Shadows From the Abyss

Shawn lifted his eyes from the sketch pad resting against his knees and stared out the passenger window, watching the trees and highway rolling past as they flew down the highway. Tennessee was an abysmal state to drive through and incredibly boring after the twists and turns of the North Carolina mountains. They had another three hours to go before they reached Louisville, and if Art didn’t remember how to use his voice for something other than arguing with the GPS, he may give up and just walk back home.

Pot hole reported ahead the GPS on the dashboard chirped for what felt like the fifteenth time in ten minutes.

“The entire road is a fucking pot hole!” Art snarled in response, changing lanes to avoid a huge gaping hole in the road.

Shawn groaned, trying to keep his own temper in check. The past two days had been hell. He hated anger and yelling and since getting the news his father had passed away, that was all Art had been expressing, aside from loud, unabashed sobbing. Sobbing he could deal with, but yelling and screaming either made him shut himself away in fear or riled up his own explosive anger and turned it into an all out war of fury. He hated it; all it did was remind him of his years living with his father and the screaming matches they would get into that would drag out for days on end. Yelling didn’t fix things, it just made you feel better for two seconds until you either felt stupid or the anger swelled back up.

He couldn’t say he didn’t understand, however. Art didn’t get to say goodbye to the one family member he felt love for; he felt cheated out of the most meaningful thing he could have gotten. And now he had to go face the very people who denied him that right and try to play family with them. It was bullshit to say the least.

“Oh thank God,” Art sighed as the Kentucky welcome sign appeared on the horizon ahead. “Wanna know the best part about driving up here?” Shawn just grunted in response. “The speed limit is seventy and there’s not a sheriff in sight.”

The silence returned to the truck cab, Art keeping his attention on Interstate 75 winding ahead of them, Shawn keeping his attention on the rough sketch he was working on. He had been drawing again since returning from tour. His step mother giving him art prompts to keep him busy had not only helped keep him distracted while on the road, but had sparked something deep inside of him. He hadn’t done much aside from graffiti on the sides of trains since junior year of high school but was finally remembering his love of using a halfway decent outlining pen and colored pencils. He was currently putting his frustrations down on paper, scribbling out a rough looking rabbit, working on several smaller versions to figure out how disheveled and destroyed he wanted it to be as it slumped its way across the dark world around it.

“I gotta stop for gas,” Art muttered several minutes later as he took an exit. Shawn just grunted in response again. When the truck was parked at a pump, Art heaved another sigh as he cut the engine. “Babe.”

“What?” Shawn replied flatly, picking up an orange pencil and continuing his shading.

“I’m sorr-Shawn will you please look at me?”

He slowly put the pencil down and tossed the pad onto the dashboard, turning and looking at his boyfriend, trying to conceal his annoyance. Just because he understood didn’t mean he had to like how he reacted to things. This was the first time they had even really raised their voices at each other, let alone gotten on each other’s nerves. It was weird looking at someone you loved dearly and feeling agitation instead of love.

Art drew another breath before speaking. “I know you hate yelling and anger. And I’m sorry for how I’ve been the past few days. It’s just…I fucking hate this.”

“I know you do. But I have to ask, are you going to be pissy the entire time we’re there?”

“No, I’ll do my best to suck it up. But if you see me getting pissed off, I give you permission to force me to leave, okay?”

Shawn sighed, seeing nothing but sincerity in Art’s brown eyes. He was trying to be accommodating, even if it meant suppressing the only emotion he was feeling currently. “Deal. You try to not be enraged and I’ll try not to shut down when you are.”

“I love you.” Art smiled sheepishly. “Thank you for bearing with me and coming along. I need you right now.”

“I love you,” He smiled back. “Alright, you pump gas; I’m gonna go buy a pack of cigarettes before I lose my damn mind.”

“If I give you my card, will you get me two packs of Marlboro Reds?”

“Cowboy killers?” Shawn couldn’t help but snort. Art never bought his own pack; he would just steal a Camel from him every few days after a long shift and then be done until his next hellacious day. “Alright, when you choke to death it’s your own fault.”

