Without You

3. Resolved

Jess stood on the porch, knocking for a third time before finally retrieving the spare key from his pocket and pushing the door open. The interior of the house did not reflect the sunny California morning outside, drapes pulled shut and dishes left undone in the sink. He ascended the stairs slowly, noting the stillness of the house. Faced with many identical doors, he made his way towards the one only partially closed. Gently pushing the door open, he was struck by the stale smell of body odor and old food. These were both overpowered, however, by the pervasive stink of weed. The room was...disgusting. Old clothes, dishes, and empty bottles covered nearly every surface. Lindsey was sprawled across the bed, sheets almost as wrinkled as the days-old clothes he was wearing. Getting closer, Jess realized he was curled around something. Suspicious, he reached for what he soon realized was some kind of fabric before Lindsey shot awake, ripping the clothing out of Jess's hands. Eyes aggressive and bloodshot, he relaxed a little when he realized who was there.

"Jess? What are you doing here?" Lindsey mumbled, rubbing at his face.

"No one's heard from you. You haven't picked up the phone." 

"Not since your last call," Lindsey replied, referring to the call from the hospital that night. 

"Lindsey, you can't keep living like this. Hell, this isn't even living."

"That would make sense, considering my soul is dead."

"Stop. You may feel that way, but there's a world of difference between feeling dead and being dead. You should know better."

"I'm sorry." Lindsey muttered, retreating in on himself.

"We've been worried about you. Do you know what it would do to Barbara to see you in this state? She considers you her son, we both do. She just lost her daughter, you want her to lose you too?" Jess asked, trying again. 

"I think you better leave. Look, I—I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I just can't. I can't."

"And what? Just leave you here to waste your life away, rotting in your own filth with some scarf for company?" Jess demanded, gesturing to the cloth still held between Lindsey's fingers.

"It's a shawl actually," Lindsey corrected, looking down, "she left it behind...the last night of the tour. She didn't even notice it was gone so I kept it. I slept with it sometimes, even before. But now—now I've had it so long it doesn't smell like her anymore."

With more sympathy, Jess sat down next to him on the less than sanitary sheets.

"We all miss her. You think I don't want to fall apart? You're not alone. You'll never be alone, alright? You always have me and Barb. We love you like our own." Lindsey turned to him, grateful and pained in equal measure.

"I just never thought I'd ever be without her. Even when I knew it was really over between us, I knew we'd always be...connected somehow. Even when we were apart, she was still there. And that was enough."

"I know, we're all still processing this. It'll never be easy."

"But it's more than that," Lindsey continued, agitated, "it was never supposed to be this way. She was supposed to get it all. All her dreams, everything. But I was supposed to take care of her. When we left for L.A. I promised you I'd take care of her."

"I don't blame you, Lindsey. Neither does Barbara. And neither would Stevie." Jess soothed as Lindsey finally dissolved into tears at the mention of Stevie. 

"But I do. It's all my fault," Lindsey sobbed, his agony bringing tears to Jess's eyes,"I love her and she's gone, and it's all my fault."

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

Lindsey descended the staircase slowly, bag in hand. He smelled breakfast cooking in the kitchen, and Jess's voice could be heard over the bacon sizzling. Lindsey entered the room, steeling himself for a quick goodbye before heading out on the road. 

"Good morning, Lindsey. What would you like?" Barbara inquired considerately from her place at the stove. 

"Thank you, but I'm alright. I should probably head out in the next few minutes if I want to beat the traffic."

"You really should reconsider staying through New Year's." Barbara chastised, evidently upset at the short duration of his visit.

"You're always welcome." Jess added, his face concealed by the morning paper. 

"I wish I could, but I really have to get back to L.A. Thank you both so much, I really appreciate your hospitality.

"Of course, honey." Barbara assures him, still displeased at his decision to leave. 

"Here, I'll walk you out." Jess stands from the table, paper falling against his empty plate. Arm wrapped around Lindsey's shoulder, he escorts him down the hall to the front door.

"Have everything? Tank's filled?" 

Lindsey nods.

"Good man." Jess pats his shoulder. Lindsey reaches down to retrive his duffel, trying to read Jess's face somehow.

 Since that day Jess had come to his home and made him get his life back on track, he had trusted him implicitly. He had no reason to be dishonest. But if the insane conclusion he had drawn from that phone call last night was true, that changed everything. Could it all have been an act. Jess had held him as he cried, shed tears of his own. Could those tears have been out of guilt rather than shared grief as Lindsey had assumed? 

"Drive safe." 

Maybe there was another explanation, something he had overlooked. But how many times have you sworn you would trade the rest of your life for one more touch, one last smile. If there was even a chance, he had to find out the truth. Clearly Jess would be of no help, so he would have to figure it out for himself. But if it was true—if all of this pain and grief and insanity had been some elaborate ruse—well, there would be hell to pay. 

"I will."