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  I nodded my head rapidly. I was then dropped to the ground. My hand instinctively went to my throat as I gasped for air. There was definitely going to be a large bruise where that giant’s hand had been. “The clock is ticking,” Vinny added. The two guys glared at me, straightened their shirts, and turned to leave. Vinny caught himself in mid-stride and turned back to me, “My condolences about your father’s death,” he added. Then, they were gone.

  My entire body was shaking as I picked myself up off the ground. No, no, no. I could not be wrapped up in this. How was it that I came home out of the kindness of my heart and I was getting sucked into the world of my father’s habits? He was dead, and he was still ruining my life. How was I supposed to be able to find his stash of drugs and cash? I hadn’t even seen my father in nearly a decade, I wouldn’t know where he would hide his valuables.

  First thing was first, I needed to get Lyle and my mother away from there. Hurrying back to the grave site, I pulled on my brother’s hand. “We need to go,” I whispered to him.

  “What? Why?” he asked as he turned to look at me. His gray eyes bulged at the sight of my neck. I guess the bruising was already visible. “What in the hell happened to you?”

  “I don’t have time to explain. Let’s just go,” I urged Lyle.

  Confusion was written clear on his face, but he slowly nodded and pulled our mother away from the rambling conversation she had going on with one of our great-great-aunts. Despite my mother’s protesting, I pulled them towards the parking lot. “Let go of me! Let go of me, right now! I want to be with my Deacon!” my mother screeched at the top of her lungs, as if we had her chained up and were dragging her behind us. My brother hardly had a grip on her, she was just being dramatic. Honest to God, I didn’t even care about her causing a scene. My blood was pumping through my veins at a mile a minute. I had to come up with twenty-five thousand dollars worth of heroin and cash or else these guys were going to come after my family and me. I couldn’t just let that happen. Why couldn’t my father have done anything right?

  “Are you going to tell me what’s got you so spooked?” Lyle questioned me as he got in the car.

  I didn’t give him a response. I was so shocked and scared in that moment, that I couldn’t have spoken even if I wanted to. Lyle was just going to have to be patient with me.

  CHAPTER FIVE: LATE FRIDAY NIGHT

  Lyle questioned me the entire way home, but I couldn’t pull myself together enough to mutter a word. As soon as the car was parked, I launched myself from the car and ran into the house. My racing thoughts and the ringing in my ears were in competition in who could be the loudest. I had to get both to stop, I had to pull myself together. With trembling hands, I opened up the liquor cabinet my father kept stocked above the stove. Pulling down a cheap bottle of whiskey, I grabbed a glass from the dish rack and poured a half glass of the honey-colored liquid.

  “That’s your father’s!” my mother cried as she walked into the house.

  “Not now, mom!” I snapped. I couldn’t deal with her, not with everything else going on. “Lyle, please get her to her room,” I begged my brother.

  She wept the entire way up the stairs, my brother doing his best to soothe her woes. It was pissing me off how sad she was over the bastard. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have to deal with this disaster. He was selfish in life and selfish in death. Not once when he was stealing from that Vinny guy did he think of it affecting anyone but himself. So his addiction wasn’t just going to kill him, but was going to do in my mother, Lyle, and myself as well. What kind of cruel hell was this? I come back home to help my brother so that he can have a life of his own, and I get twisted up in some illegal scheme of my father’s. How in the world was I supposed to know where he hid his stash? It was dumbfounding me.

  Knocking back the whiskey in just a few gulps, I poured another glass. My chest was heaving as I struggled to calm down. How was I going to get out of this? If I went to the police, they could investigate it and keep my family safe… for a while. There had to be more involved in selling large amounts of heroin than just those two guys. So even if they caught the two that attacked me, their friends could just come after us. And they somehow knew I was a doctor… So it wasn’t like I could be selfish and run away—not that I wanted to. No matter what way I tried to look at it, I was stuck at least trying to find what my father had stolen.

