Stuck Page 8

  I was exhausted of this song and dance. I was tired of her severe mood swings and making me out to be the bad guy for just doing things to help her. “Mom… please get up,” I called over to her, approaching her slowly.

  “Why would you do this?! Do you want to upset him?!” she screamed at me.

  “He’s dead!” I snapped back at her.

  And in an instant, the tears stopped rolling down her cheeks. Her wide, sad eyes narrowed in fury as she sprung to her feet and lunged at me. Her nails scratched my cheek when she swung her hand out at me. I pulled back, and Lyle reached and grabbed her wrist. “Mom, calm down! Mom!” Lyle demanded as our mother defiantly lunged at me again, tackling me to the floor. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t want to hurt her or make her afraid of me. When my mom swung at me again, I caught her forearm. Lyle touched her shoulder, and she flung her other arm around to hit him. He grabbed her arm and pulled her off of me. I got to my feet while still having a hold of her other arm. She struggled against us as we moved her over to the bed. Her lips were curled to her teeth as she screamed at the both of us from the top of her lungs.

  We didn’t have to speak to each other to know what needed to be done, it wasn’t the first time we had to restrain her. Moving onto the bed, I used my weight to pin her down. Lyle hurried over to the boxes of clothes and retrieved two of our father’s belts. “Get off of me! Gett off of me! Don’t you hurt me!” she screamed at me, struggling against me.

  “I’m sorry, mom,” I frowned at her, “You aren’t yourself right now. We’re just going to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or us.”

  Lyle moved back over to the bed. Working together, we got her arms to the headboard and strapped her arms down. Moving off of her, she flailed against the bed, kicking her legs as hard as she could. Mom used every curse word in the book as she fought against the restraints. We had to get her to quiet down or else the neighbors would call the cops. That was the last thing we needed. Moving from the room, I hurried downstairs and reached into the medicine cabinet. Shuffling through the bottles, I found sleeping aids. Grabbing the bottle and a glass of water, I ran back upstairs.

  “What are you doing?” Lyle asked me as I got back in the room.

  “We need her to go back to sleep. Her regular meds will take too long to kick in to get her to quiet down,” I explained, opening the bottle and tapping one out into my hand before moving over to her nightstand. Getting her daily pills in my hand as well, I picked up her water glass and turned to her. She was screaming the entire time, worsening my migraine by the moment. As she screeched, I cupped my hand over her mouth and let the pills drop inside. Moving quickly, I pinched her nose and poured some of the water into her mouth. It wasn’t like I wanted to make her choke or anything, but she had to calm down. My mom gagged at first and still tried to fight against me, but within a few seconds, the pressure was too much on her lungs, and her body forced itself to swallow the pills.

  Tears bubbled from her eyes yet again, my hand still over her mouth so that she didn’t start screaming. After a couple of minutes, my mother’s anger deflated, but she still wept. Lifting my hand from her face, she shook her head at me, “Why do you hate me so much? Why must you torture me?”

  I gently brushed some hair from her face, “I’m not torturing you. I’m keeping you from having any more violent outbursts. I’m going to untie you as soon as you are completely calmed down. I promise.”

  It was evident that she didn’t believe me, turning her face away from me as she wept. I didn’t say a word, just sitting there and watching over her as she cried. Soon, she stopped crying and just laid there. And eventually, her breathing deepened, the sleeping pills kicking in. Leaning over, I unfastened the belts and stood from the bed. Lyle and I moved from the room, going downstairs. Moving over to the kitchen counter, I started brewing a pot of coffee. “You weren’t lying when you say she’s gotten a lot worse,” I called over to Lyle as he browsed through the pantry.

  He let out a loud yawn, “Yeah… Hopefully whatever home you manage to get her in will be able to get her back to a semi-manageable level of sanity. Speaking of which, when do we need to start making arrangements with that?”

