Chapter 9 Diem #2
The VCR whirred to life when I hit the power button, so that was a plus. The TV emitted static until I found the right input setting, then I was greeted by a blue screen.
It would have been easier to take the tapes home and borrow a VCR from Ruiz. He was bound to have something in better condition in his dungeon office, but I wasn’t friendly enough with Tallus’s cousin, nor did I think Ruby would let me stroll out of the building with crates of security footage.
So, I suffered in the dusty closet with a television close to death and a VCR with gears that ground and threatened to eat the tapes whenever I rewound them.
Perfect.
By eleven, I’d taken two cigarette breaks and managed to locate the tapes showing Faux Kael visiting the home on December second and ninth. As anticipated, the video quality was grainy as shit, but the camera angles were worse, and I had a great deal to say about dear old Bobby, whoever he was.
The lobby cam—the one I focused on—gave a bird’s-eye view of the front entrance and reception desk.
It caught the backs of people’s heads as they entered and the tops of most people’s heads as they left, since everyone exiting the building either stared at their phones or their feet.
We lived in a world where people didn’t look forward any more than they had to.
Considering Faux Kael’s visits happened during one of our colder months, the boy was bundled in an army surplus jacket with a black hoodie underneath.
Every impression showed him with the hood drawn, shadowing his face.
He wore jeans and tattered running shoes with the laces undone.
The kid signed in on the first visit and held a short conversation with the receptionist.
The second time, no words were exchanged. Not that I would have been able to hear since there was no audio. The kid shuffled off in the direction of the elevator, and that was all I got. The elevator was outside the lobby cam’s frame.
Each visit with Elwood took place in the man’s room and not in a common area where I might have caught a better angle on another feed. Instead, I got brief glimpses as he shuffled down the second-floor hall, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, head down.
I was getting nowhere, and my patience was shot. I’d gotten the hang of the antiquated equipment and managed to locate evidence of Faux Kael’s final visit. Again, the kid entered without much how-do-you-do and left forty minutes later.
The final visit, however, showed two variations. The first was the piece of crap laptop he carried under his arm upon entering. He didn’t leave with it, which fit Elwood’s story.
The second difference was the time of day. The final visit happened much later than the first two, starting a shade before four in the afternoon. Like the first two, the boy left exactly on the quarter-hour mark. The precision was noteworthy.
I watched him appear from the direction of the elevators and aim for the exit with his chin buried in his chest. At the same time, a woman who had been chatting with the receptionist headed out. She cut into the kid’s path, seemingly by accident, forcing him to halt so he wouldn’t crash into her.
The woman held out a hand, touching the boy’s elbow, and I imagined she apologized for the near collision.
He shrugged, and they continued to the door.
In the vestibule, the woman paused and pulled something from inside her purse.
The smoker in me recognized the size and shape of a pack of cigarettes.
My fingers twitched, and a soft buzz of longing traveled under my skin as she removed one from the pack.
Before leaving the frame, the kid also paused, lifted his chin from where it was buried inside his coat, and said something to the woman.
They stood at the far edge of the frame, and despite the quality, I watched as the woman offered the pack of cigarettes to the boy.
The boy took one and placed it between his lips.
It bounced in a manner that suggested he said something else.
Thank you, perhaps, or “Got a light?” the smoker in me mumbled.
The woman dug through her purse again and passed him what I assumed was a standard Bic based on the size.
“Bingo. Give the man a prize.”
The two went through the sliding door, exited to the outside, and officially left the frame.
I rewound the tape enough to replay the exchange. It was brief, but it was also the first time I caught the slightest glimpse of the boy’s face. Unfortunately, between the poor quality of the recording and the distance, it didn’t give me anything solid to work with.
I checked the time. Five minutes before I had to go for lunch.
Evergreen had one camera covering the parking lot.
It was the worst one of them all due to distance and the fact that no one had cleaned the lens in a hundred years.
Regardless, I followed Faux Kael’s departure on both of his previous visits, learning he didn’t drive to the nursing home, or if he did, he parked on a side street somewhere off frame.
He took the same route to the sidewalk and turned in the same direction on both the earlier recordings.
I switched to the parking lot camera and located the time stamp for when Faux Kael and the woman exited on December sixteenth.
It caught them pausing under the awning to light their cigarettes.
It caught them walking together through the parking lot to the distant sidewalk.
It caught them turning in the same direction and vanishing together off-screen.
They chatted the whole time.
I sat back, cracking my knuckles and bouncing my knee. “Huh.”
Echo raised her head and chuffed, moving to my side. She licked my fingers.
“Yeah, I know.”
I rested a hand on her back, processing what I’d seen.
The woman hadn’t driven to the home either.
The woman had engaged in a conversation with the mystery kid.
They had wandered off together. I needed to talk to this woman, whoever she was, but I had a lunch date and a fucking AA meeting to attend.
The jitters I’d managed to suppress while scanning tapes returned with vengeance, and it was more than a simple craving for a cigarette. I dug my fingers into Echo’s fur and kissed the top of her head. “Gonna need you for this.”
She chuffed as though she understood my plea.
“Are you ready?”
