It was hot, the sunlight magnified ten-fold by a dirty window. Outside a cool breeze whistled through his drivers side. Marsh opened his eyes to a blinding brightness and groaned as his eyes adjusted.
Where in the hell was he?
Slumped down his drivers seat he sat up, head aching from the sudden repositioning of his body. This was not good. The only thing to see in front of him was miles and miles of desert brush, off near a ditch somewhere a hundred miles away from any city lights.
The night before...
It was 2 am and Marsh was stumbling out of some bar in Las Vegas, he’d crawled across two or three throughout the night. It was so noisy in there, even in the quietest corners the thoughts were slipping through and he was just too damn tired to focus.
When he finally made it to his truck, he’d decided to leave, just leave. He’d never come back and then his past couldn’t find him, not if he ran from it forever.
The morning after…
So he’d packed up in the middle of the night to leave and drove himself out to the desert. Marsh turned his head to see the contents of his truck. Well maybe he hadn’t packed anything. He sighed, hoping there was a podunk gas station nearby with a bottle of water and a greasy hot dog.
He grabbed his phone from his pocket, dead battery.
Pushing the keys into his ignition he cranked it on to see that his gas was almost empty. He must have driven far, considering he’d filled it just yesterday.
Little details began to come to him as he made his way through the treacherous terrain of the deep desert.
The night before…
10pm came faster than he expected and Marsh was waiting for when the alcohol would make him more social, make him want to talk to strangers, to let this load off his chest but every time he looked around, he saw a sea of uninterested faces.
He crawled to the next bar, feeling the effects of the alcohol blur his vision. This one had a few more interested parties, a group of women who kept going on about his height. One young lady was laying on the charm thick and in any other circumstance Marsh might have taken up the offer to “head back to my place” but tonight was different.
The morning after…
His car ran out of gas a block away from the gas station so he put it in neutral and pushed it until he’d made it up to a pump. The man inside peered at Marsh as he walked inside. He couldn’t blame him, Marsh looked like death warmed over and he’d felt like it too.
He grabbed three bottles of water from the shelf and two hotdogs and brought them to the counter. “Pack of Bugler tobacco and 40 on pump 2.” He stared at the beef jerky sitting on the cash register, Rudy’s favorite. “And this.” He said throwing it on the pile of things he’d gotten for the drive home.
The night before…
At 11:55, someone yelled about starting a countdown. Of course, it was New Years Eve. The young lady, whose name he found out was Heather, had spent some time listening to him. Without question she swore she believed in ghosts, had even gone around the US staying at “haunted” hotels.
When the countdown had ended she’d pulled him into a kiss and he’d let her, after all, she’d listened to him. He couldn’t help but think that those weren’t the lips he wanted to be kissing, that a kiss from another was occupying his mind. But he’d screwed that up.
The final bar they’d ended up at was dwindling in patrons. Heather begged him once more to come home with her and when he refused she sighed and handed him a card.
“Fine but take this. My medium is the best, she got rid of a nasty poltergeist in my house two years ago and I buy ALL my crystals from her.”
He didn’t mean to laugh at her but he couldn’t mistake the look of disgust that came to her face when the guffaw escaped.
The morning after…
Worry began to set it, real worry when he’d realized how far he’d actually driven completely drunk the night before. Two hours in and he couldn’t help but worry that he’d left his dog to starve. Rudy was the only one he’d been able to count on and he’d left him alone for half a day without giving him his food that morning.
Grief washed over him for the first time today, that overwhelming feeling that he couldn’t take care of himself, much less another living being. He finally saw the familiar Searchlight landmarks. Terrible’s, Lucky’s, the auto body shop and finally, after what seemed like days, he pulled up to his trailer.
The night before…
He’d been 50 miles outside of Vegas by 4am, his vision barely able to see on the road even with his brights. He stopped on the side of the road to regain his composure. Maybe if he got a bit of shut eye he’d be ready to be back on the road in a few hours.
It hit him hard when he opened his eyes for a moment again. There, in front of his truck, was Lawrence Beals, brandishing the gun he’d stolen from Marsh’s neglected unlocked drawer.
He ran off running.
Starting his truck back up, Marsh followed Lawrence, so drunk sick and tired he hadn’t even thought about what he was doing.
He didn’t remember anything else after that.
The next morning…
From inside his trailer he heard yelping, a starving dog barking through his door. It was a miracle he didn’t break the damn thing. He walked through the door and tore open the package of beef jerky, pouring the contents into the dogs bowl.
This was it. This was his rock bottom.
He crumbled to the floor and began to stroke his neglected dog. The sting of his tears introducing themselves to his eyes for the first time.
He pulled out his phone and attached it to the charger. He’d sent one message last night. To Nobu.
I’m sorry
From the internet he found a phone number and dialed.
“Yes.” He said into the receiver as he was greeted. “I’d like to make an appointment with a therapist.”