Forbidden Entry (14 page)

Being a reporter, I'd done my share of stories on society's lowlifes, but the more I read, the more I felt as if I'd been living a sheltered life, just going about my business while an entire sub-culture of zombie people existed just under the radar. It appeared that some individuals would inhale, swallow or inject just about anything to fit in with their peers, produce a buzz, or escape from the realities of life. A large number had no compunction about lying, cheating, stealing, even committing murder to feed their insatiable habits. One blogger equated them to parasites—leeching off the productive members of society, existing on taxpayer-funded government disability checks, grants, housing, food stamps and healthcare, not contributing to the economy, their lives in limbo.

Sipping a second cup of hot coffee, I watched video after video featuring teens, some as young as thirteen, blatantly bragging about their drug use. The videos of pot parties were actually kind of boring—people either staring blankly at an object or endlessly pontificating about some inane subject, so I moved on to personal experiences of other juveniles experimenting with harder drugs. In none of the posted videos did any of the young people appear to give a flying crap that what they were doing was illegal, stupid and, in some cases, lethal. As far as they were concerned, anything in moderation was cool. They drifted through school learning little, had no aspirations to pursue a career, cast no judgments on the behaviors of others and seemed unconcerned about the possible dire consequences of continued substance abuse. There were, however, a significant number of firsthand accounts from others describing their frightening descent into the hell of addiction and the agonizing road to recovery in rehab. They appeared to be genuinely chastened by their experiences and solemnly advised viewers to avoid using illicit drugs at all cost. And then there were the tragic stories of people who did not seek help in time. With a dull ache in my heart, I sat there watching a series of videos featuring tearful, hollow-eyed people reporting harrowing tales of family members or friends who had died after ingesting an unknown recipe made from ingredients cooked up in some makeshift lab. I rested my forehead in one hand. Good God! Had Sean already joined the ranks of these full-blown drug addicts? Was that the reason he appeared to be a willing participant in the seamy, criminal underground drug trade—to support his habit? My stomach turned sour at that dispiriting thought. I set my cup down and pushed away from the computer, my brain fried with information overload and my body amped up on caffeine. Enough!

I paced around the kitchen, fearing for the survival of civil society, the country, the future. Needing to relieve some stress, I put on my running gear and headed outside into the frosty pre-dawn air. I walked for a few minutes, allowing my eyes to adjust to the starlight and waning moon, before breaking into a jog. I picked up speed and pounded along Lost Canyon Road, allowing the serenity of the desert silence to work its magic on my agitated frame of mind. But it wasn't long before my thoughts returned to the issue at hand and forced me to do a little soul searching.

Grounded firmly in the principles instilled in me by my parents and grandparents, I was having great difficulty understanding why so many people chose to use drugs or alcohol to escape into a counterfeit reality instead of relying on faith or inner strength. After watching the troubling videos of people acting like out of control idiots, deliberately destroying their lives and those of others, I began to have second thoughts about my own alcohol use. Coming from an Irish family where liquor flowed freely, I had never thought twice about enjoying a glass of wine with dinner, having a cocktail or a margarita or two. But did I really need artificial stimulation when I could create my own natural highs with exercise, laughter or inspiring music? What about the euphoric adrenalin rush of chasing down an intriguing story? And how about the best natural stimulant of all—love? Why wasn't that enough? Amid the noisy chatter of birds welcoming a primrose dawn, I arrived back at my front door with a heavy heart, doubting that I'd ever learn the answer.

CHAPTER

12

Revitalized by a bracing shower, I dressed for the car trip in comfortable jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt and finished packing for the four nights I'd be away before waking Sean. “Rise and shine, buddy!” I sang out, using our grandfather's favorite expression. “Time to get your lazy butt up.”

He groaned and waved me away. “Go away. I'm tired.”

“Oh, no, you don't.” I yanked the covers off him. “You're not going to ruin my great Arizona adventure plans. We're leaving in twenty minutes. No excuses. Go splash some cold water on your face and I'll have coffee waiting for you in the kitchen.” And a lecture waiting for you in the car, I thought to myself.

I went online to check the day's weather and came across additional information regarding the car accident that had caused the traffic pileup on Thursday morning. Authorities reported that drugs had been found in the car of the driver who had crossed the centerline, killing a mother and her two small children. An autopsy was scheduled to determine if the man, identified as Juan Ochoa, age 19, had been impaired. It was yet another example of the tragic ramifications of excessive drug use.

Chewing on a protein bar, I tried to get my mind off the story by staying busy. I unloaded the dishwasher andloaded the cooler with drinks, fruit and snacks before grabbing the bag of dry cat food. Thankfully, Ginger's brother, Brian, had agreed to come and stay at the house with Marmalade during my absence. She was bumping my ankles and purring as I mounded the food in her bowl. “There you go, baby. That should keep you until I get back tonight and I promise I won't be late again.” She meowed her appreciation just as Sean entered the room looking grumpy and disheveled, his clothing wrinkled.

