New England
Within a month Sarah got a job at a hospital located between the college
where Steven taught and the apartment he shared with Sarah. Matt took a job selling and renting time-shares. Shortly after they both landed jobs, Matt and Ashley moved out of Steven and Sarah’s apartment.
The move wasn’t a very big one. It was in the same complex, but two buildings away.
Despite their constant whining about the cold, Matt and Ashley adapted to life in New England with relative ease. Not surprisingly, it was Matt who complained the most. Ashley actually seemed to come alive in the cold weather.
Steven, on the other hand, was hesitant to face both his past life, which was understandable because every time he broached the subject in his own mind,
much less with anyone else, he felt crazy, and his life as a child in Louisiana.
“I think you’ve got a lot of denial when it comes to things in our home life Steven,” Ashley informed him one afternoon, when he’d returned from teaching a class,
as they shared mashed potatoes and pork medallions from a Boston Market TV dinner.
“I think I’ve got a lot of denial about a lot of things Ashley,” he informed her. “But yeah, you’re probably right.”
It was the end of November.
The fall semester usually ended in the first week or two of December, and even
though Steven was ready to return to teaching classes, his department head,
demanded he just take the rest of the semester off through the Christmas holidays.
Sarah had also been busy. About a week after her return, she began a nationwide
convention tour and she’d been on the road almost ever since. Steven talked to her every
night and emailed her every day, but it still wasn’t the same without her around.
In a word, Steven was lonely. It seemed that everyone around him, who had all
been so much of a part his quest to unravel his past life back in Louisiana, had sort of
gone on with their lives.
Fuck it, he’d tell himself. Enjoy the peace and enjoy the solitude because after the
holidays, it’s going to be back to the old grind. Still, with all this time on his hands, Steven quickly grew restless.
He tried to immerse himself in projects around the apartment. He cleaned the
place from top to bottom and built a bookcase.
All their packages from Louisiana had arrived and Steven turned the guest room
into a war room of sorts. He’d organized all the different files that had been in his
parent’s closet. He’d arranged his own things, like his dream journals and the stack of
things that had been missing from his closet. Ridley had also grabbed those and shipped
them as well.
He’d also downloaded and printed a large colorful map of Vietnam. After printing
it, he brought it down to a local Kinko’s and had them blow it up to the size of a full-size
wall map. This he mounted on the wall of the guest bedroom, as away to help him try to
jog his memory.
Beyond simple organization though, Steven spent very little time with the
information he’d accumulated. He’d wanted to convert all of his handwritten dream
journals to type on his computer, but after the first few pages of the first notebook, he lost
his motivation and the work ceased.
He’d organized everything from both his past lives, put it all into a room and,
quite literally, shut the door on it.
Instead, he tried to establish daily routines for himself. The only two he actually
followed through with were working out and chopping firewood, which he did daily. Steven enjoyed cutting his own firewood for some of the same reasons he enjoyed working out. Admittedly, there was a physical aspect to it which he enjoyed and which produced the same effects that working out did. But there was something cerebral too, about his short walks down to the small patch of woods near his home and the act of physically timbering a small tree and reducing it to kindling. It was easier than doing what he knew he should be doing, which was dealing with the situation. Steven was avoiding Eric and therapy like the plague. Eric actually called Steven several times when he was still in Louisiana, but with everything unfolding so fast, Steven didn’t take or return his calls. Now that he was safely back to the confines of his regular life, Steven didn’t really want to go plunging back into the murky waters of his past life and all the things he’d discovered during his trip to Louisiana. Steven did leave a message with Eric’s receptionist when he initially returned to New England. She asked him if he wanted to make an appointment and mentioned Eric had been trying to reach him. “No, just let him know I’m back in town and that I’ll schedule later,” Steven said, suddenly hanging up the phone as if it were scalding his hand. And so it came as a surprise, a few days later, when a shadow and a booming voice, suddenly erupted when Steven was down near the woods chopping fire wood. Steven must not have heard Eric at first, probably because of the steady whack-whack-whack of the axe smashing into the base of a small elm tree. “Steven,” the voice yelled loudly, just as Eric’s shadow finally crossed over Steven’s field of vision. The sudden eruption of Eric’s voice shattering Steven’s inner sanctum practically made him jump. Steven spun around in mid-swing, his eyes wide with surprise. “Shit, you scared the crap out of me,” Steven said, setting the axe down and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Sorry,” Eric said, tucking his hands deep into the pockets of his black wool London Fog overcoat.