Out of the Shadows
Read Out of the Shadows Online
Authors: Timothy Boyd
Out of the Shadows
Timothy Boyd
Out of the Shadows
By: Timothy Boyd
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2015 Timothy Boyd
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
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Editor: Timothy Boyd
Creative Consultants: Sue Tejada, Teresa Williams
www.timothy-boyd.com
For my writing cohorts, who read these for me many times.
For my parents, who never once told me, “You can’t…”
For Brad, who stays grounded so I can chase a dream.
Thank you.
“You need to spend time crawling alone through shadows to truly appreciate what it is to stand in the sun.”
-Shaun Hick
I
Darkness.
I imagined the humid August air, thick and sticky, cocooning the surrounding forest in the breezeless night. The cicadas chirped a dissonant chorus that masked the movements of hundreds of other midnight creatures, and the scent of sweet pine filled my senses. A deer and its fawn treaded lightly, emerging from the shadows beyond the forest’s edge, and before moving on down the barren road, they stopped and considered me, a grizzled man standing on his quaint cabin’s porch.
My mind also conjured Sarah and little Annie, standing on either side of me, their arms wrapped tightly around my torso. I smiled at the perfection of everything, relishing in the sweet bliss that flourished in my chest when things were as they should be. But as with all good things, my idyllic daydream ended, and I forced myself to admit the one truth that fueled my current existence.
I am alone.
“Catch ya tomorrow, Bear?” came the gruff voice that had broken me from my reverie.
Turning in my barstool, I opened my eyes and saw a short, hefty, bald man waddling toward the exit of the bar. I nodded my head at him and said, “Does a grizzly shit in the woods?”
The large man guffawed, which quickly became a coughing hack, his lungs retaliating from the two packs of cigarettes he inhaled daily.
The sun had peaked above the horizon and now rose into the morning sky, pushing smoky, orange beams through the window shades. The shot glass in front of me was filled with the cheapest whiskey Gravediggers offered, the light from outside refracting through it onto the wooden bar.
I looked around at the other third-shift workers who frequented Gravediggers, the only bar in town that stayed open until eight in the morning for those of us unlucky in life. Many of them fell on hard times and weren’t able to snag a nine-to-five.
Me… I lost mine. Although “lost” probably isn’t the right word; it’s not like I just woke up one day and my job was gone.
I picked up the glass, swirling the whiskey around, and then I sipped it slowly. I felt the warm shivers shake my constitution as the liquid first hit my tongue and then rolled down into my throat, leaving behind the faintest tinge that reminded me I was alive.
I’m not a picky man when it comes to my drink. Cheap is fine. Hell, it means I can have
more
of it. It’s not the taste that draws me back, day after day…
I don’t get these assholes that order a shot, and as soon as it’s placed in front of them, they snatch up the glass and pound it down their frat boy gullets, not even taking a moment to breathe and savor the experience. I just don’t get ‘em.
My ex-wife calls me an alcoholic. But I’m not. Alcoholics drink alone, and I’m never by myself when I drink.
“One more for the road, Mama!” I called out to the bartender. You have to understand though: she’s not actually my mother. Her name’s Deb; a short, older woman with straight gray hair that always fell perfectly around her face, subtle eyeglasses that didn’t overshadow her smooth skin or her twinkling eyes, and an infectious smile that delighted everyone, no matter how bad the day had been. She was also easy on the eyes, if you ask me, and I’m generally not one who takes to looking at women twenty years older than me. Take all of this and add to it the fact that she was born and raised in the hills of Tennessee, making all of her charismatic words come out with a thick and charming drawl, and it was impossible not to become disarmed in her presence.
Her nurturing disposition and genuine warmth had made most of her clientele take to calling her “Mama.”
“Bear!” she hollered at me from the other end of the bar where she had been singing along to her favorite Lyle Lovett tune on the jukebox. She waved her hands in my direction, shooing me away. “Why don’t ya go on home and get some rest. Ya don’t need no more whiskey. Save some for the rest of us!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I dismissed her, grinning at her sass.
