Edge of Darkness Box Set

by Margaret McHeyzer

  “No, not my mother. But my oldest brother.”

  I know I should be concerned, but how can I be? That’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard. “Really?” Tears start to form, and I wipe at my face with the back of my hand. “How?” I barely manage to spit through my laughing.

  “He died with a pipe beside him. And I bet that’s where you’re heading.” He takes his phone out of his pocket, and looks at it. He smiles then puts it back in his pocket.

  “I would, if I was a junkie,” I say slower in case his brain works slower than mine. How many times do I have to repeat myself? I’m not a junkie. They’re dirty, and do all kinds of things for drugs. I’m so much better than them.

  “Hannah, tonight is going to end one of two ways.”

  My laughter stops, and I shove more food in my mouth. “Yeah?” I seductively blink at him and lick my lips. “You want me?” I ask in a husky voice, pushing my chest out.

  “Not like this.”

  “So, you do want me? This is why you’re buying me something to eat. I’m sorry, but I have a boyfriend.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re delusional because of the drugs, and you actually do have a huge problem. You’re addicted, and you’re going to die.”

  I start laughing again. “You’re so funny. So arrest me then, officer.” I playfully stick my hands out to him, so he can handcuff me. “I like the bite of the cuffs. They’re so much fun.”

  “I’m going to do something I never thought I would. But, I’m going to help you, and I’m not even going to say sorry for what you’re about to go through?”

  Huh? “What’s that, officer? You going to tie me up, invite a few friends over and take advantage of me? You know… that’s so kinky.”

  “Hannah… ”

  Martin looks behind me.

  The voice sends chills down my back.

  I can’t believe he found me. Wait, did Martin tell him where I am? “Did you do this?” I ask, tears spilling over.

  “I had to. They’re the only ones who can save you from yourself.”

  A hand comes down on my shoulder. Turning, I see a man who’s old and ragged-looking. Beneath his eyes are dark circles and he looks like he’s lost a lot of weight.

  “Hannah,” he says again as he gasps in horror when he sees me.

  “Dad,” I whisper. Turning to Martin, I stare at him, I feel so betrayed. “I despise you,” I say.

  “I know,” he replies. He doesn’t look like he cares that he’s about to send this lamb to her slaughter.

  Chapter 25

  Day two.

  I’ve been locked in my room for two days. The shakes have set in, and I have a bucket where I’ve been vomiting. I tried to get out, but my parents have put bars on my window. My room is different than it was the last time I was here.

  Everything but my bed has been removed. There’s not even any clothes. “MOM!” I scream in pain. I can barely think.

  She’s in my room in a moment, and sits on my bed. “Have some water,” she holds a glass out to me. I smack it out of her hands.

  “I don’t need water!” I scream at her. The moment I do, my stomach cramps, and I try to get to the bucket. My skin is hot, and feels like it’s melting. “I just need a little bit, just a bit. Please, Mom, let me have my pipe. I promise to stop after a little bit.”

  I hurl again, and my stomach jabs me with another stabbing pain. Mom takes a face cloth she’s brought in with her, and wipes at my mouth. “No,” she says.

  “I hate you!” I spit toward her. Her eyes fill with tears, but she lifts her chin and nods her head.

  “And I hate what these drugs have done to my girl.”

  “Yeah?” She wipes at my mouth again. “Your little girl was having the best time of her life,” I say trying to hurt her.

  The muscles in my legs cramp, causing me to lock up and groan in more pain. “I can only imagine how hard this is for you.”

  “Fuck you.” I start to cry. Every part of my body hurts. Everywhere. From the top of my head, to my toes. A throbbing ache is punching me repeatedly in the side of the head. “Please,” I beg. “A little bit?”

  “No.” She stays strong. I hate her, so much. “Because, I love you and I want you better.”

  “No, you don’t. You hate me. You want me to be a drug addict so you can tell all your perfect friends how you have a loser as a daughter.”

  “What you’re saying, it’s the drugs. We love you, so much. And we’re so happy you’re back home.”

