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  There Lyle was at just five years old, in a pair of hand-me-down pajamas. His large gray eyes peered up at me, and he raised his index finger to his lips, “Daddy’s coming,” he whispered to me.

  My eyes went to the front door as if my father was going to barge in right then. Realizing that I was questioning how my dead dad was going to come in the door and not the fact a five-year-old Lyle told me that, I looked back to the floor where the young boy had been hiding. He wasn’t there anymore. What… what just happened? Was I hallucinating? It was probably from mixing the pills with alcohol; there was a warning label on the bottle about mixing the two, but staying intoxicated was the only way I was coping with any of it. If I was sober, I would literally be losing my mind. All I could think about was what would happen if I couldn’t find the stash when I was completely sober. I had no way of protecting my family if they did come after us…

  Trying to shake the imagery from my head, I got back to sorting through the shelves. Why couldn’t he have left behind some kind of obvious clue? Some sort of indication as to where he went when he wasn’t at home if he hadn’t hidden the drugs and money in the house. With how much of a disarray the house was in, I hadn’t been able to find his cell phone yet. Out of all the endless stacks of papers and belongings, there wasn’t a single piece of evidence as to where the stash could be?

  What if there weren’t any drugs? What if those guys were just trying to mess with me and get money out of it? Why would they single me out, though? And why would they claim it to be so much? I knew the threat was real, and thinking otherwise was just hopeful thinking. And I didn’t have time for that. Every second that passed added to the building anxiety within me. Who knew when I was going to find the stash, or if I was even going to be able to. It was already noon on Sunday, meaning Monday was just twelve hours away. I had no idea what my life would be like at this time the following day. Would I be dead? Would I be making arrangments to bury my mother and brother?

  Gulping down the last of the bourbon, I shuffled into the kitchen and reached for the liquor cabinet yet again. With unsteady hands, I filled my glass with whatever brown liquor I had grabbed down from the shelf. Never in my life had I drank so much. Even when I turned twenty-one, I hadn’t gone overboard with drinking. Before this weekend I could probably count on one hand how many times I had consumed alcohol. But since I got back from the funeral on Friday, I had polished off a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of bourbon. What in the hell had my life become? How had I been cast so deep inside my father’s world? Why me? I wanted to go back to a migraine being my biggest problem. But my outlook on how this was going to play out was becoming bleaker and bleaker.

  As I moved back into the living room, the incessant ringing gradually returned. I grit my teeth in frustration. Every time I started to think that it was gone forever, it would sneak back up on me. The low, muffled notes filled my ears in a whispery white noise. I lied to myself and said I would get an appointment with an otolaryngologist to get my hearing checked out when I got back to work. I didn’t think I was going to make it back to work, honest to God. Those guys were going to kill me, and there was nothing I could do about it. And with that thought burning on the forefront of my mind, I took a deep drink of the bitter rum.

  My vision was starting to blur as the excessive alcohol worked its way through my bloodstream. With a wobbly stance, I continued to pull apart and search through everything in the living room. The whispering grew louder as I moved around, but at that point, the alcohol was keeping me from getting frustrated with it. All of my drinking was starting to catch up to me, leaving me numb to all of my emotions. And for the first time, I could understand why people turned into alcoholics. Having such little personal experience with liquor, I never really understood the appeal when since it made people so sick in the morning. But I wasn’t even concerned with how I was going to feel in the next day—it wasn’t like I was able to sleep anyways. So as long as I kept drinking, there wouldn’t be a problem.

  Suddenly, I realized I hadn’t been paying attention at all to what I had been sorting through since I returned from the kitchen. Gazing back at the portion of the shelf I had just sorted through, I debated whether or not I should go back through it. Even in my daze, I would have been able to identify something of value, right? I ran a hand through my wild raven locks; it was hard to even think of specific things I had seen, the entire house had been one big blur of stacks of old magazines and newspapers, bags of clothes, boxes of junk, and shelves of dusty knick-knacks. Could I really risk not going back through it? Letting out a loud groan, I moved back over to the last place I could recall and started looking through the piles again. What if I was just wasting my time? I more than likely was, but I couldn’t take a chance on missing something. I was desperate for any scrap of evidence.

