by David Kummer
I could drive off the hilltop. I could plummet toward that world, crash somewhere in the trees, maybe even into a building. A unique suicide. The ending I’d dreamed of.
With each mile of road that flew under my tires, I knew my future less and less. I started to wonder how it would go, which direction the wheel might turn. If I even controlled it.
My phone lit up, and I glanced down, easing up on the gas. Mason’s caller ID. I didn’t answer. It went to voicemail, and I didn’t listen to whatever message he left.
I don’t want that to be the last thing I hear, I told myself. I don’t wanna talk to him.
* * *
The lights were everywhere, blinding me. My head started to ache from all the senses. The sky brilliantly dark one moment and then flashing with headlights the next. Raindrops beating against my windshield as the stereo bass pounded a rock song.
I started yelling, and I don’t know when I stopped. The world a blur, but I navigated the mess. I always could. The key was to lock onto certain objects. Like a tree or a stop sign, just focus on the car’s relation to them. I managed by speeding through gray areas and pumping on the brakes from time to time.
Swaying, tears gliding down the windshield and my own cheeks, I found the gas station. Only then did I stop screaming.
4
Jed
Those minutes felt like hours, every possibility weighing on me. I thought so intently on any warning signs I could’ve missed. Situations where I should’ve helped. But the truth was, I didn’t know a thing about suicide prevention. I didn’t know what teenagers like Hudson went through. And I didn’t know if I held the blame or not.
At the end of the day, I would feel grief. If he was truly gone. But it would be nothing compared to what Henry went through, or his wife, or even Mason. It was all just too much for me. Enough to overheat my brain.
“Does it matter which flavor I brew?”
I could hear Lucy moving around, opening cabinets, rummaging in the drawers. She cursed under her breath as something fell to the floor, a thud on the tiles. She flitted from one side of the kitchen to the other, restless. In contrast, I was motionless, staring out the large window at our driveway.
“Umm… don’t think so.”
The neighborhood had fallen asleep for the most part. There were a few houses where pale, blue light still flickered in the main room, the ripples of a television broadcasting through curtains. I observed the whole street, particularly the homes I knew well. Remembering Carl from just across the street. He’d lost his own son two years ago in a summer camp accident. At the time, I hadn’t been able to comprehend that feeling, that gut-wrenching and all-consuming agony. I realized, now, that I still couldn’t. Not even for Henry’s boy.
“How much do you think we’ll need?” Lucy asked me, her voice calm and focused. She continued work at the Keurig. Only last month we’d purchased this newer version, the kind that could brew a whole pot instead of one serving at a time. Thank god we had.
“Dunno.” I folded my arms. Thinking I should turn from the window to help my incredible wife or at least offer support. But I didn’t. “Henry, Laurie, maybe Willow? Who else is there?”
At this point, I did turn from the outside, if only to gauge her expression. Lucy had paused to stare at me, frowning. We both knew the answer to that question. In certain relationships, if you fall off the radar, other people will get together late at night, drink themselves sick with coffee, and pool every resource to find you again. Hudson, the poor kid, didn’t have many to do that for him.
“He’ll be okay, though,” I said, scratching at my head. I moved across the kitchen toward her and leaned on the counter, elbows flat against the cool surface. I stretched my back cat-like and groaned. “Long night ahead of us. I’ll have to cancel a meeting tomorrow.”
Lucy didn’t say anything. She nodded, moving her lips slightly, and then returned to the Keurig. With the lid closed and the machine gurgling, she walked over. We stood on opposite sides of the counter, watching each other. Without a word, Lucy reached out and ruffled my hair, sighing.
“Did Henry say when he’ll be here?”
I shook my head. “No. Just soon.”
I’d called him right after getting off the phone with Mason. Henry, his voice weary and on the edge of sleep, answered with a yawn and that familiar farmer-drawl.
“Henry here. Who’m I talking to?”
