
HANDS

DOWN

a story of incarceration

by

Logan Crannell

Copyright © 2018

Logan Crannell

1st Edition

ISBN 978-1-5323-7510-1

'I was standing

You were there

Two worlds collided

And they could never tear us apart'

-Michael Hutchence, INXS

To those who made me aware,

incarcerated or otherwise

& for Jack, my good sir

1. Off The Grid

2. Gaslighting

Two Worlds Colliding

Leaving Broken Hearts Behind

Those Small Hours

All Perfect Light And Promises

Book 2

of

'Hands Down: A Story of Incarceration'

is available exclusively through the author's website.

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1.

OFF

THE

GRID

"Are you antsy to get back on the road?" Carrie spoke to my ear

We laid together, under the movement of a ceiling fan, in her home. The windows offered a morning view of the remote desert landscape. What I'd seen only in faint outlines, when we arrived after sunset, had now become clear. She, however, was holding my attention.

I'd found a kindred spirit, in Carrie. We met, over drinks in a bar, past the railroad tracks of downtown Flagstaff, Arizona. Sitting outside, on the patio, I told her my story. I'd chosen to travel, with my cattle dog Jack, living mostly out of my truck. My marriage had ended amicably. The town, though, was too small for opportunities - so, I packed what I could, and gave the rest away.

It got late, and Carrie lamented her long drive home. I invited her to my hotel room, which was a bold gesture for me. She stretched her arms and smiled, gladly accepting. It was the last night I could afford to sleep there.

"Logan, can I ask you something?" she inquired, on the bed

"Of course."

"Are you attracted to me?"

"Yes, I am."

"Then come sit next to me."

I was leaning against the dresser, with a beer in my hand. I confided that I wasn't ready for sex, and Carrie respected that. We crawled between the sheets, and I felt the warmth of her body on mine. I couldn't explain it then, but the connection I had with her was like that of a lifelong friend. If I cheapened it with casual sex, she might feel obligated to leave afterward.

Jack, my protector, sat at the foot of the bed, keeping a close eye on her.

"He's so leery of me," she said, chuckling

"It takes him a minute. He's nervous around strangers. His last owners abused him."

"Did you get him from a shelter?"

"Yeah, they found him eating out of a dumpster. He had a week before they were going to put him down. Nobody wanted him."

"He's handsome," she said, letting Jack smell her hand, "How long have you two been together?"

"Six years."

"It's sweet that you saved him."

.

In the morning, Carrie had to work. Knowing I was low on money, she offered to let me stay at her house and left her contact info on the nightstand. She kissed me goodbye. I had the afternoon to think about it. Jack settled in her warm spot on the bed, plaintively looking to me for his morning walk and breakfast.

He and I went down the three flights of stairs and through the parking lot. I inspected my truck, since I had no keys for the lock or ignition; I cranked it manually. Heading up to the room, Jack eagerly sniffed for the correct door on the row.

I checked out of the hotel and got coffee for my hangover. I drove without a destination, ascending into the foothills. The Lowell Observatory rested at the highest vantage point, calmly viewing the sky above. There was no one around, and I parked in a grove of pine trees. The air was crisp. I studied the architecture of the buildings and imagined seeing the night sky with the technology housed inside.

I meditated, taking in the palpable energy of that place until it started to rain. The sound of the drops falling against the metal were so relaxing that I drifted off to sleep. Jack curled up by my legs, awake and entranced by his surroundings. It was a peaceful moment for us. When I woke up, I decided to go towards Carrie's house.

.

Her directions led me to a grocery store off Route 66. The rest of the drive was an off-road trek through the desert – though I didn't grasp how far. Carrie met me at the store. We bought groceries for a home cooked meal; fresh veggies, chicken, and a bottle of whiskey.

I parked my truck in a secure spot, bringing anything of value with me, then we drove off in her van, with Jack. The pavement ended, and we hit the rugged terrain, as the sun began to set - the headlights cutting a path. Miles rolled by and landmarks were gone, to my untrained eyes. We told energetic stories, but sometimes the awesome power of the desert put us in silence. The miles continued to pass, and I lost all sense of time and distance. The horizon line stared us down unceasingly. Even as the last rays of light faded, I felt the sensation of being watched by an ominous force.

It was dark when we got to her property. I could make out three quiet houses (her relatives occupied the other two). Solar panels and water tanks were stationed about, vital as temples. I saw a chicken coop or housing for other animals. Two large dogs ran up to greet us as we approached Carrie's porch. Jack was unpredictable around other dogs, so I fielded him from getting too close.

Inside, a single wall divided the open floor plan. The space on the left was empty for remodeling. The warmth had migrated to the right, in the bedroom and kitchen. Carrie and I relaxed. That small, bright room the two of us were in supplied the only light in a limitless black expanse. We were safe.

.

A perfect night-in needs good music, and Carrie had one hell of a record collection. We took shots of whiskey as we thumbed through the stack, smelling the vinyl and admiring the artwork. We settled on the Tom Waits record 'Orphans.' She blew off a little dust and placed it on the turntable. The rich sound from the speakers filled the air.

We made dinner; I marinated the chicken in basil lemongrass olive oil that I got from a shop downtown. Carrie prepped and seasoned the veggies. While it cooked, we enjoyed the company of one another. She put her arms around me. There wasn't a table, so when the food got plated, we sat on the bed and savored it. Thanks to Carrie, I felt restored.

We spent the rest of the evening cuddled in her bed, watching campy 80s horror films on VHS and drinking local beer. How could I be so comfortable with her, yet so uncomfortable with myself?

.

We woke up, hair disheveled and hungry. Carrie brought me outside to the chicken coop. A rooster followed behind me, clucking suspiciously. There were the rise and fall of the hens' cadence, as Carrie rifled through the straw, finding fresh warm eggs. We had them for breakfast, with hot coffee.

After eating, we decided to explore. We climbed a wooden fence along the property line, while the dogs trailed behind us. There was nothing in the distance - the desert stretched, to no end. As we walked, Carrie told me stories of her experiences living out there. Pointing to a watering hole, she mentioned a run-in with hunters waiting to shoot the wildlife. We visited the grave of a beloved pet. I snapped a few photos of Carrie, though she was shy.

She had wanted to paint her living room but confessed to a lack of motivation. I inspired her to pick up a brush with me. We taped along the trim and baseboards. Then, spent the afternoon painting the walls blue while listening to Mogwai records. It was the least I could do in exchange for her hospitality, and I think it helped her, in a way, to get out of a personal rut.

Carrie asked me to stay awhile, and I wondered if I should. It came so naturally, being with her. With every hour, it felt more like I belonged there, and that's what scared me. I was struggling with comfortable feelings. I wanted to drive out of myself until nothing was familiar anymore.

When she spoke softly in my ear, asking if I'd be leaving soon, she already knew the answer. I resolved not to lose her altogether. As she returned me through the desert, cattle blocked the road and were stubborn in clearing out of the way.

Standing beside my truck, I held Carrie in my arms, and she pressed herself to my chest.

"Call me when you get to where you're going," she said

"I will," I promised

.

I headed north for Boise, Idaho. My friend Hollace moved there and spoke well of it. Due to his recent divorce, he had a spare room. I didn't consciously choose to live in Idaho long-term. I drifted, taking it one day at a time. I knew I needed money, and Boise seemed my best option.

As I passed through Utah, I contacted another close friend, Tom, who'd started a record label. We scheduled some videography gigs. I shot two music videos, and a live concert during a five-day period. I'd made movies all my life - visual media was how I communicated with the world.

My proudest achievement, titled 'The Torment of Pablo Pastoral,' got performed with marionette puppets, on sets built by hand. I figured I'd finish the editing and voice recording in Idaho.

For a series called Life Chronicles, I kept a camera rolling on my own life. I paused every few years to weave the recordings into a story, in the vein of subjective journalism. I stored fifteen years of footage on five external hard drives, in a cigar box, under the driver seat of my truck.

I had produced sixty-three video projects and burned out. But I still captured the stories unfolding around me out of habit. I continued shooting material for the fourth part of the Life Chronicles series. I traveled throughout the southern states, staying in haunted hotels, in an attempt to speak with the dead. I assure you, it's not my intention to convince you of the supernatural - but I cannot tell this story without ghosts.

Remember, this book is not about truth, but belief, and how people choose to act in accordance. This is my interpretation of the events.

2.

GASLIGHTING

Boise, Idaho - I took Exit 54 to Broadway Avenue. The first business I passed, a cut-rate bar named Jim's Alibi, looked too seedy, even by my standards. I made a note to avoid it. I turned left to the residential area where Hollace lived. The cross streets ran diagonal – Euclid – Chamberlin - Beacon – Manitou. My GPS failed, unable to pinpoint its location. I liked that I got lost and had to use my eyes to find the address.

Hollace's house was set back from the street, in the center of the block. Concealed by two large pines and a wire fence adorned with metalwork, it sat at the end of an extended driveway. I jumped the curb, and my V8 engine roared to a stop at the end of the concrete. Hollace stood outside - on the wooden porch that would become our mecca.

I joined him in a cigarette, not making it through the front door. He and I launched into an intense conversation. We hadn't seen each other in three years, but we picked up as if it were yesterday.

What we said that autumn evening was a manifesto. We were riding a crest that rarely comes in a person's life, and we didn't want to blow it. Hollace and I sought to earn our income with the artistic skills we'd honed for decades; he being the most skilled musician I knew. Hollace contributed scores to my movies, giving sound to my images without instruction.

We mainlined confidence into one another. We strove to take our lives into our own hands. We got disenchanted by broken relationships. Putting our energy in the wrong places. We worked hard for others with little to show for it. We got keyed into the possibilities of ourselves. We were in our element when we had nothing left to lose.

Hollace and I weren't just reading from the same book - we were on the same page - the same sentence - the same letter.

.

Our stomachs growled, and Hollace suggested Mongolian barbecue, which I'd been craving. Navigating the lanes went faster on a bicycle, he advised. My Schwinn Varsity lay dismantled in the truck, so I borrowed one of his.

Riding behind Hollace, I saw glimpses of the city and the fall colors streaking by. He knew the geography well, as any hustler should. It was dusk, with magic hour lighting. Adrenaline coursed through me – I felt liberated. Our spirits were soaring.

At the restaurant, chopsticks in hand, with a delicious meal in front of us, I observed my friend. Hollace, a gypsy through-and-through, had pieced together an incredible wardrobe over the years. If he had any new tattoos it got hard to tell; he was covered with ink from his shoulder line down. An old fedora hat rested on his golden curls.

On the way home, we stopped at a convenience store and grabbed some beer. I set up a mat with blankets and turned in early.

.

In the morning Jack nudged me, respectfully. He was the best alarm clock. I got up and quietly checked out the home. The room I had smelled faintly of cat piss. Crack pipe burns, from the previous tenant, littered the carpet. I didn't mind. An Indian tapestry hung loosely across the high window, blocking harsh rays of the sun.

The bathroom attached to my bedroom; privacy would be minimal. It had an accordion style door you'd imagine seeing on a 1970s airliner, dividing off first class. The bathroom itself was small and cramped with the clothes washer. The standing shower looked very French. A tiny window above the sink opened up to the alley.

Jack curiously smelled the fenced yard, potted garden and compost pile. In the afternoons, he'd lounge on the shaded porch and stare at angry squirrels. The side of a narrow wooden shed connected the fence line. It contained a clothes dryer, tools, and a workspace. Outside the perimeter was a storage shed, most likely a horse stable in a former light.

The living room reflected Hollace's personality. Filled with keepsakes coveted from around the world. He had a remarkable instrument collection. The favorite was a Greek Bouzouki, which he used for busking and stage performances. His banjos had elaborate engravings along their necks.

The kitchen ran the far wall of the living room. Cupboards, packed with a surplus of grains and beans, cut down our food costs considerably. A rack by the stove got crammed with an array of spices. A loft above the kitchen could be reached by ladder. That's where Hollace slept; his sacred space, and I kept out of it. A rickety electric furnace built into the floor between the kitchen and my room supplied the heat.

Hollace called the house The Lonely Heart's Hotel.

I should make special mention of the flies - holy shit. We hung flypaper from every corner, and within hours they got switched out. Hollace set out jars of poison on the porch. They crawled on you, day and night. Poor Jack lost sleep, snapping at them so often. Fortunately, the season was brief, lasting a few weeks.

I converted a mid-nineteenth century wooden door into a desk. I setup my Mac computer, Canon 7D camera, and speakers powered by a Marantz receiver. I stored my puppet collection and hung worn out clothes in the closet. I lined books against a wall. A 1979 Sequential Circuits Pro-One synthesizer got placed in the living room so guests could experiment with it.

Hollace and I went to a thrift store. Boise was big in second-hand shops, which I liked. As I looked at clothes, I got drawn to a leather jacket; smooth to the touch, and tight-fitting, with a white stripe. I hesitated over it for awhile, acutely aware I needed the money, but my intuition told me it was crucial that I get it. I don't recall ever having the sensation that an article of clothing belonged to me, the way that jacket did.

I wore it that night when we hit downtown.

Two Worlds Colliding

It was raining, so Hollace and I took my truck. I parked near 8th street, in the heart of the activity. We tucked into a nightclub called Liquid and immediately started networking. As the attendant at the door stamped my wrist, I saw a woman bent over a pool table getting whipped by a man in bondage. Fetish night. The DJ played Industrial music to an empty dance floor. I noticed that in many of the clubs we visited; the bar and patio would be full of people, with a few of them dancing. Boise was a drinking town.

Hollace had it dialed in. He knew who would be where on any given night; in the same seat with the same drink in their hand. He'd done his legwork, and his efforts had me reaping the benefits. Hollace kept a black booklet for notes and numbers, compiling leads for us. At home, we'd go through it, differentiating the socialites from potential collaborators.

"Dude, I have to take you to the Basque District!", Hollace exclaimed

For two city blocks, you cross a line into another culture. They had a market, a museum, a boarding house, and the Bar Gernika. Also, two restaurants, Bardenay and Leku Ona.

"They put on cultural events at the Basque center, and play live music in the streets," Hollace said, "and check out the symbolic designs they have imprinted on the sidewalk!"

Even the streetlights gave off a different feel from the rest of town. Most odd was a preserved log cabin that resided there, standing its ground. We sat on a bench, and Hollace rolled me a cigarette.

We carried on to the Cactus Bar, Pengilly's Saloon, Tom Grainey's, The Whiskey Bar, and The Balcony. The way Hollace introduced me, I realized he'd heralded my arrival for weeks. Several people were expecting me. We visited with sound engineers, musicians, photographers, painters, belly dancers, and other personalities.

We stopped at the Piehole for a slice of pizza and a beer. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and we sat outside watching the locals pass by.

"Where to next?" I asked

"We've gotta go through Freak Alley. You're gonna love it!"

We walked down a dimly lit, aging alleyway and got engulfed by sprawling murals. Some fifteen feet high, flowing with psychedelic imagery. 'This is the most god damn seriously fucking cool place in Boise!' Hollace said with exuberance. It was amazing. I stepped around slowly, recording footage for my video project. Hollace likened the experience to frying your balls off on acid.

We exited. I felt exhausted, and Hollace was drunk. I aimed for home, but he insisted we go to one more bar – Neurolux.  I could see it up ahead. It was crowded. As we came up to it, I checked the time - 11:58 pm.

Hollace stayed outside, chatting people up on the front patio, sectioned off by a short rail fence. I went inside for a drink. As I waited for the bartender, I instinctively scanned the sea of faces around me. Across the busy room, I saw a woman with disarming beauty. She seemed out of place somehow. 'That's the one woman here that would never talk to me,' I thought to myself.

I put her out of my mind, paid for my drink, and headed outside to sit with Hollace. He was conversing with a lesbian couple about music festivals. I sat in, only half listening, lost in my thoughts. When my drink was almost gone, I glanced to my left. The same attractive woman had taken a seat nearby. Our eyes did not meet.

I finished my drink and tried to pull Hollace from the scene. We were standing on the sidewalk by then, and he was leaning over the railing to engage people further. I got impatient. That's when I heard her voice from over my shoulder. My heart fell for that voice, right there. Her accent rounded every letter perfectly.

"You're a good looking man," she said

I turned to face her, that elegant woman, "That's very kind of you to say..."

I climbed over the fence and sat in front of her.

Our words meant nothing; we spoke with our bodies. The motion of our smiles made clear intentions. I had to take charge, 'Then maybe I can come to your house tomorrow night and make you dinner?' I heard myself offer to her.

She paused, enjoying that I was so bold. 'Sure,' she said, giving me her phone number. I acted as though I had somewhere else to be, and we said goodbye. I grabbed Hollace by the arm, and we set off down a side street.

"I can't believe that just happened," I said

"What?" Hollace asked

"She gave me her number."

"Fuck yeah! That's rad!"

"I'm making her dinner tomorrow night at her house."

"Shutup! Seriously?!"

Now it was my turn to insist on one more bar. We descended a concrete stairwell to an underground bar named 10th Street Station \- where my life would change forever.

Hollace and I claimed a table in the corner and talked. I liked that place; it was quiet and unassuming. The bartender, K.C, was the frontman for the local band Velvet Hook. He would soon hire me to record their live show, giving me my first paying gig in Boise.

My mind kept drifting to that stunning woman. Her name was Elena. Would our date tomorrow really occur? I checked to verify I had her number programmed right. I rolled the phone in my hand, while Hollace slurred on about some event. Suddenly, the phone vibrated and rang, giving me a start. It was her.

"Hello?" I said, plugging my other ear

"Hey, Logan? It's Elena. What are you doing?"

"Hanging out. We're at a bar down the street. What's up?"

"Can I come over?"

"Yes, you can! Let me go up to the street to meet you. It's hard to find. Start walking to tenth street."

"Ok."

"I'll head up now," I said, hanging up the phone, "Hollace, she's here, man! I'll be back!"

"Huh?"

I jumped up from the table, leaving Hollace to soak in his beer. I ran up the concrete steps and began to follow the path we'd taken from Neurolux.

"Logan! I'm here!" I heard her call from the opposite direction

I turned to see her standing there, alone, and I walked over to her.

"Hey, we got a table. Come join us."

"Ok."

Elena sat across from me and ordered a glass of red wine. Hollace, to my right, rambled on to her about how great I was. She saw the humor in my embarrassment. Her laughter was genuine, coming from such a flowing voice. I wanted to keep that laugh in my heart.

I barely spoke, and neither did she. We held eye contact for long periods until it got too overwhelming. I reached over and put my hand in hers. We hadn't expected this night, both of us vulnerable and fascinated, as if we'd been taken from the world and put back into it with a new sense of purpose.

The three of us went up to the street for a smoke. Hollace struck up a conversation with two young panhandlers standing on the corner. Elena and I sat on the marble steps of the Idanha Hotel, sharing a cigarette. Again, we had small talk. As we stood up, she put her hand on the back of my neck and pulled me forward, kissing me deeply. Our fingers went wild on the texture of our clothing, wanting skin. She thrust her hand down my pants, and we nearly fucked in the street.

We regained our composure and headed downstairs. We didn't stay much longer. I paid the tab and walked Elena to her car. 'I'll follow you,' she said, getting behind the wheel. I didn't have my bearings yet, so Hollace guided me home, being careful not to lose her.

When the door to my room shut, Elena and I started tearing our clothes off. She was menstruating, but that didn't stop us for a second; we were smeared with her blood. We devoured each other. Our bodies crashed, flesh against flesh, unable to get close enough.

Whatever we desired was granted permission. Better still, we didn't even have to ask. We may have wanted to die that night, at that incredible peak; every inch of us felt alive, pulsating like we were driving off a cliff. We owned that night. We owned our bodies. We dared tomorrow to come and challenge us, so we could beat it back with fists and screams, demanding life on our terms.

In the early hours, we collapsed from exhaustion. Elena left early, to where she did not say. I knew she'd return. She had to. I was laying in bed when I heard her coming up the walkway with a change of clothes from a friends house. Mascara stained her cheeks. She rested her face on my chest, giving me a frayed smile.

"Can we do that again?" she asked

.

What I didn't know is that Elena was supposed to move to New York that morning. There was a job position for her there. I learned that much later when she confided to me over a cigarette.

"Why?" I asked, "Why did you stay?"

"When I saw you I knew you were the man I wanted to be with. I told them I couldn't come."

What could I say to that?

"I've never been in love before," she said, "have you?"

"Not fully, no."

.

That first night melted into the second. We paused only to drink wine. Hollace, not to be outdone, had a threesome with two girls on the front porch. Elena and I took a hot shower, the water cascading down us. We licked it off each other, to the point of delirium. It was chilly when we got out, and we had sex wearing leather jackets. We bit, scratched and scarred, wanting others to see our territory.

Night after night, we were together; memorizing body with fingertips. We both became aware as the sex felt more and more like making love. With every secret we revealed, the more curious, open, and excited we grew.

We got lost in that room, and in that experience, emerged and rediscovered.

We were absolved of every bad memory,

Every moment of pain and betrayal,

Every act of injustice, every letdown,

Every night of loneliness, the loss of hope,

Every shameful feeling, every failure,

Every moment when our best wasn't good enough,

Everything that ever pulled us away from the happiness we deserved.

We were absolved of it all, starting over in each other's arms,

We'd found each other, just when we'd given up the search.

We bared our souls, everything. A shared cathartic release.

We gave one another the very best of ourselves, without hesitation

We knew there was no going back, and no longer a reason to try.

We found everything we needed in our arms, our kisses, our radiant eyes.

Every breath got shared, and we needed each of them to survive.

The warmth of every touch sang across our skin.

We followed the sound of our voices, to where we did not know,

As they rose and carried, each utterance bringing us somewhere new.

We were one body, in unison, finally completed, in ecstasy.

.

I rested on the porch, under the partial shade of the pines, my elbows on my knees, head lowered. A lit cigarette dwindled in my hand. Elena had gone to work; she was a successful businesswoman. Hollace sat in his usual chair. I struggled thinking about Carrie.

"I don't know what to do, man. I really don't," I said

"Carrie sounds like a rad chic."

"She's a wonderful person. I've talked to her on the phone, and she wants to fly out here to visit."

"Damn. That may lead to something."

"Even if we agree to be friends, we'll keep getting closer, and that'll cause problems with Elena."

"Yeah, Elena seems like the jealous type."

"I guess I just didn't expect her to stay. I didn't think she'd want to know me."

"Elena's a great gal, man. She knows what she wants, and she's crazy about you."

"Fuck, I wasn't looking for a relationship, but It's stupid not pursue happiness because the timing isn't convenient."

"Elena's pushing hard, huh?"

"Yes, she is. I think we could get somewhere, though. I just need space."

"So, it sounds like you may be staying in Boise longer than you planned?" he said, with his tattered grin and coy laugh.

"Yeah, well..."

Who was this woman? She came out of nowhere and completely blindsided me. We spent every possible second together. When she had a shift at work, seeing her leave behind a pair of shoes or an elegant dress, gave me a sense of relief; it was an assurance of her return.

Elena had two children. Eight-year-old Hetty was in the custody of her father in Los Angeles. Her son Aidan, seven, was a savant who spoke little, and was efficient with electronics. He lived with Elena, at her parent's house, in a neighboring city. I got the impression she had a brutal and costly divorce, and sought to pick up the pieces.

.

"What do you think, Sir? You like her too?" I asked Jack

I always ran my thoughts and concerns by him. He didn't pretend to have the answers. He loved and counted on me, and that kept me focused, with our best interests in mind.

When Elena first met Jack, I didn't think to warn her of his aggression towards strangers. He was curled up on our sleeping mat when she dropped to her knees, took his face in her hands and rubbed her nose to his. Jack had never accepted anyone in such a way, without hesitation. Elena scored big points with me for that.

I stopped speaking to Carrie, and I know it hurt her.

.

For our first official date, Elena and I went to a fine-dining Indian restaurant, the Bombay Grill. It was late, and we were the only cover. She bought gifts - a bottle of Givenchy cologne and an expensive pair of Ralph Lauren sunglasses. It was wholly unnecessary; her company being more than enough. I expressed gratitude for the gifts, and we ordered a bottle of wine. I noticed our hands were the same size. The length and circumference of our fingers were identical, like a mirror image. We marveled at that detail.

She ate vegan, having been raised that way since childhood. I admired that. I was vegetarian for ten years and vegan for two. I drifted from it when I became a sushi chef and married my former wife. I enjoyed picking dishes from the menu that we both could share. 'Spicier the better,' we'd request, begging the chef not to treat us like Americans.

We talked a lot about her children. Then we discussed the implications of her last name - or rather her ex-husbands. The full weight of it hit me. His net worth was $650 million. You may not know the man personally, but you could be putting money in his pocket. You might even be in his debt.

