Page 83 of Fighting Conviction
It’d become nearly impossible to go a single moment without craving the newest poison he’d resorted to feeding into his skin.
“You’ve always been weak. It was alcohol then. Drugs now. Your vices are gonna kill you.”
“No… no. It’ll help. Just one more hit and I’ll get well. I-I’ll go to rehab this time. I swear.”
You didn’t get help then. What makes you think you will now? If you hadn’t been so selfish, I would still be alive.
“It’s different this time, Cees. It’s different.”
“Your fucked-up decisions are going to get someone killed again.”
The words were in Cici’s voice, but they sounded wrong and loud in his head, halting his racing thoughts. Neal stopped to look around to see if anyone else had heard her. There were men and a few women in dressy clothes milling in front of the ballroom entrance. Drinking. Laughing.
Were they laughing at him? No. But the couple heading straight toward him were looking at him. No,staring. They wouldn’t take their eyes off of him. They must’ve heard Cici.
Could they tell how much he’d fucked everything up? Anyone who heard the hate in her voice had to know he’d ignored her. Fought against her love for him until it was broken and twisted into brambles that scratched at his heart every time he breathed.
If he’d foughtforher, instead of against, they could’ve fought her sickness. Together. But she gave in.
No. She ran away.
The afterlife had seemed like a better alternative than fighting the cancer killing her slowly. The depression had set in long before the cancer, but the pills she took—all at once—those were quick. Using his favorite poison to wash them down her throat was poetic justice as she swallowed the pills that drug her to her grave.
Neal hadn’t even known she still had a prescription for Xanax, or that she’d stockpiled it over the years as a nurse. Her general practitioner hadn’t either, considering how many pills had kept Neal afloat before he resorted to drug busts and Russians.
He thought she’d gotten over the anxiety she’d developed a few years into their marriage, but he hadn’t paid enough attention. Cici might’ve wanted help with her mental health in the beginning, but in the end, she’d refused to acknowledge her depression until its hooks were embedded in her, dragging her down deep until she drowned.
“You still don’t get it… I was tryin’ to get away from you.”
She spat out her words.
“Shh, be quiet Cees. They’ll hear you.”
He ducked into an alcove in the hall, behind a tree, willing his body to stay still as he closed his eyes and collected his breath, hoping no one heard her.
“Burgess, what the fuck are you doin’ here?”
Neal snapped his head up and attempted to calm the instant rage that sliced through him when he saw his boss.
“Sheriff, what’re you doin’ here?”
“I askedyou. I’m the one here monitorin’ security for the Ashland elite scholarship party.”
“I-I’m here for that, too.” As soon as he said it, he cringed, knowing what was coming.
“I told you to take time off, Burgess. You’re obviously” —Sheriff Motts waved his hand out at Neal— “unwell. Besides, after you fucked up so royally last year? These people would never vote me back in office if I had you run security on this event.”
“Sir, I—”
“No, you need to leave. Now. Consider this anorderfor you to take some paid leave for the foreseeable future.”
Neal’s face flushed with embarrassment.
“He can tell you’re sick. He can tell you need your medication. Just leave. Or wait in your car until the Russians need you.”
Neal nodded at Cici’s whispered suggestion. “I’ll do that.”
“Good. Take that time off seriously, Neal. I’m worried about you.”