“It’s Jed.” I hadn’t moved from the spot when Mason hung up. Still sitting in my chair, phone in hand, I leaned forward so far that my forehead almost touched my knees. Curled up like a man experiencing stomach cramps for the first time.
“Oh, hey.” Henry chuckled over the phone. “Didn’t expect t’hear from ya. Everything alright?”
“Is Hudson home?” I asked, getting straight to the point.
“Hmmm. Just got back from the plant. Hold up, I’ll ask Laurie.”
Power plant, he meant. Must’ve been another long shift. He moved away from the phone, left it on the counter or something. I could hear him faintly. While they conversed in the background, I groaned, hand to my temple, and asked Lucy if she could get the Keurig started. Full pot, I told her. There’d be people here soon enough.
Henry returned at last, yelled into the phone across whatever room he’d left it in. “Left ‘bout twenty minutes ago. Why? You need ‘im?”
“You and Laurie need to get over here,” I told him. I rarely ever spoke to Henry with so much command. He was bigger, stronger, rougher. The kind of guy who intimidated scrawny businessmen like me, not the other way around. “It’s about Hudson. Just… trust me here.”
“Alright, Jed,” Henry spoke into the phone directly now, his voice wavering a little, “but can ya let me in the loop?”
“Just worried about him. Something’s happened. You… just get over here. And check Facebook. It’s about the actor.”
Henry’s reaction made me think back on my own, how stupid it had been. Compared to something like that, some piece of celebrity gossip, Hudson took center stage. I shouldn’t have been surprised that a Hollywood actor turned out to be a scumbag. It didn’t matter right now. Not with Hudson gone, somewhere out in the darkness, alone and unstable.
They had some system at the house in case he came back. Henry told me in the past about a security system that gave him phone alerts whenever somebody came to the door. I assumed they would use that to watch out for Hudson, since the both of them would be here at my house. I didn’t think any of us expected him to go home. Maybe ever again.
That’s what Mason had implied, anyway, on the first phone call. When it’d buzzed, bouncing around on the side table, I had let go of Lucy and jumped for it. One swift movement of my thumb, and then I took a seat in that recliner. Held the device to my ear and spoke into it, shaking. I knew from the first second, even before the caller ID, that it was Mason. That something had happened.
“He didn’t answer my call,” Mason said. I could hear his breathing grow more frantic as he drove. The engine roared so loud he must’ve been speeding, and by more than a little. “Dad, Hudson won’t answer his phone.”
“It’s okay, son. It’s okay. We’re gonna—”
“No, Dad…” Mason took a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m… I’m scared.”
I’d glanced across the sitting room at Lucy, who waited in the doorway, eyebrows raised. She mouthed, “What’s going on?” but I just shrugged and shook my head. Then I spoke into the phone, “What do you mean, Mason?”
“Bruce. Hudson adored him. They were kinda close. And I’m just scared he’ll be… This is the kind of thing that could send him over the edge.” His words were broken at this point, spider-web fractures.
“What exactly do you mean?” It started to dawn on me then, and my eyes locked with Lucy. She must have seen it. A deeper understanding we shared.
“Dad, I think he could kill himself.”
After all the phone calls, after all the coffee brewing, we set five
cups on the table and waited. Together, Lucy and I stared out the kitchen window, holding hands with loose fingers. I expected her to tear up or something, but she remained stoic. Expressionless, even. No, not that. Just determined.
I’d already drained one cup by the time his truck drowned our house with the pale glow of headlights. I stood from the table right away and rushed to the door. Lucy beside me, arm around my waist. The familiar grip that I’d relied on so many times for so much. I thought that I should thank her for the coffee, that I should kiss her hard and never break away, but I didn’t. Because when Henry climbed out of the truck from the passenger’s side, there were tears streaming down his cheeks. And Henry never rode shotgun. And Henry never cried.
I wanted to remember, in that instant, what I’d done when Carl had told me about their kid. What the funeral had been like. A tragic accident. Nobody to blame.
