CHAPTER I: FALL
The night was overcast, the world purple and basking under the quiet blanket of snow. It had felt like December in the mountains for several weeks, but it was only the first of November. The cabin was settled neatly into a hillside and was surrounded by snow-covered pine. Jay waved the photograph that the realtor had printed for him in Bruce’s face before showing it to him.
“It’s like a lumberjack’s mountain lodge,” Jay said, wistful.
“Looks like a dump. I’m not interested,” Bruce said.
“C’mon, man, you haven’t left the house in days,” Jay said.
“I like my house,” Bruce replied.
Jay frowned. “I’m gonna key your car.”
“No you aren’t.”
A very serious look crossed Jay’s face. “I know stuff’s been bothering you, Bruce, and the guys and I are kinda worried.”
“Don’t be worried. I’m fine.”
“You look like death.”
Squinting at his friend, Bruce tried to make sense of the accusation. “Okay. Okay. What’s the deal with the trip?”
With the promise of booze and expensive cigars, Bruce went, under the condition that he drove himself and he could leave at any time (“Whatever, man, just pay your deposit for the week and we don’t give a shit when you leave,” was Johnny’s only stipulation). That first night was calm, at first, with a dinner of spaghetti and canned marinara. Bruce settled comfortably alone on the sofa while Jay occupied a mud-colored recliner, Bryan on a love seat. Johnny and Thomas played billiards in the game space adjacent to the den.
“She dumped you, then?”
Bruce stared down at the half empty bottle of Budweiser in his lap. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. Really sorry.” Jay’s face reddened and he was less than pleased with himself for uncovering that piece of information.
“What happened?” asked Bryan, sullen.
Bruce shook his head, took a drag off his cigarette. He shrugged. “Doesn’t care anymore. Couldn’t stand me. I dunno.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce caught the meaningful look Bryan directed at Jay. He pushed further. “Havard. You got back two months ago, that’s history. There’s got to be something else. Someone else.”
“Daisy wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t she?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“I’m not trying to get at you or anything, but c’mon, Bruce. Be realistic.”
Bruce’s eyes were dark when he looked back at Bryan. “Fuck you.”
“Guys,” said Jay.
“Daaaaisy,” Johnny taunted from the billiards table. He opened his mouth and pretended to insert something long into it.
Bruce finished the beer he had been nursing and slammed it on the table in front of him. He got up and walked over to Johnny and snatched the pool stick from him. “Don’t fucking test me.”
“Whoa, man,” said Thomas, his dark eyes wide.
Johnny put up his hands in a pose of resignation. “Don’t get your panties in a knot, Havard. She’s your ex now, remember?”
Bruce threw the stick aside and skulked into the kitchen. Jay followed him, but when Bruce turned and met his gaze, Jay backed off and went back into the living room.
Out of them, Bruce had been the only one to go to Vietnam. The others thought it was a vacation. They thought Daisy didn’t matter so much, they thought he could do better than his high school sweetheart. They didn’t know shit.
Bruce opened the refrigerator and took out another bottle of Budweiser. He liked it better out of a can, but he hadn’t been the one to buy the Budweiser, so there was no use complaining. Using the bottle opener left out on the island counter, Bruce opened the bottle and downed half of it in a few big gulps. This trip was a bad idea, and he knew it from the beginning. But Jay had been worried about him—Jay, out of everyone, seemed to actually care that Bruce had been drafted, had come home changed. Bruce stared at the way the carbonation licked at the sides of the bottle. He finished the Budweiser and threw out the empty bottle, grabbed another from the fridge and went back to sit.
“I’m sorry,” said Bryan.
“It’s fine.”
“Maybe Daisy just needs a break,” Jay offered.
Johnny and Thomas warily took seats in the living room, keeping their distance from Bruce. Finally Johnny said, “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize you were so attached.”
“I’m done talking about it.” Bruce picked at the label on the bottle.
Thomas broke out the hash after a while and things settled. They didn’t talk much as they sat around the den, mostly they stared at the way the owner of the cabin decorated the place. Deer heads on the wall, wood paneling, fake-looking cowhide rug. The TV was on, had been on, with some late night re-runs. Eventually the party spilled outside. Jay climbed a tree and was convinced he had caught a squirrel. Thomas tried owl calls because he wanted an owl for a pet. Then they were pretty sure they heard a wolf howl. Nature Hour got old, and the party waddled back inside. Bruce replaced himself on the couch and felt exhausted. The drive had been nearly eight hours long from his parents’ home in New Jersey. For the first time in weeks, he drifted to sleep.
