by J. L. Hickey
“Jesus…”
“So, I get out of the hospital, with a concussion, staples in the back of my head. Embarrassed, broken, thinking my parents would disown me, never speak to me again. Their perfect Christians, right? Look at their fuck up, druggie son who failed at being an actor. Instead, they cried. They apologized for screwing me up. The guilt was insane. Here I fuck up, and they, what? They just forgive me, want me to get better. I’m too miserable. I’m a piece of shit, ashamed, and just a dumb kid who fucked up his life. My parents, they wouldn’t stop believing in me. They wanted to send me to rehab. Trust in God, they said. Find your faith.”
“They really stuck by you?” Haylee asked.
“I didn’t deserve their love. Instead, I got pissed. I don’t have an addiction, right? Me being a prideful jack ass, so I leave their house, stay around a few of my buddy’s places for a while—couch hoppin’. One night, about a month after it all happened, I sat down, and I prayed for the first time. I told myself I could stop without rehab. But it wasn’t a week before I was sneaking around looking to get it. I sat there one night, on a shittier couch than this one,” Aaron looked down at the ugly green couch. “I just fucking lost it. I cried so hard. My buddy thought I was having a bad high, a breakdown, mentally. I sat there, purging myself of all these tears. I fucking prayed my heart out. Haylee, I swear to it, as I’m standing here right now–just like that, I was free. I beat the addiction, haven’t shot up once. Thanks to the power of someone up there. Whether he has a white beard, or he’s a damn spaghetti monster, someone or something empowered me. I stopped using. I was cured, sober.”
“But, you smoke weed?” Haylee questioned.
“Heroin kills, weed doesn’t,” Aaron smiled “I was cured of the bad shit that was killing me. Weed is different. I got off all my anxiety pills, depression pills. I hardly need the pain pills anymore, which, if the doctors knew my history, wouldn’t be a thing. So, enjoy them while I have them to give. Weed did that for me. It’s my antidepressant. It’s my pain reliever. It’s my anxiety meds. It’s not pharmaceutical poison going into my body. It’s from the earth.”
“If you’re happy, and you got off that other stuff than smoke to your heart’s content, just do it outside my house. I hate the smell of it,” Haylee joked. “Listen, I’m no one to judge anyone about anything. I need those pills you get me because I wouldn’t be able to live as I did in the past. I can’t face those horrors again. I have been through too much. Too fucking much. It’s bad enough, almost too much.”
“That’s also why I give you them,” Aaron added. “I’m not a drug peddler. I saw firsthand what it does to someone. You’re different. I get it, I do. And I don’t want you getting pistol-whipped, or worse, because you’re trying to buy Norco off some dumb fuck who wants to rob you. If I can’t talk you out of the pills, then at least I can keep you from the weirdos.”
“Look at you,” Haylee teased. “Trying to protect me?”
“No,” Aaron shrugged. “You are my neighbor. I just thought it was the right thing to do.”
“Well, thanks,” Haylee slumped onto the couch. “Honestly, I needed a friend this past week. I have no one here. And with everything going in, I may have lost my marbles more than a few times. You’ve grounded me, kept me sane. I owe you.”
“Naw man,” Aaron waved off the gesture. “We’re just two fucked up people stumbling through life.”
“You can crash on the couch tonight if you want.” Haylee was almost afraid to ask. She wasn’t sure what was happening between the two of them. She wasn’t looking for love, sex, or anything from a man, or anyone. That part of her brain, her life, that was over. She was damaged goods. Yet, there was something more prominent there, something more unconditional, a bond.
“You would feel better if I did? Safer?” Aaron asked.
“I would,” she replied.
“Sure,” he smiled. “First, though, since I opened up to you. How about you tell me about your parents? I mean, you started too, back at the doctor’s office.”
“Yeah…” Haylee nodded.
“I mean, I don’t wanna force you, but I’m interested, you know...if you wanna share.”