*
“I can’t go in there,” Art whispered softly as the pair sat in the end of the long gravel driveway in front of his parent’s home.

“We don’t have to stay long.”

“They’re going to want me to stay,”

“We’ll go in, do what you have to do, and then we can go to the Air BNB and be done for the day.”
Art fidgeted in his seat before opening the first pack of cigarettes and lighting one. “I can’t do it, babe.”

“Why not?”

“If I go in there, that means it’s real. That means he’s really dead and I can’t handle that right now.”

Shawn sat back, sighing, but let Art sit in his cloud of denial as he smoked, trying to calm his shaking hands. He knew this feeling all too well. Towards the end, his mother had encouraged him to be involved with her final wishes. He went with her to the funeral home and they joked about how gaudy certain urns and caskets were and learned about the cremation process and the different package options they offered, she had him pick what necklace she would wear for the final viewing and what color ribbon would compliment her white lace dress, she explained why she was filling out certain paper work like a DNR, broke down how wills worked and power of attorney. She wanted him to be involved and understand what was happening, she didn’t want him to be afraid of death or not understand why she was suddenly gone and not coming back. It wasn’t something necessarily positive, but it was inevitable and being afraid of death was silly in her mind. But as involved as he was, when he was standing in the hallway at the funeral home before the final private viewing, it didn’t feel real. He didn’t truly believe he would walk through that door and see her lying there, lifeless and cold. Even when he was standing there looking down on her, knowing good and well that the yellow ribbon tied under her chin was to keep her jaw shut, he half expected her to open her eyes, push the white shroud off and say ‘Alright well that was fun, let’s go home.’ But she never did, her chest never rose, her eyes never opened, her fingers didn’t twitch, she was just still. It wasn’t until his father put a hand on his shoulder after ten minutes did it become real that she was gone. That was when the reality of death finally smacked him and the waterfall of seemingly never ending tears began.

“No, no, oh fuck no, not now,” Art was groaning, pulling Shawn out of his own head and back to reality.

“What’s wrong?”

“That,” Art growled, point ahead of them.

Shawn looked up and saw an older gentleman walking down the driveway towards them with a stack of papers tucked under his arm. He wasn’t nearly as tall or lean as Art was, but the resemblance in the face was remarkable. The face was their only similarity, however, with Mark's red hair and beard clashing against Art's dark rooted bleach blond. Just from watching him stroll towards them, he could feel the smug radiating off of him, so they at least had that in common.

“I’m gonna guess that is…”

“That bastard brother of mine,”

“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur,” Mark smiled as he approached the open window on the driver’s side of the truck.

“Go to hell, Mark,” Art replied dryly.

Mark’s smile dropped and was replaced with a look of annoyance. “I need to talk to you before you go in there.”

“Joke’s on you, I’m not going in.”

“You have to.”

“Nope.”

Mark’s glance slid over to Shawn. “I’m going to guess you’re the boyfriend?”

“Yeah that would be me. Sorry about your dad.” Shawn replied, trying to give a sympathetic smirk, which he ultimately failed and just looked uncomfortable.

Mark shrugged. “He can drink his bourbon undisturbed with the angels.”

“Something like that,” Art mumbled as he finished his cigarette. “Can you fuck off now, please?”

Mark sighed and leaned against the side of the truck. “I want us to bury the hatchet, Art.”

“Bullsh-“

“We aren’t getting any younger. Dad’s gone, Mom’s batshit, and our sister is a bitch.”

“Oh look, you’re finally seeing it my way,”

“Will you shut up and listen?”

Art scowled and lit another cigarette before gesturing for Mark to continue.

“I’m sorry for all the shit I did to you when we were younger. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“Especially the time you and your buddies fucking threw me in the lake handcuffed and I almost drowned!” Art growled angrily.

“I regret all of that,” Mark sighed, hanging his head. “But I want us to be better. I’m kicking forty in the ass and I realized I’ve isolated myself and don’t have much of a connection with you or Christina. And I want to change that. I need to change that. The girls need their uncle in their lives.”

