Chapter Five: Keeping Secrets

Nathaniel

 

 

Steven checks in with the members of The Shy Lights to see when they want him to return. I.e., he’s making sure he still has a job. No one places any blame on him for starting the fire. They’re more focused on congratulating him for reacting so quickly to Jared’s incident than anything else. They assure him he’s still needed on tour.

My client trudges quietly out the back door, hood up over his head, and backpack slung over his shoulder. He stops for a second to stare at the oil slick on the ground where the fuel had been burning and at the leftover foam retardant. I try to see his face beneath his hood but all I see is part of his chin and the angle of his jaw. I wasn’t expecting to see remorse but I wanted to see something on his impassive face. A kernel of humanity to let me know he cares that his actions could have killed someone. He returns to his parked car and climbs inside.

I ride shotgun, this time not letting him know I’m tagging along. The music drowns out the engine and road noise as he drives out of town. He doesn’t return to his parents’ house.

We rattle along a rutted dirt road in the middle of the high desert. The city is an hour behind us and the peaks of the San Juan Mountains even farther. Steven turns the car onto a narrow driveway and parks in front of a shabby mobile home. Sections of the foundation skirting are missing and resemble a gap-toothed vagrant. Window screens are optional, or torn, as are the curtains inside. Cinder blocks, a pile of old cardboard boxes, a trash can with the lid hanging open, a rusted-out barbeque grill, and a car missing a rear wheel serve as yard décor. A metal loafing shed with a huge dent in the side appears ready to collapse with the next high wind day. Beyond the shed, I think I see corral fencing, but I’m uncertain as the car’s headlights switch off before getting a clear view.

My client knocks on the front door with one loud rap. He twists the doorknob without waiting for an answer. It doesn’t open. Undeterred, Steven makes short order of rounding up two cinder blocks, stacking them in front of a window, sliding it open, and heaving himself inside.

I meet him in the living room where the inside of the house matches the outside, in regards to lack of cleanliness and style. I’ve seen worse, but I’ve also seen better. A sagging couch and chair sit behind a dinged and scratched coffee table. Both pieces of furniture are angled at the television. Which is by far the nicest and most expensive item in the room. The kitchen is open to the rest of the living space and there’s a heap of dirty dishes clustered around the sink and food wrappers on the counters. Steven inspects the contents of the fridge, finds a can of beer, and helps himself. He grabs a bag of chips and alternates between crunching and chugging his late-night snack. After scrolling through the menu of a couple hundred channels on the T.V., he settles on ESPN, mutes the volume, and stretches out on the sagging couch.

I’m about to take my leave of Steven to be with Juliana. If I’m going to watch someone sleep, I’d much rather it be my foxy girlfriend. But, alas, life (or the afterlife) never just delivers the lemonade. That would be too easy. Lemons always come first, don’t they?

A vehicle pulls into the driveway. The full-sized pickup truck parks next to the broken-down car. A man steps out of the truck and moves like a shadow. I can’t see his features except to say he resembles a tall unshapely blob. He enters the living room through the front door, not the window, and I find out why I couldn’t see him in detail. He’s dressed in all black. Black cargo pants and a black hooded jacket. Even his face is covered with dark paint. His face paint is a stylized design with slashes, zigzags, and dots. He used a little white and red, but most of his face is black. The look of him reminds me of an ancient time when people still believed wrath and fury were delivered from higher beings.

Steven sits up immediately when the door opens, his hand reaching for his pack.

“We could have used you tonight.” The guy closes the door and enters as if he owns the place.

“Is it true about Pipoo?”

“Don’t say his name in here. He’s an ah-roo pitch now. Some crazy shit went down at the Wolf’s house yesterday.”

“You think his spirit will show up here?”

“He’s pissed. I don’t know what he’s going to do.”

“I told you to skip that place. You seriously screwed up. Going there during the day was a mistake.”

The man walks over to the sink and begins washing off the face paint. He takes a grimy towel from the counter and wipes at his face. “You know we were upping the stakes. Maybe if you had some decent sized cojones and had shown up, the accident wouldn’t have happened. Now, we’ve lost our best handler.”

“He must not have been that good.”

The dark haired and dark-skinned man shakes his head at Steven and throws the towel into a corner. He looks older than Steven but still young and more Hispanic than Native. “Disrespectful man child,” he says. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who only shows up when he wants to.”

“I have a job, Dominic.”

“I thought you said your step-monster had you under lock down.”

“She did. I stole my keys back. And now I’m working a decent gig.”

“That’s why you’re here on my couch,” Dominic says.

“If I go home, I’m never getting out again.” Steven frowns and rests his head back against the cushion.

“You missed a good one tonight,” Dominic says as he pulls the tab on a can of beer.

“How many did you get?”

“One, but he’s worth it.”

“Keeping him in the usual location?”

