“For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.”

-Vincent Van Gogh-

November 15th, 2012 - London

Ryann stood in the London Underground waiting for a train, when that deep feeling of anxiety occured. How did she get here? How did she end up in such a chaotic mess? She looked down the dark tunnel - she saw nothing. Ironically, this was a metaphor of her hazy mind. She dipped forward to lay her bags on the floor and her black-rimmed Ray-Bans stood at the tip of her nose. She pushed them up her, traced her hands through her blond curly hair, and pulled it back to form a messy bun. Her mosaic style sweater dress, that reflected off The Beatles cover band poster on the wall behind her, was paired with a green blazer, black boots, and a white scarf that blew to the left, to the right, every time a train flew by. Just another young woman waiting in the London Underground to catch an 8:00 p.m. plane out of London…

           …And back to Chicago

Oak Park Teenager Killed in Car Accident

Sept. 9th, 2008 - 18-year-old Jeremy Richter of Oak Park, Illinois was killed after driving his 92 Honda Accord into a ditch, causing the vehicle to flip over before hitting a tree on a downhill. The vehicle was found on it’s hood. When the police arrived, they witnessed 19-year-old Ryan Bell, also an Oak Park resident, pushing herself out of the passenger’s window. She was found with cuts and bruises on her body. Jeremy Richer was found dead at the scene.

Ryan Bell was rushed to the local hospital. She survived with only three broken ribs and 25 stitches in her forehead. She has yet to make a statement about the accident.

Police report states that both Jeremy Richer and Ryann Bell were tested for alcohol. Friends of Jeremy and Ryan were questioned the day after the accident has occurred. It was confirmed that the two students of Oak Park/River Forest High School were seen arguing at a high school party on 101 Taylor Street. The two were said to have left the vicinity around 2:22 a.m.

Girlfriend of Late Jeremy Richer Gone Missing

Sept. 17th, 2008 - Ryann Bell, girlfriend of the late Jeremy Richer who recently died in a car accident due to driving under the influence has gone missing. She was last seen at Richer’s funeral at Oak Park Cemetery.

Oak Park High School student, Katharine Hendricks, friends with both Bell and Richer was recently interviewed by Fox Chicago’s, Julia Peterson, in regards to Bell’s disappearance:

“The last time I saw Ryann was at the funeral. She stood alone, with her head facing down towards the ground. I tried to make eye contact with her, but not once did she look up.” Hendricks stated. “I stopped trying for awhile until a few minutes past, I looked back up towards Bell, but by that time she was gone.”

“What do you think caused her to disappear?” Peterson questioned.

“All I know is that much like the overweight child suppressed by her peers, I could tell she wanted to be invisible. I don’t blame her though. The backlash and the betrayal that this town exploited on her, it’s been unfair. I swear I was the only one that showed up at the hospital when she was admitted.” Hendricks said.

R

November 15th, 2013

I just keep running. I think back in my life and all I have done is run. It’s exhausting. Can you imagine running from your fears - like literally running, not hiding or avoiding - for 5 years straight? I ran further than Forrest Gump. I jumped a plane all the way to London just so I could run as far I could. So far, that I didn’t think it was ever going to be possible to walk back.

But here I am, sitting on a bunch in the London Underground, taking deep breaths to hold down my breakfast. Bright lights are appearing from the tunnel. An incoming train is on it’s way to sweep me up and take me back to where it all began.

D

Dufficy closed down the pub, turned off the lights and grabbed keys out of the drawer behind the bar. He walked to the back, passed the bathrooms, and through the back door that lead to a creaky set of wooden stairs. Beyond the stairway was another door and he dug deep into his pockets to find his keys.

When he entered, he threw his keys and jacket on a wooden chair. The space was bare. The large commercial windows were old and dirty. As the wooden floor creaked with every step he took, he walked over to the record player to play an old Rolling Stones record. He made his way to the kitchen to pour himself a whiskey. He sat on his couch and picked up the latest issue of Nylon Guys that was lying on the coffee table in front of him. He took a swig of his whiskey and perused through the magazine.

