Aunt Hazel: The Familial Killer

"Shut up. I just don't want to, okay?"

"Whatever you say, dude. Maybe you should go help mom in the garden, you little fairy."

As Jared walked back towards the house, Mike lit the joint that he wanted his brother to smoke with him. He rolled it the night before, and he used the little Bic lighter he swiped out of his Mom's purse to light it. He seemed to think that just because he was squeezed out 3 years prior, he somehow gained the right to tease his brother. Constantly. Anyway, about a month ago, Mike and Jared's parents found a little green baggy of weed in Mike's coat pocket. The next thing Jared tells me is he gets off the school bus to find his brother face down on the hood of a police car with cuffs around his wrists and flashing red lights blinding his eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Franklin called the cops to teach the unruly 16 year old a lesson, thinking a night in a dingy jail cell next to Steve the town drunk might teach him a lesson. Overnight, the kid became a fucking celebrity at our school. Even though Jared and I were 3 years younger than he was, we still saw the impact. People practically jumped out of his way as he strutted down the hall, not just because of his massive 6 foot 3 inch, 230 lb. frame. They moved because of some new found respect for the kid. Hell, I moved out of his way too, and I hated the fucker.

Shit just went down hill from there. The Franklin's figured a little time away from the area might do Mike some good, so they shipped him off to some boot camp in western New York somewhere. We'll call it Camp Fuckup. Mike really took a liking to being away from home, according to Jared, who told me Mike convinced his parents to pay an extra 2 G's for another two weeks away from home. He said he was really learning a lot about the outdoors, and about life. What a line of bull shit. The kid was a complete con artist. The only thing the mother fucker was learning about was how to better roll his joints, and what the needle tracks on his roommate's arm looked like.

Midway through the next week, the Franklin's got a phone call from Camp Fuckup's coordinator telling them that Mike nearly cut his thumb off with a hatchet while making kindling one afternoon. The Camp's Nurse was unable to reattach the digit, so they had the Franklin's meet Mike at the hospital where some doctor was able to salvage the better half of his thumb. Long story short, Mike's stay at drug user's haven was cut short, along with his thumb.

The following Monday when Mike came back to school, his reputation had only gotten larger. Even the Principal started talking to him more, more out of disciplinary foresight than anything else. Jared had told me about some color changing bowl that Mike had acquired from his roommate at Camp Fuckup, one which he was particularly proud of. Every time the bowl was smoked out of, it would change colors, until it would eventually become a tie-dye colored, grimy spectacle of molded glass.

Apparently, Mike started smoking cigarettes before his affection with weed came to be. He would sneak packs of cigarettes from his parents, and smoke them when no one was home. Jared told me about one of the greatest ass kicking he had ever witnessed when his parents found out what Mike did with the butts from the used stolen merchandise. Using a pocket knife that Mr. Franklin gave him for Christmas a few years back, Mike slit a small tear in the bottom of the fabric lining of the box spring underneath his bed and slid each used up butt into it until it sagged so badly that his Mom noticed it one day when she was picking up the shit hole Mike called a bedroom. Jared told me he didn't know a person could be picked up by their ear and dragged down 2 flights of stairs until it was practically bleeding. To tell you the truth, I didn't know it to be physically possible either. That'll teach me to doubt the extent to which the human body can be pushed.

The Franklins decided to ship Mike away from the toxic environment that they believed to be poisoning his mind, and into one they assumed to be less toxic, with his biological father who lived in New Hampshire. Jared and Mike visited him about once every month, unless the fat slob chose not to have them over (This, according to Jared, happened quite regularly). Mike transferred to the local high school, and he immediately made the same kinds of friends he had back in Campbell. Users. He had friends over all the time, especially when his father and step-mom weren't home. Mike made his father, Hank, think he had changed his drug using ways and was permitted to move his mattress and stereo into the tool shed near the edge of the woods. Jared told me about a visit he took to his Father's place one time to see his brother. Talked about the three dogs all the time, and how he and his brother had to clean up all the shit that was around the yard. It wasn't until years later I found out from Jared what really happened on those visits.

