by Wendy Byrne
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Anger stabbed at her chest once again. She wanted to force his vile words back inside his mouth as if they’d never existed. As if he’d never existed. For the first time she understood crimes of passion. Thank God there wasn’t a gun handy. “You know diddlysquat about the circumstances, but still feel a compulsion to pass judgment.”
She couldn’t think of the word to describe this driving need inside her to tell him off. She’d let him color her view for too many years, but not now. Not with Travis. Why had she continued to hang onto that ridiculous fantasy that Archie would morph into some semblance of a father?
“Guilt or innocence doesn’t matter. I was very clear with Travis the last time he screwed up.” He placed his hands on his hips. “It’s called tough love.”
Unable to stop herself, she shoved his chest, making him stumble. “You piece of shit. If you weren’t such a sanctimonious asshole, this never would have happened. Travis and I could have moved back east and started fresh, but you blocked that in court, claiming you were afraid you wouldn’t get a chance to see your son if we moved so far away. What a crock. You use every excuse in the book to avoid seeing him and he lives an hour away.”
He shook his head and tsked, “I should have known better than to marry you in the first place. You were trouble, your family was trouble and now your son is trouble. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Your parents were alcoholic fuck-ups, you were an emotional fuck-up and now Travis is a druggie fuck-up.”
His words eviscerated her, as if he’d taken a scalpel to remove all her vital organs. Pain she’d held deep within her soul bubbled to the surface. Her hands trembled at her sides. Thoughts about never being good enough tumbled through her mind like a twig flowing across a windswept desert.
She sucked in a breath and willed the tears away, at least until he left. Breaking down in front of him wouldn’t serve any purpose, except to feed his ego by making him believe she was still the weak college girl in need of his love and support. Damn, he’d always known how to go for the jugular.
“I think we’re about done here, Archie. You go on and have a good life.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “And for the record, you look ridiculous with that girl young enough to be your daughter.”
He muttered something under his breath, walked back to his car and peeled out of the driveway.
She turned and wiped at the tears that had started to dribble down her cheeks. Why was she crying? Anything between her and Archie had dissolved years ago, but his words still hurt. Over the years she’d proven she didn’t need him or anyone else to support her. But for some strange reason, she couldn’t help holding out the hope that he’d come around and be there for Travis.
Find Lexie. Travis’ words bounced around her head as she made her way through the cold, empty home. The kid needed at least one parent who would fight for him.
***
Paranoia ruled in a place like this. If Travis didn’t operate under the assumption everyone was out to get him, he’d be toast. He’d either get the shit beat out of him or worse.
The last time he’d been in juvie it had only been for a couple of hours. He’d only gotten a glimpse of how scary this place could be. Now that it was his new home, he felt that he had to keep his back to the wall and his eyes open every second of the day. Unless he was forced out, he stayed in his cell.
Man, what he wouldn’t give to be anywhere but here. He’d even be willing to stay at his father’s house with a monitor around his ankle and put up with his dad’s constant bitching rather than be scared as hell twenty-four/seven.
“You have a visitor.”
Travis nearly hit his head on the top bunk when he heard the voice. Geez, a couple of days in this place and he was as jumpy as a cat. He looked toward the cell door and spotted the guard waiting.
Since it wasn’t visiting hours, that meant it could only be two people—Asshole Reggie or Dr. Stern, neither of whom he wanted to see right now.
Instead of refusing and getting into a pissing contest that would only lead to trouble, Travis shifted his legs off the bed and onto the floor and followed the guard to a private room near the cafeteria.
When the door closed behind him, he tried to hide his disappointment. Logically he knew it couldn’t have been his mother or Coach Sam, but he could dream, couldn’t he?
“Have a seat, Travis.” Dr. Stern glanced up from the papers in his file for a second and waved toward the open chair across from him.
Crap. After court this morning, Travis wanted to chill in his cell. Maybe sleep for a couple of hours. He didn’t want to get shrunk right now. But refusing to see Dr. Stern would only land him in more trouble.
He sat down at the table. Resting his hands on top, he tried to put an I-can’t-wait-to-get-shrunk look on his face.
Dr. Stern gave him a quick smile that seemed more phony than real. Then again, he didn’t blame the guy. Who’d want to be in this hell hole if they didn’t have to be?
“I’d like to talk to you about how you’re feeling right now.”
Pissed. Scared. Stupid. Sad. Terrified. Instead, he shrugged. “Confused, maybe.”
“That’s to be expected. But how about your memory? Do you remember killing Mr. Gill?”
Travis shook his head. “No sir. I’m not…” He still couldn’t imagine killing somebody and not remembering. When he was with his mom or Coach, he could convince himself he didn’t do it. But now, as he sat before Dr. Stern, he had doubts.
“You had blood on your shirt. What other possible explanation could there be?” He shook his head and made another tsking sound.
“But wouldn’t I remember something like that?” Self-doubt crept up on Travis like a second skin.
“Memory can be a tricky thing, especially when combined with drug use.”
“I didn’t take—”
He stopped him with a raised hand and shook his head with that you-are-such-a-loser look on his face. “Travis, Travis, Travis. My records are confidential. You don’t have to lie to me.”
