Ashes (3 page)

4

 

IT FELT STRANGE TO
miss
him. The way he once stole glances of her. The pattern his mouth succumbed to whenever he used to mention her name. How his lips desired to press softly into hers. These were the stirrings of romance Aimee hadn't experienced in months. Dr. Carlos Pena, her boss, had forgotten her.

Before, all it would take was a knock on his office door to get a document signed and approved, or a smile and a whisper in his ear after lunch to have him buckling at the knees.

Now it seemed like running a marathon was easier than catching up with him. He was always in a rush to go nowhere, to be nowhere, without her.

“You've become a significant hiccup in my life. I have my routines. Right now, you're a distraction. I'm sorry.” A hiccup. Not a
lover
. Not a
friend
. Not even someone he wanted to bring home.
Just a
distraction
.
That's what Aimee had become.
To him.

All she could do was nod and fake understanding.

“Some of the others in this department are getting quite uncomfortable, Aimee,” he said with his hands folded, focus drifting.

Aimee tried to think of anything but how she felt about him. Her infatuation was now mixed with revulsion. Still she hoped to find safety in the comfort of what she once held to be true, the love he so easily refused to give.
 

“How have you been feeling lately?”

“I thought you were reprimanding me. Did you bring me in here for a lecture or because
you're
concerned?”

“Perhaps it's both,” he solemnly replied.

“Safe answers. You always were good at that.”

“Aimee, given our history together, a meeting like this isn't what I would have preferred.”

“What would you prefer, Carlos? Avoiding me like the plague? Ignoring my emails? My phone calls? You've been acting like I don't even exist these past few weeks.”

Carlos raised his hands a bit. “Let's not get melodramatic. I realize now that I can't live in the past. What we had is no longer possible. Everything is different now.”

“You mean, since Emery?”

“She's gone, Aimee.”

 
An earthquake could've torn the room in
two,
shattered everything around them, and it wouldn't have mattered. She couldn't move.

“How could you be so heartless?”

“I'm sorry, that was harsh of me.”

“Don't pretend to know me, Carlos.”

“I used to. I don't claim to know this new woman anymore.”

She grinded her teeth, trying to ignore the mist blanketing her eyes.
The last thing she wanted was to feel weak in the same office that once empowered her.
 

“I loved you,” she said.

“Did you? At any rate, it's easier this way. Trust me.”

“Easier for you, but not for me.” Her sleeve cleaned her nose. She tried to hide the tears. “It was always easier for you. You love to ignore the blame, don't you?”

Carlos raised his voice. “
You
left me all those years ago! Or have you forgotten? And like clockwork, it was
you
who came crawling back months ago. This is your mess, not mine. Don't wait around hoping somebody else will clean it up.”

Was she imagining this? Were they really fighting? He was everything she wanted. He had a better life, could provide better than a failed minister. And his lips would never pour out so much poison. This wasn't Carlos screaming at her; it was Joel. It had to be. Joel was the menace who wanted to control her. Joel was the iron fist who no longer needed her, not Carlos.
 

“Kiss me,” Aimee said. “Forget about your ego for one minute. Don't think. I don't want you to reason whatever this is—whatever we are—out. Just kiss me.”

“What? You're acting juvenile.”

“Do it. You'll forget about the garbage that has come between us. None of it will matter. We can run. You can take me away from all of this.” There was so much noise and madness in her head that she hadn't even thought about what she was saying or if it even made any sense.
Escape
,
love
.

“Can you hear yourself, Aimee? You're acting purely on illogical emotions. Think about what you are saying.”

“I don't care about logic. I want to feel right again.”

“You don't
sound
right.”

“Why? Are you that much over me? What are you afraid of?”

“I am not afraid. But you're…not well. I'm hearing
whispers
of you taking out your frustration and anger on patients.” Carlos shuffled the papers on his desk as he searched for proof of her unbridled dramatics. “Last Thursday you threatened to shove meds down Jeffrey Wilton's throat if he refused to do what you said. And a month ago, Norma overheard you cursing at an orderly for no reason.” Carlos leaned in. “Screaming, at the top of your lungs. The poor girl came into my office in tears.”

Aimee's mouth twisted. “Did you console her, Carlos? Did you give her the
encouragement
she needed?”

“Don't flirt with innuendo!”

“Is that a request or an order, boss?”

“Enough! I'm sick of this! I'm sick of watching you deteriorate day after day. It's lunacy, really. Look at what you've become. You're not who I thought you were. You're not what I want anymore.” Carlos pulled his chair back and walked around the office. “Your hair's a mess. Your makeup is undone, nails unclipped. And the attitude that you carry around is—well, it's infectious. Do you want this job? Nothing about you says you even care about anything.”

“I care about
you
. I need you, Carlos.”

“But I can't save you. Your daughter was, as you claim, abducted. But I'm a surgeon. I can't fix what happened this summer any more than you can. But you have to get a grip on reality. What if she is not found? What if she never comes back to you? Have you prepared for that? Are you ready for that?”

“She has to.”

Carlos circled around her and stopped right in front of her. He knelt down and held her hands. “It's killing me to see you like this, in so much pain. I have friends who can help you with these issues.”

“
Issues?
I'm not crazy. My daughter was taken from me!”

“By whom? Do you even have anything to back up this conspiracy theory? Because that's all it is, a theory.”

“They were both taken, Carlos, from this hospital. Why am I the only one who seems to remember that my daughter and her friend disappeared into thin air? It doesn't make any sense.”

“What doesn't make any sense is that you're still rejecting reason. You're stuck in a fairytale. The police supposedly had a single lead that turned out to be nothing. She is gone, Aimee! Accept it. Try to move on. Let her go so you can get on with your life!”

