March 6, 1999 is this web site's most deliberately
misinterpreted day in Raychel's life. You have already heard
what happened from other sources. Now you
can hear it from me. Then you'll know
why I did what I did.
I had
known for a week I wanted to do it. I spent the week planning
my actions, placing phone calls to make my arrangements for the next
few months. I had not planned my every step, choosing instead
to leave an element of flexibility for things beyond my control.
I had a framework and that was all I needed.
The
first setback happened before I even walked through the door at
Safehaven. I had arrived at the bar in my car at 7:30 p.m.
The Bleeders meeting was no doubt in full swing at the time. I wanted to
go in but I couldn't. I couldn't stop my hands from shaking.
Maybe it was a last gasp of self-conscious guilt, doubt. Maybe
I needed a drink. If that was the case I was in hard luck, as
walking into Safehaven in that condition would have drawn immediate
attention. Attention I neither wanted or needed. So I
waited for my nerves to settle.
By
10:00 I was in jeopardy of missing my opportunity. If I didn't
act now, it would continue for another week. Worse, I would be
less able to act, having backed out on my first attempt. I
believe that if you refuse to act on something, the failure becomes
easier and easier to accept. The world is full of people who
refuse to act for any number of reasons. I was in danger of
becoming one of them. I knew what I wanted and if I didn't act
now I would probably never achieve it. For those of you who
may believe that Raychel would have been better off had I not acted,
I don't think you know the whole story. For those of you who
think you do, I pity you.
I
finally entered Safehaven somewhere around 10:15 p.m. The
first thing that struck me was Raychel. She was standing on
the stage, reading from her poetry. I don't remember what it
was. She looked up for a moment, probably hearing the door
shut angrily behind me. We exchanged brief glances and I was
instantly dazzled. She could do that. She could look at
you like no other person on earth. You just didn't know what
her look meant. Maybe she was just happy to see me. Maybe she
knew what I was thinking. She broke contact from me and
continued reading as I stood there and recognized the
other people in the room.
The
room was full of the usual cast of characters. Artists of many varieties
and little capability. Laura Douglass and Lance Wagner sat
regally in their corner booth. I knew that I could not
be near them. The vipers were protective of Raychel and would
probably smell my intentions. I headed toward a table
away from most of the action. A waitress came and took my
order. She brought back a shot of tequila and a small bottle
of Tabasco sauce.
|
"Laura has money and knows exactly how she wants to use it. If
she thinks you have talent, you can have part of it...The tragedy is
that people like Laura pervert the talent of people like Raychel and
it dies." |
Before I could enjoy my shot, Laura Douglass invited herself to my
table and sat down. I wished her away as best I could. I
pretended that she wasn't there because the thought of actually
tolerating her company was offensive to me. While Laura can
seem like a decent person at first impression, there is a deformed
beast inside her. When Laura realized Raychel's talent, she
began working her way into Raychel's life as she knows best.
It is a subtle surgery. Offer the person a nice place to stay.
Providing a comforting and understanding environment where people
hang on your every word. It is easy to fall for if you've
never had it before. Then come Laura's hooks. Heroin.
Cocaine. Whatever you want and whenever you need it.
Laura has money and knows exactly how she wants to use it. If
she thinks you have talent, you can have part of it. The
talentless crave what Raychel had and will stop at nothing to have a
piece of it. The tragedy is that people like Laura pervert the
talent of people like Raychel and it dies. Like crossing Midas
with the Reaper.
Laura's voice hammered at my head for what felt like an eternity.
She
was trying to keep me occupied. Maybe she sensed what I
intended and was trying to fend me off. She was determined, but so was I.
I spoke what I hoped would be my final words to her, ever, "Laura,
could you do me a favor? Make a pain in the ass of yourself
somewhere else." I turned what little attention I had paid her
back to the stage. Back to Raychel.
I
listened to Raychel and understood why I was doing what I was doing.
It wasn't because I knew Laura and Lance were wrong and I was right.
