Ever the professional, she returned to form and pretended nothing abnormal had occurred. “If he returns, how do you plan on interacting with him?”
By keeping to myself.
“We’ll be civil to one another. For Tasha and Mom’s sakes.”
“It would be natural for Isaac to bear some feelings of resentment about what happened to your sister. Are you prepared to discuss the subject with him?”
He swallowed. “My stepfather won’t talk with me about his emotions. He keeps his distance.”
“What if you confided in him first? If you trust him with your feelings, would the gates of communication swing open?”
A disbelieving snort shot out of his nose. “Most definitely not.”
She shrugged. “You’ll never know until you try. You’ve made remarkable steps in the past week, Liam. You should be proud of your progress.”
He raised both hands in the air, clapped them together, and mimicked an Olympian’s victory pump. “When do I get my trophy for ‘Most Improved Psychotic Patient?’”
She actually smiled. “Are you keeping up with your meds?”
“Yes.” While he’d taken twenty steps backward on his trip to independence, he still yearned to live on his own. If “sane” life included troubling memories and projections, then so be it. It was better than the alternative.
“I’ll see you on Monday. Call me if you need me before then.”
For a sentimental moment, Liam considered telling Dr. Jen what a positive impact she’d had on his life. That he’d made more progress with her in six months than years with other psychologists. That she should let go of whatever guilt she carried about her sister because some burdens weren’t meant to be carried forever. That she’d more than made up for whatever sins she’d committed.
Instead, he said, “See you on the flipside.”
n the drive home from Liam’s appointment, Allison flipped through radio stations, discontent with her options until she landed on a country channel playing a Sam Hunt song. She tapped her fingers in time on the steering wheel and stared out at the long road ahead of them.
Liam shut his eyes and leaned back in his chair, thinking of Mai and wondering if she liked the song. It’d be nice to ask her in person, but he still hadn’t called her since returning home. If he reached out and discovered she was another figment of his imagination, some of his best memories ever―like the touch of her soft lips against his, or the feel of her warm skin, or even the way her southern accent made his name sound sexy and special―were hallucinations.
His eyes flashed open as Allison stomped on the brakes. The Hyundai hummed an inch behind a golden Cadillac. The gray-haired woman driving it turned around and gave his mother an ugly glare.
“Come on, sweetheart. A yellow light doesn’t mean stop, you old snowbird,” Allison muttered.
He turned his face and concealed a smile. To his mother, yellow meant floor the gas. Her speedster tendencies had earned her a well-deserved ticket or two.
A small brick building to the right caught his attention. Flat-roofed and humble, a neon sign hanging from the window read, “Parker Florist.” Tacked to the front door, a hastily written poster board proclaimed “Homecoming Specials!” An orange tabby cat snuggled tight by the entrance, lying by an empty water dish.
He pointed to the sign. “Huh. Must be homecoming this weekend,” he said.
“How can you tell?” Allison leaned over his seat.
“On the doorway over there, right where the orange cat is. No doubt some poor sucker is gonna buy his boutonniere there.” He’d missed much during his later adolescent years, but he didn’t regret having to skip school dances. Those seemed to be exercises in torture set to pop music.
“I don’t see―” the sudden urgent blare of a horn from the intersection ahead cut off whatever she said next. A Town Car blazed through it and crashed into an SUV crossing from the other direction. The SUV spun out of control, aiming directly toward the Cadillac in front of them.
“Duck!” He threw his arm across his mother and braced for impact.
Five seconds passed, and the Hyundai’s constant loud hum didn’t so much as hiccup. Country music continued to stream from its speakers. He blinked.
No Town Car smoked in the middle of the intersection, and the Cadillac in front of them remained fully intact. The woman inside adjusted her old lady helmet in the mirror.
Allison kept stock-still, her flaring nostrils the only sign of her discomfort.
“I thought I saw a car about to crash into us,” he said. “My mistake.” He craned his neck to the side, looking over the entire intersection. Not even a single skid mark stained the road.