About 52 pages in, he had drifted asleep.

Meanwhile in London

As Ryann sat on the crowded Piccadilly line towards Heathrow Airport, passing Earls Court, Hamersmith, and Hatton Cross, she closed her eyes. With every deep breath - trying to bury her anxiety - she thought about the last 5 years.            

In 2007, there was an accident that took over Chicago’s morning news. The historic town of Oak Park, I -  just a few minutes west of Chicago - had a tragedy it would never forget. Over the years, Ryann had attempted to brainwash herself into thinking it had never happened. The streets of Oak Park screamed his name and every person she knew reminded her of what happened:

“Don’t you feel guilty that you lived and he survived?”

“I can’t believe you practically killed him, Ryann B.”

“If you weren’t cheating on him, he wouldn’t have been so hostile."

Even though strong memories of her past will always remain, she tried hard to believe that time heals all pain.

Now 23-years-old taking a train back to Heathrow Airport, she wasn't able to strike a smile or believe that things were going to be okay. What a dangerous life she has lived in order to disguise her guilt. She knew that as much as she tried to run from our present self, something inside her would always keep her past alive. Instead of listening to her inner strength, she allowed a ghost to follow her all the way to London.

Something deep inside Ryann subconsciously always seemed to disturb her. Some days and some nights, something so minimal would remind her of the past, causing severe, painful flashbacks. She tended to keep a bottle of whiskey close beside her for these moments exactly. The whiskey would numb the ghost within her, leaving her numb and unconscious of what she has seen. It was no use. The ghost always returned with blood-sucking guilt and despair.

Ryann looked around at the people surrounding her, some people were reading, others were sleeping. She spotted a young couple with the woman’s dark brown hair lying over her boyfriend’s shoulder with a smirk on her face. She winced and looked back out the window. She decided to close her eyes, and a few seconds later, she was asleep.

50 minutes later, she arrived at Heathrow Airport. A crowd of people rushed off the subway with their luggage to catch their flights to wherever they were heading.

She was early for her flight, but not too early for happy hour. She checked her mobile phone, it read 11am. She took a seat at the one of the pubs in the airport. She asked for a stout and stared out into space taking sips without losing her concentration.

“Where are you heading?” A young man sitting 2 seats down from Ryann asked.

“Home.” She said

“Home is?”

She took a few seconds to contemplate, then said, “I’m not exactly sure what the definition to home is. “

He chuckled. “No, I meant where is home.” The 20-something man was wearing a red Ohio University sweatshirt and had a white baseball cap on backwards. A half drunk bottle of Miller Lite sat on the bar in front of him.

“Chicago. I’ve been there a few times. Me and some of the guys have taken a trip there.” Ryann nodded her head, but didn’t respond. Instead she took another sip of her stout. “What were doing in London?”

Ryann smirked. “I was living with Logan DeWitt. Have you heard of him?”

She was sitting in terminal 7 and the plane was about to board. Before they called her row, she took out her mobile phone and called out. The voicemail picked up from the other end:

Hey, this is Jeremy. Leave a message or fuck off

The flight attendant made another annoucement over the intercom, "Row 7 through 10, please proceed to the gate, we're ready to board. Row 7 through 10."

It's time. She thought.

D

I must had been half of asleep, because what felt like a dream was actually a memory. Well at least it's how I remember. I know it happened to me when I was young. But who knows how much of it is true.

It was about 4pm on a rainy afternoon. I'm laying in bed in a twin bed when my mother walked into the room. She was petitie, thin, and had short black hair. She looked over at me with a big grin on her face. I couldn't help but look at her big blue round eyes. She turned on the lamp that was sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. She sat on the bed next to me, and she put her hand on my shoulder

"How's my little boy doing?" She asked.

I'm feeling happy. I'm giggling. I'm holding on to a stuffed turtle with a big cheesy smile on his face. Having her arms wrapped around me, I start to feel tired. I turn over onto my stuffed turtle. I start to suck my thumb.

