Psychosis

Hollywood South

On the Monday following May 4, 2020, Damien and I moved every bit of paperwork from the house into the office, made copies of everything, then stored the copies in the bunker. We also went shopping for supplies to keep underground for emergencies. I was sparing no expense. Funds were beginning to run low, and my bank account had dipped below five thousand dollars.

Then, I called Kylar. We made arrangements to meet up at my shop on Thursday. I took the bike this time around and followed him. He drove his Stallion. I pulled Jameson’s clothes and racing gear from the apartment in the garage at home. The goal was to make Kylar as uncomfortable as possible using subtle visuals.

If he really was the man who attacked Jameson, then maybe seeing me dressed as him on his motorcycle would rile Kylar up. He was always strung out on cocaine so I was banking on him being paranoid.

“What’s with the get-up?” He asked as I pulled my helmet off outside of the wine cellar.

“Well, honestly after Eric died, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jay. I was feeling nostalgic so I pulled out all his old gear and thought I’d start doing more to help his memory live on rather than keep it shoved down. Besides,” I smiled warmly at him, “I’m getting married, and Damien is supportive of me not shutting out such an important part of my life.”

Kylar’s stance stiffened, “I guess I’m just a little bothered seeing someone who resembles him. The last memory I have is seeing him in his casket.”

This motherfucker is going down. How dare he.

I can’t lose control of my emotions.

“I understand how you feel, but it’s been over two years and Eric’s death is a sign for me to move on, I think that’s why it happened the way it did. The universe knew how badly it haunted me so it basically showed me that the past would keep repeating itself if I didn’t change my ways.”

His jaw clenched and he said, “You’ve always been into that spiritual bullshit. What happened to Eric and what happened to Jameson might as well be unrelated. Jameson died before anyone could find out what happened and Eric wasn’t doing his job. Someone probably chased him down. There’s no reason he should have been near Styx River or Eightmile.”

I shrugged nonchalantly, “Just tell me what you’ve got for me this weekend.” I unmounted the bike and walked inside, Kylar brooding behind me.

He’s blatantly uncomfortable, it’s working.

Watch yourself, you have no idea how unpredictable he is.

That’s the beauty of it, all humans are unpredictable so I’m expecting the absolute worst. He killed his two best friends for finding out the truth.

Brutally. If he even gets it in his head that you’re f*****g with him, he’s going to kill you on the spot.

I don’t think he will. If he’s trafficking children and he saved Sophie’s birthday until the age of four, who’s to say he isn’t planning on taking my kids? If that’s the case, getting rid of me would put the kids in my parents’ custody.

If you think he won’t hunt all of you down, you’ve lost your mind.

It’s a leap of faith, I’m willing to bet he’s going to keep me alive. Eric stayed alive for two years following by playing dumb. I’m a master at putting up an emotional front.

We got to the map room and began discussing where I was being sent that night. I would be able to carry more without worrying about getting away if I was blue lighted. Nothing was going to catch that bike.

Kylar put a broken-up kilo of blow and two ounces of boy in my bag. I was being sent to a penthouse to distribute all of its contents to one party. Celebrities would be there so I had to mind myself. I half hoped my favorite musician would be there as well so that I could do a line of coke with him and cross something else off my bucket list.

When I arrived, the entire floor throbbed with heavy rave music. The lighting waned between blues and purples. A crowd of drug addicts moved together in tandem, moshing with the music. I started feeling severely guilty knowing I was about to make the problem worse.

How awful of you, you should just kill yourself now. Working for a human trafficker who encourages you to deal out lethal amounts of drugs.

Something you have to remember is that they are all adults capable of making these decisions. I’m not forcing anyone to do anything.

Are you arguing with the morality of selling deadly substances to innocent people whose brains don’t work properly? That’s f****d up even for you.

I’m not going to be distracted by morality tonight. You don’t have to remind me that in this situation -

- you’re the gateway person.

I shook my head slightly, trying not to give in to my darker thoughts. Regardless of how I felt about it, I was actively on drugs and I was more than capable of using mind over matter. I wasn’t an addict and would never give in to the feeling of needing it. My dopamine receptors were so f*****g fried it would be absolutely pointless to let myself believe I needed it.