  “I’m going to run away the moment you’re not looking.”

  “You might, but we’ll never stop looking. You’re everything to us.”

  My stomach cramps again, and my body sweats like I’ve been drenched in water. I start crying again. Mom reaches out to touch me, and I scream at her to stop. “Go away,” I say when exhaustion and pain have won this battle. “Leave me alone.”

  Mom stands, takes the bucket to empty it. When she leaves, Dad comes in right away, carrying another bucket. “Sweetheart.” Dad sits on the bed, exactly where Mom was. “Have a drink of water.”

  “Stop trying to shove water down my throat. I hate you both so much.”

  “We’re hurting as much as you are.”

  “Just leave me alone.” I move to my side, close my eyes tight and try to fight through the pain. I can barely concentrate on my breathing, trying to not take such deep breaths, because even that hurts. The door latches shut, and I hear a lock.

  They’ve locked me in here, like I’m an animal.

  My feet and hands decide right now is a good idea for them to tingle with pins and needles. Because having the shakes, sweating, cramping, and vomiting isn’t enough for me to deal with.

  “You can do this,” I mumble to myself. I just need to live ’til the next minute. The pain will get better, I know it will.

  Day four.

  “How are you feeling?” Mom asks once she’s inside my room.

  “Like death.” I grit my teeth, and hug my body. My mind is screwing with me. There are moments I’m disoriented and barely know where I am, then other moments of clarity push in and remind me exactly what’s happening to me. I’m also going through bursts of sleeping, then being hit with insomnia until it hurts to keep my eyes open.

  This is crazy, and not what I want.

  If I could, I’d have a small taste of the pipe, just to get me through. But my conscience screams at me to keep going because the hard work is nearly over.

  “I need to change your sheets.” Mom leans over the bed and tries to help me up. I feel weak, as if all my muscles have evaporated to nothing. “The doctor’s coming to see you today.”

  “Why? There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “Because you were addicted to drugs, and we need to make sure everything is moving along in the right direction.”

  “I wasn’t addicted,” I say to Mom. But in my heart, I know I was. Mom nods her head, though she purses her lips tightly. She rips the fitted sheet off the bed, and I see her cry. I’m breaking her, destroying the hope she has of me recovering. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I say as I sit on the floor while she keeps making my bed.

  “For you, I’d walk to the end of the earth, and still have the strength to kill anyone who’d hurt you. But when you’re hurting yourself, that breaks not only my heart, but my soul.”

  “I’m trying,” I say in a small voice, more to myself than to Mom.

  Mom nods again. “I’ll make you something light to eat. You need to put some weight back on. You’re lucky if you’re ninety pounds, you’ve lost so much. But your skin is already looking better.”

  “When do you think I can get out of here?”

  Mom’s shoulders stiffen, but she gathers the dirty bedding, lifts it, and shakes her head. “For now, this is your sanctuary.”

  “You mean my prison? I’m better, I don’t need to be locked in here.”

  “Hannah,” she stretches my name in a sigh. “We can’t let you go anywhere until we
know you’re clean.”

  I push myself off the floor, and my legs nearly collapse beneath me. “I’m fine!” I shout. “I just need to get out of here, it’s driving me crazy looking at this place. I go from here to the bathroom, and back here again. I can’t see any of my friends. You’ve got me locked in here. I’m a damned prisoner.”

  “You don’t have any friends. You ruined your relationship with Kristen, and until she knows you’re clean, she doesn’t want to see you.”

  “I have other friends. Like Sky. She’ll be worried about me.”

  “Tell me about Sky.”

  I want to pace back and forth, but I’ve run out of energy. I quite literally can’t. My eyes become heavy, and I want to collapse on the bed, and go to sleep. “She’s a girl I met. She’s really nice.”

  “What does she look like?”

  Lying on the bed, I try to concentrate so I can remember her features. But, my memory is hazy. As if all my memories of her are under a veil of darkness. “She’s really nice, Mom. She helped me.”

  “How did she help you?”

