Stuck Page 9

  “Congrats on getting your ass kicked!” Michelle called after me, before hacking out a thick smokers cough when she tried to laugh at her own comeback. I didn’t acknowledge her. Climbing in my car, I promptly threw the gear in drive and sped down the road. If I ever had to see her again, it would be too soon.

  I didn’t stop driving to figure out where to go next until I was off of her road, not wanting to even be in the same area as her. Pulling into a church parking lot, I took a moment to compose myself after such an annoying encounter with Michelle. All of the others on the list were going to behave the exact same as she did, if not worse. And I had nothing else to go on but that list, so I had to visit every last one of them. I think I would have preferred to be euthanized rather than have to deal anymore with this.

  Letting out a loud groan, I reluctantly pulled my list out and glanced over the list of names and addresses. The next was my uncle, Weston. He was basically my dad, except instead of shooting up heroin, he tried to drink himself to death every night. As far as I knew, the booze hadn’t won yet. I just hoped he would have even just the slightest of clues as to where my father would have hidden his stash. From the stories I had heard, the two of them had been partners in crime in their heydays. Perhaps Uncle Weston was even in on it? It was a long shot, but it was still worth a shot. Typing his address into my GPS app on my phone, I headed towards his house, silently hoping it would be my last stop for the day.

  ~ ~ ~

  I didn’t get back to the house until nine that night, having visited four cousins, one of my uncles, and two of my father’s friends. All of them had been roughly the same as the visit with Michelle—insulting, frustrating, brief, and uninformative. So I came through the door, utterly defeated. All of the leads I had worked out fell through. What else was I supposed to do? I had nothing else to go on…

  Moving into the kitchen, I went to the liquor cabinet and grabbed the bottle of rum and poured the remainder of the bottle into a glass tumbler. My feet dragged me back into the living room, I then sank down onto the couch. My eyes fixated on the brown liquid in my hand. How had drinking become a crutch for me so quickly? It was the only thing that numbed my mind from reality, making the pressure and stress bearable. Without it, I was sure I would have already lost grip on my sanity. And with that notion in mind, I tilted the glass to my lips and took a deep drink of the horrid alcohol.

  Was my life going to end soon? It was unnerving to not know. Sure, there were the people that believed firmly in the premise which anyone could die at any moment. But I didn’t believe that; at least not entirely. Yeah, someone walking down the street could get hit by a bus at any given time—but I didn’t think it was random. In a way, I guess I believed in fate. To me, there was no way for a person to randomly get hit by a bus. A precise series of events had to have taken place for the individual to end up in the very spot where they were hit. So what if dying because the sins of my father was my ultimate fate? Would my life have been for nothing? It wasn’t like my dad would learn a lesson from his entire family being killed because of his actions since he was already dead. You’ve saved lives, Jason, someone whispered.

  My head turned side to side, looking all around me. Who said that? Lyle wasn’t downstairs, and neither was my mother… My mind was playing tricks on me again. After a few gulps of rum, I relaxed back into the couch and continued to mull over my thoughts. If my life were to end in the next couple of days, I suppose it wouldn’t have been all bad. I had so many great memories with Lyle growing up, and not many people could say they put themselves through school as I had. The realistic goals I had set for myself, I had completed. But what about all the things you haven’t done? Once again, my gaze jumped all over the room. Where was that coming from?

  You’ve never even had a serious girlfriend, the voice murmured.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely fair. I wanted romance one day, but I constantly had more on my plate than I could handle. Why would I want to subject some innocent woman to all of this chaos? You’re lying to yourself. It isn’t a matter of having a chaotic life. You don’t think you’re lovable, another voice called to me, sounding distant. That time, I didn’t look all over the room, but let my eyes fall to the empty glass in my hand. The rum must have been affecting me more than I thought. Setting the glass to the side, I stood from the couch and moved upstairs, wanting to just go ahead to bed. I needed to sleep the rum off and get my head together so I could come up with another plan.

