Returning Home Ch. 02

"You're a good boy, Jim. Man. Not a boy. You're a man. You showed that, right? Showed us all."

The hackles on Jim's neck stood up, like the accused before judgment. "I guess."

The slurring had lessened, the words became more crisp. "Nah, all man. My nephew. Always taking care of things others couldn't. Always stepping in. You think people didn't notice? Always helping out? Everybody loved Jim. Couldn't stop hearing about it."

Jim looked around the room. No one was paying attention to them in spite of his uncle's volume. "I didn't do much. Just pitched in where I could."Is he playing me? Does he know?

"Too modest. You helped. You made sure of that, right? Then off to war. Soldier boy off to war. All the women crying. Just like your dad. Just like my dad. Just like I shoulda."

"Well..."

"Yeah. Well. I would have been fucking good. Better than your father."

Jim's grip on his glass tightened. "Why don't you keep my father and his service out of your mouth?"

"You come back and you think you can talk to me like that? He was my brother. I'll say whatever I wanna say. He could have done something. Pop could have done something!"

"Done what? Dad was overseas, Granpa was already out five years. What could they do? You were in a stolen car that killed a sixty-three year old woman. You're lucky you weren't in prison. You're gonna blame them for not getting in? You know the sorta hack you need to get an exemption for a felon to enlist?"

"I wasn't fucking driving. They could have done something."

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You were joy-riding in a car that killed a grandmother and you blame Dad and Granpa because the Army wouldn't take you?"

Andy looked away and waived his hand, as if he could wipe away Jim's objections. "You were always a sanctimonious prick. Even as a kid. You're gonna judge me? You?"

They sat there in silence as the waitress refreshed their drinks. It took Jim a minute to force himself to relax and start again.

"How've you been doing? You okay?"

Andy relaxed into his chair, tension draining from his face. "Yeah. You know. Say I got an ulcer. Pissing blood. Could be worse."

"You, uh, you getting some help?"

"Ann takes me down to the clinic. Gets me my pills."

Everything started to make sense. Why she needs to fill her freezer with venison from friends, why her clothes are threadbare, why she can't afford good gloves. Anger began pushing away the almost filial respect he had for his uncle. "What's that costing her?"

"What?"

Jim pressed. "Is she paying for that? The pills, the clinic? You got that money coming from the estate. You make too much to be on welfare. Who's paying for that stuff?"

Squinting, bloodshot eyes stared at Jim from across the table. Andy's diction was perfect. "She's got money. She lives for free. I don't ask for rent."

"Yeah? Does she pay the bills for the house? She paying for the electric, heating, food?"

Standing quickly, Andy pushed his chair back, allowing it to slowly topple to the ground. He loomed over the table and Jim. "Fuck you! You come crawling out of the woodwork and you're gonna judge me? You?"

Sneering, Jim couldn't keep the disdain from dripping out with every word. "You're still a piece of shit. I was an idiot. I can't believe how guilty I felt."

Standing, Jim pulled a twenty from his wallet and slammed it on the table for the rest of the whiskey he wouldn't be drinking. The voice stopped him halfway to the exit.

"I didn't deserve her, Jim."

He called back over his shoulder. "Neither did I."

He made it to the door before he felt the tears falling from his good eye.

* * * * *

Arriving a couple of hours early to pick up Ann, Jim parked, and wandered mindlessly, eventually finding himself at the hospital's oncology wing. A small, wry, half smile found it's home. His subconscious was as subtle as Ann's mood swings. There were over ten acres of grounds for the hospital facility and his feet took him here.

Surprised that he wasn't stopped, he made his way through the area with ease. Everywhere he looked he saw memories of Liz. Surprised that his recollections were so strong, he realized that back then he was paying attention to more than he thought he was. Everything circled around Liz and her treatment, but there were down times for him while she was in treatment while he paced, just sat and prayed or thought.

Jim found a familiar waiting room with a few patients and friends or family, sat down, and checked the time on his phone. He had at least another hour before Ann would be ready to go. A coffee in one hand and a snickers in his shirt pocket, Jim walked from the vending machine back to the waiting room. He had been here every Monday and Thursday for eight weeks. His uncle couldn't be trusted to drive Liz and Jim didn't mind taking her.

