Unleashed (A Sydney Rye Novel, # 1) (30 page)

Sun was streaming through a large window when I opened my eyes for the second time. The curtain was gone, along with Hugh and my snoring roommate. I knew I was in the hospital. I knew my brother was dead.

I started crying. It hurt my throat and burned the cut on my cheek, but it felt better than not crying. I cried so hard that I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. I felt I was caught in a wave, and it was spinning me around. I didn’t know which way was up and which was down. I became afraid that I would drown.

Hugh was suddenly at my side. “It’s OK. I’m here,” he said, holding my face against his chest. His love only made me feel more lost. I didn’t deserve his comfort or friendship. I had taken away the man he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with. It was my fault.

I couldn’t breathe, and I felt pressure building inside me. Hugh reached over, and pushed that little button. I forgot where I was, another click, why I was there, another click, who I was, one last click, what I had lost.

When I woke up, the sun was setting, filling my room with a soft orange glow. Hugh and a doctor were talking in hushed tones, and one of Nona’s crocheted blankets warmed my feet. Hugh saw that I was awake and hurried to my side. The doctor left the room. “Hey, how do you feel?” My throat was dry, and I told him as much. He picked up a plastic cup from the bedside table and held its straw to my face. I sipped up water and felt it travel down my throat into my belly. I felt foggy and wobbly. I let my head fall back onto the pillow.

“I thought you might like to know that Blue is going to be OK.”

“He saved my life.”

“I don’t know if you’re up for this, but there are some police here.” I didn’t respond. “They want to talk to you about what happened. You know, the longer we wait, the less we have a chance of catching whoever did this. Nona gave them a description of the guy she saw going into your house with James, but she only saw the back of his head. You’re really the one they want to talk to. Did you know the guy, Joy?” My brain was in too thick of a haze to figure out what to say, so I just didn’t say anything. Hugh looked up and out the window.

“There’s something else I need to talk to you about.” He cleared his throat. “Your mother is on her way with Bill.” It almost upset me. “I don't think I’ll be allowed to visit you once she gets here, and I’m afraid she’s going to try and mess with the funeral plans.” Hugh choked up. I put my hand on top of his.

“I’ll talk to her. Don’t worry. We won’t let her ruin his memory.” Hugh swallowed and attempted a smile.

“James had a will, so it shouldn’t be a problem, but I just don’t trust your mother.”

“Me, neither.”

“She should be here by tomorrow morning.”

“OK, I’ll prepare myself. I’ve got to lay off whatever is in that clicky thing.”

Hugh laughed. “Morphine.”

“It’s good stuff.” The door opened, and Nona walked in.

“You’re awake. Wonderful. Alright, Hugh, she’s awake, not in a fit of tears, so now you can go home for a while.”

“I can wait a little more,” he said.

“No you can’t. Joy, this young man has to go home, because he has been here for over 24 hours.

“Hugh, go home and take a shower, get a change of clothes. I’ll be fine.” I smiled at him hoping he would go.

He inspected my face. “I’m fine. I can stay.”

“Hugh, it would make me feel bad.”

“Well, I can’t go home.” His face tightened. “It's a crime scene.” Nona’s mouth dropped at her own insensitivity. “I don’t know if I can ever go back there.” Hugh hung his head. Nona crossed the room and put her arms around him. He leaned into her, and I saw him grasp at her blouse, squeezing it in his fingers.

“You can go to my house,” she told him. Hugh’s breath caught in his throat, and he began to cry. He sobbed into her shoulder. I held back my own tears with what strength I had left. “I have to bury Aurora,” he cried. Tears sneaked out of my eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” I said to his back. He turned to me, big, wet tears streaming down his face.

“It’s not your fault,” he said and sat down on the bed next to me. Nona put her arms around us both, and soon all three of us were sobbing. We cried for James, for Aurora, for ourselves, and for each other.

My Mother

Hours later, Nona was crocheting in the chair next to me, Hugh was showering in a nearby hotel, and I floated in a comforting morphine sea. Each time I began to think, started to feel pain, I clicked on my button, and away I would go.

My mother was arriving the next morning. I needed to figure out what to say to the police. The gentle click of crochet needles and the warm fuzz in my brain kept me, if not happy, at least unaware.

It was dark and quiet in the hospital when I reached for my button and didn’t find it. I blinked in the darkness and saw Nona’s frame silhouetted in the light leaking under the door.

“That’s enough now,” she said softly.

“That’s up to the doctor, Nona,” I argued.

“You’ve had enough.”

“I’m in pain,” I whispered. My whole body felt sour. I needed my medicine.

“You have to deal with it.”

“The doctor knows how much pain I’m in. The doctor gave it to me. You can’t take it away.”

“My second husband died because of this.” She held the controller out to her side, and I saw its shape in the darkness. I reached out for it but didn’t even get close. “He was hurt in the Korean war. He had shrapnel in his hip and posterior. It made walking painful. But more than that, it made him afraid. The doctors gave him little blue pills,” she swallowed loudly and continued, her voice heavy with emotion. “They took away the pain in his body, and they blotted out the memories that haunted him. He had been to hell and back, and those little blue pills let him hide from that. You can’t hide from hell, Joy. It came for him as it always will, and he wasn’t ready. Accidentally or on purpose I’ll never know, but what I do know is that I’m not letting you march into this thing dulled on painkillers.” She leaned over and kissed my forehead. “One day you’ll thank me.”

“Nona, please. It hurts.”

“It’s bound to.” She sat back down, taking my button with her.

“Nona. I won’t be able to sleep without it. How will I face tomorrow without a good night’s sleep?” The clicking of the crochet needles started again. “Nona.” She didn’t respond. I leaned back. The pillows felt lumpy.

