Harkham's Case (Harkam's #1) (28 page)

The minute the door was closed, she had her arms across her torso and shook with each silent sob.

This was what she could have turned into. If the drugs hadn’t taken her, then food would’ve.

She’d rather eat dirt every day of her life than be this.

Chapter 14

Adam refused to believe her first email. Today’s would be better.

He opened it and read:

Adam,

I told you I’d share everything, and I will. But first, look at these photos I’ve sent you. This is my dad’s house. There’s also a picture of him asleep in his chair. I want you to see what it’s like here, and why I don’t want you to join me in this pit.

Once you’ve done that, pretend you’re sipping a soda on a full stomach while I tell you more.

I told you I missed baby Megan’s funeral, and I did. But what I neglected to say was I tried to go to her grave many times, but I never could bring myself to do it. Maybe someday I can be brave like you and find a way to get there.

For now, I tell myself she’s in a good place. One I’ll never be in.

That’s okay, though—I accepted my fate long ago. Today I realized even though it’s too late for me, I can help save other people. I want to tell you about a friend of mine, Victor.

Adam’s gut tightened and he felt sick. He pulled the laptop closer.

I did a lot of bad things with him. He was my drug dealer, and as I told your dad, I exchanged drugs for sex. At first it was fun. I felt needed and wanted. Victor was funny and so were his friends. They didn’t treat me like a stupid twelve-year-old even though he was fifteen when I met him. He let me party with him, and I was hooked. Anything to be away from my dad. It was depressing to watch him eat, drink beer and watch sports all the time.

Dad trusted Victor and his group of friends. Vic lives with his dad at the ski resort, where his dad pretty much runs the place. Needless to say, his father’s busy, and adult supervision is lacking. I could stay up all night, get drunk, smoke pot. No one minded.

And then I got to know his good friend Owen. Owen and his girlfriend Claire had a baby when she was sixteen. Their daughter Megan was rambunctious but so sweet. You actually remind me of her in a lot of ways when you’re laughing and carefree. I really loved that little girl, but I loved Owen more. I had been intimate with him a few times when we were high, and I thought he loved me. I thought some day he’d leave Claire for me.

I was naive. He told me one night when I was babysitting to ignore the baby if she cried after I put her in the crib to go to sleep. So I did. I had no idea that she was choking on her vomit.

I think you’ve figured out now why I have episodes when I throw up or somebody else around me does. It thrusts me into a spiral where all I can see is her lifeless body lying in her own mess.

Well, Vic was with me that night as I told you in my email yesterday. The problem is he feels guilty, too. He’s trapped himself here, still does drugs and drinks a ton. I want to help him get out of here and have a life. I’ve told him to get his GED and come to Phoenix since he dropped out of high school years ago. He can become an auto mechanic since he’s good with his hands that way, and maybe someday he’ll open his own shop. I believe he’s more than capable of doing these things.

It’s you, though, Adam. You’re the reason I want to help him and my dad. Victor came here to apologize to me today for hurting me the night I arrived. He said some nasty things to me on the way from the airport to my father’s house.

Tears soaked Adam’s shirt, and snot dripped onto his lip. He barely wiped it away before continuing on with reading. How dare that guy be mean to her? She’d been through enough! His hands shook as he held onto the laptop.

I’ve forgiven him. It doesn’t matter. I want him to get better. I want my dad better, too.

Today Vic and I cleaned out my dad’s kitchen. It took hours, and I’m exhausted because before that I was cleaning out my bedroom. My dad hates me right now. And before you shake your head and say he doesn’t—he held a gun on me. He cried, like I told you he would, and we agreed I wouldn’t throw away any more of his stuff if he’d let me keep the kitchen cleared and cook him healthy meals while I’m here.

He has no desire to make a new life for himself or get out of this hole here, but I can’t stop hoping he’ll change his mind when I leave. But then I hoped maybe you’d do the same when I left—change your mind about me. Last time I talked to you, it sounded like that wasn’t what had happened. I’m still hoping.

He needs help. He’s probably over three hundred and fifty pounds. I know I’m not one to talk. I’m sure you went through my phone when you had it and saw I used to be over two hundred myself. At least he had an excuse. Not long after my mom left him, he was doing a routine stop for a speeding ticket and when he approached the car on foot, they ran him down, hurting his back. He’s had chronic back pain ever since and exercising is excruciating, so he packed on the weight. My only excuse was I felt better when I ate, and I love donuts just like you do. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I have an addictive personality, and I had a sugar problem like nobody else you’ve ever met.

My mom says I’m addicted to exercise now, and I push myself too hard. You witnessed that when I barfed all over in the parking lot. I’m sure she’s right, but I’d rather be thin and have people at least not have to judge me for being fat on top of all my other issues I keep hidden inside me. She nags me about it each chance she gets. That’s why I don’t eat dinner with her. She’ll glare at me and my salad while she eats a burger she bought at McDonald’s. I don’t eat with my dad either—not because he lectures me, but because it makes me want to cry when I see what he’s putting in his body. He’s killing himself slowly, and he doesn’t want my help.

Be happy you have a family you can eat dinner with. I have no idea what that feels like . . .

I love that your family does that and Samara makes it a priority in your house. Thank her for me for doing that.

Okay, enough for now. I’ll save my story of drugs, sex and rock and roll for tomorrow if you can handle it.

Love,

Mari

His heart clenched. Her pain oozed out of her writing. It was crippling to know she was stuck there in that mess. The photos were shocking—especially of her father. He looked half-dead in that chair of his.

Thoughts exploded in his head of Victor at her side helping her, then it morphed to singeing, burning numbers. His eyes hurt and his ears stung.

“Naaaaagh!” he howled, picked up his chair at the desk in his room and smashed it into the window. He screamed numbers and threw anything heavy he could find. Glass was flying around him.

