Command: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Amélie S. Duncan

  A new mix came on and fused with my body as the Molly rolled through me. I moved like a marionette without strings, light on my feet, floating, swinging, dancing around the club floor.

  Trails of light beamed from the ceiling like lasers amid the ethereal haze of fog surrounding us. The weight on my spirit lifted, and I felt free, alive. I gave everything I had in me to the dance. My skin melted under the lights and surrounding body heat. But I didn’t care, hell nothing mattered. I bopped with Amber, Brit. I moved with all the bachelorette crew.

  We jumped, spun, threw our arms over our heads. All the bad—sadness, grief, worry—lifted as if I’d taken off a heavy hat. A fountain of sweet warmth bubbled inside me and fused with an electric tingling coat on my skin. I touched my face and stroked my arms, then someone else’s arms.

  I unclenched my jaw and took a swig of water from the saddlebag on my hip and brought the rest to Amber’s lips to stop her from chewing them raw.

  She gulped a mouthful before dancing into the arms of a burly guy in all-leather who somehow wasn’t sweating.

  Goldilocks skipped past me.

  “Goldie,” I called out.

  I reached out and touched her hair.

  She laughed and yelled close to my ear. “I’m Bridget.”

  I twirled Bridget around and took Skelly’s hand and let him spin me around. We all wrapped around each other, blending like an ice cream swirl. Skelly passed me a blunt, and I took a drag. And then the night mixed, as if I had pressed fast-forward on a TV remote. Everyone moving fast and voices jumbled and loud.

  Swirling. Circling. My vision blurred. I needed to stop moving so my body could catch up. Hot-pressed lips, caressing, colliding. Everything is amazing. Everyone should know.

  Then the night hit pause, and the music stopped like a scratched record. People on the packed dance floor scattered like insects under lights.

  Hands clasped my head. Amber’s bright pink collagen-infused lips moved faster than the words coming out of her mouth: “Cops are here! We have to go.”

  “What do you mean?” The words stuck together, like I had too much bubble gum in my mouth.

  My body spun as people moved against me.

  Someone yelled, “Police!”

  Another panicked voice followed. “I can’t get arrested . . . not again.”

  My eyes shifted to the voice and connected to the man with blue hair in a rubber catsuit and platform boots. His name didn’t come to mind, but I’d met him tonight.

  The word arrested amplified in my head. Arrested? Did he ask me if I had ever been arrested?

  “No. Never.”

  Stumbling over what turned out to be my purse, I placed it back on my waist. Annoyance chipped at my bliss. Did the cops have nothing better to do tonight than bust a dance party?

  Then I remembered my return to Sunnyville. They didn’t.

  I moved like groceries on a conveyer belt behind the other people heading toward the exit. The cold, fresh air of outside flowed in through the open doors and contrasted with the furnace-like rave. I rubbed the tiny bumps on my arms and glanced around. How long had I been standing there?

  Amber had probably bailed. Ours wasn’t a friendship greater than self-preservation.

  Then I spotted her, calling out to me from outside the front doors, waving me to come on.

  I moved forward, but a hand gripped my arm and pulled me to the side.

  “Over here, miss. We need to check your identification.”

  I stuck my hand in my pockets to find my ID. Opening my purse, I froze. My body broke out in more sweat as I thought of the prescription drugs—the ones honest docs weren’t giving me anymore—the ones I stupidly had with me.

  The female officer came into full view, a blur of blue uniform and hair pulled back in a tight pony. “We’re checking bags brought into the club. Do you permit us to search yours?”

  “Yeah . . . wait. Search for what?” I pretended not to know.

  She gripped my elbow as she took my bag.

  “Drugs,” she said with a cold glare. Fuck.

  I tried to get my brain to come up with a killer excuse for the pills when a familiar voice broke through the chaos swirling around me.

  “Shana, is that you?”

  There was no mistaking the deep timbre—double fuck. I turned and found the last person I expected to see.

  “Nathan Donleavy,” I said.

  My heart leaped in my chest, and without thought, my arms went wide for a hug.

