Can't Forget

Chapter 1

Seven years old. She would have been seven years old this year. He thought about it. Every minute. Every day. Seven years old. It was almost unbelievable to him when she turned six. Unbelievable how something so small became something so big. How something that he hadn't wanted in his youth, became the thing he loved most. What was unbelievable to him now, was how it was taken away in an instant.

Tyler had spent the past ten months in jail while passing through a number of trials until the eventual conclusion of 15 years parole. The courts didn't know how to navigate his unique circumstances. Yes, he had killed that boy. That was indisputably manslaughter of a minor. Tyler knew that. Everyone did. Not only that, but it was common belief that it was involuntary. Per the medical reports from the crash, as well as a fortunately placed security camera at the pharmacy he ran the car into, Tyler was in a state of mental distress that resulted in a spike of blood pressure and impaired his senses. Despite killing a young boy, no older than his own daughter, it was determined that he was not at fault, given the unique circumstances.

Despite the mostly unanimous verdict, the mother of the deceased was less than pleased. She fought tooth and nail for a retrial, but nothing ever came from it. She filed suits, but to no avail. The courts dismissed her case every time. She received no more than a pity settlement from the state to cover the funeral and her grievances. Even Tyler found it unfair. He was stuck with the guilt of it all, but she was left with the dead child. Blood on his hands, that by determination of his government, thought to leave unwashed. He already lost his wife and child. There was no reason to kick him while he was down.

Tyler lost his job. His boss tried to say that it had nothing to do with the circumstances of what had happened. They tried to say that it was related to his performance over the previous quarter. He thought it was all bullshit, but he didn't fight it. He was tired. He probably would've quit anyway.

He didn't do much now. He hardly left the house. An app on his phone brought food to his door. Another brought everything else. He had no reason to leave his home. No will to either. His savings kept him comfortable for a while. His mortgage was only four payments away from done, since he and Erica had been double-paying it since they bought the house. With what he had in savings, Tyler decided to just overpay his bill and close it out. It's not like he needed the money for anything else.

He sat at home, spending the entirety of his days on the living room couch. He'd been there for weeks. For the first week he was showering... that didn't last. After the first week, he found little reason to really even get up. He found little reason for anything. Little will. Instead he slept, ate and lived at the couch. He urinated in a empty liter bottle with a torn off Coke Zero label. He shit in a bucket. Both of which he just dumped out of the window behind the couch a few times a day, when he felt bothered to do so.

The trash piled up. Weeks of pizza boxes, Chinese containers, half-eaten burritos from the Mexican restaurant he never liked. All of it piled in the corner at the edge of the couch. It had started to smell, but it hardly bothered him. His senses hadn't much mattered to him at all. He was numb to it.

The TV was always on, even when he slept, but he hardly ever turned up the volume. Subtitled movies played in a cycle that changed every other day. If you gave him a pen, he would have been able to write down the entire screenplay of Cowboys Vs Aliens with less than five small mistakes and a few spelling errors.

He did nothing. For weeks. Alone. Everything meaning less and less with each passing minute.

What was the point?

Was there ever a point?

He wasn't so sure anymore...

On the 34th day, his phone rang for the first time since he had come home. He never heard from anyone, not even his mother, but nonetheless he kept the phone on the end table, plugged in at all times. He also kept it there to scroll through porn when he was bored, but that was beside the point. His phone was ringing.

Tyler sat upright. His body ached as he did. The side that he'd been laying on for hours was sore and hurt to the touch. The phone rang softly, vibrating through the case into the faux wood end table. He stared at it for a moment, almost in disbelief that it was actually ringing, and it wasn't his imagination.

He picked it up. Feeling the vibration in his hand. The number was... not one he had seen before. Without much thought, he slid the bar across the screen to answer.

"H-Hello?" He said.

"Yes, hi. Hello. Is this, uh, Mr. Tyler Brown?"

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Yes, apologies, my name is Jeanne. Dr. Jeanne Teller. Do I have Mr. Brown on the line?"

"Uh," Tyler thought for a moment, "Y-yeah. Yeah. This is Tyler. Uh, Mr. Brown. How can I, uh... help you, Ms. Teller?"

"Dr. Teller," She corrected.

"Right, Doctor, sorry."

"That's quite fine, Mr. Brown," She said, "Mr. Brown, I am calling you today at the request of your mother, Mrs. Cheyenne Brown. She had asked me to speak with you."

"My mother?" Tyler said, "Why would my mother-"

"She insisted I call you. She seemed quite worried about you."

"My mother..."

"Yes, Mr. Brown."

"What kind of doctor are you?"

"A psychiatrist, Mr. Brown," She said, "She wanted me to speak with you. She knows that you've been alone at your home for weeks. She asked me to call you. Speak with you. And if it serves you well, speak with you regularly. She wants me to try to help you."

"Help me?" Tyler grumbled, "How the fuck are you going to help me."

"That is to be determined."

Tyler sighed.

"Look, it's not a good time for this," Tyler said, "I'll call my mom. She shouldn't have-"

"When would be a good time, Mr. Brown?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I asked you, when a good time would be," Dr. Teller said, "Seemingly you lead a very busy life for eleven o'clock on a Saturday morning to not be a 'good time'. Especially considering that you don't exactly have anything to be very busy doing."

"Excuse me? You can't just call me and-"

"Mr. Brown. I am one of the worlds leading psychiatrists in my field. I hold a PHD in psychology from The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. I have been published three times. Twice of which were New York Times Bestsellers. The waiting list for my services is over two years out. Your mother is a friend of a friend, who insisted that I talk with you. I have called you on a weekend. A day that I do not frequently spend working."

She paused briefly.

"Mr. Brown. I am presenting you a one time opportunity. I may be coming off as an egotist, but you must understand that I insist you make the time."

Tyler exhaled loudly, exhausted by the conversation.

"Fine."

"Great," Dr. Teller said, "I am going to have my receptionist reach out to you first thing on Monday and set up an appointment. I look forward to speaking with you further, Mr. Brown."