“But, I’m not.” He didn’t want to think Lexie could have put something in that bottle of water she’d given him on the way to the party. But why would she do that?
“Maybe we could try some hypnosis. That might help.” He glanced at his notes. “They did find ecstasy in your system. That will come out in court. People have been known to do some very violent things while taking that drug. It could be your subconscious is blocking you from remembering the truth, especially if it’s something you’d rather not remember.”
A cold chill ran up and down his spine. Could he have done what they said and not remember?
“But I didn’t ta—” Travis searched through fragments of memory for what happened that evening. The party—Lexie and some other kids were doing stuff but he didn’t want any part of it—he only remembered wanting to go home. “It must have still been in my system from before. You know in the spring when I—.” Fucked up everything that was important.
Dr. Stern emitted a humorless laugh. “No drug on earth stays in your system that long.”
“The test must be wrong then. I swear I didn’t take any drugs. You can ask Lexie…,” Travis’ voice trailed off as he remembered Lexie was nowhere to be found. Had she set him up to off her step-dad? Naw, she wouldn’t do that. At least he didn’t think so.
“Except she’s missing. I’m sure you know that.” He looked at Travis as his father sometimes did—like he was a total fuck up—before he shifted his concentration back to the papers before him. “We need to make sure she’s safe. Do you have any idea where she might be?”
“No clue.” But he sure as hell hoped his mom could figure it out.
Chapter Five
Panic attacks and adrenaline-laced shakes had been a constant in Jillian’s life after her parents died. After the last couple of days, the past made a painful resurgence.
As she entered home and flopped onto the couch th
e scene with Archie tunneled down her spine, immobilizing her. The hurtful words he’d used felt like shards of glass stuck inside her chest, forcing her breath to come in short pants. Dropping her head between her knees, she fought against the spots blurring her vision and tried to regain her composure.
Feelings from long ago when she’d lost a sense of herself threatened. She fought through the sensations, using slow measured breaths. Regardless of what Archie spewed, she was strong and resilient. She needed to use those strengths to help her son.
But this trouble had come out of left field. Travis had been back to his old self, before the trouble, before the divorce. Archie’s voice rang in her ears. The kid’s playing you. He’s got a problem just like— She vanquished the thought before it had a chance to smolder inside.
When she was young and naïve, she’d believed all Archie’s bullshit. But not anymore. She was sure Travis was a good kid. He’d changed for the better since they’d moved. But had she been lulled into a false sense of security? He’d been in contact with Lexie again, despite her wishes to the contrary. Clearly, he’d kept secrets.
Still, she couldn’t get her head around the idea that Travis had somehow morphed into a murderer. Until she had cold hard evidence to the contrary, she’d believe in her son’s innocence.
But he’d kept a gun without her knowledge and consent. That thought reverberated in her head.
Before she’d made excuses and denied his drug use until reality couldn’t be denied any longer. It was hard to dispute positive toxicology, a stash of drugs hidden in his room and an admission.
Was she once again steeped in denial disguised as motherly love? How could she be so sure this time, when she was so sure of his innocence last time?
A rush of fear tingled down her spine as she thought about all that rested on her shoulders. If what she found incriminated her son, would it be enough for her to believe in his guilt or would she continue to track down blind alleys looking for the truth as she wanted it to be? She swallowed down the thought like the bitter pill it was.
All this dwelling in the past and speculation wasn’t helping her current predicament. She needed to find Lexie. Without her, Travis could spend the rest of his life in prison. She couldn’t imagine a more frightening possibility.
What were the names of some of those kids—friends of Lexie—she’d forbidden Travis to hang out with? She racked her brain for the memories she’d long ago suppressed. Jason? She shook her head. That wasn’t it. She navigated through the fog inside her head.
Gil, Terrance, Jeremy. The names came to her as soon as she allowed her mind to open.
But would she remember what they’d looked like? Scruffy, grungy, and scary were the words which came to mind. Those descriptors might be used for a lot of kids Travis’ age whether or not they used drugs.
She walked inside Travis’ room and glanced around at the disarray. Books pulled off shelves, clothes strewn about, papers scattered in a haphazard fashion were positive proof the police had been diligent in their search. She’d avoided going in there since Saturday, fearful of the memories the sights might stir up.
On the surface she could justify her inaction because of preoccupation, but the truth was once they’d found the gun she didn’t know existed, she was probably more fearful of what else she might find. Now she had no choice. Starting with Travis’ closet, she rummaged through his clothes, looking into pockets, checking for anything that might help. Then she started on the boxes of stuff he’d crated over from the old house and had shoved onto the closet shelves.
Boxes filled with car and bike magazines covered Playboy and Hustler magazines beneath. Jillian smiled. If that was the worst thing she found, it would be a blessing.
The next box contained memories—notes, family pictures, postcards from trips they’d taken, actors’/actresses’ autographs—as well as a collection of birthday cards he’d received. Her heart squeezed inside her chest and a tear formed in the corner of her eye.
Where?