When Elena left him, she stole his pride. Now he wanted it back - he wanted Elena back, and I was the guy standing in his way. For the sake of this book, I will call the man 'Scott Bunk.'

Three weeks ago I was living in my truck. Now I was going up against one of the wealthiest people in the country.

Directly underneath the Bombay Grill was the 10th Street Station. After dinner, we went and claimed our table in the corner. We were forming our rituals, in familiar places. The house was empty when we arrived, and we had sex on top of the washing machine - not that someone else's presence would've distracted us.

.

Elena had money, or came from it, but she was the most generous person I knew. Elena arrived daily with groceries, alkaline water, organic produce, and wine. She insisted on not coming empty-handed. Hollace and I were grateful, though we didn't want to be reliant on her. We'd go to local food banks twice a month for supplies.

Hearing the distinct sound of the spring loaded gate banging shut, followed by the tap of Elena's heels on the walkway, the rustling of paper sacks and the clinking of bottles; that was the sound of happiness for me, knowing that within a minute, she'd be wrapping herself around me. 'What are you doing? Do you want a glass of wine?' she'd ask.

When the kitchen sink clogged from no disposal, we couldn't get it clear, despite our tools and effort. I'd taken to washing the dishes in the yard with a garden hose. As I scrubbed the glassware, on my knees, I asked myself, 'Will I be able to keep this woman?' I was resolute that the answer be 'Yes.'

Hollace traveled in strange circles; he was a swinger, and that's how he met Bridgette, who had a sex change. She was fantastic. Elena and I loved Bridgette. With her dry humor and wit, she fit right in and did a remarkable job of keeping Hollace sober and focused.

The four of us were a dysfunctional family. We'd sit on the porch, listen to music, drink and tell stories. On the weekends we'd double date and go downtown. On evenings in, we took turns preparing dinner. Elena had a passion for cooking and made excellent pasta dishes.

I'd help her by slicing the mushrooms, onions, tomatoes, butternut squash, and bell peppers. She'd prep the garlic, basil, and rosemary. She'd then saute it all in a white wine sauce. We had fun in the kitchen.

I made Japanese hot pot. I'd simmer vegetable broth with soy sauce, habanero hot sauces, sesame oil, sake. I'd add in onions, mushrooms, zucchini, daikon, bok choy, carrots, peppers, and noodles. Then, top it off with cilantro, sprouts, cucumber, and avocado. Elena accompanied it with saffron rice. Bridgette got ambitious and tackled a recipe she wanted to try - a flavorful Thai coconut curry. Hollace complemented it with Indian couscous and naan bread.

As bartender, I poured cocktails with a range of ingredients. Fresh mint, lemon, grapefruit, cucumber, lime, ginger, honey, lavender, or soymilk and coffee. A favorite was muddled apricots with turbinado cane sugar, vanilla simple-syrup, Lunazul tequila and a slice of lime.

.

Hollace and I continued to network. The Lonely Heart's Hotel became known to touring bands as a safe place to sleep. On weekends, musicians set up camp in the yard or found available space on the floor inside if it was too cold. Jam sessions passed in waves, styles meshing together to create something new.

In the morning dozens of empty beer cans, bottles of wine and liquor covered the lawn. Cans amassed in piles on the kitchen tile. We'd separate the aluminum from glass, and load the crates into my truck. I'd take a weekly drive to the recycling plant.

Boise was in a unique position, located between Salt Lake City and Portland. Most bands drove through Idaho without much thought to booking a gig. With the launch of the Treefort Music Festival, though, they were beginning to find an audience. Many of the musicians in Utah were searching Boise for venues, and Hollace and I were its ambassadors. I liked coming home to a house full of people. We kept the energy pumping, building momentum.

.

Elena showed me another side of Boise. The swank lounges like La Mode and Red Feather. The restaurants Juniper and Matador. I socialized with Boise's more elite and wealthy residents - business owners, stylists, and official-types. There was old money in Idaho.

We must've looked famous together; people stopped to stare at us we generated so much light. They wanted that shine to rub off on them, and they'd strike up conversations, inviting us to some occasion. Between Elena and Hollace, I saw the full spectrum of the city. With the two of them by my side, I felt I could accomplish anything.

Elena loved her car and had it customized for speed. It turned her on, to toss me the keys. The two of us could take a joyride, tearing through the side streets, late at night, pushing the car up to 80mph. We'd scream past houses, with minimal deceleration around turns. We'd blast music through the sound system, 'Sail' by Awolnation. I'd tell her to touch herself, and she would, not taking her eyes off me.

We were invincible - and even if we weren't - we'd found the person we wanted to go down in flames with. It was a win either way.

.

I secretly judge a woman on if she can expose me to fresh music. Elena turned me on to Lana Del Rey, and her songs became part of the tapestry of our lives. Songs like 'Born to Die,' 'Videogames,' 'Young and Beautiful,' and 'Summertime Sadness,' resonated with us.

Our favorite game was picking online music videos. We'd then explain why the song had impacted us, and what memories were attached to it. We loved discovering one another in that way. One song captured a special time and place for both of us, and we cried at the beauty of it, 'Never Tear Us Apart,' by INXS. It became a source of strength.

.

We learned each other's insecurities. Elena confessed to being sexually molested as a child, and she feared that would repulse me. I felt nothing but empathy. She needed constant affirmation of my love, which I had no problem supplying. I knew earning her trust would be difficult. Elena struggled to give me that.

"Do you really think Logan likes me?" Elena pleaded to Hollace, in my absence

"Elena, I've told you, I've never seen him this happy."

"I love him so much, and I'm scared he doesn't feel the same way."

"He loves you, I promise. He's not going anywhere, ok? You've gotta give him some breathing room."

If Elena got exposed to the sun for too long, it would cause her skin to bruise. She kept it a secret, thinking I'd leave her if I knew. Ironically, I was born with a skin condition that caused it to be abnormally dry. It took ten years to find a medication and regiment that made the problem unnoticeable. It relieved her, knowing I wouldn't judge her for imperfections. I didn't suggest activities in broad daylight, and she recommended a skin cream called which proved to be far more effective than what I had.

It was endearing that the muscles in her cheeks were so tight from a lack of smiling, that she'd get perturbed when I made her laugh, 'Oh my gosh! Baby, stop making me laugh! It hurts!'

I'd never felt attractive, and Elena gave me the confidence I'd lacked. 'You're such an amazing and beautiful man.' She taught me the value of self-respect. Because of her, I saw the extent to which I'd surrounded myself with people who didn't value that quality. A light switch went on for me; it was the first step in that personal reinvention I was hungry for.

.

We had a party at The Lonely Heart's Hotel. Elena brought a friend, Bethany, whom she'd known most of her life. I hated her, outright. I thought she was a snake in the grass, though I honored their friendship and kept my opinion to myself. It was a memorable night, with creative energy all around. People eager to meet, share ideas, drink, play music and celebrate. I remember leaning up against the front doorway, observing the crowd. I started coughing uncontrollably. Elena came up to me.

"Baby, are you ok?"

"I can't...." I couldn't speak or finish a thought

I lost balance, and she put my arm on her shoulder for support.

"Let's get you to the room," she said, helping me walk as I failed to suppress the coughing

I collapsed on the floor. My blood pressure bottomed out, and Elena couldn't find a pulse. Everything got soft and distant. It was a calm way to die; fading out like it was a dream, in the arms of your lover.

"You're not allowed to die, you hear me?" she said, her voice nervous

"I want your eyes... to be the last thing I see," I said, trailing off

"That's very romantic, baby. You're such a romantic man, but you're not getting enough oxygen to your brain. I'm going to take care of you," she said, mixing up essential oils and rubbing them on points of my body for circulation. She sang in her original language. I don't know how long she laid there with me. My vision came into focus. My lungs expanded. She told me she loved me.

I'd worn myself thin, and it wouldn't be the last instance, by any means.

.

I'd quietly watch Elena get dressed in the mornings. No matter how much we drank, she woke up with no semblance of a hangover. I studied Elena as she put on her makeup, causing her to grin deviously upon seeing my reflection in the mirror. I wondered if I'd be a good makeup artist. Elena encouraged me to try and offered to introduce me to friends she knew in the industry. The idea of applying art to a person's face to help their self-image intrigued me, and it paid well. I had the time to try, and with Elena, as a tutor, I wouldn't lose interest. I kept the idea in mind.

It was our custom to leave short notes for the other to find, filling our days with a positive and hopeful tone.

.

Hollace and I got invited, plus one guest, to a social gathering at the Boise Creative Center \- a multi-level warehouse, sectioned off into studio spaces, and rented out to a broad range of artists. They were hosting a fundraising party.

The impact of that night would set life-changing events in motion.

With Elena on my arm, we explored the complex, each grabbing a glass of red wine from the makeshift cocktail bar. The ground floor had been converted into a dance hall, with a lineup of DJ's prepared to spin for hours. White Christmas lights were strung wherever possible for ambiance. As usual, people crowded the outdoor space, with a small group of them dancing.

As we went from room to room we got introduced to many artists. A metal worker cutting a restaurant sign; a band in a jam session (we left Hollace there); a young photographer showed us his gallery; painters freestyled large canvases. Elena and I got lost and ended up on the roof, overlooking the city lights. We took that moment for ourselves. As we descended to the ground floor for more wine, Elena saw a friend and left my company for a bit.

I went to the food bar, and the man operating it spoke to me.

"I'm John," he said, giving me a firm handshake

"Logan."

"Having a good time?" he asked

"Yeah, I'm pretty new to the area."

"Welcome to Boise! Are you taking some pictures? That's a nice camera," he said, gesturing to the Canon draped on my arm, "You should make a documentary about this place."

"Do you have a budget?"

"Nope."

"Then I'll have to turn that offer down, my friend. I need a paying gig."

"You're looking for a job?"

"Yes, I am."

"Do you have any restaurant experience?"

"Seventeen years. I started at the front of the house and worked my way to the kitchen. Sushi was my main deal."

"No shit. Well, hey listen, there's a new vegan and vegetarian cafe opening up next month, and I'm the head chef. Do you have any knowledge of vegan food?"

"Yeah, actually I do. Plus, my girlfriend is vegan, so that helps."

"That's great. Maybe I can get you in the door. I'm talking to the owner tomorrow, and I could put in a good word for you if you're serious about it."

"Absolutely. If you need any help getting the place set up, I'm available."

"I'm sure we will. Let me get your info. Hey, did you see that guy welding that metal sign out there?"

"Yes, I did. He might do some character voices for an animated video I'm doing."

"Nice, well that's the sign for the restaurant. We're hanging it at the site shortly."

I stood alone, people watching, with a drink in my hand. I thought about the job prospect. I didn't want to be in the food industry anymore. In fact, I made a personal vow not to, but his offer sounded like a unique opportunity. There weren't many vegan eateries in Boise, so we'd be forging ground. I like a gamble. Besides, I needed income, and it could keep me creatively engaged.

I headed towards the outdoor balcony to find Elena when she ran up to me and whispered in my ear.

"We need to go," she said urgently

"What's wrong?"

"Scott has one of his people here. He just confronted me."

"What? Where is he?"

"He was over there," she said, pointing at the area by the DJ booth

"Do you see him anywhere now?" I asked as we turned to scan the crowd

"No, baby we should go."

"Alright, let's grab Hollace."

The drive was tense, with a lot of unanswered questions, 'He said it's time for me to come home!' she cried. When we were safely indoors, I made her a drink to calm her nerves. Hollace and I were talking on the porch when we saw a white SUV stop at the end of the long driveway. It paused there, its engine idling, making its presence known. It slowly drove off. That's when it all began.

Whoever it was, tracking us at the event, had evidently followed us home – but I had the distinct feeling they already knew where we lived. An hour later, the same vehicle circled the block, slowing to a crawl as it passed. Each night after sunset, for the next four nights, the SUV would appear once more.

We refused to be intimidated. Hollace and I kept vigil on the porch. As they drove past, we'd raise our middle fingers in the air and yell, beckoning them out. A line got drawn in the sand. The wolves wanted Elena – and they could not have her. Not while I was standing.

With me now involved, Elena didn't know what to expect. I knelt beside her, and put my hand on her knee.

"Listen to me, Elena. I'm not scared of him. He's a cowardly piece of shit, you hear me? I'd do anything to protect you. I'd take a bullet for you if it came down to it."

"You're not going to leave me?" she sobbed

"Not a chance. You're stuck with me."

I meant it. Every word.

We caught the license number. Elena ran the plates with her lawyers and confirmed that the vehicle was indeed registered to 'Scott Bunk.' The identity of the driver was unknown.

You might ask why we didn't call the authorities. You don't 'call the cops' on a man wealthy enough to buy the police department – not on a vague harassment charge. Elena was in the middle of a year-long custody battle that had cost a fortune. We had to build a case. I had to trust that her lawyers, who were becoming increasingly aware of my role, would take what Elena and I documented to the highest officials.

.

Dreams bring another layer to this story.

Elena fell into somnambulistic trances that I could not wake her from. I learned to let her be, as any disturbance on my part seemed to shape her dream for the worse. In the beginning, the dreams were innocent; she'd shoot her arms upward, and her fingers danced as if she were playing the piano. We'd converse, and I'd ask her questions, trying to fill in her experience.

Elena wholeheartedly believed they were messages from God. The dreams brought her happiness; her and I, walking with the children on the beach, dressed in white. Images of us as a family.

It did concern me that Elena rarely went home to her son, Aidan. She often spoke to her parents on the phone, who lavished the boy with attention. I didn't want them to resent me for taking Elena away. So, I pushed for the chance to meet them, or at least suggest she go home to visit, but Elena would find a reason not to. I suspected she needed a break from being a mom, and time to figure herself out.

.

We massacred that white bedroom carpet. Not a day went by without us up-ending a glass of wine, if not an entire bottle. It was a disaster. The carpet in the living room was in rough shape, as well. Hollace spoke to the landlord and scheduled a professional carpet cleaning, to which we promptly forgot the date.

Bridgette and Elena were quite a pair; they talked fashion, music, and politics. I remember the two of them in the kitchen while Bridgette taught her how to pack cigarettes on the palm of her hand. They were like kids laughing over a game of Paper–Rock–Scissors.

When Bridgette declared she needed work, Elena made it her mission to help her get a good paying government job and assisted her with a resume and references.

.

7 am - It had been an evening of heavy drinking. Elena slept on top of me. Jack was comatose. Hollace laid up in the loft, with Bridgette and a hippy girl.

My eyes shot open, "Elena... Elena, wake up..."

"Huh? What's wrong baby?" she mumbled, wiping her saliva off my chest

"What is today?"

"I don't know. Wednesday or Thursday?"

"Is it Thursday?"

"I think so. Yeah, it's Thursday."

I leapt out of bed and into the living room.

"Hollace!" I shouted, "Hollace! Wake up!"

"What's up dude?"

"Please tell me the carpet cleaners aren't supposed to be here in an hour!"

"Oh shit! Is today Thursday!?"

"Yes. You said eight-am right?"

He slid down the ladder.

"Everything has to be off the ground floor of this house. All the furniture. Everything!"

The hippy girl said her piece, "I'm pissed! I'm fucking pissed right the fuck off!"

Hollace stood there, head lowered in shame, biting his nails.

I tried to be rational, still partially drunk, "Well, we can be pissed about it or..."

"This is not reasonable," Bridgette said flatly

"It's so fucking far from reasonable! I can not even handle it!" the hippy girl said

I put my hand weakly on Hollace's shoulder, "You just... need to go over there. It's not going to happen."

I'm sorry, Y'all, but I'm gonna start moving stuff."

"Look," Bridgette pleaded, "you don't have to tell them you were drunk and shit. Just tell them you got the days mixed up. Get the next appointment that's good for them."

I added, "She may not give a shit. Just be like, 'look I'd love to have this guy's number so we can -"

"Are you guys going to make me reschedule?!" Hollace interrupted

"YES!" we all said unanimously

"Not rescheduling will be worse," Bridgette went on, "He's going to be here before we're ready and we'll hold him up."

"I can have this whole thing ready in an hour!" Hollace stated

"No. You can't dude," I said

"Alright! I hate you guys! Fuck!" Hollace said as he shut the front door behind him

"Thank you!" I said, slowly moving towards my room, "Sorry guys. Back to bed."

Hollace returned to inform us that the landlord refused to reschedule. We had less than forty-five minutes to move everything. Five miserable souls crammed what they could onto the linoleum tile of the kitchen. The rest got carried outside. We felt damned.

Jack didn't know what to think, and I failed in trying to explain it to him.

.

John contacted me at the vegan restaurant, and I lined up an interview with the owner. Unfortunately, the only position left was the dishwasher. I accepted. John understood that with my qualifications it was a slap in the face, so I knew he'd scheme to raise me in the ranks.

In the meantime, I helped by painting the walls, installing the speaker system, and hanging artwork. More importantly, though, I aided in setting up the kitchen. I observed John during that process. He was deliberate and thoughtful about how our workspace got arranged. We had amusing talks, and discussed the menu, over a beer.

.

Elena had to fly to Chicago for a job meeting and a series of seminars. She'd be gone four days. We'd yet to be apart, especially for that duration, and we hated it. I got anxious that some man would sweep her off her feet.

"There's no sense in you leaving your car at the airport and paying for parking," I said, "It's a mile and a half from here. You can leave it with me. I'll protect it."

"You promise?" she responded, her eyes squinted in a joking manner

She entrusted me with it, and I drove her to the airport terminal. We kissed goodbye, already missing each other. We texted often.

.

With Elena gone, I surrounded myself with friends. Tom happened to be in town looking for music venues while promoting his record label. He gave me a call, and I joined him downtown. I pointed out a few bars that might be receptive to his one-man band dirty blues style. He toured the country, crooning over a slide guitar and harmonica, with a suitcase fashioned into a kick drum.

Tom got excited by sound, and ideas in general. There was never a dull moment in his company. It says a lot that after being his roommate for five years, I still wasn't tired of him.

We stepped out of the sun and grabbed a cold beer inside a quiet bar off 7th street, and had a discussion about synchronicity. The topic of intrigued us both. Tom had a book on it, in his van, the title of which I can't recall. I had read Carl Jung's book 'Synchronicity: An Acausal connecting principle,' and Roderick Main's 'Jung on Synchronicity and The Paranormal.'

"I have to tell you about the significance of how Elena and I met," I said as we sat down at a table.

"What have you got?" he asked excitedly

"You're the only person I've told this to."

"Ok," he said, getting more attentive

"When I came to Boise, the first afternoon I was here, I went to a thrift store with Hollace. I didn't have much money, but I saw this black leather jacket, with a white stripe, and I had to buy it. My intuition demanded it. It felt like the choice wasn't even up to me, you know?"

"Right, so then what?"

"Here's the crazy part. The night before, Elena had a vivid dream that she was supposed to go to Neurolux, the bar we'd meet in and that at exactly midnight a man would come into the bar with his drunken friend. That man would be wearing a black leather jacket with a white stripe. In the dream, she was meant to approach me, as I would not approach her. Guess what time I showed up."

"Midnight! That's fucking crazy!"

"I checked the time on my phone right as we were going in. Two minutes to midnight. And get this, when I first saw Elena, I said to myself 'That's the one woman here that would never talk to me."

"That's fucking incredible, man! So you're happy with this girl! I can tell. I don't think I've ever seen you this happy!"

"She's the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, man. I love her."

"Well, congratulations! Cheers to that!"

.

Later, we arrived at The Lonely Heart's Hotel, where Hollace greeted us with a local microbrew. We invited him into my bedroom to carry on the conversation. Tom dressed well; he sat before us wearing a pressed, white button-down shirt, and necktie. His haircut was sharp and clean. He enthusiastically told us of a dream-vision he recently had.

"When I was a boy, my mom had one of those tri-fold vanity mirrors, you know the kind I mean, with the two side mirrors that fold in and out?" Tom explained as we acknowledged, "Well, I used to put my head in there, and I would move those mirrors."

"Hell yeah!" Hollace clapped

"But, here's the thing that used to scare me, and I'd forgotten all about it," he snaps his fingers and grins, "Until I had this vision. I used to close those mirrors around me and go 'RAAAAAAAAA!" he gave an expression of psychotic rage in slow motion, his fist raised in the air.

Tom continued, "In the vision, I was once again looking in that mirror, only at the age I am now, and then I stepped into the mirror. On the other side, I was naked. I saw a beautiful river, and on my side of the river, it was a lush, green environment. On the opposite side was a dismal swamp, and a dark forest. I cupped my hands to my mouth and yelled into the forest, 'Come and drink water!' Then I heard a low, demonic growl. Out of the forest came a child – me. It was me at the age of eight years old, naked, and from head to toe I'm painted blue. Now, when I was a child, I had a turtle shell that I would fill with berries. I'd mash them up, paint myself blue, put on a loincloth, and run through the hills with my dogs."

"Dude! Healing the inner child within!" Hollace interjected, "I've heard about this, like if something happens to you at a certain age, you freeze in that age, even though you grow up, you fracture."

"Yes! You fracture, and who is this child right?" tom noted, "Go back and rediscover it because there are two sides to the child too. There's the light and the dark. You know what it made me think of after I had the dream? Twin Peaks. Bob. Remember? I looked this up to see if there was something real to it. It turns out William Burroughs was the inspiration for that, and he got it from Native American culture. The White Lodge is the positive side, and the Black Lodge is negative. In the Black Lodge you meet yourself, and if you're not prepared – the other version of YOU will annihilate your soul. In the Bible, it says the kingdom of heaven is within, and that hell isn't a lake of fire, but a place of weeping, wailing and the gnashing of teeth. Gnashing."

Tom pretends to chew on his arm.

"You will eat yourself. You destroy yourself if you're not ready to meet yourself. So in the vision, the boy comes up to the river, naked and blue, with his wolf. Now, years ago, I was walking down the street, and a homeless guy asked me for money. When I pulled out some change, he reeled in fear and shouted, 'You have a wolf inside of you!', and he took off running. That was weird, I thought. Then I met a girl that said I had an entity attached to my soul that's leeching my energy, and that it has convinced my soul that the real entity is me. She tried to pull the entity from me and failed, 'I can't do it,' she said, 'I weakened it, but it's there. It's always been there.'

Tom paused, then went on.

"Anyway, back to the vision. I'd called the boy to drink water, and he was standing across the river with his wolf. The boy yelled, 'YOU DON"T EVEN HAVE A CUP!', meaning I didn't have the means to give him the water. The boy huffed angrily, and the wolf snarled. I said, 'We can drink straight from the river,' and I laid on my belly. I never took my eyes off the boy since I was scared he might attack me, and I drank water from the river. Then I sat up, and a shock snapped me out of the vision...

Ok, I thought, that's when my ego fractured. The light side is now starting to come to power, but I need to go back and address the dark side."

"See, in the vision," Tom finished, "the wolf is a manifestation of the ego. The wolf isn't real – it's a manifestation of the boy. The boy is the light side, and the wolf is the dark side. The wolf will do anything to protect the boy because the boy is the ego. But, ultimately, what needs to happen, is the boy needs to sit calmly on the wolf and ride the wolf wherever he wants the wolf to go."

.

Hollace got frustrated, thinking his instrumental music was too difficult to market.

"If I give my weird ass music some vocals," Hollace lamented, "Maybe then it'll be personable enough to sell."

"Try it out," Tom began, trying to inspire him, "If you feel it adds an element that is missing, then that's up to you. But, there are tons of instrumental acts. Some of the biggest acts in the world right now are instrumental. It still sells. You just think it won't sell when it will. Anything will sell. You can sell people anything. Half of the time with music, as long as you're not god-awful, and they like you and your story, that's it."

Hollace pondered it, "I think Kim Gordon from Sonic Youth said, 'people don't pay for talent. They pay for confidence."

"Yeah, they want what that they're not experiencing."

"Which is normally confidence," Hollace chuckled

"Well that, and a different way of life and view of the world. They're hoping that by going to your show, that some of how your living is going to become part of how they're gonna live. It's like people who watch television all day long. It's not going to change anything for them. Most people aren't made for anything special to happen in their lives. They don't believe in the magic world. You know what I mean? But we do, so why the fuck shouldn't we be getting paid for it?!

Hollace laughed, nodding his head.

"We should be getting paid for it, so we can continue to do it, right? That's what I think," Tom said, "Just be like, 'You know what? I do this, and I'm going to share it with you. I'm going to tell you stories that are going to make you howl with laughter, or scare you, or make you cry, and then I'm going play some songs for you'. Half of my show is stories, anyway. I thought for awhile, 'eh, these stories get long-winded. They're not gonna want to hear this shit'. Fuck no! They fucking love it!"