  There was a thud in the kitchen, snapping focus away from my search. Mother wasn’t up, was she? I really couldn’t handle another one of her episodes right then… But, it wasn’t like I could leave her unattended in a room full of knives and potentially dangerous appliances. Plucking my glass from the shelf, I took another swig of rum and headed back into the kitchen, trying to prepare myself to put up with her. But as I stepped through the archway to the kitchen, I was paralyzed by shock at seeing a man standing at the kitchen sink. He didn’t have to turn around for me to know who it was. I could hear the cap being popped off a beer bottle before my father faced me. His piercing pale green eyes stared me down as he brought his beer to his lips and took a swig of it. I could smell the pungent, yeasty beer from where I was standing. “What in the hell are you doing here, Jason?” he asked, his tone gruff as usual.

  My eyes scanned over him, unable to iterate anything at the moment. He stood before me, wearing one of those horribly stained plaid shirts and a pair of jeans that were more brown than blue. His scruffy facial hair was starting to turn gray and his crow’s feet were more severe than I remembered. My dad’s eyes narrowed at me as I stood in silence, “What? You don’t talk anymore, or you just too good for us now?” After a gulp of beer, he snickered at me, “Then again, you’ve always thought you were too good for us.”

  “No, I don’t think that,” I muttered, my eyes still studying him. He looked so real. For a pill-induced hallucination, it was impressive how accurately my mind aged him.

  “Yeah, you do. Don’t you lie to me,” my father called over to me, his tone harsh. “What are you even still doin’ here? No one asked you to be here.”

  My brow furrowed, “What am I doing here? I’m cleaning up the mess you left! Mom and Lyle are in danger because you had to run off and steal from some thugs! What was I supposed to do? Turn my back on them? No one could blame me if I did. I’d just be following in your footsteps.”

  I blinked and he was in my face. How had he moved so quickly? Wrapping his hand around my throat, he pushed me back into a wall. “Don’t forget who ran away, Jason. You are the one who left and never came back. So why don’t you stop trying to put the blame on anyone but yourself? Grow up and be a man.”

  “You were the one who stole heroin!” I screamed in his face, my lips curling in anger. I wasn’t some little kid anymore he could just toss around. “I never put them in danger! All you’ve done is put all of our lives at risks. Why couldn’t you just ruin your own life?!”

  With a loud, animalistic snarl, he slammed my head back into the wall, causing my vision to triple. “You left them with me, didn’t you? How is that not putting them in danger, huh? You’re no better than me, and it’s due time you understand that.” With my father so close to my face, it was hard to ignore just how much I looked like him—and it sickened me. I wished I could scrub away every characteristic I had gotten from him. He chuckled as he kept one hand wrapped around my neck, his other hand raising to pat my cheek, “Father like son.”

  The cynical humor sizzled out in his olive hues, abruptly being taken over my uncontrollable rage. His intense, menacing eyes burned into mine a
s he began to really choke me. I struggled to breathe as I tried to fight him off, putting all of my strength into trying to peel his hands away from me. My father let out maniacal laughter as I struggled against him. “You’ve never been strong, Jason. You’ll never be strong,” he cooed at me. My vision was starting to spot. How was he so much stronger than me still? The world was growing fuzzy, and his laughter was starting to sound distant.

  I gasped for air as my eyes popped open. My heart was thudding in my ears as my eyes wildly searched the room around me. Wha… what? I was standing in the living room, slumped against a wall of shelves. Instinctively, my hand went to my throat. It had felt so real… I must have dozed off. When had I even leaned against the shelf? Get it together, Jason, I thought to myself. Putting my face in my hands, I took several deep breaths, trying to gather my thoughts. This wasn’t the time to start slipping mentally. I had to stay on my game and find the stash. Time was ticking. Slapping my cheeks lightly to try and wake myself up, I moved to the next wall and resumed my search. Just that one room felt endless. With each wall being lined with shelves and countless stacks on the ground and piled on the tables, I hadn’t even made a dent in what I had to look through.