Bruce awoke with a jolt at 2:34 AM. He stared around the cabin. Only half of the lights were turned off. Thomas was curled up on the mud recliner, Jay was on the love seat, Bryan and Johnny must have gone to the bedrooms. Bruce sat up and watched the clock until it became 3:02 AM and it felt as if no time had passed at all.
Feeling foggy, Bruce moved into the kitchen with the idea of getting water. Instead, he took another beer. He drank it quickly, disgusted with himself. When he shut his eyes, he still saw the trees. Sometimes he saw other things, too. He remembered his dream and why he woke so suddenly. It had not been a dream, but a nightmare. Bodies—dead bodies—laid out in a row. The way the Red River cut through the tree-covered valley, shrouded in the morning mist, pink with the sunrise. Grotesque and beautiful.
Bruce pushed the thoughts from his mind and checked his pockets for his keys. He pushed open the front door and stood on the covered porch, gazing across the sloping front lawn. Snowflakes fell steadily and the world took on a purple hue as what little light broke through the overcast sky reflected from the endless white snow. It was bitingly cold. He was not wearing a coat, just a white t-shirt and the faded jeans he used to wear in high school and an old pair of boots. Though it was dark, his black Dodge stood out easily against the snow, and he unlocked the door. Sitting for a moment, he got fully into the car and shut the door, careful not to make a sound. Looking to the passenger seat, he swore he saw Daisy.
I want to go home.
Daisy had said that to him right after they left the pizzeria. They did not have a fight, Bruce didn’t think. He simply told her he didn’t want to go to med school anymore, he wanted to be a mechanic. Start a shop like he and Tony Delgato had planned on doing when they got back. She thought he was ridiculous, but he insisted that that was what he wanted, that it wasn’t his dream to be a doctor anymore.
And so he drove her home in the suffocating silence. I don’t know you anymore. The words could have been an empty threat, but Bruce knew better than to think he was the same person he was when he left. Bruce didn’t know himself anymore.
He remembered the pained look in her eyes when he stared at her, thinking about what she said. How awful that he could not conjure a single feeling, not even a word. He felt numb. The look she gave him made it seem as if he was choking her, and maybe he was smothering her with his indifference.
Goodbye, Bruce.
Bruce turned the ignition. The engine was loud. It purred, it was brand new. If he was lucky, no one would wake up. If he was luckier, he would be far away from this place by the time someone did.
He put the car in reverse and managed to get it turned around. The small road that led from the main road to the cabin was barely more than a glorified walking trail, and it had already been covered with a fresh layer of snow since Bruce drove in that afternoon. He down-shifted and navigated the Challenger out of the woods. The main road was only dusted with snow, so he took off, the pull of the acceleration pressing him into the leather seat.
Bruce pushed himself, took the turns wildly. The back of the car swiveled out of place, but he gripped the wheel, he got it under control. Reckless was what he was, and he had no idea where he was going or why. When he drove, he felt as if he could go anywhere. He could escape the world, escape himself.
The road took a dive and Bruce accelerated so quickly that he barely noticed he needed to break for a turn. He swerved and tried to keep the car’s grip, but he lost it. Lost all control and spun right off of the road—if only the half foot of snow could have stopped him, but instead, it was a tree.
Bruce came to and pushed hard on the driver’s side door. Nothing. It wouldn’t budge. He touched a hand to his face and saw blood on his fingertips. Figures. Making a move to unbuckle himself, he realized he hadn’t buckled in the first place, so he half-crawled, half-climbed out the other side of the car.
It must have gotten colder. Bruce shuddered as he fell face-first out of his car. Gripping at the ground, he pulled himself forward, dared himself to look back. He wouldn’t. Not his car, his precious car, his brand new black leather interior Dodge Challenger that he bought with his own Army paycheck.
Once on his feet, he stumbled forward and braced himself against a tree. His head was spinning, and he must have been in pain, but he couldn’t feel it. Shock. Adrenaline, perhaps. Bruce squinted ahead of him and saw nothing but darkness. Looking back, not even the road. The horizon swiveled up and down, up and down in his view. Bruce swallowed the urge to vomit and stepped forward, stupidly trudging on. A concussion, he wondered, likely from hitting the steering wheel.
There was no telling where he was going or how far he walked. Bruce turned around and had it in mind to sit in his car to shield himself from the cold before his bones froze, but he could not see where he had come from. He was too dizzy to locate footsteps, suddenly to nauseous to move on. Falling to his knees, he then fell onto his side. The thought crossed him that he might die. Bruce shut his eyes.
