Coming Undone: A Novel

by JD Salyers

  “You know there’s a tropical depression brewing off the coast, right?” Michael asks. “They aren’t sure if it’ll amount to anything yet, but Razorback might end up in the path of it, if it does.”

  Landon hadn’t known, but he thinks about it for a moment and then shrugs. “You know how these things go - it’ll blow off into the Atlantic, or maybe veer south. Odds are, it’ll just peter out, like most of them do. You know?”

  Michael nods. “Sure, sure. Just letting you know.”

  “The most we’ll get, probably, is some heavy rain, if we get anything at all. It’ll be another two weeks before we leave.”

  Michael nods his agreement and changes the subject. Landon isn’t saying anything he doesn’t already know.

  They chat for a little while longer, but by the time Landon is ready to head home, he’s getting a strange vibe from his old friend. Michael keeps looking over his shoulder, back toward the house, and once he even excuses himself and goes inside for a minute. He doesn’t say anything about it, and Landon isn’t sure he should ask. It makes him nervous, though. Is this how he and Melody look from the boys’ perspective? Secretive and worried? He hopes not - it’s unnerving.

  6

  The walk back through the woods feels nice. He's thinking it was good to see Michael and Alexandria, and he wonders why they stopped getting together for supper like they did when the boys were younger. Michael retired before Landon, maybe eight years ago, and then after Landon took his leave of the job they all just sort of drifted apart.

  Did we all just decide to be old? he wonders, not for the first time. Bedtimes come earlier, trips get shorter. Outings, even just errands around town, dwindle to a once or twice a week affair that they rush through, in order to get home to...? What? Why would they let this happen? The thought that things can just fade away so quietly unnerves him, for some reason.

  A dog barking makes him look up. He doesn't see a dog anywhere, but he does slow his steps when he realizes that he isn't quite sure where he is, exactly. Coming to a stop, he looks behind him and then ahead again. Still no dog. Why was he here in the woods? Was he searching for his dog? That must be it, but he doesn't remember the dog's name or even what it looks like. He turns in a complete circle, just trying to get his bearings. There is a sort of hum underneath the bird and bug sounds of the forest. Traffic, from somewhere. But where? He doesn't see any movement in the light that filters softly through the canopy, nothing like a road nearby.

  These woods are familiar, but he isn't sure why. Does he live nearby? He can't answer that, and he should be able to - who doesn't know where he lives? He looks back and forth, not exactly sure which way he was going in the first place, now that he's gotten himself turned around. The woods seem vast and dark, just fluttering green leaves as far as the eye can see. No landmarks, no real path to follow, no hint of where he might have been going. And no dog. His heartbeat speeds up a little and he grits his teeth. He should know these things, but there is no way to tell. It's like being underwater, or in the dark.

  Where is his house? More importantly, how does he get there? Something tells him that once he sees it, he'll recognize it immediately.

  He scratches his cheek and looks up. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, so if he follows it he'll be heading west.

  Unless it's morning. Is it morning? It feels like morning.

  He's not sure. He's still wondering about that when he hears a lawn mower start up in the distance. It turns his head. Lawn mowers mean lawns. Lawns mean homes. He must live in that direction. The rising fear subsides just a bit and he starts making his way.

  As he walks he realizes that there is a path. It's difficult to see against the backdrop of the trees, but it's there. This had to have been the way he was going.

  But what about his dog? He gets a flash of memory - an old lab mix, wagging its tail as he comes through a door. This must be his dog. He should find it, if it's lost. He stops again. In the background the lawn mower is still running. As long as it does, he's confident he'll find his way home again.

  Well, OK, confident is the wrong word. He's at least confident that he's close to civilization.

  He whistles for his dog. A jolt of shame runs through him when he realizes he can't remember its name. Whistling will have to do. Maybe - like the house - when he sees it he'll remember its name. He also feels like he should hurry. Melody will be waiting for him to bring back the dog.

  Wait. That thought adds another layer of confusion. Who is Melody? A child? A wife? It must be his child, because all children had dogs.