“You talk to your cat?” he asked, yawning.

A tad grouchy from a lack of sleep and still incensed about the fact that he'd so glibly lied to me, I snapped, “She's better company than you were last night.”

“Whoa, what's up your kilt this morning?”

“You.” I poured steaming coffee into a Styrofoam cup, secured the plastic lid and handed it to him. “Let's go.” I shrugged into my coat, grabbed my purse, and pushed him towards the door.

Outside in the invigorating air, he hugged his coat tighter and griped, “Son-of-a-bitch! I thought you said it was gonna be warm here.”

“Don't worry. It'll be nice when the sun comes up,” I assured him as we climbed into the Jeep. Nevertheless, I turned up the heat and we rode in silence while I contemplated what questions to ask that would best expose his mindset without alienating him. Until last night, I thought I knew my brother pretty well. Not now. At his age and younger, the drive to achieve my dream of becoming the best investigative reporter on the planet consumed me. Along the way, I'd encountered numerous obstacles, but I'd never once been deterred—the same for my older brother Patrick and my dad and mom. My quick glance revealed him calmly sipping coffee. “So, what do you think?” I began, pointing towards the faint moon hanging above the western horizon. ”Does it still look like a glowing cashew nut this morning?”

He stared at me slack-jawed. “What are you talking about?”

“The moon. Don't you remember telling me that last night?”

He shifted his weight. “Um…no.”

“Well, you did. And you also thought the saguaro cactus were waving hello to you.”

His response was to burst out laughing. “No shit! You must have been freaked out!”

“A little. No doubt you burned off several thousand working brain cells during your little psychedelic trip last night.”

“Come on, Kenny, you're way too uptight! Lighten up, have some fun!”

I shook my head slowly. “That didn't look like fun to me.”

“Well, it was. I can't ever remember feeling that good before. It was totally awesome.”

Had he always sounded this immature? “You think being literally drugged out of your mind is awesome?”

“We were just kickin' back and chillin'. You know what? Mom and Dad are getting to be old fuds and you're starting to sound just like them.”

I scowled at him. “So, I'm a young fud just because I don't agree with your lifestyle? I don't need drugs to get high. My drug of choice is called endorphins. They're safe, a natural high, cheap, and always available. And they're legal!”

“Boring.”

His blasé attitude really worried me. “If you could get a hold of the same drug you did last night, you'd do it again?”

“Sure! Why not?”

The whole concept seemed foreign to me. “Sean, it sounds to me like you arrange your life around getting high and that you use whatever substance you can get your hands on.”

“Ever been to a party where you were the only one sober?” he continued as though I hadn't spoken. “It's no frikkin' fun, so don't knock it if you haven't tried it.”

“Thanks, but no. I'm not interested in frying my brain, losing control and maybe killing myself in the process.”

His laugh held a hard edge. “Hate to break it to you, Sis, but you're in the minority.”

Now that was a scary thought. “And the fact that you're breaking the law doesn't bother you at all?”

He swatted away my question. “Government imposed its will on the people banning alcohol during Prohibition, remember? It didn't work then and it won't work now with drugs. I think everybody deserves to have the opportunity to feel that stoked at least once in their life.”

He looked so self-satisfied. Arrogant little shit. “I don't think your self-destructive behavior is anything to brag about.”

He let out a groan of exasperation. “Oh man! Are you gonna bust my chops about this all day?”

I glanced over at his sullen, angry expression. No point in beating around the bush. “Be honest with me. How often are you using?”

An indifferent shrug. “Every now and then.”

I would have believed him before. Now I didn't. And I couldn't stop thinking about the video of the hapless young guy addicted to OxyContin. “Do you feel compelled to do drugs everyday?”

“No, I don't,” he fired back, sounding defensive. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I saw you putting away the margaritas last night. Maybe you're the one with the problem.”

His haughty tone and the knowledge that he wasn't being truthful didn't sit well. “Don't try to put this off on me! I don't drink to the point of hallucinating, until I see shit that isn't there. And if I do drink, I at least know what I'm ingesting. I don't understand how you can accept some unknown substance given to you by a stranger and snort it up your nose. Now that is crazy.”

He waved away my concerns. “So, I was a little baked last night. If I'd gotten shitfaced on booze, I'd be hung over today. And I probably wouldn't have to listen to a lecture from you. I'm fine, except,” he tacked on, “that maybe I could've used a little more sleep.”

“You could have used a little more sleep?” My voice actually squawked, I was so incensed. “I was awake all night worrying about you.”

“Well, quit worrying. It's all good. I'm not hurting anyone.”

The more he talked, the more disheartened I became. “You don't think you're hurting yourself?”

