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En Route

Robert Brabham

    Ed McCall lay recumbent on the aged lawn chair and gazed out at the undulating horizon line of mountains and the bruised and bleeding twilight sky, fancying seeing the flight of the Valkyries en route to Valhalla. He looked out at the tarn and imagined himself flying over, glimpsing of his reflection in the water as he sought his place among the chosen soldiers in heaven beyond the majestic mountains. Living in the mountains was too expensive, but living near the mountains was another story. It had been his dream to have a mountain view to gaze upon in the evening. He felt and heard the rusting lawn chair creak as he shifted his weight to reach for his drink. The condensation around the bottom of his glass left a ring of water on the concrete. He looked over his shoulder at his prized roses sprawling languidly throughout a pair of gates, the shapes of harps and mirror images of each other. He had rescued them from his late uncle’s estate near the coast and had rust proofed them and painted them a pewter color. They stood regally at the back of his house and the rose vines were intertwined around the vertical lines of the gates in an astonishing arabesque. Damn if he hadn’t struggled to coax the roses into the luxuriant display they had become. At least one had a chance to achieve something beautiful with flora, if not fauna. Particularly the human type. Especially the sister type.
    He cursed and sipped his drink, a virgin. He was still in the habit of not drinking alcohol, even though he had weaned off of his antidepressant, an SSRI, two months ago with the support of his therapist and doubt of his wife – don’t you think it’s too soon?
    He wished he could throw down a bottle of pills tonight after a visit with his sister, Laura.
    He heard dishes clattering in the kitchen. That was his wife, Ellen. Her pattern was to attack chores when there was emotional disquietude. Damn if I’m going to help. And damn if I don’t wish I had some bourbon, even a glass of red wine. He fancied feeling the cloud of burgeoning intoxication sluicing through his brain. He sipped his virgin ginger ale and envisioned a valkyre carrying him towards the mountains, a reward for his fortitude, a chance for adulation or immolation.
    His lawn made a slow descent half an acre to the edge of some wild brush which wound more steeply down a hill and abutted a dense line of pine trees. From there the wilderness marched out five miles to the mountains. A quarter mile before the base of the mountains was the tarn, a beautiful small lake one had a clear view of from his rear patio.
    It would be a fine place to die, Ed ruminated. One could lie before the regal roses and draw up the soil, take a last look out at the mountains and then snuff it. What a magnificent tombstone!
    Stop it, he thought. Those are thoughts we must avoid to beat the SSRIs. I think you’re ready, the therapist had said. I do too, Ed had replied, smiling. A drink would be spiffy now. He licked his lips.
    “Are you going to sulk out there all evening?” Ellen asked, breathless from the chores that were ascending her to martyrdom.
    “Sweetheart,” he began, gritting his teeth, “I am enjoying our view. I am not sulking. Thank you.” He felt his left temple throbbing.
    “You’re sulking,” she said and returned inside.
    The idea of hurling his glass after her was indeed a satisfying one, but temperance ruled out the deed, the repercussions of which would be ultimately unprofitable. He stood and drained his sweating glass, felt cold drops fall on his chest. The sun had set and the waning light seemed forlorn tonight.
    As soon as Ed trudged through the door, Ellen called, “Your phone’s ringing.”
    He walked over to the china hutch on which he always laid his cell phone in the evening and picked it up. He gazed at the incoming number. Oh damn. It was his sister, Laura. She must have thought of some new jeers with which to jab him. Some new aspersions to cast upon his existence. It must have been a fruitful drive home.
    “Hello?”
    There was static and crackling, a poor connection.
    “Ed?”
    “Hello,” he ejected.
    “I need you.” A long pause, crackling.
    “What is going on?” He heard fury in his voice, but his stomach was starting to turn with worry. He heard fear.
    “Accident. Bad accident.”
    “What?”
    “Please help me. Don’t let me alone here.”
    “Where are you?”
    “Not sure.”
    “Did you call 911? Did you call 911!”
    “I think so. I’m afraid. I’m afraid to go. Please help me.”
    “Where are you?”
    A pronounced silence was interrupted by a sucking sound. When Laura spoke, it was with great difficulty. “I’m not far off the highway. Off the exit.”
    “Just hold on and I’ll be right there.” Ed flipped his cell closed, ran for his shoes, and jammed his feet into them.
    “What’s going on?” His wife stood, looking alarmed.
    “She had a car accident.”
    “What hospital is she at?”
    “She’s not, she’s still in her car. I don’t even know if she called for help.”
    “Do you know where she is?”
    “No,” he yelped and slammed the door behind him.
    After backing out of the driveway and accelerating towards the interstate, Ed dialed the emergency number on his cell which he noticed was only a quarter charged. He tried to describe the accident and approximate location and the make and model of his sister’s car. He was now accelerating down the on-ramp of the interstate. He had about fifteen miles to go before the exit. Ed brooded over images of the trip to her apartment, wondering where she may be along the way. She must have wrecked on the secondary road on the way back to her apartment. But where? Would it be obvious when he passed by? If she was down an embankment or ravine or a deep ditch she may not be visible at all from the road. Not unless she caused some damage to a fence or something on the way down. Skid marks maybe. He would be scrutinizing every skid mark and road blemish the entire route. Good Christ, what if she had hurt or killed someone? He had served her wine with dinner plus two refills.
    “You stupid bitch!” he screamed in the car, hurting his vocal chords. Heeeeere she iiiiiisss, Miss Muck-it-up! They had to have her over for dinner on a Friday night because if she wasn’t invited over at least once a month, she called, wondering why they had abandoned her. Then came the rails about her work life, the complaints about her personal life, her lamentations about their dead mother, and then, eventually, could you loan me some money? Loan. That was funny, because loans were supposed to be paid back and damn if she had repaid a dime. He looked down at the speedometer and saw he was pushing 90. He cursed and backed off the accelerator.