  Standing here isn't going to do any good. He needs to keep moving. If he walks toward the house, he might find his dog. Maybe the dog is lost, too.

  He wishes he could remember her name.

  Or his name. Landon can't remember if the dog is a boy or a girl. It's shameful, not being able to keep track of where you live or what is your dog's name. When he gets out of this mess, he sure won't tell Melody - whoever she is.

  The lawnmower shuts off and Landon freezes in his tracks. Uh-oh.

  The dog barks again. Farther away, he thinks.

  Does he follow the dog, or follow the lawn mower toward home? If it starts again, that is. If it doesn't, he's not sure what he's going to do. He swallows against his suddenly dry throat and looks around. Every shadow seems just a little darker now, every rustle a little louder.

  He needs to get home. The dog will find its way back later. Dogs do that, don't they? Wander off for a while and then come back for supper? He’s pretty sure they do. Once he finds his own way home, he will go look for the dog again. He hopes that Melody won't be mad.

  He takes off, walking fast, in the direction the lawn mower had been running. Home couldn't be too far away. Lawn mowers aren't that loud. They aren't like planes or even cars.

  Which he doesn't hear, now that he thinks of it. Where are the cars that he'd heard just a few moments ago? If he lives around here, and others live around here - someone is mowing the lawn - then where is the traffic? Even if he lives in a cul-de-sac somewhere, there should be someone...

  He takes a step, then stops again. Underneath the confusion and nerves, there is something else creeping in - anger. What is wrong with him? This is stupid. He clenches his fists against the agitation filling his chest. He shakes his head, as if it might rattle his stupid brain back into place. A man doesn't just get lost and not know his way home. Kids do, sure, but he's not a kid. He's a grown-ass man, and he damned well knows his own home, his own neighborhood.

  If this is his neighborhood. What if it isn't? If he lived here, he'd be familiar with this place, wouldn't he? And why would he be here, otherwise? Had someone put him here? Had he been kidnapped? He shakes his head. No, he isn't a little man, he'd be hard to kidnap. It's a stupid thought - grown men didn't get kidnapped.

  All of a sudden, the world barely feels real. The green is too green, the sky is too bright, the smells too sharp. Freshly cut grass so strong it hurts his head. He shuffles to a stop again, wondering what is happening to him. Is it a trick of some sort? What if there is no dog? What if there is no Melody, or lawnmower, or woods? What if he's in some kind of...something? A machine, maybe.

  The lawnmower stutters to life, and he goes after it at a jog before it disappears again. Trick or not, it's his only point of reference.

  Branches whip against his face, but he doesn't slow down, although he does try to hold his hand out to protect himself. He's kind of surprised at his own speed and how easy it feels to run. He thinks about whether he's a runner or not and can't remember. He doesn’t think so.

  What will he find at the end of the path? When he breaks out into someone's - hopefully his own - backyard? Will Melody be there? He can't remember what she looks like, but he's sure to recognize her, right?

  He doesn't like not remembering. It feels like Melody is important, and that he should know her better than this.

  When he finally sees a flash of white, the siding of
a house, he nearly drops to the ground with relief. Instead he slows his steps and keeps walking.

  When he steps out of the woods, he's in a large back yard. It's half-cut, and there is a man in a red shirt and a pretty woman talking next to the lawn mower that brought him here. It isn't running now, it cut off just as he stepped through the tree line. He can hear the woman laughing about something. The man in the red shirt half-turns, then catches sight of him and points, saying something to the woman. He waves.

  Raising a slow hand, Landon waves back. He doesn't know this person, but he must be friendly. Maybe they can help him.

  The man throws back his head and laughs out loud at whatever the woman says, then he starts walking across the yard.

  That's not good. Landon isn't sure why, but he knows somehow that he needs to avoid talking to the man in the red shirt. Maybe he's part of the trick, or maybe he isn't as nice as he seems. Landon isn't sure - as far as he can tell, he's never met the man before. The woman...she looks familiar, though. Vaguely.