Not only did I feel like I didn’t, but I hated it. Why? Because of the nerve damage, the damage to society, the damage to my life and my family, the loss of my friends. The worry of Damien giving in to his demons. I couldn’t take losing anyone else. I would play the part now because, at the end of it, there will be one less shark in this little pond of big fish.

I met with one of Kylar’s worker bees, he was a middle-aged blonde guy with broad shoulders and a big head. He wore a suit and paraded around as if he were the mob boss. I felt like he was making a fool of himself but he socialized so well with everyone, that I was sure he could sell ice to an Eskimo. I extended my hand and he picked me up in a hug.

Do none of these people consider following social distancing guidelines?

“Hello! You must be The Black Cat I’ve heard SO much about! Come, sit, sit. Sir tells me you’ve been good friends with him for many years and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Jason.” He walked me over to a table that was offset from the rest of the room. Multiple men and women joined us, two of them were actresses, and there was one musician. All fairly popular but no one I was too thrilled to meet. “Everyone! I want to introduce you to my dear friend, she is the one and only Black Cat.”

“Oohhh what a fierce title. Is it because you wear all black?” One of the women asked.

I kept a straight face, “It’s actually because I’m a f*****g savage.”

An orchestra of oohs and ahhs sounded out from around the table. The musician popped off with an attitude and asked what made me such a savage. I held my hand out to Jason and instructed him to hand over an Adderall. He dropped two little blue tabs in my hand. I then pulled out two tiny plastic bags, one of methamphetamine and one of cocaine. I crushed all three and laid them each out into a thick line.

I rolled up a one-hundred-dollar bill. “This is what I like to call an iced coke with my friend Addy.” In one smooth motion, I inhaled each line consecutively and then tossed the bill onto the table.

The entire table roared.

I sat back, thinking about how irritating they all were and how much I loved the validation. I helped Jason distribute throughout the night, and I made it back to the map room before dawn the next morning.

I tossed my bag, now filled with rolls of cash, onto the table. Kylar stared at me and said I should probably take a minute to go to the bathroom. When I looked in the mirror, my pupils were massive and blood was dried all down the right side of my nose and chin, some of it had even dripped onto my neck.

“I thought I was just sweating all night, no one told me I had a nose bleed.”

“You didn’t feel it?”

“When you do as much coke as I did and move as fast as I do, you don’t feel shit.”

He shook his head. “Girl, you’re something else entirely.”

There was a box of crepes on the desk, I snagged one and a bottle of water. “After I refuel, I’ll be ready to go back out.”

“I’ll pay you for last night. Did you give the boy to Jason?”

“Yeah, he didn’t sell it.”

“He gets paid with heroin and direct deposit. He’s an addict.”

I paused from my bite. “You only pay me in cash?”

“I take advantage of my employees. They prefer drugs over money because the money would be spent on drugs. He gets paid ten k per job on top of the heroin. Just be happy I don’t give him ten thousand dollars worth of heroin. I don’t want the fucker to die.”

“Did you want Jameson to die?” I sat back in the tall swivel chair at the head of the table.

The muscles in his shoulders tensed under his button-down. “Kara, is there a reason you would ask me that? Jay was my best f*****g friend. Why would you ever think I wanted him to die?”

“You did a piss poor job protecting him.”

“Look, just because you miss your husband and you’re having issues getting over his death because you didn’t do anything for him either, doesn’t mean you have to aim it at me. Take that bullshit somewhere else!”

A scoff escaped me, “Just tell me where you’re sending me next.”

I continued working parties for Kylar and even made appearances in underground bars and private homes. I always wore a black gaiter, stopped doing drugs while working, and even decided to pick up a set of contact lenses that completely blacked out my eyes. Consider it a uniform of sorts.

Few people dared antagonize me or approach me. The ignorant ones who did were met with a stone-faced demonic presence. I didn’t f**k around. Kylar and I became close, I steadily and subtly pushed the boundaries of his mental stability. One day I crossed the line.

In a penthouse together one hot night in June, we were doing well working the party, I acted almost as a sense of security. I joked about him being a cold killer. He laughed along with me.

