Break Free & Be Broken (8 page)

Suddenly afraid, I rush out of his room and back outside. Fortunately, no one had returned from their hiding and it's a clean getaway.

As I climb into my car and zip away, I reflect on the fact that Griff was the only drug dealer I know, and beyond that, the only drug user I know. Having utterly destroyed my chances of ever being able to buy through him again, it is now imperative that I kill myself; either that, or quit using.

Ha. So now it is truly official. I
must
die.

I proceed with my wild driving, but just like all things in life, repetition is eeking away its charm and joy. The positives are still there-I make it back to the canyon in incredible time-but not as fast as before. I wasn't quite as daring. The events of the night are catching up to me, and the moment of truth is drawing nigh. When I enter the teeth of the canyon, it starts becoming too real. I only have an hour or so left of life...

The words are hollow.

My frenzied state, as predicted, continues to ebb with each passing minute. This isn't good. The excitement I was depending on to carry me over the ledge is all but lost. I park at the trailhead and shut down my vehicle, then do a quick run through of all I will need to carry out the act: not much, just my legs to lift me, my drug for confidence, and a 'can do' attitude to ensure success. I reach into the glove box and pull out all the tools of my trade. I take a quick look around my car to see if I happen to have a bag or something to hold them... but I do not. Guess I will be using the old pockets.

I open the door, letting in an arctic worthy gust of air. It's colder up here than it was in the valley, and oh, look at that: no jacket. A remnant of my old self-the exceptionally prepared, strictly regimented man-rebukes me firmly for not planning better. 'You're gunna freeze dumb ass! Great work!'

Stifle thy tongue, bitch. You die tonight as well.

The low hanging clouds are reflecting all the lights of the city, casting the world in a peculiar orange glow. I can see almost perfectly, despite the lack of sun. I'm not sure I like it. It's eerie for sure, but I was kind of hoping for black. Going out under cover of darkness seems more fitting. Oh well. This is the lot I've been cast. As long as I go through with it, there can be no complaints.

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right. My movements have never felt so mechanical. I thought maybe my senses would be heightened-my brain greedy to take in all the sensory data it can before it’s shut down for good-but everything looks the same: dull and lifeless, possibly even more so than usual.

I take no pleasure in the dead trees standing fixed along the path, holding me in with their skeletal branches, or in the still scent of snow that chills my nostril and tickles the back of my eye. I can’t even find pleasure in the soft, rhythmic crunch of ice and snow beneath my feet. There is no pleasure to be had. I try again and again to tell myself that it's better this way. Beauty would only make this harder. And yet... I long for it. I deserve to experience it one more time.

The hike comes lurching to a halt. It’s going too fast. I've reached the final ascent: a boulder patch I must climb to gain the top of the cliff. It's about a thirty foot climb up this side with a drop of at least a few hundred off the other.

My fingers burn as I clutch onto the frozen rock and my feet grip the ice with little more than a timid touch. This is a treacherous climb, so I slow my pace, telling myself it’s because I don't want to slip... but let’s face it. Lying to oneself at a time like this is silly and pointless. I know the real reason why I linger, whether I admit it to myself or not. I’m afraid.

It scares me to think I will jump.

It terrifies me to think that I won't.

Even the slowest pace is not enough to stop the inevitable. I've reached the top. From here, I can see to the valley below. I stare out at all the lights-the way they blast out to mix with the low clouds and gentle snow... The city looks like the dying embers of some great fire. I muse for a second about what it would be like to watch a meteor shower hit from here, or some kind of aerial assault. That would be cool to watch. I hope if that ever happens, I'm in the mountains with a view of it all.

But wait: unless it happens now, it will never happen for me. Stop thinking of the future! The future is now. This is all that ever was and will be. Get your mind right, Chales! The moment of truth is here.

I inch my way toward the edge of the cliff. Fear of falling presses up against me like a wall, stopping me a solid three feet from the edge. Not a good sign.

