Chapter 26
Aiden could hardly think straight. He should have settled for an oxy, but he'd wanted to save those for later. Instead, he'd smoked pot. And then somebody'd offered him another pill—something he'd never tried before. He couldn't remember who gave it to him, couldn't remember the name of it, and had no idea what it was. All he knew was, he was wasted.
He liked it. Liked it a lot, but he had to do something. Something was wrong.
He had to think.
He forced his gaze up from the chair. Saw the TV on. Call of Duty. Two guys were seated on the couch with headsets, talking and playing the video game. One was the guy he'd met at the Nuthouse—Bill. Or maybe Bob. He thought the other was the owner of this house. He could hardly remember now.
The place was a dump and stank like stale smoke and cold pizza. Oh, right. There was a pizza box on the floor. Aiden had bought it when the munchies hit. A few pieces, one with a bite taken out of it, were left lying there, but Aiden couldn't imagine eating now. His stomach was twisted in a knot. Like something was wrong. But he couldn't remember what.
Curled up on the chair across from him, a girl was sound asleep, her arm hanging off the edge. He didn't think he'd ever caught her name. She wasn't cute or anything. Her hair was stringy and gross, and her face had some sort of rash on it. He thought she went with the guy who lived there.
Seeing her reminded him of something. Someone asleep.
Crap. That was it. Aiden had left his father sound asleep at the house. He'd planned to go straight home. Then planned to get high and go straight home. Then there'd been the pill, the pizza, the sofa.
He had to get back before Dad woke up.
He sat up, stretched. Checked his pockets. The other pills he'd bought were still there. They should be enough to get him through the week. He stood, and the room spun. He waited for the feeling to pass, figured he'd be better when he hit the fresh air. "I'm outta here."
The Nuthouse guy—Bill/Bob—barely glanced away from the screen. "You need anything else, you know where to find me. I can hook you up."
Aiden would need to make what he'd already bought last the week. He'd found an ATM and taken out what little cash was in his account. After the pizza, there was none left.
The air outside was warm and thick with humidity—not the refreshing blast he'd hoped for. He unlocked Dad's Camry and slipped inside, blinking to wake himself up. He was usually fine after an oxy, but whatever he'd taken was making him so tired. He had to get back to the cabin and crash before Dad woke up and saw how wasted he was.
He backed out of the drive, then slammed on the brakes when he saw a car in the rearview mirror. It was parked on the street across from the driveway. Thank God he hadn't hit it. No way to explain away a dent.
He turned carefully onto the little suburban street. Was this the right way? He couldn't remember, and he didn't want to power on Dad's phone just yet. If Dad was awake, and if he was trying to find him, then turning on the map program might enable his locator. Last thing he wanted to do was have the cops show up here, raid Bill/Bob's stash. He'd just drive, put some distance between himself and the house. Maybe he could find his way back to the cabin without the map.
He looked for anything that seemed familiar. Nothing did, but he kept on. Random lefts and rights until finally he reached the road they'd come in on—he hoped. No traffic, hardly wide enough for two cars. This little hick town didn't even know how to do roads right. Still, it was kind of cool with the lake and all the trees, and apparently they weren't very far from the ocean. Like twenty minutes, Bill/Bob said. They'd talked about going to the beach. Aiden had been all for it, but then they turned on Call of Duty, and that was that. Boring.
Boring, but still better than sober.
The car drifted off the pavement into the dirt on the right, and Aiden jerked the wheel to the left, then had to fight to straighten the car. Where were the curbs? And the sidewalks. Sheesh. A guy could kill himself out here.
He cranked up the music and the A/C. Had to stay awake until he got back to the cabin. This wasn't like driving wasted back on Long Island. He knew every road and alley in Hempstead. This was all different. And dark. Where were the streetlights, anyway? How did people drive like this?