“I think I need a second glass of wine for this,” Haylee stood up. She refilled her glass to the brim, emptying the bottle of Pinot Noir into her cup. She drank half of it down, warmth swarmed to her cheeks, the fuzziness crashed over her thoughts. That felt better; she would sip the rest. She needed the liquid courage to help her share one of the worst moments in her life, and there had been many. It would exhaust her mentally. She’d then pop that Norco and pass out in her bedroom.
“Seriously, you don’t…” Aaron protested, feeling as if he overstepped a line.
“—No, I will tell you,” Haylee interjected. “I just needed to drink my courage. When I was thirteen, I had already seen a bunch of specialists, phycologists, therapists. I had been diagnosed with every psychotic disorder you could think of. Downed pill after pill to try and keep the voices and visions away. My dad’s fault. He pushed them on me. No one ever listened. Anyway, my mom went more on the spiritual route. My dad forbade her to bring what he called ‘voodoo shit,’ his words not mine, into his home. So, my mom began sneaking me out to meet this lady, Lydia, from the cable show I was telling you about. She was sweet, very nice.”
“Right, the lady with the sexy ass tattoos who talks to spirits and all that stuff?” Aaron asked.
“Yes, sexy tattoo lady,” Haylee shook her head before continuing. “Things were getting better with her. She taught me a lot of spiritual stuff. I was burning the sage, wearing the crystal necklace, everything. My mom made me hide this all from my dad. They fought a lot over me. I could see, even as a dumb kid, what I was doing to their marriage. Little broken Haylee, the freak, the crazy one who heard voices. The daughter who ruined our family. It was always my fault. My dad eventually found out about Lydia, the secret visits, the voodoo lady who actually helped me.” Haylee took a deep breath. Her story was wordy, flowing like a broken faucet. She was shocked at how easy it was to speak aloud. She thought she would choke on the story; her voice would tremble. No, it was as if it had been wanting to come out, waiting to be spilled. To be released deep from inside her.
Aaron held onto every word, like a six-year-old kid being read to by a loving parent before bedtime. Eyes wide, digesting everything Haylee was giving him.
“So, he flipped out, typical overprotective cop dad stuff. It was the biggest fight I’d ever seen them get into. My sister and I hid in our rooms. We held each other under my big heavy comforter, and we cried. I remember it so vividly. My mom took us both stormed out of the house. Told us we were going to our grandparents. She dropped us off there. My sister and I, confused, scared. It was terrible. It was over the summer. I remember, because my grandparents didn’t have air conditioning, the house was sticky. Tears mixed with sweat. My mom didn’t come home that night.”
“What happened?”
“My sister and I fell asleep on the couch. Our grandparents let us stay up late watching the Cosby Show on Nick-At-Nite. I never grew out of that channel,” Haylee forced a laugh, filled with remorse, laced with sadness. We got a call late; it woke my sister and I up. My grandmother picked up an old cordless phone, and they still had them back then. She just started balling. I can still hear her frantic voice. My mom had left our home after fighting with my dad all night. She returned to pack up bags, and he was waiting for her, drunk and angry. The bags were still in the car. So, I understand how one simple accident can change someone’s life. Because, a drunk driver was going over ninety down a country road, the guy ran a stop sign. The son of a bitch hit my mother’s car on the driver’s side. They both died. Dead, just like that. I never got to see my mother ever again. Gone.”
“Fuck…” Aaron muttered.
“Haylee, the poster child for a fucked-up life. Sometimes, honestly, Aaron, I wonder how the hell I am still alive. How am I still standing here? How haven’t I eaten a bullet yet? Overdosed on those pills. I have fantasized about it often.” Again, she rubbed the wounds on her wrists.
“That’s nothing to joke about,” he said.
“I’m serious,” Haylee wiped away a tear that snuck its way out. She tried to fight it back, to stay strong.
“Don’t say that,” Aaron shook his head.
“I can tell you why,” Haylee took the Norco from her pocket, popped it onto her tongue. There was one last drink of her wine, and she guzzled that down. “Because I am too damn afraid of what’s waiting for me when I die. I’m too fucking scared.”
