“I’m sorry, sir,” the pharmacist said, “but I cannot help you.”
Noah Barnes sighed heavily. He’d been going around and around with the Publix pharmacist about getting his prescription refilled -- a simple task under most conditions. She simply wasn’t going to understand.
“Look,” he began, his voice beginning to take on an uncomfortable edge, “I already explained to you that my doctor specifically told me to take two of these a day. My prescription has run out and I simply need a refill. Won’t you please help me?”
“Sir, Xanax is a narcotic, and we are bound by Georgia law to distribute it under very strict conditions. The prescription on file states that you were to take one of these per day. According to the date we first filled it, not enough time has passed for you to be requesting a refill.”
“All I’m asking is for you to give me the damn refill I’m entitled to,” Noah said, his voice raised, “I don’t appreciate being called a liar or a drug addict. My doctor told me to take two per day and I want the thing refilled!”
“You don’t seem to understand --”
“No, you little bitch, you don’t seem to understand,” Noah yelled. “You know what, forget about it. If you’re not going to help me then I’ll find a place that will.”
Noah turned and stormed toward the front door, with everyone staring at him, leaving the young girl at the pharmacy in tears. Outside, Noah stepped into the parking lot, just narrowly being missed by an oncoming car. The driver honked angrily at him. Noah simply stared at the driver for a moment and then continued on to his car.
Once there, he collapsed into the driver’s seat and shut the door. Leaning over on the steering wheel, Noah began to sob deeply. “Lord God,” he said, “what is wrong with me?”
The depression was back and hitting Noah at full force. He’d been feeling it for days now, with it finally coming to a head today. The incident with the pharmacist had been the breaking point.
He’d been doing so well up to now, having finally found a medication that would work for him. Noah had been the closest to his “old self” than he’d been in a long time, but unfortunately it wasn’t meant to last.
The haunting feelings were back. The bottomless emptiness was consuming his soul once again. He felt alone...like the world was closing in on him...like no one could possibly care that he was slowly rotting away on the inside.
Nothing else mattered -- not Sarah, not his mother or sisters, not the Hansons, nothing. To Noah there was only him and the horrible sting of pain he felt in his heart. The darkness of the depression isolated him, made him feel like he was standing in the middle of a tiny island, surrounded by water, with the island slowly eroding away around him. The feeling of his selfishness only added to the despair.
“God, help me,” he sobbed, “I’m losing my mind.”
In the backseat of the car, unseen by Noah or anyone else, were two angels. Monica and Tess looked on him with love and compassion. They’d been here before with Noah.
“Oh, Tess,” Monica said, “the poor boy. I never thought we’d be seeing him again.”
“Well, baby, God isn’t through with this young man yet.”
“Is that why we’re here, Tess,” Monica asked. “For Noah?”
“God has other plans for us, baby,” Tess responded. “He’s got someone special in mind for Noah.”
In the passenger seat, next to Noah, a familiar face suddenly appeared to Monica - Andrew, the angel of death. He turned toward her and offered a somber smile.
Monica gasped. “Andrew, no! Is Noah going to --”
“I don’t know,” Andrew replied. “It’s not up to God, it’s up to Noah.”
“Oh, God,” Noah cried. “I’m dying...can’t You see I’m dying on the inside. I need You --” he stopped, as if interrupted by an alien thought. He turned his head towards the glove compartment, staring at it, the look on his face echoing something akin to terror. Oblivious to the angelic presence around him, Noah reached over and opened the small door in the dashboard.
Once again he stared for several minutes, finally reaching into the mess of maps, sunglasses and drinking straws to pull out a gun. Monica stared in horror. She recognized the weapon as the one he’d used the time before when he was going to kill himself.
Noah fingered the gun respectfully, staring at it with wide eyes. He reached up and wiped away the fresh tears from his eyes. He wanted the pain to go away, he wanted it to end, and he didn’t care who he hurt in the process.
He carefully reached around the back of his seat and lay the gun on the floorboard. Pulling his keys from his coat pocket, he inserted them into the ignition. The car rumbled to life. Noah put the car into gear and backed out of his parking space, narrowly missing a pedestrian.