  Nathan didn’t move from his spot. Oh. Ookaay then. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I pushed my damp hair out of my face to tilt up to him, something I didn’t need to do often. Nathan stood over six feet.

  “Nice to see you,” I said as cool as I could muster, while my pulse sped up to a million miles an hour.

  Nathan Donleavy.

  Last I remembered, he went pro in baseball, just like Jackson had planned. Now it looked like his uniform had changed to policeman blue. Life had jumped lanes on him just like it had to me. His pale blue eyes flicked over me from head to toe.

  “Red, brown, blonde? Still haven’t picked a color for your hair,” he said in a light tone.

  He wore his inky-black hair trimmed on the sides, keeping the top longer. The style suited him. Then again, nothing Nathan did made him look anything less than handsome. Colorful patterned tattoos on his muscular arms contrasted with his pressed official uniform. Tall, tanned, and beefy. Hell, he looked like a hot stripper whose clothes I’d want to rip off at a party.

  I’d keep that stripper thought to myself under the current circumstances. Though I couldn’t help but muse, “Why choose one color when I look good wearing them all?”

  His lips curved up into a smile that transported me back to better days, the two of us hanging with Jackson and my attempts to match their endless energy.

  “When did you get back in town?” he asked.

  “Today,” I replied. The outside spun wildly as I tried to focus on the female cop checking my bag.

  “And you’re already out here wasted.” He squinted at me—the friendly tone leaving his voice.

  “Yep, that’s me, Nathan. Wasted.”

  My sluggish mind finally caught up and witnessed the moment he remembered he didn’t like the person I became AJD.

  Nathan’s eyebrows pulled together, and he spoke in a cold tone. “It’s Officer Donleavy now.” He turned his tight ass away to hang with his fellow police officer.

  I gritted my teeth. What the fuck ever. How long did these stupid police checks take, anyway? I found Nathan’s smug expression hard to face. Even my parents’ house seemed like a welcome escape.

  “Can I have my bag back?” I called to the policewoman who still stared in my bag with a flashlight.

  After a few moments, she came back with my bag in her hand.

  “This bag belongs to you?” She said it like I hadn’t already told her so.

  “Yes,” I answered and eyeballed Nathan. He tensed.

  She pulled out a purple, tightly bound plastic bag with tape on it. “You had this package in your bag? It appears to be drugs.”

  My mouth dropped open. “What the hell is that? That’s not mine.” But even to me, my words sounded like bullshit.

  Nathan’s square jaw tightened. “Was your bag out of your possession tonight?”

  I rubbed the space between my brows to get my brain to work. “Hmm . . . I left my bag on the floor for a while. Honestly, the drugs are not mine.”

  I wiped the sheen of sweat off my face with my jacket’s sleeve and peered at Nathan, who looked right through me.

  “Tell the truth, and I’ll help you out. Lie, and you’re on your own.”

  “I told you the truth already,” I snipped, repeating the drugs were not mine. I might as well have spoken alien. Nathan and his fellow cop pal gave me nothing but their judgment.

  “Carrying and distributing drugs is a serious offense. Don’t think I won’t arrest you, Shadow. Even
if we were friends.”

  His words hit like a gut punch. We’d been friends—more than friends—but he probably still thought of me like I’d been after . . . after Jackson died. I wanted to say I wasn’t that girl anymore, that I hadn’t been that girl for a while, but nothing I could say would change what he was looking at tonight.

  “Then it’s Miss Callahan to you, Mr. Officer, sir,” I mocked.

  “Sassing back won’t help you either,” Nathan said coolly.

  I swayed on my feet and crossed my arms. “I already told you the drugs are not mine. I didn’t bring any drugs with me.”

  “You’re just on them,” Nathan said. Even in my altered state, I didn’t miss his disgust.

  The policewoman turned to look only at Nathan. “Donleavy?”

  He sighed heavily and cursed, then said, “Go ahead, Eileen.”

  She pulled my hands behind my back and put the handcuffs around my wrists.

  “You have the right to remain silent . . .”