In Portland the other night, this table was heckling me," Tom continued, "They were like 'Thanks for sharing!' Then I launched into an awesome song, and those same hipster assholes got up and danced, and then they offered to let me stay at their house, you know what I mean? They just got sold something they weren't experiencing. Something real, and you've got that Hollace. Why the fuck shouldn't you be getting paid for it?"

Hollace sat quietly, at full attention.

Tom concluded, "It's easy. The first step is believing it's possible. Then we need to figure out when you want to go on tour, and put together a press kit. It's very easy. It'll take us ten minutes. Short bio. A picture or two. One of Logan's videos. Then we send it out. It's fishing. You send out a bunch, and then you wait. When they respond, you ask three questions. What time would you like me to load in? How long would you like me to perform? And, how does compensation work at your venue?

.

The next morning Tom had to get on the road. As we said our goodbyes, he approached to give me a brotherly hug, which Jack misinterpreted as a threat. He clamped his jaw down on Tom's heel, though he didn't maul him too badly.

"Jack! Leave it! Shit, sorry man," I said, calling off Jack

"Damn. Great guard dog."

"Yes, he is. You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good. He didn't even tear my pants. Fuck you, Jack," he said, half-jokingly

"Where are you headed to?" I asked

"Denver. Then to southern Utah. Keep in touch," he said, walking to his van, "I'll be coming through this way in a couple of months."

"Sounds good," I said, raising my hand in lazy salute.

It would be the last time I saw my friend, Tom – except once more, in a dream.

.

In Chicago, Elena's colleagues urged her to come out to the clubs with them. Instead, she stayed in her hotel room and talked to me via Facetime. We couldn't resist persuading one another to do kinky sexual acts.

When our interaction calmed to simple texting, filled with loving words, I sent her a link to my website, saying 'In case you get bored, you can check out concert videos I shot when I was younger.' I wanted to share with her. What she chose to watch were parts of the Life Chronicles series, which my ex-wife collaborated on.

Elena flew into a rage, demeaning me for nearly an hour, through a torrent of rushed text messages. She refused to call me directly or let me answer. Her words hit me like glass. She ended our relationship, disgusted that we'd ever met, and derided herself for having feelings for me.

Elena said a friend would be sent to the house to collect her things. I had to accept that it was over, and goodbye. I felt numb. Stunned.

The videos had no sexual content. They were spiritual art projects. What bothered her so intensely is that I looked happy with my ex-wife, in the footage. Elena suspected I still loved my ex, and that my love and affection for her was a lie. She couldn't accept my previous marriage – yet here I was, willing to deal with her ex-husband for the rest of my life. Elena's past was my present. I couldn't handle the hypocrisy. My former wife was a decent, respectful person - after the divorce papers got filed, we went our separate ways.

Elena would demand the videos not only be taken off my site but destroyed, to prove my love. It sickened me, her believing she had the rite to erase the contributions of dozens of people, merely because she felt threatened by them.

There's a ring that I wear on a chain around my neck. My mother kept it on from the day of my birth to my twenty-third birthday, when she gave it to me as a gift. I swore not to remove it. Elena believed it was secretly related to my ex-wife until I convinced her otherwise.

Why didn't I leave, rather than try to make amends? The fight was based solely on irrational fear. There had to be a constructive way to address it and strengthen our communication. I wasn't going to give up on our potential at the first sign of trouble. I obliged her and removed the videos from my site. I told her I erased them - though there was not a chance in hell of me doing so. I safely stored them on my external hard drives.

I'd been looking for a definitive sign to stop making movies – and here it was. Unfortunately, that's how I viewed the situation, rather than see it as a burning red flag. Did my relationship with Elena mean more to me than creating art? I searched myself hard for that answer.

Yes. She was more important.

But, what circumstance led Elena to contact me? That's the real story.

.

The cafe had its first mandatory employee meeting. I couldn't have felt less confident. Elena was in Chicago. No one collected her things. I didn't know if I had to pick her up at the airport. I drove to work in her car and tried to keep up appearances.

Roughly twenty people were there, socializing. I poured a glass of water and remained quiet. I couldn't stop thinking about her. A man in his late twenties approached me and shook my hand, 'I'm Orrin,' he said. I put on a smile. His presence comforted me; he had a good energy. Interesting fellow, I thought. He had tiny ceramic animals woven into his beard. Evidently, he was John's Sous Chef, so we'd be working closely together. I didn't want him to think of me as an asshole; I knew I had a guard up, even though I tried to be open.

What I'm attempting to say, is that I was verging on a breakdown.

.

The meeting got underway, and we all pulled up a chair and formed a circle in the dining area. The owner asked us to stand up individually and tell the group about ourselves. I didn't know what to say. Who was I, without Elena? I didn't rightly know. I rehearsed a vague lie.

The person beside me spoke, and I was up next. Suddenly, my phone vibrated with a text message. I urgently pulled it from my pocket, and read it.

"Hi. my name is Aidan," it said

I froze. Oh my god. Elena's seven-year-old son was texting me. A tear fell down my cheek, and I quickly brushed it away.

"Hello?" Aidan texted

I was in a tailspin. My voice was shaking.

The owner looked at me, "Ok, your turn. Tell everyone your name and something about yourself."

I have no memory of what I said to the group, but I'm sure it was fast and stupid. I replied after sitting down, humbled beyond measure.

"Hi, Aidan. My name is Logan. It's so nice to hear from you,"

I didn't linger with the group – I left immediately. Aidan texted me the whole way home, getting impatient if I stalled, either because I was driving or left utterly speechless as to what I should say. There was no dodging the kid; he wanted answers, and I wasn't going to lie to him. I grabbed a cold beer from the fridge to calm my nerves and went to the porch. For two straight hours, Aidan conversed with me, in text.

"I like robots," said the boy who communicated through machines, "They're how I talk."

"Robots are neat. I like them, too." I said

"I get sad when they break."

"Yeah, but I bet you can fix them."

"I like to help robots they are my friends. Do you like my mom?" Aidan asked

"I care about your mom very very much."

"Do you love her."

I paused. "Yes, I do."

"I love my mom, but you don't want to make her mad."

I breathed a sigh, "I'm afraid I already did, buddy. She doesn't want to talk to me anymore."

"You need to hug it out."

"I'd love that if she wants to."

Aidan disappeared, and five minutes passed when I got an incoming call from Elena. I hesitated for a second and picked it up.

"Hello?" I said

"Are you talking to my son?" she asked, the anger in her voice subdued by the shock of what was going on

"Yes, I am."

"What's he saying?"

"He says we need to hug it out."

"... oh my gosh...," she gasped under her breath, "he said that?"

"Yeah. He's saying a lot of things. We've been talking for over an hour."

"What?"

"Yep. I'm being honest with him."

"... oh my gosh..." she sighed

"Am I picking you up at the airport?" I asked

"Yes... How are you?"

"Honestly? I'm a mess." I said, defeated

"So am I... I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"See you, soon."

Elena hung up, and the texts from Aidan continued. Then, another message came through in a new thread.

"Hi. I'm Hetty," said Elena's eight-year-old daughter

Aidan contacted Hetty in California and sent her my phone number so she could join in. For the next forty-five minutes, the two of them texted me nonstop. They were so bright and curious.

"Are you rich?" Hetty asked me, point blank

"No, I'm not."

"And my mommy still likes you? You must be really nice!"

(she had fun using emoticons)

"What do you do," Aidan asked

"I work in a restaurant. What kind of food do you like?"

"I like pizza."

"Pizza is awesome."

"Yeah."

"My brother drives me crazy sometimes." Hetty lamented

"You must miss him, though, living in California."

"I guess so."

"I heard you were going to be coming out soon to visit? Maybe I can meet you."

"Yes! You sound way nicer than my jerk daddy!" (more emoticons)

"He's a jerk, huh?"

"Yeah. He just likes money."

Hetty dropped off for a bit. When she returned, her texts had a different tone. The emoticons were absent.

"I bet you make my mommy happy!" she stated

We'd already established that.

"Well, she's a little mad at me right now sweetie, but I promise I'll do my best to make her happy."

"Good luck! She's really high maintenance!"

It was quite funny. I'm showing Elena this, I said to myself. For some reason, though, it struck me odd. Her brother was a savant, so I did not underestimate Hetty's intelligence. But she spelled 'maintenance' correctly. Most adults struggled with that word. Hetty had to leave, and I told her how honored I felt to have spoken to her, and that I was excited to see her in person.

Aidan actively texted until he got informed his dinner was ready.

"I'm having tater tots."

"Good deal."

"I have to go."

"It was great talking to you, Aidan. Thank you."

Aidan, however, would have the final word.

The text read – 'Checkmate.'

I sat there on the porch, dumbfounded, with a hapless grin on my face.

What the hell just happened?

.

I went to the airport and helped Elena retrieve her luggage. She stood next to me in the kitchen, as I cooked for food. Our words confirmed our love; we were terrified of losing each other. I remember she wore a soft white sweater. It made her look vulnerable. I saw her wear white only a handful of times, and perhaps that was the reason why.

We suffered the temporary pain of losing what we had, and it wrecked us both. We built our relationship stronger.

.

I kept hearing an accordion in the alley, behind the house, around mid-morning, when I was waking up. I wandered back there to see who was playing it. His name was Kelly, and he cut an imposing figure, yet he was a soft-spoken and well-read man.

"Does the sound bother you?" he asked, politely

"No, not at all."

"Right on. I'm practicing for a show I've got coming up with my band."

"What's your band?"

"New Iron Front. We do hardcore punk."

"Awesome."

"We have a new album coming out next month."

"Sweet. Need any video work done?"

"You make videos? No one around here does that."

I'd often sit in my room, with the window open, listening to the floating sound of his accordion. When it stopped, I'd walk out, and we'd chat about all sorts of topics. We committed to doing a music video for their upcoming single 'Dogs In The Fight.' It started with complex ideas that gradually got stripped due to budget constraints. We decided to shoot a raw live recording of their show at a venue called The Shredder.

How Kelly described it, The Shredder didn't have much in the way of lighting and sound (he was correct on that). I also had logistical problems - they were a five-piece band. I had five cameras, but just two hands.

.

Things were ramping up at The Lonely Heart's Hotel. Hollace had secured a slot in The Hyde Park Street Fair, for his middle-eastern band Sadhiki. Hollace assembled a group of four percussionists and an entourage of belly dancers. He led with his Greek Bouzouki. The practice space was, of course, our house. I liked coming home to a group of gypsies beating out rhythms on the porch. Being Hollace's live videographer for ten years, it was a given I'd record the show.

Bridgette managed Hollace, ensuring he attended practice dates and urged his full sober effort. Without her, I don't think the show would've worked as well as it did.

We arrived at Hyde Park on a hot sunny afternoon. Not a cloud in the sky. Bridgette let Hollace drink one beer to loosen his fingers, and not a drop more. The stage sat under a ground level tent in the shade, but the dancers would be outside in the sun. The backgrounds were cluttered with noise. My apertures went crazy adjusting to the harsh contrasts of light and shadow. I could at least pull clean audio right off the mixing board, though.

I assigned cameras to the line of percussionists and aimed a stationary camera at Hollace. I roamed outside the tent with my Canon 7D, recording the dancers from lower angles and tight close-ups to limit distractions. It got so hot, my cameras were overheating and shutting down. That knocked holes in my editing plan. I worked around it, using split screen and overlapping techniques to bring up the energy.

.

Elena and I were in high spirits. I wrote a letter to her, wanting my feelings on paper, for her to read whenever she felt low. I should have simply handed it to her, rather than get it in my head to put it online.

I had a Facebook page that I hadn't posted a single thing upon. I wasn't a fan of social media. So, I figured if I did add a message for the public to see, it better be damn well worth it.

I asked Elena beforehand if she was willing to have me publish it to her account, 'I think you should do it,' she said, 'We have nothing to hide or be ashamed of.'

I agreed:

'I've been attempting to write you this letter for a few weeks now, during a moment alone. But missed flights, bad weather, car trouble, sickness, and passion have prevented that from happening. And I'm grateful for every second of it. It's my birthday tonight, and you're passed out on the bed behind me because you don't feel well. I made you dinner and drinks, as I try to do every night we're together. I hope that they made you feel better. You've made the act of making food exciting to me again. Now, picking up a knife turns me on more than holding a camera.

I've reached the point where I can't imagine waking up without you laying next to me, and since the last week of August, when we met, there's only been a few nights that has happened. And those few nights left me with a pain in my stomach. I connect with you on a physical, emotional, and spiritual level. I've never felt that before. And I'm willing to go to any lengths necessary to honor and celebrate that until my final time.

We've finally found the happiness we've both been fighting for. It's an untouchable happiness that belongs to us. We've fucking earned it. No one can interfere with it, and I will defend it with my life. We've stared into each other's eyes for hours on end, and not one second of that time refutes the fact that we are in love, and happy.

I'm so grateful that this is an evening that I can stop typing, turn around and cuddle up next to you, as you quietly voice the dream you're in out loud, and subconsciously wrap your arms and lips around me.

I love you, Elena. And that's the first time in my life I've meant that.'

Posting the letter would be a grave mistake, the extent of which I wouldn't comprehend for months to come.

.

Elena owned property in California, which she listed on the market. Her plan being to sell it and buy a house in the north end of Boise. That prompted a house hunting adventure. We'd take the local listings, usually fifty to sixty houses, and independently write our top five choices. Then, we'd compare them to see if any of our selections matched up.

"I picked one of my favorites without even paying attention to the address, and it's the one were scheduled to see tomorrow!" I said

"The one on Wagon Wheel Street?" Elena asked

"Yeah."

"That's a beautiful house. What's the asking price? $435,000?"

"$449,900."

"I was only $14,000 off. I like the look of the twelfth home. That built-in office is nice."

"Wow! That was my third choice!"

"Whoa, really baby? Do you like the house on Travertine Way? It has a nice view and a bath tub. Number twenty-three. It's $609,000. It reminds me of my old neighborhood."

"I'd tell you something, but you wouldn't believe it."

"What?"

"That was my fourth choice."

"That's so cool! You've got good taste, baby. I can see Aidan loving this place. The colors of the home are perfect, and it's not too bright for him."

"That's my favorite one. More than Wagon Wheel."

"I totally agree!"

Elena would then phone up the realtors and schedule showings. I didn't see us buying a house as reality – it was too much, too soon – yet that didn't stop me from having fun touring the properties. The homes were incredible; stylish and immaculate. I studied architecture in awe. When the realtors let us be, we'd wander around, giddy with possibilities.  'Do you like the layout?' Elena would ask, 'or should we look for something else? I want you and the children to be happy. Do you think Jack would like it?'

The real estate agents didn't know what to think of us. They assumed us as far younger than we were. When Elena mentioned the value of her property in California, they'd get an expression on their faces like, 'Oh, shit. These two are for real,' and invite us to see other listings.

.

The holidays were near, and Elena spent more time at home; Aidan had missed his mom for long enough. It was agreed upon that I would be a guest for Thanksgiving dinner, finally getting the chance to meet her family.

It was dark when Elena and I drove to her parent's house. When we got close, Elena pulled into an empty church parking lot. 'I need a cigarette,' she said. We got out of the car and lit one up. We tried to relax. The air was cold and crisp. We could see our breath. I remember how gorgeous she looked. I knew she felt nervous. It was a big step for her, bringing me over.

Our words were few. Elena kissed me, and our eyes gave each other confidence.

.

Her parents spoke rudimentary English, especially her stepfather. Her mom divorced Elena's biological father in her youth. The two of them prepared an ethnic feast; partially vegan. I put my morals aside so as not to appear rude, and tried a bit of each dish. They were hospitable people, and I seemingly got a thumbs up of approval.

Elena had previously warned me that if Aidan didn't like me, he might punch me in the stomach like he often did to Scott. That was not the case; he got curious, glancing at me on occasion, from his own little dining table. The boy loved his iPad.

Her stepfather was a boisterous and animated guy. His goofy stories, aided by Elena's translation, were hardly believable, and therein lay their charm. He threw his weight around, to show me he was the man of the house when it was blindingly clear that Elena's mother steered the ship. She sat across the table, letting him have his fun, with a pleasant grin on her face, as if to say, 'You foolish man. Just you wait until the children leave...'

.

After dinner, I sat in Elena's bedroom, seeing her belongings for the first time. They weren't quite how I imagined. Elena was in her parent's bedroom, discussing a matter in their foreign language. Unexpectedly, Aidan entered the room and approached me. He said nothing, and took my hand in his with a firm grip, gesturing for me to follow. He pulled me in the direction of the living room. The kitchen light was on, illuminating the otherwise darkened space. He paused at a small pile of toys in the corner. Aidan released my hand and picked up a specific toy that he wanted to share with me.

I hadn't noticed, but Elena came into the room and saw what had just occurred. I turned to see her standing there; her hands over her mouth, and her eyes wide.

"He guided me in here," I whispered

"He's never done that with anyone but family," she said

.

Eight days later, Elena and I were sitting up in bed...

"I'm pregnant," Elena said gently

The words lifted in the air, and could almost be touched. Speechless, I pulled Elena on to me and kissed her warmly.

"Are you happy?" she asked

"Yes, love. I'm so happy."

"I pray that God blesses us with this child."

"How long have you known?"

"Not long. It's the same feeling I had when I conceived Aidan."

"Should we take a test, or is it too early?"

"Let's give it a few days."

"Can we lay here all day long and hold each other?"

"That sounds great!"

.

"I don't understand why the test is negative! I know I'm pregnant.  I know I'm pregnant. I can feel the changes in my body!" Elena exclaimed

"Ok, hey, calm down, calm down. I trust a woman's intuition over a grocery store piss test any day of the week. We have to get you to a professional," I said, putting her hands in mine

"I have a doctor I can call," she said

"Ok, perfect. Get in touch with him. It's gonna be ok. I trust your body. I love you."

"Love you too."

"We're having a baby, love."

.

When the doctor's test returned positive, we were elated. We laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, imagining our future life. We wondered if the baby would be a girl.

"She's going to be one insanely attractive girl," I pointed out

"I know. She's gonna be beautiful."

"Well, let's hope she has your looks and my disposition, or we're in trouble."

"You're such a jerk!" she laughed, then continued, "God gave me another dream of her, last night."

"Oh yeah?"

"She spoke to me and said her name was Issachar."

"That's pretty. I can get behind that."

"I have to research it."

"Hey, love, remember when I told you about this ring on my necklace?"

"Yes, the one your mom gave you. She kept it on when you were born?"

"I want to give it to our baby when she's old enough."

"That's very sweet of you, my lover."

.

"Baby, I'm craving a cheeseburger," Elena said, ashamedly

"What?!"

"It's terrible, but I want one so bad."

"Well, now I sure you're pregnant."

"It's awful! Meat sounds good, though..."

"Are you telling me you've seriously never had a cheeseburger?"

"No, I haven't."

"Wow. I'm so proud of you. May I have the honor of being the first, and the last person in the world to buy you a cheeseburger from a fast food drive-thru?"

"Yes, baby. Let's go."

"What, this minute?"

"Yes! I'm so hungry."

"Ok, we'll do it. Am I about to witness this?"

"You sure are!"

"I won't tell a soul. I don't want to blow your reputation."

.

"Elena, I know you're afraid that I'm going to abandon you and the baby, but I don't work that way."

"My parents don't want me raising this child alone."

"Yeah, I'm aware of the pressure. There's no way I'm going to make the kind of money we need unless I start working for myself. I've gone through every idea I have, and if we get support, we could launch a mobile kitchen."

"That's a great idea!"

"I've been at the library printing off the information we need. Check it out."

"Whoa, how many pages is that?"

"About a hundred. I have everything. Permits, health codes, regulations, licensing, zoning, festival applications, food costs, local distributors. Every business in the country that manufactures food trucks, modification costs, websites that sell used equipment, and menu ideas I've been thinking about for years."

"You need to show this to my mom. She'll love this."

"She will, and furthermore I can do this right. I can make this work. It's a project we can be part of as a family. We each have cooking skills."

.

"Elena, I want you to understand something."

"Ok," she said, her eyes on me

"Before you, I never considered having a child."

"Really?"

"I had no desire to, and there were a hundred reasons for it."

"What changed?"

"I believed I wouldn't find the woman I'd respect and care for enough to share that experience and responsibility with. Then you came and washed that doubt away."

"Baby, I don't know what to say. I have to get used to being with such a romantic and humble man. "

"Yeah, you'd better."

.

"Logan, I got a call from the assholes at the doctor's office!"

"What's up?"

"They said there was a mistake at the office!" Elena said, crying

"What did they do?"

"They said they mixed the results up with another patient! I said what are you saying?! She said 'I'm sorry, but your test is negative!"

We were crushed. We felt robbed and violated. It didn't make sense. We tried calming ourselves and left the house. Our minds were in a fog. We ended up in a booth at Neurolux, in the afternoon. The place was empty. I recall the sensation of the cold glass of beer in my hand.

"I told that girl I wanted to speak to the doctor NOW! She said she's busy! I said I don't care! Your office has made a mistake! I will make sure my lawyers deal with this issue! How dare you!"

"It's so unprofessional. They can't do that to people."

"There's a poor girl out there that wants a baby and doesn't know she's pregnant."

"It goes both ways. She could've had a one night stand with a guy in a bar, and can't take care of a kid."

"Shit, that's true. I can't process this. It's too much."

"We'll get each other through it like we always do..."

.

Two days later, things weren't adding up.

"I'm still feeling changes in my body, Logan! I have to be pregnant!"

"I agree. You're burning up," I said, placing the backs of my knuckles to her forehead.

"I promise I'm not crazy. My body is reacting."

"I believe you. Listen, let's do one more test, from the store, and we'll see what it says."

The result showed positive. The roller coaster ascended once again.

"We're going to be parents, Elena. This is happening!"

"I knew it," she said, hugging me

"We need to stop the drinking."

"You're right. We do."

"We have to get you healthy."

"Ok."

"I'm going to be by your side, ok?"

"I'm so happy you're in my life, and God is giving us this child."

We did our best. We wanted Issachar more than anything. She was part of us.

.

In late December, while I worked alone at the cafe, prepping for the night crew, my phone rang; Elena said she'd had a miscarriage.

"We lost it?" I confirmed

"Yes."

"I'm leaving. Are you at your mother's?"

"Yes. Just go home. I'll meet you there," she said, then hung up

I braced myself against the counter. I broke down and cried uncontrollably, clenching my teeth. Minutes passed, and I had to pull it together. I knew Elena was counting on me, and that she would be inconsolable. I couldn't fail her.

I arrived at the house before her and cleaned myself up. I heard Elena's car in the driveway, and I stepped out onto the porch, into the winter night. As she came through the gate, I saw her strength dissipate.

Elena buried her face in my chest. I felt her shudder with tears. Her mauve leather jacket was cool on my hands. We wrapped our arms tighter until we were one body; one heart, generating heat. The snow fell softly around us. There was no wind. The tears grew cold against our cheeks.

I think a part of me will always be standing right there, holding her.

Leaving Broken Heart's Behind

Without Elena's company, I felt miserable. The second I clocked out, I'd go straight to her. We thrived on one another; nothing was valid until we shared it. I tried to be everything to Elena. I feared the second I broke contact, physically or emotionally, the spell would somehow shatter. The idea of that propelled me forward, to impress her further and deepen our connection.

Four months had passed. It was March. Orrin and I ran the kitchen. John resigned for personal reasons, prompting Orrin to take the lead. My position as dishwasher shifted in minutes to Orrin's Sous Chef. He knew I could handle the pressure, and his friendship was the reason I carried on there as long as I did.

We were in the middle of a lunch rush.

"Do you know what the future of humanity is, Logan?" Orrin asked, working the grill

Orrin brimmed with epigrams and black humor.

"I have a general idea, but I'm sure you're gonna clarify it," I said, as I managed incoming tickets and plated finished orders

"It's desolate. Very desolate."

"You gotta be kidding me."

"Unless we acknowledge that animals be afforded certain rights, our future is bleak. Climate change, resource depletion, epidemics, ocean acidity, species extinction. These are all major concerns that have serious implications to the wellness of our species, and they can all be connected to our attitude towards animals. From what we can tell -"

"Order in!" I called out, "One vegetarian Hindi wrap!"

"Right away!"

"Second order in! One Veg Medley! One Taco Special! One vegan Hindi wrap!"

"How are we looking on the Hindi mix?"

"Uh, we got enough for six orders."

"Is it on the prep list?"

"You know it."

"Good man. So here we are, you and I, two people working in the same place based on the needs of our circumstance. Take you, for instance, a well-meaning, well-dressed hipster with refined tastes and a penchant for class."

"I'm not a hipster, asshole."

"And then there's me, a grungy metalhead with a predilection for cynicism. Yet here we both are, struggling to meet one common goal. Money. The bills have to get paid, our stomachs must be filled, and our desires placated. I've got the two Hindi wraps coming over now, they need plating and garnish."