“No. We have a problem with that Wolf son-of-a-bitch and his son. The stallion had to be moved.”

“Where is he?”

“No. No,” he says shaking his finger at Steven. “If you’re not on a raid, you get no inside information.”

“Whatever, Dominic. I’ll hit the next one and I’ll find out anyway. I’m ten times better with the horses than Pip.”

“Don’t say his name,” Dominic says again.

“Chill out. His ghost isn’t here right now.”

“You weren’t there, man. He’s not giving up on this. It got real, dude.”

“Fine. I’d like to see him again. Boogie-man or not.”

“You don’t know what you’re sayin’.” Dominic chugs the beer then slaps a quick sandwich of lunchmeat and cheese together on a paper plate. “I guess we wait until you actually show up for a raid and prove your worth is louder than your shit-talking mouth.”

“Yeah, sure,” Steven says with his eyes closed. “I’m wiped. I need some sleep.”

“Whatever. You know I’m expecting you on the next raid. We found a blue roan filly.”

“It’s not smart taking one that is so easily recognized,” Steven says.

“She’s valuable. And let me remind you, we’ve upped our game.” He takes a bite of the sandwich and talks while he chews. “I take it back. You shouldn’t come if you can’t handle it.”

“I can handle way more than playing horsey games.”

“Two nights from now. Prove yourself.”

 

∞

 

Steven is proving to be an enigma, or an enema, whichever you prefer to think of as a bigger pain in my ass. When I feel the need to stay close to my clients, it’s because they are close to crossing over. Steven didn’t look like he was two seconds away from harming himself. With Corrine, one of my recent suicidal clients, I knew she was thinking about suicide because she swallowed pills until she vomited them back up. And with Vivi, another past client, she was ready to leap off a cliff to meet her end. They’re both alive, by the way. Each of them found something to keep living for.

While Steven sleeps on Dominic’s couch, the undeniable urge to remain by his side is almost nil. Does that mean he’s changed his mind? Or could it be the threat to his life has temporarily passed? I’m not being reassigned, which tells me he’s still close to death. Literally… sleeping right next to me. With a last glance at my client for the night, I decide Juliana’s house is much more inviting than the grungy mobile home of some stranger.

Juliana’s swaddled in her purple bedspread when I peek inside the bedroom door. The bedside lamp is on, allowing me to see her smooth pale face and petal soft lips. I retreat before I accidentally wake her. Knowing the way Juliana is, if I keep thinking about her, she’ll be visiting me in her sleep. I don’t want to disturb her rest. She needs it. She’s had too many injuries this summer and needs to heal, even if she’s healthy now.

The strumming of guitar strings sounds from across the hall. I form my physical body and tap my knuckles against Jared’s door.

“Yo,” he says.

He’s on the bed with a guitar in his hands. It’s his baby. His one true passion. The royal blue Gibson. He lets the headphones slip down around his neck.

“Can I hang out?”

“Sure.” He sets the Gibson on a guitar stand, paying careful attention to the cords and wires. His laptop and a small amp are connected.

“Nice setup,” I say.

“As much as they love my playing, I can’t expect Mom and Jules to listen to me practice all the time.”

“Juliana really believes in you.”

“I know it. She’s the better sibling.”

“Everyone has their talents. You’re fortunate to find yours so young.”

“Except I keep screwing everything up.” Jared settles back against the wall with a pillow stuffed behind him.

“Why do you say that? You’re making an album with an unbelievable band. You finished high school.”

“I promised Jules twice now to lay off the smack and I keep going straight back to it.”

“Oh, that,” I say. This is a touchy subject and one to take care with. “Did you apologize to her again tonight?”

“I started to, but I don’t think she believes me anymore.” Jared picks the guitar back up and fingers a series of notes. I think I recognize the song he’s playing. “I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t believe someone who kept lying to me, either.”

“Are you lying? You don’t come across that way. Listen, Jared. I read people. I’ve been doing it since I died. I usually know when someone is pulling a fast one.”

He stares at the window for a few seconds and then turns his focus back on me. I take a seat at the desk chair in front of his laptop.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m not lying when I say it. It’s just…” He glances down and starts to tap the strings on the guitar again. “I become a liar when I take a hit off a joint. Or like earlier. Caleb offered me a line of meth and I didn’t say no. I became a liar after I was high. I can’t explain my actions. I just feel like shit about it.”

“Because in the moment, you forget all the reasons why you shouldn’t do it.”

“Exactly,” Jared says.

He sounds relieved I understand, but also so discouraged with himself that I feel some sympathy for him. Addiction isn’t easy. If it was, then a lot more people would clean up and stop suffering with this inner demon.

“For me, it’s even worse than that. In the moment, when my best friend expects me to get high with him, my brain comes up with every reason why I should do it. Today, I had myself convinced I needed the upper to be a better musician. I’m pathetic, right?”