Art rolled his eyes and blew smoke towards his brother. “So how are we supposed to change that?”
“We don’t need to be best friends, but we need to stick together. The girls have started fighting with each other and it feels like I’m looking in a damn mirror. I don’t want them to go down the hateful road we went down. So let’s lead by example and show them we can get along even after all these years.”

Art stayed silent as he puffed on his cigarette, the gears in his mind clearly turning. He didn’t want to forgive his brother for all the awful things he had done. And it was bullshit he could just waltz up and ask for forgiveness. But he didn’t have to forgive a damn thing. But then again, he was missing his two niece’s growing up because their father sucked, and that wasn’t their fault. “I’ll think about it,” He finally grumbled.

Mark sighed, but nodded. “I’ll take that, thank you.”

“You’re not welcome. I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for-“

“For the girls, I know.”

“What the hell else do you want?”

“Well, I have here Dad’s final wishes,” Mark pulled the stack of papers out from under his arm. “And his last will and testament.”

“Wait,” Shawn chimed in, sitting up in his seat, “I thought you needed a lawyer to read that.”

Mark just smirked. “I’m an attorney. I’m more than qualified to read this.”

“What’s the difference?”

“An attorney is a lawyer, but a lawyer is not necessarily an attorney,” Art recited from memory and Mark just nodded in agreement.

“I passed that bar exam so I’ll read what I want. Anyway, did you bring your uniform for tomorrow?”

“You know I did.”

“Good. He wanted you and Christina to be the leading pallbearers. I’ll get Mom seated and stay with her, you command the sea men.”

Art rolled his eyes and finished his second cigarette. “This is gonna suck. Military funerals are so stiff.”

“We’ll all be miserable together. Also, here is your section of his will.”

Art reached out and took the piece of paper from his older brother before carefully scanning it. “Oh hell yeah, he left me his trident and the Subaru. That’s all I….holy shit!”

“Mmhm,” Mark smirked.

“That’s…that’s a lot of fuckin money!”

“Yeah, you defiantly got the upper hand with the finances,”

“Jesus!”

Shawn kept his eyes down and tried to ignore what Art had just said. He never asked him about his bank account, so he wouldn’t ask him about what he just inherited. They didn’t talk about money, and it was better that way. He never told him about the bank account his father had tried to transfer to him back in the spring or what he was given every month because it was no one’s business but his own. If they decided to get married some day, then they could discuss it, but until then, he just kept his head down and went back to mentally editing his rabbit sketch.

“Christina won’t get here until like one in the morning so you have plenty of time to come in and see people before hell freezes over,” Mark added, restacking the papers and double checking something. “Mom’s at the funeral home anyway.”

“I really don’t want to go in there,” Art groaned.

“Aunt Silvia’s in there,”

Art groaned a little louder and put his head back. “Fine, but we aren’t staying for dinner. Go in, say hello, give hugs, go to our hotel.”

“That’s fine. I’ll give you guys a minute and see you inside.” Mark turned and walked back up the driveway, leaving the duo sitting in the silent truck cab.

Art stubbed out the butt of his cigarette before tossing it. “Sorry you had to be here for that.”

Shawn was quiet for a bit, thinking, processing. “Are you going to forgive him?”

“Maybe; you ready to face this with me?”

**
The house itself was intimidating enough; a three story red brick colonial with black shutters and a huge American flag blowing in the breeze to the right of the double front door. The lawn was well manicured and landscaped and it felt like something out of the most picturesque American Homes magazine.

“Please don’t break up with me after meeting these crazy people,” Art sighed before reaching for the doorknob and pushing the front door open. “Hello!”

The pair stepped into the large foyer and Shawn immediately felt put off and cold as the door clicked closed behind them. The house was beautifully decorated, inviting and lavish, but knowing what he knew, it felt like a façade.

“Anyone here?” Art called out, leaning to the left and peering around the large grand staircase.
Heels came clicking around the corner on the hardwoods and an incredibly southern shriek pierced the silence. “Oh, my baby boy!”
Art stumbled back as the smaller, boney woman with short red hair threw herself at him, pulling him into a vice tight embrace. “Hi Aunt Silvia,” He grinned.