"Ready to go. How far out are we on the Veg Medley and Taco Special?"

"Just over a minute."

"Perfect. Hey, Catherine!" I shouted out the window to the girl working the coffee bar.

"Yeah?" she called

"I need a Latte, stat!"

"No problem! How many shots of espresso?"

"Four, and make it sexy!"

"Ok!"

"And don't forget like last time or your fired!" I said, smiling to myself

"I won't forget, I swear!"

"Atta girl!"

"Money is such a tedious concept," Orrin continued, "The incessant need to trade away our time and labor for an increasingly devalued digital currency. However, we as a society agree that it keeps everything in check, so we find ourselves doing things we'd rather not be doing so we can pay for things that we shouldn't have to pay for. Superior species indeed!"

"Wait, you're getting paid?! Since when did management start paying us?"

"Well, we're certainly not getting the raises we got promised!"

"Order in! We got two Hindi wraps!

"Damn the Hindi!"

"And we got a Special Two, same ticket!"

"Do we have enough ingredients for it?"

"Hang on," I said, running to the fridge, "We have enough for this order and maybe a second. Is this a recipe from the boss lady?

"Yes, sir!"

"Do you know what's in it?"

"Not a clue!"

"Is she even in the building?"

"Who knows, probably fondling a cucumber in an alley somewhere."

"Alright then, fuck it! Eighty-six Special Two, everyone!" I shouted to the wait staff.

"Here's your Latte, Logan!" Catherine beamed

"Bless your heart. Thank you."

"And your girlie is here to see you," Catherine added, "She just showed up."

"Oh yeah? Do we have any new tables?"

"Nope."

"Tell her I'll be right there. Did she order a coffee?"

"Yes."

"Good, don't let her pay for it. I'll take care of it."

"Sure thing."

"Hey, Orrin, once this order is up I'm going to step out for a minute."

"Yes, Yes. Run. Go to your love, you sexy bastard!"

"Don't be jealous, Orrin. We've talked about this. Someday you'll meet a woman and fall madly in love."

(I had no idea he was dating the waitress, Danielle.)

I exited the kitchen and walked across the dining area. As I approached Elena, I studied her body language. She usually looked so poised, like a model in a still photograph. Why did she appear unsettled? She hadn't taken her sunglasses off, and her phone wasn't on the table.

"What's wrong, babe?" I asked, taking a seat

Her hands clasped around her coffee cup.

I rubbed her arm, "You ok?"

Elena shook her head, "I got in a high-speed chase," she said, "Scott's cousins tried to run me off the road."

We'd dealt with the cousins before. Elena had picked me up from the cafe, for an impromptu date. When we left the parking lot, merging onto State Street, Elena recognized the two men driving a blue truck, in the rearview mirror. She turned to identify them, out the window. Were they waiting for me to leave in my own vehicle? We decided to beat them at their own game.

'Turn here!' I said pointing to a side road, but Elena had already thought of it. She tore down the lane while their truck got locked in traffic. Elena re-emerged onto State Street, maneuvered to get behind them and sounded her horn. We flipped them off out the window. I saw the humiliation on their faces as we streaked past.

"I was on my way to see you," Elena said, still clinging to her cup, "and they came up on my bumper and started gunning their engine, so I sped up. They pulled up alongside me and swerved into my lane. That's when a sheriff saw what was going on."

"The sheriff?" I replied

"Yes, baby. He pulled those bastards over! I put my car in turbo and left."

We'd learn that the cousins got arrested. The driver swung on the sheriff and missed. Cocaine was found in the vehicle, and they both were drunk.

As we sat there, in the cafe, a smile crept on our faces; We got 'em. We got those fuckers. We celebrated with top shelf Tequila that night, raising a glass to the victory.

Scott Bunk was not thrilled. He posted his nephews' bail, and they got extradited to California. Beyond that, I have no information. Situations like that were relegated to Elena's lawyers, after which I was no longer involved.

.

That winter, the living situation became painful in The Lonely Heart's Hotel. A lot of snow fell that year, and the influx of visitors to the house dwindled. However, one man slept on the living room floor more often than not.

"Does he live here?" I asked Hollace

"I think so. He's getting divorced. His wife kicked him out. Is that ok?"

"Does he have any money?"

"Yeah, he has a job."

"Alright. We can find a use for him then. What's his name?"

"Will."

.

Hollace went on a downward spiral. It hurt, to watch my friend fall apart. When he and Bridgette broke up, he started hanging out with junkies, seeking to bring him to their level. I worried for him; his internal organs weren't holding up.

I didn't know how to piece him together. Maybe I failed him as a friend. Perhaps I was too selfish, wrapped up in my affairs. Maybe I didn't give enough attention to his struggle. Hollace didn't have a desire to help himself, but did that justify the distance I put between us? Our goal of living independently, through art, was finished. The networking stopped. When I had to fall on menial, dead-end jobs, it hurt my pride. I carried on, though, using the marketable skills I had, while Hollace believed he didn't have any.

I vouched for him at the cafe, and he got a job working with Orrin and I, as our dishwasher. Without fail, he'd show up late and so drunk he could barely walk. He spoke aggressively, and his rude jokes offended the sensitive employees. Orrin and I could handle the crass humor, but we couldn't tolerate his inefficiency and lack of ethics; he'd slink off to the restroom for extended periods, leaving us without clean kitchenware.

The lowest point came when Hollace retreated to the restroom after less than an hour of work. Forty-five minutes passed, and he remained locked inside. The owner approached me.

"Logan, I want you to kick the door in," the owner instructed

She got prepared to call the police, or an ambulance, based on what we saw

'Goddamn you, Hollace,' I said bitterly, as I raised my foot, kicking the door with force. I didn't want to break it – I tried to wake him up if he'd passed out. I heard movement. 'Hollace, get the fuck out here!' I shouted with my mouth to the door – it unlocked and slowly opened. Hollace stumbled to the dishwashing station, where he got surrounded by management and escorted out of the building. Orrin and I hung our heads.

The staff felt relieved, but I didn't – I had to go home to the consequences.

.

The trauma of losing our child bonded Elena and I, for better or worse. Jack had sensed the pregnancy as well and got extra protective of Elena. The two of them got close, and I'd often catch her singing to him. He consoled us in our grief.

I had snowball fights with Jack in the yard. Elena recorded a video of us, through the window. Jack gave a master class in jumping, launching himself to catch snowballs in mid-air. In retaliation, he'd joyfully slam me backward into snow drifts.

Aside from Elena and Jack, I confided in Orrin the most. The synchronicity that led to the two of us meeting was remarkable: while I drifted in Arizona, Orrin lived and worked thirty-four hundred miles north-west, in a small town in Alaska. He had a chef position in a restaurant there. Interesting how he disliked the female bartender - who was none other than Scott Bunk's sister.

Orrin quit his job in disgust, and headed to the states, living in his camper trailer. There was no particular reason for him to choose Boise. Like me, he wasn't familiar with the area. Being vegan, he got word of the cafe opening, and inquired about a job, thus meeting John. Then I showed up, having fallen in love with Scott's ex-wife.

.

Elena and I got to know Will, the new resident. He integrated himself into our club of divorcees. He was a tall man, aged, with a stubbled gray beard and shaven head. He didn't spare peoples feelings, and I respected him for that. I detected a current of anger under his hardened surface, coupled with a bit too much practical knowledge.

He was a man who did have compassion, albeit selective. If he committed to a person or goal, it got carved in stone. If Will had second thoughts about shacking up with us, he didn't mention it. I think he chose to stay because he'd grown to care about us. Whatever his shortcomings, he treated us genuinely.

Without the procession of visitors, The Lonely Heart's Hotel felt isolated, like an outpost cutoff until spring. Will changed it's title, deeming it The Lighthouse. Elena, on the other hand, referred to it as The Devil's House.

.

When I was twenty-one-years-old, a dark entity attached itself to me during a paranormal investigation, in the mouth of Big Cottonwood Canyon, Utah. An abandoned paper mill rested there, mostly in ruins from the weather. I was an atheist then, and I went to the location with impunity and disrespect.

The rumors of hauntings stemmed from stories of people dying in fires, and a caretaker said to have killed himself on the grounds. Public records were scarce, and I wrote it off as folklore. I did note the one common thread of the accounts - that a malevolent presence resided there.

I did the investigation with five friends. We jumped the chain link fence ignoring the risk of fines for breaking into a historic site. Every entryway was heavily barricaded. A plank of wood covering a second-floor window seemed our best bet. We pummeled it with rocks and used a pipe as a pry bar until it hung by a nail. We scaled the wall, boosting each other up one at a time.

As if the barricade weren't enough, a heap of furniture – wooden tables and dozens of chairs - were piled up against the window frame. We shoved them aside, clearing a path, and wormed our way into the cavernous space, clicking on our flashlights. I held a cheap camcorder, searching for anything out of the ordinary. The air was suffocating.

We explored the boiler room, and the tower overlooking the valley. We kicked up dust on the sprawling main floor, which used to be a dance hall in the early 40s. The acoustics were damp. The roof had collapsed in several areas. Rays of light from the setting sun peeked through the cracks and holes. I read that a river flowed underneath the structure, in a network of catacombs. We weren't equipped to traverse it, and we saw no entrance, regardless.

On the upper floor, of the west facing wing, we investigated our final room. It was there we noticed something wasn't right. We crossed the threshold of a doorway, and the temperature dropped roughly twenty degrees. The sweat on our skin from the previous heat and humidity became chilled. Our banter ceased, and we grew quiet, lost in thought, feeling disconnected from one another.

The focal point of the room was a decrepit fireplace, and I got drawn to it. I lowered to my knees and aimed my camera at its interior. In an attempt to communicate, I muttered, 'Show yourself to me,' under my breath. My eyes were closed when I spoke, letting the camera see for me.

The negative energy got overwhelming. We decided to wrap it up the and leave the building. My friend Kevin and I were foolish enough to take a memento - I grabbed an antique book, and he lifted an old Humpty Dumpty doll. Kevin, first to descend out the window, realized he'd left the doll in the room. He shouted up to Daniel, who was last in line.

"Hey, bro! Go back and get my doll!"

"Uh, what doll?" he asked nervously

"The Humpty Dumpty doll. I left it by the fireplace."

"What does it look like?" Daniel said, grabbing at straws, not wanting to reenter.

"The one that fuckin' looks like Humpty Dumpty, dude!"

Daniel begrudgingly went to find it.

I don't know why I stole that damn book; the content wasn't intriguing. It smelled of mold. I threw it on my porch and forgot it. I reviewed the video footage on my editing system, intentionally saving the fireplace clip for last. I was leery of it. When I had nothing else to review, I cued it up.

I heard myself mumbling on the recording, asking the entity to show itself when an image materialized on the screen. I rewound the tape and hit pause. I stared into the eyes of a fully formed face - almost human, with the snout of an animal.

The lights in my apartment surged, and the bulb nearest me burnt out. I felt an oppressive force, and my pet ferret began choking in the corner. For whatever reason, my initial reaction was to pick up a vinyl Led Zeppelin record and play 'Whole Lotta Love,' as loudly as my speakers would go. I packed a few items, grabbed my ferret and left the apartment. I returned, with caution. I spent hours analyzing the image, trying to debunk it, to no avail.

A darkness lingered in the house. I had disturbing nightmares. I'd wake up, sensing a presence watching me through the window. Daniel alerted me that Kevin got paralyzed in a car crash. I couldn't shake it. That's when I made the connection - the fucking book.

Was it a coincidence that only Kevin and I were singled out? It was hardly worth the chance. I drove to the old mill and placed the stolen book by the ruins of the eastern wing. I apologized for what I had done. Fortunately, the energy in my apartment returned to normal. I printed off the image of that face and stored the twenty-nine frames of video in safe keeping.

The foundation of my belief system got forever changed. That event triggered an intense period of study and spiritual discovery that carries to this day.

.

I disclosed that event because unexplained activity had us on edge, at The Lighthouse.

My first encounter happened on a quiet afternoon, while Jack and I were alone. Hollace had gone out for a pack of smokes and a beer. Elena went to work. I sat in my room, editing, with Jack laying beside me. A sound startled him to attention. In the reflection of my computer screen, I saw the closet door open quickly and fluidly. I spun around to face it. There was a pause - then it slammed shut forcefully. Jack growled, and my arm hair raised on end. I got up slowly, ushering Jack to the yard.

Will slept in the living room, surrounded by Hollace's banjos and guitars. He was increasingly anxious, stirred by the sound of plucking strings. He recorded the noises on his phone.

Elena had it the worst. We consistently heard a disembodied female voice in my bedroom, giving Elena stern warnings like, 'He's mine!', while other times the voice offered terms of endearment, 'Love you.' Once, as Elena dried off from a shower, she briefly witnessed the apparition of a woman, standing by a painting on the wall.

The disturbance we observed as a group manifested as music - jazz or big band. While indoors, we'd perceive it, silence each other and try to pinpoint the direction of the ethereal sound. We'd run outside where it'd obviously be louder if it were playing from a nearby street – nothing. Indoors, it would still be pervasive.

These external experiences led me to wonder when, and if, they'd affect us internally as well. Unfortunately, danger rose from Hollace.

In the depth of winter, Hollace would sit in his chair on the porch, for hours on end, oblivious to the freezing wind. He'd drink, smoke, and write meticulously in his journal. It contained the outpouring of his soul. Whether or not it was legible to others didn't matter. He wrote obsessively small as if each letter held a secret.

When I woke at 9 am for my job, I'd go to the porch for a cigarette. Hollace would already be in his chair, intoxicated with a beer in his hand, wrapped in his thick trench coat. That coat unsettled me. Hollace had been a cemetery gravedigger for years. He buried bodies wearing that same trench coat; it smelled like earth. Hollace had a courtship with death; it was his old companion, and he relished taunting it.

The four of us used to have lively discussions on the porch, debating topics from the metaphysical, to religion and politics. I joined in the beginning, though I grew tired of fallen angels, the Illuminati, and popes eating babies. Besides, the cold bothered my arthritis. Elena invested herself fully in the debates, and Hollace goaded her with issues sure to get an emotional rise.

Afterward, Elena came looking for a fight. I'd get accused of not caring about important issues, and she'd say, 'Well, maybe we shouldn't be together anymore.'  It became a vial pattern, with her threatening to leave me, over the smallest of slights.

I had enough and yelled at Hollace.

"I'm fuckin' sick of this. You wind Elena up with shit you know will upset her, then you send her to me like a fucking ticking time-bomb, and all I have to do is gaze at her wrong and BOOM! You know how she is, so please stop doing it. It's causing real problems for us."

It didn't deter him much. The routine continued, though Elena finally wised up as the conversations got morbid. She began feeling uncomfortable and pulled back.

Hollace studied intense literature; The Book of Enoch and other Biblical Apocrypha. He traveled fearsome roads in his mind. I didn't think he felt satisfied to read about those forces – he wanted to summon them and challenge their power head-on. Hollace sought a god-mind awareness, and for the wrong reasons.

Hollace and Jack were not friends, and rightly so. I hated leaving Jack at the house. Hollace had taken to nailing dead squirrels to trees to watch them decompose. On one occasion, Hollace moved toward me, and Jack sunk his teeth into his right calf muscle. It wasn't his customary 'grab the ankle' warning bite – he straight fucked Hollace up, leaving a permanent scar.

.

Had a spirit attached itself to Hollace, leeching his energy? Or was his behavior solely the late stages of alcoholism? I couldn't entirely accept that. To blame it on the booze, I felt I negated the risk of a potentially more harmful force. Alcohol doesn't slam doors with invisible hands and whisper in our ears at night. A bottle of rum paled to the voicing of incantations, and what if the spirit attachment is what encouraged Hollace's drinking to begin with?

Radical as that theory might be, Elena attacked me one evening without provocation. She charged, clawing at my face. I yanked her hands away, then she bit my neck, drawing blood. I shoved her backward onto the bed and firmly planted my knee in her chest while pinning her wrists.

Elena bit at my face like a feral animal. When that didn't produce results, she drove her knees into my kidneys and kicked me in the back of the head with her shoes. That episode went on for roughly three minutes. When she relaxed, I let her go. Her confusion upset me.  'Why are you mad, baby?' she asked, concerned.

Whatever the cause for the activity at The Lighthouse, the smartest solution was to vacate.

I warned Hollace, at the end, but I doubt he listened.

"My friend, if you think you can go up against the darkest forces in this universe when you can't even hold a job as a fuckin' dishwasher... Brother, you're gonna lose."

.

Elena and I were in my bedroom.

"God gave me a dream about you last night," Elena said, her voice strained

"And?"

"You've got to get out of this house. I think Hollace is going to try and hurt you. It was a horrible dream. Jack was barking and snarling, and Hollace went after you."

"I don't know what's wrong with him. Do you think he'd really attack me?"

"That's not all. In another dream, my children and I are searching for you. We can't find you anywhere, and we're scared. We keep searching, and we finally find you," Elena says, gesturing to the corner, "You're in that closet, hanging upside-down and you're not moving. Baby, I've talked to my parents, and they want you to move into their house. We're concerned for you. Please move out of here and stay with us."

"They seriously want me to live there?"

"Yes."

"If I leave, what's Hollace going to do? What do I even say?"

"We'll think of something. I don't feel safe here."

.

The following night, I arrived home late. Elena wasn't there. As I entered, I saw Will coiled on the couch, subtly on guard, 'Go easy,' he said. I frowned and looked up at the loft; Hollace laid there, brandishing a samurai sword, and muttering unintelligible phrases.

"How long's this been going on?" I asked, not taking my sight off Hollace.

"For a bit," he said

"What's he saying?"

"It's just.... babble."

Hollace sat up and stared at me. He raised the samurai sword up like a rifle, aiming the tip of it at my face. He glared down the length of the blade, with a sick grin. He held it there, pointed at me.

"Will, let's go outside and have a talk," I said, motioning to the door

We both took a deep breath and lit a cigarette. Hollace had to go, despite any plans Elena and I made. While he and I talked, Hollace was inside, thrusting the sword into a wall. He slipped and cut his hand.

.

The next day, I found the words to tell Hollace of my departure, when he surprisingly beat me to it, stating he was moving to Utah to be with his family. He felt awful for abandoning me, unaware that I plotted to vanish, myself.

It struck me how lucid and sober Hollace acted. I recognized the man I'd known for a decade; his personality restored. We had a heartfelt conversation in the kitchen, about the history of our friendship. Was this a goodbye? He wanted to read a passage from his journal and asked me to record it. We set up a camera on the porch, with Will shining a light out of frame.

Before he read it, Hollace stated, "It all has a purpose, well timed. All like lining up in these weird cycles, in such coincidences. Everything just pops up, it lines up, to certain sequences of other past situations in life and it just continues to roll on and on. The only reason I stopped doubting is that that the coincidences and the synchronicities are just like..." he trailed off, lost in memory, then said, "I hope this place made a difference. That was my intent with this whole fucking thing. I wanted a gypsy landing pad."

"What did you want to read?" I asked

He picked up his journal and began,

Slipping through cracks is especially on the regular menu - switching headspace is a breath of fresh air - one must not forget - hands - once spoken – twice – thrice - entwined words we say - caught in a paradox – duality – confined in a confined space - pair of beautiful doves - in site of the same line - two birds with one stone - if not four - one or the other - in the same choice - drastic difference in the fork of the road - heart paralyzed in absolute beauty of indecision - left or rights - none refundable

.

Later, I tossed my keys to Will.

"You're the caretaker now, my friend."

"What's the landlord going to say?"

"She'll be fine."

Will once asked if he could sleep on our floor – and we gave him the whole house.

In mid-January, I unceremoniously packed my things into the cabin of my truck, leaving my sleeping mat behind, 'We've got a real bed now, buddy,' I said to Jack.

.

Neckties.

I hadn't had a job that required neckties, nor a person I sought to impress by wearing them. Now the necktie I chose from my collection readied me for the day.

It was my third week at a department store I'll refer to as 'Gerald's.' I had no experience in the retail industry or with the rules of a corporate company. The job brought me out of my comfort zone, which I liked. Management guaranteed me six hours a week – for the rest, I had to hustle. An online listing showed the understaffed areas for each shift, so I had to have initiative. I racked up hours storewide, learning my strengths; I had good sales at the wristwatch counter.

The one department closed to the scheduling system was the Fine Jewelry bay. It stood as an island with its own politics. I got intimidated walking by it; the stern women who ran it got locked in there, day in and day out.

Elena persisted in making me the best-dressed person on staff. She bought me a sharp modern suit and helped me select a new wardrobe. I developed an affinity for neckties and other accessories. I had my eye on a silver and white Bulova watch; it was pricey enough to be on display behind the fine jewelry counter, out of my reach and budget. My philosophy is that every man should have a well-crafted watch.

.

I still had the notion of becoming a makeup artist. With Elena as my teacher, I got shown the basics of application, and the proper use of brushes. She put complex makeup on half of her face, and then I would duplicate it on the other. It felt natural to me. I loved the intimacy of it; maybe a bit too much. It was so sensual, with her as my model, that we couldn't resist jumping each other's bones. To further my education, I needed a mentor that I wasn't compelled to have sex with. I sat in on sessions with various artists, each with their own style and technique, and compiled methods.

For a weekend escape, and much-needed privacy, I rented out a bed-and-breakfast in the small town of Star. It had a French design to it, with a cozy wine bar on the ground floor. The room was spacious and decorated with antique furniture. Elena had a makeup artist stop by to give me a tutorial. I put a camera on a tripod, to record her lesson for reference.

Elena had considered thrift stores as beneath her standards, though she had a second opinion when she saw the clothes I scored for pennies on the dollar - old Isaac Mizrahi blazers and classic Oscar de la Renta cardigans. In a town called Emmett, while we were on an escape, I discovered a vintage Prada handbag for a mere $25, when it was well worth $500.

.

I came to Boise craving independence, and now I was more de-pendent than ever. I relied on the kindness of a family I barely knew, with a cultural divide, in an economically poor town, on the western edge of Idaho. The saving grace was that I had Elena and Jack. Maybe a break from the city was needed, I thought and resolved to keep a positive outlook.

Vegan eateries were limited, save for a tiny Mexican spot called Rey del Taco. The young girl that ran the kitchen fawned over Elena and me as a couple and cooked us food with love.

Orrin and I quit the cafe amid growing discontent, in March and April, respectively. The business permanently closed its doors within a year. Orrin landed a ground level job at the post office and started earning real money. I was hungry for a new skill set, and although I didn't view Gerald's as a career path, there were chances for education and advancement.

.

I had a fondness for old, run-down, dive bars. Elena was surprised at how much she enjoyed them. Cheap booze, humble people, and you could smoke indoors since the laws in Caldwell were different than Boise. When the two of us walked in, we turned heads.

"You may be the classiest thing this joint has ever seen," I'd say to her, out of the corner of my mouth.

"They probably think we're European."

"If they ask, tell them we're touring America with our band."

We'd go to our favorite bar, The Tavern, order two whiskey cokes with lime, and unwind. We found solace in that ritual. Jack sat in with us once and ordered water on the rocks.

Elena got betrayed by her lifelong friend, Bethany, whom I did not like to begin with. We discovered she'd been receiving money from Scott, in exchange for information on Elena, and our relationship. When Elena confronted Bethany, she flew into a rage, eventually admitting to the charge.

"Why? Why would you do that to me?" Elena pleaded

"Because I deserve nice things too, Elena!" was her response

Bethany then sent me a private message on Facebook, stating that she'd have my head cut off and my body burned. She accused me of being extremely abusive and controlling of Elena, who was shocked when I showed her the text.

We tried to find humor, at our customary table in The Tavern.

"Does she not realize," I said, "that if I told you what shoes to wear, that you'd scream at me for three days?"

"I know right!" Elena laughed

"Am I abusive to you?"

"No. Not at all! You're a kind and gentle man. Where does she get this shit?"

"I don't know. I guess she's projecting her own failed relationships onto us."

"Probably. She thinks all men are evil."

"We know some quality people, love."

.

Then, we got a package in the mail containing documents from Scott's lawyers. He filed charges against Elena, claiming we'd caused him distress, and he demanded custody of Aidan, along with child support. As Elena had an emotional talk with her parents, I thumbed through the stack of papers, absorbing what I could.

Halfway through, I saw a photocopy of the letter I'd written to Elena, and posted online. The lawyers had seized on it and were using my words to hurt us. They took words written out of love and distorted them to present Elena as an uncaring mother, and me a destructive influence in the lives of the children.

It sickened me. What had I done?

Their legal battle was a war of attrition - Scott had broken Elena's bank. Her lawyers were working pro bono, all her savings gone. She couldn't fight any longer.

I was personally involved in a dangerous game.

How high were the stakes?

