Chapter 38
Torren
The thumping of my heart drowns out the sound of the hail crashing against my helmet. My body is numb, and the freezing rain does nothing to my skin.
Tobias trails behind with Elias, our staff doctor.
It’s morning when we make our way to my shop. I’ve searched for Felix all night, cursing at myself the entire time. The Hellcats are still out, scouring Belmont and the surrounding area for any signs of him.
The only evidence I have is those fucking pills sitting on my bedside table. If my suspicions are correct, then whatever happened to Felix involved more than just his father.
If it did, then we could find who gave him those pills and force them to talk.
The garage of my shop opens, and the two motorcycles roll inside and come to a stop.
“This way.” Every second I don’t know where Felix is feels like a life-or-death situation.
We trudge into my bedroom. “Here.”
Elias approaches, picking up the pills and examining them one by one. He studies them for a long time, his attention zeroing in on one in particular.
“This one.” He holds up an oblong-shaped pill. “I can’t be sure without my lab equipment, but this is the only one that doesn’t look like your typical run-of-the-mill SSRI or antipsychotic. The rest have lettering on them. You see?”
He holds one of the pills, pointing at the tiny lettering.
“These I recognize,” he explains as he sets the pill down.
Then he shows me the pill in question. “But this one. This doesn’t have an imprint.
It’s bigger than the others, and the seal is sloppy.
Look.” He holds up the capsule, showing me the imperfections.
“Any idea what it could be?” Tobias asks.
Elias shakes his head. “I need my equipment. Let’s take it back, and I’ll examine it. That said, whoever was responsible for giving Felix his pills should be questioned. None of the bottles has a doctor’s name, which is unusual.”
I pull out my phone. “I’ll call Lars. He’ll find out who Felix’s doctors are. I want him to look up the housekeeping staff, too. There may be witnesses too afraid to cross the Mayor.”
I’m about to call Lars when my phone rings. My heart leaps into my throat. It’s Mac.
“Talk to me.”
“Boss man. You got a TV?”
“What? No, I don’t have a fucking TV. What’s going on—“
“The Mayor is giving a speech. Channel 11—“
“Elias! Phone. Stream Channel 11 or whatever the fuck you people do. Now!” Elias whips his phone out, frantically typing. “Mac, have you found anything?”
“Nada, Boss. We’re still looking, though.”
It takes everything in my power not to throw the phone across the room or punch the wall. I’ve wanted to rage all night—take a sledgehammer and beat down every door in this whole town to find him. “Thanks, Mac.” I hang up. Losing my mind won’t help.
“Here.” Elias holds up the phone, and that ugly mother fucker waddles onstage looking like someone took a frying pan to the head.
“Your boy did a number on him,” Tobias says.
We don’t even know if Felix did that, but if he did, then I am proud as hell.
Hargrove takes a deep breath, milking the moment, before speaking with a solemn voice.
“My fellow citizens. Last night, my son Felix attacked me.”
What? “No. He’s lying. Something else hap—”
“My son is unwell. You all know about my wife, Belinda’s, struggles with mental health. Felix has similar trouble.”
My knuckles crack as I clench my fist. Lies. There’s nothing wrong with Felix. I take the phone, holding it close, trying to read this son of a bitch.
“My son attacked me, then ran off. I am here today to implore that you keep your eyes open. My son is—“
A picture of Felix appears on the screen while Hargrove describes his height and build. My fingers want to touch the beautiful face before me.
“Please contact the number on your screens if you see anything, but do not approach him. He is dangerous. Local law enforcement is doing everything they can, but I implore you to help as well.”
The number and the image of Felix vanish. Hargrove places his hand to his heart, then pulls a picture frame from his suit jacket pocket and looks at it. The son of a bitch sits on the podium, and the camera zooms in on a picture of Felix and his mom. He’s a little boy in the picture.
I’ve never seen Felix as a little boy…
My grip tightens.
“No one should have to endure this kind of pain.” Hargrove continues. “I tried for months to get Felix to take his medicine. We tried desperately to find the right therapist for my darling son, but Felix never took to them. And now this.”
Hargrove wipes the tears away. My breathing slows. The air cools, and my heart thumps like a metronome.
