No evidence of a murder lingered. No dried blood stains. No fresh gashes in the wood. No splintered boards. Nothing.
Liam dropped to his knees and grabbed hold of the dock with his left hand as he leaned over to his right and hung his body over the lapping water. Crusty barnacles adhered to the piling next to the empty slip. Not a spatter of blood tarnished them. He breathed out, relief and despair washing over him in equal measures. His head dangled below the dock. And then it occurred to him.
Look up.
So he did. No rusty bloodstains darkened the wood. Instead, his eyes caught on a large, sealed plastic baggie fastened with duct tape to the underside of the pier. He reached over and grabbed hold of the baggie and ripped off the duct tape. He swung the baggie above the dock and froze when it landed in his lap.
Due in part to his general disdain for mind-altering narcotics-he could summon up an alternate reality on his own, thank you very much-he’d never dabbled in drugs. Still, he was certain that’s what lay in his lap now. Hundreds of smaller bags containing a powdery, white substance filled the plastic baggie. He cast a furtive glance at the clubhouse. The patrons checked their phones and smoked cigarettes. None so much as acknowledged his existence.
Liam opened the plastic bag, retrieved one of the smaller packets, and flicked it with his fingertips. Its white contents looked an awful lot like cocaine.
Curious whether the powder would shimmer in the sun, he held it above his head. Instead of focusing on the drugs, however, his eyes fixed on a white sailboat like the one from his vision. Except this one sailed directly toward him.
The murderer, Cull, leaned forward on Freedom’s bow. Unlike last time, he looked directly at Liam, boring a hole in his eyes with a hard and unyielding stare.
iam had no time to question whether or not the sailboat and Cull were real. He scrambled to his feet, dropped the large, plastic baggie, and sprinted back to land. Winded by the time he arrived at the clubhouse, he spared a glance back at the marina. Freedom already floated in her slip. Her skipper hopped onto the dock and grabbed the bag of drugs. Cull then hefted it onto the boat’s deck without letting Liam out of his sight.
A gust of wind flapped a piece of plastic peeking between Liam’s knuckles. With a sinking sensation, he unclutched his fist and groaned. He’d forgotten to leave behind the small pack of drugs.
Shit.
A few yacht club members gave him the side-eye as he ran past. He briefly considered asking them for help, but what could he say?
A dealer just caught me stealing his drugs! Help!
Cursing the extra pounds he’d gained, he fled back to Isaac’s house. By the time he crossed the street and hit the sandy backyard, his hamstrings and lungs burned with exertion. He stashed the cocaine in his pocket and looked backward.
Cull chased him, of course, and closed the gap between them at a terrifying rate.
His heart pounded and his head throbbed, but Liam continued to drag his feet through the sand. He barely gulped down enough oxygen to keep his lungs working. Then he realized he’d forgotten to count. He had no idea how many steps remained until he reached Isaac’s back door.
If he’d thought it hard to breathe before, now it felt impossible. Had he reached the four hundreds? Or closer to home, somewhere in the five hundreds? Dark spots swam in his vision as he struggled forward. He swung his arms in the air like he swam freestyle, hoping the motion would move him faster. It didn’t.
The dark spots in his eyes turned to clouds that obscured his mother, head bowed behind the kitchen window. He panted for breath.
Liam tried to yell for her attention, but his plea came out a haggard, pathetic whisper. He stopped running and doubled over. With the last of his dwindling energy, he looked up and from the bottom of his chest, screamed, “Help!”
Startled by her son’s yelling, Allison looked up in surprise. Her face fell as she spotted him. At first, she hesitated. Then she disappeared from view, and moments later, the screen door banged open.
“Liam?” Allison held a clear glass plate in her hand, dripping sudsy water on the concrete patio.
Exhausted, he dropped to his knees and spat on a brown patch of grass. He turned his head.
Cull was gone.
The dish crashed onto the concrete patio and shattered into a thousand slivered pieces. Allison half ran, half tiptoed through the glass shrapnel to her son and wrapped her arms around him. “Liam! What’s wrong?”
