A Neat Mess

37. After the Bottle Breaks

People often say that time heals all wounds, but for someone with a hangover, it feels like time grinds to a halt. Sam lay in bed, unmoving, while Ben had to stay home and babysit both her and Jenna, now that Lucille was gone. In truth, Sam wasn't as hungover as she pretended. Most of the worst had passed during the night, leaving her with just some fatigue and a minor headache. Normally, she would have brushed it off and gone about her day. But today wasn't about the hangover—it was about avoiding Ben.

Life, Sam thought, is nothing but a war full of battles. To win, you have to strategize and know your enemy's strengths and weaknesses. Sometimes, the best strategy is to simply hide. After all these years together, she knew Ben wasn't one to dig too deeply into problems. If she could just avoid him for the day, by tomorrow, he'd likely forget anything had happened at all. That was the beauty—and the curse—of their relationship. Sam only needed to buy herself time.

There is a turning point in everyone's life. What Sam's hiding strategy didn't account for was that Ben had reached his turning point the night he found his wife talking to an imaginary person in the middle of the night.

Ben walked into the room, holding a glass filled with some strange, greenish-grey, gooey drink. He sat on the edge of the bed, close to Sam, and whispered, "Hydrate."

But Ben wasn't just being nice. He was more concerned now than he had been the night before. Sam had always been enigmatic, and that had kept him intrigued throughout their marriage. But now, the mystery wasn't alluring—it was terrifying. He was waking up, after all these years, to the chilling realization that he didn't know his wife at all.

Ben's mind raced. What once fascinated him had now become deeply unsettling. He was no longer content with simply observing from the sidelines or brushing things off. He wasn't just planning to get to the bottom of it—he was ready to take extreme measures to protect his daughter from this woman, this creature, who had somehow transformed into a stranger under his own roof.

Ben stroked Sam's hair gently, his voice low and overly kind, almost as if he was trying too hard. "We're out of milk, so I'm going to the shops, and I'm taking Jenna with me. Is there anything else you need while we're out?"

Sam barely opened her eyes, the pounding in her head making her wish he'd just leave. "Thanks... Can I have my phone, please?" she mumbled.

"Sure, I've already called your office, by the way," he said, pulling her phone from his pocket and handing it to her.

"Thanks for doing that," Sam replied, keeping her voice neutral as she took the phone. She turned her back to him, closing her eyes, feigning sleep. She listened intently as Ben and Jenna left, and only when she heard the sound of the car pulling out of the driveway did she move.

Quickly, she pulled her phone out and dialed a number from memory. After a few rings, a woman's voice answered on the other end, her tone sharp with curiosity.

"Hello?"

"Hey, this is Sam," she whispered urgently. "I don't have much time. I'm really sick, and Ben will be back any minute."

The voice on the other end immediately recognized her. "Sam, calm down. What do you mean, you don't have much time? Have you OD'd? Should I call an ambulance? Just breathe and tell me what happened, as much as you can."

Sam tried to gather her scattered thoughts. It was hard, her mind still foggy from the alcohol, and the panic creeping in. "I had an incident last night... it's back." She took a deep, shaky breath, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It was there. Strong, powerful, like it hasn't aged at all."

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a concerned, measured response. "What do you mean it's back? What is back? What did you do?"

Sam answered, her voice shaky, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as the person on the other end. "Nothing... but it was there. I recognize it when it's there. You know, in the middle of the night, everything feels stronger... purer." She gasped for air, trying to steady herself.

The woman's voice on the other end was calmer now, more analytical. "Did it happen out of nowhere, or has something changed? Is everything okay with work? Or maybe something big and stressful? What about Ben and Jenna—are they alright?"

Sam's eyes widened for a moment. "Ben... he might've been having an affair with the babysitter. She died a few days ago. And... I thought he was involved with my friend too. I caused a scene at her house, and now she's fled the country for good, and Jenna has been showing symptoms, and she might have intentionally caused the sitter's death. But I've had worse days than this before... and I've never felt what I did last night." Her words tumbled out, slurred, as if she were losing her grip on reality.

The woman's voice, now more direct, cut through the fog. "You sound impaired, Sam. Have you been drinking?"

It dawned on Sam how drunk she was—how obvious it must've been, and yet she hadn't even realized. "I drank a lot yesterday... I don't even know how much. I blacked out. When I woke up, I was in Jenna's room, and that's when I felt it."

A pause. The woman sighed. "So, should I say anything, or do you already know the answer? Alcohol is your number one enemy, Sam. The worst, if you ask me. Stress is a close second. You need to stay away from both. We just increased your dosage recently, which I wasn't thrilled about, and they can cause hallucinations. You're talking about 'it' like it's an actual entity. Is there any chance you've missed a pill or two?"

Sam hesitated, the truth gnawing at her. "I... I don't know. Maybe."

Sam heard Ben's car pull into the driveway. Feeling relieved, she said, "I have to go, they're home. I'll call you back." After hanging up, she erased the last number she had dialed. She then made her way to her sacred shrine and picked up a particular item that concealed another inside—a small jar resembling those used to carry medications, worn around the neck. Swiftly, Sam retrieved a charm that served as the key to unlock it.

Carefully opening the jar, she habitually counted the pills inside. Mentally calculating—it was five days to the end of the month, so there should have been five left. To her surprise, there were six. She recounted with her fingers. With Jenna and Ben now inside the house, Sam was unsettled. She took a pill, restored everything to its place, swallowed it dry, and returned to bed.

Sam was certain she had taken yesterday's pill; it had been her routine for over fourteen years, never missed.

Every last Monday of the month, after Ben left the house, Sam would go to the post office to pick up a small parcel that had arrived by the previous Friday. Returning home, she would refill the little jar, placing one pill inside for each day. Sam lay in bed turned away from the door, ensuring her face was hidden if someone walked in. She could hear Ben and Jenna discussing breakfast, and Jenna sounded thrilled.

Sam remembered taking her pill yesterday but was unsure about the day before. She realized she must have missed Monday's dose. Considering that yesterday's pill might have been ineffective due to her alcohol consumption, she had effectively been off for two days. Despite her strong reliance on the pills, she was relieved that they still seemed to work. Determined, she decided to walk downstairs and join the people she called her family—for now.

Jenna, sitting at the breakfast bar, exclaimed, "Daddy, Daddy! Look how strong I am—mixing the pancakes all by myself!" Ben replied in a low voice, "Shush, I told you before, Mommy is sleeping and has a headache." He then decided to test Jenna's empathy, asking, "Remember when you were sick and your head hurt? You didn't like people being noisy. Now, do you understand how Mommy feels when you're making noise?"

Jenna shifted in her spot and looked at Ben with blank eyes, like he was speaking a foreign language. She jumped down from the counter, bouncing up and down while shouting, "Pancakes, pancakes, pancakes..."

Although he had recently learned not to use threats as a tool for control, he thought, considering the situation of dealing with a wife with a hangover and a screaming child, that it was worth a try. "Keep it up, and there'll be no ice cream on your pancakes."

Jenna's shouting ceased instantly, and she glared at Ben with a furious, unsettling look. Ben knew this expression often preceded a violent reaction, like tipping over stuff off the bench or smashing something. Quickly, he moved the bowl of pancake batter out of Jenna's reach.

As Sam walked downstairs, she overheard the unfolding drama in the kitchen and anticipated the inevitable violent reaction and retaliation to follow. This ongoing conflict had been a battleground for years. Sam and Ben had tried to ignore it until now, but the problem had spiralled out of control. Knowing what Jenna was capable of, Sam decided it was time to intervene—if only to save herself from being caught in the chaos.