Overload - 1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Nighttime fell like a bomb. Spencer finished his meal in the quiet of his car and took a deep breath. The day had been overwhelming, like the last few weeks, and he needed the silence. He crumpled the trash and discarded the bag on the passenger’s seat. McDonald’s was his least-favorite fast food, but it was on the way to the graveyard.

He got out of the car, locking it with his key fob and rubbed his temples for a moment. Another headache was the last thing he needed, but it had been that way for the last few months.

Sighing, he Spencer walked to the path he knew like the back of his hand. The sound of cicadas filled the warm night, disturbed only by the rustling of unseen nocturnal animals. He walked on autopilot, following the dark path that led to his father’s grave, passing a row of old stones and mausoleums before approaching the long, fine drapings of weeping willow branches that hid his father’s tombstone. Spencer parted the fronds full of leaves. A soft susurration followed them closing behind him. He smiled, but his head was throbbing now.

“Hey, Dad.”

Spencer settled on the grass in front of his father’s grave, reached out and traced the letters with his fingertips: Carl St. James.

“I don’t know what to say tonight. My head feels like someone is stabbing an icepick into it and then scrambling it up.” Spencer sighed. “That’s not why I came. To tell you that, I mean.” He pulled a photo out of his shirt pocket. “Remember this? It’s the day you gave me your necklace and told me to wear it always.” He studied the outline of his dad’s jaw in the photo. “I confess, it broke. I don’t know how,” he lied. “I’ve been taking good care of it. I don’t know where to get it fixed and I haven’t had time lately. Work has been good, but tiring. Overwhelming, might be a better way to explain it.”

Spencer cleared his throat. “People are struggling to find their calling, and I’m doing my best to help them, but I feel so depressed and anxious about it. For A sensation that stays a while. Then it goes away and the headaches start. You used to get headaches a lot. I remember one time sneaking downstairs when I was supposed to be asleep and you had your head in mom’s lap; she was stroking your hair and talking to you. It was like she knew I was awake; her voice was low, and I could only hear your sobbing. I never had seen you cry before.”

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled to the count of ten. The throbbing in his head killed his desire to talk continue talking to his dad, but he could feel the weight of disappointment. His father had made him promise never to take that necklace off; had told Spencer it would protect him. Being a man of few words, he’d never explained to Spencer exactly what he’d meant. Which now made Spencer wonder if it had anything to do with his own headaches. He closed his eyes and said a prayer that nothing was wrong, even though he doubted that God listened to a man who’d turned his back on Him.

“Good talk, Dad. I’ll see you again soon.”

Spencer took a deep breath and got up. He dusted off his suit pants and parted the limp branches.

A flash of light caught his eye, casting a long beam through the darkness, a strange feeling overcame Spencer.

“…the hell?” He paused and looked around to find the light. It was a small glow from a flashlight, mica reflecting a soft glow off the edges of older headstones. “Hey!” he shouted.

A weird combination of pride, reluctance, shame, and guilt spread through Spencer. He wanted to chase to the person with the flashlight, but his legs were like stone. Then a spiral of the guilt began in his gut and began to work its way up. Spencer dropped to his knees and threw up the horrid Big Mac he’d eaten.

“Fuck!”

Spittle rested at his lip corners; he wiped it away. “Ugh.” The fuck is going on? His heart swelled. The movement returned to his legs. He stood and followed the distant glow through the graveyard. Yards from his father’s grave, the light died. The crescent moon didn’t lift the darkness enough to see anything.

“Hey!” he called out, once more.

Bile rose again. Spencer gagged and doubled over. Nothing came up. He retched into the darkness, still no response to his call. Spencer’s head spun, the throbbing like club bass on a Saturday night. He managed to straighten and began the trek back to his car.

Closing the door and picked up his phone. Three missed texts. He swiped up and waited for it to recognize his face. Clicking on the green text icon and then he tapped Rebecca’s name.

I’m ok. I stopped at the graveyard. Need to talk. Can you call? He hit send, then cranked the car. Plugging his phone in, he put the car in gear, and sped away. He muted the music, unable to handle the bass and treble with the way his head hurt.

His phone rang out.

Spencer pressed the answer button on his steering wheel. “Bec?”

“Spence, you sound terrible. What’s wrong?”

“It’s the headaches. I’m on my way home.”

“Good. You worry me sometimes, you idiot. What happened?”

“Went to see Dad and got sick, again.” Spencer tapped the brakes after looking at his speedometer. She had called earlier, but he’d been too busy thinking about what he was going to say to his father. It wasn’t like he was going to get any answers anyway. “What did you need to talk about before work tomorrow?”

“Oh, uh, there’s a new client coming in tomorrow at 2:30. He’s an interesting one. I’ll send you the file. Can you do the interview before your Doctor appointment?”

Spencer groaned from pain and not frustration. “Yeah. It should be okay. Can you do me a favor and run through the M-B with him after I do the initial stuff? I can leave, have my MRI, and get back in an hour.”

“Sure.” She paused. “Are you really okay? You sound like hell.”

Becca’s concern was like a soothing balm to a burn. Spencer exhaled. “Y-yeah. I’m turning into the driveway now. I’ll read the file and send you any notes. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Bye!”

“Bye.”

Spencer grabbed his laptop from the backseat, locked the car, and headed toward his front stoop. His keys jingled as he flipped through them. They reminded him of his dad’s necklace, the tinkle of metal against metal. Metal against the crystal that was so old it looked black now. He sighed and inserted the key into the front door pushing it open. The hallway light illuminated enough of the browns and neutrals in the living room for him to navigate to the kitchen. He thumbed the kitchen light on, the brightness jarring him. The black and white linoleum glared at him, shining like the sun, under the bright white bulbs. Spencer sat his laptop down on the bar and rummaged through the medicine cabinet for the meds the neurologist had prescribed. He took a bottle of water out of the stainless-steel fridge and sat down. After downing the two pills, he turned to his laptop and began looking through the information Rebecca had sent him.

The words began to blur. He exhaled to the count of ten, waiting for the swirling in his head to settle. It didn’t help. The pain increased. Sighing, he gave up reading about Adrien Parsons, and ran upstairs to the bathroom. He stripped and tossed everything in the laundry hamper before turning the shower on. As he waited for the water to warm, he pulled out his pajamas, setting his watch on the nightstand, he heard the tinkle of the bell on the necklace. He stopped and looked at it, wondering why his father had given it to him. Why was it so important that his dad wore it, then gave it to him before he’d… died?