Listen Now

The sun reflected off the windows of the station and the silver white of the snow. The figure kneeling alongside the deserted hotel building across the street scanned the area again, looking carefully in both directions the tracks followed. He had already spotted three of them, but he knew there were more.

Fears. These strange things, stacked high in dark places, tumbling down in the middle of the night.

She found an unnamed country road to drive down for a few moments. Then she pulled the rusty Ford Explorer over to the side underneath the towering white pine tree with light blue-green leaves. She turned the engine off and then began to cry inside her hands.

“Reminds me of a bit of bad happenin’s goin’ on a decade ago.”

Maybe the dread came because of the dog. Their former dog...

The picture reminded Gloria Nelson that she used to be softer, both inside and out. A simple, square snapshot, so harmless and so forgotten. Like the smile she wore in it.

The stretch of I-95 was long and it felt even longer with the rain coming down.

Coughing spitting pushing falling.

There’s no ability to retouch or retake this Josh my boy.

“I dare you.”

We hurt those we love.

5. Somewhere on a day Stephanie didn’t even know at a time she wasn’t sure about in a state of mind she could barely fathom, a weather reporter shared news of the upcoming storm. “A winter storm warning for the entire western North Carolina region remains in effect tonight through Tuesday night due to a dangerous mix of icing and snow accumulation.” Stephanie’s eyes hovered on the television as she half-dozed sideways on her couch. It was always the same old thing: some ominous alarm from some young and perky meteorologist that usually amounted to nothing the next day. “Duke Energy reports they are prepared to respond to the winter storm that’s expecting to move through the region this Monday night. Company trucks are stocked and fueled, with crews ready to respond to outages. The icing could knock trees and limbs into power lines all depending on the strength of the storm.” The screen showed a number to call and a website to contact for power outages. Stephanie simply closed her eyes and thought for a moment about how much of a supply she had. I’ll be fine for a while. So bring on the ice and the snow. Let everybody else’s life shut down. Stephanie knew her power lines had been down for a long time. She picked up her phone and turned it on. The familiar beach scene came up like it always did. A real place that belonged to her and her memories. It always brought a small bit of hope to see the sand and the blue seas in the snapshot. The information on top of the photo said it was 4:35 p.m. on Monday, January 25. She would think about this moment often after everything happened. Stephanie would recall being sprawled out on this couch watching the news and dismissing it the same way she dismissed pretty much everything else in her life. Some things should never be disregarded and disrespected. Especially Mother Nature.

4. put your arms around it and hold tight it sticks out in front of the blue and the white this wonderful little picture in the box of the sky and the clouds and the hills below it touch it and take it Stephanie drifts. Or maybe the land below her does. Or maybe the sky is rushing above her. Or maybe ever single centimeter she can hold onto is starting over again. Starting to breathe. Starting to see. Starting to siege away. yes Eyes closed, she can see something but she doesn’t know what it looks like but it’s beautiful in this terrifying sort of way. Something molded and shaped with something else sticking out. And she’s somebody standing there, standing on it, standing at the edge, holding and hovering, waiting. Waiting with the wind. Waiting with the sun. Waiting. What do you have in store and what are you here for? Breathing. God what a feeling. Reeling. Reeling again. take it Stephanie can see it all but this is a dream or some kind of illusion. David Copperfield has suddenly entered her mind and how can that be ‘cause is he still alive anyway? breathe out little girl breathe Sharp. Light. Take. End. Falling. She’s falling now. She’s trying to run but she can’t anymore. And this place and this urging seems suddenly gone and someone’s laughing telling her it’s all lost and it’s all gone and she’s just one more unremarkable footnote in the story of eternity. shoot up again little princess Oh the hateful, awful voices. shine on you crazy diamond She wants to run. She wants to reel back. She wants to do anything but she can’t because the black and the malice and the anger and the whole dam bursting cover her entirety. Coughing, laughing, crying, Stephanie wakes up. In her apartment. She knows she needs more. More. Just a little more. shine on So yeah, this little, this awesome, this crazy little diamond. take it nobody will understand nobody can really understand unless they’ve been here at the abyss take it all you crazy little diamond Day and night and minute and hour and moment all become intertwined into the same twisted, spiraling knot. The rush. Once again. Oh the rush. yes the rush yes you don’t understand yes it’s good it’s so good So good until it wears off. And it always will. Always.

