Hope (The Virtues #1) (2 page)

It wasn’t just the town that I was dreading, and it wasn’t just my family. Growing up was a difficult time, and there were people that I wasn’t keen on running into again. Driving past the nice part of town and into a trailer park sent the last bit of my dignity floating away on the wind.

I turned in and had to drive on the wrong side of the street to avoid the huge potholes. Sagging porches were littered with old bikes, scrap metal, and trash. Brand new mobile homes stood beside visibly decrepit models with a permanent layer of grime.

I felt my heart speed up as I turned onto Cherrywood Court. 178 Cherrywood was easy to find; it was the only one left down the small dead end road. The dirty brown trailer flooded my head with memories, and I almost slammed on the brakes to turn around. It was like the closer I got, the more the pain radiated from my past.

A beat-up and rust-infested Chevy sat in the overgrown driveway. I remembered when Nick turned seventeen and Dad gave him the car. My father was so proud to actually give someone a gift. Of course, it was Nick who got the car. Dad already saw me as stuck up and “too good for the family.” He was right.

I kept Layne’s car a safe distance from the trailer, near an old babysitter’s place. I could already envision some panel falling from our roof onto the borrowed car. I couldn’t protect myself from my past life, but I could at least keep Layne’s car safe. Better very safe than sorry.

Beer cans and car parts littered the poor excuse for a lawn. “Jesus, Nick,” I sighed.

Stepping through the weeds, I made my way up the warped boards the led to the front door. There was a metal bowl on the stoop, and I realized that Casper was still around.

When Nick was sixteen, he brought home a stray, and even though my daddy didn’t allow the lab in the trailer, he stayed, oftentimes sleeping underneath the steps. The dog must have been twelve or thirteen by this time.

The hollow thump of my knocks was enough to make me shudder. Ten years earlier, I had felt such soaring pride hearing the door slam for the last time. I’d
thought
it would be the last time, anyway.

My brother didn’t answer. After a few seconds, though, I did hear the slow clicking of nails on linoleum, and I knew Casper was inside. Looking through the frosted glass window wouldn't do much, so I reached for the knob. The door was dented and bent, and I had to give it a hard pull before it would release.

For a split second, I thought the place was vacant. Aside from a few dirty dishes in the sink, there wasn’t anything around. Stepping inside, I realized it was just the status quo. Stale cigarette smoke and the bitter smell of body odor hit me. It was much stronger than when I had lived there. I was sure the cleaning and groceries stopped after I left.

The old dog looked at me from the living room area. His yellow coat was matted and dull, but his tail wagged slowly, despite his condition. At least he looked well-fed. He ambled over to me, eager for some quality attention, no doubt.

“Good boy,” I said, stepping into the kitchen and finding a sweet spot behind his ears.

The kitchen and living area were one, transitioning seamlessly with trash. I stepped into the trailer, ignoring the smell. Clinicals and work with cadavers had given me an iron nose.

“Nick!” My voice sounded a bit too much like my mother’s.

I looked down the hallway to my left. The shadows painted a morbid picture on the wall. I didn’t hear any sounds, and the living room to the right was empty, save the dirty couch that Dad had proudly hauled from the trash when I was sixteen.

I headed down the hallway, pushing the narrow bathroom door open, but then closed it quick, hoping to keep the demon smells trapped inside. The first bedroom was as empty as the kitchen, but my brother wasn’t in sight. I panicked when I saw a leg dangling off the side of the bed at the end of the hallway.

With Casper at my heels, I made my way down the hall. Moving inside the room, I saw Nick lying flat on his stomach, sprawled diagonally across the bare mattress. My limited training took over, and I began to assess the situation. Worried that he might have been killed, I looked for blood beneath him. There weren’t any stains, and I saw his body rise as he took a slow breath.

When I reached across his body to take a pulse, it all made sense. His left arm was still tied off, and the needle was hanging from his vein. My junkie brother’s pulse was slow, but it was steady.

I found myself talking out loud again, “Goddammit, Nick. Fuckin’ idiot.”

My emergency room hours came back to me, and I carefully took the needle out. The tiny spot of blood would soon heal into just another track on his arm. I destroyed the hypo by bending it on a mirror as I set it next to the mattress with his spoon and the other stuff he needed to shoot up. Casper let out a faint whine.

I turned Nick onto his side, his limp body heavy and taxing for my small frame. By the time I had him somewhat comfortable and safe, my heart was pounding and I felt beads of sweat growing on my brow.

I leaned back against the wall, watching my brother’s chest rise an almost imperceptible amount. After a while, he began to moan, and I knew his high wouldn’t last much longer.

My head fell back against the fake wood paneling. Another shitty memory in the family trailer.

After I caught my breath, I dug through the piles of clothes in the bedroom looking for Nick’s cell. I didn’t know if there’d be anything useful on it, but I was sure he’d have Beezer’s number, at the very least. My first thought was to call the police, even though I knew there wouldn’t be much they could do.

Nothing
they could do, actually. I could almost hear the cop on the phone telling me so. Nick probably had quite a reputation with the police. He was starting to get recognized all too often by the time I left. I was sure his star had only risen in the criminal underground since then.

Bakersfield followed the model of most major cities: let the criminals take care of the criminals. No one would care if Nick was killed. He’d be just one less junkie destroying the image of the small tourist town.

I flipped through his last few messages. Just like he said, there was the conversation between him and Beezer about the money.

Uve had a month. Now u have a week.

I can get it to you, bro. I need some time.

Three days later, another one from the dealer.
U got the $$$?

Nick hadn’t responded to that one, and the last message that came in was from one day before I arrived. It was short and straight to the icy point:
Times up See you in 24
. That text came in around six, leaving us down to about twenty hours until the dealer would show up.