“So it’s true?” I quipped from behind him.

He paused. “What did you say?”

“I asked if it’s true that you really are a cold-blooded killer.”

“I always shoot to kill. I don’t put up with bullshit, but that comes with the job.”

“Is that what happened to Jay? If that’s your idea of shooting to kill,” I cackled, “You need to work on your aim.” By the time he had turned around to confront me, I had slipped away and been swallowed up by the crowd.

He caught back up with me hours later at the wine shop and never said a word. I’d never seen someone move so swiftly, he walked into the room and grabbed me by my throat, and slammed me onto the corner of the map table, cracking the glass on it. I landed on my right shoulder and heard a pop between my right shoulder blade and my spine.

“I don’t know how you got so brave or what you know.” A large knife was pressed against my throat, “But this is as far as you go with that s**t. I’m not listening to you anymore, do you understand? You work for me and I will be damned before any of my subordinates make the brave and ignorant decision to challenge me.” The full weight of my friend-turned-employer pressed down on me, forcing the corner of the table deeper into my back.

“I blame you for their deaths. I don’t believe you did it but they died working for you. Even if you weren’t the one who pulled the trigger or swung the blade, you’re accountable. Their blood is on your hands no matter how you try to look at it. Although the longer you stand over a woman half your size threatening her and actively assaulting her, the less convinced I am that you didn’t kill my husband.”

Kylar released me. “Get out of my sight. I don’t want to see you right now. After everything I’ve done for your family over the years, I’m so tired of the disrespect.”

“I can’t work now anyway.” I stood up, my shoulder and back seething with pain. “If you need me again you know where to find me.”

“That I do.”

I sat in my office while Damien read upstairs in the book loft. I pulled my quill and parchment out and thought heavily about the memoir I had written, and I decided that I would write something for Jameson. It had taken me over two years to accept that part of my life and his death.

The ink dripped onto the paper, I worked my shoulder against the sling that was stabilizing it.

June 22, 2020

I already miss it.

Every cuddle, every nuzzle, every “One more, don’t go.”

Every laugh, every story, every memory we shared.

All the nights that melted into mornings when we couldn’t contain ourselves.

I already miss it.

Scents that were sweet and others that were rugged.

Savory dinners, movies we never paid attention to.

A sea of laundry and shirts that make me think ‘Gatsby.’

Soft lights and fuzzy blankets and every pillow with a clean cover.

I can talk for two decades about those two decades,

But there isn’t enough time in existence to talk about the things I won’t get to miss.

All the bookstores we won’t ever visit.

All the movies we wouldn’t have watched.

All the parks we won’t explore.

Christmas mornings and Easter Sundays and that thing we celebrate on Valentine’s

Concerts and festivals and parades we won’t ever see.

Paintings we won’t paint.

Dances we won’t dance.

All the “I love you”’s and “Be safe”’s and “Call me”’s

All the things I won’t ever hear again

See again

Feel again

Say again

Yeah, I already miss you.

Upon the completion of my little poem, I leaned back and pondered for a few moments whether or not I should, but then I remembered that I should never have to decide if I should or shouldn’t visit my late husband’s grave.

I walked outside through the side door in the kitchen and crossed the patio to the courtyard, where I had buried his ashes. The tree sapling that fed on his remains had grown a bit more than I had expected.

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to come to visit you. I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t know what will happen, I don’t know how to stop Kylar. I wish so badly that you were here. You always had a way with guidance. I’m so sorry this happened. I’m even more sorry that I’m tied up in it. I love you. I’ll visit more often, I promise.”

On the first of July, I was instructed by Kylar to meet him at the docks in Avondale. I complied. Damien said he’d had a bad feeling and was afraid of me leaving alone with a torn rotator cuff. I brushed him off, reassuring him and kissing him goodbye. I drove my 1995 vermillion four-door to Gulf Shores where I slipped my arm from the brace and retrieved Jameson’s bike, taking the ferry to Dauphin Island. The sun had set by the time I made it to the interstate in Irvington.

Traffic in Biloxi was hell and New Orleans wasn’t much better. Even though COVID was rampant in the states, people still insisted on celebrating and partying in the big cities. I guess only hurricanes can turn it into a ghost town.

