Harkham's Case (Harkam's #1) (7 page)

She dragged herself out to the old decrepit red Jeep, and before she hopped in, she took a minute to light up.

Nobody would notice or care if she smoked a quick one before she got in and left.

Hell, they might join her. She deserved it after today. No one could dispute that.

The parking lot was crowded with tons of students, and the faculty rarely paid attention, because at this point, they were dying to be free of these angst-ridden teens.

“Mari!” some female voice shouted.

Mari stuffed the cigarette back in her bag, unlit.

Dammit. She really needed one, and if she smoked in the Jeep her mom would kill her.

“Wait up! Can I get a ride home?” Samara called after her.

Mari turned to find Samara all alone.

“Where’s Adam?” Mari’s pulse took off like a rocket was fueling it. Was he okay? Who was looking after him? Did he have another episode? Oh my God! They took him away to the hospital, didn’t they? Her eyes stung with unshed tears.

But why? She barely knew him, and he made her day crazy, although she couldn’t deny it was interesting.

How many times had she been telling herself these things today? It was quickly becoming her mantra.

“He’s with Zach, our brother. They’re lifting weights, and they’ll go to football practice after.” Samara slowed from a jog to a light skip until she reached her.

Samara’s face radiated relief and goodness. It was obvious she cared about her brother, but cherished the moments she had without him.

For some asinine reason, Mari envied her.

“So, how about it? Can I get a lift?” Samara’s chin lifted.

Was she trying to appear intimidating?

“Sure,” Mari answered without thinking. “And maybe you can explain some of what went on today.”

“I’d love to.” Samara’s voice had a lighter, almost lyrical quality about it now that she wasn’t trying to boss her brother around.

Mari wrenched the sticky passenger door open and let Samara get in before she shoved it closed using all of her weight. All one-hundred fifty-five pounds of her weight.
Twenty-five to go
. . .

Fuck this old Jeep. It was great for camping, but not great for passengers joining her.

“First, can you tell me how he did in your English class? He said it was fine, which means it probably wasn’t. I want to hear it from you,” Samara said.

Mari started the engine and backed out of her parking spot before she began recounting the events.

“Well, similar to what I saw of him in the gym, except . . . It wasn’t because a girl touched him, it was because a guy did. I got frustrated that Adam was trying to sit me down in a spot I didn’t like. Adam fed off my less-than-thrilled reaction and got anxious. Then a guy interrupted and touched Adam. Rory thought I was being bothered by him. Jesus—
Rory
. That guy’s a pain in the ass most of the ti—”

“Rory who?”

Mari scratched her chin. “Rory—you know—the big guy on the varsity football team. Bleached blond hair, all combed forward like Justin Bieber used to do. Sags his pants sometimes. Brown eyes and slightly crooked teeth. Almost no neck. I can’t think of his last name right now for some stupid reason. He tries to talk to me sometimes, but it’s only to make Kendra Dane jealous.”

“Oh, I know who you’re talking about. He’s an idiot,” Samara said with a chuckle. “Zach hates that guy. He said he’s the worst quarterback ever.” She paused and cocked her head. “That bastard! He’s picking on Adam to get to Zach!”

“I really don’t think that’s what it wa—”

“I’m gonna put a dead pig in his bed, since he’s one himself!” Samara mumbled a few choice expletives that Mari ignored.

“Do you want to hear my version of things or not?” Mari interrupted her mini-tirade.

“Yeah.” Samara’s eyes flew open for a fraction of a second, and her neck kinked back, then righted itself.

She was shocked somebody was being assertive? What did she expect when her mouth was going a mile a minute and she was rude enough to give Mari anything but the answers she deserved?

“Well, I was trying to get Adam to quit trying to force me into my seat. I’m not used to letting someone yank me around like that.” Samara’s hand flew to her mouth, and Mari kept detailing the events of the day. “Don’t worry. It was taken care of. I was able to apologize and fix all of it.” She sucked at explaining this. It was kind of a jumbled up mess in her memory after all she went through today.