  “I already started the process,” I informed Lyle as I fixed him a cup of coffee, knowing he had work in about an hour. “The night you came to the hospital to find me, I went ahead and made the phone calls to get it going. I got an email last night from the person helping me enroll her in the program, and unfortunately, I don’t think she will be able to get into one in the city. The ones there are either all filled up, or above the price range we can afford since the state only pays so much of it. The closest one that falls in our price range, and has vacancy, is two hours away. I know she won’t be happy with that… so if we want to maintain a relationship with her, we will have to dedicate time to going to see her regularly. You know, so she doesn’t feel like we’ve abandoned her or something.”

  Lyle frowned and nodded, “I definitely don’t want her to feel like that. We’ll work it out… I hate it’s come to this…”

  “Me too,” I murmured, leaning against the counter after I handed him the coffee. “Maybe in a few years, she’ll be well enough to merge with the outside world again. I think this is something mom needs. That way she can be on her medication long enough to understand that it’s to help her, not limit her. Once she gets over that barrier and mourning over dad, she may adjust quickly.”

  “I hope so. It’d be nice for mom to actually act like a mom,” Lyle said, pouring a bowl of cereal. “When will she be leaving?”

  “Probably the end of the week,” I told him. “They are getting back to me with an exact day once she’s officially enrolled in the program at the facility in our price range.”

  Lyle drank his coffee and ate his bowl of cereal. “So what are you going to do today?"

  “I don’t know,” I sighed. I was feeling like complete shit. After the beating I took yesterday and having to man-handle my mother, I was physically worn out. And I was having body aches, which I feared was from taking too many of the painkillers. So despite needing to find the stash, I needed to listen to my body and take it easy that morning. I was pretty sure after the beating Vinny and Roger gave me the day before, they would let me breathe for a few days—so some actual rest would do me some good. “I think I’m going to lay back down for a bit, at least while mom is still asleep. Then get up and go through dad’s phone, try and form a plan for this evening.”

  “If you get a plan figured out, I’ll help you out when I get home,” Lyle told me as he stood and moved to put his dishes in the sink.

  After a little more small talk, Lyle went to the bathroom to get ready for work. I dragged myself back upstairs and into mine and Lyle’s bedroom. Going over to my bed from adolescence, I flopped down on it and tossed an arm over my eyes. Even though I had already rationalized my reasoning for laying down, I couldn’t help but feel like I was wasting time. I needed to be out looking for the items my dad stole so that I could get the hell out of that town. But I also knew that if I couldn’t shake the migraine or the ringing in my ears associated with it, I wasn’t going to be able to function much longer. And clearly, liquor-induced sleep wasn’t restful enough for me, still feeling like I hadn’t slept at all that entire week. My thoughts started to slow as my body already begun to fall back into a slumber, worn out from everything I had endured in the last five days. Soon, I fell into a sound sleep, not even hearing when Lyle came back into the room to dress for work.

  My eyes opened to stare up at a white popcorn-textured ceiling. Blinking slowly, I looked around the room. My eyes fell on a window with dark green curtains, a hard rain pouring outside. I could hear it pounding on the roof in a soothing noise. Sitting up on the bed, I looked around to see I was in my parents’ room. What was I doing in here? The door flew open, my mother marching directly to me. “What did you do, Deacon?!” she screamed.

  Deacon? Why was she calling me
that? I didn’t even have control over my body as I stood from the bed. My mother went to pound on my chest, but my hands caught her arms. “I think you need to calm down, Melinda,” I warned her, unable to control what was coming out of my mouth, either. That wasn’t my voice… I was seeing from my father’s perspective.

  “I thought you loved me,” she said, erupting in tears. “I heard you on the phone with that woman! I heard how you were talking to her.”

  “You’re insane,” I hissed. “You don’t know what you heard.”

  “I’m not insane,” she defended. “Okay, maybe I am, but I know what I heard. I know you’ve been seeing whoever Macy is behind my back. Why would you do this to me? I’m the mother of your children. I’m your wife!” Her big stormy eyes were filled with tears, looking utterly miserable as she confronted me. What was this? Had I overheard this argument as a kid?

