Chapter 40: The Nightmare After Christmas

January 2, 1981

I got one day of quiet before the first of the winter storms. As the song says, ‘All is quiet on New Year’s Day’. Or perhaps ‘The Eye of the Hurricane.’ Storms lurking around us, quiet at the moment, some not formed yet. There wasn’t one storm; there were several. Some were little and just dumped a bunch of rain. Some threatened major devastation. Some blew in fast, some lurked for weeks or longer. A few blew themselves out quickly. Others lasted for months. Some changed lives, some changed our whole corner of the world. All of them — every one — could’ve gone worse. But every one of them brought pain and heartache.

Candice would be back today, but not until evening. She was planning to call when she got back. I figured I’d try if I hadn’t heard by 8pm. We spent much of the day hanging out as a family, playing games, and just enjoying each other’s company. In the evening, waiting for the call, Ang and I played a bit on the computer and on her piano, I read a bit, trying to stay distracted. The first of the storms had arrived, but it hadn’t quite made itself felt.

It started, as do many things, with something little. Innocuous. Something that seemed like a good thing, even.

We had a mail slot in the front door of the house, which seems archaic. Not even a mailbox at the end of the driveway, much less a cluster box. The mail carrier has to walk up all the way to the door and put mail in the slot. Then it’s right there.

Sometimes we forget to check. Mom had forgotten until 9pm, when she was on her way to bed. By then I’d called Candice and gotten no answer. No big deal. Planes from Colorado in January often have weather delays. Heck, tomorrow would be understandable. No online flight tracking to check, and even if I’d wanted to call the airline, I didn’t know her flight information.

“Steve! You’ve got mail!”

I remembered Candice had mentioned a card that was for Post-New Year’s. I raced up to the front of the house. Bingo! Card from Candice. Thick, too. Maybe a sneaky little present?

The storm’s timing was merciful. I couldn’t have managed without Ang. And I couldn’t have talked to her if Mom and Dad were still up. It was still a near thing.

I hopped on my bed and opened it, smiling, humming. A nice card. Handmade. With a heart. Arrow through it. “SM+CM”. Cute!

Inside, no present. A letter. Several pages of pink notebook paper. I unfolded it and started reading.

And started to tremble.

After a bit, I got up and closed the door. I read some more. I rolled over and shoved my head in my pillow and started to cry. I felt like picking up the phone. But what would I say? To whom? I needed to talk to Angie first.

I’ve never completely decided if that delay was for the best or not, but I’m going with a belief that it was.

I pulled myself together just enough that when Mom stuck her head in and called, “Night, Steve! We’re going to bed!” I could manage a “Night Mom! Love you! Say good night to Dad!” without my voice breaking. I pretended to be reading my book. I’m sure my face would have given it away.

I carefully waited. Fifteen minutes; that was as much as I could manage. Check the hall. Mom and Dad’s light was out. Thank god.

I knocked very softly at Angie’s door. “Hey? Come in!”

I peeked in. She looked at me, surprised. Of course, I knocked on her door all the time. But never after bedtime. That was her thing. I loved it, but it was hers.

I spoke softly, for fear that my voice would fail me. “Ang? I need you.”

She was up in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“My room. C’mon.” I nodded towards Mom and Dad’s room. Of course, that was why it was Ang’s thing. Her room abutted theirs. Too much risk our talking would carry.

She followed. I climbed in bed, fetched the card. Handed it to her. She looked at it, not getting the issue. Of course. But I needed to set the stage. She needed to see how the storm had blown in.

“What’s... ?”

I handed her the letter. I hadn’t memorized it, but I knew what it said. Close enough. I just watched her face as the shock set in. The fear. Her face, contorting.

Dear Steve:

I love you. I love you so much. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I know, you’re going to tell me that’s silly, that I’m being all girly and dramatic. But I’m not.

You’re. The. Best. Thing. That. Has. Ever. Happened. To. Me.

I don’t deserve you. Again — I can hear you as I write this. Telling me that I’m special, I deserve everything good. That you love me and it’s not about what I deserve. That I’m a princess.

I’m not a princess. I don’t deserve you. I’m a fucking waste of space that’s meant for one thing. I’m trash. I’m a dirty slut. And I can’t inflict myself on you anymore, no matter how good it makes me feel for an hour or two or three. Or a day. Maybe a day. Before I remember.

I know this is going to break your heart. I know it. I’m more sorry than you can imagine. I should never have gotten involved with you. Or Angie. Or even Emily. I stood at the edge of the bayou last spring, before the Fucking. God. Damn. Trip. I meant to throw myself in. Save myself the hell. It would have been so much better if I had. I wouldn’t be ripping your heart out. Or Angie’s. But I didn’t know. And I got scared. Because this hell is temporary, but that hell might be forever. But now I know I deserve it.

Just think of me as the fucking whore who ripped your heart out. Get mad at me. Hate me. Then you can get on with your life. Shed a tear. I know you will. But don’t let me drag you down.

I needed you to know this because I don’t think I’ll be able to see you or talk to you. I have to settle things first. And I can’t let them drag you down. People are going to know how dirty I am. What a slut. I can’t help that. But they don’t have to know about how you made me feel good about myself. Until I couldn’t, anymore.

I’m going to find some guy. I don’t care who. There are always guys at ski resorts. Some hot guy. Some guy that wants a girl. Some guy that’s an asshole and deserves a fucking dirty whore. I’m going to let him bed me and fuck me. Mom and Dad will catch us. I’m going to tell everyone that he took my virginity. If you contradict me, I will hate you forever, wherever I am.

Mom and Dad will kill me. They’ll ground me for life. Which is a laugh. Life.

There’s another note. It’s in my room. They’ll find it. It describes the whole thing. All of it. You don’t have to know. But you might find out. I don’t know. What a fucking dirty cunt I am. Why, how, and what else has happened.

