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A fetid one.
But there were rotting loungers around it that had once been quite lovely. A table and four chairs with a skeleton of an umbrella impaling it. A rusted charcoal grill that had fallen on its side.
“Judge.”
Rix’s low, clipped utterance of his name made me shift my focus to my man.
And my desire to flee faded as something much stronger took hold.
“Where was she found?” Judge asked, probably his dad since Rix and I didn’t know.
Though I could answer because Jamie couldn’t tear his eyes off it.
“The couch,” Jamie said, his tone guttural.
It was a piece of furniture I’d already glanced at.
I gave it my full attention then and noted it was clearly not only where a lot of the living occurred, because the ash and dust were unsettled, chip bags and fast-food wrappers scattered about, pill and booze bottles everywhere, and a mirror with heavy white residue on it was within close reach on the coffee table. But also, a lot of recent activity had occurred there, undoubtedly when the police or paramedics dealt with her.
Jamie looked to his son and asked, “Was it like this when you lived here?”
From the expression on his face, that guttural tone did not indicate he was upset poor Belinda ended her days in such filth.
He was livid his son might have grown up in it.
“No,” Judge replied. “I cleaned.”
He cleaned.
I processed that, but my eyes narrowed on him.
His expression was odd. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
And his voice was blank.
Like he was not here, seeing what we were seeing, smelling what we were smelling, standing mere feet from the spot where his mother died.
“Chéri,” I called.
He didn’t look at me.
“Judge.” I tried again.
And that was when it happened.
He bent to a side table, picked up a large, clearly heavy, glass ashtray, and cigarette ends exploded like a foul firework. Then the ash burst and began streaming in a gray cloud as he viciously threw it side arm through a window.
I jumped at the sound of shattering glass filling the air.
“Honey,” I breathed, starting to move to him, but Rix’s hand still in mine stayed me.
“Are we seeing this shit?” Judge roared.
Oh God.
Rix pulled me to his front, let my hand go and wrapped both his arms around my chest.
Judge turned to his immobile father.
“Are we?” he demanded. “Are we seeing…this…vile shit?”
“Son,” Jamie murmured.
He made a move to close in on Judge but stopped when Judge also moved.
And another ashtray flew through the window, ends tumbling, ash choking the air.
After that, a liquor bottle flew, and I heard it smash outside.
A coffee cup went next. One that had been sitting so long, when the contents escaped, they slithered out as sludge, splatting on the floor and wall with a sickeningly wet slap.
Another empty bottle trailed after that.
“I cannot believe this fucking shit!” he thundered.
“Honey,” I called.
He whirled on me but really on us because he said to Rix, “Get her the fuck out of here.”
“Bud, no. We’re here with you through this. Let it out. Let it fuckin’ go,” Rix encouraged.
“Get her out,” Judge gritted.
“You know more than me she won’t go.”
“GET HER OUT!” Judge bellowed.
Tears filled my eyes at the fury saturating his face.
I’d never seen Judge look like that. Not once.
I didn’t even know Judge could look like that.
Rix didn’t move a muscle.
Jamie reached out to his boy, saying with forced calm, “Judge—”
“What the fuck was the matter with her, Dad?” Judge asked him.
Jamie’s arm fell.
“I don’t know, buddy,” he answered quietly.
Judge threw out a hand. “Was she okay with this?”
“I don’t know,” Jamie repeated.
“How could she be okay with this?”
Jamie’s voice got stronger. “I don’t know, Judge. Now, take a breath.”
“I can’t fucking breathe in here, Dad, can you?”
“Maybe we should step out,” Jamie suggested. “All of us.”
“What’d she OD on?” Judge asked.
I was relieved Jamie didn’t push an exit and answered immediately.
Because Rix was right.
My man needed to do this.
Here and now.
“Vodka and tranquilizers.”
“Yeah, I remember those fucking nights. Fuck!” Judge shouted.
“What do you remember about those nights, man?” Rix asked right away.
I put my hand over his at my chest.
He just wrapped his fingers around mine and held on.
With what was to come, I would forever be grateful that he did.
“I don’t know, Rix, bein’ fuckin’ eight and terrified the bitch wouldn’t wake up,” Judge answered.
Oh God.
God, God, God.
With that opener, as was the only way it could be, it got worse.
“Shaking her, pulling her off the couch, out of bed, throwing water in her face,” Judge went on. “That was vodka and valium night. Cocaine and tequila was all kinds of fun,” he said snidely. “She’d be so goddamned jazzed, dancing around, the only time she fuckin’ cleaned, she had so much energy, she didn’t know what do with it, because she was so coked up, it was a wonder her brain didn’t explode.”