  ~ ~ ~

  I was walking down a long, dark road. Tall, bare trees with twisted branches loomed overhead. The road was paved, but completely empty. The silence, which filled the air around me, was unsettling. Something was telling me it wasn’t supposed to be so quiet. Why was it so quiet? I couldn’t hear the wind or any animals, or the distant bustle of the city. Where was I? Where was I going?

  A shrill scream cut through the silence. That was Lyle. My eyes widened, scanning all around me. “LYLE?” I hollered, trying to figure out what direction he was in.

  “Help me!” he screamed. That time, I could tell it was coming from my right. I ran as fast I could in the direction of his voice.

  But just as I started to gain some distance between me and the sound of his screams, a female shrieked in the opposite direction. My face drained of all color—that was my mom. Then, they both began screaming, begging for me to hurry. Panic seized my chest. Who was I meant to help first? Who would be in the most immediate danger? My mind was completely blank, unable to decide. The screams grew louder and louder, sounding as if they were both right next to me, but I still couldn’t see either of them. In both directions, there was only a winding road and a thick forest surrounding it. Forcing myself to make a decision, I started to run towards Lyle’s screams. Guilt ripped at my heart, wishing I could go after the both of them. He was my little brother. It was my job to protect him.

  “I’m coming, Lyle!” I called in his direction.

  “Please, hurry,” he cried.

  Lyle sounded close. Where was he? In the forest? Stopping on the road, I looked to the dense forest. Was he really in there? “Lyle?” I called softly.

  “Jase! I’m right here!” he called from just inside the tree line. Fear rattled my bones. I did not want to go in there. The vegetation was so thick that I couldn’t see past the first couple of lines of trees. I wouldn’t be able to see anything… “Hurry! Please! He’s coming for me!” Lyle pressed. Someone was after him? Who was after him?

  I couldn’t wait any longer, I had to go in after him. Walking to the side of the road, I stepped onto the grass. As soon as my foot collided with the ground, the land between the trees and me stretched out. Suddenly an entire field separated Lyle and me. “Jase!” I heard ever so faintly in the distance.

  As I started to run, still trying my damnedest to get to him, there was a sound of an engine. Looking all around, I noticed a motorcycle coming over the horizon. Who was that? Curiosity rooted me to my spot, until I realized he was racing right toward me. Booking it for the forest, I ran as fast as my feet could carry me. Daring a glance over my shoulder, I could see the biker was still aimed for me. I broke out in a nervous sweat, panting as I pushed myself to run even faster.

  A second later, a force knocked me to the ground with just one blow. I scrambled to sit up, my hands going to my nose as blood gushed from it. The biker was right at me, standing from his bike. With the visor down on his helmet, I couldn’t see who it was. The biker strolled over to me ever so slowly. I crawled away from him, “Please leave me alone. I’m trying to save my brother.”

  A cynical chuckle erupted from the man, his helmet shaking side to side. He stood over top of me, “How are you meant to save your brother, when you can’t even save yourself?” he asked me, his voice distorted because of the helmet.

  My eyes widened at his response, “W-Who are you?”

  With one mighty toss, he threw me several feet back. The man then moved back to his bike. Straddlin
g the motorcycle, the motor roared to life. “I think the better question is,” he began, lifting the visor on the helmet, “Who are you?”

  I stared at him. Or rather… me? The biker had my face, but he didn’t sound like me—even without the visor. His voice… it sounded familiar. I knew that voice. Where did I know that voice from? Why do I sound so familiar, the man’s voice rang through my head. A cold chill ran down my spine. Was… was that the voice I had been hearing in my head all this time? A smirk pulled at the biker’s expression. The man then lowered the face guard and sped off. No, wait! Where was he going? When I tried to get up from the ground, my body was rooted in place. What the? I tried to lift my arms, looking at the ground to see the grassy null had turned into a thick, sticky black substance. I was sinking into the earth. Flailing around, I tried free myself, but the harder I fought, the quicker it pulled me in—like quicksand.