  Again, I can’t answer, because I can’t remember anything specific she actually did. “Oh,” I say surprising both Mom and myself. “She got me a job.” Instantly I feel my face burn with embarrassment. “Never mind,” I just as quickly retract the statement. How do you tell your mother she got you a job in a nasty brothel doing things with men for drugs? Even though I know that happened, it’s still hazy and unclear. Wait, maybe it didn’t happen. I don’t know anymore. I’m not sure Sky’s even real, because I can’t remember her face, or her voice, or what we ever did together.

  “Hannah, crystal meth really messes with everything about you. Look at your arms, see those scratch marks?” I look down to my arms, and notice the sores all over them. “They’re because you thought there were things under your skin and you tried to scratch them out.”

  “No, I never thought anything like that.” Did I? I really can’t remember. Maybe I’ve been asleep all this time, and nothing actually happened. Maybe, I’m in a dream right now, and I’ll wake soon. If I pinch myself, maybe, I’ll wake from this horror-filled nightmare.

  “Then how do you think you got these scars?”

  I’m not even sure any more. My mind can’t make sense of anything. “I’m tired,” I say.

  “I’ll be back soon when the doctor arrives.”

  I barely acknowledge Mom. I just need to close my eyes for a minute. A familiar smell invades my nose, an aroma I miss. My eyes spring open, as if by some magic remedy, I’m fine. I push myself up, so I’m sitting in bed and search the room for where that delicious scent is coming from. I just need a little bit. A taste, then I’ll be over it. I won’t want more.

  I can’t find where it’s coming from. I search everywhere, but there’s nothing in the room. The smell is getting stronger, and sending me rampaging like a hungry wild animal. I need it. I have to have it.

  No, keep it together, Hannah.

  A small taste. My hands tremble, and my lips quiver with the anticipation of having the pipe for just one more time.

  A sad realization happens. I’m imagining the smell. Maybe even hoping for it. Falling to the floor, I grasp at my hair pulling at the strands. Tears fall from my eyes, and I rock back and forth on the spot. I rip at my hair, it gives me something else to mourn. I want my pipe, but instead, I’m tearing at my hair, literally pulling out clumps of it. The pain is a welcome distraction from my reality.

  I’m a fucking junkie, and I’m climbing the walls, desperate for more. Willing to do anything for a little rock of ice.

  I can’t believe this is happening. What have I done to myself?

  Will this feeling of impending doom actually end? God, will I ever feel normal again?

  The hair I’m pulling out hurts, but at the same time, I’m feeling something. I need this pain. I need something to help me.

  Please… let this end.

  Chapter 26

  Day Six.

  The shakes have eased. I’m not vomiting. It’s hard, so hard. But Mom and Dad have been here around the clock. They’re helping me the best way they can. I’m determined not to let them down. I need to do this, for them.

  The door unlocks, and I look over to see who’s coming in. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” It’s how Dad always greets me when he enters the room.

  “Still tired, but not as bad. I’m going through all kinds of emotions though, I’m not sure how to cope with things.”

  “Remember what the doctor said. She said you’ll need counselling, and tools to cope. You are an addict, but you’re cleaning yourself up.”

  I look at Dad and shake my head.

  “Oh, honey, you’re doing so well.”

  I swing my legs over the bed and sit on the edge. “I’m not sure I could’ve stopped if you and Mom didn’t… ” I pause and smile, “… kidnap me.”

  “We did what we had to do.”

  “I’ve been terrible.” Shame overtakes me. “There’s nothing I’ve done that can make you proud of me.”

  “We’ve always been proud of you. But the drugs, they altered you.”

  This is a conversation we’re constantly having. I try to make sense of things, but I’m still too screwed up to even attempt and clarify it in my head. “It’s the only thing I can think about.” A tear falls from my eyes. “All I want is to get more of it. It’s got such a strong hold over me.” I turn to Dad, and I’m crying full-force now. “I’m not sure I can do it.”