A car came toward him, and Aiden concentrated on staying in his lane and driving straight. He focused on the road, kept his hands at ten and two like Dad had taught him. The car passed. Was that a cop? He thought he'd seen lights on the top, but he was scared to even check the rearview to find out. Dad would kill him if he got arrested.
He drove another ten minutes before he pulled over. He was never going to find his way back without the map. He powered up the phone, saw missed calls and messages from his own phone.
Crap. Dad was looking for him.
Hands shaking, he navigated to the map program. At least he'd had the brains to drop a pin at the cabin so he could find his way back. Following Siri's directions, Aiden swung the car around and headed in the opposite direction. He wasn't going to call his father back. He'd just get to the cabin and act like everything was fine. He just had to do it fast.
Thirty seconds later, a car came toward him again. He clenched his hands on the wheel, stayed in his lane, and watched as the car passed. Definitely a cop.
In the rearview, he saw brake lights. That cop was going to swing around and stop him.
If he got pulled over, he'd fail a sobriety test for sure. Aiden floored it. No way was he getting arrested tonight. No freakin' way.
Chapter 27
Eric had been very understanding.
It really ticked Garrison off.
He didn't want the cop's help. He didn't need his help. Aiden would have gone back to the cabin on his own whenever he was finished...whatever he'd been doing. And now he'd probably get picked up for DUI, all because Garrison had called the cops.
Because of Sam.
She was staring straight ahead, hands on the wheel, unmoving. She'd been like that since he'd made the call, like she was waiting for him to say something. Probably to admit she was right.
And maybe she was. He wasn't convinced, but she hadn't left him any choice.
He should say something. She'd been nothing but nice to him, nothing but helpful. And if anybody else were in this situation, Garrison would recommend they call the police. It was the right move, if he wanted to find his son. If he'd wanted to do nothing, he could have done that from the cabin. Just waited, hoped the boy would come back.
He probably should have done that. Not called anyone. Because then Sam wouldn't be sitting beside him, looking anywhere but at him. And Eric wouldn't have been understanding and patronizing on the phone, all eager to help. And Garrison wouldn't feel utterly impotent.
In the end, he knew how this would play out. The cops wouldn't be helpful. Sam wouldn't, either. Garrison had to figure this out on his own. That was the only way.
Unfortunately, it was too late to undo his choices now.
They'd been stopped on the side of the road for fifteen minutes.
"Do you want to take me back to the cabin?" he asked.
"Do you want to go back to the cabin?"
He tried to imagine what it would feel like to sit there, to pace and worry, all alone. If he asked her to, Sam would stay with him. For support. But he didn't need her support. He didn't want to need it. He couldn't be alone, and he didn't want to need. He hated to need.
"Let's keep driving," he said. "Maybe we'll see him."
She drove down each little road that led to the lake, and they looked for some sign of Aiden. No deal. Then she headed back toward town. He was getting a feel for the layout now that he'd driven every street of this tiny hamlet. Under different circumstances, he'd be charmed.
But there were drugs here, too. Drugs everywhere.
When Garrison called the police, he'd been happy to hear a woman's voice. He hadn't wanted to talk to Eric or Brady. Better to make this impersonal. But, apparently, when the dispatcher passed t
he information along to the guys on patrol, Eric recognized the name. Because Aiden Kopp wasn't John Smith, was it? Of course Eric had called.
"I got a few ideas where he could be," Eric had said. His Southern accent wasn't as pronounced now as it had been earlier, but it was still unmistakable. "If he hooked up with one of the dealers in town, I might be able to locate him."
"Great. Thanks."
"You bet. Sorry to hear this. He seemed like a nice kid."
Seemed. As if Aiden couldn't be an addict and a nice kid at the same time. Was Aiden a nice kid now? An addict, a liar, a thief? A single guy with no kids like Eric could never understand. Garrison wasn't even sure he did.
Garrison heard himself say, "He used to be."
"I don't know what this is going to look like, especially if someone else finds him first. But if I do, I'll go easy on him."