“It’s not, Jared. You’re recognizing your weaknesses, which says something about how strong you are.”

“I’m not strong. When Juliana busted me, I wanted to go get high again.”

“Did you? Is that why you’re awake now?”

“I didn’t. But I hate that it was my first thought. I want to do better for her and for myself, too. I don’t need drugs to play the guitar. I need to prove to myself I can play better without them.”

“Does Juliana know any of this?”

“I didn’t say anything. I need to prove it to myself before I end up lying again.”

“Maybe if you own your truth, and speak it to another person, the weight of responsibility will help you follow through.”

“That might work.” Jared nods slowly as if agreeing and letting the idea soak in. “I just told you.”

“Do you want me to hold you accountable?”

The fingers on his left hand drum against the strings. “What if I am another loser junkie?”

“You’re not,” I say. “And you know you’re a better musician without the drugs.”

“Knowing something and being able to follow through feel like two completely different things.” He returns the guitar to its stand.

“Well, I’m always available to slap a reminder upside the back of your head.”

“Don’t hold it against me if I punch you back out of reflex.”

“You’ve got a deal,” I say, and grin at my would-be brother-in-law.

Would-be. Should be. It’s not a nice thing to think about. Jared would make a great brother-in-law. Knowing he won’t be around for the future I have planned with Juliana is devastating. Uncle Jared would be an entertaining uncle to have. Does Juliana want children in her future? We’ve never talked about it. I haven’t given it much thought, really. Why would an Angel of Death dream about having a family? Now that my focus has shifted and I will have a life again, is having a baby a possibility? Now isn’t the time to dwell on such thoughts. I have to locate a replacement first, and realistically that may never happen. What if I don’t find someone until Juliana is a lot older? Would she move on and find someone else? Would I be strong enough to let her go? Why does fate have no mercy? Why couldn’t the young be exempt from heartache and death?

As if he were tuned into my thoughts, Jared says, “It’s cool Juliana will have you around after I bite the big one.”

He yawns and slides down, stretching out over the top of the bed. Jared props his hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling.

“I don’t know, J. Sometimes, I think she would be better off without me.”

“She’s into you, dude. Once she sets her mind on something, she doesn’t change it.”

“She is pretty single-minded,” I admit.

“Stubborn, hard headed, and strong willed,” Jared adds, a tinge of brotherly pride in his voice.

“Thanks, Jared. I want things to work out for us. For a long time.”

“It will.”

“I’ll get out of here so you can sleep. Another long day in the studio tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.” Jared closes his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face.

“See you.” I rise from the chair to take my leave.

“Hey, Nathaniel,” Jared says and pauses.

“What’s up?”

“Does it hurt? The dying thing?”

“The transition can be rough for some, but most of us think it feels like freedom.”

“You died, right? Was it hard for you?” Jared asks.

I stare at the bedroom door, but see the memories of the first night after my father accidentally shot me in his drunken rage. Watching everything with Marcus. My lifeless body being hauled away. Unable to say much at first, and then not being able to stop asking questions as Marcus explained what I was to become.

“There were some challenges for me,” I admit. “But, Jared, your path will be different from mine. You’ll see your father again and anyone else who cares for you on the other side.”

Jared is quiet and I give him a minute to think about what I’ve shared. I’ve never had a talk about death with someone who wasn’t my client — other than Juliana and a few angels. But Juliana always seems to be the exception to the rule. And she mostly teases me when she asks questions, so it’s like we’re goofing off, not discussing the very real aspects of death and the afterlife.

I glance at the bed and see Jared asleep. I walk over to turn off the lamp on the desk, but as I reach for the switch, I stare hard at Jared’s chest. I continue to stare because I’m in denial that he’s not breathing.

“For the love of his mother!” I rush to his aid and grab his shoulder. “No way, Jared Crowson. You’re not checking out now.”

I release my physical body and begin channeling universal energy into Jared. “This is a sick joke, right?”

Jared doesn’t respond. He hasn’t left his body yet, but I know he’s somewhere in the process.

“There’s no dying on my watch!”

Marcus is supposed to be with him when he crosses over. I can escort him, of course, but I don’t freaking want to. Jared is my brother now. I can’t call Marcus into the house here. He has to be invited by someone who lives here.

“Jared!”

I focus every ounce of my energy into an immense beam of gold light and aim it straight into his heart. “Now! Come back right now! Your album isn’t finished.”

A lurching thump hits my palm as his heart thuds back to life. He gasps, pulling in a rasping breath. His eyelids fly open.

“What the hell was that?” he asks through heaving breaths.

“That’s what I would say is a close call.”

“It didn’t hurt,” Jared says, answering his own question.

“It often doesn’t,” I say, watching him closely in case he decides to slip into a death sleep again.

His eyes are a little wider than normal, pupils dilated. “Let’s not tell Jules or Marcus about this.”

“Agreed.”