The white Toyota squealed out of the parking lot, with Andrew still in the passenger’s seat, leaving Monica and Tess behind.
“There’s a storm brewing, baby,” Tess said, “a flood of Biblical proportions...and it’s up to Noah to build his own ark.”
“This sucks,” Tracy Barnes said to no one in particular.
She was sitting on the curb in front of Carver Heights High School waiting for her ride. Her sister-in-law, Sarah, was supposed to have picked her up twenty minutes ago. She was getting a little upset.
“You think she could manage to get here on time,” she mumbled to herself, but immediately regretted saying it.
Sarah was busy, Tracy knew, with planning Noah’s surprise party, and picking her up was actually more of an inconvenience than anything else. It was because of Sarah, after all, that Tracy was going to see Isaac again. She'd planned the whole surprise of flying Hanson in for the weekend. For that, Tracy could suffer through a twenty-minute wait.
She and Sarah hadn’t been getting along too well as of late. She had been the most important girl in Noah’s life before Sarah had come along. Tracy hadn’t been adjusting well. Maybe it was selfish and self-centered, but that’s how Tracy felt about it. She tried her best not to let it bother her, but she always found herself competing with Sarah. It made her angry that she was having such a hard time accepting Sarah; she knew that she made Noah so happy. Deep down inside, though, that little sister in her was crying out for the long-lost attention.
School wasn’t going well either; the students had not been kind upon her return to classes. Even though she’d dropped the funky make-up and weird clothes, people still judged her as if nothing had changed. Her old friends no longer spoke to her, only about her; snickering as she passed in them in the halls. It was hell for her. The first few days she’d come home and run to her room crying.
It had gotten better after the first two weeks. She’d found some new friends, ones that didn’t know her from before or give her crap about liking Hanson. Tracy hadn’t mentioned anything to anyone about her and Isaac as a courtesy to him. She knew that it would only make more trouble for her and it’s not like they would have believed her anyway.
She smiled as she thought of Isaac, the beautifully sweet young man that managed to bring some resemblance of happiness and joy into her life. Isaac, who’d managed to look beyond the surface and find something worth caring about. Isaac, who’d e-mailed her faithfully every few days and called her faithfully once a week. Isaac, who’d sent a dozen roses when he wasn’t able to make it to town on her birthday.
He was now her reason for living; her thoughts of him kept her going.
“Man, I need to get a life,” she said, chuckling to herself.
“What’s wrong with the life you have?” a voice asked.
Tracy looked up and frowned. The owner of the voice was her ex-boyfriend and “dealer,” Carl Branham. “You know I’m not supposed to talk to you, Carl.”
Carl was dressed in a dirty, black T-shirt and baggy, torn blue jeans. His hair was long and unkempt. Tracy wondered now what she’d ever saw in him.
He laughed mockingly. “Come on, Tracy, Daddy isn’t...” Carl stopped, realizing what he’d just said. “Oh, damn, Trace, I’m sorry. I didn’t...”
“Just forget it, Carl,” Tracy said. “Just go away and leave me alone.”
“You’ve changed, Tracy. Man, have you changed.”
“I’ve explained that I can’t talk to you. Please just...”
A black Toyota pulled up to the curb; it was Sarah.
“That’s my ride, Carl. See ya around.” She stood up, grabbed her books, and opened the car door. As she plopped down in the seat, Tracy slammed the door in anger.
Sarah looked at her strangely. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“Wasn’t that...”
“Just go, Sarah,” Tracy snapped.
Sarah sighed as she pulled away from the curb. “Is everything okay?”
Tracy looked in the rearview mirror at Carl.
Get over it, girl. That part of your life is over!
A tear formed in her eye; it still hurt. “No, it’s not okay.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
Tracy closed her eyes; she wanted to talk about, she longed to, but something held her back. Something about Sarah...something she didn’t trust, a feeling of betrayal. “I...” she began. “Just forget about it.” She pulled her portable CD player from her backpack and put on the headphones. She hit the play button and leaned back with her eyes shut tightly. She turned up the volume and let it blast away at the pain and hurt.
