Chapter 11
Owen
“Wake up, Owen. Wake up!”
He opens his eyes with a start, heaving as though he’s running. “What?”
“Jesus, kid.” Aunt Sheryl sits on the edge of his bed. “What the hell did you dream about?”
Dream? He moves to sit with his back against the headboard, his heart beating fast. He was in that dark alley until a moment ago, smashing Lee’s head with the trash can lid so many times there was no longer a head to hit, just scattered pieces of brain.
“Clowns,” he says lamely. “I had a nightmare about clowns.”
“What’s wrong with goddamn clowns?”
Nothing. He quite likes them. “I hate their red noses.”
His aunt sighs and gets up. “Try to go back to sleep. No more fucking clowns.”
“Okay.”
He lies back down, pulling the blanket below his chin.
He wonders if his subconscious is trying to punish him for not being more upset about what happened, more consumed by guilt.
He’s been so happy living in Van Buren, it became easy to forget the blood on his hands.
Maybe it does make him a bad person, but at least the universe has given him a chance to do some good.
*
He gets his chance the following morning, after his aunt leaves for work. He’s sitting in the kitchen drinking his morning coffee and browsing the newspaper when he hears a car parking outside. The driver honks, and Owen gets up to check through the window. It’s Nate, sitting in his private car.
Owen feels a shiver crawling down his back, but he still puts on his shoes and steps outside.
Nate lowers the window. “Morning.”
“Shit, what happened to your forehead?”
“I bumped into something.”
“Something or someone?”
Nate twitches his lips like there’s something rotten in his mouth. “Someone, but I’ll handle it. You busy?”
“I wanted to put up more posters for my book club.”
Nate rolls his eyes. “How many people do you think read in this town? I’ve seen three of those damn posters already.” He closes his eyes and exhales. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude. Your posters are cool, but everyone has already seen them.”
Owen nods. “Okay. Can I go change first?”
“Sure, but nothing too nice. You’re buying drugs, not insurance.”
He goes to change, picking plain blue jeans and a black shirt underneath a gray hoodie.
Nate starts driving toward Eminence, clearly in a mood from the fight he had. Owen casually asks, “Did Will help with your leak?”
“What?”
“Your leak. In the kitchen.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s sorted. Did you two have a date or something?”
“It wasn’t a date.” He decides to go ahead and say, “I was surprised you came to him for help. You did warn me about him.”
“Didn’t seem like my warning meant much.”
“To you as well.”
“I know who I’m dealing with, and I can take care of myself. I needed him to fix a leak, not to be my date.”
For a moment, Owen wonders if Will had been the one responsible for the nasty bump on Nate’s forehead, but he dismisses the idea. “I can also take care of myself.”
Nate snorts, then turns up the radio. They don’t speak until they reach Eminence—the most depressing place Owen has ever seen, though he hasn’t traveled much outside of Missouri.
“Am I supposed to do the same thing as last time?” Owen asks.
“Get some coke this time.”
“Fuck no!”
Nate stops the car by the side of the road and gives him a hard look. “I didn’t ask you to snort it. We want them to think you mean business.”
“I can mean business with weed just fine.”
“Listen, you agreed to help and follow my lead, didn’t you? I know what I’m talking about, so cut the act and buy some fucking coke.”
Owen looks out the window, his blood hot. “Don’t talk to me like that. I don’t have to do this.” He turns to meet Nate’s eyes. “You get me?”
Nate seems taken aback. “Alright, fine. Don’t buy coke. Let’s drag this out for months while some more junkies die.”
“Maybe a better police force wouldn’t have needed to count on me to save the day.”
“You do realize your aunt is with the force, right?”
“She wasn’t the one who asked me to do this.”
Nate pulls out some bills from his pocket. “Just do what you did last time. Fuck if I care.”
Owen slips the money into his pocket and gets out of the car.
It has gotten warmer since they left Van Buren, so he opens the zipper of his hoodie. It takes him about five minutes to reach the house from last time.
“Big-City Owen! I was hoping you’d come back.”
They shake hands. “How’s it going, Small-Town Joe?”
Joe is wearing baggy clothes with too many golden chains dangling on his chest. “Business has been slow this week, but it will pick up. I’m getting some competition from other entrepreneurs, if you can believe that.”
“No shit.”
“Shit and a half, but it’s all good—my products speak for themselves, am I right?”
“I wouldn’t have come back otherwise.”
“Cool. Oh, I practiced the trick you taught me! It went over well with the ladies.”
The door to the house opens. A large man walks out. He has a narrow mustache that seems like a smudge from afar, and his head is completely bald. Owen tenses.
“We’re good here!” Joe calls.
The other man says something in Spanish, then Joe replies as well. They do a back and forth before Joe sighs and asks Owen, “Do you just want weed today or something stronger? He had a buyer that didn’t show up, so we’re willing to give you a good deal.”