I didn’t sleep again until light seeped into the sky and through the drawn blinds. Two hours later, I woke believing I was drowning in James’s blood. I sat up with a start, painfully pulling on tubes in my arms. Sweat drenched my hospital gown. I was staring straight ahead at the white wall opposite me, breathing hard, when I felt another presence in the room. My mother sat in the chair by my bed watching me.

“Are you OK?” she asked. It took me a minute to realize she was real and not some sick twist in my dream.

“Hi, Ma.” She smiled and looked down at her hands, which were folded on top of her floral-printed skirt. I leaned back on the pillow and closed my eyes, steeling myself for the conversation ahead. It’d been almost a year since my mother and I last spoke.

“It’s good to see you,” she told me. I thought about our last conversation, its escalation into a screaming match, the hurt and anger I’d felt then. Funny how I used to think that was hard. I wish that was what hard was.

“James is dead, Ma.”

“I know that.” She began to twist the simple gold band on her wedding finger.

“Is Bill here?”

“He took our things to the hotel. I came straight here. He’s just heartbroken about this whole thing.” I couldn't help but snort.

“Did you see Nona?” I asked.

“Yes, she went home for a little while.”

“Did you see Hugh?”

Her lips pursed. “Yes, he was arriving at the same time I was.”

“I hope you didn’t say anything cruel.” She opened her mouth wide to show me her shock.

“I don’t know what you think of me, but I would never. That young man, as confused as he may be, is in pain, and I would not want to do anything to injure him further.”

“He’s not confused, Ma. You are.” She stood up and walked over to the window.

“Nice view.”

“Ma, James left a will.”

“I know.” She didn’t turn to look at me.

“Hugh told me he had provisions in it about his funeral.” She nodded. “I want you to promise me you won’t try and interfere with that.” She didn’t answer me. “Ma?”

“Bill says that—”

“Fuck Bill, Ma. I don’t give a shit what that asshole thinks or says.”

She turned on me. “He is your father,” she said with all the fierceness of a stray kitten’s hiss.

“No, Ma. Dad’s dead. Bill is just who you married. He’s warped your mind against your own children. Can’t you see that?”

“James and you have turned against God, don’t you understand?” She came to my bedside. “Jesus is your only hope for salvation.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I just wish that James could have understood that before he—” Her voice faded away.

“Before he was murdered, Ma. Murdered.” I had started to cry without noticing. “You think he’s in hell, don’t you?” She looked at the ground with wet eyes. “He didn’t go to hell. No one as good as him, as true as him, could go to hell.”

“I feel like this is all my fault. If I hadn’t let the devil rule our lives for so long,” she wrung her hands and watched the linoleum floor, “then you two might understand how important Jesus’s love is.”

“Jesus Christ, shut up. I don’t need this shit right now.” My tears evaporated. “Our childhood was fine until you started drinking. And even then it was better than this bullshit.” I waved a hand at her bad haircut, her thick shoulder pads, her gold cross necklace and the pamphlets about Jesus I knew to be in her ridiculous purse.

“Now you can say what you want about me, but taking the Lord’s name in vain—really, Joy.” She pulled herself up tall. I hung my head, which she took to mean an admittance of defeat instead of the pure fatigue it really was. “Now Joy, I think that your brother, sitting from where he is now, would appreciate a service that glorifies God.” I looked up at her. Her eyes were glowing the way only religious fervor can make eyes glow.

“No.”

She exhaled. “I’m your mother.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to deny James’s entire life.”

“I don’ deny his life.” She leaned over and took my hand. “I just think it’s important for you to realize God did this for a reason.”

“Did what?” A burning started in my chest.

“Called him to Him.”

“Killed him?” She nodded. “You think James was murdered because he was gay?”

“It happens all the time. The Lord works right here on Earth.” I pulled my hand away.

“He was your son,” I told her.

“We are all God’s children,” she rebutted.

“You are so cold.”

She reached for my hand again, but I recoiled from her. “Don’t you understand? I am filled with God’s love.”

“Ma, if you try and make this funeral about God instead of James, I will never speak to you again, do you understand me?”

“Joy, my path is clear”

“Ma, please.”

“I’m going to do what I feel is best for my own son. Now, let’s talk about something else.”

“You can’t. He had a will.”

“There’s a police officer who wants to see you. I’ve already spoken to him.”

“Ma.”

“It’s important that he speak to you, and I told him that I would call him as soon as you were awake. I’ll be right back.” She leaned in to try and kiss me, but I dodged her. She looked at me and said, “I hope one day, before it’s too late, you will come to understand,” as she pursed her lips and looked at me with eyes full of something I don’t understand. “Why won’t you just let Jesus share some of your burden?”

“Because I don’t need him. I can take responsibility for myself. My success and my failures are mine and mine alone.”

“That’s what you are, Joy. Alone.” She looked at me. She was angry and hurt and full of loathing. “Your whole life you’ve been alone.”

“I've never been alone.” I sat up and felt shooting pains in all sort of places. “I always had James. When you were drunk and destroying our lives, when Dad was dying, when you were getting sober and finding God, I had James. And even now, when he’s dead, I still have him. I feel bad for you that you never got to know him.”

“He was my son.”

“And you never knew him. You never understood him, and you never tried. Just get out.” She reached a hand toward me, her eyes wet. I slapped it away, too angry to find compassion, even for my own mother. She held the slapped hand to her chest, opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it and walked to the door. She opened it and then turned to me. “Joy, the devil is at your doorstep.” Her voice quivered. “If you invite him in—” Her fear at my fate stopped the words in her throat. My eyes burned, and I turned away from her. The door closed.

Hugh walked in minutes later. “She is an unbelievable bitch,” I told him before the door had a chance to swing shut.