I Hate Myself Without You

Even though I was having a blast in Toronto, I couldn't wait to get home. We had stayed in Toronto a few extra days and did some recording at a studio there. I just really wanted to get back to my son, and my own bed. Zack and I sat next to one another on the plane, with Keith in front of us. Zack would occasionally flick Keith in the back of the head. Keith didn't even pay attention to it, because he fell asleep. He did not like planes, so he put on his giant headphones and fell asleep. Zack and I played travel scrabble. I ended throwing a few tiles at him. Just the “E” tiles.

Zack, Airin, Marque and I went over to Zack's house. Zack opened the door, and was immediately attacked by two 4 year old boys. Zack teetered slightly, almost dropping his guitar case. “Whoa, whoa, whoa little guys! You have to prepare me for something like that!” Zack laughed. Finley made his scrunchy I-don't-care face. Duncan let go of Zack and rushed over to Airin and Marque. Finley ran over to me and I bent down to pick him up.

“Mom!” He screeched in my ear. Finley buried his face in my neck.

“Finley!” I screeched back excitedly! “Did you have fun with Eloisa?” I asked suspiciously and Finley pointed at Duncan and squirmed away from me. “Were you boys well behaved?” Duncan nodded and Finley shook his head.

“They were angels, Josline.” Louisa said with a smile. It was genuine but tired. The boys had definitely tired her out.

“No...really... what did they do?” Marque asked,

“They were angels... honestly! If by 'angels' you mean tyrannical little buggers that won't go to sleep on time!” Louisa was finally blunt with me. I smiled, knowing that Josh and I had a lot to do with Finley's misbehaviour and mischievous tendencies. Airin laughed, knowing that he had worn off on Duncan with his antics. Airin, Marque and Duncan left soon after that.

“Well, thanks for taking after Finley. I really appreciate it,” I told Eloisa. Finley shoved his arms in his jacket.

“It's not a problem dear. I don't mind it,” Eloisa told me. She smiled her old-aged smile at Finley and I.

“Alright, say good bye to Grandma El,” Finley hugged her leg.

“Bye gram,” Finley said.

Hey, don't I get a hug good bye?” Zack called from the couch. He had just taken off his leg, probably because his actual leg had started to tighten up. He always took his prosthetic leg off in the van so his leg wouldn't tighten on him too much. Finley took off his shoes and ran over to Zack, who picked him up and sat Finley on his lap. “Now, give your mother heck for me, okay?”

“'kay,” Finley smiled.

“But only occasionally. I don't need a crabby mother phoning me saying you're being unruly.” Zack said, putting Finley down. Zack was always good with kids, he just didn't want any of his own. Zack was the only one of his 7 siblings (Zack was the youngest) that didn't have kids or want to get married. Zack was very set in his ways. He really preferred to be single. Airin was the same way, but then he got married and adopted a child. Airin told Zack that everything changes, and he might just change his mind about being married and having kids. I was completely anti-kids and anti-marriage, but when I got pregnant, I changed my whole view on everything.

Finley put his shoes back on and we walked over to our house. Finley was yapping about something that Duncan had done while they were staying at Eloisa's. I let go of his hand to unlock the door. Finley walked in and took off his things. He threw his jacket on top of his shoes. “Oi, Finley Matthew! Jacket,” I said sternly from the door frame. Finley stopped in his tracks, turned on his heels and walked back to pick up his jacket. “Thank you.” I said. Finley sulked off to his room. I chuckled to myself and took the mail out of the mail box. I took off my own shoes and went through my mail. “Bill, bill, bill, royalty thing...newspaper clipping?” I said as I walked into the kitchen. I set all the bills on the table and looked at the newspaper clipping. I leaned against the table and read the headline.

Young adults suicide potentially murder.

My breath got caught in my chest when I looked at the picture accompanying the article. It was a picture of Jazz. I read the article.

In February, a young women by the name of Jasmine Baxter, 24, allegedly committed suicide in Stanley Park. New evidence has surfaced that could determine whether is was suicide or not.

The local Vancouver resident was found buried under a pile of snow in the park. Her death was deemed suicide when no outstanding evidence that could be used was found. However, the recent murder of Alberta native Kaylee Johanna, 28, has brought new evidence to the table. The DNA of a convicted serial killer, Douglas Miller, wound up at both crime scenes. Miller had not been in the system until a month ago, leaving all DNA found at Baxter's scene untraceable. Further investigation is underway.

I put the clipping down and felt my knees get weak. I sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, staring at the black and grey picture of my best friend in front of me, a complete sense of shock and horror fell over me. I ran both my hands through my hair. I just couldn't believe what I had just read. Could my feelings of been right all along?

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Marques number. The phone rang exactly 2 and a half times. Marque was strange like that. “Hey Josline, what's up?” Marque's voice sounded in my ear.

“Do you read the newspaper at all?” I asked.

“No, never. Why?” Marque sounded confused.

“So you haven't heard anything about Jazz lately?”

“Josline, what are you getting at here?” Marque asked, sounding more attentive. I read the news article to him. Marque was completely silent. “So...so, it wasn't a suicide?” He finally said, after a few minutes of silence that seemed to last hours.

“That's what they're looking into. They don't know yet,” I explained.

Marque's voice cracked, “That is some of the better news I've heard in a while.”

“Better news?” I questioned.

“It's better news because I'm no longer beating myself up about my sister getting to the point where no one could help her. But now, I get to panic about this whole murder thing.” I heard Airin ask what was going on, and Marque explained, in point-form, what was being talked about.

At that moment, I was sure no one knew which was better, if Jazz really did commit suicide, or if she was murdered? I sure as hell didn't know how to feel anymore.