  Lyle came running down the stairs, heading right over to me, “What is going on with you, Jase? Who did that to your neck?” he asked me.

  I just stared down into the glass in my hand, focusing on holding my hand steady as I raised it to my lips again. The liquor burned all the way down, tasting more like rubbing alcohol than actual whiskey with how cheap it was. “Jason, please talk to me…” Lyle pressed, resting a hand on my arm. My eyes watered. How could I tell him that our lives were in danger? Put more on his shoulders? His life was already hectic enough for a young man about to turn eighteen. But at the same time, not telling Lyle would be to leave him in the dark and in harm’s way. He needed to be safe and keep his guard up… “Whatever it is, we can get through it together, okay? Just tell me what’s going on.”

  My eyes shifted to him before looking back to the bottle of whiskey, tipping it to my glass yet again. “A couple of dad’s ‘friends’ attacked me at the funeral home,” I muttered to him.

  “Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you too bad did they?” Lyle asked, his eyes scanning over me to inspect for injuries.

  “No,” I said quietly. Standing in silence then, I closed my eyes and let the alcohol work its way through my bloodstream. It slowly lowered the volume in my head, both my thoughts and that godforsaken murmuring noise dialing back several notches. At last, I could actually think straight. Clearing my throat and opening my eyes, I stared down at my drink, “Apparently before dad died, he went on one last spree. Stole fifteen thousand dollars worth of heroin, and ten thousand cash. The guys don’t know where dad put it—and if I don’t find it, they are going to come after all of us.”

  Looking over to him, I could practically see my words sinking into Lyle. His eyes widened, and his hands went into his hair. “Oh my god,” Lyle whispered, his chest beginning to heave as the panic set in. “Wh-what are we going to do, Jase? O-Oh my g-god...” he stammered, starting to pace around the kitchen. “Do… Do you have that kind of money? Do you think you could get a loan?” he asked.

  I couldn’t help but let out a cynical fit of laughter. I held no resentment towards my brother, I wasn’t laughing at him. I was tickled because I had been so focused on how bad things had been for Lyle that I had actually let myself forget that things hadn’t exactly been easy for me either. While I was thankful to have a life of my own, the life I had was flawed all to hell. I had struggled to make it on my own because of the crappy circumstances I had come from. “No, I don’t have that kind of money, Lyle. And no bank is going to give me another loan. I went to med school with only scholarships and loans. Meaning, I’ve got a lot of debt,” I explained to him.

  “Fuck, Jason,” my brother exclaimed, tears collecting in his eyes as he twisted his fingers into the roots of his hair.

  Even though I was falling apart, I couldn’t let Lyle. One of us had to be able to hold it together. Stepping over to him, I placed my hands on his shoulders, “Hey, look at me,” I said to him firmly. When his gray eyes met mine, I stared back into his eyes with all seriousness, “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get this figured out. Nothing is going to happen to us. Don’t stress about this. I have a week off work, so I have time to get this sorted. I need you to hold it together.”

  Lyle was trembling with anxiety. I hated that I had to tell him, but it would be wrong to hide it from him when he was in danger too. The look Lyle was giving me made it look like he was going to retort to what I said, but then his lip quivered. Letting out a sigh, I pulled him into a hug. He hugged me tightly. “He’s dead, and he’s still not out of our lives,” Lyl
e croaked, referring to our father.

  “I know,” I sighed, rubbing his back lightly. “But I’m going to work all of this and then he will be out of our lives for good. Doesn’t that sound nice? In order for me to fix this, though, I’m going to need you to be strong and just continue your daily life. The last thing we need is for something else to happen, so our best bet is to play it safe. Try to never be alone, though, and keep your guard up.” Lyle nodded and pulled back, using the balls of his hands to rub his eyes.