I could see in his watery eyes, as Henry lumbered toward me, that he blamed himself. How he put the pieces together, I’ll never know, but he understood from the news about Bruce Michaels that his own son was in grave danger.
“Henry…”
Lucy moved ahead of me and embraced him, then threw one arm around Laurie. The three of them, hugging each other in the shadow of my front porch. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even speak. I just watched in awe, dreading every moment that the phone call would come. That Mason would ring, or worse yet... the police.
The body. Would they ever find the body?
I stuck out my hand as Henry approached me. He ignored it, and thank god he did. The wide man threw his enormous arms around me and squeezed tight. I smacked his back, pounding sympathy into his spine. He wept on my shoulder, that shaggy beard scratching against my cheek.
And in his despair, Henry mumbled the words I’d been dreading. The thought that crossed every person’s mind when someone they love could be lost.
“I saw it in ‘im,” he said between heaving sobs, the words cutting me like physical pain. “Them last few weeks… I knew he didn’t look good. Just… not all here.”
“Henry, it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna—”
He pulled away to stare into my eyes. His own features so accentuated by the shadows that he could’ve passed for the devil himself. A terrified, blubbering devil.
“He told me he loved me this mornin’. Right when I left for the plant.” Henry shook his head violently, as if expelling some terrible memory. “I… I just walked away.”
“Mason’s looking,” Lucy assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. I could see Laurie behind her, leaning against our outside table, staring into the distance. Lost in her own way.
“But what if...?” Henry hesitated. “What if he’s already gone?”
I realized, in that moment, that we would all be guilty if Hudson was lost. To some degree, we’d all let him down. Over and over again.
5
Hudson
Parked next to the gas pump, my headlights reflecting on the glass door of the Circle K, I turned my music up as loud as possible. The slashing guitars and messy drums threatened to tear the roof off my truck. Every person who strolled by raised an eyebrow, but I stared at them with cold, dead eyes. They would all turn away, nobody bothering to ask questions. I sort of hoped they would. Hoped somebody would stop me from the next part.
If even one person had asked, I would’ve turned back. If just one.
I’d been lucky enough to find a partially empty twelve-pack of beers in my back seat. There were five cans on my floorboard now, all of them dry to the bone. That made nine total beers, enough to get me pretty fucked up. Just enough liquid courage to do this.
I shut off the engine and felt a void in my brain where the music had been. It took me a few minutes, but I filled up my tank. Then I moved toward those glass doors. Rain sprinkled my face like a pleasant memory. There were ten people around, a few of them smoking in a group nearby. They were situated just under the ledge of the Circle K, rain falling not more than a foot from their smoldering tips. I desperately wanted a cigarette but didn’t have the courage to ask. I had more pressing business to take care of.
I entered the gas station with my head bowed. In a drunken stupor, I became very aware of how my feet worked and of my appearance. I probably just looked sleepy, but then again, gas stations were probably used to inebriated customers. It took me a few minutes to locate the vodka stash. Tucked into one aisle, not far from the beer. I would’ve preferred a twelve-pack, but those were harder to steal and didn’t get me as drunk.
Two bottles of vodka. That’s all I had to grab.
I placed my hands on them, gently grasped the plastic. I couldn’t even read the labels, but it didn’t matter. They’d be fine. I couldn’t feel my mouth anyway. The bottles felt comfortable in each hand. I closed my eyes to focus, regain a bit of strength. I’d almost made it. Once I had these, I just had to drive. Just had to escape.
I chanced a look at the cashier. It was a young, pretty girl, not older than twenty-three. Blonde hair, a casual expression. Only she frowned in my direction, eyebrows furrowed. Did she know what I planned? Would she call the cops when I left? I mean, if she did, they’d definitely arrest me. My blood-alcohol content had to be off the charts. If I got lucky, I’d pass out behind the wheel. They’d find my coma-induced body in a ditch of rainwater and blood.