“Not really.”

Clearly, I was getting nowhere fast, but gave it one final shot. “You don't think getting high all the time is stifling your initiative and preventing you from facing your problems?”

“What problems?”

“You're kidding, right?”

“Okay, maybe I have a few.”

Indeed he did. When I turned onto the main highway, the brilliant rays of sunlight beaming over the top of Castle Rock temporarily blinded me. I reached for my sunglasses. Neither of us said a word for another five minutes. As we reached the outskirts of town, I wrestled with how best to approach his duplicity. I desperately wanted to give my brother the benefit of the doubt, but decided to test his honesty. “So, just between you and me, what really happened between you and Robin?”

“Why do you care?”

I darted a look at his shuttered expression. “Last I heard you two were madly in love. Just curious as to why you suddenly broke up with her.” I held my breath waiting for his answer.

“She's been giving me grief about my friends and I'm sick of it. So, I'm cutting her loose.”

“That's too bad. And your job? How's that going?”

“Everything's cool.”

Not a trace of remorse showed as he lied through his teeth. I bit my lip. The fact that his lies came so easily really pissed me off. But I kept my tone level as I continued, “Refresh my memory. What's the name of the place you're working again?”

“I told you. I'm helping out a buddy at his uncle's bar.”

Now thoroughly disheartened, I weighed my next words carefully, hoping he wouldn't shut me out entirely. “Sean, I'm going to be up-front with you. I think you've got a serious problem with drugs, and it appears to be trashing your life.”

His cynical expression revealed his disdain. “I told you, everything is fine.”

I shot him a ‘don't mess with me look.' “I know more than you think I do. I saw the text Robin sent you last night.”

I pulled into the motel parking lot and braked near his room as he let loose with a rather impressive string of expletives.

“You have no right to read my private messages!”

“It wasn't my intention,” I fired back. “I was throwing a blanket over you when it came in. And since you'd drugged yourself into a coma, I checked to make sure it wasn't one of your new best friends. When I realized you'd lied to me, I followed the string of texts back.”

He threw the door open. “You know what? If you're going to spy on me this entire trip, I'm outta here.”

My simmering agitation mushroomed into a fiery inferno. “Then stop lying to me,” I yelled. “It's insulting. And it's shameful that you're so nonchalant about dealing drugs, getting busted and having Dad pay for your legal expenses.” I cautioned myself to calm down. Modulating my tone, I continued, “I'm afraid if you keep this up, you're going to end up dead in some rundown crack house. I don't want to lose you, so you need to get a handle on this addiction before it's too late.”

He clapped his hands to his head. “Jeezuz! I am not an addict! I can stop anytime I want. Stop hassling me!”

At that point, I decided the best course of action was to diffuse the argument before it escalated further. “Okay. Okay. If you don't end up in jail, what are you going to do when you get back home? Where are you going live, what do you plan to live on?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I don't know. Probably hang with one of my buddies 'til I can find something. I'll figure it out.”

My unease about his well-being deepened. “Do Mom and Dad know about any of this?”

He managed to look contrite. “No.”

“Don't you think you should tell them the truth?”

“I don't know.” His voice turned petulant so I decided that even though I had a lot more to say, I'd said enough for now. I could only hope that I'd planted the seed that perhaps he should reevaluate his life.

“Go get cleaned up. We're leaving for Prescott in half an hour.”

“Yeah. What's the name of the place we're going after that?”

“Jerome.”

I put my hand on his arm. “Promise me that at least while you're here you'll cool it on the drug use, okay? As a favor to me?”

Without another word, he hopped out and sauntered to his room. His cocky attitude and the fact that he seemed unaffected by the consequences of his actions or my heartfelt plea to him bugged the hell out of me, spawning the beginnings of a headache. Too much caffeine? Stress? Both? Fighting off a mounting sense of gloom, I grabbed my phone and sent a text to Tally confirming dinner plans.

Moments later, trudging towards my parent's room, I felt as if there was a bowling ball lodged in my chest. Would I be enabling Sean's behavior if I did not tell them about last night's activities and probably everything else I'd learned about him? If I did, it was sure to generate a heated exchange, initiate a big family squabble and most assuredly spoil the day. One by one, my carefully thought-out plans for a fun-filled visit were slowly evaporating. Perhaps it would be best to wait until tomorrow or even the next day. With Sean present on the car trip today, what were the chances I would get the opportunity to speak to my parents alone anyway? Or was I just avoiding the inevitable?

I was poised to knock on the door when my cell phone rang. I dug it out of my pocket, thinking it was Tally, but saw a number I didn't recognize. Puzzled, I tapped the call button. “Hello?”

“Kendall, it's Lavelle.” She sounded kind of breathless. “Sorry to bother you so early in the morning, but I'm afraid I've got some bad news.”