  “Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?” an ominous voice chanted all around me as the black substance devoured me. My eyes fixated on the gray sky above me, watching as the sludge pulled me deeper and deeper into its depths. The strange matter wrapped around me like vines. Pretty soon, I couldn’t see the sky, completely absorbed into the turmoil of the earth. I couldn’t hear or see anything, but I could still feel the blackness moving around me. The vines continued to wrap around me, squeezing and squeezing me until I couldn’t breathe anymore. And, just like that, I was nothing.

  I jerked up in the bed, finding myself covered in a cold sweat as I gasped for air. It took me a couple of minutes to calm down. Well, that nightmare had been downright terrifying. With adrenaline coursing through my body, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep.

  Getting out of bed, I glanced over to Lyle’s side of the room. He was fast asleep, snoring lightly. It had only been a dream, but it was a relief to see he was, in fact, okay. I should probably try and check on my mother. Letting out a long yawn, quietly walked across the hall. It would ease my mind a bit to know she was doing okay. But much to my dismay, her door was locked. Leaning my forehead against the door, I closed my eyes and tried to listen to try and hear anything going on in the room. The was only silence.

  I stood there, wondering what had happened to make her block us out completely. Sure, she hadn’t been exactly cooperative during my time there, but my mom never locked her door. What could have upset her enough to seclude herself? Maybe it was just another stage in her grieving process… But the day for her to go to assisted living was fast approaching. Would I even see her before she left? It was strange… For the eight years I was away, I didn’t really miss my mother very much. My entire life she had been spastic, unbalanced, and borderline abusive—and she had always been hard to deal with and tiring to be around. My time back home was no different. Except, the thought of not seeing her before she left actually made me sad. We had actually connected the morning I had convinced her to take her medicine… I wish we could have more moments like that before she was taken two hours away. But, something told me that it wasn’t going to happen.

  Moving back from the door, I moved downstairs. If I couldn’t sleep, I might as well try and come up with a plan to find my dad’s stash.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: GOING TO THE FARM

  Two Days Later

  I was at the end of my patience with my mother. She was still refusing to let us into her room; she only left to use the bathroom and to quickly grab plates of food we left outside her door. I didn’t understand why her condition had deteriorated so suddenly after it had seemed like she was improving. Relief had washed over me when I had gotten a call the other night to let me know they would, in fact, be coming to get her at the end of the week. So between Lyle’s work schedule and me looking for my father’s stash, we cleaned up the house the best we could so that the team could come in and get her without incident.

  And in a blur, the day arrived. Lyle and I waited in the living room together while my mother remained locked away in her room. When there was a sudden knock on the front door, both of us sprung from our spots. I hated that we were both so eager to be rid of her, but the last couple of days had been unbearable with her refusing to allow us to care for her at all. It had been constant wailing and screaming, driving us both completely crazy. Walking to the door, I opened to find three men in matching uniforms standing on the porch with pleasant smiles. “Hi there, we’re from Sunset Assisted Living. We’re here to transport Melinda Gilmore to our facility. Are you her caregiver?” the man standing in the middle asked me.

  I nodded at him, “Yes, I’m her oldest son. I made the arrangements.”

  The man produced a clipboard with legal documents clipped to it. “We just need you to sign these, giving us permission to remove her from the home, despite her own personal protest—that we are acting on your behalf and therefore are not legally responsible for emotional distress that may occur during this transition.”

  Way to make me feel like crap, I thought bitterly to myself. It wasn’t their fault, I knew that, it was just hard to face the fact that this may very well emotionally scar my mother. And no one would be to blame but me. At that point, though, I had no choice. She needed help. Taking the clipboard from him, I signed the highlighted lines, giving my consent to take her. After just a few pen strokes, the men took the forms and asked where she was. I told them where her room was and gave them the key to it; I hadn’t used it before because I didn’t want to betray her trust and risk triggering another violent outburst. Lyle and I moved into the dining room and sat down in there to be out of eyesight when they brought her down. We didn’t have the guts to face her.