Shielded in his mother’s embrace, he regained his composure before breaking away. “A wasp chased me. I’m allergic, remember?”
“Of course. Let’s get you inside before it comes back.” She surveyed the backyard for the imaginary insect. It wasn’t the first time he’d sent her looking for objects that didn’t exist.
The two stood and picked their steps carefully to avoid the broken plate. Joshua waited behind the living room window. Smoke from his cigarette trailed his pointer and middle fingers, which he mimicked slicing across his neck. Liam looked away and focused on his little sister. Hands full of the family cat, she kept the screen door ajar by leaning her small back against it. RP hissed his typical greeting as Liam entered the house.
“Stop being so mean and nasty, Roly Poly!” said Tasha. Though her words were harsh, she cradled the animal in an affectionate hug. Too kind to know when to give up on a useless case, she continued to think she could domesticate him.
Allison led Liam to the couch and felt his forehead as he crumpled onto it. All the commotion must’ve alerted Isaac, who strode into the room and frowned.
“What happened?” he asked.
Tasha hopped on her toes and jostled the cat in her arms. “Liam got chased by a wasp!”
“Is that so?” Isaac’s mouth twitched.
“Yep. But Liam is faster and stronger than any old bug. So he’s fine.”
Liam smiled at his sister. Only she could think he was fine.
Unsatisfied with his imprisonment, RP wrestled for his freedom and leapt out of Tasha’s hands. The cat swept his long tail around him as he huddled under the dining room table. No doubt he’d stay there until dinner so he could nibble on Liam’s toes. Furry little bastard.
“Sorry to be so dramatic.” His chest still rose and fell in rapid waves.
“You sure you didn’t get bitten?” Allison inspected his arms and legs for any telltale welts.
“Positive. I repel all living creatures, including insects.” He meant it as a joke, but Tasha alone laughed. “It’s a lot of excitement for me, though, so I’m going to unwind in my room.”
He tried to ignore the relief in Isaac’s eyes.
Despite minor protestations from his mother and rather more vocal ones from his sister, he made his way to his room and shut the door. He checked his phone, left on the dresser in his haste to leave the house earlier, and found a voicemail from Dr. Jen.
“Liam, I’m sorry about how our last session ended. I think it might be best if you come back in, and we can discuss how you’re feeling. Please text me and let me know if you can come to my office tomorrow morning at nine.”
Tears of relief welled in his eyes. He hadn’t scared off his psychologist. He texted Dr. Jen a simple “yes” before sagging to the cool floor.
“What were you thinking, dumbass? Trying to attract more attention?” said Joshua. He punctuated each sentence with a thrust of the cigarette in his hand. “What made you fancy yourself some private dick that could poke around in other people’s business?”
“I needed to know. If the vision was real or not.”
Joshua scoffed. “Did you satisfy your curiosity?”
Quite the opposite. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the same man from his vision was a drug dealer. Liam slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out the small bag of white powder. His dresser drawer creaked as he opened it and crammed the packet beneath a few rumpled pairs of boxers. Nobody would look there but him.
Joshua tapped on the metal blinds drawn tight. “You need
to see what you’ve started,” he said. “Open these.”
“No.” Liam never opened his blinds. Nosy neighbors like Mrs. Channer didn’t deserve to ogle his room.
“You’re going to want to see this,” Joshua insisted.
Relenting, Liam crawled over to the edge of his room. With his forefinger and thumb, he separated two blinds from one another, the metal crinkling in complaint. At first, his search uncovered only the afternoon sun beating down on the sickly yellow lawn. But, as he peered around, he found him.
Cull stood behind a tree a few feet beyond the property line. He squinted at Isaac’s house, flexing his fists open and shut. Liam yanked his fingers away from the blinds.
Joshua squatted down to eye level with him. “I told you he’d find you.”
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27th
iam tapped his fingernails on the chair and traced large circles on the brown carpet with his shoes. Dr. Jen’s apparition had appeared next to her at the very start of the session and stayed there ever since. Though he tried ignoring it, his peripheral vision kept catching on the ghostly woman’s dark infinity tattoo.