One time, a visit went real bad for Jared. It was about 3 months after Mike had moved in down there, and Jared showed up late on a Friday night. He said everything seemed fine. Mike was even acting like his old self. He woke up the next day to Hank telling him and his brother that they had to clean up the dog shit while he went shopping with Veronica. (The Step Mom) Both boys, Mike now 17, Jared 14, nodded their heads in agreement before their father and step mother somehow managed to squeeze both of their fat asses on his Harley Road King. Once out of sight, Mike took one look at Jared and said, "You're cleaning up the shit by yourself fag. I've got a girl coming over." Jared knew better than to argue with his substantially bigger brother, who retreated into the house to wait for his girl April to show up. Once she got there, she flashed her slutty-ass smile to Jared before she and her too short skirt hopped up the stairs and into the trailer. Five minutes later, Jared heard moaning and screaming from the trailer where Mike and his bitch were apparently fucking. Enraged, Jared walked right into the small little 2 bedroom trailer and let the dogs out from their crates. He knew that the first place they would go was into the bedroom where his asshole brother was getting his fuck on. Sure enough, the three dogs sprinted into the bedroom, licking April's bouncing sweaty ass before she jumped off Mike's rod. Throwing her clothes on in a hurry, she looked down at Mike, still on the bed, who was somewhat stunned from the surprise.

"What the Fuck Mike!" she screamed, before running out of the house and into her piece of shit Honda civic, speeding away. Jared was well aware of the repercussions that doing something so stupid would bring, but he was hoping Hank would be home before Mike could retaliate. No such luck. Mike threw his clothes on and chased after Jared until he was able to cuff him in the back of the head. Jared fell, ass over tea kettle style, before coming to a halt near the woods along the edge of the property. Mike was on him much faster than he anticipated, and for a brief second he thought he could pry him off. Mike was about to punch him square in the face before Jared managed to let out a scream.

"If you hit me in the face Dad will be able to tell!" Apparently Mike agreed because the next thing Jared knew he was being bombarded with punches to the chest and lower abdomen. "Stop, Stop!" he screamed, obviously pointless against seemingly relentless blows. Mike must have gotten tired or just decided Jared had had enough, but he suddenly stopped beating the shit out of Jared's body and casually walked back into the house as if nothing had happened. Jared lay on his side, dry heaving from the trauma to his chest and stomach. He tried to stand up, but instantly began throwing up what he thought looked a lot like blood and spit. About 15 minutes later, Hank came home to Jared throwing up and Mike watching TV inside.

"This little dumb ass ate one of those moldy bananas in the fridge," Mike told his Dad, who was curiously watching Jared throw up something that looked nothing like banana. Jared knew better than to disagree with the person who just beat his ass, so he nodded his head in between eruptions, but said nothing.

That's not even the half of the shit Jared put up with when he visited his brother and father. The next time Jared went there it was about 3 months later because Hank said he was too busy at work. Jared told me he knew this was a lie; the man worked in the receiving portion of the local Post Office. It's not like the Fat fuck was irreplaceable or anything. Mike was still in high school, although doing far shittier than ever before, and Jared thought it looked like he lost about 20 lbs. Hank had decided to take Mike and Jared to the local Rec. Park Saturday afternoon to walk the dogs with Veronica. They all piled into Veronica's beat up Subaru Outback and drove the short 10 minute drive to the park. The ride seemed to last forever, in part thanks to the three slobbering dogs traipsing all over the place. There was no one at the Park except an old couple sitting on a park Bench near the entrance. Mike suggested they go walking on the trails, an idea Jared actually thought would be fun. Mike took of running down the trail and was soon out of sight, with Jared close behind him.

