From The Dead (12 page)

* * *

Several hours—and several drinks—later, Jesse felt
the alcohol stir in his head while he struggled for dominance. Not
quite drunk, he decided to lay off the liquor and step outside to
absorb the one a.m. air. Around him, conversation whirred, but he
couldn’t focus on it.

Though lightheaded, his heart and soul remained
heavy. As he glared up at an isolated, full moon, the distance
overwhelmed him. He wanted to climb up there, to crawl into a
crater and freeze.

Where’s Jada?
He’d lost track of her a while
ago. And now, he couldn’t stand the loneliness that held him
captive.

Jesse headed indoors to examine the euphoric crowd
but couldn’t locate her. He waded through clusters of people but
found himself surrounded by strange faces.

Next he moved toward the sofas along the perimeter,
poked his head inside each partitioned section, but still his quest
remained unsuccessful. One by one, he found each section occupied
by groups in conversation or flirtation, their voices raised above
the pulsations of music.

When he reached the last sofa section, he couldn’t
utter a word.

All he could do was watch.

Two sofas faced each other. A group of women huddled
on one while they inspected the dance-floor crowd with expressions
that rendered judgment.

On the other sofa sat Jada.

And Dale.

They didn’t notice him, nor did they hear his
approach amid the music. Jesse could see the back of Dale’s head;
Jada faced Jesse, but her eyes remained shut. She had to be two
hues shy of drunk by now.

Jesse felt betrayed as he watched Dale deposit kisses
along Jada’s cheeks and neckline.

The sharp, internal pain resembled a fist to Jesse’s
gut. His eyes began to water, but he forced the sensation into
retreat.

One final rejection. He had, at last, reached the
bottom.

He had given himself to her. Eleven years of his
life—vanished.

Jesse stumbled in his beeline toward the exit. He
rushed through the lobby and out the front doors, where a pair of
taxis idled on standby for drunken passengers who needed a ride
home. He hopped into the first cab.

“Where to?” asked the driver.

Back to Sherman Oaks.

Beyond that, Jesse didn’t have a clue.

* * *

Jesse stumbled into the ink blackness of his
apartment and turned on a small lamp in the corner. The living room
brightened to an oppressive dimness.

He needed to think.

No—on second thought, the last thing he needed was to
think. He didn’t need more fucking silence.

He turned on the stereo and let it blare whatever CD
happened to be inside. From the speakers, The Goo Goo Dolls
performed “Better Days.”
How’s that for irony,
thought
Jesse.

He sat on the sofa but couldn’t remain still. At this
point, with his head numbed by alcohol, he felt overpowered by
despair. He wanted to shout, but felt so weak and distant from the
rest of humanity, he didn’t think he would be heard.

He’d reached the point of giving up.

And with nowhere to go.

Head in his hands, he sobbed alone in the room’s
semi-darkness. Agony, a one-inch blade, twisted in his heart. He
sought forgiveness. He craved deliverance.

Then he remembered: the painkillers.

Energy drained, he wobbled toward the bathroom and
fumbled through the medicine chest to retrieve Jada’s half bottle
of painkillers. One snap of the lid and he peered down into the
orange bottle, salivated at the dusty white tablets.

Make the pain go away.

Better days.

The stereo’s vibration rattled the bathroom mirror as
he shook the pills into the palm of his hand. Agitated by his
shaking, sweaty hand, the pills rustled and left a powdery residue
on the surface of his skin.

Jesse’s face blushed with heat. He swallowed the
pills in one clean sweep, and then slid along the wall to the
bathroom floor beside the porcelain tub. There Jesse shut his eyes,
bobbed his head—and waited for escape in the darkness of the
bathroom.

Several minutes passed before regret, which
manifested through violent pains in his abdomen, settled in. Arms
crossed over his chest, he cradled himself.

The pain sharpened. Jesse rocked back and forth, not
in comfort but in anguish, while he convulsed on the floor in
terror. As he writhed in torture, he crouched low into fetal
position. In a torrent, sodium-laden tears burst from his eyes and
pattered on the floor.

