Author’s note: I have never been to the Adirondacks. I described it based on (20%) some people’s description of it to me and pictures + postcards that are available on the internet plus some that were sent to me by friends and (80%) my hyperactive imagination . If there’s a blatant error in the description, please don’t hold it against me but do email me about it! J

More importantly- to those following the story- the secret starts to be unraveled though not totally still and it can be intense (so people easily affected and disturbed by violent/ disturbing themes please stay away for your won safety). I tried to be as responsible as I can when dealing with the theme inside (people following the story will know which one… it’s an either this or that answer.) This piece has been read, vetted, self - censored many times until I can memorize each word and my conscience can let me go ahead with it. If I allude too much… I’m afraid I’ll be trivializing what I’ve embarked to do in the first place- to tell this story as best and as responsibly as I can. 

-***- 

Joe sat down by the bank of Tooley Pond in the Adirondacks, trying desperately to hold on to whatever was left of his sanity after meeting up with another ghost. This time though, the ghost was definitely human but he might as well be turning into a specter. Being so ill, his body was withering and he was fading so much and fading away so fast. A hard, bitter lump lodged in Joe’s throat as he stared up at the evening sky. He had not switched on his mobile. Frank would be terribly mad at him.

He had taken a cab down to campus, picked up Vanessa’s blue cashmere sweater and warned Shane not to reveal anything about his departure to anyone.

Keep my tracks clean.

And after the trip to his hall, it was a train ride to Manhattan. The city’s bustling concrete landscape, with bright sunlight gleaming and dancing off the glass panels of the office buildings, contrasted starkly with the soothing colors of nature before him now. After a small little café, a talk and some tears as memories, scattered and disconnected surfaced in his mind, Joe decided to just ditch Manhattan, rented an aluminum excuse for a car and drove to Tooley Pond armed only with a map and hibernating gut instincts.

He charged all expenses to the supplementary card that his dad gave to him. The card was rarely used, unless there was an emergency. It was an emergency then. He felt like he had finally lost his grip with sanity. Losing his way more than once, cursing himself for always letting Frank read those blasted maps before, he arrived at his destination in the afternoon the next day. He had to stop and rest at a cheesy motel for a couple of hours when his mind was so cluttered halfway through the drive with avalanching emotions and paranoid thoughts. The final warning screaming the impending dire overheating of his mind was when he had to pause for a second to contemplate which pedal was for braking and which was for accelerating.

Sometime during the night, barely a couple of hours into his journey to Tooley Pond, Joe switched on his mobile with the intention to call Shane and warn him not to rat. However, Frank’s number flashed immediately on his screen and he disconnected the call without answering. Trying his best to focus on the road, with his head swimming in a freezing ocean of neurotic thoughts and shark-toothed recollections, Joe composed a message to send to Frank without looking at the screen, just letting his fingers run over the keypad with practiced ease.

"Joe, I know I’m asking for much. But I need you to take the stand as the witness. I don’t think anything will happen to you. You won’t need to persecute them… you know… just…" The balding man bore his gaze intensely into Joe’s eyes, his own coffee forgotten. He looked a lot weaker than when Joe last saw him- in prison. Alan’s emaciated face was a shade paler than white. His eyes were milky and his once lean frame was now just a skeletal construct of flesh and bones. Joe found that he could not bear to observe and, thus, turned away and stirred his own tea. Tea. Tea and Coffee. He hated both. He hated both so much now. Why did he even come? Now that he had seen Alan Page, there was no way he could refuse.

"Alan, I’m not… not sure if I can…" Joe weakly tried to turn Alan down. He was the coward and Alan was the brave one. Alan was the one who taught him how to stay out of trouble and had he not been put in the same cell as Alan at first, he was sure he would not have lasted four months inside. Joe had a hunch that without Alan, he would go in a zombie and come out a corpse.

"Joe, you saw what they did to me. You know what they did to you! I was going crazy but I was lucky, my wife’s very supportive. She stayed even though I chased her away. Now that I have AIDS, she’s stood by me still. I’d like to say I’m doing this for myself but I’m actually doing it for her. I’m out, but I’ve been dealt a death sentence. There’s no shame in bringing those who hurt you to justice. They hurt you, too." Alan’s eyes strayed to Joe’s gloved hands and the blond young man quickly drew them away. The horrible images squeezed the lifeblood out of his sanity as phantom fingers left tainted touches on his body. It was too terrible to even remember, to even feel like he was going to remember.

