Fear Itself

Gabe’s flat was no bigger or no more spacious than a shoebox. Perhaps even that was being generous. It was smaller than Alex’s, which I hadn’t quite thought possible, but the place was packed tighter than my bookshelf, and it almost seemed unlivable. Just the state of the place when we approached was dreadful: the windows were boarded up, and the front door hung off it’s hinges. An empty rectangle was centered on the door, it’s edges lined with the sharp remains of shattered glass. The door itself was brown and rotting: weather-worn, by the looks of it. We didn’t need to knock to get in; the door seemed to open on it’s own. A folded piece of cardboard laid just inches away, what I assumed was probably Gabe’s method of keeping it shut on cold or rainy evenings.

When we stepped in, nobody was there. It had a main room, an attached kitchen, and two doors. One was covered with stick figure drawings, probably Eden’s room. Between the two doors sat the television, legally required in every West London home. Gabe never struck me as someone to watch much television. The tattered, cracked leather couch just feet away from us was covered in a worn, navy sheet and a throw pillow. A small, rickety stereo sat in the corner by an acoustic guitar and a disorganized pile of CDs. Small, circular dents lined the ceiling, and the carpet was stained with blood, alcohol, and tiny, round burn marks. Parts of the wall were charred black.

The attached kitchen was through an archway, and it was smaller than an average-sized bathroom. We didn’t need to set foot near it to know that it was putrid; the staunch odor wafted from within and permeated every inch of air. On the visible counter sat a single plate and two drinking glasses. A sliding, glass door sat just past the counter, and on the rickety porch outside sat piles of trash bags. Perhaps it wasn’t the kitchen that smelled after all.

Eden’s door creaked open and shut, leaving Gabe standing outside of it, but his head hung low, and his hand rubbed his forehead, shielding his eyes. His brown hair was unkempt and out of the place. He heaved a sighed.

“Hey, man,” Dean interjected softly, not trying to startle Gabe, who lifted his head to look at us.

“Oh, wow, ‘ello,” he greeted us with a tremor-filled sigh. He blinked his puffy, red-rung eyes and forced a lopsided smile. “I wasn’t… um—“ He sniffled and rubbed his left eye. “Wasn’t quite expectin’ anyone.” Dean gave him a solemn nod.

“How’re you holding up?” I inquired with a gentle smile, clasping my hands together behind my back.

“I, um… I’m fine,” he lied. His voice faltered and creaked when he continued, “Managing, but—“ His gaunt frame stood in slugged posture, his neck perpetually bent, no matter which way he turned his head. Slowly, his hand moved to rub his forehead again, and his tongue licked his lips in order to hide the bottom one that quivered. The dark circles under his eyes came into view when his lids clenched shut, and his mouth turned downward against his will. Sobs sputtered through his lips. “I’m bloody awful,” he confessed in a strengthless tone. “Barely…” He choked. “…Scraping by. No rent. No food.” His voice fell, and he gritted his teeth. “No Chandler, I can’t—“

“What about Eden?” Dean asked. “She’s well? We would more than gladly take her out if you needed,” he offered. I was impressed with his composure, more impressed with his offer. Stepping an inch closer to him, I slipped my fingers between his, our hands clasped behind our backs. Encouragingly, I squeezed his hand.

“Yeah, she… she’s fine,” Gabe told us with a slow nod. “I always make sure she’s fed, but… food’s not gonna matter when we don’t got a roof over our heads and—“ His voice cracked, and he began to sob again. Dean stepped forward and hugged him—not like he hugged Casper. This was different. This wasn’t a one-armed hug that lasted ten seconds. Gabe practically collapsed on him when he hugged him back, eliminating space between them. “I miss him so damn much,” Gabe sobbed.

“Me too, mate,” Dean sighed, patting him on the back. “Me too.” Dean stood for a moment and let Gabe cry. “Don’t worry about that nonsense,” he said. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“What?” Gabe pulled back, staring at Dean in confusion. “Of course it matters. It’s my home, and my daughter’s home, and if we lose it, we ain’t got anythin’ else… or anywhere else to go.”