Go easy. As Sam maneuvered the car along the streets of downtown Nutfield, Garrison wondered if he should have told Eric not to go easy. What Aiden needed was the fear of God put into him, and maybe that meant getting arrested and thrown in jail. Maybe it meant being knocked around a little bit. But of course Eric and the other cops in town wouldn't do that unless Aiden resisted arrest.
He'd been taught better than that.
Course, he'd been taught not to use drugs. He'd been taught not to sneak out of the house and steal his father's car.
They reached the police station and inched by. Would Garrison see the inside of that building tonight?
His phone rang. A local number. "Kopp here."
"There was an accident." Eric's voice was all business now. "Aiden ran off the road and hit a tree."
Oh, God. "He okay?"
"Just shaken up, I think. Paramedics are on the way." He rattled off directions, which Garrison repeated.
Sam swung the car around and picked up speed. "Tell him we're ten minutes out."
Garrison spoke into the phone. "You know what happened?"
"I think he saw me and was trying to lose me."
Garrison's anger rose suddenly. "You were chasing him?"
"No," Eric said, irritatingly calm. "He saw me behind him and panicked, I think. The ambulance just got here. I'll explain more when you arrive."
Garrison hung up the phone.
"An accident?" Sam asked.
"Yeah. He said he thinks Aiden saw him following and tried to get away."
"Oh, no."
Sam might have said more, but he couldn't listen to her. He felt like he was in a trance. What if Aiden had died? What if it was worse than Eric had said? He tried to imagine what that would feel like to lose his son, but he couldn't do it. He only felt numb.
Maybe Aiden wasn't dead, but maybe he was badly injured. Paralyzed. Or brain damaged. He wouldn't be using drugs anymore, in that case.
The thought, so casual, like it didn't matter. Like his whole life didn't hinge on this.
Maybe Aiden would get arrested, thrown in jail, charged with DUI and possession. Assuming he was possessing—which Garrison did. Maybe he'd be facing jail time in New Hampshire. Would Garrison relocate here to be close to him?
Would they have mercy?
Would they throw the book at him?
Garrison experienced all these thoughts as if he were watching a movie. Look at how despondent he felt. Look at how helpless. Look at how useless and impotent. He could name the emotions, but he didn't really experience them.
But then the anger came, and that one felt real. Angry at Aiden for sneaking out. For putting him through all this. For getting addicted in the first place.
Angry at the police for screwing this up. Angry at himself, for trusting the kid, for letting himself hope.
Of all the emotions, the anger won. He glanced at Sam through a haze of it, thought of a thousand things he could say. What came out of his mouth was,
"I never should have listened to you."
Chapter 28
Sam had tried. She'd done everything she could think to do to help Garrison and Aiden, and it wasn't enough.
Why was she surprised?
The wheels rumbled along the gravelly road, and the sound scraped against her fear. Foolish woman. Foolish, useless woman.
She shook her head clear of the selfish thoughts. This was about Aiden. Please, let him be okay. If he was okay, then maybe Garrison would forgive her for meddling. If he was okay, then maybe things could go back to the way they had been. But she knew no matter what, there was no going back.
No. Focus on Aiden. Pray for Aiden. She had to stop thinking about herself. No wonder nobody loved her.
She forced her focus to Aiden and Garrison, forced herself to pray.
Finally, they reached the site of the accident. Two police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance were parked along the road, lights flashing. All those emergency vehicles—was it that bad? In the darkness, she saw men walking around in their dark uniforms, talking to each other. Nobody running. No signs of panic. But where was Aiden?
She stopped behind one of the cruisers. Garrison was out of the car and jogging toward the cluster of men before she'd shifted into park.
Maybe she should just leave. One of them would give Garrison a ride back to the cabin. Nobody needed her there.
She glanced across the street and saw Garrison's car, smashed and mangled against an unyielding tree. Her stomach roiled at the sight.