You made me so happy. I am hoping my last thoughts will be of you and the happy times. Not of hell. The one I’ve already been in, I mean. The other one I’m sure I’ll get used to really quickly. I always liked new places.

I feel so stupid, Steve. All the studying, all the work. All for a bunch of A’s that who the fuck cares about. Who cares if you’re a straight A dead fucking whore? You’re still a dead fucking whore. Put her out with the trash where she belongs. Fuck, burn me, at least I’d be useful heating something.

I hurt you so much. I let myself think I could be happy. Sometimes I even let you convince me I deserved it. For a moment. But I don’t. I never did. I know you meant well. You don’t have a mean bone in your body. But every time you said what a princess I am or how sweet or how great, it was like daggers thrust into me. Because I knew I wasn’t. I knew you were mistaken. You couldn’t see. No one could see. No one was supposed to ever see. Well. I am going to show them. All. Fuck ‘em. They can’t hurt me.

If you ever see me again, it means I’m so fucking worthless I can’t even kill myself and make it stick. Avoid me like the plague. Spit on me. Cross the street and walk the other way.

Lastly. This note is private. You can show it to Angie. I imagine you’ll have to. And I could never get between you and her. That would be a fucking evil thing for the worthless little dirty tramp to do, wouldn’t it? Fuck up the beautiful thing you have as a fare-thee-well? Angie, you’re reading this, right? Every word I wrote is true. You are a beautiful soul. I’m your negative, dark and black. You lit me up with your light, but that was just a lie. I love you, Angie. You could’ve been my soul sister, but no one could get near my soul and not turn as dirty and filthy and nasty as I am.

Anyway, I got distracted. Love you, Angie. Don’t mourn for me too long. Anyway. Damn. Private. This note is private. Angie gets to see it. If you show it to anyone else. At all. Ever. I will fucking haunt you. That means your parents, my parents, police, any damn people. The note in my room is enough. They’ll see that. Yours is private. I had to say what I said to you. You needed to know.

Burn the damn thing. Or save it. What do I care?

I hate to do this to you, Steve. Without you, I’d never have experienced romance and love, and now I’m repaying it by ripping your heart out. I’m so, so sorry. But I can’t lie to you. I can’t look at your face. I just can’t. I tried to fly high and touched the sun and it burned me, because the sun hates things that are dark and nasty.

I will always love you. But don’t always love me. I’m not worth your time or your tears.

Candice the dirty fucking whore.

Angie’s face was covered in tears. I knew it matched mine. I’d lost it just watching her expression.

“W ... what ... in ... what in the name of God?”

“What do we do, sis?”

“Call someone. The police?”

“We can’t show them the note. I mean, we can. I’d violate the confidence to save Candice. But...”

The phone rang. I held my breath.

The storm had mercy.

“Steveeeee?” Her voice was... wrong. Slurred. Half-conscious.

“Candice?”

Angie’s eyes went big. I clamped my hand hard over the mouthpiece and whispered. “Mom and Dad. Now. Make them stay quiet. She can’t know. They have to go to her house. One of us needs to keep Candice talking. Either. Get them. Go. Don’t explain, make them trust us. They can’t waste time.”

She was out of there like a shot.

“I ... I ... uuunnghhh ... I feel so ... oh ... I mean ... I ... I wanted ... I ... hear your voice. L ... last thing.”

“Candice. Honey. Don’t do this. Get your parents. Get help.”

“No helppppp.” She sounded ... peaceful. The drugs, or whatever. But, god help me, she sounded peaceful. Happy. “No helppp for me. I’m already helped alllll I need.”

I could hear the sounds from the bedroom. Come on, Angie, hurry!

“Candice, anything can be fixed. But you have to be alive.”

“Nahhhhh. Mom & Dad will be sssad. And Cindyyy. But there’s still hope for Cindyyy. Andddd Meggy. Little Meggyyy. I had to. Because. Cindy.”

“Candice! I don’t know what you mean. You have to stay conscious.”

“Steve, it hurts too much.”

“What? What hurts?”

“Youuu ... your voice ... I had to hear it but nnoww it’s like acid in my hheart ... the goodness ... eeating away at me.”

“Candice...”

“Angie ... g ... go ... go get ... Angie ... I can ... tell her ... w ... while ... I can ... tell ... any ... anyone.”

“I’m getting her. Stay with us! Candice! Don’t go!”

“Don’t gooooo ... Don’t Fear The Reaperrrrr ... I’m not afraid, Steveee ... get Angie...”

I put the phone under a pillow, in case any noise from parents would carry, and scooted out, closing the door. The bedroom was chaos. Angie was trying to explain to Dad without explaining too much. He’d mostly gotten dressed, but was asking too many questions. I cut into it, trying to make my voice as firm as I could.

“Ang. Candice wants to talk to you. Whatever she says, keep her talking. If she wants me, tell her anything you can. I’m in the bathroom. I’m coming. Whatever. She’s so loopy I’m not sure she’ll add it up if there’s a delay. I don’t want her doing anything to speed up ... anything.”

Angie ran for the phone.

“Dad. You have to trust us. I’ll explain in the car. You can ground me to senior year if this is a prank. We’re serious. This is life or death. Probably death. Mom. Call 911. Give Candice’s address. Tell them suicide by drugs or poison, you don’t know which.”

Mom clapped her hand over her mouth. “Candice? Suicide?!”

Dad looked at me, pulling his pants on. He slammed his feet into slippers. “You’d never pull anything like this. I believe you. Let’s go.”

We ran for the car and hit the road.

The maximum speed limit almost the entire way is 30. We probably averaged 60. We figured if the police spotted us, hey, we were going to a fucking emergency and they should respect that.