Bleed Through

by Arrington, Adriana

  A Division of Whampa, LLC

  P.O. Box 2160

  Reston, VA 20195

  Tel/Fax: 800-998-2509

  http://curiosityquills.com

  © 2016 Adriana Arrington

  http://adrianaarrington.com

  Cover Art by Eugene Teplitsky

  http://eugeneteplitsky.deviantart.com/

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information about Subsidiary Rights, Bulk Purchases, Live Events, or any other questions - please contact Curiosity Quills Press at info@curiosityquills.com, or visit http://curiosityquills.com

  ISBN 978-1-62007-837-2 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-62007-838-9 (paperback)

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  BLEED THROUGH is a work of fiction. While some places are based on real locations, their descriptions and events are entirely fictional. All other places, events, names, and characters are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual people, places, or events are purely coincidental.

  for my mother, who taught me a love of writing

  and for my father, who passed me all those Dean Koontz and Stephen King novels on the side

  MONDAY, AUGUST 25th

  he screen door groaned and shuddered as Liam pushed against it. Warped by years of intense heat and rain, the flimsy metal frame no longer fit squarely in the doorjamb. He kicked at the bottom left corner and budged the door forward.

  Come on, you piece of crap. Open!

  An aluminum soda can, liberated from the dark corner of his bedroom closet, crinkled under his clenched fingers, and a thick textbook titled “Accounting Principles, Vol. 1” teetered between his elbow and stomach.

  The creaking door summoned the family tomcat, RP, like a demon from hell. His claws scratched against the gray linoleum as he streaked through the living room and collided with Liam’s left foot.

  “He’s gonna shred you to pieces,” said Joshua. He stood next to the dining room windows that looked over the backyard. Afternoon sunshine filtered through gauzy curtains but didn’t reach his pockmarked face. His uniform of black jeans and leather jacket swallowed the light around him. “Serves you right for leaving me.”

  Liam ignored the taunt and concentrated on not dropping his soda. After a few frenzied seconds spent trying to evade the worst of RP’s nipping, he squeezed through the door and slammed it shut before the cat made his escape. He didn’t begrudge the animal his freedom. Quite the contrary. But his mother would skewer him if he granted the fur ball’s wish. She feared the cat would get hurt if he got loose, or worse yet, run away to the dense woods near their home.

  “Maybe next time, pal.”

  RP glowered at him and swished his gray and black tail. The cat hated him. As a general rule, most cats did. They knew what he did when nobody watched. But RP held extra-special disdain for him; he understood the upheaval Liam caused by his mere presence.

  Joshua remained in the dining room, frowning with such intensity Liam licked his lips in nervousness.

  Acutely aware of their baleful glares, he turned and stepped onto the timeworn concrete patio, avoiding its many buckles and cracks. The Florida humidity clamped onto his body like an alligator snapping its jaws over fresh prey. He didn’t mind. The intense afternoon heat was real; a sensation he could trust.

  A rusted porch swing with dirty, flattened yellow pads groaned in protest when he plopped down on it. Twangy country music from a neighbor’s house filtered through the air as he pushed off the ground with his right leg. The world rocked back and forth.

  He placed the accounting textbook to his side and popped open the soda. It fizzed up to his lips as he raised the can and tilted it back, and he allowed the acidic sugar to flood his mouth. He swished the soda around each tooth-that’s right, Mother Dearest, each and every tooth-reveling in its heavenly poison before chugging it.

  With a half-hearted flick of his wrist, he flipped open his textbook and attempted to read the first page. He made it through two and a half sentences before the various accounting terms and principles became mere letters and sounds meshed together. How Isaac and his mother expected him to garner an ounce of excitement over starting community college was beyond him. Most days, he barely found the energy to function. But Isaac and his mother said the routine of school would be good for him, so off to school he went.

  He rose from the squeaky swing and marched away from Isaac’s house, leaving the accounting tome where it lay but holding onto his soda. His mother had turned to the gospel of health food and subjected her family to its ceaseless melody. As a result, high-fructose corn syrup had become even rarer than happiness in their home. Three days ago, he’d carried out some professional-grade smuggling to hide the carbonated contraband in his closet, and he had no intention of letting it go to waste.

