Chapter Eight
In the past nine years, not a day had gone by that Logan Echolls hadn't seen, heard, or experienced something that reminded him of a petite blonde who smelled of marshmallows and promises. His memories had become a lot less vivid over the years but there were times that it would seem like just yesterday that he'd held her in his arms, that they'd had their first kiss. She'd been there for him when his life was a living hell and he'd made her his world, to the point that - in a lot of ways - he'd truly lost himself in her.
When she'd disappeared at the end of their freshman year at Hearst, he'd quickly learned exactly how much of a mistake that had been. Every ounce of progress, of change that he'd made toward being a better person had been for her benefit more than his. With her gone, he'd had no reason to maintain the changes. If he'd really taken the time to think about it, he may have realized that he'd begun to enjoy his classes and, at least in some ways, had really started to find himself. That bit of insight, however, was like a life preserver that never managed to find its mark.
Being the psychotic jackass that he was when he was without Veronica's influence, it took a near-death experience for him to wake up and really take control of his life. Truthfully, he'd hoped that Veronica would be paying enough attention to have shown up at his hospital bed to take him back the moment he woke up. Reality was cruel, though, when he realized that she wasn't coming back and he wasn't dead.
He'd holed up for months in a rundown motel in Mexico where he'd listened incessantly to depressing Indie Rock, scribbled incoherently in notebook after notebook about anything and everything he'd experienced in life, and surfed till he could surf no more. It was a simple existence, one he didn't have to think about. He could just 'be' without having to worry about what was or was not expected of him. He didn't have to be continually looking over his shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It took more time than he was aware of even now but at some point, he realized he was at peace with himself and it blew his mind.
The day that he woke up and found he could smile, even if it was without showing his teeth, was the first day that he was able to think of Veronica without a searing pain shooting through his soul. He found that he was content with his life and wished he could share that with her.
A short time later, his fog had cleared enough for him to consider what he wanted to do with his life. All he knew starting out was that there was no way he could just stay on the beach - eating, sleeping, and surfing - till the day that he died. He wanted to make something of himself, be someone that only Veronica had ever thought he could be.
One step at a time, he found his way home. At first, that just meant that he made his way back to California. Then it became a ritualistic daily stroll along the Santa Monica Pier. Next he found a Bohemian coffee shop along the strip and claimed it as his own. After his stroll, he'd show up there and sit for hours sipping his coffee and writing away in his notebook. Eventually, he found a modest-sized beach house called 'The Vagabond' that he felt drawn to and, fortunately enough, the owners were willing to sell. He'd set up housekeeping there roughly three years before and hadn't looked back.
Once he'd settled in a bit to his new digs and his new life, he'd spent a good deal of time people watching before getting up the nerve to re-introduce himself to some of his former friends. Dick, of course, was at the top of that list. He winced when he thought about the dark place Dick had been in when he himself had chosen to vanish. He wondered, not for the first time, why it hadn't occurred to him to see if Dick wanted to disappear with him. Logan had to stop his thought process right there and force himself to be face the music. If Dick had been with him in Mexico, there's no way he'd be where he was now. He wouldn't know peace. He wouldn't know contentment. He and Dick together would have been a recipe for disaster. Logan knew without a doubt that they would have destroyed each other.
It hadn't been difficult to find Dick. A single call to Dick Sr. at the corporate office of his latest business that was likely headed toward scandal produced both a phone number and an address for where the younger Richard Casablancas could be located. It came as no surprise to Logan when he discovered that the residence was actually a rehab facility and the phone number belonged to the nurse's station.
Logan visited Dick several times a week until he was released and then hesitantly offered his friend a place to stay until he could get on his feet. He knew it was the right thing to do but he also worried that having Dick around would make it hard for him to stay sober and stay on track with his own journey to finding himself. As it turned out, his concerns were only mildly well-founded. Dick still drank more than he should but he gave up the other substances he'd used at parties and never pushed Logan to have a drink with him. Since Logan was more an emotional drunk than a true alcoholic, this worked for him and the two managed to co-exist fairly peacefully. They'd been housemates for about two years when Dick asked Logan to partner with him in creating what he hoped would be a chain of ultra-hip night clubs, starting with THE 09ER in their very own Neptune. Logan had declined full partnership but had told Dick he'd be a silent investor and to go make his dream come true.
It was several months later when both were at the club celebrating it's near instant success that Dick unknowingly helped Logan stumble upon what would become his purpose. The conversation was one that Logan would never forget because it was so distinct and it was so...Dick. They had started out just lounging at one of the booths, each with a single glass of wine and each with a female companion. Dick was excitedly telling his date all about how the club had come about which led to stories about all the crazy things that had gone down in high school between the 09ers and the PCHers until Dick looked at Logan and laughed, saying, "Dude! Remember how the PCHers did you a favor and burned down 'Casa de Killer'? That was awesome!"
Logan hadn't found the memory nearly as entertaining as his friend had. In fact, he found the phrase 'Casa de Killer' stuck in his head, irritating him irrationally, almost as if it were mocking his very existence. He frowned and remained aloof the rest of the night, excusing himself politely at the end of the date rather than inviting the disappointed seductress back to his abode. Quietly, before he left, he asked Dick to take his party elsewhere for the evening, explaining simply that he wanted some time alone. Dick had shrugged and responded with a carefree, "Sure, Dude," completely oblivious to the melancholy madness lurking just beneath the surface of his friend's carefully controlled gaze.
For the first time since the night he'd landed himself in an emergency room where they'd been forced to put him on life support, Logan had been on edge, restless to the point that he knew he needed to do something and that something could absolutely NOT be to drink himself into oblivion. Instead, he'd gone surfing beneath the quarter moon. It was dangerous, he knew, but the waves were his confidants. They welcomed him when all else needed to fade away. As he rode the waves, he mulled over the vast array of emotions that the phrase 'Casa de Killer' had evoked in him and then, out of nowhere, an idea struck him. It was so momentous, so profound, that he purposely let a wave take him under so that he and his board could head more quickly to shore.
When he'd reached the edge of the surf, he'd grabbed his board and scrambled over the sandy shore until he reached the stairs that led to 'The Vagabond.' Taking the steps two at a time, he'd barely managed to set his board aside before he was in the door and reaching for a notebook and pen. Feverishly, he'd jotted down the outline for what would become his life's mission, the first step to truly finding his reason for being.
The result of that vision was where he was headed one afternoon about a week or so before his ten year high school reunion was scheduled to take place. What, or rather who, he found when he arrived was enough to shake him to his core. Parking his low-key but sleek and classy convertible, he took a few moments to bolster himself, to pull himself together, to force himself to at least appear undaunted before he casually got out of the vehicle and confidently strode toward the familiar woman and her friends that were standing and chatting on the sidewalk in front of his precious 'Casa de Caring.'
He was still several feet away when Wallace and Mac saw him and stopped mid-conversation, leaving only the petite blonde animatedly talking away until she realized her companions were no longer responding. As soon as her speech slowed to a halt and before she could manage to turn around, Logan found himself saying two words he'd been fairly sure he'd never say again: "Hello, Veronica."