Harkham's Case (Harkam's #1) (25 page)

Adam gasped. “I wanna go too.” His shoulders hunched up.

“You can’t,” both Mari and his dad chanted in unison.

He exhaled loudly as if to protest.

“Before I go, I figure I should tell you the rest of what happened to me. My dad was chief of police, so he made sure no charges were pressed, and I never got put in juvie or anything like that, but it was definitely my fault. After that, well, I got drunk and high every chance I could get. I traded sex for drugs since I was poor, and I was in rehab at the age of fifteen. I had two relapses, one of them shortly after rehab, but, well . . . I’ve been clean ever since. I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, but I’ll continue to smoke because other than Adam, it’s the only thing I have that keeps me from going ballistic.”

“You need therapy, young lady, and lots of it,” his dad said, but it was done in kindness. He wore an empathetic look in his eyes, and his tone was soft—pleading almost.

“I know I do. I’ve been in therapy on and off for years, but it hasn’t seemed to help. Both my parents are a wreck, and they’ve basically given up on me. I’ve tried to get Adam here to do the same, but he won’t—”

“I won’t ever stop loving you,” Adam interrupted.

“Love’s a very strong word,” his dad cautioned.

“I know that, and I know how I feel. Zach helped me to figure it out. I love her, and I want to be with her. I know she’s made bad choices, but so have I. We need each other.” Adam took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“There were other things I did along the way I regretted, but I won’t bore you with the details. Just know . . . I aim to get good grades, and I try very hard to keep from cursing around your son, because I try to respect your family’s rules, but I’m not gonna stop smoking around him. I get tense, and if I want to be able to be there for him emotionally at all times and in every way, then it means I need a smoke now and then. I’ll try to keep it at a minimum. In fact . . . I’ve stopped smoking before school. I only smoke after, so during the day at school, he won’t smell it on me.”

“Well, that makes everything better then, doesn’t it.” His father rolled his eyes a little and clicked his tongue. “I think this conversation is over. Be friends at school—fine. But other than that, keep away.”

“I will.” She stood up to go. Adam hugged her from behind.

“I’m not gonna let go,” Adam warned.

She pulled his hands apart that he had interlocked around her waist.

“You have to. But come and say goodbye at the door.” She turned around and smiled. He was on the verge of tears.

She took his hand and led him to her exit.

Once there, she said, “Don’t try and find me. Promise me you won’t.” She cupped his jaw.

“I have to. I won’t promise you that.”

“Listen to me . . . Your father cares and wants the best. I do, too. And getting some distance from me might be good for you.”

“How can it be?” The tears splashed on the carpet now.

“You can call me all you want, text, email. I can keep in touch too, but you can’t see me during this next week.”

“Why did you wait until today to tell me? I mean, are you leaving right now?”

She nodded. “On my way to the airport when I leave here.”

“But I’ll miss you.”

“I know, ‘cause I’ll miss you like crazy, too. I’m sorry I waited. I didn’t want to ruin your week at school and make you stressed out. I thought it’d be better this way.” She kissed the corner of his mouth and swiped it away with the pad of her thumb like she always did while cupping his chin.

He grabbed her hand to keep it there. “Someday . . . Mari, I’m gonna have a bed we can share together, but not to sleep together. Zach told me that means sex, and I know you don’t wanna have sex with me.” He frowned.

She ran her thumb over his lower lip. It was pouting. She laughed hard. “You have no idea what I want, Adam, and I’m glad you don’t. It would dirty your soul.”

“Don’t go . . .” he whimpered.

“I have to. I don’t have a choice.” Tears welled in her eyes. Her lips trembled. “Believe me, if I could stay, I would. I’d much rather see you every day than go to that hellhole.”

“I can save you. I can keep you here.” He took her hand in his and placed it on his heart. “You’d be safe with me.”

“I wish that was true for you as well, but it’s not.” She kissed him, pulled away and left before she did something really stupid.

An hour later, she was on a plane flying to Alta, Utah. The town that drizzled a lot because God was pissing on it, to mark it as his official toilet for humanity. That’s where her life got flushed away.

Yes, she liked rain, but not when she was there—the tiny ski town with one of the highest elevations in all of the United States.

She always had a hard time breathing there when she’d arrive, and it would take a few days to get used to it.

But so what? She deserved to rot there forever.

The flight was fairly dead. Not many people were traveling to Salt Lake.

She tried to sleep, but found herself floating in and out of horrific memories of her few summers she had spent in that dinky town.

Several times she took out a pad of paper and a pen to write a letter to Adam.

In the end, they were all garbage, so she tore them up and stuffed them in her carry-on.

She wished she’d left him with a soda at least to cheer him up, but she hadn’t been thinking clearly when she stopped by to say her farewell.

It was one in the morning when she arrived. She had no idea if her dad would be there to pick her up, because she refused to talk to him before she left for this excursion. What was there to say? I don’t want to see you, I hate that town, and I get sick when I look at you? Better to remain silent.

She moved through the airport, grabbed her bags and when she was ready to call for a cab, she saw
him
. The one person she was hoping to avoid.

Oh, hell had already found her, and its jaws were gaping after her.

It was going to be forty-five minutes of being trapped in a car with him, listening to him complain about everything from his shallow dating and social life, to how awful his hair was looking today because the salon didn’t have the kind of hair products he needed in stock.

“Why are you here?” she asked by way of greeting.

“Your dad sent me to get you.” His eyes raked over her while he smirked. “You look edible, like my next meal. And you know where I like to eat.”

“With the pigs in the wallow.” She snorted.

