Conway, Arkansas - May 10, 1995.
Five years of my life just pissed away locked up in various mental facilities - and what good has it done me? I’m still fucked up, unable to fully function in society like all the other boys and girls. I know it doesn’t sound like much in the grand scheme of things but I’m only thirty-one, so five years is a much more significant chunk of my life than if I were an old fuck of sixty or something. It’s having that feeling of running in place while the rest of the world keeps passing you by.
It’s way overdue that I start making up for lost time.
“What’s the plan for today?” Linda asks.
“Probably just hang out here - maybe take a walk later.”
“That’ll be nice, fresh air.”
“Then I was gonna go see Judy.”
Her eyes glance off the back of his head as she crosses the room.
“You think that’s a good idea?”
He takes a breath.
“There are some things I have to say.”
“You need the car?”
“No, I’ll get a ride.”
His aunt breezes past touching his left shoulder.
“Be careful.”
She grabs her purse, pulling out her keys.
“Chinese tonight?” she asks smiling.
“Sure.”
“See you later.” she says exiting, closing the door behind her.
Caldwell abruptly leaves his seat, moving to the window. He peeks through the curtains - watches her reverse from the driveway and disappear up the street.
He strides briskly down the hall to her bedroom. He’s frenzied, searching - then - paydirt! Nightstand, bottom drawer.
He gathers his things and makes a call.
“Hey, can you pick me up?”
HALF AN HOUR LATER
Caldwell sits shotgun in Samantha’s car out front of The Builder’s Barn - a local big box hardware store.
He studies the entrance then lowers his eyes to the dashboard.
“I can’t do this today.”
“Don’t sweat it, they’re always hiring.” she assures.
She starts the car.
“Where now?”
“Can you take me a couple blocks from here?”
“Sure.”
She puts it in gear and coasts from the parking lot.
“I’ll give you a shout later, if you’re still up for what we discussed.”
“OK.”
“Turn right, here.”
They enter a slightly-rundown residential area.
“Slow.” he says.
She eases on the brake.
He scrutinizes the homes as they creep past.
“Drop me at the stop sign.”
She finishes the block, stopping at the sign.
“You need me to wait or anything?”
“Nah, this is good.”
He jumps from the vehicle, shuts the door.
“Call ya later.” he says through the open window.
She drives away - he walks back up the street.
He crosses the yard of a pale marigold house, approaches the door but before he can knock he’s met by a grizzled older man bearing the look of half biker gang member, half druggie burnout.
“Hey man, what’s goin’ on?”
“I’m here to see Judy.”
“Oh yeah, cool man. I gotta go handle some shit but I’ll be back tonight, you be around?”
“I’ll be here.” his voice and expression in deadpan.
“Killer, I’ll bring some beer. Catch ya later.”
The man trots through the yard to an old beat-up truck, hops inside and drives off.
Caldwell enters the living room, his mother slumped in a ragged recliner - nodding hard from the needle still sticking in her arm. He removes his backpack, sets it on the floor and takes a seat on the couch.
“What do you want? I’m paid up, don’t owe you nothing.”
“It’s me, your son.”
She wallows in the chair, one side to the other.
“Ain’t no son of mine.”
“You don’t recognize me?”
He lifts the backpack onto the couch and reaches inside.
“Recognize this?” he asks, holding up a folded extension cord.
Her eyes roll around, not taking notice of the object in his right hand.
“No matter what I did, how good I was - you always found a reason to use this on me.”
“You were always a disobedient little shit.”
Caldwell stands and advances towards the junkie, relocating her to a wooden chair a few feet away, ties her hands together behind her back with the failed conversation piece - then returns to his seat.
“What the fuck is this? Why are you even here?”
He removes a box cutter from his bag, places it on the coffee table - then the .38 he borrowed from Linda, holding it on his lap.
“Oh you gonna shoot me now?”
“You were supposed to love and protect me - but you beat and neglected me, offered me up to dealers and sickos. How could you do that to your own child?”
She issues a bit of starch to her back.
“I showed you the real world, made you a man!”
“You made me a monster!” he screams back.
A quiet moment.
“Doesn’t matter, no woman will ever want you no how.” she slurs through an opiate haze.
“You’re a sick fucking cunt and the world will be a better place without you.”
Through the fog of addiction, her head raises and eyes beam with anger.
“I’m still your mother!”
“NO! You don’t get to use that word anymore!”
The air chokes with decades of brokenness.
“I kept you alive.”
“You ruined me!”
“I gave you what you needed to make it.”
His eyes redden, releasing streams of saline. He sets the gun on the couch, picks up the box cutter and moves again to his captive audience.
“Deep breath.” he says softly, standing behind her.
She fights against his hold.
“You were never fit to live anyway.” she seethes.
He jams the blade underneath her left ear, pulling it hard all the way to the right - her words followed by a river of crimson spewing from the gaping wound.
He sits across from her, his soon-to-be former matriarch, smoking a cigarette. Their eyes holding one another as she bleeds out.
The front door opens.
“I forgot my wallet.” the scruffy man says as he’s met with the gruesome scene.
“What the fuck?” he cries.
Caldwell thumps his half-smoked cig across the room.
“You’re back early.” he declares calmly.
Without hesitation, he raises the .38 and puts two in the shocked man’s face, who hits the floor like dead timber.
Not part of the plan. This would complicate things. Discharging a firearm would no doubt grab the attention of those nearby - and in broad daylight.
“Fuck. Fuck! Shit!” he yells and runs to the window to peer through a gently-lifted blind.
He turns to witness full view of the fruits of his labor. Each empty vessel compounding the pain of the other. One of intention - the other, a spontaneous loose end.
His chest heaves with panic.
He looks away, paces frantically, guttural sobs overtake. Then a final look at what he had done - she’s gone but his torment remains. It fills the room with a bitter agony, his hands tremble - of all the times it played out in his head, this was never the ending he imagined.
Caldwell moves cautiously to his backpack, reluctantly retrieves a generous length of rope, picks up the bloody box cutter and trudges from the living room, through the kitchen, disappearing into the garage.