I'm nervous, that's all. And I've got just the remedy. A trickle of excitement-the first positive thing I've felt since reaching the canyon-works its way from my toes to my nose. Drug time baby.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the necessary items for getting high. It would have been nice to have a fresh piece of foil. Hell, if I would have remembered I needed this before burning everything I might have even made a fresh straw. But what's with the bitching? This is more than sufficient for a high.

Snowflakes fall lightly onto the foil as I prepare my tar, immediately becoming water when they land. It captivates me. I picture myself turning into liquid form when I hit the ground. When the snow does it, it looks peaceful. I hope it's that way for me.

I become so calm I'm compelled to stop and consider the entire situation. I look down at the drug in my hand... This stupid shit right here has been a thorn in my side for too long!
At Death’s doorstep, I finally get to see my heroine for what she really is. An enemy, through and through, and the worst kind!- the kind that appeared as a friend. What could I have been if I never picked up a drug? Where could life have taken me?

If I hadn't had drugs, maybe discomfort would have forced me to do something with myself! Discomfort was never the enemy... heroine was the enemy! Rather than accepting poison situations because I'm high, I could have fought, surpassed, and beat this world!

I stop the tirade. These thoughts are empty. I know what would have happened to me if I hadn't had drugs. I would have done this years ago. I want to die with drugs; I likely would have wanted the same without. There is no going back, no replaying life again from a different position to see what could have been. I may have been better, I may have been worse. What matters is I'm shitty now and it's time to jump.

There's no place for a high at a low such as this. I pile all my paraphernalia onto the foil and crumple it into a mass of condensed hate. With a strong heave, I launch it over the cliff. It isn't joy that greets me with this victory. No... I assure you it isn't joy. I almost jump right along with it, so grieved I am to see it go. I watch it sail down until it disappears beyond sight. Next in line to go over the edge is none other than me: Chales Bartholomew Anthon, the crippled clown... the big stink...

Can I do this?

Unlikely... but it's too late not to try.

I start creeping toward the edge. A gentle breeze blows against my back, as if trying to aid me in this moment of trepidation. I might need you to blow a little harder, friend, for I am still a lengthy foot from the edge and can't seem to take another step.

What the hell am I doing? Why am I so scared? This is what I want, remember? Escape! Freedom! I want this! I NEED THIS! I begin to hyperventilate-big, quick breaths, both in and out.

This is it. Come on baby, big jump! Cast yourself as deep as you can! Let your bones shatter and your heart find rest on the rocks below!

I scoot forward-a disheartened shuffle. I make it all the way to the edge and stop. Every system in my body is screaming with adrenaline and fear. The winds pick up, pushing me slightly forward, giving me a clear view of Death's broken smile. It terrifies me to the core.

I can't do this. I can't jump...

I back one foot away from the ledge, and then slowly: cautiously, I bring back the other. A shuddersome feeling, more vile and black than any other, squirms up my spine. Have I not failed enough? Am I really going to fail now? This is my chance! This is my chance to be free! If I continue to live, I'll just keep being a slave, but right now, nothing holds me. No laws I must obey, suppressing the far reaches of my spirit. No bills that must be paid, forcing me to work. No fitness to maintain, keeping me strapped to regimen, diet, and exercise. And no fucking drug demanding my attention. In this moment, I am free, and if I can just follow through, I'll never have to be a slave again.

I wasn't able to live on my own terms, but god damnit,
I will
choose how I die. I dip down into a crouch, coil tight, and ready myself to spring. My streak of failure ends now.

I'm jumping.

My muscles release: take off. With as much power as my legs can produce, I leap into the air. But it's a trick. I'm not moving forward, only up. While in flight, I get an elevated view of the rocks below. The thought of actually going down there, bouncing and breaking along the steep cliff wall before splatting into a fleshy grave... it's too much. But at least now I can say II reconnect with the ground sooner than expected. Tilted forward as I was to look down, my balance decides to go that way as well, and I find myself teetering towards a free fall. My foot shoots forward in an effort to correct the tilt, but I was on the edge, and there is no more ground to hold me. A grunted animal squeal regurgitates from my soul.

Oh no.