"Meet us back at the entrance in 45 minutes," Hank yelled after them. Once out of view, Mike slowed to a walk and Jared caught up to him.

"Why aren't we walking with them?" Jared asked, sensing something was up. Mike looked down at his younger brother with a smile on a face.

"I want you to meet someone."

"It's not another girl, is it?"

"No jackass. This is way better than some dirty pussy. Her name is Aunt Hazel, and she makes you feel amazing." Mike rolled up his left arm, revealing needle tracks up and down his bicep and forearm.

"What's all that from?" Jared asked, worried about his brother.

"That's from Aunt Hazel's teeth. She bites a little bit. Here, take a look. I cooked this last night." Mike took a syringe out of a backpack he was carrying, along with a little vial of clear liquid. Even though Jared was only 14, he knew that what was about to happen wasn't a good thing. Jared opened his mouth to scream for his Dad, Hank, but Mike clasped his large hand over his mouth just in time. "Not this time you little asshole. You're going to meet Aunt Hazel whether you want to or not." Easily overpowering Jared's tiny frame, Mike held him still while he stuck the needle filled with heroine into the front of Jared's arm. After struggling for about 10 seconds, Jared suddenly slumped to the ground. "Wha-what did you do to me?" Jared asked his brother, although he could already tell something was different. He felt more relaxed than he ever had before, and he thought he liked it.

"I knew you'd like it little brother," Mike said in a joking manner. With that, Mike followed the same process, sticking the same needle into his own arm. The two of them sat on the ground for what seemed liked hours before Jared was awakened out of a dreamlike state by the voice of his Father, Hank.

"Jared, what's the matter with you? Mike, what happened?"

"Jared and I ate some of those mushrooms over there, that's all. It's no big deal." Hank looked behind his two children on the ground to see a little cluster of white spotted mushrooms. "It's no big deal? You two could have just poisoned yourselves. Come on, we're going home." Mike jumped up first to help Jared get off the ground, giving him a look that spoke more than words could have. Jared caught the intended meaning, and said nothing to anyone about this incident. Not until 10 years later, in my apartment in New York City, during one of the few times Jared managed to stay clean enough for me to talk to him.

Jared and I vowed to stay close after we got acceptance letters to different colleges. I got into the writing program at NYU, and he chose to go to Syracuse for their Theater program. It didn't happen that way, though. For the first couple of years we saw each other during holidays and spring break. Then all of a sudden the guy dropped out of school, and I only saw him at the weirdest fucking times in the middle of the night. He'd ask me for money, or if he could crash with me for a couple of days, and of course I gave him whatever he needed. He always looked liked complete shit. His blonde hair had turned permanently into a pale ashen color, and his skin looked like it belonged on someone 30 years his senior. He wore a pair or jeans with tears at the knees, and a long brown trench coat over a white tee shirt stained with sweat and blood. The last time I saw him it was about a year ago, and he was walking across the street with a cup of Starbucks in his hand and I flagged his ass down. He was looking far more sober than I've seen him in a long time, and we walked the 5 blocks to my place and talked for a while. That's when he told me all that shit about his brother and Dad.

"Yea, it's fucked right up man. And to top it all off, my mom called me last week. She told me Mike tested positive for HIV."

"Oh shit man. You just told me stuck you with the same needle he used. Have you gotten tested yet?"

"No dude. I don't want to either. Fuck it. I figure if I'm going to die, let it be a surprise."

"Are you serious right now? Because if you are, then you can get the fuck out of here until you smarten up Jared. Seriously, get the fuck out." Jared got up from the chair he was sitting it and just stared at me with pain in his eyes for a minute before turning around and heading out the door, slamming it behind him.