3. Eight and free. Eight and golden. Eight years old with eyes yearning for the world outside. It didn’t take her long to reach that world. It didn’t take that world long to devour her. “Everything okay?” the voice behind the door said. Stephanie stood in another bathroom that didn’t belong to her. She’d grown used to this in the last ten years. Especially the last few years. Sliding inside stranger’s doorways in order to get what she wanted. The plastic bag in her hand was what she wanted. Needed. Longed for in order to breathe. And if sleeping with the guy she got it from worked, so be it. You’re getting older and less enticing to those opening the doors.  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said. She snorted another bit and then began to touch up her makeup. When you drove over a road too many times without patching up the rough spots, the wear and the tear began to show. She could try to cover it up but it was so obvious to her. She looked sick. Tired, sluggish eyes and a sunken face and bony features. Only thirty-five years old but looking more like she was almost sixty. Or almost dead. Stephanie opened up her hand and looked at the plastic bag. She rarely snorted it unless she was stuck somewhere without a needle to use. She’d been busy enough last night—now she was just being greedy. But this was just one of the many bags she’d be leaving this house with. A quick taste before the fifteen-minute drive back home was all she needed. Every now and then she’d picture that eight-year-old girl. So many hopes and dreams. So full of life. There wasn’t one big thing that happened. No ship striking the iceberg in the middle of the ocean that would eventually sink it. In her case there had been hundreds of hidden holes that steadily leaked. She had grown used to wading around in these flooded waters. Stephanie opened the door and headed back into a house that didn’t belong to her. Neither did this life.   “Nothing on the news?” He looked at her from the driver’s seat. Barron was a small man, one of those who didn’t carry an ounce of fat on his body. It wasn’t because he used. Barron liked being in control. He thrived on it. He was fine selling his drugs and taking his money and bypassing the business when he could get a little something extra in return. But Barron wasn’t a user. He was simply tiny in every way possible. Especially deep down in his soul. “There’s news everyday that only gets worse so what kind of ‘news’ are you looking for?” His tone sounded like the kind a sober man would use with a completely soused one. Barron was used to talking like this. Most of the time, the people in his life were in fact completely wasted. But Stephanie hadn’t arrived at his place bombed. And she wasn’t leaving high either. Well, not that high. “I’m talking about anything suspicious?” “You in trouble?” Barron asked her. She shook her head. “You better not be coming around me if you’re in trouble.” “I’m not,” she said. He was driving her back to the apartment. This way, if Stephanie saw anything worrisome outside the building, she could make up an excuse and get Barron to keep driving. Little men would act on little lies and little threats. Yes, Barron was a nutjob and dangerous in his own way, but she knew she had complete control over him. When the door doesn’t open anymore then my use will be done with these men. “Well, there’s was some massive tornado that destroyed Columbia last night. You see that? That’s all they’re reporting.” “I didn’t see that,” she said. She hadn’t seen that because she’d seen a corpse floating in a tub of blood yesterday morning. Then she’d gone home and found the remaining heroin in her apartment and had promptly shot up to get rid of the bad mojo she’d left behind. That afternoon, she had called Barron wondering what he was doing. “You gotta go easy,” he said to her, looking over at her with those eyes that wandered up and down.

