Strings

Chapter 1

In the midst of severely unpleasant weather, such as heavy rain or hailstorm, for the sheer irony of it, Jack Collingwood, would leave his home and drive the clocked, 8-minutes to the deli around the corner. The irony, was in that no one, in their right mind anyway, would expose themselves to such weather. And that was a fact, because the weather was just absolutely ludicrous where he lived, and Jack absolutely loved it.

 Not only would the deli be completely empty-save for its' owner- but so would the entire driveway, and any other occupancy within a hundred yards of its' vicinity. These little spots, which most people deem as simply another piece of gravel and asphalt, were Jack's personal brooding places. And by brooding, it meant him going into the deli, buying two heavy bottles of gin, and then locking himself inside his rusted pick-up truck to chug it all down, and then pass out until anyone who was willing to get any distance close to his car would try to wake him up.

 He especially liked it when the weather came down hard in the middle of the night. It meant double solitariness and isolation on the already-desolate store, and Jack couldn't think of anything more perfectly matched. Currently, it was night, around 10-ish, and a heavy rainstorm, at least one of the heaviest Jack has ever seen, was smashing onto the ground like thudding bullets after they had been fired. He loved the sound; relaxing and sickeningly beautiful, just as much as he loved the nearly empty bottle of crystal-clear spirits he held in his hand.

 The lights omitting from the inside of the deli looked like a whitewash ripple with the flowing rainwater trickling down in cascades outside the windshield. "They said that depression does things to you... but I can see things a lot more clearly like this." Jack said to himself, taking the cold bottle in his hand and drawing it back up to his lips to chug down another considerable amount of it. When he placed it back down, the bottle was a quarter from being empty.

 Jack had always been drinking ever since he had reached the age where he could sleep around with women (before he met Kellie) and get away with it, then not feel a shred of regret of what damage or one-sided pleasure he could've possibly left them.

 "It's what adults do."

 He can remember his father telling him once, when he first asked about the foul-smelling drink that most males of his age practically worship. In a way it applied to both that and having mindless sex, but Jack couldn't have been sure then. He was only 5 when he asked his father.

 But now he knew how right the old man was. Alcohol was like man's other best friend besides dogs and Jack can't argue with that. However, his long history associated with the liver-crushing liquid was one of the reasons why he was considered a 'possible' criminal. It's like what most TV shows and movies make you think. Like 'alcohol turns even the most decent men into vile ones', or 'it does things to you', those kinds of lines that gives people the wrong idea about other people who have exceptional bonds with spirits. In Jack's case, it added intensity to the file stacked in a folder in the office of the shrink he's been seeing. He can almost see the words 'suffers from severe depression, anxiety, social disability and insomnia' flashing in front of his eyes.

 If you put his file, right next to the report of a missing child's case currently collecting dust in the local police department, it would put Jack in a 4 walled room, waiting for emancipation or a death sentence by jail or needle. Not that it would be any different from how he'd lived for the last 12 years. And it's correct to assume that Jack did die in that time frame. No one even needed to lay a finger. Losing his only child was unbearable enough, and getting divorced from his wife because of it, was just down-right hellish.

 But being blamed for what happened to his daughter, and then pointed as the suspect, (including his wife) was comparable to drowning in a sea of knives. And Jack had gone six-feet over and over ever since.

 The splattering of gin in the air, and his own rasping made Jack think he had just submerged from the water and was now trying to cough it all back out. "What symbolism." He looked at the bottom of the gin bottle, and found that he had just wasted the last ounce. Without much thought, he turned the bottle over, and then let what little of the liquid still left to pour on the plastic with the other empty bottle on the other seat. He made sure to drop it all, before he stuffed the bottle with its' brother in the plastic, and then returned his hands on the wheel.

 The rain was still crashing, and Jack knew all too well that he was bat-xxxx drunk, but it wasn't stopping him from turning the keys in the ignition and then tapping on the brakes. His house was only around the corner, and he had done this little routine of his long enough for him to do it all by instinct and memory rather than actually doing it. The digital clock on the dashboard reads 2:06 AM when he parks on his driveway. He goes through the same tipsy motions he always does whenever he's had two bottles of gin, and it takes him a quarter of half an hour to get out of the car with the plastic in hand.

 As he got inside, it is only then that he realizes that he was soaking wet, flooding the floor mat by the door in a matter of seconds. Nonchalantly, he stepped off of it, and wobbled to the kitchen. He dumped his evidence of vice inside the trash bin, before going to the fridge to chug down some milk. It's never occurred to him how mixing milk with the aftertaste of alcohol, makes his mouth as dry as a drought, but the mixture helps him doze off more quickly and so he doesn't argue with himself.

Jack stumbles the whole way up the stairs and its' 2:43 AM by the time he's reached his room. He's almost considered just crashing on the floor and be done with it, but the blinking red light of the answering machine beside the phone at the bed-side table caught his attention. His stride is a bit more balanced this time as he goes to stand over the phone, and pressed the Messages button. A loud beep erupted from the machine, making him wince, and when the voice spoke over the line, Jack almost groaned.

 "Hey, it's me."

A sigh from him.

"I know... You don't really want me calling you. At least, all the sudden like this.."

Jack takes a moment to deny that in his head.

"Chris is throwing a dinner party on Friday night. He got the company a good sale last week. He's been wanting to meet you for a while now, so if you're interested you're welcome to join us. You need to at least leave the house every once in a while for a stroll, Jack. And visits from Dr. Mallerd don't really count as strolls. So.. I hope I see you there. Bye."

 Sighing, Jack grabbed the plug from the socket behind the bed's wooden frame and pulled it out . He then laid down on the bed as the plug fell from his hand. He shivered slightly when the wet from his clothes seeped into the bed sheets, but he doesn't stir anymore.

"You're full of xxxx, Kellie."  And he lets himself go.