That was the last time I saw him, nearly 2 years ago now. About a month ago I graduated from NYU with a Bachelor's Degree in Journalism, and I landed an internship job with The New York Times about a week after that. I thought it would be the perfect place to start while I worked on my Master's degree. My editor, Tony, had me doing all sorts of bullshit stories, from riding around town questioning old women about their cats, to surveying the local gas stations to write a piece on the rise of gas prices. I didn't complain though. I figured that everyone's got to be the bitch sometime, and mine was then. One day Tony said he was sorry for feeding me all the bottom rung bullshit stories and that it was my lucky day. I remember that day so well; I have the same damn nightmare about it every fucking time I close my eyes. It was August 17^th, and it was one of the hottest days New York City had ever seen. The thermometer stuck to the outside my third story apartment window read 100 degrees when I rolled my ass out of bed at 9 AM. Wednesday's were my day to sleep in because I didn't have to be to the office until 10:00 AM. I jumped in the shower at about 9:15, and was out of there by 10:45. Walking into the elevator, Tony caught up to me and told me my newest lead. I got to interview the head detective working on a suicide case. Tony wouldn't give me any details, but he told me it was gruesome. As a kid, Jared and I would watch X-files every weekend, and rent all the slasher movies we could get our hands on. No movies could have prepared me for the nasty shit I was about to see.

Detective Sloan met me in a small coffee shop about halfway between my office and the Precinct. He was an aged man, his gray hair and grizzly beard the first thing I noticed about him. His handshake was still as firm as ever, and I knew he was on his game. We both ordered coffee's, mine with cream and sugar, his black.

"So detective, tell me what exactly you believe to have happened with this case."

"Well, so far it looks like your typical suicide. A kid in his mid twenties or so jumped off the 12^th Street Bridge trying to off himself. Problem is, on his was down, this big ass coat he was wearing got caught up in the barbed wire fencing on the walls of the bridge. His timing was all thrown off, and he went down head first straight towards the water."

"Wouldn't that have still killed him?"

"Yes, the impact from that high up would have definitely killed him. Except there happened to be a Cargo Boat hauling used tires to a facility a little south from here. His head crashed into the side of the steel boat, shattering his skull, making cleanup for this whole thing rather disgusting." Detective Sloan's eyes met mine for the first time, and there was something about them I found familiar. They looked so tired, and so full of pain.

"So is there any leads as to who the kid was? I mean, can't you use dental records or something like that?"

"What do you mean any leads?" the detective asked me apprehensively. We have a positive ID for the kid. He's from some small hick town up north, called Campbell. His name is Jared Franklin. Didn't Tony tell you that? He told me he specifically chose you to write the article because you're from there too." My heart sank into the bottom of my chest. I could barely breathe.

"Yea, that's right. Do they know why he did it? I mean, was there a note or anything?"

"As a matter of fact, there was. We found it stuffed into a plastic bag in the bottom of his sneaker. Normally, we wouldn't let someone like you read it, but since you might have known him and all," he said, handing me the dingy Starbucks napkin.

If I can't live not knowing,

And I can't live with the truth,

That must mean I can't live.

I wish I listened to you D.

I'm always with you.

J

I must have looked like I felt, because Detective Sloan's question woke me up from my daze.

"Does that make any sense to you Derrick?" he asked me, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, detective, it does. The last time I spoke to Jared he told me that he might have HIV. I told him he should get tested, and he said he would rather just live life not knowing. Apparently something changed his mind."

The look in the detective's eyes changed for an instance, and in that moment I saw all the pain and sorrow he had been witness to during his 25 years on the job.

"According to the coroner, he tested negative for all kinds of HIV. I guess he was right."

"What do you mean detective?"

"In his note, he said he wished he listened to you Derrick. Perhaps if he had, he would still be here today. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Not as sorry as me," I said, knowing for the first time in that moment that it was Aunt Hazel who ruined Jared's life. And it was my job to make sure it was her that took the blame.

I got home later that night, and typed the title to my story on the screen. I stared blankly at the words on screen as my cursor flashed brilliantly in front of me...

Aunt Hazel: The Familial Killer