“In my bed with me between your legs.” He smirked.

“Give it a rest, Vic. You know I’m not your girl anymore. I never really was. I used you to party and get high.” She walked past him. Waiting on the curb for a cab with him yapping in her ear was going to be less than pleasant, but better than being stuck in a car with him for almost an hour.

He ripped her bags out of her arms. “Don’t be like that. I’ll help you dejunk your dad’s house, I’ll give you the good stuff, and you’ll let me and my buddies do whatever we want to you.”

Slaaaaam!

She had him by the throat, her forearm wedged tight. He was up against the outside brick wall of the airport. “The only way you’ll ever touch me again is when I’m pulling the last breath out of your body like I’m doing now.” She jammed her elbow harder into his Adam’s apple.

“You always were dramatic . . . Damn, girl . . . Relax.” He chuckled and reached out to grab her hip, bringing her closer.

“And you were always a loser. Still are.” She pushed off him with a look of pure disgust. “I’ll walk.”

She grabbed her stuff and took off.

He chased her down. “C’mon. I was only messing around. There’s no way you can walk all that distance to your dad’s. I’ll take you home.”

“It’s not my home,” she said through her grinding teeth.

“Whatever.” He had her bags again and was running to his stupid, beat-up yellow VW bug.

He set the bags down, popped the trunk and put her things inside.

She got in the backseat and stretched out.

“So, what’s the deal? Got a boyfriend or something? You never tried to choke me before.” He laughed. “That was fun.”

“You and your nasty-ass fetishes.” She shook her head. He was probably into that erotic asphyxiation. It wouldn’t surprise her.

“Exactly. My nasty ass—and that’s where you belong. You’re the only one that could do it right.”

“And only when I was high. I’m clean now. Have been for over two years, and it’s gonna stay that way.” She stared out the window.

“Why?”

“Why what? Why don’t you run away and be homeless for a week and then ask me why I don’t do that fucking shitty stuff anymore.” She popped her knuckles. Her whole body was tense, even her toes.

“So, eating garbage from dumpsters is what snapped you out of it?”

“No . . . Being a step away from selling my body to strangers and realizing I’d probably die of AIDS before I could vote is what did it for me.” That, and the idea of turning out like her old roommate in rehab, London Jones, was what shut her veins off from all that stuff.

London had become a Meth addict. Her teeth were black, she was losing her hair and looked like she had escaped from a concentration camp. She was all skin and bones. It was the scariest thing she’d ever seen when London found her on the street. It had been a year since she’d seen her friend back in rehab, and she was not the same at all. It was difficult to have a coherent conversation with her. It was even harder to look at her too with all the sores on her face, not to mention she looked to be in her mid-thirties when she had barely turned twenty.

Before London had gotten hooked, she’d looked like a runway model with her striking, long red hair, green eyes, long legs and lean body with porcelain skin. Most girls would’ve killed to look like her.

What sent Mari over the edge when she was on the street was seeing her friend’s pregnant belly, watching her vomit every hour, sending Mari into her episodes. London was a horrific mess and didn’t even care.

Mari ran back home that night. One week on the streets, and she was cured of wanting to be a junkie.

She’d never be
that
again.

“You’re not better than me,” he huffed.

“The day I’m better than anybody is the day the world stops turning. Just drive, huh, Victor? I wanna get to bed.” She pulled out her phone, plugged in her earbuds and tuned him out.

Adam’s mixes were amazing. She had enjoyed working out to them. Tonight she’d listen to the ballads he did so she could maybe sleep a little.

It was doubtful it would drown out the nightmare she always had when she was here, but she’d try.

After a long, uncomfortable drive, the car stopped. She pulled the earbuds out.

He rested his arm on the back of his seat and turned to look at her. “It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

“Yeah? Whose was it, then? Yours?” She opened the car door. He grabbed her by the arm.

“Owen forgives you.” He was breathing on her face.

“Why would he do that?”

“He realizes he was only a teenager, too. He didn’t know what he was doing asking a twelve-year-old to babysit and giving you those stupid instructions. He hates
himself
, not
you
.” He let go of her arm.

She moved away. “Well, he can hate me instead of himself, because I was stupid enough to follow his instructions.”

“You were high, Mari. What do you expect?”

“I was never more sober in my life. You shot up, I didn’t. I performed your sexual favors, you left, and somewhere in there, she died.” She kicked his back wheel.

He opened the trunk, thrust her bags in her hands and spit on her foot. “Fine, be a bitch about it. I’m telling you the guys have all said you can come back.”

“You think I want to after what happened? You think I can step anywhere near your ski resort mountain without imagining that one-year-old’s lifeless eyes as she lay in her bed covered in vomit?” Her stomach roiled just thinking about it.

“It was SIDS, Mari. That’s all.”

“That’s
not
all. I did my homework. SIDS happens to babies when they’re infants. She aspirated on her own throw up because she was crying so loud for me to help her. I ignored it. I probably heard it.” She shrugged. “I don’t even remember how loud her wails were.”

“There’s nothing to feel guilty about,” he shouted, slammed the trunk shut, then punched it hard.

“The fact you have a clean conscience over this is exactly why I can’t stand to be around you!” She took off, running to the front door of her father’s dilapidated house with its peeling light green paint.

It was unlocked as usual. She pushed her way in, dropped her bags and locked the door.

She heard the car speed away and rested her forehead on the door.

After a beat, she turned her head to the side to see the silhouette of roundness reclined in a chair.

“Hi, Dad.”

She was greeted with a dying grunt.