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you back in shrink school to never, ever, sneak up on a man wielding an axe?” Steven asked. “They probably did, but I must have skipped out that day,” Eric said. “How’d you find me?’ Steven asked. “I tried the house, called your office,” Eric said. “They told me you were still on a leave of absence. I tried the gym. When you weren’t at any of those places, I figured you’d be here. It was process of elimination really.” After a pause, Eric said, “Is there some place warm where we could go talk for a few minutes? Just to catch up a little. I saw the pub down the block was open. We could just go get a few beers.” “A beer huh?” Steven asked. “Yeah, I’m buying,” Eric said. “A hardy stout ale actually sounds good about now,” Steven finally said, The Pub, yes it was actually called The Pub, was a testament of time and showed, in ways, how reluctant certain parts of town were to step into the modern age. It was dimly lit inside and traffic hadn’t picked up yet for a Thursday afternoon. Usually, by this time of day, the first round of college kids were usually milling about, ordering up pitchers and blaring Stone Temple Pilot, or Nine Inch Nails songs from the jukebox. But The Pub had a quiet air about it today. There were only a few people sitting at the bar and the girl working the bar, a semi-cute brunette, seemed bored out of her mind. Steven sat at a table, while Eric walked up to the bar, and ordered for them. Eric returned to the table a few minutes later carrying the pitcher and a couple of frosted mugs. Eric poured one, slid it to Steven and then poured himself a glass of the dark brown beer. “Guinness,” Eric said and Steven nodded and took a swallow. They each sat in silence for a few moments as they nursed their beers. Finally, Eric asked, “So how are you Steven? How was the trip?” “Trick questions,” Steven said. “No, not really,” Eric said. “Well, I’m okay and the trip was, well it was depressing,” Steven said. “For God’s sake, it was my parent’s funeral.” Eric raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Shit, what do you want to hear Eric?” Steven asked. “Just the truth,” Eric said. “Well it was interesting,” Steven said. “Actually it was enlightening.” “Oh,” Eric said, his interest now piqued. “In what ways?” “You’re not going to stop are you,” Steven said. “Do you want a blow-by-blow of the whole fucking trip?” “No, just whatever you’re comfortable with,” Eric said. “I’m not comfortable with any of it,” Steven said. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s not like I’ve exactly been knocking your door down to talk to you.” “No. Quite the opposite actually,” Eric said. “You’ve been avoiding me.” “Bingo,” Steven said. “Damn, you are good.” “And look on the bright side, I’m not even billing you right now,” Eric said. This got a chuckle from Steven. He drained the last swallow of his beer and then re-filled his mug. He tilted the pitcher towards Eric. “No, I’m good for now,” Eric said. Slowly, Steven began to outline the main events of the trip, filling in blanks as he went along or after Eric asked a question. Steven didn’t go into every minute detail, but by the time he was finished Eric had a pretty good synopsis of what had transpired. “Can you see why I haven’t exactly been gung ho about diving right back into all this shit?” Steven asked. “I can,” Eric said. “But by the same token, I also know that pushing it all aside and pretending none of it happened isn’t healthy either.” “I’m not pushing it aside,” Steven said, a little defensively. “And I’m not pretending none of it happened. I’m aware it happened, painfully aware of it. How could I not be? It’s just that…” Steven’s voice trailed off. “What?’ Eric asked. “I don’t know where to go from here, that’s all,” Steven said. “All this information is all just fine and dandy, but I still don’t know who I really was. There are no answers, just more questions.” “What a cliche,” Eric said, scowling. “Why don’t you save your self-serving bullshit for someone who will fall for it?” “Self-serving bullshit or not, it still doesn’t change the fact of the matter, I don’t know any more about who I was than I did when I began,” Steven said. “What are you afraid of Steven?” “All of it,” Steven said. “All of it scares the hell out of me. None of it makes any sense. I don’t feel like dealing with it now.” “Have you thought about our conversation,” Eric said. “The one we had before you left.” “The therapy right,” Seven said. “Yes,” Eric said. “I have,” Steven said. “And?” “I think it has merits,” Steven said. “But I can’t stress enough, it has to be on my terms. Right now, I just don’t think I’m ready for it.” “Fair enough,” Eric said, finally relenting a little bit. Steven was grateful. “It sounds like the time you’ve had with your sister has been beneficial,” Eric said. “Yeah,” Steven said. “It’s been good getting to know her again.” “Unfortunate, I guess,” Eric said. “I mean the circumstances, you and her bonding against the backdrop of her memories of the abuse.” “Yeah, that was tough. Is tough,” Steven admitted. “You know, there’s a part of me that wonders now whether all my earlier diagnosis’s…Is that a word? What’s the plural of diagnosis, diagnoses? Whatever. All those were based on the assumption that I’d never suffered any trauma or abuse.” Steven paused and sipped his beer. “So what are you thinking?” Eric asked. “Well I just can’t see how a parent, any parent, can abuse one child and not the other,” Steven said. “I mean, I don’t see how a parent can abuse their child period, but to abuse one and not the other. I don’t know.’ “Are you suggesting that you were abused, or traumatized by your mother in some way?” Eric asked. “Maybe,” Steven said. “Yeah, I guess so. If that was the case, and I was abused, it makes sense that I’d have post traumatic stress disorder, right.” “I think I see where you’re going with this Steven,” Eric said. “If your post traumatic stress disorder was because of abuse you suffered at the hands of your mom, then all this past life stuff is meaningless.” “Exactly,” Steven said. “I think you’re treading some dangerous waters there my friend,” Eric said. “How so?” Steven asked. “It’s in our nature to absorb things that make sense to us, be it cognitively, spiritually or even on an emotional level,” Eric said. “It’s also human nature for us to reject things that don’t make sense to us. I think that’s what you have going on now. It’s more acceptable for you to accept the idea that you were abused by your own mother, than it is to accept that you may have lived a past life. That’s a very normal reaction. The danger is that you may be ignoring the obvious.” “What do you mean?” Steven asked. “Just because you were maybe abused, doesn’t necessarily mean you did not live a past life,” Eric said. “And by ignoring things that you know are true, or that are real, like the guy that chased you and your friend through the woods, or like the veteran you met briefly…you could be putting yourself, and the ones you love, like Ashley and Sarah, in danger.” “So in other words, just because I’m paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get me right,” Steven said. “Exactly,” Eric said. “Definitely food for thought,” Steven said. “I’d like for you to come in Steven,” Eric said. “I can help you. I know it. I’d like to see some of these things you’ve told me about, like the picture of the platoon that you got from Mrs. Robinson. There are exercises we can go through that would help you remember.” “You mean hypnosis,” Steven said. “Yes,” Eric said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Everything will be regulated. I even plan to video-record all the sessions.” “I just don’t know,” Steven said, and he slowly rose from his seat and slid his jacket on. “What are you afraid of Steven?’ Eric asked. “I’m afraid of what I’ll find out,” Steven said. “I’m afraid of who I might have been. I’m afraid of re-living and re-experiencing my own damned death. I mean Christ Eric; there are a billion things I’m afraid of.” “But all the things you’ve just listed are all things that exist only in your own head,” Eric said. “The thing you should be more concerned about, the thing that has me so concerned, is the external.’ “What?’ Steven asked. “The person who killed Lester,” Eric said. “Yeah, there is that,” Steven said, as he turned to leave. “Steven, be careful,” Eric said. “I will,” he said. “And come see me.” “I will when I’m ready,” Steven said, before walking out of The Pub. “I will.”
Steven mulled over bits and pieces of the conversation he had with Eric as he made his way down Milhaven Street, which was one of the shadier streets in the historic district of the downtown area.
Steven took another step forward and his foot came down to rest on a loose chunk of asphalt. His foot didn’t catch as the asphalt began to roll. In fact, his foot went right along with it, and he found himself sprawled flat on his ass on the cold, hard ground.