    Ed thought of the time she fell off her bike when they were kids and he got blamed for distracting her and causing her to crash. He remembered the tears streaming down her flushed red cheeks and her mouth a maw of shrieking pain. He remembered the thick line of blood running from what would become a permanent scar on her left knee. It may as well have been his fault for all the pity he felt for her. He remembered her getting dumped right before her high school prom. She sought him at work when he was a stocker at the local grocery store trying to pay his tuition at the community college. She had been drunk and crying and he almost got fired. He thought of how much he detested Laura when their mother suddenly coughed up the money to pay for her to attend four years at the university when Ed had busted his balls working and saving two years at community college before being able to transfer. He never did forgive his mother for that. She had assured him that his father had wanted it that way. Your sister needs more help, she had explained. As if he needed the elucidation.
    His cell rang and he answered it quickly. It was his wife.
    “Where are you?”
    “Look, I’m trying to find her, get off the line in case she’s trying to call.” He ENDed the phone and cursed. He shouldn’t have snapped at her, but he was still torqued from earlier. She was just trying to help. His sister had a way of making him yell at everyone. Except mom. Who had deserved it most.
    Of course, Laura was flunking most of her classes her first semester and when their mother died the following year, she dropped out. Ever since then she had clung to Ed like a bacterial infection, an organism impervious to medicine’s strongest antibiotics. An emotional MRSA incarnate, engendered by the overuse of placation through the years.
    He felt guilty for hating her. His forced civility lasted only so long at visitations. Every day there was some degree of worry expended on his part. One couldn’t help but resent her. Then after becoming enervated from needles and irrational worry she has to go and do something worth worrying about. He checked the mile marker and saw he still had three miles before the exit.
    Why couldn’t she give him some more information? She didn’t have any trouble talking while drunk at his wedding. I hear he sucks in bed – liiiterrrruuullleeeee! He punched her name on his cell’s memory page. Maybe she could give him more detail about her location.
    It just rang, crackling rings as though he was barely catching a signal. It was difficult to get a signal in this part of the foothills. He saw the exit ahead, slowed, and veered off the highway.
    His cell began beeping the signal for a low battery.
    This particular highway was a two lane blacktop with many twists and turns, a serpentine route if ever there was one. Her apartment complex was about six miles away.
    The phone rang. It better be- his sister’s number was displayed.
    “Where are you?”
    “Are you coming?” she whined.
    “Dammit, can’t you tell me better where you are? Is there an ambulance there yet?” The cell beeped low battery.
    “I’m so scared.” She was sobbing.
    Yeah, fall apart now.
    He fought back a curse. She may have a head injury. She may be going into shock. More sucking noises. It must be the connection.
    “I’m on 23 now, headed your way. Just sit tight,” Ed said.
    “I’m so scared. I need you.”
    “I’m on the way,” he said and realized he should keep her on the phone and try to get her to describe her surroundings.
    “I don’t like all this fog. I’m getting lost in it.”
    “Dammit, listen to me. Don’t wander off. Stay right with your car. There should be help there any minute. Stay right there with the car.”
    “I wish I could.” The connection fell silent.
    The battery had died.
    He ejaculated a salvo of curses and beat the roof of his car with his balled right fist. He stomped on the accelerator, but quickly forced himself to back off. It would be harder to find a trace of where she crashed. The sun had sunk well behind the mountains now and it would be pitch black within a half hour. He felt sweat dripping down his trunk and a torrent of blood coursed through his temples.
    He imagined himself driving endlessly around the serpentine road, mile after mile and inch after inch, scouring and searching for a sign and finding nothing, all the while his blood pressure and pulse rate would rise and rise. He could feel his heart ramming his ribs. He had to find something soon! Didn’t she say it was just a few miles off the highway?
    His eyes caught the flash of emergency lights around the bend ahead.
    Oh my God, this is it.
    The road made a sharp curve to the left and apparently his sister hadn’t. An ambulance was parked with its back facing the woods and one police cruiser was parked fifteen yards back from the ambulance. The guard rail on the curve was battered and wrenched apart, illuminated by the rear lights of the ambulance and the headlights of the police cruiser. Ed pulled in behind the police cruiser. The officer was dropping hazard flares along the road and hastened over to him.
    “Sir, you need to move on. This is an accident scene.”
    “It’s my sister,” Ed mewled.
    “Sir, you need to move on...”
    “It’s a little red Corolla, one female passenger. She called me.”
    The officer scrutinized him. His tone sharpened which made Ed’s heart beat faster.
    “Did you say you received a call about the accident?”
    “Yes sir. I came to help her. She’s scared. I’m her brother.” His head was swooning. He heard a wrecker approaching, its diesel engine growling through the trees.
    “Sir, who called you about the accident?” asked the officer.
    “Where is she?”
    “Sir...”
    Ed bolted toward the gap in the guard rail and felt the officer’s strong hand grasp his arm but slip. He precipitated down the hill and saw the smashed front end of the car. The driver’s door was open. In fact, it had been removed.
    Consciousness was fading rapidly, but his mind worked feverishly, taking in the details that would be emblazoned in his memory.
    The officer was yelling, grasping his back. The flash of the emergency lights bounced around like a red sonar, casting a bloody pall of illumination onto the driver’s seat. He was losing feeling in his legs, sound was disappearing. He had time to wonder how she spoke.
    She was crumpled beneath the steering wheel, her left leg broken in multiple places. Her mouth must have rammed the steering wheel for her jaw was almost completely removed. It hung there in an unending silent death scream, her eyes wide open, her head tilted back on the driver’s seat.
    How the hell did she...?
    Ed heard another noise as he pitched forward onto the ground. His cell phone was jangling in his pocket. The ground leapt forward; the sensation of falling, crashing, and rolling assailed him and blackness followed.