  I shoved her away from me, “Get the hell out of my face, woman. You really think you’re enough for me? You just better be happy that you’re the one I come home to most nights. Because I don’t have to.”

  “You’re horrible,” my mother spat.

  I got in her face then, “Yeah? And what are you going to do about it?”

  She ripped away from me and ran from the room in tears. Anger was rushing through my veins, my nostrils flaring. Thoughts that weren’t my own ran through my mind: Who does she think she is? I’m not some dog that she owns, my father’s voice sounded in my head. I could fucking strangle her for talking to me like that.

  I was pacing back and forth rapidly. I had to calm down before I went after her and really hurt her. Even though I wasn’t my father, rather just experiencing what he was, I could tell he didn’t actually want to hurt my mother at all—that he was actually afraid that he would hurt her. Before I knew it, I was pacing over to the nightstand and fishing out a tobacco tin. Tying a rubber tourniquet around my bicep, I grabbed the needle with trembling hands. Suddenly I could feel the withdrawal symptoms he was feeling, my entire body feeling like it was being pricked by shards of glass and sweat covering my face and back. Without hesitation, I sank the needle into a visible vein and pressed the plunger. Heroin raced into my system, and even though I didn’t yet feel the effects, I already felt relief just knowing it was in my body.

  Sitting back on the bed, I waited for the drugs to take over. As they slowly crept up on me, my mouth went dry, and the body aches started to ease. Her cries began to drown into the background as I entered a pain-free, carefree state of being.

  I jerked up in the bed, gasping for air as I awoke. My heart was pounding in my chest. What in the hell kind of dream was that? Running a hand through my hair, I tried to calm myself down. Looking over at the clock, I realized I had been asleep for a couple of hours. I guess I needed to get up anyways. As I moved from the bed, I groaned a bit. My body was aching even more than earlier. Maybe the painkillers actually were adversely affecting my body, I had been abusing them a bit. Luckily the nap, despite not being very restful, appeared to free me of my migraine—and I didn’t hear the ringing in my ears either. Going downstairs, I grabbed my dad’s phone from the charger and moved to the dining room table. As I started up his phone and tried to be happy to finally have some relief from that migraine, I couldn’t shake the dream from my mind. Why had I dreamed that?

  CHAPTER TEN: CHASING DEADENDS

  Later That Afternoon

  I had been knocking on my mother’s door for nearly ten minutes, trying to bargain with her to open the door. “Mom, please open the door. I’m worried about you,” I called to her.

  “Go away! I don’t want to see you, Jason! You just stay away from me! You hear me?! Stay away from me!” she screamed back for the millionth time.

  Why was she acting like this? I had given my mother her medicine that morning, so she shouldn’t be acting so outrageous. “Did you throw up your pills?” I asked her bluntly, not knowing what other explanation there could be for her to act like this.

  “Go away!”

  “Fine!” I yelled back, losing my patience with her. I didn’t have time for this. Walking downstairs, I gathered the papers I needed to go out. Searching through my dad’s phone for his recent calls and using receipts I found in his truck, I had composed a list of locations to go and try to get to the bottom of his final crime spree. Leaving Lyle a note to let him know I would be out, I headed out to my car. It didn’t feel right to leave my mother at home, but Lyle would be home soon—and with her being held up in her room, I didn’t see her trying to leave.

  Climbing into the car, I glanced at my list and decided to go to the stores and bars he frequented first, knowing they probably wouldn’t lead to anything at all. I had to exhaust every avenue, though, or else I would never find the stash. So I drove around my hometown, going into the stores and bars and asking around, showing around a picture of my dad while trying not to draw too much attention to myself. And not to my surprise, people knew of my infamous father but didn’t know him personally. No one knew where or who he typically hung out with.