  Turning back to the counter, I grabbed the bottle of whiskey. If I was going to get through the night, I was going to need it. Looking back to Lyle, I knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep with all this stress on his shoulders. “Wanna come sit with me?” I asked him. Lyle gave a weak nod. Motioning for him to follow me, I walked through the house until I reached the little den where the wood stove was. Back when I lived at home, my father spent most of his time in there getting high and watching a crappy twelve-inch television. When I turned on the light to the room, my heart sank. Back in the day, it had been untouched by my mother’s hoarding. But now, every square inch of the room was filled with stuff. Newspapers, books, plastic bins filled with God knows what—none of it looked to hold any sort of monetary or personal value. It was going to take all night to go through just that room. “I take it dad gave up years ago…” I mumbled to my brother as I surveyed the room.

  Lyle sighed heavily, “Yeah. About three years ago he gave up cocaine and started solely using heroin. He got lazy and stopped fighting her about… well, everything.”

  Clearly. Taking the narrow pathway to the other side of the room, I took another gulp of the horrible liquor before setting the bottle and a glass atop a pile of books. Removing my tie and suit jacket, I placed them on the arm of the recliner as Lyle sat down in it. Plopping down onto the floor, I pulled a random plastic bin over to me and took a deep breath as I mentally prepared myself to embark on this scavenger hunt. It was going to be a long, long night. Popping the lid off the cheap box, I began to sort through its contents.

  As I sorted through what seemed to be a living diary of my mother’s life, detailing down to every piece of junk mail that had her name on it, I did my best to not focus on the stress of the situation. With the help of whiskey and conversation with my brother, I managed to lose myself in the task at hand. Jesus Christ, why had I denied myself liquor for so long? Consciously I knew it was because I didn’t want to go down the same road of addiction as my father, but it was working wonders for my migraine—which was nothing more than a dull ache at this point. And I knew I would pass out drunk in a couple of hours, ultimately getting the sleep I needed. Even if I lost hours in my search for my father’s stash, at least I would have finally gotten sleep. And hopefully getting rest would help me think more objectively and find it sooner.

  Lyle and I reminisced about mischief we would get into as kids when my father wasn’t around, most of which was elaborate schemes to steal food from the pantry. Even though the memories were laced with tragedy, we actually had made the best out of a terrible situation. “My favorite game was playing spy,” Lyle chuckled, taking my glass and drinking a small sip of whiskey. Even though he was underage, he deserved to take the edge off. I think anyone would understand that if they knew the situation we were in. Besides, it wasn’t like I was going to let him get plastered.

  He passed the glass back to me. I chuckled and then took another sip of the liquor before responding, “We would pretend the pantry was a vault with diamonds inside.”

  Lyle laughed along with the memory, “You always made up great stories to go along with it, too. You were the best big brother.”

  My smile faltered a bit, guilt consuming me again. Was I ever going to be able to forgive myself for leaving Lyle behind? Maybe the universe was trying to give me a way to make things right with him by getting me into this situation with my dad’s friends. Or, maybe the whiskey was really starting to get to me. “I hope I can be the best brother again, one day,” I admitted to him, my words slurring just a bit. Yeah, I was definitely drunk.

  “Oh, gosh, Jase… I didn’t mean it like that,” Lyle frowned. “I know why you left. I mean, I didn’t understand when I was younger but now that I’m the age you were when you left… I get it. Eighteen years with our parents is enough for anyone. Believe me.”

  It was strange. For years, those words were the only thing I wanted to hear from Lyle. That he understood why I left, that he didn’t blame me. But I wasn’t relieved like I thought I would be. It felt like a cop-out to me. He shouldn’t have had to learn from first-hand experience what it was like to be with our parents for so long. I was his big brother, I was meant to protect him. So while it did mean a great deal to me that he was willing to forgive me, it wasn’t enough. My glassy eyes locked with his, “I’m going to get you out of this town, Lyle. Once I get these guys off our backs, and mom gets the help she needs, you can come stay with me. I only have one bedroom, but we’ll make it work. And we’ll be able to move on with our lives and never have to live in the past ever again.”