He quickly stood up and brushed his ass off, peering around nervously to make sure no one had witnessed his fall. But the streets were fairly empty, only a few cars drove by. As he continued to get his bearings, his eye fell on the door stoop of a small package liquor store and he decided another drink, maybe a vodka and cranberry might be in order tonight.
“Hell, you’re falling on your ass after only a couple beers with Eric and now you wanna buy a fifth of vodka? Smooth move Exlax,” chided a voice in his head.
“But I’m not even drunk,” he said to himself. “That fall had nothing to do with the
beers I drank.”
With that, Steven walked into the store, selected a bottle of vodka, the good stuff, Absolut Citron.
Steven turned and walked out of the store, again returning to his conversation with Eric. The guy had actually come and sought him out. It was, Steven mused, out of character for Eric to do that. Barring today’s meeting, Steven could not think of a single time he’d ever even seen Eric out of the office.
Again, Steven found himself wary of Eric’s motivations.
Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you, right.
“But that’s ridiculous,” Steven said to himself as he crossed Milhaven to Burning
Lane, near the park. “He has no earthly reason or motivation to want to help me other than the fact that that’s his damned job.”
“So what about the therapy big boy,” came the other voice in his mind again, “why won’t you do it? Why are you sweating it?”
“I’m just afraid,” Steven replied, hoping to stave off that bitter bile-like voice of pessimism and distrust.
“You can’t shut me out now, the voice persisted. I kept you alive in country and I’ll keep you alive now if you’d only just listen to me.”
“You lie,” Steven said.
I never lie, replied the voice.
“Yes you do,” Steven said. “You didn’t keep me alive in country. You let me die you bastard. You let me fucking die. We wouldn’t be having this fucking conversation, I
wouldn’t be going to see Eric if you had let me live. But you didn’t. You let me down.”
You’re wrong. You did that to yourself, the voice responded. Just as always, you failed to see the larger objective.
The voice began laughing at Steven. It was guttural, forced and ugly and Steven wanted nothing more to do with it.
But he also knew that wasn’t an option any more. It never, really was.
As he trudged homeward, past the park and down, next to the small patch of woods a fresh and heavy snow began to fall. Steven watched as his breath danced in front of him, vapors. His breathing was ragged and he realized, as he made his way through the dark, that he’d left his axe leaning against a tree. Although night had fully fallen, the bright winter moon filled the woods with a whitish glow that splayed across the thin trunks of the maple and elm trees that surrounded him. .
It could have been daylight, as bright as the moon was and he spotted his axe in a matter of minutes, right where he’d left it. As he leaned over to grab it he heard something snap. It was probably a twig, and probably not very big. The sound wasn’t altogether loud, but set against the backdrop of the quiet patch of woods, it might as well have been an atom bomb.
“Or a frag grenade,” the voice chimed in again. .
Steven spun around quickly, dropping into a crouch, his eyes scanning the woods
around him. It was there, just beyond the periphery of his senses. He continued to peer
through the trees, his eyes seeking movement of shapes that should not be there. But they were out there, that much he knew. But whatever it was, he could not see it. He could
only feel it. It was menace, clear and definite, and it bristled across his neck and down his
spine like a chilled scalpel. .
“You’re getting old,” the voice sang out. “You’re getting sloppy. Out of shape.”
“Fuck you,” Steven muttered through gritted teeth as he tried to catch his breath. It slowed and he continued to listen to the night. He thought he caught a flash of movement, a shadow, off to his left, and he spun but saw nothing.
He heard the voice laughing inside his head again.
“Look at you, you’re shaking. Pathetic little fuck,” the voice taunted.
“I’m not,” Steven said. .
“Aren’t you getting to be a little too old to be scared of things that go snap in the woods,” the voice continued, obviously enjoying itself and the doubt it spread through Steven’s veins
Then after a pause, after re-considering it, the voice said, “Well, landmines go snap in the night, so I guess I can understand your concern.
“Shut up ” Steven said, not unlike the same way a small child would beg a bully to stop tormenting him. And then firmer Steven added, “There is no war any more. The war is over.”
This simple declaration brought the biggest laugh he’d heard yet.