NINETEEN
Aaron stepped outside of Haylee’s duplex apartment, he needed a breather, to catch up with his thoughts, digest everything that was shared on the cramped puke green couch. Things got pretty intense, emotionally, and he needed to smoke. He’d been trying to make a connection with his beautiful neighbor for months, and they finally had a breakthrough.
One of the main reasons why Aaron even moved into the apartment in the first place was because he learned Haylee, the sole survivor of the Orr Road Massacre, rented out the attached apartment. He showed up to walk the premise with the landowner when he caught Haylee taking out her trash. A strikingly gorgeous woman in her early thirties, jet black hair, flawless skin. He’d describe her as drop-dead gorgeous to his parents. He’d known she was pretty just from the few photos of her that floated around the internet during the ordeal. He was not prepared for how pretty she was in person, though. He would never have known underneath her good looks; there was a broken, insecure mess of a human being. A beautiful mess, fucked up even more than he was.
And he was a pretty fucked up mess.
His front door was only a few steps from her own. He left Haylee alone with Trayer on the couch. He needed a smoke, shit; he needed it bad. It was cold as shit outside, so he hugged Haylee, and told her he would be right back. He was going to change out of his work clothes, smoke a quick joint, and then he would be back to sleep on the couch.
That made him smile. No one had ever asked him to protect them. It was a powerful feeling, manly, in a weird, sort of way. He put the joint to his lips, reached into his coat pocket, flicked his lighter, lit up the joint. He inhaled deep and strong holding it in his lungs. He reached into his pants pocket, this time grabbing his house keys. He exhaled, a cloud of dark smoke escaped his body, lost into the night sky.
Aaron entered his home. He flipped on his living room light. His home, an exact copy of Haylee’s, except his had far less décor. His house was mostly barren, resembling more of a college dorm than a lived-in apartment. He had the basics, an old worn couch, a flat-screen tv mounted to his wall. He had a kitchen table, even a study where he wrote. His walls lacked anything of personality, with the exception of a myriad of professionally framed movie posters.
Aaron paid no attention to his kitchen, walked over to his desk, where he left his laptop charging. He had taken another deep inhale from his joint when he noticed his laptop was missing.
“What the hell?” Aaron coughed, the smoke spilling from his lungs.
“—You that high you didn’t even see me? Sitting there in your kitchen? Seriously?” A deep voice broke the silence of the room.
“The fuck?” Aaron spun around, now facing into the kitchen. A large, well-built man sat at his kitchen table with his laptop open. He was older, late fifties, thick as an ox, his arms bulged through his tight long-sleeved under armor shirt.
“Get out of my house, man!” Aaron yelled, his voice high pitched, the joint fell from his mouth onto the stained white rug.
“Shut up,” The man stood and made his move. He was as fast as he was muscular. He was on Aaron quick, his worn black boot stepping onto the joint, putting it out.
“Don’t hurt me,” Aaron fell backward onto his writing desk, his arms flailing above his head.
“Your name Aaron?” the man asked.
“Y-Yeah,” Aaron stammered.
“Good,” the man lifted his foot, bent over, he picked up the crushed joint. “Hope you weren’t expecting to get your deposit back, you just burnt a hole in your shitty carpet.” He handed Aaron the crushed joint.
“Have a seat,” he pointed to the kitchen table. “We need to talk.”
“Who are you? Get the fuck out of my house, man! Ima call the cops, you can’t just break-in,” Aaron was trying to stand his ground, but there was no way he wanted a physical altercation with a man this size. He looked like Arnold and Stallone had a child. He was an old man buff like he had nothing better to do with his life than hit the gym four hours a day. In reality, there was more truth to that than Aaron would ever realize.
“My name is Gerald Leveille, former Detective, Haylee’s father. I’m here on business.”
“Jesus,” Aaron shook his head, holding his chest with his right hand. “You almost gave me a heart attack, man.”
“We need to talk,” Gerald pointed to the kitchen table again.
“Dude, you can’t break into my house and just make me talk to you,” Aaron was pissed now, the anger was overtaking the fear.