“Oh darlin’, I’ve missed you so much!”

The rolodex in Shawn’s mind was spinning, trying to place her accent. Southern, no G on the end of darling, that had to be a Tidewater accent, she’s probably from Norfolk, so she’s gotta be his dad’s sister.

“Good heavens, you’re so tall and thin! Are you eatin’ okay, baby? God you’re just like your daddy. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re eatin’ good before you leave here!” She was talking a mile a minute, a broad, warm smile on her red lips, and every sentence was accompanied by a hand gesture. “Now,” She turned towards Shawn, “who’s this fine young gentleman you brought with you?”

Art cleared his throat. “Aunt Silvia, this is Shawn. He’s my boyfriend.” His voice cracked a bit on the last three words and Shawn tried not to wince.

“Hello,” He forced a smile, but God if he wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Boyfriend?” Silvia raised a well arched eyebrow. Oh shit, here it comes. “How long have you two been datin’?”

“What, five months now?”

“Yep, five months.” This was awkward and he scanned around, trying to find a floor board he could pry up and escape under.

The scream of joy that came roaring out of his aunt scared both of them as she launched herself at Shawn and squeezed him tight, knocking the wind from his lungs. “Oh I’m so happy for you two! How’d you meet?”

The pair shared a glance; silently agreeing not to tell her it was a hook up app. “Internet,”

“You youngins just have it so much easier with meetin’ one another,” She sighed contently. “I love a good love story. Oh, come on, we gotta go tell your Uncle Patrick the good news!” She grabbed them both and pulled them to the back of the house, rambling the entire time about one thing or another. “Patrick, Arthur is here! And he brought his new beau!”

“Well it’s about time the lad met someone!” A thick Irish accent chimed in from another room. It took all of Shawn’s strength not to burst into hysterical laughter, realizing that people with the most confusing accents probably understood one another with ease when no one else could. “Good lord, you’re a weed, child! When’d you get so tall?”

“Hi, Uncle Patrick,” Art smiled meekly, accepting a hug from the stouter, rounder man.

“You’re built like a damn wall, boy!”

“And this is Shawn,” Silvia chimed in, pulling him forward. “His new boyfriend!”

“Shawn?” Patrick raised an eyebrow. “How do you spell it?”

“S-H-A-W-N,” He smiled sheepishly.

Patrick nodded and grinned. “You were your mother’s gift from God. Be proud of that name and where it comes from.”

Shawn just nodded, and when Patrick turned back to Art, he took this opportunity to finally look around the room. The wood paneling darkened the room considerably, but the bright sunlight pouring in from the two large windows made up for it. The walls were lined with naval awards and honors, a huge bookcase overflowing of books on a wide array of topics loomed in the corner, a large mahogany desk sat with a computer surrounded by stacks of books and papers, the couch under the front windows looked uncomfortable at best, but what made Shawn smile was the large portraits and photos hanging on the wall across from the desk. One was clearly his father and mother’s wedding photo, which he guessed from her obviously permed hair was taken in the late 70s or early 80s, several photos from battleships and destroyers with rows of men grinning, ready to blow something into a million pieces with the huge guns looming overhead, what Shawn assumed was his father’s official Naval Officer portrait, and then three large portraits of his children. Mark standing at the head of an empty courtroom with a cigar in his mouth and a shit eating grin on his face, Christina’s Navy photo in front of the American flag with white hat and uniform, and Art’s Army photo with the slightest cocky smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. God, never shave your head again. Huh, Mark's the only redhead. Weird.

“Lenard was so proud of his family,” Silvia said with a breathy sigh, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

“That’s pretty apparent,” Shawn replied, glancing at the smaller photos of his blond granddaughters who were all smiles at a pumpkin patch. “They’re adorable.”

“I love those little girls. Do you come from a big family as well?”

“I guess you could kinda say I do. I have three half siblings and two step brothers.”