  “Jason? Jason! Jason, come here!” my mother called from upstairs.

  I groaned, having to close my eyes to pull myself together mentally. My mom was going to make my migraine come back, wasn’t she? Giving myself a mental pep talk, I let out a heavy sigh and moved to the stairs. Might as well see what she wants so that maybe I can keep her from getting too upset. Going to her room, I stepped inside. “Yeah, mom?” I asked.

  She was sitting up on the bed, her eyes frantically searching the floorboards. “The shadows are trying to get me, Jasy,” she whispered rather loudly to me. I could tell then that her eyes were focused on the shadows of her furniture.

  Frowning, I moved over to her and sat on the edge of the bed. Reaching over to her, I took her hands in mine. “Mom, nothing is trying to get you, okay? It’s just in your head.”

  Her gray eyes were glossy with tears, she shook her head. “You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know,” she repeated, shaking her head. “They are going to gobble me up as soon as I’m alone.”

  I could see the genuine terror in her face. My mother believed in her delusions full-heartedly, making it hard to reason with her most of the time. She just wouldn’t believe that the things she saw and the things she heard were just in her head. It probably didn’t help that my father often had acted as though they were real instead of reassuring her that they couldn’t hurt her. Even though I was under more pressure than ever, I couldn’t just belittle her when she was truly scared for her well-being. But at the same time, I needed to assure her that she was safe. “I promise you, mom, there is nothing in here that is going to hurt you. I know it feels real, but it’s just your mind trying to play tricks on you. Do you trust me?” I asked her, holding her gaze.

  “Don’t be absurd, of course I trust you, Jasy. But—” Standing from the bed, I walked over to one of the longer shadows on the floor, coming from a dresser in front of her bedroom window. “Jasy! Be careful!” she screeched in a panic. I put a foot down on the shadow. And, of course, nothing happened. Looking over to her, she was panting as she frantically examined me. The look in her eyes was a twisted display of horror and sheer fear. What in the world could she possibly be seeing? But then shock widened her big steel-colored eyes. “H-How… how… How are you… how are you still standing? They are attacking your legs!”

  “See? You think you see shadow monsters attacking me, but I’m perfectly fine. Here, maybe this will help,” I said, stepping to the window and drawing the curtains closed.

  “No!” my mother screamed. Tears erupted from her eyes, “Now I can’t see them! I won’t know when they will get closer!”

  Letting out a sigh, I just gave up. I needed to get back to the living room anyways. Pulling the curtains open, I moved back over to her. “Mom, there is nothing in the shadows.”

  “Why don’t you just stay in here with me? You can protect me when they get too close. I’ll tell you stories,” she nearly pleaded with me, grabbing my forearms as though she could hold me down.

  My heart was breaking. It was beyond aggravating that my mom was self-inflicting these episodes because she was refusing her medication, but that didn’t change the fact that the fear she was feeling was genuine—even if the threat wasn’t. There was no way she could care for herself. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I changed the topic on her, “Mom… do you want Lyle to go to college?”

  The alarm in her facial expression depleted almost instantly and was replaced with confusion, “Of course I want him to go to college! He’s such a bright young boy. He’s going to make such a handsome architect. Why do you ask that, sweet boy?”

  I nibbled on my lip, not realizing how hard this conversation would be. It was due time to have the talk, though. My thumbs rubbed into the back of her hands as I cradled them in mine. “Can you promise me you won’t get upset?”

  “Of course,” my mother smiled at me. She had such a pretty smile. When she had a gleam in her eye and a smile on her face, she looked just like any other woman her age. My father never appreciated how lovely or sweet she was. He just took advantage of it to make her think he was the best a person like her could do. And my mom was so lost in her mental illness that I was sure she would never understand the quality of life she could have now that my dad was dead if she just took her damn medicine.