Black fog.
It surrounded him...enveloped him. Taylor Hanson could see nothing.
They were after him. The demons of his sub-concious were stalking...taunting....him. Hellish laughter howled at his ears as he ran blindly forward, in a futile attempt to get away. They were all around him. Taylor strained his eyes -- he couldn’t see where he was going. He pushed onward into the inky darkness.
The dream was the same every night. It had been plaguing him for almost six months now, beginning shortly after the kidnapping ordeal that had almost cost him his life. He’d been beaten. He’d seen a human life taken. He’d been through more than any fifteen year old boy should. And now, his mind was trying to make sense out of it all.
Wake up, Taylor, he scolded himself. Come on, Tay...wake up!
The ground beneath him gave way. For one brief, instantaneous moment, Taylor hung in mid-air. Then, he began to fall. He screamed. His own voice mixed with the evil laughter to create a symphony of terror. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the moment his body would hit the bottom, splattering him into oblivion.
Taylor hit the ground with a loud thud. He lay there for a moment, not sure if he was dead or alive. He felt his heart pounding...his breath moving in and out in spastic rhythm. Slowly, his eyes opened. There was light now...bright light. He moved his hand up to shield himself. A dark figure was approaching.
“You little shit!”
The baseball bat came down quickly, striking Taylor on the head. A sound like a watermelon hitting the pavement filled his ears. He could feel the blood flowing. The pain showed itself in bright colors and shapes, spinning like a kaleidoscope gone mad.
His attacker raised the bat again, poised to strike. Taylor screamed.
A bright flash.
Daylight.
He was standing in the middle of an immense cemetary. Headstones, lined up like soldiers in formation, marched on for what seemed like miles. A strong breeze whistled through the trees, casting an eerie tone about the place.
Taylor looked down in front of him. The stone was marked with a familiar name. He dropped to his knees to get a closer look.
Jesse
David Lake
1977-1998
1977-1998
Jesse’s grave.
The picture came back to him...Jesse lying there, blood flowing from the two gunshot wounds in his body. Taylor holding his hand as he slowly slipped into the hereafter.
The funeral.
Taylor had stood not far from this very spot, singing an old hymn, saying goodbye to the man who was partly responsible for saving his life.
“Oh, man,” Taylor said. “I’m so sorry, Jesse.”
He hung his head, feeling tears well up in his eyes.
“It should have been me, Jesse. It should have been me.”
A sudden movement caught Taylor’s eyes. He wiped the tears away to get a clearer view of what he thought he saw.
“Oh, my...” Taylor began, his eyes locked in horror at a hand reaching up out of the ground. He tried to back away, but the sudden shift of weight caused him to stumble onto his butt. The hand, covered in dirt and dried blood, grabbed Taylor’s foot.
“No! No!” he screamed.
A haunting voice filled his ears. It was muffled, as if the mouth muttering the words was...
...buried.
“Taylor...”
“NO!”
“Taylor...”
A voice...pulling him from the nightmare...
“Taylor?”
He shot up from the bed and screamed. “No!” His hair was drenched with sweat, his breathing was heavy. He looked around, trying to place his surroundings. A hotel room. His brother, Zac, was standing beside the bed with a strange look on his face.
“Holy cow, Tay,” Zac began, “what’s your problem?”
Taylor rubbed at his eyes and offered a forced smile. “Nothing...I...I’m sorry, Zac. What’s up?”
“Dad said for you to get changed. We have to leave soon.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost six,” Zac responded. “What were you dreaming about, anyway?”
Taylor smiled. “It was horrible...most frightening thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“What was it?”
“Well,” Tay began, “I was a woman...and you were the last man on earth. Scary.”
“Oh, aren’t you funny?”
Taylor smiled and rolled off the bed. He was all hot and sweaty now. He’d need a shower. “Tell Dad I’m gonna take a shower. I’ll be about twenty minutes.”