* * *

    Ed looked over at the digital clock. It displayed a red, glowing 3:04 a.m. His wife had fallen asleep with her arms around him. He remembered he had gone to bed with his clothes on. The police had called his wife to pick him up and the paramedic had checked his vitals and searched for any signs of injury from his fall. The police officer had arranged for a tow truck to deliver Ed’s car to his house. Things were trying to return to their normal positions despite the chaotic minds of their human owners.
    That image.
    That immutable, grisly image. He never wished a fate such as this for his sister, despite her rankling at times; he had never wished for her to perish like this. Tears spilled down his cheeks.
    It wasn’t just the image. His mind had been rejecting the idea since he saw the image, but he could escape it no longer. He crept out of bed and into the living room. He sat on the couch in the dark living room.
    He had cursed her as she had lain destroyed in her car.
    Was there a toll for cursing the dead?
    The facts:
    She had gone off the road, crashed though the rail, and smashed headfirst into the large oak tree. Based on the damage to her body, death must have occurred immediately. So...
    How was she able to call him?
    Remembering the sight of her, the image of her jaw nearly removed, hanging slack. How was she able to talk to him if she wasn’t killed outright?
    He recalled the sucking noises and shook his head. Was it his sister trying to talk to him with her jaw unhinged? His body shuddered and he gagged.
    What was that noise? There it goes again.
    He walked into the kitchen to locate the familiar noise with increasing anxiety. He knew what that noise was.
    His wife must have plugged his phone in to charge overnight. It sat on the shelf where he usually kept it. Now the face of it was lit. A musical signal entreated him to look at a new text message. He opened the phone.
    Y did u leave me
    He closed the phone and placed it back on the shelf. He remembered his anxiety pills and walked over to the counter and reached up into the cabinet. He took two out and crushed them in his teeth, drank nothing. He felt himself passing out and lowered himself to the floor so he wouldn’t fall. He lay there on the floor for some time, heart pounding, eyes seeing his surroundings in gray patches. His eardrums felt turgid.
    Why did I leave you?
    You’re gone!