He had become friendly with the staff. They all seemed taken with the doting nephew. He didn't recognize any of them now. Sometimes Ann joined them back then, sometimes not. Liz discouraged her. She wanted Ann to have as normal a life as possible under the circumstances.

Jim sat, looked out the window at the trees swaying in the wind, drank his coffee and remembered.

EARLIER

11 Years Ago, Early Fall

Liz stood in the bathroom, plastic cup in hand, and swallowed the pills. An extra half pill for pain joined her normal chemical cocktail. Obvious pain, weakness and lassitude wouldn't work. Not today. This was a day for comforting lies. This was Liz on the mend day.

She had a store of Monster energy drinks that she kept under the sink to fight off the effects of the pain pills. It was a primitive work-around, but it helped. She would be strong, she would be pain-free, she would be vibrant, she would be convincing, and she would pay the price later.

The image in the mirror looked back knowingly. It wouldn't accommodate her lies. It wasn't Jim. It wasn't kind and selective. It stripped away her artifice and replaced it with reality. Her gaze fell to the darkness gathering under her eyes, the hair loss, the weight loss and slack skin. She saw it all and Jim saw none of it. No effort was needed to know what Jim saw. He was the most guileless man she knew.

He saw his beloved Liz. The woman he thought he loved. To Jim, she was still beautiful. Despair. For the disease, for Jim loving an illusion, for what this was doing to Ann and mostly for herself and her weakness in letting this go on. For not being able to let him go.

Staring at her reflection, anger replaced her melancholy and she hurled the cup at the mirror. It clattered against the glass and fell to the floor.

"Aunt Liz?" The call came from the kitchen. He just couldn't leave her alone, like a solicitous puppy underfoot. A bundled package of concern, fear and clumsy overreaching. What the hell was wrong with him? She grabbed the sides of the porcelain sink, tears streaming down her face. She didn't deserve him.

She replied as she had hundreds of times over the past months to his endless bleatings. "I'm fine, Jim."It's a fucking cup. I'm not dead yet, Jim. His relentless concern battered at her, weighing her down. Standing straight, she pushed back her self deception. She was a weak woman, but she was strong enough to be honest with herself. It wasn't him. Jim and Ann were the best things in her life. It was her and her guilt. She had indulged herself and allowed her guilt to shift love into resentment.

She threw some water on her face, plastered on a smile and made her way to the kitchen.

"Let's go down to the tree, Jim. Want me to make some sandwiches?"

He was standing in the dining room, screwing a bracket into the wall that would support a small bookshelf. "Are you sure? We can just stay here. It'll be fine. I don't, you know, we don't have to—"

She gripped the counter, not allowing her anger to show. "Jim, do you want a sandwich?"

"No, no, I'm good."

"Okay, then let's head over there."

Jim walked with her as they slowly made their way. Everything was different now. She felt as if his proximity was due to concern rather than attraction, as if he expected her to falter or stumble. They passed near the abandoned honey stands, continued to the shade of the tree and sat down, resting their backs against its trunk.

They talked about nothing for a while, finding pleasure in each other's presence, her heart breaking over how she'd been treating him, what she had done to him and how she had used him.

"Jim, make love to me."

"I'm fine. We don't have to. I'm fine just being with you."

She let out a small sob. "I know, Jim. I know. Please. Just make love to me."

He pulled his shirt over his head, folded it, and placed it to his left. They no longer engaged in the hurried, forceful passions they had over the past few months. Moving to her, he closed their distance and kissed her, gently, slowly.

She still thrilled as his loving hands moved down, unfastening button after button. Without hurrying, Jim opened and removed her shirt. Eyes moving up slowly from her waist to her face, she could see his love, see how he saw her. Layered over his lust was adoration. She was still beautiful. She was still the woman she was a year ago. To Jim, she was still Liz. Clamping down on her tears, she pulled him in and kissed him again.

Jim slid down and unbuttoned her slacks. Gently grasping them and her panties by the sides, he pulled them down and off of her. Liz fought the urge to somehow cover herself as she saw her ribs and hip bones. Instead, she watched Jim's eyes as he gazed at her with an equal measure of love and lust. She leaned forward as he unhook her bra and tossed it on top of his shirt. Their mouths met again as their tongues gently danced.

