Chapter Five

Elijah

 

The captain came over the loudspeaker announcing our arrival in Molokai. Everyone cheered, creating chaos in the small plane that instantly made my head ache. My legs ached from being cramped behind a reclined seat for hours, and the endless hours of layovers and delays during this flight had me jetlagged before even stepping foot on Hawaiian soil.

“Please fasten your seatbelt,” the stewardess instructed as she nodded towards my lap. She was tall, blonde, and looked to be about fifty. Probably a knockout in her early days, but now she just looked tired and angry.

I reached for the tattered strap they considered a safety belt and fastened it as instructed. The man in front of me, the one who insisted on reclining and taking up the small amount of space I’d paid for, snapped his seat upward and allowed me to stretch out my legs a few inches in front of me.

Passengers were all alive and chattering, not like the hours before when the plane was silent as they slept, all except one baby who cried most of the flight. I didn’t really mind; I felt bad for the kid, and I kinda’ knew how he felt. This sucked. It sucked ass.

The couple beside me held hands as they leaned over to peer out the small airplane window. The woman gushed about how beautiful the island was, and I struggled not to throw up in my mouth as the plane started to descend. Newlyweds: I was certain of it from their way too happy energy. They’d tried to make conversation with me when we first boarded, but I slapped on my headphones and pretended to watch the onboard movie. “You must be so excited to be coming back home. How could you ever leave this beautiful place?” the man asked when the woman pulled the information from me that I was going home. I shrugged, put on my headphones, and that was the end of that conversation. Five sweet hours of peace and quiet, other than an occasional whisper between the two of them, and of course, the baby wailing for its life about ten rows back.

The seatbelt lights blinked, and then turned off as the captain announced our arrival. Everyone scurried to their feet, rushing to be the first ones off the plane. I was planning on waiting until everyone exited, but the couple beside me were already standing and eagerly waiting for me to as well so they could push into the crowd. In a fuckin’ hurry to get nowhere.

I stood, slid into the aisle as the man behind me stopped to reach his carry on from the overhead bin. I’d checked my bags, not willing to carry my bag from gate to gate with the endless exchanges assigned to my flight.

“Welcome to Hawaii,” a sexy native greeted me as I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac. She extended a brightly colored lei towards me as I shook my head with an exhausted smile. Not today. No thank you. Fuck off, please.

I stepped inside the small airport where our bags were being sorted. Mine were bright red with a black stripe, making them easy to spot. I moved towards the pile of luggage where a young man worked hard at placing tags on each one. “These are mine,” I smiled, pulling the two bags from the pile.

“I have to check them,” the young kid insisted, acting as if I had all the time in the world to wait around.

I didn’t drop them, but instead stood there and stared at the young kid. “Can you do that now?” I suggested, my tone obviously irritated.

“Let me,” a woman offered, slapping a tag on each of the bags and scanning them with her hand tool.

“Thank you,” I responded, delighted that I could finally get on with this trip. The sooner I got it started, the sooner it could end.

“Enjoy your trip,” the woman said with a smile. She was hot, certainly not a Hawaiian native with her long red hair and pale skin, but still hot. I thought about getting her number, making it easier to actually enjoy my trip, but something just didn’t feel right. What the hell is wrong with me?

Shuttle busses and cabs lined the circular roadway outside the airport, waiting to take guests to their hotels for no small fee. “Where you headed?” a man asked, reaching for my bags. I gave him the address and let him take my bags. I watched as he shoved them in the trunk. He was a scrawny guy, but he somehow managed to wrestle the large bags into the car without help.

I slid into the backseat and called John Sanderson, letting him know I’d arrived. “I would’ve picked you up,” he offered a little too late. The cab driver was already on his way, happy that he snagged a fare, and I’m certain figuring he was getting a big tip as he sized me up, from designer shoes to my four-hundred-dollar sunglasses shoved on top my head.

“I’ll be at the house in twenty minute;1 if you could meet me with the keys, that would be great,” I suggested.

“I’ll see you then. Sure you’re eager to get settled in,” John replied, and then hung up.

I was anything but eager. Walking back into that house wasn’t on my top ten things I want to do in the next ten years. Hell, it wasn’t even on the top one thousand. It was filled with bad memories.

My eyes closed for what I thought was just a second, but obviously, it had been longer as the car stopped, and the driver door slammed shut. I opened my eyes to the familiar street. A large weeping willow tree was in the front yard of my childhood home. Still as ugly as ever. I hated that tree and had begged my dad to chop it down on many occasions, but he always refused. The house hadn’t changed much, except for its upkeep. It was showing age with the faded green paint, the torn lattice under the front porch, and the missing shingles from the roof.