2. The pale color of her stomach. Then her legs. Then her chest. Then everything else. Stephanie tried to move her arm but it felt heavy and shackled. Her dry mouth tried to swallow but felt stuffed with cotton. She didn’t feel cold but she felt stretched and watched and very naked. That was some ride . . . Her flickering, barely opening eyes kept expecting to see the dirty windshield of her car. But instead, there was some kind of fan hovering over her. Stopped like the blades of an abandoned Army chopper. Where am I? Everything was slow motion. Her muscles ached and she knew she must have been out for a while. But for how long? Further examination proved that she hadn’t been alone in this strange bed. She’d been with a man last night. Maybe a stranger was making coffee for her. Maybe he had left with a note on the kitchen counter. Or maybe he had simply escaped before the junkie he’d brought home woke up beside him. Stephanie hardly ever used that term. The J-term. But she was tired and her mind couldn’t help spitting it out. It took her several moments to locate parts of her clothes. Her jeans, a t-shirt, a blouse. They were easy to find considering the sparseness of this bedroom. There was only the bed, a small pair of tables next to it, then a black leather chair. She didn’t even bother trying to look for anything else. All she wanted was to get out of there. The ground wobbled as she tried sorting through her memory like a remote flipping through the channels. The dark haze covered over everything since shooting up in her car by her apartment. What happened after that? She didn’t carry a phone that could give her any sort of clue. She could just feel the keys to her Honda Accord which hopefully was parked somewhere outside this condo/apartment/house? “Hello?” Her voice sounded like someone else. Like stepping over a gravel road hearing the crunch underneath your shoes. “Anybody here?” The doorway opened up to a loft painted in soft white. The modern furniture was sleek and alabaster and looked brand new. Stephanie scanned the room with the high ceiling and the bookshelf with carefully arranged sets of high-brow books—not stacks of trashy paperback romance novels like she had in her place but hardcover cookbooks and literature and photography journals. A gray minimalistic painting hung on one of the otherwise bare walls. She had a hard time breathing. Nothing in this place looked familiar or looked like her. This wasn’t her world. Did I break into this place? “Hello?” she called out again. Half a wall separated the living area with the kitchen. It was sparse and modern and clean. No coffee waited for her. No pastry. No note. Nothing. A part of her wouldn’t have been surprised if she had simply wandered into this condo by herself. She had done worse things. Far worse things. But she knew she’d had sex last night with someone. Naturally she had to assume it had taken place here. Her body shook and she could already feel it. The longing and the need. If she’d been out long enough, she knew the sensation would start to grow. It wasn’t just a nagging addiction anymore. She was a slave, walking around in shackles knowing there was only one thing that would unlock them. Freedom was momentary and brief, then the irons would be clamped back on her. Stephanie looked for a bathroom. There was a doorway on the other side of the bedroom with the light on inside. She wanted to shower and clean herself up but she didn’t want to stay any longer than necessary. The tiles were an off-white with a bone-colored sink matching the shelf next to it. It made the bathtub stand out all the more. It was black—no it was the color of wine. This was her first image. Then she saw the dark water on the ground next to it. Not dark water that’s blood. Dripping from a pale arm.      The arm was barely draped over the side with a bloody wrist and hand.

Chapter 4   1. With fists clenched Stephanie felt Orinoco Flow inside her Honda Accord. The speakers rattled as Enya sang her theme song all while she lay with the seat back and her fingers clawing into her thighs. Her laugh could only be heard inside this car. Inside this parking lot where the other cars slept just like most of the people in the apartment building next to it. She didn’t belong inside but she belonged here, floating and smiling and being. Sail away sail away sail away. Her skin felt open and her flesh felt kissed by a gentleman about to propose. Her heart skipped over the water like some rock unable to sink. Her mouth opened and her tongue licked her lips and she laughed again. Fingers sinking, trying to hold on, trying to savor each moment. That sweet, sweet rush. It was nine or midnight or three or something like that. Levi watches. Stephanie knew it was impossible. It was a lie trying to kill this joy. Her dead son wasn’t watching anything and he wasn’t judging or looking down or doing anything. Another song came on but she changed it again. Listening again. Coasting again to the song of her youth and her life and her joy. One more shot. One more flood. One more love. The drift and the air and the swoop and the drop and the flip. I’m watching you Mommy. Somewhere on the single play of the same song she started to truly drift away, from the rainbow to the abyss. The unconscious swallow of the rag smothering her soon felt like acid in her mouth. Her eyes rolled back while her mind rolled forward. Suddenly evening fell and Stephanie could feel herself floating above this rusted-out car and this over-looked parking lot and this forgotten-about life. Young once with so much of everything. But the years covered her like the lines under her eyes. Like the holes in her arms. Like the leak in her soul. Stephanie laughed and fell into slumber and remembered the good and better and best times. Like some thick, familiar comforter, they wrapped around her and allowed her to sleep. At least for a little while.

Interlude 1: Beneath all your darkest fears Looking through the glass, the world watches and waits outside. Breathing to cloud the surface. Blowing to chill the air. Breathless with anticipation. Inviting souls to come out and play. Waving them on with a warm welcome without saying a word about what’s to come. A windshield playing the flat scenery they pass. A bay window picturing the woods and the rolling mountains beyond them. A dormer presenting the vacant road and the quiet town it sits alongside. Longing, fear, and curiosity, all barely scratching the surface. Desperate to break and crash, yet stuck. The air shifts, the forecast suddenly puzzling those watching. It’s as if the sky itself knows what’s coming. Those who watch it don’t and can’t know. They can still see the sky. They can still picture some hue of hope.