As they kissed, Jim's hand lowered to her hardening nipple. He slowly, softly touched and pulled as her rubbery nubs grew turgid. Soon his hand snuck down her torso, into her sparse growth of hair, and to her hot center. He wasn't the unskilled novice he had been months earlier. Jim soon found her clit and gently ran his finger around her hood. Using her gathering moisture to wet his finger, he slowly ran it over her button, causing her abdomen and buttocks to clench.

Always concerned about not hurting her, Jim waited until she was wet and slick enough to accept him. He hurriedly shuck his jeans and boxers. Again, they kissed as Jim lowered himself and slowly entered Liz. He set a slow, deliberate, loving pace.

Heels hooked behind his waist, Liz allowed the sensations to drive her into a state where there was only today, only now, only the two of them. Eyes closed, she tried to memorize every sensation, every second of this, their last time together.

She felt the flooding heat rise from her center, as she pounded her fists against the grass. "Uhhhhyyyhhh... yes, YES!"

Jim shifted his tempo and angle to increase their friction. Still gentle, still caring, he continued showing his love for Liz. Minutes crept by as they explored their love.

Sweat mingling between their bodies, Liz's panting grew more frantic as Jim picked up his pace and began to grunt.

"Now, Jim. Now!"

"Unnnnhhhhhh!" Jim released in a torrent. " I love you. I love you."

They lay there, resting together under the tree that had come to mean so much to them. It was their shelter and their haven. She cupped his left cheek in her hand as she lay on her side. She gazed into his eyes as if searching for something. An understanding of what she had done. Signs of forgiveness.

"Jim, we need to talk. You know that I love you, but today was our last time together. I heard from the doctors. Jim, I'm in remission. The treatments worked."

She rolled on her side, stroked his cheek and saw the obvious conflict in his eyes.

"It's time that you move on with your life. You need to enlist, live your dream and then come home to build a life for yourself."

His face was an open book. She could see the relief mixing with sadness. He believed her lie and her truth. She was going to be okay, he had to move on.

He never knew how many painkillers she needed to mask her infirmity and torment. He only saw the strength that she displayed until he left for Basic. He was entering the world he had always dreamed of. The world of his father and grandfather. A place to be challenged, to test his mettle and become the man she knew he would be.

She knew he still saw her as beautiful. After all of the drugs and after all the treatments, he still saw her through the same eyes as the thirteen-year-old Jim. She couldn't bear to see that change. To look in his eyes and only see pity. He needed to be untethered from her. She had to let him go.

* * * * *

They called it a club, but it would be more accurate to refer to it as a compound. The twelve-foot high sheeted cyclone fencing blocked the eyes of any casual observers and the foliage from the trees camouflaged their hunting blinds. There were cameras spread about the grounds covering everything that might be of concern.

They preferred to see who was there and who was coming without being watched themselves. That's part of why it was so unsettling when Jim appeared on one of their screens out of nowhere. He was in the compound, leaning on the beat up truck that they used to haul bikes in that needed repair.

The guy watching porn when he should have been keeping an eye on the monitors startled when he saw Jim on the CCTV. "Hector, Jim's out front!"

The muffled voice replied. "By the gate? Tell the guys I'll be there in a couple."

"No, he's right outside. On the grounds."

Hector's voice exploded past the door. "What the...? Who the fuck let him in? Is he alone?"

"Yeah. I just looked at the screen and there he was."

The sound of a toilet flushing preceded the large man's entrance to the room. He looked over the CCTV's and saw Jim with his hands crossed over his chest, leaning against the truck and seeming relaxed. He was wearing a black tee shirt, khakis and black boots. It looked professional. Almost like a uniform. This wasn't the jeans and flannel shirt Jim.

"This isn't good."

Hector made his way through the hidden door that led to the bar and headed towards the entrance, kicking some sleeping men on the way. It was early afternoon and they were sleeping off whatever they had enjoyed the previous night. Some were slumped over tables, a few were on the floor, the rest were upstairs.

"Get the fuck up."

The stench of unwashed bodies dissipated as he opened the front door and stepped out onto the wide porch that ran the length of the building.

"Jim, you can't be here."

There was something going on that made Hector more uncomfortable than he thought he should be. Jim had always seemed capable, like he could carry his own weight, regardless of the situation. That impression was still there but it was different now. More intense. Paradoxically, he seemed relaxed and at ease. And extremely dangerous.