  The men moved upstairs. I could hear as they tried to get her to let them in the room, and then warn that they would be letting themselves in. Bloodcurdling screams filled the entire house when her bedroom door opened. Loud thumps and thuds sounded as they struggled to get a hold of her. The screams only got louder when they got her into the hallway. “How could you do this to me, Jason? How could you do this to me?!” she sobbed as she was carried down the steps. I winced at her words, but Lyle put a hand on my shoulder to give his support. He would have done the same thing in my position.

  They struggled to get her through the house. There was a piercing cry, but then all of the sounds of struggling ceased. She had more than likely been sedated. The door closed behind them, and I put my head in my hands. Had that been the right thing to do? Should I have tried harder to make arrangements for her? What else could I have done? “Don’t beat yourself up, Jase. I would be doing the exact same thing in your shoes if I was just a week older,” Lyle tried to comfort me. I appreciated his attempt, but I was going to stay torn up over it until I heard from the facility’s nursing staff as to how our mom was doing. On the bright side, at least I could put my entire focus on finding the drugs instead of having to take time away from my hunt to tend to my mother—as bad as that may have sounded.

  ~ ~ ~

  Without any indication as for where to look next, I spent most of the day inside the house, pacing around as I attempted to brainstorm ideas. I tried calling some of the numbers in his recent calls that didn’t have names—but none of the calls I made gave me any sort of helpful insight. How could a drunk hide something so well? It didn’t make sense to me. Without my mom in the house, it was eerily silent in my childhood home. The whispering noise in my ears was back, and it sounded louder with there being a lack of background noise from my mother. It was putting me on edge, jumping at every little creak the house made. So I turned on the radio—but the radio accompanied by the whispering sound made it impossible to hear myself think. And it made my stomach churn. I wasn’t drinking, I hadn’t taken a painkiller that day, and without my mother screaming my head didn’t hurt. Why was I still hearing that noise? Could… could something be wrong with me mentally?

  Trying not to panic, I paced about and attempted to think about it objectively. My father had just died and I never actually took the time to process it, and I had mo
re stress on my shoulders than I could have ever imagined possible. My family’s lives were on the line. With that mental state accompanied with my physical symptoms of migraines, insomnia, fatigue, irritability, and feelings of immense guilt, depression was the most logical reasoning. It could be that the whispering noise was my mind trying to manifest my father’s voice; the mind could do crazy things when grieving. Was I grieving? At some level, I had to be… right? It wasn’t like I was a stranger to depression, having battled it my entire life. Something had to be done, I couldn’t keep on ignoring it. I decided I would get checked out when I went back to work the following day. So, I just had to get through the rest of the night without incident.

  I was just going to call it quits for the night, it wasn’t like there was anything else I could do but drive myself crazier. So I headed upstairs and into mine and Lyle’s childhood room. Lyle had the little television positioned at the foot of his bed, watching some old western movie. Moving over to my bed, I climbed under the covers and stared at the television, unable to focus on what was going on in the movie. Even with a distraction, I couldn’t ignore the noise in my head. It was a constant roar of white noise. I prayed for sleep, wanting to get plenty of rest before work, and secretly wishing for the noise to be gone by morning so that I wouldn’t have to get seen about it. But I knew in my gut, that wasn’t going to happen.

  CHAPTER TWELVE: THE BAD COMES BEFORE THE GOOD

  The Next Day

  It was incredibly weird to be back in the real world. The week I had been back in my hometown had felt like months. My head was foggy, unable to focus on anything for very long before my thoughts returned to my family’s pending doom. But I managed to handle myself with professionalism and alertness, despite being yet again sleep deprived—the noise in my ears had kept me up all night.