  Once all of the businesses were crossed off the list, I started on the list of people. My stomach knotted at the very thought of having to talk to any of his friends or family members. My father didn’t exactly hang around a great crowd of folks, all being druggies or criminals, or both. Men and women alike were terrifying in his social group, and really didn’t like people coming around asking questions. Perhaps they would have mercy on me since I had just lost my father—but that was a long shot..

  But it was a now or never kind of moment. Finding the closest one to my location on the list, I let out a frustrated groan. My cousin Michelle would be the first personal visit. She was twelve years older than me and was a nasty spirit. Vindictive, cruel, short-tempered, and had a history of being an impulsive liar. Why did she have to be one of the last people to talk to my dad? Would I even be able to trust what she said? You have to at least try, she may know something, I told myself. I was going to end up doing it no matter what, so I might as well go ahead and get it out of the way.

  Using the address my dad had saved in her phone on her contact, I drove over to her trailer. Not letting myself waste any more time sulking over the fact I had to talk to Michelle, I forced myself from the car and walked to her front door. Knocking, I then stepped back a few strides to wait for the door to open. There was a loud ruckus from inside before the door opened, Michelle standing right in front of me. I wasn’t surprised that she looked no different from the last time I had saw her over a decade ago. Her dark hair was cheaply bleached into a yellowish blonde; and her skin, which was naturally pale, looked almost leathery from the damage she had caused her skin from frequenting a tanning salon. With a cigarette between her lips and a beer in her hand, Michelle propped herself up in the doorway; it was only two in the afternoon, and she was already drinking. That was a perfect indicator as to how the conversation was going to go. “I’ll be damned if it ain’t Jasmine,” she smirked. Ah, Jasmine, the childhood nickname my cousins had given me because they thought I was weak and girly. Ironic coming from a girl, who should have been just as offended that they were using gender as an insult. “I heard about your dad. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral. I was watching my grandbaby,” Michelle told me in a flat, emotionless tone. She was a grandmother at thirty-nine?

  “It’s alright, I understand. I was actually coming over to talk to you about my dad, if you have a minute to chat,” I explained, giving a fake smile.

  Michelle looked me up and down skeptically and then stepped outside the door, “Yeah, alright. I only have a couple minutes, though. Have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the folding lawn chairs in the front yard.

  I sat with her and tried to find my words. How was I supposed to word it without giving away I was looking for a stash of drugs and money? Knowing my father’s family, they would either search for it themselves to keep, or maybe to use it as leverage to cut a deal with the district attorney for some pe
nding charges. I also couldn’t word it as though I was looking for something that would have any sort of value at all, not wanting her to think that my father had left behind anything that the family could divvy up. Coming up with an innocent lie, I spoke to her, “So I’m sure you know how much my mother loved my father, and still does. Apparently, he had some pictures of them when they were younger that she really wants. I’ve literally searched every square inch of that house and haven’t been able to find them. I know it’s a long shot that you’ll know where they are, but is there any chance you know of anywhere he would have put something personal? Like maybe a storage unit or like a friend's house or something? Mom is having a hard time dealing with his death, and being able to find them for her will make her so happy.”

  Michelle’s eyes were dulled from boredom, looking straight through me as I talked. “I didn’t know your dad like that. The only reason I talked him was to get him to pick me up some weed for me. He was my weed connection, nothing else. You think I wanted to talk with that bastard? You should know better than anyone how unpleasant he was. You’re wasting your time asking me this mess.”

  As pleasant as I remember, I sarcastically thought to myself. She really had no sort of empathy even with my father just passing? I hadn’t expected anything else, really. “I understand. Do you know of anyone who would know? I really want to find those pictures.”

  “Who gives a damn about some old pictures? I can’t help you,” Michelle dismissed me.

  Why did she say she was okay talking to me, but then get annoyed when I asked her questions? At least she had been blunt about not knowing anything instead of wasting my time beating around the bush or telling me lies to misguide me, I supposed. “Alright, well. Sorry to have bothered you. Congrats on being a grandmother,” I forced a polite smile and stood from the chair, going over to my car.