She flung her white hand towel over her shoulder and leaned on the bar in front of me. “I’m gonna keep on sayin’ it, ‘cause I love ya: what you need ain’t in the bottom of that glass, and you know it.”
“What if it’s whiskey I need?”
She cackled joyously, bringing a smile to my face, and she playfully snapped her bar towel at me. “Well, ain’t you a funny guy, Nick Barren?”
A tall, rugged man that resembled a thick tree trunk slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the bar and said, “I’m off for the night, Mama.”
Swiping the cash, she nodded toward the partly shaded windows. “The night’s done and gone, Sweetie. Sun’s up now.”
The inebriated man froze and stared at the sunbeams pouring through the cracks in the blinds, surprise filling his face. “Well, I’ll be…”
“Harry!” she called out, pointing a motherly finger at him and narrowing her eyes. “You get home safe, ya hear me?”
“I will,” he mumbled, moseying out of the bar.
Her gaze falling back to me, she motioned to the few other people in the bar as she said, “You guys are the only kids I got, so I worry.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
Eyebrow raised, she cocked her head slightly. “Man that comes in here every mornin’ and drinks like that ain’t fine.”
I stared down at my empty shot glass, guiding my finger slowly around the cool rim, keeping my mouth shut. She was right, but pride prevented me from admitting it.
She leaned forward on the bar again and asked, “How’s the hotel gig?”
From my light blue work shirt, I despondently removed the golden security badge and tossed it on the bar. Third shift at that damn hotel was slowly killing what little was left of my soul. The only thing I would look forward to was leaving work and having a few drinks with Deb. But since there wasn’t much else in my immediate future, I dealt with the self-pity and terrible job.
“I spend all night patrolling the empty hallways, dealing with drunk assholes, and arguing with husbands after the hookers steal their wallets,” I complained.
She grabbed a lowball glass from her clean stack and filled it behind the bar while talking over her shoulder. “Come work here. Job’s the same,” she joked, setting the glass of clear liquid in front of me. She winked and added, “Minus the hookers.”
I grinned at the thought. “Where would we be without you, Mama?”
“Prob’ly sober.” She laughed boisterously again, tickled by her own humor.
I picked up the glass she’d set before me, and I sniffed it, unable to discern an aroma. “What’s this?”
“Water.” The look on her face made it abundantly clear I wasn’t to argue with her, so I drank it. She took my hand in hers and said softly, “Don’t you quit on me, ya hear? There’s plenty of fight in you for the both of us, so quit actin’ like ya done lost already.”
Talk of my emotions made me uncomfortable, so I deflected. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?”
She gasped and stepped back, giggling to herself and snapping the towel at me again. “You sly dog! Ya can’t charm your way out of this one!”
Pulling a wad of cash from my pocket, I stood from my stool and leaned over the bar, placing a kiss on her cheek. “Bye, Mama.” I grabbed my things and headed for the exit.
“Ya don’t gotta go through this alone, Bear!” she called out.
Her words halted me as my brain sorted through the alternatives. I turned back toward her and smiled, although my heart ached. “Yeah, I do.”
As I crossed the threshold into the torturous light of day, I heard her holler, “You get home safe, ya hear me?”
I don’t really know how I made it back to my dingy, derelict, one-bedroom house in the woods, but the next thing I remembered, I was stumbling through the front door and dropping my keys on the mail table. I halted briefly, looking at the framed photo next to where my keys had landed. My ex-wife and beautiful little girl smiled up at me from behind the dusty glass. Without so much as a smile in return, I clumsily slammed the photo face down on the table and continued through the creaky hardwood hallway.
A few flies took notice of the crusted dishes in my sink and hovered annoyingly. I felt the world spinning, and I knew if I tried to make it all the way to my bedroom, there would be another mess on the floor that I would be loathe to clean up in the morning.
So, I collapsed onto my couch, keeping one foot on the floor to stabilize the spins. Right before my consciousness buried itself deep within my drunken haze, I thought briefly about what my life had been like only two years ago. I didn’t used to feel this…
vacant
– like my body had become nothing more than an empty husk as an omniscient puppeteer guided me through life.
