Bitter Sweet Hell (Hell Night 2)

As we drive, he tells me about Cliff losing his wife six years ago and about him turning to alcohol to help with his grief. My heart aches for the old man. He said when Cliff’s drunk, he becomes unreasonable and blames his neighbor Dorothy for the leaves that fall into his yard from her tree. I barely hold back my laugh when I imagine an old man raking those leaves up in a trash can lid, only to dump them in her yard. It’s not a laughing matter, but then again, it’s so ridiculous, it kind of is. JW also explained his belief that the reason Cliff is the way he is when he’s drunk is out of guilt for caring for another woman who isn’t his wife. Minus the leaf dumping part, the whole thing is incredibly sad. I can’t imagine loving someone for so many years and then all of a sudden not be there anymore.

When we pull up to a brick house a few minutes later, Trouble’s truck is already in the driveway.

“I can wait here?” I suggest.

He doesn’t answer. Just gets out, walks around to my side to open the door, and grabs my hand.

“Cliff won’t care.”

He taps his knuckles against the door once before going inside. A strong scent of pine hits my nose.

Trouble’s at the couch with an older man lying down on his side with the back of his head facing him. Trouble’s dabbing something on Cliff’s head. An older woman is hovering over them both. She’s frowning and there’s no mistaking the worry on her face.

“How is he?”

“Bleeding like a bitch.” He casts a glance to who I assume is Dorothy. “Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s not bad. It’s a head wound and they always bleed profusely. Not to mention the alcohol in his system has thinned his blood.”

JW shoots Dorothy a wink before turning to Cliff as Trouble helps him sit up. “You done with this foolish behavior?”

“You hush it, boy,” he grumbles.

JW rocks back on his heels, his lips twitching. “You wanna press charges against Dorothy?”

“Are you fuckin’ stupid? I ain’t pressin’ no charges, you dummy,” Cliff growls angrily.

JW laughs. “I’m not the dumb one.”

Dorothy comes to sit beside him. She grabs his frail hand in her equally frail one. “I’m sorry, Cliff,” she says with sincerity. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have hit you with a broom.

JW snorts and Cliff shoots him a dirty look before looking at Dorothy.

“Nah. I shouldn’t have been throwing those leaves in your yard. You were only protecting your property.”

From the deepening frown, Cliff’s words don’t appease Dorothy.

“Apparently, the alcohol has worn off because he’d never admit that he was wrong.”

He casts JW another contemptuous look at his quiet words. “If you’re here to cart me off to my cell, get it over with.”

JW’s right. The man isn’t acting drunk at all. His speech is too good and his eyes are as clear as glass.

“Nope. Just came by to make sure your stubborn ass doesn’t do anything else moronic.”

I’m surprised when Cliff, a man who has to be in his seventies, pulls off an immature stunt by using his middle finger to scratch his cheek. I laugh. There’s no way I can’t not laugh at the silly behavior.

My laughter pulls his eyes to me. “Who’s the lady?”

JW tosses his arm over my shoulder. “This is Eden. She’s visiting for a while. Eden, meet Cliff and Dorothy.”

I wave. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Cliff grunts his greeting while Dorothy smiles and offers her hand. “It’s good to meet you too.”

“Am I going to get called out here again in a few days?”

Cliff rubs the back of his head, like he’s embarrassed. I can’t be sure, but I think he mutters “asshole” before he looks back at JW.

“I’m done. I’m pouring my alcohol stash down the drain. If my yard fills with her leaves, then so be it.”