Ultimately, we lost Aidan. He went to California to live with Scott. Elena forced one stipulation: that Scott employ a doctor to help Aidan overcome his troubles. Elena wanted the move at least to be beneficial for her son. It was a binding contract that Scott would not fulfill.

.

Scott became obsessed. His lawyers raided the social media accounts of my family and friends, pulling any photos that gave the impression of me as unstable or of low moral character. He'd call Elena's cell phone while she worked, and if she turned her phone off, he'd call her on the company line, 'Why do you like Logan?' he'd demand, 'What does he have that I don't?! Does he fuck you better than me?! Is that it?' The calls would rain in, putting Elena in bad standing with her employers.

Elena and I erased our Facebook accounts. We agreed to tighten our circles, and not speak candidly or carelessly to anyone. We no longer went to Boise, except for our jobs. I seldom texted Orrin and Will. Elena texted her friend Mandy, whom I viewed as a trustworthy and caring person. Beyond that, we went into hiding.

"I think I'm justified in pressing charges, Elena!" I said, losing my cool

"Logan, we have to keep building a case. My lawyers document everything this asshole does. "

"Can I go on the record with your lawyers and tell them my side? I'm part of this now."

"Yes, I talked to my lawyers, and they think it's about time to bring you in. Soon, baby. We have to be patient and trust in God."

.

We lived for four-and-a-half-months under the roof of her parent's house. They were colorful folks, like watching a religious soap opera. Concussively loud. They'd admonish me for remaining quiet as if it were a personality defect.

Her parents were overly generous to me. I was not to miss a meal, and if I were running late to work, they'd send me out the door with an awkward plate of food in my hand. They cosigned for a new iMac computer, to help me further my art. I had no credit card, as I don't believe in spending borrowed money. I did understand that if Elena and I conceived a child, it would be critical for me to have an established line of credit. Thus I had to start somewhere.

I knew I'd fall out of favor with her parents if the drinking didn't stop. Elena and I didn't dare to face that problem. We were high functioning alcoholics, with addictive personalities.

We worked hard, and drank hard, with no healthy means to alleviate our stress. My failure is that I saw our alcoholism as a physical addiction, and our quitting as a physical process. I convinced myself that we could overcome it with willpower and discipline.

.

'Do you want to have a cigarette with me?' Elena would ask when her folks went to bed. They didn't approve of her smoking, so we'd sneak out like school kids and sit in the grass, cuddled up against the side of the house, and whisper to each other. In those moments, I learned the most about her.

"Did you have a dream about Issachar?" I asked

"Yes, how did you know?

"You said her name. You were giggling, and caressing the air."

Elena smiled, "We were playing around and laughing. She was so beautiful."

"She was happy?"

"Yes, she was."

"Good."

We'd pass the cigarette back and forth. She'd often get distracted and forget to share, apologizing for her manners. Elena would tell me how much she needed me, and how lost she'd be without my love.

Guilt weighed heavily on Elena. With Aidan's birth, she sank into postpartum depression, which led to a breakdown, and her threatening to kill herself and drown the children. She believed Scott and his family manipulated and pushed her to desperate acts. Scott had her committed to an institution.

Would I ever hear the full story? I doubted it. Instead, I focused on Elena's regret and pain; that was real. She loved her children dearly and wasn't capable of hurting them.

"You're an incredible mom, Elena," I said

"You give me so much strength."

"My brother had a wild dream about me,"

"What is it about?"

"He dreamt that I died and left a 'monument' that baffled and inspired all who saw it."

.

A bar in the old downtown district shared a hallway with a hair salon; the smell of acetone was horrible. Hairspray was lingering in that hall from 1980. You held your breath entering from the street and tried not to vomit from the acrid air. As you hurried down the hall, taking a left into the sealed off bar. The aroma of smoke and liquor brought welcome relief. 'Do you want to go somewhere nice, or a dive bar?' I'd ask Elena, gauging her mood. 'A dive bar!' she'd usually reply.

The bar itself had dim lighting, with a lot of red coloring. A darkened staircase ascended to a locked iron gate - presumably an office. A retired boxer owned the place; photos of him in his fighting days hung on the walls. He may have been handsome at one point.

We got regularly served by the same waitress. She'd ask us to forgive her beforehand for her mistakes, saying, 'It's my first day, guys.' (She told us that for months.)

If they had a good stout beer on tap, Elena ordered that, and I stuck to a pilsner.

"Baby, are you alright?" she asked

"Yeah. Worn out," I said, withdrawn

"Me too. What are you thinking about?"
"That I'm tired of drinking every night. We're better than this."

She quietly reflected, "You're right."

"I'm not saying we need to quit, I know I can't, but we have to slow it down."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Maybe if we drank on the weekends? I don't know."

"We can try. The kids are coming to visit in three weeks, and I don't want to be drinking when they're around, anyway."

"Neither do I, but what happens when they leave? We're gonna get depressed, and drink more to compensate. We need another outlet."

I paused, taking a drag off my cigarette.

"I know you want the kids back," I continued, "but that's obviously not going to happen right now. So, we can either drink ourselves to death or get our shit together. We're not in a position to take care of them if they did live with us."

Elena nodded in agreement.

"I've been thinking of going back to school, to get my degree," Elena said

"So have I."

"For what?"

"Floral design. It's the one passion that's stuck with me through my life, so maybe that's a sign I should do it professionally."

"That would be great, baby. I'll talk to my parents. They can help us with tuition."

.

On the way home, we parked on an old country road and had sex in the car. We stripped in the back seat. 'We need to have lots of fun before the kids get here,' she said licking my neck. We were insatiable.

As we finished together, oncoming headlights washed the interior of the car.

"Shoot, this is private property!" she said

"We can't get dressed that fast!"

"Put your shirt on!" she said, reaching for hers.

We climbed over the seats, and she got behind the wheel. The truck passed.

"I think the windows were foggy enough, they didn't see anything!" she said

"Let's get outta here, shall we?"

.

It's easy, amidst the drama, to forget the lighthearted days Elena and I shared. It was 'life,' plain and simple, and that's what made them so great.

We'd coast, riding those times, marking special memories on a calendar as our holidays, so in hindsight, we'd remember that it wasn't all difficult. Those underappreciated days served to bind us.

"I love you more than yesterday,"

we'd tell each other.

"Do you still love me?"

"More than yesterday."

"How much more?"

"Ten times more."

Our periods of happiness tended to end with someone trying to put a wedge between us. Elena's mother had a vision appear before her, in the middle of the afternoon, while cleaning the house. She claimed it as a vision from God, and described an image of Elena against a black cross; her face deathly pale. In one hand, Elena held me – and in the other hand, the children. Her mother interpreted it as a dire warning and told Elena she might have to make a choice.

The vision disturbed Elena. It planted a seed in her mind, despite my research showing opposing interpretations.

.

Elena and I carried on, each day feeling like a test, undeterred by the words of others.

"I'm starting to look rather British," I remarked, surveying my wardrobe, as I got dressed.

Elena laughed, "You're my handsome British lover!"

"Right, but I'm not British."

"You are now! No one can tell the difference!"

"Ridiculous."

"What department are you working in today?"

"I am a shoe salesman. A bunch of assholes are in that area, so I fit in."

"You know what I love about you, baby?"

"You finally found something?"

"You're such a chameleon. No matter what environment you're in, you adapt," Elena said, snapping her fingers, "It's amazing. I just walk into places with my big mouth and piss everybody off."

We texted each other incessantly; words of love, encouragement and sexual innuendo. It kept our blood pumping. Our coworkers imagined we led glamorous lives when our routine was to lock ourselves in a room, with a few bottles of cheap wine, and binge-watch Gordon Ramsay's Hell's Kitchen.

My job at Gerald's was going well. I'd proven myself to be reliable and hardworking. I didn't have to dig for hours – department heads were calling my number.

"How's your day?" Elena texted

"Well, I coordinated a funeral, then I helped a gentleman get a suit fitted for his wedding. Then I taught a group of grown men how to tie a tie. The cycle of life, and all that shit."

"Oh my gosh."

"That's nothing compared to what I'm doing now."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm helping a woman find a bow-tie for her dog."

"Where is she?"

"In the dressing room with the dog."

.

At home, an incident occurred known historically as 'Jack Dog Vs. Jose The Handyman.' – In that legendary bout, street-fightin' Jack walked with the title. It occurred early, at 8 am. I wasn't notified by Elena's parents that a maintenance man would be repairing a sprinkler system in the fenced backyard since they forgot the date themselves. I woke up hungover and opened the sliding glass door for Jack so he could do his business. I headed to the bathroom.

I heard a man scream in abject terror, and I ran out to the yard. There stood a Mexican man with the right pant leg of his Levi jeans ripped clean off. He brandished a dinky PVC pipe, his face contorted in fear. I looked at Jack - the piece of clothing was on the lawn in front of him.

"Go easy, Jack," I said, thinking the man might be robbing us, since he hopped the fence illegally, "Who are you?" I shouted.

"Como?"

"Jack, GET HIM!"

"YES!" thought Jack

It was ON.

"AIIEEEE!!" The man screamed

He dropped the pipe, turned, and ran towards the fence. He knew it was futile to try and climb it – there was no time - Jack would tear his ass down. The man opted to bank left, and ran the length of the yard, yelling in vain for Jack to heel. The man's desperate bid to get distance wasn't happening for him. They did circles around the yard.

At this point, Elena's father came out demanding answers.

"Jack, leave it!" I commanded

He ran over to me with a grin of absolute pride.

"Who are you?" her father asked, "What are you doing in my yard?"

The man coughed and gagged, trying to get the breath to speak, "I'm..... Jose.... The Handyman."

I brought Jack in the house while her father and Jose had words. Jack, however, just needed a quick break. When her father partially reopened the sliding glass door, Jack launched out. It was ON.

"Oh no!" screamed Jose, turning once again to flee to the fence. Jack darted after him. Jose banked right, opting for the marginal security of a tree. Jack chased him around the tree before I could get out the door to call him off.

The man threatened to sue us until Elena's mother got involved. She verbally tore the man to shreds, exclaiming that 'Jack was a good dog protecting his family, and what do you think you're doing climbing over our fence?' She picked up the man's pant leg off the grass and handed it to Jose, then instructed him to leave.

Jose the Handyman left the property a broken man. Debased. Humiliated. Traumatized. Jack, the victor, spent the rest of the afternoon laying in the sun, keeping a close watch for Jose's return. That, of course, wasn't a concern.

.

We needed a vacation. For Elena's birthday, I told her to pack her things; we were going on a road trip, with Jack. I rented a private cabin, in the town of Mccall, on the southern shore of Payette Lake.

It was gorgeous. The air crisp and clean. The lake shimmered a bright, pale blue; a gentle ripple of waves covered its surface, moving from the east with a steady breeze. A forest of green pines rushed up the face of the mountains; the peaks streaked with snow.

Sounds were vibrant. I remember the rough crackling of the gravel road leading to the cabin. The sharpness of the key in the door. The smile on our faces as we settled in, 'This is so nice, thank you, lover.'

Our energy; warm and illuminated. Nothing could touch our happiness. We relaxed in each other's arms, on our bed for the night, while Jack found his spot on the couch.

.

We walked the main street, alongside the coastline, her hand in mine. It was the offseason, and the solitude made it seem like the town got placed there for us. I reached into my coat pocket, checking to see if the engagement ring was secure. Would it fit? Yes, it would. Our hands were the same size.

We stepped into a bar for a drink and asked the bartender for a nearby restaurant that served vegan dishes. He suggested Chinese food at The Red Pavilion. It had lower level had dockside seating. We were the only patrons and ordered spicy meals to share. I did my best to teach Elena proper chopsticks techniques, that being a comical routine of ours. She refused to read her fortune cookie. We picked up ice, fruit, and liquor from a market, for cocktails at the cabin.

.

That night it rained lightly, as we sat on the porch, looking out to the lake. We felt at peace.

"Give me your hand," I said

She reached out. I took her hand, turning her palm upwards. I slipped her the ring and closed her fingers around it.

"Elena, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to help you raise your children and be apart of their lives. I promise to love and protect all of you, as a family."

I released her hand, and she opened it to see the ring.

"Will you marry me, Elena?"

Tears filled her eyes, as she nodded.

"Yes!" she said, kissing me, pulling me close.

We were going to prevail.

.

In the morning, we walked on clouds, seeing the sights. We had a vegan breakfast with coffee, went to a bookstore, and admired the historical architecture of the buildings, savoring each moment of our company.

During the drive home, we stopped at a roadhouse for a cold beer. I asked the woman if they had a drink menu, and she, along with a few other people laughed at me, 'It's a beer bar, honey. What you see is what we got,' she said gesturing to the taps. Elena got upset they spoke to me so rudely. We took our beer to a table in the corner, and I excused myself to use the restroom.

When I returned, her beer was untouched.

"Let's leave," she said, curtly

"What's wrong, love? Did they say something to you while I was gone?" I asked, in the car

"I want to honor what God has blessed me with," she said, "I don't want to drink anymore."

I'd hoped to hear her say that. Would it last? I didn't know - But, her heart was in its place.

.

We eagerly awaited the visit from the children. Admittedly, I got nervous to meet Hetty. I prepared myself for a headstrong and spoiled little girl. Would she accept me? Elena feared Scott would play his games and switch the pickup dates at the last minute. Elena's father had poor health and was in no condition to drive to California to get the kids, yet Scott forced him anyway. Elena stayed home for legal reasons.

When the car pulled into the driveway, Elena and I went out to greet them. Hetty was half asleep, and Elena carried her into the house.

"Hi, Hetty. I'm Logan," I said introducing myself

She gazed at me, rubbing her tired eyes, "Hello, sir. I'm happy to meet you."

Hetty endeared herself to me instantly.

.

The kids lived with us for a brief three days, when a violent fight broke out. The initial arguing was in a foreign language. I won't tolerate fighting in front of children. Hetty and Aidan were in the room, confused over the yelling.

"Hetty, sweetheart," I said, kneeling to her eye level, "I need you to take your brother and go to our bedroom, ok?" I said, ushering them down the hall. I went back to the argument between Elena and her parents.

"I have no idea what you people are saying, but you're scaring the kids," I said

Her father moved past me, to the bedroom. Then Elena's mother went off on me.

"And YOU!" she exclaimed, pointing her finger, "YOU work for Scott, too!"

"What?!" Elena said in shock, "Mom, that's too much! What are you talking about?!"

"What did you say to me?" I said, rage seething inside of me

"You work for Scott! I know it! Always so quiet, watching us always!" she snarled, nearly hyperventilating

"Are you out of your fucking mind, lady?" I said, my eyes hunting her relentlessly

She got in my face, despite Elena's effort to stop her, "Don't you speak to me like that, boy! You show me respect!"

"Lady, I've shown you all the respect you deserve. How dare you accuse me of working for Scott!"

"You do!"

"Mom, please stop this!" Elena pleaded

"I may be quiet, but you don't know when to shut your mouth."

her father strong-armed me from behind and dragged me out the front door.

"You work for Scott!?" he bellowed, "You work for Scott!? Get out of my house! Get out!" I could feel his labored breathing. His left eye had popped a blood vessel, and his socket was bleeding.

Elena came to my aid, and her father grabbed her upper arms and started shaking her violently, yelling at her. She begged him to stop. I went into the house, and saw Hetty in the room, crying miserably. Goddamit. I yanked him off Elena and slammed him against the wall.

"If you touch her again, I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

I knew in those seconds that a single sharp jab to his stomach could rupture his distended internal organs. In that moment, I held his life in my hands.

Why was I thinking like this? Who the fuck was I becoming?

Those Small Hours

For two months we drifted. They were slightly more gracious to Elena, who had seven days to vacate.

Scott got word of our eviction and wanted Hetty and Aidan returned to California immediately. I could not accept that. I wasn't going to let that sonofabitch win. I had to save the visit for Elena and the kids. I encouraged her to spend those seven days with them and to put out the fire with Scott, while I found a solution. I left Jack in her care.

Orrin set me up for a night, in his city apartment. He lived with his girlfriend, Danielle, and I didn't like to intrude. I couldn't count on any of my contacts; it seemed inevitable I end up at The Lighthouse.

.

Will didn't have roommates, preferring solitude. He and I knew the house wouldn't be safe for the children, though he felt indebted to me for sheltering him in the winter.

It was strange, walking around that property; memories came to me like half-remembered dreams. I couldn't escape that place. I didn't dwell on my feelings, or they might have consumed me. I felt uncertainty creeping in at the edges.

"Alright, hear me out," Will said, handing me a cigarette

I lit it up and waited.

"You can move in with my ex-wife," he said

"That's the woman I heard you calling a psycho?"

"Yes it is," he said flatly

"I'm not sold yet."

"Look, there's a lot of bad blood between Karen and me. But, she's a good woman. That's why I married her and had two kids with her. We've talked, and she wants to help you guys. I can only introduce you, though, so you've gotta take it from there. She's going to have questions."

"What's the house like?"

"It's a good size. Plenty of room and Elena's kids will have playmates with my two daughters. My youngest is the same age as Hetty. And there's a fenced backyard for Jack. He should get along with my dog, Leah.

I thought for a minute.

"Call her up."

Karen agreed to take us in, and provide safe housing for the children. I hadn't delivered the news to Elena yet. In my truck, I took a moment for myself, resting my forehead on the steering wheel. I would've cried if I weren't too exhausted. I missed the freedom of the open road. My truck gave me grief while I lived in Utah. I wasn't sure she'd get Jack and I out of town, never mind thousands of miles across the country. She didn't fail me, though. I admired her for that.

The past winter took its toll on my truck, with the drive from Boise to her parents home. Now we faced the commute from Garden City. I knew she couldn't hold up much longer, and gas costs were high.

When Elena and I arrived at Karen's house, she offered us her large master bedroom, relegating herself to the couch. We felt guilty, but she was adamant.

.

Scott fucked off, and the children reentered the picture. We treated the whole experience as an adventure or a sleep-over with friends. They had fun playing with Karen's daughters, in spite of the confusing transition. Hetty wondered if she'd done something wrong to cause the fight, and Elena explained it wasn't her fault.

I'm sure Hetty, accustomed to living in mansions, got disappointed with Karen's house, though she kept her manners. Hetty realized her upbringing was privileged. We earned our money, unlike her trust-fund father, and Hetty learned the value in that. Aidan felt content wherever, on the condition he had his iPad, though he discovered playing in a sandbox could be equally fascinating.

The children adjusted fast, and opened up to us, in their brilliance. Hetty, curious as can be, never tired of drilling me with questions, especially when she noticed the engagement ring on her mother's finger. I'd be honest with her, even while blushing.

Hetty spontaneously started calling me 'Loulou.' We weren't sure why, but I adored it. I said to Elena,'Someday, she'll stop calling me that, and it's going to devastate me.'

Elena radiated happiness; Hetty and Aidan were her life. In their company, I saw the woman I had fallen in love with and wanted to marry.

"I think you gave my mom magic tea!" Hetty exclaimed when Elena wasn't nearby

"Oh yeah? How's that?" I asked

"I've never seen her in such a good mood!" she said, "She didn't used to smile like that!"

"Well, I did give your mom magic tea, but I've got a problem."

"What?"

"I drank some of it myself," I said, wincing

"OH NO!" she said, shocked, "How much did you drink?!"

"A LOT."

"Oh my gosh!" she said, slapping her hands on her cheeks, "You're in so much trouble!"

"I know. You've gotta help me. I don't know what to do!"

"Ok, Loulou! I'll help you!"

The kids brought out the best in us. Life was light; like a soft outline. Through them, we saw everything fresh and new. I would've gone to any lengths, without question, for Hetty and Aidan

Elena's fight for custody became my fight.

.

Aidan's thinking made us all a bit envious; he viewed the world in a pure form. He enjoyed the soundtrack of Terrence Malick's film, 'Tree of Life.' We had it on constant rotation, with the compositions arranged on a playlist.

When we managed to pry Aidan from his robots, he loved going to the park to chase the ducks. When the four us walked together, he would silently take my hand. I imagined him older, going to the park to think his best ideas, with some bread in his pocket. We did an impromptu photo shoot with Elena's phone, capturing the day's events.

Aidan got scared in department stores. So did I, for that matter, so we stuck to outdoor activities, making sure to put sunscreen on his mom so she wouldn't burn in the summer sun.

We had a great afternoon at the zoo; Aidan held my hand until the crowds overwhelmed him, then he'd want his mom. Hetty dragged me around and we laughed at the monkeys. The reptiles grossed her out, of course, even though she was intrigued. Aidan liked feeding the goats and giggled at the sounds they made. Elena and I gave each other loving glances.

.

There's a country club in Boise where Elena used to bring Aidan. I had no intentions of going there, yet Scott saw fit to have me barred from it for life. He spoke to the owners, and they wouldn't allow me on the premises. Perhaps Scott didn't want his golfing buddies seeing me with his ex-wife, buying his son ice cream.

Jack adored Hetty. He got completely enamored with her. I'd never been so proud of Jack, who behaved like a proper gentleman. He followed that little girl wherever she'd go, protecting her. He'd sleep beside her at night. The two of them watched videos, while Hetty petted and talked to him. It took a lot to win Jack's heart – and Hetty won it in spades.

Aidan moved rapidly compared to the other kids, which gave Jack anxiety. However, the boy was prone to dropping vegan pizza, so Jack remained on standby, from a distance.

The children slept, bundled on the bed between me and Elena, who'd crawl over next to me, and kiss my neck..

.

My hard work at Gerald's paid off when the manager of the fine jewelry department approached me, as I sized a watch. She was an older woman who had no time for bullshit.

"Logan, me and the gals in jewelry have been talking about you. I'm impressed by your numbers. You have a good sales record, and you open a lot of new accounts."

"Thanks."

"You come in looking sharp. I like that," she said with a wink, "We were wondering if you'd be interested in a position behind the counter in fine jewelry."

I didn't know what to say - I at least got out an affirmative 'yes.'

In her office, I got a summation of what the job entailed. She wanted to be confident I knew the full extent of what I'd signed up for. The company did a background check, which didn't bother me; I had no criminal record. I gained security clearance, then did protocol training.

I met the Loss Prevention team, who monitored us with surveillance cameras. An undercover agent, Marco, patrolled the counter and retail floor. He did a commendable job. I enjoyed seeing him get the drop on shoplifters. I received combinations to the safes, containing roughly $750,000 worth of jewelry. Also, a set of keys, strictly assigned to me, to be secured around my wrist while on duty.

Three months ago, I was a departmental errand boy with six scheduled hours a week. Now, I had the key to the master safe.

.

I had an anxious first day - getting thrown into the cage with those stern women. I didn't want them to see me as a young blood trying to steal their commissions. I'd remain a decade behind them in experience, and expected one hell of a learning curve up ahead. I vowed to be useful, and retain whatever lessons they were willing to teach.

They called the counter The Shark Tank. As I stepped in, a loud buzzer signaled my entrance. I closed the gate behind me and introduced myself to the women, who, as it turned out, were not stern at all; they were four of the most wonderful people I have ever known.

They lavished me with information - and homemade cookies. Also, fresh vegetables from their gardens, knitted hats, and Baklava from family recipes. They shared their stories, with as much acerbic wit and jaded humor that I could carry with both hands. In short, they adopted me and treated me like a son. It honored me.

They taught me customer psychology, tricks of the trade, and crash courses in gemology, and diamond quality. Hell, they knew every woman within a hundred miles that had too much of their husband's money - and how some of them thrilled in buying jewelry from men.

.

Hetty and Aidan's visitation ended, and Elena's father drove them to California. Elena sank into depression. I anticipated that and did my best to keep her spirits up, though I failed. I desperately tried to find us an apartment. I thought if we could establish a home, a space that belonged to us, it would mitigate the stress in our relationship.

Karen asked us to divide our time between her home and The Lighthouse, and we obliged, expressing our gratitude for her hospitality. Every two or three days, Elena and I packed up our cars, and either moved to Boise, or Garden City. We endured that process for weeks, and by the tenth rotation from city to city, Elena and I felt utterly defeated.

The four of us adults did have memorable evenings. Elena taught Karen's eleven-year-old daughter the basics of cooking and knife skills. She was a bright girl, and curious about the two enigmatic lovers, who usurped her mother's bedroom.

One night, I converted their kitchen into a sushi bar and treated them to my favorite specialties. I loved catering parties. Moments like that lifted morale. Karen's children were hesitant to taste the sushi, and she advised them, 'Someday you'll appreciate what he's doing.' I was known for my vegan futomaki roll when I rolled sushi professionally, which delighted Elena.

Jack had an ideal companion in Leah, Will's shaggy dog. The two of them had mock battles in the yard. Jack crashed to the ground submissively, while Leah pounced on him, causing them both to roll in the dirt, hollering like puppies, until they collapsed in the shade.

.