#

    Ed was awakened just before dawn from Ellen shaking him, yelling. He let her help him to his feet and lead him to the couch where he lay down. Ellen was soon yelling on the phone.
    “Give me who’s on-call, now!” She slammed the cordless phone into the charger. About fifteen minutes later the phone rang. She vociferated into it and hung up. She checked her watch. Ed wondered if he should look at his cell again.
    “Who was that?” he heard himself say. He didn’t recognize his weak voice.
    “I called your psychiatrist. I’m getting you a prescription, but the damn pharmacy doesn’t open for two hours.”
    “A prescription?”
    “You know you shouldn’t have quit your antidepressant! If you had still been on it you would be doing better than this.”
    He wanted to stand up and strangle her. Better yet, saunter over and leisurely punch her to death. “Do you not understand what –”
    “I understand you shouldn’t have quit your medication! You’ve got to have something and right now.”
    “I saw my sister’s face torn off. I think I have a fucking right to be upset –”
    “I’m not going to hear any arguments! I put up with you so depressed you could hardly move for months! Years! I’m not going to have that again!”
    She stormed away. He wanted to grasp her arm. He fancied his hand sinking her upper arm and squeezing the yielding, fatty tissue. He scowled as she hastened into the bedroom.
    <>II’ll show her.
    He paced over to his cell and picked it up. He checked Text Messages and clicked on the last one:
    ^^^>>><<***
    What the hell was that? Is that what he saw last night? He checked Incoming Calls on his cell’s menu and saw two from his sister’s number. He checked the time of their reception and noted they arrived the day before yesterday.
    He felt a surge of blood in his head, but it was relief. Perhaps in his stupor he thought he read a message from his sister, but it was just some sort of scrambled mistake. He had gotten mistaken calls before. The signal was crazy up here near the mountains. Ed deleted the calls and text with shaking fingers.
    Maybe it is a good idea to get back on the meds for a while, get some counseling. I really could use it. She doesn’t deserve to put up with the old me. I had gotten past that. I know what I have to do now. Don’t let it get so bad before getting help.
    Don’t let Laura win again.
    He started to go apologize to his wife but hesitated. He remembered what she had said when he got off the meds.
    I’m very skeptical.
    Oh, you bitch.
    It’s as though he was supposed to take the damned pills the rest of his life. Didn’t she care that it made his head foggy and that he couldn’t concentrate or remember things the way he used to?
    Fucking bitch.
    It made him put on about thirty pounds of fat. Was that desirable? It took him about six weeks to detox off the SSRI; it was hell. He had insomnia, crawling skin, and the head fuzz. Why should he get back on that damn med now? He just saw his sister smashed to pieces. Wouldn’t anyone take a jolt from that?
    Her freaking jaw was hanging loose. Christ!
    He wanted to get up and run, but couldn’t. The anxiety had returned fiercely. He went into the kitchen and got himself another anti-anxiety pill. Wasn’t this good enough for her? Want me to pop a hundred more? Then I’ll curl up in the fetal position.
    “I’m going out to get a few things,” she announced, rushing through the house. “I’ll be back in a little while. Call the cell if you need me before I get back.”
    The cell. He wanted to tell her, show her...what?
    “Honey, I...” If he said anything she might have him committed. She might actually freaking do that. It wouldn’t be hard given his history and current behavior. I’m a nutter.
    I talked to my sister after she was smashed to death in her car. I talked to her. Even though she was dead. Even though her damned jaw was almost hanging off.
    Ellen was staring at him.
    “Please be careful. I’ll be okay.” He hadn’t spoken to his sister, had he?
    She leaned forward and gave him a hug. He hugged her back hating the feel of her. Her arms were slack and the affection perfunctory. Damn it. It wasn’t her fault. She was trying to help and tired of his bull.
    He suddenly remembered she was a witness to the first call he had gotten when Laura should have been dead. The call that sent him running out of the house. Ellen had forgotten all about it. Of course Ellen hadn’t heard Laura on the phone.
    When her car pulled out of the driveway, his cell phone jangled the arrival of a text message. Bbbbbllluuuueeeaagggghhh!
    Maybe she forgot to ask me something and didn’t want to stop and come back inside.
    The text announced something else.
    I need u 2 cum Im scared
    He closed the phone and sat it down and took another anti-anxiety pill. He remembered the half filled bottle of bourbon above the counter. It felt cold in his hands as he took two long slugs.