  “Shit,” I murmured and gagged as a wave of nausea hit me. Warning lights flashed in my consciousness. Shit had turned all kinds of real. Yet, my mind remained stuck on dizzy-happy. I mean, shouldn’t I flip out or cause a . . . ruckus? The Breakfast Club movie line popped into my head: “Can you describe the ruckus, sir?”

  “Ruckus,” I mused. A laugh bubbled up, and I couldn’t stop myself. I laughed at the drugs and handcuffs. I laughed in Nathan’s gorgeous, furious face and at his go-getter sidekick.

  “Shana,” Nathan growled. He’d used my real name, so he meant business.

  Damn, I miss Nathan’s sexy angry face. “Officer Donleavy.” I mimicked his curt tone.

  Nathan’s jaw ticked. “Get her out of here.”

  She gripped my arms back at an awkward angle and hauled me forward, forcing my legs to follow. I turned my head side to side, mesmerized by the colorful, flashing lights. Everything appeared so vibrant. Somewhere inside, I knew I should be upset. Maybe even scared. But I smiled the best smile in the world.

  We moved past the wagon where other arrestees sat and walked around an ambulance.

  A scream jumped inside my head. My ears ached, but I couldn’t free my hands to cover them.

  I tried to stop, but the pressure applied to my back moved us closer. My head twisted toward a girl in a pink tutu kneeling on the ground. She screamed “Bridget” over and over again.

  “What’s going on with Bridget?” I asked.

  The girl didn’t answer me. We moved back to the wagon.

  “Get in,” Officer Eileen growled.

  Ouch. My knee hit the step, and my legs wobbled up to the bench. One life ends, another begins; had I stumbled onto number three? LAB: Life at the Bottom. Surely it couldn’t get any worse than this.

  Nathan

  The muscles in my face jumped as I fought to regain my composure. I couldn’t move. My vision welded to Shana, unable to detach. A hot ache burned my chest and spread to take my heart.

  Shana Callahan had returned to Sunnyville. My Shana.

  No, my Shana wouldn’t do that. I don’t know who that was.

  Once she left town, I’d hoped she’d do better. After Jackson died, she did run wild, but dealing drugs? No way.

  I wanted to stop Shana laughing, and force her to take her arrest seriously. The drugs she took had her too fucked up to listen. So, Eileen walked her away, and I refocused on processing the scene.

  She took Shana the long way to the patrol van like we’d been taught—so a possible perpetrator passed the ambulance out front. There, a girl on the ground screamed. The lights going off meant the person inside wasn’t an emergency anymore. The back doors opened wide enough to see the zipped-up body bag on the gurney. As officers, we hoped seeing someone had died would trigger a reaction we could witness—anything to make the offender react. Better yet, care. A futile cause for some, but it only took a conscience to feel remorse.

  We had another overdose. Another life wasted. For what? A temporary escape?

  A gamble was more like it. Lucky roll, and you’re given another day to turn your shit around. If not, you’d end up like Bridget Birks, drowned in her own vomit.

  I didn’t know Bridget, but I knew Pam, her mom, and Sunnyville’s favorite high school gym teacher. Bridget had been dead for hours, propped up in a corner with the coats and bags people didn’t check. Her body was discovered only when her so-called friends were ready to go home.

  Drugs never make shit better. If you don’t like your life, fix it. Or learn to fucking deal with it. My life didn’t turn out to be rainbows and chocolates either. Shoulder injury took pro ball. But I didn’t drop out of my life.

  I’d been policing for only two years, but still found it hard to take when people I’d known my whole life, like Shadow, were still rolling high. Now she was heading down the same road as Bridget. She can’t. I won’t let her.

  Bridget’s friend’s screams were like Shana’s screams on the night Jackson died. The memory of that horrible night came flooding back.

  “Shana, Jack’s gone.”

  She pulls out of my arms and runs into the sea, swimming farther away from the shore.

  Too far to make it back? She didn’t turn around. She’s not coming back. No!

  I run as hard as I can into the water. My arms slice through the waves, my legs kick with all my might, fighting to catch the flash of white far ahead.

  I can’t lose her too.

  Come back to me, baby.

  I shut away that part of my brain to regain focus. This wasn’t the time nor place for bad memories. And though my instincts were to protect Shana again, I had a duty to uphold this time. Baby, I’m sorry . . .