Will and Karen's attempts at reconciliation couldn't move past the old wounds and cycles of abuse. It pained Elena and I to listen to them argue. We'd sneak out, and go to a nearby Irish pub.

During our rotations at The Lighthouse, Elena and I stayed active. The energy of that house had such sadness to it; like it heard your whispers. It was eerily quiet, which we counteracted with conversation, music, and sex. We resumed going on romantic dates in a growing downtown.

Will related a disturbing story of Hollace.

"So, when I cleaned out the loft," Will said, "I found remains of animals."

"Jesus, Will."

"Yeah. I don't know what he was doing up there, but it sheds light on the fly problem you guys were having, doesn't it?"

Will officially gave up on his relationship with Karen, and began seeing a younger girl. I knew nothing about her, other than she was apparently on heavy medication. Elena had a couple of talks with her on the porch.

I didn't care about Will's sex life or marital problems; they weren't my business. Will and Karen sent each other brutal text messages with regularity and, unlike me, Elena chose sides. She and Karen drank, and Elena instigated matters further, priming Karen for emotional decisions.

I stumbled upon a third-floor apartment within our budget, and minutes from our jobs. It shared a fence with Ann Morrison Park, with an area to walk Jack. The property management dragged its feet on the remodeling and they refused to let me see inside, or show a demo, expecting me to rent the unit sight unseen.

I signed a year lease and put down a heavy deposit, based on a black and white photograph printed on paper.

At the last minute, they pushed our move-in date by three weeks. Those twenty-one days of constant shuffling passed like an eternity. The drinking escalated, and Karen was Elena's new partner. They commiserated for hours, winding themselves up into a hyper-emotional frenzy, which I'd suffer the brunt of.

She'd say cruel things, like 'Do you even think of the baby we lost?!' Elena was sure I still harbored love for my ex, and that she and I were secretly married. She had her lawyers do a background check on me.

"Elena, have I ever said I'd leave you?"

"No."

"Have I ever said that I was going to give up on you?"

"... No."

"Then why is my commitment being called into question, when you accuse me of shit like this and break up with me every other fucking night?"

Sometimes, Elena couldn't have the final word.

.

Karen inherited the wardrobe of a deceased relative, keen on fashion. She had her daughter bring out a box of the woman's vintage clothing for Elena to model. They fit as if tailored to her form. The three of them played dress-up. I passively watched the fun.

Will came through the front door, and approached me.

"Come outside," he said

We stood in the dark driveway.

"Scott's SUV is back," Will said gravely

"What?" I said in frustration

"It's been circling the house for the last two hours."

I rubbed my eyes. "You're certain of it?"

"Yes, I am. It had the same plates."

"The plates I warned you of?"

"Yes. Listen, these people have harassed you and Elena for over a year," Will continued, "and now they're threatening my family. It needs to stop. I'm not going to tolerate it."

"Understood."

Nothing more got said - I turned and walked into the house.

"Baby, look at this!" Elena, beamed

She wore a gorgeous floral print dress that seemed designed for her. Elena appeared beautifully, standing there. Her smile, so genuine. I couldn't ruin that moment. I didn't have the heart to tell her it had all started over. I commented how pretty she was, hoping to hide my pained expression.

I could write more on those sleepless nights. The anger and forgiveness.

The dreams, and wishes for tomorrow.

But, I'm sure you'd like to know how it finally came crashing down.

How the momentum spiraled out of control.

I'm sure you want to know why I began writing this book,

with a pen hidden in my sock, from the isolation chamber of Ada County Jail, while facing fifty years in prison.

All Perfect Light and Promises

To wake up naturally, in our warm bed, stretching our toes, in our quiet apartment. To kiss Elena's soft shoulder, waking her gently, so she'd roll onto my side of the bed. To have her drape her arm on me, and say she loved me. It made the hardships we'd endured worthwhile.

To start our day with love guiding us. To see her walk naked, and smiling, telling me her fantasies. To take a hot shower together, cleaning each other's bodies.

Elena would cook us breakfast, in our tiny kitchen. We'd sit at the dining table, or eat it in bed. She'd remark how it could've tasted better, even though it was perfect to me.

"What do you want to do tonight?" I'd ask

"Hang out. Drink wine. I just want to be with you, in our apartment."

"Sounds good, love."

I'd see her get dressed, and put her makeup on, grinning at me in the mirror. We'd drive to the same grocery store every day, and have a beer upstairs in their restaurant. Then pick up groceries and wine for the evening. She'd curse under her breath at people driving too poorly, and I'd laugh. We'd listen to the radio.

I'd uncork a bottle of wine, and pour each of us a glass before cuddling up on the luxurious couch her mother bought as a belated housewarming gift. We'd binge-watch Elena's favorite shows since she got offended by the dark programs that entertained me. Besides, I liked dramatic cooking competitions and lousy crime stories. We had fun cracking jokes.

"Wouldn't it be hilarious if they made one of these shows about us?" I mused, "Like ten years after the fact, with their information completely wrong!"

"Oh my gosh! What if they read our text messages in court?!" she gasped

"Oh dude, we'd be finished. Can you imagine?

We mocked the ominous narrator's voice;

"Logan was a pious man, with a strict temperament," I said, "That was a stark contrast to Elena and her hippy roots. She was a soft-spoken girl and a lover of animals. His love for fast cars and his wild lifestyle went against her modest values."

"His sexual deviance lead to many affairs," she added, giggling, "She liked to stay home and read books, but Logan wanted to hit the clubs! She was timid and lived in fear of the monster in her bed!"

Our small back porch became our new mecca. We lived on the third floor, and from our vantage point, we looked upon a ravine of trees. Jack was quite fond of it, sticking his nose between the wooden panels to breath in the smells.

Still, during those moments, that I learned the most about Elena.

"I love you," she'd say, with that flowing voice

"I love you, too."

"I love you so much... I'm so grateful to be with you."

She and I were forever connected, "You're my life, Elena."

"Are you all mine?"

"You have me. I'm all yours."

"You still love me?"

"More than yesterday, love."

"Sorry I'm such a bitch."

"Me too."

"You're a jerk," she'd laugh

"Hey, at least I got a smile."

"...You're such an amazing man."

Her words gave me butterflies, "And you're the woman I've always wanted."

She'd stare into my soul, with those gorgeous eyes.

"I can't wait until we're married, and we're living in our home, with the children," she'd say

"Things are going to get easier, Elena, We've been through so much, and we still love each other."

She often spoke of that house we would someday own; I used to see it as our future.

We'd go indoors, and perhaps make love on the stairs, leading up to our loft that we converted into a lounge.

I couldn't face that Elena and I were in a holding pattern.

.

Then, Elena lost her job, with few openings in town. With rent due, I also searched, to be safe; I wasn't about to let us get evicted. Elena felt like a failure, and I swore to take care of her, as she had done for me.

Stress dissolved our happiness – and we could not regain it.

.

October 5th \- 7:00 am. Elena and I went to bed, following an uneventful evening.

She sat up, with a start, woken by a dream. A confused expression spread over her face as if she didn't know who I was. The corners of her mouth were pulled back in fear, and she breathed shallowly.

"Elena, what's wrong?"

"I'm leaving," she said, throwing on her clothes

She picked up only two things to take with her – her Bible, and a large framed drawing of Aidan's. I plaintively asked her why. She panicked, and backed against the wall, awkwardly clutching at the picture frame.

"I'm not coming back," she said and rushed out the door

I let her go.

What should I have done? I was hurt and pissed off. I had to open the jewelry counter at Gerald's. As my shift progressed, anger gave way to indifference. I felt like a ghost, not wanting to be seen. Fortunately, there weren't any customers, and the gals weren't scheduled.

Then, my phone chimed with a text message from Will.

"Do you know where Elena is?" he asked

"I have no clue. She had another psychotic breakdown and left me," I replied

"Well, she's with Karen, causing serious fucking problems, telling her lies about my girlfriend. Now my girl wants to beat the shit out of Elena."

"I'm leaving work early and heading to your place."

.

I rested on the porch of The Lighthouse, talking to Will and his girlfriend. I studied the girl; her words were merely trash talk. She wasn't a viable threat. Will, on the other hand, talked of legal action, for complicating his custody battle with Karen. They had a right to be upset. So did I.

The emotions fleeted, however, and we discussed the matter rationally. I explained how incidents like this were becoming more frequent, and severe. I couldn't fight this battle on my own. I needed help.

"A month ago, Elena woke up and ran through the apartment screaming and laughing like a child, knocking shit off tables," I said, "I got afraid the neighbors might call the cops. In the morning, she had no memory of it."

"It sounds to me like she has a dissociative disorder, Logan, and I'm not saying that from a place of ignorance. I grew up around that," Will advised

It lessened my burden to share information, and tempers cooled off when they understood Elena's psychology.

"Well, shit. What's done is done," Will stated, "Do you want to walk with us to get some pizza and beer?"

"Sure. I'll chip in."

We brought the food to The Lighthouse, and relaxed, watching a movie. Things returned to normalcy, at least in that house.

"Y'all be safe," I said, as I closed the front door

I stood on that porch for a minute. Again, I had the sensation of memories swelling up like resurfaced dreams. It would be my last visit to The Lighthouse.

.

I hadn't heard from Elena. I called her mother, and she did not answer. I decided not to leave a message, thinking it may worsen the situation.

That night, I sat at the bottom of the stairwell, in the parking lot, breathing the autumn air. An elderly man approached me as if his sole purpose was to deliver me a message; it seemed unreal.

For a full hour, the man spoke, and I said nothing for the entirety of it. His negative words dismantled me. He didn't merely attack religion. He tore apart any belief in a higher power and scrutinized humanity's path, the church, birthrights, and lies perpetuated for centuries. As if to ask me for the acquiescence my very soul. He wouldn't be satisfied until I gave up. In him, there was no hope or the root of love and understanding. He had the bleakest worldview I'd encountered – or perhaps not – as he sounded like me when I was an over-educated teenage atheist.

Between his words, in the syntax, I could hear him say, 'Where'd you go wrong, kid? You had it figured out, and then you got weak and stupid. You fell for it.'

He finally walked off, and his suffocating presence lifted.

I went upstairs, snorted a painkiller, and opened a bottle of whiskey. I stood ashamed, in front of Jack. I'd never felt that empty. I realized that I had nothing to look forward to. All of my plans were based on Elena. I had no personal goals. Without her love, I was a shell of a human being.

I caught up on TV shows that Elena wouldn't let me watch, drinking shot after shot, wishing the pain to go for good.

I woke up on the floor, with Jack licking my face. My head lay pressed against the wall, and my neck stiff. I must've slumped off my chair and knocked myself out. I crawled to the bedroom and slid onto the bed. I desperately needed sleep. 'I'm sorry, Jack. Come and lay with me, buddy.'

6:52 am – my phone lit up with a text message from Elena.

"Nice to know you think I'm once again having a psychotic breakdown!?"

(Will had forwarded my text to Karen, who in turn showed it to Elena.)

"I'm staying out of this, Elena. Please stop."

"So what exactly have you said to your friend Will about me? All I've ever done is care about you and love you, but clearly, you've decided to take sides against me, with your friend!"

"You upset people yesterday. They wanted to hurt you. I don't know why you went to that house and stirred them up. I don't want to hear their negative conversations, and I don't want them involved in ours. Please keep me out of it. I'm depressed as it is."

"Who wants to hurt me?"

"Nobody anymore. I've calmed them down. I'm begging you to please stop getting involved in their lives."

"When you say those people, who are you talking about?"

"I refuse to fuel this fire. I'm done. If you want to have a civilized conversation with me, I'll be here. I need to get some sleep."

"You're a big-time coward! My life has been threatened, and I will send this text to my lawyers. If anything happens to me, my lawyers will know who to question! And I will send this text to my ex-husband. He has a right to know that his ex-wife is getting threatened!"

"Elena, their lives are not our business. And your life isn't threatened. Quit being ridiculous. Just let it lay. I'm no longer texting you."

"It upsets me that you never stand up for me! I stand up for you! My ex was right about you all along! I hate to admit it, but he was right! You've just been milking me this whole time ... 'I love you, Elena, I will do anything for you!' You never meant any of it! Well, hopefully, your friends will pay your bills and buy you nice clothes and sunglasses and a nice car and good food! I see that you're the type of person who feels he's entitled to these things. You are picking those people over me! That is how you stand up for me?! Asshole!"

"How you'd even think that is staggering to me. I've never not stood up for you, nor am I picking anyone over you. You've been the center of my life since I met you. I've fought beside you through everything. I'd never let anything happen to you. You know that in your heart. Please talk to me without anger. You're my best friend, and we are better than this. "

"I hope it was worth it, for you to stand by your friend and turn against your ex fianceé! So funny how you go against that hand that feeds you! And why did you call my mom and be a coward and not leave a message?"

"Elena, you can't storm out of the house at 7 am saying you're not coming back and expect me not to be upset. You can't. People say hurtful things in a space like that. I'm sorry I said that, but I felt angry at that moment. I think I had a right to be upset. I wanted to talk to your mom but didn't want to cause any further problems. I'm suffering from a lot of depression as well, and I need help. Life has not been easy for us at all, but I've never backed down. I do apologize for saying one hurtful text about you. It was out of place, and I was very frustrated and trying to do my job when Will texted me."

"My lawyers said if anything happens to me and you know who threatened me, they will seek out information. I sent them the text you stated about me having a psychotic breakdown, and I sent it to my ex-husband too!! I hope your decisions bring you a better life! You never loved me or cared about me! Obviously, your loyalty is somewhere else."

"That's so wrong, Elena. I left work immediately and went to assess the situation and calm things down - because I LOVE YOU, and how you've managed to twist that so severely, I can't understand. That's so unfair."

"You left work early to cater to Will and his girlfriend! Why didn't you leave work early to try to work things out with me? Shame on you. Now I am obliged to send these texts to my lawyers because you admit they were the people who were planning to hurt me! You fool! Thanks for giving me the information! Fuck you! Your as big a loser as him!"

"You're not even making sense, Elena. You've been avoiding Karen ever since we left, and going to her house is no different than me talking to Will. Why on earth did you have to get us involved with their problems again? Why couldn't you just come home and talk to me?"

"I've been avoiding Karen because you told me too!"

"No, Elena. We BOTH, as a couple, agreed to avoid both of them if they were going to bring negativity into our lives. And look. They're doing it again. If you'd just come home, things would be fine between us, and we'd be working things out. Doesn't all of this make you sick? I don't want to fight with you anymore."

"Too late! We are done! I hate to admit this, but Scott is so right about you! He warned me this would happen! You're friends with someone who is threatening my life ?! My lawyers said I shouldn't come to you because you are a threat too!"

"That wasn't the situation at all. They said nothing bad about you. They were just upset."

"Fuck you asshole! A man stands up for his woman! I feel sorry for your ex-wife having to deal with this shit! If she even is your ex-wife! I have action now to take this to the police and make a report!"

"What on earth are you talking? Why?"

"You left work early and drove there! A real man would've looked for his fiancée and been worried about her!"

"This is too much Elena. I gave you space because I thought you were at your parent's home. You said you were never coming back. Can you honestly tell me you would have wanted to see me if I went to Karen's?"

"It would've been nice, but you fucked up bad!"

"So did you."

"Oh, pity me! It's all about you! You always manipulate the situation! Stand up and be a man! Text Will and say I will no longer be friends with you! You disrespected my fiancé, soon to be ex. I would love to see that text, but of course, you don't have the balls! At least I know my ex-husband did! He was willing to stand up for me, you asshole!"

"You can't speak to me like this. Your behavior is out of control."

"Now it's my fault?! Yeah right, you're going send that text! Are you butt-hurt having to say goodbye to your best friend? You'd rather lose him than me!"

"Elena stop! It's unforgivable what all three of you have been saying for the last 24 hours! I've never fucking picked anybody over you! But, for a year you've accused over and over again of doing so!"

"Now your God???"

"What? Wow. You are unreachable."

"I've never met such a foolish man, willing to lose all that's good in his life over a fucking guy! What are you guys, gay fucking lovers?! I'm sending this to my lawyers! Violence?!"

"All of this is violent, Elena."

"When are you going to be at the apartment? I'm picking up my stuff."

"Can we have a real conversation?"

"I need to let my lawyers and Scott know what time I'm going there. This is serious stuff, and they are very concerned something could happen to me."

"You're going to be perfectly fine. You can come after I get home from work."

Elena opened the door and slammed her purse on the kitchen counter.

"So you wanna talk?!" she shouted

I did, though she obviously didn't want to listen. We argued for hours, and I got hit with an ultimatum - I had to apologize for my behavior, for her to consider staying with me. I had to write an email to Will, ending our friendship, and apologizing to him for what I said about her, and how wrong I was to do so.

Elena made no apologies. She felt that wasn't required – she'd done no wrong. It would be five months until she expressed a slight remorse for her actions. By then, however, I had changed.

The fight ended strangely, when I said to Elena, 'After all we've been through, and overcome, don't we owe it to ourselves to at least try to fix this?' Then I made an intentionally stupid remark, and she laughed. That was that. The ice cracked. We watched a television show. The next day she was pleasant, singing me love songs in her first language.

We changed our phone numbers.

.

I didn't trust Elena anymore. My respect for her deteriorated and got replaced with resentment. I maintained our relationship from a guarded distance.

I knew for certain that I would not allow myself to revisit that sense of profound emptiness. I wanted my life back. I started forming my own goals, striving to exist independently of her.

There was a second fundamental change - I stopped blaming myself for her transgressions.

.

Job interviews weren't panning out for either of us, and I made a sacrifice in auctioning my Canon camera. I dearly valued that machine; for a decade it had spoken on my behalf. I didn't anticipate using in the future and thus justified my selling it, covering the rent for a month. Elena, in turn, sold a high-end baby stroller that Aidan had outgrown. With the bills paid, I explored the job market.

Throughout my adult life, I've stopped and asked myself, 'What's the ballsiest thing I can do today?' I applied for jobs I wasn't remotely qualified for, and more often than not, I got hired. Thus, my mindset when I sought employment at United Bank, as a customer service representative in their call center. The salary position offered health insurance, monthly incentives, and paid vacations – yet every aspect of the job filled me with apprehension. That's why I applied for it.

I thought the interview went good, but I did not get the job. That irritated me, so I reapplied in the debt collecting department, which got me exceedingly further out of my comfort zone than the other position – and they hired me.  Three hundred people got interviewed, and twenty of us made the cut.

It involved eight weeks of intensive training, at forty hours per week. They did a background check and took my photo for my security badge. The retina of my eye got scanned into the database, as it would each morning, granting me access to the building. I switched exclusively to nights, at Gerald's.

.

I hated that couch Elena's mother lavished upon us. Don't get me wrong; its mauve coloring and golden highlights were appealing to look at. It was undoubtedly the most comfortable couch I'd sat or slept on. But that didn't change the fact it symbolized what I'd spent my life trying to avoid: vanity and the careless waste of resources. The couch cost $4000. I ruminated on how we could've furthered ourselves, and our education, with that amount of money.

She and I spent most nights on that couch - that cushioned object of idiocy - watching television and drinking wine. It was expansively rich enough that we both could sleep on it if the mood struck us. It welcomed you into luxury and denial. The couch got hailed as the centerpiece of the living room. All other furniture and accessories had to abide by it.

Jack, of course, let the issue slide; he figured it big enough to fit all three of us, and to him, that's what mattered. Perhaps he had a healthier method of thinking.

.

I started my job at United Bank in nine days. I went downstairs to check the mail, slapping the hood of my truck as I walked by, on a chilly afternoon.

A few hours later, Jack and I took a lap around the apartment complex. When we came full circle, standing in the stairwell, I shot a glance and noticed my parking spot was empty. For a second, I thought we had the wrong building. 'My truck is gone,' I said out loud. Jack looked at me, sheepishly. 'Jack, the truck is gone. It isn't there'.

In the apartment, Elena dabbed on her makeup.

"Babe?" I said

"Yeah?"

"My truck is gone," I said, numbly

"What do you mean?"

I searched the property, confirming the truck to in fact be missing. A cop arrived to file the report.

"You're most likely not going to see the vehicle again. At least not in one piece," he said

I ran my fingers through my hair, locking them behind my head.

"I start my new job soon, and I can't get there," I sighed

"I understand. We'll do our best."

It posed a serious problem - having two jobs, in two cities, with no transportation. Using Elena's car on a daily basis wasn't feasible. I had no savings, or I would've bought a cheap vehicle from the want ads.

Unexpectedly, Elena's parents came to my aid. They agreed to cosign with me for a brand new car. Five months ago they kicked me to the street, and now this. Had I proven my worth? Was the vehicle a peace offering? They apologized to me for their actions, saying they couldn't understand what they'd done, and that, possibly, the devil had influenced them.

I got tired of being put in difficult positions; each choice preceded by hesitation. If I accepted, the feud would end, and for Elena's sake, she wouldn't have to choose sides.  United Bank expected me in three days.

I decided to be the better person, and forgive them.

When I met them at the dealership, a car had been pre-selected, for specific reasons I figured. I wasn't in a position to be choosy, regardless. I took the car for a test drive, adjusting to how low the seat was in comparison to my truck. My foot felt heavy on the sensitive brakes . Aside from that, it handled smoothly. I had no experience with smart cars and got spoiled by the interface and functioning gauges. It got excellent gas mileage, and the sound system appealed to me.

I signed for it. The monthly payments were high; I had no choice but to keep both jobs, and hope Elena found employment.

.

On the first day of training, I got acquainted with the security system and located the training room. I showed up early, and had my choice of seats; the desks were arranged in a 'U' shape so we could face each other. I came prepared, with a folder, notebook, and pens. I may have dressed the part, but I was an odd man out. Some of my teammates had previous call center experience, albeit not on this level.

I studied them as they got situated, seeing with whom I could connect. One man, in particular, didn't give a shit about fitting in. His worn-out sneakers, faded jeans, and flannel shirts were in contrast to the rest of us. His scraggly beard reached to his mid-chest, and he pulled his long hair back. At roll call, he stated his name as Tony, with a deep crackly voice, like he smoked a pack a day – which he did.

Inevitably the two of us would end up talking. He probably thinks I'm in a band, I thought. I got that a lot, for some reason. Must've been the hair.

Our instructor eased us in, so we got comfortable with the three-hundred-and-twenty hours of education ahead. Not a minute of it got wasted. We didn't use scripts, like other call centers. The methods learned were far more complex. We focused on speech patterns, and tapping into the client's unspoken needs. That helped us govern and redirect the call. They were reteaching us how to speak, using certain words at key times. As the class progressed, we received information on Miranda Rights, and state by state legislation, which we'd have to internalize.

To manage call volume, we had to keep them at an ideal length of four minutes or less. In that window, we had to gain the clients trust, determine their financial situation, resolve any conflicts and take the payment. I wondered if any amount of planning could prepare us for the reality.

We got a tour of the site and shown the floor where we would someday work. I panicked a bit. The cubicles, the phones, the noise, the fluorescent lights, the environment as a whole fed my social anxiety. Can I navigate this?

During a fifteen minute break, I relaxed in a fenced off employees-only area. Tony walked up to me.

"Hey, man. Do you play any instruments?" he asked

I smiled, "No, I don't. I used to make movies, though."

"Right on. I play guitar. Mostly metal."

We hit it off, and he mentioned his interest in buying a Mac computer.

"'I have an older model I might be willing to sell," I replied

"Really?" he said, perking up, "How much were you thinking?"

"I'm not sure. Want to make me an offer?"

"Four-hundred?"

"Deal."

Tony had two kids, and money was tight, so I let him pay in installments. He and I became friends.

.

I got a phone call from the Boise Police Department.

"Hello, Mr. Crannell?"

"Yes?"

"This is Officer Peterson."

"Hello."

"We found your vehicle, the 1996 Chevy Blazer."

"What? The whole thing?"

"Yessir. It was located in the Walmart parking lot, in Nampa. It appears as though someone had been living in it. Paraphernalia was also retrieved from the vehicle."

"Ok, I'm at work, but I can be there in less than an hour to pick it up. Is that ok?"

"Well, the truck got towed to the impound yard."

"Wait, I'm not getting charged to get it out of impound am I?"

"Yessir. There is a charge. I do believe the fee increases by the day, so I suggest resolving it shortly."

"Damn. Alright, thanks for finding it."

Orrin picked me up, and we drove to the tow yard. I could count on Orrin, and together we laughed at the irony of my predicament. I paid the costly fee, with the little money I had. We verified the truck started up fine. 'What's with all the junk food wrappers?' he quipped. After we said our farewells, I sat in the driver seat, inspecting the random objects scattered about the cabin - an old jacket, a pocket knife, and flashlight. The interior got trashed and smelled foul, which made me sad.

