The Den

The Den
Prologue

I will never forget the day Hailey Martinez came to stay with us at the den. It was July 4th, 2006, the day of independence. It also happened to be Michael's birthday and the day my cousin Ryan Madison jumped off Fairview Highway Bridge. How ironic that those days were so carefully intertwined. The very day that symbolized the liberation of a nation, dictator Michael Randall was established in this world, Hailey lost her freedom and in maintaining the balance, Ryan had probably gained his.

Michael had ‘rescued’ Hailey from the perils of street life and introduced her as if she would be a new beginning for all of us. She was a lost soul, belonging in no place; unwanted, unloved and alone. I will never forget her eyes when she walked through the door. They held a look of naive expectation which I knew would be swiftly shattered. In her eyes I witnessed hope. Yes, I remember it distinctively because it was a glimmer of a memory that I had once had. Hope that things could only get better, hope that she could start a new life, hope that she had finally come home. I still don’t know where Michael found Hailey I have always meant to ask. I don’t know what sense of false security he had bribed her with or what lies he had constructed to bring her there. I imagine he viewed her as his birthday present. He had ‘saved’ her and so she would belong to him.

The den was a residence of addiction, perverse ownership and twisted duty. A dwelling of collective shame and the hiding place from the realities of our own existence. Oh yes, the den was all of those things but it could never be considered a home. Not a home in the literal sense of the word. Home is a place of safety, security and love. Home is the place that we go to seek rest among those who care for us. Home is the place where we are most at peace. I have read this in storybooks so I suppose it must be true.

I often wonder what was running through Ryan’s mind the second before he decided to jump. He didn’t leave a note but I found a notebook in his room. It was underneath his pillow. My hands were trembling but I had to open it, to look, to know. Two hundred and sixty-eight pages were covered in angry scribble, barely readable in his dyslexic scrawl. Two hundred and sixty-eight pages, A4, front and back. Big words, small words, bold words, feint words, always the same words and always the same question.

Can death free me?

I took that notebook and hid it in the bottom drawer of my dresser in the attic. Perhaps it was a selfish act but I knew if the others saw it they would probably try to answer the question themselves. Did Ryan think that death was the only escape from this empty fucked up life? Or had the hunger finally defeated him, tired of waiting to destroy his soul, his mind and his heart? Had he succumbed to insanity knowing his addiction could never be satisfied? Had he known that there was no hope, no more chances and no new leaves to be turned over? Could it have been the thought of going back to the den that pushed him over the edge? I think that's what did it. That stupid run down house mercilessly decomposed his mind until that solitary question remained.

When I felt sad I sometimes thought about jumping off the bridge. In the night I’ve climbed to the top and watched thousands of headlights zoom towards me like shooting stars through tear-filled eyes. Yes, they looked like stars. I wonder if Ryan noticed that. I would never jump of course. I’ve always been a coward. Too afraid to die or run away, too much of a coward to let it all go and start again. Too frightened even to look in the mirror and accept what I had become.

The question circulated in my mind for days afterwards. Sometimes I even ask myself that question now. I hope that Ryan found the freedom he was looking for as his frail body smashed 85ft down into the highway. I hope his dreams came true as he leapt into the stars. Did he find emancipation as the cars crushed his skull into the blackened concrete leaving trails of blood and bone from Fairview to the next town?

Sleepless nights and tears of guilt have not guided me any closer to the answers I seek. It could be yes, it could be no but you and I will never know. All I can do is explain what happened next.