I just had to go for it.
“Fuck it,” I muttered. Then I grabbed the bottles and took off sprinting, stumbling.
Whether or not somebody chased, whether she even cared, I would never know. I pounded against the pavement, nearly running into a parked car. I reached my truck, out of breath, cackling wildly, and threw myself into the driver’s seat. The vodka bottles sloshed on the passenger’s seat. Without second thought, I dug my key into the ignition and turned. Then I raced away, distancing myself from that Circle K so fast it almost scared me. I did run over the curb on the way out, but whatever.
“Fuck you, rednecks!” I screamed again, smashing a fist into the steering wheel, hysterically happy. I thought it was a line from a movie, maybe even something Bruce had yelled once. Not that it mattered to me either way.
* * *
About a mile from the Circle K, I pulled over on the side of the road just for a moment. I unscrewed the lid of one bottle and chugged for a solid five seconds. The putrid, burning sensation torched my throat, and I almost threw up right away. I couldn’t taste much, but it sent shockwaves through my body. I shivered, felt an ugly warmth in my stomach, and coughed for a while, beating on the steering wheel.
The music thundered so loud around me that I couldn’t hear a single thing. Car Seat Headrest cutting through fog, right into my brain. The irony wasn’t lost on me. That particular song, droning on with thumping instruments and wild vocals, spoke about drunk driving. And yet here I was, hoping for a drunken crash.
“Awful…” I said to myself out loud, grinning. “Awful people, aren’t we?”
Bruce Michaels, of course, didn’t answer, because he was probably getting drunk himself in that stupid house across town. I wanted to see him. Wanted to cuss him out, maybe punch him, but I didn’t want to drive that way.
There were only two options. I could head straight, get away from Little Rush, try to find a better place. I could avoid all of this. Drink and drive and fly forever. With this in mind, I pulled back onto the road and pushed hard on the gas.
The speedometer became so blurry that I couldn’t tell how fast or slow I might be going. The numbers were nothing, the hands moving clockwise now invisible. I couldn’t see a thing, just shapes, just shadows, colors. An aesthetic palette of night. My eyes squinted, focusing on the road. I couldn’t be sure where I was headed now.
Away from Little Rush? Or careening toward the hill, a drop-off that would kill me? Might I fly down, into the Ohio River Valley, and meet my end there?
I’d been born here. It only made sense.
“If you’re gonna kill me, do it now!” I screamed over all the mu
sic, over all my thoughts. Straight on. Straight on forever. “Do it now! Fucking kill me!”
Straight. The ground bumping underneath me. Lights swirling by. The moon somewhere overhead, looking on. Trees on either side were an invitation. How easy would it be to veer off that way and split myself open on a trunk?
The yellow lines were shaky, wobbling. Headlights in the distance zoomed closer, passing by, their own lives and worries. Their own families. How bad would it feel if I killed someone? Someone loved and cared for? What would I do if I trashed their car, ended their life, but survived without a scratch?
I already knew the answer. I’d simply head for downtown and drive off the road. Fly over the edge, into those beautiful city lights. The ending I deserved. The great descent.
A good place to die, I thought. Maybe the best.
6
Willow
“I’m going to Hudson’s,” Mason had explained as he dropped me off.
“Call me once you find out what’s going on, okay?”
He nodded. “I will. Love you.”
Standing on the sidewalk, hands in my pockets, I said, “Love you too.” I wanted to push back, demand to go with him, but hesitated. And in that moment of hesitation, he roared away in his convertible.
Now I stood in front of the mirror, hands on my stomach, staring at my reflection. It was probably a trick of the mind. Well, that’s exactly what it was, because I knew that I couldn’t be showing already. It had only been a couple weeks since the fair. It’s not like my stomach could change in that time. And I still went to the gym a few times a week. The doctor said to be “as physically active as you were before.” So I did try.