The first instant of the fall, nothing is real-the sights, the sounds, the tremendous skipping of my heart or the twisted hold on my gut and lungs-none of it. All I can think is that I am a man, not a cloud, so I shouldn't be floating hundreds of feet above the ground.

But then it all makes sense. I am indeed a man, for I am not floating.

I'm falling.

In the next instant, the mountain takes his first bite of me. My leg connects with an outcropping ledge, right below the knee. My shin doesn't merely shatter on impact: it explodes. The force of the hit causes the rest of my body to swing down and around like a pendulum. I take a nasty bounce off rough stone and out into space. The ground is nearly upon me.

I thought I'd have more time to think.

Chapter the Fifth

The world comes back to me in a violent gasp. I stumble backward, and once a safe distance from the ledge, allow myself to fall. Good god... My mind is flailing, trying valiantly to hold itself above the waves of confusion pulling me under. It takes me a good minute to sort out which parts of that hallucination were real and which were merely imagined. I did move toward and then away from the edge. I did jump, and I did stumble, but the ground was there to save me when I stepped, and because of that, I'm alive... and I’m going to live.

Shit.

I couldn't do it... I
can’t
do it. The edge is right there... two steps and a hop away. So close, yet it might as well be on the distant shores of some remote island, cause I'll never fucking reach it.

How have I not seen this before? Death was never to be my reward for accumulating so much grief. The reward is life... more life... MORE FUCKING LIFE! I'm trapped. Escape isn’t possible. It never was. I'm here-stuck- with options as limited as my mind, and I’m going to have to endure this life until
it
is done with
me
.

A sob bubbles up from my lungs; I catch it in my throat. Get it together Chales! I've cried quite enough for one day... but ye gods how I am sad! Do I enjoy suffering? Has that been the issue all along-something hidden that I've been unable to face? Sabotage after sabotage fill my mind and memories. It seems I've been against myself from the start.

And now... what have I done? I have no home, no job, no prospects of good will of any kind. And that's not even the worst of it. There's a pretty solid chance I'm a wanted man right now. What if my neighbors didn't get out of the fire? What if they died? I could be spending the rest of this life in jail. Oh god... what the hell was I thinking? My life is in ruin and it's only going to get worse.

The sob breaks through my throat and manifests itself as a clipped, pathetic sound, bringing with it some baby tears. Why am I up here? What have I been doing? Was this whole thing nothing but an elaborate ruse designed to shake up a life that critically needed a shake? If that's the case, I shook far, far too hard. I don't know what it says about me or the prospects of my future that I wanted to die so badly I destroyed my entire life to make it happen, but I do know what it means.

It means I'm fucked.

No longer able to refrain, I start to weep. I'm not usually one to give in to bouts of pity, it's just that right now, it seems fitting, for behold how pitiful I am! Tonight's been an unforgivable waste. I broke my arms to slip free from my chains, dashed for what I thought was freedom, and cracked my skull against the steel bars of a cage I never knew was there. What a cruel surprise... I really thought I might make it out...

Perhaps I haven't yet felt pain enough.

A particularly shameful sob echoes out into the night, and all at once I become self aware. This is contemptible. I stifle all the elements of this shabbiness: the tears, the sobs, the pity. So I fucking suck, who cares!? From what I've seen, all the people of this shitty world suck. I'm just another one of the masses... another sheep... a doughy cow...

I am not different, as I once thought-as I tried so desperately to prove and believe. I am the same.

Fuck.

Enough of this silly night! Enough of this silly cliff! Where I'm going to go, what I am going to do-I have no idea-so I do what any good soul would do and push away the thoughts, dust the snow from my limbs, and start back down the trail, no longer sure how it is I feel.

The situation has gotten so out of hand there's no logical way to respond. How the world around me can appear so normal while the one inside me is so busted up and insane doesn't really make sense. Maybe I'm slipping into the initial stage of grief: denial. Eh, so be it. The only thing I know for sure is that I want drugs. Lots and lots and lots of drugs. The first mission of my new life will be to find some. I need to suppress this discomfort, hide from these fears. Maybe I can make another run by Griff's and rob his ass blind. I've never seen a weapon in there, and surely he won't be expecting me to swing by again.