  The bell from the marina tolled in rhythm with his footsteps. Although he didn’t want to live with his mother and stepfather, at least the locale offered some consolation. Not only was Isaac’s house colonels’ quarters, its backyard led to the Tyndall Air Force Base yacht club as well as a beach so often deserted it might as well have been private. Both were less than a quarter mile away. Still, Liam missed the small place he’d shared with his father in Ohio until six months ago. That had been home.

  He picked his way through the pathetic excuse of a lawn that boasted more sandburs than grass. No backyard leading to a beach could be truly awful, though, especially one edged by an imposing live oak grove. The trees’ gnarled limbs invited him to climb, their drooping branches like crooked fingers that whispered, “Come play.” Sometimes Liam answered their call. Today, he wanted to be farther from the house. Farther from Joshua.

  A salty breeze ruffled his red hair as he crossed the street and made his way past the shoppette and the yacht club. Closed on Mondays, the clubhouse sat dark and empty. Liam exhaled in relief. No red-nosed retirees would watch him today.

  His shoes crunched over a gravel path that trickled out to the slender jetty, just beyond the marina’s smaller dock. If he traveled any farther, he’d be in the ocean. The sun blazed over his head as he settled down on jagged, small rocks. He dipped his hand in the warm gulf water and swirled it around in circles.

  A like-minded beast, the ocean hid its dangerous undercurrents beneath a smooth surface. Here, with only the waves as benevolent bystanders, he allowed his mind to wander wherever it wished.

  His gaze caught on a run-down speedboat moored at the dock. Twenty years ago it’d probably shined a midnight blue, but years of ocean spray had lightened it to an anemic steel color. Though chipped and faded, its name, “Miss Behavin,” still remained legible on the hull.

  “Bet somebody loved you once. Seems you’ve fallen on hard times now. No worries, though, I’m not one to judge,” he said.

  His dad would’ve brought the old girl back to her former glory with twenty bucks and a six-pack of beer. He closed his eyes and reimagined the boat with a spanking new paint job, a metallic black that glinted in the sunlight, and a new, rumbling motor. Clad in a Denver Broncos T-shirt and cheap jeans, his father hung a fishing line over the side and sang along to classic rock, off-key as ever.

  A booming voice shattered his imaginings.

  “Don’t threaten me, you sonuvabitch! You wanna ruin my life? I’ll never let that happen!”

  The sound of fists making contact with flesh carried over the water. Grunts of pain and exertion followed. Liam opened his eyes and searched for the commotion. Across the marina, two middle-aged men in civilian clothes fought on the weathered dock.

  One, a tall, whit
e guy with a flat face and snub nose, hammered on a shorter, stocky man. The victim’s buzzed, blond hair ended above a spider tattoo on his neck.

  “Cull, get your hands off me! Stop!” the smaller man yelled. Blood gushed from his broken nose.

  The victim raised his hands above his head to stop the blows, but the taller man, Cull, sent him lurching to the wooden planks with a savage kick to the stomach.

  With a face chillingly devoid of emotion, Cull methodically pounded on the man with the spider tattoo. The smack of flesh on flesh turned squelchy as Cull kicked and punched, punched and kicked. Soon, nothing but a bloody, tenderized husk remained of the smaller man.

  Bile rose to Liam’s throat as waves lapped at his feet, wetting the space between his toes and flip-flops. He felt like a coward for not interfering. In a perfect world, he’d be a Good Samaritan and rescue the smaller man. But in this world? He just hoped to avoid Cull’s wrath. Cull, however, didn’t seem the sort to ignore witnesses to a crime. The idea sent Liam’s stomach lurching. His soda slipped from rigid fingers and clanged to the rocks below, spilling its precious caramel contents into the ocean.

  The victim lay motionless on the dock. One last kick from Cull rocked his body to the side. His head lolled to the right, setting his vacant, glassy stare on Liam.

