Page 35 of The Wrong Drive-
She finally sees me for who I am, no sugarcoating it to herself. There’s not an ounce of denial. It is what it is—and it fuckinghurts.
Chapter 14
Emersyn
The snow finally breaks,but it doesn’t mean the same as it did before. All it means now is that the sun beams through the window, taunting me with a freedom I know I’ll never have. I slide into a pair of dark wash jeans and an olive colored sweatshirt, pull my hair up into a messy bun, and step out of the bedroom. Part of me hopes Turner is still upstairs with his bourbon—the way he left yesterday evening.
But there’s this unwantedsmallpart of me that hopes I’ll run into him.
I hate that part of me. It’s the same part that made me feel guilty for spitting in his face, which had the opposite effect of what I thought it would. Ihurthim, which is maybe what I wanted. But two wrongs don’t make a right, right? I don’t know anymore.
“I’m going outside to get started clearing,” Turner tells me as soon as I appear at the end of the hallway. Gunner stands beside him, wagging his tail. I nod, meeting his eyes. He instantly looks away. It’s like a game.
And now he’s the one who won’t face me.
“How much snow?”
“Four days’ worth,” he grunts, opening the backdoor and disappearing. I watch him go, the door slamming shut behind him. I stare after him, wondering why I still feel the urge to follow him. I suppressed it, but it’s still there. I let out a sigh, my stomach growling. Slowly, my appetite has resurfaced, and honestly, the grief has faded astronomically faster than I expected.
In fact, I think there might be something wrong with me. But maybe this is just how I cope.
I shudder, and then grab a granola bar, spinning on my heels and heading back down the hallway. However, as I reach the end of the hallway, I make a right, heading up the stairs. Turner is going to be out a while, and as I peer out the window, I see him already shoveling snow around the house.
“I lied to you,” I say, watching him through the window. “Idowant to know who’s going to try and kill me.” There’s a knot in my throat as the words leave my lips, and I’m almost certain it makes me crazy.
But if Iknowhim, maybe I stand a chance to survive him.
I head straight for the room he found me in, slipping inside. I leave the lights off, letting the natural light fill the room, and I shut myself in. I should hear him come in, but if I don’t, I’ll at least have a chance to hide. It’s a shitty plan, but Ihaveto know why Turner did what he did—and I have a good feeling this room means something.
As soon as I click the door shut, I head for the desk in the corner. I pick up the top letter first, which is an explanation that he’s not eligible to receive disability with a dishonorable discharge. I set that to the side, picking up a handwritten letter from someone named Calvin Bradford. It’s handwritten, worn, and it appears it’s been poured over more times than once, dated December 11, 2013.
Thomas,
Thank you for reaching out. I won’t be stateside for another six months. When I am, I will give you a call and see how things are going. I don’t want to leave you without more information, however. I know you have the official documents, but you deserve the off-record truth, too.
Your brother is struggling with severe PTSD, but I believe it’s developing into more. His outbursts are violent, and even though they follow with heartbreaking remorse for his actions, I believe that he’s going to need significant clinical help to get past his blackouts that have developed. He nearly killed me, and his psychologist could only explain it as a break in his psyche. I don’t think it’s a high or addiction. It’s the trauma eating him alive. I’m worried one day, he will snap and hurt someone he loves.
I’m not angry at him for what happened. He was one of the best in his unit. Don’t ever let his mental illness overshadow his bravery for the duration of his enlistment. I did everything I could for a medical discharge, but unfortunately, it didn’t work out. Just don’t forget he saved eight men. They have not forgotten him.
He suffered a great loss with Taylor passing and you all’s parents a month later in the accident a little over two years ago. I believe he stuck it out and served for another year after, because he thought going through the motions would fix him—but I think it only prolonged the buildup and then the break.
But it’s just a theory, Thomas. I don’t know if that’s what’s going on. I just know, no one should lose their parents and brother in a month span. I wish every day the car accident wouldn’t have happened. I’m so incredibly sorry for you and Turner’s losses. Don’t give up on him but please keep your safety in mind.
Give him my regards. He has my phone number. If he wants my help, call me. He hasn’t responded to anything I’ve sent himthus far. I know he is in a dark place. I hope he finds his way out someday.
Cal Bradford
I blink away the tears as I set the letter back down on the desk, my heart aching with sympathy. Turner killed Adam, but for fuck’s sake, how much can one man go through? I then begin to open drawers, finding mostly irrelevant papers, other than some still full prescriptions issued by psychiatrists. When I finally make it to the final drawer, I find a journal. I flip it open, seeing Thomas’s name.
It starts August 1st2011, and I start flipping through it, noting that Thomas is working on the cabin, planning a hunting trip for him, his father, Turner, and their brother, Taylor, when they’re home later that year. I take a seat in the floor, sitting cross legged as I keep reading, stopping on the ones that mention Turner.
September 1, 2011
Turner and Taylor were deployed on a mission. No idea where they went. Praying for their safe return.
September 28, 2011
Still haven’t heard from Turner or Taylor. I have a bad feeling in my gut. Pops called, wanting to know if I’d heard from him. I told him no but didn’t express my worry.