  I caught up to Detective Stetson to brief him on what we had so far. I’d have preferred Detective Grant Malone on the scene, but those were the breaks.

  “Another waste of our time. Low-level bullshit with a few bags of drugs will bring weeks of paperwork and an even longer medical screen. Just to find out, it’s the same fentanyl-cut heroin that took another idiot’s life.” He spat on the ground. “We should hand this over to the DEA. Be done with it.”

  No matter what we did, drugs remained a problem. Not our biggest, but serious.

  Even so, Stetson wouldn’t. He never hid that he angled for something higher on the department food chain. Those low-level arrests were steppingstones to pad his record.

  “Our arrest, our case. We work it.”

  Stetson didn’t answer. He could have pulled rank to silence me. Maybe he didn’t because my dad was a captain. But I called things like I saw them. He acted like he knew it all. That was the problem our precinct had. Some officers wanted to take the easy route instead of investigating cases.

  He walked me to my patrol car to finish what he needed from Eileen and me before leaving, and we had to pass the police van along the way.

  Stetson let out a whistle. “Damn. Did you see that chick Eileen put in the back with the wild colored hair and tight pants? I’d give her a cavity search to take the wiggle out of her tight ass.”

  My teeth came together, and the muscles in my jaw ticked. Sometimes jokes kept us from going crazy when dealing with awful shit. Still, the way he talked about Shana pissed me off.

  “She’s a Callahan.” That shut his mouth.

  In Sunnyville, Callahan was synonymous with rich, powerful, and connected.

  Stetson was easy to read. The wheels in his head turned on how he could use Shana’s arrest to his advantage.

  “Why didn’t she fight the arrest or lawyer-up right away?”

  Yeah. That question had been gnawing away at me too.

  I’d expected Shana to throw a fit when Eileen slapped the handcuffs on her wrists. Drop her daddy—Judge Callahan—on us to scare the arrest away. But she surrendered like she didn’t care. That wasn’t the Shadow I remembered. What the hell happened to her fight?

  Probably underneath whatever drug she took tonight.

  I bet Shana expected me to turn a
blind eye. I’d have done anything for her at one time. She remained the only woman who worked her way under my skin. All she had to do was stare at me with her large, honey-colored eyes, turn her plump lips up in a smile, and she’d had me.

  The Shana I saw tonight looked thin, too thin for her frame, and she’d worn more makeup than I’d ever seen on her. She had what I called an angel face. Heart-shaped. The small scar on her chin reminded me of her bruises from playing with Jackson and me. She wasn’t afraid of getting scraped sliding into home plate.

  Back then, she’d been part of a package deal with Jackson’s friendship. Like any young guy who couldn’t deal when he found a girl pretty, I fought her presence. I tried to exclude her from Jackson’s and my friendship. But Jackson and Shadow wouldn’t let me keep her out. She held her own, and could throw a screwball that somehow struck me out. As a teen, I came up with the silliest excuses to kiss her. She never turned me down. She’d been a cute girl and grew into a stunning woman . . . but now, she was heading to jail. And I sent her there.

  No, she sent herself. I did my job.

  It irritated me that someone like Shana, who had everything, wasted her life using drugs. I’d tried to stop her when she still lived here, but then she left and didn’t look back. Not even for me. Which meant I needed to remind myself I couldn’t fix someone if they didn’t want to fix themselves, especially Shana Callahan.

  Knowing all that, the old pain and emptiness of losing her in my life surfaced. I filed it away just like I’d done with the memory of Jackson’s death.

  Eileen and I finished up our work at the club, but we still had one more task. We needed to notify the Birks family.

  “I’ll do the home notification alone if you want to leave,” she offered.

  I’d already done a double shift before this call came in. But it wasn’t right to leave her without support. “No. I’ll come along.”

  We pulled up to the Birks’s colonial-styled home and parked. Police officers showing up in the middle of the night usually meant bad news, and that night was no different. Neither was the misery of death notifications. They never got easier. We had a list of things we needed to tell the family, but nothing ever followed a script. We remained alert and prepared for anything.