Pulling into the back entrance of the docks, something felt a bit off. I parked the bike and drew my pistol. I snuck around and couldn’t see Kylar’s car anywhere. I did, however, hear a familiar voice. When I peeked around the corner, I could see Jason and a handful of other men standing on land talking to a man standing in a boat at the edge of the water.

Their voices weren’t loud enough to catch the entire conversation. Seven men total, I crouched in the shadows and pulled up my gaiter, throwing my hood over my head, and tried to sear their faces into my mind.

Aside from Jason, a tall man, thin and bony with a dark complexion. His hair was long and dreaded. He wore a button-down, slacks, and a vest, his sleeves rolled up. The other men all had on blue jeans and black shirts, and two of the men wore hats. They each had a slightly different dialect. Dreads spoke with a Jamaican accent to Jason, though I could hear that they were speaking, I couldn’t make out anything they were saying.

What if they’re here to kill you?

What?!

Yeah, you’re probably right, why would Kylar lure you to a place like this, not show up, and all of it be a coincidence?

Why would he take me out in a place like this?

He’s planning on selling you.

I don’t know that to be true.

I remained crouched for a long time, long enough for my legs to tingle and my shoulder to throb. Thirty minutes or so passed before I heard the familiar growl of Kylar’s Stallion. I stood up, shaking the nerves. In my pocket was a baggie of coke, I retrieved it and my keys, then swiftly put it away. Numbness crept through my face and within a minute I was alert.

The cherry-red Pony drifted violently through the shipyard and came to a hard stop, kicking up gravel and a cloud of dust. The driver’s side door flew open and he stepped out with a rifle in his hands.

This boy has lost his goddamn mind.

Kylar’s voice rang out and echoed throughout the shipping containers, making its way to me. Then, there it was, loud and clear, “What the f**k are you standing around for?! She’s here! Find her and bring her to me so I can f*****g end her!” Shortly after, a gunshot rang out, I looked around the corner and caught a glimpse of Jason’s body crumpling to the ground.

Bitch you gotta get up and go - now.

I wasn’t going to argue with my shade this time around. I started moving away from the commotion and decided that I couldn’t get away on the bike as quickly as he could aim a rifle and shoot me down, especially while injured.

What the f**k am I going to do?

Kylar’s voice reached me again, a maniacal roar this time, “Tell you what! Every five minutes that this little b***h isn’t on my boat, I kill one of you!” A horrifying cackle burst out of him and I heard another gunshot, the crumpling of a man's corpse to concrete has its own sound. Metal scraped against one of the containers, thudding against it, it almost resembled the sound of a bat being dragged down the side of a rigid surface. But it wasn’t a bat.

Thump. Clink. Thump. Clink. Thump.

He’s dragging the bump stock of that rifle, he’s out for blood.

Eric’s last words came into my mind. I rounded a corner and stayed in the shadows.

Think like Jameson. Think like Jameson. What would Jameson do?

He would tell you to get your dumb ass out of the line of fire. Call the f*****g cops if you have to.

Wait! I don’t need to be the one to call the cops, but I can be the one to lure them here.

I bolted as quietly as my legs would carry me to the far corner of the lot and used the fence to get on top of one of the containers. I laid flat in the darkness, making myself scarce. Looking around, I spotted a gas station a few blocks up the road.

Kara, you clever b***h. You’ve only got one shot.

I took my aim, if I could just hit a window, it would be over. In through my nose, out through my mouth, I breathed steadily, prepared for the kick, and solidified myself against the crippling pain in my shoulder.

BANG

I didn’t stick around to find out what it hit, all that mattered is it hit something and an alarm started blaring.

I just have to avoid the wrath of Kylar for a few minutes, then when the cops show I can esc-

“What do you think you’re doing? Are you the one who just shot up that convenience store?” A young voice broke my train of thought.

The deepest fear I’d ever known came over me, I spun around on my heels, horrified. Commotion from the men rang out and they began closing in. “You f*****g i***t. You weren’t supposed to show up like this.”

Before me stood a tall man with copper-colored hair cut into a high and tight. He wore a dark blue uniform and stood there as if he were a school teacher scolding a child. My left hand wrapped firmly around his wrist and I dragged him with me as I ran to avoid my own death.

