penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (17 page)

“Why do
 people believe in something?” I asked and didn’t wait for his response before I continued. “We must believe there is something outside ourselves directing everything. I used to believe that. It’s easier to believe a force outside myself influenced me to be the way I was. It wasn’t my fault because the devil made me do it—you know? So obey rules, repent for mistakes and you’re back in good graces,” I watched as one of the little girls began to push the other on the swing. “It’s funny that when we are children, we can’t do wrong. We are faultless, because we’re still learning. Every authority figure is faultless in our eyes, too. If we couldn't fathom doing horrible things, they couldn't either. The world we live in as children is full of truth and wonder. We grow up and realize it was bullshit. We can't fathom doing horrible things, but that doesn't mean others won't do horrible things to us. The world isn’t faultless and neither are we. Life sucks and we suck right with it and we are at fault for the sucking mess we find around us. No one wants to believe they are at fault, though. Most don’t want to believe they are capable of doing horrible things.” I let my voice trail off as I continued to watch the girls and my mind wandered to another time. I wanted the freedom I experienced as a child.

I wanted escape from my pain and I wanted to believe that the world held magic. A few moments in our conversation awakened that longing. With Wynn, it was possible to be faultless and dream.

Wynn took in a deep breath and in breathing out it looked as though he were counting. Darkness fell over his eyes as if I said something that brought memories to mind he wanted to avoid. “Well, do you still want me to answer the question?”

I forced a smile and shook my head. “You don’t have to answer. I killed our conversation didn’t I?” I looked at him and held my smile, “It’s a horrible habit of mine and I apologize. Thanks for taking the old me out for a dance I smiled a
t my own odd choice of words. “But she comes out for brief lapses of time, and I must sulk again.”

He met my eyes and I could tell he understood what I was saying. He held onto his sadness as much as me. He wanted to be rid of it as well, but neither of us knew how. When sadness and brokenness consume you for so long, you forget what it’s like to dream.

Without realizing it, she was fucking with me. Though unintentional, she dug herself out a huge space in my head. I wasn’t normally this open and the flippant way I spoke was unnerving.

As I watched her calculate her thoughts, I sorted my own in my mind. I replayed the conversation and her statement on living screamed the loudest. She spoke of claiming moments and I wondered if that was a variation of Stinson saying I needed to make thoughts my bitch.

I never delved into deeper topics with strangers. Hell, I didn’t even with the people closest to me. But Hannah and I were scratching the surface of possibilities together. I watched her as she unwound her hair from her neck and twisted it. She watched two little girls playing at the park and the expression on her face held the pain she tried to hide from me.

Awkwardness overtook me and I was unsure how to respond to her emotions. That shit I spewed on being truthful and dropping masks was honest, but I didn’t know if it were possible for me. I was lost to what to say now. The vulnerability left me feeling nervous. I sat here like an idiot, not knowing what to do next. My phone ringing in my pocket saved me and the distraction was welcomed.

I checked the number, “Shit. Sorry, I have to take this. It’s work,” I said as I started to stand from the booth.

Her eyebrows popped up in a false interest as they overshadowed a dark memory. She forced her initial reaction away before speaking “Oh? Does that mean someone died?
” she asked.

When she said the word,
died
she hesitated. Her expression changed and she felt that word. Truly felt it. I realized where her sadness originated. Death was not only a word for her. It was an emotion.

I gave her a slight smile, “Yes but not always
.” I stepped away from the table and stood near the restrooms to answer my phone. I watched her drink her coffee, continuing to watch kids playing in the park.

“Yeah, it's Wynn.”

“Hey Wynn its Reynolds, can you make it over to Market Street in fifteen?” He always got right to the point.

“Well, I have someone with me, but after I drop them off I can. I'm not sure if I can make it so soon, though
,” I said as I continued watching Hannah. She looked lost to her thoughts.

“Oh, sorry man, w
e have a murder/suicide. I hate shit like this.” The desperation in Reynolds tone had been increasing and I wondered how long before he broke.

“Okay. Let me drop her off, and I’ll be out.”

“Her? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned a
her,
” he said and the smile resounded in his voice as he spoke. “Now, I regret having called you even more.” Though it sounded as if he smiled, he held a distance in his voice. Never speaking of a relationship either, I wondered if the brokenness he showed came from that.

“I don’t think I have mentioned
anyone
before, Reynolds. We tend to keep conversations out of that realm.”

He laughed, “No, I guess you haven’t. But yeah head to
North Market. You can’t miss us,” he said and without another word he disconnected the call.

I slid back into my seat, trying not to show relief for the work interruption that stalled the conversation. “I have to go to work
,” I said. Her despondent expression made me want to continue our conversation, but my own thoughts strayed to darker places and fears I didn’t want to approach.

“Okay. I don't need a ride back to the school. I can walk over to where Maggie works.”

“You don’t have to do that. I will either drop you off at home or take you to her. I can’t leave you that way,” I said as our eyes met and I wondered what was going on behind hers. As we looked at each other for several moments, my earlier assessment of them solidified. She had a great abyss in her eyes filled with thoughts and reasoning that most people never knew existed.

“Okay, you can take me to Maggie’s. She’s a couple bloc
ks from here, I think,” she said as she climbed from her side of the booth and left enough money on the table for her food and tip. I did the same and as we exited the restaurant she looked over the counter and yelled, “Thanks, Sonya.” The plump woman met her eyes and shook her head, lifting her hand to give a dismissive good-bye.