I slept fitfully, and my mind flooded with dreams of my once-happy family: my little angel smiles at me, a stranger sneaks through my house and knocks out my wife, a gunshot destroys my happiness, my daughter lies covered in blood, my house is suddenly empty.
And I am alone.
* * *
A wave of nausea flooded my body and threatened to upheave itself as I opened my eyes. The quality of light peaking through the corners of my curtains suggested that I had slept through the entire day. The sun was setting, which was fine by me. I don’t do well in daylight for long periods of time anyway. It just doesn’t agree with my lifestyle.
After dry swallowing three aspirin, I stripped off my wrinkled work clothes and let myself soak under the steaming spray from my shower. As the water rinsed away yesterday’s grime, I began to think about what exciting things my night might hold since I was off work until the next day.
But there really wasn’t much to think about. Gravediggers would likely be it. Maybe watch some TV. Or if I got a wild hair up my ass, I could do the dishes, but the likelihood of that would be slim.
I threw on a dirty pair of jeans, a white V-neck t-shirt, and my red ball cap, and I headed toward the convenience store on the corner. As I exited my house, my face was blasted with the thick humidity from the remainder of the late-summer day. The usual chirping from the forest wildlife was oddly silent, and a slight breeze rustled the surrounding trees.
I lived in a forest, no neighbors in either direction for at least half a mile. It suited me. I walked down the gravelly shoulder along the side of the road with my hands shoved into my pockets.
Up ahead, I turned the corner and approached the tiny shop. Modest in appearance, with a single gas pump, this family-owned store provided me with snacks, booze, and soda, helping me to avoid having to drive into town and act civilly with strangers. I just can’t stand the looks anymore. The
knowing
looks. Looks of pity for the tragic story of my spiral into self-destruction. The shining officer’s fall from grace, losing his daughter – and, in turn, his wife and his home – forced into a shitty hotel security job. All because he had a penchant for liquor. Nicholas Barren: the man who couldn’t save his daughter, couldn’t hold on to his wife, couldn’t handle his job at the station.
To hell with ‘em.
My heart clenched in pain from the mental image of my daughter on the kitchen floor. My eight-year-old Annie, lying in a pool of blood.
Quickly shaking the thought from my head, I walked past the gas pump and the old Cadillac parked at it. Despite the fact that I’d just awakened, it was actually almost eight in the evening, and maybe a small drink wouldn’t hurt. I grabbed the handle of the glass door and yanked back to enter.
But it didn’t budge.
I shook repeatedly, trying to get in. Locked.
“Hey, Carl!” I called inside, shaking the door again. “It’s me, Bear. You closed?”
No answer.
I pressed my face to the smudged glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone inside, but the store was empty. “Carl! Sharon! You guys in there?”
Again, no answer.
Seeing as it was supposed to be open twenty-four hours, I grew worried, my old survival instincts kicking in. My senses were alert, hyperaware of the silence in the surrounding forest, the thick humidity on my skin, the sun slowly setting below the high tree line. Then I realized there was something odd about the Cadillac by the gas pump. I turned around to examine it: the engine was running, and the driver’s door was wide open. I slowly approached the idling vehicle, trying to get a glimpse of a person inside it.
There was no one.
I grew apprehensive, my hand instinctively reaching for the hip holster that wasn’t there, because one doesn’t normally think to pack heat when taking a trip to the store.
I slowly stepped around the back of the vehicle. As I neared the open door, I saw what I had missed on my initial approach. A thin trail of blood led from inside the car, across the small parking lot, around the back of the building, and into the woods behind it.
“Shit,” I muttered quietly to myself, looking into the car to see if a cell phone had been left behind so I could call the police. I cautiously followed the crimson path around behind the store and watched it trail off into the expanse of trees.
Soon, it would be dark, and there would be no hope of finding whoever was injured in the forest without a search party. “Hey!” I called into the woods. “Is someone out there?” I waited a few seconds, listening for the voice that never responded. “Do you need help?” Again, no response.