An explosion stopped us in our tracks. We looked towards the road, and one of the goons had blown up the police cruiser.

“My car…” He stumbled. My hands gripped his collar and I yanked him down to my height, forcing him to look at me.

“We don’t have time for you to start dissociating and going into shock, this dude is going to take both of our f*****g heads and put them on a pike if we don’t get out of here. He gutted the last guy that pissed him off, we have to go!”

He looked me over.

“Who are you?”

I started running again, keeping him close behind. “We can exchange formalities over coffee later. Just stay low.”

The Jamaican voice from earlier came up from behind me, “Stay low? No love, it’s too late for tryna stay low.”

My eyes met his, the barrel of a handgun pressed itself into my throat. “He’s going to kill you too, you know.” My gaiter had fallen and I smiled wide at him. “Don’t ever think for a second that he won’t take you out too. Just be happy he spares you the trouble of torture.” A horrid giggle turned into a cackle and soon I was wailing with laughter.

Then, I stopped abruptly, c*****g my head, staring into the soul of the awful man in front of me. “Although, if you don’t want to die easily,” I rotated my bad shoulder, a wicked grin crept across my face, and the muscles around my eyes remained still, “I could torture you instead.”

The man shuddered, faltering just enough for an opening. The cop tackled him, and he fired a shot, missing both of us, however, alerting Kylar to our location. I snatched the cop up and put a bullet in the concrete next to the man on the ground. I knelt, smiling to show all my teeth. “I’m going to let you live tonight, but one of these days I’ll hunt you down and Kylar will be the least of your nightmares.”

Nerve damage came in handy, I used that subtle tick to creepily drag the bare tips of my right hand fingers from his forehead to his lips, holding my arm at an unnatural angle. I think I may have petrified him.

My acting skills may not have been acting, in the heat of a lot of sinister moments, I would very well take someone's life to keep mine. I went to great lengths to avoid killing anyone because I was more afraid to end up like Kylar than anything else.

The officer and I had bee-lined our way back to my bike, I hopped on and handed him my helmet. “You need a ride?”

He gazed at me, unsure of what to think. Probably pondering if he was safer with the insane b***h on the bike or the insane dude hunting her down. His head turned slightly and he looked hard out of the corner of his eye, then he looked back at the helmet in my outstretched hand.

I smiled warmly at him, “Don’t think about it too much, it’s a leap of faith.”

He joined me, securing the helmet and hanging on firmly to my waist.

Right around daybreak, I brought him to a coffee shop around the corner from the police station he worked at. We sat at a table under an umbrella and enjoyed some beignets together.

He watched me carefully with sea-green eyes. “I have to arrest you, you know that, right?”

“No, you don’t. I saved your life. You’re still a human being at the end of the day. I’m ready to go home.” I sipped my coffee, cradling my arm in my lap. I knew he knew I knew he didn’t have it in him morally to arrest me. They would never catch Kylar.

“Say I let you go, what then? More people die?”

“I didn’t kill anyone. I terrified a guy into pissing himself. And come on, I bought breakfast and gave you a ride.”

“My name is Riley.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Riley, thank you for helping me get away from that f*****g lunatic.” I extended my hand, he flinched from my sudden movements. I frowned, “Why does it seem like you’re scared of me now?”

“Well you traumatized that man and I don’t know, it’s been a long shift. I’ve only been doing this for a few months and I’ve never been in a situation like that.” His frame shifted in his chair.

“I know how you feel. I grew up with that guy, we were close for years. He went into the military with my husband and ended up killing him and another friend of ours to hide some secrets that he was trafficking humans. He’s a big deal. He’s also f*****g nuts. So if I were you I would revisit it later today and get your superiors on it.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, I think it starts with accepting what has happened.” He stood up and handed me his card with all his work info.

“I’ll reach out to you one of these days.” My nervous system was starting to hurt from being awake for so long. “For now, I’m going home. If you decide you want to come for me then you can take down my license plate.” I held my helmet between my hands and strolled off to my bike, waving behind me in the process. “Stay safe, Riley, my name is Kara. Thanks again.”