Hannah gave me a huge grin as if her dark thoughts were nonexistent now. When she spoke of childhood and religion she started to retreat into herself and the distance the topic created between us was tangible. It was as if talking of them halted any progression we may have together. The unease was disconcerting, but in her smile I felt peace.

I found myself wanting to trust Hannah and that was a start I guess. It was crazy what an hour and several cups of coffee changed. Hannah was right—coffee had the potential to be life changing. She was the most genuine person I ever met, but I was still hesitant. I was taking part in a strange balancing act where part of me wanted to trust her, but old ghosts reared their heads taunting and making me question everything. 

She directed me to the ad agency and I pulled up out front. As she was climbing off the bike, Gabe came running out. He pulled Hannah into a hug and kissed her on the mouth and I couldn’t help but be jealous. It wasn’t the act itself I was envious of, but how easy he did it. After he broke their embrace he gave his attention to me with a smile.

“Who’s your friend, Hannah?” he asked as she smiled and put her arm through his.

“This is Wynn. Wynn meet Gabe
.” Gabe smiled as he took my hand and gave it a firm shake. He looked back and forth between Hannah and me before giving me his focus.

“It’s a pleasure to me you, Wynn. You took care of my Hannah didn’t you?” Through his forwardness, I saw his words were authentic. He cared for her and I was thankful she had someone as him in her life.

“Yes, I don't think another way is possible with her,” I said, giving Hannah a smile fueled with a need to prove that statement. She responded by looking away shyly.

“Well, Wynn has to get to work, Gabe
,” Hannah said as she gave me back my helmet, avoiding her unease. I could tell she was trying to end the conversation. I wondered if it was because she didn’t want me to meet her friend or if she was ready for us to part ways.

“Yes, I do, I’m already running late. I’m glad I met you though
,” I said to Gabe and turned to Hannah. “Thank you for the company.”

She smiled at me and leaned in for a hug. She kissed my cheek right near my ear and a rush of flushed embarrassment ran across my neck and face
. “We will do it again, Wynn.” She whispered and they left to enter the building. I took note that she didn’t say we
should
do it again, but she said we
will
.

I arrived at my job ten minutes later and climbing off my bike, I thought of how fucked this job was for me.
 Sometimes it amounts to taking simple photos of bullet holes, footprints, or smashed car windows. But days as today are the ones that embed into my memories. I hated these cases.

This job literally did fall into my lap. I was photographing an old building on the south side of town and when I entered one of the rooms I found what I thought was someone sleeping. I was wrong. There was a young man lying dead under a cardboard box and it was later ruled accidental overdose. Reynolds met me that day and I shocked him by the easy way I handled the situation. He saw my camera and said there was an internship I should look into with the police. The rest was history.

I opened my bag and took my camera out. I inhaled several deep breaths before stepping under the crime scene tape and walking across the well-manicured lawn. I prepared myself for a house filled with people by getting the exterior shots first. Taking the photos calmed me as I thought of the closeness inside the walls waiting for me. I will have to be near them, they will bump into me, and they will touch me. The plus was the crime scenes are clear of them when I begin my work with Reynolds. No one wants photos with random cop boots in the corner.

I found the crime scene where everyone was lingering and saw that it was a newer one. I heard someone say it was ten hours old. Ten hours ago, these people were living. Ten hours ago they were taking breaths of air, giving them life. Ten hours ago, others walked past their home and didn’t give a thought of what was happening behind their door. I was reading a book in my loft ten hours ago.

An officer told me it was a married couple. The neighbor found them both dead with a gunshot wound to the head. The wife’s went through the back of her head and the husband's his mouth. I stepped closer to them and stared as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. They weren’t real as I looked at them. They were part of an art student creation and any minute they will stand from the couch to go grab an espresso. I kept my face flat, thinking of them as actors.

I took photos as Reynolds told me what areas of the room I needed to focus on for the close-ups. He came to stand beside me, “Looks as though the husband didn’t agree with what the wife wanted to watch. I guess reality shows lost to football
,” he said on a laugh.

I glared at him over my camera. I understood that desensitization came with the job for most of them. In a few months, I learned to separate myself from what I saw. But making jokes of their deaths? That’s a new level, even for Reynolds.

I was photographing their last moments on earth. I saw this as an extension of what I do daily with my photography. Humanity has many faces. I needed to believe theirs remained even in such violent deaths. One of them could be dying and they wanted to take control of their own deaths instead of leaving everything to fate. They couldn’t go on or end without the other.

No matter the reason, after the case is closed, their deaths become a vague memory. It becomes one among thousands alphabetized and numerated. The humanity of their death lost in cabinets and boxes. I hoped their loved ones didn’t remember them in this scene.

What causes people to do this? Despite the shit I went through, I never wanted to end my life. The numbness and fear leaving me, if for a few minutes, was what I wanted. Theirs ran deeper as it was a fear of going on without the other. 

Forensics came in and needed to take blood samples from the couch. I stepped away to make room and noticed the family photos covering the mantle. It was surreal comparing these photos with their death scene. The photos
 showed them smiling and sitting with a dog under a tree. Christmas and wedding photos tucked into frames, showing happier times. They were a young couple and they appeared to be in love. But these posed photos created a false pretense of happiness. They never displayed the true lives the occupants lived. Happiness was easy when told to smile on the count of three.

I walked into the kitchen and found eggs left in a bowl as if someone were preparing to bake a cake. I pulled my gloves from my jacket when I saw a book on the counter. The cover image reminded me of my mother and my curiosity won as I picked the book up to read. From the summary, it was a horrible fucking story.