“Oh yeah?” Gerald let out a cocky laugh, almost mocking him. “You should password protect your laptop, kid.” Gerald walked over to the kitchen. He took his seat back, spun the laptop over to face Aaron. He had a word document open. It was Aaron’s latest project.
“Shit…” Aaron mumbled.
“So, this is your end game?” Gerald shook his head. “Tssk, Tssk, here I thought my daughter made a friend. It’s been over three years now. Yeah, know? Three years since she walked in on that fucking retard Robbie. I’m glad I taught my girls how to shoot. I just wish it was me that pulled the trigger—three years rebuilding her life. Then one afternoon she calls me, tells me she isn’t going to therapy anymore, talked it over with some guy. A friend, I think, doubtful a lover, I don’t think my poor daughter will ever trust like that ever again. Just another thing that man stole from her. A normal life, to love someone.”
“Look, man,” Aaron protested.
“He killed me fucking little girl” Gerald was almost yelling, he had to catch himself, he didn’t want Haylee to hear his voice. “—He was trying to kill my other too. I trusted that man with their safety. How do you think that makes me feel? I wasn’t there. I couldn’t protect them.” Gerald shook his head. “I got Haylee set up here. She wouldn’t come home after the incident, wouldn’t give me a chance to take care of her. I blew it. I know I did. I did a lot wrong raising those girls. I begged her to come home, to be with me. She wouldn’t. So, here I am, trying to fix the wrongs, okay? Trying to take care of her from Ohio. Trying to get her treatment, get her help. She’s all I got. I will stop at nothing to protect her. You get that, right? I pay for her medical bills, her car, insurance, I pay her damn rent. I’m going broke. I can’t do it forever. I wish I could.”
“Dude, seriously, why are you telling me this? I don’t even know you.”
“Because it was getting better, bridging the gap between us. She was letting me back in. Then you came around. Did you talk her out of treatment? She needs help. Can’t you see that? She’s sick. She’s got issues, deep, psychological issues. You’re ruining her life, and for what? This?” Gerald threw the laptop at Aaron. He caught it in his lap.
“It’s not what you think,” Aaron shook his head, searching for the words to explain.
“I know who you are, Aaron Hauser. I was a detective for over twenty years. I know all about your time in Hollywood. The accident with your drunk buddy. Cut
e, you almost died in that wreck. I know about the drug deal gone bad, too. That’s twice you stole life. You think you deserve to be here? Yeah, I know things. I was good at my job. The way I see it, you’re using my daughter to write this shit screenplay. Real-life sells, except you’re fictionalizing it just enough. You’re a fucking joke.” Gerald caught his fist tightening. He wanted to break the fat fuck’s nose.
“That’s not true,” Aaron shot back. “I’m not using anyone. I get inspired by people I know, I care about, and I write. It’s therapeutic, you asshole! It’s what I do. Haylee doesn’t know, because there isn’t anything to tell. This is my personal project. So, you have nothing, show her I don’t care,” Aaron retorted. Except he lied, he did care. He cared a lot. There was a great chance that if Haylee found out he had intended to move in, befriend her, gain her trust, just to learn more about her and the original murder case, so he could write a screenplay-his big break-back into Hollywood, then she very well may never speak to him again. When he thought about it now, it was a total douche move. It hadn’t happened that way in real life, they became friends, with real emotions, and it just so happened he wanted to write a screenplay.
“I don’t mind testing that theory,” Gerald stood up, extended his hand. “Give me the laptop; we can walk over there now. Show her the evidence.”
Aaron didn’t say a thing. He stood there frozen, his lips pursed tightly together in anger.
“That’s what I thought,” Gerald shook his head. “Here’s the deal. You stop talking to her, cut her out of your life. No explanation, no nothing. Just leave her alone. You’re toxic to her health. She will come back around to me, and I can get her back into the right state of mind. She needs to be on meds. She needs to straighten herself back out. If I see or hear you talking to her, I will be back. Oh, and don’t worry, I forwarded the word document to my email, in case you decide to get smart. It’s one forward away to her.”