My mother decides to lie down next to me. I could tell she had closed eyes, her body was still.

Outside, I could hear men talking. Every few seconds, I heard something hit what sounded like a piece of metal.

Ting. Ting. Ting, followed by chatter.

Ting. Ting. Ting, followed again by more chatter.

I feel my mom's body move. She gets up and heads towards the big window with the shutters have way closed. Light elluminated through the cracks until she pulled the shutters wide open. I turn over. I'm watching her pull the window open.

"Hey! Can you men be quiet? We're trying to nap." She said. The men outside laughed. One of the men mocked her. Without saying another word, she slammed the window shut.

"Irish women don't appreciate a good round of Horseshoe. Women." One of the men said.

I felt a sense of nervousness. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I knew something wasn't right. The chatter gets louder. I could hear the men outside more clear now. The She came laid down next to me. Despite what just happened, she's gentle. She leans in closer and takes my arms. She starts to move them back in forth, I start to clap my hands.

"Mom's going to leave Daddy. Mom's going to leave Daddy." She repeats. I'm laughing while hugging my turtle close to my heart.

Dufficy awakens. Nylon magazine is lying wide open on his stomach. An empty glass tumbler with melted ice sits on the coffee table. He sits off to shake of the dream, which he starts to realize it was more of a memory, creeping up on him in the middle of his sleep.

He picks up the tumbler and heads to the kitchen once again. He fills the glass with eyes, then pours it almost full with more Jameson. He takes a swig.

At that moment, he hears his phone ringing. He walks over to the couch to see his phone pushed in between the cushions. He pulls it out and sees the name Phil flash across the screen. He answers.

"Hello." He says.

"Dufficy Anderson Cooper. Where the fuck have you been? I've been trying to call you for 2 days now." There's a long pause until Phil says, "Oh fuck me. Are you seeing someone else? Oh for heaven's sake, I always knew this day would come."

"No, no, I'm just-"

"Drinking."

"Yes."

"I should have known. Dufficy, I'm concerned. If you're feeling sad, you come see me. I thought we've been over this." Dufficy hears the sound of a lighter, then a big puff from the other end of the phone. Phil must had lit a cigarette.

"Don't stress yourself out over it. I'm an Irish bastard. This is what we do. We drink." Dufficy emphasises the word "drink" as if he was making a toast.

"To be honest, big boy, I'm not worried just about you. The world doesn't evolve around Dufficy Cooper. At this moment, it involves around me who just happens to be nominated for a ADDY award tonight at the Sheraton hotel. It would be nice if my man - my young handsome beau - was there to watch me win."

"Oh shit. I'm truly sorry, Phil. It really has been all about me, hasn't it?" Dufficy starts to look threw the fridge, but then starts to think how he can get his shit together in two hours and make his way down the Sheraton hotel.

"Yes you Irish bastard, it has. Now put on a clean pair of CK briefsand get your ass down to the hotel. It starts at 7pm. I reserved a seat for you. I knew you'd come around."

Phil hangs up.

R

Ryann sat in a window seat on a noisy and busy CTA train. She didn't even bother trying to call someone. It's been almost 5 years, and she has yet to respond to a single email or phone call. She was sure her mother had started an uproar by involving the police on a wild goose hunt to find her 19-year-old daughter who wasn't even present in Chicago area anymore.

It was awful, and she understands this. It's not something you can really go back and change though. The damage was done, and she either had to deal with the guilt or move on. She moved on - sort of.

She was waiting for the nerves to kick in, but she felt completely numb to traveling home. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep and the long journey home. But the anxiety had to kick in sooner or later - it was inevitable - it was only a matter of time.

After about an hour on a scummy, overpacked train, it arrives at Oak Park Avenue. She quickly picked up her luggage and proceeded off the train along with a crowd of others. She felt the cool breeze and the crunch of leaves underneath her feet, so she wrapped her jacket around her tighter and hugged herself.