She had to know if Aiden was all right. She stepped out and followed Garrison around the ambulance.
She stopped when she saw Aiden sitting on a gurney, head in his hands. His father was seated beside him, trying to hug him, though the boy seemed to want nothing to do with it. But he was alive. Sitting up. Seemed all right.
Thank God.
She didn't get closer. She stood beside the ambulance and prayed for him, for them.
Garrison looked up and met her eyes.
She turned and headed for her SUV. She wasn't needed here.
The wind rustled the leaves, and she peered into the deep woods. They called to her.
No. She wouldn't think about that. Tonight wasn't about her. She'd already been selfish enough, and nobody had time to manage her anxiety. She could do this. Hadn't she gone to Dover? If she could drive to Dover, she could get home from here. She was only a few minutes from town.
The trees along the side of the road snickered in the breeze.
The spinning red and blue lights flickered against the trunks and played havoc with her vision.
She heard footsteps behind her and froze. Planted her feet. Braced herself. As if she could stop it from happening again.
Someone grabbed her arm.
She wheeled around and yanked away.
Garrison let her go and lifted both hands in surrender. "I didn't mean to scare you."
She took a deep breath and tried to force her heartbeat back to a normal rhythm.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I called out. Didn't you hear me?"
She hadn't. Hadn't heard anything but the echoes of the forest. She couldn't speak.
"Are you all right?"
A deep breath. "I'm fine." She swallowed a bubble of fear and forced herself to sound normal. "Is Aiden okay? I didn't see him up close, but from where I was standing... Is he hurt badly?"
"Just shaken up. The airbag deployed. He's probably good and bruised. He'll be sore tomorrow. I think he's too high right now to feel much of anything."
"Oh. Sorry."
He rubbed his hand over his short hair. "It's not your fault, Sam. None of this is your fault. I'm sorry I was such a jerk."
"It's fine."
"No, it's not."
But she didn't belong with Garrison and Aiden. Didn't belong anywhere, except maybe with the trees that drew her in, their limbs like skeletal arms longing to hold her again, their twigs like witches' fingers beckoning her toward them. She wanted to go, to let the darkness and shadows embrace her, to hide her in their crooks until nothingness descended.
The wind whispered its lies, and she lean
ed into the sound like a lullaby.
She stepped toward the edge of the forest, toward darkness and death and oblivion. Toward freedom.
A hand on her arm. Not twigs and leaves, but human fingers.
"What's wrong?" Garrison asked.
She stared into the woods that still called to her, longing to give in to the temptation, to disappear into forest and forgetfulness.
She shuddered and shook out of Garrison's grip. "I have to go." She slid inside her SUV and slammed the door.
No. She'd fought it for so long. But now, the world was closing in on her. Darkness, silence, the call of death.
The car door opened. She gasped, frozen in fear. She'd almost done it. Almost gone willingly into the abyss.
Not a heart attack. Not a heart attack.
Fear of nothing. She was crazy.
Something touched her, and she jumped.
"Hey." Garrison's voice, tender beside her. "Hey, look at me."
She couldn't open her eyes, couldn't think.
Her heart would explode any minute. The pain was unbearable. Her fingers cramped. She couldn't move them. Couldn't get enough air.
Garrison crouched beside her. His voice sounded as if it were coming from the far end of a long tunnel.
"You need to slow down your breathing, Sam. Can you look at me, please?"
She forced her eyes open, saw him beside her.
"There you go. Good girl."
He breathed slowly, steadily. She tried to mimic it.
"That's it."
"My heart." It felt like it might explode.
He kept breathing steadily. "You have a beautiful, healthy heart, Samantha." Another slow deep breath. She focused on matching it. "That's it."
She had no idea how much time passed before she felt better. Minutes. Hours. But the pain subsided. Oxygen filled her lungs. Her heartbeat slowed. She felt almost normal. As if.
"You all right?" Garrison asked.
She nodded, looked at her knees.
Generous Lies Page 16