  Cull stood straight and stretched his neck. Spattered with blood, his sage green T-shirt looked like a gory Jackson Pollack imitation. Heavy drops of rain darkened the shoulders of his shirt and plastered his short, dark hair against his skull. Cull flexed his knuckles while making a slow search of the marina, turning his body toward Liam but letting his beady gaze slide right over him, as if he wasn’t there. Satisfied nobody saw his crime, Cull grabbed hold of his limp victim and tossed him onto the closest sailboat.

  Sweat beaded on Liam’s brow, and his pulse raced. Had Cull really not seen him?

  The murderer boarded the boat, older but pristinely maintained with glittering cursive letters naming her “Freedom,” and vanished below deck. Liam’s instincts screamed at him to run, but he stayed put. He needed to know what happened next.

  Cull reappeared with a white towel and jug. He poured water over deep crimson stains on the dock and mopped the area with the towel, which turned a sickly strawberry pink.

  He held out his hand and looked at the sky. “Never been so happy for a rain storm,” he said.

  Then he and Freedom disappeared, evaporating into the air like a passing memory.

  iam looked up to the heavens. No clouds hovered above, nor did any drops of rain fall on his face.

  Damn.

  The whole scene was a figment of his imagination. The last time he’d had such a vivid hallucination had been right after his father died and right before his latest stint in a hospital. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground. Shards of broken oyster shells dug into his skin.

  This couldn’t happen. Hadn’t his brain received the memo?

  No relapses allowed.

  He wanted to move out of Isaac’s house, and soon. His probation deal, however, barred his independence until a psychologist deemed him “stable.” Which, until five minutes ago, he’d believed he had nearly achieved.

  His body shook with nerves as he brushed off his knees and stood. No use in ignoring facts. Dr. Jen needed to adjust the dosage on his meds. She always said medicating schizophrenia was a moving target. Its magic bullseye had apparently relocated. They’d have to search for it again.

  Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades as he stumbled across the jetty. He kept his eyes trained on the ground as he passed the yacht club, and he refused to believe the tunnel vision that transformed Isaac’s sandy backyard into the endless Sahara.

  “Every insurmountable task can be broken down into smaller, manageable ones. Don’t worry about leaping when you can take a small step,” Dr. Jen had told him last week.

  Only 562 steps existed between Isaac’s house and the jetty’s end. He’d already taken fifty. Five hundred and twelve to go. With painstaking precision, he counted each step out loud. Around the three hundreds, his throat became so dry his tongue swelled. He kept counting.

  Step 562 placed him directly behind the screen door. He yanked it open and made a beeline to the kitchen, where his pillbox lay on top of the ancient microwave. He twisted off the cap and shook out a small, yellow round tablet. After a short pause, he fished out two more. With trembling hands, he tossed the pills in his mouth and ran the faucet. Water spilled over his face as he leaned down and gulped. He heaved with exhaustion and slid down the cabinets, crumpling on the gray and white linoleum.

  Joshua sat next to him. “Can’t say I feel bad for you. Nasty things happen when you abandon me.”

  “I know.”

  Liam stared straight ahead in dreadful anticipation of more hallucinations. Although none came, and his muscles screamed to stretch, he didn’t dare move. Motion might earn him unwanted attention. Moments turned into hours turned into days turned into years.

  Silence reigned until a door slammed in the carport outside the kitchen. He summoned all the courage he possessed and moved his head to glance at the clock. 5:36 p.m. His mother and Tasha were home.

  A surge of adrenaline-filled panic provided him with the strength to stand. If his mother discovered him like this, he’d be back in a clinic tonight. He lumbered into the living room and flopped onto the couch. The remote slipped out of his fumbling fingers twice, but he pressed the power button right as the front door banged open. Better to be semi-catatonic in front of the TV like a normal American.

  “Liam!” Tasha cried with delight, running toward her older brother with arms wide. She threw all of her fifty pounds into a bear hug.

  “Hey, baby girl.” Extra medication had a tendency to make him slur words, so he focused on his pronunciation. Hopefully, he didn’t overcompensate. His mother hated it when he sounded like a robot.