What sort of a man walks into a compound like this and stands there as if he hasn't a care in the world?

Jim took off his glasses and put them on the hood of the truck.

"Send Liam outside, Hector."

Combined, Hector had spent a little over four years in prison. His friends, enemies and neutral parties inside had been some of the worst dregs of humanity he had ever known. Hector had considered many of them to be soulless, but he was sure that psychiatrists had some fancy word for them. On the outside he had associated with murderers, drug dealers and thieves on a regular basis. Why was a man who had a bad leg and worse vision spooking him?

Five or six other men had come out from the building and were standing on the porch, staring at what they thought was either a lunatic or an idiot with a death wish. Scratching themselves and rubbing the sleep from their eyes, they looked back and forth between Hector and Jim.

Hector spoke loudly, authoritatively, trying to assert domination, control. "This isn't going to happen. The guys are going to roll back the gate and you're gonna leave."

"I genuinely like you, Hec. I always have. But as long as I'm above ground and not under it, I'm not going to stop. I've been pushing this since I arrived. We both know that and we both know it's going to happen eventually. Send him out."

Hector coughed and spat his phlegm on the beaten dirt that surrounded the building. "I could have you carried out. They won't go easy on you."

"How many do you think I'll take with me before they get me down?"

The constantly moving, slender man standing next to Hector spoke up. "This is bullshit! Kill him and dump him in the woods."

"Shut up, Bill."

Jim smiled. "Yeah. Shut up, Bill."

Hector rubbed his eyes and looked up at the sky before speaking again.

"Why are you doing this? I'm trying to help you. Just go. I'm not going to be able to protect you much longer."

Jim turned his smile on the big man. "I don't need your protection, Hector. Send anyone you want down here to remove me, just make sure they don't have any guns. We'll see what happens."

Bill couldn't contain himself any longer. "Fuck you! How about I just drop you where you are and we feed what's left of you to some hogs?"

Jim's smile fell from his face. "Bill, whatever you do, don't reach for a gun."

"Bill, SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Hector saw Bill's twitching. He could hear arguing from inside the building. He knew that they weren't happy with letting Jim insult them and challenge them around town. Now he was here. At their home. Things were getting out of control.

Liam Bissle stepped out of the door and onto the porch. Wearing only pants, a belt and boots, Jim could see the tattoos that wrapped around his body. Liam walked forward, leaned on the railing and looked at Jim, long greasy hair framing his head.

"You been lookin' for me?"

Smile back in place, Jim looked up at the rapist. "Liam! You're a hard man to find. You been keeping busy? Attacking women must take up a lot of your time."

Liam looked around at his friends standing on the porch. Hector knew what he was thinking. He couldn't back down in front of them, but he also thought that they would have his back. Both realizations put some bravado in his stance and recklessness in his speech.

"Okay, I know it ain't no good to say at this point, but things got out of hand, you know? I was outta my head and she was sorta being a bitch and I just sorta lost it. I'm sorry, but it's done. I can't undo it."

From a quick count, Hector thought that there were nine men on the porch and about the same number in the building. He reached out and put a hand on Liam's shoulder. He wanted it to appear as a gesture of support, but it was there to hold him back if he decided to go after Jim.

Jim pushed off the truck and straightened. Hector saw a man that slipped into work mode, like he was punching a clock. Dispassionate. Professional. "Let's get this over with, Liam."

"You planning on killing me, hero? You're not in a desert somewhere. You aint got no tanks or nuthin'."

"Yeah, I'm thinking real hard about killing you."

Bill turned towards Hector. "You just gonna stand there?"

Jim smiled at him. "You heard the man. Shut up, Bill. Learn your place."

"FUCK YOU!"

Bill reached to his waist and pulled out a .38. Before he could raise it, his left thigh spurted blood and a fraction of a second later there was a report of the rifle. He fell to the ground screaming, dropping the gun and clutching his leg. Most of the men on the porch ducked or dove to the ground.

Hector and Jim remained as they were, staring at each other.

"So, I guess that guy at the gas station was a friend of yours. You have one friend in the woods with a rifle. There's almost twenty guys here. Those sound like good odds to you?"