“So, the murderer saw you this time.” Dr. Jen rested her chin on her fist.
Eyes glued to the invisible circles he’d drawn, Liam leaned back. “Yes.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“He would’ve killed me if he caught me. But I got home just in time. He ran away when he saw my mother.”
The black leather on her chair creased as she leaned into it. “Do you think it might not be a coincidence he disappeared when others might’ve seen him?”
He rolled out his bottom lip. Of course, he’d considered the possibility. The little baggie of drugs was real enough, though. He could bring it to Dr. Jen as proof, but then he’d have to admit he’d stolen cocaine. That didn’t look great on a number of fronts.
“Maybe.”
“Regardless, you’re quite concerned, aren’t you?”
He fought a dry mouth and cracked open his lips. “My life is in serious danger. Cull’s watching me. Waiting for me.”
“I’d like to suggest Cull is a proxy for your emotions.” She laced her fingers together. “What you’re feeling is natural. You’re nearing your goal of independence, but a part of you is scared to achieve it and is self-sabotaging your efforts. I don’t think your symptoms are progressing; rather, they’re simply evolving.”
He chewed on the thought. While the idea of being free to do what he wanted, when he wanted, appealed to him after having his every move scrutinized and analyzed for years, it also frightened him. Isaac and his mother weren’t the only ones who didn’t trust his judgment. He would make mistakes, and lots of them, while on his own.
If he could forget about the packet of drugs, Dr. Jen’s theory made sense.
For the first time since entering the office, he lifted his face. Time was almost up. A digital clock glowed 9:43 in green LED letters. Above the clock, a new print had replaced the previous one.
“I see you took down the awful Van Gogh.” He gestured at the new print in its place, a neutral and pleasing piece featuring baby loggerhead turtles hatching and waddling out to the ocean. The sea sparkled blue in the print and beckoned the vibrant green turtles to its warm waters.
“Nobody’s gonna stab you for that one. Except maybe the art police.”
She smiled. “It’s not the most original print in the world, but it’ll suffice for the time being. I shouldn’t have had that Van Gogh in my office.” She arched her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Even psychologists experience lapses in judgment.”
The inside of his cheek stung as he gnawed on it. Dr. Jen expected him to cop to researching her. He wouldn’t lie, but he wouldn’t risk losing her, either.
“I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. May we discuss it later?”
When honesty wasn’t an option, procrastination was usually a helpful crutch.
She gazed at him with a pensive expression. “All right. But I’d like to talk about it in the near future.”
The vision next to her intensified. Instead of remaining white, the stripes on the dress turned pink and blue. The projection’s skin deepened from death white to the same dark beige of Dr. Jen’s skin. Her eyes resembled small pools of inky blackness, and he couldn’t distinguish where her iris separated from her cornea.
He dipped his head and attempted to look properly chastened. “So next appointment in two days?”
“Two days,” she agreed.
He cracked his knuckles. Two days could be a long time.
arge drops of rain spattered across the Hyundai’s windshield. The wipers strained against the downpour, unable to keep pace with the storm. Liam hunched over the steering wheel and sighed a breath of relief as he pulled off Highway 98 and onto the Gulf Coast State College campus. He parked in lot D and grabbed his backpack, holding it over his head before dashing to the library.
He shouldered his way through wet students milling around the atrium. The close contact made his mouth itch. In general, people meant interacting. Interacting meant judgment. And judgment didn’t put his mind in a great place. At the best, he hoped others would find him quirky. At the worst, he’d scare them.
He hoped to avoid the worst.
Near the rear of the building, he found a row of empty computer workstations. He plunked down at one and flung the rainwater off his hands. Grateful for his newly minted GCSC identity, he logged into the school’s network. Time for some research.
Although he’d prefer to use the family computer at home, Isaac prevented that option. His stepfather monitored any electronic devices he accessed. His use of the family computer particularly concerned Isaac. He checked every evening which websites Liam had visited, which terms he’d searched. So when Liam didn’t want his stepfather breathing down his neck, he had to utilize technology someplace else. Like the library. Preferably one not on base.