“I can't.”

His frustration bubbled out. “This problem is affecting your work.”

“Right back to business. How appropriate. But for the record, it isn't.” Aimee recoiled. “It won't anymore.”

“It
better
not. This is the second and last time I am going to discuss this with you. Three strikes….”

“I get it, Carlos.”

“Oh, that reminds me. I think it'd be best for everyone if you went back to calling me Dr. Pena.”
 

Aimee wanted to smack him and kiss him at the same time. How could he be so unkind and still warrant her affection? How could he toy with her heart and then abandon it?

“Did you ever love me?” she asked.

“Once upon a time,” he said gently, shaking her reality. “But we can't live in fairytales forever.”

* * *

A trail of Joel's breath was stuck on the glass of the cooler. He reached in slowly this time to grab a bottle. Budweiser was his usual drink of choice, but today he felt like a Guinness man. The hard, sorta-burnt aftertaste of the beverage would feel right at home in his throat.

His lungs pushed out another piece of air; at this point, he regretted even calling it breath. Shifting his eyes to the tougher stuff was all he could think of. He felt crowded, though, with the thoughts and vindicated stares of folks around town. He'd seen a few of them before and even knew some by name. A reluctant smile and wave from time to time usually did the trick of silently telling them to mind their own business, but it didn't much work now. He wondered if they were thinking cruel thoughts about him or if their hearts were still soft with sentiments concerning his missing daughter. Joel just wanted to find what he was looking for and bring it back to his home, safe and sound.

He scratched at the hair starting to prick up on his chin and cheekbones, forming above his lips, with the sweat. He hadn't shaved in more than a week. His jaw felt like sandpaper. The hair on his head was grungy and sagged down over his eyelids.
 

Claustrophobia. The opening and closing of other worlds, these addiction cages man so eloquently called
coolers
. The chains he drank to make pain fly away.

But the claustrophobia—that came from the uninvited stares. Was it pity in their hearts or heartbreak in their eyes now? His opinion wavered by the minute. A second came and went, and he looked up to see them glaring back, no one saying anything. They wanted to say something, but every mouth was stitched together, soundless empathy that couldn't save him.

Joel cursed as a bottle of vodka he didn't realize was cracked suddenly slipped from his grip and shattered on the floor. Almost like a bullet. It hushed the place for a second, nothing but the bright lights above him and the startled breaths of others. He tiptoed around the mess for a moment before setting the bottle of Guinness down and hitting his knees. Blood from his fingertip mixed with the alcohol, so similar to the way the suds mixed inside with his veins, robbing from him the dark rhythms of sadness.
 

Joel's eyes danced from the splattered mess to the other culprits he wanted to consume. Captain Morgan and Dos Equis snickered. Cuervo mocked in the corner of the store while bottles of Skyy asked him to come closer. Some changed shape; others jeered. Was he drunk or mad?

It took a minute for the manager to come by. Her name was Myrtle. She knew Joel's name, empathized more with his loss than most anybody.

 
The first thing she noticed when she knelt down beside him with a towel was the cross dangling from his neck. “You look lost, priest,” she said, concerned.

He snarled, ripping the towel from her hand and trying to clean the mess but spreading it instead. “I can fix it. I swear I can.” And then, under his breath, “I'll bring her back.”

“Mr. Phoenix, you don't look right. You're in here more often than I am. Feel like I should offer you a mattress in the back or something.” She chuckled to herself. Joel figured she was trying to add some levity to the situation. “This place isn't going to heal you.”

Joel looked at the heavy-set black woman with tattooed arms and a rolled-up pack of smokes tucked into her sleeve. She was one to talk. He got up off the floor, forgetting about his left leg being dampened by the vodka. The stink of it didn't much matter; it matched his breath, and the whole hum of the store. He felt okay in the stench, in the safety of these medicines.

Joel exchanged awkward glances with Myrtle and snatched his liquor from the floor. Then he reached on the shelf and grabbed some vodka and rum. A moment's hesitation called him to the magazine rack, a slight whisper luring him closer. He selected the latest issue of
FHM
. A gorgeous, half-nude model
lay
gently hunched over her knees with a seducing stare—one that didn't judge him, one that wouldn't care where he'd been or why he wasn't strong enough to take back what he'd lost. A body tender and full of the lovely lust he had forgotten.

For a second, it was Aimee on the cover, tempting him, calling to him, but a blink set everything back to what reality had made him familiar with, and as he piled this new drug atop the other bottled saviors, he stopped to grab a case of cheap wine before heading to the register. “Just in case I get to feeling
romantic,
” Joel heckled, hoping Myrtle could hear him.

Minutes later he paid and returned to the gray world outside the store. Facing him was a cluster of small shops on the quiet highway he assumed was as vacant as he was.

Joel dropped the items in the passenger seat but not before grabbing the magazine and a bottle first. He snapped open the bottle, and started thumbing through the issue, waiting for it all to take effect on his body, his mind. The girls modeled in front of him for his entertainment and the taste coaxing a tired throat weren't fixing him. But he so wanted them to.

Another sip. Another loose page turned.
Another sting at the back of his throat.
Another bombshell calling to him.
A tear suddenly hit the page. Joel hadn't even noticed he was misty-eyed. The skinny drop of water slid down a girl's soft frame and fell off the edge. He tossed the magazine to the floor, where he'd forgotten the pictures of Emery lay; the ones he had copied and plastered around the entire state. No, he hadn't forgotten at all. There were only a few left, but the entire spread was glaring back at him now.