Defeated, his face streaked with tears of torment …
of rejection … of a life that crept toward its final minutes, Jesse
opened his mouth wide to scream but couldn’t locate his voice.

Eden …

Dad …

Caitlyn …

Now he had made the ultimate mistake, and he was
terrified.

Terrified and alone. With no way out.

He couldn’t cry out. All he could do was mouth the
words, and send a mental plea. The final words before his world
went black.

God, I’m sinking.

Oh God, please help me.

CHAPTER 20

In the heat of the moment, she had opened her eyes
halfway.

Jesse wasn’t around. He and Jada had gotten separated
at some point tonight. He hadn’t been himself the last few weeks.
And he still hadn’t admitted what the fuck swirled around in his
head.

She had pushed away from Dale and looked for Jesse
throughout Heights. She’d searched the club from end to end. No
sign of Jesse.

Back and forth, she had retraced the room four times.
Next she had checked the patio and the balcony outside. She hadn’t
found him in the lobby, and the man who had walked out of the
restroom had sworn no one else was in there.

“Are you positive?”

“Lady, it’s empty. Get sober. Maybe he left.”

Had Jesse seen her with Dale?

Jada had run out to the lobby and described Jesse to
some employees, asked if they had seen him.

The valet had spoken up. “Yeah, I saw the guy. Got
into a cab a while ago. Real upset. Gotta be drunk, or at least
close to it.”

At that point, Jada had decided to start with the
apartment and work her way from there.

“Get me my car.”

* * *

She discovered the apartment’s front door unlocked.
When she burst into the living room, she noticed a single lamp lit
in the corner. An odd buzz sounded in the air; with a glance across
the room, she noted the stereo as its source—a CD had reached its
end. The evidence suggested Jesse had to be there. But aside from
the buzz, the apartment was noiseless.

“Jesse?” she called out.

No answer.

She entered the bedroom and turned on the light, but
he wasn’t in there. The bed hadn’t been ruffled. She peered around
the room and found everything in its place. His wallet and keys
hadn’t been returned to the dresser for the night. Nothing
disturbed or touched since they had left earlier that evening.

Her skin prickled with goose bumps, which tore their
way up her arm.

“Jesse?”

The air dripped of his presence.

Jada stopped and listened again. Nothing.

She peered toward the dark bathroom, where the
medicine cabinet appeared to be open. Its mirror surface glinted
from the bedroom light. Jada darted to the bathroom and flipped the
light switch.

She screamed when she saw him.

His face was ashen. His tear stains had formed a
crisscrossed mess across his cheeks.

“Jesse!”

In a panic, she slapped him on the cheek, screamed at
him.

“What’s wrong?!”

She lifted one of his eyelids, then jumped backward
when she saw his eyes had rolled back toward the tops of their
sockets.

“Jesse! No! Jesse, come back!
Jesse!
”

She ran back into the bedroom and yanked the phone
from its cradle to dial 911.

CHAPTER 21

Their faces stoic, the paramedics rushed into
position and prepared the defibrillator.

They warned Jada in advance: This didn’t look
promising.

Paddles ready, one paramedic shouted.

“Clear!”

Her mouth covered with her hand, Jada stared as the
electric current jolted Jesse’s body into a lurch. The sound of the
heart monitor grew long and steady.

“We’re losing him! Ready—clear!”

Again Jesse’s body lurched.

He could barely open his eyes; the light in the room
appeared harsh through the slits as he squinted. His vision was
blurry, but he heard two voices echo around him.

Then Jesse drifted back into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER 22

Exhausted, he awoke for the third time in this
hospital room. Jesse had been awake for about five minutes now, but
he had been in this room since yesterday. That he knew. The rest
was fuzzy. He couldn’t recall much from the last few days, but he
felt well rested. Besides this hospital room, his last memory
involved himself crumpled on his bathroom floor.

He felt relieved to be alive.

As the physical effects and immediate regret of his
suicide attempt settled in him that dark night, he didn’t think he
would get a second chance. He was sure he had died that night.