Ryannn started walking through the historical downtown area of Oak Park - home of the Frank Llyod Wright Home and Studio and the Hemmingway Museum. As she past by small boutiques, an Irish store sitting on the corner of an quiet intersection, she heard a guy's voice call her name. Her body jumped and she looked around frantically, but she didn't see anyone, until she turned around again.

A young man around her age stood on the corner of the quiet intersection wearing a navy blue jumpsuit with patches sewn on. He was smiling big at her, and started coming towards her.

Daniel. She thought.

And immediately, she started running the opposite direction.

"Ryann!" Daniel cried. He started running after her. "Ryann!"

She ran, ran, and ran faster. After all, this is what she has always done best. Taking deep breaths as she moved her feet, she looked around to see if she could lose him, but it was no use. Until she saw a yellow taxi cab drive by, she quickly waved him down. The cab pulled over up to Ryann on the curb. She jumped in.

​Daniel stopped right there on the curb where Ryann took off. He took a second to catch his breath. As the cab started to pull away, Ryann looked up at Daniel. He put his arms up in the air and lipped, "What the fuck?" Ryann turned her head down.

"Can you just take me back to the Oak Park Blue Line stop?"

"Wern't you just a block away?" The taxi driver asked.

"I changed my mind of where I was originally going." Ryann looked in the taxi's rearview mirror and saw the taxi driver roll his eyes. A minute later, she paid her fare and jumped out of the taxi with her bags. She waited for the next train heading East. She just couldn't bare to go back home.

D

Phil found me laying on the floor in my apartment. I was unconsious and barely breathing. By that point, I have had about 13 Jameson and cokes and 2 xanaxs. Apparently he was trying to call me, and finally decided to just come find me. So when I wasn't answering the front door after several loud knocks, he walked in because he noticed the door was unlocked. There I was, laying on the floor like a wasted bastard. 

"I just kept shouting 'holy shit, holy shit." He was telling Patrick and his wife. Patrick was the old man who owned the pub downstairs. He was dear friends with my mother and allowed me to stay on the 2nd floor for dirt cheap. So he was there to make sure I was going to be okay. They had to pump my stomach and all. And I had to make a promise to go back to AA and see a therapist."  I lied in the hospital bed listening to them talk, as if I wasn't even in the room.

"I just don't understand why he keeps doing this to himself. Damn it, I need a cigarette."

"It's not your fault, Phil." Patrick's wife said. Even though I was looking the other way, I imagined her rubbing his shoulder gently. That's just the type of woman she is. I heard Phil leave the room, and Patrick's wife followed. As I recalled, she smoked too. So Patrick left alone. I heard his presence creep closer to the hospital bed. 

"Psst. I know you're awake." He said. He had a strong Irish accent. Stronger than mine. He had lived there longer than I have. "Listen, Dufficy. You're going to fucking kill yourself, you hear." Yes I could hear. "So if you could do us all a favor, and fucking take care of yourself." Even though my eyes were close and I was pretending to be sleeping, I nodded my head. There was a long pause. "I'll see you tomorrow." And Patrick them left too.

It was awful. I was truly hurting the people I love. And there's not many of those left.

So here I was taking the CTA train home from Rush hospital. They must had all left or were still outside, but I just checked out of the hospital myself and scattered. I liked to be alone. I didn't like that people were feeling sorry for me.

Apparently Phil had been waiting for me. He had been outside chain smoking until a nurse came out and mentioned I had checked myself out of the hospital. While sitting on the train looking out the window, he was calling my cell phone. But I didn't have it. It was at home on the coffee table. 

But whatever about Phil. On my way home, I met a girl. And she was beautiful. And we talked. And it was lovely. So I guess the world isn't all that bad. 

R

A tall, curly haired young boy with black-rimmed glasses got on the train at the UIC-Halsted stop. Unfortunately we made that awkward eye contact that made me look like a fool, so I looked away quickly. But surprisingly he decided to sit right next to me. It felt strange. I didn't know what to do. He didn't say hi or nothing. Just sort of minded his own business. I continued to look out the window. My palms were sweating.