Yeah... maybe I could do that.

I entertain myself by scheming about ways to get more heroine until I reach the bottom of the trail. The clouds shifted during the hike and quit reflecting light. They also increased their output of snow. The combination left me in almost complete darkness, but I've hiked this trail enough to know I'm nearly to the bottom. I keep my eyes ahead, trying to make out my car in the distance.

What the hell... some small light is floating in the air at the base of the trail. It almost looks like a firefly, but that couldn't be... For a breath, the light grows in intensity. I realize what it is. A cigarette.

Someone is standing by my car!

I stop, straining my eyes against the dark, trying to see what’s going on. Did Griff come after me? Not possible... is it? I sit in the snow a long time, watching, waiting to see what happens. The little light grows and fades a number of times, until eventually it's flicked away. Seconds later, a lighter flashes, bringing fresh life to a new one. Okay... so I'm not imagining things. Someone is definitely standing by my car.

Should I just wait for them to leave? A bite of cold nips at my exposed flesh. My dress was fine during the heat of movement, but I'm certainly not equipped to sit here all night. Besides, I'm being a bitch. I slam the gates on my apprehension and adopt a purposeful, powerful stride. Time to go figure out what the hell is going on.

"Oy there, friend! Glad you decided not to spend the entire evening up there in the cold," comes a voice from the dark. My apprehension reignites. He saw me sitting there? Or maybe he just meant up hiking the trail. Don't run away with yourself, Chales.

"Can I help you?" I ask. I'm still too far away to get a proper look at this guy, but from what I can see, he's about my height, maybe a tad shorter, and looks well built. He takes a long pull of his cigarette.

"You sure can. I need a ride."

"Sorry buddy, can't help ya." The response was automatic. I have nothing better to do-I suppose I could help this dude-but eh, I'll stick with my response.

I get close enough to get a look at him. Jesus Christ. He has the most outrageously muscled arms I've ever beheld. Every twitch he makes reveals a whole cluster of muscles I didn't know existed outside of Greek art. I know this because he is wearing only a dark vest despite the cold. His legs, at least, are more covered than mine. They're draped in long black pants that are tucked into shin high boots of the same color. His shoulder length brown hair is worn in the styling of a samurai. His lips are almost nonexistent, concealed as they are by a long mustache and patchy beard.

Based solely on description, one could rightfully assume this man is an unattractive bum. Such is not the case. I've never been so attracted to someone in my entire life. It's not in a sexual way, but I imagine for the ladies it would be. He exhumes an easy level of confidence I didn't know humans could reach. There is an air about him-a humble superiority-that dominates my senses.

He takes another puff of his cigarette, this time blowing the smoke directly into my face, all the while staring deep into my being with his sharp, cunning eyes. "I need a ride pal." There’s no mistaking his tone or his action. He isn't asking. He just gave me an order.

The nerve of this mother fucker! Not tonight. Not now. Quick as a serpent, I chuck my fist toward his face. Rather than feeling the crisp crack of skull against knuckle, I feel what could have only been a cannonball hit me right in the gut. The blow puts me on my back in the snow.

The air was knocked from me with such fury I'm certain that my lungs must surely have broke. I writhe in pain, mouth wide in a lifeless gasp, back arched against the convulsions in my stomach. Holy shit. I'm never gunna breathe again. This fucker just killed me. I survived the jump only to be put down by a fist...

Heh. Heh heh.

I find the thought amusing, and a light chuckle-really more of a grunted cough-escapes my lungs; then comes a rasp, followed by a gasp. It hurts like a mouthful of glass, but slowly: painfully, I regain my breath. The stranger stands over me, looking down with a stupid grin. "No need to get violent, friend. I can pay you for your trouble. I was supposed to meet someone here but I'm afraid they never showed. I'm in a bit of a bind, you see, and really just need a ride."