There was the faint whisper of something Mari had told him about turning the numbers into notes and humming music. But he didn’t want to do that. He wanted to be Victor—he wanted to be at her side in the mess, elbow deep in sludge and vermin if it meant she was smiling at him, trusting him to get through it with her.

Somebody screamed behind him for him to stop, but he had a baseball bat in his hands and rammed a hole into the wall. Drywall flew past him in chunks. Just as he went to repeat that action, tight arms were around his and locked onto his chest. He was wrestled down onto the bed. “Stop it, man,” Zach said in his ear. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care! She’s with somebody else—not me!” Adam cried.

“I’m gonna let go, and you’re gonna talk to me without destroying anything. I’ll even help you clean this mess up before dad gets home, but you have to tell me what’s going on. All of it. I’ll help you . . .” The arms slowly loosened and Adam scampered off the bed and threw himself into a corner where he contained himself into a little ball and cried until his guts were about to come out.

He could hear Zach cleaning his room and saying a few comforting things here and there, but it didn’t help.

“Read her email,” Adam finally said and dared to look up.

Zach was covered in the dust from the drywall debris still floating in the air.

He’d already fixed a shelf on the wall Adam didn’t remember busting. The books were all tipped over. The chair was back in place. The window was fine. He hadn’t busted that. But his mirror over his dresser his mom had bought him for his tenth birthday was smashed to bits. It looked like Zach had removed the baseball bat from the premises because it was nowhere to be seen. The bigger shards of mirror were in a pile by the door.

Zach sat down on the chair and grabbed Adam’s laptop. As he read, Adam managed to get up, remove two of his framed posters on the wall and positioned them to cover the holes he’d punctured.

He left the room to retrieve the vacuum and when he returned to his room, Zach sat with his jaw hanging open.

“That’s messed up,” Zach said.

“I know! I love her, and she’s with somebody else named Victor. I think she said somewhere in there she’d had sex with him before, or if she didn’t, she might. And I want to have sex with her, but she won’t let me!” Adam’s entire body shook. His face heated and his breath came out in hot rushes.

“I’m not talking about
him
—though I see why you’re mad. I’m talking about that house—her
dad
. Adam, she said before she’d killed a kid, and I didn’t believe it. This doesn’t sound made up. This sounds real. She’s been through a hell of a lot. Are you sure she’s worth trying to be with? I mean, I’ve heard of baggage, but this is
insane
.” Zach set the laptop down, got up and plugged in the vacuum for Adam.

“Yes, I’m sure. There’s nobody like her. I love her. I don’t care if she has another head growing out of her back. I want to be with her.” He started up the vacuum to drown out this discussion.

Zach scurried over and removed the big shards of mirror so they wouldn’t clog up the machine.

Once the room was cleaned, Zach took the vacuum to put it away. “How bad do you want to see her?”

“Enough I was willing to bust this window out, find a way to grow wings and fly there . . .” Adam buried his face in his hands so he wouldn’t cry.

Zach pulled him into a bear hug. “Don’t cry, big brother. I’m gonna help you—it’s gonna mean my ass, but I don’t care. I’ll get you to her. Just watch me.”

Adam peeked his eyes through his fingers. “Really?”

“Really.” Zach smiled.

“You promise?”

“I don’t have to promise. It’s already a done deal. You put this vacuum away, make sure the rest of the evidence is gone—straighten your books, and I’ll find the quickest flight there.”

“You’ll let me go alone?” Adam’s heart was in his throat, making it difficult to speak.

“Can you handle it?”

Adam nodded, and his face exploded with a smile so big it was like an upside down rainbow. “I can handle it for sure!”

“Then you’re going.” Zach let go of him.

The loss of pressure was disappointing, but it was fine. He needed to pack!

* * *

My dearest, beautiful Mari,

I have so much to say to you, but I think I’ll wait until the next time I see you. I want to be bolder when I talk to you.

She busted into a laugh. Bolder?
Adam
? Not possible. He spoke his mind all the time.

You shared some very significant moments in your life, and I need to do the same to make it fair.

I want to tell you about what happened when my mom left me.

I loved playing the piano. I practiced all the time. Anytime I could, I was on it. I wasn’t very good, though, because the numbers would get in the way. It was loud and hurt her ears. She got headaches, but I didn’t care as long as I could keep playing.

One day I was being really aggressive on the keys. There were notes in my head (which is what gave me the idea to stop the numbers now with music), and I was trying to get them out. It was like when I shout the numbers to get them out of my throat so they won’t choke me, but this time it was in my hands, playing on the keys. I started shouting and banging my head on the piano because it sounded nothing like the notes in my head. I said a lot of bad words, and my mom stayed away.

Finally, she left the house. She probably went outside to get away from the noise. While she was gone, taking a break, I picked up the piano bench and smashed parts of the baby grand to bits. Wood was all I wanted it to be since it wouldn’t cooperate with me. When she came in, she yelled at me and smacked my face.

I don’t know what happened, but I snapped. I was a very tall, big twelve-year-old. I pushed her down, kind of like in class when Rory pushed me aside to get to you, except I used more muscles than he did. She went flying into the pointy pieces of wood. It stabbed at her arms, wrists, hands and legs. There was blood everywhere gushing out of her wounds.

I panicked, and for the first time ever, I put myself in a little ball so I wouldn’t have to see what I did. Mom dragged herself to a phone and dialed for an ambulance. They came and took her away, and Social Services stepped in. They threatened to put me in a home, and that’s when I was flown from California, where we used to live, to Phoenix to meet Dr. Harkham. She’s a specialist on Autism. She put me on a sugar-free diet, said I had that outburst that day because my mom had given me a cookie and some soda after lunch.