burned into it. I shake my head and clench my eyes as I try to wish away the vision. “Let’s just go back to Madison.”

  “Really? You’re just going to walk away and leave things like this?”

  “I can’t deal with this right now,” I say as I rip my arm out of his grip.

  “After everything I’ve helped you with? After how tolerant I’ve been with you, this is your breaking point? You’re pissed about what I have to do to get your cigarettes?” His words rise, and he hurls each one at me like a dagger.