  “We’ll be here with you. Every step of the way. We’ll drive you to your appointments; we’ll be in there with you, we’ll do everything we can.” Dad’s strong arms hug me tightly to his body. Although the shakes and vomiting have passed, my skin still feels like I’ve been doused in gasoline and set on fire.

  It takes a few moments to finally cry all my tears. “I’m okay.” I lay back on the bed, cover myself with the blanket, and hold in a sob. I’ve put them through enough, I can’t keep doing this to them. It’s not fair.

  “Do you need anything?” he asks. I shake my head, and go back to wallowing in self-pity. Dad closes the door, and locks it.

  The sound of the lock reminds me I’m not free. And I doubt I ever will be. Depression beckons to me. And no wonder. I’m being kept a prisoner in here, so I can’t escape and go back to the life I was living. A life of self-hatred, self-delusion, and self-destruction. There’s a stabbing pain in my chest, like my heart has been ripped out and lies shattered on the floor. Maybe that’s how my parents felt when I left home and turned to drugs.

  Although I’m sad, I also can’t help but think of Edgar. I wonder where he is, and what he’s doing. Does he think of me? Does he think of what we had? Does he want it back again?

  He’s my one true love. A man who loved me and wanted nothing but the best for me.

  “Hannah?” I didn’t even hear the door unlock. Mom opens it and comes in. “Martin’s here to see you.” I crinkle my brows. Martin? The cop? “Would you like to come out and see him?”

  Edgar’s pushed to the back of my mind. The pipe is too. As is the sadness of my life.

  “Sure,” I say and try to piece together as much sanity as I can muster. I drape a cardigan over my shoulders, and try to fix my hair. I hate to think how I look, but at the same time, he’s seen me at my worst.

  I follow Mom out to the family room, where Martin’s pacing back and forth. He’s not in his uniform. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and looks quite handsome. “Hi,” I say as I approach him, but still keep my distance. I can’t quite remember much about him. I know he called my parents. He and Dad forced me into Dad’s car, where Martin sat in the back with me, and made sure I didn’t jump out and run.

  I think I’m thankful for that. I’m not sure.

  The pipe still compels me, but I’m trying to fight through the control it has over me.

  “You look so much better than when I saw you last.” He smiles and steps back to sit on the sofa. He l
ooks behind me to the arm chair, hoping I sit too.

  This is the first time since I’ve been home that I’ve been out of my room other than to go to the bathroom. “Thank you,” I gingerly say as I lower my head in shame. Martin starts saying something, but I hold my hand up to him to stop talking. Lifting my head, I say, “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what I said and did to you, but I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve heard and seen worse,” he says. The atmosphere in here is tight. Mom’s standing in the kitchen, and Martin and I are struggling to talk. Not that I know what we’re supposed to say to each other. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like my body isn’t mine, and I was invaded by someone who looks like me, but isn’t me. I feel like shit. I can’t stop thinking about the pipe, everything about it draws me in. Truthfully, I’m struggling.”

  “That’s the most honest thing I’ve heard you say.” I smile, not knowing how to respond. “That’s what happens when you detox. You begin to regain yourself, and your brain. With drugs, you’re under their control. They rule, and you’re nothing more than a vessel.”

  I rub my hand against the tension in my temple, trying to relax. “I’m sorry, but so much is hazy. Did you tell me about someone who died from drugs?” I ask.

  Martin’s smile tightens, and I notice his demeanor. There’s something about him that says he’s young, but he’s seen a lot. Almost like he’s wise beyond his young years. Is that why he called my parents? Because he actually wanted to help, rather than follow protocol?

  “You knew I was underage, but you chose to call my parents instead of taking me to the police station. Why did you do that?” I only now notice he’s halfway through a sentence, and I cut him off. I’m not even sure what he was saying. But I need to know. It doesn’t make sense.

  “My brother died.” I nod my head, vaguely remembering him telling me about it. “I found him.” Oh… crap. “He had a pipe, and a needle. He’d taken both crystal meth and heroin. One sent him high, the other was a large enough dose to kill him.”