After a couple stops, he eventually said hi.

"Hi." I said.

"Where are you heading?"

"I actually don't know."

"Well that's an awkward first question. I'm sorry. It's alright if you don't want to tell me. I was being noisy."

"It's okay."

"I'm really sorry."

"No, I really don't know where I'm going."

"Oh. It's not because you don't want to tell me."

I laughed, "No, I'm really am sort of lost."

"Oh, are you not from around here."

"Actually, I am, but um - it's been awhile."

"Oh like how long?"

"Like 5 years."

"That's a long time."

"I know."

"Where are you trying to go?"

"I don't know."

"Oh." 

I laughed again. I could feel my cheeks turning a red. The kind of red that happens to some people after they drink too much whiskey.

"Well since you don't know where you're going. Please allow me to give you some direction by asking you to stop by my pub for a drink. What do you say?" 

His accent made me swoon. And it made me swoon even more because I had just met an Irish fella who worked in a "pub".

"That'd be great." The train stopped.

"Okay, great. Grab your bags." 

"Oh this is the stop?"

"Come on, let's go." He rushed me to get off. So I grabbed my bags frantically.

"Oh you have luggage. Let me help." He pulled a bag out of my right hand and I followed him off the train.

D

So here she was sitting in my pub. It was a Sunday evening, so the place wasn't busy at all. It was nice, being able to get to know someone new. Especially since she's one of the only girls that really catch my eyes nowadays. I poured her a Magners, and we chatted. I tried my best not to breath in the smell of the alcohol every time I poured for a customer. I saw Patrick, but I gave him a look as if "don't bother me right now" and he proceeded to his office in the kitchen. 

"Who was that?" Ryann asked. Her name was Ryann. 

"My boss." I shrugged. 

"So where were you these past 5 years? You're from here, right?"

"I was in London."

"Oh. Good ol' London. Why are you back?"

"I really don't know."

Moments before Ryann left London

"I'm tired. Actually. I'm exhausted. I wait around for you to maybe - one day - say these magical words that will eventually transform my life into some sort of fairy tale that I have envisioned in my mind." Ryann told Logan. The last few words spilled out of her mouth so fast like a bad shot of tequila. Ryann was surprised he was keeping up. Logan leaned in the doorway with his head titled slightly.  She wasn't sure how much more he could listen to, yet she kept going.

"I'm so worn out of trying to prove to you that I'm not going anywhere or that I'm never going to hurt you, or cheat on you, or ever lie to you. And I let you -- dilly dally with all these girls and it's all finally catching up to me." Logan crossed his arms. "I look at my body and spend too much time in front of the mirror. I pay close attention to what's going on in my head, and think to myself what am I doing wrong, you know? What can I change in order to be good enough for Logan's affection?" 

There was one big pause. Then Ryann took a deep, contemplative breath. She told herself she had to slow down. 

She said slowly, "The reality is, I'm in my own head. I'm doing all this work and you never asked me to do any of it. That's the fucked up part." Logan then slowly lifted his head and straightened out his body. Ryann looked into his eyes with fear. She started to lose her sense of words. But with all that anger deep down inside, she managed to continue.

"You never asked me to surrender my dignity. I voluntarily did it." She paused for a second. Then pointed her finger at him and said sternly, "for you."

He jerked back, "why are you getting so pissed at me for something you did to yourself?" he asked.

Ryann raised her voice, "because I don't know what to do with all this love. I can't return it to Target. There's a strict policy on love returns. That's what I get for being a compulsive love shopper. I'm stuck with a paper bag of dog shit love."

He smirked.

"What?"

"You're funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny right now." He put his arms up for surrender. She took her purse that she was holding with her hand and swung the strap over her shoulder. "Fuck you." As if saying it wasn't enough, she gave him the finger and walked away.

She felt something telling her to go back. She knew it was fear talking. And she couldn't let fear overcome her anymore. She knew that one day, Logan would be nothing to her but a ghost.

But she had enough ghost following her. 