7. Wrap me in always, and drag me in with maybes  Moving, Danny never feels out of breath. His legs never ache, his body never stops. All along pedaling so fast, pedaling and pedaling more. Following the girl into the sunset, over the sidewalks, onto the trail leading into the woods and across the wooden bridge. Laughing, Danny stares ahead at her head looking back for the moment. The jump, the inevitable tumble into the leaves. Staring into dusk and watching it blanket them with its shadow. Your innocence is all I have Talking. Listening mostly. Listening to her. Listening to someone, to some dream. Summertime sensations swirling around. The secrets of your dreams Danny never plans to tell, never plans to let anybody know, this sharp and precious little secret. Everyday. This habit and this wonder and this reality. So young with sixth grade on the horizon. So ready to grow up and get the hell out of there. But youth is wasted on the young All along, this glimmer never known before now. We’re forever frozen, forever beautiful  Like her. This blood-red colored gemstone. Night has come. Again, and again, and again, and again. The night has come to hold us young But always and ever, Danny ends up waking up, old again, alone again, remembering again. The ache still in his side like always. Remembering back to those golden days when he was eleven years old and believed in anything. For a second he wonders where he is, then realizes it’s a quaint little room in a cute little house in the middle of a creepy little town. He sighs then crawls out from the covers, feeling little himself. As he pulls the blankets back, he hears something thud on the wooden floor underneath him. He looks over and then notices the flat oval-shaped object. Danny bends over and picks it up. It’s a rock. A flat grey stone. Quite smooth. Where’d that thing come from? It had been at the base of his bed. He hadn’t noticed it last night. How’d I sleep all night without noticing it? With another tired sigh, he places the rock on the nearby desk and then decides to try and find some coffee.

6 Please call  Danny shut off his phone, ignoring Brooke’s tenth text of the night. A few were angry, then hurt, then apologetic, and now scared. He just felt done. It was too much. Brooke was too much. He was glad to be away from her and already dreaded heading back home. Danny knew he’d eventually need to be honest and tell her they were done. Inside the small and cozy room of the B&B, Danny reached for his laptop and then sat back on the cushioned armchair in the corner. The lady who owned this was a sweet woman in her eighties maybe. She gave him a brief tour and then said he was the only one staying there. He had his pick of three rooms so he chose this one. It wasn’t the biggest but it had windows looking out onto the main street in Solitary. Danny figured he might be able to spot some local weirdos wandering down the street tomorrow. He went through the familiar checklist of sites online. Nothing in his email looked promising. He checked Twitter and shared a couple more things. Recently he had crossed the 100K mark of followers. Danny used to follow everybody but a couple of years ago narrowed it down to about 250. Mostly famous people, some who followed him and some not. Some of his diehard fans were also on his list. He would tweet at least a dozen times a day. His last tweet had been an hour ago, taking a picture of one of the three French Broad beers he’d enjoyed. The rest of the social networks followed, then he proceeded to go to his blog and read some of the comments on earlier posts. “A horse has more common sense than you do, jackass.”   That was from HughFlight45. Glad he keeps reading my stupid blogs.  HughFlight45 was one of the trolls.  “Keep the laughs coming.”  A newcomer. Always nice to see. “This is by far the best post you’ve ever done.” One of his longterm fans. He had written a funny piece on why women are right 98 percent of the time. Danny didn’t actually believe this, of course. Most guys were horny tools. That he knew. But a lot of women were entitled brats who loved working out and then walking around showing off in their leggings. No wonder guys were horny tools. Men got it wrong so often and no longer seemed to care anymore. Women knew the odds of them being right so they no longer questioned whether they were. Danny . . . well, he knew that he had more female fans, and he knew that he could mock his male fans simply because they’d agree with him. I should write something about how to know when a relationship’s over. Not feeling an ounce of guilt when not returning a call or a text. That’s a big one. Or feeling an overwhelming sense of freedom the moment you step out of their apartment. But those were obvious. He needed to find the utter stupidity of relationships and then highlight them in his wonderful little way. Danny thought of the Mexican back at the bar. Vince. A good guy. Danny had a headache now after the potent beers and nothing to eat with them. But the conversation had been worth it. He shifted from thinking about writing about a girl to writing about this town. Where do I start? Who were these people in this town and why in the world did they think like they did? Vince just shrugged off these rumors. Really? Either he didn’t believe in the whole occult-ritualistic-death-practices or he actually was still involved with them. What if he believed? Why in the world would he still stay around then? To lose money on a pub? The questions started at this place. Danny’s gift was figuring out a way to point out the stupidity and still sound like he cared. Even a bit. But like he told Vince, that was the beauty of Seinfeld, right? He didn’t want to act like he knew more than others but that was the honest truth. The vast majority of people--Danny had it at about 87.94 percent—were really, truthfully dumb. He loved that word because he could use other, creative ones, but dumb was just another four-letter word.