“What
hap-pened
?” Sam punctuated each word like Mari was telling her the scariest story ever.

“I guess it was my fault. He asked if he could hold my hand, and I said he could, but I didn’t tell him he couldn’t put me in my chair whenever and however he felt like it.” What to tell her now? Mari’s shoulders ached, they were so stiff. “We had to discuss it, and I don’t know, some time in there Adam kind of shut down, went non-responsive, rocking in place and stuff. Rory asked if Adam was touching me and bothering me, but before I could answer, he kind of tossed Adam out of the way.”

“He did not!”

“Mmhmm, but after that I made sure nobody touched him. He started saying some math formulas and then he balled himself up, but I—”

“This is worse than I thought!” Samara’s hands flew up in the air. “I told Dad he wasn’t ready for this. This is the third time. Three times and he’s out. I told him. Give him another month, then enroll him. But does anybody in this stupid family listen to me? No!”

“Samara, can you please just tell me—what the hell is wrong with him?”

Samara turned and glared with so much energy, Mari wanted to shrink and press her own back up against the door to get as far away from her as she could.

“You better rephrase that,” Samara said through a twitching jaw.

“Sorry, but I know he’s got some . . .” Mari paused to phrase it better this time “. . . disabilities. I saw that Mr. Perez wrote some kind of notes at the bottom of his new schedule for the teachers. I just want to know—what did it say?”

“You think he’s stupid. Already, you’re putting him in with kids that have mental handicaps with learning disabilities,” Samara said with a snort. “Why do I bother with you people?” She shook her head.

“I am not! Look! I’ve got a lot of problems, too. God knows I’m no saint, but I don’t think anything like that of him. He’s crazy brilliant—anybody can see that. But there’s some kind of disconnect going on. Does he have some form of Asperger’s?” She felt stupid asking that. All she knew of Asperger’s was from her sad, tiny stint of reading Nicholas Spark’s novels.
Dear John
was not a source to quote on this sensitive topic. Samara would probably kick her ass if she mentioned Channing Tatum.

“No. Nothing like that.” Samara stared out the front window, her gaze transfixed.

Was she seeing something Mari didn’t?

Mari squinted but all looked normal. “Well, if it’s not Asperger’s, then what is it?”

Samara paused before answering and gripped the door handle. “We don’t know what he has. He was the first documented case. For now, he’s called Harkham’s Case number one.”

Mari smiled as a tear leaked out. “Okay.” But nothing was. This changed everything.

“He needs you, Mari. I’m not sure why or how he even decided that. It took years before he’d let Dad touch him.”

Mari pulled over on the side of the road. “Years? His own father?” She pulled out her cigarette. Damn her mom and these stupid smoking rules. Without giving a damn how Samara felt about it, she rolled down the window and lit up.

“Dustin’s not his biological father. It’s complicated,” Samara said, turning her head to look out her side window.

Maybe the cigarette offended her. Tough! She was going to answer.

“Okay, it’s complicated. Whose family isn’t?” Mari took a long inhale of her cigarette.

“Ours is more than the Brady Bunch. There’s no laughs when somebody breaks their nose from a football, because Adam can be taken away from us, and we’re all he has left.”

Mari took another long drag and tossed the rest of the cigarette out the window, then put it back up. She gripped Samara’s arm. “Tell me. He’s dragged me into this—I need to know.”

Samara turned back to her, tears in her eyes. Mari released her arm. “Adam’s three years older than me. We share the same mom. When he was twelve, she walked out on him and never returned. He doesn’t remember that day, but I do. Even though I was nine—I remember like it happened yesterday. He was a mess. We have no idea where she went. My dad had already been discussing adoption of Adam, but after she left, he wasn’t sure if he should proceed or not. He contacted Adam’s father, but that man couldn’t take him back. His real dad, Thomas, didn’t even know him anymore. His parents divorced when he was a toddler. Apparently it was too much for Thomas Matthews—Adam was a difficult child to deal with.”