“Hmm…”
“Trips, crank, smack, blow…”
“Well, I guess I can buy some blow.” He regrets his words the second he says them, but maybe Nate was right about the need to move things along.
There’s a quick back-and-forth going on between the two men until Joe taps on Owen’s shoulder and says, “Come inside. He wanted to scam you, but I told him what’s what. Only fair trade between you and me.”
“I’m really tight on time, and…”
The other man crosses his arms, giving Owen a look that makes his stomach swirl. “Problem?” he calls.
“No,” Owen hurries to say, his mouth dry. “I can come in for a bit.”
Joe claps. “Sweet.”
He tries not to panic as he walks on the cracked path toward the front door of a drug den.
He’s surprised to find the house well-organized and clean.
The living-room table is covered with many small bags.
He doesn’t even want to think of how much money is technically spread on this table, or how many years in prison.
“Sit,” Joe says.
The couch is too soft, feeling like it swallows him. He rubs his itching palms over his knees, knowing it might come across as nervousness, but he can’t help it. He is nervous.
The large man sits on a nearby couch. “I’m Carlos.”
Owen is surprised there’s barely no accent when he speaks in English. “I’m Owen.”
“Big City Owen,” Joe says. “He taught me the trick.”
Carlos rolls his eyes. “You’re looking for coke?”
“Um, yeah, I guess.”
“Try it out, and then we can talk about the price. I’ll be fair.”
Joe sits next to Owen, both of them sinking deeper into the couch.
I can’t take this shit. He took an oath when he was in rehab. It was a whole thing. His counselors were there, and so were some of the other patients. They all seemed so proud of him, but he was even more proud of himself.
He takes a deep breath to stop himself from crying. “I’ll just buy the coke. Give me whatever you can for two hundred.”
Carlos shakes his head. “The pigs can put me and my brother inside for a long time for selling this. If I’m selling it to a stranger, I need to know he’s legit.”
Owen’s only hope is for Joe to step in, but he says, “Sorry, man, but we can’t take risks. We’ll take it together.”
And if I refuse? He’s too afraid to find out.
He makes a mental apology to himself and to the people who helped him get clean. “Let’s do this.”
*
He doesn’t know how long he has spent on that couch. The shitty songs on the stereo system must have changed more than ten times. The first line he inhaled into his nostril was horrible. His body broke into a cold sweat, and even Joe seemed worried.
“Didn’t you say you took it before?”
He did, but it was way over a year ago. By the time his heart stops pumping like an old engine, they offer him another line. He inhales it, then two more. The three of them speak about nothing important, and Owen relaxes enough to enjoy the conversation.
Other people come over to buy drugs, and more conversations start. Some of the buyers look weak and desperate, making Owen feel bad, but the rest are just like him. Normal people who wish to unwind when life becomes too much.
By the time he feels more like himself, he remembers Nate. Shit. He glances at his watch, not sure when he left him in the car. It must have been almost three hours ago. Owen needs to get back. He has a shift at the library. He hopes he’ll be okay to do his job, because the thought of losing it…
He shakes his head, remembering how easy it is to switch from happiness to panic when you’re under the influence of drugs. “I need to go.”
Carlos nods. “Two hundred, you say?”
“Yeah.”
“Joe, give it to him. Be generous.”
Joe taps Owen’s shoulder. “You’ll come see us again, right? Even Carlos likes you.”
“Sure.”
The second he has the drugs, he walks back toward where he left Nate.
The colors around him seem brighter, and his brain feels like it’s floating in his skull.
He can’t find Nate’s car. He walks farther ahead, nervous he’s going to get stuck here.
There must be some sort of transportation to Van Buren, but he doesn’t see any bus stations or anyone to ask for directions.
Even worse, he didn’t take his wallet with him, and he’s unlikely to pay for a ride with the cocaine he has in his pocket.
His heart begins to drum. He rubs his face, angry at himself for agreeing to this plan. He jolts and turns around at the sudden sound of a horn.
Nate drives closer. He doesn’t seem pissed, just tired. “Get in.”
Owen does, letting out a deep breath once he’s inside the car with the AC on.
“What did you take?”
“Coke. In their house.” He pulls out what he bought and hands it to Nate.
“Look at me.”
Owen does, and Nate scans his face. “Are you okay with me taking you home?”
“Yeah, most of it has already passed. I’m sorry you needed to wait.”
“If it means we’re moving ahead with our plan, I don’t mind. It also gave me some time to think.” He begins to drive.
Owen leans his seat back. “Productive thinking?”
“I guess you can say that. My mom was a quitter, and it didn’t work out for her. Those junkies out there are also quitters. Hell, most of this county is filled with quitters.” He clears his throat, intensity in his eyes as he glances at Owen. “I’m going to get what belongs to me.”
Owen feels too floaty to ask more questions. He nods and shuts his eyes. “You do that, man. I believe in you.”