As I drove her home, I had a moment of sentimentality. The truck had returned to my life - but there was a new car in her parking spot. I remembered a time when it was just me, Jack and my truck; the three of us, against the odds – and we prevailed. Jack taught me the meaning of loyalty. My truck, endurance. I couldn't have gotten this far without them. Now I had to say goodbye.

What had I replaced her with? A high-end modern thing that would likely malfunction in a few years.

I listed the truck and sold her to a young cowboy that wanted to take it off-roading and out to rodeos; giving her a new life. She deserved it.

.

For the last two weeks of training, our instructor brought us to the floor and we took live calls, under strict supervision. They let us test the waters prior to throwing us in head-first. I got partnered with a guy named Ken, whom I considered one of the brightest people on our team. We connected our headsets using a Y chord so we could listen to each other's mistakes.

Ken's had an inbound call, from a client seeking to do a payment. Ken handled it smoothly and professionally. 'Maybe this isn't so hard,' he and I commented. I had an outbound call to Louisiana, and a woman answered the phone.

"I thought I told Y'all motherfuckers to stop callin' me on this gawddamn motherfuckin' phone!"

(click)

"Ouch. Sorry, man," Ken said

"That didn't go very well."

We laughed nervously.

.

I hit my stride at Gerald's, when I persuaded a woman shopping for $30 fashion earrings, to buy a $500 pair of diamond studs. Women desire that one piece of jewelry they believe will capture their beauty; an object they can covet. They rarely find it among the stores inventory, meaning considerable time is spent on the phones, combing the network of departments nationwide.

For Christmas, Gerald's gives its employees a credit card with an unspecified limit. I bought myself a bottle of Dior Sauvage cologne and a pair of Burberry sunglasses. I had misfortune with sunglasses - I set a limited edition pair of Chanel's on the furnace and melted them. The Ralph Lauren's Elena gave me got scratched when I tripped in a ditch picking flowers. The replacements got stolen. I guarded my Burberry's and made monthly payments.

I purchased, with cash, that silver and white Bulova watch I daydreamed about, and sized it myself.

In the jewelry bay, when I heard the alarm of the security gate closing, I reached safety. I could forget the outside world and do my job. I'd engage in studying gemstones and diamonds with our magnification lenses, like a meditative practice. The jewelry counter put a physical barrier between people and me, save for the gals I worked with. They had no idea, the extent to which their kindness helped me.

.

Hetty and Aidan visited us for the holidays, bouncing from our place and Elena's parent's house. They loved our apartment, especially the loft we'd converted into a movie theater for them. I had my old Mac computer up there, so the kids could lounge on a bed of pillows and blankets, to watch cartoons.

Jack was delighted to see Hetty; they palled around like old times. The kids provided a welcome breath of fresh air, helping us to rediscover the goals we fought for.

Hetty and Aidan were excited to see an animated film yet to be released in theaters. I managed to find an online torrent file for a screener copy of the entire movie, with crystal clear image quality. I downloaded it and surprised them; I was pretty much their hero, for that. Elena and I set up the loft, and they had a blast.

"It's amazing what you did for them. They're so excited," Elena said, "Hetty's bragging to her friends she gets to see the movie. Not even their rich asshole father could've done that."

I got gratification listening to them, giggle at the show.

.

"What's one of your favorite songs?" I asked Hetty

"I don't know. I like a lot of songs," she replied

"Pick one."

"Pompeii!"

"Pompeii? By Bastille?"

"Yes, I think so!"

"Crazy! That's one of my favorite songs too!"

"No way!"

"It's true!"

"That is crazy!"

"What's another song you like?" I inquired

"Love Me Like You Do!" she announced

"Ellie Goulding, huh?"

"Do you like that song?"

"That's a total girl's song!"

"Yep!"

"Alright, me and you can listen to Bastille, and you can drive your mom wacky with Ellie Goulding. Deal?"

"Deal!"

.

Behind the home of Elena's parents, there lay a massive, sprawling field, yet to be developed. At its center, in the far distance, stood two gnarled, towering trees. After Elena got the kids dressed in their winter clothes, the four of us would trek through the snow to reach those trees, while Jack ran wild.

"Hetty, do you want to help my collect sticks? We can play fetch with Jack," I'd say

"Sure!"

Jack knew she couldn't throw too far, so he'd move in closer to accommodate her. I think Aidan liked the sensory experience of snow, though he got grouchy when his nose turned red and frigid.

.

I spoke with Hetty on another occasion.

"Loulou," Hetty began, with disappointment in her voice," My dad says you've known my mom for a long time and she moved to Idaho to be with you. He says you're not letting us be a family."

I masked the rage in me, keeping my voice level.

"Your dad said that? That I knew your mom before she moved to Idaho?"

"Yes," she answered

"He said I'm trying to take your mom away from you guys?"

"Yes."

"Honey, listen to me," I said

"Ok."

"Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"That's a lie. We want more than anything to have you and your brother live with us. But, your mom is not going back to your dad? Do you understand?"

"Yes, but why would my dad lie?"

"Because he's jealous your mom is so happy with me. Sometimes, anyway," I shrugged

"Ok," she said, smiling

.

I helped Hetty with her homework. We were alone. The assignment was to pick ten labeled items out of the fridge, so Hetty could write a grocery list and practice her spelling and penmanship.

"Alright, so we need ten things, eh?" I said opening the fridge.

"Yep!"

"Let's start with lemonade!" I set the jug on the table and supervised, while she began writing

"Let's get some veggies in there, like tomatoes!"

"Neat! And lettuce?"

"Sure."

She had a few errors that I guided her on, but she was a quick study.

"We should do some Asian food, yeah?" I suggested

"Yeah!"

"How about soy sauce and wasabi?"

"What's wasabi?"

"Do you like spicy food?"

"I love spicy food."

"Then you're gonna like wasabi. Maybe we'll try it. We should totally have you spell popsicles, though, then we can each have one after your homework."

"Awesome,"

"Do you want to mess with your teacher?" I laughed

"Yeah!"

"Perhaps we should have you write Worcestershire sauce."

"What is that?!"

That's when the memory hit me – the memory of my first text conversation with Hetty.

I grabbed a scrap piece of paper and placed it in front of her.

"Sweetie, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure, Loulou."

"I want you to try and spell a word for me."

"Ok."

"The word is 'maintenance.'"

"Whoa! That's a tough one!"

"I know it is. Do your best, honey. Main-te-nance. Sound it out."

"I'll try!"

She gave it a sincere effort yet didn't come close. That meant the phone had switched hands. The only person with Hetty when I initially texted her was Scott's mother. She had pretended to be Hetty. It made me sick. Nothing was sacred to these people.

.

The drinking escalated when the children left for California. I busily attended both jobs.

Two photographs caused conflicts.

Elena sent Scott a photo of me and her at the park, with the kids. I don't know why she did it, other than to get a reaction, by presenting us as a family. He didn't like Aidan holding my hand, though the real catalyst was Elena's visible engagement ring.

"What, are you fucking pregnant? Is that why you're marrying him?!" Scott said snidely

He demanded to know the date of our wedding and swore to ruin the ceremony. Elena and I hadn't chosen a time or place; we waited for our lives to be less complicated. I wondered if our marriage would happen, though Elena gave me assurances. She called me her husband, and referred to me as such, in the company of others.

Scott sent us pictures depicting the children as happy in his mansion. In one photo, a detail caught our eye - taken on the ground floor of his house. In the background, it unintentionally showed a hospital bed. We knew Scott had poor health and walked with a cane, but how sick was he, exactly?  Were his attacks the last throes of a desperate man?

Scott employed five nannies to care for the children. One of which Elena knew, and they'd trade private information on Scott's activities - like the fact that he continually flew to Oregon for unknown treatment.

Death, it seemed, was the only way for this war to end.

.

Then, Elena got notified through legal channels, that Scott forged her signature on a life insurance policy. There weren't too many ways for me to interpret that act. Her parents and I decided it wasn't safe for Elena to be alone. We carpooled, and when I worked, she stayed with her mother. I kept vigil in parking lots, whenever we drove somewhere.

I recall a single day, when Scott texted or phoned Elena three-hundred-and-thirty-four times, switching from aggressive insults to self-pitying bullshit, 'Do you even have a heart?' he'd plead. In the midst of so much potential violence, Elena couldn't resist instigating him further, speaking to him in a fashion she knew would get a rise. I repeatedly warned her of emotional outbursts.

Elena bragged to me that the United States would not grant her citizenship because she'd mouthed off to the wrong people. There was brief turmoil when it appeared the government wouldn't renew her Visa. Being ignorant of immigration laws, I didn't question when her parents paid $1500 to extend Elena's residence.

.

Scott's psychological abuse shifted from obsessive to poisonous when he offered Elena a $1.8 million home – on the condition she left me. He sent photos of the property to make the option real. She told him, no, and that made me proud. Was it a testament to our love? How valuable could my companionship be?  He then offered a relative of Elena's $150,000 to talk her out of marriage.  Scott attempted to buy Elena like an object, and decrease my worth in the process, by instilling doubt in her mind.

In the company of his lawyers, Scott watched my Life Chronicles videos. He complimented me, in a text to Elena, saying that I should've been in Hollywood. I thought that was cute - it's nice to hear from my fans.

In California, Aidan rebelled. He'd grab flower vases and send them shattering through windows and glass doors. He'd routinely change the passwords on Scott's computers, locking him out, or frying them altogether. Good job, kid.

Most dire, Scott convinced himself that my marriage to Elena was a plot to get access to the children's inheritance money. I wanted no part of it, and neither did Elena. We were willing to sign legal documents, stating we could not utilize their finances in any way, shape or form. Elena simply asked for custody. Nevertheless, I got viewed as a threat.

.

From January 1st thru March 12th I worked seventy-two days in a row, without a day off. The majority were double shifts scheduled at both jobs.

How did I justify that? I had obvious reasons - car payments, and the burden of rent and utilities. I had the moral obligation of supporting Elena, as she did for me when I moved to Boise. Though my unemployment spanned thirty days, not ten months as Elena's did.

Her parents brought us groceries and assisted Elena with her car payments. They talked of sending her to school. When Elena graduated, I planned to get a degree in floral design. Her parents offered to fund it, but I did not intend to use their money.

In hindsight, those justifications now read like excuses. I believe I didn't want the opportunity to think about my life. I immersed myself in tasks and duties, locked in a constant state of reaction – doing what needed to be done – to get results. I knew my body would collapse, quite literally, at some point – and collapse it would.

Ten years ago, I had an accident; I broke my right arm completely in half, fractured my spine and damaged a disc in my neck. After six months of physical therapy, I was able to move my arm, though I had severe nerve damage. Arthritis and calcification of my spine caused painful inflammation.

That incident is relevant to this story, because those months of non-stop activity made my injuries hurt like yesterday.

I'd been on painkillers for three years; I couldn't function without them. I sat at my desk popping pills throughout the day. They calmed my nerves enough to let me field the hundreds of angry phone calls. I'd clock out and head to Gerald's, then take more medication to cope with the physical demands of the job. I knew the narcotics would linger in my system long enough to get me home, where Elena would give me massages and wine. That's the cycle I buried myself in.

My doctor's hands got tied when government restrictions barred clinics from prescribing real medication. Instead, he put me on anti-inflammatories and sent me to a specialist. To abate the withdrawals, I rationed out my private stash. Working at United Bank, I finally had insurance, so I decided to address the problem.

The specialist succeeded where her contemporaries did not. She correctly diagnosed me, noting I had multiple unrelated elements. She detected a bone spur in my neck, whereas other physicians blamed arthritis for the pain. She also concluded the numbness in my arm was due to a cluster of pinched nerves in my elbow, which could get remedied with an operation.

.

On Sundays Elena attended church, a different one each week, struggling to find a service she approved of. She'd get upset, saying, 'The pastor barely spoke of the scriptures,' or 'The congregation was so insincere.' She wasn't able to find people that worshiped the way she did; they're faith didn't seem as strong. I don't think Elena believed in a forgiving God – she sought Old Testament.

I went to a church with Elena, for support, knowing she valued the experience. I wish she would've shown my own beliefs the same regard. Buddhism, and middle eastern philosophy, massively influenced my life, saved me in fact, from a bitter viewpoint of the world. Elena regarded those teachings as satanic in nature. I tried to integrate her beliefs that coincided with mine, for us to reach common ground.

What I couldn't reconcile was the hypocrisy of her system. She'd text me scriptures, begging me to read the Bible. 'We need to make God the center of our lives. We don't do things for man. We do them for God. We follow God's laws, not man's laws,' Elena commanded daily.

Furthermore, Elena thrived on vanity. She celebrated man's creations; the luxury cars, the fashion, the liquor, the money, the status – yet when it came to man's laws – then, suddenly, God entered the picture, to supply a higher order and purpose. I found that contradictory, having witnessed her years spent in court battles. I saw that Elena was quite fond of man's laws. When she had no money left to fight, she'd say 'We need patience. It's in God's hands. I will sit back and watch my enemies fall.'

If God did create this world, in its splendor and natural beauty, Elena vehemently disliked it. Elena had no communion with nature. She followed her strict vegan diet for health reasons, having no objection to animals being killed. Elena upheld man's vanity to God's grace in ways that I couldn't even forgive.

.

According to Elena, God continued to give her dreams. One of them, in particular, plagued her. In the dream, she and I are sleeping in bed. The walls were made of glass, and the room is slowly sinking underwater. The bed is shifting, and the headboard is dipping downwards. Elena tries to wake me, but I do not stir. The water pressure will soon shatter the glass, and we will drown.

She'd implore me, saying that, 'We need to make a pact and covenant with God.' I'd explain to her that God had been the center of my life for the last seventeen years – though she would not listen. Her God wasn't the center of my life. I had to get on my knees and repeat a prayer with her, word for word. She cried throughout it. It meant nothing to me. I did it solely to appease her.

.

When Elena couldn't sleep she'd sit on the couch, watching the videos of televangelist preachers until dawn.

Our sex life turned into a disconcerting job. The spontaneity and passion we had, that flowed so naturally, had gone. I got pressured for sex from the moment I came home, and through the evening, just to wake in the morning to further sexual demands. My attraction to Elena had crumbled. I couldn't open myself to someone I didn't trust. It killed me to see Elena with such a lack of confidence. What happened to the vivacious woman to whom I fell in love?

"You know you can do things to me while I'm asleep, right?" Elena said, for the fourth time, "I'm all yours."

In each instance, I shunned her. I likened it to date rape, and I believe she got hurt by my rejection.

That didn't stop Elena from initiating sex with me while I slept. I'd wake up with her on top of me, and I'd tell her to stop. She'd get angry and move aggressively on me. I complied, not wanting her to get mad. Other mornings, I yelled at her to leave me be and dealt with the consequences.

.

Elena told me of a disturbing experience that occurred while she drove on the interstate; she claimed to have seen a demon walking along the asphalt.

"It was tall, and as I passed, it turned and looked at me," she said, "Its face was gnarled and twisted. The cars in front of me swerved to avoid it."

I believe that she believed a creature had been on the road that day. I had no explanation that didn't grieve me. Had her mind constructed a hallucination upon a real figure? What caught my ear was the remark that other cars had driven clear of it.

In the mornings, if I saw a quarter bottle of wine on the kitchen counter, I'd pound it straight from the container. I knew if Elena woke up and got that first taste, she'd buy more with the money I left for her. Or, she'd go to Mandy's house. The two of them brought out the worst in each other.

.

To beat rush hour, I cut work early one afternoon, at United Bank. The interstate was crowded, yet streaming fast. I glimpsed a girl in an older car, weaving through traffic at high speeds. She drove right past me, and I kept my eye on her, as she entered another lane, ducking out of sight.

Do you want to know the song was peaking on the radio?

'The Power of Love' by Huey Lewis and The News.

I nearly died listening to Huey Lewis and The News.

Suddenly, a cloud of smoke rose up in front of the cars ahead. The girl's car reappeared, driving backward, perpendicular to the street. She'd spun out of control, and four lanes of traffic were coming directly at her. She panicked and gunned it across the lanes - crashing head first into the concrete guardrail in an attempt to get clear. The van next to me, in the farthest right lane, slammed into the side of her car with such force it lifted it off the ground – it landed on its side on top of the guardrail – and began sliding the length of it, with sounds of metal getting destroyed.

In seconds, the vehicle in front of me slammed its breaks, and I swerved into the far right lane – I was now driving parallel to the car shredding across the guardrail – a few feet above me. Parts of the girl's car rained down onto my hood and windshield. For that brief moment, she and I were traveling at the same speed – until I floored it as her car flew off the rail – spinning in midair – and crashed to the street – rolling back into a new wave of oncoming traffic. Fortunately, they had the opportunity to brake.

I screeched to a halt and ran to her car. Liquid and fuel were spraying everywhere. Blood trickled on her forehead. I got her out of the car, and she ably stood on her own. No one got seriously injured.

I had gotten too good at dodging bullets – surely one had my name on it.

.

I had a mild allergic reaction to the anti-inflammatory my doctor prescribed. The second medication put me in the hospital. Fortunately, I swallowed it in Elena's company.

"Babe, there's something wrong," I said

"Sweetie, look at me. Your pupils are dilated," she said, concerned

"I can't understand my thoughts. I'm, it' so... I'm hallucinating."

"Oh, my gosh, Logan. Your skin is breaking out in hives. We need to get you to the hospital."

"My jaw keeps locking."

My hand-eye coordination faltered as I got my shoes on. Oxygen didn't seem to reach my lungs. My pulse rate got sporadic.

I don't remember Elena getting me to the car or the drive to the emergency room. In the lobby, I shouted to be seen. Soon, I laid on a gurney getting injections, while the doctors did a battery of tests. It's a blur, except for Elena holding my hand.

I went to work the next day, albeit reserved in my approach.

.

I had nightmares.

Jack and I were traversing a country road, in the middle of the night, with a thickly wooded forest on either side. We got nervous and walked faster than normal, sensing we might be in danger. Then, we heard a sinister cackle in the trees. That single voice grew to a multitude.

They taunted and harassed Jack, calling his name. He trembled and shrank in fear, at my feet. I screamed into the trees, full of rage, 'YOU FUCKING COWARDS! Come after ME! LEAVE MY DOG ALONE!'

The heckling continued. I picked Jack up into my arms, and I ran. I ran as fast and as hard as I could. My lungs burned.

I woke up shaking and pulled Jack onto the bed with me. I told him I loved him. He licked my hand, and we both drifted to sleep. He and I entered another dream, where we encountered pure evil, in a large enclosed space, that resembled the dance floor of a cheap nightclub. The walls, ceiling, and floor were painted black. Rotating stage lights, shaped like globes partially embedded in the floor, projected thousands of tiny white letters onto the room's surfaces.

Every three seconds, the stage lights spun and locked in a different position, changing the arrangement of the letters. Were the lights automated to be random, or did they have a pattern? I didn't know. It was a puzzle gone berserk. I pressed against one wall, with Jack beside me.

On the opposite side of the room, half concealed in shadows, a demon stalked us. It appeared wraith-like; its shape undefined. It carried itself as if weakened or in pain. Perhaps it was starving. It voiced the gurgling sounds of sickness or disease. It paced back and forth, like a caged animal, yet it did not move nearer to us, even though it craved to. I rushed to discern the rules of the game. Was there a way out of the room? Why wasn't the demon charging us?

Jack growled and snarled, ready to fight, though holding his ground. Every three seconds, the thousands of white letters shifted with the movement of the lights. When they temporarily locked, the demon would stop pacing to study them. It was connecting the letters into words.

Suddenly, the demon found one within the puzzle, and an alarming sound echoed off the walls. The demon contorted and took a step forward, groaning and leering. It then resumed pacing.

Is this even a game – or are we trapped in here waiting to die? I searched around in the darkness. There had to be a more profound rule - something I missed. The alarm signaled; the demon having discovered another word. It drew closer to us. Jack started barking. If I found a word, would it force the demon backward?

I woke up and felt ill.

.

Then, Elena and I sustained the worst news.

A woman, in Scott's employ, had followed us for a period of five months. We were shocked. Five months? Who was she? How could we not notice her for that duration? We racked our brains trying to visualize just one face we'd seen in several locations.

Elena's lawyers stated that she was willing to come forward and testify against Scott, for what he'd paid her to do. Elena promised to keep me updated.

Roughly a month elapsed, and Elena hadn't mentioned anything of the woman. I brought it up, over a glass of wine. Elena became distant, then emotional.

"It's not going to happen," she said morosely

"Why?"

She shook her head and shut down.

"Why?" I asserted

"Logan, she's dead."

"...What?"

"The police found her body," Elena said, in tears

"Elena... What are you saying?"

"She's dead! Ok, she's dead! It's over."

Elena covered her face with her hands.

Silence. I did not comfort her.

We never spoke of it again.

Why didn't I push for information? I couldn't handle the confirmation that a woman may have died because of us.

It burned in my mind. Scott thought I aimed for the children's inheritance. If he was a dying man, trying to secure his family legacy, who knew what he was capable of? I'm talking about millions of dollars. In this world, people get shot over twenty bucks.

I prepared myself for the worst. I refused to get caught with my guard down. I had a navy green messenger bag that I filled with weapons. I carried it with me wherever I went. I kept a pair of brass knuckles in one pocket, and a switchblade in the other.

.

At 5:30 am, I left the house, driving to work in the pitch black.

There were no other cars on that long stretch of highway.

I played a song, turning it up loudly.

I took the car to 130mph.

I turned the headlights and interior light off.

I closed my eyes and kept them shut – for a full minute.

In that sixty seconds, I had to trust that I would not crash.

I kept them closed, accepting that if the car did crash, I would die.

I had to be willing to receive my death, with open arms.

I felt that I had an out of body experience, tearing through that void.

I opened my eyes to the surrounding darkness and paused for a moment.

I was still alive.

I fired the headlights on, their light taking my course, with determination.

At 6:00 am, only a handful of employees were inside the United Bank building. I locked my messenger bag in the trunk and walked through the parking lot. I held my face to the retina scanner. No matter how hungover or dilated your pupils, the machine managed to recognize you. I entered through the revolving door and nodded to the security guard. I held my security badge, embedded with holograms, up to a sensor, signaling the elevator. I checked my watch.

I exited onto the third floor and through a row of empty cubicles. The overhead lights were dim that early. As I approached my desk, I could see my teammates grasping at their coffee mugs.

"There he is!" Ken said, upon seeing me, "With forty-five seconds to spare!"

"That's how I roll, yo."

Tony shot me a look of exhaustion.

We logged in precisely at 6 am and then had five minutes to get our computer programs booted and running with a series of passwords that changed monthly. Then, we'd connect our headsets, check our signals and wait.

"How many days in a row is this for you, bud?" Tony asked me, as we listened to the static

"I'm not sure," I said, glancing at my calendar, "Sixty-three I think."

"Jesus, man," he sighed, shaking his head

"I don't know how you manage," he said, "The only way I'd do that to myself is if one of my kids died."

I didn't say anything, but his statement got me thinking. How much pain was I not facing?

I had typed notes, tacked to my cubicle walls, as visual reminders. A black and white photocopy of an Alex Grey painting hung to my right. Gemstones and mementos gathered on my desk, at the base of my monitor. My floral design books got stacked to my left; I studied them in-between calls.

Our team had diminished; only six of us remained, of the original twenty. The rest either quit, got fired, or transferred to larger portfolios having twenty-five to thirty people on board. The six of us held out, a tight-knit group, like renegades in the corner. In one month, we saved $1.5 million in accounts. That's legit. We were proud of ourselves, as we should've been.

Based on time zones, at that hour, our job consisted of waking up New Yorkers to push for money. That shift gave us the most resistance, but we were too seasoned to take no for an answer. We'd power through it, until the sun rose, filling the space with light, and waves of co-workers. We'd begin to receive calls spreading westward across the country, as the world came to attention.

I got the first call, at 6:09 am - that familiar beep in my left ear, as I signaled the others to get ready. Here they come.

"Thank you for calling Citibank, and my name is Logan. Can I start by getting the name on the account, please."

I pushed the mute button, "Fuck. I already failed this call, Tony."

"Why?"

"They're in Massachusetts."

"Ah, shit. Did you forget to tell 'em your personal ID number?"

"Yep. Hope they don't review," I laughed

Wake up, Logan.

The audio of every phone conversation got recorded, along with the video capture from our dual monitors. On a monthly basis, eight calls, amongst thousands, were randomly pulled by our team leader and reviewed (they consulted us individually). He'd bring me into his office, and we'd listen to the call, discussing what I could improve. It unsettled me to hear my voice like that. Six of my eight calls had to pass, for me to receive a financial incentive, and even then it wasn't a guarantee, as many factors went into the final decision.

When I received my first, and only, incentive check, I put it towards a paid vacation for Elena, Jack and I.