Mari snorted a laugh.

“You think he’s clingy now? He insisted on being held in-arms at all times in public until he was six!” Samara’s eyes hardened.

Mari’s face fell. “How did your family cope?”

“I already told you how his dad bailed. Mom was really patient with him, but then when he was twelve, she snapped. He seemed to stop progressing emotionally. Intellectually, he was smarter than her. Smarter than all of us, but he was hard to reason with. That’s what you’re dealing with now. A twelve-year-old trapped in a rocket scientist’s mind and in a young adult’s body, pumped full of hormones. When he gets upset, it triggers, and he can only think in terms of absolutes.”

“Math.”

“Math,” Samara confirmed with a nod.

“Makes sense, I suppose. If he feels unsure of himself, he turns to facts he knows are concrete.” Mari pulled the car back out on the road and started driving again. “Let me make sure I understand this—your mom carried him around all the time in public until he was six since he wouldn’t allow your dad to touch him?”

“Yep.” She popped her P. “I think you can imagine we didn’t take him out much.”

Mari ignored the last statement. “And does he allow your brother to touch him?”

“Yeah. He asks for it at times, but Zach dislikes it in public. He puts up with it, though, because it beats the alternative of Adam exploding.”

Samara gave her some quick directions on how to get to her home.

The rest of the ride Mari spent in silence. Her mind was traveling faster than the car.

“Just so you know . . . When he’s curled up in a ball, it’s usually too late. You must be special or a natural to be able to get him out of that.”

“Too late for what?” Mari parked the car in front of a lavish, expansive house.

It was easily twice the size of Mari’s home.

“Too late for what comes next. After he crashes and caves in on himself, then he trashes the place. He’s been known to set fire to things, too.” Samara opened the car door and hopped out. “I hope you’re not afraid of him, though. He never intentionally hurts anybody. He’s never left a mark on me, and I’m so dumb I get between him and danger all the time.” She smiled. “Bye!”

“Wait!” Mari sucked in a deep breath. “You’ve gotta give me your phone number. I’m sure I’ll have more questions, and there might be times I get stuck and don’t know how to help him.”

Samara’s grin spread. “So you’ll try to keep helping him, then?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because he’s got a serious crush on you. That kind of freaks girls out.” Samara leaned her weight into her right hip, jutting it out.

Mari laughed as she thought about Kendra. “I heard you came from a small town. Somebody told me that in passing in the hallway when Adam wasn’t with me. Welcome to Phoenix—land of the heat-induced, brain-dead crazies. I’ve lived here all my life. Believe me when I say . . . I’ve seen it all. And most of that is due to my mother and her psycho friends.”

Samara held out her hand for Mari’s phone, which she gladly handed over. She typed in her phone number, then passed it back.

“I really hope you realize his friendship is an amazing gift.”

“I think I do,” Mari said, then bit her lip, worried she was already screwing this up. What did she know about him? Not much. Samara gave her his past, but not other symptoms. What if this was only the first three items on his list of one hundred issues?

“Oh, and one more thing . . .”

“Yeah?” Mari leaned toward her.

“If you touch him in any way other than sisterly—I’ll break both your hands off!” And with that, Samara shut the door and wore a nasty smile that had “Killer!” written all over it.

A chill raced down Mari’s back, and she left before she could see what else Samara might do.

What the hell had she agreed to? And who was this nutso girl she’d just given a ride home?

Chapter 4

Sometimes I think he’s regressed to less than 12.

That was it. That was all he could see before the numbers almost took over completely, nearly blinding him. That was all it had to say on Sam’s phone to make him quake like this. Adam figured out pretty quickly who she said it to and what it meant regardless of how out of control and trembly he was, unable to focus all the way.