She rubbed the dark circles of her eyes. “So you hallucinated an accident? Is that a normal occurrence for you?”
He doubted his definition of “normal” matched hers.
“No. Don’t worry about it.” Despite his denial, he could see from his mother’s face she most definitely would.
The light ahead turned green. As they passed through the intersection, he scanned the road for proof of the accident, hoping to find a spare lug nut or strip of rubber. Nothing but heat-baked asphalt appeared. He’d imagined it. Like he’d imagined Alexandra, the twins, the sexy librarian, the murder at the yacht club, and probably even Mai.
Would it really kill his schizophrenia to give him a few weeks’ rest?
His mother had the grace not to grill him on the episode, and the two rode in an uncomfortable silence. The tap of his right foot on the floor mat counted the seconds until he returned home and spent the rest of his afternoon in solitude.
Solitude, however, did not await him. Instead, Isaac and his suitcase sat on the front porch. He waved in greeting as they pulled up the driveway.
“Family Advocacy must’ve cleared him,” Liam said.
His mother bit her lip. She’d had a long couple of weeks. Separated from her daughter and husband, monitoring him had become her primary job. And this particular job boasted the benefits of exhaustion and thanklessness.
Isaac opened Allison’s car door and bent down to give her a kiss. She moved her face to the right in a deflection maneuver.
“Are you home for good?” she asked.
Romantic efforts rebuffed, Isaac removed his long fingers from the door and backed away from his wife. “Until I’m told otherwise.”
Allison stepped out of the car and held her purse in front of her like a faux-leather shield while she made a beeline for the front door.
Damn. She usually reserves that sort of treatment for me. Isaac has some peacock-sized feathers to unruffle.
Liam sent a quick nod in Isaac’s direction after closing the passenger door. “Nice to see you back,” he said. If his mother wouldn’t extend an olive branch, he could at least offer a trite welcome.
“Thanks. I’m happy to be home. I would’ve waited for you in the house, but I didn’t have the new key.” He gestured toward the new black hardware. “When did you change the locks?”
Allison ignored the question and pushed open the door. “Your key is on the nightstand in our bedroom. I figured you’d call before coming home so I could make sure to be here.”
Isaac grabbed her hand. “You’re right. I should’ve called. These last few weeks have challenged all of us. Let’s make tonight enjoyable. We’ve earned it.”
The two locked eyes. Liam studied his shoes in discomfort and pushed past them.
RP galloped toward him and rubbed against his legs in greeting. Grateful for the distraction, he petted the cat’s head then made his way to the living room. He sank into the cool leather of the couch and grabbed the TV remote. More than ready for some mindless entertainment, he flipped on the television and allowed RP to settle in his lap. He tuned out Isaac and Allison’s conversation near the dining room table.
Nothing interested him, so he settled for the local news. The segment featured a feel-good piece about a Rutherford High School football player’s full scholarsh
ip to the University of Florida. The kid beamed in his interview, excited about the prospects of his future. Liam tried to remember the feeling.
A blinking red ticker flashed “BREAKING NEWS!” across the screen. The news anchor tapped paperwork on her desk. She said, “Channel Six brings you an exclusive, developing story about a gruesome discovery for some boaters this morning out at Shell Island. A family in search of some relaxing beach time instead found a man’s body hidden in the dunes.”
He looked over his shoulder at the windows facing the beach. He could see Shell Island from where he sat. It’d be a quick trip from the yacht club to dispose of a body there.
The newscaster continued, “Police have identified the deceased individual as one―”
“Stuart Laughlin.” He matched the reporter’s words verbatim.
The conversation behind him stopped abruptly. Voice strained, Isaac said, “What? Stuart is dead? How’d you know that, Liam?”
He fought off a wave of nausea. “I heard it on the news earlier,” he lied. The TV blinked to black as he turned it off. He’d heard enough already.