There had to be something. She sat down at his desk and turned on his laptop. While she waited for it to boot up, she opened the left hand drawer and pulled out the paper with his passwords. Since he’d gotten into trouble, he’d agreed to give her access to his computer.
After logging on, she checked Facebook without success, then scrolled through his emails. The majority were from friends at Valley High. Most posted they couldn’t get him by cell and had resorted to email. While she couldn’t help being happy he’d made friends so quickly, it didn’t help her cause.
While at the computer, she clicked into her own account and discovered an email sent from Travis. Her heartbeat sped up as she recognized the date: Friday night. Uncertain what she might discover, she clicked on the message and a picture began to form.
Oh my God.
Lexie, surrounded by three guys. While the photo was grainy and out of focus, the people with her looked older, more like men than boys. She couldn’t tell where they were, but knew it had to be when this nightmare began.
Goose bumps riddled her arms. Travis must have somehow taken this photo before everything happened. Why hadn’t he told her? And who were those guys in the photo with Lexie? One of them kind of looked like Jeremy, but between her faulty memory and the quality of the picture, it was nearly impossible to tell.
Making the photo larger didn’t help the clarity. She zoomed in on the faces. The boy on the left resembled Jeremy, as she remembered him, but the quality made any kind of reliable identification nearly impossible.
This was not a posed picture. One of the guys had his hand wrapped around Lexie’s bicep, making indentations in her flesh. Fear evidenced itself in her rigid posture, the shift of her eyes. Who or what was she looking at?
Despite the poor quality of the photo, she printed out several copies. This might be her one and only clue as to what happened. Convinced she was ready to embark on this journey, she slipped into a pair of jeans, threw on a t-shirt and got into the car with only one destination on her mind.
***
Unfortunately, driving around the seedy area of Los Angeles wasn’t new to her. Jillian had done the same thing six months ago when Travis had run away. She’d thought at the time the awful experience was done and over with. Little did she know she’d be experiencing an even worse nightmare.
Boarded up windows, bars covering those that weren’t, discarded waste swirling around the streets like debris-filled tornados were the norm rather than the exception. Even though this wasn’t her first time in the area, the depravity still shocked her. Young boys hustled the streets, selling drugs of any variety to people in cars and on foot. She didn’t know if LAPD had grown weary of bringing the small time dealers in and had given up on the area, or they’d been spread too thin with budget cuts and instead were responding to more serious crimes like murders, rapes and drive-bys.
Either way, both the landscape and the people personified neglect. Women clutched tightly the hands of children as they walked as if the devil himself were chasing them. She couldn’t imagine the toll it might take on somebody to live in that kind of fear each and every day.
She drove down the block, slowing down when she spotted a group of boys. Studying their faces, she pulled out the photo. None of them seemed to match, but it was hard to tell.
Unwilling to give up so easily, she rolled down the passenger side window a couple of inches. Before she could speak, one of the guys in the group approached her car.
“You don’t look like a cop.” His gaze slid down the length of her BMW. “Besides, they don’t issue the po-po fancy rides like this. That means you must be looking for some blow.”
Jillian shook her head so hard, she nearly pulled a muscle. “No, No. I’m looking for a girl.”
His wicked smile revealed a grill across his front teeth. “I didn’t take you for one of those, but I guess you never know.”
Every word she uttered seemed to bring her to the wrong place. “No...no....Her name
is Lexie. She’s got blond hair with a chunk of pink in front. She’s sixteen, maybe about five feet nine, about one hundred and ten pounds.”
“You her mama?”
“No, but I’m worried about her. She might be in trouble.”
“If she’s hanging around here, it’s probably too late.” He turned to walk away.
“Wait,” she reached across the front seat to hand him the photo. “That’s her on the end. Do you know any of these people?”
“Gee, lady you are one bad photographer.”
“I know, but look.” Blood hummed in her veins. “Please.”
He gave the photo a cursory look before shaking his head. “I’d like to help you, but it’s not good for me to see too much, ya know what I mean?” He dropped the paper onto the ground before returning to the group.
Jillian drove around the neighborhood for three hours with similar results. Nobody would talk. If she wanted answers, she was going to have to take a different approach.
***
Travis had finally gotten to sleep when the door clanged open. Startled once again, adrenaline shot through him. For a few seconds, he thought it might be a bad dream, but then he smelled the onions and knew it wasn’t.
“You’re in some deep shit now, boy.” Reggie stomped into Travis’ cell. He scooted the chair from the corner next to his bunk.
“What’d I do now?”
“The blood on your shirt matches. Can’t argue with DNA. And if that weren’t bad enough, they’re investigating you for another murder.”
“What...other...murder?” Words clogged in his throat as he struggled to make sense of what Reggie was saying. This whole thing was getting more fucked up every minute.
“The gun they found at your house wasn’t the murder weapon. Problem is it fits with an unsolved murder from a couple of months ago.” He shook his head. “What are you? A Goddamn serial killer? Should I be calling you Dexter Junior?”
Travis felt as if he were struggling to fight his way out of a paper bag. He resisted the urge to puke all over Reggie’s fancy wing tip shoes and fought to suck in a breath. This was some fucked up shit.