“Oh, one big happy blended family!”

“Something like that,” He tried to hide the dread he knew was leaking into his voice.

“Well…I’m sorry you’ll have to meet Pam at some point,” Silvia’s voice grew a bit quieter. “I don’t know what the hell he saw in that bitch. And Christina aint much better.”

Shawn knew from living in the south and growing up with his mother that southern women were all smiles to your face and said the nastiest things when you were gone, but it always caught him slightly off guard when it actually happened. “Oh yeah?”

“I just don’t understand how people can have so much hate in their hearts but still claim to love anyone.” The scowl on her lips suddenly fell away and was replaced with another warm smile. “Come with me, baby, let’s get you somethin’ to drink.” She reached out and grabbed his hand and firmly pulled him from the room and into the bright, airy kitchen. “You like sweet tea, sugar?”

“Yes ma’am,” He replied, leaning against the counter and letting her take charge. “So I’m guessing he was your brother?”

“He was older by two years. I loved him, he was such a good man.” Her shoulders sagged a bit and she sighed, the smile falling from her face. “I’m gonna miss him so much,” She then lifted her eyes and the sly smile quickly returned to her lips. Shawn followed her gaze to the bottle of Evan William’s whiskey sitting at the back of the counter. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Silvia, I think you and I are gonna get along juuust fine.”

The pair stood in the kitchen drinking sweet tea mixed with just enough whiskey to give them a warm buzzed feeling while getting to know each other. Silvia and Patrick had been married for twenty years after meeting by chance in Boston. She had been there for work and he had been visiting a cousin when they literally ran into each other at the corner of Congress and Hawes. After profusely apologizing to one another over and over again, they agreed the best apology would be drinks and dinner and were immediately charmed by one another and hadn’t been apart since. Patrick sold his flat in Wexford and they bought a home together in Chesapeake Virginia. They didn’t have children, but they did have two beagles named George and Louise since The Jeffersons was their favorite show to watch together.

“And what about your family, honey?” She finally asked.

“Oh, we’re just all over the place. My mother was from North Carolina but went to California, met my step father, married my dad, had me, they split, we bounced around for a bit, moved back to North Carolina, her and my step dad got back together. It was all a bit of a mess, really.”

“Well, life is strange sometimes.” She smirked, finishing her drink.

Footsteps came thundering down the front stairs and Mark appeared in the doorway, a slightly panicked look on his face. “Where’s Art?”

“Office, what’s going on?”

Mark ignored Silvia’s question and rushed past them. He returned less than a minute later with his brother, who looked flustered to say the least.

“We gotta go.”

“Babe what’s going on?” Shawn asked, putting his glass down on the counter.

“Mom’s coming with that damn pastor and I’m not sticking around for the explosion when we see each other. I’ll handle it tomorrow but now we gotta run.”

“Arthur Ray, are you avoiding your mother?” Silvia gasped.

“You’re damn right I am after the shit she said to me about Shawn. I’m sorry but fuck her!”

Silvia huffed a sigh but nodded, pulling him into a hug. “Be safe please. Both of you. We love you too much.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow at the service,” He replied, letting go and grabbing Shawn’s hand. “Come on, she’ll be here any minute.”

“Nice meeting you,” Shawn called to Silvia over his shoulder as they hustled out the front door with Mark.

“Call me tonight and I’ll come meet you if you want to discuss tomorrow any more. Hell, I’ll bring a case of beer and we can watch the sun set over the river and talk trash if you want.” Mark smirked as they speed walked down the driveway to the blue truck. “Be careful driving, but don’t stop for anything if you can help it.”

“Are we really running away from your mother?” Shawn asked in disbelief as he closed his door and buckled his seat belt.

“You don’t want the hell I’m gonna unleash when I see her,” He grunted in response, cranking the engine, a look of determination on his face. “Oh and Mark. Thanks for the heads up, man. I owe you, or some brotherly shit like that.” And without another word, he threw the truck into reverse, floored it, and the couple had vanished from the property in a matter of seconds, hauling ass to the safety of their hotel.