Page 66 of Fighting Conviction
“Cici?” he whispered, even as he knew it was pointless. She only came to him on her terms. Neal couldn’t blame her though. He was a sorry SOB now, but he’d never been good enough for her to begin with. Hell, Cici had suffered the pain of her body constantly fighting against her, and she’d still stayed a saint. If the tables were turned, Neal would’ve gone batshit.
He shook his head. He was being stupid. Whatever he’d seen was a figment of his imagination. Cici wouldn’t play tricks on him. He just needed his medicine. Everything was better when he had medication running through his veins.
He brought the glass up to his lips, only to find his hand empty. He whipped around to the kitchen where the ‘shine still sat on the counter.
He stared at his empty hand and the counter before doing another double take. “How the fuck did you get there?” he mumbled. He shoved his hand in his pocket and retrieved the lighter that calmed him with its consistent flicker. Every time he ignited it, it followed through. There were few things in life that reliable.
He trudged to the kitchen and got the jar, shoving it up to his lips and clipping his teeth on the mouth of the glass. It was heavier than he’d remembered but it didn’t matter. He walked back to the living room, kicking at the wads of trash that had collected.
“Need to clean up,” he mumbled as he rubbed his aching head. “Cici will have my hide when she gets home.”
He swigged the moonshine and swished it around his mouth. The more it burned, the less he noticed. Neal gazed over his hard work over the last year. The red strings illustrated a map to nowhere if you didn’t know your destination. But he knew exactly where each red vein led, and he wasthiscloseto figuring out who was at the heart of it all. Once he did, he’d decide who to take the information to. One thing was for sure, he wouldn’t be caught with his pants down again. Hell, if he got well in the meantime, it’d be a no-brainer where to send the files to.
“We can only hope, ain’t that right, Cees? Just dial it back, one step at a time. We’ll do ittogether.” Neal mocked the last slurred word as he spat it from his mouth. She definitely wasn’t going to like that. The last time they’d gotten into it, she’d said it was her or the alcohol. He’d taken a swig just to spite her. He thought he’d won when she didn’t say a word back.
Maybe if he’d looked closer, he would’ve seen her quit in that moment. Maybe if he’d listened, he would’ve realized the silence afterward wasn’t the same thing as peace.
“You know… I imagine it sometimes. When we fought last. If I hadn’t been such an ass. If I’d been lookin’ right at ya instead of thinkin’ about my next sip. If I’d had—” He waved his hand up to the board in front of him. “If I’d had little red lines to show me what road you went down after that fight… maybe I could’ve stopped myself. Maybe I could’ve stopped you.”
“We can’t change the past.”
“I know…” Neal sighed and lay back in the chair, crossing his legs at the ankles and once again following the red trails with his eyes. The lifeblood of Ashland County was implicated before him. He flicked the lighter in his hand and leaned back, holding it straight out in front of him. He was far enough away that the flame encompassed the entirety of the board. He couldn’t see the fucked-up history of his town. The town he’d sworn to love and protect. The town he’d failed.
“It’s like you, Cici.” The monotone of his voice sounded odd and tinny in his ears. Like a man he no longer recognized was speaking through him.
The heat of the flame burned at the pad of his thumb, but he didn’t care. The burn peeled away at the layer of shame he’d carried with him for eight years.
If he’d listened to Cici. If he’d listened to anyone. Stopped drinking when she’d asked. Paid attention when she’d begged him to notice her. Not have been so damned selfish. Maybe things wouldn’t be so fucked up. Cici might be alive. That girl from last year… the dozens of women he’d lost under his watch…
“You didn’t know.”
“Exactly.” Without the hit to take away his thoughts they ran rampant in his mind, running at a pace he couldn’t keep up with but the ideas were all the same.
Failure.
Failure.
Failure.
They died.
Because of me.
Finally the heat grew to be too much and he dropped the lighter. It fell inert on his lap and he swiped it away to make sure it didn’t burn through his trousers.
Another small burn mark formed on aged green carpet. He imagined it spreading up to the edges of the board, across his shoes, up his legs, deep in his gut, all the way to ravage the empty hole where his heart was supposed to be. He’d been so empty, so cold, for so long. It was nice to feel something again. Even if it was all in his imagination.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You’re not effin’ banned from Sasha Saves, ya drama queen. You just can’t bebop up in here at all hours of the night anymore, ‘kay?” On the last word, Nora sounded like she blew a piece of bubble gum just to pop it for emphasis.
Ellie massaged her brow as she sat on a stool at her temporary apartment at BlackStone. There was a strange mixture of understanding and frustration swirling inside her. She’d been relegated to being a part-time, first-shift employee at Sasha Saves and it drove her bananas. Naomi now had her work cell phone and—somehow—Nora had found all the numbers from survivors in Ellie’s personal phone and redirected them to the work phone.
“But it’s been a whole month since I passed out. I’m feeling great.” Ellie wasn’t even lying this time and was better rested than she’d ever been. She’d even gained back the weight she’d lost.
“Hmm… been going to therapy?”
Hope sparked in Ellie’s chest. “Yep, twice that first week and once a week since.”