5. Just when you thought it was safe to go into a pub, out steps Nosferatu. Danny had to chuckle when the guy walked toward his booth. No, he wasn’t old and bald and white and didn’t resemble some walking-dead vampire. The Hispanic carrying a wide smile and even wider belly approached with the attitude of a longtime friend. He seemed to be bobbing along toward Danny’s table rather than walking. “What’s going on?” the man asked as he stood by Danny’s booth. There wasn’t another soul that could be seen or heard in this restaurant. “Busy day?” Danny asked as he took the small menu the guy handed him. The server laughed with a low and muted chuckle. “You know it. Every day is Groundhog Day.” “You don’t have a southern accent,” Danny said, stating the obvious. “I don’t quite look southern either, do I? Born in Mexico. Raised in Arizona.” Danny spotted the splint on three of the man’s fingers. “Get in a fight?” His friendly face didn’t change. He just gave Danny a nod. “It happens. You thirsty?” “Yes. And curious. What’s up with the girl in the middle of the road? Pink snowcoat and boots.” “We send her to freak out people visiting for the first time.” For a second Danny actually believed him since he said this in such a deadpan, matter-of-fact way. “Really?” “No. That’s Roxy. An odd duck in an odd family.” “Funny,” Danny said giving him the menu. “Give me a Heineken.” “That’s original.” “Does mocking customers help business?” The server just gave him a shrug. “Look—I’m guessing that you didn’t just wander into Solitary. You a reporter?” “Not quite,” Danny said. “We get a lot of those. It’s been less frequent but still. Lots come in here. Then there are the ghosthunters.” “Do I look like one of those?” The big guy just studied him for a moment. His cheeks looked like croissants. “No,” the guy said with a laugh. “I look more like one than you do. You’ve got this hipster look about you. So definitely not law enforcement or anything like that.” “Definitely,” Danny said. “I bet you got something to do with media.” Danny gave him a nod. “I bet you got some beer.” The big fella laughed again and trotted away for a few moments. Danny checked his phone and then started typing a new note for himself. PUB—Tuco in the house. Witty guy. Not from around here. Very relaxed. What’s his story? The server came back carrying two beers, then stuffed himself on the other side of the booth and set the bottle in front of Danny. “This isn’t a Heineken,” Danny said. The guy just nodded. “You don’t want a Heineken. You know that Asheville has more breweries per capita than any other city in the US?” “That’s nice,” Danny said. “But I actually did want a Heineken.” “That’s a Gateway Kolsch. Brewery is French Broad. As in the French Broad river. I have their IPA. Awesome stuff. If you don’t like it the beer’s on me.” There was no reason to be a jerk to this guy. Danny knew he’d love the beer even before his first sip. He enjoyed trying new things, especially ones that added color to his life (AKA his posts about them). It was just he absolutely hated someone telling him what to do or how to act or what to drink. “You always sit with your customers and drink on the clock?” Another low chuckle. “Customers are rare. Especially ones I don’t know. And I’m always on the clock. Or never. I own the place.” “Is that a good or a bad thing?” “Both. Mostly just bad. Name’s Vicente but everybody around here calls me Vincent. Or Veensaynt.” Danny shook his hand. “I’m Danny.” “I was going to call this place Vicente’s something, or somehow work my name into the title. But never bothered getting around it.” “How long have you lived around here?” “See--I told you you’re a reporter.” Danny took another sip of his beer and shifted on the vinyl seat. “I write a blog. I’m an online personality.” “A blog, huh? News blog or something like that?”