#

    Bbbbllllleeeeaaaauuuggghhh!
    “Hidey-ho!” he screamed and punched the wall. “So good to hear from you!” He looked at the text message. Why doesn’t she just talk? Did her jaw fall completely off?
    Im coming U r coming w me

#

    When Ellen came home she found Ed sitting in the tub with his clothes on and the shower running and the empty bottle of bourbon lying between his legs. The end of the bottle was pointing at her like a sick reminder of spin the bottle; kiss me, baby!
    Ed said, “Don’t answer my phone. I want to kill it.”
    She gasped his name, her feet rooted to the floor.
    He leapt out of the shower, soaking wet, and treaded back into the kitchen. “Did you get the pills?”
    She nodded and pointed at the white prescription bag.
    “You think I need these? Yeah?” He hurled the bag against the wall, followed by a splatter of water from his wet arm.
    “My freaking sister is calling me over and over. No, I’m sorry, she’s now text messaging me. Here, go look at the phone. She thinks I’m still supposed to go protect her. Still! I don’t know where she is!”
    Where are you going you bitch. I’m not crazy and I’m not taking those crazy fuck pills, dammit. No!
    He started to chase her out to the car, but remembered there was more booze up in the cabinet. A couple of bottles of wine and a bottle of vodka if he remembered right.
    Right as vodka fucking rain, he said unscrewing the lid.
    The cell phone sat solemnly in its proper place on the china hutch.
    He heard tires shriek on the driveway.

#

    It was dark. He was nude in his old gray robe and sitting on the couch. He wasn’t really sure where his wife was. Probably with her friend, Judy. The one with the rich husband. The rich husband who always offered them a ride on his pontoon boat up at the mountain lake. The rich husband who always ogled his wife’s tits and licked her thighs with his darting eyes. He was a corpulent bastard who thought he was hot to trot. Ed wondered if he should trot a shotgun up his ass some time.
    The cell jangled. He had been holding it for hours. He flipped it open. New Text Message. Do You Wish To Read Now?
    Ed pushed OK.
    R u ready
    He closed the phone and finished the bottle of wine, a rather good Merlot he had been enjoying. It was great at room temperature. Weren’t reds supposed to be consumed at room temperature? Ellen always dropped a couple of ice cubes in it. She preferred a chardonnay anyway. He was crushing the phone in his hand.
    How am I going to get my heart to stop pounding? Please stop. Please stop.
    Where is she? Where did Laura go?
    She’s not calling me. She’s not calling me. I just need help. I need help. When the booze wears off I’ll take the crazy pill, I’ll make it up to her, I will, I swear I will. I will. I love you, Ellen.
     He wept, rolled onto the couch, and lay on his back, feeling his tears stream from the corners of his eyes. One tear rolled down beside his nose and was nearly sucked into his nostril when he sniffed.
    I’ll call her tomorrow on the bleeding cell. I’ll call her and tell her I’m getting help right away. I’ll take the pills. I’ll talk to the shrink. I’ll do it. I need help really really bad so I’ll do it. I’ll do it. I want my heart to stop goddamn pounding. Stop please. Stop please.
    There was a bright flash from outside, clearly visible through the rear sliding glass door. There must be a storm coming. He waited for the thunder.
    The cell sang instead.
    Faster pounding of his heart. The cell was still in his hand, the fingertips white from gripping it. He had meant to call his wife earlier, but didn’t, knowing he would sound incoherent and plastered.
    Maybe it’s Ellen.
    He opened the phone. There was a text message with a photo attachment:
    Cum now
    He hit the down key and his pounding heart became a trip hammer. There was something familiar about the grainy photo, lit by the flash of the phone’s camera.
    He gaped at the rear glass door and tried to stand.

#

    It took two weeks before Ellen could speak to Judy completely about that next morning. She had already told her about finding her husband lying on the floor next to the coffee table with a gash on his forehead and a daub of coagulated blood matted in the carpet. The autopsy had revealed a massive myocardial infarction as the cause of death, thus the dearth of blood on the floor from the head wound. What she hadn’t told Judy was that Ed’s right hand had been grasping his cell phone. The battery was dead. Days later she had charged it, wondering if he’d tried to call her or someone else. She had turned her phone off that night and would never forgive herself for not being available to him.
    She had checked his Incoming Calls and saw unlisted several times, plus an unlisted under Text Messages.
    She opened the unlisted text and saw:
    Su>x n b:ed
    She hit the down key.
    What she couldn’t understand, nor previously speak of, was why there was a picture of his prized roses on the iron gates outside by the rear glass door.

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