The fear that Nick had been screwing with me, trying to scare me down to Bakersfield just to beg for something in person disappeared. He was in very real trouble, and as I heard him begin to stir from his drug-induced slumber, I hung my head between my legs.

What was that line from
The Sopranos?
“Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

It took him almost ten minutes to realize I was there. When he did, I heard him groan and drag his body upright as if he was far heavier than his actual thin frame. Only then did I raise my head. His eyes were bloodshot, and his skin was a faded cream color. The huge bags under his eyes let me know he’d been out of it for a long time—days, maybe.

The look he gave told me that he had no memory of his frantic attempt to contact me. I decided to ease into things.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked.

“Ironwood, I think.”

Siblings always had a shorthand. When we talked about our dad, Nick and I knew that “where” meant what prison. I don’t remember hearing about him being out in the years I’d been away from my hometown, and I didn’t expect that to change.

After a silence, I got to the point of the visit. “Do you remember calling me?” I tried to make my voice diamond hard, but the quiver was evident.

Nick gave me the look that foreigners give you when you explain to them they are driving on the wrong side of the road. I could almost see the thought slowly making sense in his tired, abused mind. He finally shook his head.

My frustration was wearing down the dam holding back my anger, “Goddammit, Nick. What the hell have you done?” I tossed his phone to him. It took an odd bounce off the dirty mattress and clattered onto the floor.

“I see your dealer is done negotiating.” Back playing the role of the mother. Back to disappointment and anger. Back to the frustration of knowing nothing will change.

Nick spoke up. His voice was hoarse, and I knew it had been days since he’d left the trailer. “Uh, yeah.” My brother cleared his throat. “I’m in some shit, Hope.” When he looked up, there was a sardonic smile across his face. “Good to see you, though.”

I stood up, “Yeah, you too. I’m glad you kept the place up.” I headed out of the bedroom. Even with a nose accustomed to terrible medical smells, I had my limits.

Nick was grabbing for a shirt to throw over his skin and bones body as I left, and he called to me down the hallway. “I think… I think I’ve got this under control. I’m just gonna get out of town for a bit until this money business blows over.”

He came out into the kitchen, Casper in tow. I was leaning against the wall near the door. Nick reached up to a cabinet, letting a few gnats out. He shut it and turned away, hopefully embarrassed.

I laughed at what he had become. The dam was broken; my emotions came pouring out over top of it. “ ‘Blows over?’ This dealer doesn’t seem like the type to let things ‘blow over,’ and besides, it isn’t like you insulted him or use the wrong salad fork. You owe him
money.
Debt doesn’t fade away. Debt gets you killed, Nick.”

I hated using the mom voice, but it was necessary. He needed to know that he had fucked up badly, and I wanted to see him take some responsibility for that. Nick’s life was on the line, so I had no problem killing the buzz that was still churning through his poisoned veins.

He could hear the anger in my voice. I
wanted
him to hear the anger in my voice. Nick had brought this on himself, and there was nothing I could do about it. He must have thought otherwise.

“I have one idea, but you aren’t going to like it at all.”

I stared at him, trying to imagine what his drug-addled brain was coming up with, “Well?”

“Trask.”

Dear God. One word. One name. So many memories.

I snapped at him, “No. No way.”

Nick replied, “Look, I know it’s been a while between you two, but he runs with the Rising Sons, a pretty big deal biker gang in this part of the state. They... you know... get things done. I bet if you talk to him, he might—”

“You want me to just dig up my ex and ask him to protect you?” I’d lost control. My voice came in gale force winds. “It’s been ten years since we split up, and you want me to ask a favor? Jesus, Nick, that’s fucking perfect. Thanks for putting me behind the eight ball because of your addiction.” I knew there was no other solution, and even as I yelled at him, the reality sunk in that Trask was probably our only chance.

“Nick, you selfish prick.”

All of a sudden, there wasn’t a twenty-five-year-old druggie standing in front of me. He was the thirteen-year-old that I had punished for losing his lunch on the way to school. He was the fifteen-year-old that I had yelled at for stealing. He was the seventeen-year-old that I had tried to scold for getting arrested for drinking.

He turned to hide the tears, but I knew they were there. Nick was never a strong kid, especially when he was getting told hard truths. “All right. I have no other fucking idea what to do. The cops in this town know me, so there’s no way I can go to them. I know you don’t have the cash, and I can’t get out of here without them finding me, so who the fuck knows?

“Hope, I don’t remember calling you, and I’m sorry I wasted your time, but...” Nick turned back to me, the tears sliding past his cheeks. “But unless you have a better idea, I think this is goodbye.”

Casper whined and laid down beside Nick on the kitchen floor. My brother and I stood in the family trailer, drowning in the tension between us. His solution was to get high and wait for his untimely death. It may have been fitting, but I didn’t want to see my brother go that way. I had done my best to raise him after my mother ran out on us. I wanted to see him succeed and beat the odds. I wracked my brain for any other solution.

When nothing else came to me, I groaned. Nick had come up with the only solution that had any chance of succeeding: Trask. I hadn’t talked to him in nine years, and things had ended under bad circumstances, just like everything in my life. I knew where he was, and I knew where I could find him. A friend of a friend kept me up to date on Facebook, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t forget it. Trask Rivers was with the Rising Sons Motorcycle Club, and their haunt was a bar near the western edge of Bakersfield.

My high school boyfriend and I hadn’t seen each other since he left for basic training a few weeks after graduation. Splitting up was hard, but we knew it was the only way to try and make better lives for ourselves. Trask had helped me escape from my life in the trailer park every day after school; something I could never fully repay. As I stood across from my doomed brother, I realized I was about to get deeper in debt with my old flame.