  He needs to ask about where he lives, but he can't ask this man. Every danger signal in his head is sounding at once: runrunrun. His brain isn't being helpful enough to tell him where to run, but that apparently doesn't matter. He turns to run, thinking he can run alongside the yard and patio, around to the front of the house, and out into the street where he can get his bearings, but then he's out of time. The man has caught up. "Hey, Landon. Did you come back for more lemonade?" he asks with a chuckle.

  Landon's mouth is dry with inexplicable fear. He tries to swallow. "Um, no. I just thought I might..."

  He points toward the street on the other side of the man's house. The woman s watching from the patio. "I thought I might go to the street and walk home. It's easier than the woods."

  The man laughs. "You've got that right." He gestures with a hand. "Be my guest."

  Landon nods and looks that way. Giving the man a little wave and praying he doesn't follow, he takes off at a slow jog.

  "See you later," the man calls.

  Landon waves back over his shoulder and keeps going. The grass is spongy and unstable under his feet. The sun is blinding, bouncing off the windshield of a car parked in front of the house next door. He stumbles - he knew he would, his legs feel so shaky - but catches himself before he falls. The movie playing over and over in his head is not a good one - he falls, he loses his orientation again, and the man is coming to get him.

  Why is the man coming? Why is he so hostile in Landon's movie? Landon isn't sure, but he knows that's what will happen. He just needs to keep his footing, keep himself moving forward. The hair on the back of his neck prickles, and he can feel the man's eyes on him, watching, waiting for him to fall.

  Landon doesn't slow down and he doesn't look back until his shoes touch the hard heat of the sidewalk. Then, only then, does he breathe.

  The man is still in the same spot, his head cocked a little, half a bemused smile on his face. Landon, still walking forward but looking back, steps too near the edge of the sidewalk and the driver of an oncoming car toots its horn, making him jump. He hurries down the street until he's completely away from the man before he stops to look around.

  He had hoped that the neighborhood would jog his memory, but that isn't working. Fifty or so small, neat, two-story houses, just like the one behind him, line this street and the next one over. A few people are in their yards, mowing or digging in flowerbeds. Two smaller children are playing under an elm across the street. It is a perfectly normal afternoon in a perfectly normal neighborhood, except that none of the houses seem like his and the whole place sort of feels like a movie set. Staged - that's the word for it. Like the whole place was built just for him, just to confuse him. The houses crowd together, shoulder to shoulder. They make him feel closed off, suffocated.

  He wonders if someone is playing an elaborate joke on him. Or maybe - he saw this in a movie once - he's been injured and he's in a coma. Maybe they've hooked something up to his brain to make him feel like he's fine, when he's really drugged and in a hospital somewhere. The thought makes him want to cry, or run away, or smash something. He rubs his head.

  He needs to get home. Forget about the dog. This is serious. He hasn't been lost in years, not since...when?

  He can't remember being lost, but then he realizes he also can't remember ever going on a trip or riding in a car. He knows he has, but right now he couldn't say when or where. His footsteps slow again and he comes to a stop in front of a small white house with green shutters. Maybe he should ask for help. This street seems to keep going and going and going, and none of it looks familiar.

  Where is he? How did he get so turned around, just looking for a dog? He's not sure, but since one direction is just as good as the other, he keeps going, keeps looking for something.

  He wishes he knew what it was.

  A man in a black uniform strolls toward him along the sidewalk now. The man is skinny and wearing headphones, but he looks official. He even has a gun on his belt. Landon eyes a silver badge, clipped to the man's chest. He feels like he should know what that means. He wonders if he should run away. He decides that no, that would be suspicious. Just be cool.

  The man comes even with him and looks him in the eye with a nod and a smile. "Good afternoon," he says, but then his voice cuts off and he stops walking. "Sir, are you all right?"

  Landon nods and tries to slip on past, but the sidewalk is skinny and the official man holds out a hand. Police. The word pops into Landon's head, and he relaxes a little. It's a policeman.

