Harkham's Choice (Harkham's Series Book 2) (40 page)

Too romantic and mushy.

Adam adjusted himself on the bench and began playing without any warning.

The man came in right on cue as if he had it memorized, too.

Adam’s eyes glazed over when he really listened to the crackling embers of this man’s voice. It was that unmistakable warm, Sunday morning sound he used to hear, tucked in a blanket on his mom’s cozy lap. This was the sound that consumed him and took away the numbers.

Without warning, his mother sang along, and the duet was like a stab to Adam’s chest and a jolt to his brain . . .

“I like that one,” Adam said, clapping under the blanket.

His dad’s voice put bumpies on his arms and legs. It was like his skin was sand when his mom joined his dad like she just had.

“Thank you! I’ve been practicing for an audition. Do you think I should use this one?” his dad asked him, smiling.

“Yeah. It’s really good,” Adam said.

“Look at this kid, Sarah. He’s a genius. I mean, he’s already got you running scared with how many numbers he recognized. He’s barely two and a half, and he practically talks like an adult.” He waved Adam to come over and join him. “I bet he’s musically gifted. I can tell he’s got an ear for it.”

His dad set Adam on his piano bench. “Oh, I don’t know, Tommy. I think that’s probably a bad idea. He could fall and get hurt. Look how high up that seat is for a little guy like him,” she said, eyes glued on Adam.

“He’s fine.” His dad placed Adam’s hands on the keys.

“I’s fine,” Adam repeated, his language slipping, but his dad said he was, so he was.

“You move a little closer, and I’ll show you a few keys,” his dad said, then slipped one of those little white candies into his mouth. At the end, it tasted poopy, so he swallowed it fast.

It was his daddy’s secret with him—one he couldn’t tell his mommy.

His little bum inched closer, but he still couldn’t reach the keys very well and his feet were dangling so high up above those golden pedals.

“Tommy! He’s gonna fall!” his mom repeated.

“Is not! He’s my son, and I want him to go into music. It’s never too soon to start.”

Adam banged on the keys and smiled. His fingers slipped, so he stood up to get closer, but when he bent over to touch the shiny white-powdered donut keys, he slipped, and his head smashed right into the piano, then he tipped forward more and tumbled, smacking the front of his head once more on those pedals. His body flew back, and he hit the back of his neck on the bar below the bench.

His eyes were seeing only black—he was scared of the dark. All he could hear was his mother’s voice earlier in the morning, praising him for reciting numbers he’d learned yesterday.

“One plus one, is two. Two plus two, is four,” he mumbled, because that was what he saw. When he ran out of reciting the additions he knew, he went into subtraction.

“Oh, my God, call an ambulance!” his mom’s voice echoed in the distance.

Warm hands were touching his head all over.

“There’s no bump! He might have a concussion. Multiple ones!” his mom sounded shrill. Not like when she was singing pretty and high.

His dad’s was there, too, and he yelled louder, but Adam could only hear the numbers now.

They kept him company when everything was so dark and scary.

“He’s seizing! Do something!” his mom screeched.

Adam’s body floated above a bumpy road. His tongue hurt, and he heard something thump next to him.

Five take away three is . . .

“No, no, no! Adam, no!” he heard in the back of his head.

Dad?

Adam’s arms were loose like noodles, and his legs were the opposite, tight like being tucked into bed by his daddy.

“Hold his legs tighter,” somebody said.

His shoulders flopped like his Ragged Andy doll. That’s who his mom said he looked like with his reddish hair and skin coloring.

Hot! Too hot!

His hand burned, and his neck was sticky on the ground.

“Nooooo!” somebody cried.

“How long is this going to last?”

“Ccccuuuuuh!” Adam heard rumbling in his ears. His stomach jumped and pushed stuff into his mouth. He coughed and gagged on the lumpy fluid in his mouth that tasted like sour grapes and bitter salad. Blick!

“Oh God, that’s gross,” his dad said.

“I don’t care! Put him on his side. He could choke on his vomit,” his mother replied.

Why were they shaking him this way? It hurt his tummy.

“Ahhhhh cuuuuh-cuuuh!” he coughed, and his stomach threw that lumpy soupy stuff back into his mouth again.

Eight take away four is four. Seven take away four is three . . .

His eyes were seeing light for a second, but then it was dark again.

“Do something!” his mom howled.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, I’m not a doctor!” his dad cried.

“Forget it—move out of the way.” Something smashed, and there was a scraping sound. He was flying . . . It was bright in his eyes like white fluffy clouds.

“I’ve got you, baby. I’m taking you to the hospital right now,” his mom told him. Something scratchy moved across his cheek.

Engines . . . It was a lot of loud cranking noises and stomach jumping more, with numbers in his head and his mouth with that yucky soup coming out of him.

“M-mommy!” he cried.

“It’s okay, we’re gonna be there soon.”

There were ropes around his body, holding him down. His arms flailed as he scratched to move them off.

“Stop, Adam! You’re hurting yourself!” his mom said.

Six take away three is three. Five take away three is two . . .

The engine went quiet, metal crashed, and he was flying again with whitey white clouds in his eyes. The black was gone, but these clouds liked numbers, too.

“You have to hurry! He fell and he’s . . . He was convulsing and projectile vomiting. Please, help my boy!” his mom said so fast it made him shake.

“It’s okay—I’m Dr. Latham. I’ll take care of him,” a soft blanket, hot cocoa voice said.

“Don’t drop him! That’s . . . He fell—that’s how this happened,” his mom said, her voice trembling.

“You’re safe now, little man. I’ve got you,” the man’s voice said, and the numbers ran after him, stealing the white clouds away, dunking him under dark water where he couldn’t hear anything at all anymore . . .