Dean shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Well, I don’t know if you heard, but I’m now the proud owner of a beautiful East London villa, but considering I’ve got a house already, I don’t have much use for it.”

“Mate,” Gabe murmured. His breathing began to steady, and his face fell into a somber state—not quite happy, not nearly as distraught as before. “You didn’t… you shouldn’t have…” He paused. “I still don’t got a job. Ain’t got money, either.”

With another shrug, a soft smile appeared on Dean’s face. “Funny story there—the man you were dating happened to have a net worth of about thirty million—“

Gabe didn’t let him finish before Dean was bombarded with another, even tighter, hug. “Thank you,” Gabe told him quietly, and Dean just nodded. Just as they parted again, this time exchanging a firm and friendly handshake, Eden’s bedroom door creaked open, and the little girl poked her head out.

“Daddy, are you sad again?” she asked before she noticed Dean and I, and her entire face lit up like sunlight at high noon. “Mister Dean! Miss Tali!” she exclaimed, scurrying out of the door, stopping to hug Dean’s leg and then charging toward me to do the same. “Are you here to tell us about Mr. Chandler?” Her big brown eyes blinked when she looked up at me. “I miss him. He was s’posed to come round today,” she told us. “It’s his birthday.” Her face fell, and her tiny shoulders slumped a little. “We bought him a cake and everything.” It dawned on me that she didn’t know. Gabe never told her. My gaze shifted from Eden to Gabe, who gave me a nod of approval.

I scooped the child up and balanced her on my hip. Dean and Gabe strode into the kitchen to continue their conversation. Eden and I sat on the couch, resting atop the navy sheet laying there. “Well, love,” I began with a heavy sigh. “Mr. Chandler isn’t going to be coming back.”

Eden’s mouth fell open and twisted into a pained expression. “Did I do somethin’ wrong, Miss Tali?”

“No. Goodness, no,” I told her breathlessly as I pulled her up onto my lap. Had to be careful with my words now. If I didn’t say it just right, I could really hurt her. “Mr. Chandler had an accident,” I explained. When she asked what kind, I paused to swallow. “There were some mean people with very mean feelings who did something bad to him,” I told her.

“Just like mummy?” she asked, and my heart froze. I had forgotten all about Eden’s mother, or lack thereof. Her mother’s state had been unknown to me this whole time, at least until now. I hurt for this child. A child born in war, who lost their mother in war, who lost a second loved one in war.

“Yes,” I agreed with a slow nod. “Mr. Chandler’s body just stopped working. That’s why he can’t come back, love.”

“Okay,” she sighed. A tiny frown curved her lips downward. “Where is he now?”

“We’ve got him.” I didn’t need to go into detail about the fact that he was currently laying in my bed. “But we’re going to put him to rest tomorrow morning. We’re going to bury him,” I explained. “You won’t be able to see him or talk to him, and a lot of people might cry, but I’ve got a feeling your daddy will want to come.” Eden seemed okay with this. We continued talking, and she asked me some questions. At first, it seemed odd that she was so nonchalant, but I remembered that she was young. She didn’t understand death yet, even though she had experienced it once before. How brilliant life seemed at her age.

“Blondie,” Dean called as he walked in from the kitchen’s archway with Gabe trailing behind him. “We’re gonna drive them to their new house.”

“We’re gettin’ a new house?” Eden gasped, and Dean laughed, told her yes, and told her pack up everything she wanted to bring with her. We gave them time to gather their belongings before we got in the car and headed off to Chandler’s home, where we sifted through the massive home for anything that might’ve been Dean’s, or anything Dean wanted to take back home with him.

After a few hours of cleaning and helping Gabe get settled in, they bid us farewell on the front steps. One of Gabe’s hands waved high in the air, and the other tumbled a recently discovered ring box in the pocket of his jeans. I wanted to ask, but it seemed rude. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when we buried Chandler, I could ask. Even if nothing else settled, at least we would put Chandler to rest. At least.