  Landon stops. His shoulders droop. He's tired and too scared to think. He says, "I need to go home."

  7

  The policeman, a young guy, clean-shaven and serious, looks him up and down before he answers. Finally he comes to some private conclusion and asks, "Where is home, sir?"

  Landon opens his mouth, then closes it again. Shame burns his face when he thinks about saying, I don't know. Instead he chuckles nervously. Forces his fists to unclench. It hurts. "I'm not sure. I've gotten myself turned around somehow."

  The policeman cocks his head and the movement makes the badge glint. Landon's eyes slide down to it and he reads, Patrick P. Horwick. "Officer Horwick."

  "That's me." Horwick smiles, concern evident. "Let's see if we can help you."

  "That's - that would be great." Landon feels something like relief, but it doesn't mask the more powerful embarrassment that still fills his chest.

  "Do you have a driver's license?" Horwick asks.

  A driver's license? He groans. Of course. His driver's license. He scrambles for it, and Horwick takes a tiny step back, keeping his gaze on Landon's hand. Landon pulls it out the wallet that Peter and James got him for Father's Day before they went off to school.

  He freezes, wallet halfway from his pocket. Peter and James. His sons. Melody. He looks up again and sees the small convenience store on the corner, the one that is owned by Raford Boone. Raford Boone stocks banana ice cream, just for the times that Landon wants it. The store is less than a quarter mile from his driveway. He swings his head back, looks down the road behind him, past the moving traffic. That's his mailbox, the green one. Tears burn his throat, but they are tears of relief.

  "Sir?" Horwick asks.

  Landon startles. "I'm sorry," he says, slowly. "I -."

  He stops talking. How does he explain what just happened? He can't, not even to himself. "I thought I was lost, but I'm not." He points. "I live right there."

  Horwick isn't chuckling or relaxing. He's not even smiling. In fact, he looks more concerned now. "Let's get you home, all right?"

  "Sure, sure." Landon wants nothing more than to be home right now, away from this man who senses something wrong, even though he doesn't know what.

  He probably thinks I'm drunk, Landon decides, smiling sheepishly at the cop.

  Horwick studies him for a moment longer, then comes to some private conclusion. "I'll walk along with you, if that's all right." He wasn't asking,
and Landon knew it.

  Landon says, "That's not necessary, really. I'm fine. Just got turned around for a minute there."

  "Even so. Let me help." There was compassion in Horwick's voice, under the not-really-a-suggestion. It only made Landon feel even more embarrassed.

  He didn't want this man walking him home. What would Melody think when he came walking up the driveway with the cops? She'd be scared out of her mind, and then she'd know there had been another episode. But he couldn't think of anything to say, any protest that wouldn't sound weak or suspicious. He let out his breath and nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

  Traffic had thinned a little as they talked, and now the noise wasn't as bad. Horwick asked a series of questions as they walked along toward the green mailbox. He tried to make it sound casual, but Landon knew better.

  "Have you lived here long?" Horwick asked.

  "All my life, for the most part."

  "With family? A wife? Kids?"

  "Yes, two boys. They're grown now, with kids of their own."

  "And what is your name?"

  Landon panics for half a second. "Landon. Briggs."

  Horwick nods, like he knew all along. "Does this happen often? You getting turned around like this?"

  Landon shakes his head. "No. Just a glitch, I guess."

  They are quiet as they walk, the grit on the sidewalk scraping with every step. Landon tries desperately to think of something to fill the silence. It feels accusing. Finally he says, "You don't see many officers on foot patrol these days."

  Horwick chuckles. "It's part of a new community outreach. Get to know the neighborhood, let people know they can trust you. That sort of thing."

  Landon nods again, harder than necessary. "Good idea. I'm sure folks appreciate it."

  "You'd be surprised."

  Horwick looks at him hard. Landon doesn't look back, but he can feel the stare, like heat. "It also helps when there are lots of elderly in the area. You know, in case someone isn't doing so well, and they get lost."