In spite of his willingness that night to end his
life, today—after he’d survived the foolish mistake—he determined
he would cling to his life no matter what.

He didn’t know how, but his life would change.
Amendments would begin. So would the apologies and restitutions
toward the people he loved. Somehow. So help him God.

Yes, he felt relieved to be alive.

And unlike previous tears of sorrow, the tear that
formed in the corner of his eye today was one of gratitude. Jesse
was thankful for survival. The droplet fell without a sound.

Jesse fingered the sheets, caught a glimpse of dusk
in the crack between the window curtains. A plastic pitcher of
water sat on the table beside the bed; a nurse had come and gone.
Jesse put his hand on his chest and felt the gentle thumps of his
heart. He sat up straighter in the bed, studied the sterile
atmosphere, and listened to the silence.

He heard nothing.

This was what time sounded like.

This was what it sounded like to be alive.

With a quiet knock on the door, Jada poked her head
in the room. Peace arose within him; a good-bye was forthcoming,
which Jesse welcomed. If he could survive his recent tragedy, he
could face life one day at a time.

Jada took a seat beside the bed and stared at him for
a full minute without a word. Then she spoke, her voice soft,
almost in a whisper.

“Look … I can’t do this anymore.”

“I know,” he whispered back. “Neither can I.”

They both sat in the stillness.

Then Jesse asked, “How am I alive right now? Did you
find me?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

Jada nodded. “Are you feeling better? I got so
worried. Despite our recent arguments, if you hadn’t survived—” She
cut herself short. They lingered longer, listened to each other’s
breathing. Mutual, though unspoken, understanding seemed to emanate
between them. Both seemed to realize their relationship had reached
its end. And so Jesse didn’t find Jada’s next words surprising:
“I’ve asked Dale to move in with me. We’ve been seeing each other
for months.”

To most bystanders, the remark would have sounded
cruel. Jesse, however, didn’t even flinch. He didn’t know what his
next step would be, but he made a solid decision: He wouldn’t live
as a stranger anymore.

“They weren’t going to release you,” Jada said. “They
wanted to put you under psychiatric evaluation. But I explained to
them you’d never shown irrational behavior before—that you’ve had a
few rough weeks lately. Then I told them your mother died—that did
the trick. So you shouldn’t have a problem getting out of
here.”

Jesse folded his hands in his lap, examined the
plastic ID bracelet around his wrist.

Jada reached out to place her hand on his arm, her
tone gentle and, in a manner uncharacteristic for her, genuine.
“You don’t belong here. Not in L.A.”

She patted his arm and rose from her seat. When she
opened the door, she looked back at him and spoke her final
words.

“Jesse, go home.”

Then she walked out.

Jesse stared straight ahead as her words soaked into
him. He bit his lip.

Home.

Yeah, he wanted that.

PART TWO

FROM THE DEAD

CHAPTER 23

En route, Jesse had spent the second night in St.
Louis, departed at seven in the morning, and continued eastbound on
Interstate 70. Two hours ago, he’d caught Interstate 71 in
Columbus, Ohio, and headed north. On the passenger seat, he’d kept
his camera to document his journey with every pit stop along the
way. With each photo, Jesse captured his emotions, symbolized by
flawed landmarks like decrepit buildings of yesteryear and old,
paint-chipped billboards.

He had wasted little time leaving California. Jada
wanted him out; she had given him cash—Dale’s cash, more likely—for
Jesse’s half of the furniture and other apartment possessions. She
wasn’t home when he left. He wrote her a note and departed before
the morning rush began. Would he miss his eleven-year hub? To his
surprise, he couldn’t locate an inkling of sentiment toward
Jada.

That was two days ago. Now he neared the end of his
three-day trek home, the longest leg of the trip.

Jesse marveled at his circumstances. On his way to
his hometown, yet he had lunged into the unknown. He had no idea
how his family and friends would respond, or for that matter, what
he would do once he arrived. He didn’t know anything. But unlike
his life in L.A. where the unknown was a cultural norm for many,
here in Ohio the lifestyle struck him as more predictable and
constant.