.

I bought a wedding ring. Why? I made a promise, to be there for Elena and the children, for better or worse. In spite of our problems, I still loved her, ignoring my resentment. I thought that by showing my commitment, she'd trust me and that an affirmation of love would somehow negate the chaos around us. I was a fool.

My mother got a plane ticket, for June, and Elena was excited to meet her. I think my hopes for her flying out were to harness as much positive energy and support as I could.

In finding the ring, I scoured the country for the ideal piece. The gals at the jewelry counter had plenty of advice, and I put the word out. Fortunately, Elena disliked diamonds, and most gemstones, except for black onyx. I declined roughly thirty rings, then I met a woman online, operating an estate sale in upper New York.

An elderly woman had passed, leaving an impressive collection of jewelry. Among the pieces was a black onyx eternity band, made in England in the early 1920's. It had a channel setting, with gorgeous engravings in the silver shank. Remarkably, the deceased woman had the same size hands as Elena. It wouldn't have been possible to resize.

When I clocked out for vacation on March 12th, with the realization that the seventy-two days had ended, I ran in the parking lot like an idiot. I didn't know what to do with myself. I rushed home, threw Jack and Elena in the car, and we left. I had reservations at a lodge up in Sun Valley, one of the wealthiest cities in Idaho. At that elevation, there was still snow on the ground, and the nights got chilly. Elena was keenly aware I had the wedding ring; there would be no surprise in that regard. But its design and history remained a mystery until I placed it in her hand. She loved it and felt honored to be its bearer.

Would our vacation put the wind back in our sails, and rediscover the love we shared for one another? After our stay in Sun Valley, we took a road trip, driving through Hailey, and spending a night in Twin Falls. We then drove East, to Pocatello, stopping at interesting shops, antique stores, and restaurants along the route. We did what we pleased, and relished it.

Upon our return to Boise, Elena got a job, which meant I could quit Gerald's. I cried, as I said goodbye to the gals. They gave me their best wishes. I'd miss them.

.

Elena and I had a romantic date downtown, in a German pub named Prost. It got cold, though spring was near. We drank our Germanic beer and stepped outside to share a cigarette. We huddled close to one another; absorbing each other's body heat.

I noticed Elena glaring at someone over my shoulder, and I turned my head. Three jocks were walking in our direction. The one in the center gave me an arrogant glance and cocked his head. I laced my fingers through the brass knuckles in my pocket. I repeated his gesture, nodding my head as if to say, 'You sure are tough, with three of you.'

They scoffed at me as they entered the bar. Elena and I went home.

Later, Elena received a text from Scott.

It read, "Did you have fun on your date at the German bar?"

I reached my breaking point.

How did Scott anticipate where we'd be? I asked myself that, hate coiling inside me. We'd arrive at a location, and within minutes, they'd be there. How does that sonofabitch know where we are? That's when it struck me – I held the answer in my hand the whole time.  Was he was tracking Elena through the SIM card in her phone?

.

Elena laid in bed; the sheets pulled up to her face. Tears stained her cheeks.

"I'm so disgusted with myself," she cried

"Why, love?" I asked, sitting beside her

"I want to burn all of my clothes. I'm so sick of the vanity."

I hadn't expected her to say that.

"Ok. Could donate or sell them? I'm sure they -"

"No. I don't want anyone else to absorb their negative energy," she said, cutting me off, "I want them destroyed. I want to burn them."

"Alright. If that's what you want, I'll help you."

I felt the woman I loved coming back to me. Could I reach her again? I knelt down and kissed her forehead.

"Do you want to have a cigarette?" I asked

"Sure."

We rested on the porch, our defenses lowered.

"Elena, can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Why have you told me so many times that you don't love me?"

She paused.

"Guilt," she said, with sadness in her voice

"For what?"

"...The children..."

Those words may have been the most important she ever said to me.

.

She and I were driving on Front street, with Elena was behind the wheel. A white truck came up on our bumper. Elena fixated on the rearview mirror.

"What do you see?" I asked

"Oh fuck!" she exclaimed

"What? Who is it?"

"It's Scott's sister! What the fuck is she doing here?"

I jerked around, as the truck cut into the next lane, edging alongside us.

"Motherfuckers!" I shouted, rolling my window down, "Who's the man driving?" I asked

Elena looked across my lap, "I don't know! I don't recognize him!"

She sounded the horn and flipped them off, as I reached out the window, 'Pull over!' I screamed, pointing at the side lane. I felt for the knife in my pocket. The driver had a cap on, and Scott's sister cowered nervously.

I envisioned how it would unfold. When they parked and got out of the truck, I'd coax the driver to get within reach – then I'd stab him in the face repeatedly, with the blade concealed in my hand.

I wanted Scott's sister to run for it. I wanted to chase her down and open that bitches throat on the sidewalk. I wanted to spit on her dying body, as she bled out.

I wanted to wait for the police - so I could lay claim to the justice I had wrought.

They did not stop. As they sped off, I took a quick photo of their license plate instead.

.

I strolled by the chain link fence that divided the apartment complex from Ann Morrison Park. I was creating a flower arrangement for Elena, searching for a third primary color.

On the opposite side of the fence, I saw a patch of beautiful yellow flowers. I pushed my shears under the chain links, freeing my hands to get a better grip. My shoes had poor traction. I climbed up and jumped to the ground. I examined the flowers, wanting to pick the finest three. I loved how they smelled. I cut the flowers at a good length, and held them in my teeth, as I got ready to scale the fence. At the top, my foot slipped, and I fell – piercing my right forearm on the sharp points of the fencing, and tearing my skin.

I had four lacerations and a gouged vein. The nerve damage in that arm was so severe; I could barely feel it. I picked up my flowers, and shears, and headed to the apartment, bleeding badly.

"Logan, What did you do?!" Elena gasped

Her maternal side kicked in, and she cleaned the wound. I did feel the rubbing alcohol.

"Ouch. Ouchy.  I got your birthday flowers, love."

.

For Elena's birthday, we invited Mandy for cocktails. Aside from the children and Elena's parents, Mandy was our only guest in the ten months we'd rented the apartment.

I made my specialty; whiskey, with muddled apricots, turbinado sugar, and vanilla syrup. I checked my Bulova watch as I started pouring the cocktails - 7:05 pm.

(In that minute, less than a mile from our home, a skirmish broke out on Myrtle street, amongst a group of transients. One of the men, nicknamed Zeek, ran from the police, and later arrested in the lobby of a hotel.)

I'd learned to put distance between Elena's drinks, as it lessened the chance of her getting confrontational. She and Mandy did what I assumed – sit on the porch and debate upsetting affairs.

When Mandy had to go, Elena promised to drop her off, and head straight home. I should've driven her myself. Hours passed. Without Elena, I thought about my life, and events I allowed to happen. Actions that I allowed to happen. Consequences. Mandy didn't care if Elena drove intoxicated, nor did she care about the resulting drama. I, of course, enabled it myself, and just because we'd avoided consequences, didn't mean they weren't real. If Elena got a DUI, her custody battle and visitation rights would get lost. With a felony, she may even get deported. What would a crime to for her Visa?

I got sick of the irresponsibility, convincing myself that 'If only I do this' or 'If only I do that,' then things may get easier, or at least be sensical. We'd win, and get the life we craved.

I finally understood that the behavior wasn't going to change.  The problems wouldn't stop, and I felt ashamed of myself for ever thinking they would.

.

June 3rd \- I came home with two bottles of wine. Elena's car wasn't in her assigned parking; she had to be with Mandy. I walked Jack, then uncorked one of the bottles and poured myself a glass.

Elena opened the front door, tears streaming off her face, and leaned against the refrigerator for support.

"Elena, what's wrong?" I asked

"Scott," she cried, holding on to me

"What did he do?"

She was hyperventilating, "He's going to take my children away unless I leave you."

I listened carefully.

She continued, "He says I can never talk to my parents again! I have to come back to him, or he'll take my children away!" she sobbed, "And that I have to get rid of you forever."

"Those were his exact words? That you have to get rid of me forever?"

"Yes."

I placed my hands on either side of Elena's head, forcing her to make eye contact, instead of averting her eyes.

"Do you not understand how great this is?" I replied

"What are you talking about?" she said in confusion

"He's playing his last card, Elena. He's desperate."

"He's going to take my children!"

"No, he isn't. He can't. You're both missing the point."

"What?"

"The kids are almost old enough to decide for themselves who they live with, and they'll choose you."

"No. I have to leave. I have to go to him."

"It's smoke, Elena."

"I have to go to him."

I could not reach her and got frustrated, "So, you're going to sell your parents and me up the river, out of fear. The people who love you and take care of you?"

"I have to go! He's going to take my children!"

"It's a fucking trap, Elena! He knows how you'll react."

"I'm leaving."

"Have you told your parents this yet?"

"No."

"Of course not. So fuck the rest of us, and how your choices affect us?"

Elena entered the walk-in closet and started grabbing clothes. I knew this routine. I went to my side of the closet and grabbed a shirt and shoes.

"Running off again?" I asked dryly, "Am I supposed to chase you this time? I wouldn't want you to be offended."

"Leave me alone!"

"Make sure you pick the right pair of $500 shoes."

"If you have such a problem with me, we shouldn't be together, then!"

"There's the catchphrase! My god, I could time your statements on a watch. This is boring."

"Fuck you! Stay away from me."

I went into the kitchen and saw her car keys on the counter – she'd had far too much alcohol. No, I thought. This stops now. I shifted gears. I rested my elbows on the counter, the keys in front of me, while she gathered her things. The front door was behind me, to my left.

"I'm fucking done with you!" she muttered, storming towards the door

"You're not going anywhere," I said flatly

"Yes, I am!" she screamed, snatching the keys

I reached out and harshly grabbed her upper arm. I ripped the keys out of her hand and shoved them in my pocket, 'Now what?'

"I'm leaving anyway!"

Once again, Elena went for the door, with my hand still gripping her arm. I jerked her from it. She flailed, and I didn't feel like getting hit, so I sent her backward – right onto that big fluffy fancy fucking couch.

"If you want to act like a fucking child I'm going to treat you like one, Elena. You're fuckin' drunk, and you ARE staying. You will deal with this problem. Who the fuck raised you?"

She shot up off the couch and retreated to the bedroom.

"Keep on writing those checks, Elena."

She rifled through her purse and grabbed her phone - I yanked that from her, too.

"Yeah?" I continued, "Gonna call your lawyers? Gonna call Scott? Who are you going to hide behind, Elena? Who are you gonna pay to clean up your fuckin' mess this time?"

"You're a fucking asshole! Give me my phone!"

"No. I refuse. People's lives are not toys for you to play with! You think you can say and do whatever you want whenever you want to do it. You're a spoiled little bitch!"

"Then why do you stay with me?!"

"I have NEVER, said that I'd leave you, or give up on you, despite your accusations! I've never said I was going to leave you, but I'm saying it now. I give up on you, Elena. You're a fuckin' joke. Scott can have your sorry ass. I'm fucking done. I'm not going to live like this. You two fucks are made for each other. You're both a couple of bitches that like to hide!"

Physical rage swelled in me, "I'm going upstairs. Leave me the fuck alone."

"Why?" she demanded

"Because I'm this fucking close to hitting you," I said, holding my fist to her face

"You asshole! I know Scott's verbally abusive, but he'd never hit me!"

"No, he'd just have you killed, you stupid bitch."

I stormed up the staircase to the loft. Elena barged up.

"You're pathetic," she said in a guttural tone, "You're a cowardly piece of shit! I can't believe I ever loved you! You think you can talk to me like this? Do you know how many men would want to be with me? Give me my keys!"

"No. you get your keys when you sober up, and how dare you call me a coward when our entire fucking relationship is structured on your fears!"

She berated me, and I went downstairs. I poured another glass of wine. Elena picked up the bottle and emptied it into her own. The profanity continued. The same vicious words and recycled arguments.

There comes the point in a fight, when the participants either remove themselves from the company of one another, or they give up, worn out by repeated information. Our resolve had gone. In the living room, Elena gave up. So did I. We both cried. I sat on the floor. So did she. There was no reason to push it further – the raw damage laid us bare.

"I can't live like this anymore," I said, "I'm done."

I threw her keys on the kitchen counter.

"Fuck it. You're sober enough. If you want to leave, leave," I said defeated, "I'm tired of looking at you."

Elena did not go.

She and I had no desire to be awake, and solemnly went to bed, facing the pain of tomorrow with exhaustion.

My alarm chimed at 5:00 am, for an early shift, though I didn't need it; I couldn't sleep. Elena watched me as I got dressed.

"Can I have my phone back, please?" she asked

"I gave it to you."

"I don't have it."

"I put it on the counter by your keys last night. I'll get it."

I handed it to her while she lay under the covers.

"When I get home we'll talk, alright?"

"Ok."

"I'm sorry, Elena."

"Me too."

I kissed her forehead and left with a heavy heart.

.

When I returned, Elena had gone; presumably to Mandy's. I stretched on that fucking couch with Jack. I thought of the words I'd said, and maybe I'm a cold person because it felt empowering to stand up for myself. I rarely did in our relationship. That, however, didn't make it acceptable.

Elena opened the door calmly. She straddled me and placed her hands on my chest. We stared into each other's eyes.

"I don't want to be scared to come home to you," she said

"I've been scared of you for over a year, Elena."

"What do you mean?"

"I never know when you're going to end our relationship. I can't build anything with you."

Elena said nothing

"Are you sorry for last night?" I asked

"Yes."

"Well, I'm sorry for the things I said to you. We're both wrong. How did we get that vicious? We have to make sure that never happens again."

"You're right."

.

Based on her subsequent actions, Elena intended to remain in Idaho. The lease on the apartment expired in a month, and we toured rentals together and talked of the future. In my mind, though, I wondered if I could afford an apartment on my own.

In the week following our cruel argument, Elena often encouraged me, as if she had a newfound commitment. Oddly, she became supportive of my animated movie and strove to help me complete it, as did her parents.

.

I got sick and rested in bed. Elena nestled up next to me; her breath warmed my neck.

She spoke to me.

"I used to believe in you," she said, peacefully, as if saying goodnight

"What?" I asked, "You mean you still believe in me, right?"

"No..." she whispered, "...Past tense..." and fell asleep

I can't tell you how much that hurt.

.

Imagine my hesitation, picking my mother up at the airport, two days later.

She welcomed Elena with open arms, 'Let's have fun!' she said. I sincerely hoped that bringing our families together would prove beneficial.

Elena cooked a homemade meal; pasta with shelled clams on the side, in a white wine sauce. I said grace, thanking God for being able to share a meal with the two most important women in my life.

We picked music videos and shared stories. Elena had solid job leads, on top of her ambition to attend college. The way she spoke, it seemed as though she intended to work two jobs and go to school. My mother and I inferred that was logistically impossible. Elena didn't like that.

I joined Elena on the porch, without my mother. When the door closed, Elena immediately said how rude our comment had been.

"Elena, there are not that many hours in a day. It wasn't an insult. Grow up."

"I want to be a yuppie again," she said

"I'm sorry?"

"I miss being a yuppie."

"Elena, where I come from that's not a goal you aspire to."

"Why? What does it mean?"

"Assholes who get everything handed to them, and don't appreciate any of it. People who flaunt their financial status. I have no interest in that."

She grimaced.

.

The three of us enjoyed a nice afternoon at a vineyard, far out in the country, chatting over a wine tasting. I hadn't seen my mother in four years, and it was good to catch up. We coordinated a visit with Elena's parents. During the drive, I asked Elena to stop, and cut flowers on the side of the road, for her mother.

When we arrived, Elena acted strangely. Her parent's welcomed us, and her father prepared a brunch. Our mothers engaged in an enjoyable conversation that I had high hopes for, yet Elena dodged in and out of the room, texting a woman whom she'd bad-mouthed for years. It became paramount that we attend her cookout. How could that be more vital than our parents forming a bond?

"We need to go. They're waiting for us," Elena said, pacing the floor

In that very moment, I knew my fate had been sealed. I knew it in my heart, and in my bones. Elena sought to get me out in the open, in a crowd, for a reason. Did I refuse to go, and prolong it until my mother got on a plane to Florida? Or, did I let it unfold, while she still could help me?

We left with Elena.

.

She ditched us at the cookout, leaving my mother and me to socialize with strangers. I poured us cocktails. The woman who owned the house, Rachel, had an upbeat personality and showed us her art projects. Why did Elena speak so negatively of her?

My mother got restless, and a few people she befriended asked her to join them at a bar around the corner. I told her I'd catch up. I overheard Elena outside, say, 'And then they told me I couldn't work and go to school. Can you believe that? Who does that?!'

Elena flirted with a youth group teacher, wanting Aidan to spend time with him. When she left for another drink, I sat next to the man.

He smiled at me, and said to my face, "Kid's are shit."

"You know that woman you were talking to?" I asked

"Yeah, she's hot."

"That's my fiancee."

A pallor spread on his face.

"Listen to me," I said, "You will never go anywhere near that woman's children, do you understand me, you fuck?"

He nodded his head.

I found Elena, in the garage.

"Elena, let's go."

"Where's your mom?"

"At the bar."

"What, she left us?"

"Yes. She can go where she pleases."

"Let me get Mandy, and we'll go pick her up."

"Fine."

The bar was unfamiliar to me. Where am I? I looked at the sign - Jim's Alibi. My mother sat at a large outdoor table, with the people from the cookout. Elena ordered drinks with Mandy and gave me the cold shoulder.

"You can finish your vacation without me," Elena said, "I don't like your mother. She's a bitch."

I ripped the drink out of her hand and threw it on the ground.

"You've had enough, Elena. For this life and the next."

Mandy glared at me with disgust, and I gave her the most insincere of smiles as if to say, 'Thank you for the joy you bring to us. Fuck off.'

They exited, cursing me – or so I thought.

I joined the table with my mother and told her what had transpired, and I cried a bit. A woman got up and hugged me.

"I think that bitches high heels are on a bit too tight," she said, "You're better than that, sweetie."

I laughed, feeling somewhat gratified, "Thanks. Yes, I am."

The kind woman took her seat.

"I'm still here you asshole!" I suddenly heard Elena in my right ear. She'd eavesdropped on us, from an obscured table. I shot up, as she retreated. I shouted at her, aware of the bouncer to my right.

"We are DONE! We are DONE!" Elena screamed

Her words echoed inside my head.

Mandy got in my mother's face and called her a bitch. I wasn't going to accept that. I pulled Mandy away, saying 'Please stop.' In seconds, the bouncer shoved me so hard from behind I got whiplash. I spun, confused, and he shoved me again, yelling 'Get the fuck out!' I stumbled, and he lifted me off the ground and slammed me against a brick wall, marking my leg with a permanent scar. He dragged me to the parking lot.

"Yeah, you're a real big man!" I said, "Go protect your little piece of shit bar. Scumbag."

I spat at his feet.

Elena tried to steal my cell phone, snatching it off the table until my mother forced her to give it up (The relevance of that act I didn't initially catch).

I walked to a gas station with my mother, and fell apart inside the store, in shock of the monumental disaster. She called a cab to the apartment. We wondered if Elena might storm in. My mother slept on the couch.

The next morning I drank beer rapidly; my nerves shot. I laid on the couch, while my mother fixed lunch. Jack, I believe, saw clearly. He placed himself on top of me, in a way he hadn't previously done. He buried his face in my neck. The warmth of his love radiated through me. I hugged him tightly; so tightly. He tried to bring me comfort, 'I love you, Jack. With all my heart.'

When my phone rang, I knew that moment had to end. Jack seemed aware he might not see me again.

"Yes?" I said answering the phone

The number was coded. A woman's voice responded.

"Hello, I'm with the Boise Police Department. We're in the parking lot. Could we talk for a minute? We have a few questions."

"Yes. I'll be there."

"I'm coming with you," my mother said

"No... Stay here."

I left them and walked barefoot down the stairs, and into the parking lot. I squinted my eyes in the sunlight. The pavement got hot on my feet, and I stepped lightly. The lot was empty. I circled the building, realizing I was drunk. It had to be questions about the bar, I thought. What else could it be? I still saw no one. When I got to the stairwell, I anxiously looked down the street at three empty cop cars. They must've had a hard time parking.

I felt a presence behind me, or did I hear a radio or footsteps? I turned to see four police approaching me. I may have shaken their hands. The female officer, barely five-foot-one, spoke to me, and the three male officers casually leaned on trees or cars.

"We wanted to ask you a few questions about what happened at Jim's Alibi, last night," she said

"Ok. That's fine."

"What's your side of the story?"

"Story? My fiancee has a serious drinking problem, and she's getting self-destructive. Her and her friend Mandy we're insulting my mom, and I got afraid they were going to fight, so I separated them."

I glanced at the other officers, who focused on her rather than me. Were they spectating?

"Did you grab Mandy?" she asked

"I guess. Not really."

Goddamn me for stammering.

"Did you or didn't you?"

"Yeah, I mean I put my arm around her, but I didn't grab her."

"Can you show me where?"

I made a gesture to my waist. Wait, Mandy's shorter than that.

"Did you and Elena get in a fight in your home week ago?" she asked

"Uh, yeah we got in an argument. Like nine or ten days ago."

"What about?"

"Her ex-husband. He's following us and threatening to take her kids away. I got tired of being disrespected."

"Explain how she's disrespecting you."

My thoughts scattered. Were they questioning me in a crime?

"She talks of having kids one minute, and then gets drunk and acts like she doesn't care. Look, I don't understand, I thought we were talking about me breaking up a fight in a bar."

"We watched the video footage from the bar, and several witnesses said you attacked Mandy and put your arm around her neck."

Wait that doesn't make sense.

"I mean... I may have touched her shoulder. I didn't attack anybody."

"Have you ever gotten physical with Elena?"

"What? No. She tried to drive drunk, so I grabbed her and took her keys. I'd never hurt her. I've never hit anybody in my life. What was I supposed to do?"

"About what?"

"Taking her keys. What was I supposed to do? I'm asking you, from one person to another, what was I supposed to do? Let her leave?

"You're supposed to call us."

"Why, so my fiancee can get a DUI? I let her leave when she was disturbed before, and she went around town causing problems."

"Has Elena ever been arrested?"

"No."

Why did I say that? She got arrested for a DUI in another state.

"Has Elena ever gotten physically aggressive with you?"

"No."

Wait, yes she has. Why am I defending her?

"Have you ever locked Elena in the closet?"

"I'm sorry? Of course not."

This has nothing to do with the bar.

"You two weren't in the closet during your fight last week?" she asked

"What? I mean, I went in there to grab a shirt I think..."

You're failing this, Logan.

"Did you push her or shove her?"

"I pulled her onto the couch."

"Is it possible she got injured? Did she hurt her head?"

Stop talking, Logan.

"I don't think so, no."

"Alright, I believe I've heard enough, Mr. Crannell. I'd like to thank you for being cool with me. At this time I am placing you under arrest for domestic battery."

I laughed, "Uh, ok."

I held my wrists out, willingly.

"Please put them behind your back."

"Sure."

I got led down the street, to their car. As we walked, she asked how I rated my relationship to Elena, on a scale of one-to-ten.

"When things are going well, I'd say an eight."

"How about the last few days?" she asked

"Fine. Look, Elena has gotten aggressive with me. You asked earlier, and I said no."

I could hear myself backtracking.

"Well, Mr. Crannell, you're not allowed to lock Elena in a closet, or throw her around the house, drag her by her hair, and you're definitely not allowed to strangle her."

"I have never done that."

"Well, Mandy testified to seeing several marks on her neck."

She lowered me into the vehicle, and I sat on the hard plastic bucket seat. They locked me in there for roughly fifteen minutes with the windows rolled up on a hot summer day, while the four of them had a conversation. I was already dehydrated prior to my arrest. I must've sweated out the alcohol, as I sobered up and recollected that she hadn't given my Miranda Rights.

I heard one of the males officers say to her, 'Don't you forget to read him his rights.' She opened the door and pulled a booklet from her uniform; she didn't have them memorized. I read Miranda Rights three hundred times a day, at my job. There's a precise time for it, and yes, I hold the Boise Police Department to that same standard.

The female officer continued to ask me questions.

"Mr. Crannell, have you ever forced Elena to have sex with you?"

"What did you just say? Absolutely not."

"You've never done things to her in her sleep, or forced yourself on her?"

"I'm done answering questions. This is over. What happens next?"

"So you're no longer willing to cooperate, Mr. Crannell?"

"No, I'm not."

"You understand that what you're doing is wrong, don't you?" she said, "You can't perform violence upon women."

"That hurts. I grew up seeing violence like that, and I promised myself never do that to another person."

"But you are doing it," she said

Those were her exact words – 'You are doing it.'

Book 2

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'Hands Down: A Story of Incarceration'

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