"Fuck you." I almost sob. Where I found such defiance in this pitiful state I don't know, but I'm glad I did. "I'm not driving you anywhere. You can fucking walk." He extends a hand down to help me up. I slap it away. "Seriously, fuck you." I've never been manhandled like that before. My pride hurts as bad as my stomach. It's still difficult to breathe.

His grin remains, but in his eyes I see rage. I hate to admit it, but it scares me. He's probably going to beat the keys out of me and steal my car. I slither back, moving outside his immediate range, then get to my feet. The very second I stand instinct kicks in and I throw another punch. This one lands flush. My first two knuckles land directly on his lower lip. His skin splits on impact. A warm gush of blood spurts onto my hand as his head snaps back and contact breaks.

Because of the solid connection, I fully expect him to be knocked back, but the only part of his body that moves in the least is his head. It doesn't even occur to me to try to hit him again. I stand as frozen as he-me stuck in a fighting stance, him with his eyes up, head back, blood running in a thin stream from his lip to his neck.

"You know, I don't spend as much time as I should sitting back and appreciating the simple things. Watching snow fall is a wondrous commodity." He says, wiping the blood from his face. He brings his eyes back down, locking me in the most wicked of stares.

I'm doomed.

"I wasn't expecting that, and the only reason I'm not ripping your fucking arm off right now is because you inadvertently supplied me with a moment of beauty. Believe me when I say you won't be so lucky again." The look in his eyes is enough to tell me he means it, and after having felt his strength, I wouldn't be surprised if he really could tear my arm from my body.

I gotta get outta here.

I pride myself on two things: my strength, and my ability to run. My strength was proven useless-his is far beyond mine-so that leaves running as my only means of getting out of this... though I can't help but think he will be able to outrun me as well. Still, I gotta try. I take a step back. It's hard to commit to something you know is going to fail, and my body is slow in turning. The stranger sees my plan and lets out a friendly laugh.

"Relax, man. I'm not going to force you. I can find another ride." He tilts his head toward the road. The first signs of headlights can be seen coming down the canyon from around the bend. "That might be my ride now." He bends down and picks up a large rock. "Funny how life works, isn't it? I've been stuck in this canyon for three hours without seeing a soul and then suddenly two people show up at once." Rock in hand, he moves to the side of the road.

Huh... what's he doing with that rock? Maybe he's going to put it in the road or something to get the vehicle to stop. Oh but wait... he doesn't put the rock in the road when he reaches it; he just sits there, holding it. The car comes around the bend. The fiend called Dread starts whispering to me from the trees. Something about this picture isn’t right... this isn't good. When the car is about 15 feet out and coming fast, the stranger does the unthinkable.

My heart stops beating and my mind stops producing thought as the stranger hurls the rock right into the car’s windshield. The car-a large black SUV-veers to the left, crossing the oncoming lane and riding up the canyon wall. It seems the worst is about to happen, but the car corrects a bit and starts coming back toward the road. It's going to make it!

It doesn't.

It slams into something-slams hard-and is catapulted into the air. It corks in flight, causing it to smash down on the top corner of the passenger side. The frame collapses on impact, allowing the car to roll easily onto the roof, and in that upside down position it slides. The sound of metal and glass scraping over concrete is loud and incredibly harsh. It slides a good forty feet before finally coming to rest.

Damn...

I'm not sure how long I stand unmoving: unbreathing, struggling to make sense of what I just saw, but the second it finally clicks, I find myself running toward the grisly scene. I don't know how I can help; I just know I have to try. I can see what must be a body hanging out the driver’s side window. I prepare myself for the gore of death as I approach, but then I see it's moving. Movement means life, and knowing whoever it is is still alive gives me a fresh batch of motivation. I can help!

I run up and kneel beside the injured soul. It's a large, overweight woman who appears to be in her late 40's, lying face down with her head toward me. Her pudgy arms slice over broken glass as she struggles to drag her over stuffed body from the crumpled remains of her car. "Stop moving!" I yell. She looks up at me, her short, curly, gray/brown hair slick with blood.

"My baby, my baby! Where's my baby!? Please help my baby!" She cries.