Thank God for community college.
Perhaps school wouldn’t be so bad after all. He wasn’t up to class yet, but he could honestly tell his mother he’d been at GCSC today. Maybe after a few more trips to the library, he could sit through a lecture.
He typed in “murder at Tyndall AFB yacht club” and browsed through the disappointing results. No matching hits. He looked for missing person reports in the news. Still nothing.
In growing frustration, he searched, “drowning at Panama City Beach.” He sifted through the hits, looking for one describing what he’d seen, and clicked on a promising death announcement. A tingling sensation ran up his spine.
The red-haired woman from the beach stared back at him from the monitor. The article described her as the widow of one Allen Smith, who had drowned on July eighteenth of the previous year. She had watched from shore as her husband drowned, unable to swim and assist him. Liam traced the woman’s picture on the screen.
“Well, that’s a little uncanny,” a low, feminine voice said from beside him.
He jumped in his seat. A beautiful, young woman read the internet article over his shoulder. His brain fought for a moment to recognize her.
Mai. The woman from Diamond Bay Park.
“Sounds exactly like what you described at the beach.” She wrinkled her nose. “Are you one of those obsessive types who reads about events and then reenacts them?”
Only in his dreams.
“I’m doing research for a class,” Liam said.
“Hmm. And which class is that?” Mai crossed her arms in front of her chest. She wore a red tank and cutoff jeans. A gold crucifix adorned her neck and glinted off the fluorescent lights. Her flip-flops exposed toes painted a deep crimson.
“Why do you care?”
“You’re different, Liam Murphy, and different intrigues me.” She pulled out the chair next to him, turned it around, straddled it, and crisscrossed her arms over the backrest. “Why don’t you try telling me the truth? I’m an open-minded gal.”
“I’ve found people tend to be a little less open-mi
nded than they profess.”
“Ohh, a philosopher. I like that, too.” Mai’s cheeks dimpled when she smiled.
In a desperate bid to redirect the conversation, he resorted to rudeness. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re not the only person in Panama City who attends college. I’m studying for a class. Can’t you tell?” She winked at him. It took him aback. Had anybody ever winked at him? Not like a “my meds are making me tic-y so I’m blinking unevenly in your general direction” wink, but a real honest-to-goodness, flirty wink?
Mai dug into her backpack, a ratty black utilitarian bag bearing the scars of years of abuse. She pulled out the same Chemistry 101 textbook nestled in his bag and waved it in the air.
“Thrilling, right? But it fulfills a required course, so I’m taking it.”
After a brief deliberation, he gambled on conversation. “I’m signed up for the same class.”
She glanced at her watch, a slim, silver Citizen. “Funny. Class starts in three minutes. Doesn’t look like you plan on attending.”
“I’m more of a ‘show up for the tests’ kind of student.”
“Ahh. So intent on being important you turn out mediocre?” She held out her hand, forestalling the rebuttal on his lips. “Not that being mediocre is wrong. It’s actually a goal of mine. I’m aiming for perfectly average. Average looks, average intellect, average job. I’m going to prove to my older sister I can be perfectly average and perfectly happy at the same time.”
“I’m not sure you’re doing a particularly good job of hitting your target.” Liam’s brow dotted with perspiration.
“Excuse me?” Mai placed her hands on her hips.
“You’re rather north of average, in my opinion.”
“Well, Liam Murphy. Was that a compliment?” She leaned forward, a playful look glinting in her eyes.
Struck dumb by the flirtatious discussion, he sat open-mouthed.
“Not so quick on the comebacks, are you? I don’t mind. In fact, I’ve been searching for an average guy for a while. The overachievers require too much maintenance for my taste. And the one lowlife I dated taught me some terrible lessons I never need to relearn.” She looked him up and down. “Just when I’d decided Average Joes don’t exist, you up and materialize.”
Bleed Through Page 4