It wasn't just because I knew I could help. It wasn't even out
of some sense of obligation. I had dated a number of people
from The Bleeders since my joining them in November. They were
all a pale imitation of Raychel. When I figured out what I was
doing, I became determined that I would not repeat my mistake.
I loved Raychel and she needed my help. Her plea for help was
being broadcast and no one was moving.
A
room full of people listened as Raychel's life spilled out and
flooded the room. Her voice rang like rusted iron.
Forged from a lifetime of abuse and remaining resolute through it
all, stubborn to succeed but buckling under. I could hear it.
Raychel had lost her way and needed help. She was stuck in the
muck of Lance and Laura.
Raychel finished her reading and the room thundered with applause.
Anticipating her actions, I made my way to the bar to intercept her.
I had a lot of company. Most of The Bleeders came to the bar
to compliment her before she had even arrived there. The only
good thing was that the hubbub covered me from Lance or Laura's
view. But not perfectly, as my abandoned chair had been
noticed. I heard Laura ask the room, "Has anyone seen Kyle?"
As heads began turning, I tried to bury myself further into the
crowd. I could barely get an elbow in edgewise. I knew
my chance of success was shrinking. Growing edgier, I tried to
get a good line on Raychel.
|
"He was pulp when I stopped.
I wasn't tired. No one had pulled me away from him. I
just remembered what I was there to do." |
Raychel was up against the rail, entertaining a couple of writers.
They were commenting on how realistic her work rang. Out of
the corner of my eye I could see Laura approaching me. Out of
patience and time, I shoved hard through the sheets of well wishers
and banged into one of the two writers. He turned and regarded
me as his servant, faux accent attached, "There's no need to brow
beat at a bar. Nobody's boxing."
I
could see Laura looking. I was out of time. I growled,
"Move now or I'll put you in a box."
Raychel laughed as the writer retreated, "What a man you are, Kyle.
A real knight in shinning armor."
"You
should be so lucky, " I told her.
"Would I be?" she drawled. She put an arm on my shoulder.
I bristled at the sight of her needle tracks. She hadn't even
bothered to cover them up. It only confirmed what I had
already known. She was full fledged junkie. Not for
long, though.
I
knew he was coming before I heard him. Just sensed it I guess.
Lance was riding to the rescue. But it wasn't Raychel's
rescue. It was his own rescue. I waited until I could
almost feel him. Then I wheeled with a forward fist and caught
him flush in the face. I hit him so hard he lifted off the
ground before landing with a thud. I had hit a home run.
But it wasn't enough. A single punch wasn't what Lance
deserved.
I
fell on Lance and began jackhammering him with my right hand, words
flying in my mind.
evil piece of crap won't fight back not this time I'm gonna teach
you not to help her she needed you but you won't help cause if you
do she'll leave you for not getting junk for her what could you do
was be a man and help the helpless if you won't do it I will you
evil piece of crap
He was pulp when I stopped. I wasn't tired. No one had
pulled me away from him. I just remembered what I was there to
do. I grabbed Raychel and we flew out the door. Away
from Safehaven. Horrible name for a den of artists and
junkies. Laura said Raychel was screaming. Maybe she
was. She would scream more before she was through.
Raychel was too weak to fight me. Or she really wanted to go.
She fell into the passenger seat of my car easily and waited as I
ran around to the driver's side. I was in the car and we sped
away.
I
tried to look in my rearview mirror to see if we were being followed
but I couldn't see anything because half of my apartment was packed
in the back of the car and obstructing my view. I had
everything I needed. Raychel, on the other hand, only had the
clothes on her back. I would buy new clothes for her later.
Now we had a long drive ahead of us.
Raychel needed help.
I
knew where to get it.
We
were off to my home in North Dakota.
I had
a doctor I could trust there.
He
specialized in MMTs.
Methadone Maintenance Treatments.
That's how I beat my heroin addiction.
That
was how Raychel would win her battle.
Before she could begin to fight, though, Raychel had to escape her
present situation. Only after purging her life of the leeches
at Safehaven would she have even a prayer breaking her addiction.
Without help, she was an overdose waiting to happen.
Her
poetry screamed for help. I was the one who answered.