"No! They didn’t… they… didn’t." he sounded feeble even to himself. Trying hard to expel the vile movie playing in his mind, he averted his eyes from Alan and just took in the surroundings. The café, small and decorated in a yellow theme was a little deserted. A waitress was pouring some coffee for another bloke who had just come in and was sitting at the far end, away from the two kindred spirits. The wooden chair he was sitting on had a very sweet heart carved onto its back and the checkered tablecloth lent the little eatery a homey touch. The atmosphere was good, casual and comforting. But the sight was not powerful enough to rid the recollection now on autopilot; not simple and assuring enough to distract his thoughts.

"Joe…you tried so hard to fight for me then. I appreciate that and I thought your bravery could, I don’t know, help me through this again. I’m not asking you to sue them along with me… though I think you should. Just take the stand and I promise only I will know what they did to you, I won’t tell anyone anything, just that you saw what they did to me."

"Alan… how can you live with it? Everyday…" Joe whispered hoarsely, feeling fear melting in his eyes.

"I didn’t just live with it, Joe. I tried so hard, I tried until I broke down and cried every night. I mean, I was in doing time for a non-violent crime. I didn’t hurt nobody, just maybe laundered some money for the wrong gang. Call it a twist of fate that my gang lost the damn long-standing feud and I had no protection inside, whatsoever. But I know I don’t deserve this. No one does, especially you. I read the news. I’m sorry about your wrongful arrest." Alan reached out to pat one of the gloved hands which were on the table again, the fingers locked together in a death grip. Joe felt his body swaying and a hammer pounding away on his head with the intended malice to induce craziness. He felt like puking but swallowed the bile as the poor waitress did not deserve cleaning up his heaved-up mess.

Did not deserve. What had they done to him? The memories, in breaks, compressed and now a little ruined, gave him no entire picture. But he knew what they did to Alan. He knew. He knew he tried to help but there was only one of him. He remembered the feeling of failure, the cries of anguish as he felt the same, sickly helplessness. And he did not want to remember anything else after that.

Water, hot oil. Burning, eating flesh. He had fought with them until he hemorrhaged, on the brink of death. A knife drew blood- his blood. A whistle and then all was black.

But the violence stayed with him. Imprinted on his mind, manifested on his hands. The violence stayed with him.

If autumn was beautiful in Bayport, it was astounding in the Adirondacks. The simple, quiet Tooley pond promised Joe the serenity he needed but could not deliver because the customer was incapable of appreciating the tranquility with all the brutal thrashings his mind was suffering through. However, the promise of peace in the fresh air and soft hues was enough to marginally mollify his pulsating migraine. Any alleviation of his struggles was much thanked for. Joe was afraid that he was just about to explode from the terrible pressure within him- stretching the linings of sanity thinner and thinner.

On the other side, the trees huddled together into a greenish-black cluster that, together with the sky, was reflected in the still waters of the pond into a watery mirage. An occasional, melancholic ripple sent gentle currents through the image, making it dance a brief sinuous number as it curved and twisted like the supple waist of a belly-dancer. Joe fiddled with a cattail, one of many that grew wild along the bank. Taking in the scenery as heartbreakingly beautiful as a painting right out from God’s hands like a hungry man seeing food for the first time, Joe’s heart was pierced with the enchanting spell of a dream and he realized he just wanted to stay there forever and not go home.

Did I cut myself and maybe touch them? Or share drinks with them with some blood in my mouth? Gosh…

A new fear. I don’t need new fears!

"I know… I can’t convince you now. But I hope… I hope I’ll receive a call from you soon. You have my number, Joe. They did enough to you. Those bastards. They did enough." Alan spat and stirred his coffee a little too vigorously. Joe watched, almost in a trance, as black specks of coffee spewed from the little cup and plopped onto the table, one drop landing on his left, gloved hand.

"Al… I’m sorry I didn’t stop them… I’m sorry…I’m sorry… sorry…" Joe muttered, knowing his apologies were coming out in short, little gasps, like his memories, short little gasps that made no sense but still, building up the monster that was devouring him. His apologies would do nothing to take away the pain the man next to him was feeling. Alan squeezed his shoulder weakly and nodded.

"You tried your best. You’re a hero in my eyes, kiddo. You fought when there was no chance at all. It’s because of people like you that I haven’t lost faith in the world. Cut yourself some slack. You’re a very good young man. And Joe, I’m sorry to ask you this, but have you gone for a test?"

NO! NO! NO! I don’t need a test… don’t need…

"No. They didn’t do anything to me! Didn’t!" Joe hissed, his breathing became ragged and his heart was tortured by the clenching and releasing of denial and fear. "They didn’t do… what they…wanted to do…"

Joe rummaged through his duffel bag then and took out her pastel blue sweater and hugged it close to himself, willing it to morph into her somehow. He closed his eyes and rubbed his cheeks against the softness- holding a piece of the morning sky in his trembling hands. The cursed appendages screamed, "You’re tainting her! Let go! Let go!"