  Tasha pulled back from her hug and dazzled Liam with a proud, toothless grin. “I lost another one at school!” she proclaimed, poking her tongue through the gap in her front teeth. Her corkscrew curls, pulled up into pigtails topped with gossamer butterflies, danced with each bounce she took.

  “Tooth losing is not allowed!” he said in mock horror. “You must stop growing. Consider that an order, cadet!”

  She covered her mouth with warm, brown hands and giggled.

  How many more years before she discovered how screwed up he was? One? Two?

  “Look what I made you.” She dug in her pocket and retrieved a neon-orange looped bracelet. She dangled it near his chin. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it.” He took the plastic bracelet from her small hands and rolled it onto his wrist. With a theatrical flourish, he waved his arm in the air. She laughed again.

  His mother, Allison, stood in the doorway and inspected her children’s interaction. Her light-olive complexion looked paler than normal for this point in the summer. She hadn’t spent much time outside this year. Under Liam’s gaze, her narrow shoulders tightened and inched close to her ears.

  “What’d you do today?” she asked.

  “Relaxed. Like I was supposed to.”

  Allison clenched her teeth but didn’t push further. She never discussed his health with Tasha near. By now, her covering-up skills almost surpassed his.

  “Who’s hungry?” She slung her knock-off Chanel purse onto the dining-room table and sank into the couch next to her children.

  “I’m starving!” Tasha said.

  Liam shook his head. His medication both suppressed his appetite and slowed his metabolism, making him gain weight even while he ate less. Yet another wonderful side effect.

  “I am, too. Go cook me some dinner,” Allison ordered in jest.

  “What? I can’t make dinner. I’m only five!” Tasha argued. “Liam should do it. He’s a grown-up.”

  “Grown-up.” Such a subjective term. While technically an adult at twenty-five, in reality, he enjoyed less freedom than a young teen.

&
nbsp; Tasha hopped up and commenced her hungry dance, which involved rubbing her belly and sliding her feet backward in a herky-jerky moonwalk imitation. If a cuter dance existed in the universe, Liam had yet to see it. His little sister could ask him to do whatever she liked, including cooking, and he’d oblige.

  “All right then. What do you want?” Liam asked. He knew not to look at his mother but did anyhow. The same worry lines and sour expression crossed her face now that accompanied any helpful proclamations on his part.

  The front door creaked open once again. Isaac strode through it, wearing his standard Air Force blues. He lifted off his hat and tossed it at the light-oak hall tree. Because it was Isaac’s hat, and he charmed whatever he touched, it found a home on a hook and hung there. The silver oak leaf insignia on his uniform declaring him a lieutenant colonel glinted off the late afternoon light.

  Tasha skipped over to him and buried herself in his chest. A wide smile crossed Isaac’s face before he bent down to kiss her forehead.

  “How are my ladies today?” He tapped Tasha’s nose and nodded at Allison.

  “Great! Liam’s gonna make us dinner!” Tasha said.

  “Oh?” Isaac’s carefree smile withered, and his dark-brown eyes narrowed.

  Allison shifted on the couch.

  If Liam was a better son, he’d try harder to get along with his stepfather. It shouldn’t be so difficult. He could see why his mother loved the man. Isaac epitomized the definition of the total package. The outside of the box―dark-brown skin, tall, athletic build―matched the inside; a brilliant, caring, and analytical mind.

  Still, Liam bristled with anger whenever near his stepfather. It stung that his mother had married somebody so opposite of his father, and by extension, him. He’d managed the rejection from afar. But now that he lived with the man who symbolized everything he never could be? Unbearable.

  Isaac set a flat stare on Liam. “What’s on the menu for tonight?”

  “It’s a surprise.” He winked at Isaac. What did the man think? That Liam would serve up the old bitty who lived across the street? Although the idea had crossed his mind a few times―the woman wasn’t even human anymore, so technically it wouldn’t be cannibalism―he wouldn’t offend his family’s naïve sensibilities.