Allison’s shoes clicked across the linoleum. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You knew the victim?” Her brow furrowed so hard she looked like an eighty-year-old.
“Nah. I remember his name from the news story.” He tried not to fidget.
“I knew him,” Isaac said. He rubbed his close-cropped head with an unsteady hand and joined Allison. “Remember that civilian paralegal I told you about? The guy acting erratically and missing work? His name is Stuart Laughlin.”
Isaac fixed a rock-hard glare at Liam.
Tick, tick, boom.
’m so sorry, Isaac. What terrible news.” Allison squeezed Liam’s clavicle. “When did you hear about it, honey?”
With the exception of his appointment, they’d been together all day.
“It came on the radio between songs. Don’t you remember?”
She blanched. Of course she didn’t remember. It hadn’t actually occurred.
Isaac didn’t take his eyes off Liam. “Stuart missed work today. I rang his cell but never got a call back. I figured he’d come into work tomorrow with some lame excuse, and I’d have to fire him.”
“Do you know more about this than you’re saying, Liam?” Allison fingered the seam on the couch’s shoulder.
“No. How would I?”
She bobbed her head as if agreeing with some internal voice.
Liam’s shirt’s collar seemed to constrict. He yanked it away from his skin. “I’m going to take a walk, get some fresh air.”
“Don’t be gone too long,” she murmured. She turned and leaned against the mahogany buffet, knocking over his framed tae kwon do portrait. It lay face down on the buffet. She didn’t right it.
Cheeks burning with anger, he fled out the front door and jogged to the sidewalk that snaked along Eagle Drive.
The early evening sun beat down on yellow ramblers that lined either side of the street. Brown placards placed in the front lawns declared the inhabitant’s rank and name. Once upon a time, he’d known most of his neighbors, on a base not dissimilar to this one. As a child, he’d roam the neighborhood with a pack of kids, hopping from house to house in search of entertainment. He’d loved the constant access to tens of playmates and had considered it the best part of living on base.
Now, he didn’t know a single neighbor. Except for the Channers.
Them he knew rather too well.
About half a mile down the road, the sidewalk led to a small parking lot next to a beach access point. By the time he arrived there, his hair had curled into tight red ringlets and perspiration marked his armpits and lower back. He kicked off his flip-flops and walked onto the snowy white beach and inhaled the salty air.
Across the blue waves of the Gulf stood the small barrier island where the unlucky family had found Stuart’s body. Shell Island was a lonely place, uninhabited and isolated. While Cull would’ve been smarter to toss Stuart’s body into the ocean, it lacked the panache a Shell Island discovery offered. It also meant Cull wanted Stuart’s body found. Why commit a murder if you couldn’t flaunt it?
A sailboat crossed the horizon, its sails blackened by the setting sun. Liam reached out to it and squashed the miniature boat between his thumb and forefinger. He waded into the water and drove his toes deep into the sand. From somewhere deep within his mind, Alexandra urged him farther. Although caged by incredibly high doses of medicine, she hid in the folds and conduits of his brain. He resisted her entreaties.
A flock of birds swarmed above him in the dimming light. They dove down to the sea and skimmed above its surface before ascending once again to the sky. A wave crested, speckling the hem of his khaki shorts with sea spray. He bent over and trailed his fingers over the warm water, tickling its surface. The water pulled and swayed under his touch.
He knelt down and plunged his hands into the sand, and he flexed his knuckles in an effort to dig deeper. Though seawater drenched his shirt and shorts, the soothing tug of the current reminded him of his father, who’d been as steady as the tide, strong and predictable.
Liam flashed back to a favorite childhood memory. They’d attended a Christmas parade, his father, mother, and he. His dad had carried him on his shoulders. A clumsy six-year-old, he’d sloshed a cup of hot chocolate onto his father’s uncovered head. Terrified he’d hurt his dad and would get in trouble, his father had surprised him with a slow, rumbling laugh. He’d said, “Thanks for keeping me warm!” and then grasped Liam’s mittened hand.