  The corners of Lyle’s lips turned up. A breathy chuckle escaped his lips, “You’re drunk.” Lyle moved onto the floor then and started to sort through a stack to help out.

  “Perhaps. But I mean it,” I pressed further. “I’m going to make this right.”

  CHAPTER SIX: PAINKILLERS

  The Next Morning

  The screams from upstairs sounded miles away, but it was loud enough to bring me back from the abyss I had fallen into after half a bottle of whiskey. As I started to wake up, I was greeted by the reminder as to why I didn’t use alcohol to help my migraine before. Not only was I afraid of addiction, but I was also afraid of a hangover making it worse. And with the way I felt, I had every right to be scared. My God, had I been hit by a bus too? My entire body was aching from the alcohol-induced dehydration I was experiencing. Forcing my eyes open, I winced at the morning light coming through a crack in the blinds. Of course I had finally blacked out, and I only managed to stay unconscious for a few hours.

  Sitting up and forcing my bloodshot eyes to take in my surroundings, I realized I was on the floor in the den. Clearing my throat, I stood up and stumbled out of the room. My mother’s screams instantly assaulted my ears when the door opened. Ugh. What could she be going off about this early? Finding the bathroom, I went to the sink and splashed my face with cold water. Just above my head was my mother’s room. She was wailing uncontrollably as my brother tried to calm her down. Their words were deadened by her cries and the floorboards separating us. Something told me the commotion was caused by her refusing her medication. Ugh, I had forgotten I had to deal with that.

  How was I meant to get close enough to talk to her when every noise cut like razor blades? How was I supposed to deal with anything going on if I couldn’t even handle the slightest noise or glimmer of light? Walking out of the bathroom, I sauntered into the kitchen and poured myself a tall glass of water. As I chugged it, hoping to hydrate myself to ease my hangover, I knew that it wasn’t going to help much. Even if hydrating took the edge off, I was going to feel miserable all day.

  Taking my cell phone from my pocket, I searched through my contacts until I found the number I needed. While I wasn’t the most social guy, I still had colleagues that I chatted with occasionally and had professional relationships with. The one I was closest to, though he was still kept at arm’s length, was Dr. Stephan Michaels. Inhaling, I pressed the call button and raised the phone to my ear. My eyes closed to help block out the light as I waited for him to pick up. Even the sound of the phone ringing was grating and making my head hurt worse. My index finger and thumb pinched the bridge of my nose, hoping the pressure point would bring me a little relief.

  “Dr. Michaels,” the voice on the other side of the line picked up.

  “Hey Stephan, it’s Jason,” I greeted.

  “Oh, hey Jason. You doing okay? I heard about your father. I’m ter
ribly sorry or your loss.”

  “I’m doing alright, I suppose… Just… I have this migraine that I can’t shake. I’ve tried everything. Acetaminophen, chamomile tea, peppermints, meditation, hot showers, cold showers… Nothing is helping. I know this is unprofessional and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have so much going on… but do you think you could send me in a prescription for some painkillers?”

  “Jason…” Stephan groaned. I bit my lip. It was out of line for me to ask. It was against the rules for him write me a prescription without a physical consultation—but I was hoping he would have some mercy for me and help me off the books just this one time. “Alright, fine… but you’re getting a starting dose.”

  “Thank you so much, Stephan. I owe you,” I breathed. I then gave him the location of the pharmacy closest to my mother’s house so that he could call it in for me.

  ~ ~ ~

  I came back home with breakfast for everyone and prescriptions for myself and my mother. Her medicine had been ready at the pharmacy—the fact she was still on her other bottles meant she had been off her meds longer than I expected. I had taken a couple of painkillers as soon as I got them, so luckily the pain was already dulled, and I could deal with her properly. When I walked in the door, Lyle and our mom were sitting on the couch together. “See mom, I told you he was coming back,” Lyle soothed her, rubbing her back.