I stepped out of the car, handed the driver a fifty, “Keep the change,” and took my bags.

Stepping onto the porch, the boards creaked, reminding me of when I was young. I would sneak out at night after my dad passed out drunk, and jump the steps to avoid the risk of making the awful noise that might wake the beast.

As the cab drove away, a black Mercedes pulled up in its place. A man stepped out, tall, gray hair with matching beard, and thick glasses. “Hey, Elijah,” he greeted me as if we’d known each other forever.

“I take it you’re John Sanderson?” I replied.

The man walked towards me, nodded, and then stretched his hand towards me with a keychain that held three keys. “One is to your dad’s car in the garage, one to the garage, and this one to the house.” He held the silver keys in his hand.

“I appreciate it,” I smiled, taking the keys.

“I’m really sorry about your dad. He was a great man,” John expressed with sadness in his voice. A great man? I wasn’t sure we knew the same man. “I’m sure this is tough on ya, coming back home this way,” he consoled.

There weren’t any emotions flowing through me that needed consoling, other than the fact I was tired, irritated, and hungry. “Well, thanks again. I’ll assess what needs done around here and get with you about putting it up for sale,” I responded.

He looked a bit shaken by my lack of emotion as he stood there awkwardly on the bottom porch step.

“I know it’s been a long flight. Call me if you need anything, anything at all,” he offered and turned back towards his car.

He seemed like a nice enough man, but I wasn’t there to make friends. I was there for one reason, and that was to sell this house and rid myself of the horrible memories it contained once and for all.

I pushed the key into the lock, turned, and took a deep breath before opening the door. I was glad I did, because the smell inside made it hard to breathe. What the fuck? Did he die in here? Was his body still in here somewhere?

I moved to the front window, sliding it open to let some fresh air in, and whatever wasn’t so fresh out. In the kitchen, the garbage was rotten, and the source of a large part of the smell, I was certain. I gripped the bag, tied it up, and carried it out the back door to the trash bins. I stopped at the pool, empty and in desperate need of cleaning. It was the one thing I loved about the house, but dear ole’ dad refused to let me fill it, saying it was a waste of water.

Back inside, the house smelled a little better, but I knew it would take a while for the smell to completely air out. I walked down the hall, stopping in my dad’s bedroom doorway, staring in at the bed where he used to sleep. I took a few steps into the room and slid my hand under the mattress, just curious if his dirty magazine was still there. I chuckled as I pulled out the same magazine that I used to sneak out as a kid. I had to give him credit for his loyalty to the same pussy for so many years, or possibly it was just he was too cheap to buy a new one. Why throw this one away when the pussy is still just as pink as it was twenty years ago right?

I walked into my bedroom, surprised that not much had changed. It was like stepping back a decade in time. Posters lined my walls, CD’s scattered across the top of my dresser, and the same black silk sheets that I just had to have in high school were spread across my queen-size mattress.

My father’s voice echoed down the hall from somewhere far away: “You stupid little fuck, I’m gonna kill you.” I shuddered from the clarity of the memory.

Tremors rolled through me like a cold chill from hearing his voice so clear once again. I remembered his fist always headed towards me, the smell of Jack spewing from his mouth as he screamed in a drunken stupor, and the fear I felt whenever he was around. He called it respect, but I called it abuse. How could you respect a man who drank all the time, beat his only son, and ran off his mother? At times, I wondered if he’d killed her, possibly buried her body beneath the tree he refused to chop down. He was mean enough, and as a kid, it was more comforting a thought than believing a mother would just leave her child when only an infant.

“Knock, knock,” a strange male voice sounded down the hall.

I snapped out of my thoughts long enough to hear the front door creak as it was opened. In the living room of my childhood home stood a man, tall, lanky, hair so blonde it was nearly white, and skin so tan it leathered. He sported a smile, showing off his bright white teeth as he extended his hand. “Clinton Massey, your neighbor. Well, your dad’s neighbor,” he stammered.

“Elijah Grant,” I shook his hand, still wondering why he was standing in my living room.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he grinned. I was shocked that he’d heard about me at all. “Why don’t you come to dinner tonight, my wife makes a mean huli huli chicken,” he offered.

“I just had a hell of a long flight. I’m gonna settle in, get things sorted here, and probably just grab something local with a nice cold beer,” I declined politely.

“Okay, well if you need anything, we are just right next door,” Clinton reminded me, and then stepped out of the door. He was so cheerful, so excited to meet me. It still threw me off that he’d heard of me. What kind of things did my dad say?