The recollection, and others like it, was all that remained of his father. If he succumbed to schizophrenia, would it disappear? Or would imprints remain of it, like the ones he saw? Would somebody in another time or place see his treasured memories? Were they strong enough to remain after his mind abandoned him?
A wave slapped his face. Salt water stung his eyes and ran down his cheekbones. His body went rigid as understanding blossomed through his mind. He’d been thinking of the memory imprints all wrong, like linear occurrences. But memories weren’t linear or orderly. They evolved over time, changing as much as the person who carried them. Memories wove themselves into an endless cycle, where knowing when one moment stopped and the next began was sometimes impossible.
Not all of the imprints Liam had seen were from the past. Some were visions from the future.
He’d seen the murder at the yacht club before it occurred. No sign of a struggle appeared when he’d checked previously because Stuart had been still alive. Blood had yet to be spilled.
The day before, the heavens had unleashed a torrential downpour in the late afternoon. Just like in his vision.
He looked across the waves toward the marina. The evidence would be there now.
There was only one way to find the truth.
He needed to go back.
ompacted sand absorbed Liam’s footfalls as he ran toward the marina. Dusk wrapped its increasingly heavy cloak over the water and surrounding beach. He had to hurry, or there’d be no light to help him investigate. Before long, Liam’s thighs itched with exertion, and his lungs begged for air.
As he neared the dock, he hoped for the first time the yacht club would be busy. A retiree tying up her speedboat or a couple sharing drinks on the club’s deck would do the trick.
No such luck. Not a soul joined him at the marina.
He was on his own.
A severe stitch slowed his run to a walk as he traveled the familiar trail to the jetty he once considered a safe place. Instead of following it to its end, he stepped out onto the dock where his vision had occurred.
Cull’s sailboat, Freedom, rested in its slip, fifty paces from where he stood. Gently swaying waves slapped its hull.
The oncoming night darkened the weather-beaten dock and hampered his examination of its surface. But he knew where to look―his memory of the murder hadn’t faded one smidge.
A rusty brown spot discolored the wood where Stuart’s he
ad had lain after Cull beat him. It formed an abstract hourglass figure, outlining the contours of his face and bashed skull. Liam squatted down and ran his fingers across the splintering slats.
Cull had really killed Stuart here.
Liam scooted over to the piling and held on as he leaned over the dock. Below it appeared massive, dark stains where rainwater hadn’t washed off the blood.
Shuffling from Freedom’s deck sent goose bumps racing up his spine.
He swung his head up and jumped to a squat. Fear seared his nerves. He expected to see Cull aboard Freedom, pointing a gun at his head. Dusk, however, skippered the sailboat alone tonight.
His heart beat again as he rose to his feet and tiptoed toward Freedom. Its deck glistened white. He leaned over and sniffed the hull where he’d seen Cull throw Stuart’s body. The strong scent of bleach made him cough.
“Can’t leave well enough alone, can you, boy?” Cull asked from below deck.
He froze.
From the depths of the sailboat, Cull said, “This is all your fault. Stuart’s death. The drop in sales because of increased law enforcement attention. All of it.”
A terrible mixture of fear and rage took hold of Liam. His hands shuddered as he inched backward. “You’re not real!” he yelled. Cull, and all of the blood, so much blood, was too horrible to be real.
“There’s one way to find out. Why don’t you join me below deck for a little drink? Let’s see how real I am.”
Liam swallowed. He placed a hand on the sailboat.
“Keep coming, son. Don’t be scared.”
“You don’t have to play along with your hallucinations, Liam. Make your own decisions,” Dr. Jen had advised him.
He ground his teeth, removed his hand, and took two bounding steps away.
“This ain’t the right decision. It’s gonna cost you. And your family,” Cull said.
Liam shivered and ran back to the yacht club, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side. He spared a final glance at the sailboat once his feet hit the parking lot. Freedom rocked on the waves, her deck devoid of any signs of life.
Bleed Through Page 20