Adam’s fingers were moving over piano keys on their own. Those voices were in his head.

He stopped right where he was.

“Get out,” Adam said, his eyes barely registering their faces.

“What?” his mom asked, eyes wide and green like a never-ending forest.

“You knew how this happened to me. You let Dad give me some kind of medicine or drugs all the time when I was a toddler. And then he put me on a piano bench when I was too little. I fell and got hurt really bad, and Dad left because it was his fault. Now you’ve taken him back. I just realized how stupid I was in France when I saw you. You said Samara drained your secret bank account? You were stealing money from Dustin, and sending it to this man to support his drug habit!” He pointed at Thomas. “There’s no room for you in my life or in my head. Don’t even bother trying to deny any of this. I could tell in France when you explained that you were lying and covering something up. You have to leave now. Both of you!” Adam jumped to his feet, knocking the bench over, startling them.

He moved fast, gripped them both behind the elbow and barreled straight for the door.

“You’re not my father—not anymore. You were a long time ago, but that kid you broke is gone. I’m not your son. Find another one,” Adam said, his eyes colder than his speech.

“Adam, stop this!” His mom yanked her arm away.

“No! You never told me what Samara did to you all those years ago—you chose to leave instead. And when I demanded you tell me when I visited you, and you shared it, I forgave. I let it go that you left me, but this—” He pointed at his father again. “This is so
wrong
! He didn’t even take me to the hospital when I was having seizures and vomiting. What kind of a father does that?”

Mari was behind Adam, her hand on his back.

“A father who’s not sure what to d—”

“Get out of my house. Now! Never. Come. Back!” Adam yelled.

They both jumped, and Mari swung around from behind him to show them out, but before she could get the job done, both Zach and Victor took one parent each and shoved them hard out the door.

Mari shut the door and locked it.

Adam stared at the door, seeing nothing.

It was different from black and white and numbers and music. It wasn’t even Mari he saw, but a Raggedy Adam doll lying on the floor, broken and needing help.

“That man is the reason I’m Dr. Harkham’s Case number one.” Adam tipped his head back and gulped in some air.

“I think we need to tell Dad,” Zach said.

“Yeah,” was all Adam could say.

“And I think we need to tell Amelia, too,” Mari added.

Adam let his head fall forward. He nodded, and covered his face as the tears began to pool in his hands.

Birthdays were for smiles and kisses, not this.

But this was . . . He knew something he hadn’t before.

He could have children without this disability. They could be normal.

And for some reason, that made him sob harder.

* * *

“I talked to London—she finally admitted she was giving her baby some illegal substance right after he was born because he was exhibiting signs of withdrawal. And guess what else I discovered from her?” Amelia said, eyes round and bright.

“What?” Adam was at the edge of the couch.

Mari rubbed his back.

“She had dropped him off the counter while changing his diaper. He had to be rushed to the hospital. He had a really bad concussion—same things happened to him that happened to you—the profuse vomiting, seizures and being non-responsive for a while afterward.” Amelia paused to take a quick breath. “It’s not what we thought at all.”

“So, I really am brain damaged?” Adam asked.

“No—oh, God. Please, don’t think of it that way,” Amelia pleaded. “It’s not anything that makes you less than anybody else. It gave you some unique challenges, but you are one of the brightest young men I know.” She smiled.

“I like one thing, though—” Adam began.

“What’s that?” Amelia rested her chin on her fist.

“It means I have good sperm that can make normal babies. Mari doesn’t have to worry about them turning out like me. We can have kids safely.” He beamed. It was happy news now. When he had time to think about it more, it stopped feeling like a part of him was missing.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say when he tells me this,” Mari admitted. “A part of me that has already agreed I do want kids can’t stand the thought of not having a mini-Adam around. He’s perfection to me—all I wish I could be. And to think that can’t happ—”

“But those are personality traits.” Amelia cut her off. “I understand some of it was enhanced and amplified from the issues that arose from what happened to him, but I’m telling you—the sweetness of this man, his heart—that’s all him. My case number two—the one that moved? He’s nothing like Adam. In fact, he’s the exact opposite. He’s surly and mean. He hits people if they don’t hold him the exact way he wants. He calls them names and bullies them into touching him. It’s pretty frightening.”

“Oh, I . . . Wow,” Mari whispered.

“Yeah. I should have you watch some of the video footage some time. You’d realize pretty darn quick that Adam’s this way because he’s got a good heart, a better soul than most and was raised by a very caring father.” Amelia smiled at Adam, her eyes shimmering with dew drops inside.

“My dad’s the best. I won’t ever let him forget that.” Adam stood. They were done—he had a baby to go make with his wife.

She had the IUD removed two days after his birthday party.

Adam all but dragged Mari out of his dad’s house.

“Whoa! What’s going on?” she asked, tugging against his pull.

“I need to have sex now,” he said, striding straight to the Mercedes.

“What—in the car?”

“Sure. I like having it in there. The seats are cushiony, and I can hear you really loud. You sound like a piano playing in my heart—and I try to memorize it.”

“Oh God . . . There goes my will power,” she teased.

He propped her up in the back, shut the door, and she laughed hysterically when he battled her to get her clothes off.

“Take me home—baby-making requires a bed,” she said, swatting his hands away harder.

“Not my baby. It’s gonna be shaken in the car like a can of soda. 
Whooooosh
!” he said, his hand floating in the air, mimicking the way a soda can explodes under pressure when the cap is removed.

“If you try to name our baby Pepper after Dr. Pepper, I’ll never speak to you again,” she said. His hand stopped hassling with the buttons and slipped under her shirt instead.