“Okay,” Zac said, walking toward the door. “We’re downstairs in the lobby. Dad’s trying to get directions to the restaurant. Don’t hurry.”
Taylor walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot. “You look like crap, Taylor.”
That was the truth. He did look like crap. The nights of disturbed sleep were beginning to take their toll. Something had to be done about the nightmares. He’d told no one, he thought they’d think he was crazy. He should have put this behind him long ago. Why was it still bothering him? After six months, why couldn’t he let it go?
“Dear God,” he prayed, “am I losing my mind?”
Taylor carelessly pulled the red shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. His white T-shirt clung to his upper torso. He laughed to himself, remembering the “Live at the Ten Spot” concert. He’d removed his shirt then, nearly causing a riot. He still didn’t get it. What was the big deal about him? He saw nothing special staring back at him from the mirror.
He carefully removed the chokers from his neck and placed them on the bathroom counter. It wasn’t as if the nightmares were that bad. It’s not like they were disrupting his life or anything. He was only losing sleep and not eating hardly anything. There was no use trying to sugar-coat it…he knew it was bad.
“You need help, Tay,” he said to himself, unbuttoning his baggy jeans and letting them fall to the floor. He stared at himself in the mirror once again. There he was, THE Taylor Hanson, standing in his boxers. Now he really looked like nothing special. He was skinny, his face was weird, and he…well, he just plain didn’t get it.
“It’s bad enough you’re having nightmares,” he said out loud. “Now you’re talking to yourself in your underwear.”
He walked over to the tub and turned the water on. He didn’t have much time to get ready. He had to hurry. He’d solve the problem of the nightmares later.
Jennifer Barnes eased the black Toyota Celica into the driveway behind her Mom’s Camry. She laughed to herself.
What’s with this family and Toyotas? Dad drove a Four-Runner; Mom drives a Camry; I drive a Celica; Sarah and Noah both drive Corollas…what is this a cult? Run Tracy…get out while there’s still time!
Jennifer shook her head and scolded herself for thinking such silly thoughts.
Had it been up to her, she would have just stayed at school this weekend. She’d been doing it for weeks now anyway…one more weekend wouldn’t have made much of a difference. She would have stayed had it not been for Noah’s birthday. He was turning twenty-seven. And perhaps it was for the best this time around.
Rob had hit her again.
That was her boyfriend. Robert Nelson, the all-star quarterback at Tennessee State University. He was the campus hearthrob, the object of every TSU girl’s desire. And somehow Jennifer had managed to hook him. Things had been great at first…an absolute fairy tale. Rob was the ultimate gentleman; doors opened for her, standing up when she left or entered the room, the whole nine yards.
And as it sometimes happens with life, the moment she began to think he might be the one, the very moment she’d surrendered her heart to him, he’d hit her. It had come quite suddenly and unexpectedly. They’d been laughing…joking around. And all of the sudden, he’d exploded. She didn’t even remember now what it was she’d said. Jennifer did remember, however, feeling his fist connect with her jaw.
It had shocked the both of them when it happened. Rob had apologized profusely, swearing that it had been an accident and that it would never happen again. She’d believed him…until the second time. It was harder to accept, but she did. She was in love with him. She thought that somehow they’d overcome that hurdle in their relationship. Besides, bruises could be covered up with makeup. At least this time, he hadn’t hit her in the face.
It was her fault, anyway…wasn’t it? If she didn’t make those little comments that made him fly off the handle. She had to watch what she said. She was partially to blame here too. Or at least so she thought.
Girl, you’re losing your mind. The guy hit you.
Jennifer carefully touched her left shoulder. “Ouch!” she winced. This round had left a huge bruise and whole hell of a lot of pain. This was going to have to stop somehow, if she could only break it off with him.
An addictive relationship was a term she’d used to describe it on one of those morning talk shows. It all sounded kind of ridiculous. Addicted to a relationship?
“Hi, I’m Jennifer…and I’m a Robaholic.”
“Dammit, Jennifer,” she said aloud, “just try and forget about it for one weekend.”