“I am a fortunate man. A man of means, and even I had a terrible time navigating our disastrous healthcare system. I can’t imagine what the people of this good town, some of whom have much less than I, go through day in and day out to get the care you need.
It isn’t right. In a country this wealthy, healthcare should be free and accessible to every man, woman, and child.
That’s why, as Mayor, I will fight for reform! ”
Cameras flash. The sound of applause rings out, and Hargrove nods and pumps his fist. He’s using this as a political stunt! He’s parroting the moderate candidate. The phone begins shaking in my grasp. My head pounds, and that urge to slice something with my bare hands rumbles inside me.
“You need someone strong to be an advocate for you and your loved ones! Someone who has a heart—who knows what you’re going through. I know how hard it is for some of you, and I promise I will fight for you. FOR ALL OF YOU!”
He places both hands on the podium, a soft whimper leaving his mouth.
“I will not give up. Not on you. Not on this town. And not on you, my Felix.”
His face fills the screen. Tears pour from his eyes, and his lower lip quivers.
“Come home, Felix. Please, come home.”
The hotline reappears along with Felix’s picture. I stare at his smile.
I want to throw the phone across the room, but I don’t. The rage dies, and that ominous sense of calm envelops me.
I hand the phone back to Elias and dial the number I was going to call before the speech.
“Lars. I need everything you can find on the doctors treating Felix, and I need it now.”
Felix
I see the backseat of a car. An earthy smell mixes with something minty. I want to sit up, but my arms won’t move, and I’m weak. My vision’s blurry, and it’s only getting blurrier.
No. It’s something else—the texture of the seat moves in waves. My eyes trail to the floor, and the fibers of the carpet sway like a cornfield in the wind.
My head pounds and my side hurts terribly, but I manage to speak. “Where–are we going?”
“Taking a little trip to the cabin.” The sound of my father’s voice makes me ill, but it also motivates me to sit up. I have to fight this.
“Going fishing?” I ask my putrid, vile toad of a father.
I can see that Robert is driving, and my father sits in the front. We’re in a car with tinted windows. I look out and see the soaking wet street. My eyes fixate on it, and, soon, it turns to ice. I exhale and see my breath. The car is frigid—even this fucking straitjacket isn’t keeping me warm.
Robert answers the phone, but his words are indecipherable. I’m too busy watching the ice on the street grow into hand-shaped shards that reach for the car.
“Don’t look at it.”
My heart leaps into my throat, and I turn to see my mother sitting right beside me. She puts a finger to her lips.
“The police are finished searching the house on Mulberry Street,” Robert says. They wanted to let you know they think Felix has been there.”
Father huffs a laugh, then asks, “And the pictures are gone?”
“Put them in the incinerator right before the press conference.”
“Good.” My father’s hand rests on Robert’s leg, then slides up. Robert stares at Father with a loving look in his eyes, and I nearly combust.
“Are you kidding me?” I scream. “You’re fucking Robert?”
Father doesn’t even look at me. “Go back to sleep, Felix.”
I want to say something to my mother, but she’s gone. Did she know?
“What the hell is all of this for? Why not let Mother leave if you’re gay?”
“I’m not gay,” Father responds with a gravelly voice.
It’s hard to continue because the car is melting, the interior dripping like wax on a candle. Whatever they gave me is destroying my brain, but my anger is too strong not to continue. “You’re fucking your chief of staff! WHO IS A MAN! You might not be gay, but you’re bi or queer or—”
Father moves like lightning, turning around and reaching for the straitjacket to pull me closer. “Don’t you ever say that again. I’m not a faggot, like you. I don’t flounce about picking roses and dancing in my mother’s high heels.”
“You’re just like me, except I know who I am and embrace it. I’m not a coward like you!” I bark out a laugh and see the sound waves ripple through the car. I start screaming, cackling at the shapes my voice makes.
Father pushes me against the seat, and I laugh when the huff I make turns into a plume of smoke.
I change the speed of my speaking because it changes the shapes.
“Myyyyyyy daaaaaaaad iiiiiiiiisssssssssss gaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyeeeeeee eeeeeeee eeeeeee hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe.”
“Shut your mouth, Felix!”
“Quuuuuueeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr.”
I can’t stop laughing, but then the jagged sound waves start to shift into a snake, and I scream, “Get it out! Get it out!”
“Drive faster.”