"Have a nice trip back." Logan shouted. But she was already halfway down the hall.

Ryann turned around, "Do you even know where I'm from?"

"Detroit."

She shook her head no. Logan shrugged his shoulders. She proceeded towards the elevator. While she waited for the doors to open, she looked back down the hall. Logan had already closed the door.

She entered the elevator, the doors shut, she pushed "LL", then broke out into tears.

Meanwhile, In Chicago  

She had beautiful short, shiny, black hair. Her blue eyes were as bright as the Giant's Causeway, where she was presently, sitting on a rock. She looked out into the blue water, as the strong winds pulled her shawl to one side, and her hair in her face. 

"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked me. My young, quiet self nodded his head yes with a big grin on my face. I felt happy.

"I wish it could last forever."

"It will last forever, mom."

And she looked over at me smiling, but I could see her bright blue eyes crying within. 

Dufficy awoke. He looked at his watch, and saw it was 3:16 a.m. He sat up on the couch where he had fallen asleep and took a second to contemplate his dream. 

He decided to grab his empty glass tumblr with a thin line of water that was from the ice melting. He poured himself another Jameson. He leaned over on the kitchen counter and took a huge swig. He took a deep breath in, hoping that the big sip of whiskey will soon mask over the pain from the dream. 

Dufficy walked over to the big industrial window. He looked out, and what he saw was a city that had been sleeping for a few hours now. It was quiet, peaceful.  He wished his mind shared the same conditions as the city's present state. 

The fall's cold air had fogged up the window. He took his finger to the window, and he wrote in big, round letters:

I'M BEING FOLLOWED BY GHOSTS

He then leaned into the window, with both his palms laying flat on each side of his words. He then pulled away, leaving two distinctive hand prints around his call for help. 

September 8th, 2008 - The night of the accident. 

The '97 Honda Civic lied on its back. Ryann's neck hung over the driver's seat. Blood streamed down her forehead and into her mouth. She turned her head slowly over to look at Jeremy's body. She tried to move her neck more to glimpse at his chest to see if he was still breathing, but it was too sore to turn any further. She tried to move her body to sit up, but the hood of the car was smashed in too deep. So she tried to move her arms, and pull her body up. But it was no use. She grunted from frustration and tears started to fall. 

After 40 minutes past, she found strength to start moving. She squeezed her body so thin to turn over. She barely made it to bring her body to face the smashed door. She searched for the handle, and pushed the door opened. After a few attempts,  the door opened. Her body dropped out and fell into the grass. 

As she slowly stood up, she tried to think about what happened seconds before the accident. She felt dizzy so she sat down with the back against the other side of the tree. On the other end was the upside down Civic. In the civic, lied her boyfriend still buckled into passenger's seat and hanging over the seat, just like Ryann was. 

But the car had not only flipped over, but it had slid right into the very same tree Ryann sat underneath causing the whole passenger's side to be fully impacted.

As she sat there, she tried over and over again to remember. She closed her eyes and she told herself, think harder, think harder.

Memory 1

I was talking to Daniel, and he came close to me and whispered in my ear, "you're better than him." I could smell the alcohol in his breath. I didn't have anything in my hand. I felt a moment of panic, then I looked over to see Jeremy watching us from across the party. I quickly looked down into Daniel's chest and said quietly, "I think I should walk away now."

Memory 2

I'm driving Jeremy's car. "You're a drunken asshole," I shouted while banging my hand on the steering, "you're an asshole."

Memory 3

I'm at the party. I had a drink in my hand. I watched Daniel walk away from me and walk straight to Jeremy. Daniel quickly punches Jeremy in the face. Jeremy jumps back to reciprocate. 

I had a drink in my hand.

Omg. I had a drink in my hand. 

She sat back up frantically and looked back over at the car. She knew what she had to do. But after she did, she knew she'd have to run away. Run very far. Run as far as she could and never return. Only one person would know where she would be.

The ghost of Jeremy would follow her, but she'd have to face it. She had no choice.