“Now you’re the one who is wrong. You’re the one who is lying. There’s always a war Steven. Take a look around you. It’s in every country. It’s on every street comer Listen to the night Steven. Listen good. People are dying out there. The war doesn’t end. Never. It’s up to you to make the decision. You have to figure out whose side you re really on.”
With that, the feeling of menace passed as quickly as it had come upon him.
Steven rose, collected his axe and grabbed three or four logs he’d chopped before Eric had surprised him earlier. It was a clumsy load, the logs, axe and the fifth of vodka, but Steven quickly made it to the steps of his brownstone. He set the logs down in a rack near his driveway, where he stored extra firewood.
It usually stayed pretty full, but lately, he noticed that someone had been pilfering from it. Steven suspected it was that little bastard from the building across the way. The only reason Steven didn’t make a stink out of it was because his dad was Sean Denton, the alcoholic novelist, who supposedly had a major drug habit to boot, and because Sarah was friend’s with Jayne, Denton’s wife and the kid’s mother.
Jayne, a retired actress, taught a few theater classes at the college. She and Sarah
sometimes worked out together. As for Denton himself, he had taught a few writing classes at the college, but was shit-canned for reasons the department heads still didn’t talk about.
Steven had only had limited dealings with Denton and that was fine by him. As far as Steven was concerned, Denton was a self-absorbed prick. So what if the guy had written a few best sellers back in the 80 s, Steven mused. I bet he never won a fucking Pulitzer.
Steven unlocked the door and wandered in. He flipped a light switch and then made his way to the kitchen. He rinsed a glass, poured some vodka and opened the freezer and grabbed an ice cube. He dropped the ice into the vodka and then opened the fridge and retrieved the bottle of cranberry juice.
“Gotta love the antioxidents,” he said to himself with a bemused chuckle.
It was abysmally cold inside the brownstone and Steven walked over to the thermostat and flipped the heat up. He rested his glass on the reading table next to his recliner and then walked back outside and grabbed three logs.
He shut the door behind him using his foot and then put the logs in the fireplace. Once he got the fire going, Steven walked back to the kitchen and checked the answering machine. Barnes and Noble had called saying his book order was in.
What book order, he wondered.
There was also a call, several actually, from Ashley.
“Just calling to see how you’re doing and if you want to do dinner tomorrow night,” she said. “Matt and I both have the day off and we figured you’d like to join us. Call me later. Love you. Bye.”
Thanks, but no thanks, Steven thought. He understood and appreciated the invitation, but by the same token, being around them, Matt and Ashley, “The Couple”, would only serve to remind him just how much he missed his own better half, Sarah. He hated playing the third wheel.
Besides, he figured, I’ve got a roaring fire and good fifth of vodka. Maybe there’s a game on tonight, or a rerun of Sopranos or something on HBO.
Sarah had not called him. Not on the house phone or the cell phone.
“Maybe she’s out sucking dick,” the voice returned.
“Charming,” Steven said, getting a little more used to the voice’s obtrusive presence. “So will you be joining me all night or just for part of it?” Steven asked, annoyed.
“It could be worse,” the voice said. It can always be worse.
“Somehow, I tend to doubt that,” Steven said, just as his doorbell rang.
He thought about not answering it, but knew the shadows of the fireplace threw his shadow across the foyer and the front door and that anyone outside would know he was there.
Reluctantly, Steven dragged himself from the recliner and walked to the front door. He opened it and, of all people, there was Denton, wearing jeans, a Ralph Lauren
sweatshirt and a beige overcoat.
“Thank God you’re home, um, uh,”
“Steven,” Steven helped him.
“Yeah Steven,” Denton said. “Like I was saying, I’m glad you’re here. I have a little problem.”
Steven wanted to say, “I’ll bet you do, a few of them from what I hear,” but instead meekly offered, “What’s wrong?’
“I locked myself out of the fucking house,” Denton said. “It’s totally stupid, I know, but it’s freezing out here. I was wondering if I could just chill out here for a little while until Jayne gets home. She went to work out.”
“The kids aren’t home?” Steven asked
“No, both staying the nights at friends houses,” Denton replied.
“Sure come on in,” Steven said.