  “Well… the problem is, he can’t go to college if he lives here. And if he doesn’t live here, then there’s no one to care for you… So we need to talk about what your living situation will be.”

  Her brow furrowed, “What do you mean? I live here, silly boy.”

  “But if Lyle goes to college, then who will care for you?” I asked her gently, not wanting to push her too far.

  My mother’s eyes searched mine as if I were hiding the answer from her. It was like I could see the wheels turning in her head as she started to put everything together. “I-I don’t know…” she admitted, her voice weak and shaky. And there it was, I could see it in her eyes—a brief moment of clarity. Reality was revealing itself to her, peeking out from behind the fog of schizophrenia. And for those few seconds she was Melinda Gilmore—not ‘the crazy lady from down the street’. Tears glazed my mother’s gray eyes, “Are you going to put me in one of those insane asylums? I don’t want to rot away in one of those places, Jase. I-I… I know I can’t take care of myself, I know that. But… But I—”

  I gave her hands a light squeeze, “No, mom. I wouldn’t do that to you. You are going to have to go into state-funded assisted living, though. I’m going to try and get it worked out, and get you in one real close to where I live. Things are going to change now that dad isn’t around, and I promise you they will be for the better… but you’re going to have to take your medication for me to be able to help you.” My gaze held hers with intensity, wanting her to see how genuine I was being. While things still weren’t simple with drug dealers being after us, I wanted to have hope that once my father’s mistakes were behind us, that all of us could find some normalcy and happiness. We all deserved at least that.

  My mother blinked rapidly, trying to hold her tears back. It was so surreal to see her suddenly thinking conscientiously. I hadn’t seen her so clear headed since I was just a little boy. Her gaze shifted back over to the shadows on the floor, trepidation touching her features but she kept her resolve. “I’ve really lost it, haven’t I?” she asked me, a profound sadness in her voice. “I don’t even know how long it’s been since I last saw you… And I don’t know how long it’s been since you got back… I’m a terrible mother, aren’t I?”

  “Don’t get yourself too worked up,” I pressed, looping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into me. I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew I didn’t want her so upset with herself. “You’re not a terrible mom,”
I assured her. “Everyone is allowed to have their own problems. I’m here to help you with yours now. You just have to listen to me. I promise I want the best for you, I won’t do anything to hurt or humiliate you.”

  My mother gave me a weak nod, before looking over to her nightstand. “You want me take my pills, don’t you?”

  I sighed heavily, “You need to, mom. Even though you’re having some lucidity right now, you won’t stay like this. And I have a lot on my shoulders right now. So while I’m trying to get things figured out, it would really help me out if you would take your medicine.” With how fragile she was, I didn’t have it in me to explain what was going on with my father’s ‘friends’. She would panic and make things a lot worse. So the less my mom knew, the better.

  A heavy sigh passed her lips. My mom then reached over and grabbed her pill organizer. “What day is it?” she asked, her fingertips running across the letters on top of the little compartments that identified each day of the week.

  “It’s Sunday,” I muttered. Even saying the day made the stress crash down on my shoulders. How long had I been in there with her? I had to get back to searching for the stash.

  I watched as she popped open the container and poured the pills into the palm of her hand. She didn’t have to say it for me to know she felt defeated; her shoulders were slumped, and each exhale was more of a sigh than a breath. But, my mother didn’t say a word. Chasing the pills with a sip of her water, she sat the pill organizer and water glass back on her nightstand. When my mom sat back up, I gave her a hug. Really I didn’t have the words to thank her for willingly going back on her medication. My life was a complete mess and not having to worry about her having an episode any time soon would give me a break, which I desperately needed. As I pulled back from the hug, her hand was placed gingerly on my cheek. My green eyes leveled with hers, and she let out another sigh. “You look so much like your father, it’s almost painful,” my mother breathed to me.