She shut off the ignition and opened the door. She took a long look at the white house. It sure was good to be home again. Jennifer smiled as she walked to the rear of the car and pulled out her duffel. The weight made the pain in her shoulder come back again. Apparently, it wasn’t going to be that easy for her to forget.
The door opened and her mother, Marcie Barnes, ran out.
“Jen!” she screamed. “Oh, my gosh!”
Jennifer smiled and dropped the duffel to the ground. Her mother approached and enclosed her into a warm embrace, causing pain in her shoulder.
“Ahh!” Jennifer said.
Marcie quickly let go and stood back. “What’s wrong?”
Jennifer responded with a nervous smile. She hadn’t thought of a good lie yet. “I...uh...” she stammered, “...got hit with a bat during softball practice.”
She looked at her mother. Had she bought it? Marcie simply shook her head. “Are you okay?”
Jennifer nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, Mom. The team trainer checked it out. It’s just a little tender right now. I’ll be fine.” She wasn’t used to telling lies. She was surprised to find out how good she was at it.
Hidden talent, Jennifer thought.
Marcie picked up her duffel and turned toward the house. “Well, be more careful, sweetie.” She smiled, putting her arm around her daughter. “Come on in, we’ve got stuff to do before the party.”
Feeling a little guilty for lying to her mother, Jennifer tried to push it out of her mind. There were more important things to worry about.
“If I have to blow up one more damn balloon,” Tracy said, “I’m going to hurl.”
They were in the banquet room at Charlie’s American Grill, Noah’s favorite restaurant, which was owned by a friend of the family. Charlie Moore, the proprietor, had offered the room free of charge for Noah’s birthday party. He was dating Marcie, which hadn’t set to well with the kids. This was his idea of a peace offering.
Sarah smiled. “Oh, come on, Trace. With all that hot air, you’re a natural.”
Tracy smirked. “Very funny, Shamu.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Sarah picked up one end of a large banner. “Here, can you grab the other end of this?”
“Sure,” Tracy replied, picking up the other end. “Do you think Ike will still like me?”
“What kind of a question is that, Tracy?”
“Well, he hasn’t seen me since, you know, I changed.”
“Tape that end up,” Sarah said. “You’re a beautiful girl, Tracy, more now than ever. And besides, Ike fell in love with the most beautiful part of you.”
“I hope you’re right, Sarah.”
“I know I’m right, kiddo. Trust me on this one. Stand back and tell me if this thing is straight.”
Tracy stepped across the room. “Yeah, it looks fine. You can tape it up. He is cute, isn’t he?”
“Hmm?”
“Ike,” Tracy repeated. “He’s cute, isn’t he?”
Sarah smiled. “That boy’s beyond cute, Tracy. He’s fine.”
“I can’t wait to see him again. It’s been...”
“Ahh!” Sarah said, clutching her stomach.
Tracy rushed to her side. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Oh damn,” Sarah said, “help me to a chair, would you?”
Tracy put her arm around Sarah and guided her to the table. “You want me to call someone? A doctor, maybe?”
Sarah winced at the pain. “No, I’ll be fine. I just tried to do too much, that’s all. I just need to…ahh!”
“That’s it, Sarah, I’m calling a doctor.” Tracy ran toward the door.
“Tracy, no…I’m okay,” Sarah responded. “I’m gonna be fine. I just need to take it easy for a few minutes.”
Tracy stood next to the door, her hand on the knob, not sure what to do. She was scared. She’d never been pregnant before, maybe this was normal. Wouldn’t Sarah know better than her? She let out a big sigh and let go of the door. “Alright, Sarah. But if it happens again, I’m calling a doctor.”
“Okay, Tracy, okay. Can you promise me something?”
Tracy sighed. “You have to tell me what it is first.”
“Don’t tell Noah about this. He has enough to worry about. Promise me you won’t tell him…Marcie, either.”
“I don’t know…”
“Promise me, Tracy,” Sarah almost shouted.
Tracy hung her head and whispered, “I promise.”
Chapter Two
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