Another chuff, and Echo wagged her tail.
We were both glad to get out of the dusty closet of a security room, although the cool March air did nothing to calm me down.
***
I sat in the café parking lot where I was to meet Doyle.
Convincing myself not to drive away took willpower.
Muttering a pep talk and strangling the steering wheel until the leather creaked, I considered calling Tallus.
Hearing his voice would center me, but I didn’t want to admit how apprehensive I was at the notion of sobriety.
How remaining in the endless loop of suffering, one failure after another, was easier.
Tallus would remind me I was strong, but I didn’t feel strong. Not today. For the first time in my life, I wanted to flee, and I was not usually one who chose flight over fight. But I also wasn’t sure this was a fight I could win.
Maybe I was a coward after all.
Echo panted, tongue lolling as she peered across the middle console with her happy dog face and squinty golden eyes. It was hard to be stressed in her presence. Her patience was unending. She would sit there all day until I was ready, and she wouldn’t complain.
I thumbed the power button on my phone and stared at the wallpaper before it went dark.
I tapped it again. Stared. Smiled. It was a picture of Tallus, chin resting in his upturned palm, seductive bedroom eyes peering at me from behind his newest pair of come-fuck-me frames.
Seeing him never failed to make my stomach swoop.
He was perfect, and he was mine. He loved every fucked-up part of me.
I would do anything for Tallus. Anything. He deserved the best version of me possible, and if that meant wading through hell and tackling this addiction monster, I would do it.
I clicked the power button one last time, savoring a final look at my sexy boyfriend before getting out of the Jeep with Echo and heading inside.
Aslan Doyle side-eyed my dog as I approached. He noted her vest and seemed to come to a conclusion since he didn’t ask the stupid and invasive questions most people asked. Smart man. I wasn’t good at biting my tongue, and I’d promised not to be an asshole.
I sat, and Echo slipped under the table to lie across my feet. She knew the drill at restaurants, and her weight anchored me to the present.
“You made it,” Doyle said once I was situated.
“You say it like you didn’t expect me to show.”
“I wondered.”
I couldn’t make eye contact, so I scanned the dining area instead, noting everyone present.
“How have you been doing?” he asked.
I shrugged, knowing the gesture didn’t convey even an ounce of the anxiety I’d been feeling over this meeting.
Uncomfortable silence prevailed.
A waitress took our orders and brought drinks.
I jittered a knee but stopped when the table jostled.
“Nervous?”
“No,” I snapped.
Doyle nodded, clearly not believing me. “Tell you what. I’ll go first. I get that vocalizing your struggles is difficult. I’ve been there, but we won’t get anywhere if we sit in silence. You have to be willing to be vulnerable.”
“I’m not good at that.”
“No one is at first. We don’t know each other, Krause. Opening up to a friend is hard enough, but I’m practically a stranger. Whatever you tell me, I will keep it in confidence. I hope you give me the same courtesy.”
As hard as it was, I met Doyle’s gaze and nodded.
“I had my first drink in high school, but it was college when things got out of hand. I was rarely sober. Attended every party there was and pretended I was in control. I told myself I wasn’t an addict even when I drank every night.
Even when beers with the guys turned to beers by myself.
When they became midmorning pick-me-ups.
When I poured whiskey into my coffee at seven a.m. before class.
Nope. It wasn’t a problem. I could quit anytime I wanted. ”
I ducked my chin, burning shame making me want to squirm. His story had a familiar cadence. How many times had I used alcohol as a Band-Aid to get through tough situations?
“I’m four years and almost three months sober,” Doyle continued.
“I had my last drink on December twenty-eighth at a Christmas party at my sister’s house.
My brother-in-law called me out on my drinking and pissed me off.
We fought. I left and drove home completely hammered.
Spun out on a patch of ice and hit a pole.
Totaled my car. You’re probably asking yourself how I still have a job, and it’s a long story.
I’ll tell you about it someday, but not today.
“The point is, I hit rock bottom. My family threatened to cut me out of their lives. My career was hanging by a thread. I knew I couldn’t go on like that. I made a choice, and I won’t lie to you, Krause. It wasn’t easy to crawl out of that bottle, but I did it.”
He paused as the waitress delivered our meals.
When she headed off to help other customers, neither of us moved to eat.
Heat rose to my cheeks, and if they glowed as much as they burned, Doyle would read my shame as easily as a blind man read braille.
Maybe he expected me to talk and share, but I’d never been good at expressing myself with words.
After a beat, he continued, digging into his food while he talked about his recovery.
Our stories weren’t the same, but separate currents had picked us up and dumped us in the same cesspool.
At its core, we battled the same issues.
We drank to escape uncomfortable emotions.
We used it as a means of numbing the pain and dulling the stresses of life.
I listened to Doyle talk, struck by how much I could relate.
When he spoke about sobriety, about his husband and daughter, and all the positive things that had once seemed forever out of reach, I thought of Tallus and the life I might be able to offer him if I dedicated myself to getting better.
I didn’t eat much. My stomach was too knotted, but when Doyle asked if I was ready to tackle a meeting, I said yes without hesitation.