"NO! NESS! WHERE ARE YOU?!" He shouted across the pond and heard his echoes mocked him back.

"NESS! Ness…" He moaned and buried his face in the sweater, wanting so much for it to just be her, to just let her be there with him.

"Joe… look at your hands. They did enough. They did more than enough."

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no…." His tears drenched the material. "No…"

A chilly gust of wind blew, breaking the stillness of the canvas before him momentarily as the trees, long grass and weeds rustled and swayed along. He looked up then. From the corner of his eyes, he thought he saw the familiar shadow of ash blond hair and turned around quickly. It could not be his imagination; she was so real, just right before him, her back facing him again. There was no bullet hole, she seemed whole and beautiful, more so than the pretty pond.

She always came to him when he needed her most, in times of intense loneliness and fear, she came to him. Walking, almost floating, she moved away from him and he scrambled to his feet, picked up his duffel bag and chucked the sweater inside.

He followed her.

This time, he would find out where she went.

***

It was early Tuesday morning and Joe was by himself in a clinic at the other end of Bayport, the seedier section where the old gang did not frequent much, though he could picture his own band-members having the sorriest time of their lives down by the pubs somewhere, getting pissed drunk and regretting it in the morning. His band-members loved this clinic because sometimes, when they could not pay, the doctor would just wave it off as an act of kindness. Joe always paid when he could. He felt funny just sponging off someone.

"Joe Hardy!" The cranky nurse called out and Shane had once remarked too loudly that she reminded him of the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz with her crooked nose and nasal twang. She then too cuttingly snapped back at them to make like Dorothy, tap their little red shoes and get the hell out of there.

They did not of course. At that time, Wayne was bleeding pretty badly from a nasty fall. So, when Shane wanted to mouth another retort back, Joe elbowed his friend’s gut lightly to shut him up. Craig sneered at her and she stopped her harangues as Craig could look very menacing if he wanted to.

Wordlessly, Joe went inside the room. The doctor was a pudgy man with a complexion as pale as dough but he was kind and always friendly. Joe took a seat and cast his eyes downwards to the floor, noticing the cracks that lined the poured concrete, trying to trace them into shapes- trace them into her.

He had followed her all the way back to Bayport and then she disappeared. Always, when he thought he had lost sight of her, she would be in front of him, just walking detachedly away. No matter how fast he drove, how he thought he could bait her, she was always ten steps in front, walking by the side of the road, lane or highway he was driving on.

All tests were nerve-wracking and perhaps, the thoughts of sitting alone in the clinic facing what was perhaps one of the worse waits of one’s life frightened him into wanting Frank to meet him, to be that pillar of strength to lean against. Yet, in a split second of struggling with his emotional needs and calculated logic, he decided to go through the coming ordeal alone. If there was nothing, he would not have to worry his family- they were exasperated enough by him. And if there was something, he could hide it and then hide away from his family forever with them being none the wiser. He still could not talk about his experiences- he feared he never would.

A few hours after Vanessa vanished into thin air, he ended up there in the clinic and was now, in the room, awaiting judgment.

"No classes today?" Dr. Fitch tried to engage Joe in some small talk. Joe shook his head, not knowing how to voice his request.

"So, what are you here for? I don’t see any cuts or bruises."

How astute of you.

"Blood test." Joe mumbled and the doctor raised a brow slightly but ripped off the package of a new disposable syringe and gestured for Joe to place his left forearm on the table.

Joe did. The needle went in. Blood filled up the syringe. Dark, red blood. Black under the moonlight.

When the doctor was done, Joe covered his mouth and heaved. He could smell the copper stench somehow and it churned his guts. Copper stench and something else. He could smell the death in the air the night he held her.

"So what do you want to test for? HIV? Hep B? Hep C? Others?" Fitch took out a form and started ticking away even before Joe could answer. Joe simply nodded dumbly and then watched as Fitch tore off the bottom part of the request form and passed it to him.

"Take this and bring it back in three days to get your results. Anything else?" That was why Joe liked Fitch. He did not ask questions, he just understood when to keep quiet.

"Nothing. I’m fine."

"Why are you rubbing your head? Headache? Hangover? Need some Tylenol?" Fitch observed. Joe quickly stopped massaging his temples, unaware that he was unconsciously exposing his pain.

"I have some. Thanks." He stood up and was about to leave when Fitch called out after him.

"You do know if you’ve had unprotected sex recently, you should tell your partner or partners about your suspicions and definitely about the results so they can get tested too. And don’t go spreading your seed in the meantime, all right?"

Joe nodded again and left the room. He paid with the last remaining twenty-dollar bill he had and decided to take a nice, long walk to the cemetery at the holier side of the town, where the churches and halfway houses were, beckoning to destitute people, always wanting to save.